Ms. Frost Feathers

“Look at you,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches. “Sylus.”

A slight tilt of his head. “Already?”

The word slides under your skin.

Beyond the glass, a guard passes the rear of the vehicle. A shadow glides over the window, distorted by the tint, then disappears. Your while body tightens. Sylus feels it, his fingers press into your hip, while his gaze stays on yours.

“They can't see you,”

The certainty should comfort you, it ruins you instead.

His hand leaves your hip and moves with clean purpose. Jacket pushed from your shoulders, top shoved high enough to bare your ribs, your stomach, the quickened movement beneath your chest. Necessity and access. The practical brutality of a man who knows exactly what he wants from you and refuses to dress his appetite in manners.

Cool air immediatly touches your skin.

His gloved hand follows.

A slow path along your waist, a drag over your ribs. A pause where your breath shudders hardest. He watches the effect before he continues, as if every involuntary betrayal is being entered into evidence.

“You're trembling.”

“No.”

The lie barely survives your mouth.

His thumb moves along the hinge of your jaw.

Almost tender, almost... worse.

“Good.”

The word lands low in your stomach, heat gathers there, thick and humiliating. Your thighs tense around him before you can command them still.

A faint smile touches his mouth. “There she is.”

The first kiss is controlled enough to feel like discipline.

He takes your mouth with no violence, yet nothing about it feels gentle. His lips move against yours with deliberate pressure, giving only what he chooses, withholding the rest until your hands fist in the front of his jacket. Hunger flashes through you. He answers it by slowing down.

A sound slips out of you.

His fingers close at your throat. No squeeze, just an anchor. A reminder, of ownership, of how easily your body has agreed before your mind finishes pretending it has a vote.

The kiss deepens when he permits it.

Then his hand travels down your spine.

Vertebra by vertebra, he drags heat out of you. Your back arches. His palm finds the curve of your ass and holds, then pulls you down against him. The hard length beneath his trousers presses up through layers of clothing. Your breath breaks into his mouth.

“There,” he says against you. “You feel it now.”

Your answer is a needy shift of your hips.

The gloved hand stills you at once.

“Stay exactly where I put you.”

The command empties your head with frightening ease.

His fingers slip beneath the hem of your skirt, slow enough to be cruel. Along your thigh. Higher. Over the tremor he caused. When he reaches the heat between your legs, he does not grant relief immediately. He rests there, feeling the soaked fabric of your underwear with a calm that makes your face burn.

His eyes lift to yours.

A low sound leaves his chest. “All this from sitting in the dark with me?”

“Sylus, please...”

“Please,” he repeats, thoughtful. His fingers press, just once, right where your body aches. “You say it as though mercy has ever suited me.”

Your palms flatten against his shoulders. The windows begin to fog at the edges, clouding the garage into a grey smear. His breath brushes your lips, and the world narrows to the measured stroke of his fingers over damp cloth.

Finally, he pushes the fabric aside.

The first touch of leather against bare slick heat steals the strenght from your spine.

Your forehead drops toward his shoulder, but his hand at your throat lifts you back up. He wants your face visible, wants to watch every fracture.

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

You obey badly. Beautifully. Your lashes flutter, your mouth parts, your hips try to chase his hand. He allows one slow circle, then another, then withdraws the pressure until you make a ruined little sound.

“Greedy.”

“Sylus...I...I need you.”

“Of course you do.”

No praise could have undone you more thoroughly than his certainty.

He works you open with his fingers in a rhythm too controlled to be called kindness. Slow pressure, a curl that drags pleasure through your body until it reaches your throat and turns vocal. When you begin to move with him, he lets you for three aching seconds, then pins your hips still.

“Breathe.”

You try.

“Again.”

Air enters yours lungs in a broken pull.

His mouth comes to your neck then, teeth grazing over your pulse. Not enough to mark, enough to threaten memory. The glove between your thighs grow slick, obscene in the quiet luxury of the car. Your body clenches around his fingers, heat builds with a terrible, climbing pressure.

“Don't,” he says softly.

A sob catches in your chest. “Sylus.”

“Not yet.”

Cruelty has a sound. Tonight it is his voice in your ear, calm enough to make obedience feel holy. The edge recedes under his control. He slows until the pleasure becomes ache, then ache becomes pleading. Your nails dig into his jacket. Your thighs shake around him, uselessly strong, helplessly spread.

When he starts again, the rhythm is deeper.

