☆TINY☆

Xavier DIABOLICAL. Looks extra fine on purpose. Won’t stop walking up behind you, breathing on your neck, grabbing your hips to move you out of his way. However, MR. SEX BUNNY is gonna struggle with this. He always needs to fuck you like LMAO not doing so is pure torture. (WHY he suggested this you ask??? IDK you won’t stfu abt Lumiere or something LMAO.) You absolutely dress extra cute in all the things he likes ON PURPOSE throughout the ban and OOP maybe let a few conversations with fellow m!hunters at work go on a littleee too long. You want him to fold? EASY. Just make him jealous. DONE DEAL. AT WORK BRUH, he’s done. He’s lost it. It’s been less than a week, he’s pulling you into a closet/side office IDK wherever, RIPPING your pants/panties down and dropping to his knees like a mAN POSSESSED I TELL YOU. He’s actually going crazy, holding your thighs so tight it hurts and your pants are stuck around your ankles so yOU CAN’T DO SHIT ABT IT. He’s moaning groaning mumbling “mine” over aND OVER WOWIEEE!!! Afterward he’s turning you around, clasping his hand over your mouth and gOING CRAZY NUTS in your shit oh my god you’re biting his hand as hard as you can which only makes him thrust harder. Eventually back at your desks, he’S SMIRKING to himself knowing his cum is dripping out of you into your panties/pants. When ya both get home you’re going so many rounds you might actually DIE. (He’s still upset about the Lumiere comments and gonna force you to say his dick is better...it’s THE SAME DICK HE’S SO INSANE LUV HIM!!!)

Rafayel MEANIE MOUTHY MEANIE ABOUT IT!!! But does fold pretty quick because he’s like MY BRIDE MY WIFE SHE’S SO PRETTY I CAN’T DO THIS like a gravitational PULL bro actually can’t do this shit. Idk ngl just whip your tits out and he’s folding. I swear a well established MC/Fishie relationship you’re walking around his house naked JUST to watch his jaw DROP to the ground AWOGA style. I feel like maybe you suggested it as a JOKE and he’s like bet, watch me. CANNOT FUCKING DO IT, but is trYING his hardest. Big whining complainer and you’re like THIS SHIT WAS YOUR IDEA??? And by day 2 (TOPS) he’s like WAAAAHHHH I WAS KIDDING I LIED I CAN’T PLS PLS PLS CUTIE!!!! (I’m so sorry that’s all I’ve got bro fishie is not suggesting this LOL.)

Zayne CRUEL cruel cruel sick bastard SON OF A BITCH. I need him. Orgasm denying sicko, I’ll tell you what. Wants to secretly (NOT A SECRET) see you on all fours panting like a dog and begging for his dick oH MY GOD!!!!!!! I’m there. He’s straight up scolding you in bed at night and in the morning for basically trying to hump his leg LMAO. BUT OOF he would hear you whimpering in the shower and immediately open the door, strip, and get in. You DON’T stop rubbing your clit, you don’t even TURN to look at him. He wraps his arms around you, slowly tracing your forearm with his fingertips until he meets your hand. He lets you continue for a moMENT before pulling your hand off, grabbing your other and planting both against the wall, bending you forward with his abSOLUTE ROCK HARD DICK AGAINST YOU, “I told you…neither of us get to cum, hm?” LIKE A WHOLE ASS VILLAIN. He’d be a menace and absolutely kiss your neck, liTERALLy the most physical touch you’ve received in over a week you’re about to cum just from that. SICKO IS SO AMUSED. His self-restraint is through the fucking roof. I feel like this situation would start from teasing/eDGING this man to the point of no return (maybe even ruined orgasm style) that he’s like OH…O H…two can play at that game, WATCH ME. All week he LOOKS so good SMELLS so good, wears everything you like, pampers you with treats and other things you love becaUSE EVEN THOUGH he’s a menace he’s still like love you pookie but I have to prove a point. He doesn’t give you his dick until you’re practically CRYINg squirming underneath him will he tortures you with it after you “trick” him into getting a lil hot and heavy with a kiss in bed. Begging endlessly is your punishment for breaking the rules. It takes everything in him to not cum all over you instead. (HE MIGHT IDK AND STILL NOT LET YOU CUM!) The following week he’s making you cum as many times as you can take without being KILLED. It’s his apology but also a reminder DON’T fuck with me, bc I WILL do it again and it’ll be WORSE. (Can you tell I’m a brat tamer/freaked out Zayne truther??? LMAO) (HIS SLUT WORK ARE Y’ALL READY??????)

Sylus Also a cruel asshole but WAY funnier??? about it and leans into the tease, breaks before Zayne tho. ZAYNE IS LOCKED TF IN OKAY. Sylus is like WAAAAHHHH my pookie I’m sorry here’s my dick please forgive me LMAO. But he does keep it up an INTENSE while nonetheless. (Maybe you have a silly joke arguement abt a ban and he’s like BET.) However, I feel like he’s all about touching you during this ban. Rubbing your shoulders, gripping your thighs and pulling them across his own on the couch, toying with your hair, grabbing and kissing your hands…and EACH TIME you whine and give him THAT LOOK his smirk is devious. “Mmm, not yet, kitten. You can hold out a little longer, can’t you?” Doesn’t have to try to look fine (none of them do okay HELLO!!!???) but for Sylus!MC man is a walking sex god like just so pretty. Seeing him out the shower in a towel has you ready to blow your shit SMOOTH OFF. BUT it’s easy to “manipulate” Mr. Boss Man. All he wants is to fulfill your desires, he STRAIGHT UP can’t hold back from doing so THAT long there’s no way. All you have to do is play up the pouting and he’s folding, welcoming you into his arms and ABT TO GET EDGED TO FUCK FOR DOING THIS TO YOU. (He got what he wanted LMAO.) Mr. Ragebaiter just had to ragebait his kitten for a bit, OKAAAYYY???

Caleb FOLDS. CAN’T DO IT. NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT. Not one ounce for one second LMAOOO. “Fine then, what if I…just don’t have sex with you, hm? What then?” YOU’RE HOOTIN’ HOLLERING LAUGHING IMMEDIATELY. He’s like “H-hey! I could do it, you know.” You take your shirt off (already wearing no bra) straddle his lap and just RAISE a brow at him, say NOTHING do NOTHING. OH the little fucking noises he’d make would go CRAZY MMMMM!!! “Hmm…mm—I—mmm, hm—ngh—OKAY, nope. Nope. I can’t fucking do it.” Stands up off the couch with you in his arms and B-LINES IT for the bedroom. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. PLEASE, don’t ever bring this up again—never, we’re NEVER doing that.” You’re just a giGGLy mess, excited to get ABSOLUTELY RAILED. TOO FUCKING EASY!!! He’s such a slut I WANT HIM BUT DON’T WANNA WANT HIM!!! H E L P 😩

Work had filled most of your time this week. Back to back missions, three cases that bled into each other, a Thursday briefing that ate the entire day. The Association had kept you moving and moving was good. Moving meant you weren't sitting still long enough to think about things you should not be thinking about.

The problem was tonight there was nothing to move toward.

You'd slowed down. Today's mission had seen to that —a clean operation until it wasn't, until you'd caught the edge of something you'd moved a second too late to avoid and ended up limping through the debrief trying to look unbothered. The Association medic had looked at your leg, told you to rest it, and now you were on your couch. Leg up. Thinking.

You'd worked with Sylus enough times to understand how your arrangement functioned, he had access to things the Association didn't and in exchange you'd give him information he found useful. You showed up. He had what you needed. You left. Repeat.

That part made sense.

What didn't was the rest of it. The part where two weeks of silence felt different now. He was the most wanted name on the Association's list and you were a Deepspace Hunter. The math on that was simple.

So no, you did not miss Sylus.

Your leg throbbed. You shifted your weight and stared at the ceiling again, trying to have an internal conversation about professional conduct and the importance of clear boundaries and then your phone lit up.

You grabbed it so fast you nearly put your elbow through the side table.

Sylus: I heard your mission went sideways. How's the leg?

You: How did you...you know what. Never mind.

Sylus: Mephisto was nearby.

You: You sent your bird to check on me?

Sylus: Mephisto goes where he likes.

You: 🙄🙄

Sylus: He said you were limping.

You: Tell Mephisto to mind his own business.

Sylus: He'll be devastated.

You: Good.

Sylus: I have something that might interest you. Have you ever seen a white Protocore?

You: White Protocores don't exist. Whatever you have is a fake.

Sylus: The seller pulled it from an anomalous Wanderer outside the N109 zone.

You sat with that for a moment.

Sylus: Come see it yourself. You'll want to.

The color alone was impossible by every known framework for protocore classification. Which meant either the seller was running an extremely convincing con, or something had come out of that wanderer that nobody had a category for yet.

Your feet were already on the floor.

You: Don't let anyone touch it. Give me 20 min.

Sylus: No need to rush, kitten. Look out your window.

You crossed the room in four steps and pulled the curtain back an inch.

Black car at the curb. No-parking sign directly above it, ignored completely. Sylus leaned against the driver's side door looking up at exactly the moment you looked down.

He raised his phone.

Sylus: Five minutes. Or I decide the leg is worse than you're letting on and leave.

You let the curtain fall.

"Not a chance," you said, to nobody.

You changed fast —jeans, jacket, hair up, sidearm checked —and ran down the stairs in a time your leg was going to remind you about tomorrow. The night air outside hit you cool and sharp.

Sylus hadn't moved from the car. He looked at you coming through the door, down the steps toward him and said nothing until you were close enough to hear.

"You ran down the stairs?"

"I want to see that Protocore."

"Of course." His mouth curved and there it was, the look that sat underneath the smirk, the one you'd filed away and kept finding again. "That's the only reason."

"It is"

"Then why are you still standing here instead of getting in the car."

You pulled the passenger door open yourself before he could do it, which seemed to amuse him. The interior smelled like expensive leather and him.

He slid in beside you, started the engine— the sound of it vibrating through the seat— and pulled away from the curb without looking at the road for the first two seconds because he was still looking at you.

"My people investigated as much as they could." He shifted gears, smooth and unhurried. "Which is why I need someone who knows what a forgery looks like at that level."

"But you also have people for that"

"I have people for a lot of things." He glanced over. Red eyes catching the streetlight for just a second. "None of them are you."

You looked out the window " Is that a compliment?"

"I didn't say it was."

The N109 Zone came up around you, neon and dark in equal measure, a place that operated on entirely different rules than Linkon City. You'd been here more times than your Association file strictly reflected. You knew the streets. You knew the hierarchy. You knew which doors opened for which names. All thanks to the man sitting in the driver's seat.

You had no idea what a white Protocore was. You had no idea what tonight was going to become but you had a feeling you were about to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His office, you knew this place better than your own.

The reinforced doors. The security overrides, which ones were decoys and which ones actually mattered. The hidden safes, three of them, one behind a painting ugly enough to be forgettable on purpose. You'd learned all of it slowly, standing close enough and quiet enough that he forgot you were paying attention.

The White Protocore sat inside a glass tube at the center of his desk, and you hadn't moved in two minutes.

It looked like the others at first. Same crystalline structure, same geometry. But every other Protocore carried color, blue, gold, pink, red, green and purple. This one just a faint pulse, soft milky light spilling across the dark wood. Strange and uncategorizable.

Sylus wasn't looking at the protocore, he was watching you. His eyes were tracing the curve of your jaw, the focus on your expression. In his world of cutthroat deals and rare power, you were his white protocore.

The back of your neck went warm but you kept your eyes on the protocore.

"Can I touch it?"

A low sound from his chest. Not quite a laugh. "I don't recall ever saying no to you, sweetie."

His fingers worked the glass tube open and lifted the protocore into his palm.

You reached for it.

Your fingers brushed his skin and the protocore sat between your hands for a single second and then —

No warning. Just white light swallowing the desk and the dark walls. Then the wind hit, not from outside but from inside the protocore, like a vacuum pulling in with a force that emptied your lungs before you could inhale. The sound of it was scary, like space tearing apart. The air collapsed into that small white light in your hands, the floor dropped away and you were falling without falling.

The first thing that came back was pressure.

Arms locked across your chest and shoulders, tight enough your ribs couldn't move. Something solid at your back. You tried to breathe. Couldn't. Tried again.

"Sy" Barely a whisper. "Can't— brea—"

His arms dropped instantly.

