[And he can prove it, palm cupping the curve of Hansa's jaw, pressing the pad of his thumb against a canine until blood wells to the tip. Hansa won't bite down. He isn't a man ruled by the urge to gnash and tear, is he?]
[That's more like it. There's a beast in Hansa that he dutifully wraps up in chains, but even the strongest metal will yield with enough force. Lobelia presses harder, deeper, until the blood's flowing down his thumb and soaking into his glove.
His heart's a hammer beating against his ribs. When Lobelia withdraws his hand, he doesn't stop to think before licking it clean.]
[Now he's rubbing at his mouth - there's a brief spark of something in his eye, not quite anger, but-]
[He's shaking his head, before reaching for that very hand. He doesn't have any cloth, or napkins, but he'll use his sleeve to press to the wound. Lobelia, Lobelia, Lobelia.]
A fool? Heh! Maybe so, but the greater fool is you.
[His hand's shaking from the adrenaline high. The pain has yet to register. Is Hansa's touch as warm as it feels, or is that his imagination running away with him.]
I saw it in your eye, Père. For a moment, you almost looked like you were enjoying yourself.
[He might pause, but it doesn't seem to be an admission pulled out of his chest with extreme effort, either. His eye is focused on the wound rather than Lobelia's face.]
When I was a child, they pulled me out of martial arts classes because they thought I would kill my opponents by going too far. [...] I have the capability of it. But even so, I know myself, now.
[Ah. There it is againβ that spark in Hansa's eye, bright enough to burn. Lobelia feels it like a hand closing slowly around his throat. It thrills him. It sickens him. It makes him want in the worst ways.]
Enjoying yourself, hm? How fortunate. I'd hate to think I was the only one getting something out of this.
[His fingers loosely curl around Hansa's.]
You speak of knowing yourself now, but I wonder... do you? Because for a moment, you looked ready to bite.
[His eye flickers up - and a not-so-nice smile burns across his face. His hand turns, grips the man back, even with blood smearing slightly against cool skin.]
My teeth are consecrated weaponry, too. I was made to bite. I always could, Lobelia.
[And what a smile it is. Lobelia must have the wrong definition of nice, because it's a look that suits Hansa well. There's that beast born of the mountains. There's the violence that runs bone-deep.
Lobelia laughsβ some low, wicked sound. A sound meant to curl around Hansa's spine and pull.]
Mon Dieu, Père, you do know how to charm a sinner.
[Lobelia tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his throat, pale in the dim light. An offering. A temptation. A dare.]
[There is a wolf in his head that asks that. A wolf he has lived with for many years. It's never been something he was sad over, or angry over, or regretful over. He tamed it, he thought. Honed his natural capabilities into what he is now. A machine. A tool of the Lord.]
[The throat is bared. Hansa leans in like a magnet and-
gives the area a light peck of the lips before drawing back.]
[He's darkly amused.]
I'm a priest, Lobelia. Not you or anyone would turn me into the bloodsuckers I hunt.
[For a heartbeat, Lobelia forgets how to breathe. He expected pain sharp enough to split him open. Not... that. Not the featherlight brush of lips that sends a jolt down his spine.
His fingers twitch against Hansa's before he can stop them. He's stunned, truly stunned, and he can feel heat rise to his cheeks. Mortifying. He offered temptation expecting brutality, not tenderness.]
Thatβ
[He clears his throat, words unsteady despite his effort to steady them.]
You call that a priest's restraint? You nearly stopped my heart. If that was mercy, I'm not sure I'd survive your cruelty.
You wouldn't survive my cruelty, no. Monsters in human skin would be smashed organs on the floor when I'm done with them.
[But Lobelia? Lobelia gets the privilege of being destroyed in different ways. He smiles, a hand moving to pat him lightly on the face. There, there.]
I may be a man made for violence. I have fun when fighting, too. But regardless, I still do it with a clear mind. So don't worry, Lobelia. You chose the right person to help you on your little journey.
