Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12606468.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Jean-Jacques_Leroy/Yuri_Plisetsky, peripheral_vikturio, past_jjbella_-
      Relationship
  Character:
      Jean-Jacques_Leroy, Yuri_Plisetsky, Viktor_Nikiforov
  Additional Tags:
      Pliroy, Father_Leroy, runaway_Yuri, clergy_sex, not_much_clergy_kink
      sorry, Underage_Sex, problematic_relationship, Blow_Jobs, Anal_Sex, Hand
      Jobs, Drug_and_Alcohol_Use
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-02 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 10049
****** the lovers that could never be ******
by Blownwish
Summary
     He is a priest, he is in love with a fifteen year old runaway, and
     he’s not sorry. He just wishes he was.
     PLEASE BE ADVISED! Not much clergy kink at all. Yes, I have failed
     you. What is the point of writing clergy au, even? Idk
Notes
     Live beta’d by Annabeth with so much encouragement from Phayte.
     Bless you.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
He’s got a fifteen-year-old boy on his knees, he’s got a fifteen-year-old boy
sucking him off, and he's got this fifteen-year-old boy gagging on it. He
should be sorry. He should be ashamed. He should be horrified. But he isn’t,
no.
Father Leroy feels so good. Feels so good he forgets about the long nights
alone and the hard days ahead. Days filled denying himself for others. There’s
little Mrs Mayes, a Philippina widow who needs help keeping her addict son
clean. Mr Finnigan keeps losing the lawn care contracts Father Leroy finds for
him and this time he needs a thousand dollars for his electric bill. St Anthony
High keeps tapping him to coach the soccer team because the team keeps hazing
the other coaches out of a job. The Villanuevas' grandmother needed Last Rites;
and he’s got three Catechism classes - three - scheduled. And Covenant House
needs thirty hours a week, minimum out of him. And -
Yuri pulls off, Yuri laps at the tip of Father Leroy’s dick as he jerks the
foreskin up and down, up and down. As he keeps looking up at Father Leroy. As
Father Leroy combs the soft, blonde hair away from his face. As Father Leroy
bites his lip. “You’re so hard, Jeh Jeh. You wanna fuck me?”
“Don’t say it like that.” Father Leroy sinks to his knees. Cups Yuri’s face,
lets his hands slip over the cheap pink t-shirt, the tight jeans, then up and
under the shirt so he can feel all the heat in Yuri’s eyes. “I love you. I make
love to you.”
He has nothing but this. The car he drives, the clothes he wears, the barebones
rectory he sleeps in, with the rickety old twin bed that squeaks whenever he
remembers he’s a man and touches himself, they all belong to the Church and a
god who, most likely, was never there. All of these things are Church property
and so is Father Leroy. But Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t. He’s not even Catholic. But
he’s Father Leroy’s. Yuri moans as he rubs his nipples. That moan is his. Yuri
arches his back as he bites his neck. Those marks are his. Yuri curses as
Father Leroy reaches down, between his legs, and rubs him over his jeans. This
boy belongs to him. He gives himself to him, lets Father Leroy lay him out like
a sacrificial lamb, and Yuri gives himself to him.
“What a load of bullshit.”
“No,” Father Leroy has placed him on the wooden sacristy table, with the
Eucharist chalices. “No, you can’t tell me how I feel.”
Yuri laughs. “Whatever.” The boy gets what he wants. He will always get what he
wants. He kicks off his pants and he scoots up and a chalice falls to the floor
and he pulls Father Leroy down. He offers his open mouth. He hums when Father
Leroy pushes his tongue against his. When Father Leroy pushes his cock against
him. Moans when Father Leroy thrusts, just a little, just enough. Yuri always
comes to the sacristy prepared. The lube is so slick. Yuri is so tight. Father
Leroy is so needy. He slams himself in as Yuri grabs his hair.
“Jeh Jeh!”
This is the only thing he’s got.
“Fuck me! Fuck me as hard and as fast as you can!”
This is the only thing he’s got.
“Like that! Oh, fuck yeah! Hurt me! Hurt me!”
This is it. This is all. This boy, these moments, this fire between them.
Everything else belongs to Holy Mother Church. But Father Leroy has this. Has
him. He shoves himself inside, one last time. One last time and he can’t help
himself -
I love you!
He does. He loves Yuri Plisetsky more than anything. And he’s not sorry. He is
not repentant. He’s biting down on that milky skin, and he’s so happy because
his beautiful boy is coming. Yuri’s coming, and it’s just for him.
++
His father would never understand. Men were supposed to marry and have
children. “It’s our immortality.” And Jean-Jacques never understood how a
Catholic, with a communion wafer deep in his gullet, could say something like
that - and during after Mass coffee and donuts, to boot!
“You sound like Richard Dawkins, Papa.” Jean-Jacques popped his last Timmy’s
donut hole in his mouth. He only got three, because he knew how expensive they
were and he didn’t want to be a glutton. “Our souls are immortal. Not our
children.” He smiled. “Not that I’m dying anytime soon.”
“Son,” Alain turned the paper cup nervously with his fingertips, “you’re
eighteen, you’re young, you don’t know what you’re giving up.” He nodded toward
Jean-Jacques’ mother, who was busily herding his nine siblings away from the
Timmies boxes. “Life is long when you’re lonely.”
“But I won’t be alone if I’m a priest. I’ll have a parish family. And I’ll be
married to the Church.”
“Isabella Yang isn’t the only girl in the world.”
Jean-Jacques stared at the plain wooden beams behind his father. He did the
same thing when he listened to her explain why they weren’t going to ’work
out,’ during lunch period, last Wednesday, as if they were an equation with a
variable she couldn’t define. How could he say the reason? She wouldn’t have
understood. They’d made out so many times in Papa’s Ram truck, and she’d felt
how hard it made him. Papa had seen the hickies on his neck. He wouldn’t
understand. He responded because she was sweet and he was human. But he wasn’t
thinking about what was under her blouse or between her legs when he got hard.
He was pretending something else was there. He was imagining another boy.
Papa would never understand.
“I don’t want another girl. I don’t want any girls.” But he wasn’t going to
lie. He couldn’t do that to his father. He respected him too much. “That’s
why.”
His father’s eyebrow went up. “That’s not a reason. You’re supposed to feel a
calling.”
“I do.” Jean-Jacques took a deep breath. “I believe. I want to do something
with that belief. Something more than wear a cross and volunteer on summer
break.” And put aside the dirty thoughts that plagued him in the locker room
before hockey practice. Jesus would help him if he made that sacrifice, and
Jesus wanted Jean-Jacques to honor his mother and father. Jesus didn’t want the
Leroy’s to grieve because their first born son was a fag.
