[Lobelia is silent, soaking in Vergilius' answer, before he slowly rights himself and splays Vergilius hand out in his own.]
Comme tu veux.
[With a sharp, piercing whistle, Lobelia carves a jagged circle into the flesh of Vergilius' finger, leaving his indelible mark on his body as well as his soul. The blood flows freely from the wound left behind, crude in its design, but a cleaner injury would stand less of a chance of properly scarring.]
All done! Do your best not to spill blood on your clothes.
[He naturally winces when he feels the shear of pain through his finger, resisting the urge to pull away. But within an instant. It's done. Vergilius glances down on Lobelia's handiwork. A jagged, rough-looking thing.]
There you go. Reminds me of the thorns of my laurels...
[And he's holding it up to grasp the other's cheek, smearing the skin - it fits that it bleeds. His blood, given up for this.]
[Quite fitting and quite beautiful, Lobelia would add, the acridity of spilt blood sharp in his nostrils. Vergilius is as warm as ever, his blood staining his cheek, and Lobelia turns his face to draw his tongue along the heart of the man's palm. Can't help it, sorry! This is him keeping the blood from dripping.]
[If he has to be completely honest with himself, he was asking for it.]
[Those vivid red eyes narrow, more pleased than his neutral expression belies.]
...Blood for blood.
[He could shove him off and draw his gladius to do the deed, but there's something of a slothful feeling that passes through him. No. He doesn't feel like doing that. With his other hand, he pulls the other's wrist, rough hands taking him by the palm before moving up, isolating his ring finger....]
[And taking his mouth to pull it in. His teeth hold onto the base for a brief moment, a blink of the eye, a few seconds, before his jaw opens and he bites down, harshly.]
[A ring that does not connect, but a bleeding ring, nonetheless.]
[It's a harsh, smarting pain, one that is certain to leave a mark. Lobelia feels the rush of blood through his body more keenly than ever, feels the throbbing wound Vergilius leaves behind with such alarming clarity that his breath's stopped up in his throat in the wake of it, a tremble setting into that very same hand.
How wonderful. How lovely. How fulfilling. He's happy.
Happy.
Happy.
Happy.
The moment Vergilius releases his finger from his mouth is the moment Lobelia takes him by the jaw and tugs him into a kiss, the taste of their blood mingling on their tongues. Vows ought to be properly sealed with a kiss, shouldn't they? Happy pride!]
[Happy. Happy. Happy. He tasted it once, in the forms of loved children, beloved coworkers like a family. He lost it. It seems like he was almost fated to, by the drowning ocean of blood in his soul.]
[When Lobelia takes his lips in his with that familiar, metallic taste that feels like the edge of a knife, it almost is like he's tasting happiness again in a new, vibrant flavor. His ring finger smarts. It adds to it.]
[Once more, that rise of that old craving rears its head - he returns the kiss with no hesitation, deepening it almost immediately with a hand clutching the side of Lobelia's head. That restless energy from that horrific void feels like it needs to go somewhere.]
[And where better to go than into a well that constantly begs for it?]
[It's infectious, that frenetic energy, and yet Lobelia has no shortage of it to share himself. To be met with such little resistance, if any at all, thrills him. It wasn't that long ago that true reciprocation was some far flung concept, and yet here they are, the taste of blood on his tongue as pungent as it is cloying.
It's not enough. It's never enough. If Vergilius gives, Lobelia will take. Everything he has, everything he is, until nothing is left of either of them, carving his way into Vergilius' mouth and spilling heated moans into it.
He thought he'd never feel happiness as vividly as he had upon meeting death, but this is a different take on a familiar flavor, a heat that swallows him just as wholly. Lobelia shifts to drop himself in Vergilius' lap, keen to leave no inch of them unentangled. No matter what, he won't allow this flame to be snuffed. Let it consume them both, let it take them to the hell they belong to.]
[Perhaps its concerning, how easily he falls into this. It was an exercise before that felt like pulling a tooth out - like trying to put a muzzle onto a beast that clearly wanted nothing to do with it. He had wanted to deny this man everything. But now, it feels like an extra beat of the heart. An added signature. Something surprising, but meant to be there.]
[Perhaps its even more concerning, how those moans make a fire race under his skin, heating him to his core. Perhaps it should be terrifying, the way he breathes in between increasingly rough, teeth-filled kisses. I want you. I want you. I want you. The solid forefront drops to reveal the fury of the backdrop, eager for more.]
[Scarred hands, one bloody, grasp the other by his waist, covetous of the curve.]
[Reliving those memories seemed like years upon years ago.]
