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It happens slowly between them, barely noticeable. Long looks, light touches. Smiles a bit brighter, jokes a bit more private. Whispers you can't catch no matter how much you strain your ears, secretly hating yourself for being nosy. More importantly, happiness so physical and solid you can feel in on your tongue when they're together in a room. Something that is akin to torture for an evil, bitter, hateful and ungrateful person like Aldo, but even he cans see how absolutely beautiful and right it is. At least they’re comparatively subtle, he thinks pettily. Innocent’s papacy, as wary as Aldo was, is good. Vincent is just the right amount of stubborn yet gracious, kind and sincere, thoughtful and decisive. He truly was brought by the Holy Spirit, Aldo thinks, and does not defend himself against the shame that washes over him at the thought. He had voted for Thomas, every round, even after Vincent’s words after the explosion. God had whispered in his ear, and Aldo had refused to listen. And to think, he once dared dream that he could be worthy of the office!
It’s no surprise that Vincent has earned Thomas’s affection and devotion so thoroughly, and Aldo tries not to be jealous. Thomas seems renewed by their new Holy Father, all talk of retirement suddenly vanished, in a way Aldo knows it would not have if it had been Aldo elected pope. Likewise, Aldo does not blame Vincent for returning Thomas’s feelings - he’s happy for his friend, truly he is. Even if it means he has to endure the sensation of a scream building in his chest every time he sees their hands brush against each other subtly. This is a good thing, he tells himself, they need each other. This is good. Get used to it, Bellini, don’t you like the pain anyway?
Still, he's not exactly prepared to see what he sees when he comes to the papal rooms bearing some requested papers in the evening and is invited in after a quiet knock. At least — at least they are both clothed, he thinks (he doesn't know what he would've done - in general or to himself - if he caught them naked). Vincent just sits in his comfy chair, balancing his phone and a cup of tea, several papers spread out on the table beside him. Thomas — Aldo is both embarrassed to look at this and also wants to drink this sight like holy wine — kneels on the floor between his legs, with his head on Vincent's left knee. With one hand Vincent slowly strokes his thin light hair, and that's what further confirms for Aldo that this isn't a misinterpretation of some obscure church ritual he sees. Holy Fathers are just not supposed to be so gentle, to touch so lovingly. It's not something that happens between the pope and his dean — it's between them.
"Thank you so much," Vincent whispers, and Aldo, remembering himself, gives him the papers. "I know you're not some errand boy for me, and you have your own work to do, but I don't have my work email on my phone, and I really wanted to see the updated speech while I have time, and Thomas,” he sighs with such warmth it makes Aldo sick, and strokes his head again, "he got so relaxed, I just couldn't... he had a long week, you know."
Oh, yes, Aldo knows. "Of course,” Aldo manages, barely hearing his own voice through ringing in his ears, "it's like a cat sleeping on your knees, I understand."
Vincent chuckles lightly. That’s probably good.
"He's more like a dog, in my opinion. Clever, loyal, and makes the saddest sighs.”
Aldo pictures Thomas in a collar, a tag with Vincent’s name hanging in the hollow his throat. They give other their thanks and goodbyes, and Aldo goes back to his office, and texts Tedesco he misses him.
He doesn’t. The bruise on his side from Tedesco’s leather-clad loafers kicking him is still healing, and it makes Aldo wince every time he stretches a little too far. There hadn’t even been an orgasm involved in that little scene, at least on Aldo’s part. But afterwards Goffredo had pressed an ice pack to his throbbing ribs, and he had let Aldo with his head in his broad lap, letting Aldo smell the heated muskiness of him, let him bask in the skin on skin contact. Maybe next time, Aldo thinks wistfully, Tedesco will beat the part of his heart that is screaming that his world has been blown apart and ruined right out of him.
It takes several days before he and Thomas get some alone time. Not their time, per se, that’s rarity these days, with so many work and meetings and new pope taking so much of Thomas’s attention; but they're working together on schedule for a summit, and it's only them two in the office, and it's a slow day, and Aldo has been running on anxiety and coffee for almost a week, and he just can't deal with it anymore. He knew he would never be able to stick to a vow of silence.
