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a-gal-with-taste · 2 years

Text

Echoings (NSFW)

Hello and welcome to Sinning-Sunday, today's theme is exactly what's on the label, feast, and please don't get any ideas for your local bridges from this.

Silco X F!Reader (Established)

Wordcount. 2.5K

Warnings: Minors DNI/18+. Dirty talk/language, oral (f-receiving) spit as lube, drunk sex, minor voice/volume kink, P in V sex in a stupidly-dangerous location/minor exhibitionism/sex in public-locations/it's literally fuckin on a bridge. Implied/mentioned violence.

Mostly just a story about two young revolutionaries-in-love, drunk, sticking it to Piltover and makin' some memories. And smut, don't forget the smut. Just in time for 300 followers 💖

"... We could get shot."

"Hm, potentially."

You squint at him as you caught your breath between ragged pants, staring up at calm, nonchalant, hooded and completely-drunken blue-green eyes. Before another roll of his palm had you mewl lowly, a dull thunk as your head fell back on the alley wall behind you as your eyes squeezed shut and you bucked under him. "By Janna, you're being serious?"

Silco nodded, and seemed pleased at the gasp he pulled from your lips as he squeezed between your legs again, heat flashing from your core as he grinds his palm against your clothed-sex. He surely must feel the warmth beginning to pool down below, but he only cocks a brow, head tilting loosely as he points out with only minor slurring in his cool tone, "I've seen you obliterate an entire Topsider shipment while underfire. You're not that scared of being fucked-senseless near enemy-lines, are you?"

You released a huffed breath, glancing back to the warm amber glow of the tavern you had slipped out of, the moment you felt that telling-squeeze on your knee beneath the table, turning to catch the eye of your fellow revolutionary as he had casually jerked his chin to the exit. "The guys will never let us live it down if we die from this," You warned him, letting out a small huff of annoyance, and another moan of lust, as he simply leaned forward, nipping at the skin beneath your ear while crowded you closer to the wall behind.

Palm slid from it's fixated positioned on the wall beside your head to secure him, letting your body be his leaning-post as he yanked your tucked shirt out, hand sliding up along your abdomen to grope at your breast. Thumb pressed deliciously to circle a hardened nipple, Silco closed the gap between your mouths to taste that whimper that he pulled from you as he gave a short tug on the aching flesh with a pinch.

The whiskey was still warm on his breath, just as you knew it was on yours. You let out a whine under the ministrations between your legs, moaning through clenched teeth as you felt a particularly rough press of the heel of his palm stir at your clit.

"Sil, are you listening...?"

"Mmhm. So, are you coming or not?"

Again, you were probably going to get shot doing this. Doing something this stupid, asinine, and reckless, was surely something that would go down in history as one of the dumbest decisions of your life...

And if the mere notion of the idea was turning Silco on half as much as it was arousing you, you were already consitering the risk completely worth it.

The haze of sex and alcohol didn't stop that small bit of worry from breaking though the reckless cloud in your system as, half-tearing at one another while rarely breaking the heated collision of your mouths, you and your partner made it to the bridge in question. Ducking with long-bred instincts as soon as you got in view of the long stretch between the Lanes and picture-perfect Piltover, your twin pantings came to a slow as you observed the fog-coated structure before you.

"... Next patrol should arrive in about twenty minutes." Silco murmured, long nose brushing your cheek as he pressed close to whisper in your ear. Fingers tickle as they brush down your side, to your hip, making you shudder as he squeezes the lower-flesh there. "Think I'll have you screaming loud for them to hear you before they've even started marching over?" Knowing him, and what he could do with his body against yours, it was actually more likely then one would think.

You turned slightly with an equally hooded gaze and wicked smirk, snapping your teeth an inch from his nose playfully as you watched his eyes turn predatory in response to your sly smirk. Nails bit into your hip as he pressed against your other-side, obviously losing patience as you felt the straining tent rubbing against your other hip. "Only one way to find out, pretty-boy."

