Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vander swaggers into the bar with a smug grin and bloody knuckles. The way he's smiling spills blood onto his teeth, but he doesn't seem to mind. Silco straightens up from where he'd been leaning on the counter. Vander has this way of commanding a room, and Silco is very susceptible to it. He just can't drag his eyes away, especially when Vander is sweaty and bloody and stinking of a victorious fight. 

A few people hoot as Vander passes by them, and he pauses to chat with the sparsely-filled tables. Wednesday afternoons aren’t their busiest times, which is why Vander felt comfortable leaving the bar in Silco’s leisurely hands. Vander is much better suited to bartending, quick to pull a pint and all friendly smiles. He can do stupid tricks while he pours and he shakes cocktails with one giant hand while holding conversation.

Silco gets good tips from topsiders, or from idiots who think they have a shot with him. Their regular crowd, however, think he takes too long. Silco aims for playful and ends up more like mean, but the miners they grew up with don’t mind if he’s a little sharp--they’re just glad he doesn’t have access to any explosives anymore. They never did like the days when he’d scoot through cracks in the rock to lay his charges. Silco only remembers those days with the sound of his own breath seeming to disrupt the dim light of his headlamp, so deep under the surface that gravity was different. People used to tell him that he had a crazed look in his eye on detonation days. And yet, his supposed insanity isn’t exactly a problem for their regular patrons. His precise pours, however, get him dirty looks. 

Vander’s heavy hands pour the drinks, and Silco takes care of the numbers. That’s how they work best. Brains and brawn. 

“Found something good,” Vander tells him, coming around the bar. He has a rather new looking pair of boots tied together by the laces and slung over his shoulder. Excitement shivers up Silco’s back. It is tempered by real relief; Vander has needed new boots for nearly a year at this point. Silco tries not to let it keep him up at night.

“Where’d those come from?”

“Met this topsider prick trying to take his advantage of one of Bab’s girls. He was happy to lend me these.” 

“Rather nice of him,” Silco says, smirk showing off his sharp teeth. Vander huffs a laugh. He cradles the boots in his arm and starts untangling the laces. 

Good shoes are hard to come by down here. Most folks wear their shoes flat, then replace the sole and do it all over again. Sometimes Silco thinks that becoming a cobbler instead of a barman would have been a much more sound career move, if he wanted to have steady work all his life. He knows the basics, and he does care for his and Vander’s boots, but that’s more out of passion than anything else. Not making him much money. Silco watches, entranced, as Vander’s deceptively nimble fingers straighten out the laces of the new boots. They’re stunning quality for the undercity, molten brown with dark stitching. Their leather looks to be in good condition, if a bit parched. If they’re taken proper care of, Vander will probably die with these shoes on.

Maybe Vander will be wearing these the next time he and Silco fuck. The thought comes unbidden, like a whisper in his ear. It feels foreign, somehow, but it makes Silco flush. He enjoys sex; likes the stretch, likes the intimacy, likes the workout. He likes that Vander leaves him shaky and ruined afterward. He rarely feels ‘horny’ like others describe, though. He’s never really gotten how something so simple as arousal could make you do stupid things. He is coming quickly to an understanding.

Maybe he’ll proposition Vander for a quick round in the back alley. Maybe Vander would like him over the bar. Maybe Silco could be on his knees, put his mouth to use between those thick thighs. Maybe Vander would press a booted foot against Silco’s cunt to give him some kind of friction. The thought makes him almost nauseous with arousal.

“Took a bit of convincing, but he wanted to help me out.” Vander jokes, unaware or uncaring of Silco’s fascination. Silco just hums. His thoughts are buzzing. “I’m gonna throw these in the back office, Sil. Then I’ll come take over the bar. Don’t want you out here biting people when the next shift gets out and people need some libations.”

Silco scoffs and turns away. He sets about prepping the work surface to clear his head. He closes out a few tabs for people who give him courteous waves as they leave out. He daydreams, idly wiping the counter. He jumps when Vander puts a hand on his hip, voice is low and dark when he leans in to whisper into Silco’s ear.

“Is it the violence?” Vander’s thumb rubs a circle into the bit of exposed skin between the waistband of Silco’s pants and the hem of his shirt. Silco wants to squirm out of his arms, but there are still patrons in the bar. He doesn’t want this to be another one of those big scenes where Silco is cold and mean, and Vander gets to be a big sad puppy about it. And Vander knows it, the bastard. “You’re all hot and bothered.”

“I am not,” Silco intones with a roll of his eyes. 

“Are too,” Vander argues back, childish. He dips his first two fingers into Silco’s pocket, hums in the way he does when he’s deciding whether to give Silco any prep. Saliva floods Silco’s mouth and he swallows compulsively. “I just wanna know why, prettybird. What if I wanna slick you up some other time?”

“Fuck, Vander, don’t say shit like that out in the open!” Silco hisses. In all honesty, Vander has said worse, made announcements to entire audiences of bar patrons. No one in all the undercity has any illusions about Silco and Vander’s relationship. Owing in no small part to Vander’s exhibitionist streak. 

“Meh,” Vander says, faux casual. “I think there’re a couple folks who’d like to know, too. They let you serve them swill; there has to be some other motivation than loyalty to the Drop as a bar.” He pets Silco’s thigh through his pocket, spreads his fingers wide. A traitorous shiver races down Silco's back. “Think I should lay you out on the bar and show you off? Give ‘em what they’re paying to imagine?”

“Vander,” Silco objects, pushing his arm. Vander clucks in disappointment and cages Silco properly into a hug.

“Just tell me, prettybird. Easy.” Silco hesitates. Whenever Vander gives him an easy way out, the hard way is always humiliating. Last time Silco was too stubborn and chose the hard way, he ended up being loaned out to Felicia for a week, and she’s mean. She’d strapped him to one of her machines, let Connol loose on him for countless hours, and sent him home on shaky legs, tearstained and leaking come the whole way.

“It’s the fucking boots,” Silco mutters, annoyed. He swaps the gin and vodka on the bar rail, spiteful. Vander just watches him, snickering in his ear. “They’re nice.”

“They are, huh? You going to do anything about it?”

“Fuck you,” Silco tries to break out of Vander’s hold, but Vander’s arms tighten around him. 

“You don’t gotta be shy with me, alleycat.” It’s said lightly, but there’s something simmering under it. Vander tucks his chin into the crook of Silco’s shoulder, stubble scratching enticingly against the sensitive skin there. Silco bites the inside of his cheek, looking around the bar. The only people left are tucked away in booths, not quite out of sight, but enough so that Vander feels comfortable groping him right here at the bar. Not that Vander would have any issue groping him while the bar is full and bustling. He’d fuck Silco over one of the tables if he didn’t think people would take it as an invitation to touch. “Been a while since you shined my shoes. Missing it?”

“What’s it to you?” Silco squirms as one of Vander’s hands slides around his front. He kneads Silco’s tummy, which he objects to, clawing into Vander’s giant forearm. Vander chuckles. His pinky slips into the waistband of Silco’s trousers. 

“Here’s the deal, prettybird. I think you wanna ride my boot, but we both know the timing’s off. So if you can be well-behaved while you wait, you get full control of how it goes, when the time comes. Sound fair?”

“I'd have 'full control' anyway,” says Silco, petulant. Vander nips him behind the ear, half-reward, half-punishment, before finally letting him free.

“Sure you would. You gonna wait for me after my shift, alleycat?” Vander asks, smug fucking grin spread across his stupid handsome face. Silco scoffs and makes his way toward the back office, where inventory logs are awaiting him. Vander laughs and turns back to the bar.

