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[ His fingers scrape and drag against every inch of skin he can find, his nails finding scars to catch on, his lips curl just so when he finds one he likes, as if there are favored scars to scrape against, ones that he imagines are particularly cruel, or particularly difficult to heal from. Like he truly is one of those little treasures he wants to hoard and keep all to himself.
His fingers still, at the sound of his soft words, whispering something that's almost, almost a step too far. They're alone, of course. Someplace nobody can see them, nobody can hear them. It dances so close to that line. His eyes dart, even though he can't see them, but his fingers pick up again soon enough, as if the words were more a surprise than dangerous.
It was dangerous, though, wasn't it? How close would they get to danger, before it all seemed to fall apart?
Still, he stepped over the line, that's how the dance goes, doesn't it? He steps in turn, a twisted little mirror for him, and their little steps over the line draw them both across it. Step for step, bit by bit. Every time the line gets drawn, it seems like something seems to make it so easy to step over in the moment. Dangerous, foolish, especially these days, but... ]
Hm. [ It hangs in the air, like a sword over his head. He leans forward, to press lips and teeth against his neck, half so he can breathe his low answers against his skin. ] That seems apt enough.
His fingers still, at the sound of his soft words, whispering something that's almost, almost a step too far. They're alone, of course. Someplace nobody can see them, nobody can hear them. It dances so close to that line. His eyes dart, even though he can't see them, but his fingers pick up again soon enough, as if the words were more a surprise than dangerous.
It was dangerous, though, wasn't it? How close would they get to danger, before it all seemed to fall apart?
Still, he stepped over the line, that's how the dance goes, doesn't it? He steps in turn, a twisted little mirror for him, and their little steps over the line draw them both across it. Step for step, bit by bit. Every time the line gets drawn, it seems like something seems to make it so easy to step over in the moment. Dangerous, foolish, especially these days, but... ]
Hm. [ It hangs in the air, like a sword over his head. He leans forward, to press lips and teeth against his neck, half so he can breathe his low answers against his skin. ] That seems apt enough.
[ Exactly what he wanted — is this really punishment? He can't see him, of course, but his entire body is on fire, lit like its from the inside, every inch of him practically burning up from the inside in a way that isn't misery, but instead something that makes his hands wind into the sheets, and lose his head just enough. ]
— Hah — Ye —
[ His wish is his command — and doesn't that make him feel drunk on power? He could have come from that, he thinks, but his hand snakes down, grips him, and it makes him see stars. He's already sensitive, aching, his hips trying to fuck into his hand in time with his hips, it only takes one, two, three pumps of his hand before he shudders, his eyes rolling back, Vergilius still seated in him. He spills over his hand, his name on his lips, drawn out — Vergilius — thin body shuddering underneath him, uncontrolled, messy, spilling over his fingers and onto the bed.
Isn't this where he belongs? It's punishment — it's pleasure — he isn't the type to punish himself for his crimes, but he hurt him, and yet he is still here, he's spilling over his fingers, murmuring his name, and it's... odd.
It's odd that despite how they have hurt each other — communicating as monsters do — he doesn't fear it in this moment. He instead welcomes it, welcomes him. ]
— Hah — Ye —
[ His wish is his command — and doesn't that make him feel drunk on power? He could have come from that, he thinks, but his hand snakes down, grips him, and it makes him see stars. He's already sensitive, aching, his hips trying to fuck into his hand in time with his hips, it only takes one, two, three pumps of his hand before he shudders, his eyes rolling back, Vergilius still seated in him. He spills over his hand, his name on his lips, drawn out — Vergilius — thin body shuddering underneath him, uncontrolled, messy, spilling over his fingers and onto the bed.
Isn't this where he belongs? It's punishment — it's pleasure — he isn't the type to punish himself for his crimes, but he hurt him, and yet he is still here, he's spilling over his fingers, murmuring his name, and it's... odd.
It's odd that despite how they have hurt each other — communicating as monsters do — he doesn't fear it in this moment. He instead welcomes it, welcomes him. ]
[See, Silco has changed.]
[Even a few months ago, they would have been here like wolves fighting over territory. All teeth and claws and harsh words. He hated Silco. In a way, maybe he still does, but the man here who places his mouth against his neck feels like an evolution from the one who bit into his neck in a dark hallway so long ago.]
[No, Silco would have not accepted being named as such. And how surprising that he takes it in stride. Allows himself to be named. Vergilius considers it, something vibrant and warm licking the insides of his chest as an eternal flame.]
[Silco has changed. But be must have changed, too. Silco's hand finds the healed stab wound from months ago, presses over it. How foolish he is, to let Silco in, like this. As if he trusts him. As if they really can be lovers. What a sweet word. How can it fit them?]
[He traces a thumb further under his collar, before the whole hand slips down and starts unbuttoning him, bit by bit. Like lazily opening a present.]
And what would you like to do? To your lover.
[Even a few months ago, they would have been here like wolves fighting over territory. All teeth and claws and harsh words. He hated Silco. In a way, maybe he still does, but the man here who places his mouth against his neck feels like an evolution from the one who bit into his neck in a dark hallway so long ago.]
