Chapter 25

Draft

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More than half a year after the start of construction, you finally turned the guest bedroom back into a normal bedroom from being a confessional-level demon cage.

The sacred prayers has been permanently inscribed in many places, it's impossible to remove them without the room being levelled and rebuilt. In the past six months or so, you've tried many methods and finally managed to constructed a reverse prayer with an equal and opposite effect. The divine power is like ouroboros, devouring its tail and eventually annihilating itself. In this way, you managed to tidy up Lemuel's bedroom.

You've been careful to do many experiments, like pre-skin testing before treatment. Lemuel's biggest reaction was only a low-grade fever, it lasted for one day, he's still alive and kicking the next. His adaptability is amazing, you don't know if it's because he's been resurrected from the dead using the power of a holy relic, or if hybrid demons (or awakened hybrid demons) have this ability. When Lemuel walked safely inside the guest bedroom, you realized with hindsight what kind of feat you've accomplished— although perhaps it wouldn't really be appropriate to call it a "feat."

Your teachers will call it the act of the devil, the evil deed of the Antichrist. You've successfully used prayers to protect a creature with demonic blood. Since you've successfully taken the first step, in time, you might even help demons take strolls in the sanctuaries.

Lemuel didn't know anything about this, he didn't know much about the clergy's tricks. He walks into the room under your watchful eye and stands in the doorway, looking around. "It's a bit..." he mutters, he didn't say more after that, just thanking you.

After living together for a while, you've learned that Lemuel had quite the patience, and that many times he won't tell you directly what he thinks. It makes you pay closer attention to him and allows you see that he's a little reluctant at this point. What is this? What's wrong with the room? You're a little annoyed that you didn't ask Lemuel before constructing the inverse prayer, maybe he'd prefer a master bedroom rather than a guest bedroom. You want to say he doesn't have to live in it, give it a few more months and you can remove the master bedroom's restrictions, but Lemuel had already walked in.

"It's time to move," he whispers, as if he had made up his mind, you don't know whether he's talking to you or to himself, "I can't stay on the sofa forever."

Lemuel went to the bed, sat down and got up again. The temperature is getting colder, the sun last seen a few days ago but the bedding for autumn and winter has dried, the sheets are laid on the large and newly bought bed, and the quilts and pillows are stacked on the head of the bed. He fell back on the bed and patted the folded quilt.

"It's more neatly folded than 90% of the soldier's works. Every time I see you folding quilts, I feel like I'm still in the military camp." He says, "Is this also required in the Bible?"

"It's just the church's requirement." You add, "Not every priest has such requirements."

Being organized is always a good thing. God created you in such an orderly world, you should emulate it in your daily life. Disciplined monks measure their quilts with rulers to the millimeter, the penalty for mistakes was much worse than not having them for a night, so some of your siblings use water to straighten their quilts and sleep in their clothes for months on end. You've grown accustomed to making your bed this way, even if no one was measuring your quilt when you were on the field.

Lemuel laid on the bed, stretching out, completely messing up the neat sheets within seconds. He almost threw himself onto the spring just now, and the big bed shook. Lemuel bounced a few times on the bed, and your chest felt like the spring; beating at ease like it was weightless. You look at him for a while, then turn to look at the clock, ready to go out and buy something according to your schedule. Today is a day off, and you haven't been out yet.

"Enoch!" Lemuel called you from behind, "Thank you."

You turned to look at him, who lay on the white sheets as if on a cloud. You're welcome. You look at him and feel a little uncomfortable.

Lemuel's hands were open by his sides, a little above his shoulders, and his legs were together. This is just a posture unconsciously birthed by his tumbling, but it looked very much like the victim on the cross. He looks both divine and ominous, and you walk over and fold his hands down.

You don't need Lemuel to suffer for you, you've already borne your sins, he should not suffer again, that's not fair.

You place his hands below shoulder level, and now it looks like you're hug. He looks at you inexplicably, at your mercy, and blinks. When you're set, satisfied, and ready to leave, Lemuel grabs you.

"That's it?" He raises an eyebrow at you, "Seriously?"

He pulls you to bed.

You haven't taken off your slippers yet, and even though the floor of the house is nearly spotless, stepping on the bed is something you're concerned about. You look down a few times, Lemuel sees it and he grumbles, "Forget the damn shoes!"

He kicks your shoes off and starts kissing you. You fall on the bed with him and bounce a few times on the springs together. It really feels better than a plank bed. The bed is big, unlike a sofa, and you can stretch out your limbs. Your legs tangle together, you take off your clothes and throw them all over the place.

Your cock is erect inside your pants, like a hungry dog hearing the sound of the bell. You've done this many times: kissing, stroking each other, rubbing each other (Lemuel calls it "handjob", which corresponds to "blowjob). Sometimes you'll give each other oral sex and he'll suck you up and teach you how to lick him. You learn things quickly.

Lemuel stripped off more today than before, he also stripped you completely. Skin-to-skin feels good, body temperature simmering in each other, skin to skin. You like it, you even want you to stick to him all day and do nothing. What depravity. When you hug Lemuel, you feel like you're holding something sweet, your tongue is full of saliva, you want to eat it, but you're reluctant to eat it. You want to have sex with him, but when you're done you need to take a shower and then you both go back to your own business. Ot you go to go back to your room and sleep, you think that's kind of a pity.

Although it's a pity, every time you still can't wait.

Your heavy breathing merges together, and Lemuel stops rubbing you. He takes your hand, moving it from his cock to his ass. "I want you..." He says, biting your ear, "To fuck me."

