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Biting, yearning, wanting. It was a peculiar sight; Father Edmund lay pinned on his back against the cathedral floor, unable to move as Arden held him down with his mouth, locking him in place. Arden’s hot breath and saliva trailed up and down Father Edmund’s neck, the tip of Arden’s tongue dragging across the trembling jaw before him. Arden panted against Father Edmund’s jaw, sucking in shaky breaths while looking up through half-lidded eyes, filled with hunger, lust, and devotion.
Arden was a lowly sinner, a sinner who roamed the ragged and desperate streets. He begged for bread and wine, hoping to fill his belly and satisfy his hunger. He wanted a roof to cover his head, warm, dry clothes for when he was naked and afraid. Onlookers glanced the other way, turning a blind eye and protecting their own peace, when, upon a cathedral, a priest, a saint, maybe even a god, appeared. To any ordinary man, he was simply righteous, willing to help and serve. Standing upright, hands clasped in front of him, a warm, gentle smile appeared as he opened his arms. Arden stumbled up the stairs to the cathedral, tripping and cursing as he frantically made his way. He fell before the man, grasping the hem of his robes so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Save me…” Arden begged quietly, desperate and pleading. He rubbed the man’s robes on his dirt-ridden face, feeling the cool, expensive fabric against his cheek. Splotches of brown sullied the bottom of the robes. He then felt a hand on his head. Arden looked up, and it was brighter than a thousand suns. He swore he could see the halo floating right above the man’s head, that warm, loving smile gracing his lips as he looked down at the sinner.
“Come with me, my child,” The priest’s hand lifted up Arden’s chin. “God’s grace knows no bounds.”
Arden was then taken in, the priest not showing one care for the dirtied state of his robes as he led the man inside. Arden’s belly was filled with fruit and bread. The grime and sweat washed away, leaving him naked and bare. Now clothed and with a home inside the cathedral. The priest stood in front of the altar, gazing up at a marbled figure of Jesus on a cross. A pleasant sigh escaped his lips as he heard the sound of footsteps echoing behind him, gradually getting louder as Arden went to stand beside him.
“Are you familiar with the teachings of our Lord?” The priest asked aloud, still looking at the figure carved from marble.
“No… I’m afraid this one has not, uhh,” Arden stumbled over his words, opening and closing his mouth as if racking his brain on a thought.
“Father Edmund,” the priest replied.
“Father Edmund,” Arden echoed, voice small as he tested the name on his tongue. “I’m not familiar… Arden.” he replied. A low chuckle rumbled from the man next to him, his lips parting as the lines on his face crinkled and deepened. Arden stared at those lines. Father Edmund resumed his composure and turned to Arden.
“Starting today, you will live here at the cathedral and study the word of our God. You will attend mass every Sunday and soon be cleansed when the time comes.” Father Edmund stated, knowing Arden wouldn’t refuse, given his prior situation. So he didn’t— he devoted himself to the church alongside Father Edmund.
The days passed by as Arden woke up in a bed and not on the cold, hard ground. He ate his fill, and did not barter for scraps. Books would constantly be in his hands, diligently reading and digesting every word, wanting to please Father Edmund with his newfound knowledge. Mass was the day he looked forward to the most; he would listen to the hymnals of pure voices, melodies dancing in the grand hall. Light poured in through stained glass windows, bathing the statues in beautiful colors. And right in the middle, standing tall with that warm, loving smile, would be Father Edmund.
His deep voice spoke confidently to the congregation, its rich timbre resonating in the ears and heart. It was no wonder that he climbed the ranks fast and led the church with his vast knowledge and kind nature. Not only delivering powerful sermons, but connecting to the people who needed it most. The first few times Arden had attended mass, he was rapt with attention, drinking in the information like golden nectar. It didn’t take long before the sermons grew quieter in Arden’s ears, his spot on the pews inching closer and closer.
Father Edmund always made sure his attire was prim and perfect, a reflection of a dutiful servant of the Lord. Arden loved the way it looked on him, though he wished the fabric wasn’t so flowy, wanting it to cling tight instead. He wanted to see every curve and detail of his body. What would his chest look like? His neck? Collarbones? Father Edmund's words completely vanished inside Arden’s mind— he could only see the movement of the holy man’s lips as he spoke. Arden fought to find sound, to find clarity, amidst the whirlwind in his brain; he kept focusing on Father Edmund. The way his hands would gesture outwards, his imposing but compassionate presence as he commanded the crowd. The soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips every so often.
