[ Oh, it's very impossible. Silco could never be so idle, and he expects Vergilius would too — but just because it was impossible didn't mean there wasn't still the thrill at the thought of it, a little impossibility that could be made manifest between them like this, if not in reality. ]
Oh? [ It sounds half a laugh. ] Day in and day out? I'd never have to walk again, would I?
[ He'd almost say he couldn't imagine it from the man, chill though he was — but Silco thinks he's seen something the rest of them haven't. There's something like a fire burning in him, maybe deep in, buried beneath the layers of ice and reservation, but it burns all the same. He aims to chip it out, see how much it will burn, see if it's an inferno, see if he can wrest it out, and if it will burn back.
He falls back, his fingers not quite leaving the man, starting to peel off his shirt in return, aiming for more of those scars exposed, half so he can learn more of them, half because that sounds a challenge, and he wants to see if he can. ]
Don't be disappointed... [ He says against his lips, bites following. He shrugs his shirt over his shoulders. ] If I manage to leave new ones.
[ His lips quirk beneath his, a twitch of a shark's smile. ] I might have to get creative.
[It feels easier, now. The way they fall against each other, the way they now know how their acerbic back-and-forths lead to the same end every time. They were so guarded, before. And step, by step, they put down their cards, saw each other a little clearer, liked what they saw.]
[Of course, he can't exactly say his feelings about Silco are that simple. Even deep down, he has a true anger in regards to him that can't be snuffed out. He feels even Silco can see that. But within that burning anger, there isn't hatred. How can he hate him? Between the both of them, the one who deserves hatred is him, himself.]
[Maybe that's why he's been more than happy to bear his scars, where others would look towards being unmarred. He lets Silco help him, drops his shirt to the side of the bed. Silco threatens to add to his morbid little map. Perhaps if he can, there will be scratches of nails and crooked evidence of teeth to dot his skin with the rest of them.]
[He won't be a passive bystander. The kisses are returned, but he's twisting his head to nibble a little over the other's jaw before taking the tip of his ear to suck. His hands, explorers, slide down the man's waist, thumbs rubbing little circles into his hips.]
[ He can sense it, the anger, but how can he not? He knows Vergilius still blames him for the vampirism, and well — hah, he'd given up that fight, hadn't he? — but what problem did it create? He's not one for affection or one for kindness. Anger, resentment, those are emotions he understands, that he can whip up, can feel them taken out on his skin in aching bruises and cuts. It's honest, anger.
He doesn't think he could afford for it to fester. He knows the price of what festering anger does. He bears those scars most of all, doesn't he? The anger doesn't stop him, either, does it? He still opened his door to him, he still signed a contract, and most of all, he still wrapped his fingers around him, "circumstances" or not. There's no hiding it now. They've both laid their hands out on the table — a split pot for the both of them. ]
Giving me free reign, are you?
[ Compared to Silco, he's big, a with a network of scars that he's already started piecing together, remembering this and that, the way they lace over muscle. His fingers start where he does remember starting, at the scars on his neck. They're no longer something he can dig into, open wounds, but even still, he starts there. Pressing, scratching, on a place where it started. ]
I warned you before, didn't I? That I could be creative.
[ Another of those little cards they'd been keeping tucked up their sleeves. He leaned in, chipped teeth scraping against his neck just so — a sharp, sucking kiss against that point on his neck, before he drug it down, his fingers already taking the lead, finding a line to follow, nails diverting with an imaginary line, cutting as if he could already add more. ]
[Oh, beautiful anger. It could fester. He could imagine it as such, because his heart is full of wrath, no matter how cold he runs. He could let it fester, and one day, Silco might find his own head being sliced from his shoulders as easy as anything.]
[But not now. Not today. Not at least, while some amount of affection, even twisted, remains in his body. For yes, perhaps, he does care about this man. Takes pleasure in his pleasure. If Silco wants to harm him, then perhaps, a small voice offers, he really deserves it.]
[As he harms him now - Silco's uneven teeth drag down from his neck, causing Vergilius to arch into it, a moan dripping from his mouth. He doesn't back away. Instead, he leans into it, daring, as if begging for blood to be spilled.]
[His own hand grips the man's hips, tucks him against him, asking for more.]
[ He misses the fanged promise of ripping through skin, and taking what he wanted. Being a vampire had been a reminder of that satisfaction, of taking it. How much he'd missed it — even now he would have taken it readily, and not just for the warm flush of blood in his mouth. He missed easily breaking through skin, but what was this if not more of a challenge?
He says he is old and tough, and that is true, but Silco's from the Undercity, and he knows how to break old tough things down, doesn't he? He's survived off of worse when he was a boy.
He has nothing too sharp to use, just teeth and manicured nails, but he was creative, and driven. Pressed up against him, slotted like they simply fit against one another, he bit again, and again, leaving angry welts and bite marks, his lips following them up with only half-apologetic strokes of his tongue or lips, before he worried at his skin again, breaking through only barely, but enough that it draws a pleased note out of his throat. His fingers dug in at his ribs, as if he could hold him there, locked in. As if by his own strength, he could keep him here.
