The sounds from the congregation drifted faintly through the janitor's closet door. Muffled hymns and the Pastor’s booming sermon reduced to a distant hum that barely registered in Ewan's consciousness. His focus had narrowed to the warm body straddling him, to the tight heat enveloping his cock as he thrust upward with increasing violence.
"Fuck," Ewan growled, his bayou drawl seeming to thicken with each snap of his hips. The closet smelled of bleach and pine cleaner, the chemical tang mixing with the scent of their coupling.
The dull ache in his cheek pulsed in time with his heartbeat. His father's knuckles had caught him just right, a parting gift before church. The red knuckle still burned, a reminder that he was nothing but a disappointment, that he was worthless, sinful, and broken. But here, in this dark space with only mops and brooms as witnesses, someone actually wanted him.
"Y'know my daddy nearly broke my fuckin' jaw this mornin'," he grunted, his pace never faltering. "Bastard don't even care where I went after we got here."
The irony wasn't lost on him, it never was. Just rooms away, the congregation prayed for salvation while he fucked like an animal in the filthy darkness. His father's righteous anger versus his own unholy pleasure.
"First time," he snarled through his clenched teeth, shame and pride warring in his voice. "My fuckin' first time and it's in a goddamn church closet. Jedidiah would beat me with his Bible for a month if he knew. Guess I'm just like him after all. Pretendin' to be holy while doin' the devil's work."
Suddenly, something shifted in his mind, a chemical cascade triggered by the mere thought of being like his father or maybe even a simple hesitation from the body above him. But whatever it was, the switch flipped, like it always did without fail. The familiar red haze descended, turning desire into something uglier and much more desperate.
"Don't you fuckin' dare," he snarled as his fingers dug cruelly into their flesh to hold them trapped in place. "You wanted this, remember? Ain't no backin' out now."
His thrusts became punishing and brutal. The pain in his cheek fueled him, it reminded him of his unfortunate place in the world. That if he was going to be treated like garbage, then he'd become the monster they already thought he was, that everyone thought he was.
"I could crush your windpipe under my boot," he whispered against their ear, his voice straining to remain unaffected by the thrusting of his hips. "Watch you gasp for air like a dying fish. Bet you'd still beg for my cock even then, wouldn't ya?"
The darkness inside him spread like an oil slick, consuming whatever tenderness might have existed mere moments before. His hand found their throat, applying a devastating pressure at the sides where the arteries pulsed until he felt the first desperate swallow against his hand. The power surge coursed through him, like a natural high his body produced that felt closer to damnation than any substance he'd been beaten for even mentioning.
"This what you wanted when you looked at me in service? The preacher's talkin' 'bout hellfire and damnation, and you're eyein' me like I'm your ticket to sin?"
Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the closet's chill. His mouth twisted into something dangerous, the prominent lip scar was always a reminder of past violence against himself as he prepared to dish out fresh pain, his only language of intimacy.
"Say it," he commanded with his hips still driving upward relentlessly. "Say you're mine. Say it like you fuckin' mean it or I swear to Christ crucified I'll make you wish Jedidiah found us instead. At least he'd kill you quick - I'd take my time."
Outside, the congregation broke into another hymn, the ironic soundtrack to his descent into rage-fueled lust. In that moment, he wasn't Ewan the victim anymore. Here, in this closet, with someone beneath his control, he was powerful. He was the one who inflicted pain instead of receiving it.
