Offertory (closed for Scuttle Buttin')

[GentleValkyrie]

With what shall I come before the Lord,
and bow myself before God on High?
Shall I come before Him with burnt offerings,
Shall I come before Him with yearling calves?​

Emily loved singing pieces like this, soaring sweeping music and grand yearning thoughts. Nothing made her feel closer to God. She gave herself to the music, the same sweet passion she did most things with, but even so, choir rehearsal ended. She smiled and chatted with the others, drinking tea and juice and humming the more difficult bits. It was where she was every Thursday night. She sent the director home, promising to clean up the practice room and lock up afterward.

She'd had a key to the church since she was 16.

She organized folders of sheet music and set the chairs back into line, busying herself with the tiny things that keep a space welcoming and warm. She didn't notice the man coming up behind her until his hand closed on her arm and she jumped, gasping.

"Oh Father Patrick, you scared the daylights out of me!" she laughed, her heart rate returning to normal.

"My apologies, child, I wanted to talk to you, if you think you can stay a bit longer." The priest had known her since she had moved here for college. She was part of a large, religious family, the only one to strike out on her own, and had left the homestead when she still required a local legal guardian for the school to accept her. He had signed the paperwork and given her a place in the church she found far more like home than the dorms, and her parents never questioned that she was in good hands.

"I can always stay to talk with you." Her routine had developed over time - Services on Sunday and Wednesday, choir rehearsal on Thursday, work in the soup kitchen or shelter on Saturday, book study on Tuesday... it gave her grounding while her peers seemed to get lost in their parties and drama. She had stayed focused through college, graduating and finding a job in the same city, teaching in a small school. It left her summers free for retreats, traveling to foreign countries and helping build schools and infrastructure. Teaching new teachers, building and supporting her community. Glorifying God with her work.

They took seats in the empty music room, she perched like a bird, he sitting with the calm gravitas he always exuded. "Emily, you are very dedicated to the church, which I appreciate greatly."

Her roommates had never understood what drew her to this life, but they had eventually accepted that she was never going to go out drinking with them, never going to bring home a boyfriend, but never seemed to judge them for their choices, always caring for them when they came home too drunk to stand or comforting them when their most recent man left them alone again.

It was a little easier when she found a place of her own. She could keep it neat and put together and no one pointed out that her Friday night routine of reading classic literature and listening to music was anything but perfect for her.

She blushed and looked at her feet, tucking her hair behind her ear, a nervous tick. "Father, its the least I can do, really, I'm sure anyone who had the time would do the same."

"No, they wouldn't. They don't. You do and that makes you a very special young woman." His tone was driving, hard, hints of anger and frustration with a world that was too often self absorbed.

"Please, Father, you're too kind." She shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry child. That wasn't what I wanted to discuss. I only meant to say that you work very hard for the church and that I have appreciated your service. A few months ago, I put in an application on your behalf for a retreat to a monastery in Eastern Europe. It's been in continuous operation since the sixth century, only taking in carefully chosen initiates, completely self sustaining. They accepted you."

Emily sat up in shock, her mouth falling open, eyes wide with surprise. She could barely hear his words over her heartbeat. Such an old tradition, quiet contemplation and prayer with people who had truly given their lives to God. No distractions.

The priest smiled softly, "I know that you were thinking about going back to Nicaragua, but I think this would be a great opportunity for you to do the kind of study that you would really appreciate. It would be hard work, of course, they're an acetic sect."

She returned the smile. "I don't know what to say. When? When would I have to accept, when would I leave?" She felt her heart leap.

Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousand rivers of oil?
Shall I give my firstborn for my transgressions,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?​

She still didn't quite believe it was all real. She was on a plane, a murderously long flight, with her carefully selected luggage, to take a bus to a tiny town and finally be met by monks, actual monks, of a mysterious order, and then climb a mountain to the monastery she would be spending the next four months at. Immersing herself in the study of god and submitting to learn His will.

She hadn't been able to find out much more about the Order. Several saints and theologians mentioned studying there for a few months at a time, over history. Some publications came from it, treatises on atonement and the nature of Christ, but nothing since the Industrial Age. Quiet, reclusive, outside of time and this world. A place to renew one's focus. She was very excited.

