[One would think Lobelia would look pleased with himself after admitting all that he has, and while it's true that he's smiling his usual smile, there's something almost bashful about it. Vaguely shameful, but only vaguely, because Lobelia isn't a man with much shame to begin with.
Still, if his life's goal has become repaying Vergilius for the happiness he showed him to, he has to try, doesn't he? Has to change, in whatever small increments he can. All the same, Vergilius' questions coax an almost haughty laugh out of him. Can't help it, sorry.]
[Ah, yes. Eternity. Bound together forever. All those declarations from before are still ringing true even right now, huh.]
You really meant it.
[Sort of a Captain Obvious observation, here, but he's saying it with a little sigh, as if the very idea of it is as exhausting as waking up from a nap to find out you're still not feeling well-rested. He's been loved, but not like this, never like this and an odd part of him feels somewhat more intimidated by the idea of it now than when it was said before, akin to a threat.]
[His hand goes up to thread through his own bangs.]
[Intimidating... Yes, Lobelia is feeling a bit of that himself, the situation much more strenuous now that he's attempting to spare some consideration for Vergilius' feelings as opposed to taking what he pleases from him and forcing his hand. That was familiar territory, knowing Vergilius would snap and froth and rile but ultimately cede and give him exactly what he wants, left with no other choice. This... This is different. Mutuality is different, and when he might otherwise take this opportunity to yank Vergilius into a kiss and bite his bottom lip bloody, Lobelia finds himself at a loss.
Another quiet sigh, his exasperation clear. Why can't Vergilius just be happy with being jerked around and forced to do whatever he pleases? Lobelia knows why β the illusion of choice and all that β but this is... Stressful. Is this stressful?? And another exasperated sigh for good measure. Hell if he knows what to make of all of "this". When in doubt, take the edge off by bullying the old man.]
Ah, but it pleases me to hear that you've not yet forgotten! Memory is a fickle thing, especially at your age. Γmes soeurs are destined to be, I must remind you, and our bond is not one that can be severed.
[Now this feels more like familiar territory - the tease makes him shoot a little displeased glower at the man, but there's no ferocity in it like before. Things really have changed. He's far too used to people being careful around him, of course, what with his status and power, but Lobelia is clearly edging on nerves related to....well, acceptance. It's acceptance, isn't it?]
[Can he even give acceptance, after everything?]
[....Well, he actually already gave it in a sense, didn't he? Even if he was prodded into it, something here was set in stone, and now impossible to look over. He lets out an exasperated noise of his own, hunched forward with a dull look.]
Even now, I can't convince you otherwise? What a troublesome thing your heart is, Lobelia. [And a beat.] Attaching itself to an old guide like me.
[Familiar territory is naturally much more comfortable, Vergilius' anger less intimidating and more like a welcome return to form, and Lobelia can't help but grin broadly when he's told to shut his trap. Will he ever want anything more or less from Vergilius than this? Is mutuality really what he wants from the man?
Ah, what a conundrum. Nothing in Lobelia's life prepared him for this, but he can't feel too terribly lost when his guides is here to... well, guide him. Still, how far can Vergilius guide him into territory he'd rather avoid entirely? It's all a bit laughable, and so Lobelia laughs, flopping back against the flowers with his arms tucked up overhead.]
C'est dommage. You can only assert so much control over another's heart, non? You can try to break it however you please, but my mind is already made up. How unfortunate for you!
[No, he can't control other's hearts. Truly a tragedy. Everything he does seems to be built on that. No matter what decisions he makes, what paths he turns, there will always be a constant. His happiness was lost, and here he is to be the shambling hollow of a man, dripping with blood, to atone forevermore.]
[Except Lobelia seems to have quite the different perspective. He raises his eyebrows as the other flops back pleased as punch. Troublesome as ever, of course.]
...What would you do, then? [He finally asks - his voice seems quieter than he means to, but he's asking sincerely. Call it curiosity, damned as it is.] If I accepted your service?
