This fic is rated NC-17 for M/M sexual content. It also contains religious material and imagery that some may find offensive. If you think you may be offended by any of the above I suggest you do not view this fic. Ye have been warned!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters; all characters mentioned are the property of Dan Brown. No money is being made from this little scribbling, so please refrain from suing me because I can’t afford it :D
I wrote this as originally to fit in with the movie version of the Da Vinci Code. I have since added some book-style influences. All constructive comments/ reviews appreciated. Flamers will be shot, survivors, shot again.
To Touch an Angel.
The gentle cool breeze felt exquisite against his bare skin. Winding its way through the open window like a bird in free flight. Stirring the shades that remained partly closed, obscuring the room’s occupant from prying eyes. It made every hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the sensation transcending downwards through his spine. Raw nerve endings sparked to life, emitting signals of pain from the raw, bleeding lash marks that littered his otherwise opalescent skin. Each wisp of cool air caused him to feel the tang of pain a little more. A stark reminder, he thought, of the life debt he owed to Opus Dei, to the way. Of the sins he must cleans his soul of.
Blood flowed freely down his back now, making tear sized tracks of crimson over the tall albino’s contours as he moved toward the simple porcelain basin in the corner of his room.
He faltered slightly, gritting his teeth, eyes closed as he felt the sharp, stinging prongs of his cilice dig into his right thigh.
“Pain is good” he managed to grate out through clenched teeth.
Tears prickled the rims of his ethereal blue eyes. He would not let them fall this time.
The pain lessened to a certain degree and he was able to walk, albeit with a limp, the rest of the distance to the basin.
Filling the basin to about halfway, he soaked a cloth that had been resting at the basin-side. Wringing the cloth of excess water he used it to dab clean the raw cut above his right brow.
Wincing as the cool water stung his wounds, the monk began to recall and contemplate the past days events.
The mysterious and wise man, who had only ever referred to himself as ‘the Teacher’ had finally shown himself. Despite all Silas’ misgivings and failure at initially acquiring the fabled ‘keystone,’ the teacher had found it in his heart to forgive and even bless him for his work.
Heaven forbid, but Silas had almost questioned Bishop Aringarosa’s words. He was not worthy if he could not complete the tasks he had been originally set. And yet the Teacher had thanked him. Perhaps he had been wrong to doubt his friend and mentor, Aringarosa? No he WAS wrong to.
The platinum haired monk splashed his face with some of the remaining water from the basin to refresh himself. It had been a long 24 hours.
The teacher had requested that Silas wait here, at a house of Opus Dei in the heart of London, England. The albino thought it strange however, that complying with the Teacher’s request made him feel so uneasy. Since his arrival, he had chosen to stay within the confines of his guestroom. Discipline was what he had needed, forgiveness through punishment for his sins.
Bishop Aringarosa had assured him before Silas had taken to his tasks, that he would be doing the work of god. He would be forgiven for what he was about to partake in and that he must do what must be done for the good of all concerned.
Aringarosa, the Bishop featured in his thoughts one more. He seemed to more and more these days. Silas had plenty to be grateful for. All of which could be contributed to one kindly man. He had shown Silas nothing but compassion and forgiveness, despite the albino’s horrific past. Emmanuel Aringarosa had given Silas a new start, a life and acceptance he could have only dreamed of before. Silas had been more than ready to repay that kindness showed to him by the Bishop, through helping in the previous nights events.
'An angel' Aringarosa had once reffered to Silas as. Not a ghost, not a wreched thing with the eyes of the devil, no.
" An angel" The monk repeated to his reflection, voice barely an audible whisper.
Silas almost found himself longing to hear those words fall from Aringarosa's mouth once again. Inside that thought prevoked several other thought processes into life. Questions he had kept repressed since that fateful day he had been found and had awoken in the safe confines of the church.
