AN: This is the result of too many year's Catholic schooling. I'm sorry, I just have to get this stuff out. Feel free to pm me about anything mentioned; Catholic practices are confusing. I'll do a VERY SHORT summary on the origin of the prayers and/or saints at the end of each story. No flames please. I own nothing.

Sometimes, in the throes of passion, when he's rocking in sync with the lithe figure beneath him, every crevice of both their bodies gliding together, slick with sweat, Matt's mind will wander. How, he doesn't know, but it does... And he wonders what his mother might say, if she could see him now, pouring his entire being, everything he is, into this moment; into this boy.

Let nothing disturb you

But he always manages to push those thoughts away, because nothing really compares to the sight before him, and he'd much rather focus on that. Caring never has been Matt's forte, but somehow, the boy lying under him has always managed to stir something from within; something that the redhead himself would rather not acknowledge, because he knows what its like to be ripped apart from the inside out and he'd rather not go through that again... And sometimes, when its over, and dark, and he isn't quite close enough to hear the other's steady breathing, the darker part of Matt's mind will tell him he's been left alone again, and that's unnerving.

Let nothing frighten you

That was probably the only time he'd ever prayed and actually expected it to work. He hadn't believed in God, or anything of the sort, but that didn't mean he shouldn't try. It was more a coping mechanism than anything, because what the hell was he supposed to do? It's wasn't as though he could talk...to people... People were uncaring, the world was unforgiving, and by his second week of solitude and unanswered prayers, Matt had come to the conclusion that there was no God.

All things pass away

He can't remember the day, or the time, but Matt remembers nearly jumping out of his skin when the entire building swayed. He remembers thinking something about how he was already awake and out of cigs anyway, and that the 7-11 a few blocks down was open all night. He remembers seeing the smoke and thinking that a quick look around before the cops arrived wouldn't hurt anything. That was wear it became blurred though, because too many things passed through Matt after moving that concrete slab and seeing the one person he was absolutely positive he'd never see again.

God is unchanging

There is definitely something divine about him, something other worldly, because no one on earth is this naturally beautiful, especially with only three quarters of a face left. And even when Matt's newest platform has been stomped on (or unnecessarily shot at), or he is again being insulted for his taste in clothing, or his hair is being pulled and they're rolling around on the dirty carpet because even when they're fighting they like to feel close, Matt is content.

Whoever possesses God wants for nothing

Content because, well, what else is there? This is all he's ever known, all he's ever really needed. A handheld, a lit fag, and a feisty blonde with a chip on his shoulder the size of Antarctica; Matt will be alright. And maybe, just maybe, he can get along without the handheld... Maybe.

God alone suffices

AN: The prayer was written by St. Teresa of Avila. She became a Carmalite nun at the age of 15. The sisters in her convent were much more concerned with worldly things than they should have been, and she strived to change that. She began having visions, through which she became more connected with the passion of Christ. She died at the age of 62. Her feast day is October 4th.