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Nothing about the church really felt that holy to Apollo. Perhaps it was the stadium seating, the lighting and audio equipment and the large television screens that took the aura away. He’d grown up in small Methodist churches with stained glass and plain architecture, and those peculiar places had grown to be divine to him. There was nothing to deem sacred in Reverend Gavin’s office; the cross dangling from the pastor’s neck was drained of its exalted symbolism by resting above his heart. Devoid of brightness was the smile articulated on his face.
The room appeared plain in its extravagance, all catalogue style, without the gilded eccentricity that plagued most of the wealthy. At night, the only lights shining were the horrid fluorescents on the ceiling They stripped the color from Kristoph’s face and washed the gentle periwinkle of his suit out to gray. On the faux Victorian couch in the office, Kristoph placed a ring-covered hand on Apollo’s knee.
“Now, Mr. Justice, I’m concerned for you,” he said. He’d called him in to the office to discuss something. Hadn’t specified what. Just directed him to sit and turned his head to the side like a sad puppy. “Klavier told me you’ve been dealing with some sinful thoughts. He cares enough about you to tell me so that I can help you. You should be lucky that you have friends who care about the state of your soul in such a way.”
Apollo clenched his body in, biting the inside of his cheek as if it would suck his whole form into a black hole. His face grew hot. How could he do this to me? If anyone, he thought, Klavier would understand his feelings, considering what he’d been through, what Kristoph had put him through. But he turned him in, like a criminal to the police. Klavier, he had whispered, I think that I might be gay. I don’t know what to do, Reverend and my parents and everybody say it’s so wrong-
“There’s always a way through these sorts of things through God. Let me help you.” The hand on him encroached further up on his thigh, fingers splayed wide to take as much space as possible. Kristoph’s hand wasn’t big yet he held so much of him in the span of it. Cheap synthetic fabric from his suit pants made a noise like a zipper against his movement until Kristoph was grabbing his cock. Apollo pushed himself back into the couch to make distance between him and the hand, but it only retaliated when Kristoph tightened his grip, pinning him in place.
“The best way to get over these thoughts is to have a corrective experience.” Kristoph smiled just as saccharine as always. All of Apollo’s movement rutted him more against his hand; he didn’t even have to adjust. “That does mean that this is going to hurt. We only improve through sacrifice.”
Apollo’s words caught in his throat. “Reverend, please, this is wrong,” is what he meant to say. All that came out were vocalizations of strangled air. Kristoph pushed him down onto the floor. Blood rushed to his head and those damned fluorescents burned his eyes. Why did it have to be so bright, why did he have to see Kristoph as he sat between his knees, see the sparkle of that fucking cross dangling from his neck?
Kristoph kicked him into place with his white leather loafers and grabbed the back of his shirt collar to drag him in. Apollo thrashed back against his pull, only for Kristoph to snatch his throat. His fingers and jewelry were already bruising him. “Do you know what your other options are, Justice?”
Apollo did know. He would be kicked out of college, left out on the street, without a job, he would have nothing. Or worse, he’d get to keep it all at the cost of being shipped off to the same hell Klavier had survived. He could scarcely believe that Klavier had been so brainwashed, that even after the torture he would do this. Tears already welled in his eyes. His body went limp into Kristoph’s grasp.
Legs were already spread for Apollo to fall into. Clinks from Kristoph’s unbuckling belt sounded like handcuffs being locked onto him. His hands weren’t his own as he was being instructed to put them behind his back. In every way but literal, he was bound. Kristoph cupped his cheek in his soft hand and picked up tears with his thumb. He still smiled.
“You know, Justice, the church is the anticipation of the Lord’s kingdom on earth.” Kristoph said, guiding Apollo’s trembling face. His cock laid half-hard, exposed, awaiting Apollo’s mouth. Apollo slammed his eyes shut when Kristoph shoved his head to take him in his mouth. “Considering how you’ve been acting, I feel I need to remind you of scripture, that the Lord will rule the church upon his return.”
