rusted_halo
in
mmom
Day 16: Guilty Pleasure; The Boondock Saints, NC-17
Title: Guilty Pleasure
Author: rusted_halo
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: The Boondock Saints
Characters/Pairing: One of the MacManus twins
Word Count: 588
Summary: If God can permit them one sin, surely He can permit them another?
Warnings: Heavy religious themes and very slight twincest if you squint.
Guilt was something he understood all too well. It was ingrained into his psyche from birth.
So the term “guilty pleasure” met its mark every time he did this, for that was exactly what it was.
For years he’d fought with himself; tried valiantly to resist, to save his soul. He hadn’t failed entirely. There were many times in which prayer or activity kept him from damning himself.
But there were times in which his soul didn’t stand a chance.
After the night at the Copley, it became more difficult to resist. Aside from the body’s natural reaction to the adrenaline dump, there was his spiritual conscience crisis.
God wanted them to do what they did; he knew it in his heart. And if God wanted them to do this, how could He forbid either of them to give in to the biological urges He bestowed upon Man?
Unwavering faith and devotion fed his struggle as his body thrummed with tension. He gave himself a furtive squeeze through his jeans and withdrew his hand quickly, as though he’d been burned. But the sound he issued was one of pleasure, and his hips tried desperately to prolong the contact.
He tried to clear his mind of tempting images, but the more intense his efforts, the more he saw. The time he’d seen Kate Halloran lift her shirt in the pub back home; pictures from magazines and scenes from cable movies; the time he’d very nearly slept with a woman out of wedlock, how soft her skin and so moist when he put his fingers in the small tangle of hair between her legs.
If God wanted them to do what they did, He could allow him this.
He pulled his shirt off in a single smooth movement and tossed it aside. His belt buckle jangled as he unzipped his jeans and shoved them down. He kicked off his boots and fell back on his mattress, jeans bunched at his ankles and the belt buckle glinting in the late afternoon sun.
He didn’t bother with teasing himself or building up, he just wrapped his hand around himself and began stroking. His guilty history with this act had kept him from doing anything other than just diving in headfirst; he didn’t know or care about any fancy tricks one could make on the way down.
He bit his lip as he pumped his fist and the act not only helped keep him quiet, but the pain eased his conscience even as tears of shame sprang to his eyes. “God forgive me. Please,” he thought.
And still the pleasure continued to grow, the images in his mind’s eye more alluring, the sprint toward release overwhelming.
“What are you doing?” his brother’s alarmed voice called across the flat.
“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I couldn’t help myself,” and the tears fell as he locked eyes with his twin, his hand a blur as he sobbed a breath. His eyes fell shut and his hand slowed and he could still picture the look on his brother’s face as the entire world waited for him, and then there was nothing for a few blessed seconds.
The cool air on his overheated skin gave him goose-bumps and he felt chilled to the bone. The ejaculate on his stomach seared his flesh even as it cooled.
His brother came into view above him. He dropped a shirt over his puddle of shame and leant down, placing a light kiss against his temple.
“It’s ok,” he murmured. “It’s alright.”
Author: rusted_halo
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: The Boondock Saints
Characters/Pairing: One of the MacManus twins
Word Count: 588
Summary: If God can permit them one sin, surely He can permit them another?
Warnings: Heavy religious themes and very slight twincest if you squint.
Guilt was something he understood all too well. It was ingrained into his psyche from birth.
So the term “guilty pleasure” met its mark every time he did this, for that was exactly what it was.
For years he’d fought with himself; tried valiantly to resist, to save his soul. He hadn’t failed entirely. There were many times in which prayer or activity kept him from damning himself.
But there were times in which his soul didn’t stand a chance.
After the night at the Copley, it became more difficult to resist. Aside from the body’s natural reaction to the adrenaline dump, there was his spiritual conscience crisis.
God wanted them to do what they did; he knew it in his heart. And if God wanted them to do this, how could He forbid either of them to give in to the biological urges He bestowed upon Man?
Unwavering faith and devotion fed his struggle as his body thrummed with tension. He gave himself a furtive squeeze through his jeans and withdrew his hand quickly, as though he’d been burned. But the sound he issued was one of pleasure, and his hips tried desperately to prolong the contact.
He tried to clear his mind of tempting images, but the more intense his efforts, the more he saw. The time he’d seen Kate Halloran lift her shirt in the pub back home; pictures from magazines and scenes from cable movies; the time he’d very nearly slept with a woman out of wedlock, how soft her skin and so moist when he put his fingers in the small tangle of hair between her legs.
If God wanted them to do what they did, He could allow him this.
He pulled his shirt off in a single smooth movement and tossed it aside. His belt buckle jangled as he unzipped his jeans and shoved them down. He kicked off his boots and fell back on his mattress, jeans bunched at his ankles and the belt buckle glinting in the late afternoon sun.
He didn’t bother with teasing himself or building up, he just wrapped his hand around himself and began stroking. His guilty history with this act had kept him from doing anything other than just diving in headfirst; he didn’t know or care about any fancy tricks one could make on the way down.
He bit his lip as he pumped his fist and the act not only helped keep him quiet, but the pain eased his conscience even as tears of shame sprang to his eyes. “God forgive me. Please,” he thought.
And still the pleasure continued to grow, the images in his mind’s eye more alluring, the sprint toward release overwhelming.
“What are you doing?” his brother’s alarmed voice called across the flat.
“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I couldn’t help myself,” and the tears fell as he locked eyes with his twin, his hand a blur as he sobbed a breath. His eyes fell shut and his hand slowed and he could still picture the look on his brother’s face as the entire world waited for him, and then there was nothing for a few blessed seconds.
The cool air on his overheated skin gave him goose-bumps and he felt chilled to the bone. The ejaculate on his stomach seared his flesh even as it cooled.
His brother came into view above him. He dropped a shirt over his puddle of shame and leant down, placing a light kiss against his temple.
“It’s ok,” he murmured. “It’s alright.”