Keh-hahahaha! Trรจs bien! Oh, how your pitifully short temper excites me!
[Whether or not Lobelia is serious doesn't even matter at this point, does it? He speaks with the same delight either way, gleefully flying close to the sun by grabbing Vergilus' glass and taking a sip from it.]
Maybe I should give you my premier baiser after all? Would that reignite the fire in your heart?
[If his eyes could burn holes in someone right now, they'd likely be shooting lasers into the other's head. Alas, they don't. But they're burning awfully fierce, as if to fray the air itself.]
[Ah... What a delightful look! It takes every bit of Lobelia's restraint not to shiver at the sight of Vergilius just inches away from blowing his top.]
It's not something that can be explained in words. Will you allow me to dรฉmonstrate?
[Will Vergilius regret it if he says no? Undoubtedly.]
[Stop! Stop!! This rejection is too spicy!!! Vergilius is like a big, delicious helping of pissaladiรจre and Lobelia can't get enough, cackling in a disconcertingly childlike manner.]
Hehehe! Je l'aime! Keep telling me no!
[At this point? The only thing that'll shut Lobelia up is letting it happen... you know, in theory.]
[The laughter makes his eyes flicker - the scarred hand on the table clenches into a fist, as if ready to be used to reach over and pull the other's spine out of his mouth. He could do it. He could literally make it happen.]
[But this island wants blood, and for the first time in a long time, he has to restrain himself.]
[...The fist relaxes, but the glow remains.]
Can you shut up? [A beat.] Fine. Not a no. But I just want you to take your worm of a personality and shove it down your throat.
[The glow of Vergilius' eyes is not unlike the ominous red glow of the pendant around Lobelia's neck when a certain something grows a little too excited... And speaking of that? It begins to glow a preternatural shade of red, emitting a thin, odorless veil of black smoke that spills into the air that, when inhaled, leaves behind a feeling of dread that runs bone deep. Fun!
Gently wrapping a hand around the pendant, Lobelia chides himโ the pendant, that is.]
Now now, you're being a bit vulgar. Hold yourself together a bit longer.
[With that, the smoke gradually dissipates, and along with it, that horrid, dreadful feeling. The pendant around Lobelia's neck ceases to glow.]
Now then, mes excuses for the rude interruption! Some people have no patience. I'll obey your orders like a good boy if you'll humor my request, Vergilius.
[Of course, the dread is felt like nothing else, but how can a man whose constant state of mind is misery be budged from that frame of mind further down? Not by much, but it does make him hold his breath instinctively, a shudder moving down his spine. He only releases his sigh when the feeling eases.]
[...Ah, yes. Something must be in that thing, if he is speaking to it. Vergilius's eyebrows furrow, before his gaze flits from pendant to Lobelia's face.]
You said that the last time. How am I to know you are a man of your word?
[That shudder doesn't elude Lobelia's notice. Ah, how terrible... Now he's the one struggling not to get overly excited, but Vergilius seems to have that effect on him. Could this be the happiness he's sought after for so long? No, this doesn't feel quite like he'd imagined happiness would feel... but it's something alright. Something he longs to have a proper word to describe.]
You allowed me to keep your company of your own volontรฉ, Vergilius... How can you accuse me of not being a man of my word?
[But Vergilius may be a little less unwilling if he knows what he's being asked for, right? That was the case last time, so with a grin, Lobelia taps his lips.]
[Silence ensues...until its broken by a mere breath, a little huff. Different from his typical sigh. But while for others it may indicate a lighter mood, for Vergilius it's anything but. The depths of his anger seem to churn and spark, as if being threatened to be set aflame. A match, hovering above a fuse.]
...
[He reaches over the table now, gnarled fingers finding purchase in the other's clothes to pull him forward, red eyes so alight that its as if someone is standing behind them shining a flashlight. As much as the tension feels sharp, his actions feel extremely controlled. He's a master holding back the vicious dog with a tight grip on a leash.]
[His question rings like a struck bell over and over again in Lobelia's mind. Such hatred, such disdain... and it's all directed squarely at him. He has to bite his lip to keep the worst of the laughter at bay, but it's no use trying to contain his glee once Vergilus drags him in close.
What he wouldn't do to have an ounce of Vergilius' restraint... but that would be boring, wouldn't it? Lobelia would much rather act out, make a scene, destroy everything that catches his eye. This close, he's compelled only to move closer, the unnatural shine of Vergilus' eyes more alluring than any siren call.]
