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The hem of your night gown grazes the marble ground in the same way it always did on your late evening walks, though on this night the sound grates particularly harshly at your ears. Everything was so loud tonight; the thunderous ticking of the ancient grandfather clock in your quarters had kept you from your slumber for hours, tossing and turning until you simply couldn’t suffer the barrage of sound and thought any longer. You had rolled violently out of bed and trudged out into the quiet hall, bare feet padding feverishly against the shock of the cold marble floor.
Your thoughts had been racing, your pulse on edge until you had stormed out into the hall, finally reaching a lull in the storm of swirling thoughts that had swept you away from yourself. Your feet carry you down the hall, taking turn after turn with some purpose or direction unbeknownst to your brain until you find yourself standing at the mouth of the ministry chapel, staring down the walkway to the confessional booth. Had your bewitched feet consulted your mind about this decision, you would likely still be in bed braving the tempest within it.
You are here now, though. Perhaps Satan himself had bid you to come confess, to relinquish the racing thoughts of your mind by way of forcibly expelling them, exorcising the thoughts completely and handing them to someone more qualified to take them on.
That someone, you see now from the gap in the curtains which reveals only the toes of his fine shoes, sits waiting in his designated side of the confessional as though he had somehow known to expect you. How long had he been here simply awaiting your arrival? Had he truly been awaiting you? It would be cruel to linger in the doorway any longer and further prolong his wait, surely…
Your feet carry you toward the booth, though you still aren’t quite sure if they move at the behest of your will. You feel like a ghost, floating toward what you can only pray will be salvation from the callous grip your own mind. The wood floor of the booth is much more forgiving to the touch of your bare feet than the icy marble had been as you slowly take a seat. Darkness envelopes you as you slide the curtain closed, save for a sliver of moonlight from the gap in the curtain which casts an accusatory beam across your face.
“Come to confess, child?” The low, rumbling drawl of his voice shocks you from the trance that had carried you to him.
You find that your shoulders tremble, though it couldn’t be all that cold in the chapel; the sun had been warm and balmy earlier in the day and heated the air that hung in vaulted ceilings for hours, surely that warmth still lingered. Why then did you feel so chilled?
“Yes, Papa.” Your voice slithers from your throat like bile your stomach seizes to rid itself of.
“Do not be afraid, sorella. I am here to listen. Lay bare the sorrows of your soul to me and I shall guide you toward the healing light of Satanas.”
You swallow against the sour taste of your own throat. “Forgive me, Papa. I have sinned.”
“What is the manner of sin you wish to confess, sorella?” His voice is warmer now, a comfort to the sting in your soul. You sense that he has recognized you by your voice, though he tries to conceal it.
Your pulse thrums in your ears. “Sinful thoughts, Papa.” You whisper, and the wood creaks as he shifts in his seat on the other side of the wall, likely straining to hear you clearly.
“What is the nature of these thoughts? Tell your Papa and be free of the burden of your sin,” he soothes. It’s something at least, a marginal breeze to the blazing fire in your chest.
Your fingers tremble as you interlock them together at your lap, nervously tapping your heel against the floor of the confessional booth. “I… Have been having these thoughts about myself, Papa… Bad thoughts…” You whisper, voice trembling in time with the anxious bounce of your heel. “I know that Satan tells us to love thyself, to see thyself as a perfect unholy creation… I have been plagued by thoughts opposite to these, Papa. Evil thoughts which keep me awake at night.”
A moment of silence passes between you through the wall of the booth. “Go on, dolce sorella. I cast no judgement upon your confessions here, you know this.” His voice is softer yet, trying to coax the foul thoughts from your lips. His voice is collected and patient, as if there weren’t a thousand other things he might need to be attending to at this very moment.
“We are told to love each other freely, to be with one another in love and in lust, and I try, Papa… but my thoughts keep me from this. They tell me I’m unworthy, that I am… grotesque, that I would be a curse to the eyes of anyone I forced to look upon me,” You whisper, lip trembling as you struggle to speak, the muscles of your throat contracting, threatening to silence your confession before it is finished.
You hear him loose a sympathetic groan. “Ohhh, sorella. Has someone placed these wicked thoughts in your head?” He croons.
The dam of your emotions begins to crumble at the sound of that sweet sympathy in his warm voice, and you sputter out a whimpered, “No, Papa,” tears beginning to well in your eyes.
“Then why do you think such untrue thoughts, tesoro?” The soothing tone in his voice only deepens, and you can hear him speaking almost directly into your ear, like he has his face pressed against the fine wood lattice of the wall on the other side of the booth.
“I… I don’t know. I just… I just have them, they are of my own mind, I know that… and I want to be like the rest of my sisters and brothers, I want to be… confident, to honor Satan, and find solace in carnal pleasures, in affairs of the heart, but my mind feeds me these sins, that I would only disgust whoever I engaged in them with.” Tears spill over the ridge of your eyelids now, rolling in thick beads down your cheeks. You hadn’t voiced these feelings before to anyone, let alone to Terzo himself, a man whose opinion of you mattered so profoundly.
Your profuse and tearful contrition proves too much for Terzo to bear, and he abandons the practiced structure of confessional entirely. “Tesoro, the Dark Lord would not wish for you to think such foul things of yourself. Surely you have been with others who have worshipped you as a woman’s body should be worshipped, seen you and appreciated what you have to give.” He sounds so saddened by your confession it makes your chest hurt, guilt pouring over you like so much warm water.
“I’m sorry, Papa, I… I try to ignore them, try to make them go away but they’re there, always. They tear through my mind while I try to sleep at night.” You whimper, tears still rolling down your face, a pathetic, hiccuping sob escaping your lips, pure embarrassment coursing through you as you humiliate yourself with your own insecurities before him, despite the thin veneer of anonymity the wall of the confessional booth provides.
“No one has tried proving to you that these ugly thoughts you have about yourself are false?” He coos, that syrupy sympathy simply oozing from him now.
You feel yourself flush shamefully as you begin to recall such intimate details of yourself to him, though you know this too is a sin; you should feel entirely free to do so to Terzo of all people.
“I hardly allow such situations to even occur… Each time I’ve… been with someone, I only leave with a new thought for my mind to torment me with in the night.” You admit, letting your head rest against the wall of the booth. You can hear him breathing on the other side of the thin wood panel, though it’s too dark to see him through the latticed wood wall.
“Mi dispiace, cara sorella. You should not hold such false thoughts of yourself. I am sorry no one has known how to love you properly.” It’s surprisingly caring and earnest, particularly coming from a man whom you knew could often be quite the philanderer. A warm flush takes hold of your cheeks, and you scrub at your face, smearing your salty tears away with the backs of your hands.
“Papa… I don’t know how to free myself from these thoughts.” You whisper, desperate for salvation, for some deliverance from your own mind.
