Archive of Our Own

The liturgy of the abyss.

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How many times do you have to repeat a dogma until it becomes true? How many layers of black linen are needed to drown out the sound of a heart that insists on beating out of the liturgical rhythm? And, especially, at what point does holiness cease to be a search for God to become an escape from oneself?

If you entered the Seminary of Santa Maria das Dores at three in the afternoon, you would find the answer to all these questions in the east corridor. Or rather, I would find the problem.

Daeyoung was, by definition, a man of answers. He knew Latin, knew patristics and understood the nuances of Canon Law like few others. He was too tall for the modesty that the soat demanded; a model structure, thin and imposing, which seemed to constantly apologize for occupying so much. If I didn't have so much love for God, it would be worldly activities. Probably numbing himself from expensive perfumes and large catwalks to stardom. A beautiful young man.

Behind the thin-framed glasses that kept slipping down their noses, Daeyoung's eyes were what the parish aunts called "pure", but that the mirror, on sleepless nights, revealed to be just hungry.

Too much information? We started wrong. Let's go to the other one then.

Tokuno Yushi. The famous son of the son.

The big mistake and reticence.

Son of a former nun who could never completely disconnect from the convent, he grew up in the stone gardens being fed by the cordial words of purity. A young man who probably knows every corner of a convent and already knows by heart the times when nuns get up, lie down and go crazy in their own beliefs.

Yushi was like the noise between the psalms, the moisture stain that insisted on drawing profane shapes on the ceiling of the sacristy. Not that he spent so much time watching to compare himself. For the sisters, he was a living reminder that the flesh is very, very weak. For himself, those women were just gray shadows that exchanged freedom for a silence that sometimes smelled of mold.

He knew the secret of the creaking locks and knew exactly which tile of the cloister was loose. Yushi lives on a frequency that no one else there could tune in, later nicknamed Borderline, like Tame Impala's music - although no one in the seminar used such technical words. For the priests, it was just "difficult temperament". A young man who still didn't know faith in God so well.

Anyway, he lived his best life. He attended the best education, even through constant faith and religion above religion, and images and sounds, and those paintings so well worked above his head, on the ceilings of the cathedrals. Until his eighteen, he swallowed God's voice in his mother's prayers. Priest, dean, nuns, regulars, everyone always had a different opinion about the boy who never expressed any kind of interest in the ways of God. He was always full of holy spirit and never seemed to delight in the opportunity.

He started working in the convent. Twice a day in the cathedral library. He witnessed the most impure events of young people his age in those vast corridors of religious books and bibles with more than a thousand different commandments.

And that's where he met Daeyoung. Kim Daeyoung, a young man who was much more interested in prayer books than in gossip at the next table.

He saw Daeyoung talking to the bishop of Santa Maria. Then he saw him confess to completely non-existent sins. He witnessed him asking the Friar of the church for help to convert. I wanted to become a priest, I wanted to become a saint and live on the graces of God.

Holy.

Kim Daeyoung was a saint.

And Yushi seemed a little punished by the idea.

That's kind of how their worlds collided on a Eucharist Tuesday.

Daeyoung closed the prayer book with a sigh that echoed through the shelves, a heavy and dense sound that seemed to carry all the weight of the virtues he desperately tried to sustain. He adjusted his glasses, which stubbornly slipped through the bridge of his nose, and remained static for a few seconds, as if he were processing a silent conversation with the Divine.

Yushi, from his strategic corner between the Patristics section and the manuscripts in Latin, watched the scene with an arched eyebrow. For someone who knew the secrets of the locks and the impure whispers of the corridors, the vision of that "holiness" under construction was almost offensive.

How could someone be so... clean?

Kim Daeyoung was a physical paradox. He had shoulders that seemed too wide for the humility he tried to project; a thin and imposing model structure that, under the duty light of the library, seemed an affront to asceticism. He never seemed interested in anything around him, it was always the boring books that the bishop separated especially for his favorite new testament.

It was Friar himself who broke the silence, approaching with the heavy step of someone who already carried decades of religion on his back.

"Yushi, my son." Yushi stopped what he was doing when he heard the voice resounding, and with a quick bow, stood up while Daeyoung approached the counter with the pile of books. "This is Daeyoung, he is studying the conversion process and I imagine they are the same age"

The tall young man gave him a small smile. "Kim Daeyoung, it's a pleasure. Frei told me that you grew up in the Holy House." He took a brief break before resuming, adjusting his glasses. "I want to move today."

"Daeyoung needs someone to guide him in the convent routine, and I thought it would be much better if he had someone of the same age to help." It was the last thing Yushi heard before the reverend distanced himself. On the other hand, Daeyoung on the other side of the counter, had a softness stamped on his face, like someone who was simply already decided on everything.

There were no conversations in the corridors beyond the basics, such as incessant questions about schedules, prayers, the rooms and blah blah blah.

Yushi stopped abruptly at the entrance of the Moral Theology corridor and turned around.

The height difference forced him to look up, but his expression was that of someone who was looking at something that needed an adjustment. Nothing that Daeyoung was doing something wrong.

According to the world, it seemed like such a certain decision that it requires extreme courage. No one proposes to leave a whole life like this to live with nuns and priests and images of saints in every corner.

There's even a little saint in the bathroom.

"So I can call you hyung" Daeyoung asked while admiring the room. Nothing extravagant, a bed in the corner, some books laid on a pure wood desk, shelves in many corners.

"Feel free." Yushi pointed to the highest shelf, out of his reach. "Since you're so tall, you should use that one over there to put the chaste little saint. When you decide to convert, you need a holy presence inside the room, since..."

"It's a vow of chastity in the room that I relate to God" Daeyoung completed, removing from the bag the little saint of Padua, a figure small enough to fit there.

"Can I ask you something, Dae?" Yushi was restless. He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed squeezing his own torso, while watching how easily Daeyoung moved. The seminarian didn't even need to stand on tiptoe; he just stretched out his long arm and placed the image of Saint Anthony of Padua on top of the shelf, exactly where the light from a crack in the window hit, making the white lily carved on the statue shine.

The silence of the room was broken only by the sound of Daeyoung's rhythmic breathing and the crack of the old wood under his feet.

"You can, hyung." and then turned around, fixing the glasses that had slipped with the movement. He gave a soft smile, that kind of kindness that seemed to have no folds, no ulterior motives. "Frei said that you are the best compass in this place. If I have doubts, I prefer them to come from you than from my own mistakes."

Yushi looked away to the little saint up there and then returned to Daeyoung's eyes. He felt that internal vibration, the unstable frequency that made him want to poke the smooth surface of anything that seemed too perfect.

"You're young, you have the whole world out there and you chose to get into a room that smells like mold to talk with silence." Yushi laughed without much humor, taking the glasses off Daeyoung's face just to confirm what he already knew; Dae was really a beautiful young man. "Do you think you're doing the right thing?"

Daeyoung remained still, his hand still resting on the desk. He didn't seem offended by the presence of the lowest; he seemed to be genuinely processing the question.

"My love is devout. I want to know what God has to offer me in this life, yushi hyung."

Simple. He just said.

Yushi felt a dry snap somewhere deep in his mind. That answer, uttered with such a clear calm, acted as an electricity conductor for his instability. He invaded the space that the greatest tried to sanctify even without demonstrating.

Without the lenses, Daeyoung's eyes seemed even more exposed, more unarmed, and to Yushi's irritation, even more hungry.

"What does God have to offer?" Yushi repeated the phrase, savoring the irony. "God offered you this face that makes the blessed forget the Our Father, and do you think the answer to this "gift" is to lock yourself here and ignore that you have blood running in your veins, not holy water?" Yushi seemed unhappy. Something in Daeyoung's presence made him angry, maybe too perfection.

Daeyoung blinked, her vision slightly blurred by the lack of glasses, but the focus of his attention was entirely on the boy in front of him. He could feel Yushi's chaotic energy, something that did not follow the metric rules of everything he had decided for his own life.

"The body is a temple, hyung..." Daeyoung began, his voice a little more hoarse, trying to cling to the script that the Bishop had taught him. There was something there that was making him hoarse.

In fact, Daeyoung has never felt so strange with a presence in life.

"Never been curious?" Yushi asked, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. The truth is that, for Tokuno, living in the convent was never a privilege. He had to experience the world through his doubts within God's house. Just like any young man, he fled emotionally many times. He discovered what was hidden alcohol, what was sex between the walls of the cathedral, what were desires and natural sensations of the body that he simply could not avoid.

And he saw how much he wasted. He only saw when his attempts to escape from the nuns became more frequent, when he made friends in the alleys that took him to know the city's nightclubs, the maddening parties of college students, a reality so different for those who needed to wake up every day at five in the morning.

Daeyoung walked away with his glasses in his hands. That's when Yushi realized how close he was to the abyss of reality. He wanted to devirtualize Daeyoung. This was the voice that screamed in his mind from the moment he saw that boy enter the convent amazed for the first time.

"Tomorrow, at six. Don't be late in prayers and try to keep up with my rhythm." Yushi turned around and left, leaving the door ajar. In the bedroom, Daeyoung was silent, his heart still hammering against his ribs, while the small statue of Saint Anthony watched, from the top of the shelf, the beginning of a conversion that was not in the Bishop's plans.

And when he was abandoned by the smaller figure inside the room, it was the first time Daeyoung questioned himself.

He sat on the edge of the narrow bed, the wood creaking under his weight. He opened the first book of Moral Theology, seeking the ready answers that always comforted him. "Chastity is the lily that blooms among the thorns," said the first underlined sentence. But, no mater how much he read, the image that emerged was not that of a heavenly garden, but Yushi's face a few centimeters from his, the insolence vibrating in every word.

Yushi had moles on his face that would be difficult to see if he wasn't so close. He had dark eyes. Very dark.

"Why is my heart beating like this?"

It's just my body reacting to the strangeness of the environment.

Daeyoung tried to start his vigil, kneeling in front of the wooden bed. He recited the rosary, but the wooden beads seemed to slip through his long fingers, for a fraction of seconds that seemed like hours of terror. Every time he whispered a "go for us", Yushi's voice echoed in his memory and then his eyes opened.

At that moment, I felt an uncomfortable heat under the collar of the shirt. He unbuttoned her, feeling guilty at the same moment. "God knows all things, I'm saving myself," he reaffirmed mentally, almost like a mantra to drown out the noise of his own curiosity.

But when lying in the cold bed, sleep was slow to come. In the few hours he managed to close his eyes, he did not dream of angels or divine glory. He dreamed of the east corridor, the smell of mold and lavender, and the feeling that, for the first time in his life, someone had really seen him.

