In the name of the Father (ManxMan) | the Wattys | The Wattpad Awards 2013

Prologue - The right hand and its left

Prologue – The right hand and its left

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Together they signed to give respect to the Lord. It’s a Sunday. They stood in the back row, away from prying eyes, mischievous prattles, and nosy characters that churches were known for.

Driven by excitement, longing, and young love, their eyes locked for a couple seconds, wanting for the hour to quickly pass by. Blissful thoughts were in their minds as they searched each other’s eyes. His docile gray eyes captured his sultry blues. They eyed one another and saw their future. It was happy and beautiful. They were smiling. They were together.

An invisible connection communicated unspoken words they had for one another. The words were of promise, devotion, and affection. The desire they felt for each other was strong. And they felt it in their heated blood as it surged thickly through their veins. The air suddenly felt heavier the harder they breathed, a familiar and heady feeling that only the two of them shared.

They broke eye contact and gasped inwardly as the voice of the priest rose from the pulpit. Both were yanked to the present and promptly resumed formality, tugging at their shirts for reasons they cannot fathom nor explain. They were acting like giddy schoolchildren, and they liked it.

With his chin tacked down, the one wearing casual cleared his throat before saying “Um, excuse me, Jeanne?” he whispered close to the handsome, powerful, and tailored man on his left.

“Yeah?” the one wearing business responded, leaning closer to the simple man on his right.

The younger of the two wearing dark jeans and a white t-shirt fidgeted and tried to calm his speeding heart. His meek tongue found the words and spoke with the kind of caution expected from a well-behaved child, “Will you hold my hand?” he asked with his heart thumping at the words. He knew that his request wouldn’t be accommodated, yet he hoped that he’ll be accepted.

With a look of mild shock that gradually faded into admiration, the older man said “I can’t.”

The young man sagged, feeling dejected, “But why not?” he murmured within earshot of the prim and influential man whose face remained expressionless.

The older of the two spirits brought his lips together to muffle the words that followed, “Because you’re the right hand of God,” he noted barely above a whisper.

“I was. Past tense,” the younger of the two souls sighed heavily.

“Give it an hour, Gray. I promise to hold more than just your left hand after this,” was Jeanne’s invitation, his heart brimming with love and anticipation.

“I’ll hold on to that promise, Jeanne,” was Gray’s response, his heart thrumming, beating fast, and threatening to escape the confines of his small frame.

“You should. I can’t wait to have you in my arms,” Jeanne whispered dangerously close to the ear of the young man whose stomach has bred a habitat for butterflies.

Gray’s lips quirked into a smile that only Jeanne knows and understands, “I can’t wait to be in your arms too, Sir…” he whispered dotingly with a dull ache in his heart.

Jeanne pulled his sleeve, “Sshh. Fifty-eight minutes. I’m counting down.”

They got into the limo as soon as the mass ended. Jeanne held Gray’s hand in his, feeling the warmth of skin which he longed for. It was only this morning when they held each other close, yet the thought of not being able to touch in public was enough to drive them wanting more.

Jeanne’s fingers felt skin for skin, tracing the lines along Gray’s palm as if he were navigating a map of him. Seeing the younger man’s bare hand made him think how beautiful it would look with a diamond ring. He dreamed of standing near a cliff, holding Gray’s hand firmly, professing his eternal love for him as they watched the sun bleed lower against the kiss of the mountains.

Jeanne lifted the hand of a man he considered his version of the truth. He brushed the knuckles with his lips, soft skin meeting his stubble. It sent undercurrents of pleasure that steeled and tickled Gray’s spine. It was a display of affection both had been wanting since they entered the house of God. A gesture Jeanne knew would ruin his public image and taint his reputation should people find out.

The two basked in the rich privacy and dark obscurity of having thick tainted windows. The limo was a quiet haven that shielded them from whispers, talks, and chatter. Their lips quested everywhere there was skin. Theirs is the kind of love that’s divine, irreverent, and breathtaking.

“Jeanne,” the holy man pulled away from the loving kiss to breathe heavily.

“Gray,” the man of power lingered with eyes shut and heart beating rapidly.

Jeanne swallowed and gathered his wits, willing his thickening blood to find reprieve. “Drive,” he commanded his ever trusty butler away from the Church of the Epiphany in Washington, D.C.