The spiral staircase to the bell tower was stone, narrow, and dark, each step worn smooth by centuries of penitents. Izuku climbed. His hand slid against the cold, damp wall. His heart hammered against his binder, a frantic rhythm that had nothing to do with the ascent. He’d given away his innocence on a cold office floor. His virginity, saved for a future wife, a holy union, was gone. And the worst part—the secret he carried up these steps like a second spine—was that he’d loved it. The ache, the fullness, the brutal claim. The taste of Father Bakugo’s cock was a phantom flavor on his tongue for three days.
He pushed open the heavy oak door at the top. The bell chamber was a vast, wooden space, thick with the scent of old timber and incense. The great bronze bell hung silent in the center. And there, leaning against the rope, was Katsuki Bakugo.
The priest was backlit by the arched window, his form a dark cutout against the twilight sky. His clerical collar was stark white at his throat. His eyes glowed faintly crimson in the shadow. Izuku’s breath caught. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips before he could stop it.
“Late,” Katsuki said. His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder. It wasn’t angry. It was pleased.
“I’m s-sorry, Father. The stairs…”
“Don’t.” Katsuki pushed off the bell rope. He moved across the planks, his steps echoing. “We’re past titles, boy. And we’re past lies. You craved this climb. Admit it.”
Izuku’s hand flew to his own throat, his tell. He forced it down. “I didn’t.”
“Liar.” Katsuki was before him now, close enough for Izuku to feel the unnatural heat rolling off him. He cupped Izuku’s jaw, his thumb rough against his lower lip. “Your mouth says no. Your body sings hymns of yes. I can hear it.” His thumb pressed inward. “Open.”
Izuku’s lips parted. Katsuki slid his thumb inside, resting it on his tongue. The taste of salt, of skin, of something faintly metallic flooded Izuku’s mouth. He shivered.
“You think of my cock,” Katsuki murmured, watching his face. “In your bed. At the altar. During your pathetic little youth sermons. You see it. You want it back in that pretty, sinful mouth.” He curled his thumb, a mockery of a blessing. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Izuku couldn’t. A soft, broken sound escaped him around the intrusion. His eyes fluttered shut.
Katsuki withdrew his thumb, slick with saliva. He wiped it down the front of Izuku’s sweater, over the flat plane of his bound chest. “This is your confession now. This tower. Your penance is pleasure. And you will take it.” His hand moved down, palming Izuku through his trousers. Izuku jolted, a gasp tearing from him.
Katsuki’s hand, still pressed against the front of Izuku’s trousers, stilled. His fingers traced the shape there—the rigid, false outline of the packer. A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “What’s this?” he purred, squeezing. “Still pretending for the world, even now?”
Izuku froze, his breath hitching. “It’s n-not—”
“A lie,” Katsuki finished for him. He leaned in, his lips brushing Izuku’s ear. “We are in a house of truth, boy. Your body is the truth. This…” He gave the packer a contemptuous tap. “…is a sacrilege. We really need to get rid of this fake dick.”
With a quick, brutal motion, he undid Izuku’s belt and fly. The trousers sagged. Katsuki’s hand dove in, past the waistband of Izuku’s briefs, and closed around the silicone. Izuku cried out, a sound of pure panic, as Katsuki yanked the packer free and held it up between them.
“Your pussy is much more beautiful,” Katsuki stated, his crimson eyes locked on Izuku’s wide, terrified ones. He didn’t even look at the object in his hand. He turned and strode to the arched window, the one overlooking the empty courtyard three stories below. He leaned out, arm extended. “A offering to the mundane.”
“No, please, Father—!” Izuku stumbled forward, hand outstched.
Katsuki opened his fingers. The packer fell, a silent, dark shape vanishing into the twilight. There was no sound of it landing. It was just gone. Izuku stared at the empty window, his stomach plummeting as if he’d followed it down.
“Now,” Katsuki said, turning back. He stalked toward Izuku, who stood with his trousers open, exposed. “Now you are honest.”
“Someone will find it,” Izuku whispered, horrified.
“Let them.” Katsuki closed the distance. “Let them wonder what sinful toy some parishioner discarded. It has nothing to do with you.” His hands landed on Izuku’s hips, fingers digging in. “You are mine. Your truth is mine. And I say your truth is the wet, aching cunt I claimed on my office floor.”
He pushed the trousers and briefs down Izuku’s thighs in one rough pull. The cool air of the tower kissed Izuku’s bare skin. He trembled, wanting to cover himself, but Katsuki’s gaze held him paralyzed.
“See?” Katsuki murmured, his voice dropping to a velvet rumble. He didn’t touch him there, not yet. He just looked. “No lies here. Just the pretty, sinful flesh I own.”
“Stop saying that,” Izuku begged, his voice thin.
