Work Text:
It’s never just a night out with Silco.
Work, as he calls it, always seems to get in the way, this time in the form of some deluded gang member who thought he could take the Industrialist by surprise on the moonlit walk home from the Promenade restaurant.
Never mind that Silco took the man down like he was nothing more than a fly to be swat down on a hot day.
Therefore, it’s hardly your fault you couldn’t wait until you reached the club before getting handsy, despite Silco’s warnings. Not that you tend to heed those very well.
That’s probably why you find yourself enveloped in the shadows of an alleyway — hidden from the Lanes yet salaciously exposed all the same — with your panties in your mouth and the Eye of Zaun’s tongue deep in your pussy.
You moan around the fabric, thighs clenching around his head.
Fabric is a generous term for the little scrap of lace, something Silco had made very clear when he pulled up your dress and slid them down your legs, stuffing them in your mouth before you could voice your smart little retort.
“If you don’t learn how to hold your tongue, I suppose I will have to make an example by holding mine,” he had said before sinking down to his knees.
“Mmmf, Si-o.”
He may not hear your desperation, but there’s no denying he feels it. It’s rather obvious, the slickness that runs down your mouth and chin, neither of which you can help.
The sensation of cool bricks against your cheek is a welcome one, and a reprieve for the flames consuming your lower body. Sparing a glance downwards, you’re met with the even more delicious contrast of sea green and molten orange, framed by a fresh streak of red.
Images of how effortlessly Silco had taken down the would-be assassin re-enter your mind, all while you find yourself unable to tear away from his gaze.
The tsk he had let out, much to your confusion.
The speed with which he had procured a concealed knife, before you realised what was happening.
The grace he had wielded while turning around, blade poised to slash through the man’s neck.
The way that at no point had his hand left the small of your back.
And, of course, the streaks of red that had lashed him following the knife’s path; garnishing his face, hand, and coat, while he stood in an air of nonchalance, not a single hair out of place.
How could you resist?
The tongue inside you doubles down in effort at another muffled cry of Silco’s name. His eyes crinkle in mischief, and you know the hook of his lips must be the same.
Your head rolls back against the brick, unable to keep up with his pace. You really should know better, though. Silco hates being ignored.
Lips make a lewd popping sound as they detach from your cunt.
“Did I tell you to look away?”
“Pl- m’so- clo—”
You’re unsure how well your cries translate through the fabric, but Silco seems to understand regardless.
“I know, darling,” he says, thumbing your folds and licking the digit when your knees buckle.
He flashes you a smirk, this time unobscured, before his hands snake around your hips and dig into your ass, pulling you forward with a brushing tug. The instant pressure of his nose against your clit has you crying around the flimsy gag.
Silco seems to approve, if the repeated stroke of his tongue up your slit is anything to go by. He’s relentless, reducing you to putty with long and slow lines from the flat of his tongue, followed by quick darts that feel more akin to sucker punches with how they have you seeing stars.
Any passers-by would surely think someone was meeting their end in the alleyway — common enough in Zaun — and keep on walking, but there’s to be no more deaths at Silco’s hand tonight.
Well, save for your dignity, but he buried that a long time ago.
He doesn't need to say anything about breaking eye contact this time. You know not to look away, and the warning is cast firmly in the dark pools of his own gaze.
You grind yourself harder against his nose, and the drenched panties in your mouth do nothing to dampen your cries as his tongue dips inside you once more.
Your hands immediately dig into his hair, and thank the gods he allows it because you would be grinding them raw against the brickwork otherwise.
“Fu-ck, ohmy— oh,” you moan, thighs a trembling clamp around his head.
Silco pulls back again, this time replacing his mouth with his hand before you can voice your complaint.
“What was that, darling?” he asks, amusement coating his words as excessively as you’re coating his fingers. “Does it feel good?”
“Mhmm, so- goo- so- cl— ah!”
His free hand splays against your pelvis as you voice your ruin into the dimly lit alley. The pressure is mind-numbing, exacerbated by the two fingers pumping inside you and the thumb running tight circles around your clit, void of mercy.
“Oh? You’re close, are you?” he taunts. “Surely you wouldn’t finish here, where anyone could see you.”
It’s a miracle your head doesn’t roll off with how intensely you nod.
“That’s rather desperate,” he tuts, adding a third finger.
You groan in agreement, uncaring of how his words deepen the red in your cheeks.
“I suppose I should be generous today. I did take a life after all,” he muses. “Why don’t you beg for me, and we’ll see how charitable I'm feeling?”
In any other situation you would take his ego down a peg, but you find yourself incapable of anything other than bucking your hips against his hand as the string of tension inside you pulls tighter with every passing second.
Even you have no idea what you’re moaning around the fabric, such is your desperation. All you can manage is whines and pleas that sound similar enough to his name.
“Won’t you speak up, my love? I’m afraid I can’t hear you,” he says, fingers slowing in pace.
You shake your head in distress, matched by the desperation in your eyes. More cries leave you, and you pray they don’t fall on deaf ears.
“Well if that’s how you feel, you should have said something sooner.”
Gods you want to slap him, but then his tongue is taking over for his thumb and any thoughts of retribution melt away.
Both his hands grip your thighs, sure to leave mottled reminders of his love. You tug at his hair in response, eliciting a tantalising groan against your core.
He wants this just as much as you do.
Lips envelop your clit, beginning a ruthless pattern of sucking and releasing in time with the unceasing swirls of his tongue.
Every cry pushes him further, until it all becomes too much and you’re driven to utter bliss. Silco says nothing as you tear your eyes away and cry a shattered prayer of his name into the dark backstreets of Zaun.
And why should he care? It’s his kingdom after all, and here you are, with the king himself giving you worship on his knees.
He carries you through your climax, guiding the waves of pleasure with laps of his tongue, sighing into you with every twitch of your hips.
It’s only after your breath has slowed and the heat of your core has calmed to a rolling flame that he rises from the ground with one final kiss to your navel.
Finally relieving you of the makeshift gag, his hands remove the sodden fabric while his mouth finds your neck. He sucks a mark to match those on your hips before trailing upwards to your waiting lips and capturing them in a tender contrast to his previous actions.
“Beautiful girl,” he murmurs against you, hand circling your waist to pull you close against him.
You hum agreement into his mouth, low sound melding into a gasp as you feel the pressure against your stomach.
It’s much too difficult to resist the urge to roll hips against his hardened length, and you relish his intake of breath.
“Careful,” he says, voice low with warning.
“Can’t help it,” you whisper against his lips, trailing a line of kisses up his jaw.
“That much was clear, darling,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“I’d like to see you gagged, for once,” you say, chagrin now unobstructed by desire.
All you receive in response is an impish smirk, followed by Silco tucking your panties into the pocket of his coat.
“On that note, it’s probably best that I hang onto these,” he murmurs into your ear, arm fixed around your middle as he begins to guide you out of the alley. “You would probably just lose them again.”