✟Author's Note✟: This one-shot is going to be actually a blasphemy for some of my readers, nevertheless, I don't care anymore. It's actually dedicated to one pal of mine, who's also obsessed with Timothy like me, besides a fanfiction writer like me and why not dedicating dearly a present for him? If you are against LGBT and religion kink, besides the drugs disgust you, hence, I'm not responsible for your emotions and feelings after reading this work except how the one-shot affects you. Furthermore, don't read it in your own risk! Anyway I hope you like and enjoy it barnesthor- and everybody else as well! :))

Trigger Warning for ✟Sexual Content, Religion Kink and Drugs✟

Like every clergyman, Timothy Howard was diligent and dedicated to his own career dearly and keeping his irreparable vows unbreakable once the sin weathers him or his impulsive, human instincts. Taking solemnly his vows a couple of years ago and joining the priesthood was one of the toughest, complacent ever took decision in his own fragile life. His family and friends even clergy members sternly cautioned him once taking the farther step in his own life, full of surprises, full of dynamic roller coasters and joining the priesthood at early age, on the contrary he'd deeply regret for his own decision for the rest of his days. Why the regret would be one of the most painful emotions the British compatriot would ever feel and experience? Missing his great deal of opportunity to make his own family, finding the ideal soulmate anywhere, having his own adorable little birds, teach and love them and relish every aspect of the life. Anyway his decisions were sequencing their own relentless, inescapable consequences.

A mere like the other days early morning was embraced by the early spring balmy, saturating sun dispersing its own sun rays' light, filtering the empty, lethally silent church. Jubilant, eloquent birdsongs encircled the abbey. The sun was smiling to everybody even to the most despondent surroundings, cloaked in somber attires of upsetness, disquietude and sorrow, besides frowning and grimacing their faces, heavier wrinkles and crinkles decorating them like Christmas trees.

The priests and nuns have already their own breakfast, besides reciting in a murmur their morning prayers. So as Timothy already did.

The monumental, double plywood door was pushed by fashioned in balled fists hands of the holy man, stepping inside the abbey. His oxford shoes clicked against the cemented, dull flooring, producing motonous, recurring clicks per a step. No business was awaiting the members of the clergy inside the church unless something spontaneously fills their hectic daily schedules by paying a visit to certain places, obligating their presences.

The holy home of God blanketed in serene silence the British compatriot, relishing the silence that tingled its own ballad in his sensitive ears. His nostrils inhaled inwardly the alluring fragrance of flowerbeds which usually are planted and nourished nigh the church territory. His cocoa brown orbs, filtered with the most vibrant, kindhearted cocoa nuance mottling them and cocksurely peeping the lacquered pews. An eerie flat line was smeared across his baby pinkish, soft as satin lips which had never savored a kiss from the representative of the opposite sex. Neither a smile as a warm welcome, nor a frown.

Once the British aristocrat approached the altar, his strong, virginal fingers knotted, kneeling beside the altar and bowing his head meekly, fluttering shut his eyelids. His baby-pinkish lips commenced reciting in a mumble the prayer, limping back and forward in his throat.

"Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee." Once the holy man commenced with the prayer, his velvety, British lilt accented the holy utterance nonchalantly. "Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus." Shortly after reciting the prayer, all of a sudden the background noise of pushed double door startled him, almost snapping him out of his holy utterance, chewing on his lower plumpish lip pensively. "Holy Mary Mother of God," In the interval, masculine, familiar footsteps echoed, producing frequent, featureless click against the cemented, grayish flooring. The older man's heart rate rabidly rapid increased, the drums of the pulsations throbbed vehemently, verging his flimsy heart to spring up from his ribcage. "Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen!" After straightening his posture, throughout he gestured the Sign of the Cross solemnly until he felt a younger priest's mammoth, veiny and stiff hand clawing his broad, muscly shoulder, fingers teasingly ushering him to turn though hesitance contoured Timothy's charming facial features. "Oh! Father Richard, I haven't been expecting you so far right now!" Cherry blush touched the older man's chubby, well-carved cheeks after turning to face Father Richard with a benevolently sympathetic, glowing smile, indicating his friendliness and open-minded nature. Pair of warm chocolate brown jewels met another pair of light green jewels. Like smoky quartz and jade. Two of a kind gemstones with their own authentic uniqueness, lavish luster and quality contradicting each other.

