❝ mine. body & soul. ❞ fingers curl around the edge of the deacon’s jaw, press hard enough to leave little crescent moon imprints, nails against skin. the evening light peers in through the cathedral windows, casting a faint glow across their bodies. venti is upon the altar ⸻ a religious figure draped in gold & white; his loyal believer between his thighs & looking oh so pretty. ❝ you know, deacon, you haven’t made an offering to your god in quite a while. one might assume you’re neglecting to worship appropriately. ❞