[No, Silco would have not accepted being named as such. And how surprising that he takes it in stride. Allows himself to be named. Vergilius considers it, something vibrant and warm licking the insides of his chest as an eternal flame.]
[Silco has changed. But be must have changed, too. Silco's hand finds the healed stab wound from months ago, presses over it. How foolish he is, to let Silco in, like this. As if he trusts him. As if they really can be lovers. What a sweet word. How can it fit them?]
[He traces a thumb further under his collar, before the whole hand slips down and starts unbuttoning him, bit by bit. Like lazily opening a present.]
And what would you like to do? To your lover.
Hm...
[ His tone sounds thoughtful, a little teasing. Like dragging out the moment, letting it hang in the air, suspended in time, while his fingers still drag their way along scars and marks. He toys with the one from his wound, a flutter of excitement in his chest, that he lets him touch it. That he doesn't snap or threaten him for it.
Maybe Vergilius has changed; he must have, to allow him to pull him in, letting him see the belly of the monster he was. To show it, and allow him in, to touch those scars, to scrape against them like they are not weaknesses, but signs of strength, that he'd survived. He'd survived him, after all. Does Silco hate him? No, he's never really hated him, he wanted to see him be selfish, take. Become a little more like the monster he said he was not — and wasn't he? Here he was, doing just that. Taking, claiming him as his lover, like this was his right to do. He was still here, whispering words that settled between them. They were sweet things, maybe — too sweet for them? — but he allows it. Allows that to settle over them, because he'd declared it so. Taken something for himself.
He hasn't changed, of course. How could he? He could not recognize it, if it was in front of him, that he'd given slack too, that each step forward had been leaving more and more behind him. Like two sharp objects grinding against one another, until they fit just right; still as sharp facing outward, but his fingers do not dig into the scar, he brushes it, the scrape of his nails a reminder of sharpness that doesn't cut quite so deep. ]
So many options... and I have plenty of time...
[ Vergilius unbuttons his shirt slowly, revealing too-pale flesh, hints of bones poking through a thin frame. His lips curled slightly, and his fingers drifted downward, playing with the edge of his trousers, teasing. He should snap at him, for using the word. He doesn't, he lets him. Maybe he... ]
I thought I would start... [ He nudges him towards the eyesore of a bed. He'll just have to look at him instead. ] By putting my mouth right... [ his fingers brush downwards, to rub against his cock, feeling for how tight he was already. ] Here.
[ His tone sounds thoughtful, a little teasing. Like dragging out the moment, letting it hang in the air, suspended in time, while his fingers still drag their way along scars and marks. He toys with the one from his wound, a flutter of excitement in his chest, that he lets him touch it. That he doesn't snap or threaten him for it.
Maybe Vergilius has changed; he must have, to allow him to pull him in, letting him see the belly of the monster he was. To show it, and allow him in, to touch those scars, to scrape against them like they are not weaknesses, but signs of strength, that he'd survived. He'd survived him, after all. Does Silco hate him? No, he's never really hated him, he wanted to see him be selfish, take. Become a little more like the monster he said he was not — and wasn't he? Here he was, doing just that. Taking, claiming him as his lover, like this was his right to do. He was still here, whispering words that settled between them. They were sweet things, maybe — too sweet for them? — but he allows it. Allows that to settle over them, because he'd declared it so. Taken something for himself.
He hasn't changed, of course. How could he? He could not recognize it, if it was in front of him, that he'd given slack too, that each step forward had been leaving more and more behind him. Like two sharp objects grinding against one another, until they fit just right; still as sharp facing outward, but his fingers do not dig into the scar, he brushes it, the scrape of his nails a reminder of sharpness that doesn't cut quite so deep. ]
So many options... and I have plenty of time...
[ Vergilius unbuttons his shirt slowly, revealing too-pale flesh, hints of bones poking through a thin frame. His lips curled slightly, and his fingers drifted downward, playing with the edge of his trousers, teasing. He should snap at him, for using the word. He doesn't, he lets him. Maybe he... ]
I thought I would start... [ He nudges him towards the eyesore of a bed. He'll just have to look at him instead. ] By putting my mouth right... [ his fingers brush downwards, to rub against his cock, feeling for how tight he was already. ] Here.
[Where is his anger? Constantly there. Always present. Silco did a foolish thing to try to bring what he thought was a beast out. Any rational person would have maybe avoided him after, or if they were brave, they would have confronted him. Technically, he did the latter.]
[So what happened to bring him here, at this moment, with Silco crying out his name as hot fluid coats his hand with a full-body shudder? How did he end up in this position? Is he so weak as to cave to desire? He wouldn't have thought so. Even now, his wound stings. He should be angry. He is angry. He should be punishing Silco. He is punishing Silco.]
[And yet, his own name sounds so sweet on the air, murmured into it, gasped into it, moaned into it. His hand is sticky, now. He swipes it across the other's thin abdomen as he leans forward to kiss the nape of his neck again.]
