Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/145967.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek_RPF
  Relationship:
      John_Cho/Karl_Urban
  Character:
      John_Cho, Karl_Urban, Chris_Pine, Zachary_Quinto
  Additional Tags:
      Religious_Themes_&_References, Blasphemy, Underage_Character, Underage
      Sex, Schoolboys, Catholic_School, Minor_Violence
  Series:
      Part 7 of Catholic_Schoolboys_AU
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-12-30 Words: 4123
****** Mercy in You ******
by withthepilot
Summary
     Karl tries to deal with his guilt in the aftermath of his encounter
     with Chris.
Notes
     Part 7 of the Catholic Schoolboys AU series.
Karl waits for John after school, drumming his fingertips incessantly on the
rubbed-raw leather of the Buick's steering wheel. It's a hand-me-down car from
his dad and even though it constantly needs repair work, what with its squeaky
brakes and rusted-out interior, Karl loves the piece of junk. Not to mention
that it carries so many memories of John, half-dressed and reaching for him,
splayed across the backseat like a Christmas gift that's ready to be unwrapped,
all ribbons fully unraveled.
Three o'clock passes. Then four. John never comes. At a quarter to five, Karl
tips his forehead against the frayed edge of the steering wheel, trying not to
think the worst as he starts up the engine.
That night, Karl goes to bed early, unable to think about anything but John and
Chris, Chris and John. He wants to know why John didn't come to the car—if
something ever comes up, he never fails to leave a note in Karl's locker about
it. He half wonders if John wasn't feeling well again, maybe not fully
recovered from his illness, but he seemed fine when they exchanged a smile
between morning classes. Then there was the note that was waiting for Karl in
his locker, before lunch.
You'll be around after school today, right? I've still got the sniffles but
that's not going to stop me from getting my hands on your——
Ugh, sorry, Pine interrupted me. That guy is such a dick. Anyway, can't wait to
see you.
JC
There's a scrawled, heavy ink mark after the "your," running haphazardly across
the page, and as Karl reads the note again in bed, he wishes John got to finish
his thought. He also hopes that Pine didn't actually see what John was writing,
even though he's well aware that Chris knows everything.
Karl shoves the note into the drawer of his bedside table and turns off the
light, reaching under the covers to push his boxers down and wrap his hand
around his cock. He tries to imagine John in the Buick again, hair disheveled
and shirt buttons undone, unbuckling his belt. He thinks of John spreading his
legs and sliding his hand down into his trousers, trying to keep his eyes open
as he touches himself for Karl's viewing pleasure. He visualizes the slope of
John's jaw, the angle changing as he parts his lips to gasp; his dark brown
eyes clouding with lust.
But it doesn't work. He's annoyed and, admittedly, slightly hurt that John blew
him off today. Also, he's worried sick that John's run-in with Pine led to
something that Karl can't control. If so, he would deserve it, he knows. He's
spent the past few days waffling between overwhelming pride, for defending the
honor of his relationship with John and putting Pine in his place, and
devastating guilt over his complete loss of control in the confessional
booth—the way he assaulted Chris the way in the house of the Lord, using his
body to punish him for misbehavior that a higher power would surely right, in
time. Sure, Pine had asked for it, but it wasn't Karl's place to take
advantage. And he knew that right away; he walked out of the church that day
and promptly ushered himself to the boys' room, emptying the contents of his
stomach in a toilet. But when he saw Chris squirming in his seat the next day
during class, the boy's discomfort sent a rush of glee through Karl, so quickly
and violently, that he felt like throwing up all over again.
John, he tells himself when his eyes water. Just think of John.
He pulls up his boxers and wipes at his cheeks, quickly crossing himself before
curling up on his side.
Karl dreams of the largest cathedral he's ever seen. He's standing in the
center of the main aisle, flanked on both sides by a sea of empty pews, his
cheeks speckled with the colorful, unearthly glow of stained glass windows that
stretch toward heaven. He feels warmth rush over him that he recognizes as both
the sun and salvation, hitting him all at once. A rumbling, unearthly voice
beckons him to approach the pulpit and he does, kneeling before a cloaked,
mysterious figure.
