Conference Of Love

by Hanamichi Ichigo (花道イチゴ)


It was a beautiful October evening.

Birds chirped, fat squirrels chased each other around the cafeteria garbage bin outside the brand new Science Pavillion, scientists and students enjoyed the outdoors smoking break.

The main character of this story perched on top of the building’s marble steps. Occasional gust of wind would gently tousle his rust colored hair, which curled at the ends, making him look like a fluffy, hair-conditioned version of a hobbit, though with a somewhat more modern clothing selection. Clad in black cargo pants and a camouflage tanktop, leather cuff decorating his slender wrist, the young man was staring at his brown Fila sneakers and the sorry looking half-eaten cheese sandwich in disbelief. How could this happen to him?

Kit Sin was cursing his supposedly good luck. As news that one of T’s lab members had been chosen to attend the biggest Yeast Conference EVER spread with lightning speed across the Biology Department of C University, he felt like finding a big black hole to crawl in (preferably with booze). Of all the conferences to be sent to, it had to be the biggest one, the one with the most public and private exposure, a documented doom of televised proportions.

Why would they choose him of all people to represent intellectual property being housed under this very roof ? To put it mildly, Kit Sin knew (as did most of his coworkers) that his greatest strengths, assets and dreams were not quite in the biological research field.

He was in it for lax schedules and relatively stable, albeit small, paychecks.

A mercenary research assistant by day, a yaoi artist by night, the life of Kit Sin was anything but ordinary. Living alone in a dilapidated apartment complex allowed for certain liberties, such as occasional substance abuse (i.e. Monday night alcohol fest) and social interactions of a rather promiscuous nature. However harmless, Kit’s existence had inadvertently alienated him from the noise-sensitive neighbors, as well as provided the fire department located across the street with updates on his latest despicable deed of the day (or night) from the gossiping seniors.

The last two months in the laboratory had been abnormally busy and stressful, and all Kit wanted was to smuggle away some free time to sleep. And maybe fuck. Yes, that would be what the doctor ordered, since last time that happened was over three month ago when his most recent decided Kit was too whiny, demanding and plain crazy to handle. The breakup was eerily easy, Kit having little time to ruminate on the temporary lack of a convenient bed warmer. He was growing bored of that professor anyway.

Kit felt cheated, time-off plans evaporating into the warm Indian summer air. Now he’d have to cram a shitload of research info into his poor (alcohol) abused brain that Kit was sure would make his head explode. He had two weeks before the conference, two precious weeks of youthful abandon that would be lost in studying for probably the most boring, snob-filled social event of his life. With this concluding thought, Kit got up from the steps, brushed crumbs off his lap and threw the sandwich to the approaching squirrels. He watched in grim satisfaction as they gleefully tore into his unfinished lunch and started to fight over pieces of limp lettuce and melted swiss cheese, their shrill battle cries echoing in Kit’s ears as he walked back into the Science pavilion.

It was time to read some articles.

The drive to CSH Laboratories took only five hours. Kit proudly speeded away on I-87. Cops, of course, were strategically placed along the interstate road to catch the amateur racers who, unlike Kit, were speeding all the time everywhere. Smiling to himself as Guns N’ Roses blasted away from his silver Honda’s speakers, Kit navigated the maze of New York State’s interchanging highways with the casual grace of a Hong Kong taxi driver. The final thirteen miles proved straightforward and uneventful, vast university campuses and private houses zooming out of Kit’s rearview mirror as he drove into the heart of Long Island.

CSH Labs looked like a family resort. Centennial pines, oaks and maples proudly towered above the vast flower beds of chrysanthemums, asters and late hibiscus. Cozy little cottages with built-in first floor laboratories and outdoor children playpens and swings were scattered across America’s most prestigious life sciences research community. Kit was getting bored fast. Wild rabbits and chipmunks permeated the place, busily hopping across the freshly mowed lawns, house terrasses and roads. ‘Cloned little bastards’, Kit thought, and almost ran two or three of them over as he pulled into the ‘Meetings & Greetings’ parking lot facing the Grace Auditorium administration building.

The receptionist was a wrinkly looking fake blonde, who leveled a stare at him and, when he did not leave, inquired how she could be of help. Upon learning that he actually was an invited speaker for the Yeast 2005 CSHL Meeting, she promptly provided Kit with conference brochures, talk and poster schedules, meal times and a sleeping arrangement sheet. Kit stared at it all in morbid fascination. There was no way back.. His musings on the injustice and cruelty of life were cut short when he distantly registered the receptionist talking about seminaries, shuttles and respecting the rules of the establishment. Huh?

