Archive of Our Own

Sitting in the church with father Gyomei felt both nerve wracking, as well as a mental execution all at once, an experience that weighed him down like it was a betrayal of who he was as a person. Something Urami never thought he'd find himself doing, not in a million years—not ever, because he'd hardly believed he required it.

To confess to something meant to acknowledge that he was in the wrong to begin with. And that was simply not in his cards, not usually at least.

However, as Urami rigidly sat across the other man clad in black before him, fingers intertwined awkwardly as his thumbs fought against one another in a nervous fidget; all he could think of was all the things that had been weighing him down, his own guilt and regret taking a toll on him both mentally and physically.

Having second thoughts on anything wasn't a common occurrence for Urami, but when it came to this—he most definitely was having a lot of hangups on it. Unsure if it's even the path he wants to go down, if he ever wanted to in the first place.

No.

No, he didn't.

He was just jealous of his own son—and he had allowed that envy to fester for years, as his own resentment built into a bubbling mold of pulsating necrosized flesh that oozed of pus. It's thick, creamy liquid born out of Urami's own hate and bitterness over being the second option. As the tender skin ripped itself apart to accommodate, bright red and aching to the touch.

Yet Urami kept poking at it anyway. Prodding his fingers against the open wound of his injured soul whenever he heard the cries of his second born son, jamming his digits inside the agonizing hole of his being each and every time his father would come to him asking for Karaku and not anything else.

It didn't even make sense to Urami. Why he was like that, why he even cared about what Hantengu wanted or thought.

Ever since he was a little boy, all Urami could remember was pain and discomfort. Associated with his own father, at that. As each memory of tears and hitched cries tied back to Hantengu, or his actions leading to the final product of Urami being a broken mess across sheets that stained themselves in scarlet and ivory.

If it wasn't his own father; it was a stranger.

Anything for a cheap price, even back then. Because if there was anything consistent about Hantengu; it was that he loved money, particularly if he could get it easily and without hard work. 

So he wouldn't put in his own efforts to make it, no. Instead he took Urami, who had to be barely eight or nine at the time—and shoved him down on his bed, gripped his youthful face and pleaded with him to be good. Begging his own son to just do this one thing for him, so that they'd be okay.

It always hurt a lot more with strangers. And Urami never attached to any of them, even if he ceased with his biting and screaming after the first ten times. Choosing to instead take it like the good boy he knew his father wanted him to be, clenching his tiny fists into the sheets as drool dripped down his chin. Noises of pain spilling past them that each and every one of his ‘clients’ claimed to be moans of pleasure. Only causing more fervor and aggression in their movements, as they claimed his slender neck in ravenous kisses.

With his own father, it was a lot different. So much so, that despite the pain and the agonized nights Urami recalls of himself in pain, alone and afraid; he still loved his father.

Which would make anyone else scratch their head, should they understand the extent of what Hantengu inflicted. The ways in which he had reduced Urami to a sobbing mess beneath him with just a touch, whenever his father woke his restless form by climbing into bed with him. Already feeling the stinging, salted pearls sprout across his waterline the very second he awoke to Hantengu on top of him.

To the way he'd scream and shout until his throat turned raw and aching from the agonized sensation between his legs, during the times his father had conveniently forgotten to bring any form of lubrication. Claiming that it was too late to go back now that he was already between his own child's legs, that he was too desperate and needy for anything else.

How Urami remembers he had pleaded with his father to stop it, stared up into his eyes with his own ones that had blown wide open in fear and uncertainty. Searching for any hint of care or hesitation as he yelped, feeling the hard tip of another nudging against his unprepared—yet used up—entrance.

Eventually, his protests had lessened and become silent, of course. As Urami learnt that his place truly was to follow the whims of the patriarch, to listen to his father who had given him life and sanctuary. That giving in was what he was supposed to do, his role to follow.

It was what Hantengu always said, early on.

Crying and sobbing in tandem to Urami's own helpless wails as he pushes another inch inside, unbearable as it tears his walls apart with each shove deeper—Hantengu simply sniffles and grips his young son's wrists down tighter, feeling the way they struggled beneath his hold.

“I'm your father.” He shuddered, a whimper escaping his parted lips as he quickly pressed them against Urami's own. Pushing his saliva downwards to mix with the sweet tasting heaven of his offspring, silencing his loud cry as he thrust deeper inside. Bottoming out with a deep, satisfied groan that gets drowned out by the hysterical sob which tumbles free from Urami.

Pulling away was easy. Thrusting back and forth into those tight, warm walls of his son was even easier. As each ridge dragged across Hantengu's sensitive shaft like it was heaven itself, squeezing him so well as red rubies drowned beneath saline pools of misery from below. Choked off cries flooding the air between his own needy moans, fingernails that looked bitten and torn digging themselves into soft, youthful palms.

“I gave you everything.” Hantengu grunts as he uses his own head to press Urami's backwards when their faces meet, tears filling his own vision as he whimpers out a fake sob of his own. Tongue flicking out to lap across the softest lips he's known thus far. “You're alive because of me…”

“Please, son.” Thrust after thrust becoming faster, harder in their intensity. He could hear his own small child screeching in pain as Urami grit his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and turned his head to the side—attempting to be brave and take the pain in silence. Like a good, obedient little boy.

It turned Hantengu on more knowing how much his own baby loved him.

And so he kissed him, over and over again. Hips slamming themselves against Urami's ass as his slim thighs were pushed back. Hitting those fleshy, warm insides with every single plow down. Descending into the body of someone he created, someone he owned in a way no one else could—it was perfect.

Another sniffle punctuated Hantengu's following words, a sob tumbling free as he stares into the horrified eyes of his own offspring while he fucked him with abandon. Fake or not, it didn't matter. As Hantengu pushed and pushed the agenda he wanted onto Urami, ensuring he'd always have a good little toy readily available at home.

“A son always listens to his father—and-and I'm so lonely, boy. I need you to help me. Please. Please, just—just be good for me…”

After all the begging, the crying, the pleading—it eventually got to Urami, of course. As he learned to nod his head in obedience and submission to his father, give him exactly what he lacked elsewhere. And please him the best he could.

It was what love between them was.