[In the tumult and confusion of his feelings, Lobelia can at least answer that question with certainty. He tips his head to the side to regard Vergilius, smile spread as shamelessly thin as ever, because he knew the answer as soon as he was granted his punishment at the hands of the tower. There really is no going back, no escaping the eternal cycle, no cutting the cord.]
Je ferais n'importe quoi. You would be better served asking me what I wouldn't do for you, and to that, I would say "nothing".
[What devotion. The worm chewing through his skin has become akin to a lap-dog, ready to serve a master unto death.]
[It makes something flare in him - not anger, not annoyance, not sorrow - what is it? It's like that feeling during their fight, something deeper, like a heart beating in tandem. That reckless, strange feeling.]
[If this is real, and Lobelia had his eyes on him, and him alone...the path of destruction behind him, the bodies massacred senselessly for minute satisfaction, they'd end, wouldn't they? Just him and the other man delving into the hell of eternal repentance.]
...If I told you to leave everyone else alone, then, you'd do so?
[...Ah. Vergilius is asking for quite a bit, isn't he? No, it's an entirely reasonable question, offering himself up for the sake of everyone else... but it's an offer all the same. A question that may as well be a proposal for how much weight it holds.
If he agrees, supposing his question isn't simply a hypothetical, then he truly will be shackled to this man. Bound to him inextricably. That's what Lobelia wants, of course, but even so, considering his answer has his heart thumping in his chest. It's an unusual feeling, foreign, and only Vergilius has ever made him feel this way. If he were to agree, would Vergilius take responsibility for rousing that strange feeling in him too?
To his credit, Lobelia thinks his question through, the silence hanging heavily between them. He knows his answer, and yet...]
...Oui. In exchange for you, I would pay any price.
[It rings in his head, like a bell. Lobelia has made so many deals with him. Deals to entrap, to torment, to pull everything from him. And now, a deal of his own. To take the creature known as Lobelia, as blood-covered as him, and carry him on his shoulders. The terrible albatross. The world on Atla's back. His burden...but that's not even the word, exactly.]
[He turns to the man, silent, and stares. And stares, with that old face, that fraying gaze. He doesn't think he's worth much. His paltry soul guaranteeing security for others, freedom from Lobelia, dearest mad magician dancing on a path of destruction? Perhaps that's a deal worth taking. No one else has to suffer.]
[Corpses, shackled to each other, and the world can be free of them for good, after his own hope has been secured.]
What would you do to guarantee that oath, Lobelia? I will never forgive those who go back on their word.
[This deal is a fair one, Lobelia thinks. One life for another, handing his freedom over to Vergilius in exchange for the right to remain as leaden shackles around his limbs. Vergilius will never be free of him if he agrees. Vergilius knows that, surely, so is it worth sacrificing personal freedoms to keep a man like Lobelia muzzled? Is restraining him worth that much?
For Lobelia, it's a freedom easily handed over, a life he willingly tucks into the crook of Vergilius' palm in the hopes that his touch will warm him. Turning on his side, Lobelia's hand raises to settle over Vergilius' cheek, recalling how deceptively warm his skin is, how it feels beneath his touch. He's ended so many lives, felt so many warm bodies go cold beneath him, and he held Vergilius as he turned to ice and was rendered little more than an object, no longer the man he loved.
Once was enough. All those stolen lives were enough. Lobelia's fingers curl slightly against Vergilius' cheek, the smile fading from his lips. With his mind made up, there it's a simple matter to make Vergilius a promise that he can't take back.]
Intuition tells me that we won't remain in this place for long. When we leave, you'll have the freedom to decide what you'll do with meβ allow me to stay or refuse to let me follow. Gardez-moi ou tuez-moi. If that isn't enough...
[Lobelia's palm slips from Vergilius' cheek to slide down his neck, his shoulder, his arm, until their palms nestle together.]
...Perhaps a serment de sang would suit you better? Regardless, all you have is my word. You can choose to believe me, or you can walk away. I won't force the decision for you.
