Chapter Text
The moment she sees him, Anna completely forgets the artifact she’s been obsessing over for days. Lost in her thoughts, she glances at the window and spies the new priest changing in his room. And though she shouldn’t, though she knows it’s a sin, she stares, unable to tear her eyes from him as he discards his old shirt and reaches for a new one. His muscles flex as he settles the new shirt over his shoulders, advertising that he’s a man far stronger than a priest has need to be. One with a story, a past, that goes far beyond the lessons of the light. And oh, how she would enjoy learning his story. It’s sure to be more fascinating than even the richest story from the past.
She eagerly follows every muscle with her eyes, taking in his firm chest and toned abdomen. It’s a shame his magnificent biceps are already covered as he moves to button his shirt, but she finds her eyes are just as hungry for the rest of him. He’s as beautiful as a work of art, far grander than any exhibit in her museum. Yellow suits him, she thinks, but gold becomes him. Has she ever seen such a pair of molten gold eyes, even in the gilded statues of old?
It’s a sight she’ll never forget.
It’s only when he turns from the window, now fully dressed, that she finally remembers she’s in the middle of getting dinner so she can return to her artifacts and rushes off before he notices her staring. She doubts he’d understand that she truly is only fascinated by the artistry of his body.
But the sight of the new priest follows her into her dreams.
Anna dithers outside the confessional for a moment. It’s the last place she wants to be, and it feels particularly wrong for a researcher to be here. The church and the scientifically or historically minded have had a longstanding feud over what is and isn’t allowed. But she’s tried her calming teas, and she’s tried burying herself in her research to no avail.
The golden eyes haunt her even in her dreams.
“What brings you into my confessional this afternoon?” the priest on the other end of the panel asks as she steps inside.
The voice has her jumping, a little too low and gentle for comfort, and it’s enough to nearly have her walk right back out.
“You don’t need to rush,” he says then, as though sensing her discomfort. “I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”
It’s that gentleness that has her closing the confessional door behind her as she kneels. Though it’s awkward, though she doesn’t believe in the religion, she finds herself saying the words, anyway. “Forgive me, father,” she begins quietly, “but I’ve...” What? She isn’t sure what the next part is, and it takes her a moment to remember the old world records she’s been able to piece together. It may not be appropriate for the Church of the Light, but it's all she has. “Forgive me, Father, for my sins.”
“Sins,” the priest repeats, sounding a little flat. She wonders absently which priest is manning the confessional today, but it doesn’t matter. She’s not particularly acquainted with any of them.
She nods. She figured the experience of confessing would be a novel one, a way to experience the past through modern invention, but now that she’s here, she doesn’t know what to confess. It takes her a moment to come up with something, and she can only hope the priest will not press the issue. “I’ve…been having dreams.” There. That is satisfactory, isn’t it?
“Dreams?” There’s a small snort at the other end.
“Yes,” she nods, “dreams. Of…you know.” She waves a hand, though he can’t see it. Surely this is sufficient for him to forgive her and send her on her way, as priests of old did in the Age of Corruption religions, though so few of the old texts survive in any form. She has to rely on fragments at best.
“Those sort,” he replies dryly. “I see.”
It’s not really the response she’s expected, and that has her floundering for a moment. When will he get to the next part? “Yes, well…” She bites down on her lower lip. “There were certainly a lot of dreams to be had, and I have had many of them, I fear. Quite a few. Of the sinful sort,” she elaborates helpfully. “The ones that require forgiveness. Are you new? I feel as though you should be forgiving me right about now.” She peers through the screen separating them, but she cannot make out any details. She hopes she doesn’t have a new priest, not when she doesn’t know the correct process, either.
“Ah.” The priest says nothing else.
Well, this is rather odd. She adjusts her glasses. “You...are a priest, aren’t you? An experienced one?”
“Yes.” Now he sounds rather amused, but she supposes he probably isn’t often questioned about his priestly pedigree.