[Vergilius will have to be concerned enough for the two of them, Lobelia's hands slotting into place like puzzle pieces along Vergilius' back, the fit so seamless as to only be natural. Of course, it hadn't always felt that way. Before, Vergilius fought him every step of the way and Lobelia relished in his anger, but somewhere along the way, they reversed course. The opposite became true. They both succumbed to the same madness, occupying that same deep, dark, bottomless well.
Together, they'll fill it. They've the rest of their lives to do so, Lobelia's nails digging crescents into the fabric of Vergilius' blazer, willing it to part from his shoulders. Lobelia is half tempted to ask Vergilius how far he's willing to proceed when Merlin is going to inadvertently benefit from their mutual thirst, but he ignores that temptation in favor of rocking back, spilling onto the shaded grass and willing Vergilius to fall atop him. Ah... and he's bitten Vergilius' bottom lip on the way down, swollen and bloodied, but it's nothing Lobelia doesn't eagerly lap away. It's his, after all. This blood, this man, their shared destiny, now and into eternity.]
[He really doesn't care what Merlin thinks right now. Part of this is mindless escape, after all. The pain lingers from problems he created, problems he couldn't fix. It's time to snuff it out, even if its to be lost in the taste of blood and the feeling of flesh.]
[(This must be wrong. That voice had told him to dwell in self-satisfaction. He had rejected it. To indulge in one's selfish desires was to distort, after all.)]
[(So isn't this wrong? But it feels so right. He isn't distorting. There's blood on his lips, and it makes his nostrils flare, moaning, wanting to pour his heat into Lobelia's being to the point where it burns.)]
[(It feels so right.)]
Mm.
[A little muffled noise, before he returns the favor here - blood now bursts like a pomegranate seed into his mouth. Hades and Persephone, dancing in hell. His hands move with a ferocity almost unseen, ripping open the man's robes so that he can scrape his nails on the skin underneath.]
[And to think this will be at his fingertips forever. What a thought.]
[Lobelia is no stranger to the scent of blood, the taste of it on his tongue, so familiar as to be entirely impartial to it. He had been, but it's different when the blood he tastes is that of the man he owes his entire being to. The taste is sweet, his lifeblood sustaining them both, and Lobelia is grateful for every drop of it.
It spills into his mouth, acrid as anything, and Lobelia folds it into their kiss. Entirely restless beneath Vergilius, Lobelia shifts and twists until the fabric is torn from his body and he can breathe again, just barely, every inch of his body in flames.
His chest heaves beneath Vergilius' touch, ebbing and flowing like the tide, and Lobelia's fingers seize into his hair, knuckles blanched so white his ring finger oozes fresh blood.
To think that they seemed such an ill fit in the not too distant past. Lobelia flaunts his genius openly, but he'd never have imagined they'd ever find mutuality, let alone a fit so perfect for them both. Thinking about it now... well, he can't help a trembling, airy laugh, stealing a page out of Vergilius' book to rasp something obscene in his ear.]
[The whisper tickles his ear, warms it, fills it - it almost feels like a wet lick of a tongue, threatening to melt it away. It's a wonderful thought. To melt into this man, and have him melt into him, and there will never be anything to separate them.]
[He lets out a low, grumbling chuckle of a laugh, shining white teeth as he leans down to sink his teeth into the base of the other's neck. It may be hard enough to draw blood. Even better.]
What - [Another bite.] Do. [A low groan, another bite, right in a line.] You think. [A gasp into his neck, voice rasping and crackling into the warm air.] I'm trying to do-?
[And now he worries into the skin, making bruises blossom into a vivid bouquet of dark red above his collarbone. His hands, wanting to be preoccupied, dive down to start unbuckling his belt, pulling it down and wincing as the fabric touches the raw wound still wet with blood. He's hard. Of course he is. One hand drops to palm over Lobelia too, chest heaving.]
[He's insane. Well. No, he went insane a long time ago.]
pretend i slapped an nsfw warning on this 5 tags ago
[Each subsequent bite is more delightful than the last, blissful aches that give way to raw, blistering pain, and the spill of blood that follows. He wouldn't mind if Vergilius simply devoured him whole, two becoming one, sustenance in return for the man who sustains him.
Lobelia arches into every bite, but it's still not enough, is it? No, it will never be enough, not because Vergilius' touch doesn't gratify him, but because Lobelia will always want for more of it. More, everything, always.
The need for Vergilius is so bad that he's trembling all over, every nerve in his body aching, raw and exposed. He'd apologize for struggling to keep his voice down, but who does Lobelia have to apologize for? He wants to make it clear to Vergilius that he appreciates his efforts, that ravenous appetite, and so he doesn't bother swallowing his sighs.]