Father Edmund called everyone to bow their heads while he said a prayer. The congregation did as instructed, and in the sea of people, only one person was upright and staring intensely at Father Edmund.
—
Arden wasn’t always on the streets. He once had a loving home, a beautiful wife and a tiny child running around. It was the life he had dreamed of and longed for. Who knew that one day he’d begin growing bored, the monotonous routine of it all growing too hard to bear. He did love his wife, cherishing her to the ends of the earth; for staying by his side and bearing his son.
It was on a whim that he was out buying wine late in the night, a craving gnawing on his stomach that he couldn’t sleep. The night market was a place his wife never ventured to, lanterns being held, the only light to wooden stalls draped in colorful fabric. Arden had wandered to a stall that was selling wine in small jugs, the neck of the bottle wrapped in twine with a cork dipped in wax plugging the opening. The man at the stall wore a smug smile, gesturing to his collection. Arden studied the bottles before picking one up. He was about to ask how much it would cost when the man reached out and pinched his chin with his fingers, bringing his face closer to his.
“One kiss, and it’s on the house,” the man whispered huskily, a warm breath ghosting Arden’s lips. It was hard to make out the features of the person in front of him, the only indicators being the citizens walking behind him with lanterns, occasionally lighting up features of the man’s face. He wasn’t bad looking, but the forward intention did make his gruff exterior a bit frightening. As taken aback as Arden was, he didn’t find himself running away— he was the one leaning in first. A firm kiss planted on the stranger’s lips, a hum of content reverberating against his own. They pulled away a moment later, the man nodding and flashing a toothy grin before sending Arden on his way. Arden knew this shouldn’t have happened, having grown up in the church, knowing what awaits him in the end.
He made his way home, hiding the wine under a loose floorboard before slipping into bed next to his wife. The movement made his wife stir as she turned over to face him. “What are you doing up this late?” she mumbled groggily. Arden only kissed her forehead and pulled the blankets over their bodies.
“Just getting some fresh air, go back to sleep,” he said as his wife felt content enough with the answer and drifted off again. Arden should have felt like his itch got scratched, or that he should have condemned himself and prayed for forgiveness. He laid awake the rest of the night, only craving more.
That craving couldn’t be satiated, needing more and more every time he gave in. He would go to work, dote on his wife and child, then proceed to sneak out in the protective night to fool around. Arden thought he could keep this up forever, keeping his goods and never cutting the losses. The day his wife found Arden fornicating with another person, a man, she wept and slapped and hit him relentlessly— and Arden took it all. Beat up and bruised, she kicked him out of their house, his son holding the woman’s hand. So small and unknowing of what had just transpired. That was the last time he ever saw them.
Arden stayed out that night in a daze, not knowing or caring where he went. When daylight broke, he made his way to his parents’ house. By then, word had spread and eventually reached his family. They screamed and shunned him, disowning him on the spot and saying he would burn in hell. Arden wasn’t mad— he knew what he had done wrong. Those urges were too strong, and the devil had won; now he had to reap what he sowed.
—
Marrying young and conceiving a child on their wedding night shouldn’t have been a rash decision; being young and dumb had its consequences. Which of them were of age and which were of his own transgressions? It didn’t matter. He started his life on the streets, begging for money and food. People knew his story and made it very clear where they stood. It was that way for five years.
Arden wanted to change for the better, to become holy and prove to the Lord he did belong and that his actions didn’t define him. He was an unholy person who made a bad decision, and more bad decisions after that. There was no forgiveness in the future. It was the way Father Edmund looked at him, hope and love exuding from his body, that made Arden feel he could get past this. If he worked hard enough, everyone would forget, and all would be well.
Time passed as Arden asked for private lessons from Father Edmund, saying that he was learning a lot from mass and personal studies, but it would be even greater coming from the priest. Father Edmund agreed, and they began delving deep into the teachings of the Lord. During those meetups, Father Edmund would sometimes sit at his desk with Arden on the other side, and oh so absentmindedly would Arden tap the edge of the man’s ankle with the toe of his shoe. Father Edmund would pause for a brief moment before continuing to speak. Arden would only push further, accidentally letting a foot go under Father Edmund’s robes, Arden’s hand reaching over and accidentally brushing their hands as they scanned the book. Each of these attempts was met with a pause, a look, and nothing more as Father Edmund continued speaking.
Arden knew what he was doing, being so selfish as to try to steal moments with the priest. Being so sinful as to dream of the man cradling his face up to the heavens, warm rays casting down as soft lips pressed against his own. He tried to keep up his teachings, studying, and prayer, but that itch stayed in the back of his mind. It grew and grew with each passing day.