Pressure floods you, your head tips back. The roof of the car blurs above you, black leather and dim light, and the fogged windows seal the two of you away from every law the outside world still believes in.

“Again,” he says.

The second climb is worse because you know he will take it from you.

He brings you there with devastating patience. Fingers bruied inside you, thumb circling that swollen point of need, mouth grazing your jaw without offering a kiss. Every nerve tightens. Your body lifts toward release with blind faith, and he feels it before you can hide it.

His hand leaves your throat and clamps around your hip.

“Hold it.”

Your whole body fights him.

“I can't.”

“You can.” His forehead touches yours. His voice drops into something almost tender and all the more merciless for it. “You will.”

Tears sting your eyes, pleasure turns sharp. Too much, too close. He keeps you there, trembling on the lip of it. Then, with a small shift of his hand, he lets the world split.

Release tears through you hard enough to bow your back. Sound spills from your mouth before you can swallow it. His hand returns to your throat, holding you steady while the waves shatter through your hips, your stomach, your thighs. He watches you fall apart as though this is the only confession he accepts.

“That's it,” he murmurs. “Give me all of it.”

You're shaking when he frees himself.

The sound of his belt in the dimness makes your body clench around nothing.

Sylus does not hurry, he never hurries when he knows you're already ruined. His trousers open with a quiet rasp. His cock slips into his hand, hard and thick, the sight of him making your mouth go dry. He strokes himself once while looking at you. Once, slowly, as if your gaze is another glove on him.

Your thighs tremble.

He notices.

“Come here,” he says again, softer this time, worse for it.

His hands guide your hips, no frantic pull, no loss of control. He positions you above him again with the careful authority of a man lowering a blade into its sheath.

The first press steals your breath.

Your body opens around the head of him with slow resistance, wet, aching. His jaw tightens for the first time all night. That small fraction in his composure sends a dark thrill through you.

“There,” he says. “Slowly.”

He drags you down inch by inch.

The stretch borders on unbearable. Your hands clutch his shoulders, his fingers dig into your hips, not bruising but promising they could. When you falter, he holds you suspended there, filled halfway, shaking.

“Take me.”

You whimper.

“All of it.”

Another measured pull, another surrender. Your body yields around him with a deep, slick ache, and when he finally seats you fully in his lap, the car shifts under the weight of it. Leather screams beneath your knees. Breath leaves both of you at once.

His forehead meets yours. His eyes are dark, almost fevered now, though his hands remain steady.

“That's it,” he breathes. “All of it.”

Your hips make a helpless little circle.

His fingers tighten.

“Careful.”

The warning arrives too late. Need has already eaten through shake. You grind down against him, and the friction pulls a broken sound from your throat. Sylus exhales through his nose, then grips your waist and begins to move you himself.

Slow.

Deep.

Punishing in its restraint.

Each drag of him inside you feels deliberate, almost ceremonial. He lifts you just enough to make absence hurt, then pulls you down until fullness blooms hot through your belly. Again. Again. The rhythm gathers weight. Your palms slide against the glass beside him, leaving a blurred print in the fog. The outside world becomes a smear of concrete and white light while your body learns the exact shape of his control.

“Don't think,” he says between thrusts. “Just take me.”

Your mouth opens around his name.

He catches it with a kiss.

This one is hunger finally allowed its teeth.

His tongue presses into your mouth as his hips drive up, and the careful pace fractures into something darker. Still measured, yet the force behind it makes the suspension rock and the seat groan beneath you. His hand slides under your skirt to grip bare skin. Your underwear is ruined, twisted aside, soaked against your thigh.

Pleasure starts climbing again, faster now, fed by the thick drag of him inside you.

He feels it.

He always does.

His mouth leaves yours. “Already?”

You shake your head, breathless and useless.

“Liar.”

He changes the angle. The next thrust strikes so deep your vision sparks. A cry tears free, his hand closes at your throat again, and your body clenches around him in answer, slick heat pulsing hard enough to make his breath roughen.

“Do you hear yourself?” he asks. “In my car, in my garage. Surrounded by my men.”

Your face burns, your body tightens.

His smile turns lethal. “You like being reminded.”

The words push you closer than the thrusts do.

Sylus keeps you there, grinding you down onto him while he holds your gaze. Every stroke becomes a command written inside your body. Pressure swells, your thighs fail. His arms take over, lifting and lowering you with frightening ease, reducing your strength to an ornament.

“Sylus,” you gasp.

“I know.”

“Please.”

“I know.”

