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Vander had the worst puppy-eyes you’d ever seen. In fact, when he tried to pull them on you, it only made you more resistant to whatever bullshit problem he was trying to get you to solve.
In this case, the problem-that-needs-solving happens to be the absence of your fourth member. It’s not an uncommon occurrence, considering he’d been out late the night before securing the outgoing product for today’s smuggled shipments, but most of the day had passed at this point.
“Why can’t Benzo go?”
“Silco banned me from his apartment when I broke his last kitchen chair.”
“Alright, fair point. Van, can’t you do it? Or… I dunno, Sevika? They get along alright.”
Vander had the audacity to scoff at both of your suggestions, the smoke from his pipe billowing with each bark of it, “I have to be here in case the contact shows up, and Sevika is on a job right now. Besides, you’re way closer to Silco than her.”
You don’t miss the way Vander’s elbow nudges into Benzo’s side, and the two men laugh knowingly in a way that has you gritting your teeth and hopping off from where you’d been sitting on the bar, “You guys are assholes.”
“Take your time getting back,” Benzo teases after you, his voice carrying with laughter even as you shut the door of the bar behind you with a bit too much force. You hoped it rattled the whole bar, if only to show them how irritated you were with their teasing - because that’s what it was, why they were forcing you into this when others were just as suited to play fetch.
It’s not like it was a secret that you’d been stuck on Silco for… gods, years now? Long before the lot of you had taken up the mantle of revolutionaries, and were still toiling away in darkened mines. Vander had always been able to see right through your every defense, having known you since you were babies and just learning to walk. That was why he’d pinned your crush down the very same day you’d figured it out for yourself.
It’s dim on the streets of the Undercity, when the sun is setting earlier with the changing of the seasons and the streetlamps haven’t been turned on yet. Still, even in pitch-darkness you could probably find your way to Silco’s just fine - probably better than your own, at this point.
Shittiest building on the block, in the side door, up three flights of stairs and to the only door that is still functioning as it should. You pause for a moment, listening for shuffling on the other side, and then reach for the door handle to push it open. The lock hadn’t worked in weeks thanks to Vander being too heavy-handed with it, meaning you wouldn’t meet resistance.
Until you did , and it didn’t come as a physical barrier but a gentle groan just on the other side of the door. You almost kick it open until you realize it wasn’t a sound of pain, but something else entirely. Something that sounded suspiciously like your own name. And then it happened again, shuddering and pleading, and you’re understanding exactly what’s happening in there.
Against your better judgment, you don’t open the door right away. Instead, you slowly retract your hand and bite your lip to keep from making any sound of your own as another steady, rhythmic sound filters through the thin wood. The wet sound of skin gliding along skin, cut between with quiet grunts and sighs that definitely sound like your name now that you know what you’re listening for.
Should you open it? Knock, maybe? Would it be weird to wait until he was done? If you did, he’d likely know you were out here and listening and maybe even the fact that you were enjoying it. How vile is that? Honestly, that thought alone made up your mind, and you reached a hand up to knock just as Silco called for you.
Well, not for you, but more of a tortured groan of your name that had your blood searing through your veins in the span of a second. He was definitely tugging it to the thought of you, and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to try and cop this at least once before he realized you were in love with his skinny ass.
Instead of knocking, you pushed the door open sharply and stepped into the apartment - it’s small, with only one room and a bathroom with barely enough room to turn around in, but it’s more than enough space for a single man. Directly across from the door, Silco’s seated on the side of his bed while staring at you with half-lidded eyes and a hand toying at the buttons of his shirt as if he were in the middle of removing it.
You can’t speak, any half-assed words you’d prepared died in your throat the second you caught a view of Silco with his dick in his hand and the brief roll of his eyes back in his skull.
Finally, Silco breaks the tension with a murmur of your name - he still hasn’t put his cock away, and it’s painfully hard and leaking onto his hand as he holds it with a firm grip. It’s subtle, but just as he begins to speak his hand shifts and he’s tugging his foreskin back with a quiet wet sound.
