Feel No Guilt

Sometimes the situations life places before us are worth going to Hell for. Ball/Cross.

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Cross pushes his body closer to Ball's and feels the hand on his waist tighten. The other hand is in his hair, pulling, tugging, telling him to give up any sense of control.

A soft moan escapes Cross's mouth. Ball suddenly forgets how to breath and crushes his lips onto Cross's own lips. His hand falls from Cross's hair and slides onto his waist, joining it's counterpart. It adopts a similar grip, and Ball is urged and compelled at the same to stop thinking and just feel. They press flush together and Ball still isn't breathing because Cross is using his tongue and Oh God he has to breathe.

Ball looks at how Cross's pale skin and light hair have such an a glow in this morning sunlight. Cross's eyes are bright and his lips are red.

Ball is pretty sure that Saint Peter won't agree that screwing heaven's number one angel because said angel is silently demanding it is actually not a sin. I will feel no guilt, he thinks, when I go to Hell.

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