Instead of doing my English Homework, I thought I'd give you some smutty slash instead. Why? Because Chapter Nine of the Scarlet Letter begs for Roger/Arthur action- or as I like to call them, Arger!
Please, I beg you. Do NOT- I repeat- Do NOT review this crap.
Roger Chillingworth was a man of deformity. With an unsymmetrical stance and intense demeanor, it was a miracle at all that he managed to land as beautiful a wife as Hester. Imagine his surprise when, upon finally reaching civilization, he found his dear beloved on the scaffold, a babe, certainly not his own on her breast. And how did he know that this babe wasn't his own (because this book has so many fantastical elements in it, it shouldn't be a stretch to say that he was horrible at math and logic of years)? It was because they had never consummated their marriage. And why?
Because Roger Chillingworth, despite realizing his luck at marrying the beautiful Hester, couldn't bring himself to think of her as a sexual partner. She had too many curves, an extravagance of taste which caused her face to cringe whenever she chanced to meet his eyes. They weren't meant for each other. And this made it all the more painful when he realized that she had moved on without him, with absolutely no regard for the sacred bond they had shared. At first, he had been mad with rage. Frustrated that there was no one else to punish. Angry that his wife had betrayed his trust. Ashamed that his ugliness of form had forced his wife to seek pleasure elsewhere- though to be fair, everyone thought he was at the bottom of the sea.
So, logically, Roger plotted revenge. Against whom? He did not know. But he would learn. Indeed, he would learn if that was the last thing he would do. And Fate being Fate, brought the two together under the most unusual circumstances...
Roger was determined to learn the man. Learn every ridge, dimple, scar, and wrinkle in the young man's physique with his fingers, tongue, and otherwise.
"Why do you wear robes all day?" Roger asked, lips pressed up against the crook of Arthur's neck. "It hides far too much."
"As it should," Arthur said, an innocent flush coming over his cheeks. "I work long hours as you know, with very little privacy besides. I don't have time to, ah, take care of my problems at my leisure."
Roger gave him a teasing frown, swiping his tongue along the underside of his sculpted chin. What a beautiful person..."That's what I'm here for, though, isn't it?" Roger murmured, "To, ah, get rid of your problems, as you so eloquently say. I am a doctor after all."
"Bloody leech." Arthur Dimmesdale muttered.
"I take offense to that, even if a leech is a doctor." Roger pouted, propping himself up with his arms on either side of the Reverend's head, his aged chest hovering over the younger man's mouth.
Arthur offered him a shy smile. "Don't. I enjoy leeches very much. They extract the poison from the weak. They heal."
"Ha," Roger snorted, "Yes, I suppose they do."
"And they suck."
"Yes, why else would we enjoy them?" Roger agreed lightly, surveying the man beneath him. "Actually, in regard to your health I think I may have identified the problem."
"Oh?" he asked with feigned inquisitiveness.
"Yes," Roger continued, "You see, I've noticed that you're weak in the knees sometimes and that you sometimes flush without any reason at all in the middle of a meeting."
"And do you have the cure as well, doctor?" Arthur asked breathlessly, heat pooling into his lower abdomen.
"Of course." Roger smiled with a lascivious lick of his lips. "Let me do as I do best, reverend. Let me be a leech. Let me suck." And he dipped his head and latched his hot mouth on the man's right nipple. As his lips engulfed the protrusion, his tongue gave a tentative lick. "Is it here, Reverend? Would you like me to suck it here?"
Arthur shuddered as the tongue swept over the bundle of nerve endings. "Yes..."
"Yes, what?" Roger teased, determined to draw the whole answer out of him.
He relented. "Yes, please."
Roger's lips quirked up into a smile. "As you wish, Reverend Dimmesdale. For how can I deny such a Holy man?" He resumed his motions, pulling the nipple into his mouth, gently teasing it between his teeth, and releasing it with a soft pop until it stood red and erect. "Oh, if God could see you now," Roger chuckled. "Would he still open his doors for you, I wonder."
"God has already decided our fates." Arthur said quickly, "We can't change what he has already determined."
"Hmmm," Roger hummed, latching on to the honorable man's left nipple. "Then why do say we must abstain from sin? It won't make a difference anyway." And again, he coaxed the nipple to erection.
Arthur, being a much younger man, and therefore unused to the physical sensations this experienced physician was wreaking on his body could only grasp the sparse sheets of his bed with the strain.
"Don't think like that." Arthur said. "It's wrong."
"Is this wrong, then?" Roger questioned, unfazed. "What we're doing? Because I don't believe love is wrong. I don't believe that a God who has so mercifully placed us together could ever denounce his people for finding love in another."
"You are wrong." Arthur said, but his protest lacked vindication. His toes curled into the spartan mattress.
Roger smiled again, lifting himself to be above the man so that he could admire that scarlet flush that had infused the reverend's face. "That's the poison talking. Allow me to do my duty as your personal physician, Reverend Dimmesdale." He straddled the other and began to slide down the length of his body. "As your little leech, I insist I be the one to remove this impurity from your person."
There could be no mistake as to what Roger intended. And still, the reverend made no protest. Arthur shut his eyes and willed his cheeks to soften in hue, to resume their grey complexion once more. Anything but this rosy flush. Anything but the color which stained the roses before the jail, which stained his Hester's heart and his. Anything to allow him to keep his dignity as his par amour took his length in hand and stroked it once experimentally.
"It's weeping," Roger remarked in a doctor's even tone, "swift action must be taken if you'll allow me." His eyes met the others over the distance of the holy man's naked torso. He was asking for permission even as he lowered his mouth to the poison.
"We must all do what we must." Arthur told him, voice shaking for quite another reason.
"I agree."
And then all that Arthur could feel was something hot and slick massaging up and down his cock. Having been untouched for days, it twitched at the slightest ministrations and absolutely squirmed in the talented mouth of Roger Chillingworth. There was something so divinely satisfying in the sensation that Arthur had not for the first time wondered why this was a sin. Why humans denied themselves pleasure like this in the name of a God who surely wanted the best for his people? Surely? Because that's all the faith that Arthur could cling to anymore. He certainly couldn't depend on his senses.
Roger continued to suck like the leech he was. He even brought up his hands to pump the top of the cock and fondle the ball sac beneath. He felt the younger man tremble beneath him, and smiled with the strange sense of power that came with reducing such a power magistrate to this writhing mess. If Hester could see them now as her husband pleasured her former lover.
Then he could believe there was such a God. He could believe that there was something of Fate.
Don't you dare review. Thank you for your time.