Cyril hugged his dark cowl closer to his head, keeping the coarse material from falling away from his face as he broke into the cornfield. The monk wasn’t certain what he was doing rushing into this feild with a threatening storm building steadily on the horizon. The monestary was close enough that if he turned back now he would get to the shelter before the rains began, but far enough that he would be soaked to the skin if he reached his destination and stayed for any amount of time. It was foolish, he should have gone back, but instead the monk continued hurriedly skipping past the giant stalks of corn spouting all around him.
Rueben probably hadn’t gone beyond his door. If he did it would be to cover the hay, protect the tenderest plants, drive his animals tio thesafety of the barn. He would have more important things to do than this meeting.

Still Cyril urgently pressed forward, trying not to break any of the corn stalks, though if the storm was as bad as it threatened to be most of these stalks would be broken by morning. His robes bellowed around him, catching stalks and trying to restrain him, but his mind raced ahead of him to the stump in the middle of the feild.

Of course, Rueben would not be there. Even if he was they could not possibly stay. The rain would come and they would part quickly. A few words would be spoken and then... nothing. The rain would come. God would send the chilled water to definativly divide them.

Through the walls of green, a break in the corn was suddenly visible. This break in the neat patterns of the corn was the stump. The stump was the remains of a giant tree that had once grown on this land, a tree that had been so wide around that a man could not circle his arms even half way around the trunk. The farmer who had cut the tree down had been persistant and it took him over a week, but the lumber had made him a fortune and it allowed him to extend his cornfield through the area that the giant tree had once kept in a shadow.

The stump was so massive, that all of the farmer’s horses had been unable to move the thing. They had tried to dig it out, but found the roots too deep and tangled for them to seperate from the earth. Overtime, the earth began to weaken its hold on the roots and someone perhaps that persistant farmer had continued trying to dig out decaying remains of the once great tree, cutting back at the roots on the underside until he had formed a ceiling of wood. This digger’s efforts had failed as the stump remained, but today there was such a gap beneath the stump that a small team of horses might be able to pull it from the earth. Children would often hide beneath the sturdy roots; the crevice was deep enough to hide three or four children.

The monk could not remember what the tree had once been, for the tree was turned into fire and homes long before Cyril was born. But the stump remained and that clearing in the green stalks and cooing wind was the place Cyril fought to reach. When he finally cleared the corn and stood before the large tilted circle, he sighed.

Rueben was not there.

The stump was barren; Rueben didn’t lean against the lower edge looking like he could pry the clossal memory of a tree away from the earth himself. Rueben didn’t sit inside the flat circle one brown arm flung over his raised knee like a new spring looking to grown out of the decay. He was somewhere else, sitting at home, singing to his chickens.

Cyril sighed again, the sound beginning as an expression of relief but tranforming quickly into the dying whisper of disapointment. Rueben had more important things to do than this meeting.
The monk was out of breath from his running and leaned forward against the stump that was taller than his waist and wide enough to be a Giant’s cutting board if only Cyril would lay across the wood and wait for the Giant and his butcher’s knife. He turned away, putting his back to it and slumping to the ground, unconcered with the wetness of the earth against his trousers or the way his robe gathered immodestly above his waist when he sat against the stump.

Cyril dropped his head into his hands and waited to catch his breath. He thought about praying for forgiveness, without asking for salvation from the crime he would have willingly committed if Rueben had been waiting, stretched luxuriously across the top of the stump, bathed in the cloudy air. Cyril decided not to waste God’s time with a prayer that would undoubtably occur again. He groaned into his hands, able to breathe in the scent of the church’s insence.

He had not caught his breath when he heard a gentle rustle in the cornstalks and turned with a jolt as if he had heard thunder. His hands gripped at the stump, digging into the fragile bark of the wood, when he saw just the shape of Rueben pushing the corn lightly to a side taking his time and leisurely coming to the stump. For a moment, Cyril wondered what would happen if he darted under the stump and avoided the strong lanky man strolling casually towards him. Rueben would think he had not come out for fear of the storm and next Sunday, he would send another monk, an older one, to Ruben’s farm. This business could stop that easily.

