[fic] i belong to him

[pairofraggedclaws]

Title: i belong to him
Fandom: 9-1-1
Rating: E
Word count: 1764
Characters/pairings: Eddie/Father Brian
Summary: Father Brian doesn't run into Eddie - instead, Eddie goes back to confession. Contains some unethical use of a position of power (priest), verbal humiliation, degradation.
 

Eddie’s been quiet for a few moments now, trying to work up to what he needs to say. Why he’s saying it here, in the confessional, is a question he’s not sure how to answer. Maybe it’s just that he has no one else to talk to.

“You can tell me,” the priest says.

“I can’t stop thinking about my best friend,” Eddie says in a rush. “At work – we work together – it’s like I’m aware of him, where he is and what he’s doing, every single second of the day, and my mind just goes crazy. The other day I had to, um. Not important. But he’s in a relationship, and he wouldn’t want me even if he wasn’t. I don’t know what to do.”

“He’s straight,” the priest says.

“No. Just...he wouldn’t.”

A pause, the sound of wood creaking as the man shifts in his seat. “What did you have to do? You said you were at work and you had to do something.”

“Nothing, really,” Eddie says.

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” the priest says. “You wouldn’t have brought it up if it was nothing.”

Eddie closes his eyes. “I’m just – I don’t want to talk about this. It’s embarrassing.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” The man’s voice is like honey, smooth and sweet.

Too sweet. This feels off, and maybe if Eddie didn’t feel so fucking alone, he’d care. But he wants to talk. He wants someone to listen to him and only him. He’ll answer anything this guy asks, this faceless priest with the honeyed voice.

“Tell me,” the priest says says, and Eddie blows out a tense breath.

“I had to – you know.” No response. Eddie rubs at his face. “Get off. I was so pent up, I just couldn’t...”

“Couldn’t what,” says the priest. “You couldn’t help yourself?”

“No,” Eddie whispers, the word clawing its way out.

“What was that, Eddie?”

The priest remembers him, he remembers him. Eddie’s heart is pounding. He should leave. He should leave right now.

Eddie says, “I, uh. I. No.”

“No…” the priest says, an implicit command: finish your sentence.

“No. I couldn’t help myself.” Eddie’s voice is a weak little thing.

“You got aroused at work. You didn’t wait until you were at home to touch yourself. Why is that?”

“I – I told you. I was so...I couldn’t work like that. It only took a minute.” Eddie’s gripping the edge of the seat, the worn-soft wood. That phrase, touch yourself, something so dirty, so embarrassing about it, it’s making Eddie squirm to hear it applied to him.

It’s getting hot in the confessional. Eddie tugs at his collar. This is so fucked, and Eddie’s letting it happen. Maybe because of the way it’s filling up his head, his senses, no room to think about his doomed fucking feelings for Buck; maybe he’s just that starved for attention. Maybe Eddie’s just fucked in the head.

“That’s not really an appropriate place for that.”

“I know! I know.”

“Do you often get inappropriately aroused?” the priest asks dispassionately, the cool steel of his voice making a shiver run up Eddie’s spine. “So aroused you need to masturbate, and it only takes a minute to relieve yourself?”

“You’re making it sound…” Eddie clears his throat. “No, okay? It was just once. It’s not a thing. That’s not why I’m here.”

“So you’re not aroused right now?” asks the voice.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, a confession in itself. He is. He’s already had to let his legs fall open a little, make room for his swelling cock.

“I,” he begins, and falls silent.

“You’re thinking about your friend a lot,” the priest says. “You fantasize about him.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, though it wasn’t a question. “Sometimes I can’t think about anything else.”

“Do you wish he would see you like this? You’re so desperate just from talking about him. I can hear it in your voice, and I can tell you’re thinking of it, that brief minute it would take if you crept off to pleasure yourself.”

It wouldn’t even take a minute, the way Eddie feels right now. But he’s not – he’s not sneaking around to jerk off all the time.

“It’s not like that,” Eddie says. “You’re doing this on purpose, getting me like this.” It’s true, but it sounds so flimsy to his own ears.

“So you just do it when you really, really need to,” says the priest. “Seems like that happens a lot, Eddie.” A shock of electricity at the sound of his name. “I’m just talking to you about the situation, and look at you. Do you think it’s normal to masturbate at work?”

“No, but,” Eddie says.

“You’re gonna blame me for the state you’re in?” the priest says, amusement in his voice. Eddie shakes his head even though the man can’t see him. The backs of his thighs are tingling with sensitivity, his nipples, his lips. “I can practically smell how much you want it. I didn’t do that. That’s all you.”

He did, he did, but Eddie can’t seem to find the words to tell him that. Instead he says, “Please, Father, it’s not my fault.” Oh, he’s leaking in his pants. “I’m, fuck, can I - “ He can’t ask.

