[Silco is exposed as he pulls the buttons open. Silco guards everything about himself as if he runs his own prison. His body isn't something that sees the light of day, held in pristine little vests and collared shirts and whatnot. He always did dress nicely, as much of a vicious little thing as he is. Vergilius never cared too much for what he wore.]
[Here, he gets to see the thin little curves, the edges of ribs, the sallow skin he's put his mouth to again and again. He almost feels his own mouth well up with saliva, like a dog finding a worried bone.]
[He moves backwards, guided by Silco. And the man makes his intentions known, slender little fingers pushing down to brush over the heat of his groin. It takes so little to get him going. How base of him. One day he might simply see the man and fall to his desires in a second.]
...A good plan.
[He's sitting back on this...atrocious excuse for a bed. Ugh. Vergilius does his best to ignore it.]
[ It's always in private, hidden away, where Vergilius can pull him open, exposing him bit by bit. He doesn't let anyone else see it, always put together, pristine and tight and sharp. Ready to cut like a blade, but he'll be exposed here. Just for him.
His fingers drift against his groin, the feeling of him through the cloth was enticing, the way he swelled so readily, for him. Because he'd touched him. His lips curled into a sharp little thing, one of those smiles that spoke to his greed — how much he wanted to keep him here with him — and so he would.
His thumb rubbed against it, rolling along the head through cloth. ]
Eager, are we? [ His tone is teasing, but he didn't mind starting — he wanted to start too — he planted his knee between his legs, leaning forward to press his lips and scrape his teeth against his jawline. Sharp little bites, like he's leaving a trail, taking his time. His fingers drift up, eager to expose him too, shuck his shirt and expose the muscles and scars that he knows so well by now, that he seeks out like he's a starving man.
Hm. I think I just - ah - need a distraction from the garish surroundings. Mmhm.
[Obviously that was the reason. Only that, and not needing Silco, not needing to douse himself in hell and heaven, pain and pleasure. His selfish side was happy. His side which wanted pain was, too. Silco has found his niche, a sharp little dagger to burrow under his ribcage, and Vergilius, despite everything, let him.]
[The man moves forward, slots in and pulls off his shirt to leave him bare. The expanse of scarred tissue, rolling muscle, the bulk of surgically wrought flesh now is for Silco to explore again as much as he wishes. Vergilius hisses and sighs with the bites, craning his neck to allow more.]
[His own hands slide over Silco to stroke over his sides, slide up his spine to covet what he finds.]
...You look like you're going to eat me alive, you know.
[ Naturally. This is just a distraction. That's all. Nothing more.
Just like the time before had been a distraction, and the time before, and the time before. There were so many excuse they could give, it felt easy, to fall into them, despite the word that Vergilius whispered that felt like it had been seared onto his skin like a brand. No, the excuses were good. They were easy, like a balm on the heat on his skin.
They did nothing, in the end. His fingers are like a harbinger, trailing down against his skin, to let him pick, and scrape, and drag against scars as he wishes. As much as he wants. He's memorized them all by now, but he still traces them, scraping against them like he could peel them open. His mouth follows, teeth and mouth choosing places to bite and leave marks that will fade all too quickly, and he breathes against him, a soft chuckle as he does so, tickling the skin of his shoulder with the rough sandpaper-wrapped laugh. ]
That's somewhat the point.
[ He promises, like a vow, against his skin. His knee does what his fingers can't at the moment, rubbing up against him, offering him that sweet brush of friction. ]
[His mouth feels like its everywhere. Uneven teeth sink into his skin, over and over again. But even when the bites make him sigh and groan, its the little breathless laugh that makes his abdomen pulse with heat and make an overwhelming flush blossom on his face.]
[The knee to his groin doesn't hurt, either.]
You. Already are distracting. Haah.
[And he really doesn't need to do much at all. Silco descends, and his hands follow. He caresses through the man's hair, stroking over the nape of his neck to let scarred tissue linger and pull at his sallow skin.]
