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Father Way turns with a weary sigh, more than a little relieved to have seen off the last of the evening Mass attendees. The sanctuary sits in reverent silence, lit now almost entirely by candlelight. Outside, dusk has all but swallowed the sun, turning the stained glass from brilliant jewels into dark silhouettes. The first drops of the promised storm tap against the windows. He should close the one in his office before the rain soaks the carpet again.
He starts down the center aisle, his footsteps echoing through the empty church. Almost absently, he hooks a finger beneath the white collar at his throat and tugs.
It has been feeling tighter lately.
In more ways than one.
He makes it only halfway before he notices you. Still seated and waiting. A vision in a modest red dress, hands folded neatly over your umbrella as though you hadn’t been watching every parishioner leave one by one. He suppresses a groan. You’re beautiful. Distractingly so. He catches himself tracing the line of your shoulders before dragging his gaze back to your face.
You clearly have no intention of leaving. And Father Way is tired. Tired of being the man everyone expects him to be. Tired of offering certainty while privately wrestling with doubts that grow louder with each passing week. He isn’t sure he has it in him to soothe your conscience tonight when his own feels like a battlefield.
When he’d first answered God’s call, everything had seemed simple.
A vocation, purpose, a life.
Now…
Now the collar felt less like a promise and more like a sentence. The thought alone makes guilt bloom hot in his chest. He pushes it aside before it can take root and continues toward you.
You hear him long before you see him. The acoustics in the sanctuary are impossible to escape. Every measured footstep bounces from stone to vaulted ceiling until it reaches your ears. Quickly, you busy yourself gathering your things, smoothing your gloves before wrapping your fingers around the curved handle of your umbrella. When you finally turn, Father Way is only a few feet away.
Beautiful.
He always has been.
His features exist somewhere between delicate and striking, soft enough to seem almost angelic until the masculine line of his jaw reminds you otherwise. His eyes change with the weather, or the lighting, or his mood. You couldn't say for certain. Bright as stained glass in the afternoon sun, nearly black beneath storm clouds like tonight’s. Long lashes frame them with an unfair sort of grace. You think, not for the first time, what a terrible waste it is for someone who looks like Gerard Way to have become a priest.
Actually…
You’ve been thinking about Father Way far more often than you’d care to admit.
An unholy amount.
He offers you a warm smile, though there’s a question behind it. You answer with a small nod. Yes, confession. It’s why you’re here. You need absolution. You need to clear your head. You need, somehow, to stop thinking about your priest. Father Way gestures toward the small wooden door tucked beside the sanctuary.
“This way.”
You follow him down the narrow corridor in silence. The sounds of the storm grow muffled behind thick stone walls until all that’s left is the soft creak of old floorboards beneath your feet. He opens the confessional door for you. The booth smells faintly of old wood, candle wax, and incense that has seeped into the grain over the decades. You step inside, settling onto the kneeler as he disappears into the adjoining compartment with a soft click. The sliding panel opens. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Only rain pattering against stained glass somewhere overhead. Then his familiar, measured voice breaks the silence.
“In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
You make the sign of the cross with him. “Amen.”
Another pause. “Whenever you’re ready.”
You swallow. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Your voice sounds strangely small inside the booth. “It’s been…” You frown, trying to remember, “Six months since my last confession.”
“I see.” His voice is warm. Gentle. “What would you like to confess today?”
You hesitate. Christ… How exactly do you tiptoe around this? Father way waits patiently, never rushing you.
“I’ve been entertaining…” You clear your throat. “...inappropriate thoughts.” Hopefully that’s vague enough not to tip him off. Inappropriate was certainly one way to put it. It was one way to describe imaging Gerard kneeling at your feet, dark eyes fixed on yours, waiting for permission to move. Waiting for permission to speak.
Waiting for permission to come.
Yes, inappropriate covered it rather nicely.
“Temptation itself isn’t a sin.” he says after a thoughtful pause. “What matters is what we choose to do with it.”
You almost laugh. What you choose to do with it. If only he knew. You work very hard to keep the smile out of your voice.
“What if the temptation never leaves?” Because it doesn't. It never leaves. It follows you home after Mass. Lingers while you make dinner. Slips beneath your blankets long after midnight until your imagination outruns your better judgment and your hands follow the wayward thoughts all the way down between your legs. The memory of Father Way's voice, soft, reassuring, steady, has become a frequent companion in the quiet hours of the night. Heat creeps into your cheeks and you thank god for the wooden partition separating the two of you. To him you’re nothing more than a silhouette behind a carved screen.
