Author's Note: This is based loosely upon an idea a friend and I formed whilst watching the scene between Eunice and the Monsignor when she's packing away Sister Jude's belongings to be donated to charity, and she tells the Monsignor she'd help him get to Rome, via any means possible/necessary. So, I said it would more than likely be a oneshot...I lied. Back by popular demand, and due to Nisscar pressure.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, everything belongs to Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk and the FX network.
Timothy was already in the confessional booth, confessing to his fellow brother about his bad judgement; his masturbatory experience when Mary Eunice had walked in on him. He had not judged the situation with clear conscience. Sighing, Timothy shook his head, he did not know what to do or how to handle the situation with his wife, she saw herself as a failure now due to his inconsiderate pleasure seeking.
Timothy had told his fellow brethren of his indiscretion, of the dream he had had about his wife giving herself so freely to the pleasure, that he had needed to do the same. He told the priest in the other side of the confessional booth how he had not been able to bring himself to tell Mary Eunice why he had been found in such a predicament as when she had walked into the bathroom in such a delicate situation. That surely would have made her feel a failure as both his wife and as a woman.
He wanted guidance to enable him to correct what had happened, to help Mary Eunice discover she was not at fault nor was she a failure of a wife. Sighing as the priest gave him his penance, Timothy swallowed and gestured the sign of the cross over himself, standing from the seat inside the booth once the father had left his section. Timothy stood, opened the door to the booth and stepped outside, almost mowing down a young woman in the process. It was his wife, Mary Eunice.
Looking up at her husband, the blonde blinked slightly, she was about to enter the confessional booth to ask the priest if Timothy's autonomous indiscretion had been her fault. And now here she was, glancing up into his face. Mary Eunice bit her lower lip and swallowed, "Timothy." she regarded him, stepping aside to pass him and move to the confessional booth. He stopped her however, grasping at her wrist and tugging lightly, pulling her back to him.
Timothy glanced to the priest and raised a brow, "I don't suppose father, you could give me a moment of privacy...?" he asked the older man, who looked between he and Mary Eunice before nodding and turning on his heel to leave them alone. Turning back to his bride, Timothy swallowed, pulling her inside the confessional booth with him, and allowing the door to swing shut against his back as Mary Eunice gently fell against the chair, looking up at him. He rose his hands either side of his face and rubbed his temples momentarily before he sighed, "I believe I owe you an apology, my love." Timothy began, gazing down to her.
Mary Eunice frowned and shook her head, reaching her hand up, extending one finger to press against his lips. She couldn't quite reach, so she stood, her knee grazed against him in the confined space between them. As she pressed her finger to Timothy's lips, she felt the vibration from his moan, the one he'd been trying to conceal when she'd grazed against his crotch. Mary Eunice shook her head and looked into his hazel eyes, she could see he hadn't meant to cause her any hurt with his actions, "It was just such a shock to me, to see you...doing that..." she frowned slightly before swallowing, "I was...I wasn't prepared to see you doing that, Timothy." Mary reasoned with her husband.
"I know, and I'm sorry." he flushed slightly, "I didn't want to wake you."
"You didn't." she smiled up at him, their faces mere centimeters apart, given the lack of space in the booth for the two of them to stand together, "I happened to ro-"
"I just needed to get that image from my mind." he cut her off.
Tilting her head, Mary Eunice blinked, her bright blue eyes wide as pools, "I-image...?" she questioned Timothy, her tone was soft, curious like a child.
"...Of you, Mary." he nodded, "Doing..." he inhaled, seemingly to give himself enough strength to bring himself to say it, "Bringing yourself pleasure." he finally stated.
"Timothy!" she gasped. Hearing her husband state something so plainly as that, she cringed and flushed before revolving around on the spot to get to the door of the booth, but he grabbed at her wrists and pulled her back to her place, her back against the grill. She shook her head, her blonde locks bounced against her face, "We can't talk about this here, Timothy. Not in the Vatican." she furrowed her brows.
"But, you don't understand. I have to tell you, my love. The guilt has been...wearing me thin." he announced, his hands still at her wrists, though now they moved down to take her hands. He sighed as he looked to their hands before he looked up at her again and continued, "The dream, I had a dream about you. It's been recurring for a few nights now."
"What is it...? Wh-what happened?" she frowned, "You haven't woken up any other night."
"Because last night went even further. I-I stood and watched you...how your body reacted to the pleasure." he told her, lips hovering above hers. Looking down into her eyes, Timothy continued, "I came back from the Chapel, you weren't in the kitchen. I headed to the bedroom, and you were there. Naked." he nodded, before he added, "And your hand..." he took her hand, placing his over as he snaked hers down her abdomen, pressing his fingers against hers, he caused her to press against her core, "Your hand moved down your body like so..."
