Religion is lost here. It's lost on them and on what they're doing, and if any god saw them, the books dictate their turning away. And still, they sucked the air out of the room, drew all the energy into them, because Avery was glowing and Jack was concentrating and there was nothing else.
Jack had stopped praying to Avery long ago, and it was obvious now, the way that he demanded and latched onto and took from Avery's obvious energy, from the glow that he emitted, not just angel-glow but something else entirely.
His arms, Jack's, kept Avery back and down and his hands were spread over Avery's chest, and with his arms over his head like that he looked like he was prostrating himself, begging mercy from some vengeful god, or giving himself entirely over to the will of a greater power. But Avery was arched up, no longer on his back but in the air, hips lifted to the heavens and cock buried in Jack's throat.
The way they joined together wasn't holy or sacred or anything beautiful. It was hunger and it was need, and Jack's sweat and Avery's glow combined into one shine but that only highlighted what they did in the dark. Jack's fingers played over Avery's skin and Avery held fistfuls of his hair until it seemed impossible for them ever to part.
Skin and skin and wet noises until Avery is arching up whispering God and it isn't a prayer, it can't be the way that he follows it with Jack! but it's still whispered so fervently that it holds some power of its own, because then Jack is arching too, whispering Avery's name back to him as their bodies, as his mouth separates.
There's no religion there, there's nothing holy, but the silence that follows is something new, because the angel glows softly still and the boy reflects it back. And the way they whisper each others' names back and forth is special, too, but not as much as the other thing they say, right before sleep wraps around them. And they don't need religion as long as they can say it.
I love you.