Alfonse stood within the sanctuary of the grand cathedral of the kingdom of Askr. The nave was filled to the brim varying people of ranging standings and relations. Every pew sat a body and, for those that could not find the room to sit, stood shoulder to shoulder to receive the renewal of rites from the Grand Summoner of Askr, Kiran.
Their God stood at the main altar several feet away from Alfonse. Flowers littered the marble steps as offering from each village and allied kingdom to their God to bring a bountiful new year and a gentle winter.
He could spot his own offering in those steps. More beautiful than all the rest.
Behind the grandiose ash altar, God stood to bequeath the rites of today’s ceremony. It stood heavily clothed with large furs and beautiful jewels carved with sacred runes, carefully accented to draw attention to the Divinity scarred into flesh. And this Divinity was shouldered heavily upon them as Kiran spoke in ancient tongue. Perfected in the night hidden away in the library, he and they would whisper it between each other to practice.
But he wanted to pray beneath the cloth.
The rites today would restrengthen the bonds between royalty and God, and then usher in days of festivities for the Winter Solstice.
Though the sun would soon set, the current ceremony was timed so that it was raised directly behind the stained-glass window of the main altar. Colorful patterns glistened down over the sanctuary in a brilliance of light that carved over the Summoner’s frame. White robes would be painted with thousands of colors that seem to twist and turn with each gesture and word, and Kiran’s very voice would seemingly command the bathed light over themselves as it pulsed with every movement. Bleeding the Divine light into the Mortal flesh.
Its appearance was intoxicating as all gazed at God. But, for Alfonse, he was faced away from the Summoner.
This was only so because the rites called for him to face the people. As royalty, it was out of respect and duty to the people. Besides, he was one of the few to see Kiran every day adorned in their Godly regalia and without. What was one day to not stare at them?
That was what he told himself. But jealousy clutched his chest as he stared at the people whose eyes were trained upon God. Affection and glory matched their stares as it saw what Alfonse could not. That thought lingered within him, and he tried not to have it show on his face as a glare or the other particular look that was often etched on his face when something bothered him. He thinned his lips and bit the inside of his cheeks as he tempered the smoldering emotions within him. Then the guilt that grasped his mind.
It is not becoming of me to feel this way.
Carefully, he let out a slow breath as to not disturb his sister and mother who stood beside him. Yet, even Sharena gave him a passing glance and raised brow. Her lips pressed together as she gazed strangely upon her brother. As if to ask what was wrong.
Gaze was kept straight ahead as his eyes flickered towards Sharena. A wordless conversation took place. With him chastising her that she would bother taking her gaze away from the people, and with her giving the hint of rolling her eyes as her gaze retrained on the people.
The prince was left with his thoughts once more. Contemplating what Kiran’s appearance looked upon those gilded steps, bathed in holy light.
“Let us rebind our oaths.” Kiran spoke the conclusion of the rites.
They stepped down from the altar with a horn filled with mead. It was difficult not to turn his gaze towards Kiran as they stepped towards Henriette. Kiran offered her the drinking horn. His mother took a sip, then Kiran did as well. They turned, walked a few more steps, stood in front of Sharena, and the same was repeated with her.
He kept his gaze forward. Tried not to stare at them.
It stepped lightly towards him. And when Kiran came into full view, he stood there stunned.
All of Kiran’s glory was set in front of him.
Their beautiful framed face. Their slightly parted lips wet with mead. Their hands delicate as it offered them the drinking horn to Alfonse. The beautifully dressed markings that etched over their skin. The clothing that draped itself so finely over their supple body. This was everything that Alfonse had envisioned of his God and more as he gazed transfixed upon the holy form. Its curves. Its grace. Its beauty. Its lips. Tongue. Teeth. And…
Fingers trembled as he reached to take the drinking horn from their hands. Both their fingers brushed against each other and it was difficult to hide the blush that drew over his cheeks as he dared touch in the Divine hand. He kept staring at their lips that were wet with mead. Kept staring at how beautiful they glistened and how the markings over their face beguiled him. And its stare made his heart pound harder as he turned the horn in his hand to drink from it.
He was sure to drink from the very same spot that Kiran’s lips had touched.
He nearly forgot to swallow the mead as he handed back the drinking horn to Kiran. The tang of alcohol touched him as he tried not to watch Kiran retreat back to the altar. Alfonse felt intoxicated with the Divine as he tried to retrain his gaze back to the people who could only follow in the footsteps of God, sparing not an ounce of judgement on his trembling form.