Mouths again locked onto each other, you found yourself letting out a small grunt as your lower-back dinged against the waist-high railing on the side of the bridge, inhaling the crisp, cold fog as you felt a hand snake down the waistband of your pants, a greedy grip on your ass as you felt Silco's tented cock grind against you.

"Up, now." You huffed a laugh at the order, but impatient, his other hand snaked under your thighs with a growl, and he lifted. Hands flew out beside you to grip the edge of the frigid railing Silco propped you onto, as the wind whipped your hair-about. "You are insane." Your croak of awe and pure-need only makes him darkly chuckle as he was soon tugging at your pants, making you cling your hands ever tighter for dear-life as the chilled sea-air reached your bared skin. "No; hungry," He corrected you with a crooked smirk at your wanting face, which grew wider as you thrusted your hips invitingly.

Your chilling flesh in the dark, seaside air is warmed quickly by hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wide open as he drops to one knee, already biting at the apex of your thigh and core. Lips soon drag, open and tongue leaving broad stokes through your soaked pussy, as you hang onto the polished bridge-railing. A physical link to the last bit of sanity and good sense you had left, as Silco's mouth began it's work in earnest, in it's efforts to make you scream from his devouring of your sex.

On tables were one thing. On a barstool had been another.

That one time on a rooftop, when you had both been too lazy, too drowsy to move to a proper sleeping mat in order to give in to the urgent sexual necessity after a long day, had been on a different level entirely, but this...

Getting your cunt utterly feasted upon, with nails furrowing down your thighs in rhythm with long, broad sweeps of tongue as you clung to the railing for support, and to keep from tumbling down hundreds of feet into the harbor waters below, was surely on a whole different plane of insanity.

Your bark of a curse was loud, even through harshly-biting lips in your attempt to muffle as you felt that diabolical tongue press just inside your dripping hole to brush against your inner walls. Twisting your hips to grind that sensitive bundle of nerves on that perfectly-arched nose, you're stuck trying to not buck into his face as he laps and suckles at your sex.

Letting out a particularly loud whine, your nails dig into the smoothed surface under you for purchase as you feel his mouth pull back to close around your lower lip. The suction he gave at the sensitive folds, along with the groan he sent rumbling through your cunt, had you straining not to let out the yelling string of curses out into the open air.

He must hear your pitiful attempt at restraint too, for he grants mercy by slipping arms under both your thighs, holding you securely as your hands all but fly to grip his long dark hair, growing damper by the minute as the fog begins to turn to a dripping mist of rain.

Silco doesn't let you go over the edge, sexually or literally, as he pulls back his face with a wet gasp for air after only another moment or so of his feasting, fingers twisting into the dark strands as he smirks at your whine. Licking his lips around a soaked mouth and chin as he gazes through his lashes at your twisted, desperate face. Catching your heated gaze with his own.

You watch him slip a hand from under you to wipe at the rest of his chin and face, gathering your juices his tongue cannot catch, before spitting into his palm. His other hand slips to his trousers, and soon the wet sound of a palm sliding along his own flesh joins your whimpers as you reach out for him as he stood. "Four minutes to patrol..." It took your brain a moment to catch up, and you swore, digging nails through the leather on his back. "Fucks sake, Sil. You've been counting?"

"Course, want to..." He's cutting himself off by his slamming of a mouth against yours as he loops an arm around your waist. A grunt against your lips as he slicks his length with your essence, while the taste of whiskey, and yourself, on his tongue is quickly overwhelming your intoxicated senses. "Wanna know... if all of Topside is gonna be hearing you. Gods, I hope they do, I hope they hear me fucking you."

"Probably hear your big mouth first-" The retort is cut off into a keen of need as he grips you tighter, guiding his cock between your thobbing lower lips. "No, they'll be hearing you, I can promise you that," His low growl vibrating into your ear as he bit down on the lobe, another thrust against the folds of your cunt. The ache of need was growing inside you with every movement, as Silco was being wholly unhelpful in his hoarse whispers and growls, "Hear your tight cunt take me all... screams are one thing, doll, that wet pounding is going to be another."

