This is Unhealthy. Really.

You don’t even see them anymore. They used to be people. They used to be your neighbors and coworkers but now they’re nothing but snarling, decaying monsters.

Your stomach turns as Sylus roughly yanks you ahead of him, past a metal door and down a flight of creaking stairs. It’s too dark for you to see clearly, and his hand has moved to secure a position around your waist— all but carrying you down. 

Another door slams shut behind, you followed by a series of locks. There’s the flurry of movement you can’t quite decipher— the creaking of his leather jacket, the clatter of his gun against a table, and then the quiet sound of a chain clinking together as he pulls the light on overhead. 

You blink against the harsh, yellow light, but you don’t have a moment to relax before his hands are back on you. Calloused fingertips scrub across your cheeks and down your neck, peeling back the collar of your shirt before heading downward. 

“Are you hurt?” He demands in a low, hoarse growl. The intensity in his eyes is frightening, and you struggle to reply as he continues to manually search you. 

Lifting your shirt to examine your stomach and back, patting you down from hips to legs.

“N-No.” You manage to choke out, the taste of soot still burning your tongue. You had been holed up in your apartment for days, hiding from the outbreak, and waiting for the inevitable… You hadn’t even realized it had caught fire, and if Sylus has shown up you’d be ash right now. 

“Did they bite you?” He raises up to your eye level, which means he’s still hunched over. There’s less violence in his eyes now, and you’re momentarily mesmerized by the intricate blood splatter that decorates his cheekbones. With a small jostle of your shoulders, he focuses your attention back to him, “Sweetie, please. Did they bite you? Scratch you?”

Something in his voice finally breaks the haze of your mind, and you look at him clearly for the first time. 

“None of them touched me,” Your reply is clearer than your pitiful stutter before, and finally it feels like you can take a full breath of air. But with that clarity only comes more confusion, because– “How– Why are you here?”

The last time you saw Sylus was over a month ago, when the world looked so different than it does now. When your biggest concern was choosing between a caramel or matcha latte, and whether you should go to the gym before or after work. 

Sylus had been a regular at the coffee shop you worked at, and was memorable because, well, look at him. He’s huge. Scary. And when he shifted to grab his wallet from his back pocket you could see the leather harness and the pair of handguns he was carrying. 

Your coworkers thought you were insane for having such a crush on him, because clearly he was some sort of criminal, but you couldn’t help it. You looked forward to the sporadic visits he would make, and how he’d always try to ask you some small-talk question before dropping a twenty in the tip jar, nodding his head in thanks, and being on his way. 

Sylus sighs in relief and raises up to his full height. He rests his hand on the top of your head and then brushes down the back of your hair, pulling you in slightly but resisting the urge to embrace you fully. 

“You did well staying put,” He replies, “I was worried you would try to run, or go to one of the quarantine zones.”

He turns his back to you and shrugs off his filthy jacket to begin the laborious task of disarming the many weapons from his body. 

You take a moment to scan the room, finding it a dusty, unfinished basement. There’s a ratty-looking, plaid couch with a table and small radio next to it. A door, to what is likely a bathroom, lies on the other side from where you entered from, and the few, narrow windows in this place are boarded up and barred. 

The grey shirt he wears is stained with sweat, blood, and dirt, but you can’t seem to look away when your eyes find him again. The way his shoulders shift with every breath, and the way the hued lighting makes his silvery hair almost look blond. 

“We’ll stay here for the night...” His voice is low, and he’s got his hands placed on top of the table– is he purposefully not looking at you? “It’s not much, but there’s enough supplies to get us–”

“Sylus,” You interrupt him, and he tenses. His head turns, and you're stunned by the open expression on his face. The pensive scowl he wore has eased into surprise. 

Sylus is quiet for a moment, just staring at you– studying you like you had been doing to him. “You remember my name then?”

The tension in your body deflates slightly at the ridiculousness of his question, and with a scoff you reply, “Of course I do. I wrote it down on your cup every time. You’re kind of hard to forget.”

Your words make him smirk, and he turns to face you fully. Closing the distance between you again, and before he can get too close, you raise a hand. He doesn’t stop, which leads your palm to press into the divot in between his chest, damp with sweat. Your mouth goes dry, and you lose the courage to speak for a moment. 

“Wait,” You muster, making him stop trying to press closer, “Why– How did you know where I lived? Why did you come get me?”

The amusement on his face darkens slightly, as you tread into conversation he clearly isn’t keen to have. 

He raises a brow and with it his head tilts, “Should I have left you there?”

“I’m not saying that.” You retort, and quickly pull your hand away from where you’ve been practically cupping his chest, “I just don’t understand. What happened? How did those things happen?”

Sylus hums, shaking his head slightly, “It’s being handled. Our priority is getting out of this city.”

“Sylus,” You repeat his name more forcefully now, refusing to back down, “How did you find me?”

The question doesn’t surprise him, you can tell by his expression. Sylus reaches up, placing his hand on the side of your face and brushing his thumb just beneath your eye, smearing a still-drying speck of blood from the carnage he wrought getting here. 

“Do I have to answer that question?” Sylus whispers, eyes drawn away from yours and to where his hand drifts down the side of your neck. He caresses the back of his knuckles delicately across your skin– a reverent gesture that leaves you shivering.

You debate it for a moment, because something in his voice tells you that you don’t want to know his answer. But you can’t help yourself, needing to know– and so, you nod. 

The movement catches his eyes, and he’s lured in by the flushed color of your lips. He places his thumb on the swell of your lower lip and just barely pulls it down, feeling the plush of it beneath his touch. 

“I have resources, and I was able to look up your address– I was looking for you,” The words he speaks are too heavy to hear properly; they carry from his tongue to you like an autumn breeze, sending sparkling sensations down your spine. Sylus’ voice is thick with affection, as if he’s confessing his love to you unwittingly. 

If things were different, and you weren’t trapped in an underground bunker waiting for extraction from a zombie outbreak, you might be flattered. However, Sylus is a stranger to you. You know nothing about him except for his name, drink preferences, and that he’s always armed. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Sylus continues, breaking through your quickly cycling thoughts. “Whatever you’re thinking–”

“I’m not sure what I’m thinking.” You interrupt with a shake of your head, “Can I…do you have water or something?”

Your diversion from the topic has him blinking in surprise, but he’s quick to respond to your request. Silently walking over to a metal storage cabinet and pulling out a water bottle from a large stash of them. 

