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It was, of course, God’s every right to test a man’s mettle and faith. Father Tony just wished he’d chosen something less…
Effective.
The boy was sin incarnate; lust and greed that only the Devil himself could’ve crafted with the finest of materials. Tony had seen tiger’s eye gemstones the exact hue of those eyes and rose petals that would be found wanting against the soft pink of his mouth.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”
My lord unto thee I pray, grant me the will to resist this temptation. Lend me your strength and guide me through this trial of my own. I vow unto thee that I shall not be led into such sin…
“Confess unto me, child, and be both unburdened and forgiven.”
This was the boy’s third confession this week. The third of God’s tests, the third of the Devil’s wicked whisperings into his ear. Perhaps it was no less than he deserved for his sinful past. All those nights spent in the filth of the Devil’s desires.
“I have been gripped tight in lust and I don’t want it to let me go,” the boy breathed, the words courting with a soft whine. A maddening mixture of thrill and terror shot through his body and he let out a shaky exhale.
He did not dare turn his gaze away from the flicker of the candles and the golden light they cast upon the ornate cross that towered above him, a watchtower that reminded him of his vows.
“Have you committed adultery?” he asked, his voice kept level only by the sheer force of his will and the fingernails he dug into his own thigh, sharp even through the layers of black cloth.
“No.”
“Have you disrespected a woman by fostering a child in her womb without loving her?”
“No, Father.”
His throat clicked as he swallowed.
“Tell me your sin.”
The wooden pew beneath them creaked as the boy shuffled closer, carrying with him the scent of mint and clove in the air. The sweetness of his exhale. Tony imagined that when their knees brushed it left a brand, a scorching heat that would slowly consume him whole if not doused.
“I think, Father,” the boy whimpered pitifully. “I dream of things. Filthy things. Nasty, carnal filth that’d make the Devil blush.”
O Father, as you watch over me, grant me your protection against the Demons that would see me stray from my Path. Grant me your love as my light to see that I stay true…
“Thoughts themselves are not sin. God has given you his faith, believe in him and you will not act upon the thoughts that would see your righteous soul blackened.”
“But I want to act on them,” the boy admitted, so soft a kitten’s fur would feel envy. “Oh Father, you have no idea how badly I want to. How vividly I imagine these things. How I slick up my greedy little cunt, how I stuff it full with my fingers but it’s never enough-”
“Stop.” He tried to commanded it, but instead he begged it. He dug his nails harder against his thigh and hoped the pain would enforce his focus.
“God demands of us that we be honest,” the boy answered him, moving closer still. “What I say is of the purest truth. Lust has planted roots in my soul and it makes me ache that my own touch is not enough. Do you know how I’ve cried, Father Stark? Cried that I was not filled with a thick, throbbing cock buried deep inside me?”
“This is cruel,” Tony answered, voice cracking. Sweat threatened at his brow and he pushed himself to his feet. On the mention of cocks his own was already rubbing against the silk of his boxers, already leaking as if it too were weeping for the lack of fulfilment.
“Forgive me. Unburden me,” the boy begged. And Tony…
Tony was weak.
“Kneel. I will pray for you and bless you in His name.”
He let out a shaky exhale as Peter stepped into view, cheeks flushed pink like the freshest of spring flowers, lips bitten dark. Wearing nought but a loose summer shirt left half-unbuttoned and a pair of fitted, black pants that almost gave him the curved hips of a woman.
He ached with desire. It clawed at him and settled heavy in his bones, a leaden weight that refused to be ignored. No amount of prayer seemed to lift it and abstinence only turned it into an inferno that tried to reduce him to charred ashes.
Holding his gaze, Peter stepped up onto the dais and turned his back to the shrine of tapestries and sculptures and the Bible atop it’s plinth. It was nothing if not the perfect metaphor and Tony swallowed, watching as the boy sank slowly to his knees.
He stepped before him and forced himself to meet the watchful eyes of the cherubs that lined the walls. Forced himself to feel their judgement as he held a hand over the boy’s forehead.
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, I pray that this child of God be granted His protection and His love. I pray that he be guided in the safety of the Lord’s light and that-”
As he prayed he repeated it in his own mind, for his own benefit. It was the ultimate test of his faith, to be stood before such beauty, willing and kneeling, so close to where he was straining and hot and heavy. He prayed that he could withstand it, prayed that he would not fall victim to such temptation.
He dipped his fingers into the water and drew a light cross above Peter’s brows, mimicking the symbol across his own chest before he stooped. His intent was to kiss that butter-soft skin between those dark brows, to finish the blessing and dismiss the boy before both of their wills crumbled.
