Out of Equilibrium: Love is Heresy

Watching him fight was mesmerizing. He was as graceful as he was powerful. Preston's body made violence into a fluid dance. His opponents were not without skill, but even I could see that they were trainees in comparison to Preston's abilities. It made me want to watch Preston fight an opponent more his equal, someone who could stretch him with quality, not quantity. If such a person existed.

When the combat was concluded, Preston left the training area. I assumed he would head to the showers, but I was wrong.

"Why are you here?" he asked, entering the otherwise empty gallery.

I hadn't realized that he had seen me.

He had removed the jacket of his gi and stood before me barefoot and bare chested, his skin slick with sweat and blood. I could feel no fear, but I recognized how frightening he was. And fortunately, I had come prepared by taking an injection of standard Prozium. My attraction to him was fully neutralized, and I was able to maintain my composure.

"I came to ask for your assistance," I said, rising from my seat as he approached. "I believe that I have reduced or eliminated the side effect caused by my experimental serum. I was hoping you could help me verify my results."

"And how would I do that?" he asked, his face unreadable.

"By reproducing some of the behaviors you previously demonstrated that elicited the side effect," I said coolly.

He stared at me for a long time. Long enough to make me very nervous if serum had not been in my veins.

"No," he said finally. "And do not come here again."

"Yes, Cleric," I said, and I turned and left without a backwards glance.

***

The next time I took antidote, I nearly had a panic attack thinking about what Preston might do to me. Then I found myself imagining other things he might do and brought myself to climax repeatedly, thinking about his powerful, blood-smeared body.

And nothing happened.

Several weeks went by and I heard nothing of the Sacred, Cleric Preston or otherwise. It seemed that the whole thing had blown over, which was a great relief and somehow also a disappointment. I was wondering if I might be able to safely start seeing clients when that unmistakable knock came at my door again.

I heard it and I knew that it was Preston. I moved quickly to the door, compelled by his summons. Why he had come back after turning me away at the Cathedral, I had no idea. But even before I opened the door, I knew that my improvements to the experimental serum were modest at best. My stomach was already in knots of excitement.

I pulled the door open to reveal him standing menacingly on the threshold, his face severe. I stepped aside to admit him into the apartment in silence, unsure what to say, but I didn't have to decide. As soon as the door closed, he pinned me against the wall, his fingers at my throat. Before I had a chance to protest, I felt the needle of an injector pierce my skin.

My eyes went wide as I felt the injection take effect. Fear and desire bubbled up and made war within me as he continued to restrain me. It was antidote. He had injected me with antidote! It was unthinkable.

"What have you done?" I asked in shock. "What have you done!"

"You know what I did," he said, and he pressed his body against mine and kissed me.

Stripped of the serum, I was afraid, terrified. But stronger still was my desire for him, and without the buffering effect of Prozium, I responded explosively. Before I even realized what I was doing, I had a hand in his hair and the other on his back, pulling him tightly against me as I kissed him hungrily.

He ground his hips against me, and I could feel that he had an erection. This was the final, definitive proof that he was a non-adherent; the serum not only eliminated libido, it rendered men impotent. My mind reeled at this bewildering new reality. It was like being told that water was dry, acid was base, or gravity was null to think that a Grammaton Cleric, let alone the most decorated Cleric in Church history, was not religiously observing serum protocols. It was unspeakable corruption of the highest order.

"What," I said, breaking off the kiss, "is going on? What are you doing?"

In response, he put a hand between my legs. I had to bite my lip to stifle a moan as his fingers rubbed me. I dug my fingernails into his arms in excitement as heat blossomed between my legs. My mind might not have been able to grasp or accept this new, inverted reality, but my body cared nothing for explanations.

"I have a proposition for you, Citizen Forsythe," he said, whispering in my ear as he continued to massage me over the fabric of my clothes. "Why don't we fornicate first and ask questions later?"

"Fornicate? You came here to have intercourse with me? You? Are you serious?"

"I assure you," he said, "I have never been more serious." His hand was still playing havoc with my ability to concentrate. "And I am impatient. What is your answer?"

