by Chiame Ayame (血雨菖蒲)
It wasn’t so much the thought of eternal paradise or fear of punishment that had sent him to church, as the solitude and serenity of the empty chapel. When he was five, he’d snuck into the one at his church after everyone else had gone home and his parents had gone to talk to the pastor. The stained glass windows had been a marvel to his five-year old self, whole worlds brought to life in brilliant color with the sun behind them, turning the plain white marble an astonishing assortment of rainbow shades. He’d jumped from one color to the next, all the while pretending he was in the stories, the main characters and all of the supporting cast besides.
It hadn’t seemed odd to him to think of the single building as a world into itself, a gateway through which to reach the worlds depicted in the technicolor pictures. Afterwards, the pastor and his parents had found him under the altar in the nave, acting out the bible scenes with the crucifix he’d taken from the altar. His parents had been mortified, but the pastor had smiled, and given him a crucifix to take home. Granted, it hadn’t been the one from the altar, but he’d treasured it just the same. It had reminded him of the magical gateways, and the feel of being able to take one step and find himself in some greater story. He’d hung it on the wall over his bed.
After that, it seemed only natural for him to gravitate towards the priesthood.
What had truly drawn him to this school was not so much the curriculum or the people, but the windows. He’d walked into the chapel on his first tour of the school, and they had seemed, unfamiliar as they were, as familiar as the ones from his home church. It wasn’t the stories, which depicted different scenes, and occasionally completely different chapters, nor the style. The ones here were more stylized than the ones at home, and not quite as artistic, not as chiseled looking. After he’d worked there for a few weeks he finally figured it out.
It was the colors. Not a pastel to be seen, all bright, bold, confident colors. Colors that knew what they said, and had no problems saying it loudly, who seemed to radiate a brilliant cheer even when the sun wasn’t shining directly behind them. It didn’t matter to them how blocky the pictures, how oddly placed the lines. They told the stories clearly enough by themselves.
He loved them even more when he realized it.
He comes in to change the altar candles, and is surprised to find someone sitting in the pews a few rows back. One of the students, cheerfully reading something that is obviously not approved reading material. New this year, Alexander thinks to himself. The one whose parents have gone to Africa as missionaries, and who had decided to stay behind. He knew from class that Edward was irreverent, and prone to pulling pranks, but he has always been cheerful about getting caught, and always takes his various punishments in good humour. As a result, Alexander is inclined to overlook his lesser infractions, and the adult magazine is normal enough for a boy his age that it doesn’t bother Alexander.
Still, it is during class hours, so Alexander stands at the end of the row and clears his throat. Loudly.
Edward starts, and hides his magazine behind his back, but his unrepentant smile isn’t particularly abashed. Not at all, really.
“Ah, Chaplain, I didn’t see you there.” he says, somehow managing to project an air of perfect innocence.
Folding his arms across his chest, Alexander manages to keep the amusement off of his face.
“And what, pray tell, do you think you’re doing?” He asks the boy, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
Somehow Edward’s innocent smile turns into a cheeky grin, this time fully unashamed.
“I’m skipping class, what does it look like?” He says cheerfully.
Alexander isn’t surprised, either by the bold admittance of wrongdoing or the cheerfulness in the admission. Every now and then, he thinks Edward actually enjoys getting caught at his pranks. He presumes it gives them more of a spice when he manages to pull them off without getting caught. In the meantime, however, he needs to think of a suitable discipline for skipping class.
Looking at Edward thoughtfully, Alexander muses that it might be a bit hard to find something that will stick. He knows Edward has a tendency to blow off extra homework, and while detention would be doable, chances are good that Edward would just bring the magazine in with him, either disguised as a textbook or secreted in one. No, Alexander thinks ruefully, he’ll have to think of some other punishment for the wayward student.
Unconcerned with Alexander’s scrutiny, Edward leans against the pew in front of him, the light from the windows painting him in blue and red, catching in his black hair and giving it impossible highlights. The iron bars leave slashes of shadow across his school uniform, and Alexander finds himself considering something unwise. It’s only a moment before Alexander finds himself reaching a decision.