H-eheh... Can you blame me— for my impatience...?
[With that same trembling, bloodied hand, Lobelia reaches down to stroke Vergilius's cock. Maybe he should've dug one of the Twenty Full-sized Bottles of Lube from his pockets, but pleasing Vergilius is much more important. He'll worry about the lesser details later.]
also pretends i slapped an nsfw warning on this 6 tags ago
[He doesn't blame him. He feels the way he presses against him, spine curving lovingly with his bloodthirsty attention. The sounds, the moans - it all spills out, and Vergilius captures them. His EGO was the type to absorb blood. Now he, the man, will absorb whatever Lobelia gives him as gift for what he returns in kind.]
[He's obsessed.]
[He feels delicate fingers encircle him - a grunt of a noise comes from his throat, trickling over wounded skin. Unable to help himself, he kisses over each of the wounds he created with his own teeth, like stamping signatures.]
[His hand moves to capture Lobelia's left one to pull it upward, slamming against the grass as he leans in. Their wounds of their fingers won't be healing soon with this sort of movement, skin wet and sticky with blood. Vergilius sighs. His hips roll up into that wonderful grip.]
[How badly...? Vergilius doesn't need to ask. He knows he doesn't need to ask, but Lobelia understands why he is. Curling his fingers into a tight ring, Lobelia beseeches Vergilius to thrust himself into his grip, just as giving as he is demanding. He won't be the only one begging, the only one slaking his ego on the confirmation of the fact they both know well.]
Just as badly as you want me... as it should be, oui?
[But that isn't the answer Vergilius craves, nor the one that he needs, Lobelia is certain. He thumbs gingerly along his tip, a harsh contrast to the tight ring of his fingers, as if toying with prey. A little more. Just a little more. As desperate as they both are, Lobelia isn't done playing with him, the delicate tips of those fingers deceptively cruel while the others, splayed along the grass, pull it up from the roots.]
Do you want me to beg, Vergilius? Do you want me to scream? My desires begin and end with you. That much will never change... no matter how many years pass, no matter how much I infuriate you. Tout ce que je veux c'est toi.
[Yes, he infuriates him. There's never been anyone like that before. His angers were wide, directed at a City and its horrors, with disdain left for a select individuals. But Lobelia especially is someone with a vile history, the blood of innocents bathing his form. All for the selfish pursuit of happiness.]
[Yes. He has never hated anyone more. And yet, he's never wanted anyone so badly.]
[What a paradox. The shift of the man's fingers over his cock make him gasp and bite down on an already wounded lip, a shudder cascading down with a new fire over his spine. He's leaking already.]
How...good for you. [His breath is ragged, but he's not tired, even as his hips jut roughly against the other's hand. He steals a kiss now, panting his words.] You'll never be done with me.
[A threat, a confession, a promise. How funny, how everything comes together.]
[Keep it from dripping, was it? Sure, Vergilius was referring to the blood now clotting in that angry red wound encircling his finger, but Lobelia twists wrist to capture what Vergilius' cock leaks onto his fingers and spreads it along his length, his touch betraying the loss of his composure.
A little more. Can he last that long? Pleasure is nothing Lobelia kept himself waiting for in the past, always eating his desserts first, but Vergilius is different. Vergilius is a dessert he wants to savor as long as possible.]
Hm... You stole the words right out of my mouth. Vergilius... Je t'aime. J'ai besoin de toi. Tu m'appartiens.
[In the midst of heated, half-bitten breaths, Lobelia spills sentient and affection. He knew he loved Vergilius from the moment he dangled happiness before his eyes like a prize to be won. By the time they made their pact, he knew that love was no passing infatuation, and now... this is certain, isn't it? This is forever.
Lobelia steals another kiss from that bloody lip, giving in to beg, to need, to demand. With Vergilius, he simply can't help it.]
You'll never be rid of me. Not in this life, not in the next. I'm done waiting.
[It's not fair, really. Lobelia was all pathetically new to this only a few weeks before. Why is the movement of his hand done with such an expert hold? His kisses, as if he's been through this for years upon years? Perhaps he has only himself to blame. A good teacher, an eager student.]
[One will learn all they can in the name of love, won't they?]
[The murmurs Lobelia pants against his lips, stinging the wounds there that smear and paint the other's mouth and chin, feel more potent than they've ever been. Je t'aime. He had shrugged that off when he had first heard it from Lobelia's lips. Now, with blood rushing into his temples, the coils of his ears, he honestly feels like he believes it.]
