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It was always going to come up eventually. Try as they might, being best friends sharing a small dorm room for a few years now meant that skirting around their differing views on religion for forever wasn’t exactly a realistic option.
That being said, Fiddleford couldn’t have ever imagined it leading to this.
How had it started again?
Fiddleford looks down at the beautiful brown eyes looking up at him, half lidded and paired with heavy breathing and crooked glasses.
Right, he remembers now.
“All I’m saying is that you go every Sunday. What’s the big deal if you miss one?” Ford says, voice more than a twinge bitter as he talks to Fiddleford.
They’d been planning on playing a session of Dungeons, Dungeons, & More Dungeons earlier in the day. But some last minute group project shenanigans after an evening class had caused Fiddleford to arrive back to their dorm far later than expected. Which meant that instead of starting at 8pm and getting done at a semi-reasonable time, the pair had been looking at starting the session at almost 10:30pm and not finishing until the early hours of the morning.
Fiddleford had tried to reason with Ford, telling him that going too tired to pay attention to a service was just as bad as not going. Ford had tried to argue back of course.
“What if we ran a short session then?”
Fiddleford huffs and gives Ford an unimpressed look. “Stanferd, you an’ I both know neither of us can run a short session to save our lives. I’m sorry we haven’t played any of our campaign this semester, I really am. I know we left off right before that big battle you were real excited ‘bout throwin’ at me-”
“Almost three months ago! Please, Fiddleford. We haven’t played a single session the entire semester so far!”
Fiddleford runs his calloused hands through dark curls. His fingers tug at the base of the messy locks when Ford opens his mouth again. And the whine that tug pulls from Ford is music to Fiddleford’s ears.
The back and forth about whether they could feasibly play and still get enough sleep for Fiddleford to get up in time for Sunday service had lasted a while. For all that Fiddleford loves his best friend, he is frustratingly stubborn sometimes.
“Ford, by the time we finish arguin’ and git everything set up, it’ll be damn near eleven. Includin’ clean up time at the end, that would give us two hours of playtime.”
Ford nods like he doesn’t see the issue.
Fiddleford gives him a rather unimpressed look. “With a giant battle to do.”
Ford huffs. “Which is unfortunate. But doable, I suppose-”
“And how long was our last session?” Fiddleford asks pointedly, arms crossed.
“Three hours and forty five minutes. But that was-”
“And the one before that?”
“Five hours. But-”
“And our average? That you calculated at the end of last school year?”
Ford sighs, frustrated. “Three point five eight hours.”
“I’m sorry Ford, but it ain’t happenin’ tonight.”
Fiddleford remembers that he had decided to take a shower just to get out of the conversation. Let Ford cool off a bit so they could both go to bed at a reasonable time when he came back from the bathroom. Details of the conversation that led from that point to where they are now are technically within reach. But Fiddleford’s mind is starting to feel hazy with all the attention he’s focusing on Ford knelt in front of him and all the blood rushing to his groin, and he’s losing some of his thoughts… Why was he so hellbent on going to bed early again?
Right! Church! He has to-
“I’d learn the art of sculpture for you,” Ford says, pulling off and panting. His voice is a little ragged but that doesn’t seem to deter him.
Fiddleford blushes. “W-What?”
“Sculpture,” Ford says, kissing up the inside of his thigh to his hip. “I’d spend years learning how to carve marble just to sculpt your visage for everyone to see.”
Fiddleford squeaks, cheeks blazing. “Everyone?!”
“How could I not want to share the ecstasy I feel upon gazing up at you from here?” Another kiss as Ford pauses before continuing in a lower volume. “Though if my Lord wishes me to remain his sole disciple, I would accept that command in a heartbeat.”
Fiddleford’s heart skips several beats.
“I just don’t understand what could be so captivating about going to a service every Sunday when you’ve been doing that your whole life. Haven’t you gone through the whole book by now?”
Fiddleford towels off the rest of his hair and rolls his eyes as he tosses the towel into the overflowing hamper in the corner of the room. “Well, yes, I have read through the good Lord’s book. A few times in fact. But that ain’t the point, Ford.”
“Then what is the point?”
Fiddleford sits down on his bed. “The point is worship. The sermon helps remind us of important lessons we should keep in mind according to the word of God. And the rest of the service is about the community joyfully worshipping the Lord together.” What Fiddleford doesn’t say out loud is that most weeks he goes to silently plead with the Lord for forgiveness for all the impure thoughts he keeps having about the man sat across the room from him.
“Tch. Not to be rude, Fiddleford. But being perfectly logical, it sounds like a good way to waste half of every Sunday in your life, pretending something like that is fun.”
Fiddleford purses his lips. Well. At least if Ford keeps being a dick about this, he won’t feel bad about skipping the game tonight. And he definitely won’t have any of those pesky thoughts runnin’ around his head. Fiddleford sighs. It’d be so much easier to get Ford to drop it if he could just get him to understand how nice it can be to-… His thoughts stop.
What if he could?
“Forgive me for assuming your glory is mine to share how I please, my Lord,” Ford whispers as he sinks lower on his knees to kiss down Fiddleford’s thighs again. “I won’t make such assumptions again. I only meant to express my wonder and love for being allowed to please you like this.”
Fiddleford’s not sure he’s breathing. He’s never been on this end of worship.
“Your soft face-” A kiss to his knee. “-kind eyes-” A kiss to his thigh. “-hard working hands-” A kiss to his tip. “-and your mind. Your brilliant mind~ You were made to be worshipped.”
Well, Fiddleford reckons sharing the Lord with someone is just as important as going to church!
“Tell ya what. I’ll stay here tomorrow and we can start the session right after we git breakfast if you’ll pray with me tonight.”
Ford blinks, face flat. “What?”
