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theoldguardkinkmeme) wrote2020-07-22 10:07 am
theoldguardkinkmeme) wrote2020-07-22 10:07 am
Fills Post
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Fill: Nicky/Joe, AU, ritualistic sex, religion
(Anonymous) 2020-10-08 09:45 pm (UTC)(link)When Nicolo is sent to live in the cloister house, he thinks at first that it’s a punishment for the way his body and voice have begun to change. The older acolytes assure him that it’s not. They tell him he’s been chosen for a special duty, that Mother Moon marked him for such on the night he was born, and now that he’s approaching manhood it’s time for him to come and live with those like him.
There are ten of them already there when he arrives, ranging from a man of some thirty years to a girl two years younger than Nicolo who came to the cloister when her monthly blood started. They live separately from the rest of the order, their world bound by the four walls of the cloister house with its garden and shrine to Mother Moon in the center. Once Nicolo accepts that he’s not being punished, his greatest problem is boredom. He’s no longer allowed to help with the charitable work the order does in the villages and towns near the temple, or sing with the choir at festivals and ceremonies, or even take a walk in the hills around the temple when he has free time. In time, he finds other ways to occupy himself, like helping in the garden or the kitchen and reading his way slowly but voraciously through the cloister’s small library.
As he gets older, he comes to understand why those marked such as he is stay in the cloister. He learns of certain ceremonies and rituals requiring acolytes who have remained chaste, untouched. The rarest and most sacred of these occurs whenever Mother Moon and Father Sun meet in the sky, to be together for a brief span of time before continuing their separate journeys through the heavens. On those days, acolytes of the sun and moon come together as well, bodies joining in a symbolic recreation of that celestial union.
The Mother and Father themselves choose those who represent them in such rituals, revealing their selection to the heads of their orders. Nicolo has no way of knowing what he’ll be chosen for or when, but in the cloister library he often finds himself revisiting the texts that detail the eclipse ritual, studying the diagrams of human figures entwined in a representation of a marriage older than humanity itself.
It’s the summer of his thirtieth year when the order’s astronomers announce an upcoming eclipse, and Nicolo is summoned to speak with one of the senior clerics.
On the eve of the eclipse, Nicolo bathes in a chamber open to the night sky, the water around him silvered by the moon’s light and scented with moonflower and night-blooming jasmine. He gathers the few possessions he holds dear and bids farewell to his brothers and sisters, for those chosen to leave the cloister don’t come back. Many stay in the order, some leave to make their own way in the world, but once the purpose Mother Moon chose them for has been fulfilled, she no longer requires their celibacy.
At dawn, clad only in a thin robe of pale silk, Nicolo travels in a palanquin to the main temple, shielded from view of all but the two acolytes of the moon chosen to assist him. In a small side chamber, they dress him in an elaborate outer robe, stiff with silver brocade and heavy with moonstones and pearls. Finally, they drape a gauzy silver veil over his head, thin enough for him to see through while still obscuring his face. His partner from will be similarly veiled until the two of them are alone in the ritual chamber, their own identities obscured to better embody their roles.
Finally, the time comes, and Nicolo joins a procession of moon acolytes into a large audience chamber. It’s packed with more people than he’s seen in one place since he went to the cloister house, but his eyes go to the one at the forefront of the sun’s acolytes. Veiled as he is, tall and broad enough that Nicolo presumes a man. He’s clad in robes that look as though they might have been made by the same hand as Nicolo’s, but where Nicolo gleams silver this figure shines gold, his robe adorned with amber and topaz.
They walk until they stand across from one another in the center of the chamber, pausing there as the heads of their orders speak in turn, addressing the gathered faithful and reciting the familiar story of Father Sun and Mother Moon. How long ago the two of them fell in love from a distance, glimpsing one another in the sky and yearning, moving slowly but surely toward each other in their orbits until at last they met and embraced.
How they refused to part from that first embrace, remaining locked together in the sky as hours turned to days and days to weeks. But without the cycle of day and night, the earth and all its creatures suffered, until at last their cries reached the heavens and the sun and moon knew that they must part. Since that time, so long ago, the two of them have kept to their appointed paths and cycles, meeting in the sky only when the time is right—and when they do, their union is all the more passionate for its brevity.
On cue, the man standing across from Nicolo holds out his hands—brown and strong-looking, the only part of him Nicolo can see clearly, and speaks. “I stand here in place of Father Sun, who gives life and warmth to the world. I am yours, if you will have me.”
Pushing down a flutter of nerves, Nicolo places his own hands in the stranger’s warm, firm grip. “I stand here in place of Mother Moon, who lights the night so we need not fear the darkness. I am yours, if you will have me.”
The head clerics speak more words, but Nicolo barely hears them. He peers through his veil, trying to make out any detail of the man’s face, but all he gets is a vague impression of dark curls beneath the golden silk that covers them.