He does not answer. Nothing interrupts the silence for a long moment, and you briefly wonder if you’ve stumped even him, until finally you can just make out the rustle of clothes and the slide of the curtain on his side of the confessional that follows. This was the opposite of conventional confession; you were supposed to bare your soul, be able to get up, exit the booth and go back to bed with your anonymity maintained, though you knew it was long lost by now. The thought of it at least, the idea that come tomorrow Terzo wouldn’t even know to see you any differently than he had before you stepped into the booth, somewhat comforted you.
The sliver of light pouring over you broadens to drench your entire face in the cool glow of the moon as a gloved hand peels the curtain back, revealing you to him. He looms over you, expression obscured by shadow. The only thing you see is his silhouette in the moonlight as he offers an outstretched hand toward you. You take it, sniffling quietly, not wanting to seem any more pathetic before him than you had already proven yourself to be. His hand does not enclose yours, merely sits politely beneath your touch to pull you to your feet.
As you rise and step out of the booth you finally glimpse his face, a warm, compassionate look resting gently on his striking features. “Don’t cry over such false thoughts, cara.” He murmurs, pulling you by your hand until your face meets the silky fabric of the front of his cassock. He wraps an arm chastely around your shoulders, tucking you into his chest. You stiffen for a moment, unsure of yourself as Terzo strips away all remaining social convention in the dim moonlight. He drops your hand in favor of pulling you into a slightly warmer embrace, and you find that you melt against him, a soft whimper escaping your lips, muffled by the fine fabric against them.
“Shh, dolcezza mia.” You feel him tuck your head under his chin, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “Has someone said something to you, to make you believe these things?” He tries asking again, and you wonder if he thinks he has some better chance at honesty from you now that you lacked the formality of the confessional booth. He knows you trust him; you quite often spoke with him at length, entertained long conversations with one another regarding all manner of topics, and you could count yourself lucky to be closer with him than many of your other siblings, but now you feel so raw, so exposed before him.
Still, you can’t help but melt into his chest as his hands run slow, soothing circles along your back and shoulders. You’re surprised by how far he seems willing to bend beyond the expectations of his roll to comfort you now; even considering your relative closeness, he had never held you like this. Honestly, you are soothed more by that than almost anything else. If the rest of the world agreed with the thorny thoughts that clouded your mind, that you were disgusting, repulsive, unlovable, at least Terzo seemed to care, seemed not to believe them to be true.
“Some of the things… Yes.” You admit quietly. “A long while ago now,” and you flush to admit how much a romance so deep in your past still impacts you, how those seeds of self doubt had grown, fertilized by time, into festering, rotting wounds.
“Poor sorella,” He sighs, his hands stilling on your back as he leans away from you just enough to take your chin in one of his gloved hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “These tears disgrace your beauty, tesoro.”
You hate yourself for the whimper that escapes you in response to such praise from Terzo. “Papa… I don’t know what to do. My thoughts eat me alive.” You breathe, and you try your best not to shy away from his intense gaze.
You watch as an idea clearly crosses his mind, his eyes briefly casting away from yours into the middle distance, his mind caught up in thought for a fleeting second. He reaches once again for your hand, pinching your fingers between the edge of his palm and his thumb, lifting your knuckles to his face. He doesn’t break your eye contact as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your hand. “Perhaps you just need to be shown that these lies you believe about yourself are simply untrue.”
You tense slightly, thinking of all the ways in which he could possibly have meant those words.
“See, you are so quick not to even believe that I would want such things from you. Me.” He teases, clearly hoping to draw a smile to your tear stained face.
You flush, bright and hot across the planes of your cheeks, ears warming at the directness of his statement. “I don’t want you to do anything… with me, just to make me feel better.” You shake your head, already feeling shameful at the thought.
“Who says I haven’t already wanted to do things with you, tesoro?” You know him, have heard him speak to you and others well enough to know he isn’t lying, and that makes you flush all the brighter. He presses a slow, deliberate kiss to each of the four knuckles atop your hand. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, sorella. I understand you have kept yourself from enjoying the body of another for some time because of these thoughts, si?”
You nod, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.
“I will never ask you to do anything you do not wish to do, bellissima.” He vows, running a thumb atop your fingers, still held with the gentlest pressure between his. You could pull your hand back any time, should you wish to. “What I do want from you, is to tell me all of the things you see your siblings of sin doing that you think, for whatever reason, you cannot have. Tell me which desires you would act on if you felt all these pesky thoughts fly away. Can you do that for me, tesoro?”
He has such a sweet look in his eyes that you simply couldn’t say no to him if you wanted to, which you find, you don’t. “It’s… It will sound so silly to you,” You murmur shyly, “you’ve so much more experience than I do.”
“Nonsense, amore. No such thing as a silly desire.” The kind twinkle in his eye is the only thing that keeps you from backing down from this request which threatens to embarrass you to the point of death.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you do your best to summon the will to confess to him some of your simple desires. As they leave your lips, you hear just how ridiculous it all sounds, and the shameful flush bleeds further across your face, spreading to your ears. “I… See others kissing each other in the halls, so free of fear that someone might see them… I fear that I would embarrass anyone were I in their position… I wish to hold another’s hand, though mine are sweaty and hot. I wish to lie with someone, to let them remove my clothing from me without… embarrassment.” You cringe to yourself, brows furrowed, eyes still closed. You find it’s the only way you can continue.
“I… want to be able to be with someone… but I’m afraid the odor of my body will disgust them, or that they will look beneath my clothes and see the marks of time on my skin, the lesions on my sides where I have allowed my appetite to get the better of me, that they will see the way my stomach extends and… I worry that, should someone find themselves between my legs, that they will think me a wretched sight. I see my sisters… none of them have these shameful traits, nor do they ever seem ashamed of themselves. They are all so beautiful, and I find that… the sin of jealousy controls me.” another tear slips past the defenses of your squeezed-shut eyelids.
You feel a gentle leather clad finger brush it away. “Will you look at me, cara?”
It is a feat of strength to pry your eyes open, shame having willed them to press tightly closed.
The sorrowful look on his face is enough to strike the air from your lungs. “You are inches away from me and I smell only lilacs, tesoro.”
The sincerity of such a simple statement, the way he speaks it like a vow, wrenches a sob from your throat.
“You trust me to speak truth to you, si?” He asks tenderly, and you can only nod.
“I don’t know how you have come to be convinced by such hateful thoughts. You will have to forgive me for being so improper, but… mia cara… your flowing hips are not something any man would look at with disgust. Your eyes must deceive you in your mirror, you take up no more space than any other woman in these halls. Were I the one between your legs I would marvel at every bit of flesh I could get my hands on. We all have these places where time has marked us. Do you see the lines in my face or the way the skin of my neck does not hug so tightly to me anymore, as disgusting things?” He asks benevolently.