My mind was frozen, buried in an avalanche of questions and uncertainties. The only things I knew for certain were that I wanted more than his hand between my legs and the longer he touched me, the less there was holding me back. But the gravity of the situation could not be ignored.

"What if I said no?" I asked. "You could kill me with little to no repercussion, or arrest and incarcerate me. No one would believe my word against yours. Given the power imbalance, your request is inherently coercive. I can't say no without fear of reprisal. I also have no way of knowing that you won't simply decide to dispose of me afterwards."

"You fear I am a vengeful man," he said.

"You are a Grammaton Cleric. Vengeance is your purpose."

I let out a moan as he ran his tongue in a long stroke up my neck.

"Then," he said, "under what circumstance might the threat of coercion be lifted? I want you willing. Completely."

The low rumble of his voice as he said that he wanted me sent a shiver through me. My brain was not functioning properly, but I knew this was a matter of self-preservation. Despite my base instincts urging me to plough heedlessly forward, I focused on a solution.

"Collateral," I said huskily. His fingers were still between my legs and my breathing was labored. "Mutually assured destruction."

He gave me a serious look, considering. "Would a video recording of our sexual activities suffice? If I left it in your possession."

"Assuming you leave it in my possession, yes."

"But you fear I might retract my offer once it is done."

"The possibility has occurred to me."

"Then we seem to be at an impasse," he observed with poorly concealed frustration. A troubled look crossed his face. "But... I thought... Don't you want me?"

The rawness of the question caught me off guard. In that moment, he wasn't a Cleric. He wasn't a master of the gun kata or an instrument of the Church. He was a man who longed to be desired.

And I did.

"Yes," I blurted, throwing the last of my caution aside. "My answer is yes."

His lips twitched into a brief, satisfied smile. "Good," he said, and he kissed me again.

As we kissed, he began to loosen my pants. Then he slipped his hand inside, into my underwear. He pressed his palm against my public bone, curling his fingers to feel for the wetness between my legs. I moaned into his mouth as he pressed a finger inside of me. I began to scramble at the buttons of his uniform, but he withdrew his hand and, taking me by the wrist, he pulled me down the hall to the bedroom.

He pushed me onto the bed, and I looked up at him from where I lay. His hair and uniform were disheveled, and his cheeks were flushed despite retaining his stony expression of seriousness. I watched as he removed his jacket and shirt, revealing constellations of scars and bruises and a taut, washboard stomach. He pulled several small packets out of a pocket and tossed them onto the bed beside me. Prophylactics. He had come prepared.

Next, he produced a small recording device and walked over to my dresser to set it up facing the bed. I knew that recorders were part of a Cleric's kit, but I had never seen one before; that wasn't my department. He started it. It projected the image it was capturing on the wall behind, and I could see that the recording indicator was active. He brought his face into the frame, then turned to look at me.

"Good?"

I nodded. He came back to the bed, unbuckling his belt as he did so. I realized that I was still fully clothed and began disrobing hurriedly, kicking off my shoes, pulling my shirt over the top of my head in a frenzy, removing my bra. It was graceless and uncoordinated, but I didn't care. He removed the last of his clothing. The sight of his naked body and the things I wanted to do to it gave me a sense of wild urgency. Desire flash-boiled the blood in my veins.

He caught my wrists as I began to remove my pants.

"I want to do this part," he said.

I lay back, my breathing heavy and erratic. I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing entirely on the sensation of his hands pulling my pants off with strong, brusque movements. He peeled off my underwear next, and I opened my eyes, lifting my head to look at him. His gaze was fixed between my legs. I thought I might faint as I watched him toss aside the already-forgotten garment and lower his face between my legs.

As soon as his wet tongue found my clitoris, I had my hands buried in his hair, my back and neck arching. My mouth fell wide open with the pleasure of it.

"Yes," I breathed. "Yes!"

As he kissed me, the desire to be penetrated became almost overwhelming.

"Put your fingers inside me," I said, and when he did, I gasped and let out a small cry.

As he started to thrust his fingers into me, I clamped a hand over my mouth to suppress the noises coming out of me lest a neighbor hear. His tongue continued to circle and stimulate me. It felt amazing, but what I wanted, really wanted, more than anything, was to have his cock inside of me. I wanted him to pound me ferociously with all the strength his muscular, battle-scarred body could manage. I wanted it so badly that the ache of desire in my chest intensified until it felt as though my ribs were being prised open.

