Of Altar Boys and Clerical Robes
Title: Of Altar Boys and Clerical Robes
Pairing: Yesung/Ryeowook
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,051
Summary: Ryeowook is a new altar boy at the church. Jongwoon is the priest who's supposed to train him. hyperballad is entirely to blame for this.
hyperballad: I'm putting a fic bug in your ear and you -really- want to write priest!yesung fic. Really kinky priest!yesung fic. YOU KNOW HE WOULD LOOK HOT.
thundersquall: W-What. What. WHY YOU DO THIS TO ME.
hyperballad: Because I'm craving delicious priest!yesung. Like a deliciously inappropriate one who may or may not bone altarboy-or-music-director-or-new-priest!ryeowook, of course.
thundersquall: SOBBING WHY DO YOU DOOOOOOO THIIIIIIIIIIIIS.
___
Ryeowook’s nervous, and it shows while the priest is talking to him, listing out the duties he’ll have to carry out as the church’s newest altar boy. His palms are sweaty and he’s scuffing the toes of his shoes nervously against his chair legs, but he can’t help it. It’s not because it’s his first day here. It’s got nothing to do with the high expectations his parents have of him, serving in the Church for the first time ever. It’s not even because the duties sound more like those for a cleaning boy than an altar boy.
No, it’s just because he swears up and down, on his soul, that this priest has been looking at him oddly ever since he’d stepped into his office, tucked away in a small building just behind the main church. And it’s not a ‘I’m watching you, new kid, you better not mess up’ kind of look, it’s a ‘You look tasty. Can I try?’ sort of look.
Not that Ryeowook has any experience in assessing the way people look at him, but he’s quite sure that his neck and legs aren’t places people should be staring at a lot. Especially not a priest. It doesn’t help that the priest is young and good-looking with dark eyes and tanned skin and a warm smile. He’s dressed decorously, as befits a priest, in a simple black shirt with his white clerical collar and jeans, but Ryeowook can clearly see the hint of muscles in his arms, under the thin shirt. It makes him even more anxious, though he doesn’t know why.
The priest (Jongwoon, Ryeowook’s mind helpfully supplies, Father Jongwoon) finishes his list of instructions and uncrosses his legs gracefully before standing up; Ryeowook does the same, though he trips a little in his haste and nervousness as he rises to his feet, tipping forward with a small yelp before the priest catches him by the waist and steadies him.
“Are you okay?” he asks Ryeowook, a small smile playing about his lips, and Ryeowook blushes and nods, biting his lip as he looks down. He doesn’t miss how the priest’s hands linger on his waist and slide down slowly to his hips, and before he takes his hands away Ryeowook is certain that the priest has just brushed against the seat of his jeans. It makes him blush hotter, but he swallows his embarrassment, because how can a priest mean to do such things?
“We’ll need to fit you with robes,” Father Jongwoon says, eyes raking over him again, this time lingering on the curve of his hip; Ryeowook shifts uneasily, and the priest snaps his eyes up and smiles at him. “Your altar boy robes.”
“I - I thought I wouldn’t need them until I’ve finished my training,” Ryeowook says meekly, still keeping his head bowed. He remembers his parents’ admonishments, the things they've been telling him throughout the 16 years of his life - listen to the priests at all times, obey them if you want to grow up to be good men like them, follow orders, don’t let us down - and it makes him feel jittery to be talking back to Father Jongwoon.
“Oh, it’s just fittings for now, we just need to take your measurements first,” Father Jongwoon says smoothly, showing no sign of anger, and Ryeowook relaxes. “Come along, we’ll get this done fast.”
Ryeowook nods and follows the priest as he leads him towards the back of the office, flinging open the door to a small musty windowless storeroom. The moment Ryeowook steps in, he closes the door behind them, plunging them into darkness, before snapping a switch on and a single dim lightbulb, dangling from the ceiling, lights up.
He stands by the door uncertainly, looking around. The room’s filled with shelves, a bare wooden desk and a chair against one wall, and robes are hung neatly in rows on garment hangers lining the walls. He recognizes the priests’ robes - purple cassocks for the Lenten season, green for Advent, white for everyday wear - and then the altar boys’ robes, following the same colours. Father Jongwoon picks one set out and hands it to him before folding himself into the chair, shifting it around so he’s facing Ryeowook.
“Try it on,” he says, and Ryeowook nearly drops the robes.
“H-here?” he squeaks, hands trembling, and Father Jongwoon merely lifts a hand to pull idly at his clerical collar, a little square of white at his throat against the black of his shirt.
“Of course,” he says, and his voice is smooth but low. “I told you, Ryeowook, you have to try the robes on until we find one that fits you, don’t we?”
“But - “
“I’m not going to hurt you, Ryeowook.” His name comes out soft and gravelly, and Ryeowook watches as Father Jongwoon strokes the clerical collar with his thumb almost absent-mindedly. He tries to relax, because he’s right, Father Jongwoon is a priest, he can’t be wanting to do anything to Ryeowook, because it would be wrong.
He pulls his shirt over his head, but slowly, because he’s still a little unsure, and places it neatly on the floor next to him, as he’s been taught to do at home. He undoes the button of his jeans next, and this time Father Jongwoon shifts in his chair, and his breathing gets just the smallest bit heavier, but unnaturally loud still in the quiet, enclosed little room.
“Go on,” he orders, and Ryeowook hesitates before he turns around with his back to Father Jongwoon, feeling much too embarrassed to look at him, and pulls his jeans down. He’s quite sure he hears the priest’s breath hitch, and he’s also growing more sure by the second that something isn’t quite right, but he tries to forget about that and thinks about what he’s been taught by his family as he was growing up - priests are good men, God’s men, and they would never do anything bad or wrong to Ryeowook.
