Chapter Text
When you wake for the sixth time that night clawing at your sweat damp skin and repeating the word “dirty” over and over, you know it’s time to do something about it. Your eyes sting with memories and pain. The overlapping, vicious red lines from your nails underneath your tank top hammer the message home.
The darkness of your bedroom is not welcoming as you breathe, and breathe, and breathe, your head in your hands. It feels hostile as the echo of the nightmare fades and your blood pressure settles. Your stomach churns with nausea and you press your fingers to your lips, trying to fight the urge to throw up. Phantom hands repeatedly scrape over your body until the violating touch is no more than a whisper as reality sinks in.
Ever since your attack in the Vagrant Zone eight months ago, recurring nightmares and themes have haunted you during the night hours. While your bruises have faded and lacerations have scarred, your mind refuses to heal. Sleep is no longer peaceful, but a battle ground. At this point, you’re on the defensive with no way to breach the vanguard of trauma. You can’t get the memories out of your head when the sunlight fades and it’s eating away at your very soul. You’ve lost weight and your reflexes exist on a hair trigger. Deep bags line your eyes. You pretend to be fine and do your job at the same caliber as before, but the mask is weighing on you in a way that suffocates rather than protects. Despite it not happening every night anymore, it still takes from you.
Everyone in your life notices. Tara stares at you with this sad, helpless look that tightens your throat. When she tries to offer physical comfort, you never take her up on it.
Zayne harps on you through text and at your checkups, trying to corral you into treatment you refuse to get. The vulnerability of opening up to a therapist, or even him - someone you’ve known since childhood - is too much.
Rafael texts you almost everyday to meet up with him and engage with the world outside of work and your apartment. Social settings are unspeakably overwhelming, stealing your ability to feel safe.
Xavier will invite you over to have dinner, but even with your most trusted partner in the field, you retreat. One-on-one attention feels like a death sentence.
The only people that get to see you - the real you - are Sylus, Mephisto, and the twins.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You don’t need to look at the caller ID to know who it is.
“I’m fine,” you whisper when you answer, scrubbing a hand over your face.
Sylus’ firm, smoothe voice responds, “That was a bad one and you know it. Don’t lie to me.”
You glance at the window in your bedroom, spying Mephisto’s red eye peering in through the crack in the drapes you leave for him. He bobs his head when he notices your attention, feathers ruffling.
“All right. It was a bad one. I don’t - I don’t know what to do, Sylus.” You curl in on yourself, knees to your chest.
He softens. “I know, sweetheart. Do you want me to come over?”
Irrational guilt makes your eyes sting. “No, that’s okay.”
“What did we agree to?” he questions, unyielding.
When you don’t immediately respond, he adds, “Say it.”
You swallow, cheeks burning with shame. “To never let guilt and shame make decisions. To identify what I actually want and ask for it. To let us care for each other.”
“That’s right. I will give you the same. Always.” He pauses. “Now, I’ll ask once more, and if your true answer is still no, I’ll trust that. Do you want me to come over?”
You swallow again. “Yes.”
The line clicks as Sylus hangs up. In the span of thirty seconds, he appears in front of you with a whisper of shadowed feathers and red mist. You can tell he’s dressed for business - blazer and slacks and the faint gleam of silver at his throat and knuckles. He doesn’t care about preserving his perfect, untouchable image as he climbs into your bed. You uncurl from your cramped ball of stress and reach for him. He brings you close, his nose in your neck and a strong arm wrapped around your back.
The pressure feels good on your trembling body. Sylus urges you onto your back, dropping a quiet kiss on your throat. Relief steals what little strength you have left. You don’t like to admit to yourself how much you need him, but your body says it for you in the crash and pull of your nerves.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
You tug his face up. You bring your lips together, hungry - like he is life and you are a shade trying to stay corporeal. He responds, meeting you step for step. Noses smush against cheeks and hands dive into hair, holding tight. Heat tingles through your core and you push for more. Always more.
Sylus slows you down like usual. It’s partially out of his own desire. You’ve learned he likes to take things slow, to really savor you and every interaction you two have. He likes to draw pleasure out like a rubberband slowly stretching to its capacity before he holds you there, waiting for the snap. It’s also partially out of awareness. He knows how much you’re struggling - every awful inch of it, and he refuses to let you use him and the next step of intimacy as a balm for pain.
Hiding from him has never been possible since the first moment you met.
You asked him once about his intentional slowing when you were still hobbling on your bum right leg. While you walk fine now, if not a bit uncomfortably with the scar tissue’s restricted stretch, back then things were complex and difficult. But, he gave you an honest answer. He always does these days.
“I will not allow myself to be temporary to you,” he said from behind you, trailing kisses down your shoulder. “Temporary is for the desperate and helpless, and I’m neither. It has to come from stability. From want. There’s no fun or meaning in short-term utility, sweetheart, and I always, always play the long game.”
Now, in the cool blanket of the three o’ clock hour, you break the kiss and say, “I can’t keep going like this.”
He replies, “I know, but you’re stronger than this. You know it.”
“But I don’t feel it. That’s the problem.” Your head drops back on the pillows. You sigh. “I only feel capable with you and that just doesn’t work. It’s not who I want to be. I can’t be dependent like this, Sylus.” You drag your fingertips down his neck. “I just - I can’t.”
He kisses your jaw. “If I could change it, I would, but it has to come from you.”
You think, then say, “He ruined my confidence. My belief.”
Sylus shifts his weight until sweet, obliterating pressure centers in your chest. “He never deserved to have this much of an effect on you.”
“Yeah, you’re right. If I could just get my feelings to listen…”
“They’re slippery things, aren’t they?” Another kiss at the junction of your cheek and nose. “What can I do to help?”
You chew on it, one hand scratching idly through Sylus’ hair. He pushes into your touch with a contented rumble.
“I think…I think I’m going to use my vacation days,” you begin. “Can I come stay with you?”
“Of course,” he responds immediately, gaze half-lidded. “I always want you with me.”
You avert your eyes, staring at the familiar shadows of furniture in your bedroom. Then, you look back at him.
“Will you come with me to the Vagrant Zone?”
Sylus freezes. A war of emotions heaves through him. Anger and adamant denial morph into fear, then into consideration, and finally into careful evaluation of you beneath him. You take a moment to feel the honor of Sylus trusting you with all of his emotions. Rarely does he rely on that cold, domineering mask with you anymore.
