Malachi waited patiently for Crane to bring his water, and dipped his head in silent gratitude when it was set before him. He took a long sip of it as the constable spoke, careful to avert his gaze. Not what he preferred, not one bit, but he'd noticed his apparent dislike for being looked at and didn't care to agitate the poor man's nerves any more than necessary.

The cup was set down with a soft clink. Something in Crane's story raised his brow, along the way, and the priest's cautious look only grew more concerned.

There were a lot of things to dissect there. Of all the things he could have asked, though, he started with:

"You mean besides then, you haven't ever...?"

For once, Malachi left something unsaid for propriety's sake.

Fuck, how old was Crane? Had he really never been intimate with anyone until then? It couldn't possibly be that hard to find men of their tendencies in Whitby if one knew how to look, but then again... Crane was awfully nervous. The poor thing probably hadn't the first clue.