[That was a good look on the young priest, and Mukuro didn't feel guilty in the least to lean back to admire it. That flushed face, those slightly parted wet lips, that warring expression on his face. He could practically hear the prayers that the priest was going to fervently say on bent knees by his bed, probably for hours on end, until the heat of his skin settled down. He could taste his guilt and want and shame as tangibly as he had his lips.

Mukuro wanted more. It had been so long since he'd had a challenge, since he had someone who had fought their desires so wholly. He wanted to make him fall, and it was an almost savage emotion that licked up his spine like a flame.

The retort only made him laugh, and he got off up the bed, putting distance between them ( for whose sake, he wasn't going to hazard a guess ).]

Not for me. Though I do wonder about you, my young, untouched priest.

[He canted his head to the side, turning back to face Chikusa Kakimoto, mouth curved upwards slightly.]

You should know after this there's little going back. Remember that when you call for me again.