synflux | CATCH-ALL

[ So close, he can almost taste him.

Maybe only a hint, but it's enough to remind Silco of everything he'd spent a lot of time excusing away as mostly nothing. A loss of control, because that's all it had been, hadn't it? Whatever the circumstances were, they'd been nothing really, just... circumstances. A loss of control — dangerous, of course, anything like that was dangerous — but it was just that.

But then again, weren't there times since that he'd thought about it? Idle moments when he should be working, or sleeping, and he remembered the things he said. Maybe it was the pocky, or the vampirism that urged him to say those rotten things that wormed into his mind and latched on. Then again, it wasn't either of those things that made him remember the way he looked at him, or remembered the things he promised in the dark. ]

Didn't you know, Vergilius? I can weather anything.

[ His lips quirk, looking up at him. Even leaning into his space, he has to stoop slightly down to his level. Just like him, to have to meet him down here in the muck.

Maybe just this time, though, he can drag him down into it — the mud — it's not losing the battle, is it? If he just —

— Tipped his head up, just so, and sought out his lips as well. Was there blood there? Oh yes, but he hardly pulled away to savor the taste of it. ]

[Maybe Silco is losing here, finally crossing the distance for good. In a way, it doesn't feel like he's losing. They finally meet each other, and Vergilius lets a little groan of a noise eke out as they finally kiss. No, Silco isn't losing at all.]

[It's always been excuses. How easy, to blame feelings and the like on circumstances and all. It is true, that he would've never been spurred into doing such things out of the blue, before. But what happened is that it inadvertently opened a door. He might have had his mind addled by bloodlust or a tainted cookie, but the thoughts that came afterward were had sober. The daintiness of the man's small waist that cups beautifully underneath his scarred hand. The sounds he remembers, the way the man whispered and moaned his name. The warmth that was so paradoxical to the both of them, sparking up and down into their spine.]

[Even now, he could find an excuse. He was angry, and vulnerable, and willing to turn to any sign of being human to stop him from thinking about his sins. To stop him thinking about Lapis, and the audition, and that painting, and-]

[Silco's lips slot into his like puzzle pieces. He gives them a little bite, breath rattling as he refuses to back off. The stench of blood is on both of them. He chooses to ignore it.]

[ It feels a little more like winning, when he can hear that soft groan escape from the man's throat, he swallows it down like he can consume it from him. Like it's his due, a payment in exchange for breaching the divide first. Swallow it whole like a monster ready to consume it.

This is different, maybe - or it's not different at all. It still sparks that heat that he so rarely indulges, the result of his breath and the prick of pain on his lips. He'd thought his head would be clearer if he did it again, now that there was no song of blood, or that rush of heat from those horrible little cookies. (Were they so horrible? Had he not ached for days later, his mind left thinking about it again and Again?) No, his focus still narrows to just this, only the smell of blood mingled with him -- so similar to that first night in his quarters where they're drank from each other and --

His mouth opened against his, teeth scraping against his lips, all sharp edges coupled with thin, pliant lips. He didn't even try to stop the shudder of air -- and worse; a too-satisfied sound against his. A pleased little thing, to have what he's wanting right now reciprocated. To see that desire reflected back.]

[His hand moves back and up and over to slot the gladius in its holster on his back, but he's not breaking the kiss. If he does so, its only momentary - for he's taking a brief hitch of a breath before diving back in.]

[With both his hands now free, he's letting them restlessly shift around the man to grasp into fabric, pull him closer. Hungry, hungry. They're both monsters willing to feed upon each other's bodies, pull out blood and flesh and desire for sustenance as need be.]

[This is what he felt deprived of, under the mistletoe. There's no one here - no one alive, for that matter - to witness this and make him self-conscious. He can continue as much as he'd like.]

[Malkuth had wanted him to be selfish. He had allowed it, back then, with uncertainty. A deer on feeble limbs.]

[Now he feels more sure in his footing, and he's letting his teeth rule the kiss with little half-bites and teases, matching Silco's little pleasure with a grumbling one of his own.]

