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The skies start to darken outside, and as he always does on days when the church hasn't given him a mission to complete, Philip cleans the church. He would much rather be out on a job, of course. There are far too many demons running amok, tainting people and ruining lives. But to move without the church's instructions is dangerous, with the risk of antagonizing something that isn't causing immediate harm, and so Philip stays put and cleans.

This isn't even his church. But now that it's been several months since he was stationed here, taking over for another priest who was badly injured, he's growing accustomed to the place. Feeling protective, even. His footsteps thump off floor, the sound echoing against the high ceiling, and Philip mops until he can see his own reflection in the marble tiles.

Most people would call him handsome. His cheekbones are pronounced, his green eyes intense below the hard line of his brows, and even the spreading streaks of white in his hair and the faint scars across his jaw don't detract from his sharp image. Not that he's ever taken advantage of it. As a man of the cloth, he's always taken his vow of chastity with utmost seriousness, and he forbids himself from growing too attached to anyone.

But that said as he moves onto wiping down each of the many tall candlesticks standing against the wall, he finds himself glancing towards the door. The church is empty except himself, but part of him hopes that He Ming will visit, as he sometimes does. He'd never admit it, but after months of associating with him, Philip has grown rather ... fond of the young man.

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In his current form, He Ming has a job. It's not strictly necessary, but since meeting Philip and insinuating himself into the priest's life, he's made a few moves to ensure that his disguise is as faultless as possible, in the case that Philip tries to look into him.

So far, he doesn't think he's in any danger. Traveling a bit further on the weekends to work his other job means he's escaped Philip's consideration thus far.

Not that anyone down below would actually call tempting, corrupting, and generally wreaking havoc a 'job'. More of a calling. He Ming has fun doing it, anyway, and he's in a good mood as he walks in the settling evening dusk down to the church to try some more of it. From outside the door he doesn't hear anything. When he opens the door, he pokes his head in first to confirm that they'll be alone before stepping towards the threshold proper.

"Good evening!" After announcing himself, He Ming waves the plastic food container he'd brought promisingly. "Can I come in? I brought you some baked goods. Not for the bake sale."

The door creaks open, and Philip looks up immediately. And as soon as he hears He Ming's familiar voice, a warm thrill works its way through his chest. Which it shouldn't. He frowns to himself to quash that moment of undeserved happiness, and clears his throat before answering. "The church is always open to those who would seek shelter." A very by-the-books answer, as he always gives, but just for He Ming, Philip follows it up with a nod. "You may enter. But please close the door behind you." Only because he doesn't want debris wafting in to dirty the floor, he tells himself.

He hasn't finished polishing the candlesticks, but it would be rude to resume his work without at least seeing what business He Ming has. So Philip sets aside his cleaning materials and approaches, posture picture-perfect as it always is. Philip's default expression is always something of a dour frown, but He Ming might have noticed that it's softened up considerably over the last few months.

He meets He Ming halfway down the aisle of pews and glances at the food container. "Though I appreciate your gift, I presume you haven't come here just to make a food delivery?"

Philip's awfully uptight, but He Ming is used to it, and he's seen the changes in him and the way he treats him. The invitation in allows him to pass the threshold and make his way around the back row of the pews to the side to meet Philip and stand a casual foot and a half away.

He holds the container out with both hands.

"Cookies," he announces, already cracking the lid open. The smell of chocolate chips wafts up, seemingly freshly baked though it's been over an hour since he took them out of the oven. "And no, I thought I could keep you company for a bit. You don't have a service tonight or tomorrow morning, right?"

Unless something has changed in the past few hours, He Ming knows that he's right. Even so, his smile is genuinely expectant, waiting for Philip to give him an answer.

"I do not." Philip looks down at the container of cookies, seeming to consider it very seriously for a moment before taking one with a small nod. He'd politely turned down all offers of gifts back when they'd first met, stating that they were unnecessary, but he didn't bother any more; though he never asked for anything, he would quietly accept what was offered to him.

He looks to He Ming before eating, though. "And I appreciate your company, of course. I'm afraid there's still some cleaning I would like to finish today, but you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like." Pause. "Quietly." Not that He Ming is ever deliberately raucous, but it's a warning worth reiterating, just in case.

With that out of the way ... the floor is freshly-mopped and he'd hate to get any crumbs on the tiles, so he eats carefully, catching any crumbs with his free hand. "It's good, thank you."

"You can keep cleaning! I'll be quiet. And I won't eat and drop crumbs everywhere," he promises. "We can hang out after."

Since there's no one to interrupt, Philip has no excuse to escape him. He Ming makes sure that Philip takes a cookie before he closes the lid and tucks it back under his arm. He'll give the rest to him later.

