Chapter 20: The Altar of the Flesh
The stain from the spilled wine had dried into a dark, permanent bloom on the linoleum. Riley noticed it each morning, a secular mark of consecration. They’d been in the city a week. The routine was foreign and intoxicating. Riley found a part-time gig helping a surly mechanic two blocks over, his hands grateful for the honest grease of engine blocks instead of blood. Paul wandered during the day, a flaneur in a borrowed life, returning with strange treasures: a pressed flower, a vinyl record of Gregorian chants, a hot, greasy paper bag of zeppole.
Tonight, the apartment was quiet, save for the scratch of a needle on that vinyl. Chanting filled the space, a hollow, beautiful drone. Paul sat on the floor, back against the couch, eyes closed. He was wearing Riley’s old sweatpants and nothing else. The moonlight caught the elegant line of his throat, the soft curve of his breast.
Riley stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a beer in his hand he wouldn’t finish, and just watched. The want was a constant hum now, a second pulse. It wasn’t just for the body, though Christ, the body. It was for this: the unguarded quiet, the domestic theft of a simple moment.
Paul’s eyes opened. He knew he was being watched; his senses were still preternaturally sharp. A slow smile touched his lips. “See something you like, Mr. Flynn?”
“Maybe.” Riley took a swig of the beer, set it down. He walked over and lowered himself to the floor beside him. Their shoulders touched. The chant swelled. “This music is fucking depressing.”
“It’s plainsong. It’s meant to empty the mind.”
“My mind’s plenty empty.” Riley turned his head. Paul’s cheek was right there. He leaned in and kissed it, just a brush of his lips on that impossibly smooth skin. Then lower, to the corner of his mouth. Paul exhaled, a soft surrender, and turned to meet him.
This kiss was different from the first frantic one against the cabinets. It was slow, deep, exploratory. Riley licked into Paul’s mouth, tasting the ghost of sugar from the pastries. Paul’s hand came up to cradle his jaw, his thumb stroking the rough stubble. When they broke apart, both were breathing harder.
“I want you on your back,” Riley said, his voice already gravel.
Paul just nodded, his eyes dark pools. He shifted, lying down on the frayed blanket they’d dragged to the floor. The moonlight silvered his skin, making him look carved from alabaster. Riley knelt over him, drinking in the sight: the long, graceful lines, the delicate hollows of his hips, the thatch of dark hair between his legs. His breasts were soft mounds, his nipples long and peaked in the cool air.
Riley bent his head and took one into his mouth, sucking deeply. Paul gasped, his back arching off the floor. He was so responsive, every touch a seismic event. Riley lavished attention on each breast, nipping and licking until Paul was writhing, little pleas falling from his lips.
“Riley… please…”
“Please what?” Riley murmured against his stomach, his hands pushing the sweats down over his hips.
“You know.”
“I wanna hear you say it.”
Paul groaned in frustration, but his hips lifted to help divest him of the last clothing. “I want your mouth on me. On my cunt. I want you to fuck me with your tongue until I scream.”
A hot jolt went straight to Riley’s cock. “Good.”
He didn’t need further invitation. He pushed Paul’s thighs apart, settling between them. The scent of him was clean, musky, achingly familiar now. Riley bypassed the soft, swollen flesh of his clit for a moment, instead licking a broad, wet stripe from his opening up to the tight little knot of nerves. Paul jerked, a cry tearing from him.
Riley did it again, slower, then focused on his clit, circling it with the flat of his tongue before sucking it hard into his mouth. Paul’s hands flew to Riley’s head, fingers tangling in his hair, not guiding, just holding on. Riley fucked him with his tongue, deep and slow, then shallow and fast, learning what made his hips stutter, what made his breath catch. He could feel Paul’s thighs trembling against his ears, could hear the ragged, wet sounds of his own ministrations mixing with Paul’s broken moans.
