It was always quiet on the eve before the summer solstice. The halls of the palace were still and empty. All of the inhabitants were asleep, awaiting midsummer. Only the affluent roamed the premise, the perfect contrast to the sole man still awake in the enclosed baths down the main wing. He was out of place, a figure who wasn’t meant to be there but was struck by the most unfortunate fates.
Submerged in the bath, Hokuto was dazed in the open space. His body was loose as he leaned against the edge of the pool, and he doesn’t recall the last time his muscles were lax and lost of any tension. He had grown accustomed to the scents of rose and cedarwood mixed into the water in the short time he was there. He couldn’t tell anymore what scent the candles lined along the bath emitted, but he appreciated the tranquilizing glow that lit the dark hall. He had lost track of time while soaked in water. It was a lengthy but essential purification process masked as a temporary luxury.
He was unclean. No matter how hard he would scrape the nonexistent dirt on his skin, he thought he would always be filthy. A slave was destined to be such. Even if he was bred and raised for the sole purpose of tomorrow.
Whenever his mind was close to finding peace, images from the temple would surge back. A sharp shiver ran down Hokuto's spine, and he cups water into his hands to wash his face. He did not want to think of such horrors when he should be relaxing. He had already run out of tears to cry, and all he could do left was wait for midsummer to end.
He was rinsing his face when he heard the hollow echo of footsteps. Turning toward the spiral staircase, he watches as a bold silhouette descended the marble steps. Upon recognizing who had arrived, Hokuto’s blood ran cold.
The urge to cry came back in a sharp wave, but Hokuto was too tired to do anything but swallow back his fears. He quickly lowered his head, a gesture of respect to hide his bitten lips. He did not know what brought the King down to the bath at the dead of eve. Hokuto did not want to know.
The King stops by the edge of the bath. Refusing to lift his head, Hokuto watched his reflection in the water.
“You’re forgetting how to breathe.”
The smooth and amiable tone in his voice contrasted his greatness and authority. Hokuto wondered if his uneven breaths echoed louder in reality than in his own head.
He caught the sound of cloth shifting and slipping to the floor. Confused, Hokuto raises his head slightly and looks forward, and his breath stops when he was faced with the sovereign, bare of his robes, descending the steps into the pool. The man before him was otherworldly, with hard sculpted lines and a celestial glow, divine as the rose petals on the water drifted away to create a path for him.
Hokuto steps back on instinct, afraid his dirtiness could taint such a godly being.
“I…”
A firm hand rests on Hokuto’s arm, keeping him in place.
“Stay.”
Hokuto stood rigid, obeying the command.
“It would be of bad taste to hurry while bathing.”
Almost inaudibly, Hokuto utters his apology.
The King closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. His body grew loose and accustomed to the water, and he gently pulls Hokuto with him to the other end of the pool and sits on the steps.
“Cleanse me.”
Hokuto stared, thinking he was merely hearing things until he realized the King was still looking at him expectantly. Timidly, he steps back out, making a wet trail on the marbled flooring as he gathered a porcelain bowl with soap and oils, and a washcloth, wondering in the back of his mind if it was okay for someone like him to be performing such a request.
Watching his back, the King was so calm and defenseless with his arms resting beside him on the edge, creating the perfect picture of freedom and leisure. Hokuto envied him.
Returning to the water, the King immediately reaches his hand out for Hokuto to take. It was the first step to cleansing. The hands were always the dirtiest. Hesitantly, Hokuto takes the King’s hand, thorough as he lathers and rinses his palm and each of his long fingers. He could feel the callouses and roughness of his hand, the proof of his strength behind the sword he weld and the wars he fought. He realized even in bathing, he never removed some of the heavy gold rings on his fingers.
Hokuto proceeded to fill the porcelain with water, pouring down the King’s chest and shoulders, gradually making his way up until he poured from the crown of his head. He couldn’t help but stare at droplets running down his jaw and the curve of his neck. This was the closest he had ever gotten to see him after all, and if he wasn’t so overwhelmed by his being, he would have admired his strong and handsome features.
This whole time, he had worked in silence. Thus he flinched when the King opened his mouth.
“You didn’t touch your wine.”
Hokuto followed the King’s line of sight. The wine had also been offered to him by the servants before he was left alone, but he had left it untouched. He was aware of its importance in purification rituals, but he chose to forego it. If he only had a few hours left on this earth, he ought to savor the ticking seconds awake and sober.
