Stars wheeled overhead and a brisk wind sent dried leaves skittering down the alley, skipping and leaping over cracked asphalt. Black boots descended, footsteps echoing off the stone walls as the dark-haired man in the long black coat moved swiftly through the cold evening air. His pace was steady, but his steps wavered slightly with weariness. The cold wind pressed against his back, lifting the collar of his jacket and urging him home.
If it could be called home. Could a place with few furnishings and no laughter be called a home? He wasnât entirely sure, but it was his, nonetheless. He unlocked the door and slipped inside, closing the door swiftly behind him, shutting out more than the night air. Screams echoed in his mind, sounds of rage and pain and fear. A shake of his head banished them, but never for long. He glanced over at the old TV set, moving across the room and turning it on, a habit he couldnât break. Something about the sound of other voices made the small apartment seem less dreary. Human voices. That part was important.
The man ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he did so, pushing it up and off his forehead. It was getting long again â heâd need to trim it soon. But not today. It was late, and all he wanted was to clean off the blood and sweat and fall asleep. Sleep made everything more bearable. It was where he could see her, after all.
A few long strides took him from the living area to the bathroom, taking off his coat and tossing it on the couch in the process. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he flicked the light on, blinking as the flickering fluorescent bulb revealed his face. Dark green eyes, the center of their irises a burnished gold, watched him from the mirror. They took in his appearance, including the slash through the fabric of his shirt, which left part of his chest exposed. The skin beneath was scored slightly, but not deep enough to be problematic. Damn. Heâd have to mend the shirt somehow. He didnât have the funds for new clothing, and even if he did, heâd rather spend it on an old movie, or perhaps more chocolates.
The mirror also revealed the blood staining his hands, the dark reddish smears stark against his pale skin in the wan light. Right. Heâd come in here to shower. He peeled off the torn and disheveled clothes, dropping them on the floor. It wasnât like he had to keep the place tidy for anyone else â it was just him in that apartment. Just him and the ghost of the woman in his dreams. But she wasnât here. Heâd pick the clothes up later when it was time to wash and mend them. The sound of running water filled the apartment, and he stepped into the shower.
Cold descended over him, the icy water tracing across his shoulders and down the musculature of his back, dripping onto the floor of the tub. He stood still, just letting the water cascade through his hair and down his body, rinsing the blood and sweat away. A shiver ran through him as the chill of the water seeped into his skin, causing him to inhale sharply. Too bad the shower only had cold water. Every time he turned it on, a small part of him hoped it would be warm. And every time, he was met with disappointment.
The manâs mind wandered as he busied himself with removing the more stubborn bloodstains, scrubbing at his skin until it was red and raw beneath the cold deluge. His most recent escapade had been more difficult than normal â the target was a skilled martial artist, ranked highly in the fighting arenas that dotted the desolate city he lived in. The target had come to him about a week ago, which surprised him. Apparently, the fighters in the city knew more about him than heâd realized. That fact could be dangerous, but right now he was too tired to worry about it. Why wouldnât the blood come off?!
The man stared down at his shaking hands, realizing just how sensitive the skin on them had become. How long had he been washing them? A minute? Ten minutes? Whatever it was, it was never long enough. He could still see the blood dripping from black ice down onto his right hand, its dark red hue painting his skin in gory tones. The target had been quick, agile, and intelligent, even after turning into a Wanderer. It almost had him, its claw slicing through his shirt and the top layer of his skin. Heâd grabbed the thingâs malformed wrist just in time to prevent himself from being impaled, sending biting lines of ice into the creatureâs arm. The ice dove beneath the targetâs skin, causing blood to flow and life to flee. Eventually, it fell dead at his feet.
And then he returned to his apartment. Like he always did after his nightly haunts. Those ill-fated adventures that brushed the edge of death only to turn away at the last moment. The man shut off the water, his skin prickling at the cold air. Would it be so bad to fail at some point? To follow his targets into the icy darkness he brought to them? For him, no. For the other humans living in this city⊠absolutely. Every target eliminated was one less Wanderer to terrorize the people living there. It was why he kept going. His reason for continuing. That, and the woman in his dreams. If he made it home to sleep each night, he could at least see her again. With that in mind, he toweled off and headed to bed.
Lying on his side, the TV playing an old drama in the background, he let himself indulge in one of the few things that brought him joy â his memories of her. The woman he saw when he slept. In dreams, he wasnât this cold shadow of a man. Instead, he was a doctor and a well-respected one at that. But his favorite part of these dreams⊠was her. Ever since he could remember he had dreamed of another life. His waking world and his sleeping world â two sides of the same coin. That other version of him had known her since childhood and had gone on to become a doctor because of her. He didnât blame the guy. He would have done the same thing. Eventually, the doctor and the woman met again as adults and formed a relationship. It was those moments he cherished the most, and that was where his mind wandered to tonight.
âI had all and then most of you, some and now none of youâŠ
Take me back, to the night we metâŠâ
A plaintive melody echoed through the small space, accompanying the words of the song that played at the end of the drama on the TV. The words wormed into his mind, into his soul. The night we met⊠But heâd never actually met her. Not really. What he wouldnât give to meet her. To have one night with her, as himself, not as the doctor. To feel her hand on his hand, to brush the hair away from her face with his fingers, not the doctorâs. To press his forehead to hers, feel her breath on his cheek. The dreams were always vivid, but he could never quite remember what she felt like. Or smelled like. Or⊠tasted like. Heâd only been given glimpses of more intimate moments, those dreams few and far between.
It seemed to him that the relationship between the doctor and the girl had progressed slowly, developing only recently into intimacy. Part of him felt ashamed of wanting those dreams to continue. Did this make him a voyeur? Should he not want to see this side of the woman he also loved? Since she had no say in the matter, it seemed a crass, cruel thing to want. But he wanted it all the same. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to hate himself for his thoughts, his wants. He curled his body inward, making himself as small as possible on the bed, fingers gripping the thin blanket in a tight fist. Emptiness stretched inside him, as vast as the night sky above his apartment. His chest ached from the vastness of it. Perhaps that was why he tried to make himself smaller. To make the ache smaller.
âJust one night⊠Thatâs all Iâm asking. One day and one night with herâŠâ His own voice, so rarely used, sounded strange to his ears. He didnât know to whom he was praying. Certainly, no god had answered any of his other prayers. Sleep claimed him, the last notes of the melody crackling into static as his consciousness descended into a different realm.
Soft moonlight spilled down onto a dark lake, the water lapping gently at fine, black sand. Confusion filled him, his brow furrowing as he looked out from the tree line towards the lake. This wasnât Linkon City. Where was he? He glanced down at the ground, noticing a faint path that led down towards the water. Stepping carefully to avoid the small blue flowers that grew amongst the sparse grass, he made his way down towards the water.
The lake stretched out in front of him, the other side so far off as to be invisible. The moon hung overhead like a swollen fruit, dripping silver light across the vista. A soft breeze rustled the tall pines behind him and stirred the waters of the lake. Was it a lake? Or a sea? He snorted softly, shaking his head. Did it matter what it was? It wasnât where heâd wanted to end up. Besides, he was clearly still himself, not the doctor. No sign of the woman from his dreams, either.
As he glanced around the lonely beach, he noticed small white objects poking up through the soft, dark sand. Kneeling, he put out a hand to touch one of them, a rounded, pale knob. His fingers brushed against the hard substance, and he realized belatedly what he was touching. Bone. A femur, to be exact. He knew this from his time spent seeing the world through the doctorâs eyes. All sorts of anatomical terms were familiar to him now.
