Chapter Text
“Vidal! You went to Catholic school, right?”
“What the hell?”
“Did you or didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I did. So what?”
“So I got a case for you. Undercover work.”
“It’s been a long time since high school, Captain. I—”
“You’re the only Catholic here, Vidal.”
“I am not Catholic, Captain.”
“You are today.”
“What the hell?” she says for the second time.
“I need you as Bishop,” the captain says, and Rio can’t help it, she bursts out laughing. There’s no way he’s serious.
The longer he doesn’t laugh with her, the less she laughs, until she’s standing staring at him with her jaw dropped. “What part of me looks like a fucking bishop?” she suddenly shrieks.
“Lower your voice. I have a meeting set up for you with a local priest to review the prayers.”
Rio’s mind instantly transports her back to school, and she figures she’ll have a hard time pulling from those memories, because she had done her very best not to pay attention back then… but the words flow through her brain like they’ve been poured directly into her skull, and she realizes she’s not going to need a meeting with a priest.
“I remember the prayers,” she says, agitated. “You can cancel that meeting.”
--
Thanks to the Catholic gender reform in 2032 that came out of the 3rd Vatican council, it’s not hard for Rio to be a believable bishop. And she isn’t even the first female to hold the title in this area, since the reform went into compliance three years ago. But she is probably the first police officer to go undercover as a bishop, and the entire situation is unnerving and it’s causing her extreme anxiety.
What if she’s not convincing? She remembers the prayers, yes, but she’s not Catholic and never has been. What if she misses an important, microscopic detail and blows her cover?
Everything has been arranged through the Archbishop, who is not under suspicion and is the only member of the clergy that knows who Rio really is.
Her assignment is to infiltrate a local congregation and find out what has been happening to parishioners over the past three months. Multiple members of the same church downtown have gone missing, and there have been no solid leads. Only rumors of a hate group being held after hours, in the basement under the church proper. But no one will talk about it. At least not to police.
That’s where Rio comes in. She’ll have access to people and locations the police could not otherwise access. She’ll have trust, because parishioners inherently trust their clergy. She’ll be free to wander in and out of any room in the church. It won’t look suspicious for her to linger anywhere or touch anything. But it still makes her anxious.
Moment of truth – she’s about to step through the doors. It’s early on a Sunday, a few hours before mass, so the church won’t be full, but there is a possibility of running into various people. She’ll be prepared, professional, and polite. Not talking too long to any one person. Moving about the church from the first moment, since her assignment will be to observe and familiarize herself with the congregation. It’s what the priest will expect to happen, and Rio is going to make sure she doesn’t give him any reason to fraternize with her outside of that objective.
She glances down at herself to make sure nothing is askew, and smooths her slacks with her palms, adjusts her collar, and makes sure her shirt is properly buttoned. Nothing like an improper application of uniform to blow her cover.
Everything’s fine, and she runs her fingers through her hair, tousling it a little, then pulls open the massive doors and steps inside.
The air is thick and it smells like velvet. Rio hasn’t set foot in a chapel since high school, but everything still feels familiar; like it’s been a week instead of twenty-some years.
The nave is empty save for a solitary woman in the third pew. The priest is nowhere in sight, so he must either be next door or in the office.
She dips her right hand into the font of holy water and crosses herself, then takes a slow, deep breath.
Careful steps carry her through the church proper and toward where she expects the office to be. She finds the priest behind the desk and hopes her smile doesn’t look forced. “Father Bernardo?” she says. “I’m Bishop Vidal.”
He looks up, his eyes going slightly wide as he takes in her appearance, and pushes himself to his feet. “When they said…” He shakes his head and offers his hand, and she takes it. “I didn’t expect…”
When she withdraws her hand she has to make a concerted effort not to scratch him. The misogynistic vibes are coming off him in waves and she doesn’t appreciate it, despite this only being an undercover job. “I would suggest you review your expectations, Father,” she says coolly, but not outright hostile.
“My apologies, Bishop Vidal,” he says and sits back down. “If you’ll excuse me, I should really be focused on preparing for mass.”
