Rorshach Monster Boyfriend: Bricassart Part Two (complete)

“Don’t get up,” he whispers in my ear.

I stir slightly, moving so I can press closer to his chest. “At some point, we will have to,” I murmur. I am content to lay in his arms for a long while. He feels so warm and, as of late, the mornings are so cold.

His lips brush down my neck and onto my back. I stretch so more skin becomes exposed to him. For weeks now, Father Bricassart and I have indulged in our weekly confessionals. Ever since that night in the Red Room, we have been unable to stay away from one another. 

Bricassart’s hand slips around my throat, and I see the black of his skin is becoming red again. “Father Mood Ring, your true colors are showing.”

He kisses behind my ear and chuckles softly. “I hate it when you call me that.” His fingers tighten on my throat, and I let out a soft, pleasured sigh. He kisses my cheek as he tilts my head back and his tongue licks across my lips.

“Bricassart,” I whine.

He kisses me and his palm smooths down my chest. “My lovely Ingrid,” he moans. “You make me want to forego all my vows.” He sits up in bed and stretches out. His back pops, to which he responds with a sharp hiss.

I smirk as I lay there watching him, enjoying the sight of his body. I smooth my hand down his back. “Is the old man affected by the cold?”

He turns back to look at me. The red is fading from him, making him look like fine port wine. “You have so many names for me.”

I sit up, displaying my breasts to him. “I have so many thoughts of you.” I kiss his arm as I lean against him. 

Bricassart runs his fingers along my scalp and he sighs. “Last night, you let me do so much to you,” he whispers. “Why do you allow it?”

I lick his skin, tasting him before I plant a kiss there. “I like it just as much as you do.” I glance up at him, his shifting and ever-changing features. His long hair cascades down, falling along his jaw and down his chest. I reach up, tangling it in my fingers and kissing the silken locks.

“You both accept the beast and keep him locked away.” Bricassart pulls me into his lap. His tongue licks the stump of my neck, where my head should be. 

I press my palms against his chest. “Father Bricassart,” I moan quietly, “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Your cunt,” he snarls in my ear, nipping it.

I give a soft but sound slap to his cheek. “I have cereal and cream of wheat.”

He scoffs and kisses me. I hold his face between my palms and I can feel him smile against me. “What kind of cereal?”

“It’s cinnamon something,” I rise from the bed and pick up my robe from the floor. “I’ll get your tea started as well.”

We have been meeting in my apartment at the TLK as of late, although we do enjoy the Red Room from time to time. But the Red Room requires room service, while I have a full kitchen. As I am getting the electric kettle ready, Bricassart walks into the kitchen.

“It’ll be ready in a moment. You could have stayed in bed,” I scoff as he comes up behind me.

His arms slip around me as he presses his chest to my back. His lips then touch to my ear. “The bed is far too cold without you.”

I laugh. “You’re the warm one.” I turn around and he places me on the counter. As he kisses me, the kettle goes off and he jumps back. 

I try not to laugh as he shakes off the initial fright. “Just the kettle, nothing to worry about.” I slip back off the counter and pour him a cup. 

“I detest that thing,” he scoffs. “Sounds like a dying cat.” He sits down at the table as I serve him his tea. There is a wine glass still sitting there, the red residue left on the glass remains. “Let me do the dishes,” he murmurs. “The least I can do.”

I shake my head. “You pay me, least I can do.” I kiss him again. “Besides, after last night, I need a menial task to keep me humble.”

Bricassart bows his head and laughs. “I was worried the beast got the best of me.”

“I still feel like I have yet to meet this supposed beast.” I pour my cup of tea, setting the tea bag inside and then twisting the string around the handle. “As far as I am concerned, the only creature I’ve had inside me is you, Father Bricassart.” I smirk as I turn to him again. “Your holy artifact was in wonderful form last night, though.”

He grunts, his hair shifting colors suddenly. “I choked you with a rosary. There must be a line somewhere, Ingrid.”

“Our prayers were heard, weren’t they?” I reach out, tucking his hair behind his ear. “And besides, what we do here is our confessional. It only matters between us.”

Bricassart grumbles low in his throat. “As much as I want that to be true, it matters to a higher power. Every time I am with you, I break a vow. But I know if I do not have you, I could do something far worse.”