“Hmm.” She considers this, but at least he isn’t new. “Well, like I said, I’ve been having many dreams of the forgiving sort.” When he still doesn’t answer, she decides that maybe he needs more help. “Of a man,” she adds helpfully. Isn’t lust one of the old world sins? Surely it is one now as well.
“And you believe these dreams to be a sin,” he replies after a moment, his tone brusque.
She hesitates. He isn’t responding at all as she’d anticipated, and she finds herself adjusting her glasses again as she blurts, “Well…he’s a priest. Though I cannot consider myself an authority on modern religion, I am fairly certain that you’re not supposed to have illicit dreams about a priest.” Surely this will elicit the proper response.
“You are having…fantasies about our priests?” He sounds even more amused, and she has the uncomfortable suspicion that he’s attempting to hide a laugh.
“Not all of them,” she corrects immediately, because surely that is not required for this to work. Thinking quickly, she recalls the other night with the new priest in yellow and gold. “The new one. I believe that he’s from Atara, though I cannot quite recall where I heard this. Still, I’m fairly certain the information is correct, though if you wish it, I suppose I could cross-reference with my sources to determine if he is, indeed, from—”
There’s an odd choking noise now from his end. “Him,” he manages after a moment, and there’s an odd note in his voice now that definitely suggests that he’s smothering a chuckle. “Why?”
“He is the paragon of masculinity.” She lifts her chin, warming to the subject. “While I am not male, I am reasonably confident in this conclusion. He possesses the proper form a male should possess, neither too lean nor too bulky, with definition in the appropriate places to draw the gaze of others. I have seen enough partial statues from the lost age to state that he does, indeed, resemble many such works depicting the beauty and masculinity of the male form, including what was once known as the David statue, though how it came to be known that, honestly, eludes me still to this day—”
“Err. Right.” He coughs and then says, “You wish to be forgiven for this.”
“Yes, yes, that’s what I have been requesting,” she assures him. “I wish to experience this forgiveness for myself.”
There’s another slight cough. “For yourself…?”
“Indeed.” She nods. “Is this not what you priests do? Forgive the people of the world so that they may continue forward to sin again?”
“Sin again.” His voice sounds a little off, though he keeps his tone even. “I suppose if you want to be forgiven, I should have a better understanding of how, exactly, you’ve sinned.”
“Oh. Is that how this works?” She’s a little hesitant, but she certainly is a novice when it comes to this, and if he feels she needs to elaborate more to earn this 'forgiveness,' she supposes that’s what she must do. “Well, if you must know, I saw part of his form, and this is why I'm so confident he resembles these statues. Not his whole form, of course,” she adds hastily, not wishing to be seen as inappropriate, “but enough to be confident in my assertions. Though honestly, I fail to see how this level of detail is conducive to anything.”
His voice is lower now. A little deeper. “You are confessing everything to cleanse yourself.”
“Ah. Is that it?” She lets out a breath. “I suppose if that's how this works...” She shakes her head. “I confess that I've never been particularly drawn to admire the male form before in such detail, yet there is something about this man that urges me to do so.” Though she hadn’t intended to reveal so much, Anna is incapable of stopping a subject once she gets going. “He looks rather like the book of art in my room, you know. Physically, that is; he certainly appears that he could complete many of the illicit poses in my book, including possessing the strength to lift the woman up—”
There’s another choked noise now, but she scarcely hears it.
“—don’t you think? After all, a certain amount of upper body strength must be required to complete some of these positions, as well as a certain degree of flexibility.” She feels warmer just thinking of the old world relic, the 'Kama Sutra,' her body heating at the thought of the priest’s hands on her breasts, caressing them as he copies one of the poses she’s most captivated by. She can almost feel him between her legs… “Though I wasn’t particularly satisfied before when I tried it,” she pushes her glasses back up her nose, “the men and women in the texts never seem displeased.”
“Satisfied.” His voice is rough, and it has her shudder as her mind begins painting a vivid image, though instead of the two depicted, she finds herself substituting herself...and Avery.
