Fic: Personal Jesus
May. 2nd, 2011 11:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silentdescanttitle: Personal Jesus
pairing: Adam/Tommy
rating: NC-17
words: 2600
warning: major disrespect for religion (specifically Catholicism), D/s, flogging, some humiliation
summary: Tommy has a few sins to confess.
disclaimer: Very untrue. Don't google yourself. Don't pass this along to anyone involved.
a/n: Seriously, don't read this if you get offended by the kind of stuff Tommy posts on twitter/tumblr, because this is about a million times more blasphemous.
a/n2: This came about after a very amusing conversation with lots of other writers on twitter, and bascially everyone agreed to write their own religious!kink fic. This is mine, and of course it had to have a little BDSM involved. Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
random_yayness for both helping me plot it out and reading it over for me. Title from the song by Johnny Cash (also Depeche Mode, also Marilyn Manson... lol Tommy). Fulfills the "penance/punishment" square of my kink_bingo card.
on ao3
Adam had thought Tommy would show up dressed in some kind of churchgoing outfit, maybe even a school uniform reminiscent of his childhood, but Tommy is wearing exactly what he might wear to rehearsal: skintight jeans, boots, his favorite hoodie, and of course, makeup. Adam supposes it doesn’t really matter, seeing as Tommy will be naked most of the time anyway, but he also figures that if Tommy dressed this way on purpose, it’s only fair to comment.
“This is what you think is appropriate for a house of God?” Adam asks. Tommy looks down at himself, brow wrinkled.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy finally replies.
“Get on your knees. Show respect.”
Tommy drops down. His hands hang at his sides. Adam walks in a slow circle around him.
“Are you prepared to confess your sins and repent?” he asks.
There’s a long moment of silence. Adam keeps walking and sees Tommy’s jaw is clenched. Come on, Adam mouths, keeping out of Tommy’s sight. Come on, baby, say it.
“Please forgive me,” Tommy whispers. His hands come up and clasp in front of his chest. He looks almost sincere. “It’s been… thirteen years since my last confession.”
Adam breaks into a grin and settles in front of Tommy again. Tommy isn’t looking up at him.
“What sins do you have to confess?”
“I’ve… taken the Lord’s name in vain,” Tommy begins. “I’ve been lazy and proud. I’ve used drugs and alcohol.”
Adam runs his fingers through Tommy’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “Anything else?”
Tommy’s eyes flick up. A smirk plays at the edges of his lips. “I’ve had lustful thoughts about a close friend. A male friend. I’ve acted on those thoughts.”
“What did you do?”
“I got on my knees and begged him to fuck me until I screamed. And he did.”
Adam ignores the sharp thrill Tommy’s words send through him and runs his fingers through Tommy’s hair again. “You’ve also been disrespectful. Are you ready for your penance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take off your clothes.”
Tommy obeys without hesitation, standing up and first kicking off his boots and peeling off his socks, then unzipping his hoodie. He’s not wearing a shirt underneath. Last to go are his pants and underwear; he leaves everything in a crumpled pile at his feet. Adam kicks it aside.
Then he notices that Tommy’s usual necklaces have been replaced by a silver medallion that hangs right between his collarbones, and a rosary, black beads on a chain with a metal cross at the bottom. Adam reaches out and touches the medallion. There’s a man in a robe with a halo stamped on it, but it doesn’t look like any of the familiar representations of Jesus.
“Tell me?” Adam whispers.
“St. Jude,” Tommy says. He grins. “Patron saint of lost causes.”
Adam fights to keep his own smile in check, biting the inside of his lip. “Fitting,” he finally replies. He takes the rosary, pulls it off Tommy’s head, and holds it taut between both hands. “Hold out your wrists.”
Tommy laces his fingers together, like he’s praying. Adam loops the chain around Tommy’s wrists three times, binding them together. He tucks the cross between Tommy’s palms.
“Get on your knees,” he says. Tommy drops, hands still held out. “Don’t let go,” he whispers, kissing Tommy’s forehead before pushing him down to rest on his elbows.
He doesn’t give a warning before swinging the flogger to mark Tommy’s pale, bare back. The first few swings land with a sharp thwack, but Tommy makes no noise. He even manages to hold still for a while.
Then he starts writhing.
