[His mind is only starting to come to - it almost feels like they've been doing this for a hundred years. It also unexplicably feels like they've done this for only ten seconds. As the ecstatic delirium of orgasm starts to recede, he's conscious of those words spilling out of scarred lips.]
[More, more, more.]
[Silco is so small against him, trembling like a little wet animal caught in the rain. If he was even close to starting to come to his sense, that shiver and those words send a wave through him that almost bowls him over. He might have to allow his body to recuperate for a short moment, but the feeling twists into his gut with a fierce intensity. A violent one.]
....What a greedy, greedy, little nasty man you are.
[He murmurs into the man's skin, shaking his head as he continues.]
You...earned the right to the bed. Silco.
[His one. His only. His man to rip apart into a million pieces. And Silco is allowing that. He readjusts his grip as he starts to pull out, biting his lip as he is suddenly conscious of the thick, warm drainage and wet-sounding exit. Oh. He did a real number on him.]
[Doesn't stop him from carrying him over to immediately drop him to the bed, though. He's almost insane in how quickly he crawls over him, pressing teeth-filled, hungry kisses over neck, chest, jaw, shoulder.]
I will be nice. Decide, Silco. I can take you from behind. Suck your cock till its dry. [Another kiss to his chin.] Fuck you again and again and again till you pass out, and it may not even stop me then. [Another kiss and a ragged noise.] Maybe all of it. You want more? You can get more.
[ He barely hears him, his head still filled with that same insatiable ringing that keeps echoing through his head, his limbs felt shaky, like he had been melted down to near-nothing, like there was little left of him. He could say that it was the length of time since — anything, but it was not even close to that, the heat still thrumming through him, like it wanted more, more, more; and his lips finally stilled when he stared speaking, his breathing not evening out, but finally less frantic, like the heavy pulls of breath had finally slowed down. Still heavy gasps, his hands still dug into his shoulders, like he had to hold on for dear life, but —
He pulls free, and it's wet and Silco can feel it, lewdly leaking out of him. He suddenly feels chill and empty; but that hunger, it boils in his belly, burning up anything and everything, that insatiable maw, tearing through every lick of sense that he has.
Vergiius deposited him on to the bed, and he barely bounces on the surface — but he doesn't leave him alone for long, swooping in after him, blanketing him. He's larger than Silco by far, more solid — and the weight of him up against him leaves him feeling pinned like a spider caught on a board for study. It should leave him panicked, or trying to scramble out of his weight, but instead that insatiable heat bubbled uncontrollably, leaving him only writhing under his mouth following the weight.
How is he everywhere? Every single prick of his lips on skin feels like a searing brand, taking another piece and claiming it for himself, like a conqueror taking land, and Silco finds that he cedes it willingly, letting him take and take freely. His fingers slip up, and it looks like he is about to brush his bangs from his eyes again — but instead he reaches to his jaw, and those spider-thin fingers find the bite he'd left, digging into the little injury like it would ground them. Remind them. ]
Nice, is it? [ He would hate to see hateful, then. It feels hateful, to promise something like this, that roaring fire in him wants it, and more, and a part of him — that little logical creature that seems buried in the coals — knows that it will leave him unable to move. Like an extended, pleasurable attempt on his life, though Vergilius hardly needs this to kill him. ]
Again — [ He hissed out the demand, hunger that's just not quite like the bloodlust they'd shared, but it's close. Roaring through him, taking his logic and drowning it like everything else he'd once been. ] — Then I'll let you suck me off.
[ Demanding, horrid little man. Vergilius knew who was in his bed, this creature who demanded and took, and gave so little in return, but he was here, and maybe that was giving enough — more than any else — a hungry little spider trying to whisper in his ear and entangle them together even further. Like putting little hooks in him, trying to pull him in more.
Or maybe it was the other way around. Did these hooks go both ways? ]
[The fingers dig in as if to write his name in Vergilius's old skin. In his right mind, thinking coolly, he would've smacked him away. What gall the man has. Even now, in his position, acting like he had the reins here? It makes his nostrils flare, a shiver cascading from the base of his neck through his spine.]
Again. And you'll let me.
[He repeats the words from that order, that lofty command, almost disbelieving. His mouth cracks open in a rare sliver of a grin.]
You barely could construct a thought through the first time. And you want it again? Greedy.
[And yet, he must be greedy. Here they are in the midst of things, as if negotiating, but this talk masks the burning sensation that hasn't let up from the beginning. In reality? It's worse. The man has thrown down a gauntlet. The fire within him roars for more, as if he could send Silco up into smoke and ashes from the sheer effort of it.]
[He's pulling Silco's scrawny little insect legs up and over his shoulder, shifting as if to position himself, but he's not doing anything yet. Instead, he turns his head to bite lustfully over the inside of the right knee.]
We can go again, you masochist. But you have to get me there, right? I want to see how. I won't do all the work for you.
[ He'll regret this. He might not be put together enough, something hazy affecting him, but he'll regret it later, when he can't move without pain, because neither of them are young men, and Silco isn't exactly... used to such things these days. He'd had other things to think about — and perhaps he should consider that, but the heat redirects him to the man over him, pulling his thin legs up. he bites at his thigh, and it... does something to him. Like a flip-flop, heat that churns and yearns all in one. ]
Tired already?
[ He asked — goaded — and he swallowed back most of the chuff of air, too-sensitive skin leaving him shuddering while sweat cooled on his skin.
He was exposed, his brain supplied, a rare moment of clarity. He was exposed, and the man stared down at him through the fringe of his hair, negotiating terms of what they'll do to each other, what he wants. Silco goads because it's easier than sounding desperate, even if his voice is slightly rougher than it was before, because he'd used it too much already.
Would it be gone before the end?
he tells him he's on his own, that he won't even tell him. Cantankerous old man, he thinks to himself. There's a flash of something, half-annoyed, half... who knows. They're both ill-tempered and poorly socialized, stuck in their ways and mean, just in different ways.
Still, he bit at his knee, and it sent something like lightning to spark that fire yet again down his leg and through his spine. The fire isn't gone, but it doesn't ake away his breath, his mind. Not yet. He knows it will, though, there's a hunger still burning, still building.
Later, so much later, he'll view the clarity as a missed opportunity to run, flee before he lost all of his damn sense. ]
Very well, if you need help along the way. [ It's a gift, his tone says, that he would do this for him. He's nearly folded in half, like this, his legs over his shoulders, bent like he's prepared to truly crack him in two — but it brings him close, like he's ready to go again already, even though he says that he has to get him there.
So he does what he can think he can do.
