Chapter 2 The Exorcism #2
“There we go,” August purred.He turned fully in his seat, stopping briefly to switch hands—sometimes being ambidextrous was so helpful—so he could tangle the other in Lucas’s slightly too-long hair, tongue trailing up the side of his neck then sucking on his earlobe.
“You’re already doing so well for me. You’re, by far, my hottest student. ”
August’s own dick strained against his zipper just from watching his husband fall apart. He was always beautiful, but especially so like this, chest heaving, lips parted, writhing beneath his touch, tiny little sounds escaping against his will.
August took his time, alternating between slow deliberate strokes, and quick flicks of his wrist. His hands tightened and loosened in Lucas’s hair as he sucked marks into this skin that would be impossible to hide later and whispered filthy things into his ear.
“I love how you look when you’re unraveling. I love that I’m the only one who ever gets to watch you fall apart like this. The way your whole body becomes mine. Nobody else knows how you whimper for me when I touch you like this, the way you bite your lip raw, how wet you get—”
“Professor…” Lucas gasped, his hips working as he thrust into August’s fist, moaning low when his thumb swept across the head of his cock.
“-the way your voice gets breathy and desperate and your whole body trembles.”
August used the wetness drooling down his cock to ease the glide of his hand, thumb swiping over the head every third or fourth stroke just the way his husband liked it.
“I’m not gonna last,” Lucas warned.
August glanced at the time, there were going to be stuck another fifteen minutes at least. “Well that won’t do,” he murmured.
He stopped working him, loosening his grip to keep Lucas from fucking into his fist. Lucas whined, then choked out a desperate, “Why?”
“I’m distracting you,” August said, biting at his throat, then using the hand in his hair to force him to look at him, before capturing his mouth in a kiss that was like well-practiced choreography at this point.
They’d done this a million different times in a million different ways but no matter how their lips met and parted, it never grew boring.
Exploring Lucas’s mouth, tasting coffee or toothpaste on his tongue, feeling him sigh into his mouth or swallowing his cries as he came hard was still so hot to him.
He couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone the way he did his husband.
“Please,” Lucas begged, hips restless as he tried to fuck August’s loosened fist.
“Since you asked so nicely,” he teased, tightening his grip.
He groaned as Lucas reached over to palm at the bulge in August’s now much too tight trousers.
“I wish I could fuck you right now,” Lucas whispered against his lips. “My head always goes quiet when I’m inside you, feeling both of our pleasure makes it impossible to care about anything else. It feels like it's been forever.”
August worked him with efficient strokes, biting at his plush bottom lip. “It was yesterday in the shower,” he recalled.
Lucas nodded rapidly, even as he pressed their foreheads together, seemingly too distracted to keep kissing with August dragging him to the point of no return. “Like I said,” he panted. “Forever.”
August laughed, feeling a little breathless himself with Lucas running his thumb along the ridge of his cock. “Fuck, I wish we were home.”
Lucas nodded. “Me, too.”
His tongue swiped across the seam of August’s lips. He opened for him immediately, the scent of his husband’s cologne making him feel high.
“Fuck. Fuck. I’m so close. Please don’t stop this time,” Lucas begged.
“I won’t,” August promised, no longer stroking him but letting him fuck his hand.
He dropped his hand between the seats, blindly feeling for the box they kept in the backseat, hand snagging the tissues and covering his husband’s cock just as he came hard over his fist with a cry.
Lucas’s stomach clenched and relaxed as he rode out his orgasm. August gently cleaned him up, then righted his clothes, before reaching for the hand sanitizer to clean his own hands of the sticky mess the tissue missed.
Lucas was reaching for August’s zipper when the car in front of them began to move.
“Later,” August said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m okay.”
Lucas nodded, dropping another lingering kiss on August’s lips as he righted himself in the driver’s seat. He bit back a smile as Lucas cued up a Chappell Roan song and began to hum along quietly, watching the world pass out the passenger window until they arrived at the school.
St. Agnes Prep looked exactly like the kind of school that used to be for boys only, stone arches, saints with missing fingers, a brass plaque listing every headmaster since 1894.
The new banners—STEM for Girls, Inclusivity Week—hung like polite apologies over a century of marble testosterone.
The building’s air carried that faint blend of beeswax, old wood, and sanctimony, the smell of money pretending to be virtue.
The conference was still going on when they arrived at the headmistress’s office.