"So,” he says, not looking up from the papers in front of him, "you and Vincent are... involved?”
He was picking between fucking (too crass) or dating (too casual for people of their age and their status) or "in love" (just too much.) Thomas looks at him, his eyes as clear and bright blue as they were the day they meet, like age hasn't touched them at all. Vincent is so privileged to have those eyes so focused on him, looking up from his knees, Aldo thinks. He tries not to imagine Thomas looking down on him with that same intensity.
"Yes,” Thomas says after a long pause. He seems tense, but less frightened or mortified than Aldo would have expected. Saint Benítez has worked his first miracle, it seems. Aldo remembers when Thomas couldn’t say the word contraception or - worse - homosexual, without blushing.
"It's not that obvious,” Aldo tells him quickly anyway. "I don't think anyone else has picked up on it, and I wasn't sure either until I saw you two — nothing inappropriate..."
"I know,” Thomas interjects. "I know, Aldo, Vincent told me. It's okay, I don't mind and — he wouldn't let you in if he — if we — didn't trust you.”
It makes Aldo feel impossibly warm inside. It also makes him want to cry hysterically. He nods, fighting tears away.
"You were kneeling for him,” he says lamely. Not quite a question.
"I do it sometimes,” Thomas quietly answers. Aldo nods.
"He's the pope, after all,” he tries to say cheerfully, lighting the mood. Thomas looks at him thoughtfully.
"It's not about him being the pope, for me,” he says slowly. "I revere him for that, sure, but also I'm devoted to him like one man to another. It may sound strange..."
"It's not."
"But — it makes me feel good, for once. Like I'm finally in my place. Like — like all the roads in my life led to me kneeling before him. I haven’t ever felt so fulfilled in my life."
There's desperate note in his voice, like he's afraid Aldo won't understand what he means. It makes his heart ache.
"It still sounds pretty holy to me,” he says, and Thomas blesses him with a shy smile.
"Yes, that's how it feels sometimes. I never thought that — sex — can be like this. Holy. Freeing. Like the Holy Spirit itself descends on you.”
Must be great, thinks Aldo feverishly. Must be cool to have sex so good it makes you see God.
"So you're not only kneeling,” he points out, trying for teasing and landing somewhere in suspicious. Thomas slightly blushes and finally looks away.
"No, I'm not only kneeling,” he whispers, barely audible. For a long, terrible, beautiful moment Aldo expects him to tell more details, details that will be the reason of his death, but. Thomas swallows, and then looks at him like a child at a strict parent, worrying his thin lover lip. "Do you... do you judge me? Tell me honestly, please, do not spare my feelings."
"Thomas! For what?"
"For doing it. For doing it with him. For doing it perversely. I don't know, I just — you know what your opinion means to me, my dear."
"Thomas, are you a fool?" Aldo scoffs, even if he feels tears rising in him again. "Why would I judge you for this? Was I ever against sex? Gay sex? Gay sex between priests?"
Thomas shakes his head at every one of this. "If you need to know,” Aldo says hastily, to drive his point home, "I'm doing something similar too."
"Oh!” Now Thomas looks surprised, confused and even slightly hurt, which brings Aldo the smallest bit of satisfaction. "You're... having sex? With another priest?"
"Yes,” Aldo answer shortly, feeling sudden wave of nausea. "Yes, I am.”
"Oh."
"And it's — it's quite perverse sex, too. Kneeling is just a part of it.”
"Oh,” Thomas repeats. "Who are you doing it with?"
"It's not important.”
"No, no, it's actually very important! Aldo! Why you didn't tell me anything?"
"Well, why didn't you?"
"I was planning to! And I told you right now! And you date someone, and you didn't tell me!"
"I wouldn't call it dating,” Aldo corrects, "and why are you so pressed about it? We were talking about you anyway!"
