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Sunday Mass has always been a boring affair for Barty.
To put it quite plainly: he doesn't give a fuck. He's never given a single fuck about religion his whole life. Ever since he was a kid, he's been dragged out of bed at eight in the morning to make it to their local church for nine o'clock Mass. Every week. Every Sunday. For nineteen years.
Except for one time, when he was twelve and broke his arm by riding his bicycle into a tree. That was a Saturday in June. Believe it or not, he didn't do it intentionally. As much as he wishes he came up with the idea for the sole purpose of skipping Mass, he didn't.
It's surprising—and honestly kind of impressive—that his family has never missed more than one Sunday morning Mass. There is a reason, obviously, and that reason is this: Barty's parents are extremely religious. His mother used to read Bible verses to him before bed and is very involved in their local parish. His father is the kind of person to misinterpret Catholic teachings to justify his own bigotry.
When Barty realized he was bisexual, the first thing he did was scour every version of the Bible to determine whether or not it was a sin. Not because he was scared of sinning, but because he knew his father would not approve. He thought maybe if he proved his father wrong using the literal Bible, he would accept him.
Well, he was fourteen at the time and never really cared much what others thought of him, so one day he marched right up to his parents and told them. His father denied it. His mother didn't say much.
Two years later, when Barty ascertained he was a boy, he didn't tell them anything.
Today, the priest wears purple because it's Lent. Barty can't remember what purple symbolizes, despite his entire lifetime of Sunday Masses, but he knows it's worn in preparation for Easter. Lent is a big deal in his household, but his parents never force him to fast. For family dinners during Lent they follow some variation of the fasting rules, but he's free to eat whatever he wants any other time. He isn't even entirely sure what the fasting rules are. Something about meat, he thinks.
"Stand," his mother whispers to him. He wasn't paying attention. He rarely is.
When they are done standing, and everyone around him goes to sit down again, he tells his parents he needs to use the bathroom.
"Be quick," his mother says.
"Don't miss the Eucharist," his father says.
Barty fights the need to roll his eyes. Of course he won't miss it. That would be a great sin and everyone in this building knows he's not a sinner. Obviously.
The bathroom of this particular church is a small room with one toilet, one sink, and one mirror. It happens to be occupied at the moment, so he's forced to stand outside and wait his turn like a loser.
When the door finally opens, a very handsome guy walks out. He's got blond hair and earrings and his outfit is baggy-on-baggy. He looks so cool, Barty wouldn't be surprised if he was drooling right now.
"Hey," the guy says, looking Barty up and down. "You need the bathroom?"
He has this energy about him that Barty is instantly attracted to and comforted by. His gaydar is telling him this man is a massive queer, just like him.
"Yeah," he replies. "You come here often?"
The guy snorts. "Does it look like I do?"
Barty shrugs, in what he thinks is a flirtatious manner. "I mean, I don't look like I do either, but I haven't missed a Mass in my entire life."
A slight lie, but he doesn't care.
"Really?" A smirk. "Quite the Catholic, then?"
He really hopes this guy is picking up the horny energy Barty is emitting.
"Not one bit," he answers. "You?"
The guy pretends to think about it. "Depends on my mood."
Barty steps closer, his tongue sliding over his smirking bottom lip. "What's your mood right now?" He looks the other man up and down.
"Not very holy."
Barty nearly cackles. "Yeah?"
The guy hums. "Listen, there's something wrong with the soap dispenser in there." He nods toward the bathroom. "You have to press the button at a certain angle to get it to come out. It's kind of difficult, let me show you."
His acting is so good that, for a moment, Barty isn't sure if he's speaking in an innuendo or if the soap dispenser is actually broken.
He follows him into the bathroom. When the door closes behind them, the guy locks it and lightly pushes Barty into it.
He leans in. "You want me, pretty boy?"
Boy. Boy. He doesn't care that this guy is a stranger, Barty wants him so bad. He called him a boy. Barty didn't even have to tell him, he just knew.
"Maybe," Barty replies, looking up into the other man's eyes as innocently as he can. He's not innocent, though, so he's sure it's not very convincing.
"I need a yes or a no, baby."
Barty swallows. People don't usually use pet names on him, but apparently they're quite effective. "Yes," he answers easily.
"Perfect." He smiles at Barty, a hint of mischief on his lips. "Now, what's your name? I'm Evan."
"Barty."
Evan's tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Barty," he repeats. "Can I touch you, Barty?"
