Work Text:
A man sat alone in a pew, in the dark of the church.
It was almost completely pitch black, except for the moon shining through the stained glass window, casting a ghostly light onto the aisle and podium.
Except the man wasn't quite alone.
Beside him in the pew, even taller than he himself was, was a demon, with red skin and tall, regal horns. His yellow eyes shone in the darkness.
"Think I'd be burned at the stake if they knew?" The man spoke, voice ringing out a little too loudly for his liking, bouncing off of the church's walls.
The demon was tellingly quiet.
"Yeah, I thought so," the man replied with a wry grin, taking the demon's hand. The demon began to purr.
<><><>
They were always told they were chosen, not exiled.
Before they were each shipped off to their various churches nestled in laughably small towns, the priests joked with one another about it.
"'Chosen, not exiled,'" they would merrily quote, before the reality set in that they would be alone in the church for an indefinite period, only joined by others on Sunday.
They had all committed various sins against the church to earn their exile. Nothing terrible, but an embarrassment nonetheless.
Paul had pursued a married woman. Never caught her, but pursued her anyway.
Timothy had been caught making nude portraits in his study during mass.
As for Damien, he was gay. That was all, but that was enough for exile in their church (in fact, the only reason he was still alive after this discovery was that the head of his branch owed him a favor).
So they sent him away, across the nation in a dubiously-built carriage.
He and the others replaced priests who were released from exile, and swapped places in the carriage that would leave them in isolation and return the other man to civilization.
The first thing Damien noticed when he arrived was that the church he had received was in disrepair.
There was a sharp 'heyah!' and the carriage was yanked away by the horse, leaving a small trail of dust behind it as it left Damien.
The sun beamed down on the church, and the cicadas sang as Damien stepped closer to it, inspecting the building with a frown.
Vines crept up the walls on all four sides, and one of the windows was broken, presumably by a rock.
There was some chalk writing that had been half-erased, just some pieces of words that belonged to expletives.
The front lawn was tall with weeds and grass, and he had to navigate the area for a scythe.
There was a small toolshed behind the church, and eventually he had tamed the plants enough to make the yard presentable.
When Damien unlocked the front doors to the church, a little cloud of dust greeted him.
There were footprints in the dust, but everything else was otherwise undisturbed, blanketed with grime and sitting quietly in the darkness.
The stained glass windows were smudged with dirt.
Damien pushed the shutters open, letting light in, and opened the front doors wide.
He pulled his tunic over his nose and swept away the dust with an old broom he found and some rags, and had to find a ladder for the windows.
Bit by bit, the old building lightened considerably, and looked worn nonetheless, but clean.
<><><>
Once the church was clean, Damien dusted the bell in the small tower and rang it the next Sunday.
Little by little, about fifty villagers showed up during the day.
Some of the oldest villagers had some idea of why Damien was there instead of their last priest, Jeremiah.
Apparently though, they didn't care, because Jeremiah had essentially shut the church down during his stay. They had converted old Miss Calliope's parlor into a makeshift place of worship, and some had continued at home.
Some brought him offerings of fruit, bread, and one kind lady brought him some kind of meat, which he politely declined, stating meat didn't sit well with him.
She shrugged, and handed him a bouquet instead.
The introductions out of the way, he held a service, and seemingly performed his duties well enough. The townspeople left, satisfied with his work.
For a while, Damien dutifully went about his business in his living space, holding services and keeping himself busy, but he couldn't stop thinking about how lonely he was.
A month passed, then two. The air grew warmer, and the plants became thirstier under the sun. He left the windows open during services.
Laying in bed one night, having tossed and turned for the better part of an hour, Damien rose and gave into his urges, furiously jerking himself off to the thought of a nondescript man filling him to the brim with both cock and semen.
He came with a strangled cry, ropes of seed covering his hand, but it didn't satisfy the itch, the yearning he still felt.
Another month passed, deep into summer now, almost at the tail end of it.
Damien was done being alone.
<><><>
The clouds hung low in the sky, fat and grey. Thunder rumbled in the distance, inching closer to the town.
The air was practically alive with static, and one of the old men loudly proclaimed that a big storm was coming and that the pressure in his knees foretold such precipitation.
Damien ended service a little early just in case the weather would begin to batter the townspeople; it was already about a ten minute walk away from anyone's house.
"Let me know if you need any dinner tonight, Damien," Mrs. Appleby said on the way out, waving.
"I will, Mrs. Appleby," the priest promised.
"Mighty good sermon, Mr. Pierce."
"Thank you, Mr. Robertson."
He saw the last of them out, and shut the doors.
The church was dark except for the dancing light cast upon the walls by the numerous candles.
Damien took one of the candelabras and went into the back room, where the previous priest had stocked up on forbidden texts.
The priest inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and reached for a book titled 'Daemons of the Flesh.'
The thunder rumbled outside, and the trees creaked in the strong winds.
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the room felt colder when he cracked open the old tome.
He sat at the desk, and flipped through the thin pages. Some of the pages had water damage or old stains that obscured some of the text.
