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

[.....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.]

[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.]

Mm.

[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.]

[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.]

[Even for a single 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 person— 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.]

[Sometimes, your ass gets squeezed, and that's another thing to learn in the grand art of sexual intercourse, young grasshopper.]

[But as far as "instinct" goes, Lobelia is doing a good job at it. This isn't the awkward start of last time, or the blood-filled violent rush in the middle, or the devolution of sheer rabid passion at the end. It's something new, something worth exploring, hand in hand. He finds a rare twitch of a smile coming to his lips, but its gone in an instant when he feels the man's lips worry at the skin of his chest, a blossom of color in an otherwise pale land. He grunts, the noise edging into a little groan of pleasure, a sign of permission - that mouth can do more than just belittle and tease, it seems.]

[His hand still resting on the other's ass is a good location, because as he feels Lobelia move against him, he encourages it with a rhythmic pressure, forcing their bodies to move closer and closer against each other. How funny. The man was appalling, but right now, as heat starts to slowly pool down his spine to fill his abdomen, he...wants this, doesn't he?]

[His free hand buries itself in that messy tousle of hair, stroking back and along to dig nails lightly into the nape of his neck, even as his hips meet the slow rhythm.]

[Who knew it could feel so personally rewarding to pursue someone else's pleasure? Lobelia is encouraged to keep leaving marks on Vergilius' skin when he treats him to that gravelly, pleased grunt, and so he will. Not only is it encouraging, but it pours oil on the fire already burning beneath his skin.

Merely sinking his teeth into Vergilius doesn't satisfy him enough, but it's all he's driven to do, unwilling to divorce his lips from the man's marred skin long enough to consider doing anything else. Where Lobelia doesn't bite, he licks, drawing lines along old scars with his tongue. He kisses the swell of Vergilius' left pectoral before sucking out a bruise there too, but still, still, still, he wants more of the man. All of him.

Lobelia shifts to one side, lifts his hips so he can slide a palm down Vergilius' front and feel out his arousal through the fabric of his slacks. He could certainly proceed from here and do as he pleases, but Lobelia breaks away from his work marking up Vergilius' chest to ask for permission to proceed with his gaze— may I?]

[Greedy, greedy, greedy. Those licks feel like they're there to wipe away more of the outer layer, dig into the deeper - he inhales as heated skin is traced with cool wetness. He thought of Lobelia as a black hole of sorts before, the last time they did something like this. His hunger could not be sated, his desire for happiness something to indulge and indulge until his head spun. Lobelia wanted. Lobelia took.]

[So here, to see that asking, silent gaze makes his breath catch ever so slightly in his throat, let out after a moment in a low creak of a sigh. He would've pushed away the man sooner than this before, even a week ago.]

[But a blood oath is a blood oath. Lobelia wants. Vergilius, as much as he denies it, shackles himself, restrains himself, also wants. His arousal throbs under the touch of the other's hands, almost an answer of its own.]

Yes.

[Comes the answer. His finger traces over the other's forehead to grasp at the tip of his ear. He tugs it, gently, gently.]

[He knows its sensitive.]

[His thirst springs eternal, this much is true, but there's something to be said about a thirst this mutual. A simple "yes" is all the motivation Lobelia needs to shift lower, park himself between Vergilius' thighs and fuss with the buttons and zipper keeping him from what he wants...

...But then Vergilius goes right for his weak point, tugging on his sensitive ear. It's a rare moment of vulnerability, honesty in the form of a pout that Lobelia brushes off and trades out for a grin in record time, but it's an honest reaction all the same. He's quick to brush away Vergilius' hand and squeeze his fingers instead, pinning his hand to his side. Do you see the way he's red right up to the tips of his ears??? Yeah. Don't acknowledge that, thank you.]

Watch your hands, Monsieur. If you distract me, I may end up causing you harm without intending to.

[Ah, so impersonal... The embarrassment is to blame, but Lobelia doesn't linger on it long, tugging down Vergilius' zipper to bring Vergilius Jr. out into the light. Lobelia didn't get a good look at it before, so don't mind him studying this dick thoroughly before giving it a few cursory tugs. Call it scientific curiosity, or perhaps this is a bit of the old Lobelia teasing Vergilius for having the nerve to toy with his ear.]

Oh?

[What's this? This sudden flush of color - of course, even without his own connection to blood, he can recognize it from a mile away. His lips crack open to form a sliver of a smirk.]

Is this really the same man who took a knife to my heart? You worry about causing me harm? I would almost call that cute.

[That is a word, isn't it? Cute. It feels wrong to use for Lobelia any time, but here and now? Yeah. He could use it. Even of its only to get Lobelia more riled up.]

[The tugs to his dick makes him clamp his lips down for a moment with a mildly aggrieved little muffled noise. Thanks, Lobelia. It doesn't make his arousal lessen at all, though, and his hand slides in a circle on Lobelia's side, as if to encourage.]