He was on his feet before you inhaled, one fluid motion, hand going to his gun, eyes sweeping the room. No targets. His hand dropped, but his shoulders stayed coiled, still reading the space.

You sat up. Pulled air in slowly until your chest stopped aching.

"Where are we?"

He didn't answer. Still looking.

You looked too.

Dark wood, heavy draping, expensive things chosen for use as much as looks. It felt like his place at first glance.

In the corner was a record player, vinyl turning silently, needle down, producing nothing. Beside it a bookshelf climbed straight to the ceiling, a ladder running the whole length on a track.

On the low table in front of the couch sat two glasses of wine. One half empty. Whoever had been drinking had stepped away expecting to come right back.

You stood slowly.

Sylus had crossed to the far side of the room. His head was angled down at something on the shelf.

You crossed after him, boots loud on the floor.

"Sylus."

He didn't turn.

You came up beside him, followed his eyeline, and stopped.

A photograph. You in your Hunter uniform with a different insignia of a rank you didn't hold yet, holding a trophy. Your smile in the photo was wide open and unguarded, a version of happy you didn't wear on your face very often.

There was a small engraved plaque at the bottom of the frame.

Hunter of the Year — November 2051.

You picked up a magazine beside it.

Your face on the cover. Same uniform, same trophy, same smile. Hunter of the Year in bold letters across the top. Small print in the corner, neat and impossible.

November 2051.

You set it down carefully.

Behind you, Sylus had already moved to the mahogany desk near the windows. Papers shifted. Folders opened and closed. His hands stayed busy and his face gave nothing.

"Sylus." You kept your voice steady. "Look at me."

He didn't.

You crossed to the desk and placedd your hand flat over the document he was holding.

"Three years," he was staring at nothing in particular, whatever was running behind his eyes not making it to his face.

You looked at the half empty glass. The record player still turning in silence. A coat hanging by the door.

"Sylus."

"I see it."

"That's your coat."

"This is one of my safehouses"

"Since when do you keep pictures of the Association Hunters? Last I checked you called us glorified errand runners."

A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth "I've got a taste for beautiful art, sweetie, and maybe I like having a permanent reminder of my favorite headache."

"I'm not your—"

"Someone's coming." his eyes sharpened, hand closing around your wrist.

"Who—"

"This way." He was already pulling you toward a closet.

He yanked the door open expecting to see his weapons.

There were no rifles or guns, just stacked piles of the same magazine you saw earlier, floor to ceiling, your face on every cover, hundreds of them.

"Do you also collect magazines?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice down as he shoved you into the tiny space and squeezed in after you, pulling the door shut. "This is a lot of me for one closet"

"If you keep talking you're going to get us both caught."

You bit down on a laugh and then it died in your throat completely.

The door clicked open and Sylus stepped into the room.

You gasped, turning on instinct to check whether he had somehow warped himself out there with his Evol, but he hadn't moved an inch.

Future Sylus's hair was a mess, like he'd run his hands over it more than once, and a bit longer than you were used to. His shirt was wrinkled, streaked faintly with mud, stretched tight across shoulders that looked broader than the ones currently pressed beside you in the dark. There was more color in his face too, like time had put some weather on him. He paced the length of the room like a caged animal, fists clenching and releasing at his sides. He stopped mid stride, head turning like he'd caught a sound in the room, inside Sylus's hand shot out, closing around your wrist as one finger came up to his lips, a silent order to stay quiet.

Then the door opened again, and future you walked in.

She looked pissed. Shirt torn at the shoulder, soot and dirt ground into the fabric, but her eyes were lit up with anger.

She was you, there was no doubt about that, but she was different. There was more color to her face too and her body was softer in some places, sturdier in others.

"You had no right, Sylus!" She slammed the door behind her "I can still fight! I had that under control!"

"You almost got killed" Sylus didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. Whatever was in his tone was cold enough to make the room feel smaller.

"That's a fucking lie and you know it!" She crossed the space between them fast, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I'm not some damsel for you to decide when I fight and when I don't!"

Beside you Sylus dipped his head, lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Different year. Same feisty kitten." His breath felt warm against your neck.

"Shut up, Sylus. Shut up" you hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. He huffed out a quiet laugh like you'd done him a favor.

Outside, the fight kept climbing.

"You think you can pull me off a fight and take me wherever you want?" her voice bounced off the ceiling. "I'm a Hunter, Sylus. I'm not joining Onychinus. Not now, not ever, no matter how many times you bring it up."

"You've made that perfectly clear."

"It's my job, Sy"

"Not anymore, it isn't."

"You don't get to make that call for me!"

He didn't answer with words. He started walking her back instead, one slow step for every one she gave up without notice, until her spine hit the ladder bolted to the bookshelf.

She was out of room. He planted a hand on either side of her head against the wooden rungs, boxing her in.

"Are you sure about that, sweetie?" Not a question so much as a challenge.

"We don't even know ye— get out of my space!"

"Make me."

Their faces were a breath apart now, close enough that the argument had stopped sounding like an argument. Through the door you felt the air on the other side change, something thick and charged, like the silence that comes right before either a fight or something worse. Your face went hot just watching it, the line between the two of them hating each other and wanting each other collapsing.

"I hate you"

"Good," he murmured so close to her lips. "You can hate me all you want, Mrs. Qin. You're still wearing my ring."

He closed the distance, hand curling around the back of her neck, and kissed her like it was the only thing he had left to say.

Beside you Sylus went completely still.

Future you made a sound against his lips that started as surprise and turned into moan, her hands coming up to grip his shirt before she dropped them and grabbed him instead.

You turned to look at Sylus, his eyes dropped to yours and a slow smile moved across his mouth and your stomach went with it.

His shirt hit the floor first, hers followed.

Future Sylus lifted her off the floor and settled her onto a rung of the ladder. She grabbed the rung above her head to steady herself and he stepped back just far enough to look at her, taking his time with it while she sat there catching her breath.

Then he reached for her boots.

He pulled the first one off, fingers working the laces without looking down, eyes on her face the whole time. The second followed. He set his hands on her knees and dragged them up her thighs and she made a small sound before he'd even done anything.

His mouth found her collarbone. Moved down. The thin lace of her bra was still on and he put his lips over it anyway, tongue pressing through the fabric against her nipple, and her head went back against the ladder. He bit down through the fabric, and the sound she made was immediate.

You pressed your hand to your mouth.

He did it again on the other side, slower, and her knuckles went white on the rung above her while her hips moved forward looking for something that wasn't there yet.

He kissed down her sternum. The soft skin below her ribs. His mouth dragged across her stomach and she was already breathing in pieces by the time his hands moved to her pants. He worked them down her legs and off, then dropped to his knees.

You made a small sound against your hand.

He was now on his knees between her thighs, hands finding the backs of them, hooking her legs one at a time over his shoulders. The muscles in his arms and neck shifted with the motion and he settled her weight there easily, like he'd done it before. Because in three years he had. Many times. You could tell by how she exhaled when her legs landed on his shoulders— relief. Her whole body recognizing what was coming.

He looked up at her.

Hands spread across her inner thighs, holding them open, red eyes on her face, waiting.

She looked down at him.

Her chest was moving fast. Her lip caught between her teeth. She held his gaze for one long second and then, quietly, barely enough to hear—

"Please."

His fingers found her thong and pulled it to the side.

One hand went to his hair, pulling him in, the other stayed above her head. Her nipples hard against the wet lace.

Every sound came through clearly. His mouth on her wet pussy. Her breathing. Your face burned. Other things burned. You pressed your thighs together and it didn't help because the sounds didn't stop.

You turned to look at him again.

His right eye burned red in the dark closet. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that wasn't steady.

"Sy—"

"Don't stop." Future you's voice came through the door, breathless. "Fuck, Sy...just like that."

Your face went hotter and you faced forward again.

Sylus exhaled against your hair. His hand was still on your wrist. Neither of you had moved it.

He made a sound against her and the sounds that followed were louder and wetter.

Your fingers found the front of his jacket and held on.

"Is this affecting you?" he asked, right against your ear.

"Shut up."

Then her voice again, completely gone, nothing held back. "Yes — baby, my clit, suck on it — fuck yes—"

His hand tightened on your wrist. Hard.

"Sylus." Your voice came out dry. Broken in the middle. Not what you'd intended at all.

"I know," he said.

Future you screamed his name. The closet pressed in from all sides.

"We need to leave"

"Yes," he agreed, but neither of you moved.

Her thighs locked around his shoulders and shook. He stayed until the last tremor left her. Then he stood, chest glistening, and his hands dropped to the button of his trousers.

Popped it open. Pushed the fabric down his thighs.

The outline of his cock through the fabric of his underwear made your throat close. The tip already wet, a dark circle spreading through the cotton, and his fingers found the waistband—

A large hand came down over your eyes.

"Hey—" You grabbed his wrist. His fingers didn't move.

"If you want a show," his voice low at your ear, "you only have to ask."

"Move your hand." You twisted your head. His palm stayed exactly where it was.

Dark behind it.

Then the sounds hit again.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

Skin against skin. Her voice breaking between each impact, the sounds coming in waves that your brain immediately started filling in visuals for and that was so much worse than if he'd just let you look.

"You're burning up," he said against your ear, not in concern but in pure mockery.

Your thighs pressed together hard. "I swear to god—"

His fingers spread open.

She was still on the ladder. Legs locked around his waist, both of them flushed, sweat catching the light. He had one hand on her hair, holding her close to his face, their mouths almost touching, breathing the same air while his hips rolled forward in deep slow drives that shook her whole body. He was saying something to her, too low to carry, but whatever it was kept fracturing her expression every time he said it.

Then his voice came through clearly.

"Look at me." Steady, even over everything else. "Tell me who you belong to."

Her tongue dragged across his upper lip. "Yours—" Her head dropped back. "Ah— yours, Sy, I'm yours—"

Your underwear felt damp and your clit was pulsing with a persistence you were doing your very best to ignore.

"Do you really think," Sylus whiapered against your temple, "it takes us three whole years to get here?"

"I don't—"

Future Sylus pulled back, his tongue dragged slow up her throat while she panted against his shoulder. "You taste different today."

"Because you're—" she gasped, "—you're driving me insane—"

"That's not it." He pushed forward, one deep thrust that tore a cry out of her "You shouldn't be taking field hits right now." A beat. "Not when you're carrying my child."

The closet went cold.

Your jaw dropped. Hers did too.

Pregnant.

The argument. Him yanking her off the mission. All of it clicked into place at once. She was carrying his baby. In three years, you'd be carrying his kid.

Your knees went out from under you.

Your foot caught on something hard as you stumbled back. A stack of magazines toppled with the movement, and everything blurred, sound, vision, all of it going soft at the edges.

"—watch—"

Crimson light cracked through the dark. Sylus's Evol flared, and every falling magazine froze mid air.

The energy didn't stay contained. It rolled out through the closet door and everything on the other side went dead silent.

The sounds stopped. All of them. What replaced the noise had weight to it.

Sylus's eyes were locked on the door. Jaw tight. Not a muscle moving.

"Pathetic," future Sylus said, clear, not a trace of what he'd been doing thirty seconds earlier, "a top tier Hunter and the leader of Onychinus, hiding like toddlers playing hide and seek."

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

"Sylus?" Future you, breathless, confused. "Who are you talking—"

"I know you're in there." He sounded almost bored. "You're both breathing like horny teenagers."

Beside you, Sylus exhaled through his nose and reached out to push the door open. "I could say the same"

He stepped out first, glanced down at his sleeve, and flicked off a piece of lint that probably wasn't there. Then he reached back, hooked an arm around your waist, and pulled you out with him. You stumbled onto the polished floor, face burning hot enough to set the room on fire.

Future Sylus had future you pulled against him, her bra strap slipping off one shoulder, hair a wreck, and she was staring between the two of you with her mouth hanging open.

"Is that—" Her eyes went from you to the Sylus standing next to you and back again. "Are we— are they—"

Sylus looked at his future self. Future Sylus looked right back.

Three seconds of silence passed between them, and somehow it felt like an entire conversation.

"You look good," Sylus said.

"And you are interrupting," future Sylus said, arm tightening around future you.

You stopped watching the two of them and scanned the room instead.

There. The White Protocore, sitting beside the wine bottle, pulsing soft in the low light.

You moved before anyone could stop you, crossed the room, and closed your hand around it.

