Chapter Text

Take My Confession and Feed Me Your Sins

𓆩♱𓆪

"Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been… well, I've never confessed before. Is that okay?"

"That's fine," San says very gently, because the soft voice is hitching and on the verge of crying again, after it's taken some time before they could speak at all because of the flood of tears.

"I'm sorry I'm sure you have a lot to do."

San will officiate a wedding fairly soon. His church has been richly decorated with white flowers, silver ribbons and sheer white cloth. But the despair on the other side of the screen is heart wrenching and he can't walk away from it. "It is my calling to be here when you need me," San reminds them. "Please, tell me what's on your mind."

In the corner of his eye he can see the faint outline of the person fidgeting and wringing their hands. The voice is no more than a whisper when it says, "I don't want to marry him." San finally recognizes who he has in his confessional booth: Jung Wooyoung - the bride.

A thousand thoughts shoot through San's mind. The couple has seemed happy, Wooyoung's husband-to-be has been gentle and doting, letting his bride decide everything he wants. Wooyoung has been a little shy but also excited about the preparations, and his smiles seem so bright they light up any room he's in. Just earlier he'd been tearing up saying the flowers were perfect, but now San suspects that it had not been tears of happiness.

"It's not too late. Whatever promises you've made to others, you've made none to god yet. You still have a choice."

"I've never had a choice," Wooyoung confesses. "Our parents decided." He breaks down into sobs again. "I don't know what to do. I hate him."

San frowns with worry. He doesn't approve of arranged marriages, but he also has other concerns. He's not been a priest long but he's heard one or two things in this booth that's taught him that things aren't always what they seem.

"You're safe here, I won't repeat anything you say," he reminds Wooyoung. "If he's hurting you…"

Wooyoung scoffs. It's a small, quiet little sound, but there's as much disdain as the lithe boy can muster behind it. "No, he's nice. He's kind and gentle and respectful and I can't stand it! Every time he touches me my skin crawls, he's never set a hand on me that hasn't been so fucking polite-" Wooyoung sharply draws for air, catching himself swearing, but doesn't apologize. He has stopped crying. "I can say whatever I want and you won't tell anyone?"

There's a lot of ways confessions can go, but right now San thinks that Wooyoung needs to get his concerns off his chest. It seems there's no one else he can talk to. He says, "Yes."

"My parents have guarded my purity like bulldogs," Wooyoung says. "I've never been allowed to do anything, go anywhere, so they could sell my virginity like this, for power. Now I'll be trapped forever with that man. He's devout, and I know the rest of my life will be his pathetic humping in missionary. The only time we talked about it he said his princess would never have to give him oral because it's dirty and degrading, and we should only be on our knees for god." Wooyoung's hesitant, whispering voice has grown in volume and certainty for every word, until it explodes into a final statement. "But all I fucking want is to be taken!"

San's fingers curl against his thigh. He should stop this but he doesn't get a syllable over his lips. Wooyoung has leaned his head back, and San can see a hint of the profile of his throat. He wonders for a moment if his eyes are closed or open, but no, he knows they're open. The boy isn't losing himself in a dream, he's here in this moment, in his despair and his desires.

"I want to be grabbed and handled like a piece of meat, I want to be forced to my knees and have my mouth fucked, I want to not have to say anything and never be asked. I want you to throw me down and fuck me whenever you feel like it, until my knees bleed and I can't think about anything except you."

Somewhere Wooyoung switches to speaking as if directly to him, and San's hands close into fists. He takes a few deep breaths to gather himself because Wooyoung isn't actually talking to him, it's just a theoretical you.

"I want to want and to be wanted so much that nothing matters, so much I go stupid and weak and let you do things to me I'd never say yes to if you asked but that feel so so good. I want to be everything except a princess, a porcelain doll; I'll be your slut, your whore, a hole you can use for your own pleasure, to be slapped and spit on and ruined forever. I want you to come in my mouth and on my skin and make me dirty and disgusting. I want you to do anything you want to me, use me however you want, anything that isn't kind and gentle and respectful."

There's a moment of silence, where San can hear his own pulse hammering in his ears, and then Wooyoung is crying again.

"I will waste my youth trapped here, watched by our families every second of every day, having to smile and play the perfect wife. I'll have to die inside to survive, and my skin will wither while flawless, when it should be red and scratched and bruised and alive."

