Chapter Text
Joseph Ratzinger closed his eyes and covered his ears as he waited for the blast. It’s the same routine. It’s the same guilt; the same misery that flooded his veins decades ago as a young fourteen-year-old boy. He was ashamed that, as an eighty-five-year-old man, he was forced to relive the experience of being fourteen again.
The war had been over for decades, but occasionally, Joseph was forced to relive his experiences with the flak. The images and sound were always vivid. The discordant cries, screams, and the stench of gunpowder were all too real. It’s like it was indeed 1944.
Rather than the earth-shattering sound and the chaos brought about by consecutive heavy artillery shots, there was silence instead. Silence was then replaced by a creak as the mattress underneath him dipped to carry the weight of another. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see Georg crawling towards him, half-naked.
At the unsightly scene, Joseph flushed. He immediately tried to move away, but he realized soon after a lot of effort that he couldn’t move his body. Now he was forced to look at Georg gazing down at him. The affection in his secretary’s blue eyes was something Joseph was familiar with. Looking directly into those orbs made him feel a squeeze in his heart. Sometimes it was just impossible not to be taken in by those deep-set blue eyes.
The two of them were never in such an intimate setting before. The closest thing to physical intimacy they had was during papal events when Georg needed to hold his hand or steady him. Georg was comfortable breaching his private space when it was needed. That’s why Joseph never thought deeply about physical intimacy that was beyond that. He didn’t need to. Georg always knew his boundaries. Even when the younger man could be presumptuous in his touch, Joseph just brushes it off as Georg’s personal quirk. Georg was the eldest and had to take care of his siblings; that’s why he fussed over him.
Georg has always been a good-looking person. His disheveled appearance did not change that fact. Joseph usually dispels these thoughts; now, he couldn’t stop being conscious of them. He wanted to brush away those rebellious sandy locks. Georg can be so bad at looking after himself sometimes.
Alarm bells went off in Joseph's mind as Georg touched his arm. He’s never touched him with so much sweetness as this before. Georg’s smile widened as he brushed Joseph's soft skin with his thumb. After that, Georg leaned down to kiss him on the mouth.
Kisses were like poems on the skin; sweet nothings etched by a stroke of a brush that is the lips. Joseph is particularly weak to how it showed the vulnerability of the giver of the kiss. That’s why he’s never judged Esther for kissing him that one time when she had too much to drink, when they were both alone at their apartment because Maria had to book a trip to Regensburg all of a sudden.
He remembers wanting to reciprocate the kiss. He won’t ever forget the mix of pleasure, guilt, and fear that rushed through his heart when he was about to kiss her back, but she pulled away just in time. It’s been decades, but it felt like it was yesterday. Even if he vowed to remain chaste and celibate, it didn’t mean he was not able to fall in love.
Georg pulls him in to deepen their kiss. He moves his lips so expertly as if he’s done this with him a thousand times before. Joseph wanted to push him away, but instead of pushing, he found himself pulling Georg by the back of the neck and kissing him back. His lips sloshed against Georg with a hunger he didn’t know he had in him. He stuck out his tongue, waiting for Georg to suck on it.
Images of fire, pandemonium, and the manifestation of God’s wrath at Sodom and Gomorrah filled his head. God would smite him for this betrayal. He, the Vicar of Christ of all people, dared to violate God’s law by kissing someone back when he should have pulled away.
The familiar scent of Georg’s perfume was beginning to overwhelm him with an emotion he did not understand. All those times Georg has taken care of him, rushed through his mind. This, too, felt like a betrayal. He was not only betraying God but also Georg as well. He was so ashamed of himself, feeling what he was feeling.
Joseph tried to move away again. But he could not. This whole scenario was weird. He tried to move again, yet he could not control his body, whose left hand was now playing with what felt like a cross necklace Georg wore.
It was like his body was not his; even though he felt every little movement of Georg’s mouth on his; even though he felt every response he made to the younger man’s kiss. Georg’s and his own desperation made Joseph feel trapped to the point of feeling violated. He wants to get away. He wants to push Georg away. The more he thinks of pushing Georg away from him, the more his body clings to him.
The sound of kisses and moans that filled the air was nauseating. He could feel a heat in him that he’s only felt when he was in puberty, and something he’s suppressed as he progressed into the priesthood.
As someone who has never broken his vow of celibacy and chastity, he did not know sex. The knowledge he had of intercourse was through books; as such, it was straight to the point, even mechanical. He was not someone who read romance novels.
Georg’s kisses now spill to his neck, his shoulder, his collar bones. Overwhelmed by the sensations, Joseph started to feel dizzy. He felt every kiss and caress as if they were brands on his skin.
“Mine, you’re mine.” It told him.
Instead of finally pulling free, Joseph’s arms moved on their own. They wrapped around Georg’s neck.
“Georg!”
He hears his own voice whine, but it was not him.
“Shhh,” Georg whispers breathlessly.
“The sisters will hear us.”
Georg lifts his head, kisses Joseph’s arm, and gazes into his eyes.
“They’ll scold me for holding you hostage again.”
Georg plants another kiss on Joseph's lips.