“Why? It frightens you because it excites you. The ownership. The damnation.” Katsuki’s thumb finally stroked, a slow pass through the thatch of dark curls. Izuku jerked, a whimper escaping his clenched teeth. “You’re already wet for me. Again. Your body remembers its master.”
“I hate you,” Izuku choked out, even as his hips gave a tiny, involuntary push against that thumb.
Katsuki laughed, a low, dark sound that echoed off the bell. “You hate the sin. You crave the sinner. There’s a psalm in that, I think.” He applied pressure, circling the swollen nub of Izuku’s clit. “Recite a psalm for me, youth pastor. Any one you like.”
Izuku’s head fell back, a moan tearing from him. “I c-can’t.”
“Then your body will sing for you.” Katsuki slid two fingers inside him, deep and without preamble. Izuku cried out, the stretch immediate, the fullness a brutal echo of three days prior. “It always does.”
He began to move his fingers, a slow, relentless rhythm. The wet sound was obscenely loud in the silent tower. Izuku’s hands flailed, finding the rough hemp of the bell rope behind him. He gripped it, his knuckles white.
“This is your penance,” Katsuki breathed against his throat, his fingers curling. “Pleasure as punishment. Corruption as communion. You will come for me in this sacred tower, and you will thank God for the feeling.”
“It’s not— it’s not right,” Izuku sobbed, but his body was arching, driving down onto those fingers, his binder growing tight with each ragged breath.
“What is right?” Katsuki bit his earlobe, sharp. “Your secret? Your life of careful lies? This…” He thrust his fingers harder. “…is the only honest thing you’ve ever done.” He withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening. He brought them to Izuku’s mouth. “Taste your devotion.”
Izuku, eyes glazed, opened his mouth. He sucked Katsuki’s fingers clean, the taste of his own arousal bitter and metallic on his tongue. Shame burned through him, hot as any desire.
“Good boy,” Katsuki murmured. He unfastened his own trousers, freeing his cock. It was heavy, thick, already fully hard. The sight of it made Izuku’s mouth water, a reaction that sent a fresh wave of self-loathing through him. Katsuki saw it. He always saw it. “You want it. Say it.”
Izuku shook his head, tears spilling over.
Katsuki gripped his jaw again. “Say. It.”
“I want it,” Izuku whispered, the confession tearing from a place of ruin inside him.
“Louder.”
“I want your cock!” The shout echoed, bouncing off the wooden beams, a profane prayer.
Katsuki’s smile was all triumph. He pushed Izuku back until his spine met the heavy, coiled bell rope. The rough hemp chafed against his bare skin. “Hold the rope,” Katsuki commanded. “Wrap your hands around it. This is your anchor. Your only salvation.”
Izuku obeyed, gripping the thick rope. Katsuki lifted him, hands under his thighs, and Izuku wrapped his legs around Katsuki’s waist instinctively. The tip of Katsuki’s cock pressed against him, a blunt, heated threat.
“Look at me,” Katsuki ordered.
Izuku forced his green eyes open, meeting those hellish red ones.
“Every time the bell tolls,” Katsuki said, his voice a sacred vow of desecration, “you will remember this. You will feel me inside you.” He pushed in.
The stretch was breathtaking, a burning fullness that stole the air from Izuku’s lungs. He screamed, the sound swallowed by the vast space. Katsuki buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against Izuku’s, and stopped. He was panting, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The demonic glow in his eyes flickered.
“So tight,” he gritted out, the words strained. “So perfect and ruined.”
He began to move. Slow, at first. Deep, grinding thrusts that rubbed every aching, sensitive part of Izuku raw. Each movement dragged Izuku’s back against the rough rope. The pain was sharp, bright, merging with the pleasure until he couldn’t tell them apart.
“You love it,” Katsuki chanted, his rhythm building. “Your holy little pussy was made for this. For me. Say it.”
Izuku could only moan, his head lolling back against the rope.
Katsuki snapped his hips harder, driving a broken “Yes!” from Izuku’s throat. “Say it!”
“It was m-made for you!” Izuku sobbed, the words ripped from him. “For you, for you, for you—”
His world narrowed to the slam of Katsuki’s body into his, the slap of skin, the creak of the rope taking their weight, the dizzying scent of sweat and sex and old wood. Katsuki’s mouth was on his throat, biting, sucking, claiming. One of Katsuki’s hands slipped between them, his thumb finding Izuku’s clit again, pressing in time with his thrusts.
“Come for me, sinner,” Katsuki growled. “Come on my cock in God’s tower.”
The coil in Izuku’s gut snapped. Pleasure, white-hot and catastrophic, tore through him. He screamed, his body seizing, clamping around Katsuki in rhythmic pulses. The vision of the bell above him blurred into a bronze sun.
