[ He asks it, and his tone dips somewhere in-between a dark promise, and curiosity. Like he thought that Silco wasn't a monster too? Did he think that he was the example of a man? He still doesn't reach out, lets the man's anger wash over him. He doesn't shy away from it, he accepts it. Welcomes it, even.
He says he is not a monster. Not a beast.
Silco looks into his red eyes, and thinks he deludes himself just a little bit. Is this pure hope, that he wants to stay teetering on the edge, suspended between humanity and giving in? Does this serve to make him more miserable? Protracted punishment for the man — beast — that he was? ]
And how should a man like me be treated, then? If you have a different idea, perhaps you should show me.
[ He's close enough to touch, but he waits. Like a patient little spider, to see what he does. ]
[He falters on the last word - not like he's unsure of it, no, but it feels like this is not something that pertains to Silco at all. Does Silco care? Silco cares about himself.]
[He shakes his head - he is on that cliff edge, teetering always.]
And what should I show you, huh? You have half a brain in that noggin of yours. I'm sure you can understand.
[ He asks, as if everything he did didn't say exactly the opposite. To Silco's twisted mind, is it not respect to treat him like he isn't breakable, or fragile? To try to make him something more?
With care he says, and care is dangerous. Silco cares about other things, like Zaun, like his daughter. Care otherwise, to be treated like it, feels like a little lie, something that asks him to drop his guard, let someone in. It's how one ends up with hands around his neck, being drowned in a river, betrayed.
Then again, he knows, that he's in too deep. Isn't Vergilius already in? He'd already wrapped his fingers around his neck. He was here, and Silco was vulnerable. He could kill him with barely a thought — he'd seen his power. He isn't killing him right now. His fingers already want to dig in, and keep him here. Isn't that the same thing as care? It may as well be, for Silco. It's vulnerability, at least.
He breaches the divide, but not by much. Like he's testing the waters. He reaches out, to brush fingers against his shoulder, like he's tentatively putting his fingers into the cage. ]
I want you to show me what you told me you saw in Brașov. Respect, of course... [ But... ] I remember, you told me that you thought me strong enough without any power, didn't you?
I don't think you do, no. This is not...how you respect me.
[Those slender fingers reach out, touch his shoulders - hatefully, it makes the tension in them calm, though he's still a little stiff, guarded, unsure. The feral dog still wants to bite. His own hands clench into fists, relax, his eyes flickering as they go through a million thoughts a minute.]
[He remembers that day. He told Silco, yes, that he did think him powerful. But he also did think that all he was doing was looking for advantages. Which was a foolish thing to him, but Silco always seemed to follow his own greed. Silco followed his own book, his own tune, and he had simply taken fancy to him like a precious jewel.]
[He even said as much. He wanted to bring out the beast in his nature. The one he didn't want to believe was there.]
Why are you...making it about yourself? Even if I show you...you won't follow it for me. I know how you work.
[ He doesn't snap at his fingers. Silco watches him carefully for a brief moment, weathering, gauging, trying to sense the words he's not saying like they're something he can pick out of the air. He says it like it's fact. Like silco is making this out about him, and perhaps he had.
He'll turn it all on his head for him, then. He can do that, keep him guessing, remind him that neither of them understand each other yet. Silco is a man of decisions, of action through proxy, but he can take the actions himself as well. He steps forward, to box him in against the wall. He may be shorter than him, but he thinks Vergilius will let him. His hand remains on his shoulder, his fingers brush there, for once he doesn't dig in.
Not yet.]
We share secrets. [ He says, his voice low, eyes on him. He does not blink. He wants him to see, that they are already intertwined here. He wants him to remain that way. ] I would never spread yours, and nor would you mine. Is that not respect?
Or do you want me to show you in some other way? [ Closer, again. Ever closer. ]
When in a negotiation, both parties make an offer. So show me yours, Vergilius. How can I respect you? Properly?
[Silco pushes - he should push back. And yet, he's almost half-surprised as his back meets the wall. How laughable. As if Silco could really corner him. Control him. Ridiculous. Nonsense.]
[But they have to understand each other. He promised Silco that, in his own way, time and time again. Silco, too, wants to understand him. Can he? Would he? Or would he just scrabble up what he chooses to?]
[One of his hands moves up, up, as if to again grasp at that slender neck - but stops short at his collar. He grasps it, hard, the veins bulging perceptibly around his knuckles.]
I want... [He's distracted by how close Silco is - its like a sting of a reminder of what he's been missing since their last tryst. He's hungry again, his throat bobbing with a swallow - that night in the van had been a restless one, unable to claim what he wanted. He tries to find words, again.] I want you to...stop doing things to me. Stabbing me. Doing your damn experiments. Whatever. What you see is what you get.