Silco's teeth nip sharply into the ridge of his ribs, maybe punishing, maybe something more, like a claiming bite, trying to leave a mark there that will linger longer than the rest. A dull little ache as a reminder of Silco's presence until the next time they could steal away where nobody would find them. (Or so he thought...)
His fingers lead the way; gooseflesh picks up at the back of his neck at the feeling of his fingers there. He doesn't freeze at the feeling, and isn't that damning, that he allows his hands so close to him there.
His fingers dip against the edges of his pants, his mouth follows, more bites and the pressure of his lips and tongue follow, as he slips lower, lower. Replaces his knee with his mouth, another bite through cloth along the line of him, teasing this time. He tipped his head, to look up at him with that pitch eye. ]
Far be it from me to disappoint.
[ Clever fingers start making their quick work on his pants. He was just as eager as he was, after all. ]
[Comes the sound from his throat at that bite, a bitten back groan that still vibrates through him. He does wish it left a mark. Silco has left so many. He might as leave another. Even now, he still has the scar where he was stabbed. Both times.]
[Silco moves lower, and lower, and now his mouth finds the heated swell of his groin. This next sound comes a little louder, complete with a scrape of his nails over his scalp. Cheeky one. What a tease.]
Don't stop now.
[Even as Silco continues to move - he finally lets his breath shift with a relieved sigh as the pressure starts to abate, a slight stain already through the fabric. Of course, he's already worked up. He wants to be more so, desperate for heat.]
I think you'll like what you'll find.
[A tease of his own, even as he tickles behind an ear, affectionate.]
[ As if what's inside is a surprise he hasn't acquainted himself with before.
No, he already knows what he'll find, and that it's... pleasing to him. His fingers peel him out, an eye dipped to eye the blossoming stain already left behind, before his lips curl into a sharp little smile, he tipped his eyes upward to eye him from his position between his legs.
Kneeled down between his legs, his thin fingers tug him free, wrapping around the base to stroke him, almost lewdly, given that he was already down there, a teasing, sharp little thing on his lips while he did so. ]
Hm... [ A squeeze as he drug his fingers down, tightening around the base of him. As if he were evaluating it. Testing it out. ] You think so, do you?
[ He does, his tone says, even though he plays coy. As if he hadn't held him in hand before, as if he wasn't coming back, or pulling him in, or coveting him. As if they hadn't just whispered a word that shouldn't be shared between monsters like this, but they'd done it anyway. He leaned forward, scraping uneven teeth, and tongue against the tip of him, tasting him, before he sunk down, taking more of him in, his stray hand curling around his thigh, as if he could hold him there. ]
[How many times has Silco seen this? Held him, carressed him, coveted him, sunk down on him? More times than he would have ever expected. One would think that they, at their age, would have their fill after a handful of trysts. It isn't as if there will be something drastically new, every time they drag each other to a bed or otherwise.]
[But they defy explanation. They do this again, and again, and again. And it never gets boring, never gets tiring. He still feels turned on by the mere stroke of his hands as he did months ago. He still dreams of his restless hands over the man's body, even outside their meetings. He still murmurs Silco's name when he wakes up swollen and aching and needy. Addiction. It must be.]
[Does Silco feel the same? He must. He would be stupid to assume that this is all simply accidental or happenstance. They choose to occupy each other's spaces. They want to strip each other bare, and be alright with another man's hands touching places no one else ever has.]
[Strange for a bodyguard and employer. But par for the course for lovers.]
[Silco strokes him and squeezes, making little lightening shocks spit down his lower back, before he makes his move. There is already a moan in his mouth, but it finally releases when the other's mouth swallows him down. Vergilius hisses, fingers splaying on his head to keep him in place.]
[ How could this be anything other than intentional? Silco recognizes it too, that all of this still lights something like fire into his veins, spurring him on, drawing him near him. There's less hesitation, less dancing around the subject like they're still hesitant, little monsters feeling each other out. The tentative hesitation is gone, leaving this roaring blaze that seems to pick up anytime they're in the same room.
