Warnings: May eventually contain both het/yaoi lemon. Will definitely be filled with yaoi. Contains the church…. And blood. And the like…. If any of those things squick you then this will not be the story for you.

A/N: I’m unsure if this storyline is even worth pursuing…. So any reviews containing opinions one way or the other would definitely be helpful to my muse and I ;)

by desoul

France stepped from the shadows in the corner, eyes flicking across the altar. Pushing blonde hair from his eyes, he allowed himself a frown before taking slow measured steps along the aisle, surrounded on either side by a long row of deeply unscented candles. The church was empty, and each footfall echoed a dozen times in his sharp ears, almost as if there was an invisible yet audible procession following behind him.

France’s eyes glanced almost nervously down the rows of worn benches – it had been many years since he had set foot into a cathedral such as this one, and the glass windows depicting Jesus and God’s virginal ladies seemed to look down on him for it. But he had had his reasons to remain absent for so long, as he was sure his savior knew, and it said much for his character that he was willing to do so even now.

He had so many sins to confess. To do so would take hours if he was to even touch on them all. Yet the weight had grown too heavy on his shoulders for him to ignore any longer, and the nightmares too strong for him to sleep without relieving himself before his God.

Passing in front of the pews, the snow-haired man made his way to the confessional, for a moment, uncertain that a priest would be available to hear his burdens in the first place. He reasoned, however, that it was not as late as all that and exhaled softly, ducking under the curtain and inside of the box.

There was a priest inside after all, young from what France could see through the screen; perhaps too young to listen to the sins he had committed. But one could not simply duck back out from the confessional once they were inside. And the priest’s eyes were on him, waiting. This is what he had come for, he told himself, and he began though his voice never reached a proper whisper.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The words sounded alien, wrong to his own ears, and he wondered briefly if the phrase was true to its form.

“I have lusted, many times, and held envy in my heart more than once.” France’s eyes targeted the dusty corner by his feet. “I have killed.” the bench shifted slightly as the priest stiffened, and France clenched his hands for the briefest of moments, “I wonder if it is too late – I have not confessed in so long, is it still possible to be forgiven?”

“It is never too late, my son,” the priest’s voice wavered at the thought of being inches away from a confessed murderer, and he sounded far too young to call anyone his ‘son’.

“My very existence goes against His word, and I break each of the vices nightly. Surely, I must be condemned.”

“You were forgiven the moment you walked into our holy church. His heavenly father will keep you in His grace.”

France blinked over at the priest and could feel his honest gaze on his face. If this Priest could believe such nonsense so completely, so totally, then maybe it was possible, if improbable.

“And if I kill again? If I lust endlessly?”

“Come to confess, and you will be forgiven.”

France frowned deeply, then shaking his head. “I am one of the hunters. I kill his children to survive.”

“God forgives all.” He sounded so certain, but his fear made him sound so young.

“You lack the years to be so sure… You lack the experience…” France gripped the edge of the bench briefly, then standing up and almost fleeing into the dim light of the church. With his burden feeling only marginally lighter, he pulled his long coat around him and made his way to the door, the white candles extinguishing immediately as he passed in sullen silence.