#today is a good day for a father quart fic

[linasofia]

Coming Home

Fandom: The Man from Rome

Relationship: Father Lorenzo Quart x Female reader

Summary: After a long time apart, you return home and are reunited with the man who has stolen your heart.

Words: 2,5 K

Warnings: 18+ Please don’t read this if the thought of a priest breaking his vow of celibacy might offend you.

A/N: This is a sequel to my previous fics about FQ, but it can also be read as a standalone. You can find all my FQ fics in my masterlist.

Sometimes a month can pass in the blink of an eye, but when you are separated from someone your heart belongs to, a month can feel like it has no ending. And the last part of a journey is always the hardest, so close, but still not in the arms of your beloved.

As the plane glides through the thin clouds, I grip the seat’s handle impatiently. The captain has announced that we are landing shortly, but this feels like the longest flight known to humankind. I try not to look at my watch again and instead I visualize what awaits at the end of my trip and who I will meet very soon; Lorenzo. Just thinking of him makes my heart flutter and when I close my eyes, I can clearly see him before me. His tall and muscular frame, his dark hair, painted with a shimmer of silver at his temples, and his beautiful azure eyes. His prominent nose which he buries in my hair before he falls asleep. And his alluring lips that complement his expressive eyes in every shift of his mood. Lips I long to kiss and be kissed by. Everything about him feels like a blessing, and I shiver with delight when I allow myself to dream of his embrace. The way he smells when he holds me close, how his hands usually find their way under my clothes to caress my skin, and the closeness he always seems to yearn for, exposed during the early mornings when he sleeps close to me, often with an arm draped around me, as if he is afraid I will disappear into the dark shadows of the night.

When I am finally back in the familiar quarters in the city center my heart beats hard like a drum. Lorenzo texted me close to boarding and asked me to join him at home as soon as I was back in town. I have no intention of delaying our meeting so that is why I now hurriedly walk down the stairs with my phone in a tight grip. First I hear only signals but right before the call goes to voicemail, he suddenly answers, sounding a little out of breath. My name always sounds like an endearment when spoken by him and today is no exception. He demands my exact location and his eagerness warms me more than the sun, which has begun its evening journey and soon will disappear behind the old roofs.

”I see you!” His voice is filled with so much joy that my heart takes a leap in my chest and is ready to burst. I smile at his warm greeting, lift my gaze to his balcony and the sight almost has me tumbling down the stairs. On the slim balcony stands Lorenzo, in what I can only assume is his trousers, but with his upper body gloriously naked. Even from a distance I can see his gorgeous well-built shape and I cannot help wondering how many of the tourists and admirers of the stairs and the beautiful fountain will spot him in the sunlight. They would probably be shocked if they knew that the handsome half-naked man is the same man who has the authority to absolve them from their sins.

”I can see you, too. The whole piazza can!”

”They are not here for me sweetheart, besides, I do not care.”

I giggle while I cross the piazza and open the heavy door to the building where he lives. The usual scent of freshly baked bread hangs in the air, and I rush up the stairs to avoid the old lady on the first floor. Lorenzo has told me that she is kind and warm-hearted, but a bit nosy, and I do not want to run into her and be forced to come up with an excuse for my presence in the building.

A discreet click from the lock is heard as soon as I put my feet on the top floor and, if possible, it makes my heart beat even faster. He seems to be just as impatient as me and it feels overwhelmingly good. I quickly glance around and then open the door. Before I even get a chance to put my things down, I am being pulled into a kiss. With both hands, he cups my face and I let the bag slide off my shoulder so I can wrap my arms around him. His skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat and his hair is damp. The muscles on his arms and torso are tense, and when I let my hands travel over his back, I feel his strength under my fingertips. He breaks the kiss when my hands land on his well-sculpted buttocks, hiding under his black sweatpants. Then he releases me from his tight embrace with an apologetic look in his eyes.

”I am sorry, I was not expecting you so soon. I was just done with my workout and thought I had time to shower.”

”I do not mind your sweat. But I have been on a plane for over six hours and I would love to take a shower. Preferably with you.” I blink at him and a grin spreads on his face before he pulls me close again.

”Or I can make love to you right here in the hallway, quick and dirty.” His voice drops to a murmur when he grabs me and lifts me up. ”Do you really expect me to wait until you are pure and clean?”

”Says the man who spent most of his adult life in celibacy,” I tease him but when something dark shifts in his eyes, I bite my lower lip. I know that look on his face and I gasp as his fingers dig into my flesh.

”I must make up for lost time,” he murmurs huskily and carries me into his large bathroom.

Lorenzo’s newly renovated bathroom is a raw industrial dream with small elements from nature softening the hard concrete design. It never stops to amaze me how interested he is in technology and interior design. I have lost count on how many times my assumptions about him have been wrong. Lorenzo is not like any other priests I have met. Or maybe it is just the fact that I get to see the remarkable person behind the clergy collar. And sleep with him.

My feet land on the thick, luxurious white bathroom carpet and without even blinking he roughly pulls my sweater over my head. His swift fingers release me from my bra and then he eagerly moves his attention to my trousers. When they join my other clothes on the floor he watches my naked body with growing hunger. But instead of pulling me close again, he opens the shower doors and turns on the water. It streams down and soon the heat from the water creates mist on the clear glass.

I nod at his sweatpants and with a smirk he puts his thumbs under the waistband and pulls them down. His boxers follow and when Lorenzo straightens his back, a very promising erection stares back at me. I give him a smile but do not move. He steps into the shower and holds out a hand for me to take, and when I do, he pulls me inside and wraps his arms around my waist. The water instantly drowns my hair and when I let my head fall back to get it out of my face, he takes advantage of my neck. With a low groan he starts to assault my skin in the most delightful way. Tender kisses, nibbling at my skin and the feeling of his raspy stubble against my neck tease my already aching body and with an encouraging moan I urge him to keep exploring my skin.

The smell of my favorite shower gel fills the shower and I briefly think of the first time he bought it for me. A small gesture, but it represented a big step in our relationship. He wanted to have something that belonged to me, in his home, and the small token of commitment almost made me cry back then.

”Turn around,” His voice is lower now and without the slightest hesitation I do as he wants. He rubs his hands together and creates a soft foam and then gently starts washing my upper body. His large hands work their way over my shoulders and down my back in small circles. I let out a pleased sigh as he reaches my lower back and starts giving my tired muscles a massage. Grateful for his treatment I place my hands on the tiles and arch my back. He groans when my bum brushes against his hardness and his pressure on my lower back increases, forcing me to arch under his touch even more. I moan as he moves his hands even lower, but suddenly he reaches for the shower gel again and pours what seems like a lot of it right over the roundness of my buttocks. It feels cold against my warm skin, but Lorenzo soon works his magic and lets his hands glide over my body, spreading the freshly smelling foam everywhere he can reach; kneading the softness of my hips and thighs, caressing my stomach and fondling my breasts. Every time I try to reach for him, he stops and reprimands me in that husky voice that never fails to arouse me beyond the line of sanity, and his next words only fuel my desire to touch him. ”Hands on the wall.”

Lorenzo sneaks one arm around me and pulls me against his firm chest so he can hold me upright. The water is pouring down like a waterfall from the showerhead in the ceiling, washing all the foam away and leaving only the lovely scent of lilac on my skin. His other hand finds its way to my breasts and when he lovingly cups them, one by one, as if they were treasures to worship, I let out a pleased sigh. But I need more and as if he can read my mind, he soon abandons the small, hard peaks he woke with his thumb and index finger. Agonizingly slowly, he lets his hand travel down my belly, and then moves to concentrate on circling the area which is my body’s epicentrum. I moan his name, a needy sound that makes him groan against my skin.

“Have you missed me that much?”

I want to reply with something cocky, but when he gently sinks his teeth into my shoulder, my words turn into a whimper. He knows so well that his harsh move never fails to get me dizzy with lust, and I grip his arm for support, leaning heavier against his body. Lorenzo is just as skilled with his long fingers as he is with his mouth, and when my core tightens to prepare me for the stream of pleasure that will soon flood my body, he stimulates all my senses at once.

”That’s my good girl. Let me hear what I do to you.” The dark melody of his voice is like music to my ears, and it sets every fiber in my longing body on fire. ”I feel how close you are, come for me.”

With only the tip of his fingers he pushes me down into the pond of seduction and I fall helplessly apart by his hand. The way he purrs my name with his lips pressed to my ear is overwhelmingly erotic and I lose myself in the sensation.

Before I get a chance to catch my breath, Lorenzo spins me around. He seizes my knee, lifts it up and a little to the side, giving him enough space to step close to me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tremble as I feel his smooth shaft press against my heat. With an alluring dark smile he uses his other hand to adjust himself and then, with a single hard thrust, he enters me.

I have waited what feels like ages, even if I know I have only been gone a month, to be intimate with him again. With all of his massive length buried deep inside me, I gasp and briefly close my eyes. The blessing that is the man’s girth never seems to stop taking my body by surprise and stretched over his shaft, I let out a throaty moan. Lorenzo presses himself against me, fully aware of how much it triggers my lust. I could never have imagined that a man who has spent so many years without the satisfaction of another body could be such a fantastic lover. He has a unique ability to read my body and he enjoys playing with all my senses in a way I never thought possible. The way he speaks, moans, and grunts fuels every part of my receptive body, and together with the rhythmic moves of his hips and sensual touches, he sets even my soul on fire.

The water pours down over us and the mist visually softens his hard shape. His hair is wet but his eyes are burning with desire when I meet his gaze. I can feel his hand gripping my leg tighter and I let him find the pace we both know will lead us towards our releases. Time ceases to exist and all our troubles are being washed away by the blinding heat building rapidly between our bodies. It is just him and me, lost in the endless sea of pure pleasure. I can feel he is holding back, waiting for me to reach the point where he can push me down the slope of satisfaction. When I finally do, he catches me and holds me while my body shivers uncontrollably and my climax starts to tear me apart. I feel him reaching his peak together with me, and with a sinfuI cry, I shatter around him as he gives me everything he has.

We pant as one when our bodies finally relax against each other, but there are no words to explain the intense moment between us. Lorenzo places both of his hands on the wall behind me and leans in to rest his forehead against mine. My heart swells when my gaze meets his. His voice is nothing more than an affectionate whisper when he eventually speaks.

”I am so glad you are back again. This month was as long as an eternity.”

I nod and wrap my arms around his waist. It was a struggle. But now everything is as it should be. Almost.