“I lost a part of myself there,” you add softly. You kiss his cheek. “And I think it’s time to get it back.”
Sylus tilts his head. “You’re shaking just saying ‘Vagrant Zone.’ Are you sure this is what you need?”
“No,” you admit. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be sure until I do it. Everything is too complicated to see a clear path forward.”
One side of Sylus’ mouth lifts. His red eyes sparkle with admiration. “I’ve always liked your courage. If that’s what you want to do, I will be right beside you the whole way.”
Quiet realization unfolds like a welcoming hand. This has been your wound to bear, no one else’s. The isolation of the internal battle has affected you more than you thought, and it’s why you seek Sylus out when the nights are too much. He’s one of the few, tangible reminders that you made it through hell - that you will make it through with every step you decide to take. Sylus knows parts of you better than you do, and if there’s one thing Sylus understands with an intimacy befitting the life and world he’s built for himself - and now for both of you - it’s the need for autonomy.
Power and control and connection - that’s what you need.
Emotion swells your chest. You tug him down again, putting everything you have into it as you squeeze him tight. “Thank you,” you murmur. “Just - thank you.”
***
Jenna looks up from the printed request you put in for two weeks off. Her hazel eyes are calculating as she takes you in from head to toe. She had summoned you just before you were leaving at the end of your late night shift. It’s still dark at four in the morning. Standing there in a black long-sleeved t-shirt with a thick, maroon cardigan overtop, along with black jeans and well-worn loafers, you’re anything but the image of a confident Hunter. The heavy bags beneath your eyes and the tight skin of your face suggest you look more like a victimized civilian.
“Why?” Jenna finally asks.
You blink. “I stated in the request it’s - “
“You never take vacations. Ever. I usually have to order you to go home and take time to rest, and all of a sudden you’re requesting two weeks off at once?” Jenna taps the form in front of her with her index finger.
You lick your lips, eyes dropping to the floor. You say, carefully, “I need to go find something.”
Jenna sits back in her chair, eyes narrowing. “Did you happen to lose this ‘thing’ about eight months ago? When you were attacked by the Wanderer’s?”
You wring your fingers clasped behind your back. Pain urges you to avoid, to lie.
“Yes, ma’am,” you reply instead, fighting the tremble of your lower lip.
Jenna taps her index finger again. Tap-tap-tap . Silence falls between you.
Suddenly, she sighs. Jenna stands from her desk and comes around to face you. With only five feet between you, everything in your body tenses to run. You didn’t think this first step would be so difficult and raw, yet here you are.
“Look me in the eye,” she commands.
You obey, trembling.
“I know what really happened,” Jenna says. Her voice softens. “I know what a victim of assault looks like, and I know it wasn’t Wanderers that harmed you.”
Panic bolts through your nervous system. Your mouth opens to reply, to reassure Jenna of the carefully concocted truth you and Sylus came up with, but your lungs won’t give you the breath to speak it.
“I was sent an email upon your return to Linkon City,” Jenna continues. “No one in the Hunter’s Association was able to track where it was sent or the identity of the sender. It said that you were taken by a man after being attacked by a group of animal hybrids. It said he harmed you, both physically and mentally, and that I was to provide the best care possible to help you heal from your wounds.”
“I don’t - I don’t understand,” you whisper. Your mind whirls through its confusion, but you know it could only have been Sylus. Why wouldn’t he tell you?
“The sender stated I was the only one to be privy to the contents of the email because they knew you needed more support than what the Hunter’s Association would initially provide. They wanted me to watch you and guide you through this until you came to me with a request. Only then could I tell you I knew the truth of what happened.” Jenna pauses. She closes her eyes and sighs. “I’m not one to withhold information like this, but after getting the details, I knew it was the right decision. Besides, there was enough warning between the lines that I knew this was serious and whoever sent it cared quite a lot about your well-being.
“I didn’t believe it at first, but once I laid eyes on you for the first time after you disappeared for almost a month, I knew it was the truth. Again, I know assault survivors, and while the sender didn’t state that, I was determined to support you as much as I could until you were ready.”
You stand there in shock. The influx of easier missions scattered between more difficult ones, just different enough to reassure you it wasn’t intentional. Only working with someone you have a strong, positive relationship with rather than assigned to strangers. The convenient construction of a quiet room that you used regularly.
All of it - all of it for you.
Jenna looks at you once more. Her shoulders soften and her head tilts. A warm, compassionate smile tugs at her mouth. She is no longer your commander, but another person on the same level you are.
“Sometimes, you have to be a victim first before you become a survivor. I’m assuming that is why you’re taking this time off.” She pauses. “You don’t have to confirm it with me. Just know that I’m proud of you for making it through this, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Jenna straightens into her professional stance, her smile falling. The softness lingers in her eyes and the line of her brow. “Your request is formally approved. Dismissed.”
Your feet feel like concrete. Your body wants to follow the command but your brain is disconnected from your limbs, leaving you stuck.
Jenna notices. Of course, she notices. She walks towards you slowly and places her hand on your shoulder. It’s a barely-there pressure, but it feels immense all the same.
“Go. I can’t wait to see who you become,” she urges, eyes sparkling. “And tell the sender that I am thankful for their advocacy.”
She pushes slightly, and you rock back on your heels. It’s enough for you to nod, turn, and walk out of her office. The quiet slide of the automatic door is the only sound you hear as you walk out of the building and head for your apartment.
Your phone buzzes in your back pocket.
Sylus: All good?
You spy Mephisto’s form over your shoulder, perched on a telephone pole. He squawks at you.
You: Yes.
You hesitate. Your thumb hovers over the screen.
You: Did you send Jenna an email?
Sylus: No, I didn’t. She’s your commander, right? Why, what did she say to you?
You: Thank you.
He doesn’t reply as you continue down the familiar route. Your head rings with new information, and your heart thunders with warmth and affection for Jenna. Some part of you still hisses at the vulnerability, but it’s quieter than it has been since you were taken.
By the time you’re at the door to your apartment, one more text pops up on your screen.
Sylus: You’re welcome, sweetheart.
***
A sleek car growls as it pulls up to the entrance of your apartment complex. It’s such a dark red color that it’s almost black, especially with the sun still asleep on the eastern horizon. The deeply tinted passenger side window rolls down with a hum.
