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The knife was pressed against the assassin's throat but Chrollo knew already that this fight would have no winner.
Silva grunted against the blade, the metal not even remotely sharp enough to penetrate his skin but still enough to cause him trouble breathing. His own massive hand was posed on Chrollo’s bared ribcage, threatening to crush his chest at the slightest provocation. He was bleeding profusely from a wound in his thigh and there was little to be done in their current position.
Chrollo gasped for breath and tried to find support on something other than Silva’s chest. Both hands were full, one with the knife and the other the book, and he relied on his body to pin the larger man to the wall. “So, you ready to give up? There’s still plenty of time for you to surrender gracefully.” His grip slipped a little on the knife handle and his skin prickled in the drafty warehouse. Half of his shirt was missing and the sweat chilled despite the heat pouring off Silva’s broad frame.
“The only thing you should be expecting is death, Spider,” Silva bit, heedless of the knife beginning to dent his skin. His fingers dug into Chrollo’s ribs and it was only the strength of his nen that kept the bones from shattering. “Just like your subordinate. You’ll be joining her soon.”
If it struck a nerve, Chrollo refused to show it. Instead he pressed his weight into the knife and smirked as Silva fought for air as discreetly as he could. The hand burned against his ribs and blood flecked his lips. His underling’s blood. His jaw clenched and the bloodlust thrumming beneath his skin flooded his vision red.
They went down in a bloody rush, knife snicking and snacking against the monster’s iron hide. Crushing hands and thick thighs fought to snap limbs like twigs. It was painful, graceless, and angry; for Chrollo there was an element of blood-soaked loss. Skin split under ruthless assault and they rolled across the warehouse floor.
It happened faster than the normal eye could follow, but with a deft movement Silva had Chrollo on his back, both hands pinned above his head. The knife refused to leave bloody fingers and the book remained open, but Silva paid them no mind.
“What now? You can’t kill me,” Chrollo sneered, struggling beneath the giant of a man. “You’re just as beaten and broken as me and I’m not going to just let you win.”
Silva tightened his grip and pinned Chrollo down with his body. He ignored how they were both reacting to the fight, the proximity. “I will not yield and I always do my job.” His voice rumbled down into Chrollo’s pierced ear and it only had him wriggling more.
“Do you now?” Chrollo purred with abject venom, grinding himself up into the body above him. Something shifted in the air, xomething imperceptible but heavy. Chrollo grinned up at the assassin bleeding on him and raised his thigh to ground into the growing hardness. “Is this part of your assassination method? Are you getting paid for this too?” His voice was still clear, jarring compared to the damage shared between them.
Silva growled, eyes so painfully sharp that they nearly drew blood. “Shut the hell up.” His tone was acidic, burned like fire, and despite it all he still pressed harder into the thigh below. With the force of a car crash, Silva slammed Chrollo’s hands into the cement below. “Let them go or this ends.”
Chrollo’s laughter fell like glass. “And leave myself defenseless to your wiles? Now that hardly seems fair,” he cajoled. A quick flick of his fingers and the book closed, disappearing. The knife remained. “How about this? Do you feel safer now?”
Another frown, almost a grimace really, tore across the man's face and it must have been enough. Chrollo’s thigh was kicked aside and their hips met in a brutal grind. They shared a groan, Chrollo feeling their air mixing and heating up with their aura. His hands were trapped under one massive palm and forced into the ground hard enough for the bones in his wrists to creak. The other found itself back on his waist, fingers tugging at the tattered cotton still holding onto his decency.
They didn’t last long under Silva’s impatient hand. The smile on Chrollo’s face refused to dim and it made Silva’s ministrations all the faster. He flexed against the grip pinning him like a butterfly to tack board and let Silva feel how much he was holding back, how he was merely allowing it. They were both exposed now, flushed and reddened in the chilled air and Chrollo tossed his head back when they finally met sans clothing.
“Should’ve done this from the beginning, probably would’ve given you better results,” Chrollo gasped, the large hand enveloping them both and dragging so deliciously it nearly stung.
“Shut. Up.” Silva spat each word between his strokes before abandoning it altogether. His hand instead went to Chrollo’s thigh, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise, even through the nen. “I’ll make you regret putting up such a fight.”