So he steps out of his jeans and pulls the pristine white robes over his head; it takes him a while, because he’s shaking, but he finally gets it over his head. The stiff white fabric falls only to mid-calf, and Ryeowook smoothes the wrinkles out at his chest as he turns back around to face Father Jongwoon.
“It’s a little small,” he begins, looking down at himself, because the material is clinging tightly to him, and he remembers quite distinctly that altar boys’ robes are supposed to be floor-skimming and loose-fitting. “Father, I think I’ll need a larger - oh!”
He jumps, because suddenly Father Jongwoon is right in front of him, hands on his shoulders and pushing him into the door, and Ryeowook’s utterly confused; he brings his hands up instinctively in front of his face, but the priest tugs them aside roughly, fingers closing around his thin wrists.
“No,” he breathes, and Ryeowook feels a shiver go down his spine at the way the word rolls from his mouth, low and dark and husky. “No, I think I like you like this.”
“F-father?” Ryeowook manages. “Father Jongwoon, I - “
Father Jongwoon only grins, and Ryeowook isn’t sure if he ought to be horrified or fascinated by the way his full lips curve up as his tongue darts out to wet those lips. “I like you calling me that, too,” he says, and before Ryeowook can respond the other man’s mouth is on his, tongue forcing his lips apart, and Ryeowook’s too stunned to resist as his arms are pulled up by the wrists and held against the door.
Ryeowook can only manage a strangled gasp as Father Jongwoon’s tongue prods insistently against the tip of his own, exploring hungrily, while he presses the length of his body against Ryeowook’s so Ryeowook can feel every dip and bump, feel his body heat blazing against him, and he can’t help but let out a little whimper. Father Jongwoon kisses him harder, growing hungrier and more insistent, but when Ryeowook involuntarily swipes his tongue across Father Jongwoon’s he lets out a deep groan that goes straight through Ryeowook. He moves from his lips to his chin, sliding over his skin gently, and encourages Ryeowook to throw back his head with a little nudge of his nose against his neck.
Ryeowook chokes out, “Stop, please, Father”, but he turns his head to the side, and Father Jongwoon immediately swipes his tongue across the exposed area of skin before biting at a little patch and sucking on it, raising a faint purplish mark, eliciting a little gasp from Ryeowook. He pulls back at that, a satisfied smirk on his face.
“I knew it,” he says softly. “Sweet, so sweet. I knew it the moment I saw you, Ryeowook.”
Ryeowook feels his face flaming as the priest’s eyes drop to take in his body in its entirety, outlined in the tight robes he’s wearing, and he just knows that he’s halfway to an erection and Father Jongwoon can see it, despite the confusion and fear swirling in his mind.
“Father,” he says helplessly, twisting, fingers flexing uselessly as his wrists are still clamped against the door. “Father, please, what are you doing?”
“Shhh,” Father Jongwoon says; his eyes are glittery and bright, his lips still glistening with Ryeowook’s saliva, and Ryeowook has to look away because this man is confusing him, making him shake with fear and unexplainable want. He’s never felt this way before, not even with the stolen kisses behind the school with the few girls he’s dated, and once he kissed another boy while their hands wandered guiltily over the planes of each other's bodies, and he’s masturbated before, stroking himself in the dead of night and in the silence of his bedroom, until his parents told him that was wrong, sex was wrong, kissing other boys was wrong, but here is Father Jongwoon, staring at him with naked lust in his eyes, and didn’t his parents also say that priests are always right?
“Father,” he says, wriggling helplessly. “Please, I don’t know what you want, please let me go, Father Jongwoon…”
“I really like it when you call me that,” Father Jongwoon says huskily, stepping forward to run his tongue over Ryeowook’s neck again, just above the line of his collar. “Shhh, calm down, Ryeowook, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to make you feel good. Do you want that, Ryeowook? Do you want to feel good?” As he speaks, he takes one hand away from Ryeowook’s wrist, trailing it down his body until it reaches the now noticeable bulge in the robes and cups it, rubbing the heel of his hand gently against it, and Ryeowook gasps.
“It’s wrong,” he cries, twisting even more, but his movements only serve to rub himself harder against Father Jongwoon’s hand, and before he knows it he’s bucking his hips as that hand twists and turns expertly, the layers of cloth between them maddeningly rough. “Father, it’s wrong, we’re not supposed to - “
“If I say we can, we can,” Father Jongwoon replies, worrying at his throat. “Listen to me, Ryeowook. Don’t you want to be an altar boy and serve me? Serve the church?”
That’s enough to make Ryeowook stop struggling, because yes, he does want to be an altar boy, he’s always wanted to; if he gets rejected for the post because he didn’t listen to a priest’s orders, his parents will kill him and die of shame; and perhaps most importantly, or at least that’s all his mind is filled with right now, Father Jongwoon’s hand and mouth on him feels much too good, much better than anything that he or anyone else has done.
“Good boy,” he hears Father Jongwoon breathe against his skin once he goes passively limp, and the next moment the priest has let go of his other wrist as well and begins pulling at his robes, pushing them up past his waist, bunching them under his arms and ripping his boxers down roughly.
“Oh, fuck,” Father Jongwoon says as he holds himself at arms’ length from Ryeowook and looks down at his naked legs, creamy in the dim light, his cock already glistening with clear drops of precome, and Ryeowook closes his eyes and turns away, his face burning at the curse word falling from Father Jongwoon’s lips and the way Father Jongwoon is looking at his body. “Fuck, Ryeowook, you’re perfect. I knew it.”
