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He should’ve known it would lead to this from the moment he first met him. He should’ve known from the moment those icy blue eyes settled on his cracked lips. He should’ve known from his past ungodly tendencies, and should’ve connected the dots himself.
And yet, he didn’t. He thought himself grown and able to contain any urges he had, though he knew better.
But now, he most certainly knows better.
An innocent plea for the detective to stay, to spend the night to give him peace of mind, to keep him company, has turned into this.
He isn’t sure who initiated the kiss, but all he can taste is cigar smoke on his tongue, and he’s never yearned for that filthy taste and smell so terribly before.
Benoit is everything he has ever wanted in a man, and yet he is completely unique, so unlike anyone he has ever yearned for before. These awful feelings being reciprocated by him feels like a stroke of dumb luck.
He tangles his fingers in his long, ashy blond hair, pulling him closer on his single bed. It’s an awkward fit, legs on top of legs, but he cannot stay away from him. He needs this.
Hands grab his waist far stronger than he anticipated, his breath stolen from him as he’s pinned down to the mattress just like that. Above him now, the older man pauses just to look at him, and lust settles low in his belly.
He should feel ashamed of himself, should feel guilty for indulging in such a terrible sin when he is supposed to be celibate, but the guilt never comes. Not while Benoit is present, at least.
“Please.” He hears himself beg through the fog now clouding his mind. “Blanc.”
The detective shakes his head, a smile still spread across his lips, as he shrugs his expensive jacket off his shoulders. Lord help him, he’s never wanted it so badly before.
“Call me by my first name while we’re doin’ this.” He interjects, his voice a thick drawl.
“Benoit.” Jud tests the name on his lips, swallowing thickly. “It’s been ten years since I’ve done this with anyone. Please don’t tease me.”
That finally earns him some sympathy. Enough for the older man to pop open the button on his trousers and slide them down his legs. He assists by kicking off the bunched up fabric, laying on his bed in only his collared shirt and boxers.
And, mercifully, Benoit doesn’t wait for him to beg again before he’s slipping his hand under his waistband. He tips his head back, sighing in pleasure as he near instantly finds the swell of his clit.
He sheepishly allows himself to look up at the detective, and finds his bright blue eyes glued to his face, darting across his features. He looks reverent. He knows the feeling well, and though blasphemous, he can’t help but preen.
“So big.” The older man murmurs, almost cooing at him as his middle finger circles around him so wonderfully.
Jud cannot fight back the moan building in his chest, nor the raising of his hips. Heat and tension build within him, the older man’s touches slowly becoming audible, humiliatingly slick.
His tongue curls in his mouth, pressing against the back of his teeth, trying to form a word he know he cannot speak. It repeats and repeats in his mind, echoing through his skull with each little swirl of Benoit’s fingers.
“That’s it.” He sighs somewhere above him, but with his eyes shut so tightly he can’t place where. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
He nods, whimpering as he just barely resists the urge to babble nonsense to him. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.
Benoit’s fingers speed up just as he feels himself reach his peak, his back arching up, up, up, until he begins to shake all over. It’s pure euphoria, mind melting and skin tingling.
The older man doesn’t stop until he’s squirming, desperate to free himself from the physical contact between them. He finally opens his eyes again as he slides his hand out of his boxers, his fingers glistening in the low light.
Shame burns his cheeks, bright red as he hides his face in his hands. Shame for his arousal, shame for breaking his celibacy, and shame for that horrid word he almost spoke as he reached his sinful orgasm.
He cannot, will not, allow this to happen again.
♱
It happens again.
The case is closed, all loose ends neatly tied up, no longer on the run from the police. Of course he wants to celebrate, and so does Benoit.
He invites him to his hotel room, and the priest should’ve known better and declined. He should’ve run for the hills, because he swore he would not do this again.
And yet, deep down, he wants to. He cannot resist the urge to. He is a weak, weak man, and the detective knows exactly how to exploit that.
And so, he finds himself laying on a queen sized hotel bed, far more comfortable than his own, with kisses trailing down his neck.
Already, he’s mostly undressed, wearing only his boxers. Above him, Benoit is still fully clothed, though his shirt is unbuttoned some, just enough to see his greying chest hair. His mouth waters.
“Please.” He begs, a hand on the nape of Benoit’s neck, holding him to his own neck, wanting more. “Give it to me.”
The detective groans against his skin, the vibrations of it sending shivers down his spine as he feels him begin to suck. A gasp escapes him as he leaves a hickey just below his collar, hidden from plain sight, but sinful all the same.
He rises from his neck, and Jud quickly pulls him down to taste his lips. It’s awful, and speaks to this thing between them meaning more than just sex, and he hates that it’s so good.
A tongue slides into his mouth, and he allows it to dance with his own, slick and wet until all he can taste is the other man’s spit. It’s filthy, and yet he wants more.
He raises his hips in search of contact, and finds it. Benoit is already hard, tenting his rich trousers, but before he can grind himself against him, hands are pinning his hips to the bed.
“Behave yourself.” He chuckles breathlessly as they part, his brows pinching together as Jud whines. “Just give me a moment.”
And, as he feels the urge to protest, the word bubbles up in his throat yet again. He glances away shamefully, his fight dying down as the older man leans over him to reach the nightstand.
He retrieves a bottle of lubricant before he settles back between the priest’s thighs, and pops open the cap. In response, he removes the last article of clothing on his body.
Benoit smiles down at him as he pours the liquid into his own palm, warming it between his hands and coating his fingers in it. He spreads his legs in anticipation.
