I am going to Hell
Title: A Blasphemy in Three Parts, Part One: Heaven
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Patrick/Peter (though it's technically also God/Lucifer)
Summary: "Is there any particular reason why you're so perfect?"
"I suppose it has something to do with being a higher power."
Disclaimer: I don't own any actual people. Meaning God and Lucifer are totally up for grabs.
Author's Note: Takin' the religious priest!fic to the next level. Set in Heaven before the Angel Lucifer betrayed God - yes, our dearest Fall Out Boys are spiritual beings. Chill. If you have a religious or moral opposition to this - DON'T READ IT.
“Is there any particular reason why you’re so perfect?”
Dark fingers, not short enough to be called stubby and yet not long enough to be overtly feminine (let’s settle on a description of well-proportioned and exquisitely formed), slid delicately over the curve of pale side, taking great care to trace the line of each rib and explore every shallow valley between them. In the wake of such thorough fingertips rose shivers along the blanched canvas of flesh, but the adventurous digits were far too diligent in their southern quest to take too much notice. They relished in the delight of a graceful slope of smooth skin before the warm land they were mapping flared out in a lovely display of hips. The obliging fingers were all too pleased to make the ascent, and were rewarded at the summit with flesh woven of pure cream stretched over a whisper of a hipbone, offering a pleasant, empty pool in the shadow of the skin. Deciding unanimously that this was a wonderful place to make camp for the moment, the fingers slipped comfortably into place at the bottom of the pool, leaving their palm to gently cup the sheltering hip.
Patrick released a murmured sigh at the maddeningly tender caresses that never failed to draw such dulcet exclamations from him and pressed back into the solid warmth of his lover’s chest, settling in for what promised to be a decadent session with those ravenous hands.
“Mmm… I suppose it has something to do with being a higher power.”
“Yeah,” Peter chuckled hoarsely, voice raspy from some previous exploits that were certainly quite innocent, “I guess when you create an entire planet, you can make yourself as flawless as you want.”
“I do believe that’s the idea,” Patrick replied breathily, his amber lashes brushing the dual swells of his rounded cheeks as he leisurely closed his eyes and aimed his focus at the persistent grazing of fingertips across his lower stomach.
“And what about me?”
Grudgingly, milk-complexioned man allowed his eyes to flutter open and fix on those of such an astonishingly dark hue that belonged to the reason for his current enslavement and satiety. “What about you?” He inquired with the slightest touch of interest hinting at the corners of his words, keeping his gaze locked unfalteringly with Peter’s, though the darker man was experiencing mental tremors from the undiluted intensity of Patrick’s liquid eyes. It had never ceased to amaze him that two things so small and seemingly inconsequential could be so ancient and have seen so many tragedies and triumphs stretching boundlessly across the ages of the world.
Peter steeled himself against the gaze that had the unquestionable ability to flay the bronzed skin from his back and leave his crimson muscles stripped bare to gasp against the searing pain and light of the world, that could search into the depths of his soul and tear any blemishes out through his pores, leave them bleeding in the aftermath of such a christening.
“Did you make me?”
“Of course I did.”
At last, Pete threw up his white flag and surrendered the battle against Patrick’s gaze, dropping his own instead to the hand that was moving absently across the unfurling seas of his lover’s pallid flesh. He didn’t know if he was attempting to distract himself or Patrick when his fingers delved beneath the hem of the pristine white silk of the sheets, draped with such a casual grace across Patrick’s body, to explore the warm, yielding crease of thigh and pelvis. He remained gravely silent as he massaged the spot, not even willing himself to look up when Patrick’s legs parted ever-so-slightly with unspoken lust.
“I thought you didn’t make mistakes.”
“I don’t,” Patrick replied languidly, though the immediate knitting of his brows belied the indifference of his response.
“I beg to differ.”
Lightly pink, tapered fingers completed with naturally glossed nails rose from their contented resting place amongst the downy pillows to slide beneath Peter’s chin, sturdy and covered with an attractive dusting of stunted stubble. They adoringly stroked the strong line of his dark jaw and fanned out across his throat, feeling the thick cords of muscle and tension so close beneath a thin veil of skin.