[So considerate. It feels almost foreign to him. Not even from the fact its from Lobelia, of course, given the man's prior actions in the land of the living as ingratiatingly persistent to a vile point, but just anyone being considerate to him in the first place. The City is a vicious place. Kill or be killed. Fall in line, or be powerful enough to dictate the rules. Deals were made day in or day out, but there would always be a knife held behind the back.]
[So its not every day when someone takes their life and puts it directly in his. No fear. No hesitation. Like his EGO, his future is stained forever in blood, no matter what. Lobelia would be one extra puddle among many, if he decides to kill him.]
[The touch is soft - it makes the other's eyelashes flutter above those vivid eyes, glancing down as the fingers trail down to rest in those gnarled palms. His own hand twitches, fingertips resting against the back of that immaculately soft hand.]
...Your word, huh. [He remembers everything the man said to him, the way he giggled, laughed in glee at the worst of times. His story about his father, and his mother. The sighs from his throat. Vergilius pauses, eyes searching the other's face for a long moment.] A blood oath, you say? Then...very well. So it shall be. My life to bind yours. My decision to do with you whatever I like, in exchange for myself. No going back.
[It's a fair price to pay, isn't it? For all the destruction Lobelia has wrought, his life ultimately isn't worth much. Beyond that, his selfish needs have been met, happiness settled into the palm of his hand, so giving over what remains is a simple matter.
All the same, he feels his heart rate spike when Vergilius agrees. Just like that, eh...? He hadn't anticipated much back and forth, knowing this man to be one who makes up his mind decisively and stands behind his choices. Still, this is a commitment. A promise. Neither of them can back out of it now, Lobelia lifting himself to sit crosslegged, slipping the glove free from his right hand so he can carve a clean line into his palm with a sharp whistle. Blood spills from the open wound, extending his hand to Vergilius with fingers loosely splayed.]
Une promesse est une promesse. From now on, your every wish is my command. Should you go back on your word, I promise you'll not live long enough to regret it.
Oh, so you think you could best me again? You always have been so arrogant, Lobelia...
[But there it is, no matter how many times he sighs the man's name. The blood starts to pool into the little lines and creases of his hand, awaiting his own reply. Vergilius clicks his tongue.]
You do know that the palm is an awful place to cut for this kind of thing? You're not going to hold much for a while after this.
[Guess he might have to kill Lobelia again for the healing!! Anyways. His gladius didn't make it to the afterlife. He has no implement to cut with. But even so, he leans down to bite down on his own thumb with a muffled groan, his own wound starting to trickle as he pulls it back. He lets it flow into his own palm before he reaches forward and grasps the other's hand tightly.]
[Blood for blood. A deal made. A compromise. Two souls bound unto hell.]
Heheh, that's quite alright. If the pain begins to bother me, you can soothe it with your langue.
[Awful, just awful. The scent of blood, acrid and metallic, has naturally never bothered Lobelia. Death hangs around him like an ill omen, but it's only when Vergilius bleeds that he feels the weight of his life and how very precious it is, enlivened by it in turn.
Vergilius' blood mingles with his own, a connection that will bind them body and soul, and Lobelia squeezes his hand tightly. What spills out between their twined hands is truly beautiful to behold, meaningful in a way blood never was before. Vergilius' blood is his own now, just as the opposite is also true. How very romantic.]
...Come here, mon amour.
[With their palms still joined, Lobelia tugs Vergilius into his lap. He's his now, right? He shouldn't have any complaints when Lobelia's free hand settles around the small of his back.]
I'm in your debt now, non? That means I owe you a service, so allow me to tend to your needs! Rest assured that if this hurts far more than you can bear, death is but a snap away!
[So it is done. It is right to do this in the form of blood. For the lives they have taken. For the lives yet to be taken. For the atonement for one's sins. He knows Lobelia is a soul who does not weep for his victims, and while Vergilius himself does not weep either, he can now ensure their souls go right to the cold well of karma where they belong, in the end.]
