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pseudonympls · 1 year

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I’m a day late. But happy Easter everyone. He is risen ✝️🥵🫠🥴

Into Temptation

A/N: Finally got around to finishing my priest!Bo fic!

Largely inspired by a recent rewatch of Fleabag, and just generally my love of the idea of Bo wearing a clerical collar and being celibate and..oop (also in an interview where he said he considered becoming a pastor when he was younger!?)

Bo Burnham x AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit. priest!bo. smoker!bo. catholicism. bi reader. corruption. unprotected sex. masturbation. oral sex. fingering. creampie. dirty talk. confession. religious undertones. Probably blasphemy.

Word Count: 14k

Cover art by the lovely & talented @pharlapcartoonist - I still can't believe the crazy amount of work that goes into these 🥺😩🖤

* * *

You heard your phone buzzing on the kitchen table, running to answer the call in haste, you stubbed your toe on the chair leg, cursing under your breath as you picked up the phone.

“Uh, Hello?” you answered, a little out of breath, wincing at the pain radiating through your foot.

“Hey you! So, we’ve got a date for Lisa’s baptism!” your sister chimed down the phone, you sighed, not quite realising the time had come for your sister’s youngest to be taken into the church - however much you despised it. Your sister knew how much you loved her kids,

you could bear going back into the exact same church you had turned your back on all those years ago, you could do it, for them. You wouldn’t be happy about it, though.

“Baptism?, oh” you replied reluctantly, padding around the kitchen and getting a glass out of the cabinet.

“Yeah..I know you’re not a fan of the church, but Derek really wants them baptised, you know what he’s like” she said, still ever the air of positivity in her words.

“A raging bastard?” you retorted, a little too fast without thinking. Scrunching your nose up you headed over to the fridge, grabbed the carton of orange juice and started filling your glass, waiting for your outburst to be reprimanded.

But all you heard was your sister sighing deeply and continuing “Anyway,” - she had clearly learnt over the years to ignore your sharp tongue when it came to her husband, in lieu of a happier, simpler life with less arguments. Less stress.

“You’re coming right? For Lisa and Adam? You’ve gotta, I know Lisa is so young but Adam’s gonna be heartbroken if you’re not there…you’re his favourite” she said, her voice lilting into sing-song.

A sigh was your reluctant reply.

“C’mon, the new priest at our church is really nice. He’s a breath of fresh air actually, young, and dare I say it…a hottie” your sister’s description made you wince.

“Wh-what kind of incentive is that for me to show up?! The new priest is hot?! Sis, they’re celibate, you know that” you said, a little shocked at how brazen she insisted on being.

“Oh, come on, it’s just a bit of eye candy, and look who’s talking, you might as well be celibate by now, right?” she continued her taunting, and you’d just about had enough. Downing the rest of your orange juice you said sharply “I’ll be there, just let me know where to pick up the dress from, sis” and hung up.

* * *

The weeks went by and your niece’s baptism approached. You picked up the dress from the tailors (hideous tulle and satin in millennial pink, but the cut did accentuate your best features, which you secretly thanked your sister for) and set it on your nightstand, ready for the weekend. Ready to reluctantly return to the church.

The same church that you had walked away from almost twelve years ago now. You and your sister were brought up in the church - baptised before you could crawl and confirmed at the age of fifteen. You begrudgingly went along to mass, went along with everything despite how your devotion and belief was veering away from anything that could be considered religion. How the beginnings of resentment began to bubble beneath the surface.

How at the age of seventeen you had burst out of mass one morning, when the pastor had delivered a sermon on how people in the lgbtq+ community were going to hell. It was enough, it was fucking enough. It was bad enough being closeted at that age, but to be called out and vehemently told that you were being damned to all eternity because of who you were attracted to, or for who you may end up loving, was the fucking limit.

It had served as the coming out story to your family who were there huddled in the pews, staring at you with wide eyes and even wider mouths. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know - about the rumours of you kissing girls and boys behind the bleachers at school. They all knew - but their hubris surrounding religion and their god damn pride, overshadowed their need to protect their child, their floundering, desperately depressed and fucked up child.

Thankfully, yours was a story that had built you up, not knocked you down, not something that many others could say, having been beaten up, thrown out and downright disowned by their parents for coming out, you were one of the lucky ones, and you felt guilt with every day that passed.

Your family slowly distanced themselves from the church, first denying them the tithe, then loosening personal ties, then disappearing from the congregation altogether, after your cry for help. The god-damn caltholic shame started to ease away from your shoulders a little, bit by bit over the years. However, the shadow still loomed close by, ancient passages stuck in your mind like a lingering malodour, ready to pounce whenever the situation called for it. Unlearning it all was a delicate practice - one you had excelled at.

Which is why you found it odd that your sister picked Derek of all people as her partner - although you weren’t sure picked was the correct word. She had met him in her senior year of college, fell pregnant and he had insisted that they get married immediately. Coming from a strict catholic background himself - he couldn’t bear the thought of having children out of wedlock - or god forbid anything else.

Funny how a small tear in latex can completely change the course of someone’s life. You were thankful however, that Adam, that bastard child, was the best nephew you could have ever hoped for. However trite it was to say, his smile literally lit up a room, significantly more than the sum of his parts, more like your sister than his father - you adored the little guy.

Then when your sister popped out another kid, Lisa, the time would come to give her over to the Catholic Church in rites consisting of holy water and ceremony. The last time you’d attended was for Adam’s baptism of course, the stuffy church and the even stuffier priest had confirmed your hatred of the place that used to offer you such safety and sanctuary, now it only gave you the chills.

Turning over your phone to check the time you nearly jumped out of your skin as you realised: you were already running late.

Throwing the vile pink dress on and shoving your feet into similarly coloured pumps you raced to unlock your car and punched the churches address into your phone’s sat nav, even though you knew the exact route off by heart. Faded on your brain tissue like a scar, it didn’t hurt to be reminded, the journey to something resembling damnation.

Throwing your old Ford into park you raced out the car into the parking lot, the heat of the early afternoon sun beat down on the back of your neck, the quick updo you had tried out bobbing on the top of your head like a jack-in-a-box. You were sure you looked utterly comical: sweating, in this abomination of a dress, hair dangerously askew. You paused briefly to take a deep breath - to create the illusion that you weren’t running around, hell for leather trying to make up for your lateness.

The door creaked loudly as you pulled it open, alerting the entire congregation to your late arrival. Heads turned toward you, and Adam screamed your name in surprised excitement before he was subdued by his father.

The walk down the aisle was no better than a walk of shame, your eyes glued to the floor as you walked, looking up only to spy your destination next to your sister in the front row.

You glanced up, and saw the priest at the pulpit, staring at you along with everyone else.

Your sister was right, he was hot. Devastatingly so, far too attractive and young to be a priest. Early to mid thirties at the most.

He was tall, really tall; even with nothing nearby to compare him to. Obscenely long even in his standard issue all black priests wear, the stark white of the clerical collar peeking out next to his neck. His neck, oh, that was a beautiful thing, thick and venous, then you got to his gorgeous face. Dark blond slightly ruffled hair sat atop his head, and even from the distance you could see his piercing blue eyes, how they felt like they were penetrating your soul. After what was only a few seconds, he cleared his throat and continued on with the sermon, encouraging everyone to turn back toward him in that moment, taking the heat off you temporarily - until your sister got her claws into you, at least.

Time came for the Eucharist, and your sister elbowed you in the ribs as your behind remained firmly in the pew. “Come on, if you don’t want to take it you can at least be blessed” she hissed, the rising of bodies all around you concealing your little spat.

“I really don’t want to”, you bemoaned, crossing your arms over your chest like a child, which your sister immediately picked up on, much to your chagrin.

“Stop being so childish, can’t you just do this one thing for me?!” she scolded, speaking to you as if you were one of her children, and not her older sibling.

You wanted to retort with how even coming into this god-forsaken place was doing something for her, but that would just create a scene - one you were not so keen on making.

