the thing about heated rivalry is that u start it because you want to watch hot guys be gay. like it could be good it could be bad but who cares, it will still have hot guys being gay. and then u watch it and realize every episode is like getting shot in the chest five times while experiencing every emotion imaginable bc you’re actually just witnessing a work of art unfold week by week. and you STILL get to watch hot guys be gay. absolutely top tier viewing experience
i think the hottest look you can give someone after they commit acts of unspeakable violence is approval. like don't get me wrong if there's lust there too that's great, but staring at someone with gore dripping down their chin and coating their hands to the wrists with undisguised appraisal and admiration. maybe giving them a little nod as if to say 'well done'. THAT'S what says "yeah we're gonna fuck nasty later".
the thing is that the hockey is the foreplay. the thing is that they know in advance when they’re going to see each other. they get more and more excited for it the closer it gets. they flirt (badly) via text message in the days/hours prior. the thing is that when you don’t see someone for weeks at a time, and you want them so badly, even knowing they’re in the same building as you can make you crazy. the thing is that one of them is going to win the game. the thing is that they’re going to tussle and they’re going to one-up each other and they’re going to sweat. ilya is gonna get rough and he’s gonna talk shit. shane is gonna get riled up and he’s gonna work hard. and one of them is going to win. either way, shane is getting fucked. but the context of it changes. if shane loses then he’s probably annoyed/mad, which ilya loves, and shane gets the catharsis of sex. if shane wins then that means ilya gets to take his power back at the end of the night by fucking the shit out of shane. i promise you that by the time they get to the locker room pre-game they are absolutely already worked up. they’re nothing short of ravenous when they finally get in a room alone together. they did the foreplay already. shane’s drooling for it already. sports is sex. flirting is sex. anticipation is sex. being annoyed/annoying is sex. i swear the hockey is part of the sex. and then sex is also sex, which honestly feels too on the nose in the grander context of their relationship. it’s all sex. all of it? the whole time.
Notes: Sorry this took so long! Welcome to the final part!
Length: 3.5K
Warnings: Reader is an ex-Catholic; yearning; angst; slow burn; mom guilting; Catholic trauma; explicit sexual content: oral sex; vaginal sex
Summary: Your leaving had always been part of the plan. It just wasn’t supposed to hurt so damn much.
“Bless me, father, for I have sinned.”
The parting wasn’t easy.
As Christmas passed, your mother healed, and your time in Chimney Rock had drawn to a close, you’d become resigned to the brevity of your relationship with Jud. You’d spent as much time together as you could—knees touching at Il Diavolo’s, knuckles brushing on walks together in the garden, kisses stolen in the classroom after CCD.
Your leaving had always been part of the plan. It just wasn’t supposed to hurt so damn much.
You’d stopped by the rectory on the way out of town to say goodbye, and had nearly caved at the sight of Jud standing in the doorway, waiting for you. His pink-tinged cheeks had made you wonder how long he’d been outside.
You’d crowded together in the front hall, hands clasped in one another’s as you recited the little speech you’d been practicing as you’d packed, as you’d driven over.
“I can’t repay you for all of the kindness you’ve shown me—“ Your breath had hitched as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “And my mom over the last month, or…or so…” You’d trailed off as his kisses drifted lower, brushed your jaw, lowered to your neck. You’d had to gather every bit of strength as you pushed the rest of the way through it, swallowed your tears, and warned, “Jud, if you kiss me again, I won’t be able to go.”
You’d managed to hold back your crying until you were five minutes down the road, and even then, you’d had to pull over, unable to see through them to safely drive.
The parting wasn’t easy.
The return feels just as turbulent.
Jud’s head twitches toward the sound of your voice on the other side of the confessional, but freezes, seeming to force his focus forward.
“It’s been two months since my last confession.”
You can just make out his face through the booth’s partition, his beautiful profile punctured and scattered by the lattice between you. You draw in a deep breath, hands folded in front of you as you shift on the kneeler.
