Chapter 35 Callahan
Two months had passed since Callahan walked away from the collar, and the world still felt tilted on a new axis. He sat in the small office on the second floor of Revived Faith, the air thick with the scent of old wood and Bishop Carter’s faint bergamot tea. Dorian stood behind him, one steady hand resting on his shoulder like an anchor. Elara leaned against the wall near Dorian, arms crossed, her presence a quiet reassurance. Arthur—Dorian’s stepfather—sat beside Callahan, briefcase open, glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through the last pages of the transfer agreement.
Across the mahogany desk, Bishop Carter lifted his teacup, eyes soft as they settled on Callahan. “You look good, Callahan,” he said, voice warm. “I can tell you’ve been sleeping better.”
Callahan allowed himself a small smile. The words still felt strange in his mouth, but they were true. “Thank you. It seems odd to say, but laicization has been… good for me.” He paused, feeling the weight of the admission settle. “It wasn’t easy at first. But I’m learning to be a layman, day by day.”
Bishop Carter nodded, understanding in the lines around his eyes. “I’ve watched friends leave the clergy. It’s never simple to step back into the world.” His gaze drifted over Callahan’s shoulder, and Callahan knew he was looking at Dorian. “But I imagine having someone to lean on has made it bearable.”
Dorian’s fingers tightened briefly on Callahan’s shoulder. Callahan reached up and covered Dorian’s hand with his own. “I’m grateful for everyone who’s helped me since I left,” he said quietly. “The volunteers at Saint Jude’s especially. They’ve been extraordinarily kind.”
“I’m glad the shelter has stayed a home for you,” Bishop Carter replied. He opened a drawer and drew out a small, thick leather-bound book. Gold cursive glinted across the cover: History of Saint Jude’s. He held it out. “For you.”
Callahan took it, the leather warm from the bishop’s hand. His throat tightened. “Thank you.” The words came rough. “For everything. I’m honored you’ve entrusted me with your life’s work.”
“Our life’s work,” Bishop Carter corrected gently. “You’ve served Saint Jude’s as long as I did before I became bishop. I can rest easy now, knowing it’s in better hands.” A teasing note entered his voice. “Though do expect the occasional visit.”
Callahan’s smile widened. “I would hope so.”
Arthur snapped his briefcase shut with a decisive click. “That settles it, then. I’ll file these tomorrow morning. Congratulations, Mr. Koller, Elara—”
“Elara,” she cut in, mock-offended. “Ms. Monroe makes me sound ancient.”
Arthur sighed, removing his glasses. “As I was saying—you’re now the proud co-founders of a nonprofit organization.”
Bishop Carter rose, and Callahan and Arthur followed. Handshakes were exchanged, brief and sincere. When the bishop took Callahan’s hand last, his grip lingered. “I hope life continues to treat you well,” he said. “May God always be with you.”
“And may God be with you,” Callahan answered, the old reflex rising naturally.
They filed out of the office and down the stairs, footsteps echoing softly in the empty halls. Outside, crisp autumn wind swept across the parking lot, scattering gold and crimson leaves in small whirlwinds. Callahan paused at the top of the church steps, hands in his coat pockets, watching Dorian say goodbye to Arthur and Elara.
He had left the priesthood. He had kept the shelter. He had kept Dorian.
The realization settled over him like warm sunlight after years spent in shadow. No more choosing between soul and heart. Both were his now, irrevocably.
Dorian laughed at something Elara whispered, shoving her shoulder playfully. She whispered again, and color rose high in Dorian’s cheeks. Callahan’s curiosity stirred, but the sight of Dorian—alive, happy, his—pushed everything else aside. Elara hugged Dorian tight, murmured one last thing that made him groan and push her away, then waved enthusiastically toward Callahan.
“Bye, Callahan! See you Monday.”
“Drive safe,” he called back, waving. He descended the steps and joined Dorian as Elara’s car pulled away.
Once they were alone, Callahan leaned close, lips brushing Dorian’s ear. “Care to tell me what Elara said that has you blushing like that?”