He wanted to see more, hear more of those moans slipping out. It's not...necessarily affection, that drives it, but Silco is complicated, and affection is a word that means so little. What he has is that connection, a terrible man — bigger, stronger, faster — who lets him peel back his skin and look beneath — opening his mouth and sounding like that, from just his attentions.
It makes him want to do it again, and again, and again, like he's ripping them out from him, draining them, and keeping them hidden and safe just for him to pull out and admire whenever he wants to. Unending greed, perhaps, but he has never really been satisfied. ]
[From the times they have done this, whether influenced or sober, it always feels like there's one thing in common at the very least. Silco does what he does as he needs to prove a point. As if the universe itself pointed down at his meager soul and told him he would be worth nothing- and here he is, doing his best to tear at it all out of spite.]
[He both knows Silco covets him as both himself and as a sort lf representation - a challenge to quite literally sink his teeth into. He highly doubts he would do this with anyone else. This is why he feels special. The man might be treating him like a dragon treats its own treasure, but it makes him. happy, somehow. Silco is greedy for him and him alone.]
[And so, he allows him his terrible work. His eyelids flutter as the man's teeth finds more spaces he feels could barely exist over him. One bite digs deeper, and he buries the shameful noise from his throat into the other's shoulder.]
[Over and over and over again. It might be pain. But he finds a sort of rabid ecstasy in it, too. How horrible of him. How base of him.]
[His body starts to move ever slightly, groaning with the friction.]
[ It's not a flood of blood, but the tang of it is still rife on his tongue, like metal, and he pursues it like it's water for a drowning man. Maybe it is, maybe just a scrap of something that he wants to take. He sucks yet another mark into him, leaving a trail of them along his neck, and Vergilius tries to bury the sound against his shoulder. He doesn't know what to make of that, of trying to hide it from him — he want to hear more of them, let them slip free.
He's opened himself up, by taking what he wants — such a dangerous thing, to even have it, such a dangerous thing to be alone with someone else, like this — that he wants these concessions too. He sucks another, just to the side, trying to draw him out, another prick of pain, another hard sharp bite against him. Is this punishment, or is it simply how monsters communicate? How they mark each other — a dark, insidious part of him wants it to be seen, for others to know that he had been taken.
Shifting, he opened up for him, gave him something to grind against, he was already stirring, a brush of friction drew a similar groan out from him, hot against exposed skin, his mouth moving down, aiming to find more, give him a pathway of marks that might not last (will not last) but he would remember just like Vergilius would remember his.
How much he wanted it, how much it was driving his thoughts into a spiral that he had it right now. Nothing lasted in his fingers, he knew that. But wasn't it good enough to leave these lasting, sharp marks. Was he leaving it just on his skin? How greedy, that he wanted to worm in. How lucky, that he was given a chance. ]
[How lucky. Are they lucky? Vergilius would like to think so. He might be the first person on this world to step forward and accept the deathly weight of his karma taking him down below into hell, but here, now, where Silco does his thorough work, he believes he must be the luckiest in this whole mess.]
[He can't stand the man. He has to let him in, over and over again, because he can't get enough. Fixers know never to get close to others. You lose people as easy as anything. And yet he never quite learned his lesson, did he? Silco bites into him, communicates as monsters do, and-]
[He doesn't feel quite so lonely, like this. As if he could fill even an ounce of the void within him. The hunger.]
[He wishes, fretfully, that these marks could last a little longer.]
[Another gasp, another low sound that comes from his throat - and he's pulling back to really let Silco hear it. His little reward, to eke out such noises from a usually stoic man, his breaths edging into whines.]
Silco.
[Begging for more. He reaches to grasp the man by the side of his face, almost a carress, but its to keep him where he is, at his chest.]
[ The words breathed against skin, he pulls away only to form a soft, quiet word, like he's surprised he can pull it out of him. It's like pulling a diamond out from the mine, something only he had worked so hard to find. He covets it. He wants to hide it away. He wants to find more of them. He's normally so level, difficult to rile up, and yet right now he's done it.
And it's his to hear. ]
That's good —
[ He moves his mouth, speaks words against already worried skin, taking to sucking a fresh red spot further down his chest, a companion to one of those scars, scraping his teeth against, it, still doggedly trying to break skin. Like he's a puzzle if he just tried to open him up just right. Could he, if he worked at it hard enough?
[He does have a chance. Vergilius has opened up to him, despite everything screaming at him not to. That voice he heard so long ago, who offered self-love and transformation, what did she know about anything?]
[How very funny. If that voice came in the form of Malkuth, of Silco, would he have been so quick to deny them?]
[Silco seems surprised. He's surprised by such surprise, but it says something - Silco is only human, after all. And he can't help but feel a swell of misplaced warmth at that. Silco is only human. He too, has fallen into this pit with him.]
