Chapter Text
Jud awoke to the familiar darkness of a regular early morning. He blinked a few times to readjust his focus to the dark. He panicked for a moment, wondering if he’d overslept, and on Christmas Eve no less. A glance at the clock granted him that relief of knowing that he hadn’t broken his streak of waking up at around 6am every day.
All at the same time, the memories of the night before came flooding back. He became acutely aware of the warm line down his back and the arm tightly secured around his waist. He swallowed as he mentally devised a game plan to untangle himself from Blanc without waking him. He maneuvered as carefully as he could, using his hand to move Blanc’s as slowly as possible. He carefully wiggled out from the detective’s grasp, hypervigilant of any movement coming from the other side of the bed. He pushed the sheet off himself with instant regret as the chilled air hit his bare skin. He mourned the warmth provided by his thin sheets and the human heater between them. He stood up and turned around to a sight that almost knocked him off his feet.
World famous detective Benoit Blanc, fast asleep in his twin bed, spit dribbling down his cheek and onto the pillow. The proper southern gentleman’s hair disheveled over his face and t shirt pulled up ever so slightly. Deep breaths produced light snores that came and went as he shuffled in his sleep. It took everything in Jud not to stare.
It occurred to him for the first time that world famous murder detective Benoit Blanc big spooned him.
Instead of dwelling on that too hard, he got dressed as quietly as possible. By some miracle, he managed to change without waking the older man. He slipped out of the bedroom and down into the kitchen. As he made and munched on his breakfast, his head reeled with his hazy recollection of the night before. He remembered enough to feel embarrassed about his request for Blanc to squeeze into his twin bed with him. His mind was supposed to be filled with the events of the coming days and the things that still needed to get done. Instead, the warmth of Blanc’s voice and touch plagued the train of his thought. The touching words of the detective stuck with him even into the morning, bringing a comfort almost comparable to prayer.
Not knowing what else to do, he walked to his personal prayer corner he set up the second he got the rectory to himself. It was decorated with images of Jesus, assorted sentimental rosaries he’d laid out reverently on a small shelf, a small crucifix he got when he was first ordained, and prayer cards of saints he’d been particularly fond of (his favorite was St. Maria Goretti, his patron saint. He’d chosen her for her mercy and forgiveness. He sent her a lot of prayers after the Holy Week Murders). He lit a small candle for St. Jude, letting the flame grow into a captivating dance before his vision. He slowly lowered himself down onto the cushioned wooden kneeler. He raised hand steadily to make the sign of the cross.
“In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…” he sucked in a deep breath and he folded his hands together. “Holy father, I thank you for this day and for this joyous season. I thank you for this church and this community, and the bountiful gifts you so graciously grant to us. I am forever grateful to celebrate the joyous occasion of your birth, and I pray you’ll grant me the wisdom to guide this parish towards goodness and acceptance. Grant the reposed souls of those who have gone before us eternal peace in your light. Bless this day and all who enter this church. And please let these next few days go smoothly,” he chuckled. The smile quickly faded as he realized he’d stalled long enough with his gratitudes. “Christ Jesus, I’m at a loss for what to do. I haven’t felt like this about anybody in a long time. But I took a vow to be what I am today, and no part of me will ever regret that, but… God, this is so hard to say,” he paused, trying to bring himself to say it for the first time out loud.
“Lord, I think I’m falling in love with Benoit Blanc. I know, I can’t- I shouldn’t. I’ve worked so hard to flip this place around, you know how hard I’ve worked to get here. But that man laying in my bed upstairs, he… he saved my life, this church. I owe him so much. Please, whatever my path is, lead me there. Grant me the clarity to see the way you have drawn out for me. If I must shut the door on him for the sake of your church, so be it. But if your way is letting him in, shits gonna get way more complicated than it already is. And if I’m being honest, shutting him out feels unbearable right now. So please… just show me the way to your light. Tell me what to do,” he looked up to the crucifix with pleading eyes. He was desperate for an answer that he knew he wouldn’t get right away. Signs from God weren’t in big lights like the Broadway shows Blanc so adored. Just this once, he wished Jesus would appear to him in a miraculous apparition or a dream and just say it.