A little reward for such a good show. [He shifts his hips, almost a afterthought of a motion, and lets the man be reminded of his presence.] You looked like you enjoyed it.
[So what happened to bring him here, at this moment, with Silco crying out his name as hot fluid coats his hand with a full-body shudder? How did he end up in this position? Is he so weak as to cave to desire? He wouldn't have thought so. Even now, his wound stings. He should be angry. He is angry. He should be punishing Silco. He is punishing Silco.]
[And yet, his own name sounds so sweet on the air, murmured into it, gasped into it, moaned into it. His hand is sticky, now. He swipes it across the other's thin abdomen as he leans forward to kiss the nape of his neck again.]
A little reward for such a good show. [He shifts his hips, almost a afterthought of a motion, and lets the man be reminded of his presence.] You looked like you enjoyed it.
[Silco is exposed as he pulls the buttons open. Silco guards everything about himself as if he runs his own prison. His body isn't something that sees the light of day, held in pristine little vests and collared shirts and whatnot. He always did dress nicely, as much of a vicious little thing as he is. Vergilius never cared too much for what he wore.]
[Here, he gets to see the thin little curves, the edges of ribs, the sallow skin he's put his mouth to again and again. He almost feels his own mouth well up with saliva, like a dog finding a worried bone.]
[He moves backwards, guided by Silco. And the man makes his intentions known, slender little fingers pushing down to brush over the heat of his groin. It takes so little to get him going. How base of him. One day he might simply see the man and fall to his desires in a second.]
...A good plan.
[He's sitting back on this...atrocious excuse for a bed. Ugh. Vergilius does his best to ignore it.]
Come on. Come here.
[Here, he gets to see the thin little curves, the edges of ribs, the sallow skin he's put his mouth to again and again. He almost feels his own mouth well up with saliva, like a dog finding a worried bone.]
[He moves backwards, guided by Silco. And the man makes his intentions known, slender little fingers pushing down to brush over the heat of his groin. It takes so little to get him going. How base of him. One day he might simply see the man and fall to his desires in a second.]
...A good plan.
[He's sitting back on this...atrocious excuse for a bed. Ugh. Vergilius does his best to ignore it.]
Come on. Come here.
[ He shudders beneath him, he shifts inside of him. Isn't that hateful? Isn't it angry? He'd held him down and fucked him, and hadn't let him twist and dig his fingers into those spaces that he even now wants to dig into. He was left bereft and, if he was going to admit it, begging for more. Maybe that was his punishment, being forced into something like honesty, forced to give a little step forward up. Isn't that punishment, to wrench another one of those shards of armor down and dig around, claw in a little bit more?
His eye swivels to look at him, black and unyielding, and his mouth is open, still panting like he's trying to catch his breath. He gasps, when he shifts into him again. As if he could forget his presence.
Would he even want to? ]
Didn't you?
[ He rewarded him, despite everything. Despite the fact that he'd had his blade in his side. How terrible they are, that this is what they see, and they like. That he comes to him, that he shares secrets with him, despite this.
There's a flush across his ears, his mouth parted. His fingers haven't relaxed in the sheets, gripping them for dear life. He's a mess, spread out under him, still trembling from the force of it. He relaxes his fingers, unwinds them, and reaches for him. Thin fingers seek corded muscle, to touch him. Would he let him, now? Or is he still to be punished? ]
His eye swivels to look at him, black and unyielding, and his mouth is open, still panting like he's trying to catch his breath. He gasps, when he shifts into him again. As if he could forget his presence.
Would he even want to? ]
Didn't you?
[ He rewarded him, despite everything. Despite the fact that he'd had his blade in his side. How terrible they are, that this is what they see, and they like. That he comes to him, that he shares secrets with him, despite this.
There's a flush across his ears, his mouth parted. His fingers haven't relaxed in the sheets, gripping them for dear life. He's a mess, spread out under him, still trembling from the force of it. He relaxes his fingers, unwinds them, and reaches for him. Thin fingers seek corded muscle, to touch him. Would he let him, now? Or is he still to be punished? ]
[ It's always in private, hidden away, where Vergilius can pull him open, exposing him bit by bit. He doesn't let anyone else see it, always put together, pristine and tight and sharp. Ready to cut like a blade, but he'll be exposed here. Just for him.
His fingers drift against his groin, the feeling of him through the cloth was enticing, the way he swelled so readily, for him. Because he'd touched him. His lips curled into a sharp little thing, one of those smiles that spoke to his greed — how much he wanted to keep him here with him — and so he would.
His thumb rubbed against it, rolling along the head through cloth. ]
Eager, are we? [ His tone is teasing, but he didn't mind starting — he wanted to start too — he planted his knee between his legs, leaning forward to press his lips and scrape his teeth against his jawline. Sharp little bites, like he's leaving a trail, taking his time. His fingers drift up, eager to expose him too, shuck his shirt and expose the muscles and scars that he knows so well by now, that he seeks out like he's a starving man.