One of the shutters began to bang against the siding of the church, startling Damien, but he continued on, eventually landing on a page with most of the text visible except for a few words.
The photo was of a very attractive demon, naked, holding onto the leash of a naked man.
He was a bit rusty in the Old Tongue, but he knew that the demon could be summoned and bound to the summoner for sex, in exchange for giving up your body to the demon.
His body was, at least to Damien, a lot less valuable than his eternal soul. He was glad to give it up for sex and companionship, even from a demon.
He grabbed a piece of chalk, and some unused candles, and drew a pentagram to the book's specifications.
The wind whistled past the church.
He sat outside of the circle, lit the candles, and took a deep breath.
The weather seemed to die down for a moment as he intoned the summoner's text from the tome, voice growing from softly speaking to a yell, and the moment he finished, all hell broke loose.
The candles were all extinguished in all parts of the church, the window flew open and the wind picked up papers and books and flung them around, and the lightning crashed perilously nearby, downing a tree not far from the church.
In the midst of all this chaos, black claws rose out of the floorboards in the circle, then large hands, powerful arms, great horns atop an unreadable head, followed by a chiselled torso, naked genitals, thighs, legs and feet.
The wind turned red, and picked up in speed, before dying down, all objects landing on the ground in disarray, the window slamming shut.
The room was too dark to see the demon at first, but a lightning flash revealed a heavily muscled red creature, with yellow eyes that shone in what little light existed.
All of the candles lit themselves again, and Damien didn't know when he fell, but he looked up at the demon from the floor.
It stood tall, horns nearly scraping the ceiling, and peered down at him, expression impossible to decipher on a face that was so beautiful Damien could scarcely look at him. A long, tapered tail swished behind him, and he had long, black hair that wove around his horns.
Damien still somehow found his dick at attention beneath his robes, despite the fear and danger present, and he found himself glued to his spot, unable to move.
The demon stepped toward him, length bobbing as he stepped, large and distracting.
Such a prodigious length and girth wasn't possible for mere men, resting against an enormous ball sack.
The tome had said the demon's name, under the illustration.
"Aghrad," Damien said, voice trembling (from fear or from arousal, he didn't know. Perhaps it was an even mix).
Aghrad lifted his face with a large hand, and his thumb moved from his cheek to feel his lips.
Damien leaned into his touch, desperate for it.
The demon sank to his level, and became so close to the priest that his breath blasted Aghrad's otherworldly handsome face.
Aghrad scooped him up, holding him fast, and Damien's heart skipped a beat.
Finally, he registered emotion on the demon's face. He saw relief, and surprise, and the weariness that comes with having been alive for an incredibly long time.
Aghrad spoke in the Old Tongue, deep and warm. It sent shivers down Damien's spine.
"Thank you."
Damien leaned in and kissed him, which seemed to unlock something.
Aghrad had him undressed before he had any time to process anything, drunk off of the contact and hungry for more.
His bed was upstairs, but they wouldn't make it that far.
Aghrad pushed him against the wall and kissed back, cock pressing insistently into Damien's thigh.
"Yes, yes, yes," Damien cried, and he could feel the demon's cock teasing his hole, sliding in more assuredly upon realizing oil was already present.
Aghrad kissed him roughly for that, and the slide in was absolute bliss.
It was everything he'd yearned for and more; the way Aghrad's claws dug into his skin and left small rivulets of blood had him breathless, and he immediately began an assault against Damien's most pleasurable spot, making the priest scream nonsense in both the common language and the Old Tongue.
His own dick, wedged between them, was forcibly jerked as he was fucked into the wall, and perhaps it was the fact that he was having sex with an actual sex demon, but his stamina seemed to last him for hours, them both for hours.
The only warning he got when Aghrad was about to come was a firm, but not too damaging bite to the throat, elongated canines almost piercing his skin, certain to leave marks.
The demon pistoned his hips harder and faster, and began muttering something in the Old Tongue that Damien didn't recognize.
They climaxed together, Damien with a long howl, Aghrad with a growl as he pressed his cock in as far as it would go.
The priest splattered over both of their chests, ropes of pearl sticky on their torsos, and Damien could feel Aghrad's cum, loads and loads of it filling him up.
Damien didn't remember how he got from the wall in the back of the church to his modest bed upstairs, but he was fucked again, this time into his mattress, the demon peering down at him like he was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen.
Sex against the wall turned into sex on the bed, which turned into three rounds of sex on the bed, and Damien had nothing left in his balls by the fourth time, whereas Aghrad almost seemed to have more.
They stopped after the fourth fuck, and Damien felt bloated, touching his stomach to find it taut and a bit rounded with the sheer volume of cum Aghrad had pumped into him.
The demon swept Damien's curls out of his eyes, and held him, large clawed hands coming to rest possessively on his belly.
Damien was too fucked-out to take notice of much, and let himself fall asleep against Aghrad, a purr rumbling deep in the demon's chest.
<><><>
When Damien cracked open his eyes, he lay against something warm and gently moving.