“Thanks,” You say hoarsely, hoping to somehow drink away the awful stirring in your stomach. Too much has happened in one day for you to process all of it, and so, for now, you decide to just ignore his words.

===

Night comes quickly, bringing with it a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. The single-bulb light leaves too many shadows for you to settle down. Sylus must notice your tension because he quietly pilfers through one of the crates and begins to light candles in the corners of the room. It’s not much, but the warmth and the light helps. 

The silence is the next problem, because without either of you speaking, you can hear them. Just above you, crawling around moaning and snarling. You cringe whenever one steps too close to one of the boarded up windows. It’s too small for any of them to squeeze through (you hope), but the sound of them so close by has you flinching. 

Sylus, who had been sitting on the other side of the room from you, in one of the metal fold-out chairs, rises to his feet. He takes a deep breath, and although his voice sounds confident when he speaks, there’s the slightest tremor to his fingers as he offers you his hand. 

“Here,” He says, and when you look up at him in confusion, he sits down next to you on the couch, “The noise bothers you, right?”

In your confusion, you allow him to move you around until he’s resting on the creaking armrest, with your head pressed to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat is loud, and all the noise of the outside world vanishes as his hand covers your other ear.

Too close. The sane part of your mind argues, but the insanity of this day keeps you in place. You settle into his hold, relaxing slowly until you feel your heavy eyelids close. 

When they open again, you know time has passed though you’re unsure how long. You’ve sunken into Sylus like you belonged there, resting still on top of his chest as he reclines on the too-small couch. His breathing slowly raises and lowers your head, and the slow, steady beat of his heart is just as comforting now as it was when you first heard it. 

Confusion sets in at what awoke you, but a loud burst of static crackles from across the room. Sylus shifts, apparently not asleep, and delicately slides out from under you, cradling your head until you’re laying on the scratchy tartan fabric. 

You stay mostly limp, watching as he strides across the room and lifts a large walkie from the table with his firearms. He clicks it twice, sounding a melodic chime through the speaker which is met with more static. 

“Hey Boss!” A cheery voice comes through, slightly distorted from the speaker, “You find what you were looking for?”

Sylus quickly turns the dial which turns down the volume and then lifts it closer to his mouth, “Dove secured. What’s it look like out there?”

“Lots of uglies, a few mutated nasties, and I saw one of those big, tongue guys going down 32nd street.” A slower, deeper voice responds– lacking the chipper charm the other man had. “Nothing we can’t handle, but the brollies are out in force.”

Sylus lets out a low, rumbling sigh, and you can feel his malcontent from here. You’re not sure what a brolly is, but you feel bad for them. He seems to think for a moment as tension builds in his shoulders, “How many?”

“Pssh! Almost more than the uglies.” The first voice responds, “They’re hiding out while the feds try to keep all of this contained, but I saw some of them sneaking into the subway. They’re up to something, but you probably know better than us.”

Raising your head, you prop yourself up on your elbow– too intrigued to fall back asleep. 

“We’re at safehouse foxtrot,” Sylus states into the walkie, “What’s the chances of making it to echo?”

There’s a few beats of quiet, broken by soft static. 

“Honestly? Slim, boss.” The sterner voice answers, but is quickly followed up by his happier counterpart, “You could take the roofs, but the brollies have a chopper doing rounds. Looking for something, I think. Your best bet is the sewer, but we haven’t had any word on what they look like right now…you might run into something really gross, and I don’t mean greywater.”

“Understood. Rendezvous at Echo; we’ll go from there.” Sylus clicks the walkie two more times, sending what must be a sign that their conversation is done. He leans his hands on the table, hunching over and sighing heavily. 

“Who was that?” You dare to ask, which draws his attention like the sound of a siren. He whirls to look at you, brow lifting from a deep furrow into light concern. 

“You should still be sleeping,” He replies, and as he walks over, you sit up and make room for him on the couch beside you. 

“I’m fine, I slept…pretty good actually.” You say hesitantly, and watch from the corner of your eye as his chest puffs out slightly. With a small shake of your head, you turn towards him and continue, “Who was that on the walkie?”

Sylus’ eyes flick over to where the comms sit and then back to you. “My assistants. They’re keeping an eye on things out there while we stay safe here.”

You hum softly in reply and with a touch of dread you wonder, “So, what happens now? What’s a brolly?”

Sylus scoffs, “They’re vermin– nothing you should concern yourself with. For now, just try and rest, save your strength, and eat something if you can. Do you feel up for trying to move in the morning?”

With a glance to this window you see the flickering street lamps illuminating the misty city between a crack in the boards– still night, it seems. 

“Move where?”

Before he answers, Sylus pulls you back onto his chest, and for reasons unknown to your conscious mind, you follow him. Finding a pillow on the soft plush on his chest and comfort in the musky scent of his shirt. 

“To a different safehouse. This one isn’t ideal, in more ways than one. I don't know about you, but I’m eager to get out of this city…aren’t you?”

You giggle softly, and in a moment of mirth you instinctively cuddle closer and find the comfiest spot you can lying across him like a blanket. His arm comes up around you, resting on your back, and you feel a weight rest against your rear. 

Craning your neck for a moment, you see a .44 pistol resting casually in his hand. His finger rests along the barrel and not on the trigger, and instead of being disturbed, you feel even more at ease. 

The feeling of his arm and his weapon resting on top of you is better than any weighted blanket you’ve ever had, and you’re struck by the strangest feeling of deja vu. You want to question it– question him – but your eyes are already closing as sleep reclaims you. 

===

“Keep it close. Don’t aim at me. Don’t accidentally shoot yourself.” Sylus repeats himself for the second time that morning as he lifts the jacket he gave you to adjust the holster on your belt. 

There were a few changes of clothes in the little basement, and thankfully some that fit you. A soft zip-up hoodie, jeans, and a faded band-tee – you feel like you look completely out of place next to Sylus and his tactical gear, but he seems pleased. 

The two of you are getting ready to step back out into the chaos just as the sun is rising. There’s a heavy cloud cover and dense fog, which only sets your fear into overdrive– why is it never sunny during a zombie apocalypse?

He pauses just before unlocking the door to face you, and cradles the sides of your face in his hands, “I need you to listen to me, okay sweetie? If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to run, you run. Understand?”

You open your mouth to confirm, but that vertiginous feeling of deja vu sweeps through you. If I tell you to run, you run. Why….why does it feel like this isn’t the first time he’s said that to you?

Nodding instead of speaking still pacifies him, and Sylus unlocks the door. 

