[There's an irritated litle noise at the feeling of the waistcloth sliding over his back, but...well, perhaps just letting it happen is the only real option here, since Lobelia is seemingly so insistent. His shoulders hunch up slightly, the fabric catching slightly on the raised cuts and lines marring the expanse of skin.]
...No. I don't remember a time like that.
[The far past is not something he thinks about. It almost feels like he was fully formed, in Fixer condition, from his beginning.]
[Lobelia is not particularly gentle, but he isn't going out of his way to treat Vergilius roughly either. Thorough is a better way of putting it, the meticulous sweeps of his palms proof that he intends to leave no inch of his man untouched.]
I see! I suppose that must mean you have little by way of happy childhood memories to speak of.
[Dreadfully depressing, but not unexpected. When Vergilius' back is done, Lobelia moves onto his arms, invasive and unrelenting as ever.]
Should I pity you? Envy you? It's ta faute that I have to wonder such questions, you know.
[He doesn't give answer to that first part. His childhood means nothing to him anymore. What he is now is the fixed conclusion.]
[He is letting out more displeased noises at the further invasion into his space, not unlike a feral cat. He still isn't pulling away completely, but the look on his face, which Lobelia may not be able to see, is simply "get on with it, already".]
Do neither. I am what I am. What do you even mean, "ta faute"?
[Crowding Vergilius is half the fun! Lobelia hears that displeasure and slows down in direct response to it, humming as he slooowly and meticulously scrubs him down.]
You're at fault, naturellement. What else could I possibly mean? All if this is a consequence of your actions.
[It is, isn't it? The ocean of blood, made by his hands. He's fated to wander into it for eternity, or until this mortal body gives out once and for all.]
[He doesn't answer, something like a shadow dimming the persistent glow as he bows his head, lost in his own thoughts.]
[Ah. Had that been too harrowing of a revelation for dear old Verg? Lobelia's touch ceases, hands drawing back, but he isn't done pestering the man. Far from it.]
Is something wrong?
[While Verg navel gazes, Lobelia soaps up the cloth and begins washing himself.]
[He draws out of that dark well of his thoughts, aiming a glance over his shoulder with furrowed brow. Irritating, how irritating. The water keep running over his skin, and he finally raises a hand to brush through his wet hair, earring shifting with the movement.]
I'm just tuning you out. There's no point listening to you.
[How utterly charming. Vergilius is well and truly back to normal, but if Lobelia didn't like him at his worst, he certainly wouldn't be here right now. He'll forgive the frigid reception and make quick work of cleaning himself up, slapping the washcloth on Vergilius' shoulder before stepping out of the shower to wrap a towel around his hips.]
Merci, Γ’me soeur, for showing me such a fine time today. This won't be the last date we go on.
[No, that's an honor he'll reserve for the next one.]
[He doesn't even shift his gaze when he feels the washcloth slap against his shoulder. Only the raising of his head indicates any reaction, his wet bangs practically dripping over his upper face.]
[A cosmic joke. He opens his mouth as if to retort, to argue, to shoot a piercing statement back, to deny. Nothing comes. His throat is dry. The water keeps pouring, and for a moment, there's a reckless vision where he wishes he could drown in it.]
[But yes. With what just happened, he can't be so quick to throw it inside. Something has wormed inside of him, as insidious as an inescapable rot. And he let it inside, accepted it, because he knows what's best for him. He knows what's worst for him, to be exact.]
[He clenches his fists at his sides. And yet...and yet....]
[He leaves Vergilius wanting for an answer while he combs and coifs his hair into its usual style, after which he catches his gaze in the mirror.]
You feel it too, non? That "gut feeling".
[As a boy, his parents would often tell him he'd know when he found the right person because his heart would tell him so... but his heart doesn't flutter, nor does it long for Vergilius the way one lover might pine for the other when they've been apart for a long stretch of time. It's more base than that, more instinctualβ as he suggested, it's very much a gut feeling. A certainty he feels right down to his bones.]
That ominous feeling that stands the hairs on the back of your neck on end, that ill feeling in your gut... Don't tell me you don't feel it too. When I imagine what our avenir may hold, I can't help but find myself shaking in anticipation.
[He's known love. Quiet, comfortable love. Love that never asks for anything in return. A simple thing, like a flower growing from asphalt, wanting to be nurtured and cared for.]
