#cw priest | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

perfectpaperbluebirds · 10 months

Text

Feel My Temperature Rising

Set the day after this story, the first thing I wrote for them.

Also, I have decided Burnin’ Love by Elvis is officially Flora and Luc’s song.

CW: Dubcon-ish elements, but s*x doesn’t actually happen, just cuddling. Also, obviously, priest things and religious elements.

If anyone ever asked about everything that transpired on that pivotal day, she would insist she hadn't been looking for him, because it was true. She hadn't been. She was coming back from the library, and she always took that route to and from the library to avoid the traffic on the main roads.

Now of course she knew he lived in that area, because of course she had looked up his information in the church directory, so sure, whenever she drove through this neighborhood she had one eye on the sidewalks in case she passed him walking. Who could blame her for that? Still, she never expected to actually find him, that day of all days, so she couldn't possibly be blamed for the subsequent events. She was simply a victim of fate.

On that fateful day, the day after he'd been coughing in confession and then let her feel his fever, the rainstorm started while she was browsing for books. She had hung around the library an extra ten minutes or so to see if the downpour would abate, but when it showed no sign of slowing she made a run for her car, ducking in and slamming the door behind herself. She was in the open less than thirty seconds, yet she was already uncomfortably damp and shivering, and annoyed at being so. She put the car into drive and began to make her way home along her usual route, thinking only of dry clothes and a hairbrush.

Imagine her surprise when, through the sheeting rain, she saw someone on the sidewalk ahead, leading a dog and holding a handful of grocery bags. Even from behind, she could see both dog and owner were drenched beyond belief and hunched into themselves against the downpour. As she approached, her concern turned to disbelief, for the person looked an awful lot like her hot priest. She slowed to a crawl beside them, and sure enough, Father Luc turned to meet her eyes, his face mirroring her own startled look. She rolled down the passenger window and leaned over.

"Father Luc? What are you doing out in this storm?" she called.

"Flora," came the weak reply. "What a surprise! I'm… out enjoying the weather with Charlotte as you can see." He gestured to the sodden golden retriever at his side, who gave her a mournful look.

What she could see was how much he was shivering, how deathly pale he was, and how hollow his eyes were, ringed with dark circles. Without further ado, she threw open the passenger door, gesturing for him to get in.

"Oh, no, don't trouble yourself. We're only a few blocks from home and we'd get your car all wet–"

Charlotte was not so humble, though, and immediately hopped into the open door, seating herself on the passenger seat with as much dignity as she could muster, shaking off immediately. Flora was thoroughly caught in the spray, and the priest apologized profusely, begging the dog to come back out, but Flora only laughed and waved away his concern while Charlotte ignored him.

"I was already wet. What's a little more rainwater? And clearly she's made up her mind, so it looks like you'll have to get in, too."

Shaking his head, the shivering man opened the rear passenger side door and got in awkwardly, as if trying to avoid touching anything with his wet clothes, a totally futile task when sitting in a car.

"Tell me where you live," Flora directed, putting the car into gear.

He gave her simple instructions, and she started off.

"This certainly isn't how I hoped our first car ride together would go," Flora thought to herself, glancing at the dripping dog beside her, and at the dripping man in the backseat, and suppressing a snort of laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Thank you for the lift," Father Luc croaked. "Your timing was impeccable. I think Charlie girl was about to give up walking all together and just lie down on the sidewalk." He coughed productively after the speech, excusing himself.

"What were you doing out in this weather with that cough? I'm sure her walk and the groceries could have waited. You still sound as sick as you did yesterday."

"It wasn't raining when we started," he said sheepishly. "I rested most of this morning and felt better, and I thought some fresh air might help. I was just going to take her on a quick walk and get a few groceries at the little market. The rain interrupted everything. We waited around at the store, but when it seemed like it was just getting started, we made a run for it." He coughed again, even harsher.

"You could have gotten an Uber or something!"

"I couldn't bring myself to waste the money for a few blocks of walking."

By then they had arrived at his home, and Father Luc was shivering worse than ever. Once the car was in park, Flora leapt into action. She grabbed Charlotte's leash and got herself and the dog out of the car, then ran around to open the priest's door as he fumbled to collect his bags and his keys, his hands numb and shaking. He gave her a tiny smile as he led the way up to his porch, but she saw a foggy heaviness in the way he moved, and the unnatural cast to his eyes told her his fever was back with a vengeance, if it had ever left. She was determined to stay with him now more than ever, and she said a quick prayer of thanks that the situation had presented itself so naturally.

He unlocked the front door of his house, and she was afraid he might take the leash and say she could leave, so she held on tightly to her ticket in, and even grabbed the grocery bags from him as he fumbled with his keys, then followed in directly behind him as if she belonged there, and he didn't stop her.

His cozy little house exactly suited what she imagined for him, and seeing it at last made her happy. She made her way to the kitchen with the grocery bags, unclipping Charlotte's leash as she did. The dog shook off again with a weary sigh, then began to pace around.

Meanwhile, Father Luc was stripping off his wet clothes, tossing them in a heap. Flora did her best to keep her face neutral at this rapid development, but the priest did not acknowledge her presence. Soon he was bare chested, and she waited with bated breath to see if the pants would follow. His violent shaking was visible as he removed his shoes and socks, and then his belt. Flora clenched her fists at her sides, but that seemed to be as far as he was going.

"Gotta get in the shower," he mumbled through chattering teeth, glancing at her. "I'm not feeling well at all all of a sudden."

"I'll make you some soup and tea for when you get out!" she called as he made his way into the back part of the house. He didn't respond, and she took that as her invitation to stay. She couldn't help but crane her neck to see if he would continue stripping in the hallway, but his pants stayed on until the bathroom door closed behind him.

Shaking her head, she set about making food for him right away, trying to put clothes (or lack thereof) out of her mind. Judging by the cans he'd picked up at the store, he was in the mood for vegetable beef soup, so she started it simmering, adding some extra seasoning just as she would have done if she was making it for herself. An electric kettle was already out on the counter, so she got hot water going as well. As she worked, she familiarized herself with his domicile. It was cute and homey, with touches here and there that showed it was currently a sick room: the kettle, the used mugs scattered here and there, the blankets heaped on the couch, the medicine and cough drops on the coffee table. She saw the canvas bag she had given him the day before draped over a chair and found most of her dishes in the sink. Her jam was open in the fridge, so she made him toast and jam to go with his soup, and some tea and toast for herself as well.

Charlotte continued to pace the whole time, and kept going to the back door, then coming back to look at her expectantly.

"You can't want to go out in this. I dunno what you want, girl. You'll have to wait for your master."

Charlotte continued to stare at her pleadingly. With a sigh, Flora moved toward her. Seeing she was being followed at last, Charlotte walked over to an old towel folded up near the back door, pawed at it, then looked at Flora hopefully. Flora picked it up gingerly. It was very hairy and smelled like…

"Wet dog. You want me to dry you off better?"

Charlotte wagged her tail, positioning herself at an angle. Laughing, Flora did as she had been (more or less) asked. The dog wagged her tail the whole time, shifting here and there so Flora could better reach all of her. When she had been thoroughly toweled off, the dog gave Flora a grateful lick on the hand, then trotted over to her dog bed and laid down with a contented sigh.

