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Around a month after the coronation of Innocent XIV, rumors regarding the Holy Father’s biological sex had already become an open secret among certain high-ranking members of the Catholic Church. By “certain high-ranking members” one referred to Thomas Lawrence, head of the College of Cardinals, and his secretary Raymond O’Malley; Aldo Bellini, the Vatican’s Secretary of State; and Goffredo Tedesco, the Patriarch of Venice—and it was all too obvious which of them would have the hardest time accepting that.
"Do you truly believe yourself qualified to be a pope?"
“Cardinal Tedesco!”
It was Lawrence, not the Holy Father, who erupted in anger at Tedesco’s biting question. The one actually addressed merely stiffened a little, keeping a calm and composed expression. Meeting the other’s gaze evenly, Benítez spoke in his usual gentle tone.
“And why, exactly, would I not be qualified?”
“Surely you’re not asking because you genuinely do not—”
“If you intend to cite a particular organ within my body as your reasoning, I’m afraid I won’t entertain that argument.”
His quiet voice in no way diminished his authority; rather, it only served to emphasize the innate firmness of his character. Taking advantage of the momentary silence that fell as Tedesco faltered for words, Benítez pressed on.
“I have always been what God made me, and I shall remain so. I do not see how that is a matter open to debate.”
“That's not the—”
“And have you not always regarded me as a man, too?”
“.......”
“Is there a difference between how you saw me before you heard the rumors and how you see me now? If not, on what grounds do you deny that I am a man—or question my qualifications?”
Tedesco could not answer. Yet it was not as though his silence meant assent. He stammered for a moment, as if uncertain what he wished to say, and at last excused himself, promising to return the following day, before leaving the office.
Hearing Benítez’s calm voice behind him instructing Lawrence not to follow, Tedesco clenched his teeth. From the day the Innocent XIV had been elected—perhaps even before that—he had never once been able to bring himself to like the man. How could he like someone who so persistently cracked the foundations of his faith, who dragged him from the comfort of certainty into the mire of doubt?
As soon as he stepped outside, Tedesco drew out his vape with trembling fingers and took a long drag. He could not bear another humiliation—another reluctant concession—like the one he had suffered when the conclave ended. No, he would compose his thoughts before the day was over, and tomorrow he would present his argument calmly before them all—before Tommaso, before Bellini, and before Benítez himself—so that none of them could refuse his reasoning.
Resolving thus, Tedesco stepped forward through the thick veil of smoke.
***
However, by the time dawn broke the next morning, Tedesco found himself pounding on the door of Innocent XIV's office, looking anything but calm—he hadn't even bothered to dress properly, appearing instead in his plain clothes.
Before the pope could even finish inviting him in, Tedesco flung the door open, revealing Benítez with wide eyes and Bellini with furrowed brows, both staring at him.
“Tedesco, what are you—”
“Cardinal Bellini. It’s a pleasure, of course, but would you mind excusing us for a moment? I have something urgent to discuss with His Holiness alone.”
Tedesco’s tone, stripped of his usual glibness and suddenly rigid, had a way of sapping the will to resist. Bellini rolled his eyes, then briskly tapped the papers in his hands against the desk to straighten them.
“All urgent matters have already been reported, so I shall take my leave now, Your Holiness.”
“I see. Thank you for your hard work once again, Your Eminence.”
Even in that brief exchange of formalities, Tedesco seemed barely able to restrain himself. Fidgeting nervously, he moved impatiently as soon as Bellini deliberately took his time departing, approaching the Pope’s desk without hesitation.
“Forgive my discourtesy, Your Holiness. But an issue has arisen for which I could think of no one to consult but you, and so I came in haste.”
“So... it’s not the same matter that brought you here yesterday, then.”
Benítez tilted his head in mild surprise. Tedesco bit his lower lip for a moment—whether from embarrassment at having to request counsel from someone he had shouted at the day before, or from some other discomfort, was unclear.
“...No. What I wish to discuss today concerns not you, but myself.”
It was exceedingly rare for the Patriarch of Venice to share personal matters and seek advice from another. That his confidant should be the Holy Father—a man with whom he could hardly be called close—was all the more remarkable. Sensing the conversation would not be a short one, Benítez began to rise from his seat, but Tedesco stopped him.