Sylus leans over the center console. His red eyes, while dim in the black leather interior, are teasing as he takes you in, a wry smirk twisting his mouth.
“I’m here to pick up my cat?” he queries. “Black fur, temper, likes to use claws and teeth as forms of affection?”
You roll your eyes. His grin grows.
Sylus pushes open the passenger side door for you. You slide in and he grabs your duffle bag, tossing it in the backseat. You quickly close the door behind you, shivering at the early morning bite of the fall air.
Sylus hooks his arm around your neck, pulling you in so he can press his lips to your forehead. You sag into his hold as your tense muscles relax. The lingering residue of his cologne is comforting; faded notes of tobacco, incense, wood smoke, and geranium mix well with the cool leather of his favorite jacket. He’s dressed comfortably in loose black pants and a thin, off-white sweater, which is befitting for the end of Sylus’ own workday. The window whirrs behind you as Sylus rolls it up.
He releases you and starts to pull back, only to be stopped by your hands. You make as if to kiss him, which he eagerly responds to.
As your lips touch, you shift and bite down on his bottom lip, sharp enough to make him jolt.
“Smartass,” Sylus mutters, swiping his thumb over his lip.
You smirk. “It’s my form of affection, after all. Isn’t that what you said? Perhaps try not to be too literal about it if you don’t want to get bit.”
“Who says I didn’t like it?” he shoots back. One silver eyebrow raises in challenge.
Your cheeks warm. He laughs.
Shifting the car into drive, Sylus peels away from the curb. The lack of traffic at such an early hour is pleasant. Sylus settles at a smooth cruise, completely at ease behind the wheel.
“Thank you for driving,” you say.
“It’s no problem. I enjoy it and don’t get to do it often enough.” Sylus taps the steering wheel. “Besides, I get to spend more time talking with you instead of teleporting us home and crashing right into bed.” He sighs. “Much as I enjoy sleeping.”
“I feel the same.”
When arranging your vacation days, Sylus, being how he is, offered to use his Evol to bring you immediately from your apartment in Linkon City to his home in the N-109 Zone. His Evol allows him to transport anywhere he’s physically been and seen. It would have taken all of thirty seconds to do it, but you wanted time to extract yourself from Linkon City life, including the midnight suffering you’ve been dealing with for so long. Sylus was more than amenable, and you could trust that if he didn’t want to do it, he would have sent the twins instead.
You click on the radio, shifting through the stations until you settle on ambient post-rock. Then, you lay your open palm on the center console. Sylus’ expression doesn’t change, but he slides his fingers through yours and holds you tight.
The outskirts of Linkon City pass by. The buildings are more spaced out with long swathes of fields and forest in-between. To the east, the sun begins to wake, turning the sky a moody blue. You let your head thunk against the leather headrest, face turned to watch the familiar landscape. With each mile eaten by rubber, you focus on finding your worst memories over the past eight months. You exhale, and with them goes the pain. The sleeplessness. The nausea and cramping of your stomach eating itself alive out of stress. The pitying looks from Tara and anger from Zayne, Rafael, and Xavier. Every unwilling flinch and flood of fear. All of the scratches you left on your body when you would wake up tearing at a body some hurt part of you deemed “dirty.”
It all stays behind you. They will still be there - you know that - but it’s nice to give yourself permission to let go. Even though rationally you should be afraid to go into the N-109 Zone, all you feel is peaceful absence.
You squeeze Sylus’ hand. He responds with a rub of his thumb.
The two of you remain silent until you pass the city limits. The very top of the sun crests the long, flat horizon. Amber and rose petals light up the fading night. The warmth of the color bathes the world in hues of change, of potential.
“You’re already so relaxed,” Sylus murmurs.
You turn towards him, admiring the golden hour light highlighting the sharp planes of his face. “I’m safe when I’m with you.”
Slyus glances at you, then back to the road. “It’s more than that.”
You hum. “I’m saying goodbye.”
“To what?”
Jenna’s words echo through your head. Sometimes, you have to be a victim before you become a survivor .
“To powerlessness,” you clarify.
Sylus tugs your joined hands to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “How exciting,” he whispers.
“I’m glad you’ll be with me.”
Sylus settles your hands back on the console. “I don’t want to be anywhere else. You are no caged bird.” He pauses. “I can’t wait to see you fly.”
You hum in agreement, returning to your quiet pondering of the world passing by. You picture yourself with wings. The kinds for albatrosses and condors - for an existence dictated by the tides and winds, endless and extraordinary.
You hope to falter no more.
***
About four hours later, Sylus pulls the car into the courtyard of home.
You step out and stretch, your spine and knees popping. Sylus follows suit, retrieving your duffle from the back seat before walking around to meet you.
Both of you are exhausted. You chatted over the mundane for a long time before falling into a comfortable silence the last hour of your journey. Now, sleep is the number one priority, and you know it will be restful. It almost always is when you’re home with Sylus in bed next to you.
Entering the front door, Luke and Kieran greet the both of you. They temper their excitement - they have grown quite fond of you, and you in return - so they don’t overwhelm you. Mephisto swoops down from the rafters and lands heavily on your shoulder, tugging at your earlobe like the menace he is. You swat at him.
“We are not to be disturbed,” Sylus says sleepily. “Kieran, you canceled everything for tonight, right?”
“Sure did!” he responds enthusiastically.
“Good. We will meet you for a meal later.”
“I’ll make all the good stuff,” Luke promises, squeezing his hands together in delight. For as chaotic as he can be compared to his brother, Luke is surprisingly calm and concentrated when he’s in a kitchen.
Sylus grunts before tugging you away. Mephisto rides along as the two of you slowly climb the grand staircase to the second floor. You head down the long, west hallway until you reach Sylus’ bedroom.
He sets your duffle bag on the couch, already making a beeline for his massive closet. Mephisto uses your shoulder as a take-off point to glide to his favorite perch by the window. He proceeds to preen himself, wholeheartedly ignoring your existence.
Huffing, you paw through the clothes and necessities you brought in your bag. Unfortunately, you didn’t get a chance to shower before Sylus picked you up. You didn’t want to waste time and delay seeing him. With a pile of sleep clothes and few personal hygiene items, you shuffle to the closet door.
Sylus’ naked back is to you, well-muscled with a few old, silver scars decorating it. He already has sleep pants on. You stare at the dimples at the base of his spine.