Gain control, of course, with those insect legs, nudging him to the side, as if he's trying to push him over, to reverse their position. He wants to see how Silco will? Well. If he plays along, he'll have a knee to his chest pressing into his sternum, digging in, with what little weight he has. ]
[He'll regret this later. Not necessarily physically - this body has been operated on so many times that a marathon of this seems somewhat paltry in comparion, though the exhaustion will be there- but its about the feeling of it. This man, who twists into him and holds like a barbed harpoon, now being given an experience to almost die for. He doesn't deserve it. Silco doesn't deserve it either. And yet, here he is, caught underneath him and sweating.]
[This hunger he has for Silco, where does it come from? If he even thinks about it, it doesn't make sense, the pocky staying far away from his mind as possible. Maybe its normal to fuck an old druglord into oblivion. He should think about it more. Figure it out. He doesn't.]
[Silco presses at him with his legs to turn over. Ridiculous, but he's seeing this as another opportunity of sorts. He laughs against that knee, and then relents to his direction.]
[Here he is. All on his back for you.]
[He beckons him with his own gaze and curl of his hands, that rush of fire in his belly coming into a shimmer.]
[ He says with all the pride and confidence that he should not feel. Silco is aware of his...limitations. He is old now, and the nanite injection can only do so much for him, but it will work into overtime tonight. He is thin, and reedy, with spider-fingers and bones that stick out under flesh. That's discounting the eye, that meets his gaze, locking with it, holding it, before he looks away. Not out of shame, but to...look.
It's a pronounced difference next to the man. He's large, larger than Silco by far, and solid, with none of those delicate protruding bones, and instead weight and muscle to fill in the gaps. The heat keeps his mind on this, and he could be honest with himself in some tiny, barely honest way — he was good to look at — like this. If he were more honest, he would admit that the man's hands on him felt too good, given that they could toss him around like that, lift him against the wall like he was nothing.
His fingers started on scars, as they always did. Not gentle, never gentle, but he scraped at them like he was trying to find a pattern. Or maybe to memorize them. His knee on his sternum, he held him down, while he made his way through it.
Really, a part of him was trying to see if he could just drive him mad, from touch alone.
He flicked his nail against one, scraping against it, following the line lower. Bare patches of skin weren't safe either, his nails dug there, like he was trying to dig in, find a way to make new scars, while he found his way down solid muscle, and dipped closer to his abdomen, but he knew the value of patience. Especially when that heat forced his head to swim, and he felt...like trying to hold it off would do something. Drive him to desperation, maybe, or Vergilius. Wouldn't that be a sight?
His lips twitched at the thought, pleasantly. For once. ]
[The statement feels lighter than he expects it to. Silco settles, and Vergilius lets him. He's let Silco do a lot of things to him, lately.]
[He must like him. Or something.]
[The man is thorough - he explores the expanse of this skin as if it is a worn map of treasure. His nails scratch. X marks the spot here. And here. And here. Initially, he murmurs, but as he moves, Vergilius's face mildly flushes as his mouth opens with a sigh. Touch. One of the things that even he, in his right mind, would ruin himself for. He sinks into it, his fingers curling into the sheets with another low noise.]
[He looks up at Silco. Beholds him. Angles and scars and cracked lips, oh my. There's nobody like him. The man is carved as if he is a sculpture. Broken and bare and it tickles his brain in all the right way, somehow.]
[His hand reaches up to trail a finger down the man's neck.]
[ 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 — or tools, depending on the mood — but...
He reaches up for his neck, to touch it, does he know — ?
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.]
[Even in this addled lavender haze, there's this understanding that is so apparent as to be in your face. Silco has some sort of complex with the neck. He drank blood from it before, and touches him now, and Silco's body stills like a deer in the dark.]
[The heat from his cheeks is something to obsess over. Silco bends down to scrape at his own neck, and a haggard sigh pushes past his lips as his other hand slides to his back and then - to seemingly keep it from getting too pure, he's squeezing whatever pitiful excuse Silco has for an ass.]
[His hunger still beats like a drum - he's grasping the back of Silco's neck, firm but soft, as he starts to slowly rock his hips up against the man's abdomen. He was half hard before from the touch of it all, but he will take what is his no matter what. Already, he's dreadfully missing being so buried deep into the man to the point of rupturing every little spider's web of control he can find.]
I know so.
[Comes his answer, pressed into a kiss above his carotid artery.]
[ He fits neatly up against him, straddling him with thin legs that spread too-wide to squeeze around him, giving him plenty of his (bony) skin to squeeze, though it hardly yields, given how little of it there is.
He is awkward, moving like this, sliding up against him, feeling at scars and muscle and all the things that he so rarely touches, but his fingers find spaces where they fit, where he can dig in, and Vergilius rocks against him, drawing out another shudder of a gasp, breathed against his neck, biting it again, leaving little puncture marks that barely break skin, they aren't enough to truly bite through, but they still again when he pressed a kiss aginst his neck — just a half second — before he bit again.
How the hell is he still this unsatisfied, this hungry? How is it that his cock pressed against him, still drooling from spending himself, and wanting more. Did he have any more left? He was hardly young, yet the energy came from somewhere, spurred him on him want to press them together — he angled his hips so his rocking served both of them, and he's still too sensitive because it made him shudder against him. ]
[It surprises Vergilius, too, that Silco is as needy as this. Back in that hallway, he had barely reacted to Vergilius and his first little kiss to his scar. Now, it feels like he wants to milk as he can from him to the point of destruction.]
[And see, the problem is, Vergilius doesn't mind. He has wanted that. A reaction, a sharing of feeling, even if the things that tie them together are nasty, twisted, awful little notions. Silco hates him in some way. And yet here he is, hands prying, teeth biting, and Vergilius so deeply needs him like this all the time. There's something about being desired so heavily that sends a tingle from his toes to the top of his head, making him suddenly break out in a pleasantly flushed sweat.]
[He doesn't ever want to let go of this man. He is his to break. His abdomen churns with the spike of feeling as Silco utters those words. A challenge. He grasps at those bony hips, prompts them upward as he shifts his body-]
[So that he can get in the right location to start to press into him once more. His hands tug to encourage him to move down, to sink fully. To let himself be claimed and filled and proven to be pretty.]
Haaaa. [Comes the sigh that edges into a whine - the pain at those pinprick bites only spurs him forward.] Oh. I'll show you, alright, pretty one.
[ He's going to remember this, the way he looked at him, what he says, it sears in his mind like it's burning in there, along with the rest of him. His skin is too hot, rapidly chilling from sweat exposed to air, and it leaves gooseflesh dusting across his skin, a prickle of heat that shoots straight down to his belly.
