Jesus knelt on the ground, hands clasped, eyes closed. "Are you there, God?" he asked. "It's you, Jesus."

No answer, which was really irritating, seeing how Jesus needed guidance at that moment. Two hours in, and he still couldn't believe he had to spend forty whole days in this desert. That was, like, a long time. More than a month. It was sweltering in the afternoons and freezing at nights, and a disgusting spider had crawled over his calf, and that had caused him to damn near scream his blessed lungs out while he ran around in circles for about half an hour. Jesus really, really didn't like spiders.

He did not understand what was the purpose of his being in this wasteland for more than a whole month when he was God incarnate, but his father worked in mysterious ways, and who was he to question his all-knowing father?

Jesus sighed, opened his eyes, and dropped his hands. He would try in a few more hours. Maybe his father would be in a listening mood then. Jesus was about to stand when he felt a hand run along his shoulder and down his arm. Jesus shuddered. He did not see his tormentor, but he knew who it was that awoke feelings in him that he'd experienced once or twice when he'd watched his half-naked from the waist up, sweaty, strong disciples fish or row a boat. Those feelings were bad, though, because his father said so. "Remember, Son," Yahweh had told him once, "every time gayness happens before my eyes, a baby is born with a hare lip."

Jesus did not want a cute little baby to be born with a deformity, so he always bottled up those feelings. He whined, "Nooo, Satan. Das gay."

Another hand dropped onto Jesus' other shoulder. Like its twin, it slid down the coarse material of Jesus' robe.

Jesus gulped and grit his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered as Satan started working out the tension in Jesus' neck, shoulders, and upper back. It felt heavenly, yet Jesus knew that this, the way he relaxed under Satan's touch, the way strangled moans that he failed to contain escaped his lips, was not. It was far from heavenly. It was a sin.

"This is...um...wrong," Jesus whimpered, but he nonetheless leaned back into Satan's touch. Satan had some skilled hands.

Satan remained silent.

"It's, ah, kinda a sin, you know. I'm not allowed to do that. I kinda have to be a role model and junk."

Satan's ministrations stopped. Jesus looked up and over his shoulder at the being who tempted him so. Impassive golden eyes stared at him. Finally, a smirk formed itself on Satan's full lips. His luscious, beautiful lips. Satan quietly prowled around Jesus until he stood in front of him. Satan offered him a soft-looking hand. Jesus stared at the hand. He pictured that hand upon his cheek. Hating himself, Jesus placed his hand in Satan's and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"Your words say no-no," Satan purred, lowering his hands onto Jesus' shoulders, "but your eyes say yes-yes."

Jesus hesitated. His eyes looked up to the heavens. His father was watching. He was always watching. "Satan, I'm scared," he mumbled.

Satan shushed him as he twined their fingers together. "I can give you whatever you want, Christ."

Jesus tried to pull away, feebly. "But Father said you would say that. He said you say nice things before you lead someone down a path of filth and corruption. You are pure evil."

A bitter smirk twisted Satan's lips, and while Satan looked as young as a man in his mid-twenties, his eyes reflected just how much he had seen. Satan had some old-looking eyes at that moment. "You only know his side of the story," Satan finally said after two whole seconds of silence.

And then Satan's lips crashed into Jesus' lips. Jesus had been alarmed at first, but he capitulated and slowly slid his eyes closed.

Overhead, thunder crackled and a strong wind picked up.

That was the first time God had become enraged with his son, and so it was also the first time the Almighty God had unleashed a natural disaster for reasons other than to punish the mortals for offending him.

Jesus spent the forty days not praying and fasting, but traveling the world partying with Satan. Jesus had ceased being the docile little servant that his father expected him to be, and he also picked up a habit of calling people "boo."

It all angered Yahweh very, very much.