Chapter Text
Silva's calculating gaze fell upon the prone, tied up James Bond. He took in the dark bags that lay under the agent's eyes and his overall disheveled appearance. He looked exhausted, but not just physically. James' eyes lacked their usual fire and smoldering gaze. They appeared distant and weary.
"You see what she's done to you?" Silva spoke to James as he peered at the spot of disfigured flesh upon James' chest and general state of self. The agent's eyes lifted to stare at Silva's and quirked his lip as an empty amusement filled his gaze.
"Well, she never tied me to a chair," Bond said suggestively. Leave it to James to hide behind an crass innuendo, Silva thought. He could tell when people were hiding things or trying to wear a mask around him. He was nothing if not perceptive.
"Her loss". Like Bond, Silva replied with a vague, suggesting remark.
Removing his hands from James' body, Silva sat back in his chair and regarded the agent. He could always see through the masks of others. And right now, he would confront the mask of the man in front of him.
"You look tired, James." Silva's clicked his tongue and shook his head. "No, you look exhausted. Why is that?" Once again with an infuriated lip-quirk, James replied.
"I was a little busy last night," James replied with what could have been a wink. Silva rolled his eyes and looked back at James.
"No, I don't believe that's the reason, James. You are not this run-down from a romp with Severine." Silva's voice drew tight at the mention of the woman. "No, I think you are exhausted due to an entirely different reason." The double-O agent quirked his head and smirked at Silva.
"And what reason would that be," James asked amused. Silva took in the agent's demeanor and slid closer to look seriously in his eyes.
The silence was resounding.
"You're deprived," was Silva's answer. James just snorted and averted his eyes. Silva tilted his head and leaned closer. "When was the last time someone took you down?"
The words effect was immediate. James stiffened and his eyes hardened. Silva smirked as he witnessed the agent's defensive position. "Ah, I see."
Jame's retort was immediate.
"I don't know what your-."
"But you do, James. You do. It's a simple question." Silva placed his palms flat on Jame's thighs and smoothed them up and down. Bond let out an involuntary shiver and briefly closed his eyes. For a split second, Silva's eyes caught the momentary relaxation come across the agent. "You didn't feel anything last night with that tart. Nothing." Bond showed no signs of hearing Silva, only seeming to be caught up in the rapture of the ex-agent's touch. "If you won't tell me when, I'll just have to guess." Silva took in a breathe and observed the agent. "It's been a while, as such is evident from my touch. Guessing by your depleted state, your last time was a good time ago. Before you were shot. The "Bloody Shot" as M likes to call it. It is obvious by just looking at you that you are in desperate need to be taken down. And I just happen to be desperate to do it." Bond's eyes snapped open and glared at Silva. Silva returned it with a pitying look. "She hurt you so bad, and no one was there for you afterwords." This finally brought forth some reaction from Bond.
"I don't need-."
"Yes, you do James. Do not deny this part of yourself," Silva sighed and continued rubbing down the agent's legs. "Who usually takes you down, James. Huh? Who has been granted the privileged of being the only one to see your true, unguarded self." Silva's hand glided higher when no answer came forth. Just centimeters away from Jame's groin, protest came from the man.
"Stop," James panted.
"Then tell me, James. I am only curious," Silva spoke silkily. "There is no reason to deny your need for it." He saw the resignation in the man's eyes the moment it appeared. Shoulders hunched forward and a strained voice answered.
"Mallory." Silva rewarded James and continued to rub down his thighs, adding pressure here and there to resemble a massage.
"Good boy, James. See, that wasn't hard." Silva's tone was genuine, not patronizing. "Why him, may I ask?" He could see James calculating an answer in his head.
"He was convenient," James answered. Silva nodded his head understandingly and James narrowed his eyes at the gesture.
"A fellow agent, yes. I can see how your... occupation could pose difficulties with finding aid in this situation." James gritted his teeth in anger. Silva took his eyes off of James' face and focused them on his rubbing hands. "You see James, I completely understand the reason for your need. You recall that I used to be in your position, yes? I understand the strain and wear that a job under the Empire entails. There were times when it became too much for me as well. And I sought help. There is nothing wrong with needing help, James." Silva's hand came to rest on James' cheek, thumb rubbing circles along the tender skin.
"I do not require aid, Silva," James spat the last word as if it were poison. Silva's grip became more pressuring.
"No?" Silva questioned. He surveyed James' body one last time and retreated back to his face. "I would give you, two, maybe three days until this strain became too much and you did something drastic. You can't go running back to Mallory, can you James? His methods are mildly effective, yet predictable and you no longer gain the results you need from him. Am I wrong?" James became infuriated at Silva's deductions. He clenched his eyes and hands behind the seat and started to breath erratic breathes. "No, you need something else." He lifted his other hand from James' thigh and brought it to cup his other cheek, resting both hand upon the agent's face. Silva brought his face closer to James', so close that their breathes mingled through barely touching lips. Silva spoke into the minuscule gap between their lips.
