[Honestly, he probably could. His body is augmented. Nothing says his ass is exempt.]
........
[Trust you?]
[You ripped my heart out my chest.]
[You tormented me to the point of acting out a beast.]
[You killed your parents for your own happiness.]
[Trust? Could he trust him? That isn't something he gives to just anyone. His heart has been scarred as much as his body has.]
[And yet. And yet. And yet....]
[He bites on his lip as the other brushes his prostate, heels digging into the ground. Ugh. Trust. What a word. What a question to ask when the man's fingers are buried into him.]
[But he doesn't need this context, he thinks. Not even something like this is necessary for the answer that comes, hoarse, with glimmering red eyes like jewels.]
[Lobelia's thanks come with some delay. Perhaps he hadn't expected Vergilius to trust him β he has every reason not to β and yet he does. It's as if he's placing his heart in his palm purely of his own volition, and when his words fully sink in, Lobelia's fingers freeze inside of him just briefly.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I wish I could tell you as much over and over again and feel no ounce of shame. Alas.
His quiet thanks will have to be enough. Lobelia thrusts his fingers with renewed vigor, tipping his chin to kiss a trail down Vergilius' inner thigh to his cock, sucking it onto his mouth and hollowing out his cheeks. Patience never did suit him well, taking every last inch of him into his mouth while he seeks out that sensitive, swollen mass inside of him and strokes it over and over again.]
[Vergilius is more of a man of actions, not words, as ironic as it is for a man named after a poet. To hand something like this, this moment of rawness, vulnerability, and trust to the hands of someone who killed him perhaps is evidence of love enough.]
[But perhaps words are necessary. It's not something he's thinking of, though, because any rational though gets blown out of his brain as he feels the wet core of the man's mouth come down upon his cock. Vergilius gasps, moans, but he can't even find a moment to repent as the man's finger sends a rolling wave of ecstasy and please skyrocket up his spine.,]
Lo-ah-alobelia-
[He almost sounds plaintive as his fingertips dig into the man's shoulders, his other hand at the neck to grip it tight to keep him where he is. He doesn't want a reprieve. Only continuation.]
[Those actions may take some time to sink in when Lobelia is a man obsessed with sound, affirmations of love and affection ringing in his ears when so little else fails to cement itself in his mind.
Still, it's telling enough that he stirs something in Vergilius' heart when he tips back and sighs, moans openly and without restraint. He hadn't been so vocal the first time. Lobelia very much doubts the man has been like this with anyone elseβ rather, it would please his ego if that much were true.
To have a moment like this exist only between the two of them... Yes, Lobelia would love that very much. With that in mind, he throws all of himself into the act of pleasing Vergilius and devouring him whole, so engrossed in the act that he doesn't even watch the man's expressions for fear of losing momentum.
He'll lose his nerve if he does. He'll bury himself fully inside of Vergilius long before he's ready if he gives in now to gawk at the look of ecstasy on his face. Instead, Lobelia risks choking to take Vergilius far back into his throat and hum around him, thrusting his fingers faster, harder, restraint whittled away to nothing.]
[Shitshitshitshit. Now that's an assault on his senses - the feeling of being swallowed completely into a core of wild desire and heat, choking on the sounds coming out of his own throat. Maybe its not full destruction, with Lobelia ripping him flesh from bone, but it feels close enough with the intensity. His back pulls off the ground, dirt scratching up into his shoulders as he gasps from the repeated thrusting of fingers inside. It's painful. It's horrible. It's wonderful.]
[Lobelia always gives me what I ask, doesn't he. How devoted.]
[And then, a quiet admission, even in the throes of pleasure.]
[.......I want him to get what he needs.]
[It's that very thought, the mental image of Lobelia delighted, pleased, happy, an image that would've disgusted him so terribly before, that finally sends him over. The nails dig in. The man's name comes as a loud, reckless groan, body feeling like its full of shooting stars as he tips over and lets himself spill deep into the man's throat. He hopes, briefly, he doesn't up and choke.]
[Stabbing his fingers into him, taking him so far into his mouth that his jaw achesβ it's all in the name of pleasing Vergilius, but that pleasure pays dividends. Feeling Vergilius throb on his tongue and arch like the spine of a bow is a reward in itself, but they aren't done. He hasn't given Vergilius everything he wants, nor has he taken all that he desires.