To articulate, he finally guides that tip into you, causing your head to press into his shoulder with a whine as he fills you quick. Utterly lewd, wet sounds drag in the air as he slowlybrings himself full-hilt within your damp heat, only possessing a second more of patience before he pulls back to slam into you.

The cry echos in time with his thrust, which takes the pitch of your moan up at least three octaves.

"That's it, that's exactly what I want..." His own growl sputters off at the end as you grip his hair for support on the ledge, locking ankles at the small of his back as he begins to rock into you with a mission in mind. "I want you wailing. Crying, howling my name out here."

You believe you're doing that already, but his brief pause to scoop under one thigh, raising your leg a bit higher before pounding his cock into you from this new, perfectly devastating angle, has you actually screaming out.

This makes his voice rasp along your neck as he bites hard almost enough to draw blood. After ensuring the spot will ache for days, his carnal thrusts turning more wild between each word, "... rest of my life," Cut off by a swear from him, another mewl dragged from you, he continues after catching a heavy breath. "... whenever I look at this bridge, I only want to think of this. Thinking about you, and about me fucking you into this perfect, goddamn bridge of theirs..."

Feeling you begin to tighten around him, he manages out a final growl.

"Make it echo."

Throwing your head back with his teeth latching onto the soft skin of your collar, you let the deafening sound of Silco's name bounce up along the towering metal structure of Piltover's precious Bridge of Progress.

And as he gives a final slam into you, you're pretty sure that the action just made him cum harder than he ever had in his life.

Boneless, you distantly remember to keep upright on the ledge railing as your legs slide from the strangle it had around his waist, hands carting up to lovingly roll through sweaty, mist-wet locks as he shudders and pants for breath against your skin. Slipping forward to brace closer to the side of the the walkway instead of open air, your legs dangle on either side of his hips as you slip a hand under his chin, raising his face to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

The first sound of a fortified metal boot stepping onto the bridge breaks the moment of peace, and, in surely record-time, you have your pants pulled back up, and his buttoned into place.

Hand in hand, sore from the fast-removal between your legs and sitting on polished marble for so long, the two of you are racing back to the Lanes-side with survival pounding in your veins. The moment your heels step onto solid ground, and you're dipping back into Zaun, you feel a hoarse, choked laugh slipping from your teeth...

It takes a minute, but after he's slumping against an alley-wall alongside you, sliding down to sit beside you on the ground, you hear the equally strained chuckles begin to rumble from Silco's chest.

It can't seem to stop, the shared laughter at the incredulousness of the situation you both found yourselves in. The moment you believe it's over, you make the mistake of turning to face your partner, and immediately have to look away as you dissolve back into cackling at the sight of him trying to hold back his own laughs. Teeth biting his lower-lip as he struggles to maintain composure, the whisky and the euphoria of sexually release, still working though your senses and making the immediately-prior events seem absolutely hilarious.

"That was insanity."

"Indeed."

"We're never doing it again, no." You insist between chuckles when he starts to object with a wide smirk, your laughter finally tittering off into a amused sigh as you lean your shoulder onto him, arm curling around your waist. "... even though that felt really, really fucking good." Silco hums, long fingers sliding up to cart through your hair, casual but smugness curling the syllables, as he inquires, "Which part?"

"The view." Your tease earns you a final amused huff, before a distant thud as he leans his head back to recline more comfortably against the surface behind him. If you could move the lower-half of your body, you'd be squirming at the cooling wetness you can sense dropping from your spentness, and Silce being in a similar situation. Aftercare was important, but in the face of avoiding being caught and potentially shot for trespassing, you had to put such relaxtions aside.

Price of being a revolutionary, you guessed. Foregoing most comforts for the sake of basic survival.

Silco's hand squeezed around your waist again and you smiled, eyes slipping shut. Most comforts, not all.

