
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1226842.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Priest!Derek, Altar_Boy!Stiles, Internalized_Homophobia, Blow_Jobs
  Series:
      Part 7 of Tumblr_Drabbles
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-23 Words: 2303
****** sinner, sinner (on your knees) ******
by dyobrienz_(Muffintine)
Summary
     “If you’ve something to ask,” comes the rich cadence of Father
     Derek’s voice, “Don’t stay your tongue.” He turns, meets Stiles’
     gaze, and cocks one perfect eyebrow as if to say hurry up, kid.
     Which, rude.
     Stiles swallows. “Father, I,” he clears his throat, bites down on his
     tongue, and squints his eyes. “I’ve sinned.”
     Father Derek’s face remains unimpressed. “Is that so,” he says,
     though it sounds more taunting than understanding. “You seek
     absolution?”
     or: sacrilegious blowjays, basically.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
God, Stiles decides, must hate him.
There’s no other explanation for why the new priest is so unfairly attractive.
Father Derek looks mouthwateringly sinful in his plain white alb, cincture of
the same color wrapped tightly around his toned waist, tied accordingly to the
left. A simple, royal purple sash is draped around his neck, hanging low over
both sides, white cross stitched perfectly into each end. He’s only been with
the church for a month, but he’s polite enough, if somewhat stiff.
When he addresses the congregation during mass, his face is carefully neutral.
However, his beautiful back is on full display for the three Altar boys – and
girl – sitting behind him. By the way Stiles catches Erica sneaking glances, he
isn’t the only one appreciating the board expanse of Father Derek’s back. It’s
all he can do to look away; to focus on Matt Daehler’s ugly wart in the front
row because wow, popping a boner during mass would be so beyond inappropriate.
And he – he knows his, uh, inclinations aren’t normal. An abomination Gerard
Argent is fond of sneering every second Sunday of the month when the
congregation enjoys donuts in the gym. It worries him, the way Gerard looks him
right in the eye and seems to just know.
Stiles prays every night for God to forgive him for thinking men are just as
beautiful as women. He anguishes every time he wraps his hand around his hard,
dripping cock and fucks up into his fingers until he’s spilling sticky seed
onto his hands — lean, toned, male bodies featuring heavily in his mind’s eye.
He hates himself as he wonders what it’d be like to kiss a man, to feel the
brush of stubble against his lips. To be pressed down, fucked into by –
Stiles goes pink in the face, casting his eyes downward as he chastises himself
for having such impure thoughts during mass, for crying out loud.
Still, he can’t help the way Father Derek’s voice just – just gets to him,
okay? It’s not deep like Stiles had anticipated it would be and, man, the guy
has bunny teeth – bunny teeth! – how is he not supposed to find that endearing
and simultaneously hot?
God forgive him, he wants. 
His hands are clammy as the mass nears the end and he can’t – he can’t stop
thinking about how large Derek’s hands are, how beautiful his bright, tri-
colored eyes are, or how damn good his ass had looked that one time he’d
glanced Father Derek in a soft grey button down and form fitting jeans. He
closes his eyes, swallows, and tries to will away thoughts of pressing his
fingers past the rim of Father Derek’s —
“Stiles,” Erica hisses, jerking her head towards Father Derek who’s staring at
him with an unreadable expression.
Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin before he hastily rings the bell, signaling
the beginning of consecration. He’s careful to pay attention, ringing the bell
once more when Father Derek holds the host up, blessings falling from his lips
like some sort of hard-on inducing spell. Stiles hates himself in that moment,
hates his… his disgusting urges.
He lets himself fall into his usual pattern then, shoving any thoughts from his
mind. Before he knows it, it’s time to receive communion and he knows – he
knows – he shouldn’t receive the host with a heavy heart, with the sinful
thoughts that have been plaguing him throughout the entirety of mass. And yet,
when Derek stops before him and utters a quiet, “The Body of Christ,” he can’t
help but open his mouth and return the proper, “Amen.”
Stiles knows he should cup his hands, that he should hold them out and receive
the Body of Christ in a way he won’t further embarrass himself in the eyes of
God. However, the sick part of him looks up at Father Derek from beneath his
lashes and opens his mouth wider to receive the circular representation of his
Lord and Savior.
