Since there is so little backstory for Mildred and Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt's relationship in Midnight Mass canon, it leaves a lot of room for imagination! They each had so much they stood to lose by having an affair, I wanted to explore how strong their connection must have been to make them take the risk.

Be advised, this story is rated a hard M for explicit sex! This being their is first time, it'll be a little on the vanilla side. Not completely kink-free, though (because I couldn't help myself)

"I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Go in peace and sin no more."

"Amen."

Mildred Gunning stepped out of the confessional, not feeling as she should after a good confession. There was still something there, lodged down deep in her stomach…something she had held back…Trying not to think about it until she was safely out of the church, she hurried through the main sanctuary, not paying much attention to her surroundings.

As she passed through the door of the church, the chilly night air tingled on her face, startling her back to awareness and she stopped short—the sun had set and it was dark already. The clocks had been turned back for the autumn change only a few days prior, leaving her in that strange adjustment period, surprised by nightfall every evening.

Flustered, she took a few more steps to her right, over and away from the doorway, and leaned against the church wall. But, there was a splinter sticking out from the old wood, irritating her further as it poked through her sweater and into her skin. She repositioned away from it and took a moment to breathe, trying to get her bearings.

Instinctively, she looked up into the night sky for comfort, but the full moon looked down on her, disapprovingly. She glared back.

I couldn't very well tell him that, could I?!

She dropped her head, disgusted with herself. It was ridiculous, childish. What grown woman fantasizes about her priest…? Her conscience pricked at her, almost as tangibly as the sharp piece of wood she'd just evaded…Grown, married woman…

But, then again, most women probably didn't have as good looking a priest as Father Pruitt…

He was well built, tall and slim. His complexion and hair were both dark, giving him a more exotic look than anyone else she knew on this isolated little island. But it was his large, expressive eyes and gentle hands which most often made an appearance in her thoughts. She wondered: what emotions could she elicit in those eyes if she tried? And were his hands always so gentle? Wickedly, she found herself hoping, not…

The guilty fantasies had begun to occupy her thoughts more and more lately, but, from the beginning, she'd had the strong feeling that he had been the one to want her first…

Mildred's religious upbringing had not always melded easily with her personality. She tended to be idealistic…maybe just a little too headstrong, and sometimes she found herself aligning more with the counter culture than with the strict rigidity of the Church she'd grown up in.

Her husband, George had always been the more pious of the two of them. Probably, her wild-child ways had attracted him to her, just as his stability had seemed like something she needed to steady herself. He had often teased her about it in a half-joking way—insisting that she was the only Catholic hippie he'd ever known. The reminder that she didn't quite seem to fit in anywhere stung more than she wanted to admit, and it galled her a little whenever he said it, feeling that he wasn't being quite fair. Her faith was maybe a bit unconventional, but it was important to her, all the same.

So, when Father Pruitt arrived to fill the place of old Father McLaughlin, it was refreshing to have a new, young priest bring his unique perspective to St. Patrick's. His spiritual charisma and passionate preaching had come at a needful time in her life, as if he were the answer to a prayer she had not thought to pray.

With her husband drafted into the war in 'Nam, she had needed something to cling to. She began going to daily mass and to confession more often, which gave her a safe place to acknowledge the strange feeling of ambivalence she'd been trying not to think about since George had left.

It was only in the confessional that she could bring herself to admit that the freedom of living alone for the first time in her life had come with an unexpected sense of…relief. At the same time, she also couldn't help feeling an aching loneliness. The two opposing emotions often clashed, dissonantly, in her mind and heart, leaving her ashamed and confused.

Father Pruitt had been unfailingly patient, and he had a gift of speaking the perfect scriptural reference into any situation so that she felt as if God had set it down in the Bible just for her. One soothing verse in particular, he had repeated several times over the months that they'd known each other…

Come to me all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your soul…

Church had been a comfort, but as she spent time with the priest, something began to grow between them…

It happened so slowly that at first, it was easy to pretend nothing was amiss. They were of similar age and both had good reasons to be in need of a friend. And anyway, nothing inappropriate had actually taken place. But after a while, she had to question herself, if she was really going to daily mass out of some newfound sense of piety…or was it to seek out the desire she saw in Father Pruitt's dark eyes when he looked at her?

Ever since she was a child, Mildred had been able to perceive the thoughts and feelings of others in ways that were hard for her to rationally explain. She was so acutely sensitive that sometimes the strong impressions she picked up from the people around her would blend and blur into her own emotions, making it difficult to tell which was which. This keen intuitiveness had always been both a gift, and a curse…but now…

Now it meant that anytime she and her priest were in the same room together, the tension between them was impossible to ignore. It was as real to her as if they were tethered to each other, connected by an invisible string. She could sense his eyes moving over her body, and she felt his gaze like a caress…lingering on her breasts or on her waist…sometimes on her throat…She noticed, she knew…and she liked it…

His desire had slowly become her own and she was now deeply drawn to him. But, of course, nothing could ever come of it…for so many reasons…And, even though she had learned through experience to put a strong trust in her own intuition, she found herself desperately clinging to the possibility that she'd invented the attraction out of nothing but her lonely imagination. If that were only true, then maybe she could put it out of her mind. That would be an absolution, of sorts—probably the only absolution she could hope for…because this was the sin she could never confess: sometimes she would think of Father Pruitt, and touch herself…

Mildred's comforting verse is Matthew 11:28-30