Silco huffs in embarrassed frustration when he sees that Vander has stuck the boots up under the desk. It looks like Vander also hurriedly cleaned up from his scuffle in here, if the haphazardly closed first-aid kit is any indication. His leather jacket is hung over the back of the desk chair, spots of blood on the collar and cuffs. Silco shrugs it on, just to breathe in Vander’s scent.

He sits down, pulling a stack of orders closer. He’s able to mark two or three as completed before his attention drifts, and he tucks his nose into the collar of the jacket. 

From far away, Vander only smells like herbs from the soap he uses. But he has a strong personal scent, when you get close. It's only when you can tuck your nose behind his ear, only when you get to nudge up under his balls and lick his taint. Nothing the average bar goer would get to do. Silco is the only one who gets to enjoy the deeper scents that cling to his hound. Things like his worn clothes and their bed upstairs smell of musk and sweat and spiced oil. Silco loves to drape himself in that aroma. It's a privilege he holds dear to his heart; Vander smells like coming home.

Silco takes a deep breath and glances out the crack of the door. From the right angle, you can catch a glimpse of whoever's at the bar, and Silco can see where Vander is mixing a drink, chatting amiably with some faceless patron. He has a focused curve to his jaw, like he's chewing on some thought. Silco can't quite think with the way the warm oil lamps on the bar light up Vander's face. It makes his stomach flop over, it makes the space between his ears useless and empty.

Sentimentality doesn't come naturally to him, but a pang of wistfulness aches behind his ribs. Silco misses him, for all that he's right there within arm's reach.

He and Vander have been working hard to get the Lanes and the Last Drop up and running. Vander carries his stress in his back, and Silco can see it’s bothering him from how often he’s been rolling his shoulders lately. Vander is hard to convince that he’s worth taking care of. He thinks it’s his job to be strong for both of them, to be some sort of provider, for all they don’t ascribe to gender roles.

They didn’t even when they were young, digging bits of metal out of the shoreline for their mothers. They were wild things, and despite the fact that Silco had been smaller, sickly, he’d been right there making mud pies and eating bugs with the rest of 'em. He’s never been a wilting flower, so Vander’s displays of masculine sacrifice are played to an unreceptive audience. Especially since this is a relationship with no women to play the role of housewife. And if it were anyone, it'd be Vander.

Silco glances down at the new boots. He’ll have to look for someone who can make something usable out of the good leather on Vander’s current ones. Silco’s done his best to keep them in fighting shape, but those old work boots have seen the depths of the mines and there’s just some things you can’t fix with saddle soap and wax.

Vander is hard to pin down so Silco can shine his shoes. He always wants to be doing some project, wants to be tinkering with some broken machine or babysitting for someone in the Lanes. Silco usually ends up having to care for them after Vander’s gone to bed. He’ll sit up in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep and buff them clean, make them glossy and conditioned. Vander is always thankful, proud of him, kisses his cramped knuckles when he sees. It’s not that Vander doesn’t like when his boots look nice, or that he doesn’t like to indulge Silco’s fascination with shoe shining, it’s just that his attention is pulled elsewhere. 

He always complains of the ache in his left hip after a long session, anyways. Maybe Silco should look into some ways to stretch out the muscle there. He just wants Vander to take a moment to rest, to relax. He’d love to lay Vander out and massage him, get his hands all over those ample muscles and work out any knots in those strong shoulders.

The idea makes his flush of arousal from earlier rear it's head. He bites his lip, hand falling down to press against his cock for some modicum of relief.

Vander would love to glance in here and see him fingering himself. He keeps thinking aloud about tying Silco to the desk so he can be on display for Vander's viewing pleasure some day. Silco keeps not acknowledging it because it makes his heart race and his face hot. Just a little too much. Vander will talk him down sometime soon.

Silco squirms in his seat, chewing on the end of his pen as he considers it. If anyone looked in, they might be able to see him, spread eagle over his own desk. What would they think? Surely Vander would fuck him and leave him dripping spend all night, surely someone would happen to sit at Felicia's stool at the bar and watch the way his lonely, empty pussy would pulse around nothing. Maybe Vander would come back and use him when the bar was slow. Maybe he'd invite Fel and Con over anyway, let them play with him while they waited for Vander to close up. He'd get off his shift and stroll back here to stuff his cock into Silco's overstretched hole.

Maybe he'd nestle one of their vibrating toys up against Silco's cock, force him to grind against it all night and try to keep quiet. Silco would struggle with that; he's loud in the first place, adding the toy would make him a wailing mess. Maybe Vander would come and lash him with a cane for every noise he could hear. Silco would be even louder then, if all that pain got to collect under his skin and urge him on. He'd end the night bruised and bleeding at that rate.

A clatter of glass from out in the bar takes him out of the fantasy, and Silco realizes he's been riding the seam of his pants this whole time. He cuts a guilty glance out to Vander, who's filling a pitcher, back to him. It's not like he's forbidden from getting off without Vander, but Silco wants him there. It's better when Vander tells him to, or when he wrings it out forcibly.

Silco shakes his head and stands to close the office door. He'll have to pretend Vander doesn't exist if he wants these damn books balanced. He hangs Vander's jacket on the coat hook, making a mental note to give it a good wash and condition soon. The poor thing is constantly getting blood wiped off of it.

Silco had meant to just rest his eyes after preparing for bed, but he wakes, blurry, when Vander comes upstairs after closing the bar. Silco mutters vaguely and hugs Vander’s pillow to his chest. Vander leaves the bathroom door cracked as he washes up. Silco stares at the wall, half-lidded and content. He’s warm, though the tip of his nose is a bit chilly. He tucks it into Vander’s pillow, humming when he’s immersed in Vander’s heady scent. He sighs, hips absently circling.

Vander asked him to wait, so Silco jolts himself awake a couple times. The second time he wakes, Vander cussing as he drops something in the next room, Silco contemplates moving so he’s not quite as comfortable, surely the scent of Vander's pillow and the warmth of the blanket aren’t helping him stay awake. The thought seeps away as he blinks. When he opens his eyes again, Vander is standing over the bed, one big, warm hand brushing Silco’s unruly bangs from his face. 

“Look at you,” Vander coos as he cups Silco’s face, “My little wife, waiting dutifully until daddy comes home.”

“Shut up, Van,” 

Vander strokes his cheek. “You coulda said no if you were so tired, pretty.”

“But I want you,” Silco sighs, lifting his hips. With sleep dulling him like this, he’s a little uncoordinated. Silco is a heavy sleeper, once his battery finally runs out and wakefulness loses its battle with fatigue. It takes him two cups of coffee each morning before he's worth anything.

Vander sweeps the quilt away and uses his other hand to scoop under Silco’s hips and settle his knees on the mattress. Silco is happy to let himself be arranged; he is clay and Vander is a master potter. Far be it from Silco to question his artistic vision.

“Now here’s my prize bitch,” Vander praises with a none too gentle pat on Silco’s ass. A pleased shudder works its way up Silco’s spine.

“Hound,” Silco says, voice muffled into Vander’s pillow. It’s not a request, but Vander knows what he’s asking anyhow.

“One firm touch and you’re in the depths,” Vander remarks. He pushes Silco’s sleep pants down to reveal his pert ass and flushed cunt. Slick clings thickly to his dark hair, which parts around his cock, already hard. It glistens in the low neon light filtering in through the window. Based on the amount of slick that he'd had to clean up when he changed for bed, Silco had assumed that this wouldn't be embarrassing, but here he is, still flooded like the sump over a few rouge thoughts. No matter how hard Silco tries to fight it, he always ends up putting himself on display for Vander. “You give this hole up to everyone who gives you a love tap?”

