[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. ]
[He too, doesn't know which is better. To keep Silco where he wants him, or to let Silco do whatever he wants to him. Maybe both. He can't decide.]
[It's even harder when his cock is thrusting into his mouth so desperately. How beautiful. His jaw will be sore for sure, as he has no real chance to readjust as the man moves with reckless abandon. He would do something similar in his spot.]
[He can't say anything. He only groans around the mouthful, as if to encourage him. The hand is...a surprise, his eyes widening as those spider fingers tangle into his. To be his anchor, he assumes.]
[How ironic, to be the one to support him, and be the one to pull him into hell.]
[His own cock is pressing against the sheets, heavy, and desperate for his own friction. He ignores it- right now, its all about Silco.]
[ His fingers wind against his, as tight a grip as he can muster, he does need the anchor. Something to touch, to grip, to hold him as he falls off the cliff. His mouth wrapped around him feels like so much, like every stray thought or plan is plucked directly from his mind the moment it bursts to life. Like everything has narrowed to this moment right here, to the space between them, to just them, and the heat that feels like it's drawing everything out of him.
It doesn't take much more than another thrust, he's already teetering, Vergilius's hand really there to pull him down off the cliff's edge. He can feel it, that burst of heat and sensation that seems to burst just behind his eyes, like he can't see anything, and though he can close one eye, the other rolls back, for once fully unseeing, drawn by the drop of sensation that shoots straight down his spine. He lifts his hips, a wet gasp that devolves into a moan; shoulders pressed into the bed, he falls, crashes hard as he comes in his mouth.
Like he's afraid he's going to pull away, his leg wrapped around his shoulder locks, as if he's trying to hold him there, weakly fucking into his mouth while he shudders, falling apart before him. Because of him. ]
[He wants to drink it in. He will, both literally and metaphorically. He's never seen such a sight, and he burns it right in his eyes.]
[How beautiful. How wonderful. In the future, he will see the man, and the very image of these raised hips, this arching back, this moaning mouth, his eye rolled back in pleasure, all will float in his perception like a burned after image.]
[And by the Wings, its all for him.]
[He swallows. It burns at the back of his tongue, yet the man himself seems to burn hotter than anything here. He pulls off, lips stained and dribbling the remains, before he licks it off.]
[But its not over. He pulls himself up, cock swollen and heavy as he reaches down to grasp it. As Silco moves through the throes of pleasure, Vergilius strokes himself to the sight of it. His voice comes like a murmured prayer to an awful god as he keeps staring down at what he's left of the man.]
[ Coming down from the high, it takes longer than he would have anticipated, but he's still drifting slowly back down. His eye still rolled up into his head, his body still arched, his hair has already gone askew over his forehead, and he blinked, winding fingers in the sheets as he comes back to himself, but it's so slowly. His chest heaves, his leg slowly drifts down from his shoulders, and he finally turns his eyes toward him, watching him.
There he is, hovering over him, staring down at him. He's flushed, and messy, and all of that careful control has already slipped through his fingertips. He can't gather it back up, that control, it's like sand in between his fingertips, slipping away.
Mouth parted, he watches him with lewd attention, too-focused, like he's half-mesmerized by the sight of him coming apart over him. He has him on his tongue, and he's stroking himself, saying his name and — ]
Come on. [ He hissed, reaching up to run fingers against his temple, brushing bangs out of his face. He tries to push himself up on his other shaky elbow, leaning up to scrape teeth and tongue against his lips. It's lewd, tasting himself on him, but he does it anyway. ] Leave a mess.
[He's kissed, and it feels like both a lifeline and a deaty sentence. Silco takes him in, brushes his bangs back - the touch of his hands is something he finds himself constantly thirsting for, even more than the kisses.]
[His gaze, exposed. The order, given. He gives himself a few short pumps, his voice scratching against his vocal cords.]
Ah. Silco-
[And that name ends in a low moan as he finally hits his peak, body shaking as hot streams do, indeed, make a mess over the man's waiting body. He whines as he feels his breath heave, biting Silco's lips as he rocks against his own hand. It feels too glorious. It feels like he's in a sea of stars. He really shouldn't deserve this, yet-]
[He lets his head drift to the man's shoulder, resting onto it as his eyelids flutter from the aftershocks going up his spine.]
[ The pain on his lips is barely noticeable, he very nearly grins against him, hearing his name sound like it's being ripped from him, the way his voice grates and scrapes, his fingers brushing against his hair, nails scraping against skin.