Sylus was right behind you. His hand landed over yours, the stone was caught between your palms again, warm and humming under your skin. He tossed one last glance over his shoulder at his future self and smirked.

White swallowed everything. The floor vanished, and then thud.

The familiar light of his office in the N109 Zone.

You were flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, just breathing.

The Protocore rolled out of your hand and knocked against the leg of his desk before it dissolved into dust.

Sylus sat up, forearm braced on a raised knee, and looked down at you, smirk already back in place. His gaze dropped to your mouth, your throat, the way your chest was still heaving.

"So," he said, leaning over you with one hand braced on the floor beside your head. "A baby."

You threw an arm over your face. "I will shoot you again."

"I'm just thinking ahead." His fingers found a strand of your hair "Sounds like we've got a lot of work to do in the next three years, Miss hunter."

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"Perimeter's clear," he said, quiet, like nothing in the world could rattle him. He crossed the debris toward you, boots crunching over glass and rubble. "You're bleeding, though."

You looked down. A chunk of crystal debris had opened a gash along your calf and you hadn't even noticed.

"Huh. Didn't feel that happen."

"Let me look at it." He dropped to one knee, taking a bandage roll out of your hands before you'd even fully pulled it from your pouch.

His hands were warm. Warmer than it made sense, given the cold. When he folded the torn fabric of your pants back to get at the wound, his fingers grazed bare skin and something jumped straight up your spine. You bit down on the inside of your cheek so you wouldn't make a sound about it.

This was the problem with Xavier. Some days he fell asleep against your shoulder like it was the safest place in the world. Other days he kept a careful distance between you and answered everything in a polite, unreadable tone, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.

"Does that hurt?" his thumb pressed against the unbroken skin just above it — the touch was not necessary to wrap the bandage.

"A little," you said, watching the top of his head, how the moonlight caught the color of his hair. "Xavier. Can I ask you something?"

His hands didn't stop moving, but his shoulders went still. "Yeah."

"Why do you do this?" You asked flatly, too tired to dress it up. "Sometimes I think we’re... I don't know, really close. And then other times, you look at me like I'm just another Hunter from the Association. It's confusing."

He finished tying off the gauze, stood up and finally looked at you "I just think about things. More than I probably should."

He reached out to help you up, hands closing firm around your forearms.

"Think about what?"

You went to test your weight on the bandaged leg and the ground chose that second to be uneven. You pitched forward, right into him, your chest hitting his. His hands slid from your arms to your waist to catch you.

Neither of you moved.

You could feel his heart going fast under his uniform, which didn't match the calm on his face at all. His eyes dropped to your mouth, came back up.This is happening, you thought, a little dizzy with it. He's actually going to—.

His grip on your waist tightened. Something cracked open behind his eyes, just for a second "You shouldn't stand this close to me"

"Xavier—"

He stepped back before you could get anything else out.

Crunch. Something snapped under his boot.

A white protocore.

He picked it and it suddenly went off with light, a white light expanding outward faster than you could track. The air got sucked straight out of your lungs. Your ears popped hard enough to hurt, and then the ruins, the sky, and everything else was sucked into a roar of wind that yanked you forward like the world had grabbed you by the throat.

You hit something solid and warm.

"Oof — sorry —"

A grunt came from underneath you. You blinked against sudden dark, hands slapping down flat against Xavier's chest. You were sprawled on top of him, legs tangled, face mashed against his neck.

"Oh my god." You scrambled back so fast you scraped your palms on the floor. "Sorry — are you okay?"

Xavier sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, hair falling into his eyes. "Fine. Are you hurt?"

"No, I— " You stopped. Looked around. "Wait."

You weren't standing in the ruins anymore. You were standing on a balcony with black wrought iron railing and a view of city streets that looked oddly familiar.

"Is this our building?" You turned in a slow circle, "Xavier, did you just teleport us home?"

"I didn't teleport us anywhere."

"You definitely did something..."

"I didn't" He was already moving past you toward the railing, scanning it like it might answer a question you hadn't asked yet.

"Okay, well, something got us here," you said, following him. "So if it wasn't you, what was it?"

He didn't answer right away. He crouched by one of the plants, fingers brushing the soil. Damp. Recently turned. "I don't have an explanation for this."

"When did you get so many plants?."

He moved to a small table near, where two mugs sat, both used, one rimmed faintly with lipstick.

"This is kind of freaking me out."

You spotted a newspaper folded beside the mugs and reached for it before he could stop you.

The date on the header didn't make sense. You read it twice.

"Xavier." You held it out to him, throat tight.

He took it, scanning it fast, and for the first time all night something like real alarm broke through his usual calm. "This is two years out."

"Two years." You said it slow, testing the weight of it. "Okay. We're just —somewhere else. Somewhere with your exact view, which is a really specific coincidence, but fine, sure, this is wrong, so so wrong—"

"Calm down."

"Xavier."

"What."

You pointed, wordless, toward the far corner of the balcony, where a lumpy, badly painted bird feeder hung crooked from its hook, one wing chipped clean off. You'd have known it anywhere.

"That's Fatso"s" you said.

Xavier followed your finger, and whatever he'd been telling himself died on his face.

You grabbed for your communicator on reflex. Dead screen. "No signal," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Mine's the same. Clock's not even holding steady." He pocketed the device "We need to see what's inside. If someone's living here, we ask them what year it is."

"Oh yeah because that is a completely normal question to walk in and ask a stranger."

"Stay behind me," he reached for the handle on the sliding glass door, testing the weight of it without committing to opening it yet. Behind the curtain, something moved.

You froze. Your fingers found the sleeve of his uniform and held on.

A hand pressed flat against the glass from the other side of the curtain, fingers spread.

Xavier looked ready to run.

A second hand appeared beside it. Bigger. Scarred across the knuckles. Something in your chest went cold with recognition even before your brain caught up. The second hand moved to close over the first, fingers lacing through.

There were two people on the other side of that door. And from the way the curtain was moving, they were not just standing there.

"Xavier," you whispered, barely any air behind it at all.

He didn't answer. He didn't move his hand off the door either —just stood there frozen, staring at those hands through the glass like his whole nervous system had collapsed.

Then he moved. His hand closed around your shoulder and pulled, one smooth backward motion that tucked you both into a narrow space where the balcony wall met the building's outer brick. The spot was tight —barely enough room for two people to stand without touching —and the angle it gave you was merciless. The glass door sat directly in your line of sight, lit from inside.

You should have looked away immediately.

But you didn't.

The curtains moved a bit. Two bodies, pressed close. The woman's face was hidden, her head tipped back behind the line of the man's shoulder. His face was visible. Hair catching the light. That jaw.

Xavier

The anger came fast and hot and settled behind your sternum like coal. Months of warmth and then distance. Months of patience that felt like it was always just about to become something and never did —and here was the answer to all of it, pressed against a glass door in an apartment that was still his, two years from now, with someone else.

He was kissing her the way someone kisses when they've stopped being careful about it. Deep, his hands dragging her back against him, the movements of his lower body slow and unmistakable.

You looked away. Focused on a crack running through the middle of the wall beside you. Breathed through your nose.

Beside you, Xavier was still looking. His face was flushed.

"Is that—" His voice came out wrong.

"Yup," you said. The bitterness in it sharper than you'd intended. "That's you"

A sound came through the glass.

The impact of skin against the glass door followed immediately by a broken moan, the sound dragged your eyes back to the glass door against your will.

The curtain had been pulled aside all the way.

The view was now unobstructed.

The woman was pressed flat against the glass, her bare breasts against the cold pane, her hands finding the frame for something to hold onto. Her face was fully visible now.

The anger in your chest went out like a light.

It was your face.

Your shoulders, your hands, the sound of your own voice coming through the glass in pieces, breathless and nothing like anything you'd heard from yourself before. Your future self's cheek was pressed to the glass too, eyes half closed, lips parted around sounds that weren't words.

Future Xavier's teeth found her shoulder and bit down, not gently, leaving something that would be visible tomorrow. His hand came around the front of her, sliding between her thighs to line his beautiful cock against her entrance.

Then he drove forward.

The sound she made came through the glass loud and clear and a small involuntary noise started building in your own throat.

Xavier's palm came over your mouth.

Fast. Firm. His fingers sealing the sound in before it could escape. His hand was shaking.

The glass door shook with the next impact. And the next.

Xavier had his mouth at her ear saying something you couldn't hear through the glass but could read in the way her expression changed when he said it.

Xavier made half a sound against the back of your head and he immediately swallowed the other half.

You felt it anyway. Felt the way his arm tightened across your chest, felt the unsteady rhythm of his breathing where his chest pressed into your back.

You couldn't look away from his face —the future version of the face that was currently breathing against your temple— wearing an expression you'd never seen on him before.

"Xavier," you said, against his palm. Muffled.

His arm tightened.

"Xavier." Louder this time, enough that he could feel the shape of his name against his hand.

His mouth dropped to your ear "Don't move." The words came out rough "If they see us—"

Inside the apartment, your future self pressed her palm hard against her lips.

Future Xavier's hand closed around her wrist.

He pulled it down. He held her hand at her side and kept it there, and when she turned her face toward him he was already looking at her.

He wanted to hear her.

Below you a glass door scraped open.

One floor down, a man stepped out onto his balcony. Cigarette unlit between his fingers, head tilted slightly, listening to the night.

You pressed further into the shadow.

The rhythm inside the apartment changed. Not slower. The opposite. The glass shook in its frame and the sounds coming through it stopped being something that could be mistaken for anything else, and the man one floor down stopped trying to light his cigarette.

You looked at future Xavier's face.

His eyes were angled down and to the left.

He picked up the pace.

She tried again, her hand came up toward her mouth. Future Xavier caught her wrist without looking and his mouth moved against her ear again.

Whatever it was, she stopped trying to be quiet.

You thought about what you'd just watched him do. The escalation. The man on the balcony below. The reason your future self's hand kept getting pulled back down.

Was he jealous of that stranger?

Inside, her feet left the ground. Xavier had both arms around her, her arms caught under his, breast bouncing with every thrust.

You saw it first.

An unmistakable pressure beneath the surface of her stomach. Moving with every thrust. A belly bulge.

Your mouth went dry.

She was dripping. You could see it even through the glass —the inside of her thighs slick and glistening where his movements had worked everything down, coating her skin, catching the apartment light every time he pulled back. The glass had a faint fog to it from her breath, small clouds appearing and disappearing with each exhale.

The deep flush running from her chest to her throat made something in your lower stomach pull tight.

The Xavier beside you tracked every place her body responded to him, her hardened nipples, the way her toes curled against nothing, the flutter beneath her skin that mapped exactly where he was.

Crash

A flower pot.

It hit the floor and you both stopped breathing.

Inside the apartment, silence.

Immediate and total.

Through the glass you watched future Xavier's head come up. No panic in it. No confusion. Just a slow turn toward the sound, his eyes moving through the dark until they found the spot where the two of you were standing.

He couldn't see you. The angle was wrong, the shadow too deep.

He knew someone was there anyway.

His expression went cold and your future self said something against his chest. The curtain moved slowly across the glass from inside and the light behind it went out.

You had thirty seconds. Maybe less.

Xavier crouched beside you. The Protocore looked small against his palm, throwing a faint white pulse between his fingers for just a second.

The glass door began to slide open.

The air changed, the balcony, the broken pot, the man with his unlit cigarette, all of it collapsing into white noise and rushing dark.

You hit the ground hard. Your knees met broken stone, the air was knocked out of you on impact and you spent the first few seconds just existing on the ground.

Xavier landed beside you.

You pushed yourself up to sitting. "So..."

Xavier said nothing.

"That was weird."

Still nothing.

"We were—"

"I saw it" he opened his hand and noticed the Protocore was gone "I was standing right next to you."

"So we're both aware of what we watched."

"Yes."

"And we're not going to talk about it?"

He looked at you. "Are you going to be able to not talk about it?"

"Probably not."

He made a sound that wasn't quite a sigh, stood up and offered you a hand. You took it and he pulled you to your feet and didn't immediately let go.

"That man on the balcony," you said.

Xavier's jaw moved. "What about him."

"Future you saw him and then—"

"I know what he did." He dropped your hand. Turned to look at anything that wasn't your face. "You don't need to walk me through it."

"I'm just—" You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to smile, it felt inappropriate and also completely unavoidable "Was he showing off?"

"We're not talking about that."

