Fic: Discord
Sep. 27th, 2009 09:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Discord
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Karl/Chris
Notes: ~2,400 words. Fourth installment in the naughty!Catholic!schoolboy verse, hurried along because of a delicious prompt in the Poor Man's Sinfest v. 3 by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
ohownovel, one of my best enablers. Previous fics in the verse include: I Will Deliver, Boys Say Go and Get Right With Me. Includes multiple references to the previous fics.
Warning: Underage sex, even MORE blasphemy. Pretty much all the things you've come to expect.
Summary: Karl discovers just what Chris has been doing for fun in the confessional booth and decides to teach him a lesson.
Karl doesn't have a ninth period class, so the sound of the bell after eighth is always music to his ears. These days, especially—it means he gets to leisurely stroll out of History, head to his locker and then wait in his Buick for John, listening to the radio and indulging himself with dirty fantasies about his boyfriend. Used to be he'd just go home and jerk off to thoughts of John; this is infinitely better.
Except that today, John's out sick and Karl's got no reason to run to his car. Sure, he could go and visit, but there's no way he'll manage to keep his hands off the boy, and he can't afford to get sick; he's got a term paper due in two days that he hasn't yet started. He leaves his History class and mulls over the idea of just going home to get cracking on that.
Karl retrieves the books he needs from his locker and makes his way down the corridor, spotting Chris Pine at one point, obviously skipping class for no good reason. He shakes his head and smirks when Chris takes the edge of his notebook and scrapes it against the grooves of the wall as he walks, creating a lot of annoying and highly unnecessary noise. He likes Chris fine—they're friends, of a sort—but that's the perfect way to describe the kid: annoying and unnecessary. Just a spoiled brat with a bad attitude who gets away with anything, thanks to a winning smile. Hell, it is a nice smile. But Karl knows better than to think it innocent.
He stops paying attention to Pine when he passes the entrance to the church, considering its large, wooden doors. The last time he went in there willingly, he almost got a stiffy from telling some pervert priest about the stuff he does with John—a priest who probably fucked Chris Pine and told him about it, given what John said about Pine bothering him. Karl wouldn't put it past the guy.
His mind lingers on John for a moment and he feels a familiar twinge of guilt, the same one that brought him to the confessional in the first place. He figures he ought to pray a bit before he goes home, ask for some forgiveness—though this time he plans on skipping the confessional. God knows he doesn't want to end up being forced to confide in that sicko priest again.
Karl takes a seat in a dark section of the pews and clasps his hands in his lap, tipping his head forward. It's difficult to know how to repent for something that he wants so badly and thinks about nearly every second of the day: John's lips, the way they feel stretched around his cock, the sound he makes when Karl's length pushes itself against the back wall of his throat. And the way he talks and talks when Karl sinks into him, how he can barely keep his mouth shut and probably doesn't want to because he knows damn well that it drives Karl absolutely crazy...
He opens his eyes and exhales. This is obviously not the way to repent, with twisted thoughts swirling in his head and a half-tent in his pants. No, god frowns upon that sort of thing, even if it's borne of good intentions.
When he lifts his head, he's mildly surprised to catch sight of Chris Pine, sneaking around the front of the church and peering around before entering the confessional booth—on the priest's side. "The fuck...?" he murmurs to himself, shell-shocked by the sight of his hand reaching out to close the door behind him. He wonders for a moment or two if this is Chris' idea of a good time, hanging out in the church confessional booth instead of actually going to class, but then he realizes: that's exactly what it is.
John, he thinks. He sees him, so perfectly, in the passenger seat of his car, the half-confused, half-frustrated look on his face, the victimized squint to his eyes.
He kept taunting me, like he knew something I didn't.
Karl digs his fingers into the edge of the pew. Oh, fuck, no.
