Author's Note: This began as a Tumblr joke about what Mako and Bolin would be like as youth pastors, and it escalated and suddenly I was being pressured into writing AU fic for it, and it became a rather hilarious exercise in how many evangelical cliches I could possibly pack into the thing while keeping it sort of in character. I even gave it sort of a plot and a character arc, but it's basically the most ridiculous thing I have ever written.

Mako lifted his guitar out of its battered case, letting his hand run over the weathered Slipknot sticker on its front. He set it next to him and picked up the worship set list, frowning at it thoughtfully. Pastor Toza had given him the stink eye last time he'd tried to squeeze "Don't Stop Believin'" in between "Jesus, Lover of My Heart" and "Better Is One Day." But surely, he wouldn't be able to object to "Redemption Song," right? No at the church would likely even know it was Bob Marley. And he could follow it up with "As the Deer"—super traditional, no one would even-

A crash from behind jolted Mako out of his deliberations, and he turned to see Bolin picking a mic stand up off the floor.

"Be careful with that, bro," he chided, eyebrows narrowing toward the center of his forehead.

"I am careful," Bolin retorted, stung by what seemed like Mako's fifteenth rebuke of the day. And it wasn't even first service yet. They still had an hour to go before the kids arrived.

"That stuff's expensive. We're using the car wash money on the Mexico mission this year. We can't afford to buy new…"

"Like I don't know that already. For fuuu- for Pete's sake, Mako. Chill out a little bit."

Mako glared again at Bolin's near slip up. It was a bad habit at home that Mako constantly worried would make an appearance in the youth group. The swear jar on their kitchen counter was already full to bursting.

Exhaling with all the world-weariness of Job, Mako threw the set list back in the guitar case and pushed up off the floor, straightening the bottom of his thrift store jacket and adjusting the ragged red scarf around his neck.

"I'm gonna get some air."

"You do that," said Bolin, walking back to the case. Mako made for the youth hall exit, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the slim jeans that sagged at the waist in just the right way.

"And bro," Bolin called after him, forcing him to turn around. "Whatever's up with you—whatever's going on—take it to the Lord in prayer, ok?"

His face looked genuinely concerned, and Mako felt himself soften. His posture became less stiff, and when he reached the outdoor stairwell, it took him whole minutes before he started searching his pockets for a cigarette only to remember that he was trying to cut that shi—stuff out.

Leaning over the rail, he let his head drop forward and ran his hands through his hair. All he could see was the blacktop, its gray homogeneity a perfect visualization of the way he felt inside at that moment. Closing his eyes, Mako tried to force a prayer to come, but it was no use. His mind kept drifting back to the stupid set list.

When had all of this gotten so hard? When he and Bolin had signed on as youth pastors, he'd been on fire for God, a motivated college student who'd walked away from a potential pro track career to pursue ministry.

He'd converted late. His early teen years had been a casualty of the foster care system and some experimentation with hard drugs and petty criminality. He credited the church—and sports—with saving his life and Bolin's. In the first few years following his baptism, shortly followed by his brother's, that testimony had made him one of the most sought after speakers in the church.

So where was all that fire, all that passion, now? Searching for it, Mako tried to hum a few bars of "Now is the Time to Worship," but he found to his horror that he couldn't quite remember the tune—the tune to a song he'd sung so many hundreds of times it had become as familiar as the sound of Bolin breathing on the nights when Mako would watch him sleep, keeping him safe.

Trying to stave off panic, he kept trying, "Come," he whispered to himself. "Now is the time to woooorrrshiiip." The words and then the tune started to flow back into his brain. He sang a couple of bars to himself and then managed to mutter out a perfunctory prayer before pushing off from the rail and heading back inside.

…

The sight Mako saw when he walked back into the youth fellowship hall brought his mood right back to where it had been when he left. It was a girl. And Bolin's body language signaled that the girl was attractive.

"Mako!" Bolin yelled.

