A peccato meo munda me [Blot out my transgressions] -3/4
A bright voice fills the air: Patrick is once again in the garden, singing while waiting for Pete to arrive. He finds himself blushing thinking back of earlier that morning, when he woke up from the umpteenth dream with the villager and, for the first time, he touched himself. The marks of his own teeth on the left hand are still visible where he bit himself, after he had to shove a hand in the mouth to avoid screaming as the pleasure grew while he pumped himself, at first hesitantly but then more greedily; he rolled his eyes when he came in violent spurts, sighing heavily at the pleasant feeling.
The noise of hooves against stone snaps Patrick out of state, announcing him the coming of the familiar oxcart: Pete is indeed getting off the cart, pretending to pay attention to the pantry attendant monk.
Once the two are done, and Pete has put a series of barrels and boxes on the cart, the brunette walks to the young monk with a shy smile but bright eyes, both reciprocated by Patrick.
Pete looks around and leans closer to the slightly shorter boy, whispering in his ear, “Meet me at the church in half an hour.”
Patrick looks at him leaving, flushing madly for the closeness. For a second he thought Pete was going to kiss him: the young monk has to mentally slap himself for such a sinning thought, the words of his Father Superior still haunting him.
…He has to force himself from running at the church already, he can’t wait for these thirty minutes to pass, he wants to know what’s that meeting for.
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After wasting some time in the garden, Patrick heads to the church, hoping not to look too suspicious with his hurried pace and pinker face. Not knowing if waiting for Pete in or outside the church, he hides behind a tree, but he doesn’t have to wait for too long because the tanned guy arrives shortly after, looking like he just ran, glancing around with a nervous look on his face that turns way more relieved once he spots the tiny monk.
“Hi…thanks for coming,” Pete says timidly, scratching his head.
“Don’t mention it,” Patrick replies, not looking directly at the other guy.
They stand in front of each other for a while, in silence, blushing every time they catch the glances they give each other.
Pete decides to break the silence. Taking all his courage, he asks Patrick to follow him up the bell tower, flushing to the top of his ears, imitated by the monk; Patrick nods his agreement and they walk around the church, to reach the secondary entrance of the tower. It’s a long climb on a narrow spiral staircase, but eventually the guys arrive at the top of the tower, enjoying the fresh air and the landscape.
It takes a while for Pete to awkwardly put an arm around Patrick’s shoulders, looking straight in front of him to avoid eye contact with the boy. Patrick tenses under the touch, and turns his head quickly to look at the brunette, who does his best to look nonchalant but with no success. The little monk leans in the one armed hug, embarrassed, lingering his head on Pete’s chest: they have matching flushed faces and fast pounding hearts.
Pete is shaking with want, but he’s hold back by the awkwardness of the situation. He wants to tell Patrick that he fell in love with him, he wants to kiss those attractive lips, he simply wants to love the younger guy, uncaring of the fact that it’s a sin and that Patrick is a monk.
He doesn’t even know what possessed him, but Pete finds himself kissing Patrick, who freezes at the contact and widens his eyes impossibly huge, moaning his surprise. Their bodies react immediately; Patrick can’t help but kiss back and both guys pull their bodies closer together, stimulating each other even more. They separate breathlessly and flustered, unable to take their hands off the other, their looks filled with longing.
Pete leans closer once again, quickly pecking Patrick’s lips, and pushes him at the corner of the bell tower. They help each other undressing, untying and unbuttoning whatever gets in the way of the contact of skin against skin. Soft kisses soon become hungry and ardent, needy and frantic.
The boys sit on the floor, separated from the cold stone only by the thin fabrics of their clothes, Patrick leaning against the wall and Pete grinding on top of him. The villager is memorizing every noise and facial expression of the little monk, finding his cheeks red for embarrassment extremely adorable, losing himself in those glimmering green eyes and in that musical voice; underneath him, Patrick can’t take his eyes off Pete, mesmerized by that smile that always makes him melt, fascinated by the whole person of Pete and by his freedom outside the monastery.
It’s the beginning of the end: the sexual tension between the two of them is intense and crackles stronger and stronger whenever their gazes meet in the monastery, to finally explode during their secret meetings on top of the bell tower; the ghost of the fear of getting caught creeps heavy over them.
Arms around necks, a leg hooked around a waist, stolen kisses and greedy make out sessions, hands on hips; licks and bites and fingers, strokes and grindings, caresses and penetrations, soft pale skin against firm tanned skin, sweaty. Their thrusts are erratic, desperate, passionate, their moans are broken and ravenous, their eyes are dark and rapt by each other, their bodies are sensitive and overwhelmed by waves of pleasure.
They can’t do nothing when a nosy monk suddenly shows followed by guards and other monks, after spying the guys and reporting their transgressive encounters, catching Pete and Patrick in the act of sinning.
It’s no use hoping not to be scourged, if not killed, for being two male lovers in an obtuse society.
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