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Jud Duplenticy was, despite it all, handling his new role in the church quite well. With Wicks and Martha gone, there was a lot of new work for him to shoulder, of course, but with the church still closed, it was perhaps not as much as he sometimes liked to pretend. Not that he minded. Labouring for Christ was no labour at all. It was joy, it was pleasure, it was absolution.
Despite the fact that the church had been closed for three months now, Jud was still taking in lost sheep. Mainly Louise, who had reconnected with her mother. Her mother, who would most likely be dead soon. But Louise had said that she had found peace with it, in some odd way. She said it was a miracle she was holding on for as long as she did either way, and at the very least, they only fought every three or four times they saw each other. Louise had taken to vising her mother in hospice frequently, and Jud suspected it eased her loneliness just a bit, and the fighting kept her mother holding on just a bit longer. From the stories he had been told of the woman, still unknown to him (not a big fan of God after the death of her second husband, according to Louise), she seemed like the type to hold onto petty fights like a lifeline.
He spoke with others, of course. He spent many evenings at Il Diavolo, afternoons in cafés and mornings in the local parks. Nights were, of course, reserved for sleep. He did not feel the desire to repeat his 36-hours-awake streak.
The one person he could not get to open his heart to him, was, as expected, Benoit Blanc. The man wasn’t around a whole lot, seemingly ready to put his perfectly unsolvable solved crime aside, next to all the other ones he had figured out against all odds (Jud had done some reading. Alright, maybe nights were reserved for that sort of thing as well). Jud tried not to feel disappointed at this, tried not to feel starved for the other man’s confession. He told himself he simply wanted to pick at the gorgeous brain being housed by an equally gorgeous man. But the part of himself that he could not lie to, the part of himself that could not lie to Christ, and that needed to speak the honest part out loud instead of simply omitting the ugly parts of existence, knew Benoit reminded him of something he had long since left behind. He reminded Jud of now faceless men in dingy bars, back when he still burdened his body and heart with violence instead of penance. Faceless men in dingy bars, whom he let buy him drinks, who were always older, wiser, and in the parts of his head that liked to play pretend, stronger than him. Capable of holding him down no matter if he fought back, of guiding him with wisdom beyond his flimsy years, not even legally allowed to drink yet.
A part of him wondered if his homosexuality, the quiet shame he associated with it, was the reason the vow of celibacy felt easy for him. That same part made him wonder if his penchant for men older than him, simply because he associated a sense of authority and maturity with them, made it so easy to kneel before Christ. If that was why it felt good, to let himself be guided by heavenly principle and devotion.
Benoit Blanc was, despite his best effort, everything he thought he had stopped looking for when he joined the church. But such admissions were allowed at night, late at night, and in his prayers. Sometimes, Jud caught himself thinking of Wicks, and the ease with which the man had confessed to masturbation. Of course, it had not been true, but Wicks had committed far greater sins he never asked to be absolved from. So perhaps, it would be okay to indulge his carnal desire once or twice, so long as he begged for forgiveness after. Like a parent, hitting their child in a rage, and crying later in an effort to appeal to the inherent goodness housed in each and every child. That was how his mother had handled it, anyway. His father never did beg him to understand, nor forgive. At some point on his journey with Christ, he did anyway. Jud never did indulge, and he tried not to feel proud of something that was considered the bare minimum.
Still, he carried a quiet assumption in his heart. The assumption that perhaps, Benoit Blanc had not put this case behind him quite as easily as he did others. After all, he still stopped by the church on occasion, and not just to guard the location of Eve’s apple against the prying questions of Cy Draven and whatever new attorney he had dug out of his seemingly endless list of contacts. Aspiring politicians were, apparently, just as much of a headache as the real deal. Jud didn’t know why he was surprised. Or perhaps it was not to blame on Cy’s ambitious aspirations to become a professional asshole, but on genetics. The Apple that never falls far from the tree. Maybe God had put a curse of eternal asshole-syndrome on the men of the Wick family, in retribution for what they had done to Grace, or the memory of her. Jud was quite fond of that particular idea, and though perhaps he would need to bring it up in his next confessional, it helped him smile at Cy with quiet joy whenever he came around.
He told himself it was Christian peace, not smugness.
