send me a ✿ and i’ll generate a kiss || 1: aggressive kiss
Often, one found it easier to build themselves a scapegoat, or a means of avoiding a confrontation with the truth. It was better to lie or blame your actions on everyone and everything else, rather than face yourself inside head-on. The alcohol made me do it. That’s what he would tell himself, he was convinced. The alcohol made him do it, and there was no other explanation better to describe the things he took part in that night. And after consuming a large variety of substances, many of which he knew neither name nor origin, but were given by his companion – it made sense, didn’t it? He could say it was due to the evil devices of Demetri. It was Demetri who sought to tear apart any sensible bit of his composure and poison it.
Yes, that sounded far better than anything else an outside party might think when looking at it from their perspective. Because there was no WAY – absolutely and undoubtedly impossible – that he would ever kiss him while his conscious was still completely present. This was his enemy, this boy had tried to kill him without so much as even considering a shred of mercy, he’d been prepared to tear him apart and drink every drop of blood that poured from his lacerated veins. So it made no better sense for him to merely be so intoxicated he fed into basic impulse, rather than focus on other contributing factors that might lead to this situation, and weren’t directly related to the liquid.
Right?
Right. Never mind the taste, the touch, the smell. Never mind the way his skin prickled at every pore, or his limbs shivered as thick heat pushed itself into his muscles and painted the pallor of his cheekbones red. Never mind how hard he found it to breathe because the force of his lips upon his own was so powerful it was the only thing left in focus on his mind. They tasted of death and sweetened supremacy. Victory. As if he might know the struggles that were a whirlwind encased in his skull, and he only needed the taste of Legolas’ lips to understand their presence and the damage they caused the elf. His fingers writhed in the vampire’s clothes and twisted them. He was torn at pushing him away or pulling him closer – it was difficult for him to decipher which he wanted more.
If he left this alone, if he did nothing, he was putting himself at risk. He was vulnerable and out of his element. The last time he’d allowed himself to take in so much alcohol, he’d passed out on the stairs of the cellar and woke up to some of the court’s children drawing all over his face, and normally he could pull himself in and out of consciousness on the drop of a dime. His senses had been so skewered he’d fallen out of control of himself, and that scared him. There was nothing he feared more than being incapable of conducting himself in the ways he was so familiar with. Being unable to dominate his challenger.
But if he left – ( and he hated to acknowledge that Demetri was unfathomably good with his tongue, a successful distraction from his thoughts as he found himself fighting to put them back on track ) – he could construct himself back together and put him back in his place. He hadn’t given Demetri a place in his home just for him to take advantage of his host. It was remarkably uncharacteristic of him to have even thought to tend to someone he abhorred, but the boy had come to him and confessed he was weak. Not helpless, but not as strong as he’d been the first time they’d met either. He was looking for peace, nothing more, and had proven himself to the point that the more compassionate part of Legolas had finally given in. Sometimes he truly cursed his heart and how kind it really could be.
He became aware there were fingers coiling themselves in his hair and his panic was enough to severe the connection between them. Both of his hands were upon Demetri’s in a split second and wrenched them away, a hiss on his lips as his expression bore aggressively into Demetri’s. ❛ Touch my hair again, and you will find yourself without fingers. Do you hear me? ❜