"Fuck me," I demanded when I could stand it no longer, pulling his hair, trying to pull his face away from between my legs. "I want you inside of me. Now."

The look he gave me when he lifted his head made me forget to breathe. He grabbed one of the packets, opened it, and put the prophylactic on. He pushed me back further onto the bed and came to kneel between my spread legs. Reaching out to touch me again, he felt my wetness with his fingertips then slid two fingers inside of me. I bit my lip and stifled a moan.

"Ready?" he asked, looking at me.

"Yes," I breathed. "Do it!"

He withdrew his fingers and took hold of his rigid erection. I arched my back as he shifted his hips forward to enter me. The powerful sensation as he slid in made me gasp and tense reflexively. I felt like my mind was shattering.

"Yes," I whispered. "Oh, God. Yes!"

He lay down on top of me, the weight of him pressing me into the bed. Then with his hips pushed firmly against mine, he began to move slowly. The slick, hard feeling of him inside me was a sweet, tortuous pleasure. I could feel my whole body tingling in response to him, even my scalp. Our mouths met again, open and greedy. Gradually, he began to move faster and harder. My eyes rolled up, and I had to remind myself to breathe. Digging my fingers into his back, I marveled at his strength and at the access that I had to his body, the Church's most prized and deadly possession. Mine right now. Mine.

"Do you need to touch yourself?" he asked, not breaking his rhythm.

It took my mind a moment to focus on the question. "What?"

"To have an orgasm," he said, his eyes intent on mine "Do you need to touch yourself?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then do it," he said. "I want to watch."

He paused long enough to lift his chest away from mine, shifting to support himself on his arms and opening up a space between us. Then he began to thrust again. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my eyes closing and my head arching back, fingernails digging into his sides.

"Do it," he growled.

With effort, I forced my eyes open again. I watched his face, and his gaze followed my hand's slow progress down my body. I brought it to where my legs met and began to stimulate myself with my fingers. When he looked back to my face, his dark eyes met mine and my heart caught in my throat.

"I want to see it," he said. "I want to see your face when it happens."

"You will," I said, lifting my other hand to touch his cheek.

I kept my eyes open as long as I could, basking in the sight of his strong, scarred body and his beautiful eyes, watching the contractions of his muscles as he thrust himself into me deeply, over and over, and over again. As the tension built, the physical sensation became too powerful for me to keep my eyes open. I let my lids drop and focused entirely on the delicious impacts of his hips against mine and the hard, slippery feeling of him inside of me. I moved my hand faster, hastening the moment. So close.

"Harder," I moaned. "Harder."

He complied, his body driving forcefully against mine, making my limbs quake with each repetition. It raised goosebumps on my skin. I felt like a stretched rubber band, tightening to the breaking point, closer and closer still, expectant for the moment of release.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, John. Oh, God. Oh, God! I'm so close, I'm-"

My words were cut off by moans as the orgasm took me, and it crushed me like a tidal wave. I clapped a hand over my own mouth to limit the sound, my other hand still moving, drawing out the sensation as it coursed through me like an electric charge. Preston kept going, stretching the exquisite moment out to its last, longer than I thought possible. I let out a final gasp then went limp underneath him, and he slowed to a stop.

"Oh my God," was all I could hoarsely whisper. "Oh my God."

I was trying to catch my breath, and I opened my eyes to look at him. He was panting, his face sweaty, and the irises of his eyes were dilated and wild. It was possibly the sexiest thing I had ever seen. And even though I had just climaxed, I could already feel desire for him stirring again.

He leaned forward and pressed his chest against mine once more, stretching out on top of me.

"Oh, John, that was amazing," I said. "You feel so good."

"Aliya," he replied, saying it as though he enjoyed the taste of my name. It made me shiver. "Aliya."

He reached one hand up to grip my breast and pinched my erect nipple between his fingertips. I let out a soft cry of both pleasure and pain, and he began to thrust again, still playing with my nipple. I lost all semblance of control, and I writhed wildly beneath him, mindless in my pleasure.

