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Phil stumbles on the pavement, nearly slipping and crashing into some bushes plastered against a building.
His date had gone horribly. The man would not stop interrupting him, allowing Phil far too much time to nurture his apparently extremely alcoholic drink. He had drunkenly made his way onto the street, insisting he didn't need a ride home. One more minute with that man would have led him to intentionally impaling himself on the bush in front of him.
It's manageable, he supposes. One bad date per month to temporarily satisfy the worries of his well-meaning friends and his own curiosity and boredom.
Usually, there is no harm done. Except for now, where his most recent date has landed him stranded in the middle of the sidewalk, not even quite sure which city he is in.
He screws his eyes shut and groans, and a sudden twinge makes its way to his head. His hand finds support on the brick of the building beside him. It's worn down enough for his fingers to dig in, the sensation giving him the tiniest jolt of sobriety.
A light, delicate noise escapes from the building. He lifts his head, squinting his eyes at the doors. A few rays of warm light bleed through the cracks. The noise is intensifying and is now identifiable as a harp. As it grows louder, it becomes more enchanting.
Phil takes a step closer and peeks through one of the stained glass windows. The image is distorted and blurry, but he is able to make out rows and rows of people in robes walking down aisles, carrying the sources of the warm light—candles.
It's a church, and they seem to be starting their service. Phil pauses for a moment. Pulls out his phone and taps it a few times before it turns on. The time reads 10:16 pm. It's an odd time for church just to be starting, considering the day being a Saturday, but his intoxicated mind pays no more attention to the finer details.
Against his better judgment, he pushes against the door, slipping into the church. The intensifying music masks the creaks of worn wood—now including the piano and bells—so he finds a seat in the very back row without disturbing anyone. Being the only person sitting down, hidden from sight, he takes the time to reflect.
How did he, as a gay man, end up in a catholic church on a Saturday night? It isn't to say he has anything against religion. He was raised in a religiously ambiguous household—leaning slightly towards Catholicism more than anything else, but not including any of the indoctrination or toxic gender roles.
Maybe it's just his nature to be slightly more uncomfortable than most in a church setting. Even though he doesn't believe in a God, he can't help but feel his presence in this place is disappointing someone, somewhere.
Maybe these thoughts are far too introspective for a drunken night out, and he should go home to get some sleep before—
His inner monologue is cut off when a figure lightly bumps his leg in passing. It's one of the nuns who had her white gown caught under her foot. She keeps walking but turns around to utter a swift apology, but when their eyes lock, the church becomes silent.
Her deep brown eyes are what Phil notices first. Then the stray curl that perfectly falls in between them. There's a chance he sees a freckle or two, but her face is too obscured in the dark and beneath her veil.
It could be the alcohol playing tricks on his mind, or the general haziness of the night, or the eerie yet enchanting symphony echoing throughout the church, but this person looks like an angel. The way the candles flicker, and the light dances across her figure, somehow makes her shine brighter than all the other nuns.
Phil is unable to look away as she walks past, trickling back into formation after her mishap.
It had been a while since he appreciated a woman like this. He loves all the incredible women in his life and can see the appeal of the idea of a woman, but this is a whole new level. She settles into the front row, seemingly miles away from him, and the music softens.
He sighs and chalks up the interaction to not getting laid in a while.
He has no memory of falling asleep until he regains consciousness, and all his senses come back online. He feels the cool breeze that wasn't here before, and the way his muscles ache after he forced his long body to be curled up in a pew.
"Hello?" A voice whispers.
He nearly falls forward with the force he uses to bring himself upright.
"Sorry. I'm Sorry." The apologies fall from his lips before he's even aware of what he's supposed to be sorry for. He rubs his eyes, and when they pry open, he isn't met with the priest, as expected. Not even an annoyed janitor.
The nun stands before him, and she lifts her veil.
"No need to be sorry." She says. Her voice is deep but smooth, and with her full face revealed, it's now clear to Phil—the nun is a man.
He almost falls over again. There are even more curls peeking through the veil than before. His brown eyes now appear darker in the absence of candlelight. Comparable to the deepest corners of the ocean. Phil feels a shiver run through his body, as if he's just fallen in. His rosary is beaded, black, and long. It almost hits him in the face when the nun leans just an inch closer.
His lips are parted in awe. His jaw could be rested on the floor, as well. He's not sure of anything anymore.
"Oh, are you cold? Let me get you a jacket." The nun clicks her tongue and leaves Phil sitting, agape.
An eternity passes before she returns, and Phil has not moved a muscle. A black leather jacket is slung over his shoulders.
