The curtains of red velvet were heavy as Arthur pushed past them and sat down in the small chair on his side of the confessional booth. He knew Father Eames was sitting on the other side of the booth. Arthur could hear him breathing even if he couldn’t see the priest. Arthur took a deep breath and began. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession.”
“How old are you, child?” Father Eames asked, no doubt surprised by the fact that this was Arthur’s first confession.
“Seventeen next month, Father,” Arthur admitted, as though this too was a sin.
Father Eames gave a hum of acknowledgement. “Tell me your sins.”
“I am in love.”
“Love is not a sin,” Father Eames reminded him.
Arthur clenched his eyes closed and let his head tilt forward, shamed. “With a man.”
There was a long pause of silence. “Does this man love you also?”
Arthur shook his head even though he was not visible. “I would not dare to hope. I have only been with him in my thoughts.”
“You have imagined being with this man that you love?”
Arthur gripped the fabric of his dress pants over his thighs tightly, creasing the material. “Yes.”
“Have you taken pleasure in these moments?”
“Yes, Father,” Arthur whispered.
“How many times?”
Arthur paused to think, and felt guiltier when he could not keep count. “Many times.”
Father Eames hummed again. Arthur suddenly felt terrified. Confessional was supposed to be anonymous, but what if Father Eames recognized Arthur’s voice? They spoke every week at Sunday school. Would Eames look at him differently? Would he cast Arthur out? Arthur lived in a small rural town. If his family knew that Arthur took pleasure in his own hand as he thought of a man, Arthur would be disowned; he would have nowhere to go.
“Have you tried to fight these urges?” Father Eames’ voice broke Arthur’s mental fears. Even if Father Eames did know it was Arthur, it didn’t seem like he was going to do anything about it.
“I have, Father,” Arthur said. “But I have been weak.”
“Perhaps if you tell me what you imagine, we can help you gain control over them,” Father Eames suggested, sounding slightly cautious. Arthur’s eyes flashed open in surprise, staring at the dim curtains hiding him away from the world’s judging gaze. He didn’t know if Father Eames was kidding, nor where to start if the priest was being serious. “Tell me how your fantasy begins.”
Arthur licked his lips, shoulders tense. “We are at Sunday school and he asks me to stay behind after everyone else leaves. And then his eyes...”
“What about his eyes?” Father Eames prompts when Arthur trails away, his fantasy floating behind his eyes once again.
“Beautiful, intelligent, kind,” Arthur describes, closing his eyes to see the ones in his mind’s eye more clearly. Gorgeous blue grey, their weight always seemed to be on Arthur. And Father Eames always smiled with his eyes. “His eyes watch me as he tells me to take off my clothes in front of him. They read my skin like a book.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Exposed,” Arthur confessed even as he shivered, imagining it, imagining those eyes on him as his entire body was put on display. “And special.”
It felt like it was growing warmer in the confessional booth, and Arthur readjusted himself in the chair. He brushed his palms across his pants, wiping away sweat. Father Eames was silent again and Arthur felt almost breathless waiting for him to speak. “What else?”
It was surprisingly easy to describe his fantasies here in this little box, Father Eames just on the other side of the wood panelling and open grating for speaking. The fantasy was twisting and winding around Arthur’s mind, wrapping him in a warm haze. “His mouth,” Arthur said softly, lips remaining parted slightly as he imagined them. Full, plump lips; so soft and so tempting. Arthur continued without prompting this time. “Marking my skin.”
“Everywhere,” Arthur breathed immediately. His head tilted back until it rested against the back panelling of the booth, his eyes still closed. “Tasting my skin that I’d only bare for him. Marking me so that I and everyone else knew who I belonged to.” Arthur shifted again, noticing that his pants were growing a little tight.
The low cadence of Father Eames’ voice only made Arthur’s cock swell and harden quicker. Soon Arthur was grateful for the dim lighting of the booth, lest someone see the bulge straining the fabric of his pants. “Anything else?”
Almost without thinking about it, Arthur’s hand slid up his thigh to press the heel of his palm against his cock, feeling it twitch as Arthur shuddered. “His hands. He would bruise my hips with his fingers as he lifted me and pinned me down. And his big hands would travel every inch of my skin; touch me where no one else ever has. It would feel so good...” Arthur accidentally groaned out, imagining it. His hips lifted off the chair slightly as he palmed himself harder, purposefully.
