Work Text:
It was not Jayce who met Silco on the bridge as they’d planned.
At first, Silco thought that Councilor Talis was late, an irritating but not particularly problematic possibility. Pilties have too much of everything, and time is no exception, he thinks. Leave it to Talis to be so unconcerned with Silco’s schedule.
But then someone else emerges from the crowds of the Piltovan streets and steps onto the bridge. She’s tall, probably Vander’s height, and broader than even Sevika. Silco has never seen this woman before, but she matches the descriptions he’s heard of the leader of the Noxians who had recently arrived on Piltover’s shores. The shiny dark skin, the regal posture, the expression on her face like a basking lion — relaxed, but only because she knew that nothing and no one for miles could possibly pose a threat to her. This is General Ambessa Medarda.
It’s not an expression Silco is used to seeing on anyone meeting him, especially for the first time. Even his allies, with the exception of the closest few, still seem a bit afraid of him. Silco wonders for a second if she’s here for another reason and isn’t aware of his presence. But then, she makes direct eye contact with him and gestures casually for him to come to her. He does, but the feeling of obeying her, even if just in this small way, bothers him for some reason.
“General Medarda,” Silco greets, eyes scanning the area for any bodyguards she may have brought. There are none. “Councilor Talis was busy, I presume?”
“Silco,” she replies. “Not quite. Talis was not the most suited to this. He’s still green, you know. No experience in diplomacy.” Her tone is more like that of someone talking about a dumb but beloved pet rather than a member of the Council. “And you may call me Ambessa. For now.”
For now? What was that supposed to mean? Silco decides to ignore that. “You are not a part of the Piltovan government,” he says instead, distrust and irritation visible on his face.
“I have my connections,” Ambessa says dismissively. “Rest assured, Industrialist. The Councilors are simply too soft-willed and idealistic. Now. Let us discuss your demands.” She unfolds the paper she’d been carrying. “Sovereignty. Access to the hexgates. Free trade routes. Blanket amnesty. My, you sure do demand a lot, don’t you? I respect the audacity.”
“It’s my life’s work. I won’t compromise on this,” Silco states firmly.
“Are you really in a position to demand such things right now, child?” Ambessa asks, lips curling ever so slightly into a smile at Silco’s visible recoiling from the pet name. “War with Piltover would destroy your people. War with Piltover and Noxus… you might as well line your citizens up and shoot them yourself.”
Not wanting to ignite the competitive spirit he can sense in Ambessa, Silco doesn’t argue about the strength of his people. “It would benefit you all if we arranged for peace,” he says instead. “War is costly no matter the victor.”
“Bold,” Ambessa says with belittling approval. “But I believe your terms can be arranged. Of course, this will not be without sacrifice on your part.”
“Naturally,” Silco says. “What are your demands?”
“Cease shimmer production immediately.”
“Already done as per correspondences with Talis.”
“Return the hex crystal. You may have access to the hexgates, but you will not be manufacturing hextech yourselves.”
Silco’s lip twitches in annoyance, but he nods in agreement.
“And Jinx. She’s a loose cannon. Bring her to us.”
“No,” Silco says firmly. “Anything she did, she was working for me. If a jailing or execution is needed to placate the people and convince them that justice has been served, let it be mine.”
“Self-sacrificing little lamb, are you?” Ambessa says with a mocking fondness. “No, if your Nation of Zaun is to prosper, it needs its leader. But we could discuss other terms somewhere more comfortable. Let us go to the suite where I’ve been staying. I’ll venture a guess that it’s a good deal more luxurious than anything you have down in the trenches.”
“There is nothing wrong with this meeting place,” Silco objects. He absolutely does not want to go anywhere alone with her further out of the undercity than the bridge.
“If we can’t negotiate further, handing over Jinx remains your only option,” Ambessa asserts. “Now. Come.” She turns and gestures for him to follow.
He does. He doesn’t know it at the moment, but the moment he stepped off of the bridge and into Piltover was crossing a point of no return.
…
The walk isn’t long but it’s tense. Silco notices that Ambessa doesn’t seem to be leading him in any sort of difficult to memorize path, apparently unconcerned about the possibility of him knowing the way to where she’s staying. They don’t speak as they walk, leaving Silco’s mind unoccupied so he can catalogue the path back to Zaun. He notices the wary and curious stares from the city’s residents, which he meets with a cool, confident gaze despite his unease with the whole situation.