“Thank you for your love and grace, Jesus. Your mercy is unending,” he grabbed a rosary from the table and began to pray with it, every intention set in his heart, both for the people and for himself.
Morning prayers and readings turned into late morning phone calls and emails. By the late morning, he was writing his homilies for the coming evening, reading glasses perched on his nose as he switched between typing on his laptop and skimming highlighted pages of his bible. He was ripped from his deep focus by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. His heart jumped as he looked up from his work.
“Good morning, Blanc,” he greeted.
“Mornin’ Father,” Blanc tiredly offered back.
“How did you sleep last night?”
“Shockingly well, that’s the latest I’ve slept in years. You bless that bed or somethin’?” Blanc asked, strolling into Jud’s study. Jud chuckled but couldn’t suppress the blush that rose in his cheeks at the piece of information.
“Just a regular old twin mattress. I’m glad you found it comfortable,”
“Trust me, it wasn’t comfortable, my back is killin’ me. It’s a miracle I slept well at all. I guess there must’ve just been something in it that I liked,” Blanc remarked. He even had the audacity to wink at Jud. He put his head back down to hide the blush slowly creeping on his cheeks and told himself it was just southern charm to make the pounding of his heart go away.
“What’s for breakfast?” Blanc asked, graciously changing the subject.
“Oh, uh, I can make you some eggs-” Jud started, pushing himself up by his desk to join Blanc in the kitchen.
“Stay where you are, son, I can make my own breakfast,” Blanc said, not looking up. Jud slowly obeyed and sat back down.
“I have a question for you, Blanc,” Jud began.
“Go right ahead,”
“Are those little Phantom of the Opera masks on your pajama pants?” He asked, pointing at Blanc’s legs. He looked down for a moment before looking back up at Jud.
“They were my only clean ones,” he defended. Jud couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “So, what are the plans for today?” Blanc quickly changed the subject. Jud was kind enough to go along with it.
“Mostly just preparing for the services tonight and tomorrow then setting up for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. I’m afraid we’re not all that exciting around here, especially for a world famous detective,”
“Nonsense, I could use the quiet. Besides, it’s rather nice here. I may not look it, but I can organize a mean dining set up,”
“You know, you don’t have to. I can’t imagine that’s how you want to spend your Christmas Eve,” Jud assured. Blanc’s eyes snapped over to Jud as he began to take slow steps towards the priest.
“If you’ll recall, father, I drove all this way so I can spend my Christmas with you, and if that means helping you with your pastoral duties, so be it. Why don’t you shake that Catholic guilt from your pretty little head and let me help you?” Blanc said, leaning up against the desk, impossibly close to Jud. He swallowed, wanting to shrink back into his chair.
“Thank you, you’re too kind,” Blanc nodded in satisfaction, strolling back into the kitchen to cook up his breakfast.
“No, not kind. I only do it for you, I don’t do it for god,” Blanc clarified.
“I didn’t think you did,”
“And don’t think I’ll be attendin’ any more of those services,”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I only wish I had some way of entertaining you. I know you’ve been so bored lately,”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got the whole internet at my disposal and a few books to hold me over for a few hours," Blanc assured.
“Good,”
With the conversation dwindling out, Jud continued writing his homilies while Blanc quietly hummed a showtune from God only knows what musical. It was oddly domestic. He was so used to doing this kind of thing alone, it was nice to have someone around. And like everything else that Blanc brought with him, that scared him. He just shook his head and willed himself to keep writing.
