[There he goes. Right where he expected him to. Silco finds a wound, and digs in. He can't help himself from the hurt, the pain, if he's causing it for someone else.]
[He should reprimand him. Instead, he takes a different route. Silco brushes forward, and Vergilius, with strong scared hands, takes the man by the thin curve of his waist and turns him around so that his back is to his abdomen.]
[Immediately, he's leaning foward to kiss and then bite at the nape of his neck, like an animal would mark a mate. He's pressing against him, leaning as to make Silco almost fall to the bed.]
Haa. [Comes the scratchy growl against his skin - Vergilius's hands palms downward between his legs, lewd and desperate for taking what he has missed all this time.] By doing it so you don't get a chance to look at me when get my due. Is that not fair?
[ It's hard to tell whether it's the scrape of teeth, the rush of air, or his hands that does it. Maybe all three, or maybe it's the promise murmured against his skin, but that warm flush down his spine leaves him spreading his legs too-obedeiently for him. His hands are what keep him from falling all the way forward, though his slight weight feels off-kilter.
Out of control even, but maybe just like Vergilius is often out of control with him, he finds himself in the same position. Caught by surprise. Just like now, his weight solid against his back, boxing him between that and the bed.
But Silco doesn't just comply. He never just complies, does he? His lips curl as he turned his head to look over his shoulder, leveling that blackened eye towards him, even if he's settled against the back of his neck. ]
Oh? Is it? [ He asked, a shark's smile on his face. He shouldn't like this, the way he pushes him into place, but he likes it regardless. It makes him want to fight back just a little bit spitefully. Like now. It makes it better, he can feel how his body reacts to his palms, his fingers, to this. He makes him want to comply — and fight back — all at once. ] How are you going to do that? [ Put him into his place? ]
[How beautifully Silco slots against him. Slender little spine pressed against his broad chest, and his pelvis weighing heavy, with meaning, onto him. Oh, of course Silco will fight back. That's why he wants the upper hand.]
[A different sort of fight, fought with hands and skin and tempted sighs. He hooks a finger into the man's pantline to tug it down, while his other hand slides over abdomen, down past his underwear, before taking him solidly into his hand.]
By fucking you into the mattress from behind.
[A crude, blunt statement if there ever was one, but he means it. He wants his due. And Silco will be powerless to stop it, just like he can't stop himself from taking the tip of the man's ear to suck on it.]
[ He's rewarded with a rush of air through clenched teeth, already starting to tempt those sighs out of him. He wondered if Vergilius would punish him for that stabbing — and this was a punishment in its own way, reminding him of what they had; here, and now — his legs spread for him, barely upright. If he tipped him over any more, he would fall forward, and onto the bed. ]
Oh — [ Is it surprise? Something else? He takes his ear in his mouth, and Silco does gasp this time, his fingers searching, searching, for something to hold onto. He can't grip his shoulders like this, he can't reach out to take him or grip him.
He can find his fingers, reaches for his arm, but it's an ineffective squeeze at best, tightening around the flesh there, holding him, digging fingers in. He pressed his back up against his, arching his back so he has as much as he wants from him, and his touch leaves him chasing it with a lewd thrust of his hips.
He's been craving it just as much as Vergilius has. Maybe that's the most shameful thing of all, even more shameful that he gives it up, allows him to see it. ]
And you think you can keep me in line to do that?
[ He says it, knowing what it will do. Maybe he's playing with fire, tempting him out a little bit, tempting him to show him that monster.
If his voice came out a little breathless, no it didn't. ]
[He can probably hear the smile in that reply, see the twinkle in those usually dull eyes. Vergilius lets a scarred thumb brush a circle around the shaft before rubbing down, a drawn-out touch he hopes will produce more of those lovely little hitches and noises.]
How many nights have you wanted this? To feel me filling you? Making you cry my name? Tell the truth, now. I like when people are honest.
[His other hand is unbuckling his own belt, yanking his pants down so he can press the heated yet clothed swelling against the man - he sighs, knowing he's practically teasing himself, here. He has to take his time. Punishment asks for that.]
[ A gift for you, Vergilius, his fingers on his cock do draw out those hitches he's seeking, unrestrained, a secret shared between just them. His breath comes out with that shaky little gasps, his hips seeking more of it, but finding little control. It's all whatever Vergilius deems to give him, after all, despite his little starts, or attempts to chase it.
Maybe that gives it away enough, to answer his question. He wants to lie — he should lie, despite their agreement — but he is forced into honesty here, in this shared space. ]
Plenty — [ Honesty ripped from his throat; and he presses back against him, but he swallows back the sound that threatens to escape, that familiar rush of want that still shocks him down to his core. He wants this, has since — ]
— Since the last time. [ They were like this. He would have cornered him in the campers, had they had the opportunity. After seeing him wreathed in blood... oh, even more so. ] I've wanted you almost every night —
[ He teases him, and his mouth feels dry, and he wonders if he recognizes what he's done, giving him this, dragging him down into this mire, where he hardly feels like either of them can escape. ]
[He would be lying if he didn't say the same. That night in the camper, hands over the other's body with perfect restraint, had been like he was keeping a dog chomping at a metal bit. It frightened him. As if that pocky all that time ago was now simply ingrained into him.]
[It must be ingrained into Silco, too. With such an admission from a proud man, Vergilius can't help but feel a sense of twisted pride. Only he could make him cowe like this, beg like this, utter sweet little noises like this. Only he. No one else.]
[He presses a kiss against the back of the man's neck - almost sweet, tinged with some bit of sincerity within the lustful squall of feeling - as he rubs hus groin lazily, yet heavily, against the man underneath.]
Thank you. [For the honesty.] You're addicted to me, aren't you?