So when that love was taken away for the sake of another, it was no wonder Urami became bitter and resentful. Regardless of the pain and agony he endured at the hands of Hantengu—the countless nights and mornings he spent sobbing beneath the running water of the shower, frantically rubbing his skin raw in an attempt to erase the evidence of violence and sex from the night before. 

Or every time he'd look in the mirror and see nothing but a cheap harlot meant to be used and abused by those older, more influential and rich.

On top of the fact Urami became so desperate for escape away from his own father, that he had run away to the United States for college during his youth simply to get reprieve. To have some time without the need to put out for a man he did love, but wanted nothing to do with at the time—it all made the end result worse.

Because Urami became a father of his own quite fast. Making at first two wonderful twin sons—ones which shared Urami's exact features like a carbon copy, and one with the most beautiful emerald eyes that resembled that of his late mother.

Quickly followed by yet another pair of twins only two years after, resulting in a nice family of six that for a while seemed perfect. Living amongst themselves and no one else, only Urami and his amazing wife with their wonderful children to call their own.

But of course, nothing good ever lasts forever.

Not soon after Aizetsu and Urogi had been born, there had been a nasty car accident involving both Urami and his wife. On their way home from something as simple as grocery shopping, tragedy struck like a bolt of lighting onto an unassuming tree. 

A drunk driver.

They had hit the car at breakneck speed, colliding with them on his wife's side so hard and fast that she nearly got crushed under the impact. Blood splattering across the dashboard and windows as she became limp nearly instantaneously—unable to even scream in pain before her life ended, only seconds after she'd giggled in excitement about holding their babies again.

One second she had gushed on how much of a hungry little thing their baby Urogi was, how his giggles made her heart swell with the most amount of love a person could possibly imagine, and his smile able to bring the happiest tears to her eyes—and the next, she was silent.

She was pronounced dead at the scene by the time emergency services made their way over to them, unable to do a single thing to save her life. Yet Urami lived. He survived the crash, and to this day; he questions if that was something he wishes hadn't happened or not.

It took months to finally recover enough to go back home, and all those days spent in the hospital had been awful. A nightmare, even. Something Urami wouldn't wish on anyone, if he could.

Nights were spent silently crying in grief over the loss of his love, the empty space in his heart where she had once filled him with joy turned to ashes in his mouth. While his days were full of pain medication and stress, as his father—ever the ‘helpful’ man that he was, kept on bringing all four boys to visit Urami nearly daily.

Typically so that Urami had to be the one to parent them, instead of allowing their other grandparents to care for them, the way Urami had requested and asked for.

It was a terrible experience, to be in so much pain both physically and mentally while still having to do the things any parent should, regardless if he was fit for it or not. All while he had to stay strong and keep himself from completely crumbling beneath the stares of his father, or his touches—or his wants.

Hindsight truly was something to be thought of, because that experience was nothing but a prelude to what Urami's life would become following the death of his spouse. Filled with nothing but resentment and building hatred for the children he once adored enough to burn the world for, with a growing ache in his heart for the things he degraded himself down to. All just to keep his head above water, preventing himself from drowning.

Taking care of the four boys was a living hell, and since his late wife's parents lived quite a long way from home, making it difficult to rely on them frequently; it meant Urami often had to beg Hantengu for assistance frequently.

Which didn't come for free.

Even when Urami was incredibly unwell, practically dying from a raging fever and a throat so sore he could barely speak. Shivering with tremors bad enough he feared holding his two youngest in his arms, scared he would drop them from his feverish tembling—his father still asked for favors in exchange for a helping hand.

To suck his own father off while he struggles to contain his hot tears of shame, strangling himself not to cough or throw up as he did so at that was humiliating enough. The fact Urami kept on having to ask Hantengu for more aid was perhaps even worse, considering he knew the cost.

So then why? Why did it hurt him so badly when Hantengu eventually did shift away from him—after years of it all being mostly focused on his own son, Hantengu finally allowed his gaze to wander younger. Landing on a grandson instead.

Karaku became Hantengu's favorite when the boy was only eight years old, and Urami hated it.

He could still vividly recall the day a small, young little Karaku had rushed over to him in hysterics. Fat globs of tears rolling down his soft, youthful cheeks in rivers as emerald green eyes stared up at him with red rimmed edges. Small hands grasping at Urami's clothes and tugging, desperately attempting to formulate words he could barely manage to speak.

All with blood staining itself between Karaku's legs. As he could only hitch and cry out that grandfather had done something bad to him, even when Karaku was unable to express exactly what had occurred.

Urami had been angry, but not for the reasons one would assume a father would feel. Not in the way a parent should feel, either.

No. He'd just been furious with his own son. Glaring down at Karaku and pulling away from him, as something vile and ugly writhed within Urami's chest by the thought of his child laying in bed with father coiled. Twisting itself into a hideous shape of green envy, of betrayal and hurt over the idea of being replaced so easily. Of not being wanted anymore settling in deep.

And so, Urami had called Karaku a disgusting whore. Something he surely wouldn't even know the meaning of at the time, too young to understand why his own father became so cold and wrathful in an instant. Why his dad who once bounced Karaku on his knee while calling him his sweet boy now refused to even look at him for years, ignored his cries when Hantengu visited, and snarled with vitriol towards him each step of the way.

But it became worse, and Urami knows he messed up.

If it hadn't been bad enough that Urami abandoned his own son—his baby boy at that. The one his own wife had loved and adored, the one she had created inside her own body. A testament to their love and connection, a piece of her that Urami never should have neglected—then what followed only made him ill to think about, knowing what he had done.

Resentment was a twisted thing, yet it lived within Urami like a diseased parasite that could not be extracted. Turning him rotten and decayed from the inside out, flesh becoming black as the necrosis of his sins weigh down heavy.

The intention was never to be like Hantengu, it truly wasn't.

But Urami was so devastated he was no longer the one his father cared for, no longer the favorite. Discarded as if he never actually meant anything more than a breeder to create better products. Made to watch as his own father enjoyed the spoils of his creations, of the person Urami had helped make.

It infuriated him.

Karaku wasn't supposed to be special in that way, never.

So Urami did what he later regretted most of all, the reason he even came to the local church in the first place after a whole year of allowing his guilty conscience to consume him whole. Tearing him apart by the seams, stripping Urami down piece by piece until only charred bones remained.

