[So Silco unlocked the secret here. He can have his beautiful monster. He has it here and now, and its a beast that is currently taking a little too much pleasure in rocking so decisively into his lap. Silco's fingers find his wound, and the pain lances like a whip into flesh, but it only seems to spur him onwards with a little hiss and a groan.]
[His own scars are testament. He has received all the pain he could bear, and not a single thing has been able to break him.]
[Really, all it has is just made him worse.]
[Silco's hands move and tear over sinewy old skin. More attempts to hurt, to gain some control over what he wanted all along. Be careful what you wish for. He grins a little, finding it somehow funny in the heat and sound of this friction. Oh, he's hungry. This doesn't feel like its enough.]
[Will it ever be? Or is it too late, now?]
[He's sucking on the other's jaw now as he abandons his kisses for this short moment so he can growl against this ravaged skin. The man's sweat is mixing in with the metal smell of the blood already spilled.]
You asked for this. [One of his hands drops down between them, intentionally kneading down over Silco's groin as if to rudely punctuate his words.] I really should take you to the bed and make you see stars. Haaa. It might do you some good.
He doesn't even get to the point where the words can form, in its place is another of those gasps, like it's yanked out of his throat before anything else escapes. Another little crack in that armor that is his control, but he swallows it back with tight-fisted grip, his fingers seeking weak spots that don't exist. There are no injuries to poke and prod at, more like dull scratches against his skin.
He'd invited him in, hadn't he? Asked him to hurry up? Could he say that he wasn't dancing with the monster under his skin, if he hadn't given as much as he'd gotten? Crushed up against the chair, he hadn't stopped him, when he bit down and ripped his shirt to tatters. Could he say that he hadn't asked for it when he was sprawled beneath him biting β kissing? β him back, and threatening to sink his teeth into his lip?
It was too late well before this, wasn't it? ]
Should?
[ He reached up to thread his fingers through that fringe of hair again, before he tugged it back forcefully to look him in the eyes. It gives him a good look at Silco, with his scar exposed and stringy, his lips bitten, his normally too-pale skin flushed. If he has any control left, it's hanging on by a thread. ]
You didn't strike me as the type to be all talk, are you?
closing my damn eyes. Anyways. here be nsfw and yaoi
[He does it again. Pull the hair back, yank it like a leash, force his gaze out in the open. There are not many who can meet it. But he doesn't think he's ever met someone like Silco before, who taunts him, defies him at every turn. His grip, a leash, his gaze, a way to control.]
[He doesn't want to be controlled. He wants to be controlled. How can it be, this paradox of his? He wants to be hated and he wants to be loved, he wants to destroy it all and he wants to be destroyed. All these years, he has kept the balance inside his wretched heart in check. It was easy to do in the City.]
[But Silco comes in, falls into his life, and that paradox reaches out with hungry arms to envelope him into the heart of this chaotic heart.]
[What a lovely flush. He memorizes it - a part of him realizes he was disappointed before, when Silco had turned him into a vampire, that he wondered if Silco enjoyed it to his core. Not simply experiencing victory, but pleasure.]
[His mouth shifts up, bloodied, into a smirk. And instantly, he's pulling back, slipping out of the man's lap - and he doesn't even give a second to breathe before he's pulling Silco up by the collar like he's a stuffed toy. He lifts him over as easy as anything, tossing him onto the bed before crawling in on top of him with vivid eyes and a mouth wanting to tear and kiss. Hands find the edge of the other's pants before yanking the belt off, tossing it against the wall, and pulling it all down up and over his knees.]
[Another kiss for you, Silco. But there's a hand to dive down between his legs as well to fondle over him before gripping him tight, solidly giving it a solid pump.]
[ Oh, for all of his protests that he wasn't at fault, he had enjoyed turning him, reshaping him into something else, leaving a mark on him that wouldn't just disappear or heal away, like he's got claws in him, lacing under the skin like a bitter and burning reminder. A burr stuck under flesh as unpleasant as the man himself.
