Chapter Text
By now, Silco is convinced that you’ve somehow managed to infect his whole being, inching your way into his blood stream until all he thinks and breathes is you.
He spends his days attempting to concentrate on his work, whilst thoughts of what you were doing at any given moment permeate their way through his steadily crumbling barriers.
At night, he shamefully thinks of you more carnally, how your skin would feel pressed between him and the sheets of his lonely bed.
But perhaps more scarily, in the very dead of night, when the rest of the world was sleeping soundly, he’d find himself quietly wondering not just where you were… but how you were.
It had been a couple of miserable weeks since your infernal meeting in his factory office and since then, you’d gone eerily quiet.
No longer breaking into his factories, at first Silco had been suspicious. Then, he’d sent the odd spy to scout out your place every so often, just to make sure you were still alive and well.
He wasn’t worried. Of course not. Any man who’d come into contact with a devilishly cunning woman such as yourself had every right to be concerned when said woman went quiet.
It almost always meant bad news.
Silco returns from his rounds of the factories in the early hours of the morning, exhausted from overseeing his hard-earned empire.
He trudges through the quiet, empty club, up the stairs, and only realises that there’s no guard at his usual post on the second look of his double-take.
Hmm. A potential cause for concern except for the fact that the guards outside hadn’t alerted him to any disturbance. And it’s unlikely that someone could have made trouble inside without signalling one of the many someones outside.
No, it’s far more likely the guard has gone walkabouts, disobeying his direct orders.
Silco makes a mental note to teach his henchman a lesson he won’t forget, but for now, he is in desperate need of a cigar.
He enters his office, the door closing behind him with a resounding click, to find his regal chair pushed up close to the window, green light pouring down onto the chair facing away from him.
Silco instantly clocks onto the subtle rocking motion the chair makes as it gently swings from side to side.
He exhales a wearied sigh.
“Jinx, how many times have I told you not to enter my office when I’m out?”
At the sound of his displeased voice, the motions stop and the chair begins to swivel round to face him, revealing the occupant to be not his enigmatic daughter, but rather, you.
You. Sitting in his chair, your legs folded underneath themselves like you’d been sitting in that very chair your whole life.
Much like the last time he’d caught you somewhere you shouldn’t be, Silco experiences an abrupt surge of emotions.
Shock. Confusion. Awe. Arousal. Anger.
Except this time, he’s unwittingly angry at himself for letting you best him once again.
His knife is practically ripped from his sleeve with how fast it emerges from his expensive coat.
“Ooh, knife play already? Somebody’s eager,” you tease, your face immediately melting into the most coy expression.
Oh, how he’d missed your knee-weakening expressions.
“I’m going to give you one chance to put back whatever it is you’ve stolen from me,” he threatens darkly, taking one cautioning step closer.
Further into your trap he goes.
You have the absolute audacity to roll your eyes at him as you reply with a patronising, “Relax, I’ve not stolen anything from you.”
Now, that’s not entirely true. You’ve stolen quite a few things from him at this point… his dignity being the main one, with his sanity not too far behind.
“Promise, you can even search me if you want,” you add demurely, holding your hands up next to your face with an innocent tilt to your head.
No. Not today. He’s far too exhausted for all this.
Silco stomps over to you, slipping the knife back into its resting place.
“Get up,” he commands.
“Why don’t you join me? There’s plenty of room for two,” you smirk.
Instead of allowing a repeat of last time, he rounds the desk and grabs onto one of your hands, pulling you up and out of his chair.
But you trip halfway through the motion, stumbling into him and saving yourself by slamming two palms flat against his chest. Silco’s own hands automatically go to grab at your waist, steadying you and leaving you both in a delicious little deadlock.
Electricity sparks through him at the sensation of finally touching you, instead of you touching him. He can’t help but try to imagine how your waist feels without the frustrating barrier of your clothes.
When he glances down to your eyes, as you simultaneously peer up at him, you bite your lip in a way that is so sinful, he almost presses you against him fully.
There’s no doubt in his mind that you stumbled into him like that on purpose.
“Hello,” you say coquettishly.
You were most definitely trying to drown him, and by the way his chest suddenly ached, you were easily succeeding.
Oh to let his hands travel down to the hem of your shirt and slip them underneath. To let them trace the expanse of your skin. To kiss every part of you until you’re positively shivering under him.
But instead of allowing himself to sink even further into your ruse, he takes a step back, leaving you with your hands in the air, your features twisted in disappointment.