Now what are you planning to do? I won't hold your hand here.

[Ah... Who's mocking who now? Lobelia's guard is up, just enough to keep himself from pouting a second time, but it's clear to him that the scales have tipped in Vergilius' favor. Honestly... Why did he agree not to hurt this man...........]

Almost, but you wouldn't dare, would you? Vulnerable as you are, you should watch your words carefully!

[Lobelia isn't above biting dicks, but he won't emphasize that point when, at this juncture, he's very much all bark and no bite. Pretty impressive that Vergilius can leave Lobelia feeling like he's the one who lost control when he's holding the most delicate part of his body in his hand, but that's all about to change, his lips curving into a smile that's as innocent as it is horribly telling.]

That should be obvious even to you, non? I won't ask you for advice, but if you feel it necessary to critique my work, wait until I've finished you off.

[With that said, :yesvore:. Lobelia doesn't make any effort to hide the fact that he's never sucked dick before, taking as much of Vergilius into his mouth as he can and feeling him out through a series of exploratory licks. It's all very unpracticed, but it's the effort that counts, probably.]

Steady, steady, steady.

[The man takes him in, and after only a few seconds, he's again reaching to give a tug to the other's ear, now more as admonishment than tease.]

I know I just - ah - said to not hold your hand, but....seriously, as much it would give me pleasure to hear your incessant chatter lessen after this, I'm not in the mood to hear your griping on how much your jaw hurts, either.

[As much as his harsh words ring out, he's now sliding his hand over to clutch at the other's cheek, fingertips resting underneath his jawline in a gentle grip. Slow and steady wins the race. For all the power and control the man was able to exert before on him, even if it was only because he was caged by his circumstances, it's almost surreal to see him tripping and faltering. As much as he saves face, here's the vulnerable man he saw in flits and glimmers, the one unknowing of so much.]

[Vergilius may not want to be a teacher, but in mutuality, even a guide can't help but refrain from doing his job.]

[Lobelia exhales a thin, almost petulant sigh from his nose, disappointed that his efforts have been immediately met with a scolding, but he obediently eases up and slides Vergilius almost entirely out of his mouth.

Steady, steady, steady. What Vergilius is saying makes sense, but a bad case of lockjaw wouldn't bother Lobelia as much as it would amuse him. Still, this isn't exactly up for debate, is it? Lobelia blinks up at Vergilius as if to ascertain how disappointed he'd really be if he went ahead and continued on in the same gung ho fashion, but he gets the feeling that Vergilius won't tolerate that.

So... fine. Fine!! Lobelia will do as his dutiful guide wills and put his effort into circling the tip with his tongue, focusing less strictly on the goal of satisfying Vergilius and more on mapping out the places he's most responsive to his touch. At the same time, with his fingers settled around the base of his cock, Lobelia gently strokes him up and down. Better?]

...That's better.

[He will not be so base as to utter anything like "good boy" or something like that, but the light extension of his neck and the pleased sigh he exhales should maybe be enough as a reward for Lobelia for following his direction. The tongue is gentle - its rather ironic, he thinks, that the violent clash of before seems just as potent as the careful, delicate movement of the man's mouth over him.]

[Does he like this Lobelia better, though? Does Lobelia like this Vergilius better? When two things collide, don't they change one another, for the worst, for the better?]

[His thumb makes light circles on the man's upper cheek, the wound from before now clotted but still tender. It makes little hiccups when he feels the strokes begin, other hand grasping at the magician's side as he bites his lip, a groan managing to shudder out of his mouth.]

...Much better.

[...Odd. How very odd. To thought that he's capable of satisfying Vergilius like this has yet to fully sink in, and frankly, Lobelia isn't sure it ever will. How should he feel about it? Happy? Satisfied? Fulfilled? Is this the shape their relationship is going to take? Is their path destined to be one easily traversed, free of obstacles...?

Odd, how very odd. Lobelia has found himself at a crossroads many times in his life, but he's always managed to quickly figure out which path to take to guide himself closer to what he believed would make him happy. Right now, he doesn't know which way he should go, toeing uncertainly between two options: listen to his guide, follow him dutifully, or divert from it and take the risk of invoking his ire.

Lobelia has changed, certainly, but change isn't a linear path either. Lobelia cedes to Vergilius' wishes for several minutes, tasting him on his tongue and committing his responses to memory, marking what feels good in his mind... but it's not enough. they can make each other better, and they can make each other worse, and Lobelia doesn't consider the two results much different from one another when his hand swiftly withdraws from Vergilius' length and he shoves every last inch of him into his mouth.