Apologies my ass, Rio thinks. “Absolutely, Father,” she says. “I’ll familiarize myself with my surroundings.”
--
She spends the next few hours exploring the church and all its nooks and crannies, memorizing the layout of extra rooms, where all of the furniture is, taking note of anything and everything she might need to remember.
The pews start filling up shortly before mass is scheduled to begin, and Rio makes her way to the dais, taking a seat in one of the chairs off to the side, so she can be seen but not be in Father Bernardo’s way. Although she might quite like to be in Father Bernardo’s way. If she weren’t undercover, she would take great joy in being in Father Bernardo’s way.
She amuses herself with thoughts of all the things she could do to fuck with him until it’s time for her introduction, and she says a short bit about her fabricated history, taking in all the faces of the crowd, committing as many as possible to memory. It’ll take a few weeks for her to get to know everyone, but she picks out a dozen or so to focus on today.
After mass, Rio makes her way to the nave to mingle and shake hands and put names to faces. And when the church empties out, Father Bernardo leaves. Probably going home for lunch – not that she cares. She feels more at ease in the church without him there.
She’s about to head to the office to snoop around when the doors open and the sound of heavy boots catches her attention. She looks toward the entrance and freezes in her tracks at the unholy goddess that just walked in.
Long, messy hair in waves and knots down her back, a ripped black tank top and a blood red pleated skirt, fishnet stockings, and of course the combat boots. What in the actual fuck… what was this woman doing in the church? Not that dressing like a member of a combination porn/horror movie cast should bar a person from being devout, but Jesus Christ.
As the woman turns and Rio can fully see her face, recognition slams her in the chest, leaving her winded.
She arrested this woman. Maybe six months ago. For stealing money and jewelry from her hag of a mother, who had let… what was her name? Agatha! Who had let Agatha spend the night in jail and then dropped the charges the next morning.
When their eyes meet, Agatha’s wild blue ones widen. She recognizes Rio too. Shit. This is going to blow her cover if she doesn’t get a handle on it right this fucking second.
They walk toward each other, Agatha’s mouth opening to start spewing accusatory words.
“You’re not a priest, you’re a fucking c—”
Rio reaches her and clamps a hand over her mouth before she can finish her sentence. “Shut the fuck up,” she hisses. “Come with me.”
And she drags Agatha across the church, all the way to the back, and into the sacristy.
“You cannot tell anyone,” Rio says when the door shuts and they’re alone amongst the vestments and vessels.
She realizes she’s still covering Agatha’s mouth, and that Agatha has made no move to get her to stop. No biting or pulling back or twisting away. And those blue eyes hold no hint of fear. If anything, Agatha looks… excited by the turn of events.
“You can’t,” Rio repeats as she finally removes her hand from Agatha’s mouth, but keeps her other one firmly wrapped around the younger woman’s elbow.
Agatha makes a show of biting her lower lip and fanning her eyelashes. “You arrested me for something I didn’t do, because my mother lied to you and you couldn’t see through her bullshit. What kind of cop are you?”
“Stop saying cop,” Rio says through clenched teeth, whispering the offending word despite the near impossibility of being overheard in this location. “I arrested you because a crime was reported and you refused to answer any questions, then told me to go fuck myself and put your hands on me.”
Agatha shrugs one shoulder. “You arrest everyone that touches you?”
“I could if I wanted to. Assaulting a police officer is illegal.”
“I didn’t assault you you fucking asshole, I pushed you. And it wasn’t even hard.”
“Pushing is assault, you little genius,” Rio snaps back.
Agatha licks her lips and glances down between their bodies, to where Rio’s hand is still wrapped around her elbow. “And that? Is that assault?”
Something about the way she asks is the biggest red flag Rio has ever been presented with. She breathes in slowly, working over an answer in her head, discarding several options, and finally just going with what feels natural. “That would depend.”
“On what?” Agatha steps closer to her, until their hips are barely touching.
“On whether you consent to it.”
“And what do you think?” Agatha says, tilting her head. “Do you think I consent?”