His voice draws you back before your thoughts can wander further. “Then ask God for the strength to endure it.” He speaks with complete sincerity, assuming you’re talking about a boyfriend or perhaps an old flame you’d been unable to let go of. He has no reason to suspect otherwise. Truthfully, his own thoughts are divided enough already, occupied by doubts he’d rather not examine too closely.
“And if the person you’re thinking about is…” You swallow, your pulse suddenly loud in your ears. “...unattainable?” Silence settles between you once more. Long enough that you wonder if you’ve said too much.
Gerard’s pause is less suspicious and more sympathetic, because god… could he ever relate to longing for the forbidden.
For him it wasn’t lust so much as longing.
Longing for something beyond these stone walls. For a life he hadn’t chosen before he’d fully understood himself. For permission to become someone else. To set down the crushing responsibility of always having answers. Sometimes he imagined what it would feel like if someone else made the decisions. If, just once, he didn’t have to carry the weight of every expectation placed upon him since his boyhood. He closes his eyes for the briefest moment.
“Sometimes…” Father Way begins before he can think better of it. “Sometimes God plants a seed of thought within us for a reason.”
Silence settles between you again. You turn his words over in your mind before quietly asking, “How do we know if the seed comes from God… and not from temptation?”
The question hangs in the air. Gerard doesn’t answer immediately. When he finally speaks, it feels less like advice offered to a parishioner and more like a confession he never intended to make. “When you imagine this other life,” his voice is almost lost beneath the rain. “Does it fill you with guilt?” he pauses. “I don’t mean the guilt that comes afterward. I mean while you’re imaging it.”
Another pause.
“Does walking that path, even only in your mind, bring you peace?”
The confessional falls silent. You consider the question carefully. Truthfully, once you set aside the shame that always followed your late-night fantasies, the answer had never really changed. The thought of Gerard had always felt strangely… right. Not simply because he was beautiful. Though he was. Not because your mind wandered where it shouldn't. Though it certainly did. It was the quiet steadiness of him. The way he listened without interrupting. The gentleness in his voice. The patient way he carried other people’s burdens as though they weighed nothing at all. You had found yourself wanting to stand beside that kindness long before your imagination had ever wandered elsewhere.
No.
If you were being honest with yourself… The thought of following that path didn’t fill you with guilt. It filled you with peace. And somehow, that frightened you far more.
“Peace, definitely peace. Actually, the harder I try to focus on god the more my thoughts go to the same person”
“Then perhaps” Father Way begins softly. “Perhaps this person deserves to know how you feel.”
You let out a humorless laugh. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he can’t love me back.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He’s a priest.”
Everything stops. The silence in the church turns eery. Gerard is suddenly very aware of the wooden screen separating the two of you. He knows he should end the confession. He knows exactly what the Church expects him to do.
Instead, he slides the panel closed. Not to shut you out. To hide his own expression. Then you hear movement. The creak of the door to his side of the confessional opening. A heartbeat later, your own door opens. You’re startled to find him standing there, rain-muted light spilling in from the sanctuary behind him. Neither of you speaks. He’s no longer ‘Father Way’ hidden behind carved wood. He’s just Gerard.
You stand. He’s close enough now that you can see the conflict written all over his face. His hands are clasped so tightly in front of him his knuckles have gone white.
“I should tell you to leave.”
You don’t respond just watch as a serious of emotions dance across his face.
“I should tell you never to say that to me again.”
“I know.”
“But…” He can’t finish the sentence. Instead, you close the distance by a single cautious step. You look up at him too scared to ask. He searches your face for permission to do the right thing, or perhaps permission to stop doing the right thing. When he doesn’t move away, your eyes flick once to his lips before returning to his eyes.
“If you tell me to go,” you whisper, “I’ll go.”
Another long silence. His breathing catches. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head. That tiny movement is all the answer you need. You take a step closer. Close enough now that you can see the stubble beginning to form along his jaw and throat. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“I’ve been a part of your parish for a long time Father” you whisper, hands clasped together. He nods. Eyes avoiding yours. But he isn’t stepping back, isn’t telling you to leave or stop. You reach up a gloved hand and place it on his cheek. You can feel the warmth of his blush even through the glove. “Tell me” you say, voice barely audible. “What are you thinking?”
He sighs and looks up as if an answer is written on the cathedral ceiling. “I’m thinking, I’ve been asking for a sign for a long time now”
“A sign?”
He nods “permission to… walk a different path.”
You smile, that you can relate to. You see something in his face that you recognize. A need fire hot but buried deep. Father Way is looking for a clear answer. A voice to heed. An order to follow. You consider only for a moment longer before deciding to test something out.