In a flash, he's on his feet and making his way down the aisle toward the front of the room, approaching the confessional booth. Karl takes a short breath, a gust of air that he can somehow equate with courage, before entering the empty side. He considers sitting on the kneeler instead of crouching down, not wanting to give Chris the satisfaction—twice-over—of being mistaken for an actual priest. But he knows doing otherwise would ruin the illusion. He shifts to his knees with a resigned exhalation.
Karl can't really see Chris through the grid between them, but he can hear his breathing quicken slightly, and he knows that he's been spotted. He purses his lips and does his best not to let on what he knows. He wishes Chris would speak first, but he doesn't; he just sits and waits for Karl to begin.
"Forgive me," Karl finally mutters, hiding a grimace from the grid. "Father. I have sinned."
He can actually hear Chris lick his lips. Does he do this just for deviant laughs, he wonders, or does he actually get off on it? Would Chris Pine actually be interested in the homosexual exploits of his classmates? Or any homosexual exploits? His mind conjures up John's voice again, the thoughtful lilt of it.
I think he might be gay, actually. I saw him drawing a picture of a guy in class today.
"What is it you wish to confess, my son?" Chris finally says, obviously trying to mask his voice. Oh, he's good; he's very good. Karl wants to rip the fucking smirk off his face; the one that he just knows is there, taunting him beyond the thin wall of the booth.
"I want to confess to a sin," he answers, raising his chin slightly.
"Of what nature?"
Karl closes his eyes and speaks lowly, reciting from memory. "These six things doth the lord hate; yea, seven are an abomination unto him: a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies and he that soweth discord among brethren."
Chris falls silent for a few heavy moments, his voice much quieter when he does speak. "You know your Proverbs; very good." He pauses again and Karl can see the flash of his grin, even through the obscuring grid. "Good thing I haven't shed any blood."
"Fucking little..."
He goes tearing out of the booth and Chris almost runs out of his side in time, but Karl is just a split-second faster. He grabs him by the shirt with two hands and shoves him forcefully back into the booth, pinning him to the wall as he shuts the door behind them. Chris grabs at his arm, unable to do much else in his position, though he still has that shit-eating grin plastered on his face. If he's scared at all, he's doing a hell of a job hiding it.
"What're you, spying on me, Urban? I thought you had it bad in your pants for Cho."
"Just shut the fuck up, you little shit," Karl hisses, getting in his face. He feels so enraged and indignant that he's torn between berating him and just beating the shit out of him. And yet, he has mixed feelings about hitting that pretty face, and damned if Pine doesn't just know that, somehow. "You've got some fucking nerve, sitting in here and parading as a priest, getting people to tell you their secrets—pushing them to confess. Where the fuck do you get off?"
"In confessional booths," Chris replies, sliding the tip of his tongue in the filthiest way across his top row of teeth. "With hot boys."
He presses himself against Karl's body and he exhales harshly, feeling his hips stutter. Karl guesses he can consider his question answered now, if the hard bulge rubbing against him now is any indication. He reaches down and forcefully pushes Chris' pelvis to the wall, pinning him there. The asshole dares to laugh.
"God, you're hot, Karl," he taunts, squeezing Karl's bicep. "And all those things you told me about John? Fuck. I think about that all the time. I didn't know you were such a dirty slut, getting off on pushing boys to their knees in the backseat of your car." He tilts his head, eyes wide with exaggerated curiosity. "Or is it you on your knees? You never clarified. It'd be really awesome to know, for reference's sake."
Karl does hit him, then. And it takes him by surprise, the way something just snaps—so silently, that he doesn't even hear it or feel it—as he pulls his arm back and slugs Pine across the mouth, that smirking, fuckable mouth. Chris only makes a small noise, and he sounds more surprised than pained. Karl knows Chris probably didn't think he had it in him. Well, lesson learned. And he's not nearly through.
"Someone ought to teach you a lesson," he growls, letting his normally suppressed Kiwi accent out to slink its way across Chris' bloodied mouth. He wants to grin when he sees those lips tremble, feels his breath hitch, even if the façade falls for only a second. "This is a sacred place; not a playground—it's where people come to cleanse themselves and pay their penance."