He had raped his own child. 

And it was all just to prove some useless point at that, an act done out of hate for the boy beneath him. As Urami hissed out insults towards him whilst Karaku cried in fear, looming above him in a cold anger that refused to budge from any begging or pleading.

Repeating the same things his own father had told him. 

Except where Hantengu had cried out in self pity as he thrust inside Urami, practically pleading for him to give in to what it was Hantengu wanted as he weaponized his tears and authority—Urami instead cried in silence as he buried his face into the pillow beside Karaku. Teeth gritted down so hard it became painful, as every tear that fell down his cheeks stung like hot iron against his golden brown skin.

Even back then, Urami couldn't bear to look Karaku in the eyes. Not the same way Hantengu demanded he look into his, he just couldn't.

Urami remembers he threw up right after. Almost like he was the victim, not the aggressor.

How pathetic.

He really did act like his father, and Urami couldn't stand it—even when he craved Hantengu's affection and approval as if it was water and he was parched, he absolutely could not stand to be like him.

But now he was.

One year of guilt and shame had festered, and he could not keep it to himself any longer. So at least in that way, he and Hantengu differed greatly.

“... I see.” The deep vibrato of Gyomei's voice seems to nearly echo within Urami's mind as his shoulders tense up, body still coiled tight as a spring following the things he'd just confessed to. All the awful, horrendous things he had done in his life.

This was probably it, and Urami knew that. After this, Gyomei will most likely report him to the police, then his children would confirm the story, and then Urami is absolutely fucked for life. Going to prison most likely, with his reputation shattered and destroyed in an instant.

And he'd deserve that, too.

Even now that Urami had attempted to soften the blow of his sins by starting off with his own trauma—it felt as if that rang hollow, only existing as a flimsy excuse to explain away his vile actions. Which didn't even hold up if one thought about it for more than five seconds.

Considering Urami had never even thought of his own nights with Hantengu as something like rape most of his life, how could he even attempt to use that as any form of reasoning? It didn't work like that, especially considering Urami always came back to his father. Allowed him willingly to use his mouth even as an adult. While reluctant, yes—it was still a decision he had made.

And nothing could excuse what he did to Karaku, nor how he had treated him even prior to it.

Being angry and jealous didn't give anyone the right to harm their child, and Urami knew that very well.

So scorn was one thing he was fully expecting to hear come from the priest who was only parted from him by the space between their seats, disgust and revulsion was another. Of course there would be—because Urami was a disgusting, revolting man. Any sane person would despise him.

Especially because Karaku was just an innocent, sweet boy at the end of the day. Only barely sixteen now, and still somehow smiling each day after all he had endured. 

Something Urami never managed to do himself.

He was weak, his son was strong.

But the disgust never came, even as Gyomei stares—well, somewhat stares, considering his lack of vision—right at Urami's face. Practically tasting the guilt and self loathing rolling off of Urami in waves, as his crimson gaze refuses to meet him. Glancing all across the church instead, finding it a lot more interesting than the priest he was actually speaking to.

Instead, all Gyomei did was place his hands together in silent prayer over his rosemary-worn cross. Palms connected flat against one another as the tips of his fingers pressed themselves into his scarred forehead, closing his cataract eyes whilst his lips moved as if speaking, yet no sounds came out.

Then slowly but surely, liquid began to trickle free. Past Gyomei's lashes they fell, each and every drop of clear saline dripping downwards past his cheeks, down to his chin—before they rained down to his thick thighs, splattering across fabric as they soaked themselves in.

He was crying for him—or perhaps, more likely; crying over how awful of a thing Urami had done. That seemed more likely, if you were to ask him what he thought, at least.

For a moment it's awkward. As Urami has no clue on what to say or do now that he had laid himself bare, as much as he possibly could. Practically stripping himself of skin and flesh alike to allow Gyomei a look into his marred soul, listen to the echoes of his past actions.

Then, almost like a boom through the otherwise silent church, Gyomei spoke up properly. Having processed all the things he had just been told, raising his head up to face Urami head on. “You have sinned.” Baritone, deep, and low came the verbal confirmation of what Urami had said—what he'd done, and Gyomei did not miss any beats in hammering it home. “Gravely.”

Muscles within Urami's throat tighten up by the intense way Gyomei was facing him, feeling both dry yet slimy as he forces down the weighty gulp of his own saliva, which had become thick and dense in his own anxiety. “... I know.”

It was bad, Urami knew that very well. Despite leaving out any gruesome details on what and how it had transpired down to the last minute detail, it had still been a repulsive thing to both say and listen to.

It was shameful.

“What you have just confessed to… it's nothing short of despicable, Ransuji.” While Gyomei's voice remained calm, staying as collected as he possibly could be, there was no denying the slight edge to his tone. A hint of sharpness punctuates each syllable, feeling like needles inside of Urami's ears—or razors beneath his skin.

Crimson eyes flickered away, unable to look at the pious man in front of him. Fingers awkwardly tugging across his sleeves as his heel bounces erratically up and down—all things Urami has never been known to do in the past, never felt the need to fidget this way. Nor had he ever sounded so meek, so soft when speaking, yet when Urami did respond, it was like fragile silk against his tongue. “... I know that too.”

Silence falls between the two of them once more, with only the sounds of their breathing filling the space surrounding them. Creating an even more uncomfortable air, one that felt nearly suffocating for Urami. Too stifling, too oppressive—and far too warm.

While Urami struggled to grapple with it all, having a difficult time staying still in place and not bolting for the door in regret over ever coming here; Gyomei faced no such problems. 

Instead of having grown quiet due to the shock of the confessional, Gyomei had simply ceased his words for now to listen to the gospel and guidance of another. To silently pray for a solution, for a way to help aid this wayward soul. On how to bring such a broken man away from the road to damnation, and bring him closer to the light once more.

Everyone could be saved, if only approached the correct way.

This was something Gyomei knew very well, on top of being aware of the fact he had been so blessed to have the ability to act on it. To actually assist others to find salvation—to help them.

Because when God speaks to him in his mind and guides him in the correct direction, Gyomei knows it's always the right thing to do to listen and obey. And right now; his Lord was speaking to him once again, whispering in that decadent voice of his that consumed Gyomei's mind, flooding his thoughts in nothing but Him.