In a rush to assure him that it isn’t the same, you immediately shake your head. “No, Papa… But you are beautiful, so handsome, there is not a sibling of sin who doesn’t want you.”
He smiles, clearly affected by the fact that you would say so, and that astonishes you. You knew well that he was showered in constant compliments on a daily basis, yours should be a mere one of countless others. “They are attracted to my station more than they are attracted to me, cara mia. They long to be nearer to Satan, and they believe that fucking me would bring them that. Status. I cannot blame them for this, but it is a fact of my life. Just because people are not throwing themselves at your feet everywhere you go does not mean that you would disgust someone should you choose to pursue them.”
The flush that had colored your cheeks burns bright now, and you can’t help but briefly entertain the idea of Terzo being the one between your legs in this hypothetical scenario, running his hands reverently over you, over the parts of you of which you are most insecure. The last man that had been in that position hadn’t made you feel so special. The thought admittedly spurs your pulse to race.
“I am afraid to bear myself to someone, my flaws… and be discarded.” Here lies the root of all of this, you realize. Something unclips itself from the insides of your ribs.
Terzo tuts his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You are too hard on yourself. Too sentimental, especially for these filthy halls, dolce ragazza. You are looking for affection and devotion in places others are simply looking to have their itches scratched.” He pets a hand along the side of your head, a thumb sweeping over the ridge of your cheekbone. “You say you want carnal pleasures, but it sounds as though you want them with all those nice, comfortable feelings which only really come with love, carissima.”
Your face burns bright now and you cast your gaze downward. He was calling you naive. It wasn’t as though he was wrong, you know he’s right, but coming from someone as experienced as he was in the very thing you’re confessing you’ve been afraid of doesn’t help to settle your nerves. Being read so plainly by him, right where your deepest insecurities lay, feels more revealing than if you were to simply disrobe before him.
“You have still not really told me of your desires, only your fears.” He hums, carefully taking a lock of hair from your face, gingerly tucking it behind your ear. There is a look in his eyes now, one which you’ve not seen in them before, that makes you want to burst into flames.
Finally your gaze lifts begrudgingly to his. You’re certain you’ve never felt more discomposed than you do in this moment, unsure of your current ability to even string together a coherent sentence. Still, you try. “I guess it’s because… I don’t know.” You admit, voice a mere whisper. “I don’t know what to want because I haven’t let myself even really consider it. I just see others,” you breathe, gathering your composure to continue holding his gaze, “their carefree ability to indulge in each other… And I feel like I’ll never have it.”
Terzo pulls back from you, a kind hand on your shoulder now, and you find you are briefly heartbroken by the sudden absence of those doting touches he had been gently lavishing over you.
“Tell me if this is overstepping, cara mio.” He drops his hand, finally removing every point of contact from him. The earnest look in his eye has taken on another quality, something you could have missed had you merely glanced at him. You think it almost resembles sheepishness, something you’ve never seen on his face. He’d always been so overly confident, so self assured. “I think you just need to climb into bed with someone you trust and let yourself go, let them show you that you are worthy as the rest of us. More so, if you ask me,” he winks softly down at you, and your chest clenches.
“Trust that Satanas wishes for you to experience the pleasures of the flesh just as much as any of his children. Know that he would never allow whomever you chose to judge you, bella anima.” He takes a soft breath, and you’re almost sure he hesitates before continuing, “I would do this with you if you wished. Though I would of course understand if you wished for someone else.”
It hadn’t really even crossed your mind until this very moment how truly strange it was that Terzo had never before propositioned you. He had his choice of the ministry’s finest, sure, but now that you gave it more thought, you were the one within the congregation who spent the most time with him, who knew him beyond his carnal desires and sexual proclivities. Why had it taken until now for him to suggest it with you? Surely you seemed like the easiest target of them all, you held stimulating conversations, confided deep fears and worries within one another, shared quiet meals from time to time, took frequent evening walks through the gardens together. You had always assumed it was that he simply didn’t see you as someone worthy of a dalliance with when there were so many more beautiful candidates roaming the halls, or that he even saw you as a candidate at all.
Something in the way his eyes watch for your reply so intently now, a worried crease forming in between his strong brows, makes you wonder if perhaps he saw this situation differently somehow from his other exploits. Your heart violently batters the walls of your chest as you try to sort through all of these possibilities in your mind. You want to say yes, accept his invitation, climb into bed with him and pretend everything was fine. Of course you had thought about it before, there wasn’t a sibling who hadn’t. Terzo made it impossible with his natural charm, and you had the added benefit of actually knowing him. Still, the thoughts sting in your mind. “Terzo…” You whisper, and you can hardly hear your own voice over the pounding in your ears. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
His expression now twists into something else entirely. “Cara ragazza… You could not disappoint me if you tried.”
The words send a jolt through your chest. He sounds so candid, so deeply sincere that it makes your bones ache. This time you are the one who reaches out to him, pressing your hands into his. “It wouldn’t… change anything?” You ask, feeling suddenly very stupid. Of course it would, you knew that was how this all worked, it was one of the reasons the notion frightened you when it came to being intimate with anyone, let alone with the person you were closest with, possibly in the entire ministry. “You wouldn’t look at me differently… avoid me in the gardens, in the halls?”
He immediately seizes your hands, bringing them to his chest, pressing your fingers to his heart. “Lo giuro, it would change nothing, la mia preziosa ragazza. Nothing could keep me from bothering you with our little chats. No one else will have me, I’ve annoyed everyone else to their limits,” he teases, giving your hands a meaningful squeeze.
The way his words spill from his lips, almost desperately, is proof enough for you that he means them, with or without his swearing to it. Still, the idea scares you. “You promise me that… if I disappoint you… We could pretend like nothing happened?” You plead softly, looking down at your mess of fingers still pressed to the fine silk clothing his chest.
“Angelo mio…” He all but purrs, lifting one of your hands from his chest to his lips again, only this time he presses a meticulous kiss to the pads of each of your five fingers, slowly, meticulously. “I cannot promise you this, only because it would mean keeping my hands away from you every time I see you in this beautiful night dress, which is already so difficult for me as it is… but once you’ve shown me what it’s like, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to forget such a pleasure.”
You shiver at his words, at the soft kisses to your fingers, and you are suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he had seduced many women and men before you, before this moment. You know perfectly well, standing before him now, how easily they must have all succumbed to his charm. You can feel your own resolve begin to crumble, your knees weak at the sight of him, eyelids heavy with desire already. You’ve seen such a look in his eyes before, but never like this, never directed at you.
