[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.
[ He shudders beneath him, he shifts inside of him. Isn't that hateful? Isn't it angry? He'd held him down and fucked him, and hadn't let him twist and dig his fingers into those spaces that he even now wants to dig into. He was left bereft and, if he was going to admit it, begging for more. Maybe that was his punishment, being forced into something like honesty, forced to give a little step forward up. Isn't that punishment, to wrench another one of those shards of armor down and dig around, claw in a little bit more?
His eye swivels to look at him, black and unyielding, and his mouth is open, still panting like he's trying to catch his breath. He gasps, when he shifts into him again. As if he could forget his presence.
Would he even want to? ]
Didn't you?
[ He rewarded him, despite everything. Despite the fact that he'd had his blade in his side. How terrible they are, that this is what they see, and they like. That he comes to him, that he shares secrets with him, despite this.
There's a flush across his ears, his mouth parted. His fingers haven't relaxed in the sheets, gripping them for dear life. He's a mess, spread out under him, still trembling from the force of it. He relaxes his fingers, unwinds them, and reaches for him. Thin fingers seek corded muscle, to touch him. Would he let him, now? Or is he still to be punished? ]
[Silco pulls back to grasp at him. He might allow a second or two of that, but he is running the show, here. He grasps the other's hips so he can pull himself out with a definite slow drag of intent. And then, now freed, he's leaning forward again to reach around the man underneath him to flip him around. Silco's back hits the mattress.]
[Vergilius straddles him, the weight of his hips solidly keeping him where he is. His red eyes shine vividly under his bangs, a smile playing on his lips.]
Do you want me to say yes?
[His punishment continues. Just in a different form this time. Silco can't move his hips up like this. He only can let Vergilius decide what to do.]
He should have slid away, like a slippery little eel when he had the chance. Vergilius has him pinned down, and his bulk is large enough that he has nowhere to go, as if he could push him off. As if he would want to. He's trapped, but what a sweet prison it is. His breath picks up — restrained, choked slightly from his weight — a different kind of choking.
His fingers still against his thighs, fingers halfway between scraping and digging in. Vergilius's fingers run through his hair, gentler than they should right now.
He's still being punished; he knows it. He could say no, it would be so easy. So easy. They would both know it's a lie. He's already trapped, and pink already dusts half his face, his ears, his chest. He stares up at him, at the smile on his lips, at his eeys peering at him from behind his bangs. ]
Would you... hold it against me if I did?
[ Would they? Could they? Should they? He was sick of them too, these words that said so little, but they were armor too. Could that be discarded? Maybe not fully, but... ]
[This could be crueler. It has been cruel, before. He thinks he is cruel now, with a reminder of how he pressed a foot into the man's chest. Now he can use his body. If he wanted, he could crush him here and now. Just like that.]
[He won't, of course. He stares down at him, takes it it, burns that lovely flush into his memory.]
[Honesty? Do either of them understand what it means? Do they want to? They hide behind layer, they worry for the consequences. But he doesn't think he has ever let anyone slip in this close. It's so unlike him.]
Fine, then.
[A murmur, as his hand slides down the man's chest, abdomen, groin, slowly, before grasping Silco's cock with a definite hand.]
[ He's still oversensitive, it very nearly hurts even while it sends another shockwave down his spine. His mouth opens to struggle to bite out some sort of protest, but he can only half-squirm under him, barely able to move, and his mouth opens with a retort that dies on his tongue, but instead an uncontrolled sound escapes, halfway between a moan and a hiss of pain.
It hurts, it's like fire down his spine, it's too-sweet pain that's too much, and his entire body trembles from the effort of it. His one eye closes from it, but his other, all it can do his stare out, rolled back slightly, can he even see him in this moment? When he grasps him like that?
Does it matter? Does he hate it?
No, like the foot on his chest, he liked it all. The little cruelties, the way he lashed out sometimes, the way his mouth is open, but there's the slightest curl of his lip in the corner — he enjoys it. How could he not? Things like this were just as sure an expression of this shared lust between them, odd as it was, because he wanted to see him contort and writhe for him, didn't he? he wanted to be the one to cause it, just like Silco did. He wanted to fight and gnash up against him just as much as he wanted to feel that strength shudder up against him like he had just moments before.
