#raswill

Erasmus pushes William to the bench as they crowd into the little booth.  His knee is braced on the seat against William’s thigh and he tries very hard not to think about that.  Tries to keep his breathing even. Tries not to think about the thoughts he’s had in the past about this stuffy and fussy priest and his damnable thighs.  Sometimes he missed the damn cassock just so he wouldn’t have to see the things all the time.  Now he couldn’t get away from them even if he tried.

He sighs, looking anywhere but at the priest, bracing his hand against the back wall.  He has to be cautious of so many different things. All his years as a con man have somehow not prepared him for this.  Sure, he’s been in close quarters situations before - both with people he didn’t want to be around and with people he’d been tasked to seduce.  This is different. He cares about William, more than he’s ever cared about a single person.

“Erasmus...um-” Before William can finish the thought, Erasmus turns his head and shushes him with a finger.  The man has no business being in situations like these, even after all this time. It shouldn’t be endearing - this constant need William has to smooth over every situation he’s in - but it is.  

Oh, but this was a very stupid thing for Erasmus to do.  The situation is already tense, did he really think shushing the priest with a finger would make anything better?  He can hear the heavy scrape of armor through the church but it’s fuzzy in his head. Too muddled with the sensation of William’s breath surrounding his finger.  Warm out, cool in. Steady but heavy.  

How long has Erasmus been wanting - been watching this stuffy straight-laced priest from afar?  Trying not to get too close, not to touch, not to do anything with this vicious and incessant want that’s plagued him for so long.

He should look away, he needs to look away, but he can’t.  The guards are still milling around in the church and they’re getting closer and he can’t look away from William’s eyes.  They’re blue, like the ocean he only has vague memories of, from when he was younger. But there’s something else there, something deeper.  Something darker. Something Erasmus has seen in the eyes of his con marks, of barmaids, of drunken men. Something he’s seen in the eyes of lovers.

William’s blond curls barely brush Erasmus’s forearm where it’s held next to his head, sparking something all the way down Erasmus’s spine.  William’s breath is growing heavier the longer they stare at each other, and even in this low flickering light Erasmus can see the pink creeping on his cheeks.  On the tips of his ears. On his neck.

Erasmus swallows hard, and carefully switches from one finger pressed to William’s lips to covering his mouth with his whole hand.  As he does, he shifts his knee. Just slightly, but it’s more than enough. A muffled whine escapes from William’s throat as he closes his eyes and arches his back.  His hands come up to cling in the fabric of Erasmus’s tunic.

They stare at each other for another beat, listening to the guards outside toppling pews and breaking down doors.  This is not the time for this. This should not be the time for this.  But William is giving him a pleading look and the evidence of his desire is pressed against Erasmus’ knee.

Erasmus tilts his head to the side and nods once; William looks at him and nods back.  Erasmus closes the gap between them, stopping a mere inch from his own hand where it covers the priest’s mouth.  “Shhh…” Erasmus hisses as he kisses the back of his own hand, afraid to move it and break the spell, but wanting the sentiment to be clear.  He feels William exhale against his hand and this sensation is going to break him. He breaks off and takes his hand from the wall, reaching down to the laces of WIlliam’s breeches.  Erasmus stops, hand hovering just there, eyes searching William’s face. William tightens his grip on Erasmus’ tunic and nods again.

Erasmus makes quick work of the laces, freeing William’s erection.  He rests his forehead against the priest’s, still silently seeking permission with every step.  His own breath is mingling with what escapes of William’s through his fingers and it almost overwhelms him.  William moves a hand to cup Erasmus’ cheek, eyes pleading, and nods. They both know this isn’t the place, but they also both know they may never get this chance again.

Erasmus places a quick kiss to William’s forehead before sinking down to his knees, one hand still covering the priest’s mouth.  He looks up at William one more time, just as they hear a statue toppled over and breaking. William jumps and turns towards the sound and for one brief moment Erasmus thinks the spell is broken and this will end.  Instead William turns back and twines one of his hands into Erasmus’ red hair. Erasmus has seen this look a million times, on a million faces. It’s impossible not to in this kind of work. But he had never dreamed he’d see it on William’s face.