“Terzo… I just…” your heart threatens to shake your body so hard that your voice emerges staccato. “I’m not sure I want to be just…” another of your one-night stands. You know what you want to say. This time, you still your ridiculous words before you say them.
The look upon his face tells you he’s guessed what you’d have said anyhow. You half expect him to drop your hands, but he only presses them closer to his chest, gives them a reassuring squeeze.
Before you can finish your thought, he speaks. “Sono interessato a tutti voi, amore mio.”
This is all it takes to cut through the final threads of your resolve. You let out a soft, shaking breath, searching his eyes for any deceit. You find only sweet sincerity. A step forward brings you face to face with him and without missing a beat, he meets you halfway.
Your lips press together gently at first, gingerly, like he so badly wants to prove his intentions to you. You whimper softly against his lips. He smells of incense, a heady mix of his cologne and musk, and it immediately intoxicates you. His hands find your waist, pulling you slowly closer, the kiss deepening. You are powerless to your desire now, despite the flurry of doubts which now begin to subtly quiet, the only thing at the fore of your mind the feeling of electric bliss flowing between your lips.
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, his pupils blown wide, an enchanted expression washing over him. “I am going to show you just how wrong you are about yourself, amore mio.” He promises, his voice now a low growl that sends a shiver snaking up your spine. “Going to give you something to think about instead when those thoughts dare to come deceive you at night…” his lips are suddenly at your throat, pressing hot kisses along the pebbling skin there. “And when they do, you need only climb into my bed and let me take them away.”
You gasp softly at the initial feeling, briefly tensing, but you melt into him as he continues. You think again of his earlier promise that you smelled of nothing but your perfume, how he seemed so desperate to prove your thoughts wrong, and you relax into him. You are clay in his palms, and you are affected by just how different this feels compared to your last encounter, however deep in your past. You feel safe here, under the sweet ministrations of Terzo’s lips, his steadying hands on your waist. Perhaps you could allow him in. You had come to trust him above any other, after all. He had only ever been kind to you, even in those moments he teased or poked fun at you. He seemed to sense you were a more fragile flower than others, and he knew how to embrace you without tearing off your petals.
You allow your head to tip backwards, a sigh escaping your lips as you grant him reign of your throat.
He takes it graciously, pressing kisses from your ear down to your clavicle. “Let me take you to my rooms, amore. Make you comfortable.”
The feeling of his warm lips at the collar of your dress and the ghost of his breath against your skin sends a shiver through you. You can only nod, reaching around his shoulders to pull him closer to you.
The next thing you know, Terzo is taking your hand in one of his, the other resting at the small of your back as he begins to twirl you, as if you were partners in dance, spinning around a vast ballroom. You simply can’t react quickly enough to stifle the surprised giggle that emerges effervescently from your lips. More laughter follows, both from your own chest as well as his, echoing through the halls. He stops the incessant twirls for a moment, and as he dips you backward you see that you now stand in the middle of a hallway somewhere in the abbey, upside down, held aloft by his firm grasp.
As he leads you in a series of spins and steps toward the door of his chambers, you feel as though you’ve fallen into a pleasant trance. You don’t even have room in your mind for the nagging thoughts of your own insecurities, you are too busy being surprised by Terzo’s every move. He holds the door open for you, hand still softly cradling your own, and bows as you pass through the threshold to his private quarters. You knew he was a serial flirt, a shameless charmer, but you’d not known him to be this much a dramatic romantic.
You feel silly, girlish even, as soft, giddy laughter continues to erupt from your chest at the evening’s strange turn of events. You hear the door latch behind you, the reassuring click of a lock following closely behind it. Terzo spins you again, once, twice, underneath his hand, until you come crashing against his chest. He catches you in an embrace, and you melt at the sound of the warm laughter which rumbles from him.
You’re sure you’ve never flushed hotter in your life, face positively aflame.
“See, look at you now, bellisima… Even more beautiful with a smile on your face,” he hums, and you’re sure your chest could fatally constrict your heart at any moment. The look on his face is one of sheer adoration, you can hardly believe yourself to be the cause of such an expression on his exquisite features.
Your gaze falls to his chest, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Terzo…” You laugh, your sentence left unsaid as you find yourself unable to grasp at the proper words to describe your feelings now. “I didn’t know you… That you’d… This is all so overwhelming.”
He laughs, that lovely warmth vibrating against your chest again. “Relax, tesoro. It’s only me. Think of our conversation just days ago. You were letting me drone on in painful detail about getting sick to my stomach from that disgusting pasta dish from the kitchens. And yet this is what overwhelms you?” He teases, tipping your chin upward.
Of course, this was entirely different, though you can’t help but chuckle that he thinks it isn’t. “It’s not that,” you sigh, heart hammering in your chest. “I just… Had no idea you’d ever be interested in any of this… with me.” Shame flashes white hot across your face. Why was it that every time you opened your mouth to say something about yourself, it always came out sounding so pitiful?
His face falls, a troubled look crossing it. “Well. Then I apologize, cuore mio, for not being so transparent with you as I thought. I did not want you to think I was after you for mere lust alone, cara mia.” He vows, squeezing your chin between his thumb and forefinger, leaning in to press a tender, earnest kiss to your lips.
Viewing your relationship with him now through this lens, you see how many times Terzo had gone to great lengths to simply seek your company, to show you that your companionship meant something to him. Now, looking at it this way, his lack of propositioning you for sex made your heart flutter. Perhaps it was true, that somehow he held you in some higher regard than his other dalliances within the ministry. You kiss his back gently, a soft whimper emanating from your chest at the thought.
“It was never that I didn’t imagine this with you,” he promises between slow pecks to your lower lip, beginning to press them to the corners of your mouth, to your cheeks. “I know how… unsure of yourself you can be, amore.” A kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. “The last thing I wanted was to scare you away for good.” Your ear lobe, your neck. “I’d much rather have to settle for just our lunchtime chats, our nighttime walks alone, than to watch you hide away from me entirely because I was too forward with you.”
You’re sure your knees are close to giving up on you. Your fingers grip his shoulders, your heart racing. He only holds you tighter, keeping you pressed firmly against him. You think of all of the times he could have done something, could have said something, made a move. You think of the time you came back early from a sister’s birthday party, drunk and stumbling and had fallen asleep on his shoulder, only to wake safely in your own bed the following morning in all your clothes. You think of the time he’d been so irate about an argument he’d gotten into with a fellow clergy member, he’d stormed into the chapel —likely seeking to be alone— and had found you there seeking the same, had taken a deep breath and sat beside you, the both of you venting to one another quietly until the early hours of the next morning. You often ran into one another in the gardens, in the ministry kitchens, often late at night when you couldn’t sleep, and wore only your night gown. Terzo had never been anything other than a complete gentleman, even walking you back to your quarters on most of those occasions.
