[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.]
[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?]
[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.]
[...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.]
[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.]
[He's tasted sweeter deaths, but bitter and salty death is nothing he'll complain about. Jerking upright, Lobelia sputters and coughs, the stinging ache in his throat warning him against acting so recklessly in the future. The answer to whether or not he'll listen to it is one they both know well.
He winces with every word, coughing to clear his throat, but an ache so minor could never wipe the look of self-satisfaction of Lobelia's face, smile spanning wide.]
Heheh! I think I already have... [cough cough hack] But if you insist on making that littéral, who am I to deny you?
[But you know what? He does want praise, shameless enough to beg for it but staying his tongue, because:]
Mm, but you seem rather relaxed. Do you not intend to scold me for going against your instructions?
[Ugh. Now he really is missing when the man was shut up, even if it was because he was giving him a whole blowjob. His expression is returning to its characteristic stern look as he moves to push his upper body up with his elbows.]
Of course I intend to scold you. But part of me thinks you want it that way. After all, pain is your pleasure, is it not?
[But now he's reaching over to grasp the other's chin harshly, pulling him up. A closing of the distance, another kiss - he tastes a little bit of himself on them as he licks them over, finally pulling back without releasing his grip.]
Maybe I'll just deny you your own release, for being such a rebellious sort.
[If he promises to be on his best behavior for now on, will Vergilius go easy on him? Lobelia considers asking before he's jerked up by his chin and tugged into a kiss, one he lingers in before easing back just enough to quietly laugh.]
Would you truly do something so cruel? That may cause health problems...
[Not that he's particularly worried about getting blueballed or the consequences of it, another hum of amusement pressed to Vergilius' lips when Lobelia steals a kiss.]
Mes excuses! I'll ask permission next time. Je promets, so go easy on me, hm?
Oh, please. You're young. You can survive it. If you can't, I would wonder how you live and breathe in the first place, as fragile as you are.
[Lobelia steals a kiss. He steals a kiss right back, as easy as anything, breath rumbling into his chest like the purr of a large feline sated after the hunt. Well, not really sated. Can he even be sated? Would he allow himself to be?]
[Even in the midst of this satisfaction, guilt still beats under the surface. Is this right? Is this atonement? But, ah, it's with Lobelia. The man is his personal source of hell, in the end.]
Be careful what you wish for. I might go so easy on you that you'll be left unsatisfied. [His fingers scrape from the side of the man's abdomen to his back. He didn't really have a chance to explore the other's body before, so swept up in the glacial movement of pure rage.] Decisions, decisions.
[It's quite possible that he's as fragile as Vergilius accuses him of being, having never given anyone a fair shot in a fight before until his duel to the death with this man right here. As such, he's perfectly happy to play along and heave a very put upon sigh, watching Vergilius' hands rove his body with muted curiosity.]
I'm ticklish, you know. Quite délicat! If you insist on touching me gently, you may drive yourself mad with the sound of my laughter.
[He's goosebumping, sure, but Vergilius' touch isn't so light that it inspires spasms and laughter. There's something nice, he finds, about being explored like this. Gee, it's almost as if being desired on some level is kind of nice. Returning that little purr of satisfaction with one of his own, Lobelia leans in to take another kiss from Vergilius' lips, long and lingering.]
[That's a trait that's for, like, kids, not someone as horrendous as Lobelia. Obviously. Then again, the remark about irritating laughter is right on point. There really is nothing more grating than a man who clearly is taking a lot of joy in getting his way.]
[Which is why, again, kisses like this feel so novel. Even he doesn't remember a time where he's been kissed like this, paid attention to like this. Colors like him are like prizes, in a certain sense, if you can get them to do what you want for them. He's Lobelia's prize, but not in the same way as before.]
[He pulls back, only to look at the man for a long moment, tousled hair and bright razor-sharp eyes and all, before he leans past him to get his target - the man's ear, once more, now being grasped firmly between his teeth in a light bite.]
[Meanwhile, his hands encircle the man, pull him more onto his lap before he tugs his thighs to hug onto him. His husky tone murmurs, the sounds rolling into the seashell-like coils of his ear.]
You wanted it before. [A challenge.] Let's see if you can get it.
[At this point, Lobelia isn't even defending himself against attacks on his poor, delicate ears... but then again, when had he tried to defend them from Vergilius? The bite makes him shiver, but it's Vergilius' voice, low and rasping in his ear, that has him exhaling a quiet sigh of need.
