Kink Bingo_Virginity part 1
White Kingdom
Chapter: 1/3+Epilogue
Pairing: Tora x Saga
Rating: NC-17
Genre: AU, supernatural, angst
Warnings: male x male, AU, DUB-CON (you've been warned), violence, foul language, adult themes.
Summary: Forgive us our sins. As we forgive the ones who have sinned against us.
Comment: Well, its been a while y'all! Blame tumblr, I'm completely addicted xD This is my offering for the "Virginity" square of my Kink-Bingo card, and its about 100% different than what I was going to do with it in the first place. This is pretty much a storyline I had in mind for a chaptered series, although the tone was completely different. I took it, rehashed it into a oneshot, and then the muses took over and decided this was gonna get chaptered wether I like it or not. So yeah, AU, supernatural, dub-con…I hope you guys like it xD
***
No matter how hard he tried, Saga couldn't remember his dreams.
Dreams that would leave a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, his skin bathed in sweat, and yet when he searched his mind for answers, there was nothing. Not a glimpse or a flash or remembrance of what he did in those dreams.
Except those eyes.
When he woke up, he remembered eyes. Bright eyes, clear amber with flecks of gold, thick black lashes. Eyes that had slowly turned black, the pupil bleeding into the iris, and then the iris bleeding into the white until those eyes shone empty and dark like polished onyx. And that had been when he'd woken up, at two sharp, like every night when he had the dream, terrified and shivery in the large bed. At first he chastised himself for his fear, telling himself that only children had nightmares, and that yes, he was young after a fashion, barely twenty four, but that didn't excuse his childish fright. He'd pray then, as was his habit, but the words would feel like ash in his mouth, incapable of soothing him as they'd always done.
Wasn't god on his side this time? He'd served him all his life, from his childhood in the orphanage, through catholic school and now as a freshly ordained jesuit priest in charge of his very own parish. His first. Why was god sending his those dreams? Had the most holy father a particular task for him, a message of sorts? He would pray and pray and ask for guidance and yet the dreams came, again and again.
He wondered if it was the new house. He'd never lived on his own before, and it had taken a long time to get used to the large empty rooms of the townhouse he had been granted behind the small church, to the wordless silence only filled by furniture and his own footsteps. And his mentor, his predecessor, had warned him somewhat, of the strangeness of the parish.
Strange things happen here my boy. Many people come through this little church of yours, and some of them will ask for help. Very special help. When you are ready, I will teach you.
He knew what his mentor had spoken of. Occult business, exorcisms. He was ill equipped to deal with such things, as he had not been fully trained in the occult arts, his mentor passing before he could impart most of his precious knowledge. All he had left were pages and pages of diaries relating adventures and odd happenings, still untouched in the house's small office. Symbols and strangeness that Saga couldn't bring himself to trust in, no matter how convincing his mentor had been. Mental illness was rampant in this day and age, how could one really know when faced with an evil spirit and not a destructive illness?
His parish was indeed broad, and diverse. He was in the middle of the city after all, people coming and going through his little church where he sung mass in latin, old-fashioned yes, but that was how he had been taught, in his quiet, raspy voice, absolved sinners, baptized children. The life of a priest. And it was enough. Devotion and worship was all he knew.
Yet those dreams plagued him. So he prayed and asked for answers, and getting none, he kept on living his everyday routine. They would stop eventually, would they?
***
Friday night mass was his favourite. Only a few parishioners would come in, and he would appreciate their devotion, reading faith into their eyes as he spoke the words of the lord, made himself a receptacle for his glory. He always prepared carefully for his favourite mass, spending the day choosing his favourite scripture, and then getting dressed with care. The pressed black trousers and neatly tucked in shirt, his freshly starched roman collar, the silver crucifix his mentor had gifted him with upon ordination neatly tucked underneath. There was nothing to do with his wild hair unfortunately, as it curled and waved in tawny profusion to his delicate shoulders, a little too long to be proper yet he could not bring himself to cut it any shorter. It wouldn't do for a priest to be vain of course, but his hair was the exception somewhat, and he loved the way it framed his delicate, still boyish face like a halo of fawn silk.
