Work Text:
Neige's lips pressed against his own.
It was soft, chaste, pure.
And it was not enough.
Vil didn't let him pull away, not completely, soft palms cradling the smaller boy's face, perfectly manicured fingers digging into his soft hair. "If you're going to kiss someone," he leaned in closer, reveling in the hitch in Neige's breath when his thumb swiped against that plump bottom lip Vil had always eyed with what he thought was envy. It messed up the carefully applied lip gloss that Vil knew his make-up team no doubt agonised over, staining Neige's skin and his thumb, a glossy film that shimmered under the dim light of Vil's dressing room.
Just the perfect mix of wholesome and tempting.
And all within Vil's grasp.
He tried very hard not to let himself snarl with delight at the thought
"...then do it properly." What little distance there was between them closed in an instant, all tongues and teeth unlike the boyish and tender peck from before. It was clear Neige was inexperienced, fumbling through the motions and getting lost in the rhythm of Vil's insistence, almost like a bluebird against a storm. But he was eager to learn, if the way his arms shakily wrapped around Vil's neck was anything to go by, and that was all Vil needed to know.
Pulling away for a moment, their breaths intermingled, Neige being a bit more labored than his. Not like that seemed to deter him, of course, doe brown eyes already glancing back at Vil's lips. Eager, but still just as conscious of the boundaries set between them. Vil couldn't help a small smirk, a hand moving to Neige's hip to give it a more possessive squeeze. As if such boundaries mattered when Neige was already half sitting on his lap, with his previously pristine make-up ruined, while Vil's remained completely intact.
If he were less consumptive, then perhaps Vil would have wondered what Neige's fans would think of him if they saw him like this. Completely and utterly at Vil's mercy, willing to do whatever he asked because Neige was just that damn trusting. Always seeing the good in people.
Even if there wasn't much good to see.
At least, not in terms of morals.
But Vil had to concede that he was not nearly that adjusted, his vanity not clouding him to the truth. Well, not anymore, at least. If someone else were to see Neige like this, laying himself bare and eager to accept what Vil gave him, then he feared that they may never set their sights on anything ever again. His magic thrummed underneath his fingers at the image, but he ignored it in favor of the present, such thoughts tucked away for later.
Namely, Neige letting out a frankly undignified whine, but what would be pathetic on anyone else seemed endearing when it came to him, and such knowledge made Vil snort. His free hand moved from the boy's cheek to his hair, lacing itself in those black as ebony strands. It had gotten longer, Vil noticed, no doubt as preparation for one of his new roles. There was momentary tension at his hold, but it quickly relaxed, Neige trusting once again that he only had the best intentions for him.
And it was potently intoxicating to know that Vil could really do anything to Neige right now, and the other would accept it. That Neige would nod along and follow Vil's lead like an unsteady doe always eager for new knowledge in a world it didn't understand. But there was also a layer of indignance at the thought of anyone else taking advantage of that trusting nature. Or having already done so, if the way Neige warily eyed some directors was anything to go by.
( – And if Vil quietly toyed around with concoctions and curses while said directors were catalogued in his mind, then what nobody else knew couldn't hurt them. For now. –)
Trying to push down the simmering irritation in his chest, Vil finally gave Neige what he wanted, guiding him into another kiss. It was a lot smoother this time, with the other's eagerness melting away into compliance, letting Vil guide him this way and that like some kind of conductor. His lips were a choir that the other could direct in any way he wanted, while Neige could only struggle to keep up. And Vil didn't let the opportunity pass by, whispering instructions and corrections each time they pulled away for a second to get air back in their lungs.
Don't press too hard, it will cause unnecessary bruising. An unbecoming show of desperation.
Breathe through your nose. If you want the kiss to last longer, don’t let yourself get so lost that your breathing becomes short. It will make subsequent kisses all the more brief.
Use your hands to your advantage. Pull them closer instead of leaning harder. That one had been accompanied by a tug at black strands that yielded a deliciously high yelp from his eager co-actor.
And every time his mouth quirked up with just a bit of fondness when Neige nodded with as much seriousness as he could and tried to clumsily follow along every time. Each attempt just the slightest bit more refined, but still painfully amateur. Not that it mattered, anyway, Vil had plenty more chances to set him on the right path.
Yet, of course, it was still not enough. Oh, Seven, not by any measure.
But Vil would take what he could for now. He would give the other this small mercy, before he devoured him whole. Finally plundering everything that Neige so generously offers on a silver platter.
Seemingly unaware of just how much of a delicacy others considered such attention to be.
Because if he can't beat him, can't be what the people want to see at the top, then he could settle for this. Even if his hard work and skill were forever outmatched by Neige's boyish relatability and naive charm, he can at least delight in the fact that even with how masses covet the boy now in his arms, it was meaningless. All wishing for just one chance with him, believing he would just accept any regular pedestrian off the street, that there would be some fairy tale romance waiting at the end of their fantasies. One where Neige would sweep them off their feet like some type of prince he was always portrayed to be.
As if Vil didn't already hold all that Neige was, mind, body, and soul.
Vil's lips pressed against the other's mouth firmly. Directly going against his earlier advice, but it was not as if Neige noticed anyway, too taken in by the exchange.
It was not soft, teeth biting into that plump lower lip, not enough to bleed but enough to sting. The boy's lip gloss now completely ruined.
It was not chaste, the small pleas and insistence for more in Neige's brown eyes, feeling positively filthy even with how minute it was, panting every time they parted yet still meekly pawing for more.
It was not pure. Vil didn't know if he was capable of such things. But he didn't need it, nor did he feel that it really suited him. It was more Neige's motif. And Vil simply delighted in tainting that purity to mold into his own.
And Neige would take all of it, every last drop of the poison that Vil offered him, greedily coating his tongue and staining what was once white into a vibrant red. Because until Vil truly had all of him in his clutches, then he would not be satisfied.
It was not nearly enough.