[He kisses him on the top of his head, before he shudders, another low noise at the back of his throat rumbling through his skin. Vergilius's hips start to move against him, before one hand moves between them to unlock his belt, unzip himself, before shifting around to try to do the same for the man underneath him.]
[ Careful, careful, because Silco would always offer that promise. Vergilius has already shared that well of guilt with him, he's seen it for what it is. Something that holds him back, that keeps hi from being the man he should be. He would offer him that promise in a heartbeat — he may yet one of these days — He thinks the man could do to be more selfish, to take what he wanted when he wants. He has all of that power, after all. Could he not take what he wants?
Doesn't he now? He tugs at his pants, opens him up, they're both exposed, and he hissed out a soft gasp at the release of pressure, cool air and warm skin against him. A sharp thrill runs through him, makes his fingers tighten at that — taking what he wants, it fills him with a surge of excitement and, yes, desire. Come down deeper, into this pit, his fingers and mouth beg. There's nothing but monsters here, and what are we but just that?
He muffles the gasp against his skin, mouth open, teeth and lips and tongue all finding spaces to worry over, moving to new space after new space. There's almost a breathless laugh huffed against his skin, when he says: ]
Don't tell me the inspection's over already.
[ He punctuated it with another sucking bite on his skin, closer to his sternum, that trail of bites and marks still ever inching lower, lower, lower. ]
[He doesn't understand it sometimes. This weakness. Not the overall weakness, he knew that part, he always knew he was a hypocritical bastard, but Silco? Why this weakness for Silco? Why could time and time again, the man would reach up from the pit and beckon him closer, and he, usually proud, would listen?]
[Silco explores every part of him like he needs to memorize every nook and cranny. The body as a museum. It's unfair, really, as he whines at the bite near his sternum, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration.]
Not yet. Hah.
[Another low noise, more wanton this time, as his fingers curl at the back of the man's neck. Now exposed, he's thrusting against the man, a dry rut to mKe him shiver.]
Haven't even started for real. And I know...exactly where to start from. When you're done, mmhm...
[ Oh, that made his mouth still on his sternum, mid-bite, his mouth half-open against him and his fingers still laced against his ribs like they could reach in. Hasn't even started — and his cock twitched at the prospect, pressed up against his stomach, against him. He wanted to continue down his path, memorize every scar and leave his own in his wake. He wanted to stop, and see where he would start. He wanted to rut against him until he felt that same wave of pleasure again.
He was greedy, selfish. He liked seeing it come out of this man too, taking instead of worrying about it. He'd thought, once, when they'd talked, that he'd almost gotten through to him, before he'd said something damning, that he didn't deserve it. That he didn't get to take what he wanted.
Well, now he had him beneath him, him, scarred and broken into pieces like he always was. Barely worth looking down on — that dirty little thing from the undercity, he'd hardly escaped it despite being better, working to do more — and he had pulled him out a little bit out of that malaise. He took his hand, bought into his goading, stole away here, and now he'd opened himself up to him. He let himself be selfish, take it. What more could he convince him to take?
Could he teach him to take more?
He shivered, another sucking bite onto his skin — but it worms into his brain, shivering, vibrating impatience. He tipped his head upward, focusing that blackened eye on him, a quirk of his lips around a mouthful of skin. ]
I could make you wait...
[ He murmured against his skin. His fingers pressed into the spaces between his ribs. ] Take my time...
[Replies the flare of his eyes in return to that black stare - but its not true anger. Simply exasperation, possibly fond, that spins into actual wishes. He does want to fuck him. He is fucking him now. What has Silco done to him? Why does he want this all so badly? He always wanted this. That's the answer.]
[By the Wings, he sincerely wants the man to keep going. But he can't abide by the challenge, either. His fingernails scrape down the man's sides, voice a heated hiss of a whisper into his ears.]
I was going to suck you off as a first go-around, but maybe you think you're too wrapped up in your own tasks.
It's all so much. He wonders if Vergilius knows what those words are doing to him. His cock twitches between them, and the mouthful of flesh is dropped almost immediately.
That, that —
Can he imagine what that would do to him? Looking down at him with his lips around him, brushing back those bangs and looking at him while he does it? His legs almost instinctively spread a little bit, but his jaw slack gives away what he thinks about that. His fingers even twitch and relax against his ribs, unbidden. ]
Hah —
[ He breathed, against his skin, but he relented. How could he do anything but? ] — If you already have a plan, you should have just told me.
[ As if he would have stopped for any other playing around. He watched him with that half-unblinking stare, a flush across half his face, a twitch of his lips. He wanted to keep biting along his skin, he wanted him to fuck him raw, he wanted what he promised, too. How greedy was he, to want all of it all at once? ]
[He wants to burn that look in his eyes. That beautiful swatch of color across his cheeks, his inquisitive little stare. All for him, and him alone.]
[Silco has become so weak for him that it almost obscures its the same thing in reverse.]
[He says nothing at first. A burning sort of victory in his chest, he's letting the man lay back down slowly. Vergilius then shifts backwards, knees sliding against sheets, before he takes his needed place down below.]
