[ He doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed about the vampire thing. He's said his own piece about it — that he thinks he's without guilt (lol) — so instead he only lifts a single real eyebrow, and tipped his head with a silent smile. As if he's saying 'nobody's perfect'.
He ate the last piece of his stick, all snapped into neat little pieces. He's still standing, one leg crossed over the other. ]
Hardly.
[ The words come out a touch more automatically than he usually speaks. His ears are tinged pink at the tips. ]
So quick to kick me out? [ A soft tut. ] Even I was more hospitable.
[ He shrugged, closed his one good eye, as if he was bearing a great burden. ]
And here I am, trying to make nice, being told these things. Then people wonder why I so often do not try.
[ Insult here, rebuttal there, a bit like a dance. The flush takes to the back of his neck, but he does his best to ignore it. Something about it, the cookie, settles odd in his stomach. Maybe it's because he's not used to the food, but...
Hm. ]
What if you... give it to me anyway? See what happens?
[ He drug his fingers across the desk, like he's leaving a stain in his wake. ]
I think people see you make little effort in trying to make nice, if at all.
[Another little jab, mildly. He should pull his eyes away, but he doesn't. watching the color move. It's an odd thing, to see so much flow to someone so pale.]
[He swallows, palpably. The man shifts his fingers over his table, and his hand moves as if by its own bidding, capturing his wrist.]
I don't know the meaning of it. So I can't give what I don't have.
[ His hand stills, and his lips curled into a smile that's maybe too self-satisfied. ]
Little effort? And here I brought a gift and everything. Isn't that nice?
[ He moved to shift himself off the table, though he doesn't really go anywhere, just turned a little more toward him, looking down at him. for once He focused on his lips, but he doesn't tug his hand away, but it's like he's stuck, standing there right before him. ]
Don't know the meaning? [ he asks with a scoff. ] Wasn't I perfectly hospitable when you visited me?
[ The slight shrug of his shoulders is all he has. He kept looking down at him, that pit of an eye matches, more like a spotlight, searching through the darkness to see what it can find, before it meets the predator.
His lips quirked into a smile. ]
In some places it is considered quite hospitable behavior.
[ He can feel that heat down his spine, shivering down it, like it's got it taut as a wire, like it's both too hot, but that's not enough. His other hand shot out, to land on his shoulder. It rest there, a slight, but solid weight. ]
[Which is....sort of a lie, sort of not. The circumstances were hateful. Everything that happened...somehow wasn't, even if he sees it with some distaste after the fact. Or maybe that's his regret? His own hindsight?]
[It's harder to think here. The hand is so small, but it feels like a pin skewering a butterfly wing in place.]
[Something feels......off? Not off?]
...I feel sick.
[Is it really sickness. There's something brewing, like some pleasurable sense of nausea in his chest.]
[ He says it with confidence, with that sort of self-assured smile Silco so often has. Sure, the reason he'd visited had been hateful. Silco didn't doubt that, he'd been angry about the vampire thing -- which, again, he was faultless for. (No) But he hasn't forgotten everything else he'd said that evening. What he sounded like when --
That flush still dusts his ears. He's still too hot, like he's next to a furnace, like his lean, too-thin body is shivering trying to hold back from --
What? He doesn't know. Or maybe he does, the same fluttering kick to his heart, too loud in his head. ]
Are you trying that hard to kick me out?
[ He asked, he leans forward, without thinking about it, not even really realizing what he's doing. He stared at him, leaning down to meet his eyes, so they were on the same level, only inches away. He looks for... Something, whether it's honest illness in his expression or otherwise, he isn't sure he finds what he's looking for. ]
[Of course not. Definitely not. It wasn't good. It was terrible. He doesn't think about it. Not even a little. ]
[...It's nice to lie to himself, sometimes. Even so, his initial complaints feel like they're melting away, leaving something raw and heated, an open wound he didn't account for. It's not a new feeling. He had it that night, in the midst of bites and swallowed blood. But this feels like someone swung a hammer over his head when he least expected it.]
[Silco is bending in. Vergilius's eyes flicker - to his eyes, to his hand, to...his mouth, now. He feels a breath seize in his chest that he lets out, almost stuttering.]
I guess not. [Finally an admission, quiet, but with that he's striking like a viper, hand curling around the man's collar to yank him in.] Come here.
[It's nowhere near chaste. He's taking this kiss like he's starving for it. He won't let him go with a familiar hunger like this. Not now.]
[ He'd thought to point out that he was still lying — but the heat makes his mind slow and sluggish, he was so stuck on tracing the line of the scar on his face that with his eyes that he was still caught by surprise when he tugged him forward, a soft note that lands against his lips.
He slotted against him easily, tugged forward by his grip, settled into his lap, straddling it. He weighs next to nothing up against him, lean and sharp, all bones and sinew. Silco snaps at his mouth when he tugs him, a bite against his lip before he can get far, but Vergilius pushes further, and his mouth opened automatically, allowing him in to pursue what he sought.
He tastes like cheap cigars and whiskey. It had been buried with all the blood, but now that his diet has been forcefully realigned, his bad habits shine through. He reached up, his fingers clawed at his neck, his jaw, a thumb traced along that scar on his face, the same one that had drawn his attention. Something in him makes him want to keep tracing it, the flush that takes to the back of his neck makes him think he would like to find the rest of his scars too, scrape his nails against them like he could open him up.
He feels frantic for it, like that flush of heat was going to roast him alive, like he needs — needs something to sate that churning fire in him — this doesn't seem enough, but...
