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“You’re going to be very popular once you open. Maybe not in a good way,” the Bishop warned him, not for the first time. “Are you ready to take that on?”
Jud opened his arms benevolently, confident smile firmly in place. “Let ‘em come.”
**
Well, they did come. They kept on coming. It wasn’t easy; for every step Jud took in the right direction, he got forced three steps back. More. And he knew, he’d always known it would be an uphill battle. He was Sisyphus and the church was his rock.
It was worth it. Anything was worth enduring if you knew why you were doing it. And Jud knew. He did it for every person he managed to help in any way, big or small. And for the people in his head, long dead or simply just gone, whose memory he did it all for.
But God, some weeks were bad.
Some weeks included the sort of bullshit he’d hoped he’d left behind him a year ago, if not a decade ago. Some weeks overflowed with people testing him almost beyond what he could handle by himself, be it online or in the city or even in his confession booth.
He’d gotten the brunt of it all, the over-exposure sensationalizing him: Killer Priest, Woke Priest, Hot Priest. And everything those titles entailed. He’d taken care not to encourage this sensationalism to enter his actual church, his sermons firmly safe and open and ruffling as few feathers as possible. Still, he could always see it in the way his fledgling flock, his churchpeople, in the way they looked at him.
Few of them wanted anything to do with him to get closer to God. They just wanted closer to the Sensational Priest.
Basically, if one more woman (though it was not always a woman) used the confession booth to tell Jud she got off on the video where Jud threatened Monsignor Wicks… He was going to have to do something drastic. Like. Like what. He didn’t know what.
But he was going to do it.
Jud sighed into his drink. It was the end of one such week. A Friday. He was at an unbearably stuffy fundraiser in Newark, invited there by Bishop Langstrom only for His Excellency to be too busy mingling to pay Jud any mind. And normally, Jud would make an effort to entertain the generously wealthy and put up with all their posturing. They were worth bending over backwards for if it meant a couple more thousand dollars went to hungry mouths.
That stubborn thing inside Jud was refusing to ass-kiss today, though. And Langstrom must have noticed, given the wide berth he was giving him all night. So Jud stood there in the corner, alone, on the outside looking in.
He sipped his drink, smiling idly at nothing, subtly avoiding meeting eyes with the well-dressed men and women clacking their shoes about him and around the venue. They were fine — Jud was the problem. He didn’t think he had one more strained conversation left in him. Whenever someone started inching towards his bar table, he’d straight up close his eyes and start praying until they went away.
Weird Priest.
His mind pleaded a quick and thoughtless get me out of here to God, but that didn’t feel fair. This was a humanitarian event. He was here for a reason. He whispered an apology. But he still couldn’t help feeling an involuntary yearning for something. A thing he didn’t dare pray for very often.
Someone.
Please. A real person. A real conversation. Just one.
Jud did his best to avoid prayers like this. Not because of their inherent selfishness, although he did worry about that. And not because thoughts of this nature made him feel foolish and lonely, though of course they did. When most people prayed like this, they knew they might not get what they wanted. They’d make do with finding some solace in their prayers, a bit of strength to go out and get what they wanted for themselves.
Jud’s best kept secret was that sometimes his prayers came true. Not all of them, of course. Fewer than he would have liked. But this one prayer… there was something about it. He’d skirt around it for as long as he could, for weeks, months even, because as soon as he dared touch it, it burned hot and ready.
A miracle at his fingertips.
Jud shuddered, suddenly a little dizzy. There was something dangerous about praying to something — someone — that actually listened.
But he’d had a week. He was going to permit himself this. Even if he regretted it later.
Please, he begged. Please.
A minute later, Jud opened his eyes and squinted about the room. The same well-dressed people floated about him, chatting animatedly, laughing too loudly. But the air between them had begun to change. There was a lag to it, as if everybody was moving in slow motion. Or underwater.
The sluggish crowd parted just enough for Jud to be able to peek into the balcony on the opposite side of where he stood by the wall. Surely enough, among the cookie-cutter people in black, a shock of light: a man in a champagne suit. Jud couldn’t see his face, but he would have recognized that immaculate tailoring anywhere.
He was half-shrouded by white smoke, moving his cigar between his fingers as he idly listened to his companions.
Jud stared at the man’s back. His heart ached.
Turn around. Please see me.
He could feel the moment the man sensed Jud’s gaze, tension springing up in his spine, straightening his shoulders.
He slowly began turning around.
Jud’s heart sped up.
Blanc’s eyes met Jud’s as soon as he’d turned in his direction. Upon recognizing him, he smiled.
There you are.
Jud felt himself smile back.
Thank God.
Blanc put out his cigar and shook off his balcony chums with ease, barely breaking eye contact with Jud as he did. He then slowly, elaborately walked across the room to where Jud stood. Jud watched him approach, bracing himself, reminding himself to breathe.
“Father Jud,” Blanc said in that smooth voice of his. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Jud ducked his head. “Hey, Blanc,” he said, formalities long-forgotten. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Neither did I,” Blanc admitted, and did not elaborate further. His eyes scanned Jud from head to toe, the way they always did when they hadn’t seen each other in a while. Jud let the detective collect his deductions, willing himself not to flush under his gaze.
He cleared his throat.
“So, did you have a good —”
“How have you been holdin’ — oh —”
They both laughed awkwardly. Blanc hid his smile behind his drink. He looked away from Jud and into the crowd, and Jud missed having those eyes on him with an immediacy that should have frightened him. Under the guise of shuffling his feet, he inched closer to the man next to him.
“Decent turnout,” he commented.
“Mmm,” Blanc hummed noncommittally. He eyed Jud’s hands at the table. Jud watched him set his glass down next to his. Their fingers almost brushed. Jud scrambled for something else to say.
“Did, um, did the Bishop tell you —”
“I’m just passin’ through, actually,” Blanc interrupted. “I’ve got somewhere to be, oh,” he checked his watch with a grimace, “twenty minutes ago.”
Jud’s heart sank. “Oh.”
Blanc nodded sadly. “Yeah… I’d invite ya along, but —”
Jud perked up. “Really? I mean, if it isn’t —”
“You’d — you’d want to? You sure?”
“Yeah, anything,” Jud breathed. He was so ready to leave that he didn’t even feel embarrassed at his eagerness. “I’m sorry, this is all just so freakin’ boring —”
Blanc laughed. He gave Jud an appraising look, his face truly opening for the first time since he’d walked up to him. Jud grinned at him, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.