[So what is this, then? This feeling laid bare? Is it love? It's something, as bitter as ash on the tongue. It's not quiet or comfortable, but like they're two atoms hovering next to each other, ready to bind together and explode. There's a tension that has yet to be appeased, a friction that grates and chafes and pushes deep into viscera. If it is love, its a violent, self-destructive thing. He's killed many people time and time again to the point where their faces have blurred, but Lobelia? He's something concrete, a smile and a laugh to be burned permanently in the back of his mind. Lobelia has put his hooks into him to the point he has bypassed all the walls he so carefully put up.]
[A worm, through and through.]
[He finally glances over at the man, his voice low. His tone burns as much as Lobelia does.]
[It's much easier to imagine their future in his mind than it is to piece together what it is he feels for Vergilius in certain terms. Lobelia knows what it feels like to be inextricably bound, to have made up his mind, to make promises that will never be broken.
Promising eternity to Vergilius is not unlike the promise he made to his parents: I'll pursue happiness at any cost. His happiness lies within this man, lies down the path ahead of them, and he won't get there without following his guiding light. If Lobelia is certain of anything, it's that where they belong is togetherβ from now into eternity.
Lobelia stops, turns on his heel to face Vergilius. Burning words, burning gaze. Though Vergilius may scald him, Lobelia will never be left wanting for warmth so long as they remain inextricably linked.]
[He also issues this as naturally as any fact. This is a certainty in his mind. So, it's a bit paradoxical to him. He knows Lobelia knows that.]
[That's the madness of the man. His logic left him a long time ago, lost in his beloved, horrific obsession of sound. Then again, isn't he mad, too? Mad for standing here, mad for engaging in this, mad for giving Lobelia things like his body and soul on a silver platter? He doesn't want Lobelia to follow. (Does he want him to follow...? He is a guide, a shade of a guide, he must show the way....)]
[He continues to stare, lips pulled back in a tight scowl.]
Where will be your eternity then once that happens? Tell me that.
[That anger truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Lobelia smiles, head innocently tipped to one side, and takes his time to appraise Vergilius' anger. That sneer, teeth gritted and poised to tear flesh from bone, and oh, how Lobelia wishes he would rend him where he stands.]
Where yours is, Vergilius. We're bound for the same place, you and I, and that much was true even before we met.
[Men who live only to destroy have no place among the clouds. When they burn eternally for their sins, they'll be burning together.]
You know... The longer you linger here, simmering in your furie, the fewer excuses I can make for our union. Facts are immutable things, so rather than fight it, why don't you take some time away to let it soak in? Relax!
[He'll kindly let Vergilius go for now, but oh, he'll be back for him. If anything is certain, it's that Lobelia will return for what is his.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
...No. I don't remember a time like that.
[The far past is not something he thinks about. It almost feels like he was fully formed, in Fixer condition, from his beginning.]
[Inescapable.]
no subject
I see! I suppose that must mean you have little by way of happy childhood memories to speak of.
[Dreadfully depressing, but not unexpected. When Vergilius' back is done, Lobelia moves onto his arms, invasive and unrelenting as ever.]
Should I pity you? Envy you? It's ta faute that I have to wonder such questions, you know.
no subject
[He doesn't give answer to that first part. His childhood means nothing to him anymore. What he is now is the fixed conclusion.]
[He is letting out more displeased noises at the further invasion into his space, not unlike a feral cat. He still isn't pulling away completely, but the look on his face, which Lobelia may not be able to see, is simply "get on with it, already".]
Do neither. I am what I am. What do you even mean, "ta faute"?
no subject
You're at fault, naturellement. What else could I possibly mean? All if this is a consequence of your actions.
no subject
[It is, isn't it? The ocean of blood, made by his hands. He's fated to wander into it for eternity, or until this mortal body gives out once and for all.]
[He doesn't answer, something like a shadow dimming the persistent glow as he bows his head, lost in his own thoughts.]
[You're at fault.]
[There's never been a more brutal truth.]
no subject
Is something wrong?
[While Verg navel gazes, Lobelia soaps up the cloth and begins washing himself.]
no subject
[He draws out of that dark well of his thoughts, aiming a glance over his shoulder with furrowed brow. Irritating, how irritating. The water keep running over his skin, and he finally raises a hand to brush through his wet hair, earring shifting with the movement.]
I'm just tuning you out. There's no point listening to you.
no subject
[How utterly charming. Vergilius is well and truly back to normal, but if Lobelia didn't like him at his worst, he certainly wouldn't be here right now. He'll forgive the frigid reception and make quick work of cleaning himself up, slapping the washcloth on Vergilius' shoulder before stepping out of the shower to wrap a towel around his hips.]