"There is only one question that halts this," Silva whispered. When James looked into his eyes, Silva asked: "Am I worthy enough?" And with that, Silva brought his lips down upon the agents with firm yet tender urgency. At first, James fought against the hold and affection, attempting to twist his face away from Silva's onslaught. Silva responded with a nip to a soft lip which resulted in a jump from the constrained double-O.
James tried to appear non-responsive, choosing to not move his lips at all while Silva continued the kiss. Silva nipped him again and left James' mouth.
"Is something wrong, James? Am I not doing this right?" Silva moved his lips down to the agent's neck and proceeded to kiss and suck the expanse of skin at his mercy. He traveled up and down the column of beautiful neck until he reached a place which brought him result. When Silva suckled the area right below his right ear, James lost a piece of his composure in a small moan. The ex-agent noticed the reaction and brought his lips down on that spot with ferocity, nipping and sucking with intensity unlike anything before. James couldn't stop the moans from behind clenched lips. The agent squirmed against the seat he was confined to, subsequently pushing him towards Silva's warm body. It wasn't until James opened his mouth and let out a small moan that Silva released the abused skin and leaned back to admire his work. There, where his mouth had been, lay a perfect patch of red, elevated skin, courtesy of Raoul Silva.
"Beautiful, isn't it James?" Silva spoke reverently, peeling his eyes away from his work long enough to take in the flushed face of the double-O. His eyes appeared partially glazed over and unfocused. The first step into the descent. This needed descent. Seeing his opportunity in the laxed agent, Silva once again brought his lips down upon the other man's, relishing in the small movement of reciprocation. Silva gripped the back of Jame's head and used it to guide and massage the man's skull. The ex-agent gently prodded the seam of the double-O's mouth with his tongue, releasing a moan himself when he was granted entrance. James responded as any submissive would, with small, tentative returns of tongues and lips. He let Silva lead, not that the man was giving him much of a choice in the matter. Silva pulled back once again to admire James' face. The agent was breathing heavily and deeply due to Silva's ministrations. His normal, rigid stance seemed somewhat relaxed from Silva's kisses. Silva brought up his hand to card through James' hair, relishing in the moans that he received. Scraping his fingernails lightly upon his scalp brought the most delicious sound from James' mouth. Almost like a purr.
"Oh James," Silva whispered. "You're so perfect." Silva associated the ease in which this agent was falling due to the length of time since the previous engagement and the trauma and pain of recent events. "You're in such pain, I know it James." A little piece of Silva felt broken when he saw James shake a little at these words, as if holding back the tears of the trauma. Silva continued to caress James' hair and face with his hands, speaking to him in slow, soothing tones. Silva spoke when he saw James' eyes glass over even more with the true descent. "That's a good boy, James. Such a good boy." James keened lowly at the words and Silva repeated them. "You're a good boy. You can fall, I will catch you. You can fall and I'll be right here with open arms." To accentuate his point, Silva reached around to undo the cuffs holding James in place. The agent moved them slowly around to his front, groggily grabbing the lapels of Silva's jacket in his hands and burying his face in the material of the man's chest. Silva immediately brought his arms to engulf the body of the shaking man. "Shh, James, I'm right here." Silva held tight to the agent. "It's okay, let go. I'm right here. I won't leave you, I promise. That's it, let go. Good boy, James."
Finally, the tears came. Gut-wrenching and body-shaking tears that tore at Silva's heart. The ex-agent saw red at the Empire for causing James this pain. He held the sobbing man firmly in his arm, semi-rocking him back and forth. James had fallen. Hard and fast. And Silva was prepared for everything.
Everything except the bursting open of his doors and the intrusion of MI6. Everything but that. Silva screamed at the men as they wretched James from his arms, ignoring the pitying noises coming from the agent's mouth.
"Stop! You can't take him away. You don't understand what that will do to him!" Silva screamed at the top of his lungs for the men to release him. His eyes scanned for James' and when they met, Silva felt like crying himself. The double-O's eyes were red and glossy, leaking turrets of tears down his face, pleading with Silva's to return to him and hold him again. He was too deep down into sub-space to articulate words, but his eyes screamed at Silva to save him, to rescue him and hold him like he promised. James fought as much as his weak body could against the hold of another agent. An agent that Silva later recognized as Mallory. Mallory was speaking into James' ear and leading him away, going as far as to pick up the distressed agent up into his arms.
"It's going to be okay, 007. I've got you," Mallory spoke in comforting tones. But James' eyes never left Silva's as he was taken away from the blonde man's presence. Silva fought to buckle two agents off of him, but failed as they took advantage of his distracted state and cuffed him on the floor. He screamed at James, for James in the last seconds that he had before they took the agent from the room he was in.
"James! It'll be okay. It's okay, I promise. I'll come for you, I promise," Silva screamed at the top of his lungs at the retreating figure of Gareth Mallory's back, who was carrying the most precious cargo in the world. The moment they walked James out the door, Silva dropped his head to the ground and gave up against his holders, surrendering to the tears that now flooded his eyes.