Work Text:
Fiore feels a tug in the back of his mind as he’s transplanting pepper seedlings into the ground at the Lemon House. I’m working, he tells Maj, but he smiles to himself as he carefully pats the soil down around the little plant. Of course Maj would come for him while his nail beds are caked with dirt and he’s handling tender seedlings. Your work, as you can see.
At least, Fiore thinks of it as Maj’s work in the world, or a part of Maj’s work in the world. He isn’t a priest. Doesn’t want to be a priest, and Maj isn’t requiring that of him, for all that Fiore is god-touched by Maj (god-bothered, Fiore’s parents insisted, even to this day, although it is with less exasperation than it had been when he was younger). Being a priest means responsibilities to people, and people are… difficult sometimes.
Maj tugs again, and Fiore laughs to himself as he glances at the last of his seedlings and over to Wren where it is planting the last of the herb bed. Two hours, he says in his mind to Maj, knowing full well Maj has a terrible sense of time. He wonders if the other gods are as bad at time as Maj is. It seems likely.
“Wren, do you know anyone god-touched?” Fiore asks as he moves to the second-to-last seedling.
“Aside from you?” Wren asks as it looks back at him, its eyebrow raised in question. “Oh yes, Skala’s priest here in this district is.” A dreamy look washes over Wren’s face, and Fiore can’t even bother to be shocked that it knew about him because he’s laughing at Wren’s obvious infatuation.
Fiore doesn’t work on the Temple gardens, but he’s friends with the gardener there and spends a great deal of time at Maj’s outside altar. He’s familiar with the stern Skalaish priest, and the little leather whip they keep coiled at their belt for anyone who wishes to take Skala’s blessings. They’re terrifying. Of course Wren is infatuated.
“How’d you know?” He doesn’t make eye contact with Wren, couldn’t even if he wanted to right now. He can feel Wren’s gaze on him and focuses on the last of the pepper plants, placing it almost reverently in the earth, settling it in with a small prayer for growth.
“I don’t know,” Wren finally tells Fiore, and he glances up to see it shrug. “I follow the old ways, and while the gods have not touched me, they do speak. I can feel them on people who are similarly devoted, old or new.” Wren smiles at him, eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Maj surrounds you like a…” It waves vaguely. “Ah, an aura,” it finally settles on. “Also, when we hired you to help fix our garden I could feel Maj here.” Wren brushes the dirt off its hands and stands to brush dirt from their knees, too. “I make offerings to Maj every time you’re here— well, after. Would you like to join me today?”
Fiore looks over Wren’s shoulder as he considers its offer. “No,” he says, but with an apologetic smile. “They’re calling me,” he admits, only because Wren would understand, as someone who follows the old ways.
Wren’s eyes go wide and it claps in excitement. “Oh, go!” it says, waving toward the gate and Fiore’s waiting electric flatbed.
“Wren, I have to clean up the mess we made!” Fiore gestures to the stray dirt and his tools scattered about.
“But your god!” Wren’s nose wrinkles as it frowns at him.
“Can wait for me to finish here,” Fiore says firmly. “They haven’t asked me for my obedience. Can you imagine? Maj? Asking me to be beholden to Them as Dati to Skala?”
Wren laughs at that. “Oh fine,” it grants with a little nod, but it also doesn’t waste time chattering with Fiore, and gets right to business helping him tidy so that he can leave to his god.
“I’ll be back next week to check up on everything,” Fiore says as Wren loads his tools in the back of his EV.
“Can I hug you goodbye?” Wren asks, as it closes the door to the flatbed. He’s seen it with the residents of the Lemon House and it’s so touchy.
Fiore makes a face only because he’s sure Wren isn’t looking at him. “Maybe next time?” He can be ready for it that way.
“Never is fine, too.” Wren turns around from the truck and gives him a little bow instead. “Will you give my love to Maj?” This is shyly asked, a blush spreading across its chubby cheeks.
“That I can do,” he promises Wren as he returns its bow with one of his own.
…
When Fiore still lived off-grid with his family, he’d gone out to the woods when Maj called to him. They’d walk hand and hand through the trees, Maj teaching him the true names of plants as the plants would strain toward Them as They walked. People were difficult. Maj was simple. Maj was not… easy. A god could never be easy, but it felt right and natural for Maj to touch him, for Maj to look directly into Fiore’s eyes and see all of him.
Now, Fiore has his own flat in the city, a tidy little top floor of an ancient house in the gated district in Voxis that is filled to the brim with plants, and a small balcony full of even more.
The plants are all vibrating in anticipation as Fiore closes the door, feeling Maj’s call as strongly as he does.
“All right,” Fiore announces into the empty room. “I’m yours.”
It takes longer for Maj to manifest here in the city than They did in the forest. Fiore can feel Them though, and continues through his apartment to the bathroom, stripping out of his dirty work clothes, including the bandana that holds his unruly hair back from his face, and tossing them into the hamper as he steps in the shower. Maj doesn’t care if he’s covered in dirt, but Fiore would rather not get it all over his clean apartment.
He wonders what kind of Maj he’ll get tonight. If it’s the Maj with the body of a person, or another form. Sometimes They come to him as just light. Sometimes They come to him as a plant, tiny tendrils of vines wrapping around him.
The answer comes as Fiore steps into his bedroom, Maj’s hands covering his eyes as he finds himself pulled back against a soft chest. Person shaped tonight, it seems.
Beloved, Maj whispers in his ear, voice ringing with bells, laughter, the distant sound of a bubbling brook, the happy yipping of a fox. They never speak aloud, always direct to Fiore’s mind, yet more real than any other communication ever offered to Fiore. There is never any misunderstanding when Maj speaks.