“Aren’t you going to thank me for your gift?” you ask after a heartbeat or two, your hands now lowered as you gesture to the desk behind him.
Silco turns to find a bottle of bourbon on his desk, the same brand you’d presented to him in your own office during that fateful first meeting.
He was unused to such thoughtful gifts without ulterior motives attached, which is what prompts his next, spiteful question.
“What’s in it? Cyanide?”
“No,” you scowl, a look of genuine offence and hurt.
In a way that he definitely can’t control, Silco’s heart squeezes in guilt for upsetting you.
But he couldn’t apologise. He had a reputation to uphold, regardless of the way you were shattering it to pieces with every additional minute you spent in his presence.
“Drink some then.”
An exaggerated look of annoyance crosses your beautiful face, but you do it anyway, ripping the seal open and pouring a splash into the glass he’d left on the desk from last night.
Tipping your head back, you throw the amber liquid into your mouth, and Silco watches the movement of your throat as you swallow with morbid fascination.
Naturally, his mind (and his betraying body) wonders what it would look like for you to swallow if he-
“There, happy?” you unknowingly cut him off.
Silco musters his best, most practised look of indifference before reaching for the humidor on his desk and turning sharply on his heel.
As he stalks over to his sofa, Silco is delighted to find that there is no seat opposite for you to take.
He quickly remembers the way he’d smashed it to pieces after a particularly frustrating day that had begun with Jinx teasing him about his new ‘girlfriend’ (you) and had ended with one of his employees daring to question his orders.
In any case, Silco is glad you can’t make yourself comfortable. You needed to leave before he did or said something utterly irreversible.
“I came to tell you that I’ve finished my drug,” you inform him as he sits in the middle of the sofa and begins preparing his cigar, “It’ll be ready to put on the market next week.”
Your words halt his movements for a brief second.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised. It took him months to develop Shimmer, and here you were ready for sale in half that time.
“And I’d like you to try it.”
His head snaps over to you in bewilderment.
“Why?”
“Believe it or not, sweetie, but I do value your opinion,” you tell him, mindlessly running your fingers along the edge of his whiskey glass.
If he didn’t know any better, Silco would say that the way your eyes suddenly dropped down to the desk was a clear indication of your honesty. You really did value his opinion.
“Leave it here and I’ll try it later,” he commands as nonchalantly as he possibly can.
There wasn’t a chance in Piltover that he was going to be taking an unknown substance, no matter how enticing the creator of it was. But it wouldn’t stop him from taking it to Singed and performing some tests on it.
“No, you have to try it when you’re with me,” you argue, meeting his gaze once again, your eyes filled with… longing?
Silco is embarrassed by the way his heart leaps at that tiny show of emotion from you.
With the way his thoughts regarding you had recently begun to stray from being consistently salacious in nature, deep down a part of him hopes you had the same predilection for him as he did for you.
Not that his stoic expression would ever reveal it.
He stares at you, trying with all his might to figure out your plan. Your game. Suspended in a few weightless seconds in time, Silco feels a desperate urge to beg you to stay with him. To never leave his side again.
But then you pocket the vial, breaking the moment and thankfully saving him from making a fool of himself.
“What do you want from me?” he asks, hoping the edge of desperation in his voice is masked by the dark look on his face.
If you notice, no mention is made of it as you pour two fingers worth of bourbon into the same glass you just drank from and begin your slow saunter towards him, glass in hand.
Silco wishes you’d stop because the closer you get to him, the quicker the heat begins to rise in his body, like you have a proximal effect on him.
This is it, isn’t it?
You were going to be his downfall, whether he wanted it or not.
“I want you to move some of my product and take a share of the profits,” you say in a low voice, clearly producing a ridiculous impression of him.
He scoffs. You were parroting his own words when he’d tried to make a deal with you all that time ago.
How dare you even have the gall to ask.
He was the leader of the Undercity. He was the one calling the shots.
Not you. Demanding, impertinent, delectable you.
By the time he’s done internally insulting you, in a miserable attempt to deny exactly how much you affected him, you’re directly in front of him, the only saving grace being the coffee table separating your body from his.
You lean down to place the glass of bourbon on the table and he wills his eyes to stay locked onto yours.
But it’s futile because the second the glass clinks against the table, you place one boot on the table and slowly, purposefully climb atop it until you’re looking down at him.
