Archive of Our Own

“Clothes off.”

Vander swallows roughly; in the quiet of his bedroom, the click of his throat is audible.

“Aren’t you s’posed to buy me dinner first?” The joke is tired, but it soothes the nerves. He’s already half-hard and the thought of revealing it so soon makes him burn with embarrassment. 

Presently, his old friend’s lip curls, unimpressed. “Strip, Vander.”

Silco is dressed down somewhat in just his shirtsleeves, the garment unbuttoned just enough that Vander can see the old Zaun symbol tattooed over his heart and the barest edge of the fishmouth scar that interrupts it. But that is as undressed as he gets during these sessions, and Vander doesn’t push for more even as he peels off his threadbare shirt, steps out of his patched trousers. It makes his own nudity all the more stark, more shameful as they face each other, Silco’s eyes raking over him with naked interest. Silco’s tongue darts out and wets his lips; watching him, Vander is grateful that he’d remembered to turn on the small bedside lamp.

How different these nights are from their days — Silco coming and going as he pleases, personable but aloof. Lately, staying long enough that the kids — Powder especially — dared to cross the threshold at the top of the stairs and sit with him. It felt like mockery; extended foreplay in the prelude to what they inevitably met for in the privacy of Vander’s bedroom. The visits were becoming increasingly more frequent. Truthfully, he’d been at half mast since that afternoon. 

“Come here.”

Vander does as he’s bidden. His footsteps are heavy as he crosses the floor.

By now, he knows better than to expect tenderness from Silco. Those days where they spent hours in bed kissing are long over. When Vander reaches his destination, Silco takes him in hand without a word and squeezes at the base, setting his teeth on edge. Silco’s fist is too dry when he pumps his cock and the friction pulls a pained hiss from between Vander’s gritted teeth.

Silco looks up at him boredly, one eyebrow raised. “Something the matter?”

He’s still stroking, the bastard. “Hurts, is all,” Vander says, playing it off. As if the sensation isn’t just this side of intolerable. “Bit dry.”

“And yet, against all odds, your cock continues to fatten.” Silco’s face remains infuriatingly blank. The sound of his pumping gets a little wetter as the motion peels Vander’s foreskin back, smearing precum along his length. “Do you like it when I hurt you, Vander?”

“That’s a bit of a — loaded question, don’t you think?” Vander grunts.

Silco doesn’t answer. His eyes haven’t left Vander’s, not even to watch his hand. He twists his wrist on the next upstroke, forcing a wretched whine out of Vander. His mouth is a thin little line.

“I know you didn’t — unh — come here just to give me a bad handjob,” says Vander.

“I don’t believe a bad handjob would have you panting like a mutt,” Silco sniffs. By now, Vander is well past rock hard, and so when Silco unceremoniously drops his cock it merely bobs gently before jutting out at proud attention. “But you’re right, I didn’t.”

“So what d’you want, then?” Vander goes to fist it but is stopped by Silco’s hand on his arm.

“I’ll show you. Go sit on the bed.”

As he goes to do so, Vander watches Silco out of the corner of his eye. He pulls a hinged box from the coat hung over the desk chair and opens it.

Something is nestled in the box’s crushed velvet lining. As Vander settles back on the bed and strains to look over Silco’s shoulder, he realizes it’s glowing.

Silco stands up and turns toward him. He holds the instrument cradled in his bony hands.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks.

The instrument is long and thin, slightly curved, tapered on one end and with what looks like a large ring on the other. It’s filled with — Shimmer, he has to guess, by the color, the faint, pulsing glow. Vander narrows his eyes.

“You know I said no chems, Silco.”

“So you did,” Silco says, coming closer, and Vander has to fight the urge to push himself further up the bed.

“I’m not bloody stupid, Sil, there ain’t a thing in the world that color that’s not Shimmer.”

“You’re right,” says Silco, “there’s not. But the Shimmer is for color. It’s so this can be seen through flesh.”

Suddenly unmoored, Vander looks dumbly at the tool in Silco’s hand, then back to his face. His bad eye burns like coal.

“It’s … a sound?”

Silco’s lips curve into a small, rare smile. “Smart dog.”

As Silco moves even closer, the thought occurs to Vander that he should put a stop to this. They’d done many, many things in their years together, but this was a line left uncrossed. The idea of that going in his cock … breaching him, touching the softest, deepest parts of him, where no one could reach. The sound is slender, but there was a time where he’d never had more than a finger in his asshole, and the smallest toy Silco had still had him fighting tears, overwhelmed and full to his lungs.

Traitorously, his cock jumps.

“Will it hurt?” he asks.

Silco stops just short of climbing onto the bed. He’s a tall man in his own right, despite Vander’s comparable size, and the way he looms over him, clothed and untouchable, makes Vander’s naked skin prickle with gooseflesh. It’s dark enough that Vander can track the movement of Silco’s molten eye to his thick, dripping cock. “Would it make any difference?”

Of course not. Vander’s throat clicks as he swallows.