[He smirks - so sure of hiself, that with no prelude, he descends to place his mouth around the head, slide it off with a nasty wet pop.]
[And he moves to repeat it, tongue swirling around the head as his hands reach to brace on the legs. Bobbing down, he wants to greedily hold all of him in, wants to bob up and down before Silco loses his mind.]
[Because its true. He's greedy too, and this can't be the last he wants in this long game.]
[ Holding down his legs is the wise move, with the way he felt his hips instinctively lift to meet him, fighting against his hands that could hold him down with little force. It's a tease that first taste of him, and Silco has to fight back from a rush of air, the wind rushing out of his lungs, all at once, like it had been stolen from him.
It has, really. And he let him do it, let him steal away to his rooms, slip in, and take this like it was a piece of him? He's letting him with little more protest than forceful, goading words.
Then again, he's not the only one, is he? He winds his fingers into the sheets, to grip them, to force himself not to reach out or surge forward, or maybe even stop him because it's too much. He wants him to get to do what he wants — relinquishing something that looks like control (even if it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, even if it makes his brain start spinning irrationally) — so he does nothing to stop him, and forces himself to spread his legs for him. His lean, bony body spread out for him like a feast if he so wanted it, but he's already found what he wants, hasn't he? ]
Ah —
[ Had he thought he was going to say anything? He'd wanted to, something biting, or sharp, but it only devolved into another soft rush of gasped air, that seemed to devolve into a low hum of pleasure, and — ] — More, Vergilius —
[ Maybe they were both greedy. Selfish. That was ok, for monsters to just take, wasn't it? ]
[Is it true control? He might wonder about that later. Silco, the proud, the man who wouldn't give an inch before taking a mile, first. It seems paradoxical here. Silco bares himself entirely for him to grasp and handle and kiss and suck down on. He presents himself to Vergilius like an offering to a beast. The practical "virgin" to sate the dragon's appetite.]
[Then again, to think of Silco being anything close to a damsel in distress is laughable. This, too, will get this businessman dividends. Even so, even if he knows Silco will be benefitting from it - doesn't his voice, low and moaning, sound so wonderful saying his name like this?]
[He heeds the command. His fingers splayed on firm lean skin, he descends to swallow him as deep as he can go, humming all the while. He won't let the man indulge in the feeling, as he's scrapping his teeth upwards on sensitive skin as his saliva drips down his shaft. His own cock twitches, almost lonely in its mirror. He ignores it for now, red eyes flitting up to see the man's minute little reactions.]
[ It's a show, personal and put on just for him — Silco barely realizes he's doing it. He's twitching underneath him, some part of him wants to thrust up and into his mouth, he fights to do it, but Vergilius is so much stronger than him, can hold him down and have his way with him all he wants. His head pressed as flat as he can, back arching even though he can do little more than just arch it —
He feels like he's in a tailspin, dizzying and out of control, he can't speed him up, he can't force him to take him all in unless it is his whim and will. Scarred hands on his skin, he could so easily just rip Silco off of the bed and he wouldn't be able to do more than protest ineffectively. But it makes him press his head to the sheets, and spread himself wider, let him hear and see what he's doing to him.
Dividends, indeed. Isn't he reaping the rewards? His one eye open, he stares down at him, the way he drags his mouth back up him — his mouth open and gasping out a soft — ] You Bastard —
[ It's an admonishment, it's also fond in its own way. As if he'd expected nothing less. ]
[The insult carries to his ears, and warms them. He can tell the fondness in it, and it only makes him press on with more gusto. He smiles a rare little smile, before giving a lick over the man's throbbing head.]
You love it.
[He murmurs, before his fingers grip in tighter as if to leave indents. An angling of his head, and he's letting the man's cock sink deep as if to hit the back of his throat, groaning all the way.]
[As if he means to swallow him whole, here and now. He very much well could, if he wanted. Something is reckless enough where he has half an idea just to bite.]
[ Was it the truth? Did he enjoy it that much? His fingers dig indents into his thighs, and his legs quiver from the effort of being held down, fighting up against it. He wants nothing more than to thrust deeper in his mouth — Can he go deeper? — does it matter? Logic fails him, and he wants what he can't have. Then again, when had he ever stopped with only what he wanted.
His hips fight against his hands, trying to do what he wants, though he's weak in comparison. It's like fighting against a heavy weight, something he can't fight against. ]
If you stop — [ He hissed, his voice like raw sandpaper, slurring out from this throat like it's coming ripped out involuntarily. ] — I'll put a knife in your back.
[ A little threat, for fun. Does he have a knife on him? Well, it is his bed. Does Vergilius dare figure out if he sleeps with one near? ]
[The threat makes him still, but not for the reason Silco thinks - Vergilius slips his mouth off, aiming a levelly unimpressed look at the man. He leans forward, just a bit-]
[Only to sink his teeth into the man's groin, like a warning bite. He sucks on the skin, a blossoming red coming from his action before he returns to his previous position.]
