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Heaven is beautiful. It’s made to be perfect in every way, filled with anything anyone could want or need. Whatever anyone desires, they have it at their fingertips as soon as they think to want it. Anything anyone craves, they can have.
Well. Almost anything.
Heaven can’t bring back the people who didn’t make it to the Holy Gates. It can make replicas of them, thin facades that act like the memory of a person, but it’s not the same. The clones only act like how their creator expects them to act, only exist to be what their creator wants. They don’t talk back, don’t argue, don’t do anything to bring their creator down. It would spoil the point otherwise.
It’s simply a pretty lie. A lie that most of those who find themselves in Heaven choose to believe because it’s easier than wondering about the loved ones down below.
Jesus has tried that particular heavenly feature only once. When the yearning got to be too strong, too much, too painful, he’d summoned an image of the one he misses so terribly.
It had looked just like Jesus remembered him to look. The same dark curls, the same beautiful eyes and shy smile. It was even dressed the same, in light blues with a hamsa around its neck. It had chatted amicably with Jesus for awhile, had marveled at Heaven and its beauties. It had told Jesus it loved him.
Jesus banished it in an instant, unable to stomach the idea of this false Judas claiming love while the real thing was doomed to suffer for eternity.
He misses him. Misses him so much that it makes the feasts of pure bliss taste like ash and makes the finest of wine taste of poison. His yearning for the one thing he can not have makes Heaven feel meaningless and empty, especially as the years go on.
“You’re upset.” His mother sits with him, stroking his hair. “What troubles you?”
Jesus doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t know the first thing he can say. His duty is done and being here is supposed to be his reward. How can he dare to be so ungrateful?
“It’s nothing to trouble yourself with,” he assures. “Please, enjoy yourself.”
His mother frowns — an odd sight within Heaven’s walls. “I’ll be enjoying myself for the rest of eternity. I will not look the other way when you’re so upset.” She cups his cheek and strokes his skin with her thumb. “I’ll be happy again when you are.”
He sighs heavily. “I don’t know if I will be,” he admits. “There’s someone I miss. Someone who didn’t make it here.” He doesn’t dare speak his name.
His mother hums. “Have you tried calling upon them?” She means the replicas, the false images of loved ones.
Jesus nods. “It isn’t the same. I
know
it isn’t him. I know he’s suffering.” Suffering because of his role in the Grand Plan, suffering because of
him.
“Have you spoken to your Father about it?”
That surprises him. “I couldn’t possibly ask–”
“This is supposed to be your reward,” she points out. “Your kingdom.”
Jesus allows that to settle over him. His kingdom. His reward. His choice.
Perhaps it would be worth asking.
By the time he finally musters up the courage to make his request, more time has gone by. It’s impossible to tell how much — time moves strangely here — but he’s made up his mind. He makes his way to a meadow and kneels on the grass.
“Father,” he calls out, eyes turned upwards.
The wind blows and he
feels
the voice that responds more than he hears it.
“Yes, my Son?”
“I have a request to make.” He’s sure that his Father is already aware of it, as He is aware of everything. “A favor.”
“Speak it, my child.”
He takes a breath. “It is about those who didn’t make it to Heaven. Those who sinned too greatly to be permitted entrance to my kingdom.” He pauses. “If it is indeed
my
kingdom, might I be able to choose my own subjects?”
There’s a moment in which the wind blows Jesus’ hair without any words or understanding accompanying it. It’s just silence.
“You speak of the betrayer.”
Jesus swallows. “Yes,” he admits. “He doesn’t deserve punishment and I want him by my side.”
“You would bring him to Heaven? The man who betrayed you, who condemned you to death?”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “It needed to be done. He fulfilled his role in Your Plan just as I did. I would not have him suffer for it.”
More silence.
“Retrieving a soul from Hell shall not be an easy task. It has not been accomplished before.”
“Please,” Jesus begs, his hands clasped together. “I beseech you, let him join me here. I’ll journey to Hell and retrieve him myself if that’s what must be done.”
“That is precisely what must be done. But be warned, a soul can not leave its domain unwillingly.”
That makes Jesus frown, confusion overtaking him. “Are you saying I’ll have to convince Judas to come with me?” He can’t imagine it will be difficult.
“Yes. He must come willingly.”