[A callout. He strokes him again, a solid pump, and it almost feels, irrationally, that he was meant for this hand of his.]
[ His lips send a shiver down his back, his fingers start searching for something, but like this he can't touch him like he normally does, grip him and dig in. ]
Of course n — [ ot — he protests, but his hand strokes him again, and yes, of course it feels good. It always feels good — large, scarred hand wrapped around him — but after being bereft, after keeping their little dance muted and hidden... He hisses out a breath, a gasp, his protest cut off.
Maybe he is addicted. He'd gone so long without it, anything like it — hell even touch — and he feels that little old beating in his heart quicken time after time, it leaves a trail of heated danger on his skin that he doesn't want to fight off. He welcomes it, his legs spread for him, and Vergilius rubs against him, leaves him throbbing in his fingers, while he palms at him. He doesn't want to fight him off, and the thought should be sobering, but maybe that fire is still infecting him too.
It couldn't be anything else. Couldn't be that he was feeling empty, needy, like he would welcome him again and again, if he just — ]
— Bag — [ His hands started reaching for the bag of the few belongings he'd brought with him. It's at least nearby, and he tugged it by the handle, shoved his hand in and fished; frantically, before he finally emerged victorious, before he handed it over his shoulder, turning to look at him. Maybe because he wanted to see his face when he did it, and maybe because he wanted to give him sight of him, already flushed — just because of him. He wanted to see it too, and maybe that was greedy of him, to want it. They'd whispered that in the campers, hadn't they? That it was a dirty little secret that only they were sharing. Only he could pull this indulgent part of Vergilius out, to draw him in, and offer this. This was his to see in that same way. ]
[How frantic, how desperate. He was prepared, he realizes. Even after all of that, with stabbing him in the side, he had expected Vergilius to return and really give him a scolding in more ways than one.]
[He sees Silco's face, now, and for a moment its like time has stopped. He sees the pursing of those lips, the edges of his scar, the blossoming of red across usually pale skin. Something intense stabs through him. A violence that somehow tastes so sweet at the back of his tongue.]
[And meanwhile, his own face is marred by obvious lust, a passion that burns through his stare. The words come choking out, like animals escaping their den.]
I've dreamt of this every night.
[As honest as he can be. The lube is taken, cracked open. Both hands withdraw, before one returns to squeeze his ass with a slick finger that dives in, encircles his entrance with a tease.]
Oh. If only we were alone in that van that night. I would have...devoured you.
[Such horrific hunger has to have an outlet. He starts to press in, rocking his finger to and fro. Another kiss is pressed against his shoulder, before he worries a little bruise into his beautiful bare skin.]
[ Vergilius promised him he's just a man, that they're both just men, but they're still more than that, aren't they? He's spread beneath him like a tableau for him to take his pound of flesh from, and what does he do? He takes. Silco knew there was violence under the man's skin, and he wants to drag it out of him, see it in full bloom over, and over, and over. As many times as he can.
Over his shoulder, he sees it, in the way he stares down at him, that look in his eyes that makes him want to turn around and stare at him, swallow his every word, and scrape his fingernails along each and every scar on him, find the places where there are new ones, excise from him his doubts and guilt, and keep him focused on taking from him, instead of flaying himself for his every sin. He was a monster too, didn't that fit?
He would crystalize this moment, if he could, the confession, but that look on his face, with lust heating his gaze, like it's burning him up inside, and he has no other outlet than him to take it out on him. He wants to capture that, he'll remember it, every time he looks at him, every time they're in the same space. Maybe he is addicted — obsessed — but that look on his face, the words he says...
Isn't he just as much as Silco? ]
I wanted — [ A hiss, when he slips inside, a bruise already blossoming against his back. His fingers want to find something to hold onto — him — but he won't let him. Maybe this really is punishment designed to make him go mad. He feels it, a little mad, a haze that makes him shudder against him, and he's barely started. ] — you. I thought you were doing it on purpose, driving me mad like that.
[ The accusation is heavy on his tongue, as if he hadn't been doing the same to him. How he would have liked to see that careful composure of his crumble just for him. Watch him be foolhardy, brash. Take a chance — all just for him. Because he couldn't hold back. ]
[Silco really wants to play that role in his life. The handcuffs around his wrists, the noose around his neck. He's quite good at the role. The way his voice sounds like a breathless little whine is enough to make him sigh loudly with a pleased grin. A downfall in human form.]
[He thinks himself strong. His will has shown as much that he is determined to drown himself at the end of his journey for his own sins. Silco tempts him with an alternative path.]
[A second finger is added, as he fucks him open with a light little sound, akin to a laugh.]
I was doing it on purpose.
[He really wants to have his way. Even now, to throw caution to the wind. To take what he needs, what he desires, to hear more sounds spill out.]
[A third joins its brothers, steady as anything in its thrusts.]
I should say the same thing about you, you little devil.
[ Wasn't it everything he wanted? To be his downfall, to keep his attention, to guide him down a different path, of survival, of looking away from the sins that pull him down under into that mire. He'd once told Silco that he wouldn't take anything for himself, that he couldn't, and yet, he's managed to tempt him to do so. It happens again and again.
He wants to see him be selfish. To take. He'd seen the monster he can be, the creature lurking under his skin. He's seen it, and he wants more of it. He wants him to indulge in those little impulses, the vices. He wants to see him fall further down with him.