“No,” Silco sighs, wiggling his hips in a way he hopes is enticing. “Just you.”

Vander laughs and grabs Silco’s ass in two handfuls, kneading the flesh there. Silco has never had a head-turning body, but Vander always seems to be fascinated by the places he’s a bit softer. Vander squeezes, the sensation bordering on painful, then spreads him open. Silco makes an aggrieved little sound when Vander spits onto his hole, the sudden wet warmth making him clench. Vander presses the tip of his thumb against Silco’s ass, just enough pressure to make him want more. Silco bites into the pillow, knowing that begging won’t get him anything Vander doesn’t care to give. His legs slip wider on the bed and Vander tuts with disappointment. He gives a sharp little smack to Silco’s lower belly, urging him upright. Silco blinks hard, trying to focus himself awake.

“Be a good bitch, now, Sil. Present properly.” He strokes Silco’s asshole, presses in just that bit deeper. Silco trembles with want. “I won’t have to tell you again.”

Silco nods into the wet spot he’s made in Vander’s pillow, mouth full of musk and brain full of fog. He wiggles again to settle back in. It’s a familiar position by now, one of Vander’s favorites. The Hound, of course, wants his bitch to flag correctly before he breeds him up. He’s told Silco this many times, promises to give him puppies, which always makes Silco squirm with embarrassed arousal.

Sometimes Silco thinks that’s Vander’s life goal--make him boil with humiliation. He wants to eat Silco’s ass, wants to drench him in cum, wants to leave him dirty and stinking and drooling. Not that Silco doesn’t enjoy it, of course, he has his own nasty little fantasies, too. And he quite enjoys the sweet indignities he suffers under Vander’s hands. 

"Lookit you," Vander hums, half to himself. With just a bit more pressure, his thumb pops past the rim of Silco's ass. Remnants of this morning's quickie slick his way. "Sometimes it's like you have two cunts, birdie. I get to pick and choose which one will be tighter." He pulls roughly at the tender flesh of Silco's hole, ignoring the little whine Silco can't quite suppress. Vander hawks another glob of spit into Silco's open hole, using that meagre slickness to press his thumb in deeper, stretching the rim to the side, seemingly just for his own viewing pleasure. It's not effectively preparing Silco for any sort of penetration.

Silco's not sure how much time passes with Vander just fondling his hole, watching it pulse and twitch. Silco nearly dozes off, content under Vander's rough handling. He wonders if Vander would keep fucking him if he did fall asleep. The thought sends a thrill through him, zinging down into his belly and curling up there. His body is Vander's to use as he pleases, has been since the day Silco finally let him in, but Vander still asks permission. Silco should convince him to dump a load or two into him some night. Maybe his next reward. All the benefits of a creampie without having to wait to be stuffed full.

Vander dips his first two fingers into Silco's soaking cunt to collect enough slick to properly open him up. He fits the same two fingers into Silco's hole, scissoring them apart leisurely as Silco trembles and tries not to shift his position. His head is swirling with the pleasure of finally getting the stimulation he so craves.

"Hound," Silco moans, begging. Vander sighs in contentment.

"I love that sound, pretty." He strokes Silco's inner walls, petting him the way one might a nervous dog. "Are you so desperate that you need my cock with so little preparation? You can't even get pregnant from this hole, stupid little thing. No reason to rush, this is just for fun."

Silco has no choice but to calm himself, or risk Vander fucking him after only two fingers. With Vander's size, the threat of little preparation is a real deterrent. He's enjoyed suffering that punishment before, but he has plans for tomorrow that involve being able to walk, so he can't play so fast and loose. Silco presses his face harder into the pillows and sucks in a few deep breaths.

Vander chuckles darkly as he adds a third finger. It's a little taste of the overstretched feeling Silco is craving, but needs to avoid. They have so many shipments coming in tomorrow, and Silco has to go down to the sump to meet some miners. He doesn't need to spend the day with a limp. Silco sobs into the pillow, pressing his hips back into the hypnotic pressure of Vander's fingers. He gets a handful of his own hair and pulls, trying to distract himself from his impatience.

"Aw, poor thing." Vander coos. He pulls his fingers out, ignoring Silco's anguished noise as he lays his weight overtop of Silco. "You want it that bad?"

"H-ou-nd," Silco warbles out, fingers clenching into the sheets. His hips hitch upward, searching. Vander's weight on him makes his cunt gush. He can barely think beyond the need. Vander shushes him, using his sticky hand to knead Silco's tummy. Silco moans, pitiful.

“Doin’ so good for me, prettybird. See how nice I get to be when you don’t fight me?” Vander pets at Silco’s sensitive swollen cock, sending painful shocks of sensation ricocheting behind his eyes.

The thing is, Silco likes fighting him, likes when Vander has to smack him around, pull his hair, spank his pussy to get him pliant. Silco always aches pleasantly for days after, wears his bruises with pride, wants Vander to fit his fingers into their rightful place around his neck and kiss him in the markets. There's something thrilling about those nights. Vander knows it, too, loves to make him submit, loves proof that he's the only one who can treat Silco right. He's the only one who knows what buttons to push, what levers to turn.

It's so nice like this, though. Silco, despite objections he makes in the light of day, loves to be pampered, loves to be the center of attention, and have Vander lavish affection over him.

Vander slides home with a low groan, fingers pressing hard into the sparse flesh that gathers around Silco’s hips whenever Vander puts his mind into feeding Silco properly. Silco’s thighs tremble, the lethargy getting to him. If he didn’t know better, he’d wonder if someone slipped him something. Vander’s the only one who’d given him anything to drink all night, and he would just offer it instead of being secretive. 

"There we go, prettybird. That feel better?" Vander likes to dote on him when he's needy like this.

"Uh… hhh.. huh," Silco moans in what he hopes is affirmation. He feels unspooled. It's too much a stretch, sharp and achy. He tugs at his hair again, trying to distract himself, even as his hips hitch backwards into Vander's.

"Your cock is so red, birdie. It just takes a bit of fingering and you're at the edge?" Vander cups the offending organ with the palm of his hand, though, all told, there's not much to maneuver there. Silco's enjoyed a lot of the other advertised benefits of his second puberty, but he hasn't grown as much as he's always wanted. Vander's obsessed with it, though. He likes to pet it, likes to hold Silco down and play with it until he's crying and begging.

Silco nuzzles into Vander's pillow as he slides back out, slow and agonizing. He pauses with just the head notched inside, much to Silco's consternation. Silco growls.

"Van-der!" He yelps as Vander finally thrusts forward, pounding hard and deep as he can. Silco's hips judder backward into the rough rhythm of it, knees going weak with pleasure. As much as he likes it soft and sweet, he can't deny that a good, hard reaming is exactly what he'd looking for before bed.

"My good boy, my precious pet," Vander grunts through the effort. Silco's cunt clenches enviously. It feels like it's been forever since Vander fucked his pussy; he's been obsessed with Silco's ass recently. All his holes are there for Vander's pleasure, they belong to him, even if he acts funny when Silco says so. Silco loves to submit to his demands, but sometimes Vander doesn't realize how his moods effect Silco.

There are too many emotions and sensations collecting under his skin, and Silco's tired mind can't quite deal with it. He wails, hands clenching in the sheets. "Please, please!" Silco cries. Vander pets his sides soothingly.