He runs his hands over the jut of Ryeowook’s hipbones and slide them down his thighs, and Ryeowook shivers. “Please, Father, please,” he says, though he’s no longer sure what he’s pleading for, more touches, or a complete stop.
“Shhh,” he hears Father Jongwoon say again before something hot and wet and entirely unexpected closes around Ryeowook’s arousal, and Ryeowook’s eyes snap open as he looks down to see the priest on his knees, swallowing his cock.
“Oh god,” he chokes, his knees shaking as he’s taken deeper into that tight hot wetness. “Oh, Father Jongwoon, oh - “
The priest doesn’t waste any time, but begins moving almost the moment he’s taken Ryeowook in all the way, his tongue flicking at sensitive spots Ryeowook’s never known he’s had, and it’s all he can do to tangle his fingers in Father Jongwoon’s hair as he props him up against the door, fingers sinking into his thighs. He’s shaking as Father Jongwoon releases him long enough to lick slow trails down his balls and across the soft skin of his inner thighs before going back to suck on him, and he’s gorgeous as he does it, dark eyes flicking up to lock onto Ryeowook’s flushed face as his cheeks hollow and his tongue swirls around Ryeowook’s cock, each little movement bringing him closer and closer to orgasm.
“Father,” he says, his knees almost buckling as the other man begins bobbing his head faster and faster. “Please, I think I’m going to - stop, please, I can’t - “
Father Jongwoon’s response is to suck in, hard, and Ryeowook can’t hold back; he throws his head back against the door with a painful thud, stars exploding behind his closed eyelids as he comes into the priest’s mouth, feeling it tightening around him as he swallows. He has to bring his hand up to his mouth to muffle his cry, and his head is spinning, because it’s good, so good, nothing he’s experienced has ever come close to this -
Then Father Jongwoon’s on his feet again and kissing Ryeowook roughly, hands gripping the cloth of his robes at his chest, and he hasn’t swallowed everything so Ryeowook can taste himself in his mouth, thick dribbles of fluid that leak out from between their joined lips. Father Jongwoon chases after them, lapping up the trails on his chin as Ryeowook gasps and tries to swallow, his legs still weak and shaking as he clings on to Father Jongwoon’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric and pulling the clerical collar out of alignment.
“Fuck,” Father Jongwoon swears again against his skin, swinging him over to the little wooden desk and hoisting his limp body up on it by his rumpled robes. “Fuck, you’re so hot, Ryeowook, I can’t wait to have all of you.”
‘I - we can’t,” Ryeowook says weakly, even as Father Jongwoon yanks his robes up again, exposing his body once more. “It’s so wrong, Father, we can’t - “
“I told you it’s okay, just listen to me,” Father Jongwoon says breathlessly, struggling out of his jeans with one hand, pulling the desk drawers open with the other and fumbling around until he takes out a small jar of lotion. Ryeowook’s eyes widen, because he knows what he’s planning to do, he’s seen it before in his late-night surreptitious surfing of the Internet, and he shakes his head furiously as Father Jongwoon slathers a thick coating of lotion on his fingers.
“No, don’t,” he says, pushing himself backwards until his back hits the wall; the flimsy desk shakes, and so does the little cross standing on it. “Father, we can’t…”
“You didn’t object just now when I was on my knees,” Father Jongwoon says, grinning wickedly as he advances, looking every inch like a predatory cat, and Ryeowook falls silent. “Don’t object now, Ryeowook. It’ll feel even better, I promise.”
He covers Ryeowook’s mouth with his own just as he slides a slick finger into him, stifling his small cry. Ryeowook’s more surprised than in pain though, and he barely feels anything at first, and then Father Jongwoon adds a second finger and he whimpers a little, the stretch slightly uncomfortable.
“You’re so hot inside, Ryeowook,” the priest whispers in his husky voice against his lips. “I can’t fucking wait to be inside you, god.”
Ryeowook tries to say something, but it trails off into a loud hiss of pain as a third finger is slowly added to the ones already inside him, and he bites down on Father Jongwoon’s lip, tears springing to his eyes. “Relax,” the priest orders, fingers working gently and slowly. “Relax, Ryeowook.” But Ryeowook can’t, it burns, and Father Jongwoon kisses his tears away, murmuring soothing words to him, words that mean nothing to Ryeowook because it hurts and -
He gasps right then, an unexpected jolt of pleasure running through his spine and effectively killing off the pain of being stretched open. Father Jongwoon chuckles knowingly down at him, fingers twisting once more, and there it is again - Ryeowook’s back arches right off the desk this time, fingers scratching at Father’s Jongwoon’s shirt, as he pushes his hips downwards, unconsciously pleading for more.
Father Jongwoon obliges, pushing against that spot again and again, until Ryeowook’s crying aloud and rocking himself on his hand, his cock hardening again, tearing frantically at the buttons of his shirt until they pop open and the clerical collar hangs loose, allowing him to lean up and press kisses to Father Jongwoon’s neck and shoulders, making little gasps of pleasure all the while.
“I told you it’d be good,” he says as he pulls his fingers out and laces himself with the lotion, spreading it over his cock as Ryeowook watches blankly, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and cheekbones. He doesn’t even realize it when he spreads his own legs wantonly for him, wrapping one hand around his cock and jerking on it as the priest watches him, eyes darkening with desire.
“Please,” he says, breath coming in needy little gasps. “Please, Father Jongwoon, more, I want more…”
The priest chuckles and reaches out for him, sliding him across the desk. “If you want,” he says, his voice a low rasp, and slides smoothly into Ryeowook; Ryeowook cries out, legs swinging up to wrap around his waist as he bites down into Father Jongwoon’s shoulder.