A goblet was offered to the King, and Hokuto pores him his wine.
“Would this suffice, your majesty–?”
“Jesse.”
The name caught Hokuto by surprise. Perhaps it was all in his imagination, but he saw a soft, almost human-like quality in his eyes at that moment.
“Call me Jesse.”
It was impossible and rude for Hokuto to call the King by his name so casually, but upsetting him and disobeying a personal command was more frightening. He simply nodded and set the bottle aside when he made sure Jesse was pleased with his wine.
Deeming it was time for him to leave his highness in peace, Hokuto cleared his throat. “If I may, I think I’ll return to my quarters tonight—”
“Come back here for a second.”
Jesse didn’t turn to check if Hokuto was following his orders, but a satisfied smile graces his lips when Hokuto carefully dips back inside. With his one unoccupied hand, he maneuvers Hokuto to turn around so his back was facing him, and he doesn’t miss the other’s flinch at his firm grasp.
“Is something the matter?” Hokuto looked back in confusion and shuddered when he realized Jesse’s gaze was fixed intently on the mark on his back. His cheeks grew hot as shame enveloped him, and his hands shook under the water.
“Does it hurt?” Fingers traced gently over the branding on his skin. The flesh was scarred and scorched, and Jesse followed the outline of the mark, humming with fascination.
Hokuto shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“It means you were destined.”
“I will not lie to you, but I dreaded living each day knowing I’m a sacrificial lamb.”
Jesse drew Hokuto closer to him, and the latter was practically made to straddle the King on the steps of the pool.
“Others view being born and raised as the gift to the gods as a blessing and privilege.”
If Hokuto was careless, he would have scoffed. “I apologize if I come off as rude, but all it has ever been to me was being abandoned by the gods.” Hope was a virtue that dwindled faster with each passing season, and Hokuto didn’t have to articulate his despair for Jesse to sense it. “Perhaps the most freedom I’ll ever attain will be after death.”
“So you’d rather die than continue living a slave,” Jesse surmised.
Hokuto nodded.
“But you’re afraid of death.”
The cold truth was always hard to swallow. Jesse drank from his wine, watching from the rim of his goblet the conflict in Hokuto’s face. He offered Hokuto his drink, urging him to help himself.
Hokuto took the goblet for a drink, his face turning wry from the burn in his throat. Jesse’s fingers lingered on his skin, and Hokuto tried not to think about his body heating up peculiarly.
“Tell me what you want,” Jesse began.
“What I want?”
“What you really desire.”
Hokuto didn’t know why he was carefully thinking about it when it wouldn’t be granted anyway. It was something he felt too personal and shouldn’t share, but he was too easily persuaded by Jesse’s eyes. Hokuto felt he would burn under Jesse’s gaze at any second and smolder into embers.
Hokuto drinks the wine to the last drop and released a breathy exhale.
“I want to be loved.”
Jesse smiled and caressed Hokuto’s face, the latter leaning to his warm solid touch. “What else?”
“I want to be held.”
Jesse drew close to his ear, and a shiver ran up Hokuto’s spine at his hot breath and deep voice. “And?”
“I want to be free.”
“That’s all?” Jesse pressed, amused that Hokuto’s eyes had fallen shut at their proximity.
Swallowing hard, Hokuto’s voice trembled at his own words.
“I want to feel human.”
Nothing more leaves Hokuto’s mouth when Jesse pressed their lips together. His lips were merely open, too stunned to respond to Jesse’s kiss. He was unfamiliar with the motions, so clumsy that he had slipped a whisper of apology in between. But Jesse had been understanding and patient, guiding him to relax and properly reciprocate so that he too would feel good. Before he knew it, Hokuto’s hands were on Jesse’s shoulders to steady himself, bolder, and unlike the person he was before who couldn’t even look at him when Jesse first arrived.
Hokuto had never been touched before. Despite his status as a dirty slave, he was raised to be pure and clean. It was one of the main ironies that shackled his life, and it was more ironic that he was disobeying the expectations the night before the completion of his purpose. Even more ironic that it was initiated by the King himself.
