"Il court pendant des heures," he starts. "Ses jambes plus fébriles à chaque seconde qui passe. Les chiens ne s'arrêtent pas. Il pense qu’il n’échappera jamais." Jonathan can only pick up a couple words, honestly. Something about dogs.

"Que les chiens l'attraperont, ils le mangeront pendant qu’il vit encore. Ils sont bruyants, ces chiens." Dio’s voice has an intensity to it, a focus that is pretty appealing when it’s not turned to telling Jonathan what he’s doing wrong.

"Leurs aboiements violents le suivent, où qu’il court. Il a peur. Il a tellement peur." The way he rolls his Rs sets Jonathan’s spine tingling.

"La nuit ne le protège pas, la forêt ne lui offre pas sécurité. Le bruissement des feuilles trahit constamment sa présence." He zones out a bit, enjoying the way Dio’s voice softens out just a tiny bit for the more romantic language.

"Il ne peut ni se cacher ni s'échapper. C’est futile." Dio stops, and presses the book into Jonathan’s hands. Jonathan snaps out of his haze and scrambles to hold it, hopes desperately that Dio won’t ask him what’s actually happening in this book.

Dio narrows his eyes at him, but if he knows Jonathan was paying more attention to his voice than the content of his words, he doesn’t mention it. “Start there,” he orders, pointing out a paragraph towards the bottom of the page.

"Finalement, il tr-trébuche," Jonathan starts haltingly, hyper-aware of Dio’s scrutiny. "Une branche trainant-"

"No no," Dio stops him. "You need to roll your Rs."

"I don’t know how," Jonathan complains. It seems to come naturally to Dio.

"It’s," Dio pauses, searching for the words. "You keep your tongue more to the roof of your mouth. Branche. Brranche."

"Brl- Branch?" He still can’t manage it.

"Not like that, softer. More quickly. Here, open your mouth."

Jonathan does as he’s told, staring at Dio quizzically. Dio puts his index finger in Jonathan’s mouth, runs it quickly along the roof of his mouth. Jonathan makes a startled noise.

"Like that," Dio says, as if he didn’t just do something weird. "Try it again."

"B-Branche?" Jonathan tries.

"Muda muda," Dio mutters. "Nevermind, I’ll read a bit more." He plucks the book back from Jonathan’s hands.

"Finalement, il trébuche. Une branche trainante le fait basculer à terre. Pas une seconde plus tard, les chiens se jettent sur lui." The words sound completely different in his mouth. Elegant, powerful.
"Ils le mordent avec leurs dents pointues et vicieuses. Ça fait si mal. Ils déchirent des pièces de sa chair, et il hurle. Son sang trempe la fourrure des chiens et le sol. Ils grognent alors qu’ils le dévore, un son sauvage." The intensity creeps back into his voice as he reads. Jonathan still isn’t sure what’s going on in the story. The roof of his mouth tingles where Dio touched it.

"Il essaye de les repousser, mais en vain. Il est fatigué, ayant couru pendant la plus grande partie de la nuit, et maintenant, il n’y a rien de plus qu’il ne puisse faire. La douleur est atroce." The way he rolls his Rs still sends shivers up Jonathan’s spine. He’s a good reader as always, voice clear and cadence even.

He looks over to Jonathan, and perhaps the fact that he can’t actually understand what’s being said shows through. “If you’re having a hard time following along, come a bit closer so you can read along,” Dio says. Jonathan scoots towards him on the couch, and Dio puts one arm around his waist, leaning his head over Jonathan’s shoulder so he can read the novelette that is now more in Jonathan’s lap than his.

"Un des chiens pousse son museau couvert de sang contre son estomac. Il crie faiblement, et essaye de garder ses entrailles. Le chien mords ses doigts. Ils craquent dans sa gueule. Le son lui donne la nausée." If he thought the sound of Dio speaking French was entrancing before, that’s nothing compared to the sound of it right against his ear, Dio’s breath warm against his neck.

"Les autres chiens continuent de manger ses jambes, mais il ne peut plus les sentir." He feels bad for not being able to follow along, but well, he’s distracted.

"Le chien mords son estomac, et il hurle haut et fort. Il n’a jamais imaginé une douleur comme celle-çi. Il se tourne sur le côté et il vomit." He realizes too late that there’s no way Dio won’t notice his burgeonning interest. He squirms away slightly, face reddening. Dio’s arm around him doesn’t budge.

"Les larmes coulent sur ses joues. Il est froid, sauf là où son sang touche sa peau." Dio turns to speak against his ear, now, his lips brushing Jonathan’s skin with every word. His tone is predatory somehow, but even without that, Jonathan is sure he’d want to run away from a situation like this.

Dio closes the book and puts it down firmly beside Jonathan, places his hand on Jonathan’s thigh instead. The warm tingling at the base of Jonathan’s spine feels as much like panic as excitement now, as Dio’s other hand grabs his wrist.

"Je veux te faire pleurer," he hisses against Jonathan’s neck. He punctuates the phrase with a bite that brings an embarassing sound out of Jonathan. His fingers dig into Jonathan’s thigh.

"Je veux te baiser," he growls, and bites him again, harder this time. Jonathan chokes out a moan, tries to keep his hips still.

"Je te hais, Jonathan,"