Against your better judgement you stood, smoothing the harsh tulle and satin over your hips as you joined the line to receive Christ - or in your case, to go through the motions, and deny the body and blood, in favour for letting your morals remain steadfast - unwavering in your certainty.

Finally, the priest reached you, he was so much taller close up, and so much more attractive than you’d initially given him credit for. He had a strong jaw, cut like a greek god - funnily enough. The dark blond hair you saw from a distance was parted to the side and roughly styled. As you looked you couldn’t help but think he looked oddly familiar, something in those blue eyes and the way his deep voice resonated through you, something about him drew you in - impossible to ignore, like faded memories from a distant past.

You slowly shook your head as he proffered the communion wafer to your lips, and he parted his slightly as he said a quick prayer, his eyes never left yours. He swallowed thickly and there was something distinctly dark beneath those pale blue eyes, something you couldn’t quite place.

There was something tangible in the air, and while it only lasted for a few seconds, it felt like it could have been hours. You knelt in that slightly uncomfortable silence, wishing he would say something to break it, but he never did. You sure as hell weren’t going to, either.

Clearing his throat loudly, he moved on to the next person, and as he ripped his gaze from yours, you couldn’t help but feel a little empty, a little strung out, you could look into those blue eyes forever and a day.

Rising up to your feet you cantered back to the pews, a little shaken and a little curious, as to what exactly that exquisite feeling was between you both. It wasn’t the ceremony - you’d endured enough of those to last a lifetime, let enough stale communion wafers dissolve on your tongue and supped enough cheap red wine to make you sick. No, it was something else altogether, a familiarity, a heat.

As Adam clambered into your arms for the rest of the ceremony, including the baptism of his baby sister, your eyes were pinned to the priest, the way he towered over every single person in that service. The self deprecating stance and wild gesticulation of his arms was something you’d never seen in a servant of God before, and you’d seen plenty. Gone were the curmudgeonly, dusty old servants of God, their sermons imparting no more blessing on a congregation than a snotty old sneeze - bible tales retold with such lacklustre they would lull a nun to sleep.

This one was different, he was enigmatic, loud, seemed to enjoy what he was preaching, and seemed to want feedback on how he was doing the whole time, managing to remain humble. Your sister did mention that he was new to the priesthood, you wondered exactly how new, as he double, triple checked his notes at the closing of the ceremony, and announced that refreshments would be had in the church gardens. The congregation filed out, your sisters' friends, Derek’s friends and family, and the children exited the church’s back door, and you - your eyes scanned the room for a glimpse of the priest, found nothing - dejectedly followed the flock.

The bright sunlight surprised you as you trailed into the church gardens - immaculately kept, pink and white streamers hung from the tall conifers lining the gravelled area. You were shocked by the transformation it had undergone over the last few years. This “garden” was little more than an extended parking lot only a few years ago when you were here for Adam’s baptism.

It was balmy out, the early spring sun dazzling along the surface of the water in a small ornamental fountain, glints of light bouncing off and reflecting the sun's kind rays back at you.

Turning around to head toward your sister, you were startled as you saw the priest standing behind you, one hand buried deep in his pocket, as he said “Admiring the gardens?” smiling and gesturing with his free hand to the modest splendour that had overtaken the once barren wasteland.

“Y-yeah, it was just a parking lot…the-the last time I was here” you said, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, desperately trying not to stare at the handsome tall blond standing opposite you.

“The last time you were here?” he replied, tilting his head. Oh, he wanted to talk, make conversation, you tried desperately to quell the tsunami raging on in your stomach. “Y-yeah, I was here last for Adam - Lisa’s brother’s baptism” you said, your fingers nervously fiddling with the charm on your purse, hoping your fidgeting wasn’t too obvious.

“Thanks for taking some of the heat off me before, by the way,” you pointed back toward the church “When I came in? I swear, I’m not usually late to things, least of all important family events like this” you whispered the last part, seeing the understanding in his eyes, the way his eyebrows tilted up in earnest.

“Oh, it’s no problem, it happens to all of us” he shrugged lightly, “Especially since I saw the way your sister shot daggers at you, I feel like you’ve already repented for it” He smiled, wrinkles framing his eyes, small but pink lips gave way to pearlescent, straight teeth. This dude couldn’t be more perfect if he tried.

* * *

After the required amount of schmoozing with family friends and distant relatives, you saw the children congregated on a colourful rug, set under the broad shade of one of the larger conifer trees, the priest in the centre, wildly gesturing with his hands as the children rolled around and giggled at his behest.

Inexplicably you felt drawn to them, and removed yourself from the banality of adult conversation in pursuit of something simpler, a little more fun.

“So what I’m saying is - everyone thinks that this story is about how Jesus multiplied the few loaves and fishes to feed the five thousand, but actually, the real miracle was everyone having tiny scraps of food already on their person, squirrelled away in their pockets.” the corners of his mouth turned up as he spoke, and a small smile spread across your own face in response.

“Each person felt so guilty about taking this food, the portion so small, that they each took the food they already had, and ate that instead, reserving the rest for the truly needy.” He was sure to maintain eye contact with each of the children huddled around him, keeping them engaged.

“The real miracle that Jesus performed was inspiring generosity in the men’s hearts.” The priest spoke with such emphasis and fluency, a sparkle in his words and a tenderness to his voice, so it was no surprise that the kids were dumbfounded by his charismatic storytelling.

After a beat, one kid cheered “wow” and “oooh!” said Adam. The children all looked expectantly at the priest, keen for another story. But as he spied you in the corner, idly taking the story in, he smiled, placing palms on his thighs as he looked back to the children “Alright, that’s enough story time for now, get back out there and play!”

With a chorus of dejected “awwhh”’s the children scrambled to their feet and scampered away, Adam offering you a hug around the hips before he went off to play with the others.

You approached the priest and made your seat on the corner of the rug, half in sunlight, half in shade.

“You seem to have a real way with kids, y’know” you said, picking a few grass stems out of the ground and childishly playing with them as you spoke.

“Y-yeah, I guess I do” he chuckled, thick fingers spearing through his blond locks, a half smile plastered on his face.

“I uh, my brother and sister both have kids, so I guess I’m used to being around them” he smiled, leaning back on his palms, legs stretched out long in front of him. In that position you could see how tall he really was, he was definitely pushing 6’5, maybe even 6’6.

“Ah, me too, I mean my sister has two kids, I love them, they’re the sweetest, and the best part is, I don’t have to keep them!” you joked, looking over at the group of children creating some fresh havoc on the other side of the gardens.

You slipped so effortlessly into conversation with him, that you barely noticed you were flirting. Not direct verbal flirtation, but your body seemed to react in ways which you were not in control of. A tilt of the head, a finger curling around an errant lock of hair that fell around your face - and that sheepish smile you always did, the way your eyes closed a little to make for a half lidded, through the lashes smirk. Warmth bloomed in your chest and your heart skipped a beat every now and then when his eyes met yours, it was like he was your polar opposite, you couldn’t help but be magnetically drawn to him.

“So, how did you get into the priesthood?” you asked after a few back and forth conversations.

“I, uh, well.” he cleared his throat “I was brought up catholic, went to a catholic boy’s school. I actually toyed a little with musical comedy, stupid songs on the internet, that kinda stuff…” he trailed off, his cheeks getting heated, and it dawned on you, the realisation hit you like a ten tonne truck.

Way back when in 2007, when most of your time was split between being a miscreant outside a dairy queen and trawling the new found internet for “lols” - you had seen him. Seen a tall boy with mop hair in a blue bedroom, wielding an acoustic guitar or playing a keyboard, and singing very offensive comedy songs, about sunday school, being a nerd at high school and one particular little ditty about how his “whole family thinks I’m gay”. Being a closeted bisexual at the time, you thought this schtick was fucking hilarious - the edgelord humour of the time still laying claim to your cringey teenage tastes.

This was the same guy. The fucking priest - collar and all, sat across from you, legs spread out, joking about how he had tried comedy, but had instead found god.

He must have seen the expression on your face change, as you stuttered “Y-you’re…Bo Burnham?” you asked, and he took in a deep sigh through his nose and nodded “Well, yeah, but you can call me Father Bo, now” he smiled, a look of embarrassment settling on his features, subduing your curiosity just a little.