“I didn’t know you were into voyeurism,” Sylus drawls. He focuses on tying the drawstring around his waist.
“It’s not voyeurism if the person I’m watching knows I’m there.”
“Depends on who you ask.” Sylus turns to you, his tired red eyes landing on the clothes in your hands.
“I’m going to shower. Don’t wait for me, okay?”
Sylus offers you a thin smile. “Do you want me to watch you, too?”
You roll your eyes. “Go to bed, you idiot.”
Sylus’ soft laughter follows you as you go to the bathroom. Despite the untouchable extravagance of Sylus’ home, there are a few warm touches beyond his bedroom and the kitchen. This bathroom is one of them. Thin slabs of black stone run up the wall where the warm, oak countertop and white sink sit. Oak floors contrast the switch to white-tiled shower floors behind the sliding privacy glass shower door. While two of the shower walls are simple, matte black tile, the long wall is a mosaic of black-and-cream stone. Gold faucets and knobs complete the look. It’s difficult to make black in a bathroom work, but whoever designed it knew how to balance functionality and aesthetic appeal. It’s easily one of your favorite places in the house.
You turn the shower on and fold down the built-in shower seat. There’s no way you will be standing when you have the opportunity to sit and let the hot water cleanse you.
That’s exactly what you do when the water is warm enough. You dim the bathroom lights and clean every inch of your body as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Then, you sit on the shower seat curled in a ball with your eyes closed, lavishing in the heat and how the water pressure eases some of the exhausted ache in your head.
When you catch yourself dozing, you shut the water off and step out. You wrap yourself in a towel, along with a smaller one for your hair. At the counter, you lazily rub in some face moisturizer and a quick swipe of deodorant. You don’t bother drying your hair, instead pulling it into a quick, tight bun atop your head.
Dressed in soft black sleep shorts and a matching, loose sleep-tank, you exit the bathroom and move to the bed. Sylus left a small lamp for you on what has become “your side” of his massive, king-sized bed.
You fully expected him to be awake and forcing himself to wait for you, though he would never admit to it. Surprisingly, he’s fast asleep facing you, which sends a little thrill of happiness through you.
Climbing beneath the covers, you scoot towards him until only a few inches separate you. Sleep tugs at your eyes, but you force yourself awake for a few more minutes. You savor how relaxed he looks like this, and how his lips part around the tiniest snores you’ve ever heard. It’s rare that you have this privilege.
Not wanting to disturb him, you nestle as close as you dare with your hands tucked against your chest. Your lips tingle with the desire to kiss him, but it soon fades as his body heat and the familiar smell of him lulls you into a dreamless, heavy place of blessed unconsciousness.
It feels like moments later when you rise back to consciousness with a large, warm hand stroking over your back where your tank top has ridden up. You mumble and keep your eyes closed. They still feel heavy. Your head is full of cotton and your mouth tastes terrible.
Lips tease a sensitive spot by your ear. “Wake up, sweetheart. It’s nearly midnight,” a silky voice urges.
Your shoulder scrunches up to your ear. “Go to hell,” you mutter.
Sylus smiles into your neck. “But I’m already in heaven. I don’t want to leave.”
His breath makes a shiver go down your spine as your skin pebbles. Damn him for knowing what spots are sensitive.
You push with one hand until you find his chest. You follow it up until you’re stroking his jaw. He leans into the touch, but doesn’t pull away from your neck.
Then, you put your open palm over his face and shove.
Sylus laughs and pushes back. He manages to get your pinky near his mouth and bites on the digit just hard enough to sting.
You open your eyes to glare at him, protectively hiding your hand beneath the covers.
“Now who bites to show affection?” you question with a scowl.
“Consider it payback. You know how I am.” He laughs again when your scowl deepens. “Now, get up. Luke is almost finished cooking and we both need to eat after sleeping over twelve hours.”
“Don’t wanna.”
His hand travels further up your back, pulling you to him until you’re smushed together from shoulder to hip. Open amusement keeps his lips turned up and eyes sparkling in the low light.
“How about some incentive?” Sylus asks.
You purse your lips. “What kind of incentive?”
“Well,” he drawls, dipping his face closer to yours, “Luke did make all of our favorites, and you know how good he is as a cook.” He whispers a kiss over your lips. “And maybe I can reward your compliance in some other way as well.” Sylus makes it as if he’s going to kiss you again, but shifts at the last moment, hitting the corner of your mouth. You huff in displeasure. “But I can’t quite think of something. Got any ideas?”
He raises one brow at you. Wrapping your arms around him, you try to tug his face down, but it’s like trying to move a brick wall.
“You’re a bastard,” you mutter when he refuses to relent.
“And a happy bastard at that,” he replies, all cheek. “You gotta ask for it or I won’t understand.”
“Quit teasing me,” you whine.
“No. I’m having fun.”
“I’m not.”
“Too bad, kitten.” He presses his lips together, holding back laughter at your expression. He only uses that nickname when he’s trying to rile you up. “I’m a selfish man.”
You meet his glittering gaze, baring your teeth in an uninviting smile. “I don’t give in to selfish men’s desires,” you retort. “Your kissing privileges have been revoked.”
You quickly roll away from him before he can stop you. You get up from the bed and head towards your duffle.
Sylus sighs, all drama. “Remind me never to bargain with you again. You have too much power over what I want.”
“What can I say?” you throw over your shoulder, slipping on a well-worn, oversized hoodie. “I’m just as selfish as you are. And, when in doubt, always play dirty.”
Sylus appears behind you. His hands land on your hips to hold you in place, leaning his head over your shoulder. “Truly heinous behavior. Can I plead my case and give you a peace offering?”
“Denied.” You’re having entirely too much fun. “Put a shirt on, I’m hungry.”
He laughs again, shaking his head. “Fine, I’ll play your game. How about this?” Sylus releases you to step into your line of sight. “I won’t touch you the entire time we’re downstairs. We’ll see how long you last.”
There is no doubt in your mind that you will be the one to lose. Sylus’ willingness to commit and utilize his near-endless patience means the game is over from the start.
But, it seems like fun. You match his grin. “Deal. What’s the prize?”
“Winner gets total and complete control over the loser - within reason - for one hour.”
You smirk and extend your hand. “I agree to the terms.”
Sylus returns the handshake. “Get ready to lose.”