“Fuck,” he hears him growl above him. “Fuck, you’re so tight, Ryeowook.”
Ryeowook can’t explain how very hot it is to hear his priest swear in that gravelly voice of his, but instead he nips at his neck, rocks his hips back and forth, urging him silently to move and find that spot inside him again that sent colours flashing in his mind. The other man doesn’t need Ryeowook to tell him; he wraps one arm around him and pulls him flush against his chest, the scratchy fabric of Ryeowook’s altar boy robes getting stained with the perspiration trickling down his body, as he pushes in and out of Ryeowook, a gentle, controlled series of shallow thrusts that has Ryeowook whining in pure want for more, faster, deeper, more.
“Say my name,” Ryeowook dimly hears him say through the mix of pleasure-pain in his mind. “I want to hear you scream my name as I’m fucking you.”
“F-father,” Ryeowook manages; Father Jongwoon shifts slightly and takes hold of Ryeowook’s hips, pulling them up before pushing into him again, and this time Ryeowook’s mind blanks out for one delicious second as he gets it there, right there, his fingers clawing faint red trails down Father Jongwoon’s arms.
“Name, Ryeowook,” he growls, bending low to nip at his neck. “Say my name.”
“I - I can’t,” Ryeowook groans. “Please, just - I can’t - “
“Say it!” He punctuates his words with a quick snap of his hips forward, and Ryeowook wails, legs pressing ineffectually into the small of the priest’s back.
“Jongwoon,” he chokes out, leaning up blindly to kiss him. “Jongwoon, god, please, faster, please - “
“That’s so good, Ryeowook,” Father Jongwoon breathes, and then he’s fucking Ryeowook hard, just the way he wants it, until he can hardly breathe, can hardly feel anything except for Father Jongwoon inside him, above him, Father Jongwoon’s hand around his cock and stroking it, Father Jongwoon’s lips on his neck, his robes tight and thick around his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe.
“Oh god, Jongwoon, Jongwoon,” he moans over and over as Father Jongwoon’s thrusts speed up, becoming faster and harder, pounding into him so hard the entire desk is shaking along with his body; he hears a soft thud as the cross is shaken right off it and falls to the ground, but he can’t care, not when it feels so good, this sensation of being filled so full that his every nerve is flaring white-hot with pleasure. “Jongwoon, more, please, Jongwoon - “
“Come for me, Ryeowook,” Father Jongwoon growls into his ear, and then he’s pulling on Ryeowook’s cock once, twice, slamming into him, and Ryeowook comes just as he’s told to, white fluid splashing out over the priest’s fingers and splattering thickly on the material of his robes, as he cries out in abandonment and sinks his teeth into Father Jongwoon’s shoulder.
“That's it, Ryeowook, you’re so fucking good,” he hears Father Jongwoon groan before he feels him come as well, hot liquid flooding his insides, as he collapses on top of Ryeowook, both of them panting and slick with sweat.
It seems like forever to Ryeowook before Father Jongwoon lifts himself off him, looking down at him; Ryeowook looks away, uncomfortable now, tugging at his soiled robes to pull them back down.
“Why did you do that?” he asks in a small voice, not daring to look up at the priest.
“Why not? We both liked it.”
“It’s wrong,” he says hotly, knowing how stupid and futile it sounds to argue now. “We shouldn’t have done that, Father, it’s wrong, we’ll get into trouble, and I - I - “
He feels tears in his eyes, and he blinks them away, trying not to think of the consequences, and why didn’t he stop him? Why did he let him go on? But he’s shocked when Father Jongwoon starts laughing, scooping up his clothes from the floor and pulling him off the desk so he can lift the stained robes off him.
“I’m not even a priest,” he says, still laughing, and Ryeowook goes still.
“What?”
He shrugs. “I’m just a staff member. But I’m the one in charge of training the altar boys, so the parish priest makes me meet the new ones, and I have to wear the clerical collar when I do it.” He fingers the white strip of cloth dangling from the collar of his open shirt. “It confuses all the new boys, they all think I’m a real priest, but it turns out some of them like it.” His eyes lock on Ryeowook’s. “Like you.”
“You tricked me?” Ryeowook cries.
“Because I wanted you.” Father - no, Jongwoon, just Jongwoon, his eyes are boring into Ryeowook, and Ryeowook hates it that he can make his knees go weak by just looking at him in that way. “I told you, I knew you’d be perfect, once I had you under me, screaming my name.”
Ryeowook flushes and Jongwoon laughs, chucking his chin.
“You enjoyed it, Ryeowook,” Jongwoon says, and Ryeowook bites down on his lower lip as Jongwoon dresses him up, pulling his jeans back up his legs and his shirt over his head, and Ryeowook still shivers at the brushes of his hands against his bare skin.
“I can always train you more if you want,” Jongwoon says lazily as he pulls on his own jeans and zips himself up, and Ryeowook, drinking in his face and body and remembering how it had felt when Jongwoon was inside him and giving him almost overwhelming pleasure, can’t help but nod.
___
A/N: Okay, I know that normally altar boys start serving very young, like at about 7 years old, but I would shoot myself before I ever write shit like that. Pedos should die in a fucking fire, I don't care. And I also know that altar boys DO wear their normal clothes under their robes, they don't just strip and put the robes on, but allow me to take literary license here for the sake of porn, okay? I also had to make Jongwoon a fake priest, because in all honesty, blasphemy squicks me and freaks the fuck out of me. I can't handle writing him as a real priest. Nevertheless, hyperballad, I hope you had fun tempting me. =D
Also, thank you so much terra_forensis, for all the love and support while this was killing my brain!
