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linasofia · 1 year

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Since I apparently can no longer go near a church or candles without thinking of a certain priest... I'm throwing this to your muse, in case she sparks anything.

My dear @sweetestgbye, thanks for leaving your confession in my ask box. ⛪️ and🕯you say? I hope you'll like what my muse came up with. 💛

Burning Desire

Fandom: The Man from Rome

Relationship: Father Quart x OC Lucia

Warnings: 18+

The wax is warm and soft under her fingertips, and Lucia gently squeezes the top of the candle. The edge bows to her will and collapses in the already melted wax. She smiles as the flame seems to take a deep breath and then returns to its original shape.

”You should not play with candles.” A dark and slightly intimidating voice, coming from behind, sends a shiver down her spine. She can tell the man is standing close to her—too close to be considered a coincidence. ”You might get burned.”

Lucia doesn't have to look over her shoulder, she knows the deep, alluring voice belongs to the man she spent over an hour to both seduce and ignore at the same time.

The church was packed when she finally found a spot for herself, and when she looked out over the ocean of faces, she instantly noticed him. A bit taller than the people seated next to him, he really stood out from the crowd. Not only by his looks, even if he is incredibly handsome, but an unusual calmness appeared to surround him. The enigmatic man was seated a few pews behind her, and every time she turned her head, their gazes met. When she tried to focus on the choir and the beautiful Christmas songs that seemed to float through the air, she could feel his piercing gaze burning the skin on her neck. Her long, blond hair was arranged in a messy bun, leaving her neck fully exposed. When she made her scarf slip on purpose, she instinctively knew he took notice. And she loved it.

She squeezes the candle again, and this time the melted wax drips down the length of the slim candle. With great fascination, Lucia watches how a beautiful pattern takes form, but eventually, the heavy candlestick stops the wax from continuing its journey.

”I don’t mind the heat from the wax, it can be controlled.” The words slip from her, and she bites her lower lip. Why did she say that? Lucia moves her fingers to the slightly taller candle, second in line at the altar. She repeats her small assault on the new candle, but as it starts to give in, she doesn’t remove her hand. The warm wax slowly drips over her fingers, but she doesn’t flinch nor withdraw. Instead, she closes her eyes and breathes through her nose. It’s hot, yet not unbearable, but the smell from the burning candles is abruptly replaced by an unfamiliar, musky scent that makes her knees weak. Suddenly a large hand clasps around her wrist and pulls her fingers away from the candle. She spins around and meets the man’s cerulean stare.

”Inflicting pain on yourself is a sin.” If he spoke louder, his voice would roll between the stone walls in the church like thunder, but now, as he speaks in a hushed tone, his words find their way under her skin and make her heart beat faster. The man is much taller than she expected, and he towers over her as he gazes down at her hand. His hair is dark, kissed by age at his temples, and in his stubble she can read the traces of experience and sacrifice. He wears a dark suit, an aegean shirt, and around his neck—the evidence of his calling—a white clergy collar. Lucia swallows hard; he looks even more handsome up close.

”Is it still considered a sin if I ask someone else to inflict pain upon my skin?” she whispers, too overwhelmed by his appearance to be able to command her tone.

”It depends,” his voice drops even lower, and it makes her tremble. ”Is the pain for penance, or simply your own satisfaction?” Lucia gasps at his words. Who is this man? He is not a usual priest, and something in his eyes reveals that he has seen far more than the average man. And yet she can’t deny it; the quite intriguing look in his eyes gives her a thrill unlike anything she has ever felt.

”Both,” she lowers her gaze but registers the change in his eyes. A storm is approaching, and she's without shelter. Against his demeanor, she stands defenseless. She should have known; she felt the raw attraction when seated in the pew, and now, as he exposes his true self, Lucia is struggling to keep her feelings under control.

”Why these candles?” His voice is sharp, but she senses a curious question behind the scolding tone.

Lucia lets her gaze fall back on the candles standing on the altar. They flicker as a result of her disobedience.

”They are beautiful.” Her answer is simple—too simple to be the whole truth. She didn’t expect to have this conversation, at least not here, so soon, and she is not yet ready to reveal the real reason behind her act. ”And I like to push my limits.” Her last words are only a soft whisper, even if the last visitors left the old church a while ago.

”That can be done in many other ways.” His remark surprises her, and she turns to face him again.

”I know.”

A long pause follows, questions lurking in the silence between them, and Lucia perceives how she’s physically drawn to the man, as if he’s the strongest magnet and she a thin needle.

