Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4635810.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Young_Justice_(Cartoon), Teen_Titans_(Comics), DC_Animated_Universe, DCU_
      (Animated)
  Relationship:
      Bart_Allen/Jaime_Reyes
  Character:
      Bart_Allen, Jaime_Reyes, Barry_Allen, Iris_West
  Additional Tags:
      Priest_Kink, Alternate_Universe_-_Priests, Anal_Sex, Blow_Jobs, Semi-
      Public_Sex, Car_Sex, Grinding, Age_Difference
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-23 Words: 16528
****** Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned ******
by MarbleAide
Summary
     Jaime's a new priest in the church and Bart's a troubled teen who
     needs guidance.
     Things don't happen exactly how Jaime would have intended, but it's
     something.
Notes
     This is the longest consecutive fic I've ever written. It feels good,
     though it took me a while to write it. It's all self beta'd, so I'm
     sorry if some things get weird. Also, be aware that Bart is sixteen
     and Jaime is twenty-five.
     Enjoy!
Bart Allen is what some might call a ‘problem child’ or, that’s how his
grandparents introduce him when they think the kid can’t hear. It makes Jaime
feel a little uncomfortable. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Bart
sitting in one of the pews with his arms folded over his chest, eyes down cast
to the floor looking equal parts embarrassed and defeated. Jaime knows the boy
can hear them, no matter how hard his grandparents try to keep their voices
down. The church was made to have voices travel, have every one of them heard,
and the pair seem to not realize how their whispers bounce around the walls, as
soft as they are.
“He’s just going through a rough patch, honestly, he’s a good kid…”
Problem child.
Bart Allen was sixteen with long limbs and a baby face that only showed
fourteen. He hadn’t quite grown into himself yet and looked content to curl up
instead of stretch out, make himself look as small as possible. His eyes only
ever glanced toward his grandparents when they were talking to Jaime,
connecting with them for only a second before quickly looking down or at
another spot in the church, anywhere else he couldn’t get caught.
To Jaime, he looked more broken than problem. He looked uncomfortable sitting
in the church, knowing people were talking about him. Knowing that his
grandparents were telling a stranger his life story and Jaime felt bad for him.
Bad beyond what the collar at his throat dictated.
“It’s just, he’s been moved around so much in the past few years. We only want
him to be okay, we don’t want him ending up like—“
A hand on Barry Allen’s shoulder makes him stop. The look in his wife’s eye
tells him ‘no’ in some manner Jaime can’t all together read, but he can put the
pieces together enough to understand.
Bart Allen’s dad died when he was young, too young, though losing a parent
always feels ‘too young’ in Jaime’s mind. He was left with his mother who,
according to his grandparents ‘did her best under the circumstances’, but
wasn’t able to take care of Bart by herself. With one half of his family in
jail or unable to help, Bart fell to the Allen side of the family tree, getting
passed around from place to place when it was convenient for them, trying to
find a right fit, but nothing ever seemed to stick.
Jaime kept looking between the couple to the boy, sitting slouched in his seat.
His foot started to jitter, bouncing up and down restlessly. It only seemed to
get worse as the minutes ticked on, appearing to Jaime like the poor teen might
jump out of his skin any second.
“We want him to have some guidance; someone he knows is safe to talk to.
Someone to help him when we can’t.”
It’s his opening, with Jaime tearing his eyes away from Bart to smile up at his
grandparents. “Don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Allen. I’ll make sure Bart knows the
church is a safe haven and, if you’d like, we can see if he’d be interested in
volunteer opportunities to get him more integrated within our parish.”
It sounds scripted and robotic in his own ears, but apparently it’s exactly
what the Allens were looking to hear as they both look relieved, thanking him
over and over again before they leave with Bart following them out, his hands
shoved into his pockets. Jaime catches him looking back towards him for a
second, two, and can’t place the expression on his face. It makes his stomach
clench in a manner he can’t identify, but the boy is out the door before he can
ponder anymore about it.
---
His official introduction to Bart Allen comes the following Thursday night
after he’s done with the sermon for that evening. Bart looks reluctant at best
to approach him, keeps looking back towards his grandparents who keep gesturing
for him to ‘go on’. It might be because Jaime is still young too, but it does
look a bit embarrassing. He tries his hardest to express his condolences
through facial expression alone when Bart makes his way too him.
“I’m supposed to say hi and that I’m Bart, but I’m pretty sure that’s been
covered.” The boy has his hand out stretched and isn’t quite meeting Jaime’s
eye. He looks jittery again, with the way his fingers tap against his thigh. He
must have something of a problem sitting still for long periods, seeing as
every time Jaime’s eyes made it to the row Bart was sitting in during pauses in
his sermon the boy was fidgeting.
“It has,” Jaime says after a single beat, taking Bart’s hand in his own to
shake, holding it for just long enough to be polite so the boy can take it
back, letting his hand fall down to his side where those fingers start
twitching too. “But it is nice that it’s you introducing yourself this time.
I’m sure having other people do it for you can be irritating.”
Bart doesn’t look over to his grandparents, but Jaime can tell he wants to.
Instead, he lets his eyes fall to the floor, seeming as that is easier.
“They’re not bad, I just wish they didn’t tip toe around me so much. Didn’t act
like they need to save me all the time, you know?” Bart looks up at him, green
eyes bright, searching, looking for a safe place to lean.
Jaime’s slips quirk up into a smile. “Do you not want to be saved?”
The boy shrugs. “Not in the way they want me to be.”
It’s refreshing, because it’s not a lie. It’s not Bart just accepting whatever
he is told with a nod even though he doesn’t believe in it. Even though Jaime
figures however Bart wants to be ‘saved’ isn’t the straight and narrow
Christian way his grandparents might want, he still tries. Jaime admires him
for that.
“Well, regardless, maybe if you’re lucky you’ll find something here anyway.”
Jaime keeps his smile on as he lifts his hand to Bart’s shoulder and squeezes.
It’s only for a second, but Bart doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable because of
it, he doesn’t shrug Jaime off. He just nods with some level of acceptance
before turning to go back to his grandparents.
Bart stops before he gets too far, turns back to Jaime, and this time has a
near smile on his lips. It looks good on him, Jaime’s brain supplies. He should
smile more often. “It was nice listening to you speak, Father Reyes. And it was
nice actually meeting you this time.”
Jaime smiles all the wider because of that, feels his heart tug in his chest,
and thinks ‘this is what I joined the priesthood for’ as he waves the boy off.
---
During Sunday mass, Jaime finds his attention falling on Bart most of the time,
his eyes always finding the boy in the crowd of bodies. Jaime doesn’t do Sunday
sermons, as the more senior priests take over during those hours. Jaime much
prefers the week nights to the weekends. Even so, he’s still sitting up near
the podium present as usual, following along with the readings, the ceremonies,
doing his part, but when there’s a chance his eyes always look outwards towards
the church patrons, with one in particular falling into his line of sight.
Bart doesn’t sing along with the hymns during mass, Jaime notices, but his eyes
barely ever leave the bible in his hands. Jaime’s positive he doesn’t follow
along with the readings very closely as most of the time he appears to be
flipping through page after page of the bible, reading far past where this
day’s sermon ends. He seems more engaged when he’s standing up than sitting
down or kneeling. His eyes didn’t close during prayer, though he held his hands
out just like everyone else. He started twitching after only fifteen minutes of
sitting down and, at one point, his grandfather seems to insist he leave to get
some air or take a break before the fidgeting gets any worse. Bart does, trying
to make as little a scene as possible as he leaves the church, and comes back
about five minutes later with his hair looking more windswept and disheveled,
but he can sit stiller now.
It’s an interesting thing to do, watch Bart Allen during mass, especially when
everyone gets up for communion. Neither of his grandparents seemed to have told
him he can’t participate, which makes Jaime wonder if Bart has gone through
communion at all, if maybe he’s even been confirmed in the church, but the
expression on his face when he takes the body of Christ into his mouth tells
Jaime he’s very likely done neither.
The teen’s nose curls when he closes his mouth with the bread on his tongue,
expression curious as he tries to figure out either what to do with it or what
it is. The sip of wine is almost better and Bart doesn’t seem to like the taste
and nearly coughs.
Jaime has to bite his cheek to stop laughing, but his lips do curl and Bart
looks up right then to see. His expression turns into something of a glare as
he swallows it all down with minimal cringing, sticks his tongue out at Jaime
before he’s turning to go back down the row and to his pew. He makes Jaime want
to laugh all the harder.
He should have noticed the danger right then.
---
Bart’s name starts popping up on volunteer lists two weeks later. He’d been
giving the boy’s grandparents personal invitations for the events every time
one of them would pop up, always explaining what they needed help with, and how
Bart could help. He’d try to do it as much as possible when Bart was around to
hear him, always glanced at him a few times during the conversation to make
sure he knew this was meant for him and not them. It always came down to Bart’s
choice, after all. There was no one yet forcing him to do anything and, right
now, his grandparents still seemed hopeful. It took three attempts to finally
get Bart involved and Jaime felt incredibly accomplished when Bart showed up to
one of the church’s events.
It’s one of their quarterly bake sales, a decently big event that helps the
church raise money. Jaime’s surprised when Bart comes into the church’s
community hall, hands shoved into his pockets in a fashion Jaime is finding
usual for Bart when he’s in unknown territory. Jaime does his best to help,
approaching him with a familiar smile.
“Glad you could make it, Bart.”
Jaime’s dressed down today as he’s not holding a sermon, wearing simple jeans
and a collared shirt that doesn’t include the white band. It seems to take Bart
a moment to recognize him as he does a double take, looking Jaime up and down.
It makes Jaime feel oddly exposed, suddenly wanting his clerical collar to help
him feel less naked under Bart’s gaze.
“You look way too normal like this, Father Reyes.” Bart speaks after another
few moments of staring, finally dragging his eyes up to look at Jaime’s face.
“Sort of creepy, given you’re like, still old enough to be in college.”
“Anyone’s capable of going back to college, Bart. Not just people in their
twenties.”
“So you’re in your twenties?” Bart’s eyes spark and some strange bit of self
preservation instinct goes off in Jaime’s head. He ignores it.