But he feels satisfied digging his fingers into scarred flesh all the same. ]
[It's terrifying, in its own way. He could blame their previous tryst on the vampirism. Here, there's no hunger for blood that can explain this. He's overwhelmed, his mouth letting out a pleased noise as the other shifts to fit squarely into his lap, like he belongs there.]
[Silco digs in as if to pull him apart. He can match the same, what with his hands shamelessly launching themselves at the other's collared shirt to roughly start to try to pull off his vest, open those buttons. He wants skin to skin, to douse himself in it like one would to the snow from a fire, but - no, even he knows deep down this won't help with the inferno within. It would make it worse.]
[He digs his tongue past those scarred lips into Silco's mouth, prodding, swallowing kiss after kiss. Only a few gasps of breath are allowed - he moans a little into the movement, his ears feeling like they're on fire. Its an intensity that feels like its going to split his head open if he doesn't- what? What does he need, here?]
[ He wants — needs — something to sate this fire burning under his skin, a flush that creeps down his neck and lower, lower, lower. His fingers look to dig into flesh, but it isn't enough for that, that roaring hunger seems as insatiable as the monster he proclaimed himself to be. He gasped against his mouth, all teeth and tongue, it's as violent as Silco always is — no softness, nothing pleasant to be found here — but his fingers stop digging into his face and his neck.
It's not enough. What will be enough?
He digs further in, like he's searching for something that will sate his hunger. his fingers ineffectively tug at his shirt, before he finally gets a few buttons loose. His fingers follow, tugging more of his shirt open with that heated desperation, he needs — he needs more of whatever this is.
What can sate this hunger? What will quell that insatiable raging inferno that's making his heart pound so fast and so hard? His fingers light on scars that he wants to dig into, scrape furrows next to and leave lasting marks next to them, like he can leave a mark on him.
It doesn't feel like enough, it's not enough to satisfy.
Slotted on his lap, he leans forward — into that kiss a little more, still biting, still all sharp and mean — but he groans against him from the friction, rubbing up against him, sending a jolt of something electric and hungry straight down his spine. ]
[He finds bare skin as he exposes it. No, not enough. The kissing is not enough, either, neither is the exploration of those agile little fingers. It's simply suffocating. Like they're baking in a fire that desires to heat them to their bones and not let go.]
[He has an idea, though. Breaking the kiss, he's swiftly diving down to unzip his own pants, before he forces Silco's hand away from his chest to brush his abdomen, press against what is clearly growing from the shooting spikes of throbbing arousal from his spine into his groin. He's then back to completely depriving Silco of his top, here caring little for what he tears in his wake.]
I'm going to break you into two. [And now he'll take the man's earlobe in between his teeth, sucking on it as he growls.] Get ready.
[ The words sent a jolt of electricity straight down the back of his spine, better than the electric-fire jolts of shimmer. His fingers closed around him — reading what he wanted from the urgency of his hands — it didn't do much to sate that raging fire burning through him, ripping through him like a violent hunger.
He pumps his hand up and down the length of him, a hiss of enjoyment at the feeling that he took nearly no time at all to firm in his hands. His lips parted, when he grasped his ear with his lips — a startled gasp that escaped some of that tight control. He hadn't expected it, just like he didn't expect the words that slipped past Vergilius's lips, or how that sent a shock straight down to his own cock, still trapped in his pants. ]
Oh? [ He asks, but the low rumble is almost breathless, frayed with a touch of anticipation, a little fraying, a slight dip in that tightly held control. A slight tremble to his hands, at the thought of what he was going to do. That roaring heat unsated even while his brain decided there were plenty of ideas of what he could do. ] How are you going to do that?
[ Somehow, he manages to finish the thought, his free hand reached out to feel at another line of scars his clever thin hands looking to find spaces to still tear open, the scrape of nails like he was trying to let that heat find a place to vent. His fingers twist on his cock, thumb across the head for good measure — just in case he dared think Silco would just play along. ]
[Again, its hateful how none of this seems to help. Silco carresses him so, teases him, holds him like that, and its worse. Its all worse. Oh, of course, his body shivers for it all the same, but a parched man would scream at being offered a few sips of water and that alone.]
[What beautiful sounds. He's already going mad from them - they're so delicate coming from the twisted bony man currently situated on his lap. He asks how he is going to do it.]
[He answers with an action instead. Pulling back only to wrap an arm around the man to lift him up as he stands from his chair. A bit of fumbling and muttered cursing under his breath as he dislodges himself from his pants, only to now move towards the wall to press Silco right against it with his body. Its so easy. His hands are now making quick work of the other man's pants, grumbling the whole while.]
You don't deserve the bed. Maybe later.
[Definitely later. If his tone has anything to say about it. If Silco helps him, let him do so, but if not, Vergilius seems all too intent on overpowering this whole sitiation with what he desires.]
[ He wants — he doesn't know what he wants here. He wants everything, his skin itches with the heat and the flush, and though he's too-pale from a life lived mostly underground, and it just serves to leave the spaces where the heat takes him even more obvious. It's not that he doesn't have ideas — despite the fact that he often doesn't... tend to indulge — but something about the heat seems to put too many ideas in his head, like he has the choice of everything, and he can't even decide which one he wants the most.
Maybe later sends a short-circuit through his brain, or maybe it's that he's trapped against the wall — pressed up against it with Vergilius's crushing strength — could he even fight it if he wanted to? Would he? The soft 'ooph' was half an exclamation, and half a soft exhale, tinged with a groan.