The sexual atrocities the monk had faced during his time in prision were certainly both horrific and mind scarring to say the least. Yet he found himself asking inwardly, what it would be like to lay with Emmanuel Aringarosa? What it would feel like to feel the man held close to him again? Though this time not so much of a healing, comforting embrace, but a passionate one.
A flurry of images flooded Silas’ mind, forcing him to tense the muscles in one thigh to drive the barbs of his Cilice deeper into his flesh, drawing out a hiss of pain from the platinum haired man. At the same time though, this banished all thoughts of a sinful nature from the forefront of his mind that had caused a stirring in his loins in the first place.
Thoughts and feelings of a lustful nature were forbidden, a sin! Let alone to allow such fantasies become a reality.
Taking a deep breath, Silas felt the warmth of fresh blood trickle down the length of his leg.
Pain would cleans him of these thoughts, prevent them from returning.
Even as the idea seeped into the cracks of his mind, he knew he could not promise what he had just thought, would not return indefinantly.
He longed to see the Bishop again, to hear his words of reassurance and wisdom. It seemed so long since he had last been graced with his presence. For the first time since he had been a child, Silas felt almost lost, alone.
Limping over towards the simple canvas mat that was to be used as his bed, the monk carefully lay down on his front. As he bent, he could feel the clotted blood on his back crack and re-ipen the lash wounds that criss crossed his alabaster white skin.
Tears formed in the corners of his eyes once more, but this time they were not due to the pain he felt physically.
Emotionally he felt torn. On one side, his commitment and vows taken to serve god through Opus Dei. And on the other? These thoughts of lustful desires that threatened to consume him in weak moments such as this.
Tears left silvery, glistening tracks upon his cheeks as each fell. A regret carried in each one he cried.
He could feel his head begin to throb again. The wound on his brow still stang violently, reminding him of why he was here. How he had come to be here, in this place, now.
He would rest for a while, gather his stength. When he woke, Silas hoped he would have a clearer mind.
Closing his eyes, he let the last of his tears fall as he prepared to fall into what could be a fitful sleep. As expected, all soon faded to black.
The sound of footsteps on wooden floor-boards caused the monk’s eyes to flutter open tiredly.
This was then followed by the sound of the door to his room opening with a barely audible creek.
Somewhat sleepy as he was, Silas stirred and rolled onto his side to see who or what the source of the disturbance was.
The room remained in relative darkness, daylight had long since passed into night it seemed.
‘How long have I been sleeping?’
This thought was followed by and instinctive reaction of caution as he caught sight of a tall night-shrouded figure taking several steps towards him in silence.
Silas jolted into awakening as he moved to get up as quickly as he could, pushing himself up from the canvas mat.
“ Please, Silas my son…there is no reason to be alarmed.” A soothing voice carrying a distinctive Spanish accent spoke out toward him.
Bishop Aringarosa, he knew that voice.
Resting back down, Silas remained on the mat. The darkness concealing his naked form all the while.
Aringarosa drew closer before kneeling down at Silas’ bedside.
Silas in turn felt the warmth of a heavy hand upon his shoulder.
For several moments the pair remained silent. As if speaking would somehow spoil the reunion.
It was the albino who first broke the silence.
“ The Keystone has been recovered father, it is safely within the possession of the Teacher…do you not have to meet with him for the exchange?”
Silas’ pale blue eyes were searching, seeking approval and explanation in the presence of his mentor.
“ The exchange is due to take place here, soon.” The Bishop Began, “ You have done well, my Son.”
The Bishop’s voice was soft and reassuring as ever, it caused Silas to feel as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Even in the darkness, he was sure he could see a proud and comforting smile play across Aringarosa’s lips.
Silas let out a deep sigh of tension.
“ It is done, it is almost over.”
His elation and relief was such, that Silas thought he may begin to cry again. The will of god had been done.
“ Bless you Silas.” He heard the Bishop say, just as the Teacher had.
Aringarosa leaned in as Silas inclined his head slightly and proceeded to place a single kiss on the albino monk’s forehead.