San clears his throat, trying to force his voice to be normal and stable when he can barely breathe. "You're confessing your sins, so what do you think they are?" he asks, trying to guide Wooyoung forward. In the two breaths that pass while the boy thinks, San has time to miss his voice, soft but strong as it shapes obscenities into poetry.

"Greed, lust, vanity… gluttony? I want and want when it's selfish to not be satisfied with having a well-off, kind husband who adores me. I know it's wrong to think about and want these things. I've tried so hard to stop but I can't. My stomach turns thinking of him coming to me tonight. I've been a good boy my whole life and taken care of my body and virtue, learning to present myself and to please, just to be thrown to that sorry excuse for a man. It's all wasted on him! My first time should be with someone who can appreciate it, my purity given to someone who will enjoy ripping it to pieces." He wipes his eyes, a grim bitterness in his movements.

The visceral language fills San's mind with images he can't shake. He can't see Wooyoung right now but he's seen him before; a graceful, poised, polite young man with a small, slightly childish face. When he smiles it's impossible to not smile back, when serious he keeps his eyes down but is attentive to everyone's needs around him. It wakes primal urges otherwise packed down deep to imagine that composed, gentle being speaking these things, or worse yet having these things done to him.

San clenches his jaw and tries to think through the flashes of flesh on flesh in his mind. "How do you think you could fight these sins?" he asks and wishes he knew the answer himself.

"I don't know. Is there some way to stop thinking about it, stop needing it, stop hurting?"

"Would you be willing to follow it, if there was a way?" San wonders. There was a force in Wooyoung's confession, a drive and a desire so bottomless that he somewhat blasphemously wonders if anyone can root it out. Even god.

"I'll do anything to not feel like this."

"The first step would be to ask god for forgiveness. If you repent and genuinely want to change, you may be given a way forward. This is usually done through prayer."

"I haven't prayed since I was really young, I've been… afraid to talk to god because I… I'm dirty and twisted and why would he listen to me?"

"God listens to everyone, it's not a matter of deserving." San doesn't know what to do in this situation. Normally he'd ask Hongjoong for advice, but the senior priest won't be here until the ceremony and San wouldn't dare repeat a single word Wooyoung has spoken to him anyway. So he has to improvise. "We will finish the confession, and I'll give you some advice and a few books that might help you. The final part of confession is for you to recite the Act of Contrition. I'll guide you through it."

"Okay," Wooyoung says, and repeats after San, starting with, "My god, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart," and finishing the long prayer with "my god have mercy." San thinks Wooyoung isn't the only one that needs mercy, right now.

Coming out of the booth, Wooyoung can't look anywhere near him, blushing deeply as soon as there's no longer a screen between them. He's wearing a white modernized hanbok with sheer white fabrics billowing behind him when he moves, and his jet-black hair has been put up with jeweled silver hairpins. It's the outfit he's to be married in and San doesn't know why he's already in it.

"Wooyoung," the priest says carefully. "There's still time to call off the wedding. You're nineteen, not a minor, you have the right to decide for yourself."

Wooyoung shakes his head. "You don't know my parents, or his. What did you want to show me?"

Since the decorations in the main hall will only remind of the wedding, San leads the way into a back room, where they've set up a small altar and cross where people can come to pray alone, away from the rest of the church. He talks to Wooyoung about prayer, but the young man is skittish and unfocused. "The cross can serve as a focal point. Get on your knees, here," he directs, and Wooyoung sinks down in front of the stone structure and cross. "In prayer your mind needs to be focused, put every other thought aside."

"Yes, sir," Wooyoung mumbles. It's not how to address a priest, and San should correct him. He doesn't.

"Stay here and contemplate your sins, and I will fetch some books for you that you can read at home." San leaves the boy on his knees, but when he returns, Wooyoung has gotten up to inspect the altar. Noticing him too late, he rushes back to his position and nervously fixes his eyes on the floor as San sets the books on a side table and comes closer to him.

Every word out of Wooyoung's mouth in the confessional was more permission than request; a full declaration of freedom for San to use the boy to fulfill any and all desires he may have. No matter how dark or demeaning, or whether Wooyoung enjoys it, San could inflict anything and claim to have consent. He tries to clear his mind but can't take his eyes off the solemn profile.

With Wooyoung's eyes obediently locked on the cross, San guides him through a common prayer, explaining the symbolism. He can't remember what he's said the moment it leaves his lips, because there's something obscene about the way Wooyoung's full, red lips curl around the words, and when he messes up he licks the corner of his mouth.

