7 deadly sins: gluttony

He smokes now. Not that he hasn’t before; he was up to a pack a day by his eighteenth birthday. He quit in seminary school, though, when he realized the addiction was another barrier between him and God. It was good somehow, praying through the withdrawal and using the pain as penance.

Now Gaspard uses his meager allowance to purchase cartons of cigarettes that he hides everywhere. He also buys booze, but he tries not to think about that unless he’s drinking (which these days is every night and some days). To the shopkeepers, he’s one more tired addict come to get his fix once a month, and if they notice the square of white at his throat, they never mention it.

Tonight, he reclines on the bed in his mercifully private room, window open and lights off in a paltry effort to disguise his indulgence. He’s three cigarettes and two swigs of cheap whiskey in, and already he feels the tension draining from his body. Another swig, and he doesn’t bother to protest when the demon plucks the cigarette from his hand and takes a drag before returning it to him. Except now the filter tastes like sulfur, so Gaspard passes it back and lights another.

The demon molds itself to his side, head resting on his chest. Cigarette in hand, it strokes his thigh through his clothes. Its fingertips are cold on his skin. Gaspard closes his eyes and tries to focus on the sweet warmth of the smoke he draws into his lungs each time he brings the cigarette to his lips.

It works until the demon’s fingertips wander upward.

“Xavier,” he sighs, “at least let me be drunk before you touch me.”

The demon stretches and sits up before it reaches over him to take the whiskey from the table. Gaspard puts out his cigarette and allows Xavier to tip the bottle and hold it at his lips until it’s almost half empty. It burns in his throat and his empty stomach, but he sinks willingly into the haze of alcohol and Xavier’s skin against his.