"Well you're a spoiled princess, aren't you? But I guess I shouldn't expect any less. I'm an only child, too, so I get it."

Feeling very fond of the dog already, Flora returned to her preparations. By the time she heard the shower kick off, everything was ready. She still wished for a hairbrush and a dry shirt, but she combed through her hair with her fingers and made the best of it.

She heard the sick man before she saw him, his chesty coughing heralding his approach. He staggered in, now dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, wearing a pained grimace and looking faint and flushed, with one hand pressed to his temple. He stopped short upon seeing her, clearly taken aback, while she moved to his side eagerly.

"Flora. You're still here. I thought I heard you leave."

"No, I've been here taking care of things. I wanted to make sure you got lunch and had everything you needed."

"Thank you, that was very kind of you. But I think it might be best if–"

He tried to walk as he was talking, but as he came down the small step between the back rooms and the living area, he tripped and staggered. He would have fallen face-first onto the floor had Flora not been there to catch him around the ribs. She held him steady as he got his feet back underneath him. When she felt he was stable, she released him, tutting in concern as she did.

"Poor thing, you are absolutely roasting, aren't you?" Without thinking she pressed her palm to his forehead to confirm. He made a small, needy sound as she did, pausing a moment before he pulled away.

"I was just coming in here to take a fever reducer. But as I was saying–"

"I'm not going anywhere while you're borderline delirious with that fever. You can hardly walk straight."

"I can walk straight," he said softly, perhaps a little hurt. Yet the unsteady way he continued to sway said otherwise. Luckily for her, before he could protest her presence again, he broke into the harshest coughing fit she had yet heard. His legs began to tremble in earnest, forcing him to reach desperately for the nearest piece of furniture to keep himself upright. Before he knew what was happening, she had one hand around his arm and one in the small of his back as she propelled him to the couch. When he was seated and catching his breath, she scurried to the kitchen, poured him a mug of tea and honey, then returned to hand it to him. He took it eagerly, though his hands visibly shook.

"That's twice now you've almost fallen in as many minutes. I can't in good conscience leave you alone like this," she said softly. "You're on a crash course to injure yourself, no pun intended. I'm staying to help you, and that's final."

She spoke with such conviction that no one would have dared argue with her, him least of all, since they both knew that in truth he desperately wanted to be taken care of. He was too sick and miserable to want otherwise.

At last he nodded, dropping his gaze in submission. She had won this round.

"Drink that tea," she chided gently. "It's the one you just bought, the throat coat."

He did as she asked, humming in pleasure at the warmth, which of course turned into a cough. "Can you bring me the cough syrup?" he asked after another few swallows. "And the Tylenol?"

"Of course. How about some food, too? I made soup and toast."

He palmed his stomach, rubbing it absently. "I suppose I'd better."

"Don't tell me your stomach is bothering you too?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. But if I take all this medicine without eating it will."

"Sensitive stomach?"

He nodded. "Especially when I'm already sick."

She filed this tidbit away in her memory as she fetched his requests. She handed him the medicines along with a bottle of water and set the soup and toast on the table. Then she squatted down so they were at eye level, forcing him to meet her eyes. She gently brushed away his shower-damp bangs and pressed a hand to his forehead, wanting to actually gauge his fever this time. He accepted her touch without protest, muffling a cough behind his lips.

She clucked her tongue at the noticeable heat. "Have you taken your temperature with a thermometer recently?"

He shook his head, looking sheepish. "Not sure I want to know the number. I already know it's high."

She chuckled. "I suppose that's fair. The number won't change the treatment. As long as you take that medicine."

In reply, he swallowed the syrup and pills with a big drink of water, giving her a tiny smile and a wink.

She grinned back at him. "Before you eat, I'll pray for the food." Seizing any opportunity to touch him, she grasped his free hand and bowed her head. "Dear Lord, thank you for this food and let it nourish our bodies. Heal Father Luc of his illness and keep us safe in this rainstorm. In Jesus' name we pray, Amen."

"Thank you, Flora," the priest said, gently releasing his hand from hers. "And I'll add, I pray you don't catch this from being around my germs so much today."

"I'm not worried, and you shouldn't be either. But if it makes you feel better, I'll do the dishes and disinfect things while you eat. For both our sakes."

"That's not necessary. I can–"

"I want to. I'm here to help you, after all. Plus, you'll feel better in a clean house."

He sighed quietly. "If you insist. Again, thank you."

"It's my pleasure," she said fervently. "I'll take care of everything. You just sit and eat and rest."

Of course, while she was cleaning the kitchen she kept an eye on him, glancing over surreptitiously every so often. At first he ate fairly steadily, though pain flashed across his face every few swallows. The toast was gone in short order, washed down with the rest of the tea, and then he started on the soup. During the second half of his meal, though, his blinking steadily grew slower and heavier, and the motion of the spoon slowed. At last she looked over to see he had dozed off where he sat, the bowl resting precariously on his knee. Just as she was about to go rescue it, he jerked awake with a barking cough. He set the bowl and spoon aside then and wrapped a few blankets snugly around himself, shifting to lie down with a sickly snuffle, knees drawn in close and hands tucked under the pillow under his cheek.

"Why haven't you been lying down in bed?" she called over to him.

"Too far away from everything," he croaked. "I didn't want to be walking around so much."

She almost told him she would be doing all the walking for him now so he could go to bed if he liked, but thought better of it. There would be time for that later. And anyway, seeing him curled up on the couch was probably more adorable.

Charlotte seemed to agree. Once his face was at the same level as hers, she quietly trotted over and gave him a few comforting licks on the cheek, wagging her tail. He freed a hand from his cocoon to scratch behind her ears.

"I'm okay, Charlie girl," he murmured. "I just need to sleep."

She seemed to understand. She gave him another little lick, then went back to her own bed, continuing to keep an eye on him.

Flora finished the dishes a few minutes later and came to sit across from him. He was nearly asleep, his breathing slow and steady.

"You should leave whenever you want, Flora," the priest mumbled, not opening his eyes. "I'll be okay. Charlie will take care of me."

Hearing her name, the dog crossed to Flora, who began to pet her right away. Giving her a friendly tail wag, the dog laid down across Flora's feet with a happy sigh. Flora laughed, continuing to pet her ally.

Luc cracked an eye open at the sound of her laugh, and also smiled at the sight.

"Looks like she doesn't want me to leave. I guess she likes having the help."

"So it would seem," he murmured, letting his eyes drift closed again.

Flora was quiet until it seemed he was asleep, then smiled down at her foot warmer.

"Good girl, Charlotte," she murmured, scratching the dog's ears.

"Good Charlotte," came his voice from beside her, muddled with sleep and a sore throat, making her jump. "That's why I gave her that name. I loved that band growing up."

"It's a perfect name for her. I loved that band, too. Still do. My mother was appalled the first time I accidentally let her hear it."

"Mine, too," he mumbled around a yawn. "I still have all my punk albums hidden under my bed. Old habits die hard…." He trailed off into a snore.

