This is a very short Saddler x Leon, from Saddler's point of view. I respect other people's religions, and am not having a bash at anything. Saddler and Leon property of Capcom..blah blah.
He won't take it off.
The symbol of his religion and passion is a lump of cold metal lying against his chest and it makes me flinch whenever I must look upon it. Even if I ask him, beg him to take it off in our most intimate moments, he still refuses. It taunts me, stealing whatever light it can and flashing it back in my face, mocking my own religion by the way it commands him.
Sometimes, I just watch him. Every so often, he touches his hand to it, to reassure himself that it is still there. He does this unconsciously, not even realising the true depth of his faith. Usually, I growl jealously at it under my breath, throwing my hate into one noise directed at the offending necklace. He even bathes with it on; the shining surface a flaw on that otherwise perfect body as he stands under the flow of water with a teasing smile on his lips. I try to smile back, just as coyly, but somehow, all that crosses my lips is a grimace. Even if he has clothes on, I can still see the outline of it under his tight shirt. It makes me want to tear it off and replace it with my own mark.
It's his link to the past, I know this. Back when he was the knight in shining armor and I was the evil monster. Back when we each fought for something personal, something close to our hearts. It is his silver to my wolf, though he isn't aware of this. When we kiss, the freezing cold metal burns my skin, trying to brand me with the sheer holiness it carries, protesting our relationship. But I am stronger, I have my own path to follow.
I know where he goes when he slips out; down to the lonely church for confession, to ask his God for forgiveness, to free himself from the 'sin' he commits with me. Yet, he'll come back and do it all over again. He won't give me up, and he won't abandon his faith.
One night, I touch it. I turn it over in my hand, ignoring as it bites down into the palm. I gently tug, the thin chain resisting, and he looks up, beautiful blue eyes sad and slightly fearful. I rub the metal with my thumb, mimicking the action further down his body.
"Don't," he pleads, grasping my shoulders. "I need it." I don't reply, just gaze at the silver symbol in my hand that has such an effect on him. He runs a hand down my chest, locating the branded insignia above my heart. "You believe what you believe," he whispers, eyes brimming. "And I don't love you any the less for it."
Despite my hands being warm, the metal is still cool against my skin. I rest my head on the top of his and sigh, letting go of the cross and busy my hands with something far more productive.
I hate it.
I love him.