Not in the next, either? Ah. [Another shudder, groan pitching into the air from deep within his chest as he roughly thrusts into the other's grip.] Greedy. You're so greedy..a-ah....
[Dearest Lobelia. The greediest of all.]
[And here, he overflows, gasping, sucking onto Lobelia's lower lip as he lets himself empty out with a full body shiver - though even though he's feeling the heat lower from his high, it still hasn't abated.]
[Lobelia is a quick study, always has been, and someone who devotes himself fully to the things that interest him. With a teacher as diligent as Vergilius, would it not be terribly insulting to shrug off his lessons? In so little time, he's taught him so very much — how to please, how to satisfy, how to tease — and the best gift any student can give their teacher is a demonstration of all they've learned.
Still, who's to say he can't innovate on perfection? Lobelia feels that telltale, rhythmic pulsing against his palm and smiles, all teeth, the resulting mess confined to the fingers he licks clean. Mixed with the flavor of blood on his tongue, Lobelia has never tasted anything finer. is this what the cool kids call umami]
Non...? I would hope not, mon cher Vergilius. We've only just begun.
[Hope those old bones can keep up! That restless energy humming beneath Vergilius' skin is palpable, and clearly he needs it all excised so he can relax and forget all about the nightmares they endured together, but it's not as if Lobelia is entirely selfless. Never is, never will be.
Lobelia doesn't leave Vergilius to linger in the afterglow for very long, lest that fire in him cool, dragging the man's hand down to his groin and shoving it in his pants. The rough fabric can't feel good rubbing into that bloody wound around his finger, but that's all the better. Let it sting. Let Vergilius remember who left this particular scar.]
No matter how much I take of you, I still crave more. Plus, plus, plus. Vergilius... Are you quite certain you can satisfy me?
[A quiet voice inside of him, somehow even heard above the rush of blood, asks "Is this necessary? Do you deserve this? Why indulge in this, knowing it fixes nothing?"]
[Another voice says "Keep going until you both fuck each other to oblivion."]
[Oblivion. What a word. It's not like he wants to forget. His memory he has is all that if left of his children, his office family, the events of that horrific day. No, he wants oblivion for these feelings. He recognizes them as suddenly as remembering the face of an old friend. When he had lost everything, he had wanted to destroy everything.]
[And now, he is channeling them into Lobelia. He will destroy him, raze him like the fields until there's barely a gasp left. Perhaps he really has become the Tower in his own way, fated to annihilate.]
[He hisses at the raw feeling of his wound being rubbed, but he has always tolerated pain. Vergilius chuckles.]
...Who else could? [He kisses him, hungry.] Who else could.
[No dice? Lobelia laughs, burying Vergilius' hand further into his pants. He wants to feel the same rush of release, but Lobelia can wait, as he always has, for that momentary happiness. In the interim, every kiss is met with eagerness, hunger, teething along that bloodied bottom lip.]
No one else. Seulement vous.
[No one else has fulfilled him as fully as Vergilius does, in all the ways Vergilius does. Lobelia knows what fleeting happiness feels like better than most, and by the same token, he knows what it feels like when happiness is meant to last.
His infatuation with Vergilius only grows by the day, as does his impatience, rutting up against that rough palm with no ounce of shame. Why should he care if he's chastised for his impatience? No matter how Vergilius responds, Lobelia will simply covet his attention.]
How does that make you feel, Vergilius? I have eyes for no one but you. That will never change.
Given that is what I asked of you...it is what I expect.
[The movement makes his wound smart, fingers curling over his shaft. It's rough and imperfect in all the right ways. Their blood oath is binding - Vergilius is too faithful a person in all ways to ever go back on it. He says what he says, and he means what he says.]
[He turns his head to press his teeth against the ridges of the other's ear - as he does so, even within the confines of fabric, he flicks his wrist to stroke hard over the other's cock. His hot breath pours into the man's ear, the rasp of it tinged with desire, pleasure.]
I hope you aren't thinking of going back on our arrangement, Lobelia...
[Where else could he get happiness from? Let him dash upon the rocks of the cliff he's created for him in his throes.]
[Will Lobelia admit that he's bitten off more than he can chew? No, never, but it's in the way he sharply gasps like a drowning person finally breaching the water, sensitive ears exposed to the guttering rasp of Vergilius' voice. His breaths seize in his lungs like he's been suddenly submerged in ice cold water when in fact the opposite is true, every inch of his body burning beneath Vergilius' touch, the worst of it centralized in his gut.