There must be something wrong with him, a thought that has only just now occurred to Lobelia and strictly because he's realized something totally fucked: the only sounds he really cares to hear in this moment are the ones made by Vergilius. Should he seek psychological help? Is he a danger to himself and others?? How troubling...]
Are you stringing me along now? How uncouth.
[He's wanted this for a while now, arousal digging into Vergilius' abdomen when he pulls him onto his lap, encircled by his thighs. Not shoving Vergilius down and taking him after sucking him off was Lobelia's attempt to feign good behavior, but he's being challenged now, isn't he?
He's being permitted to misbehave, hooking a thumb onto Vergilius' mouth to guide him back into a proper kiss, one he doesn't part from before troubling the man's bottom lip pale. He wants to be felt and explored, but he isn't done mapping Vergilius out with his reverent touch, starting first with the shoulders he's wrapped his arms around. He can appreciate Vergilius for more than his potent rage, squeezing muscle and bone beneath his fingertips while their tongues intermingle.]
[He is giving permission now, something that would've seemed such an anathema to his being before. He never would've wanted to give Lobelia an inch. What happened now? Can it really be chalked to simply making an oath? Selling their souls to each other?]
[What a mistake he has made. Hell should belong to one person alone. To have another here begets temptations he never would have dreamed of.]
[Lobelia nestles against him, like puzzle pieces slotting side by side - the arousal pressing into his abdomen is a sensation he would outwardly deny feels very welcome, indeed. He is hooked back into the kiss, hissing with the ravaging of teeth as he clacks his own in reply to nip at the invading tongue.]
[The other's arms around him are what almost make him falter - so akin to an embrace that his heart throbs with want he didn't realize before. His own hands slide over the other's hips, tugging down whatever Lobelia has left to free him completely. He has given permission. They have allowed this of each other.]
[And this is only the beginning of much ravaging to come.]
[It's warmth that burns hotter than any sun, fire under Vergilius' fingertips where they alight on bare skin. It's maddening and alluring and frightening all at once, a sensation Lobelia has never know before, and yet this isn't the first time Vergilius has touched him.
Why is it so overwhelming now? It's the not lack of control, surely — they've simply traded control over themselves for control over each other — but something else entirely. Lobelia has never known what it is to fear another human being, and he could never be afraid of this man even if a sensible person would be, but this feeling...
...The only thing that chases the uncertainty away is a firm touch. Those warm, calloused hands. Stripped down to nothing, cool air hits hot flesh and Lobelia shivers, nails digging shallow crescents into Vergilius' back. Ah, and how long has he been sighing like this into Vergilius' mouth? Lobelia finds his attention scattered too thoroughly to focus on any particular thing, something like nerves making his every breath shake on the exhale, something like a need he's ever known. Very odd indeed, and yet he presses himself further into Vergilius' lap, eager for his warm hands to chase away these unusual feelings.]
[If Lobelia were to tell him about wanting his hands to help ease the storm of feeling inside, Vergilius might respond with the fact that in reality, his hands might make it worse. After all, he's in a similar situation - there's something so addicting about the sounds, the sensations, the simmering tension growing every second they move against each other. Why is something that was once so distasteful to him before so oddly delicious now? He swallows down those sighs, countering with little grunts of his own. His hands continue to covet the unblemished skin they find.]
[A part of him feels like he's toppling down a hole never to return, like a pebble tossed into a dark well.]
[And he's welcoming it. Damn it. Why? Why is he...?]
[One hand circles back to the other's groin, diving between them to stroke along the underside of the man's cock. Somehow he knows his scars are adding to the experience, and he rubs there, a little smirk alighting his mouth and his eyes. More of a blatant tease.]
[He'll come to find that seeking assistance for the tumult of emotion in him from the man putting him through the storm will, in fact, only make it worse. In time, he'll wonder how he was ever blindsided by the true nature of his feelings to begin with.
He thought he loved Vergilius, genuinely, but the truth of the matter has begun to dawn on Lobelia: infatuation is fleeting, and indeed, that obsession with Vergilius prior to their death was nothing but a passing fixation. In its place are the seeds of those confusing, overwhelming feelings, and a need to be with him that goes further than the thought of claiming ownership over his heart in a quite literal way.