“Just—you can just hear me from there.”
The way he shrank back and extended a hand, as though fending off some unseen threat, was strikingly reminiscent of a wary wild animal. More perplexed than ever, Benítez sat back down, and only then did Tedesco, after a deep breath, begin to speak.
“Something... has changed in me.”
A change. Hardly a concept the Patriarch of Venice would be inclined to welcome. But with little else to go on from Tedesco’s sparse explanation, Benítez calmly pressed further.
“May I ask what sort of change you mean?”
“.......”
“Your Eminence?”
“...It will be easier for you to understand if you see it yourself.”
Contrary to his brusque words, Tedesco gripped only his coat, showing no attempt to reveal anything. His lips, barely moving in the silence, betrayed his tension. He must have undergone quite the extraordinary change. Has his faith, long so firm, somehow wavered? No... perhaps it’s something unrelated to religion. Could it be a physical issue due to age? But he doesn’t appear unwell... Has his once-luxuriant hair finally begun to thin, perhaps? Benítez, restraining curiosity that outweighed worry, offered encouragement.
“Whatever it is you wish to show me, there is no need to hesitate. Please, allow me to ease your distress.”
Tedesco did not seem particularly comforted, but at length he released his grip on his coat. Lowering his gaze in an uncharacteristic gesture, he removed his crumpled jacket and hung it over the chair. Then, he performed an action Benítez had not anticipated in the least. He unbuckled his belt and lowered his trousers to his knees.
It was not in mockery; if anything, he appeared to be the one suffering, gritting his teeth in discomfort. Thus, the gentle Innocent XIV resolved not to grow angry prematurely, but to wait in silence for the man to continue.
And when at last Tedesco’s trembling hands pulled his underwear down, the sight that met Benítez’s eyes was wholly unexpected.
“Just yesterday, everything seemed fine when I went to sleep—”
“.......”
“But when I woke this morning, it was... it was like t-this.”
Tedesco fumbled his words and avoided Benítez’s gaze, but he could not blame him. The “change” that had befallen the Patriarch of Venice was, indeed, shocking.
“...My God.”
Between Tedesco’s legs there was no longer what should rightfully have been there, but instead the unmistakable sex of a woman.
And it was in the most complete form imaginable.
“.......”
“Do you... do you have any idea what this phenomenon might mean? Perhaps you have undergone something similar—”
“No. I don’t believe this can be compared to my case.”
“...I see.”
“Also, to think such a transformation could occur overnight is difficult to believe. It seems it can only be explained as the intervention of God Himself.”
At Benítez’s calm conclusion, Tedesco’s already rigid expression grew even more contorted. Of course, there was nowhere in the world untouched by the will of the Lord, so this too must surely be a divinely ordained trial. But having that fact confirmed by another did nothing to help him view his plight in a more positive light.
“Then... for what reason do you think such a change has come upon me?”
The desperation in Tedesco’s voice was plain, impossible to conceal. Such a tone was rare indeed from the Italian who was always so rigid and unyielding. Perhaps that was why Benítez could not deny that he felt a certain measure of amusement in the situation.
Still, his characteristically gentle voice delivered an earnest reply, leaving behind any guilt for finding a spark of joy in his brother cardinal’s suffering.
“Well, though it is beyond me to fully grasp the will of the Lord... personally, I cannot help but think that, once a certain organ has served its purpose, it might well vanish. And since this new part was granted to you by God, it is highly likely it was fashioned with a particular purpose in mind.”
“A purpose, you say...?”
“Indeed. What do you think the sexual organs of humankind exist for, Your Eminence?”
“...Reproduction?”
The answer slipped from Tedesco’s mouth without thought—but then he realized how such a reply must apply to his present condition, and his face grew deathly pale. Meanwhile, Benítez gazed at him with unreadable eyes before slowly speaking again.
"Ultimately, yes. That is true not only of humans but of all animals. Yet I would like to say that before anything else, this place was made for the union between people."
"Union... you say."
"Yes. A union that is both physical and emotional. Humanity no longer engages in intercourse solely for the purpose of reproduction."