He makes you wait one breath longer.

Then his hand shifts, his thumb finds you again, and the final restraint breaks.

You come around him with a cry you cannot bury, body locking, heat pulsing in violent waves. He holds you through it, thrusting up into the tight spasms, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on your face as if your ruin feeds something sacred and starved in him.

Only when your body goes soft from the force of it does he follow.

His grip turns brutal for one heartbeat. A low sound breaks from him, controlled at the edges, dark at the centre. He buries himself deep and keeps you there while his release spills hot inside you. The stillness afterward feels less like peace than aftermath.

For several seconds, only breathing exists.

Your forehead rests against his shoulder. His hand remains at your throat, lighter now, thumb resting over your pulse as though he owns its rhythm. Sweat cools along your spine, the windows are fully clouded. Outside, footsteps pass again, unaware of the confession sealed in leather and heat, in this den of sin.

”You awake?”

His answer is quick. 

”Somewhat.”

”Home?”

”Yes.”

”Good.”

Zayne already knows what to expect when he feels a surge of energy in the air beside him on the couch, a flash of swirling red light crackling before revealing Sylus’s large frame, clad not in a smart suit as usual, but instead a comfortable gray sweater. He takes a deep breath and looks down at Zayne laying on the couch, his phone still enhancing the dark bags under his eyes at the angle its being held up near his face. 

“Almost 1 in the morning and you haven’t even undressed?” Sylus tilts his head, brows furrowing slightly at the sight of the doctor looking to be on the verge of passing out while he’s still wearing a button down and slacks. Zayne sighs, shifting slightly. 

“You know, a confirmation that I’m at home doesn’t qualify as an invitation to teleport into my living room.” He says instead, though really… He’s a bit relieved to see Sylus, as difficult as it is to admit. Just his presence has some of the tension in Zayne’s shoulders releasing as he spreads his legs slightly, which actually is an invitation, one that Sylus takes immediately. 

The larger man settles himself between Zayne’s legs, wedging an arm underneath his waist, and holding tightly, which is accommodated, and then resting his cheek on the man’s warm stomach. Sylus’s eyes drift closed, and he hums contentedly as they settle together. The way they communicate with one another has always been more through body language than through words, and this isn’t the first time Sylus has wanted to come over in the middle of the night just to hold him, or be held. Once or twice it’s even been Zayne asking him if he was free.

“You could have lied and said you were working.” Sylus’s voice is soft, and he nuzzles his nose into the fabric of Zayne’s shirt for a moment, squeezing him a little tighter. In response, Zayne reaches his free hand into the man’s hair, carding his fingers through it. He can feel Sylus melting, sighing and leaning into the soothing touch, his breaths growing slower with relaxation. 

“Why would I do that?” Zayne asks, his phone loosely held in his free hand, now hanging off the edge of the couch as his drafted email is forgotten for the night. It’s alright. He can work on it later, when he’s able to focus better. 

Sylus looks a bit like a big cat right now, and if he was one, Zayne is certain he’d be purring as he pets his hair, scratching his nails through the soft locks. The hand that isn’t trapped beneath Zayne’s hips begins to wander, across his thigh, up to his ribs, and then down to where the black button down is still tucked into his pants. His breath is hot against Zayne’s abdomen as he chuckles, the sound rich, and it sends a bit of a shiver down Zayne’s spine. 

“It’s alright, you can admit that you wanted to see me.” Sylus says, low and quiet, and starts to extract Zayne’s shirt from his trousers, not bothering with unbuttoning it, just pulling it up enough that he can rest his cheek on the taut, warm skin of his stomach. Almost idly, Sylus’s fingers start to scratch through the smattering of hair leading from his belly button down the space between his legs, almost playing with it, and this time Sylus does feel the quiver that goes through the doctor.

Zayne doesn’t respond, just hums in contentment and tilts his head slightly as his eyes drift closed, enjoying the warmth and weight on Sylus on top of him. This is nice… Maybe he needed it more than he thought he had. For a long moment , neither of them say anything, just basking like a couple of big cats. Zayne shivers once or twice at the feeling of Sylus’ breath ghosting over his bare stomach through his nose, twisting a bit in his arms as his fingers squeeze at his waist. It almost tickles. 

Then his eyes crack open when he feels the firm press of lips against his skin, his hand stilling in Sylus’ hair and tightening around the back of his neck when the man just smiles and presses another, firmer kiss against him, letting his tongue loll out as he licks a hot stripe from the bone of his hip nearly to his belly button. 

