Road to Rome

I know this type of people all too well.Antonio thought, taking a look at the clothes that had fallen to the floor, then turned his gaze back to Marco Costa's face and stayed there, refusing to flinch. "This type of person" is very common in a seminary, or in any self-contained organization or institution, "this type of person" will run around like a spider, thinking about how to weave a web every day, stumbling For the amusement of those who pass unsuspectingly by in front of them.At 19 Antonio might well have detoured in terror, praying that "the kind" wouldn't notice him, but he wasn't 19 anymore, years beyond it.If the horse could get himself a gnat that he could frighten and play with at will, Antonio was ready to make him change his mind now.

"I can't help, you don't look like you can do anything," he replied.

Marco stared at Antonio for a while, squeezed out a half-true "thank you", turned and walked to the bathroom.Antonio stopped him and pointed to the fireplace.

"It's better right here. The bathroom doesn't have a shower and it's freezing as hell."

Marco walked back, moving slowly, with his hands on the bandages, subconsciously protecting the injured place.He stopped in front of Antonio, very close, unnecessarily: "Just do as you say, Father."

"sit down."

"Will you spank my ass if I keep standing?"

Antonio very much doesn't want to think about any body part at the moment: "Sit down and shut up."

The other party didn't sit down, but at least closed his mouth.Antonio quickly fled the living room with his huge copper jug ​​to fetch water from the pump outside.The cabin and everything around it seemed stuck in 1920, no running water, no kitchen in the usual sense, only one light, hooked up to an unreliable single-cylinder diesel generator, so the light went off after a while. It will flicker, and there is not much diesel in stock. After running out, the two will be forced to go back to the nineteenth century.There was not much food in the pantry, but there were plenty of old-fashioned shotguns and ammunition. Maybe the Costas never intended to live on tomato soup, but looked to the woods to provide them with fresh meat.

Above the fire there is an iron hook fixed in the brick wall for cooking.Antonio waited for the water to heat up and poured it into the iron bucket that he had been using to moisten his towels and wipe the faces of the wounded for the past few days.Antonio hopes Marco doesn't remember it.

"Too hot." Marco commented, testing the water temperature with the back of his hand.

"I believe it's not a problem for you." Antonio wrung out the towel and finally looked up at Marco, "Don't move, Mr. Costa."

"'Mr. Costa'?" Marco imitated his tongue and raised his voice.

The priest didn't answer.This is also one of the experiences accumulated in his student days: don't respond to the provocations, strange calls, ridiculous questions and seemingly friendly persuasion of the "spiders".He skipped over the messy beard that Marco had grown in the past few days in bed, starting from the neck and shoulders, rubbed the collarbone, shoulders, and arms with a hot towel, washed and wrung them dry, and then wiped his chest and back.He didn't want to touch Marco's naked body, but it was inevitable, and his fingers would always brush against the warm skin.Marco was about the same height as him, but his muscular lines were much clearer, with only a few scars interrupting these smooth curves. It was the kind of body that people naturally associate with "group fights", "sports" and "outdoor activities".

It wasn't until Marco commented that he was like a window cleaner who paid by the hour that Antonio found himself biting his lower lip and frowning.The priest threw the towel back into the hot water, rinsed it, wrung it out again, and remained silent.

The waist can also be skipped, and the bandages around it don't need to be replaced yet.He also skipped the part covered by his underwear, and bent directly to wipe Marco's thigh. The other party hummed slightly in disapproval, and grabbed Antonio's wrist: "I think you missed a place, Father."

"We're not 14 anymore, Mr. Costa, not good for pranks."

"Father, I got tired of pranks ten years ago. This is a test."

He stops here, apparently waiting for Antonio to ask "what test", and the priest looks him straight, pretending not to be interested.Marco then completed the last sentence: "See if you and I are the same person."

"I have nothing in common with you."

"There is really no choice in life." Marco still gripped his wrist, and Antonio couldn't help wondering why the two always returned to this position.The wet towel fell to the floor, and his hand was pulled up, sliding across Marco's thigh, against the warm contours of his cock through his panties, "but I guess we might have a similar hobby."

He's right, and it's not the first time Antonio has been "recognized."The first time was in middle school, the second and third times were in seminary.The first two times he vehemently denied it, ran away, and never spoke to the boy who had brought it up.The third time he answered "yes".Antonio thought it would become easier to admit "yes" after that, but it didn't.So between the pleasure at your fingertips and hiding, he is more inclined to choose hiding.He guessed that Marc was one of those people who never felt sorry for his crimes, and couldn't help but feel a moment of envy.