"Because you're my friend!" Thomas almost shouts, then sighs and adds in a more normal tone: "I'm sorry. I just... I guess I didn't expect you to break your vows — very hypocritical of me, I know, but you never even hinted before..."
Because you weren't interested, Aldo thinks hysterically, and then feels sick because Thomas kept his vows until he met the love of his life and he broke his vows with someone he hates in painful and humiliating manner. They really are not the same.
"It's okay,” he says. "I just don't want you to laugh."
"I won't, I promise. It's... Sabbadin, right?"
"I — what?!" Aldo snorts, forgetting about his troubles for a moment. "Why him?"
"Well, he... likes you very, uh, very much, and he was always against celibacy for clergy..."
"God, Thomas. I'm not his type anyway, and he's very much not mine," he bites his tongue to not describe his type in details. Besides, it’s not entirely true - Giulio has featured in his fantasies a few times, his cool impassivity and his casual use of mockery. "I — if it's necessary for you to know, it's... well. It's — Tedesco. Uh, Goffredo.”
There, he said it. I have sex with Tedesco sometimes. Very normal words. They taste like bile on his tongue. Thomas looks completely stricken.
"Oh,” he says. "Oh. Um. Yes. Okay.”
"What?" Aldo snaps.
"No, no, nothing, it's just — uh. Goffredo was making jokes some... well, jokes recently. Not very appropriate for work environment, so I was politely asking him to keep it a bit down, but — well, I guess some jokes may have been so graphic because he knew what he was talking about..."
"He told you jokes about what he — what we did together?" Aldo asks, suddenly terrified. Last thing he wants is for Thomas to know the depths of his depravity.
"Well, it wasn't — I wouldn't think he..." Thomas stops and slowly takes a breath. "May I — may I ask?" Aldo nods, feeling a pit in his stomach. "Are you and Goffredo involved in a... similar dynamic?"
God, no. I hope no.
"Do you mean kneeling?" Aldo asks, trying not to shake too obviously. Thomas nods. Also swallows. "Well, I do kneel for him. A lot.”
Usually while shaking, crying, confused, begging him to do something, or not to do something, while Tedesco laughs and mocks him. Several times Tedesco spat on him from above, which wasn't the most gross thing he did but still shook him for some reason. Once he put his foot on his dick and joked that he could crush it if he wants, not like this little useless thing has any value anymore (Aldo isn't sure if he was crying from pain or humiliation or want, because maybe if Tedesco crushed that filthy organ like a bug under his polished shoe Aldo would be free, free of his sickening desire and lust). He thinks again about scene between Vincent and Thomas he saw — the way Thomas looked absolutely blissful in his submission, the way Vincent was careful with him like with something precious, and feels a sharp pang of pain in his chest. They're so different.
Thomas smiles to him, unsure and shy.
"I'm... glad to hear it, dear,” he almost whispers. "I'm glad you found your peace too. Surely it's not who I would've expected to give it to you, but... I guess, Goffredo isn't as bad as you thought after all.”
Aldo almost laughs at this, and then almost sobs. It's not the one who I would've chosen too, he thinks feverishly, but I can't choose you, and now I even know why. I couldn't even kneel to you, no matter how many times I fantasized about it. You do not want my submission, you want to submit yourself, oh God, my poor tired Thomas, I would've been just another burden for you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you deserve your rest and I deserve whatever I get.
He tries to give Thomas a small smile. Thomas takes his hand and squeezes it gently.
"Thank you,” he whispers.
"For what?" Aldo asks, genuinely surprised.
"For this. For being my friend. For waiting with me. For talking to me. For making me feel like I'm not alone. For not judging..."
"Thomas, I would never,” Aldo covers his hand with his free one and squeezes too. "As long as you're safe and happy — you... you are safe and happy, right?" he asks anxiously, suddenly worried. The smile Thomas gives him back so beautiful and bright it hurts.
"The happiest and safest I ever felt.”
"Than it's good,” Aldo says. "It's the only thing that matters.”
And he means it. As long as Thomas is safe and happy, everything else does not matter.