Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. (Complete)

[onetruejustice.livejournal.com]

When; August 2, late night.
Rating; R, for naughty bits also for misapplication of bits of the Bible~
Characters; Cursed!Ishida Uryuu anti_buttons and Cursed!Yagami Light onetruejustice
Summary; A cynical, bitter Ishida with no issues about sex and touching invites a virginal, religious Light over with the intention of having coffee and a little corruption, and that, of course, spirals into something a little kinkier. This kind of thing, really, can only happen during curses like these.
Log;

The cold realization of Ishida's words hit him hard. The young man may be many things, but Light knew him long enough to know that he would not lie, and the bitterness that belied him...it was almost choking. There was no God? Blasphemy.

All blasphemy. It was wrong, Ishida may be honest, but was he just wrong? What had he seen in Heaven, this Seireitei that he had spoken about? There was so many questions, so many things he wanted to know and ask. Were the feelings of peace merely fantasies of a desperate believer, or were they....? Keeping carefully composed, he reached Ishida's door, feeling a strange twinge of apprehension even as he knocked on it. What other things would he hear tonight? Would that completely break his faith?

That circumstances had flipped since the last and first time Light had come to his apartment was a fact that Ishida had a dim, dismissed awareness of. A flip not in location but in position, position beyond that it was now Ishida who had retrieved coffee from the cafe, paper cups waiting in styrofoam holders. In moving, in waiting, Ishida told himself he did not feel regret. To permit Yagami Light to live in a fantasy, a fantasy that would only yield disappointment--that would be unforgivable.

At the knock, Ishida rose from the chair, setting aside a book on which he had been unable to concentrate. He opened the door and stepped aside to allow Light entrance. "Yagami-san," he greeted, willing away any softer emotion, but an empathizing pity had a foothold in his heart. Ishida gestured to the living room, waiting until Light had passed to close the door and follow.

Unaware of the pity Ishida had felt for him, for the disillusionment that Light struggled with even now, the brunet simply entered the apartment with a quiet nod and a murmured greeting. Had he been dreaming all this while, then? The feeling had been so strong, so cleansing, so consuming...

Before he could even decide that staying here, speaking with Ishida was a mistake, he heard the door shut behind him. Well, so much for excusing himself at the last minute. A small, forbidden part of him wished to stay and hear. There was no God? Statements like this would have made him recoil, made him avoid the person entirely because it was wrong, wrong.

Turning back to him, the hardness that had lingered within Light's honey-brown eyes were erased by the curse, leaving a confused softness in them that sought answers, explanations. Please, Ishida, tell me you're wrong.

His back to the door, stepping toward the living room, Ishida caught Light's eyes after the other had turned to him. The plea within them was obvious, too obvious, so much so that he almost felt disgust. It would be difficult, after all, to look upon someone so similar to the distasteful person he had once been. Ishida had never believed in god, no, but the spirit of the belief, the ideal, those were familiar, sweet milk gone sour as it swirled in his mouth.

His own eyes cold, behind the ice a settled sorrow of his certainty. He voiced none of the heaviness in the air, heavy as brought in on Light's shoulders. And Ishida's eyes moved over them, a slow, absorbing look from eyes to feet to the fall of clothing folds.

"Have a seat, Yagami-san," Ishida offered, "and a cup. I think you'll find it acceptable."

Silently, Light took his seat, unsettled by the unfamiliar hardness within the other's eyes. Had he ever seen Ishida like that before? They were different now, as if their roles had been reversed by some cosmic force that Light had no idea of. Did this mean that God thought they were merely playthings, or was this orchestrated by the fates?

Even the familiar aroma of coffee did nothing to ease his mind now even as his eyes flicked away from the other man; he was aware of Ishida's thorough appraisal, and silently mused that it was akin to being sized up by a predator of some sort. Shaking off the feeling, he accepted the offer as he picked up his own cup, tongue momentarily flicking out to wet dry lips. He was not used to feeling this off-balance, this out of control. Looking back up at him squarely, he forced his voice to be even as he responded. "Thank you." A pause, then. "Ishida, is there nothing in this world that you believe in anymore? It's not as bad as you say it is."

