"Tired already, sweetie?" His voice dripped with mock concern that made your blood boil. You weren't tired—you were a hunter, for fuck's sake. You'd faced down Wanderers and survived. This shouldn't be so damn difficult.

But you didn't know what you didn't know, and every movement felt awkward, wrong. Your face must have been making that clear because he kept looking at you with those knowing crimson eyes and that infuriating smirk.

The nerve of him. The absolute nerve.

You wanted to prove him wrong. But your body wasn't cooperating, you were too tense, too focused on not hurting yourself, too caught up in the humiliation of not knowing what you were doing.

You couldt get it out of your head. You had to do this right. So what do you do? You watch every video, read every magazine article, practice with your toy until your thighs burned and your mind was full of possibilities.

But when you try again? Same mess. Wrong angle, wrong movements, wrong everything.

"You are doing good, Miss hunter, but apparently you still need some... instruction."

So he did what Sylus always did when you were too stubborn, too proud to ask for help. He took over.

He flipped you onto your back, positioned himself between your thighs, and fucked you properly. He didn't stop until you were boneless and passed out on his bed, too tired to even try again.

A whole week later, you think about it again. Again. But then something adds to the whole thing—this nagging insecurity about your body. About how you'd look naked and bouncing on him. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. So you forget it and try to focus on other things. Anything to keep your mind off it.

Until that night.

When you both get home from a particularly grueling mission, exhausted and covered in grime. Sylus pours you both drinks—his way of celebrating surviving another day—and you find yourself sitting on his lap in his office, his hands on your waist, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs something about how good you look even when you're filthy.

The alcohol hits different when you're already tired. Makes your head fuzzy, your inhibitions lower. Makes you brave.

Before you can think better of it, you're straddling his lap, your hands on his shoulders, his mouth on your neck.

Something about his words, about the way he looks at you like you're the only thing that matters, about the liquid courage warming your veins—it all adds up.

You're not thinking about your body anymore. You're not thinking about anything except this.

You take off your shirt and your shoulders loosen, the tension melting away as cool air hits your bare skin. Your breath leaves in slow, willing sighs, and you notice how his hand has taken one of your wrists, thumb stroking the racing vein there. It feels like his mark, like he's claiming you even in this small way.

The skirt you're wearing bunches up when you widen your legs, you take his hand on your wrist and the other one in your hands and push them behind his chair.

"Use your evol."

He understands immediately, and you see his eyes widen for a second before that infuriating smirk shows itself again. "Are you...?"

"I'm sure. If you touch me, I'll stop."

He obeys—of course he does. But that stupid smirk is still there, even as you lower his zipper and let his cock spring free into your hand. Even when you wrap your hand around it and stroke it a few times, feeling the heat of him, the weight of him. Even when you pull your panties to the side with one hand and the other lines him up at your entrance.

Until you start to sink down. Slowly. Very slowly, and you watch as his expression shifts—lips parting, that smirk completely gone, replaced by something raw and hungry as he stares at his cock disappearing between your folds.

You notice it now, what the problem was. His hands were always too tense, gripping you like he was afraid he'd hurt you, making you as rigid and uncertain as he was. But now, when you finally start to move, when his cock slides in and out without hurting, opening you up to pleasure—finally it feels right.

He tries to move his hands—forgetting completely that they're bound by his own evol—and groans in response to your chuckle, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest.

"Such a cruel little thing," he breathes, eyes squeezing shut for just a moment before opening again to meet yours. "You're... you're enjoying this, aren't you? Is this what you wanted?"

His hips buck involuntarily, a small, desperate thrust that pushes deeper inside you.

The movement makes you moan, and on his next thrust you sink lower until your ass meets his skin, both of you throwing your heads back. The feeling of his cock hitting so deep is intoxicating, something that feels different from anything you've experienced before.

It's no secret to Sylus that you can only cum with clit stimulation, so his next words don't come as a surprise "Let me help you, it will feel so much better."

But you shake your head, a sharp denial that's more instinct than thought. Your hips keep moving, keep bouncing on him like you're a machine programmed to chase this feeling. The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room, mixing with your breathy moans.

You don't care that your breasts are bouncing right in front of his face, that he can see everything. You don't care about the rhythm you've fallen into, just the building pressure in your core, the way his cock hits so deep it feels like he's rearranging your insides.

Your vision starts to white out at the edges, pleasure building to an unbearable peak. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails leaving marks, and you rock harder, faster, chasing that edge where pleasure becomes something else entirely.