[...He is a bit too underestimating of the man's hunger, however. He lets out a little noise of disgruntlement, but he's pulled into the other's lap with a bit of exasperated resignation in his features. He can't pull away. He takes Lobelia in all that he is, as wicked as he is. That is the oath, as it stands. His bloody thumb stings as it rolls over the back of the hand it is grasping.]
And what service do you have in mind? One that hurts, you say? Don't be so presumptive, Lobelia.
[What service, he asks, as if it isn't immediately obvious... Well, it certainly is to Lobelia, insistently pulling Vergilius further onto his lap.]
There may be no helping it! I have no intention of hurting you, but we have precious few resources in this place. What will we use as lubrifiant? If I hurt you inadvertently, know that this place is to blame.
[Yeah.
Anyway, hope Vergilius is mentally prepared to be on the receiving end of his eternity-long prison sentence. Lobelia's mind is made up, but he doesn't immediately move to toy with Vergilius' body as he pleases, cognizant still of his promise to act in the service of his needs before focusing on his own. In other words, he's waiting for permission. Please let him debase you, Vergie? Please???]
[He's actually dumbfounded. For a moment, he stares, even as he's practically all up in the other's lap. His hands find the other's shoulders - and when realization seems to drop down like a stone to the bottom of the well, that shocked look is replaced by something much more disgruntled.]
Ask Merlin if you desire such a thing to help you out. [In the tone of someone exasperatingly going JESUS CHRIST.] You haven't even done it before. Where's this confidence coming from, huh?
[HE IS NOT AGAINST BOTTOMING THIS IS JUST ???????????????????]
[You know what? That's not a bad idea. This is Merlin's world, after all. He'd no doubt be able to conjure something helpful that wouldn't leave Vergilius tottering around like an even older old man afterwards. Hm, hmm, hmmm...]
In any case, you should know that my genius extends far beyond the realms of audiomancy! Do you truly think I would struggle with something as instinctif as intimacy?
[Anyway, don't answer that. Before Vergilius can, Lobelia is dumping him in the grass to do as suggested and ask Merlin for assistance, calling back to the man over his shoulder as he sprints away.]
I won't keep you waiting long, mon amour! Don't get second thoughts and run away!
[Well, he doesn't get to finish that sentence because he is UNCEREMONIOUSLY being dumped onto the ground with a little oof. Wow. Thanks. He feels so loved, here.]
[He pushes himself up just to watch the man running away, before flopping right back in the flowers, clutching his face. Right. Okay. This is happening.]
....There's not even a bed.
[He says, now to no one in particular. Ugh. Ughhhhh. Is this feeling in his chest right now, is it regret? Not really? He doesn't think so? Maybe?]
[This is one hell of a "honeymoon" already, and it hasn't even started.]
[Lobelia makes it back to Vergilius in record time...! And hopefully he hasn't had long enough to lie here and regret going along with this. In his hands are roughly 20 bottles of lubricant, but 19 of them disappear into Lobelia's pockets with a snap of his fingers.]
[Is Vergilius still lying down where Lobelia unceremoniously dumped him?? Good. He'll leave him there, but in an act of mercy, he shrugs his coat off his shoulders and spreads it out on the grass.]
Ici! Lie down here. You don't want to get grass stains on your back, do you?
[Yeah, no, he hasn't budged. He is truly just having himself a nice depression dissociation not-really-nap here, thank you very much. Life happens so much...or should it be death happens so much? Also, what the hell is home? IS THIS HOME, HONEY?]
[He pushes himself back up again with a very tired sigh, glancing over to the coat. That's...considerate.]
Does it really matter? [But its something, and he relents, moving sit on the thing as he glances up expectantly at the other, though he has his permanent miserable wet dog expression on.] ...You really don't need so many, you know.
[Ah, poor thing, poor thing! Sex should cheer him up, shouldn't it? Ultimately, humans are simple creatures with simple needs. 20 bottles of lube might just be enough to fuck some of the depression out of Vergilius, so to that end, he definitely does need all of these bottles.
