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Sonny would have made a good priest.
There are enough similarities between the priesthood and the legal profession that make this apparent. Both are institutions subsumed by an obtuse bureaucracy that is slow to change and carries centuries worth of bad habits. Priests and lawyers spend much of their time pouring over esoteric texts, trying to interpret the words of people who are decidedly unavailable for comment. Both have a say in where you spend the rest of your life. There is an inordinate amount of Latin, a fixation on sin and punishment, and a ritual of confession.
Rafael wears a small cross on a delicate gold chain. He prays when things get bad and holds his mother’s hand at Christmas mass. The rituals are comforting in their familiarity but they don’t mean anything. It’s just nice to have the option.
Sonny, however, does believe in heaven, divine intervention, the power of prayer, and all the things Rafael put down a while ago.
Sonny believes in that kind of unfathomable love and he acts like it. His sincerity is a bit unnerving but oddly refreshing. Rafael hasn’t been to confession in years but Sonny is so devastatingly honest and understanding that Rafael finds himself confessing anyway.
Sonny once asked Rafael if he still believed in God.
Only when you’re around, he thought.
“Sometimes,” he said.
Sonny would have made a good priest.
There’s enough light and hope in his eyes and enough fire and brimstone in his voice to inspire many congregants. Rafael can picture him, tall and golden in the vestments of the office. The crucifix behind him rains its sorrows on the altar and the stained glass smears warped colors onto his pale skin.
Although, if Sonny was a priest he wouldn’t be here, spread out on his sheets with his head thrown back in ecstasy. Sonny should be in church but he’s in Rafael’s bedroom instead, muttering blasphemes into his skin. Giving himself over like Rafael is worthy of all that light. His body is beautiful in worship. Lithe and angular with his back bowed as he sings praises in high breathy moans. He’s so open with his heart that it's easy for Rafael to get lost in his heat and light until he disappears. Until he’s nothing but a vessel for Sonny to pour his heavy love into.
He’s pretty sure Sonny is God’s favorite.
In the afterglow, when everything is muted and the velvet darkness hides them from everything, Sonny gathers him in his arms and runs his hands along his body. He maps every scar perfectly even in the darkness, having memorized every inch of Rafael’s body with his hands and mouth many times over. He drags his fingers lightly along the long shiny scar that runs the length of his thigh and Rafael can’t help but shiver under his touch. Sonny stops and lays his hand flat on Rafael’s hip where another thin white scar runs.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, laying a kiss on Rafael’s head. Rafael squeezes his eyes closed and tucks himself closer to Sonny.
“It’s okay,” Rafael says, then, because he cannot deny Sonny anything, he adds, “You can ask, you know.”
Sonny hums in response but he doesn’t ask. He already knows. He also knows Rafael will tell him eventually about the man who is responsible for the battlefield that is his body. So he patiently waits for Rafael to take advantage of the cocoon of safety and love they have constructed with their bodies. His hands continue to gently move over his skin; firm enough to be grounding but light enough to not confuse his intentions. A silent encouragement that settles the building anxiety in Rafael’s chest.
“It wasn’t all bad,” Rafael confesses into the moonlight that pools in the hollow of Sonny’s throat.
Mostly bad, yes but not all bad. His father pushed him into a pile of broken glass and hit him when he cried as the shards embedded themselves in his knees. His father taught him how to ride a bike; with strong, calloused hands on his back to keep him steady. His father once backhanded him so hard that he lost vision in his left eye for a few minutes. His father, laughing, packed snowballs with him in the early morning of the season's first snow. He can’t have one without the other.
“It’s okay if you don’t hate him.” Sonny consoles.
“I do,” Rafael insists. And he does. But a desire to destroy someone is still a desire for them.
“I hate him so much I just,” he inhales sharply, the next words are barely more than a shameful whisper. “Miss him.” He can feel the soft beats of Sonny’s heart under him. “I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t think about him at all.”
It’s too dark to see so Rafael has to read the line of Sonny’s body against him, the tension of his muscles and the softness of his touch that doesn’t falter ever as his breath stutters at the admission.
“I wish you didn’t either.”
That sweet sincerity in his steady voice breaks something inside Rafael and suddenly he can’t stop confessing.
“Do you remember the story of Abraham and Isaac?” The words tumble out like he’s throwing up poison. “It’s a story about Abraham’s faith but Isaac is also faithful. Isaac gets on the altar, he lets his father tie him down. And God saves him… I thought about that story a lot when I was younger and my father would get angry. I would think to myself, ‘God won’t let this happen. I have faith. God won’t let my father hurt me.’” Sonny freezes beneath him and Rafael’s breath hitches. “But he did. So I stopped praying and started fighting back.”
“Rafael,” Sonny chokes out, his arms tighten around him. “I am so sorry.” He offers no platitudes but accepts his sorrowful confession with grace.
They lay there, tangled in each other for a long moment as Rafael’s deep shaking breaths even out. He kisses Sonny’s chest, right above his heart.
“I ended up okay. God gave me you, right?” He says.
Even as he says the words he knows he doesn’t believe them. God, of all people, would know that Rafael does not deserve Sonny.
To Rafael, it’s a nice thought; but he knows no one is looking out for him.
To Sonny, it's a divine mandate.
Sonny sucks in a breath and suddenly Rafael is flipped onto his back. Sonny is above him, half his face cast in shadow. His hair cascades down in silvery waves and tears spill from his crystal blue eyes, one drips down his nose and lands on Rafael’s lips. He takes Rafael’s face in his hands and brings their eyes together.
“I’m yours Rafael, do you understand that?” He whispers, his voice wavers but his tone is deadly serious. Sonny repeats, “I’m yours and I’m going to make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again. Do you understand?”
Rafael barks out a wet laugh. It’s such a ridiculous statement but Sonny's icy eyes are determined and his grip is so gentle and sure that he nods anyway.
“I love you,” Rafael says. Sonny gives him a fragile smile and kisses him; soft and tender and salty with tears.
“I love you,” Sonny murmurs against his lips, still holding Rafael like he’s something precious. He kisses his forehead. “I love you.” He kisses his nose. “I love you.” His cheek. “I love you.” The corner of his eye. “I love you.” He chants it like a prayer between sweet affectionate kisses. As if with enough repetitions the words will suffuse themselves into Rafael’s very being.
Rafael laughs again. He can’t help it; the man above him looks divine and he tastes like salvation. He whispers impossible promises and maybe it’s the late hour, the post-sex clarity, of the growing lightness in his chest but Rafael believes every one of them. Sonny makes him believe.
Sonny would have been a good priest.