Yuuri had been fantasizing for over a month now. What it would finally be like to be with his priest. At night he laid in bed, different versions going through his head. He would then dream of it and awake in the morning so hard it would take only a couple strokes and he would be releasing. He needed more and he knew he needed more, but he could not pressure Father Victor into it as he had told him many times he was okay with how things were.
Father Victor was getting bolder. Yuri could feel lips on his neck now when they were in each other's embrace. All Yuuri wanted was to feel those lips against his, but he was not brave enough to initiate it nor did he want to aliment the conflict in Father Victor even further than he already had. He felt terrible as he was lusting after a man he could never have, and was lying about it. He had lied to his best friend.
He wished he could talk it over with Phichit, he wish he could tell Phichit everything, but he knew this was not his secret to tell – only half of it. He just wished he had someone he could confess it all to...
Closing the door behind him, he hears it click into place. The echo going throughout the tiny, dark, shadow filled room. Incense is thick in the air, it curls in your nose and clings to your clothing, making your throat burn and eyes water. An old worn wooden chair sits in the center of the tiny cramped space. Standing up if you reached your arms out, they cannot fully extend, as a child this room was dark, intimidating, brought by nightmares of hell fires and demons. The floor glows from the sunlight outside the room, but just the bottom half. To the right, there is a cage like opening. Not bars on the opening, no. More like a screen, a screen etched with small crosses going in a criss cross pattern. The screen is closed off.
Waiting, breathing in more incense, he hears someone enter in the next room, the door shuts quietly into place. There is a slight rustling around of robes, wood creaking, giving way to weight. A few more moments and the slide of the cover on the grate opens. Giving way to the room next to it, but no sight. Nothing could be seen other than a slight silhouette. He knew there was someone there, the soft steady breathing and the silhouette barely seen.
Slipping his hand to his forehead, midsection, left shoulder, and then right. Pushing the chair back as far to the wall possible and dropping to his knees on the hard cold floor, palms sweaty, cold, hard wooden beads pressed against them, between fingers gently rolling and pulling them.
"Bless and forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession. Since then I have sinned…." The beads are working through his fingers, counting all ten beads, then moving to another ten. He knows each requires a prayer, but slipping them through his fingers are a comfort, keeping his hand busy. Taking a deep breath, the incense burning into his lungs, clearing his throat, mouth going dry and tongue feeling heavy, stale.
Opening his mouth, no sound comes out, he clears his throat.
"My son, confess your sins," he hears a low voice say through the screen. He hears his priest voice that sets his cock alive, twitching in his pants. Taking in a deep breath, the incense sharp in his nostrils, burning heavily in his throat. For a quick moment, he looks to the door, the brass handle begging him to turn it and flee. Pulling the beads through his fingers, he is afraid if he pulls the thin cord harder he will litter the floor in them.
Wrapping the beads tightly in his fist, fingers again to forehead, midsection, left shoulder, right shoulder – he takes a slow deep breath and clears his throat, trying to get rid of the taste of incense, trying to keep the stir in his pants from returning as he confesses his sins. He hesitates for a moment as he knows on the other side of the screen, it is his priest , and since he came here to have someone to talk to, now he would be telling his priest everything in his mind.
"I… I have sinned... I have knowingly… and willingly... given into impure thoughts and actions… I have lied to my best friend about who I am in love with..." breathing in deeply, incense clinging to his nose, no longer burning, uncomfortable, almost welcoming. Voice going low, quiet, almost unable to be heard, the clanking of the beads in his hands growing louder, "I... have thought of a man… and not… not just thinking of him… but thinking of him… in an impure way…." he stops again. He doesn't know how to continue, and doesn't know if he should.
"Go on." He hears that voice again, smooth, like silk across his ears, he could listen to his priest talk to him forever...
Swallowing hard, he rubs a bead between his fingers. "So um… I was saying… these thoughts I have… this man… he is someone I can never have. They are unholy thoughts, they are impure thoughts and I love thinking them." There he said it. "I know I should repent, I know I should not love them, but I continue to every night… think… these thoughts… then I… well… act on them," he finishes while taking another deep breath.