Then he starts groaning.
And then, finally, he starts pleading.
“Please, Adam, please, oh God, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me, please, I’m sorry,” and on and on, his voice trembling, his body trembling, until Adam pushes him past the point of speaking.
His skin is marking up beautifully, the layered web of red lines darkening with each slap of the leather tails, and Adam carefully aims the flogger so Tommy won’t be too sore in only one place. The red lines fan out, some curling around Tommy’s ribs, until his back is evenly flushed.
Adam switches hands and wipes his sweaty palm on his pants. His fingers are twitching with the urge to touch the welts covering Tommy’s back, but he forces himself not to move. Tommy’s panting, sunk low into a bow with his ass in the air, and Adam needs to let him catch his breath. This isn’t about Adam, anyway.
He drops the flogger to the floor. Tommy flinches at the noise. His shoulders shake even though his arms no longer hold him up; his hands are stretched out in front of him, and he’s gripping the metal cross tightly between his fists.
Adam makes no effort to muffle the loud, metallic sound of his zipper as he draws it down and steps up, straddling Tommy’s legs. He kicks Tommy’s knees together, lifting his ass higher in the air, and takes out his cock. Tommy can’t possibly know what he’s doing, not with his forehead on the floor, but he seems to guess: he shifts his hips, displaying himself as best he can with his legs locked together, and arches his back with a groan.
“Beg for it,” Adam whispers, his breath stolen by the sight in front of him.
“I want you to fuck me, Adam, fuck me up, come in me—”
“No.” Tommy falls silent, waiting. “I don’t think you deserve to be fucked,” Adam continues, his voice dropping in register until he reaches the low, silky pitch that always makes Tommy shiver with anticipation. Tommy doesn’t disappoint.
“Please,” he begs. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, p-please.”
Adam strokes his hand over Tommy’s ass, palming one cheek and squeezing gently, just enough to make Tommy squirm as the pain shifts. There aren’t many welts on his ass, but Adam can feel the heat from them just the same. He drags his hand up to Tommy’s back, skimming his fingers lightly over the raised lines. Tommy shivers again.
He spits into his free hand, a sound Tommy can’t miss, and starts stroking himself. The first two fingers of his left hand keep tracing the welts, almost of their own accord as Adam loses himself in jerking off. He stares down at Tommy, and says, again, “Beg for it.”
Tommy shudders and cries out, arching himself up into Adam’s touch desperately. “Please, Adam, please, I need it. Come on me. I want to feel it, I want you to fuck me up, make me dirty, I deserve it. I deserve it. Please, I’m sorry, please forgive me,” he sobs, his voice wavering like he’s actually crying.
Adam drags his hand back up to Tommy’s ass and kneads the flesh, savoring Tommy’s broken cries when they come, ripped from his throat. Adam’s close, and he’s almost positive Tommy knows it, because Tommy pushes himself up onto his elbows, shaking with effort, and puts himself on display.
Adam comes, groaning even though he tries to remain silent, and slaps his open palm to Tommy’s ass. Tommy rocks forward, sinking down until his forehead touches the floor again. Adam’s come splashes onto his back and ass, pearly white against red skin and dripping down the slope of Tommy’s spine towards his shoulders. Adam backs off a few steps, cupping his cock and watching, out of breath.
After a moment, Tommy rises to his elbows again and lifts his head. He doesn’t look around for Adam, just stares straight ahead at the blank wall in front of him, breathing heavily through his mouth.
“Are you hard, Tommy?” Adam asks.
“Yes,” Tommy replies.
“Do you want to come, Tommy?”
“Yes, please.” Without seeing Tommy’s face, Adam honestly can’t tell if Tommy’s voice is tight with pain or lust. Adam takes him at his word and walks around him in a wide circle, surveying him.
Tommy’s cock is indeed hard and hanging heavily between his legs, and Tommy holds his head high. Proud. Adam’s lips twitch into a smile as he slides his fingers through Tommy’s hair and jerks his head up all the way.
“You feel good now, don’t you, Tommy?” he taunts. “You survived your punishment. Are you proud of yourself?”
Tommy meets his eyes for less than a second before looking away. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean it, I swear, Adam, please.”