As he strode toward them, the female figure turned around, and Mako was treated to a full view of her expressive face. Her skin was tan, her eyes bright blue. She was dressed casually, hair swept up in a ponytail. And her arms looked like she could go mano a mano with Bolin in a push-up contest.

"Korra, this is my brother Mako."

"Mako!" she exclaimed in a way that made him slightly uncomfortable. "I've heard so much about you."

"Great," he said in a clipped manner. "Bolin, can I talk to you?"

"Yeah," his brother responded, forehead creasing as his arms crossed over the logo on his distressed T-shirt.

Mako walked the both of them a few steps away from Korra. "Bo, I thought we talked about this," he hissed.

Bolin looked confused. "Talked about what?"

"Talked about you trying to date youth group girls." That Bolin was just a couple of years older than the kids always made this whole thing—challenging. And Bolin's dating history back when they were the youth group kids was problematic to say the least. There had been that whole incident on the ski trip where he'd been caught in the back of the van with a girl's hand on his—

"What makes you think I'm a youth group girl?" he heard a voice say. The two brothers turned around to face her. She was standing there with her hands on the hips that Mako had trained himself not to notice on girls anymore. And her mouth was tilted into a cocky smirk.

Mako realized he was staring and swallowed hard, a memory of something or other poking its way to the front of his consciousness. "What did you say your name was again?" he asked rather softly.

"Korra. I'm the—"

"You're the new girl's small group leader, and I'm an idiot."

She crossed her arms just beneath her breasts. "Both are true," she said, and Mako nodded his head in what he hoped looked like an apology before turning on his heel and walking back toward the stage.

"Can you help us finish setting up?"

"Sure thing, Captain." There was a note of sarcasm in her voice, and Mako rolled his head from side to side, relishing the sound of the cracks.

…

The new girl was annoying. The new girl was cute. The new girl had a pretty decent voice and could handle the key change during "Shout to the Lord." The new girl was going to be a problem.

Mako tried not to look at her. But when she looked at him, it felt like she was peeling back his skin. When he bowed his head to pray at the start of the youth service, he could feel her gaze burning against his neck, and he was almost certain she could tell that the prayer was automatic.

"So Bolin was telling me you got accepted to DTS," she had said while they were setting up. "Congrats!"

"Thanks," he'd said, cringing inwardly, his mind immediately going not to the acceptance letter from Dallas but the rejection letter from Fuller, which had been his first choice. In spite of their Pastor's warnings about the California seminary's infamous liberalism.

"I take it you're not thrilled about the idea." she'd responded. And it bothered him that his aloofness didn't impress her. Most other girls took it as a sign that his mind was too much on God to focus on them. He made a point of never dating women from Republic City Redeemer. His girlfriend—well, they were practicing courtship, thanks to her minister father's full-hearted embrace of Josh Harris—was from Republic City Pres. That only seemed to encourage some girls from Redeemer.

"Dallas is a long way away," he 'd finally replied, emerging from the mists of his perpetual inner monologue.

"Bolin can't go with you?"

"I dunno."

"Have you asked him how he feels?"

"He says it must be God's will."

"Do you think everything that happens like this is God's will?" she'd asked, and he had turned around to face her, searching those blue eyes for some reason why she'd press him like this. "God's will" was just sort of a thing you said without thinking too hard about it. Mako had never really heard anyone question a decision where God's will was invoked.

They had looked at each other for a long moment, her lips drawn together in a thoughtful pout. And then the crowd of kids had started flooding in, and Mako had cleared his throat and gone back to making sure his guitar was in tune for the tenth time.

Mako was only too glad that Bolin was giving the message that day. And relief flooded him once it came to a close, and he heard his brother's voice launch into one of his meandering closing prayers: "Dear God, we just want to bring all of this before you and draw nearer to you because you are God-"

When it ended, Mako strummed the opening chords of "Open the Eyes of My Heart," and as the group launched into the first chorus, he thought he could hear Korra's voice rising above the rest, and silently cursed the fact that almost every contemporary worship song sounded like a love song:

Open the eyes of my heart, Lord.

