My Sweet Ilithil

Title: My Sweet Ilithil.

Chapter Title & No.: The Truth Shall Out. #2.

Author: Darkling Willow

Pairing: Non

Rating: I'm guessing it's up to NC-17 now, guys.

Archive: Yes please.
Feedback: Yes thank you very much. An author can only improve with criticism.

Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of places and characters to actual persons, living or dead, and places is purely coincidental.
The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Authors Notes: I’ve been working on a fantasy novel for half my life now. It all started with one character and a name, but has grown into about a dozen characters, original races and species and a whole world. Yeah, it kind of got out of hand.
These chapters are just little oneshots, that I want to have as a part of the main story, but would never be allowed in mainstream publishing, so, I’m giving you guys a chance to read them.
Well, I guess the smut decided it wanted to start right away.
The piercings that are mentioned quite frequently in this chapter are ceremonial piercings that clerics must undergo every 3 years. I think it makes sense when you read the chapter, if not, feel free to ask.

Summary: Ley. fights his own feelings, but is utterly oblivious of the way Pol. is feeling. Pol. is a raging hormonal 13 year old... so, what do you think is going to happen?

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Left, right, left, right, right, right, left, and tuck under the tip of his tongue.

Ley. tore his eyes away from the glinting lip ring, as it began its routine once again, trying to concentrate on the ancient texts he was supposed to be transcribing.
The Temple Novice across the table was becoming far too much of a distraction.
“What?” the soft voice drifted across the table, low with a hint of the beautiful sounds it would be once it got out of puberty.
Ley. looked up, feigning surprise as he had been doing more and more frequently over the past year, and the grey eye peering at him from the depths of the evergreen hood stole his breath.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, thrusting the quill into the inkwell, then hesitating, looked back into the shadows of the hood.
“It’s just that annoying tic you have, when you’re concentrating.”
“What tic?”
“You flick that lip ring left and right, constantly. I’m amazed you haven’t torn it out yet.”
“I almost did. Last week. Jorad made some stupid joke about the length of the High Clerics robes at breakfast and I nearly bit the ring out.”
Ley. snickered behind his hand, bending low over the tome as the Temple Cleric who was over seeing the library looked up, glaring at the two. Pol. grinned wide, his shoulders shaking with subdued laughter.
When Ley. picked his quill up again, and continued his work, showing no sign of wanting to chat, Pol. turned back to his own reading, studying the laws of their order, once again.
He was in the final year of his second stage, and the last months before his Turning had to be spent in minute study of the rules and regulations and spiritual doctrines of the One Lady’s True Faith.
Ley. was due to receive his Turning in only a few weeks, he had reached the sixth stage, and would be anointed as a Temple Cleric. Pol. was dreading the ceremony, both because of its endless sanctimonious bullshit, and because he hated seeing Ley. in pain.


Ley. looked at the boy, where he sat at the foot of Ley.’s bed staring at the floor infront of his feet, twiddling his thumbs, pondering something.
The summer heat beat on the brick building, and the air in the room was stagnant, despite the wide open window. There was no breeze to move the air, the warmth and humidity making the room feel like a sweat lodge, nothing but glaring sunlight and the lazy buzzing of insects coming in through the open window.
Ley. rested his head against the simple wooden headboard of the bed, reclining on the piled pillows and blankets, his eyes half closed. His head was pounding, the new ceremonial piercing, a third ring in his left eye brow, thudding in unison.

The three days of fasting and meditating, confined to a tiny solitary cell, and deprived of sleep, followed by the long rigid ceremony of the Turning, followed by night long festivities had left him weaker than ever before.
Now he was confined to his room for the next two days, as per the laws, Pol. rushing through his obligations to be able to join Ley. in the afternoon.