“You know how I feel, son. The Church asks too much. To expect a man to live
alone, it’s too much to ask.” He took Jean-Jacques’ hand. “There’s a lot a man
comes to understand in life. A lot he realizes he knows and doesn’t know. One
thing I know, for sure? We all need somebody.”
“I’ll have the Church.”
He sighed. “Son, the Church doesn’t keep you warm.”
++
Father Leroy isn’t used to Texas. It’s the little things that make him miss
Montreal: Dunkin Donuts instead of Timmies, football instead of hockey, Spanish
and Southern English instead of Québécois, and no snow. It never snows in San
Antonio. It only iced over once a year, and it sends the city into pure panic,
every time.
He was wearing the old Pajar snow boots his mother bought on clearance when he
was a high school senior, when he watched a kid step into an ice puddle in from
of the youth homeless shelter. This being south Texas, the ice broke and the
water soaked his sneaker. Poor kid, he thought. He’s homeless and now he’s
probably ruined his one good pair of shoes. Covenant House wasn’t Target, they
didn’t have a secret vault full of clothes and footwear that would all
magically manage to fit every kid. They didn’t even have enough cots.
The kid was cursing, and he was flipping off a couple of boys who were saying
terrible things. Princess gonna cry? But he wasn’t crying. He was jumping up
and he was about to kick the biggest one, a heavy set Mexican kid with a
teardrop tattooed on his cheek.
Father Leroy wasn’t in high demand at the shelter just because he could speak
Spanish and play guitar. He jumped between the kid and certain death, grabbed
screaming fury-in-a-hoodie, and tumbled to the icy ground, taking a fist to the
gut before he could pin him down.
“Get the fuck off me!”
His name was Yuri Plisetsky and Father Leroy was his shadow for the rest of the
day, starting with a ride to Target for new, dry clothes. He hid underneath his
hoodie, muttering about Joaquin and how many ways Joaquin would die, as he made
a dirty wet spot on the front seat of Father Leroy’s Crown Victoria.
He kept his face hidden when they walked through the isles, only took his hand
out of his pockets to grab a t shirt - just a plain white t-shirt - and said,
“That’s all.”
“You need shoes. And a jacket to keep warm. Pants, too.”
Then he saw - Yuri glared up at him with the face of an angel, and took his
breath away. “I’ll give you head. That’s worth a shirt. That’s it. Just head,
Father.” Such ugly words from such a beautiful face. And those eyes… those sad,
soulful eyes. “What? Quit looking at me like that. Like I don’t know. You
priests are all perverts.”
Father Leroy found a pair of twenty eight inch jeans in men’s, and had to guess
at Yuri’s shoe size. “Relax. I’m taking you right back to Covenant House.” He
put the charge on his personal debit card. He put the bags in his trunk. He put
the boy back in the front seat and didn’t dare look at him, again. “Don’t go
near Joaquin. He’s already Latin Kings soldier.” He started the engine and
drove down the 410 at a snail’s pace. San Antonio had no sand trucks. He missed
Quebec. They knew how to handle the cold in Quebec. “And don’t take anymore
booters.”
“Anymore what?”
Father Leroy smiled. “Booter - stepping into puddles and soaking your feet.”
He didn’t get out of the car when Father Leroy pulled into the parking lot. He
just sat there. Father Leroy tapped the glass and he refused to open the door.
He just looked through the glass. “You have to go back to your room,” said
Father Leroy.
He cracked the door open and looked up at him with those big, beautiful eyes.
“Are you a fag?”
The bags felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. “I’m taking these to your
room, is what I am.”
“You’re a fag. Only a fag answers like that. Besides, you’re a priest. So why
don’t you want me to pay you back? And don’t tell me it’s because of Jesus. You
priests are all about fucking boys.” He laid back in the seat and licked his
lips. “Besides, I’ve been looking at you. You know you look good, right? I’d do
more than head.” Father Leroy felt his face burn as Yuri looked him over.
“Yeah, I bet you’re a real animal underneath that collar.”
“I’m not an animal. I’m a human being.” He spoke before he thought. “Look, this
- “ he shook his head “ - this conversation isn’t going to happen.” He pried
the door open and nodded toward the grey building. “Get changed. Get something
to eat. Stay away from Latin Kings. I’ll talk to Marie about Joaquin.”
He smiled up at Father Leroy. It was like sunshine. Father Leroy had to look
away. “Yeah, you know you look good. I saw the way you walked through the
store. You’re used to people doing those double takes, huh? You get lots of
ass, Father Leroy.”
“If I wanted to live that way I wouldn’t have become a priest.”
“So, if you weren’t a priest, you would be getting a lot of ass - right? Horny
and egotistical.” Yuri stood up. His finger ran down Father Leroy’s hand before
it hooked around the bag handles. “It’s amazing, right? All the things people
tell you, without meaning to say?” He bit his lip. “I’d treat you so good,
Father. So good, you’d forget all about the others. You’d never let me go.”
Then he licked his lips.
Crisse! Father Leroy stared at his mouth. The boy saw through him, and now Yuri
was showing himself, or what he showed everyone he wanted to have sex with.
Yuri pulled off his hoodie and tossed his hair back as if he were in a movie
scene. As if he’d played this part before. The thought didn’t keep the worst
from happening. Father Leroy felt frisson, a strange rush that set his hair on
end, because Yuri Plisetsky was this creamy blond pixie - Father Leroy let out
a nervous laugh because he just realized he could tug the bags just a little
and Yuri Plisetsky would be close enough to taste. No, he couldn’t let himself
even consider. ”How old are you?”
“Fifteen. Too old for a priest, right?” His wet sneaker rubbed up against his
boot. “I’ll make up for it, Father. Believe me, I will.”
“Go.” He let go of the bags. He walked back to his driver’s side door. He
looked over the top and Yuri was still standing there. Still smiling. Still
looking through him. He could see all the emptiness of Jean-Jacques’ lonely
bedroom, the dull ache all the masturbation in the world couldn’t take away,
all the exhaustion Jean-Jacques’ twenty-seven years couldn’t contain.
“I already made a move. You’re turn, next.”
He should’ve felt concerned. He should’ve gone to the office and told Marie
about the hypersexuality and aggressive behavior. The social worker already
“lost” Father Leroy’s background check three times before the fourth (clean
one) came back, and demanded weekly reports about his activities. He always
assumed those were easily ignored until now, because all he was doing was
staring as Yuri took the bags with another lick of the lips turn and a slow
walk - right through a row of icy puddles.