As if I was going to stop. [And now, a lick alongside the side of his shaft, nibbling around its head.] Like trying to rob a bank of your own money. How very stupid. Unless you want me to stop? Out of spite?
[And he sucks on it once more, his hands releasing for a moment before sliding up to hold the man's pelvis taut.]
[ If it wouldn't have given it away — how much he did love this — he would have writhed and hissed and whined at the chill air on him, cooling spit. His back arched, he sucks and bites him and the whine comes ripped out of his throat, back arched and fingers tight into the sheets. If he were stronger, they would rip.
His head pressed to the bed, that burning pit of an eye rolled up to the back of his head. ]
No —
[ He hissed out, pain blossoms like an old welcome friend, and he twitches, twists, Vergilius keeps going, keeps talking and he swallowed back a frustrated groan as he took him back in. He fights against his hands, trying to thrust deeper into him and getting nowhere, but his legs, they're free enough that he squirms with them before he lifted one to hook one around his shoulders and neck, as if it could keep him there.
Saying clearly what Silco wasn't, that it was that good. ]
[The slender leg presses over his shoulders. As if that could stop him from doing anything. His cold red eyes have a hint of something coming close to mirth. He enjoys this. It must be like what a cat feels when it sees a mouse in a trap.]
[He can feel the minute tension of the muscles as Silco tries vainly to push his hips upward. Perhaps its time to give him a reprieve. He lets go, his hands carressing over his slender abdomen as he slips off wetly. A lick of his lips, and he's going back, but with only the head entering past his lips.]
[He won't move down. He's giving a chance for Silco to fuck it upwards to enjoy himself. If just a little bit.]
[ Even though he releases his hips, Vergilius truly does still have all of the control here. Silco may have wrapped a leg around his shoulders, an awkward twist of long, thin limbs, and he arched to put his foot on the sheets, as if it would give him enough leverage to fight him — he doesn't even have to fight him, he can just push down again anytime he wants.
But with the newfound freedom he does surge up, following his mouth, chasing heat and sensation and thrusting up and into him. He'd very nearly chased him up and away, but as soon as he's given freedom, he takes it. Irregular, uncontrolled thrusts up and into him, his heel pressed tight against his back to try and hold him down (ineffectively) and his hips pushing up.
It's all liquid heat, wet and too hot and it pools in his belly, makes his head hazy, and control so difficult to grasp, like sand sifting through his fingertips. Is it better when he holds him down? Is it better now, when he can fuck himself into his mouth? He can't even tell, but with his hips unrestrained, he's falling, falling, falling so fast off the precipice. ]
I'm —
[ He reaches out with a hand, to pull one of his hands off from his abdomen, to tighten fingers into it, like he needs to hold onto something — him. Can he hold on? He feels like he's already starting to fall. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Oh? [ It sounds half a laugh. ] Day in and day out? I'd never have to walk again, would I?
[ He'd almost say he couldn't imagine it from the man, chill though he was — but Silco thinks he's seen something the rest of them haven't. There's something like a fire burning in him, maybe deep in, buried beneath the layers of ice and reservation, but it burns all the same. He aims to chip it out, see how much it will burn, see if it's an inferno, see if he can wrest it out, and if it will burn back.
He falls back, his fingers not quite leaving the man, starting to peel off his shirt in return, aiming for more of those scars exposed, half so he can learn more of them, half because that sounds a challenge, and he wants to see if he can. ]
Don't be disappointed... [ He says against his lips, bites following. He shrugs his shirt over his shoulders. ] If I manage to leave new ones.
[ His lips quirk beneath his, a twitch of a shark's smile. ] I might have to get creative.
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[Of course, he can't exactly say his feelings about Silco are that simple. Even deep down, he has a true anger in regards to him that can't be snuffed out. He feels even Silco can see that. But within that burning anger, there isn't hatred. How can he hate him? Between the both of them, the one who deserves hatred is him, himself.]
[Maybe that's why he's been more than happy to bear his scars, where others would look towards being unmarred. He lets Silco help him, drops his shirt to the side of the bed. Silco threatens to add to his morbid little map. Perhaps if he can, there will be scratches of nails and crooked evidence of teeth to dot his skin with the rest of them.]
[He won't be a passive bystander. The kisses are returned, but he's twisting his head to nibble a little over the other's jaw before taking the tip of his ear to suck. His hands, explorers, slide down the man's waist, thumbs rubbing little circles into his hips.]
Then go ahead. Be creative.
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He doesn't think he could afford for it to fester. He knows the price of what festering anger does. He bears those scars most of all, doesn't he? The anger doesn't stop him, either, does it? He still opened his door to him, he still signed a contract, and most of all, he still wrapped his fingers around him, "circumstances" or not. There's no hiding it now. They've both laid their hands out on the table — a split pot for the both of them. ]
Giving me free reign, are you?