Being touched by Maj is always such a joy. Uncomplicated touch that makes his skin sing. Fiore vibrates with love, worship, sending it back to Maj with all of his heart. He’s never asked Maj why him. It never feels like he needs to know the answer when Maj holds him in Their arms.
“Beloved,” Fiore answers in return. It is both a title and a prayer on his lips.
When Maj’s hands lower from Fiore’s eyes, he still cannot see and there’s a small jolt of panic, but it is not the first time Maj has taken a sense from Fiore, and he breathes through the panic to accept this is what Maj desires from him tonight.
Yes, let go, give over to Me. Maj’s voice is a soothing caress that eases Fiore’s nerves, a blessing. Let me see with your sight tonight. It is such a gift to see as a human sees. Careful hands spin Fiore around and he stands, body relaxed, and allows Maj to look Their fill.
“What do you see?” Fiore asks, curious as to how things are different with his sight.
A beautiful boy, They say, and Fiore blushes.
“That’s not—”
Ah, but it is, my flower. Maj cups his face in Their hands, tilting his head up. You asked what I see. I see a beautiful boy; I see one of my Beloveds. I see My work still on your hands. My work in the strength of your muscles. Fiore feels a touch to his bicep, squeezing firmly. Then to his fingertips, the dirt he can never quite get from under his nails, but Maj’s hands do not leave his face. It is a wonderful thing to be touched by a god, who, even shaped like a person, can touch everywhere and everything at once, should They so choose.
“Oh, speaking of Your work, my friend Wren—”
I know. You may tell Wren I love it too, dearly, and always appreciate the offerings it leaves for me, as well as its kisses.
“Its kisses?” Fiore raises an eyebrow and Maj laughs again.
Every morning, to Me, to Dati and Skala, the three of Us together. It prays with others, too, offering shared pleasure to Us. You should join it, one day. You need not touch Wren to partake in its offerings, although it would find the touches welcome. I will bless Wren through you, regardless, when you join it.
Fiore could never be a priest because there are human expectations, human demands, that he couldn’t comfortably fill. Maj’s expectations are different, and Their blessing, easier to fulfill. When he’s bid to touch through Maj, or with Maj, it’s… fine. Easy to offer, easy to accept, and Fiore is grateful for this blessing.
“All right,” Fiore promises, because to withhold an offered blessing from Maj would be blasphemy. “An equinox offering with them, when I go next week.” He’s already planning—
Ah, stay with me, Beloved. I love how you plan, but I want you here. Maj moves forward and Fiore gasps as he finds himself engulfed in Their touch as if being held safe in sun warmed water. Let me walk in your body tonight.
Fiore’s vision comes back, but now he’s keenly aware that Maj is looking through his eyes as Maj possesses him. It’s been a while since they’ve done this together, since Maj walked through the world in Fiore.
“Forgive me, Maj,” he says, soft as he lays his hands over his stomach, as if he’s touching Maj, too. “I’m with You.”
There is nothing to forgive, Fiore. Stay with me, walk with me tonight. I wish to see My Gardens and My Priests through you. Take me to the Temple. It is a request, it is a command, it is a gift. The gods cannot walk through the world without touching a person, and Fiore is always a willing vessel.
He allows Maj to dress him in bright spring greens and vivid blues. In the normal course of Fiore’s work, he wears a simple stud in his ear, but Maj finds the very first gift They left for for Fiore and swaps the stud out for the gemstone leaf, impossibly formed, hanging from the golden hoop Fiore got for it by trading gardening for gold.
Together, the two of them touch the dangling leaf with Fiore’s hand, before brushing Fiore’s hair back behind his ear. “I’m afraid I’ll lose it, if I wore it more.”
You won’t ever lose it, Beloved. Fiore knows that to be true the moment Maj tells him. It is My gift, and it belongs on your person.
It had bloomed in the first flower that Fiore planted in honor of Maj. When the petals unfolded, the gemstone leaf rested at the center of the flower, and it is Fiore’s most precious possession.
“I’ll keep it on, then,” Fiore promises Maj, comforted to know Maj will not let him lose the gift.
Together, they walk to the Temple. Maj pauses now and then to watch people sitting at cafes or simply going about their business. Fiore can feel Their delight over walking through the streets, and he’s so grateful he can give this to his god.
You should stop at that cafe and tell them they need to take better care of their plants, Maj points out as they walk off the main street and head toward the Temple.
That’s rude, Fiore says with a smile they share between them.
They should take better care of their plants, Maj insists. It’s not rude.
Fiore glances back at the shop. They’re overwatering them. I’ll stop by tomorrow for lunch.
Good boy, Maj murmurs and Fiore blushes.
Maj takes them in through the back gate, meandering through the gardens. Every now and then Maj stops Fiore and touches a plant with a sense of love and awe that Fiore can feel through the connection of possession. His body shudders when Maj stops at a plant struggling to grow and kneels down, passing along a blessing of life.
“You could have done that at the cafe,” Fiore says, even as the sensation washes over him. It feels so strange, Fiore says in his mind. When You work through me. It feels like his skin is electric as the energy leaves his body. It feels vaguely like the beginning stages of arousal. Maj hasn’t touched him like that, although They’d offered hints, gentle gestures that it could be how they touch. It’d been too much to consider when Maj first kissed him, too bright, too big even with Maj.
Maj laughs aloud, and echoed within the sound of Fiore’s laughter is Maj’s bells-brook-fox sound.