He fumbled with the button on his pants, shoving the fabric down just enough to free his already-leaking erection. Seeing it in the anonymous space of the confessional booth, wrapping his hand around his own flesh and feeling it jump, just spurred his fantasy on. “And his—” Arthur finally stopped his flow of words, his eyes flashing open even though his hand did not move away. What was he doing? He couldn’t say that here, to a priest! And he certainly shouldn’t be doing this in the House of the Lord.
But Father Eames was insistent, and he didn’t comment on the breathiness of Arthur’s voice. “Tell me.”
“His cock,” Arthur groaned and then bit his lip, saying no more.
“Do you imagine this man pinning you down with his weight and pressing his cock inside you?” Father Eames asked, voice almost teasing but also noticeably lower. Arthur squeezed himself a little tighter and fought down a moan as his hips bucked up into his hand in jealousy. “Do you imagine how it would feel for your body to spread and take him in? How full you would feel with his hot, thick length inside you?”
“Please,” Arthur begged, not sure what he was asking for as his hand jerked desperately.
“Do you imagine him kissing and biting more marks onto your skin as he claimed your body? His hands gripping your hips or your ass tightly, his fingers digging in? You wouldn’t be able to move. You could only lie there and take what he gave you.”
“I want it,” Arthur confessed. His body was slick with sweat, his hand moving smoothly after being coated in so much precome. His cock was pulsing and heavy, the head swollen and weeping. Arthur turned his head and pressed his sweaty forehead against the wood panelling separating them, wanting to be closer. His spine tingled and his body spasmed, unable to remain still as he rocked into his hand. The name crawled up his throat and he only barely choked it back down.
“Say it,” Father Eames said, though it sounded a bit like he was begging.
Arthur’s eyes clenched closed as his hips arched off the small chair, his cock fucking his palm as burning come splattered and smeared across Arthur’s hand. “Eames.”
The hitched gasp of breath from the other side of the confessional booth was noticeable. Arthur moaned again at hearing it and an extra glob of come slid weakly from his slit.
Arthur remained where he was for long minutes, struggling to catch his breath and calm his heartbeat. His hearing was a little muffled, like he had been struck on the back of the head and was still a little dazed from the impact. Father Eames was markedly silent, saying nothing and not even breathing loudly. Arthur felt like crying, could even feel the corners of his eyes burn. He wiped his hand clean on the inside of his jacket where he could hide it until he cleaned it, and then hurriedly tucked himself back into his pants. Father Eames still said nothing, and Arthur threw the heavy curtain aside before fleeing.
He strongly considered skipping next Sunday school. The whole week dragged by as Arthur thought about it. He was terrified that Father Eames knew it was him who had come – literally, good lord – to the confessional booth. How could he not know? He was fearful of Father Eames telling his parents of the shame of their son, and of the inevitable disownment. But more than anything else, Arthur was scared of facing Father Eames. Pretending nothing had happened, pretending he hadn’t said Eames’ name and hadn’t come all over his hand with the priest right there. Not that Father Eames was entirely innocent either, but Arthur didn’t even know what to make of the other man’s words. He would think Arthur was weak, hopeless.
Father Eames didn’t tell anyone though, didn’t shame Arthur in front of the entire town. And in the end, Arthur had no choice but to attend Sunday school unless his parents found out and began to ask questions. But that didn’t mean that Sunday school was easy to bear. Father Eames’ eyes felt heavier on Arthur’s shoulders this week. And although Father Eames had never been particularly touchy before, he left a clear distance between himself and Arthur’s body during the entire morning.
Even though there was nothing else Arthur had been expecting to happen, it still hurt. Arthur hadn’t been lying when he first stepped into that confessional booth. Things had ended around the topic of Arthur’s unquenchable lust, but it was more than that. He had helped Father Eames with Sunday school for the last year, since he was old enough, and they had grown very close. His relationship with Father Eames was different from Arthur’s own father because Father Eames treated him like an equal.
