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Thomas wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t.
After getting over the initial shock of Vincent’s revelation, he found that it had only increased the deep, unconditional love he felt for the newly elected pope. Vincent’s body was miraculous, even Christ-like when he allowed his most blasphemous of thoughts to slip through.
As their relationship inevitably turned romantic and then sexual, Thomas cherished every opportunity to lay his hands upon Vincent’s bare skin, creeping lower and lower until, like his namesake, he could press his fingertips inside the one he loved—
And yet…
“You’d thought about it back then?” Vincent asks, delighted, as they lie curled together in bed after a healthy bout of lovemaking. As he reached his climax, Thomas had babbled something about desiring Vincent from the moment he’d laid eyes upon him, and Vincent is refusing to let it go. “About us, as lovers?”
Thomas blushes. They’ve been together for long enough now that he is learning to be open about his thoughts and desires, but he’s still English and Catholic; it’s a work in progress. “Of course, my dear. I am not blind; I’m sure every cardinal in the room was as enchanted by your beauty as I was, that first day. I can’t be the only one who lost sleep over it.”
Vincent giggles, the sound as charming as always. “And what exactly did you think about?” he asks mischievously, snuggling closer into the crook of Thomas’s neck.
“Oh, goodness.” The blush is spreading down Thomas’s chest now. He turns his face into Vincent’s hair so he doesn’t have to look at him. “Well, I- I suppose I- that is, I didn’t yet know about your ‘situation’, so in my mind the- the acts were somewhat… different.”
“The acts?” Vincent sounds confused. To be fair, by this point they’ve done basically everything available to two men of their ages and anatomies. “Is there someth— oh! Thomas!” He sits up abruptly, looking down at his lover.
Thomas squeezes his eyes shut, as if he is a child who believes that the world around him will disappear if he can’t see it.
“Thomas, mi amor, did you think about me fucking you?”
There it is, out in the open. Of course he had! Who could meet such a beautiful, angelic creature as Vincent and not want him to have his way with you? Thomas had imagined it a stunning number of times throughout the relatively short conclave: Vincent gently laying him down in his bed at the Casa Santa Marta; Vincent taking him roughly on all fours, face pressed into the mattress; even one remarkably sinful fantasy of Vincent bending him over a table in the Sistine Chapel as his first official act as pope.
So, yes, he had been disappointed to learn that Vincent didn’t have a cock in the traditional sense. Not because he thought any lesser of Vincent for it, or that it made him any less of a man. No, he was only disappointed that he would never feel Vincent’s cock pressed into the deepest, most intimate parts of his body.
“Mi querido, look at me, please.”
Thomas peeks through his lashes to see Vincent hovering worriedly over him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, gut churning with guilt over his own greed. “I am not ungrateful for what we have — for what you have given me, my love. You are perfect as you are, as God has made you; I would not wish to change a thing.”
Vincent cocks his head, studying him closely. “I know that, mi amor. But that is something you would have wanted from me? If it were possible?”
“It doesn’t matt—“
“Shh.” Vincent lays a soft finger on Thomas’s lips, effectively halting his protests. “Just answer my question. Let me worry about what does or does not matter.”
After a moment, Thomas takes a deep breath and silently nods on the exhale. It feels like a weight off his body, confessing this secret. He had fantasized; that fantasy had not come true; worse things have happened. He is so incredibly lucky to have Vincent exactly as he is.
***
A month later, Thomas has all but forgotten about the conversation when he is called into the head of security’s office to examine a suspicious package addressed to the Holy Father.
“‘Shipping Fulfillment Center’,” Thomas muses, running a curious finger along the return label. “That’s rather non-specific, I would say.”
“We’ve already checked it for bombs and contaminants,” the officer tells him gruffly. “Our dogs didn’t pick up anything, and the x-ray came back clear. Normally, we’d open any package sent to His Holiness, just in case. But, erm…”
Thomas removes his reading glasses, storing them safely in his cassock. “But?” he prompts the officer, one eyebrow raised. “But what? You know His Holiness’s safety takes precedence over all else.”
“Of course, Your Eminence,” the man assures him. “It’s just… the Holy Father told us he was expecting something special in the mail, and that we were not to open it under any circumstances.
Thomas’s other eyebrow raises to join the first. “I see. And so you called me in here to take care of it, so you needn’t face the prospect of directly opposing the Pope’s orders?”
The officer scratches his head, eyes down. “Well… yes, Your Eminence.”