"... remember how loudly I said your name out there?" A slow exhale sounds as you glance up, watching his seafoam-green eyes slipping shut as the memory replayed in behind his mind in perfect clarity. With such a careful, concentrated look on his face, you could wholeheartedly believe him as he murmurs, "I am never going to forget that."

Eyes cracking open, Silco hums as you slide a hand over his chest, rubbing through the layers of fabric in a promise of sensuality as you shift up, breathing wickedly into his ear, earning a muted growl of quickly regenerating need at your next words, "I'm going to get you twice as loud when we get back home."

#this is why the peace negotiations with Jayce didn't happen at the bridge #too many... distracting memories for Silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco x reader #silco x you #minors dni #18+ only #the ultimate Silco powertrip #young silco #the young silco brainrot is still not dead yet #thank god #my writing #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #silco smut #silco

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a-gal-with-taste · 2 years

Note

Hello! I love your writing so much. If you have time and the inclination, could you write about silco and a fem reader who is a tailor making him those amazing suits he wears? They get closer with each fitting and silco gets hot under the collar with the closeness? Thank you thank you!

My young Silco brainrot is done. I'm sated... no, no I'm not.

But YES, gimme that flustered not-quite-yet crimelord and the cute, but hard-at-work tailor!vibe. Enjoy! 😘

Silco X F!Reader

Wordcount: 2k+

| Part 2 |

Warnings: Language, mentions of blood/violence, a Slow-Burn on fast-forward mode

"My boss is going to come out with the broom in about a minute. Thought I'd give you a fair warning."

"Well, that seems rather rude," He mutters, arched nose nearly brushing against the glass as he looks into the shop-window, eyes drooping and curving to follow the line of displays. You hold out a handkerchief, and he accepts it without thanks, holding it to a gushing-red nostril from a fresh, lucky punch. "Don't artists enjoy when others need to stop and stare in awe at their work?"

"Well, not when they're dripping blood on the storefront," You inform him politely, his lips giving you a quirk without tearing his eyes away. "As the actual artist, I don't mind. But my boss does." That catches his attention, and he turns with a raised brow, "You made those?"

You nod at his words and the finger he taps against the window, confirming casually, "Slaved over them no more than three sleepless nights each. My brain was dead just from planning out the formating alone, but as you can see, worth it." Eyes flash back over to them, then to you, and you see that rare, honest appreciation as he looks at you with an impressed glint in his eyes, and a small, loose smirk. "Well, aren't you a clever girl?"

Then, your boss's broom comes swiping out between the eye-contact the two of you share, smacking the young man on the head with the bristles before he skillfully ducks and dodges the second swipe. Speeding around you while your mentor hollers, he's joining the two other young men who are busting guts in their laughter at their friend's plight, further down the street.

Ignoring all of it, the dark-haired young man turns to grin back at you, asymmetrical with your handkerchief pressed to his freshly-bruised, bleeding nose, and a crooked smile on his face as his eyes gleam. "I'll be back around for a fitting later!"

"Don't keep me waiting!" You call back with a musing grin of your own, ignoring your boss's growl of annoyance while you watch the dark-haired man turn back to his friends, racing to fade with them into the neverending streets of the undercity.

In that moment, you are certain that you'll never see that handkerchief you personally embroidered, nor the man who ran off with it, ever again.

It's going to be a different night, you cleverly deduce the moment the two hulking, stone-faced thugs stride in and stand guard on either side of the door. "I'm closing." You inform them lightly, but they just give you a brief look, and wait.

You aren't kept waiting long.

He's still young, but now there's something ancient in his eye, and the scowl is already carving what will one day be deep lines on his face. The other eye is covered under a thick bandage, hair pulled back to put emphasis on the graying scars on the right side of his face. There is no greeting, no introduction, simply, "Can you prove to be discreet?"

You hum, tapping your fingers on the rusting sewing machine at the counter. "I live two blocks from the red-district. You have no idea how many shirts I've had to speed-mend before people return home to their spouses."