“I understand.” Jesus takes a breath. “Send me to Hell and I will find him. I’ll bring him home.”
“As you wish, my Son.”
Hell… isn’t what Jesus expects. It’s loud and bright and full of people, but the air smells of perfume rather than smoke and there’s no one screaming. Instead, he hears… laughter?
Laughter and conversation all around him, coming from every direction. The people here wear smiles and their eyes are alight with joy instead of the terror Jesus expected. There are long hallways and music plays and Jesus is reminded of the whorehouse they turned his temple into in Jerusalem more than anything else.
The comparison is enough to make a surge of anger spark through him at the memory. He’d been so
angry
to see his place of worship turned into a den of thieves. He’d been so angry that he’d shoved Judas for getting in his way, throwing him to the ground.
Judas hadn’t deserved his anger then. And he doesn’t deserve to be in this disgraceful place now.
Jesus pushes through the crowds and finds his feet taking him where he needs to go just by thinking the name
Judas Judas Judas
over and over again. He can’t explain it, but he simply
feels
like he’s headed in the right direction, knows in his heart that he’s being led to where he needs to be.
Then, he sees him through the crowd and everything stills.
Judas is instantly recognizable, his soft curls are intact and his eyes are still so dark and expressive. Only now they don’t hold anxiety or fear or even adoration, instead they sparkle with delight and a hint of mischief. He doesn’t wear the faded blues Jesus remembers, instead dressed in mostly tight-fitting black with a coat of deep red. He looks…
He looks good.
Jesus almost weeps at the sight of him. He steps forward, lips parting to call out Judas’ name, to beckon him closer, but then he takes in more of the scene before him and pauses.
Judas is with a man. No, he’s with several men, all of them in various states of undress. They're all gathered around him and they look at him not unlike how the crowds used to look at Jesus when he was alive, with something adoring and hungry in their gazes. Judas used to hate being the center of attention and he’d hated the crowds.
One shirtless man moves closer to him to whisper something in his ear. Judas’ head tilts back and he laughs. Loudly and without shame, no hiding a giggle behind his hand or looking sheepish when a snort escapes him. This is something Jesus has never heard from him before, something careless and free.
Another man slides up to him and wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him flush against him. The Judas Jesus remembers would have reacted skittishly, would’ve put as much distance as possible between himself and such an imposing figure. But Judas just grins and pulls the mostly-naked man closer. And then he leans in and–
Oh.
Their mouths connect in a kiss of mostly tongue and it’s obscene to look at. Jesus feels his cheeks heating up just watching them, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away.
The man who made Judas laugh positions himself behind Judas to kiss at his neck. Judas doesn’t push him away or even so much as startle. He just breaks away from his kiss to tilt his head to the side, giving the man better access to kiss and bite at him. His eyelids flutter closed and a small sigh escapes him; he looks like he’s in bliss.
Jesus isn’t supposed to see this. This isn’t what he was meant to expect from a place like Hell and it certainly isn’t what he expected from Judas. He doesn’t know what to do in a situation like this, doesn’t know how to announce his presence or if he should just leave and return later.
Judas doesn’t seem unhappy here. Doesn’t appear tortured. In fact, he looks happier than Jesus has ever seen him.
Still, he moves forward, sidestepping another shirtless man who stands in his path. He clears his throat loudly and keeps staring at Judas, whose belt is being unbuckled by hands that are not his own.
“Judas,” he calls.
Judas’ eyes snap open and his head jerks to look at him. His hands are pressed against the man in front of him’s chest and his neck is still being kissed by the man behind him. Neither of them seem to notice Jesus’ presence.
Judas shoves the men away, his eyes wide as they fix on Jesus in disbelief. His gaze flickers to the men who surround him and he swallows hard. “Leave us.” He says it in a forceful voice, an easy demand. Like he’s in total control of the situation and is well aware of it.
Jesus has never heard him speak like that.
The men look at him and at each other, murmuring complaints. “Seriously?” The one behind him says, snaking a hand up Judas’ shirt. “Come on, Jude. We can invite him too. You know we can share.”
“I told you to
leave,”
Judas snaps, slapping the hand away. “All of you. Now.”
The men grumble, but they take their leave, slinking back into the crowds and twisting hallways.
Judas stares at Jesus as though he’s looking at a ghost. In many respects, he is.