Arthur loved his eyes and his smile, and his laugh. He loved the way the man made Sunday school fun and engaging, and how he wordlessly acted as a mentor to all the children under his care. Arthur had been a bit of a trouble child when Eames first showed up, stubborn to a fault and more than used to adults just throwing up their hands in defeat. But Father Eames had stuck by him and supported him until Arthur was finally willing to let a few barriers fall, until he was ready to talk and help kindle a connection.
Now that was all ruined. Father Eames would never see Arthur as more than one of his wards, despite those seemingly exceptionally-affectionate looks and smiles. But now Father Eames would probably never be comfortable near Arthur again; their relationship would wither.
“Arthur.” Father Eames’ voice was soft and careful, drawing Arthur from his thoughts once again. All of the other children were in the process of packing their bags and grabbing their jackets, leaving the church to go play in the fields before the chill of winter truly set in. Arthur remained seated, eyes wide as he looked to the priest. “Would you collect all these papers and bring them up to my office?”
“Yes, Father,” Arthur promised, eyes dropping when he found he could not hold Eames’ gaze. He knew where this would lead, knew that Father Eames was going to tell him how horribly he had sinned and how he never wanted Arthur in his church again. How they could never be friends again, how his soul probably belonged to the Devil and that he was beyond saving.
Father Eames collected half the workbooks quickly before disappearing to his office. Arthur was much slower as he collected the paper, quills and inkwells. He balanced everything his arms, making sure he had everything. He would only be making one final trip to Father Eames’ office. When he arrived, Father Eames was seated behind his desk, eyes on him as Arthur set everything on their proper shelf.
Afterwards he turned back around and stood in the centre of the office. Father Eames’ eyes were on him, making Arthur’s body thrum even as he wanted to flee. But he felt that he shouldn’t leave until he was finally cast out, and Father Eames hadn’t said anything yet. Arthur shifted his weight, glancing back at the door before looking back at the priest shyly. Father Eames raised an eyebrow and Arthur felt his heart jolt. “You know what to do.”
“Father?” Arthur asked, trying to keep his voice from quivering. He began to fidget with the hem of his tunic.
“Take off your clothes,” Father Eames commanded, words rumbling deep in his chest. Arthur froze and blinked owlishly. He actually pinched his arm; an action that Father Eames noticed, causing him to chuckle. “This isn’t a dream. Take off your clothes...” he kept watching Arthur, though his eyes softened, “If you want to.”
Arthur’s hands trembled but did not hesitate, did not question as his fingers plucked open buttons and pushed fabric away. Father Eames’ gorgeous blue eyes stayed on him as the priest remained seated at his desk, watching Arthur. His tunic slid away first, promptly followed by haphazardly kicked-off shoes and torn-away pants. It wasn’t long before Arthur was standing, all skin, in front of Father Eames. His bare feet gripped at the grainy wood of the floorboards. His whole body shuddered pleasantly as Father Eames’ eyes roamed freely, greedily.
And then Father Eames was curling a finger, motioning Arthur forward. Arthur could already feel his body beginning to heat and tingle, his cock half hard and hanging heavy between his legs. It was slightly uncomfortable standing naked in front of the priest, especially when Father Eames was still fully clothed. Arthur felt like he had more than just his body on display; his heart bared and still in danger of being shattered. But it felt as good standing in front of Father Eames as Arthur had imagined. He felt as though he was standing below the warm sun, blue eyes enveloping him.
Father Eames stood when Arthur drew near and stopped in front of the desk, circling around to stand in front of Arthur. Although Eames was at least ten years Arthur’s senior, their height was near equal. Their eyes held. Then Father Eames licked his lips and Arthur’s eyes dropped to track the movement. And in that moment of lustful distraction, Father Eames stepped forward and hoisted Arthur up off the ground.
Arthur gave a little gasp of surprise and hurriedly wrapped his arms and legs around Father Eames’ neck and waist, fearful of being dropped. But then he was distracted by the feel of his cock rubbing against the fabric of Father Eames’ robes, and Arthur groaned, pressing closer. Arthur felt his body responding to the closeness and warmth of Father Eames’ body, as well as the fact that the priest seemed to be holding Arthur aloft without any sign of strain. “Father...” Arthur whined, fingers digging in to grip at fabric.