"Come on, let's get you going." Phil is guided to stand by his shoulders, and he leans into the touch. As they walk out of the church, he's surprised to notice that the nun has an inch or two of height on him. He takes a shaky inhale. The scent of amber, spice, and burnt candles overloads his senses.
The nun keeps a hand on his shoulder until they round the corner, and their backs press against cool cobblestone.
Phil remains silent as the nun fumbles through his garment, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He tips the pack toward Phil, but he shakes his head.
"I don't smoke." Phil mumbles.
He hums in acknowledgment and lights a cigarette, taking glances at Phil every few moments. He takes a long drag, his gaze setting on Phil.
"So, what made you come to church?"
Phil hesitates, probably looking like an idiot in the eyes of this nun, but he has a patient, waiting look in his eye.
"I honestly don't know. I had a bit to drink." He's not sure what compelled him to confess this to the nun. Much less, be so honest with a complete stranger.
"Oh, I see. You're a drunk, aren't you?" He takes another casual drawl, and Phil has no idea where he finds all this composure.
"Um, no. No, I don't usually drink. I know that's, err, quite sinful, I suppose." His words come out in a fumbling mess, but somehow, the nun entertains them.
"It is sinful." He agrees with a light shrug. His eyes fall over Phil's frame. The attention causes Phil to wrap himself further into the leather jacket.
"Oh. I'm sorry, then, Sis—I mean, Brother?"
Phil winces at himself. The nun lets out a chuckle.
"I prefer Sister. Sister Daniel." He stretches out a hand.
"Right." Phil nods, shaking his hand.
A moment of silence stretches between them. Phil chooses not to dwell on the absurdity of this all.
"What about you?" Sister Daniel says, quieter now.
Phil clears his throat. "I'm not a nun, but I think I'd prefer Brother, I guess."
He's no stranger to odd questions, so he gives this one genuine consideration. His response draws a full laugh out of Sister Daniel.
"You're cute. I meant, what's your name?"
"Phil." He breathes out. He's not sure how much more of this he can take. He prays to whatever God is out there that Sister Daniel can't see the blush grazing his cheeks.
The nun flashes a toothy grin, leaning down to relight his cigarette, when something catches the moonlight. A silver hoop earring. He feels faint.
"Is that allowed?" Phil's inhibitions have flown out the door. He doesn't realize what he has said until it's too late.
Sister Daniel scoffs. "Similar to alcohol. Only in moderation."
"No—the earring. That too, I suppose."
He hums. "As long as Father doesn't find out, what harm can it do?"
His eyes find Phil's again, hooded and dark. His words are slow and paired with a small grin. Phil can't take it anymore.
"I should go home."
Sister Daniel nods. "Will you be at church this Sunday?"
Phil swallows. "I'm not really religious." His conviction is weak. Sister Daniel can see right through him.
He receives a shrug. "You can find something to repent for."
"Like what?" His voice is nearly a whisper now.
Sister Daniel taps the ash from his cigarette. "That's up to you."
He leans in closer, brushing his lips against Phil's ear. "Happy Easter, Phil."
Oh.
That is why the service is on a Saturday night.
On Monday, he receives a call from his friend who had set him up on the date. He remembers little about the actual date, his mind focusing only on the hours that followed. He comes up with a few excuses for why there will be no further dates with this man and hangs up the phone.
On Wednesday, he is sprawled across his bed, a hand shoved into his joggers. His eyes are locked shut, picturing brown eyes and a rosary grazing his chest. With his head tilted back into the pillow, he finishes, the words "you're cute" echoing in his mind as his ears ring.
On Sunday, he goes to church.
It seems much larger than the last time he was here. There is a quiet clamour as people begin to crowd in, ushered by gentle nuns.
He sits in the second row, taking in the scenery. The church is grand and artistic, something he was unable to appreciate in the darkness of the other night fully. The ceiling is hooded, lined with vibrant colors and patterns. A large painting to his right catches his eye. It pictures a line of weeping nuns repenting at the altar. A priest stands before them, holding one of their faces in forgiveness.
He is too caught up to feel the presence of another person beside him, only being made aware by a quiet cough.
Phil's head whips to the left, finding Sister Daniel holding two small cups. He looks just as beautiful as the night they met, the only difference being that his cloak is classic black rather than celebratory white.
"I'm glad you made it." He says, placing the cup—a communion cup, Phil realizes—into his hand.
A smile lifts Phil's face. "Thank you, Sister."
They sit beside each other for the remainder of the service. They take communion together, and Phil can hear the nun hum in agreement whenever the priest makes a point. He would have focused himself, but he couldn't think of anything besides the press of Sister Daniel's leg into his.
If he were sitting any closer, he might as well be in his lap.