He watches Silco round the bed to Vander’s nightstand, opening its single drawer to retrieve the small flask of oil Silco knows he keeps just for these occasions.

Click of Silco’s tongue. “You’re running low on lubricant,” he observes.

Vander reddens. “Buy me more, then. Since you’re so keen on milkin’ me like a dairy cow every time we do this.”

Silco’s back is still turned to him, but he hums thoughtfully as he shuts the drawer. “I suppose that can be arranged.” Vander feels the bed dip behind him as Silco climbs on. Then, a cool, bony hand on his shoulder. “Lie back.”

He does as he’s told, settling back against the pillows as Silco slithers closer to kneel over his cock. Silco’s eyes flick to Vander’s; after a long moment, he sets the sound and the oil aside to pin Vander’s hips with both hands. Before Vander can ask what he’s doing, Silco forms his lips into a small O and blows a stream of cool air onto the crown of his cock.

Vander yelps at that, cock kicking wildly at the sensation, hips jolting against Silco’s hold. Silco chuckles at Vander’s helpless groaning, wicking the pearl of precum gathering at his slit with the pad of a thumb. He makes Vander watch miserably as he presses that thumb to his lips, clever tongue flickering out to taste.

“Don’t make me beg,” Vander moans.

“Beg all you like,” Silco replies, removing his thumb from his lips with a wet smack. “I’m not going any faster.”

Understimulation is beginning to take its toll on Vander by the time Silco picks up the flask and pours just enough oil into the cup of his palm to slick it up. He watches, electrified, as Silco’s hand comes closer, closer —

Only to land flat on the head of his cock.

Vander bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood as Silco rubs slow circles over his throbbing cockhead, spreading the oil around but deliberately avoiding the shaft, the frenulum; briefly he stops, contemplative, before pressing his index finger lightly into the slit, making Vander hiss. Precum oozes out around the shallow intrusion, mixing with the oil.

It’s too much, this teasing. He’s buzzing now, his skin too tight, fingers flexing, toes curling. He can see the sound out of the corner of his eye, glowing — maybe even pulsing — that shade of lurid magenta.

Calling to him.

Incredible how fearless he could become in desperation. He is so, so empty; if only Silco would fill him…

“Put it in,” Vander sobs.

Silco’s hand stills, which only makes Vander shake harder. “Hmm?”

“For fuck’s sake, Sil.” Vander can feel tears slipping down his temples. “Fuck my cock already!”

Silco sits up, an eyebrow raised, but Vander can see him smiling like the cat that got the cream. He doesn’t bother waiting for Silco to pick up the sound; Vander snatches it up and holds it out to Silco, silent and pathetic in his entreatment, his bare, sweat-sticky chest heaving.

“You want this,” Vander says. “Take it before I change my bloody mind.”

Silco holds out his own hand; Vander lays the sound in the cradle of his palm before collapsing back against the pillows.

Even with his eyes shut, he can hear the wet slide as Silco lubricates the sound. Then, rustling as Silco shifts his position, steadying himself against Vander’s middle. Finally, pressure as Silco braces his elbow against Vander’s chest.

A sudden, strange pressure against his urethra.

“Open your eyes. And keep them open,” instructs Silco. “I want you to see.”

Vander opens his eyes.

Silco’s left hand holds his cock somewhere around the base, ensuring his foreskin remains retracted, his grip strong but not strong enough to cut off blood flow. In Silco’s right hand, held like a pin, the sound rests against his slit. He can feel it, it’s in, if only shallowly — a millimeter at most.

“Fuck,” Vander breathes.

“You can feel that, yes?”

“A little,” Vander rasps. “Shit.”

“Good. Watch,” Silco commands.

With Silco pushing on it, Vander watches, slack-jawed, as it sinks a little deeper. Vander can imagine the thin little passage pushing against it, this intrusion, muscles confused by the sensation of fullness, unused to being fucked —

It’s a little more than a fingernail’s length deep when it begins to burn.

“Ow — Silco —”

“Hush,” Silco says. “Give it a few seconds.”

The sensation builds and builds until Vander is panting, sweat sliding down his forehead, but Silco doesn’t stop. Vander doesn’t ask him to stop, either, even when the feeling is almost too much to bear, because they’ve made it this far and the thought of Silco leaving now would shatter him to pieces, and isn’t that a terrifying notion, that he’d let Silco hurt, maim him, as long as it meant he stayed —

When the burning subsides, Vander lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

With the sound about halfway in now, the pain has ebbed away into something else entirely — an alien fullness, not entirely pleasant but not unpleasant either. Intense is what he’d call it, a sudden, shameful awareness of his body at a cellular level; at being touched where no one has touched him before. 

The Shimmer pulses dully, diffused through the thin skin of his cock, but still bright in the narrow tube of his urethral passage.

It’s … breathtaking.