Father Leroy snorted. “Watch where you’re going.”
“And maybe warn a person, Father?” He was smiling over his shoulder.
He should’ve reported the entire incident. Priests were suspicious these days.
Father Leroy understood, but he didn’t do it.
++
He’s gone out for a 5 am jog ever since freshman year, playing left wing for Mt
Carmel High’s junior varsity hockey team. He likes going down Ramsay street.
Last July, cicadas sang in the mesquite trees. Now all that heavy air is as
fine as frost on a window pain. It’s always just a chill, practically balmy to
a Canadian. There are still mesquite pods dangling from their branches. It’s
like summer never lets go of South Texas.
Father Leroy sees the brick at his stoop is standing upright; this means Yuri’s
waiting behind the juniper shrub between the limestone church and rectory.
Father Leroy leaves the front door unlocked, and heads for the kitchen. Priests
don’t have housekeepers anymore. The last one retired twelve years ago, after
old Father Stein retired to St Gregory’s. Modern priests were raised by mothers
who taught them how to push brooms and were expected save the diocese on
payroll. He manages to keep more dishes in the cabinet than the sink, which is
saying quite a bit since he doesn’t have very many. He's had two glasses of tap
water when the door opens.
“Want something to eat?” He knows it’s too soon to ask, but he feels obligated
to offer.
He feels the lightest touch on his left shoulder, circles growing larger and
larger. “I like you in normal clothes.” He has to smile when Yuri talks like
that. “Did you go to that school?”
“Yes.” The circles have become a two handed back rub. Father Leroy closes his
eyes and rolls his head back as Yuri presses his thumbs and palms into the
knots. He’d gotten a bachelors in Letters from the University of Toronto. It
was a soft degree program, nothing like the grind his cousin Linus described in
premed, but it was essential for seminary.
“You have to be pretty smart to get a degree and be a priest, right?” His voice
is so soft and low. His hands are still cold. They feel good. He feels good.
Father Leroy looks over his shoulder. “Obviously?”
Yuri shoves with his elbow. “I can’t believe how egotistical - !” He does it
again, and this time Yuri laughs.
Father Leroy turns around because he’s not going to get a third jab. Takes Yuri
in his arms and tastes morning breath. Takes a chunk of hair, pulls his head
back and tastes Dial soap on his neck. Gets on his knees, pulls down his jeans,
and tastes a hint of piss on his soft dick. “You still live with him?”
“Don’t be like that.” Yuri’s playing with his hair. “He’s not my boyfriend.
It’s business.”
Father Leroy is playing with his dick, nuzzling and mouthing and licking at it.
“That’s not what I asked you. Nikiforov guy, you live with him, still.”
“I understand if you’re jealous.” Yuri combs the hair away from Father Leroy’s
eyes. “He takes care of me.” He’s hard enough, now. So Father Leroy takes him
in his mouth. “I’d rather live with you, though.” It doesn’t matter if it’s a
lie or if he really means it. Yuri will never live with him; it’s just being
said because it feels good, like this blow job. Father Leroy wishes he didn’t
know that Nikiforov looked like a character out of a sexy spy novel, or that he
had a three story house in Alamo Heights that looked like a wedding cake. He
wishes he didn’t know Nikiforov drove a silver Spider. Or that the expensive
Calvin’s around Yuri’s hips were bought and paid for on his account.
“Does he treat you right?” Father Leroy licks the underside of that beautiful
pink cock. “I just want to know he’s not hurting you.”
Yuri smiles down at him. “I love how you always worry about me. You’re the only
one who worries about me.” Father Leroy kisses Yuri’s palm before Yuri cups his
cheek.
“That’s what you like about me?”
“That, and you’re built. I got a thing for built guys, I guess.”
He takes Yuri by the hand and walks him to his room. It’s just a bed and a
crucifix that’s mounted on the opposing wall, so the occupying priest can stare
at it as he lies in bed, until he feels as if he’s the one hanging on it. “I
hate that thing,” Yuri says.
“I don’t like Nikiforov.” Father Leroy sits on the mattress and Yuri sits on
his lap. “I guess that makes us even.”
“Maybe your Daddy and my Daddy should fight it out.” Yuri licks his ear.
“Whoever wins can have us both. See how that would work?”
Father Leroy falls backward, taking Yuri down with him, turns and flips him
over so Yuri is staring up at him. Only him. Father Leroy touches his cheek,
his lower lip, his throat. The mark he didn’t leave, right under his ear.
“What are you -?”
He gives him no warning. His attack is quick, he moves before Yuri can block
him, and it’s effective. Yuri screams as Father Leroy tickles his belly.
Maybe that Russian Money Man can spoil him with sex and expensive things. But
Yuri wouldn’t keep coming back to him if he gave him everything he needed. It
was like Father Leroy and the Church: Yuri didn’t really own that expensive
underwear. He didn’t own the mansion. He didn’t own a thing. He was just a
temporary occupant. Pretty soon he would’ve passed on to another rich man, just
like Father Leroy would be passed to another parish, and they would both be
used and used and used until there was nothing left.
“Say Mercy.”
“No!” Yuri tries to squirm and wiggle and smack Father Leroy’s hands away. But
he can’t. Or he won’t. It’s hard to tell and it doesn’t matter because he’s
still going to get it. “No way in hell!”
Father Leroy ducks down and plants a raspberry right on his belly button.
Yuri’s scream is so loud. It’s so good. And his smile is so bright. It makes
the light from the naked overhead bulb golden. “I love you,” he says to Yuri.
He always says it.
“Oh my god! You’re such a dork!” He reaches for Father Leroy. He pulls him up
until their lips are close and their foreheads are pressed against each other
and they share each other’s breath. “Touch me.”
He loves the way Yuri rolls his hips against his. He loves the way Yuri moans
when he brushes his lips against his, back and forth, back and forth, until he
opens his mouth Father Leroy can take him over with his tongue, his hands, and
the weight of his body.
His dick is still hard. His legs are open and cradling his body and his arms -
Yuri’s nails claw his back as Father Leroy feels his way down, slipping over
his lubed up ass.
Yuri breaks the kiss. “I want it.”
He’s so silky and so tight and it makes Father Leroy shiver because it is so
hard not to come. “You feel so good.”
“Jeh Jeh!” Yuri says his name. Yuri looks into his eyes. Yuri sees him, not the
priest. Not the man he is supposed to be, but the man he is not allowed to be.
The man with needs, with fear and lust and ego and love - so much love for a
boy he can’t have. He sees this man and he wraps himself around him. He holds
him, kisses him, moves as Father Leroy buries himself deep, deep inside of him.