The smell is worse than you thought it would be. Blood and viscera rotting overnight have made a thick, disgusting stench permeate into the fog and nearly choke you. 

You try to stifle your body’s reaction, and are grateful to Sylus for keeping his cool and pulling you up the stairs towards the street level. 

You knew the plan– Sylus had reiterated it to you at least a dozen times since you awoke. Steal a ride. Get to the sewers. Follow Sylus. Listen to Sylus. Don’t die. Easier said than done. 

There are only a few infected to get through, which Sylus deals with quietly and efficiently. His large, combat knife cuts through their necrose flesh, carving them open and spilling mushy guts across the ground. 

The crash of a car window breaking from Sylus’ elbow alerts more infected, and you’re thrown into the passenger seat while Sylus throws the snarling creature against the closed door. Greyish-green brains exploding across the back window as Sylus crushes its head with his boot. 

The car heaves with the weight as Sylus crashes into the driver’s seat– a howling zombie scratching at the window right behind him. You cry out at the close call and push as far away from the outside world as you can, while sparks alight from beneath the steering wheel as the car revs to life. 

You’re thrown against the seat as Sylus takes off with a screech of tires. It’s not a long drive to where you need to go, but every second seems to stretch on into an infinite number of hard-fought breaths. 

A soft drizzle starts to fall as the car comes to a rough halt. You go to exit but are halted by Sylus’ harsh hand on your upper arm. 

“Wait til I come get you.” He commands, deep as far-off thunder, “Wait for me.”

He storms out of the vehicle, and your body decides to betray you because you shiver. Eyes locked on the slightly blurred visage of him through the filthy car windows and how he moves like a destructive bolt of lightning through two more infected to get around to you. 

The door opens and Sylus offers you his hand, like you’re on a date and he’s being courteous. 

You try to match his speed and fervor, gripping his hand tightly and running as fast as you can. The blast of his firearm cracks across the streets, echoing off the tall office buildings around you. 

Down you go through a manhole cover that Sylus holds open for you, and you scramble down the grime covered ladder into the sewer deep below. 

As your eyes adjust, Sylus drops down beside you, immediately drawing you close to his body with an arm on your waist. He clicks on a long flashlight and scans the surroundings.

“All clear for now.” He says, not sounding the tiniest bit relieved. With a nod of his head, he motions down the cavernous sewer system, “Stay close.”

The air is humid and putrid, and you cover your face with your free arm to stifle at least some of the smell. Your stomach turns in both revulsion and anxiety. Fear makes your knees shake, but you force yourself forward anyway. 

Sylus hears it before you do, but you see it before him. A shifting mass that takes up almost the entirety of the tunnel in front of you. The two of you screech to a halt, and Sylus pulls you behind him. 

The amalgamation of flesh churns like a creeping snail. A low, breathy groan sounds from the monstrosity— a mixture of agony and garbled nonsense. 

An infected? You think in utter horror. Even in the dim light you can see the flesh has swollen and torn in places, leaking puss and blood into the graywater surrounding it. Boils and blisters cover its skin, which is mottled with black, blue, and green splotches. 

“Shit.” Sylus curses under his breath, backing away just as the creature seems to notice you. He turns, and pushes his hand at your back to shove you away from it, “Run. Run now.”

You turn on your heel just as the infected lets out a blistering howl, and the eruption of water sounds behind you. It’s giving chase, and gaining fast— somehow able to crawl through the shallow water at a desperate pace to try and get to you.

Boom! Boom! Boom! The thunder of Sylus’ pistol cracks painfully against your ears, and you can’t help but flinch. 

You don‘t dare turn around— too afraid at what you might see so dangerously close to you. It sounds nearly on top of you, and if you had the state of mind to, you’d realize that with every exhale you’re releasing small, sharp cries. 

Sylus lets out a harsh grunt as something knocks him off his feet, and you whirl in concern just in time to see him fly across the tunnel to the other side, a fleshy tentacle protruding from the main mass has crashed into him. 

He’s quick to find his feet and begins rapidly firing into the huge lump, which barely flinches from his high-caliber ammunition. 

You’re barely able to avoid the tentacle hitting you as well, and you clumsily pull the gun from its holster. Feeling weak and sick with fear, you still manage to raise the handgun up towards the monster.

The trigger is harder to pull than you thought it would be, and the recoil shocks a scream from you the first time. The bullet skims its wet flesh and embeds into the brick wall, sending dust falling into the water below. 

Sylus recovers and charges towards you, grabbing your arm and hauling you into a sprint away from the monster. From his belt, he retrieves a cylindrical grenade and tears out the pin with his teeth with a harsh growl. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he releases the mechanism and throws it behind him, hearing the click, click, click become fainter as it soars away. 

You try to brace for the explosion but it still catches you by surprise. The swell of heat and burst of light is dwarfed by the ear-piercing howl and the squelching of torn flesh. Like rain, the pieces of tissue fall down to the stone walkway and the murky water. 

Daringly, you look over your shoulder, and then immediately wish you hadn’t. What had been a bloated mass of infection was now nearly in pieces— exposed adipose and musculature twitching and roiling as the monster attempted to fight against what must be unimaginable agony. The stench of rot and sulfur fills the air of the tunnel, and you can see as steam rises from its innards.

“Don’t look.” Sylus barks at you, sounding harsh but clearly meaning well. He sounds enraged, but not at you— at it. As if the creature’s greatest sin was daring to be near you at all, and it was salt in the wound to make you disgusted on top of everything else. “Just keep moving, we’re almost th—hnghh!” 

The silver haired man is torn away from you in a violent flash of red and black. A long, squishy tentacle snapped across his chest, yanking him backwards. You try to keep a hold of him and fight against the monster, but Sylus shoves you away— leaving you to just stare in horror. He’s carried like a doll back to the writhing infected, slammed against its side and squeezed like a boa constrictor. 

Sylus lets out a low wheeze as the inhuman limb pulls him tight against the squishy, broken wall of flesh. The monster lets out another howl full of rage, and you stumble back.

With a grunt, Sylus manages to pull his tactical knife from his belt and, with his arms pinned at his sides, begins to stab where he can. 

You raise your gun again, shaking so badly that it’s nearly impossible to aim. Air fights its way in and out of your lungs, cutting at your throat like knives as the scent of blood grows. 

With a glance at Sylus, your stomach tightens more. His face is contorted in pain— a sharp grimace that’s only exaggerated from the dark blood that drips down his cheek. 

What do you do? What can you do? Dread fills you like an ice cold rush, and you can feel every frantic beat of our heart. 

