i’m ʚhiroɞ, an asian girl writer, the bringer of sloth (yes i am lazy). your fruits of happiness are.. zayne, sylus, xavier, rafayel, from sweetest to tasteless in my garden~ apples are prohibited.
what happiness do you crave? ask, and i will provide~
request status: open~
allow yourself a little moment of laziness~
sfw mlist ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
time for a twist~
nsfw mlist ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
our paradise will flourish.
(aka wips) snowcrowmc
it’ll be over before you know it~ (no)
rest your eyes... everything is bound to fall into place.
The silence of the apartment was a palpable thing, thick and insulating, like the walls were holding in every secret Y/N had ever whispered to herself. She sat on the edge of her bed, knees drawn up, the blanket pooling around her like a confession she couldn’t make. Outside, Linkon City’s perpetual twilight glowed against the windowpanes, casting the room in a dim, blue-grey light that felt both intimate and accusing.
Her mind was a single, looping track. Zayne. Masturbating.
It wasn’t a new obsession. It had started months ago, a seed planted during one of those rare, unguarded moments. He’d been at her place, reviewing some medical files on her couch, his glasses perched low on his nose, his long fingers tracing lines of text. She’d gone to fetch him a drink and returned to find him leaning back, eyes closed, one hand resting on his thigh, palm open, fingers slightly curled. The image had struck her with a force that was almost physical. The utter stillness of him. The potential. The thought that those same hands, scarred and precise, capable of saving infant hearts, could be used for something so primal, so selfish, so human. The contradiction was delicious. The stoic surgeon, alone in his sterile apartment, his disciplined mind surrendering to base need. What would he look like? What would he sound like? Would his expression remain that composed mask, or would it fracture into something raw and desperate?
She’d constructed countless scenarios. Him in his office after a long shift, the white coat discarded, his back against the door of his private bathroom. Him in his bed, the neutral tones of his sheets rumpled, his glasses forgotten on the nightstand. Him thinking of… her? Someone else? The thought of him thinking of her while he did it sent a molten coil of heat straight to her core. It was a fantasy she fed daily, adding details, refining the imagery until it felt more real than her own memories.
Tonight, the fantasy had a specific, dangerous edge. She’d orchestrated it. A text, sent an hour ago. ‘Can I come over? I have a headache. Your place is quieter.’ A lie, but a believable one. He’d responded with typical brevity. ‘Sure. I’m home.’
She’d arrived, he’d examined her with a clinical, gentle touch, his hazel-green eyes scanning her face. “No fever. Tension, likely,” he’d concluded, his voice a low, familiar rumble. He’d prescribed a hot shower and rest. She’d taken the shower, but the rest was a different matter. She’d slipped into his bed wearing only one of his long-sleeved black t-shirts—it hung loose on her, the fabric soft and smelling faintly of him, of clean linen and something subtly antiseptic. She’d waited until he’d finished his own nightly routine, until he’d entered the bedroom, already dressed in his own sleep clothes—simple grey pants and a white tank.
He’d paused at the sight of her in his bed. “Comfortable?” he’d asked, a trace of that backhanded tease in his tone.
“Very,” she’d said, her voice purposefully soft.
He’d joined her, lying on his back beside her, not touching, the space between them a charged gap. The city’s hum was the only sound for long minutes. She’d turned on her side, facing him. His profile was sharp against the faint light, his black hair slightly messy from drying, the silver wire frames of his glasses now resting on the bedside table.
“Zayne,” she’d started, her pulse a frantic drum against her ribs.
“Yes?”
“Do you ever…” She swallowed, forcing the words out. “When you’re here, alone… do you ever touch yourself?”
He didn’t move. His breathing didn’t change. But the atmosphere in the room shifted, the air becoming heavier, denser. He turned his head toward her. In the shadows, his eyes were unreadable pools. “That’s a direct question.”
“I’m curious.”
“About my personal habits?”
“About you,” she whispered. “About what you… need.”
A beat of silence stretched, taut and thin. “My needs are managed,” he said, his voice even. But it wasn’t a denial. It was a deflection.
She shifted closer, the mattress dipping under her weight. The hem of his shirt rode up her thigh. “I think about it,” she admitted, the confession leaving her lips hot and shaky. “I imagine it. Your hands. On yourself. I want to know what it’s like for you.”
His gaze held hers. The stoic facade was there, but beneath it, she saw a flicker—a spark of something dark and intrigued. He was a man of control, of rationality. But he was also a man of deep, hidden passions. The contradiction was the key.
“Why?” he asked finally.
“Because it’s the most private part of you. The part you don’t share with anyone. I want to see it. I want to… have it.”
His jaw tightened slightly. A minute reaction. Then, he let out a slow, controlled breath. “Your curiosity borders on intrusion, Y/N.”
“I know,” she said, unashamed. She reached out, her fingers brushing over the scars on his forearm, tracing a faint, raised line. “But you’ll let me intrude. You always do.”
That was the truth. His cold demeanor was a fortress, but she had the key. His fondness for her, the history woven between them since childhood, granted her access to rooms no one else entered.
He watched her trace his scars. Then, his hand moved. He caught her wrist, not harshly, but with a firm, undeniable grip. His skin was warm. “You’re playing with something you don’t fully understand.”
“I want to understand,” she insisted, her voice dropping to a hushed, pleading tone. “Show me.”
Another silence, thicker than before. His thumb pressed against the pulse point on her wrist. He could feel her heartbeat, wild and frantic. He could feel her want. Slowly, he released her wrist. His hand retreated, settling on his own stomach.
“Watch, then,” he said, the words low and final.
It was permission. It was surrender. A thrill, electric and vicious, shot through her. She sat up slightly, propping herself on an elbow, her eyes fixed on him.
He didn’t look at her. He looked at the ceiling, as if conducting a private, solemn ritual. His left hand, the one she’d just touched, slid down the front of his grey sleep pants. She watched the fabric tent, then strain, as his hand moved beneath it.
Her own breathing stopped. She could hear the soft, sliding sound of cotton against skin. Then, she saw his fingers, pale against the dark fabric, curl and take hold. The outline of his cock, now in his grip, was clear—a thick, promising shape. He wasn’t shy. He didn’t hide it. He simply began.
His motions were, at first, methodical. A slow, upward pull of his fist along his shaft. His knuckles brushed against the soft cotton. His breaths remained steady, but deeper. She saw the muscles in his forearm flex, the scars there shifting with the movement. God, his hands. The same hands that held surgical tools with peerless precision were now gripping his own erection, pumping it with a growing rhythm.
She couldn’t speak. Her mouth was dry. Her own cunt was clenching, empty and aching, a slick heat gathering between her thighs. She was mesmerized by the visual—the stark contrast of his clinical persona and this raw, sexual act. The neutral colors of his bedroom, the orderly space, all framed the secret, moving shape under his pants.
He began to speed up. The pulls became longer, more deliberate. A soft, wet sound emerged—the sound of his palm gliding over his now-slick skin. He’d produced lubrication from his own body, and the friction had turned slick and quiet. His hips shifted, a subtle rock into his own hand. His head tilted back against the pillow, his throat exposed. A low, almost imperceptible groan escaped him. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated sensation.
“Zayne,” she whispered, her voice a broken thing.
His eyes opened. They turned to her, and the hazel-green was clouded, dark with a focus that was entirely on his own pleasure, yet somehow aware of her watching. “Does this satisfy your curiosity?” he asked, his voice rough, but still holding that thread of control.
“Yes,” she breathed. “More.”
His hand moved faster. The fabric of his pants was now stretched tight over the aggressive motion of his fist. She could see the shape of his cockhead, the bulge where his thumb might be circling. He was working himself thoroughly, his discipline applied now to the task of his own orgasm. His breathing fractured. It became a series of sharp inhales, held, then released in shallow gusts.
Then, his phone, lying on the nightstand beside his glasses, buzzed. The screen lit up with a caller ID.
Caleb.
The timing was absurd, cruel, perfect. Y/N’s eyes darted from Zayne’s moving hand to the glowing screen. A wicked, desperate idea seized her.
“Answer it,” she said.
Zayne’s hand stopped. He looked at the phone, then at her. His expression was a conflict—annoyance, surprise, and a dawning understanding of her intent. “Why?”
“Talk to him,” she urged, leaning closer. The scent of his skin, clean and male, mixed with the subtle, musky scent of his arousal, filled her senses. “Keep going. Let me watch you do both.”
A challenge. A test of his control, of his ability to compartmentalize. A surgeon’s skill, applied to a different kind of performance.
Zayne stared at her for a long moment. The phone buzzed again, persistent. Caleb wouldn’t stop calling; he was obsessive, protective, and he often checked on her. Finally, Zayne’s lips pressed into a thin line. He reached for the phone with his right hand, his left hand still buried in his pants, still holding his cock. He accepted the call and put it to his ear.
“Caleb,” he said, his voice remarkably steady, only a slight tightness at the edges.
Y/N watched, her blood pounding. She could only hear Zayne’s side of the conversation.
“She’s here,” Zayne said. His left hand began to move again, a slow, deliberate stroke. “She had a headache. She’s resting now.”
Caleb’s voice, filtered through the phone, was a cheerful, familiar baritone. “A headache? Is she okay? Let me talk to her.”
“She’s asleep,” Zayne lied smoothly. His hand pumped once, twice, a little faster. His thumb, she could now see through the fabric, was pressing in a specific, circular pattern at the tip. He was stimulating himself with focused expertise.
“Asleep? At your place?” Caleb’s tone shifted, a hint of that hidden possessiveness bleeding through. “You sure she’s just sleeping, Zayne?”
Zayne’s eyes closed for a second. A shiver ran through his body, a fine tremor she could see in his shoulders. He was getting closer. The pleasure was building, and he was fighting to keep his voice level. “Yes. She’s sleeping.” His hand moved with more urgency now, the strokes becoming shorter, harder, his hips lifting slightly off the bed to meet each thrust of his fist.
Y/N leaned in, her ear almost touching the phone. She could hear Caleb’s sigh.
“Alright. Just… tell her I called. Tell her I’ll check in tomorrow. You know how she is, Zayne. My little pipsqueak needs looking after.”
Pipsqueak. The old childhood nickname, delivered with Caleb’s trademark mix of affection and underlying control.
Zayne’s breath caught. His eyes snapped open, and he looked directly at Y/N. His gaze was blazing, intense. The phone call, the nickname, her watching—it was all converging on him, a pressure wave of stimulation. His voice dropped, lower, thicker, when he replied, “I’ll tell her.” Then, almost as an afterthought, a slip of his controlled facade, he added, “My jasmine is fine here.”
The use of his own private name for her, spoken directly into the phone while his hand was working his cock, was a detonation. Y/N felt her own body flush with heat. She saw Zayne’s composure crack. His strokes became erratic, powerful. The fabric of his pants was a chaotic, moving blur over his frenzied hand.
“Your jasmine?” Caleb’s voice was sharp, suspicious. “What’s that supposed to mean, Zayne?”
Zayne didn’t answer. He was beyond words now. His focus was entirely on the peak rushing toward him. His mouth opened, a silent gasp. His back arched. His left hand was a blur of motion, pounding into his own groin, the sound now a wet, slapping rhythm against his skin. She could hear it clearly—thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap—a filthy, urgent cadence.
“Zayne? You there?” Caleb’s voice came again, confused.
Zayne’s eyes locked with Y/N’s. They were wide, unfocused, desperate. He was letting her see everything. The final unraveling. He gritted his teeth, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat—“Fuck.”—half a groan, half a curse.
His right hand, holding the phone, tightened. His left hand pistoned faster, a final, brutal series of strokes. His whole body coiled, tense like a spring. Then, release.
It wasn’t quiet. It was a visceral, physical event. His body jerked. A sharp, ragged cry escaped him, muffled by his own effort to silence it. His hand stopped, clenched tight around the base of his cock. She could see the fabric of his pants darken, dampen, as the climax emptied into his own grip. His abdomen clenched, his thighs trembled. He held himself there, suspended in the aftermath, for several seconds, breathing in shattered, heaving gulps.
The phone was still in his hand. Caleb was saying something, but Zayne wasn’t hearing it. His world had narrowed to the fire in his veins and the woman watching him burn.
Slowly, the tremors subsided. His breathing slowed, deepened. He lowered the phone, his movements sluggish. He ended the call without another word, dropping the device onto the bed.
The room was silent again, but now it was saturated with the aftermath. The scent of sex, of male release, hung in the air. Zayne lay there, his left hand still under his pants, likely soaked. His eyes were closed. He looked exhausted, spent, but also… peaceful.
Y/N couldn’t move. She was transfixed, her own body aching with a mirrored, unmet need. She had seen it. She had witnessed the stoic Zayne, the award-winning surgeon, in the throes of a private, powerful orgasm. And she had orchestrated it.
After a minute, Zayne opened his eyes. They were clear again, but softer. He looked at her. “You,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper, “are a dangerous distraction.”
She swallowed. “Did you… think of me?”
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. “What else would I think of?”
The admission sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She shifted, crawling across the bed until she was kneeling beside him. Her hands went to the waistband of his pants. “Let me see.”
He didn’t stop her. He let her pull the fabric down, revealing the aftermath. His cock, now softening, was glistening, slick with his own spend. His hand was coated, white streaks painting his fingers and palm. The sight was intensely erotic—the evidence of his pleasure, messy and real on his scarred skin.
She reached out, her fingertips touching the wetness on his hand. It was warm, sticky. She traced a line up his forearm, mixing his release with the history etched into his skin. “I want to taste it,” she murmured, the idea shocking even to herself.
Zayne’s hand caught hers again, but this time, he guided it. He brought her fingers to his lips. He kissed them, a slow, deliberate press of his mouth against her skin, tasting his own essence transferred to her. “Not tonight,” he said, his voice firming again, regaining its normal cadence.
She looked at him, her desire a wild, open thing. “Why?”
He pushed his pants down further, off his legs, and shifted on the bed. He was naked now, vulnerable in a way he never was. But his expression was returning to its usual composed state. “Because,” he said, pulling her closer so she was lying against his side, his arm around her, “I’m sensitive. After… that.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The orgasm had left him raw, hypersensitive. The idea of her touching him further, of taking control, of pegging him—a fantasy she’d voiced in the past—was too much for his current state.
He was admitting a weakness. A physical limitation born from the intensity of the pleasure she had just witnessed. It was a confession as powerful as the act itself.
She settled against him, her head on his shoulder, her body aligned with his. The shirt she wore was his, and now she was skin-to-skin with him, his release cooling between them. The phone, silent now, lay forgotten. Caleb’s call was a distant echo.
