A mix of feelings and thoughts swirled around in Patrick's mind but he chose to ignore them, opting to put on a good face as he was certain there would be eyes on him. He was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to not have won Isabella's basket. After the last scandal sheet that reported their walk, he figured it was best to be safe. He did not want to draw any unnecessary attention.
With a kind smile, he approached the brunette. "Miss McIves," he offered with a slight nod. "You are looking lovely today. I was thrilled to win your basket in the auction." Although his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, he was hopeful that the pair would enjoy their picnic. He liked Grace, she was a fine woman and he enjoyed her company. He only hoped that she would not form an attachment to him, for he could not reciprocate. "Shall we?" He asked, offering her his arm.
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NSFW and it’s McIves so you should always assume it’s mindfuck and potentially comes across as dubcon. Also uses religious imagery in bastardized ways.
II
He could smell the blood. it was a curse of his new life, his heightened senses. And not just heightened, but rather than repealing him the blood carried with it the same temptation that whiskey once held for him.
Wendigos did not suffer from alcoholism. They had other follies.
“A parched man in a desert can quench his thirst by eating a cactus.” Ives squeezed the plant harder, the blood from his palm running down his wrist. The juices of the cactus mingled with the blood, a milky white that swirled with the red. “Are you thirsty Joseph?”
“I am fasting, as my God asks of me as we prepare to celebrate his son’s resurrection.” They had left the fort behind a few years before; the winters had been too dull for Ives and a port city made it easy for people to go missing. Joseph had no official standing with the church anymore, but a kindly old priest allowed him to kneel in penance for as many hours as he needed. By turns it amused and annoyed Ives. “That cactus was a symbol.”
“It’s still a symbol.” Ives tilted back his head, raising the broken flesh above him. Drops fell on his lips, and when he looked at Joseph the creamy pearl mingled with blood on his lips did not look like cactus juice. “Would you like a taste, Father?”
To his shame he felt the stirring in his gut that he would probably never learn to control. He could still smell the blood, and see it gathered on the other man’s lips. “I wish to pray.”
“Your god can never give you what you pray for because it’s not really what you want. I have already resurrected you.” The pressure on his forehead was firm and he smelled the sticky sweetness of clotting blood as Ives used his thumb to make a cross on his flesh. “You will understand someday. You only need to listen to what your own body is telling you.”
When Ives ran a thumb down his cheek and between his lips Joseph’s first reaction was to suck, cleaning away the blood with his tongue. “Fuck.”
“I think that can be arranged.” Ives flicked open the buttons of his trousers. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
For another day his hope for salvation was lost to him.
