Synopsis: Allie Hilton is on the run. For the first time in her privileged life, she can only rely on her own wits to escape a life she was destined for, but also one that she never wanted. What happens when Allie flees as far as she can before running into a small town that just happened to be governed by a large male motorcycle fleet? Well Allie, meet the War Horse Rebellion. Put on your riding boots, it's going to be a rough ride.
Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Allison “Allie” Hilton
I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own.
This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.
A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading!
Chapter 19
Allie’s POV:
We spend a blissful afternoon together, and I feel certain that things are on the right track with Austin and I once again so I allow myself to fully relax into his presence. We eventually get ourselves dressed up and head to the bar where all of the Rebels who are stateside are in attendance, with their wives and girlfriends. Corralled in the Rebel’s section of the bar, we are all having an amazing time laughing and catching up. Eliza and Bananas are extra lovey with each other and it makes me so happy for them. I really like Bananas, and Eliza has turned into one of my closest confidants. I’ve known her for such a short time, but feel closer to her than I ever felt with any of the frenemies back in Charlotte.
After about an hour, we are all interrupted from our conversations when Bananas taps on his whiskey glass and says, “I need your attention!” Thinking he was drunk or something, we all share a good-natured chuckle before obliging.
“Liza, baby, I need to tell you something.” Rolling her eyes at his dramatic playfulness, she turns from where she was talking to me and answers him.
“Let me guess, you want to ask for something too inappropriate to speak of in mixed company?” She smarts as she steps toward his extended hand and places her dainty palm in his.
“Only if you consider this inappropriate?” From his pocket, Bananas reveals a red ring box and immediately drops to one knee. Eliza gasps in surprise at his actions and honestly, so do I. Not from the proposal but from seeing a serious expression wash over Bananas features. He’s always playful and jovial, yet now he looks like a nervous kid.
“Baby girl, you know I’m downright obsessed with you and I’m so grateful that you put up with me. You’re my best friend and I wanna lock you down for the rest of your life, because one day my good looks might fade and with this ring, you’ll have to stay with me anyway. So, will you marry me?” He asks with a chuckle at the comment about his good looks. Eliza uncharacteristically has silent tears staining the cheeks of her flawless makeup as she stares down at the man before her with so much love.
“Are you fucking kidding me? YES!” She whispers through tears and before even sliding the ring on her, Bananas jumps up, yelling triumphantly, picking up Eliza and spinning her in circles. When he places her back on her heels, he kisses her passionately and all of the whoops and hollers from the crowd of both rebels and bar attendees are deafening. When they finally break for air, he removes the beautiful diamond ring from the box before placing it at her fingertips and sliding it onto her third finger.
“I wanted to make the diamond banana shaped but Sy said you’d kill me. He said I better go with square, or round to keep you from saying no.” He announces proudly and I glance to Syverson who’s wearing a shit eating smirk.
“Thank God, Sy. Someone needs to reel him in.” Eliza giggles as she addresses my boyfriend and her proverbial big brother figure.
“You got a whole lifetime of keeping him in check now, I reckon.” Sy chuckles before raising a whiskey glass to the couple. The other Rebels all quickly join in and wait for Sy to speak. To my surprise, my typically quiet boyfriend stands proudly as he calmly addresses the entire bar with authority.
“Bananas and Eliza are the epitome of true love, loyalty, and the existence of soulmates. We all wish you a long and happy marriage. Cheers!”
Everyone clinks their glasses together and throws back their drinks as Bananas bends over and dips Eliza into an extravagant kiss. Wiping the happy tear from my cheek, Eliza turns to me and excitedly shows me the gorgeous cushion cut ring on a white gold band. It’s classy and beautiful and set perfectly on her petite hand with bright red manicured nails.
Congratulating her and complimenting the ring, we hug tightly and then I hug Bananas whose energy is palpable as his adrenaline pumps through him. Eliza hugs Syverson and thanks him for his proposal input, before they make their rounds to celebrate with the others. Smiling at the happy couple, I turn to Sy who was already watching me.
“How long have you known?” I ask.
“He’s been planning for a while, but didn’t get the ring until about two weeks ago. That was one of the reasons that I was late getting home last week. Eliza was cleaning the house and he was worried she’d find it. He needed me to keep the ring and help plan. You know he’s chaotic and not logistically minded. Plus, he's shit at keeping secrets.” He replies with a smirk.
“You had the ring? Where?” I ask inquisitively.
“I’m not revealing my hiding place.” He squints at me and I roll my eyes playfully.
“I’m so happy for them.” I smile once again as I watch the couple beaming with joy behind us.
“That somethin’ you’d want to do one day? Get married? Or did your last experience put ya off of that forever?” Austin asks me over the rim of his glass of whiskey and my heart jumps.
“If it was my choice, and with the person I loved, then I’d absolutely want to get married. But I don’t think I’d want some sort of spectacle. I’ve been forced into being the center of attention my whole life, so that doesn’t interest me much.” I smile sadly. Syverson just nods before taking another sip of his whiskey.
“What about you?”
“Never thought I was the marriage type to be honest. Seemed like more work than it was worth, but I’m coming around to the idea. Maybe one day.” He says and I feel a pang of disappointment that he didn’t seem fully persuaded but I just nod and pick up my drink and toss it back with a bit more enthusiasm than normal.
After several more rounds of drinks, and hours of laughter, the newly engaged couple took their leave to celebrate on their own. After they left, Sy had informed me that Bananas had transformed their house today while she was working. Several dozen rose pedals and flameless candles covered their home so that he could add the romance part of the night for just them to share. Sy had provided a nice bottle of champagne for the couple and promised to make it clear that they are not to be bothered the rest of the weekend. That was a necessary warning mainly for Dalton and Jared who were notorious for showing up at random times when they got bored.
I was loving every moment of this tension free time with Sy. It was like the beginning of our relationship again. Tipsy, I was perched in Syverson’s lap with his arm tightly wound around my waist. I could feel him twitch and harden under me as I covertly wiggled every once in a while, like it was accidental. Subtly reaching for my drink so that I’d have to bend over with my ass on him, or twisting to the side to whisper something in his ear where my breasts were at eye level for him. Smiling at a story that Luis was telling, I unconsciously shiver when Sy’s beard brushes against my neck just below my ear.
“Bout ready to head on home?” He asked in that deep timber that makes me wet with anticipation. Turning toward him, I looked deep into his eyes and nodded slowly. I watched Syverson’s eyes jump from mine to my lips before returning to my gaze as his eyes darkened.
Oh yes! Things really are getting back to normal! I thought to myself as the eagerness rushed through my body.
Playfully, I lean over once more to place my drink back on the table and feel his palm clench against my hip, pressing himself as tightly to my ass as possible and grinding just subtly that nobody would notice. Standing, I turn and look down at him still seated. His thick legs still parted with a burgeoning bulge at the apex, tight t-shirt covering his flat torso with the sleeves straining under the extent of his biceps. That mischievous eyebrow arch made it clear that he knew what game I had been playing all evening with him, and he seemingly was enjoying it. Biting my bottom lip in that way that I know he loves, I step closer in between his legs and bend to reach for my bag on the back of the seat behind him. Syverson steadies me with his hands on my hips and I watch his eyes as he looks at mine before dragging them shamelessly down to my ample cleavage. Sy obviously doesn’t care that we’re in public as he stares at my breasts like a teenage boy discovering his first nude magazine, and I’ve never felt more powerful and sexy in my life. Allowing him a good look while I flip my hair over my shoulder, I slowly adjust my top and stand up straight while returning to my innocent act.
“Ready baby?” I whisper. Lowly, I hear a growl under his breath as he mutters something that I can’t make out due to the noise in the bar. Quick as a flash, he swats one palm on my ass cheek causing me to softly squeal at the abruptness. Standing, Sy discreetly adjusts himself in his denim behind my frame before speaking.
“We’re heading out.” He announces, followed by boos from mainly Jared and Dalton.
“Oh c’mon Sy! It’s a night to celebrate!” Dalton announces drunkenly.
“I’ll be celebrating, don’t ya worry.” Sy says arrogantly and that gets the drunk guys hooting and hollering once more as my blush reddens my cheeks. Mike’s behind the bar tonight and we stop by to say our goodbyes while Syverson ensures that Mike will oversee the drunkards making their way home.
“Y’all good? Iron everything out?” Mike asks Sy who wraps my hand tighter in his and nods.
“Yeah, thanks man. I appreciate it.” Sy responds and I smile gratefully.
“How’s your back and ass from those big scary porch stairs?” Mike goads. Syverson rolls his eyes and flips him off as he leads us to the exit while Mike cackles exuberantly in the background at his own joke.
Drinking in the gentle breeze and calmness as soon as we exit the building, we silently make our way to Austin’s motorcycle. Placing a sweet kiss to my lips, we secure our helmets and are bolting through the night as the streetlights blur and stretch in the background. Once home, I struggle slightly walking from the garage across the gravel driveway as I’m a bit tipsy and wearing some tall heels that Eliza had ordered for me at her boutique. It was fun getting to experiment with my wardrobe in a way that I have never been able to before.
Sy quickly offers his arm and before I can protest, he whips his other arm behind me and carries me up the stairs to the door. I giggle freely at the spontaneity and playfulness that I’ve missed sharing with him. Refusing to put me down, Syverson impressively unlocks the front door while holding me and carries me as he while kicks off his boots, tosses his keys on the bookshelf, and locks the door; only stopping to place me on the kitchen counter once he was done.
“These shoes are somethin’ else, Sugar, but I know your dogs must be barkin’.” He implies that my feet must be sore and sweetly unclasps and removes my stilettos and places them on the floor. Reaching toward the cabinet, he fills a cup with ice water and hands it to me encouraging me to drink it as he rubs my sore feet. His big hands are incredibly nimble as he kneads my feet and I moan somewhat sexually as he hits a good part.
“Now, Sugar, you can’t be making noises like that if you just want me to rub your feet.”
“What if I want you to do something else?” I flirt and he smirks.
“And what might that be?” The alcohol still remaining in my system allows me to bypass any shyness about asking for what I want.
“I want you to rip my clothes off, bend me over this counter, and fuck me so hard that I can’t walk after.” I bravely request.
Pausing momentarily, Austin smiles and replies with a gentle and loving caress to my cheek.
“How about we go upstairs and I’ll make love to you.”
My liquid inhibitions cause me to break eye contact and groan which causes Syverson to pause with pure offense.
“Now what did I say to cause that reaction?” He asks.
“Austin, I don’t know why you’re treating me like I’m made of glass. Ever since I was in the hospital, it’s like you’re scared to touch me!” I almost yell at him out of frustration.
“That ain’t true! I’m always touching you.” He defends and I roll my eyes uncharacteristically at him and cross my arms like a petulant child as my legs hang off of the counter.
“Are you unhappy with our sex life?” He asks with a bit of hurt slipping through his controlled mask.
“No..well, not really. I just feel like you’re scared to touch me or like something is off. Don’t get me wrong, I love when you’re slow and intimate and meaningful, but lately I’ve been missing the Syverson that spontaneously grabs me and is a bit rough with me. It’s kind of a turn on when you toss me around.” I admit the last part quietly.
“I.. Sugar, I just don’t want to be like the people who have hurt you before. I don’t want to be rough with ya and accidentally hurt you. I couldn’t bare to see the bruises I left on you after the…accident.”
“You never had a problem with it before.” I retort and am speechless at Sy’s response.
“That was before I knew what it was like to see you actually hurt. I watched you die, Allie! Damnit! I still watch you die every night while you’re asleep in my arms! I can’t ever stop it in my dreams so excuse me for trying to be delicate with you now that I see how fragile you are!” He screams as he stares at the floor.
My eyes well with tears as I hear the hurt and worry in his voice.
“You…. You’ve been dreaming of me dead?” I ask quiet as a mouse, but Sy doesn't respond.
"Talk to me." I plead.
“I can’t ever get there in time to stop him. It’s like I’m running in slow motion and when I get there it’s too late.” Sy still refuses to make eye contact with me.
Pulling his arm that’s closest to me, I attempt to pull him towards me. He barely budges initially, but then gives in and walks toward me, resting his head on my shoulder so that I still can’t see his eyes.
“Baby, you did save me. All of that is just a terrible nightmare and I wish you would’ve told me so that I could be there for you. I’m so sorry.” I allow an errant tear to stream down my face at the thought of Syverson struggling silently.
“Look at me, please.” I beg as I place my palms on each side of his scruff.
“I love you and I’m here and you did save me. You would never hurt me or let me get hurt. I know that. Do you?”
Austin’s eyes are red rimmed as though they are physically fighting off the tears that threaten to breach his eyelids as he nods.
“Say it.” I demand.
“I’ll never let anything happen to you.” He says.
“And…” I prompt.
“And I did save you in time. I won’t hurt you.”
“One more thing…” I smirk and he actively thinks about what more I could be waiting for. Leaning in his ear, I whisper, “You love me.”
Smiling he nods and says, “I love ya, Sugar.” Deciding to just let my previous frustration go now that I know the reason behind it, I grab his cheeks once more and speak.
“Just know that I’m not as delicate as you think I am, okay?” I say and kiss him cutely on the nose. He nods and then smirks when I jump off of the counter grabbing my heels.
“Head on upstairs and I’ll lock up.” He tells me and I nod.
Making my way into our bathroom, I decide to hop in the shower. Letting the water warm, I shed my clothes messily in the floor and step under the spray. I’m reaching for the body wash when I feel Austin enter the shower behind me, but I’m not at all expecting his next actions.
A sharp but painless tug to the back of my soaked hair has me startling with a gasp. Turning quickly, I see the most mischievous look in Austin’s eye before he smashes my face to his in a heated and overwhelming kiss. Our tongues fight for control and I quickly concede, allowing him to maneuver my head where he wants it in order to deepen the kiss. My wet body is pressed tightly to his damp skin, where his massive erection presses against my stomach due to our height difference. Syverson’s large palms are on either side of my face as he dominates the kisses that feel downright sinful in the best way. Pulling back for air my eyes search his and he presses a kiss to my forehead before speaking.
“You wanna be tossed around? Wanna be fucked rough and spontaneously?” His voice is so deep it’s like gravel as I melt around his words and nod eagerly.
“Can I trust your gonna tell me if you don’t like somethin’ or if it’s too much?”
“Of course, baby. I know you won’t ever hurt me.” I say with confidence emanating from my voice in hopes that he will feel the pure trust that I have in him.
“Promise?” He grunts as if he’s physically holding himself back.
“I swear.” I mutter and before I can even take a breath, Sy has pushed me against the freezing tile wall and consumed every each of my body with his pressed tightly against it. I chirp in his mouth from the shock of the cold, but also from the anticipation that’s writhing through me. Sy’s right hand slides up my body and grabs the back of my neck under my drenched hair while the left hand harshly kneads my breasts as he ruts his erection against me. I moan into the kiss when his hand leaves my breast and trails down to my soaking wet pussy. He takes his time as he enjoys feeling my body, and presses against my clit just enough for me to squirm before backing off and sliding first one thick finger before the other into my clenching cunt. My leg wraps around the back of his at the intrusion and he begins pumping them in and out while pressing against my sensitive button at different intervals. I feel him scissoring his digits to gently stretch me before sliding in a third and I can’t help the pitiful mewl that escapes me. Embarrassingly, I come so quickly that I don’t even have time to warn him, but he must’ve known due to him whispering “that’s right, sugar. Lemme’ have it-” in my ear just moments prior. My head falls back against the tile as the euphoria of my climax pours through me and Syverson quickly rakes his scruffy beard across my sensitive neck, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake as he works me through it.
Slowly removing his fingers, I open my eyes to see him towering above me with hunger in his eyes. Reaching down, now that I have feeling in my limbs once more, I reach for his cock and wrap my fist around it, stroking him gently. He allows me to palm him for no more than a few moments before he single-handedly turns my body and presses me against the cold glass on the other side of the shower. The hot water is now beating down my back as my breasts are flush against the clear divider and Sy wipes away the condensation at my face.
“Want you to look at your face when I put my cock in ya.” He growls against my ear and I swear, I involuntarily clench just at his voice and demeanor. Lifting one of my legs higher to give himself room, he practically picks me up as he slides into me. Seeing our somewhat foggy reflection in the mirror is beyond erotic as he has me splayed open and ruts into me from behind. I have to force myself to keep my eyes open as the overwhelming sensation of his girth and length calls me to close them in utter bliss. Picking up his pace, I can’t help but press my cheek against the glass as I focus on how this man can be everywhere all at once. He’s practically holding me in the air due to our height difference while also pressing me against the shower wall and absolutely ravaging me while still placing pressure on my sensitive bundle of nerves. I feel my body begin to crest closer towards my release when he suddenly removes himself and I audibly whimper in disappointment.
Without a word, Sy turns me around to where I am facing him and sets me on the bench that is built into the shower. His cock is eye level with my mouth and I wet my lips in anticipation as I reach for him. Stepping out of my reach, I look at him with confusion before this bear of a man gets down on his knees and pulls me to the edge. Silently, he kisses the insides of my thighs before nipping at them as he makes his way to my drooling juncture. When he finally reaches his destination, his tongue wastes no time as he begins to sloppily make out with my petals before sucking on my clit. His fingers trail up and join his ministrations and when he inserts them, I realize I’m close again. Reaching down, I place my hands on the soft fuzz of his buzz cut as he stares up at me with those cerulean blue eyes that watch me intensely while he pleasures me. My legs are propped on his shoulders as I do my best to remain still even though I can’t help but squirm with desire.
“Baby..Sy.. I’m gonna… come.” I stutter as I hit my peak and release a moan so graphic that I’m grateful we are in private. Once again, Sy carries me through the aftershocks of my euphoria as I begin to regain feeling in my extremities. Syverson stands and I reach for him as I quickly guide him into my mouth. He groans with satisfaction at my unexpected reciprocation, but tries to protest.
“You’re not calling the shots here.” He pants as I suck him from base to tip. I’m sure I look like a wet rat but he doesn’t seem to mind when I nod and hum around him while fondling his testicles. Pulling back just enough, I whisper, “Fuck my mouth” and return him to my open lips. Austin looks up at the ceiling before biting his fist as he slowly and gently begins gyrating his hips. Reaching for his hands, I place them on my head as I look up at him from beneath my lashes and he continues his gentle ministrations until I force myself down on him until I gag. He quickly retreats, but I grip his hips and do it again.
“Fuck, darlin’, don’t hurt ya-self” he grunts and although uncomfortable to do, I’m feeling so powerful as this man whines in pleasure. We continue for a few more minutes before he grips my wet hair, gently tugging me off of him.
“But I wanna-“ I protest but he hauls me up on my feet and then lifts me fully off of the floor against him. My legs are wrapped around his waist and my breasts are in his face as inserts himself and begins pumping inside of me. I’ve never felt as full as I do in this position, literally split open on top of him while he supports my entire body weight. Syverson doesn’t waste a moment and simultaneously gropes my ass while sucking on my boobs. I gasp in pleasure as this man roughly thrusts into me and his presence surrounds me from every single angle.
“Oh fuck, Sy!” I moan and he catches my lips, nipping my plump bottom lip as he does.
“Ya wanted me to do you dirty and rough, huh?” He growls against my boob as I nod dumbly in agreement.
“Is this what you wanted? What you needed? Me taking you raw and hard against the shower walls?
Lost in pleasure, I nod again but that doesn’t satisfy him.
“I can’t hear ya. I want you to say it.” He demands and I hastily respond.
“God yes, baby! I needed it.”
“Needed to be my naughty girl, huh?” He smirks as he slams into my wet hole.
“Uh huh! Wanted to be -- your – naughty girl.” I reply between breath taking thrusts.
“Tired of being my good girl?” He grins with a thrust and I shake my head.
“Uh uh” is the only reply I can give as I’m cresting closer and closer towards another orgasm.
Reaching down, Sy thumbs my clitoris and I clench as I’m right at the edge.
“C’mon Sugar. I know you’re right there.” He slams into me while putting pressure on my spot and within seconds I shatter. My whole body feels like it’s rushing with white hot pleasure as it runs through my veins and to my extremities. I feel myself fall limp while my body clenches in spasms as Sy hits his own climax and shoots his release deep inside of me. I’m just beginning to regain my composure as he becomes spent, and I wrap my arms around his neck helping to support the weight of our position while he basks in our shared indulgence. Sy rests his head on my breasts as I stroke the softness of his buzzcut once more.
Carefully and exhaustedly, I remove myself from him and place each shaky leg on the ground while leaning against the tile to keep me upright. I reach for the body wash and begin soaping Syverson who allows me this aftercare. After washing his body, I angle him towards the water that is now room temperature at best. Sy greedily returns the favor and begins gently soaping my body with a sly grope or two before washing my hair. I help him condition it since he’s never had hair as long as mine, and when we are thoroughly rinsed we wrap into our fluffy bath towels and dry off.
Heading into the bedroom, we get under the covers and I admire his godlike physique for a moment before snuggling into him, fully satiated.
“Feeling better?” His voice echoes under my ear that is pressed against the soft curls of his chest hair.
“Much. You?”
“I’m good. Just wish you would’ve told me this was what you needed.” He replies and I arch my brow before leaning up to lock eyes with him.
“I wish you would’ve told me about the nightmares. That you would’ve let me in rather than pushing me away. I was sure you were over me now that the “chase” was over.” I sigh and Syverson presses a kiss to my forehead.
“No way, darlin’. I’ll never be over you. I just want to protect you and it just didn’t seem right to be rough with you after everything ya’ been through.”
“You’re the only one who can be rough with me.” I smirk and he cutely waggles his eyebrows at me.
“I think my girl’s getting kinky on me.” He chortles and I decide to buy into the joke.
“Yup, got a whip, blindfold, and handcuffs arriving next week. I can’t wait to tie you up.” Syverson stops laughing as his eyes grow wide as saucers.
“Little darlin’, I’d let you do a lot to me but I’ll be the one tying you up blindfolded.” He says but I giggle at the image of him laid out at my will. Hmm, I might actually like that, but the thought of him tying me up and blindfolding me has me slightly more excited. We banter for a bit more until my yawns become so frequent that I find myself drifting off. Before allowing my sleep to fully take me under, I whisper to Syverson.
“I’m here, and I’m not going to die. You saved me and you always will.”
Chapter 21:
A/N:
Sorry this has been a bit slow- this chapter feels a bit lackluster to me, so I apologize! I may edit it some more later but after two days of staring at it, I decided to just go ahead and post it for you all. I can't seem to pinpoint exactly what this chapter is lacking for me, but I hope some of you enjoy. Hope every one of you had a lovely Thanksgiving! I'm thankful you choose to share your time with me! ❤️
Eyes That See Summary: Your life has consisted of caring for others. This is a story of you learning to care for yourself.
Eyes That See Part 28 Summary: After an eventful day, you and Sy…go to bed.
Words: 13.5k
TW: smut. oral sex (f and m receiving), p-in-v sex, body worship, reader’s poorly-hidden praise/creampie kinks (visual)
A/N: ten points if anyone can tell me what Y/N is unspeakingly worried about the second she wakes up before getting breakfast
Holding each other under the spray of the shower, you and Sy slowly start to sway. The movement is soothing but soon changes; Sy’s erection rhythmically slides against your stomach in a way that becomes too evident to be accidental, and the moment turns from soft and romantic to heated and romantic. You glance up at him and watch his expression grow heady, almost like he’s drunk.
Suddenly, you’re taken back to standing by the car outside your dad’s place where Sy, unable to stop touching and kissing you, made it known just how much he wants you. And hell, you want him. When he bends and places his forehead against yours, you’re overwhelmed by just how much, and you close your eyes.
Silently, almost sacred, both your hands get more exploratory, creating paths over each other’s slick skin, fingers gently gripping what they can. You touch the swell of his muscular ass and then his lower back before sliding your hands up his stomach and chest, ultimately holding onto his shoulders for good. Likewise, he squeezes your ass, too, then trails one hand up your waist before stopping at one of your breasts, cupping and squeezing.
He starts running his thumb over your nipple, and within seconds of your first little shaky and inadvertent sound of contentment, he finally covers your mouth with his. Straightaway, he pours into the kiss so much you feel your knees buckle, and as your hands move to grip the back of his neck, he pulls you in even closer to steady you.
You pour into the kiss just as much, widening your mouth and meeting his tongue with equal pressure, communicating together. His kisses say he loves you, he’s proud of you, you amaze him every day–Your kisses say you love him, he’s the best man you’ve ever known, you’re so happy to have him in your life.
Right after your mouths start making sounds together, Sy detaches from you and just stares at your face for a few moments. Almost regretfully, like he’d like to stay like this, he gives you a look before standing up straight and loosening his hold on you. Your arms fall to your sides as you watch him take a step backwards and turn off the water.
Sy opens the shower curtain next, and you’re momentarily upset at the sudden temperature change and loss of body contact, but the look he gives you as he helps you step out onto the bare tile of the bathroom tells you that it’ll all be worth it soon. He’s not going anywhere.
Sy throws a spare towel on the ground for you both to use as a bath-mat, but still, water drips all over the floor. You don’t care. As you both towel yourselves dry, it’s back to the same heaviness as before, that same anticipatory buzzing as there was on the car ride here. It’s that feeling of having an invisible string attached to one another so that where one person goes, so does the other. You also could compare it to a magnet, or a shadow, even. It’s a bond that allows you both to communicate with just your eyes. You’re growing more confident with it all the time.
Amidst all of that, there’s still something off-setting about the sudden brightness of the bathroom compared to the relative dimness behind the shower curtain, though, like you’ve just left a dark movie theater and have stepped outside into too-bright sunshine. With the bathroom door remaining open this entire time, no steam has fogged up the room at all–nor the giant mirror above the long counter–and strangely, you don’t want to be entirely naked right now. And though you know there’s literally no reason whatsoever to feel self-conscious, you wrap your towel across your chest and secure it, anyway.
That’s when Sy pushes you against the counter with two firm hands on your hips. He kisses you, but it’s soft and it’s short–not a continuation of the long, sensual kisses from a second ago. In the next breath, he coaxes you to turn around to face the mirror, and you follow his unspoken instruction. Putting all your focus on Sy’s reflection, you don’t look at yourself at all.
The feeling of Sy’s hard body standing behind you entirely naked and entirely possessive is one thing; the image of it is something else. One of his bare legs is visible to the side of your towel, the quadricep muscle locked tight and the flattened hair on his upper thigh almost teasing. If he moved just an inch to the side, he’d reveal his dark pubic hair, and another inch to the side…even more. It looks like a photograph.
Sy bends down to gently kiss your shoulder and then the back of your neck. His beard, trimmed and groomed specifically for this trip, is soft and somewhat wet against your skin. “I wanna fuck you in front of a mirror like this some time,” he murmurs, making your eyes go big. “So you can see what I see.”
That sounds like a very difficult idea for you to imagine finding comfort in, but still, you’re automatically nodding, whispering, “Okay.”
Sy’s fingers twitch atop your thighs. “Yeah?” He presses himself even closer to you, letting you feel how hard he is. “Gonna let me?”
“Would let you do anything,” you breathlessly and honestly answer, and he chuckles. For a brief moment, your eyes meet in the mirror, and he gives you a little smile that you instantly return.
The atmosphere is suddenly tender. “Except you wouldn’t,” he says as he slides a hand around to rest over the terry-cloth covering your stomach. “Not if you didn’t like it.”
You close your eyes and sigh, leaning your head back against his chest. “I always like what you do.”
“Do you?”
“Mhm.” Even if it takes mental effort to try to not be embarrassed by it.
Sy’s other hand trails up the side of your stomach, too, and stops at the bottom swell of your breast.
“But you would tell me if you didn’t,” he confidently coaxes while his head dips to the other side of your neck. Your affirmative response must vibrate from your throat onto his lips because afterwards, he hums appreciatively.
Still, he must want you to speak aloud. He cups your breast and pointedly asks, “Wouldn’tchu?”
“Yeah, Sy,” you practically whisper. “I'd tell you.”
Whereas there was heat and impatience earlier in the evening, now, after the shower, there’s a special type of softness in Sy that he only shows to you and you alone. He purposefully does not remove your towel. He does, however, undo the clasp of your necklace, and he carefully places it on the countertop.
“Turn back around, sweetheart.”
Feeling under a spell, you listen and look up at him, and while he leans down, you push yourself up on your toes. This kiss is long. Open-mouthed, deep, and indulgent, you get swept away almost instantly and flatten your feet on the bathroom floor. Your center of focus is your mouths moving together, your tongues sharing warmth. To keep yourself from floating away, your hands lightly come to rest on Sy’s lovehandles.
Within a second, Sy grunts as he hefts you up onto the counter, and you barely have time to hiss at the coldness underneath your thighs before he’s already planting his hands there and pulling you towards him entirely. From the strain of his muscles, you can tell he’s preparing to entirely lift you up, and with a gasp, you quickly lift your arms to lock around his neck. While you’re trying to cross your ankles at his lower back, he’s already walking out of the bathroom.
Your bare pussy makes minor contact with his stomach with every other strong step he takes, and you know he must feel it. His expression gives away nothing as he carefully lays you on the mattress and hovers over you while you lean back and adjust yourself.
It’s almost imperceptible, but you catch it, anyway–a small wince on Sy's face, a consequence of carrying you. You instantly disentangle your legs from around his back and move to the middle of the bed. It gives him space to lay down next to you, and once there, he half-covers your body with his own.
You lift a hand to his neck. “You’ve been walking too much this weekend,” you worry aloud, keeping your voice quiet.
Sy makes a noise of acknowledgement at that, but as usual, doesn’t offer any further comment. You roll onto your left side and gently touch his chest. Sitting up a bit, you firmly push against his skin. “Lay back.”
Sy raises an eyebrow and stares at you until you sigh and roll your eyes. You push yourself up even more and wait for him to move onto his back. “Just roll over,” you chuckle. “Lay back.”
Reluctantly, he listens. “Bossin’ me around already,” he mutters with a glint in his eyes.
After moving to sit up all the way, you carefully lift your right leg over his waist and get situated, putting your knees on the mattress and bending your legs to fit snug against the sides of his stomach. Or–as snug as possible. He’s so wide that you do the best you can. While you tilt and begin to lower your face, Sy holds you at the hips.
Long and slow, you press your lips to Sy’s. “Puttin’ you in your place, I thought it was,” you quietly say into his mouth, ending it by licking his upper lip.
“Whatever it is,” Sy utters in between another kiss, “feel free to keep doin’ it.”
You smile and settle all of your lower body weight on Sy, no longer just hovering over him. When your pussy makes actual contact with the flat hair on his lower stomach, Sy immediately pulls you in even closer, humming appreciatively. Not being able to help it, you roll your hips backwards a little bit and then forward again, and a little whimper escapes your throat. In a way that has nothing to do with just having showered, you’re wet.
After exchanging even more slow and heated kisses, you sit up all the way. Not breaking eye-contact with Sy, you lift your hands to the top of the towel you’re wearing. Slowly, you take the fabric apart, and just as slowly, you let it fall onto his legs.
Like he hadn’t just literally showered with you mere minutes ago, Sy’s eyes eagerly take in your nudity, parting his lips while unabashedly settling his gaze on your breasts. The heating unit by the far wall clicks on just then, almost drowning out his quietly-uttered, “God, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” but not quite. You hear it and feel flushed all over.
This isn't a position you often find yourself in. On top of the blankets and on top of Sy, you’re more exposed than you’d normally be comfortable with, but the only illumination in the room is the dim light of the bathroom, plus Sy’s looking up at you with such blatant desire that an unfamiliar sort of courage blooms inside you.
It’s not just desire in his eyes, though. It’s that intimate glint reserved just for you, what you recognize now as love. Only he gets to see you like this. This is yours to share with only one another.
Only you get to see him like this–on his back, the hard lines of his face smoothed out, his serious eyes turned soft, gazing up at you like you're all there is in the room. Even though the weight of his attention is heavy at times, you yearn for it. And even though it’s hard at times to hear his compliments, you melt in his praise.
Inside, you know that there’s nothing to be nervous about. He loves you. You’re safe with him. He’s proud of you.
You lean down again and take Sy’s face in both hands, continuing to kiss him as long and as savoring as you want. He enthusiastically responds, and in no time, both of your jaws are opening and closing like waves while sharing wet, rippling kisses.
Without breaking your mouths apart, Sy touches you. He touches you everywhere–with all parts of his hands. Fully caressing your breasts, thumbing over your nipples, sliding just his fingertips down the delicate skin over your ribcage–that’s how he starts. Then he trails his hands over your thighs, letting you feel the callouses on his palms. Greedily, he slides back up to your breasts, cupping and squeezing where they're occasionally touching his own chest, then he moves to the long plane of your back. Eventually, he lowers his hands again to run along your legs, and ultimately, he lands on his destination–your ass.
While your faces gently continue to move left and right, you realize you’ve been steadily squirming on Sy, getting the bottom of his happy trail damp. He grips both of your ass cheeks and firmly pulls you in even closer, and it’s evident that your movements haven’t been unnoticed. He’s encouraging them.
Your inner thighs are starting to get sticky, so much it's like you're sitting in oil. It’s dirty, but feeling how wet his lower stomach has gotten because of you has you letting out one of your first obscene noises of the night, directly into Sy’s mouth. You can’t help but to undulate your hips even more against the slick-matted hair there.
Sy groans and lifts a hand to cup your jaw, fingertips splaying out towards the back of your head. “Feel good?”
His strong hand suddenly on your face makes it hard for you to even move it, but, panting into his mouth, you answer with a little nod.
“Yeah?” he whispers. The tip of your nose touches his while you nod again.
“Keep goin’, baby,” he quietly urges. “Lemme keep listenin’ to you.”
Closing your eyes, you start moving again, but it’s choppy. With all the attention on this specific thing now, borderline humiliation starts to creep in. It’s like that morning you woke up rubbing yourself over Sy’s thigh, stuck between drowsiness and consciousness, horniness and self-realization. Having it even brought up was enough for you to fully freeze at that moment.
Sy’s voice is ardent when he says your name. In response to the tone of it, your eyes immediately open.
“Get outta your head with me,” he reminds you in a whisper. “Just keep feelin’ good.”
Giving him another little nod, you watch his face while you start to rut against his stomach again–still slow, but purposefully and pleasurably so–just little circles now. Sy really does seem to enjoy watching and listening to you, so you remind yourself again that even though this could come across as degrading with anyone else, you have no reason to be nervous. You can feel how hard his dick is directly behind your ass.
Your hands that’ve been holding Sy’s face and neck move down to his chest, and you lightly prop yourself upwards, putting a little more space between your bodies. When the little circles you’re making start feeling really good, you softly whine, “Oh, God.”
Sy watches all he can between your bodies, eyes darting between your rocking pelvis and your tits directly in front of his face. “There you go,” he murmurs, quiet quiet quiet. “There you go.”
Your voices are almost too faint to hear under regular circumstances, but now, with everything so intimate, it’s only right for everything to be hushed. Every sound you make, though steadily becoming a little dirty-sounding, remains soft.
After moving his hand to the small of your back, Sy lets out a deep grumbling-sound when he feels the exact rhythm of how you’re rocking and gliding on top of him. You whimper as the near-constant lubrication and pressure on your clit rapidly becomes almost too pleasurable. Sy’s dark eyes lift up to your face in time to see your eyebrows scrunching together, your mouth dropped open.
You’re already close to coming, and you don’t want that yet–just on the off-chance that your body won’t cooperate doing it a second time later on. It’s challenging, but you pointedly stop moving and offer Sy a sheepish look, heavily breathing above him before leaning down for a single kiss. Lowering yourself down his body the next instant, you kiss your way along his hairy chest and stomach, skipping a certain spot when it makes your face heat up.
Sy turns his head to the side and groans before widening both of his thick legs for you to situate yourself in between. Once there, you rest your head on the very top of his left leg and glance up at him without touching him at all. He reaches down and runs his hand over your hair in a petting motion. You softly smile as you begin to calm down from your earlier peak.
Lightly, you run a finger along Sy’s cock, now pointing at his belly button and so erect that prominent veins are showing. His fingers tighten on your hair once you reach the slit at the top and begin spreading around his pre-cum with your fingertips.
“You’re really hard,” you flit your eyes upwards and whisper.
He reaches down to grab his dick at the very bottom, holding it upright. “Yeah,” he looks you directly in the eye and murmurs. “I am.”
You reach out and softly touch Sy’s inner thigh next, noticing how pale it is compared to his other weather-darkened skin, how relatively hairless the area is compared to the rest of his legs. Next, you trail your fingers over the velvety skin of his balls, first at the crease and then each one individually. The more inward you focus, the thicker his hair becomes, and you’re lost in the pure masculinity of how it all looks–his cock in his hand, his tight balls underneath, his pubic hair surrounding everything.
Gradually looking up his body, you take in all the hair atop his stomach and chest, moving your hand to slide upwards until there’s enough to gently grip in your fist, then you glance even higher to study his beard.
There’s a sensation on your head, and you realize it’s Sy running his hand over your hair again. Finally, you look up at his eyes, but you’re distracted a second later when he slides his thumb along your cheek and rests it on your bottom lip, pushing.
You close your mouth around his offering, realizing that while you’ve been resting your head on his leg, you’ve begun to drool, almost enough to drip on his thigh. Immediately, with weight in your mouth, your eyes get heavy and slip closed.
The thumb goes away, and Sy says your name. Then he says baby. You squint open your eyes.
The room feels as hazy as your mind does when you finally lean inwards and lick Sy’s cock where he’s angling it towards your mouth. Like time right now is heavy and slow. Like there’s no rush for anything at all. Nothing’s urgent, and everything’s just right. Like this is all there is.
You carefully lap up all the fluid at Sy's cockhead with little swirls of your tongue and listen to the hitches in his breath. After alternating with licking, sucking, and flicking–keeping everything purposefully slow–Sy starts taking in louder lungfuls of air.
When he removes his hand from the base of his cock, it jumps. Your hand instantly takes its place, and when you try to pull upwards, there’s hardly any give. After a few more tortuously slow pulls, you finally shift so that you’re entirely centered between his legs, no longer with your head on his leg.
In this ongoing glow of confidence Sy’s giving you, you look him in the eyes while you begin to lower your mouth again–this time front and center. You feel addicted to all of this right now–to him in your mouth, to the image of him laying like he is, broad and hairy and periodically lifting his head to look down at you only to throw it back on his pillow a second later. Watching Sy start to lose control of himself is one of the best things ever.
Ultimately, he shoves a few pillows behind his head and sits up a little bit so he can watch everything you’re doing. He places his hand on the back of your head again, and it’s a pleasant weight as you drop your mouth as low as you possibly can before sliding it back up. Slowly, you repeat the action several times until you’ve drooled all over his dick, but even then, you’re not done messing around. You mouth and lick down the sides and back up with no real purpose but to hear Sy’s breathing switch up with every new thing you do.
When you get him entirely in your mouth again, you start using your hand to stroke him in time. Even at your slow pace, Sy doesn’t push on your head or rush you. He remains still, only letting out staccato breaths and short, sporadic grunts. You covet every one of them.
When he finally speaks, it's when you momentarily take your hand off him and lower your mouth as much as you possibly can. When you pull up to the tip again, you just lower your mouth again, starting to slowly bob your head and suck, and Sy lets out a long, quiet, and drawn-out, “Yeaahh.”
To rest your cheeks, you remove your mouth after a while to just jerk him with your hand, but you’re sure to keep everything excruciatingly slow. Witnessing him still heavily gazing down at you, you look directly in his eyes while your hand moves, sticking your tongue out and circling it around the tip of his dick.
With his first soft-spoken swear of the night, his hand drops from your head down onto the mattress. Again, his vowel sound is lengthened, fricative as he grunts, “Shii-iit.”
He must like what he sees. Happily, you wiggle a little bit.
When you decide you’ve teased enough, you finally lower your mouth again and instantly give the pressure and speed and suction you know he likes with your mouth, tongue, and hand. You start bobbing your head up and down, jerking him at the same time, and right away, he’s affected, groaning from deep within his chest.
“Fuck, just like that,” he slurs, and the simple praise that he likes what you’re doing lights you up. With his dick in your mouth, you want to smile. You love making him feel good. “Yeah. So fuckin’ good.”
You moan around him instantly. He smells and tastes like clean skin with an underlying layer of salt and arousal, and it makes your head feel even heavier. Your lust-droopy eyes slip closed while you fall into a rhythm that’s quick yet still relatively unpredictable. Moving downwards and upwards, sometimes you repeatedly bob your head. Other times you keep your fist at the top to touch your lips while you suck extra hard and wildly circle your tongue. Mainly, you go by Sy’s breathing and his soft cussing, moaning in satisfaction with the knowledge you’re doing good every time he praises you. You look up at him almost constantly.
Your free hand twitches on Sy’s upper leg when you feel your pussy begin to clench on nothing at all, and you whine when the urge to grind against something returns. Breathing heavily through your nostrils, you shift onto your knees for a second before finally bowing your spine, sticking your ass up in some vain attempt to stop everything inside you from throbbing so much. Just then, Sy’s hips fiercely jump upwards, causing his dick to stab your tonsils.
“Fuck, baby, shit,” he sharply lets out right as you cough, and from his tone, it’s him apologizing.
Sy can always control himself right up until the second he’s about to come. You’ve learned that he’ll only thrust his hips upwards when he’s right on the edge. He’s too considerate otherwise, even going so far as to entirely back out of your mouth if he hears you choking even a little.
This time you encourage it, reaching underneath to grip his ass-cheek and literally pull him deeper inside your mouth, but with tightly coiled legs and a firm grip on your hair from out of nowhere, everything suddenly stills. Though you try to resist, Sy’s strong when he pulls you off his dick with a loud popping sound, and a long string of saliva trails from your mouth as you look up at him. He swears under his breath, but you can’t hear what he actually says. You just keep looking at him.
“C’mere, darlin’,” he mutters like it’s not the first time he’s said it, nudging your hair. “C’mere.”
He must not want to come yet, either. You climb back up to straddle his waist again, feeling his hands instantly settle on your hips. Heavily breathing, you wipe your hand across your lips, then you fish for more praise.
“Good?” you ask with a smile, your voice scratchy.
Again, Sy’s hands begin to move everywhere, and they won’t stop. They run up and down your sides, around to your back and then down to your ass, then up your back again only to slide around to your breasts.
“Yeah, baby, so good, perfect,” Sy indulges, even though he’d told you that already. Just massaging your breasts together, he groans, slow and deep. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”
You want to say No, I’m not, but you remind yourself that to Sy, you are, so you just offer a small smile.
He moves his hands to your hips and pulls. “Get back down here.”
With so many pillows still behind his back, he’s propped up, and it’s easy to move until you’re entirely pressed against his chest. The moment you wrap your hands around his thick neck and press your lips onto his, however, he yanks the pillows away and lays back on the mattress, taking you with him.
After letting out a little gasp and then a little chuckle, you tilt your head to the side and actually kiss Sy, laying your chest flat against his. Minutely, you simultaneously begin moving your hips in little circles again, just something to ease the ache, and then he starts talking into your mouth.
“Fuck.” Sy’s hands come to rest on your ass, and he squeezes each cheek generously. “You’re so fuckin’ hot, Y/N. So pretty.”
With a whine, your eyes close instantly. You’re rubbing your bare cunt across his stomach and you both have the taste of his dick in your mouths, and he’s calling you pretty.
Behind you, Sy reaches downwards and takes hold of himself. You feel a smear of liquid against your ass-cheek then the slow tell-tale movements of his hand pulling up and down, and it gives you the brief burst of courage you need to brace a hand on his chest to lift your upper body entirely up.
While Sy’s lazily stroking himself behind you, you push your upper body up and start grinding your hips again, a little more evidently this time since this foreplay apparently has no time-limit and both of you are obviously really fucking into it. It feels like it should be dirty, so dirty–fucking without fucking–but with your eyes trained intently on one another’s, all it feels is right. It feels so good, there's no way it's anything but right.
A few moments of pleasure later, you slightly lift yourself so you can slide down Sy’s upper thighs. Beckoning him to move his hand off himself, you move even further down his legs until you can look down and see his cock. Carefully, carefully, you lower yourself, cover Sy’s dick with your pussy, and start to slide your wetness upwards from root to tip.
Sy’s mouth widely drops open, and he strains his neck while looking down, breathing through only his mouth. When his eyes flicker up to your face, it’s like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Fuck, baby,” he lets out, all in one hotly exhaled breath.
Sy goes back to staring at your gliding pussy lips encasing his dick before briefly looking up at you again. “Watch,” he tells you. “Watch with me.”
You look down for only a second and have to close your eyes.
“Nuh-uh. Watch.”
“Sy.”
“Tell me what it feels like.”
You whine while continuing to move.
He grunts in response. “Look how fuckin’ wet you're makin’ me.”
After you look down again, Sy reaches out for your tits like he’s starved. When he gets both your breasts in his large hands, he moves his thumbs around and around your pebbled nipples, obsessed, and you just can’t take it anymore. You need more. You’ve gotta have more. Everything is–
Sy slightly pinches one of your nipples, and you cry out. “What’s it feel like?”
“Really good,” you whisper quickly, almost feeling frantic. “Really, really good.”
You lean one hand down on Sy’s chest. Reaching down with the other hand, you take hold of his slick cock and angle it straight up. You want him inside you now.
Your leg muscles clench as you lift up and then impulsively begin sinking down to match up with the tip of Sy, but when you feel his cockhead make contact with your dripping pussy and just barely breach inside, you freeze.
Your face darts up to look at Sy, and you honest-to-God whine. He looks at you momentarily like you’re crazy for stopping, then he taps your leg. “My bag, fuck,” he says almost urgently. “The left.”
You’re frustrated that you can’t just stretch out and reach into Sy’s bag from your current position. You have to climb over him until you’re on the side of the bed, then you have to lean down to unzip the pouch on the left of his gym back. When all you find is a pocket-knife–what the fuck did he pack a pocket-knife for–you then have to unzip the pouch on the right.
“Dammit, the other left,” you mutter.
You grab a packet from the small box and instantly climb back on top of Sy’s thick thighs. You try to rip open the foil, and even though your hands aren't even slippery or anything, you struggle. “I-Shit, Sy, I can’t–get this–fucking–”
You’re about to give up and just use your teeth to open the package when Sy reaches out to take it from you. “You’re hands’re shakin’,” he murmurs, eyebrows touching.
You look down at your hands and can feel the anticipatory anxiety in them, like they’re full of crawling ants.
“Hey.” Sy waits until you look at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Quickly, you nod. “I just feel really–a lot.”
“You are a lot.”
You smirk. “You're a lot. This is a lot,” you gesture between your bodies and reply. “It’s…always a lot.”
Sy looks you down and back up. “This still okay?” he asks, and God, he–he just knows you so well. Knows how new situations make you nervous even if they’re something you want. “You okay like this?”
You neither shake nor nod your head. You just lean down to kiss him. When your lips break, he says, “I need words.”
You swallow. “Yeah,” you answer, but your voice comes out nervous. You remember the conversation you'd had not even thirty minutes ago in the car, how you and Sy were literally discussing your preference for him being in charge because it makes you feel less nervous knowing you don't have to control everything.
…But no one’s saying he isn’t in control like this. You were on top of him on the couch that one time–that time you were on your back laying on top of him–so you repeat yourself, a little less shaky, “Yeah. I’m good.”
“And what’re you gonna do if you ain’t feelin’ it?”
You look down and smile a little bit. “Gonna let you know.”
Sy tears open the condom packet and takes out the slippery latex, instantly looking down as he rolls it on himself. He pinches the end before holding his dick fully upright at the top, and you just stare down at him with your mouth open. God, he’s hot.
“Sy?”
He looks up right away.
“Just–like, keep talkin’ to me.”
He gives you that sideways little smile, and he reaches out to pull your face down to his. With your lips just millimeters apart, he quietly whispers, “Baby. With you ridin’ my dick, ain’t no way you could shut me up.”
Quickly, you breathe, and you’re so close to him that you can’t even see both his eyes–you have to focus on just one. Sy rests his free hand on your thigh and slightly squeezes, spurring you to lift yourself for him. As if drawn together, you both instantly and innately move to unite–you getting upright again and lifting your hips, Sy holding himself to seek out your heat. Sinking down where you feel his fingers, you match up, and you continue lowering yourself until the head of his cock just barely pops inside you. Once you drop just a tiny bit more, Sy moves his hand away and grasps your other thigh.
Already feeling a stretch, you lower yourself a tiny bit at a time, soundlessly gasping when you rise back up again. Repeatedly, you do this, and you're rewarded by Sy's heavy breathing and the most lust-filled expression imaginable on his face.
“Yeah, keep goin’,” he murmurs, dazed and gravelly and giving you all you need to keep going. “You can take it all.”
You lean a hand down onto Sy’s chest and slowly keep working your hips up and down. You know you can take all of him–you know it. The lower you go, though, the more resistance it feels like there is, like you're just not going to be able to get the lower half inside in this position. You let out a whine, and Sy brings one of his hands up to the back of your head, beckoning you to cover his mouth with yours again.
Once more, you fall forward. Once more, your humid mouths slot together. You’ll never get tired of kissing this man, so you start up with the same fervor you’d shared earlier, tongues going crazy, tasting and exploring his mouth, moaning into it because you love him and he makes you feel good.
Sy starts shallowly pushing upwards to match your careful movements downwards. After a few seconds, he takes hold of your hips, strongly thrusts upwards, and simultaneously pulls your body down. Within a second, you’re speared on his dick, bodies connected as much as physically possible, and both of you sound out as one.
Your noise is more of a quiet scream than a moan; it’s like Sy’s cock has pushed through a barrier that’s led to an explosion of pleasure on the other side of it. As you let out a shaky whimper at how good everything feels already-not even really moving yet–Sy lets out a deep noise like he’s been injured, like he’s been punched in the stomach.
You look at his face to witness his features tightly contorted in what looks like pain. His mouth is taut, his teeth clenched. His hands are gripping your hips so firmly that it almost aches. It takes a second, but you're finally able to get out, “Sy–baby–are you all right?”
He lets out a noise almost like a laugh, but again, like everything else going on with him right now, it’s strained. “Fuck, are you?” He finally opens his eyes, and they're heavy-lidded and dark.
“Yeah, it’s–” God, your pussy’s throbbing around Sy, like a heartbeat you feel throughout your entire body. “It’s really good.”
His fingers twitch where they’re digging into your skin. “You feel fuckin’ amazin’.”
“Sy,” you desperately moan, and for a moment, you feel a little crazy. It’s so fucking much that you feel out of your mind. How is it like this? How is it always like this?
You slot your mouth to Sy’s again right before you start lifting yourself up his shaft, and–oh, that’s a sound you recognize. You’ve never heard Sy make whatever noise that was a second ago, but the ones now–the ones he’s letting out into your mouth–you know. Your lips curve into a smile in the middle of a kiss.
Breaking the kiss momentarily, you watch his face as you lift your hips up again. The look he gives you is almost dark. When his hands travel from your hips to the backs of your legs, cupping your ass, you're half-expecting him to entirely flip you over.
He doesn’t. Instead, one hand remains grasping one ass cheek while his other starts to travel to the middle. Like it's nothing, he trails an index finger down the tight crease of skin under your tailbone and then lightly over your dry hole. He goes lower until you feel his touch against where you’re stretched around his cock. After cursing between his teeth, he moves that hand to your ass cheek again.
“God, you're so tight.”
“Mmm.”
You try to stay slow, just trying out what feels the best for you and what elicits the most sounds from Sy, little by little getting used to the stretch, body reshaping itself around him.
If his half-moon eyes and slack jaw are any indication, he likes when you ride just the tip of him. He likes when you take all of him inside, too, going almost all the way up and sinking down with your full body weight. He also likes when you don’t move much at all and simply grind and circle your hips against him. You’re so worked up that you do it all.
You don’t mean to, but your mind momentarily drifts somewhere for a second–and you know you shouldn’t be in your head at all right now, but you can’t help it. It’s hard to stop thinking for long enough to actually get into a rhythm of something. You want Sy to tell you what to do.
Sy must clock your nervousness. While putting his hand on the back of your head, he simultaneously leans upwards and pulls you into another heated kiss, seeming to realize that kissing is calming. Without breaking from your mouth, he falls back to the mattress and takes you with him again. Keeping your legs bracketed at the sides of Sy’s stomach, your hands slide upwards to wrap around his neck. Appreciatively, Sy’s own hands run up and down the long lines of your bare back once you’re crouching so close over him that your hair drops onto his face.
“What d’you like the best, like this?” you whisper. “What do you want?”
“Just make yourself feel good, baby.” Sy smiles as he slides his hands down to your ass. “That’s what I want. I wanna see you do whatchu want.”
Okay. You trust him. You trust him with all parts of you. Now you can actually let go. Those are his directions–just do what you want.
You nod at him.
“Yeah?” he whispers. “You gonna be good and take whatchu want?”
“Good God,” you utter. Shakily, you press a whisper of a kiss on his lips, then you begin moving again, with rhythm, with purpose, working on chasing pleasure again. Encouragingly, Sy cups your ass cheeks and repeatedly helps lift you up, almost to the point where he’s doing all the work, but mainly just setting the pace before moving his hands to other parts of you.
Only when you get into an addictive rhythm does Sy start fucking his hips up, and after he bends his legs and plants his feet on the mattress, you both gently start to glide and crash together.
You kiss him again and again and whimper into his mouth–quiet little sounds exiting the back of your throat in time with every quickening breath you let out. “Syyy.”
Soon you start actually moaning instead of whimpering through heavy breaths, and Sy follows, deeply groaning, as well. In two separate octaves, you move in time and share reserved passion. “Mmm, mhmm.”
Even though it’s more for you to coordinate–making out and fucking–instinct takes over. You both massage one another’s tongues with the same rhythm that your bodies are uniting with, and with Sy’s hands touching your ass and your breasts and your legs and your neck, with his groans filling your mouth, your speed gradually increases.
So do your sounds.
“Oh, my God.”
“Yeah,” Sy says encouragingly, deep and low.
Though you want to, you grow too exerted to continue kissing nonstop. The air between your noses and mouths gets too humid once you both start to sweat, so you push your hands against his chest again to lift your upper body up. Instantly, Sy pushes himself up with his hands on the mattress and, clearly not one to lay still, begins placing open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck.
You hold onto Sy’s shoulders just as he’s taking your breasts in both hands. The angle is different now, and instead of moving up and down on him, you start grinding forward, making his dick press against some sharp spot inside of your pussy while your clit presses against his pubic bone.
“Fu-uck,” you say through a choked-back moan when you feel him start mouthing at your nipples, then groaning against you, then lightly biting. Your face contorts at the sensation of your pussy being stretched, being filled, and, outside of that, you feeling utterly consumed and taken care of and safe and lit up. “Sy, fuck.”
Frantically, you grab the back of Sy’s neck with one hand while continuing to undulate your hips, and when he’s done kissing along your neck, he just stares down at you.
“God, lookatchu.”
You look down at your bodies carnally grinding together, and to blindly chase everything, you begin rutting forward even faster. “Look at you.”
Everything in the world is focused on the sensations you’re washing yourselves in. Sy feels so good and smells so good and looks so good and sounds so good, encouraging you with his breathy grunts and shallow thrusts and constant whispers of dirty-sweet stuff into the hot air between your faces.
You both breathe heavily and remain otherwise quiet while just watching one another, but when Sy lets out a grunted “fuck,” his lips pursed like he’s concentrating real hard on something, he leans backwards to lay flat on the bed again. You lose some of the pressure on your clit when you become entirely upright, hands no longer on Sy’s shoulders and neck for leverage anymore but down by your legs instead.
At the new angle, you start to slightly bounce instead of grind, and though you miss how it felt shallowly rubbing your entire pussy against him, it’s made better when Sy takes both of your hands in his and simply holds them while looking up at you and then down where you’re connecting. You clench your leg muscles and start truly riding him, mouth falling open. This is nice, too. This is so nice, too.
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, c’mon,” he mumbles, staring all over your body in a daze. “Baby, you got no idea how good you look right now.”
You smile at him–or you try to. It could just be with your eyes. You’re glad Sy likes talking in bed–even if he just does it for your sake. The only difference between tonight and any other night is that whenever he speaks, it’s with a low, hushed whisper, making everything even more personal.
His hands move to the area around your hips, not touching but just hovering there. He stares at the spot your bodies are joining for a long time before throwing his head to the side then looking back up at your face. He sounds drunk when he lets out, “So lucky t’ have you like this.”
“Sy, oh my God,” you whine, and you say it because you can’t formulate anything else whatsoever to say, but what you mean is–you’re so fucking big, I feel so fucking good, I love you so fucking much.
You’re overwhelmed. This is too much. It’s all so much. It feels amazing, but it feels like you’re out of control. Your mouth is beard-burned and is letting out noises with every breath you take, and you can't even help it any longer–not the sounds themselves nor the volume of them. Your breasts are moving in a way that probably looks weird and your face probably looks screwed up, yet all you can do is just speed up even more.
“So fuckin’ lucky, baby, God.”
You try to keep yourself from outrightly keening in pleasure. “I'm–”
“You’re beautiful,” Sy utters while his eyes travel all over the place, mainly at your chest. “That’s whatchu are. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”
Your answer is a moan. You and Sy’s noises mix beautifully in symphony, his deep and low grunts and your higher-pitched whines and melodic moans. In between curses, Sy heavily pants. He’s looking at you with such an intense expression, reverent and heated and fucked-out all at once.
“Fuck, I can’t-” you curse when you feel your legs start tiring out. “Fuck.”
Sy's eyes turn wide, almost concerned. “I’m sorry–fuck, I can’t, Sy,” you tell him, slowing down and slightly wincing as your muscles burn.
“I gotchu,” he says while thrusting up now, matching your pace from a moment ago. You lean forward again and put one hand on the middle of his chest, and almost immediately, he grabs your forearm, having you falling on top of him entirely, tits smushing against his pecs.
“Oh, shit.”
“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he says as you lean your body to the left and start kissing and biting and sucking on Sy’s neck. “So good. You got no idea–”
Your forehead falls onto his neck, and you grip at any skin you can find as firmly as you can while you try to move as quickly as possible in rhythm with Sy, this time using your ass muscles to assist instead of your burning quads. You dig your knees into the mattress and rest the tops of your feet on Sy’s legs, and when you can’t keep your eyes open any longer, they close in bliss.
“Oh, fuck.” Fingers digging into your skin, Sy lets out a long grunt when you start moving quickly enough for your skin to slap together. “Oh, shit. ‘M gonna fuckin’ come if you don’t slow down.”
You open your eyes long enough to smile at him, biting your lower lip. That’s what you want. You want it so bad. He always makes you feel so good, and now you’re making him feel good–you’re feeling good together. If possible, you move quicker, practically riding just the tip of his dick at this point, all while keeping your upper body laying on his.