Jud was smoking a cigarette at the graveyard when Benoit came by. Two weeks passed since his last visit, and two days since Jud’s last cigarette. He was sitting on the steps of the Wick’s tomb, looking at Samson’s shed in quiet musing. He mourned the deaths that had occurred on these grounds every day, three small candles dutifully lit every morning at the entrance of the church, but sometimes he missed Samson a little extra, for reasons he could not possibly explain. With Martha, it was the idea of what could have been that was haunting him. With Wicks, it was duty, it was a sense of grace. With Samson, it was nothing but the mourning of an unjust death coming to live within his ribcage.
“I am quite certain that tobacco isn’t part of the body of Christ.”
Benoit was standing in front of him, and Jud looked up with a sheepish smile. The man’s body shielded him from the late afternoon sun coming down behind. It made him look almost as holy as he did in that church, refraining from unravelling his case in front of his audience for the sake of a frail old lady. Though that description certainly didn’t do Martha any justice. But if Benoit Blanc had seen her as the Genius Killer, methodically and coldly leading him in circles, would he really have hesitated to set down his pieces on the chessboard the two had shared between them? Jud liked to think so, but perhaps he needed to be more honest with himself, stop ascribing an inherently holy nature to the detective, who was standing before him and regarded Jud with palatable amusement.
“Yeah, well, I’d like to think Christ has already forgiven me for worse sins.” He replies, patting the slab of stone next to him as a clear invitation for the man to sit down. He accepted, and Jud turned his head away from the blinding sun to look at Benoit with a small grin. “Have you come to finally confess?” He asks, the same way he asked him every time he stopped by. As always, the man simply laughed, a sound shifting somewhere between actual amusement and discomfort. The priest-to-be liked to see Benoit squirm a bit.
“Wouldn’t you need to confess to someone first? Found a reverent, yet?” Benoit asks, looking at Jud with his head tilted just the same way his own was. They were sitting close, almost close enough to touch. Jud wondered when the easy familiarity between them had grown quite so. During the murder mystery, or some time after? When Benoit had started to stop by – not because of his morbid intrigue or obligation, but because he wanted to?
“No, not yet. For now, I’m confessing to myself. And God, if he’s listening.” Jud replies with a small grin, stubbing out his cigarette on the pristine marble. The tomb door, broken as it was, had been removed and cleaned up after the investigation wrapped up. Jud had yet to replace it with anything but a makeshift wooden door, but he didn’t feel any particular rush. A detail he knew amused Benoit a great deal, similar to his swearing, or the tattoo peeking out from underneath his collar.
“I could take your confession.” Benoit offered, a wicked little smile dancing around his lips. Jud looked at him, trying to feel out if he was joking or being dead serious. An endeavour that always felt like dancing on the knives edge with the dangerously charismatic man. “Sure. Let’s do it, right now.”
He had been testing the waters, but when Benoit didn’t budge and stayed his calm, collected self and didn’t even laugh, Jud raised an eyebrow, once again deeply intrigued by him.
“I don’t have the stole with me, though. You’ll have to take my confession as you are.” He added, like an afterthought. He was still looking at the man’s face, his nose bridge, in an effort to fake eye contact, as he did so often. But then Benoit’s eyes shifted, and as Jud got lost in them, he recognized the familiar crinkle of his mischievous little smile.
“We are but men, Jud. No need to dress up to tell this particular story.” The call-back to their very first conversation made him smile, and he found himself nodding along before he could help it.
“Alright.” Jud shifted, facing his body away from Benoit, recalling the position of the confessional like second nature. He clasped his hands together in his lap, the evening sun slowly disappearing behind the trees, the specks of light and shadows clear on his lap. He looked at the trees in front of him again, his back straight now. “Forgive me detective, for I have sinned.”
It got a good laugh out of Benoit, and when Jud glanced over to witness it, he realized that the man had shifted his body to resemble Jud’s own position down to a T. Surely, he looked far more ethereal with the specks of light seemingly dancing in his hair than he himself. Based on some photos he had found he sincerely hoped the detective would keep his hair long. What an odd thought to have.
“I have sinned.” Jud continued with a fond smile, turning his own gaze back to the trees. “And it has been four nights since my last confession to God. Or five. A bit more than three months since I last sought penance in another.” Next to him, he could feel Benoit shift again. But Jud remained as he was, and thought himself quite strong for it. He almost missed the security of the confessional, which gave privacy.