Make this poor soul repent by inflicting the pain of his sins onto himself, guide him to the realization of his wrongs; and he will see the light.

Listening intently in on the labored breathing of the man before him, Gyomei leans forward slightly. Taking in the signs that tickle his senses, alerting him to the distress marring Urami's frame and mind with ease. “You are remorseful, I can tell that much.”

Being unable to analyze the expression on the other man's face didn't matter in the moment, not for someone like Gyomei, who had spent years perfecting his other senses to accommodate. Able to pick up on the sound of Urami's voice, each crinkle of clothes when he shifted in his seat—all of it registered as clearly as ice in the waters.

There's a hesitant inhale that hitches across Urami's breath, as his eyes widened a smidgen wider by the calm way Gyomei was expressing his notice of the guilt instead of immediately jumping to disgust. “Yes—Yes, I-I am.” 

Hearing the way his own speech stuttered and repeated itself on words already spoken made Urami flinch by instinct, practically drowning in his own humiliation as he could taste his own fathers flavors eroding away at his tongue. The pathetic way he stammered was reminiscent of Hantengu in ways that only solidified it to Urami further how the apple truly didn't fall far from the tree.

Quickly, Urami composes himself somewhat as he straightens his back and pulls his shoulders somewhat down. “... I apologize. I usually don't stutter with words. I'm… just in my own head at the moment.” Apologizing for sounding like a meek, pitiful creature was almost more humiliating than actually sounding like one—so just as quickly as it came, Urami cleared his throat and shook his head. “Sorry—that, that also doesn't matter. Sorry.”

Two—no, three apologies in a row. Oh, yeah. Urami has definitely never been this on edge ever, in the entirety of his thirty-eight years of life. This was just something he didn't do, least of all in such an informal and hasty way. 

It was so embarrassing, yet considering everything happening it felt as if he couldn't rectify it now. Nor could he reel his own thoughts back inside and contain them like always, as they simply ran rampant and wild.

Gently wiping the scorching stream of tears away from his cheeks, Gyomei allows himself to breathe easier. Expelling a heavy puff of air through his nostrils as he nodded with solemn relief. “That is good.” His tone seemed less grave, yet no less powerful in the intensity of which his voice carried itself. Practically commanding the empty rooms full attention as his massive palms placed themselves on his knees, slowly standing up. “This, I can work with.”

Now practically towering over Urami from the further elevated position, he somehow felt even smaller than before. Which was a foreign sensation, one Urami couldn't say he particularly enjoyed.

Considering he was quite a tall man himself, Urami rarely felt small, standing at nearly one hundred ninety-three centimeters with a fit build—and yet, despite his imposing height; it was nothing compared to Gyomei's gargantuan frame. Which had to be at least two hundred twenty centimeters tall, with bulk that rivaled a beast.

The top of Urami's head only reached Gyomei's chin when standing, so of course seeing him basically loom over him like he's about to switch gears any second and swallow him whole sent a shiver of unease down Urami's spine.

However, it was his words that gave Urami proper pause. Nose scrunching up ever so slightly by the bridge as he swallowed down his own nerves with great difficulty, unsure on what exactly the other man meant by that. “... Excuse me?”

Cranking his head down to face the uncomfortable man below him had Gyomei almost feel a flicker of sadness for him, seeing as how he was seemingly not quite understanding the gravity of the situation. And what that called for in response for proper salvation.

The punishment must fit the crime, or a soul could not be properly cleansed of filth. 

But Urami had a chance to be clean, to be a good man once more if he only endured and atoned for his vile actions. There was simply something in the way which his spirit called out to Gyomei, begging for help and guidance, that drew him to understand he must be no lost cause.

And Gyomei would be his savior.

Placing one large hand on top of Urami's shoulder, digging his thick fingers slightly into his clothing and flesh to ground him—nearly made Urami jolt a little in surprise, clearly not expecting such firm physical contact. But Gyomei remains impassive of it. “You are remorseful for the violent way you behaved towards a child in your care, which means I still have the ability to save you.”

“Save me…?” Now Urami was most definitely confused on what the other man could be talking about, as it was the complete opposite of what he'd expected deep inside.

It wasn't as if Urami wanted to be imprisoned, to be seen with scorn and vitriol by any and all people who met him—but a part of him, one buried so very deep he could hardly even feel its presence; that part believed he might deserve it, if that was what came to pass.

So how could Gyomei see him as fixable? 

Was he?

“You must repent.” Reiterating the goal, Gyomei tightens his grip further. To the point of his palm could feel the bone of Urami's shoulder blade pressing up against his skin, eliciting a small, sharp gasp from the other. Almost adorable in the subtle way Urami managed to make it nearly impossible to even pick up on, if not for Gyomei's immaculate hearing.

Only the start of what he must prevail from, but God always has a plan. And those that follow it will be just in their cause, exactly the way Gyomei always had been.

“But your soul is salvageable, it is my duty to help you.” Gyomei spoke after a long pause, with a heart set firmly on the task at hand. As the voice of God surges all throughout him, reminding Gyomei of the good that will come of it in the end. How Urami's pain would be nothing but a temporary necessity for true salvation, for eternal paradise.

Gyomei is a good person for being willing to give this man a chance, and he knows Urami won't allow for it to end up being a waste.

As it sets in for Urami that Gyomei actually was talking about some form of ‘solution’ that seemingly involved no proper follow up for what had been confessed—his confusion shifted slowly, becoming almost incredulous that a man with the sort of reputation that spoke to a kind heart, yet a strict moral standing would be so accepting of him.

It was baffling to Urami, making him blink in rapid succession as he quickly stood up as well, chair clattering to the floor behind him as his head recoiled. Ruby red eyes scrutinizing every part of the other man's face to search for deception, yet finding none. 

Which only left him more stunned, as Urami shook his head, nose crinkling further up while the corners of his lips tugged themselves down. “Why would you even try to help—!!?” Urami began to question where the priest's mind might be at, yet just as he started to speak—Gyomei acted before he could even hope to finish.

The massive hand that managed to dwarf even Urami's own shot out, moving off his shoulder as it wrapped itself around Urami's wrist in a vice grip. Thick fingers folding over one another in a complete hold, leaving no empty room for escape out of it.