Packing had been a meditation in itself. One well traveled backpack. No electronics, there was little power in the monastery, and the gasoline to run the emergency generator was precious, hauled up the mountain and used only by permission of the abbot. Simple, hardy, modest clothes. No cosmetics, not that she used many to begin with. Everything simple, the bare minimum. Leaving aside any distraction of the pace of the modern world, every marker of her mortal life and taking only support for her spiritual needs. It was an exercise in humility that left her feeling slightly alien, exposed.

The plane flight was uneventful, though she couldn't help but feel like she was sharing the view from Heaven, all the earth laid out below her, vast and beautiful. That made her no less glad to disembark and stretch her legs. From the airport to the train, from the train to a bus, further and further from the works of man. The final stop of the rattling bus was a tiny town, barely more than a bus stop, a store, a church, and a few houses surrounded by hardscrabble farmland, nestled in a valley under the dominating face of a craggy mountain. She was the only one to leave. It was no mystery who was meeting her, the two men in homespun robes were waiting patiently, like statues. One was taller, blonder, and built on a narrow frame, the other broad shouldered and dark, but they both carried with them identical solemnity.

She felt every inch of exposed skin flush under their eyes. "Hi, I'm Emily. I'm here... for the retreat."

The silence seemed to stretch on and she wondered if they spoke at all, or if she had just made a mistake.

"Greetings, Miss Emily, we are Brothers Matthew and Anthony and it is our duty to present you to the abbot." Matthew was the taller one then, they both dwarfed her 5'9" frame. She again felt that they were examining her, perhaps testing her, their eyes traveling over her body before retuning to her face. "He will be most satisfied."

"You are prepared to climb." It wasn't a question. She followed them and they climbed. There was a path, but in places they had to stop and wait for her to find her way up a particularly steep point, only watching, never offering her a hand. After the midday meal, Matthew did ask for her backpack and Anthony carried it for her, saving her at least that much struggle. She sweated and labored, and found the town falling steadily further and further away, thinking again that she was seeing though the eyes of Heaven. The sun cast long shadows when they arrived at the ancient stone walls of the monastery and Emily felt like she had been through a crucible indeed.

She saw monks working in the gardens, and walking in the polished halls, all men. No nuns. She became very aware of how they looked at her, each bowing his head slightly in her direction as they passed, but no one stopped them or greeted them.

Matthew took her to a small room with a cot, a small table with a bowl of water, soap, and a folded packet of white fabric. "Miss Emily, please wash and change, set your traveling clothes in the hall, they will be collected, and evening prayers will start shortly." The heavy door closed behind him with a dull thud and she was alone in the last rays of light. She washed quickly, not unaccustomed to bathing in cold, still water, though the herbal scent of the homemade soap was a surprising luxury. She set her clothes in the hall, shoes and all, opening the door with some difficulty, fining it to be several inches of ancient hard wood. The room had a small footprint and pure whitewashed walls, but a soaring ceiling and a large window set high above. It was like its very nature drew the soul up, to contemplate one's smallness under God. She set aside her dirty climbing clothes and investigated what was left for her to change into, a simple white dress of fine cotton. Again, the mix of simplicity and unexpected luxury. The dress fit her bust and hips closely, but draped loosely from her hips to the floor. She was covered from throat to toes, but without undergarments her breasts were outlined, nipples almost visible through the fabric, and prominent from the chill in the room.

She heard a bell calling the brothers to prayer and tried to open the door a second time, this time without success. The latch wouldn't even depress. The last rays of light has slipped from the sky and she was alone in the darkening twilight. The thick walls muffled the prayer songs of the brotherhood.

He has shown you, O man; He has shown you what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?​

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

No one, not even the monks themselves, knew precisely how long the monastery had stood in the Tatra mountains. There were various competing reasons for the choice of location, with some believing the elevation was meant to bring the inhabitants closer to God, and others of the opinion that it was to lift them above a world growing increasingly sinful and corrupt. Or, perhaps, it was a combination of the two. Whatever the purpose, it seemed to have the effect over time of making them virtually unknown except to a small handful in the outside world. It was not unusual for multiple months to go by without a single outside visitor, and the weather could only be blamed for a few of those times.

The weather was a burden they had to contend with, however, the ability of the summer sun to grow hot and make the air dense only rivaled by the harsh winter winds that would blow in the heavy blankets of snow. Both worked to the benefit of those inside the stone walls, leaving them in complete peace to pray, meditate, and worship, free of interruption from a world that neither acknowledged or understood them.