Father Derek presses the host flat on his tongue and, as his fingers linger,
Stiles closes his mouth around them, humming obscenely before he realizes what
the hell he’s doing. He steps back, startled, eyes wide as they dart to meet
Father Derek’s. Father Derek seems calm; too calm, though something dark
flashes briefly across his eyes as he steps to the side, saying evenly to
Erica, “The Body of Christ.”
The rest of mass passes in a panicked blur; and, by the end of it, Stiles only
really comes up with one solution to the constant, lustful thoughts polluting
his mind: confession.
 
===============================================================================
 
He tells his father that he has sins to confess and his father – the town’s
Sheriff and faithful parishioner – claps him on the shoulder, nodding
understandingly. “That’s alright, son,” he’d said, quiet smile crinkling the
tired corners of his eyes. “I’m proud of you.”
And that’s how he finds himself in the empty church, twitchy and nervous. He
locates Father Derek easily enough, dressed in the starch stiff black cassock,
complete with the standard white clerical collar. He’s standing at the altar,
arms crossed and face neutral as he gazes at the finely crafted cross mounted
on the north facing wall. He looks oddly troubled. Stiles merely stands there,
a bundle of nervous energy as he stares a hole into the back of Father Derek’s
head.
“If you’ve something to ask,” comes the rich cadence of Father Derek’s voice,
“Don’t stay your tongue.” He turns, meets Stiles’ gaze, and cocks one perfect
eyebrow as if to say hurry up, kid. Which, rude.
Stiles swallows. “Father, I,” he clears his throat, bites down on his tongue,
and squints his eyes. “I’ve sinned.”
Father Derek’s face remains unimpressed. “Is that so,” he says, though it
sounds more taunting than understanding. “You seek absolution?”
Stiles nods, licking his lips absently.
Father Derek allows his gaze to linger on Stiles for a moment longer before he
inclines his head towards the confessional booths at the back of the church. He
starts towards them with a slow, unhurried gait. Stiles trails after him, dread
pooling in his gut. The whole reason he’s even here is because he’s been having
improper thoughts about Father Derek’s… physique. And, really, it’s worrying
that he can’t seem to figure out if the fact that he’s about to confess these
thoughts to the guy he’s been fantasizing is terrifying or arousing. No, shit.
Not arousing. That sort of thinking needs to stop right now.  
He watches as Father Derek steps into his side of the confessional before
swallowing his pride and doing the same. He kneels down, clasping his hands
together as he was taught to. He waits a moment before he clears his throat,
shifting awkwardly.
Father Derek’s voice comes soothingly from the other side of a black, circular
screen, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
Stiles lifts his hand deftly, familiarly, to make the sign of the cross. His
heartbeat ratchets up in tempo as he opens his mouth to say, “Forgive me
Father, for I have sinned.” He swallows thickly, keeping his eyes cast
downward. “It’s been two months since my last confession,” he continues, still
on script. “My sins are… I mean, I’ve … I’ve been having,” he hesitates,
“impure thoughts about, um, about men.” Stiles bites down on his tongue, the
shame spreading across his cheeks in the form of a burning blush.
Father Derek remains quiet, though his silence is thick and feels horribly like
judgment. Then, “What sort of thoughts?” Father Derek asks, voice level and –
curious? No, no. Stiles is – he’s projecting.
“Uh, sexual thoughts,” he says bluntly, crinkling his brow. “I’ve thought about
another man touching me when I,” he pauses, mouth dry. “When I touch myself.”
God, he’s so beyond mortified.
There’s the sound of Father Derek shifting on the other side of the
confessional. “I see,” he replies, sounding somehow wrong. “And who do you
think about when you touch yourself, Stiles?”
The question is wildly inappropriate and Stiles knows he isn’t obligated to
answer it. He shouldn’t answer it, in fact. He should just murmur some asshole
at his school’s name – maybe Jackson – and be done with it. However, his mouth
feels like cotton and Derek’s voice is messing him, muddling his mind;
hollowing him out just to fill him with sordid desire.
“You,” he answers honestly, voice small.
A heady, heavy moment passes. “Are you truly sorry?” Father Derek inquires,
tone low, rough and, fuck, inviting.  
Stiles wants to say yes, he wants to do right by his God, but the word yes gets
stuck in his throat. He’s not sorry he wonders what Father Derek’s ass would
feel like squeezing tightly around his cock as he eases into him. He’s not
sorry he fantasizes about what it’d feel like to be the one being fucked into,
the one being sodomized. “No,” he breathes, already at half-mast. “No, I’m
not—” he bites off the last syllable, with a soft, needy moan and oh God, he’s
so screwed.