The air is growing charged, and Rio can’t bring herself to demagnetize. “Yeah, I think you consent,” she whispers, her lips a breath from Agatha’s ear. And she tightens her grip.
Agatha gasps softly, mouth falling open, eyes going hooded. And she apparently forgets they’re bantering because she doesn’t respond.
Rio can’t help a smirk, she feels it tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well?” she prompts, her breath ghosting over the shell of Agatha’s ear, and she feels the younger woman shiver at their points of contact.
“Huh?” Agatha murmurs.
“Do you consent?” Rio asks, nails digging into the flesh of Agatha’s arm.
Agatha shakes out of the little trance she’d fallen into and flips her hair back over her shoulder. “Obviously. I haven’t screamed yet, have I?”
Instead of laughing or getting annoyed at the sarcastic response, Rio backs Agatha into the wall and presses flush against her. “Are you going to scream, Agatha?”
Agatha whimpers and grabs Rio’s waist, shaking her head. “No,” she breathes out. “No, I won’t scream.”
“And you won’t tell anyone I’m a cop?” She lets go of Agatha’s arm and starts rubbing away the indents made by her fingernails.
Agatha shakes her head again and Rio can see the muscles in her throat work as she swallows. “No. I won’t tell.”
“Good girl,” Rio says, and she didn’t mean for it to come out quite like it did, but Agatha’s reaction is visceral.
“Fuck,” she whines, pupils blown, wrapping one leg around Rio’s and grinding her cunt down onto Rio’s thigh.
It takes Rio a few seconds to realize what just happened, and she steps back completely out of reach. “What part of my behavior thus far would make you think that was okay?”
Agatha realizes her mistake and starts tugging at her tank top, brows furrowed. “But I want… I thought…”
She looks lost, and Rio feels bad for the briefest of flashes, stepping close again and tilting Agatha’s face up with a finger under her chin. “I thought it was clear that I’m the authority figure here.”
“Because you’re a cop?” Agatha asks, uncertain.
Rio grins and shakes her head, pressing Agatha into the wall again. “No. Because I’m the bishop.”
Agatha’s eyes go a little wide. “But you’re not.”
“As far as the world is concerned, I am. And needy little whores don’t get to grind up on bishops, do they?” It’s a risk, talking to Agatha like that, but Rio’s willing to bet it will be well received.
Agatha’s eyes slam shut and her head thuds against the wall. “Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t you dare take the Lord’s name in vain,” Rio scolds. “Turn around.”
Agatha’s staring at her, breathing hard, and Rio gets the impression the younger woman doesn’t know whether she’s serious.
“Do you want to be touched?” Rio asks point blank.
Agatha nods, still staring, still breathing hard. “Yes.”
“Then do as I say. Turn around.”
After another heartbeat or two of staring, Agatha slowly turns to face away from her.
“Put your hands on the wall.”
Shaking hands rise to press against the wall on either side of Agatha’s head.
Rio reaches forward and gathers up a handful of Agatha’s hair that’s fallen forward and gently brings it over her shoulder so it falls down her back. The tips of her hair reach the waist of her skirt, and the tangled knots spark something feral deep inside of Rio’s psyche. “Do you make a habit of throwing yourself at strangers?”
“You’re not a stranger,” Agatha says, almost desperate. “I wanted you when you arrested me. I’ve gotten off thinking about you a dozen times since then…”
“You’re a sinful little bitch, aren’t you?” Rio says. “You need to repent. Start praying.”
“What?” Agatha gasps, looking over her shoulder, but she doesn’t move her hands off the wall.
“You heard me. Pray the Hail Mary. And face the wall.”
Agatha turns back to the wall with a noise of distress. “I don’t know it,” she says, her voice a desperate whine.
Rio gets the feeling she wants to be good. “I’ll teach you,” she says, low and deliberate, and presses her front against Agatha’s back. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”
When Agatha doesn’t respond, Rio lays a forearm across her shoulder blades and pushes.
“Say it.”
