Post-canon PSL

[buenpastor]

[ it's been over a year since the rances, months now since the vatican officially sanctioned tomas as an exorcist, twelve days since they— because it's they, even if marcus isn't officially working for the church. twelve days since bennett sent them to vienna, to see to a young man named jakob who'd been hearing voices.

marcus had warned tomas about the dangers of complacency, and tomas understood why now; they'd done two exorcisms since casey, and they'd both been simple in comparison. the demons hadn't taken tomas seriously.

this recent one had. there's a learning curve to becoming a good exorcist, or so marcus kept saying, and he'd let tomas fight the demon up until it became a danger to the host, then he'd stepped in.

god likes it better when they work together; the words flow more easily, their voices join in as one. tomas knows he can be strong on his own. with marcus he feels unbeatable.

they have a room in jakob's house, it's a single bed and a bathroom that have seen very little use since their arrival. when jakob's eyes clear up and his voice is his own again, after niceties are exchanged; thank yous, a doctor is called, the family reassured. tomas and marcus go to that little room and close the door behind them.

once they call bennett he'll have them on a plane outside the country within hours, but it's late and they can afford a few hours to take a breather. ]

Comments

[buenpastor]

I don't wanna make them feel bad, they're trying so hard.

[ he's drinking too, just not as fast. ]

[missio]

On behalf of the entire nation, thank you for the indulgence.

[ he sets down his empty cocktail glass with a whuff, then pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. tomas had gotten entirely too close to startling him into sobriety. everything is fine now, in that everything is slightly spinning now. ]

[buenpastor]

Are you okay?

[ his attention is back on marcus. he frowns a little. ]

You sped up.

[missio]

[ KEEP IT TOGETHER MARCUS, WHAT IF SATAN KNOWS YOU’RE DRUNK AND SLIGHTLY IRRITABLE ]

Yeah, I’m alright. You?

[buenpastor]

I'd like better music.

[ he keeps looking at the dance floor. he finishes his drink and asks for another one. ]

[missio]

No mariachi bands at the club, alas.

[ from the glass wall of the bar he watches tomas glance back again, and grins. ]

You ought to go on, though.

[buenpastor]

I haven't danced in years.

[ that's not a exaggeration, last time he was on a dance floor he was still in his teens. ]

[missio]

Well, as you’ve observed, Birmingham isn’t renowned for its sense of rhythm.

[ u were literally just mocking the poor white people tomas ]

Also, it’s too dark for anyone to notice if you do it badly.

[buenpastor]

I don't do it badly.

[ he gets up to make a point. he's not great, a little on the stiff side and very out of practice, but unlike almost everyone else on the dance floor, tomas is aware he has hips, which makes him way better than the average.

plus, he's attractive and obviously not local, which means he's getting a lot of attention very fast. ]

[missio]

Yeah? Show ‘em how it’s done.

[ marcus turns halfway to watch him. at first he laughs as tomas gets started, rubbing a hand over his mouth--it’s unironically great to know that he’s poured enough liquor into father tomas ortega for him to loosen up enough to dance in a crowded pub smack in the middle of birmingham. tomas has changed a little since they set out together--or maybe since the rance case, way back when. he’s freer now, looser maybe. sometimes marcus can fool himself into thinking tomas is happier on the road than he was at home.

he keeps watching, and then suddenly his drunkenness seems to lurch out of control for a second and fuck off to nowhere, leaving in its place this terse sobriety. every time he thinks he makes his peace with this, there’s always something.

like tomas’ hips, swaying. in the pulse of the music the sinuous arch of his hips makes it seem like they’re waiting for someone’s hands, someone to take him in-hand outright maybe, push him up against the bar counter or, even the filthy floor--

marcus shifts back to the bar and orders a beer. drunkenness was a shit plan; he’s all over the place now, but it’s not like there’s much else to do. a year ago he might’ve just left, good manners be damned, but now they’re almost friends, inasmuch as marcus has friends, so he stays put while girls sidle up to tomas on the floor. (a young man too, closer to his age.) there are people smoking in here, and while it’s only a sporadic indulgence for marcus a cigarette actually sounds pretty good right now--something else to hold in lieu of satisfying a stray desire for touch. ]

[buenpastor]

[ there are people close to him suddenly, a hand on the back of his neck, another one on his side. a girl takes his hand and presses it against her hip.

and this is normal, this is what people do at dance clubs. but it isn't normal for tomas. he realizes belatedly, that the collar is as much of an invitation as it is a barrier; it invites people to talk to him, makes it clear he's on the clock, but it also keeps them from getting too close.