…
Silco would never admit it to himself and especially not to her, but Ambessa’s suite is indeed the nicest living space he’s ever been inside of. Even if it’s clearly not her permanent residence, Ambessa has made the space her own with luxurious decoration and a pleasant spicy aroma coming from a few candles around the place. The overt show of wealth and privilege makes Silco’s lip curl in distaste. “I see you saw fit to travel with all of your finery,” he remarks with thinly veiled loathing.
“Yes, well, my employees back in Noxus aren’t going to use it in my absence, and there’s no reason to deny myself life’s simple pleasures just because I’m away from home,” Ambessa replies.
That earns a grudging nod of respect from Silco. At least she brought all of this from Noxus and didn’t simply buy luxuries in Piltover for her stay here that she’d discard before her departure. “Noxus has always been a wealthy nation, hasn’t it,” he muses. “Wealthy off the spoils of war, but wealthy nonetheless.”
“Your ‘Zaun’ isn’t unfamiliar with blood money,” Ambessa points out, leading Silco to two chaises beside a low table. She directs him to one, which he stiffly sits on the edge of, while she retrieves a bottle of red wine from a rack. “Noxus is known for our spirits, but I believe you’ll find our wines impressive as well. A harsh climate makes for a hardy grape.” She pours two glasses and sets them on the table before lowering herself onto the unoccupied chaise. “You’re a man of taste, Silco, are you not? Drink,” she prompts.
Silco’s lips thin in irritation at being told what to do, but he lifts his glass. He watches Ambessa intently until she takes a sip of her own and, now reasonably sure that she isn’t trying to poison him, drinks. “It’s good,” he says, a statement of fact rather than a compliment. “Strong.” He swirls the wine in his glass, observing its color and transparency. “How long have you been saving this?” he asks.
“I don’t remember when this particular vintage came into my possession, but it’s seventy-six years old,” Ambessa replies. “Surely, though, you can tell me more than that it’s ‘good’. Or have you not found the time to develop your palette while building your nation?”
Silco visibly bristles at her words. Perhaps he doesn’t know more than the basics of wine, but that isn’t her business and doesn’t affect his ability to negotiate. “I thought this was business, Ambessa, not a wine tasting,” he says. “Why have you brought me here?”
“Relax, child. You may be accustomed to living fast and animal, but this is politics, not war. Conversation is as valuable to business as debate, you know. You’d stand to learn that quickly if you are to lead a sovereign nation,” Ambessa says, leaning back on her chaise.
“It may be war depending on the outcome of our negotiations,” Silco points out, blasé confidence and irritation veiling his unease at not knowing what she wants.
“Do you truly not know how to take a break from your fretful scheming for a moment of pleasure?” Ambessa asks, mock-pitying. “Conversation, wine, finery, good food, a new plaything in bed?”
Silco takes another sip of his wine. Alcohol might just be the only way he can get through this. “Leisure is a privilege,” he replies. “One a leader has no business indulging in until his people have the opportunity.”
Ambessa watches with distaste as Silco drains most of his glass in only a few sips. Such a rare vintage truly was a waste to serve to someone who can apparently drink wine like water. “You truly never indulge in your simplest desires?” she asks. “Your vices are limited to cigars and alcohol, then?”
“I hardly see how that’s relevant,” Silco replies tersely.
“Humor me,” Ambessa says.
“What do you want?” Silco snaps.
“Use your head, child. Surely you’re not unfamiliar with this kind of business,” Ambessa alludes.
It takes a moment for Silco to realize what she’s implying, but as soon as it registers, he gives a firm, “no. Zaun has many in that line of work if that’s what you’re looking for, but I am not among them.”
“I don’t want them,” Ambessa dismisses. “I’d like to sample Zaun’s finest.”
“That is certainly not me,” Silco argues.
“Sovereignty for Zaun and immunity for Jinx,” Ambessa reminds.
And honestly, that’s a trade worth more than his pride. “Alright,” Silco agrees. “One night. Do as you please.” He wants to tell her that the only thing she may not do is touch his throat, but he doesn’t trust her not to use that against him.
“There you are, child. Learning real business,” Ambessa belittles. “I must say I’m surprised you’re not more experienced in these dealings.”
“Sex doesn’t appeal to me,” Silco lies. In truth, he enjoys most types of physical intimacy, but it’s been nearly a decade since he’s taken a man or woman to bed. He’s not about to admit to Ambessa how he hates the vulnerability of it too much to ever consider anything as casual as a hookup or, Janna forbid, transactional sex. No sense in setting himself up to be assassinated while distracted and unarmed. Though he supposes that just this once, the risk is worth the reward.