His hands doing their best to aid him along on his path, help him with whatever he's trying to do, his pants, or... anything else. He needs — more. Skin to skin, maybe more than that. He brushed against his cock, two fingers that stroked the length of it, like he aims to walk his fingers along him, before he diverted — his fingers find his hips, to tug him closer, his thumbs try to dig in at the muscle and bone. He needed skin to skin — he needed more. He needed... something that even this wasn't satisfying — and the haze of it left his brain in an oddly single-minded haze, he just wanted...
This.
Going to make me earn it?
[ He asks, and his voice is...
more coy than he would have cared to admit, were he not overtaken by this haze. ]
[It feels like a frenzy. Sloppy, for sure, but intentional all the same. Silco moves in a chaotic manner he hasn't seem from him before, all spider fingers and tugging in for explicit closeness. The man who was almost placid to that moment in the hallway with a kiss to his scar seems so distanced from the man who he's pressing against a wall, now.]
[The clothes are off, dumped on the floor underneath them. They stand, fully bare, and the heat is making Vergilius especially break into a sweat at the sheer weight of that - his brain can't stop thinking. This isn't like him. Any fire he had like this before was sweeter, slower, smoother. Here, he's wild thing. He doesn't recognize himself.]
[His hand moves to the nearby nightstand hurriedly, pulling out - well. He wasn't prepared last time. He is, this time. Did he just have it? Did he get it specifically for him? He won't say, but he's indulging in a bit of a tease as he's simply holding it, leaning forward to mouth over Silco's throat with little sucks and bites greedily.]
Maybe. [Two can play at this coy game, as he groans a little into this pale flesh. His other hand traces a pressured, needy circle over the man's groin.] I might. If you play nice.
[Another beat, another haggard little noise.]
Last...call to leave. Ha. Before I make good on...all my promises.
[ This isn't like him either, Silco had never burned so bright or hot; he'd barely burned at all for all these years, and now twice he's found himself half (or fully) bare in front of this man, and his body moves more than his brain does. Like whatever possesses him knows it needs to quiet the spinning, rotating mind before it jumps in and intercedes and puts a stop to it, A part of his mind, beneath the heat and the everything certainly would rail at this — but he had no more stopped it the last time, had he?
It was like the fact that he'd been able to get the jump on him, take him down in his own way, had made the man less scary, even if he had wrapped his hand around his neck, and tried to choke the life out of him. Even if he had kissed his scar at the same time — what had possessed him to do that? He still didn't understand it — and he'd stabbed him with his knife, and the man had come back around. He'd cornered him in his room, and Silco couldn't say that he understood it, but between the blood and the bites, and... everything else... he'd been driven by his need to pull the man apart, pull something out of him. So how did this keep happening?
He didn't know. Right now... it didn't matter, did it? It was — It was —
Right now, stopping is the furthest thing on his mind, and his mouth goes dry, and a touch slack for a split second, his eyes locked on that for long enough that the implication is clear. He'd challenged him — Vergilius had promised him, hadn't he? He bites at his neck like they still have fangs, and there's a raw little surge of that heat at the rush of memory. It drives those spiderlike fingers to dig into his hip more, a rush of something that leaves his eyes trailing between what's in his hand, and his face. ]
Please, you don't want me to play nice, do you? [ He dug his fingers in, like hooks. ] I think you would be terribly disappointed.
[ He would, if it was anything short of this, of something raw, that hurt in places. Greedy bites that leave marks on his skin he'll have to cover later. His fingers drift, from his hips, to his hair, to tug it back and out of his face, so he can look down on him with a single, glowing eye. ]
And give you the opportunity to get out of them? [ A quirk of something that might be a smile, but it's too sharp, too much like that controlled little spider, even if his hands tremble, and he seems so flushed still. ] I think not.
me reading my tags missing like 100 words like don't tag late kids
[They are creatures who can't help but hurt. Part of him wants to see that scarred face contorted with more than just pleasure. It's revenge, of a sort. The pain and control that was leashed over him with vampirism, here it is again in a different form. Silco pulls his hair back, revealing his vibrant eyes.]
[He cracks open the little container of lube. The sound is as sharp as those nails that dig in, and he knows that Silco will want to leave marks any way possible. He doesn't just want to lord over him. He wants to burrow into him like a tick, to feed on his blood. He knows this, and yet he keeps returning. Why? Doesn't he know better?]
[Perhaps he knows nothing at all. A squirt into his other hand, before he palms downward, coating himself, coating Silco. He's just as comfortable here with the opposite hand - Silco might realize he is, indeed, ambidextrous - but he's not allowing him to sit pretty and think.]
[Another dab of that cool gel, and he's diving it around and below to search for that opening - and finding it, he's giving it a teasing rollaround so that he can feel that little shiver of chill compared with the blazing heat of his skin. How nice. What a contrast. Just like Silco stares at him with both something too human and barely human at all.]
You're right. You shouldn't play nice at all.
[Vergilius snags onto his lower lip with his own, sucking into it as he starts to press in his finger to the knuckle. His red eyes are glimmmering, fully exposed as they are- little jewels trying their best to capture the minute changes of the other's face. A memory to burn into the ridges of his brain.]
god when it happens and u realize after... 🤝 the worst
[ Anticipation was a hell of a drug, his heart kicked up into overdrive, mouth still so dry, and the heat of...whatever it was — his brain kept hitting that brick wall over and over, like it's something it can't quite make it over or around, and he keeps getting caught, swept up in the cycle of heat and in staring at him, at the scars he wants to dig into, like he could bury in and pull out more and more of what he wants to see, like unraveling yarn before his very eyes.
