My Body Is Your Temple

In some ways, Allelujah thought, bathhouses were something like temples. Maybe not quite the same – after all, there were usually fewer deities and incense sticks in bathhouses – but after a long day, there was nothing closer to heaven than sliding into the hot water of a bath and allowing the heat to melt tension away.

Allelujah leaned back against the tile wall of the bath, resting his head on the ledge and closing his eyes. He could already feel the stress from the previous week loosening, the knots of tension in his lower back dissolving in the soothing heat of the bathwater. Every Friday, Allelujah came here, and every Friday he wondered why he didn’t do it more often – this was very high up on his list of favorite things to do, third only to sleeping and Lockon.

As the heat and aromatic oils of the bath clouded his senses, Allelujah rested his arms along the edge of the pool and mentally praised the ancient civilization that had invented bathhouses. The bathhouse was particularly Roman in design, or so Allelujah had discovered upon a bit of research – it had all of the chambers and apartments of a traditional Roman bathhouse, including an atrium, apodyterium, frigidarium, tepidarium, and caldarium. Some of these rooms seemed rather useless, at least in Allelujah’s opinion, but he nevertheless enjoyed the rituals of the experience.

Plus, there was just something calming about going through the motions.

It wasn’t long, though, before his complete peace was disrupted. Allelujah chose this particular time slot – 2 pm on Friday afternoon – for the exact reason that he knew no one else would be there; unfortunately, this time he seemed to be wrong. There was a crash from the showers, and a moment later, a sheepish-looking Lyle appeared in the doorway, looking guiltily behind him as if expecting a reprimand.

Allelujah groaned quietly and closed his eyes, hoping that maybe, if he ignored Lyle’s existence, Lyle would disappear. Unfortunately, his technique must have been sloppy, because a moment later there was a splash, a slight disturbance in the water, and then Lyle slid into the pool.

“There are at least four other pools here,” Allelujah pointed out, eyes still closed. He tried very hard not to let his mild irritation leak into his voice. “You could have chosen one of those.”

He felt Lyle shrug. “Yeah, but then I’d be bored and alone.”

“Of course.” Allelujah brought his head back up and opened his eyes. “I can’t promise I’ll be good entertainment.”

“Yeah, figured. But at least I won’t end up talking to myself or something dumb like that.”

Allelujah had to crack a small smile at that, simply because the mental image was both amusing and totally plausible. Lyle had his moments of introspection, of course, but it was rare that he had nothing to say and even rarer that he had no one to say it to.

After a moment of quiet, the exact nature of their situation struck Allelujah like a punch in the stomach. They were both somewhat dizzied by the clouds of steam rising from the pool, both (presumably, if last week had been any indication) attracted to the other, and both undeniably, irrevocably naked. Judging by the sudden flush on Lyle’s face and the way his gaze slid away from Allelujah’s face, he had realized it too.

It was a precarious situation, at best. Under normal circumstances, Allelujah would have trusted both his and Lyle’s self-control, but these were hardly normal circumstances – they were both heady from lack of oxygen and heat, not to mention the oils that Allelujah himself had added to the bath.

Allelujah ran a quick mental catalogue of the oils he’d added. Rose oil for calming, jasmine for the headache he’d been carrying behind his eyes all day – lavender, for muscle tension – and vanilla, just because he liked the smell. Another mental catalogue informed him that two of the four also had aphrodisiac properties.

Shit.

Suddenly, the pool began to feel far too small.

Lyle, oblivious to Allelujah’s discomfort, shifted and leaned back against the wall of the pool. “Do you come here a lot?” he asked, glancing around the interior of the bathhouse. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Allelujah replied, responding to both questions at once. Lyle bit the edge of his thumb, apparently unaware of how the action dragged across his lower lip, and Allelujah swallowed hard, averting his gaze. This was a very, very bad idea.

“Uh, I just remembered – I have to – something,” Allelujah muttered, turning around to grab his towel. “Make dinner. I’ll see you later.”