“I’ve lied to my mom twice. Once when I told her that my flight was delayed, and then again when I told her that the food she made was good. It wasn’t. Barely edible, actually.”
He huffs a soft laugh through his nose, nods.
“I saw someone steal a mug from a coffee shop. I didn’t tell anyone. Not sure if that was is a sin—at least, it’s not my sin, it’s someone else’s, but felt like a sin by proximity.” You hesitate, gaze lowering to your hands. ”I…Father, I have lust in my heart. I think it’s eating me alive.”
“What is it that you lust for?”
“A man, father. We’ve been…Intimate. Never all the way. We haven’t seen one another in a few months, I haven’t spoken to him. He left the door open to speak. I never took him up on it, because I thought it would be easier.”
“For both of you?”
“For myself. Selfishly, only for myself. Trying to think about how it made him feel, I—“ You pull in a tight breath. “I can’t even begin to presume what he may’ve thought, or felt. And that was pretty shitty of me, and I know that. If he never wanted to speak to me again, I’d understand.”
“…What would you say to him?”
“I would tell him that I’ve missed him. I would tell him that he has been on my mind every day.” You shift on the kneeler again, thighs squeezing together. “I’d tell him that I think about him when I can’t sleep. That I touch myself remembering his voice, his hands, his kiss.” You swipe your tongue across your lower lip. “I’d tell him that I imagine him stroking himself in his narrow bed…And that I spend far too much time thinking about his neck tattoo.”
You lift your head to see Jud’s lips quirk into a smile, his hand coming up to scrub at his neck.
“And I would tell him that I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“His faith is important to him. His God is important to him, and I’m afraid our prior entanglement could have impacted that relationship for the worse. As much as I care for him and as badly as I want him, I don’t want him to…I don’t know,” You shake your head, “I don’t want to come between him and his purpose.”
“That’s his choice to make, and his boundary to draw.”
“Yeah,” You agree softly, “It is.”
“…Five Our Fathers, and five Hail Mary’s.”
”Thank you, father.”
--
The garden is in bloom, so far afield from the chilled, wilted expanse you’d resigned yourself to after your first mass leading children’s liturgy. You’re not sure how much longer Jud will be hearing confessions. You know you could go to the rectory, poke around, see if the desk needs neatening, but you’re still struggling to get your head together.
You’d said your Our Fathers and Hail Marys with your rosary beads wrapped around your hands, your heart thudding in your throat. You’d been watching the confessional as you’d pushed through your prayers, and you knew that if you stayed inside, you’d keep right on staring, and waiting.
You smooth your sweating palms over your thighs. How much longer is it going to be? A few minutes? An hour? And what if he doesn’t come out this way? He’s probably got other things that he’s planned to do if not needs to do. The man has a parish to run, after all.
You spot his shadow first, slimmer without his chasuble, as he lowers himself to sit beside you.
A breeze pushes across the two of you, mingling the scent of his cologne with the wildflowers beneath your feet. You want so desperately to lean into him. But without a window into what Jud’s thinking, you’re not going to make that move.
“When did you get back in town?”
“Yesterday.”
“Here for your mom’s birthday party?”
“Mhm. Assuming you got an invite?”
“I did.”
You nod a little, hands wringing in your lap.
“…I wasn’t kidding about that dinner last night,” You offer, unable to stand the silence. “It was, I mean, oof. She made burgers. Or at least, I think they were supposed to be burgers. She served up hockey pucks, I swear. Ran out of ketchup, too, it was, um. They were really dry.”
Your foot bounces, leg inches from brushing Jud’s.
“The flight wasn’t delayed, I actually missed the first one.” You can’t stop talking. If Jud is going to tell you that it’s best if the two of you move on, that the time the two of you spent together was a mistake—“I was kinda debating whether or not I should show, played chicken with ordering a car and fucked up. I didn’t even get to security until ten minutes after the flight took off. Wasn’t too bad, though. Gave me some time to go through duty free, find something for my mom for her birthday. I took too long doing that, too, almost missed the second flight—”
His touch is so familiar.