“Oh shi-” you stopped yourself from cursing in front of him, the man who only a decade earlier had been rapping more obscenities than you probably had in your entire vocabulary “Oh, wow I mean…” your mind whirred “F-father Bo,” you heard the words come out of your mouth and giggled at how silly they sounded.

“I’m sorry, but that sounds like a character in a kid’s cartoon or something” you giggled, unable to stop laughing.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing” he mused, unfazed by your giggles.

You eventually settled, the last sigh of a laugh leaving your lungs, and you wiped at a stray tear that had made its way down your cheek.

“I’m sorry, I just…to go from…that” you held a palm up “To this” you mirrored the same with the opposite hand and shook your head in disbelief at him.

“Yeah, I guess it is a bit of a departure. I dunno, the performing thing was great for me at first. But eventually the heat got to me, and I just kept on having panic attack after panic attack, crying backstage before going on, awful - it was truly awful. There were times where I fully dissociated literally on stage, in front of hundreds of people.” he paused, bringing a hand to cup his jaw in a way that shouldn’t have made you quiver.

“Yeah, it was just really rough, I uh, I quit performing live for the most part, and through all the anxiety and the depression, God was just always there in the background, guiding me, guiding me to this, I guess.” He glanced at you “And I guess that I just wanted to spread the word, and show how religion can be good and it can be tolerant, if in the right hands”

You were dumbstruck, you guessed if you were really at an all time low, and it felt like god was always there, he was right in choosing the path that he did. Although you had twitched a little when he mentioned tolerance, wistfully hoping that he had been in charge when you were a teen, how it could have shaped things differently for you.

To lighten the mood, you decided to go back to the youtube subject “Y’know, back in the day, I actually had a small crush on you, well, the dude in the videos anyway” you smiled, revelling as he squirmed slightly, and the smile that barely reached his eyes.

“Yeah, I um, I’ve had my own battles with anxiety and depression, and I guess, being from religion, and the reason I left it so abruptly meant that I just didn’t give it a second thought” you whispered, avoiding his eyes as they chased yours for contact.

He tilted his head to one side, the dappled light of the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees hitting the high points on his face, his prominent brow, the gentle curve of his nose - you were so enthralled by his sunlit appearance you barely heard him say “H-howcome you left the church?” - you could tell by the tone of his voice he knew it was a loaded question, the ambivalence in his eyes was clear.

“Uhm, I uh” you toyed with the bald patch of dirt just off the blanket, you’d nervously ripped it clean of any remaining grass during your conversation - how did he have this affect on you?

“Well, I was in the process of realising and digesting my own sexuality, and um, one particular morning mass, the pastor, without a shadow of a doubt - said that people part of the LGBTQ+ community were going to hell…and I, I lost it” you lifted your lashes to look at him finally, a slight hint of confusion and sorrow in his eyes.

He choked out an “O-oh” and nodded along, before saying “You’re um, you’re?” he flapped, unsure of what to say next, and it made you smile at his embarrassment.

“I’m bisexual, yeah, I guess I was figuring out that stuff for myself, and when I was told by someone I was meant to respect and look up to, that I was going to be damned to hell, well - any and all respect for what they stood for went right out the window” you replied, seeing his brows furrow with the micromovements of his head - nodding along in silent agreement.

Clearing his throat he ran those thick fingers through his sandy hair and said “Look, I know the Catholic church can be strict, I know as much as anyone, but I firmly believe that any pastor, priest or minister that thoroughly believes such disgusting things - that they aren’t working in god’s best interest, hell to them if they try to force those backward beliefs on anyone else, as well.”

What he said knocked you for six and it took everything you had to continue breathing properly, nevermind put together a cohesive reply.

“I truly believe that religion comes from a dark and bloody past, but we need to learn from that stuff, and I think that love is the only way forward, unconditional and unjudging. Sexuality has no bearing on whether that person will be loved by God” he said, pursing his lips, the strength of his conviction bolstered by the flush creeping up his jaw.

“It does say in the bible…” you started before he cut you off with a laugh “Oh, the bible says a lot of stuff - but we have to remember that the good book was written by men, a really really long time ago. Edited however many times, translated back and forth - if you heard the end of my story before” he nodded over to the kids screaming and shouting at the other side of the gardens “Then you’ll know I don’t always preach the bible word for word, most of it is absolutely up for interpretation, even criticism, including the dated parts about condemning people for who they love” he huffed, clearly coming to the end of a slight ramble, his eyes focused on the tips of his shoes - converse. A priest who believed gay people weren’t going to hell and who wore converse?! This guy was definitely freshly plucked from a children’s story.

“Hmm, maybe I do wanna find God after all,” you surmised, letting your lips stretch into a coy smile, feeling that familiar heat and tension from before slowly rise in the dappled air between you - the sweet scent of the spring flowers the only thing that penetrated the thick atmosphere between you both.

After a few moments of silence, you lifted your head saw his eyes on you, he said “Well, maybe sometime I could help you” his eyes widened in surprise “I-I mean show you how religion helped me, I guess, how I found God” he corrected himself, and you both fought back giggles as he stood up to go and help with the rest of the celebrations.

As he walked away back to the church, he glanced back. Not once but twice, and your mind slowly registered all the times during that conversation that his eyes dipped to your lips, the way they followed your every move, how even an innocent bite of a lip, him deep in thought - left your knees knocking together.

* * *

Brushing the flushed feeling aside, you went to go enjoy the rest of the festivities, holding Lisa whenever your sister got exhausted, and avoiding Derek as much as humanly possible. When the party was nearing its end, you heaved a sigh of relief, suddenly realising that the dark headache balling in the back of your skull was stress - brought on by overstimulation to copious amounts of family, and socialising - an unpleasant mixture that you tried to avoid doing too often.

There was only one cure for that, and it was as filthy as the feeling permeating your skull. As you rounded the corner, you wished that you’d be able to say goodbye to Father Bo, you really enjoyed his company - and while you knew nothing feasibly could happen between you two, it didn’t hurt to get some extra interaction in, saving the images of him in your mind for later, for more solitary times.

It was like the universe had answered your call, your old secret smoking spot behind the church was already occupied by him - Bo.

One foot pressed up against the brick wall of the building, he let a long pillar of smoke out of his mouth before even realising you were standing there.

He looked surprised for but a fraction of a second, and raised up his arms in mock surrender - he drawled “You got me” and took another long drag from his almost spent cigarette.

You walked over, leaning against the wall, and said “Isn’t smoking a sin?” tongue in cheek as you questioned him.

Laughing another thick stream of smoke out he replied “Not technically. You know, I can drink too” he raised his eyebrows at you, slightly mocking.

You let out a fake gasp, and said “Ooh, Irish Catholics drinking?! I don’t know about that” - he chuckled at your half joke, laced with sarcasm.

You pouted and lifted your shoulders up to your ears as you said “Can I please have one?” - batting your eyelashes at him, pointing at the cigarette in his hand. He shook his head in defeat as his hand delved into his pocket to retrieve the pack.

“Alright, but don’t tell the big guy I’m indulging your vices, okay?” he joked, letting you slide the cigarette out of the packet and between your lips. He neared you as he clicked his chunky silver lighter and the flame sparked to life the sweet nicotine that started to flood your veins.

The cigarette dangling between your teeth you muffled an “I won’t tell him” - followed by a quirk of your eyebrows that earned yet another laugh from him.

You both smoked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the nicotine softening the blow of that knot in the back of your head, unravelling the rope and letting your mind settle into a more bearable ease.

Or at least you thought so, before the nicotine rush prompted you to ask him a question that could be considered at its best risque, and at its worst, grotesque.

“So speaking of vices…what do you do about sex?” the words tumbled from your mouth before your brain had a say in the matter, and you groaned inwardly at your brazen vulgarity.

He laughed loudly, the sound like a soft nectar to your ears - so much more high pitched than his normal booming timbre, the sound of summer rain on a hot day or a delicate bell ringing out into the night. It dispelled a little of the tension you had created - asking such a lewd question.