At once, everyone’s head lowered and closed their eyes.
Alfonse did the same. He bowed his head low as he silently uttered the prayers that were normal of the ceremony. But even as he stood with eyes closed, the flames of curiosity were stoked once more. Eyes were barely opened as he kept his face to the floor, but, like a curious child, he raised his head upward to look over his shoulder to stare at Kiran.
Bathed in stained-glass colors. Their arms stretched upward. Calling down the Divinity of Askr itself. Bathing it amongst everyone else, as if to enshrine everyone in it.
It was not the Divinity that took Alfonse’s breath away.
No. It was Kiran’s beautiful form standing in the holy light that made his chest tighten and eyes wide.
And it stared at him.
Kiran’s gaze was deep and frightful as God gazed directly upon him.
He quietly gasped in embarrassment and turned away to bow his head and shutter his eyes as he was caught in a lowly mistake. But the warmth in his body grew as his heart tightened in emotions he could not understand.
And there was a different feeling someplace else. One he was loathed to give consideration to.
The assembly went without much issue or further fanfare. But Alfonse’s mind kept stunned as his thoughts kept trailing back to Kiran’s mead wet lips and supple body.
Alfonse shut the door to his chambers and pressed a hand against his forehead. The festivities of the night had drawn itself to a close and he felt dizzy with all the mead and food that sat in his belly. It was not often that he indulged in alcohol, but it would have been antithesis of the day to not let himself drink himself drunk.
He staggered over to a chair in his room and let his head hang over the backrest as he practically threw himself down onto it. Warmth began to spread over his body as his skin tingled in the joy of alcohol. He kicked off his shoes, although unprincely of him, he could hardly swing his head forwards and over to properly pull them off. Should he, he feared he would stagger and fall over.
“Ugh…” Alfonse grumbled. A hand lifted to his forehead once more. “Gods… I think I had too much…” He rubbed the palm of his hand against his head as if it would squish the slow thumping. Carefully, the prince sat upright and leaned over his legs, propping his arms on his knees and stared down towards the floor as he held his head in his hands. The flicker of the fire that gently lit his room bent the shape of his shadow in strange ways that did nothing to help the intensity of the alcohol. But he kept his stare.
It reminded him of the way the colors of the stained-glass window bathed Kiran earlier in the day.
In this memory, he envisioned his God as it stood at the center of the cathedral. Their arms lifted upwards towards the ceiling to call down the Divinity upon all people present. The way the sun seemed to encapsulate their frame even from beneath the heavy robes. He could not deny how beautiful they looked in that moment. He was sure that Kiran was told how stunning it looked that day during the feast. And he could not help but let a smile cross his face at the memory.
But there was another thought.
A new thought.
Of how it would look without the robes and dressed in their normal Order of Heroes attire. How the stained-glass would color the normal summoning robes they would wear. How it would look with their robes shrugged off. With their bare skin glistening in the light. Bringing their face close to his and—
Alfonse suddenly gasped and sat straight up.
“No. No. What are you thinking!?” His heart was pounding. His body was tense and began to feel hot and strange.
He formed a fist with his hand and pushed it against his head, as though to dispel those thoughts.
“You are drunk,” he spoke to no one but himself.
Somehow, he willed himself to stand finding it a better option to put himself into bed before anymore of those thoughts clouded his judgement. With a new sense of urgency, he began to disrobe himself. He tossed his shirt to the side and kicked his pants off in preparation for bed as he carefully meandered towards the wash basin in his room. It was cold, but it sobered himself up slightly as he splashed it onto his face. In the corner of his eye, he spotted himself in the vanity. He looked a mess from the festivities and most definitely smelled of alcohol. His hair was mildly tussled from all the dancing and sharing of poetry within the feasting hall. Funnily, it looked as if he had been through a war.
The water dripped down his face and over his bare chest as he stared at himself in the mirror. Kiran’s wet lips came back to his mind. And he wondered how the Divine would look with their tongue jutting out and licking the wet mead from his lips. Licking the water from his chest. The wetness of their tongue on his—
Alfonse took a sudden deep breath in as he felt a tightness in his undergarments.