Kristoph’s cock hit far enough into Apollo’s throat to make him gag, choke, nearly puke on him. As Apollo retched, he tried to pull away. Perfectly manicured nails grasped his throat. Pushed in just the right places for him to keep choking. The smooth, cold skin of Kristoph’s hand radiated with malice, as if it was slipping poison underneath the skin of his neck. Apollo could hardly see with how wet his eyes had become, but he knew what Kristoph’s face was saying. He moved of his own accord to take Kristoph again.
Kristoph let a small moan creep from between his lips as Apollo wet his cock. He no longer held onto Apollo’s throat, but burrowed his hands in his hair, melting the waxy gel pushing it back with his palm. “I act here in his place until then. You would do well to realize that.”
Apollo tried to tune him out, but he could only ignore so much at once. The weight of Kristoph’s cock on his tongue, the smell of his sickly sweet cologne pouring from his wrists, the burning fire of the ceiling lights, even the pain growing in his knees on the thin, cheap, industrial carpet — there was no respite to focus on instead. He moved his mouth with the weakest of motions. This wasn’t enough for Kristoph.
He yanked Apollo’s hair to push and pull his head back, bucking his hips into his mouth. Small gags from each hit to the back of his throat seemed to please Kristoph. Apollo tried to scream around him. That was pointless. He wanted so badly to push himself away, yet his hands would not move. All he could do was close his teary eyes and keep being used as a hole.
This bored Kristoph soon enough, though. Or perhaps he simply wanted to move to the main course. He grabbed Apollo by the chin to shove him off. A trail of saliva connected from his dick to Apollo’s red, tired lips. Apollo’s whole face was red, with shame, from tears, from lack of breath. Kristoph had only changed in his cock getting harder. His face stayed the same, dull and static like an automaton.
He pulled Apollo back up onto the couch by his narrow wrists. Clenching his body in, Apollo held his shoulders with arms crossed. Kristoph swatted his hands down and leaned in to kiss him, tasting himself on Apollo’s lips. Like before, he couldn’t slip away. “I know your whore body wants this. Filthy faggot.” He snarled the last two words against Apollo’s mouth, a small snap in his façade. A jolt shot down Apollo’s spine to his cock. The feeling nearly made him sick again. He wasn’t the faggot, the whore, Kristoph was, the piece of shit defiling him, raping him was. The way his hands slipped around his body, he knew Kristoph wasn’t chaste. But he was. He’d suppressed his desire for so long and for nothing. Years of trying to ignore his dick straining in his boxers as he thought of Klavier, of refusing to touch himself, just for Kristoph to strip it all away.
Would God still love him? Especially now that he felt arousal well in the base of his body?
Kristoph licked his lips. He got to watch Apollo’s pupils dilate. “I knew it,” he said, grabbing his dick as he had before. Apollo grew harder underneath him even as he cried, and his tears were wiped away by Kristoph’s face against his own. Light fingers slipped the button of his pants from its hole, pulled the zipper down. They encroached further. Lips parted by Kristoph’s will as he slid backward for better vantage to undress Apollo.
His resistance was nails digging into his own skin, still clutching his chest. Kristoph worked his pants and boxers down to his ankles, exposing what he wanted to see: Apollo, half-hard from what he’d done. He yanked them off and let them drop to the floor. This was all he needed. With Apollo bracing them in, Kristoph had to pry his legs apart.
The dry finger he shoved in Apollo’s hole was not preparing him. It was taunting him. Apollo screeched into his chest at the stinging pain.
“So tight. Relax, Justice,” Kristoph crooned, jamming another digit in. “You want to be redeemed, don’t you? Obey God through me. I speak His word.” Apollo’s tears started again.
