Page 43 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
“Huh…” Percy wandered over to the window, surveying the sea and brown sand through the hazy atmosphere as he turned the idea over. “They won’t be demonic… Or will they? Are demons allowed to become monks?”
“It’s possible, but unlikely. The Church tries not to make deals with demons too often.”
“Hmmm.” He threw himself down on the lounge, musing, “Might they be undead?”
Percy’s strong jawline, now freshly angled for a different splendid perspective, pulled Joe’s eyes across like they were on a leash. “I doubt it. The undead don’t follow orders. Mostly.”
“True.” Percy stretched his arms over his head, apparently still thinking. He let his shirt pull up slightly, the line of hair along his belly almost completely melting Joe’s resolve. He could virtually feel the texture on his tongue. How Joe wanted to sink to his knees on the floor just there. Wanted to hear Percy’s gasps of pleasure. Needed Percy’s dick?—
Percy rolled onto his side, his beautiful face propped up on an arm. “I don’t think it matters what they are. If they bleed, we can torture them.”
Joe eyed him calmly, as though his own mind hadn’t strayed far from the topic. “What if they don’t bleed?”
“Everything bleeds,” Percy replied. “In one sense or another.”
“I hope you’re right, because if we can’t torture them, then we’re fucked.”
Percy forced himself back up and walked to the kitchenette to set the kettle to boil. Joe’s reaction was pure disgust. “How can you drink anything hot? It’s stifling in here.”
“Isn’t it?” Percy said. And just like that, he pulled his shirt off over his head and threw it down on the bench. Joe stared, utterly stupefied. After all, it’s very easy to be caught off guard by a half-naked adonis in the kitchen. Percy reached his arms up high, searching the cupboards above for a cup, his taut stomach muscles pulling a little tighter as he did so. Joe wasn’t close enough, but he knew had he been in the kitchen, he would have been utterly overcome with the delicious scent of him.
Percy turned, and Joe’s eyes were drawn irresistibly to his hips, to the curve of his stomach disappearing below the needlessly low line of his belt. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled the door wide, fanning himself languidly in the cool air as the faint light lit his pectorals admirably. “It’s an odd thing,” Percy said, as though he didn’t realise that he was perfection personified, “clearly it’s a powerful relic, but it really is a lot of security. How long has it been down there?”
Joe forced his eyes shut and fanned himself with his notebook. “About three years. I helped move it there.”
Percy laughed. “It was three years ago that I stole the holy lance.”
God damn, Joe wanted to kiss him. Anywhere. Everywhere. “Then that explains everything. The sheath became that much more precious the second you took the lance. Of course, they never told any of us the lance was really gone. They still say it’s in Austria.”
“A fake.”
“And you’re sure yours is the real one?”
“I will be when we reunite it with the sheath.”
Joe stole another glance at him, stirring his tea now, leaning on one muscular arm. “What will you do with them when you finally have them back together?”
Percy sauntered across the room and sunk into the chair opposite Joe. “Not a thing. I just don’t want them to have it.”
Joe had to wonder. The first conversation he’d ever had with Percy was about the very object they were soon to steal. Percy had been after it for almost a decade, and he had, if he was to be believed, almost died several times trying to get it. His desire for the sheath was verging on obsession, though he was a routinely passionate man who had brutally killed several people only a week ago over a cracked Caravaggio, so why should this be of any more of a concern than that? Still, Joe tried a leading, “You know it’s incredibly powerful…”
“I do. And there’s every chance we’ll need it one day. But until then, if it’s all right by you…” He fixed his piercing blue eyes on Joe’s, and he didn’t even intend to melt Joe that time, but it was quite out of his control. “We’ll hide it away in my demon sex dungeon. And you can come visit anytime you like.”
Joe laughed with a soft blush. “That should be adequate, Percy.”
“Very good, Joe,” Percy threw back.
Joe cleared his throat to set a serious tone. “Obviously, we need to get back out of the reliquary if—or after—we get the sheath. Getting back into the cathedral should be easy enough, but… Well, we just have to hope we’re alone when we come out from under the coffin. I’ll go first and take the risk of getting caught, so you won’t. If they catch me, I can try to talk my way out of it, or buy us some time, but if they catch you, they will kill you on the spot.”
Percy only raised his curious brow. “Won’t they kill you?”
“Not without a lot of torture first to find out what I know, so…” He locked eyes with Percy, his voice wavering a little, shy about the request. “You’ll come, won’t you?”
The reply was firm and fast. “You know I will.”
Joe’s heart fluttered appallingly at the intensity of Percy’s gaze, the ardour in his voice, and he concluded softly, “Then that’s everything. We may… Hopefully we won’t have to deal with any innocent bystanders in the cathedral if they happen to see us escaping. We’ll go through the sewers like you said and make a fast getaway, back here. Then we’ll fly out as soon as flights resume tomorrow morning.”
“Remind me again why we have to go in the afternoon and not at night?”