Ley. became aware, without opening his eyes, that the boy had lifted his head and was looking intently at the older Temple Cleric.
“Did it hurt?” the novice asked shyly. Ley. didn’t move, only asked back,
“What?”
“The third ring in your eyebrow, did it hurt?” the boy’s voice was rather deep for his age, even though it had begun to crack on occasion as was common with boys of only 13 winters.
Ley. chuckled a little,
“No, Pol.. It didn’t hurt. No more than the last one. I’ve mastered the pain, pretty much. I mastered it at my fourth stage. So will you. You just need to practice more.”
He gingerly touched the new steel ring, wincing at the pain that barrelled through his skull.
Pol. returned his attention to the floor, clenching and unclenching his hands between his thighs.
Ley. watched him from underneath heavy lids, the boy was mulling something over in his head, but Ley. couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

As the Temple Cleric let his eyes fall shut, to block out the painful sunlight, he heard Pol. stir again, then ask quietly,
“Ley., do the third stage piercings hurt much? I mean, it’s your chest…” touching his own chest carefully, as if the cold piercing pin was already doing its work there.
Ley. sighed, opening one eye slightly, and moving his head slowly from side to side in negation,
“You ask me that with every new piercing I get. You should know the answer by now. I can’t understand why you are so afraid of them. You haven’t cried out since your initiation, but still every time you’re nearing the end of your Stage, your fret about it for months. None of them hurt as much as the first one, Pol., you know that.”
Ley. watched as Pol. lifted his hand slowly to touch the steel ring that had been pierced into the nape of his neck at his initiation when he was five years old.
Thin fingers barely touched the scarred skin, before he let his arm fall back into his lap.

Pol. hated touching the ring, it had burned into his skin the night he was caught in the abbey fire, and noone had been sensible enough to remove it before his wounds healed, so now the ring was fused into the skin.

Muttering, perhaps more to himself than Ley., Pol.’s eyes scanned the wall above the bed,
“It’s still your chest. It’s different than all the others.”
With an irritated grunt Ley. shrugged his new snow white robe off his shoulders, having already unlaced it down to his waist, the soft fabric pooling around his elbows.
“I know. I guess it hurts more than your eyebrow, or nose, or even the lip, but it’s really not that bad, once you’ve mastered the pain. Here, look at mine, it might give you an idea of what it will be like.”

Ley. closed his eyes again, the headache worse than before, as Pol. climbed up the bed, and resting on his knees beside Ley. studied the piercings closely.
Ley. stifled a moan, shivers running up his arms and legs as Pol.’s breath ghosted over his warm chest. The teens soft fingertips pushed and prodded at the two rings, pierced into the skin at the edge of each areolae, the nipples responding as Pol. grabbed hold of one ring and lifted it up.

To distract himself, Ley. asked,
“Why are you so afraid of the piercings. I know it’s not the pain that you’re afraid of. It’s something else.”
Pol. studied the rings in silence for a few more moments, his warm breath playing over the already stimulated skin,
“I’m afraid of the Gods, not the piercings. What if the One Lady decides she doesn’t want me to study in her temples? I mean, what if she doesn’t want me? What if the Dragons don’t want me to study their magick either? What if I am unworthy of my powers?”
“Why are you afraid of the Gods? Why shouldn’t they want you to become a cleric? Do you really think that the Shadow Dragon would have given you your magick if you were unworthy? Why should they want me anymore than you?” Ley. asked back, trying to fish out of the boy the reason for his questions, his headache pounding worse than ever.

Pol. didn’t answer, Ley. felt him shift on the bed and opened his lips to ask the question again, feeling Pol.’s breath on his face, then the boys lips pressed against his, tenative but demanding.
Ley. moaned into the awkward kiss, his hands grabbing the bedsheets and the skirt of his robe in a spasmodic grip, his arms tangled in the robes, so he couldn’t push the boy away.
Pol.’s ministrations were clumsy, but it was obvious that he knew what he wanted and that he knew the basic consepts, his hands, suddenly cold against Ley.’s naked chest, slid down trying to find purchase around his waist.
Ley. sat up to try and free his arms from the confines of the heavy robe, Pol. misunderstood the movement, and kissed him again.
Ley.’s lips parted slightly, and he kissed the boy back, a momentary lapse in judgement, as he managed to gain control of his robes.

Grabbing Pol. around the shoulders, he screamed,
“Pol.!! What the Hell are you doing! By the Wraith Dragon himself!...” he pushed the boy with all his strength, Pol. flying off the bed and landed hard on his back on the floor, his breath rushing out of him.
Ley. jumped up, his anger thundering in his veins, mostly headed southwards, Pol. cried out as he scrambled on all fours underneath the simple wooden table in a corner of the room, as far from the bed as he could get. As he curled up underneath the table, the boy whimpered,
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Ley… I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it… I had to know…” as tears streaked down his face.
Ley.’s anger was spent before it even began.