He doesn't even try for something gentle, Silco stares into his eyes unblinking, both of them, and his fingers dig in where they can, into his head, tugging on his hair, but like this he can't hide from him either. He's already committed to staring him down, and Silco could do little more than plow forward, even it it meant every small, minute expression crossed his face was exposed.
Rather like the rest of him, wasn't it? There's too much heat to think about it, even when he swallows back a hiss at his hand touching him — it hadn't been that long had it? When he'd cornered him in his room and made so many half-keened promises while his fingers stroked him — but this was closer to a purposeful, perfunctory stroke. It left him too-keyed up, too wound up from the wait, but he already knew what was coming. Had known from the snap of the bottlecap.
It didn't make it easier, but it wasn't meant to be. This wasn't gentle, neither of them wanted that, right? If it's a show Vergilius wants to see, it's a show he gets, with the way his head tipped up, pressed against the wall, mouth open in a silent gasp, one hand relaxed his grip on his hair, to reach down and grip at his shoulder, spider-like fingers digging in deep. One eye was closed, brow knitted instinctively together from the first press into him — but the other... it stared at him, never wavering, his mouth still caught, but his teeth scraped against his — anything to add a touch of the pain.
What was it, to see pain and feel it, and know it was right, that it made all this heat sharpen and narrow in on itself; it made it better that it hurt, maybe.
Silco wouldn't want it, he knew that. The heat might cloud his mind, but he wouldn't want something soft, or gentle. It would feel wrong — expect something wrong. He wants to hurt right back, after all, dig his fingers in, cut Vergilius on his sharp edges. He could cut as much as the man could cut right back. ]
Don't — Worry — [ He hissed with another dig of his fingers; a tug of the hand in his hair. ] — I won't —
[Just the way he wants. Just the way he likes it. A demure soft Silco is one who could scarcely exist at all - a complete antithesis for the sharp wreckage of a man he is. Silco is something that stands in the ocean and lets poor boats crash upon his ruins. He asks them too. Better for everyone to suffer like he has.]
[Oh, but this is different than merely pain, isn't it. That little gasp, the way his fingers try to dig into his hardened skin - see, if he simply wanted to cause pain, he would have just killed him outright. He wouldn't kill him.]
[He would give him a small death of a different sort just to see how much of himself he'd even think about relinquishing to Vergilius and his waiting hands.]
[A steady thrust of his finger holds the pace, before he adds his middle finger to drag deep into him. Silco tugs at his hair, and he grins - Vergilius might already be on the course to get cured, but his fangs are still a little too sharp to be comfortable.]
Good. Sing for me.
[Comes the rumble of the request, as he nips at the other's chin. A nasty little curl of his fingers, moving deeper, to really milk a reaction. How beautiful it is.]
[He feels like he's boiling in his own skin. He's so close that his cock is twitching heavily against his abdomen. He's ready. He needs this.]
[ It's not comfortable, but he adjusts to leaning against the wall, one of his legs moved to wrap around his thigh, giving him — more, more access, tugging him in closer, it didn't really matter. That heat thrumming down his spine. It made him want more of this, not just the good, but the searing pain of it all too. Silco didn't mind the pain, not really.
It was just how things went, wasn't it? Life was nothing without pain and suffering, and even something good hurt. Truly, he was an iceberg of a man, seeking to destroy and wreck everything around him. If they are strong enough to handle the destruction, surely they will persevere, right? Even Vergilius, he seeks to wrap up into this whole... everything. The trauma and hate and cause, it's all a cocktail for disaster against a man that wants to break him and see if he can find the pieces and put them back together. Especially when he wants to do the same.
They both have hammers, and they're trying to see what they can chip off from the surface. Like they're trying to find something deeper. Does he know the size of the shard he's chipping away at, to see this? How little he gives, but here and in this mad, too-hot moment, he gives it away readily when he knows that it is dangerous? Vulnerable?
Maybe there's a little victory for Vergilius here, when he added a second, biting at his chin with those slight remnants of fangs left over — Silco shuddered softly, the pain enough to make him want to lash back out. He does, tugging at his hair, trying to yank it out while he dug his fingers in. But oh — when he curled his fingers like that —
Ineffective fingernails dug into his skin, and there's a soft hitch of his breath, before he gasped. It isn't much, but for Silco, it's a so much, he leaned forward, to bite at his lip, no kind touches here. Maybe they didn't want them — or deserve them. He rocked his hips slightly against his finger, urging him on. Like he needed more of... Something, of This. This time — oh this time — his fingers hit just so
His head tipped back, and he does offer a louder, more authentic gasp, released to the open air, even if a part of him wants to swallow it or cut it off. He can't, it just devolves into a proper groan instead, breathed into the air like a secret. ]
[No kind touches here. He's mean with that finger curl, his lips pulled back with a brief wolf-like smile as the man groans. He told him he would break him. He needs to make good on his promises. He needs to see every single bit of that core he's chipping away to, even if he is being chopped up the same way. One can't break into a place without getting torn on the barbed wire.]
[Satisfied by the progression, he will bring one of the final acts in a little sooner. His hand pulls out, and his fingers find the man's hips to pull him up against the wall. He could care less for the friction. Instead, he's lining himself up with an electric shiver that goes through every ounce of his body-]
[And he's pressing in as far as he could go. This is greedy, to do a man who would fight tooth and nail to give him anything to return his own prying. But as he bottoms out into Silco, that greed is everything to him.]