“Before I…” She’s flushing slightly as she admits, “I find the act unsatisfying.”
“You think the priest would be dissatisfying?” He sounds displeased then, and she’s not entirely sure why.
“No.” Her voice is nearly inaudible. “I doubt he would be disatisfying in any degree. Though you often hear not to judge a book by its appearance, its appearance can, at times, help one understand the contents in my experience.”
For a moment, neither of them says anything.
“Father?” Is this the part where he finally forgives her?
“…Be at peace,” he finally rumbles, his voice lower than she’d ever heard it before. “May the light shine upon your dreams tonight.”
This must be what forgiveness is, she decides. She stands, recognizing the dismissal, and though she had planned to go home and write about it in her research notes, she finds the image from earlier more difficult to shake off. “I see. Thank you, Father.”
And then she leaves, heading home as the sun begins to set, but her mind remains back in the confessional.
With him.
He watches her leave through the paper screen, the images still vivid in his mind. He can picture her bent over his pew, thrusting back against him as she begs for more—
He groans as his length thickens. Though he recites several texts aloud, it does nothing to dampen the ardor he’s been fighting the entire time she’s been before him. There's something about her voice, her words—
He sinks back against the wall of the confessional, and, aware of his own surging lust, aware of his sins, he takes himself in hand.
It’s her name on his lips and her voice in his ear, whispering her fantasies as he comes.
He’s at the altar that Sunday, preaching about the dangers of unchecked technology and war. It’s a topic he’s slow to warm to, focusing more on the dangers of man’s innate aggression than the perils of technology itself, but for many in the church, the message is the same.
It’s an irritating topic, to be sure, one full of the foolishness of the Church and its fervent hatred of the past, but Anna scarcely registers it. Instead, though she’s a woman who prides herself on sound logic and reason, she can hardly find either to draw upon. Though intellectually, she knows it is a foolish cause to want a man, a priest, who would be so at odds with her way of life, she cannot help the images racing through her mind.
“You’ve been naughty, haven’t you?” he whispers as his hands grip her breasts. “I can see the sinful nature in your eyes.”
Yes, she has, but she can hardly focus on answering him as he pulls on her sensitive tips.
When she doesn’t answer, he lightly smacks her nipples as she moans. “Answer me,” he commands. “Confess your sins and repent, Anna.”
She does, laying out all of her fantasies, the ones that have bloomed ever since she first saw him that night through the window, the way she has dreamed of his ownership of her body, her soul, and he listens, punishing her with his touch as she—
“—and that concludes today’s sermon,” the priest says, closing the thick religious volume before him. “Go forth and remember to walk in the light.”
Those around her echo the sentiment, but she scarcely hears them as she flushes. It’s bad enough that she’s so distracted from her own research that she came to church of all places for refuge, but to be reliving the fantasy now—
This has to stop. Her research cannot afford the delay.
And then she sees him, watching her with that cold, calculating look, the one that’s followed her into her dreams. As if he knows.
She’s the first one out the door, fleeing those golden eyes, but just as they have before, they follow her out into the light.
And it’s those same hauntingly beautiful eyes that have her back that draw her back to the church that evening when she hears that he, the new priest, will be in the confessional that afternoon.
“Forgive me, father, for my sins,” Anna begins as she kneels down in the confessional, feeling a little foolish to be doing this now, and yet, she cannot stop herself.
“You…?” There’s an odd pause, and it takes her a moment to recognize his voice. Avery, the one she has dreamed of just hours before, is the priest today—and he was the priest who heard her confession two days before.
Her face burns, and she wars with herself over her decision to stay or to go. Surely this can go nowhere good if she stays. Surely he cannot wish to hear more from her.
“Ah.” The priest coughs lightly. “I apologize, daughter of light. You may speak whatever you wish into this holy box. I will listen.”