Lobelia sits back to wipe the mess from the corners of his mouth, the rest swallowed down without complaint. What would be kinder? Giving Vergilius space enough to catch his breath or taking him while the hazy aftermath of release will dull the ache of penetration?
As if Lobelia could choose to be so selfless. Vergilius asked to be destroyed, and so he will be, his legs hauled up onto Lobelia's shoulders so he has nowhere to run from the searing ache of penetration. No warning, of course. Vergilius wanted this, asked for this, and Lobelia doesn't stop until he's pushed every inch of himself inside of the other man, palms flat against either shoulder.]
...Hah. I wonder if this is what it felt like for you...?
[The unrelenting ache, shoving himself into a space he never belonged in, abated only by a pleasant, aching heat. He'll lose whatever restraint remains in him if he lingers too long, so without waiting for Vergilius' answer, Lobelia pulls out only far enough to slam right back into him.]
[No warning whatsoever. Vergilius is still feeling the fogginess of the afterglow in his head when he dimly notes that the man is pulling his legs up. As he opens his mouth to say something, he suddenly feels the sudden large pressure stretching into him. It burns. It aches. It throbs. His body accepts it all, even with the discomfort, as if this was the missing piece he craved all along.]
Ah... [It's taking a lot of control to keep himself from instinctively writhing in place from the sensation, hissing between gritted teeth.]
I suppose it was like-
[But Lobelia's thrust shuts him right up. His arms encircle the other's shoulders as he cries, wordlessly. He isn't a masochist. Not like this. No, he likes this partially because he feels he deserves it. Bring on the pain. Bring on the destruction.]
[If Lobelia is to undo him with his dick right here and now, so be it.]
[What Vergilius asks for and what he deserves couldn't be more opposite. Despite knowing this, Lobelia gives him nothing less than the ruination he seeks, taking that violent, impulsive nature of his and venting it out onto the man he loves.
He wanted this. He asked for this. It's fine. So long as Vergilius commands it, it will be done.
He should be satisfied, shouldn't he? Arching into him, Lobelia shares in the pain, luxuriates in it, but he can't say with any confidence that this is what he desires most. No, no, no. He's as sadistic as he is masochistic, and yet it feels unjust to cause Vergilius so much pain. Ironic, he thinks. What have "right" and "just" ever meant to him before?
Against his own better judgment, Lobelia speeds up, carves into Vergilius, watching the pain twist and contort his expression and feeling so deeply, deeply conflicted about it all. How strange. How very strange.]
This is... what you wanted... non?
[Lobelia's question hides another: is this really what you want?]
[After all those memories, isn't this what fate should hand to him on a silver platter? Isn't pain simply a taste of the terrible things he has wrought upon others? Shouldn't something like this be necessary to flagellate that monster of a soul he has, as hypocritical as it comes?]
[.....No, its not what he wants.]
[What he wants is to be embraced. To feel warmth. To be caressed, and touched, and treated like a jewel. What he wants is too soft for the world where he comes from, where his every move dictates the necessity for violence. Where did such dreams come from? What sort of cruel god put such desires into a human weapon? Lobelia slams into him, and the pain is welcomed as it comes, loved and hated in paradoxical waves. He moans. He pants his name like a prayer. Please stop. Please keep going.]
[His answer comes in the form of a whine, his eyes almost clouded over as another thrust sends a shockwave up and down his spine.]
[...It's good, isn't it? This tight, burning friction. The dull ache that assails them both in waves. This is what Vergilius asked for, and Vergilius' every wish is Lobelia's command. Despite that, this doesn't feel as good as it should. This isn't fulfilling, isn't mutuality, isn't the way Lobelia envisions them whiling away their eternity together.]
[An apology, but for what? The pain? The agony? No, Lobelia apologizes because he's decided to go against what Vergilius asked for to give him what he needs instead, slowing his thrusts to a crawl and dropping the man's legs from his shoulders so he can loop them around his hips instead.
He doesn't want to hear any complaints, nor anything so heart-rending as I deserve this a second time. Lobelia stops moving altogether in favor of leaning in to wrap his arms around Vergilius' shoulders, bringing their lips together to kiss him slowly, tenderly, the way he ought to be kissed. As if he could trust Vergilius to tell him what he needs. This man is the last man who will ever prioritize his own needs, so it's Lobelia's duty to prioritize them for him.