He'd hurt him. Why wouldn't he hurt back? They were men — they were still monsters.
He was greedy, wasn't he? He wanted it all. It was punishment. It was pleasure. Was any of it supposed to be anything but? Could Silco accept anything less? He would take all of it like this, if the man would find him, hunt him down, and take him after all of that. Wrought iron meeting wrought iron, winding around each other.
Another shudder, his voice more strained than it had any right to be. ]
Oh? Perhaps... I enjoy it too.
[ His fingers on his thighs. They threaten to dig in. How damning, that he enjoys him hovering over him like this. ]
[A lazy sort of accusation, if it even is one. He almost states it as casual fact, watching the contortion of the other's face with his hand so firmly on his cock. It still is sticky from before, thighs coated in his previous release. He aims to add more to that, though he thinks his alone will be enough to stain him.]
[That being said, he twists his wrist as to hold both of them in the same grip. He is still sensitive himself, hissing as they both touch.]
You want what can hurt you.
[There's a confident stare at the way spider fingers drift over his thighs, daring them to move. To dig in. To hurt.]
[ He says the word like they both aren't, or maybe like they both are. He grips both of them in his grip, and he hisses out another shuddering breath, it hurts, it doesn't hurt. It's everything in between, and he both wants to struggle out of his grip and buck into his hands over and over again to chase more of that pain, more of the pleasure that comes with it.
It hurts. It's good. His lips peel back — into a sharp smile. ]
Is that what you think I want?
[ He meets his gaze, watches him stare down at him, and his fingers dig in. Gripping into him, into solid muscle and scars. One of which he'd made himself. He can't break skin like this, but it doesn't seem to matter. He just wants to press in, as if he can dip his fingers into his muscle and flesh and wind his way deeper into him.
Make it so neither one of them can pull away.
Can they? They can't now. ]
I've never wanted anything but. [ He uses the leverage of his hands digging into his thighs to pull himself up, lean forward. Look him in the eye, all lean sinew and bone, his lips curled into the slightest of sharp, knowing smiles. ]
Don't you? [ His fingers tighten into his thighs. ] You wouldn't want me if I couldn't take all of you, would you?
[ Silco may be a mascochist, may enjoy the pain, and hurting; but doesn't he? Doesn't this go both ways? They started out with violence, and blood, and biting each other until they were draining each other dry. It started with stabbings and violence, both external and toward each other. It's more than that now — he has him, doesn't he? — but they are still men masquerading as monsters.
It's always there, that capacity for violence. That's what draws him in, even if it hurts, even when it doesn't. ]
[The capacity for violence. It's part and parcel of the City. You either kill or be killed. He has wrought too much blood with his hands. And here, underneath him, is a man who practically begs for more.]
[If Silco is a masochist, does this mean he's the opposite? Something twinges in his chest at that. It is painful, that deep wound constantly bleeding in his core. He hated the City for its constabt suffering.]
[Is it suffering, when he causes pain to a horrible man like this? Is it suffering when he enjoys it? When punishment is something to cherish?]
[Silco pushes himself forward, grip tightening over his thighs. It makes him murmur, eyes flickering even as he doesn't avert his gaze. Vergilius tilts his head, as if considering.]
...No. I wouldn't.
[Perhaps it is surprising, for a monster to lean forward to kiss the other so lightly. Softly.]
And that means. All of me.
[The good, the bad, the ugly, and the softer man underneath.]
Maybe that should scare him, with his capacity for violence, with the way anger flickers in his eyes when Silco caught them sometimes, with the way he can reach out and threaten to crush his windpipe, or pull his spine out without breaking a sweat. He knew he could. He knows he can, they aren't empty threats. That danger always makes something in his chest flutter, the promise of potential all it takes to draw his attention.
They're both from violent places. Had violence done to them. Had learned to adapt in the only way they could, by becoming violent in turn. He knows he holds it too, that violence in him. Vergilius though, has proven he can respond in kind. Time, after time, after time.
