Min•di (noin) wrote in falterings,

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EVEN IN THE AFTERGLOW [original, one-shot] who_shot_kr My gift, to you. <3

A/N: Incest. Slash. Weird sex? Some kinks, I suppose. Masturbation, voyeuristic priest. I think that might be it. ^^; Oh, and no beta for this, so please forgive any stupid mistakes. [I'll harass my beta later.] It's my first time posting something...like this, so...be gentle?

For who_shot_kr. Who finally corrupted me. Thank you, boyfriend! <333333 But not only that, you fed this bunny, encouraged the rabid little thing and gave it the superglue it needed to grow and poke away at my brain. I thank you for your constant encouragement, despite how goddamn /slow/ of a writer I am. ;__;

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To avoid some confusion:

POV = Delos
him/his/etc = Francis
you/your/etc = Sebastian

Sections in italics are flashbacks...with Francis/Delos. >_>; *cough*

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Jealousy To Stir Him

- - -

"Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been months since my last confession."

"Tell me your sins, my son." The smirk came through the screen. His amused lips were drawn back, moist and tinted a dull red. Downcast eyes could be seen, the long lashes brushing against his smooth cheek. A pale hand near his mouth, his back resting against the old wood of the confessional. The priest. My confessor. The obsession. My little brother.

I'd shoved him down.
Pulled his legs open.
Bit the tender flesh of his thigh, left a trail of bruises against his chest with my touch-starved fingers.
Fondled him until his voice came out, until he begged with that dirty mouth.
Those harsh hands.
Dragged me down.
Heat and dripping…
…dripping sex…
"Come in me, come in me."

Your hand rested against my thigh. The constricted space within the confessional forcing me to lay a cheek against the wood as you drew near. The moan escaped my lips as I replied. "Father, my mind has been filled with someone."

His voice spilled across the small space, the low contralto embedding itself, lending itself to a rush of lust. "Someone you love?"


The hand moved up, the fingers skimming the inner seam of my jeans, resting against me, cupping with gentle pressure. The breath in my ear, the leg that entwined, dug into mine, the arm my body rested on...the teeth that grazed my ear. My breathing dipped into a shallow pace, my hands reached out, grasping for something to hold. One ended up with your shirt balled in a clenched fist, the other gripped the screen. My fingers hurt, ached...shook from the pressure of holding, of attempting to keep the rush of feeling from shedding my skin.

"Surprise," He'd grinned.
The towel at my waist hung low.
Sixteen. He was sixteen then.
Shorter by inches.
The towel pulled away, his hand between my thighs…
"Let me fuck you."
Years younger.
Too young.
And because I loved him.
Because I wanted him.
Because just the sight of him, the sound of him, the smell made me hard---
---I'd nodded.
And let him lay my body down, his supple limbs over me.
Gentle thrusts.

My brother stared back, those beautiful eyes...that jaded face, the sharp bones, the usually cool lines of his high-arched eyebrows and stubborn jaw-line. "Is this love reciprocated?"

Jealousy to stir him.

To tempt him back into my bed. Coerce him to remove that screen, to plunge those hands into the folds of my clothing.

Undress for me.

Come for me.

Break. Destroy. Shout.
Let his knees buckle.
His hips thrust.
With enticement I hope to win.

You move away, the heat at my side momentarily gone as you force my fingers to unclench themselves from your clothes. I barely keep my shaking hand still, somehow maintain my palm flat against the bench, force my breath down as your mouth tastes the skin along the line of my pants.

I bite my lip as his eyes follows the line of my throat, as he bores into me, that smirk on his face, the upturn of those lips..."I don't..." A gasp escapes my throat as you unbutton my jeans, as your hand moves beneath my shirt, cold fingers at my chest. A hot tease, a smooth tongue running along my---


---he tilts his head again. He sighs. And he moves to the opposite end of the confessional.

I wanted him to seethe in envy of you.

But instead, he takes you in, distances himself, pulls away.
Manipulates my needs again and I fall.

Back again. Lulled into pleasing him.

I can see him now, not just his face, but the limber lines of the familiar body that black robe smoothes over. Light casts half of his face in a warm glow, the other half dark as he brings his hand up to his throat. Index finger slips under the white collar as your mouth spills over me.

Francis. Francis.

Wistful. That expression on your face.
"Do me the favor before I leave."
That dark expression. A curving of his lips again. His fingers slip into the front of my pants.
Lips grazing my ear, hand slowly working through the cloth.
"One last time, Delos."
I drag him against me, crushing the bones of his wrists.
The anger.
The want.
Snarling my command in his mouth.