All his. ]
His fingers drift against his groin, the feeling of him through the cloth was enticing, the way he swelled so readily, for him. Because he'd touched him. His lips curled into a sharp little thing, one of those smiles that spoke to his greed — how much he wanted to keep him here with him — and so he would.
His thumb rubbed against it, rolling along the head through cloth. ]
Eager, are we? [ His tone is teasing, but he didn't mind starting — he wanted to start too — he planted his knee between his legs, leaning forward to press his lips and scrape his teeth against his jawline. Sharp little bites, like he's leaving a trail, taking his time. His fingers drift up, eager to expose him too, shuck his shirt and expose the muscles and scars that he knows so well by now, that he seeks out like he's a starving man.
All his. ]
Hm. I think I just - ah - need a distraction from the garish surroundings. Mmhm.
[Obviously that was the reason. Only that, and not needing Silco, not needing to douse himself in hell and heaven, pain and pleasure. His selfish side was happy. His side which wanted pain was, too. Silco has found his niche, a sharp little dagger to burrow under his ribcage, and Vergilius, despite everything, let him.]
[The man moves forward, slots in and pulls off his shirt to leave him bare. The expanse of scarred tissue, rolling muscle, the bulk of surgically wrought flesh now is for Silco to explore again as much as he wishes. Vergilius hisses and sighs with the bites, craning his neck to allow more.]
[His own hands slide over Silco to stroke over his sides, slide up his spine to covet what he finds.]
...You look like you're going to eat me alive, you know.
[Obviously that was the reason. Only that, and not needing Silco, not needing to douse himself in hell and heaven, pain and pleasure. His selfish side was happy. His side which wanted pain was, too. Silco has found his niche, a sharp little dagger to burrow under his ribcage, and Vergilius, despite everything, let him.]
[The man moves forward, slots in and pulls off his shirt to leave him bare. The expanse of scarred tissue, rolling muscle, the bulk of surgically wrought flesh now is for Silco to explore again as much as he wishes. Vergilius hisses and sighs with the bites, craning his neck to allow more.]
[His own hands slide over Silco to stroke over his sides, slide up his spine to covet what he finds.]
...You look like you're going to eat me alive, you know.
[Did he?]
[Did he enjoy it?]
[Silco pulls back to grasp at him. He might allow a second or two of that, but he is running the show, here. He grasps the other's hips so he can pull himself out with a definite slow drag of intent. And then, now freed, he's leaning forward again to reach around the man underneath him to flip him around. Silco's back hits the mattress.]
[Vergilius straddles him, the weight of his hips solidly keeping him where he is. His red eyes shine vividly under his bangs, a smile playing on his lips.]
Do you want me to say yes?
[His punishment continues. Just in a different form this time. Silco can't move his hips up like this. He only can let Vergilius decide what to do.]
[His hand cards through Silco's hair, gently.]
Would you want to hear me say it?
[Did he enjoy it?]
[Silco pulls back to grasp at him. He might allow a second or two of that, but he is running the show, here. He grasps the other's hips so he can pull himself out with a definite slow drag of intent. And then, now freed, he's leaning forward again to reach around the man underneath him to flip him around. Silco's back hits the mattress.]
[Vergilius straddles him, the weight of his hips solidly keeping him where he is. His red eyes shine vividly under his bangs, a smile playing on his lips.]
Do you want me to say yes?
[His punishment continues. Just in a different form this time. Silco can't move his hips up like this. He only can let Vergilius decide what to do.]
[His hand cards through Silco's hair, gently.]
Would you want to hear me say it?
[ Naturally. This is just a distraction. That's all. Nothing more.
Just like the time before had been a distraction, and the time before, and the time before. There were so many excuse they could give, it felt easy, to fall into them, despite the word that Vergilius whispered that felt like it had been seared onto his skin like a brand. No, the excuses were good. They were easy, like a balm on the heat on his skin.
They did nothing, in the end. His fingers are like a harbinger, trailing down against his skin, to let him pick, and scrape, and drag against scars as he wishes. As much as he wants. He's memorized them all by now, but he still traces them, scraping against them like he could peel them open. His mouth follows, teeth and mouth choosing places to bite and leave marks that will fade all too quickly, and he breathes against him, a soft chuckle as he does so, tickling the skin of his shoulder with the rough sandpaper-wrapped laugh. ]
That's somewhat the point.
[ He promises, like a vow, against his skin. His knee does what his fingers can't at the moment, rubbing up against him, offering him that sweet brush of friction. ]
I'll make sure to distract you plenty.
Just like the time before had been a distraction, and the time before, and the time before. There were so many excuse they could give, it felt easy, to fall into them, despite the word that Vergilius whispered that felt like it had been seared onto his skin like a brand. No, the excuses were good. They were easy, like a balm on the heat on his skin.