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[tomfoolsery]

carry that weight -- an aftg chapter fic

hunger games au pairing: neil / andrew chapter: 1/?

summary: The 75th Annual Hunger Games have arrived. For years, Neil Josten managed to dodge the reaping by being meticulously careful and as invisible as possible. With only one more reaping until he ages out of the process, he makes a plan to escape the Districts (and his father's henchmen) once and for all. But when he realizes he's been plucked from the masses to partake in this year's Quarter Quell, his plans for escape are dashed. Being reaped for the Games only magnifies the target on his back, and District 12 has never had good luck in the arena. It will take every survival instinct Neil has to make it out alive.

trigger warnings for this chapter: past child abuse, torture, suicide mention.

read on ao3 or here!

The first game that Neil remembered watching was the 66th. The potency of the memory seemed to taint everything else that followed in his life, painting it in that shade for better or worse.

The Games were all about survival. A tribute could train for years, as most of the Career Districts did, but still not be guaranteed a victory. It wasn’t the strongest that always won the Games. Oftentimes, it was the most clever. The one who knew the dark places a human could go in order to ensure survival. The one who was willing to sink to those depths before anyone else could reach them.

The 66th Hunger Games was won by a 15 year old named Hugo. He didn’t look like much to begin with, and most of the commentators throughout the game assumed he would be an early victim at the Cornucopia bloodbath. Hugo’s scores hadn’t even been noteworthy prior to arriving at the arena. For all intents and purposes, he was an easy kill that could be taken care of at a later date. It was that oversight that cost the vast majority of the tributes their lives.

Neil could remember watching Hugo on the television broadcast, all but blending into the shadows that the densely populated forest arena afforded him. His footsteps were always silent, allowing him to traverse wherever he pleased without being caught. It meant he could hunt easier and sustain himself physically, and it meant that he could watch his opponents from afar, always a step ahead. The people watching from the Capitol ate it up.

In years past, the Gamemakers would generally speed things along, forcing tributes to encounter one another and spill enough blood to bring the Game to an end. Any wise Gamemaker would want to maintain a captive audience in the Capitol — lest they be punished for an underwhelming Hunger Games.

An avalanche would bring the tributes to one spot together, or an offer of food, water, or medicine would lure in the desperate to the Cornucopia. Everyone knew what an event like that meant, but most still attended. The alternative was certain death. At least if they attempted it, a chance at survival still existed.

In Hugo’s year, the Gamemakers barely had to lift a finger. The tribute was a master at setting traps and snares, using them to catch both his dinner and his opponents. His methods weren’t grotesque or violent, like past tributes had been. He was sneaky and practical.

On the surface, Hugo didn’t look like a killer or a terrifying figure. What made him scary was his behavior when the tributes were narrowed down to two: him and a Career Pack boy named Palus — who, ironically enough, was an initial standout with the Capitol sponsors. The tables turned once Palus injured his left leg, the bone nearly exposed after falling down a steep cliff. With no way to mend it himself, Palus carried on as best as he could, hoping that the elements or stupidity would do Hugo in so he wouldn’t have to attack first.

Instead of earning a simple, perhaps even cheap victory, Hugo opted to stalk Palus throughout the arena. The cover of night was his weapon, as well as mounting dehydration and starvation on Palus’ part. He was able to instill paranoia in the other tribute, lingering close enough to impart terror but far enough not to be noticed. It was a mental hell that even the Gamemakers couldn’t have dreamt up. Worse yet was the knowledge that Hugo was very much enjoying the unfair game of cat and mouse. Watching Palus’ sanity deteriorate was a decadent feast for him. He would draw this out for as long as allowed, ensuring that Palus’ last moments of life were drenched in nearly psychotic terror.

After a full twelve hours of this treatment, Palus took a drastic turn for the worst and, in an attempt to rid himself of the constant feeling of being stalked, wound up taking his own life. He’d already lost too much blood by the time the Gamemakers realized what was happening, too late to intervene. All the while, Hugo waited in the wings and watched the grisly scene play out.

During his victory tour and first interview with Seneca Crane, Hugo would come to admit that he would have happily continued tormenting Palus had he not killed himself. He was unashamed in his insistence that he survived because out of all the tributes, he was the only one with a thick enough mental-skin to endure the challenges of the game.

Hugo’s ruthlessness sent chills down Neil’s spine even when he was just thinking back on it. But he also knew that if he were ever dropped in the arena himself, he would have to embody those same traits. Neil felt admiration and horror toward Hugo in equal parts.

When it came down to it, he would do whatever it took to get out of the arena alive.

---

On reaping day, the district came alive with the hustle and bustle of business. Though District 12 was far from the most affluent, the heightened presence of Peacekeepers and Capitol attendees stirred up local merchants. The citizens were split down the middle in terms of disposition.

For families, this was a day of dread. Many households had to request tesserae multiple times, making their likelihood of being reaped that much higher. From those families, Neil could see the dread hanging off them like a heavy cloak, shrinking their already slouched shoulders and diminishing their hope. Many were dressed in the best clothes they owned, as was expected for such a day.

For Neil, dressing up meant finding an ill-fitting pair of slacks and a baggy button-down from the local seamstress — an outfit he stole when no one was paying attention. There was no way he could afford even the most tattered of clothes with what little money he had. Neil had perfected the art of pickpocketing and petty theft, a skill created out of necessity. By the time anyone realized their merchandise was missing, he would be long gone.

In some parts of the district where the more unruly folk flocked, bets were taking place regarding who would wind up being reaped. Neil tried to hide his grimace as he overheard an older man estimating how many tesserae one particular family had taken out. He couldn’t help flinching when he heard him say “that kid of theirs is as good as dead.”

As much as Neil wanted to believe that he was above that kind of cruel self-interest, he didn’t have much to say in the way of a defense. He wouldn’t bet on someone’s life, but he himself was hoping that literally anyone in the world would get reaped instead of him. He was on the brink of turning eighteen — after that, he would no longer be in the pool for the Games. Just a month longer and he could follow through with his escape plan. Given the fact that Neil had never taken out tesserae in his life, he figured his odds of getting reaped were extremely slim. Still, they existed at all, and Neil couldn’t shake the enormity of that fact.

He could hear his mom’s words echoing in his ears every time he fought the rising panic.

“What if I get reaped?” he would fret, imagining the countless scenarios that could play out.

Her reply would always be punctuated by a tight yank of his hair or a smack to the back of his head:

“Make sure you don’t.”

---

With the entire District gathered in the square, Neil felt like there were walls closing in on him from every angle. Claustrophobic though it was, he could take comfort in the fact that he blended in easily with the other people in his age group. Neil worked hard to be a mundane, ordinary presence in the world. His survival depended on being invisible.

The tension in the air was thick and uncomfortable, everyone’s fears laid bare and only intensified by the setting. Peacekeepers lined the permitter of the square, stun guns and tasers at their belt, ready to be used. It hadn’t come to drastic measures like that in recent years. The Capitol had beaten District 12 thoroughly into submission.

All of the shaking, fussing, and nervous movement among the crowd stopped at once when the speakers cut on. The Capitol escort onstage was ready to begin.

“District twelve! I’m so happy to be with you all here today,” she began, her voice nauseatingly saccharine.

It was clearly a lie — all Capitol citizens stuck up their noses at the districts and were eager to leave at the first available opportunity. But given the fact that they would be the one benefiting from the games, Neil supposed that perhaps her enthusiasm was real. A bloodbath was guaranteed with each year.

That notion nauseated him even more than her voice had.

Her hair was teased up high into a poof-like style, the color a mixture of orange and pink. Neil wasn’t sure of the last time he’d seen a color so bright within the district. Though he’d only seen a handful of Capitol citizens in propaganda videos and even fewer in Twelve itself, he could tell that they were a flamboyant bunch; not only did the people there don every color of the rainbow, but body modifications weren’t unusual either. He’d heard stories of people who had cat-like ears attached to their skulls, or full-body tattoos that blurred the lines of human and animal.

“As I’m sure you all know, today is Reaping Day. And this is no ordinary one, I might add— ” she paused, effectively lodging a boulder in Neil’s gut, “It is also a Quarter Quell. Every twenty-five years, we add a twist to the game, so to speak.”

It was dawning on him now that this was indeed a Quarter Quell year. He’d gotten so caught up in his hopes for an escape that the whole thing didn’t even occur to him.

There were always different adjustments made to the Hunger Games during the quells. One year, tributes were reaped from the districts by a vote among their own peers. Whichever two citizens had the most votes were sent into the arena. Families were pit against one another, leaving the districts frigid and tense long after the tributes were sent away. There were numerous murders and assaults within the districts that year as well — the Capitol didn’t want the bloodshed to be limited to the arena.

Neil had no idea what the cruel twist would be this year, but his imagination was already leading him to terrifying places. He wouldn’t put anything past the Capitol.

“During this Quarter Quell, the number of tributes will be doubled. Let this serve as a reminder to the districts that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen during the Dark Days. Instead of twenty-four tributes from the twelve districts, forty-eight will be reaped.”

Neil took a moment to do the math in his head, his pragmatism working hard to beat out his terror. Doubling the tributes reaped would mean four individuals being chosen from each district — two girls and two boys.

Even with this alteration to the Games, his likelihood of being picked wasn’t very high; Neil had only been entered in the reaping pool a handful of times, and he never received tesserae. The odds of him being chosen in comparison to the dozens of other kids in the district — namely the poorest ones from the Seam — were very slim. He silently chided his heart for thudding so painfully and his skin for sweating uncontrollably.

This event would be fleeting fear, he told himself. After the tributes were picked and the town square was dispersed, Neil would be able to narrow down his plan for escape. He was roughly half an hour away from the biggest sigh of relief in his entire life.

The Capitol escort onstage went into a lengthy monologue about the history of Panem, which Neil had already heard a thousand times over. The supposed history of their nation was beaten into every citizen’s skull, to ensure that they knew exactly whose boot they would always be trapped under. This was a tired, propaganda-laden tale that Neil had no interest in hearing. He found himself tuning out until a silence fell among the crowd. Neil’s focus turned back to the stage, where the woman was now walking over to the two clear glass bowls with names scattered within them.

As the woman on stage chirped out “Ladies first!”, the entire crowd held still. Neil could see a few girls in his age group beginning to tear up, a sense of fear falling over them at once.

With an exaggerated twirl of her hand, the attendant swiped a name out of the bowl of girl’s names.

His attention was scattered between his own thoughts and the goings-ons around him, but Neil caught the name Laila being spoken. There was a gasp within the crowd and a muffled sob could be heard a few feet from him. Neil watched on as Peacekeepers escorted the girl onstage. She couldn’t have been much older than fourteen. The sight of her tear-stained face and heaving chest only worsened Neil’s dread.

The entire event was inhumane. The Games were carried out for the sadistic pleasure of the Capitol, and there was no conscience to be found in people like that.

After a brief interview with Laila, the young girl was directed to the side of the stage and the escort moved on to the next reaping. This would be the first of two male tributes. Neil’s fingernails bit painfully into his skin as he clenched his fist, watching the escort’s hand swirl daintily into the bowl. Despite his effort to look as composed as possible, Neil couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes just before the name was called.

