His fingers stay on his, a little drag in the same motion he'd made earlier when they'd been talking. A reminder that he'd noticed. ]
I had a feeling that we were being watched. Best to be boring enough that there's nothing to see.
[ This is better, hidden away. He can slot up against him, fingers on his, like offering him some form of temptation. Fit together, it's hard to say if they always would have fit, or if they were contorting around each other like wrought iron, digging metal thorns into one another, trying to hold on. He looks up at him with that unblinking, blackened eye, a quirk of his lips, almost that shark's smile. ]
[He did remember. Vergilius's eyelids flutter in reaction to it, murmuring. His other hand reaches up, fingertip trailing over the edge of the man's sharp cheekbone. He never thought they would have anything like this, before. He knows how terrible they is, those thorns.]
[ His head tipped slightly, inching toward his fingertip just so. He hadn't, either β expected something like this β but every time it feels more and more like it's... normal. getting used to the bite of their wrought little thorns piercing one another. It helped, too, that nobody had seen enough to question.
But his question is... hm.
His single eye closed, and his shoulder lifted. ]
I don't mind it. [ He says. It's a touch more honest than he usually is, he doesn't even couch it in a question, like he so often does. He should, he often has. But they'd decided they were tired of that, hadn't they? Playing that game of pretense and half-truths. The game had to evolve, they might... ] Besides, could you imagine if...
[ Someone found out? The questions, the pestering, the annoyances. The nosiness. Not to mention if Jinx...
Then again, at the same time, isn't there a part of him that... ]
[Yes, he could imagine if people found out. That is the problem, here. He comes from a world where relationships aren't meant to last long or at all, especially among Fixers. It's discouraged. A weak point one can take advantage of.]
[Is Silco a weak point? Hard to say. This isn't Malkuth. Silco is a bad man. The world would drown in applause if anything happened to him.]
[Would he join that?]
It's easy.
[He admits. To keep it secret. To not have to worry. But...maybe its because he's remembered his time with Malkuth. It makes him miss it, somehow. But that reckless little urge, that naive little hope...he has to bury it, along everything else.]
[He smirks a little, thumb making a little circle over his cheek as he cups it.]
[ He doesn't push him away β he should β but he doesn't. This is just as dangerous as anything else. Would he be the one to destroy him, in the end? Just like...?
This is all so much easier if it is secret, and hidden. There are no awkward questions, other than the ones that awkwardly strike too close, and Silco has to lie and dismiss them. They're both the type that understands the danger of the type of work they're in; his urge to conceal it jealously, to prevent anyone from taking it away from him fuels him more than anything else. It's so easy to take it away. Everyone always tries, don't they? How long until someone convinced Vergilius, too?
Would he end up with scars as well?
His fingers stroke along his, before he opened his eye, to look right into his. ]
Implode? I already took you on a date, remember? [ To behead a man. The dance was already in motion, back and forth, it feels so long ago β it wasn't even a year ago. He'd thought then, about how powerful he was, looming over the man like he had, it had...
Hm. ]
Don't challenge me, or else I might have to prove you wrong.
[He says, a little playfully admonishing. No, that was more of a demonstration than anything. Even then, the thorns had been set, the garden had been prepped to grow. They had found something in each other, then. A diamond in the rough they wanted to polish until they each revealed their cruel sheen.]
[He shakes his head. A thought comes to mind, and he says it before he gives himself a chance to rethink it.]
...I want to dance with you.
[A sincere sort of wish, so outside their usual trysts.]
[ It was supposed to be a date, but... Silco had turned that on its head, just like he does everything else. Had he ever done what was expected of him? He'd set that foundation, taken his free demonstration, but he'd kept that unblinking eye on him. Watched him.
He'd told him already, that it had been something desirable to see him. That'd he'd started thinking of him as β
Oh, wasn't that twisting it on its head? How he took something so innocuous and changed the rules.
But didn't Vergilius too? Twist things up, and do the thing he least expected.
His fingers still, and he watches him, head tipped up, his lips part slightly.
He hadn't expected it. ]
Do you? [ He paused, considering. It's such an innocent thing, compared to what else they've done. It's... not at all what he expected, it's softer. It doesn't have the sharp edges that usually came with their meetings, and yet...
Would he refuse? Aren't they intertwined now, he knows the steps, the limits. Why wouldn't they turn it on his head and change it now?