He turns away and yanks a shirt out of his closet, tugging it on. In an unfair turn of events, the shirt he conveniently chose was one of your favorites - a skin-tight, long-sleeved t-shirt with a ridiculously low V-neck that exposed his collar and the slight swell of his pectorals.
Sylus raises one eyebrow at you when you don’t move to join him near the door.
In utter defiance, you reach beneath your hoodie and tug the elastic waist of your sleep shorts as high as you reasonably can. When the hoodie drops, it appears as if you’re wearing nothing at all beneath it.
Sylus’ eyes narrow. “Touché.”
You bob your head. “Thank you.”
He holds the door open for you. It lets you take the lead and swing your hips a little more than your natural stride does. Behind you, Sylus growls.
You snicker and keep leading, winding your way through the big house until you reach the kitchen on the ground floor. Warm light and delicious smells invite you in.
Here, covered silver platters are laid out on the long, wooden island. Luke stands at the stove with one fist on his hip, staring intently at the pan in front of him. The space is well-used with its scratches and chips in the countertops, the worn standing mats, the old, reliable cookware, and simple plates and cups. To the far side of the room sits a massive, wooden case that houses Sylus’ “special” kitchenware. He only uses them when he’s performing in the cold, alien dining room. Even that room is only used when he’s wrapped in his mantle of power as the boss of the N-109 Zone conducting business.
“Luke,” Sylus calls.
Luke doesn’t respond. Sylus shrugs and moves through the kitchen to an open doorway near the back of the space. You follow this time, stepping down when you pass the threshold into the true dining space.
The room is dark green and a reasonably sized space compared to the rest of the manor. White trim eases the heaviness of the paint. A dining table meant for a maximum of six people takes up the right side of the room, chairs scattered around it with plates and silverware already laid out. One of Sylus’ many phonographs sits in a corner with an organized box of records beneath it. To the left, a comfortable couch and coffee table reside. Deep, large reading chairs sit opposite the coffee table. A wooden bookcase dominates one corner of the room. A stone fireplace with an ornate wooden mantle holds a merrily crackling fire.
The first time Sylus brought you here for a meal back when you were getting to know each other, your jaw dropped. It was the strangest sight to see him casually reclined at the dining table, chatting with Luke and Kieran about things other than work. Then, he sat on the other side of the room and drank booze with them as well until he was laughing at the twins' nonsense.
It’s right up there with Sylus’ bathroom as one of your favorite places in this house. When you visit, you eat here every night for your meals accompanied by Sylus, Kieran, Luke, or even Mephisto. Someone always sat with you and made the meal all the better. Food is meant for companionship, and that space did more for you in building bonds with this group than any other experiences.
Kieran, seated on the couch, jumps up when you and Sylus enter. Before you can say a word, Kieran mock-hollers and points at you.
“ Where are your pants?” he screeches. Then, realizing Sylus is there, Kieran slaps his fingers over the holes in his mask. “Boss, I didn’t see anything, I swear!”
You laugh.
Sylus whispers to you, “Don’t you dare.”
Sticking your tongue out at him, you delicately lift the side of your hoodie and turn. “It’s okay, Kieran. I have shorts on. See?”
Kieran peeks between his fingers. From the side, the higher cut of the sleepshorts is painfully obvious. The material drags at the junction where your thigh meets your hip. It also exposes the very bottom of your ass by perhaps an inch.
Sylus glares at you, his hands fisted in the pockets of his black sleep pants.
“Scandalous,” Kieran says, raising a hand to his mouth with dramatized shock.
Sylus’ furious gaze lands on Kieran. He yelps and looks up at the ceiling.
“Knock it off,” you snip at Sylus. “I was reassuring him you weren’t going to murder him by showing him I have shorts on. Don’t get pissy with Kieran.”
“You tell ‘em,” Kieran agrees.
He squeeks when Sylus’ Evol snaps in the air. “I’m just trying to set up the game! The games, boss, I swear!”
“Games?” you question, gaze cutting to Sylus.
Sylus smiles innocently. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Oh? Did I forget to mention that?” he sighs and thunks his head with the heel of one hand. “Silly me! Kieran arranged a board game tournament for us. We all know how competitive you are. It’ll be hours and hours of fun.”
Well, shit , you think. Even now, looking at Sylus brings the desire to touch him. Though, at the moment, you’d be punching him rather than holding his fucking hand. The urge to engage in physical violence is always strong when Sylus is nearby.
“You’re so thoughtful, Kieran,” you say. “Thank you for setting it up.”
Kieran salutes you. “No problem-o!”
He returns to his task. You and Sylus move to the familiar dining table, taking your usual seats. You hiss, “You conveniently forgot to tell me about this?”
Sylus hides his smile in his folded hands, elbows on the table. “I was going to tell you,” Sylus replies, “but you had to go ahead and do the unexpected. It was going to be one of the incentives to get you out of bed.”
So you only have yourself to blame. Groaning, you scrub your hands over your face.
“I’m not going to let you win,” you mumble at him.
Sylus turns towards you, giving you an eyeful of the delicious line of his neck and exposed skin of his collarbone and chest. You clench your hands and shove them into the front pocket of your hoodie.
“I’ll be eager to see how you manage to do that,” Sylus whispers back, “when I know self-control is one of your weak points around me.”
“Says the same man that can’t keep his hands to himself to save his life,” you retort. “You have no concept of personal space.”
Sylus muffles his laughter. “You like it.”
“I do not!” You scowl at him.
Luke arranges everything meticulously when the food is ready. With Luke, every task he completes is a reflection of a system - something he’s developed over time to be efficient. While he still gets caught up in details - like now as he shifts a platter by centimeters until he’s satisfied - his systems typically make everything smoother.
Everyone waits until the last platter is on the table. When Luke sits, his focus dissolves. He giggles and weaves his head back and forth. “Oh yeah, I’m fucking awesome,” he says, patting himself on the shoulder.
Kieran snickers. “You’re right about that. Do you remember what you made?”
“Not a clue,” Luke responds immediately.
Sylus sighs, and thus begins the merry-go-round of food plates because the table is too big to comfortably reach everything. Kieran ended up with most of the protein in front of him, while you got most of the hot sides. Luke got cold sides, and Sylus got dressings and sauces. At this point, it was fairly seamless since everyone knew each other well, but some bickering is still present.
