Why does sin feel so heavenly?
Hello, Láquesis from the Moirai group, writing in.
The characters in this entry have no names, and will be referenced to only using their pronouns
(he/him and they/them). This piece contains descriptions using divinities/deities and/or religious
themes as analogies and metaphors, it will also include very brief references to NSFW themes and
cheating, so the reader might want to be mindful while reading if these aren't topics they're fond
of. Last but not least, since it's somewhat— sometimes very— poetic, I apologize if it becomes a
heavy read, I'm still attempting to polish my style.
Thank you for reading and for your time, enjoy.
All is fair in love and war, he had heard.
All is fair, because feelings are not bound to human laws. After all, one cannot trap the soul and yell at it, expecting it to behave within the set parameters of right and wrong.
All is fair in love, a fickle emotion, that cares not for any truth or reality we may have made up to convince ourselves Order exists and Chaos has been driven out. This changes the rules of the game mid-turn, making us go mad with desperation.
All is fair in war, no man's land, in which morals and integrity can't be a part of the conversation. One learns that having a soul as a soldier is a terrible mistake, as it'll have to stay at home, or rather disappear in its entirety, for us to commit to something so horrible.
All is fair in love and war, in times of need and in times of pain, we change, and transmute into a version of ourselves that should not have seen the light of day. Because, despite how sure we are of our affections and loyalties, desperate times can push someone off the rocker.
Because in love and war, one destroys with the excuse of freedom.
Because in love and war, wreck and devastation are worth it.
No matter the deities one believed in, much less the base of the values one was once taught. No matter who you believed you were, there was no escaping it.
That's what happened to him.
Despite his vows of honour and his healthy habits, it bloomed inside him like marigolds under the full sun.
Leisurely and steadily, a feeling that shouldn't have been born, warming his insides and coiling itself around his heart, causing his heart to throb when it shouldn't and his lips to curve upwards when they should remain still.
A feeling that causes his eyes to crinkle with stardust and his voice to mellow sweetly, wrapping itself around his adoration, making them smile and blush beautifully when they shouldn't.
They're both walking a tightrope, with nothing to balance their weight but their hold on each other. Nothing protecting them from the inevitable fall but their intertwined bodies, trying to shield each other from a fate so cruel.
It's a dangerous waltz they're following, but how can they ever depart? How is he supposed to withdraw when he has never felt so alive?
How is one supposed to say no, when even your gut is begging for another embrace? Another caress? Another kiss, with a taste like no other, with a feel like one could only obtain in their wildest dreams?
He can’t pick up on any memory, or any brief flash of the past, one time in which such action left him feeling like he had been knocked off his feet.
Each time it happened, he had to close his eyes for a minute, and let the sensation wash over him. Focusing solely on his lover’s embrace and attention, that made him shiver as if he had never done this before.
His adoration, beautiful as ever, laid peacefully with him, as if they were melting over him, sunlight dripping from their eyes and tongue, tenderness and warmth swallowing him whole. Their eyes shining through the troubled times that were left outside their self-made heaven.
How could it feel like this?
As if they fit together, not like puzzle pieces, but like molten stone, slowly but surely spreading thanks to the heat it was given, moulding into the perfect hold.
As if their movements were seawater to a cliffside, crashing and thrashing and embracing and consuming. The waves taking a piece of the earth with its tide, and the earth keeping droplets of clear water in between its hard folds and shapes.
As if everything around them stopped, and they were the only ones that mattered. As if they were each other's during their encounters, pretending to forget about the golden alliances resting on their fingers, ones that dictated they were bound to someone else.
That didn't matter, not here, not now, not to him and not to them.
That error in their lives didn't matter, both trying so hard to fit within a box that couldn't hold them entirely, tired of being the only ones attempting to make it work.
That stayed outside, from the door out, it wasn't welcome into their paradise, it was ignored for a few hours.
Because when his lover holds his jaw and angles him better, nothing but the divine taste of their affection for him mattered.
Divine, like the fruit from the Garden of Eden.
Heavenly, otherworldly. Like peace in its purest form, like a place only he can unlock. Not the finest nectar nor the sweetest peach could ever compare to the plush and taste of them, not the colour, not the feel of them, not even their shape.
With each stroke of their tongue, he was pulled in, like a hypnotic force dawning on him, making him bend and vow to the music of his lovers' sounds.
They tasted like heaven, and he had no other word to describe it. The sheer pull of his lover's embrace was enough to have him on his knees, willing and wishing to please whatever came from them.
Their lips taste like manna from heaven, an elixir mortals had been privy of, the sort of taste entire nations war over, and gods crash and burn for. One that makes you as greedy as it does humble, for he became nothing but a server of their satisfaction.
As if he and Eve were one and the same, biting down to earn the knowledge of pain and suffering, of tears and cries, of solitude, cold and dark. Unlocking something sacred yet eerie, full of hope and fear, of future, promise and rocks and mud on the road.
A forbidden fruit that provides the understanding of all-ever changing concepts, enlightening him with the fate of their affair. The blissful and torturous, the scarceful and vast, the void and galactic. A fruit that lets both of them know how much they’re willing to risk, and how much they’ll lose. How he owned the fact he would never be the same after knowing how fatal their kiss was, how irrevocable the understanding of his own demise was.
How his lover, with half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks, with heavy pants and low whimpers, tasted like the only one that could bring upon him hell.
They both separated, needing air, and when they did, he saw his adoration's sunlight eyes. He knew that thanks to those eyes, which seemed to hold the universe, specks of grace appeared on his skin, marking his cheeks with star-like freckles and dots, marking him in a way that proves a god has loved him, making him a constellation up in the sky, where stars trace his silhouette just like his lover traces his skin.
With tenderness, the soft pads of their fingertips leaving him breathless.
Carefully, as if he was a precious thing in their hold and not the other way around.
Lovingly, the gorgeous living image of divinity and damnation retaliating the full force of his own feelings and desires.
“I’ll miss you,” They murmured against his lips, with their arms resting over his shoulders, tugging him closer.
“I’m not going anywhere” He responded, with hands drawing circles over their hip bones.
“You are,” His lover held his face, and looked between his eyes. “You’ll leave, once they both find out, they won’t let us meet again” He could see pain in their eyes, as they studied him pausedly, trying to remember his every feature.
“My dearest,” He took their hand “if they send me away, I’ll bring you with me, I won’t let them have you.” He kissed the base of their palm chastely “We can run together, hide in places they won’t find us. I may leave, but if I do, you’ll do so with me”
They barely smiled, a fragile gesture, as their porcelain eyes watered in the subtlest of ways.
They kissed him again, tasting like pomegranates from the Underworld, condemning him to a life with Hades, someone so lonely and ominous but, enchanting and lovely nevertheless. Like the waters running over the rivers of Olympus, making him wonder if they'd grant him immortality or vanish him from existence. Like the finest olives over the most refined and cared for vineyards of Dionysus, threatening him with each bite to be blessed into his paradise, like the rest of the maenads. Like the oil of the gods up in the sky and deep into the ground being poured over him, marking his forehead with the ashes from olive branches, dignifying him with its touch.