He nods. Evan's hand wraps around his neck and pulls him closer. Barty kisses him, open-mouthed and wet. Evan's other hand goes to Barty's belt, starting to unbuckle it. Barty pulls back.
He's never been ashamed of his body—he still isn't—but Evan seems really cool and Barty doesn't want to anger him. One time, someone got angry when Barty didn't mention that he's trans. Called him a lot of mean names—a liar, a catfish. So, he tells people now.
"I don't—" he blurts out. "I don't have a dick."
Evan kisses him again. "Me neither."
"Oh."
"Is that alright?"
Barty nods feverishly. "Yeah, it's—yeah."
He unbuckles his own belt, pushing down his formal Sunday Mass pants. Evan pulls him in by his neck again, kissing him roughly. It quickly turns messy. Barty pants against Evan's mouth. Evan's hand goes his underwear, tracing over Barty's warmth.
"Evan," he moans.
"How do you want me?" Evan asks, pressing his fingers against Barty over his underwear. He's wet already and he hopes Evan can feel it.
He rocks into Evan's fingers, chasing the pressure. It's not enough. "Fingers," he answers.
"Where?" Evan's fingers tease him, traveling all over.
"On me." Barty tries to get closer, but Evan stops moving. He whines. "Inside me."
"Yeah?" Evan bites the side of Barty's neck, licking the spot after.
"Yeah," he breathes out, eager. "Please."
Evan huffs out a laugh. "So polite." He presses his fingers harder against Barty's underwear, making him squirm. He's so wet, it makes a sound.
"Evan," Barty whines, getting impatient.
"Behave."
Oh. Barty would do just about anything to make Evan happy right now. He shuts up and stops moving.
"Good boy," Evan says, pushing his own trousers down his legs.
Barty catches a glimpse of a tattoo on Evan's inner thigh. He wants to know what it tastes like.
Evan wraps an arm around Barty's waist, pulling him away from the bathroom door. He places them in front of the sink. Barty sees himself in the mirror. He's disheveled and they haven't even done anything. Evan stands behind him, slightly taller, peering over Barty's shoulder to look at him in the mirror.
"This okay?" Evan asks, arm tightening around Barty's waist.
He nods rapidly. He thinks this is the most turned on he's ever been in his entire life. And he's no stranger to sex.
Evan's free hand moves down to tease Barty over his underwear again. Barty squirms a little, but Evan's arm on his waist holds him firmly in place. He's strong. Barty likes it.
Evan slowly slides one side of Barty's underwear down over his hipbone, then the other. He digs his fingernails into the newly exposed skin, making Barty gasp. He pushes the underwear down further, until it rests just above Barty's knees.
He's fully exposed now. He looks at himself in the mirror, appreciating the way Evan's strong arm looks against his small waist. His eyes go down, to where Evan's hand has started inching toward the spot between his legs. When he gets there, Barty gasps. He can't take his eyes off it. Evan rubs slow circles over his clit, then moves down to part his wet folds with two of his fingers.
"Oh, look at you," Evan whispers into Barty's ear. "You're so pretty for me."
Barty is looking. Hasn't stopped looking, really. Evan plays with him slowly, fingers sliding through his folds over and over, getting wet and sticky. He gives his clit attention, then goes back to spreading Barty's folds, showing him his hole, calling him pretty. It feels good. Barty's breathing is uneven and his body is hot.
"More," Barty eventually begs when he's had enough of Evan's slow pace. "Please, please—"
"Shh, just a little longer." Evan doesn't stop, but he doesn't speed up or press harder either.
"Evan." Barty pouts. "We're taking too long, someone's gonna notice."
"I could make you come right now," Evan replies, staring at Barty in the mirror. "You'd be out of here in two minutes. Do you want that? Or do you want to take my fingers like a good boy?"
Barty wants Evan's fingers inside him so bad, he doesn't care that he's going to miss the Eucharist; Evan's body is better than the body of Christ.
He whimpers. "Want your fingers."
Evan smirks. "That's what I thought."
Barty tries his best to be patient as Evan teases him. He really does. But he's two seconds away from begging the whole time.
Evan's fingers slide over his hole, dipping inside slightly. Barty tries to push his hips forward to make them go in deeper, but Evan's grip is strong around his waist. He can't move.
Evan teases him this way a few more times before he actually slides one finger fully into Barty. Because of the teasing, Barty isn't expecting it. Hoping for it, yes, but he's not expecting Evan to actually go through with it.