“Twenty-five, actually.” He doesn’t know why exactly he says it, but it’s not
like his age is an uncommon question people ask about. Being so young, people
normally ask, finding it strange someone so young would go into the priesthood
so quickly, as if he’s missed something along the way, but he’s been through
high school and college. He’s got his degree; he’s done most of what people
normally do in their early twenties. He’s experienced it, he’s fine, and yet
people who don’t understand still shake their heads like it’s some great loss.
“You look younger.” Is all Bart actually says, nothing of what Jaime is
expecting.
He nearly makes a face, but holds it back in favor of smiling. “So do you.”
Bart follows Jaime along after that to help set up tables and chairs. It’s
still early in the morning on a Saturday, but Bart doesn’t seem aware of it.
He’s full of energy in a manner Jaime’s never seen in a teenager. Even when he
was younger, Jaime could barely rise out of bed before ten on the weekends, let
alone go to church at eight to volunteer for a bake sale. It’s nice though,
having someone wide awake to talk to, particularly someone much closer in age
to Jaime than many of the other members of the church. It’s fun listening to
Bart babble on and on, because it is mostly just babbling, about one topic or
another, bouncing from current trends in video games to which restaurants
around town have the best food.
The conversation feels unusually casual to Jaime, finding a certain level of
ease in talking to Bart that he never seems to get with the other youths of the
parish. Though, it might help that Bart does most of the talking.
By the time they’re done with the set up, patrons are starting to arrive and
Jaime ushers Bart towards them to help each set up whatever goodies and signs
they’ve brought. Watching the teen interact with (mostly) little old ladies
who’ve brought Bundt cakes and cookies, pies and cupcakes, Jaime realizes he
doesn’t find any of that ‘problem child’ Barry and Iris Allen had spoken about
earlier in the month. Bart is doing great with helping out, interacting with
the women and making conversation that seems to make everyone smile and laugh.
He’s charming and likeable, darting around to every little stand to make sure
they have everything before the sale starts up and the hall is flooded with
people.
Jaime loses sight of Bart in the crowd, but determines he’ll be perfectly fine
and starts up his own greeting and interactions with the church community.
It’s not until later does he find Bart again, after all the festivities are
over and most of the crowd has dissipated and gone home. The boy is sitting on
the curb with a wide selection of cookies, pie slices, and brownies set out
before him, happily indulging in the assortment of baked goods to his heart’s
content.
“Wow, you hungry or what?” Jaime comments, seeing Bart’s shoulders tense up for
a moment before his head’s swerving around to look up at him.
“I’ve got a high metabolism—I usually eat a lot.” It sounds like some sort of
excuse to Jaime’s ears, like Bart’s trying to defend the fact that he’s eating
so much food. Jaime silently wonders if this isn’t the first time.
Jaime shrugs it off and sits down beside the teen, stealing one of the
chocolate chip cookies in the small pile. “Don’t worry, I’m just glad you’re so
good for business.” Jaime’s smiling as he eats the cookie, not noticing how
Bart doesn’t smile back. Doesn’t see him look down and away and curl his
shoulders inward. “Come on, finish up. I’ve got you for another half hour
before your grandparents come pick you up, right? I’m putting you to work.”
Bart manages to cram another brownie into his mouth along with a large portion
of pumpkin pie before he’s up and following Jaime back inside to finish taking
down the tables and chairs. Next Sunday, if Bart puts a few extra dollars in
the collection basket, Jaime has no idea why.
---
“I’ve never done this before. How does this work?”
It’s immediately obvious who’s on the other side of the confessional now, to
which Jaime doesn’t actually mind, he’s just surprised Bart was even there.
He’s not religious, or at least not Catholic, but he goes along with most of
the church services and traditions anyway. This, however, Jaime never thought
he’s find Bart indulging in.
“It’s confession, it’s meant for people to confess their sins to God or to
simply talk about what might be bothering them, ask for opinions, guidance.
It’s a safe place as I’ve vowed to never speak about what is said in here with
anyone else.”
Bart fidgets around a lot before he says anything else, the sound of his
movement clear as day from the other side as the small wooden space isn’t quite
made to be abused by a teenager who couldn’t sit still. Jaime doesn’t twitch
because of it.
“Okay, so…just tell me how this normally starts, yeah? Give me a clue.”
Jaime sighs, manages not to roll his eyes even though it would be difficult for
Bart to see him do so through the screen. “Repeat after me: Forgive me Father,
for I have sinned. It has been however long since my last confession.”
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” Bart starts, his voice suddenly even
and serious. It sounds strange to listen to when Jaime’s only ever known him to
speak with quick words and jokes. “It’s been...forever since I confessed. I’ve
never, actually.”
“Don’t worry, there’s always time to start.” Jaime tries to reassure before he
settles back in his seat and nods. “What would you like to confess?”
This time, Bart sighs. “Well, I don’t know, really?” From beyond the screen,
Jaime can make out the way Bart is wringing his hands together. “Grandma Iris
suggested this, said it would make me feel better or something, but I don’t
know what she wants me to feel better from? I don’t—“ The boy stops and makes a
sound of frustration before he continues. “I like to steal things, yeah? Is
that a good confession?”
If it were anyone else, Jaime probably wouldn’t have been surprised. He’s
supposed to be a neutral figure, a source of advice and forgiveness, but over
the course of the month he’s watched Bart closely, learned a lot about him, and
stealing doesn’t seem to match up with the boy he’s seen come listen to his
sermons. Bart is a teenager who can get along with everyone, can talk for
hours, and make everyone around him smile. He can’t stay in one place long
enough to save his life, seems to act before he thinks, and clearly knows more
then he lets on, but still allows people around him to make certain decisions
for him. Bart’s a good kid, Jaime’s concluded, and though he’s heard the
stories from his grandparents, they didn’t mention anything about him stealing
things.
Jaime squares his shoulders and tries to push his own emotions away before he
finally answers. “I think it falls under a good start. Why do you think you
steal?”
“Dang, you sound like one of the shrinks I’ve been to.” It’s a defensive
statement, but Jaime latches on to it regardless.
“I’m not exactly qualified to diagnose anyone, I just want to understand.
Whatever you want to tell me, I won’t pry.”
Bart seems to mull this over as he doesn’t reply right away. Jaime waits
patiently. “It’s like…everyone thinks it’s for attention. And maybe they’re
right, but it’s not like I purposefully get caught or tell people. It’s not
even important stuff, really, it’s normally stuff people don’t want. Sometimes
it’s other things.” Bart sighs and Jaime watches him slouch back against the
wall through the screen. His arms are cross and he’s looking down at the
ground, a mirror of how he looked when Jaime first saw him. “They think I’m
going to end up in jail or something. Fuck up like my mom’s side of the family
and—god, do you know how horrible that is? Knowing half of your family hates
the other half? That they think my mom’s some horrible influence just because
her dad and his dad fucked up? I’m some spawning of two family’s that should
have never come together in the first place and it doesn’t help that dad up and
died—“
The rant is cut short and Jaime knows there’s more to it, more that Bart very
obviously wants to say, but either doesn’t know how or just doesn’t want Jaime
to know about. Jaime can’t see his face properly through the screen or Bart’s
own mess of hair, but he can imagine what his expression must be; a pained sort
of defeat. The look of someone lost and ready to give up.
“I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t mean…” Jaime wonders if anyone’s ever told Bart to
stop talking before, just to shut up and thinks the same reaction would match.
“It’s alright.” Jaime fills in the silence, makes sure Bart knows him speaking
here isn’t a bad thing. “You don’t have to be sorry or censor yourself. This is
a safe place, remember? You can talk about anything.”
Even with the reassurance, Bart is quiet for a long period. Jaime wonders if
he’s going to get up and leave soon and, honestly, doesn’t want him to. He
wants to piece together the parts of Bart he still has yet to discover, wants
to see the full image of the boy on the other side of the confessional.
“Before grandma and grandpa I was with a guy named Max, a family friend.” It’s
a different topic all together and he doesn’t understand where Bart’s going
with it right now, but Jaime has sense enough to not stop him speaking. He
wants the boy to continue. “It was after mom couldn’t take care of me anymore.
I got passed around a lot, a stupid little kid who just figured no one really
wanted him. I was with a cousin for a while and I really liked that, wanted to
stay, but I was too much of a hassle or they didn’t have the money for another
kid or something—whatever, either way Max came and said he’d take me in.
“He was…really nice. Taught me a lot and just wanted me to be okay, you know?
Like, genuinely okay. Not just okay in the sense that people look at me and
don’t start whispering or something. He was this old guy who loved history and
no one ever really knew all the details of his life. It just sounded like he’d
done everything, been everywhere.” Bart’s voice grows lithe, soft, likes he’s
thinking on distant memories. Jaime figures he’s smiling, or at least he wants
him to be, but there’s this cracked edge to his voice that Jaime doesn’t like
and the story isn’t over yet. “He was…he was great. Like a crazy, old, dad. I
was with him for a year and a half, the same place for that long and not once
did he ever say I might have to leave. And then…and then he just dies.” Bart’s
voice cracks and it’s the first time Jaime’s ever actually hated the screen
separating the two small rooms. All he wants to do is reach across and hug
Bart, hold him close and just tell him it’ll be okay. “He dies and I get sent
away again and everyone just thinks I’m a fuck-up. Everyone except Max, but
he’s not even here anymore to tell them differently.”
Jaime can only guess how that feels, for his family to just pass him around
because he’s too much trouble for them, but than a near perfect stranger takes
him in and accepts it, actually helps him and wants him to do good, and then it
all gets taken away again and Bart’s right back at square one.
The soft noises coming from the other side of the confessional are muffled, but
distinct enough that Jaime knows Bart’s crying, trying to hide it. Out of
respect, he doesn’t say anything. Jaime sits there in silence letting Bart get
out whatever emotions he needs to. It doesn’t take long, only a few minutes, as
the soft choked back sobs come to a halt and Jaime can see him wiping the tears
from his cheeks.
“That all good enough for a first confession?” Bart says, voice sounding
wrecked, but he’s trying to put up the barriers again.