"Ha." He's not amused, walking further into the small shop you've inherited since the passing of your mentor. Fingers trail over the material you store along your walls, and normally you would smack any grimy hands off your well-supplied fabrics, silks and leathers, but thankfully, he's wearing gloves.

You also get the impression doing such a thing would result in the loss of your hands.

"I need to be fitted. Uniformed, something signature needs to be made." Cutting to the chase, which you appreciate as you cross your arms, leaning against your desk as you run your gaze over his current wears. Dark. Flexible. Worn. Well-kept, but nothing special. "What's it for?" You ask as he comes to a slow stop before the counter, gaze turning from one of the folded suits you have on display, to snap back to you at your silly question.

His visible eye pierces into you, and you have the distinct feeling that, behind the gauze, something just as deadly is fixated on you as well.

"It's for everything."

"It's essential." You say quietly, watching his hand flex around the iron-grip he has on your wrist. "For the collar, I need to measure it." A short huff sounds, not exactly a laugh, but not exactly the snarl he was going for either, "You're a clever girl. Can't you can't make a guess?"

"If I made a guess on every measurement, you'd be walking around with half of your clothes skin-tight, and the rest trailing a foot behind you." You snark, glancing forward into the mirror in front of your new client, meeting his half-glare with a firm, but calming look in your own gaze. "... I'll be quick. And i'll probably never have to measure it again."

The grip tightens even at your assurances, to the point where you'll be wearing a long-sleeve come morning, and continues holding you captive for a moment. Eyes boring into yours so strongly in the reflection, you'd imagine you'd turn to stone if he faced you directly.

Silco releases you, and you make slow, careful movements to slid the measuring-tape up to his neck. You feel the hard-swallow he makes when you pinch it in place, turning to the desk beside you to quickly jot down the measurements, but gives no other response as you slip it off.

"Not so bad..." You mutter, and he makes that huff again as you hook his wrist to raise his arm, holding it out to get the full width of it. "It'll be worth it. No good thing happens without hard, long, tiring work put into it."

"That, I feel I can relate to." The one-eyed man comments dryly, lowing his arm back to his side as you move to kneel beside him on a single knee, take the measurement of his hips down to his legs. "So... what are you looking for? I have my own ideas, but I need to know what kind of aesthetics you're going for..."

"... We live in a world of second-hand. Scraps. Waste." That dark growl makes you stop, and look up st him watching that partially-scarred jaw flex above you. "That ends with me. I need people to see me, and already know exactly who they will be dealing with. Someone who isn't going to accept the... run-off of life. Not anymore... no, never again. I won't stand for it, and I need to look the part as one who will not bow or break to such insults." That chin jerks down at you, catching your stare with his one-eyed own.

You shouldn't be surprised, but you still say your realization quietly, "You want me to make you look... powerful?" That was a rare request. Most brothel workers that stop by simply wanted to look pretty or seductive, while others simply wished for more well-fitted clothing, to feel nice amongst the ever-rotting city of the underground.

Staring down at you, kneeling, at his feet, he blinks. "No."

The one eye gaze raises, and, seemingly impossible before, that seafoam eye goes even sharper, and brighter than ever before, as if he already sees what kind of man he is going to become. What you are going to make him into.

"Make me regal."

Your chin slips, again.

Eyes glance over to what was certainly not a laugh, and you smirk as you see him struggling not to choke on the smoke he inhaled. He still isn't used to the cigars. Catching your stare, Silco gives you a cool look with his one-eye, bringing it once more to his teeth and giving it a low, long inhale.

"Bravo," You murmur dryly as he exhales without coughing, turning back and erasing the line you smudged in your nearing-drowse, fist curling under your chin as you carefully redraw it into place. "Hush. Piltover spices are a rarity; I'm used to the ashes."

