[ 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. ]
[Should he be kept secret? Probably. Maybe. Yes. The City hangs over any connection he makes like a shroud. If he gets too close to anyone, then if they are lost to the whims of cruel fate...]
[He doesn't want to think of it now. Silco is here in his arms. It's easy to focus on everything physical, like an itch to be scratched. He knows its more than that. More threads tie them now instead of simple honest lust. But even in his denial, he can't help the way he sighs, almost longingly, at the nail that scrapes over his scar.]
And maybe you could lead me back, too.
[Since he already was astray. This feels more grounding. He feels more human, more vibrant, more alive. His constant guilt feels more like a shadow in the back of the room than something infecting every waking moment.]
[Another few kisses, meaningful, against the cloth that feels so heated already. He wonders if he can coax him with such simple gestures, make him gasp and keen and want for more. Want him more.]
[ Their secret, just for them. Silco protects it like he does all of his secrets, like a jealous little creature protecting its find. He fears them, trying to remind Vergilius as to who he is β as if he doesn't know? β as if he's forgotten, or Silco would see him slip through his fingers, if anyone intervened. His jealous fingers, they brush against the scar, as if he could hold him there in place.
He chases that sound he makes, the way he sighs with something that makes Silco want to lean down and swallow that from his mouth. Take it all and consume it. Something about the way he sounds, he wants to chase it and pull it out more, and more. It's just a sigh. It's a sigh that says so much, and he wants to understand it, too. Like it's a little mystery he doesn't quite get yet, or maybe there's a warped little version of it in him, that ties them together, that he doesn't examine too closely. ]
Such faith you put in me... [ He cajoles, a slight twist of teasing amusement. ] Maybe I will.
[ Isn't that just damning? Lead him back to where he came from? No, but he could lead him to that place somewhere in the middle, like weathering a storm. He doesn't want him to come back from it fully, to let that guilt and restraint occupy his thoughts. He wants him to remember what it is to be selfish from time to time, to take, even if it's just him he takes.
He already feels tight, and hot, maybe it had been the dancing, maybe it's his lips against him, and the flush on his face says enough that he already wants him, so much that he feels as if he would tremble from trying to control it. A part of him wants to wait, another part... it doesn't want to. He sinks down, to straddle him, to push him further onto the bed, to take his lips with his in a snap of a bite, a soft note of satisfaction escaped. His clever fingers drawing down, to find a path under his shirt towards more scars, more of his exposed skin, tugging his way down to pull it off. ]
[It's wrong to put faith into those spider-like hands. It's insane to even think about trusting them, too. This is the same man who stabbed him, transformed him into a monster against his will.]
[And yet, he's here. He must be obsessed, desperate. There's something about Silco he has to return to over and over again. Like a self-punishment that burns into his skin like another type of scar. But can it be punishment when it feels so good?]
[Silco descends like a vulture. He is at mercy for his talons, his teeth. He accepts them readily, allows his lip to be bitten. As Silco makes good work of his shirt, he does the same in return for the other man as he yanks off his top to reveal that sight he knows so well. The slender waist, the spine that he can carress and fondle over.]
[Vergilius sighs again into his mouth. The flush on Silco's face...he has to say something about it. So he mutters it into his ear as he kisses and nips at his jaw. His hands keep him solidly where he is, clamped down on his tights to tug him snug against his pelvis.]
[ Vergilius is a welcome sight, laid bare, though he hardly has the opportunity to look, but he's starting to map it all out, the lace of scars and muscle, his fingers find the ones he always gravitates toward, starts at his neck, where he'd bitten him, and draw down from there, always beginning where it all started β or at least where it changed. He could admit it, that something had shifted, tipped like gravity went askew.
Again, it happens, he says things that catch Silco off guard, the heat in his face spreading a little further β it's a half thing, on half his face, over his nose, but the dead, mottled skin over his scar doesn't change. It might look healed over with the makeup he wears, but they both knew what it really looked like by now β Vergilius had seen him fully bare in every way, after all β and his lips part, before he leans in to scrape sharp, chipped teeth against his neck. ]
Please, that's because I'm in your lap.