“You know what I think?” he says quietly, and steps forwards deliberately. “I think you need to be taught a lesson.”
Edward grins and comments, “Here? We’re missing a blackboard, in case you haven’t noticed.” He continues blithely, either unaware of or ignoring Alexander’s increasing proximity and slowly growing smile, “Of course, I suppose there’s always Saturday detention–” he breaks off abruptly, as Alexander leans down, close enough that Edward can feel his breathe ruffle his hair.
“I was thinking more esoteric than that.” Alexander breathes, and kisses him where the red light streaks across his face.
Edward’s eyes widen, but he makes no move to pull away as Alexander pulls back and rests his hands on Edward’s shoulders. Alexander smiles, and one hands drifts down Edward’s arm to take his hand, and before Edward knows it, Alexander is pulling him up towards the altar, and has turned him and shoved his back up against it hard enough to leave marks on the backs of his legs later. Edward gasps, and Alexander uses the opportunity to kiss Edward again, hard and possessive this time, invading Edward’s personal space and pressing him tightly against the altar.
He doesn’t really know why he’s doing this, and he’s perfectly aware that he shouldn’t be doing it, but Edward tastes so sweet underneath him, and he can feel the pure white light from the cross window above the altar burning down on them like the sun’s blessing. His knee finds its way in between Edward’s legs, as his tongue explores the caverns and surfaces of Edward’s mouth, and suddenly Edward’s hands are grasping his shoulders and pulling him closer.
Edward’s coat and shirt buttons come undone easily, and Alexander pushes them down Edward’s arms to tangle and pool on the altar, breaking the kiss only to trail more kisses down the now heavily panting boy’s neck. His trail soon takes him further, and it is not long before he is kneeling in front of Edward, whose hands are clutched in Alexander’s hair, grasping and twisting tightly.
Here, shaded from the uncolored brilliance of the altar light, he unzips Edward’s pants, and slowly draws his hard cock out. He hears Edward gasp, and his fingers tighten in his hair, hard enough to pull. He looks up briefly, to find Edward silhouetted in front of the the blazing cross, his hair a dark halo, and a wondering look in his eyes as he watches Alexander. Alexander smiles at him, and leans forward to kiss the tip of the member, and he hears Edward sigh, his eyes drifting shut and his mouth opening in a silent oh.
Licking the tip cautiously, Alexander finds it bitter, but not unbearably so. It feels odd in his hands, the weight and texture different from his own, and he swirls the tip thoughtfully before taking more of it into his mouth. Edward groans above him, and twists his hands in Alexander’s hair, making him smile around his length.
He doesn’t know the right technique for this, or even if there is a right technique, but Edward seems to be enjoying it so he doesn’t worry about it too much. Edward’s smell is strong here, soap and sweat and flesh, and Alexander finds himself breathing deeply, the smell as sweet an intoxicant as the beeswax candles on the altar. Whatever he can’t swallow he finds himself stroking with a sense of fascination, watching how each little motion of his hands and tongue make Edward whimper and squirm above him. Sliding one hand back, he fondles Edward’s balls, and Edward tenses and comes into his mouth with a keening cry. Alexander gags a bit, but manages to swallow the majority of it, leaving only a bit to dribble down his chin. The taste is salty, but not too bad, and he finds himself licking Edward clean before he wipes his chin off and licks his fingers off.
Edward sags against the altar, eyes unfocused and hands clutching the edge to keep him upright as Alexander stands and cradles him in his arms, blinking in the unblocked blaze from the altar window. As he looks at the thoroughly sated, rather sloe-eyed Edward slowly swimming his way back to coherence, Alexander suddenly realizes just what it was that had made him want to do this rather inadvisable thing. Well, extremely, incredibly inadvisible thing.
Edward has all the confidence of a bold stained glass window, telling his story loudly, and not caring if anyone bothers to read it, shining brightly into the world.
Alexander wonders, briefly, if he had finally wandered through one of the gates into a world and a story just his own. His and Edwards.
Edward grins at him lazily. “Probably,” he says as though the prospect doesn’t faze him much, and grabs Alexander’s collar to pull him down for another kiss. Alexander doesn’t bother to resist.