Because it's such a terribly lonely place down here in the dark, isn't it? Maybe he wants him to take that alternate path, because he wants someone down in the dark with him. ]
Ah —
[ His fingers split him open. He hissed, his legs spread obediently so he can take what he wants. His fingers finally wind into the bed, forcing him to bend forward more, giving him whatever he wanted from him. He already aches to spin around, to put his fingers into his hair, and look at him. He always felt like that burning red gaze could sear down and into him. Maybe that's why he likes it. Feeling like he is seen. ]
Maybe I was. [ He teases, but his voice is breathless, a stutter of a moan around his words. ] I like seeing you fight for control. [ More importantly: he likes watching him lose control. Watching it slip from his fingertips like sand, and all at Silco's behest.
[He misses Silco's face, suddenly. This is a punishment, but he's got a bit of collateral damage here, doesn't here? He can't see the tension in his forehead, the gasping mouth, the sweat-stained cheeks.]
[...No, he must hold steady. Ge must be in control. He, the captain of a sinking boat. His cock throbs between his legs, as if begging for the warmth to come. He'll allow it. His fingers pull out, slick, before he winds them back to fully release himself with a tug of his underwear down.]
Control over you? How masochistic you are.
[The slick snap of the lube again, covering himself, before he tosses it back onto the bed. His strong hands meet firm hips to hold him steady, like a vice, as he positions himself.]
[It takes a moment, the entrance still tight. But as he adds the pressure, he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper. He wants to bottom out in him. Make him feel like nothing else belongs here, nothing else can fill him like this cock of his.]
Let's get started.
[Vergilius says between gritted teeth, before he starts the slow but meaningful movement, trying to push deeper with every thrust he makes. How warm it feels. How hot his cock throbs. He wants Silco to have it all.]
[ He doesn't have the chance to say anything witty, or clever. He almost tipped his head, to peer over at him, call him out for having that come to mind — as if all of this wasn't so often a fight for control between the two of them, as if they didn't normally come out somewhere in the middle — but he doesn't have the chance, does he? His rush of breath at the emptiness, the way he felt empty all of the sudden, but Vergilius doesn't leave him alone for long, does he? ]
— Hah —
[ Is about all he gets out, it devolves into a soft ruch of sound, his legs spread like they are, his head tipped down, one eye screwed shut. He's still tight — had they rushed it? Did it matter — and his fingers wind divots into the bed, a hiss of a soft word that might be 'yes'.
Did he know what this did? Every inch deeper makes him feel like he's burning up just a little bit more, inch by inch, he feels like he's being consumed by it. He already confessed to him, how much he wanted it, how much he'd wanted this the entire time they'd been unable to indulge in it. How much he already knows that. He'd told him, after all, in the van. That this was... singular. That nothing else could do this like he could.
He bit back another little gasp, it ends swallowed, as if he's holding it down, fighting to prevent giving him too much as a reward for his punches in. It's not a fight for dominance right now, it's a game. As if he could be silent after that vulnerable gasp at first, but he tries regardless. The way he trembles, the way his head dipped, his fingers in the sheets, they're all giveaways, but he fights letting his voice out, and maybe it's because he can't see him, he wants to hear him ask for it instead. ]
[Understanding. They had thrown down that word like a gauntlet. As if that encompasses every single little thing, and he wonders if this, too, can also be considered understanding. Silco's noises, his arched back, the way he accepts him as he rocks into him with a steady pace. Is that understanding?]
[Regardless, at least one thing is true. The way he slots into him feels like scratching a deathly terrible itch. It's warm and tight and feels like he's trapping him, further and furter until there's no end in sight.]
No sound for me? Hah. Ah. You really are such a critic.
[Comes the rumbling voice behind Silco, like a purr. No matter. He can fix that. He pulls himself out, his member throbbing with how much it aches, before he uses his hand to shift the hips back at a more drastic angle.]
[And that allows him a different option to fully slam into him at that very angle. Like a stab with a knife, aiming to hurt. He wants to hit that prostate, and force that cry out of this old man's tired throat. Again, again. By any means possible.]
[ Damn him, if there isn't a soft keen that escapes, when he pulls out, leaving him empty and bereft of him. He barely has time to protest, though he does try. A shift, a snap of his head to look at him over his shoulder, a curl of his lips, and his mouth opened, as if he was going to say something, before —
He doesn't get the chance. Vergilius hoists him, and pulls him up, he's forced at an angle and he swallows back the soft squack of surprise but he has to angle himself differently. His knees are spread his head pressed to the sheets, and he ——
Oh, he doesn't even wait, and Silco trembles from the force of him slamming in. A lewd sound of flesh on flesh as he slapped up against him. ]
You — Ah —
[ Not even a sentence, only half-muffled by the sheets — Vergilius strikes true, and it devolves into something louder and uncontrolled, and actual moan. He doesn't swallow it back, his mouth half-open and his blackened eye rolled upward, each punch drew out more, bit by bit, like he'd coaxed him out. It doesn't matter if it hurt — it does — it's so fleeting, with the way he punches in, his body angled awkwardly, like each pain comes coupled with pleasure too. It had never been about one or the other, he wants it all. ]
[He would have cringed at himself for a decision like this. As much as others saw him as some violent harbinger of doom, he never wanted to truly be as such, deep down. And yet, here and now, its like Silco has scratched open something raw. Something buried he didn't like to acknowledge. He still feels bad - a part of him always will - but Silco practically asked for this.]
[Besides, when he moves, he can feel the twinge of pain under the bandage on his side. Paying it forward. He can make it up to Silco lately, but...]
[Yes, maybe he does deserve it. He doesn't slacken on the pace, keeping up his thrusting with short, solid movements. He moves like he wants to knock the wind out of him. In the meantime, his forehead breaks into a sweat, but he's silent, listening for more of those wonderful little noises he can harvest.]
[Maybe he can get a rash to develop on Silco's face pressed on the sheets.]