Father Richard was actually a gentleman in his mid-twenties with dark ginger hair, capping his head and light green jewels, adorning his young-looking, fresh complexion with its luster palish skin tone. Further, he was slightly taller than Timothy with a few inches and his body structure was mildly chubbier, nevertheless, still athletic for his own frail age. Last but not least, Richard was actually coming from the south part of the country and having a tough life in his early adulthood by struggling with the sex, drugs and alcohol even his criminal deeds, endangering his entire freedom out of prison and its housing prisoners of their own fate inmates. Thanks to Timothy and a few other clergy members, his life wasn't actually fated any longer to be blemished with its heinous deeds and guilty pleasures. His full name was Richard Todd Winstead and Richard has actually reared in Georgia and emigranting in Boston, Massachusetts in his early adulthood for a fresh start after graduating from high school. His family wasn't murderously wealthy at all. Eventually his grandparents were the wealthy, lucky ones until he lose them in his-mid adolescence due to natural causes.

"Are you actually praying even after the morning prayer, Timothy?" Meantime, the older man managed a nod in strong agreement, seizing his plump lips in a pensive purse, reluctant to resist the urge. "No wonder how devotional you're actually to the church!"

"In fact, I'm praying even when it doesn't concern the morning, night and afternoon prayers, that doesn't make me the most devotional member of the church." Sternity punctured the British aristocrat's explaination, whereas Richard raised an arch of his dark, thick eyebrow, listening attentively his mentor's explaination without cutting him off, in order to disrespect him at any cost. "There's a big difference between the most pious person or a priest or a nun and person, who isn't even pious as much as the average general population but praying for themselves or somebody else's soul, if you get me!"

"I think I've to agree with you. The prayers are perfectly normal to be part even of the non-religious people's daily lives and helping them to be blessed or at least secured by God," A lump, bubbling up in the older man of the cloth's Adam apple, subsequently was managed in a swallow in the back of his throat, while it was oblivious for him how the Georgian licked greedily, idly his cherub, pale lips. "God's eyes constantly making sure whether if we're endangered by the sins or the crude coldness of the life with its abundance of ordeals." The eloequence in the Georgian's utterance tingled angelic anthems in Timothy's ears, being beyond pleasantly mesmerized by his well-scholared nature.

"I'm pretty surprised by your intelligence and how do you exactly formulate it, Richard! That's already a good progress with overcoming from your shell." An affable, kindhearted pat on the muscular, broad shoulder was swatted by the British aristocrat. The symphony of hoarse, half-hearted snickers escaped their tongues after Richard unclawed his colossal, veiny hand from his mentor's shoulder. A honored, content smile embellished Richard's complexion after the warmhearted words emboldened him like an elating, eloquent morning birdsong. "It's been a few years since I met you for first time and I helped you to overcome with your ordeals from the past life you're no longer adapted to."