“No?” Ambessa asks. “Well, Jinx is still on the table to seal our agreement. Or you can walk away from it entirely.”
“I said I don’t enjoy casual sex, not that I’m backing out,” Silco replies flatly. “If you insist on such crude arrangements to seal our agreement, I’m willing to uphold my side of the bargain.”
“I thought so,” Ambessa says. “Now. Are you still in a rush or will you relax and drink with me?”
Silco isn’t sure if it’s the relief of not having to guess what Ambessa wants or if he’s dreading going to bed with her and trying to get himself at least somewhat tipsy before the inevitable, but regardless of his reasoning, he finishes his glass and refills it. “Tell me about Noxian culture,” he prompts her. “I know of your wars, but what of your arts?”
…
An hour and a half, an in-depth conversation about the art and architecture of Noxus and Zaun, the rest of the bottle of wine, and a few shots of fine Noxian whiskey later, Silco is loosened up enough that he’s not entirely opposed to it when Ambessa leads him to her bedroom. The bed is, like everything in this suite, enormous and ostentatious. Silco finds himself less offended by this particular display of wealth if only for the fact that the bedding is cloud-soft as he sits on the edge of the bed awaiting instruction.
“Well? Strip,” Ambessa prompts, already mostly nude herself. Silco can admit to himself that she’s attractive, neither too young nor too old for him and her body riding the appealing line between strength and femininity. She has scars, but unlike his, they tell the story of a proud warrior. Trophies, not damage. Suddenly feeling wholly inadequate, Silco removes his tie and slowly begins unfastening the clasps on his waistcoat.
He can feel Ambessa's eyes on him as he shrugs off the waistcoat and starts unbuttoning his shirt, but he doesn’t meet her gaze. There is no grandeur to the way Silco pulls his shirt off followed by his boots and trousers until he’s left in only a pair of red silk boxers and black cotton socks held up by sock garters around his calves. When he finally looks up, Ambessa is only a few feet from him, looking down with the same satisfied expression as a buyer examining the quality of goods to be purchased. Which in a way, Silco supposes he currently is.
“Pretty little thing you are,” Ambessa remarks, stepping closer to set a large hand on Silco’s shoulder. Her palm easily spans the distance from the side of his neck to the outer edge of his shoulder.
Silco bristles at her words, interpreting them as insincere or at the very least backhanded. But he doesn’t protest. He tells himself that he’ll only tell her no if she tries to choke him or seriously hurts him. Otherwise, the agreement was that she could do as she pleases to him. If that includes thinly veiled degradation, so be it. And so he tunes out her words and the hungry way she’s looking at him, choosing instead to focus on her touch as she pushes him down to lay his head on the pillows.
Ambessa’s hands are large and callused but surprisingly gentle as she caresses his sides, mapping out the contours of Silco’s body beneath her fingers. He jumps a bit when she pulls his underwear down and slowly eases them down his long, skinny legs until they’re hanging from one ankle. “Why so tense, little one?” she says. “Relax. Tell me what you like.”
“What do you care?” Silco asks his good eye still shut as he tries to focus on the pleasant sensation of her touch rather than her gaze.
“I want you to enjoy this,” Ambessa says simply, her tone making it clear that this preference is only minimally for Silco’s sake. She takes Silco’s narrow thighs in her hands and spreads his legs, folding his knees up near his chest. One broad hand then moves to stroke his dick, now half-hard. He opens his eye and looks down to watch and finds himself embarrassed at how small it looks in her hand. He knows his size is average or a bit above, but next to Ambessa, all of him looks tiny. Silco closes his eye again, turning his head to the side to hide it in the pillow as well as he can. Her fingers move to brush his asshole, and Silco can’t stop his dick from twitching at that. “Oh?” Ambessa remarks. “Do you touch yourself there?”
“Occasionally,” Silco chokes out, resisting the urge to lean into the sensation.
“Who else have you allowed to touch here?” Ambessa asks, continuing to massage his rim.
“That’s none of your business,” Silco breathes. The list is short, even shorter than that of people he’s allowed into his bedroom, but two names bubble to the surface. Vander, back when they’d been brothers in arms. And Sevika, whose long-term girlfriend at the time had no issue with her sleeping around and who Silco had trusted enough to take to bed just once. He shudders with a sudden wave of arousal at the memories of Vander’s cock and Sevika’s strap.
