Heh-haha! So straightforward. There really isn't a romantique bone in your body...
[Truly, none of Vergilius' bones want him. Lobelia is at least somewhat compliant, shrugging his coat from his shoulders and carefully folding it over a chair behind him. Smooth. Casual. Vergilius will never in a million years know his hammerspace pockets are loaded with conches.]
[Yep, he's as bare as a frozen tundra when it comes to true romantic emotion. Aren't you so lucky, Lobelia? Your first time, being done with such little feeling?]
I'd rather not have to ruin more clothing.
[So that's likely a no.]
[He is beelining towards that coat, though, HE'S SEEN YOU PULL CONCHES FROM IT, PUNK. TAKING IT TO THE BATHROOM, BINCH.]
[It sure is fortuitous that Lobelia's never cared about sex until now! Even so, sexual gratification is one of the last things on his mind. He's far more interested in thinking about what sort of sounds he can coax out of Vergilius than what it might feel like to get railed, but everyone has their thing. Vergilius understands, surely.]
Hé, hé, hé! Don't get my coat wet, alright? It took me far too long to dry it last time!
[But there's no sense in trying to stop Vergilius now, so Lobelia just focuses on undressing... slowly. By the time Vergilius has added another 50+ conches to the tub, Lobelia will have worked his way down to his pants. Someone's clearly taking their time.]
[INTO THE WATER IT GOES TO DIE A LONELY DROWNING DEATH. Jesus. There are so many conches. What the hell.]
[He's coming back, though, after all of that, and the man is still going. Vergilius glances up and down, before quirking an eyebrow. Yes, of course, everyone has their Thing, but even this is...]
Don't tell me you're shy.
[After all that horny talk....the true Lobelia...]
You're truly a cruel man, Vergilius, but at least Lobelia has his fuckboy summer outfit to run around in while he dries his poor coat later. When he's accused of being shy, of all things, Lobelia belts out a laugh.]
Is that your assessment of me? Don't be silly! I have no reason to be shy.
[This is the body of a man who spends plenty of time looking at himself in the mirror, Verg. You only wish he had the decency to be shy.]
And what about vous? I see you're still fully dressed. Go on! Put on a proper show for me!
[Lobelia slips out of his slacks and sets them aside, but if Vergilius wants him to take his underwear off, he'll have to take them off his damn self. Perching on the edge of the mattress, Lobelia watches Vergilius expectantly.]
[Life would be so much better if Lobelia was shy. Except maybe he would be shy in a new messed up way.]
[When Lobelia turns the tables on him, Vergilius closes his eyes, exasperated. It's not like he can hold back on this forever. He's here, the conches are out, and it's showtime.]
[...........So he starts pulling off his clothes with as much aplomb as if he's about to head to the shower after a long day. No fanfare. No sneak peeks or quick glances. Shirt off. Shorts off. All dumped unceremoniously on the floor.]
[His body is as scarred as his hands - the lines criss-cross over dull skin, some even layered. A tapestry of the brunt of injury he's borne over the years.]
[So anticlimactic, but what might be worse is the way Lobelia is studying Vergilius' body with a certain scientific curiosity. This man has clearly forged a path to hell and back with all the scars to show for it, but what piques Lobelia's interest more is whatever might be going on just beneath the surface.
By comparison, there's very little by way of injuries to be seen on Lobelia's skin. On the sole of one foot is a scar from a conch he'd stepped on as a boy — the catalyst for a life of destruction and ruin — but little else. The sheer contrast between their bodies has Lobelia snickering all over again.]
Heheh! Where is your bedside manner? [lobelia this isn't a hospital] Fortunately for you, it isn't your body I have much intérêt in. Even so, stripping you of your flesh would be exquis!
[But Vergilius didn't sign up to be flayed alive, so that will have to wait. Alas! Lobelia's feeling helpful, so he snaps his fingers and blows Vergilius' underwear into fine shreds of confetti. Ta-da.]
How long do you intent to keep me waiting? It's not as if you've put forth any effort to set the scène. If you like, I can light some candles and play you a most glorious hymne...
