A Fervent Song
title: A Fervent Song pairing: sylus x mc wc: ~3.6k tags: mature content, abysmsovereign!sylus, nipple play, tail play, double penetration, squirting, spanking → ao3
Your dragon is a curious one.
"These sounds of yours," he rumbles, a deep draconic purr, "I wish to hear more."
Violence is all Sylus knows from humans; anything else he's learned is from distant observation. When they're not wetting their swords with blood, the men are tilling the fields while the women handle the domestic chores. When they're not wearing armor, the men are in the taverns drowning in a thing they call alcohol, jeering and lusting after women not their wives. When they're not hunting his kind, they're with their families. Mothers and fathers take their children to the market. The scaleless whelps play and scream and laugh. A strange noise sometimes sounds from their buildings. Music, he once learned it's called. It's all strange and loud and Sylus never understood the appeal these humans have for noise.
He thinks humans are only capable of wrath and greed and lust until he hears you sing a melody.
You never really thought your singing was that great, but your dragon is a demanding one, and he likes the sound of your voice. You indulge him every time he asks you to sing — perhaps a bit too much.
Because now Sylus seems obsessed with every sound you make.
"Sylus…"
His name on your lips is his newest obsession. The name that you gave him coming out in a breathless gasp. He's flushed against you from behind. A clawed hand caresses its way up your neck, stopping to grasp your jaw.
Sylus tilts your head back until you're looking up at him, gaze flitting from your flushed cheeks and to your wet lips. You feel his tail snake its away up your bare stomach, along your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast. He draws a shudder from you but it's not enough for Sylus. The tip of that devious tail grazes your nipple, and you bite your bottom lip as you hiss and jolt from the sudden friction.
His eyes narrow. "It's just the two of us in my lair." The pad of his finger rubs against your bottom lip as if hoping to coax your mouth open. "There's no need to hold back."
"Sylus," you start with a frown, wanting to scold him for teasing you. But he seizes that opportunity to slip his finger into your mouth. The rough ridges that surround it glide gently against your tongue, and before you can protest, his tail repeats the same action. Another flick, another caress of your nipple, and you moan.
"Just like that," he rumbles. Sylus' free hand grasps your other breast. He kneads the soft, pliable flesh as a quivering whimper escapes your lips, feeling heat pool between your legs. "Good girl." Those two words make your ears burn. Makes your face feel like it's on fire. Has you clutching his forearm for dear life.
He's merciless in his teasing. One moment he's gentle, and the next Sylus is teasing your breasts with his claws. There's a brief moment you think he'll cut you, but you know he'll never hurt you. The feel of his claws, of his scales against your soft, vulnerable skin excites you in ways the people of Ivory City would find sinful. Shameful. Not that you care. You were branded a heathen the moment they labeled you Sorceress, and now you sing for the fiend they fear.
Every sound he wrought from your lips is a chorus of lascivious hymns. You catch the intense focus in his eyes as his lashes lower half-lidded. His tormenting isn't without a purpose. Sylus notes the changes in your vocals when he's slow; notices every quiver in your voice when he's more rough. He files each sound away, burning to memory the way you respond with every attention he gives to your breasts. At one point his tail slips away to stroke your leg, leaving your nipple aching for the same consideration the other receives. Only when Sylus is sure you won't hold your voice back anymore does both hands tend to your breasts, assuaging the other neglected bud.
"Ah—!" Your back arches. It feels so frustratingly good but it's not enough. You squirm and roll your hips, "Sylus, please—" He's hard against the small of your back and you try to raise your hips to slam back against him, "Please!"
But he holds you in place, a heady chuckle tickling your ear. "You can mewl all you want, kitten. But not yet."
Despite his words, you hear the hoarseness in his voice. Straining as if to maintain some semblance of control. You know if you just press a little more you can distract him from his fascination with your chest. "I need you…"
Your breath catches.
His tail slides between your thighs. "You need me… to what?"
Sylus is taunting you.
You growl in response as you glare up at him. "Do not tease me further!"
"I do not mean to tease," he drawls, lazily circling a claw around an areola. Needless to say, there's a very obvious lack of sincerity to his words. Your dragon is many things; irritating is high on his list of flaws. "I am learning the many ways you can sing my name."
If he will not give you the release you desire, then you will not give him satisfaction of hearing his name. You purse your lips in defiance and lower your head. Even your moans you bite back out of spite. Your sudden shift in attitude only seems to amuse Sylus further as he quirks a brow.
