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The bar is quiet tonight.
It shouldn’t be—not on its twentieth anniversary. But against all expectations, that’s exactly how the owners chose to mark the occasion. The real celebration, the one with music and noise and too many people, will come in the following days. That part isn’t for them. It’s for the regulars, the friends, their family.
But tonight? Tonight is theirs.
The Last Drop is closed. Empty, save for Silco and Vander. On the worn wooden counter sits a single bottle and three glasses. The same liquor. The same old glasses. One of them remains untouched.
They say nothing for a while. The silence, for once, is welcomed. A moment suspended in time, floating around them and impregnating each corner of the space.
Vander raises his glass, his eyes locked with Silco’s mismatched gaze. Silco hesitates, throat tightening, before lifting his own. The glasses meet with a soft clink.
“To the Last Drop,” Silco says, each word deliberate. “And… to us.”
“To us,” Vander echoes, voice rough but steady. “She would’ve been proud. Of what you achieved.”
“What we achieved, Van,” Silco murmurs, his lips brushing the rim of the glass.
Vander nods, eyes shimmering. “A free Zaun. And the Last Drop still standing, twenty years later.”
Silco lets out a low chuckle, tipping back his drink. “Some would’ve bet it would’ve collapsed by now.”
“It’s got a strong foundation,” Vander replies, and by this point, Silco’s not sure anymore if he’s talking about the bar.
“Yes, it does,” he breathes, setting his glass gently on the counter before laying his hand over Vander’s. “A foundation that will never fail.”
Vander’s smile is quiet and tender, full of affection so raw that it steals Silco’s breath. Slowly, he lifts Silco’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Silco takes the opportunity to shift into his lap, straddling him with an easy grace, one arm slipping around his neck.
Just like they used to. A position that earned them no shortage of teasing from Benzo and the others—the eternal lovebirds, always tangled up in each other. Well, nothing’s changed. They still can’t keep their hands to themselves.
They pour each other drink after drink, the plan of finishing the bottle right on track. Their conversation drifts through shared memories, touching only the golden ones. There’s still a part of their past Vander won’t touch—too ashamed to revisit that part of their story—and Silco doesn’t press. Not tonight.
Their words slow with the evening, smiles growing lazier, kisses sloppier, lingering longer. Vander’s hand settles on Silco’s hip, fingers brushing idly against the edge of his waistband.
“Shall we go upstairs?” he murmurs, nuzzling Silco’s sideburn with his nose.
“I think,” Silco purrs, leaning into his chest with a languid smile, “that’s a very sensitive idea.”
They have a house now, just down the street—but tonight, they’ve returned to the old office. Their cot still waits upstairs, like it used to. The alcohol and the memories buzz through their veins, making them giddy, almost young again. They forget—or wilfully ignore—the fact that they’re nearing fifty.
It doesn’t matter. Not now, when Silco’s being transported to another time altogether – to when two wide-eyed miners spent their first night in their new bar, filled with dreams of revolution and prosperity.
And wasn’t it something, truly something, that despite all the pain and distance and years, they were still here? Together, and somehow more in love than ever?
Vander scoops Silco into his arms, ignoring the half-hearted protests. Pride still clings to him like a second skin, even softened by decades of hard-won peace. He wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t pretend to be, at least, a bit offended by the gesture.
They enter the cluttered office, where crates from the bar are stacked beside forgotten piles of paperwork. The cot remains in its place by the window, ready and waiting.
As Vander sets him down, Silco’s eyes immediately catch something out of place. In the corner stands a tall, ornate mirror, its surface dusty but still striking beneath the grime.
“Where did you find that?” he asks with a low hum, curiosity piqued.
“Found it for a bargain,” Vander murmurs against Silco’s cheek, pressing a gentle kiss there as he wraps his arms around the slimmer man’s waist. “Thought it would look lovely in our room.”
