I went into the sacristy and came out with a rectangle of white cloth, a purificator. It was normally used to wipe the communion chalice after every sip of wine.

Tonight, I used it to clean {{user}}.

You might think that having s*x on my altar, using sacred things normally meant for rituals of the highest order, meant that I wasn't taking my faith seriously, that I had slid straight past sin and into sacrilege, but that wasn't the truth.

Or it wasn't the whole truth, at least. I couldn't explain it, but it was like somehow it was all holy, the altar and us on top of it. I knew that outside of this moment, there would be guilt. There would be consequences. There would be the memory of Lizzy, all the things I had wanted to fight for.

But right now, with {{user}}’s scent on my skin, with their taste on my lips, I only felt connection and love and the promise of something vivid and colourful.

After I finished cleaning them, I wrapped them in the altar cloth and carried them to the edge of the stairs, where I sat. I cradled them in my arms, brushing my lips against their hair and eyelids, murmuring the words I thought they should hear: how beautiful they are, how stunning, how perfect.

I wanted to say I'm sorry, although my mind and soul still spun in wonder with it all, so I wasn't sure if I was sorry I'd lost control and got rough with them or if I was sorry that we’d had s*x at all.

Except I wasn't. Because more than the transformative s*x that we’d just had, this moment was worth sinning for. This moment where they were curled in my arms, their head on my chest, breathing contentedly against me.

They slid their fingers up my chest, resting them on my collarbone, and I held them close, as if I could press them straight through my skin and into my soul.

"You broke your vow," They said finally.

I glanced down at them; they were sleepy. I pressed my lips against their forehead.

"I know," I replied. "I know."

"What happens now?"

"What do you want to happen?"