Hallowed Be Thy Name
Title: Hallowed Be Thy Name
Author:
lesinnocents
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: patrickxpeter
Word Count: 828
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.
Author's Note: Wow, it's been a long time since I wrote anything remotely smutty, and this was completely on accident. I actually have no idea where this came from, but happy early birthday,megyal.
“Father, I must speak with you.”
It was dark in the room and the priest’s black robes seemed to be camouflage for the man to blend in with the meager lighting and somber demeanor of the dimly-lit office, his pale skin and bright eyes both making striking contrasts against the sober feeling the church emanated.
“What can I do for you, my son?” Father Stump murmured, the curve of one darkly-clad shoulder pressed thoughtlessly into his patron’s as they both stood above the little undulating flame melting the wax of the candle and sending it trickling down its brass holder in messy rivulets. The dark, honey light blended well with the priest’s fine strands of strawberry hair and caught the edges of little diamonds tucked into the sheen of his eyes. Pete, a regular at the church since his christening who never wanted for more sins to confess each week, should have been demurely lowering his gaze in the presence of the crucified Christ frozen in marble on the wall, but was far too captivated with Father Stump and the way his skin looked so fair against the blackness of his robes.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have been having impure thoughts,” Pete whispered back, speaking as if he were afraid that his breath would extinguish the fragile light of the candle. He turned his face, every movement seeming slow and weighted cast in the fluctuating light, and pressed his full mouth against the priest’s neck, marveling at hot taste of the slightly sweat-dampened skin just above the clergyman’s collar and appreciating it further with long laps of his tongue.
“This is not the confessional, child,” Father Stump replied, just as softly but with that unmistakable sighing tone to his voice as he pressed closer to the young man. The tip of the candle’s flame bowed towards them dangerously, teasing them with the prospect of going out before straightening out.
“Oh, no… it’s far too small in there to fit us both,” came Pete’s chuckled response, adoring the strict way that the priest’s body remained rigid against his, even as he pulled him closer and ground their hips together, a hand groping for the perfect curve of the blonde’s ass. It was Father Stump’s religion that kept him so well schooled, even as he was betraying it during the darkest of times in the night.
“What have these thoughts been?” His voice didn’t falter, didn’t stray from the usual gentle, concerned tone that he used while giving sermons and sucking cock. He was beginning to lose his breath, though; even in the sparse light, Pete could see the rosy flush to his cheeks and hear the heavy exhales.
“Dirty thoughts, Father,” Pete murmured, pushing the robe hastily aside and working frantically at the fly of the priest’s pants. The boy’s ceaseless enthusiasm and pure earnest desperation never failed to set Father Stump on fire in a very particular way, like the bronzed masterpiece sliding down to his knees and tugging at the waist of the priest’s trousers was really a wanton whore pleading for any taste of this man of God. Pete liked to lay down sacrifices of sore throats and bruised knees on the altar for Father Stump’s taking. “Wrong thoughts about another man.”
The silver cross pressed sweetly against the hollow of Pete’s golden throat gleamed in the candlelight as his lips closed around their prize.
“Explain.”
“I’ve thought about how his come would taste, how he would feel inside me,” Pete whispered, his words ghosting over Father Stump’s length like the gentlest of tortures. He moaned – Pete, that is – as if it were he on the receiving end of such careful caresses by lips and tongue. Father Stump was still the perfect image of sober Christian composure, save the slight sheen on his neck and the flush in his cheeks.
“Is that all?”
“No, not nearly. There have been so many fantasies, father,” between syllables, Pete’s tongue stroked Father Stump’s leaking erection like loving fingertips, “so many nights imagining things.”
“Do you touch yourself, my child, when you think of such things?” There, maybe that was a stifled gasp, just as Pete had started petting the priest’s swollen balls. Even if it had been imagined, the sound spurred the young man forward and he began attacking the desperately hard cock in front of him with the most eager of mouths.
“God, yes. Every time.”
“Tell me about these fantasies, boy. Spare no detail.” There was no doubting the heavy rasp in Father Stump’s voice now.
“No, Father,” Pete whispered, pressing his face into the crease of one pale thigh and looking up with long-lashed bedroom eyes at his saintly lover, who would drop his stern composure surely enough at some point in the night and then moan demands for things most priests had never even heard of if Pete’s tongue had its way, “I must show them to you myself.”