They did nothing, in the end. His fingers are like a harbinger, trailing down against his skin, to let him pick, and scrape, and drag against scars as he wishes. As much as he wants. He's memorized them all by now, but he still traces them, scraping against them like he could peel them open. His mouth follows, teeth and mouth choosing places to bite and leave marks that will fade all too quickly, and he breathes against him, a soft chuckle as he does so, tickling the skin of his shoulder with the rough sandpaper-wrapped laugh. ]
That's somewhat the point.
[ He promises, like a vow, against his skin. His knee does what his fingers can't at the moment, rubbing up against him, offering him that sweet brush of friction. ]
I'll make sure to distract you plenty.
[ He's trapped.
He should have slid away, like a slippery little eel when he had the chance. Vergilius has him pinned down, and his bulk is large enough that he has nowhere to go, as if he could push him off. As if he would want to. He's trapped, but what a sweet prison it is. His breath picks up — restrained, choked slightly from his weight — a different kind of choking.
His fingers still against his thighs, fingers halfway between scraping and digging in. Vergilius's fingers run through his hair, gentler than they should right now.
He's still being punished; he knows it. He could say no, it would be so easy. So easy. They would both know it's a lie. He's already trapped, and pink already dusts half his face, his ears, his chest. He stares up at him, at the smile on his lips, at his eeys peering at him from behind his bangs. ]
Would you... hold it against me if I did?
[ Would they? Could they? Should they? He was sick of them too, these words that said so little, but they were armor too. Could that be discarded? Maybe not fully, but... ]
Perhaps I only want you to be honest, Vergilius.
He should have slid away, like a slippery little eel when he had the chance. Vergilius has him pinned down, and his bulk is large enough that he has nowhere to go, as if he could push him off. As if he would want to. He's trapped, but what a sweet prison it is. His breath picks up — restrained, choked slightly from his weight — a different kind of choking.
His fingers still against his thighs, fingers halfway between scraping and digging in. Vergilius's fingers run through his hair, gentler than they should right now.
He's still being punished; he knows it. He could say no, it would be so easy. So easy. They would both know it's a lie. He's already trapped, and pink already dusts half his face, his ears, his chest. He stares up at him, at the smile on his lips, at his eeys peering at him from behind his bangs. ]
Would you... hold it against me if I did?
[ Would they? Could they? Should they? He was sick of them too, these words that said so little, but they were armor too. Could that be discarded? Maybe not fully, but... ]
Perhaps I only want you to be honest, Vergilius.
[His mouth feels like its everywhere. Uneven teeth sink into his skin, over and over again. But even when the bites make him sigh and groan, its the little breathless laugh that makes his abdomen pulse with heat and make an overwhelming flush blossom on his face.]
[The knee to his groin doesn't hurt, either.]
You. Already are distracting. Haah.
[And he really doesn't need to do much at all. Silco descends, and his hands follow. He caresses through the man's hair, stroking over the nape of his neck to let scarred tissue linger and pull at his sallow skin.]
[His voice sounds softer than he means it to.]
I could ask for. No better.
[The knee to his groin doesn't hurt, either.]
You. Already are distracting. Haah.
[And he really doesn't need to do much at all. Silco descends, and his hands follow. He caresses through the man's hair, stroking over the nape of his neck to let scarred tissue linger and pull at his sallow skin.]
[His voice sounds softer than he means it to.]
I could ask for. No better.
[ He could ask for no better?
Silco's teeth nip sharply into the ridge of his ribs, maybe punishing, maybe something more, like a claiming bite, trying to leave a mark there that will linger longer than the rest. A dull little ache as a reminder of Silco's presence until the next time they could steal away where nobody would find them. (Or so he thought...)
His fingers lead the way; gooseflesh picks up at the back of his neck at the feeling of his fingers there. He doesn't freeze at the feeling, and isn't that damning, that he allows his hands so close to him there.
His fingers dip against the edges of his pants, his mouth follows, more bites and the pressure of his lips and tongue follow, as he slips lower, lower. Replaces his knee with his mouth, another bite through cloth along the line of him, teasing this time. He tipped his head, to look up at him with that pitch eye. ]
Far be it from me to disappoint.
[ Clever fingers start making their quick work on his pants. He was just as eager as he was, after all. ]
Silco's teeth nip sharply into the ridge of his ribs, maybe punishing, maybe something more, like a claiming bite, trying to leave a mark there that will linger longer than the rest. A dull little ache as a reminder of Silco's presence until the next time they could steal away where nobody would find them. (Or so he thought...)
His fingers lead the way; gooseflesh picks up at the back of his neck at the feeling of his fingers there. He doesn't freeze at the feeling, and isn't that damning, that he allows his hands so close to him there.
His fingers dip against the edges of his pants, his mouth follows, more bites and the pressure of his lips and tongue follow, as he slips lower, lower. Replaces his knee with his mouth, another bite through cloth along the line of him, teasing this time. He tipped his head, to look up at him with that pitch eye. ]
Far be it from me to disappoint.
[ Clever fingers start making their quick work on his pants. He was just as eager as he was, after all. ]
...
[He could lie about it. But he feels like he can be honest for Dante.]
Yes. I will. More than I probably expect to.