Dorian shot him a sideways glare. “None of your business.”
“Mm.” Callahan’s voice dropped. “Sure, pup.”
Dorian groaned. “Oh my God, can we please go home?”
Callahan chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to Dorian’s temple. “Lead the way.”
They walked to the car. Callahan’s gaze drifted downward, fixed on the way Dorian’s slacks pulled tight across his backside with each step. When they reached the passenger door, Callahan leaned in and delivered a sharp, satisfying smack.
Dorian jumped with a startled gasp, whirling to glare. “Someone’s bold today.”
Callahan’s mouth curved. “How the tables have turned.” He opened the driver’s door. “Close your mouth, pet. We’re not home yet.”
Dorian scrambled into the passenger seat, slamming the door. “Who are you and what have you done with my sweet, innocent boyfriend?”
“Innocent?” Callahan raised a brow as he started the engine.
“Okay, maybe not innocent innocent, but you get my point,” Dorian muttered, rolling his eyes.
Callahan reached over and settled a hand high on Dorian’s thigh. “Maybe I’m finally comfortable being who I am.” His fingers slid inward, squeezing. “Or maybe I can’t stop thinking about what you said—about celebrating after the meeting.”
Dorian’s breath hitched. “Is that so? What did you have in mind?”
Callahan turned onto the street leading home. “Do you remember when I told you I’d ruin you?” His hand crept higher. “Tonight, I’m going to make good on that promise.”
“Please,” Dorian whispered. “It’s been so long.”
“I know, pet.” Callahan squeezed again, soothing and possessive. “But tonight you’ll get what you’ve been begging for.”
Dorian straightened. “Really?”
“Only if you’re good.” Callahan turned onto their road. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?”
“Yes, Sir,” Dorian answered instantly. “Anything you want.”
Callahan’s mind flashed to the night Dorian had first knelt and whispered that he worshiped him. “Even crawl?”
Dorian’s grin turned wicked. “Is that what you want? Me crawling to you like a devout follower, Father?”
The title—old, forbidden, still electric—sent heat straight to Callahan’s cock. “Fuck,” he muttered.
Dorian’s laugh was breathless. “Did that get you hot, Father? The idea of your devoted little worshipper on his knees?”
“Inside,” Callahan ordered, pulling into the driveway. “Now.”
The moment the front door shut behind them, Callahan pinned Dorian to the wall. The kiss was messy, desperate—teeth clashing, tongues sliding, hands grabbing whatever skin they could reach. Callahan poured months of restraint into it, tasting Dorian’s mouth like communion wine he was finally allowed to drink.
He dragged his lips down Dorian’s jaw to the warm column of his throat, tongue tracing salt and skin. Dorian tilted his head, offering more, fingers clenched in Callahan’s shirt.
“Fuck the games,” Callahan growled against his neck. “I need you.”
“I’m yours,” Dorian whispered, the words trembling like a prayer. “All yours.”
Callahan spun him to face the wall, kissing the nape of his neck while hands worked belt and zipper. Slacks and underwear dropped in one rough push. Callahan sank to his knees, spread Dorian open, and groaned at the sight. “Christ, I can’t wait to devour you.”
“Shut up,” Dorian huffed, but he widened his stance obediently.
Callahan leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe over Dorian’s hole.
“Ah—fuck—warn a guy—” Dorian’s protest fractured into whimpers as Callahan licked again, broader, flatter, savoring every twitch and sound. He pressed his tongue inside, then pulled back to spit, watching Dorian jerk and clench.
“Didn’t realize how nasty you were, Father,” Dorian panted, laughing breathlessly.
Callahan chuckled low, one hand keeping him spread while the other circled the slick rim with a thumb. “You’ve no idea.” He pushed the thumb in slowly, mindful of the makeshift lube, crooking it just to hear Dorian whine. “What do you want, pup?”
“You,” Dorian gasped, forehead thudding against the wall. “Inside me. Finally fuck me like I’ve wanted since the beginning. Please, Father.”