He doesn't necessarily forget how strong he is; but hoisted in the air it's hard to think about anything but how much stronger he is, and that does something to his brain, makes it stallimg like it's catching on a stray thread and unwinding it, letting it tug free. He can't think of anything but that, up until β
He lands with a soft huff on the bed, uncoordinated and limbs askew. He almost lunges for him, a little bit of that fight still in him, unwilling to let Vergilius get the advantage β but he has it β
Silco's breath hitches against his lips. Legs all wound up in his pants he kicked his leg to get it free, but the effort is stalled by his hand on him, fingers wrapped tight, that strength held back to a solid, slow pump of his hand. His fingers are quick to find advantage, and they're clever things, his fingers, they tug in turn at the collar of his shirt, trying to pull it off β or rip it β it doesn't really matter what as long as it was off.
He thought he might be going mad, a blood haze that pounds in his head, hungry for just a little bit more β maybe everything he could take β if it meant a little bit more of what he saw in him, the man and the monster, that he could draw all of them out and sort through the pieces. Like he could make him break into pieces over him so he could help piece it back. He likes it, the power. Feeling like he has a leash on him that he tugged this way and that. Where he wanted him.
He rolled his hips into his hand, his teeth biting against his lips, another mockery of something that could be tender, but he was all sharp edges, like sleeping with a knife. Then again, he'd never expected anything different from Silco, had he?]
[This is a far cry from the trysts he had with Malkuth - sweet, fun little things, full of smiles and twirled hair and teasing that warmed the cheeks and made the heart tender. Yes, this is nowhere near that - Silco reaches up, tears his blazer off, then his collared shirt which he also helps pull off of himself to reveal the expanse of muscled, scarred skin.]
[This is not a shared warmth between two people. This is a violent affair. A way to bring the other down to their level and use desire to string them up and crucify them to their heart's content. Why, Vergilius, despite his nature, finds pleasure in this. In the way the man's slender legs jerk against him as the fight in him has yet to die down. He will show the slightest amount of mercy to pull the rest of his pants and underwear off to leave him well and enough exposed.]
[And after mercy comes punishment. He dives his tongue past thin lips to tease the other to return the favor, still willing to bite in the midst of this fervor. He won't slack in his job down below, either - as he sighs into this vampire's mouth, his hand pumps as firmly as anything, trying to milk whatever reaction he can out of the man.]
[Silco wants to fight. So does he, in his own way.]
[ No, there's nothing kind, or sweet here. Silco's all sharp edges, as rotted to the core as the river he'd been drowned in. It's an insidious thing, maybe, trying to tug him down into the undertow with him, while his fingers found purchase and dug into healed-over scar lines like they were something he could hold onto, dig into. This is control, and maybe hunger β he feels like he can almost hear the blood rushing between them, open wounds everywhere they've bitten each other, or poked into open wounds β and he wants to pull him down.
His lips part almost automatically, his fangs are a sharp hazard, like everything else about him, and he's quick to drag them against his tongue, or his lips, whatever he can find, leaving a stinging cut against his skin wherever he can find purchase. It's half a kiss, half a biting, stinging response, snapping down against his lips when his hands sink downward, an automatic response that lacks whatever control he's managed to pull from his white knuckled grip on his side.
He fights back, not just biting kisses against his lips and tongue, or the tightly-dug grip against his sides β his legs now freed found place to rest, he pressed a knee against him digging in with just on the side of too much against his groin, pressing just too hard.
It was never going to be gentle, or warm. But there was something honest in that, the both of them were fighting, trying to break each other apart. What would happen if one of them broke?
He hissed out against his lips, that lack of control slipping out, escaping from that iron grip. His voice slipped out with it, soft, barely there, but the room is silent except for their shared breaths. It's hard to miss the edge of a groan into the quiet between them, while they try both try to pull each other apart piece by piece. ]
[No, he would be disappointed if Silco gave it up and laid there pretty. He would feel like a predator who has toyed too much with a mouse that its passed out, and its no longer fun. That notion brings a swell of heat into his ears, suddenly - because that doesn't feel like him. And yet, it does. He's the type of man to beat himself over the back for his sins, and yet...]