Pairing: Yesung/Ryeowook
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,051
Summary: Ryeowook is a new altar boy at the church. Jongwoon is the priest who's supposed to train him. hyperballad is entirely to blame for this.
hyperballad: I'm putting a fic bug in your ear and you -really- want to write priest!yesung fic. Really kinky priest!yesung fic. YOU KNOW HE WOULD LOOK HOT.
thundersquall: W-What. What. WHY YOU DO THIS TO ME.
hyperballad: Because I'm craving delicious priest!yesung. Like a deliciously inappropriate one who may or may not bone altarboy-or-music-director-or-new-priest!ryeowook, of course.
thundersquall: SOBBING WHY DO YOU DOOOOOOO THIIIIIIIIIIIIS.
___
Ryeowook’s nervous, and it shows while the priest is talking to him, listing out the duties he’ll have to carry out as the church’s newest altar boy. His palms are sweaty and he’s scuffing the toes of his shoes nervously against his chair legs, but he can’t help it. It’s not because it’s his first day here. It’s got nothing to do with the high expectations his parents have of him, serving in the Church for the first time ever. It’s not even because the duties sound more like those for a cleaning boy than an altar boy.
No, it’s just because he swears up and down, on his soul, that this priest has been looking at him oddly ever since he’d stepped into his office, tucked away in a small building just behind the main church. And it’s not a ‘I’m watching you, new kid, you better not mess up’ kind of look, it’s a ‘You look tasty. Can I try?’ sort of look.
Not that Ryeowook has any experience in assessing the way people look at him, but he’s quite sure that his neck and legs aren’t places people should be staring at a lot. Especially not a priest. It doesn’t help that the priest is young and good-looking with dark eyes and tanned skin and a warm smile. He’s dressed decorously, as befits a priest, in a simple black shirt with his white clerical collar and jeans, but Ryeowook can clearly see the hint of muscles in his arms, under the thin shirt. It makes him even more anxious, though he doesn’t know why.
The priest (Jongwoon, Ryeowook’s mind helpfully supplies, Father Jongwoon) finishes his list of instructions and uncrosses his legs gracefully before standing up; Ryeowook does the same, though he trips a little in his haste and nervousness as he rises to his feet, tipping forward with a small yelp before the priest catches him by the waist and steadies him.
“Are you okay?” he asks Ryeowook, a small smile playing about his lips, and Ryeowook blushes and nods, biting his lip as he looks down. He doesn’t miss how the priest’s hands linger on his waist and slide down slowly to his hips, and before he takes his hands away Ryeowook is certain that the priest has just brushed against the seat of his jeans. It makes him blush hotter, but he swallows his embarrassment, because how can a priest mean to do such things?
“We’ll need to fit you with robes,” Father Jongwoon says, eyes raking over him again, this time lingering on the curve of his hip; Ryeowook shifts uneasily, and the priest snaps his eyes up and smiles at him. “Your altar boy robes.”
“I - I thought I wouldn’t need them until I’ve finished my training,” Ryeowook says meekly, still keeping his head bowed. He remembers his parents’ admonishments, the things they've been telling him throughout the 16 years of his life - listen to the priests at all times, obey them if you want to grow up to be good men like them, follow orders, don’t let us down - and it makes him feel jittery to be talking back to Father Jongwoon.
“Oh, it’s just fittings for now, we just need to take your measurements first,” Father Jongwoon says smoothly, showing no sign of anger, and Ryeowook relaxes. “Come along, we’ll get this done fast.”
Ryeowook nods and follows the priest as he leads him towards the back of the office, flinging open the door to a small musty windowless storeroom. The moment Ryeowook steps in, he closes the door behind them, plunging them into darkness, before snapping a switch on and a single dim lightbulb, dangling from the ceiling, lights up.
He stands by the door uncertainly, looking around. The room’s filled with shelves, a bare wooden desk and a chair against one wall, and robes are hung neatly in rows on garment hangers lining the walls. He recognizes the priests’ robes - purple cassocks for the Lenten season, green for Advent, white for everyday wear - and then the altar boys’ robes, following the same colours. Father Jongwoon picks one set out and hands it to him before folding himself into the chair, shifting it around so he’s facing Ryeowook.
“Try it on,” he says, and Ryeowook nearly drops the robes.
“H-here?” he squeaks, hands trembling, and Father Jongwoon merely lifts a hand to pull idly at his clerical collar, a little square of white at his throat against the black of his shirt.
“Of course,” he says, and his voice is smooth but low. “I told you, Ryeowook, you have to try the robes on until we find one that fits you, don’t we?”
“But - “
“I’m not going to hurt you, Ryeowook.” His name comes out soft and gravelly, and Ryeowook watches as Father Jongwoon strokes the clerical collar with his thumb almost absent-mindedly. He tries to relax, because he’s right, Father Jongwoon is a priest, he can’t be wanting to do anything to Ryeowook, because it would be wrong.
He pulls his shirt over his head, but slowly, because he’s still a little unsure, and places it neatly on the floor next to him, as he’s been taught to do at home. He undoes the button of his jeans next, and this time Father Jongwoon shifts in his chair, and his breathing gets just the smallest bit heavier, but unnaturally loud still in the quiet, enclosed little room.
“Go on,” he orders, and Ryeowook hesitates before he turns around with his back to Father Jongwoon, feeling much too embarrassed to look at him, and pulls his jeans down. He’s quite sure he hears the priest’s breath hitch, and he’s also growing more sure by the second that something isn’t quite right, but he tries to forget about that and thinks about what he’s been taught by his family as he was growing up - priests are good men, God’s men, and they would never do anything bad or wrong to Ryeowook.