"What's wrong, prettybird?"

"My-my pussy, want it, I want—" Silco cuts himself off with a whimper. Vander booms a laugh and curls over his shoulder to kiss his face, chest and belly pressing against Silco's back. Silco shudders happily. Vander is so much bigger than him, and he loves the reminder.

"Your pussy? Is it empty? Is this needy hole jealous?" he strokes the slick-splattered skin on the inside of Silco's thigh. Silco nods, head loose on his neck. Vander will fix it for him.

Instead of fucking his cunt, Vander just presses one finger into it. Silco shrieks at the betrayal, pounding the mattress in fury. Vander ignores his protests and keeps fucking his ass, uses his finger to gently massage the thin wall of flesh keeping Silco's hole separate. It can't be a comfortable position for Vander; he's got Silco's leg pinned up under his arm so he can actually reach both holes. It'd make more sense to just switch.

"No…" Silco keens, voice muffled into the bedding. He feels feverish, hallucinating. Vander pulls out with a scoff and flips him over, dropping him flat on his back. Silco blinks up at him, lopsided pout on his lips. Vander fits one big hand around Silco's neck, presses his thumb into his windpipe. Silco grabs his wrist with both hands, yowling angrily. Vander bares his teeth, squeezing.

"Don't throw a tantrum because you weren't clear about what you want."

"Hou—nd," Silco barks, stilted, as he digs his nails in. He kicks his legs, fighting with his whole body to get out of Vander's grasp. Vander tsks, unmoved. Silco takes one last little gasp of air before Vander's grip tightens enough that he can't breathe.

"No, birdie. You're taking liberties with my generosity. Neither of these hungry holes gets filled tonight." He uses his free hand to grab Silco's right leg, spreading him open wide as he shuffles in between them. He kneels on Silco's left thigh, effectively demobilizing him. His cock, red hot and pulsing, bobs tantalizingly close to where Silco so desperately wants it. Silco sobs. "Hush, pretty."

Silco shakes his head, in tears. He doesn't want to hush. He didn't even mean to make him mad, he just wanted the comforting weight of Vander stuffed deep into him.

"Poor alleycat," Vander's back to that faux-geniality, now that he's leveraged his physical prowess over Silco. Silco wheezes, open-mouthed. Vander spits into it, not so much smiling as baring his teeth. "Wanna choose where I come?"

The words filter in just that little bit slower that makes Silco actually feel like a mindless little toy. His brows furrow. Vander chooses that. Silco hasn't had a say since they began this arrangement in earnest. He shakes his head, just a tick, more out of confusion than any real answer.

Vander kisses his slack mouth, a sadistic glee marring his own. Silco moans voicelessly. Vander says something, but his sound is dull and muffled under the noise of Silco's heartbeat pounding in his ears. He hopes Vander hasn't asked him another trick question. He pats Vander's arm. Or- he hopes he does.

The edges of his vision go blurry before he registers that Vander's released his windpipe. Silco sucks in a breath, whimper following the exhale. The relief sends his head reeling. His cunt pulses.

Vander strokes his throat with his thumb. "So pretty like this, birdie. Ready to go again?"

"Buh…"

If Vander had a tail, it'd be wagging. He bends to kiss Silco again, almost like he can't help himself. "I love you, birdie. You're mine." Silco tries to kiss back, but his body won't quite keep up. Vander pets his cunt, grinding the heel of his hand into Silco's cock, seemingly just to watch him cry out and convulse.

He uses Silco's slick to ease the glide of his hand on his own cock, fisting it as he sits up onto his knees. He strokes Silco's windpipe, squeezes in little pulses that make Silco's mind go fuzzy. The dazed look on Silco's face is all he needs to get off.

"Hound?"

"Mmh?" His eyes are half-lidded with indulgence.

"Can I sit in your lap?" Silco touches his knee, hands weak and uncooperative. Why does not getting fucked mean he's not allowed to be close? "I want you…"

Vander coos down at him, wordless nonsense, as he hooks his hands under Silco's shoulders and hauls him upright. Silco's arms drape around his Hound's neck and he sighs happily. Whatever Vander wants him for, he's happiest just pressed up against him.

Vander fits his hand around Silco's neck again, using it to adjust his position. Silco shivers as Vander cuts off his airflow again, eyes intent on Silco's red-flushed face.

His grip is so tight on Silco's neck that Silco has the fleeting thought that they'll probably have to explain themselves to Benzo in the morning. He's the only one of their friends who doesn't quite understand or approve of their relationship dynamic. Silco's fine with that, though; any awkward moment pales in comparison to moments like this with his Hound.

Silco blinks blearily up at Vander, who has his head thrown back as he strokes his cock, angle awkward between their bodies. A peek of his tongue is sticking out the corner of his mouth with the effort, and all Silco can focus on is how much he wants it in his own mouth. A warbling sound rolls out of his throat as he stares. Vander's hand twitches around his neck, and he looks back down at Silco.

"Sil," he gasps, squeezing himself tighter, stroking fast and frantic as he finally gets close. "My pretty bitch, my obedient, perfect—hng,"

Vander grunts, animalistic, as he spills against Silco's clenching hole. Silco moans weakly, light-headed with air loss and arousal. He's a mess, basically a faucet at this point; his thighs are smeared with his slick and Vander's come. Vander sits back, breathing harshly. He brushes Silco's bangs out of his face, cupping his cheek affectionately. Silco nuzzles into his hand with a pleased sigh. This is exactly what he wanted, Vander to conquer him, to use him like the stupid slut he is at heart.

Silco stretches luxuriously when Vander lays him out on his back. His cock aches with the denial, but Vander's staring down at him with a pleasured curve to his mouth. Nothing really compares to that.

Silco sighs dreamily as Vander hauls himself up out of bed for a wet rag. His body is loose and languid as he fumbles in the night table for a familiar tin. He lights up one of the hand rolled cigarillos Felicia gave him for his nameday last month. He can't help but think how far they've come. Sometimes it still feels like they've just climbed out of the mines, like they're still eating flour bread for every meal and sleeping on the floor as they try to keep the bar afloat. But they're not. He and Vander are running the bar, the revolution is taking it's first trembling steps, and their friends are having babies. Everything is so good, no matter how much work it's taking.

He turns his head to watch Vander. He's back-lit from the light seeping in through the high bathroom window. He's so handsome, pleased with himself even as he cleans up his mess. Silco can only count himself lucky that this is the man he's hitched his cart to.

Chapter Text

Silco is on his hands and knees in the den trying to dig his favorite pen out from underneath the sofa. He keeps pulling out toys and other small objects, which he plans to complain to Fel about. Little Violet is getting very mobile, and he only has so many hair ribbons. His fingertips touch the sharp end of his pen, but he pauses, startled at the unfamiliar tenor of Vander’s footfalls on the stairs. He snatches the pen and flips it around in his grip, ready to use it as an improvised weapon if needed.

It’s not called for. Vander steps down onto the landing and Silco’s eyes scan him for injuries. Nothing out of place, nothing that would affect his gait. Silco’s head spins up scenarios. Internal bleeding, a fracture finally giving way, something wrong, something off— Silco’s mind catches up to his eyes. It brings him to a sharp pause. 

Vander is wearing the boots. His heavy work pants are folded and tucked neatly into the tall shaft. He’s wearing his leather jacket over a comfortable shirt that Silco can’t help but notice scoops low across his ample pecs. Silco has barely a moment to take him in before Vander is strolling over to the sofa and looming over him. Silco cranes his neck back to see Vander's face, mouth dry.