He cleared his throat and said “Well, technically we’re meant to abstain from any and all sexual activity” - you were surprised by his candor, and even more taken aback by the way he looked at you as he said it - even the nicotine couldn’t have prepared you for that glance.

“Wh-what, you mean even…” you trailed off as your free hand mimicked the motion of jerking an abnormally large invisible cock in front of you, and his cheeks turned pink as he watched your hand, a little too intently.

“Y-yeah, even that” he conceded with a half smile.

“It-it doesn’t bother me” he shrugged unconvincingly, “I got that stuff out of my system when I was younger, I suppose” he continued, not making eye contact.

“Oh?” you countered, taking a deep drag in from the cigarette between your lips, needing the extra nicotine to propel you through the conversation without getting too flustered. It didn’t work.

In the sunlight you saw the heat that crept up his neck, and you tried to desperately ignore the pleasure you derived from seeing him blush like that.

“Yeaahh” he conceded, “W-what is love, and sex, when you don’t have him guiding you, blessing you, every day” gesturing up to the sky, an abundance of white fluffy clouds blowing in from the west, casting Bo half in shadow as he spoke.

“I-I wouldn’t know, I guess” you replied, your eyes found the floor, not knowing what would be a sufficient reply to him at that moment.

He stubbed out his cigarette on the wall behind him, and heaved the biggest sigh you’d heard all day before he said “Well, it was lovely to meet you, I’ve got some business to take care of inside, but, I’d love to see you back here sometime” - he walked off, not looking back this time, and as your shaking fingers brought the remainder of the cigarette up to your lips, you thought on those words. There was something in that lingering glance before he turned away that said that he’d like to see you back here in a way you weren't sure was permissible.

* * *

Returning to the greatly diminished party, you reconvened with your sister and said your goodbyes, Derek eyed you oddly and sniffed the air around you, and barely said a word to you as your sister packed the children into his car and drove away.

Clambering into your car you were shaken, utterly blindsided by what little interaction you’d with Bo had shattered your resolve - how you usually felt so totally unflappable, in the driver's seat, calling all the shots. Bo had turned that on its head - and the worst part was, he was severely off limits. Comically so. God did sure work in mysterious ways, and you fucking hated the bastard for it.

Settling back into your apartment you decided to numb your longing with a little alcohol. ¾ of a bottle of wine later, you were meandering around the living room, drunkenly humming along to a tune you didn’t know the name of. Falling back onto the sofa you giggled quietly to yourself, letting your mind wander back to the events of the day. As your mind wandered so did your fingers, and as they say: idle hands are the devil's playground.

Your frisky fingers found the hem of your billowing skirts, the pink dress you hadn’t bothered to remove on your arrival home. Images of Bo flooded your mind, the smile that made his dimple wink at you from his cheek, the soft blush that crept up his cheeks whenever you mentioned his days on youtube…or masturbating.

It should have spurred you on, but you were more than a little embarrassed at your awkward conversation starter after he’d given you a cigarette. What the fuck was wrong with you? Were you touching yourself over the thought of a priest?! Your debauchery clearly knew no bounds as you pulled down the hem of your skirt, feeling horridly and thoroughly flushed with shame and humiliation, feeling utterly ridiculous. A caricature of yourself.

Divisive action needed to be taken, and as you sank the final glass of wine, you decided that you needed to confess your sins: desperately. The need was overwhelming, overwhelming in the most damning way.

You pushed any sense of morality or logic out of your mind as you ordered the uber. Securing the noose around your own neck as you waited, knowing that an honest confession wasn’t really on the cards, knowing deep down what you really wanted, what you secretly desired. It burned the insides of your flesh and stung the backs of your eyes. Your secret need to corrupt him was what made you slam the apartment door behind you, tightening the noose.

* * *

You saw the spires approaching in the distance. You’d gone back and forth over your decision the whole taxi ride there. In your mind, questions flew by as frequently as the glowing streetlights:

Was this right?

Was this totally inappropriate?

Would he even be there at this hour?

All you knew was the desperation to find out, as you thanked the driver and slammed the door shut. Walking over to the building, your heels made an obnoxious click-clack over the asphalt as you moved, echoing against the other building which was far enough away to supply a delayed feedback of your steps.

Knots twisted and writhed in your belly as you neared the doors. It could be so easy to turn back now, you thought. You could just as easily whip out your phone and get another Uber.

Seeing lights on was promising, you thought as you drew ever closer. Mere moments away from pulling on the door you turned around, aghast. Alarmed at what you were about to do.

What were you about to do? You were about to go into this church at 9.30 at night, more than a little tipsy, with the hopes of speaking to Father Bo again. You whirled around and took a deep breath, desperately trying to huff some sense into your lungs as you fumbled for your phone. Sliding it out of your pocket you tapped the screen. Opening the app, you were just about to hail another Uber when the battery symbol flashed up on the screen before the phone turned into a black mirror in your hand - signalling that you had been too god damn busy drinking and fantasising all evening to charge your phone.

“Fuck” you cursed, and turned back to the church doors. Now, your only option.

Finding the courage somewhere to pull on the heavy door you felt the lock resist your desperation.

Locked. Shut for the night. You pulled on the door in frustration, letting out a tiny yelp as you struggled. Your intentions might not have been the purest, but now you were well and truly fucked - your own desperate and sinful actions had lead to your ruin.

Sighing deep, you leant back against the thick wooden door. Still a little fuzzy from the wine, your mind attempted to calculate the next move - that was until something clicked behind your head and, your brain struggling to keep up with your body - you tumbled toward the ground.

Warm, large hands caught you and whispered “wh-it’s you?”

He set you upright with relative ease, his size so much more apparent now in the warm glow of the church, the darkness of the parking lot behind you seeming that much more unappealing.

“Y-yeah, it’s me” you answered, dusting yourself off and standing up straight in an effort to appear sober, after an entire bottle of wine.

“Wh-well I can’t say it’s not nice to see you” Bo said, the corners of his lips turning up into a sly smile “but what are you doing here, at this time?“ you swallowed hard and your mouth ran ahead of your mind.

“Um, I…ah…I thought churches were meant to be open all the time, you know, for those in need…or something?” You babbled, trying to deflect away from your real purpose for being here. Hoping a swift misdirection would catch him off guard, and he’d be none the wiser.

“Um, well it is 2022, it would be incredibly difficult to have the church open all hours. For one I need to sleep, and for two there’s been a couple instances where ne'er do wells and crackheads and such break in, trying to steal, or whatever” crossing his arms across his chest, you couldn’t help but stare at his size, how broad he was. Your mind wandered briefly to how those arms would feel wrapped around you, but he cleared his throat and said “sorry to repeat myself, but what are you doing here? Are you in-“ he paused, one eyebrow cocking up “in need?”

You swallowed thickly, your brain racing a mile a minute. Did you come clean? Be honest? In all honesty you were in need, but it wasn’t God you needed, or perhaps it was. The jury was out on that one.

Your eyes honed in on that delicious looking tendon in his neck, the way it pressed against the skin, jutted out so far you had the faintest urge to bite it, suckle on his appetising looking flesh. The way you could almost see his heartbeat flutter against the black and white of his clerical collar, such a symbol of purity and piety, only made the ache in your belly intensify, making you want to have him break those vows in favour of some newer, filthier ones.

Excuses raced through your mind, each one more stupid than the last - and you eventually landed on something not too far from the truth “I…I needed to confess-“ you said, tacking on a “Father” on the end for good measure.

“Oh?” He asked, not budging from his position.

“Y-yeah, I’ve been doing some thinking, and I really would like to get back into it” your words came so fast, you could barely believe how genuine the lies sounded.

“Get back into…?” Bo asked, seemingly in a playful mood.

“Umm, y’know, the whole organised religion thing” you floundered, hoping it would be enough for him.

His eyebrows raised in surprise as he beckoned you into the building, out from the creeping darkness of outside and into the warmth and soft light of the church.

You heard him close and lock the door behind him, and tried to ignore the shiver that the sound prompted as it travelled up your spine. Once locked out, you were now locked in. With him.