Silco lets out a thin chuckle, a faint grimace tugging at his expression. “A mirror’s the last thing I need.”
“None of that,” Vander grunts in protest, giving his waist a firm squeeze. “You’re beautiful, Sil. More every day.”
“Oh, don’t be smarmy,” Silco scolds, though his tone is soft as he threads his fingers into Vander’s unruly beard, scratching affectionately. “It doesn’t suit you. And let’s be honest—you don’t need flattery to get in my pants.”
Vander nips playfully at his jaw, drawing a surprised squeak from Silco. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats, voice low, insistent. He turns them slowly, guiding Silco until they’re standing before the mirror. “And I won’t be hearing anything else.”
“No,” Silco mutters, eyeing their reflection with a sceptical squint. “In fact, I suggest you drop it altogether.”
“Never,” Vander vows, his plump lips now slowly kissing down the column of his neck.
“You’re impossible,” Silco scoffs, averting his eyes from his ageing self.
“And you’re incredible,” Vander continues, too busy still abusing Silco’s skin, dragging his nose over his jaw.
“I’m old and disfigured,” Silco clicks his tongue, glancing at Vander from the corner of his eye.
Vander’s expression darkness slightly, before turning into one of sadness. “Don’t say that,” he whispers, one hand raising to caress the old scar in Silco’s face. “This, if anything, it’s only proof of my betrayal. Of a mistake that I will never be able to erase.”
Silco presses his thin lips together, turning into Vander’s arms, pressing his hands into the solid chest. “What’s this all about? Why are you even bringing this up?”
“Because I promised,” Vander murmurs, cupping Silco’s face with both hands.
He leans in slowly, placing a firm, lingering kiss to Silco’s forehead, then his sharp nose, and finally, his lips. Silco melts into it, his lashes fluttering as their mouths meet so softly.
“Back when you forgave me,” Vander continues, voice cracking, “I vowed I’d spend the rest of my life proving I was worthy of that second chance.”
Silco gives a quiet smile, a soft sigh escaping him. “And you have,” he says gently, shaking his head. “Van, we don’t have to keep digging up the past.”
“We do.” Vander leans in until their foreheads touch, his voice low and steady. “Because, Sil… I’ll always regret it.” His hand drifts to the scarred side of Silco’s face, brushing it hesitantly. “Even if you forgave me, I never will. I’ll spend every day I have left trying to make it right.”
Then Vander pulls back, sinking to his knees before him, his hands on both sides of Silco’s hips. “You’re the best thing in my life, Canary,” he breathes out, looking him straight in the eye reverently, before pressing a kiss to Silco’s belly.
Silco’s breath hitches, his lone eye softening. “You silly dog,” he whispers, affection warm in his voice. “I didn’t come back just to watch you tear yourself apart.” Vander snorts, and Silco’s smile widens. “Well—maybe a little, in the beginning. But not anymore.”
He pauses, swallowing. “Van… I didn’t come back just for Zaun.”
The words don’t come easily anymore—not like they used to. Not after the Pilt. It took years to say them again, and even now, they sit on his tongue like something rare. But tonight, he needs to say them. He needs Vander to hear it. He needs to let that man in front of him, his partner, his biggest treasure, to know how he feels.
Silco’s throat tightens, but he finally forces the words out. “I came back because I love you.”
“Oh Sil,” Vander murmurs, swallowing hard, voice cracking and eyes misting.
Silco brushes a stray lock of hair from Vander’s brow, offering him that familiar, crooked smirk—the one that’s only ever belonged to him. “Now, how about you stop stalling,” he says, teasing, “and we finally get to our plans?”
Vander lets out a low chuckle, rising to his feet and clasping a hand at the back of Silco’s neck, the other arm firmly around his thin waist. He draws him in, their mouths meeting in an urgent kiss, tongues and lips speaking in years of history, apology, forgiveness, and something quieter and stronger than either of them had known in their youth.
