"God be with you, my son."

Billy jumped, hand on his gun. Everyone else should be down in the basement, ransacking the technology left behind by the now-extinct Ethos and the equally defunct holy nation of Solaris. There shouldn't have been anyone on the other side of that ornate gold grill. "Who's there?"

"It's only me, William."

Billy sighed, relaxing. For a moment he had thought Stone's ghost was haunting the small dark confessional. "Heavens, Grissom, you gave me a start." Billy sat down heavily, the worn-smooth wooden bench groaning in mild protest. "I thought you had gone downstairs with father and the others."

"I know nothing of such complicated machines," Grissom responded honestly. "They are still alien to me. However, this place seemed... familiar. Welcoming." The tiny space of stone and thick dark wood muffled the sound of their voices, the only light seeping in from under the heavy oak door on Billy's side of the divided space.

"Mmm." Billy nodded understanding, and lifted his fingers to the small grate. "Strange to hear your voice in the darkness again."

Warm fingers brushed his through the tiny holes in the gold filigree. "I'm here, William. No phantom."

For a moment they sat like that, the gilded brass heating up between their hands, the cramped space silent save for the sound of two people breathing. Then Grissom sat back, his tone thoughtful. "This where you gave confession, then?"

"Once." Billy ran a finger along the dark polished wood of the armrest. "I have sat on both sides many times."

"Sinner and Atoner, hmm?" there was the sound of shifting cloth as Grissom shrugged. "Then I must confess this to you, Brother Billy Lee. It's been a long time since I sat on either side of such a partition."

Billy grinned, elbow on the ledge, chin in hand. "Neglecting your duties in the confessional, Father?"

The smile in Grissom's voice was the same as it had always been. "I fear so, my son."

"Father Grissom," Billy teased, bending over to try and squint through the grate, "You're on the wrong side to be confessing to me."

Grissom chuckled. "I suppose so, William. Well in that case, perhaps you'd best confide in me, then, hmm?" Grissom cleared his throat and assumed that listening silence that Billy knew so well.

"Forgive me, Father," he said softly, "for I have sinned." It had been a long time since he had said those words.

Grissom was cool and professional, the routine from his acolyte days still fresh in his mind. "And what is the nature of your sin, my son?"

Billy's eyes narrowed with mischief. "I have had impure thoughts, father." He grinned as the tone of Grissom's silence deepened.

"I see. About a woman?"

"No, Father. Another man." Billy could hear the former crimson knight as he shifted his weight, smoothed the cross-adorned cuffs of his tunic with a crisp rustle of linen.

"The young king, perhaps? Or the silver-haired one, his brother?"

"No, Father. My thoughts are of someone else."

"A fellow priest?" Grissom still maintained an edge of detachment, but only just barely.

"Yes, Father. One much older than I." Billy loosened his scarf. He'd forgotten how stuffy this room got. "I am tortured by thoughts of him."

"...tortured?" Grissom leaned forward, putting his weight on the armrest. "How so, my son?"

"He is beautiful, father."

"Is he?" Grissom sounded surprised. "Think you so?"

"Yes." Billy leaned back against the cool stone wall, closing his eyes. "He has soft hair the color of desert gold, eyes like the ocean in winter."

"Yes, well," Billy could practically hear Grissom's blush. "Physical beauty is a gift of God, my son. Admiration of it is no sin."

"I do more than admire. I want him, Father." Billy undid his gunbelt with a clank, and heard Grissom's intake of breath at the sound.

"Want him, my son?" Grissom swallowed. "How do you mean?"

Billy's discarded robe was kicked under his seat. "I want his hands beneath my clothes, I want to feel his body next to mine, his vestments cast aside..."

There was a slithering noise as Grissom's embroidered collar fell to the stone floor. "He's working on it, my son." Grissom muttered.

"But is this lust not a sin, father?" Billy asked, all innocence as his hand slipped down the undone front of his pants. "This self-indulgence-"

"Self-indulgence?" Grissom's breathing was not as even as it had been. "You left out the self-indulgence bit, my son."

"Did I?" Billy wondered, running his fingers along the warm ache between his legs. "I wonder how I could..."

"I think you'd best confess that as well, my son." Grissom's wooden bench was creaking quietly, in slow rhythm, as if the one seated there was rocking his hips slowly back and forth. "I-I mean, God, should hear all your guilt."

"I feel no guilt, Father." Billy sighed the last word, his pants whispering on his seat as he spread his legs. "Though perhaps I should, since my longing for this man forces me to-"

Grissom was obviously holding his breath. "Forces you to what, my son?"

"...touch myself, Father."

From Grissom's side of the confessional there was a most un-priestly groan. "You... engage in this... often?"

"...Yes, Father." Billy pushed his hair out of his eyes with one hand, the other audibly moving on his sex. "I think of him and my desire is too much to bear... I want to be with him, Father, underneath him with his mouth on mine and his hands on my hips and-and..."

"And what, my son?" Grissom's voice was ragged, there was a frustrated noise and Billy could hear his boots scraping the wall as he strained for leverage in the tiny space, the inpatient sounds of buckles being undone and laces pulled from their grommets, and then a long slow contented silence before Grissom's wooden bench began sounding in steady counterpoint to his own. "It is unwise to try and conceal things from God."

Billy pressed his backside hard against the unforgiving wood plank. "I want him inside me, Father."

His confessor swore quietly, the muffled noises taking on a desperate pitch. "Inside you, my son? How... pray tell... since as you should know... copulation between males is unnn--natural and not condoned... by God?"

"There is nothing more natural, Father," Billy gasped, both hands on his sex, "Than the way he fills me with himself...deep and... it is like... a blessing when I take him into me... and the communion as he spills... himself... unnnGod..."

Grissom was panting, bench silent because his hips were no longer on it. "Your transgressions are no more... than any child of our Lord... I would urge you, my son, that when you are faced... with these desires..."

"...yes, father..."

"That you..."

"nnnn..."

"pra-prrraayy..."

For several seconds there was the sounds of labored breathing, Billy whispering Grissom's name as they came together on opposite sides of the tarnished brass grill.

"Amen," Billy murmured, when he found his voice again.

"God bless you, my son," Grissom said, after a long moment, and a rustling noise as he crossed himself.

"Thank you, Father."

"And now, Brother William-" Grissom was picking up his clothes, belt buckles thumping on the wooden furnishings and the leather soles of his boots scuffing the floor.

"Yes, Father Grissom?" Billy cleaned himself up as best he could with his discarded scarf.

"I suggest we retreat to the solitude of Bartholomei's vessel for some... careful meditation."

"Perhaps father," Billy said, the door handle clicking as he lifted the latch, "We should engage in confessional more often."

"Next time, my son," Grissom paused to smile, "I'll want you on the same side as I am."

"Do you?" Billy tossed his hair with a smirk. "I doubt you could recite your catechism with my mouth between your legs."

Grissom considered this. "Come over here and find out, my son."

Billy decided it would be a waste of time to strap his belts back on. "As you wish, Father."