In the meantime, as he's seen that Philip has softened towards him, He Ming thinks it might be time to make a move. Patience has never been a virtue of his. Settling more comfortably on the bench, He Ming leans back with one arm slung over the back of the seat, sprawling so the opened front of his shirt falls a little further open than necessary. One of the hymn books gets pulled out for an accessory. Though the words mostly make him want to laugh, he read through it, humming softly and melodically along with the sheet music every once a while.

Philip strides over to where he's left his cleaning supplies, but as he picks up the rag and polish, his eyes drift towards where He Ming is sprawled out over the pews, and ... he's not sure how feels about that. The front of his shirt is open, which is improper conduct at a church. But it's not during a service, and since there's nobody else here, perhaps it's not worth nagging about? (And part of him doesn't want that issue fixed.) Lips thinly pursed, he ends up staring for a moment too long before realizing what he's doing and tearing his attention away.

He really has to get a hold of himself.

It takes him a few minutes to get back into the rhythm of his work, but once he is, Philip is intensely focused, swiftly getting through his work. Even as his gaze wanders back to He Ming once in a while.

It's not a terribly long wait before Philip picks up his supplies and calls out, "I've finished."

Though he never looks up obviously enough to be seen by Philip, the glances don't go unnoticed. He Ming can feel the warmth of desire, hidden as it is by the contrasting sensation of what is holy and opposite to his very being, the belief that Philip is always wrapped in.

He wants to peel it off. He wants to get in under his clothes, under his skin, and know the priest in a way that no one else can.

Of course, he'll have to start with getting him to accept more than a handshake or pat on the back in terms of physical contact first.

"I'm coming!" Hopping to his feet, He Ming shuts the hymn book and replaces it, moving towards Philip with as big a smile as before. "Do you need help putting anything else away? We could sit in the back for a bit, have a chat somewhere less formal."

"I appreciate the offer, but there's no need." Philip gathers everything up in his arms before He Ming even gets there, only giving him a small shake of the head. "I only need to put these away."

Normally, he'd perhaps tend to a few more petty tasks while he had the time, but as long as He Ming is here, he should probably be more of a gracious host, he figures. Especially since his company is much appreciated. Guarding the church is often a quiet and lonely job, and though Philip would never complain of it, he's also grateful for the occasional change of pace.

Cleaning supplies put away, he nods at He Ming to follow as he heads towards his office in the back. "Would you like something to drink?" He keeps coffee and tea in his office, where he often studies or meets privately with church personnel. "And how has your job been, recently?"

"I'll go with you, then." Not dissuaded by the lack of opportunity to physically help, He Ming trails after Philip from the pews of the church to the office. He's been inside once or twice, but never long enough, and never with few enough people around that making a move was a good idea.

Tonight's the night. He's sure of it. "Tea's fine," he says lightly. "It'll go with the cookies. Work's been good, though. I started reading this book recently on my breaks you might be interested in."

Once they're at the table, He Ming sets the box of cookies down and moves the two chairs into position next to each other, picking each one up so the legs don't screech on the hardwood floor.

He expected He Ming to follow into the office, of course. And while Philip is usually somewhat guarded about letting people linger in his private space, he finds he doesn't mind it so much if it's He Ming.

The kettle he keeps on the side table is quick to boil, and Philip carefully brews two cups of tea. It's good loose-leaf tea, and the gentle aroma of herbs quickly fills the air.

"I'm curious to hear what this book is about." Philip pours out two cups, bringing them over to the table. And though he briefly pauses at the sight of the two chairs side-by-side, he decides it's fine. There's the clink of ceramic as he sets one cup before He Ming. "However ... it's good of you to remain diligent even during your breaks, but remember to rest when appropriate."

Wrapping his hands around the warm cup, He Ming holds onto it as he tilts his head to the side, humming as he considers how best to present it to Philip.

"I definitely take breaks when I have to, don't worry. It's just such an interesting book." Scooting his chair over an inch, He Ming starts to explain, voice warm with interest and excitement. "It's about this man's life, starting from when he's a teenager to when he's an adult and runs away with his lover."

With a pleased smile, He Ming lifts the cup to his mouth for a sip. "They talk about Christianity, too."

Philip settles in the chair and takes a slow sip of tea, breathing in the aroma to try and relax. And though he glances over when He Ming scoots closer ... he decides that's fine. The table they're sitting at isn't terribly large, after all.

"I'm glad to see you continue to study your faith even outside of the church." It's said a little dryly, the corners of his mouth rising just slightly; Philip somehow doubts this book is a truly thoughtful exploration of Christianity, but he's also not so much of a spoilsport as to discourage some harmless entertainment.