If he was honest with himself, it was not just when they were alone together. Silco's eyes often found his across a room now, he couldn't help it, a barely restrained hunger every time he did so. He always sought him out, could do nothing butm and it's worse now, isn't it? Even worse than in those in-between days, when they'd still been dancing back and forth, when he'd woken up sweating and with his name on his lips. How is it worse? He used to rarely think about it, dream about it — but he finds that it's on his mind more — he's on his mind more — how shameful.
He wants more of him, always more. More than any of the other labels, nobody would seek out someone they were merely blowing off steam with like Silco does, like Vergilius does. Neither man is the type as it is, were they? Silco was so fearful, paranoid, and cautious, as if anyone getting even remotely close is a death sentence, yet he let him in. Held his hand all those months ago, but had he realized it would... escalate like so? He'd let him slip past the armor that one time, and now it feels like he's lodged in there, and can't so easily tug away from him. Even if he wanted him to.
He doesn't want him to.
How base of him.
How base of him to hum against his cock, taking him all the way down, breathing through his nose, filled with the smell of him, the taste of him, the room could be ten times more garish and it wouldn't matter, not with him filling all of his senses. All he can see is the shape of him from this angle, all he hears is his voice, feels is his hand against his head, the weight of him in his mouth. His words, praise like that should mean little, but he feels a blossom of heat at the back of his neck, across the tips of his ears, and he takes more of him in, sinking down, before he drew back up only slightly as if to fight against his hand; but they both knew that it was always a push, and a pull with them. When had it been anything else? ]
[It's become like breathing. The danger of being left too long in each other's company would, not even could, lead to a tryst like this. Stripped bare, as easy as anything. There's a danger to it they both were aware of from the beginning. And yet they proceeded forward anyways. They winded into each other's souls even tighter. As if in very defiance of their paranoia and worry for betrayal and bad endings.]
[Silco pulls back ever slightly, but he knows he would never detach himself completely. He encourages him, puts pressure on his fingertips as he leans his head down. His other hand strokes lightly over his ear.]
Now, now. Keep going.
[Both to tease and to add more incentive. His voice is more hoarse than usual, edged with a heated groan. All he can focus on is Silco. Nothing else exists right now.]
You...look like you were made to swallow me down. Hah. How perfect.
[What a beautiful flush the man has. He needs more of it.]
[ He presses him back down, his fingers at the back of his head, the others stroking against his ear, already heated and flushed under his fingers, moreso when he pushes him down. Silco's skin is already pale, his ears already stick out slightly, and tinged pink like they are, they stand out even more. Just for him, just from a little touch like that. It doesn't stop there, either, down the back of his neck and across his pale shoulders, a flush of heat that he can't even hide.
Not that he would. There was something freeing about being exposed, about having Vergilius see him, and decide that he liked the shape of him. It was dangerous too — so dangerous — they were both aware of the dangers. They did it anyway. He still sunk down on him, almost obediently, anyway.
He took him in, all the way down, despite the way it burned at the back of his throat, he breathed through his nose, and made a pleased hum at the back of his throat, at the sound of him encouraging him on, praising him. He shouldn't enjoy it that much — this much — but he does. The sound of him, the feel of him, the way he, too, allows him in. There is a vulnerability in this, a weakness, but it hardly... feels weak at all. Still, they twine together, as if there is no other direction to go. Could they go the other direction now? Would he even consider it?
Of course not.
He wants more of him, like a greedy maw, he wants more, more, more of him. He swallows him down, his throat tightening around him, another greedy, pleased groan slipping free to rumble all around him. The slightest pressure of suction, the barest of bobs, he doesn't dare move too far off of him, though he still pushes up against his fingers, not obstinately, but to give him the option to push down, to add friction and movement.
