TW: Blasphemy, Week of Terrible Fiction, BDSM, Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, No Aftercare

Smith grunted as he strained against his binds, hands behind his back and tugged up his spine a short way by the rope intricately woven around his hands, fingers, arms and chest. Bent over the dining table's edge, the wood dug into his stomach in a gesture that would leave bruises if he didn't move soon, so he shifted in earnest, only to get a hand upon his back, pushing him back down against the hard surface.

"Don't think you don't deserve this." Trott's voice was dark, coming from behind Smith and to his right a little.

Smith didn't reply in kind, biting back an acidic word or two when they threatened to spill from his mouth.

Trott had made him dress up like they were going to a fancy dinner, complete with tie and uncomfortable shirt tucked into his jeans. Smith was snapped from his reverie, (which mostly consisted of bemoaning the table still digging into his stomach,) by Trott's hand connecting with his backside through his jeans.

Smith grunted, though whether it was a noise of annoyance or approval, he didn't even know himself. As soon as the sparking in his skin started to die down, which didn't take long at all, a book was seemingly produced out of nowhere and placed heavily on the table in front of his face with a loud 'thunk'.

The book had no lettering to give away what it was, and was bound in red leather. It smelled musty and old even before it was opened, the smell amplifying tenfold when Trott leaned over and skillfully flicked to the page marked with the attached red ribbon, tattered at the end and fraying.

Smith's eyes scanned the page quickly, and the realisation dawned upon him that it was a bible. He grunted again when Trott's hand once more made a connection with his backside, more of a harsh thud than a smack through his jeans.

"You will start reading at the top of the right page, and stop when I say." Trott hooked his fingers underneath Smith's waistband, of both his jeans and underwear, as he spoke. Without unfastening his jeans, Trott dragged Smith's clothing down his legs, until jeans and boxers both reached his knees. They fell the rest of the way, pooling at Smith's ankles, and the taller of the two felt a flare of queer embarrassment surge through his body at being bent over the dining table, practically helpless.

Trott's hand came down against Smith's ass again, harder that time, making a familiar stinging sensation flare across his skin.

"I said, start reading."

Smith tripped over his tongue, the muscle feeling thick and useless in his mouth, before beginning to read.

"For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to hell, putting them in chains of darkness to be held for judgment..." Smith's voice trailed off into a hiss of breath when Trott made connection with his other cheek, his back arching slightly as every shock of pain flowed through his body, straight to his cock.

With one hand still delivering ministrations to Smith's backside, Trott used his other to fish around in the pocket of his jeans for the small foil packet he knew he had secreted there. Producing it from his pocket finally, Trott tore it open with his teeth, spitting the sliver of silver onto the dining room floor. He smoothed his other hand over Smith's slightly pink backside before withdrawing his hand completely.

"... If he did not spare the ancient world when he brought the flood on its ungodly people, but protected Noah, a preacher of... Of righteousness, and seven others;" Smith exhaled slowly when he felt Trott's finger circling him before pressing into him. "... I-if he condemned the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah by burning them to ashes..."

"Speak louder, Smith," Trott instructed as he began to move his finger achingly slowly, the sensation barely there and not quite enough to quell any of the pulsing energy that shocked through Smith's body.

"And made them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly..." Smith spoke louder, arching his back as far as he could with his hands bent up his back when Trott finally added another finger and started to pump them in and out of him. He was still going slowly, too slowly, but Smith knew better than to complain or ask for more.

"Good boy," Trott murmured, his free hand coming up to tangle in Smith's hair. He tugged, once, twice, three times, before letting go, leaving Smith to stutter and stammer as the pangs of pain shot straight to the heat pooling in his stomach.

"... A-and if he rescued Lot, a ri... Righteous man, who was distressed by the d-depraved conduct of the lawless - for that righteous man, living among them day after day, wa- ah... Was tormented in his righteous soul by the lawless deeds he saw and heard..." Smith arched again, the table still digging into his stomach through his shirt. He flexed his fingers around their binds as he got used to the intrusion of Trott's fingers. "... If this is so, then the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trials and to hold the unrighteous for punishment on the day of judgment. This is especially true of those who follow the corrupt desire of the flesh and despise authority."

Trott let out a snort of laughter. He curled his fingers downwards, and Smith moaned openly, his legs spreading almost of their own volition when Trott hit that spot inside him that cried out for more.

"Sounds like you, doesn't it?" Trott quipped. "'Those who follow the corrupt desire of the flesh and despise authority'..."

Smith just groaned in response to Trott adding another finger to him, feeling boneless and yet somehow also on edge already. Trott knew exactly how to take him to pieces, how to leave him a gibbering wreck in record time.

"Did I tell you to stop reading?" Punctuating the end of his sentence with a hard smack to Smith's ass with his right hand, Trott clicked his tongue against his teeth with an admonishing sound.

"N... No," Smith murmured, swallowing through his dry throat before beginning to read again. "B-bold and arrogant, they are not afraid to heap abuse on celestial beings; yet even angels, although they are stronger and more powerful, do not heap abuse on such beings when bringing judgment on them from the Loooooooord..." Smith's voice turned into a whine as Trott's fingers pushed and pulled, then curled again.