Moving to sit before him, Lobelia presses his palm to Vergilius' sternum, insistently lowering him to lie down. After that, he arranges Vergilius' legs to splay out around either side of his hips. There! Painless. This will be fine. Lobelia knows what he's doing.]
Non, one bottle will be sufficient this time. [This time.] But we may be here for a while yet, mon amour. We'll have plenty of time to use up those twenty bottles.
me slapping on the nsfw here speak now or forever hold ur peace thank u
[Other people might be able to delight in the joys of physical union, but Vergilius is not one such person. The endless weight of sorrow clearly can't be fixed with a one night stand, but hey, Lobelia devoted himself to this depression gjinka, after all. Maybe that devotion is good enough to fix...something. Anything.]
[He's laying back with a grumbled murmur, red eyes flickering with renewed irritation at the man's words. ....Yes, fine, there's not much to do here. He'll agree on that. But filling up that time with what, this? On god?]
Just how eager are you? You're coming off as desperate. [Vergilius aims a little pout of a glower up at him, even as his legs are being splayed out.] That's not a good look on you.
[Desperate... Most men would take that as an insult, but it doesn't bother Lobelia much. He'd more charitably describe himself as eager to please, but he understands an admonishment when he hears one, settling in to curl over Vergilius and arch a curious brow.]
Mm, then what you're saying is that this approach isn't to your liking. Speak plainly, Vergilius! How am I to please you if you don't explain your preferences to me?
[He was just going to cut straight to the heart of the matter and go down on Vergilius, assuming a more direct approach would be best with a man like this, but perhaps he's read him wrong?]
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Still, if his life's goal has become repaying Vergilius for the happiness he showed him to, he has to try, doesn't he? Has to change, in whatever small increments he can. All the same, Vergilius' questions coax an almost haughty laugh out of him. Can't help it, sorry.]
Move on? Vergilius, have you so quickly forgotten when I'd said to you before? Je t'aime. There is no "moving on". This is Γ©ternitΓ©.
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You really meant it.
[Sort of a Captain Obvious observation, here, but he's saying it with a little sigh, as if the very idea of it is as exhausting as waking up from a nap to find out you're still not feeling well-rested. He's been loved, but not like this, never like this and an odd part of him feels somewhat more intimidated by the idea of it now than when it was said before, akin to a threat.]
[His hand goes up to thread through his own bangs.]
Your Γ’me soeur.
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[Intimidating... Yes, Lobelia is feeling a bit of that himself, the situation much more strenuous now that he's attempting to spare some consideration for Vergilius' feelings as opposed to taking what he pleases from him and forcing his hand. That was familiar territory, knowing Vergilius would snap and froth and rile but ultimately cede and give him exactly what he wants, left with no other choice. This... This is different. Mutuality is different, and when he might otherwise take this opportunity to yank Vergilius into a kiss and bite his bottom lip bloody, Lobelia finds himself at a loss.
Another quiet sigh, his exasperation clear. Why can't Vergilius just be happy with being jerked around and forced to do whatever he pleases? Lobelia knows why β the illusion of choice and all that β but this is... Stressful. Is this stressful?? And another exasperated sigh for good measure. Hell if he knows what to make of all of "this". When in doubt, take the edge off by bullying the old man.]
Ah, but it pleases me to hear that you've not yet forgotten! Memory is a fickle thing, especially at your age. Γmes soeurs are destined to be, I must remind you, and our bond is not one that can be severed.
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[Now this feels more like familiar territory - the tease makes him shoot a little displeased glower at the man, but there's no ferocity in it like before. Things really have changed. He's far too used to people being careful around him, of course, what with his status and power, but Lobelia is clearly edging on nerves related to....well, acceptance. It's acceptance, isn't it?]
[Can he even give acceptance, after everything?]
[....Well, he actually already gave it in a sense, didn't he? Even if he was prodded into it, something here was set in stone, and now impossible to look over. He lets out an exasperated noise of his own, hunched forward with a dull look.]