It's still hazy and undefined, this thing between them. Every time, this all gets a little bit clearer. ]
[Silco pulls and tugs. He pulls and tugs. They want something out of the other that they are loathe to hand over so easily. As time as went on, they have inched closer, and closer, and you know...it might as well be a dance at this point.]
[They might as well already have each other in their arms. They just need an excuse to move. It might be an innocent, naive little idea. But he wants it. And hasn't he been so good in pursuing what he wants, as of late?]
You want that, huh.
[He takes the man by the chin, tipping him upward, letting himself drift forward - but not yet taking what he should be owed, merely hanging there. Letting his lowered eyelashes frame vivid red.]
[ Isn't this what he wanted the whole time he'd been across from him in public, verbal intimacy treated for this kind of intimacy, their bodies playing this little game, moving back and forth, finding a rhythm from the pull of their individual tides crashing against one another, finding a balance, a way for them to move just right between each other.
He tips his head upward, Silco meets his eyes -- always meets his eyes -- and his lip curls slightly, one of those barely there expressions -- and it doesn't quite vanish for once. His single eyebrow lifted, when he points out that he wants it, too.
Does he? Well, perhaps a part of him does, that long buried dead man that seems to want the things Silco knows he should not have. He knows better than to indulge that dead part of himself, but maybe he's more foolish these days, to let himself have these small things too. ]
Well, since you asked so nicely... How could I refuse?
[ As much a yes as anything. His thin fingers dance along his hand, head tipped just so. An invitation, should he take what's his due, in the end, he offers it for him to take, if he wants. (He wants it, he thinks, for him to take it.) ]
[How could he refuse, he says. It almost makes him want to laugh. Would Silco have said this so many months ago? After he killed a man for him? After he turned him into a vampire? After they started this song and dance? A playful dance of monstrous men turned into a real dance. Could they have predicted it so long ago?]
[He still remembers the first time they met. That vivid stare as he struggled. He had been drawn to him then, like a moth desperately wanting to burn itself on a flame from hell.]
[Vergilius smiles. And then bends down, capturing his lips in a kiss, as if that, itself, is a signature to seal the deal between them.]
[ He almost surprises himself with the answer, he wouldn't have considered it even months ago, when they'd still been dancing their dance back and forth pretending that those trysts in the dark, shared between them with every excuse imaginable, was something that wouldn't happen again...until it did. Again, and again, and again. Until they're finding excuses to simply exist next to each other β soft whispered conversations in private where anyone could find them, insults with double meanings, negotiations and secrets shared in one breath.
He leans down, their lips touch. His fingers curl around his, still holding onto that flask. It's all push, and pull. He tries to pull Vergilius down with him into the muck, but maybe he too is trying to tug him back upwards, and maybe they'll still be mired in it β he is a bad man, and Vergilius is a killer himself β but maybe they'll find air down here in the mire, a way to tread water somewhere in the middle.
So maybe it is a little deal, shared between them. Something he can give, that for once isn't meant to cut, or harm. He may be all sharp edges and daggers in the dark, but they are both wrought iron, jagged edges that find places to fit, where maybe it doesn't cut so deep toward one another. As if there are ways to make that fit. The edges not quite blunted, still cutting, but it isn't to kill. Just to flake the pieces off, in the same way Vergilius does to him. Cutting them into shape. Maybe they still don't understand, maybe they do, and maybe it's all just an excuse to let him in to do this again.
He breathes out, breathes against him, his lips taken β he doesn't pull away. His stray fingers reach up, to brush his bangs back, and his thumb runs a line against the scar on his face. To commit it all to memory, maybe. It feels wrong to take even this, and yet, he selfishly wants more of him. Every time, he wants more. ]
[There's no excuses. There's no reason to fall back on except reason itself. He finds himself back in Silco's orbit all the time, a gravitational pull that he can't escape any more. Silco has seen too much of him. And vice versa. The secrecy is nice, itching at their latent paranoia, but its moments like this that stand all the more brilliant because of how in tune they are.]
[How frightening. Silco is not the same man he met at the beginning of all this. And neither is he, for Silco. Irreparably changed. Molded to their desires.]
[Obsessed.]
[Silco's adroit fingers push his bangs back, carress his face. His own hand moves to the small of his slender little back, pulling him in.]
