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Chimney Rock is what you expect, honestly. You almost feel as though you’ve been to the town before with how many clips from the news, Cy Draven’s entire YouTube discography and endless discourse on social media you’ve been consuming about the place.
The only thing that took you by surprise was the priest replacing Monsignor Wicks - Reverend Duplenticy - formerly a murder suspect in the whole debacle himself, was actually willing to give you some insight into the circumstances surrounding the killings a few months ago.
Your first morning in the sleepy, sort of eerie town saw you kicking off day 1 of your itinerary, where you would be meeting Rev. Duplenticy at the church - newly reopened and now renamed Our Lady of Perpetual Grace.
He’s waiting for you at the doors, big smile, crinkling eyes and large hands clasping yours in a greeting that’s painfully earnest, makes the cynical part of you a little uncomfortable. “Father Jud Duplenticy,” he introduces himself, “but feel free to call me Jud, no disrespect taken.”
‘Oh fuck, he is hot!’ your brain supplied, eyes roaming down his tall, fit stature, getting momentarily trapped on his neck tattoo, the stubble of ideal length framing his jaw and the goddamn central heterchromia that his eyes were sporting.
He gives you the tour, shows you where Monsignor Wicks was murdered, the panel where the sedative was hidden and the altar where Martha had confessed to it all before taking her last breath. You’re paying attention, of course, but he is extremely distracting, and your heart is already beating faster than normal every time he looks at you dead on.
Your next stop is the rectory, you get a tour of the residence and grounds and decide to get down to business on a rustic bench in the backyard, a view of the infamous woods, groundskeeper’s cottage and crypt in the distance.
“So,” Father Jud started, settling beside you on the bench and passing over some iced tea, “A tell-all, huh? Like an exposé of sorts?” He gave you a wry smile, blue eyes with amber hues within glinting almost mischievously.
You nodded, “Yup. I’m tired of the shit being spewed everywhere about the whole ‘He has Risen’ crap. It’s taking away from other serious, active cases, or encouraging people to chalk up other disappearances to mystical beliefs,” you stated bluntly, eyeing the man beside you warily, awaiting his response. He furrowed his brow momentarily - looking extremely adorable, if you said so yourself - but remained silent.
“Look, I mean no disrespect,” you paused, “Everyone is entitled to their beliefs. I’ve just been a homicide, cold case and kidnapping journalist for almost 7 years now and nothing has spread like this in years.” You looked back at him, shrugging and slapping your hands against your knees, “People are using the ‘miracle’ that happened here as a reason to ignore facts and the law and you know what? I wanna do my part and speak for the victims that can’t for themselves. I’m over it.”
He looks contemplative for a moment, pouting a bit as he seemed to ponder something. Who gave him permission to pout like that? His lips were already so cute, and here he was pouting. He was basically welcoming sinful thoughts. Your mind started travelling down the path about what it would feel like to kiss him; soft lips and long fingers brushing along your jaw. You could faintly hear his voice, but it sounded far away and muffled, a soothing backdrop to your fantasy of his lips meeting yours as your eyes fell shut.
He cleared his throat politely, shaking you out of your semi-horny reverie. “Hmm?” you hummed softly, snapping your eyes open and doing your best to not stare at his face, but failing spectacularly.
He gave a little chuckle, shaking his head slightly before repeating himself, “I was saying that I can continue going through the case details with you over the next couple of weeks if you’ll strike me a bargain.”
Your eyebrows raised as you leaned forward, intrigued, “A bargain? What sort of bargain?” - ‘One where you let me suck your dick in exchange for information?’ your brain supplied. You left the latter part unsaid.
A teasing smile played across his lips and he leaned over slightly, putting the two of your faces in closer proximity, giving you a little glimpse at the smattering of freckles across his nose and forehead. “What if you attended some of my masses over a few weeks?” he whispered almost conspiratorially, yet somehow as casually as if he had simply asked you to pass the salt. You gave him a look that demanded ‘tell me more’ with your eyes.
“You see, I’ve just reopened up the church. I’ve only done one mass so far and a shitload of people showed up to see the ‘killer priest’ or just for the spectacle after everything went down, or whatever.” He leaned closer, smile growing as he delivered his plan, reaching across to tap your knee as he punctuated his words with deliberate stabs using his index finger.
