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Whitney took one last drag of his cigarette, the warm smoke filling his lungs before he unceremoniously dropped the bud onto the ground and smashed it with the heel of his boot. He did not worry too much about littering. Firstly - he did not fucking care. Secondly - so many cigarette buds already lay scattered around his feet that one would think he stood in an alley behind a club, not the supposed house of God. The temple towered above him, casting a shadow over where he stood.
The blonde was not religious; he did not see the point. Besides, he had already done too much to ever be allowed behind the pearly gates.
As if to prove his point, he kicked the nearby trash can. The flimsy, old casing bent from the impact.
Suck my dick, God, he thought. The blonde ran a hand through his hair and went back to stand by the front entrance of the temple. Whitney took a stance next to his mother, who was still engaged in conversation with another middle‑aged woman. She noticed him as he approached and sent him a warm, loving smile.
“Sweetie, what do you say we go in early today?” his mother said dotingly. “It’s been a while since we sat in one of the front rows.”
He tched and buried his hands deep into his pockets. It literally made no difference where they sat. The mass was basically a glorified audiobook anyway.
“Whatever,” he said instead of voicing his real thoughts, keeping himself in check. This wasn’t school, this was his family, and if he wanted to keep a roof above his head (and a hefty allowance), he would play house until he finally graduated. None of his schoolmates ever went to church, he knew that. And even if one of his victims saw him attending mass, the rumor would get stifled before it had a chance to spread.
…but if he was lucky, maybe he would see his slut. It wasn’t impossible, especially since she had been hanging around the librarian, that stuck‑up Sydney.
Whitney’s hands balled into tight fists in his pockets as he followed his mother into the temple. His mouth turned into a scowl.
Whitney didn’t care about what his bitch did in her spare time. He didn’t. It only became a problem when she started flaunting her friendship with the young monk. That’s when he took issue, when she sat next to the strawberry‑blonde in the cafeteria instead of sliding obediently into the seat beside Whitney. It only became a problem when he started seeing her less in the hallways, only to find out through one of his mates that she had been spending every free minute in the library, practically throwing herself over the shy librarian.
It was almost as if he blinked, and suddenly, the grip he had so securely fastened around the girl's throat in the past few months loosened. It infuriated him. She stopped rising up to his cruel remarks, stopped playing along. Each time he demanded money at the school gates, she’d simply open her wallet and pass him a twenty, not even batting an eye. Each time he shoved her into a locker, her eyes would look at him with a deadpan expression, silently peeling off her panties as per his rules. Her gaze now lacked the previous determination.
He hated it.
He ought to break Sydney's glasses again next time he saw him. That would show him-
"Here is perfect, don't you think?" His mother snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Fourth row, centre. I'll have a perfect view of Brother Jordan," she giggled, and all Whitney could do was roll his eyes.
Whatever. Not like you have a husband- oh wait, you are already cheating on him. It is all good then.
Whitney let his mother go in first; she took a seat closest to the aisle, and he followed, sliding in next to her. The blonde mentally prepared himself for the upcoming hour of boring lecture and let his eyes fall shut for the few fleeting minutes before the mass started.
With his eyes still closed, he listened as the people slowly gathered inside the temple. Townsfolk flowed in, and soon, bodies crowded the hall, taking all possible seats. Almost all, as, fortunately for them, no one dared to sit next to him. Whitney’s reputation preceded him, even if his own family remained largely oblivious to his antics.
Soon, the rustling of footsteps quieted, leaving behind only muffled whispers. Then the faint, yet powerful sound of bells rang from outside, signalling the start of the mass.
Everyone in the temple stood up, just as the elegant chime echoed through the hall, and Whitney followed, begrudgingly opening his eyes to glare at brother Jordan with a tired, unimpressed expression.
The pastor in question started talking, beginning the mass, the same formulas he said each Sunday, and it wasn’t long before Whitney spaced out yet again, thinking instead of the possible ways he could torment you the following Monday.
He came to only as he caught the distant sound of the temple’s heavy, wooden doors opening.
Someone’s late for mass, he thought. Better save them a place in hell.
Their footsteps - and he could tell by the sound that it was more than one person - were the only noise in the quiet hall, apart from Jordan's droning tone, and so it was not hard to follow them as the pair slowly circled the temple, looking for a place to sit. Before long, the footsteps became louder, and the blonde came to a disappointing realization that they would most likely take the free seats next to him.
Whitney clicked his tongue. He spread his legs slightly and tried to get into a more comfortable position, taking up as much of the remaining space as possible to discourage them from sitting there.
It was futile, as such attempts often were. Soon, he heard the footsteps halt just on his left side.
Then he heard a sharp intake of breath followed by muffled whispers. They finally realized where they were about to sit. Feeling generous, Whitney turned in their direction, about to bless them with a pointed glare and a middle finger, when he too froze in his tracks.