"Do it again," he whispered against my neck, and he shifted his hips to open up just enough space for my hand.

I brought my hand back between my legs. I felt like I had died and been born into an orgiastic heaven. My fingers moved quickly. He brought his mouth to my ear and took my earlobe between his teeth. His coordination was amazing as he manipulated my ear and my nipple while thrusting hard into me, then harder, sensing my rapid crescendo as the orgasm came. I flailed and spasmed beneath him once more, and he kept moving until he was certain that he had wrung every last drop out of me.

Once more, I went limp, desperately trying to catch my breath. He lifted his chest away from mine and supported himself on his arms. Looking down at me he began to make small, hard movements. I let out little cries as he slid within me, my eyes closed and my lids heavy with post-climatic fog.

As he began to move faster, I could tell that he was nearing his own climax. Everything about the moment felt insane, inside out, and backwards. Taking antidote and fornicating with this beautiful man, this Grammaton Cleric, as he corrupted himself with the carnal pleasures of my body. It was absurd. Unreal. I couldn't believe anything was happening. But I didn't have to: I was getting fucked whether I could wrap my head around it or not.

His pace kept increasing, his body tightening, and I forced my eyes open to watch him. His eyes were closed, lips parted, and his brow was furrowed in concentration. It was so gorgeous that it made me bite my lip. My whole body shook each time he drove himself home. He began moving almost frantically when, gloriously, he came. It was like sunlight bursting through clouds as the expression of release broke across his features. His hips rocked wildly, then he cursed softly and let out a low moan. Jerking spasmodically, his movements slowed, and when the final contraction left him, he collapsed onto me. We lay entwined, twitching with aftershocks and caressing each other mindlessly.

"My God, John," I said, running my hands over his back. "Oh my God. That was amazing."

He shivered and sighed, the weight of his muscular body sagging against mine. Then he kissed the pit of my throat and said, "Everyone calls me John or Cleric Preston, but this is something different. I am something different." He lifted his head to look at me. "When I'm with you, inside of you, I want you to call me Azrael."

"Azrael," I whispered in reply, and he kissed me.

He rolled off me, and we lay side by side, staring at the ceiling. I reached across myself to caress the chiseled sculpture of his abdominals, still in disbelief.

Finally, curiosity got the better of me.

"What is going on?" came my bewildered question, but my tone was soft.

He let out a sigh, and I saw his jaw flex. He rose from the bed, and I thought for a moment that he was going to leave. But instead, he went to stop and collect the recording device. Returning to bed, he handed it to me then disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the water run. I gazed at the recording device in awe, rolling it between my fingertips as he had my nipple. Proof of corruption in the highest echelons of the Church. Mutually assured destruction.

He returned a few moments later, having removed the prophylactic. He lay down next to me on his back and stared up at the ceiling. In a few moments he spoke.

"They teach us about emotion as part of our training. How to identify it and to understand how it motivates non-adherents. I've seen a lot of it." He turned his head to look at me. "But never, before you, had I seen lust. Not in-person and certainly not directed at me."

I looked back at him, searching his face, waiting.

He turned his gaze back to the ceiling, and I stared at his profile. "The encounter with you made me curious, so I went digging into the Archives. Anatomy, physiology, manuals, pornography. I satisfied my desire for information and that would have been the end of it. Then you showed up at the Cathedral."

He rolled onto his side to face me and cupped one of my breasts. I shivered.

"I already knew your file. High performing, top marks: a productive, intelligent, and highly rational individual. And there you were, making a thinly-veiled sexual overture, to me, of all people. I could have arrested you; I probably should have." He shook his head. "My mind kept returning to it. I resisted it for weeks. But I had to know why you would do such a thing. What motivator could possibly be that strong?"

He released my breast and slowly slid his hand down my ribs to my belly and then between my legs. I inhaled sharply when he slid fingers into me, and I murmured his name. With my eyes closed, I focused on the sensation as he stroked me, still clutching the recording in my hand.

"That can't be it," I whispered, my words labored as I savored the distraction he was providing. "You would betray everything that you ever lived for, trained for, stood for, because you had to know? Because you were curious?"