[...Which would require making a quick trip to the bathroom to grab a conch or five. How about it? Turned on yet??]
[Not if he can help it. If this is a displeasing, boring affair, then all the better for it. Let Lobelia reap nothing from the soil of this encounter. He wanted so much, and he gets the bare minimum.]
[All it takes is to make sure he stays stoic through the whole thing. All this is, is merely physical. Nothing more.]
[He moves to press his hand against Lobelia's shoulder to push him down against the mattress, moving to hover over him with hands pressed against the sheets on either side of his head.]
You really haven't done anything like this, have you?
[The muscle under Vergilius' palm is stiff though not out of anything like reluctance or hesitation. It speaks to Lobelia's lack of experience that he relaxes only when he's been pushed onto the bed and understands why, straightening out his legs so Vergilius has easier access to his body. Mount him, Grandpa. He's ready for you.
Perhaps some men would be ashamed to admit to a lack of experience, but not Lobelia. Who can satisfy his needs better than himself? Sex won't make him happy, but making Vergilius suffer through it with him will.
Lobelia shakes his head without hesitation.]
Non. Do you suppose I should have? There's little in it for me, and that's why I haven't.
Sort of surprising. It's pain and pleasure, after all.
[Also still a little surprising given how he acts. Depravity soaking through his entire wretched being, yet pure in the body. Somehow. Then again, he thinks, anyone sane probably would run miles away before jumping into bed with this man.]
[He lets out a little huff, moving a hand to slide a finger underneath the edge of the other's underwear to start pulling it down.]
[you BINCH. His eyebrows furrowed, he pulls it down and off, tossing it away. Bye.]
[He's bracing himself again over the other man, not even looking down - just meeting the man eye to glowing red eye. An exhale - he pauses, a part of him thinking this was somehow much more enjoyable of a prospect in the midst of viscera and blood, even if only by a margin - before he leans his head down, hovering lips over lips.]
[There's a low rumble of a laugh lodged in his throat, but Lobelia is actively trying not to ruin whatever semblance of a mood they can build up between them. It feels strange being entirely bare beneath another person, but as of right now, that's all it feels. Perhaps he's also incapable of enjoying pleasure like the common man? The thought makes Lobelia chuckle again.]
Come now, experience begets wisdom. Don't tell me you've paid such little mind to your own préférences.
[Not that Lobelia is any better, meeting Vergilius halfway to fit their lips together. On the way out of that kiss, he drags his teeth along Vergilius' bottom lip.]
[.............That's a bit of a lie. Just a bit. But he won't give information for Lobelia to smear right back on him as much as he wants. The less he knows, the better. Let this be as mysterious and as empty as any tryst, he thinks.]
[(That's already a failure, though, given that his emotions regarding the man are far past neutral.)]
[The man leans up to kiss him - its not quite like any of the kisses he had before, even if the elements are there. A copy of the way those teeth pull over his lip, even.]
[It's not hard enough.]
[He returns the kiss, now - and although he could make it bland, flavorless, chaste like before, he decides to be a little lenient - a mirrored move, to worry at the other's lip as he sighs into the other's mouth.]
[It's getting there, the throb of his bottom lip almost pleasant when Vergilius draws back, a thin sigh exhaled through his nose, but it's not quite enough to satisfy. Shouldn't it please him that Vergilius is putting some effort into the act? Make him happy, even? But it doesn't, the answer dawning on Lobelia quickly enough.
It's not hard enough.
What if that throbbing lingered just a little bit longer? What if it ached? Would that satisfy him?
Lobelia lifts his arms to loosely circle Vergilius' shoulders, nails drawing along that canvas of scars. A curious touch here, a scratch there, all in an effort to see if tugging at old wounds stirs anything in the other man.]
That's a shame, but it's no surprise. That means you've never been with someone who truly satisfait you.
[Now that makes him let out a breathless little huff of a laugh, side of his mouth quirking upward. The nails tickle - he almost instinctively flexes his shoulders a little as they move down his back. They don't hurt, not anymore. Its as part of him as all of he's experienced, at this point.]