The explicit choice of the word intercourse only doubled Tedesco’s nausea. In other words, the Holy Father before him was claiming that for his body to return to normal, he had to have sex with someone in this state. He hadn’t gone so far as to say, as Tedesco had rashly blurted out earlier about reproduction—but even so, it was undeniably insane talk.
And yet, what made Tedesco all the more miserable was the fact that it did not sound entirely illogical either.
"May I touch you?"
"...Excuse me?"
Tedesco was certain he had misheard and asked again. But the other only repeated the same words, in that same soft tone.
"I asked if I might touch you."
"...W-Why would you..."
"Because, at present, I can think of no other way to be of help. I thought I had no choice but to attempt it based on my own conjecture. I must apologize if that displeased you."
It was obvious enough what "help based on conjecture" meant in this context. But before Tedesco could even be properly aghast, Benítez continued.
"Of course, if you do not wish it, you may refuse and simply go. After all, the change is not one that manifests in a way harmful to your health. You could live out the rest of your days as you are with no problem."
"......."
"Oh, and naturally, everything I have seen and heard today will remain confidential, so you needn’t worry about that either."
"......."
"Or would you prefer I look into a clinic for you in Switzerland?"
The poor old man could do nothing but open and close his mouth soundlessly at those words. His complexion, now more ashen than pale, was that of a man on the verge of collapse. After nearly a full minute of silence, he at last opened his mouth in a barely audible voice, instead of fainting outright.
"Do you truly believe that the method you first proposed... will actually work?"
"I’m afraid there’s nothing I can promise. All I can do is try—to help you, insofar as my abilities allow."
Silence. But panic always clouds people’s judgment and erodes composure. Which is to say, it did not take Tedesco long to make up his mind.
"Then... I must ask you, please."
His tightly clenched hands stood in stark contrast to the tone of resigned submission in his voice, making the sight all the more striking. Benítez nodded, then slowly rose to his feet. The object had not been spoken aloud, but it was hardly difficult to discern what the plea had been for.
Tedesco kept his gaze fixed on the patterns of the floor even as the other man came out from behind his desk. Yet once the other had lowered himself into his field of vision, he could no longer pretend to ignore what was happening.
"...I hope you know that it is not appropriate for a pope to kneel before anyone."
Unlike his earlier mutterings, the words came out with a distinct note of disapproval. It was, in a sense, more like the Tedesco everyone knew.
Naturally, Benítez’s reaction to the rebuke was no different from usual. He merely smiled in silence. From anyone else, such a response might have seemed like evasion. But from Benítez, it was a quiet declaration that he had no intention of arguing the matter. And once one met the resoluteness behind that gentle expression, even Goffredo Tedesco would inevitably find himself surrendering in the end.
"These knees have bent a hundred times over beside those in need. To treat them as precious now would only make a mockery of all those past moments."
"......."
Yes—just like that.
"...I get it, fine. Just go ahead and do whatever you intended."
Tedesco deflected, since meeting the Holy Father’s steady gaze felt more disconcerting than usual for some reason—or perhaps it was simply that it was not a look one wished to receive while with trousers half undone. Yet the instant Benítez’s fingertips brushed between his legs, he could not help but regret having rushed him on.
The hands of Innocent XIV bore sparse calluses, making them rougher than they appeared. When one of those rough fingers lightly brushed the slit, Tedesco found himself holding his breath. Each touch—whether rubbing the entrance anxiously or boldly spreading it open—instantly sent an unfamiliar tingling to his lower abdomen. He was bewildered. Then, the moment the Holy Father unexpectedly buried his head in the exposed area, his bewilderment turned to horror.
“What are you doing?!”
“We don’t have any kind of lubricant, so this is the fastest way to wet it.”
“Ah...! Wait, don't talk while you—”
“Shh, don't move too much, Your Eminence. You'll hurt yourself.”
Benítez laughed off all the resistances and only tightened his grip on the other's hips. Tedesco's face flushed bright red, and he had to bite his lip to stifle a moan. The pain of neatly trimmed nails digging into his buttocks was instantly drowned out by the sensation of warm flesh pressing down. His thighs trembled violently at the slow movement of the other man’s tongue spread wide, licking upward from below. The Holy Father's mouth, once used to deliver sacred words, seemed equally adept at committing sin.
