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@londonmobx said : you always think you're justified.

his visage is not blank, but there is a blanket neutrality that is faintly tinged at the edges by arrogance. he takes a step forward, closer to her so that a hand can come up to brush an errant strand of hair from her face. it's a deceptively kind gesture, matching the viperous smile on his lips. "that's because i am, girl. everything i do is justified; a direct diction from god is justification enough for most. is an assignment - a call to action - from your holy father - not enough for you?" his brows knit, laying pressure on her devotion not to him, but to the church and the faith he knows she holds close to her chest. "is your god's word something you would so openly question, sister seraphine?"

#londonmobx #beau answer.#beau post.#beau ;; main.

"tell me, sister, how oft do you find yourself thinking things you later deem immoral?" he looks out the window of the church building, arms folded and no attention really given to the nun that stands not far off - that hasn't even said anything yet or alerted him to her presence. "profanities, tiny wishes of ill on others that you justify would be well earned if it just so happened that it did come about. little things that are inconsequential in the long run, but you berate yourself for?"

@londonmobx liked !!

#londonmobx #beau post.#beau ;; main.#queue.

a soft chuff leaves him as he dips his head, then lifts it once more to look at her, almost amused with the way that his eyes slither over her form. "it sounds as if god is trying to tell you something. perhaps you view it as failing your vows, now, but what was it we spoke of before?" head tilts a little more to the side, and he's offering her that faint, no-good smile. "if it were not god's will, it would not come about. no? why would the almighty put upon you these feelings, these desires, if he did not wish for you to do something about them?"

@londonmobx continued from here.

#londonmobx #beau post.#beau ;; main.#[ god this sucks i'm sorry ]

open starter // anyone, [x] sought out the "miracle" preacher

they had been led to the back room of that otherwise dusty, old, unassuming bar by a smallish woman that had been silent the entirety of the interaction, only dipping her head to the man settled on a few built up crates in acknowledgement of his own nod towards her. then, she leaves, and they are alone.

the man on the crates in the corner of the dim room draws his dark gaze up from the little piece of wood he's using a knife to whittle into the shape of a wolf, settling on the other person before his tongue rolls along his front, upper teeth with a sickening sound. his legs are stretched out - longer than feels normal and clothed in dark leather, capped in black leather, western style boots - and as he glazes them over, a grin pulls across his features.

"hear you need a miracle." head tips backwards some, and he blows along the carved wood, dispersing its shavings onto the floor. "good thing i'm in the business of miracles."

#beau post.#open starter.#beau ;; main.

@moonpehtals sent : i grew up pretending sticks were little guns. / vivianne for the wheel

"that sounds absolutely riveting, truly." there's only a hint of sarcasm from him as he's leaning back on the closest thing shorter than him by just a hair, his elbow digging into the hard surface. "the violence that begets even the small and untrained." he smirks, just a touch, and cants his head at her. "and how many friends, brothers and sisters, did you kill with your fake little guns?"

#moonpehtals #beau answer.#beau post.

there are some things that never leave a person, no matter how long they have been separated from an institution and its teachings. for the woman that has caught his eye on the streets in the darkness, it is the way she does not dress like a sister, but holds herself with the same ethereal grace. perhaps he is peering too deeply into the mundane, but by the time he finds himself in step with her, several paces behind, bean is unable to justify breaking off from following her now. he's entrance, perhaps, and if there is something he enjoys, it's being rather vile in a subtle fashion.

even as the population of the streets starts to thin, the man donned in dark leathers and a hood over his head to match does not break stride. does not fall back a few more paces to lessen his suspicion. no, perhaps without being obvious, the woman he trails has sunk hooks into him.

@delaroix ♥'d !!

#delaroix #beau post.#beau ;; main.#queue.#[ no idea honestly but i tried [

there is a depth to the simple phrase that makes his spine arch, pulling away from the invisible wall he stands against at any given time, based upon his posture. few elicit such a reaction from him - he who thinks himself god - and fewer still see it.

but they do. they absolutely read him as if he is an entry level reading story, pulling words from the cardboard pages and stringing them through the air without effort.

he is a priest, and yet, for so long he never believed either party truly existed outside of himself. so, as their fingers touch along the falsehood of the white collar at the base of his throat, beau swallows.

it is not fear.

it is arousal.

his hands remain fixed at the small of his back as his head tips forward and he looks over their form, their perfection cast out by the creator.

"i will give it, without hesitation." his voice does not shake, but lilts with an attention uncharacteristic of one knowing what they're up against. "in exchange for more." power. lust. control. anything the fallen one is willing to give.

@hagiophagy sent : ❝ i want every last drop of you. ❞ beau.

#hagiophagy #beau answer.#beau post.#beau ;; main.#[ *kanye shrug* ]

if there's one thing that beau has a small sense of pride over when it comes to catholicism, it's that they haven't changed their way of dressing in seemingly forever, thus he knows his way around every inch of the traditional wear of a habit. in the moments before, he's helped her remove the less fun parts - the shorts, the horribly modest underwear, leaving her in only the the upper parts of her uniform. parts that soon will be soiled with sin.

soon, acretia is on the floor, because what better place? her back pressed against the tile, his fingers tracing up the inner swathe of her left leg to push the fabric of her holy gown up, up until it pins loosely there at her hips. "lift your legs," he commands in a tone quiet, but no less authoritative, as he hovers over her, slowly getting down not to his knees, but his belly, where she can still see that white glean of his clerical collar clearly. he wants her to know this is filthy. regardless of their true alignment with the church, baseline, this is wrong.

as her body fulfills his order, one of his hands lays against the underside of her thigh, pressing it towards her center more as his visage dips inward, wasting no time in frivolity or pretending he doesn't know what he's doing. tongue laves out, running along her exposed slit from bottom to top, dipping inward between the folds of soft skin to find the bundle of nerves he seeks.

lips come together around her clit, suckling lightly before his tongue flats against her core and draws upwards again, that free hand taking not one, but two of those long fingers and slipping them into her entry curling upwards as dark gaze focuses up onto her visage.

@mkoshi sent from here : 9. m/f (nsfw gif meme — beau / acretia)

#mkoshi #nsfw.#beau answer.#beau post.#beau ;; main.#ask to tag.