He doesn’t ever want to come back out. “Never stop! Jeh Jeh - !”
He knows he will have to.
++
Yuri Plisetsky didn’t listen to Father Leroy, and Father Leroy wasn’t the least
bit surprised. He didn’t stay away from Joaquin - obviously. The puffy cut
lower lip was proof, in a way. Anyone could’ve done it. But Joaquin was loading
up a navy Honda Civic with two black trash bags full of Yuri’s clothes, to
match his two black eyes, as Yuri sat perched in the back passenger’s seat,
grinning like the cat that licked away all the cream. Apparently Joaquin and
Yuri had worked out an understanding.
“What’s this?” Father Leroy nodded as Joaquin saluted and rambled back to the
grey double doors.
“I got adopted,” Yuri laughed as if that was a joke. “He’s even Russian.”
“Who?” He asked too quickly.
Yuri answered long enough to let Father Leroy feel the full effect of his
smirk. “Daddy’s name is Viktor Nikiforov. He promised to take really good care
of me.”
Father Leroy had seen sugardaddies before. He could have called the police, but
people like Nikiforov didn’t worry about the police. It would only drive the
boy deeper into that seedy mess. Father Leroy knew he was asking for trouble,
but he gave Yuri his card, anyway. “In case something happens.”
“Priests have business cards?” Father Leroy noticed the black nail polish. It
was professional, not one of the slop jobs kids in Covenant House pulled
together with magic markers they stole from Marie’s office drawers. “Wow. Can I
send dick pics to your cell?”
“No.” He would, though. Father Leroy’s burning face was as good as yes, please.
“If you need someone to talk to. Or if anything happens.”
Yuri smirked. “Anytime?”
“Okay - within reason. Don’t call me for cigarette money. Don’t call me ten
times a day just to make small talk.”
“You mean flirt.” He turned the card in his hand.
“Just call me if you need me.”
Yuri looked at him. Glanced behind him as the trunk slammed shut, then looked
at Father Leroy, but this time he brought the card to his lips, this time he
kissed it, this time he kept looking at Father Leroy. Watching Father Leroy.
What did he see?
Except he wasn’t looking at his collar. He wasn’t looking at the cross dangling
between them. He wasn’t looking at Father Leroy. He was looking at Jean-
Jacques. He was looking at a man and thinking about all the things a man could
do to him. And he could. He would -
“You think you’re slick, right?” He flips the card between his fingers. “You
can play this off like you’re not coming on to me at all. But nah.” He crinkled
his nose. “You still owe me a first move.”
++
Viktor Nikiforov likes to pretend he is an international spy. At least, this is
what Yuri says about him. “I have no idea what he really does. He just acts
like he’s in one of those creepy old James Bond movies”
Yuri looks like St Sebastian, sprawled out on Father Leroy’s bed, minus the
arrows. He keeps looking up and he keeps rubbing his left nipple and he keeps
sighing as if the feeling makes him infinitely sad.
“Do you feel unsafe?”
He smiles. “Do I get to stay here, if I say yes?”
“You know the answer to that.” Father Leroy pulls his collar off. That always
goes first these days, even when Yuri isn’t sneaking into the rectory at night.
“But I will personally see to your safety.”
“The social worker would shit bricks. They think you groom people already. You
still play guitar for the Crispino twins?” He sits up a little when Father
Leroy takes off his shirt. “I know it makes them seem super kinky and all that,
but you know they’re not really into each other, right?”
“How do you know she has a problem with that?”
“She? Rodrick Rodman is our social worker. That’s his intern. She’s getting
college credit to do his job.” Yuri tilts his head. “Rodrick likes me. He gives
me special favors. He even took care of her reports about me and you. You’re
fine, believe me.”
“You don’t have to live like this.” He needs to find a way to make the words
true. “You are smart. There are academic programs and scholarships for kids in
your position. You can be a lawyer. A psychiatrist. Anything you want. You
don’t need to sell your body.”
“Just my mind.”
“What are you doing now? Reading philosophy? Or your little black book?” He
rubs the double hockey stick tattoo on his forearm. “And before you say a word,
this is also jealousy talking. I love you. I don’t want you near people like
Nikiforov or Rodman or anyone else like that. I love you.”
Yuri yawns. He’s not really tired; he’s not really trying to pretend it isn’t
staged, either. “You fuck a whore.”
“No, I don’t.” Father Leroy climbs on top of the mattress. “You love a priest
who sleeps with a fifteen-year-old boy.”
“No,” Yuri wraps his legs around his waist and pulls his hips up, “I don’t. I
love a guy who has a shitty job.” He smiles back up at Father Leroy.
Father Leroy frames Yuri’s face in his hands. “Stop the joking for a second and
just promise me you won’t go asking for any more special favors from anyone.
And if that means we can’t see each other anymore, then we won’t.” He means it.
Yuri pouts. Then he laughs. “You should see your face right now! You really
believed all that shit?”
“What?” Father Leroy blinks. “You made that all up?”
He laughs and laughs. Laughs so much he’s bucking underneath Father Leroy.
“Yeah. The intern, the reports, Rodrick Rodman - that’s such a porn name!”
“You made me think - “
Yuri wipes the tears from his eyes and laughs a little more, just a little.
“Aw, sorry. I’m just doing Viktor for favors. He feeds me, he gives me what I
need, and all he wants is sex.”
“Isn’t that all I want? Yuri, all of this - ”
Yuri cups his face in his hands. “No. You’re willing to give up sex for me,
remember?”
Father Leroy groans. “Don’t make me say it again.”
“No, no. I meant it when I said I love you.” Yuri whispers. The words are so
soft. Like his lips. “You’d give up sex with me, to get me what you think I
need. Which I don’t.”
Father Leroy hid his face in Yuri’s hair. “I’m not giving you up, now.”
“Are you sorry?” Yuri nuzzles his ear.
Father Leroy inhales the stale perfume in his hair. “I wouldn’t be here if I
really was.”
And Father Leroy can feel Yuri’s fingers running down his back. “But you think
you should let me go.”
“I’m sorry that I can’t do it. But yes, I should.”
“Oh my god, where did your balls go? Can you still fuck me like this, or do we
need to get you a tampon?”
Father Leroy pulls Yuri’s hands over his head. “You’ll pay for that.”
Chapter End Notes
     there really is a second chapter
     sorry
***** Chapter 2 *****
He knew who it was even though he didn’t recognize the number. He wasn’t
surprised the boy called him at 2am. He was only surprised that he waited a
whole week to call him.
“Is this your cellphone?”
