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Father Galahad knows he shouldn't entertain the heretic. He's chained Jonny up in the cathedral crypt- *for safety*, of course, to keep the demon from luring others into sin. But the man's smile- Gods, his smile- it's like incense smoke, thick and choking and sweet.
Jonny lounges in the cold stone crypt like it's his throne room, shirt half undone, wrists raw from the blessed chains. "Forgive me, Father," he drawls, voice a sin on its own. "I'm about to make you break every vow you've ever taken."
Galahad wants to hate him. He wants to douse him in holy water until he screams and burns. He wants to carve the lies from Jonny's silver tongue. But more than that, he wants to know what it would feel like to fall. To let Jonny press him against the altar, to stain the marble with his sins.
And Jonny knows. He's always known. "Tell me," Jonny whispers, "do you always moan like that when you pray?"
The heavy wooden door slams shut with a finality that echoes through the crypt. Galahad stands there for a moment, still in his vestments, still trembling. His breath was shallow, the cross around his neck searing hot like it knows what he's about to do.
Jonny smirks from the shadows, backlit by flickering candlelight. "You gonna save me, Father?" he purrs. "Or are you just here to watch me burn?"
Galahad steps forward slowly, like every inch is a fight with God. His jaw is clenched. His hands are shaking. He could still turn back. He could still be pure.
But he kneels.
Right between Jonny's partially spread knees, shackled to the crypt wall, stained by soot and sin. His hands reach up- not for Jonny, but for the iron chains wrapped around his wrists. He grips them tight.
Jonny's voice goes low. "Don't tell me you came down here just to pray."
"No," Galahad breathes His voice was hoarse. "I came here to break."
Jonny lets out a darkened chuckle that sounds like smoke curling up a stained glass window. "Well then," he says, "say your confession."
Galahad leans forward until his forehead rests against Jonny's chest. "I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you," he says. "I touched myself after your exorcism. I said it was cleansing. It wasn't. I see you in the flame of every candle I light. I think of you when I take the sacrament. I imagine your mouth when the wine touches my lips."
Jonny shudders- not out of shock, but from satisfaction. He moves his bound hands just enough to brush through Galahad's hair.
"God," Galahad whispers, "forgive me."
"I won't," Jonny says. "But I'll make you feel *divine.*"
And that's when Galahad *breaks.* Not all at once- slowly, like a cathedral crumbling under the weight of a blasphemous storm. He kisses Jonny like he's trying to exorcise the sin from his own mouth, tongue desperate, gasping against lips that taste like brimstone and mockery. His rosary tangles between them, beads clinking together between the two men.
Jonny pulls him closer with the chains. "That's it," he whispers. "Tell me again how much you hate me, Father."
"I do," Galahad chokes. "I hate you for making me want this." Jonny laughs like the devil himself. "Then hate me harder."
Galahad's collar is torn. Not by Jonny- he wouldn't sully his own hands with something so mundane- but by the priest himself, desperate and disgusted with how his own skin aches to be touched. The fabric tears like a veil between heaven and hell. The crucifix falls from his throat and clinks against the stone floor, forgotten.
He kisses Jonny harder, bruising, the way a martyr kisses the flame that'll kill him.
"You reek of incense," Jonny groans, head thunking back against the stone. "And guilt. You taste like a fucking chapel- all badly aged wine and wasted bullshit devotion."
"Shut up," Galahad snarls, panting, voice cracking under the pressure. "Shut up and let me pretend I'm still holy."
"Oh, Father," Jonny hissed through a moan, grinning like a serpent in the Garden. "I've never met a man so holy who needed to be defiled so badly."
He yanks on the chains- tight, rattling, sacred steel biting his wrists- but he doesn't care. He opens his thighs further, invites damnation with a cocky tilt of his head. "Come on then. Use me like the confessional. Pour it all out."
And Galahad does. In barely five seconds, Galahad was on top of him. His hands grip Jonny's hips so hard it's almost violent. He murmurs half-forgotten prayers against his neck, twisted Latin that's supposed to drive the demons out. Instead, it drives Jonny mad, the warmth of each word trickling down his spine like holy water gone sour. Their bodies grind together- needy, desperate, starved for something they'll never admit is love.
"You think you're punishing me," Jonny moans. "But I like when you use me like this. I get off on watching your halo tarnish."
Galahad sobs- rage, pleasure, shame- biting down on Jonny's collarbone until he tastes nothing but blood and ash. "I'm going to hell."
"You're already there," Jonny whispers, licking the blood from the priest's lips. "And you brought your church with you."
Above them, the candlelight flickers violently. The stained-glass eyes of the saints shatter in their frames, and the crypt shakes with the sound of something older than God laughing through the cracks in the stone.