The man drew his hand back, recoiling slightly as he made the connection â all the white objects on the beach were bones. They were just buried in the black sand, mostly swallowed by the darkness. What was this place? Some sort of limbo, he guessed, a world between worlds. He had no idea how heâd arrived here, as this was unlike any dream heâd had before. Slowly, he rose to his feet, stepping down towards the water. The black sand sucked at his shoes, and he understood why all the bones were mostly buried. Gravity felt different here. Heavier, somehow. The ache in his chest hadnât disappeared as it normally did when he dreamed. Here it seemed just as real and heavy as in the waking world, if not more so. He stopped just before his shoes touched the water, gazing down at the dark swirling liquid, expecting to see his face reflected.
He was not prepared to see her face, too. But there she was, reflected in the water, standing beside him. His heart skipped a beat, and he turned to his right, half expecting to see her standing there next to him. She wasnât. Heart pounding, he looked back down at the reflections in the water. She was there, looking straight out, her eyes focused on a point he couldnât see. His hands curled into fists, knuckles popping, frustration coursing through him. Even in whatever this place was, she was still unreachable. He dropped into a crouch at the waterâs edge, the reflections rippling and changing. When it stilled, it showed him in a crouch, with her peering over his shoulder. His eyes widened in surprise, and he sucked in a breath, not expecting a dynamic reaction from a reflection.
Exhaling slowly, barely registering what he was doing, he extended his hand towards the reflection of the woman. His fingertips hovered above her cheek, not quite touching the surface of the water. She stared out past him, her gaze distant and remote. Like her. He drew in a shallow breath and let his fingers drop down. They broke the surface tension of the water, placing a soft caress along the reflection of her cheek. If only his wish of one night had come true... Then he would actually be touching her, and not just some reflection. Ripples spread outward from his fingertips, disturbing her visage. As the water coalesced again, the man realized that her gaze had changed. The woman was now staring directly into his eyes.
Startled, he jerked to his feet with a gasp, blood thundering in his ears, galloping through his veins as his heart thudded in his chest. He started to step back, not realizing how deeply heâd sunk into the wet sand. The strange weight of this realm yanked at him, tugging at the ache inside him. Instead of moving backward, he fell forward, face first, into the lake.
The water enveloped him, drawing him down in a dark embrace. He put out his hands, expecting to catch himself in the shallows, but they met no resistance. A lake shouldnât be this deep so close to the shore. He had to hit the bottom eventually, right? Just like when he showered, the cold water washed over him, surrounding him, forcing its way into his eyes, his ears, his nose, and even his pores. Water shouldnât do that. If this wasnât water, then what was it? He tried to twist his body around, his hands clawing towards the surface. But there was no surface, no moonlight filtering down through clear water. Had he gotten turned around? Despite facing death almost every night, panic welled up inside him. Could you die in a dream? Would you wake up if you did? These questions and more flitted through his mind as he rotated in the water column, searching for whatever direction was up.
Up didnât seem to exist anymore. Neither did down, or left, or right, forward or backward. The water that wasnât water pressed in on him from all sides, suffocating and oppressive, darkness stretching out in all directions. He kicked out, trying to move through the substance, but the viscosity of the fluid around him had changed. Ever tried swimming through syrup? He decided he wouldnât recommend it. If he even got the chance to speak to anyone ever again. At this rate, he wasnât sure he would. His lungs had begun to burn, and the water that definitely wasnât water seemed determined to pass between his lips, threatening to drown him. At some point, he wouldnât be able to stop himself from gasping for air, thus inviting the thick substance into his mouth and lungs.
If that happened⊠No, when that happened, would he wake up? There seemed to be no other option now. His heartbeat was as loud as a drum, the sound harsh in his ears. His chest felt ready to explode as though he were coming apart at the seams. The strange hiccupping feeling that accompanies a lack of oxygen began, starting deep in his throat â the carbon dioxide in his lungs clamoring to be released. At least if he woke up, he could try to get back to sleep again. Try to dream of her once more. He fixed his mind on the image of her from his most recent dream â sheâd been lying in bed next to the doctor, sleeping peacefully. Her hair splayed out across the pillow, forming a halo that framed the face of the only angel heâd ever seen.
The demand for air won out. His chest heaved, his lips parting as his body begged for oxygen. Blackness took him as it plunged down his throat, invading every part of his body and consciousness. His last thought was the memory of her eyes meeting his, ripples dancing through the image.
Light fell across his face, turning the insides of his eyelids a soft red hue. The brightness of it surprised him â a sunny day was rare where he came from, and besides, the only window in his apartment wasnât near his bed. Guess you do wake up when you die in a dream. Slowly, he opened his eyes, just a crack. Bright morning light filtered down from bay windows, illuminating the face of the woman from his dreams, sleeping peacefully on the pillow beside him.
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Tired of seeing people being depressing and having a defeatist attitude on my feed, so I'm gonna go do something else for a while. Hust because Infold hasn't done/said anything in regards to Valko doesn't mean they won't. We have no way of knowing what's going on in that office. Having a defeatist attitude just makes things worse. If you think the fight is worthless, fine, but please keep it to yourself. Those who have hope and are fighting do not want/need that negative attitude. There's no point in bringing down those hopefuls just because you feel its all worthless. That, in my opinion, is just as bad as the antis. So please, just let the hopefuls and the fighters have that. Don't trample on it.
challenging all white women to put in even half the effort they spend on fearmongering to other white women about parking lot abductions to instead support MMIWG initiatives if they want to actually make a difference in protecting women
disturbed by how little ppl acknowledge the secondary health risks of vampire bites. if your vampire lover is drinking your blood you MUST be up to date on your tetanus shot. puncture wounds are at especially high risk for tetanus infections. just because your partner was born in 1312 doesnât mean you have to die like it.
moreover they should be prepping the bite point with an alcohol wipe.
and while Iâm at it, Iâve noticed a blithe disregard for health & safety when it comes to blood pacts. canât believe I have to say this but you should absolutely NOT be cutting your palm open with the pocket knife from your belt holster (??????)
if youâre expecting to be in a blood pact/oath situation please just pick up some sterile finger lancets from the pharmacy. cannot stress this all enough.
Please yâall!! tetanus is NOT caused by rusty metal. Itâs a bacteria found damn near everywhere, and wounds infected with saliva are especially high risk for tetanus infections.
itâs also a common misconception that vampire saliva is antiseptic. Vampires spread that myth on purpose. They also CAN cross running water. Make them bathe and brush their teeth!!!!
all the vampires in the tags saying they wonât do this bc the alcohol will make the skin taste bad are just telling on themselves. talk about a red flag.
comparing your human loverâs body to an inanimate utensil & misreading this as a PSA for the vampireâs safety rather than the humanâs. smh vampires continue to be so toxic đ€ŠđŒââïž
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This goes for assholes, too, guys. I know a couple who went tubing once, and they had to re-air their tubes, but the guy thought it would be funny to stick the tip of the air compressor up to her bikini trunks, the air ruptured something inside her and she died within thirty minutes.
Reblogging with a link because I thought this was a legit joke. Never heard it before. Like I knew you could kill a person by inserting air into a vein but still.
As a general rule of thumb, do not push air into any bodily orifice, regardless of gender. It never ends well. Air compressors and the human body do NOT mix.
I'm the threat that lurks in darkness
That you can't see
I can flip from cold to savage
From brain to teeth
I've got chills in my fur
Thrill of danger
Something primitive
I can hack any lure
To feed my hunger
That's how I'm wired to be.
Itâs interesting how diseases rip through schools at incredible speeds despite being in an arguably modern, clean(ish) environment. I wonder if it has something to do with the whole âyou need a doctorâs note to excuse your absence of even one dayâ combined with the average price of going to a doctor, the lack of education on things like âyouâre still contagious even after the fever goes awayâ, and the overwhelming message of âif you donât struggle through it, youâre a failure!â
On my campus there tends to be a problem where even I you have the doctors note professors will still take points off of your final grade regardless of how sick you are. Iâve seen people show up to class with the stomach flu, pneumonia, respiratory infections and all sorts of other contagious ailments.
