Chapter 3: Beauty (10)
The warm, slick tongue lapped up the shaft, while the tight, pursed lips and hand worked together, stroking from the tip of the glans to the base. He couldn’t hold out much longer.
“…Ugh—!”
He came in Ronen’s mouth. He could feel the thick, hot semen being swallowed down without hesitation. After a few more sucks to ensure nothing was left, Ronen pulled back, his lips glistening with saliva, his cock still rigid and flushed.
Ronen licked his lips and smiled.
“It tastes good. Your cum.”
His fingers idly stroked the still-hard cock, his gaze lifting to meet the Grand Duke’s as he whispered,
“I want more… but I’m too tired…”
The Grand Duke’s eyes dropped to Ronen’s own erection—still stiff, glistening with precome. Ronen wrapped his other hand around himself and began stroking, his lust-hazed eyes never leaving the Grand Duke’s face. His swollen lips parted as ragged breaths escaped.
“Hah… My body is so lewd… nngh, I can’t… ah… resist…”
His pale skin was flushed red with arousal. The sight of him pleasuring himself was so obscene it was almost painful to watch. When the Grand Duke reached out and wrapped his rough hand around Ronen’s cock, his slender body shuddered in response.
“Ah… ah… me… me too… nngh… I want mine too…”
Ronen’s fingers trembled as they reached for the Grand Duke’s lips, still wet from his own breath.
“Mine too… please suck me.”
The Grand Duke licked the fingers that slipped between his lips, then slowly lowered his head. By the time his mouth reached Ronen’s chest, Ronen’s fingers were tangled in his hair, guiding him exactly where he wanted.
Ronen’s cock was right in front of him now. The Grand Duke took a moment to admire it—pale as Ronen’s skin, glistening with clear precome.
He flicked out his tongue, licking the dripping slit. Then, he took the soft, velvety head into his mouth, gradually swallowing more and more of the shaft. The fingers tangled in his hair tightened, trembling.
The scent, the feel of him filling his mouth, the scorching heat, the way Ronen’s body quivered helplessly—it all felt so real. Almost too real.
That’s right—it was so vivid it was hard to believe it was just a dream.
Last night’s dream had been filthy, and the mere memory sent heat pooling in his lower abdomen. He exhaled heavily, exhausted from forcing himself to endure.
“Why do I keep having these dreams? Have I truly become a slave to pleasure? I can’t resist the temptations of my nightmares.”
His voice, heavy with lament, echoed in the small, enclosed confessional. The man who should have been offering answers—the priest—could only press his lips together, at a loss for words. His face was buried in his hands, as if in despair.
Between them stood a lattice, making it difficult to see each other’s expressions clearly unless they pressed close. After a long silence, the priest finally spoke, his voice hesitant.
“…You said it was a man’s body?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“I thought you said it was a woman…”
“Yes. It was.”
The priest fell silent again. His confusion was understandable. Dreaming of a real woman was sin enough—but to change her gender? From woman to man?
In Eckart’s dream, Ronen had been a man.
“Perhaps it’s because I’ve never truly known a woman’s body. Even in dreams, it can’t show me what I don’t understand.”
“…That makes sense.”
“Of course, the acts themselves were unfamiliar too—but I suppose I imagined them after hearing about them. Hah… I truly don’t understand. Why I dream of this… why it has to be him…”
Ronen.
Eckart pressed his face into his clasped hands again, his expression one of utter despair. Guilt, betrayal, doubt—emotions he had rarely felt before now swirled inside him, leaving his mind in chaos.
“You seemed to be doing better for a while…”
“Actually…”
Eckart sighed, his voice surprisingly calm despite his troubled gaze.
“I ran into him by chance. He asked me to pray for him, so I agreed. I’m sorry—I listened to his confession even though I knew I wasn’t worthy.”
“If he asked for it, then you had no choice. You couldn’t turn him away. If you simply shared his burden, then you did a good thing.”
“That may be… but…”
“Still, you seemed better when you weren’t seeing him. But now that you’ve met him again, the dreams have returned?”
“Yes.”
It had started the first time they met. Ever since then, his dreams had been obscene. Ronen in them was unnaturally seductive, and he—Eckart—had been utterly consumed by lust. Waking from those dreams left him shaken for hours.
“Even if it was just a dream, committing such lewd acts is unforgivable. It’s adultery. I can’t forgive myself.”
“Calm yourself. It was the devil’s temptation. A test of your faith.”
“I’ve already fallen for the temptation. I mixed my body with the devil in a woman’s guise…”
“You were unconscious. You never actually committed such acts, nor intended to. Don’t let it shake you.”
Is that really true? Had he truly never intended to do such things?
As he questioned himself, the priest continued,
“Follow God’s teachings. He will guide your path.”
After receiving the priest’s prayer and penance, Eckart left the confessional. But the oppressive weight in his chest didn’t lift. He felt as though he had regressed to his teenage years—when no matter how much he prayed and trained, he would wake up every morning with stained clothes.
“…At least back then, I could comfort myself by saying it was natural.”
His jaw clenched in frustration. He was furious—with himself, with everything. His strides grew faster, almost desperate, before he suddenly stopped. He turned back toward the training grounds. Maybe swinging a sword would clear his mind.
But Eckart never reached his destination. The atmosphere among the priests hurrying past him was wrong. Their faces were pale, their steps urgent, as if rushing toward some unseen crisis.
Eckart couldn’t hide his confusion. He grabbed one of them and asked,
“What’s happening?”
“H-His Holiness… His Holiness…”
The man’s voice trembled—with shock, with grief—before trailing off. Eckart didn’t need to hear the rest. A foreboding dread settled over him, as if the man’s terror and sorrow had seeped into his own bones.
“Has something happened to His Holiness…?”
“He collapsed suddenly.”
“…What?”
At that moment, the bell tower rang out, its clear, solemn chime echoing across the Papal Court, announcing that something grave had occurred. The sound sent birds fluttering into the sky, their frantic wingbeats mingling with the tolling bell.
Eckart’s deep blue eyes, wide with shock, lifted to the sky, where the birds scattered like dark omens.
***
Someone was riding urgently toward the Grand Duchy of Canis. The man, clad in the robes of the Papal Court, spurred his horse onward at breakneck speed. Clutched in his arms was a sealed letter, its wax stamp bearing the mark of the Papal Court.
Upon reaching the castle, he was escorted by soldiers to the reception hall. His body was drenched in sweat from the relentless ride. The door soon opened, revealing the ruler of the Duchy—the one meant to receive the letter.
“What brings a messenger from the Papal Court?”
There was an air of expectation in his cold gaze, tinged with unease. The letter had been delivered safely. The man’s mission was complete. But he knew what came next—his work was only beginning.
The Grand Duke broke the wax seal and read the contents, his face darkening as he murmured,
“So he has finally passed into God’s embrace. May he rest in peace…”
He made the sign of the cross, and the messenger, bearing this sorrowful news, followed suit with a grief-stricken expression.
“When is the funeral?”
“After four days of mourning, the funeral is scheduled for the fifth day—that’s what I was told before I left. But the situation may have changed since then.”
“I should go before it’s too late.”
The Papal States—and the surrounding territories—would already be overflowing with mourners. The news of Pope Gebhardt’s passing was a shock, even though he had been preparing for it.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