"Or you could spare your lungs the burden," You suggest, but he merely shakes his head out of your line of sight, pulling back the stick to inspect it. A gift, he'd told you mildly the first time you heard the flint of a lighter. A 'new associate' gave it to him, and he seemed to enjoy the taste. "I think I could grow fond of it. My lungs will survive, they've been inhaling the Lanes for all my life."

Silence for another moment, your drawing hand coming to a slow as you blink, once, twice... forcing a shake of your head as you feel darkness ebbing, you lean back in your seat and stretch your arms high behind you, groaning at the crackle of your spine from the action.

"... you really don't have to stick around to watch."

"I want to see what you are planning. How you envision it."

"Do you not trust me?" You ask with a raised brow, and he snorts as if the answer is obvious. "Fine, then why come to me at all if you don't?" Silco's eye glances over again. Once again, you feel like the remains of it's double is also peering from behind the bandage. "... I trust your work," He admits, quietly. "You are good at what you do. Details are clean and consistent. Formating strong in the messages it sends. I can hardly go Topside to get an outfitting... You're my best option."

You snort, crossing your arms over your chest with a grumble sarcastically, eyes slipping shut in partial annoyance at his dismissal, and the tiredness of a long, long night, "And here I thought you liked my work..."

"... I'm still in awe of it."

When you open your eyes again, the daylight haze of the lanes is breaking through your window. One of the displays has been stripped of it's jacket, and now covers your shoulders.

"If you lose one, I'm not having another made." Your warning only warrants him to bounce the small, gleaming golden piece in his palm a bit higher, blue eye watching the gleam in the sunlight. "It's intricate." He comments, holding it up between his thumb and index, taking in the detail. "... it'll do."

You huff. 'It'll do,' he says...

"And this will be a part of...?" "The vest, it'll make a good accent with the red and blacks." You said, slipping the most current drawing of the design from the multiple sheets splayed across your desk. He leans over to inspect, eyebrow narrowing as he roves his eye over it...

Silco starts bouncing the golden piece on his palm again in his internal musings, and you sigh, sitting up and reaching for it.

It goes tumbling and rolling off onto the floor when you knock your hands together, which you give him a dry-look for as you grumble, getting down to ground level to inspect for it. "Do you have any idea how much it costs to cast that design...?"

"If it's as much as I pay you, I imagine it wasn't such a terrible investment."

"You're lucky I find you such an appealing model to work off of..."

There's a sudden silence, and you glance up in front of you, from where he had crouched down to grab it. His fingers are less than an inch from it, but his eye is on you. A pause, then, "Appealing?"

You sigh, reaching out and grabbing the piece before it can get smudged, standing back up onto your feet smoothly. "I mean... yeah. Most of my models are men trying to look like top-dog or girls trying to flash more skin. You are..." Your ears are burning. You... could somewhat convince yourself that you don't know why. "... you're different. And so yeah... I find that appealing."

The silence is loud. The clearing of his throat nearly makes you jump, as he quickly gathers his jacket, and murmurs a good-night before heading out the door.

"This?"

"...Whatever you think is best."

You snort, putting down the fabric before holding up the next one, pressing it lightly to his chest. "Aren't you helpful?"

Silco only hums in response. His one-eyed gaze is peering strictly forward, above your head, as you carefully drape the black fabric over his shoulder, letting out a small breath as you judge the shade clashed with the red. "Gotta get this just right..."

Another clearing of his throat, and you glance up at him while shuffling around slightly to go behind, inspect the fit in a new angle. "Don't get sick on me... you've been coughing this entire time." He assures you it's not a cough, but still remains tense as you run your fingers over the fabric on his shoulders, another subconscious murmur underbreath.

You don't see the way your near-silent whispers blow at the hairs at the nape of his neck, but he certainly feels them.

Unimpressed at his sudden stride away from you, you squat down to grab the fabric he'd half-thrown off in his movements. "Seriously, this is the most expensive stock I have-" "Black, red, gold, I don't see how the exact shades are that important," Silco snaps back at you, reaching into his pocket for a lighter and the small box of cigars he's gotten to carrying around.