"It's thanks to you and some of our beloved men of the cloth, who helped me to escape from the spiderweb of my crimes and dangers." A half-hearted, continous snicker clicked the roof of Georgian's mouth, staring cordially at the older priest's alight coffee brown irises. Immense gratitude swaddled his flimsy heart, whilst expressing his own gratitude for finding his own rescue behind the abbey's walls and dedicating his young life to the cloth. "If it wasn't you or either of them, no wonder what life awaited me!" In the meantime, Richard the Georgian swallowed hard, sluggishly his throat managing to functionate properly at the bittersweet memories of his gloomy past. A shadow was casted on his blanched face. The smile ebbed out, subsequently sketching a salty, disquiet frown. The both clergymen's faces brightly, metaphorically contrasted one another. Timothy's optimism and radiance weren't wanning at all unlike his own protégé's facial attributes, losing its luster radiance and happiness. Rather something upsetting was brushing its darker nuances the humanoid prospect. "Either covering my own tracks, " Ducking shamefacedly his head at the thought of his past and the resurfacing memories for example participating cluelessly, bluntly in a bar fight with a couple of innocent people and breaking their noses or brittle body parts. "To be caught red handed and spending the rest of my days inside the jailbars," Woeful grin temporarily decorated his face. "Or otherwise, the police to be after me and running free from them, migrating from a place to place and acknowledging my danger."

"It's okay," In the meantime, the middle-aged man scooped in a tight, warmhearted hug his own protégé, curling his strong, muscular arms around his upper back and the gap of their proximity closing. Scarcely an inch dividing their baleful proximity. The ginger's face was buried in the crook of the brunette's arm, melting in the kind, platonically affectionate hug. They'd like brother duo, uniting them and Timothy sensing Richard as his own younger brother, in spite of having a handful of older brothers with a couple of years his seniors. "Richard! It's just the past and I'm not judging you for who you used to be and what did you become."

"I know!"

"The life is too short for so much sorrow and suffering from the pain you've endured." Mutual warmness absorbed their frail skeletons, pressed altogether in the scooped consoling embrace.

"Indeed!" Within a handful of moments, the both men broke off the hug until the ginger seated on the nigh pew, maneuvering with a pat on the separate seat to invite his mentor to join him and sit alongside each other. Delighted, open-minded smile parted upon the older member of the clergy's berry-coloured lips, thus sitting alongside his protégé and the younger member of the church's hand drifted up to Timothy's upper back, pawing it with his long, nimble fingers. "I know how personal is this question, howsoever, I'm wondering and sometimes it's okay to talk about way too personal stuff, if you get me," Suddenly his light green irises diminished its green opacity, consequently ablaze brass pigment pigmenting the huge, round eyes. Darkening his gaze at his mentor. Infernally altering the gaze's aura and energy, furnishing his irises. Perhaps the vile essence has found its new home and the unholy spirits inhabiting nobody else than the former drug dealer's tall, athletic figure.

"S-Sure! Why not?" The haphazard retaliation of the middle-aged man surprised the former drug dealer. All of a sudden, Timothy felt something odd altering his protégé's outstanding features. For example, noting his eyes were no longer the bright light green as he remembered them ideally. The amiable, sympathetic smile, tattoing his youthful, alabaster face and embracing with open arms the strangers and other members of the clergy. "What does exactly interest you to ask me as a personal question, Richard?"

"I've always wondered if you've always been a devout Christian especially a Catholic.For example, wondering what it would be like with somebody from the same gender or a woman," With a cough, the young gentleman cleared his throat gruffily, easening his potency, puncturing his rhetorical enquiry.At the moment, his hand slithered downward to his panted thigh, stroking gingerly, delicately with his potent, nimble fingers the rigid slacks' fabric, admiring the curve of his thigh. Suddenly the brunette's cocoa brown orbs flickered down, following Richard's delicate motion of his caress, swallowing hard at the unhallowed, blasphemic prospect and the posed question which was ongoing or they're a handful of, accruing in the same time. "Adopting or having your own children! At least, savoring the desires of your life." With his solely free colossal, stiff hand he retrieved a package of cocaine with a rolled vertically dollar as an unholy, dosing equipment. The pungent unhallowed sweet scent of cocaine quickly wafted across the older priest's sensitive nostrils, flaring them after the package of cocaine chaffed his twain of chocolate brown embers, igniting glaring, darkening flames. "You're indeed right the life is too short for sorrow and pain, but the life is too short to regret even for the guilty pleasures and desires," Meantime, the British compatriot's complexion was twisted in a grotesque grimace, angst pulsating in his large frame and adrenaline pumping into his veins. Galore of questions swarming his cataract of thoughts with a handful of reasonable, rational answers, seeking for the genuine solution. Even though Patrick has joined the church with intentions, opposititng his former guilty pleasures and desires, however, speechlessness and nonplus contorted his facial muscles, unable to think clearly and sort his mind adequately.