“What if you came to church - you have no beliefs, or loyalty, or biases to the town - and told me exactly how shit or not my masses are? A secret judge in the congregation to let me know what I can tweak, what people might whisper negatively in response to, and so forth!” he clapped his hands together and beamed with his suggestion. God, he was a dork. You really freakin liked him already.
“…like a mole?” you questioned, side eyeing him slightly.
“Yes! Exactly! Like a mole! A mole to give me objective feedback that isn’t just mean to be mean or ass kissing to be ass kissing. You know what I mean? It’s perfect! You get something you want, and I get something I want, it’s mutualism!” he sat back against the bench’s backrest and crossed his arms with a grin, obviously pleased with himself.
Your mind was still stuck on “you get something you want”- you wondered what was the most appropriate way to let on that what you wanted was him.
“I’d only intended to stay here a few days…” you trailed off, reluctantly looking away to avoid looking at his crestfallen pout.
‘What do you have to lose, girl?’ you asked yourself. You had this breathtaking, silly, gem of a man who was utterly devoted to his craft asking you to extend your trip. You’d be getting information from him plus getting to spend time together? There was literally nothing to lose.
“But you know what?” you added, unable to stop the smile forming on your face as his expression turned hopeful again. “This is the beauty of being self employed- my editor has endless articles she can submit to the necessary columns on my behalf.”
“So….?” He trailed off, smiling before pressing his lips together and raising his eyebrows in an almost childlike manner. “Does that mean…?”
‘Fuck it, we ball.’
“Yes. I’ll stay. I’ll give you constructive criticism and even help you edit your sermons or whatever they’re called, if you like,” you paused and fixed him with a firm look, wagging a warning finger at him. “You better upkeep your end of the deal, though.”
His handsome face split into a joyous grin once more as he nodded, that frustratingly sincere tone to his voice present once more. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you down.”
———
You stayed.
It had been two weeks since your first fateful night in Chimney Rock. So far, you’d been to 13 masses - today’s being your 14th- and each one you mentally made notes and minutes of feedback for Father Jud. The two of you would discuss the service after mass, back at the rectory, then share a meal together, and end the day with him supplying details about the murders. It was…nice; a routine of sorts.
Today, as always, the young reverend spoke powerfully yet peacefully, giving sermons of sincerity and drawing the messages back to Christ, His forgiveness; His saving grace.
Truthfully, it was seriously sexy to see him owning the pulpit totally solo and it definitely made you a little tingly in places you shouldn’t be. And honestly? A part of you was starting to believe in his belief, just by witnessing his passion and unwavering faith on a daily basis, sharing so freely and selflessly, his only goal to help as many people as he possibly could. How could a man be so genuinely good?
It didn’t take long to realise that his natural demeanour was pitting him up against it as the successor of a yelling, raging, but ultimately charismatic Monsignor. It seemed that the local congregation needed shouting and casting out of poor, unsuspecting parishioners to be engrossed in mass, which spoke volumes in itself- but after the first week, it looked like he was already winning them over just by being himself.
And then there were the genuine Christians who had travelled to see the kind of new-age teachings by this radical young priest. As expected, there were those who truly believed that he had killed Monsignor Wicks and merely wanted to put a face to the myth.
And finally, there were the people, mainly women from their teens to fifties, who seemed to be in attendance simply to ogle the sexy priest, as some corners of the internet had taken to referring to him. They hung on to every word, nodding and meeting his eyes in devotion. They stuck around after mass, waiting for him to come greet them; some even stopping him for advice, blushing and giggling to themselves after he ended the conversation and moved on to the next member.
‘God, I wonder if I look like that?’ you mused, collecting your things from your slot in the last pew as the last lady giggled, batting her eyelashes and leaning forward, nearly brushing his arm with her bosom.
He bade the last of the crowd goodbye with a smile and a wave, wishing them blessings to go in peace to love and serve the Lord. The church doors swung shut with a soft thud, and he visibly relaxed, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.
You gave him a half-amused look, he winced and shot you a pleading glance, “I’m exhausted. Help me disrobe and pack everything away and then we can go debrief over some lunch at the rectory?”
‘Help him disrobe? Disrobe.’ Your eyes widened but you maintained your cool, staying quiet and following him back towards the altar and vestry. This man really didn’t give a flying fuck about your feelings or he was just that oblivious to your predicament. You wished you could disrobe him and kiss him right there in that church.
“You really need to hire some staff around here,” you muttered, dutifully helping him shrug off the garment before starting to tidy up the rest of the chapel.