I sit at the table with him. He has made allusions to his past, but he has never told me the full scope of it. As far as I know, he had self-control issues. Visiting the TLK has allowed him to keep his cravings at bay and allows this supposed beast inside him to remain asleep.

“My parents used to joke that they were made as temptations for one another. My mother tempted my father to break his vows, while my father tempted my mother into a world of light.” I reach out, placing my hand over his. “Perhaps we are the same.”

Bricassart takes my palm and kisses it then presses my knuckles to his forehead. “I thank God for you,” he whispers. “Because I do not know what else to make of you.”

“Drink your tea,” I kiss his cheek. “You’re acting sappy.”

Bricassart nods with a soft laugh. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Once he leaves to return to the church, I clean up. I remove the sheets to have them washed and make a list of groceries I need. As I get ready to take the dirty laundry down to the laundry room, I spot the rosary on the floor. I pick it up, running each smooth wood bead through my fingers. At the end, there is a cross made from iron with Bricassart’s name etched into the back. Last night, the beads had pressed against my skin as Bricassart was inside me. I gasped as he pulled them tighter until I felt lightheaded.

I set them aside, placing them carefully on the bedside table. I want to return them to him, but I know that if I show up at the cathedral suddenly, it will seem strange. I will keep the rosary until I can go to the confessional booth again, or until Bricassart comes back to ours.

I am so used to the faces around me being foggy that every time I look at Bricassart and see him crystal-clear, it is a shock to my system. Even my own face is never that distinct. For me, it is a great comfort after going so long without being able to recognize the faces of the people I love. Seeing strangers in my own family took a toll. Bricassart has become a solid place for me to stand. I can look at him and instantly know where I am.

That evening I go to the cathedral, taking Bricassart’s rosary with me. I slip into the confessional booth and settle down to begin.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I murmur. “It has been two days since my last confession.”

“Go ahead,” Bricassart whispers. “Unburden your soul to me.”

I lay his rosary down on the small shelf below the screen. “I found this and wanted to return it,” I say quietly. 

“Thank you.” He opens a small door and takes it back. “I was wondering where this disappeared to.”

“It was where you last had it,” I say suggestively. “But aside from that, Father, I have something to confess.”

He closes the small door. “Then continue.”

“I’ve been finding that the hatred I have for myself is not as heavy as it used to be. I find that I am happier and am not counting off the days like I used to.” I glance to the screen, seeing his shadow against it. “I feel as though things are not dark tunnels I have to hold my breath through. But at the same time, I worry, and that worry has become a fear.”

“What’s wrong?” His low voice rumbles.

“If it feels this good, is it wrong?” I whisper.

Bricassart is silent for a long pause. I hear him shuffle and take a deep breath. “Are you afraid of feeling happy?”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, then laugh to myself. “This is not a proper confession.”

“No, go on,” he urges. “Ingrid, speak to me.”

I nod and ball up the hem of my skirt in my hands. “I’ve always had some sort of weight on me. The way I see faces has usually been that for me. Even when I am happy, I have it with me. But recently, I don’t even notice it, and it worries me.”

“You don’t need burden or pain in order to fully be happy. And perhaps I am speaking selfishly here, but you’re allowed to be happy, Ingrid.”

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you, Father.” I glance towards the screen. “Oh, and one more thing, Father Mood Ring?”

He scoffs. “What?” he grumbles.

I hold back a smile. “I went grocery shopping, so next time, there will be a proper breakfast.”

Bricassart chuckles. “Yes, thank you, Ingrid.”

I leave the booth, turning back to look at the door as someone else goes in after me. I would love to see him, but we have agreed that the church is neutral ground between us. The confessional booths are as close as we can get while in the cathedral.

That evening, there is a knock at my door. I leave my head in the bathroom, as I still have on one of those black peel masks. As I answer the door, Bricassart is standing there.

“What’re you doing here?” I gasp.

“Something has happened,” he says urgently. I let him in and he wraps his arms around me. “I couldn’t tell you over the phone. I had to come see you.”

“What’s going on? Is something wrong?” I hold his hands.