“Ya said you don’t understand what’s so nice about praisin’ the Lord every Sunday. So if you’ll let me attempt to show ya how nice a bit o’ worship can be, I’ll stay here tomorrow and play DDMD with ya all day.”
“Fiddleford, that’s absurd-”
“You don’t hafta take the deal! But I figured there’s no way in hell I’m gettin’ you to come with me to church-”
“Correct.”
“-so this is the next best thing.” Fiddleford tilts his head, a bit of his earlier frustration gone in favor of curiosity over if Ford will even consider his offer. “I’m not sayin’ ya have to enjoy it, or do it every day. I know I’m not convertin’ you, and that’s not exactly the goal here. But just humor me one time about trying out some worship, and I reckon God’ll be okay with me missin’ out on tomorrow’s service.”
Ford’s lips press into a thin line, observing Fiddleford. Thinking. After a few moments he sighs.
“I’m not pretending to believe in your god for this, Fiddleford.”
Fiddleford smiles. “I’m not askin’ ya to.”
“I’m not really sure what you get out of this, if your goal isn’t conversion and you know I’m not going to really take this seriously.”
Fiddleford leans forward and raises an eyebrow. “Just try not to roll your eyes so hard they pop outta yer skull, and we’ll be good.”
Ford scans his friend’s face with narrowed eyes one final time. “You’re serious about this? You’ll stay and we can actually play tomorrow if I do this?”
Fiddleford raises his hand in a Boy Scout Salute, a small smile spreading across his face. “I promise.”
Ford sighs and stands up from his bed. “Alright. What do you want me to do?”
Fiddleford smiles fully now, very surprised but pleased as punch Ford is playing along.
“Come sit in the middle of the floor here.” Fiddleford points to a spot halfway between their beds.
“Kneeling? You want me to kneel on the floor?”
“Yeah! Git the full experience!”
Ford rolls his eyes, but does as Fiddleford says.
“I’m not really sure how you expect me to worship if I’m not praying to a god, Fiddleford,” Ford says once he’s down on his knees.
Fiddleford considers this. “I suppose if we both know you’re not a believer and the whole point of this is just to get the worshippin’ experience… Why don’t ya roleplay? Act like you’re a cleric or a paladin or somethin’. And’ start up a prayer to them. Don’t have to be for anything specific. Just to git in the headspace. The point is just to show ya that worship ain’t a waste of time.”
The details start getting hazy from there. He has to backtrack his thoughts some.
Fiddleford knows that Ford closed his eyes and started “praying” before giving up and telling Fiddleford he needed something more concrete to connect his thoughts to. Fiddleford remembers looking down at Ford right as he opened his eyes and thinking- Oh, god, that’s how it started…
“Yer beautiful down there.” Fiddleford realizes he said that out loud about the time Ford realizes what was said. He blinks up at Fiddleford.
“Down here?”
Fiddleford’s cheeks flush, but he can’t exactly pretend he didn’t just say that, so he might as well clarify. “Yeah. Down there.” Well. He never claimed to be good at clarifying.
“Do you… like me down on my knees?” Ford asks, equal parts curious and cautious.
The twitch in Fiddleford’s pants is all the answer Ford gets.
He looks up at his best friend again.
“You wanted me to worship. I need something concrete. …I can stay on my knees for you.”
Ford does get off his knees eventually. But only when Fiddleford drags him to his bed, as by that time Ford is so far into the headspace of being a devout follower praying to his lord that he refuses to assume any control that isn’t explicitly given to him.
Every moment Ford’s mouth isn’t occupied with kissing, sucking, or nipping at Fiddleford’s body, it’s spent praising:
“I pray you’ll let me please you more.”
“Look how perfectly my hands fit here.”
“You’re too sweet to stop tasting.”
“I could listen to you forever.”
“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”
“I was made to worship you.”
Fiddleford cums hard enough he’s barely present to notice Ford licking him clean (which almost makes him want to go again once his brain catches up to the situation at hand). Ford hums and curls up around his best friend, pulling Fiddleford’s blanket over them both.
“I suppose I can see how that’s fulfilling,” he says. “Though I doubt that’s what you’re doing at church.”
Fiddleford blinks. Right! Church…
Ford props himself up on his elbow just enough to take Fiddleford’s glasses off and put them on the bedside table, his own glasses set down beside them right after. “I’m glad you’re staying here tomorrow. I’ll set everything up for our session right after breakfast and we’ll finally get to play that battle! It’ll be amazing!”
Fiddleford swallows heavily. Christ almighty, this was supposed to be holy and I went an’ tainted it with- I was s’posed to be showing him how nice it feels to worship the Lord! But of course Ford don’t believe in him. I shoulda known this would be turned around and twisted and- I was playing God. I let a man pray to me and worship me like I was God. This was beyond blasphemous, never mind the fact that we- I need to go to church tomorrow. This was a mistake and I never should have-
Like he can sense Fiddleford’s internal panic, Ford lays back down and curls just a little tighter around him. “I’ve missed spending time with you.”
Lord above, if that ain’t the most vulnerable he’s sounded in a while.
Fiddleford twists himself around to look Ford in the eyes.
“...You didn’t have to do all that just to spend time with me, Ford. W-We probably shouldn’t have-”
“I know…” Ford looks away from Fiddleford’s face long enough to locate his hand and intertwine their fingers. “But I liked doing it. I… Wouldn’t mind doing that again, actually. Maybe not every Sunday,” he teases. “But it was certainly nice enough to do more than once if you… also had a good time?”
Fiddleford’s eyes go wide. He feels his face heat up.
…Lord, forgive me.
Their lips meet for what Fiddleford realizes is the first time.
Fiddleford doesn’t go to church on Sunday.