Your hunger pummels you once your plate is returned to you. Sylus appears to be the same. Everyone focuses on eating with only minimal commentary - usually coming from one of the twins. You and Sylus take heaping plates of seconds and return to your methodical demolishing of food to satiate your bellies.
You catch yourself automatically reaching for Sylus once you’re full and relaxed in your seat. You snatch your hand back before you make contact with his skin. Of course, he sees it and smiles at his food. Then, he accidentally drops some sauce on his chest and makes a fuss about it.
What a fucking asshole.
With the majority of the food gone - Luke is also exceedingly good at creating the perfect portions to have minimal leftovers - everyone except Sylus gets up to clean. Some days he will help, others he won’t. You’re not surprised he doesn’t today with how content he looks along with the glass of red wine in front of him.
In retribution for the sauce, you “drop” the pile of cloth napkins, bending from your waist with you rear towards Sylus. He softly curses and makes a comment about the color of your underwear, one hand gripping the edge of the table. You smirk.
Once you return, Sylus shakes the wine at you. “Drink?”
You decline, not because you lack the desire, but because you know if you drink, you’ll end up losing the bet. You’re not a handsy drunk, but you will relax to the point of leaning against Sylus if your inhibition lowers. Luke takes Sylus up on the offer, the two leaning their heads together to discuss the vintage and notes. Kieran finds himself a beer and chugs it.
“All right!” Kieran announces, clapping his hands together. “Let the games begin!”
***
You lose the game in more ways than one, and it all started at the end.
The final game of the night was, of course, Kitty Cards. It was set up in brackets with the best two out of three going against each other for the last batch of points. Everyone had accumulated points based on the performance of each game you played, so no one was ever out of the running to win the tournament. You were in second, with Kieran barely in front of you. Close behind was Sylus and then, finally, Luke. Only a handful of points separated each of you, so it was anybody’s game.
Of course, you and Luke were first up in Kitty Cards. You played horribly thanks to bad card pulls and a lack of any genuinely useful assist cards. Luke beat you three to nothing, which irritated you to no end.
Sylus and Kieran went against each other next, and it was unbelievably close. Sylus took the second win he needed by a single point, shutting Kieran out of the race. The two of you commiserate together on the couch as Luke and Sylus began their first round of the final.
Sylus easily took it, but Luke locked in on the second round and stole it. With a tie of one-to-one, the final game commenced with all the seriousness of an execution.
You lean forward, watching as cards are played. It’s a battle between them, with neither side able to gain a significant advantage over the other. As soon as Sylus would go offensive, Luke would combat it with a tactic that took the offensive power from Sylus, and vice versa. Next to you, Kieran bites his fingernails, head swiveling between the quick plays.
Sylus draws an assist card and sighs, shoulders sagging. Without any thought, you lean towards him and put your hand on his shoulder. “You have it, Sylus,” you murmur.
A triumphant smile spreads across Sylus’ face as he looks at your hand.
Gasping, you snatch it back, but it’s far, far too late.
“You’re right, sweetheart,” Sylus croons. The firelight turns his eyes into a deep amber. “I believe I’ve already won the game.”
Luke doesn’t respond, but Kieran does, muttering under his breath about the size of Sylus’ ego. You would laugh if you weren’t wallowing in your own defeat.
Two turns later, Sylus completely trounces Luke with a full ten-point lead. Luke groans and Kieran stands, formally announcing Sylus as the winner of the game and the tournament overall.
“Winning always feels good,” Sylus replies, leaning back in his seat with a look of satisfaction.
You know he’s not talking about the tournament.
“We’re going back to my room,” Sylus adds to the twins. “Call if something catches on fire.”
The twins cheekily bow to Sylus. Without another word, Sylus stands and offers you his arm.
You loop your arm through his and let him tug you along. The excitement practically rolls off him, hurrying you up the stairs with a grin that doesn’t waiver. You drag your heels, but Sylus doesn’t notice. He just hauls you along as he beelines for his bedroom.
The door has barely closed before Sylus turns and lifts you, pressing your back into the wall and slotting your mouths together with a desperation you’ve never felt from him. You cross your ankles behind his back and grab him by the hair, pulling at the roots until he moans into your mouth.
Heat barrels through your body, centering low in your gut with a delicious clench that has your hips shifting towards him. Sylus yanks out your hairtie so he can trail his fingers over your scalp, making you shiver and huff. He takes the opportunity to thrust his tongue into your mouth and you moan this time, trying to meet his frenzy step for step.
He quickly overwhelms you and all you can do is hang on. You bring one hand to his chest, running your fingers over that damnable V-neck and dipping beneath the edges. Sylus responds by pushing more of his weight against you, including the line of his hard cock beneath his pants. With your hips at the same height, the pressure is torture. Every part of you wants to move, to find that perfect spot and rub exactly how you want. Sylus’ strength doesn’t allow you.
You whine into his mouth. He tears his lips away from yours and kisses across your jaw and down your neck. Sylus’ hands slide beneath your hoodie and grab your ass. He growls as he kneads the flesh. “These damn shorts.”
“Sylus, please,” you pant, cheeks flushed and hair mussed. Your hips twitch, but his hands on your ass simply tighten in response, keeping you still.
He kisses his way back to your mouth. Sylus’ eyes gleam with want, half-lidded and scathing as they trail over every inch of your face. He pants a bit, and your core once more clenches at the idea of him losing control. Sylus, the man of endless patience, giving into his desire rather than banking the flames of it. You want it more than you could have ever imagined.
“You have no idea - “ he breathes. “No idea how much I want you right now.”
“Do - something. Anything,” you reply, all broken whispers. “Please.”
He kisses you again with the bruising force you love. All too soon, he pulls away.
“We can’t,” he rumbles. While the two of you have come close to crossing that line of physical intimacy over the past eight months, you both agreed to hold off while the relationship developed and you worked on your fear of hands on the front of your torso.
Out of every emotion you’ve experienced, fear is the last thing coursing through your blood.
“Tell me to do it,” you respond, kissing his throat. “It’s your hour.”
“No. Not like this.”
You crash your mouth back into his. “Not sex,” you mumble. “Just - move your hips. Please.”
Sylus considers this. Mouthing at a spot beneath your jaw, he experimentally rocks his hips. The hard, clothed length of him thrusts up against your pussy. Your head slams back into the wall with a ragged moan as pleasure burns through you at the friction. Your fingernails dig into his chest, and Sylus’ breath hitches.
