“Lençóis. Very small town in Bahia.”

  “Brazil? I thought so.”

  “What gave me away?”

  “Your accent, for one. You’ve got that Portuguese annunciation,” he said, then made a soft chuh sound. “Not border-Spanish, not Mexican Spanish, not fast-lipped Chilean Spanish. It’s easy to spot.”

  Ariel hummed, nodding. “And you? Where are you from?”

  “El Paso, born and raised. Mi familia es de Guanajuato. Parents are here, grandparents are there. How old are you?”

  At that, his mouth split into a shy grin. “Why?”

  “Humor me,” Diego said.

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Good guess. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “You’re young,” he said reverently.

  Diego steeled his expression. Young, maybe. But he’d fought against the world, against himself, to live long enough to become Diego López. Surviving a traitorous body, an unstable mind, and an unenthusiastic family made his quaint two decades feel a lot longer. He gave a curt nod and averted his eyes, scanning the plastic table. Wind rattled the roof and pushed hard against the small building, caused the windows to quiver and the doors to flex. It was a frightening thing, being in the middle of nowhere with someone who paid attention. Who saw him. Who listened.

  “When’s the last time you prayed?” Ariel asked.

  “When I got locked up.” He expected resistance, questions, judgement.

  Ariel simply nodded. “And if I asked you to pray with me tonight, would you?”

  “Maybe.” Diego cleared his throat, considering. “Yeah, I would.”

  Ariel stood. His chair scraped the floor. “Get cleaned up. We’ll pray before bed.”

  Diego didn’t move until Ariel crossed the hall and stepped into his bedroom. He blinked, turning over the last few hours in his mind: the fragmented light splintering away from Ariel’s body, wing-shaped, radiating like armor; the water behind his teeth, on his chin, following the length of his throat. Truth pulled from Diego by a force he didn’t recognize—unearned trust or sainthood or something worse.

  What gave me away?

  Fight-or-flight resurfaced and prodded Diego in the chest until he stood, unsure if he should slink into his bedroom and lock the door or go along with whatever Ariel had in mind. It was prayer, wasn’t it? Just prayer. He could handle that.

  In the bathroom, Diego brushed his teeth and scrubbed his dirty skin with tea tree soap. He smoothed coconut lotion over his legs and arms, rubbed shea butter on his fading scars, and strung his Saint Christopher around his neck, staring at his reflection until footsteps filled the hall. He touched the piercing on his lip, then the patchy stubble on his jaw, and made a mental note to shave in the morning.

  “Diego,” Ariel said, his voice echoing through the church.

  Diego dressed in nightclothes—gray joggers, ratty white tank—and padded barefoot into the nave. The floor was scratchy and naked, torn apart from rough work. Soon, laminate boards would fit over the filth, covering the old, unkempt foundation. Ariel stood where the pulpit should’ve been and laid a bath towel on the ground.

  “Kneel,” he said with the weight of a basic command.

  The air shifted and everything paused as if the cracked baseboards and empty space held their breath. Diego took hesitant steps forward. He watched Ariel from beneath his lashes and lowered to his knees. Something new and impatient yawned inside him, akin to desire, abrasive and unhinged. His bones were like busted pipes, hunger gushing through his fractured skeleton. He swallowed hot saliva as Ariel knelt before him, carefully removing the rosary from his neck.

  “Give me your hands,” Ariel said.

  Again, Diego obeyed. He lifted them, paying mind to the fine tilt of Ariel’s mouth, the awkward bend of his lengthy fingers, and exhaled sharply as smooth beads wrapped around his knuckles. Ariel pressed the crucifix into Diego’s palm and sealed their hands together, shackling his smaller, scarred digits in an iron grip. Diego stared at him, wide-eyed and unblinking. His heart thundered. That woozy, dazed feeling returned, and he remembered to breathe. Inhale, exhale. He tried and failed to ignore the spasm between his legs when Ariel squeezed him.

  “Lord Jesus, at the Last Supper, you knew Judas, one of your sacred twelve, would betray you,” Ariel said.

  Diego couldn’t recall the prayer, but appropriate words tumbled out all the same, fed to him from somewhere, by someone. “Deliver us from false friends and treachery.”

