InsaneJournal

Reuben never felt at his most relaxed when he came to the Theatre. He was also nervous, worried that he would be recognised, frightened that he would be revealed as some sort of monstrous pervert. He never really thought that all the men here were just as he was- he was a man of god, a man who perched against sin and wickedness and now he was here, driven by his demons. They made him come here, filled his head with wicked thoughts about Fabian, about boys who he did not know but in his dreams and waking hours haunted him with their bodies and their groans. This was his only release, his only option. No matter how much de despised himself for going there, for giving in to the demons and selling his soul for only a little pleasure, he couldn't help it; he couldn't bring himself to leave.

So he paced around the foyer, uncomfortable out of his cassock and unable to relax or sit down in the seat he had been offered, pacing back and forth and no doubt causing some of the patrons- the other patrons, he reminded himself- to watch him with some interest. That forced him to sit still and take deep breaths, not wanting to be the centre of attention.