Jaime is nodding before he realizes he needs to be speaking. “Yes. Usually, I’d
assign you some prayers to say as penance, but for you…” Jaime licks his lips,
wonders if he’s about to say the right thing. “Next time you want to steal
something, I want you to think of Max and what he would say to you, how he’d
feel. Think on that before you act, alright?”
Jaime can’t see his expression in full, but Bart is still saying ‘Thank you,
Father’ in a manner that Jaime recognizes as normal as he gets up and leaves
the small confessional space. For this, Jaime is pleased; feeling like the air
isn’t so heavy now. He counts to thirty in his head before standing to peak out
of his own little box, seeing if Bart was still there, but he had already
disappeared. The church is empty and quiet.
---
Jaime doesn’t see Bart at Thursday’s nightly mass even though Jaime can see his
grandparents sitting in their usual pew and during Sunday sermon his eyes never
seem to find the teen in the crowd of floral print dresses and black slacks. It
worries him enough that afterward he finds Iris and Barry to ask where their
grandson is, why he’s missing among the church this week. Apparently, it was a
long weekend with Bart having Friday off school, so they let him travel to see
his cousin, Wally, whom Bart was fond of.
It wasn’t something to grow concerned over, as Iris explained Wally and his
wife only lived a city over, but still Jaime found himself saying an extra
prayer that night for the boy’s safe return.
---
He saw him again that following Tuesday under unusual circumstances. It was
only just coming to two in the afternoon when he got a knock on his office
door, not expecting Bart of all people to come in. His cheeks were bright pink
and he was panting softly, his hair swept back from his eyes. A few beads of
sweat were rolling down his throat.
“Bart? What are you doing here?” Jaime stared at him owlishly, his mind
automatically going towards some troublesome thoughts. “Shouldn’t you be in
school right now?”
“Skipped,” came the simple reply as the boy came into his office, falling down
into the chair opposite Jaime’s own. “Came to say hi.” He continued in between
deep breaths, the act a perfect pattern of inhaling through his nose and
exhaling through his mouth. It was mesmerizing to watch.
“You skipped school to come see me?” Jaime said after a moment, his eyes
snapping up from Bart’s mouth to his eyes. “Why? That’s irresponsible and I’m
sure you’re grandparents won’t be happy about it.”
In his seat, Bart only shrugged, throwing a broad grin Jaime’s way. “They don’t
find out—don’t worry. It was gym and I ran all the way here anyway. It’s like I
never missed it.”
Jaime blinked. “You ran here? How far away is your school from—“
“Little over two miles.”
“Bart!”
Bart laughs. Damnit, he laughs and it’s the most infuriating sound Jaime’s ever
heard with the amount of apathy and lack of concern laced through it. It makes
Jaime want to smack him, but there’s some other feeling deep in his gut that
makes him want to forgive Bart for everything, let him get away with it all,
knows he will.
“Don’t worry so much, Father. I’ve done worse.” The smile he gets in return
feels like fire’s burning inside Jaime’s stomach, making his entire body feel
warm. Bart leans forward in his chair until he can fold his arms against
Jaime’s desk and rest his head in the center of them. “So, what are you working
on?”
It’s a simple question, innocent, which only makes it all worse as Jaime
realizes Bart literally skipped class to see him. There was no other reason or
emergency, all the teen wanted was to come visit. It made Jaime feel worried
and pleased all at the same time.
He should get angry. He should tell Bart he needs to go back to school, have
him call his grandparents and be done with it. But he doesn’t. All he does is
shake his head and go back to his work on the computer. “The newsletter for
next Sunday. I’m updating the events, ads, reminders, letters. All that.”
Bart hums his reply, listening but not caring for any of the words coming out
of Jaime’s mouth. He should be offended, but he’s not. Bart looks so content
just resting on his desk, his face appearing to glow by the radiating sunlight
from Jaime’s window, the blinds drawn up to let in the late summer sun. It must
be obvious that Jaime’s staring as there’s no sound of his fingers moving along
the keyboard, no clicking of the mouse, but if Bart notices he says nothing,
isn’t even really looking at Jaime with his gaze drawn to the back wall,
staring off into space.
He shouldn’t, but Jaime does look, and he is staring. He notices fully how
Bart’s a bright combination of fall colors—his skin verging on tan with the
tint of pink at his cheeks, his hair a wave of browns that highlight closer to
burnt orange and dip into auburn reds in the shadows. His lashes are long,
golden, framing his eyes that are the only things that shine so brightly into
spring on his face, but the more Jaime looks the more he can see the speckles
of gold and amber within them, collecting around the edges.
Jaime’s thoughts are straying quickly, a realization when he looks down to
Bart’s mouth, sees the spit-slick bright red of youth, plump and parted as Bart
continues to get his breathing under control. Jaime, for all he is worth, has
to clear his throat and remember the collar at his neck that now feels so much
like it is choking him.
His eyes quickly turn away, back to his computer screen where he’s only halfway
done updating the youth group events for the coming week.
“How was your cousin’s?” It’s a quick change in atmosphere that Jaime hopes is
safer than having nothing spoken at all.
It helps a little when Bart looks up at him suddenly, pushes back from his desk
to sit up, crosses his arms. Much better than having Bart radiate in the direct
sun.
“Didn’t see him much.” Bart doesn’t grumble this, but it’s close. “One of his
friends came into town the same weekend, Dick. College friend, he gets
priority, so I mostly hung out with the brother that tagged along. He’s cool.
We’ve hung out a few times—Tim’s his name. He lives out in Gotham though, so we
just talk a lot online. It was nice, I guess.”
The tone in Bart’s voice definitely didn’t make it sound ‘nice’. He sounded
bitter. Jaime glanced away from his computer screen long enough to notice the
way the teen fidgeted, how he stared at his nails and picked at his cuticles
and instantly Jaime knew he would very likely not be getting anymore work done
while Bart was present. He quickly saved his file before turning once more
towards Bart.
“Does your cousin know you wanted to just see him?”
Bart shrugs. “I don’t know, probably? He’s sort of like my grandparents, he
doesn’t really know what to do with me, so he tries to think of some
alternative that makes it so he doesn’t have to deal with me as much as
possible. Betcha’ he begged Dick to bring Tim as soon as he figured out I was
coming out for the weekend.”
That aching tightest was forming in Jaime’s chest again, the bitter concern
that filled his mouth the more he learned about how misplaced Bart was among
his family. He didn’t blame any of them, not really, seeing as he knew Barry
and Iris personally and knew that their hearts were in the right place, it was
just the conditions were making it harder for them. Jaime wondered if Bart
looked more like his mom or dad, suddenly, wondered which one would be worse
for Barry and Iris to see on a daily basis.
“I’m sorry your trip didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to,” Jaime tried to
comfort him, reached over his desk to place a hand on Bart’s arm, squeezing
gently. “Next time, maybe take Wally aside and talk to him about it? Or before
you go over, plan something with him?”
Jaime’s not sure if Bart’s actually listened or retaining anything he’s saying
as his eyes are heavy on the place that Jaime’s gripping. He pulls his hand
away when he notices this, but Bart’s gaze still stay in the same place for a
moment before he’s standing up.
“Thanks, Father. I think I should be heading back to school now. Final bell’s
in about ten minutes and I left my bag in the locker.”
Before Bart leaves, he flashes Jaime a grin. It’s bright and white and he
passes through another sunbeam as he leaves. Jaime’s final thought before the
teen leaves is how his eyes aren’t the only thing that shows spring on his
face, but his smile as well.
---
“Father?” Bart’s voice is soft in the small boxed in space.
They meet once more in the closed doors of the confessional booth. Bart’s been
silent for nearly five minutes after he’s recited the opening prayer and
Jaime’s been waiting patiently for him to break it.
“Yes?”
“Do you think it’s actually a sin for someone to be gay? Like, going to hell
for having sex with a guy, all that stuff that people say?”
It’s not as much an unexpected question as it is he finds it unexpected that
Bart is asking it. Particularly in the context of hell and sin, as up until
this point Bart hasn’t seemed to be affected by the idea of any of these
things.
“No,” Jaime says quickly as soon as he realizes he’s been quiet for far too
long after Bart asked. “Not the way I see it, at least, or how the bible I have
read and studied sees it. Love is love, regardless of gender.”
He can see Bart licking his lips out of nerves through the screen of the
confessional. His hands are fidgeting in his lap again.
“What do you think grandpa Barry and grandma Iris think of it all?”
That’s the real question Jaime knows he’s wanted to ask, when it comes down to
it all. This time, it takes a little more time to answer. He doesn’t want to
put words in either of the Allen’s mouths, but at the same time he doesn’t want
Bart to be uncomfortable. Both of his grandparents love him, that much Jaime
knows, and he seriously doubts that would change with their thoughts on Bart’s
sexual orientation did.
(Jaime tries to not think about his own personal experiences on the matter,
doesn’t want that swaying his voice, though in the end he’s not sure it works.)
“I think they’re good Christians, which means it won’t matter to them.”
Straight forward, simple. Bart still twitches.
“I get that. I just—don’t want them treating me differently. Seeing me as some
other strange mixture in the family. I’ve already fucked up enough.”
Jaime hisses, “Loving someone isn’t a fuck-up.” The words fall from his mouth
quickly, without him meaning them to and without even looking he knows Bart’s
turned to look at him now from across the screen. Jaime bites his tongue, bites
back the jolt of anger and asks God for his own forgiveness for using such poor
language, promises he will say an extra prayer tonight because of it.
“I’m sorry, Bart—“
“Father—“
“No. Bart. You—“ Jaime takes in a deep breath and releases it with a sigh.
“Does your love hurt anyone?”
The small wooden box is stifling. It’s suddenly so cramped and uncomfortable.
Jaime feels as if he’s the teenager confessing to the priest instead of the
other way around.
“No,” Bart nearly whispers when the silence has grown too heavy.
“Then it is okay. There’s nothing sinful about it.”
There’s silence again, heavy and long, before Bart’s standing.
“Thank you, Father Reyes.”
And leaves.
---
On Friday, Bart shows up to help with the church’s monthly charity dinner,
helping to feed less fortunate members in their community. He looks ridiculous
standing over the tray of mashed potatoes wearing a hairnet to keep his wild
strands at bay, but he looks happy. It’s something Jaime notices when he looks
over after talking with some of their patrons. Bart’s making some of the
children laugh as they go through the line, talking none stop to everyone
around him which earns him multiples arm pats and cheek pinches from some of
the patrons or even the elderly woman who help volunteer.