Once Light had, Ishida followed in same. Light took his seat on the couch, and Ishida inched around the coffee table to sit there as well, tucked against the opposite arm. It was not a very long couch, for all that it seated three; as Ishida leaned to retrieve a cup for himself, his sleeve brushed Light's, the contact minimal and through cloth alone, yet his blue eyes slid up against lid and through lash, stopping over the fleeting appearance of tongue.

Ishida sat back. Light's question hung in the air, circling into a target. He looked down as took his first sip, the black coffee hot in his mouth, bitter on his palate. A swallow, and he looked back to Light. "It is a matter of perspective, Yagami-san," Ishida said, calm and cold. "You look at what I have revealed to you as bad. I acknowledge the truth and live without pretense."

Light fought the urge to flinch as he felt Ishida's sleeve brush up against his own, wondering when he had become so skittish. It was most unbecoming, and yet it was beyond his control even as he watched him sit back out of the corner of his eye.

At his question, the silence hung between them, broken by the soft sound of the other man swallowing, which was a prelude to his response, one that sounded so logical, so unfeeling. Did this man have no more ideals with which to speak of? It was almost dead, and even without consuming the coffee, Light could taste the bitterness that Ishida exuded, and it did not sit well with him.

"Live?" He echoed, studying him, at the impassive expression that would not look out of place on a corpse. Had he no more hope left? "You don't look like you're living at all."


Ishida could only just bite back a laugh. It might have been an awful sound, if the wry smirk that twisted thin and brittle over his lips was any indication. "My heart is beating, I am breathing." He said, and, after a second, set his cup onto the table. "My skin--" Ishida leaned toward Light, not far, enough to fold his hand around his nearest wrist and pull it toward him. "Is warm." His fingers curled and slid over cool skin, his thumb tracing over veins beneath the curving of palm, pressing to never feel the beat of blood pulsing through the body.

"It is more than could be said for you," he finished, holding Light's wrist a beat longer than necessary before releasing it. His tone was not cruel, not jabbing or mocking, simply fact. "Life is more than shrouding onself in beliefs that collapse at the first sound argument."


The sudden warmth was a jolt to his system even as he couldn't help but stare down at where Ishida's fingers wrapped around his wrist, almost burning. Silently, he wondered if he had already gotten used to the cold that permeated his own flesh, to death. Could one ever get used to death?

His eyes narrowing in barely suppressed indignation at the other's next words, he responded swiftly, shoving back the feeling of being bereft of warmth when he pulled away. "Collapse? I still have my beliefs, my ideals. There cannot be an absence of a God." There had to be one! "You may not be dead, but are you truly alive, when you don't seem to hold any hope or any other feeling other than apathy?"


Not quite a reflection, no mirror image, but almost as swiftly, almost as immediate, Ishida's eyes had narrowed. "Do not thrust your morality on me," he warned, voice low, rigid with anger, his own indignation. Words quick, quick, stabbing out. "Do not be so foolish as to assume to know what I feel or hope, that life can only have meaning while revolving around an invisible figure riddled with hypocrisy and unable to deliver proof, even justice, even truth."

"Collapse," Ishida repeated, either eyes or lenses flashing as his hand lifted, adjusting the frame to his spectacles. "But you needn't stop believing," oh, the scorn, difficult to conceal, "if you prefer it. And I may be wrong; in your world, there may have been a god. In mine, however, and here, it is different. If God is all powerful, surely something would have happened to this deities here, all-powerful in this inexplicable City?"


"You're a dead man, Ishida Uryuu," Light murmured, sensing the other man's anger, his own indignation and feeling a strange, inexplicable need to challenge him, to taunt and to stoke that anger and see where it led to. It was something Light didn't understand, but he didn't fight it either even as he met his eyes, hearing the scorn in his tone. "Living, but suffering a death worse than what I'm suffering now."