It was an odd sight to see the two enter the banquet hall together. Jud was in his usual all black attire, save the pop of the white clerical collar on his neck. Blanc dressed head to toe in another tailored suit. His presence turned heads, but Jud was quick to shut down any rumors or concerns. Blanc was true to his word, almost to an annoying extent. He became a bit perfectionist about the tablecloths and the cutlery arrangements (“Nobody’s gonna care that much about how the table looks, people just show up for the free food and the community.” “I am telling you, Father, presentation is everything”). He was, however, kind enough to run down to the florist and get expensive bouquets to put as centerpieces (“You really didn’t have to do that,” “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do, and trust me I don’t. Oh, speaking of- I got you your own bouquet. Figured you can brighten up that space of yours, you desperately need some decorations in there,” Jud had to pretend it didn’t make his heart burst). When the volunteers brought their rowdy kids, Blanc was there to entertain them (a few of them recognized him from the news, which sprouted a new game called “detective,” in which Blanc was the murderer disguised as a detective. He let the kids chase him down and “arrest” him, which would lead him to complain about his ongoing back pain sporadically throughout the rest of the day). Meanwhile, Jud chatted with volunteers about their lives, their families, their hardships. He listened to their stories and told a few of his own when they were relevant. It made his heart overwhelmingly full. He was blessed to have such a wonderful community. He couldn’t fathom why Wicks ever wanted to drive them away. Power was never worth the joy of serving the people.
When the setup was finally up to Blanc’s standard, they returned to the rectory in idle conversation. He told Jud of his intentions to park on the couch with a mystery book that he intended to solve within the first twenty pages. Jud began to slip his chasuble on in preparation for his first mass of the night. Blanc leaned up against the wall adjacent to him.
“I just don’t quite understand why you need three masses on Christmas Eve alone, especially if there’s only one on Christmas Day and also every other Sunday of the year,” Blanc complained.
“It’s tradition. Each reading focuses on a different perspective of Jesus’ birth. Besides, it gives everyone multiple opportunities to come to Mass if they want to,” Jud explained patiently.
“I just think it’s a little excessive,”
“You think Catholicism is excessive,”
Blanc mumbled something about “peigner la girafe” that Jud couldn’t quite make out.
Jud ignored it while he struggled to get the heavy garment over his head.
“Here, let me help,” Blanc pulled the cream garment down gently and smoothed out the fabric. He pulled at the shoulders and observed it like a tailor. He then grabbed Jud’s stole and draped it around his shoulders, slightly adjusting it to be perfectly symmetrical on his neck.
“If we want to talk about excessive, I think this is it,”
“It’s a special occasion. If you’re gonna do all that work, you’d better look good doing it,” Blanc explained with unbroken focus on the garment before him.
“Is that why you show up to crime scenes in three piece tailored suits like a film noir?” Jud raised an eyebrow.
“It don’t matter if I worked at the damn deli, I want to look good in everything I do,”
“You do,” Jud replied all too quickly. Blanc only smiled.
“Thank you…” he turned Jud towards the full-length mirror hanging on his wall. “…and you look pretty spiffy yourself,” he said, patting the priest on the back.
“Thanks, by the way. For all this,”
“It was no trouble. Now go greet your congregation, they’re dying to see you,” Jud chuckled, turning on his heel to greet the group already forming at the door.
The three services went by quickly, which would be disappointing if he didn’t have Blanc waiting for him back in his living room when he returned home. A contented tiredness weighed on him. The second the final patron left, he huffed out a contented sigh. He hung up his vestments before speedwalking back to the rectory to avoid the biting cold. He opened the door to the southerner sitting exactly where he said he’d be: parked on the couch with a book in his hand and his reading glasses perched on his nose. He shed his usual suits in favor of dawning a slightly-too big sweater and a pair of loose fitting slacks. Jud suppressed a chuckle at the sight.
The fire Jud started to keep Blanc warm was still going strong. The warm toned twinkling lights of his Christmas tree and a lamp on the table next to the couch worked hard to illuminate the dim room. Jud always liked minimal lighting in his spaces, he almost never used the overhead light if he didn’t have to. Besides, he enjoyed making the Christmas tree an eye-catching decoration in the room.
“Hey,” Jud greeted.
“Evenin’ father. How’d it go?” He asked, not looking up from his book.