This time around, Barry and Iris are present at the dinner, watching their
grandson look like he’s actually enjoying himself as they go around clearing
plates and cups around the room. He catches small bits of their conversations
and comments, little bits about how well Bart’s doing, how he’s yet to be
brought home by a police officer, how his school hasn’t called about him
skipping classes in nearly two weeks (which, upon hearing that last one, Jaime
almost feels obligated to butt in and comment about Bart’s gym absence, but
it’s a good night that Jaime doesn’t want to ruin. It feels like a lie, so he
says a silent prayer and hopes God realizes why he would withhold the truth
from Bart’s grandparents.)
Afterwards, Bart and Jaime talk until Bart leaves. They joke around and tease
one another, Jaime on how he’s sure half of the congregation wants Bart to
marry their granddaughters and Bart on how he knows Jaime gave extra scoops of
ice cream to the kids when they looked at him with big eyes and a smile. Bart
tries to make his point by doing it himself, but Jaime’s first thought isn’t
giving him ice cream.
He’s glad then that Barry calls for Bart in that moment, and Bart doesn’t
object as he says his goodbyes and moves to follow his grandparents to the car.
---
Jaime tries to keep his distance. He knows what’s happening and he tries, but
Bart’s a horribly infuriating person that gets under his skin and doesn’t
leave.
He makes it routine now to stop by once a week at least to interrupt Jaime’s
office work, distract him with whatever topic of conversation is on his mind.
It’s always during his gym period and it’s always made worse when Bart runs to
the church after he’s done changing. When he’s dressed down to a cotton t-shirt
with his school’s emblem printed on it, shorts that cling to his thighs, show
off long legs and when he sits down in Jaime’s office chair and stretches his
shirt rides up just a tad and Jaime has to wonder at this point if he actually
does it on purpose as he might have noticed the blush across his cheeks by now.
And, honestly, he wouldn’t put it past Bart if he does.
Jaime should tell him to leave. Lord above, he has told him to leave a few
times, but Bart doesn’t listen, just laughs it off and waves his hand as if
Jaime was only joking with him, playing.
The problem is, he doesn’t mind Bart’s company. Enjoys it, in fact, enjoys it
far too much when he shouldn’t. There’s a growing attachment between them that
Jaime plainly sees and can’t avoid. He’s not sure about Bart’s in-school
relationships, but by the way he talks about certain subjects and avoids
others, he doesn’t have too many other friends outside of Jaime and those that
are a few states away. It must be hard for him to be so alone most of the time,
and he is trying to do better, so Jaime doesn’t push him away. He can’t bring
himself to do so.
So on Mondays or Tuesdays or whenever Bart drops into his office, Jaime ends up
staring and now it happens so often that Bart starts staring back. He moves so
he’s more purposefully in the sunlight when it’s shining through the windows,
making him glow still even though the fall is upon them, having turned the air
crisp and cool.
On Thursdays, during nightly mass, Jaime tries to avoid looking towards where
he knows Bart is sitting with his grandparents, avoid how Bart seems to be
paying more attention now to his sermons than ever before and how afterwards he
stays to linger, tell Jaime his thoughts on whatever God’s word was that night
and almost always says goodbye with a brush of his fingers against Jaime’s
wrist. It makes small bolts of lightning dart up his spine; his entire body
goes warm with it.
The worst happens on a Sunday. Jaime is handing out communion and doesn’t
notice Bart’s in his line until he looks up with the words halfway out of his
mouth (“The body of—“) and sees Bart standing right in front of him with his
mouth open, waiting.
Jaime can only stutter and pause for a second without someone realizing
something was wrong, trying to get his tongue to work once more as he finished
off the quickly spoken “body of Christ” before putting the wafer in Bart’s
mouth.
It was a mistake, he should have forced the bread into Bart’s hands, as his
tongue flicked up to brush against Jaime’s fingers, his eyes burning bright,
staring right at him, knowing exactly what he was doing.
It’s only a moment in time, a second, but Jaime’s running warm and Bart’s
moving away with the sign of the cross performed by his hands as he turns with
a small smile at his lips back to his seat.
That night, Jaime stares up at his ceiling and doesn’t touch himself, but wants
to. He thinks about Bart’s tongue until he has to get up to take a cold shower,
praying and asking for guidance as the waterfalls around him. He falls asleep
afterward on his couch in some form of penance as the lumpy pillows leave his
neck aching in the morning.
---
“I’m leaving on Wednesday.”
They’re not sitting in Jaime’s office this time. Jaime figures it’s a little
safer to not be in such small, enclosed spaces alone with Bart, at least when
he can help it, so whenever Bart’s come to visit during his school days, Jaime
takes them on walks through the church, around the grounds, doing small chores
and tasks as they go.
Sometimes it helps. Bart always seems irritated when they run into someone and
Jaime stops to talk to them, but today everything is quiet and as they walk,
it’s just the two of them.
“Leaving? To where?”
“Alabama—for thanksgiving. I’m visiting Max’s daughter.”
Jaime stops walking. They’re at the far end of the church’s small lake, more
like a pond really, but there’s a fountain in the middle and a trail going
around it, with benches and trees all around. The air is truly cold now, with
dead leaves all around them, though the first snow has yet to fall. Today,
Bart’s wearing a pair of sweat pants and what appears to be a tracksuit jacket
over his usual gym t-shirt. His cheeks and nose are ruby red and his eyes are
darker without the direct sunlight in them. Jaime’s taken to noticing a lot
about Bart over the past days spent with him.
“You won’t be spending it with your grandparents?” Jaime inquires, figures this
isn’t just for the sake of conversation.
“No,” Bart replies promptly, looking out over the water. The fountain’s been
turned off for a month now, but the lake still ripples with ducks swimming
within. “We actually had a fight about it. Thanksgiving’s one of those big
family holidays, you know? But I want to be with Helen more. She’s alone
besides her boyfriend.”
This time, Jaime’s not entirely sure there’s something here for him to fix or
suggest, but he tries anyway, just in case. “She can’t come here?”
Bart shakes his head. “No—I don’t want her to. It’ll just turn into this big
mess, I swear. I’ve never even had thanksgiving with everyone. It’s been just
me and mom or me and Max and Helen and…” Bart’s voice trails off. He sighs
heavily and kicks out at the woodchips along the trail, taking up a clump of
dirt with them. “You going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”
Change of subject, probably for the best.
“Yes, actually.” Bart perks up, turns to him, and Jaime smiles. “Texas, with my
own family. My sister’s been dying to see me, it’s been nearly a year now.”
“You’ll be back though, right?” Bart’s quick to ask, spins on his heels until
he’s right in front of Jaime, peering up at him. They’re close now, so close
Jaime can feel Bart’s body heat cutting through the cold November air. The
clouds of breathe they both exhale at the same time mingle together before
dissipating.
Jaime licks his lips, feels how cold they are, chapped. Bart’s look about the
same, but redder and he shouldn’t be looking in the first place.
“Yes, by Saturday evening so I won’t miss Sunday service.”
“Good.”
Bart’s closer now, so closer and he moves so fast Jaime can barely keep track
of him, but that might also be because he’s not breathing, not thinking. Bart’s
leaning up against him and honestly Jaime knows what he’s doing, should stop
it, but doesn’t and when he feels Bart’s lips against his it’s like sparks
ignite between them.
It’s brief, but it’s still a kiss. Bart’s warm against his chest and Jaime
doesn’t know when he reached out to grab the teen’s wrist, but he is and
squeezes at it, feels the bones underneath the skin, and if Bart makes some
sort of pleased sound against his mouth because of it, Jaime doesn’t notice.
Bart pulls back looking bright and beautiful as always, eyes twinkling now as
he steps away and creates space between them once more.
Jaime’s blinking, dazed, but his lips are warm and tingling. He wants to touch
them, but doesn’t.
“Bar—“
“See you next Sunday, Father Reyes. Happy thanksgiving.” Bart cuts in, smiles
at him before turning and runs off through the parking lot, back towards the
direction of his school, which leaves Jaime completely alone, confused, and
about three other different emotions he doesn’t want to think about.
The November winds gust up around him. By the time Jaime makes it back inside
his fingers are numbing and his nose his stiff, but his lips still feel like
they’re on fire.
---
It’s nice seeing his family, but it’s strange sleeping in his childhood bed
again.
It’s difficult when his mother or father ask about any aspect of the church.
Jaime always ends up with Bart on his mind, no matter how hard he tries to keep
him away.
In the night, Jaime stares up at bedroom ceiling wondering when exactly Bart
Allen started to engrained himself into every aspect of Jaime’s life and then
he wonders if it’s something he should stop.
Whenever asked, God seems to be annoyingly silent on the subject.
---
It’s Tuesday and Jaime’s just finishing up the evening mass for the night as
the priest that normally does it was sick. Jaime gladly took up the empty spot,
but found himself enjoying it less and less when, towards the end of his
sermon, Bart had to walk through the doors. He was completely alone without his
grandparents or any other guardian in sight, taking the first seat he could in
the back. It’s only another fifteen minutes, but he stares at Jaime the whole
time, to the point that when Jaime finally finishes, walks back down the aisle,
he’s warm under his collar.
He doesn’t see Bart walk out and, when he peaks inside, Bart is nowhere to be
seen inside the church.
Without thinking, Jaime goes down to his office and finds the door unlocked and
ajar, the lights on inside.
“You broke into my office?”
Bart’s sitting in his chair, at his desk, wearing jeans and a sweater that’s
about three sizes too big on him. It’s wool knitted and thick, makes him look
smaller then he is.
Bart shrugs, looks as innocent as he can manage. “It’s the best way to get
someone’s attention.”
“Bart—“
“Drive me home?” He’s look up at Jaime, batting his lashes which are thick,
beautiful. “It’s cold out.”
Jaime should say no.
(He doesn’t.)
