[Of course Silco is sharp. Of course there's no real warmth to find here. There's no comfort. It's akin to taking thorns to swallow inside of him, hoping to bleed internally.]
[It's what I deserve. For my hypocrisy. For my deception.]
[That familiar voice stands the test of time. Vergilius feels the man's mouth dig in as if its always belonged at his wrist, and a low noise vibrates out of his chest. Maybe it's a groan. Maybe it's the sound of a dog whose been cowed.]
[Yes, of course, the anger is there, and even though he's been leashed like this, this feral dog still has some bite. He will chew on the hand that feeds, and petty, spiteful emotion makes him lower his head. He sucks another bruise into the bouquet of the others, before he bites into...well, at least not his carotid, but its close. Too close.]
[He gasps at the flow of blood, but its such a contrast to the hands below - they hold each other tightly, but the way his thumb strokes upward is almost, vaguely, tender.]
no subject
[It's what I deserve. For my hypocrisy. For my deception.]
[That familiar voice stands the test of time. Vergilius feels the man's mouth dig in as if its always belonged at his wrist, and a low noise vibrates out of his chest. Maybe it's a groan. Maybe it's the sound of a dog whose been cowed.]
[Yes, of course, the anger is there, and even though he's been leashed like this, this feral dog still has some bite. He will chew on the hand that feeds, and petty, spiteful emotion makes him lower his head. He sucks another bruise into the bouquet of the others, before he bites into...well, at least not his carotid, but its close. Too close.]
[He gasps at the flow of blood, but its such a contrast to the hands below - they hold each other tightly, but the way his thumb strokes upward is almost, vaguely, tender.]