[ Another one, just for you, Vergilius. And another, and another. He's at a sharp angle, pulled up and into place for his pleasure, all thin bones and awkward angles, and he thrusts into him like it's a mission, to make him ache and hurt and tremble. He doesn't sound displeased by it, each punctuated little moan or groan to match his relentless pace.
Fingers wound into the sheets, His face rubs against it — he might have a rash, in fact — the unmarred side of his face pressed into it, leaving a damp patch of spittle from every punctuated breath, every single time he has to open and close his mouth from the force of it. ]
Is that — [ His eye tries to catch sight of him, even if he can't. He still tries. His breath wheezed out, his sentence unfinished with a low moan. ] — All you have?
[ Maybe he doesn't mind the pain? Maybe he wants to see more of it — that monster — maybe he wants to really feel him.
After all, he had hurt him. Stabbed him. He knew he could handle it, but maybe a small part of him wants to see him lash out more; make them both sinners in this. Make sure he, too, hurts back. Just like with the bites, with the choking.
If neither is without sin, maybe he won't leave. ]
[Another jut of his hips, a wet slap of flesh against flesh.]
Greedy.
[He buries himself again, the force of his movement causing the frame of the bed to rattle.]
You're...so greedy.
[He won't last longer, he knows. He already feels the telltale sharp ache in his groin, coiling heat that only makes his heart go that much faster. Silco is a wreck. A beautiful wreck. And he did this, asked for it. All for that stupidly beautiful arrogance that thinks it can do whatever it wants.]
[No. Neither is without sin. And here they are, bathing in it.]
[He grunts, moving faster and faster, almost there. He can't even understand the words falling out of his own mouth. His nails dig in, his moans coat the air. Silco. Silco, Silco, Silco.]
[ Each condemnation comes with confirmation, he calls him greedy, and Silco accepts it, acknowledges it. His fingers wound in sheets, his mouth open, offering utterances, moans, gasps. His hair has already gone askew, normally kept so neat and tight; longer than one would think — he's come undone for Vergilius here, and now.
A gift for him, repayment for his knife in his side, he can see Silco fully open, like he's been flayed and split, the cavern of his greed open just for him, to roost in, or fill with what he wishes, fill him to the brim if he so chose.
He can't buck, or squirm, but he still tries, every time his flesh meets his, and he feels that snap of lightning down his spine, slamming into him, up against him, his limbs are like gelatin, and his eye rolls back, every confirmation more unintelligible than the last, breaking out into gasps, little attempts to say his name — Ve —; Please, please, Vergilius, please —
He's still greedy. He wants more. Of him, of his hands, his cock aches, abandoned for Vergilius's pleasure, and he can only beg for more, held up and in place like he is, gasping and trying to writhe beneath him, and able to do none of it. His head swims, with want, even though he has all of him right now, this selfish side of him that he wants to cultivate to take what he wants. Especially when it's him. ]
[Silco looks like a disaster. His usual prim proper appearance, now all askew. Hair tossled, face flushed, mouth gaping open with whines and moans and begging little utterances of his name. He burns it in his eyes as if he will never see it again. As if he can promise himself he will see it again.]
[He should see it again. He wants to see it again. His movements ragged, he finally feels that snap of something down below, and shoves himself forward like this is the last move he will ever make, his cock buried to its base, balls flux against the curve. He can barely hear his ragged, desperate moan coming from his own mouth as he spills over inside of him.]
[It lasts a good while, his moan now stuttering into little punctuated whines as he rides out his hot, choking stream - as if all this time with no activity between them was keeping it so repressed to the point of discomfort. But now, release has been found.]
[This is where he belongs.]
[He leans forward to place a kiss against the nape of his neck, indulgent to the point of sin.]
[ Yes, yes —; he's taut as a live wire, liable to snap or break with even the barest of touches. Like this, Vergilius has him where he wants him, he can't stop him, and he can barely think straight, listening to every whine, gasp, and moan he ejects like they're a shared promise just for him. He's pressed up against him fully, and each hot thread pounds into him. It feels lewd, and dirty, but he gasps at each one, his cock tight, as far into him as he can go, thundering up and into him. Vergilius's hips are pressed as tight as they can go, like there's no separation left. Like they're a monster of fury and lust all in one.
Silco shudders, still taut and still sloppy and demolished beneath him. He's just as hungry, he's been waiting just as long, and maybe there's a sound that's somewhere between a grunt and a whine, because he's still pent up. He still feels it, how desperate he is to have him. Over and over again if he'd let him.
It's almost worse, it aches almost as much as the rest of him. The rest from use, but his cock still feels like it could burst at any moment, still unattended and weeping. His mouth opens; his lips are at his neck and his whole body seems to tremble with repressed...need, or desire, or something else like it. Since when had he become so... desperate for his attentions, or his touch? His look? ]
I — need — [ It's supposed to sound like an order. It's anything but an order.
He's so greedy, after all. He wants more of him, he wants to ride this hazy wave as long as he can. Is it just this moment, or is it all of it?
He wants him to stay — wants to keep him — would he? Even now? Was that what this was? Like sealing that promise they had half-shared in the van, talking around it like they were both still too cautious to breach that line in the sand? ]
[He may be done, the last twitching spurts of his high finally adding to the pooled heat, but he's still rocking his hips, a rhythm he can't just break. He should be catching his breath. Instead, he feels somehow energized. Everything is awake, everything feels like it can't simply just slow down.]
[And of course, he hears that beautiful whine of a request. His scarfed hand snakes between them as he slides it down, down, scars prickling over his groin.]
Your wish is my command.
[And now, dutiful, he graps the man solidly. He pumps it, strokes it, brushes the tip with his thumb, desperate to have him find his own release. He tries to time it with the continued movement of his hips. Silco, Silco, Silco. To think before he would have been at his throat even for something like this. Now, it feels inevitable. Like this is where fate etched them to be.]
