Was this what everyone was supposed to have? Those of the world who had not made any holy vows, who were free to court and be courted, legally or not – was this what it was supposed to be?

Malachi could hardly stand to watch. His limbs were light, languid in Arthur’s grasp. Every press of his lips sent a warm, pleasant shiver through him, like little shocks radiating outward from the spot. It wasn’t the effect of opium, that had long ago worn away and left his throat dry and thoughts disordered; it was just there.

A tingling capped his fingertips by the time his arms had been thoroughly explored by Arthur’s mouth. The coloration of his face proved more obvious, stretching down across the bruised, bitten landscape of his shoulders, over scars and a collection of moles.

He was grateful for the way his hair curtained his eyes, providing but a sliver of the view of Arthur’s smile. He was overwhelmed by such focused attention, and he asked him if he needed anything else?

Malachi shook his head, but the movement was slow.

“You,” he said, before clarifying with another shake of his head, “what can I- do for you? What do you want?”

The flustered priest lifted, sitting up just enough to reach Arthur. It was a little difficult with his legs around his waist, and he had to set a hand behind him on the couch to stay at the upright angle. He kissed along the side of his neck, a hungry mess of breath and sharp teeth.

“Please. Anything you want, I’m yours.”