“How much can you take?” Ambessa asks, easing a fingertip inside of him. She can’t go further without lubricant, but even just rubbing at the inside of his rim has Silco’s legs twitching.
“Not a lot,” Silco admits. He’s not sure if that’s more or less shameful than the alternative, but he opts to answer the question so she doesn’t tear him open with whatever she’s planning to do. He remembers how Vander’s size had been too much for him, a shudder running through his body at the impossibly erotic memory of how much work it had taken to even get the tip in, the encompassing feeling of fullness from less than half of Vander’s length. He couldn’t take it all then and he’s sure his capacity has only lessened from nearly a decade of celibacy apart from his own thin fingers.
“As expected,” Ambessa says, both hands moving to hold his narrow hips. Her hands can’t close all the way around his waist, but they come as close as Vander’s did. Maybe closer. “You’re just a fragile little thing.” Ambessa gets up and opens a drawer, unhurried as she searches through it and retrieves a few things. “Speak up if you’re in more pain than you’d like,” she instructs, securing a harness around her wide, well-built hips and slipping a small glass dildo into its ring.
Returning to the bed, Ambessa positions herself between Silco’s spread thighs and opens a tin of lubricant that smells lightly of something warm and nutty that Silco can’t identify. She warms it between her fingers before beginning once again to massage Silco’s hole. Without friction to contend with, she’s able to slide her middle finger inside with only a bit of pressure. He’s tense to the point of viselike tightness. “Relax, Silco,” she says, thick finger gently exploring his insides until she finds that soft spot that draws a breathy gasp from him.
Silco forgets how to breathe for a moment, Ambessa’s finger the size of two or three of his own but shockingly gentle. Vander had never been this gentle with him. Sevika had, but only until she got impatient. Ambessa, though, works him open without hurry or pain, the callused pad of her finger massaging his most sensitive places inside while her free hand caresses his thigh.
Getting Silco to relax enough to take a second finger is a long and arduous process, but Ambessa is far from bored and Silco’s low, breathy noises and rock hard dick make it clear that he’s enjoying it too. Eventually, she manages to work three thick fingers into him, enough to redden his stretched rim and leave his legs trembling. His skinny chest heaves, sweat all but gluing the minimal amount of hair there to his skin. Absolutely wrecked already, Ambessa thinks. Completely unraveled, and they’ve barely gotten started. Finally deeming him ready, Ambessa coats her strap-on in lubricant and warms the of the small dildo in her large hand before lining its hard, unyielding tip up with Silco’s stretched hole and pressing in.
Silco fails to suppress a moan at the sensation, a deep sound low in his throat, truncated by a sharp inhale as the tip brushes his prostate. Ambessa grips Silco’s hips roughly enough to redden the delicate skin as she begins to move, grinding her clit against the textured section of her harness designed for that purpose. Overwhelmed, Silco digs his nails into the meat of his palms, his legs looping tightly around Ambessa’s waist. Perhaps he’s never felt anything like this or perhaps it’s just been so long he forgot the feeling, but his mind is entirely clouded with ecstasy. Some days, Shimmer all but eliminates his libido and others, it sets every nerve in his body alight. He’s never been more grateful to be having one of the latter days. His persistent headaches, the pain in his bad eye, the ache that’s settled permanently into his bones, none of that exists right now. There’s just the sensation of his prostate being pounded mercilessly, Ambessa’s grip on his hips, the soft bedding beneath him, and the spicy, musky, floral scent of expensive perfume. Someone is moaning, and he neither knows nor cares if it’s him.
Ambessa has seen a lot in her time and isn’t easily surprised, but what she feels looking at Silco at the moment can only be described as something close to awe. She’s had dozens of men and a handful of women submit to her, but never someone who so closely rivals her power. She’s used sex as currency in deals before, but always for a night with her deal partner’s spouse or concubine. Silco is the first rival leader she’s wanted to take to bed. She expected him to fight her for dominance or at least kick her for touching his hole and insist she ride him if he had to submit.
But his resistance had stopped as soon as he was in her bed. It occurs to her that she’s sodomizing the Eye of Zaun, a feared revolutionary leader speared on her strap and freely moaning like a proper whore, his lithe, functional muscles rippling subtly beneath his scarred, delicate skin as he subconsciously rolls his hope to meet her thrusts. He’s older than her typical choice of sexual partner, but no less gorgeous, especially with his sharp, delicate features twisted in pleasure. One hand leaves his bony hip to caress his face, coaxing him to stop hiding it in the plush pillows. A teal eye opens just a crack, iris shining like sea glass polished by years of tumbling in the harsh waves. He meets her gaze for just a moment, his eye clouded with pleasure and something close to pleading.