The school system I grew up in put an absolutely ungodly amount of pressure on kids to Show Up Every Day No Matter What. Many schools are like this, but looking back, my townâs was borderline fucking dystopian. They asked me why I didnât just âpostponeâ a surgery at one pointâ when I was fifteenâ to give you an idea of how monumentally obtuse these people were.
So, in elementary school, I started having chicken pox symptoms, right? They were mild because I was vaccinated (yay!) but my mom recognized them quickly and took me to the doctor, because my mom is a reasonable human being with standards. The doctor said âyup, youâve got those pox, it may seem mild but please for the love of god DO NOT take her to school, she is very contagious even though she may FEEL okay.â
So I had to stay home from school until I got clearance from my doctor to go back. I was an angry little gremlin the whole time, because I wanted to go to the school library and read books about the human skull, but my mother said, âno, you cannot leave this house, and do not scratch the bumps please.â So I sat at home and tried not to scratch the bumps, like a good little gremlin.
A few days into my Chicken Pox Related House Arrest, we got a letter from the school. I was far from the only person with chicken pox, as it so happened. Like⊠a tenth of my second grade class had Confirmed Pox. We all fell ill within DAYS of each other.
So how did this happen, you ask? Well, a kid had chicken pox, and he came to school anyway. âAh, well perhaps they didnât know,â you may very well say. âMaybe his parents didnât notice!â No. No, they noticed. In fact they KNEW it was CHICKEN POX. They sent him to school anyway.
The kidâs parentsâŠâŠ.. were, in fact, teachers at the school. And they KNOWINGLY made him go to school sick, because they didnât want to risk hurting his precious âperfect attendanceâ record. They figured that since he wasnât, like, Literally Dying, it was better for him not to miss school. Never mind the fact that they were actively endangering hundreds of little kids.
Fast forward to my freshman year of college. A kid came to class with mumps because he âcouldnât afford to missâ. Guess what happened? Mumps outbreak! Diseases are, as it turns out, good at being diseases! Vaccinations are phenomenal, but they can only do so much, and some people rely on herd immunity to not be killed by preventable illness.
This entire attitude needs to die. Itâs dangerous. Food service workers are forced to show up sick, little kids are forced to show up sick, college students show up sick because theyâre afraid of flunking out.
And on top of it all, misinformation campaigns are encouraging people not to get vaccinations! Itâs 2019 and weâre flirting with the plague! Next thing you know some blogger is gonna be like âactually we should all be fucking rats and eating our meat raw, death to all science and god bless americaâ
look, i work at a morgue, i get to see every day how withered and small bodies can get when someone was sick. itâs awful. do you know how bone-thin a leg can get. or how a stomach really looks beneath the ribs when itâs wasted away. the way peopleâs eyes and cheeks press in to their skull like theyâre clinging on for dear life. they died like that, and you want to try and sell me a lie, a pill, a miracle cure thatâll make me live in that state? thatâll make my friends look like that, my family, the people i love? to see corpses in them?
this job makes me appreciate all the more bodies lived in and well-loved. please eat that second serving. please give yourself treats as much as you want. life is not long enough to suffer through it. youâll be plenty skinny when youâre dead.
this is so late renaissance early mannerism. the controversial male nudity? the lighting and value on the figure of emphasis?? him bathed in light and placed ABOVE while the police are clad in dark and BELOW?? Uh HES HITTING THE CONTRAPPOSTO??
On one hand: this imagery touches on themes of freedom vs oppression and how in shedding the various layers of shame placed upon us by the regime we can transcend to a higher place above the forces that seek to hold us to unjust societal standards.
On the other hand: cheeks out at the Krispy Kreme.
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The reason you can't be the next J R R Tolkien isn't because you don't have the talent, but because you're not the right kind of unwell. Tolkien wasn't bent for fantasy worldbuilding; he was bent for constructed languages, and got into fantasy worldbuilding in order to provide a material context in which to ground the notional evolution of the languages he invented. If you want to be the next Tolkien, you can't start with the worldbuilding; you've gotta find something extremely specific to fixate on, and develop it in such depth that inventing a world to contain it is genuinely the most logical next step.
#the best route is clearly to get really into a specific kink scenario and invent a world to justify it (via @salix03)
That's not even a joke. Developing a kink scenario so elaborate and so excruciatingly particular that it can only properly be contemplated in the frame of a world created specifically to contain it is genuinely closer to Tolkien's actual creative process than 99% of the stuff that plays at being heir to his legacy.
TBH I also thought the book was pretty normal ... contextually.
Not like, in relation to other published books, mind you, but normal for something a queer person on tumblr who likes Terry Pratchett and video games where you get to fuck the werebear in full shift and The Murderbot Diaries would write.
Anyway, I've said before that my idea of a good indie movie (this also applies to other media) is one that panders shamelessly to a audience so niche it has most critics muttering, "Who is this even for?!" and I think this book accomplished that.
I LOVED the âin which âŠâ chapter titles. Iâve seen those used for humor before, but these are both funny and give fascinating emotional background to each chapter. Mostly itâs a small emotion thatâs highlighted, but it adds so much depth to what happens next. Hereâs the prologue title for example:
I also loved the way the tone of the book shifted rather gently from âthis is a comedyâ to âthis is a horror novelâ. I donât know that it actually was a horror novel? Definitely speculative fiction. Maybe horror lite? Too much of a happy ending for horror, but too far from Happy Ever After to be traditional comedy. But that inability to nail down âwho is this book forâ is part of it charm! ïżŒ
The emotional drift of the story is Very Compelling. The slow breakdown of losing everything to get the one thing you want - and how that is happens differently for The Mad Sorcerer and for Sir Cameron. The grasping at bits of joy in the midst of chaos and confusion. The getting everything you wanted and it being confusing and different from what you pictured.
-
Queer Liberation Library has a copy, so you can get your free library card and find this book on Libby!ïżŒAudiobook version also available.
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đ// Dancer!Sylus x fem reader, slow-ish burn, smut & fluff
This had to be a joke, obviously. There was no way your friends actually bought VIP tickets to a male stripper show. You were just going to stay in and relax for your birthday, but the giggling pair of women watching you stare blankly at the ticket in your hand, had other plans. âYou are not serious,â you huffed, waiting for them to admit it was a prank. They shook their heads in unison. âYou need to loosen up a bit! All you do is work and rot in this apartment,â Tara said. âItâll be fuuunnn, weâll all go together!,â Simone chimed in, giving her shoulders an enthusiastic shimmy. âCome on, babe. You only turn 30 once. Youâre hot and single, plus itâs not like you have to go home with any of the dancersâŠI mean, unless you wanted to,â she added with a wink.
Admittedly, you were getting a little too fond of your couch every night. The dent left in the cushion was evidence of your repetitive nights in, watching the same trash tv, eating take out that was overly salted. You sighed with resignation, âfineâIâll go, but donât expect me to do anything crazy.â The girls clapped, bouncing with excitement like a pair of happy seals. Tara made a full itinerary for shopping, getting ready and the scheduled transportation in case you had one too many birthday cocktails. As embarrassing as this whole ordeal was, you were thankful to have such thoughtful women as friends.
Just days before your birthday, they dragged you to the mall to find the perfect dress. It had been ages since youâd been to a club, let alone a small bar right in town. They scrutinized everything in your closet, heads shaking with disapproval. âYou need something that draws more attention. Something sexy,â Simone insisted, raking through clothing racks with trained precision. âYesss, mature but daring!,â Tara added, holding different pieces in front of your body. Each dress got shorter, lacierâyou might as well show up nude at this rate. Eventually, you wandered off on your own, thumbing through the aisles with little to no effort.