“Ahh —” Vander whines, “Silco —”

“Oh, good pup,” Silco breathes. “There we go …”

Pup. A pet name Vander hasn’t heard for the better part of a decade. A little condescending, perhaps, but an endearment from a bygone time when they still loved each other. Maybe he’d have teased him for it, if the moment weren’t so fragile. If he didn’t already feel like he was dangerously untethered.

He can’t see Silco’s face from here. Just the prickly, shorn back of his head, the graceful arc of his thin shoulders. He’s struck by the desire to take Silco’s jaw in hand, tilt their faces together, and kiss him, as naturally as drinking water. The thought of it makes him shiver, cock kicking in Silco’s fist.

“What’s got you so excited?” Silco’s tone is amused.

“You,” Vander answers. Rather than kiss him, he curls a hand over Silco’s shoulder, steadying himself. “A-always you.”

Silco scoffs, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t shove Vander’s hand off, so Vander squeezes, rewarded with the lightest shudder. Silco lets go of the sound and allows gravity to do its work, pulling it the rest of the way down, down, until it’s seated to the base.

“You haven’t flagged one bit,” Silco observes, with the kind of curiosity more fitting of a scientist hunched over a lab experiment. Maybe Vander was just that indeed — a pinned animal with a throbbing erection. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Fuckin’ full,” Vander huffs. They both watch as his cock twitches and bobs, the glowing sound slowly sliding back up until Silco stops it with the pad of a finger and pushes it back in. “Janna’s tits, that’s—”

“Good?” Silco asks.

“You call gettin’ wanked from the inside just good?” It’s fucking indescribable, honestly, but that’s his best attempt at it. The same sensation as a fist on his cock, but multitudes more intense, rubbing the sensitive inner muscles, a tingling stretch, compounded by the feeling of — of wrongness. It’s the same sort of feeling that left him rock-hard and dripping the first time Silco made him put on panties all those years ago.

“‘Wanked from the inside,’” Silco repeats, slowly. Vander still can’t see his face but he knows he’s smiling. He lets the sound go and it slides out faster this time, accompanied by a dribble of precum; Vander opens his mouth to plead for more, but Silco is faster, fucking the sound back down in short little strokes that has Vander’s head dropping back so fast it smacks the headboard. “Like this?”

There are a million things Vander wants to say to Silco, like fuck yes and stop playing with me and look at me and kiss me and, probably most embarrassingly, don’t go. But his tongue feels too big for his mouth. On the next downstroke, Silco twists the sound, rubbing the inside of Vander’s cock so deliciously that he keens, squeezing so harshly that it almost shoots out before Silco catches it and fucks it back in.

“Stop trying to force it out,” Silco scolds, and taps the top of the sound twice, making Vander moan helplessly as it vibrates inside of him. “To be frank, I didn’t expect you to enjoy this so much.”

“You know I enjoy just about everything, as long as it’s with you.”

A short silence passes before Silco replies: “You ought to play your cards closer to your chest, Vander.”

“An’ you know I’m shit at cards without — ah —”

Before Vander can really incriminate himself, Silco shifts his approach: with one finger keeping the sound still, Silco’s other hand tightens at the base of his cock before stroking root to tip. The feeling is fucking glorious. Silco’s fist squeezes from the outside, pushing against the rigid intrusion of the sound, which now has nowhere to go; the sensation is twofold, massaging both the outside and inside of his cock, making tears swim in Vander’s eyes as his fingers tighten in the fine silk of Silco’s shirt, threatening to tear it …

“Look,” Silco’s tone is harsh and ragged. Vander opens his eyes, unaware he’d screwed them shut, exhaling noisily to find Silco finally, finally looking back at him. His eyes are wild, ruined eye burning, strands of hair falling into his face. “Look at what I’m doing to you, dog. Look!”

It hurts to tear his eyes away from Silco’s face to obey, but he does. With the sound all the way in, the light dapples underneath his skin, causing Vander’s cock to glow luridly, a mockery of a Shimmer vial in both length and circumference. Light spills out from the slit, dances softly over Silco’s fist as he tugs it with rough, urgent strokes. What pitiful amount of precum that leaks out around the sound gleams, gem-like, as it pools in the webbing between Silco’s thumb and forefinger.

Perhaps this was intended to humiliate him — to paint him in the colors of the enemy through such intimate violation. Perhaps Silco thought he’d find Vander’s limit, to finally succeed in cutting that cord for good after his own multiple tries at re-knotting it. Perhaps Vander was supposed to be scared.

What does it say about him that he isn’t?

Vander lays his other hand on Silco’s ruined cheek.

“C’mere,” he says, and kisses him.

At first, Silco doesn’t move. His fingers twitch to a sudden stop on Vander’s dick until the sound begins to slip out again and the drag causes Vander to moan roughly against Silco’s mouth.

Then, suddenly, sharp teeth against his tongue. 

Silco bites it, holds it, teeth cutting shallow little indents into it until Vander tastes blood. Silco kisses him like the eel he is, slithering out and snapping at his prey, pulling back and biting Vander’s lower lip until Vander groans and hisses. Silco climbs into his lap, reaching for his cock with one hand and the sound with the other, answering each press of Vander’s lips with his own cruel little nips.