You aren’t surprised by your feelings, you’ve been far too aware of them for some time now. What does take your breath away though is this newfound feeling of reciprocation. The look on Terzo’s face as he pulls back just enough to look at you tells you he’s meant every word tonight.
“Why do you look so mystified, hm?” He hums, his eyes so soft, expression so saccharine you could cry. “I am just going to have to prove this to you, it seems.” He reaches down to tug at the flowing fabric of your nightgown, bunching it higher and higher until your thighs are exposed, your hips, your waist. He brings the fabric to his teeth like a finger placed between the pages of a book, holding his place while he slowly slips his leather gloves off, tossing them haphazardly to the floor. He takes the fabric from between his teeth, finally pulling the night dress up over your head.
You suddenly feel so ridiculously exposed, in nothing but your underthings before him while he stands fully clothed. You can only watch helplessly as he slips his cassock off of his shoulders, the fine fabric tumbling into a wrinkled heap on the floor. You nearly reach for it, knowing what a pain one of your siblings would have to go through to steam the creases from it come morning, but his hand at your waist stops you, the warm skin of his fingers against your bare side shocking you from your thought.
He slowly drops to his knees, hands roaming along your sides, your abdomen, the hem of your underwear, and you feel your face heat for the thousandth time tonight. It feels so wrong to be the one standing, for him to be the one on his knees at your feet. You find that the sight thrills you.
His warm, slightly calloused hands worship every inch of skin they can reach. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear, pulling them slowly down, fingers running along the flanks of your thighs as he guides them down to your ankles. He bends down, gently guiding you to step out of them, fingers caressing the backs of your calves as he makes his way back up, pressing a kiss to each of your knees, both hands finding the backs of your thighs and squeezing.
“Terzo…” You begin to protest, feeling so useless just standing here as his fingers roam, but before you can further object, he is pressing a slow trail of kisses along your stomach, deliberately pressing his lips to each place where your skin is slightly scarred and darkened from stretching to fit you over time. Your sides, your stomach, hips, have seen many seasons of change, and your skin bears these marks. They have always been a point of shame for you, for you didn’t look quite as untouched and smooth as your sisters did; and now you watch as Terzo presses a reverent kiss along each line, as though blessing each mark. You find you cannot help yourself from reaching down to run tentative fingers along the side of his head, humming softly at the feeling of his soft raven hair beneath your fingertips.
“la tua pelle… è così morbida,” he breathes, “Fianchi così meravigliosi,” his fingertips press soft dimples into the flesh of your sides, pressing into the bone there, like he wants to feel all of you. You’d heard him speak Italian before, of course. This however is different than his simple prayers spoken at black mass; his tone, the drawn-long words, his dark, enraptured voice, it’s enough to make your head spin.
You let your fingers delve deeper into his hair, your nails scratching softy at his scalp. He nuzzles against your pubis, taking a slow, deep breath in through his nose. “Così bellissima,” his hands round your thighs, squeezing a handful of flesh in each, just where your ass meets your thighs.
His ministrations have a fire blooming at your core, the look on his face only worsening the effect he has on you. Your knees tremble, your hand in his hair gently gripping him to stabilize yourself. His warm breath against your prickling skin is nearly too much to bear.
He slips a thumb between your legs, sliding easily against the warm, growing slick there, and you gasp quietly as he uses it to tease you, making tantalizingly slow circles just around your clit. “Terz-” You whine, lips falling agape. He keeps this up for a long moment, and just as you are sure his touch is about to bring you to your knees, he pulls back. His bicolored gaze meets yours as he presses his hands to your hips to steady himself, rising to his feet.
“Come to bed with me, Angelo mio.” He pleads, as if you need to be asked.
You can only nod and reach for his chest, trembling fingers slowly working open the buttons of his silk shirt, revealing his toned chest, slim waist, abdomen pulsing with his heavy breath. The fire in your core roars at the sight of the trail of dark hair that begins at his navel and disappears sensuously behind the waistband of his slacks.
He lets his silk shirt slip over his shoulders, joining his cassock in a heap on the ground. He doesn’t look down at them even once as he takes your hand, guiding you toward his bedroom as though you were royalty.
You can’t keep your eyes from roaming over his chest, his muscular shoulders, his slim waist, as he leads you toward his bed. The linens had been neatly made, folded and pleated expertly, likely by one of your fellow sisters. You couldn’t help but envy the job, to get to run your fingers along the fine silk sheets, the plush black and red duvet, to smell his scent in the threads. You catch yourself in this thought and nearly choke out a laugh at yourself. She, whoever she was, should be jealous of you.
Terzo has you by your hips as soon as the bed is within reach, pressing you back against it.
You allow yourself to tumble back against the plush mattress, sighing as you feel your muscles relax slightly, your body sinking into the layers of bed covering.
He steps between your legs at the edge of the bed, and you let yourself drink in the sight. The black and white papal paints have begun to mix slightly now, his eyes shining bright despite the dim light of his bedroom, his chest rising and falling with heavy, excited breath. You feel your abdomen tighten wantonly at the sight of him, stood between your slightly spread legs. You watch as he reaches down to free himself from his pants, the fabric sliding down his hips to reveal his erection which taps his stomach as he kicks away his pants. You shiver at the sight, at the fact that he hadn’t been wearing anything beneath his pants, at the entirety of this situation.
You flush as he smirks down at you, clearly having noticed your stare.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, amore.” He purrs, pressing his hips against the edge of the bed, mere inches from your parted legs, but just far enough away that he doesn’t touch you yet. “I want to take my time with you,” his voice is as silken as the sheets as he grips your thighs to keep you from scooting any closer.
Your heart feels like a caged bat throwing itself against the walls of its enclosure, wings rattling against the bars of your ribs as he touches you. The warmth at your core only intensifies, and you’re sure you’re about to soil his comforter with your arousal if he continues to leave you here, legs spread and unattended.
“We can’t leave any space for those hideous thoughts of yours, eh?” He hums, sliding his hands up your thighs, fingers curling around your hips as they move upward, thumbs stroking over the gentle slope of your belly, tracing the outline of your lowest ribs as he runs them all the way up your sides. He slips a deft hand behind you, the clasp of your bra undone before you even feel his fingers move. He slides the garment off of you, tossing it aside.
You feel the first hint of insecurity you’ve felt with him yet as his eyes wander your now fully exposed body. You can’t watch as his eyes rake their way across your form. You gasp softly at the feeling of his thumbs brushing over your peaked nipples, kneading softly at your modest breasts.
“Bellissima,” he whispers, and the next thing you know his mouth is on you, pressing a line of kisses down the valley between your breasts. You arch your back slightly at the feeling, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you feel his cock press into the side of your thigh. Your core throbs, clenching around nothing.