Ishida's bitterness, oh how thickly it hung between them, how keenly Light felt it and pitied him even as he responded quietly, simply. "God has a plan for everything. Our greatest test is to believe. If He was to reveal Himself to you, to everyone, faith will mean nothing." Perhaps it was a weak argument, perhaps Ishida would tear it down and tear him apart with his next breath, but the curse of the deities lay heavily within him, and Yagami Light's argument, this time, was one of pure, unadulterated faith.



It nearly left him incredulous. Sitting there, subject to the speech that spewed from Light's mouth, that nauseating confidence in what did not exist. Called dead, when Light walked with hope from a nonexistent source. God has a plan, to believe -- it was too much. He felt a laugh that tasted like bile and choked him on its way toward escape, and bit it back. He wanted to strike him, seized with an inexplicable desire to tear down the walls of his belief, to shake the foundations and watch the house of cards collapse.

The body was a tool, and many its functions. Ishida looked over the older man once again, his eyes raking down his body, a quick analysis before jerking away, to a far wall. "I've seen souls walk and bleed, and I--I have destroyed corrupted souls. I have dealt blows to gods, I have walked in heaven."

Ishida did not require hirenkyaku to move quickly, now, quickly enough, not with how small was the distance. His movements were quick and hard--his arm jerked out, his hand now fisting around Light's tie near the knot and yanking, yanking him across the short space of a single cushion, leaning himself enough that their noses almost touched, breathing mingled as Ishida spoke.

"Would you like to know about heaven, Yagami-san?"

I have walked in Heaven. It was almost enough to scandalize Light; the mere thought of it seemed impossible, unreachable, how would one walk in heaven unless he was dead? How--why--was it all an elaborate facade that had fooled even Ishida himself? His faith was stubborn, blind - of course faith was blind, it always was - and the only thing that Light fought to hold on to even now, as he watched his companion move to the far wall with all the air of an angry tiger.

Parting his lips to respond, Light's words became a mere gasp even as he was yanked towards Ishida, coming so close that he knew that if he leaned forward a little more, he could almost taste the anger that dripped from those lips... No, no, I must not-- His own breath mixed with Ishida's as he looked back at him in shocked surprise, eyes widening as he managed a soft murmur. "Heaven is where God dwells, is it not?"

Strange, and a little awful, the sick lurch of satisfaction he could feel, watching the expressions cloud over Light's facing, hearing the gasp. Ishida wondered if he ought to be disgusted with himself, at his own behavior, he thought he might have been once and not long ago, only it no longer seemed to matter.

His fingers twisted up the tie, snaking beyond the knot, between tie and collar. Long and thin, callused hard especially at the first joint and tip, his index finger slid at the first button, between one end of shirt and the other, hooked and pulled. The button snapped off, quick and easy. His tumb tucked and his hand closed again, a tight fist around the tie, close to choking.

"No," Ishida replied, "It is not." And because he knew it was true, his eyes were cold, and they were bleak and unyielding, and behind the cold and the steel was something soft and sad and sharp and else, so he closed them and he pulled. His mouth met Light's, at first unevenly, hard enough to bruise.

Quite about to protest when he heard the sharp snap of a button, Light watched the expression on the other boy's comely features; hard as steel and just as cold. The sudden pressure against his throat caused a flinch, and an instinctive urge to pull away even as he shoved aside that particular feeling. He didn't need to breathe, he didn't need to breathe, he had to remember it. But...what was he planning on doing, choking him so that he couldn't speak? Or was he going to--

"Mmmf--" His lips were crushed up against Ishida's, and he moved to fight back, to turn his head and push him away, but that only succeeded in shifting his own lips comfortably against his, and the flare of desire, forbidden, sudden, and frightening rose within him. No, it was wrong, so very wrong and sinful and why wasn't he struggling harder?


