(temple acolyte x minotaur)
The minotaur peacekeeper cages you against the citrus tree. Your basket falls, fruit rolling at your feet. Petals dance around you, falling from the force of your body's impact against the trunk in a fragrant rain.
"Tell me, little novice," he growls, his breath hot and wet against your ear. "Tell me what you imagined."
You can only whimper, because-- oh, gods, he can't ask that of you. Your gift is only for those blessed by your god, only those chosen to receive his light. Even if the great bull has, impossibly, seen straight through you, to the heart of your desire for him. Somehow seen your need, watching him day after day on his patrol.
Your robe falls away as he flips you around, pressing you against the tree. He's so huge, you can feel him against your back, hard and insistent.
"Tell me," he repeats, more urgently this time. Your robe slides away as he paws at your thigh, exposing miles of skin to dappled sunlight. "Did you imagine me slipping into the temple in the dead of night? When your god cannot help you? Or did you picture it like this?"
The minotaur, hooves planted firmly, rolls his hips even as he pulls you closer. Firm. Bruising.
"Is this what you wanted? Did you imagine, little novice, me bending you over this very tree? Taking you under Apollo's own sky, where anyone could see?"
Your answering moan is all the reply he needs.