"…Ah. There's that stubbornness of yours."
Your dragon is a patient one.
Sylus has the patience and self-control saints can only dream of. Not the priests who raised you and the other orphans at the Sanctuary, nor the Judicator's Oracle ever displayed the same restraint Sylus does. You're still learning about dragons, so you're unsure if it's in their nature to be this way. Or if it's just Sylus. Sylus who, for over a millennium, was locked away. A young dragon who never knew intimacy from a lover. Who from his name alone — fiend — should succumb to his baseless desires. Yet understands the pleasure one can achieve by putting another's before his, more-so than any human you ever met.
Or perhaps he simply enjoys torturing you.
"My name as a gasp, as a whimper, as a quivering cry… I know it all." His tail rubs against the inside of your thighs. "Even when you sound enraged, I can hear the desire in your voice."
You want to touch yourself, so, so terribly much. But your energy is spent trying to keep yourself upright as you reach behind you to grip the sides of his hips. There's nothing else for you to lean on or hold other than him, and you know he does this on purpose.
"And as you drown in pleasure, you sing more freely. You become louder." Sylus pinches your nipple, wrenching his name from you unbidden.
"Sylus!"
He chuckles, deep and guttural. You can feel it resonate from within his chest as your knees nearly buckle. You'll never admit it out loud, let alone to him, but you love those growls and rumbles of his. At night, it lulls you to sleep. When you're upset, it's a comforting sonant. And when you're aroused, it kindles that fire into a greater one.
His tail slips a little higher as you thrust your hips, but empty air meets your weeping cunt.
You think of all the ways you're going to kill Sylus. How you'll take your time peeling his scales, cutting off that wretched tail of his, declawing him. And then you'll devour him as you've always craved. He'll never be able to tease you again; never be able to thrash against him as he tugs and rolls your overly sensitive nipples.
"More," he urges. His voice is heavy and you can tell that self-control of his is finally unraveling. Before you can gloat, you scream as his tail glides across your wet, throbbing clit and you orgasm.
It crashes into you instantly. You sob his name over and over as you ride the flat of his tail. It thrusts back and forth, but even as you get the relief you crave, you don't stop. Anger and revenge? Who needs that. There's nothing more satisfying than finding bliss.
Sylus leers down at you with those glittering ruby eyes of his, the right one glowing in the way that makes your stomach coil with hunger. He watches you rut against his tail as he strokes the soft underside flesh of your breasts. His claws scrape your skin, his other hand traversing your fluttering belly. He's barely doing anything, you realize — he's just staring with those whispered touches. Watching as you twist and cry and seek his hands. His breathing sounds heavier while you edge yourself to a second orgasm. Another drag of his tail sends you over the edge, your body going rigid before an intense quake hits you.
"Oh gods," you gasp. Up until that moment, every muscle in your body had been tense. All of the tension gives way, your legs finally giving out. Before you can melt to the ground in a puddled mess, Sylus grabs your elbow.
Your dragon is a greedy one.
Sylus' lair is littered with his greed. Mounds of gold lay unused, jewels glittering among the coins like stars of rubies and sapphires and emeralds. There's old paintings, some that you recognize from when the Sanctuary forced you and other orphans into lessons. Art lost to time. Some thought to have been burned during ancient conquests. It seems whatever glitters or has value, Sylus takes. Whether he understands their value, or he does it to spite the humans remains to be seen. You can see the slab of stone he likes to idle on — like some monument to himself while he oversees his treasure.
"Gods?" Sylus yanks you back against his chest, grasping your jaw and forcing your dazed eyes to meet his. Garnet eyes gleam as the right burns brighter, awakening that coiling feeling in your stomach. Awakening a deep, animalistic hunger inside of you. "They're not who you should be calling for. It's not the gods making you scream."
His tail rakes across your overstimulated clit. You groan and try to pull away, but his grip is an iron vice. "Sylus — oh…" You try to move your hips away, but his tail follows, the rough yet soft texture grinding against you. Pressure builds up in the pit of your stomach, but unlike your previous orgasms, this feels more…
You start to panic. "Oh gods, I'm going to— "
You thrash and squirm. He's relentless. His arms wrap around you, binding your arms to your sides as he snarls and huffs in your ear. Fangs nip your lobe, his warm breath tickling you. "My name."
You try to hold it in. "I can't… oh — oh gods I can't—"
"Use the name you gave me."