“Judas…”
“What are you doing here?” It's asked snappily, leaving no room for blustering or hesitation. He almost sounds angry, which Jesus can't understand.
Jesus’ mouth goes dry as Judas stares at him with those dark eyes narrowed. “I came for you.”
“For me?” There’s that familiar anxiety creeping into his voice. “Why?”
“Why?” Jesus matches his stare, though without the hardness of his gaze. “Because you're
here,
Judas. I came to bring you home with me. To Heaven.”
Judas freezes. “In case you're unaware,” he says slowly. “I'm not welcome there.”
“I spoke to my Father,” he quickly explains. “He told me I could bring you there. It's my kingdom and I get to–”
“No.” It's said firmly, with a shake of Judas’ head.
It's Jesus’ turn to freeze up. “No?”
“I'm not going with you.”
“What? Why not?”
“I was sent here.” He gestures around himself. “When I died, I was sent here, to Hell. This is where I deserve to be.”
Jesus reaches for him, his heart aching. “No. No, you don't belong here.”
He steps away. “Who are you to claim that?” There’s something hard to his voice.
“I am the King. The Savior. It's within my power to bring you home.”
“Savior.” Judas scoffs, his shoulders tight. “Tell me,
Savior,
how can a place I've never seen be my home?” He spits the words like they taste foul on his tongue.
“We'll make it your home.” Jesus knows he's pleading now. “You don't have to feel ashamed of being here. You have God's blessing to–”
“God has forsaken me!”
Judas snaps, shouting so loudly that several heads turn in their direction.
Jesus’ heart plummets and for the first time he realizes that Judas no longer wears his hamsa. He looks naked without it, looks different dressed in red and sparkly black, but the difference goes so much deeper than the superficial way he looks. Something inside of him has changed. Jesus is a fool for not realizing sooner.
Judas breathes heavily, chest heaving with the weight of it. He looks away. “I think you should leave.”
“Judas…”
“You don't belong here.” Judas’ voice is hard.
He turns to leave, but Jesus grabs his arm on impulse. “Wait!”
Judas does, stopping in his tracks and staring at the hand on his arm like he can't believe it's there. “Let me stay here with you, then,” Jesus requests, not even thinking of what he’s asking for before the words have left his lips. “Just for a little while. Let me see what your life is like here.”
Judas looks at him. “You wouldn't approve of the life I live here.”
“I don't care. I'm not here to judge you.” He searches Judas’ face for a hint of softness, a sign of the man he once knew and loved.
He finds it. Those brown eyes soften and his lips part for just a moment. Then he's ripping his arm away and the hardness is back. “Fine,” he says. “But I'll let you know now, it won't be what you expect.”
Jesus thinks of the men he'd seen surrounding Judas, how they'd touched him and kissed him without care. How Judas had let them.
Something remarkably similar to jealousy creeps its way into his chest.
“I expect nothing.” It’s not exactly the truth, but his expectations have already been dashed when he found Judas whole and unharmed. He’d expected fire and brimstone, screams and pain. If that isn’t what Hell is, he doesn’t know what to think.
Judas nods once and takes his hand. “Come with me.”
He leads Jesus through the twisting hallways and up a flight of stairs before ducking down yet another hallway. They walk for what feels like an eternity before reaching a door with Judas’ name inscribed onto it. The door is a light blue in a shade so familiar that it makes something tug at Jesus’ heart.
The door swings open for them, revealing a nicely furnished bedroom. The bed is large and soft, far nicer than anything Jesus or Judas had in life and there are paintings on the walls from time periods that Judas never lived to see. It’s strange, seeing Judas partake in luxuries he would have turned his nose up at in life.
“What is all this?” Jesus asks, his gaze landing on a pair of handcuffs strewn across the bed. “I thought you didn’t enjoy the finer things.”
Judas follows his gaze and grabs the cuffs, shoving them into a box under the bed before sitting on the mattress. “I didn’t like spending money that could have been used on the poor,” he corrects. “There are no poor here. No one benefits from me denying myself.”
Jesus blinks. “And you’re just… given these things?”
Judas nods. “Whatever I want, I can have. Whatever anyone wants, they’re given.” He gestures vaguely and a drink materializes in his hand.
But that’s how Heaven works. That’s what’s supposed to make Heaven paradise.
