Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

“Are you okay?” Emil stepped closer. If only Adam had the courage to admit the sparks between them existed, they wouldn’t even have to say anything. Emil would have opened the door, and Adam would have entered. If no one else knew it happened, would it still be a sin?

Unaware of Emil’s thoughts, Adam nodded, but as he kept on coughing, Emil patted his back several times, and that seemed to have done the trick.

Sucking in air, Adam rolled into Emil’s chair and pulled up his T-shirt to wipe dampness off his face, but showcased his abs in the process. Adam had a beautiful body. Naturally trim, with a dusting of blond hair marking the path between his navel and the shorts. No harm in staring, but if Emil was to stay sane and cut the insistent daydreams about fucking Adam in the old confessional, he needed to get laid. There were too many charming guys out there to waste time on obsessing over the one he couldn’t get.

Then again, all those available men didn’t live in Dybukowo. Cracow would offer a much-needed break from the isolation of the valley.

“Those are some interesting tattoos,” Adam said, changing the topic yet keeping it close to matters of the flesh. It made Emil smile.

“Which ones?” he asked, presenting both his arms. He was aware none of them were works of art, but not ugly either. The friend who’d given them to Emil had used his skin for training purposes. He’d been kind enough to cover the worst of his early designs with something better before he moved to Warsaw and became a big name in the industry. Or so his sister claimed, because Emil hadn’t heard from him since. Either way, Emil wouldn’t have been able to afford this much ink, so he wore it with pride. Even the small pentagram with Mickey Mouse ears at the back of his shoulder.

Adam swallowed. “The skulls. I guess I rarely see animal and human ones together,” he said, indicating the collection of bones on Emil’s right arm. The artist had inked smoke all over and added a variety of skulls, based on Emil’s preference. It wasn’t the greatest of designs, but it looked cool enough to give strangers an excuse to approach him—pretty useful in this Grindr desert.

“I like this better,” he said and presented his other arm. The image on this one was far more complex and had been finished just before the artist had disappeared from Emil’s life. Crows flew up from behind a topless man wearing a mask made of a goat’s skull. A skeletal bird sat on his shoulder, and he raised one hand into the horns gesture, to drive home Emil’s interest in heavy metal music. The rest of the tattoo was an homage to his heritage and depicted fog in the mountains and wolves running up a hill to catch a skeletal fox.

Adam cleared his throat, sweating more than he’d had throughout his jog. Adorable. “It’s… it fits your style.”

Best thing Emil could ever hear about them from a priest. He’d let him off the hook for now. “You’ll quickly get bored of this place. Let me know if you ever want to change things up and go horse riding,” Emil said. But you’d need to wear those shorts.

Adam laughed but took the pitcher again and had a couple more sips. “I’d rather start with a smaller horse.”

“I didn’t know there were other horses on offer.”

Adam met his gaze, contemplating it for a moment, and his flush seemed to darken, climbing down his neck like wine soaking into fabric. “You know small towns. People get overly excited about a new priest sometimes. Even you got caught up in it.”

Emil swallowed his embarrassment. “Me? I’m not bothered. I’m off to Cracow today, so you’ve got a whole week to think about that ride.”

Adam’s lips remained open for a bit too long. “Really? Is there… something you need to deal with there?” he asked, leaning back in the chair.

There it was. Adam was curious. “Just visiting a good friend. You know, the kind of friend who is actually gay. And interested.”

Adam cleared his throat and squeezed the armrest. “Oh. Well, I hope you have fun. Safely,” he said in a flat voice.

Emil snorted and rubbed the hump on his nose. “Wow. A progressive priest from Warsaw. Never thought I’d see that in Dybukowo.”

Adam’s nostrils flared, and he crossed his arms on his chest. “I believe God wants people to be happy. And you’re not a practicing Catholic, so I don’t think it’s within my rights to berate you.”

“Are you happy?”

For a moment, Adam’s blue eyes dulled, but he rose from the chair and stepped off the porch. “It’s sunny, I’ve had breakfast prepared for me, and I have more free time than I used to as a student. What’s there not to be happy about?”