A few strands of hair slip free of their hairpin and fall into his eyes, and he tries to shake them away, distracted. Before San can stop himself, he's brushed the hair back with a few fingers. The touch skin to skin feels like electricity shooting up his arm. He needs to leave right now. Since his fingers stay in Wooyoung's hair, the boy glances up at him.

"You should have a clear image in your mind," San hears himself continue, "of what you want to achieve."

Wooyoung's eyes flicker down San's body, he swallows, licks his lips and says, "Please, god, at least have my first time be taken by someone else."

Fingers lacing deeper into Wooyoung's hair instead of letting go, San pulls on it enough that a brief grimace of pain floats across Wooyoung's face. His chest is heaving, his beautiful lips have parted. "Selfish child," San murmurs between clenched teeth. "You're on your knees to beg for forgiveness, but instead you're thinking of yourself again, allowing your impure thoughts to fester."

"I'm sorry," Wooyoung whispers.

San is past a point of no return; he'd be worried about his position of power but the way Wooyoung's face has bloomed with excitement and he squirms slightly on the floor makes a good case for that nothing he does is unwilling. So the priest throws everything else aside and shifts the grip on Wooyoung's hair into a heavy hand on the back of his head. He turns the boy away from the cross and towards him, like he's leading him from god to claim him for himself.

"Confess."

Wooyoung looks up at him, his big eyes the picture of an innocence that is only superficial; the body is pure but the mind far from it. "I was thinking about what you look like under all that," he says. "If my lips around your cock would be the first, or if there's been others before me begging on your floor. Women, men, other priests maybe. I wondered, if I suck you, will you answer my prayers and take me, fill me up and make me yours so that he can never have me?"

Raising his lip in a perfectly crafted mask of disgust, San meets his eyes and slowly and deliberately says, "Whore." A shudder of desire goes through the boy, and San leaves him hanging on the edge of not knowing what he'll get for just a second or two. He dangles so deliciously. "That filth that comes out of your mouth, you should repent and beg for forgiveness for it, but look at you. Instead you're trembling like a whore. Recite the prayer I just taught you."

"I-I don't remember it."

San shakes his head in a perfect show of disappointment. "Useless. You say you want to repent but can't remember a few simple lines. You've filled your mind with lust until you're nothing but a dumb, cum-hungry slut offering your virtue to the first cock that comes along."

Wooyoung's eyes widen, he pushes his hands in between his knees as if trying to resist touching, either himself or the man standing over him. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Th-then what should I do?"

"We will have to find a way for you to repent that even a simple whore like you can manage." His fingers nudge the back of Wooyoung's skull almost imperceptibly, and the boy draws for breath and inches forward on the floor, coming right up against him.

Nimble fingers search the folds in the white, gold-embroidered outermost layer of San's clothing. Wooyoung doesn't know the vestments and quickly gives up looking for a way to take it off, pushing it up instead, and does the same with the second layer. The final layer has buttons that Wooyoung grunts at in frustration, so that when he finally gets access he's impatient and immediately tugs San's underwear down to fearlessly guide his swollen member in between his lips. He moans, and lets out an exhilarated, hot breath as soon as his tongue meets skin, eyes fluttering shut. Seemingly subconsciously, he rubs his thighs together trying to soothe his need to be touched.

San works himself out of the outer layers of his clothes, getting free of everything but the basic cassock, and tugs on the front of Wooyoung's hair to make him look up and meet his eyes. The boy's eyelids are heavy and his skin aglow. A hand comes up to run fingertips over San's front, Wooyoung gasping at finding his tight body. Seeing San's face makes him whine. He's new at this, but bold and eager, making up for the fumbling and sloppiness. San grabs his head and fucks into his mouth, not too deep just rubbing himself over the boy's tongue. It's amazing to watch Wooyoung's eyes cross trying to see San's cock going into him.

"Suck," San commands, because the boy has opened his mouth wide. Wooyoung gives up a tiny suffering sound and doesn't do what he's told, so San slaps his cheek. His moan and full-body tremble is so strong that for a second San thinks the bride will come untouched in his wedding dress.

Wooyoung makes an attempt at following the instructions, struggling to breathe and to follow San's quick rhythm. Spit is running down his chin and he's trying to keep it from getting on his clothes. It's so good but also just not good enough; San grabs his neck in frustration and throws him to the ground. 