It's almost embarrassing knowing what is coming, knowing that Sylus is staring at your face, watching it contort in ecstasy and horror.
"—Sylus!" You can't help it as your climax wrecks you, your hips twitching wildly, squirting a stream of clear liquid all over his tail. It splashes down your thighs and legs, the drops echoing lewdly in your ears. You blink your eyes open — unsure of when you shut them — staring into the satisfied, triumphant face of a dragon. Nay. A dragon is too kind of a word. Demon. This demon will meet your blade and you will devour him and he will be apart of you as he was always meant to be—
All that can be heard is your breathless panting and a few straggling drops that plummet to the ground. You're utterly drained. And angry. Once you find your breath, you start to twist your face out of his hold. "Sylus, I told you—"
His grip tightens and he turns your attention to his tail. He has it raised to your eye level and you can see the way it shimmers and glistens with your… You don't finish that train of thought.
"So obscene." He's gloating. Those earlier ideations of homicide return. "I didn't know you could do that. Shall we try again?"
A blush reddens your face. "I'll kill you."
Sylus chuckles. "You're still energetic. Good."
"…And why do you say that? Sylus? Sylus what are you planning? Sylus!"
He ignores you. Sylus is good at that. But it doesn't take long for you to understand his intentions when he thrusts against your rear.
"Oh."
"Oh," he repeats.
Your dragon is a lustful one.
It almost takes you by surprise — almost took you by surprise during your first time with him. Sylus hadn't let you leave his lair for three days and three nights. For a fiend so patient and composed, when he lets himself go, it's like making love to a beast. Though mating is the correct term. Mating with Sylus is letting go of your inhibitions. It's him drawing out the confidence the Sanctuary tried to whittle out of you. It's him discovering every piece of you, what makes you tick, what makes you moan, what makes you cry his name. It's you learning all the same things about him, getting him to open up to you. To be vulnerable with you.
At times he lets you rest, and in those moments, he'll leave the lair to bring food. You eat and then he's back inside of you. Both of his cocks plunging into the depths of your core.
Just like now those two cocks of his slide between the meat of your thighs, gliding along your sensitive clit, teasing and parting your soaked lips. His stamina for sex is as boundless as his patience. It sinks into you then that everything up until now had been foreplay. The song is barely getting started.
"Just say the word," you feel his tail wind around your waist, crossing ever so slowly over your stomach and between your breasts. "And I will stop."
It's Sylus' way of giving you an out. We don't have to do this now. He's still considerate even as he plans to torment you with pleasure. As if he hadn't already been doing that! But at least now he'll finally be giving you what you want.
His tail constricts before you can turn around and face him. Instead you look up at him, expecting to see the usual smugness. You're surprised to meet the intensity of his eyes, the furrow of his brows, and the pursed line of his lips. The muscle of his jaw ticks as he grits his teeth. It seems Sylus' self-control is nearing its limits.
You can be honest. Tell him you want him. Tell him to take you as you've been hoping he will all this time. But Sylus teased you relentlessly, and perhaps you still struggle with being truthful. At least when it comes to certain desires.
Besides, there's something more tempting about provoking the beast, especially one as close to snapping as Sylus.
"You speak as if you've worn me out," you scoff. "Don't be so full of yourself, Sylus."
His laughter is a husky rumble, a sound so intoxicating you're not sure if the squelching noises growing louder is because of your body reacting to his voice, or from him rutting against you. You swear he's harder, too.
Of course mockery arouses a fiend as debased as him.
Your provocation pays off. You can feel the shift in his demeanor, that playtime is over the moment his tail tightens and hoists you off your feet. He unceremoniously deposits you onto the altar, but before you can turn around, he yanks your hips back.
There's no usual prelude. Sylus likes to take his time with this part before he penetrates you. Typically, anyway. But he already spent too much time teasing you in other ways that his patience is strung thin. You're so wet, so loose and warm, that he slides into you — both cocks into each of your holes — smooth and harsh and pulsing. Your body has been melded to fit his that there's no resistance, only the satisfaction of being full.
A low moan drags from your throat as you brace yourself on hands and knees and thrust back. "Gods, yes."
You know how desperate he is to hear his name. How he craves it just as you crave him. You hear him groan, his hands on your hips tightening until his claws nearly break skin. He jerks you forward before slamming you back until you're fully seated, your toes curling as you toss your head back with a pleasured cry.