He shudders underneath him, the mess being left cools on his skin as his lips curl in satisfaction at the sight of him tipping his head to rest against his shoulder, vulnerable like this. He likes it, watching him hold onto him like he's a lifeline. The way his whole body shudders, and that it was Silco who did it to him. ]
Hmm.
[ His fingers drift from his face, to his back, scraping nails along an untouched path, before he turned his head, to press the side of it to his. He could say any number of honest things, if he wanted. That he enjoyed hearing his name on his lips, or that he felt good with his lips wrapped around him, but instead, he only chuckled softly. ]
I didn't expect you to take commands like that.
[ It's teasing, at least, as he starts to reach out, and fish towards the sidetable for one of his cigars resting there. ]
[Comes the murmured reply against his bare shoulder. It seems like more of a kneejerk reflex of an answer than a true complaint. His breaths are still a little short as he starts to feel his body calm down.]
[Silco rests his bony face against his. He leans back, a little needy for the contact.]
Smoking, huh. [His eyes glance over at the movement - his hand, the one that's more or less clean, reaches up to brush through the other's unkempt hair.] I suppose that means you enjoyed it.
[ His fingers find both the lighter and the tamped-out cigar he normally kept by his bed, before he tugged it close, with half a mind to light the cherry and see what he did if he pressed it to him.
Maybe just because of the way his voice sounded, asking that question.
But maybe he wouldn't, since he brushed his fingers through his hair just like that. ] You think it says something about you, do you? With how often I smoke? [ He doesn't even move his head away from him, still content to press it against him, even while he clamped it between his teeth. The pop of his lighter is loud, punctuating the silence mostly only disturbed by their breaths, heavier once the room starts to smell like smoke. ]
[Maybe. Not really. Sometime with Silco he says things just to complain, to be contrary. As if being his little thorn will do much at all. For them, its a lover's game of knives and daggers. He finds himself enjoying it more than he should.]
[The smoke makes his nostrils curl from the acrid smell. A few more breaths, before he reaches up to pluck the cigar from his mouth. A kiss follows as if in payment, before he puts the cigar between his own lips, inhales with a rattling little noise.]
Hrm. [And now a puff of smoke from his lips. His voice is even more hoarse.] It tastes awful.
[ Sometimes, Silco doesn't answer his little statements, just stares at him, as if he's satisfied to let him draw his own conclusions about whether or not it's true. Maybe the fact that he doesn't say anything is statement enough, though. He doesn't mind the little thorns, barbs, or knives thrown his direction, after all. Sometimes, they hit true, sometimes, they miss. He wants to obfuscate those moments, as much as he wants to make him see things that aren't there.
Then again, he leaves as many in return, doesn't he? More, maybe, in his own ways.
He steals a kiss — it's enough to get the cigar from him. ]
These? They barely taste like anything.
[ He scoffed, before he took it back, drawing another long pull from it, letting it settle in his mouth. ] One of the cigars where I'm from might kill you, if this tastes bad.
[ He leans in anyway, to scrape teeth and tongue against his lips, filling his mouth with smoke, as if to tease him with it. ]
[The smoke fills the air, fills the space betwen them, makes them hazy. It's always been hazy, with Silco. Like fumbling in the fog, yet so sure they know each other's outline.]
[His kiss is stolen, mouth filled with smoke. It's a strange taste, complete with what he swallowed before. It is Silco, in all his essence. Vergilius kisses him back, fingers scraping lightly over his neck before he murmurs in between them. His chest feels heavy with want, desire, anger as always.]
[ He laughs against his lips, ejecting more smoke from his lungs when he does so. ]
I'd be disappointed if it actually got close. [ he reached out to tap at his chest, lean fingers like little spider's spindles, tapping the line along a scar. As if he's asking without words, if those lungs of his are different too. ]
Surviving despite what tries to kill us is everything, it is how we persevere. It is rare that people understand that.
[ He does, he thinks. Then again, places like Zaun and the City are similar enough, it is not surprising. What comes out of places like that only understands survival. ]
[Silco's previous bites over his chest sting a little as the man reaches to touch him - lingering little pieces of evidence of trying to mar this great scarred expanse. No, his lungs may not be especially special, but this body as a whole has been through many a surgery.]
[His muscle fibers are woven, more than biological. He is, in and of himself, a weapon draped in warm flesh and skin.]
It is rare that people here understand that. [He corrects, lightly - its merely the way of the City, no matter where you are. He rubs the man's ear between thumb and forefinger, placing a kiss against his jaw.] You make one mistake, you're over. [A beat.] That's that, this is this.