“I was hoping you’d be back” he said, leading you to the confession booth “but I wasn’t anticipating it would be this fast” he chuckled to himself.

You caught up to him and you swore you could smell the faint tang of whiskey on him. Hm, maybe you hadn’t been the only one drinking that night?

“Do you remember how to do it?” He chided and you shot him an annoyed look. “Yeah, duh!” - you retorted as you stepped into the booth.

Drawing the curtain and kneeling down, you were suddenly aware of how intimate this felt.

Father Bo took his place in the opposite side of the booth, and even the faint outline of him that could be seen through the screen made you feel weak. Even though you couldn’t see him, you heard his breaths, whenever he shifted slightly in his seat - and your heart thrummed in your throat as he cleared his throat and began to speak.

“You know what to do” he said, reassuring and a little authoritative - your eyes rolled into the back of your head a little, at how those simple words made you squirm.

“B-bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been-“ you paused, totting up the years in your head and out on your fingers. “Eleven years” you chuckled at the obscene amount of time “since my last confession.”

You recited the script, the words spilled out the back of your mind like a long lost memory, the speed and fluency with which they flew across your tongue startled you a little, and you barely realised how much time you had paused for before you heard Father Bo clear his throat quietly again.

Father Bo said “Tell me your sin” - his words calm and clear, you tried to ignore how they made you soak your underwear right then and there, how you felt the seeping heat that bloomed between your thighs. You silently cursed yourself.

“I…I have been thinking indecent thoughts-“ you started, afraid of continuing further. The reality of the situation was starting to collapse in on itself like a house of cards. Suddenly, the confession booth felt claustrophobic, like it was closing in on you. Wooden beams sagging dangerously close to your head and sawdust flying into your eyes.

“About someone” you finished, afraid of adding more detail - afraid of letting him know the truth.

“Wh-what have you been thinking about this person” he countered, and you heard the waver in his voice, the break in that seemingly impenetrable veneer of holiness, the steadfast notion that he was bound only to God, and it strengthened your conviction.

“I…I’ve been fantasising about having sex with them. While I-” you pushed yourself to say the words, spit them out into the ether. The die had already been cast, sitting in the confessional opposite him - you couldn’t turn back in the labyrinth that your choices had created.

“While I t-touch myself”

Silence, only broken by the shallow sound of his ragged breaths.

“G-god will forgive you your transgressions, he knows we are but mere slaves to our bodies, our lust, especially since it doesn’t involve sins of others flesh, he will forgive” Bo eventually said, and your ears pricked up at the gentle sound - so soft your ears strained to hear it. The slow, gorgeous sound of a zipper coming undone.

You clenched at the sound, your mind started spinning, ears straining even more to pick up any other sounds, but there were none.

“T-tell me about them, your thoughts” he whispered, and tingles spread along your shoulders, earning a small gasp from your lips.

“Are you sure? They were really filthy fantasies” you said, barely believing the concoction of filth spilling out your mouth - and into his ears.

He chuckled darkly and you heard him shift in his seat, and an even more decadent sound. The sound of cotton grazing against flesh.

“I-I’m sure, this confession thing isn’t supposed to go both ways, but I know - from experience” he conceded, the shame audible in his voice, the low growl with which he spoke called attention to your now sodden underwear, the feel of it slipping against your thighs pressed together, knees quivering slightly as you knelt. The slimy, embarrassing feeling licking up your body and into your throat, rendering you temporarily dumb. “That he will forgive you”

After a few quiet moments Bo whispered your name and said “Wh-who was it, in your fantasies?” and you swallowed the last remaining ounce of pride you had left, and whispered

“You, Father”

The silence was deafening, and you worried that you’d made a monumental mistake. What the fuck were you doing?! Coming to church at stupid-o’clock, tipsy, horned out of your mind with the batshit plan of seducing a priest?! Thinking back on it now, you were so incredibly glad of your rash nature, of your ability to act spontaneously on instinct - how it had never failed you, not even this time.

The quandary rolled over your frazzled mind again and again as the seconds passed, you contemplated throwing open the curtain and bolting for the doors - before remembering that he had locked them tight behind you. Nowhere to go.

Through your loud thoughts you faintly heard a “Fuck” from the other side of the confessional, and a rustling.

Oh.

You were about to be reprimanded, maybe even thrown out on the street for your vulgarity, for your sin.

“F-father?” you threw the question out into the abyss, hearing nothing in return for several slow, long seconds.

Silence.

“Bo?” you conceded weakly with his name, trying desperately to hear some reply - even if it was in the form of the heavy doors of the church unlocking to signal your disgraced departure.

Nothing.

All of a sudden, the curtain of the confession booth was hastily ripped aside, and Father Bo was standing there, towering, dark and eclipsed by the light shining behind him. You were blind to his features, the shape of his face hidden by the darkness.

The words he uttered next would be etched in your brain forever.

“God, forgive me” he whispered as he grabbed you from the booth, setting you standing in front of him - the soft light of the church assaulting your corneas after the relative darkness of the confessional.

Suddenly aware of the height difference again, you felt stunned, your limbs incapable of making any meaningful movement as one of his large hands found your waist - the other whose fingers wrapped around the soft line of your jaw and pulled - pulled you up to him, as he bowed down to you.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day” he whispered, the wildness in his eyes that you saw briefly before shutting your own, stoked the flames that raged on in your belly. As your desperate lips touched, quivering and hungry for contact, for sensation, he melted into you, earning a soft groan from you as your lips explored one anothers.

“I’m so weak, so fucking weak” he breathed against your lips between kisses, his thick fingers gripping you like a vice.

The hot tang of whiskey hit your tongue as he slowly, sweetly laved at your lips for entry, bracing your hands at his midsection for balance you permissed him. Letting his thick tongue probe lightly at the entrance of your mouth, the spicy woody notes of the liquor burning your tongue. Setting a precedent for how the rest of your body would soon feel - ablaze with heat and rough with passion, its taboo nature making it feel that much more delicious.

You leaned into the kiss, barely believing the reality of what was occurring, his hands anchoring you to him in that moment, to reality - but still your head spun freely.

Thankful to be receiving as well as giving, he was an incredible kisser. His tongue both tender and ferocious.

His hands travelled on their wayward journey, threading through your hair and pulling you closer to him. You felt the telltale bulge press hotly against you through your clothing, and you made a concentrated effort to tilt your hips further into him, drawing a long groan from his lips as you pressed against him wantonly.

Slowly he pulled away from you, and took you by the hand, leading you through the dark corridors of the church, you his pilant follower, the hypnotised congregation of children to his pied piper - wherever he went - you would gladly follow.

You reached a smaller room in the back of the church, the warm lights lit up Bo’s personal effects littered around the room. A guitar, piles of books in every corner, a scent that was so distinctly him you thought you might pass out from the strength of it. Clean and bright but with a lingering undertone of musk - a smell that you never wanted to forget.

Leaning back against the empty bookcase, its contents strewn around the room, it was almost as if the change in scenery prompted a sense of shame in you “This-this isn’t right, won’t you - won’t you lose your job, what the fuck are we doing?” you shrank away from his embrace, feeling the fuzz from the wine trickling out of your system.

The heady thrill from moments passed ebbed away slightly as you observed your surroundings in an attempt to ground yourself. Noting the feel of the wood beneath your fingertips, the shape of the light fixtures around the room, attempting to bring yourself back to something resembling reality - or even sanity.

Bo’s shoulders slumped, and he crossed the room to meet you where you stood. “I-” he started, words failing him but for a moment.

“Fuck” he whispered, fingers trailing along your exposed collarbone. “I thought I was done with all this - with sex - with” the breath hitched in his throat “with love” your insides squirmed at his use of the L word, the ragged breath eking out of your throat in response.

“But then you come along, this…this hurricane of light, and of life, and I felt - a certain kinship with you. Something deep.” his words didn’t falter as his blue eyes met yours, the unwavering sincerity in them was hard to ignore, and even harder not to feel.

