Immediately, he’s snatching the beads away from her grasp, brows furrowing more to the point his forehead was conjuring up a mind splitting headache. “Was that your only intention?”

“Surely he can’t be that bad?” He pulls out his rosary beads, dangling them in front of Alex’s face. A smile then graces his lips. “Maybe ( we ) can pray for him? Pray for you to be a bit nicer.”

God wouldn’t appreciate that.

“Fine! Only if you calm your venereal urges!” Brows knit, shaking his head in a disappointing manner. Only, he was trying to tame himself.

He’s smiling at that. Perhaps the other’s teasing mannerism is enough for him to ( want ) to be brat-like. “I don’t like pizza.”

Brows furrow, dark optics scanning their surrounding. There’s not a lot of people around, and they’re distracted. So he leans forward, tongue darting forward to caress to the shell of Alex’s ear. “Can’t have that . . . you’d like it too much,” he whispers in a teasing manner.

Everywhere he walks, God follows.

“There’s a lovely restaurant down the isle. It’s owned by two beautiful Christian couples, too.” He hesitantly accepts the arm hold, rolling his eyes. Oh God, why won’t you intervene?

Meaning?

“I know what you said,” he hummed, shifting his waist so Alex’s hand came in contact with the seam of his pants. In his peripheral vision, he watched a figure approaching him, prompting him to pull away. He shifted past Alexander, light smirk gracing his lips.

“( Greek ),” he said simply, jutting his chin outward. If he was childish enough to poke his tongue out, he would.

“Self pleasure leads to Satan stripping of one layer of skin. I prefer to keep most of myself in tact.”

“James one twenty says: For man’s anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires,” he says, that hint of a smirk still so ever present on his tiers. A hand sneakily sneaks into his pocket, rearranging himself. “I have no idea what you mean, Mister Harmon.”

Why his love for god is a subject of satire, he doesn’t know.

Mouths ‘ make me. ’

His hand, bound by his rosary beads, swims through Alex’s hair, lithe digits coming through his dark locks. Tongue darts forward, caressing the male’s own. He better be silent. No need to catch anyone’s attention.

“Sinless is virtue.” He continues on his way, finding a study nook to sit down at. A lamp suspended above offers enough light, the still darkness surrounding creating comfort and warmth. If he were to sin, this place would keep it within dark, cold walls.

He doesn’t waver. One shoulder pat could lead to intercourse, intercourse could lead to death. He wants to live. “God allowed me to wake up to myself, Gabriella.”

The adventure is short lived before the two find their way to a small Greek place on the edge of a waterway. “This place is my safe haven. A small, comfortable home away from home. Second home. God is my first.”

Patrick pulls out his bible, flipping through a few pages. With his free hand, however, he travels along the male’s thigh, the darkness beneath the desk providing enough closure. “I have every virtue under the catholic sun,” he says, lithe digits grazing down his inner thigh.