  “Close your eyes,” Ariel whispered, then continued. “There, our Lord, you washed the feet of your disciples.”

  “Make us meek and humble.” Diego saw light cross the blackness on the backside of his eyelids. Tendrils moved and curled, undulating like snakes. He gripped the rosary hard, honing on a separate sense: Ariel’s calm breath, his warm voice.

  “You gave us the Sacrament of your body and outpoured blood.”

  “We stand in reverence before the—” Diego sucked in a trembling breath. “—the eternal…” Smooth, slender fingers slid past the waistband of his sweatpants, but he felt Ariel’s hands wrapped around his own; he knew the shape of Ariel’s boyish thumbs and strong palms, keeping him still. There was no possible way for Ariel to be in two places at once, yet the touch was deliberate, invisible fingers slipping between his thighs, tracing the soft curls around his cunt. “Ariel—”

  “Eyes closed,” he said gently. “We stand in reverence before the eternal…”

  Diego’s jaw slackened. “Covenant—eternal covenant,” he said, body flushed and trembling.

  “You asked your disciples to pray with you in the garden.”

  “Keep us awake and watchful.” His knees shook, spine bowing as the phantom touch grew more insistent, framing his swollen clit, diving downward, rubbing tenderly where he was wet and open.

  Ariel spoke evenly, each word coasting across Diego’s cheek. “Lord, at the time of your arrest, at the moment of your betrayal, your friends fled.”

  “Give us…” Diego swallowed, fumbling with the rosary. “Give us courage in times of trial.”

  “You were falsely accused and condemned for speaking the truth.”

  “May we choose honesty in the face of injustice,” Diego said weakly. His lips quaked. He wanted to understand, to say stop. No, don’t stop. To open his eyes and be face-to-face with the man who’d turned prayer into promiscuity. But he didn’t know if Ariel was responsible. If it was him or a divine force or if Diego was losing his mind. Soft skin pressed against his stomach—wrist, forearm—and whatever was touching him leaned closer, pitting him like a peach. He was too afraid to open his eyes. Too enraptured. Instead, he widened his legs and silenced a pitiful moan.

  “In the courtyard, Simon Peter swore he did not know you three times.” Ariel dug his fingers between Diego’s tight knuckles, absently plucking at a rosary bead.

  “Make us faithful in times of…of temptation,” Diego choked out, enduring confident, slow strokes to his front wall.

  “Pontius Pilate handed you over for crucifixion.”

  “Have mercy,” Diego gasped out. His lower half throbbed, coiling into heated knots. “Have mercy on us sinners.”

  “You were beaten, mocked, and humiliated.”

  “May we suffer…” His voice cracked, broken by a whimper.

  “Gladly,” Ariel supplied.

  “Gladly. May we suffer gladly.”

  “On the cross, you were taunted, and yet you forgave.”

  Fuck. Another finger pushed inside him, sinking deep alongside the first two. “May we always live in…in…”

  “Obedience.”

  “Obedience,” Diego blurted. His body relented, giving over to the pleasure pulsing in his groin. His cunt clenched and spasmed. Everything below his bellybutton tightened. Shockwaves traveled into each limb, causing his hands to jerk and his body to go rigid. He breathed like a runner, like someone in the midst of escape.

  “From the cross, you promised paradise,” Ariel cooed. He coaxed the rosary free from Diego’s hands, toyed with his trembling fingers, and followed the lines on his sweaty palms.

  “Make us long for eternal bliss.” Diego sighed.

  The ghostly appendage removed itself, leaving him slick and empty. He wanted to crumble into a heap, strip away his clothes and babble through another prayer. Beg God or Ariel or whoever had been inside him to use him like a whetstone. But when he opened his eyes, Ariel was easing backward, and Diego dropped his hands into his lap.

  “See,” Ariel said. “God provides.”

  For a moment, Diego considered agreeing. His mind was humid, fogged with yes and please and again, but reality registered, came to him in starts and stops. There he was, kneeling in a church, half-fucked and flushed from nose to toe. There he was, on display, completely and utterly known. He stumbled to his feet and made for the hall, glancing over his shoulder as wobbly legs carried him to his bedroom. Whatever had just happened, whatever had been done to him, he’d wanted it. Encouraged it. Prayed for it. And he didn’t know how to feel about Ariel Azevedo witnessing it or…or influencing it…or…

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Diego whispered. He twisted the lock. Raked his hand through his hair. Paced from the window to the door, again and again. Waited until the hall light clicked to take a deep, audible breath.