Bricassart sighs heavily. “Yes and no,” he replies. “Can you, uhm-” he waves his hand over my neck. “Can you get your head for this?”

“I’m doing a skincare mask right now,” I confess, a bit embarrassed.

“Can you get it?” His voice sounds surprisingly timid. “I really just need to see your face right now.”

“Yeah, of course. Sit down,” I tell him as I rush to the bathroom. I plop my head down on my neck and quickly wash away the mask. When I come back out, I find him pacing, but once he sees me he rushes to me, throwing his arms around me.

“I’ve been called to go a mission,” he whispers. “I could be away for a long time.”

“Oh, thank God,” I sigh.

“What?” He tilts his head.

“I thought you were going to say something truly bad happened!” I give him another tight hug. “But it’s only this.”

“Only this,” he huffs, kissing the top of my head. “I could be away for a very long time, and you call it only this?”

“Where are you going?” I ask him. “What’s the mission for?”

“We’re building an orphanage and a church,” he tells me. He cups my cheek in his palm. “I just don’t know what I am going to do without you, Ingrid,” he whispers to me.

“This sounds really important,” I murmur to him. “It’s going to be alright.” I smooth my fingertips along his cheek. “I won’t know what to do without you either.”

Bricassart kisses me. He’s still wearing his robes, something he never does when he comes to visit me. As his kiss deepens, his hands roam down my body. He clutches at me, pulling me as close as he can. He tugs at my robe, letting it fall open, and touches my bare skin, running his palms down as the black on his skin becomes red.

“One last time,” he moans, “before I go.” 

“When are you leaving?” I ask him. He kisses me, silencing me as he moves over to the bed. He pins me down, then pushes my knees towards my ears. 

He looks at me, smoothing his hands down the back of my legs. His fingers spread me open, the red there mingling with the purple of my lips. His fingers slip inside me and he watches with a greedy gaze as his fingers open me.

“There is no better altar than this.” His voice becomes a low growl. His knuckles stroke up and down my slit. “Watching you grow wet for me is a prayer truly answered.”

“Father Bricassart,” I whisper. 

He shudders and his fingers ease back inside. “That is the voice of an angel.” His fingers move faster, growing and becoming longer inside. “I wish to hear it sing.”

I grunt, closing my eyes as I squeeze around his fingers. I feel him moving, twitching. He crooks his fingers so they hit a sensitive spot inside me. I let my voice out, gasping and moaning for him. His fingers urge my voice to squeal and sigh. I squeeze tight around him as he slowly removes his fingers.

He leans down, licking along my folds. He gently nips at my thighs, then presses kisses against my clit. He kneels there like he’s praying, burying his tongue inside me while his finger rubs my clit. Once his prayer is heard and I answer him with a cry, he rises up over me. 

“What do you pray for?” he growls at me.

I look at him, my gaze bleary as I admire his form still in his robes. “I pray for you to be naked,” I moan.

He strips away his clothes. Once he’s bare, I sit on my knees before him. I take his cock into my mouth, rolling my tongue around his tip before taking him deeper into my mouth. His pulse shudders as I taste him, and he gasps for breath over me. He’s throbbing now, and his precome is seeping out so fast I choke a little. As I pull back, a string of saliva attaches my lips to his tip.

“On your knees,” he chuckles. “You look beautiful there.”

I lick my lips as I gaze back up at him. “What else would you like?”

Bricassart eases me down, laying me on my back. He strokes his palms down my body like before, only this time, it feels like he’s trying to memorize everything. 

“Really,” he whimpers, “what am I going to do without you?”

I pull him down towards me, holding him tight as his body lays on mine. “It’ll be alright,” I try to soothe him. I rub my hands down his back and through his hair. “It is only temporary, Bricassart. You’ll return to me before you know it.” I wrap my legs around his waist, kissing his cheek and neck as he moves into place. He arches his hips slightly before he sinks inside.

This isn’t like normal. We aren’t playing like we usually do. There is a somber air around us. He moves inside me with passion and deliberateness. He is trying to drive himself into me and leave his mark. It feels as though he is trying to melt us together into one soul. I cling to him, holding him fast and crying out into his ear. 

