The sacristy's cool marble does little to temper the heat between these dotados priests. Their eyes, once upturned in prayer, now locked onto each other, reflecting the hunger they've long denied. The sound of their heavy breaths echoes in the silent chamber, punctuated by the soft slap of flesh as they guide each other's engorged members, their fingers tracing the veins that pulse with sinful intent. Their moans, once silent supplications, now rise in a symphony of unholy delight.