He didn’t dwell on it. “I have indulged in earthly desire, Lord- I have smoked, I drank and I sought out conversation with attractive men, Lord.” Again, Benoit was shifting, and Jud could feel his heart speed up, felt the steady thrum of it in his throat. Strangely, it didn’t make him feel like throwing up. He likened it more to the small rush of anxiety and anticipation he used to get before a fight. He tried not to bask in it. He also, vehemently, tried not to wonder why it felt good to practically “come out” to Benoit. For all he knew, the man was straight. And what he did know was that it should not matter to him if Benoit wasn’t. But the part of himself he could not lie to, knew it did.
He took a deep breath before he continued, squeezing his own hands just a bit. “I had to fight to not succumb to longing, Lord. And I have craved desire you told me to leave behind. I still curse, Lord, and take your name into my mouth when I do so.” It took a lot for Jud to not look over at Benoit, but he knew he couldn’t. He did not know what end he was pursuing with the words that were dancing across his tongue, the ones he laid out in his mind to speak next, but he knew he couldn’t speak them if he looked at the other again.
“I have felt desire for a man who has become my friend, Lord. I thought of- worshipping him on my knees, Lord. I have thought of kneeling for a man again. And- I do not think I can abstain.” His heart felt, frankly, rabid. Thumping so hard in his chest, so hard he feared to faint from the adrenaline. Just like he did before a fight. Before he let a man take him home to put him on his knees. He did feel faint.
When Jud finally managed to look back over at Benoit, his movements where whatever the opposite of smooth was, his hands trembling his lap. Adrenaline, fear and anticipation where cursing through his body like a near-deadly dose of Pentobarbital. The detective was already looking at him, his eyes an unreadable mask of neutrality. Jud took another shaky breath, and wondered whether the fact that he wasn’t wearing his usual priestly attire was a blessing or a curse. His dark blue sweater, usually so comfortable, felt like it was ready to strangle him as a final act of divine retribution.
“I think,” Benoit says slowly, his eyes seemingly staring right into Jud’s soul, like he was searching for another fascinating puzzle piece in the nooks and crannies of Jud’s twisted desire, “that you should get on your knees now.”
Despite the fact that his words were spoken carefully, almost tender, it felt like the air had been punched straight out of Jud’s lungs, like Benoit had just delivered a perfect and violent fist to his stomach. Jud’s eyes glazed over, and before he knew what was happening, he found himself kneeling between Benoits knees, looking up at the man with his pants already feeling tight. After five years of celibacy, it wasn’t a surprise that it didn’t take a lot to get him there. Still, this felt dangerously close to too much. Perhaps deliciously so.
When had Benoit spread his legs for Jud to settle between his thighs? And why did he not seem to be the slightest bit surprised by the confession he had just taken? Why did Jud not run, right now, deep into the woods he had run to in confusion so many times before? How come there seemed to be missing an ounce of shame within him at the idea of desecrating the graves of the priests who had ruled here before him?
A hand settled into his hair, and there was a strong, firm pull on it, enough to feel his scalp tingle with the pain and his head to tilt back, his lips parting with a strangled gasp. He felt the air leave his lungs, could practically see his questions, all his thoughts melt away under that steady grip. His eyes nearly fluttered shut, his own knees parting just a bit more on the cold marble beneath him.
He could feel Benoit’s other hand settle under his chin, his thumb dangerously close to his mouth. Jud felt electricity pull through his body, like he was Frankenstein’s monster, freshly coming alive beneath the older man’s surprisingly soft hands. He quietly wondered what type of moisturizer Benoit used, how expensive it was, just how he would rub it into the flesh of his beautiful hands, seemingly so big where they were touching him. He was certain he did it with tenderness.
When he felt the thumb slip into his mouth, part his lips with care and yet so sure, a truly undignified sound escaped his lips. His tongue was tracing the digit almost immediately, an old and deeply carnal instinct taking over his body. But Benoit pressed his tongue down, clicking his tongue in something that could be annoyance, but felt more like Jud was his dog, gently being chastised for begging for a treat. He whimpered and he couldn’t bring himself to feel shame when the second hand was still either pulling on his hair or massaging his scalp in a deliciously hypnotic rhythm.
“Now, now, baby. You just let me play with you.” Benoit muttered in that calm and commanding tone of his, and before Jud could stop himself, his hand was gripping the detective’s high, his fingers digging into the muscular flesh with as much force as he could bring himself to in his current state. It wasn’t a lot.
He felt the thumb trace over his flat teeth next, a sensation both odd and somehow deeply calming. Jud barely realized there was spit running down his chin and more soft noises escaping his mouth were barely restrained, focused as he was on keeping still, on being good.