This is far from the first time he’s had sex, but it’s been so many years. Sure, he’s masturbated plenty, but his own fingers just aren’t the same. He’s so bored of touching himself.
Benoit makes him want to be selfish for once. Being with him like this makes him yearn for things he never would’ve realised he wanted without him. It’s frightening, but comforting all the same.
He looks up at him as his middle and ring finger slide into him, his breath hitching before he calms. It feels so right, he feels so full. He never wants this thing between them to stop.
“You can say it.” Benoit encourages, all seeing, all knowing. “I’d like you to say it.”
Jud bites his lip, his toes curling into the bedsheets as the older man’s fingers begin to curl inside him. He closes his eyes, melting into the feeling, panting.
“Daddy.” He mutters, his voice still quiet with shame.
Benoit responds by sliding a third finger into him, and the resounding squelch only proves his own arousal. It’s such an embarrassing desire to have, but Benoit is placating him so sweetly. Rewarding him, even.
“Yes?” He answers, gentle as he begins curling his three digits.
Jud chuckles, though it dissolves into another moan as those beautiful, searching fingers find his sweet spot. His thighs begin to shake.
“I’m ready.” He announces firmly, reaching down between his legs to grasp the detective’s wrist. “I want to come with you inside me.”
And, for all of his charm and confidence, that finally seems to crack the persona of Benoit Blanc. Not a second later, he’s completely undressing.
Each layer of clothing that’s removed, tossed carelessly around his hotel room, only makes him ache more and more. For a man his age, he’s in awfully good shape.
As he lays down over him, pouring more lube into his palm to ease the glide of their bodies, Jud reaches up to run his hands across his chest. The thick, almost white, hair there tickles his palms.
“When’s the last time you’ve done this?” He asks out of the blue, purely out of curiosity.
Benoit smiles, full of mirth, as he shakes his head. Jud raises himself up on his elbows to watch as the older man coats his cock in a thick, glossy layer of lubricant. He spreads his legs a little wider.
“A good few years.” Benoit confesses, leaning forward to slide the tip through the warm folds of Jud’s opening. “Are you ready?”
The priest inhales sharply at the sensation, so familiar but so foreign to him now. He chooses to watch, nodding minutely as Benoit notches himself at his entrance.
“Please, Daddy.” He begs quietly, and that’s all it takes.
Slowly, inch by inch, he’s stretched and stretched until their bodies are completely interlocked. It aches pleasantly, being so full after so many years of feeling so empty. And, lord help him, Benoit is by no means small.
He curls his legs around his waist, biting his lip hard to ground himself, his mind nearly floating off into space. The detective’s mouth finds his throat yet again, sweet and so hungry.
“Daddy.” He sighs, his confidence growing each time that terrible little word leaves his lips.
Benoit groans against his skin, his peach fuzz scraping against him as he feels him throb inside himself. It’s little more than a twitch, but if that little movement doesn’t inflate his ego.
“Please move.” He murmurs, pressing his mouth to the shell of Benoit’s ear. “Please, Daddy.”
His hips buck forward, thrusting in deep enough that Jud has to scramble to find his footing, pressing his feet to the bed for stability. He really did forget how good this feels.
Benoit paces himself, not quite slow, but effortlessly sensual. Every thrust ends in a grind, a roll of his hips, giving Jud time to savour and memorise every inch of him. And, fuck, it feels incredible.
He’s moaning freely before he can even think of stopping himself, his hands sliding up and down the older man’s back. He has to consciously stop his eyes from rolling or shutting, trying so hard to focus on the sight of the man above him.
“You’re so beautiful.” Benoit whispers to him, full of sincerity.
Embarrassingly, Jud audibly grows wetter from his praise. He’s certain that God is staring down at him in disappointment, and yet he never wants this to end. He is a blasphemous man to enjoy this.
The priest pulls the detective down by his hair for an obscene kiss, open mouthed and hungry. He licks over his teeth, the roof of his mouth, and sucks on his tongue until neither of them can breathe.
And still, he chases his mouth when the part, wanting more and more until Benoit is forced to grab ahold of his face to keep him still. His insides pulse, tight and hot with pleasure.
“Stay still for Daddy.” He orders, his voice still buttery smooth, even like this.
He nods his head absentmindedly, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth as Benoit presses his hand to his abdomen, slowly inching down. He babbles almost incoherently.
“Please, Daddy, I need it.” He begs, his voice pitching and cracking. “Please, I’m going to come. I need to come. Please.”
Benoit smiles down at him for a moment, watching him intently as his fingers find his clit. It barely takes a few quick rubs before he’s squirming, but Benoit doesn’t stop.
He thrusts and rubs and pants above him, watching him enraptured by him. He cradles his cheek in his palm with one hand as he strokes his bud with the other until he can’t take it anymore.
“Daddy.” He whimpers, pawing at his chest, his legs coiled tight around his hips.
Benoit doubles over, pressing their foreheads together as he finally reaches his own orgasm. He pants, hot and heavy, directly into his mouth, and he tastes like smoke.
Not once did he understand smoking before he met Benoit Blanc. But now, he doesn’t know if he can live without the addictive smell and taste of him.
“Thank you.” He says, their bodies still interlocked, covered in sweat and other fluids, in desperate need of a shower.
“Say it again.” Benoit mumbles against the tattooed side of his neck, desperation lacing his tone.
Jud takes a deep breath, now knowing for certain that they’ll be doing this again, no matter how wrong it might be.
“Thank you, Daddy.”