Chapter Five

Three days have passed since the ‘exorcism’ and Matthew McPherson is finally free from that dank basement, back in the creaky little house on Hapeville’s edge. His mother is now convinced that he’s been ‘healed,’ and so she let him come back up.

right now, the sun is dipping low, casting a faint glow through the dusty windows as he sweeps the floor alongside his older sister, Rebecca. She’s twenty years old, but looks so gaunt and hollowed-out from hunger she could have passed for a weird, wiry teenager. Her bony hands grip the broom like it’s all that’s holding her together and Matthew’s chest tightens with a familiar pang. Just two years back, their dad had smashed himself to pieces in a road accident, and their family lost everything from the fallout, including their Mother’s smile. She couldn’t pull two coins together after that, so they dragged what was left to this sleepy nowhere, chasing whispers of cheap land and quieter days.

Matthew’s broom slows, dust swirling around his bare feet, and his mind drifts…back to that first Sunday in Hapeville, months ago, when he’d laid eyes on Father Khatri in that crumbling church. Lord have mercy but, the man was something else, tall and broad with a deep voice like water over a smooth rock, preaching fire and brimstone while Matthew squirmed in the second pew. Those dark eyes had caught his more than once, and every time, Matthew’s breath stopped, his pants tightening painfully. He had to clench his fists, bite his lip raw, just to keep from leaping over the pews and climbing that priest like a damn oak tree, congregation be damned. The way Khatri’s cassock had stretched over his shoulders, the way his large rough hands gripped the pulpit had Matthew’s knees weak and his cock hardened before the sermon even finished.

He’d always known he was different, Matthew did. Back in their old town, the girls would giggle, bat their lashes, and try to kiss him behind the feed store, but he just blushed and ducked away, stomach-turning. It’d never felt right. What did feel right was the blush his sister Becca dabbed her on her face. so he sneaks it sometimes, smearing it on his cheeks in the cracked bathroom mirror, feeling a thrill he can’t explain. And the dreams, fuck, the dreams. It’d always be a big, strong man pinning him down, taking what he’s never given, fucking his hole over and over completely smitten and obsessed with him. So When he’d seen Khatri that first time, it hit him like a ton of bricks: him. That priest was the man he'd seen in his dreams since he came of age and he's going to be the one to break him open, ruin him completely.

And Khatri wants him too, Matthew knows it. Those nights the priest crept into his house, shadow slipping through the hall, standing over his bed… sometimes he just watched, breathing heavily, eyes burning in the dark. Other times, Matthew heard the rustle of that cassock, the wet slap of skin as Khatri jacked himself off, thinking him asleep. But Matthew wasn’t asleep, not once. He lay there, pulse hammering, cock aching under the sheets, praying Khatri will rip them off and do something. He never did, though, and that aching need in Matthew’s gut grew until it became unbearable. That was why he faked the whole possession thing—thrashing, screaming, throwing vases—until Mother called the priest. And three nights ago, it worked. Khatri fucked him senseless and filled him up, and the taste of that thick, salty cum still haunted Matthew’s tongue like a fever he can’t shake.

Slipping back into the present, Matthew smirks to himself, sweeping a little faster, a sly thrill curling his lips as he thinks, “Well, aren’t I a clever little devil?” But the memory sinks lower, heat flooding his belly. His cock stirs, pressing against his worn pants, and he freezes mid-sweep, glancing at Becca. Surprisingly, she has been looking at him since, so once his eyes dart to her, their gazes clash. She stares at him, those hollow eyes narrowing since the exorcism, like she knows something. “You alright, Matty?” she asks, voice thin. 

He flashes a grin just as fake as the concern in her voice. “Right as rain, sis” and turns away, hiding the bulge until chores finish.

Soon enough, he finishes with chores and escapes to his room.