His fingers tighten against his thighs, but his thumb trails against the side of his trousers, a traitor in how it drags against it, a slow, gentle drag against it. Like he is the most precious thing in his hoard, to be kept treasured and close. ]
[This really is his way of coveting him. Of showing how much he...is treasured. The very thought makes his heart flip in his chest, a funny little feeling that causes his own ears to brighten into a vivid red. Silco, too, is colored red, with the wonderful flush across neck and shoulders. He's never been that especially attached to his own Color, but...]
[It paints across the man's sallow skin in ways that feel like he needs to burn it in the back of his mind. This, above all, is a sight worth savoring.]
[It is a feeling worth savoring, too, as he descends and takes so much of him. Vergilius almost chokes on his own sounds, a cracked moan rumbling through him. The man's fingers, his mouth, those vivid eyes - he honestly doesn't know how to focus on all at once. It's overwhelming.]
[Silco's mouth makes him feel like he's drowning. He's desperate to pull the man in with him.]
Shit.
[His fingers slide through his hair, adjust over the curve of his skull, and bid him push down. He releases when he sinks further in, before he repeats the process when Silco pulls away. Again and again.]
You. Belong here.
[He says, voice choked up. Here, between his legs. Here, with his hands on him like this.]
[Here, in the grip he has worked so hard to make to kill so many on his own. And here, he holds a crimelord like he's a precious jewel.]
[ Once — it felt so long ago, but it was hardly long at all — he'd asked him if he wanted to belong to someone. Vergilius had told him no, that it wasn't for him, that he couldn't, that his karma would pull him under. Now, he uses the word belong so readily; he says here, but Silco thinks there's something else here. It isn't simply here in this room, or even between his legs, scraping chipped teeth against his shaft and enjoying the way he trembled under his lips.
No, there's more than that, isn't it?
He can't respond without him sliding all the way out, and Silco doesn't dare pull away, not with him all the way down his throat, or the way his thighs feel under his fingers. Solid, warm, corded muscle that makes a flush of heat plunge down to his groin at the thought of every time he'd seen — experienced — those thighs working.
He can't respond, but maybe that flush is redder, his skin is so pale, and sallow, the flush is tinged red, darker around the base of his skull. He tips his head, not to get away, but to tip his head just so, with him all the way in his mouth, to look up at him with that pitch black eye, to watch him, as he pulls back, a lewd little motion, before he sinks back down.
He can feel it too, the way he holds him like he is... important. Reverent. His thumb still strokes against his thigh — he wishes he'd thought to tug his pants off, instead of greedily rushing for his cock — but he can do no more than sink back down, distracted away from everything that the room was. All of his focus was here. On him, on the way he held him like he's actually important, more than just the trencher he's used to people seeing. He breathes through his nose, sinks all the way down, and swallows, tightening around him. As if he could suck more of him down, maybe he wants to see him lose a little bit more of that control, feel him thrust into his throat.
Does he know what this does to him? How tight, and hot he feels, shivers that run down from the tips of his ears down his back, but he can't let go to even try to relieve the pressure, he's too focused on him, on drawing out that choked sound of his voice again. The way it sings in his ears, makes him feel —— something, he doesn't let it linger, he just wants to pursue it. Hear it again. Over and over again.
How greedy of him. He wants to keep being greedy. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shoots them
[Here, he gets to see the thin little curves, the edges of ribs, the sallow skin he's put his mouth to again and again. He almost feels his own mouth well up with saliva, like a dog finding a worried bone.]
[He moves backwards, guided by Silco. And the man makes his intentions known, slender little fingers pushing down to brush over the heat of his groin. It takes so little to get him going. How base of him. One day he might simply see the man and fall to his desires in a second.]
...A good plan.
[He's sitting back on this...atrocious excuse for a bed. Ugh. Vergilius does his best to ignore it.]
Come on. Come here.
no subject
His fingers drift against his groin, the feeling of him through the cloth was enticing, the way he swelled so readily, for him. Because he'd touched him. His lips curled into a sharp little thing, one of those smiles that spoke to his greed — how much he wanted to keep him here with him — and so he would.