“Eh, sure, why not. Hell,” he paused with a smirk, eyeing Jud’s collar. “You’re even sorta dressed for it.”
Jud blinked. “I am?”
“You’ll see.”
Blanc downed his drink, then gestured for Jud to do the same. Jud obeyed, the dark liquor burning his throat. He coughed. Blanc patted him on the shoulder, eyes crinkling fondly.
“C’mon, Padre. Let’s get you outta here.”
And if anyone noticed Father Jud leave with Benoit Blanc, they didn’t react. It was, after all, not an uncommon sight.
**
Blanc’s mysterious event was all the way in Hell’s Kitchen, apparently. The detective hailed them a $90 Uber, shutting down Jud’s offer to split the fare.
“Unless you’ve cashed in a certain jewel, I don’t wanna hear it.”
Jud laughed nervously at that, his stomach swooping whenever Blanc acknowledged their shared secret. It didn’t happen often. But there was something about Blanc tonight, something restless and thrill-seeking. Or at least that was how he seemed to Jud. He had witnessed Blanc in several vastly different moods by now, and always found himself curious about what got him there.
“Are you working on a case at the moment?” he asked him while they waited.
Blanc’s head did something between a headshake and a nod. “Oh, y’know. There’s always somethin’ to poke at.”
Jud’s chewed his cheek. The man was so stingy with information. He put his hands in his pockets, wondering if he should keep prodding. He knew he probably shouldn’t. He decided to anyway.
“How’s Phillip?”
Blanc shot him a look. Jud just blinked at him innocently.
“Phillip’s fine,” Blanc said, “I’m sure.” Then, after a beat, “How’s God?”
“God is great.”
Blanc rolled his eyes. “So I keep hearin’,” he said, putting out his cigar on the heel of his leather Chelsea boot. Their ride was here.
Sitting next to Blanc in the back of a car in the dark was strangely nerve-wracking, feeling illicit even though it was just a rideshare to a second event. They barely spoke, both of them far too aware of the driver.
Jud kept sneaking glances at Blanc, who stared resolutely out the window. Skin buzzing, Jud closed his eyes and willed the minutes to go faster, eager to find out where Blanc was taking him.
The car pulled up by — a church? A small one, sandwiched between two tall buildings. Its windows glowed pink in the night. Blanc made his way up the stairs, not waiting to see if Jud would follow.
Jud stared up at him from the sidewalk, mouth hanging slightly open.
This can’t be right.
“Blanc?” he called out uncertainly, “Where are we?”
“St. Luke’s, I believe,” Blanc said, easy smile still in place. He looked around, then loudly knocked on the church door. The door window opened a moment later, the muffled sound of music spilling out into the night.
“Whozzit?” said a raspy female voice.
“Uh, Stanley Kowalski,” said Blanc.
The raspy voice laughed.
“Yippee! See me around the back, NOLA man.”
Blanc spun around the back, Jud following him with a deepening frown.
“Blanc, is this — what is this?” He glanced up at the windows, their pinkness slowly turning blue. “Is it a party?”
“In a sense, yes,” Blanc said. He dug up a key under a rock, unlocking the gate to the church courtyard. “More of a funeral, really.”
“A funeral? What do you —”
“All shall be revealed,” Blanc looked back at him with a smirk, and Jud realized he was being messed with. He glared. He’d been hoping to spend some more straightforward time with Blanc, not whatever this was.
And at another church?
He tried to find words of protest again, but Blanc just laughed at his pout and waved him off.
The back gate opened. A woman in a full-body suit of armor appeared from the darkness, waiting for them.
“The prodigal son returns,” she announced to nobody. “Didn’t think you’d make it, Benny.”
Benny? Jud mouthed at Blanc, who firmly shook his head. Don’t even think about it.
“Sorry, Tash. I got a lil’, uh,” he paused with another glance at Jud, “Held up.”
Seemingly satisfied with his explanation, the lady knight led them across the small courtyard and through a wooden door, her armor clanking with every step.
A blast of psychedelic ‘60s music hit Jud’s eardrums. He wrung his hands nervously. So it was a party.
The woman removed her helmet, a shock of curly red hair falling on her shoulders. She turned to look at them.
“Okay, love your costume,” she said to Jud. “Simple, yet thematically appropriate.” Then she glared at Blanc. “But you! Where’s your freakin’ sense of whimsy, old man? This ain’t like you.”
Blanc sighed tiredly. “I’ve had a long week, Natasha,” he admitted. Jud looked at Blanc curiously, pocketing that kernel of information for later. That makes two of us.
Natasha just shook her head and grabbed Blanc by the arm. “Don’t care. No costume, no entry. Get in there and pick something out.”
She shoved them both into what appeared to be a storage room and shut the door behind them.
Jud blinked, eyes adjusting to the dim light. The long, narrow room was indeed full of props and costumes. And not Spirit Halloween costumes, either. Bona fide, theatre-ready, high-quality costumes.
“Woah,” Jud said, touching the intricate fabric of an embroidered corset. “Blanc, what is this? Where are we?”
“We,” Blanc said, turning around to look at Jud with a flourish, “are at The Playhouse. An 1850s Baptist church repurposed as a theatre. It’s been an off-Broadway staple since the ‘90s. The 1990s, that is. Or, well, it used to be,” Blanc sighed. “It went bankrupt. They’re shuttin’ her down. This party is, uh, the final curtain call, I suppose you might say.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s alright. Such is the nature of these establishments. Hope you, uh, don’t mind the party of it all.”
“Not at all,” Jud said, although he wasn’t sure if that was true.
Blanc didn’t look convinced either; his smile had an edge of challenge to it. But he said nothing, instead turning away from Jud and roaming around, running his clever hands along the rows of costumes.
Jud looked past Blanc, taking it all in; the room was dim, but everything was perfectly visible thanks to the neon signs on the walls. There was everything from a bar sign, to a pink GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS sign, to a large cross changing different LED colors at the very end of the long room. The combination of neons evened out into a bluish-purplish glow, with the cross adding a bit of red every now and then.
“Props?”
“Oh, those, yes,” Blanc nodded. Then, pointing at the neon cross in the far corner, “You might be able to haggle for this one, if you want it.”
Jud considered scoffing, but there was something magnetic about the cross. He walked up towards it, towards the brightest area in the room. There was a full body mirror on the opposite wall, enhancing its glow even more.