[Well, is this a sin? To break down an awful man, get him to experience this deconstruction by his hand? Even his gasps are delicious, the painful press of his knee into his groin betraying some possible leverage. His own arousal strains heavy, still trapped behind fabric, but he ignores the discomfort. He flicks his wrist, and strokes over the head a little more insistently.]
[Silco must fall. He has to go over the edge. He wants to bring him there. See his face, hear his cries of a total loss of inhibition.]
[And so, he encourages - by smiling into the kisses as he takes them one and all. Silco's scar feels rough against his cheeks, and it reminds him of kissing over that beautiful scar in that dark dark hallway.]
...How pretty you are.
[He murmurs - something sincere, but also something to make him act even more than he already is doing. No, a few gasps isn't enough.]
[He's greedy that way, he thinks, as he sucks on the edge of his jawline.]
[ He's already flagging control, it's easy to feel it in his fingers or how clumsily his knee tries to pressure a reaction out of him in turn. As much as he would brag about his careful control over a situation, Vergilius has somehow figured out a way to slip in past those defenses, and pull apart the supports bit by bit, or maybe it was because Silco had tried to get too close, to understand him, and left all the weak spots unattended.
He is so dangerously exposed, naked save for the shreds of his shirt, pressed up against the bed where blood and sweat has already pooled from open exposed wounds, mixing and staining the sheets. His breaths are already harsh, and he feels his smile against his lips, something almost alien to either of them. So were the words he murmured before he returned to his jaw, sending a sharp, surprised shiver down his spine. He almost bites something out β that he doesn't have to just say things β but it devolved into something that's another gasp when his fingers keep moving, a tight grip around him.
He knew he didn't have a chance of holding onto his careful control, but he couldn't simply give him the satisfaction of taking him apart without taking him along with him. It's with a hiss against him, while he sucks bruises on his jaw, his knee slipping down, but his fingers replace it, from digging next to scars to tearing with his clever fingers to slip under the waistband of his pants.
But Vergilius's fingers flick over the head, and the flush across his cheeks blossoms into something deep, his mouth open, a lower, more honest groan than before slipped free, rawer. ]
[Silco is on the attack. Those scars itch and whine with pain, his jaw throbs with teeth marks. The man finds what lies below, and he has to cut back his own groan behind a bite of his lower lip as those fingertips brush against the swollen, needy hit. He would buck against that touch, if not only for the sudden piercing tone of what comes out of Silco's mouth.]
[He latches onto it, in his fervor. What a beautiful sound. Its enough to send his heart into his spine with an electrifying beat, making him shiver out a groan of his own. Words start to spill out of his mouth, unfettered. The babble of a madman.]
Silco. Silco, Silco. Oh, I wish you came prepared. I would've ground you into the bed for that. I would. I would break you.
[A haggard, rough little noise, as he pulls back a hand to help the man, unzipping his pants before he returns to his task. The pumps of his hand, scars and all, are thorough, but put of rhythm, almost a little too needy.]
Hah. [And his other hand yanks the man's hand right over his groin, to do as he pleases. Another kiss, another, with a definite growl from the back of his throat.] Say my name. Say it.
[ There's something about the way his words spill out, uncontrolled and honest that sent a jolt of a thrill down his spine, a shaky breath exhaled. He'd been swallowing them, his little hitches of breath and the louder gasps that he knew would give away how quickly this was spiraling out of control for him too. His fingers wrapped around his cock, nowhere near gentle, instead a nearly too-tight grip, but his motions are clumsy and just as out of rhythm as his.
He swallowed into his lips, another soft gasp shared between them like shotgunning a smoke β it devolves into another of those lower groans, his mouth open and pressed to his β the sharp scrape of fangs ever-present. It makes kissing him dangerous, and he's not of a mind to concentrate where his fangs pierce or drag against skin. It hurts, even while he can't do anything but acquiesce to him. ]
You should β have planned for that β Vergilius β [ It's half a command, but his voice sounds raw and rough against his lips. It's only soft because the room is small, because Silco doesn't dare speak up, promising something like this. ] Next time β
[ His words come with a soft groan, and like it's a battle, he swept his hand up against him, to swipe his thumb against his head, before he drug it back down slowly. Next time, he promises, like this isn't just a one-off encounter. Perhaps he doesn't intend it to be. ] β Perhaps I'll let you.