"Only god can judge me," Chris says, the grin back but a little smaller now. Karl smiles right back at him, shaking his head.
"I'm not here to judge."
Chris' arms feel strong and thick in Karl's hands as he grips them and flips him to face the wall, making sure they're braced above him. Karl makes quick work of his uniform trousers, and he's all the more pleased that the boy doesn't seem to care for underwear, as this allows him to quickly push two fingers into him, bone dry. Chris stiffens with a high-pitched cry of shock and Karl silences him, slapping his free hand over his mouth and pinning his body with his weight.
"Don't act like you don't want it, Pine," he snarls, but they both know he's not so cruel. When Chris simply shivers, Karl pulls his hand away and leans in to whisper to him. "Though if you don't want it, you just say the word and I'll never touch you again."
"If you think I don't want it," Chris whispers back, rolling his hips to press his ass against Karl's pelvis. "Then you're even dumber than you look."
"You just keep talking, Pine," Karl grunts. "I love that."
Karl pulls his fingers back and opens up his own trousers, before spitting into his hand and smearing the wetness over his cock. He kicks Chris' legs apart and pushes his spit-shined length into him without warning or preamble; his body tenses in response, then goes somewhat pliant around him, quivering. Chris feels different than John, and not in a good way or a bad way—just different, new. Kind of fucking amazing. The kid is scratching at the walls of the booth and just as he's about to say something else smart-mouthed, Karl thrusts forward, completely burying himself in his ass.
"On second thought, don't say a fucking word," he warns, his voice harsh and raspy. "If you do, I swear to god, I'll stop fucking you before you can blink, and I'll kick you out of this booth with your goddamn pants around your ankles for everyone to see what a filthy, disgusting little whore you are. Got that?"
"Yes," Chris moans, and whether he's agreeing to Karl's demands or just letting his lust overpower him, it's good enough reason for Karl to keep going.
The saliva isn't enough to make this purely pleasurable, and they both know it, but Chris doesn't breathe a word of complaint as Karl thrusts into him, over and over. He can feel the dirty blonde's muscles quaking all throughout his body—pain quickly morphs into brutal pleasure and they're both so turned on that it's bound to end before it even really begins. A thought nags at Karl that he's likely giving Chris exactly what he wants; there has to be some greater, profound lesson he can teach the little shit. Because he needs to learn.
"You love getting used like this, don't you? How many other boys have you bent over for, Pine? You got a boyfriend? You let him take you like this...?"
Chris keens in the back of his throat, looking like he wants to answer but saying nothing, heeding Karl's earlier warning. His brow furrows, in what looks to be worry, and Karl wonders if this means Chris actually does have a boyfriend. Well, shit; he does, too. But this doesn't mean anything. It's just revenge. Revenge for himself and for John. Wrath and lust; more sins to confess.
"I'm not like you," he murmurs against Chris' neck. "I won't tell."
Pine smothers a grateful-sounding gasp against the wall, probably smearing some blood on its surface; the very thought of this completely destroys Karl's will to go on. He feels the heat pooling down in his groin before it rushes out of him, and he pulls Chris back forcefully by his hips, plunging even deeper inside him as he comes. He slumps forward then, uncaring that Chris is hard and needy and waiting for him to do something.
Fat chance.
Karl reaches down and teasingly slides his knuckles against Chris' throbbing cock before pulling back from him completely, taking everything away. Unable to hold himself up, the boy crumples to the floor, panting and looking up at Karl with wild, pleading eyes. "Ur—Karl, please," he hisses. And that's all Karl wanted to see: that smug exterior completely torn away; the seeds of a lesson sown and planted, if not yet completely learned. He buttons his trousers and reaches down to wipe at the small trickle of blood left on Chris' mouth, smearing it across his cheek.
"A wound and dishonor shall he get," he quotes, a whisper in his ear, "and his reproach shall not be wiped away."