[ Exactly what he wanted — is this really punishment? He can't see him, of course, but his entire body is on fire, lit like its from the inside, every inch of him practically burning up from the inside in a way that isn't misery, but instead something that makes his hands wind into the sheets, and lose his head just enough. ]
— Hah — Ye —
[ His wish is his command — and doesn't that make him feel drunk on power? He could have come from that, he thinks, but his hand snakes down, grips him, and it makes him see stars. He's already sensitive, aching, his hips trying to fuck into his hand in time with his hips, it only takes one, two, three pumps of his hand before he shudders, his eyes rolling back, Vergilius still seated in him. He spills over his hand, his name on his lips, drawn out — Vergilius — thin body shuddering underneath him, uncontrolled, messy, spilling over his fingers and onto the bed.
Isn't this where he belongs? It's punishment — it's pleasure — he isn't the type to punish himself for his crimes, but he hurt him, and yet he is still here, he's spilling over his fingers, murmuring his name, and it's... odd.
It's odd that despite how they have hurt each other — communicating as monsters do — he doesn't fear it in this moment. He instead welcomes it, welcomes him. ]
[Where is his anger? Constantly there. Always present. Silco did a foolish thing to try to bring what he thought was a beast out. Any rational person would have maybe avoided him after, or if they were brave, they would have confronted him. Technically, he did the latter.]
[So what happened to bring him here, at this moment, with Silco crying out his name as hot fluid coats his hand with a full-body shudder? How did he end up in this position? Is he so weak as to cave to desire? He wouldn't have thought so. Even now, his wound stings. He should be angry. He is angry. He should be punishing Silco. He is punishing Silco.]
[And yet, his own name sounds so sweet on the air, murmured into it, gasped into it, moaned into it. His hand is sticky, now. He swipes it across the other's thin abdomen as he leans forward to kiss the nape of his neck again.]
A little reward for such a good show. [He shifts his hips, almost a afterthought of a motion, and lets the man be reminded of his presence.] You looked like you enjoyed it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[He should reprimand him. Instead, he takes a different route. Silco brushes forward, and Vergilius, with strong scared hands, takes the man by the thin curve of his waist and turns him around so that his back is to his abdomen.]
[Immediately, he's leaning foward to kiss and then bite at the nape of his neck, like an animal would mark a mate. He's pressing against him, leaning as to make Silco almost fall to the bed.]
Haa. [Comes the scratchy growl against his skin - Vergilius's hands palms downward between his legs, lewd and desperate for taking what he has missed all this time.] By doing it so you don't get a chance to look at me when get my due. Is that not fair?
no subject
Out of control even, but maybe just like Vergilius is often out of control with him, he finds himself in the same position. Caught by surprise. Just like now, his weight solid against his back, boxing him between that and the bed.
But Silco doesn't just comply. He never just complies, does he? His lips curl as he turned his head to look over his shoulder, leveling that blackened eye towards him, even if he's settled against the back of his neck. ]
Oh? Is it? [ He asked, a shark's smile on his face. He shouldn't like this, the way he pushes him into place, but he likes it regardless. It makes him want to fight back just a little bit spitefully. Like now. It makes it better, he can feel how his body reacts to his palms, his fingers, to this. He makes him want to comply — and fight back — all at once. ] How are you going to do that? [ Put him into his place? ]
no subject
[A different sort of fight, fought with hands and skin and tempted sighs. He hooks a finger into the man's pantline to tug it down, while his other hand slides over abdomen, down past his underwear, before taking him solidly into his hand.]
By fucking you into the mattress from behind.
[A crude, blunt statement if there ever was one, but he means it. He wants his due. And Silco will be powerless to stop it, just like he can't stop himself from taking the tip of the man's ear to suck on it.]
no subject
Oh — [ Is it surprise? Something else? He takes his ear in his mouth, and Silco does gasp this time, his fingers searching, searching, for something to hold onto. He can't grip his shoulders like this, he can't reach out to take him or grip him.
He can find his fingers, reaches for his arm, but it's an ineffective squeeze at best, tightening around the flesh there, holding him, digging fingers in. He pressed his back up against his, arching his back so he has as much as he wants from him, and his touch leaves him chasing it with a lewd thrust of his hips.
He's been craving it just as much as Vergilius has. Maybe that's the most shameful thing of all, even more shameful that he gives it up, allows him to see it. ]
And you think you can keep me in line to do that?
[ He says it, knowing what it will do. Maybe he's playing with fire, tempting him out a little bit, tempting him to show him that monster.
If his voice came out a little breathless, no it didn't. ]
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[He can probably hear the smile in that reply, see the twinkle in those usually dull eyes. Vergilius lets a scarred thumb brush a circle around the shaft before rubbing down, a drawn-out touch he hopes will produce more of those lovely little hitches and noises.]
How many nights have you wanted this? To feel me filling you? Making you cry my name? Tell the truth, now. I like when people are honest.
[His other hand is unbuckling his own belt, yanking his pants down so he can press the heated yet clothed swelling against the man - he sighs, knowing he's practically teasing himself, here. He has to take his time. Punishment asks for that.]
How bad do you want this, hm?
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Maybe that gives it away enough, to answer his question. He wants to lie — he should lie, despite their agreement — but he is forced into honesty here, in this shared space. ]
Plenty — [ Honesty ripped from his throat; and he presses back against him, but he swallows back the sound that threatens to escape, that familiar rush of want that still shocks him down to his core. He wants this, has since — ]
— Since the last time. [ They were like this. He would have cornered him in the campers, had they had the opportunity. After seeing him wreathed in blood... oh, even more so. ] I've wanted you almost every night —
[ He teases him, and his mouth feels dry, and he wonders if he recognizes what he's done, giving him this, dragging him down into this mire, where he hardly feels like either of them can escape. ]
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[He would be lying if he didn't say the same. That night in the camper, hands over the other's body with perfect restraint, had been like he was keeping a dog chomping at a metal bit. It frightened him. As if that pocky all that time ago was now simply ingrained into him.]