And are you going to say that you'll be the one who will? What a silly daydream.
[He tilts his head to plant another kiss against the other's lips, before moving to grant him another on the corner. Nothing special. Nothing more. The little shiver of interest with the bite from before has abated.]
[That garners a laugh, this one a bit less measured, a lot more earnest in its harshness.]
Pas du tout! Pursuing happiness is your responsibility.
[I couldn't care less whether you're satisfied or not. I'd much rather you not be.
It's so absurd an assumption that Lobelia seeks to punish him for it, turning his head to catch that second kiss and bite Vergilius' lip harshly enough to leave a mark. Shame on you, old man.]
But it will all be mine in the end. Just remember that.
[The laugh rings in his ears - obviously laughing at him instead of laughing with him. His eyes narrow, glimmering like gems in a flowing stream. How amusing. To think that Lobelia thinks like that.]
[The bite makes his breath hitch, almost becoming a noise but escaping only as a hiss.]
How laughable. Your arrogance will be the end of you.
[A flick of his tongue against the mark. A little taste of iron. He tilts his head to place a kiss over the other's jawline, with a tiny signature of a bloodstain.]
[Will he meet the same fate as Merlin, undone by his own ego? Lobelia thinks not, but should it come time to pay the piper, he'll only accept death as his fate when he's found his reason to live. Anything less would simply be unacceptable.]
Do you think so? Non, I can't agree with you. Every time I begin to feel as if I've lost my way, something new comes along to prove that I'm on the right path.
[His eyes are locked on Vergilius' as he says that, unable to restrain a shiver when that kiss stains him in a speck of his blood. That's more like it. They really should've stayed behind in that bloodstained world and made a mess of each other there, but in lieu of that, Lobelia's nails seize into Vergilius' back and draw angry red welts right down to his hips.
The smell of blood, of life pouring out of an open wound, has always been enlivening. All the better when it's the blood of a man like Vergilius.]
Heheh... I've come to realize something, Vergilius. We're meant to be! Âmes soeurs. You can argue otherwise, but I know the truth.
[One may call it "flow". The hells and high waters a person goes through...the lines from dots....]
[Ah, but once again, Lobelia focuses too much on the moments. The flow isn't about that. To lean back on brief blips of happiness and search for the next hit is a miserable effort. Even this is a momentary thing. Even these nails digging in are ephmeral to him.]
[He bites on his lower lip to muffle the noise, before it comes out as a frustrated, shuddering little sigh. More scars to add. Thanks. He is also ignoring the scent of blood, something rushing into his head like a fog. Again, that world of destruction, and the scent of death...]
Mm.
[He opens his mouth against the other's neck, breath hot against a beating carotid.]>
What do you even mean by that? [He tooths along the edge of the artery.] We aren't mean to be. What nonsense.
[Ah, that sigh of frustration... What a nice sound. If only Vergilius had been the least bit reasonable and allowed him to keep a conch or two on his person, then they could both savor the sounds of his gradual collapse long after this moment has run its course. Living life in the moment doesn't suit Lobelia as well as recollecting on the past, but even documented memories fade and fray at the edges over time.
Perhaps it's appropriate that this moment is doomed to fade more quickly than any other, but that's alright. Beauty is ephemeral, so they say, but there are other ways Lobelia can leave his lasting mark on this man. He can and he will.]
But of course we are! It's plain to see, Vergilius. Just look how much we have in common.
[Vergilius will feel it beneath his lips, the blooming warmth of Lobelia's skin when his canines threaten that beating artery. His pulse stops, his breath held, for all of a moment, and then it's hammering so mightily that Lobelia can hear the blood rushing in his ears. Delightful. If Vergilius wanted, he could simply bite down hard enough to do some serious damage... or perhaps even kill him.
The thought coats Lobelia in goosebumps, and shifting, he presses into those threatening teeth. As it so often does, Lobelia's body knows what it wants just before he does.]
Bite me, chien.
[They're both animals, aren't they? Monsters. There's no need to complicate this when they both know what will urge them forward.]