Karl smirks at the answering scowl and promptly exits the booth. He doesn't have to look into Chris' eyes to know this isn't over.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Karl/Chris
Notes: ~2,400 words. Fourth installment in the naughty!Catholic!schoolboy verse, hurried along because of a delicious prompt in the Poor Man's Sinfest v. 3 by
ohownovel, one of my best enablers. Previous fics in the verse include: I Will Deliver, Boys Say Go and Get Right With Me. Includes multiple references to the previous fics. Warning: Underage sex, even MORE blasphemy. Pretty much all the things you've come to expect.
Summary: Karl discovers just what Chris has been doing for fun in the confessional booth and decides to teach him a lesson.
Karl doesn't have a ninth period class, so the sound of the bell after eighth is always music to his ears. These days, especially—it means he gets to leisurely stroll out of History, head to his locker and then wait in his Buick for John, listening to the radio and indulging himself with dirty fantasies about his boyfriend. Used to be he'd just go home and jerk off to thoughts of John; this is infinitely better.
Except that today, John's out sick and Karl's got no reason to run to his car. Sure, he could go and visit, but there's no way he'll manage to keep his hands off the boy, and he can't afford to get sick; he's got a term paper due in two days that he hasn't yet started. He leaves his History class and mulls over the idea of just going home to get cracking on that.
Karl retrieves the books he needs from his locker and makes his way down the corridor, spotting Chris Pine at one point, obviously skipping class for no good reason. He shakes his head and smirks when Chris takes the edge of his notebook and scrapes it against the grooves of the wall as he walks, creating a lot of annoying and highly unnecessary noise. He likes Chris fine—they're friends, of a sort—but that's the perfect way to describe the kid: annoying and unnecessary. Just a spoiled brat with a bad attitude who gets away with anything, thanks to a winning smile. Hell, it is a nice smile. But Karl knows better than to think it innocent.
He stops paying attention to Pine when he passes the entrance to the church, considering its large, wooden doors. The last time he went in there willingly, he almost got a stiffy from telling some pervert priest about the stuff he does with John—a priest who probably fucked Chris Pine and told him about it, given what John said about Pine bothering him. Karl wouldn't put it past the guy.
His mind lingers on John for a moment and he feels a familiar twinge of guilt, the same one that brought him to the confessional in the first place. He figures he ought to pray a bit before he goes home, ask for some forgiveness—though this time he plans on skipping the confessional. God knows he doesn't want to end up being forced to confide in that sicko priest again.
Karl takes a seat in a dark section of the pews and clasps his hands in his lap, tipping his head forward. It's difficult to know how to repent for something that he wants so badly and thinks about nearly every second of the day: John's lips, the way they feel stretched around his cock, the sound he makes when Karl's length pushes itself against the back wall of his throat. And the way he talks and talks when Karl sinks into him, how he can barely keep his mouth shut and probably doesn't want to because he knows damn well that it drives Karl absolutely crazy...
He opens his eyes and exhales. This is obviously not the way to repent, with twisted thoughts swirling in his head and a half-tent in his pants. No, god frowns upon that sort of thing, even if it's borne of good intentions.
When he lifts his head, he's mildly surprised to catch sight of Chris Pine, sneaking around the front of the church and peering around before entering the confessional booth—on the priest's side. "The fuck...?" he murmurs to himself, shell-shocked by the sight of his hand reaching out to close the door behind him. He wonders for a moment or two if this is Chris' idea of a good time, hanging out in the church confessional booth instead of actually going to class, but then he realizes: that's exactly what it is.
John, he thinks. He sees him, so perfectly, in the passenger seat of his car, the half-confused, half-frustrated look on his face, the victimized squint to his eyes.
He kept taunting me, like he knew something I didn't.
Karl digs his fingers into the edge of the pew. Oh, fuck, no.
In a flash, he's on his feet and making his way down the aisle toward the front of the room, approaching the confessional booth. Karl takes a short breath, a gust of air that he can somehow equate with courage, before entering the empty side. He considers sitting on the kneeler instead of crouching down, not wanting to give Chris the satisfaction—twice-over—of being mistaken for an actual priest. But he knows doing otherwise would ruin the illusion. He shifts to his knees with a resigned exhalation.
