He is in a holy place, the house of God. He must remember that.
Clark lifts his chin and determinedly sings the words he knows by heart. Alleluia, alleluia. But his heart is not in the singing, and his eyes are not obedient. They wander, again and again.
Father Luthor stands at the altar, his black cassock a startling contrast to pale hands. The temptation to see beneath is more than Clark can resist: his eyes focus and he sees the lean body, he sees—everything.
Clark fears he is evil: his power is unnatural, his sins impossible to confess.
The choir's hymn soars, high and pure.
Music has always made Father Luthor feel closer to God. When he meditates on the glory of the Lord, he envisions heaven full of melodic praise, and prays that one day he will share in that worship.
Maybe he is destined to join the chorus in hell though. There is a boy in his choir with the appearance of an angel. A boy who tempts him to such unholy thoughts, who makes his mind stray onto paths no man of God should contemplate.
His body sins too, hard and aching under heavy robes.