"Xavier—"

"Not yet." He said it quietly. Just a line in the ground, clearly drawn. "Not tonight. There's—" He exhaled. "There's a lot I need to sit with before I talk about any of it."

You nodded. That felt fair.

You started walking, picking your way back through the rubble toward the gap in the wall where you'd come in, and Xavier fell into step beside you like he always did —slightly behind, slightly to your left, a position that meant he could see everything around you before you could.

The walk back was quiet. You were almost at the gap in the wall when he spoke.

"Can I ask you something."

"Go ahead."

He was quiet for a beat. Just long enough that you glanced over at him.

"Future me?" he said. "Or me?"

You stopped walking. "What?"

"You heard me. Who do you like more?

"Xavier, that's not—you are the same person—"

"Future me is two years ahead and has information I don't have and he was doing—" a small pause, "—things to you that I have not yet done. So. Future me or me?"

You stared at him.

He stared back.

"That is the most ridiculous question you've ever asked me"

"Humor me."

"You"

Something in his face changed.

"Good," he said.

"But future you did have his—"

The not quite smile disappeared. "We're going home," he said, and turned toward the gap in the wall.

You followed him, and you were very glad he was walking ahead of you this time because the smile on your face was not something you were ready to explain.

Today was Saturday. Simone's birthday, the one you'd been planning with her for two weeks, color coded playlist and all.

You knew who'd show and who wouldn't. Zayne never came to anything with more than five people in a room; he'd send a gift and a text. Sylus would be there past midnight like the party had been waiting on him, which, in fairness, it usually was. Rafayel was still out of town and Xavier —Xavier had walked you to class yesterday and mentioned that he had a test to study for.

He hadn't brought up Wednesday. Hadn't asked for a repeat. He seemed happy just walking beside you in silence, matching his pace to yours, and that was enough. You were relieved because your thighs couldn't take another round like that. He'd made you cum more times than you could count and you'd blacked out before his second orgasm. You woke up to him wiping you down with a warm cloth, humming something under his breath.

And still. You missed Caleb.

He was the only friend who'd been there since high school, back when he felt like a brother —carrying your backpack when your arm was in a cast, threatening a guy who stood you up sophomore year. Then something shifted senior year, some line neither of you named, and it took root over the summer before college and never let go. He hadn't texted you all week. Not once. Not even a meme, not even the thumbs up emoji he used when he couldn't be bothered to type words. That had never happened before, not even the semester he broke his wrist and had to write messages one finger at a time.

You got to Simone's early to set everything up. Gideon showed up a couple of hours later hauling two bags of ice against his hip and Caleb wasn't with him. That was wrong on its own. Those two attended every party together.

"He's coming," Gideon said, before you'd even asked. "Said he had something to take care of."

The party filled up fast after that, someone's playlist too heavy on bass. You stayed near the kitchen with a cup you angled just right so you could watch the door without looking like you were watching it. By the second hour your stomach had knotted itself tight enough that you'd stopped tasting your drink.

Then he walked in.

Not alone. A girl had her hand curled around his arm, up on her toes to say something against his ear, dark hair falling over her shoulder as she leaned in. He laughed at whatever she said, that laugh you'd have recognized anywhere, head tipping back just slightly.

You didn't stay to see if he'd notice you. Cup abandoned on the counter, bag already in hand, the last thing you saw before you were out the back door was him still bent toward her, listening and laughing.

It was cold outside. Colder by the time you'd cut halfway across campus, arms wrapped around yourself, and ran into Greyson. One of Zayne's friends from pre med, someone you'd shared a class with and one very unfortunate group project. He took one look at you shivering in your thin top and shrugged his jacket off without asking.

"Here. You'll freeze before you make it back to your dorm"

"I'm fine," you said, already pulling it on.

He laughed and fell into step beside you anyway, talking about an anatomy exam he was dreading and his girlfriend's alarming obsession with plushies. Easy conversation that didn't ask anything of you, that let you nod and half listen while your mind kept circling back to the door, to the laugh, to the girl's hand on his arm.

At your door he said goodnight and jogged off toward his building as you went inside to let the quiet close over you.

You tossed the jacket over your desk chair and started peeling off your shoes when your hand brushed something hard in the pocket. Keys. You fished them out, it was a single silver one on a carabiner with a chewed up rubber duck keychain.

Not even ten minutes later, someone knocked.

You smiled, already reaching for the keys on your desk. Of course he'd come back for them. You scooped them up, grabbed his jacket and draped it over your arm and pulled the door open, keys dangling from your fingers before you'd even looked up.

"A bit soon to be giving me the keys to your place, don't you thi—?" it was meant to be a joke.

Caleb stood in the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes went from the keys swinging from your hand to the jacket slung over your arm, and back again. Whatever smile he'd walked up with was already gone.

"Whose is that?"

His voice had lost the party in it. Gone was the easy tone, replaced by something flat that landed somewhere in your belly.

You knew that tone. Dug in. Stubborn. It was the same voice he used when men tried to put their hands on you. You'd forgotten what that sounded like until now.

Something reckless flared up under your nerves. Days of avoiding him and now he was standing in your doorway looking at you like that. You leaned your shoulder into the frame, unhurried.

"Just a friend's," you said, letting the jacket slip a little on your arm so he'd notice how big it was. "He walked me back from the party. It was cold."

"A friend."

"Mm-hmm." You tilted your head, biting back a smile you didn't try very hard to hide. "Nice guy. Gave me his jacket without me even asking."

"Did he?"

"He did." You shrugged, one shoulder, watching the muscle in his jaw tighten. "Very sweet, actually. I might keep it."

Caleb moved, one step, closing half the distance between you, and you found yourself backing up without deciding to.

"What's his name."

"Why does it matter?"

"I just want his name."

"Jealous?" The word came out lighter than you felt. You tipped your chin up, daring him.

His eyes narrowed. "Should I be?"

You didn't answer. You just held his gaze, arms crossed loosely, jacket bunched against your ribs, and let the silence do the talking. You'd meant it as a tease. It landed like a confession.

Caleb's hand caught the door before you could think to close it, and stepped over the threshold like he had every right to be there. The door closed behind him with a heavy sound that cut off the hallway light and the cold.

"You've been running from me all week," he said.

"I haven't—"

"Don't." One word, quiet, and it stopped you cold. "I saw you by the food truck Tuesday. Wednesday you turned around and walked into a building you don't even have class in. Today you bolted out the back door the second I walked through the front." He took another step. You were nearly at your desk now, nowhere left to go. "So don't tell me you haven't been running."

Your ass met the edge of the desk. He didn't stop until there was almost nothing between you, close enough that you caught the cold night air still clinging to him, and under it, the same warm cedar smell you'd have known blindfolded.

"Maybe I like it when you chase me," you said, the teasing thinner than you wanted it to sound.

Something shifted in his face. "Yeah?"

"Maybe."

He leaned in, slow, until his mouth hovered a breath from yours, close enough that if either of you moved even slightly you wouldn't be able to help it. Your heart was beating hard against your ribs.

"Say that again," he murmured.

You didn't say anything at all.

"Maybe I should go find him, thank him properly for lending you his jacket."

"Caleb—"

"What's his name?" A ghost of a smirk, infuriating. His nose brushed yours, and you nearly closed the gap yourself before he pulled back a fraction, just out of reach.

"You're impossible."

"You like impossible." He tilted his head, closing in again, slower this time, until his lips almost grazed yours and then he stopped there too, breath warm against your mouth, watching you through half lowered lashes. "Tell me to stop."

"Stop," you whispered, and it came out all wrong, breathless instead of firm.

"Try again." He was smiling now, a smile that didn't reach his eyes so much as darken them. "Say it like you mean it." he pulled back again, like he had all the time in the world and you had none.

Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt "You're doing this on purpose."

"Obviously."

He came in again, and this time you swore his mouth grazed yours, barely, gone before you could be sure it happened at all. A soft, frustrated sound climbed up your throat.

"Caleb."

"Yeah?" he still hovered there, he needed you to break first.

Fisting his shirt, you hauled him down and crashed your mouth into his.

He groaned like you'd finally given him something he'd been starving for, one hand sliding into your hair, the other gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. The jacket dropped from your fingers, forgotten on the floor. He kissed you like the last few days had been sitting in his chest the whole time, like the wait had worn through whatever control he'd been holding onto.

He walked you backward until your knees hit the mattress, and when you sat down hard he followed you down "No more running," he said against your jaw "Not from me."

Your fingers shook, but the urgency in your chest didn't leave room for nerves to win. You caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it up his torso, and he lifted his arms without being asked, letting you drag it off and drop it behind you. You slid your hands down to his belt and he took over from there, working it loose himself, shoving his jeans down with one impatient kick until he was standing in nothing but his underwear.

The fabric strained. The thick outline of his cock was impossible to miss.

You didn't mean to stare and he didn't give you time to. He leaned over you, pulling your top over your head in one motion, and his hands went around your back a second later, unhooking your bra like he'd done it a hundred times in his head already. The marks Rafayel had left were still faintly there. You didn't notice him catch sight of them, you were too busy working your jeans down, kicking them off.

The room's light hit the bruises on your inner thighs.

Caleb went still. His breathing turned loud and something crossed his face you'd never seen on him before, not once in all the years you'd known him.

"Who?"

It wasn't even a full question. You couldn't answer it. You couldn't even lift your eyes to his, heat crawling up your neck, half shame, half something closer to fear.

His hand found your jaw, careful even now, but firm enough that you couldn't look away from him.

"I'll find out either way"

You said nothing. Your mouth stayed shut, lips pressed together, and he pulled back like he meant to walk away from the whole thing. Panic shot through you and you grabbed his forearm, held on.

"It wasn't a stranger," you whispered.

"Then who."

He was already working through it, you could see him doing it, running through the short list of people close enough to you that this made sense. He didn't need the full story. He just needed a name.

"Rafayel," you said, and then, because there was no version of this where you got to leave it there, "and Xavier."

The color left his face. "At the same time?"

"No." You shook your head fast. "No, it wasn't like that..."

That was as far as you got before he pulled his arm free and stepped back from the bed like it had burned him.

He didn't look at you. He started pacing between your desk and the window, one hand dragging through his hair over and over, like he could pull the thought straight out of his own skull.

"Rafayel," he muttered, more to the wall than to you. "Of course. Probably had you half convinced it meant something, didn't he?" A short breath, no humor in it at all. "And Xavier." He said the name like it left a bad taste. "Quiet Xavier. Too tired for a party, but not tired enough for that."

He stopped at the window, both hands braced on the sill, shoulders locked up tight. For a second he just breathed.

"I gave you space," he said, quieter now, and the quiet was worse than the pacing had been. "After Zayne's, I backed off. Thought you needed space. Figured if I pushed, you'd run, so I didn't." He turned around, and the storm on his face had gone raw underneath. "And they didn't. They just moved into the space I left. Used it."

"Caleb, that's not fair, they didn't—"

"Didn't what?" his jaw ticked. "Know you were vulnerable right after? Because I think they knew exactly what they were doing." He crossed the room until he was close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep his eyes. "Did either of them ask what you wanted? Or did they just take what you were too shaken to say no to?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Then tell me what it was like." He crouched slightly, hands braced on the mattress on either side of you, caging you in without touching you "Because I waited. I told myself slow was better than not at all." His eyes dropped to the marks on your thighs and back up, something dark moving behind them. "They didn't wait for anything."

You fingers curled around his wrist "You're the one standing in my room right now."

Something flickered across his face —not a smile, too sharp for that, but close to one. "Yeah," he said. "I am."

His fury was still there, sitting in his jaw and his hands but his touch when it landed wasn't rough. It was heavy.

He didn't look for unmarked skin.

He went straight for what they'd left behind.

His mouth found your chest first, closing over the fading marks Rafayel had put there, and he sucked —slow and thorough— his tongue working until the skin flushed dark underneath his lips. His. Over the top of someone else's, but his now. When he was done he moved down, his thumbs pressing into the bruises on your inner thighs, pinning your legs open while his mouth found the soft flesh there and bit down soft enough not to hurt but hard enough to mark.

"Mine," he said, against your skin. "Every single one. By morning."

His fingers hooked into the leg bands of your underwear, pulling the fabric taut against you. "Your pretty pussy is already soaking through these."

He didn't take them off.

He dragged his tongue up the center seam instead, one slow stroke, and the friction of it through the soaked fabric hit your clit with a sharpness that snapped your hips off the mattress. He caught you, both hands pressing your hips back down, and then his mouth was on you again, lips closing around the swollen bud through the thin wet cotton, sucking in slow pulls that made your vision blur at the edges.