But the isolation did not mean that the order was doomed to die out. Those seeking the peace and revelation of a simple life came to them every year, men from many of the surrounding cities and nations who knew they could not be a part of the world any longer. Not all made it, the grip of a sinful existence too great on their souls, sin still coursing through their very blood, and so they left after a time and were quickly forgotten. Those that stayed soon forgot as well, the modern world's offer of comforts and pleasures slipping from their mind like the melting snow that flowed off their mountain peak.

Exactly how many lived in the monastery at any one time was unknown, though the abbot had a rough estimation. Meals were very rarely taken together, and one was only permitted to enter the room of his brother if care was being given to the sick or injured. Days and weeks could easily pass without a word being spoken outside of prayer. They did not gather in this place to fellowship with each other, but to commune with their Abba. Each had their duty - to plant, to cultivate, to harvest, to slaughter, to cook, to construct, to clean, and some, on the occasion that such a thing became necessary, to descend the mountain.

It was the death of Brother Bartholomew that made the trip of Matthew and Anthony necessary. Laying on his sick bed, on what would be his death bed, he had named Thomas as the abbot on the occasion of his death. Such a time passed a fortnight later, and set into motion a series of events not undertaken since Bartholomew's appointment some 40 years previously - just before Thomas was even born. Watching the flames consume his beloved abbot's body, the ashes spread to the four corners on the wind, he found it hard to keep his thoughts from the coming days and weeks. Until he could be properly cleansed, it would be a time of unease for the monastery, as if they had joined the Israelites on their wanderings in the desert.

Word was sent the next day of Bartholomew's death, and of what would be needed so that Thomas may take his place. Until the night that Brothers Matthew and Anthony returned with the gift of atonement, Thomas would remain in the small room that had been his home since climbing the mountain as a man just out of his adolescence. Meals were left outside his door, a small plate of chicken or a chunk of unleavened bread and some water, enough to maintain his strength and keep his focus on prayer and reading. It was another 18 days before word came that Matthew and Anthony would be needed in the small town the following afternoon. Thomas slept little that night, the majority of the time spent on his knees by his bed, one fist closed over the other. He did not light a candle as the sun moved to burn the other side of the world. When finally he rose, two small circles of blood were left where his knees had rested on the stone floor.

Word came that evening that his atonement had arrived, and Thomas allowed himself another small meal before nightfall. Back on bloodied knees, relishing the pain of his devotion, he fell into prayer again until he sensed the room around him disappear into darkness. When he at last laid down, he fell quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep, the peace he'd sought all these days finally upon him. He knew the will of the Lord, felt it in the marrow of his bones, and was confident in the judgment of the father that had sent this servant to him, that she would be the vessel he needed.

Thomas was up with the first rays of the sun splashing across the sky, his simple dark robes moving about him silently as bare feet carried him from the only room he'd slept in here, yet never would again. It was, with the close of the heavy wooden door, no longer his room but would belong to another in time. Brothers passed him in silence, neither man raising his eyes to meet those of the other, each set on the path the Father had for him and unwilling, unable, to stay from it.

A sloped hallway carried him below the surface of the mountain and into it's rocky mantle, hanging oil lamps lighting the way and the floor growing cooler underfoot. The chambers below the monastery were only used upon the appointment of a new abbot, and among the monks only he was allowed past the outer door to the rooms that lay beyond. What went on beyond the door was sacred, and meant only for the abbot, the vessel, and the Lord.

Matthew, his arms hidden inside the oversized sleeves of his robes, waited outside the thick, old door, his head not rising to greet Thomas upon his arrival. No words were exchanged between the men as one passed the other, the sound of the heavy door closing behind him echoing up the stone hall as Matthew retraced the path of his Brother.

In time, Matthew arrived at the door of the girl and stopped to check, first, that the bolt was still thrown, then the small wax seal that had been pressed into place between door and frame, to be sure the door had not been opened in the night. The vessel was pure, clean, and must remain so until it was time to be filled. For her to be defiled before then would mean ruin, for her and the one who had made her unclean. In the history of the Order, such a thing had only happened once. The location of the bodies had become another secret lost to the relentless passage of time.

Satisfied with what he saw, the bolt was retracted and the latch depressed, and the monk braced his shoulder against the door to separate the seal. Opening it only a few inches, he released the latch and slid his hands back into his sleeves again, his low voice slipping through the crack he'd opened.