Jesus frowns. “But–”
“Is Heaven the same?” Judas sneers, something dark appearing on his features. “Did you think it was special?”
Jesus nods slowly, seeing no reason to lie to Judas. “Yes.”
Judas’ expression softens for just a moment. “Well, it’s not.” He turns away and makes the drink vanish with a flourish.
There's tension in his shoulders that Jesus wants nothing more than to smooth away. He opens his mouth as though to say something further, but then closes it again. Jesus watches him closely.
Jesus leans against the wall. “You think I have forsaken you.” It isn’t really a question.
Judas doesn't answer, his gaze turned towards the floor.
“Not a day has gone by where I haven't thought of you,” Jesus insists. “I never wanted you to end up here.”
“I like it here,” Judas says. “There’s no judgement, no rules to follow. There's only… what you choose to do.”
“And what do you choose to do here?” Jesus takes a seat on the bed, watching Judas closely. “How do you spend your time?” He wants to understand, wants to learn more about how Judas lives in this strange place.
A blush rises to Judas’ cheeks. “I, uh,” he clears his throat. “Sex, mostly.”
Something tightens inside of Jesus’ chest. “Ah.”
Judas had been mostly chaste in life as far as Jesus is aware. When he’d fallen into Jesus’ arms, he hadn’t once complained about their relationship never resulting in sex. He’d understood that Jesus’ calling came first, that Jesus was abstinent by choice and he’d never said a word against it. And he’d never taken any other lovers as far as Jesus knows.
“You probably think I’m too easy.” Judas chuckles to himself, ears pink. He refuses to meet Jesus’ gaze. “Perhaps I am. But there’s no– no
shame
here. It’s easy to do whatever makes you happy here.”
“And this… this makes you happy?” Jesus doesn’t take his eyes off of him.
Judas finally looks up at him and nods. “Yes.”
“Then I’m happy for you.” His heart squeezes. “Truly, I am. If you’d like to stay here…” He trails off uncomfortably. He remembers his Father’s words:
He must come willingly.
Jesus can’t drag him through Heaven’s Gates. He can’t force him to join him in a different afterlife when he’s settled down here.
Judas swallows and looks away. “I miss you,” he admits in a voice so soft that Jesus almost misses it.
“I miss you too.” Jesus reaches for him and Judas lets him take his hand into his own. He looks so small when he hunches his shoulders the way he’s doing now, like a child cowering from a thunderstorm.
Judas leans against him, allowing his head to rest against Jesus’ shoulder. “I can’t believe you came here for
me.”
His breath catches. “You have your kingdom now.”
Jesus runs his fingers through Judas’ curls. “I wanted you to be a part of it. I didn’t want you to suffer.”
“Then why did it take you so long to come?”
Jesus doesn’t have an answer.
Judas sighs. “It doesn’t matter now.” He looks over at Jesus with something desperate in his gaze. “Would you stay the night with me?”
Jesus’ breath catches as he thinks back to the kiss he’d watched Judas share with the shirtless man downstairs. “You mean–”
Judas’ eyes widen. “No! I didn’t mean– Not like
that!
” He flushes scarlet. “I know you don’t…” He trails off.
Jesus hesitates for only a moment. “I want to.”
“You– Really?” Judas searches his face for any sign of doubt. Jesus ensures that he finds none.
“I want this with you.” He cups his cheek. “I want to see you in your pleasure. I want to bring you happiness.”
“You’re perfectly able to bring me joy without sex,” Judas insists, his eyes darting from Jesus’ eyes to his lips in a frantic sort of way. “I only meant for you to lay with me. To spend the night in your arms is all I wanted.”
“I know.” Jesus doesn’t look away. “You said things are different here. Let things be different here.”
Jesus longs for Judas’ touch, has longed for it since before their deaths. This is only an excuse to finally feel it, to know the way he looks when overcome by his own pleasure. In this place without shame.
Judas nods shakily. “Okay.” He swallows. “Only if you allow me to pleasure you as well.”
Jesus feels his own cheeks warm, but he nods.
For the first time since their deaths, they kiss.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Judas kisses him like he means to take him apart, tongue sliding between Jesus’ parted lips. It's a strange sensation, but not at all unpleasant. As Judas’ tongue brushes against Jesus’ own, sparks fly through him and a soft noise escapes him.