"I should have been first," he said, against the fabric, his voice vibrating through it and into you. The pressure of his lips didn't let up for a second while he talked. "I'm going to spend a long time thinking about that. How I had years and I waited and now I have to share something that should have been mine from the start."

The build was fast, mean and gave you no warning. You came with your fingers twisted in his hair and his name in your throat, soaking through the fabric completely.

He watched you, gave you approximately three seconds.

Then he pulled your underwear down your legs, dropped them off the side of the bed and his mouth was back before you'd finished shaking — bare now, his tongue flat and heavy against you, licking with an attention to detail that made your spine curl. He used two fingers to spread you open, his tongue pressing into your entrance, drawing back up to your clit.

"When I'm inside your mouth," his breath felt warm against your wet skin "I'm going to make you taste what you do to me." He kept going until you came a second time. This one was quieter and left you with tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, his name coming out in pieces.

He gave you a moment. Not a long one. Just enough to take his underwear off and then his hands grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly off the mattress, guiding himself to your entrance. He pushed inside — just the crown and the first two inches — and stopped there.

The sound you made was filthy.

It was everything you had imagined. The stretch, the fullness, the weight of him just sitting there while your body tried to accommodate it and couldn't decide between pulling him in and pushing him out. He stayed there until your mind went blank and your hands found the sheets and gripped. Then he pulled out.

The emptiness was felt awful.

He shifted up the mattress and settled on his knees in front of your face, fully hard, the evidence of the last few minutes glistening on his skin, and looked down at you.

"Tell me when to stop and I'll stop."

"Don't stop." Your voice had no strength left in it. Just the words, barely above a whisper.

"Open your mouth when I tell you to."

His thumb came down to your lower lip, pressing into the center of it, pulling it slightly down. He watched your mouth part under the pressure "Do you want me inside your pretty mouth?"

"Yes."

He leaned in just enough. Dragged the tip across your upper lip, leaving a hot wet streak against your skin, watching your face while he did it.

"Say it."

Your hands came up to grip his thighs, fingers pressing into the muscle there. "I want to suck your dick."

The exhale that left him wasn't quiet. "Good girl."

He took his time, dragging the head of his cock across your lips, down your cheek and back to your mouth, leaving a trail of pre across your skin that made something in your chest clench with how much you wanted it.

You kept your eyes on his the entire time. You wanted him to see how much you wanted this.

"Open up, sweet girl"

His cock came back to rest against your lips and your mouth opened wider on instinct, the whole talk flashed through Caleb's head in the same second —Zayne's voice, clipped and deeply irritating.

She isn't built like you. Don't push inside when she isn't ready or you'll hurt her throat. She has to breathe through her nose. Don't fight her jaw. Let her drool on it as much as she can, you'll thank me later. It needs to be slow. If you rush it, you hurt her.

His knuckles had gone white against the mattress. He slowed down.

Pressed inside carefully, just the tip, feeling your lips wrap around him and your breath change as your body adjusted. He stopped there. Watched your eyes. Waited for the slight shift in your expression that meant you were ready before he went any further.

"That's it," he managed, his voice mostly gone. "Breathe through your nose. Take your time."

You did. Your hands wrapped around the base, thumbs tracing the veins there while you let the saliva build and run, coating him in a way that made the slide easier and the visual of it more overwhelming than anything else that had happened tonight. You started to move, slow forward bobs that took him a little deeper each time, your tongue working the underside on the draw back.

Caleb made a sound above you that had nothing controlled left in it.

He matched the pace —hips rolling forward in shallow, careful thrusts that tested the back of your throat, a hand in your hair gripping without pulling, his whole body wound up and trembling slightly with the effort of not taking what he wanted at the speed he wanted it.

"You're so—" He stopped, jaw tight, trying again. "Suck it harder. Taste yourself on me. You can feel it, can't you."

You could.

You sucked harder, felt his thighs tense under your hands, felt the groan that moved through his whole body when your lips slid all the way down and your nose pressed into him and you held it there, looking up at his face.

The sight was doing something to him.

Your mouth stretched around him, eyes wet at the corners, saliva running down your chin and onto your chest in slow trails, and you were looking up at him. That was the part that was killing him. You were not looking away, not closing your eyes. You were loking directly at him with a ruined stare while you took him apart with your mouth, and every time he thought he had some grip on his composure you'd do something with your tongue and it was gone again.

He wanted to grip your hair and drive forward and lose his mind entirely.

Not yet. He held still. Let you set the pace. Let your mouth work him at the speed you'd decided on.

"God," he breathed, his head dropping back for a second before he forced it back down because he couldn't look away from you. "I've thought about this. Exactly this. More times than you can imagine."

The tears running from the corners of your eyes weren't distress. He knew the difference. Your hands were firm and steady on his thighs and every time you pushed forward to take him deeper there was a small sound in your throat that sent a pulse straight up his spine.

"That's it, just like that. Keep going just like that and don't stop."

You swallowed around him in response. His hips snapped forward an inch before he caught himself.

You noticed. Your eyes said so.

He pressed his thumb to the corner of your mouth, feeling the stretch of your lips around him. "You're so good at this," he said, the words coming out unsteady. "So fucking good. Look at you taking all of it. Other girls—"

He'd said it without thinking, his brain running three seconds behind his mouth, and he felt the exact moment it landed because your rhythm changed.

Faster.

Your eyes had gone somewhere else —still on his face, but different now, something sharp moving through them that had nothing to do with what you'd been doing a second ago. Your hands tightened on his thighs. Your mouth pushed forward, taking him deeper than you had been, the angle shifting in a way that made his breath leave him all at once.

"Wait—" he started.

You hummed. It wasn't accidental. A low vibration right around the tip of his cock, your throat working, your cheeks hollowed, and whatever sentence he'd been constructing about other girls dissolved completely because his brain stopped producing language.

"I didn't—" He tried again. Failed again. Your head was moving faster now "That's not what I —, I wasn't—"

You hummed again, deeper this time, and took him further.

"Okay. Okay. There are no other girls. There have not been — in any meaningful way — other girls. You are the only girl. You are the only—" His thighs were shaking. "Please, you have to—if you keep doing that I'm going to—"

You didn't stop doing that.

Your hands moved to grip his ass, pulling him forward, inviting a depth that made his whole body seize up.

"You're—" he looked down at you with an expression that was completely gone for you. "You're jealous and you're doing this on purpose and it's working. You've made your point."

You hummed a third time. Longer. Right over the most sensitive part of him. Your eyes were saying everything your mouth was otherwise occupied with.

The sound that came out of him was not quiet. He didn't have time to pull back. He didn't even try.

He came hard, the first pulse hitting the back of your throat without warning, and he felt you swallow — fast and determined— and then the next wave and the next, each one heavier, the volume of it backing up past your lips and running down your chin, dripping onto your chest.

You were watching him fall apart and made sure he knew you were watching.

His thighs were shaking and he was coming back slowly, the room reassembling itself around the two of you.

He looked down at you.

Lips swollen, chin a complete mess, eyes bright and entirely satisfied with yourself.

He reached down and dragged his thumb slowly across your lower lip.

"Other girls do not exist. As far as I'm concerned, going forward, they never did."

Something in your expression shifted. The jealous edge softening into something warmer.

"Good," you said, and your voice was ruined too, something he found extraordinarily satisfying.

He brought his thumb to your lip. "Open."

You opened. He pressed inside, watched you close your lips around it, watched you hold his gaze while you tasted what was on it.

He pulled his thumb back.

"You're going to be the death of me," he said. Just a fact. A fact he was making peace with.

He brought his mouth to yours. Tasting everything, not flinching from any of it.

When he pulled back his forehead dropped to yours "I'm not done," he said, into the space between your faces.

"I know," you said.

"I want to do this right." His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, "I've been waiting too long to rush it."

Years. Easy laughter. Carefully maintained distance. Him looking at you the whole time with that steady certain gaze that you'd been pretending not to understand.

"Then don't"

He kissed you again. Softer this time. And then he laid you back against the mattress and took his time.

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The full white moon hung high in the darkness of the night as Valko raced through the dense forest, his heavy paws thudding loudly against the earth grounds and kicking up dirt as he went. His golden eyes were locked on a specific target, a target that was currently weaving effortlessly through the trees with a deep, echoing chuckle.

Sylus turned his head back to see that Valko was nearly on his tail and he smirked as he flapped his wings to dart himself up into the sky. “For a werewolf, you're pretty slow, pup,” Sylus gloated as he looked down at Valko, who was panting heavily as he stared up at Sylus with narrowed eyes, his fanged teeth bared as he let out a low growl.

Sylus chuckled again as he flapped his wings to lower himself down so he was eye level with his lover, his fangs gleaming under the moonlight as his smirk widened. “If you can catch me, you can do whatever you like to me. However, if you can't, then I can do whatever I want to you. Do we have a deal?”

Valko huffed through his nose as he dug his claws into the dirt, his eyes never leaving Sylus’s as he tilted his head, as if accepting the challenge. Sylus stared back, the thrill and adrenaline during this little chase still pumped through his veins before he took off through the woods again in one big swoosh that was strong enough to jostle the trees.

Valko growled as he chased after Sylus again. Valko enjoyed the hunt. He enjoyed the adrenaline it gave him whenever he and Sylus played like this, despite the differences they should have against each other.

Neither he or Sylus has ever cared about the stereotypical stories that have been told to them since they were young. How vampires and werewolves were forever enemies, one species is more dangerous than the other and vice versa, and that having a relationship is strictly forbidden between them both as they're too territorial and it would cause too many unresolved issues.

When Valko first encountered Sylus, he was being chased by angry vampire hunters when he accidentally stepped into their territory without realizing it. Then everything happened in a blur. The last thing he remembered was the screams of the hunters as their bodies were being crushed and snapped before exploding into a black and red mist, the particles floating towards him like mini red dragonflies.

Valko watched the whole exchange with wide eyes, his heart racing for a different reason other than fear as the towering, unknown figure slowly turned to look at him, its long silver hair flowing from behind as it walked towards him slowly, its steps echoing against the concrete. Once the face of his savior was shown, thanks to the lighting of the moon, Valko felt all of his air escape him at once.

Valko has never seen someone as beautiful as the man in front of him, who was covered in long, finely made red and gold clothing that looked to have been made and customized by the rich.

“Are you alright?” The figure asked him and Valko was taken aback by how alluring and deep the voice was. It was almost like a deep purr that settled low into his belly and spread warmth throughout his entire being. It took him a second to respond and he nodded his head silently as his ears twitched above his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“Hm. Good.” The unknown man smirked, showing off his own set of fangs as he spread his wings wide enough to shadow him and Valko as he held his staff in one hand before he flew up into the sky and away, and that's when Valko realized that this wasn't just no ordinary vampire, but a way more powerful one that he didn't believe could exist.

An Archfiend from another world. The Underworld, to be more specific.

Ever since then, Valko has done his research when he went into his lab the following day. He found out that the powerful fiend's name was Sylus and he resided in the Underworld. The only time he ever appears on Velmure was if he was summoned by some type of blood ritual.

He briefly wondered if the other vampires or the mages summoned him just for jokes or to see if the ritual was the real deal, which it turned out to be in the end, unfortunately for them.

Fast forward to a year later after the encounter, the ritual was brought to light again, although Valko told himself he was never going to do such a thing–he did it anyway cause he couldn't stop thinking about the man, sue him–and now here they were playing in the woods while living their life away from all of the judgement and hatred that they knew would come their way.

Him and Sylus simply looked at it as two apex predators trying to survive in the world rather than trying to kill each other like the rest of their kind would've tried to do. Neither of their respectable homes knew about their relationship and they planned to keep it that way.

Valko could tell that Sylus was slowing down on purpose, so he took the opportunity to leap up and playfully tackle Sylus down by using his paws to enclose around the fiend's midsection, making the both of them tumble to the ground and roll in the grass before stopping close by a nearby tree trunk.

Valko rolled over to cover Sylus's body protectively and leaned his head down to start nosing at Sylus's cheek and neck, his nose feeling wet and cold against the skin before his tongue joined the mix.

Sylus laughed as he tried to squirm away from the wet touches, his hands reaching up to push up at Valko's chest before he ended up scratching at him softly. “Okay, pup, that's enough. You caught me.”