Sy smacks your ass. “Gonna come if you don’t quit,” he warns again, faster than he ever speaks.
The idea of stopping makes no sense, and despite the aches in your legs that you can still feel even using different muscles, your body just can’t do it. You can’t stop. You want him to come. You tell him so. “I want you to.”
The instant Sy physically grabs your hips to still you, you whine. “Y/N,” he warns through clenched teeth.
When he can, he always wants you to watch you finish first, and you get that’s why he’s being like this. But just because you won’t be coming first obviously doesn’t mean he can’t watch you just a minute later, so you give him bedroom eyes and say, “But it’s what I want, baby, please.”
Sy’s breathing gets more stifled when you start moving with frenetic purpose–bring him to climax, watch it all, feel it all. Because you feel some sort of power right now, and because his dirty talk has somewhat rubbed off on you, you put your mouth close to his ear while your pussy starts to ensconce his dick again. “It’s what I want,” you repeat while panting, “so I can make believe you’re comin’ inside me for real.”
“Fuck,” he lets out sharp and low as if being punched in the gut. “What–You–Y/N–”
Suddenly, you aren’t the one moving anymore; Sy’s holding you so tightly that you can’t. At all. It’s all him now, thrusting upwards so rapidly his balls slap against your asshole. His feet dig into the mattress as he continues fucking you, no momentum lost at all, just full-force thrusting into you while groaning the deepest and most desperate sounds against your throat.
You’ve never felt him move so fast. Even though you’re trying to hold off for at least another minute so you can watch him, you could come like this. The sliding, the wetness, the speed, the deep spot he keeps hitting–“Oh, my God, oh my fucking God, Sy. Ungh! Oh my God.”
“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” Sy rushes out in an urgent groan. “And you’re mine.”
“Sy–”
“All mine.”
“Yeah, yes, yes–”
You’re sweaty. You’re breathless. You’re taking an onslaught. If you thought your pussy was loud earlier, now it’s even more obscene, sounding like your ass is being spanked every single second. You clench and squeeze Sy's dick as tight as possible, feeling like you could explode at any time. “Syyy.”
“Gonna come in you, baby, fuck–Y/N, gonna come–”
You continue to take all the pleasure you can from Sy while he goes through some full-body experience, roughly making out, “I'm comin'," before every muscle in his body locks tight.
As he suddenly stops moving, you push yourself up a little to watch his face contort, keelhauled. His expression is ecstasy exemplified.
His fingers loosen from their strong grip on your ass, then all of his muscles follow suit until he’s melted back on the mattress. His head tilts backwards so you can see every ridge of his throat. His damp chest rises and falls with effort, beautifully pink.
Sy laid back sweaty and pussy-drunk is one of the best sights you think you’ve ever seen. Entranced, you watch every single movement he makes–his chest fully expanding and falling again, his arms twitching, the taut cords of muscle in his neck loosening. His controlled face washed in deep relaxation.
You both stay how you are for at least an entire minute, then he blinks open his heavy eyes and glances at you.
“Fuck,” he lets out while turning his face to the side, and you can read into the specific tone of it–it’s disbelief that his orgasm was that strong but frustration that he finished before you did.
You both breathe loudly for a while, then you experimentally roll your hips forward. When you roll them backwards, his soft cock accidentally slips out of you, and he curses again, slightly grumpy.
“Roll over,” he taps your leg and urges.
Your body is stiff and your brain is sluggish, so he has to tell you twice. “Roll over, Y/N, or I’ll do it myself.”
With shaky legs, you dismount and do as he asks, imagining for a second that if he’d really come inside you, it’d be leaking out onto your thighs right now.
The moment you’re on your back, Sy immediately sits up and moves in between your legs until he’s directly facing your pussy, breathing it in. You don’t care where the condom even went right now; it’s forgotten. You don’t care that he’s literally sniffing you right now.
You just made him come his brains out. You’re high just from that. You don’t care about anything else.
You push yourself backwards on the bed into a more comfortable position and bend your legs at the knees. On his stomach, Sy follows you hungrily. Spreading your pussy lips apart with fingers from both hands, he stares down at you.
“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mutters, and now that the frenzy from before has died down, you feel a little embarrassed. You can only imagine what you look like right now. Your breathing hitches when Sy starts to fucking blow warm air on your clit.
“You were right on the edge, weren’tchu?” he asks quietly, conversationally. The desperate edge to his voice is gone, replaced by something dirtier. “So close to comin’.”
With a fingernail in between your teeth to keep you from losing it altogether, you nod. “But I wanted to watch you. It was…it was really hot.”
Sy smirks. Then, without warning, he pushes your legs back until your knees are up by your face. You try to keep your feet from touching his shoulders, but it’s hard. After squirming for a bit, Sy ultimately touches one of your ankles to signal it’s okay for you to keep your feet there.
He leans up to kiss you–once, twice–but, with your hands on both sides of his face, you try to draw it out. When you’re both licking into each other’s mouths again, you move your lips and start sucking on his tongue. Sy bites your lower lip after that, and he smiles at you afterwards.
“Next time,” he promises before reaching two fingers down to your entrance. He draws little circles over your wetness then slides his fingers up your slit where all your nerve cells are firing off, all your blood still rushed there.
In an imitation of how you’d taken your time with him earlier, he just…enjoys you for a while. He touches you all over, again and again, just gentle touches in complete contrast to the frantic motions you’d shared just moments ago. Within minutes, your pussy is slick enough for wetness to trail down your ass crack.
“Next time, you know you’re comin’ on my dick,” he tells you without breaking eye-contact. “While you’re ridin’ me.”
Sy just barely slides a finger inside you, and you close your eyes with a gasp. “I–I was gonna.”
“I know you were,” he almost coos, removing his finger from your hole to go back to your clit again.
“Not just at the end, but like–” You squeeze your eyes shut.
These past few weeks, Sy’s encouraged you to discuss sex more than ever. And yeah, you sort of had to when the side effects of the anxiety medication you take finally decided to show up, making for a horribly embarrassing conversation about how sometimes you would be entirely ready and just…wouldn’t have the wetness to match it. Or…how afterwards, you wouldn’t be able to…
“I was close, like, when you were sittin’ up,” you quietly admit. “Like…with your hands on the bed. That was…That was good.”
He stares at you for a long moment. You shy away from the heated look for a minute, expecting him to ask, “Well, why didn’t you tell me?” but instead, with a gleam in his eyes, he says, “Me too. That’s why I had to lay back down again.”
To ward off all the awkwardness you’re feeling, you stick out your tongue. Sy obscenely licks it with his own right before pressing two fingers at once into you, and you sound out against his lips.
“Feels good?”
You nod, but you reach down to cover your clit with all your fingers at once. “Feels the best here.”
“Oh, I bet it does, sweetheart,” he says while moving your hand away from yourself.
Squinting your eyes at him, you almost glower. “Are you teasing me?”
Sy continues to steadily finger you, and his answer is in a kiss: he pushes his entire tongue into your mouth, slides his tongue along the entire length of yours, then reaches the end of it and starts circling and flicking it like he’d do if he were eating you out.
He does the thing with his tongue a few more times while his fingers continue to fuck into you, and wanting more, you tilt your hips upwards despite you already being angled the way you are. Sy doesn’t give in until you put your hand on the back of his head and breathlessly let out, “Please.”
“Oh, you beg so sweet, don’tchu.”
You're too horny to chide him for being like this; you simply nod with wide-eyes, and Sy lets out some groaning sound. Scooting down the bed and spreading your pussy lips open with two hands again, Sy just stares at you with his mouth dropped open, and you’re gonna die if he keeps this up. You weren’t this mean to him all.
But then he goes and says, “So sweet,” and then, “So good,” and if only he asked you to, you’d probably stay just like you currently are, frozen without moving for days, wanting only to be good for him. Wanting only for him to voice that you are.
Finally, finally, Sy presses his hot mouth onto your clit, licking over where you’re still pulsing, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Oh, fuck,” you harshly whisper. You’re so sensitive your legs instantly start to shake.
When you look down, you see Sy’s face slowly moving side to side, and then you feel him gently sucking. Almost involuntarily, your hips jump up against his tongue, against where he’s directly targeting that one spot that’s throbbing and aching, and then you start to grind against his mouth. It’s then he chooses to slide his fingers back inside you, pistoning them rhythmically, and–
“Oh,” you whimper. “Oh, that feels good. Sy, that feels really, really good.”
Your breathing gets heavier, louder, more urgent. It’s–It’s a lot. It’s a fucking lot. Your fingers twitch on top of Sy’s head, and you momentarily wish he had more hair for you to pull. He keeps groaning against your skin while his mouth makes smacking noises, and the vibrations from that along with everything else he’s doing–
“Sy, you’re gonna make me–SyI’mgonnacome,” you moan, the last word louder than the rest of your urgently spoken warning.
Horrifically, Sy pulls his face back and stills his fingers. “No, you’re not,” he states.
“Yes,” you breathe out while tilting your hips up again in vain, “I am.”
Sy goes back in. When he starts flicking his tongue, your eyes roll in the back of your head, and your toes curl against his shoulders. “You’re gonna wait,” he mumbles against you. Then he kisses there, wide and sloppy, slurping before sucking, using so much tongue you can hear it.
“Syyy–fuck.”
“You can do that,” he pulls his face up again and says, almost sweetly. He takes his fingers out of your pussy and briefly sticks them in his mouth. After he slides them out, he murmurs, “You can wait a li’l longer for me.”
“God,” you moan, voice high-pitched while your hips start to twitch again. Sy firmly presses your hips down to the mattress. “But I don’t want to.”
“You can wait,” Sy repeats himself.
Swallowing thickly, you shake your head while staring down at him in desperation. You could come from him running his beard on you at this point. He’s being cruel by leaving you right on the edge only to keep taking it away. Repeatedly.
Sy’s calm when he glances up at you. “You're gonna be good and wait. Just like you did on my dick.”
Your legs quiver until your knees knock together. When you meet his gaze in the dark room, he gives you a knowing look–he’d said the word. Good. Damn him, but you want to be good. You always just want to be good.
“Then you need to stop,” you urgently get out.
“Okay, baby,” he says, leaning back a little before pressing two fingers inside you at once. He slowly sinks them in and then out again, and the glide is perfect. “Just this, then.”
His fingers are great, but you begin to squirm. You want something back on your clit, too. It actually has its own heartbeat now. Not able to hold it back, you whine again.
“Shh. You got to play with me. Now it’s my turn.” He gives you a gentle smile and even a wink. “Maybe you can make my arm all wet again.”
“Oh, fuck.”
Sy takes out his index and middle fingers and goes back to fingering you with his middle and ring finger. “Here we go,” he mutters to himself, moving a little to get a better angle. “This is whatchu like.”
He fingers you a little faster than before, alternating between delving in and out of your pussy and then just staying buried inside and vibrating his fingers somehow. You put a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from screaming.
“Please,” you let out, muffled behind your hand.
His index finger and pinky are splayed out, angling downwards towards your ass. His thumb is jutting upwards, begging to be used, and if he were to just–drop it, then you could fucking–
“Hm?”
“Please,” you repeat yourself, but your voice is still imperceptible.
He kisses the inside of your leg. “Please what, baby?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. Fuck. “Please–” you say, wanting him to just read your mind. “More.”
Sy’s fingers start to move urgently, squelching now. “Faster?” he asks.
He knows what the fuck he’s doing. You slide a hand down your stomach and then lower, touching your aching clit to get relief, but Sy moves it away instantly.
You honest-to-God pout. “You’re bein’ mean,” you whine. “Are you doin’ this because you wanted me to come first and I didn’t?”
“Doin’ what?” Sy asks against your folds. “I’m just tryin’ to make you feel good, baby.”
“Well, it hurts.”
Sy is quiet, apparently waiting until you look down and make eye contact with him, and when you do, your eyes are pained, your face scrunched up. His fingers are still jutting in and out of you.
“What hurts?” He lowers his mouth to your clit and keeps his eyes on yours as he finally starts to lick there again. “This where it hurts?”
You frantically nod and watch as he does it again. It’s perfect. It’s fucking perfect. You hum. His fingers are touching some spot inside you that feels connected to your clit or something, like it’s just one giant interconnected pleasure spot.
“Am I makin’ it better?” he asks, and you don’t care that he’s being cocky; you instantly nod.
Your hands move to the backs of your bent knees and stay there while Sy’s mouth and his fingers expertly work in tandem, just building everything that was already overflowing earlier higher and higher and higher. With every frantic glide of his fingers, it’s more, and with every forceful thrust of them, it’s more, and with every curve of his fingertips against the spongy parts of your upper walls, it’s more.
“Oh, God, Sy, it’s so fuckin’ good.” As you pant, each exhale is a whiny moan.
“This’s why you didn’t come first,” Sy backs away and quietly muses, sucking your clit lazily in between sentences.
“Huh?”
“Needed me to touch you here, hm?”
You squeeze your eyes shut and writhe your head to the side.
“That it?” he asks.
You thought you’d be getting what you wanted. You thought he was done with taking the breaks to talk and be mean. “I don’t–Sy, I don’t–”
Sy lowers his mouth again. Each lapping brush of his tongue to your clit adds even more to the already insanely-high sensations, making everything topple over since it’s so much, and it’s so out of your control that you have no option but to succumb to it. You’re gonna come. You’re so close. If he’d just–
“When you ride me again, you’re gonna have to lean back and not forward, ain’tchu?”
You don’t know how to even visualize what he’s even saying. You can't make sense of any words, actually. You just keep feeling what he does in between talking to you. His mouth is fucking making smacking sounds as he gets sloppier and sloppier, and you're so so so fucking close.
“You’ll have to put your feet on the bed, won’tchu,” he goes on. “Hands back on the bed, too. Or my legs.”
You grow to be louder, making these high-pitched nng sounds that are obscene and out of control. Responding to your noises, Sy just moves his tongue and his fingers even faster. After long moments pass without him talking at all, you’re so fucking glad he’s done teasing you. You’re so close. All your muscles are taut and ready for release to wash over you.
But he’s not done. He slows down his fingers and removes his mouth from you, too. “Then I’ll be able to see you here.”
Sy taps your clit with just his index finger. Your hips jerk upward, and your muscles start quivering.
“Then I’ll be able to touch you here,” he whispers, circling his finger atop the little nub. “And then I’ll get to watchu come on my cock.”
You’re so shaky you can’t keep still, but Sy puts his free hand on your stomach to make you. Looking down at him, your eyes twist up like they do when you’re about to cry.
“Please,” you mouth.
“Okay, baby, shh,” he murmurs.
“Please,” you say again, and you’re not above begging like this. “Really?”
“I gotchu,” he promises. “You've been good.”
You look him in the eye and finally see that he’s earnestly done talking to you, done teasing you, so you lay back and just feel, having the telepathic knowledge that everything you’re experiencing right now won’t be taken away anymore, that this is it, that he wants to make and watch you come now, that even though you aren’t coming on his dick, this is just as good–coming into his mouth.
The speed Sy returns to so quickly takes you aback and leaves you breathless. His fingers are practically pistoning, his mouth keeping time. He’s been keeping you on the edge, and now he’s taking you right there and beyond. He’s touching you like he owns you. His free hand stays gently pressing down on your lower stomach.
You’ve been moaning non-stop this entire time, but as your orgasm actually takes over, you let out a long, quivering, non-stop whine of various pitches. “I’mgonnnacomeI’mgonna comeI’mgonnacome,” you frantically get out, like Sy wouldn’t be able to tell by how tightly you’re clenching his fingers.
You can feel your pussy squeezing while spasming and somehow getting even more wet, and you can’t stop yourself from pushing your feet against Sy’s shoulders to give you leverage to roll your hips upward.
“Oh God, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” you let out non-stop, gripping the blanket underneath you. “Fuck!”
Sy doesn’t slow down. You moan with each breath.
Rhythmically, you ride it all out, and Sy lets you rub yourself up and down on his tongue and mouth and beard, and everything feels like it lasts forever. It’s not just quick and satisfying; it’s long and all-encompassing.
Your hips won’t stop thrusting upwards. “Ahh, oh my God, Sy, baby, please–oh my God–fuck. Oh, fuck.”
Of all places to be this loud, it’s a hotel room, but you can’t help yourself. Adding to your cacophony of sounds, Sy groans against you the entire time. Gradually, your noises die down in urgency and in volume when the rubber band of ecstasy snaps, and everything in your body loosens and relaxes in relief and bliss and pulsing, though you won’t stop twitching for some reason. You have to tap Sy’s head several times to get him to back off a little.
Over-stimulated now, you lower your ass to the mattress and notice your legs sporadically shaking. They’re sore, so you stretch them out over Sy’s back. Sy doesn’t move his face from between them at all, but he finally slides his fingers out of you so he can use both hands to run up and down your thighs bracketing his face. Instead of moving up the bed to lay beside you, though, Sy stays right where he is and drops his mouth to tongue at your entrance.
You’re still so sensitive that your hips jump at that. “Sy,” you weakly get out. You try to squirm backwards, but Sy’s hell-bent on keeping you still now. He holds your legs in place while tasting everything that’s pooled out of you, and you're helpless to move away.
When he finally lifts his head, you can see his lips glistening even in the dim light of the room, and it should be crass, but it’s not. There’s an eroticism to all of this that shrouds an underlying romanticism. Like as long as it’s you two together, nothing’s bad and everything’s beautiful.
The position you’ve been in while Sy ate you out was about as dirty as you could possibly get, and despite your filthy moans and back-and-forth teasing, nothing was wrong about any of it. Nothing was wrong about tonight at all.
You and Sy stare at one another in the semi-darkness, both breathing heavily. You’re not gonna cry after sex or anything, but your orgasm was so insane that you feel like you easily could.
You want him to hold you.
“God damn.” You let out a giant sigh and keep your face slack and awed. “Fuck.”
Several seconds later, you feel Sy lifting your legs from his shoulders and setting them back down. Surprising you, he leans forward to kiss you, and with a slow intensity, he holds your jaw. He cradles your face so reverently that you feel almost precious for a moment, all the while tasting sweetness on his tongue.
You brush your fingertips through his chest hair while you start lazily making out, both too sated for the kisses to turn into anything more–just kissing for the sake of it. Your lips are going to hurt tomorrow.
With you both now laying entirely horizontally, Sy runs his hands all over your body anew. You only stop kissing when you lose all energy to do a single thing.
“Oh, my God, Sy, I’m dead,” you whisper. “This is my grave.”
Sy looks at you and chuckles, and then you look at him and chuckle, and then–the spell slightly breaks. The heaviness between you both goes away, and the air in the room turns back to normal, cooler. You both stretch and lay beside one another in the afterglow for a while, happy to not do a single thing but cuddle and come down from everything.
Sy kisses the top of your head. His voice is just as quiet as it’s always been when he says, “I love you.”
Sunshine warms your entire body, and you bask in it, nuzzling yourself more into his side. “I love you.”
“I really fuckin’ love you.”
Curiously, you lift your head and look at him, and his expression is normal, but a little on the side of smugness again. You stare at each other for a long time before you smile. “Who wouldn’t?”
That earns you getting tickled, which you have a love/hate relationship with, and you grin. “I really, really love you, too,” you reply, reaching out to pull his chest hair to get him to stop tickling you.
When you start getting cold, rather than go under the blankets, you curl up against Sy and rest your head on his bicep. Looking up at his face, you notice his eyes are closed, but he’s not sleeping. You trace the line of his nose with a finger. He’s so handsome. He’s so fucking handsome.
Sy winks one eye open and observes you. “You look happy,” he comments.
“I am.” You lazily smile. “I’d be havin’ a cigarette right now if I smoked.”
Sy grins, all self-satisfied and pleased. His gaze lingers on you.
You place a hand on top of his chest and start playing with the hair dusting it. “Sy, that was…”
You can’t come up with any words, and Sy fills in your silence. He holds out a hand palm-down and makes a wobbly motion with it. “Just so-so, huh?”
“Shut up,” you say without any malice whatsoever.
You think you’re going to remember tonight for the rest of your life. It was that good. But–
“You were evil, by the way,” you’re sure to mention.
The side of Sy’s mouth curves upwards. “Baby, I live to see how many ‘oh fucks’ I can get outta you.”
You lightly slap his chest and look away, embarrassed. You feel his fingers on your chin within seconds. Expecting him to say something about how you should never feel embarrassed with him, you reluctantly meet his eyes, but when you do, he’s silent. Still, his eyes say it all, anyway: he loves you, and that extends to your bad-mouth in bed.
After you go awhile without talking, just blankly staring at the ceiling, Sy sprawls his entire hand out on top of your stomach. “What’s goin’ through that pretty head of yours?”
You’ve stopped rolling your eyes when he asks that. You can’t help yourself from burrowing your head into his neck, though.
“Just…That was really good.”
“It always is with you.”
“It always is with you,” you counter, then tease: “You shoulda taken pictures.”
Sy freezes. You've only ever consented to him taking pictures sometimes. It’s the first time you’ve really initiated talking about the pictures. Without speaking any further, you both just gaze at one another, then go back to quietly cuddling.
Eventually, you and Sy disentangle, and you sit up and turn on the television. Naked, Sy gets up and shamelessly strolls to the bathroom, and he leaves the door open while he pees. You roll your eyes at the noise but still look at him fondly when he walks back into the room, phone now in his hands and soft dick swinging below it. He stands by the bed and keeps looking down at the screen.
He’s fully invested in whatever he’s reading, so you take the time to slide out of bed and get some clothes on. You’re in the middle of getting dressed in loose sleep-pants and a t-shirt when Sy crouches beside his own bag of stuff to dig out a pair of boxers. Even as he reaches out to throw away the used condom that’s laying on the carpet–gross–he’s still intently looking at his phone.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” you ask curiously. “Everything okay?”
After Sy slides on his underwear, he pulls the bedsheets back and gets in bed. You follow suit, and he shows you the screen of his phone after switching on a table lamp.
Your eyes dart around the screen and try to make sense out of the list of multiple websites you’re suddenly looking at. Oh. He’s researching restaurants nearby. “What, you’re hungry?”
He gives you a look. “That food at your dad’s won’t nearly enough for you,” he says, “so I’m gonna pick you up somethin’ else.”
“Oh, babe,” you say, both touched and excited at once. “That’s so sweet.”
Sy’s eyes are just as bright as yours when you look at him. “I like when you say that.”
You just look down. “I really am hungry, actually,” you admit. “I’m glad that I ate so much at my mom’s house, but I really should’ve taken those freakin’ leftovers she offered.”
Still trying to look at his phone and figure out what’s nearby, Sy asks, “What kinda fast-food do they got around here with stuff you can eat?”
“I’m not sure. There’s a couple restaurants nearby.”
Sy makes some noise and then starts getting fully dressed –not for bed, but to go out.
You squint your eyes at him. “What are you doin’?”
Sy looks at the hotel door. “Gonna getchu food, like I said.”
“We can do delivery so you don’t have to go out.”
“...They got that here?”
You grin. “Yeah, Sy. We’re in town-town,” you remind him.
Sy leans back onto his collection of pillows while you go get your own phone and open the delivery app.
Wait. If he chooses his food after you do, that means he’ll probably go forward with putting in his debit card information and paying for it all.
“Actually,” you say, giving him your phone, “you choose first. I gotta go to the bathroom to, like…clean up and stuff. I'll pick something when I'm back.”
With a poorly attempted wink, Sy takes your phone.
In the bathroom, you honestly should probably take another shower because you’ve been sweating, but you wash your face and clean up all other areas you need to while telling yourself you'll just shower in the morning. While taking out your contacts, Sy’s voice calls out through the room.
“Hey, babe, your momma just texted.”
“What’d she say?” you raise your voice and ask.
“Dunno.”
You stick your head out of the doorframe. “Well, read it,” you chuckle.
A second later, Sy says, “Wants to know if I liked her food.”
You walk out of the bathroom and make your way to the bed. “Who, like you specifically?”
“Yeah.”
You sit down and scoot until you’re next to him again. “Tell her you thought it was horrible.”
Sy reaches out and pushes your arm lightly. “It’s interesting she’s askin’,” he says while handing the phone back to you. “I made sure to tell her everything was good ‘bout three times ‘fore we left.”
“Well, that’s my mom for you,” you mutter. “She’s gonna worry about the same stuff again and again until she hears the same response, like, ten times.”
When you look up from your phone, Sy gives you a look that’s non-judgmental yet knowing. You glance away.
After replying to your mom, you add food to your delivery order, pay for everything, then click through the television channels for something mindless to turn on.
You and Sy half-sit/half-lay side by side with pillows behind your back while choosing a documentary to watch, and half an hour later, you’re still in the same position–only with boxes of food in your laps. From time to time, Sy takes his plastic fork and puts it up to your mouth to share with you, and you do the same to him.
Finally full and satiated, you cuddle close to Sy and close your eyes, starting to be lulled to sleep by just matching his breathing. He turns off the bedside lamp but stays awake, and the British narrator’s voice from whatever documentary is playing becomes fainter and fainter when, somewhere in the background, the loud heating unit clicks on.
As your breathing gets heavy and rhythmic, you know you're probably at risk of drooling on your pillow, so you turn over so your back is against Sy's figure. He rests a loose hand on your hip, and you feel its weight remain constant until you finally drift off to sleep.
-O-
The following morning, you head down to the continental breakfast alone to get good coffee and fruit for yourself and sausage and bacon for Sy. Behind your glasses, your eyes are slanted with sleep, and while still being presentable, you’re wearing loose-fitting and lazy-looking clothes.
Robotically, you wait in the long line and take tiny step after tiny step as people ahead of you go through warming up their bagels and choosing which cereals they want and debating over orange juice or apple juice and just all-around being too damn loud.
You’re zoning out in line when two lively couples queue up behind you and start talking in one large group, and they’re so loud that you're not able to ignore them at all. Somewhat grumpy, you frown.
“How’d y’all sleep?” the man in the back asks the couple closest to you.
The lady beside the guy–his wife?--just looks at the guy–her husband?--and laughs. You take a small step ahead in line and try not to eavesdrop though it’s pretty much impossible. People that talk this loud in public spaces are basically inviting it.
“What’s so funny?” the man in the back asks.
The guy won’t answer, but the woman offers up, “We got a free show last night.”
The man in back scoops some eggs onto his plate. “What’s that mean?”
“Whoever stayed next door to us,” the guy nearest you mutters as he shuffles up the line, “was so loud I couldn't get to sleep. Could hear them over the TV.”
The man in back says, “Loud like…” but that's all you hear before there's some light laughter.
“I always tell you to bring a fan or a white noise machine on these trips, Adam,” the lady says.
“Well, sorry, Jessica,” the guy directly behind you replies, “but for some reason I wasn’t expecting this hotel to be filming porn this weekend.”
Staring at the counter, your eyes turn into saucers.
Eyes That See Summary: Your life has consisted of caring for others. This is a story of you learning to care for yourself.
Eyes That See Part 24 Summary: The second-half of December passes in a blur of gift-buying, gift-wrapping, and packing for your upcoming move. When Christmas Day arrives, things finally slow down, and you truly relax with Sy.
tw: Christmas, I guess, but nothing religious
Words: 7k
Chattanooga turns out to be a fun day-trip. There, you and Sy find a short trail in the mountains that ends in a large waterfall, and you spend a long time sitting next to each other on a giant log, just looking at it. Sy carves your initials into the bark of the log with his pocket knife and doesn’t even roll his eyes when you take about a dozen pictures of you both grinning with the pretty scenery behind you. One photo is even good enough to frame.
Afterwards, you go to a restaurant for lunch and then stroll around downtown together, bundled in coats. You try to get as many souvenirs and gifts as you can to mark off lingering people you still need to buy for, and you can’t help but get Justine’s kids a few more gifts, too. Sy shows off his consideration as well as his impressive upper-arm strength by carrying around multiple shopping bags for you for literal hours.
Oh–and there's also the fact that, despite your protests, he pays for literally everything you choose, too.
When you get back to town, Sy stops at a Dollar General for you to load up on wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows. Despite your day-long refusals against him paying for everything, he pays for your supplies in cash just as you’re trying to swipe your debit card. When you reach out to snatch the money out of his hand before he can give it to the cashier, he just raises his arm so you can’t reach.
Almost affectionately, you roll your eyes while he takes his receipt and collects three tightly-crammed yellow bags in just one hand. “Ain’t my fault you’re short,” he says on the way outside.
“I am not short,” you trail behind him and argue. You pull out the tubes of wrapping paper he’s got secured underneath his left arm. “Ain’t my fault you’re a giant.”
“Giant, huh?”
You hit the wrapping paper against his arm. “Giant pain in the ass.”
“Aw, baby, you’re so sweet to me.”
Inside the truck, you get serious. “You didn’t have to pay for literally every single thing today, Sy,” you mutter. “Those weren’t even your gifts to buy.”
“It was nothing,” he starts the truck and easily says, and with that, he dismisses the topic entirely.
Your evening is spent in front of the living room fireplace wrapping presents while Sy puts the few items he’s bought for his family into gift bags he tapes shut. Every time he pushes a finished bag to the side, you side-eye him.
“What?” he asks, and you just shake your head, holding back a smirk.
“You should be one of those holiday-wrappers they got at the mall,” you remark. “All this skill…gone to waste.”
“Oh, yeah?”
With your tongue slightly poking out between your lips, you nod.
“We can’t all be as great as you,” he replies, and at that, your face loses some of its glee. You still feel so awkward when he says things like that. Internally, though, you eat it up. Even while you have to look away until your ears stop burning, your insides still feel like jumping frogs.
For whatever reason, Sy doles out more praise practically all night–in the living room, how good all your finished presents look; in the kitchen, how good the dinner you made was; upstairs in bed, how good you are doing that thing with your tongue.
______________________
Someone unexpected rings Justine's doorbell on a random night the following week. Even though Sy’s grandma lives right across the street, you’ve gotten used to visiting her and not the other way around, so when you open the door to see her carrying a bag full of presents, your eyes widen.
You take the bag from her and welcome her inside. “Michael’s sleeping and the other kids are taking baths,” you say while quickly unloading the bag of gifts near the Christmas tree, “but I’ll let them know you dropped stuff off. Ooh, they’re gonna be so thrilled. Thank you so, so much.”
“One’s for you, too,” she explains.
The last present you dig out has your name on it. "Aw, Miss Donna, you didn't have to."
"Oh, don'tchu worry about it, honey, I wanted to.” After you stand back up with a small present for her in your hand, you walk back to the front door and give her a quick, tight hug. “Liana taught me how to shop online on this website called Amazon. It’s so fast, even out here in the sticks! You ever heard of it?"
You smile. "Here and there, yeah."
She lightly taps your arm. "You mockin' an old lady?"
"Ehh, I might be mockin' someone, but she's not an old lady," you reply with a wink.
"Oh, listen to you. You and Sy are perfect for each other."
You bite your lip. “Yeah, he’s pretty great,” you murmur. “So, hey. I got you something, too.”
As you hold out a tiny wrapped box in offering, her face lights up. She puts a hand over her chest. “Y/N, I’m as tickled as a speckled pup.”
You can’t help laughing at that strange comparison, and you shake the box a little bit. “Well, take it.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t’ve given this to me early,” she reaches out for the gift and chides, but it sounds more towards herself. “I’m plumb awful at bein’ patient. I can never wait ‘til Christmas Day.”
“No one’s sayin’ you have to.”
Her lip sticks out of the side of her mouth in consideration. “Okay, well, here goes.” She instantly starts unwrapping the box like the decision wasn’t hard to make at all.
There’s a weird anxiety you always get at watching people open gifts that you'd chosen in front of you. You almost wished she’d just taken it back to her house to open, but it’s nice to know she’s excited, as least.
Your face drops a little when she simply stares inside the box without saying anything. When her silence goes on too long, you explain the gift. “Um. It’s a Walker, Texas Ranger badge.”
“I know what it is,” she murmurs. “I was just admirin’.”
Gratefully, you smile. “So…you like it?”
“Y/N,” she finally looks up, “I’m gonna wear it every night.”
Your smile turns to a grin. “Please do, and let me know how long it takes Sy to comment on it.”
“Absolutely, hon. There’s a new sheriff in town, boys,” she says in a funny voice while going outside again. On the porch, you hug once more, and in her embrace, she even rocks you side-to-side a little. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“You’re so welcome. Go enjoy Chuck Norris now.”
“While wearin’ my new badge,” she adds.
You watch her cross the street with the internal amusement that Sy’s family is really starting to feel like your family. Hell, you and his sisters have your own group chat now.
Your train of thought immediately turns to your actual family. In just a few weeks, you and Sy are driving up to Virginia. It’ll be his first time meeting your parents, your grandparents, and some other relatives, and you’re anxious. You're also trying your very hardest to stop being anxious.
You’re not worried about if your family’s gonna like Sy; you honestly don’t care, plus you know they will. You’re concerned if he’ll like them. Or, well–not like them, but…judge you somehow as being an extension of them. You’re worried that he’ll see too much and then… You stop yourself from going any further than that.
While things aren’t technically dysfunctional back home, your family is…complicated. Your dad’s version of a warm welcome is a long stare and maybe a head-nod. On the other hand, your mom is the opposite–too talkative, too worried about being a good host, too high-strung at times. Your maternal grandparents are mostly fine other than having health problems, but your dad’s parents are just plain awkward. You’re prematurely embarrassed just imagining how things are going to go.
You sincerely hope Sy doesn’t think of you differently after learning where and how you were brought up.
After finally closing the front door instead of standing outside in the cold without a jacket, you make your way down the hall to check on the kids.
_________________
The hustle and bustle of the holiday season comes full-force, and suddenly, Christmas Eve is upon you. That evening, Justine lets the kids open one present each before going to bed to await the big event the next day, and the gifts they choose are from you. You relish in their excitement as they tear into wrapping paper, their gasps as they see what they’ve gotten, and their smiles and hugs afterwards.
It’s the last time you’ll have the chance to have all this. It’s bittersweet.
You drive to Sy’s place afterwards, pushing down lingering guilt of not being at Justine’s in the morning to see the kids open everything else. As special as they are to you, you aren’t their mother. Justine deserves those memories. It’s time for you to make new ones.
Christmas morning with Sy is like a fucking Hallmark movie, but instead of some wholesome image of you both wearing matching pajamas when you come downstairs, you’re in one of his big t-shirts with just boy-shorts underneath and big, fuzzy socks, and he’s half-naked in only his boxers. They’re festively covered in candy canes.
In the kitchen, you stand side-by-side with sleep-slanted eyes while going about preparing breakfast together. You begin brewing coffee and pre-heating the oven while Sy cooks up a bunch of turkey sausage in a skillet. After that’s done, he cracks some eggs in the same pan, and you start warming up water and milk in a pot. While waiting for the liquid to boil, you place a tray of gluten-free biscuits into the oven.
It’s easy to concentrate on cooking until Sy slowly moves behind you. Wrapping his big arms around your waist until his hands are splayed out atop your stomach, he squeezes you and quickly makes it hard to move. It grows even harder when he starts kissing your neck and distracting you even more.
“Merry Christmas, darlin’,” he quietly says.
As always when he speaks into your ear, chills break out along your arms. “Merry Christmas, yourself.”
His stubble tickles your skin as he begins kissing the other side of your neck. You don’t even pretend to be annoyed as you tilt your head to the side and murmur, “You’re gonna make me burn the biscuits."
He hums. “Ain’t possible.”
You chuckle while reaching out for a box next to the stove. “Well, the grits need to go in now, and I gotta actually focus on stirrin’ so I don’t mess up, so keep it together.”
“Mm. Yes, ma’am.”
Turning around slightly, you tilt your face up with your lips pursed, and Sy immediately kisses you. When he backs away, you softly smile at one another. You finish up the grits while Sy starts frying potatoes, and by the time everything’s done, you have a giant spread of entirely too much food for just two people.
You bring your plates and coffee cups to the living room, deciding to eat while sitting on the couch. When you were little, you always used to listen to holiday music while eating breakfast on Christmas Day, but because you and Sy are both sort of tired of listening to it by now, he starts a fire and turns on the TV instead. He flicks through a few channels before settling on a movie that’s already halfway done.
“We gotta getchu a streaming service up in here,” you mutter around a bite of food. “Man, I missed out on a perfect gift. Maybe next year.”
Sy looks over at you while taking a sip of coffee. His eyes meaningfully bore into yours, and you hope he’s thinking the same thing you are. There’s gonna be a next Christmas, too. And one after that, and after that, and after that.
You find a nearby throw and cover your legs with it, but it’s thin and not substantial enough at all to keep you warm. The fireplace is nice and hot in front of you, at least.
“How are you even shirtless right now, Sy?”
“Chest hair’s good insulation,” he replies, and you can tell as he’s chewing his food that he’s fighting back a stupid grin.
You smirk. “Ah.”
You end up eating entirely too much, and you don’t care. It means that laying back on the couch with a blanket on your lap and Sy’s arm around your shoulders feels even more luxurious. Normally when you lounge around like this, there’s something inside you protesting, a feeling of I’ve got stuff to do I can’t take a break I can’t be lazy, but not right now. Right now, you’re with your boyfriend, and right now it’s Christmas, and right now not even your upcoming Virginia trip worries are going to spoil anything.
Eventually, Sy suggests exchanging gifts, and even though your literal most recent thought was about not letting anything spoil your relaxation, the present thing admittedly gets you a little nervous. You seriously don’t know why you’re so weird about opening gifts in front of people and watching other people open yours, only that it's a lot of expectation, you guess. A lot of room for disappointment from the other person.
You both agreed to keep it simple, though, so your nerves settle a bit as you walk to the tiny Christmas tree and gather your wrapped presents for Sy. He does the same for you, and you both make a small pile in front of your individual places on the couch. You hope he likes what you've picked out.
You appreciate how non-showy Sy is about everything. It's actually funny to you that he can't wrap for shit and has placed every single thing in various-sized gift bags, all taped shut instead of stuffed with tissue paper. One bag is ridiculously large, the next is small, and the last is tiny.
You have three gifts for him, too, all covered with sleek maroon paper and white ribbons and bows. You want him to go first and tell him so, and you know from his tiny smirk that he sort of already knows what the first small present will be before opening it.
You’re not sure if it was purely casual last month when he mentioned he needed a new wallet, or if it was a hint, but either way, he’d said it, so you’d gotten one. He grins while he pulls out a nice leather wallet that you got help from Johnny in picking out.
“Just what I needed.”
“Yeah, well. If you’re gonna insist on payin’ for everything when we go places,” you say while briefly looking away and shrugging, “you gotta at least upgrade.”
“True,” he replies. “Thanks, baby.”
“Um. There’s somethin’ inside, too,” you nervously say.
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Not money,” you’re quick to explain when he pulls out a light-green rectangle of paper in the shape of a dollar bill.
On the paper is a handwritten list of things you love about him. You were probably feeling way too sentimental when you came up with the idea to put the paper in his wallet in the first place, but it’s too late to go back now. You really hope it doesn’t come across as cheesy as you’re suddenly thinking it will.
While Sy starts reading, you feel like you’re sitting next to him naked, so emotionally vulnerable your heart starts to quicken. This being the very first gift…it’s heavy.
Why I Love You
You make me feel safe.
You make me feel special.
You always support me.
You give the best hugs.
You make me happier than anyone I know.
You always tell me the truth even when it’s not comfortable.
You smell really good.
You look at me differently than you look at everyone else.
You know the real me.
You don’t disappear when I’m struggling. You support me.
Your jokes are stupid and funny and stupidly funny.
I’m in love with you. You’re the best person I know.
When Sy’s done reading, he carefully tucks the paper back into the wallet. As usual when silence goes on too long, you feel the need to fill it with explanations.
“Um, I didn’t have a whole lot of actual money to spend for gifts, and at that time I didn’t know that you’d be buyin’ so much for me up in Tennessee,” you ramble. “I was tryin’ to come up with something that was, like, special…I hope you don’t think it’s stupid. It’s just–you know I have a hard time sayin’ stuff out loud, so I…I wanted to tell you.”
Sy turns to face you, his eyes warm yet a little confused. “Why would I ever think a gift from you would be stupid?”
You shrug. “‘Cause it’s sappy,” you quietly reply.
“It’s a gift from you.” Sy reaches out to touch your chin, and he gently beckons you to look at him without breaking eye-contact while he says, “I love you so much, baby. You’re so good to me. Thank you.”
Your face heats up after accepting a long, sweet kiss. Internally, you still feel naked, but warmth gradually begins to spread through you again. You’re so good to me is something he’s begun saying more frequently, and you don’t know if he even realizes how hearing those words makes your stomach flip every single time.
“I’d need a bigger piece of paper in order to do the same for you,” he comments when he moves to carefully place the wallet on the table next to the couch.
It takes a second to figure out his meaning, but then–Shit, now he’s thinking you hadn't put down enough things. “I could’ve written more, actually, but I ran out of room. I wrote too big. It’s not like–” You sigh at yourself. “I just mean that I could’ve kept goin’ on.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sy grins as he spreads out an arm on the back of the couch. “What else would you have put on there?
You peek at him, all your awkwardness leaving. He’s just playing around with you. “What, you want an ego-boost first thing in the mornin’?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, you’re serious,” you say after a beat. “Well…You’re good at practically everything you do. You’re a good mechanic. You fix stuff around the house and outside, and you’re a good cook, too. You’re really hardworking. You’re driven. You’re a good driver and you don’t freak me out when I ride with you. You’re a good brother, and a good uncle, and you’re good to your grandma. You’re a good friend. And good with animals. You’re a good leader. You’re thoughtful. You always take time to, like, listen to me without interrupting. You’re protective but not scary. You always make me feel safe,” you go on, staring at the fireplace and missing the amusement on Sy’s face. “Oh, I already said that one. Um, you’re really considerate. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life. But obviously I’d still love you if you were like, not handsome. I’d love you no matter what. Uhh…You and I like the same music. You, uh. You’re good when we’re, like–you’re a good kisser.”
You stop talking and glance over at Sy to see him totally eating this up. “That enough for you?”
“Mm... But just a good kisser?” Sy asks with a roguish expression.
“And maybe a few other things, too. Oh, my God, it’s literally so early right now,” you reply with a fake eye-roll. “Take the compliments I already gave.”
He smiles and then turns serious again. Like, really serious. “You're so good to me,” he repeats, and you take in a quick breath while your heart feels swollen ten times too large inside your chest. “Thank you.”
It was just a wallet and a piece of paper.
“You’re welcome,” you look down and reply with hot ears, watching as he lowers his arm from the back of the couch and places his hand on your leg. His thumb starts brushing little circles atop the tattered blanket covering your lap.
He clears his throat. “Makin’ you feel safe and happy is literally all I ever want. So even though I don’t agree that I’m good at everything I do, I’m glad I can at least do that right.”
Still looking at your lap, you smile.
“Mainly I’m just glad that I smell good,” he adds, lightening the heavy mood.
“Ha, ha.”
You reach out to take a sip of your coffee while Sy pushes the largest of the three bags towards you. Instead of sliding across the hardwood floor easily, it’s slow by whatever’s weighing it down. Since the bag is covered in about thirty pieces of tape from left to right, instead of picking it up to open it, you just lean over and rip apart all the tape. Without meaning to, you loudly gasp when something inside is revealed.
“Well, I wasn’t expectin’ that reaction,” Sy tilts his head and quietly mutters in surprise.
You quickly push off the blanket that’s currently on your lap and replace it with the one inside the bag. It’s cream-colored and thick, yet it’s soft in a way that makes you unable to stop touching it. “This is so, so, so smooth.” You lift it up to your cheek and nuzzle it for a moment. “Oh, my gosh, it’s so soft.”
Sy watches you in amusement until you settle down with the blanket tucked snugly around you.
“Thank you, Sy,” you tell him sincerely. “I’m keeping it right here on this couch.”
He scratches the side of his nose. “There’s somethin’ else, too.”
“I figured,” you reply. “This bag looks like it weighs a hundred pounds.”
When you reach into the bottom of the bag and pull out the large item with two hands, you grunt. Only after you manage to get it on your lap do you realize what it is. Sy had gotten you another blanket, but it’s packaged, and it’s big, and it’s heavy. It’s weighted.
“They’re supposed to help with anxiety, plus my room gets cold ‘til I get central heat,” he says nonchalantly. “Not that you have to keep it here if you don’t wanna.”
You stare down at the plastic packaging on your lap, fighting the urge to unzip the top and pull out the blanket entirely. You’ve heard of these before. Never before have you even considered one for yourself, though. That would be too obvious.
...Obvious to who, though? It’d be in your bedroom, where you sleep alone. No one else would know but yourself.
You’re starting to realize that compared to other people, you’re probably the worst judge of yourself there is, not the others. As early as possible, you take any shame that you can unto yourself as some sort of way to stay in control before others can do it first.
God, but it’s just–nobody ever really talks about your anxiety like just a regular thing you go through besides Sy. Nobody likes even mentioning it. It’s always been this thing you’ve had to fix about yourself, something that’s taboo, even, because it's not just simply “worrying” about things here and there–it's panic attacks and racing thoughts and entirely illogical behavior at times.
But Sy’s never had a problem with it–even when you made up that he’d have a future problem with it–and here’s a gift not only bringing attention to your struggles, but doing it in a way that makes you feel normal. You’d gotten him a wallet for practical reasons, and he’d gotten you a blanket for practical reasons, too. It’s as simple as that.
“I love it. Thank you,” you murmur. The “very much” comes afterwards, subdued.
After putting the plastic-wrapped blanket on the floor, you’re not expecting to be hit with so many emotions. They slam at you all at once like a steam jet to the chest, knocking you metaphorically backwards, and within a second, your eyes start to burn. It’s enough liquid for you to have to wipe away, but luckily it’s no more than that.
Sy’s hand is back on your leg, squeezing. “Oh–Hey, now, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“You didn’t,” you say while wiping your eyes one more time. “Well, I mean, you kinda did, but it’s okay. I’m happy.”
You both make eye contact and offer small smiles to one another. He seems to read into what’s going through your head right now, or at least it seems that he does, because he gives your leg another gentle squeeze and even leans back in to peck your mouth with his.
You sniff, and then you’re back to normal, genuinely smiling in front of his close face. “Your turn.”
Sy reaches out for the next present, another relatively small one wrapped in curly ribbon that he has to tear with two hands to break. When he slowly pulls back the wrapping paper, it exposes the All Dogs Go to Heaven picture-frame you’d bought him. In it is a photo of him and Aika that MawMaw found and gave you.
Sy must've not seen this picture in a long, long time. He puts the frame on the small table next to the couch and silently stares at the photo for a long time. A much younger version of himself is crouched down next to the German Shepherd. Just from the image, it’s evident how close they were. Aika has her tongue out, almost looking like she's smiling, and with all his military gear on, Sy looks serious, but the side of his mouth is tilted just enough for him to appear content.
“There was somethin’ else that was supposed to be sitting on top of the frame,” you say after a long, quiet minute. “Maybe it’s still in the paper.”
Sy reaches inside the discarded paper and finds the next little thing you got him–a tiny Christmas tree ornament in the shape of a dog-tag. On the back is a pawprint.
Sy looks down at the ornament and doesn’t say anything, but you have a feeling that maybe it’s just because he can't. As he puts it on the table next to the picture frame, he audibly swallows like he’s got a lump in his throat. Finally, he looks at you and nods, and you understand that that’s his way of thanking you.
Well. That went well, you think.
You bend over and pick up the next bag for you, one of the small ones. You carefully rip the tape up top then reach inside to pull out what looks like a rolled-up t-shirt. Unfurling it and fanning it open, you lay it on your lap, and your jaw drops open of its own accord when you see what’s on it.
You wear a lot of band t-shirts. Sy probably doesn’t remember anymore, but you were wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt on the first night you met. It was actually the topic of one of the very first conversations you ever had with one another. Well, one of the first real conversations, at least.
Anyway, you stare down at this Led Zeppelin shirt–black with a red ZOSO design in the middle–and you’re unable to close your mouth.
“What’re you lookin’ at it like that for?” Sy almost laughs at you.
You shake your head. “Nothin’. I love it! Seriously. I love it. You know I'm gonna wear this. Just–You should open your next one now.”
The next and last gift you’d gotten Sy doesn’t have any fancy ribbons on it, just a simple bow he removes before tearing back the paper. Next, he opens the actual box you’d placed the gift inside, and there, folded neatly underneath tissue paper, is a black t-shirt with a red design in the middle.
Sy looks over at you and then back down at the shirt. “You’re fuckin’ jokin’.”
You start to laugh. “I swear, I had no clue.”
He lifts up the exact same shirt that he’d gotten you, only in a larger size. “The same damn one,” he states. “The same damn one. Really, Y/N?”
Uncontrollably laughing, you lean against his bare arm.
“I think that's about as good a sign as there ever was,” he says.
“For what?” you say through your laughter.
Sy lifts his arm and lets you in closer to him. “That I'm yours and you're mine,” he answers like it’s obvious.
“Yeah.” You get yourself under control and just grin while wrapping an arm around Sy’s middle. “You could always put it on now, you know,” you suggest. “Unless you’d like to keep showin’ off like this.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I ain't showin’ anything off but a dad-bod.”
“Oh, be quiet–that's so not true,” you sit up fuller and say, swiping your arm across his stomach as you move. “It’s sexy.”
Sy keeps his arm draped around your shoulders. Looking up at him to see him now looking down at you, there’s heat in his eyes, and you return it, seeing how far you can take this right now. You really like this couch. Lots of fun stuff has happened on this couch.
Ultimately, Sy clears his throat. That means later.
“Last one,” Sy points out as he moves back his arm to let you reach down for it.
Your next gift is a necklace so pretty you gasp when you flip open the box it’s in. The chain is white gold, and it holds a pendant in the shape of a teardrop. Diamonds are encrusted on the outer edge of the teardrop, and a beautiful gem is nestled in the center. The jewels glimmer as you simply look down, and when you’re not able to hold your hands that steady anymore, more diamonds catch light and sparkle.
“Sy, this is gorgeous,” you utter, gingerly touching the necklace. You don’t know much about jewelry, but the diamonds look very, very bright. “It looks expensive.”
“So?” he asks rhetorically, then clears his throat after you gently swat his arm. “I mean, it absolutely wasn’t.”
“It’s my birthstone in the middle,” you whisper.
“I know.”
Of course he knows. “Thanks so much,” you gratefully say, closing the box and placing it to the side. In full contentment, your smile doesn’t leave your face. “This was…This is so nice. This was a nice Christmas.”
Mirroring your contentment, Sy’s eyes shine when you look over at him, almost–almost–as bright as your new necklace. “You like everything?”
Grinning so widely your cheeks hurt, you nod and hug your new blanket to your chest. “Yeah. I really do, Sy. Thanks so much again.” Belatedly, you quickly glance at him to ask, “Was everything okay for you? I know it really wasn’t a lot –”
Sy interrupts you with a quiet little snort. “Christmas ain’t about stuff.”
You think back to what Sy had said on Thanksgiving Day, about how you can’t place a value on spending time with family and friends and loved ones; it’s irreplaceable, too important to assign a price to.
“This was perfect,” he says, and he means it. Because he says what he means and means what he says. The couch dips a little with his weight as he shifts a little closer. Before placing his lips on yours, he murmurs, “Thank you.”
You get caught up kissing one another with no real purpose besides comfort. When you finally separate, you stare at one another for a while. You’re so fucking in love that you feel like you’re on top of a Ferris wheel.
“I was half afraid you were gonna get me a new car or something,” you admit.
Sy doesn’t reply, but he casually reaches out to the side table, opens the front drawer of it, and pulls something out. Wordlessly, he moves an item so small it fits in the palm of his hand onto the blanket covering your legs. When you notice what it is, you look up just in time to see him raise his other hand, signaling for you not to protest just yet.
“Sy.”
“Hear me out,” he says. “There are safer options for you to drive.”
You scratch your neck. “But…an entire car?”
“An entire car. The key here is just for show,” he says before lifting it up and putting it back in the drawer. “I haven’t bought anything yet. You obviously get to pick.”
Your eyes begin darting around a little bit while you try to process what he’s said. “I–” You swallow and finally look up. “That’s a lot, Sy. You already got me this beautiful necklace, and I–that’s–I could never get you a gift like that.”
“Listen, it ain’t about evenin’ a scoreboard,” he says with the serious-brows he gets when he won’t budge on a topic. “You already give me more than I could ask for on a daily basis.”
You close your eyes. Here you thought you were being so good at accepting the necklace without feeling awkward about it. Now this. What do I give you on a daily basis that’s equivalent to a car, you want to ask.
“Baby,” he murmurs, and you open your eyes and look over at him again. “You said that one thing you love about me is I make you feel safe. Right?”
You don't have to even think before answering. “Always.”
“So think of it as a way I can keep doin’ that. I can buy somethin’, and that somethin’ will be keeping you safe, so it’d be like me continuin’ to keep you safe myself.”
You're fully aware that Sy is trying to talk you into accepting this grandiose and excessive idea, but it doesn’t feel like the classic manipulation from your past. Your ex would try to coerce you into things for insincere reasons. He’d say something about how he just wants to know your location all the time so he knows you’re safe, or how he just wants you home instead of going out so he’ll know you’re safe.
Sy, on the other hand, is proposing getting you a reliable vehicle. For…the purpose of a vehicle. So you can drive from one place to another without the risk of breaking down. That’s all. There’s no underlying sinister purpose.
Slowly, you nod. “Okay.”
His eyebrows jump. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” you quietly answer, amused at how happy Sy looks. “I can imagine bein’ worried if you were out drivin’ the car I do, so…yeah. I get it. I wouldn’t want you worryin’ about me drivin’ it, either.”
For long moments, Sy just sits there looking extremely pleased. “Hey,” he beckons, and you look up again. “You deserve it, you know.”
You let out a breath. “Tryin’ to think I do,” you mutter.
He winks. “Progress, then.”
Still not putting on a shirt, Sy pulls the level on the side of the couch to make it recline backwards. He relaxes on the couch while you get up to find your phone and pour both of you fresh coffee. When you come back to the couch, you lay out on it long-ways, resting your head on Sy's large thigh like a pillow. You cover yourself with your new blanket, get comfy with the feel of Sy's fingers on your hair, and start sending texts to everyone you know. On television, A Christmas Story has just started.
You send texts to your family members first and then Sy’s, then you move on to a few friends and co-workers. Obviously, Amelia’s first.
Your text is simple–“Merry Christmas” with a bunch of exclamation points and happy-looking emojis, and you’re surprised when she immediately texts you back with an even more enthusiastic “MERRY CHRISTMAS” and even more emojis. Directly following the text is a picture.
You gasp and almost drop your phone onto your face. “Oh, my fucking God.”
Sy stiffens quite quickly and quite severely, and you can only grin while keeping yourself from squealing. Your feet flutter underneath the blanket in excitement before you sit up in a flash. As Sy realizes that nothing’s wrong, you pick up your phone and lift it up to show him, displaying the picture Amelia had sent you of her left hand.
“Oh my God, he proposed, Sy!” you exclaim. “Johnny proposed!”
Sy raises his eyebrows a little and sticks out his lower lip in a gesture you interpret to mean, “Huh, imagine that,” and you smack his arm, rolling your eyes afterwards.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
“‘Course I knew.” He looks back at the television, but he does offer you a guilty expression first. “He threatened to stomp out my knee if I said anything.”
Your grin never falters. “He would never.”
“Still, had to honor it. Was hard as hell not to tell you, though.”
You look at your phone again and text Amelia a bunch of exclamation points. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Honest,” Sy insists. “I knew you wouldn’t let it out.”
“No, but I get it. Maybe I would’ve unconsciously behaved in some weird way that would’ve led her to believe something… I get it.”
You’re just so happy for her. She must be having the best morning ever.
Last on your texting list is Justine. Merry Christmas! Hope the kids had a good time making a mess out of the living room this morning lol, which you figure will be misinterpreted, so you then erase it to write: Merry Christmas! Hope the kids had a good morning and liked all their gifts, which you then change again to simply say: Merry Christmas! Hope you and the kids are having a great morning!
In the kitchen, you call your mom while packing up leftovers from breakfast. You’d shipped some stuff to her instead of waiting until after New Year’s to give her presents, and she said that if she’d’ve known you would be doing that, she would’ve shipped your gifts, too.
“Mom, it’s really okay,” you tell her for about the third time.
“But they’re not there on Christmas Day,” she replies. “I assumed we were all gonna wait until you got here.”
“Just a small misunderstanding,” you tell her. “I was just tryin’ to be nice. If you want, just wait until I visit to open what I mailed you, and we can open them all together.”
“I’ve been so busy tryin’ to get everything ready for y’all,” she changes the topic.
“Oh–don’t even sweat it, Momma, it’s okay. We weren’t plannin’ on stayin’ there.”
“Yeah, I know, you told me that, and I wish one day you would, but it’s okay,” she says, and you take a very long breath in and a very long breath out. “Still, it’s a lot of stuff I still have to do around here, and there’s just not enough hours in the day, y’know?”
“Totally,” you reply.
You chat a bit more, but as usual, it’s mainly just your mother sharing things because she doesn’t have a lot of people to talk to, and it’s Christmas, so of course you indulge. While listening to her, you clean the kitchen with your phone between your ear and shoulder. It’s only when she’s finally done worrying aloud and finally done sharing stories about people you don’t know that she asks about you.
“So, what kind of food does your boyfriend like? I need to make sure I have stuff here that he’ll eat, and I’d like to get him a gift, too. It’d be just awful to open presents around him without havin’ somethin’ for him, too.”
After opening the fridge to place some containers of leftovers inside, you stand there and look around. There’s nothing special that Sy likes or dislikes. The man’ll eat literally anything.
“I’ll give you some ideas here in a bit,” you say after pondering for a few more seconds. “But no worries either way about any of that stuff. He’s a really easy-goin’ person.”
“Oh, I just can’t wait to meet him,” she enthuses.
Feeling like you’re a teenager about to go to your first dance or something, you smile. “I can’t wait, either,” you admit.
“At first I thought you weren’t callin’ home as much ‘cause you were mad at me or somethin’, but it makes sense now. You’ve probably been spendin’ a lot of time with him.”
“Well, there’s been work and school and Justine’s kids, too, but yeah,” you chuckle. “I’m here with him now. We’re spendin’ Christmas together.”
“That’s so great, honey. And you said he’s good to you?” she asks. “Actually good? He’s not like–”
“He’s very good to me,” you interrupt.
She’s quiet for a moment. “Okay,” she says, then her tone gets more chipper again. “I’m happy for you.”
“I’m really happy, too,” you murmur.
“Well, Merry Christmas, sweetie. Thanks for callin’.”
“Merry Christmas!” you chime back. “I’ll text you later on, and I’ll see you real soon.”
“Alright, just don’t forget, okay? I need to make a shoppin’ list.”
“I won’t forget,” you say through an over-exaggerated sigh. “Love you.”
“Love you!”