Marco wasn't completely hard yet, which was easy to fix, and Antonio imagined taking his cock and stroking it from the base up, gently, without rushing or even taking off his panties.Maybe it's better to keep it. In his extremely limited experience, most of the students who meet secretly in the toilet cubicle don't take off their pants. In the trousers, one can still attend the next class as usual under the cover of the robe.The last time Antonio was so close to another living person who "has the same hobbies" may have been five or six years ago, or even longer.Antonio had always been content with a semi-reclusive routine, and that distaste for crowds and intimacy somehow helped him to be a better priest.Marco's hand was on the back of Antonio's, changing from controlling to waiting, and Antonio could break free now if he wanted to, or put his other hand in his pants and tend to his own erection.

Wrong place, wrong person, wrong time.The priest thought, withdrew his hand, picked up the towel on the floor, repeated the mechanical action of washing and wringing, and stuffed the textile into Marco's hand: "I think you can do the rest yourself, Mr. Costa."

"You know I'm not asking you to marry me, right Father? People don't need to take an oath of 'eternal divine union' to have sex, and often do."

"I don't do that," Antonio replied.

"No oath, or no bed?"

"Neither, if I'm a good priest."

"Are you?"

Who can tell?At least I can't. "The water gets cold quickly, so I suggest you don't stand here all the time," the priest told him. "I need to go out...and get more pine logs." There was a huge pile of logs in front of the fireplace, but Marc accepted his excuse .Antonio closed the door, breathed a sigh of relief, and sat on the stairs for a long time, until the cold was unbearable, and he stood up, circling the water pump, stomping his feet, trying to recover the rapidly losing body temperature.He didn't know if Marco was watching him by the window, probably not, because every time Antonio looked at the cabin, the curtains didn't move.

To pass the time, he took a look at the storage room, which was a semi-underground square space with the entrance outside the house.There was no electric light, and there were matches and two lanterns in a basket in front of the door, the kind used on old sea ships.The storage room was colder than the outside, and Antonio shivered, hurriedly grabbed some cans of tomato soup and peas, walked quickly to the stairs, turned back halfway, and grabbed an extra can of sliced ​​pineapple.

Only when he was safely back in the warmth of the fire did Antonio realize that he had no firewood at all.But no one laughed at his poor excuse, Marco was already asleep, lying on his back on the window side, the blanket was a little too short, so he covered it up to his calves with his coat.Antonio locked the door and tiptoed to the fireplace with the cans in his arms. Every floor creaked, but not loudly. He piled the cans and pans together and stood there for a while, hesitating whether to spend the night in a chair , or go to the only bed.But why would he deprive himself of a night of comfort for no reason?If I sleep on a chair tonight, do I have to continue tomorrow night?To be fair, Marco didn't chop off his foot with an axe, he just offered an invitation, and he declined, and the other party didn't insist.That's all, no traps, no mines, and besides, they won't be here forever.

Antonio added two pieces of pine thicker than his arms to the fireplace, expecting them to burn until morning, then quietly went to the bed, unfolded the neatly folded argyle blanket, wrapped himself up, lay down, and faced the fire. that side.Marco made a muffled sound in his sleep, but didn't move.The tongue of fire lazily licked the two logs that had just been put in. The bark smoked and ignited first, forming a new tongue that slowly gnawed on the dry pine wood.

Marco suddenly put an arm around Antonio's waist and hugged him tightly.Antonio whispered his name, there was no answer, and Marco whispered sleepy talk with his forehead against the nape of his neck, most of it meaningless, but Antonio heard him say in Italian "but Paola took the biscuit" and "I don't swim".Paula was his sister's name, Antonio suddenly remembered, as if a century ago, before the church sent him to meet "some less glorious partners", Father Clement told him about it, The two children of the port snakes: Paola Costa, married surnamed Fabiano, and Marco Costa, heir, "our conversation partner".Antonio wondered if Father Clement knew about Marco's "hobbies" long ago, and that's why he picked out his inarticulate self out of so many clerics in the New York Diocese who were smarter and better at dealing with him.It is certain that Father Clement knows about Antonio's "hobbies". The seminary and the church are secretive to the outside world, but there are no secrets inside.Maybe he was more than a messenger from the start, a potential bait if things didn't go his way.

He was supposed to go to sleep in the chair, but Antonio hadn't warmed up yet and didn't want to leave the blankets and Marco's warmth.It was Marco who left him on the bed. The priest listed the arguments in his mind one by one. I didn't take the initiative to contact him. In the morning, I can put all the responsibility on him.Antonio moved carefully, close to the other body, and closed his eyes.