"I've actually thought about making my own family with a woman by my side with our lovely children, despite, as you can see, Richard," Unwelcoming stony enunciation highlighted his revelation. "I'm already married to God and my body belongs to God. Soul, mind and body!" Emphasis highlighted his last sentence, puncturing its hair-rising timbre with his serpentine venomous tongue. Oddly pleasant sensation sedated his muscles and bones after Richard rested his heinously clawing hand on his panted thigh, haphazard gasp limping in the back of Timothy's tongue. He has never been attracted to somebody as a representative of the same sex. It was a blasphemy. Against his career. Against his unarguably irreparable vows. Against the society's norms and morals. It was one of the most ginormous blasphemies even than getting laid with an unmarried lady, regardless her actual age. "Richard, no! We can't do this and hide right away this drug before somebody catches up in this oddness."

"No, no, no, Timothy! It's okay to snort some cocaine and to feel the ecstasy and its effects of this sweet drug." After unpacking the package of the oyster-white drug, thereafter his only free hand's fingers fondled sensually, lightly his thigh. The touch beared a semblance of more than a friendship and speaking the language of blasphemy. The language of the double trouble which awaited them if somebody entered in the church nonetheless haphazardly and reports to the senior man of the cloth Father Malachi about their unholy acts and the illegal drug they're keeping inside the abbey under God's judgmental, fierce glares and hostile scowls. "It won't hurt to snort a small scale of the cocaine dose, will it?"

"Just no! You're a recover drug dealer, Richard! This must be reported to-"

"If you think you're capable of reporting this to Father Malachi, you're awfully wrong, Tim!" After clicking his tongue emphatically, cockily soothing, whilst Timothy was lifting his finger balefully to reject the offer to savor the drug with a mere snort, a wicked, sardonic giggle seared the corners of the ginger's mouth. His fingers slipped down to his round, well-shaped knee. Ruckus of restlessness brewed and cooked inside the British aristocrat's organs and mild nausea swamping the pit of his stomach. Nausea of never feeling a sexual attraction towards homosexuals or leaning to the homosexualism which was morally wrong in the contemporary world of the recent decade unless the laws are rewritten for better and be liberal towards the same-sex marriages and relationships even people. "You don't want him to know about our little secret, because you know who's going to be the one who's screwed up?" Warm, minty breath fanned the brunette's earlobe after bending down to muffle his whisper past his ear. Shivers danced down his spine and body of embarrassment, sweetness and nonplus. "Huh?" Then the redhead closed the gap, his ivory, youthfully firm teeth nibbling the delicate skin of Timothy's earlobe, thereafter licking it with his strawberry-coloured, mint-stained tongue while his fingers worked on kneading the roundness of his athletic, slim knee. He mewled a fevered, honeyed groan, curling his baby-pinkish lips after his protégé was teasing his earlobe between his teeth. In the interim, the ambitious clergyman swallowed hard, holding his stare with his protégé, sheepishly bobbing his head in agreement. "Good! As we shall keep our little secret just between us," Then he shoveled his knee to the cemented flooring, ushering him to sit on his knees beside the sitting younger holy man. Meanwhile, the British aristocrat's mouth opened in a soft O, agape by the domineering nature of his protégé. Little did he know what has gotten in his vulnerable identity. Wasn't he possessed? Is it possible a priest to be possessed? There was nothing unsacred as a fragment or the demons levitating through the invisible air, invincibly inhabiting its own vulnerable victims' bodies and commanding them to sin unspeakably. "These tiresome clothes are keeping you heat as if you're burning eventually." At the moment, Richard's supernaturally potent, dexterous fingers reached for Timothy's blazer, peeling it off from his torso and tossing carelessly on the altar without thinking twice. Although Timothy's efforts to stop in a halt his protégé from taking off his clerical attires, they weren't enough to get rid off the rigid attires of the cloth as they were slowly but surely peeling off and before that unarmored. "Shhh! Do not whine for help! It's just us, Timothy!" Licking greedily, gamely his cherub, pale lips, encouraging himself to take the further step with tempting his mentor and the package of cocaine was dumped alongside his rear.