[He allows the man to get used to the weight of him for a moment. Just one solitary moment, before he, impatient, starts the movement. Out, in, pressing deep with an insistent roll of his hips. Rinse, repeat. With grunting, gasping, and a more steady turning into desperate thrusts as he finds himself getting used to something he hasn't done quite like this in some time.
[ He can't miss a single expression on his face, even if he wanted to, he couldn't, but every little expression — that sharp flash of a smile that looks like it would be at home on a beast's — does more than even his fingers can, sending a sharp spike of something hungry and violent through him. He wants to rip it out of him again, and again, if he could.
He's light in his grip, comparatively — not that Verg would have much trouble regardless — and there's a certain weightlessness that comes with how he picked him up, pressed him to the wall, but his mouth was dry, and his gasp was silent this time, because he knew what he was doing — he could read it in the shiver that seems to transfer from Vergilius to him. Like that heat wasn't dissipating, but that the chill air against their skin, the anticipation of something else was almost too much.
He slides in, and it's an adjustment that's painful and raw; Silco doesn't spare a thought for how long it's been — it's been far too long — but he takes him like a drowning man does air. It's with another soft gasp, his fingers hunting for vulnerable spaces — against his neck and shoulders like he could dig into those scars left from his bites. Something, anything to dig in where he can, hurt where he can. Like a violent little urge, that thing in him that wants to lash out and dig in.
His fingers skid across his skin, uncoordinated once he starts moving. It's still so hot — something hungry like an open maw that can't get enough of whatever it is that Vergilius serves. That first roll of his hips devolves so quickly into something so much more desperate — he swallows back another half-choked, wet gasp, before he leaned forward — never content to just take it — he leans forward to bite at him, his own teeth (mostly) blunted, but still he aims to tear something out of his jaw, using his flesh between his teeth to stifle the louder groan that escaped him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He ate the last piece of his stick, all snapped into neat little pieces. He's still standing, one leg crossed over the other. ]
Hardly.
[ The words come out a touch more automatically than he usually speaks. His ears are tinged pink at the tips. ]
So quick to kick me out? [ A soft tut. ] Even I was more hospitable.
no subject
[He finishes it, the last crunch a mild one. And that is that. Maybe he could eat more, but what would be the point?]
[Hardly, he says. A scoff from him, but his eyes shift to those ears, suddenly, like they're pulled there by a magnet.]
[They linger.]
....You're not the type to deserve hospitality. I think you know why.
no subject
And here I am, trying to make nice, being told these things. Then people wonder why I so often do not try.
[ Insult here, rebuttal there, a bit like a dance. The flush takes to the back of his neck, but he does his best to ignore it. Something about it, the cookie, settles odd in his stomach. Maybe it's because he's not used to the food, but...
Hm. ]
What if you... give it to me anyway? See what happens?
[ He drug his fingers across the desk, like he's leaving a stain in his wake. ]
no subject
[Another little jab, mildly. He should pull his eyes away, but he doesn't. watching the color move. It's an odd thing, to see so much flow to someone so pale.]
[He swallows, palpably. The man shifts his fingers over his table, and his hand moves as if by its own bidding, capturing his wrist.]
I don't know the meaning of it. So I can't give what I don't have.
no subject
Little effort? And here I brought a gift and everything. Isn't that nice?
[ He moved to shift himself off the table, though he doesn't really go anywhere, just turned a little more toward him, looking down at him.
for onceHe focused on his lips, but he doesn't tug his hand away, but it's like he's stuck, standing there right before him. ]Don't know the meaning? [ he asks with a scoff. ] Wasn't I perfectly hospitable when you visited me?
[ The night they — ]
no subject
[So not very nice at all. Silco moves, but Vergilius stills, his eyes vibrant like a predator's glint in the underbrush. He doesn't let go.]
[It's as if he has him right where he has him, and he feels a shiver move from his neck downwards.]
[It does feel hot. Why does it feel hot?]
I don't know if that even counted as hospitality. [His thumb shifts up the man's wrist.] Did it?
no subject
[ The slight shrug of his shoulders is all he has. He kept looking down at him, that pit of an eye matches, more like a spotlight, searching through the darkness to see what it can find, before it meets the predator.
His lips quirked into a smile. ]
In some places it is considered quite hospitable behavior.
[ He can feel that heat down his spine, shivering down it, like it's got it taut as a wire, like it's both too hot, but that's not enough. His other hand shot out, to land on his shoulder. It rest there, a slight, but solid weight. ]
Wouldn't you say you had a good time?
no subject
[Which is....sort of a lie, sort of not. The circumstances were hateful. Everything that happened...somehow wasn't, even if he sees it with some distaste after the fact. Or maybe that's his regret? His own hindsight?]
[It's harder to think here. The hand is so small, but it feels like a pin skewering a butterfly wing in place.]
[Something feels......off? Not off?]
...I feel sick.
[Is it really sickness. There's something brewing, like some pleasurable sense of nausea in his chest.]
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[ He says it with confidence, with that sort of self-assured smile Silco so often has. Sure, the reason he'd visited had been hateful. Silco didn't doubt that, he'd been angry about the vampire thing -- which, again, he was faultless for. (No) But he hasn't forgotten everything else he'd said that evening. What he sounded like when --
That flush still dusts his ears. He's still too hot, like he's next to a furnace, like his lean, too-thin body is shivering trying to hold back from --
What? He doesn't know. Or maybe he does, the same fluttering kick to his heart, too loud in his head. ]
Are you trying that hard to kick me out?