Merci, Γ’me soeur, for showing me such a fine time today. This won't be the last date we go on.
[No, that's an honor he'll reserve for the next one.]
no subject
[He doesn't even shift his gaze when he feels the washcloth slap against his shoulder. Only the raising of his head indicates any reaction, his wet bangs practically dripping over his upper face.]
[After a moment, he says dully:]
What does that mean? That...Γ’me soeur.
no subject
[Aren't you glad you asked, Vergie? Lobelia doesn't turn around to catch his reaction, fussing with his hair in the mirror instead.]
We're bound inextricably, you and I. You may not want to believe it, but it's vΓ©ritΓ©β the truth, plain as day.
no subject
[A cosmic joke. He opens his mouth as if to retort, to argue, to shoot a piercing statement back, to deny. Nothing comes. His throat is dry. The water keeps pouring, and for a moment, there's a reckless vision where he wishes he could drown in it.]
[But yes. With what just happened, he can't be so quick to throw it inside. Something has wormed inside of him, as insidious as an inescapable rot. And he let it inside, accepted it, because he knows what's best for him. He knows what's worst for him, to be exact.]
[He clenches his fists at his sides. And yet...and yet....]
How can you...be so sure?
no subject
You feel it too, non? That "gut feeling".
[As a boy, his parents would often tell him he'd know when he found the right person because his heart would tell him so... but his heart doesn't flutter, nor does it long for Vergilius the way one lover might pine for the other when they've been apart for a long stretch of time. It's more base than that, more instinctualβ as he suggested, it's very much a gut feeling. A certainty he feels right down to his bones.]
That ominous feeling that stands the hairs on the back of your neck on end, that ill feeling in your gut... Don't tell me you don't feel it too. When I imagine what our avenir may hold, I can't help but find myself shaking in anticipation.
no subject
[So what is this, then? This feeling laid bare? Is it love? It's something, as bitter as ash on the tongue. It's not quiet or comfortable, but like they're two atoms hovering next to each other, ready to bind together and explode. There's a tension that has yet to be appeased, a friction that grates and chafes and pushes deep into viscera. If it is love, its a violent, self-destructive thing. He's killed many people time and time again to the point where their faces have blurred, but Lobelia? He's something concrete, a smile and a laugh to be burned permanently in the back of his mind. Lobelia has put his hooks into him to the point he has bypassed all the walls he so carefully put up.]
[A worm, through and through.]
[He finally glances over at the man, his voice low. His tone burns as much as Lobelia does.]
What do you imagine for us, then?
no subject
Promising eternity to Vergilius is not unlike the promise he made to his parents: I'll pursue happiness at any cost. His happiness lies within this man, lies down the path ahead of them, and he won't get there without following his guiding light. If Lobelia is certain of anything, it's that where they belong is togetherβ from now into eternity.
Lobelia stops, turns on his heel to face Vergilius. Burning words, burning gaze. Though Vergilius may scald him, Lobelia will never be left wanting for warmth so long as they remain inextricably linked.]
ΓternitΓ©. Pour toujours. There's no turning around and going back from where we've come. No matter where you go, you can be certain that I'll follow.
[He issues his answer as naturally as any fact. This, unlike the true depths of his feelings, is a certainty in his mind.]
no subject
[He also issues this as naturally as any fact. This is a certainty in his mind. So, it's a bit paradoxical to him. He knows Lobelia knows that.]
[That's the madness of the man. His logic left him a long time ago, lost in his beloved, horrific obsession of sound. Then again, isn't he mad, too? Mad for standing here, mad for engaging in this, mad for giving Lobelia things like his body and soul on a silver platter? He doesn't want Lobelia to follow. (Does he want him to follow...? He is a guide, a shade of a guide, he must show the way....)]
[He continues to stare, lips pulled back in a tight scowl.]
Where will be your eternity then once that happens? Tell me that.
no subject
Where yours is, Vergilius. We're bound for the same place, you and I, and that much was true even before we met.
[Men who live only to destroy have no place among the clouds. When they burn eternally for their sins, they'll be burning together.]
You know... The longer you linger here, simmering in your furie, the fewer excuses I can make for our union. Facts are immutable things, so rather than fight it, why don't you take some time away to let it soak in? Relax!
[He'll kindly let Vergilius go for now, but oh, he'll be back for him. If anything is certain, it's that Lobelia will return for what is his.]