Warning, this is an explicit sex scene!

Again, this chapter was written as a one-shot first, but again, it fits perfectly there :P

He climbs in turn onto the bed, straddling Vander's torso – the motion is so familiar, even with the years passed, and yet he forgot that the strain of spreading his legs like this was bordering on uncomfortable. Or maybe it wasn't, when they were younger and he was more flexible. Vander was slimmer then, too.

Silco feels like they have known each other forever by now, that there isn't a person in the world that's more familiar than the one in front of him, and yet he has almost everything to discover about the body underneath his own. It's their first time, all over again – except with more history in between, with water and blood and a knife to the back, more hurt interlaced with anger and fear.

He leans forward, both hands flat over Vander's chest, feeling his warmth, the rise and fall of his breathing, his heart hammering against his palm. It all feels so… real.

Large fingers brush against the side of his thigh, hesitant, and Silco tenses up despite himself.

"Don't touch me."

There are things he remembered. He traces with his index the ragged line of an old scar, near his collarbone – some knife aiming for his heart, he can still recall that particular fight. He sees a handful he doesn't recognize, but really, not that much are new. The main struggle, to survive first, to build the Lanes too, – or was it the other way around? –, they faced it together. Hand in hand, back-to-back. He misses those times. Pain matters less when it's shared.

There is more he doesn't remember. Softer, rounder edges, a middle-aged body with skin a little less tight, chest hair turned mostly gray now. The strength is still here though – Silco's acutely aware of the way the muscles underneath him twitch in response to his slightest movement – but it's subdued now, hidden underneath, and Silco isn't quite sure how he should feel about that.

He reaches up, for his face, the beard he hasn't quite gotten used to yet – even if he has to admit he does suit Vander –, the thin lines underneath his gray eyes, memory of a smile now carved into his features. Then, finally, he meets his gaze. He couldn't say if it has changed – the color is the same, of course, the shape too, save perhaps for the eyelids getting a little heavier as time passes, but… He can't even say he never saw such an expression on Vander's face, it's just that he struggles to reconcile it with the vision of the man who held him underwater. With the brutal, blind rage of that day.

He closes his good eye, considering the once-familiar face through the reddish haze that makes half his vision. It reminds him of the cannery fire, thick smoke painted the color of flames, making it hard to breathe, and of blood mixing with water, large figure cut against the bruised-black sky by lightning.

Vander's hands are on him again, one resting over his hipbone and the other sliding up the side of his ribcage, rough fingertips trailing goosebumps in their wake. He chuckles, low in his chest, the vibration reverberating through Silco's bones.

"Your heartbeat is going crazy, love."

Through his injured eye his handsome features have bled into something barely recognizable, the shadow of the monster within- the world flashes black, everything sways, the room going red, air flowing through water and looming shadows, the glint of chemlight on a blade-

His good eye snaps open.

There is nothing. Sure, the nightmares still flash on his left – but they aren't real, it isn't here, it- A surge of pain runs through his head, making him wince, before everything stops moving. He comes to realize he has fallen back, away from Vander, one of his legs bent at an awkward angle as he cowers at the foot of the bed. His breath is wheezing through his throat.

"Fuck, I'm- Sil, are you okay?"

Vander motions to reach over, touch him, halting halfway through the gesture. Silco only stares at his outstretched hand, eyes wide, struggling to get his heart to stop hammering against his ribs. He should be used to the flashes by now. It's been a while since he had such a bad reaction to them, so by the Kindreds, why now? Now, in front of Vander- when they-

"I told you not to touch me," he says, his voice sounding far away to his own ears.

Vander's arm falls back onto the covers.

"I… I should go?"

There is a hesitation in his voice, in his movements too, and he seems way too happy to stop when Silco grabs his ankle, nails digging slightly into the skin – like he was hoping for it. Which, to be fair, he probably was, if the protuberance at the front of his pants was any kind of indication. Silco's lips twitch into something that's not quite a smile.

"What, you're running away now?"

"Sil…"

And if there is a touch of unease, maybe even worry, transpiring through his tone, then Silco isn't entirely unhappy about it. He moves, unfolding his long legs, coming back up to loom over Vander – arms on each side of his head, the mattress dipping under his palms, and their skins an inch from touching. He can feel the heat radiating from Vander's body. He presses his knee against his crotch, rejoicing in the shift in his expression, in the wince he gets when he puts more weight on it.