Judas chuckles into his mouth and cups the back of Jesus’ head to pull him closer. Jesus hesitantly kisses back, his tongue sliding against Judas’ and sending small waves of pleasure through him.
They kiss for what might be an eternity, wet and obscene and deep. Jesus feels dizzy with it. By the time Judas pulls away, Jesus’ lips feel tender and kiss-swollen and yet he yearns for more, chasing after Judas when they part.
Judas presses a finger to his lips. “Patience,” he whispers, his voice holding a hint of amusement.
His head dips and his lips move to Jesus’ neck. He presses light, tickling kisses against his skin, making him shiver. Jesus finds himself tilting his head to give him better access on instinct, trusting him to do whatever he wants to him. There’s nothing Jesus wouldn't trust Judas with.
The kisses turn messier, wetter, with the addition of tongue against Jesus’ flesh. Then Judas does something with his lips and sucks in a way that Jesus knows will leave a mark later. The idea thrills him; let everyone see their Messiah debased.
Judas opens Jesus’ robe with careful fingers. Jesus allows him to take it off of him, tossing it to the side. He pushes up his shirt until Jesus takes that off as well so Judas can run his hands over the newly exposed skin.
“You’re beautiful,” Judas murmurs reverently as he pulls away just enough to stare at Jesus. His eyes roam every part of him, from his face and down his chest to the bulge in his trousers that Jesus is certain Judas must be very aware of.
His suspicions are confirmed when Judas palms him, making him gasp and his hips buck up of their own accord. Pleasure bursts within him as Judas carefully cups him, applying the perfect amount of pressure to give Jesus some relief and have him wanting more.
“Is this alright?” Judas’ voice is hesitant and unsure, his eyes scanning Jesus’ face for any hint of discomfort.
Jesus nods and kisses him desperately, allowing his tongue to seek out Judas’. He doesn't want there to be any doubt that he wants this, that he's enjoying it.
He pulls away when Judas’ hand slides into his trousers and wraps around him, his lips parting in a breathy moan. Judas’ palm is soft and warm and the entire world narrows until nothing exists but this one moment: the slide of Judas’ hand against his cock and the feeling of hot breath against his neck.
Judas’ hand is slick and Jesus realizes that Judas has called upon Hell’s gifts to make it that way. Jesus shivers at the realization that he’s partaking in Hell’s benefits, that he’s doing this in Hell, a place that’s supposed to be only for the damned. A place he was never supposed to be.
Will this damn him, then? If it does, he thinks it might be worth it.
When Judas kisses him again, capturing the moan that spills from his lips, Jesus revises that thought: he
knows
it’s worth it. Even if this is the last moment he gets to spend with his beloved, even if Hell shifts and truly becomes a place of eternal torment, it’ll still be worth it to have this one final act with Judas. The first and the last of Jesus’ existence.
Judas pulls away and shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it to the floor without care. There’s something dark and hungry in his eyes that causes Jesus to shiver. He’s seen similar expressions when Judas has looked at him before, but not exactly like this, not as intense and focused. It makes Jesus’ heart do funny things inside of his chest.
When Judas peels away his shirt, Jesus takes in the sight of the skin revealed to him. Smooth, unblemished skin with dark hair trailing over his stomach and disappearing into the waistband of his tight pants. Jesus has seen Judas nude before, of course, but never in this context, never with this thrill.
They kiss again, tongues tangling together as they both try to give as good as they’re getting. Jesus shivers as his body is explored by Judas’ hands, those clever fingers coming up to pinch and rub at his nipples, sending sparks exploding through him. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before and he finds himself whining into Judas’ open mouth, desperate for more.
“Judas,” he begs quietly. “Please.” He doesn’t even know what exactly he’s asking for. He just needs
more.
Judas seems to understand, though. He nods and pulls away to quickly strip out of his trousers and underwear. Jesus never thought the sight of an aroused cock would make his mouth water, but here he is, practically drooling for it.
Because Judas is so beautiful. Every part of him makes Jesus want to reach out and touch and smell and taste. He wants nothing more than to lose himself in everything Judas is willing to give him.
Judas sinks to his knees on the floor in an instant, looking up at Jesus through his lashes. “Do you want this?”
Jesus can do nothing but nod.