One small sin in a life of virtue. Of celibacy, simplicity.
He ran his fingers through the soft locks angling across his eyes and examined his face in the large mirror. A pale, heart shaped face with soft angles, large eyes like midnight pools, thick lashed, expressive brows. The sharpness of his nose was an elegant contrast to the softness of his features, his mouth small yet full, with a pouty lower lip. He had been graced with a pretty face to be sure, and a slender, elegant body, and often he had been told that he was far too pretty and young to devote himself to god, to rob the world of his beauty. He had no interest in girls to be fair, not even as a teenaged boy had he harboured impure thoughts, too devoted to his studies to even notice them. It was an easy vow to take, celibacy.
He tried to tame the locks for a few seconds, combing the waves with his fingers, and gave up with a chuckle, adjusting his collar instead. That was the hair he was born with, there was no point in trying to fight nature, and he was sure his congregation had better things to focus on than his untamed hair. He shrugged on his jacket for the short trek to the church, the nights were getting colder as it was the end of summer, a cool breeze blowing through open windows. It was a quick walk to the small church through a little park where the children would play after sunday school, and then a quick climb of the backdoor stairs before entering his workplace, filled with the scent of incense and beeswax, aging wood. It was a strange mix yet it was the scent that made him feel most at home. Like a lot of his fellow orphans, he had spent most of his childhood playing and hiding in the wings and under the pews of the orphanage's ancient chapel, where it was always warm and safe.
The church was his haven. Had become his haven when he had been abandoned at three weeks old by his teenaged mother, and never had he resented her the choice she had made, for she had left him in the hands of the almighty, and for that he was thankful.
A few switches were flipped and the chapel came to life, stained glass and dark wood pews glowing, and he truly felt alive with purpose. God had set this task for him, to be the shepherd to those misguided souls that entered through the doors of his church, and he would bend to his task with all the devotion that was expected of him.
***
There was a newcomer to mass that night.
A man Saga had never seen before, sitting in the very last row. It was a small church, and a small congregation, he knew all the faces by heart, and never had he seen that one. Never because he would've remembered such a man. No one in their right mind would ever forget him.
The man sat straight yet nonchalance infused his very posture, making it seem almost as if he was lounging there, completely at ease. A little too comfortable even. He was clearly tall, with a nice stature, broad enough shoulders, a slender yet athletic build. He wore all black, a nicely tailored suit and black button down with the top buttons undone on a pale throat, baring a sliver of bare chest. His hair lay in raven-dark silken locks across his eyes, grazing his shoulders in glossy profusion, and his skin pale, so pale. He had a face to make angels envious, sharp angles and elegance, strong cheekbones and a perfect jawline offset by a delicate nose and a full, deep pink mouth. There was something that screamed debauchery about him, something that spoke of sinful nights filled with smoke despite the elegant looks, the exquisite clothing.
But it was his eyes that troubled Saga the most, nearly making him forget what he was doing as their gazes crossed above the heads of the gathered faithful. He knew those eyes.
The eyes from his dream. Green amber flecked with gold, warm amusement in their lash-veiled depths, and any minute he was expecting them to turn all black. But they didn't, and it was hard to avoid the piercing gaze as he spoke of the battle between good and evil, and as he recited one of his favourite scriptures, from Isaiah:
Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness...
There was a smile.
A soft smile full of deviousness. A smile that filled him with a mixture of fear and something he couldn't place. Discomfort perhaps. If anything, the man put him on edge and he did not like it at all, trying to focus on his parish, yet the stranger's presence dominated his mind, like he was alone with him in that chapel waiting, aching for the tension to break. The stranger listened to the Pater Noster, and the Agnus Dei without losing his smile, yet didn't stand to take communion, sitting still in the very back row as his parish neatly lined in front of the altar to partake in the Eucharist. He dismissed each parishioner with a soft ite missa est, and accustomed to his latin, they would reply with Deo gratia, thanking the almighty for his guidance before filing out of the church, back to their own routines, faith renewed.