Jud’s hand slips between yours, drawing it between the two of you as he clasps it between his. You close your eyes, shoulders lowering slightly from their tense set. Jud gives your hand a gentle squeeze, then lets go before he stands, urging you up.
“Come on.”
--
The rectory is just as you remember. You drift in after Jud, hands shoved in your pockets to staunch the urge to reach out, to touch. Your fingers flex and curl in your pockets, your left hand grasping the rosary still.
“The garden looks good.” It’s all you can think to offer him.
“It does,” Jud agrees. “Grace had a module in her science about the importance of wildflowers for the bee population, asked if she could scatter some seeds.”
“Oh yeah?” Your lips curl into a smile. “She’s a smart cookie.”
“She is.”
You still as Jud turns to face you fully, his hands shoved into his own pockets. You stand there together for a moment in tense and curious silence, perfectly distanced from the stairs and the front door.
“I am sorry that I didn’t reach out,” You admit. “I don’t know what I was thinking—Well, I do, but it should’ve been a conversation about why there wasn’t a—a conversation.”
“And how do you think that would’ve gone?”
“Should we be getting back in the booth for this?” You ask, jerking your thumb over your shoulder. Jud smiles, but doesn’t laugh. Just tips his head up and urges:
“Humor me.”
You pull in a breath, allowing your eyes to wander the living room as you drift toward one of the couches. It’s not hard to imagine—because you have thought about it.
“I would’ve reminded you that I was never meant to stay in Chimney Rock long. That I don’t come back very often.”
“Mhm.”
“Reminded you that what we’ve done was…Wrong.”
“Was it?”
Your heart ticks up in your chest, your head turning slightly to eye him in your periphery.
“By your vows.”
A pause, and then a hum of agreement. “And then?”
“And then,” You wave your hand, “I mean, I’d like to think I’d give you a chance to respond.”
You feel Jud cross behind you, hear the slight creak of the spring as he lowers himself to sit on one of the couches.
“Did it not feel wrong?” You can’t help the way it springs out before he can say a word. “You told me you were having a crisis of faith—Was it something else?”
“No. It was you.”
You hesitate, then nod a touch. ”Right.”
“But…” Jud’s gaze lowers to the couch opposite his. “When I had my crisis of faith before, it felt different. Like I had been abandoned. Our time together has never felt like that.”
Your belly flutters at the admission, and you force yourself to turn away, hands squeezing and flexing in your pockets.
“Would you have preferred it if we had spoken?” You ask.
”Mm…At the beginning, yes. But having time away from you was oddly…Clarifying.”
“Oh?” You turn your head back toward him a little again. “How so?”
“Because it helped me realize,” The floor creaks behind you, “That what we had…Have,” His hands smooth over your shoulders, and you can’t help but lean back against him, “Is more than lust. For me, at least.”
“For me, too,” You mumble.
“Yeah?”
You nod, not trusting your voice to agree again. You draw in a shaky breath as Jud’s face presses into your neck, shiver at the prickle of his stubble against your skin.
”Do you want to go upstairs?”
Shit. You swallow thickly, giving a short, aborted nod. “Do you?”
--
It feels different than the last time. Jud is steering, taking charge and guiding without demanding things of you. His touch is decisive as he pulls your shirt off, grasps your waist and steers you back toward the bed. You sit down on the edge, reach for his belt, but Jud tuts softly, curling his hand under your chin.
Your eyes sweep up his body, away from the growing bulge of his cock beneath his pants.
“Take your bra off,” He orders, “And lay back.”
You do as you’re told, unhooking it and tossing it aside before scooching back. Jud’s fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and tugging them down. You lift your hips just enough to help him take them off, propping yourself up on your elbows as he climbs over you.