Then your hands landed on a dress that looked promising. Just revealing enough to catch a few stares, but not too loud or gaudy. It was wine-red, strapless, length just above the knees and hugging your normally hidden curves. Your friendâs eyes widened as you stepped out of the dressing room, giving them a slow twirl. âSo? Do you two approve?,â you murmured. Tara and Simone glanced at each other, then back at you, âyes!â Although it was out of your comfort zone, you felt incredible in that dress, even if the fabric clung to you like a second skin.
When the night finally arrived, reality began to sink in. Not only were you coming to terms with transitioning out of your twenties, youâd also have to face the nervousness twisting in your gut about whatever depraved plans your friends had in store. Itâs just male dancers, nothing too crazy, right? Besides, you needed a break from it allâlife, work and the train wreck that was your dating life. Maybe ogling attractive men in skimpy little outfits wasnât such a bad idea? The blaring sound of Taraâs car horn pulled you out of your ruminations. You stood in front of the floor length mirror, straightening out any wrinkles, fixing tendrils of loose hair. Simone walked out from your bathroom, slinging her purse over one shoulder. âYou look amazing, girl. Itâll be a memorable night, promise.â
Bass thumped from inside the sleek, club venue. As you walked inside, the lobby was low-lit, adorned with velvet lined booths and private tables. Yours was reserved right at the edge of the main stage. Behind it was a giant LED screen, glowing with the nightâs line up. âSylus: The Silver Fiendâ was the first performer. Tara brought a tray of shots from the bar and you felt your stomach churn at the scent of overly expensive vodka. âCheers, to the birthday girl! Thirty and thriving!,â she cheered, clinking the glasses together before tossing hers back. The liquor burned as it went down, you winced at its strength, chasing it with a sip of pineapple juice. âI heard this guyâs the hottest dancer here. I had to get you front row seats,â Simone said just as the lights began to dim. The entire lounge roared with excitement, chanting the name âSylusâ repeatedly.
You turned your attention to the stage, heart fluttering as a slow, sensual song blared through the speakers. A tall, broad man stepped out from the curtains, dressed head to toe in leather and sleek riding boots. His hair was a silvery-white, perfectly tousled and catching the multicolored lights above him. He looked over the crowd, a confident smirk on his lips. âGive it up for the fiend, ladies!,â the DJ exclaimed, followed by an outpouring of screams. Sylus slowly turned his back to the crowd, rolling his shouldersâletting his leather jacket fall to the floor. His back was wide and sculpted, carved by the gods themselves. Your eyes couldnât stop from dragging down to his narrow waist. He looked over one shoulder, directly at you. His eyes were sharp, sensual and a deep shade of crimson. Sylus rolled his body hypnotically, hands roaming over muscle before resting on the belt loops of his pants.
God, his fingers were long, hands large and vascular. You squirmed as he dragged the zipper down, lip caught in your teeth. Yeah, maybe this night was going to be a lot better than you thought. He took his time sauntering around the stage, sliding to his knees, letting groups of women run their hands down his abdomen. Something stirred inside you then, jealousy perhaps? It faded when his eyes found you again, raking over your entire frame. You clutched the dollar bills in your hand, heart a fluttering mess as he approached. His cologne hit your senses first, woody and spicedâthen he knelt down and held your chin between his fingers. âWhat are we celebrating tonight, Kitten?,â he purred, âlove the dress.â The warmth deepened across your cheeks, words stuck in your throat. âMm, donât be shy, nowâŠ,â he chided, taking your wrist in his hand. Your fingers glided down his chest and abdomen, stopping short of his unbuttoned pants.
A surge of heat filled the space between you, time seemed to pause as you took the hand clutching a fistful of money, tucking it into Sylusâs waistband. He chuckled, it was the most attractive sound youâd ever heard. âSuch a generous tipper..,â he jumped down from the stage, pushing your legs apart with his knee. The dancer contorted his body like a serpent, letting you touch him while he guided your hands. Your girlfriends were in shock, eyes bulging as they watched the scene before them. Sylusâs gaze never left yours, in fact, he couldnât care less if anyone else was in the room. He braced one hand on the booth, mouth lowered to your ear.
âWhen this song is over, care to join me for a private dance?â
Your mouth watered, almost choking on the excess spit as you swallowed. Sylus held your chin for the second time, running a thumb over your lips. âIs that okay, Sweetie?â
âIâdidnât pay for that.â
âSsshh, itâs on the house. Iâd really love your company. Just you and meâŠ,â he mused, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.
You looked to your friends, seeking some kind of approval. They responded wordlessly but their frantic nods said enough. Sylusâs song faded out as the next performer took the stage, he waited eagerly for you to join him, hand outstretched.
His grip was secure, yet gentleâyour fingers interlaced perfectly. Before guiding you to the vip suites, Sylus bid your friends farewell. âLadies, please enjoy the rest of the show,â he pulled an unlimited drink card from his pocket and slid it to the girls. âAnd drink responsibly.â
Why you? You pondered, stepping through a beaded curtain that lead to a private room. Sylus held the door open, âafter you.â As it clicked shut, your ears twitched and heart pounded. The space was tinted by red LED lights, setting an incredibly intimate tone. He lead you to a satin lined chaise, encouraging you to relax. Slow tempo music hummed from the speakers, you found yourself idly swaying to the sound. Sylus towered over you, following your rhythm. âLetâs pick up where we left off. Eyes on me, KittenâŠâ His fingers rested at the waist of his leather pants, sliding them lower and lowerâhips rotating agonizingly close. You toyed with the hem of your dress, palms clammyâŠpantiesâŠclinging more than youâd expect. âI like the way your eyes look right nowâŠ,â Sylus purred, stepping out from the trousers pooled at his feet. Now he stood before you, practically bare, only wearing skin tight briefs.
âYou can touch me, Sweetie. Wherever you want,â he insisted.
âCan youâŠkneel down for meâplease?â
Sylus quirked an eyebrow but obeyed nonetheless. You held his face in your hands, thumbs grazing his cheeks, taking in every sharp feature. He was truly a stunning man, unique in his beauty, looking like he could live in another time. âI like your eyes tooâŠ,â you murmured, your touch feathering down the planes of his throat. âTheyâre like gems, beautiful...â This was, well, different for Sylusâunexpected. Normally his private clients couldnât get enough of his biceps or abs, the obvious bulge beneath his shorts. Still, he never allowed them to explore below the belt. You left the man speechless, yet wanting so much more. âYour words are dripping in honey,â he breathed, hands falling to your waist.
âI wonder if the rest of you is just as sweetâŠâ
With your faces just inches apart, you could taste the mint on his breath, feel it fan across your shoulders. âI want to know you. Memorize every last detail. Taste youâŠbutâŠnot yetâ, Sylus thought. He sighed, reluctantly pulling away. You were reeling from the tension that suddenly snapped like a rubber band. The warmth from his hands still scalded your skin, like a cruel reminder they didnât stay, didnât strip away the only barrier of fabric keeping you from getting closer. âSorry, pet. Times up.â
Your body slumped heavily against the chaise, not at all sated. You watched Sylus redress before he extended his hand. âCome now, Iâll return you to your friends,â he said, soft, his lips curling up slightly. Simone and Tara were happy as clams, surrounded by a group of male dancersâdollar bills tossed and drinks spilling over their glasses. You felt Sylus's breath on your ear as he leaned in to speak, âwhen I see you again, it wonât be in this smokey club,â he opened your palm, sliding a business card into it before closing your fingers. âLet me know when youâre home safe, please?â All you could do was nod, still left in disbelief. Then when you turned to say goodbye, all that was left was his lingering warmth.
