[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.]
[ He digs his thumbnail into the side of his face, and Silco hisses in response. Vergilius can cut him in two so easily, but right now, it doesn't chill the mood, Silco's head only tipped into it, a quirk of his lips, as if to challenge him to do more. He's already left a mark on him — the bite mark on his own neck has scarred over — but Silco is a greedy man. He wants more of it. Maybe it's this haze, this heat that still seems to pull a veil over logic, but...
It's lessened. His brain might have been able to work, if it weren't for the fact that his cock was still in him, and if he wasn't still lazily moving in him. Each movement seemed to jolt through him, piercing him down to his core and he can feel himself stirring, even if his body should be well past done. Vergilius may as well be some sort of demon, for how his energy was going to be drained from him when all is said and done. He'll be incapable of walking, let alone moving.
But his energy stays (the horny brain heat flooding through him keeps him afloat for the moment) and he pressed up against his hand, as if he could lean up and take his lips again, to kiss and bite at his lips while he fucks him through it. He tugs weakly with his hands, still digging in like dull pricks against his skin, issuing a wordless command with his hands. Come here he demands with his spider-fingers, like beckoning a beast.
He wants to break him in half, he says he will — if he'll have him. As if he hasn't already? It's an idle thought, and he almost laughs, but it manifests in a curl of a smirk on his scarred lips, and he lifts his head slightly, against that thumbnail digging into his skin. Will it scar? ]
For the rest of the night, stop asking.
[ He says — commands — ] If you're going to break me, then do it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.
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[ 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? ]
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[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.]
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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. ]
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[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?
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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. ]
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[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.
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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. ]
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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.
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It's lessened. His brain might have been able to work, if it weren't for the fact that his cock was still in him, and if he wasn't still lazily moving in him. Each movement seemed to jolt through him, piercing him down to his core and he can feel himself stirring, even if his body should be well past done. Vergilius may as well be some sort of demon, for how his energy was going to be drained from him when all is said and done. He'll be incapable of walking, let alone moving.
But his energy stays (the
horny brainheat flooding through him keeps him afloat for the moment) and he pressed up against his hand, as if he could lean up and take his lips again, to kiss and bite at his lips while he fucks him through it. He tugs weakly with his hands, still digging in like dull pricks against his skin, issuing a wordless command with his hands. Come here he demands with his spider-fingers, like beckoning a beast.He wants to break him in half, he says he will — if he'll have him. As if he hasn't already? It's an idle thought, and he almost laughs, but it manifests in a curl of a smirk on his scarred lips, and he lifts his head slightly, against that thumbnail digging into his skin. Will it scar? ]
For the rest of the night, stop asking.
[ He says — commands — ] If you're going to break me, then do it.