”How long has it been since your last confession?” Another surprising question, and she lowers her gaze, slightly embarrassed.

”Too long I assume,” Lucia mumbles. It’s the truth. She was raised catholic, but as an adult, she struggles to feel included. Still, she enjoys visiting church, but when she does, it’s mainly for the music and the possibility to admire the grand architecture and the paintings.

”So it’s pleasure you’re seeking then, not penance.” Something in his words ignites her inner fire, and she lets out an involuntary, longing sigh.

”May I ask your name?” She can hear her own voice tremble slightly.

”Quart.” His reply is instant and harsh, like the crack from a whip being wielded in the air.

”Tell me, Father, why are you asking me all this? What are you seeking?”

Father Quart ponders over her question; he’s not really sure himself. Recently he has questioned his choice in life. The sometimes shady work he does for the Vatican comes with a high price. He knows Monsignor Spada expects him to carry on, but there are many nights when Father Quart dreams of another life. A life without a vow of celibacy.

The woman before him is beautiful, yet something tells him she might not realize it. She is almost a head shorter, with a golden glow in her blond hair, which reminds him of a burning match. Her neck is long, and her skin pale. But it’s not her features he finds irresistible; it’s the depth of her eyes. She’s a seeker, but not only for spiritual guidance.

Without even thinking of it, Father Quart lifts his hand and strokes the collar around his neck. For some reason, it feels heavier now than it did when the sun broke free from the night, but not even the smallest muscle in his face reveals his inner struggle as he speaks. ”I have found my place.”

Lucia watches him in silence and nods. It makes sense to her, but she can’t shake away the feeling of a growing bond between them—unspoken yet undeniable.

”My name is Lucia,” she then says and smiles warmly at him.

Father Quart smiles back, but it’s a restrained smile, forced upon his lips, for her mouth moves sensually when she speaks, and he can’t hinder his own thoughts. In fact, he doesn’t want to. He watches her hand, the one he pulled from the candle, as she reaches out and strokes the altar.

Lucia looks around in the empty church and back at the man she now knows as Quart. Father Quart, she corrects herself.

”Will you hear my confession, Father?” Her voice is once again only a seductive whisper.

Father Quart closes his eyes briefly to gather his thoughts. It has been a long time since he helped a parishioner in confession, but he can’t refuse. When he opens his eyes, she looks straight at him with an expression he has not seen in many years.

”If that is your wish.”

She smiles and makes the sign of a cross. ”Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been so long since my last confession, I can’t even remember when it was.”

Father Quart chooses to stay silent and allows Lucia to find her own pace. Soon, a stream of words start falling from her lips, spoken calmly and detailed. She doesn’t hold back when she explains her lust and desire. How she needs a man who can satisfy all her needs. Father Quart remains silent and listens to how she carefully changes her focus toward the candles, the melted wax—and the altar. Her admiration for their beauty becomes very clear to him, and the strange feelings they awake in her. She doesn’t have to say it out loud. He can still read the forbidden fantasy in her eyes; Lucia, lying naked on the cold altar with a man standing beside her and painting her body with dripping, warm wax. And Father Quart has a good understanding of who that man should be. Then she falls silent, as if lost in her own thoughts. He waits, but when she neither continues nor ends her confession, Father Quart decides to speak.

”Lucia, your confession doesn’t sound like you’re truly regretting your thoughts.”

She doesn’t respond, but a sweet blush caresses her cheekbones, and Father Quart notices the smallest shift in her eyes. He recognizes that look—guilt—and it only confirms his suspicions. ”I don’t think it's the Lord’s forgiveness you want, so what is it? Why are you telling me this?”

She captures his gaze and holds it steadily. ”Can’t you feel it? Or are you just too afraid to acknowledge it?”

Father Quart knows exactly what she’s talking about, for it has been on his mind ever since he grabbed her hand. Her soft skin against his was enough to wake his desire. He’s drawn to her, a powerful attraction—yes—but also on a deeper level. He senses they are more alike than he’s comfortable with. Her needs mirror his own, only he has spent years suppressing his carnal lust. He takes her hand in his and holds it closer to the candle. No red marks or traces of wax can be seen on her delicate fingers, and Lucia is standing completely still, as if waiting for something. At that moment, Father Quart realizes he wants to see the melted wax drip down on her again. And he yearns to see those beautiful eyes in front of him burn with passion.