[ He doesn't mind, particularly, if the man is selfish. Not if Vergilius takes his lips with those bites, and with the way he seems to steal his breath from him. It's odd, feeling so breathless, especially by choice, especially when it doesn't raise that sense of fear in the back of his mind. It's a pleasurable thing, and heady, to feel like he can barely surface to take a gasping breath.

There's nobody to see them, or catch them, and how dangerous that is, given the little games they've been playing, like two monsters sizing each other up, no honesty between them as they've been puffing up, and sending quick little snaps back and forth, each time shrinking back so that they don't get taken by surprise, not willing to expose belly or throat unless there's something else forcing it. It's different when there aren't those circumstances. When Vergilius has already felt him breach that line in the sand — he knows he wants something from him — but even still...

He's tugged him closer than before — they had already drifted closer and closer — it's easy for Vergilius to practically blanket him, tug him up and against him so he can feel his warmth, and Silco can reach up to touch his bloodied fingers to his neck, to trail along the sliver of exposed skin, and leave his mark of blood down his neck, a trail of carnage that felt a little bit like he was leaving a mark on the man.

Most were invisible, but this? He could do.

He tipped his head, a brush of chipped teeth against his bottom lip, biting down with no gentleness, tugging at it slightly with another soft 'hm' that sounded like he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.

It lets him breathe, at least, only slightly, a sharp inhale through his nose before he releases his lip to press back in again, as if giving him the space to stop, and think would make him reconsider. He doesn't want him to do that — pull back, when he'd finally stepped across the line. ]

[Already, the tormented twist of feelings in his chest from before seems to ebb away. It's easy, here, to get lost in this. In the fingers on his neck that leave that wet scar of a stain, in the way Silco's body nestles against his. His anger will never abate - selfishness will only serve to stoke that fire in the long run - but for now he can eke it out in the way he causes retribution for these bites with his own rough attacks.]

[Silco's teeth are uneven against the swell of his lip, and he's pulling back. He knows it's a falsehood, that little pause. As if he could stop here. There's something perhaps a little desperate in this - as if the here and now must be realized before it gets shoved inside once more.]

[He should reconsider. In the past, its been like kneejerk reflex to do so. However, he can't, he won't. He's crossed the line. He can't simply just wander back, not when his body wants this, wants to avoid the self-purgatory of his own misery about adding to his sins.]

[Silco caused him to do this.]

[Silco added to his sins.]

[His eyes flare red as they come in - he bites down harshly on the man's lower lip, perhaps enough to draw blood, before he kisses him again. And again. His tongue presses in, groaning into the man's mouth as his fingers curl.]

[ It stings, but he doesn't mind. What does Silco care about a little blood? A little pain? All it does is make him think of that hallway where he'd bitten the man, the way he'd bitten back — the way he'd kissed him on the floor there, as if that was a normal thing to do — and how it had hurt so much more than this. Blood wells up from his teeth, and he offered a hiss of a soft sound, a half-groan against his lips.

Would he care, if he knew that Vergilius made this his sin? Could he care? Surrounded by the bodies, does he even want to care about them?

Silco's eye doesn't close, it never closes, it stares at him, drinks in that flare of angry red — he remembers what that gaze looks like — it makes a shudder of something draw down, something irrational that made him press tighter against his body. He opened his mouth for him, maybe not obedient, but allowing him in, a sharp nip of his teeth at his lips in warning, as if telling him he was allowing him in.

His fingers drifted up, to brush those bloody bangs back out of his face, leaving that burning gaze unimpeded, so he can stare back with his own hateful, angry pit of an eye.

He could always match him in this, though his always glared out at the world no matter what he did. ]

[It would be easy at a distance to deem this a lover's kiss. Closer its more obvious as to what it is - two monsters clashing their lips and teeth in the semblance of something more tender. Sure, he may feel something akin to tenderness for Silco, he may be loathe to admit it, but here and now the way Silco's blood bursts in his mouth feels more vicious than anything.]