The next thing he knows, the two of them are being escorted, still hand in hand, to the ritual chamber at the very center of the temple. It’s a small, circular room with mosaics of the heavens adorning the walls and ceiling, and in the middle of it stands a bed, its trappings simple but luxuriously soft. The only other furniture in the room is a small marble table holding a goblet of silver, another of gold, and a small, stoppered bottle of oil.
Their escorts bow and retreat, shutting the door, and then it’s just the two of them and their sacred charge. Nicolo’s hands shake a little as he grasps the hem of his veil, but he takes a steadying breath and pulls it from his head, turning to face his partner as he does the same.
...Sweet Mother, but he’s beautiful. Warm dark eyes move over Nicolo’s face slowly, and when he smiles, Nicolo’s gut gives another treacherous flutter.
“They told me I could ask your name once we were alone,” the man begins. “That is, if you want to tell me.”
“Nicolo,” Nicolo replies at once, with the dizzy, absurd thought that he’d tell this man anything he wished to know.
“Nicolo,” the man echoes, smile widening. He holds out his hands much as he did in the audience chamber, and again Nicolo takes them. “I’m Yusuf. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” Nicolo says at once, defensively. Yusuf looks at him with a gentle quirk of his eyebrows, then down to their joined hands, and Nicolo realizes his are still trembling faintly. “It’s just nerves,” he says with a wry smile.
“I understand.” Yusuf squeezes his hands, then gestures to the goblets on the table. “I think these are meant to help us with that.”
Nicolo nods, picking up the silver goblet as Yusuf takes the gold. The concoction inside is something acrid and herbal with honey mixed in, and Nicolo grimaces at the first bittersweet taste, but drinks it down.
He feels it the moment it hits his system, every sense expanding and unfolding with a speed that makes him grip the edge of the table for support. He can feel the texture of the marble beneath his fingers in minute detail, every grain and tiny flaw. Yusuf’s eyes widen in reaction to the same feeling, and Nicolo can hear his heartbeat speed up.
As he rides out the wave of sensory overload, Nicolo realizes he’s aware not just of everything in the room, but of what’s taking place in the heavens above. The chamber they’re in is closed to the sky, but Nicolo knows, with unquestionable certainty, exactly how close the sun and moon have drawn together above them, how soon they’ll meet. He takes a shaky step toward Yusuf, needing with a force that’s bigger than his body to be that close to him.
Yusuf catches him by the arms and holds him steady, the touch of his hands burning even through the heavy fabric of Nicolo’s robe. “You feel it, too,” he says in a low voice. “How close they are.”
“And how badly they want to come together,” Nicolo says, grabbing at the brocaded front of Yusuf’s robe. “How they’ve yearned for each other. Yusuf, please—“
Clever fingers work the fastenings of his outer robe, and Nicolo does the same with Yusuf’s. Heavy, bejeweled fabric falls to the ground with a muffled thump and they both step free of it, now clad only in their thin inner robes. Nicolo takes Yusuf’s hands, lacing their fingers together as they stand chest to chest, eyes locked until Yusuf closes his as he leans in.
Their lips meet at the very instant Mother Moon and Father Sun come together in the heavens above. Nicolo grips Yusuf’s hands and leans into the kiss as the moon starts her journey between sun and earth, dimming the sun’s brilliance as, just for a while, she keeps all his light for herself.
Yusuf frees his hands and brings them up to frame Nicolo’s face, tilting his head for better access as his tongue grazes Nicolo’s lower lip. He touches him gently and carefully, not as though he’s afraid of hurting him, but as if Nicolo is too precious a thing for him to do otherwise. Nicolo feels that same urge toward gentleness and care as his hands curve around Yusuf’s waist, feeling the heat of his body through thin silk. It guides them both as they shed their last layer of clothing, as they kneel on the bed facing each other with barely a pause in kissing.
The ritual states they should wait to become one until the eclipse reaches its totality, and with the heightened awareness granted to them they’ll know when the moment comes. For now, they explore each other’s bodies slowly, reverently.
Yusuf buries his face in the curve of Nicolo’s neck, making him gasp and squirm at the tickle of beard and then gasp again as Yusuf lavishes kisses on that spot. Nicolo trails his hands up Yusuf’s arms and across his shoulders, feeling the play of muscle under his skin, then makes Yusuf arch and hiss as he runs his nails lightly down his back. They both shake and cry out when their bare cocks rub against each other, hard and flushed, standing up against their stomachs.
As the time draws near, Yusuf urges Nicolo onto his back and settles over him, his knee gently nudging Nicolo’s thighs apart. He strokes Nicolo’s cheek with the backs of his fingers, looking down at him in wonder.
“You’re so beautiful,” Yusuf whispers, making him blush. “I tried not to wonder too much what my partner in this would be like, and I would have accepted whoever the gods chose. But you—“ His thumb skims over Nicolo’s cheekbone, traces the shape of his mouth. “You’re beyond anything I could have dreamed.”