“Brought you a drink, prettybird.” He offers a glass, a proposition. Silco stares up at him. Vander smirks, pleased with himself, and kneels in front of Silco like he’s getting on a child’s level. He proffers the glass, then sets it to Silco’s lip. Silco’s breath is a shallow exhale as he dips his head slightly to take in the drink. It’s one of Vander’s rare mixed drinks, frosty and sour-sweet and not too strong. Silco sighs, pleased. Vander hums as he pulls the glass away. “So sweet for me. What would people do if they knew you could be so lovely?”

Silco smirks up at him, eyes soft. They both know that Silco’s only ever been like this for Vander. He’s just the right mix of asshole and genuinely good man to burrow under Silco’s skin. Vander makes a face like he’s thinking, swirling the drink, ice clinking hypnotically. He stands with a grunt and takes a seat on the sofa, beckoning Silco closer. Silco knows that Vander expects him to sit on the sofa, too, but he can't resist wedging himself between Vander's knees.

Silco states the obvious. "You're wearing the boots." He hooks a thumb into the carpenter's loop on Vander's pant leg.

"Am I?" Vander smiles, smug and handsome. He offers Silco another sip. This stupid hand-feeding ritual is one of Vander's tricks to get Silco into that quiet, obedient mindset quickly, and it's most annoying because of how well it works. "Interested in doing something about 'em? They're a bit dull."

"Yes, please," Silco sighs, a thrill shivering through him. "I need my kit, though."

"It's in the sideboard, birdie." Vander tits his head to indicate the accused piece of furniture.

A giddy little noise works its way up his throat, but he doesn't quite have permission yet. Vander said he'd have the reins, but that doesn't start until they're all set up. Vander hushes him fondly, offering him another sip of his drink. Silco's thankful for the structure of the drink. He's not done here until Vander deems him so. He rests his head on Vander's thigh.

They both need this time, the structure of these evenings warm and comforting as an old coat. Silco gets to let his iron grip on the world relax, and Vander gets to be gentle and caring while still getting out his baser instincts. It's done wonders for Silco's paranoia and for Vander's outbursts.

Vander pets his hair out of his face. He's been writing, preparing for a rally, and his hair is starting to slip out of it's bun from all of his pacing and talking to himself. Vander must have heard him spiraling and realized he needed some grounding. No, but he'd had time to put Silco's leather-working stuff down here, when it usually sits in the back of their closet. Silco frowns. Then why today? Is Vander trying to distract him from something? They don't have any jobs coming up, or even any shipments. Silco glances up at Vander, who is looking down at him with a heavy brow. Silco has the wherewithal to consider whether he's in trouble just as Vander cups his chin and forces him to sit up.

"Here with me?" There's a wrong answer and a right answer, but Silco also knows that Vander will punish him for lying. He pouts. "None of that, pretty, just answer honestly. "

"I was thinking," Silco mutters petulantly.

The slap is quick enough that Silco's face is hot before it hurts. Vander keeps a steady hand around the bottom of his head, so his cheek absorbs all of the force of the movement. His eyes water once his nerves begin to register the pain. "What do we say?"

"Another, please," Silco says. Vander raises his eyebrows and adjusts his grip. The next slap rings hot and hard against Silco's other cheek. He moans quietly, shuffling on his knees. The chemicals he takes to make him more himself should make it harder to get wet, but Silco's felt that they've been doing quite the opposite. His and Vander's physical relationship began long before with his first proper visit to the midwife, but he feels like his cock has been hard and his pussy's been drenched ever since he first injected it. Vander's overbearing presence certainly doesn't give him any reason to build restraint.

"My alleycat." Vander coos. He strokes a rough thumb across Silco's hot cheek. "Wanna finish your drink?" Silco nods. If anything, he likes this method more, where Vander beats his thoughts straight out of his head, replaces them with nothing but sensation. Vander brings the glass to his lip again.

After a few more sips, Silco's mind has quieted down, and Vander deems him docile enough. Silco's never really the type to be completely biddable, but this is as close as he gets. And only Vander can get him here. The first time he shared Silco, they were both surprised by what a brat he was with everyone but Vander. It had gotten him the spanking of his life, but he'd never regretted it since Vander had seemed so smug.

Though, smug is Vander's default when it comes to sex. Felicia says it's because his cock is so big, but Silco knows it's his default. He could have the smallest little cock and shoot immediately, and he'd still be like this. And even if he did, Silco would still be here, waiting patiently for the chance to serve him.

"Can I shine your shoes, Hound?"

Vander’s cards a hand through his hair, pensive. Silco leans into his hand, letting him hold the weight of his head. Vander hums, contemplative. “You sure you wanna do it like this, birdie? You're gonna do all that work just to get them messy again?”

“I wanna do it like this.”

“Awlright,” Vander, for all his posturing, and the conceit that he is the one in charge, is stunningly easy to sway. Silco sighs happily. Vander’s hand twitches like he wants to pull Silco’s hair. He taps his boot against Silco’s crotch, earning a small moan. “You’ll have to find your bones, then.”

It takes heroic effort to drag himself upright, but when he does, Vander stands with him. His kit is indeed in the sideboard, along with one of their nicer bottles of whiskey. Silco hums appreciatively and brings it over to the armchair where Vander has resettled. He's pulled one of the cushions off of the couch for Silco to sit on, and set the low table within arms reach.

Silco sets up his various jars and tins and cloths, folding things neatly, setting all his tools within reach so that he can make it relatively quick for Vander. This is for both of them, after all. When he's done, he cuts a shy little look up at Vander, who raises a brow and offers the empty glass, large rock of crystal ice clattering. Silco dutifully pours him two fingers of rye.

"Before you get started," Vander says, something forebodingly playful in his voice. "I do want you to taste them."

Silco can't suppress a whine. He's afraid that if he puts his mouth on Vander's boot, he's not going to be able to stop himself. How could he control his own actions when he knows Vander's sitting above him, watching intently? He'll derail the whole night with his desperation.

Still, an order is an order, no matter how casually phrased. Silco sits cross-legged on the cushion, and leans forward, gripping the chair legs for stability. It puts Vander's feet right at eye-level, and Silco has to remind himself that Vander only wants him to have a taste, because what he wants to do is assess the entire shoe with his mouth. He presses a trembling kiss and tiny lick to the arch of Vander's left boot. Vander pushes him back with a foot on his shoulder. Silco's mouth parts on an imperceptible sigh, half disappointment, half relief.

Vander must be in a generous mood, because he sets his foot back down and nods his head. "Properly, Silco."

He drags his tongue across the toecap. It's a bit dusty, some sort of chemical taste clinging to it. Vander's last pair were top grain leather, so Silco isn't quite used to the interesting texture of expensive full grain under his lips. These must be the nicest boots in the Lanes. Silco moans, opening his mouth wide to get a better taste. He clutches the back of Vander's calf, breath coming shaky and fast.

"You'd be happy down there for the rest of your natural-born life, huh?" Vander asks. It doesn't warrant an answer, but Silco nods mindlessly, turning to give the other boot the same treatment. "You'd debase yourself to lick the muck off a pretty shoe. Drop to your knees in the middle of the street, for any boot that caught your eye."

"No," Silco objects, catching the welt between two teeth. His hips circle absently as he pouts up at Vander. Though he has been on his knees for enough people, it's always been under Vander's watchful eye, hand on the back of his neck as he worked the leather of their boots clean and shining. With Vander, it's devotion, it's a way to say those three forbidden words, it's Silco's chance to turn the tables and take care of Vander for a while. And with anyone else, it's somehow still for Vander. He's sharing Silco's hands and labor and expertise, but he's only sharing. When the night's done, he packs Silco up and brings him home. Silco is a beloved tool, Silco is his favorite toy, something to show off, but not to give away. "Jus— you."