God, he misses that sagging bed so much. The sheets feel cool against his skin as he slides in, still in his day clothes, too worn out to change. He shuts his eyes, chasing sleep, but it won’t come. Hours drag by, the house creaking around him, and that ache, the one that started months ago, erupts three nights back gnaws to life again. His cock stands rock-hard now, throbbing, a wet spot seeping through his pants. He whimpers, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, as he rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. This is wrong, he thinks, a voice in his head shaky and needy. Folks around here say it’s a sin, two men having carnal knowledge of each other. Even his Father Khatri has once preached it in his sermon. But how can something that feels so fucking good—Khatri pounding him till he can’t see straight, dazed from pleasure—be so wrong as they say?

His hand moves on its own volition, slipping under the waistband, fingers brushing his cock. A moan tears out from his throat as he grips himself, stroking slowly at first, precum smearing sticky across his palm. He pictures Khatri…those big hands groping every inch of skin that covers his chest and that thick shaft finally sliding down his throat, stretching him beyond imagination. “Oh, God.” 

His pace quickens, hips bucking into his fist. “Yes, please,” he gasps, imagining the priest pinning him down, fucking him until the bed snaps. Cum beads at his tip, dripping down his knuckles, and he groans, loud and needy, tears spilling as the pleasure tangles with that sick, guilty ache.

Suddenly, outside the window, a shadow moves across the field. Matthew bolts upright, breath-catching, and yanks the curtains open. At first, he doesn’t see anything, but when he presses his face onto the glass window of his room, his eyes finally acclimate to the dark and he sees Father Khatri, standing in the moonlight, eyes locked on him through the glass. A surge of lust shoots through Matthew, making his dick jump in his hand, and a slow grin twists the corners of his beautiful face like he’s just caught himself a prize. 

“You came back,” he murmurs, voice low and trembling with want, stroking himself harder, letting Khatri see every wet slide. His free hand presses against the window, smearing the milky evidence of his lust on the pane, and he arches back, legs spreading wide on the bed. “I knew you’ll come back even if it took months.” he mouths, voice rough, thumbing his slit until more cum oozes out, glistening in the dim light. 

Father Khatri has tried to keep away from Matthew since that night in the basement, three days ago, when he’d fucked the boy into oblivion and fled like a coward. He’d even shut the church doors, claiming illness to the flock, but the truth was uglier. He felt impure, rotten and his stomach churning with guilt every time he knelt to pray. for three days, he fasted, lips cracked and dry, whispering pleas to God for forgiveness, for strength. but the prayers didn’t work. all he saw behind his closed eyes was Matthew–those wide blue eyes glassy with need, his full red lips trembling as he begged and that slim, pale body arching under him, taking every thrust like it was salvation. How could something so powerful, so consuming, be a sin? Khatri found himself asking God one day as he prayed but then the answer came back in echoes in his brain. God created love, yes, but no kind of love should supersede one’s love for the almighty. yet even with this thought and knowledge, Khatri knew he was fighting a losing game. For the first time since he became a priest, he wasn’t choosing God’s love above all. because the feelings that boy erupts in him aren’t just lust. It was a fever, burrowing into his brain and eating away at his sanity until every waking thought of his was Matthew. Matthew. Matthew.

By the third day, he finally threw in the towel and lost the battle. Once the sky is painted a bruised purple, Khatri slips out of the church, soutane swishing around his legs as he walks the familiar path to the Mcpherson house. He moves like a thief, sticks to the shadows, heart thudding in his chest. he tells himself he’d just look, just see the boy one last time and then leave town. but deep down, he knows better. He arrives at the field close to their house and he stops himself in time as a ray of light flashes towards him, ducking behind a large tree. once the shield of darkness returns, Khatri rounds the house until he gets to the window of the room where the boy stays.

