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Even on the good days, the weight of the papacy is not an easy one to bear. On worse days, Thomas sometimes finds himself wishing that he had rebelled against the design of the Divine Will and refused his election as Supreme Pontiff.
Those days, he spends evening prayer asking for forgiveness and guidance. Sometimes, that is enough to soothe his disquieted spirit, and with his trust that God will sustain him as he shoulders the burden of his office restored, he will go calmly to dinner, then to bed. Other days, however, he will finish his hour of prayer still plagued by a restless and bitter frustration that reignites the long-held hunger simmering beneath his skin, and on those evenings, he goes to Aldo.
Time was that Aldo would have brightened whenever Thomas dropped by his apartment at the end of a long day, ready with a friendly touch and a warm, open smile. But now, whenever he opens the door to see Thomas standing there, his eyes almost seem to dim, his smile wavering with the same bleak tinge of regret Thomas recalls seeing the day he’d stood in front of Thomas and the rest of the College of Cardinals and asked by what name Thomas wished to be called. Of course, by that time, it was far too late for regrets—the Holy Spirit had made clear God’s choice. Perhaps if Aldo had tried a little harder, or had a little more courage, it could have been different. But, as the reality was that he did not, they must all deal with the consequences.
As it is, however, though the Lord may test His most faithful servants, He is also sure to richly reward them. After Thomas’ acceptance, Aldo had come to see him as he was dressed in the Room of Tears and sworn to stay by his side and support him for however long and in whatever way he wished. Gazing into those steady brown eyes, still so beloved even after the reveal of their myriad imperfections, Thomas was struck by the certainty that in return for his sacrifice, God has allowed him permission to cease denying himself that which he has so long desired.
Tonight, Aldo makes them dinner, a simple, light meal of pasta with basil and fresh tomatoes. They’ve ordered takeaway a few times before, on nights when Aldo’s been especially tired, but as Thomas likes Aldo’s cooking, not to mention watching Aldo cook, he usually insists that Aldo make the effort.
The comfort of a home-cooked meal and Aldo’s company is always cherished, and dinner passes pleasantly with good food and good conversation. By the time they have cleared their plates, Thomas is already feeling much lighter, the day’s fatigue melting away under the growing heat of his excitement as they draw closer to the main event.
He pulls out the blister pack of pills from his pocket as Aldo pours two glasses of wine, and slides it towards him across the table. In the midst of telling Thomas about his plans for the next day, Aldo abruptly stops, his sharp tongue falling silent as he catches sight of the little rectangle of plastic.
Thomas doesn’t say anything either. He doesn’t need to. As usual, Aldo’s moment of hesitation passes, and he reaches for it without further prompting. There’s a slight tremor in Aldo’s hand as he picks it up, and he nearly drops the pack twice as he fumbles to open it. Finally managing to pop two tablets out into his palm, he passes the pack back to Thomas before jerkily tossing the pills back and washing them down with a generous swallow of wine.
Thomas smiles at him then, gentle and encouraging as he pockets the remaining tablets and pulls out a little pill bottle of his own. After he’s taken them, they sit and finish their drinks in silence, any conversation made difficult by Aldo’s stilted manner and Thomas’ wandering mind, already dwelling on the night ahead.
When their glasses are both empty, Aldo takes them to the sink before heading into his bedroom, while Thomas sits back and waits.
The system they have now is practiced, smooth, but it didn’t use to be that way. The first time Thomas had come to Aldo for this, Aldo had made quite the fuss. It took Thomas reminding Aldo of the Conclave and his promises before he stopped trying to struggle against Thomas’ attempts to gently press him down against the living room couch. And even though Thomas had done his best to go slowly and take Aldo with care, he could tell from Aldo’s shockingly emotional display of tears that the experience had still been unduly overwhelming for him.