Even now, I can't convince you otherwise? What a troublesome thing your heart is, Lobelia. [And a beat.] Attaching itself to an old guide like me.
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Ah, what a conundrum. Nothing in Lobelia's life prepared him for this, but he can't feel too terribly lost when his guides is here to... well, guide him. Still, how far can Vergilius guide him into territory he'd rather avoid entirely? It's all a bit laughable, and so Lobelia laughs, flopping back against the flowers with his arms tucked up overhead.]
C'est dommage. You can only assert so much control over another's heart, non? You can try to break it however you please, but my mind is already made up. How unfortunate for you!
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[Except Lobelia seems to have quite the different perspective. He raises his eyebrows as the other flops back pleased as punch. Troublesome as ever, of course.]
...What would you do, then? [He finally asks - his voice seems quieter than he means to, but he's asking sincerely. Call it curiosity, damned as it is.] If I accepted your service?
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Je ferais n'importe quoi. You would be better served asking me what I wouldn't do for you, and to that, I would say "nothing".
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[It makes something flare in him - not anger, not annoyance, not sorrow - what is it? It's like that feeling during their fight, something deeper, like a heart beating in tandem. That reckless, strange feeling.]
[If this is real, and Lobelia had his eyes on him, and him alone...the path of destruction behind him, the bodies massacred senselessly for minute satisfaction, they'd end, wouldn't they? Just him and the other man delving into the hell of eternal repentance.]
...If I told you to leave everyone else alone, then, you'd do so?
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If he agrees, supposing his question isn't simply a hypothetical, then he truly will be shackled to this man. Bound to him inextricably. That's what Lobelia wants, of course, but even so, considering his answer has his heart thumping in his chest. It's an unusual feeling, foreign, and only Vergilius has ever made him feel this way. If he were to agree, would Vergilius take responsibility for rousing that strange feeling in him too?
To his credit, Lobelia thinks his question through, the silence hanging heavily between them. He knows his answer, and yet...]
...Oui. In exchange for you, I would pay any price.
[Simple as that.]
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[In exchange for you.]
[In exchange for you.]
[It rings in his head, like a bell. Lobelia has made so many deals with him. Deals to entrap, to torment, to pull everything from him. And now, a deal of his own. To take the creature known as Lobelia, as blood-covered as him, and carry him on his shoulders. The terrible albatross. The world on Atla's back. His burden...but that's not even the word, exactly.]
[He turns to the man, silent, and stares. And stares, with that old face, that fraying gaze. He doesn't think he's worth much. His paltry soul guaranteeing security for others, freedom from Lobelia, dearest mad magician dancing on a path of destruction? Perhaps that's a deal worth taking. No one else has to suffer.]
[Corpses, shackled to each other, and the world can be free of them for good, after his own hope has been secured.]
What would you do to guarantee that oath, Lobelia? I will never forgive those who go back on their word.
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For Lobelia, it's a freedom easily handed over, a life he willingly tucks into the crook of Vergilius' palm in the hopes that his touch will warm him. Turning on his side, Lobelia's hand raises to settle over Vergilius' cheek, recalling how deceptively warm his skin is, how it feels beneath his touch. He's ended so many lives, felt so many warm bodies go cold beneath him, and he held Vergilius as he turned to ice and was rendered little more than an object, no longer the man he loved.
Once was enough. All those stolen lives were enough. Lobelia's fingers curl slightly against Vergilius' cheek, the smile fading from his lips. With his mind made up, there it's a simple matter to make Vergilius a promise that he can't take back.]
Intuition tells me that we won't remain in this place for long. When we leave, you'll have the freedom to decide what you'll do with meβ allow me to stay or refuse to let me follow. Gardez-moi ou tuez-moi. If that isn't enough...
[Lobelia's palm slips from Vergilius' cheek to slide down his neck, his shoulder, his arm, until their palms nestle together.]