Another grip, my hand trembling on the screen, fingers attempting to dig into the wood. My legs move further apart. The warmth, the sight of his semi-parted lips, of that hand trailing down his chest, lower...lower disappearing beneath the robe---

---I grasp your hair, pulling your head back as a staggering breath catches in my throat. You frown as I drag you up, kiss your wet lips, slide my tongue into your mouth, my hand at the small of your back as I drag you up from your knees. He can see your face, he watches as I rip off your shirt, as I kiss your chest, tongue flicking out to lick your nipples. He has access to every part of you I own.


I want him to have a view of you.

The sight of pale flesh to rival his own.
Head thrown back.
Fevered sounds.

I want him to know you.

I bite the curve of your collarbone, hands splayed across your back.

I made him see the way I peeled the clothes from your body, see me kiss your lips until they were swollen, until my saliva had mixed with yours...and I pulled back, placing two fingers into the heated cavern of your mouth and we both watched your tongue coating my skin...

And then I forced him.

Stiff, rounded collar…
The pristine white chasuble.
Gold threaded stole around his neck.
The rosary that had been wrapped around a hand...
...placed carelessly atop the bedside altar…

The hand that pumped me, held me, teased me NOW.

And through my heavy sighs, the choking feel of my tie and pressed slacks, I begged him then.
"Don't do this. Don't do this. FRANCIS!"

And he threw me against the wall again, squeezing that agonizing hand, kissed me, bit my lip, mouth trailing, his lips caressing the line of my jaw...

And he released me.
Left me wanting.
Left me hard.
Left me soiled.
With that smirk.
Always that smirk..

And left the room.
To marry God.

Forced him to keep that misted gaze locked in front of him as you bent over me, my fingers making their way inside of you, stretching you out...

But he returned my taunt.
Enlarged my torment.

His hand shifted for me, a slow movement between his legs, a metered rhythm.

...and you.

You let yourself be taken, settled your sinewy body atop mine, ground your narrow hips against me, ran your large hands down my shoulders, scratched lines down my arms.

Halted breathing.







Your head against my shoulder. My hand at your back, the other sliding, gripping, smoothing over your erection, thumb rubbing over the moist head.

And my dear brother waited.

My dear brother watched it all.

He knew about you.
Greeted you with calculated charm.
"Sebastian, I assume."
You'd answered him with a beaming smile, collected grace.
And he shook your hand, gone back to kneeling at the step of the altar.
Smile. Smiled.
"Take care of him with that warm body of yours."
His head bowed, smirk on his lips.
A low whisper.
"He is after all my precious brother."

His own pants filled my ears, mingled with your deep moans until my mind distinguished the two only by the scent of you...the clean, temperate scent of your soap, the taste of you, the feel of you.

Moving. Sliding. Rushing. Aching. Want. Need. Spilling forth into the covered darkness.

The enveloping silence amplified his release.

The arched release of his body, the sudden cry arising from his throat.

And from beneath the robe, his hand ascended. Covered in his own come.

...my poor brother.

And his face with that satisfied expression. The rise and fall of his chest, the pulse at his throat. That satiated smile that occupied the face of my teenage lust. My wet dreams and muffled moans. Quick fucks on his narrow bed.

He brought up that hand that had once wrapped itself around me, whose fingers had tangled themselves in my hair, whose nails had sought pleasure by leaving their bleeding marks on my skin---

And with a velvet tongue licked clean...

---a moan, a gasp. Sustained groan as your body slowed. Stopped. Stilled with heavy breaths.

My vision blurred, my orgasm once again owned by him, possessed with the sight of him.

I kept my arms wrapped around you, sweat slid down the curve of your spine, beaded against my forehead as our skin cooled, pressed against each other.

Moments filled with pants and with frayed breaths.

"Father, I have sinned."

And even in the afterglow, I wanted him.

The sound of a zipper being pulled, the rapid uprise of his movement towards me.

His face hovered in front of the screen, lips nearly pressing themselves against that hindering barrier. He gives me a silent kiss, that sweet breath almost reaching my face.

"Your brother forgives you."

And the booth is empty of him once again.

The red curtain filters the light and you move against me, leg edging to slide off. But I hold you there. Sink my head against the hollow of your throat, take a deep breath in the vain attempt to make the perfume of your lust resemble his...

Father, I have sinned.

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