He spotted the King’s lips rising when he had visibly shivered from the hot fingertips descending his body. He held his breath when the hands descended his chest and stomach. His muscles tensed when he reaches just between his legs, and a gasp unknowingly escapes Hokuto’s lips when he grasps his cock. He didn’t know he could produce such immodest sounds. He covers his mouth with his hand to keep his voice from echoing, but Jesse orders him not to do that again.
The hand fondling his cock keeps a steady pace. When a sharp sensation was close to bursting, Hokuto unintentionally bucks and grinds on Jesse’s lap, feeling a throbbing hardness pressed against his thigh. Hokuto looks at Jesse with uncertainty, and goosebumps rise on his skin when he’s met with a hungry expression directed toward him. The hand on Hokuto’s cock leaves, and Jesse carries Hokuto up from the water to lie on his back on the tiled flooring.
They make use of the oils prepared for cleansing. With Hokuto’s legs spread wide, Jesse pours a generous amount over his hole and coats his own fingers thoroughly as well. His fingers don’t slip in very easily as he had already expected; Hokuto was too tight that his forehead was scrunched while holding onto Jesse’s biceps to stabilize himself. Despite that, sparks of pleasure appeared here and there when his fingers brushed a deeper part of him. Once stimulated enough, Hokuto was unabashedly eyeing Jesse, well-endowed, hard, and already glistening at the tip.
The King takes a moment to observe Hokuto splayed on the tiles. He flashes a delighted smile to couple his curious fascination, and Hokuto was enamored, unable to find it in him to be conscious of his indecent position. He sets his legs wider apart as the King positions himself in front of him, the head of Jesse’s cock brushing against his tight ring, coating itself with the oils already spread over him. His legs shivered in anticipation as Jesse pushed his tip in, slow and careful, taking all his time in the world to sheathe himself inside him. Eyes closed and forehead scrunched, Hokuto sucked in a deep breath at the intrusion, concentrating on relaxing his body to accommodate his size. Jesse had been kind and gentle with him, rocking into him slowly and steadily so he didn’t hurt too much. And when Hokuto’s body was beginning to grow accustomed to him, Jesse held his waist and sped up.
Hokuto has never felt this way before. So alive —so invigorated, like there was a fire in his bones, burning deep in his core, gathering wildly down to his loins. It was an otherworldly sensation like his body was ascending to a feverish high. Although there was a hint of fright from how overwhelming everything was, Hokuto couldn’t stop wanting more. He was losing control over his own body, as if it chose to obey Jesse instead, pliant and receptive to his fiery touch. He was held by a god of pleasure, blessing him bountifully despite his sinfully nude and raw state.
With the angling of his hips, Jesse slams back into Hokuto’s body and prompts the loudest, most vulgar sound that reverberates around the bathing hall. Jesse doesn’t stop; he doesn’t dare to interrupt Hokuto’s bliss. The sound of slick skin meeting was so loud. He thrusts hard and fast into that lustful spot, treating it like a button overly abused and stimulated. He liked that Hokuto was holding onto him tight, arms grasping onto the hard muscles of his back like his life depended on him. He liked hearing Hokuto’s sharps gasps mixing with his low grunts. And he liked to see Hokuto’s eyes glazed and half-shut, looking like he was in rapture.
Something inside Hokuto was creeping closer and closer. He didn’t know what it was, but it was making his back arch and his toes curl. His mouth was parted open, wanting to convey something to Jesse but was unable to put it into words, but Jesse seemed to have understood. Bending down, Jesse cradles his head and presses a kiss just above his brow. His eyes sheened with carnal need, eliciting a violent shiver to run through Hokuto’s frame. He initiates the start of the finale, driving his cock harder and deeper inside, and Hokuto comes with a scream.
Hokuto was no longer clean.
Lying spent on the tiles, he struggled to catch his breath, his chest rising up and down as he watched Jesse pull out of him. He’s been touched and stained, his rear filled up and dripping with the King’s seed.
They said to be touched was to be defiled, and perhaps this was his greatest sin. What had transpired was the ultimate defiance of his purpose, but he couldn’t care less anymore. Jesse’s touch made him liberated. His body had never felt so good and gratified.
He had spent his whole life untouched, yet he had offered his virginity to the king of all people on his last day on earth.
It was the perfect last mockery to the gods before he dies.
✾✾✾
It would all end in midafternoon.
Incense burned and drifted heavily in the air. The halls were dim, and light only filtered through the oculus in the center of the dome.
