[The rage is blinding, tastes like rust on his tongue. The feeling is so immense. It fills him to the brim, to bursting, and somehow in the center of it is a moment of pure clarity. Through the physical attraction to Sylvain's body beneath him, through the hurt of betrayal, through the slippery descent of madness—he sees himself as he hasn't in a very long time. He sees the situation. That this is all an excuse just to touch Sylvain again, to play pretend in the way they once were together. That this is a gateway to oblivion, and at least for an hour he won't think about anything else. That Sylvain wants it too.
This last fact hangs like a hook, tempting disagreement with the proof before him. Sylvain is a liar. He's a snake taken straight to bed; Dimitri should know that better than anyone now. But, for all of that, he had never lied with his body. Everything he had taught Dimitri seemed to come from a place of sincere pleasure.
So what of now?
After, that dark promise slithers through his mind. After, I can kill him.
Dimitri withdraws himself from the bed at the soft, sultry murmur of his own name, a beast retreating, but the weight of that one blue eye never leaves.]
How could I forget? [His voice is low, scraping like steel. He sheds none of his clothing as he crosses the floor except for the burden of his cloak. It drops, fluttering, heavy fabric piling on the stone floor. Then he takes something from a drawer in the dresser, item hidden in a closed fist.] You were a careful, experienced teacher. Every lesson came with a demonstration.
[He moves deliberately out of Sylvain's scope of sight, around the side of the bed until he can climb on from the foot, one strong knee down between Sylvain's pale and delicate ankles.]
You wish to be treated how I see you? Are you certain of that? [Darker, tone woven into one that is both malice and desire at once, he slopes over Sylvain's back once more.] I see you as a whore to be passed around at court, good only for the use of your body. Meant to be bred only for your lineage.
[There's some irony in this. How badly he had wanted Sylvain to love him, in another life; how desperately he'd wished for their coupling to be done with tender romance and gentle affection. How very wrong it has turned here.
If he is seduced, so be it. I will kill him after. A pair of bare, oil-slicked fingers find the line of Sylvain's ass and slide into that tight furrow, seeking his hole with a brusqueness that lacks finesse and patience.]
a crusty awful tag
This last fact hangs like a hook, tempting disagreement with the proof before him. Sylvain is a liar. He's a snake taken straight to bed; Dimitri should know that better than anyone now. But, for all of that, he had never lied with his body. Everything he had taught Dimitri seemed to come from a place of sincere pleasure.
So what of now?
After, that dark promise slithers through his mind. After, I can kill him.
Dimitri withdraws himself from the bed at the soft, sultry murmur of his own name, a beast retreating, but the weight of that one blue eye never leaves.]
How could I forget? [His voice is low, scraping like steel. He sheds none of his clothing as he crosses the floor except for the burden of his cloak. It drops, fluttering, heavy fabric piling on the stone floor. Then he takes something from a drawer in the dresser, item hidden in a closed fist.] You were a careful, experienced teacher. Every lesson came with a demonstration.
[He moves deliberately out of Sylvain's scope of sight, around the side of the bed until he can climb on from the foot, one strong knee down between Sylvain's pale and delicate ankles.]
You wish to be treated how I see you? Are you certain of that? [Darker, tone woven into one that is both malice and desire at once, he slopes over Sylvain's back once more.] I see you as a whore to be passed around at court, good only for the use of your body. Meant to be bred only for your lineage.
[There's some irony in this. How badly he had wanted Sylvain to love him, in another life; how desperately he'd wished for their coupling to be done with tender romance and gentle affection. How very wrong it has turned here.
If he is seduced, so be it. I will kill him after. A pair of bare, oil-slicked fingers find the line of Sylvain's ass and slide into that tight furrow, seeking his hole with a brusqueness that lacks finesse and patience.]