[ He asked, he leans forward, without thinking about it, not even really realizing what he's doing. He stared at him, leaning down to meet his eyes, so they were on the same level, only inches away. He looks for... Something, whether it's honest illness in his expression or otherwise, he isn't sure he finds what he's looking for. ]
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[Of course not. Definitely not. It wasn't good. It was terrible. He doesn't think about it. Not even a little. ]
[...It's nice to lie to himself, sometimes. Even so, his initial complaints feel like they're melting away, leaving something raw and heated, an open wound he didn't account for. It's not a new feeling. He had it that night, in the midst of bites and swallowed blood. But this feels like someone swung a hammer over his head when he least expected it.]
[Silco is bending in. Vergilius's eyes flicker - to his eyes, to his hand, to...his mouth, now. He feels a breath seize in his chest that he lets out, almost stuttering.]
I guess not. [Finally an admission, quiet, but with that he's striking like a viper, hand curling around the man's collar to yank him in.] Come here.
[It's nowhere near chaste. He's taking this kiss like he's starving for it. He won't let him go with a familiar hunger like this. Not now.]
[Maybe not ever.]
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He slotted against him easily, tugged forward by his grip, settled into his lap, straddling it. He weighs next to nothing up against him, lean and sharp, all bones and sinew. Silco snaps at his mouth when he tugs him, a bite against his lip before he can get far, but Vergilius pushes further, and his mouth opened automatically, allowing him in to pursue what he sought.
He tastes like cheap cigars and whiskey. It had been buried with all the blood, but now that his diet has been forcefully realigned, his bad habits shine through. He reached up, his fingers clawed at his neck, his jaw, a thumb traced along that scar on his face, the same one that had drawn his attention. Something in him makes him want to keep tracing it, the flush that takes to the back of his neck makes him think he would like to find the rest of his scars too, scrape his nails against them like he could open him up.
He feels frantic for it, like that flush of heat was going to roast him alive, like he needs — needs something to sate that churning fire in him — this doesn't seem enough, but...
But he feels satisfied digging his fingers into scarred flesh all the same. ]
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[Silco digs in as if to pull him apart. He can match the same, what with his hands shamelessly launching themselves at the other's collared shirt to roughly start to try to pull off his vest, open those buttons. He wants skin to skin, to douse himself in it like one would to the snow from a fire, but - no, even he knows deep down this won't help with the inferno within. It would make it worse.]
[He digs his tongue past those scarred lips into Silco's mouth, prodding, swallowing kiss after kiss. Only a few gasps of breath are allowed - he moans a little into the movement, his ears feeling like they're on fire. Its an intensity that feels like its going to split his head open if he doesn't- what? What does he need, here?]
[And what does Silco need from him?]
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It's not enough. What will be enough?
He digs further in, like he's searching for something that will sate his hunger. his fingers ineffectively tug at his shirt, before he finally gets a few buttons loose. His fingers follow, tugging more of his shirt open with that heated desperation, he needs — he needs more of whatever this is.
What can sate this hunger? What will quell that insatiable raging inferno that's making his heart pound so fast and so hard? His fingers light on scars that he wants to dig into, scrape furrows next to and leave lasting marks next to them, like he can leave a mark on him.
It doesn't feel like enough, it's not enough to satisfy.
Slotted on his lap, he leans forward — into that kiss a little more, still biting, still all sharp and mean — but he groans against him from the friction, rubbing up against him, sending a jolt of something electric and hungry straight down his spine. ]
nsfw from here.....closes eyes
[He finds bare skin as he exposes it. No, not enough. The kissing is not enough, either, neither is the exploration of those agile little fingers. It's simply suffocating. Like they're baking in a fire that desires to heat them to their bones and not let go.]
[He has an idea, though. Breaking the kiss, he's swiftly diving down to unzip his own pants, before he forces Silco's hand away from his chest to brush his abdomen, press against what is clearly growing from the shooting spikes of throbbing arousal from his spine into his groin. He's then back to completely depriving Silco of his top, here caring little for what he tears in his wake.]
I'm going to break you into two. [And now he'll take the man's earlobe in between his teeth, sucking on it as he growls.] Get ready.
😌 pocky u do the most for us
He pumps his hand up and down the length of him, a hiss of enjoyment at the feeling that he took nearly no time at all to firm in his hands. His lips parted, when he grasped his ear with his lips — a startled gasp that escaped some of that tight control. He hadn't expected it, just like he didn't expect the words that slipped past Vergilius's lips, or how that sent a shock straight down to his own cock, still trapped in his pants. ]
Oh? [ He asks, but the low rumble is almost breathless, frayed with a touch of anticipation, a little fraying, a slight dip in that tightly held control. A slight tremble to his hands, at the thought of what he was going to do. That roaring heat unsated even while his brain decided there were plenty of ideas of what he could do. ] How are you going to do that?
[ Somehow, he manages to finish the thought, his free hand reached out to feel at another line of scars his clever thin hands looking to find spaces to still tear open, the scrape of nails like he was trying to let that heat find a place to vent. His fingers twist on his cock, thumb across the head for good measure — just in case he dared think Silco would just play along. ]
thank u pocky
[What beautiful sounds. He's already going mad from them - they're so delicate coming from the twisted bony man currently situated on his lap. He asks how he is going to do it.]
[He answers with an action instead. Pulling back only to wrap an arm around the man to lift him up as he stands from his chair. A bit of fumbling and muttered cursing under his breath as he dislodges himself from his pants, only to now move towards the wall to press Silco right against it with his body. Its so easy. His hands are now making quick work of the other man's pants, grumbling the whole while.]