[He could lie about it. But he feels like he can be honest for Dante.]
Yes. I will. More than I probably expect to.
Nn.
[Comes the sound from his throat at that bite, a bitten back groan that still vibrates through him. He does wish it left a mark. Silco has left so many. He might as leave another. Even now, he still has the scar where he was stabbed. Both times.]
[Silco moves lower, and lower, and now his mouth finds the heated swell of his groin. This next sound comes a little louder, complete with a scrape of his nails over his scalp. Cheeky one. What a tease.]
Don't stop now.
[Even as Silco continues to move - he finally lets his breath shift with a relieved sigh as the pressure starts to abate, a slight stain already through the fabric. Of course, he's already worked up. He wants to be more so, desperate for heat.]
I think you'll like what you'll find.
[A tease of his own, even as he tickles behind an ear, affectionate.]
[Comes the sound from his throat at that bite, a bitten back groan that still vibrates through him. He does wish it left a mark. Silco has left so many. He might as leave another. Even now, he still has the scar where he was stabbed. Both times.]
[Silco moves lower, and lower, and now his mouth finds the heated swell of his groin. This next sound comes a little louder, complete with a scrape of his nails over his scalp. Cheeky one. What a tease.]
Don't stop now.
[Even as Silco continues to move - he finally lets his breath shift with a relieved sigh as the pressure starts to abate, a slight stain already through the fabric. Of course, he's already worked up. He wants to be more so, desperate for heat.]
I think you'll like what you'll find.
[A tease of his own, even as he tickles behind an ear, affectionate.]
[This could be crueler. It has been cruel, before. He thinks he is cruel now, with a reminder of how he pressed a foot into the man's chest. Now he can use his body. If he wanted, he could crush him here and now. Just like that.]
[He won't, of course. He stares down at him, takes it it, burns that lovely flush into his memory.]
[Honesty? Do either of them understand what it means? Do they want to? They hide behind layer, they worry for the consequences. But he doesn't think he has ever let anyone slip in this close. It's so unlike him.]
Fine, then.
[A murmur, as his hand slides down the man's chest, abdomen, groin, slowly, before grasping Silco's cock with a definite hand.]
I'm...enjoying putting you in this position.
[He won't, of course. He stares down at him, takes it it, burns that lovely flush into his memory.]
[Honesty? Do either of them understand what it means? Do they want to? They hide behind layer, they worry for the consequences. But he doesn't think he has ever let anyone slip in this close. It's so unlike him.]
Fine, then.
[A murmur, as his hand slides down the man's chest, abdomen, groin, slowly, before grasping Silco's cock with a definite hand.]
I'm...enjoying putting you in this position.
[Surprise is writ plain on their face. They hadn't expected him to be honest about it.
...Well. If he's going to be honest...]
I'll probably miss it too.
...Well. If he's going to be honest...]
I'll probably miss it too.
[ As if what's inside is a surprise he hasn't acquainted himself with before.
No, he already knows what he'll find, and that it's... pleasing to him. His fingers peel him out, an eye dipped to eye the blossoming stain already left behind, before his lips curl into a sharp little smile, he tipped his eyes upward to eye him from his position between his legs.
Kneeled down between his legs, his thin fingers tug him free, wrapping around the base to stroke him, almost lewdly, given that he was already down there, a teasing, sharp little thing on his lips while he did so. ]
Hm... [ A squeeze as he drug his fingers down, tightening around the base of him. As if he were evaluating it. Testing it out. ] You think so, do you?
[ He does, his tone says, even though he plays coy. As if he hadn't held him in hand before, as if he wasn't coming back, or pulling him in, or coveting him. As if they hadn't just whispered a word that shouldn't be shared between monsters like this, but they'd done it anyway. He leaned forward, scraping uneven teeth, and tongue against the tip of him, tasting him, before he sunk down, taking more of him in, his stray hand curling around his thigh, as if he could hold him there. ]
No, he already knows what he'll find, and that it's... pleasing to him. His fingers peel him out, an eye dipped to eye the blossoming stain already left behind, before his lips curl into a sharp little smile, he tipped his eyes upward to eye him from his position between his legs.
Kneeled down between his legs, his thin fingers tug him free, wrapping around the base to stroke him, almost lewdly, given that he was already down there, a teasing, sharp little thing on his lips while he did so. ]
Hm... [ A squeeze as he drug his fingers down, tightening around the base of him. As if he were evaluating it. Testing it out. ] You think so, do you?
[ He does, his tone says, even though he plays coy. As if he hadn't held him in hand before, as if he wasn't coming back, or pulling him in, or coveting him. As if they hadn't just whispered a word that shouldn't be shared between monsters like this, but they'd done it anyway. He leaned forward, scraping uneven teeth, and tongue against the tip of him, tasting him, before he sunk down, taking more of him in, his stray hand curling around his thigh, as if he could hold him there. ]
[ He's still oversensitive, it very nearly hurts even while it sends another shockwave down his spine. His mouth opens to struggle to bite out some sort of protest, but he can only half-squirm under him, barely able to move, and his mouth opens with a retort that dies on his tongue, but instead an uncontrolled sound escapes, halfway between a moan and a hiss of pain.