In the eleven years that Ley. had known the boy, he had only seen him cry once, that evening when the boy first saw his scars.

“Pol… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. You just startled me… come out from under there. Please? Stop crying, I’m sorry, come out…”
Ley. begged the boy, reaching under the table, but Pol. only shrank away from him, crying harder.
It was nearly soundless, only a sharp sob now and again, nothing more, but the tears fell in rivulets.

When pleading didn’t seem to work, Ley. got down on his knees and made as if to crawl under the table to get him.
Pol.’s reactions were not what Ley. expected.
With a hoarse scream Pol. lunged at Ley., the fury of the attack surprised the cleric so much, that he didn’t manage to defend himself., with Pol.’s fist pounding into Ley.’s chest, they rolled across the floor, both trying their best to subdue the other.
When Ley. was beginning to fear the boy’s rage fuelled strength, he found an opening and pinned the boy underneath him.
Their faces only inches apart, Ley. stared into the healthy grey eye, Pol. staring back stubbornly, tears of anger flowing down his temples.
Ley. took a few measured breaths, his voice hoarse when he spoke,
“Is that why you are afraid that the One Lady doesn’t want you in her temples?”
Obstinately Pol. turned his head, looking away from Ley.’s amber eyes.

Anger burst in Ley.’s chest, his headache twice as bad now, and with a furious growl he grabbed Pol.’s chin hard, forcing the boy to look at him.
Without thinking Ley. sank down, ontop of Pol., and pressed his lips against the boy’s full red lips.
Pol. resisted for half a breath, then wrapped his arms around Ley.’s shoulders, thin fingers tangling in his long auburn hair.
Ley. moaned loudly, as Pol. yielded to him, and deepend the kiss. Ley.’s tongue slipped over the boy’s lips, tasting, teasing, then retreated, only to have Pol.’s tongue mirror his exactly.
Pol. gasped greedily when Ley. pressed his hips down, rubbing his erection against Pol.’s thighs.
When the boy thrust his hips upwards, Ley. broke away from him, pushing himself up on all fours, and Pol. gasped in horror, scrambling away from the cleric in a panic.

Ley. stared after him, his eyes were pure amber, no whites, the pupil only the slightest horizontal sliver, his canines longer than they should be.
Ley. panted as he willed his body under control, the amber receding to human irises and the pupils rounding out, the canines retreating, never taking his eyes off the boy, where he clung to the foot of the bed, shaking with fear.
Ley. sat back on his heels, slowly running his hand over his face, waiting for Pol. to speak.
“You. You… You?” was all the terrified thirteen year old could manage, Ley. could hear his heart hammering in the thin chest.
“Yes. I.” was the simple answer, Ley. had waited eight years to get this off his chest, to tell the boy the truth, but now that it was time to talk, he couldn’t find the words. He closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples to ease the headace, the rustling of Pol.’s robes on the floor escaping his notice.
Pol. knelt before him, softly cupping the young mans cheek, and reaching up, kissed him gently, as he broke the kiss Ley. rested his forhead against the boy’s forehead, and Pol. whispered,
“You saved me from the fire.”
Ley.’s heart broke.
He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t, he nodded instead, and kissed Pol. again.

Rising to his feet, he lead Pol. to the bed, and laying down, the boy nestled into his embrace, they lay silent for some time, before Pol. stirred.
“I’m sorry. I just had to know if it was true.”
“If what was true?”
“Some of the older novices and clerics were gossiping. I’ve heard some of them say that they’ve spent nights with you. Jorad says it’s disgusting, but I… I don’t know. I’ve had dreams…”
Ley. grimaced, if there was gossip going around he would have to quelch it before it reached the ears of the higher ranking clerics, or his benefactor, Pol.’s father.
Threading his fingers through Pol.’s light brown hair, he inquired,
“Dreams? What sort of dreams?”
Pol. squirmed uncomfortably,
“Strange dreams. I’m outside somewhere, in the dark. It’s raining, and then you’re there. Standing behind me, touching me… I’m naked.”
The last words he whispered into Ley.’s ear, lithe fingers running under the belt of Ley.’s robes.
“And that’s why you are afraid that the Gods don’t want you? You are afraid that the Goddess doesn’t want you in her clergy, or that the Shadow Dragon finds you unworthy of your magick, because you have dreams about me. About us, naked.”
“Yes.” Came the timid answer, the boy squirming again, throwing one leg over Ley.’s thigh and thrusting his thin hips against Ley.’s hip, drawing a decadent moan from the cleric.
Ley. turned on his side, pulling Pol. closer, fluttering kisses over his face, and whispered between them,
“Don’t you think that the Gods had done something about me then, if that was the case? I’ve had dreams about men, I’ve spent my nights in the arms of men and women… I’ve lusted after you most of this passed year.”
“Is that the reason you’ve pulled away from me lately?”
“Yes. I’ve been afraid of losing control. Like now. Look what I’ve done… You’re only a child… this is so wrong.”
“I’m almost fourteen, let me tell you! I’m not a child any more.”