They undress each other up, the small furnace on to prevent the chill from outside to enter their little bubble. Laying on the cot, hands travel everywhere, tender, sloppy kisses are interchanged. Vander’s lips lower to Silco’s neck, kissing everywhere he can reach, and Silco’s hands roam over Vander’s back until they lower enough to grip his arse, pulling him in close, their bodies aligning instinctively.
“Vander,” Silco says, the name sibilant on his lips as it blends with a hiss. “I want us to fuck all night like we used to,” he pants, grinding himself against the other man.
“Mmm,” Vander murmurs against his lips, voice husky. “I have an idea.”
Silco licks at his lip before catching it gently between his teeth. “Do you, now?” he hums.
“Hmm-hmm,” Vander rumbles, guiding Silco’s leg up over his hip. “Why don’t we prepare each other… you take me first, then I’ll finish inside you.”
Silco lets out a breathy chuckle, his cock already throbbing at the thought of sinking into Vander’s heat. “We’re feeling young tonight, aren’t we?”
“You always make me feel young,” Vander replies, as unashamedly sappy as always.
And really, how could Silco ever deny him anything?
They press closer together—easily done, considering the narrow cot and the sheer size of Vander. Limbs tangle, hands roam, greedily digging into skin and flesh, and the familiar bottle of lubricant is passed between them impatiently, coating their fingers in the slick, glistening substance.
Silco drags his teeth along the curve of Vander’s neck, exhaling hot, uneven puffs of breath against the skin as goosebumps rise in his wake. He soothes the fresh bite with a slow swipe of his tongue, relishing the way Vander shudders beneath him.
It’s not the most convenient way to prepare each other, Silco must admit. His slender arms stretch awkwardly over Vander’s bulky form, the reach just shy of comfortable as he angles to press his fingers between the man’s cheeks, slipping them against the tight heat of his entrance.
At the same time, Vander’s own thick fingers buried knuckle-deep inside him, working him open. Silco tries to focus on his task, on prepping his partner properly—but the way those fingers curl just right inside him makes it nearly impossible.
He’s more accustomed to taking than giving, truth be told. But tonight, there’s a giddy kind of thrill humming in his chest at the thought of taking Vander first.
They fool around for a while, but soon enough, it becomes unbearable to hold back. It’s simply too much. Silco feels Vander clenching around his fingers, Vander’s own dragging mercilessly over Silco’s prostate, their breaths shared, their slick cocks rubbing together in shallow thrusts…
“Turn around,” Silco murmurs hotly against Vander’s ear, nipping at the lobe playfully, his breath warm against the shell.
Vander chuckles, withdrawing his fingers from Silco’s body. “Impatient, are we?” he teases, before obliging—rolling onto his stomach and taking up most of the narrow cot in the process.
Silco huffs, brushing a few stray locks from his own sweaty face. “And whose fault is that?” he says dryly, smirking as he shifts to straddle Vander’s thick thighs.
Leaning over the edge of the cot, Silco retrieves the bottle of lubricant, uncorking it with his teeth and spitting the cap aside without ceremony. He lets the oil pour liberally down the cleft of Vander’s ass, the liquid trailing between his cheeks, slick and glistening. Silco’s gaze lingers on the sight of Vander’s twitching hole—Janna, what a sight to remember.
He licks his lips in anticipation, brow drawn in concentration as he palms the firm weight of Vander’s tight flesh. His fingers sink into the muscle eagerly, kneading and squeezing until a faint, guttural moan rises from beneath him, vibrating through the cot.
Then, Silco presses Vander’s cheeks together, creating a snug channel, and carefully aligns himself. As soon as his cock is enveloped into that tight, slick heat, he knows he won't last a minute once he’s inside Vander.
But maybe that’s not the point tonight.
“Vander,” Silco groans, voice rough as he begins to fuck his partner’s clenched cheeks. The lewd, wet sounds fill the room, only adding to the heat curling low in his belly.
