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{from here.}

Sinric laughs sweetly as he and Dorian dance towards the stairs. He mounts the first step, now level with Dorian. He smiles warmly and kisses the corner of Dorian's lips, the sort of kiss that both begs and promises.

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"Dorian please? I'm so close!" He cries, such joy still novel and wondrous to him and being able to beg his pleasure as a free man makes it all the sweeter.

"Amen," Dorian says, wrapping his tongue around the little snail and sucking strongly to bring Sinric off.

It takes very little to push Sinric over the edge, the tight spring of pleasure inside him releasing in a long note of pure joy as he spills onto Dorian's lips.

Dorian keeps murmuring Latin, lapping it all up.

Sinric lays limp on the altar for a long moment, trying to catch his breath before sitting up to pull Dorian into a deep, passionate kiss.

"Ite, missa est," Dorian murmurs into the kiss.

Sinric can't help but smile. He shakes his head a little and slips a hand between them, cupping Dorian through his trousers. This worship is not done in his eyes.

"You wish to receive me in turn?" Dorian murmurs.

"By all divine grace." Sinric purrs, "I beg for your sacrament."

Dorian smiles, and opens his trousers.

It will be a lovely contrast to Sinric's nakedness if he remains almost fully dressed, only baring his member as it is needed to bestow pleasure to them both.

Sinric smile, rather enjoying the dichotomy himself. He reaches between them to run his fingers over Dorian's clothed thighs, fondling his jewels through the soft cloth. "How shall I pray to thee?"

"Jubilantly praising," Dorian says, drawing forth his prick like some holy object that is being revealed to the initiated, "and in Greek."

Sinric raises his eyes to Dorian's, his lips full and red.

Words of praise, older than the Christ god fall from his lips, soft as rain and rich as velvet.

Dorian finds a vial of oil and lifts it up to shimmer in the lamplight.

"Anoint me in your holy oil." Sinric's breath quickens but his voice never falters, the words of his native tongue fluid. "Make me worthy, make me ready for your sacrament. Smooth my sinner's body."

Dorian unstoppers the vial, dips in a finger and smoothly slides it into Sinric's body, answering the Greek with Latin incantation.

Sinric keeps up the litany of praise, most of the words belonging to gods older than the one whose altar they profane. He flexes, clenching around Dorian's finger as he runs his hand over Dorian's clad form.

"And now, receive my body," Dorian murmurs, replacing his finger with his stiff, oil-smoothed prick.

The way is smooth and easy, and Sinric cries out in joy. Sated from Dorian's easier ministrations but still highly sensitive, his eyes roll as he gives himself over to the feeling.

Chanting softly, Dorian starts thrusting.

Sinric picks up the words of the chant and answers them in Greek. He returns his hands to the base of the great candle sticks, spread open and sacrificed.

Even though Sinric has spent once alrady, Dorian cannot resist aiming for the seat of his pleasure; he wants the sacrifice to be worth it.

Sinric jerks, his voice breaking with jolts of pleasure, sharp as spear-points in their thrusts.

Thrusting true and steady, Dorian runs his hands over Sinric's body in worship, touching nipples, throat, lips...

Sinric wraps his lean legs around Dorian's waist, holding himself in place as each thrust fills his world with light and pleasure.

He arches into the touch, his large nipples hardening.