Soon, Benítez thrust his tongue deep into Tedesco’s cunt, sending a shiver of tingling sensation through his insides. The flexible pink mass, composed solely of muscle, pushed hard inward until it could be buried whole. Tedesco, who had casually lowered his gaze and caught sight of the scene, grimaced and retched. It felt wrong. Wasn't the man’s body fundamentally designed to take things in from above, into his mouth, and expel from below? He wasn’t supposed to be penetrated there like this....
But as the tongue buried deep began to writhe, Tedesco's mind went completely blank, as if it had never been complicated. The sensation of the tight passage, which had never experienced anything inserted before, gradually widening wasn't purely unpleasant. The meticulous movements, licking the inner walls like a dog finishing its food bowl, made his mind hazy.
Yet despite this dedicated caress, Tedesco hadn't reached the stage where he could recognize pleasure. More accurately, while his body's reactions were honest, his mind was turning away from him. Even as his hole steadily grew wet, the feeling of rejection overwhelmed the heat in his stomach. The shame, too, was intense, bordering on fatal. He held his breath until his vision blurred, fearing he might vomit up the small breakfast he'd managed to swallow that morning. He wanted to grab that dark, glossy hair and pull his head away violently. But even Tedesco, who only maintained the most formal level of courtesy, naturally dared not tug the Holy Father's hair.
Then, as Benítez took the old man’s now-hardened clitoris into his mouth and began sucking, Tedesco drew in a sharp breath. With such teasing attention focused on an area already fraught with nerves, he couldn't help but let out a moan. As the small nub was pressed and the tip flicked with a tongue, his waist arched involuntarily. Even when Benítez, observing his reaction, subtly slid a finger inside, the existing stimulation seemed too intense for him to feel any repulsion. The wet sounds of friction echoing through the room were so explicit it was questionable whether they were deliberate.
"Hnngh...! Y-Your Holiness... Ah—"
Tedesco hated his own voice sounding like a plea with every fiber of his being. The truly horrific part was that the plea was tinged with wetness. Until then, he had barely held back his tears, but before he could even adjust, a second finger forced its way in, making his eyes well up. He believed that feeling only pain was the way to cling to a shred of dignity, but the pleasure had grown too large to ignore.
Benítez now moved his fingers like scissors, pressing firmly against his inner walls. Once he found a spot where he reacted especially strongly, he flicked his wrist rapidly, as if he'd never moved slowly before, and jabbed at that spot relentlessly. Tedesco's hands clawed at the air, unable to decide whether to cover his gasping, moaning mouth or support his body, which felt as if it might collapse at any moment.
Finally, as pleasure peaked and slammed into his mind, he tilted his head back and clenched tightly around the other's fingers.
"......!!...! —Ah, ahh...! ......."
After a moment, Benítez, who had been providing afterglow, slowly withdrew his middle and ring fingers trapped between Tedesco’s convulsing inner walls. It was to allow the older man to comfortably recover from the aftermath of his first climax. The consideration proved effective, and Tedesco's gaping mouth soon closed slightly, even if only with his tongue still protruding.
While Tedesco gasped for breath in a daze, Benítez rose and guided him to the sofa. Even as his legs gave out and he collapsed onto the plush furniture, Tedesco’s clouded gaze showed no sign of clearing. He had no time to feel regret even as the underwear draped around his ankles was completely stripped away.
He finally snapped back to awareness the moment Benítez lowered his trousers and exposed his genitals. So he actually looks no different from a man there. Tedesco muttered to himself, then realized he was staring far too blatantly and turned his head away. Benítez merely smiled faintly, as if he knew exactly what Tedesco was thinking.
"Oh."
"...What is it?"
"I don't have a condom."
Tedesco, who had tensed at the other man's sudden “Oh,” couldn't help but be flustered upon hearing the follow-up. And no wonder—for decades, the only time he'd uttered the word "condom" was to argue that using it was immoral. After all, the Church’s traditional lesson was to forbid all forms of artificial contraception.
"Well, going out to get one now would draw too much attention... Shall we try again next time when we're prepared?"
Tedesco bit his lips at Benítez's misguided attempt at consideration, unaware of his stance. He was a man who was nothing without his belief that everyone must adhere to tradition. He didn't want to abandon his long-held faith simply because he now found himself in a position where contraception was necessary. If one could flip their beliefs like some pancake depending on the situation, could it truly be called conviction?
