It's A Sin (GarouxReader Lemon)

It's A Sin

A very blasphemous story written just for fun ^.^

Directly inspired by the song 'It's A Sin' by the Pet Shop Boys.

NB: Intended for audiences 18+

~*~

Garou's head falls lightly to the side, breathing deep and relaxed as he slips further into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, arms loosely crossed over chest, his usual defensive position. But it's not held anywhere near as tensely as usual. He is not on his usual edge. There are no enemies here. Here, there is no one even close enough of being capable to take him on. And so he continues to doze, pale golden light streaming through the high window of the school chapel, that bizarre angelic music playing as the young priest drones on.
He'd been sent here to straighten up and fly right. A rare type of school, intended to teach him how to be so pure in thought, word and deed.
But they weren't quite succeeding.
Actually, they weren't succeeding at all.
Garou found the whole thing amusing, standing out like a terrible sore thumb among the neatly groomed sons of the quietly rich and influential, most of whom did not believe in any of this foreign nonsense just like him but went along for the prestige.
This really was child's play to him.
He could rule this poncy little place if he really wanted it to. But ah, he couldn't really be bothered. Everyone had been terrified of him from day one. He hadn't even really done anything.
He just walked into his assigned classroom and chose a desk. And when its original owner showed up and politely asked for it back, he just gave his usual look and said, "No." Which made everyone take a collective step back and no one had bothered him since.
He was a little hurt, you know? Was his face really that bad? His voice really that terrifying? He hadn't even tried to be intimidating. But whatever. Water under the bridge. This handsome scowl his own cross to bear.
It was the most boring place he had ever been to and the delinquents of this school were pink-cheeked little cherubs compared to his previous educational institutions (and there had been many). But you know what? The food was fuckin' good here. The teachers were too scared to bother him and he could really get away with anything.
But in a way, the novelty of that had worn off quickly. It wasn't anywhere near as fun when he got no pushback. And so he continued to laze through the days, showing up late, shirt hanging out, tie loosely slung around his neck.
Whatever. It could've been worse.
And so he continues to drift off as usual during this weekly mass, nice and relaxed despite how uncomfortable the hard pew is. That is, until he is rudely interrupted by his small bespectacled neighbour who clears his throat and timidly nudges Garou's shoulder.
He deigns to open one eye and glance at the boy, questioning, but he is too scared to respond, instead pointing hurriedly at the confessional booth as if to say 'It's your turn'.
Garou groans and lets his head, a shock of silver uncombed hair, fall back, his annoyance echoing through the house of God.
Not this bullshit again.
Every fucking week.
Most weeks he refuses to budge from his spot at the wooden pew. He never signed up for this and doesn't believe in any of these fairytales but you know what, he's in a good mood today and he hasn't messed with anyone in what seems like a long time to him.
And if the young priest is at the front going on about the body and blood of Christ or some shit that means the old one is in that little dinky booth there. And he knows, knows the school tradition of trying to push this bald hardass, this so-called man of God, to the limit, seeing who can come up with the wildest confession, who will incur his wrath. It's fun seeing him try to control his temper as he wrestles with the fact that he is supposed to be a virtuous example.
The old priest is universally feared and despised. Handing out detentions for the most minor of infractions, letting his constant displeasure be known. Over the years he has come to see himself as the man in charge of this school, taking orders from no one.
And so today, Garou takes on the challenge.
He wants to see this bastard finally snap. Take him down a peg.
To the astonishment of his teacher sitting quietly in the pew behind, Garou gets up and saunters over, hands in pockets, yawning, to the confessional at the far side of the chapel while his classmates watch nervously.
They will not be able to hear what Garou has to say but they can see the cocky determination in his broad shoulders and will strain their ears and crane their necks (all to no avail) to witness first hand what is about to go down. A morbid curiosity has them in its grip like a car crash you cannot possibly look away from.
He ducks into the wooden box and yanks the heavy velvet curtain shut behind him, taking a seat on the less than fucking comfortable wooden bench, adjusting himself, muscles of his back pushing against the wood this way and that to find an acceptable position. This must be part of the punishment.
He can barely make out the old man behind the finely latticed grille but he knows he's there and the priest is in turn surprised to see Garou, having done so only once before when this brat sat down and proceeded to take a nap.
He braces himself for Garou's antics, a light scowl crossing his face as he starts, giving Garou the traditional opening.
"May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy."
Garou thinks for a moment, remembering the words he's supposed to say before giving another yawn and continuing.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been," he pauses and scratches the back of his head, eyes glued to the top of the booth, hard in concentration, "a fuckin' long never since my last confession-"
"Language," the Father growls.
Garou grins. It's so fucking bizarre calling this man Father. In what fuckin' way, pray do tell, is this balding, pot-bellied, cassock-wearing man Garou's father? What is this weird parental obsession these people have? But fuck it. He'll play along for now.
"These are my sins," he begins, settling in better into this ancient wooden seat, a witness of countless boyish confessions.
He starts with the superficial. Sloth. "I slept in every day this week and missed all them morning prayers."
The Priest grumbles and is not surprised. Or amused.