Reflected in the stormy irises, he sees the blazing ember of his own red eye.

He leans down, kissing him slowly, tongue sliding over his lips before forcing his way forward, tasting him. It's been so long – so long since the last time with Vander, and so long since his last time at all. Which… might amount to the same thing. He has been kissed in the meantime, had let some use his mouth and his body, but never had it been for pleasure. Never had he wanted it to be.

With Vander… He had been the first, and the last – the only one, in fact. Silco had liked not being one of these people to be led through life by either love – romantic love – or their sexual desires, or both at the same time, not bothering with awkward dates and longing and heartbreak. He had liked, too, discovering what it meant with Vander, after the initial confusion at these new and completely foreign feelings. With him, he understood wanting another person's body, and the appeal of kisses, and the fluttering of one's heart that had nothing to do with shared interests and all these things that make a friendship. He had not missed any of it, though, after everything unfolded. It just didn't exist anymore. Better this way. Safer.

He had hated to realize, through the past month, that his heart and body would still only stir for one person, and one person only. He had hated to realize he still loved Vander.

He kisses the side of his lips, the small part of skin there that the beard doesn't cover, then goes lower, over his neck, the strong sinews running down the side of it, trailing his tongue over the fleeting pulse of his carotid, lower still, to the meaty part at the junction with his shoulder, and there he bites down. Vander twitches underneath him, and Silco doesn't miss his little gasp, more breath than sound, and he pulls back to look at the imprint of his crooked teeth, angry red over the tan skin. Fitting.

"Can I trust you to not fuck this up too?"

Vander blinks at him, fully looking like he's still struggling to compute everything that happened in the last five minutes.

"You… yes? Yes," he repeats, more assured. "You can tie me up, if you want."

"Or you could be an obedient pet, hum?"

He feels Vander's cock stiffen against his leg at that, and bites back a satisfied smirk. He's not quite surprised this still works, but he's pleased it does either way. It's so easy to push Vander's buttons, he will never get tired of toying with him.

"Hold onto the headboard," he orders. "If I catch you moving, we're stopping this."

He watches as Vander slowly complies, adjusting his position a bit as his fingers curl around the old wood, searching for an angle that works for his shoulders.

"Good boy. Now…"

He trails off, pushing himself up until he's sitting over Vander's muscular thighs, his cock just short of touching his own. Gray eyes are almost black now, pupils blown wide with desire. It's pleasant to see. Pleasant to know he's not the only own whose stupid body wants this – that he can still be attractive, too, at least to Vander, despite the years passed. Silco cocks his head, considering the broad chest in front of him, wondering wh-

"I'm- Silco, love… I'm really damn sorry. Not for just now, but for-"

Silco slaps him. Right across the face, hard. The sound echoes all across the room.

"Shut up", he hisses. "Shut the hell up. I don't want your apologies, Vander, not ever, and especially not when I'm trying to fuck you. Too little, too late." He bites his lip, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I've waited for them, you know? When I was barely even conscious, I still hoped you would search for me, to say just that. That you're sorry. That things could be the way they were again. For all I knew at the time, I was going to die because of what you did to me, and I- I still wanted to forgive you. But you never came. So, no- no, you don't get to be sorry now. Not when it's only to make your own guilt easier to handle, because I don't get a break from the fear and the pain. It's- it's only fair."

He pauses, eyes darting to the side, then down, as he tries to regain his composure. His palm still tingles with the aftershocks and he shakes it slightly.

"Damn. I did hit you hard."

He exhales slowly, and it could almost sound like a chuckle if his vision hadn't blurred, even on the good side. He's refusing to meet Vander's gaze. He doesn't want to know what he would find there, because what he does know, is that he can't handle pity. Not from him.

"Now," he adds, "I don't want your apologies, but I do want your dick. So can we do just that, or do I have to fucking gag you too?" He doesn't miss the way Vander's fingers clutch the headboard tighter, nor his tongue peeking out to lick at his dry lips. "Yeah, you would like that. Too bad. I don't feel like giving you what you want tonight."

