perse's purple dreamhouse

On a good day, Sylus was cocky, smug, and rather arrogant, a facade that only sort of faded once your relationship began. So, you'd only assumed he would be the same in the bedroom. He'd be teasing you and mumbling cheeky comments the whole time for sure.

Right?

"It's alright, shhh I know, I know." A warm hand cups your cheek, gently brushing away a stray tear. He's only an inch or two in, but the stretch has your eyes stinging more than you'd been able to hold back.

"S-Sylus..." You whine, nails digging into his biceps. The sheets are cool against your back, though the sensation does little to distract you as Sylus slides in a little more.

"Such a good girl for me. You can take it, I know you can. So perfect." He's being so sweet, his eyes soft as he places gentle kisses on your heated skin.

"I don't-I don't think I can..." You sniffle, though your legs wrap tighter around him.

"Just a little more. Take a deep breath for me?" When you do, exhaling slowly, you feel him bottom out. You suck in a breath immediately, though your eyes roll back in ecstasy in the same moment.

"See? Does it feel good?" He presses soft kisses along the column of your throat, humming when you shiver against him.

"Y-yeah. Can-can you move now?" Your eagerness makes him smile, pressing his lips to yours like he can't get enough of it.

"Patience, sweetie. You should take a minute to adjust."

"I-I'm already adjusted! Come on, just fuck me?" He grins, hands interlocking with yours on the bed.

“what’s wrong, sweetie?” your husband asks, when you dodge his kiss with a sheepish smile, that teasing lilt ever present in his voice. “we’ve been married for how long now? it’s okay if people know you like me.”

you ignore the warmth in your cheeks, the part of you that’s still prone to his negging, before lacing your fingers between his as a consolation prize and scoffing, “who says i like you?”

“you’re the one wearing my ring, wife,” he raises your joined hands, placing a loud smooch onto the back of yours. “you said yes to this.”

“that’s because you literally got on your knees and begged me,” you fire back, trying your hand at ragebaiting him.

but sylus just laughs, red eyes just sparkling, before leaning in to whisper into your ear, “and i’d do it again.”

“so, you got any plans this weekend?” your coworker baits you with mischief in his eyes. bound by the shackles of office etiquette, you force yourself to fall for it. 

“nothing much, unless sleeping and restarting the same show for the tenth time count.” you hardly look up from your 25 open tabs. 

he forces a laugh, and you hold in a sigh. “well, as exciting as that sounds, how ‘bout i raise you something better? i’ve got two tickets to that metal show on saturday, and i was hoping we could—”

heavy footsteps and an eerie hush.

your only warning of what’s to come.

the blonde to your right has seemingly forgotten your existence. right now, he’s focused on much bigger things. “h-hey, chairman ao!” he stutters. “how are you today?” 

bristling, you turn around slowly. there’s no way this is happening again. 

narrowed amber eyes. a flat, indifferent facade that you see right through. 

it’s happening again. 

staring right at you, valko taps the wall of your cubicle, checking his watch in feigned urgency. “i need to see you in my office. bring the fiscal reports we were looking at last time.”

muscle memory works your lips into a courteous smile. “yes, sir.” 

“Do you…”

Since he was far younger than he is now, Dante has made one single promise to himself, it’s what drives him to snap his jaw shut and end his question before it begins.

He’ll never stay where he isn’t wanted.

It’s easy to justify such a statement when everywhere you end up finds itself left behind in a mile long trail of carnage, guilt gnawing at him while you turn to face him. It’s a short distance between your bodies, one which is closed almost immediately. There’s no sense in denying the pull of his soul to yours, gravity or something like it coaxing you to drag yourself across the mattress and so close to him you can kiss his chin.

“Do I what?”

Do you love me?

It’s what he was about to ask before he remembered who and what he is.

If only there were a word to describe how foolish he feels right now, laying next to you facing one another, sunlight kissing your shoulder the way he did last night. He needs to leave you before something bad happens.

You’re here now, breathing and practically glowing like a little star he’s managed to selfishly keep for this long but nothing good lasts forever. That’s the secret the world tries to keep from you until it feels like you’re old enough to be faced with the truth.

He learned it before he was done losing teeth, his knees still scraped and grass stained like a once carefree child’s.

Nothing good lasts forever, not you, not this moment, not even the persistent memory of your body under his mere hours ago, nor your sweet words, assertions you think he hung the moon even if he’s better off living beneath it alone.

“You give so much, Dante,” you cooed at him last night, straddling his lap and dragging your curious, greedy fingers across his shoulders and biceps.

He isn’t selfless because he’s good like you, he’s selfless because it’s necessary. Nobody he’s ever cared about has survived him overstaying his welcome.

“You said something last night and I’ve been thinking about it, that’s all.”

“I said a lot of things last night I’m sure,” you admit.

“This thing was different.”

I love you.

Does it count if it’s muttered mid-orgasm with your calves wrapped around his hips, followed by an attempt to dig your front teeth into his chest, right above his heart?

You smile at him, tilting your head curiously. There are many ways in which this man has presented himself to you — arrogant, adrenaline filled and chasing more, charming, the most mature person you’ve ever met yet somehow the most childish as well — but this is new.

He’s humble and dare you say, uncomfortable, clearly tortured by whatever is running through his head as the sun rises just outside your bedroom window. You have a hunch he’s searching for confirmation that his feelings aren’t unrequited, that he haunts you the same way you haunt him even when you’re next to each other, knees touching, bodies inching ever closer.

You’ve always been the intuitive type after all.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

There’s a chance he’s rubbing off on you after all this time spent going back and forth, a question more suited to be asked by the downright cocky man leaving your lips rather than his.

Despite the well of guilt in his gut that churns out every possible theory and excuse as to why you said something that can’t be taken back, he chuckles.

You really are a bit of each other, aren’t you?

He could blame the late night chats and this little apartment he keeps coming back to, a sort of home he’s afraid is going to eventually slip away like all the others. Whether it’s your smile or your casual mention of the toothbrush you left for him in the cup on the bathroom counter, the persistent feeling that he’s meant to belong right here, to you, never goes away.

“Out with it,” you tease, poking his calf with your toes.

He raises his eyebrows, exhaling sharply.

“You said that you loved me.”

You kiss his chin a second time, breaking out into a grin. “Do you want me to say it again?”

“So you do,” he states, afraid that if he questions you it’ll make you reconsider.

You love him.

Nodding, your face warms as you find yourself a little unexpectedly embarrassed. Not that you love him, of course not, but that you were so caught up in what he was doing to your body and how he makes you feel that you didn’t consider the possibility he’d ruminate upon your words even if you meant them without question.

You are seriously, undeniably, entirely in love with him and have been for a very long time, probably since the first night he burst into your life with a swagger unlike any you’ve ever seen still to this day and an unbelievable story.

What’s not to love?

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs, suddenly shifting his gaze from your face to his own hand that rests on your waist.

“Have you ever thought that you shouldn’t?”

“I’ve never really considered that, no.”

You thought you knew what he was looking for and despite the doubt that creeps over you like encroaching sunlight, you decide that even if you tell the truth and he leaves, at least you can say that you were honest. That you meant it.

“Listen,” you start, reaching to cup his face in your ever-gentle palm. “I used to be scared of everything, Dante, even my own shadow was just a monster who followed me around but watching you and being with you have made me as brave as you are.”

He doesn’t look at you, eyes remaining downturned.

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”