Zayne’s breathing settled into a slow, even rhythm. His hand, the one that had just brought him to climax, now rested on her hip, a simple, possessive weight. “Sleep,” he said, the word a quiet command.
But she couldn’t sleep. Her mind was replaying every second, every sound, every movement. The wet thwap of his hand. The groan he’d tried to stifle. The way his body had convulsed. The phone call. Caleb’s voice. Pipsqueak. My jasmine.
The obsession wasn’t satisfied. It was fed, nourished, and now it hungered for more.
Hiro that was sO GOOD HOLY SHIT LETSGOOOOOO!!! Thank you so much I love iiit <3<3<3<3<3, I will be rereading this one a thousand times Jesus Christ, I need more subby Zayne in my life damn 😩😩😩😩
-Fic Anon
IM REALLY GLAD YOU LIKE IT!! i wanted to add more dirty talk though cuz sylus would DEFINITELY tease zayne and make him hard with just words
fruits you may come across: fluff, crack, smut, mlm, polyamory, reader is third wheeling here, dirty talk, nipple play, biting & sucking body, handjobs, anal fingering, cum as lube, anal sex, size difference, soft!dom!sylus, sub!zayne, lowkey pathetic!zayne, zayne is sensitive, getting caught, pet names (sweetie, kitten, dear). nsfw content under the cut. bonus adhd cat mentioned
it's your anniversary!
sylus, as the soul of your three-partner relationship, offered to spend may 12th at home, doing cozy stuff like baking and watching movies with cuddles as a way to escape your busy lives. who wouldn't agree to that?
as a mutual agreement, you, sylus and zayne all agreed to take a day off on the 12th. not that sylus needed to ask for one, but the twins were definitely not happy with the extra work, and zayne was allowed to take not one, but two days off, leaving greyson with an extra appointment.
everyone got a day off.. except for you.
captain jenna sounded genuinely apologetic over the call, almost guilty to announce the sudden two-day long mission two days before your anniversary, but no matter how much she apologised for the disturbance, you were still hellishly mad. not only instead of the planned entire stay-in holiday you were gonna be beat up by wanderers, you will never be able to spend your first special day with sylus and zayne as an official couple.
as you walked back to your apartment from the elevator, you were dreading to announce your guaranteed absence to your ever-loving and ever-understanding partners, just imagining the look on sylus' face, one nerve cell away from bombarding the hunter's association, made you just oh so guilty.
but even as you walked in and told them that you were called on a two-day work trip, sylus and zayne were nothing but understanding and reassuring, making sure you wouldn't feel guilty for leaving them. the same night, you're out on the train, and the boys are left alone, sitting on your couch with a bit of distance between them. while writing another document, zayne unexpectedly blinked like a frog, right eyelid closing first, then opening, and the same for the left one. not at the same time. one by one.
"zayne, are you seriously working right now? you look like you're about to pass out," sylus questions, a brow raised at just how ridiculous he can be.
zayne's face dusted pink at that, barely visible in the dark on his pale face. "dr. greyson needed some patient records for tomorrow. i left him with a girl who has only been treated by me, so it's only humane to let him get familiar with her," zayne spoke sheepishly, clicking on the send button and closing his laptop almost immediately. he was so unused to having so much free time on his hands, so the primal instinct of his was to work, precisely what he has been doing for days on end..
"ahem. well, was there something you wanted to talk about? you don't usually disturb my work," zayne spoke, soft in that cute embarrassed way of his. "is it about our anniversary?"
"mm-hmm. since our dead comes back sunday night, why don't we prepare a little surprise? never too late to celebrate a holiday," sylus chirped, having freshly woken up from a good night's (day's?) sleep. "decorate the apartment, bake our dear’s favourite, pick out some gifts. what do you say?"
"mm.. that's a nice idea. and some extra macarons," zayne murmured, already snoozing off at sylus’ plush shoulder. warm and comfy..
sylus chuckled, barely audible, and let zayne rest on his shoulder. they weren’t strangers to affection, however having it come from zayne specifically was quite surprising. and, admittedly, nice. especially when he's literally falling asleep and letting his ever-standing guard down.
a few beats have passed from zayne's words before the living room was filled with soft, barely audible snores. he simply fell asleep, but for sylus, it was an honour: for zayne to feel safe enough to do so.
when sylus shifts to pick zayne up, the man lets out a noise of complaint – no more warm and comfy shoulder for him to rest on. however, he doesn't wake up: now his body was propped up on sylus', carried to the bedroom with care. he couldn't just let him sleep on an uncomfortable couch.
as sylus approached the bed, he slowed his pace and gently set zayne down on the plush comforter, tucked him in and sat nearby, brushing a few messy hairs back. it was so.. domestic.
sylus was about to leave zayne's side when he felt a warm hand grasping at his wrist, a quiet “stay” slipping from zayne’s sleeping form. the silver haired man chuckled, amused by the usually contained neediness from him. he sat down next to zayne, carefully caressing his soft cheek as he once again succumbs to the world of dreams.
the next morning, zayne wakes up to a sweet, warm aroma engulfing the house. he instantly recognises it to be pancakes with maple syrup and some sort of berries and almost jumps up to go to the kitchen. well, how couldn’t he? zayne would never turn down a sweet treat. and no, his dentist definitely didn’t tell him to avoid sweets early in the morning.
rubbing his eye, zayne steps into the dining room to see sylus in just his grey sweatpants and an apron. the sight instantly has him flushing red, face suddenly feeling warm and stunned.
sylus, the careful man he is, notices zayne stepping in. putting the last pancake on zayne’s plate, he turns around. “finally awake? i expected you to get up earlier,” sylus teased in that deep, rumbly voice of his that always had zayne shivering.
zayne lifts his gaze from the chiseled muscles under the apron, only to realise he has been ogling sylus the entire time he was standing there.
"ahem.." zayne clears his throat, looking at the clock just left from sylus, "i suppose i was tired yesterday," his eyes roamed around, embarrassed at letting himself loose, "but why are you up?"
a smirk broke free on sylus' face, once again amused at the doctor's cute habits. his hands untied the apron, as it was no longer needed, basically showing off his body. at this point, he was doing it consciously.
"well, we agreed to prepare an anniversary surprise, did we not? so, i slept through my usual night schedule with a few of those melatonin gummies. they work quite well – fell asleep in ten," sylus quickly answered, only to be met with silence.
"yes, i know. i was just.." zayne spoke, but his gaze wandered down at the action. now, not only he could see every ab, he was gracefully presented the beauty of man tits – covered in a light sheen from the heat of the stove, emphasising on how huge they were, and those nipples? swollen from that same warmth, begging to be sucked on and bitten harshly. and god, the contrast of sylus' waist to his shoulders – he could definitely cover zayne entirely with those wide shoulders. his arms, so buff and thick, could easily manhandle him back and forth, maybe even put him in a headlock. zayne even saw the barely-there tent of his c—
"earth to zaynee."
"ah–" zayne snapped out of it, instantly getting backlash at the shameless ogling he was doing again, "uh.. i apologise. what were you saying?"
"i was asking if you wanted iced mocha or a milkshake. but it seems you have something better to taste, am i right?" sylus teased, getting only more and more amused. he subtly flexed his arm for zayne, even. zayne, on the other hand, wanted to sink into the ground. he felt a deeeep shudder run through his whole body, because not only he couldn't hold his gaze in one place, but he now also successfully turned his morning wood into an actual erection. good thing he was planning to take a shower..
"i don't– ugh, forget it," zayne groaned, "iced mocha, please. i'll take a quick shower."
"whatever helps that, dear doctor."
₍^≧ ≦^₎Ⳋ 三三
after a generously sweet breakfast and some discussion on the couch, zayne and sylus agreed on sylus making the food and zayne decorating the house to create a warm, welcoming atmosphere for when you come home. sure, they will most likely fall asleep by that time, but it makes it all more vanilla.
a bit later, sylus is already almost done with making dessert and beginning on the main course. while he fetched some ingredients for the icing, zayne, who was sitting at the dining table and setting plates, secretly snuck up on the bowl with icing and tried putting a few spoonfuls of extra sugar, about to pour the second, when he was suddenly pressed against the counter, hips slotting into hips, thick arms wrapping around his small waist. sylus caught him in the act.
"what are you doing, hmm? you want our kitten to get cavities?" his voice rumbled, mouth right up against zayne's ear. sylus holds him tighter and moves impossibly closer, moulding zayne entirely to his body. his back obtained a little arch, and his whole being froze. instantly, his face surged with heat. not from embarrassment, no, but from the situation. he could very clearly feel sylus' bulge slotted right against his entrance, the only barrier being their pants, and the hot moist air teasing zayne's sensitive ears made shivers run down his body.
"i– i thought you were.." zayne was at a loss of words, unable to think straight. the only straight thing that was left of him are his glasses. sylus chuckled, the deep rumble resonating inside zayne and tickling his neck.
"i suppose i caught a kitten sneaking treats."
₍^. .^₎Ⳋ
many hours pass in preparation – with zayne, who kept trying to sneak some snacks, and sylus, who kept teasing zayne for how ridiculously perfectly he was trying to decorate. however, despite doing a seemingly innocent activity, he couldn't stop thinking about that picture, imagining how sylus' could've bent him over right then and there.
sylus knew perfectly well that zayne desired him, and was determined to break his resolve. it doesn't take much to arouse zayne — they just needed the appropriate circumstances. alone, in the dark, all worked up. just thinking of him, needy and submissive, begging for more, flushed at his own shamelessness, made sylus anticipate his plan even more.
he has been planning this one for a while. zayne is not one for public stuff, and is especially socially conscious and awkward, so he needed to open him or his legs without you there. and now, you were away on a work trip, not coming until the next morning – is the perfect time and place. even him walking around shirtless was part of his mastermind thinking.
sylus turned off the stove and carefully plated the food, making it look like a michelin star restaurant dish, poured some light wine for himself, an alcohol-free syrupy mojito for zayne, lit a few candles zayne has set and called it a date night. both of them very much enjoyed the dish, but mostly zayne. sylus was just admiring his cute reaction from the sweet notes in his plate.
once full and having enjoyed dessert, the two of them settled on the couch to watch a movie. sylus offered for zayne to choose, and he, surprisingly, chose a light-hearted romance movie.
around half an hour later, the movie had gotten a bit too boring and vanilla. zayne still paid attention, however, since he was the one who chose it. sylus on the other hand, had long abandoned watching it. his eyes were fixed on the forest-like hazel ones. his gaze lowered to his nose, traced his barely-flushed ears, and at last, stopped on his lips. they seemed very soft. now that the tv screen flickered white, sylus noticed a piece of cream from dessert still sitting on the corner of zayne's lips.
without thinking, sylus reached out to wipe it off. his hand naturally went under zayne's chin, pulling him away from the movie. his lips parted, eyes going wide at the action, staring at him. sylus' ruby eyes stared back, wordlessly asking for permission. as he always does.
zayne is hesitant. he understands where this is going to go. he gulped, his adam's apple bobbing up and down nervously. sylus closes in on the action, noting to not go overboard. after a few beats, zayne's lashes fluttered closed, letting the man do as he pleases.
sylus slowly leaned in, experimentally flicking his tongue over the sweet frosting, his grip on zayne's chin unrelenting. seeing that zayne did not pull away, he stole a quick kiss on the corner of hs lips. and another on zayne's plush lips. and a few more, hands roaming over his pyjamas, feeling the warmth emanating from zayne. the gentle, barely there kisses turned into a sloppy makeout, lips suckling on lips, teeth clacking in a rather mild fight for dominance.
zayne struggled to breathe, the air around them turning hot and moist. sylus' fangs nipped at zayne, forcing a gasp out of his sweet mouth. he took it as an opportunity to finally slip his tongue in. their kiss intensified, and zayne’s hands gripped sylus’ shirt, looking for some sort of anchor to this dizzying pleasure. he felt overwhelmed by how deep and possessive sylus’ kisses are. your kisses were soft, requesting. but this? this was consuming. heated. his tummy pooled with warmth, desire piling like a snowball.
sylus was just about to push zayne on the couch and ravish him, when a better idea snuck in his head.
sylus grabbed zayne by his sides and seated him snugly against his lap. his arms are tightly locked around zayne’s hips, making sure zayne can feel his half-hard cock. truth be told, he has been slightly erect ever since he caught zayne shamelessly ogling him. zayne moaned something between confusion and satisfaction into the kiss, suffocating in the intensity of their encounter. despite being on top of sylus at the moment, he couldn’t help hut feel heavily dominated by the other, desire to submit spilling over the already full glass that was filled drop by drop over time.
sylus interrupted their kiss, and zayne barely made a sound of protest when he felt wet, sloppy smooches and suckles going down his neck. his tongue felt hot, almost burning against zayne’s creamy skin, leaving his dna to last for a few more hours and marks to bloom for days. zayne was panting, breath hitching as soon as he felt sylus’ tongue ravishing his thundering pulse, biting and soothing.
“sylus, please..“, zayne whined, voice breathy and unstable, not even sure what he’s pleading for. maybe he needed sylus to satisfy the ache in his pants, or maybe he needed sylus whole.
thankfully, sylus understood how much zayne had to contemplate before giving in, and obliged. his hands were quick to remove zayne’s shirt, revealing his delicious tits and delicate nipples. they brushed all over, stopping on the soft, round muscle, squeezing until the skin spilled through his fingers, forcing a whimper from zayne’s mouth. the rough callouses from fighting and working on hands scraped against nipples, instantly hardening the pink buds.
and of course, sylus noticed it just as fast as zayne’s nipples pebbled. sensitive, he thought. zayne watched every single action, trying to predict what sylus will do next, but he didn’t think there would be a possibility for him to suddenly grab and pinch the buds.
zayne’s eyes widened immediately, mouth falling open around a breathy moan, then turning into a low whine as the unexpected pressure blended into pleasure.
“you have such cute tits. plump and soft..”, sylus observed zayne closely, ruby eyes switching from admiring his torso to staring deep into hazel as he let go of one nipple just to suck on it, tongue swirling around, his grip on the other unrelenting. zayne’s hips subtly twitched, desperately bucking into sylus’ to seek the sweet, rippling pleasure. sylus explored everywhere — zayne’s collarbone, abs, ticklish sides and lower back, shoulders, not leaving a single area untouched. his hands trailed down to the doctor’s plush ass, stroking the mass behind layers of fabric before groping the cheeks, squeezing them together, letting him feel what was coming.
it was embarrassing for zayne — sylus had barely played with him and he was already so close. stop moving, you can’t cum so fast, he resisted. and yet, his hips did not listen to his commands, beginning a messy pace of humping his cock into sylus. god, he could feel just how big it is compared to his, could imagine that monster stretching his insides, ruining him for anyone else.
zayne whined against sylus’ hair, holding onto his cranium for dear life. one hand grabbed onto his hair, not sure whether to pull him away or bring him closer. the burning, delicious friction against zayne’s crotch brought him impossibly closer to the edge, and him twitching against sylus told him everything he needed to know. sylus’ hands gripped his hips, rocking them against his own bulging cock, the movement both too much and not enough for both. despite wanting to cum himself, sylus doubled on his efforts, biting and sucking on zayne’s nipple harsher, hand both twisting and pulling on his other nipple, the pain finally throwing him over the edge.
