The Mission: A Mormon Horror

Digger Brown  :

Digger hates it here. He hates having to share a room with that infuriatingly pious man, hates having eyes on him all the time. It’s making it hard to breathe some days, let alone actually be able to leave. That’s really all he wants. A chance to slip away. Digger doesn’t know how much more pretending he can take.

Ephraim Young  :

Maybe, in a way, that’s just what Ephraim is. A slow suffocation, inefficient in its mechanism but persistent. It’s in everything about him. Every second around him another pound of pressure, crushing. The smile he turns to his companion as the other young man exists in discomfort nearby is empty like a jam jar scraped clean. No trace sign of sweetness, nothing left inside at all. “Something on your mind?” he asks; it isn’t really a question, though. More of a warning. “Don’t let it trouble you.”

Digger Brown  :

He shakes his head, off-put, a slight shiver going up his spine. Of all the people he could have been sent on Mission with why on earth did it have to be Epraim? “I’m alright.” Better now that he can see something other than their hometown, and better still now that he’s decided to stop wearing the garments. It feels like he can breathe a tad freer with just regular underwear beneath his slacks.

Ephraim Young  :

For what it’s worth, Ephraim shares a similar feeling. Why why why? His confidence grows daily that he’d have been better off with someone else to accompany him for assignment—just about anyone else, actually. He thinks it was an attempt at mercy. Perhaps the Bishop presumed them to be friends, given that they were in the same Ward growing up. He’d been wrong to think that, naturally. But such things are bound to happen. And all of it lies within Heavenly Father’s plan, anyway. Ephraim’s eyes narrow as they travel over Digger’s body; he’s searching, but nothing about him gives away what it is. He hums his acknowledgement to that appropriately vague answer. “Sure.” Ephraim drums his fingers along his knee. “You know, my ability to persist here hinges upon your decision to endure. I pray that you carry that wisdom in your heart well.”

Digger Brown  :

He really hates the way Ephraim’s eyes rake over him. Another shiver runs down his back, barely suppressed. Why does he keep watching?! Digger was so close, he could feel it! Could almost taste it! And now he’s stuck with the world’s most devout guard dog. “I know, I really do. I’m sorry you got put with such a disappointing partner.”

Ephraim Young  :

It isn’t wrong to liken him to a guard dog; though it’s not Digger he’s guarding with such fervent devotion. It’s what he represents, the image. To be reassigned is an admittance of failure—Ephraim cannot take even the thought of it. Maybe it makes him protective, in a sense. More likely, it makes him an egoist. “Hm.” He seems unimpressed, though he always is (save for the excitement he feigns when trying to get someone to let the two of them inside). “Am I really the one you should be asking for forgiveness from, Elder Brown?”

Digger Brown  :

“……no.” Digger’s shoulders fall, exhaling heavily. “No you’re not.” He really doesn’t actually believe it, but he knows it’s what he has to say for now.

Ephraim Young  :

"Right." Ephraim draws in a breath, preparing himself for what he is going to do. How he hates leaving the order and security of his side of the room. He steps across the meagre space between them, and perches upon the edge of Digger's bed as if he anticipates becoming unholy by osmosis. He reaches out, resting a firm hand on Digger's shoulder. And it doesn't stay wholly still while it's there, instead squeezing and feeling. Ephraim squints thoughtfully. "We should pray, don't you think?"

Digger Brown  :

“Y- yes. I… I think we should.” he tries not to visibly flinch away, tries to be the good devotee Ephraim wants- needs him to be. He’s not sure he can be.

Ephraim Young  :

Ephraim frowns. It’s between revulsion and fascination. “Wonderful. But, you know”—his fingers fidget at the shoulder seam of Digger’s shirt—“I think it’s important to  roach our God at our best. How He wants us to be. So if you’re lacking…” Ephraim trails off pointedly.

Digger Brown  :

“Lack- lacking?” There’s no way he can know, right? It’s not possible, is it? Digger can feel himself get paler, even as he begs it not to h en. “I… I’m not sure what you mean.”

Ephraim Young  :

”But… you do know.” Ephraim releases Digger from his grasp, though it isn’t any act of mercy. “So instead of saying it, you lie?” he hisses. “Do you have any concern for the next life at all?”

Digger Brown  :

Something about the way he speaks it makes Digger’s hair stand on edge, his spine stiffen. “It’s not as if it harms you! It’s my own soul here not yours.” As soon as the words leave his mouth Digger knows he shouldn’t have said them.

Ephraim Young  :

The silence that follows those words is loud; the faint rattle of the old air conditioning unit is the only thing that permeates the quiet. Ephraim's mouth twitches into a sneer. "As if what you do doesn't affect me at all? As if it isn't my responsibility to hold you accountable!"

Digger Brown  :

"No one else would care!" He says, unable to stop himself, mouth running him over the cliffs edge. Digger feels like he's in a cage with a hungry predator, and he's not entirely sure why, only that he's in danger. "No. It doesn't effect you. You do your best and that's it. This is entirely unnecessary!"