“Stop begging me for what I won’t give,” Silco growls. With his hands occupied, he can’t stop Vander’s hands carding through his hair, pulling it free of its careful styling. 

“Then give me what you will, luvvy.”

“And don’t call me that, mutt.” Silco’s fingers loop under the fat head of Vander’s cock, holding him still as he fucks the sound into him again, twirling it on those rough, short strokes that drive him fucking crazy. Vander’s panting now, open-mouthed and needy; his forehead knocks against Silco’s as he drops his head to watch it feed into his slit, glowing softly from inside, his cockhead purplish and swollen from the abuse. Distantly, he hears the sound of his fingers tearing fabric — Silco’s shirt, but neither of them move. 

Vander’s other hand fumbles for Silco’s on his cock, and when Silco goes to complain, Vander shushes him: “Stroke me while you fuck me,” he begs softly. “Like this—”

Holding Silco’s hand in his, he strokes himself in time with the sound, chasing it; it feels fucking incredible, heat welling deep in the root of his cock; Vander groans, head dropping to Silco’s shoulder, free hand gripping the back of his neck, he can’t fucking help himself. He’s panting like a dog now, breath condensing on Silco’s flesh, thighs trembling with each pump of their hands — gods, he must be leaking like a faucet. 

“Silco,” Vander pleads, the name muffled in his neck, “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, pup,” Silco orders, and Vander, whining, obeys. 

On the next downstroke, Silco’s hand shifts to the loop on top of the sound — and presses it down until there’s a soft click.

“Oops,” Silco says. 

At first, Vander has no clue what he could possibly be saying Oops about. But then comes a slow, buzzing tingle, deep within the root of his cock, practically behind his balls, growing in intensity until Vander is huffing and puffing, red-faced and barely able to contain himself, and when he looks down, the glow has vanished from his urethral tube and settled much, much deeper, so that now it only pulses very faintly —

His prostate. 

Silco has dosed him with Shimmer, applied directly to his prostate.

“Silco,” Vander says, “what did you—”

Orgasm tears through him with a kind of violence that steals his breath away. Vander seizes, howling; he can feel the muscles in his thighs flex and bulge painfully as he rocks back and the muscles deep in his cock convulse so wildly that the sound shoots out, accompanied by rope after rope of hot, thick seed, soiling Silco’s pretty silk shirt and painting the long, handsome planes of his face, his nose, his mouth, curved into some strange, damnable smile—

He’d planned this all along, hadn’t he?

“Can’t fuckin’ believe you,” Vander groans, gripping his cock at the base in a vain effort to get it to stop shooting — and why is he still hard? “You promised—”

Silco traces a finger through the mess coating his lips and inspects it with a raised eyebrow before setting that finger to the seam of his mouth and suckling Vander’s cum from it. He hums, pleased, cool as a cucumber in stark contrast to Vander’s labored moaning.

“I did, didn’t I?” He wicks another pearl of cum from his cheek, sucks that away too. “I suppose we’ve both disappointed each other, then.”

Vander hasn’t felt rage like this in a long time. 

It’s frightening, feral, downright beastly, this rage. Vander considers himself a naturally angry man but he’d spent decades battling his own temper and winning, with very few (sorely regretted) exceptions. He’d hung it up for good, or so he thought, the day the girls had come home with him. 

That version of himself would barely recognize him.

Betrayal became anger and then, as the Shimmer pulsed through his system, worked its way into his blood and his heart and his brain, his restraint failed. What is a man to do, faced with such total collapse of his inhibitions? With the only man he’s ever loved beneath him, smug in his victory and yet vulnerable, tender as an overripe fruit begging to be torn apart?

Perhaps he should thank Silco, he thinks, as he gathers him into his arms, ignoring his squawking as Vander carries him to his writing desk and dumps him onto it. For allowing him the clarity to do what he wouldn’t otherwise.

Silco says something, but Vander doesn’t hear it. The buttons on Silco’s trousers are so shiny even in such dim light.

Vander’s blood thunders in his ears as he tears Silco’s pants open. Buttons rain onto the hardwood floor. Silco speaks again, louder, maybe angry, but Vander still doesn’t hear. 

Silco isn’t wearing any underwear. And, as if he’d anticipated this, he’d trimmed.

“You dirty old slut.” Vander’s tone is gutteral. Animal.

Thanks to his own Shimmer use, Silco’s cunt is a thrilling shade of purple. Testosterone has shrunk his outer labia, leaving the frills and furls of his sex, his thick little cock, on full display. Purple as wisteria. Probably petal-soft, too. 

Vander is going to ruin it.

With one hand, he forces Silco’s knees together. With the other, he shoves Silco onto his side. His cunt pokes out enticingly between the sparse fat of his thighs. He’ll be tight like this. Maybe too tight.  Maybe it will hurt him. 