"You save that wanton little mouth just for me, huh?"

Silco suckles the toecap, looking up at Vander from under his lashes. Vander chuckles.

"That's all you're for, pet. You're a pretty little hole for me to play with, aren't you?"

This kind of talk always sends a thrill up his spine. Something about it never fails them, if Silco’s cunt is being stubborn. It always opens him up, makes his pussy drool.

"…Thank you," Silco slurs out, doing his best to nod, half his focus stuck on tonguing between the laces of Vander's boot. The nonsensical answer clearly amuses Vander, which is good, since Silco is having the time of his life. Silco worships boots with more enthusiasm than he does nearly any other sexual act.

"Time to do your job now, birdie." Vander directs, jerking his boot backwards. It takes an embarrassing amount of willpower to draw his mouth away and sit up. Vander clucks his tongue, supercilious. "Filthy slut."

Silco smiles up at him, flushed with happiness and arousal. He kisses Vander's knee before sitting back to actually focus on the task at hand.

Silco takes the utmost care as he unlaces the boots. He turns Vander’s foot this way and that as he decides what they need. They’re so new. They could honestly use some breaking in. Silco makes a mental note to find a nice, thick pair of socks for Vander tomorrow.

He bends Vander’s foot forward, forcing him to point his toe. Vander makes a disgruntled noise as the motion stretches the tendon in a way he rarely uses it. Silco tsks and waves the complaint away, more interested in testing the elasticity of the leather. He hums in thought. Despite their condition, the leather is dry, almost brittle. Worth saving, certainly, but it’s like they haven’t been worn in years. Silco wonders if the asshole Vander took these off of had ever worn them before.

How could anyone let these rot in their closet? They're a gorgeous pair, heavy-bottomed work boots done up pretty for some reason. Diving birds are embroidered on the upper, dark thread contrasting only slightly against the leather.

He bends Vander's foot back, runs his fingers over the treads on the sole. Not much wear, which pleases Silco greatly. “These are gonna last you a while,” Silco says, voice soft in the way it only ever gets when Vander lets him service him in some way. Like the focus on taking care of him lets Silco drop some wall that exists in all other aspects of his life.

Vander makes an acknowledging sound and pets Silco’s hair out of his face. “Nice thick leather,” Silco reports, distracted, as he fingers the wall of the boot, knuckles nudging Vander’s warm ankle. 

Silco drags the tips of his fingers over every centimeter of the boot, eyes following intensely. He notes every scrape and scratch, every divot, every flaw. He does some mental calculations as to how long he’ll need to fully correct things. He’s been a very good boy, so he’s hoping Vander will just sit through it and enjoy the show.

Silco’s mouth waters at just the thought of it, of Vander looking down at him with those stormy eyes, pleased with his work, telling Silco that he wants to see his reflection in the leather, ordering him to put his whore mouth to work instead of slacking off. Silco’s hands falter, one hand hooked around the delicate arch of Vander’s achilles tendon. 

“Finished your diagnostic, then?” Vander inquires, picking up his glass with his free hand. He uses the other to cup the back of Silco’s head, tilting it upwards gently. When Silco’s like this, he doesn’t need to pull hair or be forceful. Silco is as sweet and pliable as a sleepy kitten. 

Silco has to swallow before he speaks, lest he drool all over himself and Vander’s boot. There’ll be more time for that later. “Uh-huh.”

“What’m I in for, alleycat?”

“An hour or two,” Silco says, shy. Vander scritches the back of his head, indulgent. He always asks, ocean eyes round with the plea, like it’s not his element, like Vander isn’t hard just looking at him down there, so at home on his knees.

“I reckon I could spare you an hour or two.”

If Silco had his way, Vander would go around the undercity at a parade shine, just to show off how much Silco loves him. Everyone would know that Silco takes care of him, that he doesn’t take the Hound’s highly coveted attention for granted. The upkeep isn't practical, never has been, but the fantasy of an easy life is so alluring. What would have to change for them to have enough spare time to shine Vander’s boots every evening? They don’t live in a fantasy world, so Silco usually leaves them buffed out and moisturized, but without much shine, just a bit at the toe. Enough to satisfy the voice in the back of Silco’s head that makes him want to prove his devotion. 

Silco lulls himself into a stupor when he shines shoes. His overactive mind clears to the point of emptiness. It's even worse with Vander, who likes him calm and obedient before he'll even deign to sit for Silco. Like this, Silco gets to just be a pair of hands, and extension of Vander's will, of his needs and wants. He doesn't have to make decisions, with Vander here.

Saddle soap has a distinctive smell, though Silco has never quite been able to describe it. This tin, which fell out of a crate down at the docks maybe two years ago, is lightly scented with some plant or herb that doesn't grow here in Zaun. Silco likes it; it reminds him somewhat of the herbs in the soap Vander prefers. he's no chemist, but Connol has joked about the similarity of that soap and this, that maybe Vander's kind of like a boot himself. The thought brings a joyous little swoop up into Silco's chest. No wonder Vander's his favorite thing.

He peeks up at Vander from under lashes, watching as he swirls his whisky. He's leaned back, relaxed but watching intently. That feeling of joy squeezes his lungs.

Silco starts with a dry brush, just to knock any surface dust or dirt away. He's determined not to get distracted or embarrassed by the wet spots on the arch and toe. He'll get them clean and dry through the process, so he can't be too worried. And besides, he noticed that there was a particularly thick patch of wax on one of the arches that would have needed special attention anyway. He usually would use his pocket knife, not his teeth, but that's beside the point.

Silco lathers up the soap with something approaching glee. Vander's old boots were exceedingly familiar to him, there were no surprises when shining them, except for when Vander stepped in something fucked up on a job. These boots are a surprise in themselves, and Silco is eager to see what they'll look like once they're cleaned up properly. The boots are surprisingly dirty, suds around the welt turning the sullen grey of Piltie streets. Silco hums as he wipes it away with a soft towel. The cloths and towels he uses for leather are probably better quality than their bed sheets, if he's being honest with himself. The whole kit has taken them years to accumulate, as nice horsehair brushes and high-quality leather polishes aren't particularly commonplace down in the undercity. It may be his most valuable possession.

Silco flourishes his knife and scrapes off the old, built-up wax with a disgusted frown and light touch. He doesn't want to go too deep and create a problem for himself. Silco is half scared to see what's under the wax spots. It's like the person who used to own these was trying to keep the boots nice, but had no clue what to do. He wonders why they didn't have anyone around to teach them. What do topsiders do when their shoes get dirty, just toss them in the river? He shakes his head as he glides appraising fingers over the problem areas and goes back in, alternating with soap and knife until the surface is clean and uniform.

Silco warms conditioning balm between his hands before rubbing it firmly into the shoe. He takes this chance to lift Vander's foot into his lap, balancing the heel on his shin. To him, this step is even more important than the shine. This is the step that keeps Vander's feet safe and dry, that ensures there are no cracks or seam failures. Cracked leather spells trench foot to him, and he's seen too many lose limbs to disease. This is what's kept Vander's poor old boots hanging on all this time. It's strange to Silco that other people seem to have such a hard time keeping leather nicely moisturized. He's seen some boots in abysmal condition. Does everyone walk around feeling dry and cracked? Well. Vander does, actually. At least he did before they moved in together and he started using Silco's body oil in the shower. The bastard leaves it to slick up the bottom of the tub every time, but Silco mostly lets it be since it makes him smell like he belongs to Silco. He only complains every other time.

