As a child, Daniel had been stoic about almost anything. His parents were proud. Their incorruptible boy. He prided himself on it, growing up. He could hold to any diet, and listen to any order or advice from adults. A stellar student, resilient to distractions, and a diligent sportsman, too. But his time under his mother and father's care was littered with little incidents. His father saw it first, because his caramel tin was always empty. No matter how many times the otherwise obedient boy was told, the metal of that container was only clattering with hard treats when the father had just bought them. When left it out of sight, Daniel would get into it.<br/><br/>His mother found him pleasing himself often. Sometimes he'd go during a meal, and she was sure the bathroom break wouldn't be for the more common needs. Insatiable boy, also, when he could deny himself so many other things. This wasn't even a grievance for the family, his little vices did make them liars in their praise, perhaps to be embarrassed in the future, but it was better than him going out with the hooligan kids, or lost his grades for some other pastime.<br/><br/>Eventually his mother learned his object of constant admiration, the kind that makes boys hold and shake themselves. She forbade Daniel from speaking to the boy next door after that. It wasn't soon after that he'd said no to all the great offers from universities and decided on his path. His mother, though glad at first, became regretful, and visited him often in the beginning, and then almost not at all. She looked like remorse. Remorse on ancient things promises validity to their regrets.<br/><br/>It was through the praised parts of his personality that he tried to stifle the most prominent parts of his person. He forgot well during his time helping others, and then fell into the niche of his fate that let him expel badness from those who wouldn't keep it. He avoided the sting the accuracy of that irony brought. Some of the spirits he defeated touched on that, and Daniel made that knowledge his strength. It is easy to fortify yourself if you know where the enemy is aiming.<br/><br/>He couldn't rely on thick skin when Pelle's entity had gone inside him. The girls's prayers hadn't helped, and Daniel had been burning as much and more as when he'd burned for Mike. The room had already been littered with balled up, hard paper - he'd been praying to his god and on himself in here, secretly - but nothing had helped. Daniel was growing mad while Hillie was looking for her information on the other end of town, and so the priest had asked into his clasped, sticky fingers that a demon be brought to him.<br/><br/>He'd never seen anything as beautiful as the boy that came in through his door. Father Daniel had embraced the thin body and kissed him. Pelle fought, but Daniel knew he couldn't stop. When the sweet, polite voice in the young visitor turned into something more confident, and the green eyes were overrun, Daniel fell on his knees again. He begged Pelle like he'd begged his altar during his sexual crisis under his mother's shame.<br/><br/>He'd cried when Pelle had taken him, not from the pain, but from the catharsis of becoming who he always was. He gasped when Pelle pulled out, beautiful, ghastly limb, and coughed when he pushed in. Daniel thought his body was made for this. He understood why it was sinful to have this kind of pleasure, because it pulled you from faith, making you believe you'd reached it. it felt like a scorching forgiveness and a plunge into the abyss at the same time.<br/><br/>He heard Hillie's voice and he fell from the table that had become his sacrificial slab fully clothed, sweating, with his collar still on. Pelle sat in a kitchen chair, calm, clothes untouched. The boy turned steadily toward Hildegard and smiled welcoming. Daniel was confused. hadn't he been stark naked and on his back, just now, with the boy looming over, claiming him deliciously? He looked around for traces of their union, his insides still reeling from the ghost of Pelle's limb.<br/><br/>"W-what is it, Marie?" he asked, perhaps to get some clarity in all this, himself.<br/><br/>Pelle ran to the woman, and embraced her. "Auntie!" he exclaimed, his youngest possible voice, from when he was only learning how to speak. Sylvia had hated that. He licked her cheek, and somehow it looked innocent, even if the slick would burn her skin. She'd remember her dreams, and she would see the puddles of snakes in his eyes. "Yes, Hillie. What is it? Can I help?" he asked. Her nephew stepped away from her, and left her with all the desires that would result in, to stand by the trembling Daniel.<br/><br/>"Or can we?" he added as he caressed the side of the man's trousers, around the pocket, which made the belt open, somehow, and the pants rumple by his ankles. Daniel's standing flesh was nowhere as impressive as Pelle's, but it was devoted, stiff from what might not have been a dream. A pearl of precum was greeting her, but it was red, just like her new rivers. Pelle looked proud of what he was showing her. "Is this what you've come for?"<br/><br/>Daniel cried into his hands.