Vergilius deserves to be treated like a shining jewel, to be caressed and touched and embraced, and so he will be from now into eternity.]
[Comes the questioning noise, almost fragile in the air, before his lips are captured. Confusion resounds like an poorly placed chord in a song. It doesn't make sense. This is Lobelia. This is what he deserves. This is Lobelia, violent angel of little death, mad magician, eternal tormenter, personal devil. What is this, then? It defies logic.]
[Shouldn't you destroy me? I wanted...I wanted you to destroy me.]
[Even as his mind balks, his soul seems to react quite differently - though funny to think of having a soul in the first place. There's hesitation in his movement, like a child who isn't sure he's allowed to have a second helping, as he kisses him back gently, lovingly. The movements of his hips, once stuttering with pain, become more steady. A slow roll like a wave lapping up against the shore, covetous of being filled.]
[Ah. What else can be said in this moment? There's no two ways about it: Lobelia is defying Vergilius' orders and doing as he pleases, but he's willing to disobey him if it means giving he man what he truly needs.
Lobelia's laughter snakes out as an apologetic, almost plaintive thing, shivering breaths accompanying each kiss when the pleasure finally supersedes the pain. He's barely moving, giving them both the chance to acclimate that he hadn't earlier, but simply being inside of Vergilius is a heavenly feeling. It's more than he deserves, certainly, but that's the difference between them: Lobelia knows nothing of guilt. If this is what it feels like to be wrong, why would he ever desire to be right?
Humming, Lobelia brings a hand up to comb through Vergilius' bangs, brushing them into some semblance of orderliness so he can kiss his forehead and leave his lips to linger there.]
Punish me for disobeying however you like later. Right now, I'd like to act selfishly.
[Lobelia brings a hand down to jerk at Vergilius' cock, his touch indulgent and slow. There are ways to intertwine pleasure and pain much more effectively than slamming his hips into Vergilius, he's certain, but right now? Right now, none of that matters. Vergilius is going to get what he needs and nothing less.]
[It doesn't feel selfish. This feels like something else. Like someone coming across a thirsty man, and drowning him in a sea. He feels too full. His hands tremble to hold it all as he chokes on it, burning and searing throughout every inch of his body. And just like a thirsty man, he craves it all. Lobelia moves into him, and he feels himself squeeze to pull him in, keep him, as if to entertain the idea of being conjoined for eternity.]
[His breath comes hot and heavy, moaning at the touch to his cock, but the kiss on his forehead feeling somehow more potent of an experience. What is...this? This treatment? Ah. Ah, he thinks he understands.]
[His voice comes as a murmur, arousal stirring once more, but it feels different. Paradoxically not as intense as the pain from before, but enough to produce a restless sort of feeling as he peppers kisses in between words, over the man's face, neck, jawline.]
[Making love to him... Well, yes, he most certainly is, but Vergilius seems surprised by this revelation. Lobelia finds it a bit humorous, the man's body receptive to the idea of being handled with a tender touch while his mind is only now catching up. Still, Lobelia won't laugh. Seeing Vergilius like this makes it hard for him to breathe properly, let alone waste any precious air on something that might put the other on edge.]
Hm... I wonder...?
[Lobelia's odd sense of humor bleeds into his actions regardless, leaving Vergilius in want for an answer while he covets the tip of his cock and pays it special attention, touches as methodical as they are meandering, teasing. The series of kisses strung along his face, his neck, coaxes deep sighs from the depths of Lobelia's throat. Taking Vergilius this slowly might just set him on fire from the inside out, but this is what they both truly desire, and so he'll keep each arch of his hips moderate and purposeful.]
What does it feel like, Vergilius...?
[It feels like making love, so therefore it must be.]
[It feels like....a beach, and you're lapping up against me on the shore as a warm sea. You're a breeze caressing the petals of a barren tree. You're entwined with me like a knot that can never be separated. You've become me, and I've become you, and impossible to think that we'd ever continue on this path to life the same way again.]
[It feels like love.]
[He doesn't say anything like that. It feels like it's too much to say, corny to even think about it in such terms. His lips feel dry as he opens his mouth, tries to cobble together words above the rising heat between them both.]
It feels...........perfect.
[That's the only word he can grasp. He falls back into the sensation of it all, arms wrapped around the man as his breath comes steady, punctuated by little grunts and whines with every thrust as he does his best to match it with the roll of his hips to coax him further in.]
