Work Text:
If one were to look at the feed from Papa Emeritus II’s private security camera system, they were likely to see him working at his desk or drinking scotch in his armchair. Occasionally, he may be sitting at the piano, playing absently as he’d run over some important matter in his mind, or running his fingers over the spines of his book collection. Rarely, he might be seen in his bedroom, when he was asleep, or had company.
If one were to look at camera 3A on that specific evening, they would see, in the dimly lit bathroom, Papa sitting in the bathtub. They might recognize the woman sitting there with him as one Sister Beatrice, with whom he was seen frequently as of late, much to the dismay of higher ranking sisters who used to entertain him.
If they kept looking, they would notice how close to his chest he held her, how his legs were wrapped around her and his chin was nestled in the curve of her neck, almost as if she wore him as a blanket.The dim light of the candles did not allow to see much details on the screen, but if one paid close attention, they would see that both of them were smiling: Beatrice a wide, warm smile that illuminated her face; Papa, almost imperceptibly, only his eyes betraying him.
The surveillance system did have an audio feed, although in the quiet bathroom it offered little more than the gentle splashing of water and faint murmur of voices. Occasionally, Papa would whisper in Beatrice’s ear, drawing a sweet, bright laugh from her lips. Other secrets, said so low that an observer would have no chance to hear, seemed to make her melt, lean even more into him, the distance between two bodies entirely forgotten.
If one looked at the camera feed for long enough, or came upon it at just the right time, they might see Papa hold Beatrice’s hand above the water, his thumb rubbing gently over the inside of her wrist. An astute observer might notice that they both looked more serious in that instant; or, as Papa brought the wrist into the light, up to his lips, pressing soft kisses on it, they might see that Beatrice’s eyes had closed, and that what Papa was kissing were rope burns.
There was an apologetic look in his eyes as he did so, a vulnerability in the way he held himself that would seem unnatural to anyone but the one sharing that moment with him. Beatrice’s expression reflected only tenderness and affection. She spoke, her voice very quiet, her lips still curved in a smile and her eyes looking down at the hand that rested on her thigh, placing hers over it. He brought their other hands down, and his lips to her neck, pressing them on her skin.
They stayed in that position for long minutes, so still that were it not for the ripples on the water, the slow rise and fall of their chests, the minute gestures of their hands, a viewer might assume that the camera had stopped working. In truth, it was simply that they both needed such rest and intimacy after the scene they had done earlier that night. Her, because it had been exhausting, physically and mentally; him, because he needed the reassurance that she was okay with what had taken place.
Eventually, one would see Beatrice turn around, kneeling between Papa’s legs, and take hold of his head with her hands. Sitting that way, both of their faces were obscured from the camera’s view. One would not know if they were talking or kissing, only that his hands were running up and down her back, and that her arms soon circled his shoulders in a loving embrace.
How long they might have stayed in that position, and what was said between them that night, however, would forever remain a mystery. Papa’s camera system was very, very secure, and those precious moments were not witnessed by a single soul.