All this because Yushi completely invaded his personal space. And Yushi, where was he now?

Yushi was a year older, but he had the stature of a young man much younger than Daeyoung. The first time he noticed Yushi in the library, the young man seemed to radiate so much boredom that it affected him sharply. Daeyoung was born in the worldly century, where young people are rebellious and dye their hair such flashy colors and wear very marked clothes.

He imagined Yushi that way that night. With dark pants, rock band t-shirts and sustaining that look as if it were your right place.

He sighed.

He looked at the ceiling.

"Our father who are in the cé—" then stopped abruptly when he felt a strange presence in the corner of the room. He didn't see exactly what it was, he was too busy trying to control his own emotions. The young man's voice seemed to echo in his mind.

Daeyoung felt light.

And then, it was in the morning.
It was 7:55 in the morning.

"There's something wrong, maybe I need to confess."

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"Fri... I apologize for the delay" said Daeyoung, bowing in a bow that seemed to hide his shame. "I missed the morning time. I had a restless night. I need a confession."

Frei looked at the young man, noticing the dark circles behind the thin lenses and the subtle misalignment in his model posture.

"Restlessness is part of the way, Daeyoung. God is testing your faith by putting obstacles in your way." The Friar opened the curtains of the great hall of the confessionals. There, there were three cabins away from each other. There was no one there but Daeyoung, left by the Friar to follow his path.

Daeyoung needed forgiveness for allowing curiosity to burn stronger than devotion.

He entered the small wooden cabin, the space was so tight that his broad shoulders brushed the walls. He knelt down, smelling the smell of old wood and incense impregnated in the curtain fabric. On the other side of the wooden lattice, he saw a silhouette but it didn't seem to be sitting like the other priests; This one moved.

"Father, I have a confession" Daeyoung whispered, with his voice failing, his hands joined in a desperate prayer.

"No sin conceived" replied a voice from the other side.

Daeyoung locked. It wasn't the hoarse and tired voice of some priest I've met before. It was a younger voice, melodious and loaded with an irony that he would recognize in any hell if he was not in pure agony.

It was Yushi, but he didn't know.
Or I didn't have time to know.

Yushi was there cleaning the confessor's place that part of the morning, where there were the time changes. But Daeyoung, in his mental agitation and lack of glasses in the dark, didn't notice in time.

"Sir... I sinned" Daeyoung continued, closing his eyes tightly, the heat rising up his neck. "I had thoughts... thoughts that don't belong to a man who seeks the altar. I saw an image that was not of a saint, and I wished that image was real and I had doubts about my sacrament."

He paused, staring at his own knees before continuing.

"God says that our faith goes through trials when we are on the verge of the privilege of understanding him. I chose to understand the ways of God very young and unfortunately, I was born at a time when the young heart is not attracted by the sensation of spiritism." Daeyoung sighed.

On the other side, Yushi leaned closer to the railing. He immediately realized who it was. He could have revealed who he was, but the pleasure of hearing the "saint" dismantle himself was greater.

"I want to be a saint, I want to purify myself of everything before belonging to the house... but, I feel like I'm leaving something behind."

"Are you sorry?" Yushi asked a thread of voice. There was guilt, of course. But his body suddenly began to tingle.

"Teach me how to purify." Daeyoung wanted to cry. The collar of the T-shirt suddenly suffocated him. He opened two buttons. Yushi was almost drooling.

"Tame it. Take off your clothes, Daeyoung..” Yushi practically begged, his eyes numb in that small cabin where they could only see themselves through the tiny cracks.

Daeyoung pondered for a few seconds. Take off your clothes?

"I... feel fire, Friar. It burns. It's like a fire that starts at the base of the spine and makes me want to disobey every rule I swore to follow." Daeyoung opened each button peacefully, like someone who could spend hours there confessing their sins. "I noticed spots on that boy's face and wanted to kiss them. And this goes against everything I've ever felt in my life. Impurity is no longer enough, even more so the desire for a man."

Daeyoung sighed, probably tired of saying so much.

Yushi was paralyzed, his breath short and shallow, watching through the tiny cracks the imposing silhouette of Daeyoung undressing the linen armor that tried to hide his humanity. He wondered where Daeyoung's palm was going, since it went down enough not to be seen through the cracks. Yushi smiled when he heard the resounding of the zipper of his pants and suddenly, Daeyoung had his forehead stuck to the wooden wall.

"I shouldn't... but" Daeyoung let out a broken whisper, his voice loaded with an innocence that contrasted violently with the nudity of his chest under the twilight of the cabin. The hand wrapped something thick, Yushi knew. The cabin got so hot all of a sudden.

"Do it. Do it for yourself." Yushi begged once again, the very whispered voice denounced his palm sticking anyway through the grip of his own pants.

He didn't wait for an answer. The fire that Daeyoung had described, the one that began at the base of the spine, now rose like impulses and jolts. The sensation of the skin against the skin was an electric shock, he was masturbating so carefully that Yushi felt like going over those wooden walls. He breathed hard, his knees apart. He admired Daeyoung's lips separating in the middle of the shadows, his thirst taking root and making his stomach turn with hunger.

He wants Daeyoung inside him.
Daeyoung wants to let everything burn only once.

Nothing was uttered. Daeyoung just didn't know when everything started to get blurry in his mind. All that started to matter there was to let everything about you go away.

Daeyoung never thought that if he converted he would demand so much from himself. He didn't imagine that he would be exploring his own body inside a confessional. After all, that's where people washed their sins, wasn't it? He murmured, but the tone was not of regret but of surrender. In Dae's clouded mind, the right thing now was to get rid of sin. Feel everything burn at once until it turns to ashes.

Yushi never saw sin in the form of people. Not until that day.

The sound of the greatest's breathing became an erratic rhythm, filling the tight cubicle. He squeezed his eyes so hard that he saw constellations under his eyelids, and at each point of light, there was Yushi's face. No matter how many times his big palm hugged the greeting and slid, his mind couldn't absorb how good he felt.

On the other hand, Tokuno felt the cold sweat running down his temples. He was in a trance, his fingers moving with an aggressive urgency at the foot of the stomach, following the bumps he heard through the wood.

"My God..." Daeyoung begged, his hands losing the rhythm. Yushi almost cried with the boy's beautiful curse. God's name for a moment seemed like a devil's tool. Daeyoung stirred, looked up, went down again, and in a matter of seconds, released what Yushi affectionately nicknamed "grace". The most graceful moan you've ever heard.

Holiness seemed like a distant idea, a faded picture on the ceiling of a cathedral that Yushi could not see. All that existed was Daeyoung ashamed of his actions, on the other side of the cabin, regulating his breathing while muttering a non-stop prayer.

"Father, I regret bitterly. I give myself body and soul to chastity and accept God's punishment without complaining." Daeyoung shot while pulling the zipper of his pants and trying to fix the buttons of the T-shirt. "Tell me what I should do now."

Yushi was destroyed. Sweat on his temples, the tongue pushing the salty taste of the tears that insisted on staining the swollen mouth from biting so much. It took seconds until he realized that he had been silent for too long.

"Pray."

Daeyoung seemed to want to erase every trace of what had just happened, hiding the skin that still burned under the layers of linen.

"But whet about my penance?" He insisted, his voice trembling.

Yushi leaned his forehead against the cold wood, feeling the throbbing of his own temples. He looked at the crack, where the light of the dead cathedral barely illuminated the contour of Daeyoung's shoulder.

Then Daeyoung remembered a quick passage said by the Friar before converting: "You will be tested so many times that your only tool of protection will be the word of God."

"I got it. I will do my prayers." And suddenly, the confessional was empty.

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God won't give you a ready answer in ten Hail Marys.

Daeyoung's knees hurt.

That day, he passed in full fasting. He didn't leave his room for anything, but also, none of the Nuns were worried about the situation. Except for Yushi, who half the day was thinking about the big shit he had done.

But anyway, it was done. And it's not like he's really sorry for what he did or the lies he made Daeyoung believe. Because they weren't exactly lies, but he had to check in the mirror if he wasn't growing a pair of horns on his head.

You know when you feel you've done something wrong enough to go down to the toboggan hell? Yushi tore off the skin of a lamb, felt himself incorporating satan while thinking about Daeyoung's hands groping his waist.

8:40 pm, the clock seemed to have parked. It was the last reverend of the night. Daeyoung lost count of how many Hail Marys he asked for. How many times the rosary went up and down between his long fingers until the count was over. He tried in every way to ignore any other people's thoughts about Yushi, and about how electrifying it was to fall in love with his own body imagining Yushi navigating him.

"Have mercy." He asked before putting his head on the pillow, but at some point that night, he felt a weight on his hip.

Whatever was there, entered through the front door, climbed on his lap and is under the cover.

Daeyoung's eyes tightened so hard that he felt his eyelids tremble. The weight on his hip was real, warm and rhythmic, a presence that challenged the sanctity of the room and the silence of the present wing. Under the blanket, the figure moved with a sinful confidence, climbing on his lap and holding his legs with a naturalness that made Daeyoung's blood boil with panic.

"Our Father who are in heaven..." he began to whisper, his voice choked, his hands grabbing the sheet so hard that his knuckles turned white. "Santified be your name..."

The figure didn't stop. On the contrary, determined hands rested on Daeyoung's belly, pressing the thin fabric of the shirt. The weight moved and, suddenly, the movement began: a slow, circular roll, which found the exact center of the tension that Daeyoung tried to bury in the confessional.

It was an ordeal. God sent.

"Deliver us from evil... amen... Hail Mary, full of grace..." The prayers came out like desperate supplications, but with each movement of that body on yours, the count of the rosds was lost. Daeyoung's cock reacted instantly, a biological betrayal that made him gasp between the verses. The figure under the blanket intensified the rhythm, stirring over it with a cadence that seemed to follow the accelerated heartbeat of the youngest.

It was a hypnotic numbness. Daeyoung's mind struggled to keep the image of the cross. "Help me, sir." He begged in the midst of the suffocation but the body could only feel the heat and pressure of that hip that provoked him without saying a single word.

Then, the sky over the convent seemed to tear.

A thunderous rumble shook the stone walls of the cathedral, followed by the violent sound of rain hitting against the window. Daeyoung thought he was receiving the visit of demons, or something that was there to test his peace. The flash of lightning lit up the room for a thousandth of a second, and it was at that moment that Daeyoung's hand, moved by an instinct that he could not brake, pulled the edge of the blanket.

The light of another lightning revealed the face.

