[He could list a million ways. Any good killer could. But here's a way that feels like its worming beneath both of their skins - an iron rope hitched to each other's bodies, tugging and pulling with every shift in this impossible struggle. Vergilius gains power. Then Silco, with his need for dominance, gains power. But who will win? Is there a point to winning? Is it too simple to think that anyone could win, here?]
[There's still a part of Vergilius who wants to reach down to pull Silco out of the muck. He, too, despite all he is, should deserve to live in a world where he could be at peace, and that hunger could be once and finally sated. But now, a very different part emerges. Something pettier, more vicious than he gives himself credit for. Silco gasps underneath him, a lovely little sound, and the thought is realized - he wants loss of control. He wants Silco to whine and howl and beg. It's also what he deserves, doesn't he? For all he's done? For what he did to him?]
[More, more, more. Silco's spindly fingers twist over his thighs, thick with muscle, and he's bowing to the order of them. He rocks into that grip, slowly but surely, as if to drive him down into the depths. His injury smarts, and his clothes are wet with blood, but who cares? His own breath comes ragged as his hands make more work of this pathetic clothing, tearing it this way and that. His scarred hands make a journey down below, cascading over this raw frame before he pushes the man's shoulders further back into the chair so he's practically enveloping him.]
[A bite of a kiss to his lips. And another. Even as the rhythm continues, the threat remains strong.]
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[He could list a million ways. Any good killer could. But here's a way that feels like its worming beneath both of their skins - an iron rope hitched to each other's bodies, tugging and pulling with every shift in this impossible struggle. Vergilius gains power. Then Silco, with his need for dominance, gains power. But who will win? Is there a point to winning? Is it too simple to think that anyone could win, here?]
[There's still a part of Vergilius who wants to reach down to pull Silco out of the muck. He, too, despite all he is, should deserve to live in a world where he could be at peace, and that hunger could be once and finally sated. But now, a very different part emerges. Something pettier, more vicious than he gives himself credit for. Silco gasps underneath him, a lovely little sound, and the thought is realized - he wants loss of control. He wants Silco to whine and howl and beg. It's also what he deserves, doesn't he? For all he's done? For what he did to him?]
[More, more, more. Silco's spindly fingers twist over his thighs, thick with muscle, and he's bowing to the order of them. He rocks into that grip, slowly but surely, as if to drive him down into the depths. His injury smarts, and his clothes are wet with blood, but who cares? His own breath comes ragged as his hands make more work of this pathetic clothing, tearing it this way and that. His scarred hands make a journey down below, cascading over this raw frame before he pushes the man's shoulders further back into the chair so he's practically enveloping him.]
[A bite of a kiss to his lips. And another. Even as the rhythm continues, the threat remains strong.]
[There's no escape.]