Agatha whimpers and starts trying to repeat it. “Hail Mary, full of grace, with—”
“No,” Rio interrupts. “Pay attention. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.”
She can feel Agatha’s heaving breaths in the motion of her shoulders. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” Agatha manages to choke out.
Rio eases the pressure of her arm and drops her hands to the hem of Agatha’s skirt, teasing just underneath it on both sides. “Blessed art thou among women.”
Agatha’s voice hitches. “Bl—essed art thou among women,” she says dutifully, fingers curling into the wall.
Rio inches higher, hands skimming up the outside of Agatha’s thighs until she reaches lace. “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.”
Agatha makes a breathy little noise that hits Rio right in the lower part of her belly, tightening and pulsing wetness between her legs.
“And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus,” Agatha basically moans.
Rio catches the elastic of Agatha’s panties with her index fingers and starts tugging them down. “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners…”
“Fuck… fuck,” Agatha groans. “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners… fuck. Please.”
“All I want to hear is the Hail Mary,” Rio snaps. She drags Agatha’s panties down past the bottom of her skirt, so if she looks down she can see them peeking out, and then slides her hands back up, one resting on Agatha’s hip while the other crawls around to tug lightly at the soft curls between quivering thighs. “Now and at the hour of our death.”
Agatha cries out, dropping her head back onto Rio’s shoulder. “No—now and at the hour of our death,” she says, strangled and broken.
“Amen,” Rio whispers and pushes a finger inside.
“Amen,” Agatha moans, clenching on her finger and squirming in her grasp. “Pl—”
“Say it again, honey, by yourself,” Rio purrs, curling her finger to tease in and out. “Head up, looking at that wall. If you make a mistake, I’ll stop.”
“No, no,” Agatha whines, lifting her head and shaking it. “I won’t remember it all, please don’t stop.”
“Thin ice,” Rio hisses. “Start praying, Agatha.”
Agatha stares at the wall and starts praying. Her voice shakes, and it lights Rio’s nerves on fire. “Hail Mary, fu—full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed is the—”
“No,” Rio cuts her off and stills inside her, then slowly withdraws. “Blessed art thou among women. Count to twenty and start over.”
Agatha slams one of her hands into the wall and lets out an anguished wail. Rio teases along her thighs with both hands while she counts aloud, and when Agatha starts the prayer again, she pushes her finger back inside.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” Agatha recites, her confidence in the first line cemented. “Blessed art thou… among women,” she says, angling her hips, trying to force Rio’s finger deeper.
“I need a better angle,” Rio says, withdrawing again and pushing into her from behind instead, stretching her a little with two fingers.
Agatha moans so beautifully for her, and like a good girl, keeps praying without being told. “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.”
Rio rewards her with a couple harder thrusts, burying her fingers in to the knuckle, making her arch and mewl helplessly. Agatha is so tight and hot and wet, Rio swears she could probably come just from fucking her.
“Holy Mary, pray for—”
Rio growls at her and instantly removes her fingers. “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners,” she says, tone sharp and disapproving, and Agatha wilts right in front of her. She has to tighten the arm that’s still around her to keep her from dropping to her knees. Not that Agatha on her knees would be a tragedy, but it’s not what she wants right this minute. “Count to twenty and start again.”
Agatha’s crying. Rio can hear the tears in her voice as she counts. When she reaches twenty, Rio strokes a finger back and forth through her slick and gently bites the side of her neck. “Good girl, you can do it,” she purrs, ninety percent encouragement with a little ten percent highlight of condescension.
Agatha clearly wants her prize, because she doesn’t let her tears stop her from praying. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.”
Her breath hitches when Rio sinks into her again, two fingers from behind, slow and deep. Curling and pressing and dragging along her inner walls, rewarding her for her diligence.
“Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen,” Agatha says, giving a sob when she gets through it without Rio interrupting, which obviously means she’s gotten it right.
Rio starts a merciless rhythm now, in and out, the sounds coming from Agatha’s dripping cunt obscene and delicious. “You did it, honey,” she praises, taking Agatha’s earlobe between her teeth, dropping her free hand to comb through curls and trap Agatha’s swollen, needy clit between the pads of her thumb and middle finger.