Cyril didn’t move though, just kept wondering until Rueben broke the final barrier of green stalks. The farmer saw him instantly, and when their eyes confronted at that distance, Rueben lowered the bag across his back, dropping that oats, onions, and lettuce that was his tithe to the church for that month. It fell to the pliant earth with a softer thud than Rueben’s footstep as he came nearer.

The monk turned watching Rueben as he circled the stump slowly. His boots sank into the yeild earth. His strides were as confident and strong as his legs. The tunic was grayer than his eyes but not as dark as the sky overhead. His tunic was filled to stretching with his body and his face, rugged and at the moment stern, was browned by the sun that dared not witness this day. Rueben’s eyes maintained their peircing paleness and contemplatedthe monk sitting before the stump trembling and unable to breathe.

When Rueben planted his feet firmly into the earth, he stood directly before Cyril, and the monk was suddenly aware how his robe was gathered and tangled about his waist. He looked away from the man towering over him to reach down and straighten the coarse material, but his halted when Rueben crouched down before him, his thick knees framing the monk’s vision and his left arm touching the sopping earth between them. Cyril looked up at him when Rueben’s right hand touched his face.

The stone of the farmer’s hard eyes was instantly swallowed by the gentle fear in the eyes gazing up at him and Rueben smiled at the desperate quietness of the shy monk before him. Rueben leaned in to kiss him. Cyril moaned quietly tasting the soil in the man’s lips.

Rueben pressed closer as he lowered one knee to the ground. The farmer taunted him, kissing short shallow touches, as if he was considering turning back and abandoning their unspoken agreement. He may have resolved to go home before the storm and this may have happened accidentally... so many things between them happened accidentally.

Cyril felt him pulling away and resisted, fighting his robe until he could kneal before Rueben and kiss him, urging him with such an instant passion that the farmer lost his balance and their bodies fell closer to the corn. Rueben lay on his back with Cyril stretched between his legs, but neither seemed to notice that they had fallen hardly breaking the rising passion of thier kiss.
The monk came to his knees again, still covering Rueben’s mouth with his own, sucking the air from the man’s lungs and trying to recover his own lost breath. He felt Rueben’s feet reaching for the earth and sank his pelvis deeper between the man’s legs, pressing their bodies tight and groping Rueben’s arm with his right hand as his left crawled between them to stroke at the hot dark places between their tightly pressed bodies.

Cyril shivered with his sinful lust, when Rueben grunted deep in his throat and lifted his thick hands to Cyril’s waist, rocking him gently and urging the man to rub against his body. Rueben’s tumbs locked under the rope about the monk’s waist and he lossened the belt until it slipped away. Cyril fought to pull their mouth’s apart so he could see where his belt had been lain and what was quickly becoming of his robe. Rueben’s hands insistantly pushed beneath the robe, until his rough hands were kneading the tension in Cyril’s back and begging to reach higher under the robe.

When Rueben’s hands finally coordinated their efforts and tugged the robe away from the man’s body, Cyril merely lifted his arms in acceptance. The stinging chill of the air shocked his overheated skin and if Cyril had any breath left to give the surprise of the chill would surely have taken it away. Rueben braced his hands against the cloistered body preventing Cyril from bending down to kiss him again. Cyril sat back on his heel waiting to hear Rueben tell him no and send him away. He was grateful that instead of the expected ‘no’, he recieved an emphatic ‘yes’ and Rueben reached past the ties of his trousers to massage Cyril’s erection. The farmer smirked smuggly and pulled the trousers down as far as he could reach.

Panting for air above him, Cyril eventually remembered that he was able to remove his clothing completly and he carefully pushed his trousers away from his feet, wiggling out of his shoes along the way. He closed his eyes feeling Rueben’s hands shift from his thighs to his chest and glorying in the touch of another person’s fingers. He could tell Rueben’s eyes were blanketing him with scutiny, but if he kept his eyes closed he could only feel the powerful need in the other man’s hands.

Cyril felt himself sliding backwards when Rueben arched his body up to kiss his stomach. Rueben’s hands tucked between Cyril’s bare thighs and drew him up, until he was no longer kneeling between the farmer’s legs, but had one leg stretched out on either side of Rueben’s wide spread legs. Cyril was vaguly aware of Rueben’s intention and he simply accepted the path as the best. It was especially hard to resist when Rueben sat straight and ground thier pelvis bone tight together, burning Cyril’s sensative flesh with the coarseness of his trousers.
Rueben took no effort to restrain him when Cyril reached between his own legs to untie the other man’s trousers. He rubbed the thick lump he felt there until Rueben groaned and squeezed his thighs hard enough to hurt him. Cyril dipped his fingers past the tie and pulled the other man’s heavy erection free. He massaged the thick tip for a long moment, staring at the angry memeber in his hand and comparing it to his own blushing arousal. There was nothing to do but stroke the more impressive with amiration and wait patiently for it’s owner to issue the next command.