"Miss Emily? It is time. Please leave your things in the room and come with me."

Under his hood, his head bowed as another step back was taken, his eyes fixed on the floor so he might only see her feet as she stepped out. He had appraised her before, when he'd first saw her, and had felt the sting of regret for doing so later. It had been more than a decade since he'd seen one as fine as her, and the Great Tempter lurked about, even as they endeavored to carry out the Lord's work. He would not make that mistake again, and risk his gaze rendering her unclean.

Silently, he turned in the direction he'd come from when he saw she'd joined him in the empty hall, and with slow, even steps he led her back the way he'd come. Eventually they made their way to the sloped, descending hall, and at last to the closed door, through which he could not pass. Stopping in front of it, he worked the latch open for her and pushed the door ajar a few inches, much as he'd done with her room, and then stepped aside to allow her entry. He only moved again after she'd passed through the doorway, and then only to pull the door closed behind her. On the other side, were she to look, she would find the door empty of knob or handle or latch, and entirely unable to be opened from that side. A one-way passage.

Exit from the rooms beyond was, of course, possible, but only through a different door, only on a different day, and only after she was a different person.

A small hallway would take her around a corner and through a stone archway, into a small round room, about ten feet in diameter. In the center, his dark robes removed and with only a length of cotton cloth wound around his waist and between his thighs, Thomas was on his knees, his head bowed until he heard her enter. Opening his eyes, a bright blue like the hidden sky above them, he stared at her silently for a moment, drinking in her presence. His eyes only strayed from her face for a moment, a sweep of his gaze down her body snagging for the most brief of moments on what seemed to be the outline of her pink nipples through the thin white material she wore.

Rising slowly to his feet, his full height was revealed to her, just over six feet of lean muscle and arms that seemed somehow longer than they should be. His hair was dark, slightly wild and obviously not brushed or washed for a time, and his beard had grown out significantly, reaching down nearly to his chest. His voice was deceptively deep when he spoke at last, a baritone that didn't seem as if it should come from a body as lean as his.

"Welcome, Emily. I am certain you have many questions, but I'm afraid they will have to wait. There are rooms past this, a place where we may take a meal together, a place where we may worship, but we cannot yet enter them. Both of us must be clean first, or we will defile the place of atonement."

He paused, an arm extending and a hand open to a bowl of water that sat at his feet, with a small, neatly folded white cloth on either side of it.

"I cannot touch you, even to clean you, until I have been made clean myself, so I am afraid I cannot extend to you the courtesy a guest here might otherwise expect. In the hallway just behind you is a small table you where you may leave your dress. It is unclean as well, but clean cloth will be provided to you."

With the instructions given, and no space left where she might mistake him waiting for any questions she may have, he moved away from the bowl and pulled at the wrap around his waist. Unwinding the fabric, he gathered it up into his hands with a practiced, expert precision until it was folded into a tidy square, and he placed it on the floor against one curved wall. Naked fully now, he moved in silence to return to where he'd stood when he addressed her, to await her.

 

[GentleValkyrie]

The small room got dark and darker, lit only by the starlight from the high window. She tried the door again and again after she heard the prayers cease and quiet descend on the monastery. She pounded on the great door, "Brother Matthew, Brother Matthew, please! Please, I can't open the door!" She didn't know if anyone could even hear her through the door. She heard footsteps approach and then leave, oblivious to or ignoring her cries. They had locked her in. Why would she be locked in?

She paced the tiny room murmuring prayer and fingering the little cross she wore at her throat until her heart calmed. They were monks, she had been sent here by her own Father Patrick, no one was going to harm her here, there was no reason to be scared. As if in answer, the moon rose, bathing the tiny room with pure silvery light. She thanked God and knelt by the simple cot, she was here to pray, to become closer to God, and she could work on that in this isolation and peace. She was sure the brothers would soon explain things.

She prayed until the moon left the sky and her room dimmed once more and then slipped under the heavy wool blanket, glad of its warmth against the chill air of the ancient stone surrounding her. She slept fitfully, her dreams haunted by demons she didn't recall past waking with the dawn. She felt oddly refreshed, for what had been too few hours of sleep to recover from too many hours of travel, and she heard soft noises from the brotherhood, up with the light as well. She used the comb left in her room and washed her face, the cold water biting into her skin and making her flush.

And then she heard the door.

"Miss Emily? It is time. Please leave your things in the room and come with me."

