[ Everything about him is askew. His heartbeat beats at an irregular rhythm, his hair mussed and out of place, strands of it falling into his face. Any hope at concealing his scar has already been streaked off. He's practically collapsed against the man, and he's still inside of him, buried there. The pressure of it all should feel uncomfortable, too tight -- but instead it feels so... Right.

Maybe it's because it's been so long. Maybe it's because Vergilius is just the right size, or maybe it's just simply that they've been dancing in this same direction for long enough that it feels good because it was an inevitability. He could believe that -- that it was inevitable that he would end up in his bed.

He'd promised it before, after all, that he'd make him see stars, and he felt like he still was, the last aftershocks of his own release still leaving him weak and surprisingly pliant.]

Hm... [ He says against his lips, one eye staring into his. He reached up to brush the fringe of his hair from his gaze. ] It must be that you've been thinking about this.

[ About him. His fingers drift to scrape the side of his scalp, sharp, because nothing from Silco came without harm. He didn't rightly know how to do anything without it. ]

I have. Since... [ He shifted slightly, lewdly, just to feel him inside. He smiled, something sharp, but he pressed his lips against his mouth as he says it, like a dark secret. ] Why, since you beheaded a man for me.

[ He'd been too surprised, too stunned to do anything with it in Transylvania, when he'd kissed him in that hall but... With him still seated in him, some of his release dribbling out of him, he could offer a small whisper of this truth.

Of course, with Silco, it could not be kind, even a secret like this. ]