---
They’re not outside Barry and Iris’s house, but its close. They’re in the
neighborhood and Jaime’s very aware of the fact that many people on this street
go to his church. He’s aware of many facts right now, but some of those facts
are starting to slip from his mind.
“You like me?” Bart breathes out, his entire being cast in shadows with the
darkness of the night around them, only the yellow light of street lamps along
the road giving a partial glow to everything, but Jaime’s not looking at him,
can’t. Jaime’s well aware of his own weaknesses and Bart is very much one of
them.
Jaime says nothing, but his hands grip the car’s steering wheel tighter. He
grits his teeth.
“You do.” Bart concludes. He’s not wearing a seatbelt, hasn’t worn one the
entire trip back to his house even though Jaime mentioned he should wear one.
It makes it easier for him to lean across the console of the car and press his
hand to Jaime’s thigh. “Fath—“
“We can’t do this.” Jaime grits out, has to because it’s starting to eat him up
inside. There’s only so much prayers can do in the silence of one’s own room.
“Bart, we can’t—“
Bart’s quick to speak again. “I won’t tell.” His voice sounds a little more
frantic this time, rushed. He’s trying to persuade Jaime before he’s fully
rejected, doesn’t want silence to fall. He shifts even more in his seat, is
practically kneeling on it now, his eyes big in the darkness of the car.
“Please. No one will know and it’s not like you’re that much—“
“I’m a priest.”
“I know.”
“Bart.”
It doesn’t stop him. The teen’s plucking at Jaime’s throat, pulling away the
collar until he’s able to get it loose, tugging it free to throw in the
backseat. Jaime grabs at both his hands, attempting to pull him away, but that
doesn’t stop Bart. He bites at his lip and moves forward, pushing and curling
his body until he’s falling down into Jaime’s lap. It’s uncomfortable and
cramped with Bart’s back digging into the steering wheel and Jaime’s legs
tangled up in the small space below, but Bart’s right there above him, staring
down with eyes that burn and Jaime’s breathless.
“We should—“
Bart doesn’t let him finish. He dives down to capture his lips, surprising
Jaime enough that his grip on Bart’s hands loosens, to which the teen takes
advantage of, bringing them to wrap around Jaime’s shoulders.
This kiss isn’t like the first. The first was softer, almost hesitant, and
nervous. It was a heated press of lips where as this one was much more sure,
hard, hot. Bart wasn’t wondering or exploring, he knew what he was doing and
only waited long enough to make sure Jaime wasn’t pushing him away, forcing him
off, before tilting his head to dive deeper.
Jaime’s hands found Bart’s thighs without meaning to, but when he did he
squeezed, tries to anchor himself down even as he tilted his head up and got a
better angle, kissing Bart back because there was nothing else he could think
to do. Jaime hadn’t been kissed in years, forgot how wonderful it felt.
Bart was aggressive in his kissing, not afraid now to bite and suck at Jaime’s
bottom lip. It left Jaime moaning, his hands tightening as they slide up along
Bart’s thighs, admiring their shape and form of the legs that ran to find him
once or twice a week. He wanted to know what they looked like bare, how long
and lean Bart was underneath that too-big sweater.
Jaime didn’t have a lot of experience. He was clumsy about how he kissed,
winced when their teeth clacked together, but Bart simple giggled at it,
correct their angle, and moved back in. Jaime had nearly ten years on the teen,
but he was still being taught. He let Bart lead, let him move his hands into
Jaime’s hair, and press his tongue into Jaime’s mouth.
Bart tasted like peppermint and sugar, the taste of a candy cane in the dead of
winter and it made Jaime want to taste more. He pressed harder, deeper,
dragging Bart closer to him until their fronts pressed together and Bart was
groaning as their crotches came in contact with one another. Jaime’s own breath
hitched, not realizing how hard he was up until this exact point.
He hadn’t touched another person in years. He was twenty-five and could
distinctly remember the last time he came from his own hand and this—this felt
so much better.
Without meaning to, Jaime thrust against Bart which ended in both of them
moaning and Bart repeating the action. They’re now grinding against each other,
moaning against each other’s mouths and panting softly against the other’s lips
when they need to pull away for air.
The windows of the car start to fog up. Jaime’s so hot right now, Bart must be
on fire with that thick sweater of his. Jaime’s hand checks, trails up Bart’s
thigh to underneath his sweater, the shirt he has underneath, finding skin so
hot against his fingers it burns.
“Bart—Bart—“
“Father!” Bart groans out loud, throws his head back, and now all his attention
is put to moving his hips against Jaime, grinding their clothed cocks together
until there’s too much heat in Jaime’s stomach, his muscles are too tight, and
he’s gripping Bart’s thigh, Bart’s hip, and coming in his pants.
Bart isn’t too far behind, moaning heavily when he realizes what just happened
and there’s noises leaving his mouth, little gasps and ‘oh’s and pants as he
thrusts against Jaime’s thigh, finishing off much like the priest with a wet
spot in his pants.
The car fell silent besides the sound of their panting, leaning heavily against
one another as they came down from their orgasms. Bart slumped forward, his
head falling against Jaime’s shoulder, nuzzling softly into his neck.
“Father Reyes, that was…that was…”
Jaime’s hands came up around Bart’s waist, holding him closer.
“Jaime. Call me…call me Jaime.”
Against his throat, Bart smiled.
“Jaime.”
---
That night, when Jaime got home, he took a shower quickly and once done fell to
his knees at the side of his bed, hair still dripping.
He tried three times to pray, to ask the Holy Father anything, but no words
fell from his mouth and no thoughts came. He only muttered out ‘I am sorry’
before climbing into bed to go to sleep.
He wasn’t sure if he actually was sorry and he wasn’t sure if the feeling in
his gut was truly guilt or something else.
Regardless, he didn’t stop. In the coming days and weeks, when Bart showed up
to his office during the week, he stole kisses with the door locked and the
blinds drawn. He learned the feeling of Bart’s weight in his lap and the number
of knobs he could feel from his spine as his hands ran up his back. Bart taught
him exactly how he liked to be kissed and where he liked to be touched and in
the process he relearned how he liked to be kissed too.
He still preached during his usual masses, stood by the other priests during
Sundays, served communion and listened to any who needed an ear. He helped with
events and went to bed thinking of Bart and how red his mouth was that day, how
dark his eyes were, how exactly he moaned, and how he called out Jaime’s name
went he nipped at his throat.
This couldn’t continue, Jaime knew. Something needed to give and, right now, he
wasn’t exactly sure what.
---
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
It’s a Thursday afternoon, the dead of winter, and Bart’s peeled open Jaime’s
side of the confessional booth, slide in, and closed it behind him. It’s
cramped and dim inside, but the small space is growing warm with the both of
them. Jaime’s blushing heavily in the dark, his nerves coming up as Bart moves
just a few inches closer to him before falling almost silently to his knees.
Jaime chokes.
“Bart, what are you doing? Anyone could see us, come in, hear us!”
Below him, Bart snorts, puts his hands on Jaime’s knees to pull them apart and
settle between them. “No one’s there. It’s like a blizzard out there—no one’s
in the church. As for the noise, well, you just have to be quiet then, don’t
you?”
Jaime wants to protest more so, but then Bart’s leaning forward and licking at
him through his dark slacks. It’s near impossible to say anything after that as
all of his concentration is put to keeping his groan in his throat. He’s hard
in no time flat, the way Bart’s soaking the front of his pants with every lap
of his tongue. He practically purrs with satisfaction when he pulls back to see
the prominent bulge Jaime now has for him.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Bart repeats, his eyes flashing up to
Jaime before he leans forward to give one more swipe of his tongue before
pulling away again. “It’s been five weeks since my last confession.”
A gasp leaves Jaime’s throat as Bart start’s pulling at his pants, unbuttoning
them and pulling the zipper down slowly. Too slowly. Jaime nearly growls.
“What is it…that you’d like to confess, my child?”
He actually hears Bart curse under his breath at that, sees him squirming in
the spot he’s kneeling before he’s able to speak again.
“I’ve been having impure thoughts, Father.” Bart manages to get out after a
moment, just as his hand sinks into Jaime’s slacks and he pulls out his hard
cock. The teen stares at it for a while, practically drooling over the sight of
it.
They haven’t done this yet. Jaime’s been very careful, very cautious, for good
reason, and the most they’ve done is grind against each other on one other
occasion just like they did the first time in the car, parked five houses down
from the one Bart’s grandparents were in, waiting for him.
Jaime has to see them tonight during mass. He’ll shake their hands and smile,
speak to them about the word of God, with Bart standing right beside them as if
he isn’t now on his knees drooling over a priest’s dick in front of his face.
Jaime licks his lips, fingers curling against the edge of the bench. “W-what
sort of impure thoughts?”
“About a priest,” Bart continues when propped, his fingers touching Jaime
becoming surer of themselves, curling around the stiff flesh and giving a solid
stroke up then down. By the look on Bart’s face, he likes what he’s doing
immensely. “And what I want to do to him, but mostly what I want him to do to
me.”
Bright emerald eyes flick upwards to Jaime who right now isn’t breathing as
Bart leans forward and licks a line up his cock. Bart’s tongue is small, pink,
leaving a hot trail that makes Jaime shiver, shove a fist into his mouth to
keep quiet.
“During sermons it’s really bad,” Bart’s speaking so close to Jaime’s cock he
can feel the warmth from his mouth, wants it against him so badly, but also
wants to continue hearing Bart talk. “He’s got this amazing voice, deep, makes
me forget about all that god talk. Get distracted. Want to know what else his
mouth can do…”
Bart emphasizes this by lowering his mouth over the head of Jaime’s dick and
sucking lightly. Jaime swears he almost blacks out, nearly loses it right
there, never finding the opportunity to get a blow job before going into the
cloth. It’s amazing. He knows now why God asks his devote to be abstinent
because this feels so good it has to be a sin.
He doesn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, but he wants to. Instead he starts
silently praying, breathing heavily through his nose trying not to lose it
faster then a fourteen year old. It becomes even harder when Bart takes him
down deeper, sucks harder, and using his tongue to flick across his slit,
collects the beading of precum swelling there and swallowing it down.
Jaime bites his tongue, his hips thrusting upward on his own to sink another
inch into Bart’s mouth and Bart just takes it. He makes a humming sound in his
throat and Jaime’s hips jerk again, this time he gasps unable to contain it.