Gentle fingertips caress his temple; lightly trace the curve of his chin. Karl
moves toward the touch, grateful for the kindness. He closes his eyes and
whispers, only loud enough for the figure before him to hear: "Forgive me,
heavenly father." When he looks up again, he can make out a full mouth beneath
the shadow of the hooded cloak; it appears to smile down at him and then twists
into a smirk.
"You will be forgiven," the voice says, low and sinful in its cadence, "when
you have been punished for your transgressions."
The fingers of the careful hand turn brittle and demanding; they clutch Karl's
jaw and drag him forward, nearly tipping him off balance. He lets out a fearful
cry and grabs at the figure's robes to steady himself, pulling the fabric down
to reveal the bruised and shadowed angles of Christopher Pine's visage. Chris
grins wolfishly and brings his other hand to Karl's hair, yanking the brown
strands atop his crown with an unforgiving grip. Karl tries to stand but Chris
kicks his feet out from under him, sending him crashing back to the floor,
gasping in pain.
"Sinner," Chris hisses, his eyes alight with unholy fire. He bears the smear of
blood Karl left behind, running from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone.
It seems to spread under Karl's wide-eyed stare, drips of dark red sliding down
to his jaw, pooling along the crook of his neck. "Kneel and repent or pay the
price for your indiscretions."
"I'm sorry," Karl says tearfully. He thrashes in the unbearably strong grip and
cowers as Chris towers before him, growing taller with every passing moment.
His lips tremble as he tries to get his words out. "Please have m-mercy...on my
soul. Please."
"Soul?" Chris repeats, sneering. He pulls Karl up by his tie so they're face to
face, letting him dangle like a marionette. Karl shudders as he looks deeply
into Chris' eyes; he sees absolutely nothing there. Hollow. "You'd need to have
one, for a start."
"No," Karl protests, but then Chris' hand is around his throat, squeezing
powerfully. He feels his body seize and chokes as his mouth fills with blood,
his vision swiftly breaking apart into shards of light as it leaves him and—
"NO!"
He sits up in bed with a jolt, Chris' menacing expression still painted on the
insides of his eyelids, his skin coated in sweat. Karl touches his forehead and
finds that it's warm and damp but not feverish. He covers his face with his
hands and tries to focus on breathing, his chest swelling as he takes in air
slowly and pushes it out. His heart feels ready to combust and he wants to cry,
but he shuts his eyes tightly and wills himself not to. His shoulders shake and
his sinuses burn but he won't let it happen. He won't.
The knocking at his window nearly makes him jump out of his skin.
"Jesus, fuck!"
Karl hisses in surprise and grabs at his covers, but when he looks to the
window, the person there is waving, motioning for him to open it. Karl squints
and tries to make out the face, rubbing at his eyes in disbelief even as he
thinks he recognizes it. He exhales and tries to pull himself together, his T-
shirt sticking to him as he turns on the bedside lamp and crawls out of bed. He
walks over and lifts the windowpane, blinking at the brown eyes glaring back at
him.
"Quinto?" he whispers, looking over the dark-haired boy standing there, likely
trampling Karl's mother's rose bushes. "What the hell are you doing here,
it's..." He looks back at his clock and exhales. "Two in the morning. Fuck."
"I wanted to talk to you," Zach says, quietly appraising Karl with a heavy
gaze. "Why are you so sweaty?"
"I dunno...too many covers, I guess. Whatever, I can sweat as much as I want in
my own bedroom." He frowns and shakes his head. "You couldn't talk to me at
school?"
"It didn't seem like the right venue."
"Ugh, fine... Get in before you wake my parents," Karl says, ushering him
inside. He stands back as Zach climbs through the window and dusts himself off
once inside. He's dressed in a familiar-looking leather jacket, a dark-colored
T-shirt and jeans. Karl looks him over, a little weirded out by the sight of
Zach Quinto in anything beside his immaculately pressed school uniform. He's
more weirded out, though, by the fact that Zach is even here, as they never
talk in school. Karl can probably count all of their past conversations on one
hand, and that includes the one or two times they were partnered up for class
projects. "How'd you find out where I live?"
"I pass by your house all the time. I live two blocks away."
"Oh." Karl blinks and feels a little guilty for not knowing that. "So...what
did you want to talk about that couldn't wait until the sun comes up?"