He won't last at all, not like this, and Lobelia instinctively thrusts a hand down to arrest Vergilius' wrist. Still, is he really intent on stopping him? No, no, as if he could. Instead, Lobelia relents with a shuddering laugh and undoes the front of his slacks, leaving Vergilius to do as he pleases. It's fine if he doesn't last more than a minute or two, isn't it? They're not nearly done with each other. They'll never be done with each other.
In the meantime, Lobelia's fingers crawl up the front of Vergilius' hips, his abdomen, his chest, forever fixated on that constellation of scars that mar his body. To him, they're all so beautiful, all so dear.]
As if... I would do such a thing. Jusqu'en enfer. Really though... can you imagine me being disloyal, knowing me as you do?
[He doesn't want Lobelia to last. He may not have witnessed how the man met his end, but he would agree with the Tower on this. Bring him to death, destroy him, rebuild him, start again. It doesn't matter what kind of death. A bloody death. A sweet death. A little death.]
[And so, Lobelia opening up to give him access is an invitation. He groans at the light touch to his sides, moving to lick a thin line down over chest, the swells of his abs. It's so hot on his tongue. He feels he could drown in it.]
No. I couldn't. After all, you are nothing but devoted.
[He grasps the other's cock roughly, gnarled fingers surrounding the base before he dips his head down to lick the underside. A low rumble emnatates from his throat, vibrating through skin. Dear Lobelia. Damned Lobelia.]
And such devotion...desires its price.
[And there's no other warning - he takes him by loosening his grip and sucking down hotly on the tip with a moan, wanting to coax his downfall and reap the rewards. All of it, for him.]
[A price...? Lobelia isn't slow on the uptake, not usually, but he's struggling to cobble together a meaning from Vergilius' words while he licks a trail down his body before enveloping him in his mouth.
Has he always been so simple a man? This easily outdone by Vergilius' mouth... but it's always been this way, Lobelia realizes. No one has picked him apart and deconstructed him as effortlessly as Vergilius. No one has Brought him to death, destroyed him, and rebuilt him like Vergilius has, crafting something worse and worse from him with each cycle.
Only Vergilius manages to break that veneer of unflappable giddy with such little effort, thrusting Lobelia right over the edge into release by simply taking his cock into his mouth. Ah. The heady afterglow is not enough to wall Lobelia off from his frustrations, visibly petulant and audibly huffing.
Terrible, awful, horrible. Is this what shame feels like? Suddenly, struggling to understand emotion as normal people feel it isn't so bad after all.]
Un prix, was it? Hmph. Would you consider this adequate compensation?
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no subject
Comme tu veux.
[With a sharp, piercing whistle, Lobelia carves a jagged circle into the flesh of Vergilius' finger, leaving his indelible mark on his body as well as his soul. The blood flows freely from the wound left behind, crude in its design, but a cleaner injury would stand less of a chance of properly scarring.]
All done! Do your best not to spill blood on your clothes.
no subject
There you go. Reminds me of the thorns of my laurels...
[And he's holding it up to grasp the other's cheek, smearing the skin - it fits that it bleeds. His blood, given up for this.]
Hrm. Keep it from dripping, then.
no subject
Now you have to return the favor.
no subject
[Those vivid red eyes narrow, more pleased than his neutral expression belies.]
...Blood for blood.
[He could shove him off and draw his gladius to do the deed, but there's something of a slothful feeling that passes through him. No. He doesn't feel like doing that. With his other hand, he pulls the other's wrist, rough hands taking him by the palm before moving up, isolating his ring finger....]
[And taking his mouth to pull it in. His teeth hold onto the base for a brief moment, a blink of the eye, a few seconds, before his jaw opens and he bites down, harshly.]
[A ring that does not connect, but a bleeding ring, nonetheless.]
no subject
How wonderful. How lovely. How fulfilling. He's happy.
Happy.
Happy.
Happy.
The moment Vergilius releases his finger from his mouth is the moment Lobelia takes him by the jaw and tugs him into a kiss, the taste of their blood mingling on their tongues. Vows ought to be properly sealed with a kiss, shouldn't they? Happy pride!]
no subject
[Happy. Happy. Happy. He tasted it once, in the forms of loved children, beloved coworkers like a family. He lost it. It seems like he was almost fated to, by the drowning ocean of blood in his soul.]
[When Lobelia takes his lips in his with that familiar, metallic taste that feels like the edge of a knife, it almost is like he's tasting happiness again in a new, vibrant flavor. His ring finger smarts. It adds to it.]
[Once more, that rise of that old craving rears its head - he returns the kiss with no hesitation, deepening it almost immediately with a hand clutching the side of Lobelia's head. That restless energy from that horrific void feels like it needs to go somewhere.]
