Kurt lays his head back against the smooth wood of the confessional and pulls at the stiff black and white collar around his neck. It’s been an exhausting morning of lecherous but well-meaning old men and Hail Mary’s and children cheating on spelling tests, but it seems to be winding down. He can hear the shuffling outside begin to subside as people move away from the booths to talk in the lobby. He hears the priests on either side of him move out of their cubicles and shut the doors but he closes his eyes, needing to rejuvenate for a bit before he can talk to any of the other parishioners.

But then he hears the door of the adjoining cubicle creak open and the soft clumps of two feet stepping inside. He suppresses a groan, reminding himself that this is why he is here and that he shouldn’t be so selfish, so what if he’s tired and the others skipped out before they were technically finished? He slides open the panel to reveal the mesh looking into the next cubicle and glances inside.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Oh. Goodness.

The face in the little mesh window is unfamiliar, but nonetheless Kurt is drawn to it. He knows he shouldn’t be, with the eyebrow ring and the snakebite piercings and is that a tattoo? But the boy across from him looks to be about his age, maybe a few years younger, in college – or maybe just that age. Kurt can’t think that any of the conservative, tiny religious colleges in the area would take on anyone with his demeanor. He tries to pretend that the mystery is the only thing pulling him to this boy.

“We’re a little less conservative here. We like to make this sort of a conversation,” Kurt is reciting church policy and he’s too chipper and cheerful; he always does this, gets too detached when he should be connected.

“A conversation? Well, then.” It’s then that Kurt notices the boy is nervous, he runs his tongue over his teeth rapidly, not looking in the confessional window, looking straight ahead.

“What’s your name?” Kurt asks gently.

“Blaine.” It’s said as a great exhale and a rolling of shoulders; his chin goes up and he seems to calm down a little.

“Well, Blaine, I’m Kurt,” (this is not the casual conversation you are supposed to be having, his mind tells him) “and I’m here to listen, or offer advice, whatever you need. And if you’d like this to be more traditional, let me know and of course we can continue on that route.”

Blaine lets out a single-syllable laugh, humorless. He dares to glance through the window. “Give me some Hail Mary’s, baby, I need to be punished.”

Kurt resists his first impulse, which is to laugh. He decides to move on. “Sounds like the more casual route, then.”

Blaine drums his fingers against the wooden bench. “You could say I’m untraditional.”

“What’s on your mind, Blaine?”

“It’s kind of a long story. Full of plot twists, though.”
Kurt smiles. “Happy ending?”

“I guess that’s really for you to decide, isn’t it?” Blaine’s tone is snarky and Kurt flushes. He hadn’t ever gotten used to the unreasonable amount of faith people have in him. Despite what Blaine is insinuating, he knows he’s not Jesus.

“I’m only here to help, Blaine. To talk you through it.”

He sees Blaine’s eyes flicker away. “Sorry. I haven’t been in a church in a long time.”

“Were you raised Catholic?”

Again with the short, harsh laugh. “Very.” He doesn’t elaborate. Kurt doesn’t press.

“So how did you end up here, Blaine?”

“Little of this, little of that.”

“I’m a good listener.”

“I just bet you are.” A pause. “Tell me, what’s your deepest, darkest fantasy?”

Kurt tries to block out the instant flash of images in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything about – the man needs to trust him, after all.

“I don’t think it’s really appropriate – ”

“Bullshit.” Blaine’s looking through the mesh directly, staring straight at Kurt. Kurt feels his face flush but just glances away, choosing to see the blank brown wood instead.

“It’s not my place, Blaine.”

“I want to know.”

“You’re curious, sure, but – ”

“No. I want to know about you. I want to know there’s a real person over there. I want to know there’s someone listening. Not something.”

I am someone, Kurt thinks. But if you knew those answers, you’d probably think I was a something. You’d probably run screaming from this lonely little box.

“I…wonder what it would be like if I weren’t here sometimes. In the church.”

“That’s your darkest fantasy?” Blaine’s tone is flat. “Going to have to call bullshit – again.”

“Well, maybe having someone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Kurt snaps. His inner trained priest immediately chastises him, but he isn’t sure how much more of this negativity he can stand.

“Maybe it isn’t,” Blaine muses, darkly, shifting in his seat to stare straight ahead. “Maybe I should have just gone to Scandals and gotten myself fucked senseless instead. But I didn’t think I could find a good lay there on a Sunday afternoon, and I was passing the church anyway.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows at the mention of a popular gay bar in a neighboring town, but doesn’t say anything. He refuses to say anything.

“You haven’t kicked me out of your confessional yet.”

“For what?”

Blaine laughs. “Oh, I don’t know, I did just mention that I was about to have casual, alcohol-induced gay sex on a Sunday.”

Kurt sighs. “You wouldn’t be my first.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Maybe you’re my first…” can he say it? “gay guy, but you’d be surprised how much casual sex I hear about. And I’m afraid there’s not much respect for Sundays anymore.”

“Got an issue with boys who do with boys? I’m curious. Catholic and all that.”