[He smiles against his lips, more warm than he means to.]
[ He tugs him in, and Silco allows it, lets him pull him close, and he fits just so against him. Should it feel as good as it does? It doesn't feel like it's something permitted, but even so... it feels right, like all the pieces have been lined up. They fit so neatly, just so.
It's so dangerous, he is dangerous β but so is Silco. They hold the pieces to damn each other if they chose to, but they were not bargaining chips for domination, exchanged for a hold over one another. They were shared for a different purpose, that understanding they used as a shorthand for whatever else they were doing. A word that didn't quite mean what they said it meant.
He doesn't want to pull away these days, excuse it. He wants to keep it secret, like a dragon with its hoard, he covets it greedily, even though he has it all to himself. Has him. His lips curl, against his, a little shark's smile, as if he's about to impart a little secret. ]
Oh, I can't say I know any of those steps they have topside... [ He wasn't invited to those parties. He would never go if he was. ]
But we had our own in the fissures. I didn't make it a habit, of course...but I'm familiar.
[ But even he got drug out from time to time, and away from all that work he had already been throwing himself into. ]
[He can feel the weight in Silco's gaze. Like he is a precious jewel to have and to hold. To covet. To possess. There are many things he likes about it, and there are many things he doesn't like about it. He of course is a man, not a trophy.]
[He thinks Silco understands, that. He has learned many lessons since they first met. Vergilius grasps his lower lip with his own, nibbles and worries at it, before biting over the tip of that aquiline nose.]
That so? Maybe you should show me.
[He would be curious about that. Vergilius hums, making them rock back and forth a little with the hand at his back.]
[ Maybe he has learned, at least a small measure, but Silco still cuts like a serrated blade, digs in, and he's difficult to dislodge once he's in, and he wonders if he's dug in enough, if he could β would pull away now? Then again, is Vergilius digging in, too? He asks something like this of him.
He agreed? He wants him to be his, and it doesn't matter that they are in secret, hidden and sequestered away where nobody will see them. Why would it matter, that it is hidden away from the world, when the alternative is...
He bites and nibbles at his lip, at his nose. Not a monster, he says? He communicates like one, he bites and worries. Silco doesn't mind that, his lips twitch, his head tipped just so. His hand on his back is warm, and present. Large. He sways, and Silco tipped his body, not even a gap of sunlight between them. Interlocked, their free hands are already joined, his flask still there. He takes it, and tosses it behind them, an afterthought, before he takes his hand proper. Thin fingers interlock with his, this thumb rubs against the side of his, a scrape of nail against skin to accompany it. ]
Now, don't get too excited. Most of our dances held one purpose, you know. [ It's easy to assume what, they're so close, hips to hips, the only air their difference in heights. He nudges him back, to take a small step, but he follows, before he guides him to the right, keeping close. It's a tight motion, like limited space would keep them close. ]
[The flask is tossed. Silco interweaves his fingers with him, and he doesn't know what it says about him when the scrape of that nail brings a tinge of color to his ears where other gestures don't. It feels like he is a nest for this paltry little bird to roost in, rest its bones against. Silco slots into him, and they proceed to dance.]
[Silco leads for now. This is no ballroom, but there's space enough. No one else is here. Their little private world, for two men, two monsters who gave seen each other bare far more than a handful of times at this point.]
And you think I would complain?
[About the purpose of said dance. He kisses at the edge of those hard little lips, now, sighing - and he eases Silco back to he can twirl him once, pull him right back where be belongs with scarred hand to his lower back. The friction as they meet again makes his eyelashes flutter.]
[ He catches him by surprise, taking the lead for just a moment, before he's slotted right back into place, pressed up against each other. He leans forward, a soft chuff of amusement against his lips, pushing up against him, nudging him in just the right direction, keeping their hips, their thighs, their chests locked together, like they're working in tandem. ]
Oh no, I didn't think you would complain.
[ He pushes him forward, guides him. They aren't complicated motions. Just tight, and constrained.
Imagine being packed in a little fissure β or maybe an abandoned warehouse β music playing on a cheap record player, echoing through the small space despite the skips and starts. Bodies all trying to hold close to their partner, in their own little worlds. The smell of sweat soaked bodies, the smell of the mines, and the putrid lingering gray, all comingled in a small space. Maybe lights, if they're lucky. Moonshine flowing freely, and sure, other things. Mushrooms grew well in caves, and Zaunites knew what was good.