Laisse-moi goรปter ร tes lรจvres devant enfer.
[What are regrets to a dead man? With no heed for Vergilius' thinly-veiled warning, Lobelia tips forward and mashes their lips together, stealing the kiss the other man so cruelly denied him... but it's alright. He's never been afraid to beg, steal and borrow. Happiness must be attained at any costโ even at the expense of men who have precious little to give.]
[It feels like a bitter taste at the back of his throat. Acid, burning through his chest, emotions prickling with nowhwre to go. He's known for his cold anger at home, of course. Nothing wild and unruly as some good-for-nothing Fixer, but as honed and sharpened like a blade. Hot anger makes one vulnerable, of course. Liable to making mistakes.]
[So why is everything he's doing here only tipping him forward into things like this? It's this damned scenario, of course (and his own decisions, giving Lobelia leeway when he should never have, taunting despite logic). The restlessness he has of a prisoner bound by chains is almost palpable - too used to punishment, too used to violence, too used to murder, as much as he loathes it. Lobelia could have been killed a hundred times over already. He has entertained many options.]
[And he's sure he would hear that annoying, grating laughter at each and every single one of them.]
[The kiss is stolen. Vergilius grits his teeth into it, caught by surprise - and after a excrutiatingly lasting second, he pulls out of it. The man is soft compared with his hardness, and it makes this all the more hateful.]
Are you happy?
[He finally says - he hasn't released his grip, his word almost harshly whispered with faces close in an attempt to try to hurt the man back in his own way, prodding on something he feels is soft, an underbelly.]
[Happy? Happy? How could this possibly fulfill me? What happiness is there to be found in the silence he's met with? No shouting, no yelling, no hissing at him through gritted teeth. Lobelia hasn't felt this crushing, empty feeling in years, yet every time he'd moved forward far enough to realize his actions weren't bringing him happiness, something greater came along to capture his interest.
Papa and Maman were the only ones who truly made him happy, but they're long gone now. Even their voices are beyond his reach now, his beloved archive stolen away from him, leaving him with nothing by way of comfort on this desolate island. Even the ominous rumbles of impending disaster could only fill the void in Lobelia for a brief moment in time, and just like that, the moment is gone.
Are you happy? No. How could he be? Perhaps he's simply incapable, a thought that elicits fear in a man who seldom feels much at all. Realizing that, Lobelia laughs, but there's no mirth behind his laughter. No warmth.
โUse that talent of yours, and youโre guaranteed to be happy! Youโre a genius, son, and youโre certain to succeed! Live a life of bliss, Lobelia!โ If Papa saw him now, would he regret speaking those words?]
Non... but I haven't given up. You'll be the one to make me happy.
[There's a damning finality to Lobelia's words, but whether he's given up or begun down a path he can't be swayed from is up to Vergilius to decide. Allowing no room for a proper response, he takes him by the throat and mashes their lips together so roughly that their teeth briefly click. Unless Vergilius intends on stopping him or pushing away, Lobelia has no intention of letting up.]
[That's more of a joke than the kiss. The second kiss, technically, as the man has taken his chance to move and take more of what he thinks he deserves.]
[It's laughable, because when was the last time he gave anyone true happiness? Even what he gave before was always tainted, his own guilt and sins hanging above him like a cloud filled with blood ready to burst. This is a helpless endeavor. A fly struggling in a web. A man buried in the earth hallucinating light coming in from the surface.]
[He may have felt happiness in the past, but what he gives, made by his own hands, is nothing at all. At least this is what he thinks.]
[He could simply shove him away. That would be his first inclination. But on second thought, the man was insatiable. As much as he pretended to heed his words, Vergilius felt like he could keep coming and coming again like a hungry bottom feeder, eager for scraps.]
[So he's trying to get happiness from him? Let him open the dish in front of him, and try to feed on nothing at all. Let disappointment be his gift instead. He hopes he chokes on it.]
[And so, he doesn't break the kiss, but lets it move on, with his own movement of lips in a purposefully slow pace as the man tries to force roughness against him. The bare minimum. Almost chaste, even with how deep it is. Only a singular light sigh of a noise purrs through his chest, disappearing in an instant.]
