Alex Turner/One Shots. (Smuts And Non-Smuts)

Church Crush (SMUT/Bible verses)

prompt: Psalm 119:131: I open my mouth and pant, longing for your commands. (Sub!Alex)
...
Your eyes landed on his figure, sitting a few chairs behind you. His hair fell softly over his forehead, and if you weren’t so observant, you might not have noticed the heart-shaped outline of his hairline. But you had, thanks to all those classes together. He was illuminated by the light from the main room, his eyes a lazy, lovely caramel. So solemn, and you liked to imagine that sometimes they were watching you too. You fiddled with your cuticles impatiently, noting his nails, perfectly trimmed down to the quick, as he rubbed his well-shaped, sculpted nose, picking at his slightly flushed skin. You couldn’t help but picture them in other scenarios; adding meaning to such generous fingers. Without realizing it, he was mesmerized by the slight smirk on your face, only to quickly turn away to avoid the intensity of your gaze. That feeling was new. He couldn’t tell if you liked how his body reacted to you or if it made you uncomfortable, exchanging glances like that in such a place. After all, shouldn’t he be paying attention to the church’s service?
“We’re done for today, ladies and gentlemen,” the voice of the finely dressed man filled the room, snapping you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t heard a word he’d said since you arrived, you were busy. And thanks to Turner, every one of your Sundays had become like this—a vain attempt to surrender your body and soul to something that was supposed to be sacred. Still, there was a purifying aura about the way Turner’s curious gaze rested on you. Not that you thought he saw you as someone pristine, but because, clearly, he saw you. He saw you as someone worthy of that affection. Turner had become the reason you kept coming back. You counted the days for moments like this. The distinctive, colorful marble of that sanctuary wouldn’t be the same without him. You wouldn’t even think of returning otherwise.
He tried to ignore you, avoiding glances or any chance of crossing paths. He gathered up his backpack, frantically organizing himself to leave as quickly as possible. Yes, he was awkward—in a genuine, innocent way. Maybe he was still new to this, inexperienced, and clearly flustered. But based on how he acted in class, those assumptions seemed accurate. He briefly adjusted his hair, clearly uncomfortable in his too-small blue polo shirt that clung to his sweet fragile frame. His eyes were on you, even though his body language denied it. You smiled at him, boldly, leaving him even more flushed and disoriented.
When he opened his car door, he threw himself onto the seat, letting the backpack strap catch awkwardly, making him look like a ‘ninja turtle’ as his body contorted. He sat down; he was a mess. He reopened the door, discreetly, making sure he looked ridiculous in your eyes. Given the circumstances, he wondered if he should think of you as someone he'd marry someday, but that wouldn’t be fair to himself, not with how he idealized you every single time he saw or thought of you. His mind was far from pure, though he wished you well and admired your independence. However, his ideals about you weren’t exactly built on divine foundations.
Trying to recompose himself, he grabbed the steering wheel, resting his forehead against it. His breath caught in his lungs, knowing just how wrong he was for feeling this way and that he would be punished for it. Still, he pressed his thighs together, body and soul present, though not for any greater good—except, perhaps, for the thought that you might be his ‘greater good’ if you wanted to be. He was getting tight in his pants, just from seeing you. His throat burned from the effort of trying to forget it all—forget his obsession with you, even though he made it all too easy to dwell on it.
Yet, he couldn’t let go. His mind was stubborn. He wanted to see you, to feel your eyes on him, to hear what your voice sounded like, no matter how wrong it felt. It was inevitable that he would spend all week waiting for Sunday, just so he could see you again—admiring the way you dismissed people who criticized your looks or how relaxed you seemed, unconcerned with the judgment of others. And, of course, how you smiled at him after catching him looking at you.
Alex did his best to avoid you in the halls during the week. You still had the same confident essence and leather jacket, but he didn’t want to disrupt your popularity or how adored you were with his primitive presence. It was such a small town.
“Hey, youuu!” A deep, feminine voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Startled, he first thought the sound had come from outside, but when the door slammed and his eyes confirmed a familiar figure inside, right next to him, his entire body froze.
“You can’t be ‘ere,” he stammered in a pathetic whisper, earning a mischievous smile from your lips. His accent was stronger than ever, hurting his throat. It felt wrong, yet like a dream.
