(chap. 4 of cherry lips and juicy couture is coming out soon, i swear! but consider priest gaara x sinner lee??
or you can read this on a03!
and shout out to @somebitchprobably-graphicdump for da epic dividers)
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been twenty-nine days since my last confessional.”
Gaara’s tongue anxiously swept over his bottom lip. It had been a monotonous day, as usual. His daily bowl of plain Cheerios for breakfast acted as a whole grain crystal ball— a foreshadowing overview for a mundane workday. After hours of confessions, his eyes felt heavy and his legs began to ache. He had always wished for an upgraded seat within the confessional booth, but it was just last week he preached that Jesus wasn’t crucified on a cushioned cross. Still, his back was tense and he wanted to go home to his second bowl of cheerios. He was, however, thankful for the almost complete dark setting of the booth. It didn’t grant complete anonymity unless Gaara chose not to look through the lattice separating him and each penitent. He could close his eyes while he listened. Someone could see him with his eyes shut and dishing out penances as a meditative state of prayer and a direct connection to God. Really, he preferred to not know who exactly did whatever wrongdoings that were confessed, in fear he’d end up subconsciously disliking members of his church. He was forgiving to a fault— he couldn’t quite ever grasp the ability to be as forgiving as their Holy Father.
Then, that newest penitent, frantic and drenched in worry, claimed his attention. There was nothing that particularly stood out for Gaara from this man than his unique voice. Every confessional seemed like a last chance at life for him, for the most innocent of sins. He’d begged for forgiveness for finding a fly annoying, as flies were too God’s creation and therefore, perfect. The indirect examples of his generosity seemed artificial at first. He’d explain how he would become frustrated that his town didn’t have proper crosswalks for elderly or disabled citizens to use. Gaara thought it was performative. Then, he realized that the man maybe deserved the seat across the booth more than he did, as good his gestures never faltered since his first confessional. It had been over four weeks he waited for that voice. Gaara sat up straight, just barely glancing at the man. “Welcome.”
“F-Father... Please…” The man’s voice was different. It wavered with each syllable and was broken up by a sob. His large hands pawed at the barrier between them, fingers slipping through the lattice. “I’ve tried so hard. I prayed, I prayed and I kept praying. It has not stopped.” His words sent an uneasy shiver down the priest’s spine.
Father Gaara watched as the man’s chest heaved with each breath. His heartbeat quickened as he watched the man. He had dark, messy hair that fell just above heavy lidded eyes. His pink lips were parted slightly as he panted. Gaara’s fingers frantically toyed with the rosary in his hand.
“That is not a confession.” Gaara winced at the bluntness of his voice. He wanted nothing more for the man to return, as he wishes for every sinner. However, it would be a lie if he were to say he didn’t await this penitent’s arrival. “Please, continue.”
The man’s head turned, eyes searched through the dark confessional. Only when the light that seeped through the lattice wall reflected on the man’s face, could Gaara see that he was soaked. The man leaned forward, forehead pressed against the barrier between them.
“Father,” he pleaded breathlessly. His long eyelashes fluttered over his wet cheek. “I come to Mass every day, Father.”
Gaara’s eyebrows pressed together, confused. “Yes. But that is not-“
“Every day, Father. I walk in. I sit as close as I can to your altar. I listen to you preach His word every single day.”
Gaara’s leg bounced lightly, undetectable to the man on the other side. The priest wasn’t sure if it was due to anxiety or impatience as he awaited the confession. He was sure that the size of the room felt as if it was shrinking with every passing minute.
“I listen to the scripture as it falls from your tongue, Father, yet I cannot remember a word you say.”
A breathy laugh escaped his lips. Gaara couldn’t even remember what he preached last night. “Is this your confession, my child?”
“I forget because I do not listen.”
“Father, I watch the words form on your lips and I cannot remember a thing!” The man’s fingers clutched the lattice fence tighter. “I can only remember..” His words died with a heavy sigh.
He lifted his head, eyes piercing through the shadows and through Gaara. The eyes shifted around, searching, like a predator for its prey. The man certainly couldn’t see much, but Gaara’s heart raced still.
“I only remember the color of your lips, O Father. I only remember the times your eyes lay upon me, if even for a moment. I remember the times in which you drink from the blood of our Holy Father and how it spills down your chin and neck.”
Gaara stilled, rosary creaking in his tight grip.
“Father, I was raised to not be wasteful. When you sip from the Holy goblet, I can only think about how I’d lick the wine from your neck back to your mouth. My-” The man chuckled, shakily. “My mind often ponders how the blood of Christ tastes from the mouth of the anointed.” His head fell into his hands, wiping over his face as if that solely could wash away his sins. “Would it still be holy, Father Gaara?”
Gaara’s attention was pulled back into the suffocating booth at the mention of his title. His eyes scanned for the man’s dark pupils. “Would what still be holy?”
Lee lifted his head, slotting his fingers back through the lattice. He pulled himself closer, the barricade groaning with the give. “Would the blood of Christ still be holy from your lips to mine?”