“I did good?” Agatha asks, and the vulnerability and uncertainty winds around Rio’s heart like a vise, making it skip a beat. She barely knows this girl, and yet all she wants to do after hearing that question is reassure her how good she is.
“So good,” she promises, nibbling Agatha’s earlobe and kissing her way forward, along Agatha’s jaw, to the corner of her mouth, which is as far as she can reach in this position. “Turn around,” she says. “I’ll go right back inside, I promise.”
Agatha makes a small noise of protest but obeys instantly, turning around even though it forces Rio’s fingers out, but true to her word, Rio finds her way right back under Agatha’s skirt and strokes through her folds once to find the right spot before filling her up again.
Agatha tosses her hair over her shoulder and grinds down, and her tear-streaked face is so fucking pretty, Rio can’t help kissing the tracks away. “Good girl,” she murmurs, looking right into Agatha’s eyes, the black blown wide, swallowing up the bright blue of her irises until there’s almost none left. “Can you say it again for mommy?”
Agatha’s head knocks back into the wall and the sound she makes is unholy, but she immediately launches into the prayer. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” She’s breathless, but she got every word right.
Rio’s impressed. Proud, even. “Fucking perfect,” she says, and drops to her knees, ducking her head under Agatha’s skirt to wrap her mouth around the girl’s clit and suck.
With her fingers still winding in and out at a relentless pace and her tongue flicking rapid fire back and forth over Agatha’s clit, it takes literally less than sixty seconds before Agatha’s letting out a loud cry and coming in her mouth.
Rio revels in the taste, drinking it all down, lapping up the mess when she pulls her fingers out. Those, though, she wipes on Agatha’s skirt, as a reminder to the girl of what they’d done.
When she stands, Agatha’s panting, face flushed pink, and she reaches out for Rio. It’s not immediately obvious what her intention is, and Rio almost steps back, but thinks better of it at the last second and allows Agatha that small measure of autonomy.
It turns out Agatha just wants to be held, because her arms go around Rio and she lays her head on Rio’s chest.
It’s slightly awkward given the situation, but Agatha’s ‘I did good?’ plays across her mind’s ear, and Rio quickly decides she’ll do whatever Agatha needs. “What are you doing here, by the way? You came in after mass so I know you weren’t here for the service, but is this your church?”
“No,” Agatha says quietly, pulling at the back of Rio’s shirt. “I came to get some money from my mother.”
“The mother that accused you of something you didn’t do and let you spend the night in jail? You still speak to her after that?”
Agatha’s still pulling repeatedly at the back of Rio’s shirt like she’s plucking feathers. “Just for money,” she says.
“Does she give you money whenever you ask?”
“Usually. She has enough of it, she doesn’t really care about giving it to me if it keeps me out of her way.”
Rio’s eyebrows lift. “Out of her way for what?”
“For whatever she does down in the basement. She says it’s bible study, but she can recite the entire bible from memory so what’s left to study?”
Well, Rio now has suspect number one. She’ll start looking into that witch first thing after Agatha leaves.
She brings a hand up to take Agatha gently by the chin, forcing the girl to look at her. “She can recite the entire bible by memory but you couldn’t even say the Hail Mary?”
Agatha’s cheeks dust pink and Rio loves it. “I’m not Catholic,” she mumbles, eyes darting anywhere but Rio’s face.
“Say it again,” Rio demands, gentle but with no mistaking the fact that it’s not a suggestion.
Agatha’s flush deepens and she starts plucking at Rio’s shirt a bit harder. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
A sense of pride swells in Rio’s chest and she kisses a blushing cheek. “Very good, Agatha. You’d better go get your money and I have work to do. Study up on some of the other basic prayers and come see me again soon, hmm?” She reaches down and pulls up the girl’s panties, fitting them around her hips and giving her butt a light pat.
Agatha doesn’t say anything, just turns and flees the sacristy.