Sorry, but he's never been that good a listener, and perhaps that irony is fitting. Lobelia coughs and gags, but he doesn't withdraw, swallowing and humming around the cock buried in his throat. This is good too, isn't it? A return to form, something painful and something pleasurable, and Lobelia isn't the least bit inclined to let up. If Vergilius wants to scold him for this afterwards, then so be it. He'll accept his punishment when it comes, and if he feels like it, he'll learn from it too.]

[And that's the reality of it, isn't it? Others can have their softness, their gentle ways. Perhaps the both of them can claim that, but after what they've done, everything they've been through, they can't be completely comfortable with that, and that alone. Violence is threaded through them like a pulsing heartbeat.]

[So, even as Lobelia plays nice for now, the next move he makes that, while shocking, is almost half-expected. Vergilius's eyes widen as his back arches, his body stiffening as he expects the man to withdraw, but it doesn't happen. Stubborn, stubborn soul he is, this Lobelia-!]

A-Ah...

[The cry he gives is almost a little plaintive. As much as sheer hot irritation floods him, the sensation is too wrapped up in the intense jolts of pleasure that spark up his spine . His nails dig in, his hips instinctively moving into the core of the warm heat of his mouth. He winces. Of course, punishment will come. Of course, Lobelia knows how to make him writhe, even with their arrangement.]

[Vergilius's hand detaches to grab ahold of the other's hair, almost a little desperate, as he yanks it harshly. Stop. Keep going. Paradoxical urges, clashing with each other.]

[But one is clearly winning, as he throws his head back with another groaning gasp.]

[He can only handle domesticity for so long, at once completed by it and at a loss with it, and so the itch to lash out and behave poorly hasn't ceded one bit. He wants to repay Vergilius for the happiness he's granted him, but obedience doesn't come naturally to Lobelia. It doesn't come easy. He'll endeavor to learn and take a lesson to heart every now and then, but in the interim, the knocks he gets as punishment will be their own reward.

He manages to take Vergilius so deeply that the tip of his nose touches his skin, pulled up briefly by his hair and gazing up at him, but ah. Unfortunately, he can't even see the look on the man's face through the tears in his eyes. It hurts, of course, but that only makes the act more satisfying. Arousal hums low in his throat, working past the ache, the need to gag, to savor the way Vergilius twists and groans beneath him. His throat hugs every last inch, and when Vergilius ultimately gives in and comes, Lobelia won't let it be anywhere but straight down his throat.]

[Shouldn't Lobelia feel so lucky, to break a man down like this? A body of taut muscle, ruinous in its power, now held so vulnerable by the weight of arousal within his mouth. Not many have seen Vergilius like this. Maybe no one else will ever see it again.]

[He's consumed. In a physical sense, in a metaphorical sense. The ouroboros, now consisting of two snakes gorging on each other for eternity. Another set of gasps, edging into a low moan, chest heaving - and in the midst of it all, Vergilius hopes it hurts Lobelia, with how far he's taken him in. A sore jaw is not enough for just desserts. He deserves more.]

[And so, with that thought, he finally feels the heat spike like a knife into flesh, emptying himself with a full-body shiver from his toes to his head as the light in his eyes flickers like a fed fire. His hand pulls the other's head in more, forcing him to stay as he rides it out, even though he has half a thought that Lobelia wouldn't try to pull away, anyways.]

[He knows the man too well at this point.]

[What a delightful response. Misbehavior shouldn't be tolerated, and when he acts out, Lobelia fully expects his guide to punish him accordingly. The temporary damage done to his throat is a small price to pay for the heat that throbs on his tongue, the satisfying pulse of Vergilius' release. This bitter taste is swiftly becoming one of his favorites.

To make a mess out of a man as strong as Vergilius does come with its upsides, but it's only a shame he's pressed down and unable to savor the sight of him hurtling over that edge. A tragedy, really, but this won't be the last time Lobelia misbehaves for the benefit of them both.

Still... Hey. Hello. He's going to suffocate like this? Lobelia feels the man's muscles slacken beneath him and grunts not in protest, but in confusion. He's done, right?? Let him go??? While he's at it, how about a little praise for his hard work?]

[Perhaps he shouldn't let him go. Perhaps he should keep him here. Hadn't the man asked that, one time? Fuck me to death. Or something like it, anyways, in whatever he said in French. He considers the urge for a brief fleeting moment as he feels himself start to ease off from its high. It would be so easy.]

[So very easy, indeed. As easy as pulling his heart out of his chest.]

[But this time, Vergilius relents, shows mercy. His hand releases as he feels the other try to pull back, and it moves to rub over his face to his hair as he lets air fill his slightly burning lungs. Their environment, brilliant in color, flowers tickling the edges of the robe he's laying back on, have never been so bright, so beautiful.]

[A little death, in the land of the dead.]

Mm. [He swallows, finally glancing down.] Hope you didn't feel like you could bite off more than you can chew.

[What's praise? He sure doesn't need to give that, unless Lobelia wants to fight for it.]

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