Done with the kitchen and your one important phone call of the day, you slide your socked feet over the hardwood floors until arriving at the couch again. Sy looks at you with his eyebrows perked up a bit–a way to ask if everything’s good.
You sit down next to him and instantly reach out for your new blanket. “Mom’s excited to meet you.”
He smiles but doesn’t say anything while you cuddle up next to him. With his seat still reclined back, you decide to just lay your head down on his lap again like you’d been doing earlier. “Do we got plans today?” you ask while stretching out your legs on the couch. “Should we go see your family or are they doin’ other things?”
“MawMaw’s doin’ supper if you wanna go,” Sy says.
“Of course I wanna go,” you instantly answer, shifting around to get your face comfortable on Sy’s leg.
“Li and the boys’ll be there.”
“Ooh, even better,” you say, then: “Fuck, I didn’t get them anything. I got Liana somethin’ but forgot the freakin’ kids.”
Sy gently places his hand on your head. “I gotchu covered.”
You let out a breath of air in relief. “I already gave MawMaw her gift, so then that way everyone’ll all have somethin’ when we get there. I’m glad you have a better memory than me.”
“You’ve had a lot goin’ on recently,” he murmurs.
You make a noise in the back of your throat. “Yeah. Just a little.”
Sy soothingly continues touching your hair, lulling you into a warm, safe, almost drowsy state of mind. From time to time, his thumb traces the outside of your ear. You find yourself entirely relaxed while watching the end of the movie.
And tonight, you know things’ll still be relaxing and not stressful. You know MawMaw’s gonna have a ton of food cooked, you know that you’ll love catching up with Liana, and you know her kids won’t be hellions. You know that Sy will make corny jokes and eat too much and fall asleep while sitting on the couch. You know that football will be playing on TV.
You’re excited to visit your hometown soon, yeah, but everything about this place–your current spot with Sy, this house you’re in that doesn’t even have many of your possessions in it, this town–all of it just feels like home. Like this is where you belong.
“So what’dju get MawMaw?” Sy asks sometime later.
You grin, but he isn’t able to see. “You’ll just have to wait ‘til tonight to see.”
♡ summary: What you and Sy don’t know won’t hurt you.
♡ Captain Syverson x Black Reader/OC
♡ Jack Reacher x Black Reader/OC
♡ Warnings: girl....it's some mess.
-
“Nicky?”
Dominic Syverson immediately turned at the soft sound of his name behind him, and his eyes expanded to the size of saucers at the sight before him.
There in all her dainty but strong glory stood Alicia—a friendly face he hadn't seen in the better part of a year that was still just as beautiful as he remembered her. That longing look of adoration still graced her expression the way it usually did when he was involved, instantly melting his insides.
“Shortstack,” Sy gasped in greeting, immediately taking the woman in his big arms, previous thoughts of grocery shopping abandoned. “Hey. Oh, my god. Hey.”
“It’s nice to see you, too, big guy,” she exhaled into his broad chest, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Didn’t think I’d run into you so soon after being back.”
“Yeah, small world,” he joked and took a step back to really look her over.
She’d lost some weight, dyed her pixie cut to a warm honey blond, and was definitely dressed more modestly than he’d ever seen her. Despite the changes, Alicia was still stunning, and Sy would be blind to not recognize as such.
“So, what are you doing back in town?” Sy asked, leaning on his half-full shopping cart. “Last I heard, you were in Temple. You’re a while from home, aren’t you?”
“It’s only a town or two over,” she explained. “Visiting the old stomping grounds for the weekend while my fiancé is away on business.”
Sy blinked as the sentence processed in his brain. “Oh, uh,” he muttered, eyes darting to her left hand and whistling at the gigantic diamond glinting on her finger. “Jesus H.”
“Pretty, huh?” She laughed, flexing her left hand with pride and joy. Sy took her hand in his to bring it forward and inspect the rock, nodding in approval.
“I’ll say,” he said. “Shit. What does he do?”
“You’re going to laugh.”
“Try me.”
“I bagged me a doctor, Nicky.”
Sy couldn’t help the scoff that left his mouth. “What the hell.”
“I know, right?”
“How’d you even meet him?”
“At the hospital on a fourteen hour bend,” she told him, grin widening at the memory. “Guess I charmed him enough to stay around, and now he wants to marry me.”
“And you want to marry him?”
“I said yes, didn’t I?”
“That doesn’t always mean the same thing, does it?” He snickered.
“I remember a few times you asked me to marry you and I said yes,” she teases, eyes traveling down his frame in a lewd yet brief once-over. “I meant most of it.”
Those times don’t necessarily count, considering he asked her while on the brink of coming so hard inside of her that he forgot his name, and her response was usually breathless and instinctive on account of having her guts rearranged.
Sy decided not to bring that up, though—the mischievous glint lighting up in her eyes told him she knew as such.
“How long do you say you’re in town for?” he asked.
“Just the weekend,” she answered. “I leave Monday morning.”
“Then it’s back to bliss.”
“If that’s the word you want to use, sure.”
“Don’t sound so excited, honey.”
“You know I’ve never been a particularly mushy girl.”
“Much to my dismay,” Sy huffed under his breath, and Alicia swatted his arm playfully, to which he rubbed it in feigned pain.
“Oh, shut the fuck up.”
The two of them laughed quietly amongst each other, as they had many times before in more private and intimate settings. Time had gone by, but their connection sure hadn’t.
Whatever spark flickering in Sy’s chest that he once reserved specifically for this woman begged with every passing second to ignite with the spark in hers to the white-hot flame of what it used to be. It’d been doused with water and deprived of oxygen for a long while now, and if he’d known that all it needed was to see her again to come back to life, Sy would’ve stayed home and gone grocery shopping another day.
It’s not that that was necessarily a bad thing.
His heart was just a little preoccupied now—there was a whole other spark within him.
Except this spark was a roaring fire akin to the ones in Hell, and it had the ability to burn the world down if he saw fit.
Before him, a simple birthday candle.
“So, what trouble are you getting into tonight?” She asked and peeked around him to inspect the contents of his cart. “Beer, mayonnaise, Twinkies… Not a damn vegetable in sight. You’re still as white as ever, aren’t you, baby?”
Sy glanced at his cart sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh, still,” he snorted and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Um, nothing tonight, though.”
“Do you have time in your busy schedule to come hang?”
Words he’s heard a thousand times before.
“Yeah, you know I always got time for you.”
Words she’s heard a thousand and one times before.
Her grin widened into a smile as she batted her eyelashes up at Sy. “You’ve no idea how happy that makes me,” she told him, clasping her hands together and setting them against her chin. “I can always count on you, can’t I, Nicky?”
“Alright, quit buttering me up,” he joked, shaking his head at her put-on shenanigans. “I already said yes. Just let me know a time and place.”
“Is your number still the same?”
“Sure is.”
“Great,” she said, poking him in the stomach as she had many times before. “Pick up when I call.”
Her tone left no room for argument, so Sy nods obediently.
“Yes, ma’am.”
-
Sy’s no dummy.
He was smart enough to smell a plot. Hell, he’d perpetuated a few in his past life.
He knew what the deal was when Alicia told him to meet her at the swanky hotel in the next town after ten o’clock. In his professional former-hoe opinion, he’d say if she was trying to be subtle about this being a booty call, she could have at least answered the room door in something less cavalier than a crop top with no bra, and a pair of shorts that stood no chance but to become a thong with how round and supple her ass was.
“You made it!” Alicia exclaimed, taking his hand in hers and locking the door with an echoing click when he fully entered the suite.
Sy whistled at the room in all its vast and pristine elegance. He could work all the odd jobs he wanted with overtime and still not even earn half of what it’d cost to rent a spot like this for a night.
“Might need to become a doctor,” he grunted, turning to face Alicia and then back to admiring the gold chandeliers hanging above.
“I told him it was a bit much for just the weekend,” she insisted, joining him at his side with a drink in hand. “Here.”
Sy took the glass and swirled the brown liquid around before knocking it back and hissing in delight.
“Ooh, Dr. Fancy Pants got the good stuff,” he said. “This seems just right for a weekend. I’d put my girl in something like this too just because I had the dough to spend.”
“Well, you’d do it because you’re sweet,” she said and took the glass back. “He’s overcompensating for being gone when he said he wouldn’t be, so it’s not exactly the same, is it?”
Alicia nodded over towards the living room area, where bottles of bourbon and wine are set on the mahogany coffee table and the fireplace is going.
Not subtle at all.
“Hell of a way to apologize then.”
Sy joined her on the plush sofa, a cushion away to keep a safe distance. If she noticed, she doesn’t comment on it and instead pours him another drink and then her own.
“Could be worse,” she mumbled, taking a sip of the red wine. “He could’ve just said ‘sorry,’ and honestly, what am I going to do with that? Take it?”
“You’ve upped the ante.”
“Yeah, back in the day I would’ve just accepted dick as an apology and gone on with my day,” she snickered.
Sy paused to assess whether that was a direct shot or an open-ended statement but was quickly distracted by the indecent display of Alicia stretching and spreading herself along the couch. Instead of accepting the invitation and reaching over to snatch the tiny woman into his lap like the past version of him would, his hands stayed politely folded around the glass while his focus never strayed from the fire.
“You don’t sound like you like this fella very much,” Sy noted.
“What makes you say that?”
“Just a feeling.”
Alicia smirked and followed his line of vision to the fire. “You’ve always been so perceptive and empathetic,” she told him. “It’s like you always know exactly how I’m feeling or what I need.”
Sy downed the second glass and set it on the table. “If you don’t love him, why are you marrying him?”
“I do love him,” she corrected with little to no inflection that indicated any truth in her statement. “In my own way.”
“Is it the money that made you say yes?”
“It’s what makes me stay, not say yes,” she clarified. “It was a promising factor, though.”
“Didn’t think you were the type,” he said and shook his head as if to rearrange the thought. “Nah, darling, I know you’re not the type.”
Alicia shrugged it off. “Guess I’ve acquired a different taste,” she answered smoothly. “It’s what I’m used to now.”
“Guess I remember you differently.”
“I’m still the same chick. Just a little more bougie. I still like all the same shit,” she told him and emphasized her point by easing her pedicured foot onto Sy’s lap and pressing the pad softly against his crotch.
“Yeah?” he asked, pretending not to notice the action by adjusting himself to sit upward and letting her foot fall to the side. “Bougie, huh?”
Alicia nodded, glaring between her foot, Sy’s lap, and then his face. “Yeah,” she repeated. “No more sardines and ramen noodles over here.”
“As long as he’s good and takes care of you, then I guess it’s okay you stay because he’s rich,” he agreed. “Hell, if I had half the money he did, I can’t say I’d care about doing anything else but making sure my wife’s set. Is he at least a nice guy?”
“The nicest.” She blinked slowly, irritated. “Too nice.”
“There’s such a thing?”
“Mhmm,” she hummed and arranged herself closer to Sy, both feet in his lap now and a wandering hand massaging his nape. “Nicky, you look so stressed. God, all this tension in your neck, baby. Let me help you out.”
Despite the hard pull between her fingers, Sy freezes in his spot, unsure of what his next steps should be.
“So, uh,” he started, zeroing in on the fire. “When’s the wedding?”
“We’re aiming for next spring. You’re invited, obviously.”
“I’ll be a world away by then, but I’ll send a gift.”
“You’re still—”
“Yeah,” he replied before she could finish. “Until I’m not.”
“And that’ll be—?”
Sy emitted an uncommitted sound from the back of his throat.
“When do you go back?”
“January.”
“So you’ve got time.”
“For?”
Alicia’s touch wormed into his hairline to begin scratching tenderly. The unsuspecting move eased him into pliancy, and he sank deeper into the sofa.
“Anything you want, baby,” she whispered, scooting closer. “You know I missed you, right?”
“Shit, I missed you too, short stack.”
“I’m always thinking and praying about you.” Alicia cocks her head sideways, analyzing the man’s slow descent into relaxation with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “Feels like no time has passed by, huh?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding and finally looking over at her. “Mama’s going to be so happy I ran into you.”
“How is Ms. Judy?”
“She’s good. Great, actually.”
“And your brothers?”
“All fine.”
“Good. You have to tell everybody I say hey.” Alicia’s fingers slide seamlessly over to play with his ears, and her grin folds into something distinctly evil when Sy’s breath hitches in his throat.
“I—I will. Definitely w-w-will.”
“Are you cold?” Alicia teases, gesturing to the fireplace. “I can put some more wood on.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah?” She sneaked a glance down at Sy’s crotch and was immensely proud of herself when the tent there poked her feet when she nudged them against the denim material again. “Speaking of wood…”
Sy chuckled nervously, and it took every ounce of willpower to pull himself out of the tantalizing bubble of nefariousness that Alicia had formed around the two of them. Instead of confusion, further satisfaction flooded Alicia’s expression, and she pulled Sy right back in with a simple caress of his ear.
Flushed red hot and stuck in place, Sy watched Alicia snake her legs on either side of his waist with discerned curiosity. She planted her curvy frame atop him, grinding her cotton-clad mound against the tent of his jeans as her lips made slow work of littering his face with lewd kisses.
The spark in his chest flickered again, triggering the weight to dissipate from his limbs and securing his hands over the rounded edges of her exposed ass cheeks. Like a woman starved, Alicia caught his lips in hers and intertwined their tongues. Sy returns the sentiment, swallowing her moans down and squeezing her soft flesh beneath his greedy hands.
“It’s been a minute, huh?” She giggled against his mouth when she pulled back a centimeter. “I missed you.”
“I’m… uh…”
“Can’t believe I went this long without you,” she whispered in his ear before licking a wet stripe over the shell. “You missed me?”
And if he’s a little honest with himself, he did. There was a moment in time where he thought this was all he wanted, and he’d have already lost his mind going that long without this woman.
But now, it’s different. Everything’s changed.
He’s not the same man he was before, and he doesn’t intend to be going forward.
No matter how fucking addictive the sweet friction of Alicia’s life-altering pussy grinding on his cock was. This wasn’t worth it—none of it was.
Sy’s hands flew from her ass onto Alicia’s arms to stop her from descending her kisses to his neck.
“Wait.”
She quirked an eyebrow up but remained smiling. “What?”
“I can’t,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “I can’t do this. W-we can’t do this.”
“Do what, Nicky? Huh?” Alicia leaned forward and landed one last kiss before Sy pulled back and tightened his grip around her biceps.
“No,” he whispered meekly as if the word itself was uncertain if it made sense coming from his mouth under such circumstances. “No, honey. Just… no.”
Alicia searched his embarrassed expression for signs of a joke and scoffed when the only thing presented was determination.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just—” Sy paused, letting her arms go when he was sure she wouldn't try to continue. “I can’t.”
“Can’t,” she repeated.
“Yeah, uh,” he stammered, gently guiding her off of him and secluding himself to the further point of the couch as far away from her as possible. “I’m fine. This just isn’t right.”
“How so?” Her face twisted up in confusion.
“Well, for starters, you’re getting married.”
Not that that’s ever stopped Dominic Syverson, Texas’s Very Own Lean Mean Fucking Machine.
“He knows what it is,” Alicia assured him, waving that off.
Sy huffed again, running an exasperated hand over his hair and plopping it by his side.
“We can hang out and just be friends and stuff, but we can’t cross those lines, okay?” he continued. “Not anymore. Not now. Not ever again. It’s just… not… we’re not…”
Alicia’s confusion only deepened the longer Sy stumbled over his words. For as long as she’d known him, crossing such lines was a guarantee for being friends with him.
And now it suddenly wasn’t?
“Hey,” she said softly, pressing a comforting hand against his thigh to redirect him. “Just slow down. Talk to me.”
Sy clamped his mouth shut and heaved a heavy sigh, taking a brief moment to collect himself and remind his body this isn’t a high-stakes situation in which he needs to break down or shut himself off.
It’s Alicia, one of his very best friends.
If anyone will understand him, it’s her.
Sy met her concerned gaze and instantly relaxed when the lustful shine blowing her pupils to all hell and regarding him like prey transformed into something softer.
“You know I love you to death, right?” he asked.
“This is usually what a guy says before he rips your heart out and stomps on it,” she joked, adjusting herself into a seated position. “But yeah, Nicky, I do. And I love you back. So what’s up?”
“It’s just that,” Sy started, gathering his words mentally before blurting out, “I cannot and will not let you or anybody else touch me that way again. I can’t do that to myself, and I damn sure won’t do that to her.”
“D-did I do something wrong?” She wondered wearily, and Sy immediately shook his head and reassured her by enveloping her hand in his.
“No, darling, you didn’t. It’s not anything you did, okay? You’re perfect as always. I know how we are and what we usually get into, and you know I love it, but this isn’t going to be one of them times,” Sy said, rubbing his thumb over hers. “And I can’t promise it’ll ever be that again.”
“So, you’re dumping me?” Alicia attempted a crack at a joke, but knowing her as he did, it was a very thinly veiled defense that ached Sy’s soul to hear.
“Alicia, baby—”
“Because of this ‘her’?”
Sy nodded, heat rising from his chest and spreading across his neck, cheeks, and ears. “Yeah.”
“What, like, your girlfriend?”
“Sort of.”
“What’s that mean?”
Sy’s five-second hesitation is all the answer she needed. Without a warning or restraint to stop it, a sharp laugh emits from the depths of Alicia’s soul.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“You’re seriously making a big scene about Mallory’s dumbass of all people?” She snorted, rolling her eyes up in annoyance. “She sucked your dick good enough this time around that you decided to get some act right?”
Sy’s almost insulted by the implication.
“Please, be serious,” he groaned.
Alicia paused, smile dropping. “Wait, so—?”
The information settled, and Alicia took it in with a pinch between her eyebrows.
“You met someone?”
Sy nodded again.
“Like, an actual someone you’re seeing?”
“Very regularly.”
“Your girlfriend.”
“Yeah,” Sy admitted but then pinched his lips inward as if he regretted the words. “At least, in my mind. I don’t know if she likes me all that much, but—”
Sy stopped again, thinking for a moment and then opening his mouth again.
“It’s only been a few months,” he told Alicia, conviction lacing every syllable. “And I’m so fucking in love with her that I can’t exist how I did before. And that means I can’t do this because doing this hurts me, and if I’m hurt, I can’t love her the way she deserves.”
“But it’s me. You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, Nicky.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
“And you know what we do is just physical. It’s not like it means anything.”
“I’m at the stage of my life where it has to,” he explained. “And we both know that’s a lie.”
It’s comical to classify what they’ve got as purely physical. There was a raw connection between the lines of the simple arrangement they’ve developed over the years—this was the love of Sy’s life at one point.
There’s nothing remotely shallow about the other being the first one they called when their respective parents died, attending the funerals without question, and never leaving their side.
It was incredibly deep when Sy ran to her house crying in the wee hours of the morning, confessing he’d written a note and nearly made an irreversible mistake. Nothing broke her heart more than having to convince the man she was so hopelessly in love with that he was worthy of occupying this earth and that he’s not allowed to leave this realm without her following. She has made it abundantly clear that she refused to live without him.
“You’ve kept yourself a little girlfriend and me at the same time before,” Alicia reminded him with a pout. “Why’s this time different?”
“Okay, don’t be demeaning.”
“I’m just asking.”
“Don’t say ‘little’ like that.”
“Don’t get sensitive on me.”
Sy glared her down, lips tight with frustration to combat the mischievousness.
“I’m serious, Alicia.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, your tone’s suggesting otherwise,” he grumbled. “I do love this woman.”
“Oh, do you?”
“What the fuck does that mean? Yes!”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so!”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Alicia barked back, throwing her hands up in perplexed dismay. “What do you care if I don’t believe you anyway?”
“Do you?”
“Fuck no.”
“And why not?”
“‘Cus you wouldn’t be here with me.”
He didn’t have an answer, so he eased back into the cushion, disgusted with himself and utterly annoyed at the situation at large.
“I’m sorry, baby, but it’s a little hard to believe you’re head over heels in love with some girl after a few months. I know you.”
“She’s not some girl.”
Alicia’s eyes rolled into oblivion. “Sorry. Your girlfriend,” she corrected half-heartedly. “But seriously. A few months?”
“Maybe after the first date.”
Alicia snorted despite his sincerity. “You loved Mallory, too.”
“There’s no comparison,” he told her emphatically. “It’s not even fucking close.”
“How so?”
“It’s not a high bar.”
Alicia laughed aloud and turned her head to the side, staring off into nothing as she digested this development.
“She doesn’t have to know, y’know?”
Sy grimaced. “It’s not like that with her,” he told her. “I can’t do that to her. I won’t do that to her. She’s a great girl. She actually cares about me, and I can’t do anything to fuck up what we’ve got.”
“Oh, please. Her pussy must taste like champagne if it’s got you talking like Pride & Prejudice.”
“Not that I’d know.”
Alicia’s head spun back around. “What?”
“What?”
“You haven’t—?”
Sy shook his head.
Her eyebrows creased inward. “Why?”
There was a multitude of reasons, and the most obvious one was that he was scared out of his fucking mind to touch you that way for fear of letting you see that side of him. That, and he wasn’t close to ready.
That didn’t mean he didn’t want to, though.
Alicia knew the intricacies of his inhibitions when it came to sex better than any partner he’d had before—instead of pressing the issue, she nodded in understanding.
“I don’t believe this, Nicky,” she said instead.
“Well, that’s what it is.”
“Hmph.”
An uncomfortable silence washed over the two ex-lovers.
He certainly hadn’t behaved appropriately, and she was definitely right in the fact that he wouldn’t be here in the first place if he truly felt the way he said he did. They don’t fuck every time they’re together, but he was a damn fool if he thought this wasn’t going to be one of those times just because Alicia’s engaged. They’ve always found their way back in the sheets regardless of the other’s relationship status.
He should’ve gone, but he couldn’t will himself to just leave when there’s so much tension in the air. He wasn’t as mad at Alicia so much as he was disappointed in himself for letting the evening turn out this way.
The last thing he ever wanted to do was upset her.
But if upsetting her meant remaining loyal to you, it’s a price he would pay a million times over.
Sy’s eyes cut over to Alicia on the other end of the couch, mulling over the conversation and looking out the large ceiling-to-floor window.
“I thought this is what you wanted for me,” he muttered, breaking the silence ever so gently. “For me to find somebody.”
“I did,” Alicia huffed. “Do. Still do.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
She shook her head in lieu of answering.
“Now, c’mon, don’t get all quiet on me, honey,” Sy cooed softly, scooting a cushion over and poking her arm. “You know you can talk to me. It’s me. I’m not going to judge you.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Yer such a damn drama queen,” he chuckled. “If you don’t just look at me and tell me what the hell yer problem is.”
Alicia shot daggers over at him, and Sy’s hands flew up in mock surrender.
“Ooh! If looks could kill!”
“Shut up, Nicky.”
“Feisty!”
“Will you just leave me alone?”
“When have you known me to do that?” Sy leaned forward, poking her again. “Quit all that extra shit and just talk to me, short stack.”
Alicia turned slightly, only looking at him in heated passing as she pretended to be preoccupied with her manicure. “I just really wanted to fuck you tonight.”
“You think I’m stupid enough to believe that?”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Sure,” Sy agreed with an appeasing nod. “But it doesn’t stop there, does it?”
“What more do you want me to say?”
“Alicia.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“C’mon.”
“What do you want me to say?”
Sy narrowed his gaze.
“You want me to tell you about how I’m jealous and how big an idiot I feel for not locking you down when I had the chance?” She wondered rhetorically, laughing humorlessly. “Or that I wish this was one of those times where you tell me you’re seeing someone new, but it doesn’t mean anything because I’m always going to be your number one?”
Sy sat there in silence, reviewing such times with a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. He fought off curling his mouth in disgust and looked off to the side to avoid meeting Alicia’s sad face.
“This isn’t one of those times,” he clarified.
“Okay,” she scoffed. “Sure, Nicky.”
“It’s not.” He shook his head, rejecting the very idea of moving backwards. “I apologize if I gave you the wrong idea coming here, darling. I have missed you—that wasn’t a lie. But doing anything beyond just sitting here and talking isn’t going to be worth it.”
“How long have you even been seeing this girl?”
“Since January, February-ish.”
“That’s not a lot of time to know you’re in love with someone.”
“Knew I loved you from the moment I saw you.”
She rolled her eyes.
“It was the same thing with her.”
“I’ll bet.”
“C’mon.”
“It’s not the same,” she disagreed vehemently, putting her hand up to stop him from interrupting. “You’ve been mine since we were eighteen, baby. She just got you.”
“And she has me for as long as she wants me.”
“And when she stops?”
The dig was harsh, but Sy knew she only said it to shift the hurt.
“Even then, I can’t say I’ll be able to go back to this,” he admitted.
The “… or back to you” part was clear as day even if he didn’t say it.
“You did nothing wrong. It’s a me thing, darlin’,” he continued.
“Not really something you say to someone you’re in love with.”
“I was.”
“Was,” she repeated viciously as though the word was laced with venom. “Everything’s past tense now, huh?”
“Don’t do that.”
“You’re talking a real big talk right now. Like we were never in love.”
“I have to for you to know I’m serious,” he replied, turning back to face her, pure confusion etched in his features. “Just ‘cause we didn’t set anything in stone doesn’t mean we weren’t. Me being with someone else doesn’t take away anything we’ve gone through, Alicia. You know that.”
“Then why does she get to have you and I don’t?”
“Because we just didn’t—” Sy emitted a frustrated groan from the depths of his chest, gesturing vaguely between them in an attempt to contextualize his point. “We just didn’t, okay? We could’ve, but we didn’t, but it’s not for lack of trying. She actually wants me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“What are you trying to say?” Alicia adjusted her relaxed position on the couch to a defensive one, and Sy followed suit.
“I’m saying there were plenty of times I wanted to be together, and I told you so, but you didn’t want it. You didn’t want to complicate anything with a label, remember?”
“Are you seriously throwing that back in my face? Are you really going to sit yer dumbass on this couch and look me in my face and say I never wanted you?”
“Clearly not enough, because we’d still be together and you wouldn’t be getting beside yourself over this and marrying some guy you don’t even like.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Nicky.”
“I’m right, though, aren’t I?”
Alicia pouted. “No.”
“I am right, and that’s why you’re pissed,” he chuckled, flicking her chin and smirking when she swatted his hand away. “Don’t be mad at me when I’m telling the truth.”
“I can be mad all I damn well want.”
Sy's grin softened. “You know I hated when you used to get mad at me,” he reminisced fondly. “It felt like the whole world was ending.”
“So much for that then.”
“You can’t be that mad at me when you moved on, too,” he pointed out, nodding over at the big shiny rock adorning her left hand. “It’s hardly all that fair.”
“Yeah, but the thing is, Nicky, is that if you told me to, I’d leave him,” she confessed with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “If you said you loved me and wanted to be together, this ring would be pawned, and I’d go wherever you went without question.”
Such a declaration from someone as logical as Alicia struck him as odd. Sy’s mind was racing double time trying to keep up with his heart pounding in his chest at being told something so deep by someone who he’s been in love with for the entirety of his adult life.
“Alicia,” he started, reverting his gaze back to the fire. “Baby, you know I love you.”
“Hmm.”
“But I have to be real with you.”
Sy hesitated for a brief second, weighing the weight of his next words and cringing when he found there’s no truly nice way of saying what needs to be said.
“If being with her means I let go of what we’ve got and what we had, I would do that,” he said, flinching at the brutality of his own honesty. “This isn’t a situation where I can compromise and have you both because it’s not fair to either of you.”
“Fair? I had you first,” she bristled. “How is there even a comparison when you’re literally mine and you’ve always been mine? Even when you were someone else’s, you were always mine.”
“At one point, I was,” he corrected her quickly. “But not anymore, darlin’. Not with her.”
“Oh, really?”
“I can’t give her part of me or just doses. I can’t commit to her halfway, okay? She gets all of me. Every bit. I belong to her, and there’s nothing you or anybody else can say about that. It is what it is.”
“And just what the hell is it, Nicky?”
“It’s that I’m in love with her,” Sy repeated for what felt like the umpteenth time that night. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, and you don't believe me 'cause I showed up here tonight, and that’s a mistake on my part, but there’s nothing, not a damn thing, that can pull me away from her.”
Alicia’s mouth popped closed, and she swallowed her retort as Sy continued.
“I know who I used to be and what this once was, but it’s not going to measure up to what I’ve got now,” he told her, throat tightening at the prospect of letting go and hurting this woman. “I love you. You know I do. And I know you love me enough to respect and understand that this is what it is and she’s who I want.”
The astounding relief of getting that off his chest pushed out a heavy sigh that filled the second silence that washed over them. His words sank deep into Alicia’s psyche, where she searched far and wide for something to say to convince him that he’s being irrational and he didn’t mean what he said because his one true love was right there on the couch staring at him with tears brimming in her eyes and her bottom lip poked out and trembling.
If he looked over and saw that, it’ll twist the knife in his side that much further. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Alicia of all people, but… It’s you.
It’s always going to be you. It should’ve been you from the beginning. You deserved the untainted version of Sy that hasn’t existed for years now, and the only way he could give that to you is by ridding himself of everything that made him that way.
She did her fair share of healing him, and he’d spend forever thanking her.
But she wasn’t you.
He hated thinking that way, but it was the truth. It was a shitty notion, but where was the benefit in straight-up lying to this woman and giving her hope that he’ll come back? Even if you and he don’t work out, how was he ever going to progress if he kept surrounding himself with the ghosts of his past who serve as reminders of how bad it all used to be?
Sy frowned at himself. That wasn’t fair; Alica’s one of the best things to ever happen to him. She was the light in the darkest tunnel. She was his everything. How could he conjure up such a thing?
“Say something,” he practically begged. “Anything, baby.”
Alicia remained quiet, swiftly wiping away the tears running down her face as though the evidence of his rejection offended her.
“Anything to let me know you don’t hate me and that you understand. Something.”
Alice glared over at him, analyzing the man and hiding her disappointment behind a mirthless grin. Everything she had to say was in her pained eyes scanning him up and down for a single sign of hope that he’s still hers.
After another moment of stewing, Sy stood and awkwardly waited for her to acknowledge his presence. She didn’t and continued staring elsewhere as if he weren’t in the room.
He nodded in acceptance and gestured to the glass on the table. “Thanks for the drink, short stack,” he said, turning and making his way towards the door. “I’ll see you around.”
The purposely slow journey towards the door is halted short when she finally exhaled and said, “I don’t hate you. I understand.”
Sy spun back around, hands deep in his pockets and eyes trained on his former lover as she rose to her feet and approached him. Bracing for a slap or an assault of some sort, Sy flinched when she raised her arms and wrapped them securely around his middle.
He wrapped her in his arms, tucking her away from the rest of the room like it had wandering eyes trying to spy on their vulnerable moment.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered against her crown, squeezing her when her hands fisted the back of his shirt. “You needed to know.”
“Shhhh,” she hushed him and buried her face deeper into his chest. “Just shut the fuck up for once, Nicky.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
Sy obeyed and stayed silent, allowing himself to be used as a pillow for her to pour her emotions into. He didn’t have the words to soothe her that wouldn’t give her a false sense of hope for the romantic aspects of their relationship. He’s said enough. The point came across.
Eventually, her hold loosened, and she pulled away to look in his intense eyes. Sy stared back, searching for a semblance of forgiveness.
“You gonna leave me without giving me one last kiss?” she croaked, cracking a smile that didn’t reach the rest of her wet face.
Sy cupped her face in his large hands and swiped away the tears clinging to her skin. Even with the threat of losing himself looming around the corner, he guided the short woman in to plant a bourbon-flavored kiss against her mouth. She hummed in satisfaction, deepening the action by sliding her tongue with his and letting the taste of wine slosh back and forth between their hungry lips.
He pulled back first, taking one last good look at her face in his grip before smiling down at her and backing away.
“I’ll see you around, won’t I, baby?” she asked, following behind to show him the way out.
“I’m never far,” he promised, opening the door and crossing the threshold. “I’ll see you, darling.”
“Yeah.” She nodded, leaning against the door and getting her last look in. “Goodbye, Dominic.”
“Goodbye, Alicia.”
They shared one final moment before suddenly there was a slam, and Sy was looking at pristine wide wood and a room number.
-
“Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Carry me.”
And before Jack Reacher had the opportunity to respond, you were gripping his neck to hoist yourself into his arms. He quickly caught you and adjusted your weight to comfortably carry you the remainder of the way to your apartment. Concrete and stiletto pumps were not a good combination, and you’d be damned if you were going to put your feet on the sidewalk.
“See? Doesn’t that feel better?”
“For me or you?”
“Could be worse,” you reminded him. “I could be drunker.”
“That wouldn’t bother me.”
“Nothing ever does.”
The side of his mouth quirked up in a grin. “Then it’s working.”
“What?”
“The mask.”
“Yeah, I knew you weren’t so hard all the time,” you said and gestured to his permanently grumpy expression. “Underneath all this broody Batman bullshit is a little rascal.”
“Is that all?”
“You’re a sweetiepie, too. My teeth are still rotting.”
“And what is the basis of this assessment?”
“It runs in the Syverson family.”
“I’m not a Syverson.”
“Yeah, but you grew up around them, so close enough. You and your cousins act just alike.”
“I’m more civilized.”
“Yeah, only traveling with five articles of clothing, a toothbrush, and a bar of soap for a month-long leave and refusing to get a place of your own in the town majority of your family lives in instead of motel hopping really screams your integration into society.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“Trying? No. But I am spitting facts, aren’t I?”
“You’re saying a lot of words put together, sure.”
“You know I’m right, Jack.”
He side-eyed you for using his first name, but it was something he was used to doing by this point. He could fake all day that he was annoyed you refused to refer to him by his cartoonish last name, but it actually melted something within him. It was strangely intimate, and he very much loved the sound it made on the way out of your mouth.
“I know you’re drunk.”
“I’m tipsy,” you corrected pointedly. “As if I’d ever get drunk off of a few shots. That’s an insult to me.”
“Okay, if you’re not drunk, then you should be able to walk perfectly fine.”
“In these? Please.” You wiggled your feet encased by the expensive heels to support your point.
“We’ve got less than three minutes until we reach your place,” he pointed out. “That’s not going to hurt you.”
“If you put me down, I’ll punch you. I don’t give a damn how big you are.”
And he believed that. His smirk widened.
“I’m only messing with you,” he said, squeezing his hands under your thighs to assure you. “I’m not going to put you down until you’re ready.”
“See? So sweet!”
He rolled his green eyes up into oblivion in mock annoyance.
Once you reached you and Sy’s apartment, you hopped out of Jack’s arms to retrieve your keys from your purse to let you both in. He stood by the door and watched as you removed your heels and groaned loudly at the relief of your feet being free of their constraints.
“Thank you for seeing me home, cousin,” you called back to him on your way to the kitchen. He hesitated to follow until you poked your head back around the corner and beckoned him in with a wave.
“Stop being weird and come eat,” you said. “I know your big ass is hungry.”
He continued to stand there awkwardly, surveying the situation. You weren’t drunk, and you can clearly defend yourself if tonight’s showcase at the bar was any indication, but would it be safe to leave you, a woman currently living alone, by yourself this late?
Sy kept a gun in the apartment that you could certainly use should you need to. Jack wasn’t necessarily needed there. It’s an old-fashioned notion to think he should stay just to be a defense, and he knew plenty of women who were perfectly capable of handling themselves.
He exhaled heavily and gestured behind him to the front door.
“I should get going. It’s late,” he replied. “And you’re probably tired.”
You leveled him with an unimpressed look and approached him in a few short strides. You grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him along to follow you into the kitchen.
“A little human interaction and some food isn’t going to kill you,” you huffed and opened the fridge to find something suitable. “It’s late now, and it’ll be late ten minutes from now. You got something important to do tomorrow?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Great! Then hang out for a bit.”
“You’re sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked, turning to peer at him curiously over your shoulder. He shrugged tightly, and you went back to the fridge.
“What’s on the menu tonight then?” he asked.
“Whatever the hell I can find.” You cocked your head to the side at the slim pickings before you. “I forgot to go grocery shopping.”
“Again?”
“I’ve been busy. This degree isn’t going to magically fall in my lap.”
“So, what’s our plan?”
You shut the fridge door and twirl around. “Is waiting half an hour for a pizza going to kill you, or are you in a major rush to get away from me?”
His frown curved upward.
“Make it meat lovers, and I’ll stay the full hour.”
-
One hour turned into a couple.
The pizza was long gone by the time the two of you retired to the couch with a beer for him and a mixed fruit cocktail for you.
Jack didn’t speak much, but when he did, he was very easy to talk to.
And he’s funnier than he’d give himself credit for.
And incredibly handsome.
It really made you wonder.
“What’s wrong with you?” you blurted out, stunning him into silence.
“What?” he said after a second of clarity.
You shrugged. “I was just thinking about what could be wrong with you,” you continued, wiggling a finger up and down his frame. “You’ve got everything a woman would want. Why don’t you have one?”
Jack didn’t get caught off guard often, and the question is certainly one he wouldn’t have expected out of a simple chat over pizza on a random Friday night by his cousin’s wife.
He stammered for a moment, and to add insult to injury, you weren’t done.
“I just find it funny that you and your cousins go on and on about how they actually can’t believe Dominic got married, and then they end up estranged and there’s a whole bunch of baby mama drama and some more shit,” you chuckled. “And then there’s you. No wife. No girlfriend.”
“Well, I think they’ll work their issues out.”
“Mhmm,” you hummed.
“Are you trying to insinuate that you and Nicky don’t have issues?”
Your amused grin grew into a smirk. “Nah, don’t change the subject, Jack. We are talking about you.”
“Can’t imagine why you’d be thinking about something like this.”
“Is it a crime to be concerned about my favorite cousin-in-law?”
“Your concern sounds awfully nosey.”
“Oh, don’t get all defensive,” you teased. “We’re just talking.”
“Like I said—nosey.”
“Avoiding the question, I see.”
“I don’t have an answer.”
“I figured you didn’t. You don’t strike me as the type to have introspection when it comes to matters of the heart.”
“You’re making it sound like some kind of Celine Dion song.”
“Do you want to get married, Jack?”
He considered that silently, looking you over and then at the carpet.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Yes, you have.”
“Okay, I have. It’s a big commitment.”
“Sure,” you said and shrugged. “So, do you?”
“If the right woman came along.”
“But do you know until she does?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
"It’s a loaded question."
“It’s not like a line of women are going to flood in showcase style if you say yes. It’s okay to say yes and want that kind of thing.”
“Living the life I do, it’s not smart to want much, and a wife seems like… much.”
You nodded at that, taking in his response. “You and Dominic are different in that way,” you said.
“Only recently.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“For the right woman,” he reiterated.
“Guess she hasn’t come along yet.”
Jack didn’t say anything as he continued to stare at the carpet and nurse the remainder of his beer. You watched him for a moment and redirected your attention to the diamond glinting on your left ring finger.
“And when she does, I think you’ll make a great husband one day.”
He scoffed.
The two of you sat there in silence.
Well, that answered your question.
“Can I get you another one?” You asked, taking the empty bottle from him and standing.
“No, I think I’m good,” he insisted. “I should actually get going, and I need to have my wits about me for the walk back.”
“Walk?” you repeated, discarding the bottle. “It’s damn near two in the morning.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“It’s not?”
“Hell no.” You shook your head. “Absolutely not.”
“And why not?”
“I cannot in good conscience let you walk all the way back to that disgusting motel,” you said, shivering at the prospect of something happening to him on the way back to the dirt, grime, and germs that infest that motel. “At least let me drive you there.”
“You’ve had a few to drink,” he reminded you, glancing over at your empty glass on the coffee table. “Not that much safer, is it?”
“Okay, I’ll call you a cab.”
“At this hour on this side of town?”
You pursed your lips in concentration as he gathered his jacket and slid it on.
“No family of mine is walking out in the middle of the night when there’s a perfectly fine couch they can sleep on until morning.”
Jack made a face. “You’re sure?”
“Stop asking me that,” you grunted, pointing to the couch and then retrieving another one of your husband’s beers for him. “Sit.”
“Oh.” He removed his jacket and tossed it back over the arm of the couch and sat back down. “Okay.”
“I don’t know why you don’t just stay with Judy when you visit.” You grabbed a couple of waters out of the fridge too and returned to your seat next to him. “Or here. You know you’re always welcome.”
“I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Yeah, you’re only family,” you uttered sarcastically and handed him the beer. “You don’t take up as much space as you think you do, and you can’t be a drifter forever.”
“I’ve been doing okay so far.”
“And you’re cool with doing just okay?”
“It works.”
“Doesn’t quite answer the question.” You cracked your water open and took a swig. “I actually love having you here, Jack.”
His bushy eyebrow flew to his hairline skeptically.
“As you can imagine, I’m very lonely nowadays,” you told him, and he immediately saw through the frivolous tone you had expertly crafted in the months Sy has been deployed.
It had been about three since he left, and there were three more to go before he returned. Despite your easygoing and carefree attitude, you lived in a perpetual state of anxiety that every day could be the day you get a phone call informing you that the love of your life is gone forever.
The likelihood of the universe punishing you by taking him away just as he became yours after years of keeping him safe doing what he does was low but not impossible. Stranger things have happened.
You were barely mentally equipped to handle a six-month stint away from him—what the fuck were you going to do if he died?
Or rather when. It will happen eventually. Maybe not now or anytime soon, but it will occur at some point in time. Your only hope is that you go before him so you don’t ever have to endure such pain.
“You do?”
“I can only bother everyone else so much before it probably gets annoying.”
“I don’t think they find it annoying,” he said. “You’re family.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like bothering them,” you admitted. “I mean, here my ass comes along crying to them about some shit they’ve lived through a thousand times, and I’m expecting empathy.”
“It’s hard for them every time too.”
“Rick quite literally packed Dominic’s bag for him.”
It’s hard to imagine someone of Jack’s size actually giggling, but the tiny sound squeaked out of him like second nature at your joke.
“I get it,” he said. “It’s your first time, and I hate to say you get used to it, but eventually it’s something you can prepare for when you know it’s coming. Not saying it won’t be difficult to watch him go, but the pain subsides each time.”
“I don’t want to get used to this.”
“You might not have a choice.”
“I doubt Dom’s going to stay after this tour.”
“And why do you think that?”
Your eyebrows scrunched together at the ridiculous question. It should’ve been obvious.
“You think just because he got married he’s going to stop?” Jack concluded.
When it’s phrased that way, you weren’t sure what to think.
“Uh, yeah?”
“You don’t know him as well as you think you do then.”
“So you know everything?”
“I know my cousin.”
You grimaced. “Better than me, you think?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“No, I didn’t,” he replied simply, staring you down as though to test your nerve to push back. He didn’t—you just don’t like being wrong.
“So, back to you,” you said, shifting in your seat and rolling your eyes at the very sly smile of victory on his face. “You got no wife or girlfriend, but you'd leave the Army if the right woman came along.”
“I don’t know how likely that is, but yes.”
“You’re not dating?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You tend to find things when you’re not looking for them.”
“Sounds like an excuse, and you’re looking for a reason to be in the Army forever.”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
“It just is. Nothing to it.”
“You are such an interesting man,” you snickered under your breath.
“‘Interesting’ is a filler word. Just say what you mean.”
“I just refuse to believe you want to live your life as a single, lonely nomad instead of settling down and being normal.”
“That’s not everything. Life is made of other things.”
“Yeah, but it’s a really big part of it. I used to be like you, and I didn’t think this way before getting married, so I get it, but now that I’m in it, I just want the same for you. I want you to be happy.”
“I’m fine.”
“I said happy.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
The permanent frown etched on his handsome face wasn’t doing him any favors.
“You’re content with this for now, but what about twenty years from now, huh, Jack? You’re going to want someone or something to come home to. Or a home to begin with.”
“Well, you said I’m always welcome here, so that’s home enough.”
“D’s not going to like sharing,” you teased. “There’s not enough of me to go around.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Shut up,” you mumbled, hiding your grin behind your hand. “I doubt I could handle both of you.”
Lord knows you wanted the chance to try.
“You don’t truly think that.”
You shrugged. “You and he are a whole lot of… man.”
“And you’re a whole lot of woman.”
You froze in place, blinking rapidly as your brain processed that statement. It was cheeky and ultimately very hilarious, but the way your face was flushing with heat, nothing was funny about saying such a thing.
“Too much woman for you,” you bit back in the event he was just playing with you.
Instead of rising to the bait and firing back something smart, Jack regarded you up and down, leaving no inch of you unseen while a mischievous grin grew over his mouth.
“I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t handle.”
A laugh burst its way out of you. “Oh, really? Is that why you can’t keep one?”
“Maybe they can’t handle me.”
“Oh, please.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“So everyone else is the issue? Not you?”
Jack’s smirk only got wider as he leaned back into the couch and adjusted himself to be comfortable. “I’m an absolute angel, cousin.”
“You’re so annoying. You know that, right? Just annoying as hell.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because I find you annoyingly funny,” you answered between giggles. “You don’t want to settle down because you’re scared of being put in your place.”
“I’d like to see somebody try.”
“Not a smart thing to say to someone you witnessed knock out a grown-ass man just a few hours ago.”
“That old drunk was barely a fair fight. One punch had him on his ass, and I didn’t get a chance to get in on the fun.”
“Yeah, well, Crowley’s full of old drunks who try it, so you might get your chance one of these days,” you promised and poked his shoulder forcefully. “Are you trying to say I can’t fight?”
“I’m just saying he wasn’t a worthy opponent.”
“Sounds like you’re saying I should kick your ass to prove myself.”
“I didn’t say that, and you know it.”
“I don’t know, ‘cause I could’ve sworn that’s what I heard.” You stood to your feet and nudged his shoulder before rounding the coffee table. “Get up.”
“Get up?”
“That’s what I said.”
“For what?”
“Because we’re going to fight.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Do I look like I’m playing with you?”
“I’m Army trained.”
“I’m from Philly.”
Jack scoffed incredulously and uttered your name.
“Get up,” you instructed again. “It’s just a quick little spar. Nothing crazy.”
“You know Nicky’s going to throw a fit if I actually hurt you.”
“Don’t leave any marks then.”
Jack took that as the challenge it was and stood up. His 6’5 frame eclipses you, but you wouldn’t be you if you showed fear; this man could certainly knock you the hell out if he truly wanted to, but you both knew he wasn’t going to.
He raised his eyebrows in impressed curiosity at your raised fists, feet planted firmly a suitable distance apart, and determined expression.
“Nice form.”
“Don’t try to warm me up.”
“You want me to just swing on you?”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
“I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”
“So you’re not going to make a move?”
“I’m still a little confused—”
The remainder of his sentence flew right out of his mouth by the sudden swipe of your open palm against his cheek. He jerked back more in surprise than actual pain, eyes wide yet amused at the force behind the slap.
“Are you getting the point?” you asked.
Without a moment of hesitation or another question, Jack rushed you. One minute you were on the ground, and the next you were over his broad shoulder, suspended in air and spinning far too much for your liking.
“What the hell?” you exclaim. “Jack, put me down!”
“No.”
“This isn’t fighting, you big bitch! Nor is this fair.”
“When my cats were growing up and would act out, we would put them in time-out,” he told you, elation lilting his voice. “It’d look a little funny to put a grown woman in timeout, so air jail was the next best option.”
“I’m not a fucking cat.”
“And you’re not exactly behaving either, are you?”
“Sounds like you’re scared to lose ‘cause you know I would beat the brakes off of you.”
"If you’re so sure you can, you’d be perfectly capable of freeing yourself."
Your attempts to kick him were thwarted when his calloused hands tightened their vise grip around your exposed thighs, leaving you with limited options. Despite the low stakes and lack of threat, you found yourself practicing a multitude of maneuvers to get out of this. Every move is stopped short by Jack’s quick thinking and training, annoying you past the point of humor.
Jack had the decency to not gloat when another failed attempt was stopped by a simple brush of his hand and you groaned in frustration. You knew there was a technique of some kind that you’d seen in all the fight movies. Sy would love so much toget you out of this, but you’re not a professional, the risk of injury is high, and you’d likely send the both of you through the floor.
But if it meant beating this big mountain of a man, you’d do anything.
“Given up yet?” he asked out of pure curiosity, but it hit like a taunt to your defiant ears.
Instead of answering, you braced yourself for the move with a deep breath and hoisted yourself up as much as your limited core strength would allow. In the mere seconds you had before he stopped you, you struck his face again and unceremoniously dropped your weight, sending the both of you down in a tumble and leaving your bodies entangled. Still in shock from the force of your hit, Jack allowed you to climb over him and press your forearm against his neck.
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You won.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“That was a smart move.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“Got any more?”
The words were snatched right out of your train of thought by the force of him overturning you, leaving you on your back with his forearm now at your neck. Your incessant need for power dissipated like cotton candy in water the second you realized your position and the proximity of Jack’s Herculean frame against yours. The heat his body radiated rapidly melted the steel ball of overcompetitiveness nestled at your core into a river of submission, and you fell pliant under him.
The angry crease between your eyebrows softened at the same time his arm moved from around your neck and off to the side to cage your face in. The dilation of your pupils gave him pause, but it didn’t stop Jack from involuntarily returning the lovesick gaze as he stared down at your pretty face.
Your eyes didn’t falter from his face either—in that quiet moment where it had become a mystery as to where your body ended and his started, you committed all the little lines, edges, wrinkles, and blemishes of his to memory. He and Sy have the same cute spray of freckles over their noses, and you caressed a wandering finger over each one.
“What?” he muttered, momentarily going cross-eyed to follow your finger and then looking back to you.
You shook your head. “Nothing.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” you said again. “I guess we’ll call it a tie.”
“I’m fine with a tie.”
Jack didn’t move right away.
His weight still hovered over you, balanced by a single arm pressed into the carpet. The other rested lightly at your hip, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin material of your denim shorts that are clinging to your sweat-slick skin more than usual. You didn’t dare shift or breathe too deep for fear of disrupting the moment.
Because if you did, the illusion might break.
Or worse—he might take the plunge. The air around your intertwined bodies was so charged with tension that it prickled both of your nerves.
You weren’t sure if you’d give in to your deep-rooted adoration for him and let him or stop him before something irresponsible happened.
“I should get up,” he murmured, voice rough like gravel.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “You should.”
Neither of you moved.
Your finger had long since left his freckles, but the sensation of such a soft touch lingered between you and got caught in the few inches separating your lips from his. You could still feel the ghost of his skin on your fingertip.
His eyes kept flitting between yours, searching for a flicker of permission and clarity to stay planted atop of you like he was shielding you from the stark fact that not only are you a married woman, but you are married to his cousin.
And with that, Jack pushed himself off you, slow and careful like you were made of glass. He moved back to sit cross-legged and exhaled a long, weary breath.
You sat up too, folding your legs beneath you.
Jack looked over at you, the glimmer of amusement of tussling dimmed by something heavier.
“Nicky’s lucky,” he said quietly. “He always has been.”
You swallowed. “So am I.”
That was the truth.
Even if right now, part of you felt fractured. A piece of you was caught somewhere in the space between devotion and desire.
You loved Jack, but not nearly the way you loved Sy.
But there was something there that scared the shit out of you.
It scared you enough to cower away when he offered you his hand to help you to your feet, like merely touching him would be a violation of trust.
Your name made its way out of his mouth, and your breath hitched at the softness in his voice.
Despite the ache in your bones, you took it with trembling fingers, and he pulled you up with a new gentleness that was absent during your scuffle.
For a moment, you just stood there face-to-face with barely a few inches between the two of you. Such closeness only made the air thick with everything you weren’t supposed to want.
Jack didn’t look away or so much as blink when you gave your steadfastly beating heart some reprieve and broke contact. His hand was still wrapped around yours, thumb moving in slow, steady circles over your knuckles. The same kind of touch you'd crave from your husband at night, just to know he was there.
But Sy wasn’t here.
Jack was.
Your voice was small when you finally spoke.
“I’m scared.”
He stepped closer, head dipped low. “Of what?”
“Of what I’ll do if you don’t leave.”
Jack’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, and he grinned in preparation of saying the worst possible thing he could’ve in that moment.
“You have to tell me to leave.”
The solution was easy: Tell him to get out of here and forget this exchange ever happened. You haven’t broken any rules, and you should keep it that way by taking him up on his offer and demanding he leave.
In the battle of your heart and mind, your heart won by placing a steadying hand on his chest to bring him forward instead of pushing him away. He was so solid and warm in all the familiar ways you hadn’t felt in months.
You looked up.
Big mistake.
Jake dipped lower, closing the charged space between you two, and planted his surprisingly soft lips against yours.
The kiss wasn’t tentative in the way you’d imagined a first kiss would be. He kissed as if the restraints had finally been let loose and he’d been holding this fervor back for months. It wavered on desperation, like he’d dreamed it a hundred times and was terrified this was the only time it would ever be real.
Without permission from your brain, your mouth opened against his to grant his tongue access against yours. Your arms slid up around his neck, and he hoisted you up into his arms for the third time that night.
A loud groan made his chest vibrate like the taste of you satiated every ounce of thirst and hunger he suffered before fusing with you. The sound broke you.
It was the kind of broken that replicated relief.
There was no performance. No teasing.
Just a fusion of mouths, hands, and heat.
Jack pressed you against the nearest wall and tangled his hands within your dense curls, molding his body to the curve of yours so not even a second goes by without touching.Every time he slowed down or pulled back in the slightest, it served as a chance to change your mind.
You didn’t.
His hands roamed greedily yet with reverence, like he couldn’t help exploring something so precious and rare. His massive palms slid over your waist, your ribs, and the small of your back while yours stroked the expanse of his chest, shoulders, and the slip of his neck. Neither of you quite crossed that final line, but toeing so close it burned was worth the thrill.
The haze made it hard to recall who broke the kiss first. Each gasp and pounding heartbeat fell in sync with the others as your foreheads pressed together.
Neither of you said anything at first.
Then Jack’s voice, hoarse and wrecked, filled the space between you.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
You closed your eyes. “I shouldn’t have let you.”
“I—” he started and then sighed. “I’m sorry.”
You stayed silent, looking everywhere but at him to assure yourself this wasn’t some fucked-up dream.
The pair of you just stood there, holding onto each other, caught in the stillness between the lie you were living and the truth that had finally come up for air. Neither of you had moved yet, and you dreaded that you’d have to eventually.
“I don’t know what to do now,” he whispered, and that level of honesty snapped you back to reality and out of the Jack Reacher fog.
Suddenly the air wasn’t as hot anymore—it switched to something oppressively heavy.
You blinked once. Twice.
And then it hit you.
You unraveled your legs from around his middle and hopped back to your feet. He didn’t immediately get the hint to back away, so you pushed his shoulder to establish much-needed space. Your chest couldn’t handle the weight of what you’d just done and him crashing onto it.
Jack stepped back, eyes wide again, not with surprise, but understanding that this was bound to happen and he’s been waiting for the guilt to catch up to you both.
“Oh, my god,” you squeaked. “I shouldn’t have… We shouldn’t have…
You turned away, pressing your hands to your face, trying to wipe off the sweat and evidence that someone other than your husband has touched you.
“I love him,” you said, your voice cracking at the edges.
“I know.”
“I love him, Jack.”
He didn’t respond. Because what was he supposed to say?
The silence may as well have been a challenge because you spun on him with an accusatory finger pointed at his face.
“You think I’m lying? That I don’t love my husband just because—?”
“No,” he interrupted firmly. “I just think you’re in pain.”
The assessment was accurate, and it ached to have it called out. It hurt that he knew that much.
In fact, everything hurt.
It's not just Jack calling you out, but missing Sy so badly it crippled you and made you stumble into the arms of somebody else and let them touch the parts of you he should’ve been here to hold.
You sat down on the carpet, burying your face in your hands, and you muffled your whining.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I know.”
“I was lonely. I didn’t mean to—”
“I kissed you first.”
You looked up at him, tears pooling but not falling. “It doesn’t matter. I let you. I wanted it.”
He sat before you a safe distance away, far enough not to touch but close enough to stew in the storm you’d both made.
“I don’t want to lose him.”
“You won’t,” he reassured. “Not over this.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But I know Nicky, and a little kiss is hardly the worst thing a girlfriend has ever done behind his back.”
“Okay, but I’m not a girlfriend,” you reminded him, proudly flashing your ring. “I’m his wife. I don’t keep shit from him, so I have to tell him. And it wasn’t just some kiss; it was…” You gestured vaguely in the air. “And you’re his cousin.”
“And you’re ready to dump all that on him?”
“No, but I have to.”
“Do you?”
You glared at him. “Are you suggesting I lie to him?”
“I just don’t think this is something you want to do.”
“Of course I don’t fucking want to, but I have to,” you insisted. “I fucked up, and it’s going to hurt him, but I can’t lie to him.”
“That’s incredibly noble of you,” Jack muttered and then slickly added under his breath, “I’d say you guys are even now.”
Your ears perked up. “Excuse me?”
Jack shook his head and looked elsewhere to avoid meeting your expectant stare.
“Nothing.”
“No, what’d you say?” You pressed, but he scoffed and waved your inquisition off.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just talking shit.”
“What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing,” he repeated. “Whatever you decide to do, I’ll support it.”
“Even if it means he’ll never talk to you again and beat the shit out of you when he gets home?”
“I own up to my actions. No sense in regretting it if I wanted it.”
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Can you refrain from saying shit like that while I’m having an existential crisis?”
A delighted smirk stretched across his face. You should’ve slapped him again.
“Is this fucking funny to you?”
“Only a little.”
“Okay, y’know what?” You stood to your feet and stomped towards the front door. “Get out.”
“So much for safety,” he uttered and stood up, grabbing his jacket off of the couch and heading towards the foyer where his boots are strewn about with your heels.
You unlocked and opened the door for him, waiting impatiently as you leaned against the threshold and watched him gather his belongings.
“Take care of yourself,” he told you once he was out of the apartment, offering a nod and a smile around your name in parting.
If looks could kill, Jack Reacher would be a dead man. You bored white-hot holes in the back of his head as he walked down the hall and disappeared around the corner.
The door clicking echoed eerily loud in the apartment, and the desolation didn’t have the decency to wait a full minute before it had you unlocking the door and zooming out into the hallway after him. You couldn’t let it happen like this—you cherished the relationship you had with Jack, and it wasn’t supposed to end this way.
“Jack!” you called once you caught up and saw he’d only made it to the sidewalk.
He paused, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim streetlights. His head tilted in question, but you beckoned him back with a frantic wave of your hand.
He swallowed, and something shifted in his posture when he took a slow, measured step toward you. You didn’t move. You let him come, letting the power of your presence pull him in.
“Don’t leave,” you told him. “I’m pissed, but I still care, okay? Just take the couch.”
A corner of his mouth twitched as he resisted saying something smart. “If you insist.”
With your head hung low in shame, you guided your green-eyed dirty little secret back to the apartment. He gave you the space you wordlessly requested the entire way and only moved when you commanded.