As far as she was concerned, that was the only proof necessary that the two of them needed to get married. A priest that listens to 2000′s punk rock? Could a man be any more attractive?

~~~

Flora was near at hand when the sick man woke again a few hours later. Wild horses wouldn't have dragged her away from his sickbed now that she had made her way in, so after cleaning and disinfecting most of the house, she had opened up one of her library books and waited out his nap with Charlotte at her side. It had been difficult to watch him toss and turn uncomfortably for so long, his fever making him mutter and moan in his sleep, so it was a relief when he showed signs of waking.

In the end it was a coughing fit that woke him of course, the sound harsh and rumbling as ever. He tossed and turned a bit after he quieted, as if trying to go back to sleep. Eventually his eyes slid open instead, then immediately closed. With a soft groan he ran his hands over his face.

Watching all of this transpire, Flora crossed to him, the dog at her side. "Hey there. How are you feeling?"

There was no denying the flicker of happiness that crossed his face upon seeing her, but the pinched, miserable expression quickly returned.

"Nnghn," he mumbled, feebly trying to free his legs from the blankets wrapped around them.

"That good, huh?" She came to his rescue, folding up the offending blankets on top of the others.

"Just slowly boiling alive," he sighed, wheezy and rough. "I'm pretty sure I feel my temperature rising." He began to scratch Charlotte's ears, and this seemed to relax him slightly.

Flora knew there would be no benefit in feeling his forehead, for it was going to feel hot. She could tell that on sight alone, flushed and sweaty as he looked, and his own comments notwithstanding. Yet the urge to touch him in any possible way was constant and overwhelming; such was his magnetism over her. Still, another idea occurred to her.

"Let me get a cold cloth for your face so you'll be a little more comfortable. And we'll actually take your temperature now as a baseline, since it seems like the medicine isn't working well."

"Just a minute," he croaked, swinging his legs down and staggering up to stand. He shuffled his way to the bathroom, coughing all the way, with his dog at his heels. Charlotte was clearly intent on making sure he stayed safe. The pair returned as quickly as could be expected in his weak, unsteady state, and he fell back into the couch bonelessly, nestling into the blankets with another groan while Charlotte and Flora looked on anxiously.

Flora was ready with the thermometer as soon as he was settled, but as she was about to give it to him, something began to vibrate. It wasn't the first time she'd heard the sound that day, but it was the most persistent. She gave him a questioning look and he pulled his phone out of the depths of the couch behind him wordlessly, tossing it on the coffee table without a glance. It stopped vibrating, then started again immediately.

"You're not going to answer?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Don't feel good. No phone calls today," he mumbled.

She wanted to "aww" so badly at his pathetically simple statement of fact, but didn't want to embarrass him, so she settled for giving him a sympathetic look while Charlotte licked his cheek, clearly feeling the same way. He'd gone from "not feeling well at all" to "don't feel good" in only a few hours. He really must be miserable.

The phone stopped ringing, then started once more. She really tried not to look, since she didn't want him to think she was snooping, but she caught a glimpse of the name on the screen before she could stop herself.

"It says Mom… are you sure you don't want to answer?"

He shook his head. "She's the last person I want to talk to. She'll hear I'm sick from my voice and then she'll fuss and worry. Here, let me turn the ringer off."

She handed it to him, and he set it to silent before tossing it back onto the table, settling down once more with a huff that ended in fittish coughing. Flora didn't leave him alone, though, and held out the thermometer again. He took it and put it in his mouth willingly. As it calibrated, he let his eyes slip closed, the bruising around them vivid as ever.

His companion took the opportunity to soak in his appearance, staring unabashedly. Dressed in sweats and shivering, hair tousled, fever-flushed, moisture glistening on his forehead, and now with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth, he was the picture of illness. She had never seen a more contagious sight–or a more beautiful one. That she was able to be with him while he was in such a vulnerable state was a gift she would never take for granted.

The thermometer eventually beeped, interrupting her reverie, and his eyes flickered open wearily as she took it, awaiting the verdict.

"103.3. That's about what I expected, honestly. Let's try to get you cooled off a little so you're more comfortable."

"At least three is my lucky number," he mumbled sleepily as she bustled around gathering things. "Maybe that'll be good luck."

"Is it? Why three?" she asked conversationally. "The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost?"

"That's one reason, I suppose," he chuckled. "But there's lots of others. There are three kids in my family and in both my parents'. My sisters were born on March 3rd and March 23rd. My house number growing up was 333. Just to name a few."

"Well I like that. I'll hope that that means good luck, then, too," she said, kneeling at his side to press an icy cold cloth to his forehead.

He broke into a coughing fit as she did so, one of the worst yet. He quickly had trouble catching his breath and had to sit upright, hacking into his fist again and again, the cloth falling off immediately.

Feeling the need to do something, Flora found herself pressing her hand into his chest, rubbing a little, wanting to soothe and steady his lungs. To her surprise, he didn't shift away from her, but grabbed her hand with his and held on like it was a lifeline, squeezing with every cough.

At last he quieted, more flushed and sweaty than ever, and fell back against the pillow in exhaustion. Only then did he let her hand fall from his.

"I'm sorry I got you talking," she said. "I should know better when you're sick like this."

"Not your fault," came the hoarse whisper. "Conversation is good for the soul."

Flora again laid the cloth against his forehead, pressing it down. He sighed in pleasure, which only made him start coughing again, though this fit was less protracted.

"Oh Luc, that's such a bad cough," she sighed. "Do you want to take some more medicine?"

He made a face, and she almost thought he was going to decline. But after a moment he nodded with another tiny sigh. "Can you bring me a yogurt bar out of the freezer too?"

"Oh yeah, of course."

In no time he'd downed the medicine and eaten again, rounding everything out with more tea. While he was eating, Flora turned on Netflix with his permission. Scanning through his "recently watched" queue for something familiar, she picked one of her own favorites, the Great British Baking Show. He smiled as she selected it, and of course she smiled back. She had always sensed their innate compatibility, but she adored finding more and more proof of it.

Once his tea was gone, he settled back into his blanket nest and was snoozing in no time, propped up somewhat so he could breathe better. Charlotte followed suit, stretching out in her dog bed. Flora left the show playing for the background noise for both of them.

She was getting a bit bored, she admitted to herself. It was progressing towards evening, and she wondered idly how her departure was going to come about. Would he force her to finally go, or should she see herself out and save him the trouble? She thought probably the former, whatever intentions she would purport to have. Bored or not, she knew once she left his house the magic would have to end. She'd never get another chance like this, so she intended to see it through as long as possible.

He didn't sleep nearly as long as she expected this time, and in less than an hour (two episodes hadn't even played) he was stirring awake again. He opened his eyes, fidgeting around restlessly. He'd been lying on his side with the blanket drawn up to his chin, but with a frustrated groan he rolled over onto his front.

"Is everything okay?" Flora asked, going to kneel at his side. She pressed her hand to his forehead. "It feels like your fever is finally down. What's wrong?"

"Nauseous, dizzy," he muttered. "I always get nauseous when I take Robitussin, but it's the only thing that works when I have a cough like this. I thought eating with it would help. Guess not."

"Why would you take it if it makes you sick, though?"

"I'd rather be nauseous than coughing so hard I can't breathe."

"So you either have to feel seasick or cough your lungs out? Poor love. Those are both awful options."

It was only after he perked up and met her eyes that she realized her slip of the tongue.

