#1007

Book of Kells

The Book of Kells (c. 800) is an illuminated manuscript of the four gospels of the Christian New Testament, currently housed at Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland. The work is the most famous of the medieval illuminated manuscripts for the intricacy, detail, and majesty of the illustrations. It is thought the book was created as a showpiece for the altar, not for daily use, because more attention was obviously given to the artwork than the text.

The beauty of the lettering, portraits of the evangelists, and other images, often framed by intricate Celtic knotwork motifs, has been praised by writers through the centuries. Scholar Thomas Cahill notes that, “as late as the twelfth century, Geraldus Cambrensis was forced to conclude that the Book of Kells was “the work of an angel, not of a man” owing to its majestic illustrations and that, in the present day, the letters illustrating the Chi-Rho (the monogram of Christ) are regarded as “more presences than letters” on the page for their beauty (165). Unlike other illuminated manuscripts, where text was written and illustration and illumination added afterwards, the creators of the Book of Kells focused on the impression the work would have visually and so the artwork was the focus of the piece.

Origin & Purpose

The Book of Kells was produced by monks of St. Columba's order of Iona, Scotland, but exactly where it was made is disputed. Theories regarding composition range from its creation on the island of Iona to Kells, Ireland, to Lindisfarne, Britain. It was most likely created, at least in part, at Iona and then brought to Kells to keep it safe from Viking raiders who first struck Iona in 795, shortly after their raid on Lindisfarne Priory in Britain.

A Viking raid in 806 killed 68 monks at Iona and led to the survivors abandoning the abbey in favor of another or their order at Kells. It is likely that the Book of Kells traveled with them at this time and may have been completed in Ireland. The oft-repeated claim that it was made or first owned by St. Columba (521-597) is untenable as the book was created no earlier than c. 800, but there is no doubt it was produced by later members of his order.

The work is commonly regarded as the greatest illuminated manuscript of any era owing to the beauty of the artwork and this, no doubt, had to do with the purpose it was made for. Scholars have concluded that the book was created for use during the celebration of the mass but most likely was not read from so much as shown to the congregation.

This theory is supported by the fact that the text is often carelessly written, contains a number of errors, and at points certainly seems an afterthought to the illustrations on the page. The priests who would have used the book most likely already had the biblical passages memorized and so would recite them while holding the book, having no need to read from the text.

Scholar Christopher de Hamel notes how, in the present day, “books are very visible in churches” but that in the Middle Ages this would not have been the case (186). De Hamel describes the rough outline of a medieval church service:

There were no pews (people usually stood or sat on the floor), and there would probably have been no books on view. The priest read the Mass in Latin from a manuscript placed on the altar and the choir chanted their part of the daily office from a volume visible only to them. Members of the congregation were not expected to join in the singing; some might have brought their Books of Hours to help ease themselves into a suitable frame of mind, but the services were conducted by the priests. (186)

The Book of Kells is thought to have been the manuscript on the altar which may have been first used in services on Iona and then certainly was at the abbey of Kells. The brightly-colored illustrations and illumination would have made it an exceptionally impressive piece to a congregation, adding a visual emphasis to the words the priest recited while being shown to the people; much in the way one today would read a picture book to a small child.

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1,007 wrds

CW: Overstim, SubTop John | 3rd POV

Late night tea stirs. Sherlock ponders, staring— calculating for what felt like hours. A knock, he looks over to see John in his pajamas. “You okay in here?” his voice soft with expression.

“fine. pondering.” Sherlock denies eye contact, focusing on his honied tea.

“Stressing, you mean.” John walks over, sitting down next to him on the couch. “you still.. thinking about her? Adler?” The Woman. Pieces of her mystery clouded his mind. Was it interest? Obsession? Intimacy. Intimidation. “Of course not. There’s more to the mind than a lover. An attachment.” Domination—scents like a reminiscent.

“Yes, I know, but.. you’re thinking about her. See it on your face. Touching..yearning.” he chuckles. “Never thought I’d see something like that from you, Sherlock.”