[It must be ingrained into Silco, too. With such an admission from a proud man, Vergilius can't help but feel a sense of twisted pride. Only he could make him cowe like this, beg like this, utter sweet little noises like this. Only he. No one else.]
[He presses a kiss against the back of the man's neck - almost sweet, tinged with some bit of sincerity within the lustful squall of feeling - as he rubs hus groin lazily, yet heavily, against the man underneath.]
Thank you. [For the honesty.] You're addicted to me, aren't you?
[A callout. He strokes him again, a solid pump, and it almost feels, irrationally, that he was meant for this hand of his.]
Where is your lube, Silco?
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Of course n — [ ot — he protests, but his hand strokes him again, and yes, of course it feels good. It always feels good — large, scarred hand wrapped around him — but after being bereft, after keeping their little dance muted and hidden... He hisses out a breath, a gasp, his protest cut off.
Maybe he is addicted. He'd gone so long without it, anything like it — hell even touch — and he feels that little old beating in his heart quicken time after time, it leaves a trail of heated danger on his skin that he doesn't want to fight off. He welcomes it, his legs spread for him, and Vergilius rubs against him, leaves him throbbing in his fingers, while he palms at him. He doesn't want to fight him off, and the thought should be sobering, but maybe that fire is still infecting him too.
It couldn't be anything else. Couldn't be that he was feeling empty, needy, like he would welcome him again and again, if he just — ]
— Bag — [ His hands started reaching for the bag of the few belongings he'd brought with him. It's at least nearby, and he tugged it by the handle, shoved his hand in and fished; frantically, before he finally emerged victorious, before he handed it over his shoulder, turning to look at him. Maybe because he wanted to see his face when he did it, and maybe because he wanted to give him sight of him, already flushed — just because of him. He wanted to see it too, and maybe that was greedy of him, to want it. They'd whispered that in the campers, hadn't they? That it was a dirty little secret that only they were sharing. Only he could pull this indulgent part of Vergilius out, to draw him in, and offer this. This was his to see in that same way. ]
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[He sees Silco's face, now, and for a moment its like time has stopped. He sees the pursing of those lips, the edges of his scar, the blossoming of red across usually pale skin. Something intense stabs through him. A violence that somehow tastes so sweet at the back of his tongue.]
[And meanwhile, his own face is marred by obvious lust, a passion that burns through his stare. The words come choking out, like animals escaping their den.]
I've dreamt of this every night.
[As honest as he can be. The lube is taken, cracked open. Both hands withdraw, before one returns to squeeze his ass with a slick finger that dives in, encircles his entrance with a tease.]
Oh. If only we were alone in that van that night. I would have...devoured you.
[Such horrific hunger has to have an outlet. He starts to press in, rocking his finger to and fro. Another kiss is pressed against his shoulder, before he worries a little bruise into his beautiful bare skin.]
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[ Vergilius promised him he's just a man, that they're both just men, but they're still more than that, aren't they? He's spread beneath him like a tableau for him to take his pound of flesh from, and what does he do? He takes. Silco knew there was violence under the man's skin, and he wants to drag it out of him, see it in full bloom over, and over, and over. As many times as he can.
Over his shoulder, he sees it, in the way he stares down at him, that look in his eyes that makes him want to turn around and stare at him, swallow his every word, and scrape his fingernails along each and every scar on him, find the places where there are new ones, excise from him his doubts and guilt, and keep him focused on taking from him, instead of flaying himself for his every sin. He was a monster too, didn't that fit?
He would crystalize this moment, if he could, the confession, but that look on his face, with lust heating his gaze, like it's burning him up inside, and he has no other outlet than him to take it out on him. He wants to capture that, he'll remember it, every time he looks at him, every time they're in the same space. Maybe he is addicted — obsessed — but that look on his face, the words he says...
Isn't he just as much as Silco? ]
I wanted — [ A hiss, when he slips inside, a bruise already blossoming against his back. His fingers want to find something to hold onto — him — but he won't let him. Maybe this really is punishment designed to make him go mad. He feels it, a little mad, a haze that makes him shudder against him, and he's barely started. ] — you. I thought you were doing it on purpose, driving me mad like that.
[ The accusation is heavy on his tongue, as if he hadn't been doing the same to him. How he would have liked to see that careful composure of his crumble just for him. Watch him be foolhardy, brash. Take a chance — all just for him. Because he couldn't hold back. ]
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[Silco really wants to play that role in his life. The handcuffs around his wrists, the noose around his neck. He's quite good at the role. The way his voice sounds like a breathless little whine is enough to make him sigh loudly with a pleased grin. A downfall in human form.]
[He thinks himself strong. His will has shown as much that he is determined to drown himself at the end of his journey for his own sins. Silco tempts him with an alternative path.]
[A second finger is added, as he fucks him open with a light little sound, akin to a laugh.]
I was doing it on purpose.
[He really wants to have his way. Even now, to throw caution to the wind. To take what he needs, what he desires, to hear more sounds spill out.]
[A third joins its brothers, steady as anything in its thrusts.]
I should say the same thing about you, you little devil.
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He wants to see him be selfish. To take. He'd seen the monster he can be, the creature lurking under his skin. He's seen it, and he wants more of it. He wants him to indulge in those little impulses, the vices. He wants to see him fall further down with him.