Next to the mirror, a cloud of white caught Jud’s eye. A pair of angel wings. Gorgeously crafted, too, unlike any of the cheap ones he’d seen before. They were made of real feathers, silky under the touch. A little greyed up and dusty, upon closer inspection, but still beautiful.
He took the wings and walked back up to Blanc, who was removing his blazer to try on a bloodied lab coat. Jud caught a glimpse of suspenders and his arms began working of their own volition, enveloping Blanc.
“What —”
“Wait,” he said softly. “Hold still.”
He carefully attached the wings onto Blanc’s shoulders. They aligned perfectly with his suspenders.
“I think this is it,” Jud breathed, stepping back.
Blanc spun around to look at his wings. “Hey, now,” he said, voice a little gruff.
Jud winced. “Sorry. I can take them off if you want, I just —”
“No, no,” Blanc said, brushing his hands away. “Just — you really had to pick this out of —”
“Ohoho, throwback!”
Jud and Blanc jumped. The knight lady, Natasha, had reappeared by the doorway.
“Did you know, Benny here was our first off-Broadway Joe Pitt?”
“Um, really?” Jud said politely, not knowing who that was. He looked at Blanc, picturing him on a stage. It was very easy. “Wow.”
Natasha squinted at him. “You don’t know Angels in America,” she deduced. She turned to look at Blanc. “He doesn’t know Angels — Ben, where’d you find this guy?”
“Church,” Blanc said curtly, checking himself out in the mirror. He straightened up, puffed his chest, shimmied a bit. Jud watched him do it all with a smile. Blanc liked how the wings looked, after all. Good to know.
The detective caught his gaze and rolled his eyes, but he was smirking too.
“Oy vey,” groaned Natasha. “Alright. Here,” she said, slamming a DVD set into Jud’s stomach, which he received with an ‘oof’, “educate yourself.”
Jud looked at the set. “Angels in America… HBO?”
“Gimme that,” Blanc said, and promptly discarded the CDs. “Best way to experience a play is on stage, Tash, you know that,” he scolded her. Then, quietly and just to Jud, “I can take you to see it sometime. If you want.”
“I — sure, yeah,” Jud said, feeling a little shy. They’d never gone out to see a play before. Most of their — meetings — outside of Jud’s rectory tended to be kind of spontaneous. Like today. “I’d love to.”
They walked out of the storage room. An ethereal girl appeared next to Natasha. She was dressed in a floaty floral costume, like something out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“Jud, this is Greta. She was the—”
But the fairy lady ignored the niceties, instead choosing to wordlessly get all up in Blanc and Jud’s space. She stared deeply into both their eyes. Her pupils were blown. She caressed their faces, trailing behind a trace of glitter. Blanc and Jud sputtered, moving away from her in tandem.
“Oh, gosh,” Jud said. He rubbed his eyes, which only made the glitter get stuck in his eyelashes. He squinted over at Blanc, wondering how he was going to explain being covered in glitter back at the rectory tomorrow.
But then he caught sight of the detective and promptly decided he didn’t care. Blanc looked lovely. Angelic and sparkling in the dim light.
It took Jud a few seconds to realize that while he stared at Blanc, Blanc was also staring up at him, similarly mesmerized.
Jud felt his cheeks heat up.
Natasha clapped her hands, snapping them out of it. “Alright! Okay. Awesome, thank you Greta,” she said to the floaty girl. Then, with a knightly bow towards the main door, “Now you may enter.”
**
It was unlike any church space Jud had ever seen before. It was covered in velvet, awash in repurposed stage lights. People wandered about chaotically, no order to them. There wasn’t much by way of christian imagery, either, aside from the odd mask in the crowd. Pride flags hung where the iconography would normally be.
A shadowy demonic figure wandered past, horns nearly grazing Jud’s head. He flinched. He had never seen so many convincing costumes in one place.
He thumbed at his collar. Blanc’s hand appeared on his arm, the weight of it reassuringly leading him through the crowd. Jud was grateful for it.
The music didn’t help the eerie atmosphere. Jefferson Airplane with the loudest bass Jud had ever heard. It reverberated in his throat like a dry-swallowed pill.
He willed himself to be normal. Parties were just not something he associated with — with nice things. Parties were where drugs lived. And brash men. And — and loss of control.
He tried to remind himself that this was different. This was now, not then. This was Blanc and his harmless theatre people. Jud was safe. He knew he was safe.
He took another shaky breath.
They walked past the theatre stage, which was now repurposed as a dance floor. For a moment, Jud got worried Blanc would make him get up there and dance. He glanced at Blanc, alarmed, but Blanc just chuckled and shook his head. He handed him a shot glass. The liquid in it looked fluorescent under the lights. Jud downed it.
Blanc introduced him to a few people, and they all seemed very interesting, but the music was so loud, and the costumes so disorienting, that all Jud could do was smile and nod. His entire focus was on Blanc’s hand on his back, firm and constant. It grounded him.
Jud let himself lean further into Blanc. He cherished every glimpse of his world the detective chose to share, and everyone here was really lovely, but what he’d been hoping for was some quality time with Blanc. Somewhere quiet. And private.
Somewhere they could — catch up.
Jud took another fluorescent shot, doing his best to ignore his increasingly shallow breathing. He was spacing out so hard.
He hadn’t really felt drunk before now, not even tipsy, but the last shot made him kind of woozy. He ought to have asked what was in it. What if it was — what if someone spiked —
As usual, Blanc read him like an open book. “Doin’ alright?”
“Uh-huh,” Jud said unconvincingly.
“Uh-huh,” Blanc parroted, eyes shimmering with glitter and amusement. “Wanna go get some air?”
Jud squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, please.”
With nothing else but a sympathetic ‘tsk, Blanc swiped a bottle of gin from the bar and proceeded to lead Jud up a flight of stairs. At the top, he felt around in the dark and easily propped open an attic door, leading them up to the roof.
Fresh air. Streetlights. The polluted night sky of New York. Jud took a deep breath, taking it all in. He already felt a bit better.
But Blanc wasn’t done fidgeting. The roof space wasn’t so much a rooftop as a small area around the church tower, with barely enough room for two people to stand on.
So Blanc didn’t stop there, instead hopping from the uneven church roof onto the fire escape of the building next to the church.
Jud’s mouth hung open. He’d never seen the detective do something so athletic before. Hoisting himself up onto the fire escape one-armed, wings on his back, gin bottle dangling from his other hand… he might as well have floated.
Blanc landed with a flourish, then turned around to look at him expectantly. Jud shook himself and followed suit. To his relief, his long legs and free hands made the climb a much simpler ordeal than it had looked.