It did not cross his mind that this was the second time in his life to date that he had moved to initiate a kiss, and that the first hardly counted, unwanted, the necessary and only option to stop the single more disagreeable alternative. What did cross his mind: how good it felt to, for once, have the upper hand, the greater strength, control. To embrace want, not squirm behind repression. And this, he wanted this, a want that surged unexpected and irresistable, as if he would have resisted it.

Could have smirked as Light failed to pull away; instead, Ishida broke contact, his grip relaxing.

"Heaven is corrupt," Ishida said, nipping at Light's lower lip. Both hands pressed flat against Light's chest, feeling muscle and cool skin beneath the fabric. "The gods practice..." He let a moment pass, a second to three, four, watching, his blue eyes all too clear: hungry, dark with want and darker with the need to shatter his morality.. Abruptly, his arms tensed: Ishida shoved Light, and followed his fall into the back of the couch, against it's arm, his hand returning to the tie, a handy hold. With its leverage he pulled himself up, to in-part straddle Light, one knee sinking between his legs.

"The gods practice every sin," Ishida reiterated and finished, let his hands lock over Light's shoulders as he kissed him again.

If Light had not been cursed, he would know just how to handle it, he would have demanded control, turned it around to suit his own purposes, because that was what Kira always did - the game was played on his own turf, on his own - but this was no longer Yagami Light Kira. No, Kira was gone, blotted out and erased, and so was most of Yagami Light and his trademark finesse in handling things like this.

To be controlled, to be dominated, it was so deliciously forbidden, a concept so completely untouchable and blasphemous that Light didn't know how to react save to struggle against him, to push him away. It didn't work, it never did, not when he saw the palpable lust in the other's dark, midnight-blue eyes. A shiver of guilty pleasure snaked down his spine, making him shudder, a soft sound of protest against Ishida's lips when he was pushed back unceremoniously onto the couch, caged in by the younger man's body.

Trapped with nowhere to go, Light closed his eyes, rejecting, rejecting his words. "No, no," he whispered almost desperately, wanting to cancel out those words and the things that they were stirring inside him. "God is blameless, God is perfect, God did not--"

Sin. Ishida's lips tasted like the sweetest sin, and the hand that had been pressing against Ishida's chest in an effort to push him away curled into a fist, and Yagami Light didn't know whether he was pushing him away or pulling him close anymore, even as his forbidden feelings pushed up to the surface, slowly, slowly responding to that kiss.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned....

Through his hold on Light he had felt him shiver, the reverbations againt his palms, and he smirked, a fleeting and small expression, bolstered in brief by the protest that never became a solid no, a solid demand that he stop. It was easy, too easy, to make the holy man shudder and yield. Repression, perhaps, did that to a person; Ishida wouldn't reflect on his own experience.

When Light had begun to respond, Ishida broke away again, the taunt in his voice as he asked, "No? No?"

His hands slid from Light's shoulders to his neck, dropping to his collar, to fumble with and make quick work of the tie--a last yank once the knot had been undone, and the fabric slithered. Ishida flung it over the back of his neck and raised his eyebrows as one hand fisted into his shirt (another button popped) as the other made a rough carress of Light's face to dig into his hair and force his head back.

"They let the human souls in Rukongai fester and starve, this their reward for lifetime of good," he murmured, matter-of-fact and hard, then lifting in question. "Am I dead, Yagami-san? If I taste of you, will I live? Is it infectious, will I believe?" Another kiss, but closed-mouthed and not tasting, no, dry and almost chaste, and he chuckled.

"I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst." Face now lowered to Light's now exposed collarbone, he licked up his neck, over adams' apple to chin, slow, tasting, sweat and musk and cool skin. And shook his head: "No, it hasn't caught."

Hungry, kiss-swollen lips were bereft even as they parted to draw breath, suppressing the soft moan that were laced into denials. His tie slid off, draped over Ishida's shoulder as if it were some kind of prize. Would he claim victory for this? There was no use in corrupting the wicked, but victory was sweetest when the innocent fell. And Light...Light would not fall. He shouldn't; but he was stumbling, struggling to hold on to what was righteous, to resist the tempting call of forbidden fruit. He felt his head forced back by the hand in his hair, and the look in his eyes was one of a struggling desire and defiance.