Adam pulls Tommy’s head towards his crotch, lifting him up off his elbows by his hair. Tommy makes a token noise of protest but quickly settles into the awkward, hunched-over position, nuzzling Adam’s balls and licking around the base of his cock eagerly. He plants a sweet little kiss there before shifting back to sit upright on his knees.
“I don’t believe you are repentant,” Adam tells him.
Tommy’s hopeful expression crumples. “I don’t—Please—What do you want me to do?”
Adam makes him wait. He sees Tommy’s fists clench around the cross, hears the beads of the rosary clicking as his wrists twist in nervous anticipation. His cock stands out proudly, flushed deeply and wet around the head where he’s leaking precome. Tommy meets his eyes and doesn’t look away.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks again, his voice trembling.
“Pray,” Adam commands.
Tommy goes completely and utterly still. His breath leaves him and he doesn’t draw in another. His lips form the silent question, “What?”
Adam reaches out and pets Tommy’s hair away from his face. He leaves his hand at the crown of Tommy’s head, the way he imagines a priest might do to a young boy looking up at him the way Tommy is now. His words are at odds with the gesture, though.
“I want you to hold your cock in your hands, stroke it, Tommy, and repent.”
“But I—”
“I already told you I didn’t believe you,” Adam says sharply. “Lying is a sin too, Tommy.”
Tommy bites his lip. His brow wrinkles and he finally breaks Adam’s gaze. “I don’t know what to…”
“You can do it.” He ruffles Tommy’s hair and steps away, back far enough to lean against the wall, leaving Tommy alone. “Touch yourself, Tommy, and tell me how sorry you are.”
Tommy opens his fists. The cross falls from his grip and dangles against his forearm. It brushes his cock as Tommy lowers his hands to start stroking himself. He closes his right hand around his dick and folds the left over top, like he’d been holding the cross. Adam can see him shaking with the effort of holding back and taking it slow. Sweat beads on his chest, shimmering as he shudders and groans.
“Tell me, Tommy,” Adam orders him.
“I—” Tommy says immediately. “I—”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry,” he gasps. His hands go brutally tight around his cock and his face twists with pain. “Jesus. Please, Adam.”
“Repent, Tommy. And don’t stop moving your hands.”
He strokes himself again, careful and slow, and bites down on his lip. But when he opens his mouth to speak, his hands still.
“Tommy,” Adam snaps. “Keep stroking. Talk. That’s your last warning.”
“Adam, please,” Tommy explodes in a rush of breath and sound and movement. “I’m sorry, please forgive me, I—I accept—my punishment. I accept this. I’m dirty and I—I deserve this. I accept responsibility for my sins, I’m sorry, and I want—please—I beg your forgiveness, and I—”
Tommy continues with more of the same phrases until he begins sobbing and his speech is even more halting and garbled. His hands speed up on his cock, and Adam knows he’s close, knows he’s having trouble concentrating. He wants to touch Tommy, give him some comfort, but Tommy has to do this part on his own.
“Please grant me absolution,” Tommy cries. “Please, Adam, please, let me, please forgive me, I beg you, I beg you, please accept—”
“Yes,” Adam says. His voice cracks on the single word, exhaled through a dry throat. He licks his lips and tries again. “Yes, Tommy. You’re absolved.”
Tommy squeezes his hands painfully tight around his cock, trying to last just a moment longer, but he can’t do it. He moans long and loud, coming all over his hands and stomach and the floor. He hunches over, folding in on himself until his head almost touches the floor again. Adam spies the red welts crawling up across his shoulders and takes a quick breath.
Finally, Tommy sits up again. His head hangs low, chin against his chest. His hands and wrists are covered in slick come. He sucks in deep, uneven breaths.
“Hold out your hands,” Adam says quietly.
Tommy lifts his arms, wrists facing up and hands lax. Adam unwinds the rosary and rubs at the little indents the beads made in Tommy’s sticky skin. Then he grabs Tommy’s chin and forces his head up. Dazed, Tommy looks up at him. His cheeks are stained with running eyeliner and tear tracks. Adam lets the cross hang in front of Tommy’s face.
“Look what you’ve done,” he says. “Clean it off.”
Tommy doesn’t even attempt to use his hands. He rocks forward and opens his mouth. Adam holds the rosary still while Tommy licks it clean of his come, then pushes it between Tommy’s parted lips. He rests his palm on the top of Tommy’s head.