[The man's spider fingers crawl up to press back his bangs. Deep down, he's always liked it - somehow, in a world where most avert their gaze, he gives respect to those who wouldn't shy away from his vivid red glow. Silco has one of his own. It's as if they're cut from the same cloth.]

[He's allowed in, complete with a nip. It's painful. It's wonderful. His hand slides up to grasp the back of Silco's neck, fingers gripping into his hair, as he further moves his tongue in to swallow down kisses hungrily.]

[There's a flush to his ears. There's a part of him worried this might go too far.]

[Isn't this already too far?]

[ Silco has his hand in his hair, and Vergilius's tongue practically down his throat — it might be too far now, for the both of them.

Silco has always been all sharp edges — but now he's like a serrated blade, aiming to cut in, get underneath flesh where he can't be pulled free — like he can't be so easily tugged free, like he can't be removed or discarded so readily. Self-preservation, manifested in the way he digs fingers and teeth into the other man. Intimacy at a cost, because monsters can't do anything but take, a greedy monster like Silco even more likely.

He likes it, meeting his red gaze, like he's leveled under his burning stare, but he stares right back. Isn't it novel, that someone else is staring right back, burning a hold right back in his head, like they're mirrors, reflecting intensity, anger, and...

A gravely, cigar-stained moan ripped itself out of his throat, an offering for the other man to consume. There's nobody alive here, other than them. There's nobody to catch them, and that makes Silco feel a little bolder. There's no thin walls that he needs to fret over, or the possibility of being tripped up on. He has a free hand — he invests that in finding spaces to hold, a thin hand wrapped around his waist, to hold him there.

He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to break this moment. He does want to move — that flush of desire is hard to ignore — he always wants more. He wants to keep him right here, for as long as he can, surrounded by blood, and the wake of Vergilius's destruction.

The thought of his blade cutting through men makes him push forward, as if he could consume more of him, his bites and attempts to steal his breath away more, and more hungry, as if all he'd done is whet his appetite, not sate it. ]

[He tore through men with his gladius. Silco seems to want to tear through him with this kiss. These noises, the closeness the way pain continues to spark into his lips and face with way Silco ravages him like he's meat. He paid for his services, he got what he wanted, and then some. A bloodied tryst of heat and finally released passion. Its been placed at the forefront now. These feelings that have been brewing every time he talks with the man, looks at him.]

[And based on that lovely little groan he swallows down, Vergilius thinks Silco must have felt the same. They're mirrors, aren't they? Red eyes of warning, a vivid heart that yearns to put the world into a sea of flames.]

[A place like this, with its stench of blood and death, is where they belong.]

[The hand encircles him. It makes him feel hungrier, suddenly wishing it was placed skin to skin. His kisses are becoming sloppier, finally pressed in a haphazard way as he kisses over chin, then jaw, and then makes its attack over Silco's slender little neck. He aims to leave marks. Silco can't be the only one burrowing in, and so he sucks a pretty little welt over the right side of his neck.]

[He really feels like he could eat him right here and now, even if that's impossible to make happen. But it feels that way - as if he's seconds from tearing out muscles and blood vessels to swallow down.]

[He wonders if Silco can feel it too, that definite shudder that makes this all the more dangerous.]

[ He feels it too — of course he does — it's like electricity thrumming between them. Memory sparks enough that he wants more too — punctuated by the welt blossoming on his throat, and he can't help but crave more, and more. Blood, yes, but maybe more than just that, too. He can feel it from Vergilius as well, the way he shudders, the way that it feels like he's just barely holding back.

Does he want to? Silco still craves it, the rush of blood, the sensation of taking something from him, even if a part of him thinks more than a mouthful of it would nauseate him all the same. Even though the rising smell of death and cooling blood is barely an afterthought here.

It's just part of the scenery — something the two of them are so easily mired in, so ready to accept. What do they care for a little carnage?