More, his body seemed to say, even as he felt his touch, arching up against him at the mockingly chaste kiss, traitorous hands sliding around the other's shoulders, grip tightening as he struggled to say no, to resist. But that tongue, the slow, languorous tasting of his flesh sent his senses spiralling almost out of control, and it was all he could do to rein them in, his voice a choked whisper. "For the bread of God is he which cometh down from heaven, and giveth life unto the world... He that believeth on me hath everlasting life. I am that bread of life." He remembered all too clearly even as he shook his head, the lies of those words wrenching at him, confusing him, even as his body responded to his, pulling him down, greedily, sinfully wanting more. "Rukongai...no...lies...you lie."

The spirit is willing, but the flesh...the flesh is weak. Forgive me. Forgive me.

Had he not been so intent on the other's skin, he could have laughed to hear those words, the words of Light's god, so weak in his voice, heard in that whisper as Ishida tasted him in a way that the scriptures had surely not intended.

"Yet, I still hunger," Ishida whispered, mockery in the passage misapplied in his meaning, pulled down by the man who proved as hypocritical as his god, the words moving his mouth against Light's now wet skin, his breath hot. Licked again, dragging his tongue quicker, shorter, and traced the path back with a scrape of his teeth. His thigh pressed, briefly, into groin.

"Lying?" the question, and his voice went brittle again, frigid, his arm jerking and two buttons snapping with ease. Slid his hand from hair, down, down Light's side, pulling at where his shirt had been tucked into his trousers. "Am I? The flawed gods, given prestige over souls for their ability, for their power, and they bask in it, and look down on humans though they were once, themselves--"

He silenced himself by pressing his mouth to Light's, not with teasing lips closed to be prudish, but an open, wet kiss.

Light's fingers caught on the zipper of Ishida's shirt, and with one jerky movement, pulled down, knowing that he was already damned from that first kiss. Tilting his head back further unconsciously, unwillingly allowing him more access, his own hips pressed up, responded with a primal instinct that even Light was unable to stop.

A short gasp was cut off as he felt the other man's thigh press against his groin, the pressure making his eyes widen in shocked pleasure - he wanted it, God he wanted it and loathed it and was afraid of it all at the same time. It was sacrilege, murmuring the Scriptures when he was lying with a man; and he wondered if Satan was rejoicing, if the Lord now turned away from him.

Ishida's words still rang within him, unpalatable and almost disgusting. ...that is not God, God had never been Man... But then again, did it matter now? He was so deep in sin, he was giving in to it, parting his own lips as his tongue flicked against Ishida's, pressing upwards hungrily. His own hands - traitors, they were - sliding up and inside the parted folds of Ishida's shirt, smoothing over the sculpted muscles of his stomach and chest, brushing over nipples and tasting the relief - the sweet, sweet relief that was laced with such heartbreaking guilt - of giving in to his simmering desires, forced back by piety and holiness.


Time for his first surpirse, accompanying the first of Light's actual initiatives, surprise opening his eyes in a flutter, a little more than a blink, as cool air hit suddenly against his chest. The willingness of the Light's responses, every gasp and press, touch, conflicted expression, agony and lust in brown eyes gone murky: all rushed to Ishida's head. His victory in every inch of the other's body. Bitter victory, but leaving dizzying satisfaction assisted by the blood surging through his body, by his increasingly labored breaths.

He would have pushed the point, driven it in, hammered it, and oh, he did intend to still. First to indulge: Light's tongue tasted of coffee, of the bitter bean and saliva, Ishida's tasted and slid past, over teeth and into the curve of his mouth. His skin drew back at first touch, shying goose-bumped back from the intrusive hands, skin tight against hard muscle and bone, and a shudder began in his spine that trembled to his finger tips,

Ishida's hand had pulled the shirt free, and crawled now to work one-handed at the fastenings to Light's trousers, body curving as he pressed his thigh again forward, harder, and his hips down in a hungry, awkward leaning.