"You must do better, my Son," he says and finds it just as hard to think of this little shit as his son as Garou finds thinking about him as his father. An awkward tension rises between them. "A Hail Mary for each day you have missed prayers."
Garou ignores him, barely remembering what in the hell a Hail Mary is. Moves on to gluttony.
"I went to this little place the other day and ordered everythin' on the menu. And it was all so fuckin' good. But then when I left, I forgot to pay," he says innocently, as if really worried about this little 'error'.
"You thieving little-!" The priest almost lunges at the grille separating him from this young sinner, outraged with Garou's casual criminality, before pulling himself back and taking a deep breath. "You must go back there, at once, and pay for everything that you stole," he huffs, a dangerous edge to his exasperated sigh.
"Yeah, yeah," Garou waves it all away. It ain't no big deal. Next time he'll pay. Maybe.
"And ten - no TWENTY! Our Fathers!" The old priest admonishes through gritted teeth.
"Oh yeah!" Garou perks up, remembering something important. "I beat the fuckin' shit out of bunch of assholes."
That should cover wrath.
"You're well on your path to becoming a petty criminal," his confessor barks, barely containing the disdain in his voice. "Why the hell- Why on God's green Earth would you do that?" He demands, though is not surprised in the slightest.
A frown clouds over Garou's features as he remembers the kid cowering in the alleyway corner, nose bloodied as his assailants, older, bigger, stronger, and uglier, just laughed, kicking him while he was down.
He remembers squatting down a few moments later, among the unconscious bodies, offering the kid something to wipe his face with. The way his small, grazed hand trembled as he took it, voice barely audible as he profusely thanked Garou who turned red and brushed it all quickly aside, not needing or wanting any thanks.
"Oh trust me," Garou says, "some of 'em deserved it."
"And the others?" The older, supposedly wiser, man interrogates him, making no effort to hide his displeasure.
The grin returns to Garou's face.
"Because I can," he says, interlacing his hands behind his head, closing his eyes as he savours the memory of victory. "Because I got to show them I'm the fuckin' best, ain't I?" He sighs contentedly. "Well, I am the fuckin' best," he nods.
"Pride," the older man mutters, rubbing his eyes, suddenly exhausted. When will this delinquent leave him in peace?
"So it is," Garou says, injecting as much of that same pride into his tone as he can. "What's that gonna cost me?"
"Does it even make a difference?" The priest grows weary. Oh so weary.
"Why do you call them deadly sins?" Garou says, suddenly curious. "Look how many I've done and I ain't dropped dead yet."
"They are deadly to your soul, not your earthly body," he explains, exasperated at Garou's blatant ignorance. "If you don't repent, you'll pay dearly for it in the next life."
"Next life?" Garou cocks his head to the side. "You people sure are optimistic," he laughs at the absurdity of the idea. Gotta give credit where credit is due.
"Is that all?" The priest almost seethes, feels he is being aged with each second Garou spends in here.
"Ain't you going to tell me 35 fuckin' hundred Our Fathers or some shit?"
"Mind your tongue!" The priest almost hollers in his deep sonorous voice, and it seems that the confessional booth almost shakes. It is on the other side of the spacious chapel and Garou's classmates are riveted, complete saints in comparison to their sinful classmate.
"Well, anyway, I ain't told you the most important one yet," Garou says, completely ignoring the holy man's outburst.
The priest feels like he wants to strangle Garou with his bare hands. Crosses himself. Silently asks for God's mercy and guidance, to fill him with the peace of the Holy Spirit. It is his job to hear out every sinning soul and he has no right to kick Garou out. He says nothing, hoping Garou will get bored and leave of his own accord, but no such luck.
Garou is only getting started, now really getting into the thick of it.
"I gotta confess...I've - what's the word?" He taps his chin. "Oh yeah!" He remembers and his grinning face is almost the devil incarnate. "Fornicated. I fornicated, let's see..." He quickly folds his fingers one by one, counting under his breath. "Eight. No! Nine! Nine times since last Friday."
The priest can play this game too. This is not the first time he's heard such confessions. Teenage boys trying to push their luck. Insisting they are no longer boys but men. But, usually, their wavering voices, timid words fail them.
This is not the first time he's heard such a confession. But it's the first time he's heard it declared so boldly.
The insolence of this demon!
The priest knows Garou is trying to push his buttons, just prodding him, waiting for him to explode, elicit his own wrath before God and make him sin too but he has been around long before Garou and if Garou thinks this is what's going to finally do him in, he's very sadly mistaken.
This now becomes a contest of wills.
"I pray for the poor girl you disappointed that many times," he delivers the sharp riposte.
Not bad, old man, not bad, Garou nods in approval. More determined to win than ever now.
"Nine times, eh? Well, that's just greed, plain and simple," the priest tut tuts.
"Guilty as charged," Garou says, letting him have that last one. "But if you'd seen her tits..." he holds his hands out in front of him, fingers wrapping softly around something invisible, as if these miraculous breasts were right in front of him, while quickly giving the intricate wooden grille a side eye, wanting to get a reaction out of this old preposterous, self-righteous joke of a man.
The priest is somewhat less prepared for this tawdry description that leaves so much and yet almost nothing to the imagination. Opens his mouth to berate Garou but the delinquent continues.
"Father, I mean..." he lets out a low whistle, himself starting to get a little hot and bothered under that white shirt collar at the memories. "I'm a greedy son of a bitch, I agree, but this girl..."
"And it's worth damning your immortal soul for this?" The priest raises an eyebrow, remaining unimpressed but beginning to his horror realise how far Garou is willing to take this. But he will remain unperturbed. He will not let this brat win.
"Fuck," Garou laughs, shaking his head softly, the silver mane swaying. "Worth it?" He pauses, a smile, a genuine smile, lighting up his face for the first time that day. "I insist on it."