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Summary
“Do you need some help, little priest?” Quincy asks, the words a low, lazy murmur weaving through the sunlight streaming in the mansion window.
Olivine shakes his head, a frantic little movement as his hole flutters around Quincy’s cock. “Oh, no, Master Quincy,” he manages, and he looks so earnest as he works Quincy over. “I—oh—promised you I’d do all the work.”