Feeling her fingers pressing against herself, even through the fine material of her dress, caused her to gasp. It was improper of her to be touching herself as she was, especially in the Sistine Chapel. Mary Eunice swiftly pulled her hand away, blushing profusely and she avoided eye contact with her husband, "I don't understand. Why did you feel you couldn't tell me about this, Timothy? I'm your wife...you can tell me these things."
"I didn't think you would understand. You don't understand, still." he told her, shaking his and exhaling harshly. He was frustrated, and had been since Mary Eunice had walked in on him the night before, in such an uncompromisable situation. He could sense that Eunice was troubled, somewhat flustered and angry with him for not being able to tell her about his secret midnight rendez vous with her in his dreams.
Shaking her head once more, Mary Eunice decided it was time to leave, to head back home and begin preparing their dinner. She needed space, he needed space. The blonde bypassed her husband, squeezing past his shoulder for the door of the confessional booth, making to leave once more. In one swift movement, however, Timothy had spun around and grabbed her body, his arm wrapped around her, hands sliding over her contours and dips. His mouth peppered kisses along her neck and toward her jaw. She could feel his erection pressing against the back of her thigh, it was clear what Timothy wanted. Her.
He slipped his hand up her stomach, to her breast. There he massaged the flesh through dress and bra alike. His free hand snaked over her hips, thighs and to her bottom, kneading and circling her form. It was while he was kneading her breast, she spoke up, trying to control herself, "Timothy, let me go..." she managed before her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes rolled back in their sockets causing her lashes to flutter.
Her mind was telling her to leave, this was all wrong. They were under the eyes of their Lord. But, her heart was telling her to stay, she wanted to be the good wife. The wife who could please her husband, in love, emotionally, and sexually. Her heart was willing her to stay there, she could feel Timothy growing harder under his trousers, but her mind was screaming at her to leave him. She tried to shrug away his hands, they were like wildfire over her body, and she made for the handle one final time.
Timothy grabbed at Mary Eunice's hips, turning her to face him as he pressed his mouth feverishly to hers, backing her up against the grill. She looked up at him for the first time now since he'd told her the nature of his dream. Her eyes were wide, wanting, as her lips were parted now, in between assaults upon her mouth. She was wedged between Timothy's muscular body and the grill which separated the two booths. Standing upon the leather bound bench, her stiletto heel caused indentations in the material as she was perched upon the ledge underneath the grill with Timothy's hand upon her thighs, snaking under the hem of her dress for her panties already.
He pushed up dress towards her stomach, tugging down her simple white panties and they skittered down to her knees. As soon as they were visible, Timothy made light work of his zipper and boxer shorts, freeing his erection as he saw his wife trying to tug at her panties. He grabbed at her thigh and lifted her leg, heaving her up onto the legde once again as he pushed into her, eliciting a guttural cry from his wife as she grabbed at his collar, feeling the chill of the metal grate touching her bare skin of her behind.
Mary Eunice could sense that Timothy needed this release, she had after all, walked in on him before he could climax. And, they had not made love that morning before he left for the Chapel. He was frustrated, his arms were tense, that's how she could tell he was pre-occupied with something, right now, it was finding that much needed and much deserved release. Clinging to his collar, and tugging at it, she felt Timothy quickening his pace. His thrusts became harder inside her and faster. With each thrust, Timothy caused her leg to jerk forwards then back, as it balanced over his lower arm, his hand snaked around to her bottom, fingers biting in her flesh. As soon as he found the pace that would allow them both to climax, Mary's leg was moving in full swing.
Within a few more thrusts, she was crying out, he pressed his lips against her when he felt his own climax evolving as he held himself still, after giving one final thrust to seal his release. Mary Eunice's leg jerked so far, she kicked her purse, sending it clattering to the floor of the confessional booth, its contents spilling out around Timothy's feet. Neither of them noticed until Timothy rested his head against the grill and kissed her shoulder, panting from his exertions. Glancing down, he saw that her purse had fell and he chuckled until he saw the pink diaphragm on the floor, its lid had popped open and a circle of tin foil had escaped. A few of the pods were missing pills.
Gently, Timothy lowered her leg and he bent to scoop up the tin foil, flipping it over and examining it multiple times before he looked to Mary, holding the packet up slightly, "W-wh-what is this...?" he asked her lightly, his breath was still coming in short bursts, "What do you need these for, Mary?" he raised his brows and she just stared at him, "Why do you have these?"