Karl can't really see Chris through the grid between them, but he can hear his breathing quicken slightly, and he knows that he's been spotted. He purses his lips and does his best not to let on what he knows. He wishes Chris would speak first, but he doesn't; he just sits and waits for Karl to begin.
"Forgive me," Karl finally mutters, hiding a grimace from the grid. "Father. I have sinned."
He can actually hear Chris lick his lips. Does he do this just for deviant laughs, he wonders, or does he actually get off on it? Would Chris Pine actually be interested in the homosexual exploits of his classmates? Or any homosexual exploits? His mind conjures up John's voice again, the thoughtful lilt of it.
I think he might be gay, actually. I saw him drawing a picture of a guy in class today.
"What is it you wish to confess, my son?" Chris finally says, obviously trying to mask his voice. Oh, he's good; he's very good. Karl wants to rip the fucking smirk off his face; the one that he just knows is there, taunting him beyond the thin wall of the booth.
"I want to confess to a sin," he answers, raising his chin slightly.
"Of what nature?"
Karl closes his eyes and speaks lowly, reciting from memory. "These six things doth the lord hate; yea, seven are an abomination unto him: a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies and he that soweth discord among brethren."
Chris falls silent for a few heavy moments, his voice much quieter when he does speak. "You know your Proverbs; very good." He pauses again and Karl can see the flash of his grin, even through the obscuring grid. "Good thing I haven't shed any blood."
"Fucking little..."
He goes tearing out of the booth and Chris almost runs out of his side in time, but Karl is just a split-second faster. He grabs him by the shirt with two hands and shoves him forcefully back into the booth, pinning him to the wall as he shuts the door behind them. Chris grabs at his arm, unable to do much else in his position, though he still has that shit-eating grin plastered on his face. If he's scared at all, he's doing a hell of a job hiding it.
"What're you, spying on me, Urban? I thought you had it bad in your pants for Cho."
"Just shut the fuck up, you little shit," Karl hisses, getting in his face. He feels so enraged and indignant that he's torn between berating him and just beating the shit out of him. And yet, he has mixed feelings about hitting that pretty face, and damned if Pine doesn't just know that, somehow. "You've got some fucking nerve, sitting in here and parading as a priest, getting people to tell you their secrets—pushing them to confess. Where the fuck do you get off?"
"In confessional booths," Chris replies, sliding the tip of his tongue in the filthiest way across his top row of teeth. "With hot boys."
He presses himself against Karl's body and he exhales harshly, feeling his hips stutter. Karl guesses he can consider his question answered now, if the hard bulge rubbing against him now is any indication. He reaches down and forcefully pushes Chris' pelvis to the wall, pinning him there. The asshole dares to laugh.
"God, you're hot, Karl," he taunts, squeezing Karl's bicep. "And all those things you told me about John? Fuck. I think about that all the time. I didn't know you were such a dirty slut, getting off on pushing boys to their knees in the backseat of your car." He tilts his head, eyes wide with exaggerated curiosity. "Or is it you on your knees? You never clarified. It'd be really awesome to know, for reference's sake."
Karl does hit him, then. And it takes him by surprise, the way something just snaps—so silently, that he doesn't even hear it or feel it—as he pulls his arm back and slugs Pine across the mouth, that smirking, fuckable mouth. Chris only makes a small noise, and he sounds more surprised than pained. Karl knows Chris probably didn't think he had it in him. Well, lesson learned. And he's not nearly through.
"Someone ought to teach you a lesson," he growls, letting his normally suppressed Kiwi accent out to slink its way across Chris' bloodied mouth. He wants to grin when he sees those lips tremble, feels his breath hitch, even if the façade falls for only a second. "This is a sacred place; not a playground—it's where people come to cleanse themselves and pay their penance."