Bart’s chuckling when he pulls back, makes Jaime shove his fist further into
his mouth. The teen makes an obscene slurping noise as he sucks off Jaime’s
cock, letting it fall from his mouth.
“One day,” Bart takes a breath, hand stroking up and down his cock now,
movements growing faster. “One day I want to hear the priest curse.” Bart’s
smiling, fucking smirking, leaning forward to lap at Jaime’s tip again, tongue
sliding along his foreskin. “Say fuck. Shit. Talk to me and tell me to come or
ask how hard I like it.”
“Bart—“
He doesn’t let Jaime get a word in, taking that moment to suck his cock right
back down, taking as much of Jaime’s shaft as he can, sucking hard.
“Ah—“
Jaime has to bite at his lip, stop himself from growing too loud in their small
space. His hands return to the bench of the confessional, white knuckling them
in some attempt at control, but his hips keep moving, small thrusts into Bart’s
mouth who just takes it, sucking and slurping. His lips are bright red and his
eyes blown out black.
It’s the look on his face that does Jaime in this time, how desperate and
sexed-out Bart looks, how he’s looking straight up at Jaime and not caring or
being bothered when his cock slides a little bit further into his mouth, down
his throat.
“Ba-aaahhhh!” Jaime throws his head back and hits the wall, a loud ‘clunk’
echoing around them as he comes and comes in Bart’s mouth, feeling like he will
never stop.
He feels embarrassed that he came so quickly, that he wasn’t able to warn Bart
properly, and the horrible feeling of how unsafe this all was is now settling
down around him. But there’s not much time to let all that settle in before his
lap is full of Bart who’s got his swollen mouth against his and this is the
moment Jaime now knows what his own cum tastes like.
“That was fantastic,” Bart hums when he pulls away from his mouth, kisses wet
and sloppy at Jaime’s cheek.
Jaime’s still trying to catch his breath. “What about…you?”
Bart giggles and Jaime didn’t know he could enjoy a sound as much as he enjoys
that one. “Don’t worry about it, I’m peachy. Besides, got to get back to
school.” He presses another kiss to Jaime’s lips who returns it happily. “See
you tonight? Can’t wait to hear the sermon.”
It’s cheeky and completely inappropriate, but then again Jaime just got sucked
off in a confessional booth. He can’t exactly judge, but he pinches Bart’s
thigh anyway.
---
Bart’s not in mass that night.
He’s not sitting where he usually sits with his grandparents and he’s not
sitting in any of the other pews that Jaime can see as he looks around while
delivering the word of God. It might come off as being too curious, too
forward, but at the end of mass he can’t help but ask where their grandson is
when Barry and Iris come to leave. It takes a moment for them to gather words
enough to speak, and when they do both look reluctant or ashamed to do so.
“Bart’s been…he’s been having some trouble,” Iris starts up, which makes Jaime
frown because he hasn’t seen any of that.
Bart’s seemed perfectly happy, at least from what Jaime has seen. He hasn’t
been spending all his time with Bart, but he knows he’s been spending as much
time as Bart and he can manage and get away with. From what Jaime can gather,
Bart’s been happy. He’s been good with attendance at church, volunteering,
every time they talk Bart seems satisfied, happy, especially recently…
“We’ve just found out he’s been skipping school.” Barry says and Jaime’s
stomach drops. “We got a call this morning about his unusual attendance and
then another came this afternoon right before he got home. So…”
Barry runs a hand through his hair and looks tired. Jaime can’t help but blame
himself, seeing as at the very least some of those occasions Bart’s skipped to
come see him. He doesn’t know if they account for all of the absences, but it’s
enough that Jaime does feel guilty over it. Particularly because just that
afternoon Bart skipped out to blow Jaime in a confessional booth. It’s the
first time since all this started that Jaime’s felt actually sorry for what
he’s doing as their relationship is affecting other people around them. He’s
barely able to look either of the Allen’s in the eye now.
“And it’s not just that,” Iris speaks up, her voice sounding uneasy. “We got
into an argument with him when he got home, after the phone calls, and…it’s
been a rough night. He hasn’t come out of his room for a bit.”
“Oh,” Jaime blinks, doesn’t know what to say because it’s still partially his
fault, his stomach knotting with that fact. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to
intrude into your—“
“No, no, it’s quite alright.” Barry gives him a smile that looks only half
formed, presses a broad hand to Jaime’s shoulder and squeezes. “You’ve been a
good influence on him, I promise you. We’re glad he’s taken to you and to the
church as he has. There’s just some things that can’t be changed, sadly, at
least not with this.”
They leave after Jaime says his goodbyes, wishes them a safe ride home.
He wishes, now more than ever, he could talk to Bart about what’s happening,
wants to apologize, and wants to ask what Barry meant by ‘some things that
can’t be changed’. It all doesn’t settle well in his stomach and Jaime doubts
he will be able to sleep that night.
---
He doesn’t sleep, but it’s only partly because he simply can’t. The other part
has to do with his phone going off at two in the morning, or close to it, as he
isn’t quite able to read the clock on his nightstand as he’s blindly grabbing
for his phone.
“Hello?” He yawns out, falling back flat against the mattress.
“Jaime,” The voice on the other end sounds hollowed out. “It’s, it’s Bart.”
Jaime’s very much awake now, sitting up in bed and turning on his nightstand
light, not knowing why, but being able to see made this a little better, a
little more real. “How did—how did you get my number?”
“I stole it. At one point in your office, you left your phone out and…it
doesn’t matter. I just, I need to talk, okay?”
“Is this smart?”
“No,” Bart’s laughing suddenly, the sound sounds broken and forced. “No, it’s
not fucking smart but—fuck, I’m standing at the goddamned train station and I’m
freezing and want to leave and have a fucking ticket to either Gotham or
Manchester or as close to Smallville as I can get, I don’t care right now I
just can’t be here and—fuck, Jaime. I just need you to remind me I shouldn’t
leave or should leave or whatever I just can’t—“
“Bart, breathe. “ Jaime talks over him, makes Bart stop his rambling, though he
can still hear the panic in his voice whenever he breathes too harshly, too
quickly. “Just, breathe for me. I’m going to come to you, alright? Don’t get on
a train. Just wait for me, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, alright?”
There’s a long pause, but finally he hears a heavy sigh and a heavy “Alright.”
Jaime gets dressed quickly and stays on the phone for as long as he can trying
to keep Bart calm and his mind from straying too far away. He doesn’t talk to
him about his grandparents or school or anything Jaime thinks he might be
having issues with, instead he asks about what flavor of ice cream he loves the
most (rocky road with waffle cone crumbled over top), what position Bart sleeps
in (stomach, as spread out as he can get), his favorite book (too many to
count). It works for the time it takes Jaime to get to the train station,
barely turning off his car before he’s running inside and easily spots Bart
sitting in the corner with a backpack looking stuffed to burst as he’s the only
person in the station besides a worker, security guard, and one other traveler
who’s sleeping on a bench.
Bart’s wrapped up in his overly large knit sweater, a scarf barely wrapped
around his neck, and jeans that look too thin for the amount of snow currently
on the ground. He’s shivering and his shoes are soaked through with slush and
snow. When Jaime calls his name, Bart looks straight up at him and Jaime can
see his eyes are wet and red-rimmed. He falls into Jaime’s arms as soon as he
gets close enough, clinging to his coat and sobbing into his chest.
“I don’t want to be here anymore.” Bart manages to get out between hiccups and
choked off cries. “I want to go home!”
Jaime says nothing. He immediately thinks to say ‘you are home’ because that’s
expected, but it wouldn’t be true and it would only hurt Bart further and right
now he doesn’t need to be hurt anymore. Jaime doesn’t want to be the person to
hurt Bart, not ever, not when he’s been through so much, so instead he just
holds him closer and rubs a hand down his back, feels the way he shakes against
him.
“They—they want to send me to therapy again, like that fucking matters! Like
I’m some fucked up mental case because I cut class and it’s not fucking like I
got brought home by the cops again! It’s not like they have to come bail me out
of fucking jail or some shit, but that’s what they’re expecting!” Bart’s
seething. His fists are curled up in Jaime’s front, beating against his
shoulder with one fist every few seconds. Jaime takes it, lets him. He needs to
let it out somehow. “Sometimes it’s just like—like fuck it, I should. Just
fucking prove them right!”
Bart gives out a long shout, pained and aching, and those awake in the station
stare, but Jaime doesn’t care about that right now.
“I shouldn’t have even come here,” Bart manages to take in a shaky breath, but
it cracks on the way out. “When Max died I should have just stayed with Helen.
At least I know she loves me, she fucking gets it! It would have been fine,
just the two of us. Or—or I could have just gone off with my mom! Found her in
whatever part of the world she’s at now getting shot at and at least I’d not
feel like I’m fucking up with everything I do!”
“Hey, hey,” Jaime pulls Bart back, tilts his head up so he’s looking right into
his eyes, forces Bart’s gaze on someone other than himself. “You’re not. You’re
doing great. You’re grandparents just—“
“They don’t want me,” Bart hiccups. It sends a horrible ache deep down inside
Jaime’s chest. One of his hands come up to wipe away the tears that are
brimming to fall from Bart’s already damp cheeks and he ends up cupping his
face, feeling the wet tracks that already cover them. “They don’t… when I first
moved in I went and got my hair cut shorter. Grandma couldn’t look at me for
three days and I didn’t know why until I saw a picture and I look more like my
dad with my hair cut short.” He sniffs, looks at Jaime with a broken heart.
“All I do is remind them of their dead son and the fucked up family he married
into. I didn’t even get to know him and I’m living in his shadow.”
Bart ends up sobbing into his chest again, unable to get another word out.
Jaime holds him through it all. Holds him until there’s nothing left and keeps
holding him because Bart’s still clinging, not wanting to let go. It’s a little
more than a few minutes when Bart’s breathing evens out and a little bit more
before Jaime realizes he’s cried himself to sleep.