He sets Vander's foot back down and pulls the next one into his lap. "After this, it needs to soak in."

"Mmh." Vander takes a sip of his whiskey. He's let it dilute too much, Silco can tell by the twitch in his cheek. What could he have been doing all this time? "For about ten minutes, right? Wanna come up here while you wait?"

Silco catches his bottom lip in the gap between his teeth as he wipes his hands. "Can I pack your pipe?"

Even just this little bit of attention has done a world of good. The leather is a rich dark brown, not as grey as Silco had assumed when Vander first brought them home. Giddiness crawls up Silco's throat; they're going to look so good. He wonders if Vander will let him pick out his clothes for tomorrow. Vander honestly just grabs whatever's at the top of his drawer. Silco could probably just move things around and he wouldn't even notice.

"I already got it packed, birdie. You can light it for me."

Silco pouts as he stands. He stretches before plopping himself down into Vander's lap. His hand finds Vander's left hip and he massages it as Vander pulls him into a kiss. Silco loves to kiss Vander. It's even better when Vander puts off shaving for a little too long. His stubble scratches against Silco's cheeks and chin, and Silco sighs happily. He's not sure why Vander's doting on him so much today, but he's not one to question windfalls.

Vander sets the pipe to his lip. "Enjoying yourself down there, prettybird?"

"Time of my life," Silco quips. It'd be insolent if he didn't mean it so earnestly. He reaches over the edge of the chair for his lighter, a heavy gold-plated thing that he stole out of a topside cigar shop ages ago. The heat of the fire is uncomfortable on his fingertips as he holds it to the nest of tobacco leaves stuffed into Vander's pipe. Vander sucks, drawing the fire down. Silco closes the head of the lighter, watching, rapt, the way Vander's mouth conforms around the slender mouthpiece of the pipe.

He's so pretty, and Silco is the only one who has ever understood just how beautiful Vander is. Everyone else is obsessed with the manly, violent hound of the underground who they've seen dominate the pits, who dug B shift out of a partial collapse. Silco loves his violent mongrel, too; he loves when Vander's aggression seeps off of his skin like smoke. But the sweet, gorgeous man who smiles at him like they're alone on the planet is Silco's favorite. He loves to bask in that soft gaze, loves to braid his hair back from his temples, loves to sketch the pouting curve of his mouth.

Silco nuzzles under Vander's chin, licks at his neck like an over excited dog. He manages to reign himself in enough to actually kiss Vander's face, just barely. He can't help the instinct in his chest that bids him to mark his territory. Vander scoffs out a laugh, grabbing Silco by the neck to push him back. He doesn't squeeze, but he doesn't release Silco either.

"Forgot your place, did ya?"

"No," a whine laces the word. Begging and pleading like a starved thing.

"You just love making a mess." Vander says. The intensity of the reprimand is somewhat diminished by the smile tugging the corner of Vander's mouth up. "Can't think your way out of a paper bag, can you, pretty? You'd lick my shoe, then put that disgusting mouth back on me?"

Silco splutters stupidly. Vander kissed him first, which he clearly knows, from the way his smile widens. He likes to paint Silco into corners.

"Vander," Silco pouts. He's untethered, this isn't fair.

Vander drags him forward again, adjusting his grip so that he can force Silco's mouth open. He licks into it, dragging his tongue across the roof of Silco's mouth, under his tongue, between his gums and teeth. Silco can only groan as he's violated. He's dizzy with it, body lax under Vander's demanding hands.

Vander bites his lip roughly, hard enough to make Silco taste metal. He pulls back and kisses Silco once on the cheek before pushing him off his lap onto the floor. Silco blinks up at him for a long moment, dazed.

"Back to it, alleycat. Don't make me wait." Vander nudges him with his foot, and Silco sits up, head swimming. He smiles up at Vander, who brushes his hair out of his face gently. Silco really should have put it up, but it's a little too late now. At least Vander likes it wild and loose.

The conditioning oil goes on smooth and easy, and Silco can't believe his luck. These damn boots are going to be his crowning achievement— until they win the revolution. Then the boots will bump down to number two.

As the oil soaks in, he reorganizes his kit, prepping for the shine. He uses another soft cloth to buff out the conditioners, pleased by the results. A happy noise flutters in his chest as he re-laces the boot. He decides to use a clear wax. The color is so nice; it doesn't need any enhancements, and it suits Vander so well.

He likes doing Vander's boots specifically, because he doesn't have to submit to silly demands like when Vander offers his services up to others. When it comes to decision making, Silco knows what's best for Vander's boots. He knows them better, and in this context he's an extension of Vander's will anyway. It's a responsibility that Silco happily shoulders.

Silco dips his middle three fingers into the wax and begins patting it into the toe and vamp. He builds up several even layers before pulling out the brushes and beginning to buff the shine in. He uses his whole arm to stroke the brush, going as quick as he possibly can. For him, this is a whole-body activity. His manic thoughts quieten down, and he gets to sit in his body and enjoy this chance to take care of his Hound. This is Silco's favorite part, when he gets to go back and forth with the wax, the brushes and cloth, bringing life to the leather.

He'd go forever if Vander would let him, but at a certain point, Vander huffs and pulls his foot away. Silco blinks up at him, like coming up for air. Vander hums in consideration as the light reflects off of the glossy finish.

"That looks nice, birdie. Feel like it's up to your standards?"

"It could go further," Silco says, half a complaint. Vander said he'd get control.

"Sure, pretty, but I wanna see you come all over my boot."

"Oh." Silco says, blinking. He's been so focused on the boots, he hasn't considered the state of himself. He sits up straight.

"Need my help takin' this off?" Vander plucks at his vest.

"Nuh-uh," Silco mutters, setting his tools to the side. Vander still offers him a hand, and Silco takes it gratefully. He stands and shucks his clothes as quickly as he can, fingertips trembling. Vander makes a low, animal noise in his chest when Silco pulls off his underwear to reveal his cock, swollen and hot. Strings of slick snap against his inner thighs. He kneels back down and Vander beckons him forward.

Silco drapes himself over Vander’s lap, lining his cunt up against his newly gleaming boot. His smile is shy as he nuzzles into Vander’s belly. He rubs his lips against Vander’s zipper, mouth wet with excitement. Vander rolls his eyes affectionately. Silco really is a sweet little thing, despite his public persona, sweet enough that Vander lets him get away with these lapses in his manners.

"Go on, birdie. Let's see you."

Silco grinds down against the laces, mouth lolling open on a whine. It’s too much sensation. Too intense. “Oh,” Silco gasps, not daring to stop, despite the near-painful pleasure shuddering across his nerve endings. He's been so restrained until now, he can't bring himself to stop, even if he were allowed to.

Vander coos condescendingly. “Did you start too rough, prettybird? Shoulda gone easier on your weeping little pussy?” Silco nods, saliva gathering in his slack mouth. Vander leans forward to hook two fingers into that gaping mouth and pull it open wider. Silco makes a delirious noise, brows furrowing. Spit spills down his chin. His tongue meets the tips of Vander's fingers. "Your cock's too big, you'll get it caught between the laces."

A shiver runs down his spine. He laps at Vander's fingers as best he can, hips stuttering against Vander's shin. His cock is getting caught against the laces, the stimulation too intense for how long he's been waiting. His thighs are already trembling. It feels too good. Vander pinches his tongue between two fingers, pressing his thumbnail into the divot where Silco used to have a piercing. Silco whines as Vander pulls his hand away to stroke the back of Silco's neck.