His head tipped, to give him whatever he wanted from him. His lips on his skin make the breath catch in his throat, he swallows it back, nips at his flushed ear, teeth that are too—dull to break skin, but he wants to all the same.

His fingers... they're just as greedy as the rest of him. Greedy, searching little things, they tug at his shirt, like if he could pull it free from his trousers, he could slip his fingers underneath, and find what he wants there — scarred skin like it's a prize he's seeking out. Like it's his due — as if all of this isn't their due for taking so long, toeing and dancing at a line, playing at this being nothing more than circumstances, when now —

Now it all feels so dizzyingly out of control. ]

[Out of control does seem the way to describe this. And there's nothing to blame for this, now. Nothing he can say is making him feel like this, except Silco himself. The memories of their previous entanglements seem so vivid now. He still remembers it all, feels it all like they're personal hauntings. He and Silco, each other personal ghosts.]

[He should stop. Take a breather. Collect himself. But the man's fingers are at his shirt, tugging, and it makes him lose his attention. He snaps to it, murmurs into Silco's skin a little as he worries more kisses into the bruised skin.]

[His hand in Silco's hair readjusts and tugs again, and he will take a breather - his chest heaving with heated breath, his skin feeling both too hot and clammy at the same time.]

[His deep voice sings into the man's jawline, rumbling as he nips and licks at hardened scarred skin.]

Have you dreamt about me? About the way...you fit right against me? Haah. The way I fit against you? Inside you?

[ It should be quiet in here, there's nothing else alive but the two of them — but his heart thuds away in his chest — it's loud in the silence between them, punctuated only by the ruffle of cloth and the sound of their breaths shared between them, the murmurs against skin, sparse groans that filled the space. He hadn't expected the thudding in his chest to reach his ears.

It stutters, as he breathes against his jawline. His lips part just so, his fingers find what he's looking for, digging into the skin there, nails raking against the small of his back, digging into the skin there. ]

Hm. [ One of those sounds rumbled from the back of his throat, half as if he is trying to be mysterious. Half as if he is breathing out a secret with it. ] You think you were that good, do you?

[ His head tipped, to bite against his bottom lip, a sharp nip against him, before he let his mouth keep moving against his lips. ]

What are you going to do if I did? [ His fingers dig in a little more, against that space on his back, like he's keeping him here. ] Stop me?

[ How could he not think about it? ]

[The initial question the man asks actually makes him pause - and then let out a little low noise. A hahaha that seems a little unnatural to a man so dour.]

...I know I was that good, if the way you're throwing yourself at me is any indication.

[Silco is a careful man. To show any vulnerability would be akin to showing a sore spot to an enemy to dig a knife into. And yet here, with those wonderful little groans and the way his body twists to eliminate as much spact between them, Silco is as vulnerable as anything. It doesn't mean he's still not a threat. It doesn't mean he's not going to make this easy. Vergilius's breath hitches with the nails into his back, little wounds to join the rest of them.]

[Greedy. How very greedy. Silco covets him like a magpie with a little bauble of treasure, to have only for him and him alone.]

[Trouble is, Vergilius can be very greedy too. A surprising new element to himself, he's discovered. Or maybe it's always been there.]

What am I going to do...

[He pauses, muses, even as now his other hand is diving in to slip under fabric, slide up Silco's back. He knows his scars must feel rough.]

Perhaps I should leave you to your thoughts. Your dreams. [He is more than happy to meet that little nip with one of his own, sucking on the man's bottom lip as he sighs. How funny, how wretched he is, that such an affair has pushed his self-loathing behind him, even if they're still standing in a sin of their own making.] I'm sure you still like being able to walk. Hardly would want to get in the way of that. Again.

[ Oh, he's far too confident. Silco considers denying it -- throwing himself at him? As of they haven't been playing a game, sniping at one another over and over again, little quibbles and insults. How many times had he pestered him on the network, or reached out?