His thumb rubbed against it, rolling along the head through cloth. ]
Eager, are we? [ His tone is teasing, but he didn't mind starting — he wanted to start too — he planted his knee between his legs, leaning forward to press his lips and scrape his teeth against his jawline. Sharp little bites, like he's leaving a trail, taking his time. His fingers drift up, eager to expose him too, shuck his shirt and expose the muscles and scars that he knows so well by now, that he seeks out like he's a starving man.
All his. ]
no subject
[Obviously that was the reason. Only that, and not needing Silco, not needing to douse himself in hell and heaven, pain and pleasure. His selfish side was happy. His side which wanted pain was, too. Silco has found his niche, a sharp little dagger to burrow under his ribcage, and Vergilius, despite everything, let him.]
[The man moves forward, slots in and pulls off his shirt to leave him bare. The expanse of scarred tissue, rolling muscle, the bulk of surgically wrought flesh now is for Silco to explore again as much as he wishes. Vergilius hisses and sighs with the bites, craning his neck to allow more.]
[His own hands slide over Silco to stroke over his sides, slide up his spine to covet what he finds.]
...You look like you're going to eat me alive, you know.
no subject
Just like the time before had been a distraction, and the time before, and the time before. There were so many excuse they could give, it felt easy, to fall into them, despite the word that Vergilius whispered that felt like it had been seared onto his skin like a brand. No, the excuses were good. They were easy, like a balm on the heat on his skin.
They did nothing, in the end. His fingers are like a harbinger, trailing down against his skin, to let him pick, and scrape, and drag against scars as he wishes. As much as he wants. He's memorized them all by now, but he still traces them, scraping against them like he could peel them open. His mouth follows, teeth and mouth choosing places to bite and leave marks that will fade all too quickly, and he breathes against him, a soft chuckle as he does so, tickling the skin of his shoulder with the rough sandpaper-wrapped laugh. ]
That's somewhat the point.
[ He promises, like a vow, against his skin. His knee does what his fingers can't at the moment, rubbing up against him, offering him that sweet brush of friction. ]
I'll make sure to distract you plenty.
no subject
[The knee to his groin doesn't hurt, either.]
You. Already are distracting. Haah.
[And he really doesn't need to do much at all. Silco descends, and his hands follow. He caresses through the man's hair, stroking over the nape of his neck to let scarred tissue linger and pull at his sallow skin.]
[His voice sounds softer than he means it to.]
I could ask for. No better.
no subject
Silco's teeth nip sharply into the ridge of his ribs, maybe punishing, maybe something more, like a claiming bite, trying to leave a mark there that will linger longer than the rest. A dull little ache as a reminder of Silco's presence until the next time they could steal away where nobody would find them. (Or so he thought...)
His fingers lead the way; gooseflesh picks up at the back of his neck at the feeling of his fingers there. He doesn't freeze at the feeling, and isn't that damning, that he allows his hands so close to him there.
His fingers dip against the edges of his pants, his mouth follows, more bites and the pressure of his lips and tongue follow, as he slips lower, lower. Replaces his knee with his mouth, another bite through cloth along the line of him, teasing this time. He tipped his head, to look up at him with that pitch eye. ]
Far be it from me to disappoint.
[ Clever fingers start making their quick work on his pants. He was just as eager as he was, after all. ]
no subject
[Comes the sound from his throat at that bite, a bitten back groan that still vibrates through him. He does wish it left a mark. Silco has left so many. He might as leave another. Even now, he still has the scar where he was stabbed. Both times.]
[Silco moves lower, and lower, and now his mouth finds the heated swell of his groin. This next sound comes a little louder, complete with a scrape of his nails over his scalp. Cheeky one. What a tease.]
Don't stop now.
[Even as Silco continues to move - he finally lets his breath shift with a relieved sigh as the pressure starts to abate, a slight stain already through the fabric. Of course, he's already worked up. He wants to be more so, desperate for heat.]
I think you'll like what you'll find.