“It’s not your fault,” the priest agrees, soft and soothing. “Go ahead, ask me.”

“I need it,” Eddie pleads. “Please, Father. Please.” His hands spasm on the edge of the bench, his hips jerking against nothing.

“So what?” murmurs the priest. “What do you need?”

“I’m so close,” Eddie sobs. “I need to touch it, please let me touch.“

“Touch what,” the priest says, like he doesn’t know.

“My. My cock.” Humiliation rolls through Eddie, gasoline on the flames of arousal, and he thrusts, thrusts, thrusts into thin fucking air. “I’m so hard, I need to come, please. Let me touch my cock.” His cock jerks in his pants, leaking at the sound of his own voice, and fuck, there’s an actual wet spot bleeding through. He’s never gotten this wet before in his life.

“Take it out,” says the priest, and for a second, Eddie can hear it in his voice, how affected he is by listening to Eddie grovel like this.

“Thank you,” Eddie rasps, scrabbling at his zipper until he finally gets it down, and practically rips the waistband of his boxers down to pull his cock out. It’s so red, the tip slick, and Eddie wraps his fingers around it with a gasp of relief.

“Stop,” the priest says sharply.

Eddie moans pathetically, smoothing his hands up and down his thighs, so close to where he wants to, needs to touch. His cock twitches, untouched and aching, and wetness drips from the tip.

“You’ll touch yourself when I say you can. Just one stroke at a time.”

“Yes, Father, anything, anything…” Eddie’s legs are trying to spread, he babbles on, “What about – can I - “

“Eddie, just ask. No need to pretend like you’re shy, not at this point.”

Eddie wants to protest, this isn’t him, he’s not like this, but he’s going out of his mind and it just doesn’t matter to him anymore. Dignity, sense, none of it. He says, “I need something inside, please let me.”

There’s a moment, silence except for Eddie’s breath ripping in and out of him, and the occasional whimper that he can’t keep in. His hands shake, gripping his own thighs.

“Get a finger wet,” the priest says finally. “Suck on it. You can rub, Eddie, but nothing goes inside you.”

“Fuck, thank you, please, I,” Eddie slides a hand down the back of his pants and moans frantically as he rubs over his sensitive hole. It’s so hard not to push inside; it’s making him feel crazier, if anything.

“Stroke yourself. Just one, remember.”

Eddie makes it count, slow and delicious. His wet finger rubs frantically at his hole. Taking his hand away from his cock again is a brutal experience.

“Touch your nipples,” says the priest.

Eddie does; they’ve pulled tight and hard under his shirt.

“Stroke.”

Eddie strokes, can’t help it, does it again, again, again.

“I can hear that. Stop, now,” the priest says, iron in the velvet of his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says pathetically. “Just a couple more, please, Father.” His hand’s still on his cock, shaking; he’s keeping it still, but he can’t help but squeeze a little, he’s so close. His other hand, shoved down the back of his pants, works furiously, his muscles burning a little with the awkward angle.

“One more. One, Eddie.”

Eddie moans, breathy and high, his cock twitching in his grasp when he strokes.

“Did you manage to stop?” says the priest, an edge of condescension in his voice.

“Yes,” Eddie says. “I stopped. But - “

“I know, my son. You need it, you need it so badly. Right?” The man’s voice is dry and mocking, and Eddie squeezes his cock compulsively.

“Yes,” Eddie whines, rubbing his hole, rubbing, rubbing. Heat rises in his belly, rolling through his body, and – “I’m gonna, oh fuck, I’m gonna come. Father, please, please let me stroke it, please let me, oh please oh please I’m coming - “

“Stroke, Eddie,” says the voice, and Eddie gets in half a stroke before his cock swells just that tiny bit more, and he’s coming, thrusting into his fist, hole spasming against his finger, and he pushes just the tip of his finger in, groaning at the feeling of it, not enough but so much after the tease of nothing, and he keeps making noises, gasping and moaning and grunting, until he’s done, his fingers wet with come, his chest heaving.

Clarity hits him like a brick to the head, and he’s dragging his pants up and physically running out of the church, not even remembering to do them up, or deal with the come on his hand, until he gets to his truck. Hopefully no one noticed anything, or he’s just gonna have to walk into traffic.

“What the fuck,” he says, forehead on the steering wheel. A belated aftershock pings through him, and he clenches on nothing. He’s never come so hard in his entire fucking life. “What the actual fuck.”

Eddie needs to never go in that church again. He needs to avoid this neighborhood for the rest of his life.

Eddie needs to do that again.

“No,” he says. He flips down the mirror, looks into his own eyes, and says, “There is no way you’re this fucking stupid.”

But he is. He is.