The Shimmer whispers, like an evil little fairy: You want it to hurt him, don’t you?

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t tease his cockhead against Silco’s the way he likes, enticing as it is. Vander keeps Silco pinned with one hand bruising his thigh as he drives his cock deep into his cunt.

Silco gasps as if he’s been struck. His cunt pulses, struggling at the stretch; Vander ignores his moaning and fucks him at a mean pace, brutal and precise, grunting with each harsh smack of his balls against Silco’s ass.

“I hope this hurts,” Vander growls. He’s out of control now; veins stand up on the back of his hand where it pins Silco’s leg, that lurid purple zinging back and forth like electricity under the skin. Silco would be black and blue where his fingers have dug in. “A wretched, ugly fuck for the ugliest wretch I know.”

For once, Silco doesn’t have anything smart to say. His mouth is open, but all that comes are high, involuntary sounds — a kicked dog or a rabbit in a trap — each time Vander forces himself back in.

Some small part of him, the last rational part of his mind not wiped clean by the drug, watches in horror. What am I doing to him? it asks, alarmed. I’m — I swore I’d never — I’m raping him—

For one stark, guilty moment, Vander stills.

Was this who he was? Silco had broken his trust, so Vander had to do him one better?

No better than that brute who went down to the river—

Distantly, laughter.

Getting louder. Gods, that’s not him, is it?

Long, thin fingers on his hip, digging into the fat.

Vander looks down and finds Silco laughing.

It’s a harsh, rasping sound, rusty as if from years of disuse, but it’s different from the wry, mocking chuckle Vander is so used to. His face, normally so sallow, is colored with a ruddy blush. There’s drool trickling down the corner of his mouth, as if Vander had fucked him dumb and slack-jawed; Silco’s mouth opens, a string of spit caught between jagged teeth, and he laughs again, demented as a clown.

He’s enjoying this.

“Yes,” he hisses, short fingernails biting crescents into Vander’s flesh. “That’s it, fuck me like the mongrel we both know you are.”

Instead, Vander pulls out, so suddenly Silco’s cunt gapes and clenches pitifully around the loss. Silco whines, sharp little nails twinging like fish hooks in Vander’s flesh. 

“Don’t get cold feet on me now, mutt—”

Vander silences him with an open-palm smack to his cunt. Silco yelps, curls up instinctively, and gets another smack for the trouble.

“Who’s got cold feet now?” Vander growls, forcing Silco’s knees apart to land a particularly savage slap to Silco’s cock, the pain curving his back up and off the desk. His cunt is a mess now, sloppy and swollen from Vander’s abuse. Vander strikes him once more and Silco moans, wetness splattering from the blow. “This is what you wanted, yeah?” Slap. “A mad dog to bully and ruin your whore cunt?” Slap. “So desperate for it you had to fucking dose me? Why not just — fucking — ask me, huh?”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

“Ignorance doesn’t suit you, Vander,” Silco sneers, even as his eyes shine with tears. “Forgive me if I wanted to skip the part where you look at me with big wet eyes and ask if I really want you to hurt me—ah!”

“Fucking coward,” Vander mutters.

Silco’s body contorts beautifully on the next slap. Vander’s hand is starting to sting, and Silco’s tender flesh is flushed an angry red.

“You can keep at it, if your intention is to make me come,” Silco smiles, showing Vander all his jagged teeth. “Can I make a confession? This is a favorite little fantasy of mine. I like to think about it with three fingers stuffed in my cunt.”

“Greedy brat,” Vander snarls, flipping Silco over and pressing a thick thumb against his twitching asshole, earning a soft grunt. “Surprised you didn’t try a whole fuckin’ fist.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d like to hear all about tha—” Silco’s jaw hangs open on a moan as Vander drills back into his abused cunt, thumb still hooked into his hole.

The desk creaks with each snap of Vander’s hips; Silco is soaked from Vander’s punishment, wetness clinging stickily to Vander’s balls with each smack against Silco’s sore, puffy cunt before drip-dropping onto the floor. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Vander mocks, pulling his thumb out and bracing his elbows against the desk to bracket Silco, cage him in; the better leverage lets him pound mercilessly, brutal and precise as a jackhammer, pitching Silco’s little gasping moans up higher, higher, higher as his cunt begins to flutter and squeeze in warning. “What’s it feel like, eh? Bet it aches. Bet it burns. C’n practically feel that poor, bruised little pussy of yours throbbin’ with each stroke—”

“Yes—”

“But you love it, filthy little painslut you are—”

Silco could only moan, his cheek crushed into the side of the desk. He’s so wet the sound of Vander’s cock working him open seems deafening. Vander’s known him long enough to recognize the way his cunt pulses faster, begging for the release that Silco won’t ask for even on pain of death. Vander noses into the shorn hair at the back of his head, a growl rumbling deep in his chest, huffing hot breath over the shell of Silco’s ear before nipping at the lobe.

