forallyoucare | The Last Temptation

The Last Temptation

It ought to be said that Jesus Christ is his own worst enemy. Nothing can be closer to the truth when he tells the Twelve and the others close to him that he will not return to their camp that evening. "I have made a promise to help a man on the brink of his own destruction find a better way."

"And you're gonna do it just one night?" Judas, as always, is skeptical and bats at Simon to put his iPad away. Not everything has to be recorded.

"I should like to try. Don't move camp further into the city until I return tomorrow morning," Jesus says and with Peter left to mind the flock, heads off to Stark's home. He is singularly unimpressed by what he sees...or rather, he simply doesn't notice the luxury. His mind is more pure. With a single satchel over his shoulder with samples of shampoo and a change of underwear and socks, Jesus waits to be told he can go to Tony. Some people in the lobby recognize him from Youtube, from Matthew's blog. Others find him to be a little ratty and a little out of place here.

((Continued from here))

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"...okay," Tony says very quietly, hesitantly. "I think I can do that. I'll try. So... what do we do from here?"

He tries to think of this with a critical eye, like it's a project, something that he can break down into components and objectives to meet. But he can't, really. Mostly he just feels like he's stepping out onto a ledge and waiting to see if he'll fall.

"Feel it. You won't need to ask then." The water in the bath is warm and has risen enough for Jesus to lean over and turn off the taps. He undresses down into his underwear -- neutral, revealing and perhaps a little bland in all honesty. Shoes must be taken off by sitting on the edge of the bath and it gives Tony time to really look at him if he wishes.

For a man with rough hands, the rest of his skin seems impossibly soft. There are no scars. He's never been injured. Never even sick.

"Would you like help undressing further?"

Oh, he looks. He looks hard. It's tempting to just put every move on him that he knows right now. But part of trust is not taking advantage of that trust... at the moment. Give him time, Tony'll break pretty quickly. He carefully takes off his clothes, down to his red silk boxers, and folds his clothes before putting them on the sink's granite countertop. If he lets Jesus undress him, it'll involve more chances for him to touch the reactor.

Damn it, he's way too old to be giving a crap about what some guy is going to think of his looks.

Long legs pull Jesus into the water and he stands there as his cousin had, welcoming those into the cleansing waters. They may shine just a little more than they ought to, but that could just be a reflection of the gold fixtures. Jesus once more holds his hand out to Tony.

No one has likely tried to have a religious experience in this tub before. It seems only fitting for Jesus to guide Tony to his first.

Tony steps into the water, gingerly, taking Jesus' hand. He doesn't know why this still feels so weird. Jesus clearly means this to be a positive thing, and he radiates good intentions. But it's not as easy to trust someone as it is to say it. He has to make a conscious effort to relax, to let whatever the heck is happening happen, and just breathe.

For a moment, they just stand facing one another and a moment later, Jesus kneels slowly in front of Tony. This would be a position the playboy is use to, supplication in its finest form, but the other tugs Tony down with him. They will kneel together. Pray together.

Jesus smiles all the while, the golden tinge of the water and the arc reactor's reflection glowing in his eyes.

"There is hope for all of us, Anthony," he says as he cups his hands and dips them into the bath. Baptism, it seems, is Jesus' idea.

Seeing the arc reactor reflect in Jesus' eyes is more striking than anything else. For a fleeting second Tony thinks it's beautiful before the guilt of how he got it pushes that thought away. It's a struggle in his mind as he kneels down in the water, which is a touch too cool for Tony's sake. He was waterboarded in cold water in Afghanistan, and his showers and baths are always scalding hot to counteract the memories of trauma.

"Have you ever heard the term 'moral event horizon'? It's a scientist and nerd phrase. 'An act that puts its perpetrator beyond any chance of redemption' is the simplest description. And if you put that term and my name into Google, you can find dozens of moments people say and know I'm over that horizon."

Water trickles down thin wrists (who could ever want to torture him badly enough to drive nails through?) to elbows as Jesus does not for even a moment pause, his smile so effortlessly in tact. "I have heard such a thing be said, yes." He hangs out with hipsters and punk rock revolutionists. Throwing around terms like these is natural to them.

His hands stay cupped about level with the reactor, eyes focused solely on Tony, waiting for him to bow his head.

"I don't believe such a thing is possible. God would not allow it and if it was true, He would not have sent me with his message of love."

Tony doesn't have a response for that. But he hopes and desperately wants to believe that Jesus is right. That it's not impossible to be saved even after having done things that place him well over the horizon. He wants to be better. Be someone he can be proud of. He thought being Iron Man would do it.

It hasn't. There's still a void inside him. He bows his head cautiously, hands balled into fists, hoping this won't remind him of being drowned in that cave in Afghanistan. Nothing would be worse than to break down in front of Jesus. It would be more humiliating than he could probably take.

There is nothing horrific about this experience, not with Jesus there to soothe him, to stroke his damp hair once the water collects in his bangs and beads over the edge of his forehead. He pulls Tony close, he allows him to rest against his chest, a thumb rubbing circles in the back of his neck.

"You are clean, Anthony, though I know it will take nothing so simple for you to realize this. In my eyes, in God's, you are clean."

He feels a peace settling over him, even if it has to battle still with his doubts. Tony presses kisses to Jesus' chest, his collarbone, soft brushes of his tongue against skin. He doesn't know if he's trying to be romantic or if he just needs physical contact to confirm this is happening. Maybe it's both.

"Define 'clean'," he says, with only a touch of snark. Because even now, his thoughts aren't exactly pure.