[What Lobelia wouldn't give to hear such sweet poetry, but it's enough for him to know that Vergilius is enjoying himself. Happy, even. This is love as most people know it, yet it doesn't feel ill-fitting at all to Lobelia. It feels natural. Warm. Inviting. It feels like this is where they were meant to be, puzzled together so seamlessly that he can no longer tell where one begins and the other ends.
This is happiness, Lobelia thinks. Feeling whole, feeling connected, his mind divorced from his worldly worries so long as their bodies and hearts are connected. Perfect, Vergilius calls it, and Lobelia is inclined to agree.
Still... perhaps it's a bit too perfect. Lobelia sighs, wracked by full-body shivers, and yet the heat that burns between them keeps him plenty warm. Steady, steady, steady. Lobelia tries to keep himself calm, tries to keep his pace even, but his desires get the better of him. His thrusts grow weighty and his demands of Vergilius' lips ever more desperate, seeking out one kiss, another, another, until he can't help but twine their tongues together.
He doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want to let go. So long as this continues to feel as perfect for Vergilius as it does for himself, Lobelia won't yield, driving them further and further towards the point of no return.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
........
[Trust you?]
[You ripped my heart out my chest.]
[You tormented me to the point of acting out a beast.]
[You killed your parents for your own happiness.]
[Trust? Could he trust him? That isn't something he gives to just anyone. His heart has been scarred as much as his body has.]
[And yet. And yet. And yet....]
[He bites on his lip as the other brushes his prostate, heels digging into the ground. Ugh. Trust. What a word. What a question to ask when the man's fingers are buried into him.]
[But he doesn't need this context, he thinks. Not even something like this is necessary for the answer that comes, hoarse, with glimmering red eyes like jewels.]
.......I suppose I shall.
no subject
[Lobelia's thanks come with some delay. Perhaps he hadn't expected Vergilius to trust him β he has every reason not to β and yet he does. It's as if he's placing his heart in his palm purely of his own volition, and when his words fully sink in, Lobelia's fingers freeze inside of him just briefly.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I wish I could tell you as much over and over again and feel no ounce of shame. Alas.
His quiet thanks will have to be enough. Lobelia thrusts his fingers with renewed vigor, tipping his chin to kiss a trail down Vergilius' inner thigh to his cock, sucking it onto his mouth and hollowing out his cheeks. Patience never did suit him well, taking every last inch of him into his mouth while he seeks out that sensitive, swollen mass inside of him and strokes it over and over again.]
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[But perhaps words are necessary. It's not something he's thinking of, though, because any rational though gets blown out of his brain as he feels the wet core of the man's mouth come down upon his cock. Vergilius gasps, moans, but he can't even find a moment to repent as the man's finger sends a rolling wave of ecstasy and please skyrocket up his spine.,]
Lo-ah-alobelia-
[He almost sounds plaintive as his fingertips dig into the man's shoulders, his other hand at the neck to grip it tight to keep him where he is. He doesn't want a reprieve. Only continuation.]
no subject
Still, it's telling enough that he stirs something in Vergilius' heart when he tips back and sighs, moans openly and without restraint. He hadn't been so vocal the first time. Lobelia very much doubts the man has been like this with anyone elseβ rather, it would please his ego if that much were true.
To have a moment like this exist only between the two of them... Yes, Lobelia would love that very much. With that in mind, he throws all of himself into the act of pleasing Vergilius and devouring him whole, so engrossed in the act that he doesn't even watch the man's expressions for fear of losing momentum.
He'll lose his nerve if he does. He'll bury himself fully inside of Vergilius long before he's ready if he gives in now to gawk at the look of ecstasy on his face. Instead, Lobelia risks choking to take Vergilius far back into his throat and hum around him, thrusting his fingers faster, harder, restraint whittled away to nothing.]
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[Shitshitshitshit. Now that's an assault on his senses - the feeling of being swallowed completely into a core of wild desire and heat, choking on the sounds coming out of his own throat. Maybe its not full destruction, with Lobelia ripping him flesh from bone, but it feels close enough with the intensity. His back pulls off the ground, dirt scratching up into his shoulders as he gasps from the repeated thrusting of fingers inside. It's painful. It's horrible. It's wonderful.]
[Lobelia always gives me what I ask, doesn't he. How devoted.]
[And then, a quiet admission, even in the throes of pleasure.]
[.......I want him to get what he needs.]