So he steps out of his jeans and pulls the pristine white robes over his head; it takes him a while, because he’s shaking, but he finally gets it over his head. The stiff white fabric falls only to mid-calf, and Ryeowook smoothes the wrinkles out at his chest as he turns back around to face Father Jongwoon.
“It’s a little small,” he begins, looking down at himself, because the material is clinging tightly to him, and he remembers quite distinctly that altar boys’ robes are supposed to be floor-skimming and loose-fitting. “Father, I think I’ll need a larger - oh!”
He jumps, because suddenly Father Jongwoon is right in front of him, hands on his shoulders and pushing him into the door, and Ryeowook’s utterly confused; he brings his hands up instinctively in front of his face, but the priest tugs them aside roughly, fingers closing around his thin wrists.
“No,” he breathes, and Ryeowook feels a shiver go down his spine at the way the word rolls from his mouth, low and dark and husky. “No, I think I like you like this.”
“F-father?” Ryeowook manages. “Father Jongwoon, I - “
Father Jongwoon only grins, and Ryeowook isn’t sure if he ought to be horrified or fascinated by the way his full lips curve up as his tongue darts out to wet those lips. “I like you calling me that, too,” he says, and before Ryeowook can respond the other man’s mouth is on his, tongue forcing his lips apart, and Ryeowook’s too stunned to resist as his arms are pulled up by the wrists and held against the door.
Ryeowook can only manage a strangled gasp as Father Jongwoon’s tongue prods insistently against the tip of his own, exploring hungrily, while he presses the length of his body against Ryeowook’s so Ryeowook can feel every dip and bump, feel his body heat blazing against him, and he can’t help but let out a little whimper. Father Jongwoon kisses him harder, growing hungrier and more insistent, but when Ryeowook involuntarily swipes his tongue across Father Jongwoon’s he lets out a deep groan that goes straight through Ryeowook. He moves from his lips to his chin, sliding over his skin gently, and encourages Ryeowook to throw back his head with a little nudge of his nose against his neck.
Ryeowook chokes out, “Stop, please, Father”, but he turns his head to the side, and Father Jongwoon immediately swipes his tongue across the exposed area of skin before biting at a little patch and sucking on it, raising a faint purplish mark, eliciting a little gasp from Ryeowook. He pulls back at that, a satisfied smirk on his face.
“I knew it,” he says softly. “Sweet, so sweet. I knew it the moment I saw you, Ryeowook.”
Ryeowook feels his face flaming as the priest’s eyes drop to take in his body in its entirety, outlined in the tight robes he’s wearing, and he just knows that he’s halfway to an erection and Father Jongwoon can see it, despite the confusion and fear swirling in his mind.
“Father,” he says helplessly, twisting, fingers flexing uselessly as his wrists are still clamped against the door. “Father, please, what are you doing?”
“Shhh,” Father Jongwoon says; his eyes are glittery and bright, his lips still glistening with Ryeowook’s saliva, and Ryeowook has to look away because this man is confusing him, making him shake with fear and unexplainable want. He’s never felt this way before, not even with the stolen kisses behind the school with the few girls he’s dated, and once he kissed another boy while their hands wandered guiltily over the planes of each other's bodies, and he’s masturbated before, stroking himself in the dead of night and in the silence of his bedroom, until his parents told him that was wrong, sex was wrong, kissing other boys was wrong, but here is Father Jongwoon, staring at him with naked lust in his eyes, and didn’t his parents also say that priests are always right?
“Father,” he says, wriggling helplessly. “Please, I don’t know what you want, please let me go, Father Jongwoon…”
“I really like it when you call me that,” Father Jongwoon says huskily, stepping forward to run his tongue over Ryeowook’s neck again, just above the line of his collar. “Shhh, calm down, Ryeowook, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to make you feel good. Do you want that, Ryeowook? Do you want to feel good?” As he speaks, he takes one hand away from Ryeowook’s wrist, trailing it down his body until it reaches the now noticeable bulge in the robes and cups it, rubbing the heel of his hand gently against it, and Ryeowook gasps.
“It’s wrong,” he cries, twisting even more, but his movements only serve to rub himself harder against Father Jongwoon’s hand, and before he knows it he’s bucking his hips as that hand twists and turns expertly, the layers of cloth between them maddeningly rough. “Father, it’s wrong, we’re not supposed to - “
“If I say we can, we can,” Father Jongwoon replies, worrying at his throat. “Listen to me, Ryeowook. Don’t you want to be an altar boy and serve me? Serve the church?”
That’s enough to make Ryeowook stop struggling, because yes, he does want to be an altar boy, he’s always wanted to; if he gets rejected for the post because he didn’t listen to a priest’s orders, his parents will kill him and die of shame; and perhaps most importantly, or at least that’s all his mind is filled with right now, Father Jongwoon’s hand and mouth on him feels much too good, much better than anything that he or anyone else has done.
“Good boy,” he hears Father Jongwoon breathe against his skin once he goes passively limp, and the next moment the priest has let go of his other wrist as well and begins pulling at his robes, pushing them up past his waist, bunching them under his arms and ripping his boxers down roughly.
“Oh, fuck,” Father Jongwoon says as he holds himself at arms’ length from Ryeowook and looks down at his naked legs, creamy in the dim light, his cock already glistening with clear drops of precome, and Ryeowook closes his eyes and turns away, his face burning at the curse word falling from Father Jongwoon’s lips and the way Father Jongwoon is looking at his body. “Fuck, Ryeowook, you’re perfect. I knew it.”