Thomas sighs; another day, another thing to manage. “All right, I’ll take care of it.” He scoops up the box: it’s surprisingly light for its size, but otherwise unremarkable. He sends up a quick prayer that the security team really had examined it to the best of their abilities.
Luckily, the day is at its end and it’s nearly time for him to meet Vincent in his rooms for their nightly “debrief”. Thomas hums as he strolls through the Vatican grounds, turning the mysterious package this way and that. What could Vincent have purchased that required such secrecy? The thought makes him blush, though he’s not entirely sure why.
Back at the Casa Santa Marta, Vincent answers the door at the first knock, as if he was standing just inside the room waiting for Thomas to arrive. His eyes grow wide as he sees what Thomas is holding. “Oh! Is that for me?” He ushers Thomas inside, closing the door behind them and eagerly reaching for the box.
Feeling slightly foolish, Thomas holds it out of his reach. “Vincent, darling, wait a moment. What is this? The security team were very concerned that you asked them not to open it; you know we can’t take such risks to your safety. They wouldn’t even let me in the same room as this box until they brought in the bomb squad.”
Instead of looking chastised, Vincent merely smiles, eyes twinkling. “I promise you it is not a bomb. Now, let me have that, and all will be revealed shortly.”
Reluctantly, Thomas hands over the box. He knows logically that he should insist on opening it first, but it’s so difficult to say no to Vincent these days. To his surprise, instead of placing the package on his table to open, Vincent retreats into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Thomas is left waiting alone in the sitting room, his curiosity growing. He takes the chance to remove his cassock and fold it neatly over a chair: their time alone together each evening is a precious bubble away from the rest of the world, so there’s no need for him to remain in his formal wear. He takes off his dog collar as well, setting it on the table and loosening the top two buttons of his simple black shirt as he settles into the space.
Blessedly, he does not have to wait for long: a few minutes later, he hears Vincent call out “you can come in now!”
The sight that greets him as he enters Vincent’s bedroom is one that will stick with him as long as he lives, and possibly beyond.
Vincent is stretched out on the bed, naked; this in and of itself is not an uncommon sight. What’s new is the garment — if Thomas can even call it that — adorning his crotch and hips, and sticking straight up from that—
“Do you like my cock?” Vincent smiles sweetly, as if he has not shocked Thomas to his very core. He lightly grips the base of the dildo attached to his not-garment, as if showing it off. “I got it just for you.”
“Wh- what?” Thomas sputters, stuck in the doorway. Vincent lifts a finger, beckoning him near, and Thomas stumbles forward to meet him, catching himself on the edge of the bed.
“It’s called a strap-on!” Vincent explains excitedly. He runs a hand over the — well, the straps , one supposes — buckled around his waist and upper thighs. “You put on this harness, slide the dildo in here, and then you can – well – use it!”
Tentatively, Thomas runs his fingers over the harness. The manufacturing is excellent: high-quality white leather with gold stitching, which might have been a little too on-the-nose if Vincent didn’t look so damn good in white. The dildo, too, seems well made — not that Thomas has ever examined one up close before. It’s slightly longer than Thomas’s own cock, girthy, and colored remarkably similar to Vincent’s skin tone. All in all, it’s—
“Perfect,” Thomas breathes. “Oh, my dear Vincent, it suits you, it really does.”
Vincent blushes slightly under the praise, wiggling his hips alluringly. “I like what I have under here,” he says, “but this feels nice, too.”
“May I?” Thomas asks softly, fingers hovering over the silicon. He takes a seat next to Vincent’s legs, making himself comfortable.
Vincent’s new cock fits almost too well in Thomas’s hand, like it was designed just for him. He gives it a few preliminary strokes, before giving in to his baser instincts and leaning down to take the head into his mouth.
“Oh!” He hears Vincent gasp. “Oh, Thomas, you look so beautiful like that.”
It’s been decades since Thomas has sucked a cock of this shape, but the muscle memory comes flooding back to him, along with a sense of serenity. He loves going down on Vincent, to the point that he would happily let Vincent ride his face for hours if he could guarantee his neck would recover afterwards. But he has missed this, as well: the weight on his tongue, the way his lips stretch around the girth, the feeling of a cock hitting the back of his throat.