[The guttural words, tinged with anger, spill out of his mouth like drips of tar. The idea is hateful. Lobelia, a cheerful hedonist. Him, a self-punishing husk of a man unwilling to give himself one instance of happiness. Not even similar.]
[The very laughable, horrifying idea that they could be anywhere close to "soul mates" makes his eyes flare. He can feel the changes in pulse under the other's skin - and its not even the heartbeat that grabs his attention, but the flow of blood. That power of his, coated in blood - is it not a sign of his being? The blood he's spilled, the blood yet to be spilt? It makes his own heartbeat race, muscles of his neck tensing as he tries his best to focus, pull away from the obvious carrot and stick.]
If you'll call me a dog, I won't give you what you want.
[He turns to qualm the rush by pressing his teeth over the edge of the other's ear. Little nibbles. Holding back, once more.]
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[And now, finally, they can begin. He faces Lobelia, heaving an exhausted little sigh. This man is........more tiring than anything.]
Take off your clothes.
[wow so hot so sexy not at all said deadpan. except it is]
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[Truly, none of Vergilius' bones want him. Lobelia is at least somewhat compliant, shrugging his coat from his shoulders and carefully folding it over a chair behind him. Smooth. Casual. Vergilius will never in a million years know his hammerspace pockets are loaded with conches.]
Do you intend to remain fully dressed?
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I'd rather not have to ruin more clothing.
[So that's likely a no.]
[He is beelining towards that coat, though, HE'S SEEN YOU PULL CONCHES FROM IT, PUNK. TAKING IT TO THE BATHROOM, BINCH.]
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Hé, hé, hé! Don't get my coat wet, alright? It took me far too long to dry it last time!
[But there's no sense in trying to stop Vergilius now, so Lobelia just focuses on undressing... slowly. By the time Vergilius has added another 50+ conches to the tub, Lobelia will have worked his way down to his pants. Someone's clearly taking their time.]
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I don't really care.
[INTO THE WATER IT GOES TO DIE A LONELY DROWNING DEATH. Jesus. There are so many conches. What the hell.]
[He's coming back, though, after all of that, and the man is still going. Vergilius glances up and down, before quirking an eyebrow. Yes, of course, everyone has their Thing, but even this is...]
Don't tell me you're shy.
[After all that horny talk....the true Lobelia...]
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You're truly a cruel man, Vergilius, but at least Lobelia has his fuckboy summer outfit to run around in while he dries his poor coat later. When he's accused of being shy, of all things, Lobelia belts out a laugh.]
Is that your assessment of me? Don't be silly! I have no reason to be shy.
[This is the body of a man who spends plenty of time looking at himself in the mirror, Verg. You only wish he had the decency to be shy.]
And what about vous? I see you're still fully dressed. Go on! Put on a proper show for me!
[Lobelia slips out of his slacks and sets them aside, but if Vergilius wants him to take his underwear off, he'll have to take them off his damn self. Perching on the edge of the mattress, Lobelia watches Vergilius expectantly.]
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[Life would be so much better if Lobelia was shy. Except maybe he would be shy in a new messed up way.]
[When Lobelia turns the tables on him, Vergilius closes his eyes, exasperated. It's not like he can hold back on this forever. He's here, the conches are out, and it's showtime.]
[...........So he starts pulling off his clothes with as much aplomb as if he's about to head to the shower after a long day. No fanfare. No sneak peeks or quick glances. Shirt off. Shorts off. All dumped unceremoniously on the floor.]
[His body is as scarred as his hands - the lines criss-cross over dull skin, some even layered. A tapestry of the brunt of injury he's borne over the years.]
...That's that.
[He won't even make a move after that.]
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By comparison, there's very little by way of injuries to be seen on Lobelia's skin. On the sole of one foot is a scar from a conch he'd stepped on as a boy — the catalyst for a life of destruction and ruin — but little else. The sheer contrast between their bodies has Lobelia snickering all over again.]