Zayne’s abs flex instinctively at the sensation, and he can feel the lazy smile that stretches across Sylus’ lips as he tilts his head and does it again to the other side, pressing his face into the soft dark hair peeking out of his trousers. 

“Ah, I should have known you had ulterior motives for wanting to come over.” Zayne huffs, his voice coming out less steady than he’d like it to. Sylus just hums and starts working on sucking a bruise into the v of his hips, hard enough that Zayne lets out a little grunt before he lets the skin go, admiring the sight for a moment and letting a long finger press on it. Then he scratches his nails through the coarse hair before hooking two of them into Zayne’s trousers. Without a thought, he tilts his hips upwards, as if to allow the man better access to him.

“Is that a complaint I hear?” Sylus raises a brow at him, and Zayne tightens his fingers in his hair, tugging enough to pull his head back a bit more, his eyes darker than they were a few moments ago. Sylus just groans in bliss at the feeling and almost arches for more. His fingers curl tighter into Zayne’s pants, barely underneath the band of his underwear. 

“If it is, it’s only because you seem so intent on teasing me.” And Sylus chuckles at the way Zayne sounds almost like he’s pouting. It’s cute on him. He lets his fingers loosen in the white hair, and Sylus leans back down, nuzzling his face back into the coarse hair on his stomach, and sliding his hand to flick open the button of his pants. He can’t seem to help pressing another kiss to his abdomen, just to see the way Zayne sucks his stomach in with a breath. 

“I can’t help it… You’re adorable when you’re upset, kitten.” 

“Really.” Never in his life has Zayne had anyone say such a thing to him, but of course Sylus is the one person who is entirely unthreatened by his wrath. Or maybe he just likes to see how far he can press his buttons before the man truly fights back. 

“Mmhmm…” Sylus sighs, and smiles again as he feels Zayne’s breath hitch when he presses another firm kiss onto his stomach, sucking another mark into the skin just above the first one. By now, he can feel the twitch of his cock starting to grow underneath his arm, maybe about half hard now. 

“Sylus…” Now his voice is almost pleading, and Sylus meets the doctor’s eyes to see his brows furrowed, and a subtle blush coloring his ears. Deliberately, Sylus presses the heel of his palm onto Zayne’s cock as he leans up a bit. Zayne breathes harshly out his nose, his frown deepening. By now, he’s caught onto the fact that he’s being teased very much on purpose. 

“Yes, gorgeous?” 

Now Zayne lets out a frustrated breath. One thing he’s always been terrible at is admitting what it is that he wants, and just once… Sylus really wants to hear him say all of the vulgar things that must be running through his head right now. Just once, he wants to see him lose control and let go of all of that herculean restraint he employs every day. 

“Are you going to play with your food all night?” Oh. Now that he hadn’t expected, and Sylus can’t hold back his laughter. He uses the hand around Zayne’s waist to pull him up a little higher, and now his back is almost in a perfect arch. He looks incredible like this, flushed and a little irritated. 

“Hmm… Well, you know, it is quite the spread… I’m not sure where to start.” Sylus punctuates his point by letting his eyes rake up and down the man beneath him, lingering on the way his shirt has bunched up almost to his ribcage by now. 

“Shall I decide for you, then?” Zayne readjusts his grip in Sylus’ hair, running his fingers through it before guiding him down between his legs, bringing Sylus face to face with the bulge in his dark pants, and as if to prove his point, he even rolls up his hips. Sylus groans, feeling heat start to grow between his own legs at the tingling feeling of his hair being tugged. 

There’s the sound of a thud on the rug next to them, and then Sylus realizes that Zayne dropped his phone, freeing his hand to get between them and pull down the zipper. Sylus uses the hand hooked into the waistband to pull them down, just enough to free his cock. It flops out, almost hitting him in the face as it comes to lie heavy and hot between his legs.

“Hm…” Sylus noses into the velvety flesh, inhaling the musky scent of him, a bit stronger than usual, given the fact that Zayne last showered in the morning before work. “Unlike you, I don’t usually start with dessert, doctor.” He licks a long stripe from the tip to the base, feeling Zayne’s cock twitch against his tongue, and the fingers in his hair squeeze again. 

“Sylus, please,” He says, his voice tight, and Sylus glances up to see that his eyes are closed now, lips parted slightly. 

“Please what?” He gives a soft kiss to the base, rubbing at his waist with a thumb. He wants to hear the doctor say it. 