[It's that very thought, the mental image of Lobelia delighted, pleased, happy, an image that would've disgusted him so terribly before, that finally sends him over. The nails dig in. The man's name comes as a loud, reckless groan, body feeling like its full of shooting stars as he tips over and lets himself spill deep into the man's throat. He hopes, briefly, he doesn't up and choke.]
no subject
Lobelia sits back to wipe the mess from the corners of his mouth, the rest swallowed down without complaint. What would be kinder? Giving Vergilius space enough to catch his breath or taking him while the hazy aftermath of release will dull the ache of penetration?
As if Lobelia could choose to be so selfless. Vergilius asked to be destroyed, and so he will be, his legs hauled up onto Lobelia's shoulders so he has nowhere to run from the searing ache of penetration. No warning, of course. Vergilius wanted this, asked for this, and Lobelia doesn't stop until he's pushed every inch of himself inside of the other man, palms flat against either shoulder.]
...Hah. I wonder if this is what it felt like for you...?
[The unrelenting ache, shoving himself into a space he never belonged in, abated only by a pleasant, aching heat. He'll lose whatever restraint remains in him if he lingers too long, so without waiting for Vergilius' answer, Lobelia pulls out only far enough to slam right back into him.]
no subject
Ah... [It's taking a lot of control to keep himself from instinctively writhing in place from the sensation, hissing between gritted teeth.]
I suppose it was like-
[But Lobelia's thrust shuts him right up. His arms encircle the other's shoulders as he cries, wordlessly. He isn't a masochist. Not like this. No, he likes this partially because he feels he deserves it. Bring on the pain. Bring on the destruction.]
[If Lobelia is to undo him with his dick right here and now, so be it.]
no subject
He wanted this. He asked for this. It's fine. So long as Vergilius commands it, it will be done.
He should be satisfied, shouldn't he? Arching into him, Lobelia shares in the pain, luxuriates in it, but he can't say with any confidence that this is what he desires most. No, no, no. He's as sadistic as he is masochistic, and yet it feels unjust to cause Vergilius so much pain. Ironic, he thinks. What have "right" and "just" ever meant to him before?
Against his own better judgment, Lobelia speeds up, carves into Vergilius, watching the pain twist and contort his expression and feeling so deeply, deeply conflicted about it all. How strange. How very strange.]
This is... what you wanted... non?
[Lobelia's question hides another: is this really what you want?]
no subject
[Don't I deserve this?]
[After all those memories, isn't this what fate should hand to him on a silver platter? Isn't pain simply a taste of the terrible things he has wrought upon others? Shouldn't something like this be necessary to flagellate that monster of a soul he has, as hypocritical as it comes?]
[.....No, its not what he wants.]
[What he wants is to be embraced. To feel warmth. To be caressed, and touched, and treated like a jewel. What he wants is too soft for the world where he comes from, where his every move dictates the necessity for violence. Where did such dreams come from? What sort of cruel god put such desires into a human weapon? Lobelia slams into him, and the pain is welcomed as it comes, loved and hated in paradoxical waves. He moans. He pants his name like a prayer. Please stop. Please keep going.]
[His answer comes in the form of a whine, his eyes almost clouded over as another thrust sends a shockwave up and down his spine.]
Yes. Yes. I deserve it.
no subject
...DΓ©solΓ©.
[An apology, but for what? The pain? The agony? No, Lobelia apologizes because he's decided to go against what Vergilius asked for to give him what he needs instead, slowing his thrusts to a crawl and dropping the man's legs from his shoulders so he can loop them around his hips instead.
He doesn't want to hear any complaints, nor anything so heart-rending as I deserve this a second time. Lobelia stops moving altogether in favor of leaning in to wrap his arms around Vergilius' shoulders, bringing their lips together to kiss him slowly, tenderly, the way he ought to be kissed. As if he could trust Vergilius to tell him what he needs. This man is the last man who will ever prioritize his own needs, so it's Lobelia's duty to prioritize them for him.
Vergilius deserves to be treated like a shining jewel, to be caressed and touched and embraced, and so he will be from now into eternity.]
no subject
[Comes the questioning noise, almost fragile in the air, before his lips are captured. Confusion resounds like an poorly placed chord in a song. It doesn't make sense. This is Lobelia. This is what he deserves. This is Lobelia, violent angel of little death, mad magician, eternal tormenter, personal devil. What is this, then? It defies logic.]