[A tease of his own, even as he tickles behind an ear, affectionate.]
no subject
No, he already knows what he'll find, and that it's... pleasing to him. His fingers peel him out, an eye dipped to eye the blossoming stain already left behind, before his lips curl into a sharp little smile, he tipped his eyes upward to eye him from his position between his legs.
Kneeled down between his legs, his thin fingers tug him free, wrapping around the base to stroke him, almost lewdly, given that he was already down there, a teasing, sharp little thing on his lips while he did so. ]
Hm... [ A squeeze as he drug his fingers down, tightening around the base of him. As if he were evaluating it. Testing it out. ] You think so, do you?
[ He does, his tone says, even though he plays coy. As if he hadn't held him in hand before, as if he wasn't coming back, or pulling him in, or coveting him. As if they hadn't just whispered a word that shouldn't be shared between monsters like this, but they'd done it anyway. He leaned forward, scraping uneven teeth, and tongue against the tip of him, tasting him, before he sunk down, taking more of him in, his stray hand curling around his thigh, as if he could hold him there. ]
no subject
[How many times has Silco seen this? Held him, carressed him, coveted him, sunk down on him? More times than he would have ever expected. One would think that they, at their age, would have their fill after a handful of trysts. It isn't as if there will be something drastically new, every time they drag each other to a bed or otherwise.]
[But they defy explanation. They do this again, and again, and again. And it never gets boring, never gets tiring. He still feels turned on by the mere stroke of his hands as he did months ago. He still dreams of his restless hands over the man's body, even outside their meetings. He still murmurs Silco's name when he wakes up swollen and aching and needy. Addiction. It must be.]
[Does Silco feel the same? He must. He would be stupid to assume that this is all simply accidental or happenstance. They choose to occupy each other's spaces. They want to strip each other bare, and be alright with another man's hands touching places no one else ever has.]
[Strange for a bodyguard and employer. But par for the course for lovers.]
[Silco strokes him and squeezes, making little lightening shocks spit down his lower back, before he makes his move. There is already a moan in his mouth, but it finally releases when the other's mouth swallows him down. Vergilius hisses, fingers splaying on his head to keep him in place.]
Damn. That's good-
no subject
If he was honest with himself, it was not just when they were alone together. Silco's eyes often found his across a room now, he couldn't help it, a barely restrained hunger every time he did so. He always sought him out, could do nothing butm and it's worse now, isn't it? Even worse than in those in-between days, when they'd still been dancing back and forth, when he'd woken up sweating and with his name on his lips. How is it worse? He used to rarely think about it, dream about it — but he finds that it's on his mind more — he's on his mind more — how shameful.
He wants more of him, always more. More than any of the other labels, nobody would seek out someone they were merely blowing off steam with like Silco does, like Vergilius does. Neither man is the type as it is, were they? Silco was so fearful, paranoid, and cautious, as if anyone getting even remotely close is a death sentence, yet he let him in. Held his hand all those months ago, but had he realized it would... escalate like so? He'd let him slip past the armor that one time, and now it feels like he's lodged in there, and can't so easily tug away from him. Even if he wanted him to.
He doesn't want him to.
How base of him.
How base of him to hum against his cock, taking him all the way down, breathing through his nose, filled with the smell of him, the taste of him, the room could be ten times more garish and it wouldn't matter, not with him filling all of his senses. All he can see is the shape of him from this angle, all he hears is his voice, feels is his hand against his head, the weight of him in his mouth. His words, praise like that should mean little, but he feels a blossom of heat at the back of his neck, across the tips of his ears, and he takes more of him in, sinking down, before he drew back up only slightly as if to fight against his hand; but they both knew that it was always a push, and a pull with them. When had it been anything else? ]
no subject
[Silco pulls back ever slightly, but he knows he would never detach himself completely. He encourages him, puts pressure on his fingertips as he leans his head down. His other hand strokes lightly over his ear.]
Now, now. Keep going.