Yushi was there, sitting on his lap, with his hair slightly messy and his eyes shining with a dangerous instability. Was it real? Yushi seemed drunk, thirsty, or maybe out of his his min.

"Are the prayers not working, Dae?" Yushi whispered, his voice competing with the noise of the storm outside. He didn't wait for an answer. Yushi tilted his body forward, resting his forearms on Daeyoung's chest, while he continued to move with a torturous slowness, feeling the stiffness of the other under him growing and growing.

"What are you... Yushi, mhmmn.." Cut. Yushi's body sank harder, Daeyoung's hip rose instinctively. "Oh God.."

Daeyoung's hands, which seconds before squeezed the rosary with fervor, acted by an instinct that he could no longer label as an ordeal. They shot to Yushi's waist, their long fingers burying themselves in the fabric of the minor's T-shirt, while feeling the curve of the hip that challenged him.

Yushi sank his knees on each side of the narrow mattress, stabilizing himself on Daeyoung's body with predatory precision. Daeyoung raised his torso, squeezed his eyes without being able to see perfectly, trying to understand how the sanctity of his room had been replaced by that suffocating heat in the middle of the night. The movement made her breasts rub, and the physical contact triggered a shock that made her lose her breath.

"Yushi... hyung... you can't be here." he arched, but his hands didn't push him; they pulled him closer, as if his body was betraying every vow he hadn't made yet.

The minor did not give space to logic, not that he had previously given it. He wrapped an arm around Daeyoung's neck, pulling the biggest head close to his shoulder, while the storm outside seemed to pulsate at the same pace as it happened between them. Yushi's smell, which was no longer lavender, invaded Daeyoung's senses, consuming any trace of resistance.

He was being devoured by sin, but for the first time, the feeling was not of terror, but of an absurd horniness that made his vision throb. Daeyoung felt Yushi's weight, the firmness of his legs holding his, and the constant friction that turned his skin into hot.

His mind was clouded. He was numb, bending his eyebrows like someone trying to understand what was happening. So, he thought if God was seeing all that happening suddenly or if he was too busy sending a storm at that time of night.

With one free hand, Yushi slid his fingers to the elastic of Daeyoung's pants. The cold touch against the warm skin of the abdomen made the hip of the largest rise in an involuntary jolt. Yushi began the work of lowering the fabric with a sadistic slowness, revealing the rigidity that the puritan had tried to hide under prayers. His tongue got stuck when the Psalms were present in his mind, however, the words distorted every time Yushi's fingers wandered through his intimacy, slightly.

Daeyoung threw his head back, his eyes fixed on the dark ceiling, feeling the pants being pushed down. The cold air of the room hit his bare skin, but was immediately replaced by the warmth of Yushi's hands, which now claimed for themselves what the Bishop believed belonged only to the altar. The "holy" body taken by the hands of another. A betrayal of faith. Yushi was the owner of the softest and most profane fingers.

Profane. Interesting word.

He stared at Yushi's desire-taken lights. He saw himself, saw the storm, saw the small tongue run between his lips when his mouth was taken.

Yushi, in turn, seemed possessed. The room full of holy and chaste images, books, open bibles, rosaries, everything inside the room doing nothing more and nothing less than a "grace" in the decoration.

"I can't take it anymore..." Yushi murmured between Daeyoung's thin lips, positioning him so accurately between his legs that, for a moment, he felt an excasifying dizziness. Daeyoung, in turn, looked like a puppet. He was so lost in the smell, in the taste, in the exciting thirst of belonging to Yushi that he didn't even notice when he started praying on the boy's lips and their intimacies were fitting.

"Blessed are you, God, and blessed is your name for all generations..." Yushi's suspended hip went down Dae's painful length. They joined together in body. "Don't let me fall into temptation..."

A sweet and innocent seal was received. He himself helped Yushi to receive his "grace". And before the small curses of the elder totally at the mercy of his big palms, it really seemed that Tokuno felt blessed with the saint's cock stretching his inner walls.

Do you know? Sex is seen as an eternal union. And fitting into your partner is nothing more than belonging. Daeyoung fit inside Yushi. It fit there, in a dark room being illuminated by thunderstorms, with all the purest images in the world. As unlikely and profane as that union seemed, no God dared to say he was wrong. Daeyoung felt the bed creaking and the noise seemed as beautiful as a prayer, nothing out of place. He looked into Yushi's eyes before seeing him turn the lights. Tokuno's thighs simply began to tremble when Daeyoung navigated his palms there, completely absorbed in the situation.

Thick thighs, begging to be held in place by force while Daeyoung settled on him, threw his hip up in an attempt to touch a specific point that made that boy moan slyly. Yushi looked like a bitch.

Could Daeyoung say that out loud? He had no courage, so he kept such a profane thought in his own mind.

Yushi stretched his arms behind Daeyoung's head, looking for support on the wooden headboard, where he wrapped his fingers until the folds turned red. The exact position was: Daeyoung sitting with a Yushi on his lap, so sly that he needed to seek support in any backrest, because Daeyoung was discovering how to stock up inside Yushi with a mastery of a porn actor. And he didn't even know that.

Who was fucking as well as a porn actor.

Yushi had his eyes closed while his hip was grabbed and forced up and down. He never imagined, in fact, that he would be taken. Not at all, actually.

After all, it wasn't your first time.

Yushi has had sex so many times hidden that he considered himself an addicted sapphic. The feeling of "fucking" - as he likes to call it, has been running through his veins for much longer than Daeyoung.

Maybe because it's Daeyoung's first time. And it's so good that it could get addictive.

What doesn't make sense in Yushi's numb mind.

And for a moment, he begins to believe that Dae is actually the deviant one.

Yushi feels his memory fading with each intense lunge. His mouth is dry and he wants to cry. He wants to change the position, because it's too deep and he's feeling Daeyoung's cock massage his prostate. But it's not bad, it's just... too much. He's so full that he can't concentrate and thinks he can come too early.

And he wants more. He wants it so much that he can't move away, he doesn't know how to stop.

"Dae... dae, please, take me." Yushi dictated to a thread of voice. Daeyoung lost in his own movements, unwinds his arm from Yushi's waist and the smaller one then manages to break free from the grip. A thread of conscience... just one. He lies on the quilts, face down for Daeyoung. It was a thoughtful movement and it took a while to finally be able to lie on the pillow under his hip.

It was the first time Yushi clearly saw Daeyoung's intimate so hard. It looked wet and painful.

Yushi moved his legs away, giving full view of his body.

Daeyoung doesn't blink.

He wants to fill Yushi with the holy spirit.
He wants to fill Yushi with something that resembles holy water; His holy water.

Yushi didn't even have time to breathe, when his jaw fell on the sheets and his body was pulled back in an absurd force. Well, it was a fright that, if someone asked that morning, Yushi would never say wait. He likes this taken version of the young man, because he doesn't look like the same one who masturbated asking for forgiveness from the heavens.

Ah, Daeyoung is using his body. He is using it as his hunger asks; Daeyoung is stocking inside him with the precision of a man who has gotten used to doing it every day. Yushi is drooling a little, he doesn't know if it's because of the way his hip is being captured by the long digits, or because of the sensitivity in his demanding intimacy, that he's going crazy with the size of Dae-dae.

Daeyoung is hungry.

"I receive your body tonight as a... a trial that I will be faithful... faithful to my commitment to God and nothing else..." Daeyoung said, leaning his knees fixedly on the white sheets.

"You don't know what you're saying, dae..."

"I'll purify you, yushi hyung." Once again, the voice tore the youngest's throat, and Yushi felt the hook in his stomach, preventing him from answering something related at that moment.

The sky has never been as close as your cry.

He cried, then felt the tears forming in the corner of his eyes. Everything got blurry in front of you; was that damn window open all this time? The floor was wet.

Daeyoung squeezed your ass. He squeezed, but not the kind unconsciously. He took the flesh between his fingers and squeezed while stocking inside Yushi.

Did he do that or is Yushi fantasizing? No, Yushi is feeling him sink.

The room is getting wet.
The pillow too.

Someone needs to close that window.

"My God..." Daeyoung said, finally, when it took longer in a last lunge.

At this point, if you ask Yushi anything, he will stare at you for long minutes without saying a word. His body is having intense spasms and he can't focus on anything in front of him ext his intimacy contracting. There are hands that went up from his ass to his ribs, squeezing them with a force that borders on possession, while he feels a last sequence of slow and devastating lunges. Daeyoung filled him completely.

Daeyoung didn't move right away. He remained on Yushi, his chest rising and falling violently, his forehead leaning against the other's back. Holiness, chastity, the Saint of Padua on the shelf - everything seemed to have been washed by the storm.

The taste of regret hasn't come yet. Too confused to understand when Yushi turned to him and smiled.

Daeyoung wanted to cry, a suffocated lament. The heat that used to set him on fire now turned into an icy cold, intensified by the wind that brought the rain into the room. His feet touched the wet floor and, without thinking, he let himself fall, his knees hitting hard against the wet wood at the foot of the bed where Yushi still rested, lethargic.

"What did I do... my God, what did I do?" Daeyoung sobbled, his big hands covering his face, while trying in vain to clean the trail of sin from his skin. He was in tatters, the posture of a future saint collapsed before Yushi's figure. "I broke my commitment. I'm a hypocrite. Yushi-hyung, forgive me, I shouldn't have... I'm not like that."

Yushi, however, didn't feel the same way. He felt the echo of the spasms and the cruel satisfaction of having won. He was a sin, his shirt - the only piece he wore, even, - completely wrunkled. He sat down and looked at Daeyoung's face as if trying to find the right words. His eyes were so dark, but so strangely satisfied, that for a moment, he really imagined he had been sent by Satan to test Daeyoung's faith.

Without warning, Yushi slapped Daeyoung's face.

The sound of the impact was so loud that the youngest's head turned to the side, the shock paralyzing his excuses. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the gasp of surprise of the greatest. Daeyoung took his hand to his burning cheek, looking at Yushi with a mixture of terror and fascination.

All his excuses were swallowed, suddenly he felt the delicious smell of Yushi invading his senses. He looked down at the boy's body as a temptation; The legs open, the thighs full with the mark of his fingers. He was the one who did it.

"You were born for this, Dae. Not to live in a fucking convent. You can confess every night that you put your fucking dick inside me, and you'll never belong to the holy house like you think you do."

"Don't talk nonsense, you did this to me..." Daeyoung purged, almost losing his breath with the stuck cry.

"It doesn't matter how many Ave-Marias you purge, Daeyoung" Yushi hissed, his voice loaded with a cruel lucidity as he watched the seminarian collapse. "You can spend your knees on the stone floor and bleed praying, but you will never forget how you devoured my body in this bed while trying to purify yourself."