The ride back to your apartment was full of chatter, your friends asking twenty questions at one million miles per hour. âHeâŠgave me his number, said he wants to see me againâŠto text him when Iâm home safe.â You looked up from the card in your hand, meeting two sets of wide eyes and slacked jaws. âSo? Are you going to?,â they echoed. A shy grin spread across your lips, cheeks searing hot. âIâyou think I should? I really want to.â They nodded frantically in unison, âif you donât, youâre crazy,â Simone said. âHe was so into you!,â Tara added. Of course, it was all a part of the act. To make women swoon and fall over themselves so theyâd tuck more money in his briefs. When you left, did he take anyone else back to that room? Say the same saccharine words? Secretly, selfishly, you hoped not.
The warmth and indents of his fingers still haunted your flesh. You swore you could still taste his breath. Mint, lingering from the remnants of gum or a lozenge and something warmerâŠmaybe a swig of brown liquor? Regardless, you wanted moreâpunching his number into your contact list.
đ±ââHey itâs me, thank you for a fun night. Wasnât planning on celebrating my birthday andâŠâ
You stared at the forming paragraph, thinking itâd be too much. Erasing it almost completely as you sent something simpler.
đ±ââMade it home, had fun tonight. Thank you.â
Before your phone could settle on the nightstand, it vibrated to life, Sylusâs contact name lighting up the screen.
đȘ¶ââOf course, Kitten. So, when can I see you again?â
Your heart flickered, beating like a drum in your chest. Several minutes passed, thumbs hovering over the glowing screen. Too many minutes, it seemed. Because your phone began to ring. What you didnât know about Sylus was that this stripper gig wasnât his real job. He could get his hands on anything or one he wanted with a simple snap of his fingers. You happened to be that wantâno, a need. Something ancient stirred in his soul when his gaze fell on you from that stage and he couldnât just let you slip away. But, he wanted it to be a true connection, wanted you to be willing to see past the dollar bills and neon lights. Wanted you to see him beyond bare skin and lustful stares.
âH-hello?,â you almost whispered, pressing the phone to your ear. âPerhaps Iâm not being forward enough.â His voice was much deeper, rougher with need. âI want to see you againâŠand Iâll do whatever it takes to make that happen. Do you understand?â âIâŠyeah, I do,â you murmured.
âGood. Very good,â you could hear the smile on his lips, feel warmth bleed through the speaker as he spoke. âLet me take you out on a proper date. Away from all that depravity you saw tonight.â You nodded as if he could see you, but flinched at his words when he spoke again. âSpeak, Miss kitty. I need a âyesâ,â he soothed, his voice coming through to stroke the length of your spine.
âWhere do you wanna take me?â
He chuckled, then let out a long sigh. âCheck your messages, sweetie.â
Before you could respond the call dropped and a text came through. An address. A time. What to wear. The restaurant sounded familiar, you thought. Itâs because that was the most impossible place to reserve in the whole city.
đ±- âno offense, butâŠhow can you afford to book a reservation here?â You could almost hear that familiar chuckle as his text lit your screen.
đȘ¶- ânone taken and not with money from my waistband, I can assure you.â
đȘ¶- âIâm looking forward to seeing you, get some rest.â
â
Sylus placed his phone on the nightstand, a deep gust of wind blew from his lips. He walked slowly to the floor to ceiling windows of his high-rise condo, gaze flicking back and forth across the busy city below. Linkon wasnât his home, nowhere was, really. Not when you live a life as dangerous as his. Being a male dancer was a cover, something he could snatch easily with his looks and charm alone.
But would you accept him, the most honest version. Someone who rules over a concrete kingdom, someone that takes lives. Only the ones that deserve it, yetâ.
Sylus was prepared for the sour taste it could leave in your mouth. Used to being called a monster. A villain. Did he deserve your softness, your attention?
Itâs not as if the leader of Onychinus expected a warm and affectionate welcome.
âââ
That was how you remembered him though, warm. Soft spoken. As the weeks went by, you couldnât wait to see those pools of ruby red. Smell the musk off his skin. Hear the depth in his voice in person instead of through phone calls.
See him in a different light.
Candlelight made him look soft, romantic, golden as it illuminated his face. You stared at him more than the menu in your hands.
âHave you decided on something?,â he asked, smiling earnestly.
âIâwell, I like seafood a lot. Thereâs just so much to choose from. The salmonâŠor no, maybe lobsterâŠ?â
Sylus watched you over the rim of his wine glass, letting the red liquid slither down his throat.
âWhy not both?,â he offered, without a hint of hesitation.
âYouâre serious?,â you rasped.
This was the most extravagant date you had ever been on, with a man that just a month earlier danced practically nude in your lap. You kept questioning if this was real, if you were truly sitting across from a stranger with white hair and red eyes.
âPlease, get both,â his voice was gentler, earnest.
âOkay then, both it is.â
âExcellent.â
When Sylus looked at you, his gaze wasnât stained with lust, but something much more reverent. He didnât interrupt when you spoke about your hobbies, dealbreakers or that movie that changed your life in high school. In fact, he sank his chin into his palm, head tilted and lips wearing the most handsome grin. You were his best company heâd had in a long time.
There was a brief moment of silence between you after your waitress left the room, one that you decided to fill. âIâve talked an awful lot about myself, why donât you go?â Sylus chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. âWhat would you like to know, Kitten?â Plenty of simple, generic questions floated around in your head, but Sylus didnât seem like a simple man.
âWhy me? Why the private dance, the textingâŠthis date? Itâs justânot something Iâm used to.â
âYou should be,â he replied, unraveling the silverware from its cloth napkin. âYouâre not a simple woman. Thereâs a depth to you Iâm sure youâre aware of, yet refuse to acknowledge.â Sylus folded the napkin in his lap and topped off both glasses of wine. âYou didnât want to be in that club, did you?â
âWellâ,â not exactly, not until you met him.
âI suppose we might not have ever met in that case,â he murmured, stroking his chin.
âYou made me want to stay.â
Sylus froze, body stiff from your confession. He didnât speak, he wanted you to continue, so he politely nodded. âI donât think you wanted to be there eitherâI meanâyouâre very good at what you do, butâŠ,â your gaze fell, pulse thrumming. âItâs almost like itâs a cover for something.â
Now his heart was racing, in that moment Sylus felt like he was made of glass, effortlessly read.
âPerhaps it is.â
Just as the conversation was beginning to get interesting, your meals were placed before you. Admittedly, with the way your empty stomach growled, this was worth the interruption and you savored every single bite. Sylus watched you with a pleased expression, as if he adored the sight of your indulgenceâand he did. What he especially loved was that your pleasure, even a simple meal, was provided by his handâand platinum card.
Sylus insisted on walking you home, noticing the rosy glow to your cheeks from one too many glasses of wine. "Honestly, I'm fine...I can just take a taxi. I don't wanna be a burden." He stared at you, puzzled, head tilted to one side. "Sweetie, I asked you to be in my presence, it's the least I could do." There was a beat of silence before he spoke once more, "and..besides, I'm not ready for your absence just yet." His confession left you feeling unsteady on your feet. "My apartment is just a few miles north of here," you uttered. "Perfect, it would ease my mind to know you made it safely."
"Do you always do that?," you asked, a bit slurred.
"Do what?"
"Say all this sweet shit on first dates?"
The words spilled out messily before you could stop yourself. Sylus rested his arm around your shoulder, standing on the outer edge of the sidewalk. He didn't seem scorned by your slip up, in fact, that familiar chuckle rose from his throat instead. "Is that what you think I've been doing all night?," he asked. "Are you so unused to compliments that you think I would waste your time and mine saying them?" You had no rebuttal. The two of you walked at a leisurely pace, his gait was measured, confident. Now it was your turn to speak, "I guess...I just assumed you're used to flattery...with your job."
"Ah."
An apology was rising in your chest, hot and stinging like bile. The silence from Sylus was not from offense, but him carefully choosing what to say next.
"I speak to you 'sweetly' because that is what I think you deserve. Is that acceptable?"