There wasn’t much said between giving him Sy’s loungewear to change into, a blanket, and a pillow. With a halfhearted goodnight and an awkward dance around each other to get to opposing ends of the apartment, you retired to the bedroom.
You didn’t remember falling asleep.
-
You woke up regardless.
The blanket you didn’t remember pulling over yourself had slipped halfway to the floor, and your neck ached from the awkward angle you’d fallen asleep in. At first, you forgot you weren’t alone until the soft hush of the apartment was disrupted by the shuffle of someone in your kitchen.
The aroma of fresh coffee seeped under the bedroom door, and you climbed out of bed to follow the smell.
You blinked blearily toward the kitchen, where Jack stood at the counter with his back to you, dressed in his black tee and jeans. Sy’s sweatpants and graphic tee were folded neatly on the coffee table.
He moved with a quiet deliberateness and turned before you could say anything, holding out a steaming mug.
“Didn’t know how you take it,” he greeted.
You took the coffee with both hands, warming your fingers.
“Thanks,” you murmured, voice scratchy with sleep.
He nodded, leaning against the counter and cradling his own mug. Silence hung between you. Not uncomfortable, but not exactly casual either.
You sipped. He watched.
“Didn’t know you were still here,” you said finally.
“I was just going to clean up and go,” Jack replied. “Didn’t want to wake you.”
Your heart ticked up a beat. “Did you sleep okay?”
“It was fine. I don’t sleep much anyway.”
He didn’t elaborate. Jack never did, so you didn’t push it.
“I’m sorry for last night.”
Jack tilted his head. “Which part?”
You bit your lip, eyes on the rim of your coffee cup. “Everything.”
“I see.”
“It got weird.”
“I didn’t mean for it to be,” he said. “It wasn’t weird for me.”
Wrong answer.
You took another sip.
The silence stretched. The birds chirping in the tree hanging by the minuscule balcony did a fair job of alleviating the awkwardness.
“You ever think about it?” he asked out of nowhere.
You looked up. “About what?”
“If things were different.”
If I got to you first and you weren’t married to Sy, is what he meant but didn't say aloud.The vagueness of his question allowed your brain permission to imagine something you shouldn’t be entertaining at all.
“I did once,” you admitted. “The night we met.”
Jack nodded. “I did too.”
“I’m gathering that.”
He set his mug down on the counter and folded his arms over his chest.
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”
You closed your eyes.
“Jack…”
“I know.” His voice was tight. “It’s not fair.”
You opened your eyes and found him right there before you, barely touching you but dangerously close to crossing another line.
“I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to,” he added. “You know that.”
You did, but that wasn’t the problem.
The problem was you wanted something you temporarily couldn’t have. You wanted relief from the ache and the cure to this perpetual loneliness that gloomed over what’s supposed to be the greatest time of your life.
You wanted your husband.
“I miss him,” you whispered.
“I know you do.”
And maybe that was why it happened. Maybe it was the comfort and the tension snapping after months of pretending it wasn’t there.
But when Jack’s hand lifted—rough fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your cheek—you didn’t stop him.
You leaned into the touch.
Just a little.
Just enough.
His hand cupped your jaw like he was memorizing the shape of you, and your eyes fluttered shut.
He didn’t kiss you as fervently as he did last night this time.
It was the faintest press of his lips at the corner of your mouth. Not a real kiss, but something to extinguish the lie you’d have to live with.
Just something small.
Something quiet.
Something that still made your heart rate spike.
When you opened your eyes, he was already backing away, jaw tight, eyes hard with regret; he wouldn’t speak aloud.
How the fuck were you supposed to tell Sy?
“Can I be honest with you, Jack?” You set your mug next to his and exhaled a heavy breath. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about you or about us or what we could’ve been if we would’ve met first.”
He nodded shortly, and you fidgeted nervously with your fingers as you continued.
“But even if you got to me first, it’d still be him. It’s him every time in every universe. My curiosity about you doesn’t outweigh my love and respect for Dominic. I’m sorry I gave you any false hope last night. I know how you feel about me, and I hate that I have to hurt you when I say what happened last night didn’t mean anything. It was out of—"
“Convenience,” he finished grimly, to which you nodded in agreement.
“It was a mistake. I love you, Jack. I really do.”
“But not as much as him.”
You bit your lip again and shook your head at how this harsh reality is undoubtedly tearing up the man before you from the inside out.
But when it comes to Dominic, Jack could explode for all you care.
“Not even close.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for how you feel.”
“I didn't mean to hurt you.”
“I said I’d respect whatever your decision is.”
You nodded again, flashing him a sad smile to counteract the frown dulling on his face.
“Just don’t hate me.”
The prospect wasn’t possible.
“I’ll be okay. I’m a big boy.”
Jack wasn’t a good liar, but it’s something else you won’t press. It was already cruel enough to ruin the rest of his leave, and you’re not going to add insult to injury and call it out.
A part of you wondered what you’d do next if Sy weren’t present. What would Reacher do?
Somehow a hug wasn’t enough.
But it’s what it’ll just have to be.
-
In the aftermath of it all, you realized that what it was is what it’ll continue to be. You now know what happened next and you know a hug was enough.
Eyes That See Summary: Your life has consisted of caring for others. This is a story of you learning to care for yourself.
Eyes That See Part 23 Summary: It’s the morning after your fight with Justine. After staying the night at Sy’s, you wake up in a much better mood and end up finding something out about yourself.
Relationship: Syverson x Reader
Words: 5k
Tags: Smut with an capital S, but like in a romantic ETS way (dry-humping, fingering, female ejaculation)
You come to consciousness the next morning as if drifting afloat the ocean on a raft, warm and floaty. Judging by how warm the room is, Sy must’ve fed the fireplace overnight instead of letting it die out, and you’re grateful.
You’re also grateful that Sy’s still next to you. Normally, he can’t help but leave the bed whenever he wakes up for the day, but more and more lately, he’s begun to stay in bed with you under the blankets instead. When that happens, it's coveted and special.
Sy’s typical early-morning position is spooning you from behind, but when you wake up this time, the winter sun just barely beginning to dully peek through the sides of the window curtains, he’s on his back instead. You find yourself laid halfway across him. Your hand's draped over his chest, right leg lifted over his thigh, and your head's laying half on his shoulder and half on a balled-up pillow underneath his arm. You're pretty sure you may be drooling on him.
The remnants of Sy’s body wash on his skin, the scent of his sheets, the soothing up and down sensation of his breathing–everything rolls over you like waves. You’re consumed in pure safety. Afloat with it. Basking in it.
Last night was yet another time you’d come running to Sy with yet another one of your issues, crying and frustrated after your argument with Justine, and still, there’d been no real annoyance from him. The extent of his frustration had to do with you continuing to take more blame in the entire situation than he feels like you should, and it’s just evident: he’s truly in your corner. He’s entirely in your corner.
He really loves you.
And you really fucking love him.
Everything’s just so comfortable right now–your body, Sy’s body, the fireplace, this room, this bed, your dreamless, empty, floaty brain–that you aren’t even aware that you haven't been just riding some sort of imaginary wave within your thoughts this whole time; you’ve actually been truly moving your body in waves.
When Sy speaks to signal he's awake, his voice is croaky. “You humpin’ my leg, darlin’?”
Instantly, you freeze as if being electrocuted. What the fuck.
You’d been mindlessly grinding yourself against Sy’s thigh.
Quickly, you open your eyes. Forcing yourself to lift your head and embarrassingly look at Sy with a face that must look groggy and guilty as hell, you prepare to apologize and disentangle yourself, but he stops you with a strong hand on your waist.
“Stay here,” he lets out with a rasp.
Hesitantly, you drop your head to rest on Sy’s shoulder again, moving it more to his bicep so you can hide your face in the crook of his arm, but your body’s still tense. Sy lowers his hand from your waist to cup your asscheek at the crease on the top of your leg.
“So I take it you’re feelin’ better after last night.”
Against his skin, you just nod. Purposefully, you keep your body still and appropriately-placed.
“C’mere,” he chuckles, pulling your ass inwards until your underwear-covered core presses directly against his thigh again. “Stop hidin’.”
You let out a half-groan, half-whine. “Sy…”
He lowers his voice to a more suggestive tone. “I liked it.”
Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, you press your hips forward again, and the same pleasure from before comes back and spreads from inside your undies to your stomach to your chest to your brain and everywhere else. It felt good–feels good–but you can’t continue, though. You just can’t. Sy’s full attention now is almost too much, too–you don’t know the word.
Now that you’re fully awake and know he is, too, you have to falter.
You don’t know why you’re so confident about your feelings for one another but still so shy about sex sometimes. You want to keep going, you do, you’d love it, and you’re sure he would, too, but it’d make feel you so vulnerable, and borderline humiliated, and–and you’d–but–Sy would never say anything but nice things, you know, so maybe it’s okay if you–
“Hey, it’s alright,” Sy eventually breaks you from your thoughts, and you find yourself instantly on your back with Sy draped over you this time. He looks down at you with something like fondness in his sleep-puffy eyes.
His left leg is still directly in between both of your legs, and he firmly presses it downwards to give you what you couldn’t find in you to give yourself a second ago. Once he starts actually moving his leg, your clit feels like fucking pop-rocks exploding, like too much concentrated in too small an area, definitely too much for you to have just woken up a few minutes ago. God, his thigh alone is big enough to–
You hold back a moan.
When Sy says, “Baby, it’s okay,” you shakily let out the breath you’ve been holding in.
When he says, “Can feel you’re wet,” you close your eyes.
When he says, “You’re perfect,” you turn your head to the side and squeeze your eyes even more shut.
Then–nothing. Sy stops. He takes his leg away.
You blink and blearily look up at him, legs splayed open under the covers, pussy throbbing. In the dark room, you’re able to tell his eyes are dark, but still, they remain somewhat soft. You offer him a small smile.
Sy’s fingers trail to the top of your underwear and pause there until you lift your hips off the mattress, and then, with your help, he slides them down your legs. Clearly getting a look at you before pulling the blanket back over your legs, Sy then starts running his hand in a circular pattern over your stomach.
He spends long moments caressing your stomach and breasts under your sleep shirt, and you find yourself starting to feel afloat on the ocean again, spurred on by a steady stream of deep whispered words Sy keeps letting out. Stuff about how smooth your skin is, and how good you feel, and how good you smell, and everything you'd found yourself internally thinking about him moments ago. Then momentary silence.
“D’you think I talk too much?” he quietly asks out of nowhere, and you just give him another smile before actually meeting his eyes, expecting him to wink at you because you know he can have a dirty mouth.
He doesn’t, though. From his expression alone, you can tell he’s for some reason being genuine.
You shake your head. “I think you–I think my brain is–it’s too much sometimes, and you help me stay, like…you help me stay in the moment. And not…overthink things. Or worry.” You clear your throat. “So no. I don't think you talk too much. I…I like it.”
You know it’s too early to be rambling so much, but Sy’s eyes simply travel around your face while he looks at you. Eventually, he reaches up to move some hair out of your face. “Good,” he finally settles with.
With your knees still pointing opposite ways under the blanket, it’s easy for Sy after that to glide his hand down your body before cupping your entire pussy in his palm. The wide middle part of his hand makes contact with your touch-starved clit just as his fingertips find a pool of wetness below. You gasp.
“Fuckin’ A.” Sy props himself up on his forearm and looks down at you. “Hadju some good dreams or what?”
“No,” you mutter while your face heats up. “I’m…I dunno. Shut up. I’m ovulating.” There’s a defensiveness there that’s not necessary or sincere whatsoever. You end up smirking in slight residual embarrassment and also slight humor at the way Sy’s continuing to stare at your face with his eyebrows lifted.
The smirk doesn’t last long. Under his gaze, you feel so small, and so desired–and you love it–but you still can’t explain how the weight of his attention is too much sometimes and you just have to close your eyes.
Soon, there’s actual pressure at your slick hole, and Sy just barely dips a finger inside you. Going no further, he pauses. “Still good?”
You open your eyes and nod fast, and while Sy slips his index finger as deep inside your pussy as it’ll go, you don’t take your eyes off one another. You’d lean up and kiss him if it weren’t for your own morning breath.
But he probably wouldn’t care about that, anyway. And you don’t need to kiss. Not really. The way you’re both looking at one another like an invisible string is connected between your noses, like reverie, like this is something more than just early-morning fooling around...that’s enough. Enough for you to close your eyes again after a minute.
This is something only for each other, something no one else will ever get to know. Only he gets to have you like this. Only you get to have him.
Just one finger is thick enough for you to feel full, but when Sy adds his middle finger, too, you’re honestly stretched enough that you don’t think you could take another. Keeping his hand flat on your mound in a way that makes it impossible not to grind up against, he then starts to slowly pump both of his fingers in and out of you.
While continuing the steady in and out slide, Sy lowers his mouth to your neck. You feel him moan against your skin like he’s the one getting pleasure from this, and when he picks up speed, there’s a noise to it that you can hear even over the layer of the blanket covering you. Even over the sporadic crackling of the fire.
“Oh, fuck.”
Sy chuckles against your neck, and you know it’s because he’s learned that you cuss in bed more than you ever would any other place.
Like this isn’t lighting you the fuck up right now, raging morning hormones and hot-as-shit boyfriend and arousal so evident it’s noisy. If this blanket weren’t offering you modesty, you really don’t know if you’d be able to hold this brazen position at all under the intensity of Sy’s focus.
But–Yes, you could. Sy would get you there. He’d talk you through it. He’d make you feel sexy. All of the times you’ve been intimate together have been boundary-pushing for you in mindblowingly stellar ways. All of them.
And it’s then that you come to your senses and reach down towards the hardness you’ve been gradually feeling poke you to give him the same attention he’s giving you.
Sy barely even lets you trail a finger along his erection before lifting his head and moving your hand away. He makes a low noise. “Let me focus, baby.”
“What, you can’t focus if I–”
Without malice, Sy moves your hand away again. Your head falls back on the pillow while you relax your arms and give in to his hidden and rhythmic movements under the blanket. When Sy moves his slickly-drenched fingers up and down your slit, it’s easy to imagine that you’re probably wet all over now, thighs and asshole and all. It definitely feels wet. It definitely sounds wet.
You squeeze your eyes again and let your mouth partly drop open.
With your legs so widely open for him, Sy easily finds your clit and presses the tips of his wet fingers on top of the hood. His mouth starts kissing the pulse-point of your neck while he starts making wet tight circles there, and with a gasp, you jolt your hips upwards.
Again, you blindly reach downwards to try to tug at Sy’s cock, and this time you’re able to wrap your entire hand around his shaft over top of his boxers. That only rewards you with the cessation of all of his movements–no more kisses over your neck, no more circles over your clit. You whine.
“I can’t focus if you do that,” he moves your hand away and tells you again. “Not how I want.”
“How’s that?” you practically slur. “The way you want?”
“Mm. Like this,” he utters, lowering his fingers to your entrance again, but this time with different ones: his middle and ring finger, it feels like. You’re pretty sure those are his index and pinkie fingers you feel pressed against the backs of your legs.
When Sy’s fingers start moving inside you again, the frantic speed takes you aback: it’s so sudden and so strong that you gasp and grip the sheets underneath you in a tight ball. Sy barely even moves his hand after that, keeping his fingers inside as far as they can go, curved up so the pads of them keep touching a spot within you that instantly has your legs quivering. His hand still moves, though, like he’s vibrating it to match how you were inadvertently moving while waking up this morning, and–your lower belly feels like a fucking balloon of pressure starting to expand.
It only builds. In the past, you’d considered getting fingered as a precursor to intercourse. Sy’s treating it like the main event, his sole desire. His focus is with it. God, his hand is big.
And it’s fucking good. Your hips keep bolting upwards so you can ride his fingers any way you can, in turn giving your clit contact with his palm, and the speed of everything lights up every single one of your nerve cells down there. Fuck.
You’re not aware how much you’re moaning until something Sy whispers in your ear breaks through all the frantic feel-good static in your head. “--lay here’n be good, that’s all you gotta do, just lay here’n be good for me, just letch’yourself feel good for me.”
Those words coupled with the way you can feel Sy start to rut against your hip do something weird to you, like they have some sort of control over your actual body or something, because directly after you hear them, the bottom of your stomach feels like it’s convulsing. That pressure that’s been building and building this entire time feels ready to burst open and explode.
“Oh, my fucking God,” you let out in a shaky voice. That almost-bursting sensation is right there, right there, almost about to happen–like a pending orgasm but something else, too.
You’re able to place what the familiar sensation is, and it’s not just an orgasm. And in the middle of so much pleasure building up that you’re literally about to come all over Sy’s hand, this can’t be happening right now. It can’t. You can’t.
You’re about to pee.
Sy’s teeth are latched on your neck, directly overtop where the marks he’d recently given you have literally just started to go away. You’ve got to raise your hand to hit his head. You can’t fucking speak.
His fingers keep the same rapid movements, though, and now he’s using so much strength that you can’t even undulate your hips upwards anymore. Insistently, they move, fingertips still pressing upwards against what feels like your bladder. Everything still feels so fucking good, and you’re still being way too fucking loud, but shit–you fucking drank before bed last night, and even though you didn’t even feel like using the bathroom when you woke up a few minutes ago, you definitely feel like it now, and you’d be fucking mortified if you fucking peed on his hand during a time like this.
“That’s gonna–” You thrash your head to the side. “Sy, stop, that’s gonna–Stop!”
While simultaneously stilling his hand on instant, Sy detaches his mouth from your neck and looks at you with big and worried eyes.
Your legs quiver like you have no muscle tone. “Sy, I–”
“You alright?”
You squeeze your eyes shut in humiliation. “That’s gonna make me pee,” you urgently whisper. “You’ve gotta–”
Something changes in Sy’s expression when you dare to peek at him again. “No, it’s not,” he says, and there’s a strange confidence there. Like he would know how full your bladder is.
You lay there with your chest heaving from how fast your heart’s been beating. “Yes, it is.”
“That ain’t–Then just let it out,” he utters with words sounding just as slurred as yours. He brings his mouth down to your neck again and sucks a patch of skin into his mouth in such a way your pussy tightens around his soaked fingers.
“Oh, shit… What? Pee?”
Sy pauses for a heavy moment. “If it happens, it happens,” he murmurs, “but you ain’t gettin’ out this bed.”
“Oh, Jesus,” you mutter directly after Sy’s fingers start relentlessly fucking into you again–or, fucking in you again. The same pressure from before comes right back lit anew–the outward sparkling sensitivity of your clit against Sy’s palm, the inside… the inside everything. You bring a hand up to your mouth.
You can’t believe this. You can’t believe you’re in this situation right now. You can’t believe you’re going to fucking pee in Sy’s bed while you come and Sy’s not going to even care. On his fucking hand, too. The man has no scruples with bodily fluids, though, and especially no scruples with anything when it comes to you, so you guess it tracks. You remind yourself that he’s dirty, and he loves you, and– “What’d I tell you, huh? Just lay here’n be good, honey,” he grunts against your neck, darkly-sweet.
“Oh, my God,” you whimper. You feel like you have no control at all right now, that Sy’s got everything handled, that this is what he wants. Just you like this.
“That gets you goin’ so much,” he murmurs. “Bein’ good for me.”
“I…” You can’t reply.
“Just let go, baby. I wantchu to.”
You drop your hand from your mouth to grasp the bedsheets again. From the force of your body essentially being drilled, the blanket has moved enough that you can see Sy’s forearm now.
“Yeah,” you breathe out, teeth clenched together while you breathe out frantic puffs of air. Keeping your right leg bent, you raise it and plant your foot into the mattress to get some sort of grounding against the welcome onslaught. “Yeah, okay. Fuck.”
Within seconds, you’re moaning near-incessantly again, staring down at the cords of muscle in Sy’s forearm while his hand vibrates so quickly inside you that it’s like he’s a part of your body itself. Your legs impossibly shake even more while the squelching sounds from earlier continue, and it’s then that you can’t just fight it anymore. Sy said to just let go. Sy said if it happens, it happens. Sy said let it happen.
Throwing your head back and squeezing your eyes so tightly shut that your ears ring, you start feeling that same distinct sensation from earlier, like Sy’s fucking targeting a spot in your pussy that throbs. It’s not uncomfortable, though; it’s just pressure. Massive pressure. It builds, and it builds, and you cry out, and you cry out some more, and within mere seconds, without you hiding from it any longer, a surge overcomes you so powerful that your body simply locks up.
You entirely white out. With a growing orgasm so strongly that you can’t speak besides breathing out “Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God,” you realize from your jumping hips that Sy’s fingers aren’t in you anymore. They’re pushing the blanket down as far as possible, then they’re back on your clit, and you just can’t control anything anymore. You’re gonna–
You feel the liquid embarrassingly gush out right as you start to come with a high-pitched drawn-out noise you don’t recognize, and the shame will have to wait until later because everything feels too good. When Sy slides his fingers back into your leaking pussy, a bit more liquid up top is forced out from his still-rapidly moving hand, like you don’t have enough to be embarrassed about. But you feel so fucking good.
And Sy would never say anything bad about what you’ve just done. He just wanted you to lay here and be good, and to let go, and you listened, and you feel so, so, so, so good.
Fuck, the covers are still moving from–fuck, Sy won’t stop fingering you even though you’ve clearly just come your brains out, like he’s wanting you to keep going, but you just–you can’t. You feel deflated, like all your muscles and all your organs have been taut and tense and now can finally relax.
Sy doesn’t stop moving until you reach down and shakily hold his wrist. “Okay, okay,” you let out through an odd whimper. “I’m good. Fuck. Good God. Oh, my God, okay, I’m done, Sy, oh, my God, please, I’m done.”
You can’t sit up, but you feel like you should. Everything underneath your ass is soaked. Somewhere along the way, you’ve raised your left leg off the mattress, and your knees are knocked together almost trembling. Your breath comes in quick heaves.
You look over at Sy just in time to see him licking his fingers, and there’s a small trail of clear pee sliding down his forearm. That brings you to your senses quickly. “Sy, oh, my God, what the fuck.”
“That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve seen in my entire life, Y/N,” he says with a surprisingly clear voice–not sounding grossed out at all. Also, strangely not even sounded aroused anymore even though you’ve probably been moaning out your release loud enough and long enough to give him blue balls.
The sun is a little brighter through the edges of the window curtains, casting small slivers of light on your lower stomach and below. You stretch out your shaky legs. You’re going to have to change all of the sheets. You’re gonna have to—shit, you can’t even think. You don’t know what you’re gonna have to do. You’re gonna have to do a lot. Everything is so wet.
…And Sy didn’t care. He liked it. He…It got on his hand. He didn’t even drop the “g” from the word “fucking” like he always does. He enunciated. He used your government name.
You can’t look at him at all when you ask, “You got, like, some sort of pee fetish I didn’t know about or something?”
It’s…it’s not like you’re one to judge. You’re the one that fucking let loose in the middle of having an orgasm, not even able to hold your bladder for just a few more minutes. It felt so good that you couldn’t even describe it if you wanted to, though, and that’s what you hold onto while still coming down from everything. That’s what’s keeping embarrassment from washing over you.
Sy’s face still looks so turned on, though, eyes dark and intense, mouth-breathing quickly. “Baby, that–” He pushes himself up on his hand. “You still think that was piss?”
You make a face at his word choice. “Gross, Sy.”
He lowers his hand to splay his fingers out atop your lower belly. “Baby, you–” He looks down the bed. “Look at all that,” he whispers.
Squirming, you begin feeling hot again, and not in the best way. You attempt to roll over to face the window, but Sy won’t let you.
“Baby. You squirted,” he says, waiting until your eyes finally meet his. You feel so tiny with him looming over you like this. “You fuckin’ squirted for like a minute straight.” He lifts his left hand in the air and turns it slightly. “All over…You just kept–”
You can’t hear anymore. “But–I–”
When Sy looks downwards towards your hip, your eyes trail there, too. On your skin without you even noticing, and also on the mattress, are splotches of what is clearly semen. Speechless, you suck in a puff of air.
Sy swallows and looks back at your face. “I–” He chuckles at himself a little. “I couldn’t even hold out, you were so fuckin’ hot just now. That…”
You sit up on your elbows. “But–Sy, that wasn’t…” You just keep blankly blinking.
“You ain’t ever done that before,” he muses to himself like he’s figuring something out. “I fuckin’ was the first one?”
You’re starting to come back to reality more and more with every passing second. And the embarrassment is starting to build in your chest, pressing down.
“Sy, I–I don’t know what all you’re talking about,” you say in almost a childishly quiet voice, “but no, I’ve never peed over anyone’s hand while having an orgasm.” You swallow at your own bluntness.
Sy grins at you. “You squirted.”
“But Sy, it–”
“Look, you wanna smell it?” he interrupts. “It ain’t pee. I’m tellin’ you that.”
You close your eyes and fight back an incredulous smile. This freaking man.
Slowly, you lower yourself back down until you’re entirely horizontal again. Your eyes flicker from the ceiling to to the wall to Sy’s face, still looking down at you like you’re–like you’re some kind of porn star.
“So it wasn’t pee,” you let out.
He shakes his head and continues to grin.
“Well, I mean–You were goin’ like a freakin’ jack-rabbit down there, Sy–I couldn’t help–Where’d that even come from?”
“You were makin’ noises I ain’t ever heard before,” he responds while laying himself down beside you and putting his head on the pillow you’re using. “Just kept goin’ ‘til I could see how loud I could getcha.”
At his smile, you bite your lip. “Pretty loud.”
“You’re the one who woke up humpin’ my leg, darlin’, so I ain’t too sure what you expected.”
You turn onto your left side, not minding how messy Sy’s tacky cum feels against your skin as you do. Hell, the little globs of his release are nothing compared to…an entire drenched bed.
“You’re not ever gonna let this go, are you?” you ask.
He shakes his head and kisses you. “Hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in my life,” he repeats.
Sy puts his hand on your hip and rubs his thumb back and forth while both of you lay quietly, mutually coming down from your highs.
“I feel so much better now that I know it wasn’t pee,” you whisper after a while. “I just kept thinking…I mean, I know you wouldn’t’ve been mean about it or anything, but still.”
When Sy notices you beginning to shiver, he reaches out and pulls the blanket up where you’d apparently kicked it all the way down to the footboard. He finds a dry spot before covering it lazily over both of you. It’s a sweet action he takes while retaining a somewhat smug expression.
“Have you ever done that to someone before?” you eventually ask, unsure if you even want to know the answer.
Sy just shakes his head.
Oh.
“Then how’d you–how were you so sure, then? When I said what I thought it was gonna be. And you were all–” you lower your voice to something deep and twangy– “‘You ain’t leavin’ this bed.’”
He smirks at your impression. “Had a feelin’.”
You roll your eyes. “You had a feelin’.”
“Literally, I had a feelin’,” he maintains. “I could feel it. It was like your body was tryna push out my hand. Then it did.”
Again, you momentarily can’t look at him.
The smugness leaves Sy’s face entirely. “Baby, I’m fuckin’ serious. If you couldn’t tell. It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I mean that.”
You give a small nod. “‘Cause you say what you mean, and you–”
“Mean what I say,” Sy finishes.
“I’m sorry,” you say, ignoring Sy’s little “aht” noise, “I don’t mean to be so…weird about it. I think I’m still in shock.”
“I am, too,” he admits.
You can’t believe you… You can’t even say the word. Maybe you’ll get there one day.
Even though the both of you really need to get out of bed by now, you remain where you are: next to each other and more comfortable than you’ve been in a long time. The fact that your embarrassment only lasted for a fraction of moments is extremely telling.
You want to marry this man.
"Whatcha thinkin'?" he asks after quite a long silence, but he says it so quietly it's like the tiniest of murmurs, like a sentence spoken rather than a question.
You smile against his chest. "My mind floated away for a minute."
"Where to?"
"Someplace nice."
Sy holds you a bit tighter.
“Actually, I’ve kinda been wonderin’ somethin’.”
A deep, rumbly noise vibrates from Sy’s throat–an acknowledgement, an inquiry. He probably thinks you’re still ruminating over the fact that you–that all that stuff gushed out of you earlier. But you aren’t.
Your thoughts have traveled all over the place, and they’ve always ended back to the present moment: both of you holding each other on the bed that, together, you first had sex. Then all of the moments after that…and then all of the future moments yet to come…
You know you can trust Sy. You trust him implicitly. You know this.
It's other people you don't trust.
So…if someone were to ever get his phone, for instance, it'd be your worst–worst–nightmare. You can already picture him taking a picture of the bedsheets.
Your voice is a whisper. "What do you do with the pictures you take of me?"
Instead of immediately answering, Sy pushes himself up on an elbow. He must be wondering why you're asking.
"Or the ones that I send you?" you add. “Like, the–the private ones.”
“Well.” He reaches out and taps on your chin to get you to lift your gaze. "I look at 'em.”
You're quiet.
"...Unless a certain person asks me to delete 'em," he offers, and you can hear the confusion lacing his statement.
"Oh, that–I wasn’t gettin’ at that,” you admit, smiling. “It’s just..I just wouldn't want anyone else to see anything.”
Sy’s expression gets sternly serious. “Y/N, I would never–”
“I know, I know,” you’re quick to interrupt. “But if someone else saw by accident. Like if you gave your phone to one of your nephews to play a game or something.”
"Not possible,” he answers. “They're locked.”
"The phone?”
“The pictures.”
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.
“In a hidden folder,” he goes on, and your eyebrows only get closer to each other, confusing him. “What?”
"How is it that the man who’s practically technologically illiterate–”
Sy lifts his hand to cover your mouth, and you start to cackle.
“Woman, take that back.”
You shake your head as your eyes crinkle from your hidden smile. “Can’t even talk on the phone and take a picture at the same time–” you say all muffed and incomprehensible. “Had to teach you myself.”
When he doesn’t move his hand from your mouth, you stick your tongue out and lick his palm until he finally backs off.
You’re expecting more banter, maybe tickling, maybe an “Alright, darlin’, best get up now,” but there’s none of that. Sy keeps his hand in midair and stares at it.
Staring at you while he does so, he brings his hand to his mouth and licks it from top to bottom, right over the smear of your own saliva. Right over…Right over where you’d squirted all over.
You squeeze your eyes shut while your heart starts to loudly thump in your chest.
Flat on your back on the staircase, your dejected expression remains entirely unchanged as you stare up at your fiancé.
Sy’s expression, however, morphs into one of shock. “I am happy for you. ‘Course I am," he utters. His voice lowers as he deeply implores next, “Hear me when I say that.”
“Yeah,” you impassively mutter, and you know your voice is unconvincing. You’ve gone from frustrated to angry to hurt to…empty.
Here's what Sy’s just not getting: These thoughts you’re having and these words you’re saying and this emotional state you’re currently finding yourself in…They're not just from this one evening. It’s not like his behavior during this one party has stirred all this up.
While he’s probably thinking you're reacting solely from this one event tonight, in the background, there have been a lot of things–little things, seemingly insignificant things–building up doubt in your mind for a long time now. Miniscule-weighing crumbs of Sy’s disinterest that, put together, have actual mass.
The recent lack of interest in wedding planning. The withholding of compliments. The disinterest in your coworkers. Separately, these individual things may not be much, but put together, they all make a heavy statement. Put together, they equate to a diminishing interest in you.
Maybe tonight was an unspoken plea on your part for him to prove you wrong. Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was a petition. You don't know. Whatever it was, he failed it.
In growing discomfort, Sy murmurs, “C’mon, Y/N…I…” but, evidently struggling for the right thing to actually say, his words fall short.
Your unpleasant ones take their place. “Sometimes I just don’t feel that way,” you admit in a whisper, looking away.
With disbelief coating each word, Sy slowly tries to clarify your point. “That…I ain’t happy for you?”
Heavily, you shrug, and then you close your eyes, mentally telling yourself not to cry. You remind yourself that you’re not sad here; you’re mad.
“Y/N…”
Mental images pass through your head of how your friend Jen's husband acted tonight. How he'd been working late but still had showed up for his wife's birthday party. How he'd stuck by Jen's side for a majority of the night to celebrate with her. How he seemed just fine conversing with all her coworkers. …How he'd seemed to even actually enjoy it.
Jen had a partner tonight. You were alone.
Worse than that, you were alone without even being alone.
Straightening his legs out and digging his heavy boots into the carpet to plant himself there, Sy lays entirely horizontally–diagonally, actually, but as flat as possible on a set of stairs–and rests his left elbow on the spot next to your shoulder. This gives him the ability to cradle your face with his right hand.
“Y/N, I’m happier’n shit for you,” Sy reassures, and it would almost sound funny, but you’re trying to keep yourself from crying, so all it does is make you want to tear up even more.
Here he is, finally saying the words you’ve longed to hear, and they aren’t even cheering you up. You’re still just so embarrassed by everything, so hurt, so–mad. You’re mad, you tell yourself again.
“I am," he insists at your silence, almost shaking you a little bit with his right hand. "You went to school for a long damn time. You worked your ass off. You deserve it.”
Nodding, you compose yourself a little bit, but your eyes noticeably burn when you finally open them again. “But you don’t like it,” you tell him.
“Don’t like what?”
You frown. “My job.”
Sy frowns back. “When'd I ever say that?”
Offering him a flat look, you reply, “I’m not dumb. You might not dislike my actual job, but you dislike the people I work with.”
Conceding, Sy tilts his head to the side a bit. "I…might not care for some'a 'em."
“Obviously,” you mutter, wishing you could just get up and stop having this conversation.
Sy's still laying on top of you, though.
“And…that’s what’s got you upset?” he asks, eyebrows almost touching one another with how severely they’re pushed together in a mixture of concern and confusion. “That I…don’t like your coworkers?”
You look to the side again, and Sy taps your chin to get you to look back at him. “Hey.”
Knowing you sound like a whining child, you turn your eyes back to his and reply, "I just want you to.”
"Okay…" Sy says, perplexed. Treading carefully, his voice is slow when he says, "So next time I'll get to know ‘em. I just promised you that."
You nod, and that’s when a thin pool of water begins to rim your eyes. Sy just watches you with his mouth dropped open.
He can’t take it when you cry. Never has been able to.
But you’re not even crying right now, and you aren’t going to start crying. You’re upset, yeah, but you’re–you have to remind yourself you’re frustrated, and you’re–you’re pissed off.
After being an antisocial ass all night, Sy had talked to you by the front door earlier on like you were a child, you remind yourself. He’d grabbed you by the ankle to keep you from fleeing up the stairs, and now he’s got you pinned on them, and–you’re mad here. All night, he acted like a dick.
Still, your eyes won’t stop burning, and Sy won’t stop staring into them.
“Y/N, why would me not carin’ for the people you work with upset you this much?” he asks while you dab at the corner of one of your eyes with a knuckle. “I…Help me out here.”
Taking another deep breath, you mutter, “It’s more than just you not likin’ the people I work with.”
“So what is it?”
You blink a few times trying to formulate the right words, but you know however you answer that it won’t make sense to him. That, or it'll cause an actual fight. It'll offend him.
“Y/N,” Sy whispers reverently. “Talk to me here. I can’t fix shit if I don’t understand.”
You're not gathering any hint of angry annoyance whatsoever from Sy's tone like you've anticipated; there's just genuine confusion in its place. Compared to just a few moments ago when he stormed into the home tense and fighting-mad, this is entirely opposite now. Now he's asking you to talk it out. Now he's all-but-begging for you to explain your thoughts to him.
You know why there's a sudden shift: Sy hates it when you cry.
You definitely aren’t using tears as a form of manipulation here, but damn if it’s working.
While your heart begins to wildly thump, you contemplate what to even say. As much as you want to run away from all of this shit right now and pretend it never even happened, you can’t. You’re flat on your back in the middle of the staircase with Sy's insistent weight covering you, and you know you won’t be getting up until this is settled.
Even though he’s quite literally pinning you, you suppose you do need to get it out, you guess. The shit you tell yourself sometimes. The negative stories you make up when you don't hear anything positive from Sy.
You don’t hear much from Sy at all.
Taking one final heavy breath in, you shakily let out your hot air.
“If you’re not interested in my coworkers," you begin in the quietest voice possible, "then that’s just a few steps away from you not bein’ interested in me.”
As the air between your faces turns deafeningly silent, Sy waits for you to say more. Judging by his face, he’s already not piecing together what you’re saying. He truly doesn't understand.
“They're important to me, and you don't care," you say. "You literally don’t give a shit. And even more than that, you, like, actively dislike them. So…I know how this stuff goes."
"And how’s that?”
You sigh. “C’mon, Sy.”
“Baby,” he insists, “I really don’t get what you’re tryin’ to say here. What d’you mean, ‘you know how this stuff goes’?”
"Eventually there'll be more things I’m invited to,” you explain. “More work things, or maybe just–maybe just things for fun. It’s bound to happen. There’ll be someone else’s birthday, or someone else’s promotion, or someone else’s retirement…I’ll get invited to join people for drinks after work or something.”
“Right…And…”
Feeling like you’re crazy, you sigh. “And since you don't like any of ‘em, you won't ever go. So I’ll go alone. And they’ll ask where you are, and I’ll make something up about the military. And…that’d be that. But I’d still wish that you’d go with me when you were able to. While you’d start wishin’ I didn’t go at all. That I didn’t even work where I worked.” Your breath hitches. “While you’d start thinkin’ that somehow I’ve changed.”
Sy’s mouth slightly opens. Before he can speak, you take the tiniest break before going on again.
“But you’ll keep it to yourself at first. Until one day you get tired of bein' around me altogether.”
Sy’s lips remain parted. “You’re sayin' that because I don’t like some'a your coworkers,” he reiterates, sounding stunned, “I’m gonna get tired of you."
You look to the side.
Well. You did try to make Sy jealous earlier tonight, and he did nothing. Nothing. Nothing to suggest you were a couple. Nothing to hint at the fact that you're his fiancée.
And even besides all that, you dressed up nicely tonight for the first time in forever, and he still hasn’t even commented on it. Not once.
You shrug. “I’m–Well, if I’m bein’ honest, Sy, I kinda feel like you’re already gettin’ tired of me,” you admit, making your tone as soft as possible to outweigh your bluntness.
"I–" Sy spends a long, long moment just staring down at you. He still looks like he's been sucker-punched. “Y/N…”
“So…Yeah.” You clear your throat. “The more you get tired of me, then it's just a matter of time before you find someone else that you like better, especially during deployments. And then you'll–And then you'll just be done with me,” you finally finish, voice croaky and almost incomprehensible, and there’s a long and heavy pause.
Then: “What?”
While Sy incredulously stares at you, you stare back almost apologetically, your eyebrows turned upwards. “It’s a natural progression of events,” you murmur.
"A natural progression of events,” he slowly repeats in his heavy accent.
"...Yeah."
You’re not going to really start crying. You're not. Your eyes are just wet.
“‘Cause then you’ll decide…"
Like his pupils have been expanding, his eyes look dark, and they move all around your face before they focus right back on your own glistening ones. "Decide what?"
"That you don't love me anymore,” you mumble, and you try to shift a little to the side to get some cooler air to take in.
As you do, Sy’s face goes through a series of changes, shifting from confusion to deeper confusion to utter disbelief. He takes your chin in his hand and guides you to look directly at him, but his mouth remains dropped open.
"I--I didn't–" Sy's desperate face finally morphs into resolve. "Y/N, that won’t ever happen. That won't ever, ever happen."
Sliding his hand up from your chin, Sy cradles your jaw so he can brush over the apple of your cheek with his thumb. You’ve felt his touch be gentle like this, but now it’s stronger, more depserate. "I love you more’n…I love you more’n anything on this earth.”
In reply, you just minutely nod so the movement of your head won’t rattle your tearborne eyes. Finally he’s saying something, you think.
“You hear that?”
You nod again. “Yeah.”
Still holding your face, Sy goes on, “Hear that?”
You take a deep breath in and a deep breath out, feeling some relief that your deceiving thoughts aren’t true, after all, but still–this is the first time Sy’s said he’s loved you in a long time. It’s more than he's offered to you at all in a long time. A long, long time.
It somehow does little to quell the emotions that’ve been embodening you. How Sy’s been behaving tonight…How he’s been behaving for quite some time now… It’s–It’s really–
It’s made you mad, you remind yourself again, clenching your jaw as Sy cradles it. It’s made you feel mad and vindictive and passive-aggressive and a slew of other angry emotions, and–and–
It’s hurt. More than anything, it’s hurt. This anger you keep trying to go back to is simply a covering, a facade, and you know that with certainty. You’re hurt. And something like that doesn’t just go away.
“Hey,” Sy murmurs. “Look at me.”
Still not saying anything, you slowly bring your red eyes back to Sy’s, and there’s a moroseness you see within his that you feel you’re helplessly mirroring.
“You…You gotta know that,” Sy says, retaining the little desperate edge to his tone.
The moment you look away again, Sy’s face falls.
You feel guilty, but he has to realize how he’s been acting recently. He has to hear how it’s affected you. In a handful of ways, he’s made you feel ignored. Unspecial. Sure, he loves you, but does he care?
“I do, Sy, but I just…”
While you take a deep breath then let it out slowly, Sy seems at a strange loss for words.
“It’s just…” You sigh. “I just wanna feel like you do. I want you to–I want you to be–”
Your sentence trails off, and, hating the way you sound, you want to groan at yourself. Your eyes won’t stop watering up. No matter how rapidly you keep blinking to dry them up, no matter how many times you keep wiping at the sides of them, no matter how strong your resolve is to not cry right now, it’s not working. None of it is. Something about being on the damn staircase like this in such a compromising position is fucking up your ability to emotionally regulate.
Roughly, you cough, and then all at once, the deep and sudden dejection you’ve been trying to hold inside cracks open. It forcefully slams into your body. Suddenly, you're sad.
You’re able to croak out, “I just want you…to…care,” but you can't say anything more than that because then your eyes start truly burning, and then they start filling with water, and then the water starts falling down your face, and then–fuck. You're crying.
Sy quickly but gently shakes one of your arms. “Hey…Baby. I–I care," he mumbles. "C’mon, now…”
Almost to hide, you finally just close your eyes entirely, and it makes it feel like thick, warm water is stagnantly pooling in the divots of your eye sockets.
“Hey,” Sy whispers again, softly shaking your arm again, and there’s an edge of desperation lacing his voice. “Hey, hey, hey.”
You don't speak or open your eyes, but you start taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. God dammit. You’re being so fucking stupid right now.
But you feel how you feel.
“Dar–Hey, shh," Sy tries again. "Shh.”
Almost in distress, his fingers move across your cheeks to wipe off the moisture there. “I said I’d–Y/N, of course I care about you. I…I asked you to marry me.”
You whine through your crying, feeling helpless and ridiculous. Just–there seems to be no getting through to him. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, though, Sy presses his lips together and changes tactics instantly.
“Sit up.” Sy pushes his upper body off of you quicker than you can expect, moving himself entirely to the side. “Sit up with me.”
When Sy’s body weight is gone, you’re left in a strange-looking position, knees spread and body cold. You accept the hand that he holds out in offering to assist you up, and since you’re technically already sitting on a step, you just have to close your legs and raise your upper body. In no time, Sy’s wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in close to his side.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, and you look up at him curiously, your back slightly aching. “Just c’mere.”
Your body tenses with not only the discomfort of having laid on the stairs for so long but also the lingering stiffness of your emotions. When you’re directly next to Sy, you’re still tightly wound-up that your shoulders are almost to your ears.
He starts running his hand up and down your bare arm. “Relax,” he says in a deep whisper.
While his hand wrapped around you continues to soothe you, he reaches out his other hand to cradle your head into his chest, and you find it harder to fight his instructions. He smells good. He smells safe.
Because he’s so fond of it, he always wears this particular button-up shirt whenever you go out somewhere, and when you press your face into it more, the familiarity of it soothes you. The fabric is thin all over and almost faded under the armpits, and the collar’s perpetually wrinkly. And you love it.
Finally relaxing some, your muscles droop, but tears still leak from your eyes.
Sy heaves in a lungful of air, the breath expanding his entire chest. “I–I don’t–”
He leaves the rest of his sentence unfinished and instead brings his hand over your hair. Over and over again like it’s actually soothing himself, he smoothes his hand over your hair while you both just collect your breathing together.
It's not until several moments later when your eyes wander back to his own that he speaks again.
“I–I fucked up tonight,” he murmurs. “I did. I know I did. But…it sounds like I been fuckin’ up a lot.”
You can only sniff.
“And I’m gonna fix that,” he vows. “‘Cause this right here? Watchin' you cryin’? ‘Cause’a me? I can’t take it."
Nodding, you wipe your eyes. “It’s only bad like this ‘cause I’ve been keepin’ it inside so long.”
“That’s what–” Sighing, Sy cuts himself off. “It shouldn’t’ve gotten to this point.”
“Well, it’s not like I didn’t try to tell you before. You’re sorta stubborn, Sy,” you say deadpan, and he grunts.
“I’ll talk next time,” Sy promises for the tenth time, and you despondently frown. “I’ll talk to every fuckin’ person, Y/N.”
You sigh a little.
“You know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Sy tells you.
“I know,” you say before swallowing thickly. “It’s just–I don't want you doin' somethin' just ‘cause I want you to,” you tell him. “I want you to want to."
Slowly, Sy nods, and you can tell he’s taking you seriously, but there’s something within him he appears to be keeping inside. He looks away with his jaw firmly set and momentarily stares at the wall.
“And I know what you’re gonna say,” you murmur while wiping your eyes. “You’re gonna say that I just wanted you to suck up to everyone tonight. But that’s not true. Seriously. I honestly wouldn’t've even cared if you did show your ass to everyone.”
Sy’s eyes dart back to your face, jumping from feature to feature. “...Did I just hear you right?”
You nod. “Any version of you is better than no version at all, Sy. That’s what I’m sayin’. I just–" You sigh. "I don't even know.”
Nodding, he’s quiet, and you feel like your point is finally starting to get across to him. “I only sat down in the first place for you to…do your thing. You work with 'em. Already know 'em. Didn't wanna ruin anything.”
“But I was talkin’ to another man and, like, showin’ off and stuff right in front of you,” you go on. “Like, for a good majority of the night.”
Sy’s eyes turn sharper. “I knew you were tryin’ to get attention,” he tells you. “Just didn’t know why. That’s exactly why we're in this position now.”
You keep a tiny frown on your face. He knew you were trying to get his attention, yet he still did nothing. “But why didn’t you do something?” you whisper.
“Wh–?” Sy begins to retaliate with something but then stops himself. “‘Cause I didn't wanna ruin shit for you,” he repeats.
You’re still not satisfied, and it shows.
“Listen, if you’da done that shit somewhere else, we woulda settled it right away. Woulda been havin' this here discussion up in that restaurant and not on a fuckin’ staircase.”
You wipe the tip of your nose. “We can literally get up off the stairs at any time.”
“But,” Sy ignores you to say, “‘causin’ a scene with your supervisor in the room and about thirty other witnesses you gotta see on Monday mornin’ prob’ly wouldn’ta been the best first impression. So I kept my distance. While you were thinkin’ all’a this mess about me not wantin’ to be with you anymore, I was just try’na behave.”
“But–It wasn’t just Preston, though, Sy. You didn’t care about talkin’ to anyone at all tonight,” you tell him. "You didn’t do anything. It was like you–you didn’t–”
"I get it," he mutters. “I get it. I was comin’ across like a dick.”
You don't know what to say. You're still holding onto the hurt from earlier, but his words are beginning to help.
He seems to struggle with finding any more words after that, though. And you get it. He doesn’t talk like this. He doesn’t talk like this ever.
It takes several moments of silence filled with your hitched breathing before Sy prepares to say anything else, and whatever he’s about to let out, you can tell he feels vulnerable about it. He begins rubbing his neck to signal his discomfort.
“You’re one of the smartest people I know, Y/N," he starts, initially looking away and then finally meeting your eyes again. "I fuckin’ mean that. A helluva lot smarter’n me.” Sy clears his throat before continuing, “You deserve your job a hundred percent. Hell, you deserve your boss’s job. An’ I know I prob’ly don’t…I know I don't show it enough, or say it enough, but…I'm happy for you. I am. Seriously. And I’m proud of you.”
Trying not to start crying all over again, you rapidly blink a few times.
"And I love you," Sy seriously vows for the second time tonight. "I love you so much I can’t even–there ain't even enough words to explain it. If you–” Sy shortly coughs. "Don't doubt that. If your mind ever starts wanderin'...Just–Don't let it. Don’t ever doubt that I love you."
Sy’s thumb brushes across your cheekbone once more, and all you can think to say back is, “I love you, too.”
“Then why d’you look so damn sad when you’re sayin’ it?” he whispers.
“‘Cause I still don’t understand–” You clear your throat. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”
He looks confused. “I’m an open book to you, Y/N. What don’tchu understand?”
“What did you mean when you said you didn’t wanna start a pissin’ contest with all the men there tonight?” you ask. “I only really talked to Preston. That’s just one man. I mean, besides my boss that I talked to for just a second because he was so drunk…”
Sy rubs his beard. He’s quiet while he gets his answer together in his head, and it takes quite some time for him to do it. He stops himself at least twice, opening his mouth and then snapping it shut again.
“I know I haven’t gotten to know ‘em that much,” is what he finally says when he’s decided which words to speak. “Yet. I know that. But…You got eyes just the same as me, Y/N.”
“...What does that even mean?”
He sighs. “You gotta admit that tonight was just a big excuse for everyone to show off their money.”
Your face slowly twists in confusion. “I didn’t think anyone there was showin’ off,” you murmur, and Sy challengingly lifts his eyebrows. “Really. That’s just how they are. They’re actually pretty cool people once you get to know them. I mean, most of them, at least.”
“Y/N, all the men were wearin’ Rolexes,” Sy comments. “Fuckin’ Rolexes. And their shoes alone prob’ly cost more than this entire outfit did.”
Pausing, you’re taken aback at tonight's turn of events. The pressing frustration you’ve had this evening has been due to Sy not talking enough, and now here he is, talking, but talking in a way he never, ever does. Always unapologetically himself, Sy never compares himself to other people. The walking epitome of his DILLIGAF t-shirt, the man exudes confidence. “Fuck what other people think” could be his catchphrase. …Now he’s bringing up what the other people at the party tonight were wearing. Of all things.
“I guess I just don’t pay attention to stuff like that,” you murmur, eyes drifting to the cuffs of Sy’s shirt where you know he’s wearing his chunky black watch that you love so much.
“Well, I’m sure you paid attention to how your boss covered the entire dinners–and drinks–of close to three dozen people, yeah?” Sy asks.
“Well, yeah…And that was really crazy,” you admit, but you quickly remind him, “but everyone’s gonna pay him back for the food. Jen said he does it because he has some special credit card and it helps him with rewards or somethin’, I dunno.”
Sy grunts, retaining the somewhat skeptical look on his face.
“I know that it’s kinda like a different world. It was like that at first for me, too. They’re… They’re rich people,” you awkwardly chuckle. “With the salaries they all make, that’s just…how it is. But seriously, none of them are snobby or anything. And none of them were lookin’ at you like you were some sorta redneck, either, Sy. They seriously weren’t.”
Sy supplies you with a short nod, and you can see through it instantly.
“Babe, they weren’t,” you repeat.
“Yeah, well.” He rubs his neck again. “I’ll get me a three-piece suit for next time so I won’t stick out as much,” he mumbles.
"Huh?”
From where he’s just looked off to the side, Sy looks you straight in the eye again. “Toldja I’m gonna be goin’ to more of your work stuff with you. I mean that. You got my word.”
“Yeah, but–Sy, you dont have to–I don't want you to get a new suit,” you tell him. “I don’t want you to–I don’t want you to do any of that. I just want you to be yourself. I don’t care what you wear.”
Suddenly, Sy gets stoic, almost as withdrawn as he was earlier. It only serves to fire you up again.
“And tonight I wanted to introduce you to the people I work with not just so you could meet them, but so that they could meet you. Not some fake version of you puttin' on some act. Wearin’ a suit. Wearin' a Rolex. Drinkin' nasty wine you hate just as much as I do." You shrug. "Just you. Exactly as you are."
Sy briefly hangs his head for a second, putting one of his hands on the back of his scalp. He exhales audibly before lifting his head again, and when you meet his eyes, yours widen with worry.
Sy just–he doesn't fucking act like this. Not ever. While you continue looking up at him to try to interpret what’s really going on in his head now, he says something next that you’re not expecting.
"You know I’m always gonna provide for you,” he states. "That's what I'm gonna do."
You nod slowly. “...I know.”
“An’ you can rely on me to provide for you no matter how–no matter what,” he goes on, and again, you nod.
“Yeah, Sy,” you answer. “I know.”
There’s a resoluteness in his words that doesn’t necessarily match the concern on his face, and you just don’t understand his expression right now.
“And same for me,” you fill the silence. “I’ll provide, too. That’s why I…It’s give-and-take, Sy. You don’t have to be all macho all of a sudden. I work, you work. We both bring somethin’ to the table. We’re a partnership.”
Hardly ever seeing any chinks in his armor, you’re sincerely taken aback.
"Sy, I…What's the matter?"
Heavily, he sighs. “I ain’t ever gonna touch the kinda money those people make, Y/N,” he finally makes his point, voice impossibly low.
“It’s–”
“Not in my lifetime," he interrupts. "Not even close.”
This status thing is something that really matters to him. It's something he’s truly insecure about, you're beginning to understand. Something he’s so insecure about that he doesn’t even know how to actually express it.
In the military, there’s no way to really distinguish between who has money and who doesn’t–at least not out in the field. There’s rank. There’s rank earned from hard work and length of service, and that’s how everyone earns their respect. They respect the rank, not an outward display of wealth. Even at the nice military balls you’ve gone to, there weren’t thousand-dollar suits and expensive watches to be seen; there were uniforms and pendants and medallions.
Of course, there were nice dresses and expensive jewelry and all types of things that had you yourself feeling inferior, so…you know the feeling.
“You make excellent money as it is,” you immediately retort, and he just scoffs. "You do," you maintain.
“Let’s say that’s true,” Sy quietly replies, "which it ain't–"
“And even if you didn’t,” you interrupt him as soon as you realize he's about to say something negative, “what difference would it make at all? That kinda stuff isn’t important to me, Sy. I’d love you regardless.”
“Y/N–”
You repeat yourself: "Regardless."
Slowly, Sy's tongue slips out, and he wets both of his lips together while he nods at you. His silence continues, though, and this time, unlike earlier when it was he who knew that there was something going on with you that you weren’t sharing, this time, there’s something he’s not sharing. You just don’t know what it is.
“There’s…I don’t…Are you…Are you upset that I might make more money than you do one day or something?”
“Hell, no,” Sy replies right away. “You go out and earn all the money you want to. Go all the way to the top. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”
“So what’s wrong?” you whisper, and Sy heaves a sigh.
Almost incomprehensibly, almost as if he doesn’t even want to even speak, he mumbles, “Just wouldn’t ever wantchu to start thinkin’ someone else could offer more.”
Sincerely hoping he's kidding, your mouth drops.
Leaning over and tightly holding onto Sy’s arms, you kiss him. Deep and meaningfully, you kiss him, straining your neck from it. “Sy, seriously. That won’t ever happen,” you repeat his words back to him. “Never.”
After kissing Sy once more, just as long and just as meaningfully, you then briefly rest your head onto his shoulder. “You could be flat-broke, and I still wouldn’t want anyone else but you,” you tell him. “I’d think you were the best man in the world. No matter what. I mean that.”
Sy chuckles. “I don’t ever plan on goin’ flat-broke,” he says with a tiny smirk, “but that’s good to know.”
Finally, you smile a little, too.
“Now, before your mind goes runnin’ off somewhere,” he murmurs, “you know I don’t think you’d really be goin’ off lookin’ for shinier things, alright? I…”
As he trails off, you meet his eyes to let him know you understand what he’s saying. “...Just needed to hear me say it out loud,” you softly finish for him.
Sy makes a little noise like, “Mm.”
“Sometimes I need to hear you say things out loud, too."
"I hear you loud and clear,” he tells you. "I'll do better. I won’t be such an asshole next time, alright?”
“At least not for no reason,” you reply, smiling something soft that lingers for a few seconds before flattening out in concern. "Hey. You still look like something's wrong."
He looks sullen. “Well. I made you cry.”
Your eyes are still a little sore, but you’re genuinely glad you talked things out. "But then you made it better."
He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Apology accepted?”
“Yeah.” Not able to hold it in anymore, you actually grin. “I guess you’re forgiven.”
“Now, I ain’t tellin’ you to pull any’a that shit’chu did tonight again,” he tells you, “but I get it, alright? I get it. I'm ownin’ that.”
“Thanks, Sy,” you whisper, and he promptly kisses you again.
Finally, he's initiating a kiss, touching his lips to yours with a tenderness that only comes after arguing. As you naturally tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, you realize you haven’t apologized yourself.
You break your lips away from Sy’s with a smack. “I’m…I’m sorry, too. For actin’ up tonight.”
Sy grunts, but he seems to let it go quickly based on the playful way he taps the end of your nose. “Brat.”
You stick your tongue out at him.
“We good now?” he confirms, and you happily nod while he taps your forehead next. “Ain’t got nothin’ left brewin’ up in here?”
With a big tight-lipped smile, you shake your head. “I said everything I needed to say.”
“You sure?”
“I mean, I might be able to think of a few more things to throw out there while we're at it,” you murmur.
He raises an eyebrow. “Might as well let it all out while we’re here," he says. "Lay it on me.”
You begin playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. “Left your beard hair in the bathroom sink this mornin’.”
“Oh, I’ll get right on that,” he reassures quietly, smoothing a hand over your stomach while he leans in to steal another kiss. It goes on without a break for several seconds, and by the time you disconnect your lips, you find yourself laying back on the stairs again, Sy hovering atop you.
"There's dried up mud from your boots on the kitchen floor,” you utter with your lips moving against Sy’s, and he slides his mouth away from yours to place a kiss on your cheek next.
“I’ll have it scrubbed clean,” he murmurs while making his way to your neck, kissing there and almost making you break out in goosebumps from the sensation of his beard. “With a toothbrush.”
His hand glides up to cup one of your breasts while you go on, “You’ve got me laid out on the stairs, and I’m probably gonna be injured in some way when I get up,” you go on, and at that, Sy doesn’t have a reply; he just nips at your neck.
“And then you let an unwed intern talk to me all night with no sort of intervention.”
Unimpressed, Sy lifts his head from your neck and raises an eyebrow. “I can easily still getchu ‘cross my lap right here, right now.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re not spanking me,” you tell him, trying not to laugh, and the side of Sy’s mouth curves upwards, too.
“Says who?” he challenges.
You smile. “Says me.”
Mischeviously, Sy looks to the side. “I could.”
“Not on the stairs,” you challenge right back, accepting another ever-wettening kiss.
Sy takes your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls at it while sucking. He lets it go with a wet pop. “I’d make it work.”