“Just Eames.” The priest kissed the words into the skin on Arthur’s jaw. Arthur nodded, and only then did Eames walk them back around to sit Arthur on the clear part of the desk. Arthur didn’t really want to release his hold on Eames, shivering in pleasure every time he thrust against Eames’ hip weakly. Eames eventually pried him off, but luckily he remained between Arthur’s bare, shaking knees. “Now tell me exactly where you remembered me marking your skin.”
Arthur was incredibly nervous. Never had he hoped that his frantic, heated fantasies would become reality. Yet here Eames was, dressed but between Arthur’s legs, exploring Arthur’s body with his eyes like he couldn’t get enough. And Eames wanted to go further, even when he knew how far Arthur imagined this going. Even though he knew this was sinful. But sin had never felt this good, and Eames hadn’t even done anything yet. Arthur was seated, naked on Eames’ desk with his cock fully hard and jutting up against his stomach eagerly, Eames’ large hands on his thighs. And Arthur wanted more. He wanted it all.
Feeling his cheeks burning, Arthur raised a hand and pointed at the left side of his chest, right over his heart. He gave a choked-off moan when Eames immediately ducked his head and sealed his lips over that exact location. There was a sharp pinch of pain when Eames nipped with blunt teeth before he soothed the wound with his tongue. Then he sucked at the skin hard and Arthur felt his hips stutter as he made more noise.
Once that mark was complete, Eames pulled away. His lips were shiny with saliva and he raised an eyebrow again. Hand shaking slightly, Arthur pointed to just below his ribs. Then to his hip, and then, feeling brave, to his inner thigh. Eames knelt dutifully and gripped Arthur’s leg, hooking it over Eames’ shoulder to open him up a bit. Arthur felt the self-conscious urge to close his legs, well aware of the view Eames was receiving from that position. But he forgot to fight when Eames kissed up his inner thigh before choosing a location and making yet another mark.
When he was finished, Eames looked up at him, one of Arthur’s legs still hooked over his shoulder. Arthur felt a drop of precome slide down the underside of his cock, in perfect view for Eames. Arthur bit his lip nervously, watching Eames’ eyes follow the tiny action. And then Arthur pointed to his neck, his breath quick with uncertainty. This was a bold request; the mark would be visible to anyone with eyes. People would question; people would talk.
Eames carefully moved Arthur’s leg from his shoulder before standing. He gripped Arthur’s hips tightly, no doubt leaving a few bruises, and dragged him forward until he was sitting right on the edge. He was close enough to feel Eames’ hard cock press against his own through the fabric of his robes. One large hand rested on each of Arthur’s narrow shoulders, but instead of bending his mouth to suck a mark onto Arthur’s neck, Eames leaned forward and sealed their lips together.
Arthur jolted forward in pleasure, hands clasping desperately at fabric until he eventually just wrapped his arms around Eames and pulled him closer. Eames’ mouth was hot and wet, his lips so big and full that Arthur felt consumed in the best way. And then Eames’ tongue was seeking entrance, and Arthur was opening his mouth, and a skilled tongue was brushing his own. Arthur had not mentioned kissing in his confession the week before because he had never fantasized about it; he figured that Eames would never love him in return, and therefore would never be willing to kiss him.
Kissing Eames was addicting. It had Arthur’s body strung out and burning with desire. But it also had his body calming, grounding itself in preparation for more. They kissed for long enough that Arthur might be worried about his erection dwindling a bit, but Eames was rutting against him and neither of them was anywhere close to stopping. They kissed for so long that Arthur swore in surprise when Eames pulled away only long enough to seal his lips over the skin on Arthur’s neck, sucking harshly. “Oh god.”
Eames nipped him in warning and pulled his mouth away. Arthur whined in loss and apology. “Leave His name out of this. This isn’t His business,” Eames said.
Arthur was about to apologize but Eames was kissing him again, softer this time, and then returning to his neck. Arthur could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears and under Eames’ mouth. And he could feel the bruise forming even as Eames worked; the skin tender and pulsing the way of all wounds. But Arthur wanted this wound, cherished it because it meant much more than Eames was voicing.