“Are you just going to watch?”
That’s… not what you’re expecting, and you have to swallow your stutter before you can manage an answer with much more bravado than you’re currently feeling.
“Came all the way down here to get you, the least you could do is give me a show.”
Silco’s eyes widened a fraction, almost like he didn’t expect that answer. Instead of leaving or speaking further, you shut the door soundly behind you and cross to the table in the center of the room - no chairs, thanks to Benzo. You hop up on its surface and pointedly lean back only your hands to get comfortable.
A jerk of your chin is his signal to continue, and those pretty blue eyes turned heated as it finally clicked in his arousal-addled brain. Then those eyes flutter closed as he leans back on a hand and shifts the other around his cock with an agonizingly slow stroke. Quietly, he murmurs something, and you interject, “ Louder. ”
“Holy shit,” Silco stammers, looking at you down his face as he rolls his head back. Your name comes from the bottom of his chest as he twists his hand, breaking apart into a groan at the end of it. It’s gratifying, watching him undo himself to the thought of you while you say directly in front of him. You watched every movement of his hips, every fleeting expression across his face as he imagined the hand on his cock was yours instead of his own.
You could help him, maybe slide off the table onto your knees and take him in your mouth. Or climb into his lap and ride him until he’s seeing stars. That would give both of you the instant gratification that you didn’t want to feel yet - no, maybe if you dragged this out in a different way, you could have him crawling back for more.
Instead of helping him, you help yourself . Your pants are shucked off easily enough to your ankles, and Silco doesn’t even realize your lower half is bare before him until you’re already working yourself with your own hands. The first moan that tumbles from the back of your throat sets him off, and his head snaps up to look at you with awe .
“You’re… Ah, fuck- ”
“Keep going,” You jerk your chin again, leering down at him as you rock against your own hand, “I’ve always wondered what you look like when you cum.”
Silco’s quiet laughter melts into something more pleased as he catches a good spot on the underside of his cock and hones in on it. There’s a heaviness to his words that leads you to believe this is something you should talk about when the two of you are finished.
“Could’ve looked whenever you wanted, sweetheart. I’ve only been thinking about you like this every damn day for years now.”
“I-It’s not like you made it… obvious,” You huffed, already struggling to tease him through your own sparking nerves. Silco’s knuckles are white as he digs his fingertips into the bed below him, elbow trembling in an effort to keep him upright.
“Should I have just slid into your bed with my dick hard, then?” Silco’s tone is lilting with his jeer, not exactly asking for an answer and you decide not to give it to him. Rather, you widen your knees and double your efforts as you see his movements become more frantic and unpatterned.
It’s almost like an unspoken race, and Silco’s been working at himself for far longer than you have. By the time you even get close, he’s cursing under his breath as he fucks into his own hand with slick sounds and the creaking of the bed below him. With near-infinite concentration, you stare as he cums across his hand and pointedly groans your name like he was offering up some sort of challenge.
It’s one that you meet, and as the last syllable dies in his throat you’re cumming against your own fingers, head thrown back to the ceiling as you return the favor and keen his name to the point of it echoing off the walls - you know the neighbors heard that, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you make a mess of the table below you.
Silco carelessly wipes his hand on his pants, and fixes you with a look that holds too-much meaning before he drops back to lay on the bed with his arms outstretched from his sides. You don’t trust yourself just yet to climb from the table, and instead you take in his lithe form while it’s sprawled out with a heaving chest and pants dirtied with his own cum.
“Silco,” You wheeze, laying your soiled hand in your lap to wipe off on something that wasn’t your clothing - Silco’s pants would probably do the trick when you feel like your legs won’t give out on you. The only answer he gives is a short grunt, exhaustion beginning to overtake him. It would be cruel to keep him from his rest any longer, but you have questions that he needs to answer. The first of many.
“Every day? Seriously?”
“Sometimes twice.”