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monaboyd Apr. 23rd, 2005 11:47 am)
warpedrealityjl.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Apr. 23rd, 2005 11:47 am)This was a challenge/request that my friend (I LOVE YOU CLAIRE) gave me to do. She basically said about five months ago "I dare you to do a priest!dom/choirboy!orli or choirboy!billy fic". So- five months later and done at roughly half midnight last night. This is it. The end result took me by surprise.
Completely un-beta'd, all mistakes are my own. This isn't meant to like be a- masterpiece or anything, lol, just some fun and plot fuckery.
Warning: Death-fic. Blasphemy. Religion fuckery.
Rating: R.
Feedback is most welcome. I'm quite tempted to write some other little shorties on their adventures (and sexual fun) in the past so...tell me what you think and I'll consider, and of course those would be beta'd.
Oh by the way, for any who check my LJ, I did indeed cheat, features are switched for character change.
---
The Bells, The Bells.
Dominic was a priest. And William was a choirboy. It was altogether entirely bad. But then- it was also oh so good. And Dominic had never claimed to be the purest of priests; he was just getting by like everyday people.
And such a perve, too.
But when William’s lips were shaped in a perfect circle as he sung to the tunes of the church, Dominic liked to imagine his cock snug between those silky perfect angelic cheeks set into the face that reminded him of the statues along the church walls. He liked to imagine letting the young Italian under his robes to do as he pleased with him.
It was entirely perverted.
It wasn’t sick though, really; William was mature for an eighteen-year-old - and Dominic was only thirty.
Sometimes, he didn’t have to imagine. Sometimes William stayed behind after service and let himself under Dominic’s robes. And in a church of all places. A Catholic church. Tut, tut, tut. But Dominic didn’t protest, of course, only when asked what he thought of the lad- then he protested too much: “I don’t think much of him” never quite rang true within those walls.
Sometimes William accompanied Dominic up to the belfry and they fucked under the great bronze and gold skirts of the bells, fucked until they were sweaty and heaving for breath and the echo of their love making rang like the service chimes, chimed for every word they said, every breath they panted, every long low groan from the fox-haired, pale boy with every long slow thrust.
Dominic liked to think the whole town could hear them.
For months- months which extended into two, long, passionate years- William would come to choir. For months absinthe eyes would flicker up to catch storm blue ones as Dominic read the service of the day. For months secret smiles were shared, secret glances, secret passions and shouts and promises.
Dominic liked to think that William was an angel.
Then the war came. The second war. The greatest of the great wars. And everything changed- Italy allied with Hitler quickly enough and William was conscribed to fight, and the Church was kept under guard to make sure that this ‘young priest’ was doing things as he should. Never too liberal. Never hiding anything.
But he was hiding. He was hiding so much. So many secrets they would never ever know.
The bells still rang every Sunday, and the remaining townspeople still came to service. But the bells never sounded the same. The echoes of their love-making faded. The belfry was never the same after the telegram arrived from the fields. Green eyes never did look up into storm blue again.
William Boyd was killed by enemy fire in the field in late April. His body never returned home to the town where he was born.
A week after the telegram arrived, Dominic left the priesthood. An angel had died. He no longer had any call for God, or for salvation.
Dominic wonders now if the echo does still linger at all in the belfry. He wonders if the church still stands. He wonders if anything of what he had- and lost- remains.
He lies awake, and he wonders.
Completely un-beta'd, all mistakes are my own. This isn't meant to like be a- masterpiece or anything, lol, just some fun and plot fuckery.
Warning: Death-fic. Blasphemy. Religion fuckery.
Rating: R.
Feedback is most welcome. I'm quite tempted to write some other little shorties on their adventures (and sexual fun) in the past so...tell me what you think and I'll consider, and of course those would be beta'd.
Oh by the way, for any who check my LJ, I did indeed cheat, features are switched for character change.
---
Dominic was a priest. And William was a choirboy. It was altogether entirely bad. But then- it was also oh so good. And Dominic had never claimed to be the purest of priests; he was just getting by like everyday people.
And such a perve, too.
But when William’s lips were shaped in a perfect circle as he sung to the tunes of the church, Dominic liked to imagine his cock snug between those silky perfect angelic cheeks set into the face that reminded him of the statues along the church walls. He liked to imagine letting the young Italian under his robes to do as he pleased with him.
It was entirely perverted.
It wasn’t sick though, really; William was mature for an eighteen-year-old - and Dominic was only thirty.
Sometimes, he didn’t have to imagine. Sometimes William stayed behind after service and let himself under Dominic’s robes. And in a church of all places. A Catholic church. Tut, tut, tut. But Dominic didn’t protest, of course, only when asked what he thought of the lad- then he protested too much: “I don’t think much of him” never quite rang true within those walls.
Sometimes William accompanied Dominic up to the belfry and they fucked under the great bronze and gold skirts of the bells, fucked until they were sweaty and heaving for breath and the echo of their love making rang like the service chimes, chimed for every word they said, every breath they panted, every long low groan from the fox-haired, pale boy with every long slow thrust.
Dominic liked to think the whole town could hear them.
For months- months which extended into two, long, passionate years- William would come to choir. For months absinthe eyes would flicker up to catch storm blue ones as Dominic read the service of the day. For months secret smiles were shared, secret glances, secret passions and shouts and promises.
Dominic liked to think that William was an angel.
Then the war came. The second war. The greatest of the great wars. And everything changed- Italy allied with Hitler quickly enough and William was conscribed to fight, and the Church was kept under guard to make sure that this ‘young priest’ was doing things as he should. Never too liberal. Never hiding anything.
But he was hiding. He was hiding so much. So many secrets they would never ever know.
The bells still rang every Sunday, and the remaining townspeople still came to service. But the bells never sounded the same. The echoes of their love-making faded. The belfry was never the same after the telegram arrived from the fields. Green eyes never did look up into storm blue again.
William Boyd was killed by enemy fire in the field in late April. His body never returned home to the town where he was born.
A week after the telegram arrived, Dominic left the priesthood. An angel had died. He no longer had any call for God, or for salvation.
Dominic wonders now if the echo does still linger at all in the belfry. He wonders if the church still stands. He wonders if anything of what he had- and lost- remains.
He lies awake, and he wonders.
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Thankyou.
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Just- wonderful. :)
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I'm so glad people like this! I really didn't expect the responses I've been getting. Thankyou again.
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At first, I've got to admit, I was a little weirded out by the set up, but it turned out so beautifully sad!
An angel had died.
He lies awake, and he wonders.
Those were the two most powerful lines to me.
*squishes to chest*
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An angel had died.
*shivers*
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