Finally Eames seemed satisfied, pulling away enough to skim his eyes over Arthur’s body again, taking in the marks in the shape of Eames’ mouth littering his skin. Eames gave a tiny nod in satisfaction and looked up, and Arthur gave an embarrassingly-blissful smile. That made Eames smile too. “Mind reminding me what came next, Arthur?” Eames practically purred, his hands once again on Arthur’s trembling thighs.
Arthur swallowed thickly. “You should get rid of your clothes.”
Eames smirked and took another step back, ignoring Arthur’s keening at the loss. Arthur held his hands out, wanting to peel the fabric from Eames’ skin himself. But Eames didn’t seem interested in drawing it out, instead just pulling and throwing everything aside in a hurry. Then he was back between Arthur’s legs, just close enough that their leaking tips pressed together. “Oh fuck...” Arthur tried to arch closer even though he didn’t really know what he was doing. “Eames.”
Eames’ hands came up and cupped Arthur’s flushed cheeks, tilting his head up and away from the tantalizing sight of their cocks sliding together. “Have you done this before?” Eames asked, voice soft and tender. Embarrassed, Arthur couldn’t speak. He just shook his head, glancing away. Eames just drew his gaze again and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be careful.”
“Okay,” Arthur agreed breathily. His heart raced as Eames gently dropped his hands to Arthur’s chest, pressing him backward until Arthur was resting on his back. He was sprawled across the desk, his ass and hips aligned with one edge of the desk while the back of his head rested just short of the opposite edge. His feet were planted and his knees were in the air, gravity prying them apart. The wood below him was cool and smooth and Arthur did his best to relax, feeling more vulnerable now that he was lying down.
He watched as Eames pulled a bottle of lantern oil from a drawer of the desk and set it beside Arthur on the desk surface. Eames dipped two fingers into the bottle as though he was going to write with his fingers instead of a quill, and was coating his fingers in ink. Eames’ other hand was on Arthur’s hip, the thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin while Eames brought his coated fingers to between Arthur’s legs. “This is going to sting a little,” Eames warned, “But I’ll go slow. It’ll hurt less if you try to relax.”
Arthur snorted but did his best, focusing on relaxing his body. His knees fell apart a little further on their own. Arthur could feel Eames circling a finger around his most sensitive area, a place no one else had ever touched before. And then that finger was sinking in slowly, working past muscles with shallow thrusts, and Arthur groaned. He held his breath, trying to focus on calming until Eames eventually told him to breathe, which was when Arthur’s breath left him in a rush.
It felt odd having something pressing inside him, filling him, but the first finger didn’t hurt. When Eames added a second finger it stung a bit more, making Arthur’s spine straighten as his chest tightened slightly until he remembered to breathe again. But Arthur liked it. He liked feeling Eames moving inside him, and liked the feel of his body spreading to take Eames in. It also felt incredible since Eames’ fingers were hot and branding, but the oil was cool and smooth.
It wasn’t long before Arthur was pressing down against the fingers, taking Eames to the second knuckle. Eames whispered Arthur’s name, making Arthur feel warm, making Arthur want to take more. It was only brief when Eames pulled away to recoat his fingers in oil, but Arthur didn’t get a chance to complain before he suddenly cursed and stuttered into silence as Eames solidly pressed three fingers in.
The burn was consuming for a moment, especially when Eames scissored his fingers, and Arthur wondered if this was the price to pay. Was this the burn of flames he had to endure for committing such a sin? Could God see them? Was He casting Arthur to the Devil for tempting Eames away? Arthur should have felt guilty, blinking away a stray tear and staring up at the white ceiling as Eames gently worked him open. But when Arthur lifted his head to look at Eames, Eames noticed and leaned forward to kiss Arthur softly, lovingly.
Sin couldn’t feel so right, so perfect. Sin couldn’t make Arthur’s heart swell, loving and feeling loved in return. But, right or wrong, as long as Eames was with him, Arthur didn’t care.
“Are you ready?” Eames asked eventually, kissing Arthur’s skin as he withdrew his fingers.
Arthur’s body felt empty without Eames inside him, and he gave a begging whine. Eames smiled at him warmly before reaching over for more oil. “Wait,” Arthur began quickly before falling silent, wondering if he was overstepping his boundaries. Eames paused and turned back to Arthur, kissing the outside of his knee when he noticed it wavering. “I want to be closer when you take me.”