“It’s the most crowded I’d ever seen the place, we had to bring in extra chairs just to seat everyone for every service,” Jud explained excitedly. “I had a handful of people telling me they wanted to come back to Mass regularly on Sundays,”
“Good, you deserve it,”
“I don’t deserve it, God does. I just bring the people to His house and give them the space to worship how they need to,”
“Don’t undersell yourself,”
“It’s not underselling, it’s true,”
“Well, whatever it may be, you deserve a drink,” Blanc announced, beelining to the drink table. He began to pour some bourbon into the glass.
“Easy, Blanc, I’ve got a service at ten am. I gotta be up by six,”
“You don’t gotta get blackout, just a little something to celebrate your first Christmas at Our Lady of Perpetual Grace,” Blanc said, handing Jud the glass. Jud accepted it gratefully. Blanc plopped himself close enough for their thighs to touch.
“To you, Father Jud,” Blanc held up his glass.
“And to you as well,” Jud held up his own in response.
“Stop that, this is my toast,”
“Fine, then. To me,” he agreed. They clinked their glasses together before taking gentle sips of the liquor in their hands. Silence followed as each of them sipped the smooth liquid and appreciated the flavor and the burn that coated their throats. Blanc’s eyes scanned the room.
“I haven’t had one of those in decades,” Blanc pointed to the Christmas tree Jud set up next to the fireplace.
“Why not?”
“I never really saw a need for it. Either I’m out on a case or it’s just another thing taking up valuable storage space. And I’ve never really celebrated Christmas much anyways. It just became a time of family squabbles and meaningless gifts. It became an excuse for my mother to hurl religiously charged homophobic remarks in my direction, so it’s never had many pleasant memories attached to it,” Jud’s heart ached. He figured the core of Blanc’s attitude towards religion stemmed from his relationship with his mother. He also knew this time of year wasn’t happy for everyone. He only wished he did more to make his stay better. “Besides, it’s a capitalist wet dream full of thousands of tons of plastic waste. Why buy a big ol’ plastic Christmas tree that will end up in a landfill after I die?”
“I’m sorry,”
“You do apologize an awful lot for someone with nothin’ to be sorry for,” Blanc observed. Jud shrugged.
“I guess I just want to help remove as many burdens and roadblocks as I can, even if I didn’t put them there,” Jud sipped his drink and let the familiar aching burn settle down his throat.
“Which is why you were so quick to confess to crimes that you didn’t commit?”
“Part of it. I guess there’s more I feel I haven’t fully repented for than I thought,” Jud tapped the side of his glass.
“You repent plenty,”
“I don’t see what’s so bad about that. I’m a flawed human being, there’s no crime in owning up to mistakes,”
“But it’s pointless to repent for sins you didn’t commit,”
“I guess that’s where you put my head on straight. I may dedicate my life to the Lord, but I owe all of this to you,” he said, vaguely motioning towards the church.
“I can hardly take credit for all your hard work, Father,”
“I’d be rotting in a jail cell if you hadn’t believed in me. You stopped me from confessing- several times, actually- and you still believed I was innocent. I guess I always wondered why,” Jud examined the features of the other man.
“Well, I always like to examine the facts before jumping to any conclusions. You can never make assumptions about anyone, even when everyone else is tellin’ you who they think is in the wrong,”
“But you knew I was innocent from the moment you met me. And even with every piece of incriminating evidence, you still believed in me with no facts to my benefit or detriment. Why make such an illogical and possibly dangerous alliance like that?” Benoit set his glass down and thought carefully. He rubbed his hands together in thought.
“I believe in good people. That may sound naive, but it’s what makes me a good detective. I’d like to think myself a great judge of character, and I’m rarely wrong. The kindness and the humanity of the people I work with have saved countless lives. Those who display honesty and generosity have been the ones to triumph over the horror of their circumstances. I knew you were a broken man in the wrong place at the wrong time. The more I came to know you, the more I understood how gracious you really were. I may not believe in any god, Father, but I do have faith in decent people,” he picked his glass back up and took a large sip. “I am by no means an easy man. I am blunt and insensitive even in my best moments. I am cooperative with authorities when I have to be and deviate when I need to. I lie to people to get what I need to solve a case. But people like you who believe in me and my methods— that’s why I keep doing what I do,” Blanc explained. It wasn’t that it was surprising information, but to hear him say it out loud, he was almost surprised by the self awareness.