“syylus.. “, he whimpered, “i’m gonna–!”
zayne’s orgasm came suddenly and hardly, crushing over him in waves. his back arched, almost leaning into the touch, seeking out more. his nipples became increasingly sensitive, each suck and lick and tug from sylus sending another pleasurable pulse to his cock, twitching and spurting out more and more drops of sweet, hot cum. he wailed, the pleasure overwhelming his every other sense, dick throbbing inside his boxers, so hard that it was almost like it was begging to be freed. sylus lifted his gaze to zayne, in the throes of his orgasm, admiring just how debauched he looked. his eyes were clenched shut, mouth hung open around soft, overstimulated moans as sylus kept playing with zayne’s buds.
only when zayne pulled at his hair did he, reluctantly, stop. zayne slumped on sylus’ lap, tucking his face into his neck and panting, going down from his high. he reveled in the rich scent of musk and gunpowder etched in sylus’ skin, the scent equally soothing him and making him want more.
a few beats pass, and sylus speaks, “as much as i enjoy you relaxing on my lap, i believe you should take care of what you have caused, kitten”, gesturing at his still-hard cock. sylus’ arms held zayne captive, gently squeezing his waist as a way of saying ‘mine’.
“how do you want to do this? should i make you jerk me off? or use that pretty mouth of yours to suck me? or maybe.. i should just fuck you? making you scream by hitting every sweet spot has been on my mind a lot lately.. the decision is yours, of course.” sylus whispered in his ear, his arms holding zayne firmly in place, sultry voice teasing him. he was being quite generous, if he said so himself. if it weren’t for etiquette, zayne would have already been speared on his cock, fucked dumb out of his mind.
zayne was barely thinking, all he knew is that he wanted, no, needed more. but he couldn’t just say it — it’s too hard for him to ask.
“i-i— mmh..” zayne whimpered as sylus nibbled on his earlobe, waiting for his answer. he was getting impatient, cock throbbing at the mere thought of taking zayne to town.
“if you don’t decide, i will. now come on kitten, i’ll count for you. on one, you have to tell your choice. now be a good boy and tell me. three.. two.. one…”
“zero.”
zayne didn’t even get to think before he was flipped around, sylus kneeled between his legs, unbuckling his belt and shucking his trousers off. his cock bulged out of his boxers, a little wet spot forming right where his tip should be. all of their remaining clothes disintegrated in crimson mist, laying zayne bare for sylus to see. the cold air hit zayne’s body, nipples and cock hardening again instantly.
“since you didn’t choose in time, i get to, and i think option three suits us both the most. that okay with you?” sylus caged zayne in his arms, hovering right above him.
zayne looked away from the stern gaze, shyly nodding. he felt impossibly more flustered, like a teenager in school in front of his crush, but he needed it sooo bad. he has been yearning since day one, just couldn't admit that he is bisexual.
his chin was suddenly gripped by a warm hand, forcing him to look straight into sylus' eyes. "ah-ah-ah, none of that. i need verbal confirmation. you're a big boy, aren't you?", sylus teased, "now, tell me, do you want it?"
zayne could barely hold the intense eye contact, but at the same time, as intense as it was, the eyes looking at him were also soft and reassuring, the gaze alone telling him that he doesn't have to do this.
"i..", zayne began, closely observing sylus' irises. they were deep in their colour, shining like blood. his pupils were blown wide in the dark, covering almost the whole crimson plate. were they always this beautiful?..
"i want it. please." he whispered, the last word barely audible. sylus had almost missed it, but he was nothing less than attentive when it came to his partners.
sylus hummed in satisfaction, the deep sound reverberating through zayne's bones. "your safe word is snow. don't hesitate to use it – if you feel even the slightest pain or discomfort, use it. i don't want to hurt you."
and with that, began their intimate encounter. sylus' big hand reached out to collect some cum from zayne's flushed cock, stroking it a few times until he could hear a whimper from the younger man. his clean hand reached out to spread and push back zayne's legs to give him access to his little hole, folding it until it almost touched his chest, the other limb resting on the couch. sylus' finger hovered around the puckered hole, poking at prodding at the skin around it. he let out a chuckle as he saw the hole fluttering around nothing when he massaged the skin right below zayne's balls, almost as if it was begging to be filled.
zayne's breath hitched, closely watching every move sylus made. but he couldn't prepare for the moment his finger finally tapped at his asshole. his cum at sylus' fingers acted as lube, and slowly, with some tension, sylus was able to get half of his finger in. he could barely move it with how tightly zayne was clenching around him, though.
sylus’ face broke into a smirk, seeing how confused and at the same time, curious, zayne looked. it was warm inside him.
zayne felt strange. he had never had anything inside him, beside the one prostate examination a few years ago. feeling the finger wiggle around, he tried his best to relax, but his ass was not a muscle he paid attention to often, so it was hard.
he forced himself to relax, taking deep breaths and focusing on sylus’ scent. slowly, but surely, sylus finally got his whole finger in, zayne's walls fluttering around it.
"how does that feel?" sylus asked. zayne took a deep breath, gathering his composure to speak, "it's.. stra—" zayne's back arched, face contorting in pleasure from the electric wave of pleasure as sylus curled his finger up, right up against his prostate, a downright pornographic moan ripping out of his throat.
sylus just caressed, no, pressed on zayne’s prostate.
his eyes looked up at sylus with a bewildered gaze, shocked at how sneaky he could be — first few seconds and he was already attacking his weak spots. before zayne could even recover, that same finger started a steady pace of caressing his prostate, pleasure rolling off in waves. it was not enough to make him cum, but enough to drive him crazy.
each soft thrust made zayne more desperate, feeling himself getting loose from all of sylus’ actions. it got to a point that his panting began getting released as whimpering.
zayne’s whimpers were an angel’s chorus to sylus’ ears, pretty breathless noises as the strings on the harp. zayne didn’t know where to put his arms, or his legs, or himself overall – it’s his first time being on the receiving end. at this point, he could tell he was getting quite loud, sylus’ ministrations ripping off his composure. one hand was curled in the couch pillow next to his red face, the other going up to cover his mouth in an attempt to conceal his voice. he knew your colleague, and often partner on missions, lived right above your apartment. too much noise and he might get the wrong idea, and also put you in a sticky situation.
sylus, however, did not like that. his free hand pushed zayne's away from his mouth, pinning it and intertwining their fingers together above his head.
"none of that, sweetie. i want to hear every single sound. i need to know what makes you feel good, don't i?" he whispered in zayne's ear, voice soft yet deep. zayne could only react with another whimper, too lost in the newfound feelings.
after a few thrusts, sylus deemed zayne loose enough to fit another finger. he pulled out, gathered some more cum from his dick, and carefully pressed on zayne's hole again. when he popped in with ease, he knew zayne had finally relaxed. he now focused on stretching him out rather than teasing, digits moving in scissoring motions, twisting around, determined to spread zayne’s walls wide.
zayne shivered, feeling the cool air seeping inside his hole with each opening sylus made. suddenly, he felt that he was getting needier. just moments earlier, sylus was pushing his buttons hard enough to throw him off guard, but now, the simple retract and connect was far not enough for his liking.
he couldn’t beg, though, no, that’d be too embarrassing, almost as if he was a cheap slut pleading for cock. yet he couldn’t stop his body’s natural response – his inner muscles fluttered around the dexterous fingers, pulling sylus deeper.
however, sylus merely chuckled, an amused smirk plastered all over his face. he pulled his fingers out altogether, the shliick reverberating through the room. before zayne could complain, three fingers pierced right through his hole, thrusting in and out at a slow pace.
the torture went on, until sylus deemed zayne ready. his walls were no longer rejecting him, and they were just shy of being loose around the digits.
sylus moved his hips closer to zayne’s, the pale legs spreading further to accommodate his wide frame. he admired the look on zayne’s face – blush creeping from his neck up to his head, eyes glassy, neck covered in blooming hickeys, clearly still very shy about what's about to happen.
zayne could feel his heart in his throat, beating so hard he coukd swear sylus can hear it. "you ready, sweetie?" asked sylus, voice soft and soothing. zayne gulped down hard, before finally nodding.
sylus aligned his mushroom tip with zayne's hole, gently pushing himself in. with some resistance his head finally popped in, just a light sting making zayne wince. his arms reached out to wrap around sylus' shoulders, seeking something to anchor him. sylus himself gripped zayne's hips tightly, the sensation sudden and white-hot after little to no contact with his dick, most likely leaving bruises.
once zayne eased up around sylus, he slowly pulled out just a bit and slid back in, putting in an extra inch with every thrust. it continued until finally, sylus' hips were flush against zayne's ass. as much as he wanted to move and feel the exclusive delight of zayne's insides, sylus forced himself still, careful to not hurt him.
a few moments pass in silence, only heavy breathing heard throughout the room. zayne finally got accustomed to the stretch, pain now replaced by delicious fullness. he could swear he felt his tummy swelling with how big sylus is.
"..you can move," zayne whispered, eyes closed in an attempt to gather his composure, that all went out of the window as soon as sylus pulled out and roughly filled him again, beginning a stable rhythm.
zayne’s mind was fraying at the edges, all rational thought thrown out the window as soon as sylus’ mushroom tip barely nudges at his sweet spot with every thrust he makes.
sylus groaned, zayne's flesh feeling exquisite. he could tell zayne was already close, walls fluttering against his dick. sylus’ hand reached out to wrap around zayne, barely pumping it a few times, each one getting him a clench.
“w-wait— ah!- im gonna–” zayne whined, teying to hold his pinnacle back, even with the thick cock almost splitting him in half, thrusting and grinding in tandem. sylus revelled in the chorus of moans, placing kisses all over zayne’s body as a way of soothing him, when really, it was only pushing him further towards that high.
before zayne could process what was happening, sylus’ fangs already sank into his chest, hot breath tickling the pink nipples, and that was his undoing. zayne’s back arched into the feeling, eyes barely rolling back as he came all over his torso and sylus’ abs with a low whine, stars bursting behind his eyelids.
sylus hadn't expected for such a simple action to push zayne over the edge, but he wasn't complaining. got him curious, even. his hand reached out to zayne's trembling body, fingers swiping off a few drops of cum and sucking it off. sweet and warm. zayne couldn’t even recover as sylus was manhandled him to make him lie on his tummy, putting a pillow under zayne’s hips and forcing his back into an arch, continuing his ruthless pace, thrusts deeper than before from the change of position.
₍^≧ ≦^₎Ⳋ- •́⸝⸝)>
you had just finished your mission, absolutely exhausted and longing for comfort. thanks to your experience, the target was eliminated must faster than it should've, and now you could finally get your deserved rest. settling on your motorcycle, you drive through the night back home, where your livers were waiting for you. you'd known for a fact they're likely sleeping right now, but that doesn't make it any less exciting.
the wind whips against your hair, the city quiet through your helmet, save for the steady hum of your engine. as you reach your neighbourhood, you slow down to avoid making excess noise. parking in front of your building, you notice soft yellow light lightly illuminating the living room. maybe they fell asleep watching a movie..
the elevator ride is completely silent. as you reach your apartment, the closer you get, the more you hear weird noises. maybe it was that neighbour with the cat that you swore had adhd.
but, as your door clicks open with a scan of your fingerprint, it's clear that the noises are coming from the living room. right where the light came from. you slowly move inside, careful in case it's an intruder. but what sort of intruder could make plap plap noises and muffled moans?
you take a peek at the corner, gulping down the saliva that gathered in your mouth. your eyes widen at the sight, almost making a loud gasp but clapping a hand at your mouth.
there, on the couch, lay zayne with sylus behind him, both naked to the bone. zayne is the one moaning, his head buried deep in your pillows as sylus thrusts into him at a rhythm rough enough to push zayne forwards on the couch with each thrust, cum leaking from his hole.
they’ve never fucked before. never. so it was a sight to see. you couldn’t exactly see zayne’s face, but sylus was quick to fix that as he pulled on his hair, revealing his beauty, brows pulled together and gaze unfocused, mouth open around helpless moans, oh his sultry sounds. each one was prettier than the last, more breathless, more whiny, more desperate.
you felt yourself get incredulously wet, pussy clenching around nothing. you were hypnotised. each move of sylus’ hips moving zayne, zayne’s ass shaking, his rolled back eyes.. you were mesmerised by what you were seeing. well, it’s not everyday you see zayne so.. needy. submissive.
“you like that? you like that, you dirty doctor?”, sylus asked, not slowing down his thrusts nor loosening his grip on zayne. zayne’s vision turned bleary, on the verge of passing out from the delicious feeling of being emptied and filled up again, the only thing keeping him up being the pillow under his hips. yet nothing could stop the onslaught of pleasure, the lust that enveloped sylus, finally reaching that peak and filling zayne up, like a meat pocket, letting him feel every twitch, every spurt, and zayne came harder than he ever did.
“oh my god.”
sylus had almost immediately turned around to see you hiding behind the corridor corner. zayne took his time from exhaustion, ears still ringing a bit, yet, what he saw there woke him up like a bucket of cold water.
“you..”, he panted, “you w-weren’t supposed to se—“
a/n: FINALLY.. AFTER FIGHTING TUMBLR’S STUPID DRAFT SYSTEM, I DID IT. the fic that i was supposed to post as a valentine’s special.. anyways hope you enjoyed zayne getting absolutely railed
im sincerely sorry to the fic anon. because i have been planning ton intially post it on the balentines, but kept postponing it because of school, and just as i finally finished it? i turn out ti have an exam the next morning. so i’ve been working my ass off writing and learning ts
Tags: Pegging, anal fingering, tooth rotting fluff with smut, ZAYNE TAKES IT LIKE A GOOD BOY
(AO3 link)
Spoilers for Zayne's new card, Silent Undertow!!!!
He knows what he's doing when he leans over the edge of the pool like that, eyes low and dilated already. Mist curls around him languidly, but even that can't hide the desire oozing from his skin.
It's been nearly a week since you've been allowed more than a few stolen moments with him, and it seems unfair. The village had stolen Zayne away from you and treated him as some chaste, benevolent deity. They doted on him like a captive prince, perfect and spoiled, but only so long as he followed their rules. And they were rather strict on enforcing them, as well as having Zayne rehearse the ceremony.