“Say it,” Judas’ voice gains a hard edge before melting into something softer when he says, “Please.”
“I want this.”
Judas relaxes and leans forward, pressing a simple, chaste kiss to the tip of Jesus’ cock. It’s more an act of affection than anything else and Jesus feels his heart swell with fondness.
Then Judas’ lips are around him and his mind goes blank.
Judas takes him to the base, sucking him down like he was born to do it. It’s wet and it’s warm and it’s
perfect.
Jesus’ fingers tangle in the sheets and he can’t keep himself from making all sorts of obscene sounds. Especially when Judas hollows out his cheeks and
sucks
in a way that’s positively filthy.
Jesus throws his head back and one hand finds its way to Judas’ curls. He’s careful not to tug or grab, instead just holding on as Judas does his work. An image comes to mind of him grabbing Judas and holding him in place while he selfishly chases his own pleasure and his hips give a jerk without his permission, pressing further into Judas’ throat.
Judas doesn’t complain, just moving his head with the movement and
moaning
around him. Like he likes it. Like he wants to be used.
Jesus looks down at his beloved only to find Judas staring up at him even as his head bobs. His gaze never leaves Jesus’ face and that alone is enough to send something heady to Jesus’ head, making it spin.
“Judas,” he breathes. “Judas…” His hips jerk again, this time more purposeful. Judas hums around him as he takes it, his eyelids fluttering. He appears lost in his own pleasure as much as Jesus is, even as his cock goes neglected.
Jesus sucks on a breath. “Stop,” he commands and Judas is quick to pull off, concern written across his features. Before he can voice his worry, Jesus runs his fingers through his curls. “I didn’t want to finish yet,” he explains, cheeks pink.
Understanding dawns on Judas’ face. “You want more?”
Jesus nods. “I do.”
Judas surges up to kiss him again. “Would you like– I’m used to being the one receiving, but I could– for you I could…”
It takes Jesus a moment to realize what’s being asked of him. He flushes and bites his lip as he considers. His hands settle on Judas’ hips and he kisses him once more before responding. “I’d like to feel you,” he decides. “I’d like to be within you.”
Judas nods and crawls back into the bed. “We can skip the preparation,” he says as he lays on his back. “I don’t need it.”
Jesus crawls over him and shakes his head. “I want to,” he insists. “I want to open you up for me.”
There’s something intimate about the idea of methodically ensuring Judas is ready for him and besides, he doesn’t want to hurt him.
Judas’ eyes go soft and he cups Jesus’ cheek. “Okay.”
He presses a small vile into Jesus’ hand that Jesus is certain he hadn’t been holding before. Jesus pours a small amount onto his fingers, grimacing at the texture. It’s slippery and cold, but it’ll get the job done.
“Start with one,” Judas says as he lays back against the pillows. “Slowly.”
Jesus presses one finger to Judas’ entrance, not pushing in just yet. He rubs around his hole, feeling the way he twitches and reacts at the touch. He’s so sensitive and it makes Jesus feel powerful in a way he hasn’t before. Sure, he’s had people kneel before him and declare their worship, but it’s different when it’s one man offering this to him.
It’s different when it’s Judas.
When Jesus presses the finger in, Judas lets out a sigh. His gaze doesn’t leave Jesus’ face all the while and Jesus’ eyes don’t leave Judas’. He searches for discomfort or pain, but finds none.
“You’re doing well,” Judas assures as though he can read Jesus’ concerns written across his face. “So well. Now move for me. In and out. Go slow.”
Jesus flushes at the praise, shocked by the warmth that pools in his gut from words alone. He thrusts his finger in and out of the warm heat, feeling the way Judas’ walls make room for him. He adds another finger without being told and Judas hisses, but it’s not a noise of displeasure.
“Good. That’s good.” Judas shifts his hips. “You’re doing wonderfully. Now keep going and curl your fingers. Move a little to the left and–” His eyes go wide and he chokes on air.
“Yes!
There. Right there. Keep touching right there.”
Jesus is quick to obey, pressing against that spot inside of Judas that makes his toes curl against the sheets. Whatever he’s doing, he must be doing it right because Judas seems lost in his own pleasure. His cock twitches against his stomach and he presses himself back against Jesus’ fingers, gasping all the while.
“More,” Judas mewls. “More, please. Jesus–
ah! –
more!”