"What… what did you say?" he croaked, his face inscrutable as he slowly sat up straighter.

She willed herself to hold his stare in that critical moment as she carefully chose her words, communicating far more through the intensity of her gaze than what she said: "I meant to say 'Luc', but it came out 'love'. A slip of the tongue. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Please forgive me."

His gaze didn't waver either. "Oh no, it's not that. You don't need to ask for forgiveness. I just… I wanted to make sure I heard you correctly."

"Yes, you heard correctly." She took a tiny step forward, his eyes drawing her in, erasing any willpower she might have had.

"I see," he breathed. "I– I believe I understand."

They hung, frozen in time for the longest of moments. Neither seemed to breathe. Then, he slowly reached out his hand to her, inviting her to come closer. She hardly felt her feet on the floor as she drew near and placed her hand in his, but his touch electrified her. He brushed his lips across her palm. The barest touch, yet she felt fire erupt across her skin, raising goosebumps of delight. Then, with a little squeeze, he released her just as quickly as he'd caught her, their eyes meeting once more. 'Not yet', his gaze seemed to say. 'In time. But not yet.'

For him, she would wait as long as he asked. She believed a promise of more from him could sustain her indefinitely. Her chest felt full, bursting with a thousand emotions.

His chest was full too, though in a very different way, and she crashed back to reality when he began to hack productively into a fist, harsh and scraping.

She sighed softly, shifting her focus. His health still took priority. "You poor thing. That cough just won't let you rest."

"It's better, though. I think it's getting better," he mumbled, lying back down with an air of exhaustion and misery.

"Maybe a little," she conceded. In her mind, she was running through options of how she could help him. It was too soon for medicine. He wouldn't want to eat with a stomach ache. His fever was down, so a cool rag wasn't necessary. "But you still look so sick and sad. What can I get you to help you feel better? Name it and it's yours."

His eyes lit up for a brief moment. "The only thing that sounds good right now is ginger ale. And maybe Vicks will help this cough since nothing else will…."

She could see there was one more thing, but he was hesitating. "And? What else?"

"Well… whenever I was sick as a kid, my grandmother would always watch me. And she and I would always do jigsaw puzzles together. And I… I guess I'd really love a new puzzle to work on. Since I don't think this is going away anytime soon."

"Your wish is my command. But actually, you already have one of those things." She hurried to the kitchen and returned with a little jar of Vicks. "You bought this while you were out this morning."

"Did I? I don't remember that," he said faintly, taking the jar and fidgeting with it. "This morning feels like forever ago."

"You can say that again," she agreed. "But you were thinking ahead even if you don't remember doing so. Do you… want help putting that on?"

"Oh no, I've got it," he said, reddening. "But if you're leaving, could you let Charlotte out before you go? I think the rain finally stopped."

The dog, who was quietly standing by the back door, wagged her tail at the sound of her name, making Flora smile.

"You got it. Anything else?"

He shook his head. "You've already done so much. I'll never be able to thank you enough. I'm so thankful you found us on the side of the road."

"Don't mention it. Any– anyone would have done the same." She had been about to say 'any good Christian', but that was a little too tongue-in-cheek even for her, knowing her own ulterior motives. "I'll head to the store right away," she said, preventing him from replying further. She found a sticky note and scribbled down her cellphone number. "Text me if you think of anything else. I shouldn't be gone long."

"I will. Thank you," he said quietly. "And before you ask, no, I won't stop thanking you. You saved the day today."

"Then I guess I'd better leave so you don't have the opportunity to keep saying it," she laughed, going to the back door with the dog at her heels.

Letting Charlotte out was the work of the moment. The dog did her business quickly, looking at the sky apprehensively the whole time. Since moisture was still drizzling down, she again insisted on being toweled off when they got back inside, making Flora and Luc laugh. This done, Flora was speeding away to the nearest bookstore in no time.

She took her time selecting a puzzle she thought would suit him. Nothing too feminine, no boring landscapes or movie stills. At last she picked out a colorful, abstract design that looked like it would be challenging but not impossible. She found ginger ale in a vending machine, and as an afterthought grabbed him a coffee from the bookstore cafe as well.

Her errands complete, she soon found herself back in his neighborhood. So as to not arouse any more suspicion, and now that the rain had mostly stopped, instead of parking in his driveway again, she parked across the street and down a ways in the parking lot of a little public park, and savored the fresh, clean air walking back to his house.

She hadn't locked the door, so she let herself back in quietly. To her surprise, the couch was unoccupied and the main rooms dark. Locking the door behind herself now, she set down most of her purchases in the kitchen and went in search of her charge.

He wasn't difficult to find, for the next logical place to look for him was his bedroom, and there he was, huddled in bed with the lights off and Charlotte curled up behind his knees. He saved her the awkwardness of having to check if he was awake by speaking as soon as she entered:

"Welcome back. F-feels like you just left."

"It wasn't a long errand. But long enough for you to change things up on me, apparently. Got sick of the living room, no pun intended?"

He chuckled hoarsely. "I fell asleep again as soon as you l-left and woke up with a splitting headache. C-came back here because it's darkest."

She could sense he was struggling not to cough after such a long speech, in addition to shivering harshly, and he cleared his throat several times instead, arousing her sympathy (among other things) for the thousandth time or so that day.

"So no puzzle tonight, then?" she asked.

"Not tonight. But there's always t-tomorrow. I can't wait to see what you p-picked."

"I got you a coffee, too, for the morning. Maybe it'll give you the boost you need to start feeling better. It's an Irish Cream Cold Brew."

"You're kidding!" His excitement was endearing, but of course the change in pitch made him cough pitifully. "How did you know my coffee order?" he asked when he could speak, hoarse and faint though it was.

"I've only seen you carrying it around church dozens of times," she laughed. "If you can't tell by now, being hyper observant is my brand of anxiety."

He laughed too, stifling another cough in the process. "You're incredible, Flora. I'm going to owe you for the rest of my life."

She flushed with pleasure. "It's only because you're so sick. You just keep tugging on my heart strings. Speaking of which, how's your fever?"

"Okay, I think."

She confirmed with her hand. "I agree. It's okay. You don't feel like a broiler, anyway. Your cough?"

"Controlled. A little b-better, maybe."

"I'd agree with that too. Stomach ache?"

"About the same."

"And now a bad headache, too?".

"Unfortunately."

"Well, hopefully this will at least help both of the last two." She held out the bottle of ginger ale.

"Oh my goodness, that is exactly what I need." He carefully sat up (disturbing Charlotte, who gave an annoyed huff), revealing that he was wrapped in a blanket underneath the duvet on the bed. He kept this around himself as best as he could as he reached for the soda, cracked it, and took several swallows.

"That tastes amazing. It actually h-helps my throat, t-too. Th-thank you s-so much, Flora"

"No thanks necessary," she said, spreading her hands. "And you really don't have to keep thanking me. It's the least I could do. I wish it was more. You still look so miserable."

"Because I AM m-miserable," he chuckled. "I'm sick as a dog, no offense to Charlie. But I'm as comfortable as I can be now, thanks to you."

She couldn't have asked for a better segue. Seizing all her courage, she replied: "Speaking of comfortable… I can see one last way to help you tonight, if you're open to it. You haven't stopped shivering since I got here. It looks like it actually got worse from the cold drink. I think sharing body heat might be what you need, and I'm volunteering my services."

She couldn't see his face well in the dark, so the long silence that followed her statement was excruciating.

Finally, he took a careful breath. "We b-both know that wouldn't be appropriate, F-Flora," he murmured.