[ His hand grips his collar -- he very nearly reached out to grab his neck, he'd almost anticipated it again. A reminder of something that he had done more than once, whenever Silco lashed out at him. Whenever he felt... The sting of the worst of his attentions, he lashed out in kind. Silco hated it, when he grabbed him like that.
He craved it, too. Not necessarily his hands on his neck, but that violence, slipping free of his coiled control. Never quite breaking, but knowing that he would -- could -- take it. That he was both something strong enough that he would not break. He'd promised him that, hadn't he?
He doesn't want to be stabbed. Experimented on. Silco meets his eyes, he reaches out to brush his bangs from over his eyes. So he can look at him unimpeded. ]
Very well. [ He learned what he needed to, at least. There was more than one way to draw violence out of him, and he knew the man had it in droves. It lurks under the surface, rising up from it even now. His other fingers find his hand, those veins, and he drags his thumb down it. He could kill him right now, and nobody would mourn him other than Jinx. He doesn't. He lets Silco in, pressed up against him, boxed against the wall. He lets him touch him -- and Silco does the same. A breach he lets so few in to do. He welcomes it. Even when he's angry like this.
Especially then, maybe. ]
All you had to do was ask.
[ Specifically. He won't leave him alone, but they both knew they were beyond that now. This was something different, messy and complicated. Unspoken. Undefined. It's becoming clearer, sharper. ]
[All he had to do was ask. They're messes, the both of them, like melting corpses who can't find where each other's arms begin and their head ends. Is it really that simple? They're not simple. That's the trouble of trying to understand, to meet on some land of shared ideals that he isn't sure really exists.]
[At the very least, something calms in his vivid stare that's now exposed - the inferno darkens into a lantern in the night - but of course, Silco may always realize that its flame never burns out. Not as long as Silco continues to intrude, continues to wind himself around him.]
[The hand on his doesn't get pushed away. It moves, however, up to slide over the other's jawline, cupping that sharp line of a cheek.]
....You never are afraid to look in my eyes, are you?
[His voice rumbles, quieter. A fact he's known for a long while, but something worth stating as fact.]
[ They're both from worlds that tried to crush them, either through violence or greed, or anything else. They started in places that seem so similar, but their paths even still leave them looking at what's before then from different angles. Silco, the cynic, looking for those daggers in the dark and trying to lash out and cut first. Be that monster that's bigger than the rest, so the others can't harm him. Then there's Vergilius, who could lash out, but he still... Doesn't. He's seen it, the violence. Knows he does not hold it back.
He's watched him hew through bodies and craft a sea of blood -- once all for him. So he knows he can, he knows there's a monster inside of him, just like there's one inside of Silco. But he ever turns away from it, always trying to deny it a place to roost. Like if he only turns it away, it will never quite settle. Is that better? Is it worse? Perhaps he's simply strong enough, powerful enough that he doesn't have to worry about it beyond denying it.
He touches his jaw. He tipped his head, upwards, slightly into his hand. All the better to see him with, even he... Wants it. Touch. ]
Should I be? [ His own is unnerving too, half an unblinking black pit, with that same intense light, hateful like a wildfire. ]
What about your eyes should scare me, when mine are no better?
Many have said it strikes fear into their heart. I wasn't named the Red Gaze for nothing.
[Fear, paranoia, anxiety. All emotions he's used to his advantage, to cow enemies into weakness, to force others off balance. And yet, Silco, with his own stalwart abnormal gaze, stands defiant.]
[His thumb brushes up close to that horrible black hole of an eye, that wants to eat everything it sees, and then some.]
[ His lips twitch into that ghost of a half-formed smile. It reaches only half his face, the other deadened by scarring and rotted flesh that it barely moves. He touches the skin there, his thumb touches it like it isn't disgusting or malformed. He hasn't covered it yet, and it's exposed for him to see, in all of its fetid, rotted glory. ]
So many shy away from what makes them uncomfortable. [ He says it, unblinking eye still open, and staring at him. More than that, they feared the things that were other-worldly, and wasn't his gaze just that? Wasn't Silco's, as well? ]
Have I feared you?
[ He asks, and his fingers grab his wrist, and guide them to his neck, as if to mimic what he'd only recently done. He fears that. Of course he does. Is it Vergilius, or is it that he still hasn't left the river? Is it this man in front of him, or is it just memory lingering? Does it matter? He holds it there, still staring at him, his eyes don't waver. He doesn't have to look away. ]
We all are haunted by fear. It is not you — [ But your hands, here; remains unsaid. He doesn't think he needs to clarify. ]
I have never let it control me.