[ A living weapon, all for Silco to scrape thin fingers against, for him to mar and muck up as he so chooses. A weapon could stop him at any time, but Vergilius lets him do it, seeks him out like this, and Silco's fingers trail against the marks he made, as if he can hurt him more by pressing down on them. Maybe he can, but maybe he's used to the pain. They're both from such similar places, where pain is something one simply gets used to.
His good eye closed, a light shiver down his back. ]
Mm, most of the time, yes. [ He's right. Most people here don't understand it. Not like Zaunites did, or people from the City did. ] Even if we manage to slip free of the mistakes...
[ His fingers trail against his skin, scraping, scraping. He knows he has made them. Has Vergilius? The type that leave that stain that can never be washed out? That eye fixates on him, burning from a pitch surface. ] They leave their mark. Don't they?
[That's that, and this is this. It's the way things are. A man told him that, once. A man with a beautiful smile that later was hidden by a black mask, his voice darkened by bloodlust.]
[He doesn't answer for a moment - his gaze turns distant with the weight of memory. He told that man the phrase didn't suit him. He himself didn't want to believe nothing could be done - it was just his foolish dream that kept him going forward.]
[Vergilius rests his head against the other man again as his gaze moves away, his hand sliding down to slide around to his back to pull him close, almost an embrace. Comfort, perhaps.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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? ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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? ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[It's even harder when his cock is thrusting into his mouth so desperately. How beautiful. His jaw will be sore for sure, as he has no real chance to readjust as the man moves with reckless abandon. He would do something similar in his spot.]
[He can't say anything. He only groans around the mouthful, as if to encourage him. The hand is...a surprise, his eyes widening as those spider fingers tangle into his. To be his anchor, he assumes.]
[How ironic, to be the one to support him, and be the one to pull him into hell.]
[His own cock is pressing against the sheets, heavy, and desperate for his own friction. He ignores it- right now, its all about Silco.]
no subject
It doesn't take much more than another thrust, he's already teetering, Vergilius's hand really there to pull him down off the cliff's edge. He can feel it, that burst of heat and sensation that seems to burst just behind his eyes, like he can't see anything, and though he can close one eye, the other rolls back, for once fully unseeing, drawn by the drop of sensation that shoots straight down his spine. He lifts his hips, a wet gasp that devolves into a moan; shoulders pressed into the bed, he falls, crashes hard as he comes in his mouth.
Like he's afraid he's going to pull away, his leg wrapped around his shoulder locks, as if he's trying to hold him there, weakly fucking into his mouth while he shudders, falling apart before him. Because of him. ]
no subject
[How beautiful. How wonderful. In the future, he will see the man, and the very image of these raised hips, this arching back, this moaning mouth, his eye rolled back in pleasure, all will float in his perception like a burned after image.]
[And by the Wings, its all for him.]
[He swallows. It burns at the back of his tongue, yet the man himself seems to burn hotter than anything here. He pulls off, lips stained and dribbling the remains, before he licks it off.]
[But its not over. He pulls himself up, cock swollen and heavy as he reaches down to grasp it. As Silco moves through the throes of pleasure, Vergilius strokes himself to the sight of it. His voice comes like a murmured prayer to an awful god as he keeps staring down at what he's left of the man.]
Fuck. Silco. Fuck.
no subject
There he is, hovering over him, staring down at him. He's flushed, and messy, and all of that careful control has already slipped through his fingertips. He can't gather it back up, that control, it's like sand in between his fingertips, slipping away.
Mouth parted, he watches him with lewd attention, too-focused, like he's half-mesmerized by the sight of him coming apart over him. He has him on his tongue, and he's stroking himself, saying his name and — ]
Come on. [ He hissed, reaching up to run fingers against his temple, brushing bangs out of his face. He tries to push himself up on his other shaky elbow, leaning up to scrape teeth and tongue against his lips. It's lewd, tasting himself on him, but he does it anyway. ] Leave a mess.
[ On me hangs in the air between them. ]
no subject
[His gaze, exposed. The order, given. He gives himself a few short pumps, his voice scratching against his vocal cords.]
Ah. Silco-
[And that name ends in a low moan as he finally hits his peak, body shaking as hot streams do, indeed, make a mess over the man's waiting body. He whines as he feels his breath heave, biting Silco's lips as he rocks against his own hand. It feels too glorious. It feels like he's in a sea of stars. He really shouldn't deserve this, yet-]
[He lets his head drift to the man's shoulder, resting onto it as his eyelids flutter from the aftershocks going up his spine.]
no subject
He shudders underneath him, the mess being left cools on his skin as his lips curl in satisfaction at the sight of him tipping his head to rest against his shoulder, vulnerable like this. He likes it, watching him hold onto him like he's a lifeline. The way his whole body shudders, and that it was Silco who did it to him. ]
Hmm.
