[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}
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. ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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. ]