A Song Made for Singing--new entry
HONEY
That, among other equally sweet subjects, is what I’m contemplating while the priest drones on about Hell.
He can dwell on the Inferno all he likes, but I’m hard put to give it a moment’s thought with my beautiful Tom in sight and all manner of delicious ideas crowding my mind….
While the boring diatribe winds on I entertain a variation on my favorite churchtime fantasy…steal up behind the lad, pull him into the sacristy, lift those stately Chapel robes and go at him like a rutting beast, not caring that the whole court can hear every whimper, moan and cry of bliss. Going my own perversion one better, I daydream of fucking him senseless right there on the organ bench. During Mass. The subversive poetry of it! For once, no one would doze through the service!
A chilly pause in the homily brings me round. Friendship or no, even the mildest public display of affection could send Tom to the stake and myself to the block if Harry was in a foul enough mood. Compton’s Folly: An Object Lesson. I suppress a sigh and turn to contemplating what I had for lunch.
An innocent topic, one would think; unfortunately, that jar of honey was on the table.
Honey…sweet and sticky and golden.
I think of Tom again. Memories of last night…how I had to put a hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming…my sweet, quiet love! Not so quiet when I do that.
Yes. I want a jar of honey. For late-night feasting, as it were. Just a little jar to keep beneath the bed….
God knows how I try to keep my mind from wandering where it most wants to go. ‘Twouldn’t do, after all, to have the expression of a drowsy, blissful cat during the priest’s tirade on Luther and damnation. But I can only resist so long when in my mind’s eye I’ve got my love down on the bed and my finger in a pot of warm, golden honey. Another recipe for liturgical disaster. My mouth is watering.
The long drizzle of honey catches the last rays of sunlight as I take my finger from the jar. I watch a drop fall on his full, delectable lower lip. He licks the drop away with just the tip of his tongue and takes the honey-laden finger into his mouth. Lust spikes along every inch of my body as he curls his tongue around my finger and sucks it clean-oh, God. I fight for control. Have to last!-my plans for Tom and that jar of honey are far from over.
I lean over to retrieve the jar, which forces me to stretch out over him. Truly unfortunate. I may as well leave a kiss on his breastbone while I’m here…or maybe two, or three…. His breath catches and his smooth, talented fingers skim up my back to grip me. Damn! everything about this lad is distracting! I have to remind myself what I’m about, force my left hand away from his hip and direct it over the side of the bed to catch hold of the jar. The jar’s cool solidity helps me focus.
Somehow I manage to propel myself upright without spilling the honey-very difficult, indeed, as I wind up straddling Tom’s hips. I had thought myself distracted before! He hisses, groans something about cruelty. I have every intention of…easing him. In good time. I give him a devilish grin. He watches, wide-eyed, as I carefully tip the jar. A fine thread of honey flames in the slanting light of the sun to fall in a delicate pattern on his chest.
“Dessert,” I whisper.
He swallows hard.
I stroke one finger down his breastbone, down to his navel, smearing honey as I go. “Mmmm. And what a choice treat you are, love.” More honey falls from the jar-lower, on tight, hot, marvelously sensitive skin.
“William!” he hisses, arching beneath me. “Dear God!-”
Oh, I am done with words. I set my mouth where I most want it and let my tongue tease him instead. The tastes of honey and Tom are maddening. I lose all ability to think. All that matters now….
The choir fills the chapel with ethereal threads of sound, a net drawing me back from dreams.
I watch Tom as he conducts. His hair is light honey brown; sun through stained glass tangles in it, giving him a suffused gilt halo.
With utter sincerity I congratulate God on matching the music’s dreamy loveliness so perfectly to its maker. Then I thank Him that we at least have the nights to ourselves. A scandalous cause for gratitude, perhaps, but I think God is not much surprised, nor even concerned. He has heard more heartfelt gratitude from me recently than He has ever heard before.
Yes. Thank you, God…for my Tom, for honey…for long, sweet nights.
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To read the whole story:
http://mistress-tallis.livejournal.com/2427.html#cutid1