#fyolaine
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frankenjoly.bsky.social
1) rimlaine + “hold me?”
2) fyolaine + “how does that taste?”
3) koulaine + “this ought to be put on your record”
#bsd #rimlaine #fyolaine #koulaine
“Hold me?” He asked, in barely a whisper. And, just as quickly, Arthur Rimbaud got his wish granted in the form of his partner wrapping himself around him in a tight hug. Tight and warm, exactly what he was looking for. “Thanks, dear.” He answered, his voice muffled as he promptly buried his face in the crook of Verlaine’s neck, hugging him back with intensity. Blankets were nice, but that… that was special in the best of ways. Because nothing was better than sharing body heat with someone else, especially him, and because… oh, to hold each other so tenderly, them who also were capable of so much violence. “No need to thank me, I do it gladly.” Was the response he got, as Rimbaud felt Verlaine’s head moving to rest on top of him. Silence then fell for a while, since there was no need for words; both were more than happy to stay just like that. And an ‘I love you’ made its way into his throat, too, but it didn’t exit it. Instead, the words were released in the form of Morse code softly tapped against Verlaine’s back. “How does that taste?” “Honestly? Terrible.” Verlaine quickly replied, once he had swallowed. “But at least it’s not poison, so I give you that.” “You seem pretty sure that it’s not poison.” Fyodor countered with a catty smile. “I am, yes. Perks of the job.” Was all he offered in return in the realm of the current topic. Dostoyevsky wasn’t there to have a conversation about food, that was for sure, and he wouldn’t entertain small talk with someone like him. “Anyway, what do you want?” “Can’t I greet one of the Port Mafia’s executives just because I feel like it?” “Because you feel like it? You?” If there was something Verlaine was more than well aware of how the person in front of him, it was how he never stitched without a thread, and underestimating even the smallest word could be fatal. Ace had made that mistake, the dumbass, and he wouldn’t be following his footsteps. Especially when there was more intel on Dostoyevsky now, even if still scarce. Unravelling the mystery that Fyodor was could only be a task for geniuses or fools, and despite his own smarts and boldness, Verlaine wouldn’t count himself as neither. No matter how tempting it may be. “This ought to be on your record.” Kôyô said, only half serious, and despite that Verlaine quickly offered him a scowl. “This was your fault now, so don’t try to pin it all on me.” Being completely honest with herself, albeit only mentally, Kôyô had to admit it tended to be both their faults more often than not. But, of course, she wouldn’t say that to Verlaine’s face so easily. “I’m by no means the one that is still under surveillance, just in case.” Was her response instead, scoffing. And, instead of escalating the conversation even further and into a full-fledged argument, what those words got from him as a reaction was laughter… which, to her surprise, sounded rather nice. “Oh? So you’re going to take advantage of that, perhaps?” Verlaine’s words were filled with sarcasm, accompanied with a bit of venom but bigger amounts of amusement. And those only became more noticeable when she pushed him back into the seat both had been occupying before getting… interrupted, then ‘climbed’ to his lap, with him offering no actual resistance. “Last time I checked we were both executives.” Kôyô said, simply and plainly. After all and at that point, all that talk was only part of an inside charade.
December 19, 2024 at 1:23 PM