Silco keeps him close, too close. His thumb still scrapes, his other found its way back to his face. He feels like he can control him like this, push him this way and that. ]
Only managing your expectations, Vergilius. [ He turns them, Vergilius's back towards the interior of the room.
Just them. In private. Maybe Silco's a touch freer here, a little bit looser. He's found something to roost in, to dig his claws into. He doesn't want to let go. ]
[The places they come from are very different. And yet they are the very same. In parts of the Backstreets, people still met, danced, had the night to themselves as the Sweepers moves in waves to collect the dirt, debris, dead bodies, and the unfortunate few left out in the open. To seek warmth, where outside was death.]
[There's no such thing here. They won't walk outside to immediate danger. But still, it almost feels paramount to be this close, to hold each other, as if letting go would mean their end.]
[The hand on his face makes him sigh. Even now, he thinks of that bright-eyed girl. He wonders what Malkuth would think of him, now.]
[Maybe she would congratulate how selfish he has become.]
Maybe I don't have a lot of expectations.
[He is lead inward. Vergilius shifts his face, kisses the palm of the hand clasping it.]
[ His fingers curl, a scrape of nails against the side of his face. He doesn't dig, just an idle scrape, as if he's trying to claw him closer, closer. He likes that he lets him in, that he's chosen to be even just slightly selfish. Perhaps, perhaps even, he likes that he decides to be selfish now, with him.
He nudges him further in. They're still moving to some unheard beat. He rarely misses his record player, but now? Maybe he would have liked to have it. His lips curl, they're so close, he almost tugs him back to his lips, but...
He likes watching him take. Like he wants it. ]
Even when it's me leading it? The flow? Isn't that dangerous?
[ Or were they both bad men who could handle a little danger? ]
[An admission. But as Silco might suggest, they are not averse to danger. They dance with it like he is dancing with him, now. They've always been bed partners with things that will kill them in the end.]
You're dangerous.
[He can tell Silco wants to pull him in. His little black hole. That hungry gaze, on him, and him alone.]
[Would he be a black hole, too? His hand curls slightly on Silco's spine. He's torn out spins easily. It could be so easy.]
[ They twitch, a spread into a sharp little thing.
He knows. Vergilius is dangerous too, particularly to him. He may be dangerous with this plots, a little spider's web of plans and schemes; but Vergilius... He curls his fingers against his spine. He's threatened it plenty, and he knows he is not one to make promises he can't keep.
But he doesn't. Would he, eventually? That dance with danger, the third specter in the room between them, Silco feels it looming. It doesn't frighten him, but he's never let things like that frighten him. In fact... ]
You think so? [ He asks, his tone just this side of coy, a touch teasing. He guides him deeper in, still those tight little steps, moving deeper in. ]
Maybe I should see how well you can tread water then, hm?
[ Deeper in, Vergilius will find his knees bump the back of the bed, like he's already been nudged and guided where he wants him to be. ]
[He has to ask himself: would he be in this position at all if it wasn't dangerous? If there wasn't that shadow hanging over them? If he wasn't bred to be a weapon in human form?]
[Of course not.]
[The bump against his legs make him blink, caught by surprise. Silco has led him to his spider's web. Here, fly. Lay down and enjoy the strings.]
[His hand travels to grab a handful (really, whatever Silco has) of his ass to give it a squeeze. His breath is hot against his scarred, thin lips.]
[ He says he's a man, and a part of Silco accepts that, understands that he's more than merely a monster β but he is still a dangerous man, and wasn't that what he wanted? Had always wanted? The danger was a part of it, whether it's taken out on his skin or not, it's the implied danger of it all. The curl of his finger against his spine, the way his hands grab him, strength and intent clear in his grip.
He shudders a little soft chuckle against his lips, pleasure coupled with desire all in one. His fingers drag along his arm, against his face, toward his shoulders, not quite digging in, feeling at hard muscle. He could snap his neck if he wanted, he could kill him in a thousand different ways, but maybe he'll allow for another little death, and another, and another. ]
Perhaps we'll test the waters, see how long you can hold your breath.