Blanc hummed appreciatively, watching him approach. Jud straightened up with ease, strangely proud of himself.
They were really close for a moment, chests nearly bumping. But then Blanc spun around again — his wings nearly slapping Jud across the face — and began climbing two stairs at a time.
“Sorry, should’a told ya it was a party,” Blanc grunted out an apology as they dragged themselves higher and higher up the fire escape. “Figured a change of scenery might do you some good.”
A change of scenery? You took me to a church. But Jud just shook his head.
“You’re fine. I just… I don’t do great in crowds,” he said. He was too out of breath to add anything else.
**
They were both dead on their feet by the time they made it to the rooftop.
“Hoo,” Blanc said, promptly sitting down on the parapet that separated them from the ledge of the building. “These lungs ain’t what they used to be.”
“Hoo,” Jud hooted back in agreement, “yeah.” He gingerly brought himself down to his knees in front of Blanc, breathing heavily, heart pounding from the exertion. Those sure were some 12 flights of stairs they’d just climbed.
Blanc uncorked the gin bottle and took a large, sloppy sip. Licking his dry lips, Jud watched a little bit dribble down Blanc’s throat, staining his tie. He could hardly wait his turn, grabbing the bottle from Blanc’s hand the second he began to lower it. He gulped it down like it was water, he was so parched.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” Blanc leaned forward and reached back for the bottle. “Slow down there now, son.” His hand covered Jud’s, their first proper skin-on-skin touch of the night. Jud shuddered.
Blanc’s hand squeezed Jud’s for a moment, then pried the bottle from underneath. Jud let it happen, too tired to argue. He wiped his mouth and sat back on his legs, eyeing Blanc with the smallest hint of petulance.
But Blanc just side-eyed him and set the bottle aside.
A companionable silence stretched out for a moment, both of them taking in the New York cityscape. Jud listened to the familiar sounds of traffic and clamor. Part of him still yearned for the city. Chimney Rock tended to be very quiet. Eerily so, at times.
“So,” Jud began once his breathing finally steadied, “you used to be an actor?”
Blanc snorted. “No, no,” he said, then pulled his cigar pack out of his pocket. “The stage just has its way of findin’ me sometimes.”
Jud bit his lip, remembering Blanc’s over-the-top dramatics back at Our Lady. “I can see that.”
“What about you?” Blanc asked. “Ever give actin’ a go?”
Jud shook his head. “Never on a stage, no. Well, unless we start counting my sermons.”
Blanc raised an eyebrow. “Should we?”
“No,” Jud said quickly, realizing how he was making it sound. “No, not at all. I’m not pretending up there, but —”
“But it is a stage,” Blanc said, placing a cigar between his teeth, “and you are performin’.”
“I guess, yeah,” Jud agreed. “But it’s a lot closer to what musicians do, I think, spiritually. Not actors. No offense.”
“Why on earth would I take offense?” Blanc shot back through a cloud of smoke. “I ain’t an actor.”
Jud waved the smoke away before it could reach his nostrils. “Right. Sure.”
They eyed each other. Blanc’s eyes still danced with amusement, but there was something else there. A frustration. Jud knew his stare probably mirrored it.
He wanted Blanc to tell him about his past. He wanted to know what this church — this theatre — really meant to him. What he’d been up to in the weeks since they’d last seen each other. What he’d done this week that made it feel so long.
Jud wanted to know everything. But Blanc expertly dodged his questions, somehow making Jud the one constantly giving away more than he intended to.
It was maddening.
Even now, Blanc was the one to break eye-contact. He stood up and turned half-away from Jud, blowing his smoke towards the city, placing one foot onto the low parapet.
He looked heroic and otherworldly like this, silvery-blonde hair and dusty angel wings nearly the exact same color, both swaying gently in the light wind. His leg muscles created a tantalizing outline in his perfectly-tailored trousers.
Jud’s mouth watered. He straightened up slowly, reaching for the bottle next to Blanc’s pristine Chelsea boot. Blanc looked down at him.
“Pace yourself with that,” he ordered lightly.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Jud replied, just as lightly. He didn’t sit back, opting to take a swig right there, between Blanc’s legs.
“Hmm,” Blanc hummed, watching him for a moment. Then he abruptly raised his other foot onto the parapet, wobbling as he balanced himself on the narrow surface.
“Blanc, what the — be careful,” Jud dropped the bottle, sputtering. His mind supplied him with several dozen intrusive thoughts of Blanc plummeting off the ledge and to his death, fake wings limp and useless behind him.
And Blanc, of course, was reading his mind. “You give a man wings,” he said cheerily, tight-roping along the edge of the building. Jud stood up on instinct, following him. “He’ll start gettin’ delusions of grandeur —”
“That’s not what — you don’t have to — you actually love stressing me out, don’t you, Blanc?” Jud said, the heat in his voice rising.
“What gave me away?” Blanc asked over his shoulder.
“Jeez, I wonder,” Jud said. His heart thrummed in his throat whenever Blanc took another step along the ledge. “Let me count the ways.”
Jud thought of the smell of the morgue. Samson’s blood on his hands. Martha’s body, limp in his arms. The horned apparitions at the church downstairs. And Blanc always there, always literally at the scene of the crime. An angel of death, prying Jud’s eyes open. Forcing him to bear witness.
“Oh! And he knows his sonnets,” Blanc stopped in his tracks, laughing freely. “Our intrepid non-actor.”
Sonnets? Jud frowned.
“To the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight / For the ends of being and ideal grace,” Blanc recited in his lovely southern lilt, jogging Jud’s memory.
Oh. Browning. Jud had accidentally quoted Browning.
How do I love thee?
They glared at each other, the unspoken verses electrifying the already taut air between them.
Jud let out a shaky breath. He reached for Blanc and grabbed a fistful of suspender, hoping to at least stabilize him on the safer side of the ledge.
Blanc wouldn’t budge. Grandiose and unmoving, he kept hovering over him.
Jud’s stomach bubbled with anger. He’d half-forgotten how frustrating the detective could be. He took a step closer, fingers twisting the elastic of Blanc’s suspender, tightening it. Blanc’s shoulder hunched slightly under Jud’s weight, wings slipping to one side.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints.
“It’s not — it doesn’t apply,” Jud said nonsensically. Then, more forcefully than he’d intended, “I shall not love thee better after death.”
Blanc scoffed. “Oh, bullshit.”