[ Does it not? Is he not an artifice, standing in defense against it? ]
[....So there it is. He always had his suspicions, with how the man reacted so suspiciously every time he moved toward his neck. This had history. This had trauma.]
[And yet, even with that weight, Silco seemed to welcome it in. Bed it. Make it his own. But was that really the truth? Or simply overconfidence it trying to get a win over death itself?]
[His hands twitch over this space he has grasped, time and time again.]
[Vergilius' look is questioning, almost imploring - for what? Answers? A further invitation in?]
Even so. Would you prefer I never do it again? For you?
[To show his respect, in exchange for this man not laying hands on him in ways he doesn't want?]
[ He doesn't want to admit weakness. It's a little thing — it's everything — it's a night he still has nightmares about, it's something he still shudders to think of, those hands around his neck, plunging him into the Pilt, trying to end his life over... what? A mistake? Thoughtlessness? Getting people killed, yes, but it wasn't him who pulled the trigger. It made a monster out of him, that.
He swallowed, the bobbing sensation against his fingers, and he doesn't move away. Conquering it, that fear. He always thought himself beyond fear, but Vergilius's hands are big, they can encircle his neck so easily. So, so easily. The implied danger, the violence, he doesn't mind; the fact that he could, he doesn't mind that. It's the act itself.
And he offers it. In exchange, if he but says the word. That he would not do it. Respect? Or something like it. ]
No squeezing, is all I ask. [ He doesn't want to think about it, about — that — when he is here, like this. With him. ]
It was done to me before. [ He keeps his fingers there, as it to show him that he does not let it paralyze him. ] The night I lost everything.
[ Friends, his revolution, his eye. Even the man he'd once been. That sordid, sorry tale that infected him even now, like lingering rot. ]
[He repeats, quietly - and he doesn't do so. He lets his fingers hold here for a long moment, before it withdraws back down to his collar. He's squeezed his throat several times. Did Silco relive it, every single time? Did it come in his mind's eye? Did he lose everything all over again?]
[He bends in, down, down, before his lips find the other's carotid artery nestled in that slender neck line. Not quite a kiss, but almost like a stamp of sorts.]
[ A promise, a negotiation. Something for something. Maybe he should hold onto it, something in his pocket, but he knows how little it does to the man too. He'd bragged about it once, after all. He swallows again, his lips against his neck, his fingers let go of his wrist, they find his sides. He doesn't dig in, miraculously, he doesn't even go searching for the wound he made, his fingers instead rest against his hip, as if to hold him there. Still up against the wall, like Silco could control him.
He hummed, softly. Would he tell him of it? ]
I told you a little of it, but not the whole sorry story. [ He tipped his head away, considering how much to tell. So few knew the real truth, much of it Silco kept so carefully guarded. He alluded to it, but... ]
Have you ever been betrayed by someone close to you? Really betrayed?
[It aches. His heart aches. His heart has always been a pitiful, emotional thing. His own traitor. It hurts him worse than Silco ever could. It aches, because despite everything, despite his own roiling anger, he missed this. He's a slave to this semblance of an embrace, the promise for more.]
[He sighs against his neck, shifting his head to nestle into his shoulder. But there's a new tension there, his own hands sliding around the other's chest with a certain twitch in his fingers.]
....Yes, I have.
[A purple snake of a woman, smiling so serenely above pure and utter destruction.]
[ Maybe this is why he understands, a little bit, Silco's careful nature. Is it that he can recognize it in him? Or maybe it's what Silco sees a shred of? Oh, but that is ridiculous, neither of them can read minds, but even so, Silco has always gravitated towards those who were betrayed. Like Jinx, or Set.
His arms snake around him, Silco is grateful that he is nestled into his shoulder, where he doesn't see his eyes dart, or go distant. Thinking about things he should have long-buried. Kept trying to bury. ]
Then maybe you know what it was like. Mine was like a brother to me. [ Is it better, or worse? ] We grew up in the mines together, started smuggling to get out of there together. He wanted to start a bar, so there was a bar. I wanted a nation, so we started building a nation. [ Some nothing speck of dirt from the undercity trying to start a nation, who ever heard of such a ridiculous thing? But Silco had. He still wanted it. ]
And when the deaths happened, when we buried them by dropping them the river, when I wanted to make sure their deaths weren't wasted —
[ His shoulder lifts, with his head on it. ] He lost his will to fight. [ A scoff. ] Well. Only after he took it out on me. Only after he grabbed me by the neck, and tried to drown me with the rest of the bodies.
[He can understand. Maybe he has never experienced the same. A mentor who brings in a monster to kill so many children to prompt a reaction out of him isn't the same as a fellow equal backstabbing you because they're giving up on the cause.]
