─ ❧ READ WITH CARE: mdni, Sylus under the influence of his Aether Core, power play, power struggle (obviously they are both stubborn), begging, cum play, multiple rounds, manhandling, reader is being carried around, Evol play, energy manipulation as a stimuli, marking, minor hunter / prey, slightly filthy language, finger sucking, spit, overstimulation, Sylus can be a bit pushy / needy at times but you gave consent, almost squirting, pet names (sweetie, kitten, baby, good girl, sweetheart, little dove, little fool, the list goes on), praise, many different positions, cockwarming, aftercare
─ ❧ WORD COUNT: 17k
─ ❧ LINKS: sylus masterlist | general masterlist | AO3
𖤝 PREMISE: When the Aether Core demands for more than Sylus was ever willing to give, his most beloved treasure walks in on him looking like a lamb ready for the slaughter. Sick with worry for your dearest, you decided to put his wellbeing before all warnings and isolations he imposed upon himself—and therefore you as well. But now you are here, in his hidden lair filled with useless trickets and a bottomless pit of desire flaring brightly. Please, won't you help him feel better?
𖤝 A/N: I was always curious to figure out why exactly MC is THAT wrecked after a night with Sylus. And I guess a whole year of being teased by Infold about those secrets happening behind closed doors, I needed to bring my own interpretation to life...
Love. Devotion. Desire. Lust. Fulfilment. Madness. Sylus no longer bothers separating the words. Whichever one may choose for the feelings plaguing his mind, Sylus is a willing victim. A fool most rejoicing at the hunger his mind succumbs to once his Aether Core needs more than silly little trinkets to prevent it from turning against Sylus himself, and his weakest link.
It all blurs together behind his right eye, which throbs in a slow, merciless rhythm that has nothing to do with reason and everything to do with want. The Aether Core plagues insistently, like an unrelenting presence deep in his skull that gnaws at the seams of his restraint until even discipline begins to feel like a fragile, foolish thing.
He has been trying his hardest to let it hurt, to ignore the pain. But for a man who prides himself on control, Sylus stands motionless in the low light, his body barely covered, spine straight as if firm posture alone might save him. And yet, beneath his skin, something boils harder with every breath he takes, heat blooming where there should be nothing at all.
The darkened room he retired to is immaculate—too immaculate. Still air, drawn curtains, every decoration where it belongs. A sanctuary built for control, though his eye burns even brighter in the dimness. Soft at first, then more intense, like a slow, living being that stains the angle of his cheekbone in crimson.
Remnants of prior attempts to quench its hunger lie abandoned on the table, from fractured stones emptied of their shimmer to useless little things that once held enough energy to satisfy lesser desires. Sylus had consumed them without hesitation, one after another, chasing the dull relief they promised. It lasted seconds. Minutes, maybe, but never long enough.
It can never be enough again. The ache sinks deeper now, no longer content to linger just beneath his skin. It slides inward, wraps around thought and instinct alike, tightening until even breathing feels difficult. His fingers curl slowly at his sides, though not in anger, at least not yet, but in a battle for dominance and restraint—a restraint so sharp it borders on pain because this thing wants what Sylus tries to protect most.
And you are too close. He knows it the moment you step into the room, before you speak, before the door even finishes closing behind your heavenly figure. The Aether Core reacts instantly—flaring in an eager, unmistakably alive sensation. His jaw tightens as the sensation surges through him, a painful swelling of need that has nothing to do with sanctity at all.
Oh no, this hunger has a shape now. A name. A face.
You.
Slowly, Sylus exhales through his nose; it is another measured attempt to stay aware, to remain almost defensive against your worry for him. For once in his life, he even refuses to turn; he cannot afford to look at you. Not when the core strains so openly, so greedily, as though proximity alone is the most unholy relief for greed.
"Don't come any closer," he says at last, attempting to keep a low and even tone for your compassion to ease. A pause follows momentarily, a crack stirred by your scent slowly creeping its way over towards nerves that are far too receptive. Then his voice turns quieter, almost pleading. "I'm serious."
"Sylus," you begin your argumentation, but the man in question refuses with a shake of his head. The glow beneath his eye pulses again, brighter this time, responding to your presence like a heartbeat gone wild. He swallows hard and forces his eyes to flutter shut as the control he is known for across planets slips in places he refuses to name.
His hands have moved over the silken robe that barely manages to keep his body covered. Has the temperature inside the room risen? Everything feels too tight, too small, he needs to…
Sylus flexes his fingers just as they are about to drift over his thighs, almost as if to remind himself they still belong to him. "It wants more than trinkets," he admits while finally turning to face you. His gaze locks onto yours with an intensity you haven't caught before.
He looks distressed, to put it nicely, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his chest, where you can see every heavy drag of air he seems desperate to inhale. "More than consumption." A brittle smile curves at his mouth at that, accompanied by that charming tilt of his head as he studies you. "It wants you."
The confession hangs heavy between you, thick enough to choke on. The core flares in response, heat rippling through him in demanding, relentless waves which are no longer content to be ignored. Sylus feels the true danger then—not the loss of control, but how willingly his body leans toward it. Toward you.
And you, silly little fool, you do not step back. That, perhaps, is what surprises Sylus most.
Though the tough act is becoming more difficult to uphold once you feel the pressure in the air, the heat rolling off him in waves, almost like some entity stirs just beneath the surface of his composure. You don't understand all of it. Not his core, not the depth of its hunger, not the way it pulls at him. But you understand him and the fear that wraps so tightly around want it almost hurts to look at.
"Sylus," you say again, softer this time, as the man in question takes another step closer despite his warning. Your gaze remains unwavering as it lifts to meet his. "You keep telling me to leave, but you're the one closing the distance between us."
Caught red-handed, you see fear flicker across his expression. Though not fear of what he might become, rather fear of how much he already wants to let it happen. "If you stay," he murmurs while taking yet another step despite himself, "you don't get to pretend you don't know what you're offering."
You feel the hunger of the Aether Core, how (im)patiently it waits, watching you through his eye.
"I know," you answer simply, boldly. Perhaps normal Sylus would call it rash. The light beneath his eye burns brightly, straining against its human cage. "And if I fail," Sylus continues, his voice is rougher now, stripped of its polish, "I need you to understand this—" His hand lifts, hovering just shy of your skin, trembling because he still tries to keep it under control. "I won't stop myself from devouring you, little dove."
You remain where you are, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your body, close enough for the Aether Core to know you're not going anywhere. "I won't leave you tonight," you promise with an unwavering gaze.
"Reckless girl," Sylus exhales under his breath, a strained huff that might have been a laugh, turning his tone almost amused. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"
You know deep down that you should be afraid, or at least worried for yourself. Somewhere, reason demands it. But all you feel is that familiar, steady pull between two bodies, two souls of one. "No," you admit softly. "But I'm not leaving."
The Aether Core behind his eye pulses brightly in response, but the relief your presence offers only deepens the hunger beneath. Because now it not only knows what Sylus wants, but worse—it knows it can have it.
Sylus takes a step closer before he realises what he's doing until the space between you collapses. His presence feels oddly heavy and overwhelming, the heat which is rolling off him coming into your awareness. "If you had any sense of self-preservation," he mutters, just before a thick swallow forces him to pause, "you'd be running." His hand lifts again, and it hovers just shy of your waist. "But now I would chase you," he adds in a heated breath across your jawline, "and I would catch you, my beloved."
The light beneath his eye taints your softer features. "And I haven't figured out whether to curse you for it," a groan flows free from the breath hitching as the pull deepens between you, "or thank you." He does not give you time to answer; he does not even hesitate any longer. Whatever fragile line Sylus had been clinging to snaps the moment you remain where you are, unflinching and unafraid. He closes the distance in a heartbeat, firm hands coming up to take, to claim the space you occupy as his own.
His mouth finds yours like he has been starving for you, slotting his lips over yours in that familiar second-nature type of way. There is nothing careful about the kiss, no pause, no hesitation. Sylus devours you, a crashing of lips into yours like a bruising force. Heat spills from his body in waves, overwhelming your cool touch as large hands grasp into your clothes and pull you into a sweat-dampened chest.
The taste of want is sharp on his tongue, and the sound he makes is low and wrecked, torn from deep in his chest as he pulls you closer, closer, until there is no space left at all. Teeth graze and breaths stutter as the kiss turns desperate and consuming, as if he intends to swallow you whole and finally be sated.
For only a breather, Sylus presses his forehead to yours before another kiss chases you like oxygen. His lips return to yours immediately, rougher now, needier, every movement speaking of a man who has already lost and no longer cares to recover. Control is leaving his body—burnt away by the move of your mouth beneath his.
When he finally tears himself back just enough to inhale, his voice is undone by his woman. "…You should have run," he murmurs against your mouth, and you willingly swallow the warning down with the next kiss.
It happens too soon, suddenly your feet leave the floor as he encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. The motion knocks the air from your lungs in a startled sound that he devours greedily, using the moment to slip his tongue past your parted lips to steal any sense of self from you.
The room blurs just as your skin begins to tingle from Sylus's heated figure before the cold press of leather meets your back. Your combined weight causes the couch to welcome you with a soft creak as Sylus settles over you, caging you without breaking contact. His kisses are all messy, teeth tugging at your lower lip as if to prove his hunger with every press of his mouth.
One hand slides into your nape to tilt your head back for him to admire his ravished Magnum Opus. "Still not running," Sylus murmurs between kisses peppered all over your pretty features. The other hand drags slowly along your side, lingering just a moment beneath the swell of your breast, your waist, mapping your body through fabric and lust. "You're so very brave," he all but purrs as he leans towards your lips again, brushing soft, split-slick flesh against another. "Or very imprudent."
At that, his thigh slots between yours as he leans closer, perfectly applying pressure where you will soon ache for him most. The gesture coaxes soft sounds of pleasure from your chest before you can think of stopping them. Attuned as Sylus is to you, he feels the shift immediately. How you move against his muscles without hesitation causes a low hum of approval to vibrate on your lips.
Unrestrained hands roam over your lands, sliding down your hips, where he pulls you closer until there is no escape for you but to press into his defined thigh muscles. You never would have imagined that kisses could be even more demanding than they usually are with your passionate lover, but Sylus is always there to surprise you still.
He kisses you harder, slower and deeper while cherishing every single reaction you reward him with. Until your breath stutters against his mouth, until your body feels almost equally as heated as his own. His kisses lead south, then, moving sloppily along your jawline and down your neck. "Do you want more?" Sylus merely murmurs, the question slipping in between those devious marks of devotion until his breath tickles your ear.
Here, his voice drops to a softer tone as he adds, "Do you want me?"
Though the tightened grip of his hands speaks of possessiveness that urges movement, coaxing you into the slow grind along his thigh. "Say it," nothing but honeyed words that drip along your fluttering pulse, "tell me you'll take care of me."
Unfortunately, you don't often do what's wise for you. Which is why you leave him hanging in suspense, forcing Sylus to feel a hesitation in your demeanour that causes him to pause, to reconsider even as he fights that raging hunger within.
It is most unbecoming, most ridiculous. That giant of a man is at the mercy of you, your dignity. But when you finally speak, your voice is almost amused—one might argue. "Ask nicely," you murmur. "Or beg."
For a heartbeat, Sylus's posture stiffens, pride rearing its head. He leans back just enough to look at you, to reveal the war waging inside him. "Careful," he murmurs against your mouth, already trying to regain the upper hand. "You're making unreasonable demands, kitten." He is beautiful this way, all flushed features and heaving chest with that intoxicating cockiness in his gaze. "I don't beg," flows free almost automatically, though the words lack conviction even as they leave him.
Provoked, that is what you are. So you raise your chain slightly in answer, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes while the silence stretches. It coils tighter, ever tighter, since neither of you wants to surrender.
But Sylus is always prepared to fight for what he wants, to get his way one way or another. Even if it's foul play. His hands move again, sliding between your body and the couch to hoist you up, easily managing to guide you until you find yourself straddling his lap. He sinks back into the leather, long legs spreading just enough to force you to settle on his aching bulge. You can feel how hot his body is now that you're pressed against him, arched forward through the glide of his palm down your spine.