Pol. sat up in the bed and began to furiously unlace his evergreen robe, Ley. rushing to stop him.
The sudden movement jarred his headache back into full throttle, and sinking back down on the pillows he groaned.
Pol. had managed to unlace the top of his robes, and loosen the skirt, but stopped and leaned over the cleric, concerned.
When Ley. did not show any signs of dying right there, Pol. pulled loose the laces of his robes and squirmed out of the folds of velvet, before he lay back down beside Ley., rubbing his crotch against the clerics hip.
Ley. rolled on his side again, the orange sunlight of the afternoon glaring off the white washed walls hurting his eyes, but the soft lips pressed against his made him forget the pain.
Pol.’s small fingers quickly unbuckled the belt of Ley.’s robes, and slid down to the waistband of the thin linen trousers they wore underneath their robes.
Ley. guided his hands as he pushed his tongue into the tight mouth, running over Pol.’s palate, Pol. imitating his every move, teeth nibbling at his lower lip.

Pol.’s hand was barely big enough to reach around his throbbing cock, Pol. hesitated when Ley. wrapped his fingers around it, showing the boy how to touch him.
Slowly Pol. found the rhythm, long, hard strokes up and down, Ley. moaning into his mouth, thrusting his cock into the boy’s hand.
Pol. heard the blood rushing in his ears as Ley.’s strong hands pulled loose the waistband of Pol.’s linen trousers, and his right hand slipped under them, rubbing against Pol.’s half erect cock.
Pol. bucked as Ley. wrapped his fingers around him and gently rubbed him to full hardness.
Ley. broke their kiss, and they lay forehead resting against forehead, panting, as Ley. stroked Pol. slowly but hard, Pol.’s breath coming in quick, hard gasps, he lost his rhythm and pulled his hand away from Ley.’s painfully throbbing cock.
Ley. was half wild with longing, so he whispered to the boy,

“Trust me?”
“Always.” Came the panting answer.

Ley. pushed Pol.’s trousers down to his thighs, then pulled his own down, and scooted down on the bed a little.
He pulled the boy closer, nibbling at his neck and shoulder, as he wrapped his hand around both his own cock and the boy’s, and began stroking them in unison.
Pol. began moaning loudly, pleading for something he didn’t quite understand.
Ley. kept kissing him, breaking the kiss to tease the skin of his neck and shoulder, until he felt Pol.’s muscles contract, the thin hips thrusting erratically into Ley.’s hand, and with a soft cry Pol. came, thin spurts coating Ley.’s hand and cock.
Ley. tried to smother Pol.’s cry in the crook of his neck, as he felt the familiar pressure begin in his own balls.
He whispered into Pol.’s ear,
“Just a few more moments, I’m coming, stay with me.”
Pol.’s thin body was trembling, Ley. leaned over him, wrapping his lips around the novices jugular suckling at the skin, pumping his cock harder, faster, the boy’s come arousing him more than he thought possible, the feeling of Pol.’s softening cock against his own raging erection drove him over the edge, and biting into Pol.’s neck, thick, hot ribbons shot over Pol.’s abdomen and his own, stars bursting in his head, and Ley. nearly screamed as he felt the faint metallic taste of blood on his tongue.
Shaking, sated beyond words, Ley. rolled onto his back, Pol. half asleep, rolled into the crook of his arm, mewling quietly, still panting slightly.
Ley. looked down at the mark he’d left on the boy’s neck, it was an angry purple spot, with tiny beads of blood seeping through the damaged skin.
Fighting against the urge, he raised his right hand to his mouth, and licked the combined semen off his fingers, his cock twitching at the taste.