He wouldn't want him without it, but he also...
He leans down, and brushes lips against his.
It's softer than he expected.
He doesn't mind the good or the bad, or even the ugly. Those are what drew him in, after all. It's the soft man that he sees peeking out that surprises him every time. Not that he has it, oh no, Vergilius has that spot in him, Silco sees it peeking out, like in the way he speaks about those children he cares for, even as he lies to them. No, he's surprised when it's turned on him. He shows it to him. Let's him see it, and it's...
A vulnerability. A weakness. He exposes it to him, and Silco doesn't quite want to pull it to pieces. Does that make him weak in turn? ]
All of you... [ He murmurs, against his lips. He lets go of one of his thighs to reach up, and wind his thin fingers behind his head, brushing at his hair there. His thumb runs against the fine hairs, softer than the other hand that remains pressing into taut muscle. ]
I'll take it. [ Would he do the same in kind? Take everything that he was? Even down to the parts that he knew would — had — made him so easy to discard? ]
[Those slender fingers slide through his dark gray hair, cuppng the back of his scalp. It would make him stutter if he spoke, but he lets the flush of blood into his ears and neck answer how pleased he feels. As if he is a lonesome cat seeking the touch of a hand.]
[His grip over both of them, in turn, becomes lighter but still firm. He starts to pump the both of them languidly, almost lazily, like he had to remember that this was a sexual affair. Silco will take it? All of him?]
[It sounds almost too good to be true. Even Silco has his preferences. Surely there is something he would balk at, and already has, before.]
You stabbed me...before. Mm. Was that...acceptance?
[He seeks out his lips again, captures them to suck over the lower lip like savoring a meal. Vergilius wants to have someone take all of him.]
[ His heart pounds heavily in his chest, his fingers move against him, and he feels that heat pool in his belly, like something he can hardly believe is awake, like Vergilius takes that part of his brain and lights it on fire every time they're in the same room alone. Sometimes when they're not. His hips shift, fucking into his hand, with its lazy motion.
They both knew what this was, right? Something both purely sexual, and... then there was the other thing. The Understanding they both sought. The promise they'd made while fighting in a hallway. They were two things, they weren't the same thing — but they were at the same time. He understood the man better, with the way he leaned into his fingers, seeking his touch. The way his neck grows warm under his thin fingers. The way he can't help but scrape his fingernails through the short hairs at the back of his neck. He wants to find all the little ways he reacts. He wants to understand him. All of him. ]
The first time was self-defense. [ He murmurs against his lips. Vergilius will feel the curl of his lips, his fingers seek the spot on his thigh, as if that's his to touch. His mark left on him. ] The second was...
[ A shuddering breath against his lips. It was a test, in a way. A glancing blow from a monster to another.
He wants to take all of him — he wants someone to take all of him, too. The ugly, the things that had driven everyone away when they get too close. ]
The second was... [ A beat, a shuddering sigh against his lips. ] Making sure you would.
I'm not sure if it was mostly self defense, you know.
[It is sexual. So many months ago opened up the door - box of things to get excited about. A supple thin waist, slender little legs, little gasps from a hoarse throat. Silco shifts into his hand, and he is proud of the way they both start to harden again in tandem. Silco wasn't exactly some magazine model, but who cares? The City never put so much emphasis on looks, after all. He himself was not someone he would consider a beauty. It's about the way they make each other feel. A thrill under the skin.]
[And then there was.. something else. A fearful thing to look at. The depths of emotion that wanted to be shallow but were anything but. Silco sighs against his lips that the second time was to see if he would accept him. Has he? Would he? Is that proof?]
Ahh.
[A edged little groan at the touch to his thigh - his cock twitches, as if in reply. He's sighing out his words into the other's mouth.]
[ He was here, despite it all, wasn't he? He could have killed him, or at the very least, he could have gone anywhere else. He'd found Silco after all was said and done, hadn't he? Yes, he'd been angry, but he was always angry. At everything. Silco could see the shape of it even as he still ached to cultivate it and let it grow.