"And how are you acting on them?" the voice asked… it sounded shaky and unsteady.
"Well... all I have to do is think about him. Someone I can never… have." Thinking of Father Victor now, his pants stir a bit – those eyes that sparkle, especially when he smiles, the strong shoulders on a lean fit body – his pants slowly getting tighter. "He has this smile… and when he smiles, even if it is to a room of people… it captivates me. When he looks at me, it feels like he is looking… looking into me. Whenever he is around… I ugh… I get turned on. So at night, my mind will go to him… knowing how he affects me… we spend a lot of time together… and I told him I was okay with it never being anything more…" he stopped and wondered if he should go on, he had to get it all out, it was eating him alive. "I told him I was okay with how things were going… now I realize I was lying… I was okay with it at the time… but now I know I want more…" He was affected now; his cock was half hard from thinking about him. With the beads still wrapped around his hand, he uses the other to adjust his cock, knowing how wrong it is, to be where he is, and to feel how he is feeling.
"I will think of him, think of the way his… his ash blond hair covers one eye and how he brushes it back… those long thin fingers… fingers I want..." he chokes slightly, not sure if from what he was saying or the incense that seemed to only linger. He knew his priest was listening and there was no turning back now. His hand is slowly rubbing the front of the ever growing tent of his pants, shoulders sagging, as he lets out a harsh breath. "His hands are amazing… the way they work… if I were an artist, I would draw those hands… I think about those hands… I think of those eyes… his ash blond hair… those aqua eyes..."
He can hear the breath slightly quicken in the next room. "Continue my son…"
"I… love running my fingers through his hair, it is so soft, and he smells so amazing… he ugh… is beautiful… inside and out."
Sighing deeply, his body relaxes as he thinks about him, his hand still on the front of his pants, his erection slowly growing, not yet fully hard though. Shifting the weight to his knees, feeling the hard wooden floor, not caring as much about the pain in his knees as the stir in his pants. "I just… I just… sit at night and think of him," he manages to whisper out.
"Thinking about someone is not a sin my son..." he heard his priest say.
"I just don't think of him, I think of him touching me… I think of him, not in his robes… I think of what is under them. His lean long body. I think of those hands on me, I think of my hands on him." His hand is absently rubbing his cock again, almost fully hard. Shifting his knees more, taking the hand clutching the beads, without thinking, he undoes the top button of his pants, which are too tight. The beads knocking against him in his hand. He has thoughts in his head: this man that towers over him, completely enveloping him in his strong arms, pulling him close, devouring him.
The knocking of the beads, seeming loud in the tiny room bring him back to where he is, his pants unzipped, his hard cock straining in his briefs. The beads in his hand giving a gentle sensation over the cotton, making his body shudder. A sound escapes his lips, a low whimper – the thoughts are in his head, his fantasy. Yuuri knew with his priest listening, it made it all so erotic, so wrong.
He can hear a wince in the breath that came out swiftly from the next room, the broken sound of his voice, "My son... are you okay?"
Slowly exhaling, as his breathing had become accelerated, needing to lull the images in his mind, his hand clutching his cock, the beads pressing into his shaft, "I want… I want these thoughts, I want these fantasies, I lay in bed at night… running my hands down my body… imagining they are his hands…" his hand was leisurely stroking up and down his cock, the beads pressing into him as he spoke. "I want him to touch me… I want to touch him… I know what I am thinking is wrong and sinful… but I don't care! I have these thoughts every night; I welcome them. When I think them… I… UGH!" He squeezed his cock through his briefs, the beads pressing tighter into his shaft. With his other hand pushing his briefs down, he wrapped the hand with the beads around his shaft, beginning to slowly stroke and pull at his cock, the head seeping onto his hands over the beads.