Then he bent down and kissed him.
Barely pausing to process or kiss back, Jud used the moment to finally pull Blanc towards him, ushering him off the ledge and into the safety of his arms. Blanc followed easily, and then didn’t stop pushing into him, walking them both into the nearest — and only — wall; a tall, red-bricked rectangle stabilizing the building’s water tower.
Jud let himself get pressed against it. He let himself get cornered. Better this than — than whatever that was.
“What the hell, Blanc” he hissed into Blanc’s mouth, fists still holding onto his suspenders for dear life. “What the hell was that?”
“Thought I’d show ya my best Father Jud impression,” Blanc breathed back. “Didn’t feel too good, bein’ on the receivin’ end, did it?”
Jud broke off the kiss to look at Blanc. His expression wasn’t what he’d expected to find. He looked — strange. Hurt, almost. Jud flinched.
God, what am I doing you?
He felt a pang of guilt so strong it made him want to walk away from this, from all of it. Go back home and hide. He began moving away.
But Blanc stopped him. He sprung an arm up, keeping Jud from sliding away, boxing him in. He pressed his other hand against Jud’s chest and pinned him firmly back against the wall.
Jud stopped trying to wiggle away, instead grabbing hold of the arms grabbing hold of him. There. Now they were both trapped.
Blanc was still looking at him like it hurt, even as he tangled their limbs together. Like every inch of his body was trying — failing — to resist the collision.
Jud knew the feeling.
He reached out and gingerly touched Blanc’s tie with one finger.
Kiss me again, he begged him wordlessly. Please. I’ll be ready this time.
And thankfully, Blanc heard the unspoken part. As always.
It was in slow motion again. Their collision. Even after their lips brushed, they stayed suspended, breathing into each other’s mouths. It wasn’t until Jud licked his own lips, tongue grazing Blanc’s mouth in the process, that something finally activated. Blanc let out a huff and bit into Jud’s mouth in earnest, tongue searching his, groaning lightly when he found it.
Jud opened up and lost himself in it immediately.
There it is. All his selfish prayers. He was the answer.
He was always the answer.
He pulled Blanc impossibly closer, clawed at him, at his back, at his wings. God, his wings. He bit Blanc’s bottom lip, self-control slipping. Blanc gasped in surprise, pulled at Jud’s hair, rewarded him with a leg he could grind on.
Delirious, Jud wondered what it might mean for his chastity if he came just from being kissed senseless against a wall.
Not that it mattered anymore, far gone as they both were in this… whatever it was.
It wasn’t the first time they’d ended up like this, tangled in each other. Far from it. It always felt both new and final, somehow, but this was a song and dance he and Blanc had kept finding themselves in from the moment they’d met. It was only a matter of how far they were willing to push it.
They’d pushed it quite far, a few times. Very far.
Not far enough.
A metallic rumble reached Jud’s ears. Some distance away from them, the fire escape was clanging with footsteps. Blanc pulled apart from Jud with a pained groan and shuffled them both further away from view.
Two actors from the party appeared to have had the same idea as Blanc, climbing all the way up to the rooftop for some privacy. They seemed drunk, giggly. For a moment Jud was scared he’d have to add voyeurism to his list of sins for the night, but then they pulled out large pieces of paper and started shouting at each other.
It appeared that they’d climbed up to the rooftop to rehearse.
Blanc listened for a bit, then chuckled to himself.
“Godot,” he said. “Figures.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jud whispered, voice a little shrill. “I know that one.”
Blanc looked back up at him. His hair was a mess. His pupils looked huge, not unlike the high fairy down at the party. He cupped Jud through his pants, a question in his eyes. This okay?
Jud closed his eyes, grinding against Blanc’s palm on instinct. He swallowed. He felt hot all over — it was more than okay.
But he shook his head. I can’t. I can’t get caught.
Blanc nodded, understanding. He put a finger to his mouth, fixed his hair, straightened Jud’s bunched up blazer. Then he took him by the wrist and gently led him out from behind their hiding place.
The door to the building was on the other side of their little wall. With any luck, the actors wouldn’t notice them.
And they didn’t, far too drunk and fixated on their own little bubble of absurdist theatre. Jud quietly crossed himself, relieved beyond measure.
**
They took the elevator on the way down, and Jud was grateful for the enclosed space. He was still nervous and on edge from almost getting caught, but that didn’t deter him from wanting Blanc. It gave him a renewed sense of urgency, if anything. He was hoping, praying, that Blanc wouldn’t cut them off there.
Jud nuzzled into his detective. His detective just stood there, watching the floors change.
“Blanc,” he said softly into his neck, fully aware of how pathetic he sounded. “Can we still — where can we —”
“I’ll think of somethin’,” Blanc said gruffly. He put a hand around Jud’s waist and hooked it around his belt loop. For a moment, Jud could almost pretend he really was in costume, and this was a party he’d go to, and the man in the angel wings was his boyfriend. And he was taking him home.
His brain sounded off alarms. Danger. Dangerous path. Walk that thought back immediately.
Forgive me, he thought desperately. Forgive me, Father. I don’t mean it.
But even as he said that to God, his lips found Blanc’s ear, whispering an even more desperate please.
Blanc squeezed his hip and turned to kiss his forehead. “It’s alright, now. Come on.”
The elevator doors dinged and came open. The men inside pulled apart.
They walked out into the night, more than a little disoriented.
Blanc paused, scratching his head. “Uh, hang on,” he said, then began walking back up to the church stairs. “I gotta —”
Jud winced. “Back there? Don’t you think it’s —”
“I need to return these, don’t I?” Blanc said, pointing at his wings.
“You do?” Jud said, disappointed.
“Yep. Come on.”
With a huff, Jud followed him back inside the church.
The space looked a little emptier. Natasha was nowhere to be seen. The music had slowed in tempo, too, more seductive than before. The remaining guests were either slow-dancing or lounging about the mismatched seats and furniture, Lou Reed sneering over them:
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash, girlchild, in the dark
Jud suppressed a shudder. He was starting to space out again. He turned his focus onto Blanc’s firm grip on his wrist as he led him across the church, making a beeline to the storage room. Jud followed closely behind, practically hanging off Blanc’s back. Once they got there, Jud noticed something hanging off the knob.
“Blanc, look,” Jud gasped. “It has a key.”
“So?” Blanc said, hands already working the wing straps. Then, “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Jud breathed. “Unless — unless you think it’s a bad idea —”
But Blanc just pulled him close and shoved him into the room. He grabbed the keys and locked the door from the inside. After a beat, he pulled open a folding chair and placed it beneath the knob. For extra safety.
