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Vander keeps a steady eye on the clock. This time of night, the Last Drop’s bustling, raucous and comfortable like a drag from his pipe. He wipes down the bar, scans the crowd for unfamiliar faces. He hasn’t had to keep tabs on strangers for a while now, not when he has men aplenty to do it for him. Still, old habits.
Vi and Sevika are out on patrol. Powder’s behind him crafting some violent blue mixture under the jubilant gazes of several very drunk customers. He couldn’t stomach most of her concoctions, but there are always thirsty mouths and willing subjects in the heart of the Lanes.
The second hand swings past the hour, its chimes drowned in the cacophony. He stifles the urge to shift from foot to foot. Instead, he cleans all the used glasses, closes a few tabs before he ruffles Powder’s hair, letting her take over his post for the night. Her eyes light up with wild glee as she calls out for anyone crazy (or stupid) enough to try the liquid fizzling in her graffitied cocktail shaker.
The stairs sink under each heavy footstep. He takes his time, feeling the ancient wood railing beneath his calloused hands, staving off the moment that’s been on his mind for hours now, the sight that awaits him tantalizingly close.
The second floor is dimly lit, warmer than the room below. He jostles his keys in his pocket, carefully plucking through the stack even though he knows damn well which one he needs. He likes to think the person within can hear it, that his heartbeat jolts and he snaps to attention at the rustling of metal on metal, lazy anxiety spiking with anticipation.
Vander straightens, smoothes back his hair. Adjusts himself below the belt, already hard, razed and raw-nerved like shimmer's pumping through his veins.
The door creaks open slowly, and just as slowly he closes it. He doesn’t quite let his eyes land on the display before him.
“Business’s good tonight,” Vander says, casually.
Only then, after he locks the door and hangs the keys, does he allow his eyes to sweep across their bedroom, lit only by the pale green gloom of Zaun’s night.
Silco’s ruined eye is the first thing he sees. It always is. An ember in the dark, a reminder of who they are, all their mistakes, all their promises. The other is pale but no less severe, tracking his movements with hawkish intensity. He's just as Vander left him, cuffed and chained to the bed, his mouth locked beneath an intricate gold gag. Small, twin tubes drape from each side, framing his collared throat. Leather harness crisscrossing his chest, nipple ring shining, black stockings clinging from foot to mid-thigh pinching what little fat existed on his rakish legs.
A spark of hot excitement threads through Vander’s belly as he observes. Silco draws his hands into fists, sets the chains tinkling.
His voice is low, wolfish when he speaks again.
“You don’t look happy to see me. Did I make you wait too long?”
Slowly, Vander draws closer. Silco’s unblinking eyes never leave him. They were both good at this game, old pros. They both hated so much to lose.
Vander clicks his tongue, patting his hand against Silco’s belly. The muscles twitch and flex between his palm, a muffled huff filtering through the gag. He carefully draws his fingers lower, humming as he comes close but never quite touches Silco’s cock. Swollen and ruddy, gently curved, especially nice with a cock ring nestled snugly at its base. It twitches as Vander surveys him, a bead of fluid joining the small pool that had already gathered along Silco’s stomach.
“Sorry, pet,” Vander says, not sorry at all, and Silco knows it. “Just because you get to slack off with a plug up your arse all day doesn’t mean we all have the same luxury.”
Silco rolls his eyes. As if this wasn’t something they had agreed upon, as if Vander didn’t want it nearly as much as Silco did, to leave him struggling and sweating all day in their bed, waiting for the hour Vander would finally give into him.
“So much attitude. Is that any way to treat your man?”
He swats Silco’s thigh, but his jaw only tightens, unwilling to give Vander the satisfaction of hearing him gasp. Just as well. He’d have him screaming on his cock sooner or later. Vander grins.
Even as boys, Silco had been untouchable. Cunning, lightning quick, horrifyingly unafraid. He filled the room with his presence, even among the towering vastaya and fissure folk that were their kin. A hand on Silco’s back, his arm, was as dangerous as touching a wild animal. Whenever Vander got away with it, each time Silco allowed it, was as heady as the Last Drop’s finest grog. All these years later and he can’t shake that feeling, the thundering palpitations as he palms and gropes his way up Silco’s torso, snaking fingers around his nipple piercing. Vander gives the loop a tug, finally rewarded with a short, sharp, hiss.
“Just like one of them alleycats, scratchin’ and bitin’ at the hand that feeds ‘em. Should I make you into a proper kitten?”
He traces one of the tubes attached to the gag, following its length to the glowing purple canister on the nightstand. He hadn’t used this stuff before, some new variant that the doctor had cooked up. He can feel Silco’s eyes on him as he untightens the valve, anticipation stifling. Silco had always been more keen on shimmer than he, but he supposed that his eye, that Vander, is to blame for it.