Open the eyes of my heart.

Like he always did, Mako let his eyelids fall closed, fingers finding the strings by touch and by heart. When his eyes were closed, it was usually to indicate just how hard he was concentrating on the Lord. And it usually wasn't just an act. At one time, he'd thought he'd genuinely been able to feel the Spirit moving in him and through him. But this time he was concentrating on the voice of a girl he had just met, the voice of a girl he wasn't even sure he liked.

I want to see you.

I want to see you.

…

"I'm sorry I let things get so messed up between us," Mako said, doing his best not to meet his girlfriend's—well, ex-girlfriend's eyes by affecting a deep interest in his iced mocha.

Asami's hands were fidgeting across the table from him , rotating her James Avery purity ring around her third finger so that the cross that was stamped into it came in and out of view with each rotation.

"I think this will do us both some good," she said, and he looked up to watch her soft black curls fall across her face. "I think God is really telling me that I need to get stronger in my walk with him and that I can't do that while I'm in a relationship with you."

Mako nodded like he truly believed it. Asami was always so much wiser than he was. The faith that had been so hard won for him had been with her since birth. She spoke the language of the church like it was her mother tongue.

They were silent for a long moment while they reflected. He stirred his drink with the green straw and tried to look repentant. He'd fuu—messed up after all.

It wasn't just that Bolin had walked in on him kissing Korra in the worship team storage room. That had been bad enough. What was worse was that even though it had lasted exactly six seconds, Mako had wanted to kiss her again. And again. He had feelings for her that seemed distinctly un-Christian, and he suspected that both Asami and his brother could tell just how far he'd fallen.

Korra was unlike anyone he had ever met. She was Canadian, first of all, and her whole family was Anglican, which was almost irresistibly exotic in a land where evangelicals ruled. And his mouth had fallen open when Korra revealed without ceremony that even though her parents were missionaries in Siberia, they were both pro-choice and even supported Canada's universal healthcare system.

"It's just that because of what my parents do, everyone expects me to be so much more spiritual than I actually am," she confessed to him one day when she revealed that she was having trouble leading bible study. "I volunteered here and started doing counseling with Pastor Tenzin to get stronger in my walk." The pages of her NIV Study Bible fell open to reveal a mess of highlighting and underlining. Post-its clung to either side of the page. "I read it every day, but something about it just doesn't stick."

He hadn't told her in that moment that he understood precisely what she meant, but as the weeks passed they became more and more comfortable speaking candidly about their doubts. They talked about Rob Bell vs. John Piper and debated the existence of hell with a frankness that Mako found refreshing. One night, they'd fallen asleep on the phone together as he told her the story of his parents' death and everything he and Bolin had been through.

And then she'd asked him out, and he'd been completely floored. None of the girls he knew did that sort of thing.

"Look, I really like you, and I think we were meant to be together."

He'd thought about his girlfriend, the woman sitting across the table from him, the girl he'd never actually been on a date with without a dozen of her church friends in tow.

"I…I just don't feel that way about you."

The words still made him cringe, but even worse had been the look on her face as her smile fell, and he feared that he had ruined everything. So one night after Wednesday service, they were putting the music equipment away, and he tried to confront her.

"So you do like me?"

"Yes," he sighed. "But I like Asami too. I'm just really confused—"

His words had been stopped by her lips on his. If he wanted to, he could remember exactly how her mouth tasted, how every doubt he'd been experiencing suddenly gave way to a feeling of sublime completion. And even after Bolin had found them, and he'd had to chase after him, he knew he wanted to kiss her even if it meant risking damnation.

Asami looked at her watch. "I have to get to choir practice."

"I'll see you around?" He hadn't meant for it to come out like a question, but she placed a hand gently, almost sympathetically on his shoulder and just nodded.

