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The hallway was long and narrow, just enough so that passing someone felt almost intimate, even when it most definitely shouldn’t. The Vatican wasn’t designed for privacy — not this part, anyway, and certainly not for feelings like this. Just old stone and secrets, echoing between walls that had watched centuries of men try to contain themselves.
Thomas turned a corner and nearly collided with Cardinal Benítez. Their hips brushed against one another lightly. “Ah—sorry,” he muttered.
Vincent looked up from a folder he hadn’t actually been reading that closely and smiled. “No harm done, my dear friend.”
Thomas blushed and moved to step aside, but so did Benítez. They ended up mirroring each other awkwardly — an accidental dance, shoulder to shoulder, their bodies pressed together just for a second, but a second too long. Thomas felt something warm inside him, something he wasn't quite sure of.
He wondered how many popes and cardinals throughout the centuries felt this way, but didn't build up the courage to admit it even to themselves.
Thomas didn’t move. Neither did Benítez. “Long day,” Thomas said, chuckling awkwardly, because something had to break the silence already.
Vincent smiled as his eyes lingered just a moment too long on Thomas' mouth. “They’ve all been long.” Thomas gave a slight nod and let his hand get closer to Vincent's arm as he passed, just their fingers brushing against each other. He didn’t look back, but he didn't need to.
He knew his dear friend was watching him go.
Thomas found himself unable to sleep that night. He turned to look at the clock and realised it was nearly three in the morning already. The perfect time to sin. He kept his hands on the bed to keep himself steady.
Of course he couldn’t — who the hell could, under these circumstances? The weight of a conclave wasn’t just spiritual; it was political, psychological, and personal. And then there was this, the complication he hadn’t expected. Thomas sat on the edge of his bed in the dark, staring at the wooden cross on the wall like it might offer a reason not to get up.
It didn’t. Fuck it. It's now or never.
He left his room quietly, moving through the corridor barefoot, like a ghost. The guards were gone for the night, or close enough. The hallway was dead silent, the way sin always preferred it.
He stopped outside Vincent's door and knocked. A pause. Then a low voice: “Yeah?” Thomas opened it. Vincent stood in soft lamplight, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked exhausted — and unfairly good like that. He arched an eyebrow with a faint smile. “You lost?”
Thomas stepped in and shut the door behind himself. “No.” They didn’t speak for a moment. Just stood there, looking at each other like men waiting for someone else to flinch first. Then Thomas crossed the room in three steps and, without overthinking it for once, kissed him, hard.
It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t careful. It was want pressed into skin, restraint snapping like dry branches. Thomas kissed back like a man who’d thought too long about this, who’d dreamed about this in ways he’d never admit out loud. Clothes stayed mostly on — half-unbuttoned, belt loosened, but that was all. It was faster that way. More desperate. Cardinal Benítez groaned when Thomas’s hand slipped down between them, unbuttoning his gown, searching for his semi-hard cock. Vincent's head dropped to Thomas’s shoulder, breath hot, muffling a moan.
“You sure you want this?” Thomas asked, lips brushing the younger cardinal's ear.
"Yeah." Vincent barely mouthed, hips slightly rolling into Thomas' hand. Thomas grinned, then pressed him against the wall. Vincent spead his legs, almost automatically, his back pressed against the wall, trousers unzipped, practically begging for it. Thomas was almost ashamed of the things he wanted to do to him. Almost.
He could picture it perfectly. Vincent on his back, legs spread out just for him, waiting to be pounded, coming across Thomas' stomach without even being touched. Fuck. Keep it together, and take it slowly, he had to remind himself. Thomas leaned over him and kissed down his chest — not slow, not sweet, but rough, dragging teeth along sensitive skin. Then his hand closed around Vincent's cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. Thomas could literally feel him pulsating.
Vincent bucked instantly, hips jerking. “Christ—”
“Mm-mm,” Thomas murmured, stroking him faster. “Wrong name.”