Vincent’s hand comes to settle at the back of his neck, petting the short hairs at his nape as Thomas enjoys himself. When he sneaks a glance, he sees Vincent staring at him wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open as his breathing quickens. Even though Vincent isn’t being directly stimulated, it’s clear he’s enjoying the picture immensely. With one hand gripping the base of the dildo, Thomas sneaks his other hand between all the straps and buckles to rub between Vincent’s legs until he’s shuddering under him. He pulls back once he has had his fill, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Thank you for allowing me that, my love. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed that particular act.”
Vincent blinks, seemingly at a loss for words, and pulls Thomas in to kiss him deeply in response. Thomas moves to straddle his hips, and the feeling of Vincent’s new cock rubbing up against his clothed erection sends sparks through his gut. He moans into the kiss, letting Vincent lead him, move his head as he pleases, surrendering to his lover’s will. His hips jerk forward, seeking more pressure and friction, and Vincent chuckles into his mouth.
“Eager for my cock, mi querido?”
Thomas groans, pressing down against him. “Please, Vincent. Please, I need you. I need to feel you.” He clutches hard at Vincent’s shoulders, already feeling as unmoored as he did the first time they’d made love.
“Patience, Thomas. It’s all right, you have me.” Vincent breaks the kiss, sitting up to flip their positions and pushing Thomas back down against the mattress. He goes easily, spreading his legs for Vincent to slot himself between them. Patience is a virtue, Vincent is always telling him, and yet Thomas still loses a button on his shirt getting undressed. Vincent laughs, pressing his forehead to Thomas’s as they work together to get his pants undone.
Finally, blessedly, he is naked. He will never get tired of feeling Vincent’s skin against his own, but now the friction of the leather harness around his waist and the press of silicon against Thomas’s stomach add extra points of delicious sensation as they rut against each other.
“Vincent, please, I can’t- I need-“ Thomas begs again, hitching one leg around Vincent’s waist in an effort to pull him even closer. He feels like he’s drowning, like Vincent’s cock is the only thing that can give him air.
“Shh, it’s ok, I will take care of you,” Vincent soothes him. “But you must let me go so I can prepare you.”
Reluctantly Thomas releases his tight grip, giving Vincent room to reach into his bedside drawer for their usual bottle of lube. He coats his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the cool liquid, then gently touches one finger to Thomas’s entrance.
They’ve done this part before — again, there is hardly anything they haven’t done — but it feels all the more intense knowing what comes next. Thomas throws his head back, moaning loudly as Vincent presses in and in until he can’t go any further, then draws back and pushes back in a little harder. He yelps as Vincent lightly brushes against his prostate, then whines when he begins to deliberately avoid it.
“We can’t have this over too quickly, can we, mi querido?” Vincent teases, smirking as he adds a second finger. “After all, we have not yet reached the main event.”
Thomas groans at yet another near-miss. “And we never will, if you kill me before you ever get inside me.” Vincent responds with a particularly hard thrust, curling his fingers in just the right way to make Thomas’s leg kick out next to him. “Fuck! Alright, darling, I see your point. I can be patient.”
This promise lasts about as long as it takes for Vincent to add a third finger, after which Thomas feels himself reduced to begging once more. The tip of Vincent’s silicon cock rests against Thomas’s inner thigh as he works, which only heightens Thomas’s arousal. Finally, Vincent deems him sufficiently prepared and sits back, withdrawing his fingers. Thomas tries to suppress another whine at the feeling of emptiness he leaves behind, though from the look on Vincent’s face, he is only mildly successful.
“Are you ready?” Vincent asks, lining up his cock with Thomas’s entrance. Thomas can feel his muscles flutter and clench at the feel of the blunt head pressing against him. He feels desperate and starving.
“Yes, yes ,” he whines, gripping Vincent’s arm. “Please, just fuck me. ”
He’s loose and wet enough that Vincent can slide in in one smooth thrust, straight to the hilt. The feeling is nothing short of divine; he feels full, or more than that: complete . Like this is what he was missing all his life: Vincent’s cock filling him up, stretching him open, molding Thomas’s body to his will. His mouth falls open but no sound escapes as he struggles to breathe through the overwhelming sensation.
“Oh, Thomas, mi amor,” Vincent croons into his ear. “You take me so well. It’s like your body is built to take my cock.”
Thomas’s breath hitches and he cries out, fingers scrabbling at Vincent’s back. “Please, please,” he gasps. “Take me. Make me yours.”