Without another word, Sylus secures his grip on you and moves, carrying you over to the couch without an ounce of effort. He sits down. You settle easily into his lap, shifting your hips forward so his cock is against you once more and your breasts are crushed against his chest. You kiss any part of him you can reach, aching to be touched.
Sylus drags his fingernails over your ass. Your hips automatically rock forward. Your inner thighs burn with coiled pleasure, curling your toes.
He grabs your hips and holds you still. You make an effort to obey, but it’s hard when the haze of raw want muddles your thoughts.
“You really want this?” he questions, his voice husky and deep. He can’t seem to take his eyes off your swollen mouth and warm cheeks.
Just the vibration of his words against your chest makes you shiver. “Please,” you whisper. You nuzzle into the junction of his shoulder and neck, daring to open your mouth and bite the thick muscle. Sylus grunts, hips jolting.
He combs one of his hands through your hair before slowly fisting your roots. With a gentle, but demanding, tug, he pulls you up to face him. You bare your throat and murmur his name.
“I need you to be clear, sweetheart. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” you reply. “Yes, Sylus. Whatever you’ll give.”
Sylus mutters a curse at the dazed look on your face and your blown pupils. “If we’re going to do this, we do it my way. Tell me to stop at any time.”
You nod weakly. He releases your hair and leans back into the cushions. Sylus’ broad hands palm at the muscles in your thighs.
“Take your hoodie off,” he growls. His red eyes glitter.
Without hesitation, you whip off your hoodie. Tossing it away you reach for his face, but he stops you.
“Ah ah,” he chides. His fingers dig into your thighs. “Not so fast, kitten. We’re going to take it nice and slow.”
“Sylus,” you whine. Need makes you drop your hips and grind against him.
“Slow,” he repeats, drawing out the syllables. “I want you to really feel it.”
You swallow and look down. The visual of Sylus’ hard cock beneath his pants and the lips of your clothed pussy spread around him is too hot to handle. You brace your hands on Sylus’ shoulders and drag your hips forward, up his length, then back down.
“God,” you whisper. You do it again and adjust your angle slightly so every hard inch of him is rubbing against your clit. A flush spreads across your chest, your eyes fluttering closed. Every nerve from the waist down sparks a kind of pleasure you’ve never felt before. Sure, you’ve had sex a couple of times; once when you were sixteen and deluded yourself into having a crush on someone because you wanted to fit in with your peers, and once when you were older and seeking relief from the stress of the Academy.
Neither of those experiences gave you this. Nor were they born out of a genuine, honest desire for physical connection. Besides, with how demanding becoming a Hunter was, sex quickly lost any sense of priority until now. Sylus has always given you more - more than anyone you’ve been close with.
Sylus exhales through his nose. “There’s my good girl.”
Your hips jerk at the surprise praise. Your pussy pulses and already you can tell you’re more wet than you’ve ever been.
“Oh?” Sylus drawls. “Do you like that?”
Embarrassment heats your face all the way to your hairline. You breathe and keep your hips still, trying not to give into him and his teasing. No doubt he will use it mercilessly against you.
“It’s a yes-or-no question. Now, be a good girl and give me an answer.”
You swallow again and eek out, “Yes. Yes, I like it.”
Sylus rumbles a laugh. “I love when your mouth struggles to be honest.” A hand slides higher on your inner thigh before he drags it back down, the barely-there touch eliciting a sweet noise from your mouth. “Even when your body tells me the answer every. Single. Time.”
“Can I move?” you ask, meeting Sylus’ heavy, pleasure-filled gaze. “Please?”
Sylus smirks. “Go ahead.”
You return to your slow, deliberate movements. As uncoordinated as they are with the new position you’re in, you can’t deny the way your body lights up with every grind against Sylus. You feel him throb through your clothing, just as aroused as you are. The idea of him enjoying this and exercising restraint to relish in this new step sends more sparks up and down your spine.
“Speed up a little,” Sylus says.
Immediately, you obey. Your inner thighs ache with the stretch of straddling him and how the movement focuses on muscles you rarely use. You don’t mind it, especially when you catch a good rhythm. All of the delicious friction has your gut clenching and your pussy flexing around nothing.
“Good. You’re so fucking good,” Sylus praises. He firmly holds your chin as he leans forward to kiss you, groaning into your pliant mouth.
Much as you want to hump him faster, harder, your desire to obey and please him outweighs it - after all, he will reward you. He always does.
You keep your pacing and cross your hands behind his neck. Your spine arches, allowing you to grind deeper and harder. Sylus eases his tongue into your mouth with a throaty noise of pleasure. He shifts his hips beneath you. You feel how his thighs tremble and clench as he holds back from meeting your movements.
At this point, his restraint will be the death of you.
You communicate your desperation through your mouth, pressing your lips harder against him and urging the kiss faster, sloppier. The wet sounds and rhythmic rustle of clothing is all you can hear beyond the blood rushing through your body.
“Faster,” he mumbles into your mouth.
You greedily comply. You hook your arms more securely over his broad shoulders to give you better leverage. Your pussy is wet and swollen beneath your clothes, your clit throbbing and a band of sweet tension pulling harder in your gut. Each rock of your hips has you gasping and moaning against his lips. Your skin is slick with your passion and the overwhelming heat of his body. The taste of salt on your tongues as the frantic makeout session continues just drives the both of you more wild.
You break the kiss when white spots dance against the back of your eyelids, gasping for oxygen. You hide your face in his neck as your orgasm builds and builds, slow and sensual. It halts at the very precipice, throwing you further into ecstasy. And, as much as you want the crash and fall, lingering here is unspeakably good, every sense alight with the perfect amount of overwhelm.
“Shit,” you hiss against Sylus’ shoulder. He drags his teeth over a spot on the side of your neck, humming.
“Are you close?” he mumbles. The wrecked shade of his voice drives you more insane with need.
“Sylus,” you moan. “Yes. Yes, I’m close.”
“Do you want it?”
“S-stop teasing me.”
He smiles, pressing his mouth into the divot of your collarbone. “I need an answer, kitten.”
You dig your fingernails into your own forearms to stop yourself from humping him faster. “I want it, Sylus. I want you. Please.”
He exhales shakily, burying his forehead further into your neck. He loosely clasps his hands around your waist as he says, “Take it. Take what you need from me.”