Benítez chuckled lightly before his eyes fluttered shut as Thomas seemed to have found a rhythm — strong and steady, wrist twisting at the top of his cock, thumb sliding over the head in slow, steady circles. Benítez was breathing heavily now, hips jerking into Thomas' hand hungrily, wanting release - one arm slung over his eyes like he couldn’t even bear to watch himself fall apart like this.
“You’ve thought about this,” Thomas said, voice dark. “Haven’t you?” He continued stroking the younger cardinal.
Vincent didn’t answer, not until Thomas gave him a stroke rougher than normal, causing him to cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. “Of course I have.” Thomas squeezed Vincent's nipples under his fingers, causing him to moan out. Thomas kept going, faster now, stroking him hard, deliberately, almost as if rushing to finish a job, letting his other hand hold Vincent's hip down as he started to squirm under the touch desperately, falling apart.
Vincent's voice cracked, his hips jerking, precum spilling down Thomas' hand. “Thomas—fuck—”
“Let go.” Thomas said, almost demanding.
“God, I— Fuck, Thomas”
Thomas's voice remained firm. “Let go.” He adjusted his grip, using his thumb to smear pre-come around the head, then stroking back down in a smooth pull. Benítez’s breath hitched hard, his hand in the back of Thomas's shirt. “Stop holding back,” Thomas said, his voice low, dark. “No one’s listening.”
Benítez’s eyes snapped open. He reached down and grabbed Thomas’s wrist, not to stop him, but to anchor himself. His hips started moving on their own, practically fucking into Thomas’s hand, desperate and needy. He was trying not to beg, and failing.
“Fuck—Thomas—God—”
“Shh,” Thomas said. “Just feel it.” Thomas leaned in, kissing down his chest—not tenderly, but hungrily, lips dragging over skin still marked from where vestments had sat all day. He sucked on Vincent's throat, then bit, not hard enough to bruise — not visibly — but enough to make him cry out.
Vincent arched his back, panting. “Harder—please—don’t stop.” Thomas complied, twisting his wrist slightly on the upstroke, quickening his rhythm, fingers tight and practised. He kissed him again, swallowing his groans.
The younger cardinal was unravelling fast. His legs trembled under Thomas’s touch, his voice breaking around half-formed curses in Spanish. Vincent's body shook under Thomas as he came, cum spilling into the older man's fist. Thomas kept his hand moving through it, coaxing every last drop, every last twitch from him, then finally let go.
They collapsed against the mattress, breathing heavily, sweat rolling down their skin.
Silence filled the room as they panted, heavy and warm. Thomas sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on the towel nearby. “Still breathing?”
Benítez groaned and pulled his shirt over his face. “Barely.” He laughed. "Shut up."
Thomas smirked. “Charming.” They lay there, side by side, not quite touching. The Vatican walls didn’t seem quite so suffocating anymore.
Benítez stared at the ceiling. “You shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
“I know.”
“But I’m glad you did.”
Thomas turned his head, studying him in profile. “Me too.”
Benítez eventually peeked out and said, deadpan, “So. You and Bellini?”
Thomas blinked, caught off guard, looking almost guilty. “What about me and Bellini?”
“I saw the way he looked at you during morning prayer.” The younger arched a brow. “I'm not gonna lie. I thought there was something going on there.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow and then simply shrugged. “I’ve got two hands.”
Benítez stared at him for a beat. Then he started laughing — real laughter, tired and wrecked and full of something that sounded a lot like relief.
“You’re a bastard,” he said.
Thomas lay down beside him, arm resting behind his head. “I get that a lot.” They didn’t touch. But they didn’t move apart, either.
“I’m going to hell,” Benítez muttered quietly.
Thomas glanced over with a grin on his face. “Yeah, probably.”
Benítez turned his head, eyes locking with his. “You coming with me?”
Thomas held the gaze before wrapping his arm around the younger cardinal and kissing the top of his head. “Always.”