The stone beneath them is cold, but the heat between their bodies could melt sacred relics. Galahad presses in closer, the weight of his guilt making him heavier, needier, *hungrier.* His robes are bunched around his waist, twisted and wrinkled, a blasphemy in velvet and gold. Jonny's thighs are wrapped around his hips now, guiding him like a serpent coiling around the neck of a saint.
"Say it," Jonny growls, low and guttural. "Say what you're doing to me." Galahad hesitates- one last, desperate flicker of piety. Jonny laughs in his ear, breath hot. "Say it, priest. Say you're defiling a heretic in the house of God."
"I'm..." Galahad chokes, and the words fall like blood from the tongue. "I'm claiming you. In His name or not, I don't care. You're mine now."
Chains rattle again as Jonny arches, the tension pulling his arms high and taut. The metal digs into his skin, but he doesn't stop. He never stops. He bares his throat instead. "Take me, then. If you're going to damn us both, at least make it memorable."
And Galahad does. In mere moments, Galahad opened his lower garment and revealed his cock, hard as steel and slightly twitching. Before Jonny could even process how big Galahad was, his slacks were torn off, his own dick springing up. His was a bit smaller than Galahad's but still a perfect size, except his was a bit less human. He had the same shape except his cock was barbed, just enough to add more sensation.
He didn't waste any time, however, and Galahad slid into Jonny with one hard thrust. Right there, they really got heavy. Rough, gasping, trembling with every thrust like the world is breaking under him. Every motion is a prayer. Every motion is a curse. The rhythm is nothing short of sacred desecration.
"This is wrong," Galahad whispers into Jonny's ear. "I know," Jonny grins, dragging his bound wrists over the priest's back, "but it feels like worship."
Their breath syncs- heavy, feverish. The candles dim and flare like they're watching, like something is. Symbols on the walls begin to shift, subtly at first, then boldly; holy sigils melting into runes older than the scripture Galahad clung to. Something slithers in the shadows around them. The air pulses.
Jonny moans, body tensing, and he throws his head back to the heavens- or whatever watches from above. "That's it, Father. Bless me." Galahad slams his hips forward, voice hoarse, mouth dragging over Jonny's throat like it'll save him from this drowning. "You want forgiveness?"
"No," Jonny pants, smiling wide. "I want you to sin harder."
Galahad lets out a broken noise- half growl, half sob- and buries himself deeper, one hand tangling in Jonny's hair, the other grasping the chain like a rosary. They're pressed together, sweat and blood and ash all mixing together until their bodies blur at the edges, indistinguishable from the crypt around them.
When they finish, it isn't with peace, but with reverence. Nothing but holy rage.
Jonny's back is pressed into the floor of the crypt, sweat-soaked and seething, head thrown back against the stone. His claws dig into Galahad's back, lips parted in a snarl- half pain, half delight. Above him, Galahad fucks into him. Not like a priest. Not like a man. Like a beast.
His hands grip Jonny's ribs, white-knuckled, shoving himself deeper with every thrust of his hips. There's nothing gentle about it. Nothing holy. Just frantic need- his thighs shaking with the rhythm, muscles straining, body slick with sin.
Jonny groans beneath him, eyes rolling back in his skull. "Fuck- look at you," he gasps, every thrust slamming into him like punishment. "Look what I made you." Galahad doesn't answer. His mouth was open, breath ragged, and there's blood drying along his collarbone- Jonny's teeth had been merciless. But now? Now he's the one in control. And he was destroying him.
He leans down suddenly- one hand pinning Jonny by the throat, the other braced beside his head- and starts slamming his hips faster, harder, desperate to squeeze every last ounce of heaven and hell out of Jonny's fucked-out frame.
"Is this what you wanted?" Galahad snarls through clenched teeth. "To see me break? To see me fall?" Jonny chokes on a laugh- cut off by the priest's grip on his throat. "Oh, Father," he hisses, voice barely audible, "I want to watch you burn." Galahad growls and slams down harder, hips snapping with brutal precision. "Then burn with me."
Jonny's legs tighten around Galahad's waist, dragging him deeper, deeper, until every thrust hits so hard it knocks a breathless cry from his chest. His nails leave claw marks down his back, blood rising in half-moons as his body trembles.
And Galahad- holy fuck- he doesn't let up. His rhythm is ruthless, built on desperation, ruin, rapture. He's growling curses between gasps, muttering twisted scriptures against Jonny's throat.
And then- he feels it. That rising tension, white-hot and unbearable. Jonny claws at him harder, clearly feeling it too. The tightening of his walls around Galahad's cock wasn't helping. "Don't stop- don't you fucking stop-"
Their mouth crash together in a blood-slicked kiss, all teeth and tongue and pain.
And then- finally- sweet fucking release.