Ephraim Young  :

“You’re wrong,” he says, simple as that. Ephraim rises to his feet, and he does so without further comment. For a moment, it seems he may leave the room to go stew in his rage. (But of course he’s not; after all, they must remain always within sight and sound.) He reaches to turn the lock on the door. Click. Then he looks at Digger. “I will not be held back by you. You’re going to learn to care. I will make this your priority.”

Digger Brown  :

The fear lurking in the base of his spine rises now, cold and piercing up his back. Digger looks terrified, eyes flying between Ephraim and the lock. “What…” he licks his lips. “What do you mean by that?”

Ephraim Young  :

Ephraim clears his throat. He thinks himself a prophet, then, leading the lost to the light. Such things must be done, even for all the challenges they present. “We’re just going to fix this,” he says. He makes a gesture—indicating that Digger is expected to stand. “The devil has a hold of you. How painful it must be to suffer like you. Your sins are eating you alive.”

Digger Brown  :

Digger stays firmer seated, staring at him like he's lost his mind. Maybe he has, maybe they both have, in this horrible little apartment with it's broken air conditioner.

Ephraim Young  :

His voice softens to something almost coddling, like how one would speak to a uniquely stupid animal. “Come on, now,” he murmurs. He closes some of the distance between them. If it is madness, it’s all-consuming. “Or would you rather I force you? Is that how people like you learn, hm? Being made to behave?”

Digger Brown  :

"You can't- No. I don't believe you would." Digger shakes his head, though he curls in on himself in defense without noticing. Scared eyes look up at Ephraim, some spark of anger still in their center. "And what the hell do you mean 'people like me'?"

Ephraim Young  :

Ephraim’s eyes darken at that reaction and at the profanity used, but his facade of good intentions still doesn’t slip wholly. Perhaps only because he believes it to be reality. “People like you…” he echoes. He crouches just a bit, bringing him to eye level with Digger. A hand reaches gently out, fingers brushing over the other boy’s cheek. “Surely those in your state are those who need saving the most:”—then he reels it back, in an instant bringing his palm hard across Digger’s face—“sinners! Degenerates!”

Digger Brown  :

He gasps, head turning with the force, especially after such a soft touch beforehand. Tears well in one eye and without thinking he raises his own hand to hit back.

Ephraim Young  :

There is a second where Ephraim simply  appreciates what he has done; the way Digger’s skin is red and surely burning in the faint shape of his hand. Interesting. His eyes flick over to the defensive hand Digger has raised, just for a moment. “Go on,” he goads him. “Do it. Hit me, Digger. Let me show you what remorse feels like.”

Digger Brown  :

Digger can't help it, not with shame and pain still burning on his cheek. He strikes, hand moving toward Ephraim to slap back.

Ephraim Young  :

For what it’s worth, it connects. Ephraim lets it happen, and he closes his eyes for a second to process the sting. He lets it settle in and anger him further. His jaw sets. “Very good,” he says venomously. Fitting enough, he lashes out like a snake and snatches up Digger’s wrist hard in his hand. “See? You can obey.” It takes only a second more for Ephraim to start fighting him, aiming to wrestle him down onto his back. Any creature knows to feel having its vulnerable guts exposed—man surely is no exception.

Digger Brown  :

He yells, hissing and spitting as Ephraim pushes him down. Holds him down. He's never been a strong boy and it seems to be biting him now.

Ephraim Young  :

Ephraim is nothing short of manic in his excitement; life for him is so very unenjoyable. It’s a relief to, for a moment, find solace in Digger’s despair. It is a sin, and he knows he will pay for it. “Just stop it,” he orders, firm though he knows Digger will be unlikely to obey it. At least some of the flailing and thrashing is bound to end as he manages to get a hold of his other hand and pin it down, and keeps the whole of his weight on Digger’s torso. His knees sink into the mattress on either side, and he’s a bit out of breath from the sudden exertion. He stares down at Digger with intent, though for what is hard to tell. “Why do you have to resist everything that’s good for you?”

Digger Brown  :

“This isn’t good for me!” Digger shouts, hoarse as he is. “This is— This is wrong! Let go! Let me—“ He won’t stop wriggling, thought it doesn’t do much other than bucking up against Ephriam’s thighs, a supremely unhelpful addition to the situation.

Ephraim Young  :

"You don't know what's good for you," Ephraim tells him, with all the confidence of someone who truly buys into their own madness. He wrestles Digger's hands down, pushing his weight into keeping them both down so one of his own can circle around his throat. "You are lost, you are confused, I can help you!" He doesn't seem, yet, to be fully conscious of how close their bodies are, too focused on his manic drive to be aware of biology.

Digger Brown  :

Digger can't help it, can't help the way his prick starts to perk up, wholly against his will. Well, he thinks, somewhat hysterically, at least I know I'm gay now. That doesn't help anything at all though, makes it worse, even. The hand around his throat only makes it worse.