Without missing a single beat, Gyomei turned around and began to physically drag Urami along. Yanking the smaller man behind him as if he were nothing but a bag of meat to be transported, being so rough and sudden that even Urami nearly stumbled forwards without an ounce of grace to his steps, before catching himself. Barely, that is.

Attempting to straighten himself upright once more proved rather difficult, as nothing Urami did seemed to be any match for Gyomei's hulking form as he continued to pull him away. Even Urami's natural instincts to dig his heels down and cease any movement was completely useless. 

Urami grunts as his free arm clamps itself over Gyomei's sleeve, trying to pull him off to no avail. His voice slightly strained and panicked when it came out, possibly due to the fact Urami is decidedly not used to being the physically weaker party. “Ngh—hey, what are you doing?”

Once Urami came to the realization that his struggles were absolutely doing nothing at all to the other man, he could feel something within his abdomen coiling. An uncomfortable, nauseating slither against his insides, turning his stomach lining slippery with a mounting dread which continued to build.

And that dread only seemed to crescendo to heights even he couldn't recall ever feeling in the past, even as a child—when Gyomei began a verbal tirade, calm as it was, the words still came down sharply. Like he was striking Urami with a cane to the back with each syllable. Not an accusation in sight, only truth.

“You allowed your vile father to bed you.”

It hurt to hear that, considering Urami had let Hantengu sleep with him countless times. Silently bearing it as he was raised to do, sometimes even being more eager than he'd ever want to admit out loud to please his father. 

Particularly when he'd been younger, that was when Urami could remember being the most willing. During his early teenage years, trying his hardest to be the best son he could be. Even when it hurt or felt degrading to do so, he'd chosen willingly to endure it.

But he didn't want to admit to that.

“I didn't always let him—!”

Gyomei ignores Urami's raised voice, maintaining the deep timber of his own as he continues to list Urami's wrongdoings. “You allow him around your children knowing his tendencies.”

That was also true, there was no way for Urami to deny it. Of course he had known his father was a child predator, the man had literally been fucking Urami himself since he was in the single digit age. For years he had known—no, he'd always known.

And even still, Urami eagerly allowed for Hantengu to visit his grandchildren when they were born. Letting him be a part of their upbringing, relying on Hantengu for help when Urami became too ill or mentally exhausted to deal with it alone. 

All of that was done with the knowledge in the back of Urami's mind that Hantengu might not look at those boys in a normal way, part of him knew it very well. Yet he'd simply chosen to believe otherwise.

Too young still.

Not his fathers type, right? Because Urami was supposed to be his type.

It had been more lying to himself than anything else, that much was obvious. 

This was becoming too much for Urami to deal with so soon after laying all his guilt and regrets bare, having it all piercing him back right through the tender flesh of his body and soul did nothing to ease his rising anxiety. If anything it only poured gasoline on the roaring fire.

Trying to rip himself free from Gyomei's grip backfired greatly as it only caused Urami to nearly topple over again, this time gravity almost succeeded too, as his body started to drag down. 

However, before he could hit the floor properly, Gyomei had fastened his hold on Urami. Catching him in ample time to haul him forward, violently pushing him in front like a rag doll against the altar. Making Urami nearly cough from the way the edge rams itself into his firm abdomen, hands placing themselves flat against the surface for support to keep himself from cracking his head into it.

Struggling to push himself up to stand again and regain his breath turned into an impossible task, as massive hands pushed between Urami's shoulder blades. Pressing his face down into the hard marble.“H-Himejima—stop it! Can you—!?”

A sharp gasp of surprise tears itself free from Urami's tightening throat the moment he feels Gyomei's weight pushing down on his back, palm removing itself from between Urami's shoulder blades to grasp his wrist once more—already beginning to blossom with bruising beneath shades of golden brown.

It was suffocating. 

His chest was being compressed into the surface of the altar, as one arm had been completely immobilized by the way it was pinned down. His other not being of much more use as he struggled to keep a lid on his distress from the awful press, meaning that the one which was free became far too busy clamoring for the edges in an attempt to crawl free more than help.

All while Gyomei's hot, deep breath brings miniscule moisture down on Urami's long dark locks. Pushing past the midnight strands to tickle the back of his neck in a breeze of poison gas, causing goosebumps to form beneath the trickle of perspiration gathering under the hairline.

“Then you violate your own son.” Dropping an octave lower, Gyomei now spoke with more deep urgency. Practically whispering Urami's most egregious sin directly into his ear, so that there was no chance to block it out.

Not even when he struggled beneath the imposing priest from above.

The hold around his wrist tightened to impossibly painful heights, all while another gigantic hand roughly grabbed and palmed Urami's waist, fingers digging into the clothing he was wearing as they tore at the fabric with ease.

Grunts of pain and effort seized Urami's chest as he writhed to get free. Attempting to arch his back to push the other man off, roll his shoulders to dislodge himself, and use his legs to try and kick them both off.

Yet none worked.

Another sharper, slightly louder noise of protest shamefully tumbles free as Urami felt the searing and sudden pain of his belt being torn off. Not even unclasped properly beforehand, no. Simply ripped off his hips like it was string, causing agonizing friction to nearly cut his skin through his fabric.

It was utterly humiliating how much pain that simple action caused, as Urami's head fell forward in a silent cry. Willpower winning over enough to stifle his own noises, only parting his lips in a shuddering intake of breath that sounded aborted and strangled. “You're hurting me—fuck! Let go of me! Damn it, what are you doing?!”

Something wet and hot stings itself across Urami's vision as his mind spirals deep into despair and panic at such a rapid pace, it nearly caused him actual, physical whiplash.

Part of Urami already knew what was happening, deep down. He could just feel it bubbling and boiling within his abdomen, painfully searing at his flesh while it erodes his stomach lining down to nothing but a puddle of nausea and dread. Bile aching to rise upwards already, yet being too petrified to manage the journey.

He'd been under someone before, undressed by them.

But since becoming an adult; Urami has never been physically overpowered by the usage of force.

And it was terrifying.

“What I must.” A small click echoes off the walls following Gyomei's simple, cold answer. As the sound of a buckle reaches Urami's ears, fabric that was not his own crinkling and shifting with purpose against him. “To save you, Ransuji.”

