Hah... You always please me. [he can't help himself, tilting his hips against the fingers.] This is just one more way you make me feel alive... Make me feel things I thought I lost...
[he bites his lip, barely keeping back a strained little whimper. he doesn't know what he's doing, not exactly, but isn't that just normal at this point. all he can think of doing is what he'd want done to him: pushing deeper, faster, following invisible ley lines by touch.]
[it's a delicious sensation, agonizing past the point of pain and into acute pleasure. Skulduggery groans, presses into the Captain's hand, his skull tilting forward until he grazes closed teeth against his cheek. he needs more. he needs to feel scorch marks on the magic holding him together, needs to know that he'll carry the Captain with him even after his bones turn to dust.]
Aahh, fuck. [he can barely summon a voice to speak with, and the one that comes out is thick with desire.] More...
[there's only so far he can go, so deep his fingers can delve before they simply pop out the other side. but, sometimes he's a bit more creative than he gives himself credit for. he brings his other hand down from his face to his thigh, and, not even bothering with the pretense of clothes, simply shifts through them as easily as anything else, bringing his fingers to curl in the thickest part of his femur.]
[the touch closes a circuit Skulduggery didn't know existed inside him. his hands spasm against the Captain's shoulders, fingers digging into his jacket as the rest of him jerks and shudders as if it might split apart at the building pressure of sensation. it won't. he won't.
not physically, anyway. mentally, he may not be so lucky.]
[he's never been so scared in his entire life. or as close to coming in his pants. life is weird like that.
he remains utterly transfixed, skimming down the long line between hip and knee, the other hand getting almost dangerously bold as it drags closer to the base of his spine.]
Mm, so that's why you like my begging so much... Pretty, pretty... How much more can I get from you...
[he has absolutely no idea what's keeping his voice so level. madness, probably.]
[there's a sound almost like a laugh before it dissolves into a choked moan. his hand paws at the collar of his shirt, his head bowing until he can graze his teeth across the flesh of his neck. if he bites too hard, he doesn't notice, all of his attention taken up by the popping flashes of light in his vision, the threat of a dam ready to burst.]
[the Captain's fist curls around something that not even the Faceless Ones could reach, and he is reminded again of just how fragile he really is. his hands curl, fingers digging uncaringly into the skin beneath them, his teeth gritted against the tremulous noise that rises from his nonexistent throat as every dead nerve sings. for just a second, he feels as alive as any heathen trapped on a pyre, before the sensation splits his consciousness at the seams, his thoughts wiped clear from his mind.
he doesn't fall apart physically. but there's a shift in his posture, a lack of care in the way he slumps against the Captain's chest, unable and unwilling to move away from the fist that's already reigniting the embers of whatever the hell that all was.]
[he stays completely still, but for some nervous twitching of fingers. as if waiting for some kind of sign. of something. he's not entirely sure what.]
[that tender touch is as intimate as the one that had been digging through his bones a moment before. there are no muscles to loosen, no breath to let out, but Skulduggery relaxes against the touch all the same.]
This time and the last time, and the time before that... [he chuckles, one curled finger moving to caress his cheek.] Did you feel something that would give you cause for such concern? Or see something?
[the idea had never even crossed his mind. he wants to refute it, to reassure him that it was only his poor mental state that fed into that part of him... but he can't, can he? they don't know. they can't possibly know.
he lifts his head from his shoulder, but otherwise doesn't move.]
Has that been weighing on you this entire time? That you may have helped Vile resurface?
[he reaches down to wrap his hand around the one against his femur.]
You aren't responsible for what happened. The armor began showing up before we so much as held hands. That started my mental deterioration. [he tilts his head.] You may have rattled the cage bars, but you weren't the one who woke it up. That was entirely my doing.
[time and again, he finds himself stunned by the amount of faith the Captain puts in him. what is it that he's done to engender such trust, and what can he do to ensure he never falls short? he's so painfully accustomed to letting the people he cares about down. he refuses to repeat those same mistakes here.]
You have that, yes. You always will. And I am not going anywhere, Vile be damned.
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Aahh, fuck. [he can barely summon a voice to speak with, and the one that comes out is thick with desire.] More...
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not physically, anyway. mentally, he may not be so lucky.]
Please. Please, please --
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he remains utterly transfixed, skimming down the long line between hip and knee, the other hand getting almost dangerously bold as it drags closer to the base of his spine.]
Mm, so that's why you like my begging so much... Pretty, pretty... How much more can I get from you...
[he has absolutely no idea what's keeping his voice so level. madness, probably.]
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[the bold hand settles in his sacrum for just a moment, before pulling into a tight fist.]
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he doesn't fall apart physically. but there's a shift in his posture, a lack of care in the way he slumps against the Captain's chest, unable and unwilling to move away from the fist that's already reigniting the embers of whatever the hell that all was.]
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...see...? Nothing bad happened.
[he thinks? yes. yes, he's pretty sure everything is still okay.]
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This time and the last time, and the time before that... [he chuckles, one curled finger moving to caress his cheek.] Did you feel something that would give you cause for such concern? Or see something?
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Really?
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[so he's spent a few months feeling like he could be responsible for that.]
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he lifts his head from his shoulder, but otherwise doesn't move.]
Has that been weighing on you this entire time? That you may have helped Vile resurface?
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... Yes.
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You aren't responsible for what happened. The armor began showing up before we so much as held hands. That started my mental deterioration. [he tilts his head.] You may have rattled the cage bars, but you weren't the one who woke it up. That was entirely my doing.
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... I'd like to believe you're right. I really would.
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You have that, yes. You always will. And I am not going anywhere, Vile be damned.
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