[This isn't the shining jewel Vergilius spoke ofโ that happiness is long gone, but whatever remnants of it he can taste on Vergilius' lips is incentive enough to claw the rest out of him. Lobelia can't live with the notion that there's nothing to chase beyond the shadows of another man's happiness, but if he did, what would happen? Would he snap? Would he break? Would he destroy himself to get away from the pain of an empty existence?
That can't be what's waiting for him. Lobelia won't allow it, exhaling frustration through his nose when their kiss fails to yield anything of substance. It certainly doesn't satisfy him, much less make him happy... but that's the catch, isn't it?
Surely if he keeps going, he'll drag it right out of Vergilius. He's being difficult on purpose, as he has been from the start, but isn't that all the better? They say happiness is something to be earned, and were it that easy to rip and tear it out of Vergilius, that would be no fun at all.
Still... Lobelia isn't the one who needs incentive to escalate. Gradually growing worse and more destructive is all a man like Lobelia knows how to do, so he threads his tongue into Vergilius' mouth in search of his. It's an invasion the man didn't ask for, but Lobelia hasn't once asked Vergilius what he wants. Simply put, Lobelia doesn't care.]
[The light sound of exhaled air out of the other's nose is, perhaps, a little highlight out of all of this. As much as he is violent, it doesn't necessarily marry with pleasure. It's putting someone in their place that tries to challenge him where he stands that, he will admit, has a terrible sort of amusement to it. He's so used to being where he is, even if it is a grand role he never especially wanted, that any one who tries to step up will only get slapped down. A laughable thing.]
[So Lobelia attempting to push further is both amusing but also frustrating - but then again, what can he expect out of such a worm? It reminds him of Beel, in a way, but this hunger is a far worse sort. It feels like a void asking to be filled, and Vergilius refuses to. It is asking a ghost for an embrace and expecting warmth.]
[His own hand moves to thread through Lobelia's hair and finding purchase, not tugging or pulling. Far too gentle. He can't help but let out a little hiss of a gasp as that tongue snakes in, but Vergilius is as stubborn as anything. Not willing to give ground in this bizarre fight, he merely slides his side to side of the intrusion, barely opening his jaw to allow further movement.]
[Ah. If only he could bite the thing off. His teeth slightly press against the other's tongue. If only. It would be so easy.]
[Far, far too gentle. Those fingers in his hair should feel nice, and indeed, they have the hairs on the nape of his neck standing on end... but there's nothing pleasurable about it. Not as Lobelia has come to understand pleasure. He might think otherwise were it not Vergilius' intention to deny him any sort of joy in this encounter, but alas.
It's a shame that Vergilius can't agree that a little bit of push and pull would go a long way for them both, but that's alright. Irritation is evident in the tension of Lobelia's muscles, one hand drifting to settle on Vergilius' thigh where he squeezes down far more forcefully than necessary. This is fine. He'll make this work.
This gradual pace, this tender touch, is stifling. Feeling the slight press of teeth against his tongue, Lobelia laughs quietly, the vibrations ebbing between their kiss. If Vergilius won't give into the urge to bite, Lobelia will, drawing out of the kiss just far enough to steal a breath and rake his teeth along Vergilius' bottom lip. If he draws blood, that's all the better.]
[As much as this is a fight to deny this man obtaining victory in his hideous little psychological war, its also a fight of self-denial. He's had a physical trust or two ever since everything happened that brought him to his current state at home, but it was just that. Physical. He denies himself the prospect of anything more.]
[He follows the flow, and nothing more. To allow himself even the semblance of emotional connection feels as wrong as giving a murderer a machete. He is not made for that. After everything, he doesn't deserve it. His sins are too heavy, the blood runs too thick.]
[So this is different, of course it is. He isn't connecting with Lobelia - he hardly wants to, as disgusting as the prospect makes him feel - but this is a battle to him. Denial on all sides. Lobelia can never get what he want. The jewel shards of happiness shall be far beyond his reach, if he has anything to say about it.]
[He does lose footing briefly in the battle, though, the teeth biting into his lip makes him let out a little low noise of pain. It's followed by a heavy breath, and a return to stability - (his hand in Lobelia's hair trembles for a moment, trying not to focus on the hand on his thigh) - and he's gritting his teeth. He won't chase that stinging bite with a kiss. He simply sits there, chest heaving, and stares, with vivid eyes, as if trying to tell him there's nothing more to gain. In fact, he'll just say it, his voice a whisper.]