[But even so, he understands. It now makes it even more apparent where his paranoia came from, this deep-seated rot that hates the world for what its done. And what did he do, exactly?]
[He sighs, cheek resting against the other's neck.]
[ He hums, against him. Vergilius's cheek against his neck, his own pressed to his hair. Weren't they both betrayed, in their own way? Isn't that what betrayal was? ]
Didn't yours? Come out of nowhere?
[ He asked, and it's like he's laying a foundation, piece by piece. Was he not just as destroyed by what had happened to him? ]
He blamed me for what had happened earlier, the deaths of our friends. Because I incited a riot. [ Yes, Silco had friends once.
His tone turns darker, his fingers dig into his shoulder, like it is the only thing he has to hold onto. ]
Even that, I could have forgiven. [ Silco deludes himself in this, perhaps, but he thinks it's true all the same. ] What I could not forgive is the fact that he made a deal with the very people who pulled the trigger.
[And it changed everything. The children, lost. His own failures, ringing like bells at the end of the world. In the end, his karma caught up with him, and that purple serpent lit the match that started that fire.]
[He lets out a low noise - almost a grunt, halfway to a growl - before he quiets. The fingers dig in. He doesn't wince, allows himself to be used as an anchor.]
And why....would he do something like that? Was he a coward?
Then you know that pain, don't you? The way betrayal eats away at everything, it leaves nothing left in its wake, but the need to still that fire. Silence that little voice, telling you that you should have seen it, predicted it, that you were the one found lacking. Worthy of being destroyed for a point.
[ He uses him as an anchor — fingers still digging in, holding him there — but it seems to still his sounds too, and he can't quite tell if it's for himself, or for Silco's own story.
Does it matter? Betrayal rips through everything, he knows it does. The ache, the sting, the way it sends the mind into overdrive, leaves only hate in its place. Fury. Blinding and driving him towards only what had been ripped from his fingers.
Was it the same for Vergilius? ]
Of course he was. [ He scoffed, his breath teasing some loose strands of his hair. ] He was so afraid of what they would do, if we kept pushing, that he gave it all up. Accepted peace, and left the lot of us to still rot away in quiet complacency.
[ His fingers drift, from his shoulder, to the back of his neck, scraping there with his nails, as if that is enough to stifle that old anger still worming its way though him. He's never quite been able to escape it, has he? ]
...I know of it. I didn't...want it to consume me.
[Yes, maybe he felt all that. But where Silco found a fire to indulge in, Vergilius did his best to stamp it out. It was Garnet whose eyes burned with passion for revenge. It was Garnet who wanted to find the ones who took the other children to make them pay for what they did.]
[Maybe he also felt the same. But it was his own failure that stood, and rung like a bell to remind him time and time again that it was his fault.]
[Of course it was his fault.]
[The man's hands find his neck. He again barely reacts, but somehow, the pain of it is welcomed. Maybe that's the masochist in him. To accept things like this as punishment.]
[He places a wet kiss against the edge the man's jaw.]
And you killed him. That was the man you told me about. Jinx's father.
[ Didn't want it to consume him? Perhaps, perhaps a man like Vergilius, if consumed, he would become that monster he fights so doggedly. He can imagine that's what keeps him held back, even now, even here. Between the two of them, he knows who indulges the monster, who would become one. Vergilius seems to hold back, all restraint, keeping himself from indulging in anything.
Much like Silco, in most respects. And yet... And yet.... Here they are. Here. In this room, alone, together. Is it indulging in something that brings him here to him, draws him to already kiss against his jaw, or is it something else? He can fall victim to his wants, can't he?
He murmured something low in his throat, and his nails started to scrape a pattern against the nape of his neck. ]
Yes, he was. [ It's a twisted mess, but that's the way it always was destined to be, wasn't it?
He tipped his head further, inviting him in. ]
Were you able to make them pay, even without letting it consume you? [ Is he happy with his choice? Was what was done worth fighting for?
He distracts him, a little, his fingers drifting from his neck, to his shoulders, thin fingers drifting lower, lower... ]
[He can fall victim to his wants. He seems to be doing that a lot, lately. Silco, the serpent offering a beautiful apple. Vergilius shifts, sucking close to Silco's Adam's apple - even here, he's all sharp angles. This taste, he longed for all this time. This dreadful, awful, poisonous taste.]
[Even now, the pain wells up with that question, and he seeks to drown it. There's something a little restless in the way his arms encircle the other, almost ready to just get a move on and capture his prey.]
...One man, I ended. But there are still more.
[She's still out there.]