Could another person hear You, if they were close enough in the gardens? Fiore asks, curious.
Your friend Wren could, some of the priests, They say, but there’s also a thoughtful little pause as Maj wordlessly acknowledges Fiore’s unspoken thoughts with a smile.
Maj stands Fiore’s body back up and walks them past an altar to Skala were Maj promptly sets a trail of weeds growing under the altar.
Maj! Fiore protests the weeds, trying not to think further about how Maj could touch him. Not when Maj is sharing his body and his thoughts, that’s not enough space.
Don’t worry. I will do the same to Dati’s altar.
You’re making extra work for their gardeners!
Ah, but they are doing My work, so all is well.
It’s… difficult to argue with a god, and Fiore sighs, somewhere between resigned and amused. Maj guides their feet to Dati’s altar, and at least here, there are flowers in the weeds. Fiore supposes Dati and Skala are also Maj’s siblings, and, well, what fun is there if you cannot tease your siblings?
It is not any different than the frog you left in your sibling’s bed, Maj tells him as They pluck that thought from Fiore’s mind, clearly amused as they walk toward the Temple itself.
Weeds are more work than a frog that can hop away on its own, Fiore says, sulking a little as he stops and genuflects at the statue of the Triad, even as Maj looks on, amused to partake in the gesture of respect to Themself as well as Their fellow gods.
Fiore is trying not to think about Maj touching him in other ways. It feels as big as when Maj first kissed him, and because of how big it feels it doesn’t work, particularly while They share his body. He’s still on his knees when he gives up trying to avoid thinking about Maj touching him. He stands and rolls the idea around in his head as they walk toward Maj’s altar. Fiore can feel Maj trying to make space for his thoughts, or at least the ones he’s trying not to have, and is thankful Maj keeps Their thoughts to Themself.
Fiore lives within the gated district because… because Maj likes it. Maj likes to see bodies: the movement, the energy that flows between lovers as they play together. The open and free exchange of sex and sensuality is as much a part of Maj as Their nature aspect. It’s play; Maj delights in play, regardless of how the play is shaped. Be it sharp play at the end of a whip, or softer, more sensual play, play with or without sex: the kinds of games played in a gated district are dear to Maj.
Skala and Dati may be stricter, with rules and regulations, but Maj is what keeps the other two in balance. It is Maj that reminds his fellow gods, reminds people, that without joy, without laughter, the pleasure eventually rings hollow.
That kind of pleasure is not totally unfamiliar to Fiore, even if he doesn’t often partake of it himself. He enjoys watching the play in the gated district nearly as much as Maj does, even the terrifying kind offered by the Skalaish priest. There’s fun in feeling harmless fear—he feels Maj’s delight in that, but ignores it. Does Fiore want to play with Maj? He already shares so much—
A priest dressed in Maj’s spring green gasps as she sees Fiore and Maj and Fiore is thankful for the scant warning that Maj could be visible within him. Still, this is… new, and Fiore gasps himself as Maj takes control of the body, unintentionally wrenching him from his thoughts, and speaks in Fiore’s voice.
“My child,” They say, and there is the shout of a fox, the rush of water, laughter, bells pealing echoing behind the word. The priest goes to kneel, and using Fiore’s hands, Maj catches her and kisses her tenderly on the forehead. Maj keeps Fiore from feeling the touch, somehow, and he settles back, a passenger in his own body. “None of that,” They chide. “I’m in hiding.” Maj smiles through Fiore. “I’ve come here to find you.”
Fiore watches as the woman’s eyes go wide, delighted, a little scared, her mouth still half open in shock. It seems she’s lost all sense of speech.
“You will honor me soon enough,” Maj promises. “Go to My celebration on the equinox. You will know how to give your thanks and worship once you are there.”
Maj lays his hand over the priest’s heart, and through Fiore, gifts the woman a blessing that leaves her gasping again, this time in pleasure. Gooseflesh breaks out down Fiore’s arms as he feels the residual holy energy through his body. He’s not sure if Maj is letting him feel it, or it’s just a side effect, because Fiore cannot feel the woman under his fingers, for all that it is his body touching her. He does, however, feel so brightly alive it almost hurts. A good pain.
Fiore understands now why Maj called to him tonight, why he needed his body. Sometimes Maj is not bad with time. He doesn’t know how Maj knew, likely would never understand even if Maj explained it to him. That’s fine, he does not need to understand the ways of the gods. It’s enough to experience the gods, to spread Maj’s blessings, Their touch—
May I kiss her? Maj asks, and it takes a minute for Fiore to realize that he’s the one being asked because Maj is within his body.
Like Fiore would deny a request from Maj. Of course, he agrees.
There’s something tugging at his thoughts, but Fiore cannot pay attention to it as Maj, still using his hands, cups the priest’s face and leans down and kisses her. It’s slow and heated, and Fiore is not sure if he is physically feeling the kiss or feeling Maj react to the kiss. Either way, it is overwhelming. Fiore loses himself for a moment, and by the time he comes back to himself and Maj, the priest is gone.
Fiore’s feet lead them to Maj’s altar within the Temple. Fiore does not kneel, does not even bow, does not need to with Maj inside of him. Flowers still in tight buds within vases unfurl as Maj lifts Fiore’s hand and waves toward them. This holy energy passing from Maj through him, the memory of the kiss, causes a new kind of awareness of how Maj could touch him to bloom inside of his chest. He wants this.
I need to go home, please, Fiore asks, feeling small inside his own body.
Maj plucks a flower from Their altar and tucks it behind Fiore’s ear. Of course, he agrees. We have done what was needed.