The greedy mouth never leaves your skin for long; kissing, nipping, dragging along your jaw, throat and cleavage because he intends to make you forget that you even asked him to beg in the first place. Sylus grips you firmly enough to remind you how easily he could take control if he chose to.
By now, he conquers your waist, your back and hips as long fingers easily reach around the swell of your ass to pull you just a little bit closer still. His very being makes it difficult to think, guiding you into movements until the heat between you becomes undeniable.
He shifts beneath you in a subtle movement, just enough for the provocation to draw a reaction from your body before your mind can catch up. Your covered pussy drags perfectly along his aching erection in a slow grind that causes his breath to stutter. A low sound mixed by equal measures of pleasure and desire leaves him, his lashes already fluttering from the stimulation. Bless you for wearing a skirt, bless you for wearing those lacy little things that do nothing to soak up your arousal.
"That's it, sweetie. Don't think. Just feel me." His hands slide higher, then lower, mapping you, coaxing heat into your limbs, into your breath, as if tainting the way you melt against him, so convinced that he has already won.
"You don't need me to beg," Sylus continues the sugarcoating of his stubbornness while softly trailing his mouth along your throat. "You want this just as much as I do." He tilts his hips again beneath you, just to prove his point, because he is so sure you will react with the same level of want he feels boiling inside himself.
Ah, but you… you don't give him the satisfaction. Instead, you still on top of him and lean down close enough that your lips brush his ear as you speak with an infuriatingly steady voice. "I said ask nicely."
For a moment, Sylus doesn't know how to react. His hands tighten at your waist, pride flaring one last time as he considers his options, and then he cracks under the weight of his want. Checkmate. His head falls back against the couch, eyes half-lidded from lust, though his jaw remains clenched as if the admission might actually physically hurt.
But you wait, run your fingers through his dishevelled hair while giving him a look that calls for surrender. In the worst possible moments, you're suddenly the human personification of patience.
Then, a sound torn from a place that might actually leave Sylus wounded, he sighs as his forehead drops to your shoulder. A laugh under his breath follows before you can feel silver strands brushing along your skin through his nod.
To hell with kindred spirits, to hell with anyone thinking you're the innocent one in your pair.
"Damn you," he mutters without any real heat. His hold on you tightens then, as if that gesture alone may be the only thing keeping him together. He looks back at you then, really appreciates the demon you have become since desire turned into a shared experience.
The sound of his voice causes your core to flutter; you feel yourself tighten around nothing due to that soft, defeated rasp. "Please." Light as a feather, his fingertips move up beneath the hem of your top, teasing along your lower back as if ready to strike. "I need you. I want you to take care of me," he adds then, but Sylus never half-asses anything in his life, and if somebody already managed to make him beg, he might as well hit them with the full force of his need.
The nibbles he leaves along your neck turn deeper then, needier as his trimmed nails tease your skin until you shiver. "Won't you help me?" His forehead presses to yours then, his nose nudging yours in the sweetest attempt to give in. You feel his shaky breath fan across your lower face as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. "Tell me you will, hm, kitten?"
You don't pull away from him again, not this time, not ever again. If anything, you give him more. Your mouth opens willingly, and Sylus groans into the kiss like the sound is dragged out of him against his will. You feel the size of his hand at the back of your head as he deepens the kiss—tongue pressing, stealing, chasing yours every time you try to breathe.
There is no grace left in it now, only want, wet and desperate, paired with the faint sound of shared air and swallowed moans that fill the space between you as your bodies grind together.
"Fuck—" Sylus exhales against your lips in the most wrecked and shaky state you have witnessed. "That's it. Don't stop." His hips roll up instinctively beneath you, and he doesn't apologise for it anymore; doesn't slow down. Instead, he only drags you closer, encouraging the friction by guiding your hips on top of him, pressing you down harder into his lap and rocking up into you.
Leather creaks beneath you as your weight shifts, your bodies finding a rhythm that's messy and thoughtless and far too good to stop. Sylus makes a sound every time you move—low, needy, embarrassingly honest—as if he's forgotten how to be quiet entirely.
His mouth leaves yours only to press hot, open kisses along your jaw, down your throat, lingering wherever your breath stutters the most while his hands tug at fabric, at flimsy nuisances keeping his treasure hidden.
He mutters against your throat as he works on your body, half-coherent and entirely needy. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."
There's impatience in the way he handles you now, a rough urgency as your top is pushed up over your head and thrown carelessly aside. You feel his muttered curses vibrating softly into your skin when something slows him down, feel the sharp tug as he gives up on playing fair entirely and tears your skirt off in one skilled move.
"Sylus!" You gasp in shock, no matter the way your hips had shifted against him harder from how much the gesture aroused you. A broken laugh leaves him at your reprimand, though his mind is occupied with the perfect feel of your ass cheeks in his palms, settling firm and possessively for him to squeeze the globes.
"Perfect," he breathes, praising and filthy all at once. "You're so perfect," he continues with half a mind, entirely ignoring the chance you might mourn your clothing item. His fingers flex around your ass just as he dips his head to drag his tongue along the swell of your breasts until your moans dust over him like powdered sugar—sweet and addictive, and never enough.
He chuckles once more at the sound you make when he guides your hips again, leaving you both utterly aware of lace and cotton being soaked in pre-cum. "There," Sylus murmurs. "Just like that."
It might be your imagination, but the pressure beneath you feels heavier tonight. The size of his bulge is impossible to miss, impossible to ignore, causing you to drag yourself along his length without shame, and letting Sylus feel exactly what you want.
"More," you demand softly, unembarrassed by the need threading through your voice as your hands slide to the tie of his robe, fingers already fumbling to undo it and free him from those last scraps.
At last, he feels a pair of familiar claws streak along firm muscle, carving lines down his abdomen and drawing shuddering breaths past his lips. The sounds Sylus makes are hot and wet, muffled by your cleavage as he tastes your skin, bites your tits, and presses himself into you like he means to disappear there entirely.
Vocal and responsive, every sound spills freely from him in broken breaths, murmured praise, and quiet pleas breathed into your skin like secrets he's been waiting lifetimes to confess.
"More?" Sylus echoes while his fingers make quick work of your bra, an effortless snap allows his hands to take its place for him to cup your breasts. His thumbs brush over your sensitive nipples, teasing them into even harder points until you whimper in the cutest way possible.
The sensations cause your core to flutter, making you squirm as he toys with you. "Like this?" Sylus murmurs with a coaxing tone. "Is this what you need, my princess?" His thumbs are awfully slow, entirely cruel in their precision as he teases you with circles drawn around your nipples. "Do you need me to touch you like this? To tease your pretty nipples until you're writhing and begging me?" The rebuke follows immediately, since you push your hand weakly against his chest in protest at his choice of words. "Don't call them that," a mutter quietly and utterly embarrassed.
But when Sylus looks up at you again, all protest dies thanks to the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What? You don't like it when I call your nipples pretty?" he all but coos with faux compassion before nuzzling into your neck. "But they are, they are just as pretty as everything about you. They are perfect, how they strain against my fingers, begging for more of my touch… so cute, I could devour you."
His words are punctuated by a sharp bite to your neck while his fingers continue their slow torment of rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. One hand then slides down to your hip, pulling you more firmly on top of him.
His mouth returns to you again and again—kisses pressed wherever he can reach, wet and open and desperate as he guides your hand down to his bulge. "You said you'd help me," Sylus murmurs, voice low and pleading without shame now. "Don't stop now. Please—"
There's no resistance left in you, allowing for Sylus to move your fingers along the bulge straining against the cotton of his briefs. Not because he asks so prettily, but because you want to see how badly Sylus can further unravel as he moulds your palm to his aching length.
"That's it, sweetie." The pleasure begins to lower his guard, causing his voice to feel heavier and more coaxing while his hips jerk up in a sharp, unguarded motion. A low sound tears free from his chest before he can stop it, because whatever composure he had left splinters at the contact, his body answering yours with embarrassing honesty. "Don't stop now."
His hand remains over yours in an effort to encourage your touch, to show you exactly how much he wants this, how badly he needs you to feel the effect you have on him. Every drag of your fingers draws another breathy sound from his lips, another tense flex of muscle beneath your palm as he gives himself over to the sensation.
Sylus lets his head fall back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut in sheer bliss now that you're finally here to take care of his ache. His chest rises and falls in heavy inhalations of air, his body reacting to you without restraint, without pride. In this moment, Sylus is nothing but warmth and need, so responsive, so very easy to read.
Though he could never forget about the relentless assault on your breasts, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh, rolling and plucking at your nipples until you, too, are whimpering from pained pleasure.
One stiff little peak is captured between his teeth, drawing quiet sounds from your throat as he nips lightly, then soothes the sting with a lap of his tongue. Sylus takes his time, mirroring the leisure of your stroking hand, to leave you equally as dizzy and overstimulated.
"You're perfect," his voice vibrates where his mouth presses into your soft flesh.. "I could stay right here forever."
You snort at that, a small breathless sound.
Liar.
And sure enough, he doesn't stay like this much longer. Not because Sylus doesn't want to, but because he can't.
His attention shifts back and forth between giving and taking, between driving you closer to the edge and rocking helplessly into your touch. With every passing second, it is becoming more difficult to keep the Aether Core in check. Crimson colour casts over your entwined bodies, painting you both in the light of his hunger while he needs to watch your smaller hand move across his bulge.
Fabrics grow damp, straining over his throbbing erection as it leaks pre-cum into the soft clothing item, his need palpable in every movement, every sound. The control slips through Sylus's fingers like sand, the glow in his eye flaring brighter as you bring him closer and closer to the edge. He can feel it—how close he is, how close you are, and how thin the line between teasing and cruelty has all but vanished.
He wants you to lose yourself in it first. Wants your breath gone, your thoughts scattered, your body aching before he allows himself anything resembling relief.
That is, until you can't take it anymore; until the heat in that small space between your bodies becomes unbearable and you dare to tease him. "How much do you need me?" you whisper, your voice barely there, wicked in its timing, while you tease the evident stain of pre-cum.
How you rub that spot with the perfect amount of pleasure ignites tingles low in Sylus's back, leading his breath to turn ragged, his urgency tearing through him with no mercy. He wants you, he wants to be in you, to be one with you. His fingers toy with the thin strap of your panties before repaying your cruelty in kind with the perfect pressure of two digits tracing the shape of your pussy through silk.
"All talk and no bite, sweetie," Sylus manages to tease with a mocking lilt to his voice despite the torture. "Aren't you just as desperate as me?" he goes on with a sigh, rubbing his fingers along the fabric until it moulds to your pussy lips.
You bristle at that, even as want throbs low in your core. It rewards Sylus with a glare, one that speaks of pure need and pride. He loves you like that, snarky, lust-filled, insatiable, just like him, while this dance between you continues. "Hmm… you are so cute," Sylus breathes you in at that, shamelessly inhaling your perfume mixing with the distinct scent of your arousal for him to moan low.
Pale lashes flutter shut momentarily as soon as Sylus feels your touch through the damp fabric of his briefs. His hands reach around your hips, firm enough to pull you down into him with little hesitation to grind the heavy weight of his arousal against your barely covered pussy.
After all, it is only fair that you feel what you have created. You need to be held accountable for the ache only you can craft. "Come on, conquer me," Sylus coaxes, while slipping his fingers beneath your panties to tease you more. "Take me down with you."
His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside just enough for his hand to slide between your bodies, a single finger dragging through your slickness. The moves are painfully slow, intentionally taking his sweet time thanks to the language your body speaks. "You're so wet already," he murmurs, while his thumb finds your clit to make you squirm. "Seems we're in the same trouble."
The space between you grows unbearable. Every small movement feels magnified—the way your weight settles, the way his body reacts instantly, helplessly, to the closeness. But you let him touch you, let him tease you, allow him to settle you right down on his bulge for him to gasp.
"Boss-man, you're so sensitive," you purr lightly, teasingly, just like you have learned from your lover. His breath stutters when you press down just a little more, and you can feel Sylus trying to regain composure, trying to act like he's still in control—and it makes your grin widen wickedly.