“How do you see goodness even when you see the worst in humanity?” Jud found himself asking. He didn’t know where the question came from, but it was in the open air.
“Years and years of practice. When I first started out, I was… unbearably naive, without the experience I have now. I’ve made the mistake of trusting police word against my own instincts and trusting my own arrogant mind too far. People suffered for it. You don’t become the world’s greatest detective without sending the wrong people to jail a few times,” he admitted. There was a familiarity in his eyes, a sadness that told him he didn’t talk about this much. Jud didn’t think about the fact that he wasn’t always the same quick witted detective who always seemed to know what to do next, that he was once young. He didn’t think he could ever fail. The thought broke his heart.
“I had nightmares after my first failed case. I barely slept for a long time. For a while, my sympathy was almost gone from every case I handled. Then my lack of humanity got somebody killed. I could’ve saved them if I had listened, if I had recognized the goodness in them. I had to learn balance, stay invested enough and collaborate with the right people to solve the crime, but remove myself enough once I’m not needed anymore,” Blanc explained. Jud nodded in understanding.
“So then why come back here? Why text and call me for months after the case is solved?”
Blanc took a long sip of his drink and leaned back on the couch, crossing one leg over another, a move Jud was trying very hard not to focus on right now.
“You’re fascinating, Father Jud. In a way I have never seen before,”
Blanc’s eyes found Jud’s and it nearly knocked the wind out of his lungs. There was a conviction behind those eyes in the specks of yellow reflected in those bright blue eyes from the fire. He desperately wanted to search them, pick apart everything that made Benoit Blanc what he is. Instead, he didn’t know what else to do besides hide behind a sip of his drink.
“I have a hard time believing that’s true,” Jud chuckled nervously.
“Don’t doubt my honesty for the sake of your humility,”
“I just mean that- you’ve met so many people in your detective work, surely I’m not the most interesting person you’ve met,”
“You’re right, you’re not. But you are more fascinating,” Blanc corrected, pointing a finger at the priest.
“I guess I don’t understand the difference,” Jud cocked his head to the side.
“I’ve met world leaders, people who have lived thousands more lives than even I. I’m friends with Stephen Sondheim, for god’s sake,”
“Who’s Stephen Sondheim?” Jud crinkled his eyebrows together in confusion.
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just ask me that,” Blanc held up an offended hand. “The point is I meet a lot of powerful people, I’ve met a lot of powerless people. Each one made their own impact on me and my work, but you… I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s because I’ve never met a man of faith such as yours. It almost made me want to believe, not in god, but in something else. Your spirit, your perspective, it’s enough to convince anyone to fall to their knees and pray. Never by force, but through love. In the darkness of death that I see every time I go to work, I have your messages to look forward to: you are light, kindness, and honesty. Not a man of immeasurable power, but a man who turns his back when presented with it and looks upon his fellow man as an equal,” Blanc was leaning close to Jud in the moment. He swallowed at the closeness, glancing down at the other man’s lips. He willed himself to tear his eyes away and finish the last of his drink.
“I don’t really… know what to say,”
“That’s ok, I’m just… talking,”
“I like hearing you talk,” Jud began. He got up to fill his glass again to distract himself. “Will you let me toast to you now?” he asked, pouring more bourbon into the detective’s glass.
“If you must,” Blanc smirked. Jud replaced the bottle and took his place back on the couch.
“To the detective who saved my life,”
“Well, I’m not sure I-”
“I’ve been to jail before,” he admitted. Blanc tilted his head. “I know, I don’t look like I have. But you didn’t know me back in my boxing days. I was bitter, everyone in that place was bitter. I thought that’s where I would die. The fights were unmediated, brutal. Anger, it’s a drug. I still fall into it sometimes, that’s why I’m here. I fell deep into that cycle and He was the only one who got me out. If I had to go back, through the grace of God, I hope I would’ve made it through. But not having my congregation, not being able to fulfil my vocation as a priest… I know it would’ve drained my spirit. Deep in my soul, I know it probably would’ve killed me. This parish owes you everything, I owe you everything,” Jud confessed. He turned his eyes to the glass, tapping it nervously with his finger.