And setting aside such profound reasons, Tedesco simply didn't have the strength to go through this entire process again.
"God, just put it in already! Even if you come inside of me, there’s no way I’ll get pregnant at this age, don’t you think?"
"Cardinal Tedesco."
"......."
"...Fine, then. I'll just be careful not to come inside."
With that, Benítez positioned himself between the older man’s legs, and Tedesco's entire body visibly stiffened. The fact that the younger man was a seasoned shepherd skilled in soothing the frightened, which was a routine task in Kabul, was truly fortunate for Tedesco. After all, Benítez was the man who had spent half his life mastering the art of calming people with nothing but his warmth and voice.
"It'll be alright, Goffredo."
"......."
"If it's too much for you, you can push me away anytime. I have no intention whatsoever of forcing you."
That was the first time Benítez had addressed Tedesco by name. The combination of friendliness and awkwardness it carried at the same time definitely had a relaxing effect. But as soon as Benítez pressed his half-erect cock against the entrance, Tedesco's barely steady breathing inevitably grew ragged again. The gentle rub from the glistening wetness of his vagina to his clitoris was agonizingly teasing. Then, aligning the tip and slowly pushing in, Benítez saw the older man's eyes shut tightly.
"Does it hurt?"
"A-Are you seriously going to ask me that every single minute while we’re doing this?"
"Yes."
"...Ugh, It's not unbearable, no. If it hurts, I'll p-push you away as you permitted, so please just continue."
Tedesco's expression as he replied carried a hint of displeasure. After all, he was a man who had never known illness despite his age, always robust and vigorous. Being treated like fragile glass must have wounded his pride. In that case, insisting on asking his consent would rather be inconsiderate.
So Benítez pulled Tedesco's waist down and pushed the remaining part of the shaft inside, paying no heed to the gasp that escaped the older man. Pulling it halfway out before thrusting it back in made Tedesco’s entire body jerk upward. His aged frame, which had creaked even with just fingers earlier, was bound to struggle under the full force of the thrusting. It didn't take long for his flailing limbs to lose their strength and go limp. Still, his hole seemed to greedily devour the other man’s member thrusting in and out, suggesting his insatiable gluttony wasn't confined solely to his mouth.
Meanwhile, his inner walls clenching fervently, seemingly unaware of any shame, conveyed a subtle pleasure. The long moan drawn out between his clenched teeth couldn't be attributed solely to pain either. The body he'd known for over seventy years now felt utterly foreign, and Tedesco kept retching. The tight mass inside him, the terrifyingly vivid heat of friction against his tender flesh, kept forcing tears out. He hated how his toes curled involuntarily whenever a certain spot was pressed. Not a single sensation coursing through his body felt right. And so Tedesco dared to ask himself: Could such an unholy and unnatural act truly be what the Lord desired?
It was a question too late to ask now, but once the thought took root, it branched out uncontrollably. What finally crossed Tedesco's mind was the question he had hurled at the other man yesterday, and a short passage from the Bible.
"Do you truly believe yourself qualified to be a pope?"
“Touch not mine anointed,” Psalm 105:15.
Oh. So that was it. A dry chuckle escaped Tedesco as he had finally reached an obvious conclusion, rendering his long confusion over the reason for his trials utterly pointless.
To dare question one who reached the Vatican with chrism poured upon his head—the pope sent by the Lord Himself—had to be a grave mistake. How could such a sin be light?
This was the punishment meted out to him. The suffering that had felt unjust when he regarded it as a trial was, in truth, both its own purpose and the stepping stone to repentance. The Patriarch of Venice sighed, believing he had only belatedly grasped God's true intention. How could he have been so ignorant?
Moreover, if this was a process for atonement, he must not turn away or flee. With that realization, Tedesco's tightly closed eyelids fluttered open.
"Goffredo?"
The voice of Benítez, who had been immersing himself in the moment, sounded distant to Tedesco. The Holy Father would have thought their eyes met, but in truth, Tedesco wasn't actually seeing anything. Tears welling up obscured his vision. His mind, hazy from heat and guilty pleasure, also blurred his sight.