“Matthew Boyd!” was the name that rang out in the square. Neil’s eyes instantly shot open and his hands relaxed at their sides, the tension wrung out of them for now. Matthew Boyd wasn’t a name Neil was familiar with

The person who stepped out from the crowd was older than him — probably reaped during his very last year of eligibility. Neil hoped that he wouldn’t suffer a similar fate. He was so close to being done — so close to being free.

There was a slight commotion as Matthew stepped up on stage, but Neil’s focus was ebbing. His hands still shook at his sides, awaiting the second and last choice for a male tribute. Time slipped by without notice and before Neil knew it, Matthew was being ushered to the side of the stage and the second female tribute was being reaped. No one he knew. No reason to care. The only way Neil could cope with the insanity of it all was to remain as pragmatic as possible.

“One last tribute!” the attendant chirped, strolling over to the bowl with ease. This, of course, only spelled the end of her fun for the day. Not potentially the end of her life, as was the trend for District 12. Neil could only remember two winners from their district, and that wasn’t an encouraging average in comparison to the Career districts.

Closing his eyes again, Neil stuffed his hands in his pockets and dug his nails into his palms. They burned as he clenched his fingers tighter, and his whole body felt rigid. If he wasn’t called, he knew it would take everything in his power not to break into a sprint right then and there. Tonight would be his last one in the Seam one way or the other. He just hoped—hoped with painful intensity—that he would be leaving of his own volition.

Not me. Not me. Not me. Not me. Not me.

Once the paper was pulled, the Capitol attendant fumbled with it for a few seconds before coaxing it open. A beat later, the name came. Neil’s breath hitched, soaked in fear from head to toe.

---

The strange thing was, Neil couldn’t recall hearing his own name. He couldn’t recall hearing anything in the few seconds between standing there, paralyzed with fear, and being yanked forcefully from his place.

He struggled against the Peacekeeper’s grasp, attempting to kick out his legs so he could escape. Had he been thinking clearly, Neil would have known that this was as good as futile. They would catch him, hold him down, and make sure he wound up in the arena. They would have their entertainment. His blood would be shed for the sake of cruel tradition.

He was so close. This wasn’t fair.

Neil fought the Peacekeepers all the way up to the stage, shouting every indecent thing that came to mind, his arms and legs still fighting to be free. Once he was pulled on to the wooden stage, a plastic zip tie was secured to his wrists. This wasn’t enough to temper his rage, though. Neil flailed a moment or two longer before he felt a shock at his side. It sent him falling to the floor, the impact shuddering through his whole body.

The one shock was enough to subdue him, but Neil felt three more on different parts of his torso. Electricity coursed through him; it was a mind-numbing pain that began to dull his senses. He could hear the crowd growing uneasy, talking amongst themselves to make sense of this unusually violent retrieval of a tribute.

The last thing he could remember before his vision dimmed was the sound of his name.

“Neil Josten, our fourth and final tribute from District 12!”

[linasofia]

Love Never Dies

Part 2

Fandom: The Man from Rome

Relationship: Father Lorenzo Quart x OC Palmira

Summary: After returning to his hometown, Father Quart comes face to face with his past. His life, as well as the choices he made as a young man, are turned upside down and he is once again forced to make life-changing decisions. But at what cost?

Words: 2,2K

Warnings: Angst. 18+

A/N: This is the second part of this fic. You can read the previous part here.

His mother is only a shadow of the strong and independent woman she once had been. Her hair is more silver than brown, and time has made her skin thin and deep characteristic wrinkles now grace her once smooth face. An artificial calmness always surrounds her these days, the collection of medications standing on her bedside table provides her with, among other things, a good sleep. Her best years are behind her, but she shares her son’s faith and he gives her spiritual comfort every week and reminds her that good deeds will be rewarded. Father Quart smiles at his mother, whose eyes seem to brighten every time he enters her bedroom.

”How are you feeling?”

”I am very tired, Lorenzo. Life is slowly slipping from me, I feel it in my body.” She looks him straight in the eyes, and he knows she is right. He had a long conversation with his mother’s doctor the previous day and he understands the prognosis. And age is not to her advantage.

”I have something of great importance to tell you and it might cast some light over your own life. And maybe it will help you understand the choices I made, long ago.”

Father Quart watches in silence how his mother briefly closes her eyes as if trying to collect enough strength to carry on. Her breathing is shallow and she looks worn out in a way he did not notice earlier. Her usually pale skin is ashy and her lips dry. He hands her the glass of water he refilled before he went down to get the folder from her basement, and she gratefully accepts it and drinks a few small sips. Without taking her eyes from her son, she searches for the right words to start with. He can tell by the change in her eyes that it is causing her much pain. Gently, he squeezes her hand.

“Perhaps you shall rest and tell me another day.”

“No, Lorenzo. I have already waited too long. I am afraid that if I do not tell you now, it will never be said.” She smiles weakly. “There is nothing to gain from keeping this from you. You have the right to know, since it concerns you. And your father, Riccardo.”

Father Quart stiffens at the last of her words. His whole life, until this day, he has wondered if they ever were to talk about the man his mother did everything to avoid speaking of. When he was a boy, Father Quart was not allowed to ask about his father, and that affected him deeply. He had read enough psychology along with his theological studies to understand some of his behavior as a child. Without his faith, he was convinced that the damage would have been even bigger.

“I am sorry I did not find the strength to tell you sooner, but I was afraid you might turn from me. It took many years for us to get this far and I cherish what we have today very much.”

“Mother,” he says in what he hopes is a soft tone. “Whatever you tell me will never stand between us, I promise.” He is not really sure about the truth in his words, but he knows that he at least will do his utmost to try to understand.

She squeezes his hand back, takes a deep breath, and starts to tell him a story that begins almost fifty years earlier.

“As you know, I was older than most women were back then when I had my first, and as it turned out, my only child. I had given up the idea of finding the right man and focused on living the life I wanted without someone holding me back. So when I met your father, my heart was rather inexperienced and he swept in like a storm and turned everything in my life upside down. He was an intense man, strong, eloquent and very handsome.” Her voice grows in strength when she reaches for his cheek. “You look so much like him. You share the same color in your eyes, you have his patrician nose, and even your voice resembles his more than you can imagine.”

Father Quart smiles back at her, confused by her words. He is not used to her openly talking about her feelings and especiallynot about the past. They usually speak about the present and they are both comfortable with that. This is new territory. His mother repeats twice how the man seemed to be the perfect match for her, but all Father Quart can focus on is the question in his mind: How did it all go wrong?

“We had not been a couple for long, but he was very passionate and I was madly in love with him, so I let him have me in a way I knew deep inside was reserved for the marital bed.”

Father Quart lets out a small gasp. He always assumed that his mother had at least been engaged to his father. “Do not look at me like that, Lorenzo. I was no saint, I have never been.” He smiles, then nods encouragingly and she continues.

“I found out I was pregnant only two months after our first night together. I was scared and thought he might leave me so I did not tell him right away. I do not know if he sensed it anyway, for he acted differently after that. He became cold, violent, he spoke differently and then—” Her voice breaks and tears well up in her eyes. Father Quart stares at his mother sobbing in her bed, unable to cope with the look in her eyes. Then he finally connects with his compassion again and leans forward to embrace her. His heart beats hard and he both wants to know and dreads what is coming.

“What happened, mother?” he mumbles in a shaky voice, and the forbidden question he has waited a lifetime to say feels loaded on his tongue. A small whine is heard and he silently curses himself for inflicting pain upon his fragile mother. When her answer gets caught in her throat, he does not repeat his question, but instead holds her close. Finally her small words find their way into the air.

“Then…he bit me.” she says quietly and at first he wonders if he heard correctly. Father Quart releases her and sits straight up.

“What do you mean?”

She looks back at him with a tortured look in her eyes. “What I said. He bit me. Hard. And he enjoyed it. Look.” She tilts her head to the side, pulls her nightgown to the side and Father Quart leans in to take a better look. Two pale identical scars stare back at him. He has never noticed them before and in shock, he meets his mother’s gaze again.

“He bit you? Why? It must have hurt enormously?”

“It did. I passed out from the pain. When I woke up he was gone. But he had put me in bed with a badly wrapped bandage around my neck. I had lost a lot of blood, my body was weak but the wound was not bleeding that much. It was a mystery to me. I never went to the hospital since the bleeding stopped by itself and I never reported it to the police in fear of not being taken seriously. The shame of what had happened was stronger than anything. I hid the wounds and then later the scars, afraid to be judged, and until this day I have never spoken about it.” Her voice is hollow now and Father Quart worries how much more she can take.

“I did not see him for years after that incident. I gave birth to you alone, told the midwife that the father had died and she asked no more questions. I was prepared to raise you alone and we would have made it just fine, if he had not been standing on our doorstep one day.”

She closes her eyes as if in physical pain from the memory. “Thankfully, you were playing at our neighbor's house that afternoon. I do not know what would have happened if you had been home, but I thanked the Lord you were not.” Anger and frustration rise in her voice. “He was a changed man, Lorenzo. He really scared me and what was even worse; he threatened to take you. I do not know how he knew about your existence and how he found out you were his son. I can only assume that he had made inquiries.” New tears fall on his mother’s cheeks, and Father Quart reaches for a handkerchief. “I did not know what to do. So I went to see Father Benedetti first thing the morning after. I pleaded to his goodness and I was overwhelmingly grateful when he accepted to take you to his home. I needed to protect you and I did what I thought was right. It was not meant to be a permanent solution but your father searched for you for years. I did not dare to let you back here. I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.” She chokes on the words and covers her face with her trembling hands. “Will you ever forgive me for leaving you with Father Benedetti?”

Father Quart moves closer to her and pulls her into her arms. Her fragile body shakes when she relives the painful memories and he knows he cannot stop them. He can only try his best to comfort her. After what feels like an eternity she finally relaxes and leans back on her pillows with a deep sigh. Drained of the last of her energy, Father Quart realizes that she needs to rest. His beloved mother looks utterly exhausted, and he offers her some water before he tucks the duvet closer to her body.

“Let us not speak more of this now. If you want me to, I will come back tomorrow. You should try to sleep, the doctor said rest is important.”

“You are always welcome here, Lorenzo. You know that, do you not?”

“I know.” He bends down and places a gentle kiss on her cheek and she answers with the type of soft stroke only the loving hand of a mother can give.

“I will bring you something from the bakery tomorrow. The doctor also said you eat too little.” He smiles warmly at her and when she returns his smile, he notices how red her eyes are after all her tears. How he wishes he could take her pain away.