Jud and Blanc looked at each other. It became clear as day: this was as alone as they would get tonight.
Being alone with Blanc felt unlike anything Jud had ever experienced in his life. The energy between them was always intense, but alone? Truly alone? It turned into something else entirely. It honestly frightened him a little.
It unnerved Blanc, too. Jud could tell. He could see it now, in how heavily Blanc breathed, in the shaky uncertainty of his movements even as his eyes drank Jud in hungrily. He was looking for reasons to stop. He always did.
Jud didn’t want to let him.
He reached out to pull at his suspender, an echo of their embrace on the rooftop. Blanc raised an eyebrow. Jud smiled. He let the suspender snap into place. Blanc flinched.
“Oops, sorry—” was all Jud managed to say before Blanc was back on him.
He was a lot more rough now, tucked away from New York’s prying eyes. He shoved Jud into the prop shelves behind him; Jud could already feel bruises blooming on his back. The thought made him grin into the kiss. He knew this side of Blanc very well, and was probably one of the rare few people who did. He loved it.
The furthest corner of the narrow room had a vague nest of tulle and other fabrics. Jud let himself get pushed down onto it, pulling Blanc on top of him as he fell. He felt like he was laying on a cloud. If clouds smelled musty and damp. He pulled Blanc closer, inhaling him instead.
Blanc pressed his entire weight against Jud, covering what he could reach of his neck with kisses and bites. Jud felt his collar dampen, unsure if it was from sweat or from Blanc’s mouth. Likely both.
Another full-body shiver. Jud turned his head to the side to give Blanc more access, and was suddenly faced with himself.
The tall mirror pointed their way, showing Jud exactly what he looked like. Splayed out in a nest of shimmering fabrics, winged man above him ravishing his neck. The sight was insane. Jud moaned louder than he had all night. Blanc took notice.
He followed Jud’s eyeline.
“Oh,” Blanc breathed. He was probably aiming for idly amused, but it came off ragged. Busted. “Enjoyin’ the view?”
Jud looked away, feeling caught.
Blanc cupped his face, forcing Jud to look at him. “Yeah?”
Jud nodded slightly.
“Good,” Blanc said, and Jud could tell the clockwork of his brain was shifting into gear. “Very good.”
He abruptly got up, abandoning Jud in the tulle. Jud looked up at him in confusion.
Blanc was unbuttoning his sleeves, rolling them up.
“Come here,” he pointed in front of the mirror.
Jud made to stand up. “No need for that,” Blanc said sharply. His voice was taking on a quality that always made Jud’s throat close up. “It’s a small space. You can scoot.”
He said scoot, but what he meant was crawl. Jud swallowed and did as he was told. He was now on his knees, facing the mirror. He looked young and spooked in the bluish light.
Blanc walked up behind Jud and placed his fingers in his hair. Jud’s eyes fell closed.
“Nuh-uh,” Blanc said, pulling at Jud’s curls lightly. “Open ‘em.”
It was a struggle, but Jud managed to obey. They did look quite enrapturing like this: a priest on his knees, his guardian angel hovering closely behind. The neon cross on the wall silhouetted them both.
Blanc moved closer, pulling Jud back by the hair as he did, making him arch his back. He leaned the back of Jud’s head onto his thigh.
Jud turned to the side, trying to nuzzle into his crotch, but Blanc shoved his head away. “Not yet.”
Instead, Blanc got on his knees behind Jud with a small huff, enveloping him. It looked like they both had wings, now. The same set.
Blanc admired the view for a second, then he went back to work on Jud’s neck. Right hand roaming, left hand still in his hair.
Jud was starting to feel overwhelmed. It was too much. He kept trying to turn away, burrow into Blanc’s neck for safety, but Blanc forced his head back every time. Jud whimpered helplessly. He watched Blanc’s hand wander down his chest, caress his ribs, press down on his stomach, then go lower…
Blanc unbuttoned his fly and reached inside, cupping him. Jud did squeeze his eyes shut, then, unable to cope with what was coming.
Nibbling on his ear, Blanc whispered, “Keep ‘em open, now. Don’t wanna miss the good part.”
But Jud kind of did. He needed plausible deniability if he was going to keep his sanity intact. Seeing it all like this, it was — it was the opposite of that. The image would be etched behind his eyelids forever.
“Good,” Blanc said, as if once again reading his mind. But really he was just praising Jud for opening his eyes. For doing as he was told. “There's a good boy.”
Well, that changed things. Jud keened under the praise, legs widening further where he knelt. Blanc chuckled, remembering the rules of their little game.
“You wanna be good for me?” Blanc asked. Jud nodded. “Alright, then. Give me a kiss.”
Jud turned his head, opening up for Blanc’s tongue. Blanc used the distraction to start getting him off in earnest; it sent a shock up Jud’s chest, the kind he hadn’t felt in a while. He moaned loudly, breaking off the kiss to look back at the mirror.
Blanc chuckled. “Thought you didn’t wanna see,” he said. But then he turned to look, and his breath caught, too.
They both watched. They got lost in it. Performing for each other, for themselves. A whole story captured in this one image. A priest on his knees, held upright by an angel. No, a man. Blanc’s manly, muscular arm working between Jud’s legs, pumping him, the act almost visible — although not quite.
Feeling crazed, Jud did it himself. He found feeling in his limp arms and pulled his pants down a bit lower. He wanted to see. He needed to see.
They were both gone after that moment. Whatever illusion of artfulness and performance they’d been clinging to — it evaporated. Frenzied with pleasure, Jud watched his cock move in and out of view as he rocked his hips, caught between Blanc’s hand and Blanc’s hard-on that kept tantalizingly poking against his tailbone.
And Blanc was losing it too, clinging onto Jud, watching his hand bring him closer and closer to oblivion.
“You look so good, son,” he whispered. “We should — I ought to fuck you like this.”
“You — you are,” Jud managed. Blanc’s tight grip on him was almost painful. It was amazing. He felt plenty fucked.
Blanc grunted with frustration, his grip faltering for a moment. “You know what I mean.”
Jud gasped and nodded. He did know. He could see it so easily. It didn’t strain the imagination, it was already exactly what it looked like. But picturing Blanc inside him, all the way inside, was actually unbearable. Jud squirmed. It almost felt real, like he’d somehow just wished it into happening. He swore he could feel it. He could feel Blanc move inside him.