Phil eventually calms down about it, which happens to be the point when service is over. Ambient strings fill the room as a few people linger to pray or speak with a nun.
Suddenly, Sister Daniel reaches for Phil's communion cup. "Here, let me take this for you."
A few red drops remain at the bottom of the cup—which Phil thinks nothing of—until those drops land on his lap, in the blink of an eye.
"Oh, no. We'd better go clean you up."
Phil is about to open his mouth in protest, but Sister Daniel grabs him by the wrist and pulls him up to the elevated platform where the priest stands.
"Father." He addresses him, dropping Phil's hand to clasp his own together, paired with a bow. His voice is an octave higher than Phil has ever heard it.
"Yes, Sister?"
"This is Phil. It's his first time at church, but I've accidentally spilled my communion on his lap. May I have the keys to the Sacristy to clean him up and perhaps find him a fresh pair of trousers?"
The priest smiles at Phil, then returns his eyes to Sister Daniel.
"Of course."
"Thank you, Father."
He takes the keys from the priest's extended hand and bows once more, pulling Phil past him and through a door behind the altar. He winds through a hallway silently before making it to another door, which requires the key.
He twists it into the lock and swings the door open.
The room is quite large, to Phil's surprise. The walls are lined with wood cabinets, with a few ledges sticking out, similar to a kitchen. There is a table in the center of the room with an armoire off to the side.
Sister Daniel is mumbling things to himself about cleaning supplies and trousers when Phil interrupts.
"It's really alright, Sister. You don't need to do this all for me."
A sudden shyness overcomes him. Sister Daniel's piercing gaze does nothing to ease this.
"It's my duty." He states. He walks past Phil and leans against the door, shutting it. His hands twist behind his back and lock the door, his eyes remaining on Phil all the while.
"Wouldn't want anyone to see your..." He trails off, glancing down at Phil's trousers. Phil looks as well, noticing how the liquid on his crotch is blooming outward, seeming anything but accidental, right about now.
"Compromised state." He finishes, making his way past Phil once more and into one of the cabinets.
"Of course." Phil manages to say with a lump in his throat.
Sister Daniel's hands emerge from the cabinets, holding disinfectant spray and a rag. He motions for Phil to sit on the sacrarium, putting him on display in the middle of the room. His hands grip the edge of the fixture, which piques the nun's interest.
"You're very tense." He comments, brushing his fingers lightly over the stain with the rag.
"Sorry." Phil almost stutters. His heartbeat quickens as his fingers continue to drag over the stain, not doing much besides driving Phil insane.
"You came." Sister Daniel's hand stills.
Phil's heart skips a beat. "What?"
"You came to church today." His hand drifts closer to the left. Closer to somewhere that Phil is beginning to ache.
"Oh. Yes." He gives up on his calm demeanor, allowing his breath to shake audibly.
Sister Daniel palms over him. Not squeezing, just resting his hand there. "Did you think of something to repent for?"
He leans in closer. Phil's pulse is thundering in his ears.
"Sister." He breathes out. He swallows. Hard.
"This isn't right." He has to look down to utter the words.
It doesn't elicit the response he expects. Unfortunately, he must discover the hard way that things which seem wrong only spur the other on even more.
"Oh, is that so?" He brings his hand up from Phil's crotch so his fingers can hook around a belt loop. He tugs on the loop, taking a step closer to Phil, forcing his legs to fall apart. He settles between his legs, a sly grin flashing on his face.
"You're not doing anything to stop me."
If there is any air left in Phil's lungs, it rushes out.
"You're—" He cuts himself off. He doesn't even know where to begin. There are a plethora of reasons why this is wrong. Sister Daniel is a nun. A man. They're in a church.
None of these reasons holds up in his mind, though. They all fade away, his resolve crumbling with each inch Sister Daniel comes closer to his lips.
Instead, what he lands on is: "You're beautiful."
The gap is closed between them in an instant. Phil's mind is blank. A clean slate for Sister Daniel to etch every detail of herself into, seeping into the darkest corners.
He kisses how he talks—slow, intentional, and maddening. His hands glide behind Phil, pulling him in from his waist. Phil brings his own hand up to Sister Daniel's face, tilting it slightly so he can deepen the kiss. His own action draws a moan out of him, which Sister Daniel is quick to swallow up.
He's past the point of embarrassment, now only guided by blind desperation.
His fingers trail past the nun's jaw, lightly grazing the silver hoop earring. The touch sends shivers through Sister Daniel, giving Phil a sense of accomplishment.