The priest? Fiore asks as Maj guides them back out the garden and onto the street. Something They do muffles the sounds, and Fiore is thankful for it, because understanding his own desire comes with more emotions than he can process along with the sounds of the street.
She was not listening to her dreams, Maj says with a shrug of Fiore’s shoulders. They still leave space for Fiore’s thoughts to be his own, and Fiore is profoundly grateful. I had to be more direct with her. Maj tells him some things about Their priest, the way They need her. Skala and Dati need her, too, but neither one of them can see it, the fools. It sounds like a bigger story, but Fiore only wants to go home, to peace. It’s too much to think of the Triad and their movements through the world. Maj is all he can handle right now. I will tell you more if you want, later. You need to eat.
Maj takes him through the market, continuing to muffle the sounds and sensations as They stop and get dinner for Fiore, knowing his preferences without needing to ask. They don’t pay as They take the box filled with sweet white fish with grilled pineapple and peppers and a side of rice.
Maj, Fiore sighs, but he’s used to Maj doing this and knows, too, that the god has offered another kind of payment: blessings that will come to the vendor over the next week. He’s seen it happen often enough.
Oh hush, little flower. There is balance in all things, even this.
Maj takes him back to his top floor apartment. “I’m glad I could help,” Fiore says once the door is closed behind them and he slips out of his shoes.
You always do, Beloved. Maj steps out of his body and Fiore cries out with the loss, but Maj’s hands steady him, guide him over to the table. Eat. I must go: Skala is mad at my interference, but I will return to you as always.
Fiore wants to protest that it’s too soon, but he does not. Maj knows. “I love You,” he says instead.
Maj laughs and reaches out to flick the earring dangling from Fiore’s left ear. I love you, too, Fiore.
Fiore shivers, his stomach swooping as he tilts his head up to look at the face of his god. Maj smiles, sharp, wanting, Their green eyes bright. Make an offering with Wren when you’re next with them, Beloved. Maj leans down and gently, so gently, kisses Fiore’s lips. It feels like the first warm day of spring, sunlight soaking into skin, the delight of seeing green start to overtake the muted colors of winter.
It is a long time before Fiore manages to open his takeout container and eat his fish. It’s gone cold, but he can’t be bothered to get up and reheat anything, because the only thing in his mind is Maj.
…
The Lemon House is the last garden on Fiore’s list on the day of the equinox. He’d let Wren know in advance that he would stay and make an offering with it but hadn’t explained it was because Maj had asked. It should be a surprise, a little gift for Wren. Under the mild spring sun, Fiore feels the buzz of Maj under his skin.
“Do you want to lead the offering, or would you like me to, or would you rather do something else less formal?” Wren asks as the two of them make quick work packing away the gardening tools.
“Oh, hm, you start and I finish? Formal is fine.” Fiore is almost surprised he has such an easy answer to Wren’s question, but as he considers the offering, Maj’s request to share Their blessings, he feels ready to pick up whatever Wren might lay down.
“Perfect, I already have the altar set up to Maj. I didn’t know how much you deal with Dati and Skala, but I can put their statues back if you’d like?”
“Not today,” Fiore shakes his head. “I do care for the two of them, and worship them, but today can just be for Maj.” They pack the last of the gardening supplies away and slip into the cool air of the Lemon House proper. Wren goes to wash its hands and Fiore stops it. “No, if you’ve already set the altar, Maj will like the dirt on your hands.”
Wren laughs. “I suppose we’d need a shower to get it all off, anyway.”
The Lemon House altar is in a cozy alcove and is clearly meant to be used for intimate worship, as the altar is padded, and there’s restraint points discreetly placed. It’s very Wren. It’s very… well, everyone that Fiore knows who lives in the Lemon House. He’s met a fair few of them in the garden.
He glances at the O-rings and then back at Wren, whose laughter turns into giggles. “I don’t expect we’ll be using those today?” Wren asks.
“No!” Fiore laughs with Wren. In the distance there’s a faint sound of burbling water that comforts Fiore’s nerves.
The statue at the center of the altar is not featureless, but it manages to capture Maj’s shifting energy. They’re every gender and no gender all at once through clever sculpting, with a face set to laughter, and a flower in Their outstretched hands.
Both Fiore and Wren admire it for a moment before Wren offers Fiore its hand. Ready for touch, Fiore takes it with a squeeze and together they bow to Maj on the altar. There’s a moment of nerves and then Wren has let go of his hand and approaches the statue to place a gentle kiss on the crown of Maj’s head.
Fiore’s body moves like he knows what he’s doing, and he doesn’t resist as he steps forward after Wren and copies the kiss it gave Maj—more distant sounds, chimes this time, echo in his ears—before stepping back to stand alongside Wren.
He’s never prayed with Wren before, and he doesn’t expect it when its voice slips into a more formal resonance, when its entire body shifts into a position of offering, hands cupped, back straight, eyes lowered. Wren speaks quietly most of the time, voice low, a little gravely, but now its voice sings out clearly like they’re at a temple. Fiore smiles as he realizes that Wren has always meant it when it said it was traditional. The equinox prayer it offers up now is one Fiore’s only read in books.
We bid farewell to winter’s grasp upon the land
Quicksilver Dati, returning to Your Beloved
We thank You for guarding and guiding the earth in winter
We cherish You for stepping aside now for the spring
Maj! Mighty, mellifluous, mischievous,
All-loving, Always joyful, spread Your warmth through the soil
Awaken the seeds so they may sprout, take root,
Growing toward Your sister Skala’s arms this summer.