Silco leans into Ambessa’s touch, too far gone to think about anything beyond the fact that her hand cupping his unscarred cheek feels good. What’s the last time he was touched gently? He can’t recall, and maybe he subconsciously realizes this is probably going to be his only chance for such tenderness for the foreseeable future. And perhaps that’s why his hand rises to meet hers, holding it closer to his cheek and turning his head to nuzzle into her palm. He feels an electric pressure building up, but his mind is too floaty at the moment to realize what that means before his orgasm washes over him hard and fast, painting his and Ambessa’s stomachs with his spend. She fucks him through it until his breathy noises begin to change from deep moans to broken, gravelly whining as his pleasure gives way to overstimulation. It’s only then that Ambessa pulls out.
“I’m not finished with you,” Ambessa says, unbuckling her harness and tossing her strap-on aside. Silco groans in displeasure at the loss of her touch on his cheek but doesn’t otherwise react aside from his heavy breathing. Undeterred by his lack of response, Ambessa positions herself to straddle Silco’s face. “Eat, boy,” she commands. “No teeth.”
That’s all the warning Silco gets before his face is pressed up against hot, damp, coarse curly hair and his nostrils fill with warm, musky slick that he’d probably enjoy if he was fully present mentally. But in his disoriented post-orgasm haze, all he registers is that his face is wet and it’s harder to breathe than it should be. He whines with raw, animal unease, lifting his head as if trying to surface from beneath water but only succeeding in mashing his face more firmly against hot, wet skin. His sounds of protest grow louder and more persistent until the thing blocking his breathing is gone. Silco gasps for breath like he’s trying to fit all the air in the world into his lungs.
And then there’s a hand in his hair, large fingers gently massaging his sweaty scalp. He leans into the touch, slowly becoming aware of someone talking to him. He opens his good eye, blinking until the image makes sense. Oh, right. He’s in Ambessa’s bed, and she’s straddling his chest now. She must’ve been sitting on his face and that’s why he couldn’t breathe. Suddenly feeling foolish, Silco averts his eyes from Ambessa’s severe face but listens to her voice, picking up on her words mid-sentence. “… take a moment to breathe,” she says, and Silco finds himself nodding.
“I’m alright,” Silco insists even if he’s not sure he is. “Just a memory. Remnants of a man I killed years ago.” Whether he’s referring to Vander or himself, he doesn’t know. “Proceed. I still need to uphold my side of the agreement.”
“Don’t push yourself, lamb. There’s no shame in pausing, only in forfeit,” Ambessa replies, still stroking Silco’s hair.
Weakly, Silco raises his shaking hands and grabs Ambessa’s hips, trying to pull her back down. Smiling fondly, Ambessa lowers herself onto Silco’s face again, aligning her hole with his waiting mouth and her clit with the pointy tip of his nose. “You have a warrior’s spirit, child. Persistent,” she praises.
Silco gives no reply as he begins licking. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, not having done anything like this since his youth, but he’s beginning to remember why he used to enjoy it so much. Even like this, transactional and impersonal, after he’s already finished and still shaking a bit with the aftermath of panic, Silco loves this. His previous panic ebbs away alongside his ability to form intelligent thoughts at the feeling of strong thighs on either side of his head. The warmth and weight and smell of a body on top of his, the deep, breathy sounds of Ambessa’s pleasure above him, the instinctual fear still tingeing the edges of his mind from having his breathing slightly restricted… it all combines to pleasantly untether Silco’s mind from his body as he continues to lap at the hot wet pussy pressed against his face like a man starved.
There’s a hand on Silco’s cheek again, he registers vaguely through the fog that’s settled over his brain. Or perhaps it’s been there a while and he only just became aware of it. Either way, it feels nice, and he tries to tilt his head back into the touch without moving his mouth away from where it needs to be. He’s not entirely successful, but the hand seems to recognize his plight and begins caressing his face more quickly.
Silco has no sense of how long he stays like that before strong, dark thighs clamp around his head and Ambessa grinds against his nose fervently, all but cutting off his airflow for a few seconds. And then the weight on his face lifts off and he’s vaguely aware that Ambessa is saying something but the words don’t register. He thinks that last sentence may have been a question. Silco squirms slightly as he’s lifted in strong arms and he thinks for a few upsetting seconds that he’s being made to leave, to try to get himself home like this.