“Terzo, please,” you whisper, though you aren’t even sure what exactly you’re pleading for. You just want more of him, want him closer, want him on top of you.
He presses a kiss to the buds of each of your nipples before continuing downward, hands lagging behind his lips as he descends, feeling along your skin, squeezing at you like he just can’t get enough of the feeling of your skin beneath his finger tips. “Please what, principessa?” His voice is darker now, hoarse with lust.
You whimper, frustrated. You should have known he wouldn’t make this easy. “Touch me,” you beg softly.
“I am doing nothing but touching you, amore.” He smirks, looking coyly up at you, fingers kneading at your sides, your thighs, pressing a kiss to your sternum. “Tell me what it is you desire.” He purrs, still staring up at you with that mischievous look in his eyes.
“You are evil.” You pout, dying to press your legs together for some sort of relief to the ache between them.
He laughs, low and dark, nuzzling against your stomach. “Sì, amore. Devil’s progeny and all. Son of Satan. Tell me what you want and I will give it to you, amore mio.”
The ache in your core only worsens, his low voice stoking the burning flames. Your cheeks burn hot, and you attempt to speak your desires, “Need you to touch me… Need you in me,” you whine, squirming slightly beneath him. “Want your mouth… your cock.” You hate him for forcing you to say it. It feels so unsexy as it comes out of your mouth. Somehow, when he speaks filth it sounds erotic and delightful. From your mouth it sounds stiff, unpracticed.
He laughs, and you have to fight the instinct to cover your face with your hands in embarrassment.
“You will have both by the end of the night, mia bella ragazza.” He sighs the words like a vow as he descends, gently parting your thighs to settle between them, kneeling on the floor before you. He presses soft kisses to the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs and you suck in an anticipatory breath. He runs his fingers softly along the crease of your hip and thigh, teasing you. It makes you squirm. “Look at you, bellissima… così bagnata per me.”
Then he leans forward and presses a delicate kiss at the apex of your slit. You whine, doing everything in your power not to writhe under his touch.
Despite how hard you cling to your resolve, you’re reduced to a squirming, whimpering mess in moments once his tongue is on you, lapping along your slick folds, dipping and rising from your awaiting warmth back up to the throbbing bud of your clit, using just enough pressure to pleasure you, but light enough that you’re desperate for more. “Oooh, fuck…Terzo,” you whine, finding it increasingly difficult to keep still. Your hand finds his hair again, delving your fingertips through the soft dark locks, urging him to continue. “More,” you plead, already breathless.
“More?” He teases, circling the very tip of his tongue now around your clit, eyes darting up to meet yours. The vision of him, tongue out and pressed against you is obscene, and it makes you want him all the more. “Talk to me, amore.”
“Need your cock… Need you inside me,” You sputter, squirming as he teases his tongue against you in a waving motion.
He laughs, and even that, the vibration of his rumbling chuckle, pleasures you. “Patience, principessa.” He purrs. “I want to be thorough with you.” He runs a finger along your slick, teasing against you for a moment before finally pressing in. Despite all the talk and the teasing, he’s so careful with you it makes you want to cry. You’re still lucid enough to know the real reason he’s taking his time with you; he knows it’s been quite a while since you were intimate with anyone, and the last thing he wants is to hurt you or make you uncomfortable.
The addition of another finger has you writhing again, your walls pulsing with need around his digits as he continues to torture you with both his fingers and tongue. His fingers begin to curl, stroking deftly in and out of you in an incessant rolling pattern that has your core already tightening as his fingertips press against the sensitive spot that sends stars rushing past your eyes.
His fingers continue their careful unravelling of you as his tongue finishes the job at your clit, the ball of tension in your abdomen winding tight, your toes curling, back arching off the bed, lips agape as a long string of gasping moans and whimpers escapes them. The next thing you know, the knot unwinds all at once and you are flung over the edge, pleasure surging through you from toes to teeth, and you’re clenching in greedy pulses around his fingers. He doesn’t stop until he knows you’ve begun to come down from the wave of your orgasm, only then does he continue gently stretching you open with his fingers.
“Brava ragazza, so beautiful when you come for me,” he purrs, sounding positively drunk.
The moment it takes you to return to yourself is long, your heart thumping hard in your chest which heaves heavily as you slowly catch your breath. The careful fingers still working you open send waves of new pleasure up your spine and you lift your head to meet his gaze again.
The bewildered look in his eyes makes your head spin. How was it possible that you could be the cause of such expressions on his beautiful face?
His fingers slowly retract and you whimper, abdomen suddenly clenching around nothing. He chuckles darkly at your reaction and slowly stands, running his hands up your legs as he rises, wasting not a single moment to worship every inch of you. He leans down to press a kiss to the top of your thighs, your stomach, stopping again at the buds of your breast, thumb stroking one as his lips toy at the other.
You melt into his touch yet again, core aching at his new proximity between your legs. “Terzo,” you gasp as he nips softly at your nipple before continuing upward, running the very tip of his tongue up along the center of your throat, cresting your chin and finally, his lips meet yours once more. You taste yourself on his lips as he kisses you, his hands still roaming, reverently stroking every patch of skin yet untouched.
“Bella, bella, bella,” he chants against your lips as he kisses you, slowly, deeply, like he has all the time in the world to spend worshipping you in his bed.
Your heart feels like it might explode within the confines of your ribs. You were sure you couldn’t admire him any more than you already did, and here he was proving that wrong, too. “Please, Terzo,” you gasp against his lips.
He pulls back just enough to put an inch of space between your noses, those intense eyes taking in every detail of your face. “So beautiful,” He breathes, his hand finding your cheek now, thumb softly running along your cheekbone, your chin, your lower lip.
You let your lips part, dipping your head slightly to take the tip of his thumb into your mouth, tongue running along the pad of his finger. You watch his pupils expand as he watches you, and your lips close around his finger, sucking softly.
“Sarai la mia morte,” He breathes, rubbing his thumb along the warm flat of your tongue.
You open your mouth and he retrieves his finger, replacing it with his lips again. You kiss him hard this time, desperate, hungry.
The dark laugh that tumbles from his lips into yours sends a thrill up your spine, and you whine at the feeling of his spit slicked thumb suddenly running circles over your clit again, your legs trembling.
“I need you.” You manage to whine against his lips, and he nods slowly, running his tongue sensuously along the underside of your top lip before he pulls back again.
“Who am I to deny you what you need, angelo mio?” His voice is honeyed and dark, dripping with lust. You know he couldn’t hold himself back for much longer if he wanted to. He grips you by the hips, tugging you closer to the edge of the bed, your hips hanging almost entirely off the edge. He presses a trail of kisses up the side of your neck, stopping to nip playfully at the soft skin at the lobe of your ear. “You will tell me if you need me to stop, give you a break, slow down, or anything, sì?” He whispers.