  He couldn’t think. Couldn’t sit still. Certainly couldn’t sleep.

  In all his life, he’d never experienced something like that—unhinged desire, pleasure from an unseen place. He wanted to reach into his mind and uproot the memory, rip it out, and bury it. He couldn’t close his eyes without thinking about Ariel’s voice, and he couldn’t get comfortable without rubbing his thighs together, reminiscing on how he’d convulsed around an invisible hand. And he couldn’t divorce his thoughts from more and now and need. Hours passed, and his skin still burned, and his heart still quickened.

  At midnight, Diego propped his phone on the windowsill, angled it toward the bed, and crawled out of his clothes. He livestreamed for a little while. Rested his chest on the mattress and shoved a pillow beneath his hips, fingering himself hard and fast. He ground shamelessly against his palm, lifted onto his knees and worked his knuckles deeper, panting through another white-hot orgasm. Satisfaction was fleeting. Diego caught himself fantasizing about a bottle inside him, about someone’s fist or an oversized toy. He whined and twisted himself in the sheets, ashamed and hot and taken off guard at the thought of a cock jammed down his throat, wishing someone would fuck him until he cried, gagged, hurt. He tried to envision gentleness. Soft touches and lovemaking, but the imagery didn’t stick.

  At two o’clock, Diego pulled on his joggers, grabbed his pack of smokes, and tiptoed through the church. The air was mild outside, clinging stubbornly to heat, and the white moon glowed above the desert. Stars formed a patchwork across the clear sky, suspended in the blackness like dew on a spider’s web.

  Diego leaned against the side of the church and lit his cigarette. Smoke filled his lungs, prodding at his tightly wound muscles and lessening the anxiety worming under his skin. The world felt dreamy and unordinary. Fuckin’ upside down. He tipped his head against the building and exhaled. He was tired enough to close his eyes, to drift as he let the church take his weight, nursing a cigarette and listening to footsteps creak on the unfinished floor inside. A door opened. Dirt and pebbles crunched.

  Ariel sighed, a relieved noise. “Those’re bad for you.”

  Diego opened his eyes. He couldn’t parse this particular reality. Couldn’t peel back the layers and decide if he was trapped in a dream or awake and exhausted. He flicked his gaze around Ariel’s angular face. Beautiful, same as most Brazilian men. Wild though. As if he actively tried to blend in. Diego understood cloaking and masking in his depths, knew the range and restraint it took to perform as something palatable, something redeemable. He lolled his head against the wood paneling and sent smoke into the air.

  “Am I awake?” Diego asked.

  Ariel stepped closer. “You tell me.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “Then you must be dreaming.”

  He finished his cigarette and flicked it. Orange embers skipped across the dirt. “And if I am?”

  “It’s your dream. You dictate what happens next.”

  “Do you think we’re seen here?”

  “By who?”

  God. Diego didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Tension ratcheted, and the night thickened, gorgeous and expansive and deserted, a space carved out for them, for this, for whatever they’d started together. His throat worked around a swallow. He stretched out his hand and looped his finger around Ariel’s knuckle. Anticipated a collision. Crashing; combusting. But Ariel eased toward him, crossed the minuscule space in a single step as if his boots hadn’t touched the ground, like his body had transferred from there to here. Near enough to taste his breath, to watch his chest stutter and his eyelids droop. You dictate what happens next. In the distance, a coyote yipped. Closer, Diego loosened the reins on his self-control and framed Ariel’s face in his palms.

  “Do you see me?” Diego asked.

  At that, Ariel’s mouth curved. “Sí, querido. Te veo.”

  Do you want me? Diego wasn’t brave enough to ask. Instead, he stood on his tiptoes and pulled Ariel into a clumsy kiss. He hadn’t expected resistance—not in his own goddamn dream—but Ariel shied away, their lips disconnecting with a soft, familiar sound. The first thing Diego thought to do was apologize. He couldn’t move, though, couldn’t speak. Fear turned him to stone. He pressed himself backward, sealing his spine against the church, and blinked, inhaled shakily through his nose. When he finally convinced his body to react, Ariel swooped toward him again and seized his mouth in a deeper, harder kiss.