He calls him that again — and Silco wants to tear the words from his lips like a lie, just like he wants to tear into him, bite him and pull that guilt out and discard it. He feels something a bit mad and a bit fervent take him, when he lifts his hips, even more when he sinks down on him, like the heat was getting too hungry, and was driving him to the point where he was going to do it himself.
He sighed something low and pleased when he sank all the way down on him, rocking against him slowly, weakly. He reached down to grasp his sides, his good eye sliding closed, spider's fingers gripping into his sides, taking him all the way with a soft hungry sound that's low and half-choked out, his nails trying to dig into him, like he could lash himself to him through his ribs.
He wants this over and over again — the haze in his head drowns out the whisper of careful, careful, he'll kill you soon enough — and he wants to make sure he's left under his skin like a serrated blade, a nagging hunger that he can't rid himself of, even if he tries to dig it free. ]
Good — [ He breathed, rocking weakly again against him. How the hell isn't he dead already? ] — don't stop —
[ It comes with a shuddering breath, sinking all the way down on him, his fingers doing their little painful dance across his ribs, like playing a piano, digging in as he goes. ]
[Playing him like a piano - in the City, there was an incident with a Distortion. A simple musician twisted into a monster that turned eighty percent of a District into music notes, thereby killing them. It took a whole Color to take him down, and the raging aftermath of that man alone was enough to take an additional few hundred souls.]
[It's strange, to think of that in the midst of this. But even as Silco moves against him, his hips meeting him as they continue their vicious rhythm, he feels something above the hunger. Something potent, a pin to his butterfly heart. Silco reaches down with those slender hands, and plays him. He is naught but a tool, an instrument, a plaything, a creature to leash, and he allows it all.]
[His pride won't let him dwell on it for long. But for now, there's something more sincere in the way his fingers hold the other's hips to keep them both stable in this dance. Silco is a lovely thing. Perhaps when all will be said and done later, he will remember this moment, with a man torn asunder by more than just a weapon.]
...It's like you were born for me. [He says, punctuating it with a deeper thrust upwards, to truly skewer the man. He wants to hear him whimper like a dog.] Silco. Hah...ah....I'll never stop. Never for you.
[ It can't be anything but a chaotic symphony, his fingers at his ribs, no more controlled than a orchestra warming up, and maybe that's what he's doing to him now. Trying to draw him out bit by bit, making something from the noise. His fingers dig here -- the stray high sound of his own voice when he plunged in, taking him all the way in, like the roll of strings being drawn up and tightened.
His fingers dig there, lower, like he's trying to draw out a groan from the man, or maybe it's a sound of passion he wants to hear. It doesn't seem to matter what, his head tilted back, watching him while he's riding on top, not quite able to pull all the way up or separate them from skin to skin, but just enough that he can appraise him from above, one of he's eyes caught at that half-mast, the other... Always unmatched, always starting with that too-wide, too-knowing stare.
His lips tilt into something of a open smile; as if he'd been about to say something particularly biting, but he slides in just so, hits him just so and his whole body is taut like that violinists string. His eyes wide, and he makes that soft whine at the back of his throat that's far too revealing, far too vulnerable for comfort. His fingers find the spaces between Vergilius's ribs, corded muscle and he digs in as if on impulse.
As if he has no other choice but to hurt, lest he see and hear how much this makes his head spin. ]
Yes, that's -- Good -- [ For all intents and purposes, the word sounds a lot closer to something else, as if he's saying; mine, without daring to say the word out loud. Laying claim when he has no right, but he does anyway, when did Silco ask permission to take? ]
Show me -- [ he breathes it half like a challenge;] -- show me how; prove it to me.
[Just right. It feels just right. That might be a thought to haunt his early hours later, when all is said and done. This isn't the first time he's done this, it won't be the last time. But something about this, right now, with Silco clenching down just so over him, it feels just right.]
[What an awful, beautiful, amazing, horrible thing that is.]
[And so, Silco will get that sweating brow, that rumble in his chest that explodes out his mouth into a longing groan that whimpers with his thrusts, digging deeper. Its as if he's threatening to leave himself embedded into the man for ages. Silco may claim him as his, but it doesn't mean he can't do the same thing right back.]
[His knees draw up to press into the man's sides as he injects even more power into his hips. He practically wants to see, feel the sin of the man almost literally bouncing on his swollen cock. He will show him. His hand trails up to cup the man's nape of his neck as he grunts his effort into their movement, hoarse now as he proclaims his answer.]
[ He visibly shuddered when he slid in, hoisting Silco's much smaller body with his thighs; and isn't that something? His face flushed, when he slid down the length of him, seated all the way down, pressing right against something that made all of him go taut. His breath came out in a hoarse, breathy little thing, barely contained, and then it repeated all over again, and again and again. How was it he felt so good? So right?
Later, he'll likely write this off as just what it was. The pocky (once he hears what it actually does). It can't possibly be anything else. It can't possibly be the way he feels inside of him, his rumble of his groans that escape from his lips, or the warmth of a large hand at the back of his neck.
It can't be that he already feels something stirring low in his belly, escalating with each and every pump of his cock in him, every time he slams into him, hitting all the right ways.
He gasps wetly, his eye closed, staring down at Vergilius with that still ever-open one, his back arched, his mouth half-open, each punch of him into him leaves him practically squirming on him, shifting as if he would vibrate out of his skin. ] Hah— just —
[ like that. How terrible this is, that he likes it so much? That he already feels a fever-pitch, that he's going to come again so soon? ]
[Pride is not an emotion he's used to letting himself feeling. It peeks out here and there, in the way he can look down on others despite his own internal self-deprecation. But here? Now? He feels like he's baking in it. Silco, so beautiful in the way that originally awful pale pallor mottles with vivid red in all the right places, and it's because of him. Silco, being driven to the peak again from the sheer strength of thrusts threatening to tear him into two, and its because of him. His pride roars like a beast, and it seeks to state that you feel this way because of me. No one else. I'm the only one.]
[He's not a young man. Even as strong as this body is with all its past surgeries, he will feel it in the morning. But that burning hunger that punched itself into his abdomen so suddenly is now shifting into a new form. It feels more like true and honest passion, a new and thrilling thing to feel as the man arches that lovely little curve and gasps.]
[Everything is new, renewed. And now, his own results are sending shockwaves into his abdomen and curling his toes, and he feels he can't hold on any longer. Sure, maybe he's losing the battle as he can't help himself, doing one last final thrust that bottoms out completely within the man But he will win the war - since the explosion of heat that sends him groaning and arching his own back against the sheets with a wordless cry is something he wants to see Silco react to.]