[He shouldn't feel breathless. He offered temptation expecting teeth. Not softness, not tenderness, not this humiliating warmth creeping up his throat. And now Hansa has the audacity toβ to pat him? Like he's some trembling thing in need of soothing? This is unbearable. And people call Lobelia audacious?]
You speak as though I'm in danger of breaking. I assure you, Hansa, I am not made of porcelain.
[His fingers rise, almost touching the spot where Hansa's lips had been, before he pointedly drops his hand instead.]
And I am not blushing. It's the light. I mourn your lack of depth perception.
[A beat. He looks away, pulse jumping. This is agony. He wants to put this man through a wall so bad.]
Besides... if your cruelty is so fatal, then perhaps I should feel honored you've spared me. For now.
[And he says he's not blushing. How funny. Hansa's tail wags behind him, his grin like a shark smelling blood in the water. He doesn't need to bite the man to get him to where he wants him to be.]
Feel honored all you want. It won't be directed to you, anyways. I found other ways to get you flustered, it seems.
[He sees that wagging tail and his fox ears flatten. Lobelia can school his expression back into compliance, but these animal bits have a mind of their own.]
Try not to make a habit of it. I tend to remember these things.
[And he holds grudges. Oh, does he hold grudges.]
You continue to surprise and delight me, ma cher Père. I don't see myself growing bored of you any time soon.
Hm? You sound like you want me to try. You really do enjoy living life on the bleeding edge, don't you?
[At the sound of a challenge, his ears perk up. Predictable, but he's made his peace with Hansa's knack for sussing out the truth, so why hide it? His words are music to his ears.
Lobelia's hand hooks around Hansa's waist and sharply draws him in. No escaping. No stepping back until he's taken what he wants and proven his point. Surely Hansa doesn't mind.]
I'll give you this one opportunity to change your mind. That's as charitable as I'll be. Que ferez-vous?
[He's pulled in, arms around his midsection like a vice. Hansa can't help but look a little incredulous. His hand finds the man's fox ear, tugging at it like he means to admonish the man.]
And just what are you going to do? Kiss me? You think that will fluster me? At least sing me a romantic ballad or something. You're scraping the bottom of the barrel, here.
[All that incredulous look accomplishes is making Lobelia want to act out more. His hand curls into a fist gripping the back of Hansa's robe. There are any number of things he could try, but why not give Hansa a special treat...?]
Tsk, tsk. So ill to please... Fine then. I have a special hymne in mind just for you... the sort of tune that will shake you to your very soul. Why don't I teach you to the words? Have you sing along with me.
[If Hansa meant to mock him, if he meant to provoke, then he has only himself to blame. The incredulity, the smirk, the disbelief. All invitations to act up, act out, and Lobelia has never been one to decline an invitation so sweetly offered.
He leans in slowly, the movement unhurried, every small movement deliberate. His hand slides from the back of Hansa's robe to support him at the small of his back, drawing him subtly closer. The other lifts, fingers brushing along Hansa's jaw, cradling his face with more gentleness than the moment warrants.
His words are ghosts along Hansa's lips, soft as silk, sharp as any blade.]
You asked for a hymne. Listen well.
[The kiss begins soft and chaste, a warmth that coaxes rather than takes. For a brief beat, it is tender and mild.
And then the hymn begins.
The sound is silent to the ear but devastating beneath the skin. It blooms from Lobelia's mouth into Hansa's like a star collapsing inward, resonance threading through teeth and tongue before slamming into bone.
Metal vibrates differently from flesh. Lobelia uses that.
The frequency splits as it travels, one wave sinking into the consecrated metal that makes up most of Hansa's body, making it ring with a low, intoxicating ache. The other spears through vulnerable human flesh, bright and sharp, a crack of pleasure edged with pain.
