[ sylvain isn't one of the dead that have come to haunt him. it's with that certainty that allows him to say - ]
I don't want your mercy. Either do it or don't.
[ but that promise of death would be more worrying if he didn't follow it with that question - how many others have you bedded since? and sylvain can only laugh. he spreads his legs the way he wants him to. he is unfortunately beautiful. that arch would be a sin held in dimitri's hand if he so wished, the only man he'd ever allow to pull him this taut into desire despite how it would damn him. that's another secret that dimitri had become privy to, perhaps all too late - if he anchored himself onto the gautier heir, he would drown. perhaps he ought to have listened to past governesses and tutors who have warned him in his youth, and not with a hint of distaste in their mouths, that the gautier children were wolves.
dimitri is stubborn, however. stubborn and prone to his moods, wanting, hungry, a monstrous thing that wants to eat. what can he say to such a desire? why should he stop it?
he really should cut his hair. dimitri's holding onto it so firmly, the way his locks curl blood red around his fingers in a way it hasn't for a long time. a familiar colour that's now second nature to him given how easily he can crush a man's skull.
if he wanted to.
if. ]
... I want to be treated like how you see me, your Highness. [ his arms reach out underneath his makeshift pillow, grasping the linens. not allowing himself the luxury of touching himself and putting on a show, his body entirely on display for another man. this isn't the first time he's wanted him. this isn't the first time he's had to entertain him. what's a body? just something to be used. he wishes he could've taught that lesson to dimitri much better than anything else, but he was stupid enough to fall in love instead. and stupid enough to be hopeful about it on top of everything else, like he never learned his lesson.
well. maybe if he surrenders he'll forget how it was and they can both go back to a state of mutual dislike. then it'll hurt less. it's not like he wants him to make amends; the time for such things is long past. dimitri may not kill him, but he will do him worse: toy with him until he was no longer useful. not ideal.
he'll make it ... easy. ]
Do you want me? Then you should take me for yourself.
You remember how, don't you? [ he looks at him sideways, lip caught in his teeth for a brief moment before he purrs his name - ] Dimitri.
[ he doesn't often call him by name. in bed, sure. but he had to learn it. had to learn how to let go of power, to view his prince as the boy he liked as opposed to one whom he is rendering service to. it's cruel to do it like this. it feels good in his mouth: a solid, powerful name. he relishes each syllable, adds the right amount of tone on the exhale. one can easily get lost in such a voice. ]
no subject
I don't want your mercy. Either do it or don't.
[ but that promise of death would be more worrying if he didn't follow it with that question - how many others have you bedded since? and sylvain can only laugh. he spreads his legs the way he wants him to. he is unfortunately beautiful. that arch would be a sin held in dimitri's hand if he so wished, the only man he'd ever allow to pull him this taut into desire despite how it would damn him. that's another secret that dimitri had become privy to, perhaps all too late - if he anchored himself onto the gautier heir, he would drown. perhaps he ought to have listened to past governesses and tutors who have warned him in his youth, and not with a hint of distaste in their mouths, that the gautier children were wolves.
dimitri is stubborn, however. stubborn and prone to his moods, wanting, hungry, a monstrous thing that wants to eat. what can he say to such a desire? why should he stop it?
he really should cut his hair. dimitri's holding onto it so firmly, the way his locks curl blood red around his fingers in a way it hasn't for a long time. a familiar colour that's now second nature to him given how easily he can crush a man's skull.
if he wanted to.
if. ]
... I want to be treated like how you see me, your Highness. [ his arms reach out underneath his makeshift pillow, grasping the linens. not allowing himself the luxury of touching himself and putting on a show, his body entirely on display for another man. this isn't the first time he's wanted him. this isn't the first time he's had to entertain him. what's a body? just something to be used. he wishes he could've taught that lesson to dimitri much better than anything else, but he was stupid enough to fall in love instead. and stupid enough to be hopeful about it on top of everything else, like he never learned his lesson.
well. maybe if he surrenders he'll forget how it was and they can both go back to a state of mutual dislike. then it'll hurt less. it's not like he wants him to make amends; the time for such things is long past. dimitri may not kill him, but he will do him worse: toy with him until he was no longer useful. not ideal.
he'll make it ... easy. ]
Do you want me? Then you should take me for yourself.
You remember how, don't you? [ he looks at him sideways, lip caught in his teeth for a brief moment before he purrs his name - ] Dimitri.
[ he doesn't often call him by name. in bed, sure. but he had to learn it. had to learn how to let go of power, to view his prince as the boy he liked as opposed to one whom he is rendering service to. it's cruel to do it like this. it feels good in his mouth: a solid, powerful name. he relishes each syllable, adds the right amount of tone on the exhale. one can easily get lost in such a voice. ]