It's been months since the last time he rode you on the floor, you haven't penetrated him since- and it's not because of the numbness in your scalp or the pain in your penis, at least not just because of it. He made you do it, you didn't force him to ride you to prove something, he just wanted to. Your teeth couldn't help biting harder for a moment, leaving a deep tooth mark on his shoulder. It makes you sorry, and instead of shouting in pain or pushing you away, Lemuel let out a hot gasp, which you think is a "continue" signal.

He doesn't turn away, facing you with his back, shivering and exhaling as your fingers enter him. You smell a bit of unease and fear, the kind that lingers on victims of sexual assault. But when you stop, he urges you again. Lemuel's eyes were fixed on you, as if he's pulling on a lifeline, unblinking.

You ask him if he's okay, he smiles hastily, and says it would be nice if there's a rubber. You leave quickly and take back a condom, Lemuel's eyes widen, he looks very surprised at the sight. "I'm the priest of this area," You say. "I'm in charge of some charitable causes." For example, giving condoms to the local teenagers.

This time Lemuel really started to laugh, he laughs and said, "How convenient for our priest." He opens the package with his teeth, and you see his canines showing, you then realize just how sharp his teeth are.

You've healed him, dealt with a lot of scars on his body. There were traces of repeated sexual assault in his intestines, but not his throat. You think that those people haven't completely lost their minds, refusing to put meaty organs between such sharp teeth. Lemuel's teeth are sharper than humans, but you rarely feel that when he kisses you or gives you a blowjob. This toothed creature hides its fangs from you, and his tongue is as soft as yours.

You suddenly think of a very large dog.

It's name was Lightning, a very good working dog that looks like an impure German Shepherd. It worked with you at one point, it was smart and somehow liked you. Lightning had razor-sharp teeth that could bite through demon bones, but it never scratched your skin. When the adults were away, you'd secretly feed it nutritional supplements (Lightning's trainers think it needs to stay hungry to stay nimble and fierce), and it secretly licks your face.

Lightning was really smart, it never gets close to you when there's other people around, but it's not that smart after all. It doesn't know how to avoid the eyes of holy doves. It licked the wet blood off your face when you came back, the pigeon flew away, and Lightning was gone the next day. Your father reminded you that you must be careful about your behavior. That dog's bloodline was hellish and dangerous, even if it looked tame, you should be on your guard. You confess your negligence and don't ask where Lightning went. If you do, the results would be even worse.

You're in a trance, you remember that you once liked dogs. You don't like this kind of creature but you like their wet eyes and noses, their warm fur, and their jolly panting. But whenever you particularly like something, it disappears from your life, always. A smart dog, a soft towel, a nun who kisses your forehead when you have a fever, they always disappear if you like them too much. You should love the world, not a particular anyone or anything, that's a sin of selfishness.

"I wanted to say that in the past, your skills were almost like your cooking skills." Lemuel says, "I thought that you're just torturing me, but you just have poor skills."

He completely interrupts your line of thought, producing language with the fingers that put the condom on your penis. "I thought that priests would at least use the missionary position," He adds.

"The church promotes this position for sexual intercourse, and that's why it gets its name. It's not that priests use it," You say. "And the 'missionary position' involves a man getting on top of a woman, we're both men."

Lemuel looks at you like he wants to complain, but he also seems to like you very much. He occasionally gives you this affectionate look, like you're something small that could be held in two hands, it confuses you and sends a warm ripple through your stomach.

"Sometimes I get this feeling that you're only ten years old. Damn, you make me feel like I'm playing a little boy." He couldn't help laughing and crying. "If the person you've worked with before didn't complain, it must've been because you're good-looking."

"No one has done it with me before," You explain.

"What?" He asks in astonishment. "Did you learn this stuff from books? What kind of stuff do priests use as teaching materials?!"

"I once watched some soldiers have sex with a demon on the battlefront." You tell him "A priest it's allowed to marry, it's wrong to have sex with a woman before marriage, just like how it's wrong to have intercourse with the same sex."

"You're having sex with the same sex," Lemuel say firmly.

"Yes." You answer calmly.

Lemuel's expression softens, he looked away a little embarrassed, like he's apologizing for his overreaction just now. "Then your previous life was too boring, Father." He says, "You really wasted a lot of 'study' time... fortunately, you're not that slow, I can teach you."

Lemuel did as he said.

He taught you how to have sex with him face to face and how to make both of you comfortable. He's both the teacher and the teaching material, open to you, teaching you how to read his body, like reading a book. Strong sexual excitement affects your sanity, but fortunately, pleasure and emotion impresses you on every detail, you can recall it without fault.

You remember how his legs are tucked into your body, his heels on your back. You remember how his head raises in the climax, his jaw and neck drawn into a straight line, and how his horns and crimson hair traces waves. Lemuel dazzles you, makes you hot in the chest, and when you fall on bed together, you smell the scent of the sun-dried quilt, like you're lying on a cloud. The bed is big, you can lie side by side, you turn to look at him, he closes his eyes and looks at ease.

You don't do anything all day, just sex, eating, bathing, chatting, watching TV on and off. Your schedule is a mess, you're sleepy and exhausted at night, the kind of relaxed, languid exhaustion where you don't want to get out of bed or go back to your room, and Lemuel doesn't want to let you go too. With his legs on yours, his hands on your chest, he pretends to be very obtuse. When you hold his hand, he holds you too and pulls like a child.

How deep are my sins, you half-heartedly think. The thought disappears quickly. It's soft and warm here, and you fall asleep abruptly.

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