[There's a little nick of his teeth against the fragile neck, in response to the man' wandering fingers.]
[ He wants to get a move on from the subject -- so does Silco -- it's all pain between them right now, as they poke and prod at old sour wounds, still raw no matter the distance. Silco has his -- Vergilius his own. His lips dip against his skin -- pressing against those spaces he protects so carefully. He's vulnerable in this moment, like a monster baring it's underbelly, daring him to fall into his trap.
And he does. He keeps doing it, but don't they both? Isn't he doing it too? He'd been wanting since the whole debacle began -- and after seeing him like that... Wreathed in blood like something terrible, he had seen it, and wanted more of him then too.
Perhaps that's some of why he did it. When he was angry, there was no pretense, no lying. They don't know what it is to soften those edges, and he doesn't want him to. Knowing he could be sharper, even more deadly... He is not ashamed of the slight weightless feeling in his stomach.
A soft chuff of air escaped, half a sigh, half something else. ]
Are you still looking for them? Will you take from them in return for what they've taken from you?
[ Will he make them pay?
His voice rumbles softly against his lips, his fingers dip to find the edge of his shirt, to start slipping beneath, to draw thin fingers against the lines of scars over muscle before him. He's so much stronger than him, he knows he could crush him if he wanted to. He's decided to ruin him in an altogether different way, and... Well. He couldn't -- wouldn't -- protest. Not too strongly. ]
Did you know... [ His voice turns coy, teasing. Heated, too. Ready to discard the stubborn, their individual, yet shared, pains. Again and again, they find them, wrapping them up into this tangled mess. ] How you looked? On the back of that thing?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ He asks it, and his tone dips somewhere in-between a dark promise, and curiosity. Like he thought that Silco wasn't a monster too? Did he think that he was the example of a man? He still doesn't reach out, lets the man's anger wash over him. He doesn't shy away from it, he accepts it. Welcomes it, even.
He says he is not a monster. Not a beast.
Silco looks into his red eyes, and thinks he deludes himself just a little bit. Is this pure hope, that he wants to stay teetering on the edge, suspended between humanity and giving in? Does this serve to make him more miserable? Protracted punishment for the man — beast — that he was? ]
And how should a man like me be treated, then? If you have a different idea, perhaps you should show me.
[ He's close enough to touch, but he waits. Like a patient little spider, to see what he does. ]
no subject
[He falters on the last word - not like he's unsure of it, no, but it feels like this is not something that pertains to Silco at all. Does Silco care? Silco cares about himself.]
[He shakes his head - he is on that cliff edge, teetering always.]
And what should I show you, huh? You have half a brain in that noggin of yours. I'm sure you can understand.
no subject
[ He asks, as if everything he did didn't say exactly the opposite. To Silco's twisted mind, is it not respect to treat him like he isn't breakable, or fragile? To try to make him something more?
With care he says, and care is dangerous. Silco cares about other things, like Zaun, like his daughter. Care otherwise, to be treated like it, feels like a little lie, something that asks him to drop his guard, let someone in. It's how one ends up with hands around his neck, being drowned in a river, betrayed.
Then again, he knows, that he's in too deep. Isn't Vergilius already in? He'd already wrapped his fingers around his neck. He was here, and Silco was vulnerable. He could kill him with barely a thought — he'd seen his power. He isn't killing him right now. His fingers already want to dig in, and keep him here. Isn't that the same thing as care? It may as well be, for Silco. It's vulnerability, at least.
He breaches the divide, but not by much. Like he's testing the waters. He reaches out, to brush fingers against his shoulder, like he's tentatively putting his fingers into the cage. ]
I want you to show me what you told me you saw in Brașov. Respect, of course... [ But... ] I remember, you told me that you thought me strong enough without any power, didn't you?
Show me that.
no subject
[Those slender fingers reach out, touch his shoulders - hatefully, it makes the tension in them calm, though he's still a little stiff, guarded, unsure. The feral dog still wants to bite. His own hands clench into fists, relax, his eyes flickering as they go through a million thoughts a minute.]
[He remembers that day. He told Silco, yes, that he did think him powerful. But he also did think that all he was doing was looking for advantages. Which was a foolish thing to him, but Silco always seemed to follow his own greed. Silco followed his own book, his own tune, and he had simply taken fancy to him like a precious jewel.]
[He even said as much. He wanted to bring out the beast in his nature. The one he didn't want to believe was there.]
Why are you...making it about yourself? Even if I show you...you won't follow it for me. I know how you work.
no subject
[ He doesn't snap at his fingers. Silco watches him carefully for a brief moment, weathering, gauging, trying to sense the words he's not saying like they're something he can pick out of the air. He says it like it's fact. Like silco is making this out about him, and perhaps he had.