...Perhaps a serment de sang would suit you better? Regardless, all you have is my word. You can choose to believe me, or you can walk away. I won't force the decision for you.
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[So its not every day when someone takes their life and puts it directly in his. No fear. No hesitation. Like his EGO, his future is stained forever in blood, no matter what. Lobelia would be one extra puddle among many, if he decides to kill him.]
[The touch is soft - it makes the other's eyelashes flutter above those vivid eyes, glancing down as the fingers trail down to rest in those gnarled palms. His own hand twitches, fingertips resting against the back of that immaculately soft hand.]
...Your word, huh. [He remembers everything the man said to him, the way he giggled, laughed in glee at the worst of times. His story about his father, and his mother. The sighs from his throat. Vergilius pauses, eyes searching the other's face for a long moment.] A blood oath, you say? Then...very well. So it shall be. My life to bind yours. My decision to do with you whatever I like, in exchange for myself. No going back.
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All the same, he feels his heart rate spike when Vergilius agrees. Just like that, eh...? He hadn't anticipated much back and forth, knowing this man to be one who makes up his mind decisively and stands behind his choices. Still, this is a commitment. A promise. Neither of them can back out of it now, Lobelia lifting himself to sit crosslegged, slipping the glove free from his right hand so he can carve a clean line into his palm with a sharp whistle. Blood spills from the open wound, extending his hand to Vergilius with fingers loosely splayed.]
Une promesse est une promesse. From now on, your every wish is my command. Should you go back on your word, I promise you'll not live long enough to regret it.
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[But there it is, no matter how many times he sighs the man's name. The blood starts to pool into the little lines and creases of his hand, awaiting his own reply. Vergilius clicks his tongue.]
You do know that the palm is an awful place to cut for this kind of thing? You're not going to hold much for a while after this.
[Guess he might have to kill Lobelia again for the healing!! Anyways. His gladius didn't make it to the afterlife. He has no implement to cut with. But even so, he leans down to bite down on his own thumb with a muffled groan, his own wound starting to trickle as he pulls it back. He lets it flow into his own palm before he reaches forward and grasps the other's hand tightly.]
[Blood for blood. A deal made. A compromise. Two souls bound unto hell.]
It is agreed.
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[Awful, just awful. The scent of blood, acrid and metallic, has naturally never bothered Lobelia. Death hangs around him like an ill omen, but it's only when Vergilius bleeds that he feels the weight of his life and how very precious it is, enlivened by it in turn.
Vergilius' blood mingles with his own, a connection that will bind them body and soul, and Lobelia squeezes his hand tightly. What spills out between their twined hands is truly beautiful to behold, meaningful in a way blood never was before. Vergilius' blood is his own now, just as the opposite is also true. How very romantic.]
...Come here, mon amour.
[With their palms still joined, Lobelia tugs Vergilius into his lap. He's his now, right? He shouldn't have any complaints when Lobelia's free hand settles around the small of his back.]
I'm in your debt now, non? That means I owe you a service, so allow me to tend to your needs! Rest assured that if this hurts far more than you can bear, death is but a snap away!
[????????]
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[...He is a bit too underestimating of the man's hunger, however. He lets out a little noise of disgruntlement, but he's pulled into the other's lap with a bit of exasperated resignation in his features. He can't pull away. He takes Lobelia in all that he is, as wicked as he is. That is the oath, as it stands. His bloody thumb stings as it rolls over the back of the hand it is grasping.]
And what service do you have in mind? One that hurts, you say? Don't be so presumptive, Lobelia.
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There may be no helping it! I have no intention of hurting you, but we have precious few resources in this place. What will we use as lubrifiant? If I hurt you inadvertently, know that this place is to blame.
[Yeah.
Anyway, hope Vergilius is mentally prepared to be on the receiving end of his eternity-long prison sentence. Lobelia's mind is made up, but he doesn't immediately move to toy with Vergilius' body as he pleases, cognizant still of his promise to act in the service of his needs before focusing on his own. In other words, he's waiting for permission. Please let him debase you, Vergie? Please???]
