sanctum | short stories

home

"Sometimes home isn't four walls, it's two eyes and a heartbeat."

~ Unknown

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Home, you'll find, can be anything.

To a bird, it's the sky's embrace and the soothing caress of the swift breeze beneath its wings. To a queen, it's her kingdom; the land and people over which she rules from atop her golden throne. To a mother, it's the joy in her children's eyes as they chase each other, giggling and smiling, down the dirtied halls of a suburban apartment building or the green fields of a country cottage. And to two boys lying in the mouldy straw of an abandoned stable in a lost court of prejudices, their sweat-slicked bodies one in the pale, wavering light of the crescent moon, it is the familiar contours of the other's frame; the feel of the other's skin; the sound of their name in the other's voice; and the slow, amorous rock of the other's hips so in sync with their own. To them - two wayward souls burning together like the heart of a dying star - home can only be found in each other.

Hidden away from the outside world and all who might dare to crucify their actions, they love without restraint. Their hands tangle in each other's hair, their nimble fingers caught in the strands like stars trapped in the velvety veil of night. Breathy moans slip from their swollen lips, the air dispelled from their mouths hot and heavy, and their tongues move together in a well practiced dance. A number of tiny bruises mark their skin, scattered like the planets in our solar system across a pair of slender necks, and a matching set of cool, metal chains dangle from their throats, the pendants clinking between them as they shift together. Ten nails painted black carefully trail over the dips of ribs and hips, leaving behind a lingering heat like that of the sun as it kisses the horizon goodnight, while ten polished ones rake up the tanned flesh between two broad shoulders, trying to find a grip on something, anything, that will keep them from straying too far into the throes of passion.

As the fervid moment draws to a close, twin supernovas - one inside each shaking figure - occur, dousing their insides in a fiery fervour like no other. Entirely spent, the boys' thighs quiver, their pulses an alacritous symphony echoing under every inch of their skin as they collapse into one another.

Not one word is spoken; they are not needed. Not when the love they share is so clear. Steady and constant, like the undying bond between the Earth and its moon, there is an almost gravitational pull that keeps them like this: heads bent low with foreheads pressed together, arms and legs an entanglement of limbs in the space between them. The derelict stable may be damp and musty - more of a home for mice rather than a young prince and the royal jester - but when you live in a world where love is a sentiment strictly reserved for worshipping the Gods, any place you can hide from society becomes a safe haven; a home.

"We should probably head back," I murmur, my lips soft against Sirius' cheek. His eyes contain entire universes yet to be explored, his irises swirling masses of stars, and they shine with the same reluctance that the moon displays when it leaves dawn to signal the arrival of a new day. I'm sure mine appear the same way. Roughly an hour has passed since we woke, our aching bodies sore from our earlier activities, and I do not want to leave. Who in their right mind would want to leave their partner when they're curled into your side and radiating warmth like they're the sun personified? Especially when they're naked. Not necessarily without clothing, but rather without secrets. Stripped of the mask they wear to hide who they truly are, the truth spills through the cracks as they willingly lay themselves bare for you. And there is nothing more difficult than having to help them put that mask back on after seeing them be so sincere.

Sirius is like that. He wears the attire of a perfect prince, cold and unfailing like the tides. I hate how he has to pretend to be someone he's not. And I hate how around others we have to pretend that our relationship is nothing more than that of a royal servant and his superior, forced to direct any passion we may feel at the Gods by the laws of our society. But when he and I are alone together, he burns with the light of a thousand suns.

"I know." His pale, lavender lids drift shut, obscuring his galactic orbs from my view, and he sighs a heavy sigh. The constellations can be seen among the light scattering of freckles on the tops of his cheeks, and his skin glows faintly like starlight as seen from a far away planet. He is gold, gold, and gold, and here, with him in my arms, I am home. "I don't want to go back."

I kiss his temple, my fingertips running over the notches in his spine. "Neither do I, Love," I voice softly, enjoying the silky smoothness of his palms as they graze over my bare chest while I can. This has become a routine for us; sneaking away whenever we can with the stars as they come out to play and returning to our respective lodgings in the castle while the world around us sleeps. It's only in those moments when I can express how much I love this boy and all that he is, revering his body rather than the Gods, and in favour, have him, a prince, on his knees before me.

Surrounded by spiralling pillars of onyx and glass sharp enough to impale the empyrean void above, the Cosmic Court is a place to behold. Although, despite its beauty, the kingdom is glacial. Bitterly cold even with the warm light Sol and Nyx, the goddesses of the sun and moon, bathe the cities in. The people are all followers, individuals entirely dedicated to the higher powers. As a servant of the royal family, I especially should be devoted to praising our deities - Sirius too, with him being the fourth child born of the high priest and priestess. But I find everyone unwelcoming and austere, their praise a blindfold over their eyes, and the atmosphere suffocating to the point where it is only with Sirius can I feel comfortable in my own skin.

Sirius hauls himself to his feet, wincing slightly with the movement. The moonlight peeking through the cracks in the stable roof and walls illuminates the outline of his slim form, caressing his slight curves the same way I did earlier. Even with bits of straw stuck in his hair, he is beautiful, astral and omnipotent with the milky way flooding through his veins, white-gold like the ichor found in the burned, falling carcass of Icarus, and leaking from his pores as pure starlight.

He offers me a delicate hand and I join him standing, intertwining our fingers. Scattered across the floor of the stable like asteroids lost to the abysmal depths of space, our clothing lies forgotten, patiently waiting for the moment we decide to return to our reality. Sirius reaches for my robe, a long, black cascade of fabric that swallows me like a black hole, and wraps it around my shoulders, slipping his arms around my waist as he does so.

"One day," he murmurs, leaning instinctively into my touch as I stroke his bare hip bone with my thumb. "One day we won't have to hide."

I press a swollen kiss to the horizon of his right cheek bone, thoughts of revolution swarming through my mind. With the plans we spoke of earlier, before the innocent touch of his hand on my waist grew into something as fiercely hot as the surface of the sun, I know things are on the cusp of change. Whether the sky will fall or the kingdom we're forced to call home, the world as we know it will crumble, and we will be right in the centre of the chaos, standing hand-in-hand atop the ruins of the very throne I've been forced to spend my life at the foot of.

"I know, Love, I know." Leaning down, I rest my forehead against his own. Our eyes meet, and in his, I see not just the galaxies I have come to love, but the fact that that one day will come a lot sooner than we think.