With permission granted, your hips lose their steady rhythm and speed up, rutting against Sylus’ cock faster and faster. Your breath is uneven against the skin of his shoulder, all gasping moans and broken repetitions of his name. All the while, Sylus holds your waist as an anchor to reality - to him. Somehow, he continues to remain still while you chase your end, your body burning with every frantic drag of your hypersensitive clit.
“There you go,” Sylus says, his voice seductively low and soaked with desire. “There you fucking go . So good for me.”
The praise combined with your fevered movements snap that band of pleasure, rocketing you into a long, drawn out orgasm. Your moans pitch up and your hips jerk and shudder, every muscle tight and trembling. You cry out Sylus’ name and hug yourself to him as waves of pleasure crest and retreat, over and over again. Colors sing across your eyelids and breathing has become unnecessary, utterly entrenched in rapture.
Sylus grunts beneath you and fucks his hips up against your drenched pussy. He matches your uncoordinated thrusts as he cums, breathlessly cursing and moaning. You feel the heat of his cum against you through the layers of clothing, which triggers a few more jolts to run through your overwrought nervous system. Finally, you collapse against him, utterly boneless.
The two of you come down in silence. Lips drag over sweat-soaked skin and eyelashes flutter against ruddy cheeks. Muscles tense and release while the harsh drag of oxygen into needy lungs spirals you two back to earth. Back to connection and the simplicity of body-to-body.
Sylus finger-combs your messy hair, carefully pulling through tangles. You squeeze the muscles of his shoulders, digging your fingers in when he lets out a little sigh of pleasure. Neither of you seem keen on creating any kind of physical distance after sharing such personal indulgence. Better to linger, to just exist, and let your bodies glide together back to your baselines of adoration and trust.
You don’t know how much time has passed based on your slow, lazy thoughts, but eventually Sylus shifts beneath you. He pulls his face away from your neck and urges you to do the same.
Satisfied red eyes meet your own. He runs his index finger down your cheek, taking in all of you, and you him. Somehow, this moment feels more intimate and vulnerable than what you just engaged in.
He kisses you quietly, a short, chaste thing that makes your heart skip a beat. You push his silver hair back from his forehead and get a soft smile in return.
“Let me get you cleaned up,” Sylus murmurs.
“I don’t want to move,” you reply, your voice hoarse.
“I know, but you’ll feel a lot better.” His legs move beneath you, jostling your position until you’re sitting back on his thighs. He gives you another quick kiss. “Besides, I still have time left on my hour, so you have to listen,” he adds wryly, touching the tip of your nose.
“Fine, but I’m not moving.”
His lips curl. “I was already anticipating that.”
Sylus moves you carefully, laying you on your back on the couch. The coldness of the leather seeps through your thin sleep clothes and contrasts sharply against your heated skin, making you shiver. Sylus hovers over you for a moment. He ducks to give you another kiss like he can’t help himself before getting to his feet.
He walks towards the bathroom. Ice settles in your belly and fear pebbles your skin. It’s not overwhelming, but it is uncomfortable enough that irrational thoughts start to circle through your mind.
“Sylus, stop,” you call, pushing yourself up on your elbows.
He pauses and turns. Not for the first time, you silently express gratitude that he listens to you and doesn’t assume the worst.
‘“I think - I think I need to be close to you for a bit longer,” you say. “Something doesn’t feel right. Is that okay?”
Sylus walks back over to you without hesitation. He crawls between your legs until he drops his full weight on you, his head on your chest. You let out a tiny oof .
“You’re a heavy bastard, you know that?” you tease, even as the sweet pressure of him immediately melts your tense muscles and turns the bad thoughts into mist.
“Happy to be of service,” he quips back. Sylus catches one of your hands in a loose grasp. The familiar touch further eases you. “Thank you for stopping me.”
You hum, watching him. There’s nothing but contentment in his gaze. No hint of annoyance or dislike, no sneers or cutting remarks. It’s the reminder you need.
“Tell me,” he commands softly.
So, you do. He listens patiently as you describe how your feelings changed when he turned his back to you and the nasty thoughts that accompanied them. You note the immediacy of relief when he was touching you once more. He murmurs approval at your quickness of calling for him and the trust you extended with everything, not just asking him to come back to you.
“Are you okay with what we did?” he asks curiously.
You nod. “More than okay with it. I’ve never felt that good with anyone else.”
He raises one eyebrow and smugly smiles. “I’m the best you’ve had?”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t let it inflate your ego. I don’t have a long history of experience to compare it to.”
Sylus snickers. “As long as I continue to exceed expectations, I will inflate my ego as much as I like, sweetheart. I’m somewhat of an overachiever.”
You snort. “‘Somewhat’ is an understatement.”
“Does that mean I get a gold star?”
“What, I’m not a good enough reward? Now you need a gold star, too?”
Sylus pushes his torso up with his hands on either side of your head. He meets your gaze and says, “Don’t misunderstand me. You are everything. If I get rewards, it’s considered a bonus, but a bonus isn’t worth losing you.”
You blush and look away. “Fucking sap.”
Sylus grins and puts his mouth next to your ear. “Only for you, sweetheart.”
You groan, and he laughs.
After a brief pause, he says. “I’m going to pick you up and carry you around while I clean us up. I still have - “ a glance at a clock on the wall, “ - ten minutes left. I will take no complaining while I pamper you.”
You heave a great, put-upon sigh. “If you must,” you lament.
He grins again wolfishly. “I must.”
You shriek when he yanks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. Blood rushes to your head and your arms dangle, your fingertips prickling with the change in pressure. You lightly kick your feet and wail in mock-distress even as you savor the view of his muscled ass. Before he puts you down, you raise your hand and smack one cheek, laughing.
“There are consequences for this position, Sylus dear,” you sing-song.
He pauses before a resounding crack breaks the muffled quiet of the closet. You gasp and laugh more as your ass stings.
“I’ve been waiting months to do that,” Sylus replies, humor curling around his words. “And god knows you deserve it for wearing these fucking shorts.”
“Guess I’ll have to pack them every single time I come over, then.”
Sylus growls and flops you down on the cushy loveseat in the closet. You feel light as a feather, so you laugh again. Somehow, someway, you know it’s a feeling that will last once this trip is done.
Your smile is that much bigger because of it.