pennybeagle
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“For someone who seems like he was made for this, you certainly can’t control yourself well,” the priest points out. Faustus says nothing, still trying to let his lungs fill again with air. “I wonder if I could teach you that,” they say. “Control. Patience. It’d suit you to have.”
“I’ll learn anything you try to teach,” the sinner says, fingers dipping beneath the back of their pant’s waistband. It isn’t a subtle statement. It’s a declaration, loud and undaunted: I’ll take what you give. I’ll live by your hand, and your hand alone.
(In which a midwinter morning is spent learning a rather intricate lesson, and the Bible is misquoted rather horribly.)
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