“If you want a fist so bad, I’ll put mine up your cunt and break it—”

Silco sobs, gushing over Vander’s cock as he comes. His cunt is hot and vice-tight, and Vander follows him with a wounded sound, squeezing Silco’s knees between his own, trapping him in place as Vander hilts himself, groaning, dumping his load deep enough to have taken, if they had still been young men. Not that he feels particularly old right now. In fact, as he slumps panting against Silco’s sweat-soaked back, his erection still hasn’t flagged.

When Vander pulls out, a rush of warm, sticky seed follows, adding to Silco’s mess on the floor. Silco groans as he pushes another pearl out. “Janna fuck, feels like I’ve been mounted by a racehorse…”

Vander picks Silco up by one leg, easy as a ragdoll, and pulls him onto the floor.

“Oi!” Silco protests, kicking at Vander as he arranges Silco face down, ass-up, presenting his sticky, puffy cunt to the cool air and making him wince. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Vander laughs meanly. “You dosed me and figured this ends on your terms?”

Silco glowers. “And what,” he grits, “are your terms, cur?”

“Tit for tat,” Vander says simply, pressing the heel of his foot to the back of Silco’s head. Silco’s cunt flutters enticingly as he bears down a little, notching the fat head of his cock against it. “Be a good little cocksleeve until your drugs wear off.”

Silco remains petulantly silent.

“I can see your cock twitching, Sil.”

“Just get on with it,” Silco mutters into the floorboards, blush staining the tips of his ears.

“Attaboy.” 

Silco’s cunt squelches wetly as Vander sinks back in, forcing more seed out to dribble weakly down and off his swollen cock. He groans as Vander leans forward, adding weight to the foot trapping him until he’s well and truly stuck, unable to move his head (let alone the rest of his body) as Vander resumes fucking him like he never stopped, with rough, punishing strokes.

It’s not lost on Vander how demeaning this is. Silco had always liked it rough, and Vander obliged happily; with Silco, his own size and strength never frightened him. He could slap Silco’s cunt until it was raw and aching; fuck him until he bled; pull his hair until he screamed; Silco always demanded more. But he liked it because he knew that even if he fucked Silco so hard their headboard left dents in the wall, he’d never get begrudged a few minutes spent in each other’s arms afterward, listening to the jackrabbit pulse of his partner’s heart come down.

“Why are you slowing down,” Silco gasps. He’s got one hand jammed between his thighs, pinching his cock roughly. “Don’t fucking stop, mutt.”

“You asked,” Vander rumbles, picking up the pace. 

Even with the Shimmer bumping his stamina, fucking Silco like this is hell on his body. With one foot on his head and the other knee bearing most of Vander’s weight to avoid crushing his skull, each thrust of his hips twinges something — his back, his knees, his groin. Repositioning is out of the question; he’d be damned if Silco ceased his long, loud moaning to call him a lame old dog. Instead Vander curls his hands over Silco’s bony hips, strong enough to bruise, and uses the leverage to yank Silco back onto his cock, meeting each punishing thrust halfway. It lets Vander bully even deeper, practically at the soft, fleshy mouth of Silco’s womb. 

Silco moans like a fucking whore at this. His battered cunt is so sloppy around Vander’s cock that it produces a lewd, wet sound, like lips smacking, each time he pounds back in. He can feel himself getting close again, switches to a slow, dirty grind, balls teasing at Silco’s swollen cock. 

“Fucking — listen to yourself,” Vander grits, his teeth bared, wolflike. “Is this what it takes to get you to fucking calm down, Sil? If I’m a mad dog then you’re an alleycat in heat, yowling for someone to come breed your filthy, lonely cunt.”

There are a great many things Vander can call Silco without so much as a blink in response. Filthy — we’re all equally filthy down here, Vander. Whore — cute, but inaccurate; try “slut” next time.

Lonely is something else entirely. It cuts deep because it’s true. 

“M’not,” Silco slurs. The good side of his face is crushed against the floorboards, but Vander can practically feel the heat radiating off his ears. Among the sharp slap of skin on skin, Vander hears the soft patter of wetness forced out of Silco’s cunt dribbling to the floorboards.

“Oh yes you are,” Vander laughs meanly, speeding up once more, fucking in fast, staccato strokes that make his balls smack against Silco’s cock the way he knows he likes. “Shame I got fixed — Maybe you’d stay if I gave you more — kids —”

He hits Silco’s cervix properly on the next downstroke and Silco screams, that bright burst of pleasurepain forcing his cunt to seize around Vander’s cock. Vander’s breath stutters at the sensation and he does it again on purpose, chasing how Silco’s insides spasm, milking him; he’s hurting Silco but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, the Shimmer is surging in him, Silco’s cunt is vice-tight on his cock, the feeling is fucking heavenly —

“Please,” Silco begs, nails scrabbling helplessly on the floor before burying in the roots of his own hair and yanking. “Do it — please —”

He never gets to see this version of Silco anymore, supine beneath him, shattered and begging. It’s shameful how fast he comes, blood roaring in his ears, so loud he doesn’t realize he’s the one roaring like some great, mad beast. Purple veins strain over the backs of his hands, still pressing bruises deep into Silco’s hips as he buries himself to the root and finishes with an animal grunt. He thinks of Silco’s womb engorged with his cum and laughs as his cock plops out, a thick rope of spend hanging between the head of his cock and Silco’s hole before snapping.