[ His hips roll, to match his pace, completely uncontrolled and unbidden. His free hand reaches up to loop around his neck, pulling him back in close, against Silco's neck so he can hum in his ear, teasing him with fangs against his flesh, hips fucking into his hand. A soft gasp against his ear. ]
Maybe I'll let you break me, Vergilius.
[ They both knew it was a fight to see who broke first. ]
[See, this is what he was missing from before. From their little encounter, body to body, in the dark hallway of where their blood mingled with one another. Reciprocation. Silco wants this. Wants him. What he says is everything. From the way he gasps his name, to the promise of a next time.]
[Oh, a next time. His brain is on fire. Brief glimpses of images. Silco's hips against his, completely. More sighs into his ears, more cute noises ro swallow one by one. Next time. The image of a headboard knocking against a wall. More of a flush in Silco's cheeks. Next time. His voice cracks at the weight of it, pouring through his being with a definite rush of heat and blood below.]
As if you would - gh - let me do that to you.
[Silco wouldn't lay flat and pretty. Even now, those fangs smart at his ear to make him jump and moan as the hum of the ear warms the flesh after. Vergilius starts to buck into his grip - shamelssly. A thrust, two thrusts, even as his own hand starts to try to time his own hips and their movement with the machinations of his fingers over Silco. More, more.]
Hrgh - Silco. [He bites over that beautiful slender neck, hums, and suddenly feels it, the tension about to snap like a taut wire.]. I'll do everything for -that-
[And he goes over, a wave to drown them both as he muffles a moan into the man's crook of his neck with the jerking shot of hot release. He lost the battle, perhaps. Or maybe he will win the war. So it shall be. They will sink together. Hand in unlovable hand.]
He would hold off, if he could; if he had the will to. But the man's lips on his neck, humming and biting, and there's the way his hips and hand finally find something like a matching pace. He doesn't bite back the hisses, gasps β the soft throaty moans are few, but they slip out when his eye slips closed, his other locked onto Vergilius's face, or the lines of scars on him, or his shoulder, wherever he can.
His words are what do it β the way they slip out unbidden, tickling against sweaty, sensitive skin; his fingers grip tight, riding him out β
He swallowed, grit his teeth, but his lean, small body trembled underneath him, and he leaned up to press his forehead against his shoulder, one eye closed. His hips moved, trying to match the pace, try to drag just a little bit more β his fingers still moved against him, messy from him, slick. ]
I'll β [ his breath shuddered, his words rougher than before. ] β Aah β I'll make you β
[ He tried to press more against him, as if he could split and push into his skin. Like he could wind his way in there, and he gasped, the sound devolving into another of those moans β louder this time β lips, teeth, fangs (it didn't matter; it mattered so much) found skin to consume, biting his way along flesh, hooking a single fang in his skin when he β finally β
It was so sudden, only seconds behind, a gasp that was louder than the rest, completely and fully out of that tight control. His hips jerked, his body taut, spilling over his hand and his belly. He could only see dancing stars in his vision, swimming between his vision, half-closed and open, blanking out sight of anything for a moment that seemed to hang in the air.
There was blood everywhere between them, and sweat, and β
He didn't move β he didn't think he could move, still with his forehead on his shoulder, a single fang caught into his skin.
He breathed hard against his skin, still fighting to find a way back to reality while it kept slipping through his fingers. ]
[He barely feels the fangs biting in his skin. He barely feels anything but the thunderclap electricity that shocks the system, makes him feel alive. But no, that's not quite true. Even in the throes of this horrific euphoria, the searing heat of Silco following right after him holds like a punch above the rest. It makes him shudder so perceptibly that it almost makes him let go, but he doesn't. His chest heaves. The smell of everything - blood, tears, and Silco - threaten to burn in his nose.]