“Mine,” Vincent agrees as he pulls back until only the tip of his strap remains inside Thomas, then thrusts sharply forward. For a man who’s never fucked like this before, he’s incredibly skilled, hitting Thomas’s prostate on the first try.
Thomas shouts, his back arching. “Yes! Oh God, Vincent, yes, just like- just like that-“ He feels his thoughts scattering, his focus narrowing in on the sensations overtaking him: the drag of Vincent’s cock against his inner walls (not exactly like a flesh-and-blood cock, but damn close); the jolt every time Vincent’s hips meet his own; the slide of their bodies against each other, sweat-slick and desperate.
Vincent’s pace is measured and precise, rhythmic enough to be satisfying but with the occasional deviation that makes Thomas yelp, keeping him wound taut in anticipation. He pulls Thomas in for a kiss that’s as targeted as his thrusts. Thomas is helpless but to let Vincent plunder his mouth, moaning around his tongue as he grows closer and closer to the edge.
Panting, Vincent slows, shifting his thrusts from fast and hard to slow and deep. “This is harder than I thought it would be,” he murmurs, pressing his face into Thomas’s neck. “I should start visiting the gym more often, if we’re going to keep doing this.”
Thomas laughs breathlessly, sheer joy filling his lungs and expanding outwards. Vincent wants to do this again . “So good, love,” he praises him. “I’m almost– I just need–“
Despite his inability to form a complete sentence, Vincent gets the hint. He picks up the pace, muscles straining as he pounds into Thomas again and again. Holding himself up with one hand, he snakes the other between their bodies, expertly gripping Thomas’s cock and stroking him in time with his thrusts.
It barely takes another minute before Thomas’s back arches and he comes with a shout, cum streaking thick across his stomach and Vincent’s fingers. Vincent fucks him through it, slowing to a gentle stop as Thomas shudders around him. He presses a firm hand against Thomas’s chest, grounding him as the aftershocks run their course.
Thomas opens his eyes — he doesn’t remember shutting them — to see Vincent beaming at him. He reaches a shaky hand up to caress Vincent’s cheek, heart fluttering as his love presses into his touch.
“Was that everything you had hoped for, mi amor?” Vincent is still smiling, but there’s a note of hesitance in his voice, like he’s not actually sure what the answer will be.
Thomas laughs in disbelief, pulling him down for a kiss. He tries to relay everything he is feeling through his lips and tongue: bone-deep satisfaction mixed with a hunger for more, for anything that Vincent will give him, all wrapped up in immense and all-consuming love.
“I’ll take that as a yes?” Vincent says against his lips between kisses. Thomas laughs again.
“Yes, my love. A thousand times yes.”
***
Later, after Thomas has made Vincent come twice and then a third time in the shower, he can’t help but ask.
“How did that feel, for you? Using the — ahem — strap-on?”
Vincent looks down at Thomas, cradled against his chest. “Does it matter? You know it was all for you, mi vida. I would do anything in my power to make you happy, all the days of my life.”
“Let me worry about what does or doesn’t matter,” Thomas tells him firmly, remembering the conversation that had started this whole thing. As much as he enjoyed Vincent fucking him, he will always put his beloved’s happiness above his own.
Vincent hums, chewing on his lip the way he does when he’s writing on a particularly complicated homily. “It was… strange,” he admits. “I am what God made me, and I have no desire to change any part of myself. I will admit that wearing the device felt comfortable. The cock felt like a natural part of me, rather than a temporary addition – fucking you felt quite natural, too. Good, even. And yet, I feel no loss in taking it off, either. Does that make sense?”
“I understand,” Thomas says, brushing his lips against soft skin. “We all contain multitudes, even the Lord Himself.” Vincent with his own genitals, Vincent with a strap-on – he’ll need to uncover some secret third option if he wants to make the Trinity metaphor really work.
Vincent snorts, tugging lightly at Thomas’s hair. “Thomas, how many times have I told you not to compare me to God?” he chides. “I may be a sinner, but I am still the pope. I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“It’s hard to tell, when you fuck me so well I catch a glimpse of heaven,” Thomas teases him, earning another snort. “Really, though. You were incredible.” He sighs contentedly as Vincent’s fingers weave through his hair.
“I’m glad you thought so.” Vincent grins down at him, fox-like. “Because in all the anticipation of waiting for my package to arrive, I’ve come up with a few fantasies of my own.”
Thomas gulps, both nervous and excited to hear what Vincent has managed to conjure up in his endless imagination. My God, what have I unleashed??