Work Text:
The faint hum of the car does nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only serves as a reminder of today’s plans, the source of your anxiety. You sit in the driver’s seat, the plane tickets trembling slightly in your hands. You glance toward the house—the lights shining through the bedroom window suggests he woke up. You exhale slowly, staring at the tickets again.
This isn’t how you imagined your vacation. This was supposed to be your time to recharge, to take a step back from the chaos of work, but instead, you’re about to board a plane to a place you hadn’t even known existed. All because you couldn’t stay behind.
The irony isn’t lost on you. Hunters aren’t passive. The words you planned to say to him when he sees you holding up the tickets, rehearsed in your head with all the conviction you could muster. But now, sitting here in the quiet, you can’t help but wonder if bravery is just a mask for recklessness.
Would it really have been so terrible to let him go alone this time?
Your gaze drifts to the empty passenger seat.
Did he expect you to follow him?
You glance at your reflection in the rear-view mirror, the faint circles under your eyes a proof to the sleepless nights that have become all too familiar. Staying behind would’ve meant another string of those nights—lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was alive, injured, or worse.
But this... this is no better.
The front door of the house creaks open, and you sit up straighter. Sylus steps out, his tall frame moving with its usual confidence, his silver hair catching the early light. He looks like he always does—calm, in control, untouchable. And you’re supposed to be the same.
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The room is dimly lit, the single overhead bulb flickering faintly like it might give out at any moment. The walls are bare, the furniture is sparse and the air is heavy. The faint metallic tang of blood lingers, mixing with the sharp bite of antiseptic.
Sylus sits on one of the chairs, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his shirt discarded and tossed over the backrest. Blood-stained rags lie on the table beside him. His torso is marred with fresh cuts and bruises, deep gashes standing out against the taut muscle of his abdomen. You kneel in front of him, wrapping clean bandages around his ribs. Your forearm is already bandaged—a sloppy, hurried job. He’d insisted you patch yourself up first, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The quiet between you is oppressive. The only sound is the rustle of bandages and the faint hum of the overhead light.
Sylus watches you carefully. Usually, by now, you’d be berating him for getting hurt, but he knows that you always mask your worry with irritation. Or you’d be recounting the mission in vivid detail, your energy buzzing with lingering adrenaline. But tonight, you’re silent, your gaze focused on the task at hand, not meeting his.
“You’re quiet tonight.” he says.
You don’t look at him, your fingers securing the bandage. “I’m tired,” you reply curtly, your voice flat.
It’s a half-truth, and you both know it. He stays still, letting you finish your work, though his gaze never wavers.
Your mind won’t stop racing. The mission plays over and over in your head, the close calls, the mistakes, the weight of Sylus’ injuries.
“There.” you say quietly, standing up and turning away to gather the discarded rags and put them into a plastic bag, your back to him as you fight to steady your breathing.
Behind you, Sylus shifts slightly in the chair, his eyes following you.
“You handled everything well.” he says, his tone soft, almost coaxing. “Better than well. You were incredible out there.”
You freeze mid-motion, your fingers still gripping the bag. You swallow hard, trying to stifle the frustration bubbling in your chest, but it’s too late. When you turn to face him, your expression betrays you.
Sylus raises an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “What’s that look for?” he asks with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.
You take a step closer, arms crossing over your chest. “Sylus, we barely made it out. I don’t think anything about this is ‘incredible’.”
His lips quirk in a wry smile. “A few scratches. I’ve had worse.”
That does it. “Wha - Do you even hear yourself? ‘A few scratches’?!”
His smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of confusion, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“You didn’t even want me to know about this mission!” you continue, your voice rising. “I had to dig through your phone, beg my colleague for help, buy plane tickets, and then throw myself into danger just to keep up with you!”
Sylus’ jaw tightens, but his gaze stays fixed on you.
“And now you’re sitting here, acting like this is normal, like this is fine. Like it’s okay that we’re both bandaged up in the middle of nowhere!”
You don’t realize your hands are trembling until you feel the sting of your nails digging into your palms. Sylus stands, almost carefully stepping closer to you.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” he says, his voice low but firm.
“Too late for that,” you snap, your breath coming faster now. “Do you have any idea how exhausting this is? How much I—”
You cut yourself off, your throat too dry to continue. Your chest heaves, your heart pounding as you glare at him.