Yet the stranger did not move, even when Saga closed his eyes for a few seconds, a silent prayer for each soul that left his peaceful haven.
"In nomine Christi…" he whispered, and opened his eyes to see the stranger disappear in the confessional booth.
Not that it would be fitting to judge, of course, but the man clearly looked like one who would have a thing or two to confess. If not a few dozen.
Saga took a deep breath, wondering why he felt so anxious at being in an enclosed space with a man so full of dark charisma, and shook his head irritatedly. He was a sinner like all others, and he would hear him, and if it could be done, absolve him, like he would anyone. He shuffled over to the darkened confession booth and carefully opened the door, taking a seat on the aged bench, uncharacteristically aware of every noise he made, of his breathing, and of the quiet ominousness of the booth beside his own. He flipped open the little panel at hand level that would allow him to hear the voice of the man on the other side and gathered all of his courage.
"Speak my child…" he intimated, for the very first time feeling inadequate as he uttered the words.
The stranger was clearly older than he was, and in any other circumstance he would have felt safe in the position of authority the church gave him, but this time the words felt empty. There was a chuckle on the other side of the carved panel, and the silky, slithery sound sent a shiver down his spine.
"What do you know of sin, father?" came the reply, and if the chuckle had troubled him, the voice was something else entirely.
Low and sultry, dark and as luxurious as velvet, a warm caress that enfolded his entire body, heat blossoming in the deepest pit of his stomach. Heat that made his head spin and his collar feel too tight, his clothes ache on his skin enough to make him want to rip them right off if only to alleviate the pressure. Was this stranger even human to cause such a reaction within him?
"Have you sinned, my child?" he made himself ask through quickened breath, wondering if the man on the other side was aware of his reaction, the distress he caused.
"I have sinned, father. I have sinned enough for a thousand lifetimes of men…"
That voice. That voice was doing unspeakable things to him, making his thoughts blur and his skin too tight.
"Tell me your sins, my child, so that I may absolve you of them." he rasped, only wanting to get this over with, to go back to the safe haven of the chapel and its soft light, to the safety of his faith and not in this enclosed box where he was consuming himself with feelings he had no explanation for.
"Telling you all my sins would eat away most of your life I'm afraid, even if you were to listen day and night without respite…" the stranger purred, "But I will tell you a few, if only to sate your curiosity…"
He wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore, overwhelmed by this strong presence, this power the stranger had on his senses through the velvety darkness of his voice.
"I have dark desires father, desires that have to be sated. But there is one that stands above all others right this moment...I lust for the embrace of another man…"
The words had faded to a whisper, and in the darkness, they felt as if lips brushed his ear, close and hot and breathy, and he gasped, not sure if he should open his eyes or keep them shut, afraid of what he would see.
"But I have the comfort of knowing that he thinks of me too…Isn't that right, Saga, don't you dream of me?"
He stood and fought with the door of the booth, emerging from the darkness back into the soft light of the chapel, terrified. What was this creature that had entered his mind? He backed away from the confessional booth hurriedly when the door slipped open softly, silently, and the man, if he was a man, emerged.
His eyes were black. Completely black. Darkness bleeding into the white.
Saga backed off again when the plush lips parted in a soft smile that would've seemed completely innocent had it not been paired with those soulless black orbs. He stumbled against the foot of a pew and tumbled back, crawling, dragging himself back on hands and feet as the creature approached.
"Stay back!" he ordered, voice trembling, trembling when the creature paused and chuckled.
Despite the fact that he knew for certain that he was faced with an evil spirit, the velvet of his laughter managed to trouble him again, send heat flowing through his entire body in a blazing rush that had his skin come alive.
"Don't be scared…I won't hurt you. Much." the creature replied, standing still, those glossy black eyes studying intently.
He felt like withering under the scrutiny.
