The door opened a crack. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah."
Lorenzo slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He stood there awkwardly, like he wasn't sure what to do with his hands, before finally leaning against the wall.
"You know," I said, still studying my reflection, "I once met a priest in Dublin who had a glass eye. Father McCarthy. Lost his eye in a car accident back in the seventies." I turned away from the mirror to look at Lorenzo properly. "He told me that if you can't laugh at what God takes from you, you'll spend your whole life bitter about it."
Lorenzo was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "You planning to start laughing about it?"
"Maybe not yet. But I'm not going to be bitter either." I pushed off from the sink, swaying slightly. Lorenzo moved forward instinctively to steady me, but I waved him off. "I need to get cleaned up. I smell like death."
I gestured toward the tub. "Think you can help me with the bandages? I don't want to get them wet."
Lorenzo nodded and moved closer, checking to make sure the gauze was secure.
He helped me undress and get in the deep clawfoot tub and turned on the water, testing the temperature before plugging the drain. It was one of the biggest cast iron tubs I'd ever seen in my life, probably large enough to hold a family of four.
Lorenzo stripped off his shirt and jeans to join me, washcloth in hand. He soaked it in the water and wrung it out, then started gently washing my shoulders.
No, gently wasn't the right word. Reverently, like Mary of Bethany had washed Christ's feet with her own hair. He wasn't using his hair or kneeling, or doing anything particularly reverent, but something about his touch brought that old story to mind.
I don't deserve this, came that familiar voice of shame in the back of my mind. I tried to swallow the tightness in my throat. That voice was wrong, wasn't it? Maybe. I didn't know if I deserved Lorenzo's devotion, or to be worshiped, but I didn't deserve pain and guilt and all the things the Church had heaped upon me and called holy. This was holier than a thousand prayers for forgiveness, than years of fasting. Holier than the holes Constantine had driven into my palms as if I were Christ himself. I'd never felt holy then, but with Lorenzo…
It felt right and good.
"When the bandages come off," I said quietly, "maybe I should get an eyepatch."
Lorenzo's mouth curved into a small smile. "You'd look hot with an eyepatch."
I dropped my arm back into the water. "You think so?"
"Yeah." He moved the washcloth to my other arm, his fingers brushing against my skin. "Like a darker, hotter Aemond Targaryn from that show with the dragons. Well, a much older version of him, anyway."
I splashed some water at him. "I'm not that old."
Lorenzo's smile widened, and before I could say anything else, he leaned forward and kissed me.
The pressure of his lips against mine pulled at the stitches on my cheek, sending a spike of agony through the swollen tissue around the bandages. I gasped against his mouth, and he jerked back.
"Shit. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking—"
"Don't stop," I said and grabbed him before he could escape. "Just don't kiss my face."
He stared at me for a second, water dripping from his hair, his pupils blown wide. "Rafael—"
"I want you, Lorenzo. I almost died on that tundra. I don't want to waste time being careful or pretending this doesn't matter."
Lorenzo's throat worked as he swallowed. Then he moved closer, crowding into my space, and pressed his lips to the right side of my neck. The kiss was gentle at first, but when I tilted my head to give him better access, he opened his mouth against my skin and sucked. Hard.
My cock jumped. The heat of his mouth, the scrape of teeth, the wet slide of his tongue… It was all so perfect. I'd never let myself imagine this during my time as a priest, never let myself want it. Now, it was like I couldn't get enough.
He kissed down the column of my throat, pausing to bite down on my collarbone hard enough to leave marks. I grabbed his shoulder, fingers digging into muscle, and the sound that came out of me was obscene.
"Fuck," I breathed.
Lorenzo did it again, this time on the other side, and my hips jerked forward on instinct. The water sloshed between us. Every nerve ending in my body was screaming for more, for him, for anything he'd give me.
The pain in my face was nothing compared to the ache between my legs. He kissed across my chest and closed his lips around my nipple, sucking hard before biting down. The sharp pleasure-pain shot straight to my cock, and I arched into him, shameless and desperate.