“Hello. How are you? I’m high as fuck and I think I’m at a club. Or maybe the
moon. Thanks for asking.”
“Yuri, I need to know, in case I have to call you back.” He was somehow
managing to pull on a sweatshirt, in the dark, while he kept his cracked 5G
propped to his ear. “Is this your phone number?”
“Yeah. Be my hero. Come save me from the depths of— what is this place?
Nirvana? Is that supposed to be ironic because I don’t even -! Are you there?”
“Nirvana. Got it.” He put him on speakerphone and let Google do the rest.
“That’s Stone Oak. What are you doing up there, Yuri?”
“Being in trouble. Help. Save me. There are so many ways to take advantage of
me here. I need help making good choices.” And the phone call was over.
He managed to get his shoes on the right feet. He needed to shave, his hair was
a wreck but he stopped to brush his teeth and splash water on his face.
He flew down Highway 281 with the windows to the Crown Vic down and the biting
wind felt like the Autoroute 20 in Papa’s Dodge Ram. The parking lot was so
blocked, half dressed people inched between bumpers, sometimes sideways, just
to get to the street. Father Leroy parked on the other side of the street.
Yuri was in there. Maybe. Or he could be getting back at Father Leroy for
ignoring him all week, with a lie. He was not the only liar. Father Leroy knew
he was not there to save Yuri Plisetsky. That's a lie. But maybe he could make
it true. Maybe, if he really wass there, Father Leroy would manage to talk some
sense into the boy over bass that felt like sex pounding through the concrete,
in that tiny hot box of a building blazing in red neon just for Father Leroy,
which was guiding him with a red arrow as if to say, he’s right inside.
Father Leroy was a practical man. He didn’t believe in extrasensory perception
or premonitions or even biblical revelations, but something was at the edge of
his vision, something he couldn’t define, but he could feel. It was in the
pulse of that bass. It made the air heavy. Father Leroy felt as if the
atmosphere sunk when the bouncer let him in. When the door opened. When the
lights exploded. When the bass took over every atom and shook them to their
cores. He stepped into a crowd of half naked people.
No one knew he was a priest. Women looked him over, some men, too. This was
nothing new. But this time, they weren’t subtle. He knew what he looked like,
even when he didn’t comb his hair, celibacy didn’t cause blindness. They didn’t
look at him like he was a priest. No, they smiled and moved to make way for him
when he smiled back. A brunette with purple lip gloss touched his arm. “Hello,
lovely.”
He was about to ask her if she had seen a pretty blonde with a bad attitude,
when she turned to face him with a cork serving tray with several shots. She
gave him the clear one. “Yuri Plisetsky is in the private booth, to your
right.”
The laser lights pulsed with the bass, the bass pumped through him, as he
parted a velvet curtain and saw the boy himself, golden and creamy, flushed and
glossy, like a cat who’d been given too many pets. And he just might have,
already. He was sitting between two men.
One was shaggy with a beard. The other was clean cut. Neither of them looked
young enough to be hanging out with a kid and they were sitting way too close.
They draped themselves around him. They frowned when they saw Father Leroy.
Yuri smirked. “Oh, save me!”
“Would you two gentlemen please excuse us?” Father Leroy asked them.
“Wow, you really wanna grab them by the nuts and kick their teeth in.” Yuri
rolled his eyes. “Okay assholes, get the fuck out.”
The bearded man moaned. “Seriously, baby boy? I got some coke back at our
place.”
“You heard him,” Father Leroy cocked his head.
They took their shot glasses. “Ah-ah-ah.” But Yuri shook his finger when they
tried to take the Stoli’s bottle. “That was a present. You gave it to me,
Mickey.” But Yuri kept his eyes on Father Leroy as they pushed past him. He
snorted when the clean cut man muttered something like asshole. “Wow, you gonna
keep underwhelming me, Father Leroy?”
He was pink, his cheeks and nose and the bare skin underneath his unzipped
hoodie were all a soft pink in the dull, warm light from one burning candle.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Why?” He poured out a shot and held it up. “Did you save your shot so you
could drink it with me? That’s very polite. And yes, please have a seat.
Goddamn, you’ve got manners.”
He sat in this booth that reminded him of the cherry cough lozenges he used to
suck on after hockey practice. Yuri scooted in, not too close, but enough to
make Father Leroy wonder if he was wearing perfume or cologne. “How much?” he
asked, as Yuri leaned in and clinked his glass against the one Father Leroy
placed on the table.
“I’m Russian. This is like water. Don’t be rude. Drink with me.”
One shot wouldn’t kill him. He’d been raised sneaking pulls off Papa’s Molsons
and cured too many times by Maman’s whiskey to feel much off a two ounce shot.
“Salud.” He waited for Yuri to hold his shot up, then he threw it back and
turned the glass over. “Sour potato juice.”
Yuri turned it back, right side up. “You’re still gonna have another shot.”
“Not if I’m driving you home.” He nearly turned it around again, nearly. “Do
you need to get anything? A jacket? A hat?”
“My gloves and purse?” Yuri poured out some more. “Relax, Father Leroy. I’m not
going anywhere and neither are you. Have another. It’s just as harmless as the
first.” He put his head on his shoulder. “God, you look so good dressed like a
jock.”
Father Leroy closed his eyes. “This might be a joke to you, but a kid drinking
in an adult nightclub does constitute an emergency to most responsible people.”
Please, please he had to sit back up. His hand had to get off Father Leroy’s
thigh. Yuri needed to move, to get away, far away from his body. It was already
being too honest.
“You work out. I can tell.” His fingers squeezed. “Oh my god! Your legs are
like steel!”
“Stress management.” He could’ve used a five mile run at that point. Yuri’s
hand went further up his thigh.
And he put it back when Father Leroy shoved it off. “You don’t meditate and
shit?”
“I’m not a Buddhist.”
“Okay,” his thumb was rubbing the top of his thigh, “what about praying?” His
fingertip — it brushed him — just a little, but — “Ask God to make it all
better.”
He tried backing away, but he was at the edge of the booth, already. Yuri was
rubbing his cheek against him. “If I have another drink, will you stop touching
me?”
“I can’t believe you walked right into that.“ His fingers were closer. More
than two now— it was four, all four— Father Leroy took a long, deep breath.
Yuri actually rubbed and Father Leroy thought his head was going to explode.
“Oh, please. You’re gagging for a handjob, and I only wanna get you drunk so I
can give it to you.”
“Yuri, this is not going to happen.” He tried to remember to count to ten, just
like he used to do in the locker room: inhale counting forward, exhale counting
backwards.
