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kim taehyung can’t stop getting off to his priest.
can’t stop his trembling fingers from wrapping around his own dripping cock after a sermon, heatquick strokes against the slick length all while he remembers.
it’s worse now in the confessional. cramped, tight, painfully loud despite the silence (—horrifically separated by a thin partition.) every breath echoes obnoxiously loud, made worse by the conscious realization that on the other side of the thin wooden wall, priest jeongguk awaits his confession unknowing of the effect he’s had on taehyung since arriving.
gripping.
polluting.
obsessive & compulsive.
a vulgar display of need when every time taehyung gets in his car after mass, he has to fist his sopping cock, pants pulled down only to his thighs, throat drywet with spider silk droplets of arousal like pretty pearls on the back of his hand.
( you should confess, jimin had said.
his voice was heavy with concern & confusion. eyebrow tufts drawn together, mouth pursed as though to say more but yielding if only for the sake of taehyung’s ego.
i should confess, taehyung repeated dumbly and now must do. )
he’s painfully hard within this wooden cage. chest already warm, thighs squirming together eagerly in anticipation of the velvet drop of jeongguk’s smooth voice, demeanor rigid and professional, all too unaware of the sin that has taken root in taehyung’s chest. repentance a veil of shame for this horrid little pervert made worse by the genuine desire to help from a pious priest.
taehyung chews his lip anxiously, chips bitterly chapped, horny nerves overwhelmed by that sheer catholic, apologetic guilt. words permeated by desperation, changed by romanticized smuttiness. he has to press his palm flush against his aching cock, ashamed.
‘f—forgive me, father,’ he whispers. choked up on desire, tinny titillation of terror coating his greedy words. ‘i’ve sinned.’
‘god will forgive you,’ jeongguk promises genuinely. ‘have you caused harm? have you disobeyed his word?’
taehyung flushes with penitence. ‘no, father!’ perhaps a little too haste. ‘no harm to—just thoughts.’ he shudders. ‘i can’t stop thinking…’
‘fret not,’ jeongguk encourages, tone warm. ‘confess your sins unto me, and i promise you, whatever it is you think pollutes your soul will be cleansed.’
i want you, taehyung thinks desperately. instead, he picks at the frayed thread at the wrist of his sweater. ‘will you be mad at me?’
a pause & then—
‘mad at you? no no, taehyung, no, never mad.’
muted sobs throb against the curvature of his neck. ‘disappointed, then?’
‘disappointment is… no, not something i could ever…’ father jeongguk seems to struggle for a moment. ‘please, confess to me. let me help you.’
‘i’ve sinned,’ taehyung emphasizes once more. thoughts permeated by the ordeal of last night where, after thinking about freeing his immortal soul, a flash of jeongguk in his cassock had entered taehyung’s mind and curious probing fingers had wandered down between his deliciously tanned thighs, bunnyhop excitement piercing his chest as his fingers had pressed against the greedy opening of his duskpink hole, shamelessly infatuated with someone he can never have.
regret flutters in the pit of his stomach. taehyung continues, ‘i—i lust, father. i covet. i’m overcome with these wants and these desires…and i—’ his voice breaks pitifully. ‘i’m afraid of what i want.’
for a moment, jeongguk says nothing and taehyung is left only with his imagination. thick bushy brows over doewet brown eyes, perpetual pouting pink mouth pulled into an ever so faint pout of unending sympathy. taehyung wants to rest his head on jeongguk’s lap. he seeks comfort by pressing his head against the grate, heart threatening shattering for every minute of silence that stretches between.
‘this—this longing of yours,’ jeongguk begins, a hard edge to his frayed voice. ‘is it a person? a job?’
‘a person!’
‘are they someone devoted to another?’
‘you could say it is a marriage of sorts.’
now, demanding, jeongguk asks, ‘you long for a married paramour?’
‘you said you wouldn’t be disappointed,’ taehyung whispers.
‘i’m not disappointed,’ jeongguk defends quickly. neutrality no longer lays thickly on his tongue. ‘i’m sorry, taehyung. i’m not—judging you, no, i’m just—’
( on the other side, jeon jeongguk’s pose echoes this strange woe. both hands clutching his rosary for strength, the reminder of his vows.
poverty, to never take more than he is given.
fidelity, to the gospel of the lord. never to a woman, to a man.
chastity, never to touch or be touched.
& celibacy, to never long for human closeness.
but lately… )
‘i try not to,’ taehyung confesses wetly, cock throbbing unapologetically in the restriction of his jeans, pulsing tip leaking because even the thought of jeongguk’s disappointment is a rush. ‘i would never come between, if that’s what you—i know that this… marriage is a sacred bond. but these thoughts—’
‘are unholy,’ jeongguk confirms, ‘but they persevere nonetheless. is the object of your affections aware? do you fear an affair?’
taehyung laughs, silver bell tinkling laughter, cozy baritone bouncing within the walls. feral delusions prance along the edges of his mind. ‘no, father. he doesn’t know. he’ll never know. i would never…’
curiosity piques. ‘he?’
