[ 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. ]
[It sounds like a sigh. But it comes out unbidded, a genuine little exhalation of surprise against those lips. He could never tire of him? It sounds almost like a fantasy. Words that aren't meant for simple wanderings of lust, perhaps, but for-]
[He interrupts himself. He has something here to focus on - his cock thickening so lovingly in the man's distinct bony grip. A little whine edges from his throat as he also reaches out to stroke alongside Silco, pumping from his groin.]
Say something - mm - like that and. Hah. Makes me think you have a crush on me.
[His hand on Silco's hip moves up to cup the back of his head, stealing a passionate kiss that he worries into the other's lips.]
[ A crush on him, as if they aren't currently holding each other in hand, as if he doesn't seek Vergilius out, or as if Vergilius doesn't seek him out in kind. As if he hadn't sought him out here, as if Silco hadn't just hours ago. Push and pull, back and forth, they're still dancing, even now.
Silco's brief experiment with honesty feels like a weight on his chest, but Vergilius kisses him like he should forget all of it. He worries his lips, and Silco kisses him like a knife cuts, as always. Sharp, unyielding, like he's trying to flay a part of him off for his own personal consumption. ]
You say that enough β [ He breathes against his lips, his hips shifting, so he can wrap thin fingers around the both of them, seeking heat and pleasure, and so his fingers can brush against his. ] β I'm starting to think that may be a guilty man speaking.
[ Maybe they were both guilty in their own ways. Silco has already said something he shouldn't β sharing that secret little part of him, the one that claws in, and never lets go... Is it truly so surprising that he would admit that he doesn't tire of him β that he wouldn't?
His free hand plays with skin, and he bites a line from his lips to his jaw, giving into temptation to nibble against his skin, to suck at it. He so desperately wants to leave a mark, but he can't. He shouldn't. Not after admitting that he wants to stay in secret. His breath hovers over skin, warm, shaking with half-restrained gasps and starts of breath. ]
Edited (I wake up and perceive a typo don't tag at 1 am π) 2025-05-12 11:19 (UTC)
[Can the pot recognize when the kettle calls it black in return? Maybe. Maybe not. They say such things, and yet they still guard their cores like frightened little animals. As if they can keep playing their same games. Over and over and over again, refusing to look directly into the sun.]
[Silco's fingertips brush against his. His mouth quirks upward, almost a smile. His own hand brushes through Silco's hair, almost petting it as the man attempts his work on his jaw. A pleasurable tickle, but...no, he's getting frustrated, a little.]
[His hand grasps the back of Silco's head, a little tug to gather attention. His growl rumbles as he leans forward, his own teeth encircling the man's earlobe to give it a bip.]
[ What would they have, if they gave up the game? It would be something tangible. Something to...
No, it must remain intangible.
He's holding back, a little, taking his time. Like a little spider that sets the web, and lets the fly land in it, all that patient waiting manifests as hunger, settling beneath his skin. He's controlled it this long, nestled up against him, but that want threatens to spill forth, like a monster threatening to split his skin and crawl out, leaving bones and skin behind to some other Thing that wants nothing more than to consume him.
He calls him a coward, and Silco's fingers scrape against his skin again, a little sharper, a little meaner.
His laugh, though, is of course that, but there's... something else there. Pleased. Even though he tugs at his hair and bites at his ear. It sends another little shiver down his spine. ]
Don't complain later, then.
[ His nose brushes the space behind his jaw, a breath that's half a laugh, and half something more heated, he presses his lips there, his teeth, still those barely-there marks against his jaw, before there's a sharp inhale, the flood of a memory. Of blood in his mouth, and how good it had tasted then.
It's sharp, it's rough, it's a bite that comes with pressure, as if he were trying to suck his blood out from him, though he doesn't break skin. He almost seems to relax in his lap, when he stops holding back, as if the spider has finally pinned the fly down against the web. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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. ]
no subject
[It sounds like a sigh. But it comes out unbidded, a genuine little exhalation of surprise against those lips. He could never tire of him? It sounds almost like a fantasy. Words that aren't meant for simple wanderings of lust, perhaps, but for-]
[He interrupts himself. He has something here to focus on - his cock thickening so lovingly in the man's distinct bony grip. A little whine edges from his throat as he also reaches out to stroke alongside Silco, pumping from his groin.]
Say something - mm - like that and. Hah. Makes me think you have a crush on me.
[His hand on Silco's hip moves up to cup the back of his head, stealing a passionate kiss that he worries into the other's lips.]
no subject
Silco's brief experiment with honesty feels like a weight on his chest, but Vergilius kisses him like he should forget all of it. He worries his lips, and Silco kisses him like a knife cuts, as always. Sharp, unyielding, like he's trying to flay a part of him off for his own personal consumption. ]
You say that enough β [ He breathes against his lips, his hips shifting, so he can wrap thin fingers around the both of them, seeking heat and pleasure, and so his fingers can brush against his. ] β I'm starting to think that may be a guilty man speaking.
[ Maybe they were both guilty in their own ways. Silco has already said something he shouldn't β sharing that secret little part of him, the one that claws in, and never lets go... Is it truly so surprising that he would admit that he doesn't tire of him β that he wouldn't?
His free hand plays with skin, and he bites a line from his lips to his jaw, giving into temptation to nibble against his skin, to suck at it. He so desperately wants to leave a mark, but he can't. He shouldn't. Not after admitting that he wants to stay in secret. His breath hovers over skin, warm, shaking with half-restrained gasps and starts of breath. ]
no subject
[Can the pot recognize when the kettle calls it black in return? Maybe. Maybe not. They say such things, and yet they still guard their cores like frightened little animals. As if they can keep playing their same games. Over and over and over again, refusing to look directly into the sun.]
[Silco's fingertips brush against his. His mouth quirks upward, almost a smile. His own hand brushes through Silco's hair, almost petting it as the man attempts his work on his jaw. A pleasurable tickle, but...no, he's getting frustrated, a little.]
[His hand grasps the back of Silco's head, a little tug to gather attention. His growl rumbles as he leans forward, his own teeth encircling the man's earlobe to give it a bip.]
Don't be a coward. Claim me.
no subject
No, it must remain intangible.
He's holding back, a little, taking his time. Like a little spider that sets the web, and lets the fly land in it, all that patient waiting manifests as hunger, settling beneath his skin. He's controlled it this long, nestled up against him, but that want threatens to spill forth, like a monster threatening to split his skin and crawl out, leaving bones and skin behind to some other Thing that wants nothing more than to consume him.
He calls him a coward, and Silco's fingers scrape against his skin again, a little sharper, a little meaner.
His laugh, though, is of course that, but there's... something else there. Pleased. Even though he tugs at his hair and bites at his ear. It sends another little shiver down his spine. ]
Don't complain later, then.
[ His nose brushes the space behind his jaw, a breath that's half a laugh, and half something more heated, he presses his lips there, his teeth, still those barely-there marks against his jaw, before there's a sharp inhale, the flood of a memory. Of blood in his mouth, and how good it had tasted then.
It's sharp, it's rough, it's a bite that comes with pressure, as if he were trying to suck his blood out from him, though he doesn't break skin. He almost seems to relax in his lap, when he stops holding back, as if the spider has finally pinned the fly down against the web. ]