"It was a weakness..." Daeyoung tried to convince himself, the words coming out between suffocated sobs, while squeezing his own chest as if he could pull the desire out of there.

Yushi thought it was funny.

Without saying anything else, he got up with a feline agility, collecting his clothes scattered on the floor. He dressed with an insulting calm, having Daeyoung's gaze on his body with every movement, and left the room leaving only the sound of the rain and the smell of his presence impregnated on the sheets.

⋆˖+‧+☽◯☾+‧+˖⋆

There, Daeyoung spent the rest of the morning in a state of manic wakefulness. He didn't sleep; he crawled to the foot of the shelf and, before the small image of Saint Anthony of Padua, recited the rosary so many times that his fingertips went numb. He sought repentance, but with each prayer, the memory of Yushi's weight on his lap obliterated the saint's face. His thoughts turned to the impure. His impulses had no brakes, he felt like a man of flesh and blood, and pains that could never be said out loud.

He was the first in line for the confessional. Under the gray light of dawn, he poured his sins before the Friar, now a royal, omitting only the name of the "instrument of his fall", but receiving a penance that seemed too light for the size of his internal fire. He wasn't true.

When he entered the library for his study shift, Daeyoung's stomach turned.

Yushi was already there, sitting in the same position as always, leafing a book as if the night before had been just a dream.

Daeyoung adjusted his glasses and fixed his gaze on a Sociology bookcase, the domain he used for his classes. He decided that it would be invisible. He would move the books, organize the files and breathe the dust from the paper without looking to the side.

"Daeyoung-ssi" Yushi's voice echoed through the oak corridor like an obsessive spirit. Daeyoung felt that coming to the convent, anyway, had not been the best idea. He didn't answer either. He pressed a volume of Christian Philosophy against his chest, his knuckles white. He felt Yushi's gaze on the back of his neck, reminding him that, no matter how much he tried to ignore, the slap mark was still there, invisible, but present. "I still can't believe you fucked in God's house."

"Yushi, please..."

"I heard Father say that true repentance only exists where there is a mistake. If you stop now, your confession earlier today will have been so... empty."

Daeyoung closed his eyes, trying to cling to his identity as a teacher and future clergyman, but Yushi's logic began to snake in his naive mind.

"Frei would be so proud to see a heart that he constantly regrets," Yushi continued, sliding a finger down the back of Daeyoung's neck, exactly where regret had not yet arrived. "Every time you give in under the eyes of God and, soon after, kneel in tears, you will be proving to Him that your faith is tested and renewed."

Yushi fingered the pages of the book in the hands of the youngest as if he would like to attract all the attention. It was humanly impossible to ignore Yushi's feverish state, like a faithful Satan dog that only rests when all the shit is done. "Keeping to sin is, in fact, your purest form of penance. Didn't Friar tell you that?"

Daeyoung turned slowly, her gaze lost behind the lenses of the glasses. He looked like a child trying to decipher a too complex riddle. The idea that his perdition could be, in some way, a tool of sanctification was the perfect poison for his mind tired by vigils and desire.

Daeyoung lived in God's house for exactly two days. He has already committed the worst of sins.

"Do you think... that regret is stronger if the mistake is repeated?" Daeyoung asked, naivety shining in his brown eyes. Yushi smiled, a glint of triumph crossing his unstable face.

"Page 124: God loves sinners who return to Him. I think you get to the kingdoms of heaven faster if you keep sinning. It's in the book."

⋆˖+‧+☽◯☾+‧+˖⋆

Have you ever felt the weight of a truth that only exists in the dark, while the rest of the world sees you as an example of light?

The days that followed were marked by a feverish monotony. For the other seminarians and for the Friar, Daeyoung remained the dedicated academic, the teacher who organized the library with firm hands and attentive eyes to sociological details. But, inside, Daeyoung's rhythm no longer followed the ringing of the cathedral bells; he followed the trail of Yushi's perfume that seemed impregnated in each oak corridor.

The routine became a ritual of silent waiting. The boy woke up and repeated his sanctity mantras, trying to convince himself that that night was a slip, a "weakness of the flesh". In the library, he felt Yushi's gaze on the back of his neck like a physical mark. He didn't look directly, but his ears were tuned to every movement of the guide, every breath, every acid comment that Yushi released about the "house of God". Some days he didn't even see Yushi in the library. Sometimes in the courtyard, too busy to be able to give him proper attention, but his eyes always ended up landing on him and a beautiful smile adorned those lips every time.

The convent received two young women about their age, both in formation of the Eucharist. Yushi also introduced them to the rooms and schedules. Gradually, the convent also hosted an intense number of visitors. Maybe for the season.

At sunset, the naivety of the youngest overcame his resistance. He came to believe in Yushi's distorted logic: that sin was only the fuel for a deeper repentance and, therefore, a form of "purification". He didn't dare to touch himself again, but he thought about doing it. And every time thoughts dominated his mind, he prayed three different Psalms.

Daeyoung began to live in a state of suspension. He didn't prepare the room for Yushi's arrival, because that would be admitting the desire, but he also didn't lock the door with the firmness of before. He left the Santo de Pádua on the highest shelf, but as the days went by, he realized that he avoided looking at the plaster eyes of the statue.

He didn't expect it to happen, but when the squeat of the wood echoed outside the room, his heart raced.

One week.

Yushi went to visit his distant uncles and didn't seem to care so much about how much he would miss him. On the other hand, Daeyoung tried to believe that his days were finally in accordance with God's desires and that he was worthy of going through his "trial".

He considered Yushi a depraved.
But I felt an absurd lack of his heavy jokes.

When Yushi finally returned, he didn't bring excuses, he only brought that same look of boredom and renewed audacity. He found a much more disturbed Daeyoung: the sunken eyes of those who haven't slept for some time and the dry lips from whispering so much prayers that no longer made sense. Now, it wasn't just Yushi who invaded; it was Daeyoung who involuntarily sneaked through the corridors, longing for the moment when the guide would cross his path.

Yushi noticed the change and began to test the limits of the sacred. During the morning masses, while the choir sung hymns of praise, Yushi positioned himself strategically next to him. Under the protection of wooden benches and heavy cassots, Yushi's hands became instruments of torture: an undue touch under the knee, a firm grip on the thigh under the fabric, or the brushing of his fingers on Daeyoung's palm as he held the songbook.
Daeyoung trembled before the altar, cold sweat dripping as he tried to keep his voice firm on "Amen", feeling the warmth of Yushi desecrating each biblical verse.

The image of Jesus was punishing him.

That same night, consumed by a need that bordered on madness, Daeyoung did what he never imagined: followed the shadows, guided by the instinct and the smell of Yushi that seemed to float in the humid air of the convent.

Door twelve.

Probably the most life-filled room you've seen in that place. Plants, smell of coffee, Yushi sitting under the window sill with a cigarette between his fingers.

A cigarette.

Yushi smoked hidden.

He directed his gaze to the door, finding a Daeyoung with sweatpants and that's it, entering the room without even being invited.

Do you want to know something interesting? Yushi also loved a specific saint. It was also the only holy image he had there: Saint Benedict.

Daeyoung walked to the older one, steps wide enough not to last five seconds until he was at his feet. Yushi, in turn, rested his palm between Dae's dark wires, pulling him with such force that he made the youngest curse in the process.

He knew perfectly well why he was receiving that unexpected visit. Daeyoung dared to kiss his hand when he drew the beautiful thin lips of the puritan.

"Do you want to sin, Dae-ssi?"

When Yushi asked if he wanted to sin, Daeyoung's silence was replaced by a hoarse and snoring "yes", a desperate nod that delivered what was left of his resistance. He was a man hungry for a punishment that only Yushi knew how to apply.

Yushi leaned his back against the window sill, opening his legs to welcome the young man's dense gaze between his thighs. He was too calm, too convinced that he finally managed to distort the tall one.

And fuck, if that was too much to accept, I would never understand how Daeyoung took his hands to his shorts and made them slide to his feet, revealing his sweet and blash skin like the sky. The contrast was glaring: Yushi's pale and cold skin against Daeyoung's feverish heat, who fit there as if that were his true altar.

The mouth kissed above the navel, making Yushi sigh in advance. Then another kiss on the waistband of the exposed groin and it didn't take long for the most pornographic vision in the world to form right before his eyes. Daeyoung sucking him as if life depended only on a few minutes of delight.

Yushi threw his head back, feeling the cold aluminum of the parapet against his back while Daeyoung's tongue traced a path of fire on his skin. It wasn't just an act of lust; it was the way Daeyoung gave himself, with an almost religious bow, that made everything more intense. He seemed to make him His God. And that was too much for Yushi's inflated ego.

The tall young man, who before barely dared to touch his own skin, now involved Yushi's intimacy with a hunger that seemed accumulated by centuries of repression.

Daeyoung's mouth was hot and moist, like when he took it for the first time. So firm that it made Yushi's fingers bury themselves in the window sill until the joints turned white. The rhythmic sound, the warmth of the other's breath against his thighs and the vision of that broad-shouldered man - the future clergyman - kneeling at his feet, was Tokuno Yushi's supreme delight.

Daeyoung used his tongue with a precision that bordered on obsession, rising and falling with a torturous slowness, savoring every inch of the blave skin as if he were in front of a sacred relic. Everything always compared to heaven and earth, because he lived the fucking profane paradise between his legs.

"Dae... slowly..." Yushi murmured, his voice coming out like a choppy moan, as he felt the saliva drip and pleasure accumulate at the base of the womb. Daeyoung, however, didn't seem to listen. He was numb. His hands went up to Yushi's thighs, squeezing the soft flesh hard, leaving marks that would be the ashes of the sacrifice of another sinful night.

He explored the glans with the tip of his tongue before wrapping everything again, sucking with an urgency that made Yushi lose the ground. The contrast of the coffee smell of the room with the metallic smell of desire was intoxicating. Each time Daeyoung went deeper, Yushi's body gave a jolt, and the muffled sound of his mental prayers seemed to vibrate against the sensitive skin of the minor.

His peak tasted like life. His stomach begged immediately.

He pulled Daeyoung's dark strands, forcing him to look up, wanting to see the perdition in the puritan's brown eyes as he took him to the limit. But then, Daeyoung's eyes darkened.

He got up slowly, his body vibrating with a tension that the sweatshirt could no longer hide. With a determined movement, he lowered his own pants, revealing himself completely under the silver flash that entered through the open window.