He met Blanc’s piercing eyes in the mirror, and suddenly it was genuinely, actually too much. The eye contact made everything else feel too real; Blanc’s muscled arms, the menacing wings, the glowing cross. It made Jud freeze up. Blanc’s stare pinned him into place, in his snare, at his mercy.
Jud felt his muscles tense up uncomfortably, like earlier, at the party. Something hot and oppressive sprung up from where Blanc was touching him. It spiked up his chest and all the way to his throat; his breathing was getting really shallow. I think I’m having a panic attack. He grasped at Blanc with useless hands, wide-eyed and helpless, unable to communicate it.
Blanc grinned hungrily at Jud’s despair and pulled him flush against his chest, holding him upright. His hips moved roughly against his back, his grunts in Jud’s ear growing louder. The loudest he’d ever heard them.
Jud closed his eyes, then. He decided to trust in Blanc’s pleasure, if not his own. He relinquished what little control he had left, and let himself get taken apart.
His orgasm snuck up on him almost immediately. He didn’t feel ready at all; he’d thought it was just his anxiety that was rising. It shot out of him with a surprised spasm, a few droplets reaching the mirror.
Jud slumped against Blanc, a puppet with its strings cut. They both breathed for a moment.
Jud trembled. He could barely feel his body. He could only tell he was trembling because Blanc’s strong, steady arms held him so tightly that the contrast was unignorable.
The music filled his ears again. Right. There were other people here. He reached down and zipped himself back up with a shaky hand.
He turned to look at Blanc, who looked like a gaping wound.
“That was — hmm,” Blanc cleared his throat. “I should —”
“Blanc,” Jud said, reaching up to touch him. “Please.” God, his voice was wrecked.
But Blanc was already pulling away. He stood up, leaving Jud on the floor.
“We need to — we’ve gotta go,” he muttered. “You’ve got a train to catch.”
Not trusting his legs to handle standing up yet and at a loss for what else to do, Jud grabbed hold of Blanc’s leg.
“Please, Blanc,” he said again. His forehead met Blanc’s knee. “Not yet. Please.”
Above him, he heard Blanc sigh shakily.
“What the hell are we doin’ here, Jud?” he asked. “No, really. Truthfully. What are we doin’?”
A spark of anger ignited in Jud’s stomach, shaking him from his daze a little bit. For once, he welcomed it. It brought him back to himself.
“I wouldn’t know, Blanc,” he said quietly, blinking up at the detective. “Because whenever I try to talk to you about it, you slip away.”
Blanc met his eyes, jaw working.
“And now, when you have me right where you want me,” Jud continued, nuzzling deeper into his thigh for emphasis, “now you wanna talk?”
Blanc’s chest heaved. “I never said — I’m just tryin’ to —”
“You’re trying to punish yourself,” Jud cut him off softly. “And trust me, I get that.” Then, because nothing else seemed to be working, “You know, I’ve never told you this. But I think you’d make a great priest.”
That got him, alright. Blanc sputtered and scoffed, his hands finding their way back to Jud’s hair immediately, pulling at it harshly, trying to get him upright. But now it was Jud’s turn not to budge. He stood his ground like a petulant child, only allowing Blanc to tilt his head up.
“You,” Blanc said accusingly, fingers digging into Jud’s jaw. “Are a real piece of work.”
“That’s right,” Jud said, voice uneven. His body still shook with tremors from what Blanc had done to it a minute before. “What are you gonna do about it?”
For a minute it seemed like Blanc was gearing up for an actual brawl, but at that, he abruptly deflated. He leaned against the wall, fight leaving his body.
“As if I’m the one callin’ the shots here,” he shook his head.
“I like it when you do.”
“Sure you do,” Blanc shot back. “When it suits you.”
“Well,” Jud said, a little baffled. “Yeah?”
Blanc looked like he was going to say something else, but then closed his mouth. He shook his head again, putting his hand on Jud’s head, petting him lightly. Jud leaned into the touch, tears of frustration stinging his eyes.
Why is talking to you so hard?
Blanc led his head back to his thigh. Jud sighed with relief, perking up. At least this is easy.
He cupped Blanc through his trousers.
“Can I?”
“Yes, yes,” Blanc said irritably. “Gotta shut you up somehow.”
Jud rolled his eyes. He began pulling Blanc’s zipper down with his teeth, looking up at him as he did.
Blanc’s nostrils flared.
Jud took his time nosing and mouthing at him through his underwear, his smile widening as Blanc visibly grew more impatient.
“Will you just —” Blanc said in a tight voice, and if Jud didn’t know any better he’d call it whiny, “get on with it.”
Jud did. He pulled down Blanc's snug briefs and took him in his mouth, as far as he could. He was salty and wet; rutting against Jud earlier must’ve gotten him very close. Jud moaned greedily at the thought.
He bobbed his head at a leisurely pace, waiting for direction from Blanc’s hand in his hair, ears perked up for sounds of encouragement.
But Blanc was strangely rigid. Jud glanced up at him. He was frowning at something in front of them. The mirror, Jud realized. He’s watching us.
Something was bothering him, and it quickly became clear what when Blanc abruptly reached up and tore off his wings with a huff, suspenders snapping off alongside them.
Jud flinched a little, but he didn’t mind; this gave him more room to pull Blanc’s pants down and really get to work.
But then Blanc’s shirt rode up, and Jud got distracted by the glimpse of navel. He put his hands under Blanc’s shirt, hiking it up higher, feeling his waist. His ribs. His chest.
Jud couldn’t help himself. He pulled off from Blanc’s cock and began licking a line up his stomach, Blanc's skin tingling with goosebumps beneath the scratch of Jud’s stubble.
“You’ve gotta be jokin’— ” was all Blanc managed before Jud remembered to go back to working him with his hand. Blanc gave a violent shiver, then, his head hitting the wall behind him. He liked Jud’s hands, Jud knew that much.
Jud started standing up, one knee at a time, gesturing for Blanc to unbutton his shirt — Jud’s hands were too busy groping Blanc to do it himself. And Blanc obeyed without protest, for once. He even undid his tie, his hands trembling.
Jud was springing up his body slowly, like a snake, enjoying the warmth emitting from Blanc’s chest, sighing into it. He couldn’t stop touching him.
If we had a bed to ourselves, I could do this for hours.
He was fully upright, now, teeth grazing Blanc’s bare neck, hand stroking him slow and steady. On his end, Blanc appeared determined not to breathe or make a sound. His body shook with the effort. He wouldn’t even touch Jud, hands fisted firmly at his sides.
