
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/145926.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek_RPF
  Relationship:
      Chris_Pine/Karl_Urban
  Character:
      Chris_Pine, Karl_Urban
  Additional Tags:
      Religious_Themes_&_References, Blasphemy, Underage_Character, Underage
      Sex, Alternate_Universe, Schoolboys, Catholic_School
  Series:
      Part 4 of Catholic_Schoolboys_AU
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-12-30 Words: 2424
****** Discord ******
by withthepilot
Summary
     Karl discovers just what Chris has been doing for fun in the
     confessional booth and decides to teach him a lesson.
Notes
     Part 4 of the Catholic Schoolboys AU series.
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.
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