Heheh! Where is your bedside manner? [lobelia this isn't a hospital] Fortunately for you, it isn't your body I have much intérêt in. Even so, stripping you of your flesh would be exquis!
[But Vergilius didn't sign up to be flayed alive, so that will have to wait. Alas! Lobelia's feeling helpful, so he snaps his fingers and blows Vergilius' underwear into fine shreds of confetti. Ta-da.]
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[...]
........
[Wow. Sudden cool breeze.]
[Vergilius blinks, glancing down at the remnants of fabric on the floor around him. And then.....lets out the most suffering sigh.]
Really. [WHY.] You could have just waited.
[But he will finally take a step forward, even if this is the most awkward start to a sexual encounter he's ever had in his life.]
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[Bonjour, Vergilius Jr...]
How long do you intent to keep me waiting? It's not as if you've put forth any effort to set the scène. If you like, I can light some candles and play you a most glorious hymne...
[...Which would require making a quick trip to the bathroom to grab a conch or five. How about it? Turned on yet??]
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[Not if he can help it. If this is a displeasing, boring affair, then all the better for it. Let Lobelia reap nothing from the soil of this encounter. He wanted so much, and he gets the bare minimum.]
[All it takes is to make sure he stays stoic through the whole thing. All this is, is merely physical. Nothing more.]
[He moves to press his hand against Lobelia's shoulder to push him down against the mattress, moving to hover over him with hands pressed against the sheets on either side of his head.]
You really haven't done anything like this, have you?
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Perhaps some men would be ashamed to admit to a lack of experience, but not Lobelia. Who can satisfy his needs better than himself? Sex won't make him happy, but making Vergilius suffer through it with him will.
Lobelia shakes his head without hesitation.]
Non. Do you suppose I should have? There's little in it for me, and that's why I haven't.
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[Also still a little surprising given how he acts. Depravity soaking through his entire wretched being, yet pure in the body. Somehow. Then again, he thinks, anyone sane probably would run miles away before jumping into bed with this man.]
[He lets out a little huff, moving a hand to slide a finger underneath the edge of the other's underwear to start pulling it down.]
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[But neither of them are anything close to normal, are they? Lobelia arches his hips to aid in the removal of his underwear.]
Do you like it when pleasure and pain are one in the same?
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[you BINCH. His eyebrows furrowed, he pulls it down and off, tossing it away. Bye.]
[He's bracing himself again over the other man, not even looking down - just meeting the man eye to glowing red eye. An exhale - he pauses, a part of him thinking this was somehow much more enjoyable of a prospect in the midst of viscera and blood, even if only by a margin - before he leans his head down, hovering lips over lips.]
I don't really know. I don't think about it.
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Come now, experience begets wisdom. Don't tell me you've paid such little mind to your own préférences.
[Not that Lobelia is any better, meeting Vergilius halfway to fit their lips together. On the way out of that kiss, he drags his teeth along Vergilius' bottom lip.]
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[.............That's a bit of a lie. Just a bit. But he won't give information for Lobelia to smear right back on him as much as he wants. The less he knows, the better. Let this be as mysterious and as empty as any tryst, he thinks.]
[(That's already a failure, though, given that his emotions regarding the man are far past neutral.)]
[The man leans up to kiss him - its not quite like any of the kisses he had before, even if the elements are there. A copy of the way those teeth pull over his lip, even.]
[It's not hard enough.]
[He returns the kiss, now - and although he could make it bland, flavorless, chaste like before, he decides to be a little lenient - a mirrored move, to worry at the other's lip as he sighs into the other's mouth.]
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It's not hard enough.
What if that throbbing lingered just a little bit longer? What if it ached? Would that satisfy him?
Lobelia lifts his arms to loosely circle Vergilius' shoulders, nails drawing along that canvas of scars. A curious touch here, a scratch there, all in an effort to see if tugging at old wounds stirs anything in the other man.]
That's a shame, but it's no surprise. That means you've never been with someone who truly satisfait you.
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And are you going to say that you'll be the one who will? What a silly daydream.