“I believe you now.”
He pulls the cross free from Tommy’s mouth and Tommy looks down again, as if he still feels unworthy.
“You’re absolved of your sins,” Adam tells him. He takes Tommy’s chin in his hand again and urges him silently to look up. Tommy crosses himself and, finally gazing up at Adam with watery eyes, kisses the rosary again, chastely this time.
“Baby,” Adam breathes. With his fingers hooked under Tommy’s chin, Adam pulls him up to meet him in a long, thorough kiss. When he finally releases Tommy to catch his breath, Tommy gasps and sinks back down to his heels.
“Oh, baby, you did so good,” Adam tells him gently, “you did so good for me.” Tommy smiles at the praise and Adam gathers him in his arms.
They stretch out on the floor together, Tommy flat on the floor with his head pillowed on Adam’s arm and Adam leaning over him, his fingers idly stroking Tommy’s chest. The rosary spills out from his palm and lays, serpent-like, between Tommy’s nipples. Adam touches the metal cross, then trails up to the hollow of Tommy’s throat to touch the St. Jude medallion.
“Are these new?” he asks, curious.
“I bought ‘em special for the occasion,” Tommy replies, then closes his eyes and lapses into silence. Adam leans down to kiss him, briefly, then resumes his gentle caresses. “I got you something too,” Tommy says after a few minutes. “In my pocket.”
Adam extricates himself from Tommy and shuffles over to dig through the discarded pants. He finds another silver chain with a medallion, like the one Tommy’s wearing, but this one has a woman on it.
“St. Genevieve,” Tommy tells him.
Adam shrugs. “What does it mean?”
Tommy meets his eyes, already grinning. “Patron saint of fever.”
Laughing, Adam crawls back over to Tommy and kisses him soundly. “You’re a riot.”
“I know.”
They kiss again, then Adam says, “So, do you feel absolved of your sins?”
“Strangely… yeah,” Tommy replies. “Guess that means I’ll have to start racking up some new ones.”
“I liked that one you mentioned earlier, about me fucking you. Let’s start with that.”
fin.
pairing: Adam/Tommy
rating: NC-17
words: 2600
warning: major disrespect for religion (specifically Catholicism), D/s, flogging, some humiliation
summary: Tommy has a few sins to confess.
disclaimer: Very untrue. Don't google yourself. Don't pass this along to anyone involved.
a/n: Seriously, don't read this if you get offended by the kind of stuff Tommy posts on twitter/tumblr, because this is about a million times more blasphemous.
a/n2: This came about after a very amusing conversation with lots of other writers on twitter, and bascially everyone agreed to write their own religious!kink fic. This is mine, and of course it had to have a little BDSM involved. Thank you to
random_yayness for both helping me plot it out and reading it over for me. Title from the song by Johnny Cash (also Depeche Mode, also Marilyn Manson... lol Tommy). Fulfills the "penance/punishment" square of my kink_bingo card.on ao3
Adam had thought Tommy would show up dressed in some kind of churchgoing outfit, maybe even a school uniform reminiscent of his childhood, but Tommy is wearing exactly what he might wear to rehearsal: skintight jeans, boots, his favorite hoodie, and of course, makeup. Adam supposes it doesn’t really matter, seeing as Tommy will be naked most of the time anyway, but he also figures that if Tommy dressed this way on purpose, it’s only fair to comment.
“This is what you think is appropriate for a house of God?” Adam asks. Tommy looks down at himself, brow wrinkled.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy finally replies.
“Get on your knees. Show respect.”
Tommy drops down. His hands hang at his sides. Adam walks in a slow circle around him.
“Are you prepared to confess your sins and repent?” he asks.
There’s a long moment of silence. Adam keeps walking and sees Tommy’s jaw is clenched. Come on, Adam mouths, keeping out of Tommy’s sight. Come on, baby, say it.
“Please forgive me,” Tommy whispers. His hands come up and clasp in front of his chest. He looks almost sincere. “It’s been… thirteen years since my last confession.”
Adam breaks into a grin and settles in front of Tommy again. Tommy isn’t looking up at him.
“What sins do you have to confess?”