"Chris," Zach says, simple as that. Karl bristles slightly and takes a step
back without realizing it; Zach seems to perk up with interest. "I guess that
means you know what I'm talking about."
"What about Chris?" he answers gruffly, turning back to the bed. He sits down
on the edge, running his hands through his hair. "And why the hell do you care?
Chris isn't anyone to you and neither am I."
Zach purses his lips and hesitates, brushing back a strand of hair that falls
over his eyes. "Actually, Chris is very important to me." His expression
changes then—it's subtle, but Karl sees the way his mouth shifts, the subtle
change in his eyes. He wonders for a moment if he's still dreaming. "I came to
let you know," Zach continues, "that if you ever touch Chris again, I'll make
you regret it."
Karl actually feels his jaw drop. "You're kidding," he says. "You...and Chris."
The only response from Zach is a small nod and Karl laughs incredulously,
quieting when he remembers his parents down the hall. "Um...no offense, Zach,
but Chris Pine is all about image, and you're just...I mean, you're you, and
he's a complete deviant."
Zach is quick on his feet, Karl will give him that, and he only has a second to
make a small squeak of surprise before he's pushed back onto the bed. Then
those dark eyes are blazing above him, strong hands pinning his shoulders down.
Karl knows he could easily flip Zach over, but he only stares. Zach and Chris.
Holy shit.
"Jesus," he whispers, swallowing. "Zach, I didn't—"
"You're the deviant, Karl. The miscreant." Zach's voice remains hushed but his
tone scythes through Karl. "Chris may not be a complete innocent, but he would
never hurt anyone like that, never. That's the difference between you two."
Karl just blinks up at Zach, his throat burning as he fight off another
onslaught of tears. He whispers, gripping Zach's arms. "I...I lost control,
okay? He was listening to my private confessions, Zach. It was...I felt
invaded. For my own sake and for..." He stops himself before he mentions John;
he has to keep him out of this, at all costs, this complete mess that Karl's
made of everything. "I've been sick about it all week," he murmurs. "I had no
right; I know that."
Zach doesn't say anything to that, just keeps glaring at Karl. Finally, he lets
go, moving off the bed and turning away. He steps closer to the window and Karl
watches as the moonlight shimmers upon his slick raven hair. Like this, Karl
can see Zach's appeal; he can understand how Chris might be lured in by this
shy, seemingly angelic boy. He wonders if Chris actually lets his guard down
with him; if they're gorgeous together.
"He actually thought he deserved it," Zach finally whispers, so quiet he might
as well be talking to himself. "It made me so sad."
"He didn't," Karl admits, sitting up. "No one does. If anyone...if anyone did
that to someone I loved, I'd kill him."
Zach turns and squints at him. "I should kill you. Or at least have you
expelled."
Karl swallows hard and looks away, so he doesn't notice when Zach returns to
the bed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't see Zach's fist until it
slams against his mouth, knocking his head back. Karl exhales a shuddery breath
at the lingering sting and licks his lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood.
Zach rubs his knuckles as he looms over him, looking a bit unnerved—Karl
imagines the boy has probably never hit anyone like that before; he knows the
rush all too well. He suppresses the urge to swing back and just shuts his
eyes, waiting for the next punch.
It doesn't come.
"You think you deserve this, don't you?" Zach whispers. He looks mildly
surprised when Karl opens his eyes and unknowingly allows tears to fall. He can
feel his lip swelling but he's really thinking of John and how he'll even begin
to explain this entire thing to him. That will be his real punishment; this is
nothing in comparison.
"I'll never touch him again," he simply says. And with that, Zach backs away,
looking somber but satisfied.
"I know you won't," he replies.
Karl watches as Zach returns to the window, crawling back out and shutting it
behind him. He slides off the edge of the bed and kneels on the floor, ignoring
the pulsing ache of his mouth as he bows his head and clasps his hands in
prayer.
His parents seem clueless about Zach's early morning visit and Karl breathes a
sigh of relief. He would think the whole thing were a strange dream, if not for
the fact that he's exhausted and his bottom lip is swollen. He tells his mother
that he walked into a door while walking around in the dark and she tuts and
gives him an icepack. He applies it to his face during breakfast and tosses it
in the sink before he leaves for school.