The entire thing seems a little unfair, and backwards to you. Why should a deity be trapped in a pretty cage and be made to follow the command of mortals?
Should a deity not be worshipped?
He deserves to be, you think, as you run your palms up the slope of his back. The chains adorning his body make small sounds above the running water, and you watch Zayne melt into your hands. He drops lower into his arms, and moans when you press harder.
It's beautiful.
The robes he wore for the ceremony were elegant, and did give him a gentle divine aura. The sort of beauty you wanted to preserve. This feels like that same man, but vulnerable. The humanity that lives inside of an ageless unknowable god, unaffected by human thoughts or desires like greed, or lust.
This is not a god, this is Zayne, and he deserves to be worshipped all the same.
It doesn't take much for your hands to slide down to his hips and take hold of them to pull him against you, he had already mostly gotten there on his own.
There is no shyness in his reaction, as he gasps when you roll your hips against his ass. The action is nothing more than a tease for both of you. You can't really feel anything, and you're not actually stimulating him in any meaningful way, but fantasy alone is apparently enough for him.
So you do it again, and watch his head fall between his shoulder blades. A moan is muffled against his arm.
“So needy tonight, Zaynie, did you really miss me that much?” You stroke a thumb against his hip and hold him fast, moving in small circles against him.
“Yes,” he breathes with no hesitation, “it was supposed to be our vacation and I didn't get to spend any time with you.” It's petulant. You laugh, and run a few fingers up his spine. It sends a shiver through his back, and his breath shudders.
“I don't think that's how the deity of the mountain should be acting.”
Zayne huffs. “If I am a deity, then shouldn't I get to do what I want?”
“Hm, maybe if you were the god of fussy toddlers.”
Zayne turns over his shoulder enough to glare at you, but you take that moment to move your hand down, between his legs where you cup his twitching balls in your palm.
“You–” he starts, and breaks off with a sigh when you squeeze and roll them. It does enough to distract him for a moment, and you lay yourself across his back, not tall enough to get up to his ear by a longshot, but you can wrap your arms around his waist.
“If you're a deity,” you hum, kissing the warm, soft skin of his back while your hands roam his chest and stomach, “then don't you require an offering? What gifts please this fussy god?”
He still doesn't seem pleased by the connection to himself and any sort of divinity, but if he could see himself, you think no one could argue. He's the sort of beauty that's just out of plain sight. The kind you don't notice until you look at him a second time. Something on the edge of divine, a god who aches to live among mortals. To live, and love, and die like all the rest.
“Fussy gods don't ask for gifts, they demand them.” Zayne's voice has gone soft and breathy, and his moan is desperate, almost cutting himself off when you reach further down to cup the heat between his thighs.
“Oh?” You muse, lips and teeth still carving a path up and down the knobs of his spine, unable to resist sinking your teeth into the meat of him. You want to mark him everywhere. Let the universe see this god kneel to you, let it know he belongs not to it, but to you.
“Then tell me, what does this fussy god demand? What will please his grace?”
You stand back up, and Zayne is flat against the rock now, his legs spread in the water to make room for you. He looks so pretty with the sheer skirt floating away from him in the water. It's easy to push it away from his backside so you can grope him properly. Two handfuls isn't enough to cover it by far, but you still get a good enough hold to squeeze. It makes Zayne whine quietly.
“You,” he says, and you love how breathless he gets like this, “you are enough.”
“This greedy and fussy god wants to keep me. Shouldn't you be above such things?”
You're teasing him, distracting, waiting for the moment when the wheels stop turning in that big head of his and he surrenders to his desires.
“I,” He says, and stiffens a little when you pull down his shorts over the curve of his ass, exposing his bare flesh to the warm, rushing water.
“I am above nothing when it comes to you.” It comes out in a rush, like a confession, his eyes on the rock in front of him, between his elbows. “Divinity or not, you are my only desire. I would endure anything if it meant I could be closer to you.”
It hits like a blow freezing you for just a moment by the raw, blunt way he declares his devotion for you. Because you know it's true. You know you could be much crueler to Zayne and he would still remain as close to your side as he could. You could love another man, and he would be there to congratulate you at your wedding. He would be the one pulling your hair back and protecting your dress when you threw up over the toilet later in the night. He would be the one to hold you when you eventually divorced the other man, and he would do it without ever expecting you to fall into his bed for it. Zayne would love you quietly, patiently, even if you never loved him back. The way a flower loves the sun.
“I am the blessing the god asks for as his reward for his kindness?”
Zayne huffs in a way you recognize instantly as annoyance, and turns in the water, suddenly looming over you. It's the first good look you've gotten at his face in a few minutes, and you're pleased to see it tinged red, his eyes slightly narrowed, but dilated and dark, and his breath unsteady through his nose. He looks especially cute with those little shorts bunched around his thighs, the stretchy waistband keeping his obviously hard cock trapped beneath the fabric.
“Please,” he says so softly, bending down to rest his forehead against yours, “I don't want to be a god.” It comes out so needy and desperate that it feels like an honest confession, but you can't be sure if it just sounds that way because he's so worked up.
“I just want to be Zayne, I just want to be yours. That's enough.” His hands find their home around your waist, and he curls around you further to hide in the crook of your neck.
This is how you know it's been too long since you've taken proper care of your Zaynie, if he's gotten this emotional this quickly. It's not uncommon for him to get emotional about sex and love, the two are one and the same to him, but he gets this way more so when you haven't had a scene with him in a while. Couple that with a vacation that was primed for much more sex than you've been able to have, plus the near complete removal of one another, and it's no wonder he must be feeling needy.
You wrap your arms around his waist and press your ear against his chest, where you can hear how quickly his heart beats for you.
“Do you want me to take care of you tonight?” You ask almost in a whisper, against his warm skin as your nails drag over his back. It makes him shudder, but a second later he's thawing into a puddle in your arms.
Zayne tilts his head, his nose buried in your neck, and the breath from it tickles. He hesitates.
“Please.” It comes out once you give him a moment of silence. You've trained him well, he's learning that he is allowed to voice what he desires. That service does not equate denial.
“Good boy.” Right next to your ear, you can hear the tiniest whimper on his lips, and if you could see it, you have to guess you would have seen his cock jump in those little shorts too.
“In that case,” You pull away from his clinging embrace, and cup both of his cheeks as he looks at you. He's already halfway down into subspace, you can tell by the look in his eyes. On the edge of falling the rest of the way, just waiting for permission. “What does my fussy, greedy Zaynie desire then?”
That question alone is almost as bad as a punishment for him, he hates being asked what he wants. What he prefers is to simply be used. To be a vessel for your pleasure, even if it leaves him unsatisfied. At times, that's even what he prefers.
If there were a way for his face to get redder, you think it would, by the way his eyelashes flutter, and his thumb rubs at your hip. All the things you two have done, and he is still so shy at first. You just need to turn off that big smart brain of his, and his bashfulness will fade behind his lust.
Once again, patiently waiting in silence is all it takes for Zayne to work up the courage to speak, but it's so quiet you almost miss what he says despite how close you two are.
“I want you inside me.”
The arousal that lights up inside you is fierce and bright. You have pegged him several times before, and he enjoys it much more than he pretends to let on. It's amazing how easy it is to fuck Zayne dumb, to see all lucidity leave those sharp hazel eyes and cloud over with mindless pleasure. When his muscles go lax, his mouth falls open and he gasps and moans with each thrust into his body. When he fully surrenders and stops fighting the ropes around his wrists, accepting what he's being given. When the muscles in his thighs start quivering, when he starts begging you so sweetly to cum, even though his cock has remained untouched the entire time.
Without thinking, your fingers tighten into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you watch his eyes nearly roll back at the sensation. His inhale is sharp and stilted.
No one would know it, but whether he's respected, perfect, surgeon and mentor Dr. Zayne Li, or the innocent, obedient, and chaste god of the mountain, for you? He's a slut for you.
“Is that what you want tonight? After all those days apart, my Zaynie wants me to fuck him?” Your other hand moves back down to his bare ass, and you shamelessly reach between his cheeks to probe the pad of your finger around his pretty hole. Dark eyebrows pull together with a little frown at the gentle teasing. Greedy boy.
“Yes.” That comes out with more confidence, and he leans down to press a kiss to your lips as you play at the entrance of his body.
“Say it.” You whisper against his lips, holding him against you with the hand still in his hair. Zayne shivers in your embrace.
“I want it.” Is what he manages after a moment, a bit hoarse with reluctance.
“No.” You pull him back, and look straight into his eyes, half lidded. He's burning with shame. “Tell me you want me to fuck you. Say it.” The command is firm, but not unkind. It simply demands an answer.
Zayne takes in a deep breath and you watch him choose to surrender to his desires. To choose vulnerability and the possibility of rejection. You watch his shoulders slump and the intensity in his eyes grow darker.
“I want you… to fuck me.” It's said with slow deliberation, each word enunciated so as to not be misheard.
So this is what god desires when he tastes the sweet sin of man. Not power, or domination, but to see what faith and subjugation feels like. To learn what it is to want and understand wanting. To be selfish. To be greedy, and fussy if he so wishes. And to receive pleasure and love all the same. To be imperfect and still be cherished for it.
With your grip on his hair, you pull him closer, until you can whisper in his ear. “Do you want to wait for it?”
Your strap on wasn't on your packing list, unfortunately, so as much as you would love to take Zayne back to your room and watch his beautiful body as he rolls his hips on top of you, that won't be a possibility until you get home.
He moans, taking the opportunity to press open mouthed kisses to your throat like it's a mindless action. An instinct rather than a conscious choice. “What if I told you,” he says, airy, between his kisses, “I have a solution to that problem?”
That stops you. What? You yank him back from your neck to let him get a good look at the incredulity on your face. A cute little moan of surprise leaves him. It's almost hilarious how innocent he's trying to look while admitting that not only does he want you to fuck him silly, but he also just so happens to have a dildo with him? That has to be impossible.
“Are you saying….?” You start, disbelieving, and he raises an eyebrow, lips curling into a tiny, smug smirk. Quickly, you decide that you don't care so much right now, and let him go to push both hands against his chest. “Turn around. Bend over.”
Zayne obeys without protest, taking his position again at the edge of the pool, resting his upper half on the warm stone. You want to devour him. Rip him to pieces and lovingly stitch him back together.
You press down on the middle of his back with one hand, and he arches for you with the gentlest touch. His head rests sideways on his arm so he can still look back at you.
He may have acted the part of divinity and righteousness earlier, but here, for you, he is nothing but sin and temptation incarnate. Perhaps he is both. Who ever said divinity could not be tempted? Who said a righteous act never carries any sin?
Your other hand slides down between his legs, over his plump cheeks, and presses into his body with relative ease. Water doesn't do much for lubrication, but he can take a finger. And he certainly doesn't mind, if his reaction is anything to go by.
At times like this, Zayne really can become such a whore. And you've long since learned he likes a little pain with his pleasure.
He rocks back into that single finger with no shame, hips undulating lazily, like a cat getting a good scratch on the bum.
The image is so funny for a moment that you have to hide the grin on your face.
“More,” he asks after just a few moments, breathy and soft as the most curling around the two of you. You push a little deeper, and he sighs, but you know that's not what he meant, or what he wants. But as long as you're giving it, he will take it with a smile.
“Zaynie,” you say, curling your finger inside of him. He could probably take another.
The only response from him is a lazy hum, eyes fluttering back open. He looks so content, like this is exactly what he needed.
“Do you remember how the host at check in told us the hot springs bestow you with a random effect?”
He nods. It has given you the ability to sense his emotions, though you can't really tell unless you focus on it. Otherwise mostly you have noticed that you simply mirror whatever he's feeling without pinpointing him as the source. It's how you know how bored and vaguely irritated he's been the past few days. It's also how you know how he aches at night. Longing and raging desire, like a dry forest meeting a spark on the ground, but with nowhere to go. Endlessly teetering on that watershed moment.
“Why?” Zayne turns towards you a bit more, brows furrowed.
“You never told me what effect it gave you.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and to punctuate your point, very suddenly press a second finger inside of him. It makes gasp so prettily, lips parted just so.
Because of the water, or possibly his level of arousal, you couldn't tell at first, but now you can feel it.
There's a unique slickness inside Zayne's body, and it's familiar because it feels like your own. The hot springs inexplicably gave your boyfriend a self lubricating asshole. And he's been keeping it to himself all week!
The audacity of this man. Granted, it was probably for the best that he kept it to himself, given the unspoken but strictly enforced “no sex” rule, but still. What you wouldn't give to have known.
“It acts like an aphrodisiac on you.” You say. Not a question, a statement, and you notice how now Zayne is perfectly still.
It makes more sense now, if it's acting like an aphrodisiac on him, that the effect would likely also lower his inhibitions. Pair a needy, horny Zayne with too much free time on his hands, mixed with some poor decision making, and it's no wonder he apparently found himself sneaking out to go to a sex shop. For a dildo. That he got for himself.
You also think it's no wonder he's so pent up like this, if he's been dosed with an aphrodisiac every day, and forbidden from doing anything about it. Not just because of something that's probably somewhere in the scroll of 195 rules, but also because it's a sort of agreement between the two of you.
Zayne's simple preference is to save his pleasure for you. He doesn't often touch himself if he's ever alone anyway, and it easily became a part of your sex life with him. One of just a few rules he doesn't break on a regular basis. He genuinely enjoys his pleasure belonging to you alone.
That's one of the most adorable things about him, you think. He likes the restriction of having rules in place, and being able to break them with no real repercussions. He likes being scolded, and punished, and he loves it when he gets away with his little schemes. You let him, sometimes, to let him feel like he was successfully naughty.
“And it gave you this.” You take one of his hands and pull it back between his own legs, encouraging him to push it inside. He does so, but now he's not so keen on locking eyes with you, as they slip closed.
His finger is much bigger than yours, but it slips into the first few knuckles with ease. You watch as he pushes it in and out. The sight is among the top 3 you've seen in your life. Zayne, bent over in a gorgeous pool, decorated in chains, flushed and wet, fingering himself for you.
If this isn't the very picture of divine beauty, you can't imagine what is. Nothing could hold a candle next to this.
“The gods must have heard your deepest prayer, Zaynie.” You hum, “To give you what you've always wanted.” Fingers curl around his hips and you lean forward over his back. His short, sharp breaths are beautiful.
“A pretty, wet, pussy.”
That's what has him absolutely burning with shame, you don't need to see his blush to notice it in the set of his shoulders, and the way he turns to hide his face in the crook of his free arm.