”You want me to do this to you, don’t you?” His voice grows thick when he meets her gaze, and the strong need in her eyes almost makes him lose control. Almost.

”Yes,” she breathes. ”More than anything.”

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Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly

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#richard armitage #father quart #father quart fanfic #father quart fanfiction #the man from rome #la piel del tambor #ficlet #father quart x oc

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linasofia · 1 year

Text

Love Never Dies

Part 4

Fandom: The Man from Rome

Relationship: Father Lorenzo Quart x OC Palmira

Summary: After returning to his hometown, Father Quart comes face to face with his past. His life, as well as the choices he made as a young man, are turned upside down and he is once again forced to make life-changing decisions. But at what cost?

Words: 2,8K

Warnings: 18+ ⚠️ Please don’t read this if the thought of a priest breaking his vow of celibacy might offend you.

A/N: This is the fourth part of this fic. You can read the previous parts here.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass & @lathalea 💙

Palmira haunts him every night, her wild red locks dance around her face with every move she makes and like a siren she calls for him. In his dreams, she offers him to explore all his darkest fantasies, some of them lurking in the back of his brain ever since he was a teenager. Unable to control his mind when the moon slowly wanders over the midnight sky, Father Quart experiences more vivid dreams during a couple of months than most people do in a lifetime. Something was unleashed in him that night he opened the folder containing his mother’s research, and his mind processes it in the most brutal way during the dark hours. The first week he was frightened by his own dreams, but soon enough the fear developed into curiosity and from there it grew to fascination.

During the day, he is a loyal servant of God, but when night falls, sweat soaks his nightshirt as he fights his urges. And Palmira is no longer an innocent fantasy; she has become an obsession. She is not aware of his change of course, for he is too careful to open the door to his heart, and the dreams that follow after each of their meetings in church is something he could never reveal for her. But he is not a blind man. He sees how her gaze lingers on him, slowly turning warm, just as when they were in their youth. As the months pass, their old bond emerges from the shadows in their hearts and Father Quart finds it harder to keep a distance between them. Palmira sometimes places her hand on his forearm as they sit together and it is during one of those moments he wishes things were different. The thought is not a complete shock but it must have shown in his eyes for she looks at him with concern.

”Are you ok?” she asks, unaware of the blood boiling in his veins. He nods in silence and finds himself staring at her lips. She runs the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, and everything suddenly feels very loaded between them. The expectant look in her eyes is something he has not seen since that day after school when she hurt her feet and had to lean on him when they walked home. He was very close to kissing her back then and he still remembers the smell of her shampoo as she whisked away her hair. Now, when the air fills with her perfume as she leans forward, he cannot remember why he did not.

”Lorenzo,” she breathes and the way she speaks his name makes him reach for the back of the pew to discreetly steady himself. He swallows hard as she slowly comes closer. Palmira gives him all the time he needs to stop her. To stand up and walk away. But he cannot move. He cannot think. And he does not want to.

Her lips are soft as silk and her hand feels warm when she gently caresses his cheek. Father Quart does not dare to move, too afraid to break the moment. Their kiss is shy, brief and tender, but when Palmira pulls back, it is with a horrified expression in her eyes.

”I am sorry, I should not have done that.”

Father Quart shakes his head. ”Maybe not, but I do not regret it.”

She smiles at him in a way no woman has ever smiled at him before and it causes him to lose his raging inner battle against his own body. He sneaks his hand under her amber locks and pulls her face closer to his again. This time the shyness between them is gone and the kiss ignites his body like a torch thrown on a pile of dry grass. Emotions suppressed during a lifetime of celibacy explode in his chest, but then he forces himself to break the kiss, using one last sensible thought. He reaches for her hand. ”We cannot continue this here, not now, the risk is too high.” He looks anxiously around the empty church,then back at her. ”I do not want to see you go, but it might be better if you do.” A shadow of confusion falls over her face and he quickly adds; “maybe we can meet later, if you want to return tonight, before I lock the main entrance?” Palmira instantly nods in agreement and her eyes speak of promises that make him shudder with delight.

”See you later,” she whispers as she releases her hand and leaves him breathless on the pew.

During the afternoon, visitors come and go. Some only nod at him but others stay to have deep conversations. The hours appear longer than usual, and Father Quart feels strangely distant. He knows he will not be able to focus on the confessions with the taste of her still on his lips, so he tries to wash the traces away with coffee. When he steps into the confessional, he forces the thought of Palmira’s soft lips out of his mind.