The evening is chilly when he steps out in the dark, a cold wind is coming in from the sea, and he pulls up the collar on his coat. Then he tucks his hands in his pockets and makes a mental note about digging out his gloves from the large dresser in his hallway. His thoughts are running wild in his mind; there is so much to process and he tries to catalogue all of it in his confused brain. Instead of heading straight home, he decides to take a long walk down to the dock. Maybe some fresh air will help clear his mind from the turmoil he feels inside.

The dock is almost abandoned, and a few lonely streetlamps cast pale lights over the part of the area where walking is allowed without having a badge. Father Quart looks at the sky where stars start to appear. They have always fascinated him, and he smiles fondly as he remembers how he used to sneak out when Father Benedetti was sleeping peacefully in his bed. The backside garden was not illuminated at all, and from there he could watch the stars. Sometimes he brought a starmap from his school book and a flashlight, and then spent hours in the dark trying to find out what stars and constellations he could see. Over his head now sits Orion’s belt, and its three stars gaze down on him in silence. He shivers. The wind is merciless but it helps to sort out the details in his conversation with his mother. So much was said but it raised even more questions. Father Quart cannot find answers to them all from what he was told and he senses there is more. Something that has to do with the folder. She did not even touch it, yet it was important that he brought it up from the basement. He promised to be back the following day, maybe he will get more answers then. Right now the only thing he knows for certain is a name: Riccardo.

He turns and walks briskly away from the dock. He needs to get home to his computer. It is time to contact one of his few remaining friends, an odd man he met during a philosophy class years ago. A man he supposes still moves in the shady parts of cyberspace. Maybe he can help with tracking Riccardo. Sleep is overrated.

Did you like it? Please like, comment or/and reblog! ❤️

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knitastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly

[linasofia]

Our Secret

Armitage Summer Splash #8

Fandom: The Man from Rome

Trope: A secret is found out

Quote: “Show me your face.”

Relationship: Father Lorenzo Quart x Fem!Reader

Warnings: ⚠️ Please don’t read this if the thought of a priest breaking his vow of celibacy might offend you.

A/N: I made it to week two before I fell into the FQ trap again. This is a sequel to my previous fics about FQ, but it can also be read as a standalone. You can find all my FQ fics in my masterlist.

Thanks @legolasbadass for your feedback!💙

The spring sun can be merciless in all its glory. Even if the blinds are down, the small rays of light find their way through some holes and land on my large screen, making my excel sheet almost unreadable. Not that I mind the nice weather, now that it’s finally here, but it would be easier to work if my employer actually bothered to take a bigger interest in the office and the problems we face with the indoor climate. But I could not be upset today, not when it’s Friday; I’m leaving early and I’m planning to see Lorenzo after he is finished in church. Just thinking of him warms my body more than the sun can on a hot summer day. We have passed the six months mark in our very secret, but extremely passionate relationship, and sometimes I have to pinch myself just to make sure it’s not a dream. Being with him is like a wonderful dream and at the same time a nightmare. I am constantly worried that our secret will be exposed and that Lorenzo will be forced to make a choice. We never talk about that small, but very significant detail and in a way, we are better like this. I know how much the church means to him and I am afraid that, if he is given the ultimatum, the risk of losing him is imminent.

When my phone gives a soft buzz, I smile to myself. Maybe he is thinking of me, just like I am thinking of him. Maybe he texts to tell me to pick something up on the way home. Maybe-

The text is not what I was expecting. After reading it twice, I’m still trying to take in my older sister's message. She is in town for a business meeting and wants to stay for the weekend with me. My impulsive, loving and caring sister. Always two steps ahead of everything and never looking back. I smile to myself, picturing her tapping her fingers on the screen of her phone as she impatiently waits for me to answer. My reply is short since I see my boss seeking my attention by waving her hand outside the conference room. I tell my sister she is more than welcome to stay but that I would have preferred a heads up a little earlier. She quickly excuses herself but I know she will do the same again. And I will forgive her for it.

I can hear the disappointment linger in Lorenzo’s voice when I give him the news, but I know him well enough to be certain he would never stand in the way of a sibling reunion.

“At least I get to see you on Sunday. You’ll be there as usual, I hope?”

Even after all these months he still asks me, never taking my presence for granted. And I assure him, like every week, that I’m coming. How can I resist watching him leading us all in prayer and performing sermons? My sister will join me I’m sure, since her interest in the architectural aspect of church almost overpowers her spiritual interest.

The sand always seems to pass faster through the hourglass when my sister is around, and before I know it Sunday is at my doorstep. Spring is still holding the days in its warm embrace and I meet the day in one of my most loved dresses. I happen to know that the dress is one of Lorenzo’s favorites as well and even if I plan to be a good and respectful girl, I hope he notices my choice of clothes today. My dearest sister, who spent most of the Saturday spending money in an endless stream of shops, looks stunning in her new beige jumpsuit. It was not hard to persuade her to come with me for today’s visit and just as I predicted, she stops in awe as we cross the square in front of the cathedral. The afternoon sun hangs low over the city and makes the towers glow in the light.

“Look at that,” she says breathlessly. “I had almost forgotten how beautiful this building really is.” She gives me a warm smile that matches the impact from the sun on my bare arms and with her arm under mine we walk up the stairs to the large wooden door. The beautifully crafted iron handle feels familiar in my hand as I open the door and let the scent of candles and expectations surround us. Familiar faces mingle with newcomers and my sister and I follow the crowd inside.

The pews are filling up fast but we manage to find room in the front and when seated, my sister turns her attention to the ceiling, the wonderful paintings and the large, beautiful stained glass window that allows the sun to wrap us all in its light. We sit and wait in silence and I bend my head, breathing softly and feeling the love and gratitude filling me. At this moment there is no other place on earth I would rather be with her. The deep clear ringing from the bells pulls my attention back to the room. I can feel Lorenzo’s eyes on me and I happily meet his gaze. He never fails to take my breath away and today is no exception. The green chasuble makes the azure color in his eyes even deeper than usual and soon his characteristic voice fills the air and just like so many times before I feel the warmth in his words enchant me. Seeing him like this is a blessing in itself but an old and unwelcome anxious feeling briefly fills my heart. He belongs here, in God’s house, where he gives so much to so many. I only have him on loan and that thought always frightens me.

”Who is he?” My sister interrupts my thoughts with a low whisper. I pretend I did not hear her but then she discreetly leans into me. ”The priest, who is he?”

”Father Quart.” I simply answer, determined not to give her anything more. She mumbles something I cannot hear and when I look at her a while later, I see her focusing more on Lorenzo than the other beautiful things under this roof. His hair is just a little shorter than the last time I saw him but it only makes the grey strands gracing his temples more visible. The stubble is at a perfect length, significant but it doesn’t look scruffy. His eyes glow with passion as he speaks and I certainly cannot blame her.

When the chorus starts to sing I feel a warm hand on my forearm. ”Do you think he will be available for a confession before I go back home?” She whispers as she gently squeezes my arm. ”He is absolutely gorgeous. How can a man like him be a priest? Is that even allowed? What a waste. Have you done it?”

”What?” I almost choke on my own words and let out a small cough. ”Done what?”

”Have you confessed your sins to him?”

Memories of our first meeting wash over me like a bucket of warm water poured over my head. The hard chair in the confessional, his deep voice seeping through the partition and the burning feelings for him I could not resist acting on while his gaze rested on me. I gasp involuntarily at the memory and the fiery color of shame spreads over my cheeks. Lorenzo meets my gaze from his position by the altar and it just increases the heat in my face. I can tell by his small frown that he notices my discomfort but there is nothing he can do, except carry on with the sermon. My heart is beating like a drum inside my chest and I look down at my hands which nervously smooth the fabric of my dress. I can feel my sister staring at me.

”Why are you acting so weird? It was just a simple question.” Her voice is concerned and I can almost feel her starting to understand when she once more leans into me. But she doesn’t know about the battle against my emotions I have to conquer. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. ”Yes, I have confessed to him.” I whisper back.

From the corner of my eye, I can see her looking at me and then at Lorenzo. Then she turns her attention to me again. I know he is watching me, I don’t even have to look to confirm it, I feel it in every fiber of my body. And suddenly I’m afraid my sister feels it too.

“Sis,” she whispers, ”Something's not right. Why are you not looking at me? Show me your face.”

I slowly raise my head and turn to her. Her eyes are filled with worry and hold questions that I know she wants answers to. ”You know him, don’t you? Father Quart?”

Another wash of heat. I falter. Why did I take her here? I could have skipped church just this Sunday. My teeth bite down on my lower lip hard and then I give her a small nod. There is no point in denying that part.

”We will go for a coffee when this is over. And you will tell me everything.” My sister’s piercing look as she speaks again makes me feel much younger than my years. There is no room for protests in her demand and I close my eyes.

Father in Heaven, please give me strength.

Did you like it? Please like, comment or/and reblog! ❤️

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @laurfilijames @legolasbadass @i-did-not-mean-to @middleearthpixie @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @enchantzz @legolaslovely @mariannetora @myselfandfantasy @s0ftd3m0n @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[linasofia]

Thanks @legolasbadass💙🙏 Then we will sin together, because I have a feeling there will be more.🤭😈😇

Sacrifice

Part 2

Armitage Summer Splash #28

You can read the first chapter of this fic here.

Quote: “Let’s skip to the good part.”

Relationship: Father Quart x OC Charlotte

Words: 5,7K

Warnings: 18+ ⚠️ Please don’t read this if the thought of a priest breaking his vow of celibacy might offend you. Light spanking, sub/dom relationship, bondage.

@lathalea & @legolasbadass Thanks for your endless support and encouragement.❤️❤️

Father Quart looked at his phone again, the screen illuminating his face as he sat in darkness, impatiently waiting in his car. The address on his phone was right but the small house seemed empty; no lights were on except the outdoor lamp just above the entrance and the black number 112 stood out in great contrast to the white-painted wall. He was tempted to check the garage, to see if her car was there, but he knew it was not a risk worth taking. It was getting late, the streets were almost empty when he drove over. He let one hand run over his face, a sign of frustration, known only to them closest to him. Almost a week had passed since he pulled the blindfold from her face and got the shock of his life. Then, like a cannonball, she had ripped down the wall of self-control and determination he spent so long building around himself. Impenetrable had his defense been before that moment, like the strong fortresses mentioned in old classic books he read as a young boy, and firmly secured in the vows he gave. But now it felt so long ago. Father Quart knew he had stepped over the line, breaking his profession's most holy bound, but he could not resist seeing her one more time.

A small flickering light from one of the windows made Father Quart shift in his seat. He stared out in the darkness. Certain of what he saw, he put his hand on the car’s door handle. There it was again. A candlelight moved between the rooms. Suddenly, a thin white curtain moved in another window and then, a few seconds later, her silhouette could be seen against the curtain as she turned on the light. Father Quart smiled to himself. So Charlotte was home after all. He stepped out of the car, locked it and walked in a hurried pace over the street. Before he opened the small gate to her small garden, he quickly glanced over his shoulder. His car was parked in the dark shadows and it was almost impossible to see from the house.