"I know I should not lust over this man… and it is not just lust… I love this man's mind… but then the lust takes over. I know… I know it''s sinful… I willfully do this… by choice… Ugh!" He is breathing hard, panting out his words, his cock oozing as he strokes from the head down of his shaft; the beads are slippery, the pressure they give his shaft is unbearable, yet pleasurable.
"My… my son… are you okay?" a winded voice replies.
"Y-yes… Father… Ugh!" His other hand had reached down, gently rolling his balls… he could not stop now, his priest needed to know how he felt.
"P-please… c-continue then," the voice mumbled.
"I… I picture him… we are up on the pulpit..." While he spoke, the incense made his head dizzy, the hairs in his nose tickling, burning, as though he had forgotten where he was and who he was talking to. "He is gentle, always gentle… at first… normally starts with a kiss… it is light and chaste… I imagine he tastes… ugh… of berries and wine." His hand is pressing the beads into his cock as he strokes desperately now. Knowing this man is on the other side of the wall, hearing his sin... it is almost too much; he can feel the pressure building, the beads clanking as he rubs. He has to stop or he will never get his confession out, his priest will never know how he feels if he goes too fast.
"I want to grab him… pulling him closer… to feel his body against mine" he gasps as he slips his hands under his shirt, softly moving his hand, barely brushing a nipple, feeling the peak of it under his fingers. "I lust over this man, everything… everything about him… just pulls me to him… I'm wicked… unholy…"
"Lord, inflame our hearts... and our inmost beings... with the fire of Your Holy Spirit... that we may serve You... with chaste bodies and pure minds... Through Christ our Lord. Amen…" his priest replies back, he can hear the strain in his voice.
On the verge of tears, his cock weeping down his fist, the beads sticky and slick, "I know… I can't stop… I… I don't want to stop," he whispers, "I want him… I want him… to bend me over… the sacrificial table… I want him… to pour holy water… all over my body… I picture those hands… taking my pants off..." The stroking along his cock was getting more desperate at each pull, the beads clanking hard, digging harder into his shaft. "I picture him… bending me over… using those… ugh… those fingers… he spreads me before the Lord... "
Something drops in the next room, it is a loud thump and catches him off guard. Sharp intake of breath, incense filling his lungs. He stops all movement, holding still, hand around his cock, other hand on his chest. There is silence now. Pure silence.
"Blessed are the pure of heart... for they shall see God… S-sorry my son… dropped something… go on," he hears his priest stammer.
"I… I… ugh..." he breathes out, eagerly grasping his cock harder, "He spreads me before the Lord… those fingers… they stroke down my spine… they seek further down… they…" He takes the beads, unravels them from his hand, and gently wraps them around his shaft; rolling them up and down, the slick liquid slowly drips out of him while he finishes the sentence: "they find my entrance…" Swiping his fingers over the head of this cock, getting the glossy fluid, he places his other hand behind him, spreading his knees across the hard floor even more, and slowly starts rubbing his anus, pushing one fingertip in, not going further. "They are gentle… those long… lean fingers… he presses them… into me," he utters, the last part barely a whisper, as his finger slowly slips inside. He starts thrusting into his hand again, the beads rolling along his hand and down his cock. "He continues to press those... fingers into me… getting me… ready for him…"
His finger, slipping in and out as he rocks back into his hand, goes deeper, driving him to spill out the rest of his confession: "I can imagine it so well… I know it is sinful… but I can never stop… what gets… gets me over the edge… is knowing how wonderful this man is… knowing how gentle he would be with me… knowing he is my undoing... he enters me… gently… laying his wooden cross on the center of back… keeping me pinned to the sacrificial table… he takes me… he claims me! In front of God, in front of the congregation… Uh.. UGH! Oh Father Nikiforov!" he moans out as he feels his balls clench up. Pulling his finger out his ass he reaches forward, pumping his cock ruthlessly, it spitting out all over his other palm. His chest heaving, breath labored, he strokes out the last of his release, the beads making his shaft overly sensitive. Holding his half hard, slowly deflated cock in his hand, he moans out one last time, the room slowly growing thick with the smell of sex and incense.