Maj! We love You, we welcome You, we gather You in our arms
We welcome You on Your day as You welcome us in Your heart
The hair on Fiore’s arms prickles as Wren invokes Maj. They’re not in him, but that doesn’t mean Maj isn’t with him; Maj is always with him. The sunlight kiss echoes on his lips, and it’s easy as he turns to Wren and takes its outstretched hands in his own.
Between them, a fox yips, the bells and brook that Fiore’s heard on and off today sound, and laughter that comes from neither himself or Wren rings between them.
“Oh,” Wren says, eyes widening as it hears what is usually only for Fiore’s ears.
Fiore doesn’t have pretty words, a formal prayer, but he does have Maj’s touch, and Maj wants to be shared. “They love you, too,” Fiore tells Wren. “So much.” He goes up on tiptoe and kisses Wren gently.
It’s easy, it’s always easy to be touched by Maj, to be Their vessel, to be Theirs. He allows the kiss to deepen, delighting when Wren gasps in surprise. Fiore knows that Wren can taste the bright spring green, feel the early sunlight on his lips, and he only breaks away from the kiss when he’s sure he’s given all that he can.
The sunlight shifts warmer, washing over Fiore’s body, making him shudder in pleasure as Wren presses close to him. It’s strange. He curls his fingers into Wren’s soft sides, feeling its body give under his fingers and find himself delighting in its answering moan. Wren feels good. Fiore feels good. He offers up a silent prayer to Maj as he nips lightly at Wren’s lower lip, washing them both again in sunkissed heat before pulling away.
“Thank you for your kisses. Maj delights in them as much as I enjoyed this one,” he says, a little shyly. “Oh hey, no—” Fiore laughs as Wren tries to sink to its knees and catches it, pulling Wren back upright. “Not with me. Do I look like I know what to do with a sub like you kneeling at my feet?”
Wren laughs, chubby cheeks flushed dark. “Not even a little bit. Maj is just so obviously here. Thank you, Fiore.”
“Thank Them—”
“Oh I will,” Wren interrupts. “But I’m also thanking you.” It squeezes Fiore’s hands and smiles in such a way that it makes Fiore blush, too. “Oh! I need to put the offering out, too.”
Wren releases Fiore’s hands, goes over to a cupboard, and takes out two loaves of bread, both wrapped in brown paper. It leaves one on the altar and presses the other into Fiore’s hands. He can tell through the package that it’s one of the braided loaves with nuts and dried fruits that isn’t common here in Voxis, but was something he’d grown up eating this time of year, even with a very secular family.
“I grew up eating this—” they both say at the same time, and then giggle with one another.
“But it’s so hard to find here in Voxis!” Wren finishes. “I made an extra loaf for you.”
“And Maj!” Fiore adds.
“Well, of course I made a loaf for the altar and Maj.”
“No, I mean. I’m going to share this loaf with Them.” He holds up the brown paper package.
Wren goes pink again. Fiore goes pink again, as he realizes that means Maj will come to him soon.
“You’ll let me know if They want me to make any changes to the recipe?” Wren says, and its so earnest about it. Fiore doesn’t have it in him to tell it that Maj isn’t the type to offer critical feedback about baking. He assumes, anyway.
“I’ll be sure to pass along any feedback They have,” he promises, and he hears Maj laughing again. Fiore kisses Wren’s cheek, a quick little peck. “I should go,” Fiore says. He’s not sure when Maj will come, but he wants to be ready.
…
Fiore wonders if Maj meant for him to learn a lesson at the Lemon House with Wren, or if the lesson was incidental. Maj isn’t a lesson type of god—that would be Skala—but Fiore sometimes is a needs to learn a lesson type of person. At the very least, it was a reminder that Maj makes things easy for Fiore, has always made things easier for Fiore. Be it touch, or sound, or interacting with people. He might be nervous—overwhelmed really—by the idea of letting Maj take him to bed, but it’s Maj. He’s already let Maj into the deepest corners of himself: what’s sex to being his vessel? To let Maj walk in his body?
The first thing Fiore does when he gets home is light a spring green pillar candle in a glass jar, lightly scented with jasmine, honey, and a hint of citrus. Maj has been with him, but he wants to welcome Them, to set the tone. Fiore is so rarely drawn to ritual, but this feels more like making sure incoming company walks into the house to something pleasant in the background. Music next, softly playing through the speakers set around his apartment. A priest of Maj with a soaring voice that makes Fiore’s skin break out in goosebumps.
He carries the candle with him into the bathroom, stripping out of his work clothes and into the shower to wash away the sweat and dirt from his skin. Once clean, he hesitates for a moment over lotion. Fiore doesn’t enjoy the sensation of lotion on his fingertips, but he does want to be ready for Maj. Shouldn’t that mean with soft, sweet-smelling skin?
Allow me. Maj manifests so quickly that Fiore drops the jar of lotion. It doesn’t hit the floor, caught in unseen hands as the heat of Maj’s body at his back indicates that They’re close to Fiore.
Maj laughs and Fiore feels Them kiss his shoulder. There’s a brief moment of nerves at the kiss. Fiore has never had Them touch like this, like They’re going too— The spike of nerves washes away with another kiss, this to Fiore’s neck. Sunlight sinks into his bones as Maj calms them with a blessing.
“Maj—”
Shh. Warm hands slide up Fiore’s naked sides, work worn, a little calloused in places. Hands not unlike Fiore’s own. Easy.
“I’m not a spooked horse,” Fiore protests, even as he shivers and sways back toward the heat of Maj’s still unseen form.