In retrospect, Thomas shouldn’t have been surprised. It was only natural that a man like Aldo, who, despite all rumors to the contrary, Thomas knows to have faithfully safeguarded his chastity through all these years, would need time to adjust. So, instead of feeling hurt when Aldo barely met his eyes for days and started shying away from his touch, he had come up with a solution to make it easier for Aldo to acclimatize—and the next time he felt urged to satisfy the desires of the flesh, he brought the sleeping pills. It's not the most ideal—Thomas is sorry to forsake seeing the reactions in Aldo’s beautifully expressive eyes—but it’s a civilized compromise that fulfills Thomas’ needs and lessens Aldo’s mental strain, and Aldo had known better than to refuse the favor Thomas was granting him.
Both his and Aldo’s pills take a little time to take effect, so Thomas occupies himself with perusing Aldo’s bookshelves while he waits. When half an hour has passed and he can feel the beginnings of a reaction when he palms himself through his clothes, he heads into Aldo’s bedroom.
Under the dim light of the room’s single lamp, Thomas can just make out the shape of Aldo’s slim frame on top of the bed. Covered by a thin linen bedsheet, he is a figure out of a drapery study, the soft folds of fabric clinging to the lines of his body as he lies as still and quiet as the dead. As Thomas approaches, he imagines himself a prince from an age-old fairy tale, a wandering hero chancing upon a cursed beauty waiting for the touch of a noble passerby to break their enchanted sleep. The burst of arousal makes his hands clumsy as he undoes the buttons of his cassock, but with steady patience, he is soon undressed. Leaving his clothes in a neat, folded stack on the armchair across from the bed, he reverently pulls away the bedsheet, revealing Aldo’s naked body beneath it.
Drugged as Aldo is, he doesn’t so much as stir even as Thomas climbs onto the bed and settles down beside him, reaching out to trace the delicate protrusions of his spine and press against the side of his rib cage to feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest. There’s never any need to rush—with the dosage Aldo is under, he won’t begin to wake until well past sunrise—so Thomas likes to take his time, letting his anticipation grow as he runs his hands down soft, wrinkled flesh.
Thomas has long thought Aldo beautiful, and though age has since made its mark on them both, Aldo wears it particularly well. He is just so very vulnerable like this, unable to raise any defense against Thomas’ touch, and Thomas takes a special delight in how easy it is to bruise his fragile skin. Save for the handful of times before they’d figured out the right dosage and Aldo had woken up with Thomas still inside him, his body clenching around Thomas in dawning, shocked awareness, the scattered marks that Thomas presses into Aldo’s skin are one of the few remaining ways that Aldo can decipher what Thomas does to him, so he makes sure to leave each one with purposeful consideration.
When he’s had his fill of kissing a line of red spots up along the side of Aldo’s neck, his fingers slip down to Aldo’s ass, pressing inside him with a slick ease that speaks of careful preparation. Logically speaking, Aldo probably prepared himself between when he’d taken the pills and when they’d taken effect, but Thomas thrills at the thought of Aldo sitting through dinner already open and ready for Thomas to take him.
He imagines Aldo being like this always, so that even during the day, Thomas can just walk into Aldo’s office, bend him over his desk, and slide right in. The rush of arousal is so intense as to be almost painful, and he feels it fuel his haste as he levers himself up to straddle Aldo’s body.
Pressing his cock against the crease of Aldo’s ass, he makes a few shallow thrusts. He’s fully hard now, his erection filled out with the help of his own pills, a fact which he tries not to dwell on as it always brings a slight twinge of disappointment. He can’t help it. He’s a romantic to the end, and it would be nice if having Aldo beneath him like this were all it took to bring him to full arousal—but as enthralling as Aldo is, he is simply not enough, and blaming him for it is of no use to anyone. So instead, Thomas carefully lines up his cock and begins to push into Aldo’s complacently pliant body with slow, but firm thrusts.
Even with all of Aldo’s preparations, the first time of the night is never easy. No matter how lax the drugs make him, or the number of times they’ve done this, Aldo remains tight enough to provide noticeable resistance, and it certainly doesn’t help that Thomas is rather well-endowed. Past experience has taught him that giving in to impatience runs the risk of tearing Aldo up, not to mention causing himself a bit of pain, so now he is careful to go as slow as he can, patiently coaxing Aldo’s body to accommodate him, inch by painstaking inch.