Sylus stays silent for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then he speaks. “You didn’t have to come with me. You could’ve stayed behind.”
A bitter laugh escapes you. “Stayed behind? And what? Spent another week staring at the ceiling, wondering if you’re dead or alive?” You take in a shaky breath. “I didn’t come because I wanted to, Sylus. I came because the alternative was worse. It’s always worse.”
His expression falters for a split second, a flicker of something—surprise? Hurt?—crossing his face before it hardens again. “I knew you could handle it. I’ve always seen you as capable—more than capable.”
“And that’s part of the problem!” you fire back, your voice trembling now. “You always expect me to be right there, don’t you? Always catching up, always bending my life to fit yours. Do you know how exhausting that is?”
For the first time, Sylus doesn’t have a ready response. The argument stumbles into silence. The adrenaline of your frustration fades, leaving behind an aching exhaustion.
“I can’t keep doing this, Sylus,” you say quietly. “I can’t keep choosing you over everything else. Over my own sanity. Over my own life. I need to be on my own.”
His expression doesn’t change, but your eyes know his too well to be deceived – you know your words hurt him. He doesn’t argue, though. Instead, he steps toward you. You don’t pull away as he stops in front of you, his fingers brushing gently over your cheek. His touch is so tender that it takes everything in you not to lean into it.
“You’ll always have a place with me.” he murmurs.
His words pierce straight through you, and your chest tightens as you see the quiet acceptance in his gaze that makes it so much harder to walk away. Your throat constricts, but you manage a small nod. Stepping back, you feel the loss of his touch immediately, a hollow ache spreading through you as you turn to leave.
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Returning to work feels refreshing. That’s what you tell yourself. You smile through the questions about your bandaged forearm - “Just a stupid accident.” you brush them off with a rehearsed laugh and no one presses.
You take every mission they throw your way. You linger in the office long after everyone has left their desks, filing reports and analyzing cases until your eyes burn. When you’re not at work, you’re training. You work your body until your muscles shake, until your lungs burn. Exhaustion becomes your companion, the only thing that lets you collapse into bed.
And when you give your muscles a breather, you throw yourself into social plans. Nights at the bar with friends blur together into a haze of laughter and drinks. You keep the conversation light, deflecting whenever someone asks about your love life.
But you can’t always stop your mind from wandering.
On your walks through the city, where you tell yourself you’re just stretching your legs, just enjoying the scenery, the truth peeks through. You’re looking for him. A glint of silver hair in the crowd, the flutter of dark feathers overhead—anything that might mean Sylus is nearby. But he never is.
The frustration comes in waves, sharp and bitter. Sometimes it’s anger at him—for the secrecy, for the danger he seemed so at ease with. Other times, it’s anger at yourself. For following him. For leaving him. For caring so damn much. And yet, no matter how busy you keep yourself, the memories slip through the cracks. The way he’d call you ‘kitten’ in that smooth tone. The glint in his eyes when he teased you. The softness in them in the quiet moments. How he made you feel like you were the only person who truly mattered to him.
As the days pass, the routine becomes second nature. You throw yourself into missions, into nights out, into silence. The wound on your arm heals, but others linger. And no matter how much you try to move forward, his shadow remains.
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You lie in your bed, staring at the ceiling faintly illuminated by the light of the tablet beside you. It’s paused on some show you weren’t really watching. The air feels heavy tonight. You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, as if it could shield you from the thoughts creeping in, from the memories you’ve spent all day trying to push away.
Your focus is pulled towards your phone lying face down on the nightstand. You tell yourself to ignore it, to roll over and let sleep take you. But before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for it.
The screen lights up, the harsh glow making you squint. Your tired eyes take a moment to adjust, before your finger taps the messaging app. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t look for his name. But tonight, you can’t help it.
Tapping the thread, the messages he sent a week or two ago fill the screen.
“The flower finally bloomed.” [Attached: A photo of a vibrant red flower, its petals unfurling.]
You skim through the words you’d typed in response.
“It’s beautiful.”
Further down, there’s another message—a photo of the same flower, wilted and curling in on itself. “Guess I should’ve expected this.”
You never replied to that one.
