murder aesthetic

It didn't make him feel better, no, it just gave him a nice leash. Milo was scared of what he'd be without this, without the rules. This was the only thing he wasn't a rebellious soul in. He vented all of his ugly with those that were similar, so he didn't have to snap with anyone else, could spare them from ever dealing with it. Maybe even save a few lives, having the fucking monsters all wrapped up with and distracted by each other.

Milo met Vincenzo's now much more conscious gaze, unflinching. "I know you aren't. And charming may not be the most accurate word here, but something like that, yes. Possibly involving your criminal record?" He mostly shrugged off the last thing, once again, along with the repetitive and insistent way his head was telling him not to shrug it off. Fuck off, brain garbage, this is already messed up enough.

"It's not that part, and it's not going to be. You feeling that way is precisely why I can do this. Neither of us are regretting anything, and that works just fine, doesn't it?" Milo paused, feeling a bit off, like that wasn't the whole truth. Well, it wasn't like there was any reason not to try and explain further. Pointless in the long run, since his conversation partner was just going to end up dead- but he didn't lose anything from it, either.

"You already seem to recognize your actions for what they are- and happen to revel in it. What I mean, though, is that… I'm not going to have any morality speeches you haven't already heard, am I?" He sighed. "Why waste our time with that pretentious, self congratulatory shit, then? I just want you to stop, and to be able to stop myself for a while."

Milo rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I am, and I do admit that. It's been established. Is that what you want to hear? This isn't a new revelation, I'm not shocked and shaken to my core over it. But who are you to fucking talk about my urges, and what helps me succeed with them or not? You don't know anything more than what I tell you, and all of this? Even if there is a little extra here, nothing's truly out of character for my crimes. Anyway, sure, I'm sorry I'm not giving you a humane death, clearly that's very unfair of me."

"Oh, really? You're concerned with helping me now, are you?" He was all dry sarcasm, perhaps just a bit petty, but Vincenzo's words were so… was he actually offended by any of this, or simply trying to get under his skin? The logic didn't fully hold up, felt just a bit strange, like it was mixed heavily with other things. Trying to guilt him, then telling him not to give a fuck. Not to mention, oh, the hypocrisy. Milo squinted very slightly at the other. This probably usually worked with others, didn't it? All malice laced with manipulation.

"It's great you believe in my skills that much, but there will always be monsters, of all shapes and sizes. It is sustainable, very depressingly so. I can't fix it all, just, maybe I can cut down on how many outsiders are affected." He raised an eyebrow, after a pause. "According to what you're saying… you think it's either going to go to shit later, or I can make the choice to just let go right now. Why would I do that? Might as well try to be some imitation of good, for a little while longer, before I lose that too. Might as fucking well, in a world as awful as this. Again… by your argument."

Milo was tired too. He rubbed his head a bit. Thought a little more. "…Wait, do you think this isn't comfortable to me, even more comfortable than being fully shameless would be? Because… that's not true. I'm not agonizing that much, just like you apparently aren't. It's like you said. Neither of us is going to be regretting anything, so I don't know what you want."

He looked at the other, very steady and solid. "You're not the only one who's heard morality speeches before, Vincenzo."

He stood, and went back over to his tools. "I'll check. Thanks for the cooperation."

Oh. So that was it. Milo stilled for a moment, then groaned into his own hands, raking them down his face. "Ffffucking moron…" he growled. Then, he huffed, turning his head to speak to Vincenzo again, begrudgingly defeated tone. "Hey, y'know. Maybe I just really like hearing myself talk."

He made a face at the eyelash batting. "Jesus christ. Shut the hell up with that shit already, what the fuck is your problem? I don't know if you're trying to distract me, or if you'd genuinely be into that, or- it's fucking both, isn't it? I think you have more of a murder kink than I allegedly do, with how things have gone so far."

He went to stare down at the other, grimacing. You're probably the one who's actually interested, he's just screwing with you. And you like the idea of being screwed- Milo jolted a bit, clawed viciously at his palms, and gave Vincenzo a sharp kick in in the stomach. God, shit, fuck. He was unsettled, behind his agitation.