With a kiss to his back, you tug his hand free. “No more touching my things, Zaynie.” You hum, and press three of your fingers in at once. They glide in with ease, almost no resistance at all, and your suspicions are confirmed. Zayne is even wetter now. And he feels that too, because he goes almost entirely limp, like he's reached his own nirvana. Little sighs of pleasure fall freely from his lips.
“Feels good, baby?” you ask him, and with a little whimper, he nods.
“So good…. Mmm…” Zayne's voice slurs just a little, but it's enough information for you to know he's really far gone. “More. Please.” He please, not even directly to you, but just out into the air in general. A silly little prayer to the universe.
“Pretty boy wants more?” You curl your fingers into his prostate. The motion is simple, a familiar one to you by now. He loves it when you finger him while you suck him off. That's actually most of the reason you ended up here in the first place. A well timed finger, and a Zayne who was suddenly much more open to the idea of experimenting anally.
Of course, if you'd ever asked him directly, you're sure he would have agreed, but it was so much better to have him be the first one to bring it up.
Zayne is like putty in your hands, his body twisting with the first surprising press to his prostate. He groans low in his throat and squirms when you don't let up, massaging the small spongy mass inside of him with your fingers. Quick, sharp flicks, the same way you like it on your clit. Cute, how the same motion works just as well on your boyfriend.
“Oh… Pl…. Please…” he starts to babble, his breath heavy between his words. He's trembling.
“Please what, sweetheart?” You ask, saccharine as you play his body like an instrument. It's a privilege to know him so well.
“Please let me cum.” The words are all a rush, high and desperate, and you know he's telling the truth precisely because of the way he's holding himself so perfectly still. You're hitting that spot just right and he doesn't want you to stop.
“Please!” Higher, reedier.
“No.”
“P-please, please, please,” Now that's proper begging. His reward is a break from your relentless fingers, and the frustration is palpable in his body. You would know it even if you couldn't feel it straight from his own heart.
The inconvenient bit of this side effect is that it's difficult to disentangle your emotions with his. The yawning need gaping in Zayne's chest, the animal desire to rut and fuck and cum spikes and fades away the same in you as it does in him when you pull your fingers free from his loose hole.
Still, he follows your lead when you turn him around and plant yourself on his lap to kiss him, slow and indulgent.
“Not until I'm inside of you, pretty boy.”
His answering moan into your mouth is the sweetest thing you've ever heard.
There are no complaints from him, of course there aren't. Zayne just kisses you like you're his only source of air. It's almost too much to keep up with as he devours your mouth, and you don't even notice for a moment that he's lifted you and carried you from the pool until your back hits cool stone.
Your lips part when you gasp at the sensation, and Zayne gives you enough room to get your bearings.
“You want it bad… don't you?” You taunt him through breath you're still catching, and his grip on you tightens.
“I do.”
Zayne is uninterested in talking apparently, and dives back in for another needy kiss. His lips and tongue are everywhere, and you have to hold onto him for dear life. It is so much. You can feel it so acutely now, the plain and raw emotions deep in his heart.
His love for you is so deep and vast you don't think you'll ever experience the end of it. There's not even a whisper of what the end might look like. His lust for you is a burning spot spreading like wildfire, consuming everything else in its path. He needs you. To the very core of his being, he needs you. Any part of you he can have, he would be content with. To be in your presence alone is enough.
Zayne is lost in a haze of dimly thrumming pleasure and overwhelming need while he kisses you, and he doesn't come back to himself until he finally releases your lips to properly inhale for the first time in what must be minutes. He's trembling. Fragile.
“I want to belong to you.”
You stroke his cheek with a feather touch, and as he always does, he nuzzles closer for more. “You do.”
“I want to fulfill your every desire.”
“You do.”
“I want you to be mine."
“I am."
The declarations are lofty, but here in the quiet space around the two of you, they are simple comforts. Facts that engender a tranquil certainty, the way one might think, “The sun will rise tomorrow.
In this moment you can see clearly how delicate he is. Like a too thin sheet of ice over a lake.
You press one last kiss to his reddened lips, this one chaste and almost careful.
“Take me to bed.” You tell him, and his haze breaks enough for a smile to grace his expression.
“Yes, Miss.” He agrees, and barely looks away from you as he carries you through the door back to your ensuite. Zayne sets you down like a piece of glass on the bed, and turns towards his bag.
Finding what he's looking for doesn't take longer than a few seconds, meaning that it must have been sitting at the very top.
Now that the haze of lust has faded to a more manageable level, you can't help yourself. You have to ask, when Zayne turns around with a rather thick looking baby blue dildo in hand.
“Okay, you have to tell me, where did that thing come from? Did you bring it from home?”
He clears his throat, and averts his eyes as he turns back to find something else.
“I wasn't under constant surveillance, as you know.”
So. He snuck out. Everyone in this village is training your perfect, stoic boyfriend to act as the gentle, chaste god that blesses their homes. And here this ridiculous man is. Sneaking out to go to the local sex shop and buy a dildo.
Surely he must have at least worn a mask when he went in. Anyone in town would have recognized him there.
Either way, this sort of behavior from Zayne has you more than a little floored. It's so… slutty.
You're getting distracted.
“Did you buy a harness, too?” You ask, somewhat skeptical, but at this point… apparently anything is possible.
“No, but…” he rifles around a little more, and you watch him pull out a length of rope. “I can make one.”
“You know how to tie a harness? Should I be worried?”
“No,” there's a barely concealed roll of his eyes, like that's the most ridiculous thing in the world, “I watched a tutorial online earlier.”
It keeps hitting you over and over, Zayne must have been so horny this entire trip, and with nowhere to put all of that pent up energy. It was enough to send him to look up how to tie a rope harness so that he could have a cock in his ass on this trip. Poor Zayne. You realize there was no stopping this from happening. A determined Zayne does not fail.
“Do you have photographic memory?”
“Maybe.” Cryptic asshole. The tilt to his lips is as attractive as it is infuriating. He can be so smug sometimes.
You stand from the bed as he comes closer, take the rope and the dildo from him, and set them down on the bed. Hands free, you can now reach up to kiss him, but this time he follows your pace. Slower. Deeper. More intentional. You lick into his mouth like you're trying to taste every inch of it. The roof, beneath his tongue, behind his molars. Zayne moans between you as you devour him. He's exactly where he wants to be.
This man needs to be naked for you. Now, preferably.
You break from his sweet lips and look down to start pulling the small, sheer, sparkly skirt free from the knot holding it secure. Because it was Zayne who put it on, it's annoyingly secure.
“We're keeping this.” You say as it comes loose and flutters to the floor. Next you work on the similarly tied belt. Zayne's hands settle on your shoulders as he allows you to undress him without interference.
“Keeping what?” He asks, with a hitch to his breath when you yank on his hips and the belt falls to the ground.
“This outfit. You look so pretty in this. Like a prized concubine, all dressed up for your master.” You admire the tight fit of the little shorts for another perfect second, and then tug them down his hips the rest of the way, finally freeing his perfect cock. It stands happily at attention for you, even bobbing from nothing more than your gaze.
Your eyes follow the trail of your hands as you run them up his torso, stopping to pluck at the chains adorning him. Zayne's breathing is shallow.
“Am I your concubine?” He asks, voice small. Silly man.
You smile at him like you're seeing your favorite thing in the world, and hold his face in both your hands. His hazel eyes are just this side of wide as you stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs. You can feel the tremulous anxiety within him. He is so loved. You need him to know that, every moment of every day. He is so dearly loved.
“You're my most cherished one. You spend your days sitting pretty at my feet. I wash you with the most fragrant soaps, I dress you in the most luxurious fabrics, I decorate you with the most expensive jewels.”
“And you feed me the sweetest cakes.”
“From a pure and holy god to a spoiled courtesan.”
“If it means I am yours, then your whore is what I choose to be.” Despite the absurdity of the statement, Zayne says it with no irony. He would go so far as to utterly debase himself for you. It is an arousing thought, to know what lengths he would go to just to kiss the soles of your feet. Almost equally, though, it makes your heart clench. Foolish, hopeless Zayne… you worry sometimes, what would become of him if he lost you.
Joy blankets him like a gentle cloud these days, in a way it never has before. Anyone who has even a passing acquaintance with Zayne can see it, they tell you so often. You can see it too. Sometimes he's like an entirely different man, but you know that's unfair. He is not different, he is merely free now to show all the parts of himself he's kept so hidden.
“Be my whore tonight, then.” You tell him, taking his jaw and tilting his head a little closer. “On your knees.”
He shivers at the blunt command and obeys without another word, dropping to his knees, nude save for the jewelry on his body. You think about letting him remove it for convenience, but in the end, the desire to see him decorated like this for you wins out.
Zayne looks up at you, his expression serene as his hands find home on the tops of your thighs, rubbing idly into the skin. You feel so powerful, above him like this, looking down on your most treasured possession.
He watches nearly without blinking as you undo the clasps at the top of your dress, loosening it until it's barely hanging onto your shoulders.
“Pull it off.” You tell him, and he takes the bottom in a hand, and with almost no force, tugs it down and over your breasts. The fabric pools on the floor by your feet. Zayne doesn't need to be told what to do next, you step out of the dress, and he picks it up with careful hands, folding it over and placing it neatly on a chair nearby.
When his body turns back to you, only then does he allow himself his fill of admiring you. The effervescent warmth in his chest at the sight of you like this is so whole and pure, it surely doesn't belong in this moment.
“Show me how surgeons tie knots, Zaynie.” You tell him, and hand him the length of rope and the dildo. To no one's surprise, Zayne is more than adept as he builds the knots around your hips, uses his fingers to test tension, fits the dildo into a space just at the mound of your pelvis, and pulls taut until it's unmoving and secure. You're impressed, but also a little put out by the sheer perfection of this man. He probably does have a photographic memory.
“Does it feel alright?” Zayne looks up at you once he's done, resting comfortably on his haunches, hands idly stroking at your legs again The pose makes him look so cute you want to squeeze him.
You nod, a little distracted as you reach down to pet his hair. Soft, and silky, but still damp from the steam. It makes it a little bouncier, makes him look younger. It's so cute. Even cuter to see his pleased, content expression.
He really is so much like a cat. Maybe one day you can get him to dress like one for you.
A few more pets to his head and then you cup your hand around the back of it, pulling him closer to your pelvis.
“I know you're already wet, sweetheart, but who's the one who tells me that more lubrication is never a bad thing?” You raise an eyebrow, and he smiles before leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the tip of the silicone.
“So you do listen to me.” Zayne muses, and you watch his eyes flutter closed as he wraps his lips around the blue toy. It's mesmerizing.
“I always listen to you.” You huff, and for good measure, pull him further down into your cock until he lets out a tiny choking sound and momentarily sits back to regain his breath.
His eyes glimmer with mischief. “Last week, I recall–” Zayne begins, but you don't give him a chance to finish, yanking hard enough on his hair that he cries out, and you lean down, closer to him. Threatening.
“Last I checked, good boys don't talk with their mouths full.”
What a brat!
Regardless, it has the intended effect, and Zayne's snark melts away into an indulgent moan. He loves it when you pull on his hair. You use your grip to get his mouth back on your cock, and guide his head up and down until he takes over the motion himself.
When he's not sassing you, he might as well be perfect. Something manufactured to bring all your fantasies to life. And there is nothing better than watching his head bob between your legs, whether it's the pleasure of watching him choke down your cock, or his tongue deep inside you.
As pretty as he is on his knees, moaning around your cock, you want to see him crumble. And he's waited for you long enough. Was brave enough to tell you exactly what he wanted.
“On the bed, sweet boy.” There's a pop as you tug him off, and blearily, Zayne looks up to you for further guidance, so pliant all of a sudden. It takes a second for your command to register, but then he's slinking on top of the sheets and settling down for you. He rests his head on his elbows, and stays on his knees, ass in the air just for you.
It's obscene, it's debauched and dirty, but it also may be the closest thing to religious you've ever felt. If there were a church of Zayne, you'd surely be the pope.
Then you see it. Barely glistening in the light. There's a line of slick dripping from between his legs, down to his compact balls. Zayne is wet for you. He's leaking for you.
You can't help it. He's plenty stretched by now, but you push a few fingers inside of him anyway, moaning at the warm, wet feeling of him, more distinct out of the water.
You knew this was what the hot spring did to you.” It's not a question. He whimpers. Doesn't say anything.
A smack to his ass, making him jolt and yelp.
“You knew.”
Another smack.
“Yes!” His toes are curling, and his body tense in preparation of another slap. “I knew.”
His reward is you running your silicone cock against him, between his cheeks from his balls back up to his now loose hole.
“You were walking around all day, rehearsing for this sacred ceremony while you leaked in your pants?”
Another silence, aside from a soft, reluctant whine. You pull back and squeeze his balls, just enough to be on this side of painful.
“Yes,” he chokes out, and you let go, reaching into him to gather his slick on your fingers to stroke the dildo with.
“Were you wet during the ceremony?” The mere thought of it is sacreligious, but that really only makes it hotter. Zayne thinks so too, if his full body shudder is anything to go by.
“Yes,” he admits, ashamed.
That thought makes you feral. The idea of a being of purity, innocence, chastity would have such a naughty secret beneath his elegant robes. That is one of the things you love most about him, isn't it? That no one would ever know what you do about him. How silly and bratty and bashful and slutty he is. How he presents himself to you, how he kneels for you, worships you, how he is so completely owned by you.
You get on the bed behind him and waste no more fanfare. Both palms pull apart his cheeks, and you get one more perfect look at his oozing hole before you push inside of him in one long, slow stroke.
Zayne cries out at the sudden fullness, but the moment his body seems to register it, he goes almost entirely limp, sagging down like it's some immense relief to be stuffed to the brim. Your intention is to stop and let him adjust for a bit, but Zayne has no such reservations. Almost immediately he starts to move on his own, rocking his hips against yours like he wants to see if there's more to fit inside.
“That's it,” you murmur as you pet his flank, “take it. You can take it. Good boy.”
A shudder goes up his spine, and his next moan is high pitched and more desperate.
It's beautiful, watching this perfect, untouchable man act so wantonly for you. It's just as you thought it would be, the moment you're inside of him, all of his shame disappears. He fucks himself back onto your cock because he wants it so badly, because it feels so good, and he doesn't care about anything beyond that in this moment. Not how he looks, how someone might perceive him at this moment. He doesn't care anymore.
You stop observing and start fucking back into him with smooth, long strokes. You're trying to go easy on him at first, but Zayne doesn't seem to care much for that right now.
“Harder.” He begs through gritted teeth, whimpering every time you push back in. You tighten your grip on his hips and thrust harder. That gorgeous spine dips into a steep arch.
“You love this, don't you?” You ask him, your voice low and almost feral. It's something you're only seeing just now, and you don't know how you ever missed it. “You love feeling so full.”