You scroll up, searching for happier times. Your thumb slows as you reach an older picture—one of the two of you. Sylus has your cheeks squished in his big hand, your face pouting in mock annoyance. Your eyes linger on his face. You gaze at his soft, genuine smile – an expression only you had the privilege to see.
And then there’s the voice note.
Your finger hovers over the play button, your chest tightening as you debate whether to listen. You remember the moment clearly—Sylus had sent it during one of his missions. You press play - his voice is quieter than usual, but the smile in his tone is obvious:
“I’ll be back soon, kitten. Don’t get too comfortable without me.”
Your vision blurs as tears gather in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. Pulling the blankets tighter around yourself, you press your face into the pillow, letting the tears fall freely.
You lie there in the dim light, the sound of your own breathing filling the room as sleep creeps up on you. The tears dry slowly on your lashes, but the ache in your chest doesn’t fade.
Eventually, exhaustion wins.
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Your breath fogs in the chilly air as you step outside a corner store, clutching a pack of noodles like a prize. You glance at the time on your phone and sigh. It’s late. Too late, actually, to be out in the cold hunting down instant noodles. But the craving wouldn’t leave you alone, not after the day you’ve had.
It had started early. You’d dragged yourself out of bed and decided to keep busy— run errands, go to the gym, deep clean the apartment. A pampering routine followed. Scrubbing the grime of the day away in a shower, leaving your skin soft and your mind momentarily calm. Wrapped in your fluffiest robe, smelling like heaven, you’d almost felt good.
Then the craving had started sometime after dinner. A silly little craving for a specific flavor of noodles you thought you had in your kitchen. You opened the cabinet and couldn’t find it, but you were determined, so you threw on a sweater and a pair of leggings and stepped out. The impulse led you further away from you building since your corner store didn’t have them.
Now, here you are.
You pass by the small park near your apartment, and your thoughts are more on getting home than on your surroundings.
But something catches your eye.
A figure with silver strands illuminated under the soft glow of a streetlamp. Your feet falter, your pulse quickening as your gaze zeroes in on him. Sylus.
He’s there, at the park, crouching with his arm extended toward a stray cat that eyes him warily. The sight is so achingly familiar —his careful, as-patient-as-possible approach, the way he stays still, letting the animal come to him. You don’t realize you’re staring, too focused on watching the scene unfold. The cat inches closer, sniffing cautiously at his outstretched hand. He murmurs something low, his voice too soft to hear from this distance. The sight is so disarming, so tender, that your chest tightens.
Slowly, you take a step forward, then another, careful not to startle the skittish animal. You approach from the side, your heart racing faster with each step. He must’ve sensed you before he sees you because his head tilts slightly, his attention shifting from the cat to you. His eyes meet yours, widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The cat darts away, but you barely register it.
Sylus straightens to his full height.
“It’s been a while.” he says softly.
For a moment, you’re lost in his eyes – the tenderness his mesmerizing eyes hold when they’re on you. You slightly shake your head as you catch yourself staring, your brain scrambling for a teasing remark, “I didn’t think you’d actually get the cat to—”
Your voice falters when you notice the cat again. It’s sitting a few feet away in the shadows, watching you and Sylus with wide eyes.
“Sorry,” you murmur. “I think I scared it off.”
Sylus chuckles. “Don’t worry. I just wanted to feed it anyway.”
True to his words, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small can of tuna. He crouches again, flipping open the lid with ease. His eyes flick to your hands.
“Still on the hunt for those, I see.” he teases, nodding toward the noodles you’d been craving.
You chuckle, about to reply, when the faintest frown crosses his features. Your eyes dart to his hands, and you notice the thin red line on his finger, a bead of blood welling at the tip.
“You cut yourself.” you say with tone sharper than you intended.
“It’s fine.” he replies casually.
Sylus places the can on the ground before stepping back to let the timid cat approach. As expected, the cat approaches, its tiny nose twitching as it investigates the food. You’re about to smile at the sight, but your focus snaps back to him when you catch the bead of blood rolling down his finger. Before you even think about it, you step closer and reach for his hand.
“Let me see.” you say softly, taking his hand in yours.
