Beyond the heavy wood doors, the organ resonates. It’s a deep, solemn melody, and it shakes up the insides of your ribs. Dun-dun-dundundun. Faintly, somewhere far, words that sound like Lord, mercy, Father. A monotone voice, not loud enough to catch, not loud enough to mean anything. The wall is hard against your back. You’re drenched in reds and blues and greens; the Blessed Virgin Mary looks over you. Stares. Matty kisses your neck. 

His hands are rough in the mane of your hair. You tilt your head, panting, scratching at his back under that leather jacket of his. It’s a messy, hungry affair, rushed. Armageddon is near. The organ confirms it, screaming DUNDUNDUN that sounds like runrunrun. It doesn’t matter. You grab his cheeks, force his mouth back to yours. He tastes like ash.  

You miss his kisses when he’s inches away, occupied on some other land of skin. He could be licking down your navel or trailing his lips up your thighs and you’d be clenching his hair, tugging at it with a silent plea to duplicate himself. Be everywhere at once; be on your mouth and your hips and your stomach; be inside and out. 

Your mind spins as he kisses you harder. Urgency presses against your body — runrunrun — making everything feel hotter. Your thighs clench. You giggle as his hand slips to grab your breast, then he’s down your ribs, waist, landing on your ass. 

How long do you have left? The sermon had begun what felt like hours ago, but time stretches differently in his arms. You pull away with a string of spit. Smile, giddy to the bone. Kiss his cheek, jaw, brow, then get this urge, pressing, to bite into his chin and spit a chunk of bloody meat. You push him away, flipping the two of you until he’s flat against the wall. You practically devour him with a kiss.

“Jesus,” Matty mutters against your lips, and you have to laugh. 

You stand back just far enough to blink at him, faux-chastisting, “Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain in His own home.” 

He makes a fake frown of concern, ghosting his lips against yours. “Oh, fuck. I’ll get smitten, won’t I?” He grabs you ass, draws you closer. You giggle, shaking your head as he peppers kisses over your face. “Sent straight to hell, I’ll be. Everything before was forgivable, but this— this— Just too much. My soul just can’t be saved.” 

Soul. Your brain rattles. An idea strikes through you. He goes to kiss you, but you halt him, just out of reach. Your hands shake at the hem of his shirt. Sometimes the force of your want for him threatens to pop your ribcage open. Matty frowns. “Are you okay?”

You nod. Lick your lips. “Yeah, yes, just—” You take in his hair falling on his forehead, his swollen red lips, his long eyelashes; he’s like a fallen angel. Tragically beautiful, exquisitely cursed. Your ribs push, push, push. “Just— I want to save you. I— I want to pray for you.”

Matty frowns. “What?” With a provocative look, teasing and knowing, you bend down in front of him. Your knees hit the floor. He makes a noise of surprise at the sight. Realization rises up his forehead. 

You flutter your eyelashes up at him. An innocent look; a farce. A paragon of virtue, to dirty and roughen up. A groan slips past his mouth. His hands  flex in the empty air, as if stopping himself from reaching for your hair. “Are you—”

You hum, unbuckling his pants. You lick the mischief off your teeth. “I’m sure.” You draw his cock out, already half-hard. Another pained sound slips from him. He can’t hold himself back anymore: his hand rakes through your hair, brushing it back. The gesture is gentle, soothing, and you lean into it. Your eyes meet his. “Someone needs to pray for you.” Lust chokes you up. You breathe, “Or you’ll be sent to Hell for your dirty mouth, and all the things it says to me.” You press a thumb on his tip, his breath hitching in resonance. You pout. “The things it does. Who else will save you?” 

His hand grows firm in your hair, pulling to keep you in place. His voice is dark as he whispers, “That right, angel? Gonna save me?” You grin at him.

You start stroking him. A slow, teasing pace, to match the poutily pleading look on your face. “Lord,” you start, tilting your head with playful sadness, and Matty’s breath hitches. “My friend seems so lost.” You kiss the leaking tip of his cock and he moans, gripping your hair to hold himself upright. 

“Fucking hell.” You make a little laugh, licking down his length, cherishing the breathy sounds he attempts to muffle. You can feel the Virgin Mary’s beady stare on your back. Over Matty, a Jesus on the cross stands, righteous and godly. Your knees shift. You think you’re getting wetter. 

Spitting on his cock and pumping it, you say, ever-worshiping, “God, You are holy. I know that all sin is against You and deserves Your anger and judgment.” With a smirk, you stroke Matty faster. His free hand finds the panel of the wall, holding himself upright as pleasure overwhelms him. You continue, “My heart is so burdened for my friend, knowing he will face You one day and have not yet trusted in Jesus.” You kiss down his length with a wet mouth. 

“God,” he curses, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fucking—”

You tut at him. “Dirty mouth. This is what got us in that position, Matty.”

He looks down at you, eyes already drooping with euphoria, lips pulled open with heavy pants and muttered moans. “Guess you’ll just have to work real hard on saving my soul, love.” 