No, you’re my spooked beloved. Breathe, I’ve got you.
Even so, Fiore jumps as the lotion jar moves while he’s still being touched with two hands. He watches, eyes wide, as lotion moves out of the jar and then breathes out as the cool cream touches the curve of his shoulder. Fiore isn’t sure how many hands Maj is touching him with, but he quickly doesn’t care as Maj pets and massages cream onto his sides, over his stomach, up over his chest.
Gooseflesh breaks out over his arms. Distantly, Fiore’s aware of the music soaring, but he mostly hears his own breath: unsteady, loud in his ears along with the rush of blood and the pounding of his heart.
You did so well with Wren, Maj breaks the silence, voice echoing through Fiore’s entire body. Did you like kissing it?
“I could have kept going,” Fiore admits, and the truth of it is still startling. “I— for you, maybe.”
For yourself, too. Maj’s huffing laughter sounds like the wind through trees.
Fiore starts again as Maj’s hands trail down his thigh, more lotion on the tender, oft untouched inside of it. Still, he splays his legs open. There is no part of himself he would withhold from Maj.
“Maybe,” Fiore grants his god. “Maybe. Wren is lovely but wants so much more than I could give it.”
It would take whatever you gave it with My blessing, though. Maj’s many hands continue touching down Fiore’s leg, and Fiore braces himself against the bathroom counter, feeling as unsteady as a colt, maybe as nervous as a spooked horse after all.
“I will stick to kissing,” Fiore manages to make himself say as Maj works up his other leg. He’s already getting hard. It’s a strange feeling to be naked under his god’s touch, to be aroused. Never mind that desire, arousal, sex, they’re all intrinsic to Maj’s being, to Their worship. “Maj, I—” but he doesn’t know what he is trying to say right now.
Give it to me, little flower, Maj whispers, hands stroking up over the curve of Fiore’s ass, making him gasp, fingers gripping hard at his bathroom sink. Nerves, hunger, all of it, I want it; I want you, every piece of you, Fiore.
Another set of hands finds Fiore’s nipples, teasing with careful touches, barely-there pinches. It’s been a while since Fiore let anyone take him to bed, and with Maj’s many hands and unseen body, it feels painfully new. He cries out as Maj pinches a little harder, crowding him against the sink, keeping him pinned now.
“Everything?” Fiore doesn’t even know what that looks like. “Yes, of course— Maj.” Fiore’s head rolls back as Maj pinches his nipples harder, tugging as he does so. “Everything,” he whispers. Whatever it looks like, he can do it for Maj. Something fragile and tender is unfurling in his chest, and Fiore knows it’s for Maj, because of Maj. A seed that was planted long ago, cared for so carefully. “Touch me,” Fiore whispers, even as Maj hasn’t stopped.
Every part of you, Maj promises as They cradle Fiore’s head in Their hand, tilting it to the side to expose his neck. Fiore jumps slightly at the feeling of teeth, far sharper than human teeth, dragging slowly across skin.
Every part is so many parts, and Fiore doesn’t think Maj is being figurative. Not with so many pairs of Their hands touching him, petting his stomach, still playing with his nipples, teeth— Teeth sinking into the tender skin of his neck, making him arch and cry out. His half-erection is trapped almost painfully against the vanity as Maj holds him close. It should be too much, is it too much? It is both and neither, and that makes Fiore vaguely dizzy.
Thirty odd years of being god-touched hasn’t prepared Fiore for this at all. Except, yes. It has. Maj has walked in his skin, held him everywhere; the fear that wants to take root cannot find purchase in Fiore’s mind. As always, that fear is kept at bay by the force of Maj’s will.
“Maj,” Fiore whispers, grateful, the name a prayer.
Fiore, Maj echoes, still laughing, hands touching Fiore from his thighs to his shoulders. They bite again. Fiore’s eyes snap open and he stares in the vanity mirror as a red mark blossoms over his skin. He can see where Maj’s many fingers are pressing into his skin, the indentations, even the shifting of the many fine hairs along his arm.
Bells, big heavy temple bells, reverberate in Fiore’s ears, in his very being, as Maj laughs and laughs, allowing Fiore to feel Their delight in him.
Let me in, Maj demands, and Fiore yields, letting Maj into his mind, giving him free range of his thoughts. Maj surrounds him, holds him. Fiore is not a small man, yet in Maj’s hold he feels small. Not the small of a prey animal caught in the jaws of a predator. The small of a seedling well sheltered. He laughs with Maj at that, irrepressible giggles as the many hands on his body still and pull him into a tight embrace, the sharp biting kiss turning soft again.
Then Maj is inside of him, controlling his body, guiding him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Maj opens the blinds, letting the golden mid-afternoon light flood the space, before They walk Fiore to the bed and lay him out. Fiore makes a soft sound in the back of his throat as Maj guides his hands over his head, arms folded in place. A louder one as his thighs splay open under Maj’s control. It’s good not to worry about how to move, how to arrange himself, how to follow orders. Maj puts him where They want him to be.
Fiore moans in protest when Maj withdraws, leaving him shivering on the bed. I know, but I cannot touch you with My own hands when I’m inside of your body like that, little flower. Not like this. Maj kisses the red bite mark as Their many hands start wandering over Fiore’s body, once more finding his nipples, pinching them sharply between Their fingers.
“I love You,” Fiore whispers, words coming unbidden to his mouth, still light with his earlier laughter. “Maj, please, I want— touch me,” he begs again.
Tell me, beloved. Tell me how you want to be touched. Their hands go still and Fiore groans, arching up into nothing.