Their orgasms hit them both like lightning through the spine. Jonny arches up with a screaming moan of pure *lust* that tears from his throat, his dick twitching as he cums, forming a puddle on his stomach.
Galahad is right behind him- body jerking, his face twisted in agony and bliss. He spills deep inside Jonny with a sob of ecstasy so raw it doesn't even sound human.
The saints are still watching. They don't look away.
Later- when Galahad is breathless and shaking, leaned over against the altar like a relic toppled over- Jonny's eyes glint in the flickering candlelight. His wrists are still bound, chain links taut and shimmering with sweat and blood. But his voice is steady. Sinister. Sweet.
"You look like revelation, Father," Jonny murmurs. "A ruin. A holy wreck."
Galahad groans, dragging a hand down his flushed face. "You've had your fill."
"Oh, no," Jonny grins. "You have. I haven't." With a sickening sound, the chains give. The metal groans like a cathedral beam snapping under the weight of sin, and the shackles drop to the floor.
Galahad's eyes widen. "What...?" Jonny rolls his shoulders, smirking. "Turns out blasphemy does have its perks." Before Galahad could run, before he could beg or repent, Jonny is in front of him. On his knees. The priest stares down, stunned- not by the position, but by the reverence in Jonny's eyes. Not mockery. Not cruelty. But devotion.
"Say no," Jonny breathes, already reaching for his belt. "Tell me to stop. You're the man of God here."
But Galahad doesn't stop him. He can't. Jonny pulls his robes aside with slow, purposeful hands, palms running up Galahad's thighs with the confidence of a man who knows *exactly* how to break someone. He stares up at Galahad with that maddening, unholy grin.
"You gonna smite me, Father?" he asks, voice rough and low. "Or are you finally, finally gonna let me fucking worship you?" Galahad doesn't answer. Can't. He's already shaking. Jonny snorts. "Didn't think so."
He leans in, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses across Galahad's stomach. His tongue flicks over the dip of his navel, teeth dragging just enough to make Galahad's hips jerk forward with a strangled gasp.
"You taste like guilt," Jonny mutters against his skin. "Fucking delicious." Then he takes him in- with zero hesitation. His mouth seals tight, forked tongue working in slow, devastating circles as he moans low in his throat. It's filthy. Wet and loud. Shameless.
"Fuck," Galahad hisses, one hand tangling in Jonny's hair while the other clenches uselessly at his side. "Jonny-"
Jonny lets him push deeper, doesn't gag, doesn't falter. His hands squeeze Galahad's thighs, grounding him as he sucks him off, pulling groans out of the priest's mouth like it's his job. "Shit," Galahad gasps. "That mouth- your fucking mouth-"
Jonny pulls back just long enough to pant, breath hot. "Yeah? This what your sermons were missing?" His lips are glossy with spit, eyes wild. "Tell me. Tell me I'm the best goddamn blasphemy you've ever tasted." Galahad bites down on a moan, half laugh, half prayer. "Jonny, I swear to God-"
"Wrong name," Jonny snarls and takes him deeper this time. Fast. Desperate and ruthless. Galahad all but screams, the curse bursting from his throat. "Fuck- oh fuck, fuck-"
Every noise is louder now- every obscene sound of Jonny's mouth working him over, every breathless string of curses from Galahad's lips. Jonny moans again, tongue swirling and flicking over the head, sucking like he wants to ruin the man- and he is.
He's tearing him apart with nothing but heat, friction, and a mouth that knows exactly what it's doing. Galahad's body goes rigid, both hands now fisting Jonny's hair so tight it must hurt. "I- I'm gonna- fuck, Jonny-!"
Jonny pulls off with a wet gasp, grinning up at him. "You gonna cum already, Father? Fuck, you're easy."
"Shut the fuck up," Galahad growls, breathless, but he's slowly falling apart. Jonny dives back in without a word, moaning around him just to feel how Galahad twitches in his mouth. He lets saliva roll down his chin, lets his mouth go sloppy and desperate like it's the only thing he's good at.
"Fuck, Jonny, fuck," Galahad chokes. "You're- goddamn it- fucking filthy-" Jonny just hums in response, sucking harder, twisting his hands into Galahad's thighs to hold him steady. Every groan, every curse out of Galahad's mouth just fuels him.
"You gonna lose it?" he mumbles, pulling off for a second, voice ragged. "You gonna cum down my throat like the broken little church boy you are?" Galahad can't answer. He's panting, legs trembling, eyes wild. Jonny growls and swallows him down again- hungrier this time. Galahad's hips stutter forward, and this time Jonny lets him. Just once. Just enough.
That does it.
Galahad spills down his throat with a half-swallowed moan that sounds like he's dying. His knees buckle, and his grip on Jonny's hair goes white-knuckled. Jonny holds him through it, sucking and swallowing every last drop like it's sacred. When he finally pulls back, he licks his lips slowly, looking wrecked.