Open cassock flying around him, he tears at the bands that hold Wooyoung's layered clothes together. Wooyoung's breaths hitch as he's thrown around, busy protecting his head from the rough stone floor. San leaves the elaborate white top, not interested in spending time untangling it, and yanks Wooyoung's pants off him. There he pauses, because the boy isn't wearing underwear. He wears something else instead.

"You came here to whore yourself out!" San growls, want and need burning through his stomach at the sight of the neat pink plug, faintly glistening with leaking lube. "You never had any intention to repent or ask for forgiveness! You came into my church, into a house of god, ready to open your legs to whoever bit your lure!"

Wooyoung's voice is unsteady but the determination in his eyes does not waver an inch as he looks back at San from flat on his stomach on the floor. "Not anyone. The first time I saw you, I knew you were the one who could save me."

"Demon!"

Wooyoung twitches when San spits on his face, and bites his lip. Both turned on and afraid that San will reject him, he gets up on his knees while keeping his cheek pressed to the cold stone. Fumbling with all the sheer white cloth, he pulls it aside to bare his ass and then squeezes his eyes closed and stays there, exposed and vulnerable, free for San to use however he likes, or to abandon on the floor in humiliation.

Anger and desire igniting off each other, San holds for a few deep breaths, punishing Wooyoung by making him wait for the decision. But walking away was never an option. He slides his hands over the offered ass, before trying a little squeeze, and Wooyoung twitches and shivers, his hole fluttering around the plug. San shrugs out what remains of his clothes to be fully naked, and gets down on his knees and works the plug out of him, making Wooyoung's breaths strain. His virgin ass is still so tight. San fucks him a little with the plug to loosen him up and Wooyoung moans, then slaps a hand over his mouth because there's a sound from the main room.

"Your guests are arriving," San murmurs. He's locked them in here, but Wooyoung doesn't know that. Hongjoong is out there, probably muttering about where San is but taking care of the guests. "You better keep your voice down unless you want the whole congregation to get a good look at your insides."

The boy is melting under his hands, arching to present his ass to him like a well-trained puppy. Pathetic, needy little whimpers make it out of him despite the hand over his mouth, telling San he's getting close to his limit. He flings the plug aside and Wooyoung instantly begs, rambling incoherent wishes in whispers.

San sets his cock to the open hole. It's a tight fit and Wooyoung bites his own knuckle to stay quiet while San drives himself in, until the wet heat hugs him all the way to the base. Tears are glimmering in the corners of Wooyoung's eyes but the look on his face is one of bliss and fulfillment. He's been defiled, he has succeeded; whatever San does from here on, Wooyoung has stolen the crumb of freedom he so desperately wanted.

"W-wait, wait, s-sir," the boy frantically asks when San wants to start.

San leans over him, the movement making him moan, to remind him, "You wanted to be wanted , isn't that what you said, boy? So much that nothing mattered. Well, here you go. I want you ." He rolls his hips back and thrusts hard, power and pleasure soaking into his gut while Wooyoung cries out around his knuckle, and the breaths catching in his throat and rocking his body are as clear as begging, not for it to stop but for more.

San fucks him, and Wooyoung squirms beneath him, the free hand waving about searching for something to brace against. San can hear his rapture in his moans, and feel it by his insides rippling around his cock. Wooyoung's eyelids are too heavy to open properly, and the line between pleasure and suffering is blurring for him, trapped at the edge of completion. So the priest closes his fingers around Wooyoung's dripping, abandoned hard-on, that's been neglected until now. 

It makes Wooyoung curse, and whisper things that would stain his soul if it wasn't already tainted. "Fill me," he rambles, interrupted each time San slams into him but going on undaunted. "Fuck me apart, drop your filthy cum inside me and smear it on my walls, take me, make me yours. Fuck me until I'm nothing else than yours, just a warm body waiting for your cock, good for nothing else than being on my knees, a filthy bitch to take out your frustrations on, a hungry whore to eat your sins." He groans, teeth clenching, as his pleasure hits the ceiling and he can't speak anymore.

Wooyoung climaxes, trying to muffle himself. San holds still for a moment and his eyes rise to find that he's ended up perfectly in position in front of the altar. His cassock is spread out behind him like a set of discarded wings, where he sits naked on his knees on the floor, with the demon boy whispering profanity and pushing back against him to swallow him deeper.