He turned around from the washbasin and bit his lip. He didn’t need to look as there was a sudden need that was growing between his legs. But, against his better judgement, his gaze took to the building tent in undergarments. A blush of embarrassment and shame glazed his cheeks as he leaned against the basin and let out a breath.
But in his stare was a temptation. His fingertips slipped into his undergarments. Barely touching his throbbing—
“I mustn’t!” Alfonse clamped his eyes shut as he quickly withdrew his hand.
There was no shame in the action itself. He had pleasured himself on multiple occasions before. As much as others would tease him otherwise, Alfonse was far from a prude. But this was different. This was brought upon because of the Divine Summoner, Kiran. The epicenter of Askr’s religion. His trusted friend and companion. The Order of Heroes’ tactician! It would be inappropriate to fill his mind with such foul ideas as he touched himself.
And yet, even with that reasoning, he couldn’t help but envision Kiran pressing their naked body against his clothed body. Bathed in the stained-glass light on top of the altar. Their needy touch grasping his body as it rubbed itself onto him.
In what ways would the holy light spread across their forms as they pressed themselves against each other? In what ways would Kiran’s holy touch trace down his body? In what ways would Kiran give Divinity unto Alfonse as they did everyone else? Would it share this occasion with others? Would it hide him away in the darkest corners of the cathedral?
One thing was for certain…
Alfonse wanted Kiran to drink from him as they did the horn of mead.
A gasp came from the prince as he suddenly found that his hand had worked its way down his undergarments. A thumb had been idly circling the head of his cock as his mind had been preoccupied with these fantasies.
He wanted to pry his hand away and chastise himself for allowing himself to be overcome by such base desires for his friend. But even as he told himself that this was wrong, he could not stop his hand from edging his undergarments down his leg and completely freeing the length of his erection. Some precum had even began to form at the tip. Even if Alfonse was frustrated with himself for how easily he had succumbed to these thoughts, he could not help but allow himself the pleasure of grasping his erection and sliding his hand down the length of his shaft ones or twice.
“Ah…” Alfonse let out a breathy moan as he relaxed. The better part of him thought to dip himself into an icy bath to sober his mind and to rid of himself of these desires, but the pleasure already building at his groin was beginning to drive him to an insanity. Luckily, the alcohol had jostled his moral compass enough that he wasn’t feeling as bad as he should have.
He kicked away his undergarments and walked over to his nightstand and pulled from a drawer a flask of oil. Without much effort, he lubricated his hand and laid back into the comfort of his bed as he usually would when deciding to touch himself. A sigh of pleasure rolled over his lips as he closed his eyes and eased into the motions of sliding his hand up and down over himself.
For the moment, his mind was empty as he focused on unwinding after a long day. But those sinister thoughts return before long and began to take shape in his mind he drew his hand up and over his erection.
His thoughts wandered to Kiran’s lips again. The mead wet lips. How they would move as it spoke the rites of the festival. And it led to other thoughts of them biting the nape of his neck, trailing their tongue down to his chest and lower stomach. Slowly tonguing the head of his cock as it would lick the precum from him. Slowly taking in his erection into their mouth and humming prayers into him as they took his Mortal body for its own.
How far could it go down? Would they allow him to buck his hips into their mouth? Would they allow for him to wet their lips with his precum? He wanted to feel how Kiran would drink him in like that mead. How it would feel for him to be the cup and to quench Kiran’s thirst.
“Ngh!” Alfonse moaned. What was once subtle now was no longer. And Alfonse shivered at the thought of Kiran trailing their tongue up and down his shaft taking in his Mortal flesh.
He had to pause himself as he stroked. Not because he was ashamed of the thoughts, but because those thoughts were already driving him to a quick climax. His body ached to receive these blessings, so much so, that he was already made a mess after hardly touching himself. The tension that grew in his stomach quickly receded, and he continued again as he attempted to push those thoughts out of his mind.
But even he could not keep them away as he wondered what other gifts of Divinity that Kiran would give to him.
He could only imagine as Kiran would prod their tongue into his mouth, grinding against Alfonse’s cock as it shared in the voice of God.
What would Divinity taste like? Would it be sour? Sweet?
He felt so close to Kiran when he took a sip of that same cup of mead. As if that were a kiss. A shared oath. A shared dream. He was desperate to taste Kiran’s mouth. To lick the mead from their lips. To see how a Divine touch would make the mead taste. How would he taste on their tongue after finishing taking in the length of his cock? He wanted to taste himself on their lips. To feel how he would change from the glory of their mouth.