Because it's such a terribly lonely place down here in the dark, isn't it? Maybe he wants him to take that alternate path, because he wants someone down in the dark with him. ]
Ah —
[ His fingers split him open. He hissed, his legs spread obediently so he can take what he wants. His fingers finally wind into the bed, forcing him to bend forward more, giving him whatever he wanted from him. He already aches to spin around, to put his fingers into his hair, and look at him. He always felt like that burning red gaze could sear down and into him. Maybe that's why he likes it. Feeling like he is seen. ]
Maybe I was. [ He teases, but his voice is breathless, a stutter of a moan around his words. ] I like seeing you fight for control. [ More importantly: he likes watching him lose control. Watching it slip from his fingertips like sand, and all at Silco's behest.
Especially like this. ]
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[...No, he must hold steady. Ge must be in control. He, the captain of a sinking boat. His cock throbs between his legs, as if begging for the warmth to come. He'll allow it. His fingers pull out, slick, before he winds them back to fully release himself with a tug of his underwear down.]
Control over you? How masochistic you are.
[The slick snap of the lube again, covering himself, before he tosses it back onto the bed. His strong hands meet firm hips to hold him steady, like a vice, as he positions himself.]
[It takes a moment, the entrance still tight. But as he adds the pressure, he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper. He wants to bottom out in him. Make him feel like nothing else belongs here, nothing else can fill him like this cock of his.]
Let's get started.
[Vergilius says between gritted teeth, before he starts the slow but meaningful movement, trying to push deeper with every thrust he makes. How warm it feels. How hot his cock throbs. He wants Silco to have it all.]
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— Hah —
[ Is about all he gets out, it devolves into a soft ruch of sound, his legs spread like they are, his head tipped down, one eye screwed shut. He's still tight — had they rushed it? Did it matter — and his fingers wind divots into the bed, a hiss of a soft word that might be 'yes'.
Did he know what this did? Every inch deeper makes him feel like he's burning up just a little bit more, inch by inch, he feels like he's being consumed by it. He already confessed to him, how much he wanted it, how much he'd wanted this the entire time they'd been unable to indulge in it. How much he already knows that. He'd told him, after all, in the van. That this was... singular. That nothing else could do this like he could.
He bit back another little gasp, it ends swallowed, as if he's holding it down, fighting to prevent giving him too much as a reward for his punches in. It's not a fight for dominance right now, it's a game. As if he could be silent after that vulnerable gasp at first, but he tries regardless. The way he trembles, the way his head dipped, his fingers in the sheets, they're all giveaways, but he fights letting his voice out, and maybe it's because he can't see him, he wants to hear him ask for it instead. ]
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[Regardless, at least one thing is true. The way he slots into him feels like scratching a deathly terrible itch. It's warm and tight and feels like he's trapping him, further and furter until there's no end in sight.]
No sound for me? Hah. Ah. You really are such a critic.
[Comes the rumbling voice behind Silco, like a purr. No matter. He can fix that. He pulls himself out, his member throbbing with how much it aches, before he uses his hand to shift the hips back at a more drastic angle.]
[And that allows him a different option to fully slam into him at that very angle. Like a stab with a knife, aiming to hurt. He wants to hit that prostate, and force that cry out of this old man's tired throat. Again, again. By any means possible.]
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He doesn't get the chance. Vergilius hoists him, and pulls him up, he's forced at an angle and he swallows back the soft squack of surprise but he has to angle himself differently. His knees are spread his head pressed to the sheets, and he ——
Oh, he doesn't even wait, and Silco trembles from the force of him slamming in. A lewd sound of flesh on flesh as he slapped up against him. ]
You — Ah —
[ Not even a sentence, only half-muffled by the sheets — Vergilius strikes true, and it devolves into something louder and uncontrolled, and actual moan. He doesn't swallow it back, his mouth half-open and his blackened eye rolled upward, each punch drew out more, bit by bit, like he'd coaxed him out. It doesn't matter if it hurt — it does — it's so fleeting, with the way he punches in, his body angled awkwardly, like each pain comes coupled with pleasure too. It had never been about one or the other, he wants it all. ]
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[He would have cringed at himself for a decision like this. As much as others saw him as some violent harbinger of doom, he never wanted to truly be as such, deep down. And yet, here and now, its like Silco has scratched open something raw. Something buried he didn't like to acknowledge. He still feels bad - a part of him always will - but Silco practically asked for this.]
[Besides, when he moves, he can feel the twinge of pain under the bandage on his side. Paying it forward. He can make it up to Silco lately, but...]
[Yes, maybe he does deserve it. He doesn't slacken on the pace, keeping up his thrusting with short, solid movements. He moves like he wants to knock the wind out of him. In the meantime, his forehead breaks into a sweat, but he's silent, listening for more of those wonderful little noises he can harvest.]
[Maybe he can get a rash to develop on Silco's face pressed on the sheets.]
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[ Another one, just for you, Vergilius. And another, and another. He's at a sharp angle, pulled up and into place for his pleasure, all thin bones and awkward angles, and he thrusts into him like it's a mission, to make him ache and hurt and tremble. He doesn't sound displeased by it, each punctuated little moan or groan to match his relentless pace.
Fingers wound into the sheets, His face rubs against it — he might have a rash, in fact — the unmarred side of his face pressed into it, leaving a damp patch of spittle from every punctuated breath, every single time he has to open and close his mouth from the force of it. ]
Is that — [ His eye tries to catch sight of him, even if he can't. He still tries. His breath wheezed out, his sentence unfinished with a low moan. ] — All you have?
[ Maybe he doesn't mind the pain? Maybe he wants to see more of it — that monster — maybe he wants to really feel him.