Suddenly there’s the sound of a door being opened and Stiles is panicking
because oh crap, did he piss Father Derek off? Aren’t priests supposed to be
peace loving—
That thought never finishes itself as the door to Stiles confessional is
abruptly wrenched open. Stiles doesn’t even get the chance to turn towards the
door before he’s being yanked to his feet and slammed up against the wall.
Father Derek has him caged in, a constipated look to the furrow of his brows.
His eyes are dark as they stare down at Stiles, making the pit of his stomach
twist and his cock hardens to obscene stiffness.
He gapes as Derek says nothing, merely looks down between the two of them with
a smirk. “Yes,” he rumbles, voice absolutely filthy, “I can see how very not
sorry you are.” And, just like that, Father Derek’s hand slides down to cup
Stiles’ hard dick through his pants. The touch is forceful – not at all gentle.
Stiles’ breath hitches as his hips stutter forward and his mouth falls open in
disbelief. “Tell me, Stiles,” Derek drawls, expression oddly caged and pinched.
“Do you know the Act of Contrition?” As he asks, he unbuttons Stiles’ jeans
with precision, pulls the zipper down, and locks eyes with Stiles as his cock
slips free. His fingers ghost up the length of it, teasing.
“I –” Stiles tries, swallows, and then continues, “Yes, Father. I do.”
Father Derek smirks. “Good,” he murmurs as he sinks to his knees, leaning in
close enough that his hot breath skates down the length of Stiles’ cock. Stiles
shudders at the feeling, helpless as he glances down at Father Derek, unsure of
what is even going on. “Recite it for me,” he says, words sharp and commanding.
Stiles is having trouble concentrating because holy shit Father Derek’s leaning
forward, mouth slack as he hovers just over the head of Stiles’ cock. Father
Derek stops, glances up at Stiles as if he’s waiting for something, and – oh,
oh.
“O my God,” he starts shakily, gasping when Derek wraps his lips fully around
Stiles’ dick, tongue swiping over the sensitive patch of skin as if he just
knows. “I am – I am heartily sorry for,” he babbles, losing his train of
thought as Derek pulls off to lick a wet, hot strip all the way down to his
balls and back up again. “For, uh, for having off-offended you, oh God, oh
God,” he whimpers, hips stuttering as he watches his dick disappear once more
past Derek’s spit slick lips.
Without really thinking about it, his hands drop to twist in Father Derek’s
surprisingly soft hair, grip desperate. He lets out two soft moans as he feels
his cock hit the back of Father Derek’s throat and, “D-Derek,” he chokes out
pathetically the moment Father Derek’s throat opens up for him and swallows him
down. His eyes practically roll into the back of his head as Father Derek gags
obscenely, pulling completely off his dick with a wet pop.
Father Derek pauses to look up at Stiles with a reproachful look, lips red and
used. “Finish the prayer, Stiles,” he commands, words hoarse as they leave his
debauched mouth.
“Okay,” Stiles responds weakly. “Okay. I, uh, and I detest all my sins
because”—Father Derek’s mouth is back on Stiles’ dick in a flash, tongue
digging harshly into the slit—“of your just punish-punishment, but most of all
because they offend you, my God—oh my God, Father—” Stiles breaks off,
tightening his fingers in Father Derek’s hair as he tries not to fuck up into
his warm mouth. “Who are all g-good and, ngg, deserving of, deserving of my
love,” he rasps, feeling the pressure of his orgasm building. “I firmly
resolve, with the help of your grace, to s-sin no more and to, ah, ah,
avoid”—Father Derek presses Stiles’ cock all the way inside his mouth once
more, hallowing out his cheeks as he sucks harder, tongue pressed tightly
against the main vein of Stiles’ cock—“the near occasions of sin.”
Stile lets out a truly impressive cry as his hips buck forward, come spilling
down Derek’s throat as he rides out the best orgasm of his life. His brain goes
numb, blank as he stares unseeingly down at Father Derek, smiling dozily.
Father Derek stands then, wiping the excess of Stiles’ come from his mouth with
surprising nonchalance. He levels a conspiratorial gaze on Stiles. “Your sins
are forgiven,” he says without inflection, opening the confessional door. “You
may go in peace.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
As Stiles hastily zips up his jeans, he makes a silent vow to confess his sins
more often.
End Notes
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