He takes a cookie. "And how well does this young man's life go?"

"Of course! I'm very studious." Smiling, He Ming stops in his trip ever closer to Philip and starts to explain. "It ends kind of happily, actually. Oh, sorry for spoiling. But along his way in high school, he falls in love with someone who opens his eyes to the world. It makes him kind of doubt God, but."

His voice smooths out as he continues, leaning an elbow on the table so he's more suitably positioned to meet Philip's eyes. "They break up later! And then he runs off with the young gardener, it's awfully romantic."

Most importantly, however—and He Ming gives Philip a little smile that he hopes looks more shy than excited—the love interests and the main character himself could have inspired a parishioner with a crush.

"I feel like I'm a bit more like the gardener, though."

Philip has always liked the cadence of He Ming's voice. There's a wonderful ease to the way he speaks, a youthful rhythm that he finds relaxing, and Philip listens quietly, as he always does. Though their lives outside of the church, their interests and hobbies rarely cross paths, Philip has always been happy to listen to anything He Ming might talk about.

Though admittedly, this is a slightly unusual avenue of conversation.

"... no need to apologize. I haven't the patience for reading much fiction." Philip frowns into his cup, using that stiff answer to stall for time as he tries to figure out what He Ming is getting at. He gets the odd sense he's missing something here, and it takes him a moment longer to give a small nod. Like he's figured it out.

"Have you had much romance in your life lately?"

With Philip playing attentive audience, He Ming is happy to talk. When he pauses and they reach the time for Philip to respond, he moves slightly closer in the silence. Their knees are almost touching.

"I've had some." The nod was encouraging. He Ming rolls his lips in, moving his knees left and right until he decides that Philip is close to guessing his implied meanings and he should use his own words first.

"I think I felt like that gardener boy because I think I'm falling for an older man, too."

Their knees are almost touching. He feels like he should scoot back, but doesn't. Which he somewhat regrets, moments later.

"... I see." His face feels hot. There's a strange tightness in his chest. And he feels an unnatural, giddy thrill work its way through his nerves. No doubt it shows in the way his eyes light up in a rare display of interest before he averts his gaze. His mind immediately assumes He Ming is talking about himself before he can catch himself, and he clenches a hand to a tight fist against the table.

"I suppose age matters little if it's between two adults. I wish you all the best." He plays dumb because the alternative option, the possibility that He Ming really does fancy him, is forbidden. Surely, that can't be the case.

Even through Philip's cassock and his pants underneath, He Ming can feel the heat of his body reflected in his own. He knows he isn't imagining that flash of intrigue, open to suggestion, when their eyes meet.

Close. He's close. He Ming lets his lips part and the silence hang heavy, drawing them both in.

"You really wish me the best?" His voice is lower, catching on what he supposes would be anxiety or nerves if he weren't being fueled by pure, literal sin. As it is he has to try and sound earnest rather than too desirous when he continues, "Then let me..."

Pushing himself up from his seat, He Ming's hands brace lightly on Philip's knees as he leans forward to bring his lips to touch his, all in one sudden motion.

Notably, there's a pause before Philip reacts at all. Because for one moment, he's completely frozen by the feel of lips pressing soft and warm against his own. It's a sensation he's never felt before, one that makes his nerves tingle, and he has to force himself to react -- his movements are stiff when he presses a hand against He Ming's shoulder and holds him at armslength.

"You know I cannot do this." So he says, but Philip can feel the way his cheeks burn, and his fingers grip tighter at He Ming's shoulder. He only manages to meet He Ming's gaze for a moment before looking away, brow furrowed deeply. "You know ... you know I'm forbidden from anything of this sort."

He Ming might notice that Philip doesn't say he disliked it, or that he doesn't want it. After all, he can't lie, either -- to say something so untrue would be a sin.

It takes only the smallest of cracks in Philip's defenses for them to fall apart. It's the same with all humans, He Ming is sure of it. Even the clergy.

"I know," He Ming replies, not moving back. The hand holding his shoulder is warm, firm, and he only leans further into it. "But you like it, don't you?"

Lowering himself slightly further and putting himself in front of Philip's face, He Ming doesn't even give him time to answer before he kisses him again. He takes more time on the second kiss, letting his mouth soften against him, hands smoothing over the tops of his thighs.

He Ming asks if he likes it, and Philip glares up at him. For one moment, there's threat and danger in the sharp flash of his eyes -- he's still a demon hunter, after all, and he isn't the type to quietly cower before an accusation.