“I owe you for the peace and quiet,” Blanc replied softly. Jud grinned and held up his glass, clinking it to the detective’s. Blanc took a sip of his drink and never broke eye contact. Jud scanned every inch of his features. Soaking in the man before him, in the light of the fire and the Christmas tree lights. He looked angelic. He could’ve sworn it was an image from one of his prayer cards. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone look so unbelievably beautiful.
In that moment, he realized something that was almost a miracle.
This was exactly the sign he prayed for. He knew it with overwhelming certainty in his heart. He didn’t know exactly what it meant for him or where it would lead. All he knew in that moment was that, whatever the outcome, he couldn’t omit any more truths from Blanc, certainly not this one. There were a million things he could have said. Yet, a hundred homilies couldn’t contain every word he wanted to say to Blanc. But what he wanted to say could never be spoken to a congregation in the house of God. These words, even those unspoken, were meant for only the two men on the couch. Even in such a perfect moment, a moment given to them by the grace of God, the preacher had nothing to say. The words were caught deep in his throat— trying to get them out seemed so laborious a task.
He hadn’t said anything for far too long now.
“Blanc… I-” he began as his voice shook.
“It’s alright, Jud, I know,”
Jud’s eyes narrowed in confusion, both at the statement and at the fact that his prefix was missing for the first time from Blanc’s lips.
“Wh-what?”
“Your finger has been tapping the glass for the past five minutes. Your breathing has quickened ever so slightly. You haven’t spoken for an unnaturally long time, your eyes either scan me or dart between the tree and the fire. You obviously have something you want to tell me. And, based on your prayers this morning, I have an inkling of what that might be,” he explained. Jud’s eyes blew wide open at the analysis and the confession. He felt his own throat closing up with an urge to sob. He cursed himself for not even thinking about the fact that Blanc could be awake to hear him. He’d spent so much time in solitude it was easy to forget when there was someone else in his rectory. He wanted to run to the church, lock the doors behind him, and prostrate himself on the cold ground just so he didn’t have to face the fact that he potentially cost himself one of the most important friendships in his life.
“You heard that?” Jud squeaked through his own horror.
“These walls are thin and I just happened to wake up at the right time and fall asleep right after. I’ve suspected you had your affections for me for a long time. The real question is how long did you think you could keep them from me?” Blanc raised a gentle hand to guide Jud’s chin away from his hand to make eye contact with him. Jud swallowed, his heart beating a million miles a minute.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Jud asked helplessly.
“I wanted you to be able to make that choice for yourself. But I saw you strugglin’ with the words so I figured I’d assist,”
Jud sighed and shook his head. Now that the truth was out, the words, what he was good at, began to come back to him.
“Ok, um, I’m just gonna talk for a while and I’m not sure how much of it is gonna make sense but I need to say something. I’ve never really been close with my family. Once they kicked me out at 16, they wanted nothing to do with me, even after I left the boxing scene. Any other relationship before the priesthood was purely one night stands with men I can’t even remember the names of. When I joined the church, I made a lot of connections with people but I’d never met anyone that ever made me question my vow of celibacy, not in the ten years I’ve been a priest. Then I met you. For these past few months, you have been a light for me. For the first time I understand what it means to want to share your life with someone. And last night after that nightmare, I understood a truth that hung deep in my soul and scared the shit out of me. And if I’m honest, it still does. I love this parish and before all else my life is dedicated to God and the idea of losing that… it’s incomprehensible. But when I spoke to God this morning, when I asked for his guidance, I understood one thing— this isn’t temptation. I know what sin is, I know what a strayed path looks like but this… this doesn’t feel like that. I know that there is literally no chance in hell you feel the same way and that’s fine. If you want to leave, I understand. But I just needed to say it or else I’d go crazy,” Jud’s hands shook with the progression of every sentence. Every word was a relief and a death sentence wrapped up in one. He waited patiently for Blanc, unbearably unreadable Blanc, to say or do anything. But he just sat, gentlemanly as ever, unmoving, analyzing.