Kurt sits back on his bench, closing his eyes. How much can he say? Will he say? He hasn’t told his friends, not that he has friends, just old abandoned acquaintanceships and coworkers. He certainly can’t tell them. Why does he do confessional when he hates making connections? And what is with this man that he gets so far under Kurt’s skin?

“I…I don’t have any issues with being gay.” He laughs bitterly. “Although you came to the right confessional. Everyone else here, they’re not as…progressive.”

“You sound disappointed in them.”

Kurt exhales. “You wanted to hear my deepest, darkest fantasy? I’ll tell you. The real one.” He looks at Blaine through the mesh. “But you have to tell me what landed you here afterwards, or this is a complete waste of time.” Screw it. He needs some connection in this lonely, lousy world.

Blaine meets his gaze. “Deal.”

Kurt sighs. “I dream about…guys. I don’t act on it and I don’t watch those movies, but…I guess I could just never imagine myself with a woman. But…I don’t know. Is there a way to tell?” He feels so small and pale, he’s not supposed to be the almost-victim, he’s supposed to be the one with the power. But he’s leaving it all in Blaine’s hands. “In high school, I was abused constantly because everyone assumed I was gay. So I denied it constantly and never gave it a second thought. The church saved me. And now that I’ve got something resembling self-esteem…let’s just say I’m having doubts.”

Blaine doesn’t spare him, but continues to look straight at him. “What do you dream about?”

Kurt instantly turns red. “I don’t want to talk about
that.”

“Do you want to talk about me? Keep deflecting?”

“It’s not – ”

“Yes, it is.”

“You’ve been deflecting this whole time; talk, hypocrite.” Kurt’s done with niceties.

Blaine laughs. “Fine. I wondered how long it would take you to get all hot and flustered.” Kurt bites back a retort. “Let’s just say I’m pretty used to casual encounters. I’m not the best role model but…you probably guessed that already.” His eyes flick away, his expression unreadable. “But there was this one guy – ” he smiles wryly “ – there’s always this one guy – he and I had sort of a deal worked out. Whenever one of us was lonely – horny – we’d spend some time together. The sex was fantastic, we were good friends, and I thought we were moving towards something more intimate. One day I walked into his apartment – and he was fucking another man literally right in front of me. They were on the floor in front of the doorway.” His face twists into a scowl. “Well, that guy was having the time of his life. But I flipped my shit. Threw him out of the apartment. Turned on Sebastian. There was shouting and – ” his breathing gets faster, more shallow – “and somewhere in there he pulled a knife. And I’d be damned if he was going to use that on me. I was the wronged party. So I used it on him.” Kurt just manages to hold back his gasp. “I don’t know if I killed him. All I know is…I may have injured his – equipment. He wasn’t going to have children anyway.” Blaine looks towards the ceiling with a bitter smile. “So, what do you think…ten hail Mary’s?” Kurt is silent. “I think all I want is one good fuck before I get raped in prison.” He leans his head back against the wall and turns towards the little window. “And it sounds like you need some help. Think helping you through your issues will redeem me enough to at least keep me out of the fifth circle?”

Every priestly part of Kurt says no. Every human part of him screams yes.

Blaine chuckles, a sound so low and filthy it makes Kurt flush up to his ears. “I know what you dream about, you naughty priest, you. You dream about men with leather jackets and smoky aftertastes, making you sweat and scream and beg for more.” He reaches a hand up to the window, dragging a finger along the mesh. “Let me show you, Kurt. Let me give you everything. You can save me.” He’s growling, and Kurt is sweating under his starched black shirt. “I won’t mind.”

Kurt purposefully doesn’t give himself enough of a chance to think this through, but releases the latch to his left and pushes the wall between them away. It slides back and he can see Blaine in his entirety, ripped black jeans and stained wife-beater and brown leather jacket, his pupils already blown, his eyes hungry and taking Kurt in. He lunges at Kurt, attacking his lips in a desperate kiss. Kurt inhales sharply, and before he knows it, he’s cupping Blaine’s cheek to bring him closer. Blaine’s fist curls around the material of Kurt’s shirt, crumpling it as he flicks his tongue around Kurt’s mouth, making Kurt moan. Kurt can feel himself getting hard, faster than he ever has before, and never before has the rush of blood south felt so good. Never before has the smell of leather been so…invigorating.

Blaine whines against his mouth and pushes his hips against Kurt’s thigh, rocking against him, needing friction. “Fuck,” he grinds out and it goes straight to Kurt’s cock, he’s desperate to get out of these tight black pants. “Kurt,” Blaine groans weakly, “Will you fuck me?”

