Page 41 of Gay for Pray
Fireworks explode inside my head as I struggle to process words I couldn’t have fathomed a day ago, yet my body responds on pure instinct. I pull the toy out as slowly as I inserted it, then press it back inside, surprised to find it a little easier this time. Jude hugs me against him, nails digging into my back as he clings to me and moans. The next time I move the toy, he moves his hips with me, pushing himself down the toy as I press it athim. His breaths puff against my shoulder, then he lowers his head and sinks his teeth into me, his groan muffled by my skin.
I move faster, the toy sliding in and out of him more easily than I thought it could, but I’ve barely gotten a rhythm going before Jude reaches back and grabs me by the wrist to halt me.
“Enough,” he pants. “I need the real thing.”
My brain trips over those words, churning them over and over but coming up with nothing. Because there is no way the son of a deacon, a boy destined for the priesthood since his first breath, is about to dothat.
At Jude’s urging, I ease the toy out of him. My aching knees get a break when he shoves me roughly onto my back, wasting no time getting me ready and slick. In what feels like a mere blink, he’s climbing over me, wielding my cock the way he wielded that toy.
And maybe that’s really all it is to him. Maybe it’s that simple. He isn’t weighed down with the guilt and responsibility and spiritual hangups I’m carrying. Maybe for Jude this is just fun, and I’m just a useful implement.
That shouldn’t hurt, not after the way I’ve distanced myself from him in public, but cruelly, unfairly, it does.
“Fuck, you’re bigger than that toy,” Jude groans, drawing me back into the moment.
I realize with a jolt that the head of my cock is pressing against his hole, about to go inside him. I have no idea what to expect, much less what to do, so I lie there while Jude positions my cock how he wants it and sits down on top of me.
There’s a moment of intense pressure, then I’m sliding into him, enveloped by a tight heat that grasps not just my cock but also my brain.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,my mind screams, expelling more expletives than I’ve uttered in the past nineteen years. There aren’t enough confessional booths in the world for this,either the cursing on repeat inside my head or the physical act unfolding around and atop me.
More and more keeps coming, Jude’s moan lost amid mine as his body clenches around me. Every time I think he must have reached his limit, he keeps going, until I’m trembling and squeezing my eyes shut.
He pants when he sits all the way down me, taking me so deep I can’t fathom how he’s managing it. Stars pop behind my eyes, and Jude’s nails bite into my chest as he braces on my pecs.
“Hey,” he says, even breathier than before, “open your eyes, Theo. I want to see you.”
I obey without a thought, meeting his bright blue gaze. It makes my hips want to jerk, but I still myself with an effort and slide my hands up his straining thighs to his hips.
“That’s it,” he says, panting and broken. “Don’t look away.”
He gazes directly into my eyes as he starts moving his hips. I struggle to hold that look, struggle not to close my eyes as he works himself up and down my cock, but something inside me can’t refuse him.
As he builds a rhythm, I find myself moving with him, my hips rolling to match him, my breaths gusting out to mingle with his in the hot cloud building between our bodies. He claws my chest, but the prickle is as sweet as the tight heat of his body gripping my cock, and I welcome all of it like a swimmer letting a wave wash over them. The tide of Jude’s body drags me with it, pulling me deeper and deeper with every roll of his hips.
He rides me in earnest, his body loose, my body obeying his, sweat and heat and moans building up between us. Unlike when we’re at choir practice, I can’t tell the difference between his voice and mine, both of us singing in the same ragged range.
“Touch my cock,” he rasps.
I grab him, and for a second he closes his eyes so he can throw his head back and moan. His body clenches somehow tighteraround me when I stroke him, but I never disobey his order to look at him, watching his face as pleasure twists through it. It’s like the light that pours in through the stained glass windows of the church, illuminating a scene of religious rapture, of purest ecstasy.
And then the glass breaks.
I can’t keep looking at him, though the image of him bowing his back and moaning and riding my cock sticks to the back of my eyelids as they slam shut and my whole body goes rigid. I jam my hips up, and Jude shouts at his ceiling, likely alerting three floors worth of sophomores to the worshipful mania unfolding in this room. His body holds me tight, and mine breaks, shatters utterly and completely. I disintegrate into a million shining shards and a pleasure I was never supposed to know pours out of me in wave after battering wave.
Jude claws at my chest and moans all the while. His hot spend splatters over my chest and strikes my chin. He jerks himself up and down me a few more times, and then he begins to slow, and I wither down onto the bed, my limbs utterly flaccid and cock already softening inside him.
I lie there panting, eyes creaking softly open. I quiver faintly from the furious storm that just rushed through me, but I can’t so much as twitch a finger anymore. I’m spent down to the pit of my soul, wrung out like a wet towel until not a drop remains. And honestly, I could stay this way forever. All the things I’m supposed to be, all the expectations I’ve carried for my entire life—it all seems so distant, so absurd, as my body thrums with satiation and Jude withers atop me to lie on my chest.
He shifts to get my softening cock out of him, but even that doesn’t inspire either of us to move quite yet. We’ll deal with the necessary eventually, but right now, we need our chests pressing together as we catch our breath, our sweaty skin cooling except where it touches, our hearts tapping as though trying to reacheach other.
“Fuck,” Jude breathes, and even though it’s a curse word, it’s so full of joy that it sounds almost like a prayer.
He drags himself off me, and I follow awkwardly so we can take care of the things demanding our attention. The moment we can, we go right back to his bed, falling into the position we recently abandoned with me stretched out on my back and Jude nestled atop my chest. I drag my fingers idly through his hair, savoring the softness of the strands after the desperate flurry of what we just did. I’m not sure I quite believe it was really me in this room. It’s tough matching that guy with the one who will spend the rest of his weekend either studying or at Mass, but somehow I have to be both people, at least for now. Even I know that tension can’t last, that it’ll break before long, that I’m setting myself up for a fall, but I can’t seem to get myself to stop no matter how wrong this is.
“I like this,” Jude says softly atop me. His fingers are wandering along my torso, sending tickling shivers through my exhausted body.
“I do too,” I admit.