It wasn't a 'no', it was an obligatory statement of fact, and for that reason she tried again. "Nobody needs to know. Not a soul knows I'm here. My car isn't even in your driveway anymore. The only way anyone would find out is if you or I told them. The way I see it, 'appropriate' becomes null behind closed doors."

He chuckled, seemingly against his will. "You have it all f-figured out, don't y-you?" He fell silent again, and she followed suit, sensing he was gnawing his lip in thought. "You know we shouldn't," he said at last, though regret was plain in his voice.

Still not a 'no', so she kept pressing. "But Luc, you want to be held. It's all you've wanted all day, I've seen it plainly. And you should be held, because everyone should be held when they're so sick. And I'm right here. And I want to hold you. So let me." This time she held her arms wide, an open invitation, taking a tiny step closer.

More seconds passed, feeling like minutes, as Flora held her breath and held her pose. Then, slowly, Luc lifted his arms to mirror her, letting the blanket fall away from his shoulders. She flew to meet him. He let his weight fall against her, needy and wanting, burying his face into her shirt as she pressed her face into his messy hair. They found themselves in a tight hug that lingered for a long time. Then, in one motion she nudged him and Charlotte closer to the middle of the bed and crawled in beside him. She ended up mostly on her side but partially propped up against the pillows behind them while he was lying on his side with his face still tucked against her. They clung to one another as if they'd never let go. Here, in his bed, surrounded with the heady scent of him, she thought she'd never been closer to heaven.

He was shivering harshly at first, but he soon began to still. She felt his tension ease, and after a few minutes he sighed contentedly, muffling the subsequent cough against her side in a familiar, cozy way.

"Are you warmer now?" she murmured in the peaceful silence that followed.

"Much. It's like I can feel my temperature rising. But in a good way this time. Going back to normal," he said, holding onto her all the tighter.

She pressed her lips to his hair again. Then, going slowly, giving him the opportunity to stop her, she slid her hand under his shirt so her fingers were against the warm, sweaty skin of his back. When he didn't protest, she began to run her fingertips up and down his spine, scratching and kneading. He groaned in ecstasy at the sensation.

"I figured since everything else hurt, you'd be pretty achy too," she murmured.

"So achy, all day. That feels incredible. Please don't stop."

She had no plans to do so, and his breathing quickly grew deep and regular. Soon he was asleep… or so she thought. Her hand continued to move, soothing herself as much as him. She was nearly asleep when he spoke, so softly that at first she thought she was imagining it.

"This is going to be trouble, you know. One way or another," he breathed.

She couldn't help but smile to herself. He was probably right. If they continued on this path, trouble would eventually find them. Yet she found she wasn't scared. She would embrace any sort of trouble involving him with open arms.

She pressed her lips to his hair reassuringly, hugging him even tighter. "Nobody needs to know," she murmured.

#my ocs #my wrtitng #priest 'verse ocs #cw priest #everyone is hotter with a fever

27 notes · View notes

geofisher · 2 years

Text

priesty belos

#the owl house #toh #geoarting #emperor belos #toh fanart #philip wittebane #belos toh #toh hunter #religion #priest #religious themes #cw religion #cw priest #cw religious themes #i hope i tagged that correctly #PLEASE lmk if i need to tag this differently #also sorry for the boring comp ive been super busy recently

328 notes · View notes

creaturedom · 2 years

Text

The Thurible

I can’t believe I had to actually sit down and do research for this incredibly self indulgent thing, I’m not religious LOL. @kazewohiita , this one goes out to you. To everyone else… My only warning is mess, let’s hop on the gross priest train X’D

“Father Izaak,” a voice fretted as charcoal so carefully clasped between tongs sparked under a fresh flame, “please, I can prepare that for you! I used to always help Reverend Father Tully with…” The nun’s voice trailed off as the name left her lips, a visible sadness flashing quick as the reddening charcoal as she looked away. It had been some time since the passing of their last priest, but she like many others of the church still found great sorrow in it.

This didn’t disturb the process by any means as the thurible closed gently, chain pinched between the father’s rich dark fingers to fan the flames within. He was a bit of a quiet man compared to the more open Father Tully; spiraled hair styled in a short afro, dark brown eyes that carried a certain warmth to them, not as tall as Tully, but broad shoulders that filled out his cassock nicely. Square jawed, a beautiful rounded nose, and the way he formed his words with each sentence…

“I like to do it myself. Makes me feel… More connected.” The priest explained, already shifting to hang it and gather the various scents to go inside. He paused to sniffle a bit, glancing over to her with that spark she had noticed earlier. It wasn’t uncommon for a new priest to be chosen beyond their walls by any means, though maybe due to their last priest being there so long she was feeling hesitant. Something about how he carried himself today seemed sluggish, but her thoughts snapped as he spoke again. “A few things will be done differently from this point on, Sister Margret, though I appreciate your offer. I’ll take it from here…” Though she hesitated the nun simply dipped her head and left the room, leaving the man to resume his work and methodically fill a mix of incense into the thurible.

In her absence he began to rub his knuckles against his septum, squinting as the fragrance began to flow in heavy clouds of smoke within the room and invade his reddening nostrils with a smirk. “That’ll do…”

----------------------------------------------------------

All stood to attention as music rose loud and true to the high ceiling above, the thurible swinging faithfully towards the pews with its swirling smoke. A few whispers were shared here and there as Father Izaak passed, some rather curious and others already passing rumors. Nothing too serious really, he’d been through this song and dance before. What Izaak was really focusing on was the sharp sniffling just barely buried beneath the echo of song all around them.

If one looked carefully enough they could see a tinge of redness around his nostrils, his upper lip carrying a light sheen to it. His eyes were beginning to grow red as well, and yet he continued to swing the thurible rhythmically, smiling warmly and nodding to those who met his eye. His nose felt like it was crackling with a heat intense enough to summon the devil itself, and yet he seemed excited as he got into position and handed off his rather precious tool.

As the air grew quiet and still he did his best not to clear his irritated throat as someone from the clergy stepped forward to introduce their new priest. His mind was starting to feel fuzzy and the cassock felt a bit too warm at the moment. And yet he still stood, smiling as the sensations grew worse, nearly missing his own name: Father Izaak Hartley. Nodding gratefully he stepped forward to the podium and looked to the crowd with a quiet but watery sniffle.

“Welcome, and thank you for joining us on this Sunday of celebration…” The priest breathed, wincing a bit when he swallowed back and found a sharp ping of pain. For the most part things were going smoothly, the crowd surprisingly gravitating towards his words and new style of preaching rather quickly. He was formal enough, but he liked to pace a bit, speak more with his hands, and pause to punctuate the meaning of his words a little more. On top of that the little jokes he managed to sneak passed the clergy got the crowd chuckling, and Izaak was quickly winning them over.

“In John 3:16, we learn that God so loved the world that he gave us his only son. What greater gift is there, and what does it mean for h-hihhm to…” His pacing stopped as his heart began to flutter. For a moment there was silence before his breath sagged, quickly dipping into both hands a harsh “hih’bTSCHhh!” Startled a few in the crowd offered him blessings, but by the look on his crumpling face it was too soon. “T-To give uHSTCHHH! H-Hih—tSCHhhoo!”

He didn’t mean to but a soft, savory moan escaped his lips, partially grateful it was harder to see how red his cheeks felt. “Whew, excuse me… Quite the entrance on the first day, huh?” A few chuckled so he waved his hand, his smile a bit more watery now that his system was rebelling against him. “… I have a question for you all. Doesn’t it feel good sometimes, to let go and be yourself…?” An unsure murmur arose, causing him to half chuckle and stifle a few coughs.