[ He breathes it against his lips, teeth and scarred lips promising to pull him under, if he lets it. How far they can drift, how long they can last, join him in the undertow, and see how far they can drift before they're forced to the surface.
He nudges him, pushes him to the bed with no strength, but the expectation that he'll follow anyway. ]
[There is no strength to it, but he acquiesces to it anyways. How funny, for someone as powerful as him. He doesn't lay down right away, instead wrapping his arms around the the slender excuses Silco has for legs as he nestles his chin against the line of his abdomen.]
You say that like a threat.
[There is absolutely glimmering, affectionate amusement in his hoarse voice at that one. He places a kiss against the line of his groin, knowing he's teasing. He may allow Silco to push him around, but...]
[ A soft 'hm', a tip of his head. He looks down at him, thin fingers drag along his shoulders. No, loyal dog he isn't, but he doesn't mind that. Would it be any more interesting than if he were to lay down and simply allow it to happen?
He lifted a finger, to brush at the fringe at his forehead, drawing down to catch against the scar on his face, his nail scraping along the length of it. He stares down at him with his own half-unblinking gaze, a pinprick of light that never seems to waver; a sharp little expression β a hint of teeth and a sharp, knowing little smile came to life. ]
Maybe it is... after all... [ He nudges to plant a knee between his legs, just at the edge of the bed. ]
I could lead you astray.
[ Weren't they both already? Astray. Somewhere in between?
He wants to push him down fully, but he waits, taking the opportunity to watch his lips against the line of him, a sharp little shuddering breath gives it away, that he wants him, just like this, to sink his teeth into, and hold him down. Keep him here, where he can keep their secret behind locked doors, keep him behind those doors. Satisfaction settled onto his face, feeling the raised skin of his scar, and scraping his nail against it. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
His lips twitch, reflexive, almost uncertain. ]
Oh, much better.
[ Especially since...
His fingers stay on his, a little drag in the same motion he'd made earlier when they'd been talking. A reminder that he'd noticed. ]
I had a feeling that we were being watched. Best to be boring enough that there's nothing to see.
[ This is better, hidden away. He can slot up against him, fingers on his, like offering him some form of temptation. Fit together, it's hard to say if they always would have fit, or if they were contorting around each other like wrought iron, digging metal thorns into one another, trying to hold on. He looks up at him with that unblinking, blackened eye, a quirk of his lips, almost that shark's smile. ]
Don't you think?
no subject
[He did remember. Vergilius's eyelids flutter in reaction to it, murmuring. His other hand reaches up, fingertip trailing over the edge of the man's sharp cheekbone. He never thought they would have anything like this, before. He knows how terrible they is, those thorns.]
Do you like it? Being in secret like this.
[More asked out of curiosity than anything.]
no subject
But his question is... hm.
His single eye closed, and his shoulder lifted. ]
I don't mind it. [ He says. It's a touch more honest than he usually is, he doesn't even couch it in a question, like he so often does. He should, he often has. But they'd decided they were tired of that, hadn't they? Playing that game of pretense and half-truths. The game had to evolve, they might... ] Besides, could you imagine if...
[ Someone found out? The questions, the pestering, the annoyances. The nosiness. Not to mention if Jinx...
Then again, at the same time, isn't there a part of him that... ]
Do you?
no subject
[Is Silco a weak point? Hard to say. This isn't Malkuth. Silco is a bad man. The world would drown in applause if anything happened to him.]
[Would he join that?]
It's easy.
[He admits. To keep it secret. To not have to worry. But...maybe its because he's remembered his time with Malkuth. It makes him miss it, somehow. But that reckless little urge, that naive little hope...he has to bury it, along everything else.]
[He smirks a little, thumb making a little circle over his cheek as he cups it.]
Besides...I think you'd implode on a date.
no subject
[ He doesn't push him away β he should β but he doesn't. This is just as dangerous as anything else. Would he be the one to destroy him, in the end? Just like...?
This is all so much easier if it is secret, and hidden. There are no awkward questions, other than the ones that awkwardly strike too close, and Silco has to lie and dismiss them. They're both the type that understands the danger of the type of work they're in; his urge to conceal it jealously, to prevent anyone from taking it away from him fuels him more than anything else. It's so easy to take it away. Everyone always tries, don't they? How long until someone convinced Vergilius, too?
Would he end up with scars as well?