“Kneel.” You say it plainly. Voice even but no harsh tone behind it. Yet, Father Way drops so fast you might as well have yelled it. His eyes are watching you so intensely it sends a shiver down your spine. The sight of him kneeling before you is so close to your midnight fantasies that you feel heat pool at your core. When you speak again your voice comes out darker, coated in velvet lust.
“If I told you exactly what to do. Would you find a sense of relief?” His answering nod comes so fast it’s almost comical. You place a hand under his chin as if to tilt his face toward yours. A wholly unnecessary gesture. His attention is on you and only you. “And if I told you to do something you didn’t want?” He swallows hard. Eyes going darker.
“I would pray for the strength to deny you.” The words are whisper sweet. You glance around the sanctuary. Making sure you are completely alone. The space is silent in the way only cathedrals can be. Silent but full with the sense of someone watching. A higher power perhaps. You turn back to the priest at your feet.
“Say the word and this ends.” You mean it. Gerard has given you something. Something terrifying in its power. Delicious in its trust. He nods and the look in his eyes is enough to push you forward. It’s relief.
“Eyes on me.” Your hand goes to the buttons at the front of your dress. Working each one free deliberately. Giving him every opportunity to ask you to stop. He does not. His eyes follow your hand. Hungry and dead focused. With each button more of your skin underneath is exposed. The cool air of the church bringing goosebumps to your flesh. You let the dress fall, red fabric pooled at your feet. Your eyes stay on his. The look of open need on his face excites you in a way nothing else ever has.
“Do you want me to continue?” You ask, almost playfully and definitely unnecessarily. The answer is written all over his face. He nods anyway. And you step closer to him. The sound of your heels echoing all around you as you close whatever little space there had been between you. Your legs are pressed against his chest and when he looks back up he finds himself at eye level with your simple black panties. “And if I ask you to kiss it?” You ask. More to see what he will do next than anything else. He gives you an answering groan and presses a gentle kiss onto your panties right on your mound. You can’t help but smile. A sweet little peck at most but you can see what it has done to him. The bulge in his pants strains against the fabric so that it looks almost painful. And you are suddenly so overwhelmed with fondness that you reach down and grab a handful of his hair and kiss him thoroughly. Swallowing his surprised little gasp.
You can feel him tremble beneath your grasp and there is something so sweet about him. You want to eat him whole. You pull back but keep your hand at the hair on the nape of his neck, hooking one finger around your panties and pulling them to the side before coaxing his head forward.
“Taste me” you whisper and he does. God he does. His tongue laps at you shyly at first but when the first moan escapes you he latches on with an eagerness that’s surprising. He is messy with it, exploring you thoroughly. His little whimpers vibrating against you deliciously. You pull him back and his watch as his unfocused eyes find you again. He’s already so gone.
“Father, do you want to fuck me?” The question hangs between you. Gerard’s lips part, but no words come. His breath catches. Every emotion you’ve watched him wrestle with flashes across his face at once. Want, fear, guilt, longing. It’s overwhelming and he can’t answer. But you wait. One heartbeat, then another. Still nothing. A small understanding smile tugs at your lips. “Still waiting for a sign?” After a long moment, he gives the smallest nod. Shame flickers across his features. “That’s okay.” You tug gently at his hair, encouraging him to stand. His legs are unsteady, but he lets you guide him.
“I think you’ve spent long enough trying to make impossible decisions,” you murmur. He looks at you, uncertain. You brush your thumb lightly against his jaw. “You only have to answer one question at a time.” He swallows. “If I ask whether you’re comfortable, all you have to do is tell me yes or no.”
For the first time the whole evening, some of the tension leaves his shoulders. He nods. “Okay,” he whispers.
With a smile you place one hand on his chest and push. He takes one stumbling step backwards, then another. Until the back of his legs hit a pew. With a sharp breath out he lets himself collapse onto it. Eye’s never stopping their eager path along your body. And because you are curious, your hand reaches behind you. Undoing the hooks on your bra. You let it fall to the ground and watch his eyes go wide as he takes more of you in. You kneel before him and take one of his hands bringing it to your chest, just before contact you look at him.
“Is this okay?” He nods with an open eagerness you can’t help but smile at. You place his hand on your breast and give it a gentle squeeze, your way of giving him permission to explore. His face goes a lovely shade of pink as he does so. Gently fondling you with one hand at first but something in him finally gives and he reaches with his other hand. Tracing the swell of your breasts with fascination. He traces a nipple with his index finger making you suck a breath in. His eyes fly to your face, watching closely as he does it again. You moan in approval and his attention returns to your chest. As if on a whim he dips his head forward and takes your nipple in his mouth circling it with his tongue in a way that creates the most delicious sensation. You throw your head back and moan again. Loud enough this time that it echoes through the church. After a moment he moves on to your other breast giving it the same level of attention.