Eames looked confused for a moment, and then Arthur saw understanding wash over that face. Eames smiled again and gave Arthur another kiss before pulling Arthur back up into a seated position. Warm hands were holding Arthur’s hips again, lifting him briefly until Eames could sit back in his large chair and sit Arthur down in his lap, a knee on either side of Eames’ hips. “Grab the oil, Arthur,” Eames commanded lightly as he kissed across Arthur’s exposed chest.
Arthur shivered again when he felt Eames’ fingers exploring the cleft of his ass, spreading an excess of oil before Eames coated his own hard cock. He loved the feeling when Eames took hold of his hips and positioned him; Arthur could feel the head of Eames’ cock pressing against his hole, hinting toward what was about to happen. Arthur found himself practically dizzy with need now that this was finally about to happen.
He followed Eames’ lead when the man’s slick fingers bruised his hips and pressed him down. Eames was thicker than his three fingers, but Arthur was more relaxed now. The pressure of Eames’s fat cock pushing in, spreading the walls of Arthur’s ass to make room, was intoxicating. Arthur was panting and moaning, loving the stretch, loving the sense of being full. “Eames, Eames, oh fuck Eames, oh please, Eames, Eames, Eames...” was all that spilled from Arthur’s lips as he threw his head back and took it all, took it deep. And Eames was right there, whispering Arthur’s name back against Arthur’s collarbone and the hollow of his neck where sweat was beginning to bead.
It felt amazing when Arthur’s ass came to rest on Eames’ thighs because he could feel the other man trembling below him, betraying how overcome with pleasure he was as well. Arthur wanted to stay there forever, believing that nothing could feel better. But the first real thrust nearly did Arthur in and he swore louder than he had ever dared before in his life. It was one thing to feel Eames’ thick length filling him up slowly. It was another thing entirely to feel the pulsing weight of that cock and the ridge of the head dragging against Arthur’s insides as Eames pulled out before slamming back in quickly. It was even better when Eames almost pulled out entirely on each thrust, Arthur feeling his muscles contract and stretch around the width of that claiming cock on each thrust.
For the most part Eames led him, lifting Arthur’s hips and pushing him down to take Eames deep each time. But Arthur was certainly helping, rocking eagerly in Eames’ lap and begging for anything and everything that came to mind just to feel Eames shudder and take him harder while saying Arthur’s name again and again. Things like “Oh Eames, you feel so good, so deep, come on, fuck me harder, I want you so deep, oh Eames, oh please, I need it, fuck I need it, Eames, Eames...” Arthur didn’t even know where the words were coming from, but they had him as riled as Eames.
He wanted to ride Eames’ cock forever, never wanted that length to leave his body empty. But they had been taking this slow and had been hard and leaking for a while. Arthur’s breath began to stutter as Eames’ thrusts turned quick, spearing him hurriedly and deep. He cried out and practically sobbed when Eames hit something deep inside Arthur that had his whole body arching, seeking more. Eames just smirked and said, “I love those little fucked out sounds you make, Arthur,” between panting breaths as he aimed for that spot again and again.
“Eames!” Arthur shouted, fingernails digging into the sweaty skin of Eames’ shoulders. “Eames!”
“It’s okay, darling,” Eames spoke against Arthur’s parted lips. “Come for me, Arthur.”
Arthur was shaking so hard in Eames’ lap that he might fall into pieces. But he rode Eames harder, ground down and rotated his hips. He was so close. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling he got in his bed, hidden and safe beneath the bed sheets as his hand worked quickly. But it was so much better now, because Eames was under him and watching him and kissing him, and moaning his name. Arthur’s body was on fire, and it was on the verge of exploding. But he didn’t want to fall over the edge of this alone. “Come with me, Eames, please,” he begged. His forehead was pressed against Eames’ shoulder, his hair sticking to his forehead as he bounced on Eames’ cock. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Arthur, fuck!” Eames cursed and pushed Arthur down in his lap and held him there. The world occurred in slow motion for a brief moment, for which Arthur was grateful. Because it meant that he had the time to take in Eames’ returning declaration. He could appreciate the butterflies in his stomach as his heart jumped. Then he could focus on the feel of Eames pulsing inside Arthur’s body, cock wedged tight against Arthur’s insides as hot ropes of come splashed his insides, filling him up until Arthur could feel a bit of come slipping past Eames’ cock and dripping down onto Eames’ thighs.