Zayne lets out a little whine and his eyes open enough to look down at the sight of Sylus between his legs, looking so smug as he presses the gentlest little kisses to his aching cock. He knows what the man is asking, but it’s humiliating every time. 

“Please,” Zayne tries to push him down onto him again, but Sylus just turns his head to the side, looking at him expectantly. He does, however, grant him the relief of wrapping a large hand around the base of his cock, and Zayne’s jaw clicks shut as a harsh breath forces its way out of his nose. “Please,” he tries again, and his eyes close as he speaks, like he’s unable to look at Sylus, “Your mouth…”

“What about it, kitten?” Sylus wraps his lips around the tip and gives a gentle suck. He intends to let go and continue teasing the man some more, but it seems that Zayne is already at his breaking point, because before he can, the doctor simultaneously rolls his hips up, and pushes Sylus’ head down. Sylus makes a small, muffled sound of surprise as he feels the heavy weight of Zayne’s cock push into his mouth, and very nearly into the back of his throat. 

He must have been more strung out tonight than either of them realized. Not that Sylus is complaining. His eyes widen with surprise, and then drift closed as he moans around the heat in his mouth. 

Zayne’s head falls back, and he can’t seem to stop the small whimper that escapes him from the pure relief he feels at the pleasure. Sylus can feel himself getting harder, his jeans starting to feel almost uncomfortably tight as Zayne starts to rock into his mouth, and he meets him as he starts to try and fuck up into his mouth, bobbing his head down with every thrust. 

It isn’t long before the doctor is panting, opening his eyes, blown out with lust as he watches Sylus take his cock, and the way Sylus squeezes his waist, encouraging him to keep moving. Once or twice the man chokes, little bits of spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth, and his eyes tear up a bit, but Sylus never relents, instead watching Zayne intently as he takes his cock. 

“Hah–” Zayne bites his lip and groans deep in his throat, pushing down a bit more on Sylus’ head, starting to guide his head faster on his cock, and Sylus accepts it without complaint. In fact, he moans loud enough that Zayne can feel the vibration, feeling like he might be about to go mad from the sensation joining in with the wet warmth of his tongue against the underside. He’s never considered himself an overly sexual, or vulgar person, but the sight of Sylus’ lips stretched wide around him, shining with spit, has him twitching. The next time he ends up with his own fist wrapped around his cock, he knows that this is going to be the image that comes to his mind. 

“S-Sylus– hnnn–” Zayne whines as he feels his orgasm start to approach quicker than he’d expected, the rhythm of his hips starting to falter as his cock twitches hard, and his balls start to draw tight up into his body. Sylus doesn’t need to be told what’s about to happen, he can already taste Zayne’s salty precum on his tongue, the way he’s flexing in his mouth, how the hand in his hair is now holding so tightly it burns. Sylus rolls his hips down against the cushion of the couch, enjoying the delicious heat pulsing between his legs. 

As an answer to the question Zayne doesn’t seem to have the presence of mind to ask, Sylus buries his nose all the way down into his pubic hair, taking him down to the base and feeling his throat constrict as he struggles not to gag on his cock, and Zayne cries out. 

On top of him the way he is, Sylus can feel how his back arches underneath him, how every beautiful muscle in his body goes taut, the way his abs flex and his stomach sucks in while he struggles to breathe for a moment. Zayne’s head flies back and his eyes squeeze tightly shut while his hips rock in shallow movements, like he’s trying to find a way to grind deeper into his  throat. 

As deep as he is, Sylus really can barely taste the hot cum that starts to fill his throat, swallowing in instinct as Zayne’s cock pulses in his mouth, his tongue flat against the underside. With each twitch of his cock, Sylus hears the small noises from Zayne, and the way his whole body tenses and relaxes until finally, he starts to come down, growing heavier on top of his arm as he tries to catch his breath. 

With a pleased hum, Sylus pulls off, watching the way that his cock starts to flop back down, shining and wet with his own spit, and he has to take a moment to catch his own breath, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his sweater. 

Zayne falls almost boneless, his chest heaving, and eyes closed for a few long moments before he looks back down at Sylus, looking incredibly smug, his eyes still dark with lust as he starts to crawl atop the doctor to press a soft kiss onto his lips. 

He sighs into it, and then grunts as he feels Sylus’ insistent erection pressing against his softening, sensitive length. 

“Hm… Maybe you’re right, doctor. Having dessert first can be… Very enjoyable.”