A flash of light catches your eye— an errant beam from the murky world above that illuminates the throbbing injured creature. 

Time seems to slow as your mind processes what you’re seeing. Beyond the mutated flesh and fat of the monster lies a pulsing red mass. The only word you can call it is a heart, though it doesn’t look anything like the carefully crafted medical illustrations you see in books. 

It trembles in a frantic beat, flinching whenever the light hits it and the infected lets out a screeching wail too. 

Full of wishful thinking and paper-thin bravado, you raise your gun again and fire. Missing the first time. And the second, but nailing the third. Your bullet pierces that obscene heart, rapidly followed by four more as you empty the magazine into it. 

It pops like an overgrown pustule, exploding outward with more blood and clotted infection. 

Sylus groans as the tentacle releases him, and he scrambles to his feet to run to you. Grabbing you and hauling you against the wall to cover you with his body, just as the monster’s scream reaches its highest pitch, and its body bursts.

The only thing that touches you is the fine mist that sneaks between the cracks between yours and Sylus’ bodies. His scratched and bruised arms cover your head, saving even your hair from getting any dirtier.

The deafening noises of the tunnel die down, leaving only the soft sounds of rippling water, and the louder panting of your breathing. You can feel Sylus’ breath against your face— hot and wet. 

He doesn’t back away, keeping you tight against his chest and pressed against the brick wall. 

Silence expands between you, but for some reason the two of you seem to inch closer. 

You have only enough time for you to admire the way the drops of sweat carve lines in the dirt covering his face down to his jaw before his lips are on yours. He inhales the whimper you release and responds with a heavy groan. 

The hands that were protecting your body move to grip you tightly— one on your waist and another on your face. His thumb presses at your cheekbone to turn your head to the side so he can move his lips from your mouth and down to your neck. Covering you with soft bites and harsh sucks onto your flesh. 

Sylus’ tongue laps at your skin, like he can’t get enough once he’s had a taste and continues to indulge again and again. You can feel his groan as he finds your rapid pulse and nips at it tenderly, “You did…so good. Such a good job, sweetie. So proud of you.”

You want to reply— you try to, but all that comes out is a trembling moan as his knee shoves between your legs, pushing you up to your tip toes and pressing against your core. 

Covered in grime, blood, and guts, Sylus devours your mouth again— desperate to feel you alive and squirming in his hold. The more you wiggle the harder he gets.

You reflexively roll your hips to grind against the hard expanse of his thigh. The straps of his holsters make for a ridged surface that rubs deliciously through the layers of clothing onto your throbbing clit. Breathless gasps leave your kiss-bitten lips, which only spurs him on more. Every sign of your pleasure is a drug that makes the rest of the world disappear, until nothing else exists but tasting you, feeling you, pleasing you. 

His mind and his body don’t seem to be agreeing. Because, on one hand, his tongue is sliding between your lips to press against yours. Licking at the inside of your mouth like he can’t get enough. He groans as his hips jerk, almost involuntarily seeking more friction. “You taste…so fucking good.” His words are a ragged growl, slipped between his teeth like he hadn’t meant to speak at all. Gloved fingertips slip past the waistband of your pants, pressing against whatever skin he can reach. 

On the other hand, he hisses like he’s being burned. Shaking his head slightly as you follow his movements to kiss him again. 

“No,” He gasps, berating himself as he reluctantly but sharply pulls his face away, “No I can’t, not yet— mmh, give me a second….” He grits his teeth, raises his chin and sighs heavily, “Are you hurt?”

Your skin is uncomfortably warm, and you can feel your pulse throb between your legs. There are spots on your neck that are cold with spit, and you know you’ll be wearing marks tomorrow. 

“No. Not hurt.” You reply with a small shake of your head. Slowly, you’re lowered back to your feet. 

Sylus gradually pulls away; his eyes searching you up and down once more. The air between you sparks with electricity, and you move slowly because you know any sudden movements and you’ll back back against the wall.

After a few moments of thick silence, Sylus swallows hard and takes a breath, “We’re almost there. Not much further.”

As you follow Sylus down the tunnel and away from the carnage, you become distracted. You’ve never felt so out of control of your body before…never felt like someone belonged between your legs before, or that you might die if you don’t find out what their tongue tastes like. 

You’re no virgin, but this was bizarre. Was the outbreak releasing some kind of aphrodisiac in the air you didn’t know about? Because even holding his hand to follow him through the sewer was too much. You were sweating again, but not out of fear.

What disturbed you the most was how it didn’t feel strange… It felt like reconnecting with an old friend and falling into old habits. Your hands seemed to know where to hold, and where to touch. You knew he would put his knee between your legs even before he did, and had moved to give him space— dancing in time like you already knew the steps. 

Thankfully, there were no giant monstrosities to fight through to get to the next manhole, and you arrived at the next safe house with only the terror and the filth covering you. 

You expected another dingy basement with boarded up windows, but this one was leagues beyond anything you expected. Sylus, at first, led you down into an underground parking garage, into a utility room and from there down several flights of stairs. 

The last door was thick, and screeched as Sylus hauled it open. With his hand at your back, Sylus guides you inside and you’re met with— thankfully— a warmly lit, clean smelling space. 

The door closes, and you hear the hiss of the mechanisms sealing it, and as soon as that final click sounds, Sylus is touching you again. 

“We’re safe now.” He whispers to you, starting off achingly gentle. His fingertips brush against your neck and then around to cup the back of your head to tilt you up to look at him, “I’m impressed…you have good aim.”

You laugh softly, letting yourself sink into his hold. It’s too warm, too soft, too safe to deny, and if the world is going to shit anyway with zombies, then you can be a little reckless. 

When you don’t push him away, Sylus presses in further. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

You kiss him first this time, tired of pretending you don’t want him to finish what you started in the tunnel. You need more— only starved from the tiny taste you got before. 

Sylus groans, low and soft as he pulls you in—tongue darting out to lick a swipe across your lower lip. He guides you back with his hands on your hips, and blindly, you follow him. 

Your back meets something hard and with a soft gasp you turn to see he’s pushing you against a table. There’s fancy decor— a lamp, vase with wilted flowers, and a set of bronze figures— all of which Sylus sweeps off and onto the floor. 

Like the rising warmth from a growing fire, you can feel the heat inside Sylus swell. He’s getting more impatient with each passing moment. 

“Sweetie~” His low baritone sings as he drags his teeth along your pulse, “I need another taste. Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You gasp for breath as your cunt throbs. You’d thought you were wet before but now you’re dripping, squirming in his hold and trying and failing to grind against him. When you whine softly, Sylus laughs, but not in ridicule— A kind chuckle like he’s so endeared by your neediness. 