"What are you?" he murmured, terrified when the creature's mouth split in a wider grin, baring white, slightly sharp teeth.
"I am lust."
"Lust?"
Another silky chuckle, and so much beauty despite the ungodly eyes. Saga couldn't deny that the creature was absolutely gorgeous, and just as he harboured that thought, the pupils of his eyes swallowed the black, slowly, irises back to jade flecked with amber.
"Doesn't a pretty priest like yourself know the cardinal sins? Luxuria…" he purred the latin word, as if it left a sweet taste on his tongue, " I am Tora, and Asmodeus is my patron."
Asmodeus. One of the seven princes of hell, the patron of lust and lecherous pleasures. Beautiful and charming and so very dangerous, and so were his servants.
This creature was a demon. A lust demon coming to lure him. He could hardly believe his eyes and ears, and panic assailed him again as he realized that he didn't even begin to know how to drive him off. He stood on weak legs, inching back as he reached down past his roman collar for his silver crucifix, clutching the long chain as he pulled it out, brandishing it forward.
"Stay back! By all that is holy stand back…" he ordered, wishing his voice wouldn't tremble.
The demon laughed. Pure, sultry warm amusement. And then he walked forward, fearless as Saga backed off, up the nave of the chapel towards the altar.
"Oh how quaint…" his voice slithered, malicious.
"Stand back!" Saga rasped, desperate.
He finally hit a solid object with his lower back. The marble basin full of holy water, and he reached back, dipping his fingers in the cool receptacle, thinking that maybe he was finally touching his salvation.
His salvation. A bit of consecrated water. His mind was racing, full of silent prayer.
Oh lord, if you love your devoted servant, you will assist me in this…please…oh please…
But the lust demon continued advancing, his smile widening if anything. Just as he got close enough, Saga gathered every single drop of courage he held in his heart and took out his dripping hand of the basin, lunging forward to press his wet palm to the demon's exposed throat. Hoping. Hoping with all he had that it was vulnerable spot.
Hope quickly melting and replaced with sheer panic as the demon grabbed his wrist in a punishingly tight grip, still smiling, clearly unaffected by the holy water.
"Tsk. Tsk…so he hasn't told you anything has he? Your mentor, he should've told you about me…" Tora purred, bringing Saga closer with a sharp pull on his slender wrist, fingers with black lacquered nails warm and inhumanely strong.
He was trapped, head swimming, sweat pearling down his back. He gasped when the demon brought his wet hand to his mouth, and then nearly collapsed when a hot, slick tongue traced a blazing line of moist fire from the hammering pulse in his wrist, across the palm of his hand to the tip of his middle finger. A slow lick that made his spine tremble and his skin pulse, the demon's eyes closing as he hissed with obvious delight.
"Your fear…" he purred, licking the inside of each finger slowly and carefully, lapping at the holy water, "Your fear is so sweet…I can taste it on your skin."
He was afraid, terrified. But there was something else underlying it all, the smallest, most minute part of him that wanted. Wanted more of that tongue on his skin, the insidious thoughts seeping into his mind before he could even control them, send them back from whence they came and lock them away where all his urges were buried. All the urges that made him a man of flesh and blood and not a servant of god, carefully subdued and controlled. His usual steady grip on them felt tenuous at best as the slick tongue traced his skin.
The creature's eyes opened a sliver, glowing, lambent amber through the thick lattice of black lashes.
"Holy water cannot help you now, my sweet…" he purred, breath hot against his already overheated skin, voice so low he could hear it resounding in his skull, "It will take a lot more, so much more to banish a demon like me…" he mouthed against Saga's fingers, earning himself a keening gasp when he enclosed the sensitive tip of his middle finger in the blazing inferno of his mouth.
Saga felt his vision haze, his spine locking in a tight arch, as if he longer controlled his own body and wanted to touch, press his body to that taller, stronger, inhuman one before him, only holding back out of sheer willpower.