“Mmhm,” you mumble unconvincingly against his mouth when it covers yours again. You give one another slower and detached kisses next: one, two, three, your lips smacking.
“Keepin’ me laid out on the steps like this isn’t uncomfortable at all.”
While your heart rate speeds up, Sy begins running his thumb along the plumpness of your bottom lip. It’s tantilizing for a moment, but just because you can, you lean forward and gently bite his thumb, playfully squinting your eyes at him a little.
“Lookatchu. Keep complainin' 'bout it but ain't even tryin' to get up.”
“It’s all this charm you got,” you mutter after Sy’s thumb pops out of your mouth.
Sy grunts. “I like you like this," he says, pushing up your dress until it's bunched at your waist. As your back slightly arches, your chest quickly heaves. “We can stay just like this. Have us some make-up sex right like this.”
You turn your head to the side. “Oh, is that what we’re gonna do?”
“Mm.” While kissing the offered skin of your neck again, Sy trails his hand up and down your upper thigh.
“You sure know how to spoil a woman.” You bite your lip through a smile.
"Sure as shit workin’ on it,” Sy tells you, and your smile drops a bit when he switches from sweet to dirty: “I’ll spoil you so much, both your legs’ll be wet by the time I’m done.”
Not able to deny how his words and actions are already causing your pussy to tingle, you swallow. “So much romance, I can’t handle it.”
“That’s what you wanted, though,” he lowers his voice and says directly into your ear. “Playin’ games even though you got a rock on your hand ‘cause you wanted me to let everyone know you’re mine.”
Sy's hand inches higher, playing with the sides of your panties, and, unable to help it, you quietly whimper. As your eyes slip closed, you succumb to the combined feeling of Sy's hand possessively touching your leg and his mouth wetly kissing your throat.
“Gets you goin’, don’t it?” Sy asks after placing a quick bite on the skin of your neck. “Me remindin’ you who you belong to.”
At the attention you’ve been all-but-begging for tonight and are finally receiving, another small, soft noise escapes your lips. Still– “I’m not property.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’d you wear this dress for tonight?” Sy asks. His voice loses its menacing tone and gets lower. “Those people at the party or me?”
“Mm." You straighten out your heavy head and open up your equally-heavy eyes. "What happens if I say both?”
Sy presses his lips together and tightens his jaw, and you smirk while lifting your hands to his cheeks. As you cradle his face like that, Sy takes a handful of your hair in his free hand and similarly cradles the back of your head. “Who’d you wear this dress for?”
You look to the side and bare your neck again. “You.”
“Who?”
“You.”
“Yeah, y'did,” Sy mutters. “And you didn’t know how to say it, so you stood next to my sister’s fuckin’ ex-boyfriend and touched his fuckin’ arm, right where I could see.”
You groan. “Don’t talk about him when you’re tryin’ to seduce me, Sy.”
“I can say whatever the hell I want,” he tells you as his mouth trails up your neck, and your pussy outrightly clenches. “Can’t I?”
“Sy, I’m seriously gonna be so sore tomorrow if we don’t move,” you whine.
“Yeah, you’re gonna be sore,” Sy whispers before biting your earlobe.
You squeeze his shoulder even as you can’t help but laugh. “Syyy.”
“Alright,” he deeply chuckles into your ear, but he still doesn’t get off your body. "C'mon."
It’s seriously ridiculous how slowly you two make it up the stairs together–you pushing yourself backwards up each step like a crab, Sy simultaneously doing a precarious bear-crawl on the sides of your body. You both won’t stop kissing long enough to stand upright, though, and when you get to the top step, you still don’t. You simply push yourself backwards onto the hallway rug and lay yourself out entirely.
It’s dark up here, the only light coming from the living room down below, and for about to be having spontaneous sex in the middle of your hallway floor, you find the ambiance nice. Crooking your index finger to gesture for Sy to join you, you bite your bottom lip and bend one of your legs up at the knee.
“Here?” Sy asks, and you nod.
On his knees before you, Sy slides his hands up and down your bare legs, almost worshipfully slowly, feeling the soft smoothness again and again. He undoes his belt with no real urgency after that and opens his jeans until the denim is loosely bunched in front of his thighs, and while watching him, you slide off your underwear.
You spread open your legs and pull your knees back a little, and Sy spends long moments just staring down at you. With his two forefingers pressed together, he reaches out and glides his hand directly to where you glisten, and his fingers dip into the dampness he finds there. After bringing his fingertips to his mouth to taste, he reaches back out to slide his fingers up and down your slit while keeping his eyes trained on yours. The intimacy makes you squirm atop the hallway rug.
Straightening your legs momentarily, you urge Sy forward with your feet on the back of his legs. After he falls down with a hand by your face for leverage, together you both push his pants and boxers down until they’re entirely off, then he finally lowers his torso to align with yours. Instantly, you feel his dick twitch against your leg.
He pushes hair away from your face. “I love you.”
“I love you back,” you whisper, smiling for a second, but when Sy leans down and kisses you, your mouth goes slack.
Sy keeps his mouth attached to yours while finding your wrists and lifting both of your hands above your head, and with you laying on the bare floor with his bare cock pressing against your bare core and his calloused hands pinning down your manicured ones, you really do feel at his mercy. Like he could roll you over as roughly as he wanted to and smack your ass until the indentation of his handprint showed up. Like he could do whatever he wanted. Like you're his.
You feel Sy’s knuckles brush along the inside of your thigh as he takes hold of himself and lines up with no other preamble, and the second he comes into contact with your pussy, he groans. When his cock dips inside, it’s familiar and perfect and everything you've needed and missed. Overwhelmed already, you heave in shallow lungfuls of air.
Sy slowly sinks all the way in, and all the frustrated tension in your body leaves the second he bottoms out. In its place is a different kind of tension, something exciting, something anticipatory–the heaviness of preparing to chase fulfillment together.
He was slow to bury himself to the hilt, but the first thrust he gives you is not gentle. It's firm and it's hard, hard enough to cast you back against the hallway wall, but when he continues moving, he's slow. Slow yet firm in some sort of tender yet masculine re-claiming, it takes long moments for your brain to even realize what your body's taking.
“Fuck,” you whimper, your voice echoing in the large open area around you. “Oh, fuck.”
After minutes of never changing his pace, Sy stops thrusting to shallowly circle his hips instead. “Wrap your legs ‘round me.”
You instantly listen, and he finally lets go of your wrists to rest his forearms next to your arms. Under his weight, you’re delightfully smothered.
Amidst Sy’s focused face, a small smile forms as he looks down at you wolfishly. Now simply grinding against you, he pulls down the front of your dress, exposing your breasts–boob tape and all.
“What’s all this shit,” Sy mutters under his breath, and he moves a hand as if preparing to rip the adhesives off.
“Sy, don’t you dare,” you hiss, finally moving your arms to stop him.
As you’re caught up between pleasure and horror and humor, you quickly take off the tape that helped with your cleavage all night. Immediately after freeing yourself, Sy’s quick with touching you all over, paying excess attention to your nipples until they’re hard and over-sensitive. His mouth stays near-constantly pressed to yours.
There’s an exact angle Sy figures out after that, one that gets you to not care how loud you’re becoming: With his hand under your ass to tilt your hips up just right, he relentlessly begins to slam inside you again. Little noises get punched out of you every other second while you grab onto his shoulders. You can't even move. All you can literally do is take it.
Sy's breathing loudly against your mouth when he says, “Look at me.”
You do as he requests.
“Who’s fuckin’ you?”
Feeling hot all over, you gasp and then close your eyes. Sy gratefully lets you have your moment to hide from the intensity of everything, and he lowers his face to the side of yours.
“Tell me who’s fuckin’ you,” he whispers directly into your ear.
“You,” you let out, finishing it in a moan. Your mouth won’t close. Sy just keeps rutting into you without ever pausing for a break. He’s so fucking vocal, saying whatever comes to his mind and moaning right there along with you. It’s easy to get lost in. It’s Sy.
He moves to look at your face again. “Who’s the only one that gets to?”
“You,” you open your eyes and rush out. “You forever.”
“‘Cause I love you,” he utters, words so sweet in contrast to how his body’s moving.
You hold onto his shoulders while staring up at him, slack-eyed and hazy. You both speak to each other with gasps and moans, and hearing Sy moan admist his grunting and groaning—fuck.
You extend your neck to offer your mouth to Sy again, and instantly he slots his mouth to yours, giving you his full tongue. Your hands move to his beard while you make out almost desperately. When it breaks, you kiss the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then his cheek, then his neck, gripping the back of his head and pulling him as close as possible. The heels of your feet dig into his ass cheeks.
“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he groans, and slack-jawed, you nod. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”
Together, you chase more and more, and you try not to think about how you won’t have this for much longer–you won’t be able to be together like this once he goes overseas again. You won’t get to feel him inside you. You won’t get to feel him kissing you, or sleeping next to you, or leaving traces of himself around the house–beard hair in the sink, boot-mud on the floor, crumbs on the counters. He’ll be gone.
You push all of that out of your head. He’s here right now, giving you everything. You’d told him just minutes ago that you need to feel like he cares. He’s giving you all of that and more.
“You close, baby?”
Jerkily, you nod, but you still can’t talk. There’s just the wet, slippery sound of your pussy as Sy continues to thrust in and out, everything a mix of freneticism and tenderness. The best you can, you flex your ass and erratically grind upwards, and you forcefully grasp Sy's skin to let him know you're about to come. He can probably feel it, too--your walls feel like they're vibrating.
You cry out when the feeling builds then crests then peaks, squeezing Sy’s sweaty neck as hard as you suddenly squeeze your eyes shut, and you have no idea what noises you make after that because then Sy gets frantic and then he gets loud and then he buries his face in your neck and then he shoots off inside you.
You’re left with a rapidly-beating heart, sweat all over, and a sore back. You feel Sy’s matching sweat and quick heartbeat when he collapses on top of you, panting.
“Good God,” you breathlessly get out when you can finally speak. “Fuck, Sy. Good way of showing you're sorry.”
You feel it as he chuckles. “Don't wantchu to ever doubt how I feel anymore. Ever.”
Staring at the ceiling, you run your fingers across his fuzzy just-barely-there hair. He pushes himself up just enough to look at you fully, and he presses his lips to yours gently. He doesn't say it, but you feel it anyway. I love you. You’re loved. You bask in it.
“Knees got fuckin’ rug-burn,” he mutters, and you make a sympathetic face.
“Worth it, though?”
He squeezes one of your tits. “Fuck yeah.”
The two of you look a sight–Sy naked from the waist-down, you with a dress bunched up at your waist and pulled down below your breasts. And you wouldn't ever imagine being with anybody else, imperfections and all.
“Let’s go to the courthouse, Sy,” you whisper, and that's when he pushes himself up with one arm.
He knows what you’re referring to, but still, he asks, “What?”
“Let’s go to the courthouse,” you repeat, very aware of his cock still inside you starting to soften. “Next week. Let’s go.”
“Baby. Your folks’ll fuckin’ kill me.”
“Fuck what other people think,” you say through a smile, and Sy easily returns it. “I love you.”
“And you know I love you, too,” Sy quietly replies, and what number is that? How many times has he said it so far? “So fuckin’ much. Makes my chest hurt sometimes.”
“Mm. Tell me more.”
Sy’s mouth turns upwards at the sides. “Tell you more’a what?” he asks, and you almost giggle. “Whatcha wanna hear more of?”
“That you love me.”
“I’ll tell you a hundred times a day, darlin’.” He straightens his face out and looks down at you seriously. “You bein’ for real? ‘Bout the courthouse?”
You nod. “Let’s do it. Before you head out again. Let's write up our vows, go down there, and get married.”
Sy looks comtemplative. “I already been workin’ on ‘em,” he says. “The vows.”
“What, really?” you sit up on your elbows and ask.
“Mmhm.”
You bite your lip. “That's hot.”
Sy slides out of you but makes no other effort to move. It’s quiet for a while after that, and you both really need to get off the hard floor, but there’s this moment between you that you don’t want to end yet. The afterglow of a highly emotional night.
"Missed your opportunity to spank me just now," you eventually break the silence while stretching, and Sy laughs.
"Mm. Didn't have to."
“Not when we’re both bein’ healthy, mature adults who actually talk things out, huh?"
“Now, you got a good point there,” Sy replies.
You want the fight to be entirely behind you. “So, uh. Next time, I promise I’ll tell you what’s wrong instead of bein’ petty,” you murmur.
Sy kisses your chin. “And next time I’ll be on my best worst behavior.”
You smile. “You sure you wouldn’t just rather stay home if there’s a next time?”
Sy lifts both of his eyebrows. “Don'tchu rope me into sayin’ somethin’ that’s gonna lead to me sleepin’ on the couch, now.”
For what feels like the tenth time tonight, you roll your eyes, but it’s good-natured now. Simply because you can, you reach your arm downward and smack your hand onto the back of his bare ass–hard. After letting out a noise that leaves you laughing uncontrollably, Sy narrows his eyes.
"Alright," he warns. "Get up an' go into the bedroom. Now."
Flat on your back on the staircase, your dejected expression remains entirely unchanged as you stare up at your fiancé.
Sy’s expression, however, morphs into one of shock. “I am happy for you. ‘Course I am," he utters. His voice lowers as he deeply implores next, “Hear me when I say that.”
“Yeah,” you impassively mutter, and you know your voice is unconvincing. You’ve gone from frustrated to angry to hurt to…empty.
Here's what Sy’s just not getting: These thoughts you’re having and these words you’re saying and this emotional state you’re currently finding yourself in…They're not just from this one evening. It’s not like his behavior during this one party has stirred all this up.
While he’s probably thinking you're reacting solely from this one event tonight, in the background, there have been a lot of things–little things, seemingly insignificant things–building up doubt in your mind for a long time now. Miniscule-weighing crumbs of Sy’s disinterest that, put together, have actual mass.
The recent lack of interest in wedding planning. The withholding of compliments. The disinterest in your coworkers. Separately, these individual things may not be much, but put together, they all make a heavy statement. Put together, they equate to a diminishing interest in you.
Maybe tonight was an unspoken plea on your part for him to prove you wrong. Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was a petition. You don't know. Whatever it was, he failed it.
In growing discomfort, Sy murmurs, “C’mon, Y/N…I…” but, evidently struggling for the right thing to actually say, his words fall short.
Your unpleasant ones take their place. “Sometimes I just don’t feel that way,” you admit in a whisper, looking away.
With disbelief coating each word, Sy slowly tries to clarify your point. “That…I ain’t happy for you?”
Heavily, you shrug, and then you close your eyes, mentally telling yourself not to cry. You remind yourself that you’re not sad here; you’re mad.
“Y/N…”
Mental images pass through your head of how your friend Jen's husband acted tonight. How he'd been working late but still had showed up for his wife's birthday party. How he'd stuck by Jen's side for a majority of the night to celebrate with her. How he seemed just fine conversing with all her coworkers. …How he'd seemed to even actually enjoy it.
Jen had a partner tonight. You were alone.
Worse than that, you were alone without even being alone.
Straightening his legs out and digging his heavy boots into the carpet to plant himself there, Sy lays entirely horizontally–diagonally, actually, but as flat as possible on a set of stairs–and rests his left elbow on the spot next to your shoulder. This gives him the ability to cradle your face with his right hand.
“Y/N, I’m happier’n shit for you,” Sy reassures, and it would almost sound funny, but you’re trying to keep yourself from crying, so all it does is make you want to tear up even more.
Here he is, finally saying the words you’ve longed to hear, and they aren’t even cheering you up. You’re still just so embarrassed by everything, so hurt, so–mad. You’re mad, you tell yourself again.
“I am," he insists at your silence, almost shaking you a little bit with his right hand. "You went to school for a long damn time. You worked your ass off. You deserve it.”
Nodding, you compose yourself a little bit, but your eyes noticeably burn when you finally open them again. “But you don’t like it,” you tell him.
“Don’t like what?”
You frown. “My job.”
Sy frowns back. “When'd I ever say that?”
Offering him a flat look, you reply, “I’m not dumb. You might not dislike my actual job, but you dislike the people I work with.”
Conceding, Sy tilts his head to the side a bit. "I…might not care for some'a 'em."
“Obviously,” you mutter, wishing you could just get up and stop having this conversation.
Sy's still laying on top of you, though.
“And…that’s what’s got you upset?” he asks, eyebrows almost touching one another with how severely they’re pushed together in a mixture of concern and confusion. “That I…don’t like your coworkers?”
You look to the side again, and Sy taps your chin to get you to look back at him. “Hey.”
Knowing you sound like a whining child, you turn your eyes back to his and reply, "I just want you to.”
"Okay…" Sy says, perplexed. Treading carefully, his voice is slow when he says, "So next time I'll get to know ‘em. I just promised you that."
You nod, and that’s when a thin pool of water begins to rim your eyes. Sy just watches you with his mouth dropped open.
He can’t take it when you cry. Never has been able to.
But you’re not even crying right now, and you aren’t going to start crying. You’re upset, yeah, but you’re–you have to remind yourself you’re frustrated, and you’re–you’re pissed off.
After being an antisocial ass all night, Sy had talked to you by the front door earlier on like you were a child, you remind yourself. He’d grabbed you by the ankle to keep you from fleeing up the stairs, and now he’s got you pinned on them, and–you’re mad here. All night, he acted like a dick.
Still, your eyes won’t stop burning, and Sy won’t stop staring into them.
“Y/N, why would me not carin’ for the people you work with upset you this much?” he asks while you dab at the corner of one of your eyes with a knuckle. “I…Help me out here.”
Taking another deep breath, you mutter, “It’s more than just you not likin’ the people I work with.”
“So what is it?”
You blink a few times trying to formulate the right words, but you know however you answer that it won’t make sense to him. That, or it'll cause an actual fight. It'll offend him.
“Y/N,” Sy whispers reverently. “Talk to me here. I can’t fix shit if I don’t understand.”
You're not gathering any hint of angry annoyance whatsoever from Sy's tone like you've anticipated; there's just genuine confusion in its place. Compared to just a few moments ago when he stormed into the home tense and fighting-mad, this is entirely opposite now. Now he's asking you to talk it out. Now he's all-but-begging for you to explain your thoughts to him.
You know why there's a sudden shift: Sy hates it when you cry.
You definitely aren’t using tears as a form of manipulation here, but damn if it’s working.
While your heart begins to wildly thump, you contemplate what to even say. As much as you want to run away from all of this shit right now and pretend it never even happened, you can’t. You’re flat on your back in the middle of the staircase with Sy's insistent weight covering you, and you know you won’t be getting up until this is settled.
Even though he’s quite literally pinning you, you suppose you do need to get it out, you guess. The shit you tell yourself sometimes. The negative stories you make up when you don't hear anything positive from Sy.
You don’t hear much from Sy at all.
Taking one final heavy breath in, you shakily let out your hot air.
“If you’re not interested in my coworkers," you begin in the quietest voice possible, "then that’s just a few steps away from you not bein’ interested in me.”
As the air between your faces turns deafeningly silent, Sy waits for you to say more. Judging by his face, he’s already not piecing together what you’re saying. He truly doesn't understand.
“They're important to me, and you don't care," you say. "You literally don’t give a shit. And even more than that, you, like, actively dislike them. So…I know how this stuff goes."
"And how’s that?”
You sigh. “C’mon, Sy.”
“Baby,” he insists, “I really don’t get what you’re tryin’ to say here. What d’you mean, ‘you know how this stuff goes’?”
"Eventually there'll be more things I’m invited to,” you explain. “More work things, or maybe just–maybe just things for fun. It’s bound to happen. There’ll be someone else’s birthday, or someone else’s promotion, or someone else’s retirement…I’ll get invited to join people for drinks after work or something.”
“Right…And…”
Feeling like you’re crazy, you sigh. “And since you don't like any of ‘em, you won't ever go. So I’ll go alone. And they’ll ask where you are, and I’ll make something up about the military. And…that’d be that. But I’d still wish that you’d go with me when you were able to. While you’d start wishin’ I didn’t go at all. That I didn’t even work where I worked.” Your breath hitches. “While you’d start thinkin’ that somehow I’ve changed.”
Sy’s mouth slightly opens. Before he can speak, you take the tiniest break before going on again.
“But you’ll keep it to yourself at first. Until one day you get tired of bein' around me altogether.”
Sy’s lips remain parted. “You’re sayin' that because I don’t like some'a your coworkers,” he reiterates, sounding stunned, “I’m gonna get tired of you."
You look to the side.
Well. You did try to make Sy jealous earlier tonight, and he did nothing. Nothing. Nothing to suggest you were a couple. Nothing to hint at the fact that you're his fiancée.
And even besides all that, you dressed up nicely tonight for the first time in forever, and he still hasn’t even commented on it. Not once.
You shrug. “I’m–Well, if I’m bein’ honest, Sy, I kinda feel like you’re already gettin’ tired of me,” you admit, making your tone as soft as possible to outweigh your bluntness.
"I–" Sy spends a long, long moment just staring down at you. He still looks like he's been sucker-punched. “Y/N…”
“So…Yeah.” You clear your throat. “The more you get tired of me, then it's just a matter of time before you find someone else that you like better, especially during deployments. And then you'll–And then you'll just be done with me,” you finally finish, voice croaky and almost incomprehensible, and there’s a long and heavy pause.
Then: “What?”
While Sy incredulously stares at you, you stare back almost apologetically, your eyebrows turned upwards. “It’s a natural progression of events,” you murmur.
"A natural progression of events,” he slowly repeats in his heavy accent.
"...Yeah."
You’re not going to really start crying. You're not. Your eyes are just wet.
“‘Cause then you’ll decide…"
Like his pupils have been expanding, his eyes look dark, and they move all around your face before they focus right back on your own glistening ones. "Decide what?"
"That you don't love me anymore,” you mumble, and you try to shift a little to the side to get some cooler air to take in.
As you do, Sy’s face goes through a series of changes, shifting from confusion to deeper confusion to utter disbelief. He takes your chin in his hand and guides you to look directly at him, but his mouth remains dropped open.
"I--I didn't–" Sy's desperate face finally morphs into resolve. "Y/N, that won’t ever happen. That won't ever, ever happen."
Sliding his hand up from your chin, Sy cradles your jaw so he can brush over the apple of your cheek with his thumb. You’ve felt his touch be gentle like this, but now it’s stronger, more depserate. "I love you more’n…I love you more’n anything on this earth.”
In reply, you just minutely nod so the movement of your head won’t rattle your tearborne eyes. Finally he’s saying something, you think.
“You hear that?”
You nod again. “Yeah.”
Still holding your face, Sy goes on, “Hear that?”
You take a deep breath in and a deep breath out, feeling some relief that your deceiving thoughts aren’t true, after all, but still–this is the first time Sy’s said he’s loved you in a long time. It’s more than he's offered to you at all in a long time. A long, long time.
It somehow does little to quell the emotions that’ve been embodening you. How Sy’s been behaving tonight…How he’s been behaving for quite some time now… It’s–It’s really–
It’s made you mad, you remind yourself again, clenching your jaw as Sy cradles it. It’s made you feel mad and vindictive and passive-aggressive and a slew of other angry emotions, and–and–
It’s hurt. More than anything, it’s hurt. This anger you keep trying to go back to is simply a covering, a facade, and you know that with certainty. You’re hurt. And something like that doesn’t just go away.
“Hey,” Sy murmurs. “Look at me.”
Still not saying anything, you slowly bring your red eyes back to Sy’s, and there’s a moroseness you see within his that you feel you’re helplessly mirroring.
“You…You gotta know that,” Sy says, retaining the little desperate edge to his tone.
The moment you look away again, Sy’s face falls.
You feel guilty, but he has to realize how he’s been acting recently. He has to hear how it’s affected you. In a handful of ways, he’s made you feel ignored. Unspecial. Sure, he loves you, but does he care?
“I do, Sy, but I just…”
While you take a deep breath then let it out slowly, Sy seems at a strange loss for words.
“It’s just…” You sigh. “I just wanna feel like you do. I want you to–I want you to be–”
Your sentence trails off, and, hating the way you sound, you want to groan at yourself. Your eyes won’t stop watering up. No matter how rapidly you keep blinking to dry them up, no matter how many times you keep wiping at the sides of them, no matter how strong your resolve is to not cry right now, it’s not working. None of it is. Something about being on the damn staircase like this in such a compromising position is fucking up your ability to emotionally regulate.
Roughly, you cough, and then all at once, the deep and sudden dejection you’ve been trying to hold inside cracks open. It forcefully slams into your body. Suddenly, you're sad.
You’re able to croak out, “I just want you…to…care,” but you can't say anything more than that because then your eyes start truly burning, and then they start filling with water, and then the water starts falling down your face, and then–fuck. You're crying.
Sy quickly but gently shakes one of your arms. “Hey…Baby. I–I care," he mumbles. "C’mon, now…”
Almost to hide, you finally just close your eyes entirely, and it makes it feel like thick, warm water is stagnantly pooling in the divots of your eye sockets.
“Hey,” Sy whispers again, softly shaking your arm again, and there’s an edge of desperation lacing his voice. “Hey, hey, hey.”
You don't speak or open your eyes, but you start taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. God dammit. You’re being so fucking stupid right now.
But you feel how you feel.
“Dar–Hey, shh," Sy tries again. "Shh.”
Almost in distress, his fingers move across your cheeks to wipe off the moisture there. “I said I’d–Y/N, of course I care about you. I…I asked you to marry me.”
You whine through your crying, feeling helpless and ridiculous. Just–there seems to be no getting through to him. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, though, Sy presses his lips together and changes tactics instantly.
“Sit up.” Sy pushes his upper body off of you quicker than you can expect, moving himself entirely to the side. “Sit up with me.”
When Sy’s body weight is gone, you’re left in a strange-looking position, knees spread and body cold. You accept the hand that he holds out in offering to assist you up, and since you’re technically already sitting on a step, you just have to close your legs and raise your upper body. In no time, Sy’s wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in close to his side.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, and you look up at him curiously, your back slightly aching. “Just c’mere.”
Your body tenses with not only the discomfort of having laid on the stairs for so long but also the lingering stiffness of your emotions. When you’re directly next to Sy, you’re still tightly wound-up that your shoulders are almost to your ears.
He starts running his hand up and down your bare arm. “Relax,” he says in a deep whisper.
While his hand wrapped around you continues to soothe you, he reaches out his other hand to cradle your head into his chest, and you find it harder to fight his instructions. He smells good. He smells safe.
Because he’s so fond of it, he always wears this particular button-up shirt whenever you go out somewhere, and when you press your face into it more, the familiarity of it soothes you. The fabric is thin all over and almost faded under the armpits, and the collar’s perpetually wrinkly. And you love it.
Finally relaxing some, your muscles droop, but tears still leak from your eyes.
Sy heaves in a lungful of air, the breath expanding his entire chest. “I–I don’t–”
He leaves the rest of his sentence unfinished and instead brings his hand over your hair. Over and over again like it’s actually soothing himself, he smoothes his hand over your hair while you both just collect your breathing together.
It's not until several moments later when your eyes wander back to his own that he speaks again.
“I–I fucked up tonight,” he murmurs. “I did. I know I did. But…it sounds like I been fuckin’ up a lot.”
You can only sniff.
“And I’m gonna fix that,” he vows. “‘Cause this right here? Watchin' you cryin’? ‘Cause’a me? I can’t take it."
Nodding, you wipe your eyes. “It’s only bad like this ‘cause I’ve been keepin’ it inside so long.”
“That’s what–” Sighing, Sy cuts himself off. “It shouldn’t’ve gotten to this point.”
“Well, it’s not like I didn’t try to tell you before. You’re sorta stubborn, Sy,” you say deadpan, and he grunts.
“I’ll talk next time,” Sy promises for the tenth time, and you despondently frown. “I’ll talk to every fuckin’ person, Y/N.”
You sigh a little.
“You know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Sy tells you.
“I know,” you say before swallowing thickly. “It’s just–I don't want you doin' somethin' just ‘cause I want you to,” you tell him. “I want you to want to."
Slowly, Sy nods, and you can tell he’s taking you seriously, but there’s something within him he appears to be keeping inside. He looks away with his jaw firmly set and momentarily stares at the wall.
“And I know what you’re gonna say,” you murmur while wiping your eyes. “You’re gonna say that I just wanted you to suck up to everyone tonight. But that’s not true. Seriously. I honestly wouldn’t've even cared if you did show your ass to everyone.”
Sy’s eyes dart back to your face, jumping from feature to feature. “...Did I just hear you right?”
You nod. “Any version of you is better than no version at all, Sy. That’s what I’m sayin’. I just–" You sigh. "I don't even know.”
Nodding, he’s quiet, and you feel like your point is finally starting to get across to him. “I only sat down in the first place for you to…do your thing. You work with 'em. Already know 'em. Didn't wanna ruin anything.”
“But I was talkin’ to another man and, like, showin’ off and stuff right in front of you,” you go on. “Like, for a good majority of the night.”
Sy’s eyes turn sharper. “I knew you were tryin’ to get attention,” he tells you. “Just didn’t know why. That’s exactly why we're in this position now.”
You keep a tiny frown on your face. He knew you were trying to get his attention, yet he still did nothing. “But why didn’t you do something?” you whisper.
“Wh–?” Sy begins to retaliate with something but then stops himself. “‘Cause I didn't wanna ruin shit for you,” he repeats.
You’re still not satisfied, and it shows.
“Listen, if you’da done that shit somewhere else, we woulda settled it right away. Woulda been havin' this here discussion up in that restaurant and not on a fuckin’ staircase.”
You wipe the tip of your nose. “We can literally get up off the stairs at any time.”
“But,” Sy ignores you to say, “‘causin’ a scene with your supervisor in the room and about thirty other witnesses you gotta see on Monday mornin’ prob’ly wouldn’ta been the best first impression. So I kept my distance. While you were thinkin’ all’a this mess about me not wantin’ to be with you anymore, I was just try’na behave.”
“But–It wasn’t just Preston, though, Sy. You didn’t care about talkin’ to anyone at all tonight,” you tell him. "You didn’t do anything. It was like you–you didn’t–”
"I get it," he mutters. “I get it. I was comin’ across like a dick.”
You don't know what to say. You're still holding onto the hurt from earlier, but his words are beginning to help.
He seems to struggle with finding any more words after that, though. And you get it. He doesn’t talk like this. He doesn’t talk like this ever.
It takes several moments of silence filled with your hitched breathing before Sy prepares to say anything else, and whatever he’s about to let out, you can tell he feels vulnerable about it. He begins rubbing his neck to signal his discomfort.
“You’re one of the smartest people I know, Y/N," he starts, initially looking away and then finally meeting your eyes again. "I fuckin’ mean that. A helluva lot smarter’n me.” Sy clears his throat before continuing, “You deserve your job a hundred percent. Hell, you deserve your boss’s job. An’ I know I prob’ly don’t…I know I don't show it enough, or say it enough, but…I'm happy for you. I am. Seriously. And I’m proud of you.”
Trying not to start crying all over again, you rapidly blink a few times.
"And I love you," Sy seriously vows for the second time tonight. "I love you so much I can’t even–there ain't even enough words to explain it. If you–” Sy shortly coughs. "Don't doubt that. If your mind ever starts wanderin'...Just–Don't let it. Don’t ever doubt that I love you."
Sy’s thumb brushes across your cheekbone once more, and all you can think to say back is, “I love you, too.”
“Then why d’you look so damn sad when you’re sayin’ it?” he whispers.
“‘Cause I still don’t understand–” You clear your throat. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”
He looks confused. “I’m an open book to you, Y/N. What don’tchu understand?”
“What did you mean when you said you didn’t wanna start a pissin’ contest with all the men there tonight?” you ask. “I only really talked to Preston. That’s just one man. I mean, besides my boss that I talked to for just a second because he was so drunk…”
Sy rubs his beard. He’s quiet while he gets his answer together in his head, and it takes quite some time for him to do it. He stops himself at least twice, opening his mouth and then snapping it shut again.
“I know I haven’t gotten to know ‘em that much,” is what he finally says when he’s decided which words to speak. “Yet. I know that. But…You got eyes just the same as me, Y/N.”
“...What does that even mean?”
He sighs. “You gotta admit that tonight was just a big excuse for everyone to show off their money.”
Your face slowly twists in confusion. “I didn’t think anyone there was showin’ off,” you murmur, and Sy challengingly lifts his eyebrows. “Really. That’s just how they are. They’re actually pretty cool people once you get to know them. I mean, most of them, at least.”
“Y/N, all the men were wearin’ Rolexes,” Sy comments. “Fuckin’ Rolexes. And their shoes alone prob’ly cost more than this entire outfit did.”
Pausing, you’re taken aback at tonight's turn of events. The pressing frustration you’ve had this evening has been due to Sy not talking enough, and now here he is, talking, but talking in a way he never, ever does. Always unapologetically himself, Sy never compares himself to other people. The walking epitome of his DILLIGAF t-shirt, the man exudes confidence. “Fuck what other people think” could be his catchphrase. …Now he’s bringing up what the other people at the party tonight were wearing. Of all things.
“I guess I just don’t pay attention to stuff like that,” you murmur, eyes drifting to the cuffs of Sy’s shirt where you know he’s wearing his chunky black watch that you love so much.
“Well, I’m sure you paid attention to how your boss covered the entire dinners–and drinks–of close to three dozen people, yeah?” Sy asks.
“Well, yeah…And that was really crazy,” you admit, but you quickly remind him, “but everyone’s gonna pay him back for the food. Jen said he does it because he has some special credit card and it helps him with rewards or somethin’, I dunno.”
Sy grunts, retaining the somewhat skeptical look on his face.
“I know that it’s kinda like a different world. It was like that at first for me, too. They’re… They’re rich people,” you awkwardly chuckle. “With the salaries they all make, that’s just…how it is. But seriously, none of them are snobby or anything. And none of them were lookin’ at you like you were some sorta redneck, either, Sy. They seriously weren’t.”
Sy supplies you with a short nod, and you can see through it instantly.
“Babe, they weren’t,” you repeat.
“Yeah, well.” He rubs his neck again. “I’ll get me a three-piece suit for next time so I won’t stick out as much,” he mumbles.
"Huh?”
From where he’s just looked off to the side, Sy looks you straight in the eye again. “Toldja I’m gonna be goin’ to more of your work stuff with you. I mean that. You got my word.”
“Yeah, but–Sy, you dont have to–I don't want you to get a new suit,” you tell him. “I don’t want you to–I don’t want you to do any of that. I just want you to be yourself. I don’t care what you wear.”
Suddenly, Sy gets stoic, almost as withdrawn as he was earlier. It only serves to fire you up again.
“And tonight I wanted to introduce you to the people I work with not just so you could meet them, but so that they could meet you. Not some fake version of you puttin' on some act. Wearin’ a suit. Wearin' a Rolex. Drinkin' nasty wine you hate just as much as I do." You shrug. "Just you. Exactly as you are."
Sy briefly hangs his head for a second, putting one of his hands on the back of his scalp. He exhales audibly before lifting his head again, and when you meet his eyes, yours widen with worry.
Sy just–he doesn't fucking act like this. Not ever. While you continue looking up at him to try to interpret what’s really going on in his head now, he says something next that you’re not expecting.
"You know I’m always gonna provide for you,” he states. "That's what I'm gonna do."
You nod slowly. “...I know.”
“An’ you can rely on me to provide for you no matter how–no matter what,” he goes on, and again, you nod.
“Yeah, Sy,” you answer. “I know.”
There’s a resoluteness in his words that doesn’t necessarily match the concern on his face, and you just don’t understand his expression right now.
“And same for me,” you fill the silence. “I’ll provide, too. That’s why I…It’s give-and-take, Sy. You don’t have to be all macho all of a sudden. I work, you work. We both bring somethin’ to the table. We’re a partnership.”
Hardly ever seeing any chinks in his armor, you’re sincerely taken aback.
"Sy, I…What's the matter?"
Heavily, he sighs. “I ain’t ever gonna touch the kinda money those people make, Y/N,” he finally makes his point, voice impossibly low.
“It’s–”
“Not in my lifetime," he interrupts. "Not even close.”
This status thing is something that really matters to him. It's something he’s truly insecure about, you're beginning to understand. Something he’s so insecure about that he doesn’t even know how to actually express it.
In the military, there’s no way to really distinguish between who has money and who doesn’t–at least not out in the field. There’s rank. There’s rank earned from hard work and length of service, and that’s how everyone earns their respect. They respect the rank, not an outward display of wealth. Even at the nice military balls you’ve gone to, there weren’t thousand-dollar suits and expensive watches to be seen; there were uniforms and pendants and medallions.
Of course, there were nice dresses and expensive jewelry and all types of things that had you yourself feeling inferior, so…you know the feeling.
“You make excellent money as it is,” you immediately retort, and he just scoffs. "You do," you maintain.
“Let’s say that’s true,” Sy quietly replies, "which it ain't–"
“And even if you didn’t,” you interrupt him as soon as you realize he's about to say something negative, “what difference would it make at all? That kinda stuff isn’t important to me, Sy. I’d love you regardless.”
“Y/N–”
You repeat yourself: "Regardless."
Slowly, Sy's tongue slips out, and he wets both of his lips together while he nods at you. His silence continues, though, and this time, unlike earlier when it was he who knew that there was something going on with you that you weren’t sharing, this time, there’s something he’s not sharing. You just don’t know what it is.
“There’s…I don’t…Are you…Are you upset that I might make more money than you do one day or something?”
“Hell, no,” Sy replies right away. “You go out and earn all the money you want to. Go all the way to the top. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”
“So what’s wrong?” you whisper, and Sy heaves a sigh.
Almost incomprehensibly, almost as if he doesn’t even want to even speak, he mumbles, “Just wouldn’t ever wantchu to start thinkin’ someone else could offer more.”
Sincerely hoping he's kidding, your mouth drops.
Leaning over and tightly holding onto Sy’s arms, you kiss him. Deep and meaningfully, you kiss him, straining your neck from it. “Sy, seriously. That won’t ever happen,” you repeat his words back to him. “Never.”
After kissing Sy once more, just as long and just as meaningfully, you then briefly rest your head onto his shoulder. “You could be flat-broke, and I still wouldn’t want anyone else but you,” you tell him. “I’d think you were the best man in the world. No matter what. I mean that.”
Sy chuckles. “I don’t ever plan on goin’ flat-broke,” he says with a tiny smirk, “but that’s good to know.”
Finally, you smile a little, too.
“Now, before your mind goes runnin’ off somewhere,” he murmurs, “you know I don’t think you’d really be goin’ off lookin’ for shinier things, alright? I…”
As he trails off, you meet his eyes to let him know you understand what he’s saying. “...Just needed to hear me say it out loud,” you softly finish for him.
Sy makes a little noise like, “Mm.”
“Sometimes I need to hear you say things out loud, too."
"I hear you loud and clear,” he tells you. "I'll do better. I won’t be such an asshole next time, alright?”
“At least not for no reason,” you reply, smiling something soft that lingers for a few seconds before flattening out in concern. "Hey. You still look like something's wrong."
He looks sullen. “Well. I made you cry.”
Your eyes are still a little sore, but you’re genuinely glad you talked things out. "But then you made it better."
He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Apology accepted?”
“Yeah.” Not able to hold it in anymore, you actually grin. “I guess you’re forgiven.”
“Now, I ain’t tellin’ you to pull any’a that shit’chu did tonight again,” he tells you, “but I get it, alright? I get it. I'm ownin’ that.”
“Thanks, Sy,” you whisper, and he promptly kisses you again.
Finally, he's initiating a kiss, touching his lips to yours with a tenderness that only comes after arguing. As you naturally tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, you realize you haven’t apologized yourself.
You break your lips away from Sy’s with a smack. “I’m…I’m sorry, too. For actin’ up tonight.”
Sy grunts, but he seems to let it go quickly based on the playful way he taps the end of your nose. “Brat.”
You stick your tongue out at him.
“We good now?” he confirms, and you happily nod while he taps your forehead next. “Ain’t got nothin’ left brewin’ up in here?”
With a big tight-lipped smile, you shake your head. “I said everything I needed to say.”
“You sure?”
“I mean, I might be able to think of a few more things to throw out there while we're at it,” you murmur.
He raises an eyebrow. “Might as well let it all out while we’re here," he says. "Lay it on me.”
You begin playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. “Left your beard hair in the bathroom sink this mornin’.”
“Oh, I’ll get right on that,” he reassures quietly, smoothing a hand over your stomach while he leans in to steal another kiss. It goes on without a break for several seconds, and by the time you disconnect your lips, you find yourself laying back on the stairs again, Sy hovering atop you.
"There's dried up mud from your boots on the kitchen floor,” you utter with your lips moving against Sy’s, and he slides his mouth away from yours to place a kiss on your cheek next.
“I’ll have it scrubbed clean,” he murmurs while making his way to your neck, kissing there and almost making you break out in goosebumps from the sensation of his beard. “With a toothbrush.”
His hand glides up to cup one of your breasts while you go on, “You’ve got me laid out on the stairs, and I’m probably gonna be injured in some way when I get up,” you go on, and at that, Sy doesn’t have a reply; he just nips at your neck.
“And then you let an unwed intern talk to me all night with no sort of intervention.”
Unimpressed, Sy lifts his head from your neck and raises an eyebrow. “I can easily still getchu ‘cross my lap right here, right now.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re not spanking me,” you tell him, trying not to laugh, and the side of Sy’s mouth curves upwards, too.
“Says who?” he challenges.
You smile. “Says me.”
Mischeviously, Sy looks to the side. “I could.”
“Not on the stairs,” you challenge right back, accepting another ever-wettening kiss.
Sy takes your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls at it while sucking. He lets it go with a wet pop. “I’d make it work.”
“Mmhm,” you mumble unconvincingly against his mouth when it covers yours again. You give one another slower and detached kisses next: one, two, three, your lips smacking.
“Keepin’ me laid out on the steps like this isn’t uncomfortable at all.”
While your heart rate speeds up, Sy begins running his thumb along the plumpness of your bottom lip. It’s tantilizing for a moment, but just because you can, you lean forward and gently bite his thumb, playfully squinting your eyes at him a little.
“Lookatchu. Keep complainin' 'bout it but ain't even tryin' to get up.”
“It’s all this charm you got,” you mutter after Sy’s thumb pops out of your mouth.
Sy grunts. “I like you like this," he says, pushing up your dress until it's bunched at your waist. As your back slightly arches, your chest quickly heaves. “We can stay just like this. Have us some make-up sex right like this.”
You turn your head to the side. “Oh, is that what we’re gonna do?”
“Mm.” While kissing the offered skin of your neck again, Sy trails his hand up and down your upper thigh.
“You sure know how to spoil a woman.” You bite your lip through a smile.
"Sure as shit workin’ on it,” Sy tells you, and your smile drops a bit when he switches from sweet to dirty: “I’ll spoil you so much, both your legs’ll be wet by the time I’m done.”
Not able to deny how his words and actions are already causing your pussy to tingle, you swallow. “So much romance, I can’t handle it.”
“That’s what you wanted, though,” he lowers his voice and says directly into your ear. “Playin’ games even though you got a rock on your hand ‘cause you wanted me to let everyone know you’re mine.”
Sy's hand inches higher, playing with the sides of your panties, and, unable to help it, you quietly whimper. As your eyes slip closed, you succumb to the combined feeling of Sy's hand possessively touching your leg and his mouth wetly kissing your throat.
“Gets you goin’, don’t it?” Sy asks after placing a quick bite on the skin of your neck. “Me remindin’ you who you belong to.”
At the attention you’ve been all-but-begging for tonight and are finally receiving, another small, soft noise escapes your lips. Still– “I’m not property.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’d you wear this dress for tonight?” Sy asks. His voice loses its menacing tone and gets lower. “Those people at the party or me?”
“Mm." You straighten out your heavy head and open up your equally-heavy eyes. "What happens if I say both?”
Sy presses his lips together and tightens his jaw, and you smirk while lifting your hands to his cheeks. As you cradle his face like that, Sy takes a handful of your hair in his free hand and similarly cradles the back of your head. “Who’d you wear this dress for?”
You look to the side and bare your neck again. “You.”
“Who?”
“You.”
“Yeah, y'did,” Sy mutters. “And you didn’t know how to say it, so you stood next to my sister’s fuckin’ ex-boyfriend and touched his fuckin’ arm, right where I could see.”
You groan. “Don’t talk about him when you’re tryin’ to seduce me, Sy.”
“I can say whatever the hell I want,” he tells you as his mouth trails up your neck, and your pussy outrightly clenches. “Can’t I?”
“Sy, I’m seriously gonna be so sore tomorrow if we don’t move,” you whine.
“Yeah, you’re gonna be sore,” Sy whispers before biting your earlobe.
You squeeze his shoulder even as you can’t help but laugh. “Syyy.”
“Alright,” he deeply chuckles into your ear, but he still doesn’t get off your body. "C'mon."
It’s seriously ridiculous how slowly you two make it up the stairs together–you pushing yourself backwards up each step like a crab, Sy simultaneously doing a precarious bear-crawl on the sides of your body. You both won’t stop kissing long enough to stand upright, though, and when you get to the top step, you still don’t. You simply push yourself backwards onto the hallway rug and lay yourself out entirely.
It’s dark up here, the only light coming from the living room down below, and for about to be having spontaneous sex in the middle of your hallway floor, you find the ambiance nice. Crooking your index finger to gesture for Sy to join you, you bite your bottom lip and bend one of your legs up at the knee.
“Here?” Sy asks, and you nod.
On his knees before you, Sy slides his hands up and down your bare legs, almost worshipfully slowly, feeling the soft smoothness again and again. He undoes his belt with no real urgency after that and opens his jeans until the denim is loosely bunched in front of his thighs, and while watching him, you slide off your underwear.
You spread open your legs and pull your knees back a little, and Sy spends long moments just staring down at you. With his two forefingers pressed together, he reaches out and glides his hand directly to where you glisten, and his fingers dip into the dampness he finds there. After bringing his fingertips to his mouth to taste, he reaches back out to slide his fingers up and down your slit while keeping his eyes trained on yours. The intimacy makes you squirm atop the hallway rug.
Straightening your legs momentarily, you urge Sy forward with your feet on the back of his legs. After he falls down with a hand by your face for leverage, together you both push his pants and boxers down until they’re entirely off, then he finally lowers his torso to align with yours. Instantly, you feel his dick twitch against your leg.
He pushes hair away from your face. “I love you.”
“I love you back,” you whisper, smiling for a second, but when Sy leans down and kisses you, your mouth goes slack.
Sy keeps his mouth attached to yours while finding your wrists and lifting both of your hands above your head, and with you laying on the bare floor with his bare cock pressing against your bare core and his calloused hands pinning down your manicured ones, you really do feel at his mercy. Like he could roll you over as roughly as he wanted to and smack your ass until the indentation of his handprint showed up. Like he could do whatever he wanted. Like you're his.
You feel Sy’s knuckles brush along the inside of your thigh as he takes hold of himself and lines up with no other preamble, and the second he comes into contact with your pussy, he groans. When his cock dips inside, it’s familiar and perfect and everything you've needed and missed. Overwhelmed already, you heave in shallow lungfuls of air.
Sy slowly sinks all the way in, and all the frustrated tension in your body leaves the second he bottoms out. In its place is a different kind of tension, something exciting, something anticipatory–the heaviness of preparing to chase fulfillment together.
He was slow to bury himself to the hilt, but the first thrust he gives you is not gentle. It's firm and it's hard, hard enough to cast you back against the hallway wall, but when he continues moving, he's slow. Slow yet firm in some sort of tender yet masculine re-claiming, it takes long moments for your brain to even realize what your body's taking.
“Fuck,” you whimper, your voice echoing in the large open area around you. “Oh, fuck.”
After minutes of never changing his pace, Sy stops thrusting to shallowly circle his hips instead. “Wrap your legs ‘round me.”
You instantly listen, and he finally lets go of your wrists to rest his forearms next to your arms. Under his weight, you’re delightfully smothered.
Amidst Sy’s focused face, a small smile forms as he looks down at you wolfishly. Now simply grinding against you, he pulls down the front of your dress, exposing your breasts–boob tape and all.
“What’s all this shit,” Sy mutters under his breath, and he moves a hand as if preparing to rip the adhesives off.
“Sy, don’t you dare,” you hiss, finally moving your arms to stop him.
As you’re caught up between pleasure and horror and humor, you quickly take off the tape that helped with your cleavage all night. Immediately after freeing yourself, Sy’s quick with touching you all over, paying excess attention to your nipples until they’re hard and over-sensitive. His mouth stays near-constantly pressed to yours.
There’s an exact angle Sy figures out after that, one that gets you to not care how loud you’re becoming: With his hand under your ass to tilt your hips up just right, he relentlessly begins to slam inside you again. Little noises get punched out of you every other second while you grab onto his shoulders. You can't even move. All you can literally do is take it.
Sy's breathing loudly against your mouth when he says, “Look at me.”
You do as he requests.
“Who’s fuckin’ you?”
Feeling hot all over, you gasp and then close your eyes. Sy gratefully lets you have your moment to hide from the intensity of everything, and he lowers his face to the side of yours.
“Tell me who’s fuckin’ you,” he whispers directly into your ear.
“You,” you let out, finishing it in a moan. Your mouth won’t close. Sy just keeps rutting into you without ever pausing for a break. He’s so fucking vocal, saying whatever comes to his mind and moaning right there along with you. It’s easy to get lost in. It’s Sy.
It's funny almost--he's a man of few words almost all of the time, but tonight, when it matters, his words and noises come spilling out.
He moves to look at your face again. “Who’s the only one that gets to?”
“You,” you open your eyes and rush out. “You forever.”
“‘Cause I love you,” he utters, words so sweet in contrast to how his body’s moving.
You hold onto his shoulders while staring up at him, slack-eyed and hazy. You both speak to each other with gasps and moans, and hearing Sy moan admist his grunting and groaning—fuck.
You extend your neck to offer your mouth to Sy again, and instantly he slots his mouth to yours, giving you his full tongue. Your hands move to his beard while you make out almost desperately. When it breaks, you kiss the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then his cheek, then his neck, gripping the back of his head and pulling him as close as possible. The heels of your feet dig into his ass cheeks.
“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he groans, and slack-jawed, you nod. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”
Together, you chase more and more, and you try not to think about how you won’t have this for much longer–you won’t be able to be together like this once he goes overseas again. You won’t get to feel him inside you. You won’t get to feel him kissing you, or sleeping next to you, or leaving traces of himself around the house–beard hair in the sink, boot-mud on the floor, crumbs on the counters. He’ll be gone.
You push all of that out of your head. He’s here right now, giving you everything. You’d told him just minutes ago that you need to feel like he cares. He’s giving you all of that and more.
“You close, baby?”
Jerkily, you nod, but you still can’t talk. There’s just the wet, slippery sound of your pussy as Sy continues to thrust in and out, everything a mix of freneticism and tenderness. The best you can, you flex your ass and erratically grind upwards, and you forcefully grasp Sy's skin to let him know you're about to come. He can probably feel it, too--your walls feel like they're vibrating.
You cry out when the feeling builds then crests then peaks, squeezing Sy’s sweaty neck as hard as you suddenly squeeze your eyes shut, and you have no idea what noises you make after that because then Sy gets frantic and then he gets loud and then he buries his face in your neck and then he shoots off inside you.
You’re left with a rapidly-beating heart, sweat all over, and a sore back. You feel Sy’s matching sweat and quick heartbeat when he collapses on top of you, panting.
“Good God,” you breathlessly get out when you can finally speak. “Fuck, Sy. Good way of showing you're sorry.”
You feel it as he chuckles. “Don't wantchu to ever doubt how I feel anymore. Ever.”
Staring at the ceiling, you run your fingers across his fuzzy just-barely-there hair. He pushes himself up just enough to look at you fully, and he presses his lips to yours gently. He doesn't say it, but you feel it anyway. I love you. You’re loved. You bask in it.
“Knees got fuckin’ rug-burn,” he mutters, and you make a sympathetic face.
“Worth it, though?”
He squeezes one of your tits. “Fuck yeah.”
The two of you look a sight–Sy naked from the waist-down, you with a dress bunched up at your waist and pulled down below your breasts. And you wouldn't ever imagine being with anybody else, imperfections and all.
“Let’s go to the courthouse, Sy,” you whisper, and that's when he pushes himself up with one arm.
He knows what you’re referring to, but still, he asks, “What?”
“Let’s go to the courthouse,” you repeat, very aware of his cock still inside you starting to soften. “Next week. Let’s go.”
“Baby. Your folks’ll fuckin’ kill me.”
“Fuck what other people think,” you say through a smile, and Sy easily returns it. “I love you.”
“And you know I love you, too,” Sy quietly replies, and what number is that? How many times has he said it so far? “So fuckin’ much. Makes my chest hurt sometimes.”
“Mm. Tell me more.”
Sy’s mouth turns upwards at the sides. “Tell you more’a what?” he asks, and you almost giggle. “Whatcha wanna hear more of?”
“That you love me.”
“I’ll tell you a hundred times a day, darlin’.” He straightens his face out and looks down at you seriously. “You bein’ for real? ‘Bout the courthouse?”
You nod. “Let’s do it. Before you head out again. Let's write up our vows, go down there, and get married.”
Sy looks comtemplative. “I already been workin’ on ‘em,” he says. “The vows.”
“What, really?” you sit up on your elbows and ask.
“Mmhm.”
You bite your lip. “That's hot.”
Sy slides out of you but makes no other effort to move. It’s quiet for a while after that, and you both really need to get off the hard floor, but there’s this moment between you that you don’t want to end yet. The afterglow of a highly emotional night.
"Missed your opportunity to spank me just now," you eventually break the silence while stretching, and Sy laughs.
"Mm. Didn't have to."
“Not when we’re both bein’ healthy, mature adults who actually talk things out, huh?"
“Now, you got a good point there,” Sy replies.
You want the fight to be entirely behind you. “So, uh. Next time, I promise I’ll tell you what’s wrong instead of bein’ petty,” you murmur.
Sy kisses your chin. “And next time I’ll be on my best worst behavior.”
You smile. “You sure you wouldn’t just rather stay home if there’s a next time?”
Sy lifts both of his eyebrows. “Don'tchu rope me into sayin’ somethin’ that’s gonna lead to me sleepin’ on the couch, now.”
For what feels like the tenth time tonight, you roll your eyes, but it’s good-natured now. Simply because you can, you reach your arm downward and smack your hand onto the back of his bare ass–hard. After letting out a noise that leaves you laughing uncontrollably, Sy narrows his eyes.
"Alright," he warns. "Get up an' go into the bedroom. Now."
Synopsis: Allie Hilton is on the run. For the first time in her privileged life, she can only rely on her own wits to escape a life she was destined for, but also one that she never wanted. What happens when Allie flees as far as she can before running into a small town that just happened to be governed by a large male motorcycle fleet? Well Allie, meet the WarHorse Rebellion. Put on your riding boots, it's going to be a rough ride.
**This series WILL have themes of verbal and physical abuse. If that is something that is triggering to you, please DO NOT READ as this series will have details that may be disturbing to some readers. This is an 18+ series and will eventually include smut and other themes for mature readers. You have been warned!**
Here's a little taste just to get you as hyped as I am.
The bell of the diner door jolts me from my reverie and I place some cash on the table. I wander out the front of the diner and am startled when the engines of several very large motorcycles crank up. I choke back the scream that I almost allowed out instead with just a gasp and a hand to my chest. One of the bikers sees and chuckles as he places on his helmet. We make eye contact and I’m stunned by how crystal blue his eyes are. It felt like he saw straight into my soul. If he weren’t so attractive, it would have been unnerving. He was a very large man with a short, scruffy beard and arms that look like he could pick up his Harley one handed. He wore a red t-shirt under a leather vest and his helmet had, “CAP” embedded across the front. I notice that I’m staring so I quickly avert my eyes and shift my hair in hopes of covering my poorly concealed injuries and start walking down the street.
A/N: Y'all, I've started something that I am really excited about and I hope you will be too! Updates will be SLOW-i'm going to tell you that upfront because I have 3 children (one is a velcro baby), and the other two are involved in every sport known to man so just don't give up on me. I will update when I can but I will always prioritize chapter quality over quantity. I have missed you all and hope you'll hop on another Syverson journey with me! Make sure to follow, like, comment, and reblog so nobody misses out on Syverson's beefy goodness! 😘
Flat on your back on the staircase, your dejected expression remains entirely unchanged as you stare up at your fiancé.
Sy’s expression, however, morphs into one of shock. “I am happy for you. ‘Course I am," he utters. His voice lowers as he deeply implores next, “Hear me when I say that.”
“Yeah,” you impassively mutter, and you know your voice is unconvincing. You’ve gone from frustrated to angry to hurt to…empty.
Here's what Sy’s just not getting: These thoughts you’re having and these words you’re saying and this emotional state you’re currently finding yourself in…They're not just from this one evening. It’s not like his behavior during this one party has stirred all this up.
While he’s probably thinking you're reacting solely from this one event tonight, in the background, there have been a lot of things–little things, seemingly insignificant things–building up doubt in your mind for a long time now. Miniscule-weighing crumbs of Sy’s disinterest that, put together, have actual mass.
The recent lack of interest in wedding planning. The withholding of compliments. The disinterest in your coworkers. Separately, these individual things may not be much, but put together, they all make a heavy statement. Put together, they equate to a diminishing interest in you.
Maybe tonight was an unspoken plea on your part for him to prove you wrong. Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was a petition. You don't know. Whatever it was, he failed it.
In growing discomfort, Sy murmurs, “C’mon, Y/N…I…” but, evidently struggling for the right thing to actually say, his words fall short.
Your unpleasant ones take their place. “Sometimes I just don’t feel that way,” you admit in a whisper, looking away.
With disbelief coating each word, Sy slowly tries to clarify your point. “That…I ain’t happy for you?”
Heavily, you shrug, and then you close your eyes, mentally telling yourself not to cry. You remind yourself that you’re not sad here; you’re mad.
“Y/N…”
Mental images pass through your head of how your friend Jen's husband acted tonight. How he'd been working late but still had showed up for his wife's birthday party. How he'd stuck by Jen's side for a majority of the night to celebrate with her. How he seemed just fine conversing with all her coworkers. …How he'd seemed to even actually enjoy it.
Jen had a partner tonight. You were alone.
Worse than that, you were alone without even being alone.
Straightening his legs out and digging his heavy boots into the carpet to plant himself there, Sy lays entirely horizontally–diagonally, actually, but as flat as possible on a set of stairs–and rests his left elbow on the spot next to your shoulder. This gives him the ability to cradle your face with his right hand.
“Y/N, I’m happier’n shit for you,” Sy reassures, and it would almost sound funny, but you’re trying to keep yourself from crying, so all it does is make you want to tear up even more.
Here he is, finally saying the words you’ve longed to hear, and they aren’t even cheering you up. You’re still just so embarrassed by everything, so hurt, so–mad. You’re mad, you tell yourself again.