It was darker now and the street lamps began to light one by one. You could feel Sylus's gaze on you, hear his even breath. "I...suppose that's okay." The outline of your apartment complex came into view and a part of you wished the walk would have lasted a little longer. "Which floor?," he asked as you approached the elevator near the entrance.
"Oh, um. Third."
The night had finally come to an end and you still felt like there was more to know about this incredibly mysterious man. He watched you walk to your door, turn the lock and step inside. "Thank you...for dinner, and walking me home. But waitâ you're not going to walk all the way back are you?" Sylus smirked, "are you worried about me, pet? I think I'll survive." You frowned, and in this moment you truly looked like a stubborn kitten, making him chuckle. "Sylus, I'm serious-."
"Can I see you again?"
You blinked, your mouth opened and shut as words tried to form.
"There's just... something more about me I haven't had the chance to share."
"...why don't you just come inside?" It was late, you knew that and so did he. At this point, did the time really matter when he stepped inside and closed the door behind him? Did the fact that you had work in the morning matter as you watched him toe off each shoe and follow you to the couch. No. Not really. Not when you wanted more.
"Your home is...quaint," he mumbled, sinking into the cushion beside you. "It's nothing fancy, but I'm happy to have somewhere to go every night." Despite letting someone you truly didn't know into your home, this felt different. The air wasn't charged, you didn't feel cramped or trapped. Sylus brought a calm air that hadn't surrounded you in quite some time. He was close again, this felt far more intimate than your private dance somehow. Yet, there were more barriers now, down to the clothing you wore, more to tear away. You still felt that prickle beneath your skin, and urge to have him touch you, but wouldn't he have done that already if his mind was in the same place?
"I wont keep you up much longer...," he started, clasping his hands into his lap. For the first time since your introduction, Sylus wore an expression that seemed...vulnerable. You nodded, adjusting your weight into the couch. "You're right about dancing being a cover. And while I'm happy to have entertained you that night, it's not where I'll remain for the foreseeable future."
"Okay..."
"Will you disappear, then?," you asked. Why were you so concerned? You didn't know anything besides his name and what little he shared in the month youâve gotten to know each other.
"Sometimes. The organization doesn't exactly have a set schedule."
Your brows knitted with confusion, "Sylus, who exactly are you?"
Silence fell over the room, heavier this time, like gravity had walked in and announced itself. Sylus stood, "you've heard of Onychinus, yes?" The name was faintly familiar, a blur in the back of your mind. Maybe said in passing from your friends who were Hunters. You only had you a small peak into the depth of their missions, which were kept heavily anonymous. They never gave a name though, not a single inkling of what this 'dangerous mob boss' might look or sound like. One detail that didn't go unnoticed was the fact that no matter how many illegal business deals occurred, civilians were never harmed in the process. Only his competition. Often times, Sylus would get his hands on the goods and be on his way, never leaving a trail behind.
"Briefly."
He cleared his throat, "well, I'm the leader." A mix of emotions flooded you. Shock, disbelief, an ounce of intrigueâOnychinus was a crime ring, one that has never been easy to track, including the man in charge. That man was in your apartment, yet you still didn't want him to leave. "So, then...are you going to have to kill me if I say anything?" Sylus made a sound in response, a scoff that blended into a laugh.
"You wont."
"But, I would understand if you never wanted to see me again. I'm a bad man, you know."
"Something tells me you don't believe you are." You sat up, inching closer to him, his eyes flickered, but he didn't move back. "I don't think a 'bad man' would tell someone that he enjoys travel, learning new languages, or feeding stray cats every Sunday night." His weight shifted, the coiled restraint in his rigid posture softening the more you spoke. "If you truly wanted to get rid of me...wouldn't you have done it by now?"
"That's isn't-"
"Sylus. I'm not afraid of you. I don't exactly know how you got into that role. Protocore and weapon trades, business dealsâit's all foreign to me.â You reached for his hand, it dwarfed yours in comparison, his palm rough and calloused. "But you can't just disappear when you waltzed your way into my lifeâŠand certainly not after dropping a bomb like that."
He looked down at your intertwined hands, "I want you to be the one to decide, then."
"Decide what?"
His hand slipped from yours.
"What happens after tonight."
A chill ran down your spine, "what do you want to happen?" The space between you opened slightly as Sylus drew himself back. "I only wish you allow me to get to know you properly. No rushing into things, no regrets." Sylus turned to the door, you watched the dent in the cushion disappear where his weight once was. "I don't want to be reckless, not with you. However, I can't seem to sever this...linkage that draws me in, that makes me want more." His hand was on the doorknob now, your eyes traced the edge of his profile as he looked over his shoulder, "what's wrong with that?"
There was an invisible force Sylus couldn't ignore since the day he laid eyes on you and should you accept him, he would be willingly bound.
"I suppose, the fear that the want is one sided." He stood in the doorway for just a second longer, his back turned completely. "Good night, Sweetie."
The door clicked shut and you expelled a deep, shuddered breath. His heavy footfall disappeared down the hall, followed by the faint 'ding' of the elevator door. An ache grew behind your ribs, it felt empty, like a hole had been punched through your chest. The first thing you did was reach for your phone.
đ±â"Please don't disappear on me."
âââ
His keys hit the entryway table with a thud, the condo was quiet save for his footsteps as he padded to the bathroomâthe thoughts clattering against his skull were migraine inducing. Sylus stood beneath the shower's stream, letting the hot water run over his closed eyes. Maybe the heat would balm the throbbing in his head. His hand balled into a fist, then unfurled. He could still feel your touch, the softness of your skin. You smelled like the same perfume you wore the night of your birthday, yet something else lingered behind it, something richer. The scent burned in his nostrils, but he didn't mind the sting. What troubled him the most was the look on your face when he turned to leave. The confusion because maybe you wanted him to stay, the quiver in your lips when his drew back. But for your safety, for now at least, becoming invisible was his only choice.
đȘ¶â "Get some sleep, Kitten."
But you couldn't. Tossing and turning, you ruminated endlessly on what happened earlier that evening. How close he was, again, only to pull away. Sylus mentioned a 'linkage' that kept him drawn to you, yet you couldn't help but feel like there was a canyon dug between you both. Would you have to be the one to lay the foundation, to build the bridge leading to something more tangible? Weeks went by before you heard from Sylus again. He became impossible to get a hold of and you began to wonder if it was deliberate. This felt familiar, a man pours himself out to you, you show interest and then he disappears. That sad, empty sensation in your chest fizzled into heat. An anger so scorching it burned a hole in your chest. Because he wasn't supposed to be the same as every other man, you knew his characterâor so you thought. He admitted too much and too soon to be this avoidant and you weren't about to chase him.
âââ
Three whole months had passed, not that you were counting. There was a chill in the evening air, it made you wrap your arms around yourself as you approached the night club. A combination of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume and alcohol filled your nostrils. Tara and Simone were already inside waiting. They waved you over to the bar, greeting you with smiles and hugs. "I can't believe he just ghosted you like that!," Tara exclaimed, sliding a drink across the bar top. It smelled strong, after just one sip your body felt numb and for now that was better than aching. "Let's...not even talk about that, it's not like it hasn't happened before," you mumbled. But tonight wasn't about wallowing, so you tossed back the fiery liquid, enduring the burnâleaving only a few ice cubes behind. "Actually, fuck it. I'm gonna go dance."