[ Compared to Silco, he's big, a with a network of scars that he's already started piecing together, remembering this and that, the way they lace over muscle. His fingers start where he does remember starting, at the scars on his neck. They're no longer something he can dig into, open wounds, but even still, he starts there. Pressing, scratching, on a place where it started. ]
I warned you before, didn't I? That I could be creative.
[ Another of those little cards they'd been keeping tucked up their sleeves. He leaned in, chipped teeth scraping against his neck just so — a sharp, sucking kiss against that point on his neck, before he drug it down, his fingers already taking the lead, finding a line to follow, nails diverting with an imaginary line, cutting as if he could already add more. ]
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[But not now. Not today. Not at least, while some amount of affection, even twisted, remains in his body. For yes, perhaps, he does care about this man. Takes pleasure in his pleasure. If Silco wants to harm him, then perhaps, a small voice offers, he really deserves it.]
[As he harms him now - Silco's uneven teeth drag down from his neck, causing Vergilius to arch into it, a moan dripping from his mouth. He doesn't back away. Instead, he leans into it, daring, as if begging for blood to be spilled.]
[His own hand grips the man's hips, tucks him against him, asking for more.]
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He says he is old and tough, and that is true, but Silco's from the Undercity, and he knows how to break old tough things down, doesn't he? He's survived off of worse when he was a boy.
He has nothing too sharp to use, just teeth and manicured nails, but he was creative, and driven. Pressed up against him, slotted like they simply fit against one another, he bit again, and again, leaving angry welts and bite marks, his lips following them up with only half-apologetic strokes of his tongue or lips, before he worried at his skin again, breaking through only barely, but enough that it draws a pleased note out of his throat. His fingers dug in at his ribs, as if he could hold him there, locked in. As if by his own strength, he could keep him here.
He wanted to see more, hear more of those moans slipping out. It's not...necessarily affection, that drives it, but Silco is complicated, and affection is a word that means so little. What he has is that connection, a terrible man — bigger, stronger, faster — who lets him peel back his skin and look beneath — opening his mouth and sounding like that, from just his attentions.
It makes him want to do it again, and again, and again, like he's ripping them out from him, draining them, and keeping them hidden and safe just for him to pull out and admire whenever he wants to. Unending greed, perhaps, but he has never really been satisfied. ]
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[He both knows Silco covets him as both himself and as a sort lf representation - a challenge to quite literally sink his teeth into. He highly doubts he would do this with anyone else. This is why he feels special. The man might be treating him like a dragon treats its own treasure, but it makes him. happy, somehow. Silco is greedy for him and him alone.]
[And so, he allows him his terrible work. His eyelids flutter as the man's teeth finds more spaces he feels could barely exist over him. One bite digs deeper, and he buries the shameful noise from his throat into the other's shoulder.]
[Over and over and over again. It might be pain. But he finds a sort of rabid ecstasy in it, too. How horrible of him. How base of him.]
[His body starts to move ever slightly, groaning with the friction.]
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He's opened himself up, by taking what he wants — such a dangerous thing, to even have it, such a dangerous thing to be alone with someone else, like this — that he wants these concessions too. He sucks another, just to the side, trying to draw him out, another prick of pain, another hard sharp bite against him. Is this punishment, or is it simply how monsters communicate? How they mark each other — a dark, insidious part of him wants it to be seen, for others to know that he had been taken.
Shifting, he opened up for him, gave him something to grind against, he was already stirring, a brush of friction drew a similar groan out from him, hot against exposed skin, his mouth moving down, aiming to find more, give him a pathway of marks that might not last (will not last) but he would remember just like Vergilius would remember his.
How much he wanted it, how much it was driving his thoughts into a spiral that he had it right now. Nothing lasted in his fingers, he knew that. But wasn't it good enough to leave these lasting, sharp marks. Was he leaving it just on his skin? How greedy, that he wanted to worm in. How lucky, that he was given a chance. ]
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[He can't stand the man. He has to let him in, over and over again, because he can't get enough. Fixers know never to get close to others. You lose people as easy as anything. And yet he never quite learned his lesson, did he? Silco bites into him, communicates as monsters do, and-]
[He doesn't feel quite so lonely, like this. As if he could fill even an ounce of the void within him. The hunger.]
[He wishes, fretfully, that these marks could last a little longer.]
[Another gasp, another low sound that comes from his throat - and he's pulling back to really let Silco hear it. His little reward, to eke out such noises from a usually stoic man, his breaths edging into whines.]
Silco.
[Begging for more. He reaches to grasp the man by the side of his face, almost a carress, but its to keep him where he is, at his chest.]
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[ The words breathed against skin, he pulls away only to form a soft, quiet word, like he's surprised he can pull it out of him. It's like pulling a diamond out from the mine, something only he had worked so hard to find. He covets it. He wants to hide it away. He wants to find more of them. He's normally so level, difficult to rile up, and yet right now he's done it.
