At forty-six, he had learned the art of controlled irritation. A furrowed brow, a sharp word, the precise measure of silence—they kept people respectful. Most importantly, they kept him sane.
So when the chapel door creaked open after evening prayers, he didn't immediately look up. It was probably a stray soul, lost, fumbling through the house of God. The sort that didn't belong here.
"I hope you know the meaning of respect," he said, voice low and dangerous, even though no one was there yet.
A single clap echoed back.
He froze. That was… wrong. Deliberate. Out of place.
"Yes?" he demanded.
"Oh, don't be so grim," said the voice behind him, light, teasing, impossibly energetic. "You're going to give me a headache if you keep scowling like that."
Matthias slowly turned. And there he was.
Lucifer. Lean, impossibly beautiful, with a smile that looked far too much like mischief to belong anywhere near a church. He was perched on the front pew like it was a throne. Legs stretched out, elbows resting on the wood, as though the rules didn't apply to him—which, somehow, they didn't.
"You again," Matthias said flatly.
"And yet here you are," Lucifer replied cheerfully, as if this were a game.
Matthias narrowed his eyes. "Do you have any idea what day it is?"
Lucifer shrugged with reckless abandon. "Thursday? Or is it Friday? Time is meaningless when you're having fun."
"I am not having fun," Matthias said, voice sharp. "You are loud. You are insolent. And you are unwelcome."
Lucifer grinned. "I like the first two traits, but I might have to negotiate the third."
Matthias clenched his jaw. "Leave."
Lucifer tilted his head, eyes glinting. "You didn't say please."
Matthias stepped closer, each movement deliberate, heavy with authority. His height and presence alone seemed to warp the air, tightening it. "I don't negotiate with devils."
Lucifer leaned forward slightly, tilting his face, eyes bright with reckless curiosity. "No? I thought devils liked to bargain."
"You will not bargain here," Matthias said, tone cutting. "You will… leave."
"And yet…" Lucifer's grin widened as he slowly stood, walking toward the altar. "Here I am."
Matthias pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated how much that made his chest tighten. He hated it. He hated him.
"You have no manners," Matthias growled, crossing his arms.
Lucifer's smile softened, though he didn't stop teasing. "I don't need manners with you. You're the only one who keeps up."
Matthias froze. The words did something strange to him. His anger surged—not enough to be comfortable, but enough to feel alive.
"You insolent fool," he muttered. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
"Yes," Lucifer said quietly. And then louder, with the reckless honesty of someone who had nothing to fear, except losing you: "I want to stay."
Matthias's fingers itched to restrain him—not because he wanted to punish, but because the mere act of controlling this chaos made his heart hammer in a way he wasn't used to.
"You are reckless," Matthias said through gritted teeth.
"And you are… infuriatingly sexy," Lucifer said, smirking. "You'd never admit it, but you like that someone notices you."
Matthias's silence was a weapon. Lucifer leaned in slightly, testing. "I can see it in your hands. In your jaw. You're taut, ready to strike—but only at me. It's… thrilling."
Matthias didn't move, didn't speak. Heat spread through him like wildfire—annoying, overwhelming, undeniable.
"You leave me no choice," he finally said, low, dangerous. "Kneel."
Lucifer's eyes sparkled—not with defiance, but with eagerness.
And he did.
Matthias's chest tightened. His voice was trembling—not from weakness, but from control, from dominance, from the strange, infuriating pull that this reckless, impossible creature had on him.
"Good," Matthias muttered, stepping back. "But do not think this changes anything. I am not… easily impressed. And you will leave by sunrise."
Lucifer tilted his head, playful, daring, and infuriating. "We'll see, Father. We'll see."
Matthias glared. And somewhere, deep down, he knew he would come back tomorrow—and the next night, and the one after that.
Because the devil had no manners, and the priest… he hated, hated, hated… that he wanted him anyway.