“But I can’t help it. I love you a lot.”
Georg giggled and kissed him again.
.
.
.
.
.
The church bells began to clang at the exact time the clock struck seven in the morning. As per usual, Joseph wakes up to prepare for morning mass. He finds himself feeling strangely refreshed physically. But there was something off. Ironically, he felt like there was a hole in his chest.
His dreams were perplexing. He tried not to think much of it because dreams in general are weird. The day was long. He has to meet many pilgrims again today, so he needs to feel refreshed, emotionally. What hope is there to give if the person who’s supposed to give it has none of it?
Joseph went to the bathroom to wash himself. When he finished, he went in front of the mirror to shave. While shaving, he noticed that there were some bruise-like discolorations on his neck; there were also some on his clavicle and shoulder.
He moved closer to see the marks up close, but was at a loss as to what they were. Bed bugs? Mosquitoes? Joseph didn’t know. The marks were not itchy, but their appearance was concerning. Did he fall while he was asleep? But he didn’t hurt anywhere.
He brushed his teeth and dressed up for Mass.
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“Homosexuality? Of course it’s a sin,” Georg complains to the memores domini sisters, angrily flipping through the tabloid where yet again his relationship with the Holy Father is the talk of the town.
“To say that the Holy Father and I are in that kind of relationship is just shameless! No, it’s sacrilegious!”
“All the press does is talk nonsense. You don’t have to mind it much. Besides, someone is probably writing a complaint about them as we speak. The Holy Father has a lot of devoted faithful ready to defend his honor when things like this happen.”
Georg sighs. He was frustrated at the constant stream of articles about his relationship with Benedict XVI. To let off some steam, he tells the sisters he will go out to get some fresh air.
The Vatican Garden is one of the places Georg likes. The smell of the flowers and grass reminded him of the village where he grew up. When he feels down, he likes to go to the Lourdes grotto and pray. When time permits, he relaxes by the bench and reads.
Some days are slow. There are days when he can sit with Benedict XVI on the bench, just the two of them in complete silence. The Holy Father doesn’t talk much. Sometimes, Georg breaks the ice. He’ll talk about the black forest, about the flowers his mom would pick up and put everywhere in their house. She liked flowers too. Georg had heard that Benedict’s mom had a flower garden, so he figured that this was a topic Benedict would be comfortable talking about. He was right. Benedict would perk up every time.
As he walked towards the bench, he saw Benedict XVI talking with the gardener. The Holy Father smiled warmly as he listened to what the gardener said. He nodded his head from time to time and even laughed. Noticing that someone was staring at him, Benedict XVI turned and saw Georg. He lifted his hand and waved. The Holy Father smiled sheepishly and then went back to talking with the Gardener. The two started walking without looking back. For some reason, Georg felt left out, so he ran towards Benedict XVI.
Georg is sensitive towards people’s behavior towards him. Just as he arrived beside Benedict, he noticed that the gardener looked a little bit displeased at his presence. He must be new. Georg thought so he tried to put the other at ease. He wants to get along well with the people working on the Holy Father’s grounds because he wants him to feel at home. He wants everything to be perfect for Benedict XVI; that’s why he tries so hard.
However, Georg was not someone people find easy to get along with. He is an enigma to some of the workers. People talk. The fact that he was made a temporary private secretary by the then Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger and made permanent after Ratzinger’s elevation as Pope was a wonder. Georg was seen as a greenhorn. For a position with such an important role, someone experienced should have been the secretary. Many people thought Josef Clemens fit well in the role. He should have been made private secretary again, even though he was already transferred to the Pontifical Council for the Laity.
Moreover, Georg has a mind-boggling attachment to the Holy Father. Normal secretaries are discreet in their attentiveness; Georg, on the other hand, didn’t care where they were. If there was something amiss in Benedict’s vestment or his hair, he’d immediately make it right. It was not lost on those who had eyes to see that the way he looked at Benedict XVI wasn’t always how a secretary or a collaborator should look at their boss.
In fact, Guido Marini, the Papal Master of Ceremonies, summoned the courage to tell his friend to touch the Holy Father less. Georg just stared at him as if he’d said something ridiculous. He didn’t see how his behavior was “wrong”. Benedict XVI is an old man. It was Georg’s will to make everything right for Benedict XVI so that he could focus on things he needed to focus on. Georg wanted Benedict to be as comfortable in the role as possible. Besides, they were priests. Georg finds it laughable that after knowing they had vows, society in general still expects them to have sex, thinking that it’s impossible not to.
“People are talking. I know you don’t think much of it. But the rumors are disturbing. It’s better not to touch the Holy Father in public.” Guido requested.
Georg listened attentively. Truthfully, he wasn’t aware of how casual he was with Benedict. For someone particular with protocol, he thought that maybe he was indeed in the wrong this time. However, even after he stopped touching Benedict XVI in public, there was still no end to the tabloid articles about them. It was not only something the Italian tabloid found worth reporting on, but it was also being reported on at the German tabloid.
“Don’t worry about it too much.” One of the sisters comforted him. “It’s not like it’s true.”
Of course, it was not true. How can he even dare?