“I dunno, I’ve literally known you less than a day and I can’t promise a single thing to you, other than I want to see where this goes. I want to see where this goes so badly that my future at the church hangs in the balance.” he sighed heavily and planted his palms on the back of a chair, “You probably don’t wanna hear all that, I get it if you wanna leave. Nothing softens a boner like the mention of something serious, right?” he chuckled, backing away from you a little by his own admonition, using the hand that tickled your collarbone to rub it through his hair in frustration, a little nervous tick you had picked up on earlier in the day.

But instead of being turned off to his overflowing well of emotions, your heart fluttered madly in your chest, and right then and there you wanted nothing more than to explore this possibility, to embody that potential for him, for yourself.

You pressed away from the bookcase and edged toward him - placing your hands as high up on his chest as you could muster, and whispered “Let’s see where this goes” pressing your swollen lips together he made a sound not unlike a growl as he bent down to meet your blushing kiss, and pressed you back into the bookcase. His arms came to take the weight off your thighs as he lifted you onto a shelf on the bookcase.

Your heels fell off your arched feet and clacked to the floor with an echo, Bo hastily swept them to one side aggressively as his body caged you in, engulfing you with his form.

He kissed you more slowly now, with more lingering sweetness than you’d ever known, his hands trailed down the bodice of your dress. He growled into your lips “You feel so good” and you stifled back a chuckle.

“T-this, I didn’t pick this, my sister picked the dress for today” you admitted, feeling the heat creep up your neck and spread across your cheeks.

“Honestly, you’d look good in a paper bag, honey” he mused into the side of your throat as he placed soft, sweet kisses down your neck, and you were certain that he could feel your rapid heartbeat through your skin, betraying your excitement. Your face heated at the pet name, “honey” - it rolled off his tongue like it was crafted by bees itself and the gravelly sound of his voice sent a shiver up your spine, so sweet - not unlike that sticky amber nectar.

His hands came to your thighs and he dripped yet more decadence into your ear

“What do you want me to do to you?”

Your heart jolted at his words, and you bit back a clever remark “Oh, you’re a talker, are you?” you felt his lips curl into a smile along your collarbone as he sank lower.

“Sure as hell I am, and I mean every damn word. Words without thoughts never to heaven go” he uttered in between kisses, his fingers bunching the puffy dress at your hips, and your brain whirred as you connected the quote to its author.

“S-shakespeare?” you uttered, somewhere between a gasp and a moan as his hands continued their eager movements.

“Mmhm” Bo mumbled, his arms wrapping tightly around your hips as he lifted you gracefully onto one of the higher shelves, earning a yelp from you. You were surprised at your sudden ascension, but eagerly pleased at your faces that were exactly level now. Your feet struggled for purchase on the lower shelves, dangling dangerously high off the ground. If it weren’t for him and the way his body anchored you to the shelves, the way he pressed into you so delightfully - you might have been scared of falling.

Maybe you did fall, but in a way you didn’t expect.

Seeing his features so much more clearly now, you drank in as much of him as you could.

If it was to only be tonight, this one time, you wanted to commit as much of him to memory as you could, etch as many of his features onto your mind as it would allow. Feel every touch and hear every word, remember them.

“Spread ‘em” he uttered, mirroring your expression of pure wonderment, a blush pooling across his cheeks and down his neck as he noted your complete awe, returning it in kind.

Sighing as you parted your knees and he took his place between them, nestling in between your bare thighs, it took all you could not to grasp on to him for dear life.

He kissed you, your lips pulsating and blushing from all the kisses that preceded it - tender and swollen but no less deserving of the heat he imparted to them, the way his tongue rippled across the tender flesh where lip became mouth and mouth became tongue. Your bodies ebbed and flowed in a rhythm that could be considered slow, the need for exploration and tenderness outweighing the need for speed.

Still, you enjoyed the languid pace but you needed more. You wanted to see him, taste him, wrap your mouth around him.

Loosening your fingers from his hair your hands found the buckle of his belt and he quickly batted them away, uttering a “No”.

Before you could think up a retort he dropped to his knees, looking up at you with those ocean blue eyes that caught the light of the lamps around the room, sparkling slightly as he whispered.

“It’s been - a little while - for me. I have to, have to get you there first, if you wouldn’t mind?” he grinned from between your thighs and the sight of him there made your cunt twinge with need. The softly tousled blond locks from your fingers ministrations, the way his eyes had a look of innocence twinned with devilish lust, the white collar peeking out on his thick neck. From this angle you could see the pulsating veins that surrounded it, and you made a mental note to bite them later.

His grin widened as you shuddered, his hands hiking up the puffy skirt of your dress, bunching it around your waist lewdly.

With every move he offered a fleeting glance up to you, paying careful attention to every blemish, placing errant kisses on your quivering knees. His fingers thick and warm as they traversed your thighs, travelling further toward the damning evidence of your need.

Eventually he found your underwear, surely soaked and dripping obscenely on the dark wood, but he smiled at the sight and whispered “Pleased, are we?” your head lolled back toward the bookcase and hit the wood with a low thunk. You nodded so hard your head felt like it might fall off and he smirked again, placing a thick, wet open mouthed kiss on the saturated cotton.

He gracefully absolved you from the damning fabric, scrunching them into a ball and stuffing them into his back pocket. Your mind could barely register it. Every move he made.

He neared your aching pussy and inhaled deeply, whispering “Y-you smell so sweet, like honey” his attention turned to your upper thighs - dangerously close to the place that was crying out for his rapt attention.

“I could smell it on you before. Your bold, confident exterior couldn’t hide it, the sweet scent of your pussy, how I thought about nothing but devouring it as soon as you left - shit”

His silken admission made you clench around nothing, your sensitivity through the roof - you felt a solitary drop of heated excitement slip from your folds. He smiled up at you, teeth buried in his bottom lip before his tongue came down to stop it in its tracks. You squealed with abandon and the muscles in your thighs tensed erratically seeing him perform such a lewd act.

“Oh, confessional was just the beginning, trust me” he whispered. Eyeing your quivering pussy - eager with anticipation at the oncoming storm.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned” he whispered to himself, and you couldn’t help but join him in apologetic recompense - a sort of a jumbled erotic prayer - as his tongue laved at your entrance, slowly at first, and then faster - deeper. His skilled tongue came to your clit and lavished it with praise.

Your hands came up to grip the sides of the bookcase, holding on for dear life as his tongue whorled around your sensitive spot with relative ease, taking note of and repeating the motions that make your legs tense beside his ears, the movements that had you squealing and begging for release in no time.

Removing one of his hands from your thigh, you spied the pink blush that formed in the absence of his large paw, a memory of his grip on you. His eyes flit up to yours as he prodded at your entrance, surveying the sweaty, gripping heaving mess above him, and you could feel the smile that spread across his lips hotly against your cunt, prompting a needy buck from your hips.

Two impossibly thick, long fingers made their home inside you and began to crook with devastating precision. The wet sounds of his enjoyment pressed up against your most intimate parts only propelled you further to bliss.

Taking a brief break for breath, his wet lips and chin came to rest against your inner thigh “I want you to fucking scream” he panted against the slick flesh, before he returned to work, angling his fingers just right, suckling, kissing and laving at your clit in the way he learnt drove you truly insane. He was a quick learner - that was for sure.

Your helpless welps echoed around the back room, unafraid of potential consequences of being found out you moaned even louder as he drove you toward your peak. Damning in its ferocity and sublime in its texture. You let it overcome you completely.

He soothed you down from the heights he took you to, offering soft, lazy kisses to the inside of your thighs. When your eyes could focus again you saw him, stood between your legs, his eyes devouring your blissed out state, lips licking the remnants of you off them. Savouring the taste of you so thoroughly.

Leaning toward you he kissed you - letting you taste yourself - and he was right, you tasted fucking divine.

He relieved you of the ugly pepto bismol dress you’d had on all day, and the cool of the air was a relief to your hot skin - salving the sting and the heat from moments prior.

“Fuck” Bo whispered, surveying your naked body in front of him - even with his eyes devouring you like that - you could never feel exposed in front of this man. Something about him comforted you to the core.

