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Silco’s long hair framed his jawline in a way that had a mesmeric effect on Vander. He once punched a wall with his bare hand because he was so distracted imagining the soft texture of Silco’s curls that he forgot he wasn’t wearing his gauntlets. Silco patched him up, and Vander just stared and stared and fell in love.
He adored Silco’s mind, too, of course. The fox-like wit he dished out in deep, silken tones. When Silco put voice to his plans for a revolution, Vander wanted to pull him by the waist into the protection of his arms, or take a knee and kiss his hand, like a knight pledging fealty to a king. When Silco charmed him with his whiskey-loosened tongue, Vander hungered.
But the first time Silco tied that long, soft hair of his into a ponytail, that’s when Vander finally mustered the courage to kiss him.
Because from that moment on, he had always wanted to do this.
They burst through the door to Vander’s bedroom, Silco stumbling backwards and staying upright only due to Vander’s wandering hands pulling him in, his lips keeping him anchored. Vander tasted every crevice of his mouth, swallowed every moan and hitched breath, sucked and bit and tugged at his lip until its hue and the flush on Silco’s cheeks were in agreement. There, in the middle of the room, he sank his teeth into Silco’s neck, then kissed it to soothe, then sucked it to bruise. He pulled Silco towards him by the hips until Silco’s feet were almost off the ground, until he had no choice but to wrap his arms around Vander’s neck for purchase.
They broke away just barely at first, but then Vander was leaning back to take in the sight of him. It was so easy to lose, down in the Undercity. He had learned long ago to savour every moment.
He stroked his palms over Silco’s cheeks, the cut of his jaw pressing into Vander’s heart lines. Then kissed him, just once. Long, slow, gentle. Giving honour to an unbreakable thing.
Vander’s fingers combed gently through lumps and knots in Silco’s hair until it was gathered together at the back of his head. With the elastic on his wrist, he secured it, and the strands that fell about Silco’s cheekbones nearly did him in.
“Look at you,” Vander breathed.
“Stop looking,” Silco begged. “Ruin me.”
Silco’s back bounced against the mattress. His hands scrambled for purchase against the sheets but Vander dragged them forward, captured them above his chest. He unwound the long strip of fabric that adorned Silco’s wrist, only to tie it back around both of them together. He pushed Silco’s joined hands into the pillow above his head, engulfed them with one hand of his own. The other tipped Silco’s head back by his jaw as he swallowed him in a kiss. Silco moaned and arched into it.
Confident that Silco would stay where Vander had put him, the hand on Silco’s jaw slipped down over his chest to his belt. He unclasped the buckle one-handed with alarmingly familiar accuracy. He tugged it free entirely, and as Silco pushed his hips up to let it slide across the small of his back, Vander ground down against him. He shivered at Silco’s desperate whine.
The belt was passed between Silco’s wrists, just below the fabric restraining him, and clasped shut around the headboard. Vander sat back on Silco’s thighs and salivated at the view stretched out in front of him.
“I thought I told you to stop looking,” Silco admonished, breathy. Vander rubbed a hand against Silco’s dick through his trousers. His heart started beating in his ears as Silco writhed beneath him.
“Just want to see what I’m ruining.”
Silco’s fly came apart, then his trousers were being pulled down the bed and abandoned in a heap on the floor, his underwear following closely behind. Vander kissed his way back up his body, from his Achillies heel to the inside of his thigh where he lingered to bite. For a moment, he let his heavy breaths puff against the sensitive skin of Silco’s erection, let him understand what he was missing, let absence do its work. Then he kissed his way along that, too, to reach the head and swallow it down.
Silco tried to buck into Vander’s mouth but was stopped by the unerring weight of Vander’s hands on his hips. He cried out as he realised he would get what he was given, but whined as Vander gave and gave. He choked when Vander took his entire length. His breaths came in quick bursts when Vander ran his tongue along the slit. The heat in his stomach grew hotter and hotter the more Vander put his clever mouth to use, until Silco was sure he would lose himself right then and there. Then just as he was about to tip into release, Vander stopped.
Silco cried out in frustration, bucking wildly into nothing as soon as Vander’s hands had stopped restraining him. The belt buckle clanged loudly against the headboard with his desperate tugs.