The clothes tug themselves down with some difficulty across Gyomei's muscular thighs, the underwear quickly following in their wake while powerful hands continue to pin Urami down with ease. “Because I care about your redemption, about your soul.”

Now the tears he had felt previously as nothing but an invasive, sharp prickling sensation against his vision became overwhelming and oppressive to his sight. Flooding his eyes as they burned his waterline in ponds of saline, spilling over past his lashes as Urami felt the thick hardness of something large and unwanted press between his thighs.

No, this had to be some kind of a joke.

Gyomei Himejima is known to be a good, kind man—he wouldn't do something like this. Not even to a person like Urami, right?

As soon as Urami felt the slight alleviation of Gyomei's crushing weight lift itself off him even just a little bit—if only to pull Urami's own pants down to expose him—Urami began to wildly thrash around, shaking his head as sounds of panic and hysteria tore at his throat like snarls.

“Get the fuck off of me right now!” Screeched out in both fury and undeniable terror, Urami tries his best to clamor away. Pitched grunting and small sobs escape from him like a running faucet, constant in their spillage and messy as well.

Usually it would be so humiliating that Urami would rather die than be heard sounding so desperate and cornered—and it was humiliating, it was shameful. But he couldn't even stop to think on it, not now.

Not when he couldn't move or get free properly. As he felt the horrific sensation of his pants and boxers be yanked down to his knees without care, his body lifted further up on the marble altar—which only further immobilized him beneath the suffocating weight of another.

And certainly not when he could feel how hard Gyomei had already grown, showcasing his humongous size even without Urami being able to visually see it. Only feeling the erect appendage pressind itself against his lower back, shaft grinding slightly between his cheeks as a whimper tumbled free past Urami's parted lips.

There was no way that thing would fit! Even like this, bent over and completely blind to anything but the white marble below, as well as all the stupid statues of religious figures staring down at them—Urami could already tell.

This man was not anywhere close to a normal size, even for someone far above average.

A humiliatingly terrified, yet deep keen scratches itself against Urami's sore throat. Tender from not only his own previous self hatred and anxiety, but now also from fright and intense alarm. “Stop this! You can't just—!”

His voice cuts off mid protest into a pitched cry as Urami's spine arched painfully beneath his restrained hold, crimson eyes widening in pure, unadulterated horror as he felt the weeping tip of Gyomei's erect penis drag across his body—before it pushed between the plush of his ass.

Pressing that bulbous, throbbing head against his hole like an inviting nudge. Too forceful already, and far too girthy for an entrance unprepared. Especially the backdoor, which didn't even self lubricate or turn wet with arousal.

Not that Urami was aroused anyway if an anus even could have turned slick with desire, no. He was anything but turned on.

Terrified, scared, completely and utterly petrified with fear? Absolutely.

Which only made his muscles clench harder, tensing and coiling underneath his clammy and cold skin as they turned to rock. Painful beneath his surface, almost agonizingly taut across bone. None of which helped make the pushing against him feel any less easy to process, in fact; it made it worse. Because the fear only intensified.

Gyomei shifts his body and hold, hips angled back to accommodate his size while maintaining his iron grip around Urami's wrist and waist. “Hush now. I understand it's difficult to handle…” He starts, slow, deliberate. Almost gentle and soothing in his tone.

Before he shatters that illusion by beginning to push inside dry. Forcing his large appendage to breach the tight ring of muscle that continuously constricted itself tighter, clenching and fluttering around what had previously been nothing in fear; now turning to involuntary attempts to expel something out.

The entirety of Urami's body seizes up in pain as a strangled scream tears itself free across his vocal cords the same way blades drag themselves slowly over mounds of flesh, tearing it open at the most agonizing pace possible. Splitting apart tissue and cutting open vessels alike.

It sears his throat while his chest burns with the most humiliating shriek of his life, scorching across the sacs of his lungs as if oxygen became replaced by smoke. Fingers scrambling for reprieve as his body heaves and rasps in the monumental anguish he felt at that moment.

The feeling of his ass being pushed inside of without even a hint of lubrication was akin to being impaled on a blade, one that was forced between his legs that is.

Tearing his skin inch by inch, slowly forcing its way inside as Urami jolted and screamed in what could only be described as base animal instinct. Considering even a man with his own self control could not stop himself from gagging and wailing from the sheer agony of this violation.

Another inch pushes itself inside, ripping open Urami's sensitive skin and pulling it apart like it was nothing but a faulty bandaid. Taking with it the outer layer, allowing for streams of scarlet red to spurt out between them as Urami howled out like a dying mutt. Bending over further as his only free arm gripped the front edge of the altar like a lifeline. “No! S-Stop it!”

Yet no matter how loud Urami shrieked out for Gyomei to stop forcing himself further inside of him; nothing changed.

The larger man continued on, shoving his cock deeper despite the tight friction causing him difficulty to enter smoothly. Every plunge deeper hurting them both, despite Urami taking the brunt of it all—the friction still felt somewhat uncomfortable for Gyomei, at first, at least.

Then the floodgates opened. And the terrible drought became quenched in metallic scented waters as it drenched the skin between them, soaked into the thick pubic hair of Gyomei's crotch, and moisturized the space in between. 

A slow rainfall, as the blood only came out in trickles—yet a rainfall nonetheless.

And it made the insertion increasingly more easy, and far more pleasurable physically. Practically able to slide in despite the internal resistance of those tight, ridge filled walls that clenched around him like a warm grip as he did so.

His large hands instinctively tighten themselves across the parts of Urami that Gyomei has incapacitated, feeling his own muscles tense and shiver with delight as he holds the man down whilst sheathing himself inside fully.

As his hips press themselves slowly against the firm ass of the sobbing body below, something within Gyomei shifts slightly. His hands clench with a need he never before allowed himself, feeling the sensation of tight, bloodied walls helplessly squeezing his thick shaft like a prayer—all while the warmth enveloping him turned even hotter as Urami writhed in pain.

He should not enjoy a simple duty, and yet; the way Ransuji still remained conscious and awake after being forcibly penetrated dry spoke volumes to his durability.