Vander likes being active. Not necessarily being in control, no, he enjoyed just fine their playful fights to see which one of them would get his way on each particular night, before, and sometimes admitted defeat up front and straight-up asked Silco what he wanted. But he likes talking, and touching, gentle or rough depending on the mood, or at the very least struggling against the binds stopping him from doing just that. Patience clearly isn't his strong suit. It's some sort of test, Silco guesses – maybe mixed with some hints of petty revenge, too.

He trails his nails down Vander's chest, excruciatingly slow, admiring the red streaks appearing after a few seconds over the exposed skin. His grip isn't quite strong enough to leave bruises, but he's very keen on leaving marks nonetheless. Maybe some other bites and hickeys later – for now, he wants to look at the view a little – at the way the soft flesh and the hard muscles underneath move in rhythm with his touch, the way Vander's Adam's apple bobs up and down when he swallows, the crimson nipples already perking up to attention. Silco extends his hand, pinches one – the right one, the more sensitive – and smirks at the high-pitched intake of breath it elicits. Little by little, the heat from anger diffuses, pooling lower, morphing back into arousal. Silco shifts, leaning back – not caring in the slightest if his pelvis bones dig into Vander's thighs as he does –, and reaches in between his legs, smearing his own precum over his fingers before going lower. He's not breaking eye contact, enjoying the growing look of hunger in the stormy grays as he slips one finger inside himself, adjusting the angle of his wrist and pushing past the initial resistance.

He goes about it oh-so-slowly, teasingly so, rolling his hips to meet the languid thrusts of his hand as he works himself open, his cock brushing each time with Vander's, the friction electrifying but far, far from enough. He bites his lower lip to stifle a moan. It's been a while since he has taken the time to do that – jerking himself off was quicker, on the rare days where his libido made itself known, or when he wanted to try to make his brain shut up so he could catch a few hours of sleep – so, of course, he has to take his time. This is all there is, really – nothing to do with how Vander's knuckles have turned white from how hard he's clutching the headboard, how his mouth has parted open around his quickening breath. Silco feels the legs underneath him twitching in response to his motions, sometimes hard enough to jolt his own body, making him gasp when his fingers brush against his prostate. He's fully hard by now, want bordering on need, bordering on pain, and pleasure sparks along his spine with each thrust. It would be time to move along, unless-

"You know," he says out loud, "I'm considering getting myself off just like this. You're making a great view to masturbate to. But I wonder, would you accept that?"

Vander growls – actually growls – at that, a low rumble that Silco feels through his own body.

"Or would you force me to take your cock either way?" he continues anyway, flashing his teeth in what could be mistaken for a smile. "Even better if I'm oversensitive, right? You did like to make me cry, before."

"I'm- I'm not going to force you, Sil." His voice is strained, the words hard to get out. "Do what you want."

"My, so gracious of you."

He stalls for a few moments longer – a few more thrusts, not fighting back his whine as his fingers graze his prostate again. He's more worked up than he would like to admit; even the slight rocking of his hips, a tiny motion he doesn't manage to completely suppress, is enough to get his breath catching in his throat. But his wrist is beginning to ache, the angle a bit awkward, and he wants more. He can masturbate to Vander all he wants without needing to actually face him, he has more than memorized his body and features, the way he made him feel when they- well.

Time to check whether that too has changed.

He slips his fingers out, trying to ignore the way his body clenches around the sudden emptiness, and swings his leg over Vander's body to stand up. The floorboards feel cold against his bare soles. It's only two steps to the drawer, but he feels strangely exposed like this, with his cock fully erect and his legs not quite assured, the chemlight from outside highlighting more of his skinny body than he would like.

"Where are you goin- oh," Vander cuts himself off as Silco shows him the bottle of lube before tossing it in his general direction. It hits his arm and bounces back onto the mattress, rolling away a little as it dips when Silco climbs back onto he bed. "So, I take that you've elected to ride me, love?"

"Yeah. But don't call me that."

"Hmm-mh. Sure."

Silco uncaps the bottle with his thumb, pours lube onto his fingers, and goes right back to fingering himself without bothering to warm it up, fighting back against the instinctive reaction of his body to the coldness. He, too, might be getting impatient. Enough that he gasps as he tries to go down on Vander's cock too fast, pain overwhelming pleasure for a moment- he has to pause to regain his bearings, give his body the time to adjust, before cautiously lowering himself the rest of the way.