“I’m not talking about sins of the flesh or breaking any rules laid out by God, but rather the gift he gave you: yourself. Jesus took our sins to allow us to find ourselves, but most live in guilt for that which we will always inherently do. They each teach us every day how to be better people, it’s just a matter of how… Gh’tshxx!” He managed to stifle at the last minute, though it was wetter than he expected.

Sniffing thickly he swiped a quick hand under what he felt was a growing mess, spinning on his heel with a bit of flourish. “How we live by His word. Pleasure can take many forms, a delicious meal, the joy of being around one’s family, even… E-Even—huh’tSCHZZzew! Ugh, a good sneeze, am I right?” He grinned as laughter filled the room again. “Song of Solomon 4:7 states: ‘You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.’ So the danger of pleasure is not within your own body, or your own simple joys, it is in acts which affect yourself and others for the worse, beyond the call of God!”

This seemed to stir the crowd a bit, some of the older ones a bit thrown, but a few… A few he could see he had attention in a different way. A few eyes trailing as he so carelessly sniffed back and merely dabbed at his increasingly itchy nose with a handkerchief offered to him. If they chose to stare that was on them, but he wasn’t about to give up his own passionate remarks and certainly wasn’t going to step off the podium as a few mortified members of the clergy seemed to want him to.

Burying his nose his eyes screwed shut as he took a long, shuttering breath, a few tears slipping as he bobbed into the handkerchief with a few wet sneezes “HHEGTSCHH! H-Hih—HEHD’JSCHHhhew! HeH’JESCHHhh! Hah… O-One moment… A-Almost—! KhhH—! Hiih’tSCHHHhhoo!” It took everything in his power not to moan aloud as a visible shiver ripped through his body, crushing his nose with a squelch under the ruined handkerchief. Whether this was from a nasty set of chills or something more, hardly anyone could say. Though from the faces of members in the audience, there may have been some doubt as to whether or not they were fully honed in on his preaching.

----------------------------------------------------------

“The body of Christ…”

“Amen.”

“The body of Christ…”

“Amen.”

“The body of Christ…”

“A… Amen…”

Through it all the priest managed to stand strong, no one managing to shoo him off even as he seemed to grow worse. The crowd was oddly enamored with him, his presence magnetic and mystifying, after all who could compare to his style? Each careful motion and charming flash of a smile glued the people to their seats, and seeing that he still took it upon himself to still provide this service to the people. He found himself quite amused as some shyly cast their gazes away, others boldly meeting his weary eyes or even dropping a quick word of wellness.

Their focus helped them see past the glazed look in Father Izaak’s eye, the wet sheen of his upper lip combined with the mess he kept sniffling back and shaky exhales in a fruitless effort to keep his nose in line. If only everyone could be impressed so easily though. As soon as the Holy Communion ended and people began to shuffle out he was tugged roughly to the back, the church echoing with the heavy slam of one of its old wooden doors as older nun narrowed her eyes at the sniffling priest.

“You’re ill, Father?”

“No, I believe I’m Father Izaak…” Sister Margret didn’t seem to appreciate his joke, hanging the still smoking thurible on its proper stand. She was squawking about something or other as his eyes trailed ever so slowly back to the mischievous smoke behind her. He was always a little sensitive to such things, especially when he added a few extra things to make it smell nice and strong. A few extra scoops of myrrh in the frankincense, a little copal resin to really dig into the sinuses…

“… Father Izaak… Father Izaak!” He was snapped back to attention as she grabbed both of his shoulders, looking down to see an expression mixed with frustration and worry. “Are you listening? If you’re ill or feel under the weather you could have asked to preach next week, or at least asked someone to help lead! This is serious, you made a fool of yourself!”

“Really..? I thought they rather liked it…” He mused as he tried to bring a hand up to swipe at his nose though Sister Margret forced his arm down again. “Ah—careful—“

“That wasn’t at all professional, not at all gracious! If Reverend Father Tully was present he would have known to pace himself, or ask for help—!”

“—H-Help, wait, khhih—“

“Exactly! Is that so hard to ask, to plainly say out loud that you, the great Father, need—?”

“Hih—! Hih’tsCHHHhh! HeH’JESCHHhh—tschh, tSCHhh!” His head bobbed back up with a heavy sniffle, cracking an eye open to look once more to her. All things considered not the worst thing, but her clothes were certainly splattered and she was locked in shock. “… A tissue, Sister Margret? I would kindly like to ask to be r-released before I’m forced to give another bahpt… Baptishhiih…” Thankfully she got the hint, releasing him just in time to grab the soggy handkerchief again and bury a fit of wet sneezes, visibly darkening the delicate cloth in his hands.

When Izaak finally pulled back he was breathless, yet looked oddly at peace. As if God himself came down to offer a gentle blessing and a kiss to his warm forehead. Sister Margret muttered a bless you to the Father while he cleared his leaking nose. “… Do you remember what I said earlier?” Her head turned curiously to him as he neatly folded the handkerchief in his hands. “I said many things would change from here on out. While I respect the path laid out before me, I felt in this time of need the people of this church needed a true show of faith and dedication. A priest willing to be with them through thick and thin, to guide them without knowing each face, willing to put aside his own suffering… For the good of the people.”

Something shifted in the priest as he stepped forward to the nun below him, his smile still soft yet his stance more stern. “I won’t apologize for displaying my faith proudly, and for wanting to make as good an impression as possible. And from the look of that crowd, I’d say I did a rather nice job.” The nun diverted her gaze with a huff, making Izaak hoarsely chuckle. “I’ll do better in the future, Sister Margret. I can at least promise that much, though I…” His breath hitched again, a frantic hand raising to catch his dipping nose, only to find purchase in something firm but almost silky “Huh’tsSCHHmphf—! Gh’pmphf!”

“… Bless you, Father Izaak.” The nun lowered her own handkerchief from his quivering nose and sighed heavily. “There’s no time like the present. I understand you’ll be taking the former priest’s quarters in the courtyard?” Dazed, Father Izaak offered a small nod, managing to make her huff in amusement. “Very well, Father. I’ll ask someone to send you an extra blanket as well as prepare some food for you, while you settle in.”

“… Thank you, Sister Margret.”

“Don’t get used to it, I’m no mother hen.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Sister!” He playfully placed a hand on his chest, earning a short but true laugh from her. “Off to bed with you, we’ll take care of things from here.”

“Yes, Sister…” No better timing in his opinion. As he departed one last glance at the thurible was spared, smiling to himself as the last of the smoke seemed to billow out. “Thanks for the help, old friend.” He breathed to it, smirking as he reached both hands into his pockets and felt his fingertips brush against some ‘borrowed’ incense inside. With that he spun on his heel and made his way to his new quarters, the last of the smoke and embers dying with a harsh, wet sneeze echoing through the halls once more.

#cw priest #creaturedom #sneeze fic #cold #contagion #Father Izaak #mess #snz #sus bastard #genuinely nervous so we'll see if people vibe with this LOL

51 notes · View notes

aceoftrashies · 1 year

Text

Okay, this is not at all Obey Me or The Arcana related, but I fell in love with a TK concept. Hear me out....

A tickle priest! Someone who “baptizes” and purifies those of sin by tickling. 👀

“Come on, my dear, let out your holy laughter in the name of the Lord!”

#cw priest #tw priest #tickling #i stg i need to make a tk priest character #he'd be so much fun to play off

2 notes · View notes

snezandsickheadcanons · 1 year

Photo

i love them so much. evil villain gay church duo

#cw priest #just in case

1 note · View note

empresskaze · 2 years

Text

I don't have a physical drawing of him but here's a quick rundown of the priest OC I created a long time ago but never did anything with

Name: Father Ellis Briar

Religious affiliation: None, he's atheist

Allergies: incense, strong candles, flowers

Life: Assigned to Our Lady of the Veil church which is out in the middle of nowhere. The church sits on a hot bed of demonic activity.

Familiar: a demon named Rezgozath, Rez for short. When Ellis summons Rez it takes a huge toll on his stamina and weakens him so he doesn't do it often.

I don't even remember the story I wanted to write with them, I just wanted a priest tied to a demon.