He could only imagine how beautiful Kiran’s body would be. How delectable their nipples were to suck and lick and tease.
“A-Ah—” Alfonse gasped as he squeezed down on his cock. His pace quickening.
Perhaps he could put himself inside of God.
There was the more holy place besides its mouth. A place between their legs. Where he would spread Kiran’s legs apart and slowly insert himself into. Pushing his hips deep inside Kiran. Mixing his Mortal form with the Divine. Feeling every piece of Kiran wrap around himself and digging deeper and deeper into. Stealing that piece of Divinity away from Kiran for himself to take.
It should be his.
Alfonse’s hips buckled into his hand as he thought of how wonderful Kiran’s insides were. His hand gave pause once more as his hips relaxed back onto the bed. Already, he was so close. But even as he tried to relax, those thoughts continued unabated as he imagined how delectable God would feel around his cock. Pressing so deep into the Divine. Hearing their moans below him. Their nails digging deep into him. Leaving marks alongside his scars of war. Uncontrollable thoughts swarmed his mind as he thought of placing his seed deep inside Kiran. How it would look laid in bed in their Divine form with its body dripping in Alfonse’s own mortality. How it would stare up to him as its God wrapped in his Divinity.
“Hah!” Alfonse let out another moan. He began to touch himself again. His pace was quickened. His grasp hard as he dragged his hand up and down over his erection. The pace moved with his imagination of his hips swaying into Kiran’s.
Would Kiran ride him? Would it push him onto the bed hungry for him as he was for his God? Did it think the same when he stared at them when drinking from the same cup? He hoped it was so. He hoped that Kiran laid in their own bed tonight pleasuring themselves to Alfonse as he did to them. He needed them tonight. He needed their Divinity. Their pleasure. Everything.
“Kiran…!” he spoke its name as prayer. Called out to it as a peasant would call upon God for savior.
A shiver ran up his body as pleasure warmly soaked into his skin. Another gasp left his lips as the tension in his body let itself go and he felt his soul unravel itself to Kiran. Cum dripped down from his cock, over his hands, down his shaft, and onto his stomach.
There was a slow exhale as he relaxed completely into the bed. Pleasure rolled over his body and hips as his mind became suddenly absent of any thought. He couldn’t believe how amazing that felt. Intoxication of alcohol turned into intoxication from his moment. He was dizzy and swimming in his own throes. A pleasant grin etched over his features as he allowed himself the moment of ecstasy.
Alfonse lifted his head from the bed and stared down at the mess. Noted how the cum had spread over his stomach and over his hands. It was… surprisingly a lot for how quickly he had cum on himself. He let go of his cock and laid the hand over his stomach, allowing himself to appreciate the pleasure as it continued over his body and tried to ignore the embarrassment of how quickly he had received it.
Then the grin was wiped harshly from his face as clarity began to set into his mind.
Horrific guilt etched over Alfonse as it became clear what he had done.
“Oh… Oh, Gods…”
He was horrified.
These desires were almost heretical. The pleasure quickly faded as he laid paralyzed on his bed. His eyes kept to the ceiling as fear gripped his chest.
“What have I done!?” He raised his clean hand up to his face to cover his shame.
A new side had been carved open for himself. A side that he loathed to admit he even had the capacity for. He had desires, of course, but he always ensured that such desires would never get in the way of his personal attachments. But for him to have such desires for someone so pivotal to his religion was sinful, made even worse by the fact that this was not just God, this was his friend. A friend who now sat in his mind as someone who he had touched himself to. And thoroughly enjoyed it.
His jaw became tight at the thought of letting this secret die with him. There was no one he could confess this to. No one he could share this dark secret with. No one that could help the burden he now carried.
Ah… But… He could always confess this to Kiran. God would forgive him. Then, maybe, reward him by inviting him into their room and—
“Enough!” Alfonse shouted much louder than he intended.
He suddenly stood and rushed to his wash basin as he took deep heavy breaths to calm his nerves.
“Enough…” he whispered. “I’ll have no more of these blasphemous thoughts. The secret will die with me.”
As well as the many other secrets where he would lay his hand upon himself with such desires from thereafter.
Because he was Kiran’s most devout acolyte and the worship to the flesh was just as important as that of the soul.