“Oh, Sil,” Vander groans, his own hips rocking, grinding himself desperately against the coarse mattress in search of friction.
But that won’t do.
Silco intends to leave him desperate, aching—ready to fuck him senseless once he’s wrung himself dry.
“Ah, ah, Puppy,” Silco purrs, halting his thrusts and giving Vander’s flank a light, warning pat. “We can’t have you spilling too soon. Be a good boy—lift up.”
A low whimper escapes Vander, but he obeys without protest, raising his hips obediently into the air, his arse fully presented. And fuck if that doesn't send a jolt of heat straight to Silco’s already throbbing cock.
He resumes his thrusting lazily, biting his own lip. “Hold yourself, Van,” he groans, his eye starting to roll in his skull. “You need to come inside me.”
Vander’s breath is now erratic as he sneaks a hand, wrapping around the base of his cock, starving his orgasm just as Silco has just asked him to.
Janna, he’ll never get used to how beautiful Vander looks when he surrenders like this, open and eager, all for him.
“Sil—Canary,” Vander pants, a note of desperation now on his voice, his cheek pressed against the threadbare mattress. “My love… just put it in already.”
Silco exhales slowly through his nose, steadying himself. One hand grips the generous curve of Vander’s hip, the other guiding his slick length into position. Slowly, he starts pressing the tip of his cock against Vander's fluttering entrance, and after a beat, he sinks to the hilt in one seamless, devastating thrust that nearly leaves him blind.
Oh, he’s been sadly mistaken to think he could last even a minute.
As soon as his cock is enveloped by Vander’s tight walls, gripping him like a vice, the coil in Silco’s belly draws taut almost instantly, ready to snap. He barely has time to adjust before he’s moving, railing over and over, cock slipping wetly in and out of the man beneath him as he clutches Vander’s hips with shaking hands.
“You feel so fucking good,” Silco pants, the slap of skin against skin filling the room, wet and obscene, echoing off the walls.
Vander’s knuckles go white where they grip the cot, back arching, groaning helplessly. “That’s it, don’t stop—please, Sil—”
Silco can’t see it, but he guesses that Vander must be desperate by now, thick cock still in hand, possibly leaking and hard to the point of pain, and yet, waiting for him and him only.
The thought is simply exquisite. So much, that Silco can’t stop himself anymore, orgasm crashing over him in a violent wave that leaves his face scrunched in sheer pleasure.
With a strangled moan, Silco buries himself deep, cock pulsing inside, fingers digging hard into Vander’s flesh, thighs trembling and hips twitching as he comes, and comes, and comes.
He collapses forward, boneless and spent, draping himself across Vander’s broad back for a moment before rolling to the side with a breathless laugh. Vander takes up so much of the narrow cot that Silco nearly falls off the edge, catching himself just in time.
“Janna’s tits…” he rasps, flinging an arm over his eyes. “Remind me why I don’t do this more often?” He chuckles, incredulous and still breathless.
The cot shifts beneath them, creaking under Vander’s weight, a low laugh rumbling from his chest. Silco remains sprawled out, stretching his legs like a contented cat, when suddenly, large hands slide between them, parting his thighs.
Silco barely has time to crack one eye open before Vander is looming above him, grabbing him behind the knees and folding him in half with one powerful motion.
“Van, what are you—AH!”
A hard, slick length presses insistently against his softening cock, sliding along the sticky mess already left behind and making Silco scream—half in surprise, half in overstimulation. Vander’s body shudders above him, panting through grit teeth, hips grinding hungrily as he humps against his crotch.
It’s too much—Silco’s skin feels raw, nerves alight and burning. The drag of flesh against flesh is almost painful, and yet…
“Van—Vaan,” he groans, fingers scrabbling at Vander’s forearms, trying in vain to slow him down. “I can’t… ah… I can’t again—”
“Hush, Birdie. Yes, you can,” Vander purrs, voice low and coaxing.
