#virkerry

“Shit, Kerry,” Virgil cried, incapable of holding himself still. His body tried to flinch away, but his cock disagreed with the instinct; he was leaking desperately, his briefs surely in a sorry state and his slacks likely soon to follow. “I’m—too much—need a second—”

“Always so fuckin’ easy,” Kerry crooned, but he didn’t seem any less affected. His pupils were blown wide, bulge straining at the front of his tight pants. “Could get inside you, but fuck, I wanna fuck up this fancy suit. Already wreckin’ it, aren’t you?”

“You’re one to talk.” Virgil pushed his knee up between Kerry’s legs. “You’re just as gone for me. Always have been.”

Kerry smiled down at him, stroking his chin with an affection that he could never hide, even in their roughest encounters. “Guilty as charged. You gonna put out a hit on me or somethin’?”

“If anyone raised a hand against you, I’d cut their heart out.”

“So sexy when you’re violent. Shit.” Kerry licked his lips and pressed his hands to Virgil’s chest, playing with pierced nipples through his fine bio-cotton shirt. “Keep goin’.”

Amusing, that Kerry got off on the nature of his profession, when brutal acts of harm were never his style. He was a netrunner, an assassin, a sneaky cyber-thief who avoided picking fights at all costs. He kept his cool at a distance, but he ate shit in hand-to-hand range. The knives he carried were only meant to be thrown, not to slit any throats.

But he’d play along regardless. “I’d start with fingers, one by one, and I wouldn’t stop when they beg for mercy. Can’t have anything they can use to hurt you.” Virgil arched his back into Kerry’s touch, holding his fiery gaze. “Cut their tongue out, too, for good measure. Anyone who less than worships you doesn’t deserve to speak.”

Kerry groaned, groping at Virgil’s inner thigh. “Fuck, babe.”

“And I’ll have to remind them that I belong to you, that I’m the knife in your hand. Make sure they can never forget it. Carve your name into their flesh, so they know never to so much as think about threatening you again.”

Kerry’s wandering hand reached for his calf, the holster under his slacks, and the other yanked his shirt to the side to expose the meat below his collarbone. “Like the sound of that,” Kerry murmured, low and thick with lust. “Could leave my autograph on you, too. Ain’t gonna let you stop thinkin’ about me anytime soon, anyhow, but seein’ it every time you look in the mirror… fuck.” Whether it was the coke or his cock spurring him on more, Virgil couldn’t tell, but Kerry raised the double-edged blade to his chest with an almost feral fervor.

With his reflexes dulled, Virgil barely caught Kerry’s wrist before it made contact. “Kerry, wait.”

“Yeah?” Kerry blinked, a moment of not-quite-sobriety.

Virgil took the knife from his hand and slid it across the floor, out of reach. Then, he bent down, toward his other calf, and took out a different knife. Serrated, for the most part, but not all the way to the point. It’d do.

He held it out to Kerry by the blade. “This one won’t inject neurotoxins into my bloodstream.”