"Then do something about it," he says instead, whispering the challenge against your mouth, as his eyes remain locked on yours. "Show me you can handle me." His palm slides up your back, his fingers spreading over your shoulder blades as he pulls you into a kiss that's all heat and need.
The sight you are greeted with once you pull back is beyond the paintings people pay heavy sums of money for. Sylus's robe hangs open, his sweat-damp chest rising and falling with each exhale and topped off with his cock heavy and flushed, leaking against his stomach. He looks like a man consumed, a man driven mad with desire, held back only by the thinnest shred of control.
"Come here," he urges, softer now, coaxing instead of commanding. "Use me. I want to feel you."
His hands slide over your ass, lifting you with ease and settling you over his groin. The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, slick and insistent, impossibly hard. "Sweetheart," and what's left of Sylus is only need, pure need for you to take care of him, to settle on top of him. "I already begged. Don't make me do it again." The red glow in his eyes flares faintly, bright with focus as his hands guide you.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you shift, and for a moment—just a moment—your touch softens, your hand wrapping around his length gently as you grasp him for support.
Sylus shudders at the bliss of your soft hand wrapping around his aching cock, stroking him with a gentleness that belied the desperation in his eyes. The contrast of your delicate touch against his throbbing, rigid flesh sent a jolt of electricity through his body, making him grit his teeth and suck in a sharp breath through clenched jaws.
Your hand is so cute, so much softer than his own, so graceful in its touch. Even in a most filthy situation like this, do you stroke his cock like it's some sort of treasure to you.
"Fuck, your hand feels so good." his hips jerk involuntarily into your touch. "So soft and perfect, like the rest of you." He can't take this, can't take how sweet and caring you can be when he least expects it.
You lean down just enough to brush a playful kiss along the edge of his jaw, making him hiss softly and smirk when his fingers tighten. Exactly as planned.
All of this, only to wreck him further as you guide the tip through your slick folds, rubbing it against your clit for sweet moans to ring right beside his ear. Sylus watches it all with a near transfixed attention, paying witness to the view as you rub the swollen head of his cock through your slick folds and coat him in your arousal.
The feel of your pussy lips parting around his tip, the sounds of your sweet moans falling like music into his ears, it all pushes him to the brink of madness. He can feel the heat of you, the slick, silken walls that would soon be gripping his length most perfectly, and it makes him throb and leak all over your fingers.
His hands slide along your waist, coaxing you closer with a gentleness that seems at odds with his needs. But then, thank the heavens, you finally move, even if just a little, and Sylus shudders.
"That's it," he exhales, and sounds almost grateful. "Just like that." His eyes roll back from pleasure, his thighs flexing in response–he almost feels like tearing off his own skin.
But Sylus needs to watch, needs to peel his eyes open again to take in the way your body hovers over him, the way your breasts sway, the way your slick coats him as you rub him where you need it most.
Whether it's mercy or your own lust that finally tips you over the edge hardly matters, not when you finally lower your hips, not when all that is wrong in the world might finally be right thanks to the perfect hug of your walls around Sylus's cock.
His ragged, broken exhales of relief and want tangle together so tightly there's no separating them. "…There," Sylus exhales through his nose, then takes a moment to compose himself before he adds. "That's where you belong."
You grin at his most filthy words because you always find amusement in the lack of filter once he gets like this. But the brush of a fingertip along the tense line of his jaw reminds Sylus of how very much you are in charge, even in the moment he's lost completely. The Aether Core pulses in his gaze in response to the way you take him in inch by inch until there's nowhere else for either of you to go.
Your breath stutters the moment his hands lock around your hips, almost as if Sylus is daring you to try and escape. Not that you would. Not when every movement beneath you steals the air from your lungs and leaves your thoughts scattered.
Every drive of his cock pulls a breathy tune of pleasure from your chest, every drag of his length stretches you open, filling you so deeply it borders on overwhelming. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, then, matched only by the way his breath breaks against your throat and your own voice slips loose without restraint.
"That's it, sweetheart," and Sylus sounds almost drunk on the moment. "Take what you need. Use me. Don't stop until you can't anymore."His words are filled with confidence in how well he knows your body. "I want you right here. With me. On me."
His hand slides up your back, dragging you into a kiss that is all heat and teeth and impatience. You answer it on instinct, fingers fisting in his hair to tug just hard enough to draw a broken sound from him. Your body tightens as sensation builds, and you hate how easily Sylus reads it—you can see the knowledge in his gaze, in the way his mouth curves like he has already won.
"Come on, baby," he coos near your ear. "Take care of me. Don't tell me you're already satisfied."
"You're annoying," you pant as the urge grows to bite him, the words slipping out on a groan because you know he's teasing you on purpose.
A crooked smile pulls at his mouth, then his cock throbbing inside of you all because of the banter he is so addicted to. "Annoying, huh?" His voice drops, smug and wicked. "Seems like it's working then."
It does work, and you hate that he knows it. Your body reacts instantly, betraying you as the challenge in his tone sinks under your skin. Everything tightens, slickens, draws him in closer with each movement. He watches it all—every shudder, every gasp—eyes dark, intent, devouring you without mercy.
"Fuck," he breathes out in complete disbelief. "Look at you." It becomes a shared effort as Sylus helps lift you off his cock and sink back down. The couch groans beneath you, the sound obscene enough to make heat flood your body as you lift yourself just enough to feel him stretch you again before sinking fully, making him bottom out. It stings, yes, but you don't stop, and the sound he makes tells you he wouldn't want you to even if you could.
"You're an expert by now," Sylus murmurs with a wrecked voice. "All those test rides paid off." Your lips part on a sharp breath, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth despite the offence you should perhaps be taking.
And then you take control, lifting yourself and sinking back down on him for Sylus to admire. Your back arches, your breath stutters because your body struggles and yields in equal measure as you take him again. Slowly, you let him feel it all—every inch he has claimed flutters in a tightening hug, every breath he has stolen now heats his sensitive skin as you let your body collapse on top of his.
When you start to grind into him, pressing your clit forward before lifting again, he finally tightens his grip, helping you move and guide you just enough to keep you steady. Sylus is drunk on the sight of you working yourself on his cock; how your chest rises and falls fast, breasts bouncing with each determined drop of your hips, and the look in his eyes turns dark with appreciation.
The glow beneath his eye flares brighter; it pulses in time with his uneven breathing now that whatever restraint he had left is burning away slowly but surely.
Sylus begins to meet you halfway, thrusting up to match your rhythm. He's breathing hard now that your body tightens around him again and again. And you feel it building too— the tension, the pressure. He pulls you down into another kiss to steal and savour every sound you make.
Every movement feels sharper now, every response amplified until it is impossible to tell where one of you ends and the other begins. "You feel too good to be true," he groans, so greedy, so needy as his face ducks into the crook of your neck, pointy teeth teasing your skin, wet tongue tasting your sweat.
Maybe this is all a fever dream conjured by the Aether Core. But your ass feels too good in his hands, too perfectly squeezable to be a dream. He lifts you just enough before letting you drop back down on him, over and over, until the sensation builds too high to ignore. "Come on," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Let go. I've got you."
It feels almost ridiculous how those few words make you come undone. But the pressure snaps all at once, and your body tightens hard around him as you break. Sylus follows you with a final, deep thrust where he buries himself inside you, his body shuddering as he fills you, holding you there like he needs the closeness as much as the release.
Then, for a charged moment, he doesn't move at all—just stays pressed against you, lost in tranquillity, while breathing you in. When he finally exhales, it's long and ruined, his body still shuddering beneath you while his forehead falls to your shoulder.
"…You really are going to ruin me." Though he sounds like he's already long accepted such a fate.
Just as Sylus has accepted, no embraced the delicious sting of your fingers now that they tighten in his hair, tugging at his roots as you tilt your head just enough to lean in further, to look a bit like a hunter eyeing her prey. "Good."
But it doesn't just stop there–not tonight, no, that was just the beginning. It's way more fun to nudge your hips into lazy motions while you remain pressed against Sylus's chest, still warm and oh-so pliant from the aftermath of the first round.
It's subtle at first, just enough movement to make you register it, to realise he isn't done with anything at all. His chest rises against yours, slow and controlled breaths of rich air, while his fingers curl with intent now that they guide you again before you can decide whether to resist.
There's no mistaking it, not with the sound that falling past Sylus's lips. A groan so utterly debauched upon that first flutter, you reward him with. Warm breath brushes past your temple, then down slowly along your cheek, jaw and throat as Sylus nuzzles into you.
"You have to forgive me, kitten," he murmurs into your ear. "But I don't think I can be satisfied with one round." The breath he blows against your ear is cruel in how effective it is to make you shudder, and you hate how quickly it works as well.
His hands slide beneath your thighs, squeezing as he lifts you without effort. Paired with the murmured command for you to "Wrap your legs around me, sweetie," your body betrays you instantly. Locked around him, Sylus begins to carry you through his sanctuary leisurely.
Settled deeply inside you, you feel every step Sylus takes. With each step, you feel the tip of his length pressing insistently into you, demanding more and more. You squirm, whine under your breath, claw at him in protest—though that only seems to encourage him further.
"Where should we go, hm?" Sylus muses aloud, mostly to himself, but with all the time in the world. He knows you're past offering any useful input now that you're clawing at him. Your arms are already around his neck, holding on too tight for someone who plans to argue.
Strong hands light you a little higher then, before letting you sink down on his cock again, to allow a beautiful and softened moan to breathe across your naked skin, thanks to how perfectly you hug him.
Could he put you down on the TV cabinet? No. How about the bathroom? Hm… That's better for an afterthought, Sylus decides.
By now, you press your face into his shoulder, equal parts annoyed and breathless, while painting pretty little streaks of red along his shoulder as you struggle for any small amount of moral support.
"Careful," you grumble so incredibly sweet, that it is impossible for Sylus not to chuckle softly in response, then brush a kiss to your temple where he whispers, "you're not very convincing..."
You're just about to snap back when cold meets your spine without warning.
The shock draws a sharp gasp from you, your fingers clawing into his arms as that familiar, and awfully arousing, glare is pointed in his direction. How you hiss his name, enunciating each syllable with venom makes Sylus throb inside you.
He laughs then and there. That unmistakable, rich and deep laugh from the depths of his chest as he presses you into the window, caging you in completely with his body. "Mhm, I love it when you look at me like that, kitten…" he murmurs while drinking in your angered look.
His eyes gleam when he feels you tense, when he feels how quickly shock turns into something entirely else. "What's weighing so heavily on your heart, sweetie?" He purrs along your throat. By now, you're pressed up against the glass to the point it's hard to breathe, two sweat-slick bodies flush against another with the icy touch of the glass along your back. "Oh. I get it. You want more, right?"
He presses a soft kiss to your jaw—mockingly gentle. The familiar, and deeply appreciated, sting to his scalp welcomes Sylus in response as your nails scrape just hard enough to get your point across.
"Don't you dare mock me, Sylus," you warn him with that utterly cute and breathless stutter you only use when arousal and anger war inside you. "Sylus~" A sigh of his name thanks to a potent shudder lapping at your sanity.
"Sylus, Sylus, give me more, Sylus~" he dares to mimic your voice with a lovesick sigh before burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Don't worry, I'll warm you up soon enough," he murmurs with another stupid smirk on his face. His hands have long since started roaming along the goosebumps covering your skin, drawing teasing circles around your hardened nipples.
How can a man wreck you this much time and time again? Most humiliating about this scenario is how you swear to yourself not to stoop to his level again, never again. And yet you find yourself in his trap, a willing victim despite the teeth you try to use on him. "Screw you," it could have given Sylus pause, were it not for the strain in your voice and the weakened attitude.
His laughter vibrates through you where he's pressed so close. "Oh, I intend to, kitten," it's sinful amusement weaving its way through his voice."I will screw you over and over again, as you so eloquently put it."
He draws back slowly out of your dripping cunt, just enough for you to feel the absence, just enough to make you tense and miss the stretch. Nuzzling against you, with his lips brushing chaste kisses against your glossy, kiss-swollen mouth, Sylus takes his time, letting you feel the loss, the emptiness.