They united slowly, a deliberate penetration that ignored the urgency of time, while the danger of being next to the Frei's room electrized the air. Yushi didn't make it easy; he wrapped Daeyoung's neck with a firm hand, squeezing enough for the youngest to feel the fragility of life and the strength of desire at the same time. On the other hand, completely embedded in Yushi, Daeyoung clung to the window sill with a force that made the wood clat. He tilted his body forward, crushing his chest against Yushi's, seeking the heat of that skin that led him to ruin. The sound of penetration was muffled only by the rhythmic noise of their mixed breaths and by the wind that shook the plants in the room.

It started with too deep lunges, which ended up causing Yushi to involuntarily wrap his legs around Daeyoung's hip. Because usually, sex starts with a comfortable rhythm until it becomes intense enough to fit completely. Not here.

Here, Yushi lost track in a matter of seconds. His support was still Daeyoung's neck, but Daeyoung already took his waist, slid down his thighs, and showed the path from Yushi's heels to his back. It penetrated without subtlety. Yushi lost himself in the insightful sensuality of his saint.

"Mhmn, Dae... very deep..." Were they complaints? Daeyoung didn't know, but he also couldn't think of something to solve the issue, because his hip moved on its own.

Daeyoung did not hear the request for moderation; in fact, the sound of Yushi's voice, broken and wet, served only as a fuel for his own perdition. The youngest's hip moved in a violent and continuous arc, ignoring the delicacy that his religious education preached. He discovered that he loved to be blind with horniness, focused only on the feeling of filling Yushi completely, feeling the other's inner walls contract around his invasion with each merciless lunge.

Yushi felt the world spin. The window parapet had become the boundary between heaven and hell, and it was falling. Not from the window, but I could.

He squeezed Daeyoung's neck harder, not to stop him, but to anchor himself in the midst of the chaos of sensations that dominated him.

The air was lacking, but the pleasure compensated for the suffocation. Yushi's legs, now firmly crossed on Daeyoung's back, felt the rough sweatshirt against the sensitive skin, a constant reminder that they were there, in that room, defying the silence of the convent.

He began to dictate a new rhythm, even deeper, each impact making Yushi's body rise against the window glass that threatened to tremble. Daeyoung was possessed by the insightful sensuality that Yushi had provoked so much; His hands, big and firm, now squeezed Yushi's buttocks, forcing the fit to be absolute, with no room for air or doubt.

He carried Yushi with only one arm. He held him to the wall and rhythmied his movements.

"God forgive me for liking it so much..."

The danger of being heard by the Friar, at the next door, turned every muffled moan of Yushi into an act of supreme rebellion. Daeyoung felt the sweat of their bodies mixing, running down her glued breasts, while the smell of Yushi's cigarettes and coffee became her new incense. He was praying, yes, but not to the God of his books; he was reciting a silent litany dedicated to the heat, friction and total surrender that Yushi demanded of him.

With each movement, the image of Saint Benedict on the bookshelf seemed to observe the fall of the "saint" with a severity that only fueled Daeyoung's fire. He wanted to be discovered, he wanted the world to know that he preferred condemnation in Yushi's arms than salvation in an empty cell.

No one looked away. Yushi stared at Daeyoung with a predatory hunger, his pupils so dilated that the brown of his eyes was just a thin ring around a dark abyss. There was no more debauchery or sarcasm; there was only mutual recognition that both belonged to that shadow. Sweat shone on Yushi's forehead, and he bit his lower lip, observing the expression of pain and pleasure that distorted the "saint"'s once serene features.

Daeyoung felt faint. That rhythmic rolling, the excessive heat of the room and the proximity of danger created a vacuum in his lungs. He needed air, but what he really wanted was the taste of sin that Yushi personified. For the first time that night, or in his entire life of vows and silences, Daeyoung stopped praying.

He advanced. A hand left Yushi's waist to hold the back of his neck. Daeyoung glued his lips to Yushi's in a kiss that had nothing heavenly about it. It was a desperate encounter, loaded with teeth, smoke taste and an urgency that seemed to want to tear Yushi's soul through his mouth.

Yushi let out a muffled moan against Daeyoung's mouth, intensifying the rolling of his hip as if the kiss had opened a final floodgate of lust. Daeyoung explored Yushi's mouth with the same hunger with which he penetrated him, invading his space, claiming every sigh.

They moved in unison now, a tangle of sweat and noisy breathing under the moonlight. The kiss was deep, moist, and served as the final seal of Daeyoung's condemnation. He was no longer the man who feared the plaster of Saint Anthony; he was the man who, between one kiss and another, discovered that true purification did not come from forgiveness, but from the fire that Yushi continued to feed.

Daeyoung's legs finally gave way under the weight of adrenaline and accumulated pleasure, making them slide down the cold wall to the floor. The impact with the wood did not interrupt the rhythm; on the contrary, the change of angle seemed to open a new abyss of sensations. Daeyoung sat down, while Yushi, now on his lap, took absolute control.

Yushi began to jump with a rhythmic and cruel vigor, his knees pressing the ground while his hip went up and down with a cadence that made Daeyoung arch his trunk. The "saint" felt every contraction, every inch of Yushi's skin involving him with a possessiveness that no Psalm could describe. Slowly, exhaustion began to transform Daeyoung's movements into something deeper; he was lying on the floor, his back spread over the wood, while Yushi remained mounted.

"Dae! Oh, my God—“ Inside. Inside again. Once again. His prostate was shamelessly attacked. Daeyoung was too focused.

Yushi's body, however, began to weaken under the intensity of the effort. The physical fatigue weighed, and he collapsed on Daeyoung's chest, his arms wrapping around the biggest's neck while their faces stuck together. But Daeyoung didn't stop. Even lying down, his hip continued to rise with force, stocking from bottom to top with a blind determination.

"Dae... please... I don't..." Yushi tried to whisper, but the protest died in a desperate scream when he felt Daeyoung hit the most sensitive point of his intimacy.

Daeyoung hugged him with an almost violent force, his arms around Yushi's back to keep him pressed against him, preventing any escape. In that position, Yushi's ass seemed to completely swallow Daeyoung's member, creating an empty pressure that led them to delirium. Yushi screamed against Daeyoung's neck, the sounds muffled by the damp skin, while the seminarian buried his face in the guide's messy strands.

Regret? Daeyoung filled him with cum, that's right. So much fucking that this time, I could feel it leaking through the extremities as if it didn't fit. But Yushi was good at taking everything, and he took everything even when he thought he could faint with pleasure. Daeyoung pulsating, spilling every drop inside himself.

The "saint" now operated in a state of post-carnal trance, his big hands descending with a possessive slowness to Yushi's buttocks, which still pulsated around the seed he had just received.

He began to soften the flesh with a firm and rhythmic pressure, his long fingers sinking into the here skin that he himself had marked with the fervor of his lunges. It was no longer an attack movement, but a heavy caress, loaded with a dark adoration. Daeyoung felt the texture of Yushi's skin, the curve that had challenged him all night, and squeezed it as if he wanted to ensure that that reality did not undo with the dawn.

Daeyoung was jealous of the little saint who witnessed that. He was claiming Yushi's ass from the commitment to holiness.

Yushi, unarmed and completely surrendered, let his head hang over Daeyoung's shoulder. He felt the heat of the greatest's hands undoing any remnant of tension in his muscles, turning his resistance into something liquid and submissive. Each of Daeyoung's grip seemed to suck what was left of Yushi's malice, leaving him only with the feeling of being molded by the hands of the man he swore to corrupt.

"I feel you... all inside me" Yushi murmured, his voice failing, feeling the hot trail of that delivery slowly leak, while Daeyoung's hands continued the hypnotic work of softening his skin. Daeyoung buried his nose in the curve of Yushi's neck, inhaling the smell of sweat and smoke, while his fingers continued to explore the softness of the minor's buttocks. He was disarming him, taking away his defenses through touch, turning the cynical guide into just a body that trembled under his command.

On that cold floor, next to Frei's room, Daeyoung was no longer a seminarian seeking forgiveness for something his body begged; he was a man claiming the territory he had conquered with every drop of his sweat and his cum, in the most libidinous and profane way of saying.

Yushi's caress on Daeyoung's dark hair was slow, almost hypnotic, contrasting with the chaos that still pulsated in the youngest's chest. The room was immersed in a bluish twilight, and the silence was only broken by Daeyoung's heavy breathing, who kept his face hidden in the curve of Yushi's neck, as if he feared facing the image of Saint Benedict.

"You're thinking about how you're going to tell Frei about this tomorrow, aren't you?" Yushi whispered, his fingers tracing the contour of Daeyoung's ear. "In the vocabulary you're going to use to describe how "sinned" eating my fucking ass."

Daeyoung let out a trembling sigh, his hands still squeezing the flesh of Yushi's buttocks with a possessiveness that denied any desire for holiness.

"It's not that simple..." Daeyoung murmured, his voice muffled. "I should be feeling the weight of the condemnation, Yushi. I should be on my knees for a different reason. But the only thing I feel now is... hungry for you. And it scares me more than hell. This is so profane..."

Yushi gave an invisible smile, lightly pulling the wires of Daeyoung's neck to force him to look up.

"Maybe you're confusing things, Dae. The church teaches that the body is a temple." Yushi tilted his head, his eyes shining with an intellectual malice. "If the body is the temple, what we just did was the most sacred ritual that has ever happened on these walls. I saw you pray while possessing me. You weren't using me; you were trying to find God through me... or inside me."

"This is heresy." Daeyoung replied, but there was no conviction in his voice. He looked like an unarmed man, lost between the theology he studied and the biology that betrayed him.

"This is normal." Yushi continued, his hand going down to the face of the biggest one, caressing the still hot cheek.

Daeyoung closed his eyes, surrendering to the touch. The confusion in his mind was a labyrinth, but Yushi's warmth was the only thread of Ariadne that he could hold.

"If this is a test of God..." Daeyoung started, his voice failing.

"If it's a test" Yushi interrupted him, sealing his lips on his in a calm kiss and loaded with promises "you just got the full mark, why the fuck."

"If I accept this... if I accept that this is my ritual" Daeyoung began, his voice low, almost a secret shared with the shadows of the room. "How do I go back to the library tomorrow? How do I look at Frei knowing that I don't regret giving myself like this?"

Yushi laughed softly, a vibrant sound against Daeyoung's chest, and continued to wrap a lock of the youngest's dark hair between his fingers.

"When my mother decided to leave the convent and marry my father, she felt that she would betray everything she built. Well, it's a betrayal of the holy spirit, but it doesn't make you more or less than anything or anyone, you know? You don't need to stop being the "saint" for others."

