The Book of the Blessed

The Blue Temple

The Master of Hyrum House lay on his back and lifted the bottle to his nose, inhaling and letting the heat move through his body as this young man made love to him, moving up and down his body, gently, sucking his nipples, working his face down to take him in his mouth again, coming back up to kiss him deeply. David was merry soul. Never quite a prostiture, but a boy who liked the streets. When he had come to the temple, he approached all the Rites with eagerness, but Hyrum was not sure he had a calling. There seemed nothing serious or religious about him.

That, Hyrum had decided later, was stupid and hypocritical. He had been called her as an Abbot, years ago, and was not native to this house. He had acted as an administrator and a father in the way the White Monks behaved and so he had begun to act like a White Monk. Typically the Hyrums spent a night with every boy who entered the house, but in his long tenure here, this Hyrum had never done that. All those who revered him, Calon, Derek, Conn, Gabriel, had known him only as a parent.

A couple of years back, when the brief war with Dauman had ended, and around the time that Connleth was supposed to leave with Ohean, but Ohean had bid him remain, Hyrum had said these words to one of the older priests, a man long past lust, and was surprised when the old man had said, “Are you sure you did them a favor? Or yourself for that matter? We are the Blue Priesthood.”

Of course, Hyrum still had needs and desires and even curiosities. Some of the older or more powerful Blues called to service attended the waiting room with faces maskes or hoods up. Sometimes traditional ones did as well. This indicated that you wanted no one to consider who you were and were placed in any room to away any man.

The first time Hyrum had done this was during the war. As he lay in the room, mask now off, for what arriving boy would know him, he was filled with nerves and realized he had forgotten how to be a Blue Priest. It was a boy, perhaps seventeen, scarcely a man, almost with the face of a girl who had come to him. His skill and training had returned. The fatherly judgement that the boy was too young was gone. All nerves were gone, simply gentleness as he guided the boy through sex. Hyrum had been in no hurry, and boy had not been quick, as later afternoon approached and the room darkened, while Hyrum knelt, riding the young man, the boy had shuttered, Hyrum had risen up and held the boy’s cock firmly, and they had watched the miracle of the silver fountain of his semen shooting into the air.

Old training in Hyrum whispered, as he rejoiced for the boy, that this was charity, that in away, simply getting this boy to orgasm, not thinking of himself, was only half of what a Blue did. Hyrum was conscious of his body, grown soft, but still pleasant, rounded, brown, his good face, his desire, his erection, how in control he had been for so long, how in control he was right now, and suddenly, he pressed himself to the boy, gathering him up, pressing his cock between the boys slick stomach and his own and suddenly he began fucking him, rapidly, rising out of himself clenching his teeth against a growl as they shuttled together, the boy letting out weak cries and suddenly, Hyrum rose up with a groan and, the force of climax doubling him over, his seed spurted all across the boy.

When they two of them lay sleepy together and covered in their coming, the boy grinned and said, “I like that?”

“Good.”

“Can I come back to you?”

“There are supposed to be no favorites,” Hyrum said.

“But I like you, and…. I feel safer with a… more mature man.”

“An old man?”

“You’re not—”

Hyrum laughed and put a finger to the boy’s lips.

“Ask for Philemon,” Hyrum gave his true name.

“Philemon,” the boy pronounced it carefully.

“Better if you come on this day in the week and as for Philemon. If I can come,” he kissed the boy lingeringly on his lips, “then I will.”

His hands planted on the mattress, Hyrum shuttled up and down, his penis deliciously caught in David’s buttocks as they flexed wickedly, gripping and twisting, and now allowing him to move with greater speed, the two of them lifted their heads and began one, shuddering together as, always a surprise, climax came and Hyrum let out a broken scream. The small moment lasted forever as he felt himself weak, shooting and shooting, David’s back glossy with the path of his desire.

David’s gift to the Order was everything that Hyrum had noted. He was fun. He was kind. He was adventurous and enthusiastic. The only thing that would have stopped him from being a Blue was his love of the streets and the danger therein, but he seemed to be over that by now. He was tall with a brief moustache and shaved hair that hung in tawny quoiff over his face. He looked mischievous and when Abbot Hryum had come down the stairs into the Receiving Hall to see him for the first time, the young man had winked at him mischievously and a fire had gone through Hyrum. It was Hyrum’s duty to preside over all meals in the hall at the top of the house, and so he had through of three as the proper time to go down to the novices. He did not worry, not really, about any of them seeing the Abbot coming down the halls, but they were empty and quiet at this time of day. He knocked on the little door of the room where David was supposed to be. He thought, “And what if he is not here?