Slowly reaching for his scarf, he wipes his hand on it, rising off his knees back to the chair, his knees screaming out at him. Tucking himself back into his pants, fastening them. He touches his forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right. "Please, forgive me Father, for I have sinned… and continue to sin…"
"Pray with me my son… Flee sexual immorality. Every sin that a man does is outside the body, but he who commits sexual immorality sins against his own body…. My son…Your penance is five Rosaries, please continue to pray in our Lord and Savior. Blessed are those whose sins have been forgiven, whose evil deeds have been forgotten. Rejoice in the Lord, and go in peace. Pray for me, I will pray for you. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen."
"Amen. Thank you Father."
His cock was half hard – even the bible on his lap could not will it down. Letting go of the wooden cross around his neck, he placed his fingers to his forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right. Instinctively his hand went to rub his cock. It felt so blasphemous to be affected by this, to be getting hard over this, to be fighting over right and wrong. His love of God or sins of the flesh? This conflict eating at his core.
Those words he was hearing from his Yuuri . The latter always sat in the front pews during mass. Always looking up at him in awe with big brown eyes. At first his hair would fall into his eyes, then after a few weeks, he started push brushing that hair back. He always had such an innocent look to his face, but his eyes told another story. He had gotten know Yuuri and knew he was drawn to him due to having eyes like Silas', but after spending time with him, there was so much more. Breathing in deep, the incense burning in the back of his throat.
Trying to control his breathing – at least to not be heard, his cock was growing harder and harder. The leather-bound side of his bible pressed into the side of his length as his hand went from a gentle rubbing to a grip of harder friction, but he needed more. Absently, his hand started to clench at his cassock, slowly lifting it up, hitching the front above the waistband of his pants, slowly unbuttoning them. He was driving him wild. Making him forget his sacrament. Making him forget his promise to God. Father Victor was torn over what to do, and had all but made his mind up; he was going back to Russia and he wanted Yuuri with him.
Gasping… bringing his fist to his mouth, biting down on the soft flesh of his hand, forgetting he was holding his bible in that hand – the bible falls from his grip, making a loud thump on the floor, and a sharp intake of breath as he hurriedly bends to pick up his holy book. Fingers to his forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right. Unzipping his pants, sliding down the hand that is not gripping the bible, he wraps his fingers around his erection. A silent prayer is sent to the heavens, because he knows this is wrong . Imagining to take his Yuuri at the pulpit, bending him over the sacrificial table… his grip on his erection tightened, and he slowly pulled his hand down, imagining him bent over, imagining to have his way with his body.
Knuckles turn white as he grips his bible, precum glossing the head of his cock. Everything his Yuuri is saying tears at him to his soul. Those words, confessional words, rip through him. There is a slight sound of moistened skin slapping next door. Taking in short shallow breaths, his nose is burning from incense. He could not moan or breathe out: he needed to keep his passion quiet, concealed. He was slowly pulling down the sensitive foreskin to his cock, feeling the dribbles on the side of his fingers as he let the slick liquid help lubricate his shaft. Thumbing his cockhead, applying the smallest amount of pressure into the slit, feeling the liquid pool over his thumb.
Yuuri said he loved him and that it was not just lust. Yuuri said he wanted more of him. Could he do this? Could he defrock and have Yuuri? Could he still keep his faith? Could Yuuri leave everything for him?
There is silence, movement can be heard, sharp intakes of breath, a wet sound with moaning, it goes straight to his cock. His hand, firmly around his engorged cock, and his cassock, pushed up the front as he gripped it hard, the head purple and leaking. "Please, forgive me Father, for I have sinned… and continue to sin… " Taking slow, deep breaths, incense fills his lungs... he needs to calm his voice and breathing so he can speak; he cannot let it quiver or stutter. Not now, not with his cock in one hand, and bible in the other. He releases his cock, putting his fingers to his forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right, praying silently for God to give him strength. One more deep breath.