[Shouldn't you destroy me? I wanted...I wanted you to destroy me.]
[Even as his mind balks, his soul seems to react quite differently - though funny to think of having a soul in the first place. There's hesitation in his movement, like a child who isn't sure he's allowed to have a second helping, as he kisses him back gently, lovingly. The movements of his hips, once stuttering with pain, become more steady. A slow roll like a wave lapping up against the shore, covetous of being filled.]
[Ah.]
Ah.
[So it goes.]
no subject
Lobelia's laughter snakes out as an apologetic, almost plaintive thing, shivering breaths accompanying each kiss when the pleasure finally supersedes the pain. He's barely moving, giving them both the chance to acclimate that he hadn't earlier, but simply being inside of Vergilius is a heavenly feeling. It's more than he deserves, certainly, but that's the difference between them: Lobelia knows nothing of guilt. If this is what it feels like to be wrong, why would he ever desire to be right?
Humming, Lobelia brings a hand up to comb through Vergilius' bangs, brushing them into some semblance of orderliness so he can kiss his forehead and leave his lips to linger there.]
Punish me for disobeying however you like later. Right now, I'd like to act selfishly.
[Lobelia brings a hand down to jerk at Vergilius' cock, his touch indulgent and slow. There are ways to intertwine pleasure and pain much more effectively than slamming his hips into Vergilius, he's certain, but right now? Right now, none of that matters. Vergilius is going to get what he needs and nothing less.]
no subject
[It doesn't feel selfish. This feels like something else. Like someone coming across a thirsty man, and drowning him in a sea. He feels too full. His hands tremble to hold it all as he chokes on it, burning and searing throughout every inch of his body. And just like a thirsty man, he craves it all. Lobelia moves into him, and he feels himself squeeze to pull him in, keep him, as if to entertain the idea of being conjoined for eternity.]
[His breath comes hot and heavy, moaning at the touch to his cock, but the kiss on his forehead feeling somehow more potent of an experience. What is...this? This treatment? Ah. Ah, he thinks he understands.]
[His voice comes as a murmur, arousal stirring once more, but it feels different. Paradoxically not as intense as the pain from before, but enough to produce a restless sort of feeling as he peppers kisses in between words, over the man's face, neck, jawline.]
Are you making love to me...?
no subject
Hm... I wonder...?
[Lobelia's odd sense of humor bleeds into his actions regardless, leaving Vergilius in want for an answer while he covets the tip of his cock and pays it special attention, touches as methodical as they are meandering, teasing. The series of kisses strung along his face, his neck, coaxes deep sighs from the depths of Lobelia's throat. Taking Vergilius this slowly might just set him on fire from the inside out, but this is what they both truly desire, and so he'll keep each arch of his hips moderate and purposeful.]
What does it feel like, Vergilius...?
[It feels like making love, so therefore it must be.]
no subject
[It feels like....a beach, and you're lapping up against me on the shore as a warm sea. You're a breeze caressing the petals of a barren tree. You're entwined with me like a knot that can never be separated. You've become me, and I've become you, and impossible to think that we'd ever continue on this path to life the same way again.]
[It feels like love.]
[He doesn't say anything like that. It feels like it's too much to say, corny to even think about it in such terms. His lips feel dry as he opens his mouth, tries to cobble together words above the rising heat between them both.]
It feels...........perfect.
[That's the only word he can grasp. He falls back into the sensation of it all, arms wrapped around the man as his breath comes steady, punctuated by little grunts and whines with every thrust as he does his best to match it with the roll of his hips to coax him further in.]
no subject
This is happiness, Lobelia thinks. Feeling whole, feeling connected, his mind divorced from his worldly worries so long as their bodies and hearts are connected. Perfect, Vergilius calls it, and Lobelia is inclined to agree.
Still... perhaps it's a bit too perfect. Lobelia sighs, wracked by full-body shivers, and yet the heat that burns between them keeps him plenty warm. Steady, steady, steady. Lobelia tries to keep himself calm, tries to keep his pace even, but his desires get the better of him. His thrusts grow weighty and his demands of Vergilius' lips ever more desperate, seeking out one kiss, another, another, until he can't help but twine their tongues together.
He doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want to let go. So long as this continues to feel as perfect for Vergilius as it does for himself, Lobelia won't yield, driving them further and further towards the point of no return.]