It was his slut. And, peeking from behind her, with hands wrapped securely around her arm, that bitch Sydney.
This was going to be good.
With a wide smirk, Whitney opened his arms in a silent greeting. He spread his knees even wider so that, even if the two dared to sit, they would be squeezed into the far left corner.
He could not help but lick his lips as you looked at him. That fire that he nowadays so rarely saw in your eyes was now directed solely at him. He missed you it.
You held his gaze, unwavering, as Sydney leaned down to whisper more urgent words in your ear. The librarian slightly tugged at your arm and tried to dissuade you from taking the bait.
With limited resources, as Whitney didn't want the whole church's attention (he was not that much of an exhibitionist; that was your thing), he grabbed his cock through his trousers, then he looked at you with batted eyelashes.
‘Just for you’, he mouthed. He barely contained his laughter as disgust crossed your features and-
Whitney blinked. Was that actual anger he saw boiling in Sydney's eyes?
Interesting…
He did not think the bitch had it in him. Sydney had always been a meek mediator when it came to conflicts and an absolute pushover any time he happened to be the target of Whitney's wrath, and so, even something as minor as this was such a blatant deviation from his usual composure that it made the blonde pause, deep in thought.
Whitney should do something with this information later. Maybe he would make you suck him off in the library. Now that's a nice thought.
Seeing how this incessant staring would get you nowhere, you sighed. You slid onto the far end of the bench and barely left enough room for Sydney as he squeezed in after you.
Whitney slid towards you, close enough so that his clothed knee brushed against your bare thigh - the skirt you were wearing was way too short for the temple's usual standards, not that he minded. He was about to push his teasing further, maybe tug your panties down from your ass and leave you bare on the wooden bench, but just as that thought crossed his mind, the bells chimed and initiated another part of the ceremony.
He got up with a huff and realized he would have much better luck cornering you somewhere after the mass ended anyway; he also knew he should not risk such behavior so close to his mother, who sat only a few feet away, for now, blissfully unaware.
The blonde sneaked a quick glance at the older woman, but just as he had expected, she remained fully engrossed in whatever Brother Jordan was saying. He decided to keep it that way.
More boring preaching followed, and Whitney performed the gestures on autopilot - honestly, all this religious bullshit felt quite cultish. Soon, everyone sat down again, and not wanting to wind himself up too much, Whitney positioned himself a safe distance away from you and Sydney, feigning virtue. He felt the confused gaze you sent him, but kept looking blankly ahead. In about half an hour, he could have you all to himself. He could be patient - this once.
Minutes passed, and soon Whitney managed to dissociate so hard that he almost forgot he shared a bench with his favorite toy, as his eyes traced the ornate windows of the chapel, mind drifting somewhere far from the droning prayers.
Almost.
Then he heard a noise on his left, a sound so quiet that he barely caught it amongst the monotonous yet loud echo of the recited Bible verses. Normally, he would have ignored it - but then he heard it again. Even quieter this time, muffled. As if someone had been trying to suppress it.
And here was the thing: he had heard enough whimpering in his life, especially one muffled by the clasp of his own hand, to know exactly what it was. His smirk returned before he even made a conscious decision to summon it.
The bitch was actually masturbating in a place of worship. He hadn't known she had it in her.
Oh, how he loved it (even though he would never admit it out loud) when she pushed the boundaries, trying to match his depravity in her own twisted ways. Because that was it, wasn't it? She was trying to prove a point to him. To her master.
So desperate for attention-
Another whimper, a bit louder, quickly followed by a sharp curse, almost as if he was scared someone might hear him-
Wait. He?
That wasn’t his bitch’s voice, it was-
Whitney quickly turned his head - he somehow managed to do it discreetly enough not to alert possible onlookers - and his eyes locked onto the pair next to him.
Sydney sat rigid against the wooden bench, his face flushed a deep rose that matched his hair, with one hand clamped tightly over his own mouth. Your hand, meanwhile, had disappeared beneath the fabric of his vest.
Fucking hell.
That was… unexpected. But somehow not surprising, considering how the two of you behaved like two peas in a pod. Still, it was not welcome. You were Whitney's - signed, sealed, and delivered. You had the cigarette burns to prove it.
Seeing you so shamelessly pleasure someone else (right in front of him) made Whitney's blood boil. His jaw clenched so hard that his teeth ached, and his hands balled into fists that itched to grab you, yank you away from Sydney, and pull you onto his lap instead.
He was about to do just that. A low growl escaped his throat as he-
"Shh!" His mother chided him, sharply slapping his arm.
Whitney froze and straightened almost comically as he shot his mother an apologetic look. Of course, she did not see it - she did not even spare him a glance as she hit him, too engrossed in the mass - but still, she was there. She somehow paid enough attention to keep him in line.