“Please, say something,” Jud begged.
Blanc only nodded and sat up in his chair. He set his glass down on the table and rubbed his hands. His eyes found Jud in a way that shook him deep to his core.
“I don’t know how I couldn’t feel the same way about you,”
Jud blinked in surprise. The whole world seemed to come to a standstill. Nothing else seemed to matter. He got the feeling that his whole life was about to change after this.
“Believe you me, I have tried with every fiber of my being to get you out of my mind. Even on the job, I think about you– it’s like I’m losing my mind. I feel giddy like a damn schoolgirl when you call. But, our lives, our jobs, our beliefs are so different. I don’t see any plausible way this could work,”
Jud’s heart sank and melted out of his chest. He knew it was true deep down, he knew that they were completely incompatible in nearly every way. How could he ever think that it could happen?
“I know,” Jud agreed as he let out a deep shaky sigh, fighting back the tears that were already burning his eyes.
“But I deal in improbability every day. I dance with it, I know it like the back of my hand. Never once has it ever found dominion over me. Our meeting was statistically improbable. But by your impulsive decision to punch that deacon, we are now here on this night. If your god is the master planner you claim he is, then maybe there is a reason I’m here tonight. And if there is a reality out there where this could happen, hell or high water, I would do anything to make it ours,” Blanc grabbed Jud’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly as he spoke. Jud’s eyes studied the detective. Blanc was so willing to be irresponsible, to put himself on the line just for the two of them. The potential sacrifice of the detective didn’t bear thinking about, even if Blanc was willing to make it.
“It is going to be really hard. Like near impossible,”
“Then again neither of us have been known to back away from a challenge, have we?” Blanc winked.
“I guess not,” Jud chuckled with a strange sense of relief. “What now?”
“Well, Jud Duplenticy, I really want to kiss you right now but I need you to tell me that’s alright,”
Jud’s heart dropped right to his stomach. His throat dried in record time. All he could do was nod.
Blanc wasted no time pressing his lips to Jud’s. He placed a gentle hand on the preacher’s cheek before gently sliding it down his neck to pull him closer. Jud’s hands fell as naturally to Blanc’s waist as they did to a holy book. Blanc held him so reverently that for a moment he forgot that he wasn’t a believer. His beard was scratchy but his lips were soft with a fruity chapstick he couldn’t place. He tasted like the spiced cinnamon of the bourbon they’d been drinking. It reminded Jud that this was an ecstasy no bottle would ever replicate. They moved in a synchrony that connected something deep in both of them and confirmed what they already knew. The high of his lips was overwhelming, the closeness made his skin tingle with every beautifully scorching touch. He hadn’t been touched like this in over a decade. He hadn’t been understood like this by any other living being. The man whom he wanted, who he loved, touched him with the reverence that was borderline holy. Everything about it made tears pool in his eyes as he clutched the fabric of Blanc’s sweater. He pulled away gently, letting them trickle down his rosy cheeks.
“Benoit,” Jud whispered weakly.
“Hey, hey,” Blanc cooed gently. He reached up to gently thumb a tear off his cheek.
“I really do want this to work,” Jud sniffed.
“Me too, darling,”
“We’re both going to have to make sacrifices,”
“I’m willing to make them. Are you?” Blanc questioned.
“Yeah, yeah. I really am,”
“Then I would really love it if you kissed me again,”
Jud was more than happy to oblige and let the tears subside. This time, it was far more hungry. Blanc kissed Jud like it was his last meal. Blanc swiped a questioning tongue across Jud’s lip. Jud happily accepted the invitation, allowing his hands to roam across the soft knitted fabric covering Blanc’s back. A deeper part of him wondered what it would feel like under his sweater, but he willed that thought out of his head for now. Instead, his hand roamed to the back of Blanc’s head pulling him even deeper into the kiss, if it was even still possible. Blanc began to guide Jud back so he was in a lying position. He tried really hard not to gawk over how effortlessly this almost sixty year old man was holding himself up over Jud. He decided that was the perfect place for him to be.