He gasps in surprise and moans. "Oh, fuck, yes."
Again, he tries to rock his hips forward. Again, Evan doesn't let him. It's infuriating. Barty likes it a little too much.
Evan moves his finger in and out of him at a medium pace. It's not enough.
"More, more, more," he begs.
Evan slips a second finger inside and speeds up a little. Barty feels full now, but he knows he'll get greedy and want more in a moment.
Behind him, Evan thrusts his hips into Barty's ass. He loosens his grip on Barty's waist, letting him grind down on his fingers and then push back into Evan's crotch.
"You want another finger, baby?"
Barty does. He nods dumbly.
Evan uses his two fingers to stretch Barty before inserting a third. Barty moans, letting his head fall back onto Evan's shoulder. He's so full.
Still, he wants it faster, wants it harder. He knows Evan is capable of it.
He rocks his hips forward faster, trying to get Evan to match his pace. He does, from the back, but his fingers don't move any quicker.
"You feel so good." Evan's lips move against his cheek.
"Mhm," is all Barty is capable of saying, as he watches them in the mirror. His reflection lets him know that he looks a mess.
Evan's other hand comes down from Barty's waist to give his clit attention. Barty whimpers at the touch. His knees go weak.
A moment later, Evan finally starts moving his fingers inside of Barty faster, thrusting them as deep as they can go. He rubs himself against Barty's ass at the same speed.
"Evan," he gasps, feeling himself nearing the edge.
"You close?" Evan asks, breathing heavily.
Barty whines, fucking himself on Evan's fingers as hard as he can. "Yeah."
Evan puts extra pressure on his clit. "You gonna come for me, baby?"
Barty nods rapidly, moaning, unable to respond properly because he feels so good, and then he's coming, hard and prolonged. His body keeps shaking, jerking. Evan doesn't stop his movements, carrying Barty all the way to the end of his orgasm.
When it's over, his knees are so weak that he doesn't think he can stand on his own. He's glad Evan is there, behind him, to hold him up.
"Good?" Evan asks, one hand on Barty's waist again and the other still buried deep inside his cunt.
"Great."
Evan laughs. "I'm glad."
Barty, head still resting on Evan's shoulder, turns to look at him. "You didn't come, did you?"
"No, but it still felt good."
Barty hums. "Do you want to?"
"Doesn't everybody?" Evan smirks, then nibbles at Barty's nose.
"Keep going," Barty says.
"Hm?"
"Fuck me until you come."
Evan clearly isn't expecting him to say that. It takes him a second to process, but then he's untangling himself from Barty, pulling his fingers out of him, and stepping back to remove his boxers.
Barty doesn't appreciate how empty and cold he suddenly feels.
Evan grabs Barty's upper arms and turns him around. Barty's lower back digs into the counter, but he doesn't care. Evan pulls him closer, lining their bodies up so their legs are between each other's thighs.
Evan rubs his wet cunt against Barty's thigh, slowly building up a rhythm. Barty bends his knee so Evan can get closer to his thigh, so his clit can feel some of the pressure.
Evan's hands find Barty's waist under his shirt and his head drops to the crook of Barty's neck.
"Fuck," he moans, moving his hips faster.
Evan bites down hard into the skin of Barty's neck to prevent louder sounds from escaping. It hurts, but Barty can't find it in himself to be upset. Evan can use him.
When Evan is close, his breathing becomes wild and his hold on Barty's waist tightens. He comes with a broken moan against Barty's neck.
Once his breathing slows, Evan lifts his head. Barty pulls him into a messy kiss.
"You're incredible," Barty whispers against his lips.
Evan snorts. "Sure." He squeezes Barty's waist once before stepping back to get dressed.
Barty pulls his underwear and trousers up, then buckles his belt.
"Well," he says. "I think we missed the Eucharist."
"Is that the part where they give everyone wine and skinny bread circles?"
Barty blinks. "Yes. Have you never been to Mass before?"
"Maybe once when I was younger."
"Um," Barty says. "So why are you here today?"
Evan shrugs "I was bored."
Although Barty cannot fathom why someone would do that, he admires Evan for it.
"Have I cured your boredom?"
Evan reaches out, grabbing Barty by the jaw. "Absolutely." He smirks before pulling him in for a rough kiss.
If God is real, he's probably not pleased with Barty for being a whore in his church. But Barty isn't ashamed; if he ends up in Hell for this, at least Evan will be there too.
olradonis Sun 07 Sep 2025 11:18PM UTC
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