Lyle gave him a confused, semi-concerned look. “What’s wro – uh .. ” he said, then trailed off as Allelujah stood up out of the water. In the split second between departing the water and Allelujah wrapping the towel around himself, Lyle had managed to catch a glimpse of exactly why Allelujah was so suddenly uncomfortable, and the image was doing nothing to dissuade him.

Allelujah practically fled the baths, bypassing the labrum entirely in his haste to get back to his clothing. The plan was to take a quick shower in the frigidarium – a cold shower, thanks much – snag his clothes and be gone before Lyle knew what had happened.

Reaching the relative safety of the frigidarium, Allelujah leaned his forehead against the wall below the showerhead and half-shuddered, half-sighed. He would have to change his routine, now – there was no way he could come back at this time, not when Lyle knew he’d be here. And he’d have to make sure to stop using so many aphrodisiac oils, no matter how good they smelled.

Heaving another sigh, he reached out for the knob, preparing himself for the onslaught of frigid water that he knew was coming – but before he could turn it, a hand covered his, halting him in his tracks.

“What are you doing,” Lyle asked, his voice right against Allelujah’s ear. Unable to help himself, Allelujah shivered again. “What did I do? Why are you running away from me?”

“I’m not,” Allelujah replied – an obvious lie, of course, and he was sure Lyle knew it. He’d never lied to Lyle before, at least not directly, and he could practically feel the hurt emanating from the man behind him.

“If I did something – ”

“Stop it, Lyle. You didn’t do anything.”

There was a long pause. For a moment, Allelujah analyzed the situation – he was leaning, both hands on the wall, and Lyle was right behind him. He could feel Lyle’s body pressed against his back in places, and where he couldn’t feel skin he could feel body heat – Lyle’s body was suddenly a furnace, and Allelujah wanted nothing more than to press back into that warmth, to pull Lyle against him and feel that skin against his body.

“Allelujah,” Lyle said, his voice low. He shifted, his palm finding its way to Allelujah’s hip, sliding across his stomach. The action pressed the entirety of Lyle’s body against Allelujah’s back, and Allelujah couldn’t help the stifled gasp that escaped as the sensation overwhelmed him. He could feel Lyle’s chest against his back, the strength of the arm around his waist – not to mention the insistence of Lyle’s erection pressed against the small of his back.

The sound that came from him then wasn’t a word, even. Allelujah was practically shaking with the effort it took not to let this get to him – it wasn’t working, but damned if he wasn’t going to try.

“Lyle, this is a bad idea,” Allelujah said, and mentally swore when his voice wavered.

“Really?” Lyle replied, his mouth pressed to the place where Allelujah’s neck met his shoulder. “It seems like a pretty fuckin’ good idea to me.”

“Lyle .. ”

“Allelujah.”

It was the insistence in Lyle’s voice that did it, the Dylandy unwillingness to let anything go. Allelujah sighed and dropped his head backwards onto Lyle’s shoulder, an unspoken agreement to whatever Lyle wants to do – he tilted his head to the side, giving Lyle more space, and shuddered when Lyle took advantage of it. Allelujah could feel teeth and tongue tracing patterns on his skin, and when he imagined what else those teeth and tongue could be doing he found himself pressing back against Lyle, unable to resist.

“Mmm,” Lyle said, his voice pleased. “It’s okay, Alle. I’ve got you.”

There was guilt deep in the pit of Allelujah’s stomach – and shame, because he wasn’t like this. He wasn’t the type to .. cheat, because that was exactly what he was doing, Lockon’s willingness notwithstanding. He wasn’t the type who let his fiancé’s younger brother fuck him in the showers. He wasn’t. And Lockon would find out, of course, and that would be a battle Allelujah wasn’t sure he was ready to have.

But then Lyle’s hand wrapped around his cock and his teeth sank into Allelujah’s neck, and that was the end of rational thought.