“You said everywhere.” Fiore is distantly aware he’s whining; is he supposed to whine at his god? Seems a bit rude—
Ah, no, stop wandering, answer me. Maj tweaks his nipples in warning and oddly, that settles Fiore.
What does Fiore want? To offer himself, to be touched everywhere like Maj promised, to be— “Overwhelmed,” he gasps, the answer taking him by surprise. “Overwhelmed. Over, Overstimulated.” What a terrifying desire. His least favorite thing in the world, and yet.
Maj cradles his head in Their hands as a weight settles over Fiore’s hips, pressing him down into the mattress. What a good boy, Maj whispers as They lean over and kiss Fiore. Kisses between the two of them to this point were chaste, gentle things. This kiss is neither of those. Maj bites, teeth sharp, mouth hungry. Fiore doesn’t need to think, his body reacts, mouth parting, letting him lick and taste. Letting Maj bite until his lips are red and swollen and he’s rocking up into Maj’s unseen body, hard against the warmth of Them. They’re big, heavy, the bulk of them keeping Fiore pressed down. He wants to touch, but isn’t sure if he’s allowed to move his hand. Yes, Maj answers that unspoken desire, and Fiore half wonders if this will ruin him for sex with anyone who can’t read his mind. This sets both him and Maj laughing, this time into each other’s mouth.
“Will it?” Fiore asks once he’s stopped laughing. Then, bravely: “Can I touch You?”
Only a little, Maj says, amused. Others manage. You will, too. Maj reaches and takes hold of Fiore’s wrists, guiding his hands to Their sides, letting them rest on the generous fold of Their stomach. Fiore squeezes, shivering at being permitted to touch.
Then they’re kissing again, and Fiore quickly forgets how to speak entirely as Maj grinds down against his erection, knee pressed between his thighs. Between the press of their bodies together, there are fingers back on his nipples, tugging to the point of pain, the burst of sharpness radiating out into pleasure. If he’s to be ruined for sex with anyone but his god, so be it: it is a sacrifice Fiore will make with joy in his heart.
“Oh—” Sharp, claw-like nails rake down Fiore’s side, even as the pinching continues. He bucks up under Maj, only to be quickly pushed back down, forced into stillness by Maj’s body. He grabs hold of Maj’s sides, clinging lightly as the teasing pain ramps up. Fingers pinch down at his nipples and don’t release; Maj’s mouth finds the unmarked side of Fiore’s throat and leaves another bruising bite. Fiore dabbles with pain during sex, no more than this, and even this is pushing it. Or would be pushing it, if it was anyone but Maj. “Please,” he whispers as Maj’s claws catch on his hips, leaving vicious welts in their wake.
Yes, beg for Me, little flower. I understand my dear Skala’s hunger so well when I have someone as sweet as you pleading for me.
The pinch on Fiore’s nipples turns into a sharp twisting that makes Fiore yell out and arch uselessly against Maj. Each burst of pain rockets through Fiore’s mind, radiates through his limbs, bright and vivid. The pressure eases, the pain stops, even the bulk of Maj over him shifts, the bed dipping alongside of him instead. One hand drops to the bed, but Fiore keeps one pressed against Maj’s side, kneading.
Maj kisses down Fiore’s chest, licking soothingly at sore nipples, hands petting at welts, even as another pair of hands slides up his thighs. Fiore jolts as Maj cups his balls in Their hand, squeezing, rolling them in Their palm. “Oh—Maj. Maj,” Fiore moans as Maj sucks at his aching nipple, tongue flicking against it. It’s almost impossible to focus between the two sensations. He feels like he’s bouncing, or being pulled, back and forth. Fiore can’t breathe, can’t think. “Oh, oh that’s… that.” Nails again, or claws, or whatever, one sharp point draws up the shaft of his dick.
It feels like Fiore dissolves into the bed. Maj is everywhere, there are hands on his calves, on his ankles, keeping his legs splayed open, the tease of sharp nails on his dick. Pre-come beads at the tip of Fiore’s cock, and Maj rubs at it with the pad of a finger. With too many sensations to track, Fiore gives up. He gasps for breath and quivers under the attention, sensation unrelentingly washing over him.
I bet you’d feel good inside of Me, Maj says, and Fiore whines helplessly as They remove Their hand from his cock. Maj manifests then, not quite as a person. The sunlight seems to coalesce into a vaguely humanoid shape, leaving strange shadows in the room as Maj’s curves become visible. I almost can’t make up My mind, beloved, what I want to do to you. There are so many options.
Hands once again between Fiore’s thighs, a finger sliding back behind his balls, teasing the skin there, pressing upward. Fiore draws his knees up, inviting whatever touch Maj desires, but Maj only teases. Light touches, whisper soft.
Here? Maj asks, all but purring as They tease. Or here? The fingers against his rim keep teasing as Fiore feels the bed by the side of his head dip, and it’s suddenly as if there are two forms of light surrounding him. He can feel but not quite see the press of a cock against his lips.
“Oh,” he whispers, and opens his mouth to press a soft, wet kiss to Maj’s cock. Maj tastes nothing like a human. They taste green, sharp, bright, a little bitter, but wonderfully so. Fiore does not have time to savor before he’s gasping at the second Maj straddling his hips again, and this time the wetness of a cunt rubs against his cock, and Fiore is a firework exploding, set off by the heat of Maj.