Everything came back to him in a rush, and he sat up, aware that his abdomen was still bloated, and that none of the demon's semen had leaked out of him, strangely enough.
He ran a hand through his hair and yawned, looking back at Aghrad. "Have anything to do with this?" he asked groggily, gesturing to the lack of semen dripping down his thighs, and the still-present amount settled in him.
Aghrad just tilted his head contemplatively, like he didn't understand, but oh did he enjoy looking at the naked priest.
Damien went about his morning routine, cleaning up the mess he had created with the summoning circle and tidying up the lawn and outside of the church from the debris of the storm.
His stomach started to cramp late in the morning, and by evening, it was terrible.
He stumbled back into the church, hand pressed to his cum-plumped stomach, and Aghrad was waiting for him. Damien managed to grit out, "What did you do to me?" in the Old Tongue.
"You don't know?" Aghrad rumbled, tilting his head.
"No," Damien snapped, eyes screwing shut as a particularly fierce cramp made him almost double over.
Aghrad reached up, and the tome Damien had used to summon him materialized in his clawed hands. He flipped through the pages, and upon coming to his own, he let out a noise of surprise.
"What? What is it?" the priest demanded.
Aghrad turned the book to him, and indeed, it was the page he had used. Aghrad waved a hand over the bottom of the page, and the obscured text was suddenly legible again.
Damien read to himself, and came to a complete stop, in absolute shock.
The passage that had been missing added that in addition to giving up his body, he was giving it up as a vessel for children.
He took a seat heavily in the nearest pew, and placed his head in his hands.
He felt the pew shift and creak as the demon took a seat beside him, and wrapped an arm around him.
They sat there in silence for awhile, as the birds chirped, unaware of Damien's crisis.
Damien felt numb, but he did register Aghrad's arm.
"Didn't know... you didn't know," the demon said quietly.
"I don't blame you," Damien mumbled into his palms.
The demon let out a wry, amused chuff.
Evening turned to night, and the cramping had mostly subsided into a dull throb.
Aghrad watched as Damien bustled around the church, tidying up and preparing for bed. After all, this was supposed to be a fully-functioning church, and any respectable church couldn't smell like sweat and semen.
<><><>
Having Aghrad around was actually much better than what he'd expected by summoning a sex demon.
He supposed he'd expected an evil or at least morally reprehensible creature.
Aghrad was no such thing. Lustful by nature, but oddly kind and thoughtful as well.
He opened the shutters every day with a snap, and even though the holy ground had been effectively broken, he did what he could to help Damien make it seem like it was still intact.
He cleaned up the mess he'd made during his arrival in the back room and with a general wave, the years of grime Damien was unable to extract from the wooden pews was suddenly pulled out and thrown out the window.
When Aghrad was still visible upon the pulpit when churchgoers began to arrive for the evening, his throat caught, but Mr. and Mrs. Thornwald, the schoolteacher couple, were both happy to see him as usual.
A strangled noise managed its way out of his throat, and they seemed more perturbed by that reaction than anything else.
"Are you all right?" Mrs. Thornwald tutted, eyeing him.
He coughed awkwardly into his sleeve. "Think something was in my throat."
Aghrad walked right up to him, a deeply amused expression on his usually-impassive face.
This went on a few times. Aghrad stood by Damien as though he too was greeting each churchgoer, and none of them saw the demon.
Damien's apprehension faded almost immediately, and besides the couple of hiccups he'd had earlier, he felt pretty good.
He took the podium. Aghrad had taken a seat in a pew next to Mrs. Appleby.
Damien cleared his throat, and though he would normally deliver non-descript sermons of the love their maker had for them, this time he waxed poetic about love for all creatures, for all people whether they sin or not.
Some of the flock looked around, a bit confused, but nowhere near as mutinous as they could have been.
Damien made no truly clear allusions to homosexuality, but the subtext was there that all love (between consenting adults) was holy and good.
Perhaps he imagined it, but he believed he saw Tetra Appleby look longingly over to Lily Robertson when he described it.
When the sermon was over, they did a few joint prayers, and then it was time to see them out again.
"Strange sermon," Mr. Appleby said.
"I liked it," Tetra said, taking Damien's hand and patting it.
"Thank you," he responded, touched, and turned to Miss Calliope.
"I have always thought we should love one another, no matter what past brought us here," the old woman said, smiling.
"Thank you, Miss Calliope," he said.
"I hope I won't have to remind you to call me Rita again," she said, eyes twinkling.
"I'll try to remember, Rita," he said earnestly.
Aghrad took his place beside Damien as the last few people filtered out.
The townspeople chattered on their walk back to their houses, and Damien couldn't help but feel better that he now had a companion of some kind.
Unconventional, no doubt there, but someone nonetheless.
"Why don't you leave?" Aghrad asked, startling Damien a bit.
"As in the church?"
The demon nodded.
"Well, at first it was because I was afraid they'd know what I'd done. Now, I don't really know. Should I get to know them? Attend local events? Make friends?" He said, putting an extreme hesitation on the final word.
"Should," Aghrad said definitively, nodding.
"I'll do my best," said the priest reluctantly.