One of his hands tangled in Lyle’s hair, and he arched his back, pushing forward into Lyle’s hand. The room seemed too warm, suddenly, and there wasn’t quite enough air, but all it did was heighten Allelujah’s senses, send him spiraling higher and higher. He could feel the remaining moisture from the baths on their skin, coupled with the slickness of the oils Allelujah had added to the water – and the scent, it lingered. Lyle smelled like sex, like vanilla and jasmine, and it was both amusingly feminine and altogether too potent for Allelujah to handle.

It surprised him when he came. It felt like every nerve in his body had been set alight, and he clenched his fingers in Lyle’s hair, turned his face against Lyle’s jaw and shuddered – the moan he gave was a low sound, primal, and he could feel the shudder that Lyle gave in response. Allelujah could still feel Lyle’s cock, hot and incredibly hard against his back – it had to be almost painful, by now, and he leaned forward, bracing himself with both arms against the tile of the shower and practically inviting Lyle to take him.

A moment later, Lyle’s lips pressed against the place between his shoulderblades. “No lube,” he murmured against Allelujah’s skin.

“Don’t care,” Allelujah said. He did care, sort of, in a distant corner of his mind where such worries were contained – but for the most part, he was practically craving Lyle’s cock inside him, and that desire was clouding out any caution that he might have ordinarily put forth.

“I care,” Lyle said, and the simplicity of the statement made Allelujah’s heart ache.

So instead, he turned around and kissed Lyle for the first time in the entirety of this encounter, trying to convey everything through that one gesture. His hands slid up Lyle’s chest, his shoulders, and stopped at the line of his face, the edges of Allelujah’s palms pressed against Lyle’s jaw. He could feel Lyle’s pulse pounding just below the surface of his skin, and Allelujah kissed him like he was trying to drink Lyle in.

When they pulled apart, Allelujah slid to his knees and took Lyle’s cock first into his hands and then into his mouth, his thumbs brushing over Lyle’s hipbones in a matching rhythm. He could feel the tension in Lyle’s muscles, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long – so he gave it everything he had, taking Lyle’s cock all the way and swallowing around the head. One of his hands, wandering, caressed Lyle’s balls, pressed his fingers to Lyle’s perineum, and then slid one finger inside him, pressing as deep as he could safely go.

Lyle gave a strangled sort of groan, and that was the only warning Allelujah had before Lyle’s hands were clenching in his hair and he was coming down Allelujah’s throat. Allelujah almost choked, then forced himself to relax, swallowing until Lyle had nothing left to give and resisting the urge to make faces at the taste.

When Lyle’s shuddering had abated, Allelujah sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth. He looked up at Lyle, unsure of what to say, and Lyle looked down at him, a similar uncertainty written across his features. After a pause, Lyle offered Allelujah a hand and pulled him to his feet, then pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, a gesture that was both brotherly and surprisingly gentle.

“I’ll see you later,” Lyle murmured into Allelujah’s hair, kissing him quickly before he walked away. Allelujah watched Lyle leave, and as soon as the doors had closed behind him, slid down the wall of the shower and rested his forehead on his knees.

You got yourself into this, Hallelujah pointed out.

“Shut up,” Allelujah mumbled, and for once, Hallelujah did.

***

When Lockon stepped into their room that evening, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the look of desperation on Allelujah’s face.

“Allelu – ” he begins, and stops when he finds Allelujah in his arms, his face pressed into Allelujah’s hair and Allelujah’s lips forming silent syllables against his neck. “What’s .. ”

He trails off when the syllables begin to form coherent words. “I’m sorry,” Allelujah says, over and over. “I’m so sorry, Lockon.”

Lockon pulls back, cups Allelujah’s face in his hands and looks at him. It’s impossible not to see the way his hair is mussed, or the bite mark standing out red on the skin of his throat – Lockon knows, then, exactly why Allelujah is apologizing.

“Lyle?” he asks, and Allelujah nods, expression delicate like he’s on the edge of breaking down.

And because his is Allelujah – Allelujah, who he loves unquestioningly – Lockon nods and kisses his forehead. “It’s all right, Alle,” he says, his lips still pressed to Allelujah’s forehead. “I forgive you.”