Author:
lesinnocentsRating: NC-17
Pairing: patrickxpeter
Word Count: 828
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.
Author's Note: Wow, it's been a long time since I wrote anything remotely smutty, and this was completely on accident. I actually have no idea where this came from, but happy early birthday,
megyal.“Father, I must speak with you.”
It was dark in the room and the priest’s black robes seemed to be camouflage for the man to blend in with the meager lighting and somber demeanor of the dimly-lit office, his pale skin and bright eyes both making striking contrasts against the sober feeling the church emanated.
“What can I do for you, my son?” Father Stump murmured, the curve of one darkly-clad shoulder pressed thoughtlessly into his patron’s as they both stood above the little undulating flame melting the wax of the candle and sending it trickling down its brass holder in messy rivulets. The dark, honey light blended well with the priest’s fine strands of strawberry hair and caught the edges of little diamonds tucked into the sheen of his eyes. Pete, a regular at the church since his christening who never wanted for more sins to confess each week, should have been demurely lowering his gaze in the presence of the crucified Christ frozen in marble on the wall, but was far too captivated with Father Stump and the way his skin looked so fair against the blackness of his robes.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have been having impure thoughts,” Pete whispered back, speaking as if he were afraid that his breath would extinguish the fragile light of the candle. He turned his face, every movement seeming slow and weighted cast in the fluctuating light, and pressed his full mouth against the priest’s neck, marveling at hot taste of the slightly sweat-dampened skin just above the clergyman’s collar and appreciating it further with long laps of his tongue.
“This is not the confessional, child,” Father Stump replied, just as softly but with that unmistakable sighing tone to his voice as he pressed closer to the young man. The tip of the candle’s flame bowed towards them dangerously, teasing them with the prospect of going out before straightening out.
“Oh, no… it’s far too small in there to fit us both,” came Pete’s chuckled response, adoring the strict way that the priest’s body remained rigid against his, even as he pulled him closer and ground their hips together, a hand groping for the perfect curve of the blonde’s ass. It was Father Stump’s religion that kept him so well schooled, even as he was betraying it during the darkest of times in the night.
“What have these thoughts been?” His voice didn’t falter, didn’t stray from the usual gentle, concerned tone that he used while giving sermons and sucking cock. He was beginning to lose his breath, though; even in the sparse light, Pete could see the rosy flush to his cheeks and hear the heavy exhales.
“Dirty thoughts, Father,” Pete murmured, pushing the robe hastily aside and working frantically at the fly of the priest’s pants. The boy’s ceaseless enthusiasm and pure earnest desperation never failed to set Father Stump on fire in a very particular way, like the bronzed masterpiece sliding down to his knees and tugging at the waist of the priest’s trousers was really a wanton whore pleading for any taste of this man of God. Pete liked to lay down sacrifices of sore throats and bruised knees on the altar for Father Stump’s taking. “Wrong thoughts about another man.”
The silver cross pressed sweetly against the hollow of Pete’s golden throat gleamed in the candlelight as his lips closed around their prize.
“Explain.”
“I’ve thought about how his come would taste, how he would feel inside me,” Pete whispered, his words ghosting over Father Stump’s length like the gentlest of tortures. He moaned – Pete, that is – as if it were he on the receiving end of such careful caresses by lips and tongue. Father Stump was still the perfect image of sober Christian composure, save the slight sheen on his neck and the flush in his cheeks.
“Is that all?”
“No, not nearly. There have been so many fantasies, father,” between syllables, Pete’s tongue stroked Father Stump’s leaking erection like loving fingertips, “so many nights imagining things.”
“Do you touch yourself, my child, when you think of such things?” There, maybe that was a stifled gasp, just as Pete had started petting the priest’s swollen balls. Even if it had been imagined, the sound spurred the young man forward and he began attacking the desperately hard cock in front of him with the most eager of mouths.
“God, yes. Every time.”
“Tell me about these fantasies, boy. Spare no detail.” There was no doubting the heavy rasp in Father Stump’s voice now.
“No, Father,” Pete whispered, pressing his face into the crease of one pale thigh and looking up with long-lashed bedroom eyes at his saintly lover, who would drop his stern composure surely enough at some point in the night and then moan demands for things most priests had never even heard of if Pete’s tongue had its way, “I must show them to you myself.”