No β no. This is a serious matter. Are you listening to me?
[ Fingers at the back of his neck are just as unusual as any other touch, too abnormally close. Maybe a refracted image of something else, an intimacy this doesn't reflect β a dangerous press of fingertips at the back of his neck, the threat ever present, a promise that with Vergilius's strength, he could do exactly as he promised. Easily, in fact. Or he could, but...
In dim light, Silco's lips flickered with a ghost of a smile. As always, it seemed to twitch to life and then vanish as quick as you could realize it was happening, like his unpleasantness pulled it back under his natural armorβa spark of authenticity that gets consumed by reality. Both were equally real, but one was impulsive, the other a careful control that he even now still held tight.
Some kind of poison ran in his veins and thrummed, with each thud of his heart, it felt like that old, familiar hunger. He was never one to over-indulge, or even eat all that much (just look at him) but as a vampire, he'd felt a rush of excitement every time he'd hunted through Ryad's crowded playground for those with the odd hungers.
He'd missed that feeling. Not just the hunger, but the power. Of feeling like a predator amongst the prey, blending in until the very last moment. Power was a heady thing, and Silco couldn't imagine a world where it was turned down by anyone, let alone someone like Vergilius, whose power was great enough, albeit still somewhat human. Attainable. ]
I'm showing you what piece you are ignoring. What the foolish and misled do not understand. I know, because I've lived this life [ unlife. ] before.
[ This time he does smile, a sharp grin that has knives. How had he concealed it? But Silco's odd cadence and way of speaking surely masks those too-obvious fangs now.
Has it been three seconds? He should stop dallying, probably. ]
Don't fret β it's well worth the pain.
[ He didn't hesitate now, with his course of action decided. He leaned down closer, his free hand grabbed and tipped his head, thin fingers gripping his hair. Breath tickled on his neck β they were so close right now, far closer than even that night when their hands had tried to peel away layers of armor β a scrape of sharp teeth to follow warm breath, and then β
Twin sharp pricks of pain followed, when Silco sank his fangs into his neck. His fingers dug against skin, as if he were trying to force him to stay down. ]
no subject
[ Fingers at the back of his neck are just as unusual as any other touch, too abnormally close. Maybe a refracted image of something else, an intimacy this doesn't reflect β a dangerous press of fingertips at the back of his neck, the threat ever present, a promise that with Vergilius's strength, he could do exactly as he promised. Easily, in fact. Or he could, but...
In dim light, Silco's lips flickered with a ghost of a smile. As always, it seemed to twitch to life and then vanish as quick as you could realize it was happening, like his unpleasantness pulled it back under his natural armorβa spark of authenticity that gets consumed by reality. Both were equally real, but one was impulsive, the other a careful control that he even now still held tight.
Some kind of poison ran in his veins and thrummed, with each thud of his heart, it felt like that old, familiar hunger. He was never one to over-indulge, or even eat all that much (just look at him) but as a vampire, he'd felt a rush of excitement every time he'd hunted through Ryad's crowded playground for those with the odd hungers.
He'd missed that feeling. Not just the hunger, but the power. Of feeling like a predator amongst the prey, blending in until the very last moment. Power was a heady thing, and Silco couldn't imagine a world where it was turned down by anyone, let alone someone like Vergilius, whose power was great enough, albeit still somewhat human. Attainable. ]
I'm showing you what piece you are ignoring. What the foolish and misled do not understand. I know, because I've lived this life [ unlife. ] before.
[ This time he does smile, a sharp grin that has knives. How had he concealed it? But Silco's odd cadence and way of speaking surely masks those too-obvious fangs now.
Has it been three seconds? He should stop dallying, probably. ]
Don't fret β it's well worth the pain.
[ He didn't hesitate now, with his course of action decided. He leaned down closer, his free hand grabbed and tipped his head, thin fingers gripping his hair. Breath tickled on his neck β they were so close right now, far closer than even that night when their hands had tried to peel away layers of armor β a scrape of sharp teeth to follow warm breath, and then β
Twin sharp pricks of pain followed, when Silco sank his fangs into his neck. His fingers dug against skin, as if he were trying to force him to stay down. ]