He'll turn it all on his head for him, then. He can do that, keep him guessing, remind him that neither of them understand each other yet. Silco is a man of decisions, of action through proxy, but he can take the actions himself as well. He steps forward, to box him in against the wall. He may be shorter than him, but he thinks Vergilius will let him. His hand remains on his shoulder, his fingers brush there, for once he doesn't dig in.
Not yet.]
We share secrets. [ He says, his voice low, eyes on him. He does not blink. He wants him to see, that they are already intertwined here. He wants him to remain that way. ] I would never spread yours, and nor would you mine. Is that not respect?
Or do you want me to show you in some other way? [ Closer, again. Ever closer. ]
When in a negotiation, both parties make an offer. So show me yours, Vergilius. How can I respect you? Properly?
no subject
[But they have to understand each other. He promised Silco that, in his own way, time and time again. Silco, too, wants to understand him. Can he? Would he? Or would he just scrabble up what he chooses to?]
[One of his hands moves up, up, as if to again grasp at that slender neck - but stops short at his collar. He grasps it, hard, the veins bulging perceptibly around his knuckles.]
I want... [He's distracted by how close Silco is - its like a sting of a reminder of what he's been missing since their last tryst. He's hungry again, his throat bobbing with a swallow - that night in the van had been a restless one, unable to claim what he wanted. He tries to find words, again.] I want you to...stop doing things to me. Stabbing me. Doing your damn experiments. Whatever. What you see is what you get.
no subject
[ His hand grips his collar -- he very nearly reached out to grab his neck, he'd almost anticipated it again. A reminder of something that he had done more than once, whenever Silco lashed out at him. Whenever he felt... The sting of the worst of his attentions, he lashed out in kind. Silco hated it, when he grabbed him like that.
He craved it, too. Not necessarily his hands on his neck, but that violence, slipping free of his coiled control. Never quite breaking, but knowing that he would -- could -- take it. That he was both something strong enough that he would not break. He'd promised him that, hadn't he?
He doesn't want to be stabbed. Experimented on. Silco meets his eyes, he reaches out to brush his bangs from over his eyes. So he can look at him unimpeded. ]
Very well. [ He learned what he needed to, at least. There was more than one way to draw violence out of him, and he knew the man had it in droves. It lurks under the surface, rising up from it even now. His other fingers find his hand, those veins, and he drags his thumb down it. He could kill him right now, and nobody would mourn him other than Jinx. He doesn't. He lets Silco in, pressed up against him, boxed against the wall. He lets him touch him -- and Silco does the same. A breach he lets so few in to do. He welcomes it. Even when he's angry like this.
Especially then, maybe. ]
All you had to do was ask.
[ Specifically. He won't leave him alone, but they both knew they were beyond that now. This was something different, messy and complicated. Unspoken. Undefined. It's becoming clearer, sharper. ]
no subject
[At the very least, something calms in his vivid stare that's now exposed - the inferno darkens into a lantern in the night - but of course, Silco may always realize that its flame never burns out. Not as long as Silco continues to intrude, continues to wind himself around him.]
[The hand on his doesn't get pushed away. It moves, however, up to slide over the other's jawline, cupping that sharp line of a cheek.]
....You never are afraid to look in my eyes, are you?
[His voice rumbles, quieter. A fact he's known for a long while, but something worth stating as fact.]
no subject
He's watched him hew through bodies and craft a sea of blood -- once all for him. So he knows he can, he knows there's a monster inside of him, just like there's one inside of Silco. But he ever turns away from it, always trying to deny it a place to roost. Like if he only turns it away, it will never quite settle. Is that better? Is it worse? Perhaps he's simply strong enough, powerful enough that he doesn't have to worry about it beyond denying it.
He touches his jaw. He tipped his head, upwards, slightly into his hand. All the better to see him with, even he... Wants it. Touch. ]
Should I be? [ His own is unnerving too, half an unblinking black pit, with that same intense light, hateful like a wildfire. ]
What about your eyes should scare me, when mine are no better?
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[Fear, paranoia, anxiety. All emotions he's used to his advantage, to cow enemies into weakness, to force others off balance. And yet, Silco, with his own stalwart abnormal gaze, stands defiant.]
[His thumb brushes up close to that horrible black hole of an eye, that wants to eat everything it sees, and then some.]
Have you ever feared me, Silco...?
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So many shy away from what makes them uncomfortable. [ He says it, unblinking eye still open, and staring at him. More than that, they feared the things that were other-worldly, and wasn't his gaze just that? Wasn't Silco's, as well? ]
Have I feared you?