The torchlight in the church gets brighter as the guards get closer, and Erasmus can feel the urgency of his own nearly painful erection.  He runs a featherlight touch over William’s thigh, thinking of all the times he’s wanted to feel that musclebound softness. All the times he’s stared.  William shudders and grips Erasmus’ hair tighter. Erasmus trails kisses along his thigh, despite it still being covered by those damned breeches. But their confines right now don’t really lend well to ripping off clothing, so he’ll make do.  

He runs a thumb over the tip of William’s cock, finding it already leaking.  He feels the hitch of William’s breath behind his hand and nearly loses himself.

Erasmus isn’t usually like this, undone before the main event event occurs, but he’s already damned close to breaking.  Doing this with William, here, of all the places that they could’ve made this leap. There’s something so inherently sinful about it that shoots right to the heart of him.  

He keeps rubbing the tip in circles, paying close attention to the sensitive area on the underside, feeling William’s breath hitching behind his hand.  Every little sound and every little movement that William makes causes an answering twitch in his own cock, and Erasmus has never wanted anything more than this in his entire existence.

Erasmus leans down, close enough to feel the heat pulsing off of William, but he stops just short of his target.  He looks up at William again and he thinks this is a view he could get used to. He breathes deep and exhales slowly, waiting for permission.  William nods his head and Erasmus, needing no more than that, presses a long but tender kiss to the tip. He works his way down the length of it, feeling every twitch that his kisses elicit, before running his tongue back up to the tip.  He looks back up to William once more. He nods again, no hesitation in his gaze - just want. Erasmus takes the tip into his mouth.  

He strokes along the underside with his tongue - slowly and deliberately - as he takes more and more of William into his mouth.  The hand in his hair tightens, and Erasmus moans, noise muffled by the cock in his mouth. He pulls back off to just the tip and wraps his free hand around the base, letting it do the work his mouth can’t.  

In a perfect world, Erasmus would take William apart slowly.  Bit by bit and piece by piece until they were both such a mess for each other that this could never be a one-time occurence.  But he doesn’t have that luxury right now.  Not with guards destroying the church around them.  Not with them both on the run. Not with every moment of rest stolen from a world that wants them dead.

If this is all he gets, he’s going to make sure William enjoys it.

He takes William in as deep as he can, hollowing out his cheeks.  Erasmus feels him inhale sharply and tighten his grip, pushing and pulling as he sees fit.  Erasmus is about to topple over the edge - everything about this is intoxicating to him. The feel of William in his mouth, in his hand.  The hot sharp breaths escaping through his fingers. The heady scent of arousal.

William taps him on the head and he looks up, guessing from the push and the pull, and the bucking of William’s hips, what he’s trying to say.  He’s close, and Erasmus wants all of it. He pulls away just enough to circle his tongue around the tip once more before sinking back down as far as his throat will let him.  

William bites down hard on Erasmus’ hand as he spills down the back of his throat.  The mix of pain and pleasure is overwhelming and Erasmus soon follows him, coming undone completely untouched.  William’s leg is shaking furiously, and Erasmus splays his free hand across his thigh to pin him down, continuing his ministrations as William goes soft again.

William breathes quietly but heavily through his aftershocks and Erasmus wipes his mouth, rising back up and just looking at him.  The flush of pleasure looks good on the priest. His hand is still in William’s mouth. He can feel the lingering pain of the bite marks, exacerbated by William’s breath across them.  He chances a touch and runs one hand through William’s curls.  

“Hey!”  One of the guards shouts and they both jump.  “We found some tracks heading north! Boss wants us to follow those!”

“Right then, on with it,” says a voice entirely too close for comfort, right outside the confessional door.  They hadn’t even noticed. Jesus fucking Christ, Erasmus thinks through his haze.  William’s eyes are wide with fear, even as they hear the guards receding back to the door.

Erasmus can smell the old book dust that follows the priest around and the petrichor from the storm they escaped, both mingling in the air with the scent of sex.  This will be the end of it, he’s sure, and he can’t bring himself to move. To look away. To go back to life before this.