“Yes,” he gasps out as you pound your hips into his ass, watching the taut flesh jiggle with each slap against him. Your weight is on your hands, holding him down by his lower back. The position effectively keeps him pinned as much as you can while using his own body to stabilize yourself as you fuck into him with punishing thrusts.
“Tell me.” You demand, and through his punched out gasps and moans he finds the presence of mind to look back at you.
The sight is devastating. Hair bouncing over one eye, jaw slack, gaze unable to properly focus. The expression on his face is one of pure, mindless bliss. It makes you tighten your jaw and push into him harder. Your reward is the cutest whine you think he's ever made.
“I love it when you fuck me.” He breathes out, slurring, his very being raw and exposed for you at this moment. Honestly is no longer fighting with his own shame. “It feels so good.” A short cry, and he tenses up, the muscles in his back rippling. It sounds almost like a sob, and his voice is thick next time he speaks, “So good, please… please… harder.”
Harder?
You're not sure how much harder you can go at him, the bed is already creaking suspiciously, and you're sure you must be bruising both of your pelvises with the force of it.
Well..there are other ways you can make it harder for him.
You reach forward and grab the back of his hair, yanking him up until he's on his knees, bracketing your lap, still impaled on your cock. It's amazing how he always chooses to simply obey your demands, no matter how ridiculous they may be.
All movement ceases, and Zayne whines with frustration.
“Greedy boy.” You chastise him.
“Very greedy.” Zayne agrees in that breathless voice of his, limbs still trembling with need.
“Do you want to cum?”
“Yes,” it's quick and desperate, taking the rest of his breath from him. “Please let me cum, Miss. I want to cum.”
You press your lips to his back, roll your hips up into him once, and breathe in the sweaty musk on his body.
“Go on then, my pretty boy. Take it.” You murmur with another final kiss, and lean back onto your hands to watch him.
Usually, your preference is always to watch his face when he comes, your Zayne makes the prettiest faces when he falls apart. But there's still an appreciation of this view; the muscles of his back flexing, the bounce of his pert ass as you actually get to see it swallow your cock like it's nothing when Zayne starts rolling his hips again.
Maybe it's not as good as if he was facing you, but you're not complaining. With a small hum, you reach out with your hand to help Zayne along, intending to stroke his cock while he rides your lap.
Except the moment you touch him, Zayne lets out a choked, guttural sound. Something animalistic, barely human, which is how you know it hits him hard.
Above you, he goes totally still, every muscle locked in place for the briefest second, and then he's shuddering apart. Thighs quivering on either side of you, abdomen clenching down, and his soft whines so helpless. They come in time with each twitch of his cock against your knuckles, and you feel some of his salty cum land on your fingers, barely wrapped around him. His hips move in aborted little jerks, maybe grinding the dildo against his prostate, if you had to guess.
“Ah….” He falls forward onto his hands, and you think his arms might be shaking. Tiny whispers leave his lips, but it isn't until you pull out of him, tug the makeshift harness free, and move closer that you can hear what he's saying. Little ‘thank you’ ‘s breathed into the air like a secret.
Once he realizes you're next to him, you're almost tackled onto the bed. Not really, but he is uncoordinated right now, and much bigger than you, so it isn't hard for him to knock out your breath just by laying on you.
There isn't even time for you to recover from being smothered by a giant snowman before he's showering you in butterfly kisses. All over you, wherever his lips can reach.
You recognize the unbearably full emotion he has in his chest with amusement.
He's feeling cuteness aggression towards you right now.
Adorable.
“Please,” Zayne starts to beg against your skin as his lips memorize the exact slope of your nose, “Use me…” He hasn't quite caught his breath yet, “Let me make you feel good too. Let me try.”
You pet his hair and hold him close. Perfect boy.
“My good boy.” Your voice is tender in his ear, and it makes him shudder. “Lay on your back for me.”
You'd never dream of denying him his greatest pleasure, and his honesty today deserves a worthy reward.
It doesn't take more than a few seconds for your positions to switch, Zayne eager enough that apparently he doesn't need any time to recover from his intense orgasm. You straddle him and crawl up his body to hover right over his mouth, knees on either side of his head.
The angle for you is better if you're facing away from him, but you prefer to see his pussy drunk gaze. The image more than makes up for the slightly worse angle for your clit.
“This is where you belong, isn't it?” You ask softly, running your fingers through his already hopelessly messy hair.
Flushed, hazy, pathetic, and perfect, Zayne nods, his hands tight around your backside, anchoring you to him. Once he has a taste, it's difficult to get him to let go.
Your hum is pleased. Indulgent. “Good boy…” you murmur, about to sink down onto his face when there's a knock at the door. The two of you freeze instantly, and his eyes sharpen in an instant.
The pure irritation he feels is so strong it shocks you into a single, uncontrolled snort. He's more upset about not getting to eat your out than you are about it.
“Emissary!”
Of course it's Shubai. Who else would it be? For a kid who seems to be trying really hard to keep the cryptic title for Zayne a secret, he sure does suck at it.
Zayne groans below you, rolling his face into the side of your thigh. You're still hovering right above him. A cruel torment now rather than a reward.
He nuzzles into your leg more as his eyes stay on yours. A few gentle kisses, his hands still holding you securely to him, and he sighs.
“I'll make it up to you.” He whispers, quiet enough that Shubai shouldn't be able to hear. “You can do whatever you want to me.”
Your smile brightens in a way that sends flickers of nervousness through him immediately.
rating: Explicit [MDNI]
pairing: zayne x sylus
summary: Camboy AU featuring Zayne (mid-20s) and Sylus (early 50s), a corporate CEO navigating grief and legacy. An initially anonymous arrangement slowly evolves into a relationship neither of them intended to make personal. Started as an RP and turned into something far more dramatic. All characters are consenting adults. Please curate accordingly.
tags: #snowcrow #age gap #consenting adults #older man/younger man #emotional intimacy #sexual tension #unresolved romantic tension #alternate universe #character study #corporate setting #past marriage #lavender marriage vibes #children from previous relationship #fluff and smut
co-author: @zayne-li
a/n: hey here you go here's the butthole sex chapter as promised. now i go hide under a rock embarrassed about how long it is and how foreplay and dumb shit takes up more space then the actual sex part. okay thanks love u .
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Masterpost
The fireplace crackles steadily across the room, amber light licking up and throwing slow shadows across the ceiling.
Sylus lounges diagonally across the bed exactly like the man who paid outrageous amounts of money for this suite would. One arm stretches up behind his head, fingers loosely hooked over the headboard. The other hand idly drags over his bare stomach as he watches the television mounted above the dresser.
Some late-night-panel show murmurs in the quiet space.
He yawns, chest expanding before settling again. The cold still clings to him from the mountain—buried deep somewhere the fireplace couldn't reach.
Don't fall asleep yet.
Zayne hadn't said more than that. Just a glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom, towel in hand. Not an invitation, exactly. But not not one, either.
His gaze drifts toward the balcony door. Beyond it the snow that started on their way back has thickened; flakes move sideways now, illuminated by the exterior lights.
The faint sound of water shutting off pulls him back, and he turns his head lazily.
For a while since they'd gotten back, there has been nothing but quiet—two incongruous souls circling each other like curious cats, finally deciding there's no danger, touching noses. The quiet had followed them inside.
Zayne steps out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped a bit too low around his waist, one hand dragging through damp hair. Steam follows like a ghost.
It isn't the first time Sylus has seen the younger man shirtless. Not even close. But something about the quiet—the firelight, the storm outside, the light catching along Zayne's shoulders—this moment feels slower. Water still clings to his skin in small droplets, sliding lazily down his collarbone before eventually disappearing beneath the edge of the towel.
Sylus's hand stills on his stomach.
He tries to maintain the casual posture he's been lounging in. Doesn't quite manage it. Doesn't want to bother figuring out why. His gaze follows Zayne across the room. Focus long gone from whatever panel of experts is debating infrastructure funding.
This isn't just want. That would have been easier.
Here, fresh from the shower, hair damp and slightly messy, towel barely secured...
Sylus exhales slowly through his nose.
You are entirely too old to be staring like a teenager, he thinks dryly, especially after earlier.
Zayne pauses near the dresser, as if looking for something—his glasses—and the towel shifts slightly with the movement. He doesn't look over as he runs a hand through his hair, picking up his glasses only to set them right back down. "You're staring."
Sylus's fingers drum once against his stomach. "You're letting all the heat out."
"The bathroom door was closed...?"
Sylus hums, shifting against the pillows. "Mm. That's not what I mean."
Zayne makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a huff. Sylus turns his attention back to the television as if that might help.
"Sylus."
"Hm?" He looks over. Zayne has brought his bag over and set it on the edge of the bed.
"I have to tell you something." His hands are still on the strap, the worn canvas looking a bit silly against the bedding.
"Alright," Sylus says, voice losing its lazy, teasing edge. He pushes himself up a little higher against the headboard, giving Zayne space. He is no longer just observing, he's listening. "What is it?"
Zayne takes a breath, shaky enough to be audible over the crack of the fire. He looks down at his hands. "I—I know I said that I wanted—"
Sylus doesn't say anything yet. He simply nods, sensing the boundary he isn't meant to cross yet.
Zayne's voice is low, almost mumbled. He looks up, the uncertainty in his eyes reflecting the firelight. "I'm—I've—" He huffs. "I know how to perform. I know what to say. I know what people who have watched me want to see." He pauses.
Sylus tilts his head slightly.
"I've never...I haven't actually been with anyone. I mean… I've never had sex."
The hand resting on Sylus's stomach remains perfectly still. Inside his head, a dozen sharp and witty replies die on the vine.
This isn't a moment for cleverness. Zayne looks like he just handed over a loaded weapon.
"Okay," he says. A single word. No judgment. "Thank you for telling me."
A flicker of something that looks like relief crosses Zayne's face. "I just...thought you should know. Before—"
"It doesn't change anything, Zayne." Sylus replies, though he knows it isn't entirely true. The worry beneath the bravado does nothing to make Zayne any less desirable. If anything, it sharpens something in him.
"Okay."
"Okay," Sylus echoes. He sees the nervous energy still coiled there. He shifts again, patting the empty space on the bed beside him. "Come here."
Zayne doesn't lie down, just sits on the edge like he's about to break some unspoken rule.
"I'm not going to force—"
"I know," Zayne cuts him off. He turns his head, looking at Sylus with furrowed brows. "I know you wouldn't but..."
"But?"
"What if you talked me through it?"
Sylus's breath hitches. Just a little. Not enough that Zayne would notice with the TV on in the background. The request is so direct and trusting that it hits him a bit harder than any kiss they could have shared.
"Yes," he says, reaching out to stroke a finger along Zayne's forearm. "I think I can do that."
Zayne reaches into his backpack, rummaging around—pulling out a sleek black bottle. Sylus doesn't have to look when it's placed in his hands to know what it is. Zayne still doesn't look at him yet, hands now braced on his knees. Shoulders squared, back straight.
"Hey," Sylus's voice is soft, almost careful, trying to coax out that fear so tight in Zayne's body. He sits up more on the bed, mutes the TV; leans over to properly touch him, a palm against his back sliding up and down.
The soothing touch does seem to work a bit, as Zayne's posture relaxes some of its rigidity, but his fists are still clenched in his lap.
"Look at me."
And he does, after a moment. Unsure, nervous, hazel eyes flicking between each of Sylus's.
Something between pity and nostalgia fills him; he tries to think back to his own first time and if he was so outwardly nervous like this too. He can't remember anymore. Not really.
“There you are.” Sylus’s thumb moves once against his back. “Let me help, baby.”
Zayne's eyes glisten with something for a moment, and then he blinks, and it's like Sylus can see the moment he chooses to surrender. He doesn't say anything, he just nods and twists his body closer, the towel falling loose around his hips.
"While I was in the shower, I..." Zayne clears his throat lightly, gaze dropping again, "I'm all... clean." The flustered flush on his ears and cheekbones is adorable, and Sylus can't help leaning in, cupping a hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer, and giving him a small kiss on his forehead.
It's a little funny, how it seems like Zayne is the one who masterminded all of this, to get them to this point. Prepared for everything, despite the fear and anxiety. It's admirable, in a way.
"Hmmm..." Sylus muses, calming Zayne down a bit further with gentle touches, a scratch at the back of his head, a few fingers on his jaw, down his chest. The way he melts into all of it, leaning for more, eyes drifting closed, almost makes his heart ache.
How could he have ever watched from the other side of the screen and not wondered just who was taking care of him?
"In that case, there's something I'd like to do with you."
"What is it?" Already Zayne's voice has gone softer.
"Eat you out. Will you let me?" He tries to phrase it carefully, giving him an out to say no, framing it as something he wants to do for himself.
But it seems to backfire as Zayne's eyes open wide again, and he pulls back the smallest amount from Sylus's wandering hands. His lips part and Sylus waits. He's not sure if Zayne's disgusted by the thought or not, based on his expression.
"...Can you kiss me first?"
Sylus smiles and presses a quick one to his lips. "Why, because you won't want me to kiss you after I've had my mouth all over you?"
Zayne's nose wrinkles. "Just not after it's been... there."
Another, longer kiss this time, that Zayne chases to have back. "You really like kissing, don't you?"
Zayne finally turns towards him fully, the towel falling away as he settles on his knees and cups his face with both hands to slot their mouths together. For a moment it's warm and wet, and he can feel the heat still radiating off Zayne's body.
"I think I just really like kissing you." It's a breath between them, Zayne's eyes still closed as he leans their foreheads together.
That gnawing feeling creeps up again, trying to tell Sylus that this is a bad idea. Too close. Too easy to ruin. He forces it down. Zayne is here, open and trusting and the future has no business in this room yet.
"Lay on your back for me, okay?"
When he does, legs spread enough to fit Sylus between them, arms placed uncertainly on the pillow by his head, Sylus feels the arousal burn into him at the sight.
On the camera, somehow, he'd managed to make himself look a bit smaller, scrawnier—maybe the lighting, the angle, the distance. Here, laid before him, Zayne looks almost completely different. Wide shoulders, strong arms, a trim waist. Soft around the chest and thigh, sharp around the hips and jaw.
Under the scrutiny, though, he starts to grow shy—shifting, pulling an arm down across his stomach, though his pretty pink cock bobs at attention.
"You're beautiful," Sylus says before he can ask, and Zayne jumps with a small gasp.
Sylus hooks his hands under Zayne's knees and pushes them up and open, lifting his hips from the bed to let him see everything. Zayne whimpers; hands moving to cover his flushed face, elbows pressing tight against his sides. A gesture of instinctual mortification. The kind that makes it impossible not to feel the weight of your most exposed spaces being admired.