With each clench of Silco’s ruined, gaping cunt, sticky pearls of seed slide into the small puddle that’s formed beneath him. He squeezes his thighs together and groans miserably, shivering. 

“Touch me,” Silco whines, and Vander watches the purple, frilled flesh tremble as his cunt pulses. “You didn’t even make me come, oaf.”

Gods, Silco is going to be the death of him. 

Vander leans back carefully, removing his foot from Silco’s head as he rises laboriously to his feet despite the twinging in his hips. Silco seems almost in danger of melting, slumping further forward where he lies; when Vander finally scoops him up, he goes dead easy, and Vander can see the puddle of drool from where his cheek was mashed against the floorboards. 

“Put me down,” Silco slurs weakly, but doesn’t fight as Vander walks them both to the bed. 

“You wanna come, don’t you?” Vander rumbles, cock bobbing against Silco’s ass as he sits, pulling Silco against his furry chest. “Lucky for you, I think I’ve got one more in me.”

He opts for a full nelson, looping both his elbows under Silco’s knees, bracing them apart, forcing his hot, aching cunt wide. Silco hisses, thrashing against Vander’s hands braced against the back of his skull, his hard, abused cock twitching against the cool air. Vander can feel his own seed, warmed by Silco’s body, dripping from his cunt and into the hair covering his thighs. He rolls his cock against Silco’s filthy cunt, revels in the way Silco’s breath catches when the head catches on the underside of his own swollen cock.

“Just fuck me already,” Silco says tightly, struggling against Vander’s grip in a futile effort to frot against him. “I know you want to.”

“Then beg.”

Silco makes a harsh, hissing noise through his teeth in lieu of an answer. Vander reaches between Silco’s legs to fist his own cock at the base, slapping it sharply against Silco’s swollen, glossy cunt and earning a furious moan. When he does it again Silco cries out, trying to force himself down on it, but Vander holds him fast. 

“Beg me for it, Sil.”

Silco grits his teeth so hard Vander can hear his molars creaking.

“Please fuck me, dog.”

“Close enough,” Vander chuckles, and once again spears Silco on his cock.

As he guessed, lying back is far less hard on his body. Without the ache in his hips, he fucks Silco like a demon, so hard and fast it forces thick streams of his own cum out of Silco’s hole and down his cock, only to be fucked back in on the next thrust. Silco’s cunt, battered and bullied into submission, is so loose that the sound of Vander driving into him is sloppy-wet and deafening in a room otherwise filled with the soft sounds of their mingled panting and moaning.

They go like that for a while, with Vander alternating between bursts of rough, quick thrusts that knock sharp, breathless sounds out of Silco and slower, deeper grinds that make him properly moan, knees trembling. Vander can feel the Shimmer wearing off even as his orgasm builds, and soon he finds himself racing his own exhaustion in an effort to come.

“Touch yourself,” Vander grunts, as his thrusts start to lose tempo. “Shimmer’s wearin’ off —”

“Don’t fucking stop,” Silco gasps, dipping a hand to coat his fingers in their mingled cum before spreading it over his little cock, jerking himself roughly until Vander hears the wet schlick of each stroke, feels Silco’s walls begin to flutter and squeeze.

Lust surges in his tired body one last time at the sensation of Silco tightening up. Groaning, Vander falls back against the pillows and folds Silco up in his arms, bouncing him roughly on his cock; Silco’s wrist twists as he works the hood over his cock faster, nudging the pad of his index under the sensitive, swollen head and keening Vander’s name; he seizes, cunt pulsing hard, and comes with his head thrown back against Vander’s shoulder, wrenching Vander’s own orgasm forth.

Vander comes with a long, low groan, crushing Silco to him as he finally, finally empties his balls inside him one last time. His orgasm feels like it lasts hours; Silco doesn’t try to move as Vander’s cock continues to pulse and twitch inside him. 

Exhausted, Vander nods off for half a minute and wakes to Silco squirming on top of him, grinding against the softening cock still inside him as he jerks his own.

“Fuckin’ insatiable,” Vander rumbles. His dick stirs, but that’s about it. “Needy little thing.”

Silco is close enough that Vander can feel the heat of the blush radiating off his cheek. “Shut up.”

“Mn.” Vander smacks Silco’s hand away and replaces it with his own, jerking him off until Silco is panting and writhing. “Why don’t you make me?”

In lieu of an answer, Silco comes one last time with a long, rattling gasp. Exhausted, his body gives Vander’s spent dick a few weak squeezes, enough to almost make him protest his overstimulation before Silco slumps back against his chest, spent.