Blanc suddenly pulled away with a familiarly inquisitive look on his face.
“What?” Jud asked. Blanc looked at his watch as a smirk grew on his face. He turned his wrist over so Jud could see the two hands pointing straight upwards.
“Merry Christmas, Jud,” Blanc smiled.
“Merry Christmas,” Jud echoed.
“And…” Blanc pushed himself off the couch and held out his hand for Jud. He tried not to be too disappointed at the sudden lack of contact. “If I recall correctly, you have to be up in about six hours. You need your beauty sleep for that morning service and dinner we worked so hard to set up,” Blanc pointed out. As much as Jud wished he could just make out with the detective all night, he was right. He begrudgingly let Blanc help him off the couch and guide him up the stairs with one hand on the small of his back.
The two men got ready for bed with a newfound contentment. Jud felt lighter than he’d felt in a long time. The doom and gloom of the murders and the expectation to flip the church around weighed him down for so long, he forgot what it felt like to feel this serene. For one night, they were both willing to pretend like this could be their life.
“I do wish you didn't have to do that damn service in the morning and you could just stay and entertain me,” Blanc whined dramatically as Jud pulled on a tee shirt.
“As enticing as that sounds, there are a million reasons that would be a bad idea. Besides, it’s only an hour, I’m sure you can manage. You did today,” Jud assured him.
“But earlier today, I didn’t get to kiss you,” Blanc swept in behind Jud and wrapped his arms around him from the back, leaning a chin on his shoulder. He pressed a gentle kiss to the tattoo that peeked out from his shirt.
“Am I allowed to ask how many of these you have? Or where they all are?” Blanc asked, running a finger along the ink that peeked out from his shirt.
“Seven. And you’ll find out eventually,” Jud reached up to pat Blanc’s cheek as he grumbled like an indignant child. Jud pried out from Blanc’s grasp to hang the remainder of his clothes.
“Am I allowed to say I like the way it looks on you?”
“Speaking as a priest, they only still exist as a reminder of how far I’ve come and is otherwise a reminder of my sinful past, so probably not. Speaking as your man, you can admire them as much as you’d like,” He said, turning to head towards the bed. Blanc hummed in response, pressing a quick kiss to Jud’s lips.
“You know this-” he began, motioning between the two of them “-still does not mean I’m gonna start going to church now,” Blanc clarified.
“I didn’t think you would. It’s not like I’m accompanying you on any more of your murder cases. At least I really hope not,” Jud pulled open the covers, slipping in between the sheets. Blanc followed soon after.
“I wouldn't let that happen,” He assured as he wrapped his arms around the taller man.
Out of nothing but a desire to touch him, Jud reached a hand up to run through Blanc’s hair. To his surprise, Blanc sighed and leaned into the touch.
“I don’t think I’ve been touched like this in years,” Blanc admitted.
“What, men aren’t throwing themselves at you at every turn?” Jud teased.
“Oh, trust, they are. Women too. I just thought I was too busy. You should consider yourself lucky,”
“I do, trust me I do,” Jud continued like that in silence for a moment. The only thing that filled the air was their steady breaths.
Too many truths still remained caught in the back of their throats. There were so many implications and unknowns between them. They were not by any stretch of the imagination made for each other. Their circumstances couldn’t put their positions further apart. They were, by every definition, an inevitable failure.
And yet, a boxer could never be a priest. A grisly detective could never become successful through kindness and compassion for his suspects. A heretic could never walk into a church and listen to a homily.
They were both experts in uncertainty. They both looked it in the face every day and persevered despite it, even strolled with it hand in hand.
As the detective kissed the forehead of the priest of fighting instinct, Jud knew, whether through the grace of God or his own intuition, that they would make that reality real for themselves.