But the door opened and a cheerful boy who looked more like a thief than a priest answered.

“Abbot Hyrum,” he bowed formally.

Philemon Paghast, Abbot of Hyrum House, pushed the door open, closed it behind him, put a hand to David’s breastbone and said, simply, “Take off your clothes.”

The Red District

Pol finished his coffee in one swig and said, “Look at that sunlight! Look at that morning!”

Austin had come out of the shower and sat on the bed, his leotard half on, his black hair sticking up.

“I wish I had my makeup,” he said. “I feel like I cannot go out into the world with it.”

Then he said, “I hate going out into the world during the day.”

“We should take a shady cab,” Pol decided. “It can drop me off in the Everdeen, and take you to the palace.”

“You aren’t coming back? Oh, you should come back. Prince Anson will be glad to see you. I will be glad to see you.”

Pol shrugged and then said, sitting on the edge of the bed, “I have to make some money first, and there is money to be made even in the day. We can’t all be rich lords.”

“Not all lords are rich,” Austin corrected.

“Ah, but all lords are richer than me,” Pol told him.

Austin nodded. His hand was on Pol’s leather trousered thigh, and now Austin pulled at the lacing of Pol’s trousers, and he opened them up and then, leaning over him, suddenly he pulled Pol’s cock into his mouth, and Pol made a startled noise.

Austin kept sucking, and there was very little noise in the room except for a small creaking of the bed.

“Oh!” Pol let out a surprised noise and he felt himself growing larger and harder in Austin’s mouth. Austin pulled on his cock, and the same time the lust in his belly descended, a stinging sensation was behind Pol’s eyes. Tears pressed from his lids.

“Austin…” he whispered. “Please…”

Austin stopped long enough to say, “When we woke up you said your cock was so hard it hurt.”

“Fuck!” Pol almost cried. His tone was almost one of despair, his eyes going unfocused, his face soft as he looked down on Austin, the black haired boy’s mouth moving up and down on him. His hand went down to Austin’s hair, soft and silky in his hands. He tugged down his trousers a little and Austin got down on his knees between Pol’s legs.

“Oh,” Pol murmured again. “Oh, fuck. I’m about to—”

His body shuddered while Austin’s hands rested on his thighs. From his belly a thrill descended. From behind his balls, going over them, stiffening his sack to a round globe, went another thrill. Those two thrills and Austin’s mouth and his hands and the perfection of this day all melted together until he made a faint groan and, pulling Austin’s head closer, spilled into his mouth.

Where there had been only his cock, larger, more firm, more desired than Austin had ever thought until a few minutes ago, now there was heat and honey and salt and then he swallowed it, and Pol was still in his mouth, still hard, and it was when he began to wilt that Austin got back up onto the bed and Pol pulled up his thin thong, and then his pants.

Neither of them said a word. Austin pressed himself into the crook of Pol’s arm. And Pol’s arm went about him tighter.

“How was it?”

“I can still taste you,” Austin said.

Then Austin said, as he placed his hand on Pol’s stomach, “What do you want me to do?”

Pol reached into Austin’s pants.

“You’re so fucking hard. I always knew you would be. I want you to feel the same way I did.”

Austin looked outside at the late morning, the sun white and gold through green trees. Pol’s hand still hugged Austin’s cock, working up and down on it.

“Austin, do you still have to go?”

“Do you?”

Austin murmured, while Pol stroked him. “Please suck my cock.”

“I will,” Pol said. “But then I want you to fuck me.”

They slept together, Pol curled in a fetal position. In their sleeping, Austin wrapped an arm about him. He ran his hand down Pol’s back, and in the afternoon darkness of drawn curtains, he lay there with Pol, sneaking a hand down, thrusting his finger between his buttocks to feel the bristly hair, running his hand back up over Pol’s back. Pol snored harshly and lay on his back, and Austin massaged him until he felt him becoming harder.

Pol allowed him to turn him over and, cock crying out, Austin planted his prick in the firm roundness of Pol’s ass. They both moaned at the same time as Austin moved up and down in that tightness. He didn’t warn Pol. There was little warning for himself. His toes bunched, his fingers clinched.

He came all over Pol’s back.

Pol got up from the bed and went out to use the pissroom. He came back, closed the door, climbed into bed with Austin, and wrapped his arms around him. There would be time enough for everything.