"Is that lust Saga? That musky sweetness in your skin…I can taste it, fighting with your purity. So pure…you feel it don't you? That fever in your blood that makes you want to do unspeakable things…forbidden things…"
All the blood that wasn't rushing to his face rapidly seeped sown his chest, down the smooth slope of his belly, and he fought it with all his might. He had no idea where to begin with this, controlling this urge that the demon skillfully roused and awoke in him, so he resisted, reciting the lord's prayer in his mind hoping that it would slow down the insidious pull of lust in his blood.
Our father in heaven.
"You pure, pure soul…"
Hallowed be thy name.
The demon's free hand traced down his arm, teasing fingers sliding in smooth fabric.
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done. In earth as it is in heaven.
His mind stuttered when his fingers were released and he was pulled, closer, so close, pressed against a strong chest, enveloped in a cloud of buttery leather notes and musky incense as strong arms wrapped around his waist. Sin. This is what sin smelled like, luxurious and exotic, wrapping around him like velvet, like smothering furs and leather. And he couldn't push him off, completely trapped. So he kept on praying, trying to shut out everything but his trembling voice in his own mind.
Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our sins…
"What sins Saga? What sins could you possibly harbour in that pure, virgin heart of yours…vanity yes. But such a small sin..." Tora mouthed against his forehead, lips soft and hot against his sweaty skin.
As we forgive those who sin against us.
"Will you forgive me my sins, my sweet? Will you absolve me when I come to you in the darkest hour of the night…when I seep into your dreams to claim what's mine…"
And lead us not into temptation...
"I will devise torments for you my dear…I will tempt you until you give in to your urges and give me all that purity on the altar of your body…you're mine." A hand inched up against the front of his shirt, settling warm and solid in the middle of his chest, and his eyes fluttered shut as lips pressed to his forehead once more, "This is not over Saga. This is only the beginning…"
But deliver us from evil. Amen.
He felt a whoosh of hot air against the front of his body and fell to his knees as he was released.
The demon had disappeared. Completely.
There was a bright burn against his chest, like a brand where the demon's hand had lay against his chest and he coughed and wheezed as breath came back to his lungs in painful gasps. He pried at the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, wrenching off the roman collar that was choking him as he leaned back against the baptismal font, cool marble against his heated body. He finally managed to pry the buttons open and felt his stomach lurch when his fingers came away red with blood as he touched his chest. He heaved himself back on his feet, knees buckling, and stumbled with stuttering steps back across the nave to the small bathroom across from the font.
He felt dizzy with adrenaline and fear and complete shock at his encounter, and couldn't help but look around sharply as he moved across the dimly lit chapel, terrified of having the demon materialize again.
Tora. Tora was his name. And Asmodeus his master.
It was too much for his brain to process. He had faith. He had faith because he had nothing else that he could call his own, and not once had he doubted in the existence of the holy father. But to have a demon materialize in all his dark glory, in his church without fear, and speak to him, threaten him, touch him. That touch that burned and roused strange feelings in his body, made his blood race in ways that he knew were forbidden, that touch had been all too real. That, nothing could have prepared him to in any way.
He entered the bathroom and winced at the paleness of his face in the mirror, at his dark eyes wide with fear still, turning on the faucet on cold to splash his face. He carefully parted the folds of his shirt on his pale chest, and nearly lost his footing as he saw what was inscribed there. Right in the middle of his chest, carved into his skin in shallow grooves that still bled in vivid red streaks.
A sigil. Blood red on pale.
***
Armed with a fresh pot of coffee and new determination, Saga made his way to the small office on the second floor of the house. He hadn't been in the room too often since he'd arrived, too busy with the congregation's needs. It contained his late mentor's writings, and a computer he had little to no knowledge how to operate, and a few bookshelves full of dusty tomes. He put down his coffee and the pot on a corner of the large table and pulled back the chair, pushing his glasses up his nose.
He had somewhat regained composure at the chapel, after a good hour of fervent praying for help and counsel through the ordeal, and then a hot shower where he had been sure to scrub all the areas he had been touched by the evil creature with extra care, no matter how it made the sigil carved on his breastbone burn and ache. He bandaged it with care, refusing to even look at it, and then slipped into comfortable sweats and a tee, made a pot of strong coffee and decided that he was getting to the bottom of this.