“And here I thought you couldn’t get any prettier…” He whispers against your ear before kissing it gently. “Pants first, hm?”

Sylus swats your hands away when you move to take your pants off and removes them himself, followed by your underwear. He tosses them to the side and down the hall. 

“S-Sy…” You whimper as he lifts you effortlessly to sit on the edge of the cleared table. The lacquered wood surface is cold on your rear, but it’s Sylus’ hot breath against your wet core that sends trembling shivers down your spine. 

“Shh…” Sylus coos. His eyes are glued to your sex, pupils blown wide to leave barely a sliver of crimson iris. “Take what you want. Tell me what you need. I’m here now…”

His words confuse you, but that bewilderment is quietly evaporated by liquid pleasure that shoots down your body at the first long swipe of his tongue. Sylus groans nearly as loudly as you do, moaning at the taste of your essence. At first, his licks are tentative but quickly grow harder. His tongue swirls around your cunt and up to your sensitive pearl before returning.

You’ve never been eaten like this— like it gives him as much pleasure as it does you. His hands are roaming your body; one is squeezing the flesh of your hip while the other slides upwards. He groans and growls into you with every gush of slick you give him, which he drinks up greedily. 

“Oh, oh,  oh!” You moan breathily, head falling back as you hook your legs more securely around his head to press the heels of your shoes into his back and rock your hips into his face. He hums appreciatively— the small sting from your heels only adding to the intense stimulation you give him. 

But it’s not enough, not for Sylus. Your hand is grabbed and roughly moved to the top of his head.

You look down at him, and his eyes are piercing you from below. With a rumbling sigh, Sylus keeps that intense eye contact and licks a long line from your cunt all the way up, making sure you see how he collects your slick on his tongue and then swallows. 

“Take what you want.” He demands, “Don’t be gentle.”

Later, you think that maybe you should have asked him to be gentle, because Sylus couples his sinful tongue with his fingers. 

Tearing off his filthy gloves with his teeth to shove his hot, calloused fingers deep inside. One, then two, then three. Because the sound of your voice rising in pitch when he stretches you just a little bit more was so good. 

You’re so close to coming, and you try to warn Sylus through your fevered moaning, but he already knows. He can feel your cunt squeeze around him in a greedy fluttering, pulling him in, begging him for more. 

“Yes,” He growls, “That’s it, kitten. You can do it. You did so good for me before. Let me see it— yes, lemme see. Come for me.”

 After the hellish day you’ve had, your peak breaks and you writhe with it. Feeling waves of decadent pleasure and utter, palpable relief. The tension, fear, uncertainty all comes crumbling around and dissolving on Sylus’ talented tongue. He doesn’t stop coaxing you through it until your breathing starts to relax and he can feel the way your pussy stops trying to milk his fingers. 

Sylus presses a sweet kiss to your clit, and chuckles softly when you jump at the sensitivity. He climbs up your body and presses his wet mouth to yours, sloppily pushing the taste of your come into you. 

“See how good you taste?” He moans against your lips, “That’s it baby, give me more.”

There’s a touch of impatience in his tone, like he’s becoming frustrated he can just tip you back and drink you down like a shot of whiskey. You try your best to match his intense pace, swirling your tongue around his and letting him grind against your raw cunt.

With a frustrated growl, Sylus pulls away— harshly pressing his thumb into the hollow of your cheek to force your mouth open. His drunken eyes watch enraptured as the saliva builds in your mouth, and he lowers down to press a hot kiss to the underside of your chin.

“Give it to me,” Sylus demands, panting like he’ll pass out, “C’mon sweetheart, jus’ a little more.”

His words are slurred as he begs for something, and for a moment you’re not sure what. But then he opens his mouth and angles his head back, offering you his wet tongue.

Something wicked takes over you, and you can’t stop yourself. Taking hold of the sides of his face to keep him still as you spit onto his tongue. The moan he releases is ungodly, and his eyelashes flutter as he closes his mouth around your gift, savoring the taste for a moment, before making sure you see him swallow. 

===

Sylus knows that he is an opportunistic, greedy man. He takes advantage of any opportunity presented when it suits and takes pride in how far he’s come.

It’s the least he can do really…to make it up to you.

You’ve always been beautiful, even when you were malnourished— hooked up to tubes and wires in that glass cage Umbrella kept you in. The years he’d spent standing guard to your containment room, listening to your unconscious humming as the scientists observed you, were years Sylus knew he’d never atone for. Every moment he wasted not getting you out was a regret. 

But now, your skin is sun-kissed and your form well-fed. You’ve bloomed with life being out of captivity, and your lack of memory has made it so you get to live a normal life. You’re no longer an ‘asset’ or ‘project’…just a person. 

And when you face twists in pleasure, Sylus is certain you aren’t of this earth. You must be some divine being that Umbrella stumbled upon and caged, because if he could brand the image of you behind his eyelids he would. So that even when he blinks, he can still see you. 

“Put your arms around me,” Sylus breathes dotingly, humming in approval as you listen to him without hesitation. With ease he lifts you into his arms, needing to have you somewhere he can spread you out and truly enjoy you. 

Having you close again is better than he ever imagined, and inside he’s glad Umbrella finally fucked up enough to give him a reason to snatch you back. Those tiny, brief interactions in the coffee shop where you found a job were never enough to satisfy him. 

You look at him without recognition, and Sylus knows you don’t actually remember him– but he doesn’t care. Not yet at least. He’ll worry about all that once he’s had his fill– once he imprinted himself inside you so that you’ll never forget again. 

Through another door and into a lavishly decorated lounge area, two masked men take up the ruby red sitting chairs. The mask Sylus knows is Luke’s perks up.

“Hey Boss…” Luke’s chipper greeting trails off as he spies the prize Sylus carries in his arms.

Before Sylus even makes another move, the two are already on their feet. The silver haired man nods to the exit and barks out a harsh, “Out. Go make yourself useful somewhere else.”

Kieran corrals his older brother towards the door, and makes a point to shove both their heads down– so Sylus can’t suspect their peeking at you through the cover of their masks. 

Once you're alone, you pull your face out from where you’d hidden against his neck– still blushing like a maiden. Sylus chuckles and carries you through the lounge and to the bedroom. 

The wide-eyed look you gave him as he carefully laid you down onto the bed was so adorable, Splayed out like an unwrapped present– well, not entirely unwrapped yet, were you?