#kaze thoughts #I wish I had more info on them #I'd like to actual write them but brain has nothing #but we can add atheist priest to the mix #info on my ocs #ellis and rez #cw priest

1 note · View note

even-all · 3 months

Text

Lead us not into temptation,

// he/him for both of us. cishets dni / trans ppl only //

@dr-morbidcuriosity and I <3

i love having a boyfriend who will let me play sexy dress up and fuck him as a priest. and will fuck me as a priest

#image #💜#evin.png #trans nsft #queer nsft #t4t nsft #ftm nsft #ftm sub #ftm dom #hierophilia #priest kink #blasphemy kink #cw religion

2K notes · View notes

2-dsimp · 18 days

Note

Hear me out... Yan priest with a non believer reader....like just imagine....Yan priest"you don't believe in heaven huh...then I'll take you to heaven...then continued to 💥 her....

Cw: 🔞NSFW MDNI🔞 Fem reader! Throatpie, coercion, corruption, dubcon, religious aspects, creampie, cum shower, slight humiliation, degradation, praise, overstimulation, Zebad turning you into a true believer

—————/—————/—————-/————/———

Zebad sighs in contentment as he watches you collapse onto the altar, his wet slick and cum covered shaft slipping out of your overused cunt with a wet pop. He takes a moment to admire your body, feeling his own softening member hardening with avengeance as he sees the marks and bruises he so graciously bestowed upon your skin. Before he quickly flips you over, ripping off your top with a gentle smile.

"Mmm, my lost Dove~ did this prayer session help to enlighten you by chance?"

The Priest hums with a twisted expression on his face confronting the non believer gasping for breath within his holy sanctum. Right before the lords eyes of the marble statue which stood tall above them and judged with a solemn stare.

He reached out a hand to firmly grasp onto your hair, his rock hard cock hovering near your lips. While he smacks his meat against your face, before nudging the tip of his leaking fat tip against your lips smearing it with your collective love juices from prior rounds.

"Oh how precious you are my dear, your pretty head looks as if it’s all empty inside. Allow me to fill it with something meaningful"

The Priest coos lovingly before he shoves his penis into your mouth, forcing it down your throat. He can feel your gag reflex kicking in, but he doesn't care. This was meant to teach you a lesson on how not to turn your back on the gracious blessings. That the lord could bestow to you if you’d just let your heart open fully to the wonders of the teachings he gives…

In all honesty Zebad was bullshitting about his preaching for a god he didn’t even have half a mind to remember the name of. He couldn’t care less about said god nor did he fathom entertaining the prestige beliefs of his pious church brethren. Why would he spend time trying to convert you into worshiping the lord when he could make you revere him as your sole savior.

"That's it, Love suck just like how we’ve practiced. Being such a good girl for me"

He purrs continuing to thrust into your mouth, his balls rubbing against your face as he uses you for his own pleasure. Grinning with satisfaction as he feels your fingers wrap around his thick length, your mouth still wrapped around it like a newborn. The corrupt holy official could feel his cock twitching with impatience, eager for your attention. He starts to buck his shaft inside your salivating mouth, relishing in the moist heat of your tongue sliding back and forth on his foreskin.

Yes, he’d make you utterly reliant on him for the rest of your days. Spend his sweet time training you, molding you into his perfect believer who’d only get on their knees and revere him as both your lover and guiding light to damnation. He alone would encompass the entirety of your mind, body, and soul.

"You’re gonna learn to accept me as your lover and savior and become an obedient bitch for me yes?"

Zebad coaxes with an sugarcoated timbre whilst he continues to rock his pelvis against your face, his body wracked with pleasure as he feels himself getting close to cumming again. He can ascertain how much your esophagus was tightening around his dick, making his balls twitch from the sensation. Of how he knows that you're so eager to please him.

"Oh what a delectable sheep you are, my darling~ so docile and compliant for me."

The Priest pants as he finally drives his shaft to the hilt, smacking his balls up against your drooling face. He lingers there for a moment, enjoying the tightness of your throat around him as you gag. He can feel his cum building up inside of him, and he knows that he's getting close to the edge.*

"Fuck, Dove, go on and take it! Take your lord and saviors cum like the good believer I know you are."

He starts to flood your taste buds with the peculiar taste of his gummy sperm, making you gag even more. The amount is too much for you to handle, so he spills the rest of his cum all over your tits and face in white beady rivulets. He grins with satisfaction as he watches his cum dripping down your body.

"Mmm, you look so beautiful covered in my cum perhaps I should make you walk around in it all day. And make it test of your faith towards me wouldn’t you say?”

Zebad goads, his voice low and seductive. Paired along with a devilish smile that was present on his face full of infatuation and obsession for his poor little sheep that wandered helplessly into his clutches.

1K notes · View notes

grendel-menz · 1 year

Photo

attachment anxiety between a priest and demon

#art #my art #comic #oc #ocs #original characters #digital art #priest x demon #father cain #demon dilynn #cw implied alcoholism

3K notes · View notes

arradraws · 2 months

Text

A soft blessed priest of Loviatar 🕯️

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanart #baldur's gate #baldursgate #art #myart #abdirak #bg3 abdirak #priest of loviatar #cw: scars #cw: wounds

236 notes · View notes

perfectpaperbluebirds · 2 years

Text

Tickle in the Throat

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #26

Fandom/OCs: NEW Priest ‘Verse OCs.

Title: Would It Be A Sin

Words: 1591

Inspiration: this ask requesting a sick priest

Author’s comments: Set in a small town in the American Bible Belt. To say I’m smitten with Flora and Father Luc is a vast understatement. I adored every second of writing this and found it easier to get into their heads than most. I think Flora may end up being my first snz kinkster, but we shall see. Also, I effing love the ending to this one, I won’t lie, and I can assure you a follow-up story is on the docket. I hope you enjoy this pair as much as I do.

Flora carefully fixed her hair and adjusted her dress before stepping into the cool, quiet church for confession. Though Father Luc couldn't see her today, God could, and really it was the principle of the thing. Best to look your best before confessing what a depraved sinner you are.

When her turn came, she stepped lightly into the confessional, taking the proper, subservient position before she spoke.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she murmured as she had been taught. "My last confession was three months ago." From there she began to recite the litany of her sins from the past summer. However, she had hardly begun when she heard Father Luc softly clear his throat, evidently trying not to be overheard. Her ears were sharper than most, however. She continued on without comment. He did it again only a few moments later, shifting slightly so that the bench creaked beneath him. When it happened a third time, she sensed the desperation behind the action and paused.

"If you need to cough, Father, it's all right. I won't be offended, and I'm sure the Lord understands." She tried and failed to keep the smile out of her voice.

After a moment of silence, the priest did indeed erupt into a hoarse, barking coughing fit.

"Excuse me," he rasped as soon as he could speak. "It seems I have a tickle in my throat today. Go on, my child."

Flora did as she was instructed, though she did have to pause and give him permission to cough once more, and that fit was even harsher than the previous.

When she had finished her confession, Father Luc began to instruct her in his peaceful way. He noted that since many of her sins seemed to center on unkind thoughts and actions to others, for penance she was asked to read select stories from the Gospel of Luke focusing on compassion, and to pray blessings over a particular coworker with whom she struggled to co-exist peacefully, in addition to the usual Our Fathers.

She listened well, and vowed to complete her penance faithfully. However, her attention was split, for Father Luc's hoarse, weak voice, more than hinting at a painfully sore throat, was a distraction. Her heart went out to him, having to hear confession in his current condition, and she made up her mind at once to do something for him. By the end of her time in the booth, she knew just the thing, and she would have just enough time to see to it before confession hours were over.