[ He punctuates it with a slight roll of his hips, what little he can move it, with his large hands holding him down like he's liable to squirm out of his grip from the words. He doesn't, he just drives to press his lips and teeth against that space of his neck, the juncture where his jaw and ear meet, to press in there, and suck a bruising mark against him.
Fingers draw down, scraping across his skin, the scars, a familiar little path he'd been aching to touch all night when he sat across from him β even when he'd caught his eyes across the room β he always seeks him out, as if it's only natural to find sight of him whenever he looks across the room. Even now, even trying to duck his face away, he can't stay for long, pulling back to look him in the eye β despite the obvious flush β and his lips curled, reaching up with a hand to brush his bangs back. ]
I very nearly tried to pull you into a β hah β business meeting while we were there.
[ So, so, tempting. He'd admit it, there's addiction here; obsession. He aims to cling and not let go of him. ]
[The flush moves. He finds himself enraptured by it, almost distracted before those dull teeth meet his neck to eke out a groan from his chest. A nice flush to remind him that Silco is very much human. And what a nice thing that is. This little paranoid creature of the dark was just a man. Same as him. Regardless of how monstrous they were to their core.]
[The mark is lovely, the pain more so - and it almost makes him miss the sharp sting of the man sucking his blood so long ago. His fingers dig in a little as he grunts and murmurs, before Silco shifts to grace him with his face once more. Again, red eyes are exposed, stared into, like they mean nothing.]
[His chest heaves, mouth curled up into a smirk.]
That so. [He shivers at the way the man maps him out. He must know him so well by now, all his scarred little roads. His on thumbs stroke dangerously close to his groin.] A business meeting. Ha. I would do that. Pull you aside into the bathroom. Talk business.
[He pushes past his grip to kiss him with a teasing nip, almost grinning, now.]
Maybe we can one day. And I can show you just how good I can make you shut up with my mouth.
[ Breathing against his mouth, Vergilius can feel the way his breath catches when his fingers drift toward his groin, pressed up against him like he is, nestled so perfectly right against him, slotting in so neatly. His thin thighs tighten around him, as if he could escape β where would he even go? β as if he wants to keep him right here.
He teases back, nips at his lips, his unblinking eye stares at his. There's a lurch somewhere, like something draws him closer, as if he could be closer. Like he melds against him, his fingers still find the little scars, like tributaries on a map, he follows them down, down, down. Fingers graze against scars, the remnants of wounds.
He still wants to learn about them, the ones that matter, but right now β he's distracted, too busy worrying his lips with his own, teeth and tongue snaking out to tease him. His fingers holding him in place, touching him, and that blossom of heat where his fingers just teased at the edge of him. ]
Oh? I thought you liked it when I made noise? [ He asked, his words formed against his lips. ] Maybe you should. Take me aside... steal me away from whatever nonsense they force us into next.
[ A better use of his time, perhaps. He says it with a press of his hips, rubbing against him through paings, enjoying the heat pressed against his admittedly thin and too-tight pants. ]
[Where would Silco even go? Would he ever lay with someone like this, bared? Not a chance. What he has here, with every ridge and curve of this slender body, belongs to him and him alone. This is a sight made for Vergilius. No one else.]
[He's never been a possessive man. His selfishness has always been buried deep, punished for existing. But perhaps here, with the taste of Silco on his tongue, he can acknowledge how pleased he is to have this all for himself.]
Mm. [Another mumble into the biting kiss, his hand palming over the hot swell in those pants, teasing.] Of course I do. But I'm sure you wouldn't want just anyone to walk in on your dick halfway down my throat.
[Crude, crude, crude. He will break out poetry, and then follow up with something as dirty as this. He unzips him now to relieve pressure, his own tent aching as he shifts it ever so slightly against the man on top of him.]
...I like - mm - when you touch me. [A little exhale, almost a laugh, to be stolen by Silco's mouth.] I think you've memorized everything by now.
