Fic Preview: Hallowed Be Thy Name

This is not a commissioned fic, but rather something requested to me quite a while ago by Deb/@lemonwerewolf on Twitter, who has drawn some wonderful art of demonic nun Piers and Priest Leon, and asked me to write a saucy fic about it.

The following has no particular warnings, but the full fic will have warnings for sacrilege, mild body horror, and dubcon. 

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Help me.

The plea spread itself on the demon’s tongue like a blossoming of the most delectable flavour, and he hummed to himself as he tasted it across the back of his palate. No, this was not a haughty warlock nor a desperate witch casting about in the shadows for power; the call was pure, clean, the kind he rarely had the chance to hear.

A priest. How unexpected.

The human must not have realised the spell he had accidentally cast, and the way he had practically sealed up his prayer in an envelope and sent it downwards instead of up. The demon’s lips curled, and he chuckled to himself, the sound like a centipede’s legs rushing through fallen leaves.

The tale continued to unfold itself in his mouth, the spell playing it all out for him in another puppet-theatre drama of mankind. Woe is the human, his life was so kind until disease took what he loved away. Poor thing, who never experienced hardship, who never had passion, whose entire life was a flat plain across which he strode like an effortless titan. Now that he encountered an obstacle, he had no idea what to do with himself, and cried to his Lord like a child weeping to their parent about a scraped knee or a stone in their shoe.

Still. These trivial little dramas could be so amusing, especially when guided by the right hand. The demon swallowed, and there lingered the faintest trace of bitterness, an aftertaste of doubt. Even more delicious still, ever more lovely was this human! He couldn’t admit it to himself, but there was a single seed of doubt already planted thinly in his heart, ready to grow into a beautiful, wicked flower. All he needed was proof that satisfaction could come from outside his God, that there were other pleasures in life besides the placid, rote rituals of his church.

That real divinity was whatever would put one on one’s knees, and that worship is merely the summation of fear and love.

It was time for this child to grow up, and the demon knew precisely how to make this priest a man.

First, though, he needed a name. What he was called in Hell would never do; humans suspected such things far too easily, and he wasn’t going to give one of his conquests that power over him besides. Still, he couldn’t quite resist the demonic flair for the dramatic…Magnus? Too ostentatious. Ira? No, he wasn’t after wrath. Piercing? It was a bit on the nose, and besides, that wasn’t something humans really named themselves…

His eyes lit up, and he slid in front of the silver mirror he possessed in what only a demon could call a home.

Piers. Perfect.