Ephraim Young  :

There's a long moment where Ephraim thinks about how fragile the human throat is. How much pressure would it really require to just.... crush it? Squeeze and hold him there make all of this problem and the whining and the babbling stop? In that way, maybe it is... a fortunate thing that Digger's body reacts like it does. Because it distracts Ephraim, and makes his grip slacken just a bit. "What..." He sucks in a breath, licks his lips that feel suddenly dry. He swallows the profanity he feels about to escape him. "What is wrong with you? Do you like this?" Ephraim sneers, and squeezes tighter again. "Do you?"

Digger Brown  :

He can't exactly speak with the hand pressed tight to his throat, but the pained, half aroused whimper that slips out is answer enough itself.

Ephraim Young  :

Ephraim scowls. It is a fascinated sort of disgust—like prodding dead animals with sticks or watching a train veer off the tracks even knowing that it ends only one way. “Sick,” he whispers. “I knew you were some… some sort of invert. I can’t believe they’d leave me with someone like you. You’ve surely infected me with something wrong, too.”

Digger Brown  :

Digger tries to shake his head, tries to squirm out of his grip, to gasp in air, to scream, anything. All he manages is crushing their groins together and tiring himself out more, eyes getting a little hazy from restricted air and all the blood going down to his steadily stiffening prick.

Ephraim Young  :

Something in him stirs at that repeated contact; at feeling the touch of another person in ways he has yet to know before. He doesn’t think about it. Ephraim pulls his hand back as he sees Digger’s eyes start to glaze over, and grants him the mercy of breathing. Only to no doubt steal it again by driving his closed fist into the underside of his jaw. And it hurts, all the way up into his shoulder. His knuckles burn. Then he does it again, a little higher, harder.

Digger Brown  :

He barely has time to suck in air before everything goes white in pain. Pain and arousal, not something Digger had know could mix, another wanting, needing groan slithering out from between bloody lips. He’d bitten his tongue.

Ephraim Young  :

The darkness that takes hold is far from biblical—surely it is the devil. Ephraim doesn’t want to believe it’s something within him, that violence and urge to hurt. He muffles that rising ache of guilt by striking him again, almost indulgently enjoying the way it burns, this time. “You deserve it,” he says, maybe more by way of self-conviction than anything else. He’s panting for breath, leaving him to hoarsely mutter, “I could never… I won’t kill you. Not knowing your filthy… wretched soul will go straight to the Outer Darkness.”

Digger Brown  :

Digger's eyes grow wider, more terrified, and yet his prick grows harder, whining at the pain, at the need, aching up, subconsciously giving more space to hit. He too, is panting, chest heaving as he fights for air, gaze growing hazy.

Ephraim Young  :

All of it is wrong, and he knows it is; otherwise, he wouldn't be feeling such vile things beneath his skin. Ephraim takes everything in and revels in it, all the same. He doesn't consciously choose to push his hips back down into Digger's, but he does do it. Just like he doesn't make the conscious choice to drive his fist under his ribs, yet finds himself doing that, too.

Digger Brown  :

It only makes Digger’s hips buck up against him again, the pain causing him to shrivel and curl as much as he can, trying to protect himself. Their clothes pricks rubbing together through layer after layer of fabric. His mouth falls open in a near silent scream, a rush of air falling out. If he could get enough breath in to speak, he doesn’t know if he’d be begging for mercy or more concentrated pain.

Ephraim Young  :

Despite Digger’s best attempts, there is simply nowhere to hide from this—Ephraim makes himself an overwhelming presence. Swiftly, it begins to feel suffocating for him, too. Though he wants to think otherwise, his cock is hard and straining against so much suffocating clothing. His eyes fix upon Digger’s parted lips and that wheeze of a noise he tries to make. It enthralls him. Ephraim feels a compulsion and he lacks the will to restrain it; he seals his mouth over Digger’s. Though, regardless of this almost affectionate gesture, he doesn’t lax his grip more than a hair.

Digger Brown  :

His eyes, somehow, go even wider, as much as they can while he’s loosing oxygen. He doesn’t even think about it, kissing back instinctively. It’s messy, neither of them knowing quite what to do, a wet, slick thing, leaving Digger harder than before, and ultimately glassy eyed.

Ephraim Young  :

Ephraim distantly thinks that, at some point, he has to let go. He has to let Digger breathe or the thirty seconds will turn to so much longer. But he thinks, maybe, if he lets him go this illusory cooperation will shatter. It should disgust him—it does disgust him—but he finds his weight yielding into Digger’s, kissing him in that inexperienced but desperate way that seems to make all elegance irrelevant. It takes that much for him to at last release the other boy’s throat, instead tangling his hands up in his hair. It’s still a method of control, he supposes.

Digger Brown  :

And god now that Digger can suck desperate air in through his nose again he kisses back, pained and strained, yes. Knowing he should be trying to leave, yes. But oh so intoxicated by this, by the first kiss he’s felt anything from. A soft whimpering moan gets swallowed by Ephraim’s mouth, and Digger can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed by it.

Artwork

Done by Ellie or myself, or picrews.