They lay together for what feels like hours catching their breath, until the sweat clinging to both of them begins to cool and the cum painted across skin or caught in hair dries unpleasant and tacky. Silco wriggles unhappily until Vander’s cock slips wetly free followed by one last dribble of spend from his loose, well-used hole.

“Vander,” he grouses, reaching back to smack his cheek. “Let go of me.”

“Hngh,” Vander grunts. He traces the cut of Silco’s hip blindly, smiling when the pad of his thumb finds the raised flesh that bears his initial. “Can’t believe you haven’t gotten this covered up.”

“And who would I ask to do that, hm?” Silco asks waspishly as he continues to struggle. When he finally succeeds in freeing himself, Vander can hear his bare feet padding across the floorboards as he searches for his clothes. “There isn’t a single soul in this city I’d show that embarrassment.”

“Except me.”

The look Silco shoots him over his shoulder is downright venomous. “Don’t push your luck.”

Vander rumbles a laugh as Silco finally locates his trousers — he can tell by the way Silco swears under his breath.

“You’re buying me a new pair of these,” Silco mutters, shaking the garment out. Every single button is missing, scattered across Vander’s room like pirate’s gold, and the front fly hangs proudly open. They’re well and truly ruined, especially unusable for a man with no underclothes. “Blast. I can’t wear these…”

As Silco fusses over the pants, Vander pulls himself into a sitting position, wincing at the steadily worsening ache in his back. He passes him on his way to the bathroom, squeezes his shoulder as he goes, and tries not to smile when he hears Silco’s breath stutter.

“So spend the night,” Vander calls as he runs the tap hot, wetting a rag until it’s pleasantly warm. He comes back to Silco standing adrift in the middle of the bedroom, watching him, the ruined pants hanging uselessly from one hand. They’re both equally naked now, stripped bare, carrying countless of each other’s marks. “I’ll mend ‘em in the morning. Won’t be pretty, but you’ll leave with your dignity intact.”

Silco, for once, is quiet. His eye burns, tracking the cloth in Vander’s fist as he crosses the floor to him. It’s times like these Silco truly reminds him of a cornered alleycat, tail bristling, equally as likely to bite the outstretched hand as to nuzzle it.

Vander passes the warm rag gently between Silco’s legs, pressing it against his sore, puffy sex. Silco’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t move. Evidently too tired to bite.

“I don’t need—”

“Well, I do,” Vander interrupts roughly. He tends to Silco with long, firm strokes of the cloth, soothing the raw flesh as he cleans away the worst of their coupling. “You need a good rough fuck, fine. I need you able to piss properly the next day.”

Silco groans, forehead knocking against Vander’s shoulder. He yawns, breath condensing on Vander’s chest: “Sentimental…”

Vander laughs ruefully. “Yeah, I really miss how crabby you get with a urinary infection.”

“What’s it going to take…” Another yawn. “For you to walk away from me.”

This makes Vander pause. The damp rag hits the floor with a wet smack. He curls his hand around the back of Silco’s neck, forces him to look at him. 

He should be furious. Probably some part of him is. This was his one line in the sand, and Silco trampled straight over it — for what? A better fuck? Did he really think Vander would deny him that if he asked?

…Was Vander so sure he wouldn’t have?

It went without saying Silco brought out the best in him from the day they met. He also knew how to bring out the worst — how to open old wounds, tear new ones, make him bleed. The Shimmer only sped things along. And it scared Vander how good that initial head rush had felt, rage spinning into mad lust, fucking his old friend with such ferocity it brought back memories of Silco’s nails biting crescents into their headboard, of his long, black hair wrapped around Vander’s fist like an unruly snake. Indents of jagged teeth and bruises the color of wine framing his nipples, whirling out in radials to scatter toward his collarbones, each little mark another stake of Silco’s claim: mine, mine, mine.

I’d give anything to have that again, Vander thinks, with some surprise. Anything.

Another dose of Shimmer? How much? Enough to unmake him? Rebuild him, molecule by molecule, in Silco’s image?

Anything. 

Would it really be so bad?

Silco’s eyes are glassy, unfocused. Fucked-out. It’d be so easy to kiss him. When Vander tips his head down to do so, it’s as natural as drinking water from a stream. Silco parts his lips, moans into his mouth; Vander presses his advantage, deepens the kiss, feels Silco’s tongue slide against his. They break away panting after a moment, Silco’s thin mouth shining with spit.

“If I could walk away from you, I would’ve done it a long time ago,” Vander rasps. 

He backs Silco toward the bed, still kissing him. They tumble down to the mattress together and the impact feels like breaking the surface tension of some vast, deep body of water. Entwined, they are stones, dragging each other deeper, deeper, to some black place the sun doesn’t reach, never to return.

There’s a faint buzz — a charge, almost — as their bodies tangle together. It gets stronger when Vander wraps Silco in his arms, pulling him closer. 

It’s the Shimmer, he realizes, singing in both their veins, reacting to itself.