‘he,’ taehyung agrees. he smiles bittersweetly.
‘you desire this man,’ jeongguk states softly. ‘you think vulgar things of him.’
‘i try not to, father,’ taehyung bemoans. his eyes flutter closed. ‘it’s just… this wanting gnaws at me. i’m ashamed. i’m a pervert! i want to stay away, but i can’t!’
‘tell me everything, taehyung,’ jeongguk says, and the kindness in his voice makes taehyung sob.
‘i was doing so well, father,’ he grieves. ‘i was staying away, but then… i couldn’t get his cologne out of my mind.’
(—a cruel twist of fate it had been to resolve never to return to mass only to pass the father by on the way to the train station. )
like a mutt in heat, taehyung presses his nose against the partition that separates them, unable to stop the way he trembles. he sniffles pathetically, inhales dramatically the scent of whiskey and bergamot. one palm pressed flat against the wall for purchase while the other sin-gropes at his length, panting, drooling, creaming.
‘someone in our congregation then,’ jeongguk notes, oddly mournful. ‘speak plainly. tell me, what do you imagine?’
taehyung hoarsely stifles a moan. ‘his devotion… i want it, father. i want his mouth to praise me, i want… i want his hands to cradle me. i once thought maybe i could satisfy him but… one night i imagined his weight atop me and how it’s all i can think about. i want him to f—’
he clasps a hand over his mouth shamefully.
& on the other hand, jeongguk should admonish him for the vulgarity, unapologetic explicit words and implied gestures, confession seeped in lewdity, but visions distract him. of taehyung trapped between his hands, rosary shadowed across heatrosy cheeks, mouth parted, tongue protruding, desperate for a kiss.
for jeongguk.
‘this man,’ jeongguk asks, brittle. ‘does he know your thoughts? does he suspect a thing?’
‘i don’t know, father,’ taehyung whimpers. ‘i try to not shame him. i know he’s very devoted. i don’t want to tempt him.’ he strokes himself slowly through his jeans, ragged breathing, scentdrunk and leaking.
‘confess, taehyung.’ jeongguk’s command makes the dampness worse. ‘you—you have to tell me every thought, so i can send you away with psalms and prayers, so i can… help alleviate your woes.’
‘father?’
‘confess,’ jeongguk insists. ‘confess every single filthy thought. tell me so you can be forgiven.’
‘o—oh, father, i—‘ ragged breaths wreak havoc. ‘god, forgive me. i want him to—please, it hurts, i shouldn’t say it, father. it’s so humiliating and you shouldn’t hear it.’
‘tell me,’ jeongguk demands raggedly.
taehyung frees himself with a soft cry, fingers fisting his flushed cock, smearing pearl drops down the crown and drown the shaft. ‘i want him to take me,’ he mouths, cheeks smushed against the grating. ‘i want him to bend me over and fuck me, and i want him to touch my cock, i want it so badly, sometimes i can cum from the thought alone.’
jeongguk’s hums, and taehyung swirls his soaked hand around his cockhead, desperate horny humping in the tight confines of the confessional, hips jumping at the sensitive touch.
‘if that man knew, would you let him take you here?’
and taehyung spares no decency of quiescence, moaning hotly while he jerks himself off, lustwarm threat escaping an achingly arched throat. ‘mmhmph. yes, father—’
‘taehyung?’
‘yes, father?’
‘have you—have you defiled your body with this sin? have you touched yourself thinking of this man?’
‘i—’ an embarrassed sob erupts from his chest, echoed sound made worse by the wetslick glide of his hand accentuated by the acoustics, obvious ministrations symphonic and shameful. ‘yes, father, i have. at night, first thing in the morning.’ taehyung bucks against the smooth glide of his palm, hiccuping and writhing. ‘sometimes in my car after—after hearing him speak! but the best is—’
‘that’s right, taehyung ah,’ father jeongguk soothes. ‘tell me everything.’
‘the best is when—after a shower,’ taehyung confesses, whirlwind words half-whimpered half-whispered. his cheeks burn hot, nose wrinkled, teeth bared like a beast. ‘when I’m all clean and, i’m sorry, i can finger myself thinking about him—his scent, father. i fit three just to pretend it’s him, but it’s—’
‘it’s what?’
‘i can’t reach deep enough,’ he breathes, ‘and i don’t, because i’m selfish and horrid, i don’t use a toy because, god forgive me, if something ever… i want it to be really him, he’s all i want, father, i want him, i want him so bad, father, f—uck, please!’
& there’s no mistaking it now. jeon jeongguk’s groan pierced low through the space between them, god’s eyes carelessly watching. for saints have hands, and taehyung wants jeongguk to fist around his cock so desperately he moans unashamedly before him knowing that pilgrims’ hands do touch! he flinches momentarily at what can only be the sound of jeongguk’s palm slamming against the wood as if to brace himself, and taehyung deliriously presses his own hand against the imagined spot, palm to palm, a holy palmer’s kiss, shakespearean blessed.