The silent knock on the front door made Charlotte frown. It was late, she had fallen asleep in the tub after an exhausting day at the office and now she was wearing just her towel. She decided to ignore the knock and reached for her sweatpants and slipped them on. Her skin was still wet and the soft fabric of her pants felt better than any underwear against her skin. A second knock, this time louder and more rapidly followed. Charlotte sighed. Maybe it was Mrs Harris. Her old, and sometimes very lonely neighbor had lost sense of what was considered appropriate visiting hours long ago and could knock on Charlotte’s door at various times. Charlotte threw on a cami and headed for the door. She knew how worried the kind old lady could get and she thought it was unnecessary to upset her. With a quick flip of the switch she made the hallway bathe in warm light before she unlocked the door. Then she opened the door with her usual smile. The smile died on her lips. Maybe her heart stopped too, she was not sure. All she was certain of was that the intense blue eyes waiting for her on the other side of the door were not Mrs Harris’.

He was the last person she had expected and his presence made her confused. A knot twisted in her stomach. She had given him information against her will last time they met and even without her words he had figured out the truth. But if it was another interrogation he was after, she probably would not be meeting him at her own home. When Charlotte’s brain finally decided to cooperate with the rest of her body again, she gave him a weak smile.

“Hi,” she simply said, cursing herself for not putting on a hoodie, or at least a bra under the thin cami. She crossed her arms in an attempt to feel a little more protected. And dressed.

“Hi.” He kept his voice low, like he didn’t want anyone to hear him. Charlotte could understand that but was uncertain of his real motive for being at her door.

“I did not expect to see you again.” Her voice regained its usual strength when the initial shock slowly left her body.

“I did not plan to come here. But still I did. Can I come in?”

Charlotte took a deep breath. This was not part of the “try to forget it ever happened”plan she had created the first night after she was released and driven home by a silent blond man who not even once glanced at her in the rear mirror to check if she was alright. In that plan the tall, dark and impossible handsome man standing before her was to be erased, not invited inside like he was a treat too irresistible to leave at the door. Against her better judgement she opened the door, nodded and watched him walk past her, so close she could feel his masculine scent. He wore a different cologne than during their last encounter, in that dark and damp room. This was a deeper and muskier scent that triggered her memory and her body reacted with a wave of heat. Briefly she wondered if he remembered how much that type of scent affected her in the past and deliberately chose to wear something similar today. She closed the door behind him and turned to face him with a strange mix of feelings inside her chest: curiosity, attraction, and fear.

Father Quart watched Charlotte as she once again folded her arms over her chest. Her hair was hidden in a towel and he assumed she just came from a bath or shower, and judging by the color on her cheeks, he had probably interrupted her. He could smell her shower lotion, or was it the shampoo? Whatever it was, he found it sensual. It smelled of flowers he did not know the name of, but it mattered less. It suited her, she was like a flower: beautiful and had the ability to make people smile. But he also knew that just like a flower, if she didn’t get the right treatment and attention, she would no longer turn her face towards the warming sun. Once, he was her sun, and she had been the most beautiful flower in the meadow. No, as he looked at her, he wondered what she saw. She had given herself to him willingly, just a week ago, and then looked devastated when he walked away from her. The look on her face had haunted him since then. It did not feel right. He had tried to persuade himself that it was only one small side step. He had asked for forgiveness, alone in his bedroom and then he made amends. But here he was, in her house, and he knew that there was no turning back now, if she still wanted him just like last time they met. He let his eyes follow the curves of her body, her grey sweatpants hugged her hips and then fell loose along her thighs. The white fabric covering her upper body left very little to his imagination. Not that he needed that, he remembered every part of her naked skin, just as well as he remembered how lovely she sounded together with him. He craved those sounds again.

”Why are you here?” He could hear the smallest tremble in her voice and it made him confident that at least she was not unaffected by his presence there. He took a step closer and decided to be completely honest with her.

”Because no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking of you.” The words came out easier than he had expected. ”If you don’t want me here, and I would understand that, especially after the way I left you last time, just say so and I will go away and you will never hear from me again.” He sighed, hesitated just a second and then reached for her cheek and gave it a gentle caress with his thumb. ”I miss you, Lottie.”

She stared at him as if she could not believe her ears. What was he saying? For so long he remained nothing more than a memory, but now he came crashing back into her world with full force. Still, she could not ignore the beating of her heart as her gaze met his and she felt that same world shake under her feet as he reached for her. There was no other man on earth who could make her feel the way he did. Even if it was very likely that he only came to her to take her to the dark side temporarily, it was a temptation she could not resist. She had missed him too. And what he could give her. There had been others after him of course, but their memory had faded after they left her bed. Lorenzo, the man who once showed her who she really was and what she needed, played in a different league and she wanted to play with him, no matter the costs. He was her only true Master and now, as he was finally back, her body acted on its own, just like last time they met. The decision to let him stay was made for her, by her inner disobedient self. She gave him a teasing smile.

”It looks like we both know what we want right now, Lorenzo. I don’t want to waste time on talking, do you? Let’s skip to the good part.”

The dark shift in his eyes was subtle, but she did not miss it. He closed the distance between them and now she could feel the heat from his body. She remembered the rules for they were forever etched in her memory and according to them, she was not allowed to touch him without permission.

“If that is what you want, Lottie.” His voice still held a softness to it but she knew it soon would change into that raspy sternness that used to make her so weak. How she longed to hear him speak to her like that again. She nodded and bit her lower lip as he pulled the soft towel from her hair. Her damp locks fell over her shoulders and she thanked herself for brushing her hair before she wrapped the towel around it. Then her gaze fell on the white clergy collar around his neck. It signaled how wrong her thoughts about him were, but she could not stop her mind from telling her that it made her feel things she had never felt before.

“Can I call you Father?” she whispered, unable to tear her gaze from the collar.

A smile danced in the corner of Father Quart’s mouth but he soon regained control over his face and answered her calmly: “Yes, you may Charlotte.”

A shiver of excitement ran down her spine as she heard him speak her name. He had always used the full version of her name when they played, it was a clear line for both of them and her pet name did not belong in their dark dynamic games.

”Thank you, Father.” Her words felt more loaded than she first imagined and when he lifted his hand to caress her cheek again she lowered her gaze. It was what he expected from her. She was ready.

Father Quart watched her chin drop lower and just by looking at her, he knew what she wanted from him. She looked so peaceful with her head bent down, but he knew better than to be fooled by her appearance. Under the calm surface Charlotte was like a firestorm if not held in place and that was exactly what she needed and demanded from him. But he also knew what he wanted from her in return at this moment: her trust, obedience and unconditional submission.

”You do know you can stop me at any time, remember?” His voice was still smooth like velvet and she trembled with anticipation as he placed his hand on her head, like he was going to give her his blessings.

”I remember,” she answered softly with her gaze fixed on the hidden buttons of his shirt.

”Good.” His voice changed as he spoke. ”Let us see if you remember how to be a good girl too.”

Charlotte’s lips formed a beautiful smile and Father Quart was tempted to kiss her but she used to love the slow and burning feeling built on anticipation and denial of touch. Now, when they had all the time they needed, he wanted to take his time with her. He gently pulled the cami over her head and exposed her skin to him. The sight of her naked upper body made him eager to touch her, but he forced his own urges in control.

”So beautiful,” he muttered as he placed two fingers on her lips. ”Look at me.”

She quickly obeyed him, met his gaze and with another teasing expression on her face she parted her lips. But Father Quart was not oblivious to her tricks. He would not fall into her trap that easily, so instead of letting his fingers slip between her sensual lips, he let his fingertips glide over her chin then down the soft skin of her throat. When he came to her chest he could see impatience glowing in her eyes but she remained silent. Her chest heaved a little with every breath she took and when he continued down her stomach, her skin shivered under his fingertips and a small gasp left her mouth. Satisfaction filled Father Quart. His little firestorm had ignited, and he would take great pleasure in controlling her.

Charlotte curled her toes against the hard wooden floor. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to touch him back, feel the heat from his body against hers palms and play with the soft hair she clearly remembered graced his chest. She wondered if it still was as dark as it used to be or if time had painted it with silver, just as the short hair at his temples. Keeping her hands along her thighs was hard and she squeezed the soft flesh in an attempt to focus on standing still.

Father Quart saw her struggle and slowly walked around her while following the curves of her body with his fingers and pulling a displeased whimper from her as he stopped. With a gentle touch he caressed her arms, from her shoulders to her wrists and suddenly she could not resist feeling him. She took a step back, pressed herself lightly against his body. The punishment fell directly on her skin and the mark on her bum glowed red.

”You have always been impatient, Charlotte. Are you never going to learn this rule?” His voice was stern but she could also hear a small hint of amusement. “Forgive me, Father.” The title Master had always made her tremble, but calling him Father, and knowing that he was a true servant of the church, held a different weight. She bit her lip in a poor attempt to prevent a pleased grin from spreading over her face as he wrapped his long fingers tightly around her wrists. Then he leaned in to her, she could feel his breath against her ear as he spoke: “I think I need to remind you what happens when you don’t obey me. You seem to have forgotten.”

“Take a look in the box, top shelf, in the wardrobe to the right in my bedroom. You might find something useful there,” she said softly, pleased that she still had items hidden in a box, waiting for the right kind of partner to come along.

He grabbed her by the elbow and gave her a small push forward, urging her to show the way to her bedroom. Without effort, Father Quart found her box, took it down and quickly went through the contents. Charlotte stood facing the window, where the curtains covered the view but she knew the street was empty anyway during this hour. The usually pale street lamp just next to her neighbour’s house was probably still broken, it had been for the last couple of weeks. She heard the box close.

“Undress.” His words were harsh. ”Hands on your back.” There he was again, demanding, inexorable and absolutely irresistible. Her old Master was finally showing his true face. She obeyed blindly.

Father Quart squeezed the rope in his hand as he looked at Charlotte. There had never been another woman after their relationship, and when he took the oath it was out of the question. Until a week ago. The memory of her bound hands in that inhospitable room had haunted him since then. This time he could make it right from the beginning. He had known deep inside that it was only a matter of time before he would seek her company again, for he was drawn to her like a moth is drawn to the lanterns at night. His gaze fell on the rope. Almost the same color as her beautiful skin. She was going to look stunning when he was done.

Charlotte closed her eyes as he gently tightened the first knot. She knew that he always worked thoroughly and methodically when crafting the pattern of his choice and she loved the restrained feeling it gave her. The rope scraped against her skin as he worked in silence and when he finally secured the ends, she opened her eyes again. Even if she could not see what he had created, she didn’t doubt that he still had the skills.