It hurts, it's like fire down his spine, it's too-sweet pain that's too much, and his entire body trembles from the effort of it. His one eye closes from it, but his other, all it can do his stare out, rolled back slightly, can he even see him in this moment? When he grasps him like that?
Does it matter? Does he hate it?
No, like the foot on his chest, he liked it all. The little cruelties, the way he lashed out sometimes, the way his mouth is open, but there's the slightest curl of his lip in the corner — he enjoys it. How could he not? Things like this were just as sure an expression of this shared lust between them, odd as it was, because he wanted to see him contort and writhe for him, didn't he? he wanted to be the one to cause it, just like Silco did. He wanted to fight and gnash up against him just as much as he wanted to feel that strength shudder up against him like he had just moments before.
He'd hurt him. Why wouldn't he hurt back? They were men — they were still monsters.
He was greedy, wasn't he? He wanted it all. It was punishment. It was pleasure. Was any of it supposed to be anything but? Could Silco accept anything less? He would take all of it like this, if the man would find him, hunt him down, and take him after all of that. Wrought iron meeting wrought iron, winding around each other.
Another shudder, his voice more strained than it had any right to be. ]
Oh? Perhaps... I enjoy it too.
[ His fingers on his thighs. They threaten to dig in. How damning, that he enjoys him hovering over him like this. ]
It hurts, it's like fire down his spine, it's too-sweet pain that's too much, and his entire body trembles from the effort of it. His one eye closes from it, but his other, all it can do his stare out, rolled back slightly, can he even see him in this moment? When he grasps him like that?
Does it matter? Does he hate it?
No, like the foot on his chest, he liked it all. The little cruelties, the way he lashed out sometimes, the way his mouth is open, but there's the slightest curl of his lip in the corner — he enjoys it. How could he not? Things like this were just as sure an expression of this shared lust between them, odd as it was, because he wanted to see him contort and writhe for him, didn't he? he wanted to be the one to cause it, just like Silco did. He wanted to fight and gnash up against him just as much as he wanted to feel that strength shudder up against him like he had just moments before.
He'd hurt him. Why wouldn't he hurt back? They were men — they were still monsters.
He was greedy, wasn't he? He wanted it all. It was punishment. It was pleasure. Was any of it supposed to be anything but? Could Silco accept anything less? He would take all of it like this, if the man would find him, hunt him down, and take him after all of that. Wrought iron meeting wrought iron, winding around each other.
Another shudder, his voice more strained than it had any right to be. ]
Oh? Perhaps... I enjoy it too.
[ His fingers on his thighs. They threaten to dig in. How damning, that he enjoys him hovering over him like this. ]
I know so.
[How many times has Silco seen this? Held him, carressed him, coveted him, sunk down on him? More times than he would have ever expected. One would think that they, at their age, would have their fill after a handful of trysts. It isn't as if there will be something drastically new, every time they drag each other to a bed or otherwise.]
[But they defy explanation. They do this again, and again, and again. And it never gets boring, never gets tiring. He still feels turned on by the mere stroke of his hands as he did months ago. He still dreams of his restless hands over the man's body, even outside their meetings. He still murmurs Silco's name when he wakes up swollen and aching and needy. Addiction. It must be.]
[Does Silco feel the same? He must. He would be stupid to assume that this is all simply accidental or happenstance. They choose to occupy each other's spaces. They want to strip each other bare, and be alright with another man's hands touching places no one else ever has.]
[Strange for a bodyguard and employer. But par for the course for lovers.]
[Silco strokes him and squeezes, making little lightening shocks spit down his lower back, before he makes his move. There is already a moan in his mouth, but it finally releases when the other's mouth swallows him down. Vergilius hisses, fingers splaying on his head to keep him in place.]
Damn. That's good-
[How many times has Silco seen this? Held him, carressed him, coveted him, sunk down on him? More times than he would have ever expected. One would think that they, at their age, would have their fill after a handful of trysts. It isn't as if there will be something drastically new, every time they drag each other to a bed or otherwise.]
[But they defy explanation. They do this again, and again, and again. And it never gets boring, never gets tiring. He still feels turned on by the mere stroke of his hands as he did months ago. He still dreams of his restless hands over the man's body, even outside their meetings. He still murmurs Silco's name when he wakes up swollen and aching and needy. Addiction. It must be.]
[Does Silco feel the same? He must. He would be stupid to assume that this is all simply accidental or happenstance. They choose to occupy each other's spaces. They want to strip each other bare, and be alright with another man's hands touching places no one else ever has.]
[Strange for a bodyguard and employer. But par for the course for lovers.]
[Silco strokes him and squeezes, making little lightening shocks spit down his lower back, before he makes his move. There is already a moan in his mouth, but it finally releases when the other's mouth swallows him down. Vergilius hisses, fingers splaying on his head to keep him in place.]
Damn. That's good-
...You?