[It was never like this with Malkuth. This feels like he, himself, has been reinvented. As his eyes start to register what's around him, he's more than conscious of his own body now, and the fang still buried in his shoulder.]
[He reaches up with a hand to yank the man off - only to chase him with his mouth to singe a kiss against his lips. He tastes good. His voice is raw, ragged, and yet he whispers for Silco and Silco alone.]
...I meant what I said earlier.
[Him being pretty? That he would break him? Any of that?]
[Why, he'll not even elaborate and let Silco pick up the pieces to give his own guess of an answer.]
[ His own brain buzzes with something, like his hearing hasn't quite returned like he can't quite focus on anything yet. It's all so raw and odd and terribly vulnerable. Silco's hand still curled around him, still gently, slowly rubbing against him, as if he could pull just a little bit more out of him, just a touch further. Maybe he still wants more, or maybe he wants to take a little more of him, like he's taking more from him.
It's all a bloody, ripe mess. He should hate it.
He doesn't mind it, shamefully.
Vergilius gets a soft squawk of surprise out of him when he pulled him off, his lips following it so that the sound is swallowed between them, shifting to something like a soft gasp against his lips.
He wants to know what he means by that β would knowing make it better? Or worse? Surely it can't be that he thinks he's pretty. Would he promise to break him? The near-memory of his desperate promise tipping him over β would it be that? The flush on his face β dusted across his shoulders too β They rise and fall with still too-heavy breaths, still coming down from the rush of seeing stars, just like he promised.
He pulled back to look him in the eyes β he refused to be the coward who looked away β unblinking eye staring into his. ]
Good.
[ His voice is hoarser than he wanted, uncontrolled. Does he know which thing? Did it matter? None of it had been... distasteful. ] I'll hold you to it.
[ He won't admit it; but he'll be thinking about it, and worrying over it, trying to put the puzzle together. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nsfwish...
[His own scars are testament. He has received all the pain he could bear, and not a single thing has been able to break him.]
[Really, all it has is just made him worse.]
[Silco's hands move and tear over sinewy old skin. More attempts to hurt, to gain some control over what he wanted all along. Be careful what you wish for. He grins a little, finding it somehow funny in the heat and sound of this friction. Oh, he's hungry. This doesn't feel like its enough.]
[Will it ever be? Or is it too late, now?]
[He's sucking on the other's jaw now as he abandons his kisses for this short moment so he can growl against this ravaged skin. The man's sweat is mixing in with the metal smell of the blood already spilled.]
You asked for this. [One of his hands drops down between them, intentionally kneading down over Silco's groin as if to rudely punctuate his words.] I really should take you to the bed and make you see stars. Haaa. It might do you some good.
coughs probably... the rest...
He doesn't even get to the point where the words can form, in its place is another of those gasps, like it's yanked out of his throat before anything else escapes. Another little crack in that armor that is his control, but he swallows it back with tight-fisted grip, his fingers seeking weak spots that don't exist. There are no injuries to poke and prod at, more like dull scratches against his skin.
He'd invited him in, hadn't he? Asked him to hurry up? Could he say that he wasn't dancing with the monster under his skin, if he hadn't given as much as he'd gotten? Crushed up against the chair, he hadn't stopped him, when he bit down and ripped his shirt to tatters. Could he say that he hadn't asked for it when he was sprawled beneath him biting β kissing? β him back, and threatening to sink his teeth into his lip?
It was too late well before this, wasn't it? ]
Should?
[ He reached up to thread his fingers through that fringe of hair again, before he tugged it back forcefully to look him in the eyes. It gives him a good look at Silco, with his scar exposed and stringy, his lips bitten, his normally too-pale skin flushed. If he has any control left, it's hanging on by a thread. ]
You didn't strike me as the type to be all talk, are you?
closing my damn eyes. Anyways. here be nsfw and yaoi
[He doesn't want to be controlled. He wants to be controlled. How can it be, this paradox of his? He wants to be hated and he wants to be loved, he wants to destroy it all and he wants to be destroyed. All these years, he has kept the balance inside his wretched heart in check. It was easy to do in the City.]