They continue exploring each other's mouths, the tension growing between them like a tangible object. Phil grasps onto anything he can reach. His arms find their way around Sister Daniel's neck, where he is disappointed to find fabric instead of the curls he had dreamed about.
He whines into his mouth, dropping his arms. Sister Daniel takes a step back. He looks almost as wrecked as Phil is sure he is, his eyeliner beginning to smudge.
"Can you take this off?" He all but begs, tugging on the veil.
Sister Daniel wordlessly removes the veil, tossing it aside. His hair springs up, and Phil's fingers are instantly running through his curls.
He expects him to return to the kiss, but instead, his head dips down, latching onto his neck. A trembling sigh falls out of Phil's lips, digging his fingers deeper into the other's scalp. With a particularly hard bite, he gasps and tugs on the hair. Sister Daniel's moan in response is low, radiating through his neck.
"Sister, please." He doesn't even know what he's begging for. He doesn't care. He's willing to take anything Sister Daniel will give him.
Sister Daniel pauses, lifting his head from Phil's bruised neck to meet his eyes.
"Call me Daniel." His gaze flits between Phil's eyes. Something is different about this look. He's studying Phil.
"Daniel." Phil whispers, testing the name on his tongue. It's a name he could get used to saying.
Daniel sinks to his knees, pressing his face into the heat of Phil's crotch, mumbling nonsense. Phil is about to tell him off for teasing when the nonsense becomes slightly more coherent.
"You—to—r'p'nt." Daniel says, nearly suffocating himself between Phil's legs.
"What?" Phil breaths, tugging on his hair to free his mouth.
"You still need to repent, Phil."
"But—"
"No buts. You've done something very sinful, haven't you? It's alright. I'll forgive you." Daniel taunts, pulling his zipper down painfully slow.
Phil's hand is nearly fisted in Daniel's hair.
"I..."
Daniel pops the button. "Go on."
"I thought about you."
"Aw, how sweet. When did you think about me?" His fingers latch onto the sides of his jeans, pulling them down. Phil lifts himself off the sacrarium for a moment, allowing Daniel to remove his jeans fully. With himself almost on full display, it's even more difficult to speak.
Daniel notices Phil's hesitation.
"It's okay. You'll get what you want once you admit it." He brings his head closer to Phil's pants, pressing the tip of his nose against the bulge.
"I thought about you when I was touching myself." The string of words escapes Phil's lips in an instant. It's so fast, he's afraid Daniel may ask him to repeat it. Judging by the look on his face, however, he understood Phil just fine.
Daniel tugs on his pants and frees Phil so he's completely bare.
"Good. I absolve you from your sins." He murmurs before wasting no time and fully enveloping Phil in his mouth.
"Fuck." Phil groans, writhing at the relentless pace Daniel sets. It's embarrassing how worked up he is already, but he can't help it.
Daniel bobs his head up and down, sucking mercilessly. He pauses at the top, swirling his tongue around the tip, and sinks back down. He waits there, gazing up at Phil until eye contact is returned. Phil, panting and trembling, brings a hand to Daniel's face, tracing his cheekbone with the back of his finger.
Daniel keeps his focus on Phil as he ascends inch by inch, with a tight suction around Phil.
Phil's head drops back, and his fingers find their rightful place in Daniel's hair. It's only a few more moments before Phil's hips begin twitching and his breathing accelerates. He attempts to pull Daniel off to no avail, his muscles clenching as he reaches his peak and tips over.
Daniel doesn't relent until Phil is whining and struggling, clearly overstimulated. He removes himself carefully and returns to his standing position.
He wipes a bead of sweat from Phil's forehead and leans in. Expecting a kiss, Phil's already tired eyes flutter shut. Unexpectedly, Daniel's lips hover beside Phil's ear.
"Turn around."
Phil's eyes fly open. "What?"
"You heard me." Daniel pulls himself away from Phil and rummages through one of the cabinets. When he returns with a clear bottle, Phil is still staring at him. He's somehow recovering, preparing, and shocked all at once.
Daniel's lips curve into a smirk.
He sets the bottle beside Phil and moves to remove his gown. It falls to the floor, and Phil's brain haywires.
Daniel's legs are wrapped in fishnet tights. His eyes trail upwards. The black strapless dress he's wearing barely covers enough skin. It has a triangle-shaped cutout on his chest, and trails down like an arrow before it cuts off, just barely below his thigh.
"Oh, my god." Phil breathes, shamelessly raking his eyes over Daniel's frame multiple times.
Daniel clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "You mustn't be using the lord's name in vain, Phil. I may have to punish you."
All Phil can do is gulp.
"Now, I remember telling you to turn around, is that right?"