[ He asks, and his fingers grab his wrist, and guide them to his neck, as if to mimic what he'd only recently done. He fears that. Of course he does. Is it Vergilius, or is it that he still hasn't left the river? Is it this man in front of him, or is it just memory lingering? Does it matter? He holds it there, still staring at him, his eyes don't waver. He doesn't have to look away. ]
We all are haunted by fear. It is not you — [ But your hands, here; remains unsaid. He doesn't think he needs to clarify. ]
I have never let it control me.
[ Does it not? Is he not an artifice, standing in defense against it? ]
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[And yet, even with that weight, Silco seemed to welcome it in. Bed it. Make it his own. But was that really the truth? Or simply overconfidence it trying to get a win over death itself?]
[His hands twitch over this space he has grasped, time and time again.]
[Vergilius' look is questioning, almost imploring - for what? Answers? A further invitation in?]
Even so. Would you prefer I never do it again? For you?
[To show his respect, in exchange for this man not laying hands on him in ways he doesn't want?]
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He swallowed, the bobbing sensation against his fingers, and he doesn't move away. Conquering it, that fear. He always thought himself beyond fear, but Vergilius's hands are big, they can encircle his neck so easily. So, so easily. The implied danger, the violence, he doesn't mind; the fact that he could, he doesn't mind that. It's the act itself.
And he offers it. In exchange, if he but says the word. That he would not do it. Respect? Or something like it. ]
No squeezing, is all I ask. [ He doesn't want to think about it, about — that — when he is here, like this. With him. ]
It was done to me before. [ He keeps his fingers there, as it to show him that he does not let it paralyze him. ] The night I lost everything.
[ Friends, his revolution, his eye. Even the man he'd once been. That sordid, sorry tale that infected him even now, like lingering rot. ]
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[He repeats, quietly - and he doesn't do so. He lets his fingers hold here for a long moment, before it withdraws back down to his collar. He's squeezed his throat several times. Did Silco relive it, every single time? Did it come in his mind's eye? Did he lose everything all over again?]
[He bends in, down, down, before his lips find the other's carotid artery nestled in that slender neck line. Not quite a kiss, but almost like a stamp of sorts.]
Would you...tell me about it?
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[ A promise, a negotiation. Something for something. Maybe he should hold onto it, something in his pocket, but he knows how little it does to the man too. He'd bragged about it once, after all. He swallows again, his lips against his neck, his fingers let go of his wrist, they find his sides. He doesn't dig in, miraculously, he doesn't even go searching for the wound he made, his fingers instead rest against his hip, as if to hold him there. Still up against the wall, like Silco could control him.
He hummed, softly. Would he tell him of it? ]
I told you a little of it, but not the whole sorry story. [ He tipped his head away, considering how much to tell. So few knew the real truth, much of it Silco kept so carefully guarded. He alluded to it, but... ]
Have you ever been betrayed by someone close to you? Really betrayed?
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[He sighs against his neck, shifting his head to nestle into his shoulder. But there's a new tension there, his own hands sliding around the other's chest with a certain twitch in his fingers.]
....Yes, I have.
[A purple snake of a woman, smiling so serenely above pure and utter destruction.]
A mentor I knew, who...used me like a pawn.
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His arms snake around him, Silco is grateful that he is nestled into his shoulder, where he doesn't see his eyes dart, or go distant. Thinking about things he should have long-buried. Kept trying to bury. ]
Then maybe you know what it was like. Mine was like a brother to me. [ Is it better, or worse? ] We grew up in the mines together, started smuggling to get out of there together. He wanted to start a bar, so there was a bar. I wanted a nation, so we started building a nation. [ Some nothing speck of dirt from the undercity trying to start a nation, who ever heard of such a ridiculous thing? But Silco had. He still wanted it. ]
And when the deaths happened, when we buried them by dropping them the river, when I wanted to make sure their deaths weren't wasted —
[ His shoulder lifts, with his head on it. ] He lost his will to fight. [ A scoff. ] Well. Only after he took it out on me. Only after he grabbed me by the neck, and tried to drown me with the rest of the bodies.
Just one more dirty trencher to die that day.
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[He can understand. Maybe he has never experienced the same. A mentor who brings in a monster to kill so many children to prompt a reaction out of him isn't the same as a fellow equal backstabbing you because they're giving up on the cause.]
[But even so, he understands. It now makes it even more apparent where his paranoia came from, this deep-seated rot that hates the world for what its done. And what did he do, exactly?]
[He sighs, cheek resting against the other's neck.]
And it came out of nowhere. How horrible for you.
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[ He hums, against him. Vergilius's cheek against his neck, his own pressed to his hair. Weren't they both betrayed, in their own way? Isn't that what betrayal was? ]
Didn't yours? Come out of nowhere?