Silas inhaled deeply, his senses assaulted and filled with the familiar scent of his mentor. Oh how he wished the Bishop would take him in his arms, if only for a moment. A moment that would be worth a lifetimes worth of pain to Silas.
‘No!’ He felt his mind fight against it, ‘Not now, not after everything we have fought for, everything we have achieved! It is wrong! It is simply wrong!’
Aringarosa drew away slowly and Silas found himself caught in a gaze he could barely see, but he could sense it. He knew it was there. The adoration in the others eyes, burning into the darkness.
Did Aringarosa know? Did he know of all the nights the monk had lay awake trying desperately to rid himself of the desire he felt for this man. All the nights he had spend chastising himself for such sinful thoughts?
Had he, perhaps, found one of the many letters Silas used to write, telling Emmanuel Aringarosa how he felt. Telling the Bishop his inner most desires?
Of course Silas had never intended for these to be read by anyone. In fact, he was almost certain he had burned them all. How could the man know? He simply could not. Unless….
“ I remember when I first found you. How you would always talk in your sleep…” Aringarosa mused, seemingly content to watch over Silas much as he had done back when they first met. “ …Such a troubled soul.”
The monks blood ran cold. How long had the Bishop been standing outside his room?
Aringarosa began to move away as if to let the monk get his rest, but a firm hand grasped his forearm. Silas felt the same familiar stirring in his loins that indicated perhaps he should divert his thoughts. Shifting somewhat awkwardly, he attempted to conceal his hardening erection. He never slackened his grip on the elder mans forearm for a moment.
The monk could hear his heart hammering in his head, their gazes locked, neither of them willing to be the first to look away.
“ What did you hear, father?” He asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“ I…” The Bishop faltered, “ I heard…”
Still neither man looked away.
There was a weakness in Aringarosa’s voice that Silas had never heard him use before. Yet he had heard it. In his own voice every time he berated himself for his lustful thoughts. Could the chance be that he too felt the same attraction that had drawn Silas to him? Could he feel the same in return?
His erection painfully hard, Silas’ mind made one last conscious effort to save them both.
Tensing the muscles in his right thigh, he hoped to drive the barbs of the cilice deeper into his skin and purge the want, the need that was assaulting his senses.
He felt nothing.
To his horror, when he reached down to where the barbed cilice had been, he felt nothing there. No way of driving home the notion that wanting to lay with another was forbidden. Let alone that other being another man! Not only that, but a man who had spoken out against gay rights on more than one occasion. Yet here he was.
Silas was far past turning back now, he rose until he was sitting, moving so that he was leaning in, mere centimetres between their faces.
Aringarosa could feel the albino’s soft breath on his face, falling in shallow, ragged breaths. Tempting him.
“Silas, I….” He went to speak, but Silas had cut him off, leaning in to kiss the Bishop, fully, deeply and passionately.
The elder man reciprocated, which came as more than a surprise to the monk, but only sought to encourage him more so. Drawing out a slight whimper from the man, Silas’ tongue caressed and duelled it’s way into Aringarosa’s mouth where it was accepted willingly.
Crushing his lips against the other’s it was as much as the Bishop could take not to voice his surprise.
Aringarosa’s mind screamed that this was wrong, immoral. But his heart? He had known early on in their ‘relationship’ that he had cared deeply for Silas. A kind of love that could never have been expressed the way he wished it to. He had lived a life of denial where that was concerned, it was the only way.
This kind of intimate contact went against everything he believed in and stood for. With such a high profile, things like this would never stay secret for long.
Little had Aringarosa realised that the monk had been harbouring such sinful feelings himself.
He felt his own member grow hard. He craved the albino’s touch, how exquisite it would feel to be touched by one so pure. To be touched by an angel.
Silas drew away now, his beautiful eyes wide and searching again. His brow was furrowed with the fear of rejection.
The Bishop raised his hand to gently touch the cheek of the man before him. His thumb tracing the outline of the scar that graced his pure flesh beneath one eye.