His fingers are cool, the faint roughness of his skin familiar under your touch. You tilt his hand, inspecting the small cut. Sylus doesn’t say a word, but you feel the weight of his gaze on you, the way his red eyes soften as he watches you carefully inspect the cut.
You clear your throat, letting go of his hand. “It’s not bad.” you murmur. “But it should be cleaned. And you’ll need a band-aid.” You glance around, as if a store might magically stay open just for you, but the quiet streets and locked doors tell you otherwise. Before you can stop yourself, the words slip out:
“You should come to my apartment.”
The moment the invitation leaves your lips, you freeze, realizing what you’ve just said. A habit developed of all the times you’ve patched him up before. And it still hasn’t died, no matter how much distance you’ve tried to put between you.
For a second, neither of you says anything. The cat crunches happily on its meal, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air.
Sylus tilts his head, studying you, then shrugs lightly. “If you’re offering.”
You nod, more to yourself than to him, convincing yourself it’s no big deal. He’ll come up, you’ll clean the cut, and he’ll leave. That’s it.
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Even though you were in your apartment minutes ago, now it feels completely different with Sylus standing in your entryway. You catch how he glances around, his eyes taking in every detail. Then he notices a particular pair of slippers near the door, and you quietly nudge them toward him with your foot.
“These are yours.” you murmur.
Without a word, he slips off his shoes and slides into the slippers.
You motion for him to sit on the sofa while you retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom. When you return, Sylus is already seated, relaxed as always, his eyes following your every move. Sitting beside him, you set the kit on the coffee table and take his hand in yours again. You focus intently on cleaning the small cut on his finger, trying to ignore the awkward silence. The alcohol wipe stings, and his hand twitches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. You press the band-aid over the wound carefully, your fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.
"There," you murmur softly. "All done."
But neither of you moves. His hand lingers in yours, and when you glance up, his gaze is already on you. Sylus shifts slightly, leaning forward just enough to brush his knee against yours. He lifts his free hand, his knuckles grazing your cheek.
His voice, low and soft, breaks the silence. "Can I hug you?"
Your chest tightens, the lump forming in your throat almost unbearable, but you nod, and it’s all the invitation he needs. Sylus shifts closer, his arms wrapping around you carefully, as though you might slip away if he moves too fast. The warmth of him envelops you as you rest your hands on his back, your cheek pressing against the soft fabric of his shirt, taking in his scent. You press your lips tightly, willing yourself to remain calm, but a single tear escapes, trailing down your cheek before soaking into his shirt. Sylus holds you tighter, his hand moving slowly, soothing you. Neither of you speaks, the silence filled only with the faint sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.
When you finally pull back, his hands linger on your waist. His touch is light, uncertain whether you’ll allow him to keep holding you. His eyes trace the faint streak of wetness on your cheek, and with unbearable tenderness, his thumb brushes it away.
Your gaze flickers downward, just for a moment. A fleeting glance at his lips. But it’s long enough for him to notice.
With a quiet inhale, his thumb drifts, trailing from your cheek to your jaw, then lower—grazing your bottom lip. He hesitates there, his fingers barely pressing against your skin.
His eyes search yours before he asks, “Can I kiss you?”
Your breath hitches, your heart hammering in your chest. A quiet sound escapes you—a barely audible hum of approval, “Mhm.”
He exhales, relief flickering in his eyes. The corners of his lips twitch, just slightly, before he slowly, carefully, leans in.
His lips brush softly against yours, your breaths mingling. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer. You feel the faint tremble in his fingers as they press into the fabric of your sweater. Without thinking, your hands reach for him—trailing over his shoulders, up the curve of his neck, until your fingers slip into the softness of his hair. A low, faint hum escapes his throat, vibrating against your lips.
When he pulls back, just enough to break the kiss, his forehead rests against yours. His breath fans across your face, warm and uneven.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” he’s whispers, “I thought I could give you space, let you find peace without me, but—” His jaw tightens briefly, the muscles flexing as he searches for the words. “But every day felt wrong. I left a part of myself with you, and I don’t know how to be without it.”
His hands slide down to your waist, “I don’t know if I should ask you this, but - ” his gaze locks onto yours. “Can I stay a little longer?”
