conchy | IF WE AMASS ENOUGH SHITPOSTS NO ONE CAN READ OUR SHAME

[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.

[Simple as that.]

[In exchange for you.]

[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.

[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 me— 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.]

It is agreed.

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!

[????????]

Edited 2023-06-06 05:13 (UTC)

[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 ???????????????????]

Edited 2023-06-06 15:51 (UTC)

Ask Merlin, you say...?

[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!

Yes, actually, I would think you'd st-

[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.]

Chéri, je suis rentré! Thank you for your wonderful suggestion. As it happens, Monsieur Merlin is quite the déviant!

[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?

Of course he is.

[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.

[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.

Heh! Is that so?

[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?]

...I don't know.

[Yeah, no, he's slipping back into Exasperated DILF(TM) mode right now, rolling his eyes before closing them for a moment. Finally, his shoulders hunch up - as much as he's irritated, its probably becoming more and more obvious that the annoyance is stemming from a level of awkwardness that Vergilius doesn't know how to even begin addressing.]

Look. [Okay, maybe he will address it, though it feels like pulling teeth.] ....Actually, whatever. [Okay, guess not.] Do what you like.

[Another beat.]

...You can be a little more subtle with all of this, can't you?

[Lobelia waits patiently for a straightforward, Logical answer... but one never comes. What happened to the Vergilius who didn't hesitate to speak his mind? What could the difficulty be in saying "touch me here" or "touch me there"?

Lobelia stares at him in silence for a moment, the gears slowly turning. Perhaps this why Vergilius lacks faith in his ability to handle this. There's something Lobelia isn't thinking about, something that goes beyond merely approaching this endeavor in a logical, methodical way.

He relents, sitting back and offering Vergilius a hand up. He's not about to admit that he's far out of his depth here, but he is a quick study, so to that end—]

Will you at least humor me with a démonstration?

[The tone here is very... different from the first time they had sex. If Vergilius wants Lobelia to understand the importance of subtlety, he might have to teach him.]

[.....Ah.]

[He had expected for Lobelia, in his typical Lobelia way, to simply let out a laugh and tease him, carry on, push a little more under his skin to see an old guide like him hiss and spit from indignation. The silence, therefore, makes his eyes widen a little, trying to search for any minute change in the other's expression that would suggest an upcoming punchline to a grand joke. It doesn't come.]

[Instead, the man pulls him up, and for a brief moment, something flips in his chest with the sincerity of that tone, like a little flutter of a bird in a dark forest. He's silent for a moment, too, unsure how to react....before he dimly nods, somewhat understanding, even though he's now feeling they're going on a much different path than before.]

[It's about the mutual nature of it, isn't it? Something about things being freely given, freely allowed, a selflessness that was barely considered before. He doesn't know how to feel about it.]

...Alright.

[The answer he gives isn't sharp. Just casual as anything. His hand moves, cupping the other's cheek, before sliding to the side of his neck to tug him in like a hook to a fish. Lips meet - the kiss he gives is no so flavorless like the previous times, but a good, honest kiss, surprisingly warm for the kind of man he is.]

[His other hand grasps at the other's chest, digging into fabric, ready to move - but not yet. He wants to let the taste linger first.]

[It was nothing more than a means to an end, the first time around. Lobelia had wanted to see Vergilius squirm and fume, and in response, Vergilius did everything in his power to deny him the privilege. There was pleasure to be found in that tug of war, back when the only joy he could derive from others came from robbing them of their happiness.

It's different now, acting for the benefit of someone else and their happiness. Maybe that's why he doesn't know how to respond to a kiss that's freely given, shoulders stiffening when Vergilius' lips meet his. Ah. It's different, so different that it catches Lobelia off-guard, a note of surprise exhaled between their lips. He would've moved back out of genuine surprise (and embarrassment? Lobelia is rarely embarrassed, what the hap is fuckening) if it weren't for Vergilius' fingers digging into the fabric of his robe, anchoring him in place. Ah...........

Amazing how different a kiss can taste when there's some degree of mutuality behind it. Lobelia is slow to reciprocate, caught so unaware, but he does, studying the weight of that kiss so that he might replicate it properly. At the same time, the fingers on one hand are stiffly gripping Vergilius' sleeve. Distracted? A little.]

[What a surprisingly nice little sound. He takes it into his mouth, savors it a little like one would do to a morsel of a new meal. It's such a innocent little tone, like one would expect of schoolboy being kissed for the first time. The contrast with what he knows Lobelia is and what he's capable of has never been more distinct until now, and Vergilius hums as he continues to let his own sound be as gift in return.]

[That hand that was grasping keeps him in place as now the other comes into place, groping through the other's clothes to splay against the muscle underneath, before sliding down with a definite exploratory pressure.]

[This whole situation feels surreal, of course, given everything, given even the fact that this was a man he was tearing the heart out of only a few days before. But the flow persists, of course.]

[Perhaps it's not love, but some door somewhere has been opened, even as Vergilius has tried so very hard to keep them closed.]

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me slapping on the nsfw here speak now or forever hold ur peace thank u

teehee

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