There was one night when he crept into Father Edmund’s sleeping chambers, silently sifting through his clothes before he found the item his eyes were keen on. With the apparel in his grasp, he swiftly made his way back to his room and lay down on the bed with his prize. Father Edmund’s stole, a long rectangular sash he wore around his shoulders that draped all the way down to his shins. The ends were tasseled with yellow rope, and the center of the ends was embroidered in gold with a cross. The sash symbolized the “yoke of Christ”, a man of service and ministry. One could also say it represented the one lamb, Christ leaving the ninety-nine to look for that lonesome creature, slinging the animal over his shoulders to bring it back to the herd. Arden wanted to believe that he was that one lamb.
He felt the fabric and held it to his cheek and inhaled deeply, Father Edmund’s scent still lingering. He felt a heat pooling deep in his belly, a hot, bothersome feeling as rationality was fading. Arden tugged off his clothes with urgency and wrapped one end of his aching cock with the fabric, and the other buried right under his nose. The texture left a burning sensation while he pumped his cock, taking in shuddering breaths of pleasure.
Father Edmund truly was a saint, a man you could always count on, a servant of the lord. Arden had prayed to the Virgin Mary and God, worshipping their good nature and deeds, the love and promises they held. What wonders did they hold when the priest did all they couldn’t? He wanted to praise Father Edmund and worship him. Devote his life to repaying the kindness that was shown to this lowly sinner. Arden wanted to serve Father Edmund. Whimpers escaped Arden’s lips, and pressure built up in his stomach, his cock twitching as he furiously stroked himself with the stole.
Spurts of hot cum shot onto the fabric. Arden bit down hard on the stole to keep from screaming. His body twitched while his orgasm died down, clutching the piece of clothing tight to his chest. Father Edmund never did see that stole again.
Much time had passed, and on one fateful night, Arden found himself kneeling in the center of the grand room. The doors to the cathedral were shut, and moonlight crept in through the window panes, casting eerie shadows on the walls. A few candles were lit, giving just enough light to illuminate the area around him. It wasn’t often that Arden properly sat down and made a prayer, opting to pray to a certain person instead. The push and pull was making Arden nauseous with dread. Days went by, and he could feel this obsession growing faster. A hunger so foul that no amount of food would ever make you full.
Arden was kneeling with hands tightly clasped, looking at the marbled figure of Jesus hanging from a cross. Arden touched two fingers to his forehead, chest, left shoulder, and right shoulder.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Arden spoke calmly and drew in a shaky breath before continuing.
“Lord, I must confess, I… I.. what is wrong with me? I have been studying your teachings, reciting your words, and praying to you over and over. All I do, all I have done, is to repent, to try and gain back some sense of mercy. My sins are too much of a burden for you to shoulder, so why else would I not feel any love or grace? Is it because you want me to suffer? Haven’t I suffered enough on those streets? I know I am a lowly, vile beast. Is this your punishment? Lustful thoughts that cloud the mind so I cannot redeem my face?” Arden said aloud. “Please, Lord.”
“My child, what is this nonsense you speak of?” A voice echoed from behind Arden. He whipped around and was met by a tall, standing Father Edmund.
“F-Father!” He exclaimed, bug-eyed at the sudden appearance. Heat crept up his cheeks, and he swiftly turned around, squeezing his eyes shut. Arden managed to force out a few words, “Please… go back to sleep, I was just airing out some… grievances.”
If it were any other day, he’d have indulged Father Edmund coming to him. But today he had some form of clarity, and he’d like for it to remain that way. As much as he wanted to deny those claims.
“Hmm, calling yourself silly names and questioning our God’s will?” Father Edmund said while Arden stayed silent, so he continued. “May I join you?” he asked.
The question made Arden’s stomach lurch. Having the priest stay would ruin whatever little progress he was trying to make. He knew if Father Edmund were to stay, it would only make things more difficult. So Arden straightened his back and communicated firmly.
“You need not worry about this one’s prayers; there’s nothing to be achieved by sitting with me, so please, just go.” His tone came out a bit more forceful than intended. He heard the rustling of fabric behind him, and suddenly, a hand was touching his shoulder.
“I will not. I sense a dark presence, and as the head of this church, this Father cannot disregard the cries of his people.” Father Edmund spoke calmly, the touch was warm and comforting, and he wanted to lean into it, feel the hand creeping over his chest. Arden stiffened, salvation and lust fighting their vicious battle in his mind. His own breath quickened as he gradually raised his voice.
