[He will miss this. This pride, this pleasure, this pain. Silco won the war here, may have even eked out a victory in battle. After this, the hooks into his skin are more evident - he can't simply detach himself from this moment, where burying himself into the man feels like it should be a constant in his life.]
[It's wrong. Silco is horrible. Someone who has betrayed his trust, turned him into a monster. Does he come back to him because the idea of being manipulated like this is a foregone conclusion? Does he simply miss the touch of others this much, even if it's coming from someone this ready to hurt him?]
[See, there he digs in. Vergilius shudders and grinds his teeth in muted pain. His hide is tough. And yet Silco aims to leave a mark however possible.]
[He is not to be deterred. He will take on that challenge from before, now goaded with words. He thrusts forward again, languid like a wave lapping at the shore. His movement is eased by the slick feeling present, leaking slightly onto the sheets between them with his movement.]
[Amazing, how even now, he feels like he could push forward, fill him again to the brim, like Silco is a receptacle for everything he chooses to be.]
[His hand reaches forward to grasp at the side of his face, edge of his thimbnail digging as it slides upwards. His mouth is open as his breath heaves with his movement below.]
I will. I certainly will.
[His breath comes out rough, rattling, but tinged with a certain kind of warmth, almost fond.]
kinning himself as a short person
[It's wrong. Silco is horrible. Someone who has betrayed his trust, turned him into a monster. Does he come back to him because the idea of being manipulated like this is a foregone conclusion? Does he simply miss the touch of others this much, even if it's coming from someone this ready to hurt him?]
[See, there he digs in. Vergilius shudders and grinds his teeth in muted pain. His hide is tough. And yet Silco aims to leave a mark however possible.]
[He is not to be deterred. He will take on that challenge from before, now goaded with words. He thrusts forward again, languid like a wave lapping at the shore. His movement is eased by the slick feeling present, leaking slightly onto the sheets between them with his movement.]
[Amazing, how even now, he feels like he could push forward, fill him again to the brim, like Silco is a receptacle for everything he chooses to be.]
[His hand reaches forward to grasp at the side of his face, edge of his thimbnail digging as it slides upwards. His mouth is open as his breath heaves with his movement below.]
I will. I certainly will.
[His breath comes out rough, rattling, but tinged with a certain kind of warmth, almost fond.]
And I want enough to do again, if you'd have me.