[That note of pain in Vergilius' voice, fleeting as it is, lodges itself in Lobelia's head. Rings like a struck bell. He's recorded it within the conch nestled in his pocket, and with this, he can relive the moment he gained that minor foothold in this little sparring session of theirs. In lieu of Papa and Maman's destruction, he can lull himself to sleep with the sounds of Vergilius failing to remain entirely immovable.
They're both human, aren't they? Yes, that's one of the things Lobelia loves so much about the prospect of this man's destruction: he'll crumble in a heap of pained, agonized sounds, and Lobelia will be there to record them all. No matter how strong he thinks himself to be, no one goes up against death and wins.
Still... exposing Vergilius' frail, human vulnerabilities leaves his own exposed in turn. A ruddy pink flush has settled on Lobelia's cheeks, and while the uptick of his heart is nothing unusual, this isn't the sort of excitement he's used to savoring. This mincing of flesh and bone, the tortured screams of a life cut short... those are the things that excite him, the things that make Lobelia happy, and yet he feels much the same now as he does when snuffing out a life with a snap of his fingers. Why?]
Vous semblez magnifique. Even your fervent desire to leave me unsatisfied stirs something in me regardless. Heh... Was that your intention all along?
[Doubtful. Lobelia won't let him ignore the hand at his thigh, fingertips spidering up further to seize into his hip, dig crescent nails into his flesh.]
I would so love to see you tomber en morceaux beneath my fingertips. If you don't destroy me first, the pleasure will be all mine.
[To live in the City, to truly live in the City with all its vices and sins and mountains of dead bodies hidden under the guise of innovation...to borrow another's turn of phrase, one's mind really has to have a screw loose. Vergilius wouldn't doubt it about himself, even as reasonable as he can be. Lobelia, though, feels like even more of a shining example of the depravities of human nature, and he's not even from the City. What circumstances brought a horrible personality like this to life? What is responsible for this carcass of a flower blooming?]
[(Vergilius vaguely recalls reading about some giant flower with a smell made explicitly to attract flies, and seeing the rush of blood to the other's cheeks, he almost has a brief moment where it feels like he catches a whiff of rotten meat.)]
[The nails into his hip are more easily parried with stoicism, though it does come with a mild jolt from the nails digging in. A sigh moves through his chest, exhausted, angry as anything.]
Destroy me? Dream on.
[A growled sort of answer - the hand in Lobelia's hair is withdrawing, like an anchor being pulled out of dark waters of a sea. His eyes are flickering. Something moves through his body - a shiver he hates to feel.]
It's like you won't even listen to me. I'll deny you at every turn.
[His hand snakes around to grasp around the other's neck - but for such a threatening gesture, its again gentle, not even squeezing.]
This is futile. Your path will lead you nowhere. Give up.
[What is life if not a constant series of denials and challenges to overcome? Vergilius is just the newest of these, another stumbling block in need of a good and thorough trampling. Why idle and allow anyone else the pleasure?
Lobelia stares into those flickering eyes, his own unfathomably deep and dreadful to behold like a forest at night. It's not evident what he wants from Vergilius, not at a glance, but's clear Lobelia's arrived at some conclusion or another, made up his mind... but it's not as if he intends to leave Vergilius in the dark forever. When the time comes, he'll know what answer Lobelia has arrived at too.]
What a cruel man you are! And here I thought I'd found someone not too dissimilar to myself... someone au-delร de la rรฉdemption.
[His laughter buzzes against the hand at his throat, warmer for the contact, and his own lift to squeeze Vergilius' tight against his skin. With this, he's established a conduit between them, channeling his words not into the open air, but directly through the vibrations of his throat and into Vergilius' palms so he can feel the words Lobelia speaks echoing in his skull. All the while, Lobelia's lips remain poised in a smile.]
You're holding yourself back, Vergilius. If we're both bound for l'enfer, why hold yourself back? Sigh for me more! Let out your voix! Otherwise, you'll leave me with no choice but to tear it clean out of you... not that I would mind.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Perhaps he'll find what remains of Vergilius' if he digs deep enough? Imagining doing so in a literal sense has Lobelia chuckling.]
Perhaps that means you've been brought here for a raison. Non, maybe we both have.
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[The City he comes from is....hardly warm.]
And what reason do you think I would be here for?
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[Lobelia falls silent just long enough to polish off his cocktail.]
...Maybe you were brought here to satisfaire me instead.