[And where better to go than into a well that constantly begs for it?]
no subject
It's not enough. It's never enough. If Vergilius gives, Lobelia will take. Everything he has, everything he is, until nothing is left of either of them, carving his way into Vergilius' mouth and spilling heated moans into it.
He thought he'd never feel happiness as vividly as he had upon meeting death, but this is a different take on a familiar flavor, a heat that swallows him just as wholly. Lobelia shifts to drop himself in Vergilius' lap, keen to leave no inch of them unentangled. No matter what, he won't allow this flame to be snuffed. Let it consume them both, let it take them to the hell they belong to.]
no subject
[Perhaps its even more concerning, how those moans make a fire race under his skin, heating him to his core. Perhaps it should be terrifying, the way he breathes in between increasingly rough, teeth-filled kisses. I want you. I want you. I want you. The solid forefront drops to reveal the fury of the backdrop, eager for more.]
[Scarred hands, one bloody, grasp the other by his waist, covetous of the curve.]
[Reliving those memories seemed like years upon years ago.]
[There is only the here and now.]
no subject
Together, they'll fill it. They've the rest of their lives to do so, Lobelia's nails digging crescents into the fabric of Vergilius' blazer, willing it to part from his shoulders. Lobelia is half tempted to ask Vergilius how far he's willing to proceed when Merlin is going to inadvertently benefit from their mutual thirst, but he ignores that temptation in favor of rocking back, spilling onto the shaded grass and willing Vergilius to fall atop him. Ah... and he's bitten Vergilius' bottom lip on the way down, swollen and bloodied, but it's nothing Lobelia doesn't eagerly lap away. It's his, after all. This blood, this man, their shared destiny, now and into eternity.]
no subject
[(This must be wrong. That voice had told him to dwell in self-satisfaction. He had rejected it. To indulge in one's selfish desires was to distort, after all.)]
[(So isn't this wrong? But it feels so right. He isn't distorting. There's blood on his lips, and it makes his nostrils flare, moaning, wanting to pour his heat into Lobelia's being to the point where it burns.)]
[(It feels so right.)]
Mm.
[A little muffled noise, before he returns the favor here - blood now bursts like a pomegranate seed into his mouth. Hades and Persephone, dancing in hell. His hands move with a ferocity almost unseen, ripping open the man's robes so that he can scrape his nails on the skin underneath.]
[And to think this will be at his fingertips forever. What a thought.]
no subject
It spills into his mouth, acrid as anything, and Lobelia folds it into their kiss. Entirely restless beneath Vergilius, Lobelia shifts and twists until the fabric is torn from his body and he can breathe again, just barely, every inch of his body in flames.
His chest heaves beneath Vergilius' touch, ebbing and flowing like the tide, and Lobelia's fingers seize into his hair, knuckles blanched so white his ring finger oozes fresh blood.
To think that they seemed such an ill fit in the not too distant past. Lobelia flaunts his genius openly, but he'd never have imagined they'd ever find mutuality, let alone a fit so perfect for them both. Thinking about it now... well, he can't help a trembling, airy laugh, stealing a page out of Vergilius' book to rasp something obscene in his ear.]
Baise-moi.
no subject
[He lets out a low, grumbling chuckle of a laugh, shining white teeth as he leans down to sink his teeth into the base of the other's neck. It may be hard enough to draw blood. Even better.]
What - [Another bite.] Do. [A low groan, another bite, right in a line.] You think. [A gasp into his neck, voice rasping and crackling into the warm air.] I'm trying to do-?
[And now he worries into the skin, making bruises blossom into a vivid bouquet of dark red above his collarbone. His hands, wanting to be preoccupied, dive down to start unbuckling his belt, pulling it down and wincing as the fabric touches the raw wound still wet with blood. He's hard. Of course he is. One hand drops to palm over Lobelia too, chest heaving.]
[He's insane. Well. No, he went insane a long time ago.]
pretend i slapped an nsfw warning on this 5 tags ago
Lobelia arches into every bite, but it's still not enough, is it? No, it will never be enough, not because Vergilius' touch doesn't gratify him, but because Lobelia will always want for more of it. More, everything, always.
The need for Vergilius is so bad that he's trembling all over, every nerve in his body aching, raw and exposed. He'd apologize for struggling to keep his voice down, but who does Lobelia have to apologize for? He wants to make it clear to Vergilius that he appreciates his efforts, that ravenous appetite, and so he doesn't bother swallowing his sighs.]
H-eheh... Can you blame me— for my impatience...?