“Holy shit! You don’t even pray when you’re fucking tempted.” His hand —Father
Leroy forgot how to breathe -- and he was cupping him and his fingers were
rubbing him, and it felt so -- Father Leroy crossed his arms. He stared at the
dark velvet curtain. Then he felt a touch, the lightest touch, on his jaw.
“Hey, look at me.” Then he felt it, something wet and something warm and
something so, so soft against his cheek.
A kiss.
“Look at me.”
”Please stop?” He couldn’t do it. If he did his mouth would be too close to his
and if his mouth was too close then Father Leroy knew he couldn’t pretend. He
had to keep pretending. ”Please?”
Yuri - oh no! He was moving, he was throwing his leg over Father Leroy’s lap
and - no. Oh, no. He could feel him bounce — he was straddling his lap. “No
drink means I get to touch you.” His mouth was warm and it was on Father
Leroy’s neck. “That’s what you said.” His hands were on his zipper. “C’mon,
don’t be such a pain in the ass!” And his hand went under the elastic of his
Haynes. “Oh, fuck, you’re huge.” He moaned and his fingers curled around Father
Leroy’s dick. “Fucking hard, too. You hard for me, Father?”
Yuri began stroking him, slowly, rubbing his thumb over the wet tip of his
head, as it poked out of the foreskin. “You think you’ll come if I put your
dick in my mouth?” He was nipping at his ear, now. “Not even suck it.” His hand
was firmer, tugging and Crisse, Father Leroy was thrusting into his hand, he
was clawing the leather cushion, and he was trying to remember Yuri was only
fifteen. Yuri needed his help. “If I got under the table, between your legs. My
mouth on your dick. I bet you’d come so fast. You need it so bad, Father.”
He did. He needed it like he needed his next meal. Father Leroy nodded. He
groaned when Yuri sat up and looked him in the eye and saw all the emptiness.
That was when he accepted why he came here. It wasn’t to save Yuri. “I would
come.” These words were whispered. “No, I want to.” Then he caught Yuri’s chin.
He pulled Yuri toward his mouth. “Please forgive me.”
“For what?” His lips tasted like vodka. His hair was so soft. And his hands,
his tongue, his growl when Father Leroy wrapped his arms around him and his
skin was so smooth and his chest - Father Leroy pulled the jacket back so he
could see pink nipples just begging to be sucked. He snarled and he sucked it
into his mouth. Sucked until Yuri sobbed and stopped stroking him off. “Father
- more, c’mon.”
“Don’t you dare stop touching me.” Did he say that? Yes, he really did. He was
slipping, sliding, falling and he didn’t even care.
“What’s your name. I wanna call you by your name.”
“Jean-Jacques. Touch me, damnit!”
“Jeh Jeh.” Nobody called him that since high school, but no one ever said it
with that breathy little huff. “Does Jeh Jeh need to come?”
His fingers dug into Yuri’s ass as Yuri’s hand went faster than before and
Father Leroy stared at the puckered, wet nipple. Licked at the puckered, pink
nipple and moaned, as he felt the rush fill him up, right before he sucked that
sweet, pink flesh into his mouth: ”Yes!”
And the boy, the boy was too clever. He knew how to slip through Father Leroy’s
grip and snake his way down to the floor. Father Leroy was gasping for air as
he looked down and saw the smirk and he saw those eyes and he felt the tug
pulling his pants down, even more.
And then he did it. He took Father Leroy’s cock. He thumbed the head, he licked
his lips, and then he bent his head and Father Leroy -
”Oh, sweet! Sweet, dirty - “
So much, it was too much. It was the gleam in Yuri’s eyes, Yuri’s chuckle
humming like the bass, Yuri’s mouth, just his mouth, so warm and so sweet and
wet and Jean-Jacques was coming so hard and Yuri was right there. Right there.
He wasn’t close to being done. He couldn’t be; not when that beautiful, drunk
dirty boy climbed back onto his lap. Not when the boy grabbed his face and
opened his mouth and showed him a mouthful of come. Not when he closed it and
swallowed. And smiled.
“You ready for some more fun?” He held up two talc pills embossed with smiley
faces. “Trust me, it’s gonna blow your mind.”
Father Leroy stuck out his tongue, like he did when he was a little boy taking
First Communion, and let it dissolve on the roof of his mouth like a Eucharist
wafer. Yuri chased his down with the vodka bottle, and offered it to Father
Leroy. He let Yuri tilt the bottle and serve him, drank as much as he was
offered and gasped when Yuri let up.
“Man, we are gonna roll.” The boy used his mouth again. Pushed his lips against
his and touched his tongue against his - and no - Father Leroy was not done. He
would ever be done. The boy, this fifteen-year-old boy, he had taken him over
and he could not lie to himself anymore. He needed this. Needed this sweet,
tight body rutting against him. Needed something only for him. Not for a god
who wasn’t there. Not to give away to parishioners who would never be delivered
from misery. Only for him.
He couldn’t get enough of those kisses. They were rough, as Yuri rucked up his
sweat shirt and scraped his nails down Father Leroy’s chest. They were soft, as
Father Leroy unzipped Yuri’s jeans with clumsy fingers that kept fumbling for
the fly. Desperate as Father Leroy laid him out on the long padded bench and
wrapped his hands around his beautiful, pink cock. He wanted to kiss him and
keep kissing him, his sweet, dirty boy.
He let Yuri pull off his sweatshirt. Yuri let him suck on his nipples while
Father Leroy jerked him until he squirmed and whined and sobbed. Oh my god -
like that like that like that - oh fuck yeah like that!
And then he had to do it. He had to slip down between his legs. He had to
tongue that neat little belly button on the way. And he had to —
Father Leroy had never been so close to another dick. Never had his face, his
mouth, just a breath away from one. And this one was flushed cherry pink and
just made for every fantasy Father Leroy ever had. He licked the head and
tasted just a little piss. He licked again, then looked up and saw Yuri. Yuri
propped up on his elbows. Yuri watching him.
“First time, I bet.” He smirked. “You know how to kiss and play with tits but
you never sucked dick.” Yuri reached down. He grabbed his own cock. “Open your
mouth.” Father Leroy opened his mouth. “Let me in.” He pushed his cock into his
mouth, then grabbed the back of Father Leroy’s head and pushed down and thrust
up and Father Leroy felt it hit the back of his throat and he gagged and he
heard Yuri laugh and felt him pull back and thrust again and this time he
closed his mouth around him. And he tasted the sweat and the piss and the soap
and he heard the laughter turn into a moan and he swallowed and sucked and
imagined the come inside this boy. Imagined it splurting out of his cock and
into his mouth. Sliding down his throat. All for Father Leroy. All for Father
Leroy. Every drop, all for him. He wanted it. He wanted it now. So he cupped
Yuri’s balls. He rolled them in his hand as he let the boy fuck his mouth and
used his mouth to fuck him right back. His mouth, his tongue, his spit and he
felt his own dick twitch when Yuri screamed and Yuri thrust and Yuri came,
shooting it down Father Leroy’s throat.