You eased your way into the crowd, feeling the bass thundering in your chest. The music was just loud enough to flood the insecurities, the inhibitions. You moved at an aimless pace, back and forth, side to side. Your hips swayed and arms rose above your head. Nothing mattered now, not Sylus, not the liquor sloshing in your gut. Neon lights illuminated the dance floor, flashing and flickering wildly. You closed your eyes to dull the blur in your vision, occasionally bumping shoulders with a drunk stranger. You didn't care, finally distracted for the first time in months, so much so that the clammy pair of hands that curled around your hips almost went unnoticed. "Hey, gorgeous," a husky voice sneered, their breath hot against your neck. "Never seen you here before." You turned to see the person behind you, his smile was crooked and the stench of too many beers seeped through his pores. "Yeah, here with friends," you replied flatly, clearly uninterested. "What? You can't have one more?," his face twisted with annoyance, you wanted an excuse to escape.
"She was just leaving."
A familiar roughness and warmth pressed against exposed skin on the small of your back where your top began to ride up. A hand much larger than that creep, who was even angrier now. You recognized this voice, its depth and grit. The scent of him was more appealing, too. Cologne so expensive, it could only belong to one person. "Sylus?" He took your wrist and pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the slurred insults hurled at him in the process. "Why are you here?" Still no answer, but his body was trembling. "Where are my friends?" "They know you're with me." His pace was hurried, as if he was fighting the urge to turn around and give that low life a piece of his mind, or worse. An icy chill hit your face as the two of you burst through the exit and onto the sidewalk. "Sylus, stop!" You ripped your hand away, hugging yourself to brace against the frigid air, trying to conceal every shiver. Sylus paced, his breath leaving in hot, draconian puffs.
"You should have seen the way that scum was gawking at youâsmelling like booze and filthâlike you were his prey. I had toâ."
"I don't even know why you give a fuck," you spat.
His expression fell, slightly wounded. However, the venom that dripped off your tongue didn't stop him from caring as he shook off his jacket and draped it over your trembling frame. A relieved sigh escaped you, the genuine leather trapped heat against your skin almost instantly. "You have every right to be upset, but don't get hypothermia in the process." Sylus curled an arm around you and began to walk. Your mouth betrayed you as a small grin curled at its edges, "thanks...so are you following me now, or something?"
Sylus chuckled, "'or something'...just..tying up loose ends." He wore a softer gaze now, the adrenaline worn off. "I didn't think I'd see you at that awful place, but something told me to go inside. I also wasn't expecting it to hurt this much to be apart." The ice around your heart cracked a fraction, but it was going to take more than a few sweet words to melt the barrier completely. Although, his jacket was very warm, it smelled nice too. Damn, maybe this was working a little bit. "Then why leave at all?"
"Too many prying eyes. I would rather disappear than risk dragging you into my mess." You came to a cross walk, waiting for the light to turn. Several miles and minutes had passed, the signal lights reflected off of puddles, painting the ground in multiple hues. When you finally took in your surroundings, you realized this was the same path home you took months back. Sylus remembered every shortcut and street name, that the lamp outside your apartment complex still needed a new bulb. Someone that wanted to disappear, to forget you for good, wouldn't bother with the details. Or come back at all.
"But if you'll allow it, I'd like to start over." His arm around your shoulder felt heavier, more secure, maybe even a silent claim. It was a sensation you wanted to push further. The alcohol had since left your system, your vision clear and mind firing. Youâd address your anger later, even if you hated how your feelings for him were speaking over practicality. This raw, undoubted want was much, much louder.
"On one condition," you said, turning your key in the lock. The warmth returning in your voice was an invitation, as was the tug you gave his arm, pulling him inside. Your living room was lit by a few dim lamps, just enough that you could see Sylus breathing a bit heavier, the crimson shade of his eyes gleaming brighter. You shrugged out of his jacket and sank into that familiar dent in your couch.
"You dance for me, again."
ââ
Music played off your phone's speaker, the same sensual melody that played all those nights ago. He started with his shoes, toeing out of each one, laces undisturbed. The fluffy carpet absorbed his footsteps as he neared the couch with a leisurely stride. Slender fingers worked at each button of his dress shirt, baring his tanned skin and prominent muscles. You watched the garment fall before letting your eyes drag up the length of his lean torso. There was a vein that ran from his wrist to his bicep, thick and protruding. Thoughts of tracing it with your tongue made you cross your legs so tight they could cramp. Sylus was much closer now, hands resting on his belt. The subtle sway of his hips evolved into a strong, hypnotic rotation. He unclasped the restraint, eyes lidded as he gazed downward.
"Help me," he instructed, low and honeyed.
The leather hissed as you pulled it free, letting it hit the carpet. You had half a mind to reach for his zipper, but stopped before the nerves sent the signal to your hands. Sylus wasn't so shy, dragging it down himself, ensuring you heard the teeth's buzz. There was no time limit now, no friends waiting for you outside the door. Just you, him and the thick rising heat between your bodies. "You know...," Sylus purred, "you're still allowed to touch. I'm in your territory this time." With his consent granted, you smoothed your fingers down his sides, tracing every ridge and valley. A sound escaped him that bordered on a moan and it didn't go unnoticed. Sylus straddled your body, knees on either side, body rolling in slow, agonizing waves. He was a tower so grand and powerful above you, one that you were dying to climb. "Sylusâ."
"That night...months ago. I was dishonest, I didn't admit how badly I wanted you. I made you decide where things should go." He stood again, stripping down to nothing but skin tight briefs. "But now, I'm having trouble holding back." Sylus hoisted you into his arms. Your hands splayed across his chest, eyes level, mouths just inches apart. He secured your thighs around his waist.
"Then don't," you exhaled, heart pounding behind your ribs.
There was no hesitation as he leaned in, capturing your bottom lip. The kiss was gentle at first, a peak at his growing desire. Then it deepened as his tongue pushed its way inside your mouth and slid between your teeth. Sylus groaned, his grip on your waist went from tender to bruising. Your bodies fell back on the sofa, with your thighs framing him this time. You sank into his lap and felt the evidence of his need against your core. A hiss ripped from his lips, "patience, Kitten...no need to rushâ."
You ground harder, lowering your mouth to his ear, "how do I know you wont leave me again?" His large hand curled around the back of your neck, lips moving to meet yours. "I never want to be without you, I canât bear it." This kiss tasted different now, reverent, pleading for forgiveness. You whimpered, melting into his embrace, "then show me you'll stay." Sylus flipped your body, caging you against the cushions. His eyes were hazy, face flushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. "I will show you every day if I have to." You sighed at the press of his lips on your neck. He trailed them down to your collar bone, one hand slithering up your stomach. "May I?," he asked, toying with the thin strap falling off your shoulder.
"Please."
The fabric tickled as he swept it up and off your torso. His eyes raked over your bare chest, watching the rise and fall of your desperate breath. Sylus palmed your breast, his thumb traced slow circles around your hardening nipple. "So soft...," he admired, lowering his mouth. His tongue was so warm, it lapped and flicked greedily at the bud. "S-Sylus...mmh.." He hummed, giving your other breast equal attention, "more?" You nodded. "Use your words, Kitten."
"Yes, yes I want more."
His mouth descended lower, leaving wet open-mouth kisses on your stomach. Deft fingers dove beneath the waistband of your jeans, "lift your hips." You obeyed, feeling the cool air against your now bare thighs. Sylus lied flat on his stomach, biceps coiling around your legs. He cursed beneath his breath at the sight of the damp stain darkening your panties. "God, look at you..." He pulled them away, humming erotically, "do you know how badly I've wanted to taste you?" Your hands carded through his hair, locking tight around the roots at the first drag of his tongue. "Fuck, Sylusâ" His grip became more possessive, face pushing further into your heat. The broad hump of his nose nudged your clit again and again, putting an arch in your spine. Two fingers slid inside and your moans echoed in unison as he pumped at a tortuous pace. You had no idea such pleasure could exist and be given to you so willingly. As if your sounds and taste weren't a gift to Sylus, themselves. A privilege to experience first hand. Every lap and suck was a 'thank you' and this bout of gratefulness had only just begun.