[With that same trembling, bloodied hand, Lobelia reaches down to stroke Vergilius's cock. Maybe he should've dug one of the Twenty Full-sized Bottles of Lube from his pockets, but pleasing Vergilius is much more important. He'll worry about the lesser details later.]
also pretends i slapped an nsfw warning on this 6 tags ago
[He doesn't blame him. He feels the way he presses against him, spine curving lovingly with his bloodthirsty attention. The sounds, the moans - it all spills out, and Vergilius captures them. His EGO was the type to absorb blood. Now he, the man, will absorb whatever Lobelia gives him as gift for what he returns in kind.]
[He's obsessed.]
[He feels delicate fingers encircle him - a grunt of a noise comes from his throat, trickling over wounded skin. Unable to help himself, he kisses over each of the wounds he created with his own teeth, like stamping signatures.]
[His hand moves to capture Lobelia's left one to pull it upward, slamming against the grass as he leans in. Their wounds of their fingers won't be healing soon with this sort of movement, skin wet and sticky with blood. Vergilius sighs. His hips roll up into that wonderful grip.]
[His brain feels like its on fire.]
How badly do you want me, Lobelia...?
[He knows the answer. He just wants to hear it.]
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Just as badly as you want me... as it should be, oui?
[But that isn't the answer Vergilius craves, nor the one that he needs, Lobelia is certain. He thumbs gingerly along his tip, a harsh contrast to the tight ring of his fingers, as if toying with prey. A little more. Just a little more. As desperate as they both are, Lobelia isn't done playing with him, the delicate tips of those fingers deceptively cruel while the others, splayed along the grass, pull it up from the roots.]
Do you want me to beg, Vergilius? Do you want me to scream? My desires begin and end with you. That much will never change... no matter how many years pass, no matter how much I infuriate you. Tout ce que je veux c'est toi.
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[Yes. He has never hated anyone more. And yet, he's never wanted anyone so badly.]
[What a paradox. The shift of the man's fingers over his cock make him gasp and bite down on an already wounded lip, a shudder cascading down with a new fire over his spine. He's leaking already.]
How...good for you. [His breath is ragged, but he's not tired, even as his hips jut roughly against the other's hand. He steals a kiss now, panting his words.] You'll never be done with me.
[A threat, a confession, a promise. How funny, how everything comes together.]
[A little more. Just a little more.]
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A little more. Can he last that long? Pleasure is nothing Lobelia kept himself waiting for in the past, always eating his desserts first, but Vergilius is different. Vergilius is a dessert he wants to savor as long as possible.]
Hm... You stole the words right out of my mouth. Vergilius... Je t'aime. J'ai besoin de toi. Tu m'appartiens.
[In the midst of heated, half-bitten breaths, Lobelia spills sentient and affection. He knew he loved Vergilius from the moment he dangled happiness before his eyes like a prize to be won. By the time they made their pact, he knew that love was no passing infatuation, and now... this is certain, isn't it? This is forever.
Lobelia steals another kiss from that bloody lip, giving in to beg, to need, to demand. With Vergilius, he simply can't help it.]
You'll never be rid of me. Not in this life, not in the next. I'm done waiting.
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[It's not fair, really. Lobelia was all pathetically new to this only a few weeks before. Why is the movement of his hand done with such an expert hold? His kisses, as if he's been through this for years upon years? Perhaps he has only himself to blame. A good teacher, an eager student.]
[One will learn all they can in the name of love, won't they?]
[The murmurs Lobelia pants against his lips, stinging the wounds there that smear and paint the other's mouth and chin, feel more potent than they've ever been. Je t'aime. He had shrugged that off when he had first heard it from Lobelia's lips. Now, with blood rushing into his temples, the coils of his ears, he honestly feels like he believes it.]
Not in the next, either? Ah. [Another shudder, groan pitching into the air from deep within his chest as he roughly thrusts into the other's grip.] Greedy. You're so greedy..a-ah....
[Dearest Lobelia. The greediest of all.]
[And here, he overflows, gasping, sucking onto Lobelia's lower lip as he lets himself empty out with a full body shiver - though even though he's feeling the heat lower from his high, it still hasn't abated.]
[His words come like a rumble of a growl.]
I'm not...done with you.
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Still, who's to say he can't innovate on perfection? Lobelia feels that telltale, rhythmic pulsing against his palm and smiles, all teeth, the resulting mess confined to the fingers he licks clean. Mixed with the flavor of blood on his tongue, Lobelia has never tasted anything finer.
is this what the cool kids call umami]Non...? I would hope not, mon cher Vergilius. We've only just begun.
[Hope those old bones can keep up! That restless energy humming beneath Vergilius' skin is palpable, and clearly he needs it all excised so he can relax and forget all about the nightmares they endured together, but it's not as if Lobelia is entirely selfless. Never is, never will be.
