[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.]
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[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.]
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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.]