04-22-2022, 06:49 PM
Plausibly deniable innuendo in the middle of a busy street? That was fine. Having sex with a priest, under his sacred cross, in a presbytery, with Christ’s attendants traipsing through the halls? Also fine. This queer little dance mere yards away from his sister, where voices were all about and anyone could walk in unfettered? Aslan’s gaze flitted to the open door when Malachi set his glass down, close once more.
The look on his face was guarded once more … but Aslan still dared a brush of his fingers across the back of Malachi’s hand. His fingers returned to their previous spot afterward, though Aslan remained studying Malachi even as he contemplated the cup.
It was sounding more and more as though Malachi were quite alone in his world … but did he just say house? The house was his?
“You … rent a whole house in London?” Aslan tried to clarify. “But sleep on a prison cot here?”
He couldn’t imagine owning property in London, let ago foregoing using said property in the name of a priesthood he hated. He was also hyper-aware of their proximity: too close, not close enough, close enough to get them both killed, arrested, or both … but could he have another kiss before their untimely demises? His eyes went, again, to the open doorway, tongue darting out across his lips as he contemplated closing the distance, leaning into Malachi’s touch.
Too late. When Malachi took the glass for more water … Aslan was equal parts relieved and on edge. He worried about leaving Nisa to her own devices for too long. That she might get bored, and somehow find a gruesome way to entertain herself. Or, worse – that she might draw conclusions about he and the priest, secreted away for a couple of minutes. Conclusions that were ridiculous on their face … ridiculous like a young woman with a body count that veterans would envy. One more glass.
“Then holiday here,” Aslan suggested.
As soon as it flew out of his mouth, the idea was warming to him. Neither present enough for Nisa to both get annoyed by and catch in time to kill, nor so absent that Aslan would feel like he’d died a virgin anew from the gaps of some form of intimacy. A life of feast and famine instead of just famine.
… Hm. Bad metaphor around a cannibal. At least he’d be eating Londoners instead.
The look on his face was guarded once more … but Aslan still dared a brush of his fingers across the back of Malachi’s hand. His fingers returned to their previous spot afterward, though Aslan remained studying Malachi even as he contemplated the cup.
It was sounding more and more as though Malachi were quite alone in his world … but did he just say house? The house was his?
“You … rent a whole house in London?” Aslan tried to clarify. “But sleep on a prison cot here?”
He couldn’t imagine owning property in London, let ago foregoing using said property in the name of a priesthood he hated. He was also hyper-aware of their proximity: too close, not close enough, close enough to get them both killed, arrested, or both … but could he have another kiss before their untimely demises? His eyes went, again, to the open doorway, tongue darting out across his lips as he contemplated closing the distance, leaning into Malachi’s touch.
Too late. When Malachi took the glass for more water … Aslan was equal parts relieved and on edge. He worried about leaving Nisa to her own devices for too long. That she might get bored, and somehow find a gruesome way to entertain herself. Or, worse – that she might draw conclusions about he and the priest, secreted away for a couple of minutes. Conclusions that were ridiculous on their face … ridiculous like a young woman with a body count that veterans would envy. One more glass.
“Then holiday here,” Aslan suggested.
As soon as it flew out of his mouth, the idea was warming to him. Neither present enough for Nisa to both get annoyed by and catch in time to kill, nor so absent that Aslan would feel like he’d died a virgin anew from the gaps of some form of intimacy. A life of feast and famine instead of just famine.
… Hm. Bad metaphor around a cannibal. At least he’d be eating Londoners instead.