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For you? Get your head out of the sand.
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[Whether or not Lobelia is serious doesn't even matter at this point, does it? He speaks with the same delight either way, gleefully flying close to the sun by grabbing Vergilus' glass and taking a sip from it.]
Maybe I should give you my premier baiser after all? Would that reignite the fire in your heart?
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[If his eyes could burn holes in someone right now, they'd likely be shooting lasers into the other's head. Alas, they don't. But they're burning awfully fierce, as if to fray the air itself.]
What's that.
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It's not something that can be explained in words. Will you allow me to dรฉmonstrate?
[Will Vergilius regret it if he says no? Undoubtedly.]
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[A very firm word, almost scalding.]
What is it.
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Hehehe! Je l'aime! Keep telling me no!
[At this point? The only thing that'll shut Lobelia up is letting it happen... you know, in theory.]
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[WHY.]
[The laughter makes his eyes flicker - the scarred hand on the table clenches into a fist, as if ready to be used to reach over and pull the other's spine out of his mouth. He could do it. He could literally make it happen.]
[But this island wants blood, and for the first time in a long time, he has to restrain himself.]
[...The fist relaxes, but the glow remains.]
Can you shut up? [A beat.] Fine. Not a no. But I just want you to take your worm of a personality and shove it down your throat.
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Gently wrapping a hand around the pendant, Lobelia chides himโ the pendant, that is.]
Now now, you're being a bit vulgar. Hold yourself together a bit longer.
[With that, the smoke gradually dissipates, and along with it, that horrid, dreadful feeling. The pendant around Lobelia's neck ceases to glow.]
Now then, mes excuses for the rude interruption! Some people have no patience. I'll obey your orders like a good boy if you'll humor my request, Vergilius.
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[Of course, the dread is felt like nothing else, but how can a man whose constant state of mind is misery be budged from that frame of mind further down? Not by much, but it does make him hold his breath instinctively, a shudder moving down his spine. He only releases his sigh when the feeling eases.]
[...Ah, yes. Something must be in that thing, if he is speaking to it. Vergilius's eyebrows furrow, before his gaze flits from pendant to Lobelia's face.]
You said that the last time. How am I to know you are a man of your word?
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You allowed me to keep your company of your own volontรฉ, Vergilius... How can you accuse me of not being a man of my word?
[But Vergilius may be a little less unwilling if he knows what he's being asked for, right? That was the case last time, so with a grin, Lobelia taps his lips.]
Kiss me.
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[Kiss me.]
[Silence ensues...until its broken by a mere breath, a little huff. Different from his typical sigh. But while for others it may indicate a lighter mood, for Vergilius it's anything but. The depths of his anger seem to churn and spark, as if being threatened to be set aflame. A match, hovering above a fuse.]
...
[He reaches over the table now, gnarled fingers finding purchase in the other's clothes to pull him forward, red eyes so alight that its as if someone is standing behind them shining a flashlight. As much as the tension feels sharp, his actions feel extremely controlled. He's a master holding back the vicious dog with a tight grip on a leash.]
Is this a joke, Lobelia?
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What he wouldn't do to have an ounce of Vergilius' restraint... but that would be boring, wouldn't it? Lobelia would much rather act out, make a scene, destroy everything that catches his eye. This close, he's compelled only to move closer, the unnatural shine of Vergilus' eyes more alluring than any siren call.]
Laisse-moi goรปter ร tes lรจvres devant enfer.
[What are regrets to a dead man? With no heed for Vergilius' thinly-veiled warning, Lobelia tips forward and mashes their lips together, stealing the kiss the other man so cruelly denied him... but it's alright. He's never been afraid to beg, steal and borrow. Happiness must be attained at any costโ even at the expense of men who have precious little to give.]
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[So why is everything he's doing here only tipping him forward into things like this? It's this damned scenario, of course (and his own decisions, giving Lobelia leeway when he should never have, taunting despite logic). The restlessness he has of a prisoner bound by chains is almost palpable - too used to punishment, too used to violence, too used to murder, as much as he loathes it. Lobelia could have been killed a hundred times over already. He has entertained many options.]
[And he's sure he would hear that annoying, grating laughter at each and every single one of them.]
[The kiss is stolen. Vergilius grits his teeth into it, caught by surprise - and after a excrutiatingly lasting second, he pulls out of it. The man is soft compared with his hardness, and it makes this all the more hateful.]