He releases Silco’s legs only to catch his wrists, pinning them above his head with one large hand. Then, Vander’s mouth descends, latching onto one of Silco’s nipples, sucking so hard that it rips the air from his lungs, making him arch beneath him, mouth slack, eye rolling back as a guttural moan escapes.
“Look at you,” Vander murmurs, releasing the swollen bud and dragging his tongue slowly along Silco’s jaw. “Already getting hard again.”
Silco sobs loudly, his body seizing, and he finds himself caught in that razor-thin edge between agony and ecstasy, toes curling as electricity crashes through him.
Still, Vander grinds against him mercilessly, pressing their cocks together. At some point—Silco doesn’t know when—Vander must have slicked himself, because now Silco feels the thick head dragging down, nudging at his entrance. It lingers there for one torturous moment… and then he’s breached, stretched open with a slow, steady push.
“Fuck,” Silco breathes, head falling back before turning away, the tension in his jaw giving him away.
Vander begins to move tentatively, rocking slowly, every muscle in his body twitching with the effort of holding back, of not slamming in with full force, giving Silco a moment to get used to his cock. Even after all these years, Vander is still too much to take.
And Silco wouldn’t change a thing.
He craves this—the stretch, the pressure, the dizzying fullness of Vander buried so deep inside him that he can’t barely breathe.
Silco’s breath stutters, caught in his throat as Vander sinks deeper, slow and steady. The intrusion burns, but he takes it, wants it, because it’s him. Because it’s Vander, and he has never wanted anyone else but him.
“Sil,” Vander groans, mouthing at the crook of his neck. “Ah, so perfect—always perfect for me.”
Silco’s eye squeezes shut as a shiver rolls through him. “S-Shut… up,” he breathes, but the words fall apart on a moan.
“It’s true,” Vander pants, thrusts deepening just a little, dragging across every nerve ending Silco has. “We’ve… ah… always been made for each other.”
His grip shifts, hands releasing Silco’s wrists only to lace their fingers tightly together. The cot groans beneath them with every movement, but Silco doesn’t care—he smiles. A real, fleeting smile, because he’s happy.
He never thought he’d get here. Never dared to dream of a life like this. No, even in his most optimistic moments, Silco always feared hoping too hard. He had hoped for a free Zaun, but knowing that he’d eventually die for the cause.
And yet, here he was. Two decades later, alive, loved. In the arms of the man who had once broken him—and who had spent every day since putting him back together.
“Van… Van!” Silco cries out, voice cracking with need and cock once more achingly hard thanks to Vander’s stubbornness. “I—need… I’m—ah—close…”
Vander lets go of one of his hands, reaching between them. Silco cries out as fingers wrap tightly around his cock and start jerking him in time with their desperate rhythm.
“Let go,” Vander growls into his neck, biting down before soothing it with a kiss. “Come with me, love.”
And Silco does. With a cry that rips from deep in his chest, he comes again—harder, sharper—just as Vander captures his mouth in a ravenous kiss, swallowing the sound. Silco trembles, writhing beneath him as the climax tears through him, his belly a sticky mess of seed and oil, his entrance clenching down around Vander’s cock so hard that he can hear a hiss escaping him.
Vander clenches his jaw and then thrusts once—twice—before burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside him, thick and hot, and there’s so much of it that Silco can feel it leaking past his thighs, sliding over his spent skin.
They stay like that, trembling, caught in the echo of it. Silco twitching beneath Vander’s weight, Vander’s arms trembling with the effort of holding himself up. For a long moment, the only sound is their breathing—rough and uneven.
And then—crack.
The cot beneath them groans... and gives out. The frame collapses with a low snap, the mattress dipping hard beneath their weight. Silco yelps, Vander still deep inside him, sprawled completely over his smaller frame as he loses his ground and falls forward. On instinct, Silco clings to him—arms and legs wrapped tight around the bigger man.