A bit more time passes, Galahad’s chest is still heaving, sweat slicking his skin, his thighs trembling from the brutal reverence Jonny just gave him. He should be praying. He should be begging for mercy. Instead, he’s slack-jawed, glassy-eyed, and waiting- like a lamb before the altar.
Jonny stands slowly, towering over him, bare-chested now and streaked with dried blood and ash. There’s something in his eyes- not human. Something too ancient, too hungry. “You’ve had your turn, Father,” Jonny purrs, voice like silk soaked in venom. “Now it’s mine.”
Galahad doesn’t speak. He can’t. His mouth parts like he might argue, like some last vestige of priesthood might fight back. But then Jonny is on him- straddling his lap, gripping his jaw hard enough to bruise. “You want to be a martyr so badly?” Jonny snarls, pressing their foreheads together, nails digging into Galahad’s thigh. “Then suffer for me.”
And he takes him.
There’s no ceremony now. No slow, sensual buildup. This is raw. Brutal. The kind of possession that strips a man of name, title, faith. Jonny drives himself down hard, all fire and friction, eyes locked with Galahad’s as the priest chokes on his own cry.
The pace is unforgiving. Every motion is a command. Every roll of Jonny’s hips a psalm of destruction. Galahad tries to breathe, to speak- to find some holy word to cling to- but Jonny shuts him up with a hand around his throat. “No prayers,” Jonny growls. “You pray to me now.”
Galahad moans, head slamming back against the stone. His hands claw at Jonny’s waist, desperate for purchase, for anything to ground him- but there’s nothing holy left. Only Jonny, fucking him like a demon possessed, like he was built to undo the righteous.
“You like this?” Jonny pants, voice laced with madness. “You like being beneath me? Being fucked by the blasphemy you swore to burn?” Galahad’s answer is a broken, sobbing yes. Jonny laughs- a low, sick sound- and tightens his grip on Galahad’s throat. “Say it louder.”
“Yes!” Galahad cries out, legs shaking, tears slipping from his eyes. “Yes, I- God help me, I do!”
“There is no God here,” Jonny snarls. “Only me. And you’re mine now.” Their bodies crash together- sweat and blood and spit and holy devastation. Jonny doesn’t stop. Not even when Galahad sobs, when his legs go limp, when his voice cracks from overuse and pleasure so violent it feels like penance.
“Take it,” Jonny hisses. “Take all of it. Break for me.” And Galahad does. He comes undone with a scream so raw it echoes off the cathedral walls, shaking loose dust from the rafters. His whole body spasms- helpless, ruined, claimed.
Jonny keeps going. Slower now. Deeper. Like he’s searing the memory into the priest’s bones.
When he finally finishes, it’s with a groan against Galahad’s ear. “That’s right. That’s what you were made for.” They collapse together, a heap of ruined sanctity and unholy worship.
The altar behind them cracks. The cross on the wall splits down the middle. And the candles finally go out.
Galahad's head is thrown back, throat bare, shining with sweat and spit and tears. He’s not pleading anymore- his prayers long since strangled into moans, then sobs, then silence. His body twitches beneath Jonny, overstimulated, overstretched, undone.
And Jonny is still fucking him. Still driving into him like a punishment. Like a curse. “Say you love me,” Jonny whispers, biting down against Galahad’s throat hard enough to draw blood. “Say it, Father.”
“I-” Galahad gasps. “I do- I love you- Jonny, please-” That’s all Jonny needed. “Good,” he breathes. “Then die loving me.”
He slides a hand up the priest’s chest- slow, reverent- until it closes around his throat. Tightens. Tighter. Galahad jerks. There’s panic in his eyes now. Confusion. The terror of a man who’s just realized he won’t be waking up tomorrow. He claws weakly at Jonny’s arms, lips trembling as he tries to form a protest, a prayer, a reason. Jonny doesn’t stop.
“You always said the wages of sin was death,” he says, voice trembling with ecstasy. “So die for your sins. Die in them.” Galahad’s hands fall limp. His face goes soft- pleasure still carved across his features like a death mask. A holy martyr, fucked full of damnation. Jonny doesn’t let go until the priest’s heart is still.
He pulls out slowly. Carefully. Like he’s preserving something sacred. Then he cups Galahad’s cheek, thumbing away a tear that never got the chance to fall. “You should’ve run, Father,” he whispers. “You should’ve burned me when you had the chance.”
He lays Galahad down on the chapel floor. Straightens his limbs. Closes his eyes. And smiles. Because this wasn’t just lust. This was judgment. And Jonny? Jonny’s no longer just a demon. He’s a god now. One that kills what worships him.