***

The doors between the nave and the vestibule are open and he sees her as soon as he approaches the main entrance. She is standing in front of the mirror with her back against him. Her clothes are different. The tight grey trousers she wore earlier together with a cobalt blue blouse are replaced by a way too thin dress for the season, and the fabric hugs her body in all the right places. It makes her even more irresistible than usual, and Father Quart runs his hand over his jaw. Her coat hangs over the back of one of the chairs placed in the vestibule and her delicate shoulders are only partly covered by a white scarf. That is definitely not a combination suited for a visit to church, but as he takes in the sight of her skin, he realizes that she could not have picked a more sensual outfit. With one hand she tries to get her cascades of hair to fall the way she likes it and he can tell by the way she pulls at her locks that she is nervous. He smiles, she is not the only one. Without a word he glides up beside her and when he says her name in a hushed voice, she jumps and turns around to face him.

”Lorenzo, you scared me. I did not see you in the mirror.”

”Perhaps you were not looking.”

She smiles at him. ”It does not matter. I see you now.”

“Give me a minute to lock this place. It is time.”

She smiles at him and the urge to kiss her is overwhelming, but he resists and turns his attention to the heavy oak door and the key in his hand. When the task is done, he slowly walks towards her.

”I have to admit, I was not sure you were coming back,” he mumbles when he stops, careful to not overstep her personal space. Her smile makes his heart skip several beats and when she closes the distance between them, he welcomes her in his arms.

”You are not being serious now, are you?” She wraps her arms around his neck and with a soft moan she presses her lips against his. He is about to answer her, but she slips her tongue between his lips and the thought is lost in the sensation of her exploration of his mouth. She runs her fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck and he tightens his grip around her. Her tongue caresses his and invites him to kiss her deeper, more hungrily. The scarf falls down on the floor, exposing more of her skin to him and when the intensity of their kiss has them both gasping for air, he takes the opportunity to move on to kiss the skin on her shoulder.

Her breathing guides him and when she lets out a soft moan and shivers under his lips, he knows he has found a sensitive spot at the crook of her neck. Spurred by her noises, he peppers the freckled skin with kisses and she tilts her head to the side in an approving gesture. Using only the tip of his tongue, he teases her and Palmira moans longingly. She tastes wonderful, sweet and salty at the same time, but something dark stirs in his chest when he senses her pulse through the thin skin on her neck. He ignores it, too aroused by her scent and smell, and continues to let his tongue dance over her neck. The throbbing in his lower body grows impatiently and when Palmira suddenly slips a daring hand between their bodies and gently strokes him through his trousers, he truly understands the word lust. It builds rapidly in him and when he meets her burning gaze, it explodes under his skin.

Unable to stop himself he forces her against the wall and she whimpers when he presses his body against hers. He wants her, no, he needs her, as he has never needed anything or anybody else before. The unspeakable thoughts he used to spend so much time controlling now thunder in his ears. He can hear the frenetic beating of her heart, and when he licks the side of her neck, he feels a sharp sting in his mouth. The dark voice in his head no longer whispers only about the sweet forbidden place between Palmira’s thighs, it also speaks of the immense pleasure that can be found under her skin. If he takes both, nothing will be the same.

Tentatively, he pulls his teeth along her neck and she gasps. In what seems to be pure pleasure, she pleads his name and tries to grind against his thigh. Her revealing dress hinders her and she lets out a frustrated sigh before reaching for the hem. With a radiant smile she pulls it up, allowing him to push his knee between her legs. The warmth he feels through the layers of fabric makes him feral. No wonder he was taught it was the work of the devil when he was young, her incredible heat is more irresistible than he could ever imagine. With a steady grip on her waist, he pulls her harshly against his thigh and once again he is rewarded with her desperate pleading for more.

She fumbles with his belt while she lets her head fall against his shoulder.

”Palmira,” he groans as he rests his hand on the rough wall above her. She lifts her head and meets his hazy gaze and then slowly slides her hand under the fabric of his boxers. When her fingers gently wrap around his throbbing hardness the last of his coherent thoughts are lost. She strokes him teasingly, and in her eyes, he reads a satisfaction so grand he almost does not believe it. Her sensual lips find their way back to his and while her fingers caress him in a way that makes him see stars, her tongue plays a naughty game. Suddenly she pulls her hand away but his protest is silenced by her seductive smile.

”I want to taste you.”