Pulling himself back, Kristoph sat himself on the couch with his legs spread, and waved a hand at Apollo, saying come here. Against his body’s will, he did — he knew that if he didn’t, he would be dragged over instead. Kristoph stroked himself as he watched Apollo creep over, moving his limbs like an injured deer. He spit in his hand. When Apollo was close enough, he moved him in place once again. Less resistance was in his body this time, too tired and limp from what had already been done. The crying turned into sniveling. Kristoph shoved him down on his cock.
Apollo screamed up at the cheap ceiling tile as he was impaled. Hands snatched his wrists and held them behind his back. “You cry like a girl, Justice, so high and needy. Maybe I should start treating you like one,” Kristoph said, using the grasp on his hands to slide Apollo further onto him. “Faggots like you are just like girls anyway, aren’t you? So desperate to be filled.”
Apollo’s body stretched backward from Kristoph’s grasp just enough to be unbearable. His insides burned just as much as his arms, held so crudely. Any movement he made would readjust his Kristoph was inside him and feel as if elastic was holding him together, about to snap. Kristoph managed to fit both of Apollo’s wrists into the grip of one hand as he shifted the other to prod his chest.
“You don’t have tits like one. That’s fine, though. You have what you need to be useful.” He took a nipple between his fingers, pinching and slicing at the skin with sharp nails. Teeth ground themselves to dust by his ear. No more screaming, for the moment. Only heavy breathing and the chalky sound of teeth. Kristoph ducked his head into Apollo’s neck to bite. Taut skin tearing broke the silence with ease. Apollo whimpered as Kristoph licked the wisps of blood. Tongue spread farther than it needed to across his throat. Saliva and blood smeared along over his Adam’s apple (was truthfulness his sin which damned humanity?) and Kristoph kept manipulating his chest. Christ’s miracles were of the body and blood.
Hips beneath him began to move, slow enough to be felt clearly. It truly was being impaled. Friction burned like his body had been turned inside out and kicked around on carpet. He almost wanted to bleed, in hope that it would make it easier. The image made bile rise in his mouth. Bleeding his first time, like it’s said that girls do. Yet even as it made him sick, the thought, while Kristoph toyed with his body — it was good. Why did it have to be good? Any pleasure he felt before, it was going to fade. He’d hoped. Kristoph let go of his hands and he didn’t even notice.
When he bucked his hips faster, Apollo broke from his heady trance. Screams met Kristoph’s fingers filling his mouth. How badly he wanted to take back his wish for blood, now that he had it. The skin, so fragile, tore from so little of Kristoph’s effort. “Be a good girl for me, Justice. All repentance requires punishment.”
Most of his loud cries turned into hiccuping sobs soon enough. Kristoph consumed him in full. Drinking in his tears, his pain, he plucked strings of his body at random. It was only the moment when he looked down at himself that Apollo realized he was leaking, that his stomach bulged out from the smallness of his body and the size of Kristoph’s cock. Searing hot agony rippled from his core to the rest of him. The cologne on Kristoph’s neck hit his nose again. It made him cough and gag, his throat too dry and acidic to try puking again.
Kristoph gasped as he came and pulled Apollo down by his shoulders to get his cock as deep as he could. His cum inside Apollo irritated the wounds further. As he threw him off his lap back onto his couch, curled up on his side, blood and cum in equal measure leaked out onto the leather. He swiped some of the mixture up when he opened his body to splay him on his back. Apollo was forced into coming from the wet pulls of Kristoph’s hand. He only shivered beneath Kristoph, ignoring him wiping himself clean on his stomach.
Apollo could not hear, but Kristoph spoke. “Such a good girl. You may have a better use for the church than being a deacon,” he said, lighting up a cigarette from behind his desk. “You know, you should thank darling Klavier. Really, you’re so fortunate to have us, just as he’s lucky to have me. All I want is to save your soul, Justice.”
As exhaustion claimed him, Apollo cursed himself. Yet he knew, as he smelled the wafting smoke, that he would never leave. After all, this was to save his soul. And what’s a life of pain when there is eternal glory in Heaven?