They freeze. Eyes wide. Blinking. Surveying the room in stunned silence.
And then—Silco snorts. Quiet at first, little huffs into Vander’s shoulder, his body shaking underneath the crushing weight. Then the laughter bubbles up fully, spilling from him as he hides his face against warm skin. Vander chuckles too, low and fond, letting his large frame press down and wrap around him protectively.
“I think…” Silco manages between laughs, breathless, “we could finally retire this cot.”
Vander grins, pressing a soft, smug kiss to his lips. “It’s served its purpose.”
Eventually, Vander shifts, careful as ever, pulling out and murmuring a soft apology when Silco winces. It is only their first round, and Silco will be lucky if he can walk now, let alone tomorrow. Somehow, the thought is comforting.
Without speaking, Vander lifts himself from the cot, letting Silco laying back atop the rumpled sheets. He rummages for something in the room, before coming back with an old cloth in hand. It’s their own routine, Vander always enjoying wiping him down, cleaning carefully the remnants of their lovemaking, Silco silently welcoming the slight chill and feeling of cleanness.
He sighs contently, letting Vander take care of him, and when the man climbs back into the cot, arms wrapping around him, Silco nestles close without hesitation, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
Vander reaches then for their cigarettes, putting one between his lips, lighting it before passing one to Silco. “No cigars tonight,” he murmurs smugly.
With a chuckle, Silco accepts the smoke. “Anything is better than your pipe, anyway,” he teases.
For a while, there’s only he soft sound of their exhales filling the quiet space between them as they share the cigarette. The window is fogged, the dim glow of the furnace casting flickering shadows across the walls. Smoke curls upward in slow, lazy spirals.
Silco sinks deeper into the quiet, tucked beneath Vander’s chin, wrapped in the steadying comfort of those familiar, strong arms. It strikes him then—how safe he feels. How long it’s been since he truly let himself feel that way. There was a time he thought he’d never have this again, that the man holding him had shattered his trust beyond repair.
He’s never been so glad to be wrong.
“Van?” he murmurs.
“Hmm?” Vander replies, low and soft.
“I think… it’s time we put the past to rest,” Silco says softly, his voice low and warm. “Along with this poor cot.”
His fingers drift lazily through the coarse hair on Vander’s chest, pausing over the tattoo inked just above his heart, Zaun’s symbol. Its twin rests over Silco’s own ribs, inked during their first anniversary.
Vander exhales, a quiet gasp escaping him as he stubs out the cigarette, before he reaches for Silco’s hand, threading their fingers together with quiet urgency.
When Silco turns to meet his gaze, there’s a smile on his lips, and he doesn’t miss the tremble in Vander’s.
“Next year,” he continues, the smile widening in his lips. “we’ll celebrate in our bedroom, in a real bed with pillows and silken sheets.” He huffs a dramatic sigh. “Janna knows I’ve earned a little softness.”
Vander looks at him for a long, quiet moment. And in that gaze, Silco sees it—that same reverence, that same awe he saw over twenty years ago, when the man right there confessed his love to him as they danced in Silco’s shitty flat.
They were young, then. Two kids, really, that started a trade union, without knowing that it would lead to a revolution. Vander, with his clean, shaved puppy face; Silco, with his sharp tongue and long, inky black hair.
Now, their hair is streaked with grey, their skin etched with time, bodies not as healthy as they used to be.
And yet, their love is intact, holding its ground as strong as it was back then.
“You’ve earned everything,” Vander finally says, voice soft and sure, pressing a gentle kiss, almost shy, to Silco’s lips. “Happy twenty years, love.”
“Happy future, Van.”
They fall quiet again, this time, ready to finally rest for a bit, before they continue with their night. Outside, Zaun is silent. But in the heart of the Last Drop, tucked into the ruins of a long-abused cot, the two men lie tangled together—for tonight, for always.