You hum, biting your lip. Your wrist twists. Your thumb strokes his tip as you pump him, just like you know he loves. How strange. To know someone. “A less devoted person would think you a lost cause, Matty.” 

His hand pets your hair, drawling low, “Lucky I got myself such a good, little Christian girl, then.” Though you know it’s an ironic, and taunting, and mean, you flush darkly. Matty snickers. He pulls you back to his leaking cock. “Clock’s ticking, love. I might get struck any second now.” You roll your eyes, but indulge him, half-aware of the homily that might end any time soon beyond the wall. 

You look up to the ceiling, as though addressing the sky itself, and plead, “Show him You are angry at sin and what it does to him,” his hips thrust in your hand comically, “because You love him.” Matty opens his mouth for a quip, but so do you, slipping his cock past your lips, and his train of thought dies with a groan. 

You bob your head, serenaded by his choked breaths and moans. You revel in your power over him, the way every part of him seems to exist only at the mercy of your tongue. His hand pulls your hair, distracted, but he doesn’t push you further down his cock. The sting at your scalp is welcomed anyway, something that strikes right through your wet core. 

You let go of him just to say, out of breath, “Open his eyes to see the truth about Him. I pray he will call upon Jesus and be saved.” This time, when you take him in your mouth, you try to go as deep as you can. You bob faster, almost choking on him, tears pooling in your eyes at the effort. You’re devoted— not to Christ, to him. Matty’s face cracks with euphoria and it’s better than any God.

Matty stares at you, worshipful. He coos, stroking his hand to your cheek and brushing away runaway tears. “Look at you, angel. Crying for my soul.” You run your tongue on his underside, sucking in your cheeks. He chokes on pleasure and the sight has your ribs threatening to burst. “God will see, won’t He? How much you care. He wouldn’t strike me when you’re on your knees begging for my salvation.” 

You spit him out. Shortwinded and wet with tears, you beg, “Father, give him a heart that recognizes his desperate need for a Savior ”

“I have you, angel,” Matty whispers. “I already have you.”

His cock twitches in your mouth and you can tell he’s close. His hips thrust into you, growing a mind of their own, needy and greedy. Matty opens his mouth, holds back cries with a gulp of air. He looks at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real. His thumb presses into your cheek. “I need you, angel. I only ever need you.” Your body warms. You suck on his tip and his face scrunches. “Shit, I’m right there. Just—”

You let go to tease, “Lord, please save his soul. I beg it of you, Father. I beg.” Matty’s eyes roll. He slaps a hand over his own mouth as he cries out. His limbs shake and white ropes of cum spit over your face. You jump, quick to suck his tip back into your mouth, just a little too late. 

Still, you clean him up until he pushes you away, overwhelmed. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Matty pants, tucking himself back in. “Sorry,” he says vaguely, then cracks an eye open and sees the sight of you. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit, sorry.” He bends down quickly, still panting as he wipes the cum off your face with his fingers. “You’ll be the death of me. You’ll— Fuck, darling, you’ll really send me to Hell.”

“After I worked so hard?” 

With the Virgin Mary, and the cross, and the organ beyond the wall, and the cum, it all feels a little ridiculous. You try to bite back a laugh as best you can, but Matty meets your eyes, and then the two of you break into fits of laughter. You try to muffle it, but it only makes you laugh harder. 

“You don’t think you’ll be saved?” You joke, reaching for his hand and sucking one of his dirty fingers into your mouth. You roll your tongue around it, sucking it clean.

“Oh, yeah. My soul is all clean now.” You hum, sucking another finger, cleaning it too. He makes a low noise. “Fuck.”

You smile, kissing his fingertip. “Language.” 

Matty stares at you, something soft and tender blooming in his eyes, and the moment loses its lightheartedness. Your chest presses. You feel the inherent need to kiss him and never stop. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You make me feel spiritual, sometimes.”

“When I’m sucking your dick?” You attempt to joke, to deflect. 

He rolls his eyes. “No.” His thumb rubs your cheekbone. He shakes his head, almost to himself. “I don’t know.” Matty frowns. “You make me go around almost believing in fate or something.” 

Your breath catches in your throat. You reach up and kiss him, needing to devour, to swallow him whole until he lives inside your belly. Your heart slams against your chest. Shoves your ribs. You ignore the shards of bones as they burst and dig into your tendons. Matty is right there on your tongue and you still miss him. 

You miss him because you know that he’ll pull away, and he does exactly that. A regrettable sigh blows on your lips. “We’ll get caught.” Who cares, you want to scream. Certainly not you when he’s between your muddied palms, breathing and existing and being so close you could kiss his  oxygen away. Who cares who cares who cares who cares. 

Of course, it’s not reasonable, not smart. Instead, you nod, distant and disappointed. He kisses your cheek, then draws you up. You clean yourselves, pulling at your clothes with practice. You look somewhat presentable. With a last peck goodbye, you sneak back through the doors.