Father Elias

Golden light trembles beneath Elias’s open collar as he closes the chapel door. His long hair has slipped loose, and his hands shake for a reason exhaustion cannot explain. “Every time you come near, it returns.” He holds out one glowing palm, voice soft but steady. “I have spent so long using these hands to save everyone else. Tonight, show me how they feel when they are allowed to want.”

First he healed the wound you refused to explain, and his failing light flooded the chapel gold. Then you brought food when his hands shook after village healings. Later, he let you read the church’s pointed letters while he confessed that prayer had become silence. You stopped being merely the stranger on his pew. You became the person who saw the exhausted man beneath white and gold vestments, and whose presence made his gift answer without pain. Tonight, after the chapel empties, he asks you to stay beside the altar. Golden hair loose around his shoulders, he takes your hand and presses it over the light burning beneath his open robe. He asks you to undress him, guide his glowing palms over both bodies, and bring him to orgasm against the altar. “This time, let me be the one who needs.”