Vergil kisses Mizu sweetly and slowly until its end, and when he does eventually part his lips from hers, he does not stray far. He nuzzles her in a familiar gesture of affection before kissing the corner of her lips. He cares for little else beyond her even when not kissing her, his world narrowing down to their little points of contact and yet not seeming the smaller for it all the same. He knows it's likely untrue, but he likes to imagine their hearts beating in unison. How else could such a feeling within his chest be shared with another if that were not the case?
"I loved and guessed at you. You construed me, and loved me for what might or might not be," he recites quietly, only borrowing a few lines from the otherwise brief poem. "Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. For verily love knows not 'mine' or 'thine.'"
The words still feel as though they fall short of fully reflecting all that he feels, but they are close as he is liable to find in his own or another's in being able to speak of it. A love so accepting and so deep that it becomes one, and in turn, by sharing it, they are one as well. To that end, it does not matter what is to become of them or how inevitable it is that they shall leave this place one day and without the other. It is as they promised to each other, that they shall always belong to the other. There is no amount of time or distance that will unmake any of this. Not even heartache nor grief can replace it.
Vergil dips his head to the faded mark, placing a few light kisses before taking the skin into his mouth. He takes his time in darkening it again, alternating between his efforts in bruising the skin and teasing it with the light graze of his teeth or brushing over it with his lips. It's a different tempo than when he had left the mark the first time, more akin to the massage he'd given her than a ravenous hunger wherein the point is more for her to linger in each sensation.
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"I loved and guessed at you. You construed me, and loved me for what might or might not be," he recites quietly, only borrowing a few lines from the otherwise brief poem. "Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. For verily love knows not 'mine' or 'thine.'"
The words still feel as though they fall short of fully reflecting all that he feels, but they are close as he is liable to find in his own or another's in being able to speak of it. A love so accepting and so deep that it becomes one, and in turn, by sharing it, they are one as well. To that end, it does not matter what is to become of them or how inevitable it is that they shall leave this place one day and without the other. It is as they promised to each other, that they shall always belong to the other. There is no amount of time or distance that will unmake any of this. Not even heartache nor grief can replace it.
Vergil dips his head to the faded mark, placing a few light kisses before taking the skin into his mouth. He takes his time in darkening it again, alternating between his efforts in bruising the skin and teasing it with the light graze of his teeth or brushing over it with his lips. It's a different tempo than when he had left the mark the first time, more akin to the massage he'd given her than a ravenous hunger wherein the point is more for her to linger in each sensation.