Anima
Levamentum - Chapter 4
Summary: Father Marshall and Michael find a resolution to their prior difficulties.
Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike (Hellraiser)
Word Count: 1,097
Warnings: Smut, Oral sex, Bodily fluids, Jealousy (resolution), Idolatry
Father Marshall observed his curate interacting with the congregation. He was popular, charismatic. A favorite of the people in attendance. Michael was a dedicated young man. Of chequered past, yes, but his desire to turn his ways was obvious in his hard work. Sometimes though, the older priest could still see him struggle.
It was no fault of his own that Michael was appealing to the eye. But it had a tendency to draw the eye of those desirous of his attention. And what young man wouldn’t find himself turning toward temptation when freely offered? Perhaps it was Walter’s own sin to succumb to the churned up emotions of envy.
Michael had taken his admonition well. He hadn’t meant to be harsh. He had, perhaps simply struggled with his own doubts and insecurities. He desired to show Michael that he was dedicated too.
Allowing the Deacon to lead the congregation in their prayers, Father Marshall drew his young curate to the side.
“Tell me, Michael...Are you finding this difficult?” he asked, finding himself unable to voice his true concern, when in fact, it was himself finding this the most troublesome.
Mike struggled to meet his mentor’s eyes at the question. He stumbled some over his words.
“I...I have no desire to engage in the things of my past. Sometimes it’s hard not to see reminders, but I remain true to my...devotions.”
“Come with me. Let’s find a quiet place to work with this,” Walter directed him to an isolated vestry, closing the door behind them.
“Michael, do you desire their attentions?” he questioned. Mike shook his head.
“Be frank in your honesty, Michael. I need that from you. Do you desire the attentions of another? Do you…” Walter pressed his lips together before continuing. “I am here to teach you, to lead you and....”
He paused again. “I am here to be loving salvation for you, but I need-”
“I desire only you,” Michael whispered, cutting through the veiled questions in Walter’s speech.
Walter gave him a long, appraising look.
“Get on your knees. We will pray,” Father Walter said to him, his tone soothing. He remained standing as Mike knelt, placing his palm open at the crown of Mike’s head. His hand gave pleasant pressure, and inspired Michael to decide what his part of this prayer was to be.
The position was having its own effect on the priest, as Michael noted the stiffening bulge at the front of the black trousers in his view. He leaned in closer, placing his palms on Walter’s thighs. His breath came out in a warm huff against Walter’s groin as he asked, “Would you lead me in this prayer? Allow me to demonstrate my dedication to this...to us?”
A brief moment passed before Walter’s understanding bled across his expression. His pupils dilated as he realized what Michael was asking of him. That Mike was offering both an apology and forgiveness. He was more than willing to accept both, and to offer his own in return.
“Open your mouth. Do you accept your salvation willingly? Do you wish to be anointed?”
Michael’s hands slid upward as he nodded, and grasped at the older priest’s belt buckle. As leather slid against metal, Walter began to pray, his deep sonorous voice immediately soothing to Michael, a reassurance that he had committed no transgression.
“Soul of Christ...sanctify me.”
He slid open and down the black fabric that led to his salvation.
“Body of Christ...save me.”
Walter’s flesh stood full and proud, thrumming with lifeblood. He eagerly took it between his lips, seeking to feel at one with his tutor. It was thick and weighty, welcome. Mike’s eyes drew upward, and he felt in his soul he had never seen any sight so beautifully comparable to the finely carved statues in the cathedral.
“Blood of Christ...inebriate me.”
His cock slid thick and engorged along Mike’s eager velvet tongue to rest against his throat. Mike laved along the ridges and veins, worshipping at Walter’s altar, lapping at the precursing fluids that slid slowly from the tip.
“...wash me.”
Father Walter’s prayer came out as a moan, jolting the blood flowing through Mike’s own body with electricity. His own cock strained against his trousers, spreading a small wet stain against his thigh.
“...strengthen me.”
Michael’s vocalizations slid vibrations along Walter’s shaft, causing the priest to utter a growled curse between increasingly labored breaths. The verbal sin was swallowed in the echoed hymns of the large congregation gathered in the cathedral.
“...hear me.”
Walter’s hand reached forward and he delicately drew a finger up the center of Mike’s chest, along the scar he knew lay beneath the fabric. Michael moaned around the idol he worshipped, feeling desperately and deeply seen. Tears tore from his eyes and ran in rivulets down his cheeks.
“Within thy wounds hide me.”
This man above him...he knew all. Every inch of pain and suffering in Michael’s young life, he knew. And still he accepted him, cherished him. He was a young curate, but he knew then that he would dedicate himself to this man, his savior, with passion. And knew even more that he would not be abandoned in the cause.
“Suffer me not to be separated from thee.”
Walter’s words grew whispered and low, reverent. His hand gripped at the back of Mike’s head, firmly yet tenderly drawing himself deeper.
“Bid-”
Walter inhaled a shaky breath. He was close. Mike could feel the strident pulsations in the veins of his cock as the priest pressed closer and his thighs quaked. He began sucking around him, ready to swallow down his offering.
“Bid me come unto thee.”
The words were like a strained plea falling from Priest Marshall’s lips. In his final moments, he began to rut lightly against Mike’s throat, desperation and control warring in his countenance.
Thrust.
“That with-”
Thrust.
“-thy saints-”
Thrust.
“-I may praise Thee!”
Mike held desperately to the back of the priest’s thighs as his tongue was christened with holy spend, warm and salty, drips falling from the corners of his lips to mix with his tears as he tried with devotion to swallow him down.
Only when he was finished and had begun to soften did Walter withdraw himself from his charge’s mouth, kneeling down to eye level, and began to tenderly wipe the mix of fluids from his lips and chin.
He looked deep into Mike’s wide blue eyes before kissing him tenderly. He murmured his approval against plush, pinkened lips:
“Forever and ever. Amen.”
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