He'd indulged in his anger, hadn't he? In a way that left Silco breathless and aching and far too sensitive, but still he found himself growing under his attentions, stiff already even though he could barely stand the touch — it aches, it's perfect, it hurts and it feels good — and maybe it's because they promised something in that van, dancing around each other and saying all those words that seemed to cordon off what they weren't saying. Like they were trapping it, making the shape of it, without actually saying it.
His mouth opens, and a soft groan echoes his against his lips.
How does he even explain it? That it wouldn't be the first time, all that he expects. Is used to. He hoped he wouldn't, but he knew — it was better if he knew now, if he would find a way to disentangle the two of them. If he hurt — and he knew he would, he always does — would that turn him away? Have him find some way to extricate the two of them, before he hurt him again.
His thumb glanced his thigh, rubbing against it. That old wound, scarred now. Almost... gentle. He had him. He might not think himself a beauty, but Silco... found the shape of him pleasing — every scarred surface, the spaces where he wasn't — and his eyes that he so desperately coveted to look at. ]
Hm. [ His body shudders under his, and he brushes chipped teeth against his lips, biting him there, not gentle, but not like he was trying to tear him limb from limb. ]
We are not soft men, Vergilius. [ He says against his lips. ] I need you to look at me and understand all of me. The parts that cut. The parts that are not palatable.
[ The ones that would make others leave. Even the strongest people he knew. He had to know. He still doesn't know, tentatively looking at this thing from the side, trying not to look at it. He can't bear looking at it, that sick paranoia that it would be gone, if he did. ]
[He murmurs. Of course, he is the worst of all. Silco must be a saint compared to him, in the long run. They both are going to hell. He's deeper. And so, should he judge the man for his vices? Find displeasure in his choices? He almost still feels the man's teeth against his throat again all those months ago, changing him into something beyond humanity.]
[His hand might still be grasping them, but he's starting to rock a little, a little waver of the hips back and forth as to build up the uncomfortable friction. They are not soft men. They deserve to suffer. They deserve to dash onto each other like sharp rocks at low tide.]
Hah. [A gasp against Silco's lips - Vergilius feels his skin caked with a thin layer of sweat. His cock throbs, aching, almost a little desperate.] I agreed...to that. The understanding. So I won't back down now. Will you?
[ The Understanding — he agreed to it. How funny, that this Understanding is the name for something that was maybe more than just understanding. It's more like iron wrapping around each other, digging in, understanding, but also whatever this was, their bodies hot and sweaty, Vergilius on top of him and thrusting, and then there's —
He breathed out a soft huff against him. It's good, it's terrible, it's just like they are, pleasure and pain, hurting while they sought to eke out whatever pleasure they could from one another. Is this anything but what they are? His legs spread, his own hips lift to meet his, as if he can do nothing but meet him in this. They both want it, don't they? All of it. ]
Do I look like I'm backing down?
[ He asks, his lips move against his, a sharp scrape of his teeth, his fingers dig in. Silco was a possessive, jealous little creature at his core. Digging in, his fingers try to hold his thighs, as if...
As if he's still afraid he'll slip free of his grasp.
He shuddered under him, an open mouthed hitch of his breath. ]
Show it to me, Vergilius. Show me all of you, then.
[All of him. Will they tear out their hearts, offer them up to each other, next? Can they go any deeper? He's told Silco things he hasn't told a single human soul.]
[And he, the fool, still feels like he could trust him with that. Must be the Understanding. That's what you do, to Understand. Put yourself in each other's hands and squeeze until you bleed.]
[He kisses like a dull knife, rough and needy. He moves, now, gathering the other's slender legs in the crook of his arms so that he can properly slot against him. Not into him, but with his weight forward, he now frots against him, the thrust of his hips a rough wave to endure.]
[ Was that what they were still doing? Seeking understanding? They kept asking those questions — they kept sharing those secrets, and Silco covets and hoards them like they are precious gems. He wants Vergilius to do it too, keep the things he tells him close and secret. They're wringing each other out, squeezing to see what blood comes out, like drawing blood from a stone.
