#Jilco #Jinco
It started as a game: it all starts like this, doesn't it?
Even the destruction of Piltover, after all.
It had started by infecting small, apparently harmless things: an exchange of roles that had made them no more daughter and father.
Silco had hidden her marks under long-sleeved shirts, black trousers: Jinx wore deeper wounds on her skin and only her eyes threatened to betray their little game.
Anxious. Restless. Excited.
Pain is a dimension they are used to; it's part of their nature and they come back to it every time.
They don’t fear it, they don’t avoid it: they accept it - because every birth is impregnated with blood and black.
Jinx is naked on top of him - wet between her legs and obscenely glistering with arousal.
She barely touches the curve of the leather, the metal hook - pulls, and Silco arches back, reddish lines that are brand in the skin of his wrists.
Jinx leans towards him, brushes his lips in a half-hearted kiss.
“Let’s play a game, daddy.” she murmurs and bites him on his neck, around his nipple - marks, and makes him hers.
Between his thighs Silco is painfully hard.
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