“I’ve… taken the Lord’s name in vain,” Tommy begins. “I’ve been lazy and proud. I’ve used drugs and alcohol.”
Adam runs his fingers through Tommy’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “Anything else?”
Tommy’s eyes flick up. A smirk plays at the edges of his lips. “I’ve had lustful thoughts about a close friend. A male friend. I’ve acted on those thoughts.”
“What did you do?”
“I got on my knees and begged him to fuck me until I screamed. And he did.”
Adam ignores the sharp thrill Tommy’s words send through him and runs his fingers through Tommy’s hair again. “You’ve also been disrespectful. Are you ready for your penance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take off your clothes.”
Tommy obeys without hesitation, standing up and first kicking off his boots and peeling off his socks, then unzipping his hoodie. He’s not wearing a shirt underneath. Last to go are his pants and underwear; he leaves everything in a crumpled pile at his feet. Adam kicks it aside.
Then he notices that Tommy’s usual necklaces have been replaced by a silver medallion that hangs right between his collarbones, and a rosary, black beads on a chain with a metal cross at the bottom. Adam reaches out and touches the medallion. There’s a man in a robe with a halo stamped on it, but it doesn’t look like any of the familiar representations of Jesus.
“Tell me?” Adam whispers.
“St. Jude,” Tommy says. He grins. “Patron saint of lost causes.”
Adam fights to keep his own smile in check, biting the inside of his lip. “Fitting,” he finally replies. He takes the rosary, pulls it off Tommy’s head, and holds it taut between both hands. “Hold out your wrists.”
Tommy laces his fingers together, like he’s praying. Adam loops the chain around Tommy’s wrists three times, binding them together. He tucks the cross between Tommy’s palms.
“Get on your knees,” he says. Tommy drops, hands still held out. “Don’t let go,” he whispers, kissing Tommy’s forehead before pushing him down to rest on his elbows.
He doesn’t give a warning before swinging the flogger to mark Tommy’s pale, bare back. The first few swings land with a sharp thwack, but Tommy makes no noise. He even manages to hold still for a while.
Then he starts writhing.
Then he starts groaning.
And then, finally, he starts pleading.
“Please, Adam, please, oh God, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me, please, I’m sorry,” and on and on, his voice trembling, his body trembling, until Adam pushes him past the point of speaking.
His skin is marking up beautifully, the layered web of red lines darkening with each slap of the leather tails, and Adam carefully aims the flogger so Tommy won’t be too sore in only one place. The red lines fan out, some curling around Tommy’s ribs, until his back is evenly flushed.
Adam switches hands and wipes his sweaty palm on his pants. His fingers are twitching with the urge to touch the welts covering Tommy’s back, but he forces himself not to move. Tommy’s panting, sunk low into a bow with his ass in the air, and Adam needs to let him catch his breath. This isn’t about Adam, anyway.
He drops the flogger to the floor. Tommy flinches at the noise. His shoulders shake even though his arms no longer hold him up; his hands are stretched out in front of him, and he’s gripping the metal cross tightly between his fists.
Adam makes no effort to muffle the loud, metallic sound of his zipper as he draws it down and steps up, straddling Tommy’s legs. He kicks Tommy’s knees together, lifting his ass higher in the air, and takes out his cock. Tommy can’t possibly know what he’s doing, not with his forehead on the floor, but he seems to guess: he shifts his hips, displaying himself as best he can with his legs locked together, and arches his back with a groan.
“Beg for it,” Adam whispers, his breath stolen by the sight in front of him.
“I want you to fuck me, Adam, fuck me up, come in me—”
“No.” Tommy falls silent, waiting. “I don’t think you deserve to be fucked,” Adam continues, his voice dropping in register until he reaches the low, silky pitch that always makes Tommy shiver with anticipation. Tommy doesn’t disappoint.
“Please,” he begs. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, p-please.”
Adam strokes his hand over Tommy’s ass, palming one cheek and squeezing gently, just enough to make Tommy squirm as the pain shifts. There aren’t many welts on his ass, but Adam can feel the heat from them just the same. He drags his hand up to Tommy’s back, skimming his fingers lightly over the raised lines. Tommy shivers again.
