[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?]
[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 endβ]
[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.]
[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.]
[This sort of anxious, nervous energy is more foreign to Lobelia than not. There was nothing difficult about engaging Vergilius intimately when intimacy was a front for assuming control, taking what he could from the man and desecrating the rest. Vergilius has given himself over to him, but that's only now beginning to truly sink in. How very foreign. How very overwhelming.
Instinct, Lobelia had called it, but his only instinct is to act in his own best interests. Learning from Vergilius to focus not on his own pleasure but that of someone else is the farthest thing from instinctual to Lobelia, but he assured the man that he was a quick study.
He'll reciprocate in kind even if he's struggling not to let out more of those innocent, inexperienced noises with every kiss, forcing the tension in his hand to loosen so it can snake up to settle in Vergilius' hair. Rather than tug or claw, Lobelia's touch is far more measured, nails lightly raking along his scalp. It felt good when Vergilius threaded his fingers through his hair before, but it wasn't this gentle, wasn't this kind. Surely this feels much better.]
[The gentle scratch of fingernails makes him let out a pleased little noise despite himself - honestly, its a freeing sensation in its own way to not have to worry about keeping things so restrained like before. He had wanted to deny any possible avenue to the man in their prior tryst, keeping things as joyless as possible before they both pushed each other to the brink in their violent way, toppling over. Here, there's nothing like that. It's not a fight off a cliff, but true and genuine intimacy, like sharing a drink from the same cup.]
[The noises push him further. He detaches to take a breath, before kissing the corner of the other's mouth. It doesn't stop there, trailing to his jawline, peppering up it, and then placing a deep one against his neck with a shaking little inhale. That hand that's at Lobelia's abdomen now slips down to grasp his upper thigh, thumb stroking into a semicircle as he lets the tension sit there.]
[How odd. The craving he had felt ever so briefly the first time seems to come up like a wave, a warm rush of feeling down his spine.]
[What a beautiful sound. If only he could record it... but even if Lobelia had that option available to him, he knows Vergilius would forbid it. Would find it tasteless, unpleasant, and the only person it would please is Lobelia.
It's for the best then that every gravelly exhale against his skin is fleeting, destined to be forgotten when enough time passes. Maybe that's alright? If he can't record the sounds of mutuality to relive them over and over again, he'll just have to live the real thing, allowing those sounds to last only as long as the moment does. That will have to be good enough. With no other alternative, it has to be.
That means he'll have to work hard to keep Vergilius sighing in his ears, but that's effort he's willing to expend, fingers briefly seizing in the man's hair when his lips find his neck. When his hand follows shortly after, squeezing into the tight muscle beneath his slacks, Lobelia audibly groans. Embarrassing, but it's genuine, all control surrendered to the man whose lips burn hot against his skin.
He hadn't felt quite so restless last time, but his nerves seem to hum beneath his skin, the flow of blood through his body following his lovely guide's touch, but Lobelia's free hand deviates to pull loose the buttons of Vergilius' shirt. He presses his hand flat to his bare skin, seeking out muscle and heat and the beating of his heart, drawing his nails along that canvas of scars. He can't be the only one who feels so pleasantly warm. For once, he doesn't want to be alone in this bliss.]
[That's the truth of it all - good things cannot last forever. Moments are just that. It reminds him of that one man who was so obsessed with the "dots" of existence, capturing brief flits of time as masterpieces of art. He, of course, stands on the opposite end of that concept, with dots made into lines of possibility, but even so, there is something special about how happiness can be so brief, and fleeting, and all the more special for it.]
[But he's not one to pause on such things for too long. The groan meets his ears and sends a pleased rumble through his ribcage in reply. The hand to his chest, burrowing under cloth, makes another low noise emanate from the depths of his throat. He wasn't so noisy last time. The way the man touches him is different. This all feels different. Even encounters at home, fumbled and entwined limbs in the dark, seemed so shallow compared to this.]
[Both of his hands move to start to mirror the other to start pulling his robes off, layer by layer, off the other's skin. Lobelia can't be the only selfish one with his ability to have this expanse of body all to himself. Vergilius is leaning in now, sighing into the other's neck as he starts to pull the other to be closer, more flush against him as his own legs shift to accommodate the body of the other man. The heat is rising. For once, he wants to bathe in it. Even for a moment.]
[He's beginning to realize now what it means to cede to base instinct. Lobelia thought he understood, violence and greed so familiar to him as to be instinctual, but in reality, he's simply well-practiced in caring for no one's needs but his own.
This feels different. Shrugging out of his robes with Vergilius' assistance feels different, every inch of skin goosebumped beneath his touch, every inch of him set alight. He finds himself eager to return the favor, and the further along they move, the more that unfamiliar, anxious feeling dwindles. This is what feels natural, stripping Vergilius out of his blazer and his shirt and moving in close to meet him halfway, one arm looped around his shoulders to lower him to the ground.