You nod quickly, but you know he wants more from you. “Yes.” The word emerges from your lip nearly a sob of desperation.
He lifts his head again and kisses you, slowly, tenderly this time. His hands support your hips as he settles between your thighs, and you whine impatiently at the feeling of his tip pressing softly against your slick.
The way his breath shudders delights you, that you could ever have such an effect on him. He runs the length of his cock along your folds, slicking himself with your arousal. “Brava ragazza, so wet for me,” He purrs, the low rumble of his voice sending a shiver up your spine.
You can’t help but arch your back, tilting your hips to eagerly press him against you. “Terzo, please,” You whine.
He smiles and straightens up, one hand behind your hips, the other around his cock to guide himself as he presses his tip against you, slipping himself past the initial stretch of your entrance, drawing a soft moan from your lips. You nod desperately for him to continue, fingers clawing at the bed linens as he does, pressing slowly, carefully into you, eyes fixed on you the entire time. He finally bottoms out and you moan softly at the feeling, body trembling.
He doesn’t move at first, simply lets you adjust to the feeling of being stretched open. He leans over to press a soft kiss beneath each of your eyes, the tip of your nose, then finally each of your lips. “You’re alright, angelo mio?” He whispers, his voice clipped. It’s clearly taking everything in him to hold still.
You can’t help the way your walls clench wantonly around him, aching for movement, desperate to have more of him. You nod, breaths coming in staccato gasps. “I’m fine, Terzo, please,” You whine, lip trembling.
“You’re so tight…” He growls, head falling against your chest as he slowly begins to roll his hips, delivering careful, shallow thrusts at first.
The little bit of movement is all it takes to unravel you. You let your head tip back against the mattress, arching your back hard, rocking your hips, desperate to meet his movement and deepen the thrust. “Fuck me, Terzo, please,” you beg, clutching at his hand against the linens.
This is all it takes to break his composure. “Diavolo aiutami,” he breathes, rolling his hips deeper with one thrust, deeper still in the following, and fully bottoming out in the next, until he’s building a steady pace, moderate but deep, pulling almost all the way back out before pressing back in, gripping your hand and hip tightly. “Così buono… Così stupendo…” he chants, eyes half-lidded, but still glued to yours, like he’d rather die than look at anything but you.
You do your best not to let your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, but it becomes increasingly difficult with each rolling thrust of his hips into yours. You find yourself repetitiously sputtering his name, legs wrapping around his hips, arms reaching out for whatever part of him you could grasp.
He continues at that delicious pace, peppering you with affectionate words, gentle kisses, and reverent touches wherever he can, savoring in every pleasure as though they were all terribly fleeting things which he might never again experience. “Sei perfetta, mia preziosa ragazza” he gasps, his pace beginning to quicken. He pulls your hips down with each thrust, and at this angle, dangling off the bed, he strokes up into you, cock grazing that most perfect spot, stars dancing across your vision.
“Terzo… Fuck, I’m-” you whimper, abdomen clenching tight as tension begins to coil once again at your core.
“I know, I know, dolce ragazza,” he huffs, wrapping you up in his arms, your chests pressed together now as he fucks you against the edge of the mattress. Each rut of his hips press your own tighter to him, delivering pressure to the apex of your slit which pushes you dangerously close to the precipice you know looms near. “Come for me, principessa. Want to see you.” Even his charming flatteries are cut short now by his mounting pleasure, his silken voice stifled through gritted teeth.
That tension winds tighter in your core and soon you are blinded by pleasure surging through you as he continues his delicious onslaught, the tension coming undone, your muscles contracting in pulses around him, walls clenching tighter still on his cock. You let yourself go limp in his arms as you ride out the waves of pleasure, lips agape, obscene sounds tumbling from them.
“Cazzo...” It’s all it takes to send him careening over the edge with you, delivering a spare few more off-beat thrusts before bottoming out fully, hips and cock twitching as he spills into you, the hot full feeling driving yet another wave of your own pleasure and you are clenching down on him again. He lets you both collapse down onto the bed, his body a delightful weight atop you, his palm finding the side of your face, cupping your cheek affectionately. You just barely register the soft press of his lips to your forehead as your body sings with pleasure.
All other senses seem to take quite some time to return to you; your ears ring, your vision still sparkles, and your mouth waters, your body pulsing with tingling satisfaction as you come down from the intense high of your orgasm. Terzo shifts slightly and it draws another throbbing clench from your muscles, which in turn elicits a sapid moan from his lips, another twitch of his cock. You’re sure you’ve never felt this good in all your years.
You lay there, tangled up in each other for a long moment, breath finally returning to your lungs, though you are quiet, eyes closed, letting yourself treasure this feeling for a little while longer.
The next thing you feel is Terzo propping himself up on his arms, and you expect him to move further, but he doesn’t. You pry your heavy eyelids open and are met with the most enchanted look you’re sure you’ve ever seen grace his features. Before you can even think, your hand has found the side of his face, softly running your still trembling thumb over his cheek, the paint there now dreadfully smeared.
“Sei così bella amore mio,” he hums, and slowly, carefully pulls himself free from you with a soft grunt.
You moan at the loss of him, biting your lip as a mix of his seed and your arousal oozes from between your thighs. With anyone else, you would be self-conscious of ruining his bedding, or of the lewd, wet sound that your parting had made, but with him, all you can think about are those bicolored eyes, that astonished look in them, and the gentle compliments you know to be disguised reassurance. You can’t help but love him for all of it.
“How are you feeling, amore?” Moving to lay on his side beside you, one hand propping up his head, the other running a finger lazily from your navel to your neck, and back down again, just to touch you. His hair falls in two arcs over his forehead, dampened by sweat and smeared paint. Even this, you think, manages to look so painfully suave on him.
You have to laugh softly at his question; what else could you possibly be feeling in this moment but bliss? You blink slowly up at him from your place still fully sunken into the mattress, head lolling to the side to meet his gaze. “Oh, just awful.” You tease softly, still finding it somewhat hard to string together more than a few words.
It’s easy to marvel at the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs. His hand on your stomach drifts up to cup your cheek, thumb softly stroking your chin. “I can tell.” He winks. The soft, affectionate smile that lingers on his face as he looks at you is enough to set fire to your chest. “Just so long as those nasty thoughts of yours are gone and you are feeling good, I am satisfied.”
You sigh quietly, thoughts drifting back to your confession. The crushing weight of those horrible feelings had felt so immediate such a short time ago, your chest unable to fully inflate as anxiety consumed you. Now though, and really from the minute Terzo had placed his hand beneath yours, the thoughts had quieted from a raging roar to a barely-there buzz in the back of your mind. The look on his face now quells even that quiet noise now, and you can only smile softly. “Gone.” You promise softly, tipping your head to press a grateful kiss to the inside of his wrist.