Classes are predictably miserable. Karl feels like everyone is talking about
him and hell, they probably are; the kids in this school can't help themselves
when it comes to gossip. In drama class, he spies John speaking with that new
Russian kid who suddenly seems to have appeared out of nowhere; he tries to
push down a pang of jealousy. When John looks up and meets Karl's eye, he gets
one look at his face and drops his pen on the floor. Zach Quinto sits a few
desks away, not looking up once from his notes.
After the bell rings, Karl puts his notebook away and leaves the classroom.
Someone touches his shoulder and he's surprised to see that it's John. He
breaks into a small smile, despite the fact that it hurts his mouth.
"What happened to you?" John asks, and he looks so concerned that Karl stops
smiling. He blinks and shakes his head, knowing John won't be as easy to fool
as his mother.
"It...nothing, um...I'm fine, don't worry. Accident." He quells the powerful
desire to reach up and touch John's face in the middle of the school hallway.
"Listen...do you think we can meet up after school today? I feel like we need
to talk."
John bites his lip, looking a bit guilty. "Yeah, sure. Of course. I'm sorry I
didn't come yesterday. It was a really weird day and—"
"It's okay," Karl says, cutting him off. "We'll talk later, yeah?" As soon as
John nods, Karl offers him another small smile and takes his leave.
In Algebra, he gets bored after about five minutes and looks over at Chris,
who's hunched over his desk, doodling in his notebook. It's strange to see him
like this after the things he witnessed in his dream, but here in real life,
Chris is rather unassuming, practically curled up on himself as he draws. Karl
can see that he's sketching a boy with dark hair, just like John described the
other day. He knows now that it's meant to be Zach. He blinks, still stupefied
by the entire thing, especially when he glances at Zach, sitting ramrod-
straight in his chair in contrast to Chris' hunch.
Karl sighs and rips a sheet of paper from his notebook, jotting down a few
words.
I'm sorry I hurt you. I hope you can forgive me.
He folds up the paper and writes Chris' name on it, passing it along. When it
lands on Chris' desk, Karl watches as he opens it up and scowls. It returns to
him a few moments later, the paper arriving at Karl's desk more creased and
crumpled than when he released it into the wild. He scans the scribbled
response.
go fuck yourself asswipe
Karl sighs, slips the note into his pocket and counts the minutes until class
ends.
After eighth period gets out, he tries to soothe his troubles by going to
church. He feels slightly better by the time he makes his way out to his car,
and he exhales in relief when he climbs into the driver's seat of the Buick. He
racks his brain for a way to explain himself to John; asking for guidance
during prayer didn't get him any answers, but it did give him some needed
courage. When the final bell sounds, Karl wraps his hands around the steering
wheel and watches through the windshield as students start to filter out of the
building. He scans the crowd, chewing on his lip until it hurts.
John shows up without fanfare, opening the passenger door and getting in,
taking Karl by surprise. "Hey," he says, smiling thinly. "How's your mouth?"
"Better, but I keep biting my lip."
"Why? Doesn't it hurt?"
"Yeah. Nerves, I guess."
Karl clears his throat and starts up the car, pulling out of the spot. Like
always, he drives where he wants to go and John doesn't ask where that is. It's
kind of comforting. On instinct, he reaches out and splays one hand over John's
knee; his heart soars when John layers their hands, lightly squeezing Karl's
fingers.
Karl takes them to a drive-thru, shrugging when John gives him an amused
glance. "I want a milkshake," he explains.
"Make mine vanilla," John says.
He parks in the back of the lot and the two of them sit in silence for a few
minutes, slurping at their shakes. John unbuckles his seatbelt and slumps down,
looking into his cup as he swirls his straw around in the cream-colored goop.
Karl has to restrain himself again from reaching over and touching him; they
really do need to talk, and John looks like he's got quite a lot on his mind.
He decides to be patient until John speaks up, even though it's taking a while.
Karl turns the radio on, just to have some kind of distraction.
John doesn't say anything when the music goes on but he does laugh when Karl
slurps noisily at his strawberry shake. "Sorry," Karl says, laughing as well.
"S'okay." John pauses, then turns toward the driver's seat. "So what actually
happened to your face?"