He deepens the kiss as the sound crescendos, holding Hansa steady by the small of his back, guiding him through it all. Chaining him to the invitation he so sweetly extended him.
He simply lets the hymn do its work, lets their kiss consume him, and lets Hansa drown in the brilliant, ruinous sound he asked for. When their lips part, Lobelia eagerly awaits his replyβ provided he can still speak.]
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[The sins of his past are left to the past. Lobelia speaks of the future.]
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[An important word.]
Are you so sure that you would sin? Didn't you say now I could be the one to guide you?
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[If there is a chance.]
[He doesn't mean to. But standing so close with such sharp teeth saying such things might be a little more firm than he intends it.]
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[And he can prove it, palm cupping the curve of Hansa's jaw, pressing the pad of his thumb against a canine until blood wells to the tip. Hansa won't bite down. He isn't a man ruled by the urge to gnash and tear, is he?]
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[Oh, that's a move, alright. He stiffens, the scent of blood making his eye dilate. That's...that's...]
[Lobelia says he doesn't have the nerve.]
[He knows he does.]
[He doesn't pull away, but the way his eyebrows furrow seem to say - Don't test me.]
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His heart's a hammer beating against his ribs. When Lobelia withdraws his hand, he doesn't stop to think before licking it clean.]
Ah, pardonnez-moi. You were saying something?
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[Now he's rubbing at his mouth - there's a brief spark of something in his eye, not quite anger, but-]
[He's shaking his head, before reaching for that very hand. He doesn't have any cloth, or napkins, but he'll use his sleeve to press to the wound. Lobelia, Lobelia, Lobelia.]
Why are you such a fool?
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[His hand's shaking from the adrenaline high. The pain has yet to register. Is Hansa's touch as warm as it feels, or is that his imagination running away with him.]
I saw it in your eye, Père. For a moment, you almost looked like you were enjoying yourself.
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[He might pause, but it doesn't seem to be an admission pulled out of his chest with extreme effort, either. His eye is focused on the wound rather than Lobelia's face.]
When I was a child, they pulled me out of martial arts classes because they thought I would kill my opponents by going too far. [...] I have the capability of it. But even so, I know myself, now.
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Enjoying yourself, hm? How fortunate. I'd hate to think I was the only one getting something out of this.
[His fingers loosely curl around Hansa's.]
You speak of knowing yourself now, but I wonder... do you? Because for a moment, you looked ready to bite.
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[His eye flickers up - and a not-so-nice smile burns across his face. His hand turns, grips the man back, even with blood smearing slightly against cool skin.]
My teeth are consecrated weaponry, too. I was made to bite. I always could, Lobelia.
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Lobelia laughsβ some low, wicked sound. A sound meant to curl around Hansa's spine and pull.]
Mon Dieu, Père, you do know how to charm a sinner.
[Lobelia tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his throat, pale in the dim light. An offering. A temptation. A dare.]
If that's true... what's stopping you?
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[There is a wolf in his head that asks that. A wolf he has lived with for many years. It's never been something he was sad over, or angry over, or regretful over. He tamed it, he thought. Honed his natural capabilities into what he is now. A machine. A tool of the Lord.]
[The throat is bared. Hansa leans in like a magnet and-
gives the area a light peck of the lips before drawing back.]
[He's darkly amused.]
I'm a priest, Lobelia. Not you or anyone would turn me into the bloodsuckers I hunt.
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His fingers twitch against Hansa's before he can stop them. He's stunned, truly stunned, and he can feel heat rise to his cheeks. Mortifying. He offered temptation expecting brutality, not tenderness.]
Thatβ
[He clears his throat, words unsteady despite his effort to steady them.]
You call that a priest's restraint? You nearly stopped my heart. If that was mercy, I'm not sure I'd survive your cruelty.
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[But Lobelia? Lobelia gets the privilege of being destroyed in different ways. He smiles, a hand moving to pat him lightly on the face. There, there.]
