“Forgive me, father,” John whispered, kneeling on the steps of the altar. “for I have sinned. I’ve coveted, I’ve lusted… Christ, how I’ve lusted…” “Taking the lord’s name in vain, Johnny? In a church? I didn’t think you could be so blasphemous.” Jim pushed him forward and ghosted his lips along his spine. “We have thirty minutes before Sherlock arrives. How many commandments do you think we can break before he finds you?” One finger, a second, a third, working him open, breaking the –CONT.

johnwantsit:

silence of the cathedral with wet obscenities. John moaned and shuddered, eyes locked on the crucifix hanging beneath the alcove. “So filthy,” Jim whispered as he pressed into John’s tight heat. “My pretty little slut…” “A-ah! H-hurry, I don’t want to be caught!” His words were breathless and rushed. Jim held his hips and bucked forward, grinning as John struggled to stay kneeling. “Say your prayers, Johnny,” he purred. John’s litany of praises echoed as he obeyed, praying for swift release.

*whimpers* Sex while praying.  Oh my god.  It seems so appropriate that this is the one that breaks the rule.

“Say your prayers.”  Oh my god.

RELIGIOUS.  KINK.