Are you happy?
[He finally says - he hasn't released his grip, his word almost harshly whispered with faces close in an attempt to try to hurt the man back in his own way, prodding on something he feels is soft, an underbelly.]
[After all, you can't feel happiness, can you?]
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Papa and Maman were the only ones who truly made him happy, but they're long gone now. Even their voices are beyond his reach now, his beloved archive stolen away from him, leaving him with nothing by way of comfort on this desolate island. Even the ominous rumbles of impending disaster could only fill the void in Lobelia for a brief moment in time, and just like that, the moment is gone.
Are you happy? No. How could he be? Perhaps he's simply incapable, a thought that elicits fear in a man who seldom feels much at all. Realizing that, Lobelia laughs, but there's no mirth behind his laughter. No warmth.
โUse that talent of yours, and youโre guaranteed to be happy! Youโre a genius, son, and youโre certain to succeed! Live a life of bliss, Lobelia!โ If Papa saw him now, would he regret speaking those words?]
Non... but I haven't given up. You'll be the one to make me happy.
[There's a damning finality to Lobelia's words, but whether he's given up or begun down a path he can't be swayed from is up to Vergilius to decide. Allowing no room for a proper response, he takes him by the throat and mashes their lips together so roughly that their teeth briefly click. Unless Vergilius intends on stopping him or pushing away, Lobelia has no intention of letting up.]
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[That's more of a joke than the kiss. The second kiss, technically, as the man has taken his chance to move and take more of what he thinks he deserves.]
[It's laughable, because when was the last time he gave anyone true happiness? Even what he gave before was always tainted, his own guilt and sins hanging above him like a cloud filled with blood ready to burst. This is a helpless endeavor. A fly struggling in a web. A man buried in the earth hallucinating light coming in from the surface.]
[He may have felt happiness in the past, but what he gives, made by his own hands, is nothing at all. At least this is what he thinks.]
[He could simply shove him away. That would be his first inclination. But on second thought, the man was insatiable. As much as he pretended to heed his words, Vergilius felt like he could keep coming and coming again like a hungry bottom feeder, eager for scraps.]
[So he's trying to get happiness from him? Let him open the dish in front of him, and try to feed on nothing at all. Let disappointment be his gift instead. He hopes he chokes on it.]
[And so, he doesn't break the kiss, but lets it move on, with his own movement of lips in a purposefully slow pace as the man tries to force roughness against him. The bare minimum. Almost chaste, even with how deep it is. Only a singular light sigh of a noise purrs through his chest, disappearing in an instant.]
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That can't be what's waiting for him. Lobelia won't allow it, exhaling frustration through his nose when their kiss fails to yield anything of substance. It certainly doesn't satisfy him, much less make him happy... but that's the catch, isn't it?
Surely if he keeps going, he'll drag it right out of Vergilius. He's being difficult on purpose, as he has been from the start, but isn't that all the better? They say happiness is something to be earned, and were it that easy to rip and tear it out of Vergilius, that would be no fun at all.
Still... Lobelia isn't the one who needs incentive to escalate. Gradually growing worse and more destructive is all a man like Lobelia knows how to do, so he threads his tongue into Vergilius' mouth in search of his. It's an invasion the man didn't ask for, but Lobelia hasn't once asked Vergilius what he wants. Simply put, Lobelia doesn't care.]
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[So Lobelia attempting to push further is both amusing but also frustrating - but then again, what can he expect out of such a worm? It reminds him of Beel, in a way, but this hunger is a far worse sort. It feels like a void asking to be filled, and Vergilius refuses to. It is asking a ghost for an embrace and expecting warmth.]
[His own hand moves to thread through Lobelia's hair and finding purchase, not tugging or pulling. Far too gentle. He can't help but let out a little hiss of a gasp as that tongue snakes in, but Vergilius is as stubborn as anything. Not willing to give ground in this bizarre fight, he merely slides his side to side of the intrusion, barely opening his jaw to allow further movement.]
[Ah. If only he could bite the thing off. His teeth slightly press against the other's tongue. If only. It would be so easy.]
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It's a shame that Vergilius can't agree that a little bit of push and pull would go a long way for them both, but that's alright. Irritation is evident in the tension of Lobelia's muscles, one hand drifting to settle on Vergilius' thigh where he squeezes down far more forcefully than necessary. This is fine. He'll make this work.
