Disclaimer: Characters belong to John Patrick Shanley. I make no money from this.
Pairing: Sister Aloysius/Sister James
Genre: Nun-sex. I think I've said enough.
Needless to say that my place in hell has been confirmed by writing this. Reviews - anonymous or not - are always appreciated! I've always wondered how many Aloysius/James shippers there are out there!
Sister Aloysius had not been one to give into emotions.
She was not the woman she used to be and she would not be reckless. This is what she told herself each night. Each night as she lay in bed, pulling the rough blanket over her head in a vain attempt to block out the images that threatened to consume her dreams.
Sister Aloysius understood want.
She was not as innocent as some of the other sisters. She had experienced - as Sister Martha referred to it - 'pleasures of the flesh'. It was the fact that this want was becoming a need which terrified her. Her vows had been made; she would not turn against them; she could not turn against them.
Sister Aloysius found herself questioning this need. Why was this stronger than any before? How long until it just faded away with time?
Would it really be so wrong to act upon it?
-/-
Sister James was worried.
Usually she knew when she had made a mistake, when she had done something wrong. She was one to apologise profusely and pray for forgiveness; no matter how small her wrongdoing.
But this was only possible when she knew her misdeed.
How could she apologise to Sister Aloysius? What could she have possibly done to upset the woman so much? Was it that time in the garden - the time when she had offered to help carry the seedlings to Aloysius' room where they would be sheltered until fully grown? James shuddered at the image of the look in the older sister's eyes as she'd made this suggestion. Something had flared dangerously behind those pupils and then vanished before an ice cool stare took over and a blunt rejection left the woman's lips. "I don't think that will be necessary."
This wasn't the only instance. The lengthy discussions of course material, which had often led to conversations about literature and travel, had now ceased. James was only called for discussing the most pressing of matters in regards to the pupils and any extra-curricular musings had also been abruptly cut off with a sarcastic comment or a short clipped reply from the older nun.
At first, Sister James had found herself hurt, saddened by the loss of her budding friendship - perhaps that was too strong a word - with the headmistress. But now? Now she merely felt frustrated. Any attempt at venturing into a conversation past the restrictions of the curriculum or the latest sermon were cut off.
It was with this frustration that - after being virtually ignored throughout dinner - James made her way to Aloysius' room. Not sure what had actually been her intention on the way down the corridor, James paused, her hand stilling in mid-air, thinking perhaps she should just retire and approach her in the morning. Fate made the decision for her however when the door swung open and a flurry of black fabric marched out of the room, straight into her.
The redhead felt herself knocked backwards and grasped blindly in front of her, grabbing the other woman's habit in an attempt to stop her fall. A sturdy hand shot out and yanked her own habit, keeping her upright.
James peered up at the headmistress meekly. Ready to meet a glowering stare, the redhead head was shocked at what she found in her superior's eyes.
Desire.
The grip on her habit had tightened and James was pulled forward into the room, the door swinging shut behind her.
"What are you doing here?" Aloysius' face had regained some of its usual severity, but James could recognise the emotion flitting behind her eyes.
"I... I just wanted to know... I wanted to tell-" The young woman tried to remind herself of why she'd came to this room at such a late hour. She couldn't concentrate, not with Aloysius looking at her like that.
"I tried. I didn't want to do this. I don't want to do this." The older woman was pacing the short distance between the desk and her bed.
"I'm sorry, Sister." The redhead began, "I don't understa-"
The rest of her sentence was lost in the crashing of lips against her own. The older woman's body collided with hers and she was pressed up against the door as she lost herself in the kiss; all memory of her earlier annoyance disappearing as her lips parted and a tongue found its way into her mouth.
The kiss was frantic. James had wanted this too long for it not to be.
Hands flew to bows as habits were loosened and discarded. Noses bumped as mouths fiercely sought out the warmth of each other's company.
A hand gripped James' and pulled her towards the narrow, single bed.
"Stay quiet." Came a stern warning from the older woman. James didn't need to be told.