“God made you so fucking beautiful, so perfect” his hands trailed along the swell and peak of your breasts, tweaking the nipple gently as his tongue lapped up the remainder of you on his lips. “For me” he concluded, those words of postured ownership had you quivering deep inside again, ready for another round.

He let your hands wander to his belt now, allowing it. You unbuckled him and with a little help, let his underwear and trousers drop to the floor in a pool at his ankles.

Your serene afterglow was violently shouldered for a more gnawing, deep want in your belly as you saw his cock for the first time. Thick, veiny and straining hard at the vision of you in front of him. Undoubtedly the biggest you’d ever have the pleasure of seeing, of touching, of tasting. A thick well of saliva pooled in your mouth and it took all you had not to let it dribble out of your mouth obscenely like some cock hungry whore. But, maybe Bo just had this effect on you.

“What is it honey? Tell me?” Bo asked, one of his hands leaving your lolling thighs and grasping the girthy hardness protruding from him.

A beat went by, your throat making an odd croaking noise in place of the words you so desperately wanted to utter.

“God made you so beautiful, and-and what a shame it would be to waste it” you licked your lips, Bo’s cock bobbing up and down in response.

A throaty groan sounded from Bo’s throat as he replied “Y-yeah, what do you want to do, honey?” his other hand firmly pressed into your thigh, hard enough to hurt.

“I-I want to taste you” you whimpered. Feeling suddenly shy, you shook your head so that hair fell around your face, covering the pink shame that was glowing on your cheeks - the embarrassment of verbalising what you wanted, not enough to overcome the wanton need to do it.

“L-let me taste you, please” you repeated, biting your bottom lip with desperation.

Bo’s mouth shaped a soft O as he digested your plea. One he was more than willing to oblige.

“Kneel” Bo whispered, and the breath caught in your throat at his command. “Wh-what?” you asked, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

“Kneel” he repeated, clearer and louder this time, a resonant boom in his already deep voice, sending shockwaves through your body, down to your still dripping core.

He stood back from you, grabbing your wrists to assist in your descent, the beautiful blue of his eyes was lost to the black lust of his pupil - completely eclipsed by his desire.

Your knees were comforted by the haphazard pile of clothes at both of your feet, and you stared at the humongous cock in front of you, bobbing in front of your eyes.

“Ready to take communion, now-now that you’ve been blessed?” he uttered, threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your neck. Your mind flew back to earlier that day, knelt in front of him in the church, his expression unreadable at the time, still filled the air with tension. Now, knelt in front of him with a different proposition, you were all the more willing to accept.

“How I fantasised about you getting to your knees in front of me, not in prayer, no” he shook his head quickly “no, this is better”

Unsure how to start, your hand went to the base, and your tongue came out to lick a long line along the thick, pink head, Bo’s breathing tightened above you. Diving into the deep end, you took in as much of him as you could. You wanted to feel the burn in your lungs, the way your mind swam with him, all too aware that you’d be gasping for air in no time. “F-fuck” Bo choked, “Oh” he mumbled as you worked even harder to take all of him.

Wrapping your lips around him, his knees quivered as you tried to suck and lick every inch of him - but it was impossible. You did your best to take him as far into your mouth as you could, his sensitive head pressing near where your tonsils used to be, pushing down into your throat. You hazard a glance up at him and what you saw made your cunt and your heart quiver in unison.

You didn’t think he could look more beautiful, but as he stared down at you, eyes fixated on where your bodies met, teeth pressed harshly into his bottom lip, he proved you wrong. Unable to take more than a few seconds of eye contact he swung his head back and whispered soft obscenities to the church ceiling. His jawline carved a harsh line and you wanted to make him feel good. You want to make him lose it, returning the favour.

It was a kind of worship, the way you enveloped him inside your mouth, as much as you could. One hand jerked the base the other on the sharp jut of his hip, suddenly wishing you had more hands to grip onto him wherever there was flesh to do so. Your lips and tongue whispering a silent prayer on him.

You lost yourself in him, the way he grazed the back of your throat, the way you gagged hopelessly around him, and you began to wonder how he would fit elsewhere.

But before you could be lost entirely, he pulled you harshly off him, knock-kneed; he set you with shivering arms back onto the higher shelf of the bookcase, slipping around in the cool mess you had made previously.

“Need you, now” he mumbled against your neck, and you felt him part your shaking thighs, and sheath himself between them. Somehow like he’d always been there, like he was meant to be there. Eagerly encompassed by your limbs, grabbing, wrapping around him so perfectly.

Without even thinking, the words slipped from your mouth and echoed around the room like a cough during a sermon. “Do-do you have a condom?”

He pulled back slightly, a confused and slightly bewildered look on his face. It took a moment for the penny to drop, and you started giggling at your silly mistake. Of course he didn’t have a condom, he was a priest, for god’s sake. He joined you in your awkward chuckle for a few moments, before his eyes locked on yours with devastating solemnity.

You knew you didn’t have one - you were in the middle of a dry spell so arid that the desert would be jealous. Any you did have would have gone way past their expiry date, anyway.

But you were on birth control, had been for years, to help with your depression and awful mood swings, and so you decided then and there - that he was worth the risk.

“Oh, fuck it” you whispered and pulled Bo’s clothed shoulders toward you. You, completely naked and his bottom half bare to the elements, the only saving grace was Bo’s black shirt, rolled up to his forearms, that white collar peeking at you every now and again. Watching your every move, and damning you both for it.

“Y-you want this?” he growled into your ear, as the hard tip of his cock slipped through your folds and teased your entrance.

“Yes, fuck, please, I want you” you answered, not sure how long you could hold off without resorting to begging.

“Then you’ll have me” he replied, using his hand to guide himself into you. The head popped in and you released a small mewl at how big he felt - and you knew he wasn’t even all the way in, yet.

Your panting breaths began to sync up as he pushed further and further into you. You swapped pants for deep lingering breaths that helped you ease the feel of the stretch, his size so unlike anyone you had slept with before. To take your mind off the pressure, Bo placed soft nibbles and licks at the base of your neck, focusing in on the sensitive end of your collarbone, and your heels instinctively pressed into his back as he finally reached the hilt.

“Oh, jesus” you whispered, and Bo replied with a strangled moan filled with sarcasm “Such a blasphemer, honey” he gibed “No, it’s just me” - You wanted to laugh, but the skin of your forehead was scrunched in protest at the heft of him inside you - how he filled you to the brim.

Your lips joined in blissful union as he settled inside you, slow and gentle, your hands found the nape of his neck and you dragged your fingertips through his hair, savouring that generous full feeling, the calm before the storm.

“You feel so fucking good, all wrapped around me like this,” he grunted, and you wished your limbs were longer so that they could more perfectly encompass him. He gladly took up the slack as his hand came to your leg, pulling you further into him, your heels digging into his lower back for dear life.

You could only moan in response as he started to move, and he continued, “You like that, me talking dirty to you like this?” you nodded, slack jawed as your cunt clenched involuntarily around his length, earning an involuntary buck from Bo’s hips and a snarl from his lips. He stopped for a second and hissed through gritted teeth” Ooh, careful now, remember, it’s been a while for me”.

You were so close you saw the sweat beading on his forehead, errant strands of blond hair came to frame his face, casting glorious shadows onto every plane of his beautiful features as he started to move again. Tilting your head to press light kisses into his neck you remember the promise you made to yourself before - seeing that thick tendon pressing through his skin you attached your lips firmly to it, and sucked lazily as he started to move.

Sufficiently pleased with the marks that were sure to bloom alongside that clerical collar, you pulled apart briefly.

He looked down to where your bodies met and then firmly planted his gaze on you, offering you a tiny kiss on the nose as he picked up the pace. A chorus of your joint moans and groans filled and echoed around the room, the acoustics offering you an almost instant playback, twinned with the slick feeling of him between your folds and the way his mesmerising blue eyes almost never left yours, was enough to send you to heaven.

Or close enough, as his thrusts got deeper and he brought his face to your neck, burying it in the soft skin and plying it with the odd kiss in between huffs and puffs.