Callahan twisted his thumb deeper. “You beg so pretty.”
“Please—”
Callahan stood. “Finish undressing.”
Dorian stripped fast, clothes pooling on the floor. Without prompting he dropped to his knees, hands clasped behind his back, eyes lowered—perfect submission.
Callahan’s chest tightened with possessive awe. “Stay.” He disappeared long enough to rinse his mouth and grab lube and the old rosary from the bedroom. When he returned, Dorian hadn’t moved.
“Good boy,” Callahan murmured. He set the items on the side table and sat in the recliner. “Crawl to me.”
Color flooded Dorian’s face, but he obeyed, slow and deliberate across the hardwood until he knelt between Callahan’s spread thighs.
“Please, Father,” Dorian breathed, fingers already working Callahan’s belt. He freed Callahan’s cock and licked from base to tip, swirling around the head before sinking down.
Callahan threaded fingers through dark hair, guiding, encouraging deeper. Pleasure coiled hot and urgent. “Such a good boy,” he rasped. Dorian hummed, and Callahan’s hips jerked. “Christ—enough. I need to be inside you.”
Dorian pulled off with a wet sound, wiping his mouth. His gaze landed on the rosary. “What’s that for?”
Callahan lifted it, beads catching the lamplight. “Lean forward.”
Dorian bent his head. Callahan slipped the rosary over it, settling the crucifix against his chest. He tugged the beads gently, drawing Dorian close until their breaths mingled.
“Wear this under your clothes from now on,” Callahan said, voice rough. “So you never forget who you belong to.”
“I’m yours, Father,” Dorian whispered. “All yours.”
Callahan released the rosary and slicked his cock with lube. “Then take what’s yours.”
Dorian straddled him, hovering. Callahan steadied his hips. Slowly—agonizingly—Dorian sank down, breath hitching as the head breached him.
“Fuck,” Dorian groaned, pausing. “Forgot how thick you are.”
“Breathe,” Callahan soothed, thumbs rubbing circles on sharp hipbones. “You’re doing so well.”
Dorian exhaled shakily and took the rest in one long slide until he bottomed out. Heat and pressure gripped Callahan like a fist. He gritted his teeth against the urge to thrust.
Dorian slumped forward, face buried in Callahan’s neck. “So full,” he mumbled.
Callahan rocked him gently, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. “Perfect,” he whispered against Dorian’s temple. “Divine.”
Dorian lifted his head, eyes glassy. “I love you.”
The words punched the air from Callahan’s lungs. He cupped Dorian’s face. “Say it again.”
“I love you.” A tear slipped free.
Callahan kissed him softly, reverently, tasting salt. Dorian deepened it, biting Callahan’s lower lip, hips beginning to roll. The pace built—slow, steady, then urgent. Their kiss fell apart into shared breaths and moans.
“I want you to come inside me,” Dorian panted. “Never let anyone before. Need it. Need you.”
Callahan wrapped a hand around Dorian’s leaking cock. “Want me to fill you while you make a mess of us both?”
Dorian nodded frantically.
“Then milk me, love. Take everything.”
Dorian’s rhythm stuttered, body locking as he came with a broken cry, spilling hot across Callahan’s shirt and fist. The clench dragged Callahan over the edge; he thrust up once, twice, and spilled deep inside, groaning Dorian’s name like absolution.
They stayed locked together, trembling. Callahan banded arms around Dorian’s back and held him close, uncaring of the mess cooling between them. Dorian burrowed into his neck, mumbling nonsense against sweat-damp skin.
Callahan pressed a kiss to dark, messy hair. “Rest, love. We’ll clean up soon.”
But in the quiet aftermath, understanding settled over him like grace.
He finally knew why Jesus had loved Judas.
Judas had been the end of one life and the beginning of another. The betrayer who made transformation possible. Dorian had kissed him on church steps beneath God’s burning gaze and led him out of the tomb he’d lived in for decades.
Callahan closed his eyes and held his heart closer.