After all, he had hurt him. Stabbed him. He knew he could handle it, but maybe a small part of him wants to see him lash out more; make them both sinners in this. Make sure he, too, hurts back. Just like with the bites, with the choking.
If neither is without sin, maybe he won't leave. ]
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[Another jut of his hips, a wet slap of flesh against flesh.]
Greedy.
[He buries himself again, the force of his movement causing the frame of the bed to rattle.]
You're...so greedy.
[He won't last longer, he knows. He already feels the telltale sharp ache in his groin, coiling heat that only makes his heart go that much faster. Silco is a wreck. A beautiful wreck. And he did this, asked for it. All for that stupidly beautiful arrogance that thinks it can do whatever it wants.]
[No. Neither is without sin. And here they are, bathing in it.]
[He grunts, moving faster and faster, almost there. He can't even understand the words falling out of his own mouth. His nails dig in, his moans coat the air. Silco. Silco, Silco, Silco.]
[He's greedy, too.]
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[ Each condemnation comes with confirmation, he calls him greedy, and Silco accepts it, acknowledges it. His fingers wound in sheets, his mouth open, offering utterances, moans, gasps. His hair has already gone askew, normally kept so neat and tight; longer than one would think — he's come undone for Vergilius here, and now.
A gift for him, repayment for his knife in his side, he can see Silco fully open, like he's been flayed and split, the cavern of his greed open just for him, to roost in, or fill with what he wishes, fill him to the brim if he so chose.
He can't buck, or squirm, but he still tries, every time his flesh meets his, and he feels that snap of lightning down his spine, slamming into him, up against him, his limbs are like gelatin, and his eye rolls back, every confirmation more unintelligible than the last, breaking out into gasps, little attempts to say his name — Ve —; Please, please, Vergilius, please —
He's still greedy. He wants more. Of him, of his hands, his cock aches, abandoned for Vergilius's pleasure, and he can only beg for more, held up and in place like he is, gasping and trying to writhe beneath him, and able to do none of it. His head swims, with want, even though he has all of him right now, this selfish side of him that he wants to cultivate to take what he wants. Especially when it's him. ]
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[He should see it again. He wants to see it again. His movements ragged, he finally feels that snap of something down below, and shoves himself forward like this is the last move he will ever make, his cock buried to its base, balls flux against the curve. He can barely hear his ragged, desperate moan coming from his own mouth as he spills over inside of him.]
[It lasts a good while, his moan now stuttering into little punctuated whines as he rides out his hot, choking stream - as if all this time with no activity between them was keeping it so repressed to the point of discomfort. But now, release has been found.]
[This is where he belongs.]
[He leans forward to place a kiss against the nape of his neck, indulgent to the point of sin.]
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Silco shudders, still taut and still sloppy and demolished beneath him. He's just as hungry, he's been waiting just as long, and maybe there's a sound that's somewhere between a grunt and a whine, because he's still pent up. He still feels it, how desperate he is to have him. Over and over again if he'd let him.
It's almost worse, it aches almost as much as the rest of him. The rest from use, but his cock still feels like it could burst at any moment, still unattended and weeping. His mouth opens; his lips are at his neck and his whole body seems to tremble with repressed...need, or desire, or something else like it. Since when had he become so... desperate for his attentions, or his touch? His look? ]
I — need — [ It's supposed to sound like an order. It's anything but an order.
He's so greedy, after all. He wants more of him, he wants to ride this hazy wave as long as he can. Is it just this moment, or is it all of it?
He wants him to stay — wants to keep him — would he? Even now? Was that what this was? Like sealing that promise they had half-shared in the van, talking around it like they were both still too cautious to breach that line in the sand? ]
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[And of course, he hears that beautiful whine of a request. His scarfed hand snakes between them as he slides it down, down, scars prickling over his groin.]
Your wish is my command.
[And now, dutiful, he graps the man solidly. He pumps it, strokes it, brushes the tip with his thumb, desperate to have him find his own release. He tries to time it with the continued movement of his hips. Silco, Silco, Silco. To think before he would have been at his throat even for something like this. Now, it feels inevitable. Like this is where fate etched them to be.]
Come. Come. Pretty one. Come on.
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— Hah — Ye —
[ His wish is his command — and doesn't that make him feel drunk on power? He could have come from that, he thinks, but his hand snakes down, grips him, and it makes him see stars. He's already sensitive, aching, his hips trying to fuck into his hand in time with his hips, it only takes one, two, three pumps of his hand before he shudders, his eyes rolling back, Vergilius still seated in him. He spills over his hand, his name on his lips, drawn out — Vergilius — thin body shuddering underneath him, uncontrolled, messy, spilling over his fingers and onto the bed.
Isn't this where he belongs? It's punishment — it's pleasure — he isn't the type to punish himself for his crimes, but he hurt him, and yet he is still here, he's spilling over his fingers, murmuring his name, and it's... odd.
It's odd that despite how they have hurt each other — communicating as monsters do — he doesn't fear it in this moment. He instead welcomes it, welcomes him. ]
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[So what happened to bring him here, at this moment, with Silco crying out his name as hot fluid coats his hand with a full-body shudder? How did he end up in this position? Is he so weak as to cave to desire? He wouldn't have thought so. Even now, his wound stings. He should be angry. He is angry. He should be punishing Silco. He is punishing Silco.]
[And yet, his own name sounds so sweet on the air, murmured into it, gasped into it, moaned into it. His hand is sticky, now. He swipes it across the other's thin abdomen as he leans forward to kiss the nape of his neck again.]
A little reward for such a good show. [He shifts his hips, almost a afterthought of a motion, and lets the man be reminded of his presence.] You looked like you enjoyed it.
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HIT POST TOO EARLY WAGH
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