"Right. Now." The movement that follows knocks the air from your lungs, drives a sharp sound from you that you absolutely do not mean to make.
Sylus pulls you closer, closer, closer until there is nowhere left to go. He begins to move in earnest, pulling your body down as he thrusts up into you, this time less relenting and entirely conquering. Warm hands grip the backs of your thighs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he hoists your legs up and over his elbows, letting your ankles dangle uselessly like a pretty accessory as he looms over you, his broad chest heaving with each ragged breath.
A softened command breathes gently over your lower face when he leans in for silvery strands to tickle your forehead. "Arms around my neck, sweetie," to then wait until you comply, until your arms rest securely around him, nails digging into his shoulders.
He is so very drawn to you that every sound will play in his mind forever, unfiltered and raw. "And let me hear that pretty voice of yours," he adds while tickling the shell of your ear with a blow of cool air. "You're holding back." Take the nip of his teeth as encouragement to part your lips.
It's cold at your back, and unbearably hot everywhere else. The dual sensations cause dizziness, and your vision blurs from the intensity of the moment. Sylus is overheating from his desires, and the heat seeps into every curve of your being as well.
You don't even know where else to put your hands because just holding him isn't enough, and well, holding onto Sylus for long isn't as exciting as being pressed into the window. So, your palms push him away only to draw his face right back against yours to chase a kiss that is all teeth and tongue—nasty and untamed. The pulse behind his eye flares at that, thrives back to greedy life and seems to burn ever brighter at the sinful view that you make.
"Come on, sweetie," so rough, so raspy that nobody could resist him now. "Tell me how good this feels." But you, ever the hissy little thing, refuse to answer properly—of course you do. The sound you make instead is sharp and breathless, pulled out of you when Sylus shifts again, when the pressure builds in a way that causes your thoughts to scatter.
Delicious, how your body reacts, how you tremble even as you try to hold onto that bite of attitude.
It only makes him worse. Makes Sylus want you way worse. He keeps moving, relentless without being hurried, though buried to the hilt with each thrust. His movements are designed to push you to the brink of madness, to make you squirm and use those little claws to make him yours.
The sound of your breath mixes with the low, broken noises Sylus makes when his control slips further and further through his fingers. That's when his mouth finds yours, silencing whatever sharp remark you tried to throw at him. It's a deep kiss, all-consuming in its intent until you are left dizzy.
Though you bite at his lip in retaliation, which prompts a pleased sound from deep within his chest. Despite yourself, your body betrays you anew as it softens where you tried to fiercely to remain sharp. You lean into Sylus's onslaught on your senses, clawing and pawing and hugging his figure like your personal canvas in desperate attempts to anchor yourself.
Sylus just grins wider; that triumphant smile sends a shiver down your spine. He loves seeing you like this; so lost in pleasure, drowning in the sensations of him inside you, around you, consuming you utterly. "I know you're tired," he says softly, almost indulgent. "But your body disagrees with you here."
Your back arches off the slippery glass, a sharp inhale sounding in the small space between your lips when the tension coils too tight to ignore. You glare at him through it, furious at how right he is, at how easily he reads you.
"Don't deny it, kitten," Sylus murmurs. "I can feel how much you are enjoying this."
Smug bastard.
Your walls clench around him then, gripping his cock in the most perfect way to put Sylus in a situation akin to yours. So close to sweet release, to pure bliss. So he can't stop chasing it, chasing you, driving his length into you with increasing fervour. Each thrust pushes you higher, tighter, until you are teetering on the brink of ecstasy.
"Fuck, yes. That's it, sweetie. Let go for me," he groans into your chest after his face collided forward, lips dragging across the swell of your breasts. The lust has roughened him, has shed off the layers of restraint Sylus usually likes to don. Each thrust settles him snug against you; he craves to grind his pelvis against your clit–eager to hear those pretty whines and breathy moans until the pleasure borders on pain—but you crave it, need it, ache for more.
Uneven waves of satisfaction ebb and flow inside you, causing your nails to dig into his skin as softly spoken curses rain in on his parade for how good he makes you feel, for how impossible it is to stay defiant when he knows you this well.
His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts, kneading the pillowy flesh as he rolls your nipples between his fingers. Sylus pinches and plucks at the sensitive buds, sending jolts of electricity shooting through your body, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch. Teeth graze, then sink into the hollow of your throat just enough to leave you gasping, marking you in ways he simply can't resist.
"Come on, baby. Give me everything," he urges in a low and seductive rumble. "Let it happen. Allow me to feel you come undone in my arms again."
Ah, how perfectly your breath stutters, how loudly your pulse drums in his ears, how your blood races underneath your heated skin. Muscles tense, then give as the second release hits hard enough to leave you shaking against him. You don't scream his name, but it's right there on your tongue, swallowed only because he steals your mouth again and keeps you close, keeps you right where he wants you with your nails raking down his back most deliciously.
"That's it, kitten," Sylus moans right beside your ear, panting roughly from the art of your pussy clenching around his cock, gripping him and throbbing so perfectly until your juices coat his shaft and balls. "Give me everything," he adds quietly, forehead resting in the crook of your neck. "I want all of it, just like that."
Gone is the pride, to hell with the attitude, all that remains are breathless calls of "Sylus!" in trembling variations as you cling to him while riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm. In the same moment, his composure finally shatters for good. He continues to thrust into you and prolongs the ecstasy with every deep, grinding stroke. The Aether Core blazes, light flaring bright enough to paint the glass and the room and your skin alike. Sylus groans long and low as the tension finally breaks, leaving him just as undone as you are.
Buried securely inside you, his cock throbs and pulses, accompanied by shudders wrecking his broad frame from the force of his release. "You feel so good, sweetheart. So perfect around my cock." He praises in the most sweet, most filthy way possible with a love-drunk expression on his face.
He keeps you close while the aftershocks move through you both, with firm arms locked around your body because Sylus has no intention of letting you drift even an inch away. "You tremble so much because of me," he observes, not to mock you, but more so to stroke his own ego. "It's… charming."
But you lack time to respond since his mouth finds yours again in a slow, claiming kiss that lingers. Fully satisfied, though still very much hungry. The movement of his lips on top of yours makes your head spin almost as much as the release did, for your thoughts to scatter again.
When he finally pulls back, Sylus rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing softly. It's apparent that the glow in his eye hasn't faded yet, the Aether Core still very much alive and feasting behind his gaze as he takes in every single detail about your debauched state.
Sylus indulges in the lingering heat of you, in the way your body still responds to him despite the fading tremors. Despite your satisfaction, he knows that he can push you for more eventually. This moment, this night is far from ending—though he momentarily considers a respite.
"We're not done, kitten." The words are low and assured, touched with a hint of amusement and a hidden care behind them all. "Not yet." His tone turns almost deceptively sweet as his gaze roams over you openly, affectionate and hungry all at once.
"Do you want to lie down for a bit, hm?" But you don't even have to respond for Sylus to move again. You're being carried across the room until your back finds comfort in silken sheets while Sylus remains snug inside you, giving you a lazy thrust forward that causes you to squirm as he shifts his weight on top of you.
The protest is cute, how your palms push against his chest. It earns you a low chuckle that vibrates through him. "Too much," it's barely louder than a breath, in a way that causes Sylus to take pity for his hand to smooth over your hair and his lips to press a gentle kiss against your forehead.
"Okay. Okay," he concedes then and eases back agonisingly slow.
Oh, but the noises. You're so sweet; the sound you make leaves his composure visibly frayed. So stuffed with your mixed juices that Sylus can't help but lean back on his shins instead of pulling away completely. His hands continue to hold your thighs open so he may appreciate how warm and soft you are, so full of his cum that he can't look away as it slowly spills from you while your body flutters around nothing now.
A slow exhale of a deep breath seems to echo in the quiet of the room. "Shh, I know, baby," he murmurs gently as he brushes your hair back when you squirm. "I know," added with a gentle trace along your thigh. "You did so well for me."
The feel of two long fingers moving through your folds to gather some of your mixed juices makes you squirm, makes you whine out his name in a way that causes his heart to stutter. "And look at you," he continues, because Sylus can be so sweet, so praising and proud of you. "Look at the mess we made." The unmistakable note of possession that he never bothers to hide softens his words.
But he can't stop, can't turn away from you, can't let go of his dearest treasure. He much prefers to bring his fingers to his mouth without breaking eye contact, sucking on them with all the time in the world until he pops them out once they stop tasting like you.
"But I can see that you need a little break," he says softly. "Don't you, kitten?" His lips curve upward, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips, savouring the exhaustion of your body. "Don't worry. I'll take very good care of you. I always do."
His hands move back to your body then, settling over your breasts in a warm embrace meant for comfort. He feels your pulse beneath his palms, the heat of your skin, the way you respond even now.
Unable to resist you for long, Sylus leans down again to place a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, where he decides to linger, to mouth against the giving swells. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt lingering on your skin from your intensive endeavours until you shift against him.
"You're insatiable too," Sylus murmurs, close enough that his words brush your ear. "I can see it in the way you react to me, even now." His thumb circles your sensitive clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips before he stills again—he is so pleased with himself.
"Mhh… but I promised you rest," he whispers into your breasts. "Regain your strength, kitten." Sylus's eyes flick back up to your face, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome features. "And once you're better… then, kitten, I'm going to make love to you again. All. Night. Long."
Sylus pulls back at last, finally taking pity on you. He massages your calves first, where his thumbs work in steady strokes, then he moves up to your thighs, to press slow circles into your hips until the tension eases little by little.
You huff quietly at the attention, half spent, half stubborn about how much you still want him, even as your body betrays you by relaxing beneath his touch.
Sylus tracks every shift in your breathing, every flicker of expression as the post-fuck haze settles in beautifully. That is when his focus drops, his gaze following the path of his hands down to watch how your mixed juices create a perverse masterpiece as it slowly pushes out of you.
You tense instinctively, thighs twitching as if to close while a heated wave of embarrassment washes over you. It's obscene in its intimacy, the way it tells on you so openly, revealing the evidence of what you have shared, like a private testament to the way Sylus has taken his time with you.
He feels his body respond instantly, his cock twitching against his thigh as a hummed tone of want rumbles and rises in his chest as he tries to behave. "Beautiful," Sylus sounds low and rough with rekindled lust. "Look at your pretty pussy, so stuffed with my cum."
You will never grow accustomed to that shift in him, to the way the polish and decorum can peel away once he allows himself to indulge. Beneath all those layers of outward control, there is a creature made entirely of lust and desire—and it has a filthy mouth.
Worse now, with his breath hot against your sensitive flesh as Sylus inhales the musky scent of your essences deeply. The awareness of his touch slides up your thighs again, nudging them wider, and opening you fully beneath his ravenous gaze. He takes his time looking, drinking in every small reaction you give him, and you feel every second of it.
"Tell me, kitten," his fingers trace a teasing path through the glistening folds there, gathering proof that you are not nearly as done as you pretend. You gasp sharply with trembling thighs , and mutter something under your breath that might be his name or might be a warning.
With a smirk to his lips, Sylus lifts his hand and swipes the tips of his fingers across his lips. His tongue flicks out slowly to taste you, to make a show of your flavour as his eyes flutter shut most theatrically. A low moan of content leaves his chest before he looks back at you again.
"Do you see the problem?" he inquires, and suddenly Sylus sounds almost casual. "How am I meant to give you a break when your body looks like that?"
He leans down as he speaks, close enough that you can feel the heat of his mouth as he just hovers right above your clit in a most maddening way. "I want to taste you," Sylus confesses with a featherlight caress of his lips along your outer lips.
A quiet whine slips free as he hovers right there, impatience growing with every quickening beat of your heart. Sylus is excellent at coaxing you to give him just a little more, give him the filthy view of your pussy clenching around barely more than his cum… And the chuckle he offers in return is rich with satisfaction.
"Ah, but I promised," there, mocking compassion with an almost airy delight to his voice. His lips move continuously against your pussy, each word a well-chosen test of your composure. "Patience, baby."