Trott leaned over, plastering his fully-clothed form to Smith's back. He craned his neck so he could flutter kisses to the back of Smith's head, the hand that had been slowly dealing out sparkling smacks making its way to Smith's front and curling around his cock instead.

Smith endeavoured to continue reading as he'd been told to, but with Trott's hand around him, beginning to stroke firmly, some more of his resolve broke away.

"B-but these people blasph-blaspheme in matters they do not understand. They are like unreasoning animals, - oh, fuck, - creatures of instinct, born only to be caught and destroyed," Smith moaned, the sound coming out louder than he'd anticipated, "and like animals they too will perish." He hissed on the last syllable when Trott's skilled fingers curled within him again, adding more pulsing heat to the thrumming in his stomach.

"They will be paid back with harm for the harm they have done." Smith tipped his head back for a second when Trott withdrew his fingers from him, slick digits stroking around his entrance before they withdrew completely. He distantly heard Trott unfasten his jeans. "Their idea of pleasure is to carouse in broad daylight. They are blots and blemishes, reveling in their pleasures while they ffffff-... Feast with you..."

Smith twisted up off the table as Trott entered him all at once, without a word of warning or hesitation. He gave a choked little sob of pleasure when Trott's fingers tightened almost painfully tightly around him, Smith's eyes unfocused and vision blurred. He blinked a few times to try and get his sight back to normal, but the words simply swam around the page in front of him.

"I didn't tell you to stop," Trott mumbled, plastering himself up against Smith's shirt-decked back again. He quirked his hips up, pressing deeper still into Smith and holding himself there for a few long, agonising seconds as Smith stuttered and tried to refind his place on the page.

"Th-these people are springs without wa- ah, ah - ater and mists driven by a storm." Smith knew he'd skipped some somewhere along the line, but he couldn't refind his place with Trott now moving inside him, slowly but very surely. Trott's hand mirrored his hips' rhythm and Smith cried out when Trott slid almost all of the way out of him before slamming back in. "Oh, God, Trott!" Trott's hand around his cock slowed to a stop, tightening around the base hard enough to make Smith squirm and writhe away from the sensation. Trott raised an eyebrow.

"Gonna keep reading, or do I need to make that pretty little ass of yours redder?"

Smith nodded wordlessly, his mind weighing up the options. He knew full well that his allowance to come would hinge on his response, so he started to read again, slowly, slurring his words just slightly. "Blackest darkness is reserved for them. For they mouth empty, boastful words and, by - don't stop - appealing to the lustful desires of the flesh, they entice people who are just escaping from those who live in error."

"Very good," Trott murmured into Smith's ear as he began to move his hand again in time with his thrusts, which quickened pace and firmness until Smith's lower stomach was pressing harder up against the table with each and every slam of Trott's hips.

"They promise them freedom, while they themselves are slaves of depravity—for 'people are slaves to whatever has mastered them.'" Smith was tripping over his words with every deep push and pull of Trott's length inside him, and the sharpness of Trott's teeth against the back of his neck drew a long, low moan from his lips. Smith longed for release, but Trott knew just how to keep him hanging on the edge, the hand around his length stilling and tightening again as Trott bucked his hips rhythmically.

Trott smirked against Smith's neck, above the collar of his shirt, at the words Smith read aloud.

"If they have escaped the corruption of the world by knowing our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ... And are again entangled in it and are overcome, they are worse off at the end than they were at the beginning." Smith was panting, his shirt stuck to his body. His arms ached from straining against their binds, his fingers genuinely hurting with the exertion of tugging against the intricate ropework.

Trott bit harder at Smith's neck and pulled a bubbling groan from Smith's throat as he sank his teeth into the skin, sure to leave the bloom of a bruise there for days afterwards. Smith didn't mind. He wore marks given by Trott with pride.

"It would have been better for them not to have kno- oh, fuck me, - known the way of righteousness, than to have known it and then to turn their backs on the sacred command that was passed on to them."

Trott sped his hips up, pounding hard and fast into Smith, the only sound in the room aside from their breathing and Smith's stilted reading being the smack of Trott's thighs against Smith's ass and the backs of his legs.

Smith was gripping at his binds, at the rope woven around his fingers, as he moaned shakily. He wasn't far off and Trott could tell, could feel him tensing with every thrust, could feel the silky slide of precum over his hand.

"You have permission," Trott spoke simply as he ignored the rising feeling in his own stomach and focused in on Smith stammering through the final few lines of text on the page.

"Fuck, Trott, don't stop, don't stop... O- Oh- Of them the proverbs are true: A-a dog returns to its vomit," Smith felt the surge in him then, and on a particularly hard thrust he came undone, babbling incoherently with tears threatening to prick at the corners of his eyes as his head fell against the book, Trott's breath fanning across his neck as he spoke, voice low.

"And a sow that is washed returns to her wallowing in the mud."

Credit to perplexed on Ao3