“I’m - I’m so close” you whimpered, and you felt his fingertips dig into the flesh of your thighs, you saw his brow furrow at the concentration, as he pushed you closer and closer to the divinity that you so desperately sought. He fucked you through the crashing waves of your orgasm, each pulse more glorious than the last, and through the haze you saw his face relax as he let himself go.

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna, I’m gonna” he groaned into your neck, pulling back and pressing his sweaty forehead into yours as he thrashed through the pleasure rolling over him, and spilled into you.

He looked so gorgeous, so spent, the silken sheen of sweat on his skin positively glowed, and you noticed beautiful details you hadn’t noticed before. A delicate scar on his right cheek, the curve of his nose and the way his eyelashes grew, he was so much more beautiful up close.

“I-I told you… I’d show you…God” he whispered, the hot pink of his cheeks darkening even in the ebbing of your afterglow.

You giggled at his joke, and he shuddered as he pulled himself from you - your cunt throbbed from the loss, you’d keep him there all night - if you could.

But the sanguine bubble couldn’t last all night, and it burst, right as your eyes focused on the window, or rather, what lay beyond it.

An icy poison dripped through your veins as you saw faintly through the window, a familiar set of eyes, dark curly brown hair…Derek.

You squealed in shock, seeing your brother in law of all people spying on you through the stained glass of the church window.

Bo whipped around in surprise, barely catching sight of Derek before he had run off into the night.

“Wh-what the fuck” you whispered, hands instinctively coming up to protect your modesty - although how long Derek had been standing there determined how much of it actually remained.

“Who-who was that?” Bo said, walking toward the window in a vain attempt to glean any more information.

“My prick of a brother in law, Derek, he was here today, it was his daughter you were baptising” you said, the blissful warm cocoon of your afterglow being hastily cast aside in favour of embarrassment, disgust and shame.

“Right” Bo said, and you could hear the defeat in his voice.

“I-I’m sorry, Bo. F-father” you corrected yourself, dropping down to the ground and picking up the bedraggled remnants of your clothing.

“I shouldn’t have come here, it was selfish, I was drinking, I…”

Bo remained in stoic silence as you dressed, kindly turning away as you did so, keen to offer you some semblance of respect.

“I should go. Fuck. If this goes badly for you, please, just blame it all on me. I had no right doing this, I tempted you, I-”

“Let me stop you right there” he interjected, finally turning around when he knew you were decent again, but there was nothing decent about the smell of fresh sex that hung in the air, on your lips, on his tongue. It filled every nook and cranny of that small room, and yet you both felt the sickening pool of guilt bubble and spit in your stomach.

“You came here tonight, but I let you in, I led you into the confessional, I t-touched myself to the admittance of your sins, and I never want you to blame yourself for any of this, we were both complicit in this, both to blame, please do not think you have to shoulder this responsibility alone, because that would be a sham, and I for one am not keen to live a lie”

You baulked, the sour fizzing in your stomach continuing its assault on your innards. You should have known he wouldn’t pick you - you, the simpering harlot that bummed a smoke off him after a baptism. You, the desperate piece of shit, so conceited to drunkenly come and try to fuck a priest in the middle of the night - and you got what you wanted, you always got what you wanted, you were used to it by now. Spoilt little brat.

How could you possibly be so deluded by the idea that he would choose you over God? You gave him good pussy, but God could give him so much more - and you had potentially tarnished that, ruined his chances in this life, and the next.

“I-I can’t do this, and you’ve made me realise, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful” he said, moving toward you, but you shrunk away like a tortured animal, afraid of what he’d say next, what he’d do next.

“Y-you’re welcome” you spat, while stuffing your feet into the heels, and attempting to walk in the direction that you had come in. Knowing that he had just needed a hole, a release, and you were so desperate to be filled that you eschewed any and all self respect to get your fix, and supply him his.

You took the first step and your thighs protested, the aggression of the last hour or so had turned your legs to jelly, but you were dead set on leaving - you couldn’t hear another word come out of his beautiful mouth, another sweeping rejection that would leave you mortally wounded, twitching on the ground from his dismissal.

You felt the hot, shameful slick of his orgasm spill from between your thighs, slowly dripping out of you as you tried to walk.

“Wh-where are you going?” he questioned, pulling on his trousers sloppily and following you.

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything else, and just let me out, because I really don’t wanna hear any more about -”

He grabbed your wrist, and you struggled to break free, as he said “What are you talking about?” his brow furrowed in frustration, his eyes soft, yet worried.

“I was so stupid to think that I could…” you started, far too embarrassed to continue, and he let your wrist go gently.

“So selfish, to make you choose between your god and…” you gestured loosely to yourself, tears threatening to burst from their banks, filling your eyes with salty guilt.

“It’s not that simple” he conceded, shaking his head.

“I-I know” you spluttered between cries, turning away from him, unable to take his eyes on you a minute longer.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen now, but I do know how I feel,” he said, careful to maintain the distance between you, his eyes flitting between you and the door. He sensed that you wanted to run, and wanted to prevent it.

“And I know this is probably fucking stupid, and I’ve worked hard to get here, these past few years, given up everything I thought I liked, for a simpler way of life that I thought I needed.”

Your tears continued to flow, but you managed to rein in the heaving of your chest as you listened to him speak, your back still turned to him, unable to face him, and the reality of the situation.

“What today has taught me is that nothing can replace love, the blooming of it between two people, or the sunshine that he bestows upon us every day, love is many different things, but it’s also everything, to me.”

Secretly you wished he’d stop talking, just to go and unlock the door and leave you to wander the streets for a taxi to come by, but he continued.

“And I know I only met you a few hours ago, but shit, if this job restricts me and stops me from doing something that feels so right, feels like this” his fingers brush up against the ones not stuffed into your mouth “I don’t want to be a part of it any more”

His words hit you like a tonne of bricks, and you hazard a look over your shoulder, looking up at the tall man across from you. Hair standing up at odd angles from your tumultuous lovemaking, lips pursed and tears brimming the edges of his own eyes.

“Wh-what?” you asked, not quite believing what you were hearing.

“If being a priest means that I can’t be with you, can’t love you, maybe I don’t want to be one anymore” he said, a solitary tear fell from his eye and down his face. He shuddered as he swallowed, and stepped towards you.

“There’s an alternate universe out there somewhere, where you and I - we’re madly in love, we have a dog and a nice house and a nice life, it’s simple, it’s easy. I never became a priest, and our life is fucking perfect.” he paused, desperately trying to catch your eye “But I don’t want that for us, I want this, whatever’s happening right now. I want to work hard, I want the suffering and I want the adversary. Call me selfish, but I want whatever it is with you, even if it’s a little fucked. I want to be your satellite, I’ll-I’ll revolve around you”

Tears morphed from desperation to joy, to whatever this feeling was that filled you, made you feel weightless.

“What I’m saying is, I want to give you years,” he grasped onto the now motionless fingers by your side, engulfing your hand completely, the other coming to brush a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “If-if you’d let me, I will give you years” he whispered, pulling you closer.

“Will you let me?” he asked, lips inches from your own.

Your mind spun on its axis, his words penetrating your brain, your heart. Your eyes focusing on the man in front of you: free perhaps, no longer a slave to his piety. The eddying storm was raging inside you, and you knew just what to say to soothe it.

“Y-yes” you conceded, he pressed his lips to yours, and the swirling began to steady, you felt your feet hit the ground as gravity began to have its hold on you once again.

Finally, he parted from you and whispered “Whatever happens, I know he’ll forgive me” his eyes flit up to the ceiling “Because he made you, and he knows how fucking awesome you are. Hell, maybe he even created you for me, knew just what I needed” His thumbs came to swipe away any remaining tears and you smiled at his words, the sincerity and sweetness behind them were impossible to ignore.

As you drank in his smile, you were blessed by that beautiful feeling, one that had been eluding you for quite some time now: hope.

It was hope you saw in his eyes and hope you tasted on his lips, you knew that you needed this: and if there was a god, maybe he had answered your prayers, after all.

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