"N-No! That's morally wrong. It's a blasphem-" All of a sudden, a forefinger silenced the older holy man's softly opened mouth, widening his chocolate brown embers hesitantly, dumbfoundedly.

"Blasphemy if you don't keep yourself quiet! Just relax," As soon as the British compatriot's body was donned in nothing else than his cotton, convenient boxers, afterwards Richard ushered dominatively the older gentleman to undress him up. "I can't stand these attires anymore! Take them off! But do it just slowly and naturally." Gamely winking at his mentor spoke volumes, whereas the middle-aged man's pristine, strong fingers curled on Richard's neatly buttoned shirt especially the first buttons, clumsily playing with them until they slipped off from the charcoal black shirt, gradually exposing his hairy, yet jets of breathing muscly chest. His coffee brown pools wandered downward to his fingers, indicating the recent progress. Sparkles of awe danced inside his smoky quartz jewels, glistening thousand patterns of wonderment. Chidlike curiosity flickered up his thoughts. After undoing each button gradually, he peeled off warily and steadily the stubborn dark shirt from the redhead's torso until the both pairs of tops were piling up recklessly the altar. "Excellent! Now just stop until I tell you when to continue." The British aristocrat bobbed docilely, diligently his head in agreement as the ginger took the older gentleman's fingers, violently running them all over his toned, hairy torso, admiring his masculinity. Smug, criminal grin flexed the Georgian's facial muscles. Glinting his delicious lust for his mentor whom he's never felt for him ever before, intoxicating him to insanity with every ounce. Complacent gasp and moan slipped from the Georgian's tongue, cocking back his head, the foreign fingers starting to trace by themselves the genuine sensation and sentiment with giving his virtue to a representative of the opposite sex. His brass eyes fluttered tightly shut, cherishing the steamy, masculine touch that was his second nature at last. "Do you like it?"

"It's so soft." Timothy was in awe, admiring the possessed clergyman's creamy, muscly chest, his fingers lingering on the flesh. Whispering velvety, he fathomed that he liked touching men and it was strangely hedonistic sensation for him. It was foreign, full of secrets and paradoxal mysteries, but also an eye candy for him. The middle-aged man couldn't resist the urge to linger his awe-enchanted ogle on the possessed priest and focusing on teasing his torso's muscles as if they were in seventh heaven. "And so smooth. Wow!"

"D-Do you like it was my question?" Mild irritation was punctured in the Georgian's southern, deep lilt, resonance vibrating through his throat, attempting to not ruin the ideal moment they've both dedicated their own desires and covets. Oblivion trapped in the darkness their already broken vows.

"Oh, I didn't hear the question!" After gnawing on his upper lip slowly between his front teeth, he nodded modestly, headstrongly. "It's terribly strange, however, I like it." Throughout the series of fondles, the brunette replaced his fingers with series of affectionate, feather kisses, peppered overally the redhead's torso from his delicate collarbones down to the beginnings of his armored groins.

