mads ⋆˚꩜｡

It felt like Hell out here. Or what you’d imagine it to feel like, at least. 

Out in the gardens, nuns at every flower bed getting to work. The hot rays of the September sun beaming down on you.  Beads of sweat dripped under your habit, the neckline of your white long-sleeve feeling tighter than ever before. You were assisting Mother Superior in collecting food for tonight’s supper.

“Sister, please go gather the strawberries in the greenhouse. They should be fresh enough,” Mother Superior ordered, handing you an old, woven basket. You didn’t hesitate, wanting to find solace in the cold greenhouse. You opened the doors, already cooling down as a chill breeze wafted over you. The doors shut and you began to peruse the aisles between the strawberry beds. 

With the heatwave hitting your small, desert town, most of the fruits and vegetables were hardly surviving outside in the gardens. But here, the strawberries thrived. Fresh, red as blood, laying beautifully in their beds. You wanted to pick them all. 

Pushing your sleeves up your arms, you grabbed the first big, red strawberry you saw, picking it off and dusting it off on the black fabric of your habit. You brought it to your lips, inhaling the fresh scent of the fruit. 

“Theft is a sin, Sister.”

At the familiar voice, you looked up, spotting Father Charlie on the other side of the strawberry bed from you. You stared at him, noticing his tense face. Then, slowly, you took a bite of the strawberry. Red juices coated your lips, dripping down your chin and staining the white shirt you wore under your habit.  

Father Charlie cracked a grin, a chuckle leaving his lips as he began to walk around the strawberry beds. He got to the end of the aisle when he started speaking. 

“Mind if I help you, Sister?” he asked, his red boots clicking against the cold tile of the greenhouse, getting closer and closer. You nodded just as he stopped, leaving a foot of space between you two. 

“Of course, Father,” you smiled, holding out the basket for him. His hand covered yours on the handle, your eyes meeting for a moment too long before you looked away. He took the basket fully from you, standing by your side as you began to pick the fruit. As the basket got half full, Father Charlie spoke again. 

“Your hands are getting stained,” he mentioned, making you look down at your hands. A faint, red color covered your fingers, making you sigh. You went to brush it off on your habit, but Father Charlie’s hand reached out. He grabbed your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips. Then, with his dark eyes locked on yours, he wrapped his lips around your pointer and middle fingers, cleaning the stain with swirls of his tongue. Your eyes watched as he sucked lightly on your fingers, and when he pulled away, you were speechless. 

“Say thank you, Sister,” he said lowly, still holding onto your wrist. His grip was tight–tight enough for you to notice. You blinked, still in a daze. 

“Thank you, Father,” you whispered, noticing a small smirk meet his lips. He turned your wrist in his hand, looking down at your palm. He brushed his fingers over the skin, humming. 

“Such soft hands, Sister,” he murmured, his calloused fingers rubbing against your hand. They trailed down to your wrist and forearm, tracing your veins. “You shouldn’t be doing all this labor. I’ll get someone to take over for you, okay?”

You were taken out of your daze as he released your hand, starting to leave down the aisle. You picked up your skirt and rushed after him. 

“Father, it’s alright,” you tried to tell him as he headed to the door. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Yes you do,” he interrupted, stopping in his tracks. You nearly bumped into his back, your shoes screeching to a halt. He turned on his heel, and you looked up at him, eyes wide. “You’re helping me prepare for my Pedaling Priest session, Sister. Don’t you remember?” 

No, you didn’t, because you hadn’t discussed it before. But you couldn’t deny him, not with the way he was looking down at you. 

“Right,” you breathed, nodding slowly. “It must’ve slipped my mind. I’m sorry, Father.”