His spoon pauses its stir, looking at john. “How so?”

john clears his throat, eye contact wavy. “Well.., you’ve never looked..at me… like that.” his eyes scatter john’s figure—his expressions, his tone. Sherlock sighs, “We are just roommates, john.” he bluffs. “are we?” the demeanor of the room quiets—shifts. “What else would we be?..”

john retreats, thinking back to the other night. They were intoxicated, fucking on this very couch. Still roommates. “I suppose you’re right.” He lifts himself from the couch. “I don’t plan on moving out, by the way, i just.. thought that maybe we’ve gotten… closer. Anyway, I should probably head back to bed, work in the morning and all that. Night, Sherlock.” He heads towards his room upstairs, wondering if that step was too far out.

He closes his bedroom door, climbing back into bed.

Couldn’t sleep. It was like it was all he could think about. The other night, they went out drinking. It was Molly’s birthday so she invited them and a few other friends out to celebrate. one thing led to another, and they were on the couch, in a daze. (fucking right on Mrs. Hudson’s new couch.)

It got him hot all over again. they were easy to see if anyone walked in, easy to hear too. thats probably why his dick is hard again. His hand wandered down to the aching bulge in his pants underneath his covers. He reimagined what he could, stroking his dick, moaning unconsciously.

(their lips pressed against one another, heavy warmth in their chest and spit. John lays him back onto the couch, the fuzz of their pajama pants rubbing friction against each other. Their lips open in unison, taking each other’s tongues into their mouths.)

His tongue. his groans. he’s moist already.

(john grinds between his legs, dryhumping into him, his tongue thrusting into his slick mouth. “I want to touch you, Sherlock..” john’s mouth wanders, kissing down Sherlock’s neck as well, sucking any place he could reach. “make you feel good,...deeper than this..” Sherlock moans, feeling him grind against his hole. “Ohh…” Sherlock strokes, his legs folded, a pleading, moaning mess he’s become. lips parted, he takes john again, their tongues overlapping into eager tension.)

His dick throbs, squirting against the covers. He bites back his moans, trying to go backwards. Back to when he got to make his partner cum on himself.

He’s gonna cum on himself. again.

(john shifts, grunting, his bent boner continued to press at Sherlock’s hole through his fuzzies. “all this friction… fuck, Sherlock..” he takes Sherlock, stroking him at a quickened pace, his foreskin wettening his thumb and pointer. Quicker—john strokes, pulling his foreskin farther and farther back with every squelching stroke they share.

“i love watching you melt like this.. all for me..” john mumbles.)

Oh fuck. oh fuck.

2nd cumshot.

(Sherlock arches. his voice cracks, looking at him, water bubbling in his eyes. john slows his stroke, pressing his thumb into the slit of his penis. “I’ve imagined you in every way possible…” Sherlock pants, sweating, trying to stay quiet. “touching me…loving me…” fucking you, blowing you…. “I…”

“Sherlock, I do love you..I’ll never stop. No matter how much you push me away…” His eyes soften, a small smile on his lips. “...no matter how much you claim to dislike what I do for you…” His eyes wander down, soaking his fingers. “..to you.” John pulls his cock out, slapping his tip against Sherlock’s, his foreskin pulled back. john uses his hand to lather and finger Sherlock’s hole, watching his expression. “fuck..” john moans.

“you’re squeezing on my fingers already, baby… mm..”)

If he wasn’t tired he’d probably fuck himself thinking about him, trying to replicate any feeling of pleasure to savor such a feeling.

Faster—he pumps, milking himself, thinking of filling him up. he would fill him up so good… just thinking about it makes him thick. he doesn’t want to let go of that feeling. that vulnerability. that deflowering moment.

he’s gonna cum again.

(his pointer and middle squelch at his rim, watching his fingers suck and fuck in and out of the detective. Sherlock groans, grinding down onto him, grabbing both their cocks with one hand, pumping at john’s pace. they moan together, pumping each other faster by the minute. their bodies hump and grind together, the rustle of the couch adding just enough friction collision to send john over the edge first. “cumming!” john pressures, thrusting in and out of Sherlock’s palm, nutting first on his stomach and chest. Sherlock swallows, fucking himself against john’s hand. make me cum. please make me cum.

Sherlock’s eyes widen, gasping, feeling john massage over that sweet spot of his. he tenses, squeezing tight on curved fingers, feeling his orgasm close. “i’m about to–” he grunts loud, holding his tongue almost, shooting cumshots into the air and on his stomach. Partial drips down his length, john stroking him achingly slow once again. he pumps out the cum even more, watching Sherlock’s legs cave. “fffuuck…” Sherlock groans.)