For Us

27. Fire-proof undies.

{Kurt}

Truthfully, church on Sunday was the last place Kurt wanted to be, even with Jon sitting in the driver's seat beside him, looking peaceful in the overcast morning light. Kurt felt edgy and dark, his fingers restlessly pressing chords into his legs as they listened to jazz on the radio, and maybe a little bit like he'd prefer to drag Jon down into the shit with him rather than be alone.

"So this isn't my first time heading to church post-coitus," Kurt said. "But I gave up trying to please a Daddy in heaven a long time ago. How are you feeling right now, White?"

Jon's eyes glanced upwards, his face thoughtful. "Mixed," he said lightly. His clear hazel eyes touched Kurt's a second. "I regret nothing. And I don't know what kind of person that makes me yet."

Kurt slouched back in his seat, pleased. "Makes you my kind of person." He let his mind wander back to the night before, feeling a little less shitty than he had a moment earlier.

"Did you ever—believe in God?" Jon asked. "Or was that just your family's thing?"

Kurt folded his arms over his chest, gingerly probing the answer to that question. "Sure I believed in God. I just couldn't please that bitch for the life of me. Now I don't give a shit, and it turns out he doesn't give a shit about me either. We've been mutually ignoring each other for years and this fag is fine with that."

Kurt brushed his fingers over his shirt, like he was flicking away embers from a fire. "No offence but I don't know why you still bother." The quiet stretched and he gave Jon a sideways glance, wondering if he had offended him. His boyfriend smiled back, his forehead wrinkling.

"I guess this fag still believes that Jesus loves him," Jon said simply. He glanced aside, and Kurt saw through his smile to a depth of shadow he was very familiar with. "When I'm most hurt—when it feels like no one is for me, he's close as my skin. I unhooked what I think about God from the garbage people do in Jesus' name a long time ago— because l couldn't shake him off."

Kurt frowned, putting these words together with what Jon had told him about Jesus healing his cuts earlier. "I feel like I don't even know the person you're talking about," he said slowly. "Did we even take the same Sunday school classes?"

Jon laughed quietly. "I don't think there's a standard curriculum. My dad was my Sunday school teacher when I was a kid." 

"So was mine," Kurt said, brushing at some white cat hairs on his shirt. Black was so unforgiving. "I remember nothing. Oh, wait—I remember white Jesus dividing the white sheep and the black goats and sending all the goats to hell."

"That's oddly specific," Jon remarked.

"My dad must have really liked that one."

Jon blew out his breath, his hands tightening on the wheel. "I think you should just assume everything your bigoted, asshole father told you about Jesus is bullshit. And start from scratch." The words snapped with heat, and Kurt's face lifted in a grin.

"You got a little bit of a temper, there, Jon," Kurt teased. "I'm just realizing this about you."

"Yeah, I do," Jon said, his mouth flat. "When people start slinging Jesus' name around, or the Bible he loved, like it's a weapon? I get a little pissed. Don't get me started on this."

Kurt laughed to himself. "Well I feel like I'm walking into church with the right person. And I got my fireproof undies on, so I'm good to go."   

Jon's church was a massive stone building with what might even have been a bell tower rising into the overcast sky, pigeons flapping in and out of the highest window. Inside, Kurt's eyes were full of the colours of the stained glass, the gleaming dark wood arching above the sanctuary, the knotted designs and crests painted along the ceiling. He felt as if he'd stepped into another age, like he should have worn a tunic and sword belt instead of his Johnny Cash shirt, jeans and boots. He was so absorbed in looking around, that Jon took his hand so he wouldn't get lost on the way to the pew.