  Like lightning, Diego López was emancipated, freed completely. He gasped between Ariel’s parted lips, tasted mint and copper on his tongue, felt a strong grip cuffing his waist, his ribcage, his waist, his ribcage, both at once. He inched his fingers into Ariel’s dark hair and clung to him. Head spinning, heart running, he kissed greedily, like it was his last meal, like he’d been teased with something worth taking. Swallowed raspy, encouraging moans sent into his mouth on hard-won breath, exhaled like a blessing. A nip at Ariel’s lip earned a harder grip—yes—and a thigh wedged between his legs—yes. He thumbed at Ariel’s cheekbone, his temple, and brushed across smooth, featherlike material—skin, not skin—speared through with bone or needle. Opening his mouth for another hungry kiss, Diego tracked a palm skirting his sternum, fingernails scraping his side, knuckles tracing his joggers, a palm resting heavy on his lower back. Impossible, he thought, and then, nothing is impossible in a dream.

  Diego broke away to breathe, to go to his knees, to make a demand. Touch me. Take me. Use—

  But he stopped. Blinked. Shuddered through an exhale. “Ariel,” like wait, like don’t. It was too late though. The moment Diego opened his eyes, he saw the diamond-shaped orb peering at him from Ariel’s forehead. Feathers shooting away from his skull. Appendages outstretched, littered with eyes. Human, goat, leopard, reptile. Diego blinked, just once, and heard wings beat, feathers cutting through the night. In the midst of his lashes flicking, Ariel disappeared.

  Diego braced against the church and turned his gaze skyward. I’m awake, he thought, and hiccupped through a soft, surprised laugh. What are you?

  Chapter Four

  SUNLIGHT TOSSED A kaleidoscope around the nave, streaking the newly laid laminate in different colors. Diego had woken with a start, jolted upright in bed, pawing at his chest, feeling across his throat, clinging to the hopeful delusion that last night had been real. That he’d been awake—truly awake. That he’d gone to his knees with Ariel and prayed, and came with a hand wedged inside him, and licked into Ariel’s mouth under a starry sky. Diego had blinked and caught his breath, still damp between his legs. He took a shower to clear his head. When he’d checked his earnings, the livestream session had brought in four hundred and ninety-six dollars. Seven comments had read MORE, three others had read louder pls, and one had said that’s it bitch keep squirming for me. He’d wrinkled his nose at the half-assed, faux-dom demand. But somewhere buried deep, in a place he didn’t dare look, Diego liked the safety of it. Sometimes being demeaned by a username, someone he could attach a made-up identity to, made him wetter, made him come harder, and that always raked in bigger tips.

  Last night happened, he assured himself. It did, it did, it fucking did.

  Diego had eaten microwaved oatmeal and drunk orange juice straight from the carton. He’d shuffled around the church, accompanied by silence. Outside Ariel’s bedroom, he’d stood listening for sounds of life, and decided to get to work after hearing nothing but the fan. Keeping his hands busy would put his mind at ease, at least. So, he focused on the floor—cutting the door jams, spreading the underlayment, placing the planks—until morning bled into a dusky afternoon, and tires chewed through the dirt lot outside. He paused with his hands curved around a plank. A car door shut, and boots stomped the rocky ground. Diego refocused on the flooring as Ariel walked inside.

  “Hey,” Ariel said, curt and polite. There was a bag tucked under his arm and a six-pack dangling from his bent knuckles. “I had to run an errand. Grabbed lunch while I was out.” He jostled the paper bag. “Burritos, chips, the works.”

  Diego bristled at the sight of him. It was an animal reflex—looking at Ariel, remembering last night, smelling frijoles and meat and lime. He stood clumsily on the cusp of disbelieving his own memory. Imagined Ariel with a third eye open between his coarse brows, steady and unblinking, the same way it’d been fixed on him last night.

  “Thank you for getting started,” Ariel added, filling the awkward quiet. He gestured to the half-finished nave with the six-pack. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.” Diego swallowed the rest of what he wanted to say: what are you, what did we do last night, what do you want with me, can I have you? “I didn’t know you liked beer.”

 

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