A confusing mix of emotions flicker across your face before you school it into a careful look of temptation and want.
Anger (he decides) begins to pool again in his lower belly at the clear display of disrespect, his fist tightening until he’s sure he’s leaving crescent shaped indents in his own palms.
He’s forced to sit up and forward on the sofa, as his body begins to reveal just how hot his blood was getting.
You make a show of looking up and around the space above your own head.
“Seems to me like it’s pretty lonely at the top,” you say coyly, returning your gaze down to his, “Don’t you want someone to share the burden with?”
Fuck, he’s practically shaking with an exasperating concotion of fury and arousal now.
Just when he thinks he’s about to explode, you slowly lift one foot and place it gently against his chest.
“Take some of the weight?” you whisper to him sensually, carefully pushing his chest backwards with your foot and keeping your ruinous eyes locked onto his.
Silco allows his body to be pushed back for a few torturous inches, his teeth now bared in a growl, before his resolve finally snaps.
He suddenly grabs onto both of your calves and yanks you down so you fall heavily on his lap, now straddling him in a way he’s only ever dreamed of until now.
The fall actually hurt him a little bit, but he’s far too distracted by the feel of your thighs around his to actually care.
“I don’t need anybody,” he lies, his voice as low as gravel, as his fingers dance up your calves, just holding himself back from tearing into the fabric covering them.
Your hands shift from where they’d landed on his shoulders, sliding up to tangle in the long strands of hair at the back of his head, pulling him closer until your mouth is at his ear.
“I don’t think that’s true,” you whisper, shifting in his lap until you’re smirking against his skin, “I think you want this much more than you’re letting on.”
Silco exhales shakily as you move your head to press a deliberate kiss behind his ear and then another under his jaw.
He shivers, allowing his hands to run up and down your back, bunching up the fabric as he goes and slowly revealing more and more of that skin he so desperately wants to taste.
So caught up in devouring you, he nearly misses the quiet mumble that you let out.
“Maybe you won’t need the drug after all.”
As if you hadn’t let that little bit of information slip, you pull back from him and Silco is stunned to find that all of that bravado he usually observes from you is gone.
A raw vulnerability that he’s never seen cross your features before. A tenderness that he feels downright privileged to experience.
You’re looking down at his lips with such beautiful desire as his fingers softly trace your silhouette.
He’s standing on the ocean bed. Drowned again for the second time in his life. His lungs full of a substance that makes it terribly hard for him to breathe.
But he loves it.
The door to the office bursts open, revealing a haggard-looking Sevika, as if she’s just run a mile or maybe ten.
Seeing her taking in the sight of you straddling him, Silco pushes you off him so you land in the space beside him, immediately crossing his legs in a way that he hopes is subtle.
“What is it?” he demands.
“We found Ziggy tied up in one of the storage closets with lipstick all over his neck,” Sevika replies before glaring at you, “But it looks like you already found the intruder.”
A sharp pang of something green rings in his chest as he snaps his head to see your reaction.
“You need to give your guards more time off if they’re so easily distracted by little old me,” you smirk, placing a hand on your chest as if you were the most innocent person in the whole of Runeterra.
And just like that, the performance is resumed, your cheeky confidence once again exuding from you.
His frown deepens, unwittingly putting his own mask back on.
Gods, you were more alike than he thought.
“Oh relax, I barely touched him,” you roll your eyes and lean in close to him, “I didn’t kiss his lips if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Silco despises how relieved he feels by that.
“You want me to throw her in the basement?” Sevika asks roughly.
There’s a pause whilst he considers his options.
What would happen if he finally took control of this situation he’d found himself in? Would the game be over? Would you lose that spark?
Would you get bored of him?
He couldn’t risk it.
“...No, let her go.”
You grin triumphantly and stand up, sauntering towards the door and blowing a kiss to an infuriated looking Sevika.
Before you exit, you pause, throwing him a sober look over your shoulder.
“Think about my offer,” you say, a glint of that vulnerability still deep within your eyes. A rare show of emotion that Silco needs to be all for him.
Him only.
And with that startling thought plaguing his mind, you’re suddenly gone, being escorted out of the office by his right-hand woman.
Silco isn’t sure how long he sits on his sofa, breathing heavily as he desperately tries to lock the memories of your touch in his mind.
He needs to feel it again.
He needs you to pull him under the water again and again until he no longer remembers what it was like to breathe normally.
He needs you.