Aringarosa found himself lost for words, caught in the adoring gaze of his young protégé.
Silas mirrored the Bishops movements, his own hand reaching out to touch the face of the elder man, he needed no invitation…was this so wrong?
Leaning in once more, the monk hesitated. His lips barely dancing over Aringarosa’s own, he sensed a change in the man. Eyes closed, he could almost smell the tension in the air. He could not bear to loose him now, this was all he would ever need. All he had ever wanted was to find acceptation, to be loved, truly.
“ Please,” He found himself whispering, lips brushing against his mentors.
Tears began to form and then flow from his watery eyes.
“ If only for this once, please.”
Aringarosa found himself fighting a loosing battle against his own carnal desires and that of his dear friend and pupil. He could not allow this to happen, no matter how much he desired or needed it to. It would be down to him to save them both before they were lost forever.
Pulling away until Silas’ face was again in focus, he shook his head slowly, solemnly.
Even in this poor light, the motion was not lost on the monk and Aringarosa could just about make out the bitter pain of rejection in Silas’ eyes.
Tear stained cheeks glistened adding emphasis to the tortured expression the albino wore upon his perfect face.
The tall, pale monk had already drawn away from him. Standing shakily, Silas walked towards the window, where a shaft of moonlit night illuminated his form as thought it’s soul purpose had been just that.
He was holding back sobs, Aringarosa could tell, just as he too was forcing back the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.
He approached the monk slowly, he did not fear Silas because of his past convictions, he merely took the time to admire him, to contemplate his actions.
As the Bishop reached the younger man, he once again placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Silas turned suddenly to face his mentor, he was not ashamed to be seen like this.
The light from the tall window seeped in through the cracks of the shades, falling down upon Silas like an ethereal light from above. Enhancing just how pale he really was.
Once more Aringarosa took a moment to take in the sight that met his eyes.
A little breathless he spoke sounding almost in awe.
“ Silas my son, you are an Angel.”
Emotion washed over the barriers of Emmanuel’s mind. He moved to pull Silas into a tight embrace, which was returned just as swiftly. Their lips met mere seconds after in an emotional, passionate kiss.
The tears they cried, merging together as one where the contours of their faces met. Bodies pressed tightly against one another as hands roamed, eager to touch and gain purchase where they could.
Throwing caution to the wind, they collapsed onto the hard-wood floor, kissing feverously as Silas began to pull at the fastenings on the Bishop’s robes. He was eager to be rid of the other mans restrictive clothing as quickly as possible.
“ I want you to take me..” The albino rasped between feverous kisses, “ I want you to mark me as yours, as your own!”
Still working at removing Aringarosa’s robes, Silas felt a hand snake down over his chest, inching ever closer to his painfully aroused manhood. The hands journey was agonizingly teasing as it drew closer to where the monk needed it to be, drawing out a guttural moan of pleasure from the albino beneath it’s ministrations. Down, down the Bishop’s hand trailed, until finally….
Silas woke with a sudden cry. His warm, sticky seed pooled beneath his belly as
he lay flat on it. Dazed, confused and perhaps a little fearful, he looked around at his surroundings. Everything was as he had left it. Shades closed over the window, but it was still clearly daylight outside. The sun was shining; it could have only been late afternoon at the latest.
He moved to rise from his sleeping place and the sharp barbs of his cilice made themselves known again.
Wincing, he made his way back over to the basin in the corner of his room. He would clean himself and then rid himself of his terrible sins the only way he knew how. He would purge his thoughts of this once and for all.
He opened the shades to rid the room of this dull light that only sought to make him feel more dazed. It was whilst drying himself he noticed in the reflection of his mirror, a London police car pull up outside the house.
Silas’ blood ran cold, had they been betrayed?
Moments later, a knock at the downstairs door confirmed all he needed to know.
Donning his robe as quickly as he could, he reached for the handgun he had been given. Finally, he fled his room.