…

It was hard to say whether it was a righteous impulse that brought him to Korra's apartment. But for whatever reason, there he was, rapping lightly on her door. And when she opened it, her face fell a bit.

"Can I come in?" he whispered.

"Yeah, I'm just packing."

He followed her in and saw a bunch of boxes stacked against the wall. One was open, and he recognized the cover of Blue Like Jazz on the top. God, I'm in love with her, he thought, and this time he wasn't taking the Lord's name in vain.

"Why are you leaving?" he asked, his voice a little hysterical.

"Look, just go back to church and get on with your life. Don't do me any favors."

"What are you talking about?"

There were tears forming at the corners of her eyes when she turned to face him. Her mouth opened slightly, and he could tell that she was holding something back.

"What?" he said, gentler this time. He hated to see her in pain.

"I'm not really sure I'm a Christian anymore," she confessed, and what shocked him more than anything was the fact that he felt no judgment whatsoever, nothing but love and a sense that standing in front of him was the one person who could truly understand.

"It's been building a long time," she said, her voice cracking slightly as she wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. A strand of hair fell out of her ponytail, and Mako reached toward her to push it behind her ear. After he did so, his hand came to cup her cheek.

"I don't care if you're a Christian or not," he said, and surprised registered in her wide blue eyes. He moved his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her face toward his. "I love you Korra."

He kissed her gently, chastely at first. And then she gripped him by his suspenders and pulled him flush against her, and something inside of him burst open. Mako had lost his virginity at fourteen, but he hadn't well, done very much since converting, not even with the girls who seemed to think the True Love Waits contract had a loophole where blow jobs were concerned. But something about kissing Korra reminded him that they were young and alive.

As his tongue pushed past her lips, her fingers started working at the hem of his shirt. He pulled her hair free, and in just a few minutes, they were both bare chested, and he had her pressed against a wall, feeling all of her pushing back against him with an intent that could only be described as sinful.

"I love you too," she finally whispered against his neck.

"Are you ok with this?" he asked, realizing that his erection was pressing needily against her through their clothes.

"Oh, fuck yes," she whispered into the humid air that had gathered around them, and when he let his teeth graze her ear lobe, she moaned, and it was better than the music he made with his guitar.

In the end, they had to interrupt their activities, put on shirts, and go hit up a CVS for condoms. Because while the church said prophylaxis didn't work, Korra had received good sex education in the Canadian system, and Mako had the wisdom of the streets.

"Thank goodness no one recognized us," he said once they were completely naked and stretched out on the mattress in her bedroom, where a DC Talk poster had fallen limply to the floor.

"Do you really care?" she asked, and as if in challenge, she shifted her position on top of him so that he could feel the tip of his cock slip inside of her.

"No, not really," he hissed, his eyes screwed shut as he concentrated on not climaxing right away.

She laughed softly and slid onto him, and the air completely left his lungs as waves of pleasure rocked through him. Once he had control of himself, he gripped her ass with both hands and thrust back against her, listening to the rising pitch and volume of her voice as she found an angle.

His pleasure became razor sharp, and he could feel it building to a point inside of him. "Korra," he seethed, and he looked up to see her touching herself until her mouth fell open and her movements became spasmodic. Turned out he wasn't the only one who knew what he was doing in bed.

He let himself go as he watched her come, and soon she was resting flat against his sweaty chest, long dark hair sticking to her skin. The room was quiet, and once his brain stopped humming, he felt the need to speak. "That was—"

"—divine?" He looked into her face and saw her grinning back at him, insufferably pleased with herself. He pressed a kiss against her forehead and shifted, turning so that they were on their side and facing each other. And for a long time, he just held her, one leg nestled in between hers, and they just listened to the sound of the window unit trying to fight the summer heat. With his fingers, he traced the muscles of her back, trying to burn them into his memory. And he felt for just a moment that this was precisely what he was made for.