And then finally, just a second later, Arthur could focus on his own orgasm as it ripped through his body. He held onto Eames tightly and cried out, body thrusting down on Eames’ cock, feeling the come shoot in even deeper. Arthur’s own come spread across Eames’ stomach, sticky but heavy and sliding down slowly.
When Arthur was spent, he fell forward, utterly exhausted. He didn’t even care that his own come was now against his own stomach, or that his sticky, softening cock was pressed almost uncomfortably against Eames’ body. Eames’ arms wrapped around him and held him close, and both of their eyes drifted closed for a long time. Arthur could hear Eames’ calming heartbeat with his ear pressed against Eames’ chest, and it made him smile.
The chill of the room was what eventually drove them to separate. Arthur stood on shaky legs, feeling like a newborn colt in the fields when he stood but had to hold onto the desk to stay standing. He didn’t have to stand long though, because Eames rose from his chair and pressed Arthur forward until he was bent over the desk, his stomach resting on the surface this time. Arthur gave a grunt of surprise and confusion when he felt Eames spreading his ass and a finger prodding him lightly, but he enjoyed the tired shudder of pleasure that rolled through his body at the contact.
“Just checking for damage,” Eames explained before kissing one ass cheek and then the other. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now, spread over my desk with my come dripping down your thighs.”
Arthur gave a whine, feeling his body stir even though he was too tired to do much about it at the moment. He pushed back against Eames until he was standing again, turning to face the older man. Arthur held Eames’ face the way Eames had held Arthur’s earlier and pulled him down into a slow, deep kiss. He felt his heart singing when Eames pressed his body close and kissed back, no sense of hesitation in his movements.
When they pulled apart for air, Arthur remained close against Eames’ body. He suddenly felt clingy. “What happens now?” he dared to ask.
“Now,” Eames kissed Arthur’s temple, “We go to my private rooms so I can get you cleaned up before you head back home.” Arthur suddenly stiffened in Eames’ arms, feeling his heart clench as he tried to pull away. Eames noticed, and before Arthur could say anything, Eames pulled him close again and kissed Arthur so passionately he couldn’t help but feel reassured. “Did I mention that I plan to give you your first blowjob before sending you along? Or that I will also be writing a letter for you to take home with your parents asking for their consent for me to take you on as an apprentice?”
Arthur blinked at Eames in surprise. “You mean...?”
“I cannot make a public declaration to you, Arthur,” Eames reminded him regretfully. “But that doesn’t mean I plan to let this be a one-time occurrence. As my apprentice you would come to live with me in the church’s residence.”
“But...” Arthur hesitated, still so scared to hope. “Don’t you think that this is wrong?”
Eames gave a sad sort of hum and looped his arms loosely around Arthur’s waist, their body heat keeping each other warm. “I know many would disagree with me, but I cannot accept that any form of love is sinful. What real difference is there between a man and woman in love, and two men in love? Other than reproduction,” Eames added and then shrugged. “Love is love. And love is the deepest form of compassion.”
“What about my age?” Arthur asked and blushed. He knew that girls often married much older men through arranged marriages, and personally the age difference didn’t bother Arthur at all. He had never really gotten along with people his age and had always preferred the company of adults; Eames especially. But he didn’t want Eames to pretend to be alright with this and then suddenly decided later that he was crossing some unacceptable boundary.
“Luckily for us,” Eames smiled, “My moral compass is a little skewed when it comes to you.”
Arthur chuckled quietly, mostly due to nervous energy. “You’re a terrible priest.”
“Am not,” Eames retaliated, smiling. “It’s just that I’ve been madly in love with you since you stepped into my church and I went home to ask God why he was challenging me so. But then I realized you are not a challenge to test my resolve.” One warm thumb brushed over Arthur’s cheek before skimming down his jaw, resting against the corner of his mouth. “You are a gift.”
Eames held Arthur’s eyes until he could read in Arthur’s brown eyes that he understood, and that he wanted this too. And then Eames swooped down and sealed his lips over Arthur’s, and Arthur lovingly kissed back.