Had he wanted to hear his voice? See if he could goad him into breaking down? Now that he was -- he was threatening to walk away? No, he didn't think so. This was just another step in the game, both of them trying to twist into one another, while protecting the tender spots they do carefully shielded. He'd breached this barrier, and Vergilius had leaned into him, opened his mouth to him. Even now, he's biting at his lip, aaaaand Silco doesn't think he'll just walk away.

Not after so much time.

He's pressed against him, his fingers running over scars on his back. They're like latticework, and he wants to pick them apart. ]

You think you would enjoy that? [ He asked, against his lips. ] Knowing that I'm just a few doors down from you, thinking about it? [ His teeth came out, uneven and sharp, to bite at him again. ]

Thinking about that missed opportunity? [ A smile that almost looks a sneer. ] I'm not so delicate, that you have to worry about breaking me.

[ Well, maybe a little. That few days after had been... Hm. ]

I like making you suffer a little. Leave you to stew in it. Imagine that opportunity however you want, while never getting it.

[He says this, but he's currently feeling up the other man, here, touch somehow both oddly tender and a little insistent as a finger trails down every edge of his vertebrae. He has made threats to others to rip out their spine. He could do it here, now. Add Silco to the bodies around them. He could.]

[Another bite. He never stops biting. Vergilius kisses him again, wrestles with those lips as if to worry them away. He only pauses to hiss, licking over the wound already there.]

Don't I have to worry? Aren't you a busy man? My, my. What will people think?

[A little laugh - heady, his mind pulled from one extreme to another here. He feels a little insane.]

Or will they be okay with you missing for a few days?

Hm, would that be enough for you? [ His lips curl beneath his, half like he doesn't believe him, and half like he thinks the suffering would spread to him in turn. Would it be worth it, if it cut both ways? ] You can't tell me you don't think about it, too. I wonder how long you would put yourself through that?

[ He doesn't want that, despite his tone, and he punctuated the question with his fingers into his back, starting to drift upwards and wondering just how long it would be until this toppled over. Scars under his fingers that he wanted to pick apart, like he could reveal the pieces of him underneath laid bare.They were still playing this out, like a script. Hot and cold -- playing like they could just go their separate ways tonight, because this was nothing, obviously.

But they're giving it away, too. Aren't they? His fingers on his spine are almost... Almost -- He shivers, stones forward by fingers at the too-bony points on his back, each one like a peak on a mountain ridge. ]

Oh, you think you can do that again? [ He sounds almost amused, as he opened his mouth to him again. His teeth scraped against him, each bite received one in response. Never one to back down, a soft sound to accompany it, pleased.]

I'd like to see you try. [ he, too, must be insane. For goading him like this. He was a doomed man, but being doomed never made his blood practically simmer like this. ] Imagine the public service you would be doing, putting the criminal up for a few days.

I'm an exceedingly patient man.

[Oh, but Silco is right. He would imagine it, just like he imagined it after their little cookie incident. He had his taste whetted, and here he is to have his fill. And then some.]

[And then some.]

[This isn't the time or place fpr such base thoughts. But Silco is right- he's been thinking of it too much to not let it sink into the way he covets the man's body here. He just killed a lot of people. He will likely kill more. He should be well deep in his own perpetual sorrow, but he's not. How?]

[Silco speaks against his lips, and he has an an understanding of why. He's too good of a distraction. He's a hateable figure he wants to put into place. These people he killed are mere mooks, even if he still has sadness over their deaths. Silco is the big prize, and one of the ways to really punish him is-]

[Well. They're sort of already talking about it.]

[No. He can't leave here and now. But this is inconvenient, too. Vergilius bites a little in a line over the jaw, almost love bites. Hungry, hungry.]<

I like that idea. Let's try. I'll be lauded like a hero by the time you wake up.

[A beat, a little shiver. ]

Maybe we should start right now. Silco.

Hm.

[ He murmurs, because he knows. He knows he's right, because it wasn't just the cookies, was it? Sure, Vergilius wouldn't admit it, but every now and then, between the anger or the insults, there are the little fractures peeking through. Like the outfit, or the way he hadn't just taken the kiss under the mistletoe or even — now.