He cups his hand over the filters in Silco’s mask, feels the suctioning inhale against his palm. “Don’t worry. Just a little should loosen you right up,” Vander coos. He activates the device, watching the purple bleed through the tubes. Silco thrashes once, holds his breath. Fight, desire, stubborn to the last, inhaling with a sharp wheeze after nearly a minute of resistance.
“There we go. Nice and easy.”
The dose is small. What’s the fun if he isn’t mostly lucid? But the idea is there, planted in Silco’s mind: cornered, drugged for Vander’s use. His pupils dilate, tightened fists unfurling. The gentle flush that had tinged Silco’s face and body darkening in moments, nipples hardening, cock twitching.
Vander turns off the device and lets him breathe again, reveling in his fluttering, quickening push-pulls of air through the gag. The bed sinks as he takes a seat. He eases off his boots, waiting until Silco’s breathing evens, until he can calm the pounding of his own heart, to look at him again.
“Not so tough now, are you?”
Vander hooks his finger into the metal loop hanging from Silco’s collar. A droplet of sweat rolls down his temple. He yanks it, sudden and sharp. Silco’s reactions are slower, weaker than before, but still those mismatched eyes track him, wanting, waiting.
“Best mind your manners, else I might parade you downstairs, maybe let a few others take a romp. Let all of Zaun see just how their leader takes a cock.”
The chains rattle; Silco can’t resist writhing. He’d always loved putting on a show, intimidation, seduction, hand in hand. It had been a while since Vander’s shared him, but he doesn’t want that tonight. He wants Silco all to himself.
“Alright, kitten. To business, yeah? Spread your legs.”
There’s lingering fight in Silco’s eyes, always is, always has been. Hates orders, hates losing control. But that’s the point of all this, isn’t it? The taste of defeat, of surrender, heady, heightened. Vander could hurt him. Has hurt him. All by Silco’s command.
Vander tugs at Silco’s collar once more, the skin beneath it reddening. “’M not asking again.”
Slowly, with fluid, unnerving grace, Silco obeys. He gives more than Vander asked for, forgetting himself, knees bent, toes up, thighs spread, revealing the black base of the plug between his cheeks. A younger man would be biting at the bit at the sight, but Vander has patience, hard-earned, stubborn.
Instead, he offers a considering hum, presses the plug's base, smirking as Silco seizes around it.
“Not surprised. This is about the only honest place you got.” He takes takes the base firmly between two fingers, sliding it out an inch just to hear the muffled swear, see the snap of Silco’s body desperately shifting into him. “Very honest.”
Vander pushes it back in, relishing in his husband’s quiet, hissing inhale, his body squeezing and arching for his touch. Perhaps Vander had left him too long, his stony facade immaculate until a firm touch and a few husky words had shattered the illusion.
Silco gapes slightly as Vander pulls the plug out, rim red and swollen, insides soft and hot with lube. He traces his fingers around it, enraptured. Vander almost doesn’t catch the foot aimed for his face, snatching it by the ankle with a snort.
“So impatient.”
A torrent of muffled curses fills the air. Vander kisses his trapped ankle, hurriedly pinning Silco’s other thigh to the mattress.
“I’ll make sure to string you up better next time, naughty thing.”
Vander takes his shirt off, scratching his fingers through the hair on his gut. He’d keep himself fully clothed if the sight of his own nakedness didn’t draw Silco’s gaze, intense and hungry and narrowed.
“Don’t worry. I know what you need.” His fingers splay, sliding downward. He cups himself through his trousers, showing off the thick, bulging line of his cock. It’s easy to gloat, weathering a stare like that. Vander likes to pretend he’s used to it, but they both know the truth. One of the few things the years hadn’t changed.
The lube’s never far off in their room, and Vander slicks himself up as he kneels between Silco’s thighs. Touching his own cock feels electric, destructive. It shouldn’t have this affect on him, the slow, tantalizing glide through the channel of his fist while Silco stares daggers into him. He’s pushing his luck with all the teasing. Silco doesn’t let bygones be bygones, and the slight will be remembered when its his turn for lock and key, for whatever unsavory game they chose next. Even that thought is dangerous, his dick twitching in his hold as he imagines Silco above him, all the powerful, beautiful, horrifying, aiming to tear him apart, piece by piece.
He jostles forward. Silco’s legs cinch around his back, ankles linking, trying to yank him closer.
“Behave. Or I won’t even put the plug back in.”
It’s tempting. Touching himself, painting his husband’s thighs and stomach in cum and leaving him marked and unspent and raging. But lust wins out over smug superiority, at least this time.
He lifts Silco into his arms, raising his hips high, Silco’s head pressed into the pillows. And still he glares, sharp and mean and expectant, unwavering until Vander shoves inside.