And it's his to hear. ]
That's good —
[ He moves his mouth, speaks words against already worried skin, taking to sucking a fresh red spot further down his chest, a companion to one of those scars, scraping his teeth against, it, still doggedly trying to break skin. Like he's a puzzle if he just tried to open him up just right. Could he, if he worked at it hard enough?
At the very least, he has the chance. ]
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[How very funny. If that voice came in the form of Malkuth, of Silco, would he have been so quick to deny them?]
[Silco seems surprised. He's surprised by such surprise, but it says something - Silco is only human, after all. And he can't help but feel a swell of misplaced warmth at that. Silco is only human. He too, has fallen into this pit with him.]
[He kisses him on the top of his head, before he shudders, another low noise at the back of his throat rumbling through his skin. Vergilius's hips start to move against him, before one hand moves between them to unlock his belt, unzip himself, before shifting around to try to do the same for the man underneath him.]
You're...you're good...
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Doesn't he now? He tugs at his pants, opens him up, they're both exposed, and he hissed out a soft gasp at the release of pressure, cool air and warm skin against him. A sharp thrill runs through him, makes his fingers tighten at that — taking what he wants, it fills him with a surge of excitement and, yes, desire. Come down deeper, into this pit, his fingers and mouth beg. There's nothing but monsters here, and what are we but just that?
He muffles the gasp against his skin, mouth open, teeth and lips and tongue all finding spaces to worry over, moving to new space after new space. There's almost a breathless laugh huffed against his skin, when he says: ]
Don't tell me the inspection's over already.
[ He punctuated it with another sucking bite on his skin, closer to his sternum, that trail of bites and marks still ever inching lower, lower, lower. ]
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[Silco explores every part of him like he needs to memorize every nook and cranny. The body as a museum. It's unfair, really, as he whines at the bite near his sternum, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration.]
Not yet. Hah.
[Another low noise, more wanton this time, as his fingers curl at the back of the man's neck. Now exposed, he's thrusting against the man, a dry rut to mKe him shiver.]
Haven't even started for real. And I know...exactly where to start from. When you're done, mmhm...
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He was greedy, selfish. He liked seeing it come out of this man too, taking instead of worrying about it. He'd thought, once, when they'd talked, that he'd almost gotten through to him, before he'd said something damning, that he didn't deserve it. That he didn't get to take what he wanted.
Well, now he had him beneath him, him, scarred and broken into pieces like he always was. Barely worth looking down on — that dirty little thing from the undercity, he'd hardly escaped it despite being better, working to do more — and he had pulled him out a little bit out of that malaise. He took his hand, bought into his goading, stole away here, and now he'd opened himself up to him. He let himself be selfish, take it. What more could he convince him to take?
Could he teach him to take more?
He shivered, another sucking bite onto his skin — but it worms into his brain, shivering, vibrating impatience. He tipped his head upward, focusing that blackened eye on him, a quirk of his lips around a mouthful of skin. ]
I could make you wait...
[ He murmured against his skin. His fingers pressed into the spaces between his ribs. ] Take my time...
Should I?
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[Replies the flare of his eyes in return to that black stare - but its not true anger. Simply exasperation, possibly fond, that spins into actual wishes. He does want to fuck him. He is fucking him now. What has Silco done to him? Why does he want this all so badly? He always wanted this. That's the answer.]
[By the Wings, he sincerely wants the man to keep going. But he can't abide by the challenge, either. His fingernails scrape down the man's sides, voice a heated hiss of a whisper into his ears.]
I was going to suck you off as a first go-around, but maybe you think you're too wrapped up in your own tasks.
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It's all so much. He wonders if Vergilius knows what those words are doing to him. His cock twitches between them, and the mouthful of flesh is dropped almost immediately.
That, that —
Can he imagine what that would do to him? Looking down at him with his lips around him, brushing back those bangs and looking at him while he does it? His legs almost instinctively spread a little bit, but his jaw slack gives away what he thinks about that. His fingers even twitch and relax against his ribs, unbidden. ]
Hah —
[ He breathed, against his skin, but he relented. How could he do anything but? ] — If you already have a plan, you should have just told me.
[ As if he would have stopped for any other playing around. He watched him with that half-unblinking stare, a flush across half his face, a twitch of his lips. He wanted to keep biting along his skin, he wanted him to fuck him raw, he wanted what he promised, too. How greedy was he, to want all of it all at once? ]
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[Silco has become so weak for him that it almost obscures its the same thing in reverse.]
[He says nothing at first. A burning sort of victory in his chest, he's letting the man lay back down slowly. Vergilius then shifts backwards, knees sliding against sheets, before he takes his needed place down below.]
[He smirks - so sure of hiself, that with no prelude, he descends to place his mouth around the head, slide it off with a nasty wet pop.]
[And he moves to repeat it, tongue swirling around the head as his hands reach to brace on the legs. Bobbing down, he wants to greedily hold all of him in, wants to bob up and down before Silco loses his mind.]
[Because its true. He's greedy too, and this can't be the last he wants in this long game.]