The kiss he presses there is barely more than a suggestion, light enough to make you gasp sharply and send a jolt of electricity through your figure. You try to bite back a moan and fail miserably.
"You're not ready for more, are you?"
But in reality, the bastard got you worked up all over again with nothing more than teasing touches and those almost-innocent kisses. That look that tells you plainly he is nowhere near finished with you, that his mind is still full of filthy plans he intends to carry out at his leisure. You play directly into his hands now that you find your spark again to glare up at him with a sharp huff of breath.
"You're so annoying," you complain flat out right into his face as your brows knit together in irritation. They create that look Sylus adores so much. "Aww, kitten… none of that," Sylus cuts in immediately, silencing whatever protest is about to slip past your pretty lips by kissing you instead.
You are not entirely sure when or how he manages to move above you once more, when his weight settles over yours and pins you back into the mattress, but it hardly matters now that all you can register is the taste of him, the lingering mix of you both on his mouth. His lips move against yours with need, the heat of his body seeping into you all over again now that you are pressed back down almost too eagerly.
Seems like the promise of a break lies forgotten in the depths of his mind now that Sylus drags his length through your slick folds again. The sensation is impossible to resist, and each thrust brings his tip to catch against your clit—almost like he is trying to stir you awake.
"You feel heavenly, baby," he praises, and then he reaches for your hand, guiding it down between you, dragging your fingers through your own folds for you to realise how soaked you are, how messy, how completely filthy.
It is nasty.
It is so hot.
You barely have time to register it before he lifts your hand again, though not to allow you to pull back, no, but to allow Sylus a moment to appreciate the sheen clinging to them. His attention makes your tummy flutter with want as you appreciate him—just Sylus. How pretty he is in these low lights, how sharp and beautiful his features align. But you also know exactly what he is thinking without Sylus having to say a word.
Then, warmth encloses your fingers without warning, and the sensation makes your breath hitch sharply in your chest. "S-Sylus-!" Is nothing more but a cute stutter upon the drag of his tongue along your digits, through each gap. He takes his time and thoroughly coats your fingers with spit until drops of it run along your knuckles.
You can feel it everywhere, can hear the slick sounds of him sucking in your fingers paired with his softly muffled moans that move through his chest. You feel the heat in your face, feel the tightness in your throat due to the way Sylus lingers long enough for your hips to twitch, for your thighs to tense as if your body is trying to follow where your hand has gone.
Drunk on the view Sylus presents, you are caught on the sight of silver hair falling loose, lashes low, and his usually smart mouth occupied with sucking your fingers. The gesture works you up so fast it makes you feel near lightheaded as you feel your pussy throb in response, needy and insistent for more again and yet again.
Sylus reluctantly releases you, allowing a trail of spit to connect his lips to the tips of the well-coated digits to exhale a low drag out of his mouth. "So responsive…" he murmurs, and sounds incredibly pleased with himself. "You liked that, didn't you? Liked seeing me suck on your fingers," while already guiding your hand back down where he positions them right above your clit.
It's almost ridiculous how you only manage to moan his name, to groan his name, to try and warn him by hissing his name because your mind lags behind most terribly. But what else could you do when Sylus orchestrates that wet slap caused by your fingers connecting with your pussy? He makes you slap your clit once, twice, even with that crooked smirk on his lips.
His own hand replaces yours then, middle and ring finger sinking into you without hesitation, and you take him right back in, your body fluttering and squelching greedily around the intrusion as his mouth trails kisses down your chest.
"Tell me you want more. Tell me you are ready," Sylus nearly pleads with you. Though you are so far gone that you barely register his words, barely register your own fingers moving, rubbing your clit until his voice cuts through the haze and pulls you back just enough to hear yourself answer.
"Uhm, I want it, I want you," you admit, softer than anything you have said to him since this whole ordeal began, while your free hand tangles into damp silver strands.
Sylus's pupils dilate at the sight of you touching yourself so unashamedly, feeling your body arching and tightening around his fingers. He has never seen a masterpiece to equal the beauty of your need, written there across your face without shame.
"That's it, baby. Touch yourself for me," his voice feels near decadent. "Get yourself nice and worked up again." He begins to pump his fingers slowly, letting you feel every inch of the intrusion as he coaxes you back into relaxation. "I want to hear my little dove. Can you moan for me? Can you make those pretty noises, kitten? Don't be shy." He purrs into your neck, his breath layering hot and heavy on your skin like the most powdery perfume.
Desperation rolls off you in waves now that you tremble anew, your body betraying you for Sylus to drown. His cock throbs and leaks against your thigh as he grinds into you, smearing you with the proof of how badly he wants you. Please, won't you take him out of his misery?
"Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you again," his hips drag against you while his fingers pump relentlessly into you. They curl just right, brush that sensitive place inside you that makes you moan out loud, and suddenly you are too aware of everything, of the way your body tightens, of how close you are tipping.
There is a sudden and new sensation to it all as Sylus starts to circle your G-spot and presses into it to feel it harden and grow bigger. "That's it, kitten," he encourages as well, eager to watch you come undone once more. But the pleasure builds too fast, too sharp and overwhelming to make your breath break into short gasps.
Why does he keep stroking that spot? Why does the pressure make your thighs twitch? It pulls that strange, dangerous sensation up from deep in your stomach, close to something you are absolutely not ready to give him—or anyone.
Perhaps it's the sensations that overwhelm you too soon, another orgasm threatening to crash over you in mere moments after he swore you would have a break. But you move without thinking, planting the sole of your foot against his abdomen and pushing away from him before scrambling as your fingers dig into the sheets. Swiftly, more swiftly than Sylus would have ever expected in this scenario, you twist and try to turn away from whatever madness is about to overtake you.
However, you forget briefly that Sylus already promised he would chase you.
Before you can even get your bearings, the familiar red mist coils around your ankles, sliding up your thighs with just enough pressure to wrench a moan from your chest now that you are dragged across the bed, your body pulled inexorably toward him.
"Kitten…" His voice is almost scolding, but the pleasure he takes in this is unmistakable. Your fingers' strength as they cling to the mattress holds no candle to something as unfair as energy manipulation, causing you to be tugged back across the giant bed until your ass bounces against Sylus's thighs.
And then he is there, all of him, draped over you like a heavy blanket of muscle and heat as he pins you in place. Lazy kisses trail up your spine until his chin hooks over your shoulder and the tip of his nose nudges your cheek. "Running from me? Really?"
"Fuck," you curse out quietly because of how much his Evol always turns you on, without fail. Then, slowly, carefully, you turn your head just enough to meet his amused expression—already knowing you have walked straight into exactly what he wanted.
You do not expect the sound he makes then, that soft click of his tongue paired with a crooked little smirk, as though he has any right at all to judge you when he is the one who set this in motion, who tugged and coaxed and pressed until your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up.
"You said you wanted to continue," he murmurs while peppering the sweetest kisses all across your cheek and eyebrow; they feel almost unfair in their sweetness. "And now you're trying to run from me? You shouldn't play with me like that."
"'S just… what you did, you…" You stumble over your words like a fool, the dread of embarrassing yourself causing your thoughts to tangle on your tongue as the memory of that overwhelming sensation swirls in your mind. "I mean—"
A sound that becomes a mix between a hum and a laugh vibrates against your back, and his mouth slides down the line of your throat to your shoulder. "Mhm… forgive me. Perhaps I should have warned you," he concedes softly. "I suppose my surprises don't always land quite the way I intend."
His Evol tightens around your thighs then, a gentle pressure at first to coax rather than confine. And it works, oh, does it work wonders now that the red mist moulds to the shape of your breasts and cups them. The flow of energy is delicious; it's warm yet cold at once, sometimes almost suffocating before its touch threatens to vanish.
It makes you squirm back, causes your hips to shift on instinct to seek the familiar solidity behind you. "You're teasing me again," is your softened, breathy complaint, followed by a whimper that makes Sylus's eyes roll back in pleasure before nuzzling into your nape.
"Okay. No more teasing, sweetie, mh?" He gives in with a roll of his hips, using the red mist to swiftly position his cock to glide through your folds. "Better now?" Sylus whispers gently while allowing you to work yourself up along his length as it slides through your folds.
A chuckle rumbles through his chest when he feels the tension drain from you. "Shh. It's alright, kitten. I've got you," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "I know I can be… a lot. But I'll always catch you when you fall. I'll always chase you and make it all better again."
His hands settle on your hips, squeezing the soft flesh enough for his fingers to sink into your skin as he holds you close. He encourages you to draw back until you can feel every inch of his body pressing against yours, from his broad chest to his muscular thighs bracketing your own.
"You feel that? Feel how much I want you, always?" he purrs, seductively needy and full of love. "I can't get enough of you, can't stop touching you, tasting you, fucking you." His mouth returns to your neck, slower this time as plush lips map familiar paths. His Evol follows the motion of his body, guiding the way you move, the way your hips respond.
"Just like that," an encouragement accompanied by his touch sliding between your thighs to rub your clit in slow, gentle circles. "Let yourself feel it. I'm right here." Your body trembles in response, the hitch in your breath a traitorous sound that begs the fiend to rub you faster.
His cock throbs against your ass, leaking pre-cum and smearing it across your skin as Sylus grinds into you—seeking friction, seeking relief. "Feels good, baby?" His breath is hot against your ear. "Let yourself enjoy this, let yourself feel every inch of me. I want to be inside you again, may I?"
Sylus's hands slide up to your breasts, where you feel the warmth of his palms cup your soft shape to knead slowly and just enough for your nipples to stiffen. The small sounds you try and fail to keep entice him to give you more—always more. Because those sighs and breathy moans do something to him, he likes them. Likes how easily he pulls them from you, how your body answers him without hesitation now.
His fingers pinch your nipples properly then, rolling the peaks just enough to make your back arch and your hips shift restlessly against him. Until your breathing stutters as you squirm restlessly, helplessly. You're caught between wanting more and already feeling as if this is too much.
Why is it too much?
Because Sylus's Evol relentlessly conquers your figure, the red mist curls close, holding your back pressed firmly to his chest for the tendrils to slide over your breasts and hips. They guide the slow push of your body back into him while his lips scatter soft, however indulgent, kisses over your shoulder.
That's where Sylus decides to settle, savouring the alluring scent of your perfume and the drumming pulse of your little heart. His hands drift down to your hips, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he draws you back against him, encouraging a steady grind against his cock.
You're slick, so very wet and warm and messy from your earlier shared bliss, that it makes everything glide far too easily. With each roll of his hips, the thick head catches on your entrance, teasing you both with the promise of being filled once more.
"Fuck," Sylus murmurs in that uncharacteristic rough tone before it is softened by a huffed chuckle. "I can't get enough of you." Aware of how much you enjoy hearing his sounds, to lose your mind in his pleasure, Sylus moans softly right into your ear. "Can you feel how wet you are, kitten? Feel what we did to you?" His tone softens at that, at the memory of making love to you time and time again.
A shuddering breath causes goosebumps to trickle down your skin then, before Sylus's hips press forward just enough for his cock to nudge inside you, only a fraction, before he pulls back again. Over and over. A fiendish cruelty to make your body ache with the lack of it—the lack of him.
The force of his Evol vibrates against your skin as it lifts and kneads your breasts, making them sway with the slow drive of his hips. Heat and energy crackles across your skin, though ultimately it's the familiar roughened touch of Sylus's fingertips that causes you to give in.
He drags them down your stomach, finding your clit where he circles the nub in leisure patterns. Just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble and your breath hitch, your body reacting openly as his cock throbs against your ass cheek, where pre-cum leaks and smears across your skin as he moves, chasing friction, chasing you.
"That's it," he encourages. "Grind back on me. Show me how much you want it… how much you want me again." The red mist tightens around your breasts, squeezing gently but insistently.
Your skin feels too sensitive, every nerve alight at once. Empty, swollen, your body clenches around nothing, fluttering in a way that draws a sound from you Sylus will store in his mind for eternity.
He feels it all, the way you start to shake, the way your breathing breaks into desperate little pants as your hips rock back into him with growing urgency, the head of his cock catching at your entrance again and again, teasing the stretch you crave without ever following through.