"You define clean," Jesus says with a laugh, settling back on his heels so Tony can come with him. Wet skin is certainly an interesting experience during an embrace like this and Jesus finds his heart fluttering slightly as the water rises to the level of their chests. His nose lightly presses against the shell of Tony's ear when he sighs. "I know I am meant to teach, but I can't give you every answer or you will never be able to stand on your own when I am gone."

And it's getting closer now. He'd seen Judas staring at the posters the ones that plaster over his own across the country, that blot out their 'Believe' message.

"Don't talk like that. I can keep you safe," Tony murmurs, shifting to kiss and nip at the other man's neck. He moves until he's more or less straddling him, which puts them about eye to eye, and kisses him. This time it's very much with the intent to be romantic and seductive instead of just being a sudden action. He presses closer, opening his mouth, flicking his tongue at Jesus' lips.

"There's nothing you can do for me," Jesus says, letting himself be pushed back. There's no resistance at all to Tony's advances and his hands find the other's hips more or less easily. It's natural for his hands to fall there. His thumbs move over taut lines of sinew towards tight, lean abs.

At least kissing takes away any need for argument. There are some things beyond Tony's reach. Some things that had been put into place long, long ago. One man, not even Jesus, can stop them.

Though this journey towards something other than the pure and the righteous may well take it's toll.

Tony makes a soft, pleased noise at the way Jesus' hands feel, and straddling him like this, it's easy for Tony to slide his hands behind the other man's back, gripping at his ass through the wet fabric of the underwear. Then he just slips his hands under the fabric, not satisfied with this much skin on skin contact.

"Anthony--" It's a little too much, a little too quickly. The glow of the water seems to fade a bit as Jesus presses his fingertips against the flat of Tony's stomach. Just a little push. Kissing had been wonderful but this is making him too hot. Much too hot. Knots form in his stomach, make his toes curl. He's not use to such things. "The water seems to be heating," he murmurs.

"Good. If it were up to me I'd have the water at hot tub levels," he replied snarkily, leaning over to kiss his cheek, trail kisses up his face to his ear, soft and affectionate. He keeps his hands where they are, but lightens the grip to just a firm touch. Nuzzling against him, he murmurs, "You okay?"

He can stop. He's not that much a pervert.

"You've me at a loss," he says, tilting back his head out of sheer pleasure. Surely this is good, is it not? Can God find fault with this? "I came to offer you comfort--" And yet, Jesus feels comforted. His hands move gracefully up Tony's back as if playing his spine. "Are you comforted?" Someone really ought to have sat him down with NSFW or Porntube for a few minutes. There's such a thing as too innocent.

"Yeah. So long as I'm with you." He kisses him again, drawing back just enough to angle his hands, tugging at the fabric as if the underwear is in his way. And for what he has planned, it is. He moves away so he's not straddling Jesus' lap, but while he could take the opportunity to work at the underwear problem, instead he just places a hand on his thigh to better stabilize himself as he leans forward and captures one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue over it.

The first true gasp of pleasure to ever leave his mouth and throat has Jesus' skin boiling. He can think of nothing wrong with this -- though perhaps kissing ought to be done above the neck? -- and without the hands cupping pieces of him he's still undecided over, he gives himself away completely to the sensation of it all.

Hands return to Tony's hair and his head tilts back to the edge of the tub. His knees quake a little. Whatever prayer this is, let it continue.

The front of his underwear proves his enjoyment.

Tony makes a soft, satisfied sound, sucking at him, not biting but carefully applying more pressure. His free hand moves to Jesus' other nipple, pressing down on it, swirling, slow, gentle motions, and yes, he can see that start of a reaction. Now he just has to coax more of that out of him, step by step. He wants this man so badly, wants to make him happy and keep him safe and just get wrapped up in him forever, never leaving, doing torrid things that would have him undone in Tony's arms and yeah, he's definitely going to get a hard on of his own at this point, give it another five seconds, max.

He might think later that all of this had been for his betterment as a human being, but all it really will feel like is one final suffering to endure when it's taken from him. He tried his best, and while fate might not be something a good boy like him should believe in, as God's plan must reign over all else, meeting Tony had been crucial.

Is still crucial.

It doesn't dawn on him that this no-nonsense talk of love, of protection, is just part of who Tony is. Jesus has been hearing it from his students and his disciples from the start.

None has ever touched him this way, however.

Or made him whine so brilliantly.

Innocence does not overpower nature and Jesus lifts his hips against the other man for friction.

It's so easy to let one hand move lower and just press over the other man's crotch, rubbing him through his underwear without stopping his suckling away at his nipple, harder now, scraping his teeth against it, then moving to the other to give it the same treatment, cheeks a little flushed, feeling anticipation and heat pool in his own crotch.

He's going to make him stay. After this, he won't want to leave.

The Devil comes to you as a friend. He whispers sweet things in your ear. He tells you what you want to hear. He corrupts you.

But the Devil is the farthest from Jesus' mind. The Devil could never cause this sort of pleasure and Jesus turns himself over to it. He's being human, and that's what he is, isn't he? That's what God told him? "Yes," he says, begging for more. He even goes as far as to return the favour, peeling off wet, skin tight underwear from the other man as well.

Baptisms should always be so fun!

Once they're both without their underwear, it's so much easier to take him in his hand, rub his thumb over his shaft, moving up to kiss Jesus as he does so, to drink in his expression. A strange thrill goes through him - call it sick if you will, he wouldn't deny it - at the fact he's defiling someone this good, this pure. He wants to be the first one to make him moan, make him incoherent, make him cum.

Tony kisses him a bit more roughly, his tongue swallowing up the sounds the other man is making.

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I have to go to bed now, I'm so sorry. I'll tag you the second I wake up.

Good night!

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That last line made me choke on my dinner laughing.