Maybe it was a moment later. Maybe it was a decade later. Something had
happened to time, something had happened, period, because Father Leroy felt
something like the sun shining in Yuri when he finally sat up and smiled.
“Cockslut.”
Something pushed them out of the booth. Maybe it was the bass, permeating
everything. Maybe it was the lights, flashing like beacons for all ships and
they sailed toward them. Yuri slid over his body like warm water, like music,
and bodies writhed around them, ground against them as Yuri pressed himself so
close to him he felt like he would never be whole again without Yuri. Yuri,
wild, beautiful, Yuri.
“We are rolling like gods!”
Father Leroy looked at his hand. “No stigmata.” Only warmth, lush, sweet
warmth, vibrating from the pulse they shared.
“You don’t need one!” Yuri cupped his face and Yuri blasted through him because
Yuri kissed him, and Yuri rearranged him with one swipe of his tongue. “You
just need this.”
He felt saved, saved by the boy he thought he could save.
++
“Wake up, stupid.”
It was bright, and his neck felt so cold without the soft weight he was keeping
tucked under his chin. It was so warm and he wanted it back.
“Viktor is here to pick me up.”
tap tap tap
He blinked as Yuri turned to his side and flipped off a man with platinum
blonde hair - almost silver - in a black three piece suit, carrying an apricot
toy poodle, waved. “Good morning, gentlemen.” He was smiling as if he didn’t
care.
Yuri pressed his cheek against the back of the driver’s seat as he groped for
his jeans. “I called you. I said I’d be home before lunch.” He put a pair on
Father Leroy’s chest. “Here’s yours.”
“Hurry, Yurochka. And for the record, you left a voice message.” He focused
that smile on Father Leroy. “I take it you’re JJ.”
He felt so hollow, and he could feel a heavy vise tightening on his skull, and
Yuri was shoving his knees, move, move, and the joints ached when he struggled
with pulling his two-ton head upright. He knew he wouldn’t break under the
weight, but he would feel like he would. He had to find out what time it was.
But he had so many pockets in these pants. There. Oh. Oh, wonderful. “It’s ten
in the morning.” And his calendar alerts -And sixteen missed calls. Twenty-two
texts. “Mrs May is probably calling the police at this point.”
Nikiforov asked, “You like phones. They’re great, yes?”
Yuri was cursing as he thrust his hips up so he could shoehorn himself into
those ridiculously tight jeans. Not the loose-fitting ones Father Leroy got
him. He remembered peeling those off and feeling Yuri wash all over him with
his skin and his mouth.
“You want to know how I found out about this JJ?” He kept smiling, and Father
Leroy suddenly realized a tall, tall dirty blond man in a trench coat was
standing next to Nikiforov. He was holding something in his hand. “You’ll have
to get out of the car.” Nikiforov shrugged and smiled and Father Leroy felt
fear like he never felt before as he pulled Yuri down and rolled him into the
floorboard.
“What the fuck, asshole! That guy is holding a phone!”
Oh.
The door opened and the tall man held pushed his hand, instead of his head,
inside. Then he played it.
Hey, Daddy. I’m kinda busy back before noon. Playing with Jeh Jeh.
“Hello, JJ,” said Nikiforov. The man stepped back and sunlight came back. It
felt like fishhooks. “I’m so glad you had fun, Yura. And thank you for keeping
close to home so I’d get reports. One of my own clubs. Very thoughtful.”
He was going to die. He was going to die and when everyone found out how he
died he would break their hearts. And he probably deserved all the anger they
would heap on his memory. But he couldn’t let Yuri die.
“He’s just a kid. Blame me.” He got out of the car. He put his hands up.
And Nikiforov laughed. He pointed and turned to the tall man and they both
laughed and both pointed. “Oh, wow! And those tattoos. Did you see the tramp
stamp?” The tall one lit a cigarette.
Nikiforov snorted. “He thinks we’re gangsters! This is great.”
Father Leroy knew what they were saying. He didn’t speak Parisian French, but
French was French. And being naked on the side of Stone Oak Road, with a car
door keeping mid-morning traffic from verifying that he was uncircumcised, was
still public indecency. Father Leroy nearly fell as he hopped into his pants,
barefooted, on gravel. But he didn’t.
“You’re not going to kill the boy, right?” He kept it English. He didn’t want
to tell them more about himself with his Québécois.
“I swear to fucking god!” Yuri popped out of the car. “Last month you were a
spy and now you’re a Russian mobster?” Yuri stood right up to him. Father Leroy
could only see the back of his tangled blonde head and the amused smirk on
Viktor's face as Yuri reached down and pulled a cigarette and lighter from
Viktor’s pocket. “What are you looking at, Christophe?”
“Oh, Peaches! It looks like hell.” The tall man, Christophe, looked at his
watch, then Father Leroy. “It’s time.”
“Well then,” Nikiforov winked at Father Leroy as he raised his arm. As Yuri
went under his arm and blew an angry cloud of smoke at the sky. “Thank you for
indulging my other pet.” He looked down. He turned and began to take Yuri away.
Then he stopped. He looked over Yuri’s head. And he smiled. “Merci, Père
Leroy.” And they waited in front of a silver sports car. “Nice tramp stamp.” A
Porsche.
Crisse!
He needed his shirt. He needed coffee. The Church Secretary was calling him and
he had no idea how to explain himself without lies. But when he saw Yuri
Plisetsky look over his shoulder, when he saw those eyes and he saw that face,
Father Leroy didn’t regret a thing. No, he wanted more.
++
He was confronted during his last year of seminary.
“I’m not asking as your Spiritual Advisor.” Monsignor Dubois was sitting at his
desk. Jean-Jacques was sitting on a wooden chair, the kind he would have sat in
when he was a kid at St Eugene’s Elementary. “I’m asking, as one man asking
another man a simple question. Why the priesthood? Why does a young man in the
modern world want to become a priest?”
He opened his mouth.
“And don’t tell me you had a vision or a calling.”
He closed his mouth.
Monsignor Dubois held up his palms. “How about this? Was it about boys or
girls?”
He fingered the cuff of a white Oxford shirt Maman had sent him in a care
package to seminary. It was a little too tight. The sleeves didn’t cover his
wrists. “Both.”