And Sylus certainly takes his time admiring him. A shiver works through him at the thought of how easily he could ruin him like this.
He doesn't move yet. Lets Zayne get used to the exposure. Runs his thumbs gently over the soft skin behind his knees. His own knee protests faintly at the position—an old ache he ignores—and he shifts his weight slightly to the left without comment.
"None of that. Don't hide from me." The command is effective. With great effort, Zayne peels his arms away from his face and lays them beside his head again. "Are you going to be good for me?"
He watches Zayne wet his lips, and can almost physically see him overthinking as he's barely able to form words. When he finds his voice, it sounds stuck in the back of his throat. "I can be."
"Oh? Keep your legs in the air, then."
Zayne's fingers twist in the pillowcase, but he obeys—hands moving to grasp the back of his knees. The position only leaves him more open. The sight of him holding himself there, nearly trembling with the effort, makes Sylus hum in approval.
"Good boy," Sylus murmurs, his voice a low purr. He leans down—not to touch him where he's most exposed, but to press a soft, wet kiss to the underside of one thigh. He feels the muscle jump under his lips, along with the sharp intake of breath that follows.
He's in no rush, content to break Zayne down piece by piece and put him back together. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"I...I'm not," Zayne stammers, voice tight as if he's slightly annoyed. "I'm just trying to do what you said."
"I know you are," Sylus responds, his tone just shy of firm. He presses another kiss, this one right below the knee. "But are you thinking of how good this will feel? Or are you still worrying?"
The beat of silence is punctuated by the crackle of the fire and Zayne's ragged breathing.
"Both," he whispers.
"Good," Sylus says. "Honesty is rewarded."
With that, he leans in finally and licks a broad, flat stripe over Zayne's entrance.
The response is a yelp, hips jerking away from his tongue.
Sylus sits up a bit more. "Easy."
"Sorry, sorry—I—didn't think you would do it like that."
"Ah." Sylus reaches forward, smoothing a thumb across the other's inner thigh, stroking back and forth. The movement is soothing, or trying to be.
"Sorry. This just—I can't turn my mind off." Zayne finally looks at him. Eyes bright. Beautiful. Hazel and caught in the warm light of the room.
It takes every ounce of restraint he's collected over decades to keep Sylus from crowding the younger man further, to kiss him until that insecurity disappears.
"Is it alright if we try again?"
Zayne swallows, but nods. "Yeah."
As soon as Sylus's tongue circles his rim, Zayne jumps at the touch. Making a little sound. And this time he takes the hint. Pauses. Rubs the pad of his thumb again in soothing lines on Zayne's inner thigh.
This time when he tries, he lets Zayne squirm as much as he wants. Lets the noises settle. Making a wrong step would throw everything out of rhythm.
For a moment he wonders if the young man has ever actually tried to relax in his life. He doesn't let the question slip out. Just hums against skin to bring more of those pretty sounds out into the open.
His tongue rolls over and around the puckered opening until Zayne stops wiggling. Over the tight ring of muscle as he presses inside.
He hears the sharp, shuddering gasp. Feels Zayne's body tense even more; the tight heat around his tongue spasms. At the next soft whine Sylus receives, he takes it as permission to push his tongue in further. Closes his lips around the opening and presses deeper.
This earns him a louder cry that peaks at the end. One of the most desperate things he's heard from him—in person or over stream.
A hand tangles in his hair; trying at first not to tug, like Zayne isn't sure what to do. Cautious. Testing the limits to see if there are any.
Sylus only groans against him in approval.
The gentle movement of pressure changes. Zayne lifts himself back toward him; breath shortening. Small, soft motions as if afraid he'll be noticed.
But Sylus does. Of course he does. The pull at his roots is painfully good.
"Too much," he thinks Zayne says. The hand pulls harder as another moan tumbles out of him. "Please. I want..." His voice is sweeter. Needier. Laced with something that twists at Sylus's insides.
I want...
"What do you want?" Sylus pulls back. Ignores the voice in him that rages from the absence of warmth and the most gorgeous sounds so he can search Zayne's face. "What do you want, baby? Be good and tell me."
Zayne moves and pushes himself up against the pillows. Bites his lower lip, as though afraid of speaking what was so obvious. Sylus can only smirk.
"You're doing so well..." The smile finally curves on his lips. "Really."
Zayne tries to look away but Sylus reaches out, tilts him back toward the conversation. The fingers under his chin stay steady, tightening slightly. Not forcing or demanding. Just waiting.
His other hand slides to Zayne's hip, thumb pressing against the bone. He doesn't pull away.
"If you were me, what would you do next?"
Zayne holds eye contact again. "I...ah...I would want it deeper...Not just..." He gestures vaguely to his lap. "I think I want you to..."
"Show me, then," Sylus's voice drops to a whisper, like he's inviting Zayne in on a secret too big to share with anyone else.
Zayne doesn't tear his eyes away, arm stretching toward the bottle on the nightstand, fingers searching. When he grasps it he immediately draws it close, clicking open the cap.
Sylus observes every move. Patient as ever. Waiting. Watching Zayne pour an absurd amount on his fingers. Nervous hands.
"Take your time," is all he can think to say.
Zayne's Adam's apple bobs. He looks at the clear gel coating his own fingers, then back at Sylus. There's a question in his eyes, a silent plea for permission.
"Go on," Sylus encourages. "Show me."
Zayne shifts positions with an awkward little shuffle. A flush covers his cheeks and ears, but he doesn't avert his gaze. Doesn't even blink. Reluctant only for a second before touching his own entrance and slowly pressing the tip of his index finger inside; teeth catch on the lower swell of his lip.
Withdrawing, he dips his finger a little farther on the second try. Dark eyelashes flutter shut, lip pinching white from his teeth. His finger dips in all the way, past the first knuckle.
Sylus could take control now. Zayne would let him. That much is obvious.
Which is exactly why he doesn’t.
"Show me how you like to be touched."
With a whimper, Zayne angles his wrist so his middle finger sinks in with the other. Sylus watches it disappear with a faint glimmer of satisfaction.
There's no change of rhythm, no technique. Zayne rocks against his hand in the same basic motions: out and back in.
Sylus wouldn't call it savoring the sensation. Maybe Zayne doesn't have the self-control to draw out pleasure. But Sylus can get him there. It just requires more time. Just not right now. Not when he's too focused on that pretty, leaking cock bouncing softly in rhythm with the rest of Zayne's body. The view almost makes him shudder.
A soft "fuck," slips under his breath at the sight.
The corners of Zayne's lips twitch upward. His head falls back, the bared line of his throat leads Sylus's focus to the hollows above his clavicles. They seem more pronounced under the shifting amber light; chest rising and falling, fluttering under shallow breathing.
"Tell me what you're thinking about. What do you need?" Sylus punctuates the question by grasping Zayne's hips tightly.
As quickly as Zayne closes his eyes, they open again.
"You." His reply comes out as a croak.
"Good." Sylus rubs the heel of his palm gently on a hipbone, watching a wave of shivers roll across the body heaving with his efforts. Zayne is burning under the caresses.
Another smile threatens the corner of Sylus's lips. He moves a hand up towards the other's cheek. A thumb glides over one wet eyelid before he sucks a breath into his lungs.
"Sylus—"
He can practically feel Zayne's lungs struggle, each inhale a ragged pull against the ribs he can see so clearly. Sylus can't decide if he looks more desperate than he sounds, the distinction blurred by the raw need pouring off of him.
Sylus reaches for the lube, pouring a generous amount over his own fingers. He lets it warm before touching. "I'm going to help you now. Is that alright?"
Zayne nods quickly. Desperately. His fingers haven't stopped moving, but the rhythm has grown unsteady.
"Words, kitten."
"Yes. Please. It's—" He breaks off. "I want you to."
Sylus positions himself, using one hand to spread Zayne open while the other joins Zayne's own fingers. One finger slides alongside his, gentle but insistent. The sound Zayne makes is caught somewhere between surprise and relief.
"That's it," Sylus says. "You're doing so well. So tight, though—and don't give me that look. I've watched your shows, sweetheart. I've seen what you fit up there. Some of those toys were bigger than my fist." He crooks his finger, pressing deeper. "You can take more than you think."
Zayne makes a strangled sound—mortified, maybe, but his body clenches at the words. His face goes impossibly redder.
He works methodically. Patiently. Adding a second finger only when Zayne's body begins to soften around the first. Stretching slowly. Listening to every hitched breath, every soft whine.
"How does that feel?"
Zayne's head tips back against the pillow. "More. Please."
Sylus hums low in his throat. "You'll get more when you're ready. Not before."
A frustrated noise. But Zayne doesn't argue. Instead his hand reaches blindly down, fingers finding Sylus's wrist where it grips his hip. Closing around it tight. Anchoring himself there instead of the pillow.
Sylus stills for a heartbeat. Glances down at the hold—Zayne's fingers wrapped around his wrist, pressing into the tendons. Not pulling away. Just holding.
He looks back up. Zayne's eyes are squeezed shut, jaw tight, chest heaving. The grip tightens fractionally. Desperate.
Then the hand flies up, pressing against his own mouth. It's a clumsy, desperate motion—forearm shoved against his lips, teeth sinking into the soft flesh there. An instinctual act to stifle the sound.
Sylus releases his hip just long enough to reach up and wrap his fingers around Zayne's wrist. Pulls his hand away from his mouth with gentle but insistent pressure.
"Don't," he says quietly. "Let me hear you."
Sylus watches as he shudders apart. His lower body writhes, a louder, more frantic whimper escaping as his release spills over his torso in quick spurts. Some of it hits his chest, landing in stripes against the flushed, pink skin. Hands fall away, body slumping with relief as his eyes slip closed.
Sylus reaches out and traces his finger across one wet rib, making Zayne jump out of whatever trance had been holding him. He moves to sit up more, watching as Sylus lifts that same finger to his lips. The taste is salt and bitter, and Zayne's breath catches at the sight.
"I'm—" he clears his throat. It must be sore, and the thought makes something dark and satisfied curl inside Sylus's chest.
"Sorry. That was—"
"Hush." Sylus's voice comes out lower than intended. "No apologies." He leans forward and takes Zayne's face between both his hands. Brings their lips together. He's relieved when Zayne doesn't pull away, considering how opposed he sounded earlier to kissing after. But he doesn't force it, doesn't claim—just keeps them close, sharing breath as Zayne continues to tremble and give fragile kisses in return. When he pulls back, Zayne's eyes are still half-lidded. Glassy.
"You okay?"
Zayne hesitates. Like he isn't entirely certain what okay means anymore. Then gives a quick nod.
Sylus leans in again and brushes his lips softly over the side of his jaw. Then the other side. Slow. Like this is the best part of the night.
He knows he could kiss Zayne's whole neck like this. Worshiping. Part of him wants to. Instead, he sits back, hands settling on Zayne's knees.
"How do you want to do this?"
The question comes from Zayne—quick, almost rushed. Like he's afraid Sylus won't let him get a word in.
"However you want."
"Oh." Zayne's voice is faint. Sylus can practically hear the gears turning. His own desire is heavy between them, aching in time with his pulse.
"Whatever you choose," Sylus breathes. "Or we can try again another time."
"No." The word comes out too fast. "Just give me a minute."
Sylus waits. Thumbs rubbing slow circles against the inside of Zayne's knees. Zayne seems to struggle with voicing anything—or maybe making a decision. Brows furrowed. A hand reaching up to push damp hair off his forehead.
Weeks ago, he would have imagined it differently. Faster. Dirtier. Less personal.
There's a part of him that whispers this is too intimate. Too romantic. Things he should be avoiding.
But he can't bring himself to deny Zayne anything right now. Far deeper, he wants to make this perfect for him. Give him a good memory to look back on.
"Alright." Sylus nods, pushing the thought aside. He gives Zayne another soft kiss. The mixture of trust and desire in those hazel eyes is almost too much.
Zayne pushes himself up onto his elbows. Reaches forward to hook his fingers into Sylus's waistband. "I want to see you too."
Sylus obliges. Kneels up, pulls his sweats down, kicks them off the bed. His cock is heavy between his legs, flushed and hard.
He knows already that the size is… intimidating. It has been less a point of pride than a practical complication.
Zayne's breath catches.
"Oh..." is all he can manage. Staring. A flush creeps up his neck, darkening the arousal already there.
"I'll try not to hurt you." Sylus arranges him back against the pillows. "You tell me when it's too much. Okay?"
"Okay." Zayne echoes it back. Trusting. He lets Sylus pull his hips up onto his lap, watching everything like he's being given a demonstration.
Sylus takes the lube once more, pours it generously over his cock. Strokes himself a few times and exhales at the relief—finally touching himself after holding back for so long. Even if this doesn't work, he'd be content just to finish like this. Over Zayne's body. Admiring him covered in his spend.
The image flashes unbidden: Zayne on his knees, glasses still on, mouth open and cheeks pink, ropes of white across his face. Sylus has to squeeze himself tight at the base to stop from coming right then. He files it away. A checklist for later.
With a groan on a heavy breath, he angles himself towards the pucker of Zayne's ass, and it winks shut just as Sylus rubs against it.
"I need you to relax for me, or it really will hurt." The more tense Zayne is, the worse this will be. Sylus isn't sure how else to ease his nerves.
"Sorry... I'll... I'm trying." Zayne takes a deep breath, lays back against the pillows. Inhales and exhales at a measured pace, face pinched.
"Tell me if it hurts." Sylus reminds him. Zayne nods. When he feels a bit of give, Sylus starts to push in—thumb and two fingers holding himself steady as he presses forward.
Almost immediately, Zayne's breath grows unsteady. Then there's that pop, and all at once the tip of his cock slides in, stretching pliable flesh around him.
It's been so long since Sylus was inside anyone. The sensation is almost overwhelming—hot and tight, his mouth falls open slightly. God, he wants to push Zayne down and just take him.
Zayne's eyes fly open. A cry echoes off the walls, back arching, hips tilting away from him into the mattress.
"You okay?" Sylus stills immediately. Runs a hand up and down his flank, careful not to move.
"Yes, just don't..." Another shift of his hips. Another small sound. "Oh... don't move yet. More lube."
"Okay." Sylus drizzles more lube between them, uses a finger to spread it around Zayne's hole.
There's a long moment where it seems like Zayne is just trying to catch his breath, a hand reaching down to cover Sylus', and he waits, but eventually he feels that vice-like grip around his cock loosen, and the flex of his thighs release.
Given permission, Sylus looks down at the sight between Zayne's legs. Takes himself in hand, continues barely inching in. As slow as he can manage. But it isn't long before Zayne is gasping again—obvious pain this time. Pinpricks of tears in his eyes, furiously blinked away.