“The Seminary?”

“Why yes, that is where you will be staying, Mr.Sin. Now let me explain to you how the shuttle bus system works… ”

‘I hope you are having a laugh out of this, God,’ thought Kit as he collected the pile of papers and headed back to his car.

Irony was always annoying as hell.


Finding the seminary proved to be harder than Kit had anticipated. How naïve was he to believe that it would be in the vicinity of CSHL. It was not. The rather vague driving directions on the guest sheet (“Make a left turn at the complete 2nd street light, travel ~10 miles until see sign for Visitors Parking”) did not help matters as Kit found himself turning left at two wrong lights and ending up at dead ends because he thought those traffic lights were “complete”. Finally, after much cursing and a twenty-minute drive through a scary wooded area, he saw a little sign pointing to a hidden driveway leading to the Seminary’s visitor parking. The sign was so small, in fact, that he drove past it at first and backtracked after finding a much bigger midnight-blue sign ahead that read “Seminary Of Immaculate Conception” in gold cursive letters.

The Seminary was a creepy massive church-like castle located in the middle of nowhere. It was also very quiet, and not a single living being was in sight.

It was starting to get dark…

Was this when people started getting paranoid? Kit absentmindedly began to play with the diamond stud in his left ear. The place was so gloomy that it sent chills down his back. He glanced around uneasily in hopes of finding some signs of life. He felt small and scared and suddenly wanted to go back and just sleep in the car. Damn the convenience of a separate room with a shower, not if it meant ghosts of troubled souls haunting his dreams at night in this dreadful place.

He fished out his cell phone and called his best friend back in Montreal to whom he quickly explained that he got to Long Island all right but was now being housed in a scary remote seminary that resembled an abandoned ancient hospital and no doubt had ghosts lurking in the abundant shadows of its long echoing halls, almost as if the organizers wanted him to die a horrible death along with ten other chosen conference attendees who were not yet in sight, and he wanted to go home NOW. The reply he got was to stop acting stupid, get his act together, find his room and concentrate on the upcoming presentation. So much for a compassionate virtual shoulder to cry on!

With grim determination, Kit retrieved his luggage and after casting one last longing look at his car, turned around and walked towards the doors of the Visitors’ Welcoming Center. They were locked. There was no intercom button in sight. Undeterred, Kit circled the block trying to find alternative means of entry. To his immense relief, he saw a shiny black BMW parked near the service entrance. He approached the heavy metal doors – they were barred with a complicated looking security system – hoping the car owner would materialize and let him in.

Kit did not have to wait long.

The service entrance was locked as well. As he was about to step away, the door was opened from the inside by a black leather gloved hand, revealing the tall figure of a bespectacled middle aged blond man in an elegant black business suit, carrying a metal suitcase.

“Excuse me, do you know how to get in? I’m supposed to be staying here during the conference at CSHL, and I guess I wasn’t expected to show up so early because all the doors are locked! I didn’t wait for the shuttle since I have a car so …” Kit was so happy to run across someone he could talk to that he found it hard to shut up.

The man smiled warmly at him.

“Strayed from the flock, eh?” he chuckled in a deep rich baritone. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you inside.” The stranger said, patting Kit on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Wow, thanks a lot! I really appreciate it! It was getting kinda spooky around here, ha ha.” Kit felt so relieved that he wanted to hug this mysterious mafia-like person that smelled of cigarettes and expensive cologne. He restrained the urge and concentrated on trying to look cool and salvaging as much pride from this situation as possible. He was not easily intimidated by sinister looking seminaries with complicated security systems.

As the man punched in the authorization codes, Kit stared at the big midnight blue stone in the silver (platinum?) ring on the man’s left hand finger. The lock disengaged and the man gallantly gestured for Kit to come inside. The doors closed behind them with a heavy dull click that echoed along the stone walls of the dimly lit corridor. The man told Kit to follow him closely, explaining that it was easy to get lost. They passed the dark broiler room, the heavily-fenced ‘Sanitary Supplies’ doors, the rust covered metal containers marked “SIC Property” and a couple of other doors with electronic pin locks.

It smelled of antiseptic.

Kit was seriously considering clutching the man’s hand and begging him to stay the night. On any condition. It was unnervingly quiet and their steps reverberated along the gray marble floors as they walked deeper into the God’s Sanctuary.

They arrived at another set of locked doors to which the man actually had a key. These revealed a staircase that led them to the second floor, which turned out to be a dining hall. As they passed the heavy oak tables and benches, Kit stared at the tall multicolored stained-glass windows illuminating the chamber with golden rays of setting autumn sun. The ceiling was very high and depicted scenes out of some biblical tale Kit knew nothing about. It was very beautiful, even majestic.