Even Gyomei's past lovers who used lubrication and prep struggled with the stretch—so this was something that teased itself across Gyomei's subconscious. Causing his hips to grind mindlessly into Urami slowly as he holds him down harder.

Another sharp cry rips free from Urami as he gags on nothing—practically tasting the disgusting flesh and skin mixing with salty precum as well as metallic blood in the back of his throat from how deep Gyomei had buried himself within him. 

Scorching hot, fat globs of saline tears pour down his face. Burning his cheeks as Urami tried to shake his head again, sobbing like a pathetic bitch being taken as he trembled and hitched for any reprieve even as his body failed him. “It hurts! P-Please stop—!!”

It hurt to speak, he practically couldn't speak as Gyomei pulled back only about two inches before he thrust forwards again. Like it was a mute button, Urami's words choked off again. Crumbling into a shuddering whimper that bounced and clang against the floor and up to the walls.

“... But you must endure this, Ransuji.” Reminding him of the necessity of it all in a softened tone, Gyomei still kept his voice loud enough to be authoritative and clear, yet couldn't quite find it in himself to shout. Seeing no need for it. “It's God's will. He wishes for me to help redeem your soul.”

Even now, that voice rang clear in Gyomei's mind. His will was showing Gyomei the way in all parts of this cleansing, not just in the words spoken through their holy and divine connection.

Thrust into him and allow your instincts to take over.

His body felt like it was starting to burn up from the inside out as Gyomei pulled his hips backwards, starting from the depths of his abdomen. It scorched his groin in a pleasant heat as the length of his veiny shaft had drenched in streaks of warm crimson red, sliding out of Urami's body with far more ease than the insertion.

Slowly pushing back in only heightened that arousal Gyomei could feel within, surging upwards throughout his veins, pulsating against his muscles that tensed and strained to keep his urges repressed.

“N-No!” By now, Urami sounded pathetic even to his own ears. A voice that always remained deep and imposing even during times of stress now became shrill, higher pitched and desperate for mercy as he sobbed when the brief moment of rest became another agonized stretch. “I-I can-can't—!!”

“Repent.” Gyomei commands him, just as the last of his cock disappeared inside of the unwilling body below. Filling him up completely and fully, to the point he was most likely inside the man's insides.

Literally.

But it felt too good, and taking it slow for long felt like an impossible task—especially with how long it's now been since Gyomei ever lay with anyone, least of all someone who could take his entirety without falling unconscious.

Or, so he thinks. None have ever actually taken him completely before they tap out and ask to stop, which Gyomei always does. As he is a good man. A pious man.

However, now he doesn't need to stop. And that changes everything.

“Just endure, and be free…” Shifting his grip on Urami's bruised and possibly fractured wrist downwards, he places his palm on the other side of the man's waist. Using the trim part of his sides as the perfect handlebar for stability and security. 

“I'll take care of your sins.” Was all Gyomei promised the sobbing and pleading man below him, before Gyomei picks up his pace.

Hips thrust themselves back and forth at what most might describe as a normal, average pace. But to both Gyomei and Urami alike; it was incredibly fast, it was far from average.

Screams turn louder as garbled babblings that could have been protests become completely unintelligible, devolving into nothing but shrieks and wails of misery and pure agony as Urami's body writhes around. Jolting upwards with every plunge inside.

It stretched his insides apart, every single time. Every vein on Gyomei's fat, girthy cock dragged itself across the torn flesh of Urami's body, grinding the salty white which wept from the tip further inside of his open wounds. Making it all the more painful as he rammed himself as deep he could go.

It felt as if he were dying, and Urami's screeching and sobbing reflected that pain and fear. Because he'd never been louder, nor had he ever heard louder from anyone else.

Not even his own son when he'd do nothing but listen from behind a door when Hantengu was visiting.

Meanwhile for Gyomei, it was close to heaven on earth, somewhat. Although he'd never admit to it, the sensation of having sexual intercourse with someone at his own full potential felt better than he could ever have imagined.

Every single time he slammed back inside of Urami, hard enough to make the other man's fit body jerk forward violently, enough to make his hipbones grind painfully against the altar; Gyomei would groan.

His entire cock was being squeezed and clamped down on, the throbbing appendage aching for more and more pleasure with every deep thrust. Pulsating in a need unmatched, so intense it made Gyomei almost believe he was witnessing what others described as seeing stars.

Breathing quickly becomes ragged and heavier as Gyomei feels his body completely let his instincts take over, just as God wanted him to do. His grip turns bruising, nearly enough to break bone on Urami's waist as his body leans over, hovering.

“Goodness… You're taking me so—so well.” The pace turns even faster as Gyomei's lips part in a rumbling moan, the deafening sound of skin slapping violently against skin almost matching the wailing sobs that seemed to turn more strangled with each plunge, becoming weaker and more pitiful—yet still there.

Gags and retching mix with the sound of pained coughs and whimpers, as the sound of liquid hitting the floor in a rush reaches Gyomei's ears. Quickly followed by the strong acidic smell of something sour.

Clearly, Urami was vomiting from the pain. Or the fact that Gyomei was thrusting in him so deep and fast, that he was possibly pushing against his stomach as well. Perhaps it was both.

Yet he was still not limp, not quite.

Trembles and small, weak struggles still continued as further cries followed once the stomach acid wasn't flooding Urami's mouth any longer. Now only dripping down his chin as his head fell forward, hanging low. His thick curtains of hair obscuring his pallid face from the statue of Jesus before them, watching it all from where he stands crucified.

Gyomei could tell he was still awake, and it made him almost want Urami past the duty given of doing this. Knowing he could take this much of him, even if unwilling. It made Gyomei feel things he'd never felt before.

And so, to soothe him and praise him despite knowing he probably should not do so before the redemption process was over; Gyomei composed himself enough through his relentless thrusting, voice strained with pleasure as he climbed closer to climax. 

“You're doing good… You're so strong.” Moaned out past breathy grunts, Gyomei nearly makes a small noise akin to a whimper himself as he feels his lower abdomen tense up painfully.

He was so close.

Shifting himself impossibly close, pressing his upper body once more against Urami's back—Gyomei's pace turns faster. His powerful thighs push apart Urami's own further as his heavy balls swing back and forth with every plow inside. 

