“I’m old enough to be your actual father,” Cantrell whispered, thinking of anything that would deter Illias since Cantrell was too weak to stop himself.
“It’s a good thing I like—”
The bathroom door slammed against the wall causing both of them to jump. “Illias!” Maverick’s voice sliced through the air. “I swear to fucking God I will fire your ass if I catch you fucking around one more time! Get dressed and get your ass back to the fucking counter.”
“Be there in two seconds!”
“Fucking kids these days, swear to God. I’m getting…” Maverick’s sentence trailed off right before the sound of the door swinging shut met Cantrell’s ears.
Illias leaned his head against the stall door, a smirk present on his face. “Afraid I’ve gotta get back to work.”
Cantrell cleared his throat but made no move to put distance between them. “Probably for the best. Will I be seeing you on Sunday?”
“Of course.” Illias toyed with Cantrell’s necklace. “Wouldn’t miss it for a thing.”
***
Guilt from Friday followed Cantrell into Saturday. He busied himself with work at Saint Anthony’s until late afternoon. There was always so much to be done that Cantrell found himself consumed by the needs and wants of others. However, once he returned to the church, its quietness welcomed wicked thoughts back into his mind. He attempted to focus on organizing thebinder for Saint Anthony’s, but it didn’t take long for him to grow restless.
His mind plagued him with guilt-riddled temptation. Memory of Illias’ wild, hungry eyes. Warm breath against Cantrell’s lips. Reminding him how close he was to casting aside his faith for a taste of what it meant to be nothing but a man again. He was not just a man though. He was a priest with vows but vows did not prevent him from craving, and Lord, how hecraved.
Cantrell pushed his chair away from the desk, nearly tipping it over as he stood. He needed to pray. Needed to ask for forgiveness for the lust that wreaked havoc on his soul. He ran his hand over his head, sighing as he walked down the stairs to go to the chapel. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Illias sitting in the pews near the sanctuary. Arms propped on the back of the pew, face tilted back as sun poured over him from the windows.
“Illias,” his voice came out louder than he intended and he winced. “I wasn’t expecting you before Sunday.”
“I didn’t want to wait until then,” Illias said, lifting his head to look directly at Cantrell. “Hope you don’t mind.”
Cantrell laced his fingers in front of him as he walked over to Illias. “Not at all. What brings you in?”
“You,” Illias answered far too casually for Cantrell’s liking. Cantrell raised an eyebrow, anticipating that there was something else. Illias sighed and sat up properly in the pew. “I needed someone to talk to.”
Cantrell hesitated then slid into the pew next to Illias. Illias’ leg bounced frantically, and his clasped hands were clenching and unclenching. Frowning, Cantrell set aside his own internal conflict and forced himself to think only as Illias’ priest. “Whatever is troubling you.”Even if it is me and my selfish ways, he thought, unable to stop himself from wondering if itwas what they did on Friday that bothered Illias so much. “I’m here for you.”
Illias looked up at the cross, tongue in cheek. “I’ve done some pretty stupid shit in my life,” he said. “Like last night for example.”
Cantrell’s chest constricted. “Illias—”
“I don’t even know why I did that.” Illias ran his fingers through his hair. “Then I saw you standing there and you had thislookin your eye.” Illias let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “Like you wanted to skin the motherfucker that touched me.”
Cantrell refrained from the urge to chastise Illias’ swearing.Because I diddanced on the tip of Cantrell’s tongue. Wiggled between his lips. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. Instead, he lifted a trembling hand.Please,just let me touch, he thought, begging with the powers above,please,God,just this one simple touch.Illias’ cheek was warm beneath Cantrell’s palm. The coarse hair of Illias’ beard was a pleasant prick against Cantrell’s skin. He gently guided Illias’ head towards himself.Look at me, he thought, look at me and know—his breath halted when hazel met gray—I want you.
They were irresponsibly close; no more than a few inches separated them. Someone could walk in at any moment, seeking guidance, and find this instead. A priest on the edge of temptation, daring himself not to fall.
“Father.” Illias’ voice was a ghost of a whisper but that’s all it took to break what little resolve Cantrell had.
Before he had a moment to hesitate, he surged forward, tilting Illias’ head back to latch on to the same spot the other man left his mark. Illias sucked in a startled breath but didn’t move. A low, subdued whine echoed in the empty nave as Cantrell sucked on the skin. May Hell open up and swallow him whole for howmuch he missedthis. Missed the taste of sweat and the feeling of someone beneath him, arching and whining.
Temptation to bring his hand down to Illias’ neck, to feel his racing pulse and shuddering breaths, made Cantrell’s fingers twitch. His hand drifted down Illias’ jaw until it rested on his neck. The noise it drew drove Cantrell mad. His teeth sunk into tender flesh. Illias flinched beneath him, pulling away by an infinitesimal amount. Cantrell jerked back, panting and wide eyed at what he had done. The mark on Illias’ throat bordered purple. Teeth indentations fading from white.
Cantrell jumped up. “I’m sorry, forgive me.”
Before Illias could utter another word, Cantrell fled. His heart thumped against his ribcage, loud enough for the Heavens above to hear. His hands trembled as he clutched his rosary close, whispering “Our Father…” over the beads as he ran. His words wavered in the wake of his lack of self-control. Throat tight as he reached the end of his prayer. “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” He dropped to his knees in front of the statue of Mother Mary holding the infant son of Christ. “Amen.”
He pressed a kiss to his rosary and crossed himself, murmuring “In the name…” out of compulsion. He tried to control his rapid heart, but kneeling in front of the Holy Mother only worsened the condemnation he felt towards himself. It was wrong of him to leave the main floor empty to retreat to the privacy of the chapel, but the idea of someone seeing him in such a state forced his hand. He could not be seen like this, flushed and weak.
The memory of Illias’ breathy, wicked noises looped in Cantrell’s mind. He throbbed between his legs. A glaring reminder that he was still a man. God forgive him, he was still a man. And men want. They desire; they lust and are tempted by simple pleasures. Pleasures that Cantrell allowed to overcome him. He wanted to pretend that he hadn’t allowed himself tostumble, but kneeling—clenching the rosary so tightly between his hands ithurt—in front of her, he knew he was only fooling himself. There was no denying that he had fallen.
His breath hitched as he dropped a hand to his lap.Lord,have mercy, he thought as he curled forward, hiding the act from the mother’s watchful eyes,have mercy. The slightest pressure on himself made it difficult to keep silent. On impulse, he bit into the wooden beads to muffle himself. He breathed hard and heavy through his nose, eyes closing as he pleasured himself through the fabric of his cassock and slacks.
