Ivory Touch
Written on Squishyball's LJ in a comment on a pic of Priest!Misha:
The toll was evident on his face, around his sapphire eyes. Father Dmitri, clad in black during a long and muggy summer day, brushed the condensation from his glass across his chapped lips, spreading the moisture with his tongue. He'd endured Mass at dawn, a funeral Mass, visitation at the hospital, and two Last Rites at the hospice; so many grieving souls and so much humidity were exhausting. The robes, the black cassock, all of it was heavy. Nothing, in his estimation, was heavier than the ivory collar, which he pulled away from his throat with a sigh. He rubbed the collar, slowly and carefully, with his thumb, as he set it on the small table in his quarters. Staring at it, he raised his glass to his relieved lips, and sipped the amber warmth. He would glance at the collar again, as he left the room, thinking how the bright white of the collar reminded him of the silky ivory skin he would soon see and touch and taste, the milky taboo he desired so passionately, the immaculate alabaster indulgence that would steal his very soul.... or drive him to sell his soul to always have in his life. He'd smirk at the collar, shut off the light, and give himself over to the fire that burned in his loins, day and night, beneath the cassock, beneath the robes, beneath the collar.
The toll was evident on his face, around his sapphire eyes. Father Dmitri, clad in black during a long and muggy summer day, brushed the condensation from his glass across his chapped lips, spreading the moisture with his tongue. He'd endured Mass at dawn, a funeral Mass, visitation at the hospital, and two Last Rites at the hospice; so many grieving souls and so much humidity were exhausting. The robes, the black cassock, all of it was heavy. Nothing, in his estimation, was heavier than the ivory collar, which he pulled away from his throat with a sigh. He rubbed the collar, slowly and carefully, with his thumb, as he set it on the small table in his quarters. Staring at it, he raised his glass to his relieved lips, and sipped the amber warmth. He would glance at the collar again, as he left the room, thinking how the bright white of the collar reminded him of the silky ivory skin he would soon see and touch and taste, the milky taboo he desired so passionately, the immaculate alabaster indulgence that would steal his very soul.... or drive him to sell his soul to always have in his life. He'd smirk at the collar, shut off the light, and give himself over to the fire that burned in his loins, day and night, beneath the cassock, beneath the robes, beneath the collar.