Father Quart stood back and inspected his work. In the past he had always taken pride in learning and practicing until the result could only be described as perfection. He was pleased to see that he still remembered how to create something to his old standard. The rough rope was a beautiful contrast to Charlotte’s smooth skin and with his fingertips he trailed the pattern. She looked divine like this and he could admire her forever but he also wanted more from her. From both of them. He slowly paced around her, and when he faced her again, he saw the result of his work gleaming in her eyes. Without a word he pulled her closer and with hunger in his touch, he kissed her.

Heat welled up in Charlotte’s body as his tongue met hers in a kiss more eager than she had expected. He ran his hands through her damp hair, grabbed it by the end and bent her head back. The move made her moan longingly and just before she thought she was going to faint, Father Quart broke the kiss. He abandoned her lips, but not before giving her lower lip a playful bite, and let his mouth and tongue explore her neck. She smelled of her flowery shower gel and he buried his nose in the curve of her neck. The things her scent did to him. Father Quart smiled against her skin as he kept kissing her skin. All of her scents. He could barely control himself when he thought of her other scent, the sensual sweetness that he intended to feel and taste later. Her shoulders were pulled back by the rope and it made her chest stretched and her breast fully exposed. Like beautiful hills in his own private garden of Eden they waited for his touch and when he teasingly ran his fingers over them he could feel Charlotte shiver and a quiet moan fell from her lips together with a soft plea for more. The hardness in his trousers was almost unbearable when he rolled one of her nipples between his fingers, pulling a deeper moan from her. Her aroused skin tightened even more as he scraped his teeth over the most sensitive parts of her upper body.

”Kneel.” He sounded more stern than he had to but the throbbing feeling in his shaft demanded her attention. Without hesitation she fell to her knees, looking at the large bulge in his pants and with a sweet smile and an innocent bat with her eyelashes, she licked her lips. He groaned. She knew exactly what she did to him, looking like that. Playing the role of pure innocence when he knew what demon she hid inside. The combination was intoxicating and he pulled the belt from his trousers and it fell to the floor and landed on Charlotte’s soft fluffy bedroom carpet. The seams in his trousers were ready to burst from the stretch and when he freed himself, she gasped. Without permission to move, she leaned forward and offered her mouth for his enjoyment. Father Quart swallowed hard. He would let this minor mistake slip, since she looked so eager, and when her wet lips met the softness of his tip, another groan erupted from his chest.

Charlotte could taste the drops of arousal leaking from him and she welcomed him between her lips. His long fingers stroked through her hair and gripped harshly when she moved her tongue in just the right way. Father Quart’s throaty voice dripped with need as she took him deeper and his praise set everything inside her on fire once again. Without her hands for support, she was left to take the whole of him, balancing on her knees. When he placed his large hand on her head and rocked his hips against her, she greedily accepted his treatment. The ropes cut pleasantly into her skin with every thrust and she was amazed that he still, after all those years she assumed he had stayed away from his craft, managed to tie her exactly as tightly as she wanted him to. How could he still remember? She looked up at him. He was still in his shirt and the white collar seemed to glare down at her, like a judging look from his precious church. Suddenly he withdrew with a low roar and she knew by the look in his eyes how close he had been to losing control over himself. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. The smile she gave him could not hide her amusement but she was willing to take the risk of punishment for teasing him.

”You little devil,” he said sharply, ”You know I have methods to wipe away that cocky smile of yours.”

Charlotte nodded, deliberately avoiding his gaze and answering him in the way he expected from her. She wanted to play with fire, after all, that was the reason he was here. He instantly caught her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. ”What?” The word sounded more like a threat than a question.

”Yes, Father. I know.” Her heart missed a few beats as she drowned in the depth of his dark gaze.

“It’s been a long time, but don’t think for a second that I have forgotten how to discipline you. What you felt last week was nothing and you know it, don’t you?” He swiftly caressed her cheek, then caught her chin again.

“Yes, Father.” Charlotte’s answer came faster this time and Father Quart felt a stream of pleasure traveling down his body and settling in his core, together with the throbbing feeling in his shaft. He never thought that her use of his title would do something for him. A lot of people called him Father or Padre on a daily basis but hearing her saying the word, her voice trembling and filled with longing and expectations, was something he never could have imagined. He needed her so much it was painful, but he blamed his own abstinence from carnal lusts for making him weak and letting her get away with her tricks twice. But not a third time, he said to himself and slowly moved his hand from her chin down to her delicate neck. His long fingers clasped around her and he could feel her racing pulse against his fingertips. He stepped closer and increased the pressure, but she didn’t back away as he had expected. Not until he forced her to move did she stumble backwards until the bed hindered her. She gave him a questioning look and he patiently instructed her in a less stern voice, but it was filled with that special authority she wouldn’t dream of disobeying. ”Sit on your knees, Charlotte, on the edge of the bed.”

With a little help from him and his reassuring hand on her upper arm she managed to climb up on her high continental bed without the support of her own hands. Charlotte sat back on her heels and waited. Father Quart took a few steps back and started to unbutton his shirt, starting at the bottom. When he reached his clergy collar, he carefully removed it and put it on the large dresser. Then he pulled off his shirt and Charlotte sighed longingly. He was a feast for the eye. Her gaze roamed over his wide chest where his hair indeed was as alluring as before. Rich and dark, just as she remembered, but now with the visual evidence of lost time painted on some of the dark hairs. He was still utterly handsome when fully naked and the alluring smile he gave her when he caught her staring at him made her weak.

He closed the distance between them, pulled her up so she stood on her knees and then his soft lips met hers again. With passion singing in her veins she could feel him explore her skin, the roundness of her breast and the soft skin on her ribs and stomach. But soon he traveled lower along the side of her body, squeezed her waist and caressed her thighs. Her skin burned under his touch and when he reached her inner thigh she moved her knees further apart.

”Good girl,” he rasped and his words made her moan. She couldn’t help herself, his praise had always had such a strong effect on her and now when they once more had set the scene for a passion-filled night, she wanted to please him, to pleasure him and to receive his praise. She knew that in return he would give her everything she desired. His long fingers reached the apex between her thighs and she moaned sinfully. But he was not fully pleased with her position. ”Wider.” The word was only a dark, low murmur but it made Charlotte gasp. She submitted to his will and with a needy look in her eyes, she spread her legs even more. The reward came in the form of a low approving hum. Father Quart drew teasing circles on her skin, close but not close enough and the heavenly torture made Charlotte whimper. With a disapproving expression on his face he shook his head and moved his fingers a little closer. This was a game he enjoyed very much, especially when he had restrained her. Left to his mercy, all Charlotte could do was to beg for more. The words fell desperately from her lips and when he finally let his hand glide over her folds, she could feel how her slickness coated his fingers.

Father Quart realized how much he needed to hear more of her lovely noises and therefore he took pity on her and gave her what she wanted. With one hand over her throat he let the fingers on his other hand explore the part of the woman's body that his old mentor used to refer to as the devil's nest. She was hot for sure and she used to be his little devil, but there was nothing evil about her. Father Quart watched Charlotte getting closer and he intensified his efforts and could feel how she pressed her body against his hand. He loved turning her into this needy mess and briefly wondered how he could have honored his vow of celibacy for so long. But the thought was gone the same second as Charlotte clenched around his fingers and came with his name falling from her sensual lips. His real name. It sounded wonderful.

Charlotte panted and was tempted to rest her head against his chest, but instead she chose to sit back on her heels. She watched the man she once called her love put his glistering fingers in his mouth and taste the traces of her. He always did that, she knew very well why and what effect it had on him. She smiled as he closed his eyes. Such a small gesture and still so erotic, he liked to taste her. A deep and pleased sigh was heard in the otherwise silent room. When he opened his eyes again, she saw the same fire that had burned in his eyes so many times before, when they were together. Still she was not prepared for his quick movement. He collected all her pillows and threw them in the middle of the bed. Without a word he grabbed her, turned her around and pushed her down over the pile and tucked the pillows in under her so that all of her lower body was exposed to him. Instinctively she parted her legs for him. He pushed one of her legs even further to the side and she could feel the rope digging into her skin as her face was forced down into the mattress. The bed shifted under his weight when he positioned himself behind her. Then his warm hand caressed her cheeks, tender but almost absent. He trusted her to remember the safe word if she needed to.

”Did you think I would let you get away with everything tonight? You didn’t ask for permission to come like that.” His voice was harsh when he spoke and without a warning his hand stung against her flesh. She cried out in surprise more than pain. Another stroke fell and as the bite on the skin was harder than the first, Charlotte closed her eyes and moaned into the mattress. With a mix of rough punishment and tender caresses he made her skin warm and blushing. The combination lifted her arousal to another level and when he stopped, she was dripping with need. She loved his punishment, he had always known her limits and never went too far. Tonight was no exception.

Her moans always betrayed her feelings and it made Father Quart grin, but she could not see it. He let his hands soothe her skin but the way she arched her back was a clear signal of her expectations. Instead of continuously calming her skin he gave his length a gentle stroke and leaned closer to her. When he placed the tip of his member against her, he could feel her tense and she stopped breathing. With a firm hand on her lower back he met her heat with a low groan. He could feel her body’s struggle to adjust to him but he gave her no time to adjust and thrusted deeply. The desperate sound coming from Charlotte made him slam his hips against her. Her tightness felt heavenly around him and he quickly found the pace he knew would bring them both closer to relief. The way her breathing changed during his efforts told him everything he needed to know and when he placed his hands on either side of her, he reached a different angle. Her breathing soon became ragged and if it wasn’t for his own climax building rapidly inside him, he would have pulled out and started over, just to hear her desperation. But he let his own desire run freely and when her breathing temporarily stopped, he knew he had her. With a few more thrust she fell apart under him and the intensity of her orgasm pulled him down the slope of passion. He rocked his hips against her as he emptied all he had to give and Charlotte trembled as the second wave of heat washed over her and intensified her orgasm. Then they both went still and quiet, only their mutual panting was heard. Father Quart leaned down over Charlotte's bound arms and kissed the back of her head. Her hair was not as damp as before but instead a wild cascade of hair rested around her head.

He sat back and squeezed her hands. Then he started to untie his meticulous knots. After he removed the last part of the long and thin rope from her body, he tossed it on the floor. Then he collapsed beside her, pulled away the pile of pillows and rolled Charlotte over to her side, facing him. He took her wrists in his hands and carefully started to massage them. They bore the memories of his work, clear marks from the rope could be seen on both her wrists and arms. Tenderly he lifted them to his lips and kissed first the back of her hand and then down her wrists.