Maybe this is what genuine love roots from— an intimate touch, wanting someone and being wanted by them in turn. It's familiar in a way that's almost painful, leaning into Vergilius' every touch like it's only natural, like he never understood how he survived without it.
He jolts when Vergilius' fingers find the underside of his cock, moans spilling into their kiss before he knows what's hit him, and something else occurs to Lobelia. His defenses are down, almost entirely, a revelation that startles him after a lifetime spent carefully watching his own back just in case comeuppance managed to find him. What makes it worse is that smirk, that damned smirk, and catching it glinting him Vergilius' eyes while drawing a breath sets something on fire in Lobelia. Le bâtard.
He can only imagine how much sooner he would have found his death if anyone, anyone in the universe could rile him up as effortlessly as Vergilius. Tipping forward, Lobelia brings them both down against the robes and the flowers and the grass stains they'll have to die to remove from their clothing after the mess they'll make of each other. Straddling him on bent elbows, Lobelia carves his way back into Vergilius' mouth and pants his name into it, over and over, some sick imitation of the spell he's put him under. If this feeling, up until now, had only been infatuation, how much worse is it going to get?]
[It's a fact of the profession. No close bonds. What you have can easily be lost in an instant. You can have your acquaintances, but to keep someone intimately close is a fool's errand in the City. Of course, you had exceptions to the matter, and even love can still bloom on the battlefield, but any Fixer worth their weight in salt knew that in order to keep moving without falling into despair, they had to cut human connection like errant vines of a weed.]
[Vergilius learned that lesson in the worst way possible. Even he, with his attempts, and his pitiful soft heart, had the fact beaten into him. Everyone he loved would be taken from him. He cannot love again. Even the young girl at home, the one whose hope he would run the world for, was still a point of weakness. Best to shut everyone else out and keep moving.]
[So why...so how....so what is happening here? Lobelia is close, so close, and he should be shutting him out like before. Why does he want more? Is he this isolated and lonely as to grasp onto this and desire more? Is that right? Is it merely a physical trick? It hardly seems like that the more this goes on. He feels like he's doing his best not to stare at the sun beating so hotly on his shoulders. An obvious fact he still wants to deny.]
[But even in denial, he's rushed along in the flood of it all. More moans. More pitches of Lobelia's voice. More of this heated body, plaintive movements, more. More. More.]
[He's easily tipped over, strong arms encircling the other's body as he gasps at his own name being repeated like a desperate hymn of worship. And he, as adored relic, returns the favor with a rolling, needy movement of his hips, his own voice trying to crack through the litany of sound Lobelia is pouring onto him.]
[This moment could stretch on for eternity and it still wouldn't be long enough. Lobelia has always been alone, too far removed from anyone to relate to them, much less find anything in his heart stirred by their presence. That's why Vergilius is such an anomaly. That's why Vergilius is different.
Perhaps there truly is something wrong with his head, finding that isolation bothers him only in the absence of someone who he actually desires to be with. The idea of this moment coming to an end frustrates Lobelia, saddens him, already mourning the loss of warmth and intimacy that's oh so novel to him. Be that as it may, he can't imagine himself tiring of it— not as he has of killing, of destruction, of looking for meaning in the rubble left behind.]
Vergilius...
[...He's not going to last a second inside of this man, is he? It's with that and a few other selfish thoughts in mind that Lobelia fumbles for the lube, successfully managing to blindly grope around the grass to find the bottle. Eager as he is to rut against Vergilius, answer friction with friction, he can do him one better. With a lilting, dizzied laugh, Lobelia sits himself up on Vergilius' lap and uncaps the bottle of lubricant.]
I said that I would do anything to please you, non...? So autorise moi.
[Lobelia knows what he wants, fingers settled around the base of Vergilius' shaft while his other hand upends the bottle to drizzle it with lube. He knows what he wants, but he asks for permission regardless, boring holes into those dazzling red eyes and awaiting his confirmation. Greedy as he is, this is a concession Lobelia makes in earnest.]
[It's a moment in slow motion. It's a moment moving too fast to be captured. It conflicts with itself, somehow. He should hate this man. He does, he thinks so, he knows so, but why does the sudden prospect of all of this ending and them going back to the pleasant dreariness of a garden seem so dreadful? So many questions. The warmth of Lobelia's lips lingers on his tongue. No answers, no clear answers at all.]