Atticus and Jericho were having an awkward staredown with Sister Josephine, while Thomas stood in the corner, arms crossed, studying the woman down like he was evaluating her performance.
They weren’t alone. Another set of parents sat beside two empty chairs that August assumed were reserved for them.
They appeared to be around Lucas’s age, both impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place.
Their children sat in their Halloween costumes, lined up on the antique gold sofa like perfect little angels, along with another child who sat with her arms crossed looking just as put out as Atticus, as if she too had been called away from important business.
August didn’t know her, but her costume matched the twins.
He wasn’t sure if it was a sign of friendship or a poorly-timed coincidence.
“Where’s Alister?” Lucas asked, a thread of worry creeping back into his tone.
“I had Aiden take him home with Theo, Oscar, and West,” Thomas said.
Lucas’s shoulders sagged, nodding toward Thomas, his gratitude obvious. The tightness in his face softened for the first time since the tunnel, like a string finally slackening.
As soon as Lucas and August took their seats beside Atticus and Jericho, Lucas leaned toward Atticus and asked, “What’d they do now?”
“I don’t know, she refused to tell us until you arrived,” Atticus stage-whispered back, glowering at the woman, who responded with an icy smile.
The couple beside them watched Sister Josephine warily.
Another woman hovered behind her, in her civilian clothes and veil just like Sister Josephine. They’d long ago given up the traditional habit that was mandatory in August and Atticus’s time at St. Aggie’s.
“This is Sister Mary Elizabeth. She’s new, therefore, she wasn’t aware of the Mulvaney”—she glanced at Thomas—“legacy.”
“What did they do?” Thomas asked, voice steely. “We’ve been waiting to hear for almost an hour now.”
Sister Josephine gave each of the children a withering look before turning to their parents. “They attempted to perform an exorcism.”
The woman beside them gasped, while her husband gave a sigh like he’d known this was coming.
It was Jericho who spoke first. “Come again?”
“They were attempting to perform an exorcism,” she repeated slowly, like they were daft.
“Yes, we heard you the first time,” Atticus said. “I believe my husband was asking for clarification. What exactly does that entail?”
Sister Josephine steepled her fingers, leaning forward. “They had another student in the chapel, lying on the altar while chanting at him in Latin while sprinkling him with holy water.”
“Is that all?” August asked, relieved to hear it was something so mundane.
“Is that all?” Sister Mary Elizabeth gasped. “What do you mean?”
“Yes, what do you mean?” the other student’s mother asked.
“Was your child the demon in question?” August asked, tone bland.
She gave him an affronted look. “Excuse me?”
“Mrs. Jones, please calm down,” Sister Josephine said.
“Yeah, Cherice. Calm down,” the man—presumably Mr. Jones—said.
Cherice did not, in fact, calm down. “Calm down? Our child was participating in an exorcism.” She gave him a look that screamed danger to everybody in the room, scoffing before muttering under her breath, “Tell me to calm down again and see what happens.”
“Babe—” the man said.
“Don’t you babe me,” she said. “Now, hush.”
The man shook his head, looking at her pleadingly. “They’re second graders. It wasn’t an orgy.” To Sister Josephine, he asked, “Can we speed this up? The Tokyo market opens at eight p.m. I have clients who aren’t going to care that my child got a little too caught up in a children’s game.”
“Tyrell Jones, don’t you dare call an exorcism a children’s game, or I will have my father call the Archdiocese and request the next exorcism be yours,” she snapped, clutching her Chanel bag closer to her chest like a security blanket.
The man’s name sounded familiar. He was clearly a foreign trader.
A good one, if they could afford to send their child to St. Agnes.
August assessed their attire in a moment, two-thousand-dollar shoes, eight-thousand-dollar handbag, Burberry coat, Gucci scarf.
They didn’t just have money, but pull too, if her father could personally contact the archdiocese.
“I’m with Ty,” Thomas said. “Aren’t you taking this a bit too seriously?”
Ty turned and nodded toward Thomas, the nod of two men who had clearly interacted before. His father really did know everybody.
“Did they restrain the student?” August asked, forcing himself to participate in this silly discussion.
Sister Mary Elizabeth seemed to stumble around that one. “Well, no.”
August fought not to roll his eyes. He’d missed a midterm for this. “Did they harm him?”
“No, he was a willing participant,” she said hesitantly.
“And where are his parents?” Lucas asked. “Did they demand this meeting?”