Daeyoung squeezed Yushi's waist, feeling the reality of that proposal. He, the educator who sought pedagogical perfection and the student who studied the historical periods of art, was now painting his own obscure work.

"I'll need to confess again." Daeyoung admitted, but there was no despair of before in his tone. "But not to ask you to stop this. I'll confess to the strength I'll need to lie. Is that what you want from me?"

Yushi leaned over, brushing his nose on Daeyoung's, his eyes shining with the satisfaction of those who had finally tamed a force of nature. "It's so sexy that I'm ready to give it to you again."

"Hyung, I'm serious..."

"Damn..." Yushi cursed, going down his hip at the base of the youngest's intimacy again, without warning. A hot gasp was present, he hid his face in the curvature of Dae's neck like a kitten in heat. The senses of the taller boy sharpening, his cock taking shape again. "I'm serious too, Dae-ssi..."

⋆˖+‧+☽◯☾+‧+˖⋆

The lack of control in me.

Daeyoung was stained forever.

The feeling that chastity was a burden became unbearable for the boy. He was not only stained on the outside; corruption seemed to have infiltrated his bloodstream, turning each prayer into a distant echo of his moans. It was the purest liturgy of his desire, in technical words, transcendental.

The days that followed were a slow and pleasurable descent into the abyss, if he could compare. During the services, while the rose incense rose rose, Daeyoung's mind remained stuck to nothing more and nothing less than Yushi. The heat of the candles in the chapel did not compare to the fire that Yushi caused with a simple rubbing of shoulders in the communion line. He looked at the altar and, instead of seeing Christ's sacrifice, he saw the curve of Yushi's back under the moonlight.

He felt helpless in the gaze of Christ.
I felt I owed more respect. Well, and you should.

His visits to the confessional became such an empty performance. He poured technical words, a mixture that made him want to drool. Pure lust, impure thoughts, an omission that Yushi took charge of teaching him, but Frei could not see that, behind Daeyoung's monotonous voice, there was a man who no longer sought the absolvition of the heavens, he seemed apathetic even with the idea. Possessed by the desire to simply take Yushi for himself right there, before the eyes of God.

Penance was too low a price for what he received in return. Dry Avemarias that he now recited rolling his eyes. Supplications that were much more beautiful in the voice of his beloved Yushi, when he asked to go deeper and consequently choked on his own tongue.

Sex— no, fuck. Yushi likes to say "fuck" - it stopped being a room event to become a constant hunt for the sacred corners of the convent. Regretful? Daeyoung even narrowed his eyes when the spasms ran through his crotch and Yushi was filled with the holy spirit.

Under the large stairs where the smell of mold mixed with sweat and urgency. There, between the steps that led to the large party rooms of the convent, almost never frequented, Daeyoung pressed Yushi against the cold wall twice, his big hands exploring the other's body with an aggressiveness that scared and excited him to the same extent. Always too transcendental for your judgment. Yushi controlled for a matter of seconds and then, it was just sly moans and whispered requests.

Behind the walls of the Eucharist, while the silence of worship reigned on the other side, Daeyoung felt Yushi's lips on his neck, silencing his own arches with hungry kisses. The risk of being caught with the sacred host a few meters away was the seasoning that made Yushi's meat irresistible. He fucked him there until he found the fucking ground.

He even discovered that Yushi liked to be taken on the icy floor of the rooms.

Under the Holy Table was the peak of the audacity that occurred during an afternoon of liturgical studies. Hidden by the heavy linen towel that covered the oak table, Daeyoung felt the heat of Yushi's mouth enveloping him. He needed to maintain his posture, his hand firmly on a theology tome, while underneath, his body was dismantled with a diabolical expertise. His knees moved away immediately, he trembled, his eyes fixed on any point on the wall, trying not to shout Yushi's name instead of an "Amen".

For Yushi, the goal was never an ideological crusade to convert Daeyoung to atheism or make him hate the church; it was, in fact, a dismantling experiment, which he felt obliged to carry out the ones he laid his eyes on that beautiful young man seeking the denial of his own nature. He wanted to observe, in real time, the rigid structure of a man of faith collapse under the weight of being real. Seeing Daeyoung, the academic who dominated Sociology and Christian Philosophy, lose his vocabulary and reduce himself to growls and desperate prayers was the final proof that all that sacred theater that lived all his life, was a ridiculous farce in the face of the truth of the flesh.

When he saw himself under Daeyoung's heavy body, the cunning and cynical guide disappeared. completely. It wasn't like when Sion visited the church. Because Sion was a deviant by birth and Yushi saw him as an "easy" escape. During Dae's deep lunges, Yushi felt his mind "get completely dumb", the logical conclusions and the debauchery prepared being obliterated by a feeling of fulfillment that bordered on the unbearable.

He lost the thread of the skin of his own provocations; he could no longer articulate how funny that farce was when his body was too busy trying to process Daeyoung's strength. Because he never imagined that that boy had so much vocation to be a hot son of a bitch from hell. I mean, a fucking good holy son.

He was genuinely in love with the way Daeyoung's cock claimed him, a feeling much more real, tangible and devastating than any passion for Christ they tried to teach him. And it was really a passion for sex. He fell completely in love with Daeyoung's sex even before becoming a damn possessive and wanting to marry him at all costs.

The love there was cultivated with the pulse inside itself. It's true, Yushi didn't love him for what he was at first, because his worships were boring, but his hands were a treat.

Weeks and months had to repeat themselves for Yushi to realize that he spread chaste and sweet kisses on the youngest's face while he was filled with cum. It seemed like a thank you that he didn't even need to thank, but he felt obliged. It was not the deep carnal dependence type, because Yushi had already thought three times that if he was graced with a sacred womb, he would get pregnant with Daeyoung many times.

The powders were full of beloved kisses, quickies to prolong the sensation, and then more affection. Because Dae venerated the body of the elder as if it were a sacred art, the image of an angel who fell on earth to lead him to self-knowledge, and he began to put Yushi first of all things.

And when Yushi called him "my love", Daeyoung felt he was filled with something he couldn't name. Those two words weighed more than any sermon, and it was beautiful. For a man who spent his days immersed in the worship of God, who NEVER heard God call him "my love"... Well, Daeyoung discovered that he was very possessive, and that he would abandon any commitment if Yushi always called him that.

The first sign of distrust came from Frei Superior. During the meals in silence, Frei's gaze, who previously saw in Daeyoung only the exemplary seminarian and the dedicated educator, began to dwell on the details. He noticed how the young man's posture changed when Yushi entered the cafeteria; it was not just a distraction, it was a change in the vibrating frequency of the environment. Daeyoung was more relaxed, legs apart, body thrown that, sometimes he realized and adjusted his posture but then ended up returning to the same state, his eyes rolling in the biblical passages.

When Friar finally called Daeyoung for an "orientation conversation" in the sacristy, Daeyoung's reaction was a reflection of his new nature, very fast and insightful, by the way. Daeyoung justified his closeness to Yushi as a "tutoring project" that he was following with great commitment. Now, he could sustain Frei's gaze without blinking. Guilt had been replaced by a dark conviction that his "truth" with Yushi was more real than the walls of that convent and the fear of losing it became real.

Daeyoung discovered that he is good at convincing people. Good, especially, in choosing the right words.

Deep down, Daeyoung felt a perverse pleasure in the lie. Every holy word that came out of his mouth to divert the Friar's suspicion was like a secret tribute to the "my love" that Yushi whispered between the sheets.

He began to worship the profane act as part of the sacristy. As the infinite liturgies of Sociology explained that sin is only sin when it is treated as one, or that discovering your carnal desires is a pure and religious act, and that it was okay to fuck Yushi in front of a gigantic painting with the image of Jesus Christ.

He began to notice errors in the Bible. Clear mistakes.

The distrust of third parties, however, acted as a catalyst. Frei's constant surveillance turned desire into something urgent, almost violent. He noticed the difference on the tip of Daeyoung's tongue, as if the bright-eyed young man had been replaced by one of presence, confident of himself, of his fast and very well thought out words.

He kind of looked like Yushi.

Father Frei thought it was coexistence.

Well, you are what you eat, aren't you?

One afternoon, when Friar passed by them in the library corridor and noticed the excessive proximity, Daeyoung just tilted his head in a respectful greeting, while his hand, hidden by the folds of the sutness, discreetly squeezed Yushi's wrist. It was a silent challenge: he was willing to keep the farce of holiness outside, while inside, his soul already belonged entirely to the "hot son of a bitch" who had destructured him. Yushi was good at pretending remorse, he was good at pretending surprise, but there was one thing he couldn't pretend, and Daeyoung discovered that he loved to play.

"Stop smiling at Frei when he looks at us, Yushi hyung." Daeyoung pulled the elder's waist with a sinful dexterity, making the noise of bodies clashing, get trapped between the sheets. "Do you want him to find out, my love? Hm? Don't you want to be sanctified anymore?"

The pleasure was so overwhelming that it bordered on the unbearable, and Yushi found himself drooling, his consciousness fragmented, receiving Daeyoung's cock as if he were in front of his true owner.

"Sorry... Dae-ssi, I was careless... it won't happen aga—" Yushi began to cry, a breathy tear that mixed the exhaustion of pleasure with the despair of being taken to the limit.

Realizing the vulnerability of the elder, Daeyoung decided to slow down, turning the act into a pedagogical and cruel punishment. He stopped the frantic movement, keeping himself just pulsating inside Yushi, forcing him to feel every inch of that invasion without the relief of rhythm.

"You need to learn to be smarter, hyung" Daeyoung whispered, the voice loaded with an authority that he had cultivated in the months of forbidden desire. "Don't smile at him. Don't give them reasons to look at us."

Daeyoung fucked Yushi again with a torturing slowness, a deliberate penetration that demanded that the other process every millimeter of that delivery. He wanted Yushi to learn, through that slow and constant friction, that in the theater of holiness, the only truth that mattered was what happened between them in the twilight and if the Friar intervened, it was the end. He wants to teach Yushi a hot lesson.

Yushi is panting for more. His stomach is squeezed and accepting the lesson in silence, letting himself be shaped by the will of the "holy son" who now dictates the rules of his own condemnation. In that slow rhythm, Daeyoung not only possessed him; he sanctified him on an altar of flesh, where the only God present was the desire that consumed them. The older one began to observe the woody floor more. Then he tried to pay attention to the sheets he bit, Daeyoung pulled it out of his mouth in a quick movement, as punishment. Yushi can't scream, so he cries. He manha with the intimacy too relaxed, the sweet kisses of the swollen glans inside, in his belly.