Sylus gently removes the last of your clothes and then leans back to admire you. Dazzling in the low light, perfect beneath him. He rests one knee between your legs at the very edge of the bed, and begins to unlatch his gear. The harnesses that hold his weapons fall to the floor with a thud. 

He can see how your eyes follow his hands, watching him slowly undress for you. You reach for him when he goes to remove his shirt, placing your fingers at the hem and helping him lift it. Such a sweet thing you are. 

To be undone by you feels like such a privilege, and Sylus lowers his hands to allow you to unlatch his belt. If you want to be the one to do it, then by all means he is yours to unravel. 

You're bolder than he thought you would– wasting no time in trying to pull down his well-fitted pants around the curve of his ass. Sylus chuckles and helps you, but then grunts as your palm finds his shaft, squeezing the hot, hardened flesh a little too tightly. 

Sylus hunches over you, knees weakened from your saccharine touch. Your eyes drift down to where you hand circles him, and you decide to torture him further by stroking him up and down. Swiping your soft thumb over his leaking tip. You collect the fat bead of pre-come and use it to glide back down.

“Feeling playful, kitten?” Sylus pants, trying to regain some of his control that is rapidly dissolving the more you stroke his cock. 

“I’ve never done this before,” You whisper, lifting your head up to look up at him. 

Sylus’ gut clenches and his cock throbs in your hand. He grabs your wrist to stop you, and looks at you with deadly seriousness. “You haven’t had sex?”

No need to sugarcoat, or beat around the bush. Sylus needs to know what you may or may not have gotten up to in the six years since he’s seen you. Have you really not indulged, not even once?

Your face scrunches up and you scoff, giving the head of his cock a punishing squeeze. “No. Of course I’ve had sex before. I meant… I’ve never just had sex with a stranger– with someone I don’t know.”

Sylus’ gut tightens for an entirely different reason. His heart sinks at your words. It hurts to hear how easily you say you don’t know him. Sylus would have preferred you shoot him through the chest than call him a stranger.

“Would it help to pretend?” Sylus’ voice lowers into something lush, letting slip how desperately he wants this. He wraps his fingers around your wrists and lifts them to press onto the bed beside your head, pinning you down gently. “Pretend you know me…we’ve known each other for years and this…this is just a reunion.”

Sylus watches confusion swim in your gorgeous eyes, like shooting stars across the cosmos. For a moment, he thinks you might ridicule him, but then your expression softens and you nod softly. 

“Okay…” You breathe. “We can pretend…”

Sylus kisses you because he thinks he might die if he doesn’t. His breath seizes in his chest, a lump forming in his throat, and his eyes start to sting. 

He’ll erase this awful feeling with you. The taste of you will dissolve the lump in his throat, and the sight of your pleasure will erase the sting in his eyes. The sorrow that builds inside him will be killed by your hand, and he’ll watch it die with eager ecstacy. 

You move your hips, silently begging him for more. A little thrust that has the head of his cock brushing against your wet slit. The heat of your sex has him hissing through his teeth, and he bites your lower lip to punish you for being impatient. 

This time, it’s you trying to press your tongue into his mouth. Brushing against his and licking at his lips like an adorable kitten. 

“Can….” You cut yourself off, heavily breathing as your eyes nervously search his face. “Can you do it too?”

Sylus lifts his head a little, pressing soft kisses to your nose and below your eye, “Do what, sweetie?”

You lick at your lips and look down at his, and hesitantly open your mouth. Letting your pretty tongue peek out.

Sylus nearly comes then and there, and he knows what you want. Before giving in however, he lets the saliva collect in his mouth and drags his tongue along yours, letting the combination of drool pool in your mouth and drip down your cheeks. 

You moan softly, eyelashes fluttering. 

With a groan, Sylus leans back and spits directly onto your tongue. The sound of it is obscene, and he doesn’t even need to tell you before you close your mouth and swallow. 

When did you get so filthy? Sylus wonders as he dives into your neck, biting at your sensitive flesh and pressing your hips close. He rubs the head against your silky folds, teasing your entrance and bud a few times just to hear you whine. Did life in the real world corrupt you so quickly? Or was this always inside you?

You wrap your arms around Sylus’ shoulders and kiss where you can on his cheek and hairline almost lovingly. At least, Sylus convinces himself it’s loving. You’re so good at pretending that he wants to believe it’s real. 

“You ready?” He whispers into your ear, and you respond with a breathy moan and an eager nod. 

Sylus presses inside, slowly parting your slickened folds and pistoning in and out and slowly– so slowly– going deeper and deeper. You’re divine around him. Wet. Hot. Being inside you makes everything else in the world feel like agony, because only here is bliss. 

As he begins to fuck you in earnest, Sylus decides that he made a mistake before. Letting you go, and letting you live a normal life was a horrible mistake. He’ll never let you leave his side again, never let you out where anything might happen. 

He needs to keep you close. Keep you safe. Umbrella fucked with his body enough that nothing can kill him at this point, and so what better place to be than in between you and danger? And what better reward for protecting you than making you cream on his cock? Making you squeal and scream and come until you’re hoarse and satisfied. 

“Oh, ahh, S-Sylus…” The sound of his name in a moan is a song he can’t get enough of. 

Sylus tries not to be too rough. You’re supposed to be pretending, right? He wants to pretend to be gentle. To be some soft-hearted, doughy suitor who met and courted you, took you out to dinner, and then made sweet love to you. 

Not this war-hardened soldier one bad day away from being six feet under who can’t help but plow you into the mattress. 

Your nails dig into his back, and you draw him into a kiss, lips brushing and missing from the heavy rhythm.

Sylus wants more. Even balls deep inside you doesn’t feel close enough, “Open your mouth for me sweetie. That’s it, such a good girl.”

You eagerly open for him, already knowing what he’s about to do, but this time he doesn’t just spit– no. Sylus lets a trail of saliva drip down from his lips and into your mouth. A string of connection between you that feels both profane and intimate. 

Sylus lets the connection break and admires the shiny wetness of your combined spit on your cheeks. Gorgeous girl. You couldn’t be more perfect, could you?

“It’s okay sweetheart,” Sylus pants, thrusting into your heat while tenderly brushing his fingers into your hair. The dichotomy of the rough and gentle treatment has your moans pitching upwards, tingling from the loving affection. “I’ve got you now. You’re with me again.”

Your eyes open slightly, staring up at him with tears collecting in the corners. The iridescence of your iris is so full of longing that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Sylus doesn’t know what to do with that little sparkle of recognition in your eye. Do you remember? Or is this just part of the pretend?