This sudden façade didn’t deter Jud. On the contrary. He knew a challenge when he saw one.
He tried to meet Blanc’s eyes, but Blanc kept looking beyond him, presumably at the mirror. Jud sighed. He moved his lips to Blanc’s ear, nibbling it slightly.
He didn't know what he was going to say until he said it:
“Thank you,” he whispered, making his voice as vulnerable and soft as possible. “for everything you’ve done for me.”
Blanc gasped at that, finally snapping out of whatever spiral he was stuck in. His eyes met Jud’s at last, and there was that open look he’d been missing.
Jud smiled. Feeling triumphant, he sped up his strokes. “Thank you,” he said into his neck. “Thank you,” into his mouth. Again and again. “Thank you, thank you.”
Thank you.
That was all it took; Blanc’s resolve broke. He grabbed Jud by the scruff of his neck, pulled him closer, foreheads touching. He looked lost. Jud was drinking him in; his short thrusts into Jud’s fist and wrecked gasps into Jud’s mouth were already getting him half-hard again.
“Jud, I’m uh — I’m gonna —” Blanc warned after a minute, and Jud quickly sprung back down to finish him off with his mouth. It barely needed any work. Jud wasn’t fully successful at catching everything, but he prevented a bigger mess.
Breathing heavily, Blanc pulled him back up and into an embrace. Jud melted into it. It was a very warm hug, sweeter than it should’ve been after everything they’d just done. Jud let himself be held for a while, then he moved away slightly to wipe his mouth, getting a good look at Blanc’s face in the process.
He looked exhausted, but relieved. Calmer. The neon cross on the wall next to them illuminated the specks of glitter on top of his tanned, stubbled skin. Delirious with fondness, Jud bent down and licked his cheek.
“Mmm,” He could feel the specks under his tongue. “Salty.” He made to do the same on the other side of Blanc’s face, but Blanc stopped him with a hand on his mouth.
“Alright, down boy,” he said dismissively, but Jud swore he’d heard his breath hitch.
“Down? Again?” Jud said, starry-eyed and dizzy. “Okay.”
“Enough, Jud, Jesus,” Blanc laughed weakly, arms keeping Jud from sliding back onto his knees. “You’ll be the death of me, boy, I swear.”
“I hope not,” Jud said seriously. He tucked Blanc’s hair behind his ear with a gentle finger. “Are you okay? I mean, are we —”
Blanc leaned into Jud’s hand. “I feel like that’s somethin’ I ought to be askin’ you,” he said. “What happened earlier, with the,” he nodded towards the mirror. “We should’ve discussed — I should’ve asked —”
Jud groaned, remembering the mirror. He was definitely on his way to getting hard again. “Are you kidding? That was — it was so —”
“What?”
“Blanc, come on. You were there,” Jud said. The topic was making him blush lightly, which made no sense. Blanc was literally still hanging unzipped between them. But thinking about getting overpowered like that… He ducked his head. “It was perfect.”
Blanc rewarded him with a warm smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jud sighed wistfully. “Just — maybe just don’t freak out on me like that next time? Afterwards.”
Blanc raised his eyebrows. “Next time?”
Jud shrugged, not meeting Blanc’s eye. He was all for plausible deniability, but the mental gymnastics were getting a bit ridiculous. He felt willing to trade some of their denial for a comfortable bed, at this point. “Yeah. Next time.”
Blanc chewed his lip, trying and failing to hide his excitement. Jud buried his smile in Blanc’s neck, his heart swelling with so much affection it bordered on discomfort.
“Okay,” Blanc said, giddy. “Then maybe next time we can —”
Someone slammed on the door, making them both jump. Jud felt a rush of panic.
“Alright, whoever’s been boinking in there, I’m giving you five minutes to clear out before I break this door down with my huge fuckin’ sword. I’m not messing around. Five minutes. I am the Terminator. I will be back.”
Blanc sighed and slumped back against the wall, his face mirroring Jud’s own disappointment and relief. “Always pragmatic, that woman.”
“I like your actor friends,” Jud said, watching Blanc button himself back up. “But I think, um — I think they might do too many drugs for me to hang around them at parties.”
“Point taken,” Blanc winced. “Sorry.”
“No sorry needed,” Jud smiled, shaking his head. “I’ll take this over a stuffy fundraiser in Jersey any day.”
“Well that’s somethin’, at least,” Blanc dug up his blazer from the mess they’d made. Jud picked up a stray piece of fabric and used it to wipe the stain he’d left on the mirror, ears burning hot.
Blanc watched him do it, face revealing nothing. “We really ought to go. Before, uh, Knightasha comes back.”
Jud chuckled at that, but he couldn’t help the pang of sadness at having to leave. “Blanc, I don’t — can we maybe —”
But Blanc was already unlocking the door. Jud’s face fell.
Blanc turned around to look at him. “I hear the sunrise looks gorgeous from a New York rooftop. Especially in, uh, in good company. If you’re interested in findin’ out.”
Jud perked up at that. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm,” Blanc nodded. “Grab that fuzzy thing, will ya? We could use a blanket.”
Jud did as he was told. “And also — can we find some water, please? I’m parched,” he asked. “Wait, what if those actors are still up there?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Blanc said with a wink. Then, when Jud looked dubious, “There’s more than one empty rooftop in Hell’s Kitchen, Jud, if you can believe it. Now, c’mon. Let’s get outta here.”
Satisfied, Jud made to leave, but then Blanc stopped him again. “Wait. Did you want that thing?”
Jud looked at where Blanc was pointing. Oh. The cross.
It was tempting. With what happened beneath it tonight… it was very tempting. But Jud shook his head.
“Nah,” he said. “I actually make my own now.”
Blanc eyed him, impressed despite himself. “Of course you do.”
“You should see the one I have at my church, it really shimmers in the light —”
“No, thank you.”
“I just think you’d really find it illuminating —”
“Nooo thank you, I said, Father—”
They went on like that, footsteps in sync, rushing through the back exit. They didn’t even notice Natasha and Greta sharing a joint on the floor by the doorway.
“Huh,” Natasha said, scrolling the news on her phone. “He really is fuckin’ that real, actual priest. For real.”
“You owe me fifty thousand bucks,” Greta said. “And a new pair of angel wings. Because, ew.”
“Ew,” Natasha agreed, but she was smiling. “Benoit Blanc, you sly old dog. Good for you.”