The lump in your throat doesn’t let up. You know why you left – how keeping up with his lifestyle has taken a toll on your mind and body. But you also know that the man, whose eyes are filled with adoration and reverence as he waits for your answer, is the sanctuary for your heart.
You nod, “I would like that.” You take in a shaky breath, your hands settling on his neck.
Sylus stills for a second, like he needs to make sure he heard you right. His grip on your waist tightens, and his breath hitches when you’re the one who closes the distance. He angles your face gently in his hands, his palms warm against your skin. His thumbs brush featherlight strokes along your cheekbones as he deepens the kiss. As though memorizing the shape of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the way you melt against him. Then his hands find your waist again, pulling you closer until the hard plane of his chest presses against yours. You feel the faint shudder in his breathing, the tension in his body, like he’s holding himself back despite the way his lips devour yours. You sink into the kiss, your nails lightly grazing the back of his neck, feeling the way his breath hitches at your touch. But the hunger builds—his kisses growing deeper, needier.
His hand slides down, finding your thigh, his palm searing through the thin fabric of your leggings, the touch making your breath stutter as liquid heat pools low in your belly.
Sylus exhales sharply. “Tell me if this is too much.” he murmurs against your lips. His thumb strokes your thigh in small, soothing circles, a contrast to the possessive grip of his other hand still anchored to your waist.
You shake your head, pulling him back in. “It’s not,” you whisper, though deep down, there’s a flicker of hesitation.
Of course, he notices. He always does. He leans back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. Just this.”
Your fingers tremble slightly as they thread into his hair, tugging him back down. You kiss him again—with more urgency, as though trying to chase away your own uncertainty. And then you move without thinking, shifting onto your knees as you swing one leg over his lap, straddling him. Sylus groans softly as you settle onto him, his hands sliding to your hips, holding you there, and you can feel his cock pressing against your clothed core.
His breath is a ragged exhale against your skin, his lips trail down the line of your jaw, his teeth grazing just enough to leave a lingering tingle. His lips settle on the side of your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin. You shudder, fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck as warmth floods through you.
And then your hips move, feeling the hard press of him against the damp heat between your legs, the delicious friction making Sylus groan in response. His hands slide up, slipping beneath your sweater, palms skimming the heated skin of your back. Then his hips shift beneath you, pressing up to meet you in a deep grind. The motion sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core, your hands holding onto his shoulders as heat coils tighter inside you. His hands go back to your hips, guiding your movements, keeping you anchored to him as you find a rhythm together.
His lips unlatch from your neck, shifting his attention to you, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”
The way he’s looking at you, the way his body moves with yours—it’s too much, too good, and the coiling pressure in your core tightens too fast. Your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt, your thighs trembling against his hips. You try to slow down, to savor it, but the pleasure builds too quickly.
The orgasm hits out of nowhere. A soft, breathless cry tumbles from your lips and your body tightens, your hips stuttering against him as the pleasure rolls through you.
Sylus stills beneath you, his grip steadying you, his breathing uneven as he watches you come undone. His expression is both hunger and devotion. The corner of his lips tugs into a small smile.
The heat creeps up your cheeks as the mortification sets in. Your heart still racing, you bury your face against his shoulder. “I— I didn’t mean to—”
His hands are already sliding up, cradling your back. His voice is low, soothing. “Don’t,” he whispers, his lips brushing over your temple. “I’ve missed seeing you like this.”
His hands drift lower again, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth moves down, lips grazing your ear.
"Can you give me one more?"
Your cheeks flush at the question, the residual buzz of your climax still tingling through your limbs. You answer by shifting your hips, experimentally rolling them forward. The motion pulls a deep, guttural groan from his throat, and the sound alone makes your core tingle.
"That's my girl." Sylus rasps.
He starts a rhythm for you, his grip firm enough to steer you but loose enough for you to take control if you wish. The friction is delicious, his cock pressing against your soaked underwear through the fabric of his pants, creating just enough pressure to. The layers of clothing feel like a tease, amplifying every grind, every roll of your hips.
"You're so sensitive." he murmurs, his gaze never leaving your face.
His words make you shiver, spurring you on to move faster, your hips gaining a mind of their own. You can feel his breath on your neck as he leans forward, his lips brushing your ear.
"I want to hear you again." he whispers, teeth grazing the delicate shell of your ear.