Don’t come, you’ll spoil my fun. And then Maj is sinking down on Fiore’s cock, pinning him down under Their weight, under the second form straddling his chest. The cock at Fiore’s lips is insistent, pushing into his mouth as Maj also rides him, searingly hot, tight, too much, too fast, and Fiore can’t even cry out, the sound muffled.
Fiore moves with Maj, thrusting up as Maj sinks down. He’s unpracticed and pinned, but eager. Maj is gentle with his mouth, even as the pace They set riding Fiore’s dick is fast and unrelenting. Their cock drags back and forth over his lips, slow, careful, a disconcerting contrast. Fiore kisses, licks—tongue finding the edge of Maj’s foreskin, the sensitive tip of Their cock—and worships without words.
Maj takes him apart, the two halves of Them leaving Fiore insensible. He knows only that he is for Maj’s use, as much as Maj is for his pleasure, too. His orgasm builds, and Maj’s laughter fills the air. No, no, no, little flower, when I’m ready. Fiore’s thighs shake under Maj as he’s denied, as Maj reaches inside of him and keeps the pleasure at its peak, refusing to let it crash into Fiore.
Distantly, Fiore’s aware that his cheeks are wet. Is he crying? But Maj’s cock is on his tongue, and Maj’s cunt is squeezing around his cock. Fiore shakes apart at the seams under Maj; his tears turn to sobs of pleasure. Maj could ride him for hours or only minutes; Fiore doesn’t know how long he’s pinned under Maj’s bodies, surrounded by, filled by.
Gentle hands wipe the tears from Fiore’s cheeks, even as Maj keeps Their cock in his mouth. Good boy, beautiful little flower. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.
Fiore can’t beg, but Maj knows him, and can hear him anyway. He pleads with his tears, the ache in his balls, the shake of his thighs. His pleading shaped as wordless prayers, thoughts he knows that Maj can glean from him.
Foxes scream in Maj’s answering laughter, rapids roar. Fiore loses himself in the heat of Maj’s cunt, the weight of Their cock on his tongue, the spring green taste. Maj comes like a thunderclap, Their orgasm washing over Fiore as a blessing. Every single plant in Fiore’s apartment grows, new leaves unfolding, flowers blooming, injuries healing themselves. The taste of bitter greens fills Fiore’s mouth. He swallows what he can, welcoming the taste. His cock throbs as Maj clamps down, Their cunt pulsing as They cry out.
“Please,” Fiore gasps when he can speak again, when Maj’s cock slides from his mouth. “Maj, please.”
Maj rolls Their hips, fucking Themselves much slower now that They are sated. They keep Fiore’s cock deep inside Their cunt. I’m not done, little flower. You can wait for Me. A hand takes hold of Fiore’s and guides it between Their thighs. Another.
They’re so wet, and for a moment Fiore isn’t sure if he’s touching a clit or a cock. It’s both for a moment, before the wetness gives way to velvet and Fiore is stroking a short, thick erection between his fingers.
“Greedy,” Fiore manages to tease, senses slowly starting to return to him even as Maj keeps up the steady roll of Their hips, sliding back and forth on his cock.
For my beloved, can you blame me? they answer, amusement bright in Their voice.
In the slowness of Maj’s movements, the many overwhelming sensations fade to just one body riding Fiore. Some of the overstimulation eases, but the throb of Fiore’s erection only grows sharper, the need making his entire body tremble on the bed. He begs, voice a low prayer to Maj, beseeching.
Go on, little flower, Maj finally grants and releases whatever They did to stop Fiore from orgasm. Come in me, Fiore.
The two of them come together, Fiore deep inside of Maj, Maj around him, over his belly. Fiore all but sobs with relief, and then the sounds shift to laughter again at the release.
Yes, yes all of it, give it all to me, Maj purrs as they gather Fiore up into their arms of light, cradling him against Their soft body. They clean his stomach with the pass of a warm hand over it. The last of the tears are wiped away as Maj kisses his forehead. Such a beautiful gift you are.
Fiore can’t talk, but he doesn’t need to. He curls into Maj’s reassuring bulk and shivers, letting himself drift back into focus as Maj pets him. His body feels too heavy to move, but Maj does not seem to be in any kind of rush. They pet and stroke Fiore, murmuring soft words of praise as he finally comes back to himself. Fiore allows himself to drift until he feels like he can sit up. “Thank you,” he whispers. He doesn’t know what he expected sex with his god to feel like, but this feels right.
Maj kisses Fiore on the lips, soft but not chaste. You’re welcome, beloved.
“I have— before you go, I have a treat to share with you.” He knows Maj can eat, but not in every form.
The bread you so enjoy, that Wren made? I cannot eat today, but do believe me when I say I can enjoy it through you. Maj pulls Fiore back into Their arms. Just rest, little flower. Be with Me. I have some time before I need to leave.
So Fiore tucks himself back against Maj’s side, eyes closed, as he kneads gently at Their stomach.
Maj leaves just after sunset. There are places They’re called to, and Fiore is not so selfish as to keep the god for himself. Fiore wraps himself in a soft robe and fetches the forgotten candle from the bathroom and brings it back to the altar. He touches the little pot of purple flowers sitting there. They’d been buds when he’d lit the candle, but they’re in full bloom now.
Through open windows Fiore can hear the celebrations for Maj, and he strangely finds himself drawn to them. Perhaps it’s the blessing from Maj lingering under his skin. Fiore leans down, blows out the candle, and goes to dress. He has an open invitation to any of the celebrations at the Lemon House. He fishes out his most revealing outfit from his closet and fits himself in a green leather harness and a pair of shorts that show off his furred thighs. He grabs his earplugs, just in case, and sets out to the Lemon house.