[The other draws back, and Vergilius's eyes, ever piercing, fixate on the other's face. A quick glance between him, the bottle clumsily grabbed, and the position that connects dots. He lets out a shaky, heated exhale - (how in the world is he already so ready so quick? it's happened twice, both with THIS man of all people) - before hissing between gritted teeth at the wet cool sensation.]
[He's asking permission. Again, an outstretched hand. Vergilius stares into Lobelia's eyes as if he can see past them, fray the man muscle fiber by muscle fiber to see within. He knows what he's asking for. And this time, after everything, he relents to it.]
[He nods, hand reaching up to press his fingertips on the line of the other's thigh. The tip of his wounded thumb burns with the contact.]
[That hand is much too tempting, still red with blood, and Lobelia reaches to skim his fingers along it, drag it up to his lips to kiss the injury that sealed their bond.]
Merci.
[The selfish man in him (read: all of him) wants to hold onto Vergilius' hand, but he'll need both of his own to steady himself. He wasn't nearly so self-aware the first time they had sex, interested less in the intimacy of the act and more on stripping Vergilius of any other choice in the matter.
Now? Now he's painfully aware of the eyes on him as he lifts his hips, positions himself over the tip of Vergilius' cock and slowly lowers himself onto it. Ah. Ahhh. Not preparing himself first was a mistake, but not one he allows himself to linger on, working through the full-body shivers to acclimate to the stretch. He's not one to easily admit when he's erred, however...]
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no subject
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.]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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?]
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.]
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[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.]
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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.]
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[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.]
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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?]
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[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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He winces with every word, coughing to clear his throat, but an ache so minor could never wipe the look of self-satisfaction of Lobelia's face, smile spanning wide.]
Heheh! I think I already have... [cough cough hack] But if you insist on making that littéral, who am I to deny you?
[But you know what? He does want praise, shameless enough to beg for it but staying his tongue, because:]
Mm, but you seem rather relaxed. Do you not intend to scold me for going against your instructions?
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Of course I intend to scold you. But part of me thinks you want it that way. After all, pain is your pleasure, is it not?
[But now he's reaching over to grasp the other's chin harshly, pulling him up. A closing of the distance, another kiss - he tastes a little bit of himself on them as he licks them over, finally pulling back without releasing his grip.]
Maybe I'll just deny you your own release, for being such a rebellious sort.
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Would you truly do something so cruel? That may cause health problems...
[Not that he's particularly worried about getting blueballed or the consequences of it, another hum of amusement pressed to Vergilius' lips when Lobelia steals a kiss.]
Mes excuses! I'll ask permission next time. Je promets, so go easy on me, hm?
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[Lobelia steals a kiss. He steals a kiss right back, as easy as anything, breath rumbling into his chest like the purr of a large feline sated after the hunt. Well, not really sated. Can he even be sated? Would he allow himself to be?]
[Even in the midst of this satisfaction, guilt still beats under the surface. Is this right? Is this atonement? But, ah, it's with Lobelia. The man is his personal source of hell, in the end.]
Be careful what you wish for. I might go so easy on you that you'll be left unsatisfied. [His fingers scrape from the side of the man's abdomen to his back. He didn't really have a chance to explore the other's body before, so swept up in the glacial movement of pure rage.] Decisions, decisions.
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I'm ticklish, you know. Quite délicat! If you insist on touching me gently, you may drive yourself mad with the sound of my laughter.
[He's goosebumping, sure, but Vergilius' touch isn't so light that it inspires spasms and laughter. There's something nice, he finds, about being explored like this. Gee, it's almost as if being desired on some level is kind of nice. Returning that little purr of satisfaction with one of his own, Lobelia leans in to take another kiss from Vergilius' lips, long and lingering.]
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[That's a trait that's for, like, kids, not someone as horrendous as Lobelia. Obviously. Then again, the remark about irritating laughter is right on point. There really is nothing more grating than a man who clearly is taking a lot of joy in getting his way.]
[Which is why, again, kisses like this feel so novel. Even he doesn't remember a time where he's been kissed like this, paid attention to like this. Colors like him are like prizes, in a certain sense, if you can get them to do what you want for them. He's Lobelia's prize, but not in the same way as before.]
[He pulls back, only to look at the man for a long moment, tousled hair and bright razor-sharp eyes and all, before he leans past him to get his target - the man's ear, once more, now being grasped firmly between his teeth in a light bite.]