He spits into his free hand, a sound Tommy can’t miss, and starts stroking himself. The first two fingers of his left hand keep tracing the welts, almost of their own accord as Adam loses himself in jerking off. He stares down at Tommy, and says, again, “Beg for it.”
Tommy shudders and cries out, arching himself up into Adam’s touch desperately. “Please, Adam, please, I need it. Come on me. I want to feel it, I want you to fuck me up, make me dirty, I deserve it. I deserve it. Please, I’m sorry, please forgive me,” he sobs, his voice wavering like he’s actually crying.
Adam drags his hand back up to Tommy’s ass and kneads the flesh, savoring Tommy’s broken cries when they come, ripped from his throat. Adam’s close, and he’s almost positive Tommy knows it, because Tommy pushes himself up onto his elbows, shaking with effort, and puts himself on display.
Adam comes, groaning even though he tries to remain silent, and slaps his open palm to Tommy’s ass. Tommy rocks forward, sinking down until his forehead touches the floor again. Adam’s come splashes onto his back and ass, pearly white against red skin and dripping down the slope of Tommy’s spine towards his shoulders. Adam backs off a few steps, cupping his cock and watching, out of breath.
After a moment, Tommy rises to his elbows again and lifts his head. He doesn’t look around for Adam, just stares straight ahead at the blank wall in front of him, breathing heavily through his mouth.
“Are you hard, Tommy?” Adam asks.
“Yes,” Tommy replies.
“Do you want to come, Tommy?”
“Yes, please.” Without seeing Tommy’s face, Adam honestly can’t tell if Tommy’s voice is tight with pain or lust. Adam takes him at his word and walks around him in a wide circle, surveying him.
Tommy’s cock is indeed hard and hanging heavily between his legs, and Tommy holds his head high. Proud. Adam’s lips twitch into a smile as he slides his fingers through Tommy’s hair and jerks his head up all the way.
“You feel good now, don’t you, Tommy?” he taunts. “You survived your punishment. Are you proud of yourself?”
Tommy meets his eyes for less than a second before looking away. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean it, I swear, Adam, please.”
Adam pulls Tommy’s head towards his crotch, lifting him up off his elbows by his hair. Tommy makes a token noise of protest but quickly settles into the awkward, hunched-over position, nuzzling Adam’s balls and licking around the base of his cock eagerly. He plants a sweet little kiss there before shifting back to sit upright on his knees.
“I don’t believe you are repentant,” Adam tells him.
Tommy’s hopeful expression crumples. “I don’t—Please—What do you want me to do?”
Adam makes him wait. He sees Tommy’s fists clench around the cross, hears the beads of the rosary clicking as his wrists twist in nervous anticipation. His cock stands out proudly, flushed deeply and wet around the head where he’s leaking precome. Tommy meets his eyes and doesn’t look away.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks again, his voice trembling.
“Pray,” Adam commands.
Tommy goes completely and utterly still. His breath leaves him and he doesn’t draw in another. His lips form the silent question, “What?”
Adam reaches out and pets Tommy’s hair away from his face. He leaves his hand at the crown of Tommy’s head, the way he imagines a priest might do to a young boy looking up at him the way Tommy is now. His words are at odds with the gesture, though.
“I want you to hold your cock in your hands, stroke it, Tommy, and repent.”
“But I—”
“I already told you I didn’t believe you,” Adam says sharply. “Lying is a sin too, Tommy.”
Tommy bites his lip. His brow wrinkles and he finally breaks Adam’s gaze. “I don’t know what to…”
“You can do it.” He ruffles Tommy’s hair and steps away, back far enough to lean against the wall, leaving Tommy alone. “Touch yourself, Tommy, and tell me how sorry you are.”
Tommy opens his fists. The cross falls from his grip and dangles against his forearm. It brushes his cock as Tommy lowers his hands to start stroking himself. He closes his right hand around his dick and folds the left over top, like he’d been holding the cross. Adam can see him shaking with the effort of holding back and taking it slow. Sweat beads on his chest, shimmering as he shudders and groans.
“Tell me, Tommy,” Adam orders him.
“I—” Tommy says immediately. “I—”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry,” he gasps. His hands go brutally tight around his cock and his face twists with pain. “Jesus. Please, Adam.”
“Repent, Tommy. And don’t stop moving your hands.”
