~✧Where the Light Falls Wrong✧~
Tags: slow burn, forbidden love, emotional surrender, mutual pining, yearning payoff, religious imagery, nsfw, unprotected pinv, catholic guilt lost the war, God is definitely watching this
Jud didn’t remember driving to your house. One moment he was still inside the confessional, forehead pressed against the wood, and the next his hands were gripping the steering wheel as rain hammered against the windshield.
He should have gone back to the rectory.
He should have knelt until his knees bled.
Instead, there he was, parked across the street from your home like a sinner waiting for judgment.
The rain fell harder. Jud kept staring at the soft glow spilling from the kitchen window like it was the last light left in his world, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. His hands were shaking, his knuckles white against the wheel. His chest felt too tight, like his own ribs were trying to cage the storm raging inside him: shame, desire, fear, and a longing so deep it felt like sacrilege.
Leave. Now. Before you ruin her life the way you’ve already ruined your soul.
He was reaching for the ignition when the front door opened. And then, you stepped out into the rain. No coat. No umbrella. Just you, eyes wide, breath visible in the cold air, running toward his car as if you already knew he was breaking.
Jud got out before he could stop himself.
The rain hit him like a baptism of ice, soaking through his shirt instantly, but he barely felt it. All he could see was you, hair already plastered to your cheeks, dress clinging to your curves, eyes shining with the same desperate hope and fear he felt tearing him apart.
“Father? What are you doing here?” you gasped, stopping a few steps away, water streaming down your face like tears you refused to shed inside the house. “If my husband sees you-”
He didn’t let you finish. No words. No permission. No last prayer. Three desperate strides and he was there, cupping your face with both large hands and kissing you like the world was ending. There was nothing careful about it. Nothing measured. This was not the kiss of a priest, this was the kiss of a man who had been starving for months and had finally broken his chains.
A raw, broken sound tore from his throat as his mouth claimed yours. Deep. Desperate. Devouring. Almost angry with how much he needed you. Rain poured over you both, cold and relentless, yet where your lips met there was only heat. Scorching, consuming, sacred and sinful all at once. He kissed you like he was trying to pour every suppressed touch, every sleepless night burning for you, every whispered prayer he had offered instead of your name into your mouth. His thumbs brushed your wet cheeks with something close to reverence while his tongue slid against yours, worshiping and claiming. One hand slid into your soaked hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper, harder, as if he could erase every moment he had pulled away from you.
You answered with equal hunger, fingers fisting in his drenched shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, and he answered by backing you against the side of the car, body pressing into yours. It felt like absolution and damnation at the same time, cold water running down your joined bodies while fire burned everywhere you touched.
When you finally broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, both of you were drenched and breathing like you had been drowning.
“Jud…” you whispered, voice raw. “What are you doing?”
He let out a shattered exhale against your lips, eyes dark, wild, and completely undone.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, voice hoarse, thumbs brushing rain from your cheeks. “I should have done this so much earlier.”
You didn’t answer with words. You looked at him for one heartbeat, eyes shining with unshed tears, and then you made the choice for both of you. You took his hand, fingers intertwining with his, and pulled him toward the house without another word. The moment the door closed behind you, shutting out the storm and the world, you rose on your toes and kissed him again, slower this time but no less desperate. A kiss that tasted like all the almosts, all the pulled-away touches, all the swallowed confessions.
Jud groaned into your mouth, hands sliding down your waist, but it was you who kept leading, walking backward, pulling him with you through the hallway, never breaking the kiss for more than a second, like if you both were afraid that if you stopped kissing, reality would crash back in.
Between hungry kisses and trembling breaths, he managed one last question against your neck:
“Not home,” you gasped. “He won’t be back until later.”
You took his hand again and guided him down the hall toward the bedroom, your fingers tight around his like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go, but Jud followed without fighting. He simply let himself fall.
The bedroom door closed behind you with a quiet click, shutting out the rest of the world. For a moment you both stood there, dripping rainwater onto the floor, breathing each other in. The weight of what you were about to do settled over you like heavy velvet. Sacred and terrifying. Inevitable.
Jud’s eyes never left yours. His hands trembled slightly at his sides.
You stepped closer and reached for the clerical collar still around his neck. Your fingers brushed his skin as you unfastened it. He let you. When the collar came off, you placed it gently on the dresser. Then you looked down at your own left hand, at the thin gold band that had felt heavier every day for months. With a slow breath, you slipped it off and set it beside his collar.
Two symbols. Two promises.
Tonight, you would try to forget them both.
You returned to him and kissed him again, slow, deep, savouring. Your hands moved to the buttons of his soaked black shirt. His fingers joined yours, but they were clumsy, shaking with nerves. You smiled softly against his mouth and took over, undoing each button one by one while he watched you with dark, reverent eyes.
When the shirt finally fell open, you pushed it off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Your breath caught then. There, inked across his ribs in elegant script, was a new tattoo you had never seen before: Ad astra, per aspera. You traced the Latin words with gentle fingertips, making his skin raise beneath. Then you leaned in and pressed your lips to the ink in his neck, kissing it slowly. Jud let out a low, broken sound and melted under your touch, one hand sliding into your wet hair.
You stepped back just enough to let your dress slide down your body and pool at your feet. Then you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, letting it fall away.
