The confessional was dark, save for the flickering candlelight casting broken patterns against the wooden partition. The air, thick with ghostly wisps of incense, felt even heavier with something deeper—unspoken desires pressing against the walls, waiting to be exposed, waiting to be exorcised. 

Nathan knelt on the worn leather cushion, his hands folded tightly on the tabletop. His belly, straining the buttons of his shirt, pressed against the prayer kneeler with each shallow breath. The act of kneeling itself sent a strange thrill down his spine. He closed his eyes and exhaled, slow and unsteady. 

Beyond the partition, a squeaky door opened. The scents of leather and aftershave immediately commingled with the incense and candles in the room. Nathan breathed in his confessor’s intoxicating scent.  

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he murmured. 

A long pause. Then, a breath—low, measured, deliberate. The sound of movement. 

Nathan’s skin prickled as he heard the unmistakable creak of leather shifting on the other side of the partition. His pulse quickened. He imagined Father Gabriel leaning forward, gloved fingers flexing, the tight leather cassock pulling against his body. 

“How long has it been since your last confession?” Gabriel’s voice was smooth and patient, but something darker lurked beneath. 

Nathan swallowed. “I don’t remember,” he lied. 

A soft, amused exhale. Almost a growl. Then the leather groaned again as Father Gabriel shifted and stretched, fingers perhaps tapping against his knee. 

“Lying so soon?” he teased. “That, too, is a sin.” 

Nathan flinched at the quiet reprimand. He shifted his weight from knee to knee, both already aching. Father Gabriel had an uncanny way of deepening Nathan’s shame, though they both knew he had come here to be broken down. To be unraveled. 

“Tell me,” Gabriel continued, his voice almost kind. Almost. “What burdens your soul?” 

Nathan hesitated, but Father Gabriel’s leather cassock creaking filled the silence. Even though the man couldn’t be seen behind the partition, his presence remained larger than life. Nathan had never met anyone else who could loom over him from out of sight, to watch him from the security of invisibility. 

“I desire someone I should not,” Nathan admitted. Relief followed, but the words tasted bitter in his mouth. 

Another slow, knowing creak of leather. 

“Go on,” Gabriel said. 

Nathan’s knuckles went white as he wrung his hands. “You, Father,” he forced out. “I desire you.” 

The words sat between them like a stone thrown into still water, rippling outward. The rustle of Gabriel’s gloves triggered Nathan’s imagination. He pictured a gloved hand descending over his mouth, silencing him, and his body involuntarily leaned into the imagined touch. Father Gabriel flexed his fingers as if he could read Nathan’s mind, opening and closing his fist in a slow, undulating rhythm. 

“That is a grievous sin, to lust after your confessor,” he said at last. 

Nathan shuddered. He had expected those words—even wanted them—but still, hearing them spoken aloud made something deep in his gut twisted. Old waves of shame resurfaced and wrapped around him like a vise. 

“I know,” he whispered. 

“And yet, you indulge,” Gabriel mused. “Even now, you allow these desires to take root inside you. To grow.” 

“Yes,” Nathan choked out. 

The leather groaned as Gabriel shifted, leaning closer to the partition. Nathan imagined Gabriel’s salt and pepper beard coming close enough to scratch him, manipulating Nathan’s emotions and exploiting his attraction with cold amusement. Nathan wanted it. If only they both did. 

“What do you do with these thoughts?” Gabriel asked, voice lower now. 

Nathan waited, his breath uneven. He knew what Gabriel wanted. The confessor wanted to hear it, to pull it from Nathan inch by inch until there was nothing left but raw, ugly truth. 

“I lie awake at night thinking of you,” Nathan admitted. “I picture your hands on me. Your mouth.” 

Gabriel emitted a slow, disapproving sigh. The sound of gloved hands balling into fists again signaled to Nathan what was to come. 

“You corrupt your mind and your body with your desires,” he said. 

Nathan’s whole body tensed as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, Father.” 

“And do you repent?” 

His throat tightened. The answer should have been easy. But something inside him—something new and rebellious—stirred. He steadied himself and lifted his chin slightly, even though Father Gabriel could not see him. 

“No.” 

Silence. Then a chuckle. 

“Ah,” Gabriel ruminated. “So the sinner has embraced his sin at last.” 

Nathan’s pulse hammered in his ears. His breath quickened. He should have felt fear and shame but felt something else instead, something hot and unrelenting. 

Gabriel’s leather creaked again. Then, a slow, deliberate click—the sound of the confessional door unlocking. Nathan barely had time to react before it swung open, and Father Gabriel emerged. 

His cassock gleamed under the candlelight, polished black leather stretching across his chest, tight around his arms. His gloves caught the dim glow, each crease and contour of the material like glossy obsidian. Nathan looked up at him, breathless and trembling. 

Gabriel looked down at him and reached out, fingers brushing against Nathan’s chin, tilting his face upward and forcing him to meet his gaze. 

“You are not beyond salvation,” Gabriel whispered. “But you will not find it in denial.” 

His thumb stroked Nathan’s cheek. The smooth leather felt hot against his skin. 

“You will find it in transformation.” 

“Father…” 

Gabriel smiled, almost hungrily. Then, he pulled a pair of shiny, black gloves from the folds of his cassock. He lifted Nathan’s trembling hand and slid a glove over his fingers, guiding it down and smoothing it into place. 

Nathan gasped at the sensation. The leather clung to him like a second skin, molding to the shape of his hand. He flexed his fingers, shuddering as the material stretched and creaked like Gabriel’s. 

Father Gabriel leaned in, his lips close to Nathan’s ear. 

“Now confess to me,” he growled. “Tell me how it feels.” 

Nathan exhaled. Gabriel’s beard brushed against his skin, making his eyes roll back. “It feels right.” 

“Then let us finish your conversion, my son,” Gabriel said, putting the second glove on Nathan’s free hand. As Nathan surrendered, leather tightening around his hands, the shame he had carried for so long melted away—replaced by something stronger. Something darker. 

Something holy. 

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