[ He asked, and it's like he's laying a foundation, piece by piece. Was he not just as destroyed by what had happened to him? ]
He blamed me for what had happened earlier, the deaths of our friends. Because I incited a riot. [ Yes, Silco had friends once.
His tone turns darker, his fingers dig into his shoulder, like it is the only thing he has to hold onto. ]
Even that, I could have forgiven. [ Silco deludes himself in this, perhaps, but he thinks it's true all the same. ] What I could not forgive is the fact that he made a deal with the very people who pulled the trigger.
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[And it changed everything. The children, lost. His own failures, ringing like bells at the end of the world. In the end, his karma caught up with him, and that purple serpent lit the match that started that fire.]
[He lets out a low noise - almost a grunt, halfway to a growl - before he quiets. The fingers dig in. He doesn't wince, allows himself to be used as an anchor.]
And why....would he do something like that? Was he a coward?
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[ He uses him as an anchor — fingers still digging in, holding him there — but it seems to still his sounds too, and he can't quite tell if it's for himself, or for Silco's own story.
Does it matter? Betrayal rips through everything, he knows it does. The ache, the sting, the way it sends the mind into overdrive, leaves only hate in its place. Fury. Blinding and driving him towards only what had been ripped from his fingers.
Was it the same for Vergilius? ]
Of course he was. [ He scoffed, his breath teasing some loose strands of his hair. ] He was so afraid of what they would do, if we kept pushing, that he gave it all up. Accepted peace, and left the lot of us to still rot away in quiet complacency.
[ His fingers drift, from his shoulder, to the back of his neck, scraping there with his nails, as if that is enough to stifle that old anger still worming its way though him. He's never quite been able to escape it, has he? ]
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[Yes, maybe he felt all that. But where Silco found a fire to indulge in, Vergilius did his best to stamp it out. It was Garnet whose eyes burned with passion for revenge. It was Garnet who wanted to find the ones who took the other children to make them pay for what they did.]
[Maybe he also felt the same. But it was his own failure that stood, and rung like a bell to remind him time and time again that it was his fault.]
[Of course it was his fault.]
[The man's hands find his neck. He again barely reacts, but somehow, the pain of it is welcomed. Maybe that's the masochist in him. To accept things like this as punishment.]
[He places a wet kiss against the edge the man's jaw.]
And you killed him. That was the man you told me about. Jinx's father.
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Much like Silco, in most respects. And yet... And yet.... Here they are. Here. In this room, alone, together. Is it indulging in something that brings him here to him, draws him to already kiss against his jaw, or is it something else? He can fall victim to his wants, can't he?
He murmured something low in his throat, and his nails started to scrape a pattern against the nape of his neck. ]
Yes, he was. [ It's a twisted mess, but that's the way it always was destined to be, wasn't it?
He tipped his head further, inviting him in. ]
Were you able to make them pay, even without letting it consume you? [ Is he happy with his choice? Was what was done worth fighting for?
He distracts him, a little, his fingers drifting from his neck, to his shoulders, thin fingers drifting lower, lower... ]
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[Even now, the pain wells up with that question, and he seeks to drown it. There's something a little restless in the way his arms encircle the other, almost ready to just get a move on and capture his prey.]
...One man, I ended. But there are still more.
[She's still out there.]
[There's a little nick of his teeth against the fragile neck, in response to the man' wandering fingers.]
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And he does. He keeps doing it, but don't they both? Isn't he doing it too? He'd been wanting since the whole debacle began -- and after seeing him like that... Wreathed in blood like something terrible, he had seen it, and wanted more of him then too.
Perhaps that's some of why he did it. When he was angry, there was no pretense, no lying. They don't know what it is to soften those edges, and he doesn't want him to. Knowing he could be sharper, even more deadly... He is not ashamed of the slight weightless feeling in his stomach.
A soft chuff of air escaped, half a sigh, half something else. ]
Are you still looking for them? Will you take from them in return for what they've taken from you?
[ Will he make them pay?
His voice rumbles softly against his lips, his fingers dip to find the edge of his shirt, to start slipping beneath, to draw thin fingers against the lines of scars over muscle before him. He's so much stronger than him, he knows he could crush him if he wanted to. He's decided to ruin him in an altogether different way, and... Well. He couldn't -- wouldn't -- protest. Not too strongly. ]
Did you know... [ His voice turns coy, teasing. Heated, too. Ready to discard the stubborn, their individual, yet shared, pains. Again and again, they find them, wrapping them up into this tangled mess. ] How you looked? On the back of that thing?
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HIT POST TOO EARLY WAGH
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