His fingers stroke along his, before he opened his eye, to look right into his. ]
Implode? I already took you on a date, remember? [ To behead a man. The dance was already in motion, back and forth, it feels so long ago β it wasn't even a year ago. He'd thought then, about how powerful he was, looming over the man like he had, it had...
Hm. ]
Don't challenge me, or else I might have to prove you wrong.
[ For his pride.
Yeah. ]
no subject
[He says, a little playfully admonishing. No, that was more of a demonstration than anything. Even then, the thorns had been set, the garden had been prepped to grow. They had found something in each other, then. A diamond in the rough they wanted to polish until they each revealed their cruel sheen.]
[He shakes his head. A thought comes to mind, and he says it before he gives himself a chance to rethink it.]
...I want to dance with you.
[A sincere sort of wish, so outside their usual trysts.]
no subject
He'd told him already, that it had been something desirable to see him. That'd he'd started thinking of him as β
Oh, wasn't that twisting it on its head? How he took something so innocuous and changed the rules.
But didn't Vergilius too? Twist things up, and do the thing he least expected.
His fingers still, and he watches him, head tipped up, his lips part slightly.
He hadn't expected it. ]
Do you? [ He paused, considering. It's such an innocent thing, compared to what else they've done. It's... not at all what he expected, it's softer. It doesn't have the sharp edges that usually came with their meetings, and yet...
Would he refuse? Aren't they intertwined now, he knows the steps, the limits. Why wouldn't they turn it on his head and change it now?
It's still hazy and undefined, this thing between them. Every time, this all gets a little bit clearer. ]
Then why don't you ask me?
no subject
[They might as well already have each other in their arms. They just need an excuse to move. It might be an innocent, naive little idea. But he wants it. And hasn't he been so good in pursuing what he wants, as of late?]
You want that, huh.
[He takes the man by the chin, tipping him upward, letting himself drift forward - but not yet taking what he should be owed, merely hanging there. Letting his lowered eyelashes frame vivid red.]
Would you dance with me, Silco?
no subject
He tips his head upward, Silco meets his eyes -- always meets his eyes -- and his lip curls slightly, one of those barely there expressions -- and it doesn't quite vanish for once. His single eyebrow lifted, when he points out that he wants it, too.
Does he? Well, perhaps a part of him does, that long buried dead man that seems to want the things Silco knows he should not have. He knows better than to indulge that dead part of himself, but maybe he's more foolish these days, to let himself have these small things too. ]
Well, since you asked so nicely... How could I refuse?
[ As much a yes as anything. His thin fingers dance along his hand, head tipped just so. An invitation, should he take what's his due, in the end, he offers it for him to take, if he wants. (He wants it, he thinks, for him to take it.) ]
no subject
[He still remembers the first time they met. That vivid stare as he struggled. He had been drawn to him then, like a moth desperately wanting to burn itself on a flame from hell.]
[Vergilius smiles. And then bends down, capturing his lips in a kiss, as if that, itself, is a signature to seal the deal between them.]
no subject
He leans down, their lips touch. His fingers curl around his, still holding onto that flask. It's all push, and pull. He tries to pull Vergilius down with him into the muck, but maybe he too is trying to tug him back upwards, and maybe they'll still be mired in it β he is a bad man, and Vergilius is a killer himself β but maybe they'll find air down here in the mire, a way to tread water somewhere in the middle.
So maybe it is a little deal, shared between them. Something he can give, that for once isn't meant to cut, or harm. He may be all sharp edges and daggers in the dark, but they are both wrought iron, jagged edges that find places to fit, where maybe it doesn't cut so deep toward one another. As if there are ways to make that fit. The edges not quite blunted, still cutting, but it isn't to kill. Just to flake the pieces off, in the same way Vergilius does to him. Cutting them into shape. Maybe they still don't understand, maybe they do, and maybe it's all just an excuse to let him in to do this again.
He breathes out, breathes against him, his lips taken β he doesn't pull away. His stray fingers reach up, to brush his bangs back, and his thumb runs a line against the scar on his face. To commit it all to memory, maybe. It feels wrong to take even this, and yet, he selfishly wants more of him. Every time, he wants more. ]
no subject
[How frightening. Silco is not the same man he met at the beginning of all this. And neither is he, for Silco. Irreparably changed. Molded to their desires.]