And still, you don't call his name. The only thing you care about are his cocks and the building pressure in your core. It's the least he can do after tormenting you; let you use him for your pleasure. He likes it. You know he does. Sylus likes to be used by you. Claimed by you. The reason you writhe and moan and pant like some animal in heat, desperately bouncing your hips. You sing for the gods while Sylus' cocks are inside of you, gliding deliciously against your inner walls.
And still you don't call his name. It's a punishment for him. To remind him of the power you also have over him.
Your dragon is a prideful one.
You both are, to be fair. Sylus wears his pride with his usual quiet confidence, while you react more openly. Sometimes loudly. Sometimes angrily. Sylus can be subtle but also overt. His pride comes from the things that give him meaning. To others his treasure trove can be seen as him boasting his wealth, but that wealth matters little to him when he does nothing with it. He hoards it because he can, because they're beautiful and shiny. Humans have tried to scale the mountains to his lair, to the treasure that they suspect he has. But they've all failed.
The greatest treasure he owns, though, is the name you gave him. It's not a physical object he can put on display. It doesn't glitter and shimmer. It's not worth anything to humans. But it's his and his alone. A gift you gave him even if at the time it seemed inconsequential.
"You seem to have forgotten my name," Sylus' voice is a husky growl that penetrates through your hazy mind, "so let me remind you."
It's sudden and almost violent the way your orgasm slams into you the moment you feel a sharp pain against your rear. You scream his name in shock, anger, ecstasy — eyes widening as your inner walls convulse and your back arches. Your hips shamelessly rut back against him, sucking his cocks deep inside of you, wanting more of that pleasurable pain even as you climax.
Somewhere through the lust-filled fog that clouds your mind, it dawns on you. "Did you just…" You start to crawl away, even as your oversensitive cunt protests, if only to turn around and glare at him, "Spank me?"
Slap.
"Sylus!"
"Heh. Not bad."
Another one. Your head jolts to the side as you stare daggers at that smug, amused face. "I really will kill you!"
"Kill me. Slap me. Beat me." A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. Sylus drags his cocks back before slowly gliding back in. Your thighs quiver and a quiet whimper sounds behind clenched teeth. "Do with me what you will — I desire it all."
"You desire your own downfall?"
"I desire," Smack. Your hips jolt back with a groan as you slide deeper down him, "you."
"Ah! You must be a masochist."
He slaps your other cheek. Every slap brings him deeper into you until he's buried at the hilt. Anger and shame and desire burns your cheeks as you hide your face against the stone slab. Sylus' voice is heady and strained with arousal, "Then you must be my kindred spirit. Look how greedily you tighten around me."
Every time you use another word or call to another being, he slaps your rear until it's red and throbbing; until you're reduced to a twitching, leaking mess and the only word you know is his name. Until all you know is a fervent song conducted by him.
Large hands encircle your waist as he holds you down, plowing deep with every thrust. Your mind is numb, delirious with ecstasy. Every call of his name is a plea for more, and your dragon responds in kind. Wet slaps fill the lair, echoing off the stone walls, mingling with your moans and whimpers, and Sylus' graveled huffs and grunts. They coalesce into a wild, passionate bridge that builds and builds, exploding into a climactic outro.
Sylus tenses. His grip tightens as he drags you tight against him, rolling his hips as he cums. He fills you so wonderfully until he's leaking out, your own orgasm milking him as you gradually melt into the stone. The song fades to dulcet tones; you whisper his name with ardor.
The salacious sounds that filled the lair not seconds before are replaced with both of your breathless pants. Your pounding heart calms to a steady beat as Sylus lowers himself onto his elbows. He's careful not to put his weight on you. You're surrounded by his presence. His scent and warmth captivates you, encapsulates you.
He kisses the skin between your shoulder blades. "Hearing my name from you — does things to me." Sylus is normally articulate, but even you can see how he's struggling to string these words together. "I never understood human music. And then I heard you sing, and it was like hearing sound for the first time. I never knew how… such different ways you say my name," he kisses you again. Apologetic, "can elicit different responses."
When you manage to find your voice again, you mumble in jest, "…See if I ever give you a name again." You accept his apology. Not that you have anything to forgive him for.
He laughs. A beautiful, hoarse sound.
This time Sylus lets you turn around. You wrap your arms around his neck, taking in the pearls of sweat glistening on his forehead. The ever-burning kindle of desire in those ruby gems. The soft tilt of his lips. You pull him down, bearing his full weight as your lips linger near his.
"Sylus." You kiss him. The next song starts.
Your dragon is an insatiable one. But so are you.