He didn’t know for how long he was kneeling. The ache in his legs faded away just like his other thoughts, and Jud felt like he was floating, his whole body seemingly tingling with nothing but the sensation of Benoit tracing over his teeth, his tongue, the soft flesh of the inside of cheeks and roof of his mouth.
Time did not matter, and he measured it only by how many fingers Benoit was feeding him. First, it had been his thumb. Then, he had pulled it out, and before Jud got a chance to let out a pitiful whine, two of his other fingers had been stuffing his mouth, seemingly eager to explore the boundaries of his gag reflex. There wasn’t much to explore, and Jud felt glad for it, getting to taste the fingers deep back in his throat.
Despite his previous assumptions, Benoit did not taste like any type of hand crème. They carried the faint tang of leather, most likely from his steering wheel, but mostly they tasted like skin and the remnants of the cigarette Jud had smoked minutes (hours?) ago.
With the third finger added, Jud started to feel a slight ache in his jaw. The mild pain was almost grounding, though he had no real desire to come back down. So, in an effort to preserve his bliss he let himself sink into it more deeply, felt his own body go slack and loose beneath these firm hands. It felt as though they were the only thing holding him up, and Jud rejoiced in feeling useless and stupid beneath the man.
“There we go, pretty boy. That’s all it took for you to stop thinking, was it?” Benoit muttered, and Jud didn’t have it in him to protest, didn’t have it in him to supress the violent shiver cursing through his body at the pet name, nor the low whine that sounded like a conformation of everything Benoit seemingly already knew about him. Faintly, he wondered when he had been figured out. Perhaps from the very beginning, when he had welcomed the detective into the church and what seemed like mere moments later, cried.
When the fingers left his mouth, he tried to follow them mindlessly. But he couldn’t, the hand in his hair suddenly pulling more firmly, holding him in place with assertion. Was his mouth not hot enough? Wet enough?
“Please,” his voice sounded rough, embarrassingly eager in his own ears. “Please, sir, please.” There were tears welling up in his eyes now, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to continue. He hadn’t longed to worship like this since he first stumbled into a church after killing a man.
Jud didn’t want to think about that right now.
Before he knew what was happening, there was something else pressing against his lips. He didn’t know when he had closed his eyes, but they were wide open, looking at Benoit once more. Right then, he deeply regretted ever looking away.
The detective looked positively divine. The last light of the day was illuminating his flushed face, his own lips slightly parted with what could have been awe, could have been raw desire. Jud felt a satisfied tug deep in his stomach, and with it, could feel whatever was left of any common sense leave his body and ascend to the heavens. The man’s cock, hard and flushed, was gently pressing against his mouth. Like he really needed to show caution after all of this. He almost laughed at the idea of something like decency remaining in them. They were by a grave, for Christ’s sake.
The priest-to-be opened his mouth, and let the man before him enter his body without a single thought spared to consequence.
Benoit himself didn’t move an inch, instead pulling his head forward with that sure grip in his hair, forcing Jud to slowly take him down his eager throat without a single break. Once again, he found that he revelled in it, the lack of control or power, the pain now almost familiar in his jaw. A low moan tried its best to force its way around the cock in his mouth, tears falling down his cheeks, aided by the fact that Jud refused to close his eyes again, no matter how much they fluttered shut.
A low hiss was as much of an indication, as he was seemingly going to get, that Benoit could feel his throat make way for him at all. But Jud didn’t mind, he would take what he could get. He felt him, every single inch of him going down his throat, taking its place there. He felt himself grow lightheaded with the lack of oxygen getting to his brain, or perhaps it was the lack of blood, all of it heading down south.
“Come on then, boy.” Benoit said, his voice sounding strained, almost pained with the desire between the two of them. “Work for your redemption.”
And yeah, maybe his eyes actually crossed at that. His dick gave an eager twitch in his pants, a laughable attempt to be acknowledged.
He didn’t need to think, his tongue moving to finally, finally trace the veins on the others cock with so much eagerness it should have been embarrassing. But it wasn’t. Instead, he relished in it and when he felt the grip in his hair loosen, it was all the permission he needed to start moving his head on his own. He got a deep moan as a reward, and nothing could’ve compared to the satisfaction of that.
An added, though not very important, benefit of getting to move was the fact that he could breathe a little better. When he pulled off of Benoit’s cock entirely to start worshipping it with little kitten licks to the tip, he realized just how heavily he was breathing in an effort to not die. He found satisfaction in that, too.
