Chapter Twenty-Four
Illias
“Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee.”
After taking a quick shower to cool down and clean up, Illias went to the living room, fully prepared to find it empty since previous partners rarely stayed when asked.
Surprised to see the priest still there, Illias froze at the end of the hallway.
Cantrell stood in front of the TV stand crammed with CDs, board and card games, and a few photos.
He picked up one frame in particular that made Illias’ chest ache.
A popsicle frame that was covered in faded marker doodles that held a photograph of his mom, Henry, and himself when he was just a kid.
The first Mother’s Day gift that he made by himself at Sunday school.
Times were simpler back then. Henry wasn’t home as much. Wasn’t angry all the time.
Illias ignored that budding lump in his throat and said, “I was a cute kid, wasn’t I?”
Cantrell jumped, making Illias smile a little. Cantrell sat the photo back on the shelf before turning towards Illias. A soft blush coated Cantrell’s face as his eyes dropped to Illias’ bare chest. “See something you like?” Illias winked then went to the kitchen.
“That teasing of yours sure is persistent,” Cantrell responded dryly.
Illias snorted then glanced over his shoulder. “Takes more than one spanking to get me in line, I’m afraid.”
“So I’m learning.”.
Illias returned to the living room with his own cup of water and went over to the couch.
He slowly lowered himself down, overexaggerating his wince once his bottom made contact with the cushion.
Cantrell hovered by the TV stand for a moment, fixing his gaze on the posters that decorated the back wall.
A silence fell between them, stiff and awkward after what had happened not even ten minutes prior.
Illias shifted on the couch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it only served to agitate his bruised ass.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, the pain no longer fun but uncomfortable.
Cantrell’s gaze examined him for a long moment, then he sat at the other end of the couch and patted his thigh. “Lie down.”
Illias hesitated, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, then lay down on his side with his head on Cantrell’s lap.
Cantrell rested his hand on Illias’ head and slowly massaged his scalp.
Tension eased from his muscles, and he sunk further into the feeling, eyes drifting closed.
Basking in the moment, Illias allowed himself the simple fantasy of being held and petted like this every day.
As improbable as it was with Cantrell’s vows and commitments, Illias pretended that there was a slim possibility that this could happen again. And again. And again.
“Tell me about yourself,” Illias mumbled, post-scene exhaustion slurring his words.
Cantrell hummed softly while he worked his fingers carefully Illias’ curls. “What do you want to know?”
“What do you feel like sharing?”
“I grew up in the upper east side of the city, about two, two and a half hours from Dunwich. My childhood was…” Cantrell’s hand stilled briefly. “Uneventful.”
Sensing Cantrell’s hesitation, Illias shifted onto his back so that he could look up at him.
“What did you do before becoming a priest?” He nuzzled into Cantrell’s stomach, not caring about how overly affectionate the action was.
Cantrell didn’t seem to mind either, since he didn’t push Illias away or scold him.
In fact, there was softness in Cantrell’s eyes when he looked down at him.
An unfamiliar feeling filled Illias’ chest, and he quickly thought of something to say to distract himself.
“Because you’ve clearly spanked someone before. ”
“I spent most of my younger years in bed with anyone and everyone that would have me. I never stayed anywhere for too long. I was always searching for something more.”
“I guess I’m sort of the same way. When I left Dunwich, I didn’t really have a plan other than to get out.
I bounced from shelter to shelter for a while until I got my feet.
But even then, I never slept in my own bed.
It felt so empty. I couldn’t stand it. But since I’ve moved back, it’s been different. ”
“How so?” Cantrell untangled his fingers from Illias’ hair then gently trailed them up and down his arm instead.
Because of you. “I don’t know,” Illias lied, unsure if his infatuation with Cantrell would continue after this or if it would fizzle out as it often did once he obtained the unobtainable. “But I’m glad it did. I think I’m getting a little old for the whole playboy shtick anyways.”
“You’re what, twenty-five? Twenty-six at most?”
“You had it right the first time. My turn.” He reached up and grabbed Cantrell’s chin, holding him in place while pretending to analyze his features. “I’m going with forty-one.”
“If only. Add nine years. I did say I was old enough to be your father.”
“Guess it’s a good thing I already call you Father then.”
Cantrell shook his head but made little effort to conceal the smile that spread across his lips. “Impossible little thing, aren’t you?”
“Maybe, but”—Illias took Cantrell’s hand and brought it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the knuckles— “you enjoy it.”
“A little too much, I’m afraid.” Cantrell licked his lips as his eyes flickered to Illias’ mouth then back up.
Illias sat up, grimacing at the pain. “Are you comfortable doing this? Honestly?”
“It…does make me nervous, admittedly. But I don’t want to stop, if that’s what you're asking. I just—” Cantrell sighed and touched his chest. Illias assumed he was wearing his rosary beneath his clerical shirt.
“I need to know that you’ll stop me if I go too far.
In the past, I’ve gone too far with partners, and many of them were hurt because I was selfish. ”
“Of course. I know my limits; I’ve done this kind of thing before. Maybe not exactly like this, but close enough.”
A yawn caught Illias by surprise, and he looked into the kitchen to see if he could make out the time on the stove clock. Even squinting, he couldn’t make out the numbers clear enough, but he knew it had to be late.
“I think it’s time for us to call it a night,” Cantrell said.
“Probably for the best. I’ll show you to the door.”
Though it was only a few steps from the couch to the door, it still gave him a few more seconds with Cantrell. A few more seconds to build up the courage to ask what he had been thinking about since their scene ended.
“When can we do this again?”
Cantrell smiled, reaching towards Illias and tucking a strand of damp hair behind his ear. “I’ll let you know.”
Illias whispered a nearly inaudible okay, knowing it was best to leave it at that or risk coming off as clingy.
He opened the door for Cantrell, who lingered in the door frame with one foot in, one foot out, adjusting his glasses while looking at the floor.
“Have a good night,” he said at last before leaving.
Illias stood by the door until Cantrell’s car was nothing more than red dots of light in the distance.
As Illias locked the deadbolt of the door, he caught a glimpse of his wrist tattoo, an homage to the first boy that he ever kissed.
They were probably sixteen or seventeen years old, and one of the gym teachers had caught them beneath the bleachers.
Illias remembered begging her not to tell their parents, promising it would never happen again.
She lectured them both about what the Bible said, about what eternity awaited him if he continued down that path.
Illias ran his thumb over the tattoo, feeling the barely raised ridges of the letters.
I’d trade eternity if it meant I could have him.
Illias stilled, eyes widening. Fuck me.