Growling, San gets up and yanks Wooyoung to his feet, who's barely come down and stumbles unsteadily before him to the altar. He tries to lie back on it, moaning again seeing San properly for the first time. "Oh fuck, you're so fucking hot," he mumbles with awe, eyes running like a caress down San's chest and abdomen. "I knew it."

"Keep your head down and shut up, you're begging forgiveness," San tells him, spinning him around and throwing him up on the altar on his stomach, lifting one of his knees. Entering him, he feels how stretched the boy's rim has gotten after being thoroughly used, and realizes Wooyoung will go out there and get married with his hole still raw and puffy from San's abuse; with San's cum still in his body. It chases his hips to go even harder.

He makes Wooyoung recite the prayer again, punctuated by his fucking. Wooyoung cries and struggles to remember even fragments of a sentence at a time, sore and overwhelmed. Each of his desperate sobs between the words rakes claws of need down San's back. This is the only time, he tells himself, so he'll make the most of it. He'll use the bride up and leave nothing for the groom, why would he not?

Wooyoung helplessly tries to brace and pushes at his thighs, and San swipes him away. "Don't whine like a virgin, take it like a good whore," he commands, and Wooyoung bites his lips and goes quiet.

He grabs Wooyoung's hips to drive as deep as he's able, and holds himself there as he comes, trying to leave his mark as far inside him as he can. It's filth they'll never be able to wash out of him, a stain on his virtue that cannot be reversed. The devastation of Jung Wooyoung's purity is forever on San's list of sins, and the sense of satisfaction is sublime.

Wooyoung whimpers, straining against his grip wanting to rub against him. "Not done yet?" San asks.

"Please, sir, just-just a little," Wooyoung begs. "I'm s-so close, I need you, please." Hairpins lie scattered around them, the bride's hair has fallen into his face and stuck to his sweaty skin.

"Beg for mercy," San says and works a finger in next to his cock, still buried in Wooyoung's ass, testing the stretched muscle even more. He can even fit two, and it makes Wooyoung make the most delicious little mewls around his senseless begging. "Look at you gaping, and taking cock so good for me. You've been prepared well to spread your legs and get filled up." Slowly fucking into him like this, he gets Wooyoung to climax, but also makes him fall apart. When San pulls out he sinks down on the floor, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth and tears off his cheeks, his pretty eyes vacant with the echoes of ecstasy.

San picks up some tissues from a table further away, meant for tears of very different origin, and crouches down to gently wipe Wooyoung's face. Wooyoung's voice is weak and a little childish when he says, "Thank you, sir."

"We better get you back in order, you're getting married very soon."

Wooyoung is exhausted, but breaks into a bright, shy smile. San helps him stand up and he wipes himself clean as best he can while the priest fetches his pants for him. Leaning on San to dress, Wooyoung looks at his profile with adoration painted on his face, and says, "I guess my prayers were answered." San can only smile back.

He tells Wooyoung to go ahead while he dresses himself, but a few fingers hook in his sleeve, and Wooyoung blushes. "Maybe," Wooyoung says, "since god answered my prayer I should show some more piety. Maybe come for confession, one or two times a week. My family would probably let me go to church by myself with just a driver, to… do some introspection. If… you're not too busy, I mean, to… take my confession."

This demon hidden behind innocent eyes and sparkling smiles has already consumed San's soul beyond saving, so what does it matter if he sins again. "That's very mature of you," he says, "to want to reflect more on your sins. I'd be happy to help you."

Trying to hide his delight, Wooyoung hurries away, slightly unsteady, to find someone who can fix his makeup and hair; two more items on a long list of things San has broken and ruined today.

Not long thereafter, they're standing in front of a church full of people, many of them important and influential members of the community, not the least Wooyoung's parents and parents-in-law. Wooyoung has worn his perfect-wife-face flawlessly through the whole process, and avoided looking at San as much as possible.

When reading their vows, Wooyoung starts looking a little pained, listening to the man talk at length about his intention to honor and protect Wooyoung in every way imaginable. Then he suddenly breaks into a big smile, one that would convince anyone that he's deeply touched by the droning speech.

San catches the glance Wooyoung shoots at him, and the discreet gesture of him brushing his own ass and lowering his eyes, and the priest's heart staggers when he understands what's happening. Under the watchful eyes of the parish, he declares the bride and groom married while his cum runs down the insides of Jung Wooyoung's legs.

𓆩♱𓆪