No, he's already shown his hand, but then again... so had Silco, hadn't he? He could have simply turned the other way, or not spoken to him after... the cookie incident, but instead he'd signed a contract to keep him around, hadn't he? Given him those little hints at who he was — been honest with him, at least in the way that he knew how.

No, he was damned too, a little bit. He'd already given away the secret, that he was greedy, and wanted more of him.

Maybe a little more of what he was promising. ]

You'd like that, wouldn't you? All the accolades for nothing more than taking what you already wanted.

[ He tipped his head, allowing him to do what he wanted. His fingers drifted back down his back, to trail along the line of a scar there. His fingers ached to do more, so he did. Let them drift forward, tracing to his sides, inward — to the dips of his hips, to press his thumbs in there. ]

You're going to start here? [ No question of 'now', but he doubted the man would make a throne of fallen bodies, would he? Topple him over into the mess of blood and gore? As much as he enjoyed the look of carnage on his face, of all the blood on him... Well. He felt stupid enough though — foolish enough — that he might agree.

Then again, he hardly wanted to break it, what was hanging in the air. It felt a bit like, if he just pushed it would fall apart in his fingertips as readily as it was... simmering between them like electric wire, like the high of shimmer suspended and holding just right. ]

[It's fragile. It's new. It's familiar. It's been around forever. It's strong as anything. It's infuriating. It makes him insane. What they have here has been brewing, and the cup runneth over now.]

[It's time to admit, at least, that he likes the way the man touches him. Perhaps he's just that desperate for touch - Malkuth was the one to really start that snowball down the mountain- but no, really, Silco was special. He mapped him out like he was one of his documents. He hoped he would memorize every scar, somehow. He doesn't know why he wants him to do it. Maybe he just wants someone in his life currently treating his body like a little more than a machine.]

[Is he going to start here? At least a small logical part is crying out that this isn't the best place. Another part is too recklessly aroused to think of anything else than descending into madness and taking him here and now.]

[He sighs into his mouth, a shudder as his thumb plays with the man's waistband.]

We could take it back home. Nothing stopping us. Do you think...you could survive until then, though?

[ He's going to go mad, he thinks. He thinks of just pushing him over into the mass of blood and bodies, and making a mess of them even more than they already were. Like they were sinking into the gore all around them, a pair of monsters making a bed of their own sick, horrendous making.

His mouth goes dry, when he plays with his waistband, like he's tempted to not even listen to whatever he says, and start right now. Would it be enough? It was scandalous to think about, almost driving him to some kind of mad high, thinking about it. Drifting back into base covered in blood, gore, each other? What if someone saw them? Did he even care? ]

Hm... [ The tone was playful, for how short it was. He found the end of a scar at his abdomen, his nails scraping against it. ] Can you? [ he's so tempted to drift his fingers down, down, down.

They're both patient men.

He feels like he's been more than patient. ]

Haven't you had enough waiting?

[ Maybe he's just trying to goad him to join hands with him, and plummet into insanity with him? ]

[Hasn't he had enough waiting?]

[His kneejerk instinct is to say no. Of course not. He is well controlled. He is patient. He is not a slave to base emotions.]

[Lies, lies, lies. As if he hasn't had fretful thoughts about the man's teeth in his shoulder, or the knees pressing into his sides as they move in bed. Silco is not some gorgeous specimen of humanity, but he meant what he said that night, that he was beautiful. There's something about this man that screams addiction. There is that component that he does deserve this. Silco is a horrible man, and Vergilius seeks repentance for his sins.]

[But is this really repentance? With the way he enjoys it, isn't it just another way to sin?]

[Regardless, the taunt makes his heart rate flare up - his mind wavers between taking him home, taking him against the wall, dropping them both into the viscera - and he finds a middle ground. The table which these dead men were working on from before. It's splattered in blood, with a few bodies draped over it, but it doesn't matter.]