Since Matthew has been locked inside the basement, Khatri worries that they might not have still let him back up, but as he squints through the glass panes, relief rushes through him when he sees the boy lying on the bed, twisting in the sheets, restless, dark hair a mess against the pillow. Khatri’s throat tightens as Matthew suddenly sits up, moving his hand under his pants, moaning once he wraps it around his needy rod. A crooked, self-depreciative smile tugs at Khatri’s lips. Look at Matthew…innocent, young, barely a man, discovering what his body could do…the pleasure his body craves. and Khatri, sick fuck that he was, had been the one to show him. it went against every vow, every scripture that he’d preached, but standing there, watching Matthew touch himself, it felt right. God help him, it feels like the only truth left.

Matthew abruptly snaps his face towards the window as if sensing Khatri’s presence and the priest holds his breath, slowly slinking into the shadows. but the boy kept looking, pulling his curtains open wider until their eyes locked. Caught red-handed, Khatri’s pulse spikes, but he doesn’t move from his spot. actually, he just couldn’t. all the blood in his body rushes south, thicking his cock under his slacks as he took in the boy’s disheveled state. Matthew’s shirt is rucked up, pants down, and his pretty dick glistening with precum. Khatri has feared that Matthew might hate him, once he come to his senses, he might see Khatri as a monster who’d taken advantage of him when he was in a moment of weakness. but as a wicked grin twists the boy’s lips, Khatri knows he feels far from vulnerable. Matthew put on a show, running his other hand over his face before gripping his own neck and squeezing while his right hand tugged hard on the swollen flesh between his legs. Khatri’s guilt melts away, replaced by a heat that licks up his spine.

he runs a wet tongue over suddenly dry lips as he watches Matthew spread his legs wide, knees falling open on the bed and giving Khatri a full view. his hand worked faster, sliding up and down his shaft. on the third upstroke, he circles his thumb on the puffed tip until a thick bead of come oozed out, dripping down his fingers. “You came back,” he mouths silently but the voice is loud in Khatri’s head, trembling with want. His eyes track every tiny movement Matthew makes, watching as his filthy boy stops stroking himself and presses that hand to the window, smearing wet streaks of white across it. “I knew you would come to me.” He gasps and returns his hand back to his shaft, hips bucking into his fists as he strokes faster. 

Khatri’s mouth goes dry, his own hand twitching at his side, itching to touch but he stays rooted in the dark, a voyeur to this private sin. When Matthew slips his fingers lower to tease his hole, dipping and rolling his eyes back, spurts of cum trickle out of Khatri’s distended cock and drips down his hairy thighs beneath his slacks.

inside his head, it is a storm. he’s so fucking beautiful, Khatri thinks, watching Matthew’s slim fingers pump his dick while the other roughly tugs on the peaks on his chest. I should walk away. I should stop this. But I can’t. I need to see him cum, hear my name fall from his lips as he reaches completion. His vows screamed at him—thou shalt not, thou shalt not–but the priest’s body didn’t care. He keeps looking as Matthew’s head tips back, baring his throat with a groan.

“Father Khatri. I’m cumming.” The boy let out a keening wail before cum exploded out of his dick, thick ropes splattering his stomach, his hand, the sheets, and Khatri bites his lip to the point of bleeding so he doesn’t groan out loud too. Matthew finally slumps back on the bed, wild eyes softening into a tender look that punches Khatri right in the chest. Then he dips his fingers in the cum pooling on his skin and writes on the window with those wet fingers. “I love you.”

Jesus fuck. Khatri’s throat clogs and his eyes bulge, and when Matthew presses his lips to those cum-written words on the window, Khatri’s mind shatters. Lust and need collide, a fever spiking hot and sick through his veins. he stumbles back a step, hands fumbling under his soutane, before unzipping his fly right there in the open, leaning against the tree. His thick cock bobs free and he grips it hard, jerking himself in the field like an animal. His eyes stay glued to that cum-scrawled, I love you, to the boy collapsing back into bed, sated and filled with adoration. he loves me. he fucking loves me, Khatri thinks, spitting on his palm before returning his hands back to his dick. the memory of Matthew’s tight heat, his begging moans flood him and he comes hard, spraying his load into the grass in hot, messy bursts.