This is what it means to want another personβ not merely the need to control them, but the fervent desire to satisfy them.
He finds some irony in the fact that ceasing to think altogether serves him better than worrying over every particular and possible outcome of this tryst. Feeling along Vergilius' scarred skin, Lobelia's touch is slow, meandering, and most importantly, it's reverent. Every scar is proof of his refusal to die, of his willingness to walk steadily foward when lesser men would crumble and cede to death.
Vergilius is strong, and perhaps it's that Lobelia loves moreso than his temper, his vivid red anger. What a thing to think about when he's taken the initiative to lie on top of him and thread their tongues together, idly feeling along his abdomen, his chest, and squeezing where he feels his heart beat the strongest.]
[He recalls the way the other bathed him that day, with careful scrubs over a marred sea of skin - it seemed like rubbing insult into injury to Vergilius, like salt in wounds that had long healed over. Here, the way the other's fingers dance across those thin lines send a shiver through him. It's not debasement this time, its appreciation, isn't it...?]
[The air is pleasant and warm as his upper body is exposed, but the heat between them is more potent, he finds. The weight of the other on him feels right, somehow, back pressed into the robes that Lobelia had laid earlier. This is part of the lesson he had wanted to get across - that slow and steady can wins the race, at least to start it off, and a rushed, quick, dirty affair will never be as satisfying as if one takes their time. To give a reward to his dutiful student, his hand strokes and cups the curve of the man's tight waist to the delicate curve of his hip, before a decisive move back nets him a squeeze of Lobelia's ass as a way to tease him further. He always has been a giver, after all. So here, he will give, to someone who has put his life in his hands.]
[Tongues are tied. His heart beats faster, but with a heady, strong rhythm. After a moment, his hips roll up once, just once, just to feel the slightest edge of friction begin.]
[It's amazing what can be learned when one actually listens, isn't it? Lobelia always considered himself a diligent student in the rare instances where he was the one being taught, and if Vergilius' reactions are anything to go by, he's learned well thus far.
That said... Ah, there's still much to learn, isn't there? He tenses, if only temporarily, when Vergilius' heavy palm squeezes his ass. Did he do something wrong? That's Lobelia's immediate thought, humming his confusion into their kiss, but... no, no, it's not as if Vergilius swatted his ass like an ill-behaved child. If he were angry with him, he's sure he'd leave a stinging mark behind to show it.
There's little room left for doubt once Vergilius pushes his hips up into his, coaxing some carnal mix of amusement and arousal from his lips. He'll remember to grope Verg's ass in retaliation later, but for now, Lobelia parts from their kiss to shift a little lower, mouthing a trail down to the juncture between shoulder and neck and sucking out a bruise there. Surely this is fine, leaving a mark in a place that won't be easily visible. At the same time, Lobelia rocks down into Vergilius' hips over and over again, the warm, heavy throb of friction too pleasant to avoid giving himself over to.]
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no subject
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.
no subject
[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!
[????????]
no subject
[...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???]
no subject
[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?
no subject
[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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[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?
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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 endβ]
Will you at least humor me with a dΓ©monstration?
[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.]
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[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.]
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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.]
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[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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Instinct, Lobelia had called it, but his only instinct is to act in his own best interests. Learning from Vergilius to focus not on his own pleasure but that of someone else is the farthest thing from instinctual to Lobelia, but he assured the man that he was a quick study.
He'll reciprocate in kind even if he's struggling not to let out more of those innocent, inexperienced noises with every kiss, forcing the tension in his hand to loosen so it can snake up to settle in Vergilius' hair. Rather than tug or claw, Lobelia's touch is far more measured, nails lightly raking along his scalp. It felt good when Vergilius threaded his fingers through his hair before, but it wasn't this gentle, wasn't this kind. Surely this feels much better.]
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[The gentle scratch of fingernails makes him let out a pleased little noise despite himself - honestly, its a freeing sensation in its own way to not have to worry about keeping things so restrained like before. He had wanted to deny any possible avenue to the man in their prior tryst, keeping things as joyless as possible before they both pushed each other to the brink in their violent way, toppling over. Here, there's nothing like that. It's not a fight off a cliff, but true and genuine intimacy, like sharing a drink from the same cup.]
[The noises push him further. He detaches to take a breath, before kissing the corner of the other's mouth. It doesn't stop there, trailing to his jawline, peppering up it, and then placing a deep one against his neck with a shaking little inhale. That hand that's at Lobelia's abdomen now slips down to grasp his upper thigh, thumb stroking into a semicircle as he lets the tension sit there.]
[How odd. The craving he had felt ever so briefly the first time seems to come up like a wave, a warm rush of feeling down his spine.]