“Ah. Then boys. Because girls aren’t an issue with conservative Catholics like
your parents.” He smiled. “You don’t think you can pray the gay away, do you?”
“I - Monsignor Dubois - “
“Son, you’re not a total idiot. So I’m speaking to that part of you that's
preoccupied with how he looks. You will not be given super powers when you are
ordained. You will no more be able to stop desiring men than you can now. And
it will be worse, not because you suddenly learned how to trust God. God will
give you so much room to doubt, my boy, you will wonder how people don’t stand
up during Mass and denounce you as a con and a fraud. You will be alone, you
will lose your faith, many times, possibly forever, and you will remember that
one thing you can’t have.” He held up a finger.
“What are you saying? Give up? After four years I’m supposed to stop because I
might lose faith and be sexually frustrated? Monsignor, I haven’t touched
another person since I was a kid in high school. I can handle celibacy. I want
to be celibate.”
“Being gay is hardly a crime. And most of us agree, it is no sin. You made an
extreme choice, son. I’m sure your parents would understand.”
He took a deep breath. “Maybe I used to think it would upset Papa. And Maman
would worry about my soul. But they wouldn’t disown me.” He smiled as he
thought about Christmas Day, about the skate blades he would always get, about
his brothers and sisters crawling through wrapping paper, shrieking and
laughing. About Alain and Natalie, Maman and Papa, sitting together on that
threadbare sofa, smiling as their kids wallowed in their presents. They never
got anything for each other. They always said seeing Jean-Jacques and his
siblings like this was their gift. “Serving other people is rewarding. And I’m
good at it. I was the only seminarian who volunteered three times to go to the
Mexico City NHP. It sounds corny and everyone says it makes them happy to do it
— I know. But everyone says it because it’s true, right?”
“You’re very naive. You are pretending this won’t be an issue.”
“Okay, so maybe I’m naive. I don’t know how to set low expectations for
myself.” Jean-Jacques’ stomach turned. “You want me to quit, and that’s okay.
You’ll change your mind.”
“Son, I want you to stay.” He laughed.”Jean-Jacques, everyone has pride. You
think you’re stronger than anything. You need to recognize that you’re not.
Don’t speak - “ Monsignor Dubois shook his head when Jean-Jacques tried “- I’m
just telling you not to assume the little high you get will keep you warm at
night. Because it won’t. And neither will Jesus. And if you happen to find
something that does,” he spread out his hands, “you are only human.”
“Seriously.” Jean-Jacques rubbed his face. “I can’t believe I’m having this
conversation.”
Monsignor Dubois asked, ”Is this the first conversation you have had in regard
to your sexuality?”
“No. Ah, my ex-girlfriend, she figured it out. I told her I wanted to wait, to
be pure and all that. She figured out I just didn’t want to have sex with her.”
“When you were in high school.”
Jean-Jacques rubbed his face again.
++
This is the last time he will see Yuri Plisetsky. He studies Yuri’s profile,
the line of his nose, the lush lips, the sweep of his feather-fine hair, as
Yuri reads the letter. “Is this for real?”
Father Leroy wants to comb the hair out of his face one more time. He wants to
bend down and kiss those lips, one last time. He wants to take him to his
bedroom and hold him, just hold him, his precious boy, until time ends. He
won’t. He can’t. Because it’s over. “Yes.”
“Grandpa, alive.” He throws the letter on the rectory kitchen table and he
bends his head in the rectory kitchen, over a cup of Folgers Instant he will
never drink. “It said St Petersburg.”
Father Leroy has finished his cup. “It was delivered to Covenant House this
morning.” He is still holding the empty, chipped mug. “Last listed residence,
so - “ He didn’t mention how he never disclosed Yuri’s current address, or how
he secretly photocopies the original letter, still sitting on Marie’s
overflowing in box.
Yuri takes his cup. He won’t drink. He won’t look at Father Leroy. He just sits
and he just stares down at the cup. “I’m going home. I’m going back to Russia.”
“Yes.” He wants to beg him not to go. He wants to tell him he can live here,
not with Nikiforov, but with him, stay in the rectory, sleep in his bed every
night. But that’s crazy. That’s impossible. And soon, seeing Yuri Plisetsky,
sharing the same air, seeing his face, those things will be just as impossible.
Yuri touches his arm. “I knew you meant it, that thing about giving me up, to
help me.”
Father Leroy wants to beg. He wants to get on his knees and take Yuri’s hands
in his and he wants to plead: stay with me. He pats his hand instead. “When you
are older, when you think of me, I hope you don’t judge me harshly.”
Yuri puts the cup on the table. Yuri stands up. He holds out his hand. Father
Leroy takes it. And he takes Father Leroy in his arms. He looks into Father
Leroy’s eyes. He touches his cheek. “Maybe a little. You finally make the first
move and it’s to break up with me.”
He smiles. He knows his eyes are watering but he can’t do anything but keep
smiling as Yuri kisses the ring on his finger. As Yuri rubs his cheek against
his knuckles. “Goodbye, Yuri Plisetsky.”
“Goodbye, Jeh Jeh.”
++
Years from now, he will step off a private plane, and step into a black
limousine, surrounded by Monsignors in cassocks like his, rattling off
breakneck Italian he will not be anywhere near keeping up with.
They will speed through Rome, and it will feel like they are traveling through
time as they pass ruins bracketed between apartment buildings and restaurants.
They will be going to Vatican City.
And he will see a tall blonde in a black suit when he walks across St Peter’s
square. He will have been haunted by that shade of blonde, for years. He will
be used to feeling his heart ache a little, and he will dismiss the possibility
that he is actually seeing his Yuri, ever again.
He will sit in meetings for hours. As a likely bishop, he will be expected to
sit in many more over the years. Then he will take a tour of the artifacts of
the Vatican museum, he will stare up as he stands underneath the Sistine
Chapel. He will wonder if Yuri ever saw pictures of this place. He will make a
mental habit of wondering what Yuri would think. It will be ask close to
sharing a moment with him, as he will be able to get.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The voice will be rough, slightly accented, and deep. Monsignor Leroy would
have been used to his heart leaping out of his chest any time he thought he
heard Yuri’s voice. Used to dismissing the likelihood. He will chalk it up to
wishful thinking — until he looks down. Until he sees. And then he will
believe.
He will see a man in a black suit, a man with hair the color of Monsignor
Leroy’s deepest hope and eyes the color of his sweetest dreams. And a smile -
the sun will shine again when that smile beams back at him. “Hey, Jeh Jeh.”
“Hey.”
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