[Now that earns Dante a quizzical look. He straightens, his eyes fixated on their face.]
Why would you miss it?
[Now that earns Dante a quizzical look. He straightens, his eyes fixated on their face.]
Why would you miss it?
[They can feel him stare at them. Somehow it feels like a great weight upon their back. Uncomfortable.
Their eyes remain locked on the surface of the bar, expression pensive.]
I don't know. Maybe I like feeling normal too. And the people here aren't so bad either.
[Some a little odder than most. Some a bit quicker to anger. Some gentler, and quiet. Some excitable and full of personality. But that's the sort of people they're used to. That's the way people seem to be.]
Their eyes remain locked on the surface of the bar, expression pensive.]
I don't know. Maybe I like feeling normal too. And the people here aren't so bad either.
[Some a little odder than most. Some a bit quicker to anger. Some gentler, and quiet. Some excitable and full of personality. But that's the sort of people they're used to. That's the way people seem to be.]
[ How could this be anything other than intentional? Silco recognizes it too, that all of this still lights something like fire into his veins, spurring him on, drawing him near him. There's less hesitation, less dancing around the subject like they're still hesitant, little monsters feeling each other out. The tentative hesitation is gone, leaving this roaring blaze that seems to pick up anytime they're in the same room.
If he was honest with himself, it was not just when they were alone together. Silco's eyes often found his across a room now, he couldn't help it, a barely restrained hunger every time he did so. He always sought him out, could do nothing butm and it's worse now, isn't it? Even worse than in those in-between days, when they'd still been dancing back and forth, when he'd woken up sweating and with his name on his lips. How is it worse? He used to rarely think about it, dream about it — but he finds that it's on his mind more — he's on his mind more — how shameful.
He wants more of him, always more. More than any of the other labels, nobody would seek out someone they were merely blowing off steam with like Silco does, like Vergilius does. Neither man is the type as it is, were they? Silco was so fearful, paranoid, and cautious, as if anyone getting even remotely close is a death sentence, yet he let him in. Held his hand all those months ago, but had he realized it would... escalate like so? He'd let him slip past the armor that one time, and now it feels like he's lodged in there, and can't so easily tug away from him. Even if he wanted him to.
He doesn't want him to.
How base of him.
How base of him to hum against his cock, taking him all the way down, breathing through his nose, filled with the smell of him, the taste of him, the room could be ten times more garish and it wouldn't matter, not with him filling all of his senses. All he can see is the shape of him from this angle, all he hears is his voice, feels is his hand against his head, the weight of him in his mouth. His words, praise like that should mean little, but he feels a blossom of heat at the back of his neck, across the tips of his ears, and he takes more of him in, sinking down, before he drew back up only slightly as if to fight against his hand; but they both knew that it was always a push, and a pull with them. When had it been anything else? ]
If he was honest with himself, it was not just when they were alone together. Silco's eyes often found his across a room now, he couldn't help it, a barely restrained hunger every time he did so. He always sought him out, could do nothing butm and it's worse now, isn't it? Even worse than in those in-between days, when they'd still been dancing back and forth, when he'd woken up sweating and with his name on his lips. How is it worse? He used to rarely think about it, dream about it — but he finds that it's on his mind more — he's on his mind more — how shameful.
He wants more of him, always more. More than any of the other labels, nobody would seek out someone they were merely blowing off steam with like Silco does, like Vergilius does. Neither man is the type as it is, were they? Silco was so fearful, paranoid, and cautious, as if anyone getting even remotely close is a death sentence, yet he let him in. Held his hand all those months ago, but had he realized it would... escalate like so? He'd let him slip past the armor that one time, and now it feels like he's lodged in there, and can't so easily tug away from him. Even if he wanted him to.
He doesn't want him to.
How base of him.
How base of him to hum against his cock, taking him all the way down, breathing through his nose, filled with the smell of him, the taste of him, the room could be ten times more garish and it wouldn't matter, not with him filling all of his senses. All he can see is the shape of him from this angle, all he hears is his voice, feels is his hand against his head, the weight of him in his mouth. His words, praise like that should mean little, but he feels a blossom of heat at the back of his neck, across the tips of his ears, and he takes more of him in, sinking down, before he drew back up only slightly as if to fight against his hand; but they both knew that it was always a push, and a pull with them. When had it been anything else? ]
[...]
[He misunderstood. He assumed Dante meant he would miss Vergilius being like this, "normal" and...]
[That was rather selfish of him. Jumping the gun. Why would he think Dante would think about that? They had their own worries and wishes and wants, and...of course. A life free of that albatross of responsibility. He can't blame them.]
...Free of burden. It's understandable. To stand with others as equals.
[He misunderstood. He assumed Dante meant he would miss Vergilius being like this, "normal" and...]
[That was rather selfish of him. Jumping the gun. Why would he think Dante would think about that? They had their own worries and wishes and wants, and...of course. A life free of that albatross of responsibility. He can't blame them.]
...Free of burden. It's understandable. To stand with others as equals.
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