But it's precious, isn't it? What little they can squeeze out from one another, because it's rare. From the both of them. He'd not shared some of his either, even from those who deserved to know. Understanding was a word that meant something to them, but maybe they were changing the definition in real time, finding a meaning from it that meant more than just this.
Or maybe it was always going to be more. ]
Ah — [ He breathes against his lips, his legs folded awkwardly as he presses down on him, their bodies are intertwined, the weight of him bearing down is punishing — it feels perfect. ] Consider me educated —
[ He breathes against him, his hips surge up to frot against him in return, he can do nothing but, because how could he not chase this when it feels so right? ]
[Was he doomed from the beginning, he wonders? When he saved him in that alleyway months upon months ago, was this the beginning of the end?]
[It's wrong. It's right. He never found a more perfect hell to drown so pleasantly into. Silco has learned his lesson. He has put him in his place. And he will do so again, and again, and again-]
[His groan almost comes out as a choked sound as he suddenly feels the snap of his arousal hitting his peak. Vergilius shudders head to toe, and he cums between them. It coats them both, strands of it smeared and hot on their skin as he thrusts through it.]
Hagh. Hah. Sil-
[He can't even say his name. He simply moves as solidly as a machine, panting into the other's lips. As if to deliver his own reaction like he put it on a silver platter for Silco to swallow down.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
[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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His eye swivels to look at him, black and unyielding, and his mouth is open, still panting like he's trying to catch his breath. He gasps, when he shifts into him again. As if he could forget his presence.
Would he even want to? ]
Didn't you?
[ He rewarded him, despite everything. Despite the fact that he'd had his blade in his side. How terrible they are, that this is what they see, and they like. That he comes to him, that he shares secrets with him, despite this.
There's a flush across his ears, his mouth parted. His fingers haven't relaxed in the sheets, gripping them for dear life. He's a mess, spread out under him, still trembling from the force of it. He relaxes his fingers, unwinds them, and reaches for him. Thin fingers seek corded muscle, to touch him. Would he let him, now? Or is he still to be punished? ]
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[Did he enjoy it?]
[Silco pulls back to grasp at him. He might allow a second or two of that, but he is running the show, here. He grasps the other's hips so he can pull himself out with a definite slow drag of intent. And then, now freed, he's leaning forward again to reach around the man underneath him to flip him around. Silco's back hits the mattress.]
[Vergilius straddles him, the weight of his hips solidly keeping him where he is. His red eyes shine vividly under his bangs, a smile playing on his lips.]
Do you want me to say yes?
[His punishment continues. Just in a different form this time. Silco can't move his hips up like this. He only can let Vergilius decide what to do.]
[His hand cards through Silco's hair, gently.]
Would you want to hear me say it?
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He should have slid away, like a slippery little eel when he had the chance. Vergilius has him pinned down, and his bulk is large enough that he has nowhere to go, as if he could push him off. As if he would want to. He's trapped, but what a sweet prison it is. His breath picks up — restrained, choked slightly from his weight — a different kind of choking.
His fingers still against his thighs, fingers halfway between scraping and digging in. Vergilius's fingers run through his hair, gentler than they should right now.
He's still being punished; he knows it. He could say no, it would be so easy. So easy. They would both know it's a lie. He's already trapped, and pink already dusts half his face, his ears, his chest. He stares up at him, at the smile on his lips, at his eeys peering at him from behind his bangs. ]
Would you... hold it against me if I did?
[ Would they? Could they? Should they? He was sick of them too, these words that said so little, but they were armor too. Could that be discarded? Maybe not fully, but... ]
Perhaps I only want you to be honest, Vergilius.
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[He won't, of course. He stares down at him, takes it it, burns that lovely flush into his memory.]
[Honesty? Do either of them understand what it means? Do they want to? They hide behind layer, they worry for the consequences. But he doesn't think he has ever let anyone slip in this close. It's so unlike him.]
Fine, then.
[A murmur, as his hand slides down the man's chest, abdomen, groin, slowly, before grasping Silco's cock with a definite hand.]
I'm...enjoying putting you in this position.