"Pray with me my son… Flee sexual immorality. Every sin that a man does is outside the body, but he who commits sexual immorality sins against his own body…. My son…your penance is five Rosaries...please continue to pray in our Lord and Savior. Blessed are those whose sins have been forgiven, whose evil deeds have been forgotten. Rejoice in the Lord, and go in peace. Pray for me, I will pray for you. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen."
" Amen. Thank you Father. "
He can hear his Yuuri moving around the room, then the door clicking as his Yuuri leaves. Letting out a low moan, tilting his head back, resting it on the thick wood on the wall, swallowing hard. His cock is heavy against his lower abdomen, throbbing. He cannot, not in there, not in his confessional. Setting his bible down next to him, ignoring the call his cock is giving him, he tucks it back into the plain white boxers, struggling to button his pants before lowering his cassock. His palms, sweaty, he rubs down the fabric in attempt to wipe the moisture off. He takes another deep breath, almost coughing from the incense that is now choking him, or at least that is what he tells himself. Slowly he drags up his fingers to his forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right.
He tentatively grabs his bible again as he stands up, afraid it will burn the flesh on his hand, and is relieved when it does not. Staring at the brass knob on the door, he shakes his hand he goes to open it. The moisture on his palm is still there, marking the brass as he twists it, forcing him to twist a bit more so it will click open.
He still felt the fullness between his legs, the burning of need, and the want of such sin. He breathed in slowly and carefully, the scent of the incense not as harsh stepping through the archway into the main area of the church. High ceilings arched to the heavens, supported by strong wooden beams of a natural wood; soft lights scattered as sunlight came beaming through the stained glass; and candles, lined off to the corner, shone dimly, only a few lit, as the silence hung. A silence that wanted to choke him as the incense had.
He stood in the doorway, looking towards the front of the church, watching his Yuuri kneeling, eyes closed, head down, mouth moving, beads dangling between his fingers. Fingers that were just dancing along the sinful flesh, fingers that he so badly wanted to take–softly suck on. Fingers gently and most carefully twirling a bead, then moving to another, ten beads in a row, five in a loop— Our Father, Who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy name…
Not knowing how long he stood there, in that archway, staring at him , watching him pray, feeling the need in him never dying down. Thy Kingdom come… Thy will be done ... The fires of hell were racing to his groin. Knowing if he stood there another moment, he would commit a sacrilege right there, in the archway. Willing his feet to move, he quietly went to the sacristy through the side doorway, slipping out. He found himself in a hallway, taking a deep breath, one not filled with incense, hoping to calm his racing sinful mind. On Earth as it is in Heaven …
Fingers went to his forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right. Sweat laced his brow and the nape of his neck. Give us this day our daily bread… He leaned against the door, his chest heaving; the air was clean, but it was still hard to breathe, the weight between his legs drowning him. And forgive us our trespasses… Tears welled into the corners of his eyes, as we forgive those who trespass against us…
"Lead me NOT INTO TEMPTATION BUT DELIVER ME FROM EVIL!" he all but yells out, falling to his knees in front of his desk. Setting the weight of his bible onto the wooden table top, clutching his hands to his chest. For thine is the kingdom, the power the glory, forever and ever…
A cry escapes his mouth, his hands clenching, praying, as the weight between his legs gets worse. Everything in his being was calling him to go back there, to take his Yuuri and sin. Fighting between the power of faith, and the power of lust, the latter won.
His need flooding any rational thought in his mind. Unbuttoning his pants again, he pulled out his heavy, throbbing cock, crying out as his fingers wrapped around it. It did not take much, he thought of his Yuuri and in a few quick pulls, it was all over. His sin littered on the floor and his hand.
Resting his arm on his desk, against his bible, his head rested on his arms, looking at his shame on the floor. Deep breath in, slow breath out. Feeling the fire sedated within him, the bliss flooding his mind, and his shame still in his hand. "Dear Lord… forgive me, for I have sinned, and I will continue to sin…" a small cry escaping his throat.
This is the altered confession... I changed the original Confession and Father Nikiforov and made them together in a chapter to fit the story!