The Time of the Singing by Louise Blaydon

Author:Louise Blaydon [Blaydon, Louise]
Language: nld
Format: epub
Tags: erotic MM, Romance MM
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

93

Louise Blaydon

shame inside himself, but he likes the way Nate’s body feels,

supporting him like this, likes the way his strength is made evident

in the way he steadies Israfel’s hips. They kiss like that for a long

time, fingers combing through each other’s hair, licking deep as

darkness into each other’s mouths while they roll and shiver against

each other. At length, Nate encircles them both in his big, gentle

hand, stroking until both of them are boneless and sated and slick.

After that, Israfel gives up thinking. He says his masses and

homilies and prayers as earnestly as before, but in the evenings, on

weekend afternoons, there’s Nate in his bed nevertheless, Nate’s

mouth and his acres of skin. It’s not right, but there’s nothing he can

do about it, and nobody has to know.

Israfel recognizes his hypocrisy for the cowardice that it is, but

his options are few, and none of them attractive. He is damned, he

knows. All that remains to be seen is how long he can evade

retribution.

When he is alone—when Nate has gone home to tell some lie

or other to his parents, when there’s only the sound of the clock in

the dark to distract him—Israfel thinks it can’t go on long. In these

moments, it seems that all they are, are twists of immorality and lies,

a powder keg poised to explode and take Israfel with it. But

sometimes, when they are together, there are parts of him that feel

differently. There are days when Nate arrives in the early evening,

and for a long time they do nothing but curl around each other on

the couch, watching cartoons dispassionately while Nate defends his

eclectic taste in literature. And then, too, there are the Sunday

mornings in the sacristy with Tom, the three of them lightheartedly

teasing each other, when Israfel feels, for the first time in a long

time, part of something. In these instances, Israfel doubts his own

damning judgments—when the connection between them extends

beyond the tangle of their limbs into something vibrant and

multifaceted, something that feels so real Israfel has trouble

doubting it.

For the most part, though, what they have is sex. In Israfel’s

bed, on his couch, on his floor; after Sunday Mass, after Nate’s

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