Finally they reached double glass doors leading into what looked like a dormitory wing. A single sheet of paper with a list of names and numbers was clipped to an otherwise empty bulletin board. Kit quickly skimmed trough it.

“Yep.That’s me, all right! ‘Room C7, Kit Sin’. Kinda ironic for me to be staying here, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure you will find your stay here to be very pleasurable, Mr. Sin.” said the man, smiling enigmatically. “I believe you will find the key in your room. Have a good night,” the man said and started walking back into the shadows.

“Thanks a lot, sir!” The blond glanced back, smiled and Kit guessed he was seeing things due to exhaustion because that couldn’t have possibly been a wink, could it? Snapping out of openly staring after the retreating blond, Kit hurried to room C7 and promptly locked the door. This was getting too weird!


Truth be told, Kit did not actually study all that much for his oral presentation. It just wasn’t as fun as, say, driving around Long Island, admiring numerous yachts and the gold-sprinkled forestry along the coastline. Following his nose (which never led him to bad places), Kit also discovered the most delicious hand-made brownies in a local chocolate store, whose roof proudly sported a fresh stars and stripes paint job. The Americans were so nationalistic! So before Kit knew it, the day of his presentation arrived and jittery nerves with it.

As it turned out, however, Kit didn’t get a chance to freak out completely.

His presentation went amazingly well. Great, in fact.

In fact, Kit’s last talk of the Friday night session turned into the first talked-about event at the conference bar, earning him the impromptu nickname of ‘that funny kid from T’s lab’. Oh, he woke them up, all right! Who knew that all it took was a couple of jokes about the conference and some wise-ass cracks about his supervisor’s research to make the hardcore biological elite giggle? And what a strike of genius it was to shift the audience’s undivided attention away from his presentation’s content to, figuratively speaking, the content of himself, with some strategic wardrobe selection! Clad in tight black leather pants and a white dress shirt, a hint of kohl and a messy bed-head do, burgundy-tinged lips hinting at some wine tasting pre-presentation style, Kit’s look had ‘hot piece of ass’ tattooed all over. And boy, did that work in his favor when the question period started! After getting a grand total of two easy drills about his experiments, the general consensus was to put a lid on further scientific discussions in favor of simply celebrating what was left of Friday night. Accompanied by loud cheers of ‘To the bar!’, Kit was practically carried by the crowd out of the auditorium and down the long set of stairs into the pub of the CSHL dining hall.

Offers of free beer and cocktails (from some lovely older ladies) made Kit giddy with happiness, the taste of success inflaming his senses. Since wasting free alcohol was a sin Kit was not about to commit so early in life, half an hour later he was well and truly plastered, the only thing keeping him on his feet sheer force of willpower. Common sense of reality went AWOL at some point after his second tequila shot, which was consumed after four beers, two cosmopolitans, one martini and one whiskey on the rocks (courtesy of a mysterious gentleman whose identity the barman was forbidden to reveal). Ohhh, a secret admirer perhaps?

Kit giggled and tried not to drool openly, thinking back to the mafia blond he met at the Seminary last week. It just occurred to him that the guy was totally hot and definitely his type: strong, confident, sexy as hell and with abundance of cash…

Where was he anyway?

Kit felt hot, happy and horny and wanted to party hard. However, a little voice at the back of his head was nagging him about some samurai crap related to responsibility over feeling, temporarily preventing him from dancing naked on the bar table. That and the imagined look of rage on Dr.T’s face after hearing stories about how wild some of his graduate students partied at scientific conferences.

Nonetheless, the voice of reason grew weaker with each additional drink consumed, and Kit suddenly realized that perhaps he should call it a night before the helicopter effect started, which he was unfortunately too familiar with.

So he bid the afterparty adieu before making a complete ass of himself, and headed back to the parking lot on an auto-pilot. Locating his precious silver Wing was easy; getting the key into the lock proved rather challenging. And there was still one problem.

Kit was horny as hell!

His intense concentration on the uncooperative lock was interrupted by a vaguely familiar set of long elegant fingers (where had he seen that saphir signet ring before?) firmly grasping his shaking digits and prying the car keys out of their unsteady clutches.

“You are not driving anywhere in this condition.”

Instant orgasm or at least that’s what it felt like to Kit when he heard that simple, taking-charge statement delivered by now painfully familiar velvet baritone. He turned around and suddenly felt weak in the knees. The mafia man’s hair looked silver under the neon lights illuminating the parking lot, immaculate black business suit nicely outlining hard muscled body Kit was dying to touch at the moment.