"C'mon, big boy!" At the moment, the younger gentleman snatched forcefully Timothy by his bare, smooth shoulder, their faces sealing the proximity as their soft lips crashed in an embarrassingly at first sweet kiss. Initially, the British aristocrat what he coveted was to withdraw with a handful of inches his face even lips from the current target, pick up his discarded garments by donning himself and flee the church without turning his back. One of his arms was hooked on the other priest's middle for support. Miraculously the middle-aged gentleman didn't resist the impulse to melt in the kiss, shutting his eyelids efficiently and moaning as their kissed ferociously progressed until he followed meekly his protégé's instructions consciously as their wet tongues begun dueling each other persistently. "Your mouth is pretty sweet." After the redhead's tongue won the duel, thus he plugged his tongue inside the brunette's mouth, deepening in a French kiss and his fingers moved up to Timothy's dark hair, playing with it incessantly, deliciously and the tads of his fingers admiring the crispy softness of his mentor's chestnut hair. "It does wonders to me, big boy!" Afterwards it slithered from his lips downward to the sensitive skin of Timothy's neck, peppering series of tender, light kisses until they escalated to ferociously aggressive along with using technically his bloodthirsty teeth to tease and nip the palish neck.

"Holy Jesus! That's," Stammer limping back and forth in the back of his throat, the British aristocrat cocked back his head delightfully, molting in his lover's aggressive neck kisses and nibbles, biting his lower cherub lip. Salivating his own cherub lips at the thought of his lover's nimbleness prickling his epidermis with electrifying epidermis. Their hearts sunk in oblivion as their vows and bids were oblivious for them, no longer problematically binding their train of thoughts, railing its vagons. "Awfully," Emphasizing the adjective, his heart raced after the Georgian left savage tracks of hickeys, tinting the British aristocrat's neck. "Good! Mmmm!" After humming melodiously, Timothy felt fingers snaked and grasped his swan neck with the freshly planted sanguine hickeys, adorning his delicate flesh. The grasp buckled his throat, opting to not squirm and his toes curled up in his oxford shoes. The older man mewled a quiet yelp, trying his best to mute the pain until Richard unbuckled his own trousers' belt and unzipped them in a swift motion, tuggling his calves and ankles, the itchy, rigid fabric pooling his ankles and tossing them on the flooring. Meantime, Richard withdrew his parchment, glossy complexion from his mentor's throat and taking their time to admire one another's facial attributes, whereas snatching surreptitiously the package of lily-white, illegal drug and unpacking it by powdering overally his torso with thick, marvelous dosages of cocaine down to his boxers' waistband. Last but not least, the God's judgmental, fierce glares and the background noises, emanating from outside were oblivious for the both gentlemen.

"Do you like it rough?" Crinkles twisted the cusp of the other man of the cloth's dark, thick eyebrows, wedging his lips in a reluctant purse after surging a sharp exhale, fresh oxygen flaring his nostrils at the sinfully sweet fragrance of cocaine, wafting like luster eye candy gardenia's aroma, tempting him to snort the illegal drug which he mustn't even savor. "Now snort this and tell me how you feel afterward!" The silence answered his insisting posed question, reclining on the pew and giving a better access to the brunette to grab the rolled as a scroll dollar from his protracted hand, buckling with his fingers, curled around Timothy's throat forcefully, emboldeningly. When a couple of fingers supported the rolled dollar, consequently the British aristocrat begun snorting overally, slowly and steadily the dosage of the drug, powdering his nostril, sliding smoothly downward until concluding with a last snuffle and the knuckles of his fingers brushing his nose after withdrawing with a handful of inches his face, inhaling the pungent, scrumptious aroma of the drug. Ecstasy sedating his bones and muscles along with his facial features. He felt already the rough fingers, texturing sadism unwrapping around his throat. After throwing back his head, Timothy licked smoothly, scrumptiously his lips, complacent to savor the sin.

"I'm speechless." The blunt confession, escaping guturraly the older member of the church's berry-coloured, damp lips and opening his eyelids, dwelling out of the heavenly realm, blossomed complacent smirks across the both clergymen's faces. "That was horrifyingly wonderful."