You reach for him again, unable to help yourself as you feel the heat of him.
“Can I see you?” You breathe.
“In a moment.”
“Jud, please.”
”Patience.” Jud’s mouth lowers to your collarbone, brushing and nuzzling across your skin. You close your eyes, smoothing your hands over every part of him that you can reach.
“Hands up.”
“Jud.”
”Hands. Up.” Authoritative and firm in a way that makes your pulse jump. You reach back, planting your palms against the cool wood of the headboard. You sigh softly as his lips brush across your breast, his tongue swirling around the budding nipple. You bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your moan, your hips shifting down against the fabric of his pants, the swell of his cock.
You whimper as the press of him shifts, kisses and hands trailing over the softness of your belly, down to the waistband of your panties. Your breath hitches in your chest as his lips brush against your mound through the fabric. He dips his head down, nose trailing along your slit through the fabric. Your belly swoops with nerves as you hear him draw in a deep breath, then groan against you.
“Can I taste you?” He murmurs, eyelashes fluttering up at you. You nod hurriedly, your plea hardly out of your mouth before Jud is yanking the seat of your panties to the side and diving in. You nearly choke on your moan when you feel the rushed heat of his tongue against your swollen clit. You can’t help but disobey, reaching down to grasp his hair. Jud doesn’t gripe or slow, just buries his face against you, strong hands pinning your hips against his sheets as he laps across your cunt messily.
You push up into his grip, gasping at the feeling of his tongue lapping up against your clit with quick, tight strokes up that make your hips hitch with every swipe. Jud looses gentle moans with every exploratory lap, sweep, sucking kiss.
You curl your fingers in his hair, other hand lowering from the headboard to toy with your sensitive nipples.
“Jud,” You whimper, “If you—Mm, fuck, if you keep that up, I’m gonna cum.”
And you expect that to back him off—but you feel Jud’s mouth drop with a moan, lapping the flat of his tongue against your clit. You whine, body tensing as he tips his head from side to side, groans vibrating against the tender skin as you cum. Your hips drive up against his lips and tongue, movements aborted and jerking against where his hands are still pinning you down.
You whimper as he leans back a touch, pressing slick kisses to your trembling inner thighs.
You gently unwind your fingers from his hair, sagging back against the mattress. You watch through bleary eyes as Jud sits up, tugging his clothes off hurriedly and tossing them aside. You lap across your palm as he leans over you again, grasping his cock and giving the shaft a couple of pumps. Jud groans, cock twitching in your grip as he leans down over you. You tease the head over your still-sensitive clit, biting your lip as he reaches down and guides it just that little bit lower.
You go still as his gaze flickers up to your face, eyes searching yours before he slots the head against your opening.
You bite your lip as the both of you go still.
“Are you—I mean,” You shift, “Are you sure?”
“I am,” Jud’s lips brush yours, free hand sliding over your thigh, “But I need us to both be.”
--
The first press of his cock makes you both go still. You can feel your cunt fluttering around the head, can see Jud’s arms shaking slightly where they’re planted on either side of your head.
You have to fight not to push up against him. The last thing you want to do is to rush him. But goddamn, he’s making you ache and you so desperately want more. You force yourself instead to focus on everything else—the press of his chest against yours; the strong thighs propping up your hips; the way Jud’s eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open and panting. You take in the precious little wrinkle of his brow, watch the flash of pink tongue that sweeps out before he presses his lips together, swallows thickly.
Jud eases himself in just that little bit more, and your hands lift, nails sinking into his biceps as he stretches you. Your toes curl in the sheets, your urge to push up against Jud only going stronger as he sinks deeper and deeper, and—Oh.
You curl your arms around Jud’s shoulders as your bodies press fully together. You can feel the tight set of his shoulders, the slight shake of them. Jud presses his face into your neck, a hand slipping up beneath you to cradle your head as he begins to roll his hips in slow, tight circles.