Benoit was letting him do as he pleased, and which Jud took at as a sign he was doing a good job. The idea made his stomach feel all weird and warm, and as he moved to sink down on the others cock again, a pleased hum escaped his chest.
“That’s it. Good boy. Fuck, could fuck you right here.” Jud whined at the words, almost immediately pulling off the others cock, looking up at him with an expression he knew was as close to ‘puppy eyes’ as he was going to get. “Please, please, do it, Right now, don’t care- Please.” He was aware that his rushed words sounded whiny and desperate in their pleading, and he knew it was pathetic, the way he could not stop himself from going back down on the guy’s dick, rushed enough to make himself choke on it despite it all. Perhaps going back down was an effort to escape from the shame of his begging, but could he really bring himself to feel shame when Benoit’s grip in his hair tightened, not as a display of control but the loss of it?
“No baby, sorry. We didn’t prepare. Next time, yeah?”
Jud’s body sang with joy at the simple premise of there being a next time at all. It was enough to drown out the disappointment, despite the fact that briefly, it had been there. He hummed softly as an attempt to confirm, agree, voice his positive feelings towards the idea, and he focused back on his task. The simple aim to make the detective feel good, feel all that he was giving to Jud in turn.
It felt so good. It felt good because he was able to stop thinking, to stop questioning, to stop feeling responsible. Responsible for his flock, his church, his life, his past. It all washed away in an incomprehensible rush of dopamine and Benoit’s hands, touching his face, his neck, the back of his head. Somewhere, far off in his mind, Jud wondered whether if this had happened earlier, would he have still sought forgiveness in God? Or could the simple rush of this have been enough to have made him feel absolved even back then, when nothing felt like it would be enough to free his burdened soul?
Jud didn’t realize Benoit had cum for almost a minute in his own lust-addled estimations. He only did realize when he noticed he was being pulled away, a petulant whine escaping him once more. The detective was panting above him, looking at him with an expression the priest did not want to let himself believe was amazement. Vanity was a sin, after all.
He shifted slightly on his knees, feeling sweat across his face and something quite wet in his pants. He was still too out of it to feel anything other than satisfaction, couldn’t bring himself to feel shame for the fact that he, at some point had not even cared to notice, had cum in his pants. There where other things that happened, which he perhaps should feel graver shame for, either way.
When he licked his lips in an effort to chase the taste of the other man on them Benoit’s eyes dilated, and Jud knew he had been caught by the genius alive in front of him for this desire, too. “That was- very good.” Benoit finally said, and with some recurring decency, he moved to tuck himself back into his pants. Jud almost protested the act, but he restrained himself. “I think- you’ve paid your penance, boy.”
Jud smiled, a wicked thing, considering all that had transpired moments before. “Just boy now, sir?” He asked, his tone almost innocent as he looked at the man with curiosity again, trying to read him from his reactions with something he knew in his heart of hearts was desperation, a longing to find approval or love there. It was easier with God than with humans. You could be certain he loved you, no matter how well you performed at the act of kneeling (Why then did Christians still like to compete to see who knelt best? Jud had often wondered, but accepted that he would never know).
There wasn’t much of a reaction, beyond the small, sharp intake of a breath. Then, Benoit smiled at him, benevolent and kind. Jud mourned the lack of light, though he knew he should feel grateful for the cover of darkness that had hidden the final acts of his depravity. He sincerely hoped he would feel the guilt of it all in the morning, and for the rest of his life. He was willing to pay penance for this desire for all of eternity, if it had to be so. But that idea alone was enough to prove that deep down, Jud knew he did not feel the shame and regret required to be truly absolved of this by any priest. No, this mercy would have to be undertaken by God himself.
Jud sincerely hoped God would understand him in his straying.
“You are quite dangerous, my boy.” Benoit gave in, his hand back to petting Jud’s loose curls as he looked at him with something Jud would like to believe he had seen in the man’s eyes since they first met. Adoration. Hope. “But I did promise you a next time. So, I suppose we’ll have to find some other names.”
He couldn’t help the smile taking over his face, using his hands that had settled onto Benoit’s thighs to push himself up ever so slightly.
“Fuck yeah.” He breathed, before he connected his lips to the detectives’. He wasn’t surprised to find the man tasting faintly of mint, and tried not to feel giddy at the idea of him tasting himself on Jud’s lips as he pulled him closer, let his soft hands settle on his hips.
Surely, God could find some more forgiveness for Jud in that eternal and vast heart of his?