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[He's actually dumbfounded. For a moment, he stares, even as he's practically all up in the other's lap. His hands find the other's shoulders - and when realization seems to drop down like a stone to the bottom of the well, that shocked look is replaced by something much more disgruntled.]
Ask Merlin if you desire such a thing to help you out. [In the tone of someone exasperatingly going JESUS CHRIST.] You haven't even done it before. Where's this confidence coming from, huh?
[HE IS NOT AGAINST BOTTOMING THIS IS JUST ???????????????????]
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[You know what? That's not a bad idea. This is Merlin's world, after all. He'd no doubt be able to conjure something helpful that wouldn't leave Vergilius tottering around like an even older old man afterwards. Hm, hmm, hmmm...]
In any case, you should know that my genius extends far beyond the realms of audiomancy! Do you truly think I would struggle with something as instinctif as intimacy?
[Anyway, don't answer that. Before Vergilius can, Lobelia is dumping him in the grass to do as suggested and ask Merlin for assistance, calling back to the man over his shoulder as he sprints away.]
I won't keep you waiting long, mon amour! Don't get second thoughts and run away!
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[Well, he doesn't get to finish that sentence because he is UNCEREMONIOUSLY being dumped onto the ground with a little oof. Wow. Thanks. He feels so loved, here.]
[He pushes himself up just to watch the man running away, before flopping right back in the flowers, clutching his face. Right. Okay. This is happening.]
....There's not even a bed.
[He says, now to no one in particular. Ugh. Ughhhhh. Is this feeling in his chest right now, is it regret? Not really? He doesn't think so? Maybe?]
[This is one hell of a "honeymoon" already, and it hasn't even started.]
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ChΓ©ri, je suis rentrΓ©! Thank you for your wonderful suggestion. As it happens, Monsieur Merlin is quite the dΓ©viant!
[Is Vergilius still lying down where Lobelia unceremoniously dumped him?? Good. He'll leave him there, but in an act of mercy, he shrugs his coat off his shoulders and spreads it out on the grass.]
Ici! Lie down here. You don't want to get grass stains on your back, do you?
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[Yeah, no, he hasn't budged. He is truly just having himself a nice depression dissociation not-really-nap here, thank you very much. Life happens so much...or should it be death happens so much? Also, what the hell is home? IS THIS HOME, HONEY?]
[He pushes himself back up again with a very tired sigh, glancing over to the coat. That's...considerate.]
Does it really matter? [But its something, and he relents, moving sit on the thing as he glances up expectantly at the other, though he has his permanent miserable wet dog expression on.] ...You really don't need so many, you know.
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Moving to sit before him, Lobelia presses his palm to Vergilius' sternum, insistently lowering him to lie down. After that, he arranges Vergilius' legs to splay out around either side of his hips. There! Painless. This will be fine. Lobelia knows what he's doing.]
Non, one bottle will be sufficient this time. [This time.] But we may be here for a while yet, mon amour. We'll have plenty of time to use up those twenty bottles.
me slapping on the nsfw here speak now or forever hold ur peace thank u
[He's laying back with a grumbled murmur, red eyes flickering with renewed irritation at the man's words. ....Yes, fine, there's not much to do here. He'll agree on that. But filling up that time with what, this? On god?]
Just how eager are you? You're coming off as desperate. [Vergilius aims a little pout of a glower up at him, even as his legs are being splayed out.] That's not a good look on you.
teehee
[Desperate... Most men would take that as an insult, but it doesn't bother Lobelia much. He'd more charitably describe himself as eager to please, but he understands an admonishment when he hears one, settling in to curl over Vergilius and arch a curious brow.]
Mm, then what you're saying is that this approach isn't to your liking. Speak plainly, Vergilius! How am I to please you if you don't explain your preferences to me?
[He was just going to cut straight to the heart of the matter and go down on Vergilius, assuming a more direct approach would be best with a man like this, but perhaps he's read him wrong?]
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