Anger, that was normal, he embraced it. He could handle that. This was weird, and not the right kind. Entirely foreign, too. He thought he was above this, or at the very least, didn't really understand it. And intrusive thoughts were just that, and didn't mean much, but he was getting a little too flustered for simply dealing with his usual.

He looked at Vincenzo calculatingly. This kind of person was stereotypically seen as attractive, and he acknowledged that… in a clinical sense, he'd assumed. What was this, late hormones? Was he finally getting karma for never doing this as a teenager, at the worst possible time? Why couldn't he have just gotten a sexual awakening thanks to a hot celebrity, like everyone else?

Well, this was officially horrible. Thank fuck he was killing this punk, and would never have to see his annoying garbage face again.

Milo hated Vincenzo. He hated his fucking guts and wanted them spilled all over the floor. He saw red, a blinding flash of rage, but the heat in his face and body mixed in with it and made everything confusing. He felt disgusting. The clear loathing in his expression settled into a mix of quiet discomfort and fear.

He did want all of this- and that was wrong, bad, not safe. When he thought about sex it brought up memories of his shitty highschool, classmates giggling and chattering in too much detail about their experiences. The guys were the worst, talking about conquests and saying awful, objectifying things about the kind of body Milo had. It made him feel smaller than he was. He ended up getting into so many fights, and was never able to fully explain why.

Avoiding these things was better, wasn't it? It'd kept him secure so far. Besides, it was sick, thinking of a person he was killing like this. He did this, that was exactly right, and that gave him a rush. He pressed a hand to his face again. No, no…

'I wouldn't be opposed to any of that,' repeated in his mind, over and over.

Christ, not helping. There was nothing Milo could say that wouldn't feel incriminating right then, so he kept his mouth fucking shut as he bristled. He spun, absolutely livid, to drag Vincenzo up by his shirt and slam him up against another wall, hands then quickly at his throat. He was all inelegant intensity, messy but with a damn lot of feeling. No accidental finishing him off, urgently buzzed in his head. He wouldn't, shit, he wouldn't, he just needed to- god, fuck! This was fucked up, but it was satisfying.

He huffed, breathing more heavily than before, and let up with his grip on the other's neck eventually, then making sure to keep lightly supporting him so he wouldn't collapse. Shame clouded his thoughts again, and his heart pattered erratically. "Gross," he mumbled out loud, unsure who or what in particular he was referring to. All of it, possibly.

The very worst thing of all, he realized, was that it wasn't the violence, not really. He certainly wasn't pure or pleasant with his killing or fighting, but he'd never been like this.

It was Vincenzo Maria Fontana. Milo would by far prefer to have a torture kink, but he didn't have that luxury! He just had a menace of a victim- who managed to look pretty, and make flirtatious little remarks, even when he was half fucking dead.

Unbelievable.

If Milo was acting like a flustered, too easily poked virgin- well, that was because that was exactly what he was, and he was suffering for it. He regretted it now, just a bit, not fooling around with some asshole in the back of a car, if only to get the mystery of this shit out of the way, fully crush any appeal. Christ, this was very likely one of the most surreal things to ever happen to him, and he murdered people as a goddamn hobby.

He was at a total loss. What the fuck was going on, why, and how was he supposed to reasonably react? Pretending none of this had happened and getting his real intentions back on track seemed best, of course. He blinked at Vincenzo's fingers on him, flinching just a bit at the contact once it really registered, more heat going to his face.

"This is the most unethical fucking situation," he growled, eyes screwed shut, not really wanting to look at the other's smug, welcoming face. His skin felt like static was running over it, he was on edge, jumpy and quick to react. It was similar to when he was fighting, or really into a kill, and his bloodlust fully came out. Similar, but with a new element added in. It was interesting, but he couldn't let himself be a fan of it, because it was complete self-sabotage.

He got up the restraint to watch and frown at Vincenzo again. "I'm still the one with the power, and I told you I wasn't here to… I'm not that kind of monster. I'm sorry." He didn't feel bad for hurting this person, but he did feel bad for this. It was wrong of him, no matter how much Vincenzo teased.