[ He says with all the pride and confidence that he should not feel. Silco is aware of his...limitations. He is old now, and the nanite injection can only do so much for him, but it will work into overtime tonight. He is thin, and reedy, with spider-fingers and bones that stick out under flesh. That's discounting the eye, that meets his gaze, locking with it, holding it, before he looks away. Not out of shame, but to...look.
It's a pronounced difference next to the man. He's large, larger than Silco by far, and solid, with none of those delicate protruding bones, and instead weight and muscle to fill in the gaps. The heat keeps his mind on this, and he could be honest with himself in some tiny, barely honest way β he was good to look at β like this. If he were more honest, he would admit that the man's hands on him felt too good, given that they could toss him around like that, lift him against the wall like he was nothing.
His fingers started on scars, as they always did. Not gentle, never gentle, but he scraped at them like he was trying to find a pattern. Or maybe to memorize them. His knee on his sternum, he held him down, while he made his way through it.
Really, a part of him was trying to see if he could just drive him mad, from touch alone.
He flicked his nail against one, scraping against it, following the line lower. Bare patches of skin weren't safe either, his nails dug there, like he was trying to dig in, find a way to make new scars, while he found his way down solid muscle, and dipped closer to his abdomen, but he knew the value of patience. Especially when that heat forced his head to swim, and he felt...like trying to hold it off would do something. Drive him to desperation, maybe, or Vergilius. Wouldn't that be a sight?
His lips twitched at the thought, pleasantly. For once. ]
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[ He says with all the pride and confidence that he should not feel. Silco is aware of his...limitations. He is old now, and the nanite injection can only do so much for him, but it will work into overtime tonight. He is thin, and reedy, with spider-fingers and bones that stick out under flesh. That's discounting the eye, that meets his gaze, locking with it, holding it, before he looks away. Not out of shame, but to...look.
It's a pronounced difference next to the man. He's large, larger than Silco by far, and solid, with none of those delicate protruding bones, and instead weight and muscle to fill in the gaps. The heat keeps his mind on this, and he could be honest with himself in some tiny, barely honest way β he was good to look at β like this. If he were more honest, he would admit that the man's hands on him felt too good, given that they could toss him around like that, lift him against the wall like he was nothing.
His fingers started on scars, as they always did. Not gentle, never gentle, but he scraped at them like he was trying to find a pattern. Or maybe to memorize them. His knee on his sternum, he held him down, while he made his way through it.
Really, a part of him was trying to see if he could just drive him mad, from touch alone.
He flicked his nail against one, scraping against it, following the line lower. Bare patches of skin weren't safe either, his nails dug there, like he was trying to dig in, find a way to make new scars, while he found his way down solid muscle, and dipped closer to his abdomen, but he knew the value of patience. Especially when that heat forced his head to swim, and he felt...like trying to hold it off would do something. Drive him to desperation, maybe, or Vergilius. Wouldn't that be a sight?
His lips twitched at the thought, pleasantly. For once. ]