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“You've been quite the troublesome one, haven't you, Monsignor?” says one voice.
“We won't spare the rod with you anymore,” says another voice, “you've done enough to bring this upon yourself.”
Ray can feel the grip on his hips tighten as the man behind him lean against his back—a warning and a promise behind the same pressure and presence. It still surprises him that his actions has led him to this surreal predicament in the first place. “And what, pray tell,” he questions, his voice breathy, “have I done wrong this time?”
A wry chuckle is then heard; the sound is distinct enough, raspy and deep from nicotine use. “I didn't take your secretary to be a brat, Dean,” the voice muses. “Is he usually this insolent?”
“Oh, Heavens no. If anything, he's usually quite obedient,” another voice replies, “but it seems he's in the mood to tempt fate tonight.”
If Ray can admit this without folding inward, he would say that the voice sounds regal, befitting a commander worth kneeling before; he has knelt and served him before.
”Fate?” the wry voice repeats after a snort escapes its owner. “No. this time, he's tempting both of us.”
“That he is,” the regal voice agrees in an even tone.
Even without his vision, Ray can tell the owner of the voice is smirking. “With all due respect, Eminences, I thought we're past the Inquisition Era,” he decides to chime in, “if neither of you can explain what I've done wrong, then there's no point in continuing this... inquiry.”
Silence descends between the three of them as the other two absorb his argument. If it weren't for the warmth against his back, steady and solid, and the exhale too candid and cross to be the dean's, he'd have thought he's been left alone, with hands tied behind his back by his own purple fascia and blindfolded by a red one.
His words results in a harsh slap against the inside of his thigh. Ray's body jolts upon impact. The sting is then immediately soothed by a hand that has loosened itself from his hip, gently caressing his thigh.
“Patience, Monsignor,” the regal voice whispers softly against his ear, “you'll have your sins laid bare before you.”
“As bare as you are right now,” the other adds with a huff, “and you'll pay for them soon enough.”
And with that warning comes hands that prompt Ray to spread his legs wider. He tries to close them and hide from the cardinals, but his strength is not a match against the combined force of two. He yielded in the end, and he lets himself get positioned accordingly as he sits on the edge of the bed while leaning against the Dean.
(Two are better than one, after all.)
“You've stolen from us.” The accusation rings in ray's ears just as loudly as the rapid beating of his heart. ”You've stolen the cigarettes I've hidden in the bathroom mirror.”
“T - That's not a good place to hide it, and you know it,” Ray retorts, “and putting it in the same place as your medication? Really, Giu? Do you have any idea how ironic -”
His words are immediately cut short with another harsh slap against the inside of his thigh. Instead of a soothing caress following after the blow, a broad hand presses itself firmly on the sting—a wordless reminder that it is not time for him to defend himself; perhaps he will not be given the grace to.
“You have also stolen something from me, my dear Ray,” the regal voice then accuses from behind him, his tender timbre belying a dangerous sort of disappointment, “something... less tangible than a pack of cigarettes.”
Oh, Christ before him and Christ behind him. Ray can concede to confiscating the Archbishop of Milan's cigarettes in an attempt to watch His Eminence's health, but what in the world has he taken from the Dean of the College of Cardinals? Unless it was something as saccharine as “his heart”—which, of course, he has endeavored during his strong tenure as a secretary—surely there's been a mistake?
“I don't... remember taking anything from you, Eminence,” Ray tells him, tentative and trembling. He suppresses a shiver as a hand edges tantalizingly closer to his core.
“No?” A soft kiss is felt on the side of his neck before the accusation lands: “My dear Ray, weren't you the one who told His Holiness that our afternoon meeting was fifteen minutes later than previously scheduled? You thought I wouldn't notice?”
Oh. That. Right. Half an hour prior, he politely requested an audience with His Holiness so they could postpone their meeting for a paltry fifteen minutes worth of breathing time, for the dean has had a taxing week. There was a mirthful glint in His Holiness' hazel eyes as he asked: “Are you sure this is wise, Monsignor? I don't believe Thomas will like this sort of meddling.”
Ray was sure, but he has roped the Vicar of Christ into this game. He has stolen the dean's time and has given him something more to fret over. Now, he's no longer sure.
Rough fingers tease and spread his folds before he can even begin to defend himself. “Quite bold of you, caro,” a voice comments, the assessment paired with a dry chuckle. “Did you really think fortune would favor you this time?”
He genuinely did; he still does, foolish it may be.
“I just wanted to take care of you - ah!” Ray tries to argue, but is interrupted by a quick pinch on his clit and fingers pressing themselves against his entrance. A hand on his hip rubs soothing circles with a thumb.
“We commend your devotion, my dear,” the regal voice coos before nibbling on his earlobe. “But there are still boundaries that you need to be aware of.”
The observation comes with a scoff: “You spoil him too much. Now we have a busybody and a thief in our hands.”
Ray can feel his hole being spread, as if he's meant to welcome his punishment—the disciplining rod. “We intend to rectify his behavior, do we not?” the regal voice placates the other man in an urbane tone, “You've the honors to shepherd the good monsignor first.”
“Gladly.”
Ray hears a squelch and immediately felt pressure against his folds after. The coldness of the lube contrasts the warmth of thick fingers and a palm, and before long, the pressure bullies its way inside, unrelenting and unflinching. A whine escapes his throat. His attempt to pull away from the hand is thwarted by a pair of broad hands spreading his legs wider from behind him.
The line between punishment and reward is a thin one when you're eager enough.