04-22-2022, 02:38 AM
Judging by Malachi’s deadpan tone, at least he wasn’t especially upset by the possibility. Or perhaps he was just in that flux again, of being annoyed that he existed and also wanting to remind him that yes, there had been fucking and it had been fantastic. He wished he shared that annoyance, that he might be a smidgeon easier to resist. But then, considering this handsome, flirtatious priest allowed a certain little bird to lure him alone with him again? He wasn’t sure how well that was working out for him, either.
The smell of dried lavender was mainly from Malachi. The stalks he had used as incense had not been close to the closet, but they had been close to the bed. It had felt important to make some sort of distinction between the way they prepared it – and besides, the smoke of it was more pungent and stuck longer over other odors. It lingered strongest in Aslan’s hair.
His eyes dropped to Malachi’s throat when he swallowed, then drew back up and pretended he was innocent when that deep voice spoke. Aslan stepped back to be less suspiciously close with an exasperated look, like he hadn’t just been letting his own mind wander down paths it ought not. Was the pantry big enough for two standing? What about kneeling? His head turned to a shelf near the stove. Their oil wasn’t that far from him …
Not here. Not with his precious niece chatting up her imminent demise.
He leaned against the only slightly dusty counter, palms resting on it behind him.
“I have some work that would be easier done from London,” he shrugged with a coy look. “I suppose I could fly on by to visit, Father.”
Malachi would be far safer in London, even given all the problems of … well, London. At least in London, there was less likely to be someone actively planning his murder – right?
“Do you have family there?”
He figured an aunt or uncle, or a close sibling, perhaps, considering he had been on … ahem, bad terms with his father to put it lightly. Nettie’s parents would be his first guess, judging by the time implied spent with her.
The smell of dried lavender was mainly from Malachi. The stalks he had used as incense had not been close to the closet, but they had been close to the bed. It had felt important to make some sort of distinction between the way they prepared it – and besides, the smoke of it was more pungent and stuck longer over other odors. It lingered strongest in Aslan’s hair.
His eyes dropped to Malachi’s throat when he swallowed, then drew back up and pretended he was innocent when that deep voice spoke. Aslan stepped back to be less suspiciously close with an exasperated look, like he hadn’t just been letting his own mind wander down paths it ought not. Was the pantry big enough for two standing? What about kneeling? His head turned to a shelf near the stove. Their oil wasn’t that far from him …
Not here. Not with his precious niece chatting up her imminent demise.
He leaned against the only slightly dusty counter, palms resting on it behind him.
“I have some work that would be easier done from London,” he shrugged with a coy look. “I suppose I could fly on by to visit, Father.”
Malachi would be far safer in London, even given all the problems of … well, London. At least in London, there was less likely to be someone actively planning his murder – right?
“Do you have family there?”
He figured an aunt or uncle, or a close sibling, perhaps, considering he had been on … ahem, bad terms with his father to put it lightly. Nettie’s parents would be his first guess, judging by the time implied spent with her.