"Our Father who are in heaven..."

"Are you praying?!" Daeyoung laughed in mockery. While the penetration continued slow, deep and insulting, Yushi was praying, trying to replace the crying with... ridiculous prayers. "Are you praying to the Father, my love?"

The punishment was forced silence; Yushi had to learn to contain his own pleasure, to swallow despair while being shaped by Daeyoung's will. Yushi's intimacy, relaxed by excess and delivery - and pre fucking - received each lunge with a passivity that would embarrass him if he still had the ability to reason. But he didn't have it.

"Santified be MY name..." Daeyoung continued the prayer in a different tone, speeding up the pace just enough to make Yushi lose his breath again. Yushi opened her legs more, if it was possible at this point, with Daeyoung keeping her ass up at all costs.

"Daeyoung!" A warning cry. Yushi was prepared. Its interior was molded and made for this.

"Daeyoung, my love. Dae... young.” The youngest pushed with a thunderous force, enough for Yushi to bend his knees and push his face on the pillow. Dae-dae arrived there. He is patiently filling your interior.

The silence that followed Yushi's scream was filled only by the rhythmic sound of Daeyoung's heavy breathing and the throbbing of the union between their bodies. Daeyoung kept Yushi's hip standing, ensuring that Yushi felt every pulse of the hot spill that now filled him completely.

Daeyoung does a great job purifying this little whore, doesn't he?

It was not just a physical relief; it was the conclusion of a ritual where semen served as the holy water of a profane church.

It became an addiction to compare, even.

Yushi was with his face buried in the pillow, his shoulders still shaking with residual sobs, but the crying was now of an absolute exhaustion. He felt heavy, anchored to the ground by Daeyoung and by the seed that the "holy son" had patiently deposited inside him. The feeling of being filled was so vast that Yushi could no longer distinguish where his body ended and where Daeyoung's dominance began.

"Amen?" Daeyoung whispered against Yushi's wet neck, his voice now devoid of mockery, replaced by a solemn and dangerous worship. He let Yushi's ass fall on the sheets when he slowly began to withdraw, but not without first leaving a chaste and long kiss on Yushi's shoulder. He observed, with a silent satisfaction, as the white fluid began to leak through the relaxed intimacy of the guide, staining the wood that had witnessed his most perverse fall.

Yushi turned his face slightly, his red and swollen eyes meeting Daeyoung's. There was no more room for ridiculous prayers or the farce of remorse. He stretched out his trembling hand, touching the youngest's face, feeling the hot skin of the man who had just possessed him with the strength of an angry God.

"Amen."

⋆˖+‧+☽◯☾+‧+˖⋆

The day of Daeyoung's final consecration arrived wrapped in a pale light that crossed the stained glass windows of the parish, creating an atmosphere of solemnity that he now knew was just a frame for his true altar. While the faithful settled on the wooden benches for the mass that would mark their official delivery to Jesus, Daeyoung had already chosen his own flesh messiah. Sitting on one of the most discreet side benches, Daeyoung kept the Bible open on his lap, pretending a deep meditation that justified his momentary seclusion. Between his legs, hidden by the structure of the bench and the heavy folds of his liturgical robe, Yushi was kneeling, with his face immersed in the intimacy of the youngest.

Yushi's mouth was all drooling, a wet and profane contrast with the dryness of the sacred texts that Daeyoung pretended to read. Daeyoung couldn't see. Yushi was well hidden there, but the movements insisted on being noticeable enough for Daeyoung to try to focus on something else and not be discovered.

With a pen in his trembling hand, Daeyoung highlighted disconnected sentences on the pages of the Scriptures, his fingers losing precision as the heat of Yushi's mouth consumed him:

"The Word became flesh..." the ink blurred on the paper while Yushi worked with a silent dedication. "Kiss me with the kisses of your mouth..." Daeyoung underlined strongly, feeling the throbbing of his body under the command of the guide.

While worshippers came in and out, focused on the main altar and ignoring the lonely figure of the young seminarian, Daeyoung felt the approach of two elderly nuns who came to congratulate him on his day of completion. With an icy voluptuousness, he buried his free hand in Yushi's hair, squeezing the back of the elder's neck to help him go down even deeper, silencing any arping that could escape.

Yushi felt the pressure, he didn't dare to move until he accommodated all the cock in his mouth.

"It's a glorious day for your soul, Daeyoung." said one of the sisters, with a benevolent smile that didn't reach the secret under the table.

Daeyoung adjusted his glasses with a supernatural calm, his gaze fixed on the nun while, under the tuts, he felt the screaming and heartbreaking spasm.

"It's indeed a day of many blessings, sister." Daeyoung replied, his voice sounding stable and clear, despite the brutal contrast between the sacred conversation and the lust that happened under his cassock.

Yushi remained motionless and quiet between his legs, a statue of submissive flesh that only Daeyoung could feel. With a supernatural calm, Daeyoung took his hand to Yushi's wires, making a slow and possessive caress. While the nuns continued to talk about the glory of the priestly path, Yushi began to take it out of his mouth slowly, only to lick the extension with a torturous slowness, cleaning every trace of what had been deposited there.

The soath went up and down, but it was unnoticed. Daeyoung put the bible covering the place.

"I heard that our Yushi also forms today, after living on our graces." The oldest commented. "Blessed be God, Yushi was a difficult little boy here in the house of worship. I thought he would never be interested in the sacristy. But anyway, we were thrilled when he decided to conclude by being his guide. You were very good to him, Daeyoung. God is glad that he brought him to his paths."

Daeyoung adjusted his glasses once again, an almost imperceptible smile appearing on his lips as he felt Yushi smile against his skin, hidden by the shadows. In an audacious movement, Yushi prepared himself again, doing a deep throat and going down hard, ready to receive all of Daeyoung's cum in his mouth in a last and definitive spasm.

"Did he really show such a drastic change when I arrived?" Daeyoung asked, his voice maintaining the velvety tone of a dedicated master, while he felt Yushi's tongue trace wet and audacious circles on his balls, a violent contrast to the chaste conversation. His teeth captured the lower lip.

The eldest nun sighed, a sound full of heavy memories.

"Oh, Daeyoung, you have no idea. Yushi grew up here, under the shadows of God's palace, but his heart always seemed inclined to the deviation. He was left in the convent still small by his mother, a woman who got lost on the way, a former nun who abandoned the vows. We feared that he would follow her desire to never graduate, to never submit."

Under the soat and weight of the Bible, Yushi let out a muffled sound that the nuns confused with the creak of the bench's wood. Daeyoung raised his hip a little to adjust himself on the seat, also pushing inside Yushi's mouth who, in a matter of seconds, was spitting Daeyoung's cum with a deliberate slowness, letting the hot fluid drip before using his tongue to clean each drop with an adoration that bordered on cannibalism.

"We thought her blood would speak louder." continued the sister, not realizing that Yushi was, at that moment, desecrating the most promising seminarian in the house. "But look... you brought him to the right paths. Thanks to his patience, he became his guide, accepting the conclusion he avoided so much."

Daeyoung felt a chill run down his spine when Yushi rubbed his cheek against his thigh, laughing silently against the fabric. "God was exceptional in making me Yushi's savior."

A kiss on the tip of the dick was received. Daeyoung stroked the back of his boy's neck as a thank you.

"He should thank you in the best way, Daeyoung."

"He does."

With a dexterity that only years living in the shadows of the convent could provide, Yushi fixed Daeyoung's intimacy inside his pants, closing the zipper with a final touch that was more of a promise than a care. He slid out of the bench behind the heavy robes, moving with the agility of a feline, and disappeared between the marble columns before the nuns could notice any suspicious movement.

Minutes later, when the entrance procession began, Yushi appeared at the main door, panting and with slightly disheveled hair, as if he had just arrived in a hurry from some urgent appointment. He exchanged a quick look with Daeyoung, a look that carried all the flavor of the seed he had just swallowed, and took his place as a guide at the ceremony.

⋆˖+‧+☽◯☾+‧+˖⋆

Have you ever wanted to be taken by Christ? Have you ever dreamed of being the bread and the wine?

The closing mass was a choreography of hypocrisy and beauty. Daeyoung received the final blessings, adjusting his glasses with the same calm he showed while being orally possessed, and Yushi remained by his side, the "difficult little boy" who had finally "submitted". When the last "Amen" echoed and the parish began to empty, the fate of both was sealed.

At night, the main hall was immersed in a heavy silence, illuminated only by the residual lights of the altar. Yushi was high up, cleaning his feet from the gigantic image of Jesus who presided over the hall as his last offering inside the convent. Daeyoung, watching him from below, felt that this was the perfect moment for the real conclusion of that journey.

Daeyoung walked to the center, his steps echoing in the marble. He didn't look at the cross; his eyes were fixed on the guide who, up there, smiled at him with the corner of his mouth still dirty with secrets.

"Saying goodbye to the house, baby?" Yushi was frightened by the little light that enveloped him. I would like to work with the light of the cracks reaching him as a blessing. There was no surveillance tonight, however. It was a day of rest for the faithful, all located at the back of the convent.

"It's the last time I see this... huge image of Christ." Yushi really admired the statue taking almost all the space of the altar.

Christ will have to divide the altar.

Yushi let out an anasalada laugh, feeling the chill rise up his spine when Daeyoung held him by the waist, raising him until his back met the cold marble, exactly at the feet of the huge image.

"He's already seen everything we did, Dae-dae. Do you think He cares if I say goodbye to the house being your sacrifice?" Yushi tilted his head back, his neck exposed under the light of the cracks that bathed him like a profane blessing.

Daeyoung didn't answer with words. He climbed the marble step, positioning himself between Yushi's legs, and began to undress the elder with a ritualistic slowness. His eyes, protected by the glasses that shone with the reflection of the distant candles, fixed on the saints who surrounded the church, as if asking for permission - or perhaps as if challenging them to intervene.

"I have something to tell God." Daeyoung was ready to warn, as if the image of Christ was going to come down to listen; He untied him from all his clothes. Naked, how he came into the world. Yushi stared at him with an insane smile.

Daeyoung began to kiss every inch of Yushi's skin, going down from the neck to the chest with a bow that turned the guide's body into the bread and wine of his last supper. With each kiss, Daeyoung looked away to the plaster images, a mute apology fused with the pride of possessing what was forbidden.

"God, today I sinned as well as all the holy days I've been loving your house." Daeyoung whispered, his mouth brushing Yushi's belly before going further down. "I'm your son, accept my regret of all the most profanely delicious nights that I took another for myself."