Jesus slides a third finger in beside the other two, worried for a moment that it won’t fit, but it sinks into Judas’ body easily. It’s like he was made for taking Jesus inside of him, like he was born for Jesus alone to enjoy.
He thinks back to the other men he’d seen with him earlier and something petty rises inside of him. He curls his fingers again, presses hard on that spot within Judas, and
massages
, not letting up even as Judas spasms around him, a cry tumbling from his lips.
Jesus keeps pressing, keeps massaging, keeps his eyes trained on Judas’ face, which is open in his pleasure. He wants to commit it to memory, wants Judas to make that face at all hours of the day and night. He wants to be the only one to make Judas feel like this.
He turns his head to Judas’ thigh and bites down at the skin, making Judas shout in pleasure.
“Jesus–
Jesus–
Fuck, I’m close. I’m too– Oh
fuck.
” Judas practically sobs on the words.
Jesus stops his movements and pulls his fingers free, not wanting this to end too soon. Judas gasps for air, chest rising and falling with each breath.
“Fuck,” he pants once he regains his breath. “Yes. I’m ready. Come here.”
Jesus moves so he’s kneeling between Judas’ spread legs. He stares, transfixed, on Judas’ hole, at the way it seems to clench around nothing at all. He takes himself in hand and presses the head of his cock to Judas’ entrance. “Yes?” He tears his gaze away from where they’re about to connect so he can search Judas’ face.
“Yes.” Judas nods and so Jesus pushes in.
It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, hot and tight and obscenely blissful. He groans as he forces himself to go slow, to take his time when all he wants to do is drive into Judas like a wild animal. He can feel Judas’ hot breath against his lips as he pushes in and in and
in.
And then he’s fully seated and it’s perfect. In this moment, he’s nothing short of certain that Judas was designed for him, that his purpose in life and death and existence is
this.
Or maybe it was Jesus who was made for Judas, to fill him so perfectly.
They take a moment to catch their breaths, panting into each other’s mouths as Judas wraps his arms around Jesus’ neck. Their lips occasionally brush against each other, but it’s not really kissing as much as it’s sharing a touch. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.
Judas swallows. “You can move,” he tells him. “You don’t have to be gentle.”
This time, Jesus listens. He grips Judas’ hips and slowly withdraws before pushing back in. This is what they were made for. Both of them. They were made for each other, their bodies made to complete one another.
Every time Jesus pulls back, Judas pulls him back in. Again and again and again. It’s pure bliss, pleasure exploding through every inch of Jesus’ body. The noises that escape Judas on every thrust are music to Jesus’ ears, from the breathy whimpers to the drawn-out moans. Every sound that Judas makes only serves to spur Jesus on, to make his hips snap faster against him.
“Touch me,” Judas begs, his eyes swimming with tears. Jesus wants to ask if they’re from the onslaught of sensation or if they’re caused by pure emotion, but he refrains.
Instead, he wraps his hand around Judas’ weeping cock and strokes him in time with his thrusts. Judas’ noises just grow louder and his walls clench around Jesus as though he’s trying to make him stay within him forever. Jesus doesn’t think he would mind that very much.
A tension coils in his gut, tightening and tightening and tightening. It’s almost uncomfortable in its intensity and yet it feels like pure bliss.
“Judas,” Jesus breathes.
“Judas.”
“Jesus,”
Judas answers back. “Jesus, please. I– I love you. I love you.”
And then the tension snaps and Jesus is overwhelmed by pure bliss. It’s brighter and stronger than anything Heaven ever gave him, so intense that his vision goes white.
He’s very distantly aware of Judas’ cry of his name and the way he clenches around him, his back arching off of the bed. But all he can focus on is the pure and overwhelming
experience
that he’s having.
When he comes to, he’s laying on top of Judas, his cock soft inside of him. Judas’ arms are wrapped around him, one hand gently running through his hair.
Jesus blinks up at him to find Judas smiling warmly at him. “You were perfect,” Judas is quick to say. “Amazing.”
Jesus does nothing more than lean up and kiss him. They can clean up later. For now, he just wants to be with him, to feel his heartbeat next to Jesus’ own. He wishes they’d done this in life, wishes things hadn’t gone the way they had while they were still on Earth.
But if he’s to be damned, there’s no one he’d rather be damned with.