Up close, you wore a crucifix around your neck, dangling like a hypnotic watch, and your hair cascaded perfectly over your shoulders. Your eyes gleamed and stayed locked on him, leaving him unsure of where to look. You were invading his space. His hands, damp with sweat, shot down to his jeans in a nervous attempt to seem more composed in your eyes.
As usual, you seemed indifferent to the situation, as if this was entirely normal and you’d known each other for years. Your long fingers smoothed his dark hair behind his ear, drifting down to adjust his collar so his collarbones could be more pronounced, more visible to your praises. Your eye makeup was strikingly out of place for the setting—perhaps that was one of the small details that had captivated him since the moment he first saw you. The sharp, dark line framing your perfectly defined gaze made you all the more mesmerizing. A few droplets of sweat from the heat of the day clung to your cheekbones, and he silently cursed himself for wanting to lick them away; being responsible for keeping you clean. In a way, he wanted to let a single tear escape in front of you, not knowing whether that was a good or bad thing.
“Are you listenin' to me, Bambi eyes?” Your hand now rested on your thigh, your skirt clinging tighter and riding up slightly as you leaned forward in front of him. The crucifix floating, as well as your collarbone and breast in the tank top beneath the leather. He was dreaming—his mind had been in this exact place before.
“Alex,” he managed to say, he couldn't tell if his heart was beating. A small, plausible chance to let you know his name. He couldn't miss that.
You laughed, an amused, sweet sound that felt like a spell cast over him. “I know you, Bambi,” your hand slid up towards his leg, climbing up his thigh as your smile widened at how excited he was so early, pausing over the stiffness of his belt. He thought you were cute, he was getting so sure of that. His cheeks were flushed, his stomach restless above your touch, he was a good boy; definitely not as pure as the seconds passed with you.
“You do?” His voice came out choked, the words stuck as he tried to catch his breath. You were inside his head, crushing him into pieces, and he was utterly lost in you.
  You nodded, reaching up and squeezing a part of his lower belly that had never been touched by anyone else before. He was warm and silently prayed that you would have him. On a choked sigh, in an involuntary act, he spread his legs as you got your fingertips over the prominent part of his jeans, making you play gladly with the buckle of his belt. “I do, or do you think I don’t see you looking at me? Giving me those poor Bambi eyes as you study me from top to bottom, rubbing your soft legs together in an attempt to clear your impure thoughts.” Your gentle touch reached his skin, soft and reassuring. You unbuckled the belt with a satisfying click, slowly sliding it around his waist, each breath he exhaled filled with relief as you granted him the sense of freedom. “I know everything about you, Turner” you said, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I’ve done my research.”
“Did you look me up?” he asked softly, even though he knew it wouldn’t be difficult to learn anything about him, given that the town was as small as a speck. His mouth went dry, feeling your nails grazing the damp fabric clinging to the swollen skin on his white underpants.
He knew he was blushing, embarrassed by it (by himself), but you were happy, your lip between your teeth with an inviting look, revealing him hard and accumulated at the tip. You clicked your tongue, looking into his dark eyes, and already knowing the answer, you didn't hesitate to run your hand over his length, feeling him generously as his head went back in a sigh.
The doors were open, he could leave, the most exciting thing about it was that he didn't care about being corrupted by your actions.
  As a quiet hum was being taken from him, you pressed your fingers harder into the spot. “So do you like my touch, Turner?” You ran your fingertips gently, running them through all his hardness, so tenderly. “Your so wet, babe. Did you get like this when you were in there thinkin’ ‘bout me while failing to pay attention on the world ‘round you?” Your hands cupped his flesh, making him dodge while closing his eyes. “When should you be listening to the Lord's words? Huh?”
Even if it was slow, even if you lingered, Alex didn’t mind. He wanted it to last as long as possible, as long as you were there with him.