“Beg all you want, my angel, it won’t make a difference,” Patrick whispered, his penetrating gaze locating and enslaving Pete’s once again.
“But you love it so dearly when I beg, my Holy Lord,” he shot back immediately, complete with a charismatic smirk and a devious venture on his finger’s behalf into the soft, peach-colored nest of hair that housed Patrick’s slumbering length.
“My, my, I’ve created the ultimate strumpet,” Patrick purred, spreading his thighs even further apart in the fashion of a wanton whore rather than that of a deity lounging in what was meant to be his purified bed amongst the heavens. His hand stroked down his lover’s firm chest, sparing a few moments to run the pads of his thumbs thoughtfully over Pete’s dark nipples in favor of feeling the skin tighten beneath his touch and know that the nerves in the other man’s body, in addition to many other parts of his anatomy, ached for and responded so deliciously to his touch. He smirked at his copper prize and shifted his hips in hopes of directing the route of Peter’s rampant fingers.
“A mistake,” came the adamant response, hand curling around the base of Patrick’s cock as if to threaten him to agree.
“No, love,” Patrick whispered, struggling to keep his translucent, vein-threaded lids from closing over his eyes, suddenly stained dark with passion, long enough to hold Pete’s defiant, sharp gaze - the lustrous, mahogany eyes that were ever laden with some sorrow or another. The sensual, convincing grip of seduction was steadily winding itself around Patrick’s will, but he could hold the powers of lust at bay for another few moments yet. With the face of his gorgeous creation, his valorous commanding angel, in his grasp, he examined Pete’s perfectly olive face, strong-boned to match the strong emotions and strong convictions that would be played across its features and those brooding eyes that were constantly battling his in vain. He glanced down the sinuous expanse of Peter’s statuesque body, contrasting beautifully against the white of his sheets, the white of the cavernous halls that surrounded them, the white of the pinpricks of stars smoldering in the distance, the white of his own skin. The man was perfectly designed, and there was naught that could be said against it save for a casual comment on the unrest of his soul, though such words, if uttered, came with a severe price to pay from the hand of God himself. “Never a mistake.”
“I’ve seen you make a few errors in your day,” Pete informed him, breaking glance to suckle at Patrick’s pliable earlobe instead, which the cinnamon-haired man had absolutely no objections to, especially considering the torturously slow, caressing maneuvers of Peter’s hand between his thighs.
“Have you now?” It was almost a whimper.
“Mhm.”
“Care to elaborate?” Patrick asked in a soft sigh, his legs spreading, unfurling like the velvet petals of a virgin white rose to its first taste of morning dew and the warm glow of dawn’s light.
“The night you came before I had the chance to make love to you,” Peter offered pointedly, teeth grating over the impossibly smooth skin in his mouth and relishing the visible shiver that spread across the body laying beside him, bare and beginning to shudder in sharp gasps of breath and so utterly at his mercy, though never would he dare to lift anything but a gentle hand to the flesh of his divine lover.
“Oh, hardly a mistake, but strategic planning, I assure you.”
Peter punished the words with a hot trail of tongue and teeth clearing a path down Patrick’s neck and some decidedly ingenious ministrations along the length of the pale phallus that was reddening by the second and stiffening yearningly in his grasp. “Strategic planning?! Now the infallible Lord God is spinning lies as well as errs?” He scoffed, thumb tracing circles around the swollen head of Patrick’s cock.
“No lies either, I’m afraid,” he gasped, hips twitching once before settling back amongst the mocking color of purity that cloaked his many-times-over deflowered bed. “It was all strategy.”
“A strategy for what?” Peter demanded, smirking into the hollow of Patrick’s throat, his tongue sneaking out to explore its depths.
As much as Patrick enjoyed the warm attention being paid to his skin, he was mournfully forced to abandon it when he tilted Peter’s chin up, locking his gaze on those unfathomably deep brown eyes.