That same gentleness is in his voice, and it has her kneeling just moments after she'd risen to flee. “I…Thank you.” She exhales as she tries to make herself comfortable. “I suppose...I had something I wished to talk about. Though I suppose people do not enter confessionals if they have nothing to say, either.”
“Usually not.” He sounds amused again, but it doesn't feel malicious. If anything, it’s rather warm.
And that warmth has her opening up. She’s not used to being heard, and she certainly isn’t used to someone really listening to all that she has to say. It’s such a change that she finds herself unburdening even though this time, she’s well aware of who’s listening. “Well...I was inattentive during the sermon today. Not that I often come to church, of course, but I certainly wasn’t listening while I was here.”
“I see.” He sounds almost as though he’s smiling. “So your sin is that you were inattentive during the sermon.”
“It isn’t entirely that simple.” She shakes her head, though she fears honesty now would be more dangerous, and yet, she doesn’t know how to be anything but. “If that were merely the problem, I wouldn’t be here. I am often lost in my thoughts, so that is hardly new. Just…not like this. It was what I was picturing, you see. Most illicitly.”
“I beg your pardon?” He coughs lightly.
“The images,” she clarifies, warming to the subject. It gets easier the more she talks about it. “They were of a most illicit nature. I suppose, if I were anyone else, one might consider them fantasies, but I have never really considered myself the sort—”
“Fantasies,” he repeats, his voice sounding oddly strangled. “Perhaps it would help if you were more specific.”
“Ah. I see.” Her flush deepens. Perhaps now would be a good time to leave, and yet there is a quiet command in his voice that she’s helpless to deny. “Well, it was a bit of silliness, I must confess, and yet the image has stuck regardless. He informed me he would punish me for my sins. Most carnally, I must add, though I cannot say I was unwilling. Of course,” she shrugs, “who is unwilling when it is a fantasy? No, do not answer that.”
There’s an odd noise from the other end of the screen, but he doesn’t tell her to stop.
“In this fantasy, he touches me,” she closes her eyes as she pictures it once more, “and then he’s bending me over the altar and pushing inside—”
There’s a loud crashing sound.
“Oh my.” She hastily scrambles to her feet. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” comes the reply, and if she doesn’t know any better, she’d have said the poor priest almost sounds rather dazed.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” she says quickly, because really, this is her own fault. She’s overshared and drawn an unwilling man into her fantasy. “I became a little too comfortable and shared far too much. Are you sure you’re okay, Father?”
“I’m fine,” he replies quickly. “The bench merely gave way unexpectedly.”
“I see.” She flushes. She doesn’t want to see this priest she’s just confessed to, but… “That is most unfortunate. I’ve heard, of course, that the church is of old construction, so it is hardly a surprise. Still, I know several of the builders, and I’d be happy to summon one to rebuild—”
“No.” His tone is unexpectedly sharp. “That isn’t necessary. It will be handled through the appropriate channels.”
“The commerce guild.” She nods, because of course it should go through the guild. She should have realized that herself.
“Precisely.” He sounds almost relieved. “In light of the circumstances, however, I fear we will have to cut this short. Go in peace and in the light, and do your utmost to pay attention to sermons in the future.”
“Yes, Father.” She rises, but she feels no more at peace than when she entered the confessional. If anything, she only feels more conflicted. She should have held her silence, and yet, now that she has shared so much, it will be hard to pretend that she hasn’t. “I’ll…try.”
“See that you do.”
Avery watches her leave, and despite all his oaths, it takes every bit of his restraint not to go after the woman. Does she even understand what she’s all but offering to him?
He shakes his head as he stands, eying the ruined bench that stands as a testament to his control. It’s a very near thing, but he’s succeeded, even if his cock is practically on fire and the images she painted won’t leave his head. He wants her, dammit, enough to tease her into sharing more than is good for either of them.
He will never admit it aloud, but he’s uncertain just how long his control will hold out. Perhaps he should put in a transfer request, but his mission here is too important.
He will simply have to work harder to avoid temptation.