“We did it,” he says, softly, voice hoarse, “they’re gone.”  He sighs with relief, removing his hand from William’s mouth and resting their foreheads together again.  He thinks, in a most un-scoundrel-like way, that he could be comfortable right there for eternity.  

WIlliam is still breathing heavily, although more measured now.  He doesn’t seem to be able to meet Erasmus’ gaze and, really, he should’ve expected that.  What had he hoped? That this would be the start of something?  Something tangible and real?  Those aren’t the hopes a man like Erasmus gets to have, especially in regards to a man like William.  

“We should...probably get moving,” William says, voice rough and cracking like the fragile thing it is. “They’ll find out we didn’t go that way soon enough, and they’ll be back.”  The priest makes no motion to move, no motion to pull away. Neither does Erasmus, even as he feels his traitorous heart breaking in two.

“Yeah.  Yeah, we probably should.”

It’s the most difficult thing Erasmus has ever done, to wrench himself out of William’s personal space.  The spell had to break at some point, and things had to go back to normal. As normal as they could be. Only fools hope, and all that nonsense.

He doesn’t get far.  William’s hand cups his cheek and he lets out - for somebody’s sake - an honest to God whimper.  “What’s this about, priest?” Erasmus can’t help but hiss, overwhelmed by how warm and soft William’s hand is.  He leans into it like a cat and curses this touch-starved part of himself.

“Don’t,” William says around a quiet sob. “Don’t...just...don’t…”

“Sorry, you’re right,” Erasmus says as he pulls away again. “Won’t let anyone know, just a moment of weakness on my part.  Secret’s safe here, never has to happen-”

“Let me finish, my dear,” William says as he grabs Erasmus’s collar and pulls him back.  “What I was saying is, please don’t tell me that didn’t mean anything to you, because I don’t think I could bear it.”

The moment stretches into infinity, here in the confines of this box.  In the darkness and the silence. Balancing on a sword’s edge between the before and the after.  All at once they crash together. Soft hands tangling in crimson hair; spindly arms wrapping around a waist tightly, so tightly.  Lips pressed to lips after what feels like ages of wishing and looking and wanting.

“Your hand though, dear!  Are you alr-” Erasmus silences William with his mouth again, deepening the kiss, all but begging for entry, which William readily allows.

“It’s fine, I liked it, be wearing you on my hand for weeks now pr-,” Erasmus says when they break the next time.  This time William rushes to interrupt, giving back in kind, mapping out the points of Erasmus’ teeth and moaning in a frankly obscene way that he really didn’t know the priest had in him.

They break again and to Erasmus, William is somehow even more of a vision.  Lips swollen and red from their fervent kissing, eyes sparkling impossibly and full of something that Erasmus can’t quite place.  It’s too much; he almost can’t bear it, all these feelings welling up inside of him with nowhere to go. All he knows is if he doesn’t get his lips on William’s again, he’s going to explode.  

He leans in again just as the door is flung open.

“Are you two done?” Julia shouts at them. “The fake tracks I laid won’t throw them off for long, we’ve got to get out of here!”

Erasmus has to suppress a laugh at the look on William’s face.  Julia stares at them before realization dawns on her face and she goes beet red.

“Oh my...are you serious?  Are either of you really serious?  With guards! And...in...in a confessional!  Whatever, you know what, I do not care, at least maybe now you’ll quit with the longing, it’s so loud from the both of you it makes it difficult to think.  Sort yourselves out, I’m going to go get Joshua.” She turns on her heel and leaves.  

Erasmus watches her go, looking for all the world like that cat that got caught with the cream, when he hears snickering.  Very quiet and faint snickering.  He looks back at William, who is trying very hard not to laugh.  The sight undoes him and he breaks, big roaring laughs like he hasn’t had in years.  William breaks too, with a big full laugh that feels like the sunrise as they collapse onto each other in a fit of giggles.  It dies down quickly, leaving two beaming smiles in its wake.

“Come on then, William of Neath.” Erasmus says the name with a bit of haughty flair to it as he offers the priest his hand. “Would you allow a scoundrel to escort you back to wherever the hell it is we’re camping out tonight?”