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It hurts, it's like fire down his spine, it's too-sweet pain that's too much, and his entire body trembles from the effort of it. His one eye closes from it, but his other, all it can do his stare out, rolled back slightly, can he even see him in this moment? When he grasps him like that?
Does it matter? Does he hate it?
No, like the foot on his chest, he liked it all. The little cruelties, the way he lashed out sometimes, the way his mouth is open, but there's the slightest curl of his lip in the corner — he enjoys it. How could he not? Things like this were just as sure an expression of this shared lust between them, odd as it was, because he wanted to see him contort and writhe for him, didn't he? he wanted to be the one to cause it, just like Silco did. He wanted to fight and gnash up against him just as much as he wanted to feel that strength shudder up against him like he had just moments before.
He'd hurt him. Why wouldn't he hurt back? They were men — they were still monsters.
He was greedy, wasn't he? He wanted it all. It was punishment. It was pleasure. Was any of it supposed to be anything but? Could Silco accept anything less? He would take all of it like this, if the man would find him, hunt him down, and take him after all of that. Wrought iron meeting wrought iron, winding around each other.
Another shudder, his voice more strained than it had any right to be. ]
Oh? Perhaps... I enjoy it too.
[ His fingers on his thighs. They threaten to dig in. How damning, that he enjoys him hovering over him like this. ]
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[A lazy sort of accusation, if it even is one. He almost states it as casual fact, watching the contortion of the other's face with his hand so firmly on his cock. It still is sticky from before, thighs coated in his previous release. He aims to add more to that, though he thinks his alone will be enough to stain him.]
[That being said, he twists his wrist as to hold both of them in the same grip. He is still sensitive himself, hissing as they both touch.]
You want what can hurt you.
[There's a confident stare at the way spider fingers drift over his thighs, daring them to move. To dig in. To hurt.]
[Maybe be wants to be harmed, too.]
Isn't that right....?
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It hurts. It's good. His lips peel back — into a sharp smile. ]
Is that what you think I want?
[ He meets his gaze, watches him stare down at him, and his fingers dig in. Gripping into him, into solid muscle and scars. One of which he'd made himself. He can't break skin like this, but it doesn't seem to matter. He just wants to press in, as if he can dip his fingers into his muscle and flesh and wind his way deeper into him.
Make it so neither one of them can pull away.
Can they? They can't now. ]
I've never wanted anything but. [ He uses the leverage of his hands digging into his thighs to pull himself up, lean forward. Look him in the eye, all lean sinew and bone, his lips curled into the slightest of sharp, knowing smiles. ]
Don't you? [ His fingers tighten into his thighs. ] You wouldn't want me if I couldn't take all of you, would you?
[ Silco may be a mascochist, may enjoy the pain, and hurting; but doesn't he? Doesn't this go both ways? They started out with violence, and blood, and biting each other until they were draining each other dry. It started with stabbings and violence, both external and toward each other. It's more than that now — he has him, doesn't he? — but they are still men masquerading as monsters.
It's always there, that capacity for violence. That's what draws him in, even if it hurts, even when it doesn't. ]
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[If Silco is a masochist, does this mean he's the opposite? Something twinges in his chest at that. It is painful, that deep wound constantly bleeding in his core. He hated the City for its constabt suffering.]
[Is it suffering, when he causes pain to a horrible man like this? Is it suffering when he enjoys it? When punishment is something to cherish?]
[Silco pushes himself forward, grip tightening over his thighs. It makes him murmur, eyes flickering even as he doesn't avert his gaze. Vergilius tilts his head, as if considering.]
...No. I wouldn't.
[Perhaps it is surprising, for a monster to lean forward to kiss the other so lightly. Softly.]
And that means. All of me.
[The good, the bad, the ugly, and the softer man underneath.]
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Maybe that should scare him, with his capacity for violence, with the way anger flickers in his eyes when Silco caught them sometimes, with the way he can reach out and threaten to crush his windpipe, or pull his spine out without breaking a sweat. He knew he could. He knows he can, they aren't empty threats. That danger always makes something in his chest flutter, the promise of potential all it takes to draw his attention.
