Title: The Chastisement of Silas
Author: Angelica Albina
Fandom: The Da Vinci Code
Summary: Set after Aringarosa has just told Silas of the Teacher’s plan. A moment’s transgression means that the Bishop has to punish Silas…
Warnings: Slash, BDSM (flagellation), mild blood-kink (cilice), internalized homophobia, religious imagery, angst
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything here, no profit, suing is futile!
A/N: This fic is based more on the book than on the movie, but may contain spoilers for both. Those with strong religious beliefs may wish to skip this fic – it isn’t my intention to offend anyone. I also do not agree with any anti-gay sentiments expressed by characters in this story – in fact, I’m most definitely queer myself! And in all fanfics written by me, Silas will have blue eyes, as in the movie, rather than red ones as in the book – real people with albinism do not tend to have red eyes.
Silas stood with his back to the Bishop, his head bowed as he unfastened his black woollen monk’s robe and let it fall to the floor. His hands seemed to tremble slightly as he divested himself of the swaddling cloth that had encircled his loins. Naked now, except for the barbed cilice strapped tightly around his right thigh, he stepped away from the discarded clothes, keeping his gaze lowered in submission as he softly intoned, “I’m ready, Father.”
Bishop Aringarosa drew breath sharply as he watched the albino bare himself. He tried to summon the words of a prayer within his mind, struggling to keep from contemplating the strength and beauty of Silas. The solid set of the monk’s broad shoulders, his height and muscularity, the exquisite paleness of his skin… even the scars from his life of hardship and from self-flagellation, and the droplets of blood seeping from beneath the spikes of the cilice were glorious. They were a silent testimony to Silas’s faith and his ability to suffer and endure.
Oh Lord, please help me, the Bishop thought miserably, clenching his fists. Aringarosa wished that he had worn his own cilice – it would be a weapon, albeit a small one, against this unholy desire that he felt. Too late to strap it on now, however – any more hesitation and the Bishop knew he would relent, showing weakness before the man who stood in front of him, awaiting punishment by his hand. And he could not allow that to happen, for it was a most fearsome sin, this forbidden passion that threatened to devour the souls of both men.
The Catholic Church condemned carnal pleasures between those of the same sex, and Aringarosa had stridently spoken out against gay rights in many a media interview. Yet here he stood, wracked with shame, fighting to keep his cock from hardening and his hands from reaching out to caress Silas’s warm, naked skin. He and Silas were both vowed to perpetual celibacy, a lifetime of service to God within Opus Dei, and these feelings of lust and wickedness must be purged in the Lord’s holy name.
It had almost been disastrous – that brief joyous moment had swept them up in its delirium and led them into transgression. After the devastating news that Aringarosa had received during that fateful meeting at the Vatican Observatory some weeks previously, the phone call from the man who called himself the Teacher had been a brilliant flash of hope, a sure sign, the Bishop believed, that God had not abandoned Opus Dei. When Aringarosa had warned Silas that their battle to save The Way would take sacrifice, and he had asked whether Silas would become a soldier of God, Silas had so readily fallen to his knees, proclaiming himself a lamb of God, to be shepherded as the Bishop’s heart commanded. And as Aringarosa related this miracle to his protégé, this chance to protect Opus Dei and all its works, Silas had gazed up at him as if his words were divine.
Silas’s eyes – a limpid blue, taking on a slight rosy glow from the recessed lighting in the Bishop’s plush office – were bright with rapture, filled with expectancy and trust. Aringarosa felt a rush of tenderness sweep over him as he looked into those eyes. He reached down to brush a silken wisp of white hair back from Silas’s face. Wonderfully soft hair, light and shimmering against his fingers.
He’s so beautiful, so perfect, Aringarosa thought as his caressing fingertips lingered against the albino’s cheekbone. So utterly devoted to me, completely mine… Before he could stop himself, Aringarosa leaned forward, hands placed on either side of his beloved protégé’s face as he brought his lips to Silas’s.
He found himself wrapped in strong, loving arms as Silas kissed him back, his mouth hot and open, his tongue seeking the Bishop’s as he uttered a soul-deep moan. The embrace sent a sweet ache straight to the Bishop’s loins; his skin was flushed with arousal, echoing the desire he felt in the albino’s touch.
I love you, Silas, love you so much… Aringarosa’s thoughts were swirling madly as he sought to pull away enough to slide a hand beneath the monk’s robe, longing to feel more of him, to stroke his muscled chest. But then a wave of self-loathing and remorse consumed him, thrusting him apart from Silas with a violent lurch. Cold chills ran down the Bishop’s spine, his whole body tense and trembling at the magnitude of their wrongdoing.
“Oh, Silas, my child, what have we done?”
All their precious hopes were worthless now. They had broken their sacred vows to Holy Mother Church and Opus Dei. Aringarosa would have to banish Silas far away from him… what would become of them, now that their dreams for the future had been dashed? The Bishop made as if to rise, but Silas, then still on his knees before the man he adored, caught his hands and looked up at him once more, his face stricken and his eyes filled with anguish.
“Please, Father, don’t send me away! I couldn’t bear it, and you need me to do what the Teacher wants, to protect The Way. This was my fault, my sin – I let it happen, I didn’t pull away from you! Pain can make it right, can cleanse us… please punish me, Father. Chastise your sinful child, so I can once again become your lamb of God…”
The Bishop winced at the memory, and glanced down to what he now held tightly in one hand. A fresh and unused Discipline, that vicious braided whip employed by Opus Dei numeraries for corporal mortification. He had only acquiesced to this because the thought of hurting Silas disturbed him, caused him more suffering than the idea of inflicting pain upon himself. A worthy penance in God’s sight… one that meant he could keep Silas by his side, and make him part of the glorious quest to preserve The Way. His eyes fixed on the Discipline, the Bishop swiftly whispered a short prayer.
“Bend over the table,” Aringarosa finally rasped. Silas started, gasping slightly as the Bishop’s intentions dawned on him, but he readily complied, raising his hips as Aringarosa brought the knotted tails of the whip down hard on his bare buttocks.
Silas did not cry out, but his breathing was harsh and ragged as the lash struck him over and over, leaving angry streaks of red upon the pale curves. His agony was visible in every straining muscle, yet still he surrendered to the brutal flogging, his taut limbs glistening with a salty sheen of sweat as his blood and tears began to flow. It was almost sensual, the way he lifted his body as the cruel knots flayed him, the Discipline cutting vivid welts across the cleft of his ass. The Bishop watched as Silas flexed his right thigh several times, driving the barbs of his cilice deeper into him. Fighting to suppress his heartfelt craving, yet unable to dispel the pangs of love.
To his horror, the Bishop felt his cock become erect as he cast aside the Discipline at last. Silas was still bent at the waist, bleeding and nearly sobbing as he struggled to raise his voice to God.
I could take him now, and he would let me, the Bishop thought as his hardness chafed beneath his cassock. Slick my fingers with salve and stretch him, then claim him with one burning thrust… oh Lord, please make this stop, it’s wrong, please God, don’t let me come…
But his pleas were in vain, and Aringarosa felt his seed flood, warm and sticky, underneath his robe. Heartsick, he managed to scramble to his knees, pulling the bloodied Silas down to kneel beside him. Clasping the albino monk’s hands tightly in his own, Aringarosa prayed. He prayed for his Heavenly Father to forgive him, and that his love for Silas would be pure from now on, free of that loathsome and terrifying lust. He prayed that they would both become staunch warriors for God, worthy of the sacrifice they had been called to make, willing and ready to defend The Way.