[It's not...a bad feeling.]
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It's for the best then that every gravelly exhale against his skin is fleeting, destined to be forgotten when enough time passes. Maybe that's alright? If he can't record the sounds of mutuality to relive them over and over again, he'll just have to live the real thing, allowing those sounds to last only as long as the moment does. That will have to be good enough. With no other alternative, it has to be.
That means he'll have to work hard to keep Vergilius sighing in his ears, but that's effort he's willing to expend, fingers briefly seizing in the man's hair when his lips find his neck. When his hand follows shortly after, squeezing into the tight muscle beneath his slacks, Lobelia audibly groans. Embarrassing, but it's genuine, all control surrendered to the man whose lips burn hot against his skin.
He hadn't felt quite so restless last time, but his nerves seem to hum beneath his skin, the flow of blood through his body following his lovely guide's touch, but Lobelia's free hand deviates to pull loose the buttons of Vergilius' shirt. He presses his hand flat to his bare skin, seeking out muscle and heat and the beating of his heart, drawing his nails along that canvas of scars. He can't be the only one who feels so pleasantly warm. For once, he doesn't want to be alone in this bliss.]
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[But he's not one to pause on such things for too long. The groan meets his ears and sends a pleased rumble through his ribcage in reply. The hand to his chest, burrowing under cloth, makes another low noise emanate from the depths of his throat. He wasn't so noisy last time. The way the man touches him is different. This all feels different. Even encounters at home, fumbled and entwined limbs in the dark, seemed so shallow compared to this.]
[Both of his hands move to start to mirror the other to start pulling his robes off, layer by layer, off the other's skin. Lobelia can't be the only selfish one with his ability to have this expanse of body all to himself. Vergilius is leaning in now, sighing into the other's neck as he starts to pull the other to be closer, more flush against him as his own legs shift to accommodate the body of the other man. The heat is rising. For once, he wants to bathe in it. Even for a moment.]
[Even for a single moment.]
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This feels different. Shrugging out of his robes with Vergilius' assistance feels different, every inch of skin goosebumped beneath his touch, every inch of him set alight. He finds himself eager to return the favor, and the further along they move, the more that unfamiliar, anxious feeling dwindles. This is what feels natural, stripping Vergilius out of his blazer and his shirt and moving in close to meet him halfway, one arm looped around his shoulders to lower him to the ground.
This is what it means to want another personβ not merely the need to control them, but the fervent desire to satisfy them.
He finds some irony in the fact that ceasing to think altogether serves him better than worrying over every particular and possible outcome of this tryst. Feeling along Vergilius' scarred skin, Lobelia's touch is slow, meandering, and most importantly, it's reverent. Every scar is proof of his refusal to die, of his willingness to walk steadily foward when lesser men would crumble and cede to death.
Vergilius is strong, and perhaps it's that Lobelia loves moreso than his temper, his vivid red anger. What a thing to think about when he's taken the initiative to lie on top of him and thread their tongues together, idly feeling along his abdomen, his chest, and squeezing where he feels his heart beat the strongest.]
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[The air is pleasant and warm as his upper body is exposed, but the heat between them is more potent, he finds. The weight of the other on him feels right, somehow, back pressed into the robes that Lobelia had laid earlier. This is part of the lesson he had wanted to get across - that slow and steady can wins the race, at least to start it off, and a rushed, quick, dirty affair will never be as satisfying as if one takes their time. To give a reward to his dutiful student, his hand strokes and cups the curve of the man's tight waist to the delicate curve of his hip, before a decisive move back nets him a squeeze of Lobelia's ass as a way to tease him further. He always has been a giver, after all. So here, he will give, to someone who has put his life in his hands.]
[Tongues are tied. His heart beats faster, but with a heady, strong rhythm. After a moment, his hips roll up once, just once, just to feel the slightest edge of friction begin.]
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That said... Ah, there's still much to learn, isn't there? He tenses, if only temporarily, when Vergilius' heavy palm squeezes his ass. Did he do something wrong? That's Lobelia's immediate thought, humming his confusion into their kiss, but... no, no, it's not as if Vergilius swatted his ass like an ill-behaved child. If he were angry with him, he's sure he'd leave a stinging mark behind to show it.
There's little room left for doubt once Vergilius pushes his hips up into his, coaxing some carnal mix of amusement and arousal from his lips. He'll remember to grope Verg's ass in retaliation later, but for now, Lobelia parts from their kiss to shift a little lower, mouthing a trail down to the juncture between shoulder and neck and sucking out a bruise there. Surely this is fine, leaving a mark in a place that won't be easily visible. At the same time, Lobelia rocks down into Vergilius' hips over and over again, the warm, heavy throb of friction too pleasant to avoid giving himself over to.]
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