Sylus stops. His cock throbs from pleasure, his own eyes fluttering for a moment.
"Ow..." Zayne says. Frustrated, almost.
"Is it too much?" It wouldn't be the first time someone asked him to stop entirely. Based on Zayne's reactions, he fears they're close to that point.
"No." That one sounds like he's trying to convince himself. Sylus resigns himself to the possibility that this might not work tonight. The thought settles heavy in his chest; inadequate.
"We don't have to—"
"I want to. I want you." Green eyes determined, desperate in a different way now.
For the first time, Sylus sees how deep this has already gone. How much Zayne wants this to work. It hits him like air being knocked from his lungs.
Zayne's legs tighten around his waist. Heels lock behind his back, squeeze to pull him closer. Sylus falls forward, hand catching himself on the sheets, and Zayne grits his teeth against a shout as he forces Sylus deeper. Tears spill over now—from pain.
"Zayne." Sylus's voice turns stern. He reaches behind himself, takes an ankle, tries to unhook it from the other. "Let go."
Direct orders work on him. Sylus has no qualms using them now.
Zayne blinks up at him, and he does look pretty with tears in his eyes—but scared enough that the want in Sylus cools at the edges. But he lets go, and whines softly as Sylus pulls out until once more, only the tip of him remains inside.
"If you want to keep trying, you're going to listen to me, understand?"
Eyes wide, Zayne swallows and nods silently as he wipes the back of his knuckles at the corners of his eyes. He seems taken aback by the forcefulness in Sylus's voice.
Next time he speaks, Sylus is careful to soften it. "Why don't we try a position that makes things a little easier on you, hm? How does that sound?"
Another nod.
"I still want you to speak." Crimson eyes narrow slightly, and he waits for a response.
"...Okay. Sorry..."
"Sorry isn't what I want to hear, sweetie."
Zayne clears his throat, and blinks away the last of the tears tracking down his cheeks. "We can try something else."
"Good boy." Sylus reaches forward, cups his cheek, strokes his thumb along it. The nickname draws a small shudder—always does. Makes Sylus want to try using it in public sometime, just to see the blush.
A tap to his ribs. "Don't tense up on me again. That's only going to make it worse."
"Right." A few more steadying breaths. This time, more control. He's figured out the trick to forcibly loosening up.
Still, when Sylus feels that release and his cock falls free, Zayne whimpers. Rubs one thigh against the other. Even with the trouble, his body is still eager.
"Come here. Sit up for a minute." Sylus uses a gentle grip to ease him up, arms wrapping around him tightly. It feels good. Natural, even. The way Zayne just falls against him, settles in despite the oddness of everything. Arms come up slowly, encircle his neck. Sylus presses soft kisses to the underside of Zayne's jaw, under his ear, down his neck. Zayne hums, tilts his chin to give him access. Sylus takes the offering—more open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat.
"How do you feel?" He mumbles against the skin. Feels the vibration of a soft moan in response.
"They make this look easier in porn." Zayne catches the statement a moment later, pulling back to give Sylus an incredulous look. "Don't you fucking say—"
"Wasn't going to say a word." Sylus presses a kiss to his shoulder, innocent. "Someone's cranky."
"I am not cranky." A huff. "I'm just saying—a buttplug doesn't do this. A buttplug doesn't have a pulse, or keep asking if I'm okay, or—" He gestures vaguely at Sylus's everything. "—breathe."
"What?"
"Like you're enjoying it."
Sylus can't help the laughter that breaks from him. The look Zayne is giving him is enough to nearly crack his composure—shoulders shaking with the effort to contain his amusement. "You're complaining that I'm breathing?"
"I'm saying it's distracting." Zayne averts his eyes, but his mouth twitches. "You're making it weird."
"Weird," Sylus repeats, still grinning.
"You know what I mean."
He doesn't, actually, but the flush creeping up Zayne's neck tells him enough. "Should I be more clinical about it? Would that help?"
An eye roll. Zayne only laughs harder, making no effort to hold himself back.
"Sorry. Alright. Sorry." He sputters between giggles. "I'm good."
"Stop saying sorry."
"Sorry."
Sylus doesn't comment again. Instead he grabs a pillow and gives Zayne quick instruction. "On your stomach. Lean on that. Put your legs together."
Zayne blinks at him steadily, then obeys—twisting onto his stomach and finding a way to stuff the pillow comfortably underneath him. The change in angle makes his spine curve slightly and pushes his ass into the air.
Sylus moves over him, effectively bracketing him in with his knees. Leans to grab the lube. Pours more over himself, slicking himself—free hand spreading Zayne open.
"Alright. Easy. Don't clench." He pushes forward, slow like before. This time the head sinks in easier with a sudden, breathtaking give.
"Okay?" Sylus forces out, his entire body focused on the point where they are joined. He holds perfectly still. His hands roam the landscape of Zayne's back, tracking the line of his spine and the muscles that tense beneath his fingertips. "Wiggle a little."
Zayne follows the order instantly, a tentative rock of his hips that rewards them with another slick, sinking inch that makes them both groan.
"That's it. Push back into it." Sylus grits his teeth. The sight of Zayne yielding to him is almost too much.
Zayne repeats the motion, forcing Sylus a tiny bit further.
"You're doing so well, sweetheart." He praises gently, just for the way it makes Zayne shiver. He can't help but thrust forward slightly, pushing in just a little bit further. Zayne's body simply opens for him, pulling him deeper. The unexpected ease sends a jolt straight up Sylus's spine.
"There, better," Zayne shudders a breath, his face finally starting to relax.
"I'll take a 'Thank you'," Sylus jokes, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. He gives another shallow rock of his hips, testing the newfound pliancy.
It does the trick. Another moan spills free from Zayne's lips. "Oh god—okay. Thank you. Hold on. Don't move."
Sylus freezes. He didn't think it was possible for the molten heat surrounding him to feel so good. It takes every ounce of his control to remain still while the man beneath him fidgets and pants as he comes to terms with the pain that's now become pleasure. This angle is better, Zayne's ass flushed up against his pelvis. A perfect, undeniable fit.
"Tell me when I can move, baby." His fingers clench on the flare of Zayne's hip. He leans in, mouthing and licking the salty sweat from Zayne's shoulder as he stretches over his spine. He is close to the end of his patience with stillness.
Then, the smallest, neediest voice Sylus has ever heard. "Move. Please."
"Slowly," Zayne begs. A nervous afterthought.
Sylus rocks slowly backward, drawing his cock out. When he sinks back in, his entire spine stiffens, a primal sound rumbling from some deep part in his chest.
Tears leak from Zayne's clenched eyes again, but the sound he makes isn't one of pain. It's pure, unadulterated pleasure that's strained from shyness. Sylus follows with a growl that surprises even himself.
"Don't hold back from me, Zayne." He gives another careful thrust, and the moan it punches out of Zayne's lungs makes his own breath hitch. "I want to hear you." One rock forward is faster than intended. Before Sylus can apologize, Zayne is moaning again.
"Fuck," Zayne pants. "Yes—right there."
Sylus pulls back slightly, then pushes back inside, burying himself as gently as he can manage. He buries a low, pleased sound in the flesh of Zayne's shoulder, making him shake under his weight.
Sylus rests his forehead against Zayne's nape, his own cock twitching. A low sound rumbles in his chest, the animal urge to rut mindlessly taking over. "Where?" He pulls out and pushes in again, a little harder. "Here?"
Zayne chokes on his breath, hands scrabbling for more purchase in the sheets. "Yes. There. Right there."
Sylus fucks him steadily, grinding deep at the end of each stroke until he's met with a series of punched-out gasps every time his hips meet Zayne's ass.
He shifts, lowering his chest to blanket Zayne's back, wrapping his arms around him and linking his fingers over his sternum; face burying into his neck. The clean smell of damp hair mixed with sweat.
Then his knee protests, because why wouldn't it? A sharp twinge that shoots up from the joint—old injury, wrong angle, too much weight pressed into the mattress for too long.
Sylus hisses through his teeth before he can stop himself.
Zayne stiffens beneath him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Fuck."
"Your knee?"
"I'm fine. Sorry. Hold on." He pulls out—carefully, with a murmured apology. "Don't say anything."
Zayne turns his head, cheek pressed into the pillow. Watching him. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't have to, but his mouth twitches. "Are you okay?"
"I'll live." Sylus sits back, running a hand through his hair.
"On your side," Zayne says. Not a suggestion.
Sylus raises an eyebrow at him, and reaches over to pinch his side. "Bossy."
Zayne squirms away from the touch, huffing. But he's already moving—shifting onto his side.
Sylus settles onto his side facing him. Guides Zayne's top leg, hooks it over his own hip. He takes himself in hand. The first press against Zayne's entrance makes them both inhale sharply.
"Tell me if—"
"I will." Zayne's hand comes up to cup his jaw. "Stop asking."
He pushes in slowly. The angle is different—deeper in some ways, shallower in others. Zayne's leg tightens over his hip, pulling him closer, and Sylus slides home with a groan against Zayne's mouth.
He stays there. Still. Just kissing him—soft, open-mouthed. Zayne's fingers curl into his shoulder, holding on.
"There," Zayne whispers against his lips.
"Good?"
Zayne nods quickly, jaw tight. "Yeah. Right there."
The position keeps them close, almost unbearably so. Every thrust shifts them against each other, skin sliding on skin. Zayne's moans come out punched and breathy, muffled against Sylus's shoulder.
"No one else has ever been inside you like this," Sylus murmurs against his temple. "Just me."
The words short-circuit something. Zayne goes rigid, the sounds cutting off abruptly, making Sylus still.
"Zayne—"
"Keep talking."
He blinks. The request lands somewhere unexpected—a key turning in a lock he didn't know was there. Not a question. A dare.
"Look at me." A roll of his hips, grinding deep. Zayne gasps—sharp, helpless.
Sylus's hand slides up, fingers threading into damp hair. Closes into a fist. Pulls—turning Zayne's head back toward him.
Zayne's eyes fly open. Startled. Dark. Wet at the corners.
"There you are," Sylus murmurs. Keeps his grip firm. "Don't hide from me."
Another thrust. Zayne's mouth falls open but no sound comes out. His lashes flutter, like he's trying to close them again on instinct. The grip in his hair tightens in warning.
Sylus rolls his hips again, slower this time. Watches Zayne's face contort. "Eyes on me."
"I can't—" His voice cracks. "It's too much when you—"
"When I what?"
A whimper. Zayne's hand comes up, not to push him away, but to grip his wrist. Anchoring himself.
"When you look at me like that."
Sylus's chest tightens. He loosens his grip just enough to stroke his thumb along Zayne's scalp. Then pulls again—gentler this time. "It's just me, Zayne."
Zayne's breath stutters. His eyes search Sylus's face—looking for something, maybe permission, maybe proof. Then his hand comes up and cups Sylus's jaw. Pulls him in.
The kiss is messy. All teeth and tongue and ragged breathing. Zayne whines into it, his hips rocking forward on instinct, and Sylus groans against his mouth.
"That's it," Sylus murmurs between kisses. "There you go."
He thrusts again, deeper this time, and Zayne's hand tightens on his jaw. His hand tightens in his hair as he pulls back slightly.
"Feel that?" Sylus's voice comes out rough. "How good you take it?"
A hiccup of a moan. Zayne's leg tightens over his hip, heel pressing into his lower back.
Zayne's head tips, throat bared. Sylus takes the invitation—mouth dragging down his jaw, teeth grazing the tendon.
"Not going to answer me?" He pushes in to the hilt and holds there. Just pressure. No movement.
"I feel it." It comes out strangled. Zayne's fingers dig into his shoulder hard enough to bruise. "I can feel you everywhere."
Sylus's breath catches. Something about the admission—raw, unfiltered—hits him harder than any dirty line could.
"Good." He pulls back, thrusts in again. "You're supposed to."
A needy mewl. Then: "I need it." The words come out like they're being dragged from him. Burning. Shame so palpable Sylus can almost taste it. His whole body clenches around Sylus in response—involuntary.
Sylus's control frays. He grabs Zayne's hip, fingers digging in. His mouth finds his throat. Teeth drag over the pulse point, bites down.
"Mine." The word leaves him before he can make it smaller. But he bites down again anyway, sucking a bruise into the crook of Zayne's neck, hearing the gasp that finally seems to catch up to the action.
Zayne opens his mouth—maybe to say something, maybe just to breathe—and nothing comes out. Just a broken, silent gasp. His body locks up, then starts trembling in his arms without warning. Clenching so hard around Sylus that his vision whites out at the edges.
No buildup, no warning—just Zayne falling apart beneath him, spilling between their stomachs with a sound that's barely human. His body is no longer under his own control, hips moving in aborted little jerks as his cock spurts sticky warmth on both of their stomachs.
Sylus doesn't stand a chance.
He buries himself deep with a groan that scrapes raw from his throat. Release tears through him, hard enough that his grip turns bruising, forehead dropping against Zayne’s collarbone. Hips jerking through it involuntarily, chasing the grip of Zayne's body until there's nothing left.
For a long moment, neither of them moves. Snow taps against the balcony door.
Sylus can feel Zayne's heartbeat against his chest—frantic at first, then slowly steadying. His own pulse thuds in his ears. When he finally finds the strength to lift his head, Zayne is staring at the ceiling with glassy, unfocused eyes. Mouth still open. Breathing like he's forgotten how to do anything else.
"You okay?" Sylus's voice comes out wrecked.
A beat. Then Zayne laughs—breathless, disbelieving. "Yes."
Sylus huffs against his shoulder. Pulls out carefully, ignoring the whimper it draws. But he doesn't move yet, doesn't think he can.
Their legs are tangled—Zayne's still hooked over his hip, though loosely now, like neither of them has the energy to unhook it.
Somewhere outside, wind pushes snow against the glass.
Zayne's fingers uncurl from Sylus's shoulder. One by one, like he's coming back into his body. His hand slides down, rests flat against his back.
"That was..." Zayne starts.
"Don't hurt yourself." Sylus's voice is muffled against his neck. Exhausted.
A huff of laughter. Zayne's chest shakes with it under his. "Shut up."
"Mm." Sylus finally finds the will to move—shifts his weight, rolls onto his back with a groan. His knee protests. His everything protests. The ceiling stares back at him, and he exhales long and slow.
For a while, neither of them speaks. Just breathing. The fire crackling. The TV still flickering silently in the background.
Then Zayne shifts. Turns onto his side, cheek pressed into the pillow, facing Sylus. Hair a disaster. Bruise already darkening on his throat. Eyes half-lidded and soft in the amber light, dilated like a cat's.
"It's your fault if I never want to leave this place," he murmurs.