His entire body is stiff when he stands, but it’s easy enough to pick Bart up,
his body weighting less then what it should. Jaime imagines him with hollowed
out bones like a bird as he’s settling him inside his car, gets to the other
side to start the engine and blast the heat because Bart still looks so cold,
his lips pale and tinted a faint blue. He looks over and imagines Bart all
broken, as birds are so easy to break, and doesn’t like the mental image so he
stops as he pulls away from the train station and back to his own apartment.
His lease was up in January, than he was supposed to be moving in to rectory
with the other priests of the church. Right now, he’s glad he still has his own
place, not wanting to explain why he is carrying a sleeping teenager up the
steps and attempting to open the door without waking him up. It doesn’t really
work and, by the end of it, Bart’s stumbling to his feet groggy and still half
asleep as Jaime escorts him through his living room to his bedroom to lay him
down on the bed, helping him take off his wet shoes and socks before settling
in.
“Not…how I wanted…the first time in your bed…to be like.” Bart grumbles,
turning over to get comfortable as Jaime pulls the covers up around him, trying
not to laugh.
“Maybe you’ll get another chance.” Jaime whispers right back, leans down to
plant a kiss at Bart’s cheek who smiles with the touch and buries his face
further into Jaime’s main pillow, inhaling deeply.
As soon as Jaime knows Bart’s actually asleep, his soft snores filling his
bedroom, Jaime closes the door and pads out into the living room, falling
against the couch cushions with a heavy sigh. Bart’s backpack catches his eye,
the three tickets sticking out of them, all to different parts of the country
and different people who Bart figured were better than anyone he had here. It
really drives home how close Bart was to actually leaving and how happy he is
that he called Jaime when he did.
He doesn’t really want to, is sure Bart wouldn’t want him to, but he has to
call his grandparents.
“Mr. Allen? I’m sorry to be calling you at such a late hour but—“
“Bart?” There was suppressed panic in his voice, the way he said his grandson’s
name, and Jaime couldn’t help but be reminded of how Bart said they expected
the worst of him.
“He’s safe, Mr. Allen. He called me and he’s currently sleeping in my bed.”
“Oh thank god. We’ll come—“
Jaime cuts him off. “It’s quite alright. He’s…he’s had a long night and I think
it might be best if he sleep for right now. I’ll drop him off in the morning,
if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not, he’s not. I promise, Mr. Allen, for the time being…let him sleep.
I’ll bring him over in the morning and the three of you can talk about what’s
happening.”
Jaime doesn’t realize how tired he is until Barry’s pausing on the other side
of the line, silent for what feels like forever. It gives Jaime enough time to
drag a slow hand through his hair, rub it down his neck.
“Yes, you’re probably right. Thank you, Father.”
“Not at all. Goodnight, Mr. Allen.”
“Father Reyes.”
The phone call drains whatever is left inside of Jaime, so he forces himself to
stand up and drag himself back to his bedroom. If he were a better man, he
would sleep on the couch, leave Bart be to sleep peaceful in his bed, but he’s
slowly learning that when it comes to Bart Allen he’s not a better man most of
the time, so he closes the bedroom door behind him and slowly starts to pull
his coat from his body, followed by his jeans and shirt.
He might not be the best man, but when he lies down in bed and Bart curls up
against him, presses against his side and stops shivering as much as he is,
sleeps soundlessly through the night, well, he might not be the best man, but
Jaime still thinks that he’s a good one.
---
In the morning, Bart wakes him up with a kiss. It’s soft, pliant, wet. Jaime
returns it, presses his forehead to Bart’s own and breathes him in for just a
moment. He looks a little better today, if not tired, and Jaime manages to
smile at him and ask if he’d like some breakfast.
By the time they’re done, Jaime’s nearly out of his full carton of a dozen eggs
and Bart’s scooping out the last of his strawberry jelly onto his toast. They
kiss again and Bart tastes like jelly, Jaime tastes like coffee, and it feels
like the most at peace Jaime’s been in a long, long, while.
“I called your grandparents last night.” Jaime murmurs out against Bart’s lips
and, though Bart groans, he doesn’t punch him.
“I figured you would.” Bart rolls his eyes, but still presses another kiss
against Jaime’s mouth, this time trying to lick the taste of coffee and sugar
from it. “You’re too good, you know that?”
Jaime grins. “So I’ve been told. Come on, we’ve got to get going or they’ll
really start to worry.”
He gets up from the table, putting both their dishes in the sink as he goes,
but Bart doesn’t move. He looks back and all Bart is doing is sitting there,
staring at Jaime with the biggest, dumbest, smile on his face.
“Bart?”
“It just hit me,” Bart says. “That I love you a whole lot.”
His body stills. Jaime’s heart hammers in his chest, grows loud. He’s staring
at Bart and Bart’s staring back and the teen just said that he loved him. Just
said ‘I love you’ and meant it, wholeheartedly meant it, and Jaime doesn’t know
what to do with that information, doesn’t know how to process it. The silence
of the room grows longer, stiffer, and Jaime’s just standing there awkwardly
not knowing what to do.
“Bart…”
Bart’s still smiling as he hops up from his chair. “Don’t worry, I get it.” He
meets Jaime in the threshold of kitchen and living room, leaning up to press a
kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to say it. I just want you to
know I do, really. I love you.”
Jaime doesn’t quite smile, but he takes Bart’s hand, squeezes it, and for now
that’s enough.
“Come on, let’s go meet your grandparents.”
---
Iris and Barry are more relieved then angry. Iris kisses Bart too many times to
count and, after being released, Barry hugs him tighter then is probably
necessary as Iris starts thanking Jaime over and over again.
They invite him in for coffee, but Jaime has to decline, much to Bart’s obvious
dismay. He’s already late as it is and needs to get going to work, but he
reminds them that he is just a phone call away if they need him.
---
He doesn’t see Bart again that day, or the next, or at Sunday mass. They don’t
see each other again until Monday night when Bart comes to help with the
monthly dinner again. He still looks a little tired, but his smile is real when
he sees Jaime and real when old ladies pinch his cheeks and when some of the
younger kids ask if they can avoid having carrots in the salad Bart’s serving
them.
At the end of the night, when everyone’s home and all the tables and chairs are
put away, any leftovers sent off with families, Jaime finds Bart sitting
outside on the steps, waiting.
“You know,” Jaime starts as he eases down beside Bart on the community hall’s
steps. “It’s a lot warmer inside.”
Bart grins. “Is that an invitation, Father Reyes?”
It is and it isn’t and they both end up laughing until their sides are a bit
sore. Bart’s hand falls down close to his, their fingers touch, but Jaime
doesn’t say anything about it.
“We talked about it.” Bart says after a while. “Well, about everything.”
Jaime moves his hand even closer. “And?”
“And they’re still pissed I was skipping class, but…but they said they’d try
more, you know? And Helen’s been invited to Christmas next week, same with mom,
but I don’t know if she’ll be able to come around, but that’s alright. I’ll see
her.” Bart’s still smiling, head tilted upwards at the sky, looking at the
cloudy night and watching his breath spiral out into the cold winter air. It
was going to starting snowing again tonight, maybe tomorrow. “It’s not perfect.
They still want me to go to a few therapy sessions, see if I need something to
help me focus in class or—I don’t know, whatever. But it’s…it’s better. I don’t
think you’ll need to pick me up at train stations in the middle of the night
for at least another month.”
“That’s good,” Jaime says, looks at Bart when he looks back at him and wishes
he could kiss him right now. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He might have gotten the nerve to do so if Bart’s grandparents didn’t pull up
just then, waving Bart over and honking their horn. Jaime standing when Bart
does, waving towards the car himself in greeting.
“Get home safe, Bart.” Jaime calls out after him.
Bart turns towards him. “I will—Oh, Father Reyes!” He runs back over quickly
and for a split second Jaime thinks Bart’s the one who’s going to be kissing
him in front of his grandparents, but the action never comes and instead Bart’s
standing close to him just whispering in hushed tones.
“I was wondering. Can I…can I come over to your place tomorrow night? Please?
They won’t,” Bart looks over his shoulder. “My grandparents won’t know, but I
really want—“
“Yes,” Jaime says probably too quickly. He’s learning it’s nearly impossible to
actually say no to the teen. “If you want, you can come over.”
Bart beams, doesn’t kiss him, but comes close. “See you tomorrow, Father.”
“Tomorrow.”
---
It’s nearly midnight when Bart knocks at his door. He’s out of breath and
there’s snow in his hair, but he’s pink in the cheeks and smiling from ear to
ear.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Jaime laughs and drags him inside to the heated interior of his
apartment. “At some point you need to get a car. Probably better for you then
running everywhere in the middle of the night when snows on the ground.”
“I like running everywhere.” Bart says while shaking snow from his head and
peeling off his many layers of sweaters, something Jaime’s definitely noticed
before—that Bart doesn’t like coats or jackets very much, mostly just sweaters
in the winter, layers and layers of sweaters. “It clears my head.”
“That always work?”
“I called you instead of getting on a train, didn’t I?”
That was true and Jaime was growing ever grateful for that.
In the grand scheme of things, Bart was still something of a mystery to him.
Even though the many months had passed and Bart had been present in every
single one of them, this was the first time they were truly meeting without
Jaime wearing his clerical collar or Bart having an emotional crisis. Jaime
never pushed towards any particular subject with Bart, letting him guide their
conversation most of the time, so he only ever got to know what Bart let him
know. Jaime never liked to pry into other’s business and Bart was no exception,
except…except Bart was the exact person Jaime wanted to know more about. He
wanted to pry. He wanted to know what Bart liked to do on rainy days or where
his favorite spot to sit in a movie theater was or even as simply as what he
wanted to be went he grew up.
“Jaime?”
Jaime blinked, thoughts flying from his head as Bart stood there looking at
him, standing in his living room with only one sweater on and the ends of his
hair damp.
“You’re staring.”
Again, Jaime blinked.
“You’re really nice to look at.”
Bart scoffed, though the red at his cheeks wasn’t just from the cold anymore.
“You’re a hopeless romantic. Come here.”
It’s easy to listen. It’s easy to fall into Bart’s embrace and embrace him
back, let their bodies both tumble down onto his couch and tangle together.