This elicits a warm hum from him, a smile drawing gently at the corners of his lips. “Bene.” He allows his hand to lazily roam your face, your neck, until finally he seems unable to stand the small distance between you any longer and wraps it around your waist, tugging you to him. He’s surprisingly strong for being just about equal to your own height, and you admittedly adore the way he’s moved and posed you tonight like a doll.
You shift to close the last bit of space between you until he is fully pressed against your back, the warmth and closeness lulling your eyes to flutter shut. “You shouldn’t let me stay like this,” You eventually murmur, shimmying impossibly closer, his warm chest pressed flat against your back, his hips cradling yours. “I’ll never be able to sleep alone again.” It’s a joke, but part of you thinks maybe it might be true. How could you ever go back to laying in any bed alone now that you know what euphoria it is to have Terzo pressed so close?
He only laughs, softly brushing the hair from your neck, leaning down to press slow, reverent kisses along it that make you shiver. “Hmm. Seems you’re onto me, amore.” His quiet laugh in your ear is enough to stoke the embers of the fire that still smoldered in your core, though you hardly have the energy now to move. “Maybe that was my plan. Lure you to my bed and make it so you never want to leave.”
You can only whine softly at that, arching your back to press your hips back against his.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds, delivering a playful smack to the side of your thigh with his palm, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “No more riling me up, I am an old man you know, I’m not made of energy.” He teases, though the tinge of desire in his voice tells you otherwise. “And you have not gotten any rest tonight, you need to sleep, amore mio.” He strokes a hand lovingly down your side, savoring the rise and fall of your hip, before letting his hand wander back up to wind around your waist, tugging you tightly to himself.
You melt back against him as a laugh bubbles up from your chest.
“What’s so funny, cara mia?” He pokes a finger at your stomach in jest, which only draws another laugh from you.
“Does confession always go like this for you?” You manage to squirm in his arms to roll over and face him, draping an arm over his waist now. You could certainly drift off easily like this, his warmth fully enveloping you, safe in his protective embrace.
His now incredulous laugh rumbles through his chest, and you’re suddenly sure you’ll never love another sound more. “I’ll have you know I can be a perfectly acceptable advisor to my congregants, grazie.” He rolls his eyes, though he can’t conceal the smile that threatens to give him away.
“I know.” You relent, kissing his chin. “I’m joking, Terz. I’ve heard you council plenty. You do very well.” You promise, nuzzling against him. A beat of comfortable silence passes, the both of you simply soaking in this moment with no regard for what reality you may have to face come morning. “Thank you. For tonight,” you finally whisper. “I… Didn’t really know what I was doing when I left my room, I just…”
He presses a finger to your lips to gently silence you. “Do not thank me for something I should have given you without your asking. And you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” A flash of regret crosses his face, and you frown, slightly confused.
“I shouldn’t have kept all of this,” he gestures to his chest, squeezing your hand over it, “to myself for so long, amore. I was so worried about running you off I failed to recognize that you simply needed someone.”
You’re sure now that your heart had been reduced to a puddle of viscera at the base of your chest. “My insecurities… They’re not your responsibility to fix, I was just… I don’t know. Looking for guidance, and I trust you,” you promise softly, offering a soft squeeze to his hand.
“I know,” he sighs. “Ma ti amo, angelo mio. I do not wish to see you hurting. Whether you decided it was me you wanted or not.” He lifts your hand to his lips, peppering soft kisses to your knuckles.
Warmth floods your face, pulse hammering once more in your ears. Ti amo. You weren’t sure how to react. Surely he didn’t just toss that around to everyone, no matter how many casual lovers he took to bed. Or perhaps he did. How were you to know?
He must see the shock on your face because he laughs softly, dropping your hand in favor of sweeping a thumb across your chin. “You don’t have to say anything, amore. But this has shown me that there’s no sense in keeping it hidden away, you deserve to know that someone, at least, desires you, belissima.”
Every neuron is suddenly firing on all cylinders as you try to make sense of the entire night, now lying here wrapped up in Terzo’s arms, listening to these beautiful, unbelievable words fall from his perfect lips. You’re sure you must have fallen ill and died, and had somehow unknowingly crossed the veil into this beautiful, exquisite afterlife. You say the only thing you can say, here with Terzo, to respond to such a confession. “Anch'io ti amo.”
You watch his expression melt, his eyes brightening as he looks into yours, that pearly Emeritus left eye twinkling in the dim light. “sei troppo,” he breathes, taking your face in both hands and kissing you. He’d done his best to help you better polish your Italian here and there during your walks or lunches together, and there were many times you had both ruined a perfectly good lesson by devolving into fits of giggles following your various horrific grammatical mistakes. Your grasp on the language wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly fluent. This though, you knew.
The kiss steals your breath in a way the dozens of previous kisses throughout the night hadn’t. You can feel the emotion pouring from Terzo’s lips into yours, and your head spins as you reckon with this dreamlike reality you suddenly have found yourself in.
When he pulls back, both hands still cupping your face like some precious relic, you’re grateful for the anchor to reality, your head spinning. “Would you laugh at me if I said that when I sat down in the booth and told you of my sin… I expected you to feed me platitudes and send me on my way.” You admit softly, eyes fluttering open to meet his. The soft, if not slightly tired smile that greets you melts you further.
“I wouldn’t have done that even had you declined my offer to prove your self-doubt wrong, amore. You know this.” And of course you do. He had always been a great listener, a loyal confidant, and had always listened to your worries, your troubles. He’d always shared his with you freely. Each time you had come to him upset or worried, he had such a way of pacifying you, assuaging your fears.
“Still… I’m just… I’m glad you want this too.” You lean into his hands, sighing contentedly, letting your eyes slip shut, savoring the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your cheeks.
The smile on his face is one you’re sure you’d do anything to earn, again and again. “Shall we get some rest, cuore mio? We have tomorrow. You are always welcome in my bed, you know.” And, overcome with the need to specify, adds, “And everywhere else.”
More soft laughter bubbles from your chest. “What would the rest of the congregation think if they knew you were such a romantic?” You tease, letting your head fall against his collarbone.
He wastes no time wrapping you up in his arms, and you hum warmly at the rumble of his responding laughter against your cheek. “It can be our secret, amore. Just for you.”
As sleep begins to tug at your mind, you nod against his chest, the hairs of his chest tickling pleasantly against your lashes. “Our secret, then,” You murmur drunkenly, drifting off.
“Buonanotte angelo mio.”
You could most certainly get used to falling asleep this way every night, and as you drift off you feel a final warm press of his lips to the top of your head.
Not once for the rest of the night do those infernal thoughts return to haunt you.