Strange, how not too long ago, Aldo had seemed so untouchable, a shining beacon of purity that Thomas dared not to defile with his longing. Thankfully, the progression of the Conclave had opened his eyes, and he knows now that his previous reservations were misguided. Truly, Aldo was made for this—God made him for Thomas to possess, cherish, and fill—the perfect receptacle for all the unseemly worldly desires that he must keep purging from himself to properly fulfill his own role as the supreme shepherd of the universal Church.
His gratitude for God’s generosity has him pressing a tender kiss to the back of Aldo’s bare scalp once he’s fully sheathed. For a moment, he is still, panting heavily into the exposed skin at the nape of Aldo’s neck as he collects himself. He starts to move again with small, shallow thrusts, only for all his careful control to snap when a shift in angle has Aldo suddenly tightening around him.
A low groan wrenches from Thomas’ throat. Abandoning the remaining shreds of his restraint, he abruptly draws out and slams back in, setting a brutal pace as he blindly seeks his own pleasure. The mattress creaks under the force of his movements, Aldo’s body rocking limply as Thomas fucks into him. No matter how rough he gets, Aldo accepts it all with barely any reaction, the slight hitch in his breathing whenever Thomas drives into his prostate the only indication that he is more than some inanimate toy.
With each thrust, Thomas feels his world narrowing down into pure sensation, his mind clearing of all concerns outside of the sweat-slick heat of Aldo’s skin, the rhythmic slap of their bodies joining, the hungry clutch of Aldo’s hole. The last of his tension is released as he comes, emptying himself deep into Aldo’s body with a satiated sigh.
Resting his forehead against Aldo’s shoulder, he gives another experimental roll of his hips, pleased to find himself still hard. He keeps thrusting leisurely, enjoying the all-encompassing sense of tranquility that settles into his soul as he slides into Aldo with a smoothness aided by the additional lubrication of his own release.
His second orgasm is more restrained, building gradually without the frantic hunger of the first, but is no less satisfying for it. But still Thomas hasn’t had enough—no, with single-minded focus, he continues to chase every bit of pleasure he can reach, admiring how well Aldo takes him as he spends himself again and again, until all his pent-up lust has burned itself out and his cock finally goes as soft and limp as Aldo’s unresisting body.
Sagging bonelessly against Aldo’s back, he takes a moment to indulge and bask in his utter contentment. Surrounded by Aldo’s scent and presence, pressed as close to him as two people can be, he is once again grounded and present in his own skin, filled with a returned sense of calm that makes every burden that had weighed upon him seem featherlight.
Thomas would love to stay like this forever, but Aldo gets somewhat upset if Thomas is still in his bed when he wakes up, let alone still buried inside Aldo’s body, so when he starts feeling the urge to drift off, he reluctantly forces himself to pull out instead. Their bodies separate with a filthy, wet sound, Thomas’ cock still slick from the cum that spills out over the rim of Aldo’s puffy, abused hole. He cleans himself off on a corner of the long-discarded bedsheet, then amuses himself with gathering up the escaped drips of white on his fingers and pressing them back into Aldo’s body, keeping every last drop from going to waste.
When he’s satisfied, he wipes his soiled fingers against the back of Aldo’s thigh and sits up, for once not minding the protests of his joints and muscles.
He gives one look back at Aldo’s still form. As his eyes roam over the debauched mess of marks and drying fluids covering Aldo’s skin, Thomas is overcome by such fondness at Aldo’s imperfect humanity that he cannot resist leaning over to press one last kiss against the gentle slope of Aldo’s spine before levering himself off the bed.
Worried that Aldo might get cold, he carefully covers Aldo’s body back up with the sheet before dressing and letting himself out. In the morning, Thomas too will be clothed again in white as he takes up the mantle of St. Peter, but he will do so ready for the duties of his role, his mind newly fortified against any troublesome stray thoughts of a different life.
After all, no matter how much he may mourn the loss of the life he once had, with his heart and body sated by the pleasure of Aldo’s companionship, Pope John XXIV has nothing but the utmost certainty that what he’s gained has been well worth every sacrifice.