  “I’m sorry,” he grumbled, not knowing where to put his hands or how to act in front of you. He hated the fact that he was so quiet, making you think he wasn't enjoying it; even though his body wasn't capable of lying. “I just — I just don’t know what to do,”
  “I know you don’t, babe. I know you don’t. Never ever been touched for someone else, right? Sounds like a good boy for me, a fuckin’ perfect boy for you parents, a english class winner, a saint in the eyes of the neighborhood, and a devotee of our little sanctuary. What’d they say if they saw you now? About to get lost in whimpers for me in a church parking lot, huh? Bein’ mine instead,” your sinful words brought shivers down his spine. And as he could imagine, you had done your homework. You had already noticed him beyond the church. Your compliment with words, taking away all his speech, made him open his eyes briefly, sulking his hips in your hand. You did that for him, and without knowing how to explain it, Alex found you angelic; a pure angel in disguise. “Tell me, Turner?” You kept moving, not increasing the pace, assigning to the ache between his legs (in your cares); yet firm enough as he needed. “How can you be good? Fantasizin’ ‘bout me like that? Or when you walk past me bumping into my shoulders on purpose so I can notice you devouring me with your eyes when I come close to you every Sunday, babe? You’re not a good boy at all, see? You only came ‘ere for me.” You had an indescribable effect on Alex. You were right, he had never felt this way with anyone before, you were the first and for him you would be the only one to take him out of that bubble of chastity.
  How could it be fair that you talked to him like that? How was it possible that his conscience understood that as wrong but still his body was begging to be taken by you?
  He thrust his hip pathetically into your palm, “I need more,” he said in a whimpering mess, just like you described. “Please, I’ll be good, just tell me what to do,” He rested his palm on your wrist, not disturbing your work, just rubbing loving circles in longing.
  “I don’t want you to do a thing, pumpkin,” For never having done it that way, it was clear how sensitive he was. Your hand ached, but you continued, intoxicated by the pained expression on his face as you were guided by every sound and drop sliding down his forehead. He was beautiful. His mouth fell open in a silent sob, making his attempt to speak your name come out in clipped syllables. You were being good for him, he wanted to learn how to do the same for you.
  As he had never been to that place, he was surprised to feel no pain but pleading relief enveloping his body as your fingers slithered easily into his excessive juices. His stomach was feeling funny. But he was ethereal, he felt like he was in a good place, or getting there as he had heard the well-dressed man say minutes ago. “I just wanna make you feel good, hear your beautiful sinful sounds just for me.”
  As he dipped his head on the seat, you bit on your lips, hard enough to feel the metallic taste mix with your saliva. You were the reason for his erotic dreams since he had first seen you, so that was such a daydream for him as well as for you. Your hands, controlled, came out of his swollen length to the tip, and then closed around him tightly, giving you the advantage of seeing his face twitch with pleasure knowing that only you had provided this to him. Keeping the same pace–so he could spend more time in supplication, giving you a privileged view that you would save in your brain to watch every night before bed–you began to massage his angry and read tip with your thumb, feeling his body heating up as his hip go to meet with your fist, fucking himself into you.
He had realized that he was hasty alone, and that it was difficult to hold himself back with you. He would wet the fabric of his underwear more easily, which gave your delicate hand better performance. He wouldn't know how to use your dexterity, he would need you to keep from getting hurt.
  “Please,” you breathed.
  “Please what, Turner?”
  "I need it, I need you, I need to be good for you, just want to—" He was cut off as you pulled away from him, sitting up. With tense fingers, sore from burning holes in the seat, he tried to hold back, not wanting to sound too loud.
  “You’re being good to me babe. You were fuckin’ my hand so well, fuckin’ dripping on me, I’m just gonna need to hear you, pumpkin. C’mon, don’t hold back, we‘re far from everyone you can show me how naughty you are, right? Be loud for me,” you said, your raspy voice made him dizzy as you took off his shirt in a quick, clumsy act. He didn't even try to process the lack, he was completely intoxicated by you.
You lost control of your words, your fingers tracing along his waist as you placed them on his chest. He smiled softly, his lips moist and curved to the side, as usual. You liked his body, smooth and delicately sculpted; you enjoyed how wrong it felt yet couldn’t help but be guided by it. You caressed his collarbone, memorizing every groove along the way. Leaning closer to his seat, feeling his eyes on you, you kissed him. It was subtle, in contrast to everything that had come before, warm yet tender. He tasted the metallic taste, needing more. He took a moment to respond, but as he became more aware, he yielded and entwined his tongue with yours. Sweet and messy, just as you had expected, you laughed, making him blush even more.