Cyril gasped when Rueben tugged hard at his thighs, crunching his knees together and slipping his hand to cup Cyril’s lower back with the same demanding gesture. Cyril panted out a small cry when he felt himself being lifted and lowered his hands to the ground behind him to steady himself. Rueben lifted him, his fingers crawling lower until they stroked against Cyril’s tight entrance.

The monk dropped his head back and groaned when he felt the intrusion of the man’s grainy calloused thumbs into his tight body. He sucked in a deep breath and held the precious air deep within his stomach, only allowing the air to slide from his lungs when the pain slipped into pleasure and the thick fingers began to circle and plunge deep inside him. He felt his body lowered and the thumbs abandoned his depths, clinging to his skin and pulling away the flesh that might have defended him from the greater intrusion threatening his body. The pain was greater than he expected; Cyril swallowed his own heartbeat to stop from screaming.

Rueben’s hands gradually began to slip away from Cyril’s fleshy bottom. He gropped him there for a long moment, as he allowed the other man to get used to the pounding of another body inside him. When Cyril opened his eyes and turned his face from the heavens back to the farmer buried within him, Rueben took his eyes from the monk’s face and lowered them instead to the man’s throbbing member, harder now than it was before. Cyril gave a slight whimper as the farmer began to plunge upwards, knocking against parts of him that God should never have created.

Rueben continued this steady churning until Cyril again dropped his head back and groaned from the pain. He tried to lift his hand from the earth and bring it to his agonized groin, but he was not strong enough to balance. He groanded longer from the intrusion, but from the swelling arousal that he was in not position to combat.

The farmer slid his hands from the man’s thighs to his shoulders, carefully shifting so that He could draw the monk into his lap. He kissed him again and grunted at how Cyril took advantage of the more impowering position to tighten his body and gyrate his sensual body.

Cyril moaned with displeasure when Rueben shifted their bodies again and seperated his thick erection from Cyril’s needy entrance. The monk refused to allow thier lips to part, clinging to the other man’s shoulders and mouth until Rueben lifted his hands to push him away. Cyril protested the other man’s manipulation of his body when Rueben leaned him back against the stump and began to stand just as aroused as the monk staring up at him with amazement and misunderstanding, still reaching his hand towards him, but not bold enough to actually touch him.

When the grey tunic fell besides the brown robe, Cyril understood and lowered his hand. He leaned his head back against the stump and lowered his hand to his groin, kneading his erection between his fingers and pleasuring himself.

Sweat beaded over Rueben’s powerfully muscled chest, and it was quite possible that he only removed his clothing because he was hot. When he noticed Cyril was quietly masturbating as he stripped out of his clothing, he chuckled amused and ran a hand across the light hairs of his chest. The monk blushed redder than he already was and tilted his head away. HIs chest heaved with the effort to breathe and when he put his hands back onto the damp earth, trusting his palms against the warm dirt more than on his own skin, he looked the picture of innocence.

It caught Cyril off guard when Rueben set his booted foot on his painful erection. The man jolted and gasped, holding the breath somewhere in his throat as the grainy texture of the farmer’s shoe rubbed against the tenderness of his arousal. When he thought he could take no more, Cyril brought his hands to the boot and held the other man’s foot still.

Cyril looked up at the man standing over him, his erection danging swollen with desire before his eyes, his chest filling and emptying calmly above, his eyes sparkling down to the man he was tormenting. it suddenly occured to Cyril that Rueben meant for him to remove his boot. The monk licked his lips and carefully pulled the shoe away, wondering why it hadn’t occured to him sooner.

Not needing any other prompting, Cyril pulled away the man’s other boot and then stared at the ground around the man’s feet. The other man’s trousers fell into his veiw followed quickly by Rueben’s bending knees, dropping pelivs, straining erection, smooth abdomen, heavily defined chest, and smiling face. Cyril couldn’t help but smile weakly back in responce to the man kneeling again between his legs. He closed his eyes living for the feeling of the other man’s thumb caressing his lip before Rueben leaned closer to kiss him.