[ His fingers drift from his face, to his back, scraping nails along an untouched path, before he turned his head, to press the side of it to his. He could say any number of honest things, if he wanted. That he enjoyed hearing his name on his lips, or that he felt good with his lips wrapped around him, but instead, he only chuckled softly. ]
I didn't expect you to take commands like that.
[ It's teasing, at least, as he starts to reach out, and fish towards the sidetable for one of his cigars resting there. ]
no subject
[Comes the murmured reply against his bare shoulder. It seems like more of a kneejerk reflex of an answer than a true complaint. His breaths are still a little short as he starts to feel his body calm down.]
[Silco rests his bony face against his. He leans back, a little needy for the contact.]
Smoking, huh. [His eyes glance over at the movement - his hand, the one that's more or less clean, reaches up to brush through the other's unkempt hair.] I suppose that means you enjoyed it.
no subject
[ His fingers find both the lighter and the tamped-out cigar he normally kept by his bed, before he tugged it close, with half a mind to light the cherry and see what he did if he pressed it to him.
Maybe just because of the way his voice sounded, asking that question.
But maybe he wouldn't, since he brushed his fingers through his hair just like that. ] You think it says something about you, do you? With how often I smoke? [ He doesn't even move his head away from him, still content to press it against him, even while he clamped it between his teeth. The pop of his lighter is loud, punctuating the silence mostly only disturbed by their breaths, heavier once the room starts to smell like smoke. ]
no subject
[Maybe. Not really. Sometime with Silco he says things just to complain, to be contrary. As if being his little thorn will do much at all. For them, its a lover's game of knives and daggers. He finds himself enjoying it more than he should.]
[The smoke makes his nostrils curl from the acrid smell. A few more breaths, before he reaches up to pluck the cigar from his mouth. A kiss follows as if in payment, before he puts the cigar between his own lips, inhales with a rattling little noise.]
Hrm. [And now a puff of smoke from his lips. His voice is even more hoarse.] It tastes awful.
no subject
Then again, he leaves as many in return, doesn't he? More, maybe, in his own ways.
He steals a kiss — it's enough to get the cigar from him. ]
These? They barely taste like anything.
[ He scoffed, before he took it back, drawing another long pull from it, letting it settle in his mouth. ] One of the cigars where I'm from might kill you, if this tastes bad.
[ He leans in anyway, to scrape teeth and tongue against his lips, filling his mouth with smoke, as if to tease him with it. ]
no subject
[His kiss is stolen, mouth filled with smoke. It's a strange taste, complete with what he swallowed before. It is Silco, in all his essence. Vergilius kisses him back, fingers scraping lightly over his neck before he murmurs in between them. His chest feels heavy with want, desire, anger as always.]
...What only kills me makes me stronger, yes?
no subject
[ He laughs against his lips, ejecting more smoke from his lungs when he does so. ]
I'd be disappointed if it actually got close. [ he reached out to tap at his chest, lean fingers like little spider's spindles, tapping the line along a scar. As if he's asking without words, if those lungs of his are different too. ]
Surviving despite what tries to kill us is everything, it is how we persevere. It is rare that people understand that.
[ He does, he thinks. Then again, places like Zaun and the City are similar enough, it is not surprising. What comes out of places like that only understands survival. ]
no subject
[His muscle fibers are woven, more than biological. He is, in and of himself, a weapon draped in warm flesh and skin.]
It is rare that people here understand that. [He corrects, lightly - its merely the way of the City, no matter where you are. He rubs the man's ear between thumb and forefinger, placing a kiss against his jaw.] You make one mistake, you're over. [A beat.] That's that, this is this.
no subject
His good eye closed, a light shiver down his back. ]
Mm, most of the time, yes. [ He's right. Most people here don't understand it. Not like Zaunites did, or people from the City did. ] Even if we manage to slip free of the mistakes...
[ His fingers trail against his skin, scraping, scraping. He knows he has made them. Has Vergilius? The type that leave that stain that can never be washed out? That eye fixates on him, burning from a pitch surface. ] They leave their mark. Don't they?
no subject
[He doesn't answer for a moment - his gaze turns distant with the weight of memory. He told that man the phrase didn't suit him. He himself didn't want to believe nothing could be done - it was just his foolish dream that kept him going forward.]
[Vergilius rests his head against the other man again as his gaze moves away, his hand sliding down to slide around to his back to pull him close, almost an embrace. Comfort, perhaps.]
They do. Alas. They do.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
i close my eyes
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)