But then he’s being set on a footstool and there’s the sound of a tub filling and the smell of expensive perfumed soaps. He blinks, realizing he’s in a luxurious bathroom with a tub easily big enough to fit three or four people. Ambessa is filling the tub with warm water and a splash of some kind of liquid soap that perfumes the air with something like citrus and spices followed by a few scoops of what he thinks is salt.
Silco watches the water rise for a few minutes until the tub is full and Ambessa turns off the tap. She turns towards him, moving to pick him up again, so Silco tries to stand to prove he’s not entirely helpless. This effort blows up in his face as his shaking knees buckle and he ends up in her arms anyways. He realizes fuzzily that she must’ve removed his socks at some point because he’s certainly not wearing them anymore as she positions the two of them in the tub with Silco in front of her.
His senses slowly return to him as he soaks in the hot soapy water while Ambessa washes both herself and him. He still feels raw and a bit floaty, smaller and softer somehow than he usually feels in a way that’s disconcerting but not entirely unpleasant, but he’s at least aware enough to feel embarrassed at his submission and appalled that he’d enjoyed it. Is still enjoying it. Deciding to blame it on the alcohol, Silco tilts his head back to make it easier for Ambessa to rinse the conditioner out of it. Her own hair is tied up out of the water, he notes, and he has the bandwidth to wonder why she has products suitable for his hair. The thought doesn’t linger long, though, as she repositions him to face her so she can wash his face.
Initially, the feeling of callused fingers and a soft washcloth on Silco’s face is soothing. He closes his good eye and just allows himself to be cleaned. But then the washcloth swipes over his scar, and Silco becomes aware that his makeup is probably gone. He opens his eye and his fear is confirmed by the beige smudges on the white cloth that Ambessa is cleaning his face with, and his heart sinks as his fears are confirmed. An hour ago, he didn’t care what Ambessa thought of him, but now he finds himself upset at the idea that she’s seen his damage raw and unobscured and ugly. Perhaps it was a vain thing to care about, but he’d been beautiful once, and his vanity remained somewhat intact even when his face didn’t. Silco turns his head, orienting his scar away from her piercing gaze.
But Ambessa only holds his face more firmly and turns him back to face her straight on again. The washcloth runs over his scarred skin again, more gently now that the painful, infected flesh is revealed. “In Noxus, a warrior with a mark like this would never cover it. It shows you’re a survivor, boy,” she muses as she cleans him up.
Silco’s mismatched eyes don’t meet hers, but he stops trying to turn away. She both understands and doesn’t, he thinks. Yes, his corrupted eye shows his survival, immortalizes the event that killed his naive idealism, serves as a symbol of power and fear. But it’s also blind, and the scar around it is more disgusting than intimidating. It needs to be covered so he doesn’t look like the monsters that haunt the dark corners of Jinx’s room or like a weak invalid dying of infection. He doesn’t correct her, though, content to live a bit longer in this fantasy world where he’s desirable and his scars are badges rather than defects.
It isn’t long before Silco is clean, dried, and rubbed with fragrant oils and lotions he can’t begin to imagine the prices of. His hair is brushed for longer than it needs to be, Ambessa apparently picking up on his enjoyment of the feeling of the bristles against his scalp. And then, he’s dressed in one of Ambessa’s red silk pajama shirts with sleeves that fall inches past his hands and a hemline that makes it suitable to be used as a nightdress for him. Incredibly aware of how small he is, Silco allows himself to be carried to bed but positions himself to lay stiffly on his back at the edge of the bed.
Ambessa lays down beside Silco, allowing him his personal space. His exhaustion is obvious, and she’s not cruel enough to deny him his comfort if he wants to sleep untouched.
Sleep comes slowly for Ambessa, more so than it does for Silco. She listens to his breathing slow and even out as exhaustion takes him under, softly snoring until he rolls over onto his side. Silco settles into the soft bedding, unconsciously scooting towards Ambessa’s warmth until he’s curled up against her side.
In the morning, he’ll wake up a respectable distance away from her and will deny ever having rested his head on the firm softness of Ambessa’s chest. She’ll deny that she leaned down to kiss the top of his head. Both will insist that this is just business.
But the night demands no confession from either of them. So, for now, they sleep.