———
“You know at least a quarter of the Sunday congregation is just there because they think you’re attractive, right?” you asked casually on a quiet evening in the rectory, looking across at Father Jud to see his reaction. In retrospect, you started it; you poked the sleeping bear.
He took a sip of his tea before setting it down on his desk where the two of you had been discussing details of Dr. Nat’s death whilst you edited your progress thus far. He swallowed first, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, your eyes glued to it as you unconsciously licked your lips.
He met your gaze in silence, pressing his lips together for a few seconds and then interlacing his fingers in front of him as though deep in thought.
“Isn’t that one of the same reasons you have for sticking around here so long? And yet you judge them their transgressions? Why is that?” he murmured, ever so sincerely, as though he had not just delivered a fatal blow to your gut all in the span of a few seconds.
‘Oh. He had noticed, then- damn.’
It was hard to breathe. You felt sick to your stomach, a wave of anxiety rolling over you as your palms started to sweat. You needed to get the hell out of there immediately.
“What is it that you want from me, hm? Do you think that I’m blind to your lasting gazes, fleeting glances when you think I’m not looking, finding reasons to stay back ‘to write’ as I do my woodworking or use the punching bag?” he continued, staring across at you; you couldn’t see his expression because you refused to meet his eyes.
You wanted to cry; yes, it had started as a lustful crush but you liked him. You really liked him- genuinely- and you had started falling for him hard and fast.
You hurriedly snatched up your laptop, stuffing it into your handbag as you shoved your chair backwards, hands shaking as you did so. “I-I’m sorry, I have to go!” you stammered, turning on your heel and striding towards the front door as quickly as you could. You refused to cry in front of him.
Your fingers brushed the door handle, a millisecond away from freedom, when his open palm hit the door next to your head. You turned around to face him in horror, eyes glistening with tears as you realised that you were bracketed between him and the door.
“Let me go, please. Fathe-“ you started whispering.
“Don’t call me ‘Father’,” he snapped. A tear fell, it’s the first time that he had ever taken that sort of tone with you before.
“Jud. Please. I’m so, so sorry. Just let me open the door and I’ll be out of the town by morning. You’ll never have to see me again and I won’t publish this stupid article just please,” your breath hitched as you wiped another tear with your free hand.
He stared down at you, maintaining eye contact; you couldn’t look away as your eyes continued to fill with tears which fell silently down your cheeks with each blink.
He turned away from you and placed his head in his hands, releasing a sudden, frustrated yell and making you jump.
“Look- I wasn’t going to say shit. I was just gonna let it be. But you brought it up and now you wanna run away?” He turned back to you, jaw set in an angry line before he snapped at you again. “You don’t get to run away!”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered again through your tears. It’s all you could find in yourself to say.
***
In two large steps he was in front of you again, one hand going to your hip and pressing you into the door, the other one coming up to hold your jaw in a firm grip. You couldn’t help yourself, the heat and tingles plaguing you for the past few weeks returned as your breathing shallowed, your breasts and pussy aching to be touched by him.
“Tell me to stop. If you don’t tell me to stop, I’ll end up fucking you.” he ordered, blue irises a sliver, his pupils blown wide in the dim light.
You swallowed dryly, dropping your bag to the floor and reaching up to touch his neck tattoo and caress the side of his jaw with your thumb. You shook your head, murmuring softly, “I can’t, Jud, I’m sorry. Please don’t stop, I beg you- please don’t stop.”
He closed his eyes and muttered a prayer for forgiveness before he dipped his head down and pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss. You moaned softly and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, sucking and nibbling gently on his bottom lip until he claimed your mouth with his tongue.
He hoisted you up onto his hips and stumbled back into the main living room of the rectory, kissing along your neck and chest before sitting you down on the top of one of the couches. One hand hiked up your shirt and massaged your breasts through your bra, before he slipped his fingers beneath the band, shoving it aside to play with your nipples.
You gasped before falling into quiet moans, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting even wetter. “Jud, please. More,” you pleaded, feeling as though you’d burst if he didn’t touch you where you needed him most.
He met your eyes again before trailing his hand up your thigh, beneath your skirt and beneath the waistband of your panties.
“Are you sure?” he sounded tortured. You nodded and repeated yes again before he finally slipped two large fingers along your slit, his finger pads coming to a halt against your clit. You gasped and your hips jolted, whimpering as he dipped the tips of his fingers against your soaking hole, slipping one inside you and curling it forward repeatedly as his thumb massaged your clit.