[ It's crude, it's shameless, but he shivers a bit at the image he crafts with just a few words. The sight of him wrapped around him was scorched into his brain, but the idea of him with his knees on cold tile, unwilling to wait long enough to seek privacy. He could tug his hair back, look down at him, and β
His cock twitches, freed from his pants, and he pushes forward, seeking his scarred hands like they're drawn to him, lips and tongue hungry, like he's swallowing each and every crude little word and promise. They're all for him to take. It's all his, and he greedily sucks them down with little bites and pleased gasps breathed against his lips. ]
All the more reason to prove to you I know them... [ He promises, a thumb grazing one of them, just along his abdomen, right where he can fiddle with the edges of his pants, a little promise of something more.
And maybe, foolishly, he's more honest when he's bare before him. ] I don't think I could tire of tracing them. [ Thin, clever little fingers slip the button free, so he can find his way in. ] Or of touching you.
[ He pulls him free, offering something like relief that comes with the price of his fingers wrapped around him, his hips rolling in time with his hands. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.]
no subject
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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[He doesn't want to think of it now. Silco is here in his arms. It's easy to focus on everything physical, like an itch to be scratched. He knows its more than that. More threads tie them now instead of simple honest lust. But even in his denial, he can't help the way he sighs, almost longingly, at the nail that scrapes over his scar.]
And maybe you could lead me back, too.
[Since he already was astray. This feels more grounding. He feels more human, more vibrant, more alive. His constant guilt feels more like a shadow in the back of the room than something infecting every waking moment.]
[Another few kisses, meaningful, against the cloth that feels so heated already. He wonders if he can coax him with such simple gestures, make him gasp and keen and want for more. Want him more.]
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He chases that sound he makes, the way he sighs with something that makes Silco want to lean down and swallow that from his mouth. Take it all and consume it. Something about the way he sounds, he wants to chase it and pull it out more, and more. It's just a sigh. It's a sigh that says so much, and he wants to understand it, too. Like it's a little mystery he doesn't quite get yet, or maybe there's a warped little version of it in him, that ties them together, that he doesn't examine too closely. ]
Such faith you put in me... [ He cajoles, a slight twist of teasing amusement. ] Maybe I will.
[ Isn't that just damning? Lead him back to where he came from? No, but he could lead him to that place somewhere in the middle, like weathering a storm. He doesn't want him to come back from it fully, to let that guilt and restraint occupy his thoughts. He wants him to remember what it is to be selfish from time to time, to take, even if it's just him he takes.
He already feels tight, and hot, maybe it had been the dancing, maybe it's his lips against him, and the flush on his face says enough that he already wants him, so much that he feels as if he would tremble from trying to control it. A part of him wants to wait, another part... it doesn't want to. He sinks down, to straddle him, to push him further onto the bed, to take his lips with his in a snap of a bite, a soft note of satisfaction escaped. His clever fingers drawing down, to find a path under his shirt towards more scars, more of his exposed skin, tugging his way down to pull it off. ]
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[And yet, he's here. He must be obsessed, desperate. There's something about Silco he has to return to over and over again. Like a self-punishment that burns into his skin like another type of scar. But can it be punishment when it feels so good?]
[Silco descends like a vulture. He is at mercy for his talons, his teeth. He accepts them readily, allows his lip to be bitten. As Silco makes good work of his shirt, he does the same in return for the other man as he yanks off his top to reveal that sight he knows so well. The slender waist, the spine that he can carress and fondle over.]
[Vergilius sighs again into his mouth. The flush on Silco's face...he has to say something about it. So he mutters it into his ear as he kisses and nips at his jaw. His hands keep him solidly where he is, clamped down on his tights to tug him snug against his pelvis.]
You're cute when you blush.
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Again, it happens, he says things that catch Silco off guard, the heat in his face spreading a little further β it's a half thing, on half his face, over his nose, but the dead, mottled skin over his scar doesn't change. It might look healed over with the makeup he wears, but they both knew what it really looked like by now β Vergilius had seen him fully bare in every way, after all β and his lips part, before he leans in to scrape sharp, chipped teeth against his neck. ]
Please, that's because I'm in your lap.