“Why, to enjoy the pleasure of you so eagerly willing me back to attention, my love.”
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Patrick/Peter (though it's technically also God/Lucifer)
Summary: "Is there any particular reason why you're so perfect?"
"I suppose it has something to do with being a higher power."
Disclaimer: I don't own any actual people. Meaning God and Lucifer are totally up for grabs.
Author's Note: Takin' the religious priest!fic to the next level. Set in Heaven before the Angel Lucifer betrayed God - yes, our dearest Fall Out Boys are spiritual beings. Chill. If you have a religious or moral opposition to this - DON'T READ IT.
“Is there any particular reason why you’re so perfect?”
Dark fingers, not short enough to be called stubby and yet not long enough to be overtly feminine (let’s settle on a description of well-proportioned and exquisitely formed), slid delicately over the curve of pale side, taking great care to trace the line of each rib and explore every shallow valley between them. In the wake of such thorough fingertips rose shivers along the blanched canvas of flesh, but the adventurous digits were far too diligent in their southern quest to take too much notice. They relished in the delight of a graceful slope of smooth skin before the warm land they were mapping flared out in a lovely display of hips. The obliging fingers were all too pleased to make the ascent, and were rewarded at the summit with flesh woven of pure cream stretched over a whisper of a hipbone, offering a pleasant, empty pool in the shadow of the skin. Deciding unanimously that this was a wonderful place to make camp for the moment, the fingers slipped comfortably into place at the bottom of the pool, leaving their palm to gently cup the sheltering hip.
Patrick released a murmured sigh at the maddeningly tender caresses that never failed to draw such dulcet exclamations from him and pressed back into the solid warmth of his lover’s chest, settling in for what promised to be a decadent session with those ravenous hands.
“Mmm… I suppose it has something to do with being a higher power.”
“Yeah,” Peter chuckled hoarsely, voice raspy from some previous exploits that were certainly quite innocent, “I guess when you create an entire planet, you can make yourself as flawless as you want.”
“I do believe that’s the idea,” Patrick replied breathily, his amber lashes brushing the dual swells of his rounded cheeks as he leisurely closed his eyes and aimed his focus at the persistent grazing of fingertips across his lower stomach.
“And what about me?”
Grudgingly, milk-complexioned man allowed his eyes to flutter open and fix on those of such an astonishingly dark hue that belonged to the reason for his current enslavement and satiety. “What about you?” He inquired with the slightest touch of interest hinting at the corners of his words, keeping his gaze locked unfalteringly with Peter’s, though the darker man was experiencing mental tremors from the undiluted intensity of Patrick’s liquid eyes. It had never ceased to amaze him that two things so small and seemingly inconsequential could be so ancient and have seen so many tragedies and triumphs stretching boundlessly across the ages of the world.
Peter steeled himself against the gaze that had the unquestionable ability to flay the bronzed skin from his back and leave his crimson muscles stripped bare to gasp against the searing pain and light of the world, that could search into the depths of his soul and tear any blemishes out through his pores, leave them bleeding in the aftermath of such a christening.
“Did you make me?”
“Of course I did.”
At last, Pete threw up his white flag and surrendered the battle against Patrick’s gaze, dropping his own instead to the hand that was moving absently across the unfurling seas of his lover’s pallid flesh. He didn’t know if he was attempting to distract himself or Patrick when his fingers delved beneath the hem of the pristine white silk of the sheets, draped with such a casual grace across Patrick’s body, to explore the warm, yielding crease of thigh and pelvis. He remained gravely silent as he massaged the spot, not even willing himself to look up when Patrick’s legs parted ever-so-slightly with unspoken lust.
“I thought you didn’t make mistakes.”
“I don’t,” Patrick replied languidly, though the immediate knitting of his brows belied the indifference of his response.
“I beg to differ.”
Lightly pink, tapered fingers completed with naturally glossed nails rose from their contented resting place amongst the downy pillows to slide beneath Peter’s chin, sturdy and covered with an attractive dusting of stunted stubble. They adoringly stroked the strong line of his dark jaw and fanned out across his throat, feeling the thick cords of muscle and tension so close beneath a thin veil of skin.