But Peter had his own intent and as Tony stooped down he surged up, teeth closing over Tony’s hanging rosary, using it as a leash by which he pulled the holy man down with him as he fell back onto his elbows, the priest landing between his splayed thighs.
“Peter-!” he barked sharply, palms hitting the carpet beneath them as the boy spat out his beads and tipped his head back, their mouths separated solely by an inch of air.
“Lying in a holy building is a sin,” the boy whispered, thighs squeezing around his hips. Peter’s own length found the crease of his hip and settled there, slender and burning hot and robbing Tony of any further argument. His own lay dangerously against the inside of Peter’s thigh and he could weep for the need it invoked.
“Would you sin, Father? Would you deny that you think about me as much as I think about you?” Peter murmured, hands curling around his biceps. “Tell me that you don’t think about stuffing your cock into my gaping little hole. Lie and tell me you don’t think of dumping your load inside me and licking it back out.”
He groaned, digging his fingers into the carpet and his teeth into his lip as he stared into the honey-god of Peter’s eyes. The Lord had abandoned him - this fight was all his own. This weak will was all his, cowardly and hungry.
“I will not sin,” he rasped, the words free of conviction as Peter tipped his head back, baring his throat, bringing their mouths closer.
“Tell me that and mean it, and I’ll stop. But it’ll be a shame if you do. A shame to waste the fact that I’m all open and ready for you. All dripping wet and ready for your holy seed,” Peter teased him, eyes bright, wild.
“Lying is-”
“A sin, I know,” the boy shot back impatiently, hips shifting up, dragging their cocks together. He pushed at the priest and the man rocked back on his knees, watching with crude lust as Peter rolled onto his hands and knees like some canine bitch in heat.
“Absolve me of the accusation,” Peter panted, reaching back for him, dragging Tony until folding over him, delicate fingers around his wrist guiding it back, fingers sliding down the slope of his spine, beneath the cotton of his waistband, against the slick heat of-
“O Lord forgive me,” Tony muttered brokenly. Beneath the pads of his fingers Peter was wet and wanting, puffy and quivering in need against his touch. He could feel the gentle pressure, the way the boy’s greedy little hole seemed to be trying to draw him closer. Deeper.
“God’s children are rewarded for their faith,” Peter whimpered, rocking back against his hand, head hanging low with an errant curl flopping over his brow. “Reap your reward. Fuck me.”
It was less a coax and more a demand, the boy dropping onto an elbow as he tried to shove his pants down. Desperate for it, as though it was less a desire and more a base need that urgently demanded satisfaction.
Tony’s cock pulsed in his pants, a heady throb that spilt pre-cum against his hip, He imagined that it throbbed inside Peter instead, deep in that tight heat, painting those slick insides white with his mark.
He let out a groan and let his head drop, resting between the boy’s shoulder blades as he began to mutter a desperate, last-effort prayer.
Peter, astoundingly, stayed silent for it. Knelt there patiently, breathing even, heartbeat thundering away in his chest. When Tony finished Peter even murmured a quiet amen in unison, shivering beneath him as if realising that he was one step closer to fulfilment.
“Tell me honestly, child - Peter. Do you want this?”
“So badly that it almost scares me,” Peter agreed on a light moan rocking back against him, the back of his thigh dragging over Tony’s clothed cock. “Every Sunday. Every sermon. Fuck, do you know what your voice sounds like? Do you know the things I want to hear it say?”
Strength to resist completely robbed from him, Tony reared back long enough to unbuckle his own pants, to draw his length out with a hiss before he reached for Peter’s own waistband.
“Tell me.”
“Tell you what, Father? That I go home after service and stuff three fingers into my hungry little cunt? Or how about I tell you that just last night I dreamt that we were sat in the pews, that I was riding your cock and you were taking God’s name in vain?”
Tony groaned and spat a curse, watching avidly as the boy’s round, milky cheeks were exposed, like unwrapping the sweetest of gifts. In the low light of the candles and the hanging lanterns he could see the shine of slick between them, the light reflection winking at him.
“You must be either the most wicked of His tests or you are my reward for such devout servitude,” Tony growled, landing a gentle slap to one round cheek, feeling soft muscle bounce beneath his palm, feeling the slow flush of heat as the skin turned pink.
Peter arched beneath him with a high whine, needy and desperate, the sound chased by a sharp yelp when Tony dragged his pants down around his knees and shoved against the backs of his shoulders, pressing him into the plush carpet where a thousands priests had stood before them, citing the words of God.
The thought almost made him falter.
Almost, if not for the way his cock rode the slick groove between Peter’s cheeks, flushed tip rubbing over the boy's open little bud.