He strokes himself again, careful and slow, and bites down on his lip. But when he opens his mouth to speak, his hands still.
“Tommy,” Adam snaps. “Keep stroking. Talk. That’s your last warning.”
“Adam, please,” Tommy explodes in a rush of breath and sound and movement. “I’m sorry, please forgive me, I—I accept—my punishment. I accept this. I’m dirty and I—I deserve this. I accept responsibility for my sins, I’m sorry, and I want—please—I beg your forgiveness, and I—”
Tommy continues with more of the same phrases until he begins sobbing and his speech is even more halting and garbled. His hands speed up on his cock, and Adam knows he’s close, knows he’s having trouble concentrating. He wants to touch Tommy, give him some comfort, but Tommy has to do this part on his own.
“Please grant me absolution,” Tommy cries. “Please, Adam, please, let me, please forgive me, I beg you, I beg you, please accept—”
“Yes,” Adam says. His voice cracks on the single word, exhaled through a dry throat. He licks his lips and tries again. “Yes, Tommy. You’re absolved.”
Tommy squeezes his hands painfully tight around his cock, trying to last just a moment longer, but he can’t do it. He moans long and loud, coming all over his hands and stomach and the floor. He hunches over, folding in on himself until his head almost touches the floor again. Adam spies the red welts crawling up across his shoulders and takes a quick breath.
Finally, Tommy sits up again. His head hangs low, chin against his chest. His hands and wrists are covered in slick come. He sucks in deep, uneven breaths.
“Hold out your hands,” Adam says quietly.
Tommy lifts his arms, wrists facing up and hands lax. Adam unwinds the rosary and rubs at the little indents the beads made in Tommy’s sticky skin. Then he grabs Tommy’s chin and forces his head up. Dazed, Tommy looks up at him. His cheeks are stained with running eyeliner and tear tracks. Adam lets the cross hang in front of Tommy’s face.
“Look what you’ve done,” he says. “Clean it off.”
Tommy doesn’t even attempt to use his hands. He rocks forward and opens his mouth. Adam holds the rosary still while Tommy licks it clean of his come, then pushes it between Tommy’s parted lips. He rests his palm on the top of Tommy’s head.
“I believe you now.”
He pulls the cross free from Tommy’s mouth and Tommy looks down again, as if he still feels unworthy.
“You’re absolved of your sins,” Adam tells him. He takes Tommy’s chin in his hand again and urges him silently to look up. Tommy crosses himself and, finally gazing up at Adam with watery eyes, kisses the rosary again, chastely this time.
“Baby,” Adam breathes. With his fingers hooked under Tommy’s chin, Adam pulls him up to meet him in a long, thorough kiss. When he finally releases Tommy to catch his breath, Tommy gasps and sinks back down to his heels.
“Oh, baby, you did so good,” Adam tells him gently, “you did so good for me.” Tommy smiles at the praise and Adam gathers him in his arms.
They stretch out on the floor together, Tommy flat on the floor with his head pillowed on Adam’s arm and Adam leaning over him, his fingers idly stroking Tommy’s chest. The rosary spills out from his palm and lays, serpent-like, between Tommy’s nipples. Adam touches the metal cross, then trails up to the hollow of Tommy’s throat to touch the St. Jude medallion.
“Are these new?” he asks, curious.
“I bought ‘em special for the occasion,” Tommy replies, then closes his eyes and lapses into silence. Adam leans down to kiss him, briefly, then resumes his gentle caresses. “I got you something too,” Tommy says after a few minutes. “In my pocket.”
Adam extricates himself from Tommy and shuffles over to dig through the discarded pants. He finds another silver chain with a medallion, like the one Tommy’s wearing, but this one has a woman on it.
“St. Genevieve,” Tommy tells him.
Adam shrugs. “What does it mean?”
Tommy meets his eyes, already grinning. “Patron saint of fever.”
Laughing, Adam crawls back over to Tommy and kisses him soundly. “You’re a riot.”
“I know.”
They kiss again, then Adam says, “So, do you feel absolved of your sins?”
“Strangely… yeah,” Tommy replies. “Guess that means I’ll have to start racking up some new ones.”
“I liked that one you mentioned earlier, about me fucking you. Let’s start with that.”
fin.