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Maurice wasn't sure what to think of the new altar boy. He was such a young little thing, barely on the other side of his 14th birthday and already fixated on death. Sure, this was a Catholic church, but there was a difference between being interested in the sacred miracle of Christ's rebirth and being interested in the precise agonies Christ suffered and then the amount of time before He was resurrected.
He always looked so serious, too, a mop of shockingly dark hair and glasses with thick black square frames emphasizing how pale he was and how thin his rare smiles were. His feline ears were perked up and forward when he'd introduced himself as North, Bertram North, and Maurice had just shrugged and ignored the outstretched hand. Maurice was a priest, not a businessman, even if he looked more like a retired bounty hunter with the long scar slashing up the right side of his face and emphasizing the crows feet around his eyes. Bertram never asked about it.
No, Bertram was more interested in his sermons, especially the ones where he allowed himself to indulge and wax poetic about the dark valley of death itself and what sort of life one might expect on the other side. The kid was a decent altar boy, though he couldn't remember seeing him around much before.
"Did you move here recently?" Maurice asked after one Mass, while they were alone cleaning up together. He wasn't fond of small talk but as the soon-to-be head priest he felt obliged to seem friendly.
"Yes. I'm staying at the local orphanage." His clipped words were as terse as his demeanor. Certainly preferable to the snots Maurice sometimes helped with when the head priest was busy. At least that guy's days were numbered if he had anything to say about it.
"I hope the sisters are taking good care of you."
Bertram scoffed, long black tail flicking behind him. "I'm not interested in their guidance."
Maurice gave him a sidelong glance, pulling the chasuble off over his head and ruffling his feline ears and greying hair in the process. His bobtail was easy to hide under his usual clerical wear. "Are you more interested in the Lord's guidance, then?"
"I'm interested in yours." And suddenly Bertram was in Maurice's space, long black tail flicking as he gazed up at him with the energy of someone significantly taller. Maurice couldn't shake the feeling that it was good he was over six feet compared to Bertram's 5'5 at most, backing away despite his best instincts. His worst instincts, the ones that he hated he had, wanted him to— But why would he? There wasn't an alpha around, surely.
Bertram sniffed at Maurice then stepped back with the smug air of a hunter. "So my suspicions were correct. You're not the alpha everyone thinks you are. Do your sheep know they're following a liar?"
Maurice stared down at the kid. Who was this freak? He'd heard something about a precocious boy getting shuffled around their orphanages, now that he thought about it, but this was nothing like what he'd imagined.
"What, do you think you can blackmail me? The local bishops know."
"Blackmail? Don't be so small-minded." Bertram leaned in again, even closer this time somehow, and spoke with his face nearly hidden by Maurice's soft chest. "I want to know about resurrection. About bringing back the dead. But," and here the boy squeezed at the gland in the crook of his own neck, prompting alpha hormones to ooze from his skin, "I needed to learn what God could give me, and from your sermons it sounds as though He's...overrated."
This kid. This cursed kid. It'd only been a month or two since Bertram arrived and somehow he'd already figured out when Maurice's omega suppressant pills would start wearing off. Was the scent really that obvious...? To his deep shame and frustration the pheromones were having an effect he couldn't ignore, his little cock twitching and his front hole starting to slick up. Even as his body warmed there was the cool splash of anger—if Bertram knew he didn't want to be an omega, then surely it was logical to conclude that he'd be humiliated by the way his cock shrank when aroused. If he were an alpha it'd be the opposite. But if Bertram was an alpha, where was the bulge?
As though anticipating the question Bertram took Maurice's right hand and shoved it down his trousers, pressing the priest's fingertips against the raised scar tissue. "Your so-called sisters," he sneered. "They said they needed to protect the other orphans from my first rut. Did a hack job of it. Even left the gland." As emphasis he reached up with the hormone-stained fingertips of his free hand to wave beneath Maurice's nose, making the priest choke back a moan. "And your God let it happen. But I cannot be shackled by God's failures. Will you let yourself stay shackled like this?" He slipped his hand between Maurice's thighs then, brushing against the older man's crotch—
Maurice shoved him away, panting. If he wasn't even a real alpha anymore then what right did he think he had to behave like this? He needed to be taught a lesson. Even as Maurice advanced he didn't run, staring down the priest all the while.
"Such blasphemies. And you're an altar boy?"
"I wasn't planning on making a career out of it."
Insolent brat. That was the spark Maurice needed, something to set his rage ablaze and chase away the fear-chilled indignation that'd paralyzed him. He grabbed the front of Bertram's vestments and slammed him up against the closest wall, shoving a knee between the kid's legs. He'd show him. He'd show this cursed beta that he wasn't a liar.