The Rapture would not feel as good as the boy’s tight little ass squeezing around his cock, sucking him in, sinking into that slick warmth, feeling it stroking his cock, feeling the vibration of Peter’s thready moan.
“Oh, fuck,” he cursed, abandoning all hope of escaping this with lust as his only sin. He leaned back, using one hand to keep the boy pinned, watching his pin little rim stretch whorish around his thickness, gaping wide for him, watching as inch by inch he was swallowed into the boy’s guts.
It was the sweetest inferno, the most divine fall as he was sheathed into the boy, as Peter trembled beneath him and made sounds as beautiful as birdsong. No amount of repenting felt unworthy of the bliss, the holiness of this pleasure.
“Father,” Peter moaned beneath him, hips shoving back, trying to coax him deeper. Tony wondered briefly if this was the boy’s first, but his throat closed up when he tried to ask and all he could do was groan roughly in response.
This had to be reward. No sin could feel this good. No craft of the Devil could incarnate the truest pleasure supposedly only found at the hands of the righteous
“Forgive me,” he murmured into the boy’s shoulder as he folded over him again, nuzzling into that soft hair, inhaling the scent of coconut shampoo as he ground into him, rode the tight grip of his ass, that delicious suction that clamoured to keep him deep and threatened to milk him for all he was worth.
“Oh, oh- Ohh,” Peter was breathless beneath him, pawing uselessly at the carpet, shoving back against his cock, impaling himself as deep as Tony’s full balls against his perineum could allow. He could already feel them throbbing, could imagine with perfect clarity emptying them inside Peter’s lithe little form.
“F-fuck me ha-arder, Father Stark. Please!”
He ground his teeth and complied, abandoned the deep, greedy grind in favor of digging his knees into the carpet, dropping one hand to brace himself, the other against Peter’s hip as he dragged his cock back, felt it slide through the mess of lube that made Peter’s heat slick.
He shoved back in, feeling Peter’s body part around him; suck him straight back in. It punched the air from Peter’s lungs and tore a ragged sound from the priest. It echoed around them, bouncing off religious symbolism and high carved stone walls.
Peter squirmed beneath him, trying to fuck himself on the thick length that carved him open, a lewd sound bringing a blush to the boy’s cheeks when he glanced back at Tony, eyes glossy and lips parted.
Both of them braced, Tony pulled his hips back again, shuddering through the tight, sucking heat, watching Peter’s lashes flutter as he fucked back into him, smearing pre-cum along his soft, pink walls.
His own throbbing cock reminded him of Peter’s and he shifted the hand on the boy’s hip, reaching around him to find that slender, flushed heat. When he closed his fingers around the velvet skin Peter hiccupped a cry, shoving into his fist and then back onto his length.
“What are you if not temptation?” Tony growled at him, all niceties melting away in the maddening simmer of pleasure that settled heavy between his hips and wrapped it’s electric fingers around his spine.
“Stuffed full of your cock?” Peter supplied, smirk falling away when Tony fucked into him roughly, so forceful it shoved him against the carpet and left pink friction burn on his forearms.
“Brat,” Tony huffed at him, shoving deep and digging his fingers into the flooring, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin where Peter’s delicate little cock sloped into a pair of small, round balls, grinding deeper still in unison.
Peter howled, hips jerking as if he didn’t know which sensation to chase. Part of Tony wanted to flip them around, wanted to make Peter’s fantasy come half to life. Wanted to watch the boy bounce on his cock like some wanton whore.
Part of him liked it just like this. Carnal. Almost animalistic. Hands and knees, panting like dogs, chasing their pleasure with single-minded intent.
He would never be able to stand at the head of these steps again. He would never be able to stand on this plush carpet without hearing Peter’s hitched breath in his ears, without feeling the phantom grip of his pert little body.
He rut forwards, fucking himself into that warmth, murmuring low praise as Peter trembled and whimpered and moaned beneath him, slim cock throbbing in his hand as he fisted him in alternate timing to each thrust.
He could already feel his orgasm building, rising quick through his body, balls drawing tight, cockhead leaving a slick claim inside the boy as his sore little rim stroked and fluttered around his cock.
His rosary dragged between the boy’s shoulderblades, bouncing with the force of his movements. Peter’s cock throbbed in his grip and Tony rolled his hips, tipping his head back to stare into the carved eyes of the angels above them.
He could imagine Peter there - amongst the divine and the heavenly. Sin and salvation both. A religion Tony would abandon all other purpose for.
“Forgive me, Father,” he whispered, bowing his head as he fucked into the boy faster, harder, deeper.