Zayne hums and wraps a hand around Sylus hip, reaching underneath his shirt and trailing his fingers up his ribs, the touch featherlight. Sylus can’t help but shiver at the touch. 

“I’m always right, now I think you owe me my dessert, don’t you?” He raises a brow at Sylus, who can’t help but chuckle, until he feels Zayne’s other hand reach between his legs to start kneading at his cock. The amused sound is cut off by a groan, and Sylus drops his head onto Zayne’s shoulder. Shit, he really did get himself worked up just from having his mouth on Zayne, even just that touch through his jeans has him breathing a little heavier into the doctor’s neck. 

“Shit,” He mumbles, holding himself up over the other man as he gets his hand far enough up his sweater to tweak a nipple. The other wastes no time, opening his jeans with the efficiency that he’s known for, and tugging at his underwear to get his cock out. Zayne hisses a bit as he feels it fall free and brush against his own for a moment. He’s still so sensitive. 

Sylus’ eyes are closed when he feels Zayne’s fingers against his lips, and he opens them slightly to see the almost arrogant look on his face. He rubs the pad of his thumb against Sylus’ nipple, and the man gasps as he suddenly feels a very distinct chill against it, pebbling it in seconds before dissipating, and then two fingers roll it between them, as if to warm it up. 

When Sylus gasps a second time, Zayne presses both of his fingers into Sylus’ mouth, wetting them before moving back down to wrap his hand around his length, the glide made a bit easier with his own spit. Sylus moans, pressing down into the hand playing with his chest, and Zayne hums, watching his through lidded eyes. 

“You liked that.” Zayne observes, and Sylus jerks again when he feels the same chill against his other nipple, his breath coming out unsteadily, and Zayne can surely feel the way his cock twitches in his hand as he continues to pump it, twisting his wrist and squeezing down when he gets to the head.

“That’s…” Sylus grunts as he feels the chill from Zayne’s fingers intensify, and then leave entirely, his thumb once again starting to rub soothingly into his nipple, “That’s a nice trick… You’ve, hah, been holding out on me.” It’s a little difficult to get the words out, his hips rolling into Zayne’s hand as he strokes him a little faster. 

For his part, Zayne just hums, and starts to squeeze his cock a little harder on the upstroke, feeling how Sylus tenses above him, turning into his shock of white hair and breathing into his ear, “I wonder…” He murmurs, and Sylus chokes on an inhale as Zayne twists his nipple harder this time before moving back to the other one, “Do you think I could make you cum just from this?” He asks it in a soft voice, like he might be asking about the weather almost, and Sylus feels his orgasm hit him very suddenly as Zayne once again chills his fingers with his evol while he continues to twist and pull, his hand moving quicker on his cock. 

Sylus moans into his shoulder, the sound almost teetering into a whine as his arms tremble on either side of Zayne, and Zayne makes a small sound himself as Sylus comes all over his own spent cock and bare stomach, warm and sticky, and definitely making a mess he’s not excited to clean up later. 

His breath comes out in harsh pants as Zayne works him through it, hips rolling into his hand, the cold from his evol now gone as he strokes his nails up and down Sylus’ side, until his tense muscles start to relax, and now it’s his turn to go boneless for a moment as he sags against Zayne’s shoulder, breathing hard through his nose. 

He drops Sylus’ cock and crimson eyes peek open just in time to see Zayne bringing the hand that was wrapped around him up to his lips, tongue darting out to lick at the mess on his fingers. Sylus’ eyes open a bit wider at the sight of it. This man always finds new ways to surprise him, but Zayne just looks at him as he licks the last bits off, seemingly unperturbed. 

“I told you I wanted my dessert too.” He says, as if it’s obvious, and Sylus can’t help but laugh tiredly as his body drops on top of him, nuzzling into his neck with a little huff. 

Zayne’s arm automatically wraps around his back and scratches up and down for a moment, both of them just enjoying the warmth of each other, the heat of where their bare skin touches. 

But the doctor can’t help himself, only allowing the peace of the afterglow to linger for a minute or two before he speaks up again. “We should clean up.” He murmurs, his voice already thick with the desire to sleep. 

“The only way you’re leaving right now is if you can toss me onto the floor.” Sylus rumbles, holding him a little tighter, and he can almost hear Zayne’s mind whirring as he considers the pros and cons of doing exactly that. 

He’s silent for another moment as he decides how to respond. 

“We’d be more comfortable in my bed, you know.”