This gradual pace, this tender touch, is stifling. Feeling the slight press of teeth against his tongue, Lobelia laughs quietly, the vibrations ebbing between their kiss. If Vergilius won't give into the urge to bite, Lobelia will, drawing out of the kiss just far enough to steal a breath and rake his teeth along Vergilius' bottom lip. If he draws blood, that's all the better.]
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[He follows the flow, and nothing more. To allow himself even the semblance of emotional connection feels as wrong as giving a murderer a machete. He is not made for that. After everything, he doesn't deserve it. His sins are too heavy, the blood runs too thick.]
[So this is different, of course it is. He isn't connecting with Lobelia - he hardly wants to, as disgusting as the prospect makes him feel - but this is a battle to him. Denial on all sides. Lobelia can never get what he want. The jewel shards of happiness shall be far beyond his reach, if he has anything to say about it.]
[He does lose footing briefly in the battle, though, the teeth biting into his lip makes him let out a little low noise of pain. It's followed by a heavy breath, and a return to stability - (his hand in Lobelia's hair trembles for a moment, trying not to focus on the hand on his thigh) - and he's gritting his teeth. He won't chase that stinging bite with a kiss. He simply sits there, chest heaving, and stares, with vivid eyes, as if trying to tell him there's nothing more to gain. In fact, he'll just say it, his voice a whisper.]
I won't give you what you want.
cw gore ment........... sighs
They're both human, aren't they? Yes, that's one of the things Lobelia loves so much about the prospect of this man's destruction: he'll crumble in a heap of pained, agonized sounds, and Lobelia will be there to record them all. No matter how strong he thinks himself to be, no one goes up against death and wins.
Still... exposing Vergilius' frail, human vulnerabilities leaves his own exposed in turn. A ruddy pink flush has settled on Lobelia's cheeks, and while the uptick of his heart is nothing unusual, this isn't the sort of excitement he's used to savoring. This mincing of flesh and bone, the tortured screams of a life cut short... those are the things that excite him, the things that make Lobelia happy, and yet he feels much the same now as he does when snuffing out a life with a snap of his fingers. Why?]
Vous semblez magnifique. Even your fervent desire to leave me unsatisfied stirs something in me regardless. Heh... Was that your intention all along?
[Doubtful. Lobelia won't let him ignore the hand at his thigh, fingertips spidering up further to seize into his hip, dig crescent nails into his flesh.]
I would so love to see you tomber en morceaux beneath my fingertips. If you don't destroy me first, the pleasure will be all mine.
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[(Vergilius vaguely recalls reading about some giant flower with a smell made explicitly to attract flies, and seeing the rush of blood to the other's cheeks, he almost has a brief moment where it feels like he catches a whiff of rotten meat.)]
[The nails into his hip are more easily parried with stoicism, though it does come with a mild jolt from the nails digging in. A sigh moves through his chest, exhausted, angry as anything.]
Destroy me? Dream on.
[A growled sort of answer - the hand in Lobelia's hair is withdrawing, like an anchor being pulled out of dark waters of a sea. His eyes are flickering. Something moves through his body - a shiver he hates to feel.]
It's like you won't even listen to me. I'll deny you at every turn.
[His hand snakes around to grasp around the other's neck - but for such a threatening gesture, its again gentle, not even squeezing.]
This is futile. Your path will lead you nowhere. Give up.
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Lobelia stares into those flickering eyes, his own unfathomably deep and dreadful to behold like a forest at night. It's not evident what he wants from Vergilius, not at a glance, but's clear Lobelia's arrived at some conclusion or another, made up his mind... but it's not as if he intends to leave Vergilius in the dark forever. When the time comes, he'll know what answer Lobelia has arrived at too.]
What a cruel man you are! And here I thought I'd found someone not too dissimilar to myself... someone au-delร de la rรฉdemption.
[His laughter buzzes against the hand at his throat, warmer for the contact, and his own lift to squeeze Vergilius' tight against his skin. With this, he's established a conduit between them, channeling his words not into the open air, but directly through the vibrations of his throat and into Vergilius' palms so he can feel the words Lobelia speaks echoing in his skull. All the while, Lobelia's lips remain poised in a smile.]
You're holding yourself back, Vergilius. If we're both bound for l'enfer, why hold yourself back? Sigh for me more! Let out your voix! Otherwise, you'll leave me with no choice but to tear it clean out of you... not that I would mind.
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