Her heart raced again. "Brother Matthew, please... time for what? why was I locked in all night?"

He wasn't answering questions. He wasn't even looking at her, hidden in his robes, his focus directed at the floor. She stepped into the hallway, the stone floor cool against her bare feet and followed where he led. The halls were empty today, though she heard some hurried retreating feet moving away from them as they passed. The sun wasn't fully in the sky and they were moving deeper into the monastery, down a long sloping hallway with no natural light. The floor here was rougher, fewer feet having passed over it to smooth it through the centuries. The lamps lit their way, dimly flickering, it could have been any time of day, any day of any year for the last thousand years or more, and this hallway would feel the same. She shivered without knowing why.

There was only one door, and Brother Matthew opened it for her. She looked at him before walking through it, wanting to ask what she would find, and knowing that he wouldn't answer. She wondered what he would do if she tried to run, if she dashed away and tried to leave, climb back down the mountain... but she was barefoot and dressed in close to nothing, even if she made it back to the town, she had no way of getting home from there.

She walked into the dark and was not surprised at all when he closed the door behind her.

The unlit hallway was short, lamplight flickering ahead called her forward and she went, trusting her God to guide her steps. Her breath caught at the tableau she found, the holy man kneeling, waiting, patient and penitent, his devotion surrounding him like an aura of wildfire. Whatever was going to happen here, he had dedicated himself to it, mind, body and soul. She took a step back in retreat as he stood up, long lean muscle unmistakable in the flickering light. His eyes bore into hers and the depth of his voice shook her body, resonating in her belly. His speech took a moment to translate from sounds into words, and the words into anything like sense. And then he was unwinding the fabric he wore.

She turned away, her mind reeling in shock, staring back the way she came, her hand trembling as she clasped her cross, trying to find comfort in its smooth lines. "Brother, please... I cannot... I don't know what you want from me, but..." He'd asked her to undress. She was in a basement of a monastery with a crazed naked monk and he expected her to what? Simply join in? She felt her heart flutter in her chest like a caged bird, appropriate for the situation. She kept her back to him, trembling and uncertain, not knowing if she was talking to him or God, or if it mattered here.

"Please, I don't know what to do. I'm scared."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Along the walls, shadows danced as the flames of the oil lanterns swirled with the moving air currents. The air was cooler down here, but through the ages the monks had found ways to keep the rooms comfortable, and as he stood watching the girl retreat, Thomas was free of shiver or goosebumps despite his nakedness.

He was silent, patient, watching as she attempted to retreat back to the door that was as good as a wall at this point. There was exit, yes, but it would not be found there. The girl would learn this eventually and return. What other choice did she have? Oil did not last forever, and soon darkness would envelope them fully, a realization he knew she'd come to on her own eventually. No water, no food, only a thin cotton dress to keep her warm against the cold stone. Brother Thomas was the picture of patience.

When eventually she realized her situation, fully realized how useless her attempt at retreat was, he stood just as he had when she'd panicked and tried to flee. Despite his nakedness, he made no attempt to cover or hide himself, his posture straight and his hands clasped behind his back. The bowl of water sat near his feet still, the water in it shifting and rocking slowly, almost imperceptibly.

"Do you know why you are scared, Emily?"

His voice was low, his tone even, little volume needed for words to be easily heard between them in the relatively small space.

"The world had made you scared. You are scared because your thoughts, your mind, your very being have all been corrupted by the world, Emily. But you know this already, don't you? You know that despite your best efforts, the ways of the world influence you and pull you away from God."

He paused and smiled, faintly, followed by a slight inclination of his head as he continued.

"It's why you have come here. To be closer to the Father. To rid yourself of the influence of the world. But the world won't let go easily, Emily. That fear you feel? That's the world trying to hold onto you.

"Do you think," he continued, one hand moving around his body to extend towards her and sweep down the length of the dress she wore, "That a little cotton hides your body from the eyes of the Lord? He knows your every thought, dear girl, and He knows what the world makes you hide with clothing."

The hand moved back around behind him, clasped behind his back in the other.

"You have been invited here because you are special, Emily. We live our every day striving to grow closer to God, and we believe you want that as well. This is your one, and only, chance to truly be free of the world and feel the blessings of the Father upon you."

His eyes fell from her and dropped to the bowl of water and the two cloths folded next to it, which he indicated with a nod of his head before looking back up to her.

