Forgive me, Father: The Hot Priest & Stepbro
When tragedy strikes, Beau and his stepbrother, Jersey, find themselves leaning on each other in unexpected ways. But while Jersey seeks solace, Beau’s mind is elsewhere—specifically on Father Lee.
Muted sobs drifted through the dimly lit room, a mix of familiar and forgotten faces. Some I recognized instantly; others blurred into the distant memory of a family reunion over a decade ago. Names and connections had faded with time, but grief had a way of pulling everyone back together, no matter how loosely tied.
"Thanks for coming," I murmured, shaking hands with a steady rhythm as people approached my mother and sister, their condolences a tired echo.
There was something about funerals, though—something unsettling. Not the grief or the memories, but the way they stirred a heat in me I couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the proximity of life and death, the rawness of it all, but whatever it was, it made me… horny.
And then I saw him. Jersey. Out on the wrap-around porch, holding court with a group of guys, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he leaned back like he owned the place. He didn’t need to be inside, accepting pitying looks and empty words. That wasn’t his style. He left that to me—the dutiful one, fielding a never-ending stream of well-wishers. Nosy folks, if you asked me.
"You poor thing, you must be in so much pain," an older woman whispered as she wrapped her frail arms around me, her perfume cloying and sweet.
Not really.
“It was all so sudden,” I said, nodding solemnly, lowering my eyes in practiced grief.
Everyone knew Frank had a death wish. He went out just the way he wanted—mid-coke binge, on top of some hooker he met in Biloxi, Mississippi. And he finished in more ways than one. Blowing his load, then blowing his last breath. What a way to go. If I had to choose, that’d be my way too.
“I’m going to get some fresh air,” I told my mother and sister, escaping the funeral’s suffocating small talk.
The chill of the crisp fall air sank into my bones as I stepped onto the porch, wrapping my scarf tighter. My uncles stood at the railing, trading exaggerated stories about Frank like it was some kind of twisted contest. My eyes drifted to Jersey, leaning against the post with a cigarette between his fingers. He caught my gaze and curled a finger, beckoning me over.
“About time you came out,” he drawled, his lips twitching into a smirk.
“Unlike you, I’ve got manners,” I shot back, rolling my eyes.
Jersey took a slow drag on his cigarette, then extended it toward me. “Fuck ‘em. I don’t know ‘em.”
“You know I don’t smoke.”
He held it out again, eyes glinting with mischief. “Don’t be a pussy.”
I ignored him, stuffing my hands into my pockets and strolling to the far end of the porch. Behind me, I heard him chuckle, his boots crunching against the wood as he followed.
“Beau… Beau… Beau,” he teased, my name rolling off his tongue in that way only Jersey could manage.
I couldn’t help but smile. His arm looped around my neck, tugging me against him as we stared out over the fields. His spiced oak cologne was almost too much, pulling me closer to something dangerous.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, his voice low and inviting.
“I’m cold,” I said, glancing sideways at him.
His lips hovered near my ear, his breath warm against the chill. “I can warm you up.”
“On all fours, I bet.”
“If you’d let me,” he muttered, his voice rough and teasing.
Before I could answer, the sound of pumps striking wood shattered the moment. Grace. Of course. The eternal cockblocker.
“Mama’s calling for ya, suga,” she announced, her tone dripping with fake sweetness as she locked arms with Jersey, leaning her head on his shoulder. He twisted away, but she held tight, ever the performer.
“Beau, you remember Father Lee,” Grace said as she led Jersey toward the door, her sly grin daring me to react.
My gaze shifted, and there he was—Father Lee, standing beside my mother, his familiar presence sparking something sinful.
“Of course I do,” I said, letting my eyes rake over him. “How could I forget?”
Father Lee extended his hand, his voice calm and composed. “My condolences. Brother Frank was a good man.”
“A good man,” I repeated, my tone laced with irony.
“I came to pick up the papers for the service,” he said, glancing at my mother.
“I’ll grab them for you,” I offered before my mother could respond. “Follow me, Father.”
I led him down the hallway into the office, my pulse quickening as I reached for the door. Closing it behind us, I turned the lock with a deliberate click.
“Beau,” he started, hesitation thick in his voice.
“It’s just so we aren’t disturbed. Folks here have a nasty habit of barging in,” I said, flashing him a slow, deliberate smile. “Don’t you agree, Father?”
He cleared his throat, his eyes darting to the folder on the desk. “I’d appreciate it if you just handed over the papers.”
But my gaze lingered, tracing the lines of his lean frame. “Forgive me, Father, but I’ve been… lost.” I perched on the edge of the desk, my tone heavy with faux vulnerability.
“I’m here to listen,” he said cautiously, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“And forgive me,” I continued, my hand covering his. “For I keep on sinning… and I don’t plan to stop.”
“Beau, this isn’t the time,” he said, his voice tight with frustration.
I leaned closer, unbuttoning my shirt as I spoke. “If not now, then when? You’ve wanted me since you first saw me at summer camp.”
“That’s not true,” he protested, but his voice wavered.
“Oh, I think it is.” My shirt hit the floor, and I worked the buckle of my belt. His eyes flickered to my exposed skin, betraying him as he licked his bottom lip.
“Temptation,” he whispered, closing his eyes as I pressed against him, forcing his back to the wall.
“Yes,” I murmured, my lips brushing his.
A knock at the door shattered the moment.
“Beau, are you in there?” Grace called out, her timing impeccable as ever.
“That’s a sign,” Father Lee muttered, stepping away from me.
“What sign?” I asked, annoyed.
“I need to go,” he said, adjusting his collar. “You should… put your shirt back on.”
“Why?” I challenged, leaning back in the chair.
Grace’s persistent knocking finally drove him to the door.
“Don’t be a stranger, Father,” I called after him, grinning as I reached for my shirt.
Grace swept into the room, her arms folded and her smirk firmly in place. “What were you two doing in here?”
“Tried to lay hands on the Father,” I quipped, spinning in the chair.
“Poor baby,” she teased. “Sorry I interrupted.”
“No, you’re not. What do you want, slut?”
Grace clutched her pearls in mock outrage. “Such language from an ugly whore.”
“Bite me.”
“I got what I wanted,” she said with a smirk, heading for the door.
I picked up the folder, my grin widening. This wasn’t over. Father Lee might’ve walked away today, but I’d get another chance. And next time, I won’t waste it.
I reached forward, turned the shower off, and stepped out. Jersey was sitting outside the bathroom door. I decided to forgo the towel and walk to my bedroom.
His eyes glanced down at my crotch as I passed. I pushed open the windows and allowed the fall air to sweep in. Jersey walked over while stroking his bearded chin.
“What happened with Father Lee?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“In the office. Grace said — ”
“Ah… Grace said.”
I picked up the remote and surfed to one of the cable music channels.
“Why are you in my mustard trying to ketchup?” I asked, falling to the bed.
Jersey’s eyes lingered.
“You play too many fucking games. Put some clothes on.”
“I thought you liked me better with my clothes off?” My hand slid down the center of my chest.
Jersey walked over and snatched me up from the bed. His grip tightened around my wrist as his lips inched closer to mine.
“Did he touch you?”