"Only god can judge me," Chris says, the grin back but a little smaller now. Karl smiles right back at him, shaking his head.
"I'm not here to judge."
Chris' arms feel strong and thick in Karl's hands as he grips them and flips him to face the wall, making sure they're braced above him. Karl makes quick work of his uniform trousers, and he's all the more pleased that the boy doesn't seem to care for underwear, as this allows him to quickly push two fingers into him, bone dry. Chris stiffens with a high-pitched cry of shock and Karl silences him, slapping his free hand over his mouth and pinning his body with his weight.
"Don't act like you don't want it, Pine," he snarls, but they both know he's not so cruel. When Chris simply shivers, Karl pulls his hand away and leans in to whisper to him. "Though if you don't want it, you just say the word and I'll never touch you again."
"If you think I don't want it," Chris whispers back, rolling his hips to press his ass against Karl's pelvis. "Then you're even dumber than you look."
"You just keep talking, Pine," Karl grunts. "I love that."
Karl pulls his fingers back and opens up his own trousers, before spitting into his hand and smearing the wetness over his cock. He kicks Chris' legs apart and pushes his spit-shined length into him without warning or preamble; his body tenses in response, then goes somewhat pliant around him, quivering. Chris feels different than John, and not in a good way or a bad way—just different, new. Kind of fucking amazing. The kid is scratching at the walls of the booth and just as he's about to say something else smart-mouthed, Karl thrusts forward, completely burying himself in his ass.
"On second thought, don't say a fucking word," he warns, his voice harsh and raspy. "If you do, I swear to god, I'll stop fucking you before you can blink, and I'll kick you out of this booth with your goddamn pants around your ankles for everyone to see what a filthy, disgusting little whore you are. Got that?"
"Yes," Chris moans, and whether he's agreeing to Karl's demands or just letting his lust overpower him, it's good enough reason for Karl to keep going.
The saliva isn't enough to make this purely pleasurable, and they both know it, but Chris doesn't breathe a word of complaint as Karl thrusts into him, over and over. He can feel the dirty blonde's muscles quaking all throughout his body—pain quickly morphs into brutal pleasure and they're both so turned on that it's bound to end before it even really begins. A thought nags at Karl that he's likely giving Chris exactly what he wants; there has to be some greater, profound lesson he can teach the little shit. Because he needs to learn.
"You love getting used like this, don't you? How many other boys have you bent over for, Pine? You got a boyfriend? You let him take you like this...?"
Chris keens in the back of his throat, looking like he wants to answer but saying nothing, heeding Karl's earlier warning. His brow furrows, in what looks to be worry, and Karl wonders if this means Chris actually does have a boyfriend. Well, shit; he does, too. But this doesn't mean anything. It's just revenge. Revenge for himself and for John. Wrath and lust; more sins to confess.
"I'm not like you," he murmurs against Chris' neck. "I won't tell."
Pine smothers a grateful-sounding gasp against the wall, probably smearing some blood on its surface; the very thought of this completely destroys Karl's will to go on. He feels the heat pooling down in his groin before it rushes out of him, and he pulls Chris back forcefully by his hips, plunging even deeper inside him as he comes. He slumps forward then, uncaring that Chris is hard and needy and waiting for him to do something.
Fat chance.
Karl reaches down and teasingly slides his knuckles against Chris' throbbing cock before pulling back from him completely, taking everything away. Unable to hold himself up, the boy crumples to the floor, panting and looking up at Karl with wild, pleading eyes. "Ur—Karl, please," he hisses. And that's all Karl wanted to see: that smug exterior completely torn away; the seeds of a lesson sown and planted, if not yet completely learned. He buttons his trousers and reaches down to wipe at the small trickle of blood left on Chris' mouth, smearing it across his cheek.
"A wound and dishonor shall he get," he quotes, a whisper in his ear, "and his reproach shall not be wiped away."
Karl smirks at the answering scowl and promptly exits the booth. He doesn't have to look into Chris' eyes to know this isn't over.