"But before either of us may continue, we must be clean. There is nowhere left to hide from the calling of the Father, Emily. Leave your dress, and come wash me. I will not move or touch you while you do."

And with that, the monk fell as silent as the stones around them, while the dancing yellow light reflected in his watchful eyes.

 

[GentleValkyrie]

"Do you know why you are scared, Emily?"

His voice rumbled from behind her, soft and low, and her panicked mind clung onto the words like a drowning man reaching for air. Hope. She didn't know, not really, only that she was too aware of being far from home and that the rules that had kept her safe all of her life seemed to have been stripped away. She had no framework to hold onto.

"The world had made you scared. You are scared because your thoughts, your mind, your very being have all been corrupted by the world, Emily. But you know this already, don't you? You know that despite your best efforts, the ways of the world influence you and pull you away from God."

Fiber by fiber, muscle by muscle, she felt herself relax under his voice. Corruption of the world. The pitfalls and temptations that she had resisted her entire life, had seen the ravages of sin on her friends and classmates and followed the narrow path of grace to safety. She wanted to serve God, to stay close to Him. The Brother understood.

"It's why you have come here. To be closer to the Father. To rid yourself of the influence of the world.

He knew. He reminded her, the entire purpose, her excitement this is what it was for, to be separated from the world and closer to God. This was nothing like what she expected, but what could she know of the ways of God?

"Do you think that a little cotton hides your body from the eyes of the Lord? He knows your every thought, dear girl, and He knows what the world makes you hide with clothing."

She blushed warmly in the dim light. All of her cares for modesty were habitual by now, she hadn't truly examined them, merely assuming that keeping herself pure from the eyes of the world was part of her service to God. Did she need that protection here, truly?

"You have been invited here because you are special, Emily. We live our every day striving to grow closer to God, and we believe you want that as well. This is your one, and only, chance to truly be free of the world and feel the blessings of the Father upon you.But before either of us may continue, we must be clean. There is nowhere left to hide from the calling of the Father, Emily. Leave your dress, and come wash me. I will not move or touch you while you do."

She turned around to face him again, taking a few soft steps into the room, letting his voice guide her, offering her the peace and connection she hungered for more than any earthly temptation. She undressed slowly, calmly, blushing as she revealed her skin to the open air, her skin prickling with goosebumps and excitement, her nipples taut. She resisted the urge to squirm and try to hide herself with her hands. She folded the dress carefully, and set it aside. She hadn't been naked under the eyes of another person since she was a small child and now she was undressing in front of a man whose name she didn't know. Her heart beat faster and she forced her mind away.

This man was different. This man was of God and he would help her to find her way.

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand." She couldn't bring herself to look at him, blushing and keeping her eyes on the floor, on the bowl and his feet.

She knelt and picked up one of the cloths, dipping it into the water and started to wash his body, gently, tentatively, focusing on the act of service and compassion whenever the solid heat of muscle and bone under her fingers made her blush and long for retreat. She worked her way slowly up his body, turning her face away and standing when she reached the top of his thighs. She began again standing behind him, working the cloth over his shoulders, carefully washing each of his rams down to the fingertips, and then his back and down to the base of his spine. She flushed and moved to stand in front of him, the warmth of his body heating the air between them.

She couldn't avoid his eyes and she got lost for a moment in their intensity until she pulled her gaze down and away.

She returned to her task, her touch light and slow. Touching him was so different than washing her own body, years of difficult service to God, working here, had made him hard and muscled, his hands rough and strong from work. She washed his chest and his belly, letting herself be drawn into his eyes again and taking strength from him as she let her fingers slip down lower.

She was lost, barely breathing as she found his cock, nothing more than the cool wet cloth between her and him. She paused, but he did not stop her, did not drive her onward. She felt clumsy and unprepared, blushing as she wrapped her fingers around him, gently exploring.

She was trembling when she finished, letting her hands fall away from him.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Behind him waited a labyrinth of rooms, quarters where they would sleep, a small washroom where they would bathe, a kitchen where meals would be prepared and, at the small table in the corner, eaten, and rooms that would echo with her screams. Their purpose would be served eventually, the only question up in the air now was how much struggle she put up before setting foot in them, but at the moment they stood dark and quiet, empty portals through which atonement waited. How long they remained empty was in her hands.