Daniel's tone is patronizing. Phil truly feels as if he needs to be punished. When he slips off the sacrarium and leans over it on his stomach, he notices himself, impossibly, hardening again. He's terrified of the hold Daniel already has on him.
He can hear Daniel uncapping the bottle, and the unmistakable slickening of something. His muscles clench in anticipation.
Daniel drapes himself over Phil's back—a distraction as his fingers wander lower.
"Relax. You want to be good for me, don't you?"
Phil forces himself to take a deep breath. He nods.
He feels cold fingers tracing lower, and lower, until they're pressed right up against his hole.
"Say it." Daniel instructs. It sounds as if he's biting the words.
"Yes. I want to be good for you." It nearly comes out as a whine, but Daniel accepts it nonetheless.
He begins pressing kisses along the side of Phil's neck as a finger gently presses its way inside. The noise punched out of Phil at this is most definitely a whine, if not something much more needy.
The kisses grow into more, until Daniel is sucking bruises all over his neck and the back of his shoulder, mirroring the front side. It serves as a distraction, enabling him to slip one more finger in beside the first. Phil pants, his body slowly being pressed deeper onto the sacrarium. He would never complain about being trapped under Daniel, though, so he chooses to say nothing about his increasing lack of oxygen.
His legs spasm at the intrusion of a third finger, his eyes rolling into the back of his head when all three curve and find a sensitive spot. Daniel's fingers abuse him from the inside, not letting up on his prostate until Phil lets out a noise akin to a sob.
"Please. I've been good. I need it, please."
His skin is buzzing at every point of contact between them, and his vision is becoming starry. Daniel presses some soothing kisses down his spine, easing his fingers out and reaching for the bottle once more. He can hear another distinct thing being slicked up, and then something much larger than the tip of a finger is teasing him.
He forces his muscles to relax, accepting the slow entrance. Once Daniel is bottomed out, his hands find Phil's waist. He digs his fingertips into the soft skin there, eliciting a whimper from Phil.
Phil doesn't have any words left in him, but in his mind, he's begging. He only has enough energy left to take what's given to him.
With an iron-tight grip on Phil, Daniel starts to move. Phil wishes he were on his back so he could see Daniel's face, with his curls plastered to his forehead, and his freckles showing through his blush. He hopes Daniel feels as ruined as he does.
Phil can tell that Daniel's unhurried thrusts aren't just to ease Phil into it. He's holding himself back.
Experimentally, he rocks himself back against Daniel, forcing him to hit a deep spot he hadn't reached before.
They both moan at this, and something inside Daniel snaps. He pushes his hips forward with more force. Their skin can be heard slapping, and tiny noises are drawn out of Phil at each movement, but neither of them can be brought to care. All that exists is the two of them in this room.
Daniel leans forward, and his rosary catches on Phil's back. He can feel it bouncing off of him with their movement, and he almost comes from the picture of it alone.
Daniel continues to lower himself until his mouth is right beside Phil's ear.
"Have you learned your lesson about using the lord's name in vain?"
Phil's jaw drops. "Fuck, Daniel." He groans.
"Answer me." Daniel demands, his demanding tone faltering when his thrusts speed up. He shifts his angle, making his cock ruthlessly pound into Phil's prostate on every hit.
"Yes. I have. I promise." Phil chokes out.
"Good." It comes out similar to a growl. His forehead falls on Phil's shoulder. He grasps at all available pieces of Phil's skin, marking everything from his lower back to his arms.
Phil feels entirely overwhelmed, and before he can even warn Daniel or get a hand on himself, he's coming entirely untouched. Light bursts behind his eyelids, and if he makes a noise, he isn't aware of it. His entire body trembles, unable to be calmed even with Daniel's grounding hands.
Daniel makes a strained noise, still splitting him open, and a moment later, he stills. Another set of chills runs through Phil at the feeling of Daniel finishing inside him. They lay there, breathing synchronized and hearts pounding for a moment.
Phil whimpers when Daniel pulls out, receiving a hushed apology. Daniel uses the rag that had been abandoned next to them to clean them off, then gets a hand around Phil's waist and flips him around without his feet ever needing to touch the ground.
The sight before Phil is as if an angel descended from heaven. Daniel's hair is sticking up in odd directions, sweat dripping down his face and neck. His cheeks are rosy and, as expected, are pronouncing his freckles even more. The only thing remaining the same is his brown eyes, blinking down at Phil.
Phil gives a lazy smile and twirls his fingers around Daniel's rosary.
"Will I see you next Sunday?" Daniel asks, his arms bracketing Phil's legs.
Phil uses the rosary to close the distance between them. The kiss is soft, full of unspoken promises.
"Only if I have something to repent for."