Disclaimer: Wholly original work.
Summary: Pashalk has never claimed to be a good man.
Notes: Quick character piece.
Pashalk knew he wasn't supposed to be fucking Daria's priestesses - he knew he'd get in trouble, but this one had been much too inviting, climbing onto his lap, flirting, chasing him around the Temple. He couldn't even remember her name - probably something to do with flowers, that was all the rage. He wasn't even sure where she had come from, only that she liked to let her clothing slip, showing firm, small breasts and pale, silky thighs.
It had been all he could do to not just pull her to his room the first time she'd let her hands wander his body, when they'd first met, out in the rotting courtyard of decay behind the Temple. He knew he wasn't a good man, not by far, but even if he had been, this one was a bitch in heat.
The black ringlets of her hair shook and bounced as he thrust into her - she was no virgin by far. And she knew his name and he just couldn't remember hers. She was hot, wet, inviting. He wanted to fuck her a thousand times, to absolutely defile her and leave her destroyed for any man or woman. It had been nearly a year since Festival, nearly a year since he'd been with a woman. And she was perfect.
Daria was going to be pissed, alright. But this priestess knew how to move, how to kiss. She wanted him, wankted to take all of him.
He never did see her again, though, and punishment never came, just a smirking young goddess with a pale-haired babe at her breast.
Drink Lemonade! Tip Your Waitress!