Vander chuckled, wiping spit from his lip. He was circling around to reach the drawer of the bedside table. Wood slid against wood soundly and from inside, Vander produced a half-empty bottle of lubricant, some kind of skin-safe oil that Silco never questioned the origins of and never complained about. Vander resettled by Silco’s right side, legs crossed like this was a drinking session on the floor of The Last Drop, and not an exercise in torture. He leaned down to kiss Silco’s slack mouth, not caring that the other was too keyed-up to reciprocate.
Hands felt their way across the surface of Silco’s torso, just admiring the softness of his skin whilst his chest heaved, waiting until the heaving calmed just enough. Then, when Silco felt like he could breathe again, Vander slid a hand down to Silco’s knee and pulled his leg out, open. He uncrossed his right leg and planted his foot into the crook of Silco’s knee, holding him in place. Fingers were drenched generously. They traversed down. They breached Silco’s body.
Every muscle tensed in an involuntary reaction, but Vander stroked his stomach until he unfurled. It began with one finger sliding its way inside, a test of Silco’s ability to adjust, of what would make him sigh and clench. Then another joined, shortening the gaps between tenses and untenses. Then it was the space between the fingers, pressing into the soft walls to see how much Silco could take. Then it was how they crooked, looking for the spot that would have him hyperventilating.
Silco tried to fuck down on the fingers, so Vander’s other hand pressed against his throat. It forced him to stretch his body like Vander was stretching him inside. The free leg kicked, the hands rattled and shook, the spine arched.
Just as Vander sought to punish that spot inside him with a third finger, he squeezed his other hand closed around Silco’s neck until he was locked in a silent scream. He was almost there, right at the precipice, no air to beg but begging with his body all the same.
And then Vander stopped again. His hand relaxed and Silco sobbed. Tears streamed down his face as he realised what Vander had done. His grip white-knuckled into the leather keeping him restrained, and Vander slipped free from him.
Vander kissed Silco’s neck, right over his adam’s apple.
“Van.. der…” he wept around heaving breaths.
“Shh,” Vander soothed. “Precious. I’ll let you come this time; I promise.”
With all the care in the world, Vander turned Silco onto his stomach and took position between his legs. He slid one of the pillows beneath Silco’s hips just to encourage him onto his knees a little more. Kisses littered the back of Silco’s neck and all the way down his spine. Hands soothed over him, encouraging him to relax.
Once Silco was panting but not crying, Vander pushed inside. It elicited a gasp, met with more kisses to his nape. Vander was slow, keeping a pace that let Silco adjust, while his hand found its grip on the new twist in the leather belt; the other holding him up just enough that Silco wasn’t crushed under his weight. And when Silco was finally ready, Vander refused to change his speed. He let the drag torture Silco from the inside out, let Silco wonder whether Vander was lying, whether he wasn’t going to let him come at all. He let Silco beg his name in high-pitched, breathless cries.
He straightened, wrapped Silco’s hair around his hand, and pulled.
Silco tightened immediately, the sweet sonnet of a desperate gasp spilling from his lips. The tension drew his back into a curve that pushed his hips back against Vander’s. It was perfect. Vander pounded into him, fast, mean, cruel. With every slap against skin Silco was jolted forwards and Vander’s grip on his hair pulled taught. He keened ‘oh god’ and whined senseless noises when his jaw wasn’t slack in soundless wonderful torment.
“Fuck,” Vander hissed. Silco desperately tried to pull his elbows beneath his body for support, but Vander picked up the pace and Silco’s arms gave way entirely. The only thing stopping him from screaming into the pillow was Vander’s grip on his ponytail. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
When Silco reached the peak, the only sound was Vander growling, the only thing Silco could see was a blur of tears. For a second, he thought Vander might stop him again. His mind raced through pleas to be allowed to release, to let him finally have his reward, but there was another voice, just below the surface, scratching at his nerves, saying ‘deny me, take from me, ruin me’.
He came, and the clench of his body around Vander had the other man following close behind.
After long, laborious, still seconds, Vander pulled out and flopped to the bed. He reached blindly to undo the belt buckle, then the knot in the fabric. His arm wound its way under Silco’s hips so he could pull the other into his side, mindful of the sensitive drag of his flagging erection against the pillow, but not that mindful. Silco still whined, just a bit.
His finger caught in the elastic in Silco’s hair until it pulled loose, and Vander was free to stroke his fingers through Silco’s soft, silky curls.
Silco brought an arm down over Vander’s chest, slowly, letting the tenseness of the position he’d been restrained in bleed out of his muscles.
“We should do this again,” Silco murmured.
“We will,” Vander hummed.