Yushi navigated his hands to Daeyoung's wires, who carefully licked the extension of his cock while dittating, his voice without any regret.

"I betray you. Betrays you in the most merciless way possible." A chaste seal between Yushi's legs. The buttocks of the minor were separated by his big hands, kisses fired were deposited on the tiny intimacy. "Today, I offer you the feeling. I want you to witness my devoted love to me before you, and that you accept it in this erroneous way."

Daeyoung's tongue traced the contour of Yushi's intimacy with a surgical precision, exploring each crease with a hot humidity that made the elder arch his body against the cold marble. The contrast between the purity of the altar and the lust of that contact was what fed Daeyoung's strength. He tasted Yushi as if he were in front of the sacred chalice, turning the act into a ritual of inverted purification.

With Yushi panting under the gaze of the saints, Daeyoung began the transition from worship to physical possession. Daeyoung introduced two fingers with a slowness that tested the limit of Yushi's sanity, feeling the internal pressure relax under his experienced and possessive touch.

Did Yushi imagine that he would be taken at the feet of Christ? He had never experienced such a blessing. It was full of the holy spirit.

Without haste, Daeyoung added the third one, expanding Yushi to receive it in full, while his eyes shone with the conviction that that was his true conclusion mass. Yushi kept a beloved smile on his lips, firm, dengoso, spreading his fingers around Daeyoung's wrist that opened it there in front of all the holiness.

"God, how I want..." Yushi whispered sick, feverish.

"In front of everyone?" The fingers curved touching the prostate. Yushi widened his eyes and trembled. He agreed desperately while Daeyoung left a seal full of lust on his neck.

Yushi felt himself landing in paradise, with his legs instinctively open to shelter his man between them. Daeyoung, on the other hand, paid attention due to the intimacy wet by the work of his fingers, then brushed the tip of the painful and hungry cock, thick enough to feel comfortable between the inner walls of the elder.

Daeyoung positioned his big hands on each side of Yushi's body, dipping his fingers into the marble to put all his strength in the initial impulse of penetration.

When Daeyoung finally penetrated him, the impact was so deep that Yushi felt the air leave his lungs. In a reflection of despair and passion, Yushi wrapped his arms around Daeyoung's neck, pulling him so that the connection was even more heartbreaking and deep.

"Take me to hell or paradise, wherever you want to go and as many times as you think you should, Tokuno Yushi."

At that moment, with his face facing up, Yushi ignored the judgment of the statues around him and focused his vision on the paintings on the ceiling of the church. Through the tears of pleasure that blurred his vision, he noticed the beauty of the colors and shapes that represented paradise. For Yushi, heaven was no longer in a distant future; he was there, in that sweet pain and in the total fulfillment of Daeyoung, who claimed him as his only and true God.

The sound of Daeyoung's flesh colliding against Yushi's buttocks echoed through the empty parish, a dry squeal that seemed to challenge the sacred silence of the altar, the cold marble sucking the heat from Yushi's back as he was devoured on the ground, at the foot of the huge statue of Christ.

How profane.

Daeyoung buried his hands in Yushi's thighs, his fingers sinking into the soft skin with a force that would leave purple marks the next morning. He wasn't being delicate; with each lunge, he pushed Yushi's body a few centimeters forward, making the elder's skin burn against the polished stone. Yushi was completely soft with desire, his resistance dissolved by the depth of the invasion, his eyes rolling as he tried to focus on the ceiling paintings that seemed to rotate above him.

"This... my god, it's so good." Yushi muttered disconnected, his eyes closing without warning, showing how much he loved every detail in his lower abdomen.

Daeyoung retreated until he almost left, only to hit with all the weight of his hip, seeking the end of that sacrilege he sought so much. One of his hands went up to Yushi's hair, while pulling his hair back, forcing him to look at the image of Jesus above them while being eaten mercilessly. The rhythmic creak of sweaty bodies separating and uniting was the only liturgy present, a worldly and visceral sound that desecrated the marble previously intended only for knees in prayer.

Yushi overflowed with the intensity of Daeyoung's desire. Daeyoung was now like him.

He felt every vein of Daeyoung's cock, every pulsation of force that transformed him into nothing but a receptacle for that heartbreaking pleasure. He was gape, surrendered, feeling the raw friction burn his interior while Daeyoung growled unintelligible words against his neck. Daeyoung's palm, the free one, went against his knee, pushing him to the ground. The legs open, receiving the fruit of sin within themselves.

"More, Daeyoung... for God's sake!" Profane. Asking for his love. Daeyoung found himself betrayed.

"Your God, it's me. Ask for me." Daeyoung accelerated, the movements becoming short, fast and violent, a frantic search for the end that would leave them empty of everything but each other. There, on the church floor, the farce of holiness collapsed completely, leaving only two animals looking for ecstasy in the most forbidden place they could find. Yushi screamed, it was too much to bear, as much as he was used to it.

"My God, deep...!" Yushi exasperated. That transcendental feeling of all the times he was fucked by Daeyoung. The eyes rolling shamelessly, the corners of the mouth filling with saliva until it drips down the chin.

Then, Daeyoung decreased and made it slower, affectionate.

The penetration became deep, but now it was felt millimeter by millimeter. Daeyoung pushed her hip with a constant and heavy pressure, staying inside for endless seconds, feeling Yushi's inner walls pulsating around her intimacy. It was a movement of absolute possession, a "filling" that Yushi accepted with low and noisy arbs, his mind getting dumb again and devoid of any cynicism.

He just forgets where he is. I think he faints. Or almost that because everything goes black and he only hears Daeyoung's hisses in his ear.

With Yushi's legs still wide open and pressed against the floor, Daeyoung began to rotate his hip in a circular way, grinding the base of his cock against Yushi's relaxed entrance, looking for the exact angle that made the boy sob without being able to form words. My God, Yushi will cum so well.

Yushi, now delivered to this new cadence, tangled his fingers in Daeyoung's hair, not to pull, but to keep him there, glued to him. The feeling is devastating, Yushi is soft, so soft that Daeyoung can treat him like a fuck doll.

"hah... ahm.." they are sly screams, like a kitten when it's in heat. Daeyoung finds it graceful and seals his neck.

"Who's taking you to heaven now?" Daeyoung, the "holy son" who now embraced his most mundane nature, watched Yushi's face under the light of the cracks.

"Daeyoung!"

Daeyoung didn't wait for more words. He buried his face in Yushi's neck, smelling the smell of sweat and incense that seemed to have impregnated the guide's skin during the day of ceremonies. With a low growl, the "holy son" gave short and violent lunges, focused entirely on the point that made Yushi lose control of his own breathing.

Yushi arched his back, taking them out of the cold marble while his body went into convulsion, cumming copiously against his own abdomen. Feeling the desperate grip of Yushi's walls around him, Daeyoung let out a deep and guttural moan, pushing one last time with all his strength, pouring his "holiness" deep into the man he had chosen as his true destination.

Frantic breaths, sweat.
Kisses and licks on the neck.
God saw everything.

Exhaustion.

Daeyoung had him on her lap. He was sitting and stayed inside Yushi for a long time, feeling each pulse decrease, while the minor just sobbed softly, with his head hanging to the side and his eyes glazed in the light cracks of the church until he calmed down.

Yushi caressed his beloved's back with his fingertips, gently tracing the spine, a mute thank you for being filled in the following way. Daeyoung kissed his shoulder with a slowing affection. Their bodies were loving each other.

Yushi had no strength in his legs, so he just decided to keep them one on each side of Daeyoung's body, while he navigated his caresses through his thighs. But if Daeyoung wanted to get up there, Yushi really wouldn't complain if he was carried. His legs wouldn't leave Dae's hip, not yet.

"You were so good..." Yushi murmured surrendered to fatigue while Daeyoung dressed him in the sunise in the most comfortable way he could. He didn't even button it. He moved Yushi's body away for a moment that the minor thought was the longest moment of his life, to wear his own casson. It didn't take long to get up with his boy on his lap, who fought faithfully against sleep while his legs dripped on the way to the ward.

Oh, Yushi was also taken care of. He received one last bath in that bathroom. They were too tired to do it again, but it also rolled inside the bathtub. There was no need for the violence of the altar, just a deep need for connection that challenged the exhaustion of Yushi's body. Daeyoung kept Yushi sitting on his lap, the minor's legs still circling his hip as if they were part of each other. Daeyoung's movement was a slow swing, a constant back and forth that made the water overflow the edges of the bathtub, while Yushi hid his face in the curve of the youngest's neck, totally surrendered to the rhythm of his hip.

Everything so beautiful, Yushi was so satisfied that his kisses became sincere and silent thanks.

Daeyoung dried Yushi with the same patience with which he had possessed him, treating the guide's body as a sacred object that needed to be preserved from the coldness of the outside world. He deposited it on the bed with extreme softness, covering it up to the shoulders, ensuring that comfort was Yushi's last sensation before deep sleep.

⋆˖+‧+☽◯☾+‧+˖⋆

The iron gate of the convent creaked for the last time, a sound that once seemed like a sentence and was now just metal on metal. Daeyoung carried a single suitcase and the revocation paper folded in his pocket, the weight of the tupence replaced by a leather jacket that looked strangely right on his broad shoulders. Yushi walked by his side, finally free from the shadows of the sacristy, guiding his beloved into a world where sin had no name, only flavor.

Nothing had been forgotten from the back gate.

Months passed and the small apartment they lived in was immersed in creative chaos. Among Yushi's painting canvases - who discovered to have an enashing passion for art - the suggestion of a career in fashion began to emerge as a persistent joke for Dae. Yushi, who was now studying visual arts, spent hours photographing Daeyoung under the window light, insisting that that bone structure and the intense look behind the glasses were a waste if they were hidden in any office.

The first professional photo shoot was a confrontation with the past. Daeyoung felt exposed in front of the lenses, but Yushi was there, backstage, whispering sly words and reminders of his nights in the parish to snatch from him that expression of dominance that the photographer sought so much. It didn't take long for the agencies to realize what Yushi already knew: Daeyoung had an austere, almost clerical beauty, which contrasted perfectly with the grunge and modern aesthetic that was on the rise.

Now, Daeyoung signed advertising contracts with the same supernatural calm with which he signed the pages of the Bible. He saw his face on billboards, but the only look he really sought was that of Yushi, who was waiting for him at the end of each day, sweet enough to make the tiredness of the day worth it. They had left the house of worship behind, but in the silence of the new room, on sheets that no longer needed to be bitten to hide screams, Daeyoung still took Yushi as his only sacrifice, proving that life outside the convent was the true paradise they sought so much.

Son of a Saint.
Saint is.