Your body reacts instinctively, your pace faltering as you gasp, the coil of pleasure winding tighter with each roll of his hips. Sylus doesn’t let you lose the rhythm, his hands guiding your hips again.
"Let go for me." he urges, his voice a low rumble.
His words, combined with the perfect grind of his body against yours, tip you over the edge. A broken moan escapes your lips as the pleasure crashes through you once more. Your thighs tremble, your body arching as you cling to him, his name spilling from your lips. He groans as his grip tightens on your hips as he presses you down against him, drawing out every last pulse of your orgasm. His gaze locks onto yours, as he watches you come apart in his arms.
You slump forward, panting against him, your forehead brushing his shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck. His hands roam your back now, soothing as you catch your breath. You can feel the tension radiating from his body, the rigid line of his cock still pressing against you.
"Better?" he murmurs.
Your body feels like jelly, but you crave more. With a shaky exhale, you nod, nuzzling your face against his neck, the gesture earning a soft chuckle from him. You give yourself a moment to catch your breath before you sit up and move. Sylus doesn’t take his eyes off you as you stand from his lap, following your hands as they grip the hem of your sweater, lifting it over your head to reveal your bare skin. The soft glow from the living room lamp caresses every curve of your body, and his lips part slightly as he drinks in the sight of you. You hesitate briefly, heart pounding, before your fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings, sliding them down with your panties in one smooth motion, and now you stand completely bare before him.
Sylus leans forward, his breath warm as it fans over your skin. His gaze trails up your body, lingering for a moment, before settling on your face.
“You’re breathtaking.” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp.
You don’t have time to respond before his hands settle on your thighs. His lips brush against the curve of your hip, tender and sweet. He shifts forward, kissing the crease of your thigh, then above your pelvis, the attention making your knees weak. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gently urging you closer.
He turns around to push stray pillows off the sofa, before turning back to you, “Come here,” he says. “I want to taste you.”
Your breath hitches at the words, but you follow his lead. Sylus lies back on the sofa, his hands guiding your hips to straddle him, your knees settling on either side of his head. For a moment, you hover above him, your nerves fluttering. But you find reassurance when Sylus looks up at you with a gaze so utterly devoted as he places a kiss on your inner thigh.
“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly as he guides you down.
A soft gasp leaves your lips at the first stroke of his tongue against you wet folds. You grip the backrest with one hand, while the other one finds purchase in his hair and he pulls you closer, burying himself between your thighs. His tongue moves with expert precision, swirling and dipping, but then his nose presses against your clit, catching it just right, and a shiver bolts through you. The unexpected pressure makes your hips twitch, grinding against him instinctively. His tongue continues to lap at your entrance, tasting your juices, and the wet sounds of his mouth against you filling the room. You let yourself move, rolling your hips, the rhythm dragging your clit against the firm bridge of his nose while his tongue explores deeper, delving into you with an unrelenting hunger. Even lost in the haze of pleasure, you keep some of your weight off him, careful not to press down too hard.
“Sylus…” you whimper, the sound breathless, desperate.
He groans against you, the vibration coursing through your body and making you moan louder. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you steady but letting you control the movement, as though he relishes the way you’re using him to find your pleasure. Each grind sends sparks of ecstasy shooting through you, the friction of his nose against your clit and the way his tongue delves deeper, fucking you in shallow, filthy thrusts. He shifts slightly beneath you, the angle of his face changing just enough to hit a perfect spot, and your legs tremble as you chase another release, rolling your hips harder.
“Fuck - ” you gasp, your hands clutching the sofa like a lifeline.
Sylus hums again, his tongue and nose working in tandem to drive you higher, his hands kneading your thighs, encouraging you to let go completely. And you do.
You come with a shattered cry, hips jerking erratically as he drinks every pulse, every flutter, his grip tightening to keep you from pulling away from the overwhelming high. Your body slumps forward slightly, panting, thighs quivering as you try to gather yourself. But Sylus doesn’t give you time to recover. One moment, you’re perched above him, gasping in the aftershocks of your release, and the next, you’re on your back, the shift leaving you momentarily stunned.