You don't deserve the bed. Maybe later.
[Definitely later. If his tone has anything to say about it. If Silco helps him, let him do so, but if not, Vergilius seems all too intent on overpowering this whole sitiation with what he desires.]
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Maybe later sends a short-circuit through his brain, or maybe it's that he's trapped against the wall — pressed up against it with Vergilius's crushing strength — could he even fight it if he wanted to? Would he? The soft 'ooph' was half an exclamation, and half a soft exhale, tinged with a groan.
His hands doing their best to aid him along on his path, help him with whatever he's trying to do, his pants, or... anything else. He needs — more. Skin to skin, maybe more than that. He brushed against his cock, two fingers that stroked the length of it, like he aims to walk his fingers along him, before he diverted — his fingers find his hips, to tug him closer, his thumbs try to dig in at the muscle and bone. He needed skin to skin — he needed more. He needed... something that even this wasn't satisfying — and the haze of it left his brain in an oddly single-minded haze, he just wanted...
This.
Going to make me earn it?
[ He asks, and his voice is...
more coy than he would have cared to admit, were he not overtaken by this haze. ]
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[The clothes are off, dumped on the floor underneath them. They stand, fully bare, and the heat is making Vergilius especially break into a sweat at the sheer weight of that - his brain can't stop thinking. This isn't like him. Any fire he had like this before was sweeter, slower, smoother. Here, he's wild thing. He doesn't recognize himself.]
[His hand moves to the nearby nightstand hurriedly, pulling out - well. He wasn't prepared last time. He is, this time. Did he just have it? Did he get it specifically for him? He won't say, but he's indulging in a bit of a tease as he's simply holding it, leaning forward to mouth over Silco's throat with little sucks and bites greedily.]
Maybe. [Two can play at this coy game, as he groans a little into this pale flesh. His other hand traces a pressured, needy circle over the man's groin.] I might. If you play nice.
[Another beat, another haggard little noise.]
Last...call to leave. Ha. Before I make good on...all my promises.
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It was like the fact that he'd been able to get the jump on him, take him down in his own way, had made the man less scary, even if he had wrapped his hand around his neck, and tried to choke the life out of him. Even if he had kissed his scar at the same time — what had possessed him to do that? He still didn't understand it — and he'd stabbed him with his knife, and the man had come back around. He'd cornered him in his room, and Silco couldn't say that he understood it, but between the blood and the bites, and... everything else... he'd been driven by his need to pull the man apart, pull something out of him. So how did this keep happening?
He didn't know. Right now... it didn't matter, did it? It was — It was —
Right now, stopping is the furthest thing on his mind, and his mouth goes dry, and a touch slack for a split second, his eyes locked on that for long enough that the implication is clear. He'd challenged him — Vergilius had promised him, hadn't he? He bites at his neck like they still have fangs, and there's a raw little surge of that heat at the rush of memory. It drives those spiderlike fingers to dig into his hip more, a rush of something that leaves his eyes trailing between what's in his hand, and his face. ]
Please, you don't want me to play nice, do you? [ He dug his fingers in, like hooks. ] I think you would be terribly disappointed.
[ He would, if it was anything short of this, of something raw, that hurt in places. Greedy bites that leave marks on his skin he'll have to cover later. His fingers drift, from his hips, to his hair, to tug it back and out of his face, so he can look down on him with a single, glowing eye. ]
And give you the opportunity to get out of them? [ A quirk of something that might be a smile, but it's too sharp, too much like that controlled little spider, even if his hands tremble, and he seems so flushed still. ] I think not.
me reading my tags missing like 100 words like don't tag late kids
[He cracks open the little container of lube. The sound is as sharp as those nails that dig in, and he knows that Silco will want to leave marks any way possible. He doesn't just want to lord over him. He wants to burrow into him like a tick, to feed on his blood. He knows this, and yet he keeps returning. Why? Doesn't he know better?]
[Perhaps he knows nothing at all. A squirt into his other hand, before he palms downward, coating himself, coating Silco. He's just as comfortable here with the opposite hand - Silco might realize he is, indeed, ambidextrous - but he's not allowing him to sit pretty and think.]
[Another dab of that cool gel, and he's diving it around and below to search for that opening - and finding it, he's giving it a teasing rollaround so that he can feel that little shiver of chill compared with the blazing heat of his skin. How nice. What a contrast. Just like Silco stares at him with both something too human and barely human at all.]
You're right. You shouldn't play nice at all.
[Vergilius snags onto his lower lip with his own, sucking into it as he starts to press in his finger to the knuckle. His red eyes are glimmmering, fully exposed as they are- little jewels trying their best to capture the minute changes of the other's face. A memory to burn into the ridges of his brain.]
god when it happens and u realize after... 🤝 the worst
He doesn't even try for something gentle, Silco stares into his eyes unblinking, both of them, and his fingers dig in where they can, into his head, tugging on his hair, but like this he can't hide from him either. He's already committed to staring him down, and Silco could do little more than plow forward, even it it meant every small, minute expression crossed his face was exposed.
Rather like the rest of him, wasn't it? There's too much heat to think about it, even when he swallows back a hiss at his hand touching him — it hadn't been that long had it? When he'd cornered him in his room and made so many half-keened promises while his fingers stroked him — but this was closer to a purposeful, perfunctory stroke. It left him too-keyed up, too wound up from the wait, but he already knew what was coming. Had known from the snap of the bottlecap.
