A/N Wow - i'm overwhelmed by the love for this story! I vowed to update less frequently this time around but what can I say? Your support and enthusiasm for the stuff that goes on in my brain makes me want to forgo every other interest I have and keep on writing. I must say, i'm saving heaps of cash by not going out!
Anyway, without further ado... here's your latest installment (with a nod to the shower scene in Bridget Weinstock's latest excellent fic)
The sounding alarm was almost a respite from the hours of intermittent sleep. Peter maintained his position, on the flat of his back with eyes staring at the stain on the ceiling, until the noise desisted of its own accord.
He hadn't slept. In all honesty, how could he? Barely a few hours before, he'd been in ecstasy. After years of wondering, he was now fully able to report that making out with Assumpta Fitzgerald really was as good as his imagination suggested.
His insomnia was spent cataloging every detail, every touch and stowing it away safely in his long-term memory. Her sounds. Her scent. The way her hands ran achingly down the length of his back. How she goaded him to kiss harder by sucking gently on his proffered tongue, consuming him from within.
Oh, Assumpta…
The possibility that this might, nay would, probably happen again was almost too much for Peter to consider. The prospect of even more occurring between them was downright intoxicating.
When the alarm bells began to chime again, the curate saw it as a sign that he should stop lazing around and thinking about Assumpta. He would shower and think about her instead.
But standing naked under the torrent of steaming water only exasperated the matter. On any normal day, the physical manifestation of Peter's carnal thoughts would be handled cleanly and quickly with a short sharp blast of ice-cold water. This morning however, no amount of cold water would suffice. In the safety of his shower cubical, the Priest gave in to the desire that he'd so often wrestled with and with one name formed on his lips, he found his ultimate release.
It was only after his craving was quietened, at least for the moment, that Peter could fully consider the admission Assumpta had made last night.
Why am I always thinking of you?
These words could have so easily been uttered by his own tongue. She thought about him? Since when? Peter wagered that it wasn't as often as he thought about her.
Although part of him danced with joy when she had said this, he couldn't help but feel the weight of what this meant.
He would have to climb down from the fence. Assumpta had forced him onto a ladder.
Peter had said that they would talk and he fully intended to keep this promise, but first he needed to confess his sin to the last person he wanted to be privy to this new development.
Father MacAnally.
As the lunchtime rush came and went, Assumpta remained at the mercy of her wandering imagination. That kiss – his kiss – was more extraordinary that she'd ever thought possible. Surely it took years of practice to hone a technique as good as that?
His touch was a veritable juxtaposition of sensations – tender yet passionate; urgent but also slow. The way he looked at her. The feel of his hands on her face…
If nothing else, the memory of her midnight encounter would be locked forever in Assumpta's bank of Happy Thoughts.
For once, the publican was relieved to be single-manning it behind the bar. The absence of Niamh or even Peggy meant she was free to linger in the privacy of her inward machinations.
"Penny for 'em, Assumpta?"
Right on cue, her daydreaming was brought to an abrupt halt. "Brendan," she exclaimed, breathlessly. "Pint of the usual?"
The teacher nodded distractedly, noticing the flush on the woman's cheeks as she handed him his glass. If he didn't know any better, he would swear that the landlady was in love.
Pffttt… the schoolteacher chided inwardly. Fat chance of that happening here.
"You wanted to see me Father Clifford?"
Peter stood awkwardly at the door of Father MacAnally's office, boring a hole in the floor with his fidgeting feet. He didn't acknowledge his superior right away. His practiced speech had all but flown from the young curate's head as soon as he'd stepped into the Rectory.
Mistaking Peter's silence for insolence, the older Priest piped up. "Well get on with it, won't you. I don't have all day."
"Something has happened – " The words left Peter's mouth before he could process them.
"Yes..." Father Mac encouraged.
"I…"
"Father Peter, do you care to be anymore specific? I would imagine that quite a lot has happened since last we spoke. The sun rose up this morning, the Yen is up on the Dollar –"
"I kissed Assumpta."
The old Priest narrowed his eyes. "I see."
"I think you know," he continued, "that I would never have acted so irrationally had it not been for some genuine feelings on my part."
"And these feelings – what is it that they tell you to do now?"
"I'm not sure." Peter stared at his hands doubtfully. "But I have to do something."
"And what would you propose?"
"I don't know."
Father Mac, albeit wholly unsurprised by this new development, could only hazard a guess to what Peter would decide if left to his own devices. No, something had to be done – something drastic.
"Peter, have you ever thought about taking a sabbatical?"
"You mean, like a Retreat?"
The old man shook his head, "No – not quite. I mean a break of sorts. A week, or maybe two away from your religious duties."
"Away from the parish?"
"Away from every parish." Father MacAnally smirked, "C'mon, Peter. Haven't you ever wondered how the other half live?"
His companion struggled to ascertain his meaning. "You mean, stop being a Priest?"
"Temporarily of course." Father Mac interjected. "It sometimes helps to get some distance – to remember why you became a Priest in the first place."
Confused, Peter lightly pinched his furrowed brow. "I don't see how that will help me with Assumpta. Being a Priest isn't the issue here – keeping my vow is."
"You're not hearing me, Peter," the old man chastised. "You'll be taking a complete break from being a Priest... vows included"
An awkward silence fell over the room.
Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And this is sanctioned by Rome?" he stuttered.
"Not officially, but they're aware."
"You mean others have done this before?"
"More thank you would think…" Father MacAnally added cryptically.
Neither man spoke for a moment. Peter tried to search for another rebuttal – another reason why he shouldn't do this – but his tired brain drew a blank.
A break would be nice, he conceded. Though not for any of the lascivious reasons that his superior suggested. He could visit the folks in Manchester. He could live in jeans for an entire week!
He could spend more time with Assumpta…
"So, what do you say then?" Father Mac snapped Peter from his reverie. "Father David could take on some of your duties and I could do the rest."
"How long should I take?"
"Seven days ought to do it. If you start now, you can be back for Sunday Mass."
"A week away from being a Priest." Peter considered his next words carefully. "What makes you so sure that I will want to come back?"
His superior smiled. "They always do, Father Clifford. They always do."