"Come on, sweetheart," Sylus coaxes softly like the devil upon your shoulder out for redemption. "Don't be shy. If I can beg, so can you."
"Sylus," you moan, but your voice is strained. You already present yourself in the most admirable arch, open for him to take you again if he wasn't so terribly proud at the worst times.
He knows what he has done to you, knows that he finally managed to break down your walls. "I know, baby," Sylus whispers as his lips move along your jaw and pepper kisses across your cheek. "You're tired." A pause, it's almost playful how he leaves you in suspense. "And now you want to play princess with me after trying to escape me."
With a shake of your head, you finally give up and say the word he has been longing for, the retribution for the way you earlier dared to tease him. "Please," nothing but a mumble regarded at the mattress underneath you.
But you can't seriously expect this to be enough for Sylus? No way would a whispered 'please' satisfy him after the show he put on for you.
"You know that's not enough. Don't you?" A breathy chuckle warms your skin as his fingers leave your clit, and his Evol takes their place. The energy swirls through your folds, pulses directly against you in a way that immediately makes your thighs shake harder than his fingers did.
It draws moans from you whether you want them to or not, your grip tightening in the silken sheets as your words stumble out. "P-please, Sylus, please, ngh-, just," your voice falters, pride warring uselessly with the way your body gives him everything anyway. It's never been clear whose pride runs deeper—yours or his—and moments like these prove it.
But the pressure doesn't relent. Neither does the sensation of his heavy cock, so warm and hard, nestled right against the soft flesh of your ass. Sylus is draped over you like a meaty blanket, squishing you not just with muscle but also his stubborn will.
"Please, Sylus," he murmurs the words right beside your ear, instructing you to repeat them.
And when you do, when you grind your teeth before mumbling another, "Please, Sylus," he grins and can't help but nip into your neck, right where your traps are. A slow lick of his tongue soothes the burning pain a moment before he resumes his guiding words. "Fill me, make me feel... whole," is almost a purr now, the way he pronounces the word 'whole' carries an entirely unique meaning for you and him. For your souls are one.
You turn your head then and meet the wicked glint in those crimson depths. "Kitten…" the asshole in question breathes into your ear. How on earth Sylus suddenly possesses this much restraint is a conundrum to you. Just this afternoon, he nearly wanted to devour an entire planet.
Though your pride finally gives way to lust when he dares to move his Evol along your slit, over your hole dripping with his cum, to push in slowly.
"Please. Make. Me. Whole." You bite the words out he longs to hear, and are rewarded with a groan and the feel of his hips finally moving. "That's my good girl," he purrs in the most seductive tune. "Such a good little kitten, begging so sweetly." He murmurs in victory over having finally managed to make you crumble.
His Evol throbs against your pussy, the red energy curling low and close, swirling and tingling against skin that already feels too sensitive—pushing more heat, more want through you until your thighs tremble. You feel it everywhere, not just where it touches, but deeper, coiling inward as Sylus's hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to anchor you there, to keep you open.
"You want to feel whole, baby? I'll make you whole, I'll complete us both again." There is affection in his words despite the promise threaded through them. When he finally pushes forward, it happens smoothly, almost effortlessly, your body stretching without resistance thanks to how wet you are.
You feel him sink into you at once, buried to the hilt in one long motion that pulls a sound from your chest as your walls clamp and flutter around his thick shaft, as if trying to pull him even closer.
He stays there for a moment, fully seated, hips pressed flush to you, to make you aware of how full you are, how stretched, how your body keeps reacting on its own. "That's it, kitten. Fuck, you always feel incredible."
When he starts moving, it is slow and steady, his hips rolling and rocking into you with an undeniable intention to make you feel everything—each thrust pushing you further up the bed, your body jolting with the force even as you try to brace yourself.
Every press, every pull, courses through you like the most potent liquor. The sounds that fill the room are messy and intimate, your breath breaking apart alongside his very own until you feel close to giving up. With his weight settled over you, Sylus presses his chest into your back, one hand moving until his palm may rest flat against your stomach to keep you stable.
His mouth finds your shoulder, where he nips and kisses before lingering on exceptionally sensitive spots, while his Evol slides up your sides to cup your breast. You hear your own breathy sounds slipping with every press of his hips.
"That's my good girl," he murmurs in a voice strained with lust. "Always taking me so well. Because you're made for me. And I'm made for you." His other hand slides around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm, fast circles that make your body tense immediately, your walls fluttering tighter around him as the pressure builds yet again.
Strained little moans fall from your lips as Sylus fills you like this, stretching you in a way no one else ever could, but your thighs are burning now, muscles trembling after everything he has already taken from you on the couch and against the window. Being held up, folded around him, takes its toll.
Sylus knows it too. You become aware of that fact once his chest presses more firmly into your shoulders, encouraging you to give in without asking. His Evol steadies you where your strength falters. "You don't have to act tough with me," he promises through shaky moans from behind your shoulder while you feel his touch travel down your side until he guides your body to lie down.
The mattress receives you a moment after the red mist tucks a pillow beneath your hips, raising you just enough for your back to fall into a natural arch. It eases the strain, even as the new angle pulls a gasp from your lips. Sylus straddles you from behind, large hands moving along the curve of your ass, gripping your thighs and watching the way the flesh gives under his touch.
"Yes, just like that, sweetie," he coaxes as he settles you fully into prone bone, while keeping himself elevated. A firm hand is planted beside your head, the other secure around your hip as he begins to move again.
You feel his weight more fully now, almost as if you are pinned beneath him, though it feels far too good to resist. Sylus moves deep and slow as he takes you, gentle even in his strength. Curiously, you turn your head and press your cheek into the sheets as you glance back just enough to see the strain in his muscles each time Sylus draws your hips back against him.
You feel just how deep he is through every slow movement brushing against your cervix, and still, he stays close, almost needy. Sylus's body shields yours while he moves in deep, languid strokes for your softness to give easily beneath his strength. His hands wander across your skin, squeezing, soothing, leaving goosebumps wherever they may pass.
His hand slides around to your front, finding your breast and cupping the soft mound as he continues to rock into you. "That's it, baby. Just like that," Sylus encourages while pulling you back onto him with each thrust. Your body trembles now, muscles aching from the overwhelming pleasure you have given yourself over to.
Sensing it, Sylus gentles his pace until his movements are little more than a steady rhythm meant to keep you right here with him. "I've got you, kitten. I've got you," he murmurs. "Just relax and let me make you feel good. Let me take care of you, like I always do."
His hand slides up your thigh, cupping your pussy for his fingertips to rub slow circles against your clit that make your breath hitch again. His hips roll steadily, filling you so completely you can't think past the sensation. "That's my girl," he praises. "My perfect love."
The urgency builds anew when his thrusts grow harder, faster, causing the bed to creak beneath the force of your passion. Your body tightens again, your walls fluttering around his shaft most encouragingly. "That's it, sweetie. Come for me," he coaxes so gently, almost like he wasn't the one thrusting into you from behind. "I want to feel this pretty pussy squeezing my cock, want to feel you coming undone around me."
He feels his own climax creeping closer, his body tightening as the pleasure gathers low and heavy. But Sylus holds himself back, determined to give you the release you crave first.
He wants to watch you break apart beneath him, to hear you cry his name when the pleasure finally carries you over the edge once more.
"Come on, kitten. Give in to it," he urges, his voice strained and rough with lust. "Let go, baby. I've got you. I'll always catch you." With a final, hard thrust, Sylus buries himself deep inside you, grinding against your cervix as he rubs your clit firmly. Your orgasm is a sensation to him as well, the way your hips lift to escape the insistent circling of his fingertips around your clit as that tidal wave of pleasure drowns you whole.
You feel yourself clench around his cock, your fingers curling into the satin sheets as crumbled moans of his name in variations are breathed from your lips.
Through ragged breaths, he praises you as the aftershocks of your shared climax roll through both of your figures. "I love you so much, sweetie. More than anything in this world or the next." He sounds almost sated now…
Sylus’s hands do not settle, not even after everything he has already taken from you. They keep redrawing the deeply cherished shape of your body like he wants to explore you forever. Your skin gleams beneath the soft glow of the lamp, sweat catching the light along every dip and curve, and the sight alone keeps his fingers wandering.
When he finally pulls out, he cannot resist squeezing your ass, watching the flesh give and shift beneath his palms. Only then does Sylus guide you onto your back, though his hands never leave you. They slide over your waist and upward to cup your breasts as he leans down.
His mouth is still warm when he begins to kiss along your collarbone, then the soft curves of your breasts, almost worshipfully.
But desire runs too hot in his body; it is never-ending for you. Not when your thighs are so squishy beneath his firm grip now that he kneads the sore muscles. He can't get enough of you, not when you spread your legs so willingly for him to nuzzle into your slick folds and breathe you in slowly.
The mingled scent of sex and heat drives him to groan against your flesh. "Kitten," he murmurs in guilt, with lips pressed close enough that you feel the heat of his words. "I don't think I can ever be sated."
His tongue slides over your pussy in slow strokes to taste and linger where you are most sensitive. Its warmth and pressure cause your hips to squirm and shift as if to escape, but his hands tighten on your thighs to hold you exactly where he wants you.
The sensation is too much and not enough all at once, his lips sealing around you as he sucks gently, then firmer in an unbroken rhythm. Your breath stutters for his name to release like a whimpered prayer. "Sylus, please." You really can't do this anymore; you feel like you will melt if he keeps going.
But Sylus, Sylus has full trust in you. And if anything, he presses closer as his mouth works you steadily, relentlessly, as if his whole purpose in life is to pull every sound and sensation from you. Beneath him, his own arousal stirs again from the taste of you, hips pressing down into the mattress for friction he barely registers while his mouth stays devotedly between your thighs.
His tongue pushes deeper then until your vision blurs. Your body begins to tense around the rising pleasure, breath breaking into short, uneven pulls as the edge draws closer.
"Please—Sylus—I can't—" Your hands fist in his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.
"Shh," he breathes softly now, but no less certain. "You can handle it. I know you can." The moment he adds is fingers, something snaps loose inside you. With two digits sliding into you and curling just right, you are helpless against the onslaught as pained pleasure builds too fast to track.
"I've got you," he murmurs, tongue lashing your clit while his fingers work on you. "Let go for me, kitten." Sylus feels it when you start to tighten, the way your body stiffens from pleasure coiling too tight to hold. "There you are."
Your body convulses as your orgasm crashes through you, your hips lifting helplessly as you come apart beneath him. You feel everything: his mouth, his fingers, and his hunger. Through it all, Sylus stays with you, in you, drawing the pleasure out slowly until your thighs tremble and your breath breaks into helpless, uneven sounds.
Only when it starts to ebb does he slow, gentling his touch while pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs and up to your mound, before easing his fingers out carefully. "That's my girl," in a honey-warmed voice.
Now that he is on top of you, darkened eyes gaze fondly over that sated look on your face. Then, at last, he kisses you gently for you to taste yourself on his tongue, to feel the lingering proof of what you have done together.
"I'll never get tired of you," Sylus repeats quietly against your lips. "Not ever."
Once you are in his arms, he holds you close as if he strives to keep you there. With absentminded strokes along your skin as if stopping is imply be unfathomable. "Now rest," he whispers. "Let me take care of you."
He carries you to the bathroom when your legs won't quite cooperate to the bathtub that is already beginning to fill by the time he lowers you into it. The heat warms your sore muscles and draws a soft sigh from you.
Only once he is entirely sure that you have settled does Sylus allow himself to follow. Settled behind you, he pulls you back against him with his arms securely around your waist.
"Is this alright?" He allows the question to be barely more than a breath brushing your ear. And you respond with a nod while already sinking into him, into the warmth of the water and the comforting strength at your back. His hands set off to ease and ground your figure until the last of your tension slips away. For a long while, Sylus simply holds you as he tucks his face against the curve of your neck to press lazy kisses into your skin.
Beneath the water, his hands roam you without purpose beyond touch itself; he simply follows the shape of familiar ground. Until his fingers find your breasts to cover them in the warmth of palms and draw you closer until your back is flush with his chest.