“I am," he insists at your silence, almost shaking you a little bit with his right hand. "You went to school for a long damn time. You worked your ass off. You deserve it.”
Nodding, you compose yourself a little bit, but your eyes noticeably burn when you finally open them again. “But you don’t like it,” you tell him.
“Don’t like what?”
You frown. “My job.”
Sy frowns back. “When'd I ever say that?”
Offering him a flat look, you reply, “I’m not dumb. You might not dislike my actual job, but you dislike the people I work with.”
Conceding, Sy tilts his head to the side a bit. "I…might not care for some'a 'em."
“Obviously,” you mutter, wishing you could just get up and stop having this conversation.
Sy's still laying on top of you, though.
“And…that’s what’s got you upset?” he asks, eyebrows almost touching one another with how severely they’re pushed together in a mixture of concern and confusion. “That I…don’t like your coworkers?”
You look to the side again, and Sy taps your chin to get you to look back at him. “Hey.”
Knowing you sound like a whining child, you turn your eyes back to his and reply, "I just want you to.”
"Okay…" Sy says, perplexed. Treading carefully, his voice is slow when he says, "So next time I'll get to know ‘em. I just promised you that."
You nod, and that’s when a thin pool of water begins to rim your eyes. Sy just watches you with his mouth dropped open.
He can’t take it when you cry. Never has been able to.
But you’re not even crying right now, and you aren’t going to start crying. You’re upset, yeah, but you’re–you have to remind yourself you’re frustrated, and you’re–you’re pissed off.
After being an antisocial ass all night, Sy had talked to you by the front door earlier on like you were a child, you remind yourself. He’d grabbed you by the ankle to keep you from fleeing up the stairs, and now he’s got you pinned on them, and–you’re mad here. All night, he acted like a dick.
Still, your eyes won’t stop burning, and Sy won’t stop staring into them.
“Y/N, why would me not carin’ for the people you work with upset you this much?” he asks while you dab at the corner of one of your eyes with a knuckle. “I…Help me out here.”
Taking another deep breath, you mutter, “It’s more than just you not likin’ the people I work with.”
“So what is it?”
You blink a few times trying to formulate the right words, but you know however you answer that it won’t make sense to him. That, or it'll cause an actual fight. It'll offend him.
“Y/N,” Sy whispers reverently. “Talk to me here. I can’t fix shit if I don’t understand.”
You're not gathering any hint of angry annoyance whatsoever from Sy's tone like you've anticipated; there's just genuine confusion in its place. Compared to just a few moments ago when he stormed into the home tense and fighting-mad, this is entirely opposite now. Now he's asking you to talk it out. Now he's all-but-begging for you to explain your thoughts to him.
You know why there's a sudden shift: Sy hates it when you cry.
You definitely aren’t using tears as a form of manipulation here, but damn if it’s working.
While your heart begins to wildly thump, you contemplate what to even say. As much as you want to run away from all of this shit right now and pretend it never even happened, you can’t. You’re flat on your back in the middle of the staircase with Sy's insistent weight covering you, and you know you won’t be getting up until this is settled.
Even though he’s quite literally pinning you, you suppose you do need to get it out, you guess. The shit you tell yourself sometimes. The negative stories you make up when you don't hear anything positive from Sy.
You don’t hear much from Sy at all.
Taking one final heavy breath in, you shakily let out your hot air.
“If you’re not interested in my coworkers," you begin in the quietest voice possible, "then that’s just a few steps away from you not bein’ interested in me.”
As the air between your faces turns deafeningly silent, Sy waits for you to say more. Judging by his face, he’s already not piecing together what you’re saying. He truly doesn't understand.
“They're important to me, and you don't care," you say. "You literally don’t give a shit. And even more than that, you, like, actively dislike them. So…I know how this stuff goes."
"And how’s that?”
You sigh. “C’mon, Sy.”
“Baby,” he insists, “I really don’t get what you’re tryin’ to say here. What d’you mean, ‘you know how this stuff goes’?”
"Eventually there'll be more things I’m invited to,” you explain. “More work things, or maybe just–maybe just things for fun. It’s bound to happen. There’ll be someone else’s birthday, or someone else’s promotion, or someone else’s retirement…I’ll get invited to join people for drinks after work or something.”
“Right…And…”
Feeling like you’re crazy, you sigh. “And since you don't like any of ‘em, you won't ever go. So I’ll go alone. And they’ll ask where you are, and I’ll make something up about the military. And…that’d be that. But I’d still wish that you’d go with me when you were able to. While you’d start wishin’ I didn’t go at all. That I didn’t even work where I worked.” Your breath hitches. “While you’d start thinkin’ that somehow I’ve changed.”
Sy’s mouth slightly opens. Before he can speak, you take the tiniest break before going on again.
“But you’ll keep it to yourself at first. Until one day you get tired of bein' around me altogether.”
Sy’s lips remain parted. “You’re sayin' that because I don’t like some'a your coworkers,” he reiterates, sounding stunned, “I’m gonna get tired of you."
You look to the side.
Well. You did try to make Sy jealous earlier tonight, and he did nothing. Nothing. Nothing to suggest you were a couple. Nothing to hint at the fact that you're his fiancée.
And even besides all that, you dressed up nicely tonight for the first time in forever, and he still hasn’t even commented on it. Not once.
You shrug. “I’m–Well, if I’m bein’ honest, Sy, I kinda feel like you’re already gettin’ tired of me,” you admit, making your tone as soft as possible to outweigh your bluntness.
"I–" Sy spends a long, long moment just staring down at you. He still looks like he's been sucker-punched. “Y/N…”
“So…Yeah.” You clear your throat. “The more you get tired of me, then it's just a matter of time before you find someone else that you like better, especially during deployments. And then you'll–And then you'll just be done with me,” you finally finish, voice croaky and almost incomprehensible, and there’s a long and heavy pause.
Then: “What?”
While Sy incredulously stares at you, you stare back almost apologetically, your eyebrows turned upwards. “It’s a natural progression of events,” you murmur.
"A natural progression of events,” he slowly repeats in his heavy accent.
"...Yeah."
You’re not going to really start crying. You're not. Your eyes are just wet.
“‘Cause then you’ll decide…"
Like his pupils have been expanding, his eyes look dark, and they move all around your face before they focus right back on your own glistening ones. "Decide what?"
"That you don't love me anymore,” you mumble, and you try to shift a little to the side to get some cooler air to take in.
As you do, Sy’s face goes through a series of changes, shifting from confusion to deeper confusion to utter disbelief. He takes your chin in his hand and guides you to look directly at him, but his mouth remains dropped open.
"I--I didn't–" Sy's desperate face finally morphs into resolve. "Y/N, that won’t ever happen. That won't ever, ever happen."
Sliding his hand up from your chin, Sy cradles your jaw so he can brush over the apple of your cheek with his thumb. You’ve felt his touch be gentle like this, but now it’s stronger, more depserate. "I love you more’n…I love you more’n anything on this earth.”
In reply, you just minutely nod so the movement of your head won’t rattle your tearborne eyes. Finally he’s saying something, you think.
“You hear that?”
You nod again. “Yeah.”
Still holding your face, Sy goes on, “Hear that?”
You take a deep breath in and a deep breath out, feeling some relief that your deceiving thoughts aren’t true, after all, but still–this is the first time Sy’s said he’s loved you in a long time. It’s more than he's offered to you at all in a long time. A long, long time.
It somehow does little to quell the emotions that’ve been embodening you. How Sy’s been behaving tonight…How he’s been behaving for quite some time now… It’s–It’s really–
It’s made you mad, you remind yourself again, clenching your jaw as Sy cradles it. It’s made you feel mad and vindictive and passive-aggressive and a slew of other angry emotions, and–and–
It’s hurt. More than anything, it’s hurt. This anger you keep trying to go back to is simply a covering, a facade, and you know that with certainty. You’re hurt. And something like that doesn’t just go away.
“Hey,” Sy murmurs. “Look at me.”
Still not saying anything, you slowly bring your red eyes back to Sy’s, and there’s a moroseness you see within his that you feel you’re helplessly mirroring.
“You…You gotta know that,” Sy says, retaining the little desperate edge to his tone.
The moment you look away again, Sy’s face falls.
You feel guilty, but he has to realize how he’s been acting recently. He has to hear how it’s affected you. In a handful of ways, he’s made you feel ignored. Unspecial. Sure, he loves you, but does he care?
“I do, Sy, but I just…”
While you take a deep breath then let it out slowly, Sy seems at a strange loss for words.
“It’s just…” You sigh. “I just wanna feel like you do. I want you to–I want you to be–”
Your sentence trails off, and, hating the way you sound, you want to groan at yourself. Your eyes won’t stop watering up. No matter how rapidly you keep blinking to dry them up, no matter how many times you keep wiping at the sides of them, no matter how strong your resolve is to not cry right now, it’s not working. None of it is. Something about being on the damn staircase like this in such a compromising position is fucking up your ability to emotionally regulate.
Roughly, you cough, and then all at once, the deep and sudden dejection you’ve been trying to hold inside cracks open. It forcefully slams into your body. Suddenly, you're sad.
You’re able to croak out, “I just want you…to…care,” but you can't say anything more than that because then your eyes start truly burning, and then they start filling with water, and then the water starts falling down your face, and then–fuck. You're crying.
Sy quickly but gently shakes one of your arms. “Hey…Baby. I–I care," he mumbles. "C’mon, now…”
Almost to hide, you finally just close your eyes entirely, and it makes it feel like thick, warm water is stagnantly pooling in the divots of your eye sockets.
“Hey,” Sy whispers again, softly shaking your arm again, and there’s an edge of desperation lacing his voice. “Hey, hey, hey.”
You don't speak or open your eyes, but you start taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. God dammit. You’re being so fucking stupid right now.
But you feel how you feel.
“Dar–Hey, shh," Sy tries again. "Shh.”
Almost in distress, his fingers move across your cheeks to wipe off the moisture there. “I said I’d–Y/N, of course I care about you. I…I asked you to marry me.”
You whine through your crying, feeling helpless and ridiculous. Just–there seems to be no getting through to him. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, though, Sy presses his lips together and changes tactics instantly.
“Sit up.” Sy pushes his upper body off of you quicker than you can expect, moving himself entirely to the side. “Sit up with me.”
When Sy’s body weight is gone, you’re left in a strange-looking position, knees spread and body cold. You accept the hand that he holds out in offering to assist you up, and since you’re technically already sitting on a step, you just have to close your legs and raise your upper body. In no time, Sy’s wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in close to his side.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, and you look up at him curiously, your back slightly aching. “Just c’mere.”
Your body tenses with not only the discomfort of having laid on the stairs for so long but also the lingering stiffness of your emotions. When you’re directly next to Sy, you’re still tightly wound-up that your shoulders are almost to your ears.
He starts running his hand up and down your bare arm. “Relax,” he says in a deep whisper.
While his hand wrapped around you continues to soothe you, he reaches out his other hand to cradle your head into his chest, and you find it harder to fight his instructions. He smells good. He smells safe.
Because he’s so fond of it, he always wears this particular button-up shirt whenever you go out somewhere, and when you press your face into it more, the familiarity of it soothes you. The fabric is thin all over and almost faded under the armpits, and the collar’s perpetually wrinkly. And you love it.
Finally relaxing some, your muscles droop, but tears still leak from your eyes.
Sy heaves in a lungful of air, the breath expanding his entire chest. “I–I don’t–”
He leaves the rest of his sentence unfinished and instead brings his hand over your hair. Over and over again like it’s actually soothing himself, he smoothes his hand over your hair while you both just collect your breathing together.
It's not until several moments later when your eyes wander back to his own that he speaks again.
“I–I fucked up tonight,” he murmurs. “I did. I know I did. But…it sounds like I been fuckin’ up a lot.”
You can only sniff.
“And I’m gonna fix that,” he vows. “‘Cause this right here? Watchin' you cryin’? ‘Cause’a me? I can’t take it."
Nodding, you wipe your eyes. “It’s only bad like this ‘cause I’ve been keepin’ it inside so long.”
“That’s what–” Sighing, Sy cuts himself off. “It shouldn’t’ve gotten to this point.”
“Well, it’s not like I didn’t try to tell you before. You’re sorta stubborn, Sy,” you say deadpan, and he grunts.
“I’ll talk next time,” Sy promises for the tenth time, and you despondently frown. “I’ll talk to every fuckin’ person, Y/N.”
You sigh a little.
“You know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Sy tells you.
“I know,” you say before swallowing thickly. “It’s just–I don't want you doin' somethin' just ‘cause I want you to,” you tell him. “I want you to want to."
Slowly, Sy nods, and you can tell he’s taking you seriously, but there’s something within him he appears to be keeping inside. He looks away with his jaw firmly set and momentarily stares at the wall.
“And I know what you’re gonna say,” you murmur while wiping your eyes. “You’re gonna say that I just wanted you to suck up to everyone tonight. But that’s not true. Seriously. I honestly wouldn’t've even cared if you did show your ass to everyone.”
Sy’s eyes dart back to your face, jumping from feature to feature. “...Did I just hear you right?”
You nod. “Any version of you is better than no version at all, Sy. That’s what I’m sayin’. I just–" You sigh. "I don't even know.”
Nodding, he’s quiet, and you feel like your point is finally starting to get across to him. “I only sat down in the first place for you to…do your thing. You work with 'em. Already know 'em. Didn't wanna ruin anything.”
“But I was talkin’ to another man and, like, showin’ off and stuff right in front of you,” you go on. “Like, for a good majority of the night.”
Sy’s eyes turn sharper. “I knew you were tryin’ to get attention,” he tells you. “Just didn’t know why. That’s exactly why we're in this position now.”
You keep a tiny frown on your face. He knew you were trying to get his attention, yet he still did nothing. “But why didn’t you do something?” you whisper.
“Wh–?” Sy begins to retaliate with something but then stops himself. “‘Cause I didn't wanna ruin shit for you,” he repeats.
You’re still not satisfied, and it shows.
“Listen, if you’da done that shit somewhere else, we woulda settled it right away. Woulda been havin' this here discussion up in that restaurant and not on a fuckin’ staircase.”
You wipe the tip of your nose. “We can literally get up off the stairs at any time.”
“But,” Sy ignores you to say, “‘causin’ a scene with your supervisor in the room and about thirty other witnesses you gotta see on Monday mornin’ prob’ly wouldn’ta been the best first impression. So I kept my distance. While you were thinkin’ all’a this mess about me not wantin’ to be with you anymore, I was just try’na behave.”
“But–It wasn’t just Preston, though, Sy. You didn’t care about talkin’ to anyone at all tonight,” you tell him. "You didn’t do anything. It was like you–you didn’t–”
"I get it," he mutters. “I get it. I was comin’ across like a dick.”
You don't know what to say. You're still holding onto the hurt from earlier, but his words are beginning to help.
He seems to struggle with finding any more words after that, though. And you get it. He doesn’t talk like this. He doesn’t talk like this ever.
It takes several moments of silence filled with your hitched breathing before Sy prepares to say anything else, and whatever he’s about to let out, you can tell he feels vulnerable about it. He begins rubbing his neck to signal his discomfort.
“You’re one of the smartest people I know, Y/N," he starts, initially looking away and then finally meeting your eyes again. "I fuckin’ mean that. A helluva lot smarter’n me.” Sy clears his throat before continuing, “You deserve your job a hundred percent. Hell, you deserve your boss’s job. An’ I know I prob’ly don’t…I know I don't show it enough, or say it enough, but…I'm happy for you. I am. Seriously. And I’m proud of you.”
Trying not to start crying all over again, you rapidly blink a few times.
"And I love you," Sy seriously vows for the second time tonight. "I love you so much I can’t even–there ain't even enough words to explain it. If you–” Sy shortly coughs. "Don't doubt that. If your mind ever starts wanderin'...Just–Don't let it. Don’t ever doubt that I love you."
Sy’s thumb brushes across your cheekbone once more, and all you can think to say back is, “I love you, too.”
“Then why d’you look so damn sad when you’re sayin’ it?” he whispers.
“‘Cause I still don’t understand–” You clear your throat. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”
He looks confused. “I’m an open book to you, Y/N. What don’tchu understand?”
“What did you mean when you said you didn’t wanna start a pissin’ contest with all the men there tonight?” you ask. “I only really talked to Preston. That’s just one man. I mean, besides my boss that I talked to for just a second because he was so drunk…”
Sy rubs his beard. He’s quiet while he gets his answer together in his head, and it takes quite some time for him to do it. He stops himself at least twice, opening his mouth and then snapping it shut again.
“I know I haven’t gotten to know ‘em that much,” is what he finally says when he’s decided which words to speak. “Yet. I know that. But…You got eyes just the same as me, Y/N.”
“...What does that even mean?”
He sighs. “You gotta admit that tonight was just a big excuse for everyone to show off their money.”
Your face slowly twists in confusion. “I didn’t think anyone there was showin’ off,” you murmur, and Sy challengingly lifts his eyebrows. “Really. That’s just how they are. They’re actually pretty cool people once you get to know them. I mean, most of them, at least.”
“Y/N, all the men were wearin’ Rolexes,” Sy comments. “Fuckin’ Rolexes. And their shoes alone prob’ly cost more than this entire outfit did.”
Pausing, you’re taken aback at tonight's turn of events. The pressing frustration you’ve had this evening has been due to Sy not talking enough, and now here he is, talking, but talking in a way he never, ever does. Always unapologetically himself, Sy never compares himself to other people. The walking epitome of his DILLIGAF t-shirt, the man exudes confidence. “Fuck what other people think” could be his catchphrase. …Now he’s bringing up what the other people at the party tonight were wearing. Of all things.
“I guess I just don’t pay attention to stuff like that,” you murmur, eyes drifting to the cuffs of Sy’s shirt where you know he’s wearing his chunky black watch that you love so much.
“Well, I’m sure you paid attention to how your boss covered the entire dinners–and drinks–of close to three dozen people, yeah?” Sy asks.
“Well, yeah…And that was really crazy,” you admit, but you quickly remind him, “but everyone’s gonna pay him back for the food. Jen said he does it because he has some special credit card and it helps him with rewards or somethin’, I dunno.”
Sy grunts, retaining the somewhat skeptical look on his face.
“I know that it’s kinda like a different world. It was like that at first for me, too. They’re… They’re rich people,” you awkwardly chuckle. “With the salaries they all make, that’s just…how it is. But seriously, none of them are snobby or anything. And none of them were lookin’ at you like you were some sorta redneck, either, Sy. They seriously weren’t.”
Sy supplies you with a short nod, and you can see through it instantly.
“Babe, they weren’t,” you repeat.
“Yeah, well.” He rubs his neck again. “I’ll get me a three-piece suit for next time so I won’t stick out as much,” he mumbles.
"Huh?”
From where he’s just looked off to the side, Sy looks you straight in the eye again. “Toldja I’m gonna be goin’ to more of your work stuff with you. I mean that. You got my word.”
“Yeah, but–Sy, you dont have to–I don't want you to get a new suit,” you tell him. “I don’t want you to–I don’t want you to do any of that. I just want you to be yourself. I don’t care what you wear.”
Suddenly, Sy gets stoic, almost as withdrawn as he was earlier. It only serves to fire you up again.
“And tonight I wanted to introduce you to the people I work with not just so you could meet them, but so that they could meet you. Not some fake version of you puttin' on some act. Wearin’ a suit. Wearin' a Rolex. Drinkin' nasty wine you hate just as much as I do." You shrug. "Just you. Exactly as you are."
Sy briefly hangs his head for a second, putting one of his hands on the back of his scalp. He exhales audibly before lifting his head again, and when you meet his eyes, yours widen with worry.
Sy just–he doesn't fucking act like this. Not ever. While you continue looking up at him to try to interpret what’s really going on in his head now, he says something next that you’re not expecting.
"You know I’m always gonna provide for you,” he states. "That's what I'm gonna do."
You nod slowly. “...I know.”
“An’ you can rely on me to provide for you no matter how–no matter what,” he goes on, and again, you nod.
“Yeah, Sy,” you answer. “I know.”
There’s a resoluteness in his words that doesn’t necessarily match the concern on his face, and you just don’t understand his expression right now.
“And same for me,” you fill the silence. “I’ll provide, too. That’s why I…It’s give-and-take, Sy. You don’t have to be all macho all of a sudden. I work, you work. We both bring somethin’ to the table. We’re a partnership.”
Hardly ever seeing any chinks in his armor, you’re sincerely taken aback.
"Sy, I…What's the matter?"
Heavily, he sighs. “I ain’t ever gonna touch the kinda money those people make, Y/N,” he finally makes his point, voice impossibly low.
“It’s–”
“Not in my lifetime," he interrupts. "Not even close.”
This status thing is something that really matters to him. It's something he’s truly insecure about, you're beginning to understand. Something he’s so insecure about that he doesn’t even know how to actually express it.
In the military, there’s no way to really distinguish between who has money and who doesn’t–at least not out in the field. There’s rank. There’s rank earned from hard work and length of service, and that’s how everyone earns their respect. They respect the rank, not an outward display of wealth. Even at the nice military balls you’ve gone to, there weren’t thousand-dollar suits and expensive watches to be seen; there were uniforms and pendants and medallions.
Of course, there were nice dresses and expensive jewelry and all types of things that had you yourself feeling inferior, so…you know the feeling.
“You make excellent money as it is,” you immediately retort, and he just scoffs. "You do," you maintain.
“Let’s say that’s true,” Sy quietly replies, "which it ain't–"
“And even if you didn’t,” you interrupt him as soon as you realize he's about to say something negative, “what difference would it make at all? That kinda stuff isn’t important to me, Sy. I’d love you regardless.”
“Y/N–”
You repeat yourself: "Regardless."
Slowly, Sy's tongue slips out, and he wets both of his lips together while he nods at you. His silence continues, though, and this time, unlike earlier when it was he who knew that there was something going on with you that you weren’t sharing, this time, there’s something he’s not sharing. You just don’t know what it is.
“There’s…I don’t…Are you…Are you upset that I might make more money than you do one day or something?”
“Hell, no,” Sy replies right away. “You go out and earn all the money you want to. Go all the way to the top. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”
“So what’s wrong?” you whisper, and Sy heaves a sigh.
Almost incomprehensibly, almost as if he doesn’t even want to even speak, he mumbles, “Just wouldn’t ever wantchu to start thinkin’ someone else could offer more.”
Sincerely hoping he's kidding, your mouth drops.
Leaning over and tightly holding onto Sy’s arms, you kiss him. Deep and meaningfully, you kiss him, straining your neck from it. “Sy, seriously. That won’t ever happen,” you repeat his words back to him. “Never.”
After kissing Sy once more, just as long and just as meaningfully, you then briefly rest your head onto his shoulder. “You could be flat-broke, and I still wouldn’t want anyone else but you,” you tell him. “I’d think you were the best man in the world. No matter what. I mean that.”
Sy chuckles. “I don’t ever plan on goin’ flat-broke,” he says with a tiny smirk, “but that’s good to know.”
Finally, you smile a little, too.
“Now, before your mind goes runnin’ off somewhere,” he murmurs, “you know I don’t think you’d really be goin’ off lookin’ for shinier things, alright? I…”
As he trails off, you meet his eyes to let him know you understand what he’s saying. “...Just needed to hear me say it out loud,” you softly finish for him.
Sy makes a little noise like, “Mm.”
“Sometimes I need to hear you say things out loud, too."
"I hear you loud and clear,” he tells you. "I'll do better. I won’t be such an asshole next time, alright?”
“At least not for no reason,” you reply, smiling something soft that lingers for a few seconds before flattening out in concern. "Hey. You still look like something's wrong."
He looks sullen. “Well. I made you cry.”
Your eyes are still a little sore, but you’re genuinely glad you talked things out. "But then you made it better."
He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Apology accepted?”
“Yeah.” Not able to hold it in anymore, you actually grin. “I guess you’re forgiven.”
“Now, I ain’t tellin’ you to pull any’a that shit’chu did tonight again,” he tells you, “but I get it, alright? I get it. I'm ownin’ that.”
“Thanks, Sy,” you whisper, and he promptly kisses you again.
Finally, he's initiating a kiss, touching his lips to yours with a tenderness that only comes after arguing. As you naturally tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, you realize you haven’t apologized yourself.
You break your lips away from Sy’s with a smack. “I’m…I’m sorry, too. For actin’ up tonight.”
Sy grunts, but he seems to let it go quickly based on the playful way he taps the end of your nose. “Brat.”
You stick your tongue out at him.
“We good now?” he confirms, and you happily nod while he taps your forehead next. “Ain’t got nothin’ left brewin’ up in here?”
With a big tight-lipped smile, you shake your head. “I said everything I needed to say.”
“You sure?”
“I mean, I might be able to think of a few more things to throw out there while we're at it,” you murmur.
He raises an eyebrow. “Might as well let it all out while we’re here," he says. "Lay it on me.”
You begin playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. “Left your beard hair in the bathroom sink this mornin’.”
“Oh, I’ll get right on that,” he reassures quietly, smoothing a hand over your stomach while he leans in to steal another kiss. It goes on without a break for several seconds, and by the time you disconnect your lips, you find yourself laying back on the stairs again, Sy hovering atop you.
"There's dried up mud from your boots on the kitchen floor,” you utter with your lips moving against Sy’s, and he slides his mouth away from yours to place a kiss on your cheek next.
“I’ll have it scrubbed clean,” he murmurs while making his way to your neck, kissing there and almost making you break out in goosebumps from the sensation of his beard. “With a toothbrush.”
His hand glides up to cup one of your breasts while you go on, “You’ve got me laid out on the stairs, and I’m probably gonna be injured in some way when I get up,” you go on, and at that, Sy doesn’t have a reply; he just nips at your neck.
“And then you let an unwed intern talk to me all night with no sort of intervention.”
Unimpressed, Sy lifts his head from your neck and raises an eyebrow. “I can easily still getchu ‘cross my lap right here, right now.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re not spanking me,” you tell him, trying not to laugh, and the side of Sy’s mouth curves upwards, too.
“Says who?” he challenges.
You smile. “Says me.”
Mischeviously, Sy looks to the side. “I could.”
“Not on the stairs,” you challenge right back, accepting another ever-wettening kiss.
Sy takes your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls at it while sucking. He lets it go with a wet pop. “I’d make it work.”
“Mmhm,” you mumble unconvincingly against his mouth when it covers yours again. You give one another slower and detached kisses next: one, two, three, your lips smacking.
“Keepin’ me laid out on the steps like this isn’t uncomfortable at all.”
While your heart rate speeds up, Sy begins running his thumb along the plumpness of your bottom lip. It’s tantilizing for a moment, but just because you can, you lean forward and gently bite his thumb, playfully squinting your eyes at him a little.
“Lookatchu. Keep complainin' 'bout it but ain't even tryin' to get up.”
“It’s all this charm you got,” you mutter after Sy’s thumb pops out of your mouth.
Sy grunts. “I like you like this," he says, pushing up your dress until it's bunched at your waist. As your back slightly arches, your chest quickly heaves. “We can stay just like this. Have us some make-up sex right like this.”
You turn your head to the side. “Oh, is that what we’re gonna do?”
“Mm.” While kissing the offered skin of your neck again, Sy trails his hand up and down your upper thigh.
“You sure know how to spoil a woman.” You bite your lip through a smile.
"Sure as shit workin’ on it,” Sy tells you, and your smile drops a bit when he switches from sweet to dirty: “I’ll spoil you so much, both your legs’ll be wet by the time I’m done.”
Not able to deny how his words and actions are already causing your pussy to tingle, you swallow. “So much romance, I can’t handle it.”
“That’s what you wanted, though,” he lowers his voice and says directly into your ear. “Playin’ games even though you got a rock on your hand ‘cause you wanted me to let everyone know you’re mine.”
Sy's hand inches higher, playing with the sides of your panties, and, unable to help it, you quietly whimper. As your eyes slip closed, you succumb to the combined feeling of Sy's hand possessively touching your leg and his mouth wetly kissing your throat.
“Gets you goin’, don’t it?” Sy asks after placing a quick bite on the skin of your neck. “Me remindin’ you who you belong to.”
At the attention you’ve been all-but-begging for tonight and are finally receiving, another small, soft noise escapes your lips. Still– “I’m not property.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’d you wear this dress for tonight?” Sy asks. His voice loses its menacing tone and gets lower. “Those people at the party or me?”
“Mm." You straighten out your heavy head and open up your equally-heavy eyes. "What happens if I say both?”
Sy presses his lips together and tightens his jaw, and you smirk while lifting your hands to his cheeks. As you cradle his face like that, Sy takes a handful of your hair in his free hand and similarly cradles the back of your head. “Who’d you wear this dress for?”
You look to the side and bare your neck again. “You.”
“Who?”
“You.”
“Yeah, y'did,” Sy mutters. “And you didn’t know how to say it, so you stood next to my sister’s fuckin’ ex-boyfriend and touched his fuckin’ arm, right where I could see.”
You groan. “Don’t talk about him when you’re tryin’ to seduce me, Sy.”
“I can say whatever the hell I want,” he tells you as his mouth trails up your neck, and your pussy outrightly clenches. “Can’t I?”
“Sy, I’m seriously gonna be so sore tomorrow if we don’t move,” you whine.
“Yeah, you’re gonna be sore,” Sy whispers before biting your earlobe.
You squeeze his shoulder even as you can’t help but laugh. “Syyy.”
“Alright,” he deeply chuckles into your ear, but he still doesn’t get off your body. "C'mon."
It’s seriously ridiculous how slowly you two make it up the stairs together–you pushing yourself backwards up each step like a crab, Sy simultaneously doing a precarious bear-crawl on the sides of your body. You both won’t stop kissing long enough to stand upright, though, and when you get to the top step, you still don’t. You simply push yourself backwards onto the hallway rug and lay yourself out entirely.
It’s dark up here, the only light coming from the living room down below, and for about to be having spontaneous sex in the middle of your hallway floor, you find the ambiance nice. Crooking your index finger to gesture for Sy to join you, you bite your bottom lip and bend one of your legs up at the knee.
“Here?” Sy asks, and you nod.
On his knees before you, Sy slides his hands up and down your bare legs, almost worshipfully slowly, feeling the soft smoothness again and again. He undoes his belt with no real urgency after that and opens his jeans until the denim is loosely bunched in front of his thighs, and while watching him, you slide off your underwear.
You spread open your legs and pull your knees back a little, and Sy spends long moments just staring down at you. With his two forefingers pressed together, he reaches out and glides his hand directly to where you glisten, and his fingers dip into the dampness he finds there. After bringing his fingertips to his mouth to taste, he reaches back out to slide his fingers up and down your slit while keeping his eyes trained on yours. The intimacy makes you squirm atop the hallway rug.
Straightening your legs momentarily, you urge Sy forward with your feet on the back of his legs. After he falls down with a hand by your face for leverage, together you both push his pants and boxers down until they’re entirely off, then he finally lowers his torso to align with yours. Instantly, you feel his dick twitch against your leg.
He pushes hair away from your face. “I love you.”
“I love you back,” you whisper, smiling for a second, but when Sy leans down and kisses you, your mouth goes slack.
Sy keeps his mouth attached to yours while finding your wrists and lifting both of your hands above your head, and with you laying on the bare floor with his bare cock pressing against your bare core and his calloused hands pinning down your manicured ones, you really do feel at his mercy. Like he could roll you over as roughly as he wanted to and smack your ass until the indentation of his handprint showed up. Like he could do whatever he wanted. Like you're his.
You feel Sy’s knuckles brush along the inside of your thigh as he takes hold of himself and lines up with no other preamble, and the second he comes into contact with your pussy, he groans. When his cock dips inside, it’s familiar and perfect and everything you've needed and missed. Overwhelmed already, you heave in shallow lungfuls of air.
Sy slowly sinks all the way in, and all the frustrated tension in your body leaves the second he bottoms out. In its place is a different kind of tension, something exciting, something anticipatory–the heaviness of preparing to chase fulfillment together.
He was slow to bury himself to the hilt, but the first thrust he gives you is not gentle. It's firm and it's hard, hard enough to cast you back against the hallway wall, but when he continues moving, he's slow. Slow yet firm in some sort of tender yet masculine re-claiming, it takes long moments for your brain to even realize what your body's taking.
“Fuck,” you whimper, your voice echoing in the large open area around you. “Oh, fuck.”
After minutes of never changing his pace, Sy stops thrusting to shallowly circle his hips instead. “Wrap your legs ‘round me.”
You instantly listen, and he finally lets go of your wrists to rest his forearms next to your arms. Under his weight, you’re delightfully smothered.
Amidst Sy’s focused face, a small smile forms as he looks down at you wolfishly. Now simply grinding against you, he pulls down the front of your dress, exposing your breasts–boob tape and all.
“What’s all this shit,” Sy mutters under his breath, and he moves a hand as if preparing to rip the adhesives off.
“Sy, don’t you dare,” you hiss, finally moving your arms to stop him.
As you’re caught up between pleasure and horror and humor, you quickly take off the tape that helped with your cleavage all night. Immediately after freeing yourself, Sy’s quick with touching you all over, paying excess attention to your nipples until they’re hard and over-sensitive. His mouth stays near-constantly pressed to yours.
There’s an exact angle Sy figures out after that, one that gets you to not care how loud you’re becoming: With his hand under your ass to tilt your hips up just right, he relentlessly begins to slam inside you again. Little noises get punched out of you every other second while you grab onto his shoulders. You can't even move. All you can literally do is take it.
Sy's breathing loudly against your mouth when he says, “Look at me.”
You do as he requests.
“Who’s fuckin’ you?”
Feeling hot all over, you gasp and then close your eyes. Sy gratefully lets you have your moment to hide from the intensity of everything, and he lowers his face to the side of yours.
“Tell me who’s fuckin’ you,” he whispers directly into your ear.
“You,” you let out, finishing it in a moan. Your mouth won’t close. Sy just keeps rutting into you without ever pausing for a break. He’s so fucking vocal, saying whatever comes to his mind and moaning right there along with you. It’s easy to get lost in. It’s Sy.
He moves to look at your face again. “Who’s the only one that gets to?”
“You,” you open your eyes and rush out. “You forever.”
“‘Cause I love you,” he utters, words so sweet in contrast to how his body’s moving.
You hold onto his shoulders while staring up at him, slack-eyed and hazy. You both speak to each other with gasps and moans, and hearing Sy moan admist his grunting and groaning—fuck.
You extend your neck to offer your mouth to Sy again, and instantly he slots his mouth to yours, giving you his full tongue. Your hands move to his beard while you make out almost desperately. When it breaks, you kiss the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then his cheek, then his neck, gripping the back of his head and pulling him as close as possible. The heels of your feet dig into his ass cheeks.
“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he groans, and slack-jawed, you nod. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”
Together, you chase more and more, and you try not to think about how you won’t have this for much longer–you won’t be able to be together like this once he goes overseas again. You won’t get to feel him inside you. You won’t get to feel him kissing you, or sleeping next to you, or leaving traces of himself around the house–beard hair in the sink, boot-mud on the floor, crumbs on the counters. He’ll be gone.
You push all of that out of your head. He’s here right now, giving you everything. You’d told him just minutes ago that you need to feel like he cares. He’s giving you all of that and more.
“You close, baby?”
Jerkily, you nod, but you still can’t talk. There’s just the wet, slippery sound of your pussy as Sy continues to thrust in and out, everything a mix of freneticism and tenderness. The best you can, you flex your ass and erratically grind upwards, and you forcefully grasp Sy's skin to let him know you're about to come. He can probably feel it, too--your walls feel like they're vibrating.
You cry out when the feeling builds then crests then peaks, squeezing Sy’s sweaty neck as hard as you suddenly squeeze your eyes shut, and you have no idea what noises you make after that because then Sy gets frantic and then he gets loud and then he buries his face in your neck and then he shoots off inside you.
You’re left with a rapidly-beating heart, sweat all over, and a sore back. You feel Sy’s matching sweat and quick heartbeat when he collapses on top of you, panting.
“Good God,” you breathlessly get out when you can finally speak. “Fuck, Sy. Good way of showing you're sorry.”
You feel it as he chuckles. “Don't wantchu to ever doubt how I feel anymore. Ever.”
Staring at the ceiling, you run your fingers across his fuzzy just-barely-there hair. He pushes himself up just enough to look at you fully, and he presses his lips to yours gently. He doesn't say it, but you feel it anyway. I love you. You’re loved. You bask in it.
“Knees got fuckin’ rug-burn,” he mutters, and you make a sympathetic face.
“Worth it, though?”
He squeezes one of your tits. “Fuck yeah.”
The two of you look a sight–Sy naked from the waist-down, you with a dress bunched up at your waist and pulled down below your breasts. And you wouldn't ever imagine being with anybody else, imperfections and all.
“Let’s go to the courthouse, Sy,” you whisper, and that's when he pushes himself up with one arm.
He knows what you’re referring to, but still, he asks, “What?”
“Let’s go to the courthouse,” you repeat, very aware of his cock still inside you starting to soften. “Next week. Let’s go.”
“Baby. Your folks’ll fuckin’ kill me.”
“Fuck what other people think,” you say through a smile, and Sy easily returns it. “I love you.”
“And you know I love you, too,” Sy quietly replies, and what number is that? How many times has he said it so far? “So fuckin’ much. Makes my chest hurt sometimes.”
“Mm. Tell me more.”
Sy’s mouth turns upwards at the sides. “Tell you more’a what?” he asks, and you almost giggle. “Whatcha wanna hear more of?”
“That you love me.”
“I’ll tell you a hundred times a day, darlin’.” He straightens his face out and looks down at you seriously. “You bein’ for real? ‘Bout the courthouse?”
You nod. “Let’s do it. Before you head out again. Let's write up our vows, go down there, and get married.”
Sy looks comtemplative. “I already been workin’ on ‘em,” he says. “The vows.”
“What, really?” you sit up on your elbows and ask.
“Mmhm.”
You bite your lip. “That's hot.”
Sy slides out of you but makes no other effort to move. It’s quiet for a while after that, and you both really need to get off the hard floor, but there’s this moment between you that you don’t want to end yet. The afterglow of a highly emotional night.
"Missed your opportunity to spank me just now," you eventually break the silence while stretching, and Sy laughs.
"Mm. Didn't have to."
“Not when we’re both bein’ healthy, mature adults who actually talk things out, huh?"
“Now, you got a good point there,” Sy replies.
You want the fight to be entirely behind you. “So, uh. Next time, I promise I’ll tell you what’s wrong instead of bein’ petty,” you murmur.
Sy kisses your chin. “And next time I’ll be on my best worst behavior.”
You smile. “You sure you wouldn’t just rather stay home if there’s a next time?”
Sy lifts both of his eyebrows. “Don'tchu rope me into sayin’ somethin’ that’s gonna lead to me sleepin’ on the couch, now.”
For what feels like the tenth time tonight, you roll your eyes, but it’s good-natured now. Simply because you can, you reach your arm downward and smack your hand onto the back of his bare ass–hard. After letting out a noise that leaves you laughing uncontrollably, Sy narrows his eyes.
"Alright," he warns. "Get up an' go into the bedroom. Now."
Summary: While Sy is deployed, his new girlfriend sends him nudes, and now he must take care of 'business' himself while fantasizing about the things he would do to her.
Pairing: Captain Syverson x himself x OFC
Word count: 1,200
Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), pure smut, graphic depiction of sex (male x female), male masturbation, bodily fluids, accidental creampie, dirty language, punishment, Freya using "peach". Being caught in the act. A bit of fluff. Not beta'd.
*No permission is given for reposting my work, translating, copying it, or parts of it and claiming it as your own*
A/N: It's been a while since I posted. I am working on a series (plural), but I got inspired by a lovely anon today. I'm not sure if I'm tagging anyone since my tag list is probably outdated and I'm not sure who still wants on. So, if you enjoyed, reblog, or comment, let me know. I'd appreciate it. 🖤
Pictures of You
At last, night unfurled, and the camp became quiet.
The glorified Captain retired to his quarters, exhausted from a day of training recruits and tedious paperwork. This deployment would be long, and though he loved being The Captain - Logan Syverson was beginning to miss home.
It was all because of her. Sy shouldn't have caught feelings, long-distance relationships were never his thing, but damn, she was something else; a woman way above his league, pretty, hot as hell and way too smart to be with a military grunt like him.
Needless to say, fucking her made him feel like a god.
Stripping down to his boxer, Sy slumped into his bed with a huff and reached for the private cell phone stuffed in his drawer.
Twenty unanswered messages appeared on the screen—three of them from her.
Joy painted his face at the sight of her name. Ignoring everything else, he went directly to read her messages.
“Missing my big Sy”, the first message read.
The other - “something to make you think of me.”
The last message was simply an attachment. Curious, Sy tapped it open.
‘Fucking hell.’
The unmistakable pang of desire instantly surged through his groin.
There she was, his sweet woman, naked and spread open like a present unwrapped, especially for him. She was sitting on her bed, one breast gripped by her palm with her nipple peeking through dark-painted nails while her other hand toyed with the sweet peach between her thighs.
“Fuck,” Sy muttered. Already rock-hard. Absentmindedly, his hand massaged the hefty bulge through the fabric of his boxers, eliciting a deep groan from under his breath.
‘What are you doing to me, babygirl?”
It wasn’t just her naked body and the way her finger teased her own slit, but the look she gave him, the familiar neediness in her gaze, the way she bit her lip.
Damn, if she was here right now… He’d fucking punish her for teasing him so bad! He’d pin her to the wall with his hand around her throat and show her what happens to naughty girls who like playing such wicked games.
Now he had three fucking months to go, and all he could think of was how bad he wanted to be inside her tight little cunt.
‘Well, guess I’ll have to take care of this myself…’
Springing his cock free from his boxers, he ran his rough fingers up and down the length of his imposing shaft - slow at first, as Sy enjoyed taking his time, just as he would with her. His thumb rolled across the crown of his cock, gently grazing the tip while he imagined flipping her against the pitted wall in this room. Make her take it from behind so he could look at that perfect rounded ass of hers and watch his cock slipping in and out of her body.
Still holding the photo open, he focused on her succulent cunt before spitting onto his open palm and griping himself once again. Tighter this time, he squeezed onto his girth and began to fuck his own hand.
Pants and groans sputtered from his mouth, his chest heaving as he gradually picked up the pace. In his fantasy, he parted her ass cheeks and teased her dripping little hole until she begged him to fuck him. Then he forced himself all the way in, making her cry out.
The sounds of her moans echoed in his memory, so helpless and desperate at the same time - he was nearly too much for her; that narrow cavern of hers could barely take his leviathan cock, but still, she took every pounding, becoming wetter around his shaft as her body not only yielded to accommodate him but lured him deeper inside.
“I want inside you, babygirl…” Sy mumbled out loud, his hand now moving in ecstatic fervour. Sweat dripped down the contracting muscles of his abs. Soon, he felt himself swell even larger, and his sack strained with the desperate need for release.
He tightened his grip, now choking his shaft and thinking of how it felt when she came around him. How she contracted all around his cock and shattered like glass smashing on the floor.
“Don’t come inside….” She’d warned him. She wasn’t on the pill. But this time, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from filling her full of his cum, and maybe… he wouldn’t want to…
It was his fantasy, after all.
“FUCK!!!”
With the image spilling inside her, he allowed himself to be swept by the fierce waves of pleasure, his entire body buzzing with bliss as hot, thick ribbons of ecstasy spilt over his fingers. He might have shouted too loudly, but it’s not like he ever gave a fuck.
It took Sy a few good minutes to climb down to earth, and then he chuckled hoarsely as he noticed the mess he had left on his hand. Shaking his head, he reached for a towel and wiped himself clean before returning to gaze at her photo.
“What am I gonna do with you, doll?”
Well, there was an idea. He could repay the favour by sending her a photo of himself. Usually, he was against this type of stuff, but what she did was particularly risky for a woman, and if she was bold enough to treat him, he could do the same. Besides, they had three months until they could meet again. He better make sure she remembered who she belonged to.
He stroked himself lightly. Still semi-hard, he wondered whether he could work himself to another erection this soon when a knock sounded at the door.
“Mother of f…. One moment !!!”
Sy yelled. Irritated, he briefly tucked his shaft back in his boxers and jumped out of bed. The room smelled rancid, but Sy couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t even bring himself to put on a shirt as he rushed to the door.
“What?” He grunted before getting to see who was on the other side.
‘Well, fuck me sideways.’
It was a woman because why the hell not? Private Hicks, to be precise. The young thing’s eyes flared with surprise and then snapped to the floor to avoid staring at her sweaty, half-naked superior, but not before catching a glance of his hairy, tattooed chest and the semi-erected bulge in his groin.
The strong scent of sweat and sex hit her nostrils like a smack in the face. It took everything not to curl her face. There was no need to put two and two together to realise what she had just intruded.
“Sir.” Hicks saluted in badly hidden embarrassment.
Sy let out a deep sigh. Clearly, she knew what he was doing before she arrived. She probably heard him come all over himself right before knocking. Frankly, he wasn’t ashamed.
“Get on with it, Private.”
“Sir,” she repeated, her voice a slight tremble. “ I’m sorry to bother you… but the Major asked me to get you.”
Sy scratched the back of his head and groaned deeply. “Tell him I’ll be there in 10.”
Without any other comment, he shut the door, leaving Hicks to wander back to the Major’s office, all shaken and quaking.
As she walked away, she couldn’t help but bite her lips. All across her body, she felt those little electric streams of excitement, and her breath suddenly became shallow. She shouldn’t have thought of her superior like this, on what he did behind that closed door just a moment before she arrived, but Captain Syverson was too hot to handle and, needless to say, too loud.
summary: After your rained-out picnic date, you and Sy go home to continue to hang out. He stays the night, and then he continues to stay the night.
“The bad stuff never stops happening: it lives in its own dimension, repaying itself over and over.” –Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried
words: ~15k
tags: some shmoop, some tears, some smut, some shmoopy smut (handjob, p in v intercourse, oral sex [f and m])
A/N: Heyyyyooo, everyone celebrate with me–I’m done with a fic for once! I’ve gotten used to this having so much angst that this is a little on the sappy side, but it’s fine. They deserve that after everything they’ve been through.
Back in your driveway again, your hands almost shake after you hop out of the truck and walk through the front yard. Sy’s presence is palpable, taking over the entire acreage surrounding the house, taking over the very atmosphere, taking over you–your heart, your breath, your nerves.
You know what could happen tonight. The question is…Will it?
Unlocking the door, you look back at Sy as you shove forward with your shoulder. While he follows you inside, you can't make out his expression.
There's no denying that he’s sensing your racing thoughts. After taking his damp coat off, he helps you out of yours, and his fingers easily find their way back to the small of your back–just a graze. Still, it’s soothing.
You imagine it's more.
You clear your throat as you both begin kicking off your shoes and wet socks, and then you stand there, stalling.
You don’t know. Nothing even has to happen tonight. You’re happy to solely have the sort of intimacy you’ve had together every weekend–just to be with one another.
“I guess I should probably shower,” you murmur directly before your stomach loudly growls.
Sy lifts an ironic eyebrow and glances at your torso. “...Or we could eat first?”
“Yeah,” you chuckle, “I actually am really hungry. I… just gotta change into something dry first.”
You begin walking to your bedroom, and Sy follows. “Right behind you.”
In the bedroom, you and Sy stand in front of your individual closets–yours on the left and his on the right. While picking clothes out, phantom domestic memories pop into the forefront of your mind just like they’d done in the woods earlier, almost as if they’re playing out live in holographs.
Sy in front of the bathroom mirror with a razor in his hand, bending forward to close-shave his neck. Sy at the end of the bed, bending down to tie his boots. Sy in front of his closet just like he is now, staring at his shirt options before asking your opinion on which one you prefer. Sy at your bedside in the morning carrying cups of hot coffee in each of his hands.
Sharing space with him for regular tasks like changing clothes is something you’ve missed more than you were even aware.
In the middle of taking off your clothes, you discreetly glance over at Sy to find him shirtless with his back towards you. His exposed skin has obvious flaws in places, and you pause to observe the different textures. Some scars are inverted, just divots of lightened skin, and some scars are thicker, angry and raised and pink. On the top of his left rear deltoid is a particularly off-color spot alluding to what must’ve been at one time quite a large wound, maybe a burn. Some of them you've seen before, but most of them are new.
They shouldn’t be new to you. None of them should be new to you. You should already be familiar with all of these marks. You’re his wife.
Frowning, you turn your attention back to your own closet and get back to changing clothes, only glancing at your husband through the side of your eyes when his bare ass is briefly displayed—muscled and just as pale as ever.
It’s not until you’re redressed and turning back towards a fully-clothed Sy that you realize what you’ve even put on. Wordlessly, he stares at you, and his eyes are so–different–that you look down at yourself.
You’re just in a shirt and loose athletic shorts. It’s honestly nothing special at all–
Oh. You’re wearing one of his shirts.
“Oh, I…” You shrug. “Guess I'm just used to wearing shirts like this in the evening.”
He takes a step towards you and glances into your closet. “You been keepin’ my clothes in your closet?”
“I mean…Some of your shirts, yeah,” you reply. “They’re comfy. Not your underwear or anything weird like that.”
Sy smiles, and he looks good. He actually looks good, like there’s no grief clouding over his head, no guilt showing in his eyes, no anguish in the faint wrinkles of his face. In a large t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he looks genuinely comfortable, too.
He turns and begins walking out of the room. “You’ve worn my boxers before,” he teases.
“One time.”
Sy hums. You catch up to him in the narrow hallway and elbow him in the side. In turn, he lightly elbows you back and quickly struts ahead of you so you can’t retaliate.
His behavior is almost boyish, like he could pull your hair and run away cackling or something, and you can’t help but smirk while he slips on an old pair of shoes that've remained unworn for months by the front door. Some of your nerves from earlier begin to leave you as more Hope fills the empty spaces left behind.
While Sy goes out to his truck to get the cooler full of food, instead of setting the table, you find a blanket and lay it out in the middle of the living room floor. Maybe this would align with what Sy had originally planned. Maybe he’ll like it.
“Is this stupid?” you ask uncertainly when Sy walks back in the house. “Should we just eat in the kitchen?”
He kicks off his shoes and sets down the cooler on the edge of the blanket. “I planned a picnic,” he just says, then he sits down and starts emptying the cooler. “And it was supposed to be on a rock, so why not do it on this hard old floor instead?”
He offers you a horrible wink, and you smile before sitting down next to him and pulling out paper plates, napkins, and cutlery from the cooler. Sy removes bread, deli meat, condiments, all different types of fruit, crackers, and cheese.
“Want me to pour us some wine?” you ask. “To go with the cheese and crackers?”
Sy doesn’t answer at first, but he ultimately agrees. You get up to walk into the kitchen, and when you come back with two glasses of white wine, you sit down again.
“You haven’t gone entirely alcohol-free, have you?” you ask. “Am I–Is this okay?”
"No, yeah,” Sy says, scratching his beard. “Just been tryna make new habits. So I’ve cut back to almost nothin’, mostly durin’ weekdays. I, uh. Can’t find it in me to go completely sober.”
“Just this one glass, then,” you say, lifting up the glass by the stem. Sy follows suit. “To us being us.”
Sy’s eyes smile at you. “To us bein’ us,” he repeats, and you both press the tops of your glasses together with a small clink.
You each keep eye contact while taking small sips of wine, then you both focus on your food. Sy has already made a sandwich for you, knowing exactly how you like them prepared. He works on making his own sandwich while you put crackers and fruit on both of your plates. After you quickly cut a few pieces of cheese next, you disperse them between the two of you.
Sy sprawls out on his left side and rests his body weight on his forearm while he starts to eat with just his right hand. You choose to sit cross-legged in front of him.
Back in the day, you’d make a joke about how his old-man joints won’t allow him to sit like you are, but you aren’t sure how that would be received right now. Plus, it’d be a stupid statement, anyway; the way he’s laid out gives you a perfect view of the long expanse of his thick body.
While you eat together, it’s…cute. Sy jokes around with you a lot in that half-teasing, half-flirting way you’ve missed so much that your stomach feels fluttery upon getting the receiving end of it. Maybe you should make that old-man joke, after all. Then Sy would raise his eyebrows with a challenge and say something like, “I’ll show you an old man,” and then you’d lay back on the blanket and–
The doorbell rings as you're finishing eating, and you instantly jostle and furrow your eyebrows. You’re not expecting anyone.
“You gonna get that?” Sy eventually asks when you make no move to get up.
“I didn’t invite anyone over.”
Sy checks his phone and puts it back in his pocket. “Well, see who it is,” he nods towards the door and says, and it’s less of an order as it is a teasing remark.
You hesitate. “I don’t want to.”
“Go on,” he almost chuckles. “Open it.”
“Can’t you?” you whine. “You’re the man of the house.”
His eyes briefly change, but still, he stubbornly replies, “No,” and it’s so out of character that you roll your eyes.
“Fine,” you huff. “Jerk-face.”
You reluctantly stand and slowly walk to the front door, grumbling about how you’re going to be cold in what you’re wearing. The sky is already getting dark. You don’t have a peephole or a nearby window to see who it even is, but Sy’s right behind you if it’s somebody weird. Even if he’s technically still laying down and no help at all if there were danger. Even if he's being strangely and stubbornly motionless.
By the time you open the door, the porch is empty. You look around in confusion and notice a van slowly driving past your mailbox like it’d just backed out of your driveway, and you watch as it drives down the street. While craning your neck to see if you can read anything on the back of the vehicle with the little bit of daylight left, it’s then you see that there’s a vase of flowers next to your front door.
A smile grows on your face as you bend down to pick up the bouquet. This time, Sy’d gone with red roses.
How romantic of him.
You should’ve known that there was a reason Sy wanted you to open the door yourself. Any other time, he’d be the one to handle any sudden issues, no problem.
His note is simple, cliche, and makes your stomach flip: Every day I love you more than the day before.
You walk back inside the house carrying the vase with your cheeks hurting from how large your grin is. And though it’s obvious what the meaning of red roses is, you’ve gotten used to flipping the little note cards around, so you do.
Did You Know? Red roses are a universal symbol of romantic love throughout the world. They also convey feelings of passion, desire, beauty, and courage.
A huge sensation slams into your chest then, or no–it doesn’t slam at all. It’s from the inside trying to push out, like your heart is six times too big and your lungs are too full to breathe and like there’s not enough room to fit everything inside. The smile slightly falls from your face while you try to let everything you’re feeling settle in your body.
You place the vase on the coffee table and gently touch the delicate petals before sitting back down in front of Sy. You can’t look at him yet.
He places a hand on your bare leg. “You good?”
Quickly, you nod. You won’t cry. “It’s really thoughtful,” you quietly murmur, then you lift your head. “You're thoughtful.”
He keeps staring at you, his blue eyes almost iridescent. Carefully, you lean down and kiss him, and when you break away, your lips slowly and audibly smack.
“You already got me flowers earlier,” you murmur, glancing at the yellow flowers on the kitchen table. “Think I’m gonna get spoiled one of these days.”
“Good.”
“You don’t have to keep getting flowers to make up for anything, Sy,” you say. “If that’s what you’re doing.”
“I’m gettin’ ‘em just to see you smile,” he replies, and you roll your eyes at the sap but still can’t help but smile again in response. “Ah, there it is.”
With his hand remaining on your leg, Sy begins to run his thumb absentmindedly against the inner side of your knee. It’s not suggestive, but…it could be. You haven’t had contact on bare skin like this in forever.
You look down at where he’s touching you until he clears his throat.
He sits up. “Wanna put somethin’ on TV?”
“Uhh..I mean, I really should actually shower first,” you murmur. “I feel a little gross.”
“Wonder why,” he grunts while he stands. “Only jumped in ten dozen mud puddles earlier.”
You stick out your tongue, and, with a smirk, Sy holds out his hand to help you up.
He keeps your hand in his as he begins walking to the bedroom. “Need a shower, too,” he mumbles.
It’s been a careful month, a month of reservation, and for him to act like this…for him to take your hand in his and lead you down the hall… It's no small thing. He’s acting like it’s his home again.
Even if he didn’t answer the doorbell just now. But that was for a reason, you remind yourself with an internal giddiness.
In the bedroom, you hesitate in front of the en-suite door. Sy said he wanted a shower, too, and the bathroom is small and far from fancy. The tub is cramped and decades old.
“I can…Want me to go first, then?”
You look up at Sy to see him slightly scratching his beard before briefly looking away with a little light in his eyes. Ultimately, he looks back at you and shrugs one shoulder. “Want you to step in first,” he says.
Oh.
It's daring.
It's a hook.
It's letting you make the decision.
“If you’re okay with that.”
You pause for only a moment, then you nod. You guess you’re doing this. Like you used to do.
Like before.
With your eyes trained on one another, the next minutes are silent as you both lift your t-shirts and let them drop to the floor. Your shorts and his pants go next as your heart begins to race.
And it’s almost silly; you’d stripped next to one another not even an hour ago. But–that was different. That was…that was a practice for this, you guess. It was private. Just hesitant little peeks at exposed skin. This isn’t like that at all.
This room is small and the air is still, the space between your bodies next to nothing. There’s no way to hide and also no use: you don’t want to hide. You only divert your eyes to step out of your underwear and twist around your bra to unclasp it, but it’s momentary, and when you’re fully naked, you look back up and find Sy entirely nude, too.
He’s thick and hairy as ever, chest covered with swirls of dark hair leading downwards as it narrows into a long broad strip over his stomach. Beneath, it’s somewhat bushy yet still trimmed, and as you try not to stare there for too long, you move your eyes lower to rake over the straight hair trailing down his large legs.
Just as you’re taking in Sy’s body, he’s watching yours, and you take a deep breath, briefly feeling self-conscious. It’s been such a long time that you're worried that maybe he won't even be attracted to you anymore.
Sy’s always been this work of art to you–scars and flaws and all–and it's a lot to live up to.
He loosely puts his hands on your hips, staying away enough so that no other parts of his body touch yours. “I’m allowed to look?”
“Of course,” you quietly murmur. “You’re my husband.”
“And you’re my wife,” he replies just as quietly. “So why’re you actin’ shy?”
You whisper your admission. “I’m nervous.”
“About what? Me?”
You inhale deeply.
How do you even explain this?
“We ain’t gotta do anything.”
You start shaking your head. “No, that’s–it’s not anything like that.”
“All I want is for you to…" He sighs. "I just want everything to be alright.”
“It is, it is," you reassure. "I just..."
Sy gives you a second to finish.
Looking and sounding foolishly young, you bite the side of your lip and ask, "Do you...like what you see?"
His fingertips twitch over your hips, and it's just then when you finally make eye-contact with him again that you realize his pupils are blown.
He clears his throat. "Very, very much."
Feeling like this is the first time you've ever been together or something, you smile and reply, "Me, too."
“Why's it look like you’re ‘bout to cry again?"
You try to chuckle. It comes out odd.