I realize now that what we were doing was making love, and Bricassart was trying to tell me goodbye. When I rise in the morning to find him gone, I am a little more than heartbroken. I find his letter on the pillow, telling me he is leaving that afternoon and he will keep in contact with me. He simply is not strong enough to tell me goodbye.

I cry. Of course I cry. I sob bitterly, leaving my head wrapped up in a towel to catch the tears while my body answers the door for takeout. His first letter comes about a week later. He tells me sorry again for how he left and how terribly he misses me.

I send him a letter in return. “Of course it hurt, you bastard. The last night we had together will not be the last and you will make up for the hurtful way you left. I will not tolerate that sort of behavior from a man your age. Be prepared to face my wrath once you return. Or don’t. Cower in whatever place you are and wait for reckoning there. 

Aside from that, I miss you. It’s been a trying time, I will not lie. I don’t know how I got around before without seeing your face regularly. I also know that when you didn’t say goodbye, you also didn’t tell me how you felt. I know, but I will wait to hear it from your lips and not from how your body speaks. Do not disappoint me. Work hard, Father Mood Ring.

Love, your Ingrid.”

A letter comes back two weeks later with his reply. “My Ingrid, you know me better than I think I know myself. You truly are a blessing to me, and I thank God every day I discovered you at that glory hole, as strange as that sentence sounds. My Ingrid, I can feel the beast gnawing at the back of my neck. He whispers at me, trying to control me, but then I think of you. 

I try to placate myself with prayer and the memory of how soft your thighs are, how your breasts sway, and how good you taste. If you saw me now, you’d see how red I am and how eager I am to lay myself inside you. You’re in my thoughts and prayers always, I suppose I am trying to say. I cannot wait to come home and fulfill all these new fantasies with you.

Forever yours, Augustine Bricassart.”

The stack of letters grows. I had never thought I would ever be the sort of person with love letters stashed away, but here I am. I keep each one tucked away in a special box, praying for his safe return.

I continue to go to confessionals at the cathedral. Even if Bricassart is not there, it will always be one of my most beloved spots. I feel safe and happy there, remembering not just my father but Bricassart as well.

One day, I notice one of the old priests struggling with something heavy, so I help him out. I take his heavy load and he sighs. “Thank you, dear. I sure will be happy when the others come back from the mission.” He has me take the heavy box to his office. It’s there I see a picture of him, much younger, standing with a much younger Bricassart.

“You knew Father Mood-- I mean, Father Bricassart when he was young?” I ask him.

“I used to go down to the jail teaching classes, performing sermons, witnessing to the young men there,” he sighs. “Bricassart used to be such a troubled young man.” He sits down, fanning himself. “He had grown up in an abusive home, ran away when he was thirteen and just could never find his place in the world. He turned to anything that brought him comfort. Didn’t matter to him.” He smiles softly. “But he was so eager for that validation, for even an ounce of kindness. I wanted to show him that sort of thing could come from inside himself.” He taps his chest with his fingertips. “I prayed with him and spoke with him often. He became like one of my own.” He leans back. “When he told me he wanted to become a priest, I was a bit shocked. But he didn’t disappoint me. I paid for his education myself.”

“Oh, wow,” I whisper.

He laughs. “He struggled at first, but when he graduated, he had all sorts of honors. He could have gone anywhere he wanted, but he wanted to serve with me.” His smile is so big. “He tried to pay me back every penny, but I told him he already did. I suppose that’s why he didn’t tell me no when I asked him to go on this trip.”

For some reason, that felt a bit better.

“I know you,” he then says suddenly. “You’re… You’re Father Lucas’ daughter.” He gasps. “Oops, sorry, I know I’m not supposed to know that.”

“You knew my dad?” I gasp in return.

“Went to school with him,” he says with a nod. “Bright man, kind man. He’s what inspired me to reach out the way I did. He’s what led me to Bricassart. I wanted to emulate that unconditional love he always had. I hope I succeeded in that.”

“I think you did, or I don’t think Father Bricassart would be here,” I murmur. “Thank you.” I reach out and touch his hand. 

“Wasn’t me,” he pats my hand. “It was God. I just happened to be the vessel he worked through.”

I place a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks to both of you, then.”

“You like Father Bricassart?” he asks. “Most of the young girls do,” he laughs. “He’ll be back soon. I need young hands back here, so I got some fellows from a few other churches to volunteer to replace them. Should be soon now.”