Silently, patiently, Thomas watched the girl that had existed in a different world, a different time, only days before. He found it hard not to feel some sympathy for her, for the shock she must feel at finding herself now on this mountain, in this room, and before this man. He knew the apprehension that must have a hold of her, the hesitation she must feel at what was being requested of her, and some part of him did want to tell her that he was sorry for it.

But he knew, in his core, that it was this feeling that must be banished from his heart. The girl had been called by the Father to serve in this manner, had volunteered to come to the small town where she met Matthew and Anthony, and had followed them willfully up the mountain. She was where she belonged, the treasure in a jar of clay, and her purpose here must be fulfilled. So many would depend on his leadership, sheep that needed a pure shepherd, and she was placed here now before him to assure that he was cleansed of his sinful desires.

Quiet eyes watched as she undressed at last, her body revealed to him in the rise of the cotton dress, the light dancing along her hips and over her breasts, his eyes somehow drawn everywhere and nowhere at once. She was not the first woman he had seen without clothing - he was not born here, and had lived in the world for some time before ascending the mountain - but she was the first he'd seen in some years, and he found himself filled suddenly with the urge to touch her, and taste her. To fill her.

His length twitched, he felt it began to swell, and he knew he had to control himself lest he scare her back out of the room once more. A deep breath was drawn, released, and he focused his attention on her instead of on his desires. There would be time for those later.

The water was cool against his skin, the cloth soft and hesitant in her hands as it moved over his skin. Contrary to the look of his beard, he and the others in the monastery bathed regularly, and in fact he had when he rose with the sun today, but this cleansing was more about the act itself than any practical washing that happened.

His breathing was slow as he watched her, felt her, time seeming to slow down as her hands worked, water clinging to the hairs on his body, rolling in short trails down the contours of hard muscle and rough edges. Their eyes met occasionally, gazes held fixed as she moved the cloth against him. Their breathing seemed to fall into sync as she moved at last to his cock, and it was only years, perhaps decades of practiced focus that kept him from responding to her touch as his flesh desperately wanted to. He lifted his eyes from her, watching the light play on the wall as she touched him, knowing that to watch her focus his attention on this part of him would crumble a resolve even as practiced as his.

At last, she was finished. He'd lost all sense of time, and being shut off from the rest of the world as they were only enhanced that feeling, leaving them to their own devices to determine the passage of time. His eyes returned to her when her hands fell away, and he smiled at her gently.

"Thank you, Emily."

His voice was low, quiet in the stillness of the room, and when he began to move it was with a calm grace, as if anything too sudden might frighten her away. Long fingers took up the dry, folded cloth, and lowered it to the bowl of water, pushing it below the surface. Pulling it back up, he wrung the excess water back into the copper bowl, then paused to look up at her face. He was expressionless, neither reassuring smile nor leering stare at her nakedness, and his eyes dropped back to his hands.

Crouched there before her, he reached out and touched the top of her foot with the cloth, working his way up to her shin, then reaching behind her to cradle her calf in his palm. The cloth was returned to the water as he reached her knee, and he began on the other leg, his touch gentle on the soft skin and smooth muscle under it. Her thighs were next, long strokes of the wet rag as he worked his way up, careful to avoid the juncture at her center.

Again the rag found the water, and then he rose back to his full height in front of her. One arm reached around her body, gathering up her hair and pulling it in front of her shoulders, freeing her back of the curtain that hid it. Moving behind her, his hands worked from her shoulders down to the small of her back in long, slow strokes, covering her in a fine sheet of water.

Her hair was pulled back over her shoulder then, long strands and an increasingly small distance the only thing that kept her back and his chest from meeting as his hands reached around her. The cloth moved along the lines of her collarbones and down between her breasts before his palm moved over her, the damp square of fabric dragging across the taunt nipple. He seemed to hardly be breathing when his hands moved across her body, over the swell of her breast and around her other nipple. He was all too aware of the hard shape of her nipple against his forearm as it reached across her body, and he found himself struggling to contain the reaction of his cock as his hands, at last, made their way between her thighs. His breathing was shallow and slow, two fingertips with the cloth wrapped around them dragging against her once, twice, three times. Once more followed, and he pulled his arms back from around her.

Exhaling audibly, he took a half step back from her and touched the cloth to his brow, forgetting for the moment where it had just been.

"We should... move on. There is some food waiting in the next room for us," he said, his voice more unsteady as it left him than he had expected.