Piercing malachite-green eyes dared Kit to argue. Kit gulped.

“I’m…not?” Play dumb. Play innocent. No need to rush and tell the guy he had you at hello.

Kit helplessly watched as his car keys disappeared into the man’s long cashmere coat breast pocket.

“I will take you-”

“I’m yours!!!” An elegant quirk of a blond eyebrow.




Oh well, so much for subtlety! If Kit was sober, he probably would have blushed and maybe ran away and hidden for a while. However, being drunk had its advantages and Kit acted on an impulse, forgetting all about decorum and tact. Since the proverbial cat was out of the bag already, he decided to go for honesty all the way.

“So, you wanna… uh…fuck NOW or *hic* fuck laaaaater?”

The blond mafia man just shook his head and ignoring Kit’s declarations of passion, wrapped a strong hand around the boy’s shoulders and led the increasingly vocal and horny youngster away from his car.

A sleek black BMW M3 welcomed the duo with the discreet beep of a deactivating alarm, bathing them in electric purple rays from its cat-eye headlights. Kit, drunken flailing limbs and all, was promptly buckled in and before he knew what happened the man was shifting gears.

Kit floated in and out of consciousness as they sped away into the night, dimly remembering that the man said his name was Simon Rahl and that he was also staying at the seminary. The man complemented Kit on his presentation but stopped further scientific talk after noticing that his young passenger was suddenly singing “Take Me Out” in a rather loud and off –key rendition. How amusing.

The ride back took faster then Kit remembered it taking him. Or maybe he was too drunk to judge time objectively. Yes, booze might as well be responsible for visions of grinning white ghosts singing “Shiny Disco Ball” as they flew beside the speeding BMW along the forest roads.

Upon arriving at the Seminary of Immaculate Conception, the ghosts morphed into stone angel statues lining the Seminary’s park and gave Kit a standing ovation, cheering them on, their stone wing appendages flapping amongst clouds of rainbow-colored glitter.

And then the moon gave him a pervy grin, saying ‘Go for it, young man! You can get some tonight!’

Yep, must be the booze…

After several unsuccessful attempts to get out of the car and not land on all fours in the process, Kit was finally hauled out by a strong grip under his arms.

Clutching at the front of Simon’s suit for support, Kit desperately tried to remain upright long enough to make the seminary stop spinning. When it didn’t, Kit proceeded to express his sentiments regarding the Seminary’s most insensitive behavior towards his currently sensitive state in quite loud and colorful language.

“Oh, for the love of God!” he heard the man’s bemused voice grumble before being unceremoniously flung over the blond’s shoulders and carried across the Seminary’s parking lot towards the back entrance.


The view from Simon’s shoulders was spectacular.

Vision of fiery red PVC-clad angels chasing bat-winged, leather-harnessed pretty demon boys into darkness flashed before Kit’s eyes. Crimson feathers floated around and screams of passion reverberated along the ancient stone halls of God’s Temple of Love, mind-fucking Kit raw, firm pressure of Simon’s gloved hand on his ass being the only anchor to reality. Time seemed to have taken a shot of speed; minutes turning into seconds, hours flying wildly ahead. His head was spinning, shapeless silhouettes dissipating into sparkling black dust as his eyes tried to focus…

And suddenly there was light at the end of the hall, clearing the spell of aphrodisiac dream, leaving just the man and the horny boy in a well-lit Victorian style room.

As he was let down, Kit did a quick inventory of his new surroundings.

“Hooooooly shit! That’s a… KING sized bed!” he drawled and swayed precariously towards the direction of mentioned furniture.

“Do you mind?”

A pregnant pause, as Kit tried to figure out just what exactly was he supposed to mind to.

As soon as realization hit, Kit wasted no time in divesting the man off his coat and jacket, impatiently tugging at the buttons of immaculate white dress shirt. Sinking to his knees, he clawed at the belt buckle, growling as it refused to come loose. Coming back up, Kit playfully nipped at exposed neck flesh.

“You really need somebody to regulate the expression of that passion.” was all the blond said before pushing Kit back on the bed in a disarray of drunken limbs and throaty laughter.

“Regulate me, baby!” howled Kit, as his hands were pinned above his head and secured there by the man’s silk black tie.

Hot lips ravaged his mouth. Fingers mercilessly teased his sensitive nipples before suddenly pinching them hard, amplifying the unbearable blaze of sexual intoxication Kit was being rapidly consumed with. Shirts unbuttoned, instincts taking over, desire floating freely between flesh contacting flesh. All coherent thoughts abandoned Kit’s head as strong hands expertly maneuvered him out of those tight black leather pants and began slowly stroking the testimony of Kit’s desire.

