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dorian gray

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{from here.}

Sinric laughs sweetly as he and Dorian dance towards the stairs. He mounts the first step, now level with Dorian. He smiles warmly and kisses the corner of Dorian's lips, the sort of kiss that both begs and promises.

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"And now, receive my body," Dorian murmurs, replacing his finger with his stiff, oil-smoothed prick.

The way is smooth and easy, and Sinric cries out in joy. Sated from Dorian's easier ministrations but still highly sensitive, his eyes roll as he gives himself over to the feeling.

Chanting softly, Dorian starts thrusting.

Sinric picks up the words of the chant and answers them in Greek. He returns his hands to the base of the great candle sticks, spread open and sacrificed.

Even though Sinric has spent once alrady, Dorian cannot resist aiming for the seat of his pleasure; he wants the sacrifice to be worth it.

Sinric jerks, his voice breaking with jolts of pleasure, sharp as spear-points in their thrusts.

Thrusting true and steady, Dorian runs his hands over Sinric's body in worship, touching nipples, throat, lips...

Sinric wraps his lean legs around Dorian's waist, holding himself in place as each thrust fills his world with light and pleasure.

He arches into the touch, his large nipples hardening.

Dorian strokes and rubs and teases with his fingers as he keeps thrusting.

His Greek dances with the rhythm of the chant, breathless and moaning. He clenches, feeling pleasure grow in him. "Dorian! Ágios skoúro apoláfseis!"

Dorian smiles, and keeps on doing it.

"My dark saint." He chants in Greek, arcane and beautiful, "My saint of forbidden joys. Of pleasures whispered. Fill me with your mysteries. Let me worship at the altar of your light." His voice breaks in a moan of sheer pleasure.

Dorian is humming Hallelujahs, from several composers at once, stretching from Handel to Leonard Cohen.

Sinric arches up to run his hands over Dorian's back, pulling him tight and close. "Yes! Oh yes!"

"In your hands," Dorian murmurs, "I commend my body!"

And he thrusts home strongly a few more times, aiming for their peak.

Sinric feels it, feels his body answer and part of him fears as another part rejoices that he might peak again. But it is not to be, not tonight. Which in no way diminished the pleasure he feels with every thrust, with every heretical and joyous moan.

Finally, Dorian can't help himself any more, and spills into Sinric, copiously, in wordless rapture.

Sinric sings out, a high clear note of joy and falls back, sprawling over the altar.

"Amen." He whispers, his voice sweet with laugher.

With a deep sigh, Dorian sinks over Sinric, softly kissing his his lips.

Sinric returns the kiss, caressing Dorian cheek. "If I believed in damnation I would be worried but nothing that feels so right should be a sin."

"It was right to do it this way," Dorian says. "You hate priests anyway, and this entire tryst was sticking a finger in their self-righteous faces."

Sinric smiles playfully and steals a slow, passion-warm kiss. "In truth, they weren't in my thoughts. Only you and how wonderful it felt."

"I am glad to hear it," Dorian says. "But just imagine -- the face that priest would make if he knew of the way we blessed his altar!"

Sinric giggles, hiding his face in Dorian's shoulder. "Oh dear! Perhaps we should dress and sneak away before he suspects."

"Just imagine him having almost an apoplexy on the spot!" Dorian giggles. "I almost hope he does."