Chapter Text
The desolate church quieted overnight. The gentle breeze flowing through the cracks only served to send chills throughout the priest’s spine.
Pure flipped through his Holy Bible, reading through the scriptures he knew and lived off of for as long as he’d remembered. Despite this, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of emptiness in his core. Perhaps loneliness may fit better in such a scenario.
It was common for Brutal to stay out late. Pure knew the types he battled with, or hung around, much to Pure’s dismay. Oftentimes, Pure would be the one tending to the wounds he’d suffered after an unusually rough battle.
Pure couldn’t help himself from thinking about the undead man. His strong arms, his sharp, crooked teeth, those scars…they all enamored Pure so, so much. The priest felt heat creeping onto his cheeks, then through his torso, down to his crotch. Pure was no stranger to carnal feelings of the sort, no matter how he abstained from acting upon them.
Tonight, however, was different. Pure was bored, and lonely, and Brutal likely wouldn’t be back for some time. “If it’s only once, I suppose there is no harm.”
The priest caressed down his own body, imagining Brutal’s rough hands instead of his own. One hand reached lower, rubbing against himself slowly while biting his lower lip.
Pure began to unzip his white slacks, pulling down the garments underneath and allowing his cock to spring through the opening. His tip was already leaking, just from the thought of his partner.
Keeping a close eye on the church’s doors, he began to stroke himself gently. He kept on imagining Brutal, instead with his mouth wrapped around the holy man’s cock. The thought spurred him on, now stroking quicker, more fervently. His back arched in the pew he was sitting against.
Pure felt his hips begin to jerk into his hand, thoughts going deeper into how he’d finally dominate the serial killer. He’d leash— or muzzle the man, forcing his head into a pillow as he’d fuck Brutal mercilessly. For all of the teasing, the aggressive treatment, and the harsh words from the zombie.
Before Pure knew what was happening, he felt his climax approach quickly, biting back several moans and whines as one final jerk pushed himself into spilling his seed, some landing on the floor and on his slacks.
Coming down from his high, he stuffed himself back into his pants, zipping them up like nothing had happened. He eyed the semen stains on the floor and decided he’d clean it after he cleaned his pants. As Pure walked into the church’s back garden, he heard the familiar sound of the entrance doors swinging open, and equally familiar heavy footsteps through the hall.
Pure rushed to the small pond, scooping the water into his cupped hands and washing away the suspiciously viscous stains. He tensed up, hearing the gravelly Australian accent shout from inside,
“Pure?! Where the fuck are ya? Wot’s with the bloody nut onna floor?!”
Oh dear.