[Obsessed.]
[Silco's adroit fingers push his bangs back, carress his face. His own hand moves to the small of his slender little back, pulling him in.]
[He smiles against his lips, more warm than he means to.]
Do you even know how to dance?
no subject
It's so dangerous, he is dangerous β but so is Silco. They hold the pieces to damn each other if they chose to, but they were not bargaining chips for domination, exchanged for a hold over one another. They were shared for a different purpose, that understanding they used as a shorthand for whatever else they were doing. A word that didn't quite mean what they said it meant.
He doesn't want to pull away these days, excuse it. He wants to keep it secret, like a dragon with its hoard, he covets it greedily, even though he has it all to himself. Has him. His lips curl, against his, a little shark's smile, as if he's about to impart a little secret. ]
Oh, I can't say I know any of those steps they have topside... [ He wasn't invited to those parties. He would never go if he was. ]
But we had our own in the fissures. I didn't make it a habit, of course...but I'm familiar.
[ But even he got drug out from time to time, and away from all that work he had already been throwing himself into. ]
no subject
[He thinks Silco understands, that. He has learned many lessons since they first met. Vergilius grasps his lower lip with his own, nibbles and worries at it, before biting over the tip of that aquiline nose.]
That so? Maybe you should show me.
[He would be curious about that. Vergilius hums, making them rock back and forth a little with the hand at his back.]
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He agreed? He wants him to be his, and it doesn't matter that they are in secret, hidden and sequestered away where nobody will see them. Why would it matter, that it is hidden away from the world, when the alternative is...
He bites and nibbles at his lip, at his nose. Not a monster, he says? He communicates like one, he bites and worries. Silco doesn't mind that, his lips twitch, his head tipped just so. His hand on his back is warm, and present. Large. He sways, and Silco tipped his body, not even a gap of sunlight between them. Interlocked, their free hands are already joined, his flask still there. He takes it, and tosses it behind them, an afterthought, before he takes his hand proper. Thin fingers interlock with his, this thumb rubs against the side of his, a scrape of nail against skin to accompany it. ]
Now, don't get too excited. Most of our dances held one purpose, you know. [ It's easy to assume what, they're so close, hips to hips, the only air their difference in heights. He nudges him back, to take a small step, but he follows, before he guides him to the right, keeping close. It's a tight motion, like limited space would keep them close. ]
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[Silco leads for now. This is no ballroom, but there's space enough. No one else is here. Their little private world, for two men, two monsters who gave seen each other bare far more than a handful of times at this point.]
And you think I would complain?
[About the purpose of said dance. He kisses at the edge of those hard little lips, now, sighing - and he eases Silco back to he can twirl him once, pull him right back where be belongs with scarred hand to his lower back. The friction as they meet again makes his eyelashes
flutter.]
If so, then you really don't know me well, Silco.
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[ He catches him by surprise, taking the lead for just a moment, before he's slotted right back into place, pressed up against each other. He leans forward, a soft chuff of amusement against his lips, pushing up against him, nudging him in just the right direction, keeping their hips, their thighs, their chests locked together, like they're working in tandem. ]
Oh no, I didn't think you would complain.
[ He pushes him forward, guides him. They aren't complicated motions. Just tight, and constrained.
Imagine being packed in a little fissure β or maybe an abandoned warehouse β music playing on a cheap record player, echoing through the small space despite the skips and starts. Bodies all trying to hold close to their partner, in their own little worlds. The smell of sweat soaked bodies, the smell of the mines, and the putrid lingering gray, all comingled in a small space. Maybe lights, if they're lucky. Moonshine flowing freely, and sure, other things. Mushrooms grew well in caves, and Zaunites knew what was good.
Silco keeps him close, too close. His thumb still scrapes, his other found its way back to his face. He feels like he can control him like this, push him this way and that. ]
Only managing your expectations, Vergilius. [ He turns them, Vergilius's back towards the interior of the room.
Just them. In private. Maybe Silco's a touch freer here, a little bit looser. He's found something to roost in, to dig his claws into. He doesn't want to let go. ]
On where things will go.
wow don't mobile tag kids
[There's no such thing here. They won't walk outside to immediate danger. But still, it almost feels paramount to be this close, to hold each other, as if letting go would mean their end.]