When his lips brush your ear, his voice is quiet and pure. "I love you more than anything, kitten. In this world, and whatever comes after. You're mine—and I'm yours. Always."
Now, unable to resist your gentle giant, you turn in his arms to look at Sylus and raise your hands for a cradling touch to his cheeks. His eyes are so soft whenever he says things like that that you cannot resist the urge to kiss him. Slower than before, a silent way to reciprocate his confession.
Firmly, his hands slide down to your hips until your body finds itself pressed so close that there is no space left between you. When you part, you let your fingers drift down to confirm what you already felt.
Sylus is still hard.
His length juts against your tummy in an attention-demanding way. But for once, he won't push for more, won't hope for anything. Perhaps that is the reason why his breath catches when you wrap your fingers around his shaft to stroke, squeeze, and deliciously torture him until you feel him throb in your hand.
Sylus lets out a low sound of restraint, though his hips shift instinctively into your hand. "You feel what you do to me?" It's a complaint accompanied by a willing body as his forehead rests against yours. "You're enjoying this a little too much."
But he enjoys it too. He guides your hand, encourages the motion without rushing it due to the gentle touch he keeps. "Yes, just like that," he murmurs. "You always know how to touch me."
His hips begin to move with your hand, causing the bath and bubbles to awaken around your bodies. And then he succumbs as he pulls you on top of him and ducks his face into your neck for another confession. "I want you," he says softly. "Let me feel you around me. Sit with me like this, will you?"
The way he asks sends a pulse of heat through you before you even give your consenting nod. His fingers tighten at your hips as he guides you back down onto him, and your breath catches as your sore body adjusts to his size all over again.
But your typical attitude is long gone by now. What remains is an undying ember of lust and love for your Sylus, and the terribly gnawing desire to forever feel as one with him.
Here, he doesn't thrust, nor does he roll his hips or move at all. He just lets you feel every inch of him while holding you as close as possible. "Stay with me," he murmurs. "I only want to feel you."
There is no rush in him now, only want and warmth while he keeps you tucked against his chest. You stay there with him, his cock throbbing faintly inside you as his hands soothe and trace you. Eventually, when you are both loose-limbed, he lifts you easily from the tub and dries you off with a careful hand.
With your signature robes draped over your bodies, Sylus carries you back to the bedroom, settling onto the mattress with you straddling his hips. The gentle pressure of his thumbs easing the tension from your shoulders brings your cheek to rest against his chest, and you let his heartbeat be your lullaby for the night.
"That's my girl," he murmurs softly. "You're so beautiful." He tilts your chin up once more, crimson eyes softened until they look like candy as he leans in to kiss you again, slow and tender and so dearly filled with love. Beneath you, his hips move just enough to remind you of his presence.
As he kisses you, Sylus’s hips begin to roll beneath you, his hard cock stirring inside your still-sensitive core. A soft groan escapes him now that his hands guide you to move with him. The robe around your figure falls open, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze and pressing them flush against his own now that you are lying down. Together on the mattress, you find yourself cradled against his chest with his cock resting deep within your warmth.
Through it all, he lets his fingers brush along your hairline and gently massage your neck until you manage to doze off. When sleep finally takes you, Sylus feels it immediately, your body relaxing fully against his.
In response, he holds you a little tighter and cradles your head while his lips rest on your temple. "Sleep," he whispers. "I've got you. I'm sorry for taking it all out on you."
He lets his eyes close soon after, with arms securely wrapped around you. The last thought in his mind before slumber claims him is of how utterly perfect this moment is—holding you, being one with you, in every way possible.
─ ❧ READ WITH CARE: mdni, Sylus under the influence of his Aether Core, power play, power struggle (obviously they are both stubborn), begging, cum play, multiple rounds, manhandling, reader is being carried around, Evol play, energy manipulation as a stimuli, marking, minor hunter / prey, slightly filthy language, finger sucking, spit, overstimulation, Sylus can be a bit pushy / needy at times but you gave consent, almost squirting, pet names (sweetie, kitten, baby, good girl, sweetheart, little dove, little fool, the list goes on), praise, many different positions, cockwarming, aftercare
─ ❧ WORD COUNT: 17k
─ ❧ LINKS: sylus masterlist | general masterlist | AO3
𖤝 PREMISE: When the Aether Core demands for more than Sylus was ever willing to give, his most beloved treasure walks in on him looking like a lamb ready for the slaughter. Sick with worry for your dearest, you decided to put his wellbeing before all warnings and isolations he imposed upon himself—and therefore you as well. But now you are here, in his hidden lair filled with useless trickets and a bottomless pit of desire flaring brightly. Please, won't you help him feel better?
𖤝 A/N: I was always curious to figure out why exactly MC is THAT wrecked after a night with Sylus. And I guess a whole year of being teased by Infold about those secrets happening behind closed doors, I needed to bring my own interpretation to life...
Love. Devotion. Desire. Lust. Fulfilment. Madness. Sylus no longer bothers separating the words. Whichever one may choose for the feelings plaguing his mind, Sylus is a willing victim. A fool most rejoicing at the hunger his mind succumbs to once his Aether Core needs more than silly little trinkets to prevent it from turning against Sylus himself, and his weakest link.
It all blurs together behind his right eye, which throbs in a slow, merciless rhythm that has nothing to do with reason and everything to do with want. The Aether Core plagues insistently, like an unrelenting presence deep in his skull that gnaws at the seams of his restraint until even discipline begins to feel like a fragile, foolish thing.
He has been trying his hardest to let it hurt, to ignore the pain. But for a man who prides himself on control, Sylus stands motionless in the low light, his body barely covered, spine straight as if firm posture alone might save him. And yet, beneath his skin, something boils harder with every breath he takes, heat blooming where there should be nothing at all.
The darkened room he retired to is immaculate—too immaculate. Still air, drawn curtains, every decoration where it belongs. A sanctuary built for control, though his eye burns even brighter in the dimness. Soft at first, then more intense, like a slow, living being that stains the angle of his cheekbone in crimson.
Remnants of prior attempts to quench its hunger lie abandoned on the table, from fractured stones emptied of their shimmer to useless little things that once held enough energy to satisfy lesser desires. Sylus had consumed them without hesitation, one after another, chasing the dull relief they promised. It lasted seconds. Minutes, maybe, but never long enough.
It can never be enough again. The ache sinks deeper now, no longer content to linger just beneath his skin. It slides inward, wraps around thought and instinct alike, tightening until even breathing feels difficult. His fingers curl slowly at his sides, though not in anger, at least not yet, but in a battle for dominance and restraint—a restraint so sharp it borders on pain because this thing wants what Sylus tries to protect most.
And you are too close. He knows it the moment you step into the room, before you speak, before the door even finishes closing behind your heavenly figure. The Aether Core reacts instantly—flaring in an eager, unmistakably alive sensation. His jaw tightens as the sensation surges through him, a painful swelling of need that has nothing to do with sanctity at all.
Oh no, this hunger has a shape now. A name. A face.
You.
Slowly, Sylus exhales through his nose; it is another measured attempt to stay aware, to remain almost defensive against your worry for him. For once in his life, he even refuses to turn; he cannot afford to look at you. Not when the core strains so openly, so greedily, as though proximity alone is the most unholy relief for greed.
"Don't come any closer," he says at last, attempting to keep a low and even tone for your compassion to ease. A pause follows momentarily, a crack stirred by your scent slowly creeping its way over towards nerves that are far too receptive. Then his voice turns quieter, almost pleading. "I'm serious."
"Sylus," you begin your argumentation, but the man in question refuses with a shake of his head. The glow beneath his eye pulses again, brighter this time, responding to your presence like a heartbeat gone wild. He swallows hard and forces his eyes to flutter shut as the control he is known for across planets slips in places he refuses to name.
His hands have moved over the silken robe that barely manages to keep his body covered. Has the temperature inside the room risen? Everything feels too tight, too small, he needs to…
Sylus flexes his fingers just as they are about to drift over his thighs, almost as if to remind himself they still belong to him. "It wants more than trinkets," he admits while finally turning to face you. His gaze locks onto yours with an intensity you haven't caught before.
He looks distressed, to put it nicely, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his chest, where you can see every heavy drag of air he seems desperate to inhale. "More than consumption." A brittle smile curves at his mouth at that, accompanied by that charming tilt of his head as he studies you. "It wants you."
The confession hangs heavy between you, thick enough to choke on. The core flares in response, heat rippling through him in demanding, relentless waves which are no longer content to be ignored. Sylus feels the true danger then—not the loss of control, but how willingly his body leans toward it. Toward you.
And you, silly little fool, you do not step back. That, perhaps, is what surprises Sylus most.
Though the tough act is becoming more difficult to uphold once you feel the pressure in the air, the heat rolling off him in waves, almost like some entity stirs just beneath the surface of his composure. You don't understand all of it. Not his core, not the depth of its hunger, not the way it pulls at him. But you understand him and the fear that wraps so tightly around want it almost hurts to look at.
"Sylus," you say again, softer this time, as the man in question takes another step closer despite his warning. Your gaze remains unwavering as it lifts to meet his. "You keep telling me to leave, but you're the one closing the distance between us."
Caught red-handed, you see fear flicker across his expression. Though not fear of what he might become, rather fear of how much he already wants to let it happen. "If you stay," he murmurs while taking yet another step despite himself, "you don't get to pretend you don't know what you're offering."
You feel the hunger of the Aether Core, how (im)patiently it waits, watching you through his eye.
"I know," you answer simply, boldly. Perhaps normal Sylus would call it rash. The light beneath his eye burns brightly, straining against its human cage. "And if I fail," Sylus continues, his voice is rougher now, stripped of its polish, "I need you to understand this—" His hand lifts, hovering just shy of your skin, trembling because he still tries to keep it under control. "I won't stop myself from devouring you, little dove."
You remain where you are, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your body, close enough for the Aether Core to know you're not going anywhere. "I won't leave you tonight," you promise with an unwavering gaze.
"Reckless girl," Sylus exhales under his breath, a strained huff that might have been a laugh, turning his tone almost amused. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"
You know deep down that you should be afraid, or at least worried for yourself. Somewhere, reason demands it. But all you feel is that familiar, steady pull between two bodies, two souls of one. "No," you admit softly. "But I'm not leaving."
The Aether Core behind his eye pulses brightly in response, but the relief your presence offers only deepens the hunger beneath. Because now it not only knows what Sylus wants, but worse—it knows it can have it.
Sylus takes a step closer before he realises what he's doing until the space between you collapses. His presence feels oddly heavy and overwhelming, the heat which is rolling off him coming into your awareness. "If you had any sense of self-preservation," he mutters, just before a thick swallow forces him to pause, "you'd be running." His hand lifts again, and it hovers just shy of your waist. "But now I would chase you," he adds in a heated breath across your jawline, "and I would catch you, my beloved."
The light beneath his eye taints your softer features. "And I haven't figured out whether to curse you for it," a groan flows free from the breath hitching as the pull deepens between you, "or thank you." He does not give you time to answer; he does not even hesitate any longer. Whatever fragile line Sylus had been clinging to snaps the moment you remain where you are, unflinching and unafraid. He closes the distance in a heartbeat, firm hands coming up to take, to claim the space you occupy as his own.
His mouth finds yours like he has been starving for you, slotting his lips over yours in that familiar second-nature type of way. There is nothing careful about the kiss, no pause, no hesitation. Sylus devours you, a crashing of lips into yours like a bruising force. Heat spills from his body in waves, overwhelming your cool touch as large hands grasp into your clothes and pull you into a sweat-dampened chest.
The taste of want is sharp on his tongue, and the sound he makes is low and wrecked, torn from deep in his chest as he pulls you closer, closer, until there is no space left at all. Teeth graze and breaths stutter as the kiss turns desperate and consuming, as if he intends to swallow you whole and finally be sated.
For only a breather, Sylus presses his forehead to yours before another kiss chases you like oxygen. His lips return to yours immediately, rougher now, needier, every movement speaking of a man who has already lost and no longer cares to recover. Control is leaving his body—burnt away by the move of your mouth beneath his.