Sylus felt when Valko shifted, his fur being replaced with warm, bare skin. Valko's tail swished excitedly as he lifted his head from Sylus's neck and looked down at him, his eyes glowing brightly as his face was shadowed by the dark and the glow of the moon creating a halo around him.

He grinned and leaned down to place a deep kiss on Sylus's lips, which the fiend happily reciprocated, as he situated himself between his lover's legs and planted his hands on either side of Sylus’s head.

“I did, didn't I? Like you said, once I catch you, I can do whatever I want to you. However,” Valko purred against Sylus's lips as he reached one of his hands down between their bodies and placed his palm on Sylus’s already stiffening dick, soaking in the low grunt he emitted as he squeezed and began to rub at the bulge. “I vaguely recall you calling me slow, is that right?”

Sylus gasped quietly as his hips bucked up on their own as Valko continued to palm him, his breathing turning slightly shallow. With a low chuckle, Sylus looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and reached up with one hand to slowly smooth it up the wolf's chest, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth as his fingertips traced Valko's jawline with a featherlight touch.

“I'm not wrong. It looked like you could barely catch up to me, as I am obviously faster than you, but if you can prove me wrong, I'd like to see you try.” Sylus challenged.

Valko raised a brow and matched Sylus's smirk before he raised himself up and hastily maneuvered the fiend onto his hands and knees before he pressed his hand down between Sylus's shoulder blades, making his back go down into a deep arch.

Valko didn't waste another second and used his claws to shred off Sylus's elegant clothes, while also being careful as to not accidentally scratch him. He mentally noted to himself to apologize for it later. “Challenge accepted then,” Valko whispered as he leaned down and used his tongue to trace the outside of Sylus's ear, humming when the other shivered underneath him.

“You should already know by now that I can make you submit to me with no problem, my strong fiend.”

Grabbing ahold of Sylus's bare hips to keep him still, Valko began to press little kisses and nips down his spine before stopping above the crack of his ass.

"Is that so? Because you definitely weren't saying that when I–" Sylus’s retort was cut off with a groan and a flinch of his body as he felt Valko's tongue lap and swirl at his hole.

"You were sayin' somethin'?" Valko teased as he pulled his face back, his claws retracting back as his hands opened Sylus's asscheeks wider. He pursed his lips before opening his mouth to let out a thick dribble of spit. He stared hungrily as his saliva began to roll down towards Sylus's hole, lower towards his taint, and then his heavy balls.

Sylus shivered, his breath catching as he felt Valko's finger circle at his hole for a second before slowly pushing inside; the tight heat of Sylus’s body made the wolf groan and his dick twitch in excitement.

Valko began to thrust his index finger slowly, carefully stretching his lover out before he withdrew and then added his middle. Sylus bit his lip as his eyes rolled back a little, his hips beginning to fuck back on Valko's fingers impatiently as the other began to curl and scissor him open, stretching him open more.

"Pup, hurry up before I get bored over here. You're taking way too long," Sylus huffed, his dick dribbling out dots of precum as his fingers curled into the grass. "If you need help moving things along, I can gladly help you out–"

Before Sylus could finish his sarcastic response, he let out a groan instead as he felt Valko's fingers fist his hair in the back of his head and pull his head back until his back was flush against Valko's chest.

Valko had added his third finger and thrusted all three of them deeper inside of the loosening warmth before curling them up more vigorously, his fingertips brushing over Sylus's prostate made the fiend gasp and try to squirm away from the shock of pleasure that shot up his spine, but Valko kept a firm hold on his hair to keep him from moving.

"You sure love running your mouth while I have my fingers deep inside of you and fucking you open to get you ready to take me, but since you're so greedy for it, don't let me keep you waiting then, baby." Valko whispered into Sylus's ear, his voice a deep rumble as he pulled his fingers out and experimentally undid his cargo pants to push the material down enough to free his throbbing cock; the sound of the loose belt buckle clinking from the action made Sylus's breath hitch.

He foregone wearing underwear because it would've just been in his way and he was all too impatient to finally sink inside of his pretty vamp. Valko pressed the leaking tip against Sylus's hole, his free hand now gripping Sylus's waist. "Deep breath, love."

Sylus sucked in a breath right as Valko pushed inside of him slowly; the both of them letting out groans at being connected close like this. "There we go, baby. Take all nine inches like the good boy we both know you are." Valko praised as he firmly pressed his hips flush against Sylus's ass once he bottomed all the way in.

Sylus shuddered as he was pushed back down and pinned against the grass, his ass arched up high so he was presented to Valko's devouring eyes.

Without any further warning, Valko pulled his hips back before thrusting back inside, causing Sylus to let out a curse and his eyes to roll back again as the wolf began to fuck into him with deep, grinding rolls.

Valko let out an impatient huff and he hiked up his leg on the side of Sylus’s hip, gripped his waist with his claws tight enough to prick his skin and draw out little dots of blood, and wasted no time to pound into Sylus hard and fast; his heavy balls slapping loudly against Sylus's ass.

"Fuck, Val–slow d-down! I can't–ah–oh god–hah–," Sylus gasped out as his back arched down deeper and he twisted his arm back to press it against Valko's stomach, hoping that the wolf would give him some mercy, but all Valko did was just laugh; the sound full of dark amusement and greedy desire as he reached his hand back and slapped Sylus's ass hard, making the fiend jolt and let out another loud moan.

Valko grabbed both of Sylus’s arms by the wrists and held them firmly behind his back with the hand he just slapped Sylus's bouncing ass with and used that as leverage to bring Sylus back against his thrusts as his hips pounded harder, making their skin slap together louder.

"Awww," Valko mockingly cooed as he leaned down to Sylus's ear, buried his face deep into his neck and inhaled Sylus's scent, a deep growl rumbling out of his throat as the knot that started to form at the base of his dick began to swell.

"You can't take all this, my dear fiend? Is my dick too much for you to handle, hm? Am I fuckin' you so damn good you can't even think straight and only these woods can hear the way you're crying out for me?"

The only thing that Sylus could muster out was a choked out noise of Valko's name and a weak, cracked insult of "shut up you dog" before he was letting out a guttural cry as he felt the tip of Valko's dick slam against his swollen prostate, making his whole body sieze up from the white-hot pleasure.

"Yeah, right there, huh?" Valko panted into Sylus's ear as he reached down between Sylus's legs with his other hand and wrapped it around Sylus's cock before starting to stroke him quickly, his thumb pressing against the underside of Sylus's sensitive leaking tip that dripped out multiple strings of precum.

"Come on, pretty boy, cum for me. Cum all over my dick. Let me feel you milk me dry. Give it to me." Valko's voice shifted into a whiny undertone as his knot grew slightly bigger and was pressing against Sylus's ass, now on the verge of popping inside.

Before Sylus could protest or even try to warn his lover, he was cumming hard with a loud moan of Valko's name, his body and legs trembling hard as he painted the earthy ground with his seed. Valko gasped as Sylus's body clamped around him tightly and he raised up to his knees again, his grip on Sylus's wrists tightening as his thrusts started to turn erratic.

"Gonna knot and fill this pretty perfect ass up with my seed and watch the way it leak out of you, baby," Valko hissed as he threw his head back, Sylus's deep yet broken whimpers urging him on and closer towards his own orgasm. "Can't wait to see the way your stomach bulges out after I pump you full–fuck, fuck I'm cumming–shit I'm gonna–"

With a couple more strokes, Valko's knot popped inside right as he came with a high pitched whine and he leaned his head down to bite down on the junction where Sylus's neck and shoulder met hard enough to draw out blood to muffle any other noises he might accidentally slip out.

With a couple more strokes, Valko's knot popped inside right as he came with a high pitched whine and he leaned his head down to bite down on the junction where Sylus's neck and shoulder met hard enough to draw out blood to muffle any other noises he might accidentally slip out.

Sylus groaned from the bite and from the warm feeling of the thick ropes of cum filling him up, making his lower belly distended slightly as Valko kept grinding his hips to keep pumping another load of his his cum into his body.

Valko released Sylus's wrists and carefully maneuvered them onto their sides as his orgasm eventually subsided, leaving only his knot to keep them locked together.

Once the post-orgasmic haze cleared, he noticed the bloody bite mark and marks he left on Sylus's hips and he felt his ears droop back as he licked apologetically at the bite, cleaning it of the blood and using his saliva to prevent it from getting infected.

Sylus chuckled from the gesture and he reached back to scratch at his wolf's head and behind one of his ears. "I'm a vampire, pup, remember? I heal fast anyway, so don't worry about the marks. You know I can handle pain." He reassured as he turned his head back so he could look Valko in the eyes.

Valko hummed from the pets and rubbed against Sylus's hand as he opened his eyes, his face softening as he turned his head to smell at Sylus's wrist. "I know, but still. You know I feel bad sometimes for going too rough on you. After I've thoroughly fucked you dumb, of course."

Sylus let out a huff and flicked Valko on the forehead, who let out a whine before chuckling, his grin all playful and teasing. "I'm just teasin', love. No need to abuse me."

Sylus just rolled his eyes but he couldn't stop the smile from gracing his face. It was a few more minutes that Valko's knot shrunk down enough for him to slowly and carefully slip out, even though Sylus let out a quiet inhale from the stretch it caused on his poor used hole.

Valko didn't a chance to get another word out before his world was flipped around and he was situated on Sylus’s lap, his back now flushed against the fiend as his legs were parted wide due to Sylus's own. He gasped as Sylus held him firmly against him with his arm tight around his stomach and he could feel Sylus's rapidly swelling dick between his asscheeks.

"My turn," Sylus purred against his ear as he held up three of his fingers to Valko's mouth. "Suck on them, sweetheart. Get them nice and wet for me."

Valko let out a needy whine and he could feel the tip of his tail starting to patpatpat against the ground as his own dick began to harden again from his growing arousal.

He parted his lips to suck the digits into the slick heat of his mouth and swirled his tongue around them before he started to bob his head on them eagerly. Sylus growled low in his throat as he watched, his dick twitching in earnest as he pulled his fingers free; the thick string of saliva that connected the tips of his fingers to Valko's lips broke off and landed on the corner of his mouth.

He trailed his soaked fingers slowly down Valko's body and lower towards his base where he circled around the reshape of the wolf's knot before dipping between his legs and running his fingers over Valko's greedily clenching hole, making the wolf gasp again and push his hips down against the familiar touch.

Sylus chuckled as he used his other hand to cup underneath Valko's jaw and tilt his head back until he rested on his shoulder. He captured his lover's lips in a messy kiss that was full of tongue, low little growls and nipping bites to lips as he sunk his three fingers easily inside of Valko's heat, who let out a loud muffled moan into the kiss that Sylus easily swallowed.

"Good boy." Sylus murmured against his lips with a smirk before he kissed Valko again.

━━━

"Sylus–! Ah, ah–hmm–shit! Please–!" Valko panted out with a needy whine as he bounced up and down on Sylus's cock eagerly, his thighs straining and burning from extortion as his head dropped down between his shoulders.

His tail wrapped around Sylus's thigh while he tried not to dig his clawed fingers into Sylus's knees for balance and accidentally make him bleed him again, but he could tell he was failing as the pleasure that rippled up and down his body felt too good and made him easily fall apart.

Sylus laid panting and groaning on his back as he watched the way Valko moved on top of him with a tight grip he had on his hips. His broad built back was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his ass was a perfect rounded shade of red from the multiple swats Sylus delivered that he came to find out Valko absolutely loved.

Sylus stared, mesmerized at the way it bounced and jiggled with every movement, and he let out a grunt as he dug his own nails hard into Valko's hips and thrusted his hips to meet Valko on every downstroke, causing Valko's noises to increase in volume.

"Mmm, look at you up there, puppy; taking my cock so, so well," Sylus hummed as he ran his hands up and down over Valko's sides before gripping at his waist again, bended his knees up to plant his feet firmly, and fucked up harder and deeper into Valko's ass; his animalistic growls and grunts mixing and blending in with Valko's loud whines and moans.

"S-Sylus–please–" Valko gasped as his back arched and his whole body trembled as he felt Sylus's tip slam head on into his prostate. "I'm gonna cum–I can't h-hold it much longer!" Valko whimpered as he could feel the telltale sign of his orgasm quickly approaching.

