Chapter Text
Dominated, that was the right word.
He knew it, but he couldn't free himself. He didn't want to.
It hadn't been very easy to come to terms with his feelings in the past, at least not immediately.
He had thought he had been in love with Felicia for a long time, even though he had also felt strongly attracted to Silco: he loved his immature, almost feminine form. For a long time, he was convinced that this attracted him, his delicate features so close to resembling those of a woman. But Silco's energy had very little of the feminine principle, even if many didn't realise it immediately; Vander knew him all too well and knew how masculine he was deep down. This strange mixture had confused him for a long time. As a teenager, he had often thought of trying to approach him, although he had never done anything for one reason or another. He had also been convinced that he liked him - things had happened, things that had burned a mark on his heart - but even Silco had never really done anything practical to get physically close to him.
And so he had given up.
He had had other brief relationships with girls met here and where - one-night stands, things that lasted just long enough to burn off the sex and curiosity in a few days at most - but his dedication had always been to the same two people: Felicia and Silco.
This sort of confusion lasted until he was about 20, when Felicia dragged both of them to bed with her for the first time, and perhaps lasted for another year or two after that night. At a certain point, he had capitulated and surrendered to the fact that he was in love with Silco, and completely enslaved by that feeling.
Their relationship had lasted for about ten years, not without difficulties, but Vander had never stopped feeling passionately in love with him. He knew he was loved in return, even if it wasn't easy for Silco to say it out loud. There had been very few moments when he had seen him totally vulnerable, open and able to express what he felt; most of the time he was silent and reserved, withdrawn into himself, into his dreams and his plans, which were full of shadows as hard and sharp as his personality, physically and emotionally.
When their relationship had become public, many had gossiped. It was such a cliché to think that the more submissive one was Silco, just because of his build, but they knew very little, about how much it was enough for him to raise an eyebrow in a certain way to make him want to lick the ground he walked on. It didn't matter if he was top or bottom in sex; it was almost always Silco who decided what, how much, and where. Vander had learnt to read his desires, and when he acted without a direct question from Silco, he knew he was fulfilling an unexpressed desire of his partner.
And it had been an infinite pleasure to bend to his will countless times, to make him come two or three times in a row, and to hold back his own orgasm until Silco allowed him to let go.
Years later, nothing had changed.
Nothing had changed now that he had his face pressed against the mattress and his hands clenched into fists on the sheets, while Silco held him down with one hand spread over his head, and moved inside and outside him with slow undulations of the pelvis. Each oscillation ended with a sharp thrust that resonated in the room like a wet and obscene slap, reverberating throughout his body from his testicles and the pulsating muscles around Silco's erection, then up his arched back, to the nape of his neck and the skin of his head, where Silco's fingers were clasped tightly around his hair. His every movement was angled to perfection to rub against his hypersensitive prostate, and to give him maximum pleasure with minimum effort.
How long would he last?
Not long, that was for sure.
But certainly long enough for Silco to say he could come.
He had whimpered, hoping his permission would come soon enough, but Silco had slowed down and changed the angle instead, eliciting an unsatisfied groan from him.
“Do you want to come, dog?”
“Please, Sil,” he had whispered through the sheets. They were damp with his own saliva. He must have bitten them.
Another thrust. Strong. But once again, far away from his prostate.
Bastard , he'd thought, but he'd been careful not to say it. If he had, Silco would have left it at that and finished on his own, maybe coming on his back or chest, forcing him to watch him without letting him reach climax in turn.
“Beg me”.
“Please, Sil, let me come,” he said, obediently.
“Again”.
Another harsh thrust.
“Silco. Please. I need to feel you come. I need to come”.
“Mhh. Good boy”.
Silco had moved his hips and pulled one leg onto the bed. Without any warning, he had started moving again, this time in sharp, close thrusts that had quickly brought him to the limit once more.
“Let me feel you come now. Let me feel it, Vander,” he said in an authoritarian but passionate tone. He took him by the thighs and thrusted again several times.
A long, broken moan escaped Vander, which would probably make him ashamed if he were with anyone but Silco, but as always happened with him, it was almost impossible to keep control. The orgasm had shaken his body from head to toe, completely emptying his mind of any thought other than intense pleasure. Shortly afterwards, he vaguely felt Silco's movements lose the pressing rhythm that had made him come, and then he followed with a choked cry that he had learned to recognise even when climax endorphins clouded his mind.
Silco had fallen on his back, and had moved his hips a few more times, slowly, whispering his name, following the last offshoots of his orgasm, and then he had rolled over onto his side on the bed, panting. Vander had come closer and rested his forehead on the side of his ribcage. Silco had run his hand on his neck, running his fingers through his hair and slowly caressing him.
If they were still young, they might have waited a while and done it again, but those days were over, and they were both tired and satisfied. It would be enough for a while. A few days, maybe. After so many years apart, they still had to find some kind of balance.
He had fallen asleep thinking about it.
“Vander?”
“Mhh,” he said, his voice slurring with sleep.
“Too much?”
“Mmh. What?”
“Did I overdo it? Did I... hurt you?”
He had leaned over and kissed him on the temple.
Vander smiled to himself. It was incredibly tender to feel him so concerned and attentive. He wanted to tell him that they had already done all the harm they could do to each other, and that even if he hurt him again, a hundred times more, it would never be able to match the night he almost died because of him. But he knew that Silco had completely different intentions at that moment, and that responding to him in this way would only reopen deep wounds that were still far from healing. He didn't want to revisit that at that moment.
“No, Sil. It was perfect. You were perfect”.
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