[It almost bowls him over, the strength of this one. It feels more potent, a cup overflowing - he's riding it out with a babble of Silco's name, his hand almost scruffing the man to keep him where he is as he fills him to the brim.]
Fuck, fuck, ha, Silco, you're so fucking good, haaagh, Silco-
[Again, and again, until the shooting stars down his spine become aftershocks that twitch through his pleased and heated body - and even his face seems softer, now, with a grin that shines from where he's laying.]
[ He can't move, held where he was — he doesn't want to move — he wants to sink all the way down, and he does, and he wants — he wants —
It's such a strange thing, this want winding deep in his belly, somewhere that he'd considered long dead and mistrustful. He'd not bothered, for so long, for so long between the recovery and the cause, Jinx and then the war and the world before. He hasn't felt anything like this in so long that it's roaring like an insatiable wave, making him want to take all of it, all of him. Every bit of him. He does, when Vergilius buried himself in him with a groan, pressing deep inside, hitting him deep inside.
He can't help but stare down — it feels so right — watches his mouth open, the sweat on his brow, the way his head pressed into the sheets and the way he stares up at him with those red eyes. He Watches him come because of him, holds him there, forces him to stay in place — as if he would look away — he doesn't want to look at anything else in any world than this right now.
It triggers something in him, that feeling of dropping that dips low, tingling everywhere, the heat of him flooding inside. His mouth can only open, his hand reached up to plant on his chest, to grip there as he rode him harder, like he could milk it out of him as he feels it — ]
That's it — You feel so — [ Good. He gasped with a soft shudder that starts from what feels like the back of his head, the first point of contact, all the way down to where their bodies meet, and he feels it roil through him, his hips jerk and he looked down at him. His lips canted in almost a smile, one eye slid half-closed, and he spilled all over him. It sent further than he thought it could, leaving a mess across him, to match the mess in him.
His limbs feel weak, like gelatin, and he barely has time to appreciate how good he looks beneath him like that, before he collapsed against him, wheezing, breathing hard, but he very barely lifts his head to see that rush of something cross his face. The softness, the grin.
He surges forward to press a biting kiss against his lips, as if he could capture and steal that all for himself. ]
[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.]
[ 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. ]
[It's moments like these that will be so hard to shrug off as the drug-addled effect of that pocky. They're vulnerable, inside and out, and the hunger that drove him almost mad before seems to be somewhat satiated now. Silco whispers his truth against his lips, and his ears feel like a candle has been lit behind them, even though his cheeks don't hold the same warmth.]
[See, this is evidence of the rot of the City that would be impossible to extricate from his soul. Any average person would find something vile about the confession. Vergilius finds it to be a notion that fits right at home. Even back in the City, what few relationships one had between Fixers weren't built on things like attractiveness or pleasant feelings. It was about strength, survival, the physical highs and the grit of two souls finding each other wandering through the muck of it all. Silco thought about this since he acted as what he was: a monster.]
[Of course, his tender heart took some argument with that, but...]
[It made sense. It was in the same way his eyes fell on Silco for such similar things. This man that now shifts against him, makes another little shiver of pleasure spark into his abdomen, was as rotten as they come. He had no excuse of not having something like this for a long time. Malkuth had been sweet as anything, even if they both came from the same fabric of the City. But with her he had been so careful, so tender, like a bull unwilling to move a step further in a china shop lest he break everything in it.]
[With Silco, he can simply act without thinking, and the harm that results is not only encouraged, but returned with interest.]
[He sighs against the man's lips, as if swallowing down that truth before he returns it with one of his own, his hand moving up to trace fingers over the scarred part of his face, following jagged lines towards those pursed little lips.]
...I thought you were beautiful from the day I first met you in that alleyway. All roiling rage and all.
[He had snapped like a dog, he had been a nasty little thing that wouldn't back down for anything. How pretty that was. To see his own wrath reflected in another.]
[He's grasping the hand over his bangs to pull to his own mouth, sucking kisses over the tips of his fingers one by one.]
You've become only more beautiful since, you know.
[ Only another monster could look at Silco, fresh out of the violent madness that he'd been throb in the last world, shuddering and quaking, ready to snap at every possible individual, looking for enemies in the shadows and lashing out like a cornered animal -- only another monster could look at him, and find him beautiful.
Hell. What was he to do with this magnificent monster wearing a man's face?
He watches him take his fingers into his mouth, and Silco's lips curl into a satisfied smile, like a cat that has caught the canary in its maw, but hasn't quite taken a bite -- like this is a game and he's given him something he can't take back. If there was a flush to his face to accompany it, well... there's something to be said for how easily Vergilius gives that up. How it sends some of that heat flooding back down where their bodies are well and truly joined. ]
Have I? [ He asks, leaning down to scrape his gapprd teeth against his collarbone, and he wondered if he could find a scar he's already left, if he's given time. He wants to leave a mark on this man underneath him, leave something lasting that can't be excused away. Something that he won't be able to look away from. An ugly truth to confront, something Silco wants to be. Something he can't just wash away later. ] Be careful, Vergilius.
[ He says his name like he belongs to him. Like he has every right to it. This is a dark secret shared between the two of them, slipping into some kind of abyss together, ripping each other apart to find the soft spots they can worm into one another. Does he know that nobody dared to say something like that to him since...
That from most he would consider it a lie at best, and an insult at worst. From a man who lives in the muck like he does, it feels...like he's got a hook in him, one of those burrs under his skin. ]
What are you going to do, if you're around me much longer?
[ He bites at his collarbone for real, this time, as if he could puncture his skin again, head tilted so his black eye could remain on him, drinking him in. ]
[Be careful, he says. Ah, it makes him want to laugh. Both at Silco and himself. The comedy of it all. He allows himself a sliver of a grin, shining white, before it disappears with a groan of pleasured pain with the teeth that now lay claim to his collarbone. A gasp of a breath, and he hoarsely replies:]
What are you going to do, if you're around me much longer?
[Did he think that he was the predator here, and he had found welcome prey? No, he doesn't think Silco is stupid. He understands what he has, who he has. Vergilius is tantalizing because of the danger that holds above his head like a blade. They both wandered into this knowing just what vicious ends they may lead themselves to.]
[Even something like this, with the warmth of a tryst of lovers, could hold something as sharp as the promise of a thousand knives. Vergilius looks down onto the man, whose unblinking, inhuman eye meets his own.]
[He shifts, and its easy as anything - maybe this is unfair, the way he shows off his strength, but he's rolling them over in a single move so Silco is now with his back into the bed as Vergilius looms over him like a shadow.]
