#tarnished-silver

Maybe?

You had just hit your 148th winter, anything lewd would be monstrous, vile...but-

You can't quite recall anything besides that odd tingling that makes you desire to writhe like a sinner in confession. All because of that unfamiliar buzz between your thighs, yet clad in the thick fabric of your breeches and hidden under the the heavy concealing wool of your vestments.

He's talking and laughing over something silly you had said and his face is flushed, but his eyes seem to sharpen with a predatory glint when he notices your staring. You couldn't help but gaze upon his lips when his tongue sneaks out to wet them, a resounding longing lacing through the heart of your being.

You ache.

You sway, letting the fuzzy hurting feeling wash you away like sand on some distant shore. You blink for but a moment, or rather a moment it seemed to you.

When your eyes open again, you were somewhere sturdy and warm, soft words cooed into your long, drooping ears while hands smooth along the curves of your hips and waist. Gentle yet confident in their hold-- So big in comparison to your own with thick fingers usually hidden in gloves and heavy gauntlets, but now bared to the cool night air and showing all of those little knicks and cuts along his fingers.

"Such a good lad, just let me touch ya... relax for me..." He murmurs, nosing his way along your bone white neck and sucking marks into your delicate skin in a way that makes you squirm. "That's it, so damned good fer me." He groans into your ear and the sheer vibration of those words against the fragile flesh is transcendent.

You only grow harder when that devious mouth teases at your helix, nibbling gently. The teeth sliding along the curve like a caress...maybe a threat-

Your vision nearly blanks on the spot.

"Damn, Yer sensitive there, aren't ya?" he rumbles.

"Mphhh...ah-- Loth..Lothric! W...wait..." Came the whimper from your tainted lips, un-kissed until now.

Taken in that wet, sloppy drunken way that left your mouth drooling and stained red as your hands fly the cling to the knight's vambraces-- practically rapturous at the thought of the expanse of tanned skin and hard muscle that lay beneath.

And what of your chastity?

"Stop... umph... I can't!" the words ran together as you press your hands against his chest, trying to push away but ending up more than a little distracted the feeling of sturdy pecs under your fingers.

"Ya like that don't ya? Sloppy little thing..." Came that almost growly laugh as you are manhandled to straddle his thigh, your prick pressed tight against the metal of the cuisses he had forgotten to remove in your little indulgences, pleasantly warm from his flesh and the fire.

you would know all about "little indulgences," wouldn't you?

He undoes the buttons on your cassock to expose the smooth, hairless expanse of your chest, a hand, rough and heated as he tweaks a nipple in his callused finger tips. That soft, peaked flesh pinkening further under the rough attentions.

He breathes a sigh against your cheek, nuzzling against your ear like a satisfied cat.

Your rosary seems to burn against the skin of your breast.

Further down that wicked instrument of the devil slides until it's palming the bulge between your legs, braies already wet where the tip of your length dribbled pre-spend into the fabric in it's lewd manner. Straining against the fabric, you could feel yourself twitch in his hold.

"H-halt! Lothric..." you protest, words stammering out like a leaking faucet, trying to put some of that holy steel in your voice but falling short from the slurring. You grab him about the wrist but it felt as if you could scarcely contain him, your fingers and thumb barely managing to meet.

"you-- you...I'm..." I'm too old for you? I'm a man of the gods? All those little worries die violently in a torrent of alcohol fueled desire when he smothers you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips, tasing thickly of mead-- you're convinced the world seemed to be spinning as he grabs your other hand to rest on his own arousal.

It pulses hot beneath your hand, hard and molten like an iron rod fresh from the forge.

You gasp, but it's swiftly hushed.

"Shhh...Ain't nothin' to worry bout, Father." He soothes, petting your side with his unoccupied hand, his tone pitching into a deep, coaxing rumble that made your skin prickle. "Just wrap your fingers round...yeah, just like that..." He groans, guiding your slender digits to curl around that thick length after fishing it from his own undergarments.

This skin, too, was gold in the firelight.

"A mite tighter..." A low pant ghosted along the back of your neck as his hand tightens your grip, as if he were training a simple squire to hold an sword and not engaging in such... unholy deeds.

All you could do was stare in that dazed way as your hand moved up and down along the shaft, pumping away, engulfed in his own. Wet, it was so wet and the pearly fluid that spilled from the tip coated your fingers like ink spilling from a broken quill.

What would it taste like? Came the idle wonder like a whisper hissed from a serpent's maw.

Unbidden, your tongue sneaks out to wet your lips

That thought, too, is consumed as you buck into the hand that grips you, a wounded moan wrenching from the depths of your throat, and yet you continue to stroke even as a callused thumb passes over your tip.

It was small in his grip, his fingers encompassing all of with room enough to coil around with overlap as they worked you into near madness with each twist and fondle.

Closer and closer you were pressed to the edge, while that knot in your gut grew tight enough to make you beg. "Ah, Lothric...please~" Were the last words you could get out before you were spilling into his hand, the slick of it lubing his grip to allow for greater friction as you pumped your hips into his palm in small aborted thrusts-- sobbing and whining from the sensation of it all.

You almost blank out as spit dribbles from the corner of your mouth, your face flush while sweat tracks down your face.

"Shhh shhh...I ain't hurtin' ya none..." He pants, "How bout some more wine, yeah?" He murmurs, reaching down to grab a bottle by their feet, lifting it to his mouth in one smooth motion.

Popping the cork with his teeth, he take a hearty swig and presses his lips to yours, liquid flowing into your mouth-- Sour and sharp.

It burns going down.

You gag, but he tilts your head back and you swallow. It tastes of something akin to shame and defeat