It didn't make it easier, but it wasn't meant to be. This wasn't gentle, neither of them wanted that, right? If it's a show Vergilius wants to see, it's a show he gets, with the way his head tipped up, pressed against the wall, mouth open in a silent gasp, one hand relaxed his grip on his hair, to reach down and grip at his shoulder, spider-like fingers digging in deep. One eye was closed, brow knitted instinctively together from the first press into him — but the other... it stared at him, never wavering, his mouth still caught, but his teeth scraped against his — anything to add a touch of the pain.
What was it, to see pain and feel it, and know it was right, that it made all this heat sharpen and narrow in on itself; it made it better that it hurt, maybe.
Silco wouldn't want it, he knew that. The heat might cloud his mind, but he wouldn't want something soft, or gentle. It would feel wrong — expect something wrong. He wants to hurt right back, after all, dig his fingers in, cut Vergilius on his sharp edges. He could cut as much as the man could cut right back. ]
Don't — Worry — [ He hissed with another dig of his fingers; a tug of the hand in his hair. ] — I won't —
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[Oh, but this is different than merely pain, isn't it. That little gasp, the way his fingers try to dig into his hardened skin - see, if he simply wanted to cause pain, he would have just killed him outright. He wouldn't kill him.]
[He would give him a small death of a different sort just to see how much of himself he'd even think about relinquishing to Vergilius and his waiting hands.]
[A steady thrust of his finger holds the pace, before he adds his middle finger to drag deep into him. Silco tugs at his hair, and he grins - Vergilius might already be on the course to get cured, but his fangs are still a little too sharp to be comfortable.]
Good. Sing for me.
[Comes the rumble of the request, as he nips at the other's chin. A nasty little curl of his fingers, moving deeper, to really milk a reaction. How beautiful it is.]
[He feels like he's boiling in his own skin. He's so close that his cock is twitching heavily against his abdomen. He's ready. He needs this.]
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It was just how things went, wasn't it? Life was nothing without pain and suffering, and even something good hurt. Truly, he was an iceberg of a man, seeking to destroy and wreck everything around him. If they are strong enough to handle the destruction, surely they will persevere, right? Even Vergilius, he seeks to wrap up into this whole... everything. The trauma and hate and cause, it's all a cocktail for disaster against a man that wants to break him and see if he can find the pieces and put them back together. Especially when he wants to do the same.
They both have hammers, and they're trying to see what they can chip off from the surface. Like they're trying to find something deeper. Does he know the size of the shard he's chipping away at, to see this? How little he gives, but here and in this mad, too-hot moment, he gives it away readily when he knows that it is dangerous? Vulnerable?
Maybe there's a little victory for Vergilius here, when he added a second, biting at his chin with those slight remnants of fangs left over — Silco shuddered softly, the pain enough to make him want to lash back out. He does, tugging at his hair, trying to yank it out while he dug his fingers in. But oh — when he curled his fingers like that —
Ineffective fingernails dug into his skin, and there's a soft hitch of his breath, before he gasped. It isn't much, but for Silco, it's a so much, he leaned forward, to bite at his lip, no kind touches here. Maybe they didn't want them — or deserve them. He rocked his hips slightly against his finger, urging him on. Like he needed more of... Something, of This. This time — oh this time — his fingers hit just so
His head tipped back, and he does offer a louder, more authentic gasp, released to the open air, even if a part of him wants to swallow it or cut it off. He can't, it just devolves into a proper groan instead, breathed into the air like a secret. ]
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[Satisfied by the progression, he will bring one of the final acts in a little sooner. His hand pulls out, and his fingers find the man's hips to pull him up against the wall. He could care less for the friction. Instead, he's lining himself up with an electric shiver that goes through every ounce of his body-]
[And he's pressing in as far as he could go. This is greedy, to do a man who would fight tooth and nail to give him anything to return his own prying. But as he bottoms out into Silco, that greed is everything to him.]
[He allows the man to get used to the weight of him for a moment. Just one solitary moment, before he, impatient, starts the movement. Out, in, pressing deep with an insistent roll of his hips. Rinse, repeat. With grunting, gasping, and a more steady turning into desperate thrusts as he finds himself getting used to something he hasn't done quite like this in some time.
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He's light in his grip, comparatively — not that Verg would have much trouble regardless — and there's a certain weightlessness that comes with how he picked him up, pressed him to the wall, but his mouth was dry, and his gasp was silent this time, because he knew what he was doing — he could read it in the shiver that seems to transfer from Vergilius to him. Like that heat wasn't dissipating, but that the chill air against their skin, the anticipation of something else was almost too much.
He slides in, and it's an adjustment that's painful and raw; Silco doesn't spare a thought for how long it's been — it's been far too long — but he takes him like a drowning man does air. It's with another soft gasp, his fingers hunting for vulnerable spaces — against his neck and shoulders like he could dig into those scars left from his bites. Something, anything to dig in where he can, hurt where he can. Like a violent little urge, that thing in him that wants to lash out and dig in.
His fingers skid across his skin, uncoordinated once he starts moving. It's still so hot — something hungry like an open maw that can't get enough of whatever it is that Vergilius serves. That first roll of his hips devolves so quickly into something so much more desperate — he swallows back another half-choked, wet gasp, before he leaned forward — never content to just take it — he leans forward to bite at him, his own teeth (mostly) blunted, but still he aims to tear something out of his jaw, using his flesh between his teeth to stifle the louder groan that escaped him. ]
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my HTMLLLLLL
😔 i do not see it
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"little old me" verg you've got almost a foot on him
kinning himself as a short person
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