I know at least one thing you won't do, if you're around me much longer. [He's still deep within the man, and he is loathe to detach himself. He may not have gotten his arousal back, yet, but it doesn't stop him from making a smooth roll of his hips just to let the other feel the slick movement edging heavy into his abdomen. It's practically a threat. He has a spiteful little dream that Silco will be haunted by this. He wants him restless at night, feeling empty, wanting the only thing that could make his greedy soul feel whole even for a moment.] You won't be walking for a good long while because of little old me. Is that okay with you, I wonder?
"little old me" verg you've got almost a foot on him
[ No, he knows Vergilius is a monster, a beast that could put an end to him with a snap of his wrist. If anything, that makes something low in his gut stir back to life, despite the fact that he'd spent nearly everything he had, and that he could barely move as it was. He was well and thoroughly already destroyed — and vulnerable — but the man had stayed his hand, every time he had the opportunity.
Would that change? Would he kill him and return him to his home in a fit of... something? Could he? Or would LILTH interfere? Silco's heart beat a touch faster at the thought, the danger of the man's violence something he wanted to see on full display, and take in hand, and direct. He wanted to see that monster flourish, and thrive. His good eye almost slid closed, up until the moment he flipped him over.
Silco... he is not a man who is given to fits and to taking such indulgences, but the fact that he did it so readily, in one fell swoop caused his stomach to flip-flop, that rush of something that was like a rush of blood away from his head and towards — ]
Do you think I'll be able to so far?
[ Already, he could feel it. His back ached, his hip twinged. A part of him knew well enough that he would be aching elsewhere for days.
His lips curled, a touch of that overconfidence back.
Maybe the display of strength was something he'd liked. Or maybe it was the way he rolled into him, a lewd sound that accompanied it. His breath escaped in a rush, and if anything, he almost seemed to spread his legs a touch wider for him. ]
I thought you were going to break me?
[ He goads, even as he reaches up to his neck, to hold his hand there, and dig his nails into his neck, dull little things, but still, he tries to dig in.
As if either of them are going to be able to forget this, as if Silco won't be thinking about it after every single time they talk, as if he won't lash out at him accordingly. As if he won't be embarrassed later, when he realizes the culprit, for how much he wants more, more, more; and how he keeps thinking about it afterward. ]
[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.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[His mind is only starting to come to - it almost feels like they've been doing this for a hundred years. It also unexplicably feels like they've done this for only ten seconds. As the ecstatic delirium of orgasm starts to recede, he's conscious of those words spilling out of scarred lips.]
[More, more, more.]
[Silco is so small against him, trembling like a little wet animal caught in the rain. If he was even close to starting to come to his sense, that shiver and those words send a wave through him that almost bowls him over. He might have to allow his body to recuperate for a short moment, but the feeling twists into his gut with a fierce intensity. A violent one.]
....What a greedy, greedy, little nasty man you are.
[He murmurs into the man's skin, shaking his head as he continues.]
You...earned the right to the bed. Silco.
[His one. His only. His man to rip apart into a million pieces. And Silco is allowing that. He readjusts his grip as he starts to pull out, biting his lip as he is suddenly conscious of the thick, warm drainage and wet-sounding exit. Oh. He did a real number on him.]
[Doesn't stop him from carrying him over to immediately drop him to the bed, though. He's almost insane in how quickly he crawls over him, pressing teeth-filled, hungry kisses over neck, chest, jaw, shoulder.]
I will be nice. Decide, Silco. I can take you from behind. Suck your cock till its dry. [Another kiss to his chin.] Fuck you again and again and again till you pass out, and it may not even stop me then. [Another kiss and a ragged noise.] Maybe all of it. You want more? You can get more.
no subject
He pulls free, and it's wet and Silco can feel it, lewdly leaking out of him. He suddenly feels chill and empty; but that hunger, it boils in his belly, burning up anything and everything, that insatiable maw, tearing through every lick of sense that he has.
Vergiius deposited him on to the bed, and he barely bounces on the surface — but he doesn't leave him alone for long, swooping in after him, blanketing him. He's larger than Silco by far, more solid — and the weight of him up against him leaves him feeling pinned like a spider caught on a board for study. It should leave him panicked, or trying to scramble out of his weight, but instead that insatiable heat bubbled uncontrollably, leaving him only writhing under his mouth following the weight.
How is he everywhere? Every single prick of his lips on skin feels like a searing brand, taking another piece and claiming it for himself, like a conqueror taking land, and Silco finds that he cedes it willingly, letting him take and take freely. His fingers slip up, and it looks like he is about to brush his bangs from his eyes again — but instead he reaches to his jaw, and those spider-thin fingers find the bite he'd left, digging into the little injury like it would ground them. Remind them. ]
Nice, is it? [ He would hate to see hateful, then. It feels hateful, to promise something like this, that roaring fire in him wants it, and more, and a part of him — that little logical creature that seems buried in the coals — knows that it will leave him unable to move. Like an extended, pleasurable attempt on his life, though Vergilius hardly needs this to kill him. ]
Again — [ He hissed out the demand, hunger that's just not quite like the bloodlust they'd shared, but it's close. Roaring through him, taking his logic and drowning it like everything else he'd once been. ] — Then I'll let you suck me off.
[ Demanding, horrid little man. Vergilius knew who was in his bed, this creature who demanded and took, and gave so little in return, but he was here, and maybe that was giving enough — more than any else — a hungry little spider trying to whisper in his ear and entangle them together even further. Like putting little hooks in him, trying to pull him in more.
Or maybe it was the other way around. Did these hooks go both ways? ]
no subject
Again. And you'll let me.
[He repeats the words from that order, that lofty command, almost disbelieving. His mouth cracks open in a rare sliver of a grin.]
You barely could construct a thought through the first time. And you want it again? Greedy.
[And yet, he must be greedy. Here they are in the midst of things, as if negotiating, but this talk masks the burning sensation that hasn't let up from the beginning. In reality? It's worse. The man has thrown down a gauntlet. The fire within him roars for more, as if he could send Silco up into smoke and ashes from the sheer effort of it.]
[He's pulling Silco's scrawny little insect legs up and over his shoulder, shifting as if to position himself, but he's not doing anything yet. Instead, he turns his head to bite lustfully over the inside of the right knee.]
We can go again, you masochist. But you have to get me there, right? I want to see how. I won't do all the work for you.
no subject
Tired already?
[ He asked — goaded — and he swallowed back most of the chuff of air, too-sensitive skin leaving him shuddering while sweat cooled on his skin.