You barely get the words out before his lips crash with yours. The moment your tongue brushes his, the taste of yourself coats your mouth. A shiver rolls through you, your thighs instinctively tightening around his waist. Sylus lets you kiss him like this, lets you taste what he’s done to you, but when your teeth graze his lower lip, teasing, claiming—his control finally breaks. Without breaking eye contact, he sits up just enough to swiftly take off his shirt before his lips are back on yours.
You hear the sound of his zipper, his hips shifting as he frees himself. His cock brushes against your drenched folds, the thick length sliding through your slickness, coating himself in your arousal. A shudder runs through both of you at the contact, the anticipation stretching unbearably between you.
Sylus exhales shakily, his forehead pressing against yours. “Can I finish inside?”
Without hesitation, you nod, your voice trembling as you whisper, “Yes... please.”
Sylus aligns himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and he takes his time, pushing in slowly, watching your expression. The stretch is deliciously intense, every inch of him filling you, making your walls clench around him. A strangled groan escapes his throat as he bottoms out, his cock twitching inside you. His forearms cage you in, the heat of his body surrounding you as he rests his forehead against yours.
He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, dragging along every nerve inside you. But even with his languid pace, just the feel of your pussy already has him trembling. You feel him pulse, his hips stuttering as he groans your name, his body shuddering above you. Sylus buries himself as deep as he can, his cock throbbing as his release spills inside you. The warmth spreads, and you can feel every pulse of his cock as he collapses slightly against you, his breathing heavy, his lips brushing your neck.
But he doesn’t stop. Even as his hips jerk with the aftershocks of his first orgasm, he keeps moving, his cock still hard, still sensitive, as he rocks into you with slow thrusts.
“I can’t get enough of you.” he murmurs against your ear.
The sensation of his thick length moving inside you, now slick with his warm release, sends waves of delirious pleasure through you. Your hands cling to his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin as his pace begins to pick up again. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper, and his name tumbles from your lips in breathless gasps. Sylus leans down, capturing your lips in a messy, desperate kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his hips snap against yours. The pressure builds rapidly inside you, your body arching into his as his cock hits every perfect spot, the wet sounds of your connection filling the room.
“I missed you.” you finally confess, your voice trembling as the words spill out between moans.
Sylus freezes for a heartbeat, his eyes searching yours, his thrusts faltering as your words hit him. “Say it again.” he demands softly, his lips brushing against yours as his hips begin to move faster.
“I missed you.” you repeat breathlessly.
His rhythm grows erratic, his breaths ragged as his second orgasm builds rapidly. His hips slam into yours, his cock throbbing inside you as he grips your hips tightly.
“Fuck - I’m gonna—” His words cut off with a strangled groan as he thrusts into you one last time, his release flooding you again. The sensation of him filling you, paired with the grind of his pelvis against your clit, pushes you over the edge, your walls clenching around him as your fourth orgasm tears through you.
Your breaths mingle as both of you come down from your highs. Sylus doesn’t move right away, his cock still buried inside you as you both lie tangled together on the sofa, your limbs wrapped around him tightly. His weight presses into you, grounding, comforting, his body a welcome warmth against yours.
His lips brush against your temple first, then your cheek, and finally your lips. There’s no urgency now, just a gentle savoring. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he pulls back slightly.
"I never want to lose you again," he murmurs, the sincerity in his tone making your chest ache. "I was a fool for not seeing how much you were struggling. I took your strength for granted and thought you didn’t need me to change."
You swallow hard, unshed tears stinging your eyes. Your arms tighten around him instinctively, your fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair. He meets your gaze, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them.
"I’m more than willing to compromise," he continues. "Whatever it takes. I don’t care if it means slowing down, changing plans, or letting you set the pace. Just... please. I need you."
A lump forms in your throat as his words sink in. The dam of emotions you’ve been holding back all night begins to crack, a single tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. Sylus notices immediately. His thumb brushes the tear away, his touch featherlight.
You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, though there is a small tremble in your voice when you whisper. “I need you too."
Relief washes over his face, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile as he leans down to kiss you again, his hands cradling your face like you’re the most precious thing in his world. The kiss lingers, his lips moving against yours with tenderness that leaves no room for doubt. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, "Thank you."
You smile softly, your heart swelling as you gaze up at him. For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest begins to lift, replaced by the tender hope cradling your heart.