[In a different time, a different situation, maybe even a different setting, Silco could understand that neither of them had seen each other at their worst. There had been a rare sense of domestic behaviour with small incidences of them acting out, but the full measure of what they were capable of? Verbal hints were one thing, but seeing one another in action was quite another. Perhaps their time in the sun was on the horizon....
He tasted leather on his teeth, wishing he had taken the tip of it right off with his efforts; however, he was rewarded with the grunt from the younger man. He jerked both his hands forward to slide the silk up and down the limited space, but his thrashing had forced some of it back out of the chair. Soon it would be his and he'd force his freedom, just as he had with him.
Yet he froze stiff and tight when Richard's hand closed on his throat again. It may not be cutting off his oxygen supply, but he was taken out of the moment again almost immediately. "I'll do what Vander couldn't!" echoed through mind, his thoughts shifting from defiance to the need to escape. His fingers twisted in the fabric, fingers snapping towards the hilt of the blade, groping at it fruitlessly as his eyes opened wide and he swore he tasted water, felt it flooding to his nose and mouth and despite the grip not being the same - one hand not two - Silco fought as if he was back then, in the Pilt, in the Tower.
He said nothing to the question, breathing hard and fast again as he bucked and focused everything that he had to seize the knife, to free his hands, to chase away his death. He began to thrash his head as if that would loosen the hold, fingers brushing on the knife hilt several times but his actions lost focus as he pawed at it instead of jerking it free as he might have been able to .]
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branchandroot
cw: ptsd induced panic attack
Date: 2025-01-05 01:31 am (UTC)He tasted leather on his teeth, wishing he had taken the tip of it right off with his efforts; however, he was rewarded with the grunt from the younger man. He jerked both his hands forward to slide the silk up and down the limited space, but his thrashing had forced some of it back out of the chair. Soon it would be his and he'd force his freedom, just as he had with him.
Yet he froze stiff and tight when Richard's hand closed on his throat again. It may not be cutting off his oxygen supply, but he was taken out of the moment again almost immediately. "I'll do what Vander couldn't!" echoed through mind, his thoughts shifting from defiance to the need to escape. His fingers twisted in the fabric, fingers snapping towards the hilt of the blade, groping at it fruitlessly as his eyes opened wide and he swore he tasted water, felt it flooding to his nose and mouth and despite the grip not being the same - one hand not two - Silco fought as if he was back then, in the Pilt, in the Tower.
He said nothing to the question, breathing hard and fast again as he bucked and focused everything that he had to seize the knife, to free his hands, to chase away his death. He began to thrash his head as if that would loosen the hold, fingers brushing on the knife hilt several times but his actions lost focus as he pawed at it instead of jerking it free as he might have been able to .]