The pressure of Katsuki’s thumb was a pinpoint of fire, a relentless counter-rhythm to the deep, splitting drag of his cock. Izuku could feel his own body betraying him, a tight, liquid heat coiling low in his belly, different from before—a building pressure that felt like a dam about to break. “I can’t— I’m—” he choked, his words dissolving into a gasp.
“You can,” Katsuki snarled into his ear, his hips never slowing. “You will. Let me see it. Let your body confess what your mouth denies.” His thumb pressed harder, circling faster. The rough hemp of the rope burned against Izuku’s shoulders, a sharp counterpoint to the devastating pleasure.
Izuku’s vision whited out at the edges. A soundless scream ripped from his throat as the pressure shattered. It wasn’t just a pulse of pleasure; it was a flood, a hot, gushing release that soaked his own thighs and Katsuki’s trousers beneath him. The wet sound of it was obscenely loud in the dusty tower.
Katsuki laughed, a dark, triumphant sound. “Look at that,” he breathed, watching the evidence of Izuku’ ruined control drip onto the floorboards. “Soaking the sacred ground. What a perfect sinner you are.”
The violent clenching of Izuku’s body around him tipped Katsuki over his own edge. He swore, a guttural, inhuman sound. His thrusts lost all rhythm, becoming frantic, brutal. His fingers dug bruises into Izuku’s thighs. With a final, deep snarl, he drove in and held, his body rigid. Izuku felt the hot flood inside him, a claiming more intimate than any threat.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Izuku hung from the rope, boneless, spent. Katsuki leaned into him, his forehead damp against Izuku’s shoulder. The demonic glow in his eyes had faded to a dull ember.
Katsuki pulled out slowly, a wet, obscene sound in the quiet. He looked at his fingers, glistening with the proof of their sin—his spend mixed with Izuku’s release. He brought them to Izuku’s swollen, parted lips.
“Clean it,” he said, his voice hoarse from exertion. “Taste what we’ve made.”
Izuku stared at the offered fingers, his green eyes wide with horror and a helpless, fucked-out haze. He didn’t move.
“Now,” Katsuki commanded, the word cracking like a whip.
A shudder wracked Izuku’s spent body. He leaned forward, his tongue darting out to tentatively lick the salty-bitter fluid from Katsuki’s fingertips. The taste was overwhelming, intimately foul. He gagged, tears springing anew.
“Swallow it,” Katsuki murmured, watching him with those glowing red eyes. “Every drop is a prayer.”
Izuku obeyed, his throat working. He sucked Katsuki’s fingers clean, the act more degrading than anything that had come before. When Katsuki withdrew his hand, Izuku slumped against the bell rope, utterly broken.
Katsuki fastened his trousers, his movements calm, methodical. He looked down at Izuku, who was trembling, covered in sweat and the evidence of their coupling. “You see?” he said, almost gently. “The truth is always bitter. And you crave it.”
“I don’t,” Izuku whispered, but his voice held no conviction. His body still thrummed with the aftershocks of pleasure.
“Your pussy doesn’t lie,” Katsuki said, crouching down to his level. He traced a finger through the mess on Izuku’s inner thigh, making him flinch. “It wept for me. It came for me. Again.” He lifted his wet finger. “This is your devotion. More honest than any hymn you’ve ever sung.”
Izuku turned his face away, towards the narrow window where his packer had vanished. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re a beautiful lie,” Katsuki said, catching his chin and forcing his gaze back. “A transgression wrapped in choir robes. I am merely… unveiling you.”
“You’re a demon.”
“I am your priest,” Katsuki corrected, his thumb stroking Izuku’s cheek. “I administer your penance. I accept your… offerings.” His eyes drifted down to Izuku’s still bind chest. “I told you not to wear it.”
Izuku’s hands flew up to cover himself, a pathetic, instinctive gesture. “I—I forgot.”
“Liar.” Katsuki’s hand wrapped around both of Izuku’s wrists, pulling them away and pinning them against the rope. “You wanted me to see. You wanted to be known.” He leaned in, his breath hot on Izuku’s ear. “Next time, you will come to me binderless. Open. Or the entire parish learns what their sweet youth pastor is hiding under his sweaters.”
A cold terror, sharper than any shame, sliced through Izuku. “You wouldn’t.”
Katsuki’s smile was cruel. “The bell tolls for evening prayer soon. Imagine their faces if I made you walk down those stairs right now, just as you are. Dripping my sin, wearing yours on your skin.”
Izuku began to cry in earnest, silent sobs that shook his shoulders. “Please.”
“Please what?” Katsuki released his wrists and stood, looking down at him from his full height. “Clean yourself up. The meeting starts in twenty minutes. You will be there, composed. You will smile. You will lead the children in song.” He turned to leave, then paused at the top of the stairs. “And Izuku?”
Izuku looked up, his face a mess of tears and freckles.
“You will dream of my cock tonight,” Katsuki said, his red eyes gleaming in the dusty light. “And you will wake up aching for it.”