One hand shot up and grasped a fistful of Urami's thick, soft hair that gently tickled Gyomei's palm in the most pleasant of ways. As he pulled Urami's head back, ensuring he'd be staring right at Jesus when it was all over, to look at a man who would forgive Urami for his sins.

As long as he repents properly.

Gyomei's other arm forces itself underneath Urami's abdomen, right above where his abdominal muscles and navel would be. Pulling him tighter against himself to possibly thrust even deeper, as his cock rams itself as far in as possible.

And with that arm now snugly wrapped around that area; Gyomei could feel the bulge of his own massive appendage pressing against his forearm through the skin of another. Disappearing when he pulled back, only to press itself back against him when Gyomei slammed his hips forward.

It was enough to push him completely over the edge.

With one final, complete thrust; Gyomei buries himself to the hilt inside of Urami's still tight body. His balls tighten up as he groans the loudest he ever has, body trembling and tensing up as he climaxes hard.

A generously large amount of white shoots out in ropes, spurting thick and creamy cum from the throbbing tip of his cock as Gyomei grinds his hips against Urami's ass. Rutting the last of his pleasure to drain himself of every last drop, dispensing all of it inside. 

It was blessed by the Lord, so of course Urami needed to take the entire load.

As he slowly comes down from his high, Gyomei eases up his harsh grip on Urami. Lowering his body further on top as his every breath came like a heavy thunder down on the other man's shoulder, which had his clothes sticking to his skin from the clammy skin. Smelling of Urami's natural scent, which only made Gyomei feel more lax. 

“My Goodness…” He moans out softly. While not exactly exhausted considering his amazing stamina, he was spent. Both from the overwhelming pleasure of the physical, but also happiness and contentment he had listened to God's words and helped a wayward soul.

For a couple of minutes, the both of them simply laid there. With Gyomei's softening cock still buried deep inside as he slowly regained his bearings, while Urami simply twitched and trembled with soft cries. His thighs drenched in scarlet red, streaks of pink joining as white cum dripped from his abused hole.

All while his mind felt somewhat broken, unable to completely comprehend the sheer pain and humiliation he just went through. Barely even conscious or aware anymore. Just a body lay bent over an altar at an empty church, brutalized and bloodied like a lamb at sacrificical slaughter.

After a while, Gyomei finally slips out of him slowly. His dick was completely covered in their shared liquids as it falls and slaps Gyomei on his thigh in the now flaccid state it was in, a wet noise sounding out as more blood now taints his already stained skin.

As Gyomei steps back, he regards Urami more properly once more. Pulling the weakened man down off the altar and keeping his shaking form upright as his legs buckle like a newborn fawn. “You've done well, Ransuji. Your soul… it will be healed.”

Urami couldn't even reply. Only whimper in pain as his head lolled back and forth, neck struggling to keep it upright. Having to accept the assistance as his entire weight leaned itself against Gyomei. Face wet with tears and stomach acid alike, as well as specks of blood littered across his lips from having torn his throat screaming.

Everything else became a blur as the man who just nearly killed him carried Urami off bridal style, with ease at that. Taking him somewhere more secluded where Gyomei proceeded to get a washcloth and water, before he gently cleaned the blood and semen off of Urami's body.

Each stroke against his ruined asshole hurt enough to elicit another broken whimper, but Gyomei was as gentle as he could be. A stark contrast to the brutal treatment earlier.

He wiped his legs clean—even as more blood kept tricking out from all the tearing. He wiped Urami's face with wet wipes, dried his tears, and slowly fed him a glass of water to wash out the acidic taste of vomit on his tongue.

And Urami just allowed him. Not having the strength or ability to do much except take it, and do so in verbal silence.

By the end, when they were both cleaned up—Gyomei finally spoke again, his tone back to normal as if nothing had happened. More kind once more, gentler and approachable. 

It felt scary and sickening all at once.

“You did quite well, I must say.” Gyomei hummed out softly, large palms cupping Urami's face in them, thumbs caressing his cheekbones with gentle reverence. “Taking me in such a carnal way, that is no easy feat.”

But it was God's will, His plan. Gyomei always knew it would work out, he just didn't realize it would be so beneficial to himself as well. Almost like a holy reward for all his good deeds in the past, to be granted a body that could fulfill his needs at long last.

You deserve him, after so long alone.

Does he…? Should Gyomei perhaps continue sexual contact with Urami, once the man heals up more? It would be a difficult task if he was unwilling once again, even if Gyomei knew within his heart what had transpired was necessary. It would be helpful in the end.

But Urami might still be too blind to see it.

You've served me so well. You deserve love as well, my child.

He does, doesn't he?

Gyomei is silent for a bit, before he closes the distance between himself and Urami. Pressing his lips against Urami's own in a slow, gentle kiss. 

At first neither moves a muscle, but then Gyomei deepens it. Moving his lips gently against Urami's, tongue pushing past his limp mouth and making its way inside—which is where Gyomei knew for sure. 

He did want to have someone who could handle him.

Urami tasted sweeter than expected, much sweeter. Even with the strong flavor of tobacco and black coffee permeating his tongue, there were hints of raspberry in his saliva. Sweet and fresh against Gyomei's tastebuds as he explored the wet inside of Urami's unresisting mouth, taking his time to savor the flavor before he finally pulled away.

Yes, he did deserve this.

And if Urami happened to never wish to see Gyomei again?

Well, considering what the man had previously confessed to, the answer was obvious. It was right within the palm of his hand how easy it would be to convince Urami to keep seeing him, to perhaps even be more close—in far more ways than one.

Simply claiming he would go to the police about the abuse of Urami's children, who most likely would corroborate the report considering Urami had already let it slip his children aren't very fond of him—it would mean that he'd most likely be arrested, his life would be ruined.

And if he told anyone about what happened here, in the house of God? Well, Gyomei doubts it would be believed, especially considering how respected he is, and how much respect Urami would have already lost by then.

Besides, Gyomei was saving him. He helped Urami cleanse his soul, so it was completely different.

Yes, this would work out. He wouldn't even be forceful about it any longer, nor brutal. The usage of preparation and lubrication would be a constant, and Gyomei would be far gentler, even if he'd still expect Urami to take the entire thing—he would still be far more accommodating, because he's a good man.

Gyomei Himejima could finally be less lonely.