"Can I have your cock?" Silco begs, nuzzling his face into the generous swell of Vander's belly. He wishes Vander were naked, too. He wants to rub his face into the soft hair that covers Vander's stomach, he wants to lick into his belly button, he wants to nudge up under it and lick the sweat that accumulates where skin touches skin.

Vander hums and pulls his hand away to take a sip of his watered-down whiskey. He swirls it in the glass like it doesn't disgust him, and Silco giggles breathlessly. He's been mostly denied orgasm for the past few weeks, since Vander brought the boots home, and it's torturous to have this much stimulation directly to his dick after all this time. He feels like his skin is too tight.

"You are making my boot so shiny," Vander says with a bored shrug. He presses up into Silco's next downstroke. Silco yelps, the sound caught behind grit teeth as his thighs tremble and he tries not to come. Vander hadn't necessarily said he couldn't, but Silco wants permission anyway. He's just not willing to ask just yet.

"Puh… Van, hh—Hound," Silco mumbles, all of his brainpower dedicated to the way Vander's knee digs into his sternum, the way his palms are sweating, the way his knees burn from this position. Sometimes he contorts himself so much that his whole body aches for days after. It's a nice reminder.

"Sit up, pretty." Vander directs, pushing at Silco's shoulder. Silco clumsily sits back on his heels, watching with rapt anticipation as Vander undoes the buttons of his fly. There's a dark spot on his underwear, and Silco's mouth waters. He stares as Vander pulls his underwear down and gives it a dry stroke. Silco's mouth parts, waiting.

"Want it?"

"Please." He says it more like a demand, and Vander scoffs. He threads his free hand into Silco's hair.

"Needy whore," Vander leans back, offering. Silco smiles beatifically, anticipation dancing in his stomach. "Go ahead."

Now that he's finally allowed, Silco all but attacks Vander's cock, wrenching himself forward to grab at Vander's waist and fit his head into his mouth. He moans as he does, pre-come blooming bitter and salty across his tongue. Vander is not a small man in general, especially compared to Silco. His cock is no different; it's a difficult fit for any mortal, and Silco had spent months choking himself on the bottoms of beer bottles before he'd felt comfortable even trying to fit the monstrous thing in between his jagged teeth. Getting it to fit into any hole requires time and effort. Or— and this is Silco and Vander's preference— impatient lust and an enjoyment of pain.

Silco eagerly presses forward, too fast, and gags at the intrusion against his soft palate. Despite his girth being the crowning factor, Vander is still long enough to be a frequent problem. The grip on Silco's hair tightens, keeping him in place. He trembles, eyes watering as he gags again, drool spilling past his lips into Vander's lap.

"You wanted it so bad, pretty. You take what you're given." despite his harsh words, Vander strokes the spot between his eyebrows soothingly. "My precious little pet. You can take it like a good boy, can't you? Your poor throat hole needs to be stretched out and filled, too."

Shuddering from his predicament, Silco drags in a deep breath through his nose. alarm bells go off in his head and stars flash behind his eyes. If he doesn't do something, he's definitely going to throw up all over Vander's lap. He's done it before, and Vander had only taken it as evidence that he'd needed the help a and started fucking his still spasming throat. It was disgusting and painful but Silco still can't think about it without getting hard. He sucks in another deep breath, focusing on the gentle pressure where Vander is petting him.

His body goes slack with relief as the gag reflex settles back, and Silco suckles happily on the cock in his mouth, his own private reward. Vander laughs at him, cupping his jaw with no small amount of affection.

Silco clutches the base of Vander's cock as he finally bobs forward to take him deeper. His hips lurch forward, awkwardly perched as he is. Vander kicks up his foot, just enough to give Silco a painful zing of stimulation. He tries to grind down, fighting with overstimulation, even as he tries to sit upward to get a better angle in Vander's lap. The counterpoints of his position have him whimpering and panting as he tries to focus on making it good for his Hound.

"Mindless slut," Vander says, stroking Silco's hair now, content to watch him struggle and suffer.

Silco hums vaguely, acknowledging that Vander said something, but not quite registering the words. He's more focused on bobbing up and down, on stroking the soft skin at the base. He wonders if Vander will let him suck on his balls, too. He's had reward after reward tonight, there'll have to be a limit somewhere.

He forgets to grind down on Vander's boot, focus stuck on his cock instead. He wants it in his throat, he wants pre-come to flood every one of his senses, he wants to spend forever in the warm embrace of service to his Hound. Vander's hand is pulling his hair, but Silco ignores the sharp pain in order to push deeper. His gag reflex objects to the rough treatment, but Silco is too far gone to acknowledge the limitation. Besides, he loves the way his voice goes all rough and low after they've gone too intense on his throat. Vander growls, grip tightening further. He uses the added leverage to yank Silco off of himself.

"Are you forgetting something, birdie?" He bends Silco's head backwards, forcibly baring his throat. Silco fights, showing his teeth like a wild animal. Vander is steadfast. "You have one job, and I'd better see you fulfill your role. I want this boot nice and slick. That's your goal. Don't get distracted."

Silco huffs, though he can't help but relax into the submissive pose. He readjusts his position, legs spread wide as the cushion will allow so that he can get some reprieve grinding more on the vamp than the shaft. The spot where the vamp gives over to the tongue is sharpish in a way that hurts when his aching dick drags over it, but he needs that bit of brightness to counteract the syrupy pleasure of grinding against the glossy toe.

He ducks his head against Vander's knee, clutching at the rough fabric of his work pants as he begins grinding down in earnest. Vander says something encouraging, some nonsense about him being a well-behaved pet. Of all the athletic things Silco's done in his life, jumping across rooftops, pushing mine carts ten times his body weight, running for his life for miles across both cities, none of it compares to the full-body workout that is having sex with the hound of the underground. The joints in his hips ache as he rolls them forward, chasing, chasing. It's not enough. He bites whatever flesh is in front of him, world narrowed down into a tunnel. Half-formed thoughts swirl in his head, things Vander's done to him, times they've switched, ideas for the future, but none of them get him that extra step over the edge.

Vander laughs, cruel. "More, birdie?"

Silco makes a frustrated noise around his mouthful of thigh. Vander points his toe and presses the boot hard against Silco's aching cock. Silco's dubious rhythm is disrupted entirely as he ruts down against the all-consuming pressure. His cheek drags against the wet spot he's forged in Vander's lap as he moans, delirious and right on the edge. His eyes roll and he mutters stupidly before he can finally focus on Vander's face. He can't ask, can't spend that kind of energy on anything else but this. But Vander knows him, down to the marrow, down to the core. He hikes his foot higher, dragging Silco with him, giving him that added bit of leverage to really crush his cock against the arc of his insole.

He snaps. Silco shudders, hips moving in tiny, jerky circles as his body locks up. His vision fuzzes as his eyelids flutter, but he stays centered on Vander, who simply pets him and drags his soiled boot against Silco's sensitized pussy. Vander holds him there, floating on open air for who knows how long, before he pulls the boot away and Silco collapses once more into his lap.

Silco mumbles something unintelligible, and Vander shushes him, sweet and pleased. He lets Silco come back down at his own pace, and smiles down at him once he's regained some of his faculties.

"My precious alleycat," Vander coos. Silco nuzzles into his thigh. "Looks like you made a mess. Why don't you get down there and clean it up?"