You do your best to tamp down your moans and whines, biting your lip to stifle them, but it’s so hard to keep quiet when it feels like this. You want to tell him that he feels good, that he fills you so perfectly, so much better than you could’ve imagined.
And those sounds Jud made between your legs are addictive when they’re so much closer—puffs of breath chased by a sweet little moans as he fucks into your slick cunt. You turn your head, finally giving your urge to kiss the tattoo there.
You feel Jud’s groan better than you can hear it, and he twists, lips catching yours desperately. You trade slick, searching kisses, and damn near bite his tongue when his hips shift. Jud rests his forehead against yours, eyes still squeezed shut. You don’t have to ask him to move more—you don’t have to. Jud seems to lose himself in you, hips pumping harder.
You hear him murmuring something, can just make it out beneath the creaking of the bed frame, the slapping of your skin, the push of his breath—
“Missed you, missed you, missed you.”
- -
“Two months?”
“Hm?” It takes you a moment to hum, to focus on something other than the way Jud is pressed into your side, his arm under your head, fingers tangled with yours. His free hand drifts over your body with tender reverence, tracing and sweeping and smoothing.
“You said you hadn’t been to confession in two months.”
You tip your head toward him, watching his fingers trace across your hips, over your thighs.
“Mhm.”
“When did you start going again?”
“When I left Chimney Rock.” You can’t meet his eye. Naked in bed with a priest and this is what makes you feel caught out. “It’s not consistent."
“Is it helping?”
“I think so.”
“That’s all that matters.”
You tip your head toward Jud, smiling when you find his eyes searching your face.
“I guess.”
Jud lifts his hand, cupping your cheek, and you lean in, sighing softly into his kiss. He lowers his head as it breaks, brushing his lips over your neck.
“We need to talk,” He hedges, “About…All of this.”
The way he says it is final, and fracturing. And you know that the conversation won’t be easy, but it’s one that needs to be had. Your eyes well with tears as you look up at the ceiling, nodding, and can’t help the slight hitch in your breath as you try to hold back your swell of sorrow.
“I’m sorry,” He adds, but you shake your head.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for. This is your boundary to draw, remember?”
Jud pushes himself to meet your eye, and you give him a wobbly smile, a tear slipping down your cheek.
“Hey,” He soothes, brushing it away, “Don’t—What is it people always say? Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened?”
“…That’s Revelations, isn’t it?”
Jud’s laugh calms you some, his forehead dropping to rest on your collarbone, and you curl your arm around his shoulders, cuddling him closer.
“Can we wait on talking about it?” You plead softly. “Just a day?”
“Sure.”
“Okay.”
You draw in a deep breath, closing your eyes, and force yourself to memorize the heat and weight of him against you.
“It’s not a never,” He murmurs, “Just…In moderation.”
“Jud?”
“Yeah.”
“I think this counts as us talking about it.”
“Sorry.”
“S’okay.”
- -
“When are you going home?”
You can see that Grace is shifting in her seat, can tell that she’s trying to be subtle in her questioning—but the kid has all of the subtlety of a sack of hammers. You’ve been sitting together in the kitchen for the last hour, listening to her chat about school, her little brother, the wildflowers that Jud allowed her to plant in the garden.
“In a couple of days.”
Grace nods, turns her can of sprite around in her hands, glances back when she hears some of the other kids from CCD playing in the living room. You take her in, eyeing the little pout on her pale face—and make a snap decision as you fish into your pocket.
“I wanna give you something.”
Her bright eyes dart to yours, then down to your hand as you hold out the emerald beads.
“For me?” She asks, taking the rosary from you. “Why?”
You consider for a moment. You know what you could tell her: that you see so much of yourself in her, that she is who you wish you had been at that age. That the beads should be with someone who believes, whose faith is held close. But you simply give a small shrug.
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