He runs his hands over the jut of Ryeowook’s hipbones and slide them down his thighs, and Ryeowook shivers. “Please, Father, please,” he says, though he’s no longer sure what he’s pleading for, more touches, or a complete stop.
“Shhh,” he hears Father Jongwoon say again before something hot and wet and entirely unexpected closes around Ryeowook’s arousal, and Ryeowook’s eyes snap open as he looks down to see the priest on his knees, swallowing his cock.
“Oh god,” he chokes, his knees shaking as he’s taken deeper into that tight hot wetness. “Oh, Father Jongwoon, oh - “
The priest doesn’t waste any time, but begins moving almost the moment he’s taken Ryeowook in all the way, his tongue flicking at sensitive spots Ryeowook’s never known he’s had, and it’s all he can do to tangle his fingers in Father Jongwoon’s hair as he props him up against the door, fingers sinking into his thighs. He’s shaking as Father Jongwoon releases him long enough to lick slow trails down his balls and across the soft skin of his inner thighs before going back to suck on him, and he’s gorgeous as he does it, dark eyes flicking up to lock onto Ryeowook’s flushed face as his cheeks hollow and his tongue swirls around Ryeowook’s cock, each little movement bringing him closer and closer to orgasm.
“Father,” he says, his knees almost buckling as the other man begins bobbing his head faster and faster. “Please, I think I’m going to - stop, please, I can’t - “
Father Jongwoon’s response is to suck in, hard, and Ryeowook can’t hold back; he throws his head back against the door with a painful thud, stars exploding behind his closed eyelids as he comes into the priest’s mouth, feeling it tightening around him as he swallows. He has to bring his hand up to his mouth to muffle his cry, and his head is spinning, because it’s good, so good, nothing he’s experienced has ever come close to this -
Then Father Jongwoon’s on his feet again and kissing Ryeowook roughly, hands gripping the cloth of his robes at his chest, and he hasn’t swallowed everything so Ryeowook can taste himself in his mouth, thick dribbles of fluid that leak out from between their joined lips. Father Jongwoon chases after them, lapping up the trails on his chin as Ryeowook gasps and tries to swallow, his legs still weak and shaking as he clings on to Father Jongwoon’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric and pulling the clerical collar out of alignment.
“Fuck,” Father Jongwoon swears again against his skin, swinging him over to the little wooden desk and hoisting his limp body up on it by his rumpled robes. “Fuck, you’re so hot, Ryeowook, I can’t wait to have all of you.”
‘I - we can’t,” Ryeowook says weakly, even as Father Jongwoon yanks his robes up again, exposing his body once more. “It’s so wrong, Father, we can’t - “
“I told you it’s okay, just listen to me,” Father Jongwoon says breathlessly, struggling out of his jeans with one hand, pulling the desk drawers open with the other and fumbling around until he takes out a small jar of lotion. Ryeowook’s eyes widen, because he knows what he’s planning to do, he’s seen it before in his late-night surreptitious surfing of the Internet, and he shakes his head furiously as Father Jongwoon slathers a thick coating of lotion on his fingers.
“No, don’t,” he says, pushing himself backwards until his back hits the wall; the flimsy desk shakes, and so does the little cross standing on it. “Father, we can’t…”
“You didn’t object just now when I was on my knees,” Father Jongwoon says, grinning wickedly as he advances, looking every inch like a predatory cat, and Ryeowook falls silent. “Don’t object now, Ryeowook. It’ll feel even better, I promise.”
He covers Ryeowook’s mouth with his own just as he slides a slick finger into him, stifling his small cry. Ryeowook’s more surprised than in pain though, and he barely feels anything at first, and then Father Jongwoon adds a second finger and he whimpers a little, the stretch slightly uncomfortable.
“You’re so hot inside, Ryeowook,” the priest whispers in his husky voice against his lips. “I can’t fucking wait to be inside you, god.”
Ryeowook tries to say something, but it trails off into a loud hiss of pain as a third finger is slowly added to the ones already inside him, and he bites down on Father Jongwoon’s lip, tears springing to his eyes. “Relax,” the priest orders, fingers working gently and slowly. “Relax, Ryeowook.” But Ryeowook can’t, it burns, and Father Jongwoon kisses his tears away, murmuring soothing words to him, words that mean nothing to Ryeowook because it hurts and -
He gasps right then, an unexpected jolt of pleasure running through his spine and effectively killing off the pain of being stretched open. Father Jongwoon chuckles knowingly down at him, fingers twisting once more, and there it is again - Ryeowook’s back arches right off the desk this time, fingers scratching at Father’s Jongwoon’s shirt, as he pushes his hips downwards, unconsciously pleading for more.
Father Jongwoon obliges, pushing against that spot again and again, until Ryeowook’s crying aloud and rocking himself on his hand, his cock hardening again, tearing frantically at the buttons of his shirt until they pop open and the clerical collar hangs loose, allowing him to lean up and press kisses to Father Jongwoon’s neck and shoulders, making little gasps of pleasure all the while.
“I told you it’d be good,” he says as he pulls his fingers out and laces himself with the lotion, spreading it over his cock as Ryeowook watches blankly, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and cheekbones. He doesn’t even realize it when he spreads his own legs wantonly for him, wrapping one hand around his cock and jerking on it as the priest watches him, eyes darkening with desire.
“Please,” he says, breath coming in needy little gasps. “Please, Father Jongwoon, more, I want more…”
The priest chuckles and reaches out for him, sliding him across the desk. “If you want,” he says, his voice a low rasp, and slides smoothly into Ryeowook; Ryeowook cries out, legs swinging up to wrap around his waist as he bites down into Father Jongwoon’s shoulder.
