[ This isn't like him either, Silco had never burned so bright or hot; he'd barely burned at all for all these years, and now twice he's found himself half (or fully) bare in front of this man, and his body moves more than his brain does. Like whatever possesses him knows it needs to quiet the spinning, rotating mind before it jumps in and intercedes and puts a stop to it, A part of his mind, beneath the heat and the everything certainly would rail at this β but he had no more stopped it the last time, had he?
It was like the fact that he'd been able to get the jump on him, take him down in his own way, had made the man less scary, even if he had wrapped his hand around his neck, and tried to choke the life out of him. Even if he had kissed his scar at the same time β what had possessed him to do that? He still didn't understand it β and he'd stabbed him with his knife, and the man had come back around. He'd cornered him in his room, and Silco couldn't say that he understood it, but between the blood and the bites, and... everything else... he'd been driven by his need to pull the man apart, pull something out of him. So how did this keep happening?
He didn't know. Right now... it didn't matter, did it? It was β It was β
Right now, stopping is the furthest thing on his mind, and his mouth goes dry, and a touch slack for a split second, his eyes locked on that for long enough that the implication is clear. He'd challenged him β Vergilius had promised him, hadn't he? He bites at his neck like they still have fangs, and there's a raw little surge of that heat at the rush of memory. It drives those spiderlike fingers to dig into his hip more, a rush of something that leaves his eyes trailing between what's in his hand, and his face. ]
Please, you don't want me to play nice, do you? [ He dug his fingers in, like hooks. ] I think you would be terribly disappointed.
[ He would, if it was anything short of this, of something raw, that hurt in places. Greedy bites that leave marks on his skin he'll have to cover later. His fingers drift, from his hips, to his hair, to tug it back and out of his face, so he can look down on him with a single, glowing eye. ]
And give you the opportunity to get out of them? [ A quirk of something that might be a smile, but it's too sharp, too much like that controlled little spider, even if his hands tremble, and he seems so flushed still. ] I think not.
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It was like the fact that he'd been able to get the jump on him, take him down in his own way, had made the man less scary, even if he had wrapped his hand around his neck, and tried to choke the life out of him. Even if he had kissed his scar at the same time β what had possessed him to do that? He still didn't understand it β and he'd stabbed him with his knife, and the man had come back around. He'd cornered him in his room, and Silco couldn't say that he understood it, but between the blood and the bites, and... everything else... he'd been driven by his need to pull the man apart, pull something out of him. So how did this keep happening?
He didn't know. Right now... it didn't matter, did it? It was β It was β
Right now, stopping is the furthest thing on his mind, and his mouth goes dry, and a touch slack for a split second, his eyes locked on that for long enough that the implication is clear. He'd challenged him β Vergilius had promised him, hadn't he? He bites at his neck like they still have fangs, and there's a raw little surge of that heat at the rush of memory. It drives those spiderlike fingers to dig into his hip more, a rush of something that leaves his eyes trailing between what's in his hand, and his face. ]
Please, you don't want me to play nice, do you? [ He dug his fingers in, like hooks. ] I think you would be terribly disappointed.
[ He would, if it was anything short of this, of something raw, that hurt in places. Greedy bites that leave marks on his skin he'll have to cover later. His fingers drift, from his hips, to his hair, to tug it back and out of his face, so he can look down on him with a single, glowing eye. ]
And give you the opportunity to get out of them? [ A quirk of something that might be a smile, but it's too sharp, too much like that controlled little spider, even if his hands tremble, and he seems so flushed still. ] I think not.