Honeyed Pasture take off all the thoughts of what we've been

Phocion's attention was caught between Cortland's mumbled words--words!--and Engel's apologies, his mind vacillating between joy and vexation. He shook his head, finally, at the Mayfair, giving him a gentle lick to the cheek before turning his face to Engel, face stern, but less angry than it had been.

Once upon a time, Phocion had been an incorrigible flirt. Constantly crossing the line, taking things too far. His mouth had been the biggest part of him, and it ran, and ran, and ran. But he'd grown out of it, eventually--not without much help from his newfound faith, of course. It seemed that Engel had not had the same experience, and while he was inclined to look down his nose at someone so sexually forward. . .he could, at least, be understanding. And he had apologized, anyway.

"Learn to be more careful," the white priest advised, tone losing its heat from before. "Read the signs. Else you run into situations like this." Phocion dipped his nose, letting a small sigh slip through his nostrils. "You are forgiven."

He then gave the russet man a long look, head slightly tilted. "You are far from where I saw you last," he remarked. "Where are you staying, lately?"