Genre: Gay Erotic Romance
Summary: When Daniel joins the monastery on the island of Andros to escape his violent family, he thinks he has found peace. Two years later, vivid sexual dreams with a gorgeous male demon test his loyalty to the strictness of monastic life and make him wonder if he’s made a huge mistake in striving for purity...
Gay Erotic Romance novella (46 pages / 21.000 words)
Excerpt:
Daniel groaned and opened his eyes. It took him a moment to connect the name —Brother Marco — with himself. Even after two years at the monastery, he still wasn’t used to it, a problem other novices and monks didn’t seem to have.
The door banged open, letting in the light of a candle. “Brother Marco. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine!” Daniel said. “Just give me a second.”
Brother John stood at the door, scowling. The grim old man had undertaken to ensure that novices like him followed the rituals, and he wasn’t very happy with Daniel right now. He took one step inside, lit Daniel’s candle, and turned to go. “Hurry up.”
Daniel glanced around, knowing the demon would be gone. Nevertheless, the small, bare cell mocked him with its emptiness, just as it did every morning. He stared at his prayer book on the nightstand. That was what he should be doing: praying, not having sinful dreams, with a man, no less.
The bells were tolling the matins as he smoothed down his cassock, biting back a moan when the coarse material rubbed against his tender cock. As a novice, he was expected to wear his cassock night and day, a test, he supposed, either of physical endurance or of love of God. He tied up his hair in its customary knot at his nape. He pulled on his hood and tightened his belt.
Sinful, wet dreams. Not that he didn’t have them from time to time, but they had never felt so real.
Sin was the downfall of the world, his father had told him a thousand times over. Of course, in his father’s world, sin was anything from sleeping late on Sundays to reading a romantic novel, and Daniel was the epitome of sin.
Taking the candle, he exited his cell and stood for a moment in the empty, vaulted pathway overlooking the monastery’s yard. Monks were entering the ancient church of St John, dark-clad, hooded figures, men who had found God’s way.
Unlike him. He was going straight to Hell for these dreams, those desires. After all, demons only tortured confused souls like his, who didn’t know right from wrong, and whose minds dwelled on unnatural acts.
Somehow, he’d thought that coming to this strict monastery, joining an order of the Orthodox Church, would cure him, give him the chance to repent. Give him some peace from the shouting matches between his parents, the slamming doors and the ringing quiet that followed, the loneliness and his own guilt when he heard his name shouted in the midst of all the insults and swearing. How many times had his parents told him he was the reason they kept fighting? He hoped that, after he’d left, they had found peace.
The monastery had written to them and asked if he could stay, since Daniel had only been sixteen at the time. His parents, he was told, had the right to claim him back.
They never did. Which was a relief of sorts, even if the thought hurt briefly every time, like a hot sting in his chest. That had been two years back, and soon he’d finish his novitiate and become a monk, make this place his home.
Home. He sighed, not seeing the gardens around him but instead city streets, cars and shops and people. Where was home?
Cupping the flame of his candle, he cringed as a lean, hooded monk stepped out of the cell next to his. Brother Nathaniel. He always wore his hood drawn over his face, so that only the gleam of his gaze was visible.
“Good morning,” Daniel muttered.
The monk ignored him, as always, and hurried towards the church with long, powerful strides. There went a man free of doubt. He looked set, determined, faithful to this church. He attended mass without fail, worked hard in the orchards, knelt for long hours in prayer. Daniel had heard from old Brother John that Brother Nathaniel wasn’t much older than Daniel himself, barely nineteen, and that he’d been at the monastery for most of his life, an orphan the monks took in.
Maybe if Daniel persevered enough he’d find that faith and cool detachment inside himself too; he’d see his purpose in the world, and the demon would stop visiting his dreams.
He’d feel less lonely.
Pushing off the time-worn stone pillar, he wondered why Nathaniel was always so cold around him, never returning his greetings, never answering his questions. Could it be — Daniel’s spine stiffened and he felt a flush warming his neck — that he’d heard Daniel through the wall when the dreams held him in their thrall?
Swallowing past a knot in his throat, Daniel hurried down the pathway toward the church.
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