“Fuck,” he hears him growl above him. “Fuck, you’re so tight, Ryeowook.”
Ryeowook can’t explain how very hot it is to hear his priest swear in that gravelly voice of his, but instead he nips at his neck, rocks his hips back and forth, urging him silently to move and find that spot inside him again that sent colours flashing in his mind. The other man doesn’t need Ryeowook to tell him; he wraps one arm around him and pulls him flush against his chest, the scratchy fabric of Ryeowook’s altar boy robes getting stained with the perspiration trickling down his body, as he pushes in and out of Ryeowook, a gentle, controlled series of shallow thrusts that has Ryeowook whining in pure want for more, faster, deeper, more.
“Say my name,” Ryeowook dimly hears him say through the mix of pleasure-pain in his mind. “I want to hear you scream my name as I’m fucking you.”
“F-father,” Ryeowook manages; Father Jongwoon shifts slightly and takes hold of Ryeowook’s hips, pulling them up before pushing into him again, and this time Ryeowook’s mind blanks out for one delicious second as he gets it there, right there, his fingers clawing faint red trails down Father Jongwoon’s arms.
“Name, Ryeowook,” he growls, bending low to nip at his neck. “Say my name.”
“I - I can’t,” Ryeowook groans. “Please, just - I can’t - “
“Say it!” He punctuates his words with a quick snap of his hips forward, and Ryeowook wails, legs pressing ineffectually into the small of the priest’s back.
“Jongwoon,” he chokes out, leaning up blindly to kiss him. “Jongwoon, god, please, faster, please - “
“That’s so good, Ryeowook,” Father Jongwoon breathes, and then he’s fucking Ryeowook hard, just the way he wants it, until he can hardly breathe, can hardly feel anything except for Father Jongwoon inside him, above him, Father Jongwoon’s hand around his cock and stroking it, Father Jongwoon’s lips on his neck, his robes tight and thick around his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe.
“Oh god, Jongwoon, Jongwoon,” he moans over and over as Father Jongwoon’s thrusts speed up, becoming faster and harder, pounding into him so hard the entire desk is shaking along with his body; he hears a soft thud as the cross is shaken right off it and falls to the ground, but he can’t care, not when it feels so good, this sensation of being filled so full that his every nerve is flaring white-hot with pleasure. “Jongwoon, more, please, Jongwoon - “
“Come for me, Ryeowook,” Father Jongwoon growls into his ear, and then he’s pulling on Ryeowook’s cock once, twice, slamming into him, and Ryeowook comes just as he’s told to, white fluid splashing out over the priest’s fingers and splattering thickly on the material of his robes, as he cries out in abandonment and sinks his teeth into Father Jongwoon’s shoulder.
“That's it, Ryeowook, you’re so fucking good,” he hears Father Jongwoon groan before he feels him come as well, hot liquid flooding his insides, as he collapses on top of Ryeowook, both of them panting and slick with sweat.
It seems like forever to Ryeowook before Father Jongwoon lifts himself off him, looking down at him; Ryeowook looks away, uncomfortable now, tugging at his soiled robes to pull them back down.
“Why did you do that?” he asks in a small voice, not daring to look up at the priest.
“Why not? We both liked it.”
“It’s wrong,” he says hotly, knowing how stupid and futile it sounds to argue now. “We shouldn’t have done that, Father, it’s wrong, we’ll get into trouble, and I - I - “
He feels tears in his eyes, and he blinks them away, trying not to think of the consequences, and why didn’t he stop him? Why did he let him go on? But he’s shocked when Father Jongwoon starts laughing, scooping up his clothes from the floor and pulling him off the desk so he can lift the stained robes off him.
“I’m not even a priest,” he says, still laughing, and Ryeowook goes still.
“What?”
He shrugs. “I’m just a staff member. But I’m the one in charge of training the altar boys, so the parish priest makes me meet the new ones, and I have to wear the clerical collar when I do it.” He fingers the white strip of cloth dangling from the collar of his open shirt. “It confuses all the new boys, they all think I’m a real priest, but it turns out some of them like it.” His eyes lock on Ryeowook’s. “Like you.”
“You tricked me?” Ryeowook cries.
“Because I wanted you.” Father - no, Jongwoon, just Jongwoon, his eyes are boring into Ryeowook, and Ryeowook hates it that he can make his knees go weak by just looking at him in that way. “I told you, I knew you’d be perfect, once I had you under me, screaming my name.”
Ryeowook flushes and Jongwoon laughs, chucking his chin.
“You enjoyed it, Ryeowook,” Jongwoon says, and Ryeowook bites down on his lower lip as Jongwoon dresses him up, pulling his jeans back up his legs and his shirt over his head, and Ryeowook still shivers at the brushes of his hands against his bare skin.
“I can always train you more if you want,” Jongwoon says lazily as he pulls on his own jeans and zips himself up, and Ryeowook, drinking in his face and body and remembering how it had felt when Jongwoon was inside him and giving him almost overwhelming pleasure, can’t help but nod.
___
A/N: Okay, I know that normally altar boys start serving very young, like at about 7 years old, but I would shoot myself before I ever write shit like that. Pedos should die in a fucking fire, I don't care. And I also know that altar boys DO wear their normal clothes under their robes, they don't just strip and put the robes on, but allow me to take literary license here for the sake of porn, okay? I also had to make Jongwoon a fake priest, because in all honesty, blasphemy squicks me and freaks the fuck out of me. I can't handle writing him as a real priest. Nevertheless, hyperballad, I hope you had fun tempting me. =D
Also, thank you so much terra_forensis, for all the love and support while this was killing my brain!