You stood before him, bare from the waist up, skin still wet from the rain, looking almost divine. Moonlight and the distant glow of a streetlamp kissed your body, tracing silver lines across your shoulders, your breasts, the gentle curve of your waist. Water droplets clung to your skin like tiny blessings.
He had spent years surrounded by sacred images: paintings of saints, statues of the Virgin, golden altars. None of them compared to this.
You were living, breathing sin and grace intertwined. His undoing made flesh.
His hands trembled at his sides. His heart thundered in his chest, frantic and reverent at the same time, so loud he was sure you could hear it. Desire burned through him so fiercely it bordered on pain while his gaze moved over you with something close to worship, slow and reverent, as if he were afraid that looking too long might damn him forever… or maybe save him.
You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And he couldn't believe you were there, offering yourself to him.
Taking one of his large hands, you brought it to your breast.
“Touch me,” you whispered.
Jud exhaled shakily. Then his restraint finally snapped. He cupped you with both hands, thumbs brushing over your nipples with something close to worship. He leaned down and took one into his mouth, slow and reverent at first, then hungrier, groaning against your skin as if he had been dreaming of this for months. His other hand kneaded and caressed, learning every curve like a man rediscovering faith.
You reached between your bodies and palmed him through his soaked pants. He was already hard and straining against the fabric. The low, guttural sound he made against your chest when you squeezed gently sent heat pooling low in your belly. Without losing more time, you unbuckled his belt, opened his pants, and slowly dragged them down his hips along with his underwear. As you sank slowly to your knees, you pressed open-mouthed kisses down his abdomen, tracing the scattered moles with your lips as if they were stars you wanted to memorize. When you looked up at him, lips parted and eyes dark with hunger, the sight struck him like lightning.
But choosing to worship him, a fallen priest, with your hands, your mouth, your desire… in the most sinful, beautiful way imaginable.
Jud’s breath hitched sharply, a low, broken sound escaping his throat. He had seen countless people kneel before him in church over the years, heads bowed in reverence, seeking God through him. But nothing, nothing, had ever undone him the way you did now.
Jud’s hand trembled as it slid into your wet hair. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. The image was sacred and profane all at once, and it destroyed the last fragile thread of his restraint.
“God…” he breathed, the word halfway between prayer and curse.
You didn’t stay there long. You wanted all of him. So you stood, took his hand again, and guided him to the bed. When you lay back, you whispered softly:
Jud settled over you carefully, almost shyly. The moment your bare skin met, warm, damp, and trembling, both of you moaned softly. He was visibly shaking above you. You slid both hands into his damp hair, cradling his head, and looked into his eyes.
“Are you okay?” you asked gently.
He let out a shaky breath, forehead resting against yours.
“I’m nervous,” he confessed, voice rough. “I’m… I’m terrified of not doing this right. Of disappointing you.”
You let out a soft, breathless laugh. Nervous, giddy, full of affection.
“I’m nervous too,” you confessed, cupping his face. “Have you done this before?” you asked tenderly.
“Yes,” he whispered. “But years ago. And never with someone who matters like this.”
Your thumbs brushed his cheekbones.
“Then trust me when I say it will be perfect,” you murmured. “Because it’s you.”
You kissed him deeply, then reached between your bodies and wrapped your fingers around him. You guided him to your entrance and paused.
“Are you sure of this, Jud?” you whispered against his lips.
His answer was immediate, raw, and honest.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
He pushed into you slowly, carefully, inch by inch. Both of you gasped at the sensation. He buried his face in your neck as he sank deeper, until he was fully seated inside you. For a moment you simply held each other, breathing hard, adjusting to the overwhelming feeling of finally being joined.
Jud began to move with tender reverence at first; slow, deep thrusts that gradually grew more confident as pleasure overtook nerves amd restraint. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him closer and meeting every movement, whispering his name like a prayer between kisses. You kissed his temples, his shoulder, the tattoo on his neck.
“You taste like rain,” you breathed against his wet skin.
Jud moaned, hips stuttering for a moment.
“And you…” he rasped, voice wrecked as he thrust deeper, “you taste like sin.”
The words sent a shiver through both of you.
He moved inside you with growing desperation, the sound of skin against skin and rain against the window filling the room. You clung to him, nails gently dragging down his back, lost in the feeling of being so completely wanted.
It didn’t last long. After so many years of denial, the feeling of being inside you, of your warmth and softness and the way you moaned his name, overwhelmed him. With a deep, guttural groan, Jud buried his face in your neck and came hard, hips stuttering against yours.
“I’m sorry… God, I’m so sorry…” he panted, voice wrecked with shame and pleasure. “I didn’t- I couldn’t-”
“Shh,” you soothed, stroking his back, kissing his temple, his cheek, his lips. “It’s okay. It's more than okay. Come here.”
You took his hand gently and guided it between your bodies, pressing his fingers where you needed him most while he was still buried deep inside you. He understood immediately. With the same devotion he once gave to prayer, Jud touched you, circling, stroking, learning what made you tremble and gasp, until your back arched and you came around him with a broken cry of his name.
Afterward, you stayed tangled together, hearts thundering, skin damp with rain and sweat. Jud held you close, almost too tightly, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your temple, as if he still couldn’t believe you were real.
Neither of you spoke for a long time.
There would be consequences. Guilt. Reality waiting outside these walls.
But tonight, beneath the sound of rain against the window, there was only the two of you.
Breathless, sated, and finally, finally together.
Taglist: @quietly-kept @sidelit