He was exposed, his brain supplied, a rare moment of clarity. He was exposed, and the man stared down at him through the fringe of his hair, negotiating terms of what they'll do to each other, what he wants. Silco goads because it's easier than sounding desperate, even if his voice is slightly rougher than it was before, because he'd used it too much already.
Would it be gone before the end?
he tells him he's on his own, that he won't even tell him. Cantankerous old man, he thinks to himself. There's a flash of something, half-annoyed, half... who knows. They're both ill-tempered and poorly socialized, stuck in their ways and mean, just in different ways.
Still, he bit at his knee, and it sent something like lightning to spark that fire yet again down his leg and through his spine. The fire isn't gone, but it doesn't ake away his breath, his mind. Not yet. He knows it will, though, there's a hunger still burning, still building.
Later, so much later, he'll view the clarity as a missed opportunity to run, flee before he lost all of his damn sense. ]
Very well, if you need help along the way. [ It's a gift, his tone says, that he would do this for him. He's nearly folded in half, like this, his legs over his shoulders, bent like he's prepared to truly crack him in two — but it brings him close, like he's ready to go again already, even though he says that he has to get him there.
So he does what he can think he can do.
Gain control, of course, with those insect legs, nudging him to the side, as if he's trying to push him over, to reverse their position. He wants to see how Silco will? Well. If he plays along, he'll have a knee to his chest pressing into his sternum, digging in, with what little weight he has. ]
no subject
[This hunger he has for Silco, where does it come from? If he even thinks about it, it doesn't make sense, the pocky staying far away from his mind as possible. Maybe its normal to fuck an old druglord into oblivion. He should think about it more. Figure it out. He doesn't.]
[Silco presses at him with his legs to turn over. Ridiculous, but he's seeing this as another opportunity of sorts. He laughs against that knee, and then relents to his direction.]
[Here he is. All on his back for you.]
[He beckons him with his own gaze and curl of his hands, that rush of fire in his belly coming into a shimmer.]
Do your horrible work.
no subject
[ He says with all the pride and confidence that he should not feel. Silco is aware of his...limitations. He is old now, and the nanite injection can only do so much for him, but it will work into overtime tonight. He is thin, and reedy, with spider-fingers and bones that stick out under flesh. That's discounting the eye, that meets his gaze, locking with it, holding it, before he looks away. Not out of shame, but to...look.
It's a pronounced difference next to the man. He's large, larger than Silco by far, and solid, with none of those delicate protruding bones, and instead weight and muscle to fill in the gaps. The heat keeps his mind on this, and he could be honest with himself in some tiny, barely honest way — he was good to look at — like this. If he were more honest, he would admit that the man's hands on him felt too good, given that they could toss him around like that, lift him against the wall like he was nothing.
His fingers started on scars, as they always did. Not gentle, never gentle, but he scraped at them like he was trying to find a pattern. Or maybe to memorize them. His knee on his sternum, he held him down, while he made his way through it.
Really, a part of him was trying to see if he could just drive him mad, from touch alone.
He flicked his nail against one, scraping against it, following the line lower. Bare patches of skin weren't safe either, his nails dug there, like he was trying to dig in, find a way to make new scars, while he found his way down solid muscle, and dipped closer to his abdomen, but he knew the value of patience. Especially when that heat forced his head to swim, and he felt...like trying to hold it off would do something. Drive him to desperation, maybe, or Vergilius. Wouldn't that be a sight?
His lips twitched at the thought, pleasantly. For once. ]
my HTMLLLLLL
[The statement feels lighter than he expects it to. Silco settles, and Vergilius lets him. He's let Silco do a lot of things to him, lately.]
[He must like him. Or something.]
[The man is thorough - he explores the expanse of this skin as if it is a worn map of treasure. His nails scratch. X marks the spot here. And here. And here. Initially, he murmurs, but as he moves, Vergilius's face mildly flushes as his mouth opens with a sigh. Touch. One of the things that even he, in his right mind, would ruin himself for. He sinks into it, his fingers curling into the sheets with another low noise.]
[He looks up at Silco. Beholds him. Angles and scars and cracked lips, oh my. There's nobody like him. The man is carved as if he is a sculpture. Broken and bare and it tickles his brain in all the right way, somehow.]
[His hand reaches up to trail a finger down the man's neck.]
...Pretty.
[Just that one word, breathed like a prayer.]
😔 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 — or tools, depending on the mood — but...
He reaches up for his neck, to touch it, does he know — ?
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.]
no subject
[The heat from his cheeks is something to obsess over. Silco bends down to scrape at his own neck, and a haggard sigh pushes past his lips as his other hand slides to his back and then - to seemingly keep it from getting too pure, he's squeezing whatever pitiful excuse Silco has for an ass.]
[His hunger still beats like a drum - he's grasping the back of Silco's neck, firm but soft, as he starts to slowly rock his hips up against the man's abdomen. He was half hard before from the touch of it all, but he will take what is his no matter what. Already, he's dreadfully missing being so buried deep into the man to the point of rupturing every little spider's web of control he can find.]
I know so.
[Comes his answer, pressed into a kiss above his carotid artery.]
no subject
He is awkward, moving like this, sliding up against him, feeling at scars and muscle and all the things that he so rarely touches, but his fingers find spaces where they fit, where he can dig in, and Vergilius rocks against him, drawing out another shudder of a gasp, breathed against his neck, biting it again, leaving little puncture marks that barely break skin, they aren't enough to truly bite through, but they still again when he pressed a kiss aginst his neck — just a half second — before he bit again.
How the hell is he still this unsatisfied, this hungry? How is it that his cock pressed against him, still drooling from spending himself, and wanting more. Did he have any more left? He was hardly young, yet the energy came from somewhere, spurred him on him want to press them together — he angled his hips so his rocking served both of them, and he's still too sensitive because it made him shudder against him. ]
Then show me, already.
[ He demands it like it's his due. ]
no subject
[And see, the problem is, Vergilius doesn't mind. He has wanted that. A reaction, a sharing of feeling, even if the things that tie them together are nasty, twisted, awful little notions. Silco hates him in some way. And yet here he is, hands prying, teeth biting, and Vergilius so deeply needs him like this all the time. There's something about being desired so heavily that sends a tingle from his toes to the top of his head, making him suddenly break out in a pleasantly flushed sweat.]
[He doesn't ever want to let go of this man. He is his to break. His abdomen churns with the spike of feeling as Silco utters those words. A challenge. He grasps at those bony hips, prompts them upward as he shifts his body-]
[So that he can get in the right location to start to press into him once more. His hands tug to encourage him to move down, to sink fully. To let himself be claimed and filled and proven to be pretty.]