Sylus groaned and tipped his head back as he could feel the way Valko's walls was squeezing tight around his dick. His own orgasm wasn't that far behind, so taking his hand off of Valko's waist, Sylus reached up to tangle his fingers into the sweaty red strands and pulled Valko down to him so his back was once again pressed against his equally sweaty chest.

Reaching down between Valko's legs and wrapping his hand firmly around the heavy sized knot that now completely formed at the base, Sylus began to jerk him off quickly, his wrist twisting and squeezing at the sticky tip on every upstroke before going back down and squeezing around the knot as he quickened his fist.

With a growl, Sylus bit down on Valko's shoulder, his fangs piercing through the flesh and drawing out blood that he greedily drunk down. Valko cried out until his voice cracked as he came hard, his body shaking as load after load spilled out and soaked Sylus's hand, making the glide easier and the already wet noises sound louder and messier.

From the way Valko's body clenched around him so tight it felt nearly suffocating, Sylus was cumming deep inside with a couple more strokes of his hips and with a loud groan as he carefully pulled his mouth away, his arms wrapping securely around around his wolf's still trembling body.

The both of them laid on the grassy ground; panting, sweaty and covered in dirt and grime and content in each other's arms as the feeling of their intense orgasms subsided, leaving them both in a post-orgasmic glow.

The silence was comfortable between them for a moment before Valko broke it first with a teasing laugh. "You know, you forgot to mention one other thing," he started as he turned his head to look back at Sylus, who was already looking at him with a raised brow.

Valko grinned as he reached up to wipe at Sylus's bloody mouth with his thumb before sticking it between Sylus's lips.

"Now you can at least admit that I still fucked you better and left you with a rounded belly full of my cum."

You weren't official family. That was the problem, the one that the Farspace Fleet kept running into every time you called. Childhood bonds didn't have paperwork. Shared trauma didn't have a form number. The promise made in the darkness of his room more than a year ago didn't hold any legal weight, and so every time you called you got the same automated voice, the same words in the same order.

The expedition into the deepspace flux zone is ongoing. All communications are classified under Level 4 security protocols.

You'd stopped counting how many times you'd heard it.

A week ago rumors started moving through the hunter channels, spreading fast and going quiet the moment an official walked into a room. A collapse inside the tunnel. A squadron cut off from the extraction point. You'd cornered a senior officer at the Association headquarters and watched her look at everything in the room except your face while she told you to prepare for the worst. As if that was a sentence you were supposed to absorb and go home.

They were writing him off. Filling in forms. Moving toward the moment where they'd call it officially and send you a letter with his name at the top and a condolences paragraph at the bottom, and the universe would have taken him from you a second time. The first time had been the explosion. You'd been clueless then, and the grief had carved something out of you that had never fully grown back. Thirty two days of silence and you could feel those same edges again, the same hollow shape of a loss you didn't know how to survive this time.

You'd spent the last two days crying under your duvet without a reason to come out.

2:14 AM. The front door clicked.

You sat up so fast the blood rushed out of your head. Sat completely still in the dark, heart hammering, telling yourself it was nothing— probably a neighbor's door, your own exhausted mind making up sounds it wanted to hear. You'd been doing that. Hearing things. Seeing his face in the corner of your eye on the street and turning to find a stranger.

Heavy footsteps in the hallway. A duffel bag dropped onto the hardwood floor. The weight of it, the carelessness of someone too exhausted to set something down gently, sent something electric straight up your spine.

You got out of bed. Your legs weren't entirely reliable. You caught the door frame, steadied yourself, crossed the hallway on autopilot with your heart somewhere in your throat.

The bathroom light was on. Through the glass the steam was already building, the shower ran hard and hot, and you could smell it from the doorway—your shampoo.

You pushed the door open.

The steam rolled out around you, warm and thick, and through the clear panel of the shower glass—

Caleb.

He didn't know you were there yet.

He was standing under the water with his forehead pressed against the tile, shoulders rising and falling. The water was too hot—you could tell because the steam was already thick enough to blur the far wall—but he wasn't adjusting it. Just standing in it. Letting it hit the back of his neck and run down the lines of his shoulders to carry whatever he'd brought back with him down the drain.

His skin was pale, the kind of pale that came from a month without real sunlight, and every muscle in his back was wound so tight it looked painful.

He looked like he had fought his way to a door and wasn't entirely sure yet that he'd made it through.

His head turned.

His eyes found yours through the condensation and steam, bloodshot from lack of sleep and completely awake in an instant, and the look on his face when he saw you standing there—the unguarded relief of it—hit you somewhere behind your ribs and stayed there.

He reached back to shut the water off then stepped out without reaching for a towel, water running off his shoulders and chest, steam rising off his skin. He looked different. Harder at the edges. Several days of dark stubble caught the harsh bathroom light and he looked nothing like the man who'd kissed you goodbye a month ago, or he looked exactly like that man, just with everything worn closer to the surface, less of it contained.

Neither of you spoke. You weren't sure you could. The reality of him standing in front of you—breathing, dripping water onto the floor—was still making its way through days of silence and the grief of someone who had already lost him once and had spent the last forty eight hours preparing to do it again.

"Caleb." It came out barely a sound.

He crossed the bathroom floor in three steps, water trailing behind him, and his hand wrapped around your wrist. His grip was warm, real and it made your eyes sting immediately. He didn't say anything. He just held you for a moment, his thumb pressed against your pulse point, and let you feel that he was there.

He kept hold of your wrist the whole way. Down the hall, through the door of your room, until your shoulders found a wall and he stopped in front of you. The sight of him, still yours, broke something open in your chest that you'd been holding very carefully shut.

"Caleb,—the fleet, they—I thought you were—"

"I'm right here." His voice came out rough, scraped down to something raw and unrecognizable, nothing of his usual warmth in it yet. "Forget what they said. I'm right here. I'm safe."

He placed his palms against the wall on either side of your head, steadying the space around you like he always had. The heat coming off his skin was startling against the cool air of the bedroom. You looked up at him, at the dark sharp lines of his jaw and the thick stubble that made him look exhausted and more real than anything you'd let yourself imagine in the last four weeks.

"Look at you," he said quietly, eyes moving over your face, your shaking hands, "Why are you trembling. It's okay." His voice dropped further. "I've got you."

"I thought you were dead." The first sob broke through before you could stop it "They wouldn't tell me anything, Caleb. They told me to prepare for the worst, I didn't know what that—fuck, I did know what it meant and I couldn't—"

"I know." He pulled you away from the wall and buried his face in the curve of your neck, you felt the rough drag of his stubble against your skin and gasped. He breathed you in slowly, deeply, his whole chest expanding against yours. "I know what they're like." His arms tightened around you. "But I promised you. I have always promised you. I fought my way out of that tunnel because leaving you again was not an option."

His hands moved down and without any warning he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you clean off the floor.

You wrapped your legs around his waist on instinct, hands flying to his shoulders. Your shorts rode up with the movement, bare thighs pressing against the heat of his hips.

"Baby—"

His mouth came down on yours.

It wasn't desperate in the way you'd expected. It was slower than that, deeper, a kiss that had too much behind it to rush. A month of darkness, cold and whatever he'd fought through to get back to you, all of it pressing into the way his lips moved against yours, his tongue parting your mouth in a heavy stroke that made your fingers curl into his damp hair and pull.

He shifted your weight, pressing your spine gently but firmly into the wall, and you felt the full length of his cock against you through the thin fabric of your shorts—already hard, already searching for the closeness you both needed, his hips moving in a slow rhythm that mirrored exactly what his mouth was doing.

He broke the kiss just far enough to look at you again.

"I'm here," he said, his words almost too quiet to hear. "Right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"I need—" Your voice broke, tears were streaming down your face. "Please. I need to feel you. I need to know you're actually—"

The sound that came out of him was pained. He lowered you until your feet touched the floor, keeping one arm tight around your waist, and his free hand went to your waistband, careful, guiding your shorts and underwear down together until they pooled at your ankles and you stepped out of them.

He straightened back up and you looked at each other in the quiet of the room. He was watching your face with an expression that made your throat close up again. The marks of the last month were all over him, the exhaustion, the weight loss, the hollowness around his eyes, and he was still the most beautiful man you'd ever seen.

He reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it behind him without looking. Then he was back against you, chest to chest, and the heat of his body in front of you and the cool hard wall behind you made your breath leave you all at once.

His jaw dragged down your throat. The stubble was rough and you felt every millimeter of it, that scraping friction kept pulling you back into your body every time emotion threatened to pull you out of it. He was doing it on purpose. Making sure you felt him. "Right here," he said softly against your skin. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm yours."

There was nothing left to say that your body wasn't already saying for you.

He hooked one of your legs over his hip, his forearm sliding under your thigh to hold you there. His free hand moved between you, guiding himself to your entrance, and he paused—just for a breath, tip pressed against your heat—eyes on your face, waiting.

"Please. Now. Ca—"

He pressed forward and you buried your face in his neck.

The sob that came out of you surprised both of you. He felt it move through you and pulled you closer, both arms wrapping around you, his hands spread wide across your back.

"I've got you," he whispered, lips against your temple. "I've got you. I'm here."

He pulled back slowly. Almost all the way. Let you feel the drag of it, the absence, and then drove back in deeper.

"Caleb—" he swallowed the sound of his name with a sound of his own, low in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours.

He began to move and there was nothing fast about it. Just you and him.

The heat built fast anyway. Your nails found his back, his shoulders, whatever you could reach, and he let you—didn't flinch, didn't shift away, just kept moving in a steady rhythm while the wet sounds of it and both of your breathing filled up the room. Your tears were still falling and you stopped trying to do anything about them, just let them come while your mouth left marks on his body.

His shoulder pulled away from your mouth.

"Look at me." Came his voice, strained, like it cost him something to speak. "Let me see you."

You lifted your head. Your vision was a bit blurry, everything fractured through tears, but you could see him clearly enough, jaw clenched, neck tight, the muscles in his face working against something he was holding back.

"You don't have to be scared anymore," he rasped, hips driving forward again, finding a shorter faster rhythm that dragged against every nerve ending you had. "I'm right here, baby. I'm staying right here."

"I was so scared—" The words broke apart before you got through them, your body clenching around him in tight pulses. "Caleb, I thought—I kept calling and they wouldn't—and then she said to prepare and I didn't—"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to sit with that."

"Don't apologize—"

"Look at me," he said again, softer this time. "Stay with me."

He grabbed your other leg, hoisting you higher until you were fully suspended—nothing under you but him, every thrust finding someplace deeper, enough to make your whole body seize up and your head fall back against the wall.

"Oh—Caleb—I'm going to—I—"

"I've got you." He brought his face to your cheek, lips moving against the wet, salty skin there, breathing you in. "I've got you. Let go."

The past month collapsed into a single point in your chest and then detonated. Not just pleasure—though that rolled through you in long shaking waves—but everything under it. Every night staring at his empty side of the bed. Every time a voice said please await official updates. The two days under your duvet where you'd let yourself start to grieve him. All of it coming up at once, unstoppable, your whole body shaking with it while he held you against the wall and didn't let you fall.

"I love you," you sobbed into his neck, the words coming out in pieces. "I love you—I love you—"

"I know." His voice cracked on the second word. He was close. His lips pressed to your temple, your jaw, your wet cheek "I know, baby. I love you. I love you. I'm home."

He buried himself as deep as he could go, shaking, your name in his mouth like a prayer he'd been repeating for a month to keep himself moving forward.

He carried you to the bed eventually. Lay down with you still tangled against his chest, one hand moving slow up and down your back, the other tucked under his head.

"They really told you to prepare?"

"Three days ago."

He was quiet for a moment. His hand stilled on your back.

"They wouldn't tell me anything because I'm not—I'm not on any form. There's no box I fit in. I'm not—" You stopped. Felt your throat tighten again and breathed through it. "There's no paperwork that says I'm yours. So as far as they were concerned I was nobody and they owed me nothing."

Caleb didn't say anything. His chest rose and fell steadily.

"I need that to change"

"Okay," he said.

"I mean it, Caleb." You pushed yourself up onto your elbow and looked at him, his eyes were already on you. "I need it to actually change. Not someday. Not when things settle down or when the fleet rotation is easier or when we find a better time. I need—" your voice came out fierce and a little unsteady and you let it be both. "I need to be your wife. Legally. On every form and every document and every emergency contact line they have. I need there to be paperwork that says you're mine so that the next time someone tries to lock me out of a room where decisions are being made about your life, I can put it on their desk and they cannot say no to me."