He sat down at the large table and reached for the filing drawer on the left side and started looking through the thick manila folders, looking if there was a mention of Tora, finding none, until his fingers met a thick tome at the very back. A thick tome made of a few smaller booklets.
His mentor's diary.
He'd known of its existence, had often witnessed the old man scribbling in it with his small, spidery writing after a long day, sitting at that very chair he was sitting on. Curiosity burned at him, animating his delicate fingers as he pulled out the heavy tome and laid it flat on table. He took a deep breath and pried open the cover, surprised to see a folded piece of paper with his name neatly printed at the top. A letter.
June 6th 2012
My dear Saga,
If you are currently reading this, it is that I have passed on to the other side, and that you are now responsible for the congregation as I once was. Do not fear, my son, for you are most suited to walk in my footsteps, and your faith and devotion has no equal. You will be most capable in your task to lead all those innocent souls in their faith, lead them to the kingdom of heaven as any good shepherd would. My worry is that I could not better prepare you for the other tasks of your calling, the tasks I left unfinished and that you eventually will have to take over, despite your youth and innocence. There is so much innocence in you, my son, forever sheltered from the darker sides of this life, forever a child of god from your very first days. I shall die knowing guilt for letting you face those hardships unprepared.
There is evil in this world, my son.
Not only the evil of men, but the evil and darkness that seeps from the open breaches of hell. Creatures that devour and destroy, taint and spoil all that is good. And my task was to banish them from whence they came, and this task will soon be yours as well. I have filled these pages with all that I know. About the creatures I encountered, and how to deal with them. I've recorded my mistakes as well, so that you may avoid them the best you can. You can't win every battle my son, but every battle won is a step closer to a better world. People will ask. They will come to you for help and I despair that I could not give you the tools in time, too afraid to spoil the careless purity of your heart, to dent your young faith with stories of darkness and terror, and now that illness is devouring me I regret my hesitation. I hope that my enclosed memories will help to guide you in this task my boy.
There is one thing I must warn you of. In my earlier days, I encountered a special creature on one of my assignments, a very special creature that has attached itself to me. We have had an uneasy truce in the past few years, and he has been able to provide help at times, grudgingly. He is powerful. And dangerous. I do hope that now that I have gone he will have left as well, but if he is still here and tries to contact you, I pray that you will have the strength to resist him my boy, for his skill lays in tempting and corrupting. He feeds on purity, and yours would attract him like iron to a magnet. Be weary of him.
I will add this: Do not ever let him in. In your heart or in your house, for the consequences could be dire.
You are stronger than you might think my boy, and I left you unprepared yet hope that you will walk into this hard path with the same devotion that you have for worship. I have loved you like the son I never had, and I shall continue to do so, from beyond the grave for my soul is always watching over you my son.
It was unsigned but there was no mistaking the writing and the tone. Written just a week before his death.
His fingers trembled when he wiped the moisture from his eyes. The words had touched him and yet filled him with dread. So his mentor had known Tora, or whoever he was, and had somewhat of an uneasy arrangement with him? And what consequences would stem from even having contact with the evil creature? Maybe he would find out through his reading. Hoped he would when the middle of his chest throbbed, the lines he knew were there burning and aching.
He carefully folded the letter and put it aside, and started on the very first page.
March 17th 1967
***
So, what are y'all thinking? Saga as an innocent priest, Tora as a demon with a virginity fetish, it works no? I think it does xD How funny that I'm writing a story about demons and possessions and hauntings because that shit scares the HELL out of me, so I'm creeping myself out as I imagine it xD Chapter two is already wrapped up but I want to sleep on it and edit it with a fresh eye in the morning, and then post. In the meantime, I want to hear what you guys think of this one, so let me know in the comments ;) Love y'all, its good to be back :D xoxo
Update: Chapter 2