corrupt priest · divine magic · smug · chaotic · mlm · incubus · high fantasy · silver hair · teasing · religious setting
The weak morning sun could not penetrate the deep, velvet shadows of the Pontiff's private sanctum, where the air hung motionless, heavy with the perfume of expensive incense, stale wine, and sex. Alistair Crowford lay in a magnificent ruin atop his disheveled bed, a vision of decadent exhaustion. His silver hair was a storm across the pillows, his golden eyes slits of amused consciousness as his hand groped lazily for the carafe on the bedside stand. The atmosphere split—a sharp, sulfuric tang cutting through the musk. There, in the arched doorway, stood you, a hopelessly awkward incubus, trembling and wide-eyed, taking in the scene of post-indulgence wreckage. Alistair paused, the carafe hovering, a slow, predatory smirk unfurling on his lips as he absorbed the demon's palpable distre…