Karl exhales. He has to be truthful with John. He deserves nothing less. "Zach
Quinto," he murmurs.
"Huh?"
"Zach Quinto. He's, um... seeing Chris Pine."
"Chris Pine," John repeats dully, lifting his brow. He blinks slowly and looks
out the windshield, leaning back against the headrest. "Right. Okay."
Karl sits up at that, pushing his milkshake away. Now he knows for sure that
Chris said something to John, because the look on his face is just
heartbreaking. "John, what did he say to you?"
"It...I don't know, Karl; you know how he is. He was taunting me." John squints
miserably, tapping the milkshake cup against the dashboard. "He...had these
bruises. I saw them in the locker room. And he said I should ask you about
them. And now you tell me that someone Chris is seeing hit you in the face."
"John, he was the one in the confessional booth. Chris—he was there and that's
why he was bothering you before. He was pretending to be a priest; he let me
tell him all of our secrets and then used them to terrorize you."
"So you fucked him," John mutters. He turns his gaze to the window and flinches
away when Karl squeezes his knee. Karl bites his tongue in agony.
"He was trying to do it again, John," he whispers. "He was in the booth and he
kept playing the part and I just... I snapped. I was so fucking angry that he
could do that to you and angry at myself for letting it happen..."
Karl trails off, looking out his own window and taking a deep breath in a
pitiful attempt to keep it together. The whole incident is a blur to him now.
All he remembers is his rage and the final sight of Chris in a broken heap on
the floor. It didn't feel good, not like it always does with John. Karl leans
his temple against the cool glass beside him, shivering in surprise when he
feels fingers stroke his forearm. He looks at John questioningly, not trusting
himself to speak.
"You know that's not what I would've wanted, right?" he whispers. Karl can only
nod. John is a good person; he wouldn't want anyone hurt. He would never sink
as low as petty revenge. John sighs, looking completely lost and frustrated,
and Karl wants nothing more than to go back in time and fix this. "I dunno,
Karl," he says. "I'm, like...completely crazy about you, but..."
"I know. I fucked up. I thought I was doing it for the right reasons, but...."
Karl looks into his eyes, then, sagging under the weight of his own guilt. "I'm
so fucking sorry, John. If you want to...end this, I'll understand."
"Stop thinking you know what I want; you don't know what I want," John snaps.
Karl jumps slightly; John's face is always so open and for the first time ever,
he finds it extremely difficult to read. "Drive me home," he demands, and then,
after Karl grimaces and reaches for his keys: "No, you know what? Come here and
kiss me." Karl boggles at him, not quite sure he's hearing right until John
repeats, "Kiss me."
He tugs on Karl's arm and Karl goes.
It's a rough kiss because John steers it that way, pulling at Karl's hands
until they're under his shirt, flush against his skin; until John's pressed
back against the passenger side door and biting at Karl's sensitive mouth. His
canines dig against the swollen flesh of Karl's lip and he jerks, pinching at
John's nipples and trying to kiss him back without taking control. John's
tongue licks a fiery trail into his mouth and across his pallet, and Karl
tastes the sweet remnants of vanilla milkshake. He groans faintly when John
moves back. It feels like ages since they've been together and he knows he
doesn't deserve this one bit, but John's body feels like nirvana and he wants
all of it at once, everything.
"Suck me," John commands, though his voice wavers. Karl shivers and nods,
opening John's trousers. This is different than when John gets all pushy and
cute and Karl isn't sure he likes it, but he'll agree to any way John will have
him, right now. Karl knows it's going to kill his mouth to go down on him, but
he still bows his head when John pushes on his shoulder, wraps his fingers
around the base of his shaft and takes in his length without teasing or
hesitation. John moans and tilts his head back, combing his fingers through
Karl's hair as he bobs his head. He makes a startling noise when Karl holds his
hips for leverage.
"Harder," he murmurs. "I want my own bruises. Mark me."
Karl darts a glance up at John's face, seeing a strange, wounded flicker in his
eyes. He digs his fingertips roughly into John's flesh and massages the pain
away with slow swirls of his tongue, anything he can do to tell this beautiful
boy how he feels: I only want you. Forgive me. Let me love you. Have mercy.
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