"Goffredo, are you alright? Can you hear me? Goffredo—"
Hearing the concern in the other man’s voice, Tedesco could only guess he must look utterly dazed—he actually was anyway. The tender touch caressing his cheek only deepened his self-reproach. How dare he uttered such blasphemous words about his holiness, questioning his qualifications as the pope. Innocent XIV, who had been leaning forward with his back to the light, now seemed to radiate a halo, making Tedesco feel even more ashamed. After catching his breath for a moment, Tedesco raised his trembling hand and grasped the other's, which was slenderer and more delicate than his own. Clasping the warmth of the other's hand, their joined palms looked as if they were in prayer.
Then, Tedesco whispered in a small sob, unconsciously in his native tongue.
"Mi dispiace, Papa... Mi perdoni...."
I'm sorry, Your Holiness... Please forgive me....
He faintly felt the body of Benítez, touching his own, immediately stiffen. Well, from his perspective, it must have been a completely out-of-context remark, so it was understandable that he was flustered, Tedesco thought. But contrary to his expectation, instead of asking why he was suddenly apologizing, Benítez merely stared down at him intently. It was frustrating for Tedesco that his blurred vision showed no sign of clearing, preventing him from seeing the other man's expression.
Finally, unable to endure the silence any longer, Tedesco opened his mouth again. But what emerged from his parted lips was not a word, but a sharp groan, since Benítez had unexpectedly grabbed his ankle and yanked him.
"A-Aah...?! Nngh—”
"...Ugh."
Benítez, who had deftly hoisted Tedesco’s legs which must have carried considerable weight onto his shoulders, pressed his body forward, thrusting the entire remaining shaft of his member inside the older man. The sensation of being penetrated to a depth he'd never experienced before made Tedesco's eyes widen. His inner walls instinctively clenched against the intrusion, causing Benítez to swallow hard at the pressure.
"Y-Your Holiness, I..."
“Shh, it's alright, Goffredo. Now, breathe in slowly... now out... that’s it, you're doing well...."
Even as he soothed the older man like a child, Benítez showed no sign of withdrawing. Far from tending to Tedesco's pain, he forcibly raised the other man’s upper body, forcing him into a horribly uncomfortable position. It was almost questionable if he was truly the Innocent XIV, who had always been kind and thoughtful.
Tedesco, his body practically folded in half, had tears streaming down his face. He let out a sound reminiscent of a wounded animal when Benítez resumed thrusting in that state.
"Hngh...! Wait... please, my back, it— AAAH!"
Even as Tedesco thrashed against the pain that felt like his spine was snapping, the younger man’s arms holding him remained firmly in place. Where was even such strength coming from in that body, so much smaller than his own? The moment Tedesco questioned himself with half irritation and half awe, Benítez wrapped Tedesco's arm around his own neck as if telling him to lean on. The care from the man who was literally his tormentor now made Tedesco chuckle hollowly, but he tightened his grip for some comfort anyway.
Benítez, seemingly deciding they'd already delayed long enough, immediately picked up the pace. Sweat beaded on his flushed face, revealing not exhaustion but only how utterly absorbed he was in this moment. Tedesco, too, couldn't deny his own immersion, even as he was being mercilessly pounded—the surging pleasure was more than enough to overwhelm the pain.
When he could no longer contain his moans, he shot a pitiful glance at the man above him. Grasping the back of his head and pulling him closer was an act of desperation as well. They couldn't let someone out the hallway hear them like this, could they?
Benítez, understanding the unspoken demand, willingly pressed his lips to Tedesco's, swallowing his cries for him. The problem was that Benítez didn't know when to pull away from the kiss. With the overwhelming stimulation compounded by oxygen deprivation, it was only natural that Tedesco's eyes rolled back. His consciousness, pushed to its limit, flickered precariously the moment the other's member pressed precisely against his sensitive spot. With the fleeting impression of stars bursting at the edge of his vision, Tedesco surrendered his body to an almost violent climax.
"...! ......!!...! ...Ngh, hnngh— ......."
He let out a silent scream as he came, his inner wall convulsing and tightening. Benítez pulled out just before his own climax, and as a result, white fluid splattered over the older man, staining his face and shirt. For a while afterward, the only sounds in the room were their shallow breaths and the moans Tedesco let out, half out of his mind.