[But Silco comes in, falls into his life, and that paradox reaches out with hungry arms to envelope him into the heart of this chaotic heart.]
[What a lovely flush. He memorizes it - a part of him realizes he was disappointed before, when Silco had turned him into a vampire, that he wondered if Silco enjoyed it to his core. Not simply experiencing victory, but pleasure.]
[His mouth shifts up, bloodied, into a smirk. And instantly, he's pulling back, slipping out of the man's lap - and he doesn't even give a second to breathe before he's pulling Silco up by the collar like he's a stuffed toy. He lifts him over as easy as anything, tossing him onto the bed before crawling in on top of him with vivid eyes and a mouth wanting to tear and kiss. Hands find the edge of the other's pants before yanking the belt off, tossing it against the wall, and pulling it all down up and over his knees.]
[Another kiss for you, Silco. But there's a hand to dive down between his legs as well to fondle over him before gripping him tight, solidly giving it a solid pump.]
no subject
He doesn't necessarily forget how strong he is; but hoisted in the air it's hard to think about anything but how much stronger he is, and that does something to his brain, makes it stallimg like it's catching on a stray thread and unwinding it, letting it tug free. He can't think of anything but that, up until β
He lands with a soft huff on the bed, uncoordinated and limbs askew. He almost lunges for him, a little bit of that fight still in him, unwilling to let Vergilius get the advantage β but he has it β
Silco's breath hitches against his lips. Legs all wound up in his pants he kicked his leg to get it free, but the effort is stalled by his hand on him, fingers wrapped tight, that strength held back to a solid, slow pump of his hand. His fingers are quick to find advantage, and they're clever things, his fingers, they tug in turn at the collar of his shirt, trying to pull it off β or rip it β it doesn't really matter what as long as it was off.
He thought he might be going mad, a blood haze that pounds in his head, hungry for just a little bit more β maybe everything he could take β if it meant a little bit more of what he saw in him, the man and the monster, that he could draw all of them out and sort through the pieces. Like he could make him break into pieces over him so he could help piece it back. He likes it, the power. Feeling like he has a leash on him that he tugged this way and that. Where he wanted him.
He rolled his hips into his hand, his teeth biting against his lips, another mockery of something that could be tender, but he was all sharp edges, like sleeping with a knife. Then again, he'd never expected anything different from Silco, had he?]
no subject
[This is not a shared warmth between two people. This is a violent affair. A way to bring the other down to their level and use desire to string them up and crucify them to their heart's content. Why, Vergilius, despite his nature, finds pleasure in this. In the way the man's slender legs jerk against him as the fight in him has yet to die down. He will show the slightest amount of mercy to pull the rest of his pants and underwear off to leave him well and enough exposed.]
[And after mercy comes punishment. He dives his tongue past thin lips to tease the other to return the favor, still willing to bite in the midst of this fervor. He won't slack in his job down below, either - as he sighs into this vampire's mouth, his hand pumps as firmly as anything, trying to milk whatever reaction he can out of the man.]
[Silco wants to fight. So does he, in his own way.]
[He wants to break him into a million pieces.]
no subject
His lips part almost automatically, his fangs are a sharp hazard, like everything else about him, and he's quick to drag them against his tongue, or his lips, whatever he can find, leaving a stinging cut against his skin wherever he can find purchase. It's half a kiss, half a biting, stinging response, snapping down against his lips when his hands sink downward, an automatic response that lacks whatever control he's managed to pull from his white knuckled grip on his side.
He fights back, not just biting kisses against his lips and tongue, or the tightly-dug grip against his sides β his legs now freed found place to rest, he pressed a knee against him digging in with just on the side of too much against his groin, pressing just too hard.
It was never going to be gentle, or warm. But there was something honest in that, the both of them were fighting, trying to break each other apart. What would happen if one of them broke?