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It has, really. And he let him do it, let him steal away to his rooms, slip in, and take this like it was a piece of him? He's letting him with little more protest than forceful, goading words.
Then again, he's not the only one, is he? He winds his fingers into the sheets, to grip them, to force himself not to reach out or surge forward, or maybe even stop him because it's too much. He wants him to get to do what he wants — relinquishing something that looks like control (even if it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, even if it makes his brain start spinning irrationally) — so he does nothing to stop him, and forces himself to spread his legs for him. His lean, bony body spread out for him like a feast if he so wanted it, but he's already found what he wants, hasn't he? ]
Ah —
[ Had he thought he was going to say anything? He'd wanted to, something biting, or sharp, but it only devolved into another soft rush of gasped air, that seemed to devolve into a low hum of pleasure, and — ] — More, Vergilius —
[ Maybe they were both greedy. Selfish. That was ok, for monsters to just take, wasn't it? ]
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[Then again, to think of Silco being anything close to a damsel in distress is laughable. This, too, will get this businessman dividends. Even so, even if he knows Silco will be benefitting from it - doesn't his voice, low and moaning, sound so wonderful saying his name like this?]
[He heeds the command. His fingers splayed on firm lean skin, he descends to swallow him as deep as he can go, humming all the while. He won't let the man indulge in the feeling, as he's scrapping his teeth upwards on sensitive skin as his saliva drips down his shaft. His own cock twitches, almost lonely in its mirror. He ignores it for now, red eyes flitting up to see the man's minute little reactions.]
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He feels like he's in a tailspin, dizzying and out of control, he can't speed him up, he can't force him to take him all in unless it is his whim and will. Scarred hands on his skin, he could so easily just rip Silco off of the bed and he wouldn't be able to do more than protest ineffectively. But it makes him press his head to the sheets, and spread himself wider, let him hear and see what he's doing to him.
Dividends, indeed. Isn't he reaping the rewards? His one eye open, he stares down at him, the way he drags his mouth back up him — his mouth open and gasping out a soft — ] You Bastard —
[ It's an admonishment, it's also fond in its own way. As if he'd expected nothing less. ]
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You love it.
[He murmurs, before his fingers grip in tighter as if to leave indents. An angling of his head, and he's letting the man's cock sink deep as if to hit the back of his throat, groaning all the way.]
[As if he means to swallow him whole, here and now. He very much well could, if he wanted. Something is reckless enough where he has half an idea just to bite.]
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His hips fight against his hands, trying to do what he wants, though he's weak in comparison. It's like fighting against a heavy weight, something he can't fight against. ]
If you stop — [ He hissed, his voice like raw sandpaper, slurring out from this throat like it's coming ripped out involuntarily. ] — I'll put a knife in your back.
[ A little threat, for fun. Does he have a knife on him? Well, it is his bed. Does Vergilius dare figure out if he sleeps with one near? ]
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[Only to sink his teeth into the man's groin, like a warning bite. He sucks on the skin, a blossoming red coming from his action before he returns to his previous position.]
As if I was going to stop. [And now, a lick alongside the side of his shaft, nibbling around its head.] Like trying to rob a bank of your own money. How very stupid. Unless you want me to stop? Out of spite?
[And he sucks on it once more, his hands releasing for a moment before sliding up to hold the man's pelvis taut.]
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His head pressed to the bed, that burning pit of an eye rolled up to the back of his head. ]
No —
[ He hissed out, pain blossoms like an old welcome friend, and he twitches, twists, Vergilius keeps going, keeps talking and he swallowed back a frustrated groan as he took him back in. He fights against his hands, trying to thrust deeper into him and getting nowhere, but his legs, they're free enough that he squirms with them before he lifted one to hook one around his shoulders and neck, as if it could keep him there.
Saying clearly what Silco wasn't, that it was that good. ]
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[He can feel the minute tension of the muscles as Silco tries vainly to push his hips upward. Perhaps its time to give him a reprieve. He lets go, his hands carressing over his slender abdomen as he slips off wetly. A lick of his lips, and he's going back, but with only the head entering past his lips.]
[He won't move down. He's giving a chance for Silco to fuck it upwards to enjoy himself. If just a little bit.]
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But with the newfound freedom he does surge up, following his mouth, chasing heat and sensation and thrusting up and into him. He'd very nearly chased him up and away, but as soon as he's given freedom, he takes it. Irregular, uncontrolled thrusts up and into him, his heel pressed tight against his back to try and hold him down (ineffectively) and his hips pushing up.
It's all liquid heat, wet and too hot and it pools in his belly, makes his head hazy, and control so difficult to grasp, like sand sifting through his fingertips. Is it better when he holds him down? Is it better now, when he can fuck himself into his mouth? He can't even tell, but with his hips unrestrained, he's falling, falling, falling so fast off the precipice. ]
I'm —
[ He reaches out with a hand, to pull one of his hands off from his abdomen, to tighten fingers into it, like he needs to hold onto something — him. Can he hold on? He feels like he's already starting to fall. ]
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i close my eyes
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