It was more comfortable when Rueben entered him this time, which may have been the purpose of the shift. Cyril was more open, more relaxed, and twice as willing. Cyril cooed with pleasure when the man moved inside of him, striking those forbidden places of pure lust again, reaching deep into the other man’s body and waiting for the perfect moment to find his relief.
But it was Cyril that came first, unable to control any of the sensations bursting from his body. As the most divine pleasure bought his soul, his eyes flashed open to accept the sight of the heavens curling over head filled with smoke gray clouds. He grunted closing his eyes again and swearing as softly as he could in the midst of his sinful explosion. “Oh! Jesus Christ!”

Rueben only chuckled coldly, amused by the man writhing beneath him. He continued hammering into Cyril’s body until he could forge a perfect receptacle for his pouring lust. When he eventually washed the inside of Cyril’s body with his powerful bursts, the monk could only sigh and swallow the rain finally pouring from the gray skies over head.

The rain continued to fall, but not underneath the stump where Cyril still felt the weak pulsing of Rueben’s member tucked inside of him, even though Rueben was satified to simply lay with his arms across Cyril’s chest, pressing thier bodies tightly together in thier earthy shelter. Cyril didn’t mind.

Their clothes remained outside in the growing mud puddles, but for that moment neither man was a farmer or a monk. Rueben rubbed his nose through the other man’s thick brown hair and was the first to speak. “Were you here long before me?”

“What?” Cyril hadn’t been expecting any questions from Rueben, but the moment he spoke he heard the deep mellow voice repeating the question in his own mind. He turned his head slightly to face the man more. “Oh no, not at all. Not even long enough to catch my breath.”

Rueben said nothing and Cyril laughed. Cyril didn’t speak until Rueben looked over at him, the question in his eyes. Cyril looked away, contemplating the sudden sense of shame and regret that filled him now that his body was sexually satified. “This is the first time since I left the monestary that I’ve been able to catch my breath.”

“It’s a long walk back to the monestary in this rain,” Rueben stated.

Cyril was vaguly aware of Rueben’s train of thought and said quietly. “It’s a long way back to your farm, too.”

“If you had come to my farm to collect that bag, it would have been raining and it would be common respect to let you stay the night,” Rueben tightened his arm on the other man, but he wasn’t able to stop Cyril from shifting forward and seperating their tangled bodies.

The monk turned onto his back and looked up at the bottom of the stump.

“I would have refused. I have my duties... to my brothers,” Cyril protested, but his protest weakened even as he spoke, feeling Rueben’s arm slid tight around his chest again.

“They aren’t expecting you back tonight,” Rueben stated, with finality and Cyril had to nod his agreement. When one of the brotherhood left that close to nightfall, it was expected that he would not be returning until the next morning. He shifted slightly, turning more to face Rueben and drifting the palm of his upper hand over the man’s chest.

They lay in silence for a long moment, curling into eachother for warmth as the rain began to pour into the hollow beneath the stump. Cyril shivered as the water began to pool at his back but said nothing, not wanting to remove himself from the comfortable embrace.

Rueben eventually parted their bodies and stretched towards the outside of the stump, gathering their clothing before he crawled into the gray day light. Cyril shivered a moment in the chill of the late day before he followed his lover outside into the rain. Rueben was already half dressed.

Cyril tugged hard at his wet trousers to get them over his wet legs leaning against the stump and working hard to push his foot inside. Rueben watched his struggle only a moment before he took the ankle of the trousers and pulled them off and folded them in his hand. “We’ll put them by the fire and dry them out when we get to my house. You don’t need them with the robe anyway.”

The monk furrowed his brow and looking longingly at his trousers, regretting the entire affair and wishing he’d hidden under the stump sooner. At this moment he would be sitting in his own single bed, reading quietly, or praying, or writing something. Instead he was freezing in the rain naked about to go spend a night, which would undoubtably be defined by lust and wantoness, with the man keeping his trousers from him. He sighed and shook his head. “This isn’t... this is not wise, Rueben.”

The farmer shrugged and handed him his drenched robe. “None of this ever was.”