“Oh God, oh fuck, right there, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop…”
Riley redoubled his efforts, adding a finger, then two, curling them inside that tight, clutching heat. Paul’s internal muscles fluttered around his knuckles, a silken vise. He was close, his body bowing like a drawn cable.
“Come for me,” Riley growled, his voice muffled against Paul’s skin. “Let go.”
Paul shattered with a raw, shattered shout, his release flooding Riley’s mouth. Riley drank him down, gentling his touch, working him through the violent, quaking aftershocks until Paul was pushing weakly at his head, oversensitive.
Riley crawled up his body, his own need a painful, throbbing ache. He kissed Paul deeply, letting him taste himself. Paul kissed back lazily, bonelessly.
“My turn,” Riley said, nudging Paul’s legs further apart with his knees.
Paul’s eyes fluttered open. He reached between them, wrapping his hand around Riley’s cock, which was slick with pre-cum and saliva. He guided the blunt head to his entrance, still wet and open from Riley’s mouth and his own climax.
“Take me,” Paul whispered.
Riley pushed in. The slide was exquisite, a hot, seamless sheath. He buried himself to the root in one long, relentless thrust, until his balls rested heavy against Paul’s ass. They both groaned, a harmony of relief and acute sensation.
He began to move, setting a deep, rolling rhythm. Each withdrawal was almost complete, each forward surge a homecoming. The angle was perfect. On every downstroke, the base of his cock rubbed firmly against Paul’s oversensitive clit.
“Fuck, Riley… it’s too much… I can’t…” Paul whimpered, but his hips were lifting to meet every thrust, his legs hooking around Riley’s waist to pull him deeper.
“You can,” Riley grunted, the sweat starting to bead on his spine. “You will. Come on my cock. Again.”
The command, the friction, the sheer fullness was too potent. Paul’s breath hitched, then caught. A second, sharper orgasm ripped through him, his cunt clamping rhythmically around Riley’s length in tight, milking pulses. The sensation tipped Riley over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he slammed home and came, a white-hot flood spilling deep inside Paul. He saw stars, his whole body locking, a guttural shout torn from his chest.
He collapsed forward, catching his weight on his elbows, forehead pressed to Paul’s shoulder. Their hearts hammered against each other, a frantic, slowing drum. The chants on the record had reached their conclusion, and the needle clicked quietly in the run-out groove.
In the thick, satiated silence, Paul’s hand came up, stroking through Riley’s damp hair.
“I’ve been thinking,” Paul said, his voice raw.
“Dangerous.”
A faint smile. “About the priesthood.”
Riley went still. He lifted his head to look at him. Paul’s face was serene, but his eyes were serious, ancient.
“What about it?”
“I can’t go back.” The words were simple, absolute. “I can’t stand behind the altar. Not after… everything. Not after this.” His fingers traced Riley’s lips. “I’m gay. I’m married, in every way that matters to a heart that still beats. I’m… what I am. A monster they’d call a miracle or burn as a witch. All I want…” He swallowed. “All I want is this. You. This messy, ordinary, blasphemous life. For however long forever is for me.”
Riley’s throat was tight. He rolled to the side, pulling Paul with him, keeping them connected. He kissed his forehead, his temple.
“Then that’s what we do,” Riley said, his voice low and sure. “We build a life. However it looks. A family, if you want. A garden. A garage full of busted engines. I don’t know. We just… build it.”
Paul’s eyes welled up, not with the blood-tears of his transformation, but with clear, human saltwater. “I love you,” he whispered, the confession more terrifying than any angel’s visage. “I love you more than I ever loved God.”
The words hung in the air, heretical and sacred. Riley felt the weight of them settle in his bones, a vow more binding than any sacrament. He pulled Paul tighter against him, his face buried in the soft, fragrant hollow of his neck.
Outside, a car sped down the street, its engine roaring. In here, there was only the sound of their breathing, and the quiet, relentless hope of a future they had stolen from the wreckage of their pasts.