[Meanwhile, his hands encircle the man, pull him more onto his lap before he tugs his thighs to hug onto him. His husky tone murmurs, the sounds rolling into the seashell-like coils of his ear.]
You wanted it before. [A challenge.] Let's see if you can get it.
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There must be something wrong with him, a thought that has only just now occurred to Lobelia and strictly because he's realized something totally fucked: the only sounds he really cares to hear in this moment are the ones made by Vergilius. Should he seek psychological help? Is he a danger to himself and others?? How troubling...]
Are you stringing me along now? How uncouth.
[He's wanted this for a while now, arousal digging into Vergilius' abdomen when he pulls him onto his lap, encircled by his thighs. Not shoving Vergilius down and taking him after sucking him off was Lobelia's attempt to feign good behavior, but he's being challenged now, isn't he?
He's being permitted to misbehave, hooking a thumb onto Vergilius' mouth to guide him back into a proper kiss, one he doesn't part from before troubling the man's bottom lip pale. He wants to be felt and explored, but he isn't done mapping Vergilius out with his reverent touch, starting first with the shoulders he's wrapped his arms around. He can appreciate Vergilius for more than his potent rage, squeezing muscle and bone beneath his fingertips while their tongues intermingle.]
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[What a mistake he has made. Hell should belong to one person alone. To have another here begets temptations he never would have dreamed of.]
[Lobelia nestles against him, like puzzle pieces slotting side by side - the arousal pressing into his abdomen is a sensation he would outwardly deny feels very welcome, indeed. He is hooked back into the kiss, hissing with the ravaging of teeth as he clacks his own in reply to nip at the invading tongue.]
[The other's arms around him are what almost make him falter - so akin to an embrace that his heart throbs with want he didn't realize before. His own hands slide over the other's hips, tugging down whatever Lobelia has left to free him completely. He has given permission. They have allowed this of each other.]
[And this is only the beginning of much ravaging to come.]
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Why is it so overwhelming now? It's the not lack of control, surely — they've simply traded control over themselves for control over each other — but something else entirely. Lobelia has never known what it is to fear another human being, and he could never be afraid of this man even if a sensible person would be, but this feeling...
...The only thing that chases the uncertainty away is a firm touch. Those warm, calloused hands. Stripped down to nothing, cool air hits hot flesh and Lobelia shivers, nails digging shallow crescents into Vergilius' back. Ah, and how long has he been sighing like this into Vergilius' mouth? Lobelia finds his attention scattered too thoroughly to focus on any particular thing, something like nerves making his every breath shake on the exhale, something like a need he's ever known. Very odd indeed, and yet he presses himself further into Vergilius' lap, eager for his warm hands to chase away these unusual feelings.]
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[A part of him feels like he's toppling down a hole never to return, like a pebble tossed into a dark well.]
[And he's welcoming it. Damn it. Why? Why is he...?]
[One hand circles back to the other's groin, diving between them to stroke along the underside of the man's cock. Somehow he knows his scars are adding to the experience, and he rubs there, a little smirk alighting his mouth and his eyes. More of a blatant tease.]
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He thought he loved Vergilius, genuinely, but the truth of the matter has begun to dawn on Lobelia: infatuation is fleeting, and indeed, that obsession with Vergilius prior to their death was nothing but a passing fixation. In its place are the seeds of those confusing, overwhelming feelings, and a need to be with him that goes further than the thought of claiming ownership over his heart in a quite literal way.
Maybe this is what genuine love roots from— an intimate touch, wanting someone and being wanted by them in turn. It's familiar in a way that's almost painful, leaning into Vergilius' every touch like it's only natural, like he never understood how he survived without it.
He jolts when Vergilius' fingers find the underside of his cock, moans spilling into their kiss before he knows what's hit him, and something else occurs to Lobelia. His defenses are down, almost entirely, a revelation that startles him after a lifetime spent carefully watching his own back just in case comeuppance managed to find him. What makes it worse is that smirk, that damned smirk, and catching it glinting him Vergilius' eyes while drawing a breath sets something on fire in Lobelia. Le bâtard.
