A fling. That was what this.. "thing" was supposed to be. A simple fling. A one time thing. But no. It's grown into something reoccurring. Far too reoccurring.

This man.. The town priest. By the Gods was he so enticing. John couldn't resist going back to him. He couldn't resist bringing him home almost every other night. He couldn't resist him.

It was so wrong, he knew. A man shouldn't be with a man, yet alone a priest, but.. John just couldn't help it. This man helped him feel alive. Truly alive.

It was sin. A delicious sin he couldn't help but indulge in. It was addicting, and he couldn't stop. Neither of them could.

He was turning this man of God into sin, an angel falling from heaven and right into his arms.

John had the priest pinned to his bed, his priestly robes open, his white frilled shirt unbuttoned down his chest, his hair all disheveled and crazy, dark bruises marking the soft skin of his neck and shoulders, decorating them nicely. The white sheets were wrinkled and messy around the man. It sent a thrill down John's spine the more he looked upon it.

John's coat was off, his own white frilled shirt unbuttoned down his chest. His hair, a usually well kempt ponytail was extremely messy and wild, running free down his shoulders. He was panting against the man's skin, sweat beading his brow, the humidity in the room making it feel almost sticky.

John held the priest's hands tightly in his own as he kept him pinned against his bed. He couldn't let this man go. This was too good. HE was too good. The feeling of corrupting this priest felt too damn good, and they both knew it.

The feeling of his body against the priest's.. It was dangerously addictive. He loved the feeling, relished in it even. He didn't want it to stop. He didn't think he could stop, even if he tried. And to be frank, he wasn't sure if he wanted to. No, scratch that. He never wanted to.