”How does it feel?” The softness in his voice made Charlotte’s heart skip a beat. She looked into the eyes of the man that once used to be her whole world. What was he thinking? ”It feels good, thank you.” His hands kneaded life back into her stiff arms and when she closed her eyes he leaned forward to press a kiss on her forehead. ”Are you tired? It’s very late. You should go to sleep.” His voice was filled with concern and Charlotte nodded sleepily. She felt exhausted. Somehow Father Quart managed to get the duvet over them both and Charlotte found herself being wrapped up with his arms around her. He was so warm and she snuggled against him, feeling sleep claiming her body and mind. With the last of her energy she hugged him. ”Will you get in trouble if you stay the night?”

”Lottie,” he murmured against her hair as he held her tight to his chest, ”I am already in trouble.”

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Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @middleearthpixie @fizzyxcustard @kibleedibleedoo @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @enchantzz @mariannetora @s0ftd3m0n @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @xxbyimm

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[linasofia]

🙏❤️ Thank you!!!

Coming Home

Fandom: The Man from Rome

Relationship: Father Lorenzo Quart x Female reader

Summary: After a long time apart, you return home and are reunited with the man who has stolen your heart.

Words: 2,5 K

Warnings: 18+ Please don’t read this if the thought of a priest breaking his vow of celibacy might offend you.

A/N: This is a sequel to my previous fics about FQ, but it can also be read as a standalone. You can find all my FQ fics in my masterlist.

Sometimes a month can pass in the blink of an eye, but when you are separated from someone your heart belongs to, a month can feel like it has no ending. And the last part of a journey is always the hardest, so close, but still not in the arms of your beloved.

As the plane glides through the thin clouds, I grip the seat’s handle impatiently. The captain has announced that we are landing shortly, but this feels like the longest flight known to humankind. I try not to look at my watch again and instead I visualize what awaits at the end of my trip and who I will meet very soon; Lorenzo. Just thinking of him makes my heart flutter and when I close my eyes, I can clearly see him before me. His tall and muscular frame, his dark hair, painted with a shimmer of silver at his temples, and his beautiful azure eyes. His prominent nose which he buries in my hair before he falls asleep. And his alluring lips that complement his expressive eyes in every shift of his mood. Lips I long to kiss and be kissed by. Everything about him feels like a blessing, and I shiver with delight when I allow myself to dream of his embrace. The way he smells when he holds me close, how his hands usually find their way under my clothes to caress my skin, and the closeness he always seems to yearn for, exposed during the early mornings when he sleeps close to me, often with an arm draped around me, as if he is afraid I will disappear into the dark shadows of the night.

When I am finally back in the familiar quarters in the city center my heart beats hard like a drum. Lorenzo texted me close to boarding and asked me to join him at home as soon as I was back in town. I have no intention of delaying our meeting so that is why I now hurriedly walk down the stairs with my phone in a tight grip. First I hear only signals but right before the call goes to voicemail, he suddenly answers, sounding a little out of breath. My name always sounds like an endearment when spoken by him and today is no exception. He demands my exact location and his eagerness warms me more than the sun, which has begun its evening journey and soon will disappear behind the old roofs.

”I see you!” His voice is filled with so much joy that my heart takes a leap in my chest and is ready to burst. I smile at his warm greeting, lift my gaze to his balcony and the sight almost has me tumbling down the stairs. On the slim balcony stands Lorenzo, in what I can only assume is his trousers, but with his upper body gloriously naked. Even from a distance I can see his gorgeous well-built shape and I cannot help wondering how many of the tourists and admirers of the stairs and the beautiful fountain will spot him in the sunlight. They would probably be shocked if they knew that the handsome half-naked man is the same man who has the authority to absolve them from their sins.

”I can see you, too. The whole piazza can!”

”They are not here for me sweetheart, besides, I do not care.”

I giggle while I cross the piazza and open the heavy door to the building where he lives. The usual scent of freshly baked bread hangs in the air, and I rush up the stairs to avoid the old lady on the first floor. Lorenzo has told me that she is kind and warm-hearted, but a bit nosy, and I do not want to run into her and be forced to come up with an excuse for my presence in the building.

A discreet click from the lock is heard as soon as I put my feet on the top floor and, if possible, it makes my heart beat even faster. He seems to be just as impatient as me and it feels overwhelmingly good. I quickly glance around and then open the door. Before I even get a chance to put my things down, I am being pulled into a kiss. With both hands, he cups my face and I let the bag slide off my shoulder so I can wrap my arms around him. His skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat and his hair is damp. The muscles on his arms and torso are tense, and when I let my hands travel over his back, I feel his strength under my fingertips. He breaks the kiss when my hands land on his well-sculpted buttocks, hiding under his black sweatpants. Then he releases me from his tight embrace with an apologetic look in his eyes.

”I am sorry, I was not expecting you so soon. I was just done with my workout and thought I had time to shower.”

”I do not mind your sweat. But I have been on a plane for over six hours and I would love to take a shower. Preferably with you.” I blink at him and a grin spreads on his face before he pulls me close again.

”Or I can make love to you right here in the hallway, quick and dirty.” His voice drops to a murmur when he grabs me and lifts me up. ”Do you really expect me to wait until you are pure and clean?”

”Says the man who spent most of his adult life in celibacy,” I tease him but when something dark shifts in his eyes, I bite my lower lip. I know that look on his face and I gasp as his fingers dig into my flesh.

”I must make up for lost time,” he murmurs huskily and carries me into his large bathroom.

Lorenzo’s newly renovated bathroom is a raw industrial dream with small elements from nature softening the hard concrete design. It never stops to amaze me how interested he is in technology and interior design. I have lost count on how many times my assumptions about him have been wrong. Lorenzo is not like any other priests I have met. Or maybe it is just the fact that I get to see the remarkable person behind the clergy collar. And sleep with him.

My feet land on the thick, luxurious white bathroom carpet and without even blinking he roughly pulls my sweater over my head. His swift fingers release me from my bra and then he eagerly moves his attention to my trousers. When they join my other clothes on the floor he watches my naked body with growing hunger. But instead of pulling me close again, he opens the shower doors and turns on the water. It streams down and soon the heat from the water creates mist on the clear glass.

I nod at his sweatpants and with a smirk he puts his thumbs under the waistband and pulls them down. His boxers follow and when Lorenzo straightens his back, a very promising erection stares back at me. I give him a smile but do not move. He steps into the shower and holds out a hand for me to take, and when I do, he pulls me inside and wraps his arms around my waist. The water instantly drowns my hair and when I let my head fall back to get it out of my face, he takes advantage of my neck. With a low groan he starts to assault my skin in the most delightful way. Tender kisses, nibbling at my skin and the feeling of his raspy stubble against my neck tease my already aching body and with an encouraging moan I urge him to keep exploring my skin.

The smell of my favorite shower gel fills the shower and I briefly think of the first time he bought it for me. A small gesture, but it represented a big step in our relationship. He wanted to have something that belonged to me, in his home, and the small token of commitment almost made me cry back then.

”Turn around,” His voice is lower now and without the slightest hesitation I do as he wants. He rubs his hands together and creates a soft foam and then gently starts washing my upper body. His large hands work their way over my shoulders and down my back in small circles. I let out a pleased sigh as he reaches my lower back and starts giving my tired muscles a massage. Grateful for his treatment I place my hands on the tiles and arch my back. He groans when my bum brushes against his hardness and his pressure on my lower back increases, forcing me to arch under his touch even more. I moan as he moves his hands even lower, but suddenly he reaches for the shower gel again and pours what seems like a lot of it right over the roundness of my buttocks. It feels cold against my warm skin, but Lorenzo soon works his magic and lets his hands glide over my body, spreading the freshly smelling foam everywhere he can reach; kneading the softness of my hips and thighs, caressing my stomach and fondling my breasts. Every time I try to reach for him, he stops and reprimands me in that husky voice that never fails to arouse me beyond the line of sanity, and his next words only fuel my desire to touch him. ”Hands on the wall.”

Lorenzo sneaks one arm around me and pulls me against his firm chest so he can hold me upright. The water is pouring down like a waterfall from the showerhead in the ceiling, washing all the foam away and leaving only the lovely scent of lilac on my skin. His other hand finds its way to my breasts and when he lovingly cups them, one by one, as if they were treasures to worship, I let out a pleased sigh. But I need more and as if he can read my mind, he soon abandons the small, hard peaks he woke with his thumb and index finger. Agonizingly slowly, he lets his hand travel down my belly, and then moves to concentrate on circling the area which is my body’s epicentrum. I moan his name, a needy sound that makes him groan against my skin.

“Have you missed me that much?”

I want to reply with something cocky, but when he gently sinks his teeth into my shoulder, my words turn into a whimper. He knows so well that his harsh move never fails to get me dizzy with lust, and I grip his arm for support, leaning heavier against his body. Lorenzo is just as skilled with his long fingers as he is with his mouth, and when my core tightens to prepare me for the stream of pleasure that will soon flood my body, he stimulates all my senses at once.

”That’s my good girl. Let me hear what I do to you.” The dark melody of his voice is like music to my ears, and it sets every fiber in my longing body on fire. ”I feel how close you are, come for me.”

With only the tip of his fingers he pushes me down into the pond of seduction and I fall helplessly apart by his hand. The way he purrs my name with his lips pressed to my ear is overwhelmingly erotic and I lose myself in the sensation.

Before I get a chance to catch my breath, Lorenzo spins me around. He seizes my knee, lifts it up and a little to the side, giving him enough space to step close to me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tremble as I feel his smooth shaft press against my heat. With an alluring dark smile he uses his other hand to adjust himself and then, with a single hard thrust, he enters me.

I have waited what feels like ages, even if I know I have only been gone a month, to be intimate with him again. With all of his massive length buried deep inside me, I gasp and briefly close my eyes. The blessing that is the man’s girth never seems to stop taking my body by surprise and stretched over his shaft, I let out a throaty moan. Lorenzo presses himself against me, fully aware of how much it triggers my lust. I could never have imagined that a man who has spent so many years without the satisfaction of another body could be such a fantastic lover. He has a unique ability to read my body and he enjoys playing with all my senses in a way I never thought possible. The way he speaks, moans, and grunts fuels every part of my receptive body, and together with the rhythmic moves of his hips and sensual touches, he sets even my soul on fire.

The water pours down over us and the mist visually softens his hard shape. His hair is wet but his eyes are burning with desire when I meet his gaze. I can feel his hand gripping my leg tighter and I let him find the pace we both know will lead us towards our releases. Time ceases to exist and all our troubles are being washed away by the blinding heat building rapidly between our bodies. It is just him and me, lost in the endless sea of pure pleasure. I can feel he is holding back, waiting for me to reach the point where he can push me down the slope of satisfaction. When I finally do, he catches me and holds me while my body shivers uncontrollably and my climax starts to tear me apart. I feel him reaching his peak together with me, and with a sinfuI cry, I shatter around him as he gives me everything he has.

We pant as one when our bodies finally relax against each other, but there are no words to explain the intense moment between us. Lorenzo places both of his hands on the wall behind me and leans in to rest his forehead against mine. My heart swells when my gaze meets his. His voice is nothing more than an affectionate whisper when he eventually speaks.

