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#5 | firm kiss
   His name is enough to drive Corvo to the end of his patience, and the only thing keeping him from going right off the edge is the knowledge that he chose to allow the man to live; he is indebted to Corvo, by all rights, twice over.Â
   Corvo keeps his name bitten between his teeth, the bitter taste of regret and hatred and sorrow thick and cloying on his tongue. There is a desperation that seeps through his skin and electrifies all his movements, all his muscles taut and irritated the moment he lays eyes on him. Every time, without fail, he wants him to just go already.
   They fight. Always, do they fight. And with Corvo’s blade shrieking against the metal of the other’s, Corvo has his mask wrenched off in a heartbeat and in the next, his lips are on Daud’s.Â
   He could not tell anyone what possessed him to do such; why he would kiss the man, when he would sooner prefer to slide his blade between Daud’s ribs and rip away his lungs, leave him just as breathless as Corvo had been, seeing Jessamine slumped to the ground. He couldn’t do a thing, but this — this he could do, a hard kiss so different from the usual soft set of his mouth, so different than how he would have ever kissed her —
   When the kiss breaks, quick, surprised, Corvo stumbles back a step, throws the mask on the floor, and kisses Daud again, just as unrelenting as the last, with the same furious edge.Â