He was very still.

"I'm not asking you to do something romantic," you said. "I'm not—this isn't about a ceremony or a dress or any of that, though I want all of that too, I do. I'm asking you because I spent a month being nobody to the people who had information about whether you were alive. I'm asking because I sat in this apartment with no legal right to know anything and I cannot do that again. I will not do that again."

Caleb looked at you for a long moment then he reached up and put his hand against the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.

"I've wanted to ask you, I kept waiting for the right moment."

"This is the right moment."

"You're proposing to me at four in the morning."

"I am."

The corner of his mouth pulled up. The first real version of his smile you'd seen since he walked through the door, the one that reached all the way up, the one that was so him it made your chest ache.

He pulled you back down against him, arms wrapping around you, lips pressing to the top of your head and staying there. "First thing tomorrow we go to the registration office. We fill out every form they have. We put your name on everything."

You pressed your face into his chest and closed your eyes, this time it wasn't to wait for a notification that never came.

It was just to sleep.

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"That's not what this is about and you know it," Caleb said, his voice gone quiet, that meant he was past the point of raising it. He stood in the living room with his arms crossed "You've been doing this for months. Every time I'm here you find something. The coffee, the blanket, the remote—"

"She was cold," Valko said. "I gave her the blanket because she was cold. You were sitting right next to her and you didn't notice."

"I noticed."

"You were watching the stupid game."

"I can watch the game and notice she's cold at the same time."

"Clearly not, since I'm the one who got up."

Caleb's eye twitched. Just slightly. "You got up from the other side of the room to bring her a blanket that was sitting six inches from my hand so you could—"

"So I could what, Caleb? Make sure my girlfriend wasn't cold? That's the crime we're prosecuting today?"

"She's my girlfriend too."

"Then act like it."

Caleb uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, and Valko, because Valko had never backed up from anything in his life and wasn't about to start now, also stepped forward to meet him. They ended up in the middle of the living room with their chests almost touching and matching expressions of immovable stubbornness.

"You want to talk about acting like it," Caleb said, very quietly. "Let's talk about last Tuesday."

"I'm gonna need you to be specific."

"You called her ten times, Valko."

"I was checking on her."

"Ten times. In an hour. I was with her. She didn't need to be checked on, she was fine, you just wanted to make sure I knew you were calling"

"This is actually insane," Valko threw one hand up. "You're telling me I'm not allowed to call my girlfriend?"

"Not when I'm with her"

"I'm trying," Valko said, clipped and precise, "to take care of her. Which I realize is a foreign concept to a man whose primary contribution to this relationship is showing up on weekends and looking pretty—"

"I look..." Caleb stopped. A vein in his temple was doing something concerning. "That is not the point—"

"Oh my god, that is enough."

They turned at exactly the same time, the argument dying mid breath, and found you standing in the bedroom doorway. You had your arms crossed, a silk blindfold hanging from each hand, and the expression on your face was one you reserved for occasions when you had reached the outer limit of what you were willing to tolerate.

You looked at Caleb. Then at Valko. Then at the ridiculous amount of physical space they had managed to eliminate between two fully grown men who had, three days ago, been in your bed at the same time without anyone losing a limb.

"I have watched you two argue all day" you said. "You have both been in this relationship for months. You have both—" you paused, choosing words, "demonstrated, repeatedly, that you are capable of being in the same room as each other."

Neither of them said anything. Caleb had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. Valko looked like he wanted to say something and was physically restraining himself.

You held up the blindfolds.

"I'm done mediating. You want to act like you don't know how to share?" Your eyes moved between them, steady and completely unmoved by the combined effect of the two of them standing there looking like scolded golden retrievers. "Then I'll make it simple for everyone."

-------------------------------------------------

The bedroom was very quiet by the time you got them both in there.

They ran out of things to argue about. It was hard to continue a territorial dispute when they couldn't see where they were in the room. They stood where you'd put them, stripped bare, blindfolded, shoulders still carrying the tension from the living room but with nowhere to direct it anymore. Both of them had their hands at their sides, not touching anything, assuming they were far away from each other.

They were not.

They were close enough that if either one of them exhaled too hard they'd feel it. You'd done that on purpose.

You sank to your knees between them and looked up at their faces —both of them tight jawed, heads slightly tilted, trying to orient themselves by sound alone— and took a moment to appreciate the fact that two of the most difficult men you'd ever met were currently standing blindfolded and completely at your mercy because of a disagreement about coffee.

You poured the lube and wrapped your hand around Caleb's cock first.

His head went back immediately, a rough groan pulling out of him, hands gripping his own hips to stop himself from reaching for you. "God, your hand—can do it a bit faster?"

"Don't rush her," Valko's voice came out tighter than he intended. He was trying to figure out from the sound of Caleb's voice exactly how far away he was standing.

You moved your hand to Valko and his whole body shuddered, a sharp exhale escaping through his nose. "Fuck, I've been waiting all day."

"You're both getting it," you said, keeping your voice smooth and even.

You picked up the sleeve from the floor beside you.

Dual entry, no center barrier, ribbed on both ends. They knew you loved toys and they loved using them on you. Neither of them had any reason to suspect what this one was about to do.

You lined it up, shifted your weight onto your heels, and pushed it down over both of them at the same time.

The sound they made was almost identical, two sharp, breathless gasps in perfect sync, the ribbed interior gripping them both tightly. For a second they both just stood there processing the sensation.

Then you pushed them closer, the rest of the way in.

The tips of their cocks met somewhere in the barrierless middle.

"What—" Caleb's whole body recoiled, knees buckling, one hand shooting out sideways for something to grab onto and finding nothing. "What the—what is that—"

Valko made a sound that was not a word in any language. He'd gone completely rigid, every muscle locked up, his chin dropped to his chest.

"Is that—" Caleb's voice came out strange and strained, working through the information his body was sending him with visible effort. "Is that another—is someone else—are you—" He stopped. "What the fuck?"

"That's 'ko," you said pleasantly.

"What the hell—" Valko's hips snapped back on reflex, a choked sound tearing out of him that he was going to pretend hadn't happened. "Sweetheart, what did you just—"

"Relax," you said, both hands clamping down over the center of the sleeve, fingers squeezing the material to keep them where they were. "You didn't want to share so now you're sharing this."

Caleb's breathing had gone completely to pieces. His chest was heaving, jaw working around words that weren't coming out in the right order. "You actually—" A sharp breath. "You seriously—"

You gave the sleeve one slow twisting squeeze and he lost the sentence entirely.

"Look at you both," you teased, from your knees again, looking up at two flushed faces with tremendous satisfaction. "So territorial. So impossible. And completely hard inside the same toy."

"I am hard for you," Valko snapped, the words coming out slightly less convincing than usual given the circumstances. A dark flush had crawled all the way up his neck and into his ears. He tried to step back, thighs shaking. "Take it off. Right now. I am not doing this, I don't—"

"You're not going anywhere."

You delivered the first stroke before he finished the sentence and the sound that came out of both of them at the same time was something you were going to think about for a very long time.

The friction was immediate and overwhelming—the ribbed interior stimulating the entire length of their cocks while they were pressed tip to tip. Neither of them pulled away.

What happened instead was considerably more predictable given who they were.

Valko's jaw set. You felt him shift his weight, recalibrate, and then drive his hips forward hard—a full thrust into the sleeve that was transparently designed to shove Caleb back through force of will. "Move," he said, through his teeth.

"No," Caleb answered and met him head on.😝

The impact of them hitting tip to tip inside the slick toy punched a moan out of both of them, loud enough that you were briefly grateful for the thickness of the bedroom walls.

You started pumping the sleeve to match their rhythm and leaned in. "There you go," you kept your voice low, right in the space between them. "All that energy you've been wasting arguing about coffee." Another stroke, firm and deliberate. "Look how much better this is."

"Don't act smug about this."

"I'm not acting smug," you said, completely smugly, picking up the pace. "I'm just saying. You've both been impossible for three months and it took me five minutes to solve it."

"This isn't solved—" Caleb's voice broke on the last word as you twisted your wrist on the next steoke. He swore, hips stuttering forward. "This is—this is not what I'd call solved—"

"Less talking," you said."More cooperating."

"I am not cooperating with him," Valko thrusted forward again.

Caleb met him again without hesitation.

"Come on, 'ko," you watched his face carefully. "He's pushing you back. Are you really going to let him?"

"Pips—"

"Absolutely not," Valko said through his teeth and reached out blindly until his hands found Caleb's shoulders and dug in. He used the grip to anchor himself, rolling his hips forward in slow circles that ground them together until his voice betrayed him, dropping from furious to undone in the space of a single breath. "I'll—" a shaking exhale, "I'll outlast him. Just like I've done it for months."

"You are shaking," Caleb pointed out, panting, sweat running down his temples and soaking into the edge of his blindfold. His hand had found its way into Valko's hair, gripping tight, the only thing keeping him upright as your hands worked faster. "You're already—you're twitching, I can feel it—you're so close you can't even—"

"Don't," Valko warned.

"You're falling apart and I've barely—haah—" Caleb's smugness dissolved as you squeezed the center of the sleeve. "God—"

"Shut up," Valko's command would have landed better if it hadn't come out an octave higher than his normal voice, cracked clean down the middle by another roll of his hips.

You slid your free hand up the flat of Caleb's stomach, felt every muscle pulled tight, holding back. "Tell me how it feels," you ordered.

"It's—" Caleb's was losing rhythm, the competitive edge bleeding into something desperate. "It's too much. The heat—I can feel him—Pips, please, I'm going to—"

You stopped the stroke immediately, keeping them locked against each other with nowhere to go.

Caleb made a sound that was mostly just suffering.

"Not yet," you said, turning your head slightly. " 'ko. Tell him."

"Tell him what?" Valko gritted out.

"How close you are."

A long silence broken only by both of them breathing like they'd been running.

"Damn it," Valko said finally, the grip on Caleb's shoulders turning white knuckled. "He's—" another shaking breath, "he's too much. Too hot. Everything he does just—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Stop moving, Caleb. I'm serious. Stop—"

"I can't," Caleb moaned, his whole body moved forward, one final thrust that buried him as far into the sleeve as he could go.

Valko's forehead dropped forward, finding Caleb's shoulder, Caleb's hand was still in his hair. Their chests were heaving in the same broken rhythm, breath mingling in the small space.

"There," you said quietly. "Was that so hard?

Slowly, like he was doing it without deciding to, his body moving before his brain caught up, Valko's forehead dragged up from Caleb's shoulder, sliding along the curve of his neck, up his jaw, until it came to rest against Caleb's forehead.

Caleb went completely still. You didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched.

Valko's hands, still gripping Caleb's shoulders, slowly loosened. Spread flat. Like he was steadying himself against something he hadn't been prepared for. His breath came out ragged and uneven against Caleb's lips.

Caleb's fingers in his hair tightened again and he tilted his head up slightly.

Valko tilted his down.

Their mouths met somewhere in the middle and neither of them made it a question.

It wasn't soft. It was two people who'd been circling each other for months finally landing, all that accumulated tension finding somewhere to go at once—Caleb's hand pulling Valko in by the hair, Valko's hands sliding from Caleb's shoulders to the back of his neck, both of them breathing hard through their noses because neither one was willing to break it long enough to properly inhale.

You started moving the sleeve again. Slow at first. Then faster.

Valko broke the kiss on a sharp desperate sound that Caleb swallowed immediately, pulling him back in, and then both of them stopped pretending there was anything controlled left about any of this. Their hips moved together instead of against each other for the first time, same rhythm, same direction, working into the sleeve in sync while the sounds they were making dissolved from words into something much more honest.

"Together," you said quietly, from below "Both of you."

They came at exactly the same moment, Valko first by a heartbeat, Caleb right behind him, both of them shaking, gripping each other and breathing into each other's mouths while it rolled through them in long waves. Valko made a sound low in his chest that you'd never heard from him before. Caleb's knees buckled and Valko caught him without thinking, arms wrapping around him on reflex, and they stood there holding each other up.

You looked up at both of them, blindfolds askew, foreheads together.

"So," you laughed "Same time next week?"

Caleb laughed first. Just one short exhausted sound, but it was real.

Valko pressed his lips to Caleb's temple, which surprised everyone in the room including him, and said nothing.

You stood up, brushed off your knees, and went to make yourself a cup of coffee. Nobody had taken the last of it this time.