My heart leaps with excitement. “That’s wonderful news!”

Once I get back home, I clean up the apartment. I let it fall into a depressive nest after Bricassart had left. I work on getting all my dirty laundry cleaned and put away properly.  I’m not sure how long it has been, but I change my sheets as well. 

One evening, as I am coming back from some errands, I walk up to my door to find someone standing there. As he turns, his face is as clear as day. The black and white shifts, taking strange shapes.

I drop what I am holding and run to him. He grabs me, holding me fast as he kisses me.

“I can’t believe you’re home!” I gasp.

“I’ve been standing here talking to your door. I thought you were angry with me,” he laughs in relief. He peppers kisses all over my face as I unlock the door. We stumble into my apartment, falling inside so that he lands on top of me.

“Bricassart,” I moan between kisses. “Close the door, hurry.”

He kicks his leg back, slamming it shut. He kisses me again, keeping me pinned to the ground. As his hands push up my clothes, his mouth kisses down my skin.

“Hey, hey,” I gasp, grasping his face in my palms. “Slow down, don’t want to rush this.” I kiss him. “We have all night.” I stand up with him. “I want you to get comfortable. I have wine and I want us to do this right.”

Bricassart kisses me again. “I’m so happy to be home.” He presses his lips to my cheek. “I love you, Ingrid.”

I sigh gently, running my fingers through his hair. “Good.” I tug his hair slightly. “Now get comfortable for me.”

“I will, my love,” his hands linger on me as I walk away.

I go into the kitchen, uncorking the wine and pouring two glasses. When I walk back out, I see Bricassart sitting on the bed, naked. I smirk, sipping from my glass as I hold out his to him. 

“Looks lovely,” Bricassart sighs. He takes a sip and his eyes glance over me. “Could be better.”

“Here, hold this.” I place my glass in his palm and strip from my clothes. Then I remember how fated this reunion is. “Lucky for you.” I saunter towards the bathroom to remove the tampon. “You came back just in time.” I go to turn around, but Bricassart is already standing in the doorway behind me. He snarls darkly, breathing in deeply. He grabs me up, tossing me over his shoulder and throwing me onto the bed, where he buries himself between my legs. The black is turning red as I watch. 

“Why were you serving me wine when I could have had this?” he snarls against my mound. His tongue lashes over me and I tremble.

“I wanted to make you wait,” I pant. “But you had to go and be greedy.”

He slurps, plunging his tongue inside me. Before I know it, I’m a dripping mess. My blood smears on his mouth and, soon, his rosary is around my throat. The beads tighten and I gasp out loud at the sensation I had been missing so long.

“Tell me,” he then growls to me. “Do you love me?”

I whimper softly, struggling to keep composure. “Bricassart,” I mewl.

Bricassart teases me, loosening his grip on the beads while his cock rubs against my inner thigh. “Answer me honestly.”

I lick my lips. “Of course I love you.”

He tugs hard on the rosary again as he sinks into me. I cry out, throwing my head back. All this time apart, I am no longer used to his size stretching me.

“I know,” he whispers into my ear. “I have always known.”

Throughout the night, we rekindle the flames between us. We drink wine as well as each other, savouring each moment until the sun rises. Bricassart shuts the curtains tight, ignoring the sign of a new day. He returns to the bed, kissing down my body.

“I feel so weak,” I mewl to him. “What have you done to me?”

“A proper worship,” he chuckles into my ear. “I plan to do it every night we are alone from now on, my love.” He then places a warm rag between my thighs, mopping me up. “I’ll take care of your sheets in the morning,” he whispers. “Least I can do.”

“How long can you stay?” I ask him.

“For the day, I am yours.” He kisses my cheek. “A day to recuperate from travel before I have to return to my duties at the cathedral.” He lays down beside me. “Is this alright?”

“What is?” I sigh.

“This. Us,” he growls. “I love you, but it must always be in secret.”

“I’m used to that,” I chuckle. “The greatest romance I ever witnessed was a secret.” I kiss his fingertips. “For me, it’s perfect.”

Bricassart kisses me. “You will always be my treasure, no matter what happens.”