“It’s just been a long time…since…and what I feel inside me is–it’s this giant thing,” you try to explain, lifting a hand to the left side of your chest. “So huge it’s like my heart’s pressing against my skin trying to get out. Like it could burst or something. And it’s…it’s just a lot. And I just don’t want to mess anything up…If that makes sense.”
You’ve been looking away, but when Sy’s thumb starts caressing your skin, you meet his eyes again. “Don’t think you have to worry about messin’ anything up, baby,” he says. “That’s my job.”
You immediately want to deny his words and tell him how untrue they are, but at the wry look on his face, you don’t. He’s got his dry military gallows-humor embedded within him, you know, and though his words may be blunt, they come from a place of grim acceptance of his role in what’s been going on these past few months.
You lightly place your hands over Sy’s wrists where they’re still at your hips. “Not anymore.”
His eyes bore into yours. “Not anymore.”
He offers a small and somehow serious smile. “I feel the same way you do. You gotta know that. This is a…huge thing, and I already came so close to fuckin’ it all the way up. And I really couldn’t live with myself if…” He clears his throat. “I mean that.”
“That won’t happen,” you reply, tattooing this moment in memory–Sy talking about feelings. “Because we’re good now.”
He leans in and carefully kisses you, and all those emotions from the forest come back. The emotions from when you’d picked up the roses on the porch come back. The emotions from years past, of being the sole object of his adoration, of marrying him. A giant firecracker going off inside you, a million pop-rocks exploding in your stomach, a warmth that coats your entire body–all of it.
Your fingertips dance over the backs of his hands still holding your hips. You have too much inside and nowhere for it to go except his mouth. It’s easy since his beard isn’t scratchy whatsoever–it’s soft, and his lips are soft, and his tongue is soft, and everything’s tender, and you mentally keep repeating we’re us we’re us we’re us.
Sy breaks away first, and after staring at you for a long moment, he opens the shower curtain and turns on the water. He even holds his hand out to steady you while you step inside.
He enters next, and you’re so close that you can feel his dick brush against your skin as he turns around to slide the curtain closed. You look down and bite your lip. Just from kissing, he’s filled out.
You both have to stand sideways in order to feel the warm water and not block it from one another, and in the narrow bathtub, that leaves hardly any room at all to move. Facing Sy, you lean back against the wall, and he puts his hands on your hips again. He watches your expression before stepping even closer to you.
When he says, “We always used to be good together,” you nod at him.
“We did,” you agree.
He repeats his words from earlier in the woods. “What we had was good.”
“It was.” You nod again.
And then he’s right there again–warm and shamelessly close, everywhere. He’s so close you can feel the coarse flattened hairs underneath his chest pressing wetly against your breasts, the thickness of his feet planted outside your own, the stiffening between his legs poking your lower stomach.
“I’ll make it good again.”
Like he's giving you time to come to terms with all of this, or say no, or say not yet, he stands unmoving and just holds you until the tension drains from your shoulders, until your heartrate settles, until you can lift your arms and wrap them up around his neck.
“It’s not just a one-person job, honey,” you say, turning to rest your face atop his chest. “Not everything’s always on you.”
In turn, his hands slide around from your hips to your back, pulling you in closer, and he hugs you back. You close your eyes.
For long moments, things are quiet but for the water spraying on your bodies and falling to the floor. When Sy breaks the silence, it’s to say, “We’re still us.”
You look up and meet his eyes, then his mouth. Saying those words like a mantra makes this reality believable, both for him and for you. Despite all the challenges from the past and the ones inevitably to come in the future, you’re more or less the same. You're still yourselves at the core.
Both you and Sy smile simultaneously. “You’re sayin’ all the same things you said in the woods.”
“‘Cept this time you ain’t against a tree,” he replies while inching forward, “and we don’t gotta stop.”
You soon find yourself being carefully pressed against the shower tiles, one of Sy’s large hands cradling the back of your head while the other grasps your waist, and when he kisses you, there’s a desperation that doesn’t necessarily match the tenderness of his touch, but a vulnerability that definitely does.
He kisses you like he needs you to breathe, jaw working intently and mouth working strongly, and you want him back just as much, but it's just–it’s a lot all at once.
Over his beard, your hands move to hold him in place while his pursed lips open and close, partly as a way to try to tame the kiss, and partly as a way to simply steady yourself. When everything gets more urgent and deep, your lungs protest, and you need to break away. Your hands find Sy’s pecs and softly push there, but it’s no use; he’s all muscle.
Instantly, he’s panting in your face, mouth dislocated from yours. His eyes move quickly all over your face. “Too much?”
“No, it’s–I can’t breathe, is all,” you explain while gasping for air.
“Shit,” he says, panting, too. “I–Damn it, I just wanna–”
“Me too, me too,” you reassure. “Just–Maybe let’s slow down a little. We have…we have time.”
He listens. After putting both of his hands on the tiles on either side of your head, he leans down and kisses you again, and it’s shorter, shallower. It gives you time to relax and lower your hands to his waist. It gives you time for your fingers to start twitching before they grip too intently.
Sy starts carefully, and you follow his lead, just exchanging little sipping kisses–wet and soft and adoring, precious little things that you both want to covet.
When your tongue slips out to lick Sy's upper lip, he copies your action, and after you break away to look at one another in a bit of a daze, he goes back in and starts slowly massaging your tongue with his, now having the green-light for more.
Everything grows heady, your tongues and mouths working almost to the power of before, but you can tell Sy’s keeping himself and his speed in control. Still, making out like this has you gripping his skin, squeezing and trying not to pinch.
You feel like your knees could buckle and give out.
Sy’s grown entirely hard, and his cock starts to press against your stomach every time he moves.
“This okay?” he checks in.
Your voice comes out shaky. “Yeah.”
With another kiss, Sy runs a hand up your stomach until he reaches your chest, and he squeezes over the mound there before brushing his thumb over your nipple.
“Still okay?”
Quickly nodding, you hum.
“You can say no,” he says into your mouth. “You can say no to anything.”
“I don’t want to,” you slur into his. “Say no.”
With a smack, he moves his mouth to your chin, then your cheek, then your jaw. He follows the line of your throat as you tilt your head to the side, his mouth open and sloppy.
“Beautiful,” Sy murmurs against your skin.
You’ve forgotten this. You’ve forgotten how–much–he can be when he wants to be. The way he’s treating you, it almost makes you want to fly into the clouds, to melt entirely, to crawl into his body and stay. With how steamy the room has gotten, it’s easy to imagine yourself simply evaporating away.
Your hands travel up his stomach to his pecs where you grip at his chest hair. When he lowers his mouth to one of your nipples, your arms fall down, and you let out a shuddery breath as you feel Sy’s tongue start to move in circles.
“God,” you murmur, finding the back of his head and pulling him in. The urgency from before is coming back.
Sy stands up again, and his face is entirely wet, his beard dripping. There’s almost a look of pain across his features.
You finally look down at what you’ve been feeling against you for so long, and with your mouth open, you stare. Sy’s so hard it feels and looks like it hurts.
The next quick kiss has the desperation from before, needy and deep, and he begins making little inadvertent movements forward to slide his cock against your slick skin.
With a gasp, you tear your mouth away and lower your hands. You–you guess this is happening. You glance around at what you can brace yourself on.
“Hang on, hang on,” you rush out, “let me turn around real quick.”
Sy doesn’t move, and he stares at you for a second, just panting. “I–” He presses his forehead against yours and shakes his head. “Not like this.”
Still, your hand reaches down to wrap around the top of his cock, and with the first touch you’ve had like this in forever, you slide the hot skin all the way down to the root before pulling your hand back up. There’s hardly any give.
“Fuck,” he lets out, squeezing your arm, then shakes his head again. “Not like this, baby.”
“You sure?” you ask, stroking him again and feeling a smug satisfaction that you’re affecting him. “Just to take the edge off?”
“I–” He lets out a little chuckle-groan.
You find his frenulum and begin to rub tiny circles atop it with your thumb, causing him to curse. “Yeah?”
When he groans in a certain tone, you know that’s him consenting.
“Kiss me again,” you whisper over the running water, and Sy instantly does.
Everything comes back to you second-nature. You know Sy's body, you know what he likes. You know how to tease him and draw it out, and you know how to get him there quick.
Trying not to slip down the shower wall, you move your wrist slow and loose, not trying to be slow on purpose but simply trying to make him enjoy the next few moments before they’re over.
There’s only the feel of his cock in your hand and his tongue in your mouth, the sensation of his heartbeat inside your palm, his impending orgasm taking up the shower.
Eventually, Sy can’t kiss you anymore, and he presses his forehead onto yours again. Together, you share the same hot air while looking down between your bodies. You pick up speed then, able to focus better without his tongue in your mouth taking you away someplace else. Staying mainly at the top of his cock, you twist and pull and tighten your hand, and… it’s not long after that.
Sy firmly squeezes both of your arms right before groaning, “Oh, fu-uck,” and you keep gripping his cock while watching him desperately jackhammer himself into your hand.
When he starts rhythmically squeezing your upper arms and releasing, you feel a similar rhythmic pulsing underneath your fingers, and then you watch everything come out–first a few spurts upwards onto your abdomen, then a creamy collection that slides down atop your circled index finger and thumb.
Your hand stops moving, but you keep it where it is while waiting for Sy to come down.
“Fuck,” he repeats breathlessly, and he slides his wet forehead sideways against yours before he stands upright. He lets out a deep breath and a sideways smile, and when you rub your thumb over the head of his softening dick, he jerks forward and hisses.
When you finally let go of him entirely, he stands unmoving.
“God damn,” he just says, then he travels his hand down your sticky-wet stomach and pauses, looking for your reaction before going lower.
You put a hand on top of his and gently shake your head. You then look to the right to blatantly signal to the bedroom. “Maybe we should get out. We’re gettin’ pruney.”
Sy nods. “Gimme just a minute.”
He grabs the washrag hanging on the shower caddy and pours a fair bit of soap onto it before reaching out and literally beginning to wash you.
Starting with your stomach and then moving up to your chest where he spends much of his focus, he then washes your neck and your arms. With a little smirk, he leaves the rest for you, so when you’re done with your legs and feet, you rinse off the rag and put some of his own soap on it.
You wash him just as intently as he’d done to you, running over his shoulders and arms and chest and stomach, even his pubic hair and dick. You keep the washrag there for a moment.
“You good?” you ask.
He nods.
He’s being quiet. Too quiet.
“Are you–” You briefly look down. “Are you sure?”
Sy raises an eyebrow. “My dick still works, if that’s what you’re askin’.”
“You know–Obviously I know that,” you drop the washrag and say. “That’s not what I was gettin’ at.” In a gentle voice, you ask, “Are you okay?”
Finally realizing what you’re wanting to know, he smiles. “You fishin’ for compliments, baby?”
“Shut up,” you mutter. “I just wanted to make s–”
“‘M better than I’ve been in a long fuckin’ time,” he interrupts you.
A smile blooms across your face, a big smile, and Sy returns it, crooked and almost radiant. You haven’t seen him so carefree like this in so long.
You step out of the shower and shiver at the temperature difference, instantly toweling yourself off and then wrapping yourself up. After turning off the shower, Sy does the same, and then you slowly walk back into the bedroom.
You’re nervous again.
The early-setting winter sun has long left, and you don’t turn on the light in the bedroom, so the room’s only illumination comes from the bathroom. At the foot of your bed, you stop and look up at Sy, and he steps closer until his toes touch yours.
Then he reaches out.
Like he’s touching something precious, Sy loosens your towel where it’s secured over your breasts. He's seen literally all of you just moments ago in the shower, but when he opens the towel, he stares at your bare skin like it's a brand new treasure he's discovering. His expression is vaguely awestruck.
You look at him with wide, open eyes as you reach out and push his own towel to the floor.
He watches you for long, tender moments, then he mutters, “Get on the bed.”
Heart thumping, you walk around the mattress and climb onto the middle. Once you’re laying back on top of the duvet, Sy takes a second to stare at you some more, then he gets in bed and matches his body atop yours. You're chilly and gladly welcome the heat.
You open your legs for him, but he doesn’t give you his body weight yet. Instead, he trails his fingers up and down your sides, so light it’s almost ticklish, then he leans in, puts his weight on his forearms above your head, and kisses you.
You fall naturally into the rhythm of kissing again. It’s like you both don’t tire of it at all–you just want the connection. Sy makes love to your mouth, and it was good in the shower with water cascading around everything, but it’s even better like this–with him on top of you like you’re his, like he’s pouring himself down on you, like you're just a vessel.
Sy reaches down to take your wrist and lead your hand to the back of his neck. When it’s there, he runs his hand down the length of your arm and then underneath it where he holds your hip for a little bit. Ultimately, he just trails back up your abdomen to cup one of your breasts, and he holds there while his tongue swirls against yours.
All of the kissing has you squirming underneath him, and your movements become so insistent that he backs away and looks down at your body. Your half-lidded eyes watch his hand as he slides low low low to finally touch your pussy for the first time, and you gasp.
After he whispers, “You’re wet,” you breathe more heavily. Audibly.
Yeah, you're wet. You've been wet.
“You want this?” he asks.
You nod.
“You really want this?”
“Yeah,” you answer, moving and angling your hips upwards until you make contact with the dripping head of his dick. “I really do.”
He props himself up on one hand and looks down between your bodies to watch what you’re doing.
“We’re still us, Sy,” you remind him in a whisper.
“Yeah.”
He continues looking down as he takes hold of his cock and leads himself to where you're the wettest, and you break your attention from his slack-jawed face to momentarily glance in between your bodies, too.
When you start to feel pressure and then the absence of his knuckles against your skin, you suck in a gasp. It’s been so long that the piercing hardness almost feels foreign, and as Sy gives you more of his body weight, you squeeze his shoulders while inadvertently clenching your legs.
Slowly, just barely, Sy pulls out and pushes his hips downwards again, sending himself only a fraction deeper inside you, but already, you feel like you’re being stretched and filled to the absolute limit. With your lips clamped shut, you press your forehead up into his neck while you hold your breath and keep your noises inside. It’s just been so long.
“Fuck,” Sy lets out on an exhale, and you just dig your nails into his shoulders more firmly to keep him from moving any more.
He still tries to. Finding you unwilling to yield just yet, he seeks out your face, your eyes, panting in mid-air before pushing up his upper body to actually look down at you. Now unable to keep your face burrowed into his neck, you squeeze your eyes shut. It's just so–much.
“Baby. Hey. Look at me,” he says, breathless, so you do. You know your face is slightly twisted up.
The room is dark, but you can see all of Sy’s features. His dark eyes look almost pained in restraint and concern, all of his muscles tight.
“I’m okay,” you promise, quickly nodding in reassurance. Even just that comes out strangled. You can barely speak. “Just–gimme a second.”
“Fuck,” he mutters again, lowering his upper body and putting his forehead on yours, and you know he’s straining himself to keep still.
You’ve got to get used to each other again.
Breathing tightly, you nod at Sy a few moments later, and you’re wet enough that when you relax your legs, it’s easier for you to take more. Sy still holds back as he withdraws, though, forearms almost shaking against your own arms, and his lips quiver against yours while he slowly starts carving a place of his own again.
At one time, he’d already completely had you. Now, he’s returning to you.
And he’s not going to leave again. You're not going to give up again.
Reading when you widen your legs even more, Sy bottoms out with the next careful thrust. Unable to help it, as your body hitches up the bed a bit, a loud moan escapes your mouth. The noise Sy makes in return is similar to a gut-punch.
He must want to make sure your noise was a good one. “Tell me you’re okay. Tell me this’s–”
“I’m good,” you let out shakily while you grip the back of his neck with both hands. “I’m really good.”
Everything is humid between your faces. Sy kisses over your cheek while he remains entirely still, and after you tilt your hips up and start the momentum, he finally starts to genuinely move.
He starts slowly, just rocking his hips in tiny little circles without withdrawing at all, and it makes his pelvis continuously grind against your clit so that you’re starting to light up both inside and out. Quietly moaning with every breath now, you press the heels of your feet against Sy’s ass and push him even closer into you.
Sy slots his mouth against yours to kiss you just as deeply as he’s rocking into you, and you both tell each other with your little groans and whimpers how much you’re liking everything.
That’s when he pulls back a little. Slow at first, he’s deliberate with each thrust, but he works up a quicker rhythm within moments, spurred on by your sounds. Closing your eyes, you throw your head back and open yourself to him. You feel every bit of him against your skin. You feel every bit of him inside you.
With how quiet the room is, every noise is accented and obvious–the mattress moving, your mutually heavy breathing, the soft sound of skin meeting skin.
With a vulnerability you haven’t seen on his face since the first time you ever had sex together, he hasn’t looked away from you once. The way his eyes keep taking you in like he’s recording the sight of you to memory, it sincerely is almost like your first time together.
You stare right back at him, but–you can’t think. You can hardly speak at all. All you can focus on are the sensations overwhelming your body, and all you can do is whimper and gasp through it all.
You crane your neck upwards to kiss whatever bit of skin you can get your mouth on, and Sy twists his face over to meet your lips with his own. Under your fingertips, his skin feels different in places, and you memorize each spot.
You inadvertently turn slightly rough before long, scratching him while moving your hands constantly up and down his arms, but you’re just so pent up with the gravity of all of this that you don’t know any other way to let it out. Thankfully, he’s not overly gentle with you either, and his thrusts quickly turn merciless as your hips start grinding upwards to meet him.
With your mouth dropped open and unable to close, you can’t kiss him anymore.
If he keeps moving like this, you’re going to come.
Your eyes grow wide. “Please.”
“I’ve gotchu.”
Your whimpers and heavy breathing graduate to non-stop quiet moaning, and what brings out an actual high-pitch sound is when Sy pushes himself up on his hands, rakes his eyes all over your body, settles his gaze at your swaying breasts and mutters, “Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” almost as if to himself.
His knees dig into the mattress while your feet dig even more into his ass, and then there’s the rhythmic swaying of his balls slamming against you while both of you grow more vocal. Just as Sy’s face pinches and turns intense, he slows down, almost stopping entirely. Then, in an easy display of his strength, he suddenly leans down again, wraps his arms around you, and flips over.
Taking you with him, you’re entirely on top of him within seconds. “Ah!” you let out as your center of gravity teeters.
Suddenly Sy’s no longer inside you, and you’re too uncoordinated to fix it; your hips just rock against his pelvis while you try to get positioned again in any way that’ll give you the friction from before back.
It was good, it was so good, it felt so good, and you want it back, and why had he stopped?
“Go back in,” you hurry out, “go back in.”
Sy hurriedly pushes himself backwards on the mattress until he’s leaning against the pillows by the headboard, and he pulls you with him. It's then you realize how sweaty you both are.
Still breathing heavily, you stare at each other for a second, and Sy’s expression is almost a dazed look of wonder. He takes your ass in one hand and holds his cock in the other, trying to align with you again. You lift yourself up a little to help him out and ultimately take over impatiently, holding him and lowering down just the right way.
After he’s entirely spearing you, you both inhale sharply.
Though you still feel impatient, things lose their frenzy from before. You wonder if that was Sy's goal in flipping you over–to have this go on longer–because he wraps his arms entirely around you in the largest bear-hug ever and no longer sounds like he’s about to come.
You try dragging yourself up the length of Sy’s cock and then back to the bottom again, but with the position of your bodies, it’s shallow and only at the tip. When Sy stops hugging you to hold you at the hips, you’re able to move more freely, and while you start taking more of him inside you, you slot your open mouth to his and lick into his mouth.
His hands can’t keep still. He squeezes one of your breasts while lowering his face to lick around and suck, then he does the same with the other. Then his mouth is all over your chest, then the side of your neck, then your earlobe then your jaw then your mouth. You hold onto his head the whole time.
When your legs start to burn, you forgo riding him to switch to grinding against him, and that’s somehow even better. It keeps near-constant contact to a spot deep inside you, keeps you entirely stretched and full, and keeps constant friction on your clit against him, everything sticky-wet and slidey.
You lean your forehead onto Sy's, grip his slippery neck, and start breathing in his air. Your noses touch, and you purse your lips in an attempt to kiss, but you're uncoordinated and end up just barely touching his upper lip.
“Feel good?” he asks, barely audible over how heavy he’s breathing.
It feels so good. So good you can barely talk. “You don’t know how good,” you whisper.
He squeezes your ass and groans. “Yeah, I do.”
Spurred on by Sy’s hands on your ass pulling you in every other second, you rock together shamelessly. The rough calluses on his thumbs are as familiar as they used to be.
You’re so wet that it squelches when you rut together desperately, and those lit-up nerve endings multiply to the hundreds and then the thousands while building up stronger and louder and more and more, and both of you start moving together erraticly.
You feel so good you can’t stand it, and it only gets better with each second. You're sweaty and exerted but you just don’t want it to stop, you never want it to stop, and all you want is more–forever.
“I want this forever,” you slur, and that’s when things get urgent.
With force, Sy grabs the back of your head to smash your mouth against his. You’re still unable to kiss, and all you can do is moan into his mouth as you heavily breathe against it, your fingers holding onto him like a lifeline.
“Fuck, I can feel you,” Sy groans against your lips just as you rush out in a whisper-moan, “I’m gonna come.”
You couldn’t control it if you tried. As your climax entirely takes over, you don’t recognize how high-pitch your voice is when you whimper again, “Sy, I’m gonna–Sy.”
“Do it, baby,” he whispers. “Take everything.”
Sy’s wide-blown eyes stare intensely into yours until your mouth falls obscenely open on top of his own and your eyes squeeze shut, and with a loud cry, your legs lock and your pussy starts to convulse around on his dick.
The pulses take over entirely until they leave you quivery and overwhelmed. While your noises lessen from loud moans to tiny gasps, your chest rapidly rises and falls and your legs tremble against Sy’s skin.
“Oh, my God,” you say, and then again: “Oh, my God,” like it’s your new mantra, like Sy has to know everything you just felt. “Oh, my God, Sy.”
With Sy still rock hard inside you, sparks continue to pass through you like little jolts of electricity causing you to jut your hips forward from time to time, and it’s then that you feel Sy’s hands tightly gripping your hips to slightly lift you up and keep you in place. He holds your ass before quickly snapping his hips up, and, totally useless to do anything else, you clench around him as tightly as possible, staring ahead at his pleasure-drunk expression.
Soon, you lower your face into the damp crook between Sy’s neck and shoulder, and you suck a kiss there. Like he’s been holding back to wait on you, within moments, you hear him let out a few curses before starting to deeply groan from within his chest. It’s a coveted sound–your name a frantic whisper before a few desperate-sounding grunts, then groaning while he empties himself inside you. You feel it fill you up.
While Sy’s fingers remain gripping you so hard it’s though he’s worried you’ll leave, you keep your face planted into his neck, heavily panting. His rapid pulse thumps against your lips.
Sy’s hold on you eventually softens, and your breathing eventually grows lighter together. Nothing feels finished, though; besides wrapping his arms around you again, he doesn’t move at all, and you don't make any effort to get off him, either. You keep your head resting on his shoulder, keep your eyes closed, and keep trying to settle your breathing.
For a brief moment, you oddly feel like crying.
All your crazy emotions merge into one–grief, and arousal, and want, and hurt, and need, a yarn-ball of colossal fervor. This is the reunion you should’ve had when he came home all those months ago, the one you’d envisioned. The safety of having him back. The mutual love. The desire. Just the fucking comfort of someone knowing you.
God, you’ve missed him. So much you don’t even see how it’s possible, so much that you can’t even comprehend it.
Soon, Sy softens inside you to the point where you feel like you should disconnect, but even then, you barely move. You just don’t want to. Holding one another during the come-down feels like falling asleep while basking in the sun, like being shot with a tranquilizer.
Eventually, your body sadly protests the position. "My hips are gonna be sore like this," you mumble, still making no effort to dismount.
Sy slowly lays back, taking you with him. "Then move," he says, also making no effort to drop his hands from you.
You grumble, “You move.”
Chuckling, Sy juts his hips upwards, and you have a brief idea that maybe you should try to go again, but instead, you decide to lift your leg up and roll over. In the messy afterglow, you and Sy both stretch.
Your mind runs wild while his cum leaks out of you–Was that as good for him as it was for you? Is everything okay? Is everything still okay?
Thankfully, he doesn’t give you time to over-think, and he pulls you against his side when he realizes you’re no longer touching. Immediately, he reaches out to cradle your face, and he kisses you.
You kiss and kiss and kiss some more, and though they’re kisses without purpose, a thought enters your mind that maybe Sy does want more. When he detaches from your mouth and lowers himself down the bed, it certainly seems that he’s after more, and while you're questioning what he’s doing given the fact that your inner thighs are still sticky with him, he stops halfway down your body.
Seemingly overcome all of a sudden, he presses his cheek to your stomach, squeezing his eyes shut. He clutches you to him, an arm encircling your waist, another arm fully holding your still-sweaty lower back.
While you reach out to touch his closely-shaved head, raw grief for what you’d once had together rolls over you. You wonder if it does Sy, as well. You stare at the ceiling.
How had you drifted so apart in the first place? How’d you ever get to such a painful place where you both lived parallel lives without any intersection, without any sort of communication, without any sort of touch at all? How did it go on for so long? How did you go without this for so long?
It hurts–the despair of time lost–and yet you lay with it, making yourself really feel it. If you let it consume you this one last time, you'll know how you never, ever want to feel again.
Sy’s voice is quiet when he speaks his first real words since—before. “I never stopped, you know.”
Quietly, you ask, “Never stopped what?”
“Thinkin’ aboutchu. I thought aboutchu–I think aboutchu all the time.”
“Me, too, Sy,” you softly tell him, and you wish he’d come back up the bed so you could just hold each other properly.
Instead, surprisingly sudden, Sy’s shoulders begin to shake like they’re literally jumping. You instantly push yourself up on your elbows. He won’t let you see his face.
“Sy…Baby…”
Sy abruptly lets go of your body and sits up, turning away from you to go to the end of the bed where he places his feet on the carpet and his elbows on his legs. Quickly and roughly, he digs his fingers into his eye sockets. Even when you’re able to fully sit up to comfort him, he still won’t let you look at him, instead letting out an involuntary sound from deep in his chest before ending it with some sort of a snort and a cough.
Behind him, you put your forehead against the middle of his back and place a hand on the large scar atop his shoulder. Ultimately, you decide to wrap both of your arms around his torso, and even though your hands can’t meet together over his stomach, you hug him all the same. You’re both quiet for a long, long time.
“I know I ain’t exactly the same, and maybe I won’t ever get there,” he lets out with a gravelly voice, then he snorts again, “but I won’t go back to before. I’ve been workin’ hard. I won’t go back to before. I just. I want you to know that. I want you to see.”
“I do, baby. I do see it,” you respond, and you tighten your arms the best that you can to hug him tighter.
It’s when he puts his hands on top of yours and squeezes you back that suddenly the emotional release you haven’t been aware you’ve even been suppressing happens for you, too, and without warning, you find yourself outrightly sobbing against his spine.
You aren’t sad. You’re happier than you’ve been in forever. It’s just so much, you love him so much, and he’d hurt you so much, and you missed him so much. Your eyes well up and burn and leak while you’re overcome with jerky, snotty cries.
“Oh, hell,” Sy utters, turning around and looking at you with wide eyes.
“I just want our life back,” you cry.
He easily takes hold of your waist and helps you slide back up the bed until you’re resting on a pillow, and he tugs at the blanket to secure it over the both of you. Settling his head on the same pillow you’re on, he looks at you with red-rimmed eyes and puts his hand on the side of your face. There are millimeters between your faces.
“Shh,” is all he says while you let everything out. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I could be normal about this. I’ve just m-missed you for so long,” you wetly say. “When you were gone and when you were back, and now it–now it feels like you’re really back, and I’ve just missed you.”
“I never stopped thinkin’ aboutchu,” he repeats quietly.
Against the pillow, you nod. The sheets beneath you are dirty, and both of your bodies are sticky with sweat, and you’re crying, and he just got done crying and is trying to hide it, and you snuggle closer to him and place one of your legs in between both of his. You’re together as physically close as you can literally be.
“I never meant to bring you any of this pain.”
You wetly chuckle. “Sy, you’ve been through hell. I just–It’s okay now. You’re…You’ve let your walls down. That’s all I’ve wanted. And I know how hard it’s been.”
“For you, too,” he mumbles.
“Yeah. For both of us in its own way.” Sniffing, you just hold his forearm closer to your body, which is hardly at all. “But we’re okay.”
“Still us.”
Sofly, you smile. “Yeah. That’s our new sayin’.”
Just like earlier, you both hesitate to let one another go. You really ought to go to the bathroom, though, and you need to get dressed and change out the sheets where there are…remnants.
After laying together for a long, ling time, Sy is ultimately the first to get out of the bed. Naked, he walks to collect his clothes from the bathroom, and when he returns fully dressed again, you sit up and uselessly cover your chest with the blanket.
"...You’re stayin’ the night, right?”
Sy puts his hands in his pockets. “That’s up to you.”
“I want you to stay,” you say. “For good.”
He gives you a look that you interpret as…a lot of things. I’m sorry. I love you. I shouldn’t’ve ever made you cry.
“Then it’s settled.”
Feeling slightly nervous again, you smile without showing your teeth. “Okay, well…I’m gonna put some clothes on and start gettin’ something ready for supper, then.”
Sy walks to your side of the bed and leans down to kiss your head. His thumb slides along the puffy skin underneath one of your eyes before he straightens all the way up.
“I’ll go clean up from lunch,” he says, and you nod.
In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face and stare at your reflection. Your hair is disheveled and your eyes are pink, but you don't care.
You clean yourself up before getting re-dressed, and you stay in the room by yourself for a minute, just looking around. Things feel utterly surreal.
It takes time for you and Sy to get in calmer headspaces together after the intensity from before. You both sit on the couch and start watching the middle of some movie that’s playing on cable, and later on when it’s done, you work together side-by-side in the kitchen–Sy chopping up food and you actually cooking it all.
“We gonna cook supper together every evenin’ now?” you ask.
He smirks. "If I move back in, then yeah."
"You said it was settled."
"Thought that was just for tonight," he says lightly.
"No, you're moving back in for good," you comment before pointing at him with the spatula. “But I still want our weekend dates.”
He smiles down at the cutting board. “Yes ma’am.”
You eat dinner together on the couch with glasses of water, and you watch football until you feel like going to sleep.
Everything has been purposefully lazy and easy between you after such a cathartic release, but it’s there in bed after your respective nighttime routines where it gets heavy for you again. You’re going to be sleeping beside one another.
There still feels like so much guilt between the two of you, regret of time missed. You’re married, and this is the first time you’re happy to go to bed next to Sy in…forever.
There’s Hope now, and it’s filled the entire house, and it’s on your side.
Also on your side is Sy himself. Because his body simply radiates heat, you can’t truly cuddle or anything, but you’re closer than you’ve been in months while you both drift off to sleep. The fingers of his outstretched arm touch the side of your leg all night.
________________
The next morning, you wake up to Sy spooning you from behind, and with the morning chill in the room, you’re actually grateful that his body’s like a furnace.
Under the covers, you’re sleepy and lazy and warm. You’re caught in that hazy post-waking-up window where you’re too comfortable to actually get out of bed but not sleepy enough to fall back asleep, and there’s a conscious buzz in the air that’s palpable. You know from Sy’s breathing that he’s awake behind you.
When Sy slots his large leg in between both of yours and wraps his arms around you a little tighter, he lets you know that he’s aware you’re awake, too.
Your body tightens in a stretch. “Mornin’.”
In response, he just grunts a little. One of his hands reaches underneath your shirt to start caressing your bare stomach.
“Sleep good?”
The next grunt is more happy. Affirmative, then.
You chuckle. “Me, too.”
You’re both quiet after that, but before too long, you feel Sy’s dick literally twitching through his boxers as it starts to press against your ass.
You twist around slightly to look at him, but you can barely see his face. “Really?”
He leans into the back of your neck and breathes in your scent. “You feel good.”
You let out a smile despite him not being able to see. When his hand starts exploring more suggestively, tracing along the top of your sleep pants, you hum.
“This okay?”
“Mmm.”
Together, you both shift so instead of laying entirely on your sides, you’re both halfway on your backs. With your right leg draped over his, it’s easier for Sy to continue touching your navel and then above, just feeling your skin underneath your shirt. He trails his hand lower, but he stays atop your pajamas while touching the tops of your legs and then, finally, the spot where they join.
You remain quiet while his hand starts a slow, circular rhythm, but your breath hitches, and you just let the sensation wash over you.
It’d be nice to turn your head to kiss him right now, you think, but it’s the first thing in the morning, and even this is nice–being so so close and so so comfortable.
Blindly, you reach behind you to slide your hand either into or above Sy’s boxers, but he doesn’t let you. “This’s just for you.”
You move your hand away. “Why,” you start to tease, thinking of last night’s shower, “‘cause you have to be even with me?”
At the nape of your neck, you feel a huff of air exit his nostrils, followed by the press of his lips. “‘Cause I didn’t have any manners last night,” he says lowly while pushing down your pants, and you know what he’s talking about. Normally he’d try to make you come first. Normally he’d do more.
Under the covers, you kick off your pajamas and your underwear together. “But, Sy, everything was–”
“Relax,” he interrupts. “Just enjoy it.”
You roll your eyes, but they just end up closing as his fingers slide down your slit and just barely find slight wetness below. It’s not much, but when he slides his fingers around and goes back up to rub your clit with what he’s collected on his fingertips, it’s enough lubrication for everything to feel soft.
Taking off your pants messed up the angle you had just a minute ago. “Open up for me,” Sy says.
Instead of complying, you squirm and lift your leg entirely off of his. Laying flat on the mattress beside him, you widen your legs and finally look at his face. His eyes are puffy with that just-awoken sleepiness, and his lips are a little dry, but he’s just as handsome as ever. His eyes are dark, but they’re bright, and he gives you a little side-smile that you instantly return.
As he changes the movement of his fingers from circles to little left-and-right motions, you start breathing quicker. It’s insane how good he is with just one hand, but then again, it shouldn’t be. He’s always known your body.
Soon his fingertips dip lower where you’re wet enough now that he entirely coats the tips of his fingers. After doing so, he slides his hand upwards then downwards again, then again, and again, repeatedly gathering slickness and spreading it all over. It’s indulgent enough that you have to close your eyes.
Sy focuses on just your clit after that, going back to larger circles and then finally to tight, quick ones that have your hips jumping up and your breath gasping and ultimately, your body crashing. Everything locks up for one long moment, and you’re washed in the feeling of being known and being loved and being wanted.
Even with your entire body buzzing and a dopey smile on your face, you can’t help yourself from reaching down to trail your thumb over the tip of Sy’s dick over top of his boxers. That was so nice.
“Was supposed to be just for you,” Sy utters, but he still moves to lay on his back when you sit up and start to slide down his boxers.
“And this is gonna be just for you,” you tell him, moving in between his thick legs to pull his underwear all the way down. Your head rings with the sudden shift in position so soon after coming, and it also rings with the view you’re presented with.
You keep the blanket around your shoulders and Sy’s legs. After running your hands up and down his thighs and taking in your share of him, you lean down, take his cock in one hand, and slowly lower your mouth. While you swirl your tongue around and suckle just a little, you look up through your lashes to find him already staring down at you, his eyes droopy.
With the salty-skin taste of him covering your tongue, you start moving your mouth. Sy reaches down and traces your lips with one of his fingers, then he puts his hand on the back of your head. He keeps it there without pressure as you use your mouth and your hand in tandem to get him off, and the sun shines in the room and the blankets are bunched around your bodies and nothing feels gross and everything feels right.
You’d been shaky and desperate after coming under Sy’s fingers, but now, with him staring down at you with a lazy desire you can feel through whatever invisible string it is that connects you both, a brand new intimacy rushes over you.
Everything is safe.
The days go on. Sy officially moves back in. Things continue to evolve into a semblance of normality again.
You go to work, Sy goes to the VA. You begin joining some of his therapy sessions with him, and you learn how to support him in the way he actually needs, not just in the way you think he needs.
He begins taking medicine at night to help him get to sleep and to keep night terrors away. He buys you flowers every week. He makes contact with his old friends again. You even go on double-dates with some of them. Poker continues, but not as much as before. He grows his hair out a little.
You have a sex life again. Still, there are times when he doesn’t want sex, and there are also times when you don’t. There are times that you catch him staring at a television set that’s turned off. There are times that his eyes look like he’s watching something far, far away. There are days where he doesn’t leave the house, and there are days where he doesn’t want to be home at all.
When the weather gets nicer, he goes back to his old pastime of fishing. You join him on the lake sometimes, but he enjoys the alone-time on the boat so much that it’s not very often. He never goes to a spot without cell reception.
Most especially, you still go out on dates every Saturday, and they no longer feel like small apologies. Instead, they’re just moments of togethernes– sometimes just fast food and the movies, sometimes long strolls and picnics, sometimes fancy restaurants.
You know it’s not easy for him–that civilian life in general isn’t easy for him. You know that what he’s been through has changed the wiring of his brain. You know that he has to actively put effort every single day into forming new habits and erasing the bad ones, into compartmentalizing memories in his head to cope with them better. Into remembering that who he is inside isn't just what the military built him to be.
On the way home from one Saturday night date–a suit-and-tie and cocktail-dress place–it really hits you how far he’s come. You keep staring at him in the truck as you unbuckle your seatbelt, and again when you make your way to the front door together.
You love him.
Sy pauses with his keys still inside the handle of the door. “What’s this look for?”
“Hm? What look?”
“You keep lookin’ at me like I’m a prize or somethin’.”
“Well, you are,” you murmur with a little smirk, stepping ahead of him into the living room. “Just..I’m proud of you.”
Sy follows and shuts the door. “Proud’a me, huh?”
“Mmhm. You’ve been workin’ really hard these past few months.”
He slightly chuckles, but you can tell he really appreciates the praise and recognition.
“Maybe I can make somethin’ else hard, myself,” you murmur, and it’s more of a joke than anything else.
Still, Sy’s nostrils flare when you finish your sentence, and with a small smirk, you quickly turn around to kick off your heels. Just as quickly, Sy reaches out and firmly touches your chin, making you look over at him again. “Don’t look away after sayin’ somethin’ like that–Christ.”
You innocently blink. “What?”
In a confident move you relish in, he takes hold of your shoulders, turns you around, and presses you against the door at the same time he lowers his mouth to yours. On your tip-toes, you make yourself taller, and while Sy lowers a hand to grasp your waist, his other wraps around your neck to cradle your head.
“What?” he mocks, then he kisses you like it’s been on his mind all night.
While you lift your hands to grasp his shoulders, your lips fall into cadence naturally–though it takes a few seconds to match his specific speed. It’s heavy, but it’s not rushed, so you’re still able to breathe and keep it going. He kisses so well that your legs clench together, and that only makes you slide down the door.
Sy kisses along your jaw and behind your ear before lowering his mouth to your neck and paying close attention to your pulse-point. Your mouth drops in arousal, but as a certain image enters your head, you let out a little laugh.
He detaches from your neck before dropping his forehead to yours. "What’s so funny?"
"Just something I remembered,” you tell him.
“What?”
“When you came back from bein’ stationed in Germany.”
Sy pauses, and as the memory washes over him, too, you watch as his eyes soften in recollection. He chuckles against your mouth while putting a knee in between your legs, widening them to press his leg against your pussy. “Had us a good reunion that time, didn’t we?”
Looking up at him while biting your bottom lip, you just nod.
“Those days when we couldn’t wait none and did it right against the door,” he chuckles, moving his hands to your hips and then widely splaying his fingers out as he trails both of them down your thighs and then around to cup your ass.
“All our clothes still on,” you add.
Sy grins. “Pulled your panties to the side, got my pants down to my knees. Didn’t even take my boots off.”
You accept another kiss from Sy and then say against his mouth, “You tripped 'cause it was so dark."
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.” You can’t help but smile while he keeps trying to kiss you. “Knocked your big head right into my face."
Sy squeezes your ass cheeks. “Still ended up findin’ the right hole, didn't I?” he challenges.
You're smiling too largely to continue to kiss again, but Sy finds a way to steal another one from you anyway. "You're good at that."
He laughs, and you feel his smile against your mouth, too. "I sure as hell’d like to think I am."
“Let’s go find out,” you say, and as you playfully escape his hold and scurry ahead of him to get to the bedroom, he easily catches up to you and smacks your ass.
Cackling, you jump on the bed and lay on your back, casually bending your knees and leaving them slightly open so that when Sy instantly settles directly in between them, he’s easily able to push your dress up to your stomach and slide your underwear down your legs.
The next thing you feel is his hot mouth and tongue all over your inner thighs and then your pussy, laving lazily before flicking and sucking at the top where you’re most sensitive. When two of his big fingers easily dip into your wetness and start smoothly pumping in rhythm with his mouth, you bite your lip and undulate your hips upwards.
Sy looks up at you and reaches out his free hand, and you entwine your fingers with his before running your fingers through his hair. With his mouth never pausing, you stare at one another for a few heavy moments until he starts crooking his fingertips upwards against your inside walls, and you gasp and throw back your head.
You have to close your eyes, but when Sy squeezes your hand, you squeeze back. You’re in the middle of what should be a crass act–Sy’s mouth is insane–but all you can think right now is how right you feel, how good you feel, how at home you feel.
Warnings: nothing much in this chapter but some really faint flashbacks and general PTSD.
Words: 16k
“The bad stuff never stops happening: it lives in its own dimension, repaying itself over and over.”
–Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried
“I have been where you fear to be. I have gone where you fear to go. I have seen things you don’t wish to see. All these things I have done for you.”
–Author Unknown
A mind-fog overtakes you the next week.
Between spacing out entirely in a strange state of disassociation, you spend every other waking minute on hyperdrive, overthinking everything. Everything. Everything you and Sy had said to one another, everything you and Sy had done to one another, everything that had happened in the past year, half-year, month, week, weekend. All of it runs through your mind, zooming by and colliding in the recesses of your brain, and even when you try to escape it in your sleep, it still trickles its way into your dreams.
Internal justification of your behavior wars with your ongoing guilt, sometimes coming out the victor and sometimes submitting to defeat. While your ego speaks loudly in your hindbrain in support of your decisions, your conscience speaks just as loudly to cover you in shame.
Shame often wins.
After all, you’d run from the conflict with Sy. You’d fled. You were given something too difficult to handle, and you just…ran away. To your parent’s house, of all places. So that you could be a child for a weekend. So that you could hide.
Sy’s never had that luxury. He's always had to face everything head-on. More than just that, he's had to lead people through it. And now that something’s happened that you can't seem to handle, you escaped it entirely. You abandoned him.
Even as the guilt spreads through you, it’s not long before you automatically begin arguing with yourself in your own head again. He’s been running away, too. Maybe not to an entirely different home like you had done, but to the basement every night. To the bars and the poolhalls and the endless poker nights with friends. He’s been the person pushing you away in the first place.
But still–every time those thoughts try to worm their way in, you try to stop them before they can form any substance. Sy’s been silently struggling, too. For a long time. His actions have been the only way he’s been able to deal with the aftermath of returning to his home-country again, and you have to remind yourself that though this is difficult, it’s a two-way street. You’re both dealing with your own issues here.
And so your thoughts go–back and forth, and back and forth again.
It's amazing, the perception of time. While the two days making up the weekend at your mom and dad’s house passed excruciatingly slowly–staring-at-the-ceiling slowly–all five days of the weekday pass at warp-speed.
You guess that's just how it is when you have something to look forward to.
And you definitely are looking forward to seeing Sy again on Saturday. There’s no point denying it out of some silly preservation of your pride. You are. There’s true hope for your relationship again. Within a vase on the nightstand next to your bed, it’s in bloom. Not wilted at all. Not even a little bit.
Bright, and pretty, and…hopeful. With a note-card still present signed Your Sy.
During the week, you and Sy communicate, but only through texting, and only at night. When it’s late and you’re cloaked with the type of bravery that only comes from being in a dark room under a large blanket in bed, you send him messages wishing him a good night’s sleep, and he does the same to you.
Always, you covet his responses.
By Saturday afternoon, a casual-sounding yet intentionally-sent text appears on your phone, asking if you're still on for tonight’s date. Simple and to the point, there’s still a possible antsy undertone you pick up from it.
Maybe he’s just as nervous as you are.
After simply replying with the word ‘yes’, you send a second text saying that you're looking forward to it, and then you add a red heart beside that for good measure.
The restaurant Sy’s taking you to is, like he told you last week, somewhere you’ve never been before. You know nothing about it besides that it’s in the city and is supposed to be fancy, and you don’t really know how to feel about that. You and Sy don’t really do extravagant things.
When the evening rolls around and you’re all showered and primped and waiting on the couch in a nice dress and high heels, there's a tell-tale prickling in the palms of your hands that you can't get rid of, followed by a layer of embarrassing sweat breaking out.
Despite the coldness from outside seeping its way in the house from the old windows, your hands continue to grow hot, and the heat only spreads throughout your body, making you antsy. You wipe your gross palms on the sofa and glance at the time on your phone with a nervous, clenched jaw. The instant the time changes over from 6:29 to 6:30, you hear Sy’s truck pull into the driveway.
You take a deep breath and try to loosen your jaw and your shoulders.
Right on time.
You stand up and look in the mirror beside the couch for a few moments until you hear a few thumps at the door. The fact that Sy has a key to this house yet he's chosen to knock does something weird to your already-prickling hands.
After opening the door with a nervous energy, you stand frozen for a minute while taking a look at the man before you. Sy’s wearing an actual suit. The image takes you aback so much that your mouth falls open.
He’s wearing an actual suit, and he’s got an overcoat on and a nice pair of shoes, too.
Everything’s intentional. The relatively early time of the date. The restaurant he’s chosen. The outfit he’s decided to go with. The message is clear. He’s trying to let you know he’s making an effort.
“You wore your hair down," Sy finally comments instead of offering a more traditional greeting, and upon hearing the words, you lift a hand to touch it.
“I did,” you murmur with a breaking voice. You clear your throat.
After a few more moments that Sy spends just taking you in, he finally murmurs, “Dress looks nice," and you almost want to laugh.
Finally, you grab your jacket by the door and put it on. “You don’t gotta butter me up, Sy.”
“Just tellin’ it like it is,” he simply replies, and there's a little mirth in his eyes, but there's also a reservation that's unusual for him, like he's being careful.
You remember the early, early days when he used to be careful like this. He’d still be slightly mischievous and daring in the way that only Sy could really get away with, but he was always deliberate.
It used to be endearing. Now, after all the time you've been together, it still is, only now it's somewhat sad.
“You look nice, too,” you tell him quietly, and after giving you a sideways smile that actually makes you weak-kneed, he then displays a small bouquet of red carnations he’s kept hidden behind his back.
In surprise, your lips part before transforming into a small, shy smile. You slowly accept the flowers in your slightly sweaty hands and bring them to your nose. “Well, thanks, Sy.”
Running your eyes all over the pretty flowers, you’d easily stand exactly where you are all night simply staring at them in wonder, but you make yourself stop.
“Just, uh–Wait here just a second,” you hold up a finger and say, “and I’ll throw these in some water real quick.”
Your heels click against the floor as you scurry into the kitchen for a vase, and it’s then that you notice the little card on the side of the bouquet that matches the one that was on the daisies Sy recently gifted you. Even though he’s hand-delivered the flowers directly to you, there’s still a note he’s written on the card: Remember what I said last week. -Sy.
Remember what I said last week… Remember what I said last week…
Well. He’d said a lot of things last week. All of which you’ve overanalyzed ad nauseam. You’re not sure which exact thing you’re supposed to be remembering.
You flip over the card and read: “Did You Know? Also meaning ‘my heart aches for you,’ dark red carnations stand for deep love and affection.”
If someone would’ve told you a month ago that Sy’s heart aches for you, you would’ve laughed. Now you stand entirely motionless in the kitchen and ache right back. You take a shaky breath and set up the flowers on the kitchen table.
Remember what I said last week.
After locking up the door behind you, you step out onto the front porch again with a small smile and an odd feeling. You love that you’re going on a date with Sy, and you love that he got you flowers again, but you can’t help but instrusively think that he’s only doing this to go through the motions of what he feels like he needs to do.
After giving you a somewhat tight smile of his own, Sy leads you along the front yard with a hand on the small of your back. Despite the thickness of your jacket, you feel the warmth of each individual finger.
But–So what if he is going through the motions? That’s what this is all about. He’d put it on the card on the daisies last week– ”I’d do anything in the world to make this right.”
Remember what I said last week. Maybe that’s what he’s talking about.
Sy opens the passenger door of his truck and makes sure you’re able to make the gargantuan climb into the cab with the heels you’ve got on before shutting the door for you. As he walks around the front of the truck to the driver’s side, his headlights shine on him, and you notice him uncharacteristically looking downwards at his own feet.
Once he’s inside sitting beside you, his cologne wifting through the air, the space feels intimately tight. It’s the closest you’ve been with Sy in…forever. If not physically the closest, then definitely emotionally. Along with the unique scent of him being so near you, there’s a sort of heaviness, too, a thickness of unspoken emotion.
Though the truck’s engine is still running, Sy doesn’t move to put it in gear. He doesn’t even lift his hands to the steering wheel.
After several moments of silence, you glance at him and clear your throat. “How’ve you been doin’ this week?” you chance asking.
Looking devastatingly broody and handsome, he looks over at you. “Fine.”
“Really,” you correct.
He takes a few seconds to think of his answer. “Okay at best.”
Briefly, you look down at your own hands in your lap, and, just like you, Sy clears his throat.
“What about yourself?”
“Same,” you let out quietly, and then he sighs.
And then it’s quiet.
“Sucks without’chu around,” Sy eventually comments.
You silently nod. You're glad he's being honest. Blunt, but honest.
You just have no idea how to respond. The house feels cold without you home, too? I want you to come back even if we’re probably not ready for that yet? How did everything get to this point? Did you know I love you so much it hurts?
Sy saves you from having to speak by throwing the truck in reverse. While glancing at the road behind him, he briefly stretches his arm along the back of your head-rest. Once on the pavement, he switches gears and accelerates, and the loud engine sounding out in the night air fills the silence.
He takes familiar turns throughout the neighborhood until navigating down busy roads you don’t typically use, then after a few minutes, he merges onto the highway.
You’re heading into the city. The buzzing in the palms of your hands returns.
The engine and the dim radio are the only sounds in the truck for a long time, so you get the feeling that the two of you are going to just wait until you’re actually at the restaurant before you have any type of discussion. You keep sneaking glances at Sy as he drives, though, and there’s a look in his eyes while he stares ahead that you just can’t place.
“Hang in there for me,” is what he’d told you.
And that’s what you’re trying to do.
“What’d–” You clear your throat, finding it dry. “What’d you do this week?”
“Not much of anything,” he answers, and he lifts his hand to his truck’s turn-signal before switching lanes.
You perk up a bit as he starts to exit the highway; you must be getting close now. “Me either,” you conversationally reply. “Just work.”
As Sy looks over his shoulder to check his blind-spot before switching lanes again, you realize that you’ve probably picked a stupid time to try to chat. He probably needs to focus.
“At your office or you just been workin’ from home?” Sy asks.
“At the office,” you clarify. “It’s been busy.”
He hums a little, then asks about the situation at your job. When he remembers the name of the coworker you’d been slightly struggling with a few months ago, you acknowledge yet another effort he’s making. Even though you know he’s dealing with way worse internal shit than the stuff that’s been going on at your office, you share some news about the most recent meetings you’ve had and some of your upcoming projects.
It’s a boring topic, but for what it’s worth, Sy seems interested while he continues to drive along busy streets lined with tall buildings. Eventually, he pulls into a parking garage, and it’s quiet again while he slowly hunts for and finds a spot large enough for his truck to fit.
After parking and getting out of the truck, Sy wordlessly takes your hand and begins leading you down the parking garage ramp. The gesture is less sweet than it is purposeful; you can tell by the way he’s keeping you close to him that he’s nervous about being in this environment. Over his shoulder, he clicks his keys twice until his truck beeps, then even after confirming it’s locked, he clicks them again.
“There were some really good reviews that I read online about this place,” you casually mention. “Everyone said it’s really nice…that it’s in a good area.”
Instead of replying and making more small-talk, Sy just squeezes your hand.
Your heels click along the cement underneath you while you step out onto the sidewalk. Immediately, despite the cold weather, you’re in a sea of activity: tons of people are on the sidewalk, some loitering, some walking, some playing music.
“Move your purse to your inside arm,” Sy directs, and he’s so quiet that you barely catch what he’s saying until he momentarily lets go of your hand.
While you glance up at him questioningly, he actually removes your purse from your shoulder for you. You drape it over the shoulder of the arm that’s closest to Sy before he takes your hand again and resumes walking.
“Nobody’s gonna…” You let your statement float out into the cold air, unfinished.
Remaining stiff beside you, Sy finally ends up jay-walking to a less-crowded part of the sidewalk across the street. He pulls out his phone. “Should be a few more blocks,” he murmurs.
You hum in acknowledgement, taking time to look at each shop, restaurant, and building you pass until you feel Sy start to slow down.
“Here we go,” he says, one hand moving to your lower back while the other opens a door with the restaurant’s name on it.
“Whoa,” you utter once you step inside and are hit with a wave of warm air. The place is huge. Huge and busy and…expensive-looking.
Sy navigates through a crowded lobby-area to approach a hostess behind a tall table. “Syverson,” he tells her. “Reservation for two.”
After you’re escorted to your table, feeling like a celebrity for being seated so quickly, Sy unnecessarily helps you take off your purse and jacket before you sit down. He lingers by your side for a minute, glancing at the newly-bared expanse of your back, and his fingertips touch the exposed skin there.
When you’re both finally seated in front of one another, you clasp your hands in your lap and nervously look around at everyone and everything. You’re in the middle of the room, and off to your left is a long, dim bar with backlights highlighting shelves of glasses and liquor bottles. Patrons wearing pretty clothes sit along the bar, knees touching their neighbors while conversing in hushed tones over background classical music playing. The other tables host nicely-dressed couples quietly chatting and eating.
The place is seriously nice. Really nice.
Sy’s in a suit.
Once he’s removed his overcoat, you're able to get a better look at what he’s actually wearing. Forgoing a tie, his white dress-shirt complements his light eyes, unbuttoned a little more than is necessary to expose curly chest hair. The suit itself is dark gray, and, in contrast to his beard, looks just…astonishingly handsome.
He’s always cleaned up nice.
“This almost reminds me of that military ball we went to that one time,” you utter.
Sy blinks as memories of that night must come to him. That was a good night. After you’d come home from the event, you’d…It was a good night.
Simultaneously and a little wistfully, you both smile at one another.
Your silent moment is interrupted by a waiter. “Good evening,” he says before politely introducing himself by name and procuring two thick leather-bound menus. “Would you also like to look at the wine menu this evening?”
You raise your eyebrows at the waiter and then look at Sy.
“Go for it,” he tells you.
“Sure.” You clear your throat and try to use actual manners. “Yes, please.”
There’s a tablet the waiter provides you with gloved hands, and after accepting it, you scroll through literally dozens of pages of wines as he politely steps back.
The options quickly overwhelm you. “Just a–Just this is fine,” you point to a red and order.
The waiter nods. “For you, sir?”
Sy looks up. Without any scruples, he says, “I’ll just take Miller if you have it.”
After clarifying, the waiter nods and says, “Right away.”
You have no idea how to behave when the waiter returns and makes a big display of presenting and opening a bottle of wine in front of you, going so far as to offer the cork to you.
With it in your hand, your mind blanks, and you look around in confusion until spotting a gentleman sniffing the cork that he's just been offered. You don’t know what the cork is supposed to smell like, but you awkwardly smile and nod at the waiter after briefly putting it up to your nose.
“Uh–Great,” you brightly say. “Thank you.”
After your wine is poured, you look across the table to find Sy smiling at you, his shoulders slightly shaking.
“Shut up,” you mumble, but you’re smiling back in no time, as well. His top tooth is crooked. These days, he rarely smiles largely enough for you to witness his actual teeth at all.
While Sy takes a first sip of his beer–given to him in a bottle and then poured into a fancy glass–you shift your weight in your chair and nervously touch the tablecloth draping close to your lap, disearnestly looking at your menu.
“Anything else exciting to share about your week?” you ask, grasping at straws here. You take a long sip of your wine to make yourself at ease, but in the back of your mind you're aware that if anyone were watching you, you'd come across uncivilized. You're supposed to swirl the liquid first. Plus, no one straight-up gulps wine.
But apparently you’d gone and mistakenly ordered an entire bottle of wine and not just a glass, so…you may as well calm your nerves somehow.
“Not an awful lot, honestly. Went to the gun range,” Sy mumbles before lifting his glass and taking another drink. “Did the VA thing.”
Realizing he's not using the word “therapy”, you just comment, “Ah.”
“Stopped drinkin' a six-pack every night,” he adds with a small murmur. “So there’s that.”
You glance at his beer. "Down to just half?"
“Helps me relax.” He pulls his lips to the side for a second. "Helps me sleep."
You stare ahead at his face for a bit. His skin looks a little better. His eyes don’t look quite so exhausted. He’s cleaned up his beard. He looks great, honestly. Still, you’re worried.
“Have you been sleepin’ okay?” you try to clarify, but suddenly, the sound of a heavy pot clattering onto the floor in the back of the restaurant echoes out through the entire dining room and causes your shoulders to jump up as you gasp.
You–and about a dozen others around you-naturally turn your attention to the direction of the loud sound when there's another abrupt noise sounding out in front of you: Sy's just knocked over his entire drink. You whip your head back to the table just in time to see the contents of his glass actively spilling all over the tablecloth and onto the floor. His face is blank.
“Oh, gosh,” you widen your eyes and rush out before springing into action. While Sy turns the glass upright again with strangely shaky hands, you start gathering as many napkins as you can to sop up all the beer pooled up around it.
Within seconds, you end up getting your dress, hands, and forearms wet, but you don’t care. When you glance ahead at Sy, you realize his jaw has become stiff, and he looks almost angry. To an outsider, it would appear as anger, anyway. To you, you recognize it as his hyper-focused serious expression, and that’s when you realize that the sudden noise must have really affected him. He seems to be somewhere else.
“Well, that sure was loud, wasn’t it?” you calmly ask with a small smile, still trying to wipe everything up. “Guess one of the cooks dropped somethin’.”
Sy clears his throat, and you casually reach out across the still-wet table and put your hand out.
“In a nice place like this, I wonder if they’re still gonna have their job,” you conversationally go on in a stage-whisper, trying to be lighthearted.
"Guess there's my sign to lay off the drink entirely, huh," Sy mutters, reaching out to accept your hand.
Your face slightly falls. “A little moderation’s always a good thing.”
The silence that ensues after that pressures you into filling it with spoken words, with some sort of noise to distract your heart, but you don’t. You sit with it. You sit in it, just touching Sy’s hand.