He can only imagine how much sooner he would have found his death if anyone, anyone in the universe could rile him up as effortlessly as Vergilius. Tipping forward, Lobelia brings them both down against the robes and the flowers and the grass stains they'll have to die to remove from their clothing after the mess they'll make of each other. Straddling him on bent elbows, Lobelia carves his way back into Vergilius' mouth and pants his name into it, over and over, some sick imitation of the spell he's put him under. If this feeling, up until now, had only been infatuation, how much worse is it going to get?]
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[It's a fact of the profession. No close bonds. What you have can easily be lost in an instant. You can have your acquaintances, but to keep someone intimately close is a fool's errand in the City. Of course, you had exceptions to the matter, and even love can still bloom on the battlefield, but any Fixer worth their weight in salt knew that in order to keep moving without falling into despair, they had to cut human connection like errant vines of a weed.]
[Vergilius learned that lesson in the worst way possible. Even he, with his attempts, and his pitiful soft heart, had the fact beaten into him. Everyone he loved would be taken from him. He cannot love again. Even the young girl at home, the one whose hope he would run the world for, was still a point of weakness. Best to shut everyone else out and keep moving.]
[So why...so how....so what is happening here? Lobelia is close, so close, and he should be shutting him out like before. Why does he want more? Is he this isolated and lonely as to grasp onto this and desire more? Is that right? Is it merely a physical trick? It hardly seems like that the more this goes on. He feels like he's doing his best not to stare at the sun beating so hotly on his shoulders. An obvious fact he still wants to deny.]
[But even in denial, he's rushed along in the flood of it all. More moans. More pitches of Lobelia's voice. More of this heated body, plaintive movements, more. More. More.]
[He's easily tipped over, strong arms encircling the other's body as he gasps at his own name being repeated like a desperate hymn of worship. And he, as adored relic, returns the favor with a rolling, needy movement of his hips, his own voice trying to crack through the litany of sound Lobelia is pouring onto him.]
Lob..elia...
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Perhaps there truly is something wrong with his head, finding that isolation bothers him only in the absence of someone who he actually desires to be with. The idea of this moment coming to an end frustrates Lobelia, saddens him, already mourning the loss of warmth and intimacy that's oh so novel to him. Be that as it may, he can't imagine himself tiring of it— not as he has of killing, of destruction, of looking for meaning in the rubble left behind.]
Vergilius...
[...He's not going to last a second inside of this man, is he? It's with that and a few other selfish thoughts in mind that Lobelia fumbles for the lube, successfully managing to blindly grope around the grass to find the bottle. Eager as he is to rut against Vergilius, answer friction with friction, he can do him one better. With a lilting, dizzied laugh, Lobelia sits himself up on Vergilius' lap and uncaps the bottle of lubricant.]
I said that I would do anything to please you, non...? So autorise moi.
[Lobelia knows what he wants, fingers settled around the base of Vergilius' shaft while his other hand upends the bottle to drizzle it with lube. He knows what he wants, but he asks for permission regardless, boring holes into those dazzling red eyes and awaiting his confirmation. Greedy as he is, this is a concession Lobelia makes in earnest.]
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[The other draws back, and Vergilius's eyes, ever piercing, fixate on the other's face. A quick glance between him, the bottle clumsily grabbed, and the position that connects dots. He lets out a shaky, heated exhale - (how in the world is he already so ready so quick? it's happened twice, both with THIS man of all people) - before hissing between gritted teeth at the wet cool sensation.]
[He's asking permission. Again, an outstretched hand. Vergilius stares into Lobelia's eyes as if he can see past them, fray the man muscle fiber by muscle fiber to see within. He knows what he's asking for. And this time, after everything, he relents to it.]
[He nods, hand reaching up to press his fingertips on the line of the other's thigh. The tip of his wounded thumb burns with the contact.]
Go ahead.
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Merci.
[The selfish man in him (read: all of him) wants to hold onto Vergilius' hand, but he'll need both of his own to steady himself. He wasn't nearly so self-aware the first time they had sex, interested less in the intimacy of the act and more on stripping Vergilius of any other choice in the matter.
Now? Now he's painfully aware of the eyes on him as he lifts his hips, positions himself over the tip of Vergilius' cock and slowly lowers himself onto it. Ah. Ahhh. Not preparing himself first was a mistake, but not one he allows himself to linger on, working through the full-body shivers to acclimate to the stretch. He's not one to easily admit when he's erred, however...]
...Aie. Where was your guidance when I needed it?
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