“You don’t know what I have gone through, Father, the tribulations I’ve faced. This dark presence is nothing but the truth. I’ve tried and failed, there is no saving me! My fate was sealed when—“
“Your wife and child left you! I know..” Father Edmund finished his sentence, and then realized he shouldn’t have. Arden’s blood ran cold, he felt the hand move off his shoulder. Arden slowly, very slowly, glanced over his shoulder.
“You knew…?” His voice was like ice, penetrating and yet filled with fear. Father Edmund dropped his hand on his lap and tightened his lips, doubling down and nodding his head.
“Yes, I knew.”
“How long?”
“Right after I took you in,” Father Edmund replied. Arden turned his head away. It was silent, no sound to be heard except for the unsteady breathing of the two men. It was awhile before Father Edmund decided to speak.
“Parishioners noticed when I took you in. While you were bathing they questioned and scoffed at my decision to care for you. I had no idea what they were talking about, but they explained everything. With this new knowledge, I thought about that pleading face, the hands clutching onto my robes. It was as if looking at a younger version of myself.” Father Edmund said.
“What do you mean…?” Arden questioned, not looking back.
“I too had my own struggles, but my parents helped me, nurtured and fed me with knowledge. I grew up and became who I am because of the Lord. So seeing you made me want to help, and I did. Oh, it was the spitting image, seeing you so dutifully reading the bible, paying attention to my sermons. You reminded me so much of myself, that I didn’t know where younger me started and you began.” Father Edmund chuckled. “It’s funny, really, to think of how much I poured in, and how much you disrespected me.” His tone shifted.
“I have seen your advances… The moments where you think I cannot see you, the touches you play off as accidental. I was hoping that by showing you the right path, you could lead a righteous life. Despite all the time and energy I put in, you keep letting those desires consume you. I want you to succeed, I want you to rise above the devils that have claimed you, but it becomes even harder when it starts affecting me—!” Father Edmund abruptly stops, words being caught in his throat. What? Arden looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing.
“Affecting you…?” he echoes. Father Edmund is at a loss for words; it was almost unnoticeable, but the candlelight was just enough for the blush to be present on the priest’s face. Without warning, Arden turned around and pounced on Father Edmund, hand pressed against the back of his head to cushion its impact. Father Edmund landed on the floor with a thump, a sharp exhale at the blunt force. His robes pooled around him. He blinked a couple of times and saw… was it even Arden? The man’s demeanor was that of a predator trapping its prey beneath him, a dark, longful gaze bore into the eyes below him.
“So what you’re saying is… when you saw yourself in me,” Arden leaned close to Father Edmund’s ear. “You had those same desires?” The priest shivered at the sudden feeling of hot breath against his skin. He braced his hands on Arden’s chest and began to weakly push.
“W-wicked… the devil is controlling you. One must not give in to sickening desi- ah!” Father Edmund yelped, then a shiver crawled up his spine as his skin began to sting. Arden was nibbling on the man’s earlobe, toying with the flesh between his teeth, and licking long stripes up and down the shell of his ear. Father Edmund suppressed a groan, feeling his body grow weak at the sudden, imposing intrusion. Try all he might, even a few grunts and noises escaped the holy man’s lips. For Arden, upon hearing that one slip of tongue, everything he had worked for crumbled. That was all he needed to hear for his plans to switch paths. Father Edmund, on the other hand, wrestled and grappled with the sudden attack. All the teachings and scriptures filling his head, verses that condemned and scorned and mouths that spat venom. It was a fruitless task, due to the physical sensations of his body overpowering thought and mind.
Arden lay wet kisses down his neck, occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin. He found his way to the pulse hidden below his jaw, pressing his tongue hard against the spot to feel just how fast Father Edmund’s heartbeat was. In Arden’s exploration, Father Edmund had muttered protests and was still trying to weakly push Arden off, but his strength was faltering as he let his hands grip the fabric on the man’s chest. A soft whimper sounded out when he felt that hot tongue press against sensitive flesh. It was all so close, so sinfully intimate. Arden kissed his way up to Father Edmund’s jaw, panting like a dying man, and looking as if he was about to shatter right then and there.
“Father… mmm, Father Edmund.” he groaned against his cheekbone. “All this time, I had been praying to a god who was blind. Learning old scripture and tongues written by holy men who knew nothing of what it is to be depraved. You said to me that God’s grace knows no bounds. If that was the case, shouldn’t His grace be lent to others? Understanding and compassionate? If His people were so devoted, then they wouldn't have shunned me, battered me. Everyone did…” Arden leaned back and sat on Father Edmund’s crotch, feeling the all-knowing lump beginning to harden.
