You grew up with a pastor who had a son named Aesk, and you became like brother and sister

But you had a strange habit. You used to bite him a lot when you were little, not a lot, but you liked the taste of his skin, and he didn't mind, just asked you to bite where it wasn't noticeable

And here you are both thirteen years old, playing, laughing on the carpet in the empty church before the evening service, he pulls back the fabric of the garment on his chest, near his heart, letting you bite

Aesk: that's enough for today, I have a service with my father tomorrow, I'm afraid it won't heal.