( it’s sacrilege to participate like this to a heart wrenching confession, but it’s him that taehyung dreams about.
jeongguk has felt a rush of emotion during this half hour, suffering the stages of grief and expectation, suffering the longevity of the promise of his soul. yet, after only half a year of serving in this parish, he has never regretted anything more. plagued by the nightmarish, consuming desire to push taehyung into his office just for a passionate kiss, an abysmal desire of tongue and list and love.
because jeongguk has never felt smally about anything, and he is selfish, demanding, possessive, controlling, disgusting, and a freak! how could someone so devout to their vows wish to break them so easily! it’s a shame how earnestly jeongguk wants to give in to taehyung’s desires, to taste them, to eat them—
to devour. )
‘do you…often pretend your touch is his?’
taehyung mewls. ‘it’s like i can’t help it, father,’ he confesses raggedly. ‘t—ouching myself is so much better when i imagine it’s his hand. sometimes it’s just jerking off, thinking about his fingers on me but lately, i—i think about his fingers inside of me spreading me open, stretching me, filling me. one time, i was so desperate i—put my pillow between my legs and i rode it, father, and i pretended i was riding him while he wore his—’
‘his uniform?’
‘yes,’ taehyung weeps. ‘the dreams are so much better when he’s wearing his uniform. it’s so filthy, father, i’m so bad.’
‘you aren’t bad, taehyung,’ jeongguk chides gently. ‘in fact, you’re—you’re being very good confessing to me. you’re doing well, and i’m so proud of you.’
shame flushes to taehyung’s hot cheeks, wild ragged breathing hiccuping obnoxiously, jarring twist of his body as an aroused shudder shivers through it. & it is a sin to hear the drop of jeongguk’s strained voice through the lattice. it invites an embarrassing hallucinatory thought to creep inside taehyung’s mind, a need and a want. what would it be like to share a cramped booth, breaths mingling in the space of the holy spirit, jeongguk’s fat cock pressed between the sweet curve of taehyung’s ass while they both sinfully get off. dry humping, wet fucking or maybe even desperate sucking, taehyung trapped between father jeongguk’s legs with nowhere to escape to.
a good boy, jeongguk has proclaimed him despite the knowledge of how depraved taehyung has become, far too embarrassed to ease the jerking of his hand, pretty pearlescent precum leaking nastymessy down his wrist as he whimpers. his fingers are so sticky ooeygooey from his depravity, but the sickly sweet affirmations keep him going. eve’s apple against his tongue, the rot of satan’s tease touching the tip. taehyung wonders if father jeongguk would be the type to talk someone through it. he grunts at the thought and fights back at imagining it. that would do no good, especially since the father sits on the other side of the confessional awaiting taehyung’s response. his tongue feels thick like honey, cheeks coral pink, eyebrows pulled so tightly together that it aches.
‘when you do it,’ father jeongguk begins curiously—& there’s something deliciously thin about his tone, a ragged quality that suggests his careful demeanor is unraveling, ‘do you do it fast or slow?'
the words rush out before taehyung can stop them. ‘when i do what, father?’
if only he knew how saccharine sweet his words really were! that the father struggles equally to not eat the strangling fruit offered from the hand of a sinner, infectious sinful babble polluting the holy air within the church itself.
‘when you touch yourself,’ jeongguk gasps, his fragile control finally snapping.
‘i do it quickly, father,’ taehyung chokes out, hips jerking in the circle of his fist. ‘I’m so desperate for it—for him. i want him, i want him, i want—’ he weeps openly. ‘—i want you.’
‘say my name!’ the father demands.
‘jeongguk—jeongguk—jeongguk!’
he hears the father growl and his heart skips a beat, squeezed by greed, greeted by perdition.
taehyung whines.
‘you—want my touch, don’t you?’ jeongguk murmurs, horrifically erotic. ‘next time—next time, you’ll come to me. next time you feel like that, like you must blaspheme alone, you’ll come to me and—’
‘father, i’m going to—’
‘on your knees,’ father jeongguk continues, and taehyung shudders at the thought of him touching himself beneath his cassock, defiled now by taehyung’s desires. ‘you’ll beg and i’ll touch that sin inside of you. do you understand?’
‘i understand,’ taehyung mewls, knees jerking together sharply as his slickwet cock pulses between his fingers.
‘now come, taehyung,’ the father says softly. ‘and for your penance, you won’t give into this desires and if you do, you’ll come to me.’
‘yes, f—uck, father, fuck!’ taehyung grits his teeth.
he spills creamymessy over his knuckles, choking on his moan as he shivers. And in the aftermath of his shame he waits an hour, poised in prayer, ashamed but aroused, too consumed with the thought of next time.
( & all the while, the father has not left his precarious perch either. swayed by sin and temptation, hunger swirling in the pit of his stomach like a foul beast.
jeongguk brings the mess of his own cum to his rosary in shame. )