Haaaa. [Comes the sigh that edges into a whine - the pain at those pinprick bites only spurs him forward.] Oh. I'll show you, alright, pretty one.
no subject
He calls him that again — and Silco wants to tear the words from his lips like a lie, just like he wants to tear into him, bite him and pull that guilt out and discard it. He feels something a bit mad and a bit fervent take him, when he lifts his hips, even more when he sinks down on him, like the heat was getting too hungry, and was driving him to the point where he was going to do it himself.
He sighed something low and pleased when he sank all the way down on him, rocking against him slowly, weakly. He reached down to grasp his sides, his good eye sliding closed, spider's fingers gripping into his sides, taking him all the way with a soft hungry sound that's low and half-choked out, his nails trying to dig into him, like he could lash himself to him through his ribs.
He wants this over and over again — the haze in his head drowns out the whisper of careful, careful, he'll kill you soon enough — and he wants to make sure he's left under his skin like a serrated blade, a nagging hunger that he can't rid himself of, even if he tries to dig it free. ]
Good — [ He breathed, rocking weakly again against him. How the hell isn't he dead already? ] — don't stop —
[ It comes with a shuddering breath, sinking all the way down on him, his fingers doing their little painful dance across his ribs, like playing a piano, digging in as he goes. ]
no subject
[It's strange, to think of that in the midst of this. But even as Silco moves against him, his hips meeting him as they continue their vicious rhythm, he feels something above the hunger. Something potent, a pin to his butterfly heart. Silco reaches down with those slender hands, and plays him. He is naught but a tool, an instrument, a plaything, a creature to leash, and he allows it all.]
[His pride won't let him dwell on it for long. But for now, there's something more sincere in the way his fingers hold the other's hips to keep them both stable in this dance. Silco is a lovely thing. Perhaps when all will be said and done later, he will remember this moment, with a man torn asunder by more than just a weapon.]
...It's like you were born for me. [He says, punctuating it with a deeper thrust upwards, to truly skewer the man. He wants to hear him whimper like a dog.] Silco. Hah...ah....I'll never stop. Never for you.
no subject
His fingers dig there, lower, like he's trying to draw out a groan from the man, or maybe it's a sound of passion he wants to hear. It doesn't seem to matter what, his head tilted back, watching him while he's riding on top, not quite able to pull all the way up or separate them from skin to skin, but just enough that he can appraise him from above, one of he's eyes caught at that half-mast, the other... Always unmatched, always starting with that too-wide, too-knowing stare.
His lips tilt into something of a open smile; as if he'd been about to say something particularly biting, but he slides in just so, hits him just so and his whole body is taut like that violinists string. His eyes wide, and he makes that soft whine at the back of his throat that's far too revealing, far too vulnerable for comfort. His fingers find the spaces between Vergilius's ribs, corded muscle and he digs in as if on impulse.
As if he has no other choice but to hurt, lest he see and hear how much this makes his head spin. ]
Yes, that's -- Good -- [ For all intents and purposes, the word sounds a lot closer to something else, as if he's saying; mine, without daring to say the word out loud. Laying claim when he has no right, but he does anyway, when did Silco ask permission to take? ]
Show me -- [ he breathes it half like a challenge;] -- show me how; prove it to me.
no subject
[What an awful, beautiful, amazing, horrible thing that is.]
[And so, Silco will get that sweating brow, that rumble in his chest that explodes out his mouth into a longing groan that whimpers with his thrusts, digging deeper. Its as if he's threatening to leave himself embedded into the man for ages. Silco may claim him as his, but it doesn't mean he can't do the same thing right back.]
[His knees draw up to press into the man's sides as he injects even more power into his hips. He practically wants to see, feel the sin of the man almost literally bouncing on his swollen cock. He will show him. His hand trails up to cup the man's nape of his neck as he grunts his effort into their movement, hoarse now as he proclaims his answer.]
I'll have a - fuck, hah - lot of proofs to come.
no subject
[ He visibly shuddered when he slid in, hoisting Silco's much smaller body with his thighs; and isn't that something? His face flushed, when he slid down the length of him, seated all the way down, pressing right against something that made all of him go taut. His breath came out in a hoarse, breathy little thing, barely contained, and then it repeated all over again, and again and again. How was it he felt so good? So right?
Later, he'll likely write this off as just what it was. The pocky (once he hears what it actually does). It can't possibly be anything else. It can't possibly be the way he feels inside of him, his rumble of his groans that escape from his lips, or the warmth of a large hand at the back of his neck.
It can't be that he already feels something stirring low in his belly, escalating with each and every pump of his cock in him, every time he slams into him, hitting all the right ways.
He gasps wetly, his eye closed, staring down at Vergilius with that still ever-open one, his back arched, his mouth half-open, each punch of him into him leaves him practically squirming on him, shifting as if he would vibrate out of his skin. ] Hah— just —
[ like that. How terrible this is, that he likes it so much? That he already feels a fever-pitch, that he's going to come again so soon? ]
no subject
[He's not a young man. Even as strong as this body is with all its past surgeries, he will feel it in the morning. But that burning hunger that punched itself into his abdomen so suddenly is now shifting into a new form. It feels more like true and honest passion, a new and thrilling thing to feel as the man arches that lovely little curve and gasps.]
[Everything is new, renewed. And now, his own results are sending shockwaves into his abdomen and curling his toes, and he feels he can't hold on any longer. Sure, maybe he's losing the battle as he can't help himself, doing one last final thrust that bottoms out completely within the man But he will win the war - since the explosion of heat that sends him groaning and arching his own back against the sheets with a wordless cry is something he wants to see Silco react to.]
[It almost bowls him over, the strength of this one. It feels more potent, a cup overflowing - he's riding it out with a babble of Silco's name, his hand almost scruffing the man to keep him where he is as he fills him to the brim.]
Fuck, fuck, ha, Silco, you're so fucking good, haaagh, Silco-
[Again, and again, until the shooting stars down his spine become aftershocks that twitch through his pleased and heated body - and even his face seems softer, now, with a grin that shines from where he's laying.]
[He's so proud.]
no subject
It's such a strange thing, this want winding deep in his belly, somewhere that he'd considered long dead and mistrustful. He'd not bothered, for so long, for so long between the recovery and the cause, Jinx and then the war and the world before. He hasn't felt anything like this in so long that it's roaring like an insatiable wave, making him want to take all of it, all of him. Every bit of him. He does, when Vergilius buried himself in him with a groan, pressing deep inside, hitting him deep inside.