Then there are lips pressing against his once more, stealing the breath from him, and Philip is practically frozen in place. He knows how to fight, how to protect people, but he has no frame of reference for how to deal with intimacy. And hurting He Ming is out of the question. He can't hurt a civilian ... much less one he actually harbors fondness for.

So the most he can do is to try and jerk his head aside, his voice escaping in a low grunt when he feels hands against his thigh. His free hand grabs at He Ming's wrist, but doesn't shove it away -- he's far too distracted by the heat rising in his stomach, the prolonged kiss starting to make his head spin. He almost looks dizzy by the time He Ming finally pulls away, his cheeks flushed and grip looser.

When they part, He Ming's tongue darts over his lips. He can taste Philip, not in a physical way, but in his essence, and in the desire so strong that it's leaking out past the shields of his abstinence.

It's even better when it's fresh and new. He Ming looks over the redness in his cheeks, letting his own breathing become harder and rougher.

Philip hasn't pushed him away, and even without a verbal refusal, He Ming is a demon, and he can already feel his being flare as he feeds off of the desire. Tamping it down as quickly as he can, he moves to distract Philip at the same time by straddling his legs and sitting in his lap for another kiss. This time he presses against his torso, wrapping his arms around his shoulders in an embrace that's sweet, tentative, like the touch of his tongue to the priest's lips. He can present as an affection that's simple and understandable—if not entirely pure.

He knows this is wrong. He knows that he needs to put an end to this immediately. But at the same time, Philip finds it impossible to actually do anything to stop He Ming. The warm weight settling across his lap should be easy to push off, but Philip finds himself only sinking back into his chair in a meager attempt to back away ... only making himself a more stable place to sit in the process.

“He Ming — “ A guttural whisper of that name is all he manages to get out before soft lips are glossing over his own again. And this time, after a moment, he reciprocates. It’s brief and paltry, just a tilt of the head as he tries to lean into that tantalizing warmth, but it’s certainly there. Philip does want this.

Which is probably why he jerks his head away sharply as soon as the kiss breaks, his gaze firmly averted. His hand reaches up not to shove He Ming away, but to grasp at the rosary that hangs from his neck, fingers grasping at the cross hard enough that its edges dig into his palm.

Conflicted as Philip might be, He Ming feels him kissing back. He lets his mouth soften a little more after hearing the whisper of his name. It's a sweet, sweet sound, all the better when Philip relaxes against him in return, even if it's only for a second before he retreats.

"Philip," he whispers as he yanks back. "Don't—don't run away from me."

Even though Philip is gripping the rosary, he isn't saying anything. He Ming keeps his arms around him to hold him warm and close with his forehead resting on his cheek. Despite the height of the clerical collar, He Ming kisses the point of his pulse on his neck, soft but insistent.

"I love you. Isn't that a good thing?"

It was a mistake. He shouldn’t have returned that kiss, even for a moment. And Philip grips the rosary tight, tight to remind himself not to repeat that mistake ... though his shoulders still twitch when he feels lips against his throat.

“He Ming. I love you as well. But ... there are many types of love. I am sure you’re well aware of it.” He speaks while staring up at the ceiling, willing his body to calm down. As it is, he feels a dangerous heat welling up in his chest, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “You are a dear friend of mine, and I care very much for you. But this ... I am forbidden from romance. My heart and mine belong to our Lord. And you also deserve someone who can love you in the same way you love them.”

So he says, but Philip finds himself reflexively tensing in his seat, trying to pull away from He Ming’s weight. Vaguely, he feels the start of something stirring deep down, low in his stomach, and any pressure of that warm presence in his lap brings him closer to arousal. He desperately hopes He Ming won’t notice.

He can feel the tension running through the entirety of Philip's body, thrumming under his skin. He Ming stays where he is for a few moments to feel his warmth against his lips. It's a human contact, intimacy, a promise of more. When He Ming finally draws back he's developed a softer expression, brow furrowed in sympathy.

"I know, but..." He lightly squeezes Philip's shoulders. "But I can still love you, can't I?"

And unfortunately for Philip, trying to escape the notice of a demon while aroused is near impossible. He Ming pushes himself forward to press his forehead to Philip's jaw, nudging him for affection, chasing that growing heat with a movement of his hips that might be accidental.

"Can't I keep wanting you?" he whispers. "Please."

He makes the mistake of look at He Ming's face, and that look in his eyes prickles deep at his heart. Philip has sworn himself to the church, but that doesn't mean he's ignorant of how painful heartbreak must be, and the last thing he wants to do is to hurt someone so vibrant and warm.