[He tilts his head to plant another kiss against the other's lips, before moving to grant him another on the corner. Nothing special. Nothing more. The little shiver of interest with the bite from before has abated.]
[At least, for now.]
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Pas du tout! Pursuing happiness is your responsibility.
[I couldn't care less whether you're satisfied or not. I'd much rather you not be.
It's so absurd an assumption that Lobelia seeks to punish him for it, turning his head to catch that second kiss and bite Vergilius' lip harshly enough to leave a mark. Shame on you, old man.]
But it will all be mine in the end. Just remember that.
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[The bite makes his breath hitch, almost becoming a noise but escaping only as a hiss.]
How laughable. Your arrogance will be the end of you.
[A flick of his tongue against the mark. A little taste of iron. He tilts his head to place a kiss over the other's jawline, with a tiny signature of a bloodstain.]
Your pursuit has been doomed from the beginning.
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Do you think so? Non, I can't agree with you. Every time I begin to feel as if I've lost my way, something new comes along to prove that I'm on the right path.
[His eyes are locked on Vergilius' as he says that, unable to restrain a shiver when that kiss stains him in a speck of his blood. That's more like it. They really should've stayed behind in that bloodstained world and made a mess of each other there, but in lieu of that, Lobelia's nails seize into Vergilius' back and draw angry red welts right down to his hips.
The smell of blood, of life pouring out of an open wound, has always been enlivening. All the better when it's the blood of a man like Vergilius.]
Heheh... I've come to realize something, Vergilius. We're meant to be! Âmes soeurs. You can argue otherwise, but I know the truth.
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[One may call it "flow". The hells and high waters a person goes through...the lines from dots....]
[Ah, but once again, Lobelia focuses too much on the moments. The flow isn't about that. To lean back on brief blips of happiness and search for the next hit is a miserable effort. Even this is a momentary thing. Even these nails digging in are ephmeral to him.]
[He bites on his lower lip to muffle the noise, before it comes out as a frustrated, shuddering little sigh. More scars to add. Thanks. He is also ignoring the scent of blood, something rushing into his head like a fog. Again, that world of destruction, and the scent of death...]
Mm.
[He opens his mouth against the other's neck, breath hot against a beating carotid.]>
What do you even mean by that? [He tooths along the edge of the artery.] We aren't mean to be. What nonsense.
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Perhaps it's appropriate that this moment is doomed to fade more quickly than any other, but that's alright. Beauty is ephemeral, so they say, but there are other ways Lobelia can leave his lasting mark on this man. He can and he will.]
But of course we are! It's plain to see, Vergilius. Just look how much we have in common.
[Vergilius will feel it beneath his lips, the blooming warmth of Lobelia's skin when his canines threaten that beating artery. His pulse stops, his breath held, for all of a moment, and then it's hammering so mightily that Lobelia can hear the blood rushing in his ears. Delightful. If Vergilius wanted, he could simply bite down hard enough to do some serious damage... or perhaps even kill him.
The thought coats Lobelia in goosebumps, and shifting, he presses into those threatening teeth. As it so often does, Lobelia's body knows what it wants just before he does.]
Bite me, chien.
[They're both animals, aren't they? Monsters. There's no need to complicate this when they both know what will urge them forward.]
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[The guttural words, tinged with anger, spill out of his mouth like drips of tar. The idea is hateful. Lobelia, a cheerful hedonist. Him, a self-punishing husk of a man unwilling to give himself one instance of happiness. Not even similar.]
[The very laughable, horrifying idea that they could be anywhere close to "soul mates" makes his eyes flare. He can feel the changes in pulse under the other's skin - and its not even the heartbeat that grabs his attention, but the flow of blood. That power of his, coated in blood - is it not a sign of his being? The blood he's spilled, the blood yet to be spilt? It makes his own heartbeat race, muscles of his neck tensing as he tries his best to focus, pull away from the obvious carrot and stick.]
If you'll call me a dog, I won't give you what you want.
[He turns to qualm the rush by pressing his teeth over the edge of the other's ear. Little nibbles. Holding back, once more.]
Didn't your mother tell you to ask nicely, hm?
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