Post by thia on Oct 1, 2011 22:41:10 GMT -1
Oh, now this hunt had yielded something lovely indeed. Reverently, he gazed at the ruby brilliance on his fingertips, carmine syrup that flowed neatly into the creases of his palms and staining them into varying shades of crimson. He was like a child that had stuck its hands eagerly into still-wet paint, constantly wanting to renew the sensation of the viscous liquid sliding idly between his hands. Like drops of cherry juice or pomegranate, mouth-watering, irresistible—thirsty and craving, a bubblegum-pink tongue darted out delicately to sample this delicacy that tasted of pennies and salt.
He wanted to bottle it, to put it in a crystal-encrusted goblet and sip it like wine. He wanted to lay in a marble bathtub surrounded with rose petals and glorious red water, a modern-day Cleopatra in a milk bath. His very body shivered with unspeakable pleasure when a drop of the precious liquid escape, his entire being flared with anger when it was wastefully spilt upon the ground. Arkham never did understand this concept—he was all too eager to spill that which was more vital than gold.
As Vergil gingerly lapped it from his fingertips, he sighed with pleasure the life-giving effects of it shot through his entire body. As his entire body was set aflame with the elixir, he nearly moaned with ecstasy, the potent high better than an orgasm. The reaction of the inarguably male part of him seconded the sentiment.
His unexpected banquet over, the young man wiped his sword carefully on the fabric of Dante’s jacket, his twin brother too far gone to notice Vergil’s actions. Vergil noticed a tiny red droplet clinging to the corner of Dante’s mouth… it was blasphemy, to see but not savor this liquid gold. In perfect imitation of a kiss, Vergil claimed this precious liquid for his own, giving Dante a tender caress on the cheek. He was such a good brother.
“Blood is thicker than water, brother. Why settle for anything less?”
He wanted to bottle it, to put it in a crystal-encrusted goblet and sip it like wine. He wanted to lay in a marble bathtub surrounded with rose petals and glorious red water, a modern-day Cleopatra in a milk bath. His very body shivered with unspeakable pleasure when a drop of the precious liquid escape, his entire being flared with anger when it was wastefully spilt upon the ground. Arkham never did understand this concept—he was all too eager to spill that which was more vital than gold.
As Vergil gingerly lapped it from his fingertips, he sighed with pleasure the life-giving effects of it shot through his entire body. As his entire body was set aflame with the elixir, he nearly moaned with ecstasy, the potent high better than an orgasm. The reaction of the inarguably male part of him seconded the sentiment.
His unexpected banquet over, the young man wiped his sword carefully on the fabric of Dante’s jacket, his twin brother too far gone to notice Vergil’s actions. Vergil noticed a tiny red droplet clinging to the corner of Dante’s mouth… it was blasphemy, to see but not savor this liquid gold. In perfect imitation of a kiss, Vergil claimed this precious liquid for his own, giving Dante a tender caress on the cheek. He was such a good brother.
“Blood is thicker than water, brother. Why settle for anything less?”