[With a rush of energy like anxiety, he's twisting them both to press Silco down against it. His hands are too rough as he's undoing his belt to start yanking his pants down, all while he bends in to capture his lips with a low growl of a noise. He's too hungry. What a problem that is.]

[ He grunted from the back of his throat, the moment his backside crashed against the table — hands moved to splay against the surface — his fingers brushed a dead man's, and he swatted them out of the way carelessly, one of them dropped to the floor unceremoniously as soon as he brushed the limb limb aside. It splashes in blood, but Silco doesn't give Vergilius a moment to contemplate it — if he even would — he drives his head upward, to offer another biting kiss, a soft groan to accompany it.

There's so much possibility right here, right now. He wants to tug at his lapels, make sure he keeps his gaze locked on him — he wants to help him, his fingers drifting down to make sure they're both exposed — he wants to do So many different things that it's making his head spin with indecision.

He'd thought about all of them, after all. How could he not? He hadn't been lying, that there'd been plenty of times that his traitorous brain, in an attempt to avoid sleep — maybe he shouldn't have indulged that first time — it's like a break in the dam, after so long not and now —

His fingers drift up to tug him close, making sure to keep him from drifting too far, so he can bite a line along his lips, chipped teeth threatening to rip at the skin there, as if he could take his due from him here, if he can't from his neck. He wants to do it, so he slips his knee between Vergilius's legs, it might even get in the way of his efforts, he doesn't care — not when he can press it against the weight of him there, nudging it with none of the gentleness of lovers. ]

[What a poison the mind is. What tender thoughts he had about Silco in the beginning and their stories about fatherhood and survival in a cruel world are still there. But the vampirism changed a lot of things. Introduced the concept of Silco underneath him, the concept of those beautiful noises gracing his ears again. He resisted the notion because they were simply thoughts. He didn't deserve them.]

[But here and now in the dizzying rush of things, its all painfully real. Thoughts can become reality. He can find those little nooks and crannies of Silco's body he had yet to pay attention to before. What a gift. The man presses his knee upwards, and Vergilius shifts his hips against it, feeling the spike of heat swelling as he adds to the friction. It does get in the way of his undressing. No matter. He will start working on Silco's belt instead.]

[The biting kisses make him gasp and hiss, his own kisses just as rough as he worries at those scarred lips. He will add scars. He hopes he does. Better these wounds to focus on than the bloody corpses around them.]

[He fumbles a bit, but one hamd manages to be sent ahead as the belt pops open, squeezing over his groin to coax him out.]

[ His fingers send a warm rush all the way down to meet them, he'd already felt his pants getting tighter (they were already tight) but he responded automatically to his fingers squeezing against him, a soft note breathed out against his lips. Involuntarily — traitoriously — his hips give away how much he wants it, slowly, hesitantly pressing up against his hand.

It's so dangerous to give so much away, whether it's what he wants, whether it's a need for pleasure, even being seen as wanting something is dangerous. It can all be taken away so easily, after all, can't it? Even here, even now, his traitorous little mind always has that nagging little piece, a whisper reminding him that if he knows he wants this — can it not be used against him? Would Vergilius?

He can swat the idle thought away — it was always there, would always be there — but right now there is solid wait pressing him down, and Vergilius's fingers were enough to keep his mind more occupied by this than... everything else. He keeps returning to this, his thoughts keep circling back around from the paranoia to his fingers wrapped around him, his mouth on him, the sting of his bites, or that way he looked at him. After all, he's suffered his sting, hasn't he? He still stole into his room like a looming specter and left these lingering thoughts and moments in his wake that he can't forget them.

He doesn't want to, he wants more of them. Another raspy groan against his lips, bites to accompany it, he moved his knee, a gentle rotation as if to draw more of him out, drive him just made enough to forget what logic was.

Forget where they were, or what they were doing in the midst of all of it, only the dead to witness it. ]

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😑 nsfw...............

hate them

RATTLES THEM!!!