And Kurt says something he’d never thought he would. “Yes,” he whispers, no anxiety, no regrets, just anticipation. Blaine kisses him again, slower and smouldering, undoing the button on Kurt’s pants and pulling them down. His piercings grind against Kurt’s lips. Blaine presses his mouth to Kurt’s collarbone and suddenly starts biting, and the pain should be foreign and frightening but it feels amazing. Kurt moans. Blaine finishes the hickey and dips his hand into the waistband of Kurt’s briefs, rubbing his hand slowly up and down Kurt’s cock. Kurt shivers as Blaine breathes wet heat against his jaw. “Take this damn shirt off, I want to see you.” Kurt just whimpers in agreement before Blaine rips open his shirt, pulling the stiff little white strip off with it. Buttons scatter and the black fabric falls to the floor. Kurt isn’t nearly so bold, but slips his hands under the sleeves of the jacket, making Blaine shrug it off, and then toys with the hem of Blaine’s tank top before Blaine rips it from his hands, pulling it off and then jamming their mouths together again in a rough kiss, all teeth. His hands slide down to Kurt’s ass and he squeezes. Kurt moans into his mouth and thrusts forward. “Save yourself, beautiful. I want this to last at least a little longer.” Blaine digs something out of his back pocket – a packet of lube. But then, inexplicably, he brings his fingers to Kurt’s mouth, demanding, “Suck.” Kurt does and the little noises Blaine starts making make him impossibly hard, he reaches down to touch himself but Blaine swats his hand away, simply whispering, “Not yet.” Blaine pulls his fingers out of Kurt’s mouth and undoes his own jeans, pulling them down and revealing his apparent hard-on, but he obviously doesn’t care. He shifts around Kurt so he can take the bench, pulls up his legs, and brings his spit-slick fingers to – oh. Blaine starts fingering himself, breathing shallowly. “Are you watching, Kurt? You’re going to have to do this.” Kurt nods even though he’s pretty sure Blaine’s not watching him, but he takes it all in. Blaine slides two fingers in and then scissors them, emitting a fantastic moan. Kurt grabs the lube packet because he can’t wait any longer. He tears it open and pours some messily over his fingers. He gently pulls Blaine’s hand away from his entrance. Blaine opens his eyes. “Thank you,” he breathes.

Kurt slides in a tentative finger, Blaine guiding his wrist. After a few moments, Blaine says “two,” and Kurt adds his middle finger. Then “three,” and Blaine’s nails dig into a seam in the wall, splintering the wood slightly. “Four” and Blaine is fucking himself on Kurt’s fingers, thrusting up desperately where there is no friction. “Kurt,” he grunts under his breath, “I’m not going to make it. Come on.” Kurt withdraws his hand and Blaine maneuvers off the bench, ending up on his knees. But instead of standing up, he presses his lips to the head of Kurt’s cock, flicking his tongue against the slit. Kurt groans, his fingers automatically twisting in Blaine’s hair. Blaine takes Kurt into his mouth, moving slowly down until Kurt feels the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat. He keens a half-strangled “Bl-aine!” and Blaine bobs up and down faster, holding Kurt’s thighs. Kurt automatically thrusts forward and with that, Blaine pulls off with an obscene pop, standing up. He turns around and faces the wall, ass out. “Make it last,” he breathes, cheek pressed against the polished wood. Kurt reaches for the lube packet and squirts the last of it onto his erection before spreading Blaine’s ass cheeks apart and positioning himself (he hopes) correctly. He takes a deep breath.

Kurt pushes himself in, slowly. Blaine grunts and Kurt feels him trying to adjust. He feels a bead of sweat slide between them. He shivers and grips Blaine’s hips, his fingers indenting the skin just before the bones jut out. “Move,” Blaine gasps. “Move, Kurt.”

“Blaine,” he mumbles, and then he does. Carefully at first, but then his thrusts become faster and stronger and it’s not long before he’s slamming into Blaine, Blaine shouting obscenities with every slap of skin on skin. The confessional is filled with the sounds of palms thumping against wood and low, grumbling moans. Eventually Kurt’s hand finds Blaine’s, and their fingers tangle. Kurt grips Blaine’s hand for all he’s worth as his thrusts quicken and he’s stuttering out “B-Blaine…” He feels Blaine tighten around him and his groan of “Kurt…” and they’re both coming, the moment is debauched and sweaty and utterly perfect.

When Kurt’s breathing gets to a more normal pace, he steps back and away from Blaine, but Blaine keeps holding onto his hand. “Kurt,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Kurt glances down, looking at the pile of clothes beneath him. “Don’t be.”

Blaine turns around, his eyes searching Kurt’s face. “Are you going to be okay?”

Kurt laughs. It falls flat. “Well, I can’t stay here, that’s for sure.”

Blaine’s eyes flick away; he plays absently with Kurt’s thumb. “Hm. Neither can I.”

Kurt looks at this man, takes him in. He’s more sincere than anyone who’s ever set foot inside that confessional. And, Kurt can tell, more guilty. The smell of the scented polish begins to creep back in and mingle with the smell of them, of sex and sweat and leather, and it makes Kurt’s head spin. He leans in and presses his nose to the side of Blaine’s neck. Blaine’s arms automatically curl around his waist. Kurt feels…protected. And somehow he gathers the strength to whisper, “Take me with you.”

Blaine sighs, humming into Kurt’s cheek. The silver ring on his lip vibrates against the flushed skin. “Okay.”