As the afterglow faded, Benítez, feeling slightly embarrassed, cleared his throat a few times—even though no one was there to hear it. How did it come to this? He really had only wanted to help him at first.... Not that he could still claim innocence now, though—he couldn’t deny that seeing Tedesco completely wrecked like this wasn’t entirely unpleasant. And God, that voice begging for forgiveness was truly—well, I’m not going to finish that, but...
Benítez, lost in thoughts that would have horrified anyone who overheard them, brushed back Tedesco’s sweat-soaked hair from his forehead with an awkward hand. His shirt seemed quite expensive—better to wipe the mess off with a tissue or something. He’ll probably charge me for a new one, and fair enough, Benítez thought. After briefly toying with the older man’s tangled gray curls, he rose to his feet to tidy up the scene.
It was a full thirty minutes after Benítez had finished cleaning up that Tedesco finally regained consciousness.
***
The next day, in the papal office bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, a voice unsuited to the peaceful scenery outside rang out sharply.
"—so why simplify procedures that have worked perfectly well until now? Efficiency? Accessibility? If just anyone can set foot in the sacred sphere, then where, I ask, is the Church’s authority to be found?"
Tedesco's words and exaggerated gestures were unchanged from before. It was as if yesterday's incident had been completely erased from his memory.
Of course, a swift recovery was something to be grateful for. Still, Benítez couldn’t help but slightly become disappointed, since he had expected less... well, zealousness for a while. Placing a hand on his throbbing temple, he pressed his fingers against the corners of his eyes. Had Bellini not sighed heavily in his stead, he might have groaned aloud himself.
Meanwhile, Tedesco wore a satisfied smile, maintaining a confidence bordering on insolence. Not that he would ever doubt Innocent XIV’s qualification to become a pope—but his holiness was, after all, only human, and thus capable of error. Such as the mistake of treating the Church’s long traditions as mere debrises of the past. Hence, it was surely his duty to remain at His Holiness's side, to offer counsel and correction whenever necessary.
Do not worry, Your Holiness—I will guide you well.
The smile deepened on Tedesco’s face at his silent vow. Of course, his thoughts did not reach the others, and the only thing that deepened on Benítez’s face was his weariness. Not that it would have made much difference if the thought had reached him anyway.
"Well... I appreciate your input, Goffredo. There will be a meeting on the matter soon, so perhaps we can discuss it in more detail then..."
Benítez trailed off when he saw Bellini’s eyes widen. Wait, did I just say something wrong? He replayed his own words in his mind and realized, with mild dismay, that he had called Tedesco by his first name. Perhaps the habit had formed after saying it several times the previous day. Still, this was not a private conversation, and the proper form of address should have been used, Benítez decided. Then, turning his head to amend the slip—
He found Tedesco frozen in place, ears bright red, with an absurd expression on his face.
Oh.
Now this is interesting.
With that, Benítez replaced the awkward smile he had meant to force with a gentle, composed one.
"Is there a problem, Goffredo?"
His deliberately smooth pronunciation made the older man's shoulders twitch visibly. Tedesco, now clearly desperate for a smoke, silently opened and closed his mouth several times—seemingly muttering curses under his breath—before finally managing a reply.
"No problem at all, Your Holiness."
"I’m glad to hear that. Speaking of which—did the problem we discussed yesterday resolve itself?"
The flush that had lingered only in Tedesco’s ears now spread across his entire face. The sight of his stiff expression paired with Benítez’s innocent smile was almost artistic in its contrast. Bellini, meanwhile, looked back and forth between them with barely restrained curiosity, dying to know what on earth he had missed.
"...Yes, well... thanks to you."
"That’s good to hear. And if you ever find yourself in need of personal guidance again, don’t hesitate to come to me. It’s always a joy to help a brother in distress."
"......."
It did not take long for Tedesco to mumble a hasty farewell and make his escape. Watching his hurried retreat until the door closed behind him, Benítez let out a quiet laugh. Bellini, who did not dare ask for an explanation, simply shook his head and returned his attention to the documents before him.
Soon, the only sound filling the room was the soft, steady scratching of a pen across paper.