His free hand smoothed over your chest, kneading softly as you continued falling apart against his mouth. "Soâmmhâsweet," he groaned, catching the look in your eyes before they rolled back. You could feel his grin curl against your flesh, the breathy chuckle he gave in response to your whines. "What'sâahâsoâmmm..funny?," you strained, propping yourself on your elbows. Sylus pulled back, soaked from lips to chin. He kissed a path along your inner thigh, the softness a stark contrast to how greedily he devoured you. "Those sounds...and the look on your face, so cute...," he smiled, fondly this time.
"Now..."
He lowered again, dragging his tongue from entrance to clit.
"Let me make up for lost time."
The reintroduction, the warmth and wetness, made you gasp and squeeze your thighs firmly around his head. The building pressure in your lower belly almost felt foreign after going so long without this kind of pleasure. The kind that blurred your vision and scrambled thoughts that no longer matteredâyou almost forgot how angry you were that he left. The louder you moaned, the deeper he dove inside, like oxygen was a second thought. "Let go, Kitten. You've waited so long, held yourself back. I can handle everything you have to give me." He was right, you deserved to be selfish and Sylus's generosity was infinite. It overflowed in the form of praise and stimulation. Heat crawled up your spine before it bowed off the cushions once more and your cries echoed unapologetically. Sylus crashed with you, cushioning your fall with sloppy kisses to your lower lips. He moaned as the taste of you saturated his tongue, "you made such a messâŠgood girl."
âââ
It was late again, and as much as you tried to fight the drowsiness, exhaustion won. You remembered the soft kiss to your temple, your body suddenly floating off the couch and the familiar hug of your mattress. Sylus sat at its edge, watching the rise and fall of your chest. His hand ran down the length of your hair, curling the ends around his fingertip. "You're falling asleep," he soothed. You said something, grumbly and muffled by a mountain of pillows. He chuckled quietly, "what was that?" "Didn't do anything...to you...," you sighed. His brow furrowed, "Kitten..."
"I wanted to.."
His gaze softened, that pouty kitten expression he adored was all he needed. "You don't owe me anything, I'm perfectly satisfied."
"Mm...but you'll stay, right?"
That question was answered the next morning. The normally empty space beside you was sunken down by a new weight. Steady breath blew against the back of your neck and a pair of arms were around your waist. "Sylus?," you asked, voice edged with sleep.
"Mm?"
"Nothing, just...making sure I wasn't dreaming." You turned to face him, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled like a slow morning, a warm musk that had you chasing the scent. âI never go back on a promise,â he said, you liked his voice when it was raw with sleep. Sylus tightened his embrace, kissing your forehead, letting his lips linger before pulling away. âMore,â you hummed drowsily. âSorry?,â he huffed, but with a grin on his face.
âMore kisses, now preferably.â
He couldnât deny such a demand, pressing his lips anywhere they could touch. Your mouth searched for his. When you finally kissed, it was savored slowly, without a care for morning breath. Sylus pulled your bodies flush, groaning low when your leg swung over his hip. You could feel his growing erection, and he wasnât trying to keep it from you this time.
âMmh, SyâŠâ
âYes?â
Your hand slipped from his hair, dragging down his chest and abdomen before palming the bulge.
âI want this too, please.â
His fingers laced around your wrist, âbehave, Iâll give it to you.â The sound of thin fabric dragging down skin filled your ears and the calm, sleepy pulse in your chest grew feverish. Sylus was finally pulled free, warm and resting against your still clothed self. The heat radiated through your underwear, you could feel a prominent vein with the smallest shift of his hips. You moaned quietly to yourself, pushing the garment down and off your ankles. Sylus hissed when he felt how ready you were. âSo wet,â he groaned, sliding his cock between your folds, molding his hands to your waist. You ground against him and he followed your rhythm, needy and uneven, hungry with want. âFuck me, SylusâŠplease.â A growl rumbled in his chest, he felt hotter in just seconds. Dewy beads of sweat clung to his furrowed brow. âIâll admit, I like hearing you beg.â
âPlease,â you repeated, muffled into his neck, âpleaseâŠpleaseâŠplease.â
Your supplications earned the first inch of him, the slow stretch feeling like bliss rather than ache. He took his time with you, cataloging every sound and shuddered breath to memory. When he was fully sat inside you, there was a pause in his movements. âI want to feel you,â he sighed, âjustâŠlike this.â The intimacy of this kind of closeness, connected at the hip, heartbeats in sync, was like nothing youâd ever felt.
âSylusâŠâ
âMmh?â
âDonât leaveâŠdonât disappear..â
He cradled the back of your head, âI wonât.â His fingers tangled into the hair at your nape, gently tugging your eyes on his. âFocus on me right here, right now. Iâm with you.â The sunlight danced in his ruby eyes and painted his features in a soft, golden haze. Your breaths mingled in the closeness, leaving in heavy gusts at the crest of your release. âRight there, godâright there..,â you mewled, scratching faint red lines into Sylusâs back. His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. It was already humming with sensation, the new contact had your eyes stinging with tears, walls clenching in fluttering pulses. âIâm yours,â he confessed, sucking a mark into your neck.
âNow say it back.â
âSylusâIâm-,â
âI know youâre close,â he rasped, hands ironclad on your hips. âSay it, I want you to claim whatâs yours.â
A lump formed in your throat, you werenât sure if the new tears streaming down your cheeks were from his words or the strength of his thrusts. Words crawled up your throat like fire just as your legs began to tremble, as you fell apart in his arms.
âYouâre mine. Yes, Sylus, youâre mine.â
His hips stuttered then stilled before you felt the warmth of his release. Sylusâs forehead fell to your shoulder, muscles softening as the high waned. He kissed the budding mark on your neck, then your jaw, saving your lips for last. They were puffy and flushed, slotting perfectly with his. He tasted like warmth breath, promises and new beginnings. âMine,â you repeated against his lips.
He hummed, hugging you close to his chest.
âYours.â
Thatâs where you stayed for a long while, tangled in soft bedding and warm beams of sunlight pouring in through sheer drapes. Sleep came and went well into the afternoon. Eventually, you left the sanctuary of bedsheets and retreated to the shower, Sylus following closely behind. He looked different with his hair damp and pushed back, even more handsome than he needed to be. As he dressed, his eyes fixed on the marks left just hours before, âyou really didnât want me to leave, hm?â
âYou can go now, if you wanna be cocky,â you retorted, giving him a playful shove.
âI do have to go, but itâs not because I want toâŠâ
You watched him fasten the last few buttons on his shirt, âduty calls, huh?â
âUnfortunately.â
A frown pulled at your lips, but faded as Sylus took hold of your chin. âItâs just for a few days, think you can wait for me?â
âI guess thatâs alright.â
He chuckled, âso stubborn,â then tapped his lips with his finger.
It wasnât a kiss goodbye, not this time. Just, âsee you in a few daysâ. But it lingered like it could be your last, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your lips and the taste of your breath.
âCome back in one piece.â
Sylus grinned, halfway out the door, ânot a single hair will be out of place.â
You listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall, to the faint ding of the elevator.
âGood.â
*~*~*
a/n: goodness! This was a long writing process. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading and as always comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. Please do not plagiarize, repost or feed into ai.
i do not think sylus is a fumbling virgin but i don't think he learned through the hands on sleeping around approach before mc either.
i think sylus has an erotica collection. not cheap porn and not overly complicated medical textbooks with practical jargon, but a secret third thing.
it's the kind that you can vividly insert yourself into without feeling silly or out of depth, very tasteful. he probably spent the years apart reading and daydreaming about when he'd finally get to have his angel in his arms, perched in his lap or laid out under him the way he's read about.
mc thinks the natural attentiveness and prowess he shows where their sex life is concerned is from him being a whore until she stumbles across his collection and he just sort of shrugs and tells her it was good research.