They're both from violent places. Had violence done to them. Had learned to adapt in the only way they could, by becoming violent in turn. He knows he holds it too, that violence in him. Vergilius though, has proven he can respond in kind. Time, after time, after time.
He wouldn't want him without it, but he also...
He leans down, and brushes lips against his.
It's softer than he expected.
He doesn't mind the good or the bad, or even the ugly. Those are what drew him in, after all. It's the soft man that he sees peeking out that surprises him every time. Not that he has it, oh no, Vergilius has that spot in him, Silco sees it peeking out, like in the way he speaks about those children he cares for, even as he lies to them. No, he's surprised when it's turned on him. He shows it to him. Let's him see it, and it's...
A vulnerability. A weakness. He exposes it to him, and Silco doesn't quite want to pull it to pieces. Does that make him weak in turn? ]
All of you... [ He murmurs, against his lips. He lets go of one of his thighs to reach up, and wind his thin fingers behind his head, brushing at his hair there. His thumb runs against the fine hairs, softer than the other hand that remains pressing into taut muscle. ]
I'll take it. [ Would he do the same in kind? Take everything that he was? Even down to the parts that he knew would — had — made him so easy to discard? ]
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[His grip over both of them, in turn, becomes lighter but still firm. He starts to pump the both of them languidly, almost lazily, like he had to remember that this was a sexual affair. Silco will take it? All of him?]
[It sounds almost too good to be true. Even Silco has his preferences. Surely there is something he would balk at, and already has, before.]
You stabbed me...before. Mm. Was that...acceptance?
[He seeks out his lips again, captures them to suck over the lower lip like savoring a meal. Vergilius wants to have someone take all of him.]
[Does Silco want that, too?]
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They both knew what this was, right? Something both purely sexual, and... then there was the other thing. The Understanding they both sought. The promise they'd made while fighting in a hallway. They were two things, they weren't the same thing — but they were at the same time. He understood the man better, with the way he leaned into his fingers, seeking his touch. The way his neck grows warm under his thin fingers. The way he can't help but scrape his fingernails through the short hairs at the back of his neck. He wants to find all the little ways he reacts. He wants to understand him. All of him. ]
The first time was self-defense. [ He murmurs against his lips. Vergilius will feel the curl of his lips, his fingers seek the spot on his thigh, as if that's his to touch. His mark left on him. ] The second was...
[ A shuddering breath against his lips. It was a test, in a way. A glancing blow from a monster to another.
He wants to take all of him — he wants someone to take all of him, too. The ugly, the things that had driven everyone away when they get too close. ]
The second was... [ A beat, a shuddering sigh against his lips. ] Making sure you would.
[ accept him ]
HIT POST TOO EARLY WAGH
[It is sexual. So many months ago opened up the door - box of things to get excited about. A supple thin waist, slender little legs, little gasps from a hoarse throat. Silco shifts into his hand, and he is proud of the way they both start to harden again in tandem. Silco wasn't exactly some magazine model, but who cares? The City never put so much emphasis on looks, after all. He himself was not someone he would consider a beauty. It's about the way they make each other feel. A thrill under the skin.]
[And then there was.. something else. A fearful thing to look at. The depths of emotion that wanted to be shallow but were anything but. Silco sighs against his lips that the second time was to see if he would accept him. Has he? Would he? Is that proof?]
Ahh.
[A edged little groan at the touch to his thigh - his cock twitches, as if in reply. He's sighing out his words into the other's mouth.]
You don't...need to stab me to get that.
[...Acceptance. Understanding.]
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He'd indulged in his anger, hadn't he? In a way that left Silco breathless and aching and far too sensitive, but still he found himself growing under his attentions, stiff already even though he could barely stand the touch — it aches, it's perfect, it hurts and it feels good — and maybe it's because they promised something in that van, dancing around each other and saying all those words that seemed to cordon off what they weren't saying. Like they were trapping it, making the shape of it, without actually saying it.
His mouth opens, and a soft groan echoes his against his lips.
