[Silco braces himself against the warfield that is his scarred chest, fingers digging in as he so wonderfully rides him through his throes. Its perfect. He would not want for anything more. Here he is, Mister Silco, a man who is made to take him completely, be filled, find physical ecstasy in his bed. He was made to be destroyed by him. Over and over, as many times as he can.]

[It's a mess of thoughts and feelings up in his head. He would scoff at it later with a cooler head - nobody is made for anyone else - and yet this very moment seems to dig into him in ways Silco's words don't. The come-down from his orgasm, the hot threads splashing across his chest and neck and chin, the way he breathes like he's just had the air punched out of him. Its perfect. It's too perfect. He shouldn't have dreams about this later, but his brain and his body have other plans for sleepless late nights. Damn this man.]

[Before he can even say anything, this man captures his lips like a trophy. He doesn't even pause. It's a still-hungry kiss that he grabs to himself and returns the favor with a little pleased moan. His fingers shift up from his neck to tangle in his hair, his arm encircles the man's waist to keep him from moving to a new position.]

[Another bite of a kiss. Another kiss. He's not a vampire, but he kisses as if he's been starving for one for years.]

I felt good, didnt I? [He'll be more than happy to complete that previous thought, smirking into his kisses. His hand splays to rub over his side.] I could say the same about you. I think I already did. I'll say it again.

[And a nip to his chin. He won't pull Silco off himself yet, basking in the warm feeling of being so buried into the other man.]

How in the world do you feel so good?