A thin line of saliva formed as you pulled away, and he wondered if it made you wet, since he felt painfully stiff with everything you did. All he could do was stare, as if you were going to run away and be nothing more than a dream.
Without another word, you made yourself comfortable in the seat. He could see your thighs better. He took a deep sigh, letting a groan escape as your breath grew heavy with your warmth lingering on him. As soon as you moved your hair away from your face, Alex understood and held it back to give you better access and provide himself with a clearer view.
Your pink painted lips wrapped around his swollen head, sucking just a little until you lifted your head to the tip only to fail to take him completely all at once. You laughed, excited by that, and sighed with a drool running down the edges of your lips, "You're such a good size." And you could gaze at his red skin.
Understandable, yet painfully throbbing, he ran his fingers over your ear, examining the metallic earrings and caressing your velvety cheek. You were beautiful. Alex loved watching you pay attention in class, but he never thought he would be able to witness this. Your swollen lips were connected to him, your wet tongue making him squirm, and you were skilled at it. Your hand was firm at the base of him, where you couldn't reach without having your eyes water and your throat hurt, even though you let yourself do it on purpose, to please him and feel a little pain for being so unruly. But mostly, you focused on sucking him in comfort, closing your eyes, loving the taste and texture, until you could move your face up until you no longer had him in your mouth just so you could do it all over again.
He stroked your hair so gently, you couldn't stop even if you wanted to. "You're so beautiful." He whispered between full-bodied moans. It was deafening, it made you give even more of yourself to have his taste in your mouth. And little by little, his legs began to tremble and his hands pulled your locks hard enough to have them loose between his fingers, but it felt so good. He groaned your name, as if in a will, relieving himself in your throat with more whimpers. It was so adorable. He was weak, such a mess.
His sweet caramel eyes watched you tiredly as you swallowed the hot liquid. It dripped down your chin a little and his stomach had stained with it too, but you didn't hesitate to wipe it away with your tongue and sweet kisses. His breathing was weak, he didn't know what to say, but thank goodness he could look at you. You gave more wet kisses to his sensitive skin, ignoring his fingers trying to push you away. And from the view Alex had through the blurry windows, he could still see some people leaving the church; you had certainly been there too long. You sucked on his spot again, licking where a bit more juice was coming out and he could see your angelic gaze at him, as if you transferred all your sins to him and he was no longer pure. He wiped the tears from your face, knowing he had them too, and drove your head up, feeling too sensitive to take it anymore.
His muscles were relaxed, though tension started to build in his head. He fumbled with his own belt and the shirt bunched up around his waist, awkwardly trying to hide his softened body. You laughed, and he understood that it wasn’t because of his clumsiness, but because you simply enjoyed seeing him like that—flushed, unsure of his next move. "Thank you," he said. Your eyebrows raised. This time, you both laughed together. You stripped him of all his social skills.
Your fingers whitened as they gripped the hem of your skirt, your eyes never leaving him, yet they roamed across his entire frame. Alex felt guilty, embarrassed. "Did that make you wet?" The question sounded like real doubt amid his weak intonation.
"Don’t you think you’re good, Al?" You let out a soft sigh, relaxing into the seat as you leaned toward him, your lips brushing his cheek. Hearing you call him that made him wonder if you’d speak to him like this when you saw him in class or around his friends. He wanted you to. As usual, he couldn’t speak. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, and he simply waited for your commands and approval.
  Your forehead rested against his, your attention solely on him, your breaths mingling in quiet comfort. He signed the notice, captivated by your delicate fingers brushing against the skin of his arm, taking his hands in your and guiding them beneath your skirt. His calloused tips touched the thin fabric of your panties, surprised, heart racing at how damp you were. You pulled the elastic away, lightly touching your spot as you contemplated the act. Alex had never heard anything so beautiful. Looking for more of the sound, he repeated what he saw, your head falling back onto the seat, looking at him pleadingly and tiredly, and he imagined that you had been like that since the beginning too (even though it could be a lie and he just wanted to feed his own ego). He pressed harder, not sure how to continue, and proposed to kneel in front of you, no matter how drastic that might be. He needed all of it, every drop. But your warm voice interrupted him before, "Turner, you need to park somewhere else, I don't want to be interrupted.” You had certainly been there for a long time, no one but you needed to know how you were poisoning each other in such a place.