The plug could only do so much, but that's by design, the first shove into Silco’s body hard and punishing and fit to overwhelm. Vander gnaws at his lip, unrelenting until his stomach’s flushed with Silco’s, mismatched eyes wide and nearly unseeing, a choked, modulated hiss rattling in his ears.
“Was that so bad?” Vander’s voice doesn’t bely how much he’s been aching for this too, barely missing a beat as he begins to fuck him.
He’d always liked his hands wrapped around Silco’s hips, sinew and muscle sharp and rawboned, how easily he bruised, how Silco traced those same marks, pressed into them with breath held when he thought Vander wasn’t looking. It speeds his thrusts, rough slaps of flesh on flesh loud, incriminating, fueling the fire.
Silco’s gaze slowly but surely begin to glaze, pupils swallowing the color in his eyes. His body ripples around him, squeezing like a weapon, the heels of Silco’s feet digging into his back, egging him on, urging him closer, harder, faster. His tight-lipped demeanor drains away, short, quiet huffs morphing into loud, stifled whines.
Vander cranes over him, soft gut flattening across Silco’s body. He hikes his hips up, spreading Silco’s legs so wide’s he’s forced to relinquish his hold on his back, folding the smaller man in half. His thrusts deepen, withdrawing only an inch or two before driving back in. Silco’s helpless like this, they both know it. It must be a sickness, a failing of his character to crave this, wild from the man grunting and twisting beneath him, struggling for more.
“Just what you needed, a fat cock to keep you nice and docile…”
Chains rattle, the bed squeaking a constant racket, but it only spurs him on more, Silco's strained verbalizing rising above it all. His cock is hot against his stomach, trapped between them, jostled and grinding. He can tell how close Silco is, muscles straining, relaxing, eyes rolling back in his skull, the rapid rise and fall of his chest against his. A little harder, a little faster, the snap-drag-catch sending Silco into a mindless fit. Vander wants to grin, act haughty, chortle about how debauched Silco is, how quickly he’s mewling and coming on his cock. Instead, he fumbles at the snaps of the gag, ripping it off in a single, cruel tug.
Drool flings from Silco’s mouth, his lips swollen, a ragged breath followed by a litany of swears and sounds so filthy it sets Vander’s ears tingling, a broken groan ripping from his throat.
Not a second does he give Silco peace, thrusts brutal and loud, pounding him into the mattress as his husband spills between them, hot, heavy pulses, each jerk milking Vander to near breaking. Pure, visceral stubbornness keeps his own pleasure in check.
“Fuck…damn you…filthy fucking dog…” Silco wheezes, voice gravelly, debauched, ruined.
Vander groans, cups his hand over Silco's mouth before he can say anymore, fond annoyance and ardor twisting together.
“Shut up and take it.”
He fucks him harder, the build an instinctual chase, animalistic, laying bruises and aches in his wake, marks he can trace with his mouth and hands later as the lords of Zaun share a bitter smoke. With anyone else, he would be afraid, too much, too hard, too close to what he truly needs, to fuck with raw abandon, disregard consequence. Silco would kill him if he held himself back.
Too lost, too off guard. Pain explodes in Vander’s chest, teeth sinking into the flesh just shy of his nipple. He swears violently into Silco’s sweat-mussed hair, burying deep, stilling inside him as the pain ratchets into pleasure, all consuming, unstoppable. Distantly, he feels Silco bite him again, softer this time, tonguing at the flesh as he grunts and seizes and pumps him full.
Vander shakes his head when he feels hands on his chest, hands that should most definitely still be bound. A cruel twist of his nipple forces Vander forward, a few more aching thrusts shocked out of him.
Shakily, he cranes back, snatching Silco’s hands.
“Quit it.”
Silco’s lazy grin never falters. It’s not right for a man to look like that after being so thoroughly debauched: perfectly coifed hair in disarray, skin shining with sweat, eyes glazed and glittering, mouth panting and ruined.
“Is that all?” Silco asks, voice roughened with use. He rolls his hips. Vander seals his teeth against the shivery too-much-too-soon burst of sensation.
“You’re insatiable. You know that?”
“Me?” Silco relaxes back against the mattress. The cat that ate the canary. “Says the man still balls deep.”
Distracted again, knowing he should keep his eyes on Silco’s hands and not his patchworked face or his lofty words. Fingers trace around the curve of Vander’s balls, still high and tight to his body, teasing at his own entrance, cum trickling out around his cock as Vander’s hips stammer and shift at the touch.
“Suppose you’ll get your way,” Vander groans, already feeling that too raw sensation begin to fade, the slowly kindling want warming his belly.
Silco grins.
“Don’t I always?”