Today was the fated day when the gods were to be appeased and worshipped. Hokuto was brought into the world for this purpose. After all this, his mission would be fulfilled.
He was carried and placed on the top of a large structure akin to a tomb. It was right in front of the altar, surrounded by candles lined in a circle. Hokuto couldn’t see them with the cloth obstructing his sight, but he could envision them with the drawings and images he had seen in books of the rituals. The stone under his bare skin was cold, yet he couldn’t shrink into himself for warmth with the ropes binding his limbs from four corners.
The high priest had commenced the ceremony as he stood in front of the altar, reciting old words Hokuto could not understand. The body of ministers, composed of around just twenty to respect the sacred grounds, surrounded him from a distance and answered back in chorus. They were uniformly clad in crimson robes, the very opposite to the midsummer offering laid stark naked under the light from the oculus.
The chants that reverberated around the temple frightened him. With each passing second, his breaths were coming in shallow and fast, the smoke muddling his head and making it harder and harder to breathe. When the high priest raises a chalice and drinks from it, the crowd quiets down and watches, forcing Hokuto to hold his breath from the silence.
A tall figure steps into the center from the crowd, all eyes on him as he stood in front of the high priest. It was the King himself, blessing the temple with his grandness and splendor, bowing and accepting the offer of the chalice before he himself drank from it.
As the high priest sets the chalice back to the altar and mouths the last prayers, he raises his hands and invites the crowd to come forward to the offering. Hokuto tenses as he senses their presence approaching to surround him. He still couldn’t see, but he could feel the heat enclosing him. He could imagine the wandering eyes and feel their wicked breaths. He was helpless and exposed. He was the destined oblation; the sacrificial lamb to be served as a feast.
The high priest’s towering figure was distinguishable even as a silhouette through the cloth around Hokuto’s eyes. And so was the shape of the dagger in his hand.
A cold and clammy hand rests on Hokuto’s thigh, and his leg should fold up on instinct, but the rope bound around his ankle would not permit so. It was disgusting, Hokuto thought. He reckoned this must be what they say when to be touched was to be made filthy.
The hand began slithering up his thigh, gliding past his hip bone, brushing his genitals most definitely on purpose, tracing the dips of his stomach, and ribs, and stopping just on top of his chest.
His finger lingers where his heart was, feeling each pump, following the small source of life beating rhythmically. Something cold lightly presses on his flesh, and Hokuto tenses, his breath coming out faster and shallow to the point he was turning light-headed.
The high priest recites to the crowd a prayer of thanks. The crowd answers back in exclamation. The cold object on his chest leaves and Hokuto tightly shut his eyes, unable to watch the silhouette of the priest hovering the dagger right above his heart.
The last line of the prayer was uttered, and in his last seconds, Hokuto silently accepts his fate.
But there was no pain.
The temple was silent. The sharp stench of blood wafts within the dome, and Hokuto wondered if that was his own until he realized nothing had punctured his chest. He thought he had heard the sound of something thumping to the ground. Then it was followed by a whole weight of what should be a human body.
The King had stepped down from the altar where he had been watching this whole time. In his hand was his sword, stained and dripping red to the floor. And by his foot was the head of the high priest.
Jesse was the golden sun that permeated the dark temple. He had that notable smile on his face, presenting himself as cordial and amicable despite his status. A great contradiction to the weapon he held that brought fear within the halls.
The summer solstice was the longest day of the year for worship that appeased the heavens with a sacrifice. But starting today, the King will single-handedly end such archaic traditions before the sun descends for nightfall. By dusk, nothing leaves the temple and spreads back to the kingdom. No one will leave. Even if it meant the sacred grounds desecrated by a bloodbath.
Amidst pleas and screaming, Hokuto lays still. The stench of blood grew heavy enough to trounce the burning incense. The halls met complete silence so fast, and Hokuto was conflicted about whether to feel safe or to fear.
But the ropes around Hokuto’s limbs had been cleanly cut. The cloth around his eyes was pulled and discarded, and Hokuto was staring right at Jesse, nearly blinded by him and his bright light. There were specks of blood on his immaculate robe and face, and his sword remained gracefully to his side, reminding Hokuto of the fearful man he was behind that warm smile.
Gently, Jesse caresses his cheek, urging Hokuto to meet his eyes.
“As your king, I order you to live.”