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For Christopher, the priesthood is a closet. He entered seminary to avoid questions about his sexuality, but when he meets fellow student Jim, those feelings have to be confronted. And when Christopher confesses to Jim, it turns out he's not the only closeted student! Can the two of them keep the blossoming, illicit affair a secret, or will they be forced into the light and out of the seminary? Warning: this 6700 word erotic romance contains M/M closeted angst, whispered confessions, first time sex, mutual masturbation, shower sex, oral sex, frotting, public sex, and two hot priests-in-training; adults only!
But after our jog, when I was pulling clothes from my dresser, I glanced back and happened to see Jim stepping out of his sweaty running shorts. His body was glistening with sweat, his legs so muscular, and his briefs so fitted. I made an involuntary choking noise in the back of my throat.
Jim looked up in surprise, and I quickly turned away. “Christopher?” he asked.
“Sorry,” I murmured. I was hot all over, with mortification and arousal. And if I didn’t get out of the room now, Jim would see the beginning of a hard-on in my shorts. “Excuse me.” I grabbed clothes at random from the dresser and darted into the restroom.
Jim must’ve followed me: as soon as I slammed and locked the door, he was pounding on the other side. “Christopher! What is it?”
“Nothing,” I called back. By which I meant, nothing I could divulge, ever. Fuck.
Jim didn’t stop pounding down the door. “We need to talk!”
“Leave me alone!” I called back, turning the shower on high, though I wasn’t in it, so he might leave.
Of course he didn’t. Jim was stubborn, with enough of an entitlement streak to never feel disruptive, so he kept pounding at the door and rattling the knob. I broke down first: “What?” I hissed as I cracked the door.
But when Jim forced his way into the restroom, he grabbed my shoulders and pushed us both, half-clothed, under the hot stream of the shower. And as he pressed me up against the tile wall, he kissed me hard.
I froze, hands still limp at my sides. “…Barber?”
“You think you’re the only closeted one here?” His voice was husky as he ran his hands down my sides. “Forgive me, Father – ” a prayer, not addressed to me “ – but I didn’t make a full confession to you.” His fingers found the waistband of my running shorts, now wet and clinging to me in the shower’s spray. “If I had, I would’ve confessed my attraction to men. To…” He choked, lost his nerve.
I found my ability to move again, running my hands down his back before taking the waistband of his briefs. “To me?” I supplied.
“Yes,” he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut.