Admittedly, you don’t do much talking after. 

You’re almost starstruck by post-coitus Silco, sweat covering pale, tattered skin.  You trace the scars covering his chest closely, committing as much as you can to memory. The silence between you is fragile, a delicately woven web that you feared to trample upon by saying the wrong thing. And even though he’s gentle, loving in his mannerisms, there’s a peculiar feeling stirring in your chest.

He runs you a bath, ever the gentleman, and washes your back with utmost care. Receiving this much affection from someone you’ve been used to holding at arm’s length makes your stomach coil, urging you to put your tongue in his mouth all over again. You fuck in the bathroom, and he makes you come twice more before you make your way back to bed. 

By the time you’re in one of his dress shirts and under the covers again, you’re absolutely spent. The only talking you do is the whispered conversation about what tomorrow brings and whether you should sneak out or allow everyone— including Jinx— to catch sight of you leaving his chambers in the morning. The thought makes you flush with embarrassment, but it is too tempting to completely disregard, the idea of a public relationship with Silco.

You fall asleep before you make a decision, he follows soon after. 

Knowing that this is probably the most, and best, that Silco has slept in years, you don't have the heart to wake him up the next morning. Getting up before him is a feat in itself, and it gives you the chance to get dressed without facing the consequences of last night. You're well aware that both of you are too old for these games, but you're also aware that it's a frail matter, that maybe it's not something you're ready to face quite yet. 

You shove the soiled underwear in your bag and take one final look at the sleeping man before you go. Looking between his closed eyes, you debate planting a kiss on his face before you leave, but decide it's best to let it lie. For now. 

You make your way down the stairs unsteadily, looking down on the  bar as the steps creak underneath your weight. 

The ground floor is strangely serene when it's empty, like any structure that's usually buzzing with noise when it's left behind. Hollow, alluring, countless untold stories. Your mind involuntarily goes back to Vander and you wonder what it was like when both Vander and Silco resided in this building. You realize, with a flash of heat, that the memory of you and Silco in intimate positions just became one of the stories commemorated in this building. 

You wonder what Sevika would say when the news reach her, if they do. You imagine her face contorting into a grimace, shaking her head to get the memory of her boss and his only friend out of her head. Then, you imagine her warning you, telling you that Silco is a dangerous man, and that you must’ve known that before you went to bed with him. But, at the end of it, you imagine the relief on her face when she realizes that Silco finally had someone to take it out on, in ways that aren’t limited to sultry conversations and late night drinks. 

Despite the swirling mix of emotions in your chest, you find yourself smiling on the way out. 

The week that follows is excruciatingly slow. 

 You go to your job, you do your best as a seamstress who’s just trying to make ends meet, and you muffle your groans when you accidentally prick your fingers because the rich red fabric reminds you of the devil himself. You don’t expect to hear from him, so you’re not surprised when he doesn’t even send Sevika with any messages, but you’re admittedly disappointed, even though you try not to be. 

The fact that this is Silco you’re talking about, the man that’s spent his entire life fighting for one thing and one thing only, it grows glaringly obvious every time you wake up alone in your bed with a gnawing feeling in your chest. You didn’t think it would be easy, nothing about Silco is, but you hadn’t expected the silence that would follow to be this loud either.

There’s no wet dreams this time, just silent hope that it will make sense when you see him again.

But you should know by now that it’s never been that simple with Silco. 

It’s the same as it is every week, dark rooms illuminated with neon lights, drinks and shimmer being passed around like water to deprived populations. Sevika is at the pool table with Ran tonight, seemingly more relaxed than the last time you saw her, you’d heard things were going more smoothly this week. Any signs of a rebellion against Silco had disappeared; you had to wonder if the same would happen to you once you made it to his office.

Now that you’re stepping foot into The Last Drop again, you realize that the desperation is turning into anxiety, accentuated by your pulse bounding under your skin. You re-consider the pros of being away from him for a few days and you seriously consider what would happen if you just didn’t show up tonight, something you’ve never thought about in all the years you’ve known each other. 

You had a silent deal of trust, and you couldn’t afford to damage the little bit of stability that you maintained in your relationship right now. 

When you walk by Sevika, she raises a suspicious brow at you. You can't read her expression, mainly because she just always looks like she's judging you a little at any given time. You wonder if the news got to her, even if you were almost sure that no one saw you leave the night. Your mind wanders to Jinx, who came to see you at your shop on Monday, all excited and impatient about the idea of waiting any longer. You're extremely fond of the girl and the bond you formed, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed that she killed your excuse to see Silco again before Saturday rolled around. 

Everyone else fades into oblivion as you approach his office. You usually don’t knock, a nasty habit that he’s criticized you for endlessly, even though he’s never doing anything particularly interesting when you barge in, always seated at his desk, and always doing paperwork. You wonder if he’s ever planned to have someone over, the sort that you could pay, and your chest burns with an unnamed feeling. Was it too early to lay your claim?

The old door creaks when you push it open, and you’re almost relieved that it reveals an empty office. Silco’s grand chair is turned to the left, a stack of paperwork that you assume is finished is neatly placed in a pile to the right. You step in closer to look at where he left his pen, suddenly fascinated with the intimate details of his work. For a second, you think it’s a shame that you didn’t fuck here instead, but the idea that it’s still possible makes you smile to yourself. 

You choose to sit in his very own chair, having grown tired of the couch and what it entails. You adjust it so it’s facing the desk and peer over at the pile of paperwork, picking up the first paper of the pile to observe his handwriting. The neat curves of the letters never cease to amaze you. How Silco, who grew up as much of a bastard as any of you did, managed to turn into this posh image of power, you could never fully comprehend it. 

Thinking back on your own past, you wondered if you could’ve ever grown to be like him. Granted, you were missing the best friend-slash-lover’s betrayal, and the strong sense of determination that he had, as well as the decaying glow-in-the-dark eye—  still, you wondered if Silco could ever turn you into a force to be reckoned with. Then again, anyone who sleeps in his bed, when both his eyes are closed is already powerful enough.

You could have reached out and harmed him at any second, slit his throat open, but you didn’t. The reminder that Silco actually trusts you, given his awful track record in terms of trusting people, especially near his neck, makes your heart pound. The image of his bare chest comes to mind, how he’d trusted you to be near his most sensitive spots, it sends sharp heat directly to your lower abdomen. 

“Already replacing me, are you?” 

The bedroom door opens and you nearly jump out of your seat, dropping the paper you were holding. The dirty thoughts that were accumulating in your head dissipate as you watch the paper flutter to the ground, landing close to where Silco stands. He raises a brow in judgement, making no move to grab it. Under the heat of his gaze, the anxiety from earlier melts into something inexplicable, something that you’re used to feeling around him. 

“I could never replace you, Silco.” His name tastes different this time; the idea of having him wrapped around your finger makes the verbal games you play a lot more fun. 

“Good, get out of my seat.” 

You push yourself off the chair, smiling at him. He eyes the paper and looks at you expectantly, you scoff at the silent order. 

“You just want to see me bend over.” 

The sharp smile that graces his lips almost makes you regret being so bold. 

“Don’t I always?” 

You pick up the paper and set it down on the top of the pile, adjusting it to be as you found it. When you turn back to look at him, he’s staring at you knowingly. This gives you a chance to fully drink him in, eyes traveling over his form, pausing at the pants that proved to be an obstacle last time. You find your cheeks heating when he slowly chuckles, and you realize everything is written on your face, as clear as day. 

“Everything alright in the bedroom then?” 

He grunts, moving around the desk to settle in his chair, your eyes follow. “As it usually is, yes.” 

“Well, it can’t have been totally alright if you weren’t in your office when I first came in?” He’s silent, flipping through the pages that you were messing around with, almost like he doesn’t trust you. Impulsively, you go on, “would you happen to have someone in there? A special friend perhaps?” 

The idea of friendship with Silco is a perfectly absurd term. He doesn’t seem to have many friends, and when he does have friends, he seems to fuck them at one point or the other. 

“Does it interest you? My bedroom activities?” He looks up at you over the rim of his precious paperwork, his face unreadable.

You bite your lip subconsciously, “as long as they include me, yes.” 

That seems to be the right answer. He arranges the papers with a satisfied hum and gets up again, making his way over to you with those dangerous long legs. As if you weren’t distracted enough. 

In the middle of his office, you stand face to face with the eye of Zaun. He towers a considerable amount over you, but you realize his power doesn’t lie in his natural stature. It lies in the way he carries himself, in his voice, in the words he uses, and most importantly, in his hands, and those long, rough fingers. You wonder if he misses the feeling of your wet tongue around them, you wonder if he thought about that night as much as you did. 

A moment of silence passes. He isn’t afraid to meet your eyes, you’re curious about something.  

“You haven’t said anything since last Saturday,” feeling bold as ever, you go on, “do you regret it?” 

“Is that what you think?” 

You chew at the inside of your cheek, “I’m not sure what to think, Sil. It’s difficult to read you sometimes.” You laugh, despite yourself, “well, all the time, you’re a difficult man to pin down you know?” 

A ghost of a smile graces his face. Your heart rate picks up.  

“That’s quite true, it’s an advantage when you’re running the lanes, but,” his eyes trail down to your lips, “it’s quite difficult to escape your grasp, dearest.” 

Under his hot gaze, the tension between you coils until the strings holding you back snap completely.

His mouth tastes as sinful as you remember, and his hands are just as firm as they were last time. Kneading at your ass, trailing up your backside to push you closer, every sound that leaves your mouth is efficiently muffled by his own. 

The sight of his tall office chair from the corner of your eyes gives you an idea. You pull back quickly and Silco looks confused, and frankly disgruntled, when you gently push him backwards. You sit him down on his chair and his eye flickers with recognition. You struggle with his belt, again, for a good minute before he settles for helping you once more. Before he has the chance to throw a snide remark your way, your mouth is on his and your legs are on either side of his thighs. 

He only separates from your kiss to trail down your neck and to your chest, sharp teeth against your sensitive skin, making sure to leave a blooming trail in their wake. He unbuttons your top and wastes no time before his hot mouth is on your breasts, his hands pushing against your back to bring you impossibly closer. 

You’d opted for this position to give him as much power as he wanted even when you're the one on top, but the tingling sensation of his hot mouth over your chest makes your eyes flutter close, momentarily distracting you from your mission. You wonder how many people have suffered because of this same mouth, and how unlucky they were to never experience the pleasure it could bring.  

When he’s done with planting the love bites that you know you’ll admire for days to come, you take the chance to stand up and take off your underwear, thanking the gods above that you chose a skirt, again. 

You might need to buy a lot more skirts after this. 

You nearly wobble over taking the underwear off your leg and Silco reaches over to stabilize you, “slow down, darling, you’re going to hurt yourself.” You plant a wet kiss on his mouth, voice fading into a feral whisper, “I can’t, Sil, I need you now.” 

“You will have me, be patient.” 

He reaches underneath the hem of your skirt, relishing in the light gasp you let out when he draws closer to your inner thigh. Your skin is warm to the touch, and when he grips your thighs to push you in for one more kiss, you let out a frankly embarrassing moan. His fingers slip inside you before you can deter his plans and you nearly collapse onto him, extending an arm to hold onto the chair. 

“Silco.” 

He breathes against your mouth, lips curling into a smirk as his fingers find his way around your sensitive walls. “Always so wet, so ready for me.” 

A strained whine leaves your mouth as his fingers find their way around your cunt once more, the smell of your arousal encompassing this area of the dark, smoky office. You throw your head back as his mouth latches back onto your chest, giving him easy access to your neck. The view of the green window that decorates the room is becoming a very dear memory to your heart. 

You bring your mouth to his when you feel the high of the moment approaching, allowing him to contain all your pleas and soft moans as your eyelids droop heavy. You can’t bring yourself to completely close them, not when the sight of his glowing fiery eye stares back at you. For a moment, when you're falling apart on his fingers, it looks like a bright star in the middle of the dark night sky. 

He keeps a firm arm around your waist as you come down from your peak, allowing you to grab onto him for those few precious moments, his arms taut underneath your grip. 

Eagerly, you reach down between the two of you to ease his cock out. He doesn't move to stop you, eyes fixed on your face. You wonder if your lips are as swollen as they feel, if your bare marked chest is to his liking, you hope he enjoys the show. 

You're so wet you don't struggle to push his cock into you. 

The feeling is as electrifying as you'd remembered it to be. He stretches you out nicely, but it doesn't hurt. It feels right, like you were always meant to find each other and fuse at the hips. It’s the most full you’ve ever been.

You ease yourself into it, allowing your body to get used to him once again, biting down on your lip to stifle your sighs. His fingers rest on your shoulder, subtly digging into your skin when you move down to take him further. Once he's fully in and you're struggling not to groan at the fullness in your lower abdomen, the fingers trail up to your neck, wrapping around it in a firm grip.  

He shifts his hips and the quiet act you're trying to put on immediately falls apart. You let out a few soft sighs as he guides you to grind over his throbbing cock. Your back arches as you push yourself into him, chasing the delicious friction that takes place every time you come in contact. 

The sensual pace eventually picks up and his grip around your neck is more firm, more demanding. The cool air of the office hits your bare bouncing tits and the sensation almost drives you crazy. Every time he grinds you onto him, electricity shoots through your entire body. You try to memorize this feeling again, burn it into your memory, eager to collect all the dirty sensual memories you can get out of this man. 

Your pleasured sighs are only ever interrupted by soft moans of his name, something you can tell he thoroughly enjoys because his grip around your neck tightens. Your hands grip onto his shoulder, occasionally wandering down to his clothed chest. You desperately wish you could have him fully naked again, pale skin exposed for you to leave your mark as he does on you, but you hesitate to tread such murky waters again.  

You'd have him in any way he offers. 

Although he's fairly quiet this time, you drink up every quiet groan like a poached man in the desert. His eyes are on your face the entire time, only occasionally wandering to your tits and the great canvas he painted over them. You wonder if he prefers ass or tits, and you wonder if he would like to cum on either of them sometime soon. 

The hand around your throat shifts to the back of your neck, pushing you forward. Your hips stutter helplessly when he re-positions himself so his cock reaches a new angle inside you. Your skin is on fire, the sensation of his callused fingers gripping your hips sure to leave another bruise. There’s a sense of pride swelling inside your chest at knowing that Silco loves marking what's his. 

Ever the experienced man, Silco reads your body like an open book and reaches between the two of you to rub your clit, deliciously amplifying the pleasure coursing through your veins. The relief is sharp, accelerating the building high that you're chasing. When you fall apart this time, the hand behind your neck forces you to look into his eyes. Your brows are furrowed, your mouth wide open, you watch your face reflecting in his eyes. 

For a man with so much power, you get the feeling that he doesn't get to watch people like this often. 

You gasp out his name as you come, your voice becoming the only palpable energy in these confined walls. Inside Silco's office, he takes his dear friend in his very own plush red businessman chair. You scrunch your brows under the force of the pleasure; the look you're witnessing on his face makes you never want to take your eyes off him again. 

You collapse into him after, not having the chance to wonder if that's okay before both his arms encircle your waist. You wrap your own around his shoulders, hair messed up and lipstick smudged, feeling a sense of confidence grow in you. This time, you don't wonder what your relationship is, or what's allowed and what's crossing the line. This time, as you stare into your dazed reflection in the emerald office window, the hand running up and down your back is the silent permission to take it all, to step over every possible line you could cross. 

This time, you know Silco is yours. 

You start shopping for more and more risqué choices after that. Shorter skirts, red and black lingerie sets, perfumes that would make your skin irresistible. The desire to put it all on the line for Silco is ever-growing, and you find yourself fantasizing about Saturday night the whole week. You even come up with a list of positions you'd like him to put you in. 

That week, you tackle the mirror dream. You start by getting on your knees in his office, something he has a hard time rejecting; and although you've had your fair share of experiences giving blowjobs, sucking Silco off until he's forced to be more vocal about his pleasure is probably the best you've ever had. 

He takes you against the mirror, bare tits pressing up against the cold glass. The feeling is heavenly for your hard nipples, sending shivers all over your body. Your hands grip onto the frame so hard you think you might break it, your ass is angled over the vanity table towards him. His hands are on you again, like he'll die if he can't keep them there. 

This time, you're stripped entirely naked. The clothes you'd put on especially for him in a messy pile on his office floor. It's scandalous to think about someone walking in and finding them, but it excites you to no end. You're moaning before Silco puts it in. 

Face planted against his mirror, you look over your shoulder, admiring the loosened top around his neck. He'd let you have a sliver of skin this time, allowing you to undo his tie and pull his shirt open. 

His cock is inside you once more, rubbing against your sensitive walls. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he fucks into you, it's even better than the dream could've foretold. His hands find comfort gripping your hips when he isn’t holding onto the vanity, and a part of you wants to reach out and hold them again.

He fucks any coherent thoughts out of your brain. And when you're close, he pulls you back from the mirror and against his clothed body. This time, when you look in the mirror, he doesn't look back. He's too busy burying his nose in your neck, inhaling the scent of jasmine that you purposefully sprayed in his favorite spots. His left eye disappears behind your neck, but his right eye, the dark cyan that haunts all your dreams, is irreversibly fixed on you. 

This time, when you come, the declaration of love is on the tip of your tongue. 

The days in your apartment blur into one duration of time where you have to take care of yourself on your own. There's a sultry tone always playing on your record player, an old gift from Silco to ‘enjoy quality music’, and you're always staring up at the ceiling, recounting how his hands felt when they were on you. 

It often ends with your hand between your legs, chest heaving as you imagine all the things you’re going to do the next time you have your hands on him.

You can't help but think of him every time you're naked. The way his eyes look when you're so close to orgasming, the sounds he tries to keep in when you suck him off, and most importantly, the bruises he leaves on your body. The sharp teeth that have explored every inch of skin your body has to offer. You almost wish that you could grow a new layer to offer it up to him, something new to be explored. 

The thought stops you one day when you're finishing up a suit for an important customer. Most likely from Piltover, but you wouldn't know, they always send their servants for them. When you're sewing the delicate buttons onto the black fabric, the thought strikes you so sharply that you prick your own fingers, again. 

The blood is gushing out of your fingers before you realize what you've done, and you bring it to your mouth, brows furrowed in pain, but it doesn't distract from the idea swirling in your mind. 

Silco could desire someone new. 

He could get bored of you, and your body that he's explored over and over again every week. You've offered yourself up to him so desperately that you failed to think that maybe, just maybe, he would grow tired of what you have to offer. 

It's just like marriage, you have sex with the same person over and over. And it's not supposed to get boring, at least you don't think it is, because you love each other. But this isn't marriage, and you've never called it love— at least not out loud, at least not in front of him. 

You put down your needle and you find yourself an empty seat that's not crowded by fabric or tools. It's dark outside, as it always is in Zaun, and it's only Monday. When you last saw Silco, it was his face buried in your neck as he fucked you over his desk. You remember the feeling of the wood under your fingers, and you still feel the bruised lips that called out his name like a prayer. 

The other seamstresses are not around. Your chest coils with some awful, dangerous feeling every time you think about Silco and what he might feel about you now. Does he think about you at all? Does he look at his office and remember everything you've done together? 

Or is it easy to push you to the back of his mind? Just a body to pass the time.

You lock the front door to the shop, flipping the open sign around. You make your way to the full-length mirror in the back and strip down to your undergarments. The mirror shows you the recent marks of your latest love affair, you almost needed to reassure yourself that they were still there. You turn, observing your sides and your behind. 

Could Silco get bored of this? 

The bitter realization that you don't know the definite answer floods your senses. Suddenly, it's a lot harder to breathe in this small backroom. 

You linger outside the Last Drop. You don’t find a cigarette in your hands often these days, but this particular week calls for the occasion. 

The bouncers eye you suspiciously, you assume they're as confused about your hesitance as anyone else on his team would be. Usually, you'd be in his office, completely naked by now. They don't know the last part for sure, but everyone suspects it. Silco’s little fuck buddy. 

You're blowing smoke and pulling your jacket tighter around yourself when someone familiar walks through the double doors.

“A bit cold for you out here, isn't it, doll?” 

Sevika's familiar figure is a welcome distraction from the fuckery going on in your head. You give her a big smile as you offer the rest of your cigarette. The more you got to know Silco, the more you got to know his team— the people who work under him, the people who maintain the fickle power balance in the underworld. Sevika has always been more than qualified to be his right hand woman, and as the moments you shared with Silco faded away, you'd always found her as someone you could have easy conversations with.

She was a good looking woman, something you never failed to appreciate. As her full lips curl around your cigarette, you find yourself asking impulsively. 

“Sevika, how come we've never slept together?” 

The cigarette nearly drops from her hand, eyebrows drawn together in surprise. You meet her gaze as you ponder your own question. Why hasn't she ever made a move on you? 

Guaranteed, you might not be her type, but she's made quite a few flirty comments that were too suggestive to pass off as friendly. And while Sevika might be too much of a flirt for her own good, you know she sticks to her words. You've seen the way she is around the brothel workers— charming, sweet— you almost envied them. 

“The cold got to your head or something?” 

You scrunch your nose, “it's a bit much tonight, but I'm serious. Why haven't you fucked me?” She snorts. “Or at least tried to? Am I not pretty enough for you, vika?” 

She leans against the wall next to you, shaking her head in disbelief as she blows smoke. She smiles in amusement, “you're not as smart as you are pretty.” 

You give an offended laugh, “that cannot be your answer.” 

“It can be, when you ask such a stupid, obvious question.” 

You watch the wisps of smoke as you rake your head for any reason in her words. She scoffs at the clueless look that doesn't leave your face. 

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” 

You give her a dumb smile, nodding eagerly. 

She sighs, putting the cigarette back to her mouth. “You were off limits the minute he talked to you in that bar, sweet thing.” 

Recognition flickers in your mind, she goes on. 

“Silco is not only a very dangerous man, he's a force to be reckoned with. But he's also very possessive. And I knew, as well as anyone in the lanes did, that once he laid his claim on someone, it was far too late to try and snatch them away.” 

Your mouth moves as if to say something but nothing comes out, the gears are still turning in your head. She looks at you, something akin to remorse on her face. 

“And even though it took the two of you three years to fuck, everyone always knew that you were Silco's to have and keep. I'm sorry princess, the rest of us never stood a chance.” 

Admittedly, you don’t do much talking after. 

You’re almost starstruck by post-coitus Silco, sweat covering pale, tattered skin.  You trace the scars covering his chest closely, committing as much as you can to memory. The silence between you is fragile, a delicately woven web that you feared to trample upon by saying the wrong thing. And even though he’s gentle, loving in his mannerisms, there’s a peculiar feeling stirring in your chest.

He runs you a bath, ever the gentleman, and washes your back with utmost care. Receiving this much affection from someone you’ve been used to holding at arm’s length makes your stomach coil, urging you to put your tongue in his mouth all over again. You fuck in the bathroom, and he makes you come twice more before you make your way back to bed. 

By the time you’re in one of his dress shirts and under the covers again, you’re absolutely spent. The only talking you do is the whispered conversation about what tomorrow brings and whether you should sneak out or allow everyone— including Jinx— to catch sight of you leaving his chambers in the morning. The thought makes you flush with embarrassment, but it is too tempting to completely disregard, the idea of a public relationship with Silco.

You fall asleep before you make a decision, and Silco follows soon after. 

Knowing that this is probably the most, and best, that Silco has slept in years, you don't have the heart to wake him up the next morning. Getting up before him is a feat in itself, and it gives you the chance to get dressed without facing the consequences of last night. You're well aware that both of you are too old for these games, but you're also aware that it's a frail matter, that maybe it's not something you're ready to face quite yet. 

You shove the soiled underwear in your bag and take one final look at the sleeping man before you go. Looking between his closed eyes, you debate planting a kiss on his face before you leave, but decide it's best to let it lie. For now. 

You make your way down the stairs unsteadily, looking down on the  bar as the steps creak underneath your weight. 

The ground floor is strangely serene when it's empty, like any structure that's usually buzzing with noise when it's left behind. Hollow, alluring, countless untold stories. Your mind involuntarily goes back to Vander and you wonder what it was like when both Vander and Silco resided in this building. You realize, with a flash of heat, that the memory of you and Silco in intimate positions just became one of the stories commemorated in this building. 

You wonder what Sevika would say when the news reach her, if they do. You imagine her face contorting into a grimace, shaking her head to get the memory of her boss and his only friend out of her head. Then, you imagine her warning you, telling you that Silco is a dangerous man, and that you must’ve known that before you went to bed with him. But, at the end of it, you imagine the relief on her face when she realizes that Silco finally had someone to take it out on, in ways that aren’t limited to sultry conversations and late night drinks. 

Despite the swirling mix of emotions in your chest, you find yourself smiling on the way out. 

The week that follows is excruciatingly slow. 

 You go to your job, you do your best as a seamstress who’s just trying to make ends meet, and you muffle your groans when you accidentally prick your fingers because the rich red fabric reminds you of the devil himself. You don’t expect to hear from him, so you’re not surprised when he doesn’t even send Sevika with any messages, but you’re admittedly disappointed, even though you try not to be. 

The fact that this is Silco you’re talking about, the man that’s spent his entire life fighting for one thing and one thing only, it grows glaringly obvious every time you wake up alone in your bed with a gnawing feeling in your chest. You didn’t think it would be easy, nothing about Silco is, but you hadn’t expected the silence that would follow to be this loud either.

There’s no wet dreams this time, just silent hope that it will make sense when you see him again.

But you should know by now that it’s never been that simple with Silco. 

It’s the same as it is every week, dark rooms illuminated with neon lights, drinks and shimmer being passed around like water to deprived populations. Sevika is at the pool table with Ran tonight, seemingly more relaxed than the last time you saw her, you’d heard things were going more smoothly this week. Any signs of a rebellion against Silco had disappeared; you had to wonder if the same would happen to you once you made it to his office.

Now that you’re stepping foot into The Last Drop again, you realize that the desperation is turning into anxiety, accentuated by your pulse bounding under your skin. You re-consider the pros of being away from him for a few days and you seriously consider what would happen if you just didn’t show up tonight, something you’ve never thought about in all the years you’ve known each other. 

You had a silent deal of trust, and you couldn’t afford to damage the little bit of stability that you maintained in your relationship right now. 

When you walk by Sevika, she raises a suspicious brow at you. You wonder if the news already got to her. No one saw you leave that night, the bar was a perfect image of quiet stillness. Your mind wanders to Jinx, who came to see you at your shop on Monday, unable to patiently wait for you to show up. Part of you is glad she came to see you, another regrets that you didn’t have an excuse to show up earlier. 

Everyone else fades into oblivion as you approach Silco’s office. You usually don’t knock, a nasty habit that he’s criticized you for endlessly, even though he’s never doing anything particularly interesting when you barge in, always seated at his desk, and always doing paperwork. You wonder if he’s ever planned to have someone over, the sort that you could pay, and your chest burns with an unnamed feeling. Was it too early to lay your claim?

The old door creaks when you push it open, and you’re almost relieved that it reveals an empty office. Silco’s grand chair is turned to the left, a stack of paperwork that you assume is finished is neatly placed in a pile to the right. You step in closer to look at where he left his pen, suddenly fascinated with the intimate details of his work. For a second, you think it’s a shame that you didn’t fuck here instead, but the idea that it’s still possible makes you smile to yourself. 

You choose to sit in his very own chair, having grown tired of the couch and what it entails. You adjust it so it’s facing the desk and peer over at the pile of paperwork, picking up the first paper of the pile to observe his handwriting. The neat curves of the letters never cease to amaze you. How Silco, who grew up as much of a bastard as any of you did, managed to turn into this posh sense of power, you could never fully comprehend it. 

Thinking back on your own past, you wondered if you could’ve ever grown to be like him. Granted, you were missing the best friend-slash-lover’s betrayal, and the strong sense of determination that he had, as well as the decaying glow-in-the-dark eye, but you wondered if Silco could ever turn you into a force to be reckoned with. Then again, anyone who sleeps in his bed, when both his eyes are closed — at least one of them is— is already powerful enough.

You could have reached out and harmed him at any second, slit his throat open, but you didn’t. The reminder that Silco actually trusts you, given his awful track record in terms of trusting people, especially near his neck, makes your heart pound. The image of his bare chest comes to mind, how he’d trusted you to be near his most sensitive spots, it sends sharp heat directly to your lower abdomen. 

“Already replacing me, are you?” 

The bedroom door opens and you nearly jump out of your seat, dropping the paper you were holding. The dirty thoughts that were accumulating in your head dissipate as you watch the paper flutter to the ground, landing close to where Silco stands. He raises a brow in judgement, making no move to grab it. Under the heat of his gaze, the anxiety from earlier melts into something inexplicable, something that you’re used to feeling around him. 

“I could never replace you, Silco.” His name tastes different this time; the idea of having him wrapped around your finger makes the verbal games you play a lot more fun. 

“Good, get out of my seat.” 

You push yourself off the chair, smiling at him. He eyes the paper and looks at you expectantly, you scoff at the silent order. 

“You just want to see me bend over.” 

The sharp smile that graces his lips almost makes you regret being so bold. 

“Don’t I always?” 

You pick up the paper and set it down on the top of the pile, adjusting it to be as you found it. When you turn back to look at him, he’s staring at you knowingly. This gives you a chance to fully drink him in, eyes traveling over his form, pausing at the pants that proved to be an obstacle last time. You find your cheeks heating when he slowly chuckles, and you realize everything is written on your face, as clear as day. 

“Everything alright in the bedroom then?” 

He grunts, moving around the desk to settle in his chair, your eyes follow. “As it usually is, yes.” 

“Well, it can’t have been totally alright if you weren’t in your office when I first came in?” He’s silent, flipping through the pages that you were messing around with, almost like he doesn’t trust you. Impulsively, you go on, “would you happen to have someone in there? A special friend perhaps?” 

The idea of friendship with Silco is a perfectly absurd term. He doesn’t seem to have many friends, and when he does have friends, he seems to fuck them at one point or the other. 

“Does it interest you? My bedroom activities?” He looks up at you over the rim of his precious paperwork, his face unreadable.

You bite your lip subconsciously, “as long as they include me, yes.” 

That seems to be the right answer. He arranges the papers with a satisfied hum and gets up again, making his way over to you with those dangerous long legs. As if you weren’t distracted enough. 

In the middle of his office, you stand face to face with the eye of Zaun. He towers a considerable amount over you, but you realize his power doesn’t lie in his natural stature. It lies in the way he carries himself, in his voice, in the words he uses, and most importantly, in his hands, and those long, rough fingers. You wonder if he misses the feeling of your wet tongue around them, you wonder if he thought about that night as much as you did. 

A moment of silence passes. He isn’t afraid to meet your eyes, you’re curious about something.  

“You haven’t said anything since last Saturday,” feeling bold as ever, you go on, “do you regret it?” 

“Is that what you think?” 

You chew at the inside of your cheek, “I’m not sure what to think, Sil. It’s difficult to read you sometimes.” You laugh, despite yourself, “well, all the time, you’re a difficult man to pin down you know?” 

A ghost of a smile graces his face. Your heart rate picks up.  

“That’s quite true, it’s an advantage when you’re running the lanes, but,” his eyes trail down to your lips, “it’s quite difficult to escape your grasp, dearest.” 

Under his hot gaze, the tension between you coils until the strings holding you back snap completely.

His mouth tastes as sinful as you remember, and his hands are just as firm as they were last time. Kneading at your ass, trailing up your backside to push you closer, every sound that leaves your mouth is efficiently muffled by his own. 

The sight of his tall office chair from the corner of your eyes gives you an idea. You pull back quickly and Silco looks confused, and frankly disgruntled, when you gently push him backwards. You sit him down on his chair and his eye flickers with recognition. You struggle with his belt, again, for a good minute before he settles for helping you once more. Before he has the chance to throw a snide remark your way, your mouth is on his and your legs are on either side of his thighs. 

He only separates from your kiss to trail down your neck and to your chest, sharp teeth against your sensitive skin, making sure to leave a blooming trail in their wake. He unbuttons your top and wastes no time before his hot mouth is on your breasts, his hands pushing against your back to bring you impossibly closer. 

You’d opted for this position to give him as much power as he wanted even when you were on top, but the tingling sensation of his hot mouth over your chest makes your eyes flutter close, momentarily distracting you from your mission. You wonder how many people have suffered at the hands of this same mouth, and how unlucky they were to never experience the pleasure it could bring.  

When he’s done with planting the love bites that you know you’ll admire for days to come, you take the chance to stand up and take off your underwear, thanking the gods above that you chose a skirt, again. 

You might need to buy a lot more skirts after this. 

You nearly wobble over taking the underwear off your leg and Silco reaches over to stabilize you, “slow down, darling, you’re going to hurt yourself.” You plant a wet kiss on his mouth, voice fading into a feral whisper, “I can’t, Sil, I need you now.” 

“You will have me, be patient.” 

He reaches underneath the hem of your skirt, relishing in the light gasp you let out when he draws closer to your inner thigh. Your skin is warm to the touch, and when he grips your thighs to push you in for one more kiss, you let out a frankly embarrassing moan. His fingers slip inside you before you can deter his plans and you nearly collapse onto him, extending an arm to hold onto the chair. 

“Silco.” 

He breathes against your mouth, lips curling into a smirk as his fingers find his way around your sensitive walls. “Always so tight, so ready for me.” 

A strained whine leaves your mouth as his fingers find their way around your cunt once more, the smell of your arousal encompassing this area of the dark, smoky office. You throw your head back as his mouth latches onto your chest once more, giving him easy access to your neck. The view of the green window that decorates the room is becoming a very dear memory to your heart. 

You bring your mouth to his once more when you feel the high of the moment approaching, allowing his mouth to contain all your pleas and soft moans as your eyelids droop heavy. You can’t bring yourself to completely close them, not when the sight of his glowing fiery eye stares back at you. For a moment, when you're falling apart on his fingers, it looks like a bright star in the middle of the dark night sky. You wonder if that says anything about your relationship.

He keeps a firm arm around your waist as you come down from your peak, allowing you to grab onto him for those few precious moments, his arms taut underneath your grip. 

Eagerly, you reach down between the two of you to ease his cock out. He doesn't move to stop you, eyes fixed on your face. You wonder if your lips are as swollen as they feel, if your bare marked chest is to his liking, you hope he enjoys the show. 

You're so wet you don't struggle to push his cock into you. 

The feeling is as electrifying as you'd remembered it to be. He stretches you out nicely, but it doesn't hurt. It feels right, like you were always meant to find each other and fuse at the hips. It’s the most full you’ve ever been.

You ease yourself into it, allowing your body to get used to him once again, biting down on your lip to stifle your sighs. His fingers rest on your shoulder, subtly digging into your skin when you move down to take him further. Once he's fully in and you're struggling not to groan at the fullness in your lower abdomen, the fingers trail up to your neck, wrapping around it in a firm grip.  

He shifts his hips and the quiet act you're trying to put on immediately falls apart. You let out a few soft sighs as he guides you to grind over his throbbing cock. Your back arches as you push yourself into him, chasing the delicious friction that takes place every time you come in contact. 

The sensual pace eventually picks up and his grip around your neck is more firm, more demanding. The cool air of the office hits your bare bouncing tits and the sensation almost drives you crazy. Every time he grinds you onto him, electricity shoots through your entire body. You try to memorize this feeling again, burn it into your memory, eager to collect all the dirty sensual memories you can get out of this man. 

Your pleasured sighs are only ever interrupted by soft moans of his name, something you can tell he thoroughly enjoys because his grip around your neck tightens. Your hands grip onto his shoulder, occasionally wandering down to his clothed chest. You desperately wish you could have him fully naked again, pale skin exposed for you to leave your mark as he does on you, but you hesitate to tread such murky waters again.  

You'd have him in any way he offers. 

Although he's fairly quiet this time, you drink up every quiet groan like a poached man in the desert. His eyes are on your face the entire time, only occasionally wandering to your tits and the great canvas he crafted over them. You wonder if he prefers ass or tits, and you wonder if he would like to cum on either of them sometime soon. 

The hand around your throat shifts to the back of your neck, pushing you forward. Your hips stutter helplessly when he re-positions himself so his cock reaches a new angle inside you. Your skin is on fire, the sensation of his callused fingers gripping your hips sure to leave another bruise. There’s a sense of pride swelling inside your chest at knowing that Silco loves marking what's his. 

Ever the experienced man, Silco reads your body like an open book and reaches between the two of you to rub your clit, deliciously amplifying the pleasure coursing through your veins. The relief is sharp, accelerating the building high that you're chasing. When you fall apart this time, the hand behind your neck forces you to look into his eyes. Your brows are furrowed, your mouth wide open, you watch your face reflecting in his eyes. 

For a man with so much power, you get the feeling that he doesn't get to watch people like this often. 

You gasp out his name as you come, your voice becoming the only palpable energy in these confined walls. Inside Silco's office, he takes his dear friend in his very own, important businessman chair. You want to desperately scrunch your eyes closed under the force of the pleasure you're feeling, but the look you're witnessing in his eyes makes you want to never close your eyes again. 

You collapse into him after, not having the chance to wonder if that's okay before both his arms encircle your waist. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hair messed up and lipstick smudged, feeling a sense of confidence grow in you. This time, you don't wonder what your relationship is, or what's allowed and what's crossing the line. This time, as you stare into your dazed reflection in the emerald office window, the hand running up and down your back is the silent permission to take it all, to step over every possible line you could cross. 

This time, you know Silco is yours. 

You find yourself shopping for more and more risqué choices after that. Shorter skirts, red and black lingerie sets, perfumes that could make your skin more irresistible. The desire to put it all on the line for Silco is ever-growing, and you find yourself fantasizing about Saturday night the whole week. You even come up with a list of positions you'd like him to put you in. 

That week, you tackle the mirror dream. You start by getting on your knees in his office, something he has a hard time rejecting. And although you've had your fair share of experiences giving blowjobs, sucking Silco off until he's forced to be more vocal about his pleasure is probably the best you've ever had. 

He takes you against the mirror at first, bare tits pressing up against the cold glass. The feeling is heavenly for your hard nipples, sending shivers all over your body. Your hands grip onto the frame as best as you can without breaking it, your ass is angled over the vanity table towards him. His hands are on you again, like he'll die if he can't keep them there. 

This time, you're stripped entirely naked. The clothes you'd put on especially for him in a messy pile on his office floor. It's scandalous to think about someone walking in and finding them, but it excites you to no end. You're moaning before Silco puts it in. 

Face planted against his mirror, you look over your shoulder, admiring the loosened top around his neck. He'd let you have a sliver of skin this time, allowing you to undo his tie and pull his shirt open. 

His cock is inside you once more, rubbing against your sensitive walls. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he fucks into you, it's even better than the dream could've foretold. His hands find comfort gripping your hips when he isn’t holding onto the vanity, and a part of you wants to reach out and hold them again.

He fucks any coherent thoughts out of your brain. And when you're close, he pulls you back from the mirror and closer to his clothed body. This time, when you look in the mirror, he doesn't look back. He's too busy burying his nose in your neck, inhaling the scent of jasmine that you purposefully sprayed in his favorite spots. The damaged eye stays open, but both his eyes are irreversibly fixed on you. 

This time, when you come, the declaration of love is on the tip of your tongue. 

The days in your apartment blur into one duration of time where you have to take care of yourself on your own. There's a sultry tone always playing on your vinyl player, an old gift from Silco to ‘enjoy quality music’, and you're always staring up at the ceiling, recounting how his hands felt when they were on you. 

It often ends with your hand between your legs, chest heaving as you imagine all the things you’re going to do the next time you have your hands on him.

You can't help but think of him every time you're naked. The way his eyes look when you're so close to orgasming, the sounds he tries to keep in when you suck him off, and most importantly, the bruises he leaves on your body. The sharp teeth that have explored every inch of skin your body has to offer. You almost wish that you could grow a new layer to offer it up to him, something new to be explored. 

The thought stops you one day when you're finishing up a suit for an important customer. Most likely from Piltover, but you wouldn't know, they always send their servants for them. When you're sewing the delicate buttons onto the black fabric, the thought strikes you so sharply that you prick your own fingers, again. 

The blood is gushing out of your fingers before you realize what you've done, and you bring it to your mouth, brows furrowed in pain, but it doesn't distract from the idea swirling in your mind. 

Silco could desire someone new. 

He could get bored of you, and your body that he's explored over and over again every week. You've offered yourself up to him so desperately that you failed to think that maybe, just maybe, he would grow tired of what you have to offer. 

It's just like marriage, you have sex with the same person over and over. And it's not supposed to get boring, at least you don't think it is, because you love each other. But this isn't marriage, and you've never called it love— at least not out loud, at least not in front of him. 

You put down your needle and you find yourself an empty seat that's not crowded by fabric or tools. It's dark outside, as it always is in Zaun, and it's only Monday. When you last saw Silco, it was his face buried in your neck as he fucked you over his desk. You remember the feeling of the wood under your fingers, and you remember the bruised lips that called out his name like a prayer. 

The other seamstresses are not around. Your chest coils with some awful, dangerous feeling every time you think about Silco and what he might feel about you now. Does he think about you at all? Does he look at his office and remember everything you've done together? 

Or is it easy to push you to the back of his mind? Just a body to pass the time.

You lock the front door to the shop, flipping the open sign around. You make your way to the full-length mirror in the back and strip down to your undergarments. The mirror shows you the recent marks of your latest love affair, you almost needed to reassure yourself that they were still there. You turn, observing your sides and your behind. 

Could Silco get bored of this? 

The bitter realization that you don't know the definite answer floods your senses. Suddenly, it's a lot harder to breathe in this small backroom. 

You linger outside the Last Drop. You don’t find a cigarette in your hands often these days, but this particular week calls for the occasion. 

The bouncers eye you suspiciously, you assume they're as confused about your hesitance as anyone else on his team would be. Usually, you'd be in his office, completely naked by now. They don't know the last part for sure, but everyone suspects it. Silco’s little fuck buddy. 

You're blowing smoke and pulling your jacket tighter around yourself when someone familiar walks through the double doors.

“A bit cold for you out here, isn't it, doll?” 

Sevika's familiar figure is a welcome distraction from the fuckery going on in your head. You give her a big smile as you offer the rest of your cigarette. The more you got to know Silco, the more you got to know his team— the people who work under him, the people who maintain the fickle power balance in the underworld. Sevika has always been more than qualified to be his right hand woman, and as the moments you shared with Silco faded away, you'd always found her as someone you could have easy conversations with.

She was a good looking woman, something you never failed to appreciate. As her full lips curl around your cigarette, you find yourself asking impulsively. 

“Sevika, how come we've never slept together?” 

The cigarette nearly drops from her hand, eyebrows drawn together in surprise. You meet her gaze as you ponder your own question. Why hasn't she ever made a move on you? 

Guaranteed, you might not be her type, but she's made quite a few flirty comments that were too suggestive to pass off as friendly. And while Sevika might be too much of a flirt for her own good, you know she sticks to her words. You've seen the way she is around the brothel workers— charming, sweet— you almost envied them. 

“The cold got to your head or something?” 

Your scrunch your nose, “it's a bit much tonight, but I'm serious. Why haven't you fucked me?” She snorts. “Or at least tried to? Am I not pretty enough for you, vika?” 

She leans against the wall next to you, shaking her head in disbelief as she blows smoke. She smiles in amusement, “you're not as smart as you are pretty.” 

You give an offended laugh, “that cannot be your answer.” 

“It can be, when you ask such a stupid, obvious question.” 

You watch the wisps of smoke as you rake your head for any reason in her words. She scoffs at the clueless look that doesn't leave your face. 

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” 

You give her a dumb smile, nodding eagerly. 

She sighs, putting the cigarette back to her mouth. “You were off limits the minute he talked to you in that bar, sweet thing.” 

Recognition flickers in your mind, she goes on. 

“Silco is not only a very dangerous man, he's a force to be reckoned with. But he's also very possessive. And I knew, as well as anyone in the lanes did, that once he laid his claim on someone, it was far too late to try and snatch them away.” 

Your mouth moves as if to say something but nothing comes out, the gears are still turning in your head. She looks at you, something akin to remorse on her face. 

“And even though it took the two of you three years to fuck, everyone always knew that you were Silco's to have and keep. I'm sorry princess, the rest of us never stood a chance.”