You pull back, hungry for more. Your hand traces along the bulge in his pants causing him to whimper and buck his hips up ever so slightly. “Can I take these off?” He swallows thickly before nodding. You waste no time, hands immediately at his belt. The leather slips free with a soft whisper of sound that feels impossibly loud in the empty sanctuary. Gerard’s breath hitches as you pop the button on his slacks and drag the zipper down. His cock strains against the black fabric of his briefs, the outline clear and insistent. You tug everything down just enough to free him, and he springs out, heavy and flushed. The tip already glistening.
“Beautiful,” you murmur, wrapping your fingers around him. He jerks at the contact, a broken sound escaping his throat. You stoke him slowly, learning the velvet heat of him. His head falls back against the pew, eyes half-lidded and lips parted in silent prayers or please. He doesn’t seem to know which. You lean in and drag your tongue along the underside, savoring the salt of him. Gerard’s hand flies to your hair, just holding on like you’re the only solid thing left in the world. When you take him into your mouth and sink down until he bumps the back of your throat his hips stutter and he lets out a wrecked moan that echoes off the stone walls. You pull off with a wet pop.
“Eyes on me, Father,” you remind him gently. His gaze snaps back, dark and glassy with lust. “Good boy.” The praise makes him whimper and you reward him by taking him deep again. Hollowing your cheeks and working him with your hand and mouth in a rhythm that has him trembling beneath you. Every little sound he makes, soft and desperate, goes straight between your legs. You’re soaked and aching but you want to draw this out. Want to watch him unravel at your feet.
After a few minutes you pull off, ignoring his soft protest. You stand, hooking your thumbs in your panties and sliding them down your legs. His eyes track the movement like a man starved. You step out of the fabric and climb onto his lap, straddling him. Feeling his hard cock nestled against you as you settle. You cup his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s… not enough,” he breathes. The honesty startling you both. His hands settle tentatively on your hips, thumbs stroking your skin like he still can’t quite believe it's real. You reach between you and guide the head of his cock to your entrance, sinking down slowly. The stretch is exquisite. His fingers dig into your flesh, a low groan rumbling through his chest as you take him inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. You stay there for a moment letting both of you adjust. Foreheads pressed together and sharing the same ragged breaths.
Then you start to move.
Slow rolls of your hips at first, grinding down on him, feeling every thick inch drag against that perfect spot inside of you. Gerard tips his head forward, mouth finding your breast again. Sucking and licking like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. You thread your gingers through his dark hair and ride him harder. The wet sounds of your bodies joining obscenely loud in the quiet church.
“Fuck, Gerard,” you gasp, the name slipping out like a prayer of its own. His hips start meeting yours. Tentative at first, then with growing confidence. Thrusting up into you each time you sink down. The slap of skin on skin mixes with the distant rumble of thunder. You push him back against the pew, bracing your hands on his shoulders for leverage and fuck him in earnest. His eyes are blow wide now and lips swollen. His collar still perfectly in place around his throat while the rest of him comes undone beneath you. The sight is filthy and sacred all at once.
“Touch me,” you command, One of his hands slides between you, clumsy but eager. He finds your clit and circles it with two fingers. Matching the rhythm you have set and the coil inside you winds tighter and tighter.
“I’m close,” He warns, voice cracking “please…”
“Come for me, Father,” you whisper into his ear, rolling your hips deep and grinding. “Let go.” He does. With a choked cry muffled against your shoulder, Gerad comes hard. His hips stuttering as he spills inside you. The feeling of him pulsing, the broken way he moans your name or maybe God’s, you can't tell, tips you over the edge right after him. Pleasure crashes through you in waves. Your thighs shaking and walls clenching around him as you ride through it.
For a long moment afterward you stay like that. Foreheads pressed together and his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. His breathing slowly evens out while you stroke his hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “You okay?” you ask quietly. He nods, then surprises you by speaking.
“I… I don’t feel guilty.” The wonder in his voice is more than a little heartbreaking. “Not right now. Not with you.”
You smile, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Good. Because we’re not done talking about that different path you wanted.” you shift just enough to make him hiss softly, still inside you. “But first… let’s get you out of this collar for a little while.” He laughs softly and pulls you in for a slow, reverent kiss. The storm outside rages on, but inside the sanctuary, something sacred has quietly begun to break open.