When the waiter visits your table again, visibly rushing, he assists with the wet napkins you’ve piled up and even goes so far as to move you and Sy to another table despite your insistence that your spot–even with its wet tablecloth–is fine.
You suppose that at a place like this, a kitchen-mistake disturbing diners is extremely against the restaurant’s reputation, so now they must be overcompensating. You’re led to a low-lit secluded section of the restaurant where the waiter offers a dim booth in the corner surrounded by tall windows.
Upon sitting down, you’re presented with your bottle and glass of wine again. Sy orders a Coke.
It’s quiet while you try to sincerely focus on the menu to figure out what you’re even going to order here. “Whatcha gonna get?”
Sy turns his gaze to your face. “Huh?”
“To eat,” you say. “What’re you gonna get?”
Seemingly distracted, he pulls his hand from the table and drags it up to his beard. “The rib-eye, prob’ly.”
“Oh, yum,” you murmur.
“What aboutchu?” he asks.
Without looking up from the menu, your lips pull to the side. “I dunno,” you eventually stall. “I’m too indecisive…”
“No, you?” he jokes, and you glance up at him and truly smile. He's obviously in his head tonight, so it's good to hear him try to be funny.
“Well, it’s not like I can even pronounce half the things on this menu. I’ll look like an idiot if I say the food wrong.”
“I’ll handle orderin’ it, then, if you just tell me what you want.”
Moments later, the waiter comes back with Sy’s new drink. “Hi, there. Would you like to place your order or hear any of the night’s specials first?”
Sy looks up. “Just another minute,” he says decidedly.
“It’s okay,” you instantly tell him. “I’ll just have what you’re havin’.”
He stares at you from across the table, his eyes strangely intense. “Don’t settle for somethin’ you don’t really want just ‘cause you’re under pressure.”
“Um…”
“I’ll be back shortly,” the waiter nicely says, and without looking at him, Sy nods.
“Ain’t nobody pressurin’ you here,” Sy says again. “Decide whatchu wanna decide ‘cause you wanna decide it.”
Your bottom lip slightly falls. Everything feels like double-speak right now. You finally close your mouth and look back at your menu.
After conspicuously using your phone to look up pictures of the various words on the menu, you finally close the small book and look up at Sy.
“Verdict?” Sy asks.
“I think I’m actually gonna get steak, too,” you decide confidently. Sy seems to study you for a bit but ultimately just nods.
After the server takes your order–filet mignon for you and rib-eye for Sy–you make efforts to keep up some sort of conversation.
“I ran into Richard at the commissary yesterday,” you mention.
“Oh, yeah?”
You take a sip of wine. “Mm. Says you haven’t been showin’ up for poker lately.”
“Not for a while now,” Sy confirms.
You tilt your head. You guess that during the night of your first big argument, he just…stopped going.
“He invited us over for dinner with his family.”
“Mm.”
“I told him to just reach out to you to get plans settled,” you say, “but he said Fridays or Saturdays are best ‘cause of the kids.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a little more chit-chat after that, but when your food arrives, the two of you savor everything in appreciation with little conversation. Besides a slightly embarrassing moment of you accidentally spilling some of your wine, things go just fine, and afterwards, Sy covers the entire bill. You feel oddly guilty due to the price of everything, including the entire bottle of wine you’d ordered by accident and couldn’t even finish.
You even go so far as to apologize, but Sy waves it off. “You’re worth it,” he just says.
The drive home is pretty quiet, as well, and by the time you’re back in your driveway again, the finality of the date being over slightly depresses you. You make no move to get out of the truck, instead staring out the window at your front door. Everything was nice, but now Sy’s dropping you off, and he won’t be coming inside.
To the home that’s just as much his as it’s yours.
Beside you, Sy clears his throat. “Did you like everything?”
You turn and look at him. “Hm?”
“The food,” he utters.
“Oh! Yeah,” you reply, trying to make your eyes convey excitement rather than dejection at having to go inside alone. “I really did.”
He chuckles. “You’ve always been a bad liar.”
“I’m not lying,” you say with a small smile. “I did like everything.”
“But…”
“No buts,” you clarify. Sy continues to stare at you until you nervously laugh. “What?”
Sy shakes his head. “Nothin’. So.” You curiously watch as he reaches into the front pocket of his coat and pulls out a very tiny gift bag. “I, uh. I gotchu somethin’.”
You squint your eyebrows in confusion. “You already paid for dinner and got me flowers,” you mumble. “Twice now.”
He chuckle-scoffs before offering the small bag to you, and with a somewhat anxious hand, you reach out and accept it.
“Sy…”
“Well.” He nods towards the gift. “Open it.”
You reach inside and feel a small box. It’s obviously jewelry of some sort, but you’re skeptical. Besides your engagement ring, Sy has never really gotten you jewelry.
After the fancy restaurant tonight, you’re almost expecting something way too extravagant for your taste, something that would blind you when opening the box, but when you do, it’s nothing like that.
It’s hand-made costume jewelry.
You look down at the plain, pretty earrings and genuinely smile, honestly relieved to feel a little more down-to-earth again.
"Wow,” you say softly. Though it’s stupid, you feel spoiled. Flowers, a nice restaurant, a present.
He nods. “You, uh.” He clears his throat. “It ain’t much, but. We were at a store one time and you said you liked ‘em.”
“That was, like, a year ago,” you murmur. You pick up the earrings and immediately slide them on.
Sy’s eyes are gentle and bright, twisting at the edges as he smiles at you without showing any of his teeth. He reaches out to move your hair back and looks at the jewelry hanging from your left ear.
“Do I look pretty?” you joke.
His answer comes out a little quiet. “All the time.”
“Thanks, Sy.” Your voice softens as you add, “For everything.”
A beat of silence. “So,” he proposes. “Next Saturday. Same place, same time?”
You look at him in surprise. “What, like—to the same restaurant?”
“Nah, I meant—” He stops to smile– “here. The house. Same time and place to pick you up. For dinner. If that’s somethin’ you’d–”
“Oh, absolutely,” you interrupt.
“Okay, then,” he says quietly, and then he finally gets out of the truck. You follow suit.
At the door, you stall, standing directly in front of Sy with your face expectantly lifted. He moves towards you slowly, being deliberately careful. Under the front porch light, you watch as his eyes travel around the different features of your face before pausing at your lips and then settling on your eyes. Instead of being dark and intense, his own eyes are oddly wide and vulnerable.
With your breath taking form in the cold air between your faces, you take a small step closer to Sy and hesitantly touch the open flaps of his overcoat. After he cups your face with both of his hands as if you’re delicate, the two of you just stare at one another.
His cologne has seemed to soak into his skin by this time of night, mixing with his natural pheromones and turning his scent even more heady in contrast to the cold air surrounding you. In magnetizing diziness, you lean slightly forward as your eyelids flutter shut, and the next sensation you feel is his wet lips against yours, his beard against your skin.
Soft and sweet and still overly-careful, Sy’s kiss tastes of regret. It’s like you’re outside your parents’ house with tear-tracks on your face, desperation and anguish and guilt all warring with one another. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of his coat you’re holding onto while you try to morph the kiss into something else, anything else, but then it ends, and you’re left with only chilly air against your mouth.
You drop your hands and tightly smile. “Night, Sy.”
“Night, darlin’,” he replies, finally dropping his hands from your jaw, as well, and he just stands there staring at you until you finally turn towards the door.
You feel like you should ask him to come inside. It’s his home, too. Having him walk back to his truck–It just feels so wrong. He should at least come inside for a little bit.
…But then what if things turn to shit? What if you have an argument? What if it’s too soon? You’ve gotten along this entire night. What if that doesn’t last?
You take a steady breath. You begin to ask, “Didju wanna–” just as he’s jutting his chin back to the truck. He beats you to it and asks quicker than you can: “Didju wanna go some place for dessert?”
Your mouth parts while you try to comprehend what he’s just said, and he sighs at himself.
“I know it’s bad timin’ since we’re literally already here, but I, uh.” He runs a hand over his shortly-cut hair. “Feel like I’ve sorta fucked this night up from the start, so...”
Your eyebrows bunch together. “What?” you ask in sheer surprise. “What do you mean?”
“This isn’t–” He scowls at his shoes.
“...This isn’t what?” you prompt.
There’s a long silence.
“I want to take you out to nice places,” he finally looks up and explains. “I do.”
You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know what he’s getting at. “It was nice,” you insist. “I wasn’t lyin’ in the truck when you asked about the food–”
“It ain’t that.”
“Then…What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “I know I ain’t the best at this, ‘s all.”
You blink. “At what?”
Sy makes a vague gesture to what he’s wearing and then to his truck. Your eyes follow his movements until you start to put together his meaning.
“Hey, it’s–Maybe we’re just a little out of our comfort zones because it’s been so long,” you quietly say. “But it’s okay, Sy. It really was a good dinner. I had a nice time.”
He glances at you for a moment before putting his hands in his coat pockets. “Didju wanna go get dessert with me?”
Biting your lip, you gratefully smile. “Yes.”
A while later, you and Sy find yourselves occupying a small booth side-by-side at the local Wendy’s, a large chocolate frosty with two spoons shoved inside it resting atop the table in front of you. A ridiculous smile overtakes your face.
Before diving into the thick milkshake he’s just bought for the two of you, Sy takes off his overcoat and his actual suit jacket, too, wasting no time in unbuttoning the sleeves of his dress-shirt and pushing them up his forearms to the elbows.
“I know you hate wearin’ suits,” you say before sliding your spoon in your mouth, “but for what it’s worth, you really do look nice in it.”
“Then that’s what matters,” he responds with a little mirth in his eyes.
You grin as he places both of his elbows on the table and then picks up his spoon. You’re so close that your forearms are touching. Besides the front porch just a few moments ago, this is physically the closest you’ve truly been all night.
“Don’t think they’ll want us back at that nice restaurant for a long time, though,” you conversationally go on. “The first drink that spilled was totally an accident, but when I spilled my glass of wine, too, that probably took it too far.”
“Yeah, guess you don’t wanna embarrass yourself in front of another wine connoisseur, d’you?”
You smile. “Oh, shut up. That entire thing was so weird how he presented the bottle and–”
Sy snaps his fingers. “She tells the truth.”
“I liked it,” you maintain, elbowing him slightly. “It was just…super fancy.”
“Which is a bad thing?”
You shrug and then briefly look away. “Not if you only did it ‘cause you felt you had to.”
“Did it ‘cause it’s what you deserve,” he easily replies. “It’s what you’ve always deserved. I just need to get used to it again.”
“Yeah, me, too,” you murmur.
It’s quieter after that, though thankfully not awkward. With the both of you entirely over-dressed for where you’re at, you joke around together until your chocolate frosty is entirely gone.
The next time you find yourself in front of Sy on your porch, the mood should be much different this go-round, only it oddly feels the same. The same morose expression on Sy’s face. The same hesitance and regret that the night’s ending.
“Guess this is goodnight for real,” you murmur.
Sy looks at the front door. “Guess so.”
“Hey,” you utter, beckoning him to look at you. “Don’t look so sad. Now we get to kiss again.”
Sideways, Sy smiles, then steps closer to you. The way you both wrap your arms around one another is more natural this time–your arms wrapped around his waist, his broad arms around your entire frame.
You turn your head to rest your cheek against his chest and let out, “I missed this.”
“Me, too,” he admits, then–“Missed what?”
You slightly shake your arms to convey the act of hugging, then you squeeze him tighter. “This.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles against your hair. He moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head. “It’s crazy what you lose when…”
“Hm?”
Instead of responding, his fingers catch you by the chin to guide your face upwards. There’s a moment held in suspension while the both of you stare at one another, then within an instant, there’s Sy’s hot mouth covering yours, his breath strangely quivering.
You bring your hands up to cup Sy’s face right back, and with your fingers in his beard, you memorize every movement of his jaw. The kiss isn’t fast, or needy, or deep, but it carries you away nonetheless. It’s back-and-forth rippling, both of you relearning and remembering how you fit together. It’s healing.
When it’s over, the world around you spins for just a bit. You’re left exhaling visibly in the space between your bodies, probably too overwhelmed from just a kiss, but then again, Sy’s breathing quickly, too, little bits of water vapor exiting his mouth in quick white puffs to show you that he is, too. The tip of his nose is pink, and his eyes look heavier than before.
You nervously clear your throat. “Did you–Did you wanna come inside?” you risk.
Sy briefly closes his eyes. When he opens them, they’re vaguely troubled.
“Or–I mean–Nevermind, it’s okay,” you immediately amend. “It’s fine. I-I don’t know what I was even thinking.”
He finds one of your hands and loosely takes it in his.
“I just wanna do this right,” he tells you while rubbing the back of your hand with his calloused thumb, and you nod, not knowing exactly what he means. Ultimately you just look down. “We said a month.”
“Yeah,” you mumble, “but it’s not like–”
He interrupts, “I’ll keep puttin’ in the work, goin’ to the VA. And I’ll be back next Saturday. You just–You just keep hangin’ in there for me.”
While he squeezes your hand, you quickly nod.
“Hey,” he says a little louder, and you finally look up again. “Can you do that?”
You smile softly at the determination in his eyes. “I can do that.”
“Good.” His free hand grazes your neck before he leans in and kisses you one final time. “Next Saturday,” he says against your lips.
You repeat his words: “Next Saturday.”
Reaching inside your purse for your house key, your fingers are strangely shaky–due to the cold, you presume. You let yourself inside, and before shutting the door again, you lift up a silent hand to wave goodbye to Sy, the same hand that holds the ghost of his touch.
He lifts up a hand in return.
You aren’t able to shut the door directly in Sy’s face, so you turn around and push it shut with your back. After you hear it click shut, you slide all the way down the length of the wood and sit on the floor, staring out into the empty living room with your mind running a hundred miles an hour.
_________________
The next week finds you in a more carefree headspace than the week before. Your body feels lighter, and somehow, so does your mind. Your nights are almost dreamless. It’s clear-headed and comfortable and exciting, even, as your nightly texting with Sy evolves from a few words at a time to sentences. You imagine you’ll probably move on to actual phone calls soon.
The plan is to go to another restaurant with Sy on Saturday evening, someplace a little more casual yet still reservation-worthy at Sy’s insistence, and he said he’ll pick you up at 6:30 just like last week. When Saturday actually rolls around, however, you’re disappointingly rushed and stressed for reasons not having to do with your upcoming date at all.
After getting called into work last-minute, it messes everything up. You end up running frantically late.
While you give it an honest effort to be entirely ready before 6:30, you fail extremely badly. By the time Sy’s heavily knocking at the door, you’ve only just stepped out of the shower, and when you hastily open the door, it’s with a towel wrapped around you.
Sy gives you a surprised once-over while standing entirely motionless on the front porch like he’s not allowed inside or something. A moment later, he shakes his head at himself and quickly steps in.
“I’m so sorry,” you say in a hurry. “I should’ve texted you–”
He immediately closes the door behind him to stop the cold outside air from hitting your damp skin, and you briefly take in his appearance. He looks so nice and put-together–just like last week except without an actual suit jacket–and you’re in a fucking towel.
“I had to go into the office today to finish up this important deadline,” you start to quickly explain yourself, “and then somethin’ else came up so I had to stay late–it’s a long story–then there was some water-main break on the road comin’ home, and somehow I still thought I could fit in a shower before you came, but–” You stop rambling and just heave a sigh, holding out your bare arms. “Here I am.”
Sy’s extremely quiet as he just listens to you finish rambling. “You don’t need to stress out none. Just me here.”
“It’s not just you. You–You’re important,” you mumble quietly, frowning. “You–And we had plans. You made another reservation.”
He shrugs. “I’ll cancel.”
You hesitate. “You really don’t have to do that,” you say, but he’s already pulling out his phone. “Seriously. I can–”
“Let’s just go somewhere here closeby,” he suggests.
“Okay,” you repeat quietly, lifting up a hand to clutch the front of your towel.
When you make no effort to move, Sy clears his throat while glancing away from your cleavage. “So, you wanna get dressed, or is it gonna be a clothes-off kinda date?”
Reluctantly, your smile grows, changing from shy to wide. “You’re so stupid,” you mutter as you turn around and head for the hallway.
“Why’re you smilin’, then?”
You mumble, “'Cause I can’t help it with you.”
Slowly, Sy follows you down the hall towards the bedroom. “You sayin’ I make you smile?”
"Maybe.”
You enter your bedroom and begin grabbing clothes from your closet, and you make it to the bathroom door before Sy's silence prompts you to seek out his eyes. The banter has been going well, but there’s another frequency that’s entered the room. Something not just heavy but dense.
While he stands at the foot of your bed, he puts one of his hands in the front pocket of his pants. The other holds onto his phone. “Seem to remember you sayin’ all I do is torment you, actually,” he softly utters.
Your face falls. You clear your throat and clutch the clothes you're carrying a little closer to your chest.
“Um. At the…At that time,” you look at the carpet and answer.
“At that time, but not now?” Sy questions, his massive presence in the room making the air feel thick. “Or…at that time, and still now?”
You lift your face to seek out Sy's sad, downward-turned eyes. You momentarily feel like dropping the clothes you're currently grasping in order to reach out to him, to hug him, but you hesitate.
“At that time," you whisper, "but not now.”
He sits down at the end of your bed. Your bed. Your shared bed.
“Well, that’s progress, then,” he states. “I’m gettin’ somewhere. Not tormentin’ my wife anymore.”
While an array of guilt and anguish and hurt hits you, your mouth bunches to the side. “Sy–”
“Shh,” he interrupts, shaking his head at himself. He goes so far as to rub a hand over his face. “Go on’n get dressed. You’re the one who said that supper’s gotta be clothes-on.”
“I…"
The shadows on Sy's face smoothe out, and his eyes regain the brightness from earlier by the front door. It doesn't take long for you to realize that he doesn't want to get into anything deep right now. Not yet. That he’s already feeling self-deprecating enough over slipping out what he already has.
"I didn’t say anything,” you reply, trying to find it in you to chuckle again. “You’re just puttin’ words in my mouth.”
Sy lifts his eyebrows and brings a hand to the front of his dress pants, appearing as if he’s preparing to undo his belt. “Then…clothes off?” he asks.
You roll your eyes and step into the bathroom. After closing it behind you, you finally drop your towel.
“You, uh–You look nice,” you say through the crack in the door. “By the way.”
Replying easily, Sy says, “I imagine you do, too, right now."
It’s been forever since he’s seen you without clothes on. You slide your panties up your legs and jump into your leggings before staring at your bare chest in the mirror. Tilting your head to the side in consideration, you grab your tits with both hands and lift them up.
Letting your hands drop, you pause. “Well, thanks,” you end up saying, still shocked enough to be quiet but loud enough so he can hear it.
While you hear Sy talking on the phone in the next few minutes to cancel his reservation, you put on your bra and the dress you'd picked out before sliding on the earrings he’d gifted you and then pointlessly messing with your hair. You spend the next few minutes applying makeup, and then, when you sigh and figure out that you look about as good as you’re going to, you step back into your bedroom in bare feet.
The sight awaiting you gives you so much déjà vu that you immediately pause in your tracks. Sy's sitting at the foot of the bed waiting for you to finish getting ready. Patient as he always used to be.
Back when you used to go out on regular dates together.
Which…You’re doing again?
Though patient, Sy’s still obviously a little broody–you can tell from the deepness of his frown, the downturned angle of his eyes. When you take a few steps forward to stand in front of him, you exhale heavily and offer him a nervous smile.
“Good?” he asks, smoothing out his face into another neutral expression, and you're frozen. For some reason, you're frozen. Right there in front of Sy. You can't move.
Maybe it’s because it’s suddenly so quiet. Maybe it’s because the last time you were in this room together, you’d had a massive fight and then ran out on him. Maybe it’s simply because you’re in your bedroom all alone, and he’s sitting on the bed you picked out together years ago, and he hasn’t slept beside you in weeks.
For a moment, you don’t know what to do or say. When you gently touch his cheek, he makes unblinking eye-contact with you. It’s then you realize how tired he looks.
There’s still so much obvious hurt between you. If Hope is now a part of this relationship, Hurt can officially now be added into the polycule, as well. The question is, which one is going to stick around?
“Good,” you confirm quietly. “Are you?”
“I’m alright, darlin’,” he says quietly. And then he puts his hands on his legs and stands up.
Tentatively, you push yourself up on bare toes and place the gentlest of kisses against his lips. The kiss goes nowhere, but it’s long, and it’s sweet.
When you lower yourself again, Sy smiles at you, actually showing his teeth. “You’re wearin’ the earrings.”
“I like them.” You bring a hand up to touch one of them. Sy does, too.
After clearing his throat, Sy walks into the hallway, and you follow. By the front door, as you’re bending down to put on your shoes, he lightly taps your ass. You playfully narrow your eyes at him while standing up.
“So, where should we go, anyway?” you shove your arms into your coat and ask.
He shrugs. “I’ll drive around ‘til we see someplace.”
That place ends up being a steakhouse. About fifteen short minutes later, you’re walking through the parking lot with Sy’s hand in your own.
“Our first real date was at one of these places,” you reminisce.
“It was,” Sy acknowledges. “I saved up for two whole months.”
A little too loudly, you laugh, and as he opens the restaurant’s door for you, Sy smirks in the familiar way he’s always done upon saying something that you find funny.
You know he’s thinking the same thing you are, too. The job he worked back in high school was horrible, paying almost nothing. He didn’t have much time back then to work a lot plus do all the extra-curriculars he was already involved in, but damn if he didn’t spend any free moment he had trying to earn money, anyway.
Saving for two entire months is a stretch, though.
There’s a small wait to be seated which you spend on a bench with Sy’s hand on your leg. While you look around with a hand on top of Sy’s, you absentmindedly run your thumb back and forth across his knuckles. The environment inside is just as dim as it was at the restaurant you’d gone to last week, but instead of being ritzy, this place is loud and lively and extremely casual. Without feeling high expectations to maintain proper etiquette, you relax against Sy until your surname is called.
Directly after you’re led to your booth, you order drinks from a waitress you catch staring at Sy for a few seconds too long, then you begin glancing at the menu before you.
“More steak?” you guess.
“Gonna do a burger this time,” he mutters.
“Ah.”
It’s quiet, and Sy studies you for a moment. “Havin’ a hard time decidin’ whatchu want?”
You smirk. He knows you well. “Maybe I’ll close my eyes and just point at something random,” you say.
The waitress comes back with your drinks a few minutes later and looks directly at Sy. “Ready to order yet, or would you like a few more minutes?”
“A few more minutes, please,” he answers before immediately glancing back in your direction.
While your eyes continue to rake over the menu full of options, Sy pushes up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing thick cords of muscle that are accentuated when he reaches out for his glass of soda. You’re unable to pay attention to anything else as he brings his glass to his mouth. His chunky watch resting on his right wrist glistens under the low-hanging overhead light, and you’re enamored just watching him for a bit. His shoulders and chest are so damn big.
You clear your throat and finally just place your menu down because you’re too distracted to look at it any longer. At your ongoing staring at him, Sy questioningly raises his eyebrows.
“You look nice,” you explain. “Your–Your outfit.”
Under the table, you feel Sy’s knee bump against yours. “You, too, but I already said that,” he replies, and then he winks.
You’re left stupidly staring at one another for a few moments until the waitress comes back. “How’s it goin’? Have you decided anything?” she looks at Sy and asks.
Immediately, Sy looks at you. You quietly mouth “I’m good.”
The waitress continues looking at Sy. “Would you like to start with an appetizer?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “The combo-plate for an appetizer, then a bacon cheeseburger for me–medium rare–with the steak fries.”
“Right away.” She looks at you next.
You clear your throat. “I’m just going to get the fried chicken dinner,” you politely tell her.
“Alrighty,” she collects your menus and says, “I’ll put all that in for y’all and be back with y’all’s appetizer shortly.”
“Thanks,” you murmur, and then when she’s gone, you tell Sy, “I’m gonna be so full when we leave this place. I didn’t know you were gettin’ an appetizer, too.”
“You liked the combo plate the last time we came here,” he quietly says.
Trying to think of the last time you did come here, you blink.
He’s…not wrong. You had liked it then. You can’t even remember when that even was, but you know you’d gotten the combo platter as an appetizer and had eaten almost all of it by yourself.
“Shoulda asked you,” he mutters when your silence goes on too long.
“No, no,” you say quickly. “I do still like it. I’m excited. Just…gonna be a lotta food.”
His face relaxes. “I toldju you’re gonna have to need your Thanksgiving pants.”
You take a tip of your drink through a smirk. “You said that for our date last week,” you remind him. “Not this one.”
“Takin’ you out for dinner and dessert didn’t have you changin’ into your Thanksgiving pants last week?”
You put your thumb and your index finger together to signal “almost” to Sy and continue smiling at his own stupid smirk he offers you.
Things are nice and light between you in the moments that follow, but when the waitress comes back with your appetizer and you both start picking at the food on the hot plate, you chance asking, “How’s it been goin’ at the VA?”
“Went twice this week,” Sy says, not actually answering the question. “Solo and group.”
“Oh, good,” you genuinely comment. “That’s good.”
“Yeah,” he replies non-tonally.
You take a bite of food and wash it down with a drink. “You disagree?”
He shrugs. “Just been…a helluva week. Been bringin’ up a lot of shit.”
You nod. “Is it easier with other people around that relate?” you ask. “Like, do the other people there have similar stories? At the group sessions?”
He shrugs while somewhat nodding. “Sorta similar.”
“I don’t mean to pry or anything if you don’t want to talk about it right now,” you mumble. “I’m just trying to…see how you’re doing.”
He meets your eyes and holds your gaze for a long moment. “It ain’t that. I don’t really like–” He sighs. “It’s hard to be the one doin’ the talkin’. Hard to talk about any of it at all.”
“Being vulnerable,” you murmur.
Sy grabs a buffalo wing from the plate and bites it. While chewing, he lets out a quiet grunt.
“But what if– Just hypothetically, what if it was one of your friends instead,” you propose. “...And what if they were havin’ some of the issues that you’ve been havin’? Or…that you’ve had. What would you say to them?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m probably not makin’ any sense,” you murmur. “I mean, like, what if they were tryin’ to get some help, and they were the ones at the VA? What kind of advice would you give them?”
Sy reaches out for a napkin to wipe off his mouth, and you watch his titanium wedding band dimly gleam as he moves his hand around. “What, durin’ groups?”
You nod and go back to eating your food.
“I’d tell ‘em to fuckin’ get it all out,” Sy ruefully says with a dark chuckle. “We’re all fuckin' scared sometimes. I always–” He glances up at you and then looks back down at his plate. “I always say it’s better to talk for a long time than to talk for the last time.”
“Mm. Yet you yourself don’t always follow your own advice,” you mumble with food still in your mouth.
He clears his throat. “Maybe not.”
“Why do you hold yourself to such a higher standard, babe?”
He steels his jaw. “'Cause I've got to.”
“Why?”
“You know why.” He takes a drink of his soda and slowly sets the glass down. He seems to mull over your question for a few moments, touching his beard before finally answering. “I’m the superior. I’m the one in charge.” He lowers his voice and mutters, almost as if to himself, “I was the one in charge.”
"Okay, but there're people in charge of you, and other people in charge of those people," you respond. “In the military, you’ve got those grades, right? Unless you’re literally just starting out, everyone’s literally gonna be the superior of someone else. It goes up and up and up. That’s just how it works. You’re always gonna be in charge of someone, but someone’s always gonna be in charge of you, too.”
“What are you tryin’ to say?”
“That you shouldn’t feel weird or–or stupid, or guilty, or whatever it is–for opening up and talking about everything,” you answer, but afterwards, you sigh, ultimately letting out what you’ve been wanting to say for a long, long time. “If you ever made a mistake–or, if you feel like you did, at least–then it was just that, Sy–a mistake. You were followin’ orders.”
There’s a beat of silence. “That’s not necessarily how it works.”
You tilt your head to the side. “So you’re sayin’ you were insubordinate or something?”
Sy narrows his eyes at your challenge.
“Guess you were just followin’ your orders,” you conclude breezily.
Sy sits back and crosses his arms, and you soften your features.
"It'll eat you alive if you let it, Sy. Don't let it."
He lets out a sigh as if releasing all air in his lungs at once. "Talkin’ about all my fuck-ups in combat is hard enough,” he admits, “but…it’s like I’m re-livin’ it. Like I’m lettin' everyone down a final time."
"Sy…"
"Maybe if I'd'a gotten to go to the actual funerals it'd be different,” he mumbles. “I dunno. Was stuck in hell tryna keep the operation from turnin' into a complete failure."
“And I’m sure that’s exactly what you did,” you say, reaching out and touching his knuckles with your fingertips, “and I’m sure that everyone’s thankful for you.”
“I don’t know if thankful would be the word I’d…” he trails off.
When it’s clear he’s not going to finish his sentence, you both resume eating the rest of the snack foods in front of you in silence for a while. Your actual dinner plates arrive sometime later, and it’s only after Sy’s finished half his entree that he actually talks again.
“There’re some things I don’t know if I can ever really say out loud, Y/N,” he admits without looking at you. “About what I’ve seen. What I’ve done. Not to you.”
You nod. “I get that.”
He puts down his half-eaten burger and finally makes eye-contact. “But I want you to know that it ain’t ‘cause I don’t…It ain’t ‘cause I think of you less.”
“You just don’t want me thinkin’ of you less,” you finish.
He stares at you unblinkingly–just open, earnest eyes.
“I wouldn’t, you know,” you almost whisper. “Think of you less.”
Briefly looking away again, he mildly shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”
“I swear that I do,” you immediately reply, and when Sy looks at you again, you let him stare into your eyes as long as it takes for him to see you’re telling the truth.
He wordlessly picks up his cheeseburger again and resumes eating, but underneath the table, he reaches out a foot and hooks one of his ankles around yours.
_________________
On your front porch with Sy again a few hours later, you both stall saying goodbye.
After rocking on the balls of his feet, Sy asks, “Had a good night?”
“I did, yeah,” you answer with a smile. “It was nice.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “‘Specially that part about funerals.”
"Are you forgettin' already that you openin' up is what I want?"
Sy lifts a hand to briefly rub the side of his neck. "It don't make good date-talk," he mutters, and you give him a look, tilting your head to the side.
“Yeah, well. I don’t care what you think you’re supposed to say or what you think you’re not supposed to say. I want to hear,” you remind him. “We can’t pretend none of it’s there. It’s…It’s the whole reason we’re doing this one month thing.”
Sy’s quiet, but he ultimately nods.
You let out a quiet sigh. “I just want you to believe me,” you look down and mutter.
“It ain’t that I don’t.”
“You just want to keep punishing yourself,” you murmur.
“I–” He slides a hand over his head and then drops it. “I’ve been runnin’ away from a lotta shit. I know I have.”
“I ran away, too, you know,” you quietly reply.
He frowns. “I pushed you away,” he corrects.
“But still. It’s not just on you here. You don’t have to keep sufferin’ all alone.”
You take a small step forward until your shoes touch his.
“I know that when we were–when we were arguing recently,” you say, “I said a lot of stuff that I know made you feel bad, and I hate that, but–it’s just ‘cause I’ve been hurt. But I entirely understand that you’ve been hurt, too. So if you’re ever ready to do the counseling stuff with me there, too…I’d like that.”
Without replying, he nods a little, his frown making his face slightly droop. After taking in a deep breath, he lets out a long, audible sigh just through his nostrils.
“I’m not going to give up on you,” you finish, swallowing thickly. “And I’m not going to let you give up on yourself, either. In sickness and in health, remember? In good times and in bad.”
You remain silent while giving Sy time to reflect on your words. Standing entirely still, he looks oddly choked up.
“I know I’ve said this already, but—” he clears his throat– “I really am sorry.”
You offer a small smile. “I forgive you.”
Sy shakes his head. “I don’t deserve it yet.”
“Why’s that?”
“I haven’t earned it,” he answers, and then he vows: “But I’m gonna.”
You don’t know what to say. “Sy…”
“It’s…” He looks down momentarily. “It’s a hard thing to admit when you’ve fucked up.” He lowers his voice even more. “Not just with your job. When you ain’t been a good man to your wife.”
A flaming arrow finds and momentarily chars your heart as it travels through your chest. “Yeah, but…the important thing is that you’re dealing with it,” you remind him. “That you’re moving forward. That–we’re moving forward. We’re here now. Together.”
The side of his mouth turns upwards. “Yeah, we are,” he says, and then, slowly, he leans downwards to meet your mouth.
Without embracing one another, your goodbye kiss is short. You don’t make a move to go inside once your mouths hesitantly break away, though, because you feel like there’s the chance to maybe talk more, to maybe kiss more. Just like last week…there’s a chance to smoothe over all of this hurt. Little by little, to salve the wound. To keep healing.
“Well…” You grab your house keys when you realize that your conversation must be final. “Goodnight.”
Suddenly, Sy touches your elbow. “That offer from last week still stand?”
You turn your face to look at him while unlocking the door. “What offer?”
He motions to the door with his chin and clears his throat. “Am I still invited inside?”
“Oh!” you let out, not sure why he’s changed his mind. “Uhh. Yeah. Sure.”
“Just a suggestion,” he murmurs, trying to be nonchalant and failing.
“No, it’s just–last week, you acted like you had this dead-set rule to not come inside for a whole month, that’s all.”
“Well, I gotta stop punishin’ myself now,” he tells you. “Wife’s orders.”
You look down and smile before pushing open the door and stepping inside. Like he’s been doing lately, Sy helps you out of your coat and hangs it up on the little rack by the door. Usually his cap and set of keys hang there, too.
After standing awkwardly in the room for a bit while Sy hangs up his jacket next to yours, you take off your shoes.
“You want anything to drink?” you ask, taking a few more steps into the room. “You still got beer in the fridge.”
“I’m good.”
Your reply is quiet. “‘Kay.”
Sy moves to sit down on the couch and naturally takes up almost half of it. “You can prob’ly just throw ‘em out.”
Taking a seat next to Sy, it’s surprising how naturally you lean into his side. It’s oddly intimate when he lifts his arm to let you move in closer. “What, you don’t drink anymore?”
“Been tryin’ not to,” he says, and before you can comment on that, he reaches for the remote and asks, “You still been watchin’ that one show you like?”
You softly chuckle. “You gotta give me a little more than that.”
“The one with that actor you like,” is what he goes with, and you playfully narrow your eyes.
“That’s not remotely helpful.”
“Yes, it is,” he genuinely smiles and says. “That guy with the accent.”
“Ooh, that show,” you realize. “I finished it.”
“Whatchu watchin’ now?”
You shrug. “Nothing. Just…whatever’s on until I fall asleep, honestly,” you answer. “HGTV. The Food Network. Boring stuff like that.”
Soon, Sy clicks to some sort of cooking show, and you can’t help but groan. “Ughh, not now, though. I’m still so full that I don’t think I can bear lookin’ at this.”
“Well,” he changes the channel and says, “I don’t know if I can compromise on the HGTV.”
You slightly elbow him. “Just put on whatever, I don’t care. You know we have Netflix.”
While continuously changing the channel, he takes his time to respond. “Yeah.”
You both end up agreeing to watch some new documentary on Netflix–an easy, safe choice. All the while, your fingers twitch where they’re smushed between your leg and Sy’s.
Don’t you still want me? you want to ask. Don’t you want me at all?
With his arm around you, his hand stays appropriately-placed, not moving at all. Not even to caress. He just protectively secures you. After analyzing his lack of affection as his way of not jumping into things instead of his way of showing he’s not attracted to you, though, you start to relax.
It’s not long before your mind slows down while staring at the television ahead with your head tilted against Sy’s body, and you begin to match the cadence of his breathing–deep and full, full and deep. Being so close to him feels nice and warm and heavy. While you sink more into the couch and more into his side, you let yourself melt even more. Your stomach is full and your body is slack, and your nostrils and head are full of Sy’s scent. It’s nice… and warm… and heavy.
The next thing you remember is an insistent shaking near your shoulder. It’s persistent enough that you bolt upright and realize immediately from your heavy, disoriented head that you’ve fallen asleep.
“Shit,” you swear, your eyes gritty as they blink open. “What time is it?”
“Close to midnight.”
Your eyes grow larger. “Sy,” you whine. “Why didn’t you get me up?”
Beside you, Sy answers with a shrug, but there’s some sort of soft look in his eyes that you catch before he looks ahead at the TV. “You looked tired.”
“Yeah, guess I was,” you admit, wishing you hadn’t had to work earlier in the day. Maybe you would’ve had more energy to actually stay up.
Yawning, you lift your arms above your head. Right at the same time, Sy audibly places both of his hands atop his legs.
“Guess I should prob’ly get.”
Still disoriented, you sit upright even more and rub your eyes. Everything seems too bright even though the only light is coming from the flickering television set.
You turn to Sy and stare at him. His face is just so stupidly handsome. “Huh?”
“I’m gonna go on and head out,” he says again before standing up.
“Oh,” you utter. “Okay.”
When you stand up, too, you notice flowers that are new inside a vase on the coffee table. You reach down to touch them. “Where’d these come from?”
“Accidentally left ‘em in the car,” Sy tells you as he starts putting on his jacket.
You softly trail the tips of your fingers across soft purple and pink petals. “These colors are really, really pretty together.”
When you find the bouquet’s card still within its little plastic holder, you lift it up and flip it around. Did You Know? Hyacinths represent deep sorrow, guilt, and forgiveness. Lotus represents hope , overcoming adversity, and emerging stronger.
“Do you..” You look up at Sy and drop the card on the table. “Do you get these flowers on purpose?”
Instead of playing dumb, Sy just stands there. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I dunno,” you mutter. “I just…”
Without any further response, you walk directly to him and hug him around the neck. His return embrace almost squeezes the breath out of you, and you’re grateful; he does still want you. When you feel him cradle your head against his chest before leaning down to kiss the top of your hair, you wonder–not for the first time and not for the last–how the fuck you even got to this place together.
When the silent, heavy hug has finally gone on almost too long, you lower your arms and step back. Almost longingly, you stare at one another.
“I love you,” you murmur.
“I love you,” Sy softly responds. “You don’t know how much.”
Sy holds your face underneath your chin while kissing you one last time, then he separates again, his eyes still vaguely troubled in a way you wish you could make disappear for good.
“Next Saturday,” he says before opening the front door, and you repeat his words.
This time, when he leaves, you stand under the front porch light and watch as his truck backs out of the driveway and then completely disappears.
In your bedroom, you take two long pillows and stuff them longways under the blanket on Sy’s side of the bed, making a vague person-shaped lump beside you. When you go to sleep, it’s to imagining the feeling of his arm around you on the couch.
__________________________
The next Saturday, Sy surprisingly mixes up the routine he’s created by picking you up at noon instead of in the evening, whichs means that both of you are gratefully wearing comfortable, casual clothes. While he stands on the front porch with a fresh set of flowers displayed in front of him, you’re happy to note that there’s color in his face again that’s been missing these past few months.
“Hey, you,” he says, and you smile brightly as you accept the bouquet.
“Hey, yourself.” You push yourself upwards on your tip-toes to give him a long kiss.
“Didn’t forget ‘em this time,” he says, and like you’d done the first time, you dash into the kitchen for a vase and flip over the card on the side of the bouquet.
Did You Know? Yarrows represent healing and love.
You can barely stop yourself from skipping on your way out the house to his truck. Maybe this date will be different. Maybe the ghosts that’ve been hanging around you both will have finally found someone else to haunt.
Sy opens the passenger door for you. “Hop on in.”
“Where’re we goin’?” you ask in slight excitement.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, waiting for you to buckle your seatbelt before closing the door. “Hope you don’t mind a bit of a drive.”
You wiggle on the seat. “Oooh. Road trip. Fine by me.”
The drive is long yet comfortable. Everything flows naturally, the music on the radio a background noise to the soundtrack of you and Sy truly coming together again. It’s helped that your texting has picked up this week, too, feeling like having true conversations throughout each day without either of you feeling pressured.
Eventually, you start noticing familiar signs and landmarks, and you turn to the side to stare at Sy.
“What, we’re headed to our hometown?”
Sy looks self-satisfied. “Yep.”
“Oooh,” you say again, aimlessly smiling while wondering what surprise is about to happen. “Goin’ back home.”
While paying attention to the road, Sy smiles in response to your pleased reaction. The skin by his eyes crinkles in a way you’ve always found endearing.
It’s nice.
It’s nice until it’s not.
Small droplets of water start to fall onto the windshield, and it’s almost instantaneous how quickly the lighthearted expression on Sy’s face drops. When those droplets start rhythmically falling quicker and heavier, covering the entire windshield and causing Sy to turn on his windshield-wipers, the mood within the truck entirely sours.
“God dammit,” Sy curses quietly, and you glance at him in confusion, unable to understand how he’s so perturbed over just a little rain. “Fuck.”
“Ah, it’s okay. It’s just a little rain,” you murmur, trying to chuckle, but another look at his face shows you exactly how surly he’s being. “Sy, it’s seriously okay.”
“It’s horseshit.”
"Okay," you utter in slight discomfort.
He sighs in apology. How you're able to discern what an apologetic sigh sounds like, you don't know, but it's clear Sy's aware of how he's coming across without meaning to.
“You…want me to drive or somethin’?” you ask, and he just shakes his head.
Your mind wanders. You start wondering if maybe he had a bad experience in the rain or something, something he’s never told you, something you need to be careful about discussing.
It just doesn’t make sense. You don't understand his mood. Things had been going so well so far. There had been Hope.
Moments later while at a stop sign, Sy finally turns his head to look at you. “Was gonna take you down to the river," he explains. "To our rock. Didn’t look at the damn forecast first.”
At that, your eyes soften. “Aww. Well, we can still go,” you insist.
“No, we can’t,” he mutters. “It’s rainin’.”
“We’ve got jackets on.”
“Hmpfh.”
“I wanna go,” you insist again, and Sy cranes his neck forward to look up at the gray clouds everywhere before giving you an unimpressed look.
“Ain’t lettin’ up any time soon.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Gonna be freezin’ cold.”
“Woulda been freezin’ cold with or without the rain,” you comment. You take hold of his arm and gently shake it. “C’mon. Drive there. I’m excited now.”
And so, with a resigned sigh and the barest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, he does.
In another ten minutes, Sy’s truck slows down while navigating a muddy back-road and then finally slows down under a canopy of trees.
“Everything okay?” you check in when he doesn’t make any further movements to get out the truck.
He rubs his beard absentmindedly. “I brought a buncha food in a cooler back here,” he gestures to the backseat and says. “Was gonna have lunch out by the water.”
“We could eat it here,” you suggest, unbuckling your seat belt.
He just stares at you. “Here,” he repeats. “In the cab of my truck.”
You shrug in consideration. “Nice view of the trees and stuff.”
Sy’s shoulders shake. “Nice view of the trees.”
“You just gonna repeat whatever I say?” you ask. “Yes, it’s a nice view of the trees. I happen to like it here.”
That’s an understatement. One of the reasons you’re so happy to be here is that it’s–it’s your spot. It’s the one spot you used to hang out together at when you were young, where you could be truly alone together. It’s not only nostalgic but is an incredibly meaningful decision on Sy’s part. It’s…borderline romantic as fuck, actually.
“Yeah, well.” He’s still wallowing over the rain, but he quietly responds, “Me, too.”
He’s put a lot of thought into this. He’s putting a lot of thought into this–all of this, the dating-his-wife-again thing. You know it shouldn’t be cute for him to be so grumpy all over a little rain, but you get it. He’d planned something. He’d planned a picnic.
He’s still carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s still blaming himself for not having every single thing go to plan.
Maybe it’s time you intervene.
You touch the door handle and pull it. “Actually, though… I don’t think I’m hungry just yet.”
“Huh?”
You push open the door.
”What in the hell are you doin’?” he stares at you and asks, and you stare right back.
“You told me we were gonna go to our rock.”
“That was the plan before the rain came.”
“And I said I still wanted to go,” you remind him. “We’ve got jackets on.”
“Y/N.”
“Sy,” you match his tone. “What, you afraid you’re gonna get your hair wet?”
Shaking his head, Sy smirks a little, the kind of smirk where he sticks his tongue in his cheek and you can still clearly see it even through his beard. “You’re crazy.”
“Yeah,” you simply answer. “It’s why you love me.”
Then you jump down from your seat.
“Woman.”
Soft rain instantly begins to make contact with your hair and clothes, and the droplets are slightly chilly where they land. By the time you make it to Sy's side of the truck, you’re noticeably wet, but you start to spin around until Sy finally opens his own door.
"C'mon," you urge, gesturing with both arms for him to step out. He remains still, just staring down at you while you spin around.
"Gonna tell me what you're doin'?" he asks while you get more and more wet.
"Well." With your arms outstretched, you spin again. "Right now I'm spinnin’, but I know you won't, so once you get out here I'll just have to figure it out as I go, I guess."
You hold out your hand invitingly, and Sy just stares at it, prompting you to insistently wiggle your wet fingers. “Come on,” you say again, grinning, and he finally concedes, trying and failing to hide a smile as he gets out the truck.
As rain instantly falls atop Sy's closely shaved head, you take in his steadily-wettening coat and jeans and smile. You didn’t think he’d actually do this.
Looking to the side where you know there's the path leading to the river, you momentarily peek back at Sy who’s assessing the forest with a stern brow, and you pause in consideration.
You don’t think it could be triggering for him in any way. He mostly goes to desert environments with no rain, so you're comfortable that this won't remind him of anything bad. This'll be a new memory. You start walking towards the treeline.
"Didn't your momma ever tell you goin’ in the woods durin’ a storm prob’ly ain’t the smartest idea?” Sy asks as he follows you.
“Oh, c’mon, it’s not thunderin’,” you say. “It’s not like we’re gonna get struck by lightnin’.”
“Just by a fallin’ tree,” Sy comments, and you make a face before chuckling.
“It’s not even rainin’ that hard. The leaves are filterin’ most of it. See? It’s not so bad anymore.”
He pauses and looks around for a bit, muttering under his breath. “Smells like duck shit out here.”
You frown. You know that he’s been mentally dealing with a lot lately in therapy, having to unbury all types of stuff he’s been pushing way down. You get that his behavior all month is largely due to it.
…Maybe you’re trying to be too playful here to counteract his negativity.
“You wanna go back to the truck for lunch?” you slow down and ask seriously, and Sy looks at you.
Realizing how he’s coming across, he pauses and reaches out for your elbow. He shakes his head at himself and gives you a slightly apologetic look.
“What’s the plan here?” he asks, and you shrug.
“Not everything has to be planned, you know,” you tell him with a soft smile, moving your arm to take Sy’s hand in your own. “We’re just goin’ on a walk. To our rock.”
Sy’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath, and then he steps ahead. “In the rain.”
“Yep,” you say brightly, and then, with a quick squeeze of his hand, you drop it before you’re off, leading the way for once. “Maybe we’ll find some nice frogs. Or worms.”
"Too cold for the animals to be out."
Fighting back a sigh, you peek at him from the corner of your eyes. "Just us, then."
The straight path is deep in various spots, causing water to collect in pools within ruts, and instinctively, you tap at the standing water with your feet, ultimately hopping into some of the larger puddles.
“This whatchu got into while I was on tour?” Sy asks nearby. “Playin’ in the rain?”
You jump two-footed into a large hole in the ground so that the water within it splashes all over Sy’s jeans. “Yup," you answer, and then you do it again. "Should try it sometime."
"You go right ahead," he says in amusement.
"Oooh, this one looks deep," you exclaim, finding a puddle that must be at least up to your shins, and you test it out. “Look at this one.”
Instantly realizing you’ve underestimated the depth of it, when you’re soon shin-deep in cold water, you squeal in shock. Laughing, you hold onto Sy.
The entire time he lifts you out of the rut, you grin. And then, with your socks drenched in water, you’re off.
“Y/N!” he shouts, but you’re too busy laughing.
This is where you’re from. This is your hometown. You and Sy have spent countless hours on this very dirt. You know the earth beneath you. The roots out here are on your side; they wouldn’t trip you. You leap over them easily.
“Y/N, it’s fuckin’ wet!” you hear from behind you, but you keep going.
You slightly slip on the mud underneath you as your feet take off more confidently, gleefully speeding with the thrill of being pursued out here like the old days. Figuring it could be an issue for Sy instead of good fun if you were to actually get out of his sight, you never go too far ahead where he can’t see you, but your head-start and your smaller stature are both on your side.
“Y/N!”
"I'm right here," you shout back, momentarily looking over your shoulder with a playful grin.
When you come to a briar patch, you stop, and you look side-to-side. There’s no clear path anymore to your left or right, and there’s no way to go through the bush in front of you without jumping over it, and that’s not happening; you’re having too much fun right now to get your jeans cut up.
Hearing Sy close behind you, you dart to the left, but instantly, he’s there. You squeal before you look around, and when you see another mud puddle off to the side, you jump in it quickly, instantly splashing Sy and cackling.
For the first time in ages, he genuinely smiles at you. It starts small, almost hesitant like it’s been all month, and widens and widens and widens until all of his perfectly white teeth show, the one at the top a little crooked. His smile grows until it almost turns mischievous, and then he crouches down, leers at you, and collides with your body in a gentle tackle. Breathlessly, you continue laughing, and then you find yourself being pressed against the damp yet rough side of a tree.
“Gotcha,” he says, almost victorious.
“You’re just too good,” you reply, out of breath. You let your body go lax, Sy’s hand cradling your lower back a buffer to the rougher parts of the bark behind you.
Sy’s heavily breathing in front of you, mouth agape as he heaves in air, and his eyes travel all over your face. You just stare back at him.
“Look where we are,” you whisper.
He looks around and slightly smiles. “We made it.”
You’ve been to this spot more times than you can count. You used to come out to this spot all the time–mostly with Sy alone, but sometimes with friends. You’d listen to music as you drank cheap wine-coolers and snacked on cheap food. You’d waded and you’d swam in the water here, sometimes clothed and sometimes not. You’d laughed under the sun and the moon.
Sy showed off for you here, doing pull-ups on the low-hanging tree-branches, lifting boulders and throwing them just because he could, teaching you about the species of birds and fish and wildlife.
More memorably, you’d race one another out here. Sy dedicated the entire year before he went into the military to training, and you made fun of him for army-crawling around in the mud back then because he’d look so ridiculous, but he took it seriously. You’d time how long it took for him to run to the barbed-wire fence by the cow field and back–a difficult trip over tons of tree roots, rocks, and poison ivy–and then you offered yourself up as a target to chase.
Just like you’d just finished doing a moment ago.
“We had a lot of good times out here, huh?”
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “We did.”
The expression on Sy’s face morphs from happy nostalgia to worry within seconds, noted by the angle of his eyes. “You coulda broken a damn leg doin’ that shit out here, Y/N,” he scolds. “Runnin’ like that.”
Instead of getting upset at his demeanor, you lift your arms and wrap your hands around his neck. “I’m wearin’ boots, Sy. And I was bein’ careful.”
“Still coulda happened,” he says.
“Maybe,” you respond calmly while patiently looking up at him. Even though he’s crouching down, he’s still massively large. “But that would’ve been out of your control.”
In response, Sy lifts an eyebrow at you, and you tilt your head to the side.
"You can't always keep bad stuff from happenin', Sy."
Sy’s face goes through a series of changes, and, as if it were really visible somehow, you watch without blinking as some of the weight of the constant pressure he puts on himself begins to slowly lift.
He still wants to argue with you, you know, but he’s not.
“You can’t control everything,” you repeat yourself, softer this time while your hands slide down to rest atop his chest. “Not the weather. Not me slippin’ in the mud. Sometimes things just…happen. Things that're beyond your control. And that’s okay.”
His eyes look weary when they look into yours. “I’m only tryna protect you, Y/N.”
“I know,” you gently reply.
“That’s all I ever try to do.”
“I know.”
“I married you ‘cause I love you, I fuckin’ do,” he forces out, fingers of one hand twitching against your back and fingers of the other grabbling for your waist, “and even if the person I have to protect you from is–is–”
“You don’t have to protect me from yourself,” you firmly grip his jacket and say. “You never have to do that. You take care of me.”
He continues staring at you, his face damp, his eyes a bit wild.
“You take care of me,” you repeat.
When he abruptly presses his lips to yours, they’re wet and a little cold. Your clothes are wet and a little cold, as well, and you’re definitely going to regret it when your adrenaline dies down, but for now, it’s worth it. You kiss him back just as fervently, chasing his mouth until he backs off, breathing quickly.
“You take care of me,” you repeat again.
He puts his forehead on yours. “I want to.”
“You do,” you repeat once more. “Because that’s your job. And you take your job seriously.”
Dangling from the tree branch upside down, Sy’s legs were bent at the knee to secure his weight. He crossed his arms across his shirtless chest in an X, and you watched from afar as he began to lift his upper body up to do crunches.
Such a ridiculous and obviously attention-seeking guy your boyfriend was, but still, you were magnetized by the sheen of sweat on his skin, by the stamina and focused intensity he showed during his work-outs.
“Hey, you,” he said when you got closer.
You smirked. “Hey, yourself.”
Still hanging upside down, Sy stopped exercising and reached out for you. Feeling silly, you leaned forward, grabbed his damp face, and kissed him, and you giggled into his mouth at the weird sensation of your lips being upside down.
The silliness died when he abruptly said without warning, “Marry me.”
You wanted to laugh at the way his eyes seemed to cross while he was looking at you, but you couldn’t. You took a step back. “What?”
He let go of the branch and dropped to the ground with an impressive flip. He took just two seconds to catch his breath, then he said just as seriously, “Marry me.”
Waiting for the punch-line, you finally let out your little laugh. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“Ain’t it obvious?” he answered. “I’m talkin’ about you marryin’ me.”
“No matter what job it is,” you go on, “you take it seriously. You take care of me.”
Sy’s hands don’t let go of their heavy grip on you.
“I know that the military defines you, Sy. I get that,” you quietly say. “It’s who you are and who you’ll always be. I know this. But…not everything is a mission.”
Sy continues to just breathe in the small sliver of space between your faces.
“And you can’t keep holdin’ yourself to these impossibly high standards, Sy. It’s not fair to yourself.”
He forces himself to take a deep breath.
“You don’t have to be Captain Syverson all the time,” you softly say, almost shaking him. “You don’t have to get upset if everything doesn’t go to plan, like our dates or whatever. Everything’s been great as it is. You can just…let whatever happens happen. You can just…be Sy.”
“Just Sy,” he murmurs.
“Yeah. Sy. The guy I married,” you add. Then you pull his face down to yours.
“It’s what we’ve always talked about,” he’d said. “Gettin’ married.”
“Yeah, it’s just…” You took a few steps to the side until you reached the smooth expanse of the large rock by the giant tree. Your rock, you called it. You sat down and pulled your knees to your chest. “We just graduated.”
He shrugged before sitting down directly next to you. “Whether we’re young or not don’t change anything.”
You turned your gaze from the river ahead of you to Sy. “But doesn’t it?”
“Whether we do it now or wait five, ten years–what’s the difference?”
“Yeah,” you murmured, still in shock. “It just always seemed like something that seemed really far-off, that’s all.”
There was silence. “So is that a no?”
Stupidly, you laughed, and stupidly, you nodded. Even though you were both young, who cared? He was it for you.
“Yeah?”
Quickly, you nodded again, and you said against his suddenly approaching mouth, “Yeah.”
“Okay, then.” He laughed against your lips. “Let’s do it.”
“What?” you asked. “Now?”
“Well, not right this second,” he said. “Gotta get a ring first. Somethin’ pretty as you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Your lips purse against Sy’s and begin rippling, and Sy reciprocates as his fingers twitch against you. Breaking the kiss with a smack, Sy stands upright, and almost dumbly, he grins.
“What?” you ask.
“You smiled,” he whispers, and you just blink. “Against my lips. You smiled.”
You look at him with your eyebrows lifted.
“You used to do that,” he says. “You always used to do that.”
“Yeah, I–I did.”
“We’re still us,” Sy murmurs, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. Raindrops fall from the canopy of trees above, trailing down his forehead and clumping on the tips of his eyelashes before he blinks them off. “I’m still me.”
You nod. “You’re still you. I’m still me.”
“We’re still each other,” he whispers.
“We are,” you repeat, grinning so widely it almost hurts your face.
Briefly, he looks to the side. “Sound like a fuckin’ lunatic,” he mumbles under his breath, and you quickly shake your head, grabbing his face.
"You don't," you reassure, making him look down at you. “You really don’t. Keep goin’.”
“I can kiss you however I want.”
Laughing, you nod. “You can.”
Then he does. With his hips now confidently pressing against yours, he gives you more of his body as he brushes his lips over yours again. His tongue delves in your mouth–again, and then again, and then again–and gone is the tentative hesitation you’ve watched him struggle with these past few weeks.
“What we had was good,” he says into your mouth.
You’re slipping. “It was,” you slur quietly.
“I can make it that way again.”
“You can,” you agree, then in between another kiss, you amend it to, “We can,” but you really, really like the control Sy’s taking back here. Your eyes remain closed while he suckles your bottom lip.
You kiss and squeeze each other and kiss some more, until your very teeth feel like chattering, and when you start to actually lose your breath, you have to disconnect.
“Okay,” you say, slightly chuckling. “I think–I think we might need to get back to the truck.”
Sy reluctantly loosens his grip on you. “You gonna race me?”
“Hell no,” you laugh, then you accept his offered hand and begin walking at a regular pace down the narrow muddy trail.
Together and side-by-side, you walk back to Sy’s truck, your body buzzing.
Inside the cab, Sy instantly turns on the heater, and you instantly take off your boots and socks.
“You wanna eat?” he asks, turning to look at you and failing to hide how his eyes keep trailing to your lips. “I gotchu tons of stuff you like.”
“Of course you did,” you happily say, chuckling. “But we’re both soakin’ wet. Let’s go home and shower first, change clothes. We can…We can just eat at the table.”
Images of Sy in the shower enter your mind. Images of the both of you in the shower together enter your mind. Images of the both of you at the kitchen table enter your mind–domestic and familiar.
You actually used to eat dinner together at the table. You’d have intricate meals. The table would be decorated with flowers he’d buy you.
He’s gotten you flowers every week now.
You find yourself incredibly, unexpectedly sentimental.
“Hey,” Sy says, and you jerk your head, shaken out of your thoughts. “What is it?”
“Hm?”
Sy takes hold of your chin with his thumb and forefinger, leading you to look at him. “You’re about to cry.”
You lift your hands to wipe the sides of your eyes. Sy still doesn’t let go of your face, and you’re forced to bare your thoughts. “I just–I want you to come home,” you admit, your voice slightly breaking.
He slowly blinks. “But you–”
“I know what I said,” you interrupt. “I know. Just–come home, Sy. Come home.”
Sy lowers his hand from your chin. When silence fills the truck, you begin to grow slightly uncomfortable. “Don’t you want to?”
“It’s all I want,” he admits. “You wantin’ me there.”