“Everyone did, except you.” Arden smoothed his palms over Father Edmund’s chest. “You took me in, fed me, bathed me, and clothed me. Gave me a home and lent yourself to helping this loathsome individual. You are my savior, you are my God. No matter how much I pushed and prodded, you held steadfast and stayed, even if your conscience said otherwise. You admitted those desires; we’re both rotten and beyond saving. The Heavens now look down on you, on us. Let me worship the ground you walk on, savor every squirm and sound you make. Father Edmund, you are what I need, what I longed for. Just say yes.”
Arden’s voice was desperate and dripping with hunger, hands freely roaming over Father Edmund’s body while on his lap. The man below him was twitching and writhing under his touch, mouth open and slack while he stared at Arden with half-lidded, pleading eyes. Faith was such an easy thing to cling to, holding tight to every word and surrendering oneself to the unknown. Being told relentlessly of your sins and faults never made facing them any easier.
When his body started acting against the teachings, he threw himself headfirst into helping others and leading, hoping none would share the guilt he faced. Now, with the epitome of guilt disguised as a man, challenging his beliefs, falsifying the God he had followed for his whole life. He should fight back, claiming there is no other God than his. Father Edmund shakily propped himself up on one elbow, letting one of his hands close around Arden’s, who was groping his chest. Looking up with a face full of pain, resentment, loss, and want.
“Yes.”
The gap between the two closed immediately, the force pushing Father Edmund back on the ground. This kiss was not even that— it was the gnashing of teeth, tender lips being bruised with force. Arden panted hard as he practically gnawed on the man’s lips, growling as he tried to press further and deeper. Father Edmund was taken aback by the sheer power, inwardly wincing and outwardly whimpering helplessly at the pain. Arden wasted no time parting Father Edmund’s lips with his tongue and letting it explore every inch of his mouth. The air was hot and heavy with the moans that were suppressed for far too long. Their tongues mingled and fought, messy and unrelenting. Father Edmund’s arms were wrapped around Arden’s neck, pulling him deeper, while Arden’s hands gripped his throat, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises in the morning.
“Off, off, off,” Arden panted into Father Edmund’s open mouth, his hands moving to tug on the collar of his robes. Father Edmund moved with shaky hands to remove his clothing, but there were a lot of layers, and Arden’s patience was already worn thin. So he grasped the collar with two hands and forcibly ripped the first layer apart, a jagged rip splitting open to reveal more of his underclothes. Arden growled and continued ripping, opening the clothes enough to create a wide “V” that went below his stomach. The torn fabric is now settling to the sides.
Soon enough, he had gotten to bare skin. Arden bent down and started biting. Teeth sank into the man’s collarbone, tongue licking over all exposed skin, lips sucking sensitive flesh. It was pure, carnal desire, nothing gentle nor sweet. Father Edmund gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into Arden’s shoulder, hissing and groaning in pain and pleasure. The sight was sickly, Arden’s hips rutting against the priest’s crotch, Father Edmund letting out salacious noises at every nip and bite. Did Father Edmund let himself submit this easily?
With a bit of reluctance, Arden sat up and admired his work. The once-pristine, pale canvas now red and swollen, scattered with purples and blues, marked with tooth indentations, shining with a layer of saliva in the soft candle light. All was accompanied by the red-faced priest, gulping down breaths of air, trying to regain his composure. Arden rolled his hips against Father Edmund’s crotch, the feeling pulling the priest out of his daze. His body ached with pain, a dull throb coursing its way to his cock. For a moment, his lustful mind faltered; he looked at Arden, towering and imposing over him. If he shifted to the side, he could see it— the statue of Jesus, staring right at him. Guilt.
Noticing Father Edmund’s gaze, Arden knew exactly what he was looking at. He grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up, planting a heavy kiss on his lips. “When we go all the way, it’s over. You know that. There is no more hope, no more God. I will be your worshipper, and you will be God. Do you understand?” Arden held Father Edmund’s face, a firm but not hurtful grasp. The role-reversal made Father Edmund’s knees go weak. With a shaky inhale, he nodded.
“So, why don’t you ask forgiveness? One. More. Time?” Arden enunciated every word carefully, burying his nose into the man’s neck once more, trailing kisses down his body. With his frame being pushed down, he looked one last time at Jesus, at his life, and at his faith. Father Edmund closed his eyes, sealing his fate, and as his back hit the floor, he uttered.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”