[splayed out like this, with his cassock pinned beneath him and his long, smooth limbs open to zephirin's touches and bites and kisses, francel looks like a blessing given form. he shifts slightly as zephirin leans over him; his lips part, all buttery softness and glossy temptation. father joacin is a gift from the gods, a prize that zephirin has won after many nights of service.
some would call their union unholy, a betrayal of francel's vows — and yet, the young priest seems positively divine as he smiles and reaches up to unbuckle zephirin's pauldrons from his breastplate.]
Don't dream too fervently, my love... we wouldn't want you to have to wash your breeches in the morning.
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some would call their union unholy, a betrayal of francel's vows — and yet, the young priest seems positively divine as he smiles and reaches up to unbuckle zephirin's pauldrons from his breastplate.]
Don't dream too fervently, my love... we wouldn't want you to have to wash your breeches in the morning.