He let a second pass to make sure she did not, in fact, notice what was happening further down the bench. Then he turned again, this time to glare at you and Sydney. Hatred radiated from him in waves.
When his gaze fell onto you, he found you looking right back. There was a glint in your eyes, a fire that burned so bright and hot that it licked the soles of Whitney's shoes. The blood rose to his cheeks, frustration and… something else apparent as he experienced the rare pang of helplessness. You knew you had the upper hand over him, and you flaunted it. Cheeky whore.
He glared, and you, in turn, smirked, sent him a kiss, and then turned back. Whitney continued to glare - his eyes burned into the back of your skull as he watched your hand pick up the pace. Sydney squirmed in his seat, and if he strained his ears, Whitney could hear the slick sounds as you moved your hand up and down, methodical strokes that he swore he could feel if he just closed his eyes-
Whitney closed his eyes and took a deep inhale through his nose. The dress pants he wore suddenly became way too tight as his brain prodded at the fantasy, at the faint memory of that one time you did have your hands and mouth on him, your body caged between him and your locker as his mates catcalled and recorded you on their phones.
…now that he thought about it, it had been the last time the two of you had a meaningful interaction - if you could even call it that. You stopped sticking around after that and opted to orbit around Sydney instead of him.
Did he… actually scare you away?
No, fuck that. You were too much of a freak to actually be bothered by shit like this, not when you-
A loud bang echoed from the side as Sydney's knee made contact with the bench in front of him. Whitney's eyes snapped open, and the sound immediately thrust him away from his fantasies and back into the real world - the very real handjob that you were giving Sydney barely a few feet away from him. In the corner of his eye, the blonde checked to make sure that his mother was not interested in the debauchery happening beside her. As always, she chose to turn a blind eye. Or was she actually that fucking oblivious? Whitney did not care to find out.
What he did care about was the sight of Sydney's cock, now fully erect and on display as you took him out of his pants for better access. Your hand was slick with precum that you gathered every few strokes while your thumb circled the tip.
Fuck.
Sydney swallowed hard, and Whitney’s eyes followed the movement of his Adam's apple. The librarian joined his hands in a prayer, leaning his weight onto his forearms, as he tried to cover your antics with his body. The two of you were so close - so unbelievably close to Whitney that the blonde could clearly see the veins of the other man's cock being squeezed by your fingers. Your pale digits were such a stark contrast to his flushed skin: night and day.
Whitney pressed his thighs together and tried to subdue his own erection. This affected him way more than it should have, and he did not know why. Was it the voyeurism - the way he got hot and bothered at the thought of being caught? Maybe it was Sydney, whose borderline angelic face contorted in pleasure, enough to bring even the straightest man to his knees.
Or was it just because of you?
…the answer was obvious.
Your pace changed, picking up as you led Sydney to his edge. The librarian bit down on his knuckles to keep from making another sound, but a low, broken whine still escaped through his teeth. Desperate. Pathetic.
Whitney wasn’t much better.
The blonde gritted his teeth, nails digging into his thighs because no, he will not cream his fucking pants just from watching. He was so hard he ached, but he prevailed. He prevailed, because after the mass, he was going to drag you behind the church and push you onto all those cigarette butts and punish you for all this- this insolence.
Because that was what it was. It had to be.
Another muffled whimper and Whitney felt lightheaded, his mind screaming, clawing at him to turn and look, cast that one last glance of Eurydice to doom them both - and so he did.
But in his myth, Eurydice stared back, defiant. Not scared of falling because she already fell, not into his arms, but for that treacherous devil, that-
Sydney came with no audible sound, biting his hand so hard that he broke the skin of his palm. His shook, a full-body tremor before he slumped, forehead landing onto the crook of your neck, exhausted.
And you - because it wasn’t like you just made him come in a fucking house of God - pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead while still holding Whitney's gaze. Triumphant. Vengeful.
As your final act of rebellion, your final punishment for Whitney, you brought your hand to your lips and licked the cum off your fingers.
Whitney forgot how to breathe.
And so did whoever was sitting behind him, as Whitney heard an offended gasp followed by urgent whispers. You and Sydney were not exactly subtle, and now it seemed like the cat was out of the bag.
Just as Whitney thought that you might actually get confronted, another chime rang out, signalling the time for communion. You turned away from him (had you been looking into his eyes this whole time?) and exchanged a few quick words with Sydney just as the strawberry-blonde haphazardly tucked himself back into his slacks. The two of you got up, but instead of going towards the altar, you quickly headed for the exit, using the distraction to slip through the heavy doors.
Without sparing Whitney a second glance.
For some reason, it hurt more than it should have.
…
He did miss you.