“Beg all you want, my angel, it won’t make a difference,” Patrick whispered, his penetrating gaze locating and enslaving Pete’s once again.
“But you love it so dearly when I beg, my Holy Lord,” he shot back immediately, complete with a charismatic smirk and a devious venture on his finger’s behalf into the soft, peach-colored nest of hair that housed Patrick’s slumbering length.
“My, my, I’ve created the ultimate strumpet,” Patrick purred, spreading his thighs even further apart in the fashion of a wanton whore rather than that of a deity lounging in what was meant to be his purified bed amongst the heavens. His hand stroked down his lover’s firm chest, sparing a few moments to run the pads of his thumbs thoughtfully over Pete’s dark nipples in favor of feeling the skin tighten beneath his touch and know that the nerves in the other man’s body, in addition to many other parts of his anatomy, ached for and responded so deliciously to his touch. He smirked at his copper prize and shifted his hips in hopes of directing the route of Peter’s rampant fingers.
“A mistake,” came the adamant response, hand curling around the base of Patrick’s cock as if to threaten him to agree.
“No, love,” Patrick whispered, struggling to keep his translucent, vein-threaded lids from closing over his eyes, suddenly stained dark with passion, long enough to hold Pete’s defiant, sharp gaze - the lustrous, mahogany eyes that were ever laden with some sorrow or another. The sensual, convincing grip of seduction was steadily winding itself around Patrick’s will, but he could hold the powers of lust at bay for another few moments yet. With the face of his gorgeous creation, his valorous commanding angel, in his grasp, he examined Pete’s perfectly olive face, strong-boned to match the strong emotions and strong convictions that would be played across its features and those brooding eyes that were constantly battling his in vain. He glanced down the sinuous expanse of Peter’s statuesque body, contrasting beautifully against the white of his sheets, the white of the cavernous halls that surrounded them, the white of the pinpricks of stars smoldering in the distance, the white of his own skin. The man was perfectly designed, and there was naught that could be said against it save for a casual comment on the unrest of his soul, though such words, if uttered, came with a severe price to pay from the hand of God himself. “Never a mistake.”
“I’ve seen you make a few errors in your day,” Pete informed him, breaking glance to suckle at Patrick’s pliable earlobe instead, which the cinnamon-haired man had absolutely no objections to, especially considering the torturously slow, caressing maneuvers of Peter’s hand between his thighs.
“Have you now?” It was almost a whimper.
“Mhm.”
“Care to elaborate?” Patrick asked in a soft sigh, his legs spreading, unfurling like the velvet petals of a virgin white rose to its first taste of morning dew and the warm glow of dawn’s light.
“The night you came before I had the chance to make love to you,” Peter offered pointedly, teeth grating over the impossibly smooth skin in his mouth and relishing the visible shiver that spread across the body laying beside him, bare and beginning to shudder in sharp gasps of breath and so utterly at his mercy, though never would he dare to lift anything but a gentle hand to the flesh of his divine lover.
“Oh, hardly a mistake, but strategic planning, I assure you.”
Peter punished the words with a hot trail of tongue and teeth clearing a path down Patrick’s neck and some decidedly ingenious ministrations along the length of the pale phallus that was reddening by the second and stiffening yearningly in his grasp. “Strategic planning?! Now the infallible Lord God is spinning lies as well as errs?” He scoffed, thumb tracing circles around the swollen head of Patrick’s cock.
“No lies either, I’m afraid,” he gasped, hips twitching once before settling back amongst the mocking color of purity that cloaked his many-times-over deflowered bed. “It was all strategy.”
“A strategy for what?” Peter demanded, smirking into the hollow of Patrick’s throat, his tongue sneaking out to explore its depths.
As much as Patrick enjoyed the warm attention being paid to his skin, he was mournfully forced to abandon it when he tilted Peter’s chin up, locking his gaze on those unfathomably deep brown eyes.
“Why, to enjoy the pleasure of you so eagerly willing me back to attention, my love.”