Chrollo’s hips were lifted, his legs spread wide on either side of Silva’s thick waist. If anything the change in position had Chrollo all the more entertained. “Oh, are you going to fuck me? Didn’t I hear something about the Zoldyck family, all your children? Tell me, is Illumi much younger than me?” The jabs flowed from his lips unbidden and he arched into the firm body holding him down, anger, bloodlust, and loss fueling everything pouring out of him.
Silva snarled at that, his mouth coming down to bite at Chrollo’s lips. It was far too rough to ever be considered a kiss. Teeth and tongue and lips mauled the trapped man’s mouth and stole the breath from his lungs, silencing him by force.
“If you want preparation, do it yourself.” A single hand was freed from above his head slowly. Silva’s free one came down heavy on Chrollo’s throat, a silent threat to not try anything.
Chrollo laughed and brought his fingers to his mouth, twirling his tongue along the digits. He played it up, watching delighted as Silva swallowed heavily at the wanton display. A moan was thrown in, just to make it better.
When Silva’s eye began to twitch, from impatience or lust he couldn’t tell, Chrollo finally pulled his fingers from his lips with a wet pop and traced them down his body. When he finally began to stretch himself, he could physically feel Silva shudder above him. His powerful thighs clenched beneath him and the hands painting bruises into his skin tightened with his disgusted want.
He made it a show. Arching into the chest above him, moaning loudly, pressing himself into the hand over his throat to make his vision spot black: Chrollo reduced himself to a hot, whorish mess that had Silva sweating.
Three fingers, less than ten minutes, proved to be Silva’s limit. He squeezed down on Chrollo’s throat and Chrollo got the message, retracting his fingers and putting his hand back above his head. For that he was rewarded with another painful, bloody kiss.
When Silva began to penetrate him, Chrollo realized that three fingers and saliva were hardly enough to make this situation safe. It was a good thing Chrollo never liked to live his life safely. Silva groaned as he buried himself inch by inch, splitting Chrollo nearly in two. It was fast, the pace not taking into account Chrollo adjusting.
It was perfect.
Chrollo gripped Silva with his legs and impaled himself in one smooth movement, causing them both to bite back their groans. “Come…come on and fuck me like you mean it,” Chrollo spat, tears prickling in his eyes. He choked on his words as Silva ground into him, twisting his hips as he thrust in and out. The rhythm built a crescendo in time to their heart beats.
Silva grunted with each thrust and his grip on his wrists turned bone-breaking. His hair curtained around them in some twisted form of pseudo-intimacy. He fucked with his entire body and graciously let Chrollo muffle his noises into his mouth. Everything tasted like blood and shades of rage.
Pulling a hand down between them, Silva began to stroke Chrollo’s cock in tandem. His angle was off, his grip just a hair too tight, but it was enough to send Chrollo keening into the kiss. He flexed his fingers and wished he could touch, claw, rip the assassin into pieces. He wasn’t sure when his knife has disappeared, but it didn’t lessen the grip holding him immobile.
It was all too soon when Silva's movements began to stutter, his thrust becoming jerky and syncopated. His hand sped up on Chrollo’s cock and had the man beneath him gasping, crying out. Another minute and he had Chrollo coming to pieces under his hands. He came with a broken cry, a few tears, and a fiercely victorious smile slashing across his lips like shattered glass. Silva followed with a low growl, his aura pulsing and shrouding them both. It was thick like amber and for a moment Chrollo was drowning.
They gasped for the air in each other’s lungs and took a moment to recover. It was the most intimate they had been the entire encounter. Silva’s hair shone in the dim light and Chrollo was lost in the shimmer. He was brought back roughly when Silva pulled out gracelessly and stared down at him with renewed scrutiny.
Chrollo realized that his book was gone. His knife as well. The assassin had him on his back, bloody and sore and half out of his mind still.
He wouldn’t blame him for taking the opportunity.
Instead Silva frowned, releasing his hands slowly. He let his fingers trace down the slender wrists, the marked arms, tousle the ebony hair. Wipe away an errant tear.
Chrollo held his breath and licked his abused lips.
“You gonna do it?”
Silva’s frown softened into something indefinable and he held his gaze.
“What’s your name, Spider?” he asked, eyes tracking every single move Chrollo made for any indication that he was about to attack. He wasn’t.
Chrollo stared up through his eyelashes and smiled, the first smile lacking any sort of malice or vitriol. This man was powerful. He was bound to kill his spider. It happened. It wouldn't happen again.
“Chrollo Lucilfer. Pleasure to meet you.”