[Both to tease and to add more incentive. His voice is more hoarse than usual, edged with a heated groan. All he can focus on is Silco. Nothing else exists right now.]
You...look like you were made to swallow me down. Hah. How perfect.
[What a beautiful flush the man has. He needs more of it.]
no subject
Not that he would. There was something freeing about being exposed, about having Vergilius see him, and decide that he liked the shape of him. It was dangerous too — so dangerous — they were both aware of the dangers. They did it anyway. He still sunk down on him, almost obediently, anyway.
He took him in, all the way down, despite the way it burned at the back of his throat, he breathed through his nose, and made a pleased hum at the back of his throat, at the sound of him encouraging him on, praising him. He shouldn't enjoy it that much — this much — but he does. The sound of him, the feel of him, the way he, too, allows him in. There is a vulnerability in this, a weakness, but it hardly... feels weak at all. Still, they twine together, as if there is no other direction to go. Could they go the other direction now? Would he even consider it?
Of course not.
He wants more of him, like a greedy maw, he wants more, more, more of him. He swallows him down, his throat tightening around him, another greedy, pleased groan slipping free to rumble all around him. The slightest pressure of suction, the barest of bobs, he doesn't dare move too far off of him, though he still pushes up against his fingers, not obstinately, but to give him the option to push down, to add friction and movement.
His fingers tighten against his thighs, but his thumb trails against the side of his trousers, a traitor in how it drags against it, a slow, gentle drag against it. Like he is the most precious thing in his hoard, to be kept treasured and close. ]
no subject
[It paints across the man's sallow skin in ways that feel like he needs to burn it in the back of his mind. This, above all, is a sight worth savoring.]
[It is a feeling worth savoring, too, as he descends and takes so much of him. Vergilius almost chokes on his own sounds, a cracked moan rumbling through him. The man's fingers, his mouth, those vivid eyes - he honestly doesn't know how to focus on all at once. It's overwhelming.]
[Silco's mouth makes him feel like he's drowning. He's desperate to pull the man in with him.]
Shit.
[His fingers slide through his hair, adjust over the curve of his skull, and bid him push down. He releases when he sinks further in, before he repeats the process when Silco pulls away. Again and again.]
You. Belong here.
[He says, voice choked up. Here, between his legs. Here, with his hands on him like this.]
[Here, in the grip he has worked so hard to make to kill so many on his own. And here, he holds a crimelord like he's a precious jewel.]
[What a world.]
no subject
No, there's more than that, isn't it?
He can't respond without him sliding all the way out, and Silco doesn't dare pull away, not with him all the way down his throat, or the way his thighs feel under his fingers. Solid, warm, corded muscle that makes a flush of heat plunge down to his groin at the thought of every time he'd seen — experienced — those thighs working.
He can't respond, but maybe that flush is redder, his skin is so pale, and sallow, the flush is tinged red, darker around the base of his skull. He tips his head, not to get away, but to tip his head just so, with him all the way in his mouth, to look up at him with that pitch black eye, to watch him, as he pulls back, a lewd little motion, before he sinks back down.
He can feel it too, the way he holds him like he is... important. Reverent. His thumb still strokes against his thigh — he wishes he'd thought to tug his pants off, instead of greedily rushing for his cock — but he can do no more than sink back down, distracted away from everything that the room was. All of his focus was here. On him, on the way he held him like he's actually important, more than just the trencher he's used to people seeing. He breathes through his nose, sinks all the way down, and swallows, tightening around him. As if he could suck more of him down, maybe he wants to see him lose a little bit more of that control, feel him thrust into his throat.
Does he know what this does to him? How tight, and hot he feels, shivers that run down from the tips of his ears down his back, but he can't let go to even try to relieve the pressure, he's too focused on him, on drawing out that choked sound of his voice again. The way it sings in his ears, makes him feel —— something, he doesn't let it linger, he just wants to pursue it. Hear it again. Over and over again.
How greedy of him. He wants to keep being greedy. ]