“Uhhhh!!” rasped Kit, “Yeah! Ooooohhhh, ngggggg!!”

“A natural screamer, eh?” Amused chuckle followed by a devious smirk.

Scream pierced the night as the blond proceeded to deep-throat Kit’s weeping erection.

—*blushing author wildly fans the flaming keyboard*—-

It was the best, most intense blow job Kit’s ever gotten. His head tossed back into satin pillows in abandon as climax hit hard.

Complete release.

Ultimate bliss.

He knew now what it felt like.

Ceiling angels wept Depeche Mode songs about velvet heaven. The man was a Sex God!

And then, the big night did, after all, end with a big bang.

Kit was too inebriated to panic as a massive erection was positioned at his well-lubed entrance (when did that happen??) and as Simon penetrated him in one swift move Kit thought that even though it would hurt as hell in the morning, he wanted MORE and he wanted it NOW. The blond was in no rush however, as he started to slowly and thoroughly fuck the redhead, paying no heed to the boy’s insistent screaming, moaning and mewing about ‘faster, FASTER!!!’.

The man drove him crazy, hitting that sweet spot inside with every hard thrust. Kit’s world exploded.


Next morning Kit did not remember the details about the fucking, only that it was the most pleasurable and addictive experience in his entire life.

The man was gone and for a brief moment Kit thought that perhaps the magnificent fucking was only a dream, until dull ache in his ass let him know otherwise.

Was it the booze or the super hot blond seme, or most probably a mix of both, Kit supposed he’d never know, except that he was sure he wouldn’t pass another round with the blond for anything…

And then Kit noticed the flowers. A dozen of long stemmed, bloody red roses, graced the seminary’s solemn dark cherry wood study table. An elegantly written note was attached to the bouquet and its contents made Kit grin like an idiot for days to come afterwards.

‘Nice oral presentation. Till next conference, brat.

Fuck, he certainly hoped so!

Back on the farm, or in Kit’s case, T’s laboratory, some rather unexpected developments took place in his short absence. Divine intervention happened ever so often!

The lab was empty.

Granted, it WAS Monday morning, Kit still felt that something was definitely amiss. When no one showed up by noon, including his supervisor, who practically lived in the lab, Kit decided that some major shit went down when he was gone. It was time to demand some answers from the SuperBitch, aka the frigid graduate studies secretary.

As he came in to Ms.Boyko’s office, she uncharacteristically smiled at him and actually offered Kit to have a sit and some complementary Halloween candy.

‘Something is definitely wrong here’, thought Kit as he gingerly sat on the offered chair and chewed on a hard caramel lollipop, waiting for the speech of doom.

“Mr.Sin”, began the secretary, assuming what sounded like a well-practiced sympathetic tone. It made him a lot more worried.

“Unfortunately Dr.T had to retire prematurely due to complications of his heart condition, so C university took the responsibility of reassigning his current students into other laboratories, based on their relevance.” Phew. He was scared for a second there! Well, at least it meant that they hadn’t fired his ass yet!

The woman took no note of his audible sigh of relief.

“You, however, were offered a rare opportunity to continue your graduate studies under supervision of a brilliant neurophysiologist Dr. Simon Rahl in his research center at Cornell University. Dr.Rahl was impressed by your performance during the CSHL conference and enthusiasm displayed about his person, so as soon as he found out about the unfortunate retirement of Dr. T, he promptly offered to train your personally.”

“Uh…” Kit promptly swallowed the lollipop whole and coughed hard. The Seminary Sex God = Doctor = Supervisor?! Come again? WTF????

Mistaking Kit’s shocked expression for awe at such a glorious offer, the graduate secretary beamed with joy as she added, “Please do not worry about anything! The dean of C University is proud to have one of their graduates being chosen to carry on C’s legacy at such prestigious university and therefore will take care of all logistical and administrative issues associated with the transfer. Congratulations, Mr.Sin!”

Kit was speechless. His jaw must have hit the floor. Was he supposed to say something? ‘Gee, that’s great! Now we can fuck again!’or ‘Glad to know that personal training of MY ASS is approved by the dean!’? How do you like them apples?

Kit concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In and Out. Like that night….FUCK!!!!


“In fact, your new supervisor has already arranged for your flight to Ithaca tomorrow morning, where he will pick you up personally. We are so happy for you! Mr. Sin?? Mr.Sin! Are you all right?…”

Kit felt that he had died and went straight to heaven. His (mis)adventures there, however, were a totally different story…

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