[The hand on his face makes him sigh. Even now, he thinks of that bright-eyed girl. He wonders what Malkuth would think of him, now.]
[Maybe she would congratulate how selfish he has become.]
Maybe I don't have a lot of expectations.
[He is lead inward. Vergilius shifts his face, kisses the palm of the hand clasping it.]
I just...go with the flow.
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[ His fingers curl, a scrape of nails against the side of his face. He doesn't dig, just an idle scrape, as if he's trying to claw him closer, closer. He likes that he lets him in, that he's chosen to be even just slightly selfish. Perhaps, perhaps even, he likes that he decides to be selfish now, with him.
He nudges him further in. They're still moving to some unheard beat. He rarely misses his record player, but now? Maybe he would have liked to have it. His lips curl, they're so close, he almost tugs him back to his lips, but...
He likes watching him take. Like he wants it. ]
Even when it's me leading it? The flow? Isn't that dangerous?
[ Or were they both bad men who could handle a little danger? ]
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[An admission. But as Silco might suggest, they are not averse to danger. They dance with it like he is dancing with him, now. They've always been bed partners with things that will kill them in the end.]
You're dangerous.
[He can tell Silco wants to pull him in. His little black hole. That hungry gaze, on him, and him alone.]
[Would he be a black hole, too? His hand curls slightly on Silco's spine. He's torn out spins easily. It could be so easy.]
[His gaze fixes on Silco's lips.]
But I think I can keep my head above water.
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He knows. Vergilius is dangerous too, particularly to him. He may be dangerous with this plots, a little spider's web of plans and schemes; but Vergilius... He curls his fingers against his spine. He's threatened it plenty, and he knows he is not one to make promises he can't keep.
But he doesn't. Would he, eventually? That dance with danger, the third specter in the room between them, Silco feels it looming. It doesn't frighten him, but he's never let things like that frighten him. In fact... ]
You think so? [ He asks, his tone just this side of coy, a touch teasing. He guides him deeper in, still those tight little steps, moving deeper in. ]
Maybe I should see how well you can tread water then, hm?
[ Deeper in, Vergilius will find his knees bump the back of the bed, like he's already been nudged and guided where he wants him to be. ]
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[Of course not.]
[The bump against his legs make him blink, caught by surprise. Silco has led him to his spider's web. Here, fly. Lay down and enjoy the strings.]
[His hand travels to grab a handful (really, whatever Silco has) of his ass to give it a squeeze. His breath is hot against his scarred, thin lips.]
And where shall our captain take us today?
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He shudders a little soft chuckle against his lips, pleasure coupled with desire all in one. His fingers drag along his arm, against his face, toward his shoulders, not quite digging in, feeling at hard muscle. He could snap his neck if he wanted, he could kill him in a thousand different ways, but maybe he'll allow for another little death, and another, and another. ]
Perhaps we'll test the waters, see how long you can hold your breath.
[ He breathes it against his lips, teeth and scarred lips promising to pull him under, if he lets it. How far they can drift, how long they can last, join him in the undertow, and see how far they can drift before they're forced to the surface.
He nudges him, pushes him to the bed with no strength, but the expectation that he'll follow anyway. ]
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You say that like a threat.
[There is absolutely glimmering, affectionate amusement in his hoarse voice at that one. He places a kiss against the line of his groin, knowing he's teasing. He may allow Silco to push him around, but...]
[Well, some blind loyal dog he is not.]
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He lifted a finger, to brush at the fringe at his forehead, drawing down to catch against the scar on his face, his nail scraping along the length of it. He stares down at him with his own half-unblinking gaze, a pinprick of light that never seems to waver; a sharp little expression β a hint of teeth and a sharp, knowing little smile came to life. ]
Maybe it is... after all... [ He nudges to plant a knee between his legs, just at the edge of the bed. ]
I could lead you astray.
[ Weren't they both already? Astray. Somewhere in between?
He wants to push him down fully, but he waits, taking the opportunity to watch his lips against the line of him, a sharp little shuddering breath gives it away, that he wants him, just like this, to sink his teeth into, and hold him down. Keep him here, where he can keep their secret behind locked doors, keep him behind those doors. Satisfaction settled onto his face, feeling the raised skin of his scar, and scraping his nail against it. ]
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me slapping on the nsfw tag...smh
π i hate them....
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