How does he even explain it? That it wouldn't be the first time, all that he expects. Is used to. He hoped he wouldn't, but he knew — it was better if he knew now, if he would find a way to disentangle the two of them. If he hurt — and he knew he would, he always does — would that turn him away? Have him find some way to extricate the two of them, before he hurt him again.
His thumb glanced his thigh, rubbing against it. That old wound, scarred now. Almost... gentle. He had him. He might not think himself a beauty, but Silco... found the shape of him pleasing — every scarred surface, the spaces where he wasn't — and his eyes that he so desperately coveted to look at. ]
Hm. [ His body shudders under his, and he brushes chipped teeth against his lips, biting him there, not gentle, but not like he was trying to tear him limb from limb. ]
We are not soft men, Vergilius. [ He says against his lips. ] I need you to look at me and understand all of me. The parts that cut. The parts that are not palatable.
[ The ones that would make others leave. Even the strongest people he knew. He had to know. He still doesn't know, tentatively looking at this thing from the side, trying not to look at it. He can't bear looking at it, that sick paranoia that it would be gone, if he did. ]
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The good and the bad.
[He murmurs. Of course, he is the worst of all. Silco must be a saint compared to him, in the long run. They both are going to hell. He's deeper. And so, should he judge the man for his vices? Find displeasure in his choices? He almost still feels the man's teeth against his throat again all those months ago, changing him into something beyond humanity.]
[His hand might still be grasping them, but he's starting to rock a little, a little waver of the hips back and forth as to build up the uncomfortable friction. They are not soft men. They deserve to suffer. They deserve to dash onto each other like sharp rocks at low tide.]
Hah. [A gasp against Silco's lips - Vergilius feels his skin caked with a thin layer of sweat. His cock throbs, aching, almost a little desperate.] I agreed...to that. The understanding. So I won't back down now. Will you?
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He breathed out a soft huff against him. It's good, it's terrible, it's just like they are, pleasure and pain, hurting while they sought to eke out whatever pleasure they could from one another. Is this anything but what they are? His legs spread, his own hips lift to meet his, as if he can do nothing but meet him in this. They both want it, don't they? All of it. ]
Do I look like I'm backing down?
[ He asks, his lips move against his, a sharp scrape of his teeth, his fingers dig in. Silco was a possessive, jealous little creature at his core. Digging in, his fingers try to hold his thighs, as if...
As if he's still afraid he'll slip free of his grasp.
He shuddered under him, an open mouthed hitch of his breath. ]
Show it to me, Vergilius. Show me all of you, then.
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[And he, the fool, still feels like he could trust him with that. Must be the Understanding. That's what you do, to Understand. Put yourself in each other's hands and squeeze until you bleed.]
[He kisses like a dull knife, rough and needy. He moves, now, gathering the other's slender legs in the crook of his arms so that he can properly slot against him. Not into him, but with his weight forward, he now frots against him, the thrust of his hips a rough wave to endure.]
Hah. Ah. I hope you learned...your lesson.
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But it's precious, isn't it? What little they can squeeze out from one another, because it's rare. From the both of them. He'd not shared some of his either, even from those who deserved to know. Understanding was a word that meant something to them, but maybe they were changing the definition in real time, finding a meaning from it that meant more than just this.
Or maybe it was always going to be more. ]
Ah — [ He breathes against his lips, his legs folded awkwardly as he presses down on him, their bodies are intertwined, the weight of him bearing down is punishing — it feels perfect. ] Consider me educated —
[ He breathes against him, his hips surge up to frot against him in return, he can do nothing but, because how could he not chase this when it feels so right? ]
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[It's wrong. It's right. He never found a more perfect hell to drown so pleasantly into. Silco has learned his lesson. He has put him in his place. And he will do so again, and again, and again-]
[His groan almost comes out as a choked sound as he suddenly feels the snap of his arousal hitting his peak. Vergilius shudders head to toe, and he cums between them. It coats them both, strands of it smeared and hot on their skin as he thrusts through it.]
Hagh. Hah. Sil-
[He can't even say his name. He simply moves as solidly as a machine, panting into the other's lips. As if to deliver his own reaction like he put it on a silver platter for Silco to swallow down.]
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