He hissed out against his lips, that lack of control slipping out, escaping from that iron grip. His voice slipped out with it, soft, barely there, but the room is silent except for their shared breaths. It's hard to miss the edge of a groan into the quiet between them, while they try both try to pull each other apart piece by piece. ]
no subject
[Well, is this a sin? To break down an awful man, get him to experience this deconstruction by his hand? Even his gasps are delicious, the painful press of his knee into his groin betraying some possible leverage. His own arousal strains heavy, still trapped behind fabric, but he ignores the discomfort. He flicks his wrist, and strokes over the head a little more insistently.]
[Silco must fall. He has to go over the edge. He wants to bring him there. See his face, hear his cries of a total loss of inhibition.]
[And so, he encourages - by smiling into the kisses as he takes them one and all. Silco's scar feels rough against his cheeks, and it reminds him of kissing over that beautiful scar in that dark dark hallway.]
...How pretty you are.
[He murmurs - something sincere, but also something to make him act even more than he already is doing. No, a few gasps isn't enough.]
[He's greedy that way, he thinks, as he sucks on the edge of his jawline.]
no subject
He is so dangerously exposed, naked save for the shreds of his shirt, pressed up against the bed where blood and sweat has already pooled from open exposed wounds, mixing and staining the sheets. His breaths are already harsh, and he feels his smile against his lips, something almost alien to either of them. So were the words he murmured before he returned to his jaw, sending a sharp, surprised shiver down his spine. He almost bites something out β that he doesn't have to just say things β but it devolved into something that's another gasp when his fingers keep moving, a tight grip around him.
He knew he didn't have a chance of holding onto his careful control, but he couldn't simply give him the satisfaction of taking him apart without taking him along with him. It's with a hiss against him, while he sucks bruises on his jaw, his knee slipping down, but his fingers replace it, from digging next to scars to tearing with his clever fingers to slip under the waistband of his pants.
But Vergilius's fingers flick over the head, and the flush across his cheeks blossoms into something deep, his mouth open, a lower, more honest groan than before slipped free, rawer. ]
no subject
[He latches onto it, in his fervor. What a beautiful sound. Its enough to send his heart into his spine with an electrifying beat, making him shiver out a groan of his own. Words start to spill out of his mouth, unfettered. The babble of a madman.]
Silco. Silco, Silco. Oh, I wish you came prepared. I would've ground you into the bed for that. I would. I would break you.
[A haggard, rough little noise, as he pulls back a hand to help the man, unzipping his pants before he returns to his task. The pumps of his hand, scars and all, are thorough, but put of rhythm, almost a little too needy.]
Hah. [And his other hand yanks the man's hand right over his groin, to do as he pleases. Another kiss, another, with a definite growl from the back of his throat.] Say my name. Say it.
no subject
He swallowed into his lips, another soft gasp shared between them like shotgunning a smoke β it devolves into another of those lower groans, his mouth open and pressed to his β the sharp scrape of fangs ever-present. It makes kissing him dangerous, and he's not of a mind to concentrate where his fangs pierce or drag against skin. It hurts, even while he can't do anything but acquiesce to him. ]
You should β have planned for that β Vergilius β [ It's half a command, but his voice sounds raw and rough against his lips. It's only soft because the room is small, because Silco doesn't dare speak up, promising something like this. ] Next time β
[ His words come with a soft groan, and like it's a battle, he swept his hand up against him, to swipe his thumb against his head, before he drug it back down slowly. Next time, he promises, like this isn't just a one-off encounter. Perhaps he doesn't intend it to be. ] β Perhaps I'll let you.
[ His hips roll, to match his pace, completely uncontrolled and unbidden. His free hand reaches up to loop around his neck, pulling him back in close, against Silco's neck so he can hum in his ear, teasing him with fangs against his flesh, hips fucking into his hand. A soft gasp against his ear. ]
Maybe I'll let you break me, Vergilius.
[ They both knew it was a fight to see who broke first. ]
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[Oh, a next time. His brain is on fire. Brief glimpses of images. Silco's hips against his, completely. More sighs into his ears, more cute noises ro swallow one by one. Next time. The image of a headboard knocking against a wall. More of a flush in Silco's cheeks. Next time. His voice cracks at the weight of it, pouring through his being with a definite rush of heat and blood below.]