The surgery had removed the boy's barbed dick, leaving instead a little nub that sat above his front hole. He almost looked like an omega.... But Maurice refused to think about his own body, the way he could feel himself dripping with arousal. Better to focus on the boy's body, on the way Bertram practically purred with victory when Maurice shoved his hand down the boy's underwear again. If Bertram thought he had the upper hand he was wrong. Maurice grabbed his hair then, bashing him once against the wall before letting him drop to the floor.
"Wh-what?" Bertram stared up at the priest with unfocused eyes, touching the back of his head.
"You wanted an alpha. You'll have one," Maurice snarled, his ears pinned back before he pounced on top of the boy. Bertram was stronger than his deceptively thin frame suggested, his own ears flattened as he struggled under Maurice's hands, but he was just too small to outlast a fully grown man. Hissing out a laugh, Maurice grabbed both Bertram's wrists with one hand and used the claws on his other to shred the boy's trousers until both his holes were accessible.
The induced heat rendered his dick nigh useless but he could still penetrate with his fingers. Sure, his claws hadn't been trimmed in a while, but every last drop of blood was justified after the kid talked back like that. In fact it almost seemed as though the kid enjoyed it, as if he hadn't deserved to be an alpha in the first place, which just fanned the flames of Maurice's fury even further.
The priest bit the boy, incisors sinking deep into the skin of his neck where his gland was and marking him the way only alphas did. If he wanted to get rid of the scar he'd need another surgery. Maurice heard gasps in his ear that almost sounded like "no" and grinned against Bertram's neck, savoring the feel of blood leaking onto his tongue.
Bertram's young hole was tight around his two fingers, wet with arousal or fear or both but not as slick as the omega he should have been, and he spread his fingers to see how far he could go before the kid winced. Not far, but even as Bertram whimpered he wriggled against the hold on his wrists without any of the urgency of someone who wanted to escape. Just one hand, as though he wanted to touch himself—
Maurice wouldn't let him turn this into a victory. It'd be more humiliating if he came untouched, stuffed full with an old man's hand— Maurice added a third finger, claws scraping along the boy's walls, and fought to keep his own breathing steady. He'd gone so long without touch and here he was on the verge of coming untouched himself from the rush of feeling his large fingers deep in the tight wet heat of a kid's body. Almost as shameful as being taken like an omega.
Bertram was still trying to look at him, glasses askew and gaze blurred with pain or pleasure or both; it didn't matter to Maurice. A fourth finger made him squeeze his eyes shut and choke out a moan, hands clutching fruitlessly at the air as he writhed beneath the priest. There was no ignoring the blood now but Maurice paid it no mind, just shoved in his thumb and started rocking his hand back and forth in an effort to get the whole thing past that tight little entrance. The kid was getting wetter, which meant he had to be enjoying this on some level but it was too late for Maurice to call the punishment off. Not when he could feel the way the boy's body surrendered to him, stretching wide over each knuckle until his hand was practically pulled in by the suction of Bertram's cunt.
The boy was gasping now, rocking his hips against the slow drive of Maurice's hand, and, yes, there were the throbbing spasms of orgasm around his wrist as Bertram bucked his hips and whined. The tangled mix of pride and shame that filled Maurice at these sounds burned hot in his gut, his holes clenching around nothing as he came in his trousers. But this was still salvageable— Bertram seemed too out of it to run when his wrists were released, breath still shallow and gaze unfocused, and biting back the self-hatred that curdled at the base of his throat Maurice stuck his free hand down into his own underwear to collect what semen he could.
Maurice pulled his fist out just enough to smear the collected cum on and then shove it back in, thrusting rougher each time he felt Bertram's muscles spasm then relax more than before. "Imagine if God decided you deserved to be blessed by me. You're so small, your pregnancy would look obscene. Like the abomination you truly are."
"God," Bertram spit out, teeth clenched but still unable to stop from moaning at each thrust. "I will triumph over your God's failures." The threat was quickly undercut by another series of gasping groans as he came a second time, and Maurice just scoffed in response.
The odds of an alpha getting pregnant were low but not impossible, even with an omega's cum. It'd serve the boy right if he had to be weighed down by the consequences of his sins, Maurice thought, and he refused to let himself think about what the boy's belly would look like when at its peak. Instead he pulled out, wiping his hand slick with blood and cum on the insides of Bertram's thighs. There were jeans somewhere the kid could change into—he hadn't arrived dressed properly for Mass, of course—and a brat like this seemed too arrogant to ever tell anyone he'd been bested, so Maurice felt secure in leaving him there. Nobody else would be coming by that day.
To end a heat Maurice would need something like a barbed dick but he wasn't about to let a real one get near him. The sooner he could get out of the church the better, so he could track down his...doctor. He wouldn't tell anyone about the boy. Bertram could fend for himself.