The warmth of Ishida's body was nothing short of intoxicating, and it was that warmth that Light was seeking out even as his own body pressed up against his. A soft, quiet sigh as he felt Ishida shudder at his touch, and Light continued his ministrations despite the mild recoil. His own tongue sliding against Ishida's in response, tasting the other's similarly bittersweet flavor. It was alien to him, but it felt so exquisite, so completely breathtaking. It was with a measure of shame that his own legs parted in response, shivering beneath the dark-haired boy, trembling at his own accursed desires. The pressure against the uncomfortable confines of his pants was mind-numbing and intense, even as his arousal - and the embarrassment, mortification that came with it - became a little more apparent.

Another soft groan, and Light's fingers lightly brushed against Ishida's crotch in return, the pads of slender fingers pressing and stroking up against his length through the fabric of his pants. He could hear him panting, could feel the warmth on his skin, the body heat that he'd always craved ever since he had died. "Ishida..."

In this, he could not have claimed to be seeking cold skin, nor even to provide warmth. But touch, yes, contact, want that had stewed beneath his skin and burned as the network exploded simultaneously in celebrations of the body, in condemnations. Want, raw and intense and somehow unfamiliar, even as an instinct, with sharper angles than he might have been used to, told him he knew it well. The body was a tool, was blood and flesh and bone and produced positive and negative reactions, and to indulge in the positive, that could only be encouraged. He could think it, attempt to reason it even now, that hard and strict voice in the back of his mind and in his eyes. But it faltered in the face of this, of actual positive reaction, where a dry notation of the chemicals and hormones behind it fell so short.

His fingers caught, jolted into a stop as Light's fingers stroked through his pants; and his hips jerked into it, pressing quick against the touch, as he moaned, quiet, into Light's mouth. The fist in Light's shirt became steadying hooks, his fingers warm and damp against the skin beneath. Ishida breathed, heavy breath panted in as the kiss broke, his name producing a second shiver, and with it, a smirk. For half a minute he looked down at Light, at the change
effected in the before so rigid, so proper, so righteous man. He looked down, his own breathing uneven, his own cheeks flushed and blood pounding through head and groin, and bent his neck. Cheek brushed cheek as he lowered his mouth to Light's ear, his tongue darting out to curl fleeting under his earlobe, then to whisper against his ear, polite address dropped: "Yagami?"

His fingers resumed their work on the zipper and dipped into the cut, sliding beneath waistband and thicker fabric but not much farther, light grazing near but not near enough. Ishida was no mind reader, but even as his hips pressed with urgency, he would be obstinate on his point, one of many: "Sin... has nothing to do with this," he bit neck, beneath the lobe.

Like hell sin had nothing to do with it. At least, that was what Light knew even as he felt - rather than heard - Ishida's moan in his mouth, the lust coursing through his veins as the other man's body reacted against his. Looking up at him, pale cheeks flushed with passion as half-lidded eyes met Ishida's, caramel brown clouded over with desire. He shuddered when Ishida lowered his head, pressing his cheek against his as the dark-haired man's warm breath brushed against the sensitive shell of his ear, threatening to undo him completely. Ahh, and that tongue...

His free hand moving up around Ishida to splay over the small of his back beneath his shirt, he made a soft sound of need, feeling Ishida's fingers against his bare skin, but nowhere near where he really wanted it to be.

"Sin...has everything to do with it." Light was not willing to concede this to him; he had lost enough ground to begin with, his eyes widening even as he felt Ishida's teeth on a spot that he had not known - at least not before - was that sensitive. "Ahh--"

Bucking up instinctively, the hand that had been resting at the base of Ishida's spine pushed down down at the same time, and the sudden friction, sensation of their connection, clothed crotches pressed up directly and rubbing against each other forced Light to choke back a soft cry, the sheer sensation driving almost all conscious thought from him.