It's weird how familiar it all is, the movements to get there and the feeling of being full, the stretch bordering on discomfort, the occasional spasming of his muscles around Vander's length, the sparks at the slightest movement, even when they are just breathing – the sounds his partner makes, too. His voice gets lower as Silco slowly works them both in a steady rhythm until it's more a vibration than a sound, and the muscles in his legs start to lock up underneath Silco's hands.

He stops.

He can feel him twitching inside him, their pulses syncing up, and he strokes the side of his thigh with his thumb, watching as realization washes over Vander's features.

"Sorry, love," he drawls out, the corner of his lips twitching at the pet name. "My legs are getting tired."

"I… can help with that?"

He flexes his arms, sinews working underneath the skin, and Silco barks a laugh.

"You, you keep holding onto that headboard, or I'm going to tie you up and leave you there for the night. Understood?"

Vander nods curtly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and Silco chooses to see it as a sign to start to move again, deliberate little rolls of his hips, carefully avoiding the angle he knows is going to hit his prostate. He wants to keep his composure for now, keep watching Vander's face as he brings him close to the edge again, without his vision flashing black and white with the surge of pleasure. It's just good enough like this, his body clenching reflexively around his cock, and he shivers when it almost slips out of him, catching on the sensitive rim. There is lube and precum dripping down his thigh, hot against his skin, and it's getting harder to maintain this slow pace with the sounds filling the air.

Vander positively whines this time when he stops moving

"Ah, lov- Silco, please…"

"Keep-" He stops as his voice breaks a little, and prays that Vander didn't catch that. "Keep begging, pet. And who knows, maybe I might be clement."

Rinse, and repeat. The headboard might not hold through the night, Silco thinks - the wood letting out worrying creaks whenever he slams his hips down – but he's very much enjoying himself. Perhaps he should have given into it sooner. There is no place for fear, with Vander holding obediently to the bed frame like a good little dog, with the way he's quickly falling apart from something so simple than his ass around his cock. It's almost laughable, really.

"Asshole", he growls this time when Silco halts all motion.

"Is this an insult, or a descriptive?"

"How can y- fuck, you're-"

"Shh. Leave the talking to me, okay?"

Three is a lucky number, no? He's been aroused for so long it's starting to border on painful, the throbbing pressure begging to be released- that, and also, his legs are getting tired for real. Maybe it's time to end this. See if Vander's cock can at least give him as good as a climax as he remembers.

He corrects his position a little, smirking at the small gasp it draws from his partner, and prepares for the last round. It's one thrust- two- a tiny adjustment, and at the next thrust pleasure runs up his spine, making him gasp in turn. And it builds up, heat pooling low until he starts to feel light-headed, tremors running throughout his body as his legs go numb. He feels hot all over, a thin shin of sweat glistening over his pale skin, strands of dark hair clinging to his forehead and temples, and if his vision would just focus, he would see that Vander's just as affected as he is, head thrown back and lips parted as he pants and moans. Silco's motions become jerky, uncoordinated, as he nears his climax and finally, with one last perfect thrust, blissful darkness explodes behind both his eyes.

He comes with Vander's name on his lips.

He barely computes him coming in turn, the sudden wetness inside lost to the aftershocks of his orgasm. He's still rocking his hips without even realizing it, keeping them both at the very edge of pleasure-pain, dragging their pleasure until it all becomes too much. He pulls himself up, off his cock, before all but collapsing over his partner, feeling utterly boneless and perfectly exhausted. Something feels taunt, just below his ribcage, but in a good way, and his legs haven't quite stopped shaking.

He closes his good eye and just breathes for a while – breath in the sensation, long lost in time, of sharing that pleasure, of a warm body against his and a strong heartbeat that's slowly settling down in sync with his. Then, once his head clears a little, Silco raises an uncertain hand to tug at Vander's elbow, silently prompting him to let go of the headboard and instead wrap his arms around him. He lets out a hum of contentment and does not even think to be embarrassed by it. He's going to regret this tomorrow – regret the ache that's settling around his hips, in his knees, and regret exposing himself like this to Vander – but for now, it feels good, and it feels right, and it's all that matters.

"Next time," he whispers into his partner's neck, "you… next time, you do the work."