“Jud!” you cried out, legs shaking, “Please, I can’t take it. I need you so so so badly please don’t tease me. I need you inside me, I’m so close.”
He looked down at you, tear tracks on your cheeks, swollen lips and wet eyelashes with a high blush colouring your face. “I like hearing you beg for me,” he admitted.
He added another finger and you groaned, clenching around his fingers and squeezing your eyes shut at the obscene sounds his digits made as they re-entered you repeatedly, spreading your wetness up to your clit and patting your pussy lightly, causing you to shiver with anticipation.
“Please, can I suck you off? Please?” you begged, squirming against his hand as you stared at the tent in his trousers.
He nodded and withdrew his fingers, keeping eye contact again as he licked them clean. You wondered if you had died already and if this was heaven.
He led you around to the other side of the couch, dropping himself on it unceremoniously and placing a cushion on the floor for you, right between his legs. “Go on, baby,” he encouraged you softly, opening his thighs wider to accommodate you and offering his hand to guide you to your knees.
You got to it swiftly, mouth watering in anticipation as you made quick work of his belt and zipper, tugging on his trousers and boxers together and giving him a dazed smile as he lifted his hips off the couch to help you shimmy them down.
He was big, of course he was big, and pretty nice looking, if you were being honest with yourself. You steeled yourself and reached forward, grabbing ahold of his dick and giving it a couple pumps, leaning forward to lick the tip before swallowing him down as much as you could, using your hand to work him at the base where you couldn’t reach. You felt powerful, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking as you bobbed your head, glad to finally have tangible proof that your desire wasn’t one-sided from the swears, grunts and moans falling from his lips.
You pulled away with a wet pop as he threw his head back, looking up at him as though you worshipped him (and that you did).
“Need you inside me, please Jud.” you pleaded; it sounded similar to a prayer.
He looked down at you, looking totally gone himself and cleared his throat, “Let me take you upstairs.”
You shook your head at the thought of waiting any longer, your cunt dripping and aching in want after losing the pleasure of his skilled fingers, “Please, you don’t understand. I can’t wait, I need you now please.”
He seemed to weigh it for a moment but ultimately gave in, maybe something in your expression told him that you truly could bear it no longer.
He snatched up some of the blankets beside the couch and placed them atop the rug, you hurriedly scooted back onto them and spread your legs, breathing heavily as he kicked off his shoes and bottoms.
He crowded himself against you, your thighs falling open as he braced himself and lined himself up against your hole before slowly starting to push into you. You gasped and pulled him down for a kiss, pressing your foreheads together as you stretched around him, feeling almost impossibly full as he finally sheathed his entire length inside you.
His mouth descended on your nipples, sucking and nipping at them as he thrust into you slowly, cursing under his breath and whispering words of praise to you.
You rolled your hips up against him, desperate to feel as much of him as you possibly could, crying out as he lifted your hips and increased his pace, fucking you earnestly against the floor. You weren’t going to last, that much was sure.
“Jud!” you moaned, near-sobbing as he dipped his hand again to rub at your clit, brutal pace not slowing as your skin slapped together in the quiet of the room. “C-close. I’m close,” you gasped out, writhing under his incessant attention.
You wrapped your legs around him and threw your head back in pleasure as you came around him, unable to stop yourself from your loud cries, hips bucking and walls spasming as he continued to grind into you.
He fucked you through your orgasm and when he paused, sweat against his brow, curls askew atop his head, and made a move to pull out, you wrapped your legs around him tighter. “Inside, please. Finish inside me,” you panted.
He leaned down to kiss you with a desperate groan, hips pumping against you until they finally stuttered in their pace before he cried out against your lips, hips jerking as he came inside you, your walls still contracting as the aftershocks of your own pleasure continued to throb through to your core.
He pulled out and flopped beside you, drawing you into his arms and tangling his hand in your hair, planting a kiss to your forehead.
***
“I’m sorry, beautiful,” he started, rubbing circles against your hip with his other hand.
You leaned in to silence him with a kiss, “Shhh. Don’t you dare apologise, Jud Duplenticy.” You smoothed the beginnings of the frown on his forehead away and gave a gentle peck to the pout forming on his lips, returning his embrace and stroking his jaw. “I have faith that we’ll figure this out.”
He stared into your eyes for a moment before nodding, cuddling you tighter as you shared in the warm bonelessness of your afterglows.