Jaime’s brain compares it to something like heaven, something with angels in it
and a chorus of Bart’s laughter and the feeling of their lips coming together
and in that single moment he realizes this can’t possibly be some mistake.
Jaime kisses Bart like the beads off a rosary, delicate, fragile, with a prayer
in his throat and love in his heart. His hands smooth down Bart’s sides, grip
his thighs and pull them up until Jaime’s able to settle right between his legs
like he’s always been meant to be there. Below him, Bart tightens the grip he
has around Jaime’s neck and groans, pulls away from their kiss to gulp down
lungfuls of air.
“I’d really like,” Bart gasps softly. “For you to fuck me, if that’s okay.”
His entire body goes still, looking down at Bart so suddenly with his words.
It’s not okay, honestly. He’s still a part of the cloth, still holds a vow of
chastity, but then again most things with Bart haven’t been very okay and
Jaime’s already been starting to rethink a lot about his life because of Bart’s
sudden part in it.
Jaime doesn’t actually say anything, which makes Bart worry for a moment, but
then Jaime is lifting him up and carrying him through the living room, into his
bedroom, laying him down on the comforter and kissing his mouth with a ‘yes’ on
his tongue.
It’s everything both of them want.
Bart loses the last of his sweaters quickly, followed close behind with his
shirt and pants. Jaime follows suit, tossing aside his clothes which leaves
them both nearly naked except for underwear and admiring blatantly what the
other has to show.
“Oh…Father, you’ve hidden all this under those thick robes for too long. If
only the world knew.” Bart’s grinning, his fingers splayed out across one of
Jaime’s pecs, trailing down his stomach to curl at the trail of hair leading
further south. Jaime’s pretty hard already and tenses when he feels the ghost
of a touch so close to his cock.
“I should say the same about you and your sweaters.” Jaime manages to counter,
thumb brushing against one of Bart’s nipples which makes him arch into the
touch, back curving to feel more, so Jaime indulges and rubs against each until
their peaked and hard, pinching them lightly until the blush at Bart’s cheeks
trails down to his throat.
“Father…”
“Jaime. I’m just—“
“Jaime. Jaime, Jaime, Jaime, please.”
“I’ve never actually…”
Bart looks at him, chest heaving, puts a hand at Jaime’s shoulder and squeezes
for reassurance. “Don’t worry. I’ll guide you through it. Get my jeans for me?”
Jaime does as he’s asked, refusing to think about how Bart knows how to guide
him through it and if he’s ever actually done anything like this before. It’s a
good question to save if he ever gets the change to ask.
In the pocket of Bart’s pants is lube and a condom, usual sex items, but it
drives the idea of what they’re about to do home and Jaime has to take a second
to remind himself to breathe, not letting the guilt settle too thick inside of
him.
Their underwear comes off soon after Jaime settles back onto the bed with items
in hand. Bart’s quick to make the first move, kissing Jaime until they’re both
breathless, hands roaming however they please to feel and memorize every dip
and rise of Jaime’s body, humming against his lips as he feels across his back,
admiring his shoulders.
Jaime does much of the same, though his hands are less sure of themselves,
unsure if it really is okay to touch, but Bart has yet to tell him anything
different, and every time he squeezes his hips he gives out a breathy sigh and
when his finger tips run over Bart’s stomach he giggles. They’re sounds Jaime
quickly gets addicted to and does it over and over again until Bart’s shivering
with pent up pleasure, hips thrusting up to grind against his leg.
“Switch with me?” Bart cuts in, flopping back against the pillows, panting
hard.
At this point, Jaime doubts he would object to anything the teen asked, so he
quickly moves to get down on his back, watching as Bart climbed up on top of
him, straddling his waist.
“Give me your hand.” Bart says now, popping open the cap of lube and easily
smearing it around Jaime’s fingers when his hand is given over.
The liquid is cold until friction warms it up. Jaime’s completely dazed and
just watches as Bart slides up his body a little bit more, guiding Jaime’s hand
behind him to press two of his fingers right up against his hole. Jaime jerks,
but Bart doesn’t let his hand go.
“Don’t worry. I—I prepped a bit before coming over. Thought of you too much.
Though of this.” Bart presses harder, sighing when Jaime finally lets him sink
two fingers inside of himself. The passage is already slicked and flexible; no
resistance met as Bart moves Jaime’s hand for him until he’s able to take the
motion up on his own.
“Ah—just like that,” Bart lets out little moans and groans whenever Jaime
presses in harder, deeper. Jaime learns quickly, slides his fingers in and out,
spreads his fingers out wide until Bart keens and jerks against him in
pleasure.
It’s a maddening sensation, Jaime thinks, feels his own cock twitch with just
the reactions he’s able to draw out of Bart alone. The teen’s own cock is hard
and dripping, the head shiny and red. Rosy like Bart’s cheeks. Jaime takes hold
on Bart’s hip and thrusts inside him harder, risks it and pushes a third finger
inside of him only to have Bart openly moan and move back to meet his
movements.
“Yeah, yeah, Jaime, fuck. Everything—everything I wanted…”
“Everything?” There’s a dumb smile on Jaime’s face when he says this and Bart
actually looks like he wants to punch him for it right before Jaime moves his
fingers hard inside of him, crooking them to drag against his walls and Bart’s
gasping out a moan with the movement, back going ridged.
“Oh god please just get your dick in me already!”
Jaime nearly reprimands him for taking the Lord’s name in vain, but it dies on
his tongue as soon as Bart’s moving away from his fingers, shifting back to
grab up the condom, tear it open and roll it down over Jaime’s cock. It’s a new
sensation almost entirely made even worse when Bart coats his hand in lube and
glides it up and down Jaime’s shaft, getting him wet and slick.
It doesn’t take long for Bart to deem him ready, climbing right back on top of
Jaime and taking his cock in hand, moving to situate himself before he’s
suddenly pressing his body down, taking Jaime’s cock inside, and Jaime actually
feels like he’s been sucker punched.
Bart is red hot on the inside and tighter then Jaime ever expected. He actually
has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood so he doesn’t come
from that alone. It’s everything he’s been warned about and everything else no
one told him; the perfect vice grip that steals his breath and makes his head
swim.
His hips are thrusting before he even realizes it and Bart’s positioned on top
of him just taking it, hands braced against Jaime’s chest and mouth hanging
open as he moves his hips to meet Jaime’s own.
It starts out awkward and soft, uncertain, but Jaime catches on quickly just
like before. He’s got his hands on Bart’s hips as the teen bounces on him, cock
slapping at his own stomach with every movement he makes. Jaime does his best
to make a rhythm, keep it, but his inexperience shows and his movements are
mostly just trying to drive his cock deeper and deeper into Bart’s body. Bart
doesn’t seem to mind.
Bart’s drooling and panting and looking like a wrecked mess, muttering off
about how good Jaime feels, how perfect his cock is, how he can’t believe he’s
never done this before.
The words die out as soon as Jaime rolls his hips, shifts, and suddenly the
next word in Bart’s throat is cut off, dead, replaced by a sudden, startled
scream that continues on and on with every new push Jaime makes inside his ass.
It’s beautiful, leaves Bart shaking, clenching around Jaime’s cock until it’s
too much to take for the priest. He’s able to hold Bart down when he does come,
gasping out Bart’s name as he empties into the condom, fucks gently into Bart
through it
Bart collapses on top of him, limbs weak and trembling, rolls off to lay beside
Jaime, gasping for air.
“That…that was…”
“You’re not finished.”
There’s a protest on Bart’s lips that Jaime doesn’t let him get out as he leans
over to take Bart into his mouth and suck as best he can. The taste is odd, but
not terrible, and Jaime’s well aware he has zero technique, but licking as best
he can and sucking when he remembers seems to do that trick as Bart’s hands
tangle in his hair and he shouts his orgasm into the night.
They’re both spent after that, sweaty and weak as they lay together in Jaime’s
bed, the condom tied off and thrown somewhere on the floor for the time being.
Bart’s curled against his chest, hand resting right above Jaime’s heart to feel
how his heart beat slowly steadies out to something comforting and smooth.
“I love you.” He says for the second time.
Jaime squeezes him gently, breathes in, and thinks about the church, his
position, about God and what he would think, what he would want, breathes out.
“I love you too.” Jaime says for the first.
---
During Christmas mass the following week, Jaime isn’t sitting among the other
priests in the colors of the holiday season. Instead, he’s in the pews with
rest of their parish reciting the same hymns and passages as everyone else.
Bart’s beside him, sitting next to his grandparents, and can’t stop smiling.
Jaime’s invited over for Christmas dinner as he wasn’t able to make it home
himself and gets to meet everyone. Wally and his wife are wonderful people,
with Wally making Jaime laugh more times then he’d like to admit as Bart
definitely appears to be getting jealous by the night’s end. Jay and Joan
Garrick are the type of people Jaime would like to sit and listen to for hours
with the amounts of stories they can tell. On more than one occasion he feels
horribly rude because he’s dominated most of their time that night.
Bart is all too excited to introduce Jaime to Helen Claiborne who just got in
that night looking exhausted from her flight, but ecstatic to see Bart again.
She hugs him like a mother and Bart doesn’t let go for a long time. Helen is
intelligent, but practical and down to earth. She works with Bart’s habits and
mannerisms instead of against them and it’s easy to see how much they love one
another.
The best part of the night, however, comes during dessert when Bart gets a
phone call and ends up outside in the heavy snow for nearly two hours talking
to his mom. He comes in from the cold sniffling, eyes still wet, and ends up in
the arms of his grandparents who hug him right back.
The next day, Jaime signs for another year on his apartment and asks if there’s
a spare key he can have.
In February, on Bart’s birthday, Jaime gives him the spare.
When Bart kisses him afterwards, it’s the best feeling Jaime thinks he’s ever
felt. It’s soft, warm, and done out of love, done because Bart wants to;
because he’s so overjoyed he has to show Jaime just how happy he is.
It’s worth giving up the priesthood for, Jaime thinks, because Bart’s worth
giving up a lot of stuff for if he can keep kissing him, keep waking up next to
him, keep memorizing all the freckles along his shoulders and how he tastes
after brushing his teeth or eating ice cream or walking through the door.
Jaime smiles against Bart’s mouth and kisses him back.
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