His heartbeat pounded loud in ears. Gaara pressed his sweaty palms onto his knee and closed his eyes for one steadying moment. “I-”
“I pray it is, Father. I pray every single day, every morning and night for my sins.”
“That’s.. That’s good, my-” Gaara paused. He couldn’t bring himself to finish.
“Father, I have done my penances. All that you have bestowed.”
“I even do more, Father. I do more in hopes to please you. To please my Lord.”
Gaara further squeezed his eyes shut. He pondered the being of whom the man referenced as his Lord.
“I do push-ups, Father Gaara. Each push up, I ask for forgiveness from you.” The man whispered. “My arms ache and my stomach burns, but I cannot bear the thought of you being disappointed in me.”
Gaara was unsure if this was a prayer to Christ or a confession straight to the priest himself.
“Even then, I think of you. I think of you as a sinner, like me. And I-..” He hesitated.
Gaara’s heart pounded harder in his chest. He was both thankful and terrified of the pause. If only he could have just a moment to wrap his head around this-
“I think of you without your robes, Father.”
Suddenly the heat from his many layers felt unbearable. He forced himself as still as an inanimate object. A tight, tugging feeling washed over his core. He refused to even engage in conceptualizing it.
“I think of you when I kneel. I think of how badly my knees ache after Mass. I think of you kneeling, Father. I wonder if your knees would ache. I wonder if they’d burn red and bruise.” The man said in all sincerity and without a lick of embarrassment. He spoke as freely as one would when sharing their favorite food.
Gaara’s palms roughly squeezed his kneecaps in an attempt to ground himself, while his stomach felt as if it were caving in and tying itself into a darling bow.
“If I were your God, I would never make you kneel, Father. Anything you’d do would please me.” The man expelled a deep breath. “For these, and all my sins, I am sorry.”
“Your penance.” Gaara rushed, speaking at a level unnaturally loud for him. He had no desire to grant this man any scripture to back his decision or any aid in helping the immoralist. “Say the Lord’s prayer and ten Hail Marys. Say your Act of Contrition.”
The man pushed himself forward off of the seat, coming uncomfortably close to the lattice separating them. His face pressed against it, his soft lips slightly spilling around each grid.
“My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things.”
Gaara watched as the man mouthed each word against the barricade, his lips scraping with each syllable. The man’s dark lashes fluttered as they struggled to remain shut as if it took immense effort to contain the sin within him. The man’s legs bounced furiously and his eyebrows furrowed deeper with lines engraving themselves onto his forehead. Gaara couldn’t look away.
That couldn’t be it. That man was a sinner who needed to be saved. That was what Gaara wanted.
“I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us, In his name, my God, have mercy. Amen.” He prayed under a whisper.
With every labored breath that punctuated the man’s sentences, Gaara inched closer to the lattice barrier. During bible studies, Gaara would have the group join hands in prayer. To ground one around and feel the spirit of their prayer and of Christ flowing between them. Perhaps that was the reason why the priest slowly advanced forward, until his lips gazed against the soft flesh of the penitent before him. He observed as the man’s eyes quickly blinked open. He expected the man to be scared and pull away; they were close enough that eye contact became difficult and dizzying, but not impossible. Instead, the large, doe-like eyes of the penitent stared back into Gaara’s, unbothered and possibly even pleased.
They stayed there, frozen in time, with warm lips against warm lips. Breath fanning across one another’s mouths. Gaara was the first to move, a minute amount, only to start the prayer absolution.
“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his son has reconciled the world to himself and poured out the Holy Spirit for the forgiveness of sins.” Gaara muttered against the shield that separated the holy from the sinners. He pressed further in, seeking the man’s warm and plush lips against his own.
The man hummed softly, sighing against Gaara’s lips.
“Through the ministry of the church, may God grant you pardon and peace.” His mouth ran drier with each sacred word as they transitioned into blasphemy amidst their lips.
Gaara’s tongue darted out instinctively to wet his drying lips. His tongue met his own skin and the lips of penitent. The man let out a quiet, but eager and wanting groan. His own tongue chased the fleeting priest’s, licking and caressing any reachable flesh. His tongue naturally danced with the sinner’s like it was a routine act during their shared confessionals. The penitent tasted of the sweetest wine, more addicting and mind-altering than anything Gaara had ever experienced. It was intoxicating. Gaara’s eyes fluttered shut as his mind raced with scriptures that could steer him to right and from wrong. The soft whimpers and wet, gentle sucking on his bottom lip were his only anchor to the real world.
Gaara pulled back harshly, yet barely out of reach from the other man. His whole body heaved with every breath, drinking in the sacrilegious atmosphere within the tainted confessional. Dark brown eyes stalked him, waiting.
“I.. I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He spat out as if his words were a curse daring to crawl on his tongue.
The man sat back with one deep breath. A look of pure relief washed over him. Once a starving man, finally full and satiated. He dragged his tongue along his lips while Gaara’s eyes followed, entranced.
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