Jesus’ eyes widened an imperceptible amount as he took in the sight of Noah, naked, before him.

Fumbling for something witty, he said, “So the ark’s not the only bit of wood my father gave you.”

Noah grinned – his grey eyes flashing in lust. “Your father isn’t the only one who gives me wood.”

Jesus laughed. “I can see that.” He reached for the hem of his tunic and began to tug it roughly over his head, revealing his chiselled torso, a gift from his dad. Noah watched, hungrily, as he slipped out of the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a son-of-godly heap on the floor.

Jesus stopped when he was in his underwear, a little embarrassed. He was the son of the creator of the entire universe, and he couldn’t get some decent boxer-briefs.

Noah’s eyebrows shot up in acknowledgement of his Spider-Man-patterned crotch. “A Christmas gift…” he trailed off, hoping that was explanation enough.

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Noah smiled, his eyes creasing in amusement, “I can’t say mine are any better.” He reached for his own pair – inside out, on the dresser – and flipped them around so that Jesus could more plainly see the leopard print transfer.

“I like them,” Jesus cocked an eyebrow, considering how fitting it was that Noah should wear animal-printed boxers. “Do you have two pairs of those as well?”

Noah just smiled, tossing the underwear aside, and began to saunter forward lazily, completely aware of the effect the sight of his own throbbing member was having on Jesus, whose prominent, holy erection was now shamelessly calling to him from within the red and blue briefs.

Backing onto the cheap motel bed (nobody picked l’Hôtel de la Genèse for it’s luxury accommodation – there were strip clubs in downtown Nazareth with higher standards), Jesus let Noah remove his underwear with his teeth, letting out a fervent moan at the pressure of Noah’s removal against his own quivering shaft.