“I…” You whimper, and before you can say anymore Sylus silences you with his lips. He doesn’t want to hear the end of your sentence. Don’t break the illusion. Don’t break the mask. Let him sink into you over and over. Let him feel you squeeze him tightly as you rapidly approach orgasm. Gushing around him and making a mess of the soft sheets. 

You come around him, clawing at him as you sing your ecstasy in his ear. Sylus can hardly stand it, nearly collapsing as he follows you right after. It’s reckless— stupid, really— but he digs his hips into yours, kissing around your face as he buries his come inside you. Pulse after pulse of warmth that fills you until you’re full.

Dripping Sylus’ essence from your lips and from your pussy, you finally feel at ease. Completely sheltered by his large body, you’re wrapped up in titanium. 

His kisses are too soft to be fake, Sylus knows he’s being too genuine. He’s revealing too much in the reverent way he holds you close to bask in your elegant afterglow.

Your breathing slowly slows as your body relaxes. Out of comfort more than anything, Sylus slowly rolls his body, shifting his flagging cock inside you just to feel the way you twitch around him.

“Ah~” You gasp. “Too much.”

Sylus clicks his tongue and brushes your noses together, “Just a little more, sweetie. Just a little more.”

You laugh softly at his greedy behavior and let him grind for a while longer, kissing him slowly. 

You’re very good at pretending, Sylus thinks as he finally stops and gives you one final kiss on the cheek.

“You want a bath? Or shower?” Sylus asks as he grabs the corner of the blanket to cover you up. You let out another giggle and poke your head out from the top.

“Shower please.” You answer, a sweet note in your voice. Sylus decides he likes how you sound when your satisfied, and wonders how syrupy he can get your voice is he gets you to come multiple times tonight.

But first, shower.

Sylus pets your hair and escapes to the shower, starting it up for you and waiting till the room fills with steam. You follow him into the bathroom with the sheet wrapped around your body and shoo him out.

With a soft chuckle, Sylus closes the door to let you get cleaned up, while he turns to the other side of the room. A shiny black telephone sits on the dresser, next to a worn address book.

Sylus doesn’t need to check; he knows who to call.

The line rings, low and slow, a few times before there’s a click and then a deep voice that answers, “Yes?”

Sylus grins and leans against the dresser, “So curt. Aren’t you glad to hear from me, doctor?” 

Sylus can just imagine the dark haired doctor’s expression— a deep furrowed frown. Zayne hates it when Sylus makes light of a serious situation, which only spurrs him on more.

“I’m assuming you found her then. Since you sound so chipper.” Zayne speaks evenly through the phone. “And, I’m going to assume you’re somewhere safe. He stopped thrashing a little while ago.”

“Safe and sound, for now.” Sylus replies, “How’s the pup handling it? He looked pretty upset when I left.”

“Please, stop calling him that. You know Caleb hates it. He’s not actually a dog.” Zayne retorts with a heavy sigh. “He's doing much better, though the proximity to Dove is causing an increased response. I had to sedate him earlier so he didn’t break out of containment.” 

“Any luck figuring out what Umbrella did to him?” Sylus asks as he checks over his shoulder toward the bathroom door, making sure you’re still secure inside it. He wasn’t going to keep this from you forever, but maybe tonight wouldn’t be the right time to tell you everything. 

“Not yet.” Zayne sounds disappointed in himself, “But I will soon. Lumiere and Lemurian are retrieving the files now. The chaos in the city has them distracted.”

Sylus scoffs, “You sent those two? Did you intend to have the facility burnt to the ground?”

Though he meant it as a prod, Sylus is only partially surprised to hear Zayne’s low chuckle, and then after a beat of silence, a quiet, “Possibly.”

The white haired man shakes his head, and hears you begin to move around the shower. The reminder of you has him standing up straight, “I have to go. Dove I secured, I’ll meet you at HQ in one week.”

Zayne hums, “Try not to damage her too much.” 

“Whatever could you mean, doctor?” Sylus sing songs as he grabs a robe to finally cover his nude body. “Am I not known for my gentleness?”

There’s a rough huff of disbelief across the phone line, “No. Actually, make it three days. A week is too long.”

Of course, Sylus thinks. The doctor might put on a good face, but he’s as eager to see you again as Sylus was, and almost as much as the rabid little experiment named Caleb is.

Sylus leans over to peer through the crack in the bathroom door, seeing your form blurred by the steam. Three days in a safehouse? He should make good use of them.

You don’t mean to tease him. It’s not your intention when you start, but something has taken a hold of your mind. Some evil, slutty worm in your brain that makes you line up the toy with his cock and take both in your hand.

There’s more lube than you need for this, but you wanted to be absolutely sure he was prepped enough. It still coats your hands from where you slowly fingered him open. It’s covers the toy and smears against the razing heat of him.

You pump a few times, frotting the fake with the real, and Rafayel mewls. Long and broken, his head falls back against the lavender sheets. They’ll be ruined by morning, and Rafayel will debate stretching the stained portions onto a canvas frame.

“O-oh…” He moans, unable to keep any amount of eye contact. “C-cruel. Y-you’re being cruel.”

You know he’s lying because his hips are rolling into your movements. The prep from before has him the neediest you’ve ever seen him, and he’s finally stopped trying to pretend like he doesn’t like the vulnerability of being on his back.

You don’t prolong his torture, and line up the strap with his hole. He inhales sharply at the feeling of the tip, barely putting pressure there.

You give him a minute to get used to it before you keep going. Despite how much you want to hear those squeaky noises he makes come back.

When you finally push in, Rafayel moans like breathing is overstimulating. You soothe him with gentle caresses up his sides, brushing your fingertips over his rosy nipples. He yelps, pushing his hips further down onto the strap.

Fucking Rafayel is spiritual. The bond on his chest burns brightly in the dim light, and he begs you so pretty without ever speaking a word.

Rafayel maintains control of any situation he’s in. He can be charming, commanding, ruthless. He’s whatever he has to be to survive at any given time.

But right now, he’s not in control. He lets himself stop thinking about anything except for the pleasure you give him. Lets himself squirm and whine without care for how it might make him look.

“You’re doing so good,” The praise you give him is breathless. Muscles you normally don’t use in your abdomen and hips straining against how tight he is.

Rafayel practically sobs at the praise, “ Ah, ah oh…please, please…f-faster…”

The higher pitch of his voice will be ingrained into your mind for weeks, as well as the yelp he makes when you obey his needy request.