Lobelia doesn't leave Vergilius to linger in the afterglow for very long, lest that fire in him cool, dragging the man's hand down to his groin and shoving it in his pants. The rough fabric can't feel good rubbing into that bloody wound around his finger, but that's all the better. Let it sting. Let Vergilius remember who left this particular scar.]
No matter how much I take of you, I still crave more. Plus, plus, plus. Vergilius... Are you quite certain you can satisfy me?
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[Another voice says "Keep going until you both fuck each other to oblivion."]
[Oblivion. What a word. It's not like he wants to forget. His memory he has is all that if left of his children, his office family, the events of that horrific day. No, he wants oblivion for these feelings. He recognizes them as suddenly as remembering the face of an old friend. When he had lost everything, he had wanted to destroy everything.]
[And now, he is channeling them into Lobelia. He will destroy him, raze him like the fields until there's barely a gasp left. Perhaps he really has become the Tower in his own way, fated to annihilate.]
[He hisses at the raw feeling of his wound being rubbed, but he has always tolerated pain. Vergilius chuckles.]
...Who else could? [He kisses him, hungry.] Who else could.
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No one else. Seulement vous.
[No one else has fulfilled him as fully as Vergilius does, in all the ways Vergilius does. Lobelia knows what fleeting happiness feels like better than most, and by the same token, he knows what it feels like when happiness is meant to last.
His infatuation with Vergilius only grows by the day, as does his impatience, rutting up against that rough palm with no ounce of shame. Why should he care if he's chastised for his impatience? No matter how Vergilius responds, Lobelia will simply covet his attention.]
How does that make you feel, Vergilius? I have eyes for no one but you. That will never change.
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[The movement makes his wound smart, fingers curling over his shaft. It's rough and imperfect in all the right ways. Their blood oath is binding - Vergilius is too faithful a person in all ways to ever go back on it. He says what he says, and he means what he says.]
[He turns his head to press his teeth against the ridges of the other's ear - as he does so, even within the confines of fabric, he flicks his wrist to stroke hard over the other's cock. His hot breath pours into the man's ear, the rasp of it tinged with desire, pleasure.]
I hope you aren't thinking of going back on our arrangement, Lobelia...
[Where else could he get happiness from? Let him dash upon the rocks of the cliff he's created for him in his throes.]
[He palms over the man's tip, sighing.]
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He won't last at all, not like this, and Lobelia instinctively thrusts a hand down to arrest Vergilius' wrist. Still, is he really intent on stopping him? No, no, as if he could. Instead, Lobelia relents with a shuddering laugh and undoes the front of his slacks, leaving Vergilius to do as he pleases. It's fine if he doesn't last more than a minute or two, isn't it? They're not nearly done with each other. They'll never be done with each other.
In the meantime, Lobelia's fingers crawl up the front of Vergilius' hips, his abdomen, his chest, forever fixated on that constellation of scars that mar his body. To him, they're all so beautiful, all so dear.]
As if... I would do such a thing. Jusqu'en enfer. Really though... can you imagine me being disloyal, knowing me as you do?
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[And so, Lobelia opening up to give him access is an invitation. He groans at the light touch to his sides, moving to lick a thin line down over chest, the swells of his abs. It's so hot on his tongue. He feels he could drown in it.]
No. I couldn't. After all, you are nothing but devoted.
[He grasps the other's cock roughly, gnarled fingers surrounding the base before he dips his head down to lick the underside. A low rumble emnatates from his throat, vibrating through skin. Dear Lobelia. Damned Lobelia.]
And such devotion...desires its price.
[And there's no other warning - he takes him by loosening his grip and sucking down hotly on the tip with a moan, wanting to coax his downfall and reap the rewards. All of it, for him.]
[And much more to come.]
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Has he always been so simple a man? This easily outdone by Vergilius' mouth... but it's always been this way, Lobelia realizes. No one has picked him apart and deconstructed him as effortlessly as Vergilius. No one has Brought him to death, destroyed him, and rebuilt him like Vergilius has, crafting something worse and worse from him with each cycle.
Only Vergilius manages to break that veneer of unflappable giddy with such little effort, thrusting Lobelia right over the edge into release by simply taking his cock into his mouth. Ah. The heady afterglow is not enough to wall Lobelia off from his frustrations, visibly petulant and audibly huffing.
Terrible, awful, horrible. Is this what shame feels like? Suddenly, struggling to understand emotion as normal people feel it isn't so bad after all.]
Un prix, was it? Hmph. Would you consider this adequate compensation?
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