He can't help but stare down — it feels so right — watches his mouth open, the sweat on his brow, the way his head pressed into the sheets and the way he stares up at him with those red eyes. He Watches him come because of him, holds him there, forces him to stay in place — as if he would look away — he doesn't want to look at anything else in any world than this right now.
It triggers something in him, that feeling of dropping that dips low, tingling everywhere, the heat of him flooding inside. His mouth can only open, his hand reached up to plant on his chest, to grip there as he rode him harder, like he could milk it out of him as he feels it — ]
That's it — You feel so — [ Good. He gasped with a soft shudder that starts from what feels like the back of his head, the first point of contact, all the way down to where their bodies meet, and he feels it roil through him, his hips jerk and he looked down at him. His lips canted in almost a smile, one eye slid half-closed, and he spilled all over him. It sent further than he thought it could, leaving a mess across him, to match the mess in him.
His limbs feel weak, like gelatin, and he barely has time to appreciate how good he looks beneath him like that, before he collapsed against him, wheezing, breathing hard, but he very barely lifts his head to see that rush of something cross his face. The softness, the grin.
He surges forward to press a biting kiss against his lips, as if he could capture and steal that all for himself. ]
no subject
[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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[See, this is evidence of the rot of the City that would be impossible to extricate from his soul. Any average person would find something vile about the confession. Vergilius finds it to be a notion that fits right at home. Even back in the City, what few relationships one had between Fixers weren't built on things like attractiveness or pleasant feelings. It was about strength, survival, the physical highs and the grit of two souls finding each other wandering through the muck of it all. Silco thought about this since he acted as what he was: a monster.]
[Of course, his tender heart took some argument with that, but...]
[It made sense. It was in the same way his eyes fell on Silco for such similar things. This man that now shifts against him, makes another little shiver of pleasure spark into his abdomen, was as rotten as they come. He had no excuse of not having something like this for a long time. Malkuth had been sweet as anything, even if they both came from the same fabric of the City. But with her he had been so careful, so tender, like a bull unwilling to move a step further in a china shop lest he break everything in it.]
[With Silco, he can simply act without thinking, and the harm that results is not only encouraged, but returned with interest.]
[He sighs against the man's lips, as if swallowing down that truth before he returns it with one of his own, his hand moving up to trace fingers over the scarred part of his face, following jagged lines towards those pursed little lips.]
...I thought you were beautiful from the day I first met you in that alleyway. All roiling rage and all.
[He had snapped like a dog, he had been a nasty little thing that wouldn't back down for anything. How pretty that was. To see his own wrath reflected in another.]
[He's grasping the hand over his bangs to pull to his own mouth, sucking kisses over the tips of his fingers one by one.]
You've become only more beautiful since, you know.
no subject
Hell. What was he to do with this magnificent monster wearing a man's face?
He watches him take his fingers into his mouth, and Silco's lips curl into a satisfied smile, like a cat that has caught the canary in its maw, but hasn't quite taken a bite -- like this is a game and he's given him something he can't take back. If there was a flush to his face to accompany it, well... there's something to be said for how easily Vergilius gives that up. How it sends some of that heat flooding back down where their bodies are well and truly joined. ]
Have I? [ He asks, leaning down to scrape his gapprd teeth against his collarbone, and he wondered if he could find a scar he's already left, if he's given time. He wants to leave a mark on this man underneath him, leave something lasting that can't be excused away. Something that he won't be able to look away from. An ugly truth to confront, something Silco wants to be. Something he can't just wash away later. ] Be careful, Vergilius.
[ He says his name like he belongs to him. Like he has every right to it. This is a dark secret shared between the two of them, slipping into some kind of abyss together, ripping each other apart to find the soft spots they can worm into one another. Does he know that nobody dared to say something like that to him since...
That from most he would consider it a lie at best, and an insult at worst. From a man who lives in the muck like he does, it feels...like he's got a hook in him, one of those burrs under his skin. ]
What are you going to do, if you're around me much longer?
[ He bites at his collarbone for real, this time, as if he could puncture his skin again, head tilted so his black eye could remain on him, drinking him in. ]
no subject
What are you going to do, if you're around me much longer?
[Did he think that he was the predator here, and he had found welcome prey? No, he doesn't think Silco is stupid. He understands what he has, who he has. Vergilius is tantalizing because of the danger that holds above his head like a blade. They both wandered into this knowing just what vicious ends they may lead themselves to.]
[Even something like this, with the warmth of a tryst of lovers, could hold something as sharp as the promise of a thousand knives. Vergilius looks down onto the man, whose unblinking, inhuman eye meets his own.]
[He shifts, and its easy as anything - maybe this is unfair, the way he shows off his strength, but he's rolling them over in a single move so Silco is now with his back into the bed as Vergilius looms over him like a shadow.]
I know at least one thing you won't do, if you're around me much longer. [He's still deep within the man, and he is loathe to detach himself. He may not have gotten his arousal back, yet, but it doesn't stop him from making a smooth roll of his hips just to let the other feel the slick movement edging heavy into his abdomen. It's practically a threat. He has a spiteful little dream that Silco will be haunted by this. He wants him restless at night, feeling empty, wanting the only thing that could make his greedy soul feel whole even for a moment.] You won't be walking for a good long while because of little old me. Is that okay with you, I wonder?
"little old me" verg you've got almost a foot on him
Would that change? Would he kill him and return him to his home in a fit of... something? Could he? Or would LILTH interfere? Silco's heart beat a touch faster at the thought, the danger of the man's violence something he wanted to see on full display, and take in hand, and direct. He wanted to see that monster flourish, and thrive. His good eye almost slid closed, up until the moment he flipped him over.
Silco... he is not a man who is given to fits and to taking such indulgences, but the fact that he did it so readily, in one fell swoop caused his stomach to flip-flop, that rush of something that was like a rush of blood away from his head and towards — ]
Do you think I'll be able to so far?
[ Already, he could feel it. His back ached, his hip twinged. A part of him knew well enough that he would be aching elsewhere for days.
His lips curled, a touch of that overconfidence back.
Maybe the display of strength was something he'd liked. Or maybe it was the way he rolled into him, a lewd sound that accompanied it. His breath escaped in a rush, and if anything, he almost seemed to spread his legs a touch wider for him. ]
I thought you were going to break me?
[ He goads, even as he reaches up to his neck, to hold his hand there, and dig his nails into his neck, dull little things, but still, he tries to dig in.
As if either of them are going to be able to forget this, as if Silco won't be thinking about it after every single time they talk, as if he won't lash out at him accordingly. As if he won't be embarrassed later, when he realizes the culprit, for how much he wants more, more, more; and how he keeps thinking about it afterward. ]
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.
(no subject)