[ He punctuates it with a slight roll of his hips, what little he can move it, with his large hands holding him down like he's liable to squirm out of his grip from the words. He doesn't, he just drives to press his lips and teeth against that space of his neck, the juncture where his jaw and ear meet, to press in there, and suck a bruising mark against him.
Fingers draw down, scraping across his skin, the scars, a familiar little path he'd been aching to touch all night when he sat across from him β even when he'd caught his eyes across the room β he always seeks him out, as if it's only natural to find sight of him whenever he looks across the room. Even now, even trying to duck his face away, he can't stay for long, pulling back to look him in the eye β despite the obvious flush β and his lips curled, reaching up with a hand to brush his bangs back. ]
I very nearly tried to pull you into a β hah β business meeting while we were there.
[ So, so, tempting. He'd admit it, there's addiction here; obsession. He aims to cling and not let go of him. ]
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[The mark is lovely, the pain more so - and it almost makes him miss the sharp sting of the man sucking his blood so long ago. His fingers dig in a little as he grunts and murmurs, before Silco shifts to grace him with his face once more. Again, red eyes are exposed, stared into, like they mean nothing.]
[His chest heaves, mouth curled up into a smirk.]
That so. [He shivers at the way the man maps him out. He must know him so well by now, all his scarred little roads. His on thumbs stroke dangerously close to his groin.] A business meeting. Ha. I would do that. Pull you aside into the bathroom. Talk business.
[He pushes past his grip to kiss him with a teasing nip, almost grinning, now.]
Maybe we can one day. And I can show you just how good I can make you shut up with my mouth.
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He teases back, nips at his lips, his unblinking eye stares at his. There's a lurch somewhere, like something draws him closer, as if he could be closer. Like he melds against him, his fingers still find the little scars, like tributaries on a map, he follows them down, down, down. Fingers graze against scars, the remnants of wounds.
He still wants to learn about them, the ones that matter, but right now β he's distracted, too busy worrying his lips with his own, teeth and tongue snaking out to tease him. His fingers holding him in place, touching him, and that blossom of heat where his fingers just teased at the edge of him. ]
Oh? I thought you liked it when I made noise? [ He asked, his words formed against his lips. ] Maybe you should. Take me aside... steal me away from whatever nonsense they force us into next.
[ A better use of his time, perhaps. He says it with a press of his hips, rubbing against him through paings, enjoying the heat pressed against his admittedly thin and too-tight pants. ]
me slapping on the nsfw tag...smh
[He's never been a possessive man. His selfishness has always been buried deep, punished for existing. But perhaps here, with the taste of Silco on his tongue, he can acknowledge how pleased he is to have this all for himself.]
Mm. [Another mumble into the biting kiss, his hand palming over the hot swell in those pants, teasing.] Of course I do. But I'm sure you wouldn't want just anyone to walk in on your dick halfway down my throat.
[Crude, crude, crude. He will break out poetry, and then follow up with something as dirty as this. He unzips him now to relieve pressure, his own tent aching as he shifts it ever so slightly against the man on top of him.]
...I like - mm - when you touch me. [A little exhale, almost a laugh, to be stolen by Silco's mouth.] I think you've memorized everything by now.
π i hate them....
His cock twitches, freed from his pants, and he pushes forward, seeking his scarred hands like they're drawn to him, lips and tongue hungry, like he's swallowing each and every crude little word and promise. They're all for him to take. It's all his, and he greedily sucks them down with little bites and pleased gasps breathed against his lips. ]
All the more reason to prove to you I know them... [ He promises, a thumb grazing one of them, just along his abdomen, right where he can fiddle with the edges of his pants, a little promise of something more.
And maybe, foolishly, he's more honest when he's bare before him. ] I don't think I could tire of tracing them. [ Thin, clever little fingers slip the button free, so he can find his way in. ] Or of touching you.
[ He pulls him free, offering something like relief that comes with the price of his fingers wrapped around him, his hips rolling in time with his hands. ]
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