[ He hums, and whether it's an affirmation or thoughtful, he doesn't clarify. Or maybe he's too focused on the patchwork scars and marks on his skin, investing in learning the pieces and parts. He makes notes of where he shudders, reacts, and shakes. Memorizing them like they are weapons to use later β or tools, depending on the mood β but...
He reaches up for his neck, to touch it, does he know β ?
His throat bobbed with the force of it, the way it moved when he swallowed, moving against his fingers on his throat.
He feels truly exposed for the first time; the first time any shred of logic slips in, bare like this. Vulnerable. All exposed scars, his bones poking through skin. He feels watched, perceived, but Vergilius says something he doesn't expect.
He so often said things Silco doesn't expect.
He feels it, the flush on his cheek, uncontrolled, was it surprise, or embarrassment? He can't even tell.]
You think so?
[ It's mostly rhetorical. His voice rumbles under fingers, and still he touches his throat. How could he know? His breath still shudders every moment his fingers light on it. His eye closed to half-mast, like he was trying to put himself back together, before he leaned down, to scrape only half-sharpened teeth on his neck, maybe in retaliation for the touch, maybe because he remembered what it was like to bite him there, and drink.
Now, his nips barely break skin, but he still laps at the (pathetic) wound, as if the pebble of pooling blood was enough.]
π i do not see it
[ He hums, and whether it's an affirmation or thoughtful, he doesn't clarify. Or maybe he's too focused on the patchwork scars and marks on his skin, investing in learning the pieces and parts. He makes notes of where he shudders, reacts, and shakes. Memorizing them like they are weapons to use later β or tools, depending on the mood β but...
He reaches up for his neck, to touch it, does he know β ?
His throat bobbed with the force of it, the way it moved when he swallowed, moving against his fingers on his throat.
He feels truly exposed for the first time; the first time any shred of logic slips in, bare like this. Vulnerable. All exposed scars, his bones poking through skin. He feels watched, perceived, but Vergilius says something he doesn't expect.
He so often said things Silco doesn't expect.
He feels it, the flush on his cheek, uncontrolled, was it surprise, or embarrassment? He can't even tell.]
You think so?
[ It's mostly rhetorical. His voice rumbles under fingers, and still he touches his throat. How could he know? His breath still shudders every moment his fingers light on it. His eye closed to half-mast, like he was trying to put himself back together, before he leaned down, to scrape only half-sharpened teeth on his neck, maybe in retaliation for the touch, maybe because he remembered what it was like to bite him there, and drink.
Now, his nips barely break skin, but he still laps at the (pathetic) wound, as if the pebble of pooling blood was enough.]