As if you would - gh - let me do that to you.
[Silco wouldn't lay flat and pretty. Even now, those fangs smart at his ear to make him jump and moan as the hum of the ear warms the flesh after. Vergilius starts to buck into his grip - shamelssly. A thrust, two thrusts, even as his own hand starts to try to time his own hips and their movement with the machinations of his fingers over Silco. More, more.]
Hrgh - Silco. [He bites over that beautiful slender neck, hums, and suddenly feels it, the tension about to snap like a taut wire.]. I'll do everything for -that-
[And he goes over, a wave to drown them both as he muffles a moan into the man's crook of his neck with the jerking shot of hot release. He lost the battle, perhaps. Or maybe he will win the war. So it shall be. They will sink together. Hand in unlovable hand.]
[In the sea of blood, stretched to eternity.]
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He would hold off, if he could; if he had the will to. But the man's lips on his neck, humming and biting, and there's the way his hips and hand finally find something like a matching pace. He doesn't bite back the hisses, gasps β the soft throaty moans are few, but they slip out when his eye slips closed, his other locked onto Vergilius's face, or the lines of scars on him, or his shoulder, wherever he can.
His words are what do it β the way they slip out unbidden, tickling against sweaty, sensitive skin; his fingers grip tight, riding him out β
He swallowed, grit his teeth, but his lean, small body trembled underneath him, and he leaned up to press his forehead against his shoulder, one eye closed. His hips moved, trying to match the pace, try to drag just a little bit more β his fingers still moved against him, messy from him, slick. ]
I'll β [ his breath shuddered, his words rougher than before. ] β Aah β I'll make you β
[ He tried to press more against him, as if he could split and push into his skin. Like he could wind his way in there, and he gasped, the sound devolving into another of those moans β louder this time β lips, teeth, fangs (it didn't matter; it mattered so much) found skin to consume, biting his way along flesh, hooking a single fang in his skin when he β finally β
It was so sudden, only seconds behind, a gasp that was louder than the rest, completely and fully out of that tight control. His hips jerked, his body taut, spilling over his hand and his belly. He could only see dancing stars in his vision, swimming between his vision, half-closed and open, blanking out sight of anything for a moment that seemed to hang in the air.
There was blood everywhere between them, and sweat, and β
He didn't move β he didn't think he could move, still with his forehead on his shoulder, a single fang caught into his skin.
He breathed hard against his skin, still fighting to find a way back to reality while it kept slipping through his fingers. ]
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[It was never like this with Malkuth. This feels like he, himself, has been reinvented. As his eyes start to register what's around him, he's more than conscious of his own body now, and the fang still buried in his shoulder.]
[He reaches up with a hand to yank the man off - only to chase him with his mouth to singe a kiss against his lips. He tastes good. His voice is raw, ragged, and yet he whispers for Silco and Silco alone.]
...I meant what I said earlier.
[Him being pretty? That he would break him? Any of that?]
[Why, he'll not even elaborate and let Silco pick up the pieces to give his own guess of an answer.]
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It's all a bloody, ripe mess. He should hate it.
He doesn't mind it, shamefully.
Vergilius gets a soft squawk of surprise out of him when he pulled him off, his lips following it so that the sound is swallowed between them, shifting to something like a soft gasp against his lips.
He wants to know what he means by that β would knowing make it better? Or worse? Surely it can't be that he thinks he's pretty. Would he promise to break him? The near-memory of his desperate promise tipping him over β would it be that? The flush on his face β dusted across his shoulders too β They rise and fall with still too-heavy breaths, still coming down from the rush of seeing stars, just like he promised.
He pulled back to look him in the eyes β he refused to be the coward who looked away β unblinking eye staring into his. ]
Good.
[ His voice is hoarser than he wanted, uncontrolled. Does he know which thing? Did it matter? None of it had been... distasteful. ] I'll hold you to it.
[ He won't admit it; but he'll be thinking about it, and worrying over it, trying to put the puzzle together. ]