Rafayel comes so quickly you’re startled by it. Sweat beading around his pretty brow and lips damp with drool, he doesn’t even have the cognizance to warn you he’s on the precipice.

Frantically fisting his own cock as he rides you, meeting your rhythm like a carnal dance. The first spurt of pearly cum shoots straight upward, landing on his chest and then rapidly followed by more.

Your pace stutters as you marvel at how his back arches, each ragged moan trailing down to pool more wetness at your throbbing sex. Your face is flush, hot and panting, “Keep going,” You demand, pushing harder into him. “Keep going.”

“I can’t!” Rafayel cries, removing his hands from his oversensitive member and moving to claw at the sheets. “C-cutie, I can’t nnh nnh nngh!”

You’re mesmerized by the way each thrust punches out his breath. Eyes transfixed on how red his face is becoming. His multicolored eyes are unfocused and glassy.

This is awakening something dark inside you, and you can’t stop it. Hunger like you’ve never felt pushing you to push him. You want to see what it’s like to be on the other side of the overstimulation. What does Rafayel feel when he strings you too tight, nearly breaking….

Does he feel powerful when he does this to you? Is that why he never relents until you’re boneless and melting into his expensive sheets?

You want to see him come again. You have to see it. You need it. You need it.

“Y-yes! Yes! Yes!” Rafayel replies to the words you didn’t realize you said out loud, “I can do it. I can do it. Oh please, don’t stop. Don’t stop I can…ah!”

The wet sound of the strap on spearing his tight ass is so sweet, nearly as loud as his melodic cries. He keens when you grab his cock, squeezing the base once.

Too dry, your mind argues, and without considering the implications, you bend forward and spit a fat glob of saliva into your palm.

Rafayel’s tear-trimmed eyes are locked on your hand, and his cock throbs wildly at the sight of what you just did.

“A-again,” Rafayel begs, thrusting his hips upwards into your loosened fingers, “Sp-spit on me again, please….”

You’d tease him about such a debauched request, if it wasn’t just as arousing to you. You do it again, and then begin to slowly swipe your moistened hand up and down his reddened cock. It’s hot in your palm, abused from the two of you being less than gentle.

Desperate, Rafayel reaches out to you, grabbing you by the hair at the back of your neck and pulling you forward over the top of him.

The angle is different, and makes him have to spread his legs wider so that you can fit between them.

This close, you can see the tears that have colored in his violet colored eyelashes. The adoration that burns in his tissues nearly scalds you. He’s so open, blooming like a moonflower beneath you.

He doesn’t speak, but he opens his mouth. Glistening tongue peeking out. You moan brokenly, overcome. You obey him, spitting once, twice on his tongue and then immediately kissing him.

You feel the vibrations of his moan against your lips, and then taste the combination of your heady saliva as you suck on his tongue.

“You’re being so good for me, Rafayel.” You coo, gasping, as you slow your pace. Rolling your hips in deeper, more purposeful thrusts. “You gonna’ come for me again, can you do that please?”

You sound desperate for it, but Rafayel doesn’t seem to mind. He groans, nodding frantically as his eyes screw shut.

“I’m gonna sit on your face afterwards, ‘kay?” You whine, feeling like you might come from just watching him, “Be good boy and come for me, and I’ll let you eat me out.”

The proposition sounds like a reward to him, and it sends him over the edge. The cry he lets out is raspy and strained from his constant mewling.

It’s less explosive this time, but it’s like his orgasm is forced out of him. Wrung too tight like a cotton rag and leaking what remains of the come in his body.

“AH!” He screams when he can finally breathe. The first jolt of his cock leaks a heavy flow of come, the second a little less, and the third and fourth are just drop.

“I love you.” You say gently, petting his hair through the haze of this deliberating orgasm.

“I-I I love you!” He whines, still too high. He gasps for breath, swallowing thick lungfuls of your scent. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I did good, right? I did good…”

“Yes, love, you did so good.” You says sweetly, moving your hips one more time just to see him jolt and then finally granting mercy. “I’m gonna’ pull out now okay? You okay with that?”

Rafayel licks his parched lips, eyes closed as his body finally relaxes. He nods, and you sit up.

A low, vibrating moan escapes his kiss-bitten lips as you very slowly pull out.

His eyes are still a bit dazed when he raises his head, breath still coming out in little steamy pants. His hands grab at you, fingers trembling as he ineffectually helps you out of the strap’s harness.

Rafayel coos softly, rubbing soft circles into the indents the harness left behind. You kneel on the bed in front of each other, coming back from that drunken high and returning to reality.

You share a sweet, gentle kiss. A grateful press of his lips to yours that coaxes you into pushing closer to him.

When he pulls away, his nose is dusted once more in a rosy blush and his eyelashes flutter as he glances from your eyes to your lips.

“Will you sit on my face now?”

——————

So it’s peculiar— the most odd, unfathomable thing— that your tears send the most wretched, twist in his gut. He’s got you flat on the floor, laying on your tummy and fucking you harshly from behind.

He likes fucking you sweetly. Some of his favorite nights are the ones where the two of you are silly with it. When he can make you giggle and feel the rhythm of it from inside you.

But tonight is a special night. He can still taste the tang of the lemon candy on his tongue, coupled with the twist of your slick that he’d spent far too long dining on until you begged - pleaded - with him to stop.

From one position to another. Furniture is nothing but an obstacle in his way. This is not his first choice— fucking you from behind, but god does it get you to make the most unhinged noises. Pants and whines that punch out of your hoarse throat in time with his harsh thrusts.

So, he doesn’t notice at first, when the tears start to leak from your eyes. Overstimulated, overloaded to the point that you’re weeping.

The tickle of something down his skin. Across the flesh of his left forearm that he has hooked around you neck, bending your back with in a mean headlock- a gentle, loving headlock. One where you can feel his love for you as the blood to your brain get's cut off.

He slows his ravenous thrusts, slows down to examine this bizarre feeling. Are you drooling? You've done that before, and you have whined like a some wounded animal when he'd licked it up. Anything from you is perfection, and he'd taste it happily.

Wet. His arm is wet. Little crystalline tears that leans trails down your cheeks. They curve around your face and to your jaw like a caress, and- in the most inexplicable turn of events, Caleb's hips jut forward. His mind isn't connected anymore to his body. Cock jolting, arousal spiking. Something broken inside him is feeding on the visual stimuli of your tears, and while his heart wrenches in worry, he's fucking you harder.