I may be a man made for violence. I have fun when fighting, too. But regardless, I still do it with a clear mind. So don't worry, Lobelia. You chose the right person to help you on your little journey.
[His eye crinkles.]
You should blush more. It suits you.
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You speak as though I'm in danger of breaking. I assure you, Hansa, I am not made of porcelain.
[His fingers rise, almost touching the spot where Hansa's lips had been, before he pointedly drops his hand instead.]
And I am not blushing. It's the light. I mourn your lack of depth perception.
[A beat. He looks away, pulse jumping. This is agony. He wants to put this man through a wall so bad.]
Besides... if your cruelty is so fatal, then perhaps I should feel honored you've spared me. For now.
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[And he says he's not blushing. How funny. Hansa's tail wags behind him, his grin like a shark smelling blood in the water. He doesn't need to bite the man to get him to where he wants him to be.]
Feel honored all you want. It won't be directed to you, anyways. I found other ways to get you flustered, it seems.
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Try not to make a habit of it. I tend to remember these things.
[And he holds grudges. Oh, does he hold grudges.]
You continue to surprise and delight me, ma cher Père. I don't see myself growing bored of you any time soon.
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[Fluster him, loser. Hansa throws it down, confident that he's immune to any and all attempts. Obviously.]
Haha. Good. I'm glad. I do like you. [He is sincere on this.] You keep me on my toes.
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[At the sound of a challenge, his ears perk up. Predictable, but he's made his peace with Hansa's knack for sussing out the truth, so why hide it? His words are music to his ears.
Lobelia's hand hooks around Hansa's waist and sharply draws him in. No escaping. No stepping back until he's taken what he wants and proven his point. Surely Hansa doesn't mind.]
I'll give you this one opportunity to change your mind. That's as charitable as I'll be. Que ferez-vous?
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[He's pulled in, arms around his midsection like a vice. Hansa can't help but look a little incredulous. His hand finds the man's fox ear, tugging at it like he means to admonish the man.]
And just what are you going to do? Kiss me? You think that will fluster me? At least sing me a romantic ballad or something. You're scraping the bottom of the barrel, here.
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Tsk, tsk. So ill to please... Fine then. I have a special hymne in mind just for you... the sort of tune that will shake you to your very soul. Why don't I teach you to the words? Have you sing along with me.
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I don't have a really good singing voice. You sure? I'll damage your eardrums.
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He leans in slowly, the movement unhurried, every small movement deliberate. His hand slides from the back of Hansa's robe to support him at the small of his back, drawing him subtly closer. The other lifts, fingers brushing along Hansa's jaw, cradling his face with more gentleness than the moment warrants.
His words are ghosts along Hansa's lips, soft as silk, sharp as any blade.]
You asked for a hymne. Listen well.
[The kiss begins soft and chaste, a warmth that coaxes rather than takes. For a brief beat, it is tender and mild.
And then the hymn begins.
The sound is silent to the ear but devastating beneath the skin. It blooms from Lobelia's mouth into Hansa's like a star collapsing inward, resonance threading through teeth and tongue before slamming into bone.
Metal vibrates differently from flesh. Lobelia uses that.
The frequency splits as it travels, one wave sinking into the consecrated metal that makes up most of Hansa's body, making it ring with a low, intoxicating ache. The other spears through vulnerable human flesh, bright and sharp, a crack of pleasure edged with pain.
He deepens the kiss as the sound crescendos, holding Hansa steady by the small of his back, guiding him through it all. Chaining him to the invitation he so sweetly extended him.
He simply lets the hymn do its work, lets their kiss consume him, and lets Hansa drown in the brilliant, ruinous sound he asked for. When their lips part, Lobelia eagerly awaits his replyβ provided he can still speak.]
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me closing my damn EYES
this is normal good and wholesome it's fine
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french is such a fucked up language and i hate it
]sahkjsdhk YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF
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