Did the rite of this love twist the values of modern religion. A religion which Max and Michael have never truly known or understood. If there was a God, would he love them too, did his love encompass those from other planets who knew nothing of him? Was his message laid plain on their hearts as well. There was no apologetics for aliens. So, who were they to know the sacrifice of communion, the sharing of body and blood-- the example of love laid out for all was the one that they shared as a pair now in the holy of holies, their holy of holies.
What they had created on this tiny little blanket under the wide open sky was a sacred temple between their two souls, they opened up a new religion between them. What Max labeled as dark and ugly had been shared in time immemorial as scared. He'd only taken his love, a type of love that knew no labels, no boundaries, to a logical place. The need to sacrifice, to desire what was most representitive of one's self, Michael's body, his temple, was what their love required.
Still, the alien couldn't wrap his mind around it. It wasn't until Michael looked at him with those eyes; it wasn't until Max saw the reverence in grand benediction that he knew exactly what they were doing. Feeling Michael's blood on his face was freeing. Max wanted to roll around in it, cover his body in his lover's blood, and in turn let Michael do the same in his. It made him desperate. He heaved against the feeling of Michael's kiss, and fell deeper into the spell. Gripping Michael's hips, he spilled the blood in his mouth backwards, letting Michael have every bit of himself that he wanted, laving it against his tongue as they twisted them up between one another.
He shook his head in partial disbelief at exactly how hard his lover was. "I -- I can't help myself. I " Before another word could be spoken, Michael was on him, his bloody hand sliding around his cock and freeing him of his guilt, his utter hatred of what he did. Max turned and licked at the wound again, rolling his face against the blood that had dripped across Michael's chest. He ran his hands through it and reached down to release Michael from his pants as well, gripping at his cock to coat it with his blood.
"I need you to do the same. I need you to take me, taste me, revel in me. Please Michael. I can't be alone in this. Possess me." There was a hint of desperation in his tone, a little as if he would die if Michael didn't want the same, didn't do the same. Max had to have Michael's mark as well. Nothing would be equal without it. Nothing would make this night complete unless they both knew the taste of one another in the same way.
"Fuck, you are so wet." Max reached up and licked the come and blood off his fingers, taking trip after trip to wipe it from Michael's cock to taste. It was another form of communion.
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What they had created on this tiny little blanket under the wide open sky was a sacred temple between their two souls, they opened up a new religion between them. What Max labeled as dark and ugly had been shared in time immemorial as scared. He'd only taken his love, a type of love that knew no labels, no boundaries, to a logical place. The need to sacrifice, to desire what was most representitive of one's self, Michael's body, his temple, was what their love required.
Still, the alien couldn't wrap his mind around it. It wasn't until Michael looked at him with those eyes; it wasn't until Max saw the reverence in grand benediction that he knew exactly what they were doing. Feeling Michael's blood on his face was freeing. Max wanted to roll around in it, cover his body in his lover's blood, and in turn let Michael do the same in his. It made him desperate. He heaved against the feeling of Michael's kiss, and fell deeper into the spell. Gripping Michael's hips, he spilled the blood in his mouth backwards, letting Michael have every bit of himself that he wanted, laving it against his tongue as they twisted them up between one another.
He shook his head in partial disbelief at exactly how hard his lover was. "I -- I can't help myself. I " Before another word could be spoken, Michael was on him, his bloody hand sliding around his cock and freeing him of his guilt, his utter hatred of what he did. Max turned and licked at the wound again, rolling his face against the blood that had dripped across Michael's chest. He ran his hands through it and reached down to release Michael from his pants as well, gripping at his cock to coat it with his blood.
"I need you to do the same. I need you to take me, taste me, revel in me. Please Michael. I can't be alone in this. Possess me." There was a hint of desperation in his tone, a little as if he would die if Michael didn't want the same, didn't do the same. Max had to have Michael's mark as well. Nothing would be equal without it. Nothing would make this night complete unless they both knew the taste of one another in the same way.
"Fuck, you are so wet." Max reached up and licked the come and blood off his fingers, taking trip after trip to wipe it from Michael's cock to taste. It was another form of communion.