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Summary
Father Vinsmoke wills his heart to cease its racing. “You’re struggling with... with lust?”
“Yes,” Father Roronoa sighs wistfully, his lips curving into a knowing grin; the firm call to his intention is obscured by the latticed divider as his own ache burgeons – relentless and without restraint. “Isn’t that a normal occurrence?”
“Uh, yes. Of course,” Father Vinsmoke quips, reaching up to wipe away the sheen of sweat that settles on his forehead with quivering fingers. The implication is there; it’s overwhelming, it’s a honeyed truth that spreads across the stretch of his tongue, senses charred black. It’s a reward for his patience, for his resilience and might. Yet, he’s in need of something more tangible. He’s in need of certainty, something that cannot be misconstrued. “Are they someone that I’ve met before?”
Though, Father Roronoa is insistent in the way that he chooses to keep him at length. “I’m not sure why that matters, Father.”
"Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak." - Mark 14:38