the music changes to something slower, and as he tries to extricate himself, someone pulls him close. he tries to apologize and move again and apologize, but the music is too loud for his dance partner to hear him— a man, not ill-intentioned, just drunk and clingy.

tomas looks in the direction of the bar, wondering if marcus is laughing at him from there, but the lights are flickering and he can hardly make the faces in front of him. ]

[missio]

[ he nurses his bottle for awhile, sedate, his mood soured. it’s harder than usual to distract himself.

he glances up, catches the frown spreading over tomas’ face between one flash of light and the next. he tosses some pounds on the table and pushes away from the bar. he clears the distance in a few easy steps. he’s sliding his own hand around tomas’ waist, levelling his voice kindly to the man trying to get tomas in close-- ]

Can I cut in?

[ marcus has a presence in these situations, he always does, and there’s a hard light in his eyes too that serves as a ready deterrent to strangers. oh, of course, the drunk man says, though there’s a wariness in his voice like marcus radiates something that would warrant it.

marcus is smiling, though. and he’s leaning in to murmur in tomas’ ear, low and warm, and his hand on tomas’ waist curves down indulgently to his hip. ]

Had enough?

[buenpastor]

[ tomas nods. he sighs, too quiet for the sound to be heard over the music, but marcus will feel the relief as tomas leans into him and grabs the front of his shirt.

marcus is a shield, and the immediacy with which tomas turns towards him sends a very clear message to the rest of the dancers. tomas is claimed, as it were, so no one troubles them on the way out of the dance floor. ]

[missio]

[ marcus is clutching tomas’ coat and jacket over his shoulder, heedless of their slight weight. he only needs one arm to hold tomas, draped low and possessive around his waist, and he only needs to lean in slightly for his mouth to not quite brush tomas’ ear again.

it’s a still clearer picture for outsiders. everything about him when he’s in tomas’ orbit just says mine, mine, mine. ]

You want another pint, or …

[ he’s grinning. tomas might be able to feel it, even though his mouth isn’t touching him. it’s in the rumble of his voice. ]

Or we can fuck off.

[ and go back, he means. it’s not a word he uses often. possibly it’s not a word he should use with tomas’ body still pressed against him, flushed from exertion, pulse racing. worse still that his mouth curls around it like dark smoke. ]

[buenpastor]

[ he laughs, feeling a warm, pleasant rush at marcus' smile, and an even warmer one at his words. ]

Let's fuck off.

[ there's a slight slur in his voice. it's not a word he says often either, and the lack of familiarity coupled with the alcohol makes his accent even more marked when saying it. ]

[missio]

[ there's another hot coil of want in marcus' blood. for a second it seems like it would be a really, really good idea to do something about it, in front of these people especially, so that there's no doubt in anyone's mind, least of all tomas'--

but, you know, drunk, and still not a lunatic. he chuckles softly and guides tomas towards the exit, pausing just inside to help him pull on his coat, then stepping out with him into the night. ]

[buenpastor]

[ he only pulls away for long enough to put on his coat, then he's close to marcus again, wrapping an arm around him. he's very cheerful, whatever shame or guilt he has about his feelings have been drowned by the alcohol. ]

We should find a real dance club.

[ he leans close as he says it, conspiratorial. like they could be teaching people how to dance. ]

[missio]

[ marcus laughs as he walks them back towards the hotel. ]

Maybe next time, yeah? --they're probably better in London.

[ he says next time, but he's also thinking never, actually. it seems like a great way to go utterly barmy. ]

[buenpastor]

You tired already?

[ in all fairness, so is he. but he has to tease marcus a little. ]

Or is it that you can't dance at all?

[missio]

[ marcus squeezes his side, fond and annoyed all at once. ]

I grew up in the eighties, Tomas. I can dance.

[buenpastor]

But you're British.

[ everyone knows britishness kills any dancing ability, regardless of if one was a young gay man in the 80's ]

And you missed a prime opportunity just know. An actual dancer wouldn't have.

[missio]

I told you already, the music was bloody dreadful.

[ he meant it, too. kids these days. ]

But you're taking the piss. I shouldn't listen to you.

[buenpastor]

You should always listen to me, I'm very smart, I say good words.

[ he pats marcus with a finger as he speaks, because that means he means it. ]

You should do as I say always.

[missio]

[ ha ha ha cute. when was the last time anyone saw tomas like this, he wonders. ]

Is that how it usually works? I don't think that's how it usually works.

[buenpastor]

It should!

[ he's never had so much to drink before ever because he's a responsible person. he's always been the sober friend. ]

People are very unreasonable. You too. [ because marcus is in a different category than 'people', apparently. ] I don't get kidnapped, not even once.