"I don't want anything to clash," The retort is equally rude as you stand, hand on your hip after you carefully fold the fabrics. "You want to look powerful? You want to represent this town in a way that makes Topside finally start giving us the time of day?? I have to make sure you look the best you are, and that means smoothing out even the most minor details, ensuring there's nothing to ruin the image you want me to create for you!"

You pause, sighing, pinching the bridge of your nose. "... You want to send Topside a message?"

"... Yes."

"You want to make people know your name the moment you walk into a room?"

"Yes."

"You want to be strong? Powerful? Regal?"

His breath catches at the end, as he nods at the way you say it. His eye is narrowed, and bright as ice as he murmurs lowly at the thought of such a promising image, "Yes."

Stepping forward, hiding your shiver at the tone, you gesture to the fabrics in your arm, holding his half-gaze. "Then let me play my part in making you into that." Another beat, before he nods, stepping forward, but you raise a hand between the two of you, and place it on his chest. Stilling at the motion, he raises his chin slightly, looking down at you over his nose with a careful stillness in his form at your hand on him.

This isn't the first time you've done physical contact with him, far from it.

It's the first time he looks at you in such a way that makes your breath catch.

You feel his chest rise once beneath your palm, with his slow inhale of understanding.

"And... I know I can help you dress presentable... but you have to make yourself look it too..." There's a confused tilt on his frown. You swallow, and slide your eyes from his, to the gauze-covered side of his face.

The underground is a rotting, forgotten place. Given the scraps and the run-offs of the topside. That's why many come to you, looking to brighten themselves up in the shadows of Piltover.

The scars are a reminder of what the city is, and it's history. The red eye, that makes your breath catch everytime you glance upward as you slowly pull, button and zip everything into place, is an fiery reminder to the world, the intensity of the underworld that is Zaun.

The fire in it, surrounded in darkness, is a promise for the city's future. Eternally burning, even from the shadows.

"... The haircut works well with the form," You mutter as you slowly smooth down his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense slightly under the touch of your palm, before relaxing at your slow, trailing fingers. You shift the buckled-dark vest on his chest, before gliding your hands down to where it stops beneath the hem of his dress pants. "Makes you look..."

"Powerful?" Silco muses, a bit distant with two eyes instead of one. He can see out of the other one, he informed you when he walked in with the shorter hair, and unshielded face. But it's different. Something to get used to, but knowing the power it'll give him, it's worth it. "Regal?"

You can't help the small smirk back at him, musing right back a bit breathlessly, "Appealing."

His laugh is short, low, but honest. You don't blame him; you can sense the enormity of this moment, as silly as it is when it's simply a tailor outfitting her client.

It shouldn't feel like you're guiding this man down the path, towards who he is about to become. But it does, and you both feel the tension in the air from it.

You swallow, suddenly, slipping your hands from where they had settled on his hips, back up to fiddle with the gold-accented collar, smoothing the plump, white silk-tie tucked into it. "You... this is the complete piece. Do you feel ready to look?"

Silco pauses. Then reaches up, gently guiding your hands off of him, and releasing you as you step back, watching him turn and face the mirror. Face himself.

His expression doesn't change. For a moment you can't decide if you're disappointed at the lack of reaction, then he silently holds out a hand to you. With a small blink, you step over to take it, and immediately ruffle his carefully-pressed vest as you grip him for stability, as he turns and latches his mouth onto yours.

The kiss is hard, gripping, long-awaited and grateful.

It leaves you panting as he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours as he breaths with equally-taxed lungs, chest rising and falling as he stares into your eyes with his duel colored ones, the lidless one alight with fire, the other hooded.

"I-i..." You lick your lips, staring up at him with wide, shining eyes. "I-i'm guessing you... find it a-appealing?"

The unscarred side of his mouth quirks up, and again there is a low, slow laugh under his breath as he tugs you in again, genuine amusement breaking though his show of thanks as you're careful to avoid wrinkling his new fit.

"I find it perfect."

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