Nicolo reaches up to grasp Yusuf’s hand, pressing it to his lips. “I feel the same,” he murmurs. “When I saw your face...I’d never have dared to imagine they’d bless me with someone so lovely.”
Yusuf kisses him, deep and lingering, then sits up and reaches for the oil.
Nicolo knows from his studies what to expect here, but still gasps and tenses when Yusuf brings oil-slick fingers to his entrance. Yusuf pauses and gives him a concerned look—this is their sacred duty, the reason they’re here, the culmination of years of faith and seclusion and chastity, all leading to this, but still he pauses, and Nicolo’s heart swells with gratitude and affection.
“I’m all right,” he says, looking into Yusuf’s eyes to try and convey his sincerity. “I’m ready for it. Just...gently?”
Yusuf nods. “I won’t hurt you, Nicolo,” he promises. His fingertips are rubbing in slow, easy circles now, not pressing in yet. “I’ll do everything I can to make it good for you, I swear.”
Nicolo gives him a quick, tremulous smile, and then his head falls back on the pillows as Yusuf starts to push in, gently coaxing Nicolo’s body to open up for him. It doesn’t hurt—Yusuf keeps his promise, careful with his touch and liberal with the oil—but it’s so much, feeling Yusuf inside him, even just his fingers, touching him as no one ever has before.
Time feels strange here, measured not by seconds or minutes but only by the progress of the eclipse, this uncannily precise knowledge of the sun and moon’s movements. It seems both moments and an eternity later that Yusuf has three fingers in him, moving in a slick, easy glide as Nicolo cries his pleasure to the heavens.
When Yusuf’s hand leaves him he whimpers, bereft, but then Yusuf grips Nicolo’s legs to spread them further and kneels between them. Nicolo hooks his legs around Yusuf’s hips and grabs onto his shoulders, breath coming fast in anticipation as the blunt head of Yusuf’s cock nudges his entrance—and then they both hold still, trembling with the effort, because the eclipse isn’t total yet, the sun and moon are still coming together, just a little more—
—And then it happens, sun and moon slotting into perfect alignment, Mother and Father embracing for the first time in age, and Nicolo grips Yusuf’s shoulders and babbles, “Now, Yusuf, now, do it, give it to me—“ and Yusuf does, sliding home in one swift stroke.
Nicolo arches off the bed, nails digging into Yusuf’s skin as Yusuf rocks into him. His cock fills Nicolo perfectly, like they’d been made to fit together this way, and when he pushes in hard Nicolo feels it everywhere, from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. He thinks he actually screams, though it’s hard to hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears.
Still rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, Yusuf bends to kiss him, and Nicolo wraps his arms around his neck and holds him close. Yusuf brings one hand up to Nicolo’s face, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, cupping his cheek as they kiss. His other hand wraps around Nicolo’s cock, achingly hard and leaking at the tip.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispers against Nicolo’s mouth, hand moving fast on his cock. “Let me feel you.”
Nicolo’s whole body seizes up for a moment as he comes, streaking Yusuf’s hand and both their bellies with white. Yusuf strokes him through it, murmuring “That’s it, that’s good, you feel so good, Nicolo—“
He’s still fucking into him at the same steady pace, and Nicolo’s breath hitches on a sob as the sensitivity he feels in the wake of his climax starts to border on pain, but he grips Yusuf tight and doesn’t ask him to slow or stop. He’s not sure they could stop at this point—they’re both still in the grip of something bigger than themselves and they need to finish, Yusuf needs to—
“Come on,” he whispers, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Yusuf’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. “I have you, dear one. Let go.”
Yusuf moans, hips working frantically as he spills his seed deep inside Nicolo, filling him to the brim.
They collapse back onto the bed together, Yusuf half on top of Nicolo, going soft inside him. Nicolo buries his nose in thick, soft curls as Yusuf pants against his neck, and high above the moon and sun start to slide apart, their brief reunion coming to an end.
“Thank you,” Nicolo says softly. To Yusuf, and to the gods themselves, for choosing him for this most sacred duty and this kind, beautiful man to perform it with him.
Re: Fill: Nicky/Joe, AU, ritualistic sex, religion
(Anonymous) 2020-10-09 03:16 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Nicky/Joe, AU, ritualistic sex, religion
(Anonymous) 2020-10-09 09:07 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Nicky/Joe, AU, ritualistic sex, religion
(Anonymous) 2020-10-09 02:59 pm (UTC)(link)I think I’ve read it five times already.
Re: Fill: Nicky/Joe, AU, ritualistic sex, religion
(Anonymous) 2020-10-10 09:59 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Nicky/Joe, AU, ritualistic sex, religion
(Anonymous) 2020-10-13 02:07 am (UTC)(link)