”I am so glad you are back again. This month was as long as an eternity.”

I nod and wrap my arms around his waist. It was a struggle. But now everything is as it should be. Almost.

Did you like it? Please like, comment or/and reblog! ❤️

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knitastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[linasofia]

@fulltimecrazy 💙💙💙 Thanks for your support!!!

Coming Home

Fandom: The Man from Rome

Relationship: Father Lorenzo Quart x Female reader

Summary: After a long time apart, you return home and are reunited with the man who has stolen your heart.

Words: 2,5 K

Warnings: 18+ Please don’t read this if the thought of a priest breaking his vow of celibacy might offend you.

A/N: This is a sequel to my previous fics about FQ, but it can also be read as a standalone. You can find all my FQ fics in my masterlist.

Sometimes a month can pass in the blink of an eye, but when you are separated from someone your heart belongs to, a month can feel like it has no ending. And the last part of a journey is always the hardest, so close, but still not in the arms of your beloved.

As the plane glides through the thin clouds, I grip the seat’s handle impatiently. The captain has announced that we are landing shortly, but this feels like the longest flight known to humankind. I try not to look at my watch again and instead I visualize what awaits at the end of my trip and who I will meet very soon; Lorenzo. Just thinking of him makes my heart flutter and when I close my eyes, I can clearly see him before me. His tall and muscular frame, his dark hair, painted with a shimmer of silver at his temples, and his beautiful azure eyes. His prominent nose which he buries in my hair before he falls asleep. And his alluring lips that complement his expressive eyes in every shift of his mood. Lips I long to kiss and be kissed by. Everything about him feels like a blessing, and I shiver with delight when I allow myself to dream of his embrace. The way he smells when he holds me close, how his hands usually find their way under my clothes to caress my skin, and the closeness he always seems to yearn for, exposed during the early mornings when he sleeps close to me, often with an arm draped around me, as if he is afraid I will disappear into the dark shadows of the night.

When I am finally back in the familiar quarters in the city center my heart beats hard like a drum. Lorenzo texted me close to boarding and asked me to join him at home as soon as I was back in town. I have no intention of delaying our meeting so that is why I now hurriedly walk down the stairs with my phone in a tight grip. First I hear only signals but right before the call goes to voicemail, he suddenly answers, sounding a little out of breath. My name always sounds like an endearment when spoken by him and today is no exception. He demands my exact location and his eagerness warms me more than the sun, which has begun its evening journey and soon will disappear behind the old roofs.

”I see you!” His voice is filled with so much joy that my heart takes a leap in my chest and is ready to burst. I smile at his warm greeting, lift my gaze to his balcony and the sight almost has me tumbling down the stairs. On the slim balcony stands Lorenzo, in what I can only assume is his trousers, but with his upper body gloriously naked. Even from a distance I can see his gorgeous well-built shape and I cannot help wondering how many of the tourists and admirers of the stairs and the beautiful fountain will spot him in the sunlight. They would probably be shocked if they knew that the handsome half-naked man is the same man who has the authority to absolve them from their sins.

”I can see you, too. The whole piazza can!”

”They are not here for me sweetheart, besides, I do not care.”

I giggle while I cross the piazza and open the heavy door to the building where he lives. The usual scent of freshly baked bread hangs in the air, and I rush up the stairs to avoid the old lady on the first floor. Lorenzo has told me that she is kind and warm-hearted, but a bit nosy, and I do not want to run into her and be forced to come up with an excuse for my presence in the building.

A discreet click from the lock is heard as soon as I put my feet on the top floor and, if possible, it makes my heart beat even faster. He seems to be just as impatient as me and it feels overwhelmingly good. I quickly glance around and then open the door. Before I even get a chance to put my things down, I am being pulled into a kiss. With both hands, he cups my face and I let the bag slide off my shoulder so I can wrap my arms around him. His skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat and his hair is damp. The muscles on his arms and torso are tense, and when I let my hands travel over his back, I feel his strength under my fingertips. He breaks the kiss when my hands land on his well-sculpted buttocks, hiding under his black sweatpants. Then he releases me from his tight embrace with an apologetic look in his eyes.

”I am sorry, I was not expecting you so soon. I was just done with my workout and thought I had time to shower.”

”I do not mind your sweat. But I have been on a plane for over six hours and I would love to take a shower. Preferably with you.” I blink at him and a grin spreads on his face before he pulls me close again.

”Or I can make love to you right here in the hallway, quick and dirty.” His voice drops to a murmur when he grabs me and lifts me up. ”Do you really expect me to wait until you are pure and clean?”

”Says the man who spent most of his adult life in celibacy,” I tease him but when something dark shifts in his eyes, I bite my lower lip. I know that look on his face and I gasp as his fingers dig into my flesh.

”I must make up for lost time,” he murmurs huskily and carries me into his large bathroom.

Lorenzo’s newly renovated bathroom is a raw industrial dream with small elements from nature softening the hard concrete design. It never stops to amaze me how interested he is in technology and interior design. I have lost count on how many times my assumptions about him have been wrong. Lorenzo is not like any other priests I have met. Or maybe it is just the fact that I get to see the remarkable person behind the clergy collar. And sleep with him.

My feet land on the thick, luxurious white bathroom carpet and without even blinking he roughly pulls my sweater over my head. His swift fingers release me from my bra and then he eagerly moves his attention to my trousers. When they join my other clothes on the floor he watches my naked body with growing hunger. But instead of pulling me close again, he opens the shower doors and turns on the water. It streams down and soon the heat from the water creates mist on the clear glass.

I nod at his sweatpants and with a smirk he puts his thumbs under the waistband and pulls them down. His boxers follow and when Lorenzo straightens his back, a very promising erection stares back at me. I give him a smile but do not move. He steps into the shower and holds out a hand for me to take, and when I do, he pulls me inside and wraps his arms around my waist. The water instantly drowns my hair and when I let my head fall back to get it out of my face, he takes advantage of my neck. With a low groan he starts to assault my skin in the most delightful way. Tender kisses, nibbling at my skin and the feeling of his raspy stubble against my neck tease my already aching body and with an encouraging moan I urge him to keep exploring my skin.

The smell of my favorite shower gel fills the shower and I briefly think of the first time he bought it for me. A small gesture, but it represented a big step in our relationship. He wanted to have something that belonged to me, in his home, and the small token of commitment almost made me cry back then.

”Turn around,” His voice is lower now and without the slightest hesitation I do as he wants. He rubs his hands together and creates a soft foam and then gently starts washing my upper body. His large hands work their way over my shoulders and down my back in small circles. I let out a pleased sigh as he reaches my lower back and starts giving my tired muscles a massage. Grateful for his treatment I place my hands on the tiles and arch my back. He groans when my bum brushes against his hardness and his pressure on my lower back increases, forcing me to arch under his touch even more. I moan as he moves his hands even lower, but suddenly he reaches for the shower gel again and pours what seems like a lot of it right over the roundness of my buttocks. It feels cold against my warm skin, but Lorenzo soon works his magic and lets his hands glide over my body, spreading the freshly smelling foam everywhere he can reach; kneading the softness of my hips and thighs, caressing my stomach and fondling my breasts. Every time I try to reach for him, he stops and reprimands me in that husky voice that never fails to arouse me beyond the line of sanity, and his next words only fuel my desire to touch him. ”Hands on the wall.”

Lorenzo sneaks one arm around me and pulls me against his firm chest so he can hold me upright. The water is pouring down like a waterfall from the showerhead in the ceiling, washing all the foam away and leaving only the lovely scent of lilac on my skin. His other hand finds its way to my breasts and when he lovingly cups them, one by one, as if they were treasures to worship, I let out a pleased sigh. But I need more and as if he can read my mind, he soon abandons the small, hard peaks he woke with his thumb and index finger. Agonizingly slowly, he lets his hand travel down my belly, and then moves to concentrate on circling the area which is my body’s epicentrum. I moan his name, a needy sound that makes him groan against my skin.

“Have you missed me that much?”

I want to reply with something cocky, but when he gently sinks his teeth into my shoulder, my words turn into a whimper. He knows so well that his harsh move never fails to get me dizzy with lust, and I grip his arm for support, leaning heavier against his body. Lorenzo is just as skilled with his long fingers as he is with his mouth, and when my core tightens to prepare me for the stream of pleasure that will soon flood my body, he stimulates all my senses at once.

”That’s my good girl. Let me hear what I do to you.” The dark melody of his voice is like music to my ears, and it sets every fiber in my longing body on fire. ”I feel how close you are, come for me.”

With only the tip of his fingers he pushes me down into the pond of seduction and I fall helplessly apart by his hand. The way he purrs my name with his lips pressed to my ear is overwhelmingly erotic and I lose myself in the sensation.

Before I get a chance to catch my breath, Lorenzo spins me around. He seizes my knee, lifts it up and a little to the side, giving him enough space to step close to me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tremble as I feel his smooth shaft press against my heat. With an alluring dark smile he uses his other hand to adjust himself and then, with a single hard thrust, he enters me.

I have waited what feels like ages, even if I know I have only been gone a month, to be intimate with him again. With all of his massive length buried deep inside me, I gasp and briefly close my eyes. The blessing that is the man’s girth never seems to stop taking my body by surprise and stretched over his shaft, I let out a throaty moan. Lorenzo presses himself against me, fully aware of how much it triggers my lust. I could never have imagined that a man who has spent so many years without the satisfaction of another body could be such a fantastic lover. He has a unique ability to read my body and he enjoys playing with all my senses in a way I never thought possible. The way he speaks, moans, and grunts fuels every part of my receptive body, and together with the rhythmic moves of his hips and sensual touches, he sets even my soul on fire.

The water pours down over us and the mist visually softens his hard shape. His hair is wet but his eyes are burning with desire when I meet his gaze. I can feel his hand gripping my leg tighter and I let him find the pace we both know will lead us towards our releases. Time ceases to exist and all our troubles are being washed away by the blinding heat building rapidly between our bodies. It is just him and me, lost in the endless sea of pure pleasure. I can feel he is holding back, waiting for me to reach the point where he can push me down the slope of satisfaction. When I finally do, he catches me and holds me while my body shivers uncontrollably and my climax starts to tear me apart. I feel him reaching his peak together with me, and with a sinfuI cry, I shatter around him as he gives me everything he has.

We pant as one when our bodies finally relax against each other, but there are no words to explain the intense moment between us. Lorenzo places both of his hands on the wall behind me and leans in to rest his forehead against mine. My heart swells when my gaze meets his. His voice is nothing more than an affectionate whisper when he eventually speaks.

”I am so glad you are back again. This month was as long as an eternity.”

I nod and wrap my arms around his waist. It was a struggle. But now everything is as it should be. Almost.

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