You feel it the moment your clit brushes against the coarse hair on top of his cock—that weird, urgent pressure like you might actually pee if you don't stop and it makes you slow down. Before you can give up sgain his voice cracks through the haze: "Please don't stop, not now, sweetie keep going."

He sounds shattered. Broken. Needy. Like you own every piece of him.

Giving in to his plea you start again, but something shifts between you—this time since you started sleeping together, Sylus breaks first. The veins in his neck look strained, his groan so loud you actually worry the twins might hear it. But you keep going, taking him to overstimulation like he always does to you, and for the first time you understand why it drives him so wild to see you like this.

When you stick your fingers in his mouth to soak them in his saliva before bringing them down to your clit, his eyes go half-lidded with pleasure and pride. It only takes three circles around it before you cum—hard. Squirting all over his lap so much his eyes widen in surprise, the noises you make so raw and beautiful it almost makes him cum sgain.

Was it Xavi coming down for a movie and late night snacks?

No, the footsteps were heavier than his impressively light feet.

It couldn't be Caleb. He was still involved with the Fleet, despite all your blatant dislike for them and their dealings.

Besides, the gait was too long for him, as they came closer to your bedroom.

You smirked to yourself, the realisation brushing along your skin of who it was.

"Seems skulking around in the dark really is your specialty." you call out, voice a little drowsy.

A deep huff of amusement sounds from behind the door. Hung just ajar, Sylus pushes it open with ease. The air sucked out of the room, as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

"I hope you don't mind my dropping in, kitten. I was in the neighbourhood." his tone was tinged with a casual air that didn’t fit the dark figure currently brooding in your bedroom doorway.

"Of course not, come on in."

You couldn't see his face in the dimmed moonlight, but you could see he still had his suit jacket slung over his shoulders. The severe cut of his jawline and the column of his strong neck were highlighted by a shaft of light peering through the curtains.

He turned his face to the window and confidently stepped towards them in less than three long strides.

Your stomach flipped. How could something as simple as walking across a room fluster you like that?

Expertly voiding all light in the room, you're plunged into darkness, save for the faint electrical glow of your alarm clock and phone charger.

"That's better." There's a smirk in his voice, but you can sense a mote of exhaustion behind his words.

"Are you okay?" you ask, straightening up.

"A business deal went south. It's nothing to worry about, I'm fine." It's not brusque, but it's final.

You hear the rustle of him throwing his jacket off. Kicking off his house slippers. Steps getting closer. Taking off his rings. The clatter of them hitting your bedside cabinet.

You aimlessly reach out for him in the darkness and find the rolled up sleeve of his shirt, his strong forearm, his calloused hand. Pressing a gentle kisses on his fingers, palm and his inner wrist; once, twice.. three times.

You hear him exhale above you. He sounds tired.

Wordlessly, you pull him down to the bed. The soft creaks of your mattress groan at his weight, as you fumble for his face and lead him down to lay on you.

Wriggling to get comfortable, you both settle into the embrace; you on your back, legs hooked into his and him laying in your arms, head resting on your chest.

It was his favourite position to cuddle in and it was rapidly becoming yours too.

Familiarity and ease seeped into the edges of the hug and quickly found their way deeper.

Sylus eeked out a contented groan as his body melted into yours, "This is nice." his words were garbled by his lips being half stuck to your skin.

You exhaled a soft laugh of murmured agreement, beginning to draw illegible shapes on his back.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you venture, voice barely above a whisper.

He shakes his head against your jaw resting on the top of his head. You nod in surrender. His nose finds your pulse point; he inhales deeply and croaks a slow exhale from the back of his throat, his form softening completely in your arms.

"I'd much rather hear about your day, kitten." You can hear how tired he is. He probably hasn't slept.

You pull him tighter into your arms and press a kiss to his forehead, then bring your other hand his curl his short hair within your fingers.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to regale him about your day. Your unfulfilling breakfast, uninteresting commute, uninspired workday.. You were just finishing up a very well impersonated conversation with Tara, when you heard a soft snore coming from his throat.

You smile to yourself, still idly drawing on his muscular back. Blinking against the darkness, your eyes lightly stung as you closed them.

With a gentle smile on your face and the comforting weight of a lightly snoring crow, you fell into a easy slumber; dreaming of dragons and pipe organs, roses and red eyes, and the faithful promise to always find each other.​

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There's something about a tough guy that melts into a soft boi for only one person ☺️😴