~~~

By the time confession hours ended, Flora had left and returned, and now sat waiting in her car in the church parking lot, her Jetta parked beside Father Luc's Sierra. She watched the leaves scudding around in the stiff, autumn breeze and wondered how long she should wait for the priest. Would he be likely to come out right away, or would he go work in his office afterward? If the latter, then this was a wasted trip, unless she went inside to find him. To her delight though, he stepped out of the church's back door less than fifteen minutes after confession ended. She hopped out of her car and stood waiting for him between their vehicles.

Father Luc was objectively, strikingly handsome, and less than four years older than herself. He was fresh out of the seminary, and she was fresh out of nursing school. Flora knew he and she would be a perfect match, with the priestly vow of celibacy as the only obstacle. Elderly Father Gregory, the previous priest, may have saved her soul, but Father Luc had won her heart, ever since the first time she saw him smile. Sin or not, she wanted him as her own, and she was determined to have him.

Today, however, it was obvious he wasn't well, and was not in the mood for smiles. He was pale and shaky, and was shivering just from the short walk to his car, though this early autumn weather was more windy than bitter. He coughed into his fist as he walked, pressing the other broad palm to his chest and shaking his head with a wince. She made a sympathetic face in response, though he wasn't looking.

In fact, he didn't see her until he was almost upon her, and he jumped when he noticed her at last, but she waved a hand in merry greeting to show she meant no harm. His face relaxed into an approximation of a smile, though the usual light in his eyes was absent.

"Hello, Flora. What can I do for you this evening?"

"I actually came to ask you the same thing, Father. I heard you were under the weather today." Heard him coughing and sniffling with her own ears not an hour ago, more accurately. She was sure he knew she'd been in the confession booth today, but neither would ever mention that of course.

He made a face. "Unfortunately true. It seems I've caught myself a lovely fall cold."

"Perhaps more than a cold. You're looking feverish to me."

"Am I? Well you would know best, of course. I feel rotten enough for it, if I'm being honest."

"May I?" She held out her hand to his face, close but not touching.

He hesitated, then nodded, his face inscrutable.

Flora pressed her palm to his sweaty forehead, probably too eagerly, and he leaned into the touch ever so slightly, giving her a thrill. They carefully avoided one another’s gaze. She pulled the hand away after an appropriate amount of time, though with no small amount of regret.

"You're running a fever, Father. You should be home in bed."

"I'm headed there right now," he said with a miserable shudder.

‘If only I was joining you so I could keep you warm,’ she thought to herself. She forced her mouth to say something different, however: "Is there anything I can do for you before you go? You have the medicine you need? I hate the thought of you going home to a cold, empty house."

"I have medicine, and I'll be sure to take plenty of it before I sleep. I'll be alright. Thank you, though, for your kindness. It isn't taken lightly." He expertly danced around any further mentions of his empty house and bed, and she followed his lead for the time being.

"Well at least take this before you go." She opened the door to her backseat and pulled out a warm canvas bag, handing it over to him. "Chicken soup, corn bread, fried okra and a jar of blackberry jam. This weather already had me in the mood for comfort food, so I'd gotten all this going for supper first thing this morning. I believe you're the perfect person to share it with, as you're certainly in need of some good comfort food tonight yourself."

His eyes lit up as he took the bag, and she was sure she heard his stomach growl hungrily. He grinned at her now, the usual warmth in his gaze.

"I hope you know you're my hero tonight, Flora. This is exactly what I needed. How can I ever repay you?"

‘I could think of a few ways,’ she thought wickedly. Instead she said: "As long as it helps you feel better, that's all I care about. It was no trouble at all. My fee is this though: you must promise to call me if there's anything else you need. You mustn't be a martyr and suffer all alone in silence. After all, you do so much for the congregation. This is the least I could do, to make sure you're looked after as well."

She thought he reddened slightly, and he pulled his eyes from hers to look at the food, though he continued to smile. "Thanks isn't enough for such a wonderful gift, but I offer it many times over anyway. And I agree to the rest of your fee as well. I will let you know if there's anything else I need, I promise."

"Good, then I'm satisfied." She almost threw all caution to the wind and reached out to touch his face again. They're would be no convenient excuse for it this time, though. No reason to explain away such forward behavior. Yet the desire was so strong that her hand twitched at her side. She forced herself to keep speaking instead. "I'd better let you go home, though, while the food is still hot. I don't want to keep you standing out in the cold."

He gave her a grateful look. "I'll eat it as soon as I'm there. Thank you again, so much. I'm sure we'll speak again soon, and hopefully I'll be better company."

"All the best to you, Father. Take care."

"Same to you, Flora. Be well."

They both got in their vehicles and started them. Father Luc drove off immediately, while Flora pretended to dig in her purse. She watched him go wistfully, hungrily. She wanted him badly. There had not been a man yet that had evaded her once she set her sights on him, and this beautiful priest would be no different. It would simply take time. The next step in her plan was obvious, though. With a fever like that, he was going to get worse before he got better, and he would almost certainly be home alone and sick tomorrow. She would make sure she found a way to keep him company.

#sicktember 2022 #prompt 26 #priest 'verse OCs #everyone is hotter with a fever #sickfic #cw priest

34 notes · View notes