God, Arthur was too old to sit in someone's lap like this.  Spreading his knees on either side of Malachi's hips caused a stretch in his legs he was unaccustomed to, and he knew if he stayed here long he would regret it.

But Malachi's request was so quiet and simple, and he'd even said please, and Arthur had promised indulgence, and this was something he could do.

"Darling," he whispered right before he caught Malachi's lips with his own, and this time, there was nothing else.  Just lips, and kisses soft enough to be considered devout, perhaps even affectionate.  It was a bizarre but welcome change to the status quo for the two so far.

Arthur leaned closer to Malachi, like they could absorb one another with enough pressure.  He didn't know how he'd walk back to his office looking like he did, and he didn't even fucking care.  Let the people stare and gossip about him and what he might be up to.  Let them wonder what he had just gone through and never have the bravery to ask him to his face.

Hands rested at the base of Malachi's neck, rarely still.  They danced over the bruises and stroked his cheek, showing kindness to the priest for what was very likely the first time, and hopefully wouldn't be the last.  Arthur's own hips burned at this point, but he still did not try to move.  This?  This was too good to end so soon.