"He Ming, listen to me, I cannot -- "

His words cut off with a grunt when He Ming nudges closer, his shoulders pulling taut with tension. And then he gives a sharp shudder, his body stiffening. It's suddenly rougher when he grabs at He Ming's shoulder and pushes him back, at the same time sinking back into his chair. It's been so long since he's had any intimate contact that that embrace was enough to arouse him, and he keeps his gaze averted as he tries to ease He Ming off his lap. The mere thought of being seen in this state makes his breaths come tight.

"Please leave. Take the night to think things over. I'm sure this is just a whim, and it will pass."

It's not a whim, certainly not something that will pass. He Ming has eternity to play and taking the time to win Philip for himself is well worth it.

This time he lets himself be pushed back. He lingers on his lap for another moment, biting his lip, eyes wide and glossy with tears that are only partially faked. When he gets to his feet he still stands close to Philip, saying slowly, "I'm sorry I scared you, I just wanted... I just wanted to tell you."

Standing still, he wrings his hands together. He'd already known of Philip's state, but he lets his eyes travel naturally upwards from the priest's shoes, and stops them on his groin as if he's only just discovering it.

He Ming wets his lips. "Father Philip," he says, finally tearing his gaze from the growing arousal in his pants to meet his eyes again. "Please. Please let me take care of you?"

He exhales hoarsely when He Ming's weight finally eases off his knees. It was the warm weight of He Ming pressing against him that had aroused him, he's sure, and with this distance between them, he should be able to calm himself quickly.

But not quickly enough to escape notice, unfortunately. Philip can feel He Ming's gaze drifting towards his groin, and he presses a hand to his temple. There's heat still lingering in the pit of his stomach, and it contributes to his mounting frustration.

"He Ming." He's never said He Ming's name so sharply before. Philip stares at him darkly for a moment before ducking his gaze once more, hand lowering to fist into the fabric of his cassock. Despite his stern tone of voice, his body still feels restless. "Let me be clear what you are asking of me." Trying to guilt-trip He Ming is a shamefully low move, but he's growing desperate. Philip continues, his voice low, "I would immediately be excommunicated and cast out, if the church were to find out about this."

Edited (whoops sorry got some names mixed up) 2018-10-31 04:28 (UTC)

The edge to Philip's voice does nothing to stop He Ming, because his cardinal sin is lust, but gluttony plays in too. His desires feed off of the energy in the air, the heat, no matter how harsh, in Philip's voice.

He blinks at him, still wide-eyed, still looking teary. But with Philip looking down, all this simpering's being wasted. And with the tension in his voice, he feels like he's close.

Slowly He Ming lowers himself to his knees by Philip's feet and touches his knee. It's only a brush of contact this time to catch his attention and make sure that Philip is looking at him when he says, "I'm sorry. I'm being selfish. I don't want you to suffer, Philip, I won't... I won't ask anything of you again."

He's so tense that he reflexively jerks his knee away at that gentle touch. But at the same time, he can feel the heat continue to ripple through his nerves, especially when he reluctantly meets He Ming's gaze. It's that watery look in his eyes that nails him to the spot, and Philip very much regrets it.

Because how is he meant to reject He Ming in this situation? The guilt of hurting him gnaws away at his gut, and when Philip opens his mouth to respond, no words leave his mouth.

After a moment of visible frustration, he ends up looking away with a rough exhale, hand pressed to his face. He doesn't approve of He Ming's request, but he also doesn't reject him any more, either. Perhaps it would be easier to allow this transgression, then to ban him from the church henceforth. Perhaps He Ming will drop the matter once he's satisfied. And since arguing with him doesn't seem to be accomplishing anything, perhaps it would be best if he tolerated this, then repented for his sins later ...

There's no big break, but there's a crack. He Ming raises himself on his knees to follow it to its source, following that touch to Philip's knee with another on his thigh, fingertips pressing into hard muscle.

As the tension stays in Philip, thrumming under his skin, He Ming gives his leg a brief squeeze. He keeps his breaths shallow and light—he doesn't want to scare him off—and brings his face to the bend of his knee. He touches his lips to it.

Not as good as actually kissing Philip, but he has to start this somewhere. He continues by moving up and between his legs, lifting the hem of his cassock. Excitement thrills in his chest. This isn't leaving him alone, far from it. He just has to take a chance when he sees one, and he does by shifting to kneel fully between Philip's feet, nuzzling gently at the tent in his pants. His hands stay on his legs, touching lightly, not quite pressing him down.

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sorry for being slow, had a really busy week!

No problem! Sorry, I’ll be a little spotty myself for about a week as I travel.

no worries!! o/

sorry again for the delay, thanks for being patient!

np np!

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