Father Quart swallows hard. He has dreamt about what she now offers more times than he can count, and when she drops to her knees in front of him, he closes his eyes. He can feel her pulling his boxers further down and revealing his state to her. The darkness inside him waits patiently for her next move and suddenly he is afraid to disappoint her.

”Palmira, I—” She interrupts him by closing her lips around the top of his hard shaft and, totally unprepared for the feeling, he pulls in air between his teeth. Briefly, he recalls the first time he fantasized about looking down at her as he does now. He was in his late teenage years, and she was too innocent to be practicing what she now seems to fully enjoy doing.

She takes her time with him, pulls him closer, builds his burning desperation and teases him beyond the border of sanity. He buries his fingers in her fiery locks, and when she moans softly over him, sending vibrations down his shaft, he lets out a rare curse. He is so close, all he needs is for her to go a little deeper, a little harder. As if she can hear his thoughts, she intensifies her divine treatment. His voice feels raspy when he speaks.

“I will not last if you continue doing that.” His grip on her locks tightens when she grabs his thighs and urges him to rock his hips against her. “Palmira, I mean it.”

He groans loudly as he feels his groin tense. She makes no attempt to stop the inevitable and, torn between the need to finish and the desire to keep going, he eventually succumbs to the pleasure between her red lips. With a steady grip on her hair, he lets his feral side lead him to his climax.

Father Quart has to steady himself against the wall as Palmira rises to her feet with a mischievous smile on her angelic lips. Unable to find the right words, he lets his fingertips do it for him. Gently, he caresses her cheek and sneaks his hand around her neck to pull her closer. Palmira wraps her slender arms around him and their embrace feels more intimate than ever before. He breathes in her wonderful unique scent, her fresh, slightly flowery perfume, the alluring sweet smell of her arousal and the faint trace of him left on her. A less sensitive nose would easily have missed all the different smells, but Father Quart maps them in his memory.

Suddenly the moment is disturbed by the vibrations from the phone in his pocket. Tempted to ignore it, he let his tongue dance around hers again but then he remembers the time and that nobody except two people call him at this hour. Neither of them can be ignored. He pulls out his phone with an apologetic smile. The display announces a call from Dr Moretti. With a frown on his face he turns his gaze to Palmira. “I have to take this. I am sorry.”

“I should go. We can talk tomorrow, perhaps?”

He nods. It might be best since he has no idea what the good doctor wants.

“Let me out.” She nods at the door while he answers and the friendly voice of his mother’s doctor seeps from the speaker. He hurries to the door and unlocks it. While she puts on her coat and slips out in the dark he tries to focus on his call and not on what is left of her taste in his mouth, the evidence of their sinful encounter.

***

The color has returned to his mother’s cheeks; he notices the positive change as soon as he steps up to her bed. Her eyes seem brighter than the previous days and her smile lighter, as if a weight has been lifted from her chest. He smiles at her and she reaches for his hand as soon as he sits down in the old, creaky armchair. Her doctor had called him to ask if he knew what could have made such a sudden change in her health condition. Without revealing too much, Father Quart had told him that they had cleared the air regarding things from his childhood and he suspected that it made his mother feel more at ease.

“You look different… more relaxed.” His mother’s loving eyes rest on him. The memory of Palmira on her knees comes to his mind but he refuses to let her magnificent skills distract him now.

“It is because you look less troubled today, mother. Have you slept well?”

She nods and it fills his heart with love. He holds up a small paper bag with the city’s well known bakery’s logo on it.

“Lorenzo,” she chuckles softly, “you are spoiling me.”

He beams at her. “Nonsense. Coffee or just some still water?”

“I think I will try coffee today. My body is filled with more energy than it has been for a long time. But I prefer to sit on the sofa. Let us enjoy whatever sweets you brought there, it feels more civilized.”

Hours later, alone in his apartment, Father Quart gets ready for bed. The evening at his mother went by fast, as it does when you are having a pleasant time, and his mother even challenged him to a game of cards. He managed to keep the thoughts of Palmira at bay for most of the evening and it is not until now, when he lies in bed, that he welcomes the thoughts again. Only this time, he has a real memory to build his fantasy around, far better than anything his own brain could come up with.

Her name is the only word he lets out when his ragged breathing peaks and the work of his hand helps his tense body to relax.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knitastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

#richard armitage #fanfiction #father quart #father quart x oc #father quart fic #father quart fanfic #the man from rome #the seville communion #la piel del tambor #fanfic

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