When he finally tears himself back just enough to inhale, his voice is undone by his woman. "…You should have run," he murmurs against your mouth, and you willingly swallow the warning down with the next kiss.
It happens too soon, suddenly your feet leave the floor as he encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. The motion knocks the air from your lungs in a startled sound that he devours greedily, using the moment to slip his tongue past your parted lips to steal any sense of self from you.
The room blurs just as your skin begins to tingle from Sylus's heated figure before the cold press of leather meets your back. Your combined weight causes the couch to welcome you with a soft creak as Sylus settles over you, caging you without breaking contact. His kisses are all messy, teeth tugging at your lower lip as if to prove his hunger with every press of his mouth.
One hand slides into your nape to tilt your head back for him to admire his ravished Magnum Opus. "Still not running," Sylus murmurs between kisses peppered all over your pretty features. The other hand drags slowly along your side, lingering just a moment beneath the swell of your breast, your waist, mapping your body through fabric and lust. "You're so very brave," he all but purrs as he leans towards your lips again, brushing soft, split-slick flesh against another. "Or very imprudent."
At that, his thigh slots between yours as he leans closer, perfectly applying pressure where you will soon ache for him most. The gesture coaxes soft sounds of pleasure from your chest before you can think of stopping them. Attuned as Sylus is to you, he feels the shift immediately. How you move against his muscles without hesitation causes a low hum of approval to vibrate on your lips.
Unrestrained hands roam over your lands, sliding down your hips, where he pulls you closer until there is no escape for you but to press into his defined thigh muscles. You never would have imagined that kisses could be even more demanding than they usually are with your passionate lover, but Sylus is always there to surprise you still.
He kisses you harder, slower and deeper while cherishing every single reaction you reward him with. Until your breath stutters against his mouth, until your body feels almost equally as heated as his own. His kisses lead south, then, moving sloppily along your jawline and down your neck. "Do you want more?" Sylus merely murmurs, the question slipping in between those devious marks of devotion until his breath tickles your ear.
Here, his voice drops to a softer tone as he adds, "Do you want me?"
Though the tightened grip of his hands speaks of possessiveness that urges movement, coaxing you into the slow grind along his thigh. "Say it," nothing but honeyed words that drip along your fluttering pulse, "tell me you'll take care of me."
Unfortunately, you don't often do what's wise for you. Which is why you leave him hanging in suspense, forcing Sylus to feel a hesitation in your demeanour that causes him to pause, to reconsider even as he fights that raging hunger within.
It is most unbecoming, most ridiculous. That giant of a man is at the mercy of you, your dignity. But when you finally speak, your voice is almost amused—one might argue. "Ask nicely," you murmur. "Or beg."
For a heartbeat, Sylus's posture stiffens, pride rearing its head. He leans back just enough to look at you, to reveal the war waging inside him. "Careful," he murmurs against your mouth, already trying to regain the upper hand. "You're making unreasonable demands, kitten." He is beautiful this way, all flushed features and heaving chest with that intoxicating cockiness in his gaze. "I don't beg," flows free almost automatically, though the words lack conviction even as they leave him.
Provoked, that is what you are. So you raise your chain slightly in answer, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes while the silence stretches. It coils tighter, ever tighter, since neither of you wants to surrender.
But Sylus is always prepared to fight for what he wants, to get his way one way or another. Even if it's foul play. His hands move again, sliding between your body and the couch to hoist you up, easily managing to guide you until you find yourself straddling his lap. He sinks back into the leather, long legs spreading just enough to force you to settle on his aching bulge. You can feel how hot his body is now that you're pressed against him, arched forward through the glide of his palm down your spine.
The greedy mouth never leaves your skin for long; kissing, nipping, dragging along your jaw, throat and cleavage because he intends to make you forget that you even asked him to beg in the first place. Sylus grips you firmly enough to remind you how easily he could take control if he chose to.
By now, he conquers your waist, your back and hips as long fingers easily reach around the swell of your ass to pull you just a little bit closer still. His very being makes it difficult to think, guiding you into movements until the heat between you becomes undeniable.
He shifts beneath you in a subtle movement, just enough for the provocation to draw a reaction from your body before your mind can catch up. Your covered pussy drags perfectly along his aching erection in a slow grind that causes his breath to stutter. A low sound mixed by equal measures of pleasure and desire leaves him, his lashes already fluttering from the stimulation. Bless you for wearing a skirt, bless you for wearing those lacy little things that do nothing to soak up your arousal.
"That's it, sweetie. Don't think. Just feel me." His hands slide higher, then lower, mapping you, coaxing heat into your limbs, into your breath, as if tainting the way you melt against him, so convinced that he has already won.
"You don't need me to beg," Sylus continues the sugarcoating of his stubbornness while softly trailing his mouth along your throat. "You want this just as much as I do." He tilts his hips again beneath you, just to prove his point, because he is so sure you will react with the same level of want he feels boiling inside himself.
Ah, but you… you don't give him the satisfaction. Instead, you still on top of him and lean down close enough that your lips brush his ear as you speak with an infuriatingly steady voice. "I said ask nicely."
For a moment, Sylus doesn't know how to react. His hands tighten at your waist, pride flaring one last time as he considers his options, and then he cracks under the weight of his want. Checkmate. His head falls back against the couch, eyes half-lidded from lust, though his jaw remains clenched as if the admission might actually physically hurt.
But you wait, run your fingers through his dishevelled hair while giving him a look that calls for surrender. In the worst possible moments, you're suddenly the human personification of patience.
Then, a sound torn from a place that might actually leave Sylus wounded, he sighs as his forehead drops to your shoulder. A laugh under his breath follows before you can feel silver strands brushing along your skin through his nod.
To hell with kindred spirits, to hell with anyone thinking you're the innocent one in your pair.
"Damn you," he mutters without any real heat. His hold on you tightens then, as if that gesture alone may be the only thing keeping him together. He looks back at you then, really appreciates the demon you have become since desire turned into a shared experience.
The sound of his voice causes your core to flutter; you feel yourself tighten around nothing due to that soft, defeated rasp. "Please." Light as a feather, his fingertips move up beneath the hem of your top, teasing along your lower back as if ready to strike. "I need you. I want you to take care of me," he adds then, but Sylus never half-asses anything in his life, and if somebody already managed to make him beg, he might as well hit them with the full force of his need.
The nibbles he leaves along your neck turn deeper then, needier as his trimmed nails tease your skin until you shiver. "Won't you help me?" His forehead presses to yours then, his nose nudging yours in the sweetest attempt to give in. You feel his shaky breath fan across your lower face as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. "Tell me you will, hm, kitten?"
You don't pull away from him again, not this time, not ever again. If anything, you give him more. Your mouth opens willingly, and Sylus groans into the kiss like the sound is dragged out of him against his will. You feel the size of his hand at the back of your head as he deepens the kiss—tongue pressing, stealing, chasing yours every time you try to breathe.
There is no grace left in it now, only want, wet and desperate, paired with the faint sound of shared air and swallowed moans that fill the space between you as your bodies grind together.
"Fuck—" Sylus exhales against your lips in the most wrecked and shaky state you have witnessed. "That's it. Don't stop." His hips roll up instinctively beneath you, and he doesn't apologise for it anymore; doesn't slow down. Instead, he only drags you closer, encouraging the friction by guiding your hips on top of him, pressing you down harder into his lap and rocking up into you.
Leather creaks beneath you as your weight shifts, your bodies finding a rhythm that's messy and thoughtless and far too good to stop. Sylus makes a sound every time you move—low, needy, embarrassingly honest—as if he's forgotten how to be quiet entirely.
His mouth leaves yours only to press hot, open kisses along your jaw, down your throat, lingering wherever your breath stutters the most while his hands tug at fabric, at flimsy nuisances keeping his treasure hidden.
He mutters against your throat as he works on your body, half-coherent and entirely needy. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."
There's impatience in the way he handles you now, a rough urgency as your top is pushed up over your head and thrown carelessly aside. You feel his muttered curses vibrating softly into your skin when something slows him down, feel the sharp tug as he gives up on playing fair entirely and tears your skirt off in one skilled move.
"Sylus!" You gasp in shock, no matter the way your hips had shifted against him harder from how much the gesture aroused you. A broken laugh leaves him at your reprimand, though his mind is occupied with the perfect feel of your ass cheeks in his palms, settling firm and possessively for him to squeeze the globes.
"Perfect," he breathes, praising and filthy all at once. "You're so perfect," he continues with half a mind, entirely ignoring the chance you might mourn your clothing item. His fingers flex around your ass just as he dips his head to drag his tongue along the swell of your breasts until your moans dust over him like powdered sugar—sweet and addictive, and never enough.
He chuckles once more at the sound you make when he guides your hips again, leaving you both utterly aware of lace and cotton being soaked in pre-cum. "There," Sylus murmurs. "Just like that."
It might be your imagination, but the pressure beneath you feels heavier tonight. The size of his bulge is impossible to miss, impossible to ignore, causing you to drag yourself along his length without shame, and letting Sylus feel exactly what you want.
"More," you demand softly, unembarrassed by the need threading through your voice as your hands slide to the tie of his robe, fingers already fumbling to undo it and free him from those last scraps.
At last, he feels a pair of familiar claws streak along firm muscle, carving lines down his abdomen and drawing shuddering breaths past his lips. The sounds Sylus makes are hot and wet, muffled by your cleavage as he tastes your skin, bites your tits, and presses himself into you like he means to disappear there entirely.
Vocal and responsive, every sound spills freely from him in broken breaths, murmured praise, and quiet pleas breathed into your skin like secrets he's been waiting lifetimes to confess.
"More?" Sylus echoes while his fingers make quick work of your bra, an effortless snap allows his hands to take its place for him to cup your breasts. His thumbs brush over your sensitive nipples, teasing them into even harder points until you whimper in the cutest way possible.
The sensations cause your core to flutter, making you squirm as he toys with you. "Like this?" Sylus murmurs with a coaxing tone. "Is this what you need, my princess?" His thumbs are awfully slow, entirely cruel in their precision as he teases you with circles drawn around your nipples. "Do you need me to touch you like this? To tease your pretty nipples until you're writhing and begging me?" The rebuke follows immediately, since you push your hand weakly against his chest in protest at his choice of words. "Don't call them that," a mutter quietly and utterly embarrassed.
But when Sylus looks up at you again, all protest dies thanks to the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What? You don't like it when I call your nipples pretty?" he all but coos with faux compassion before nuzzling into your neck. "But they are, they are just as pretty as everything about you. They are perfect, how they strain against my fingers, begging for more of my touch… so cute, I could devour you."
His words are punctuated by a sharp bite to your neck while his fingers continue their slow torment of rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. One hand then slides down to your hip, pulling you more firmly on top of him.
His mouth returns to you again and again—kisses pressed wherever he can reach, wet and open and desperate as he guides your hand down to his bulge. "You said you'd help me," Sylus murmurs, voice low and pleading without shame now. "Don't stop now. Please—"
There's no resistance left in you, allowing for Sylus to move your fingers along the bulge straining against the cotton of his briefs. Not because he asks so prettily, but because you want to see how badly Sylus can further unravel as he moulds your palm to his aching length.
"That's it, sweetie." The pleasure begins to lower his guard, causing his voice to feel heavier and more coaxing while his hips jerk up in a sharp, unguarded motion. A low sound tears free from his chest before he can stop it, because whatever composure he had left splinters at the contact, his body answering yours with embarrassing honesty. "Don't stop now."
His hand remains over yours in an effort to encourage your touch, to show you exactly how much he wants this, how badly he needs you to feel the effect you have on him. Every drag of your fingers draws another breathy sound from his lips, another tense flex of muscle beneath your palm as he gives himself over to the sensation.
Sylus lets his head fall back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut in sheer bliss now that you're finally here to take care of his ache. His chest rises and falls in heavy inhalations of air, his body reacting to you without restraint, without pride. In this moment, Sylus is nothing but warmth and need, so responsive, so very easy to read.
Though he could never forget about the relentless assault on your breasts, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh, rolling and plucking at your nipples until you, too, are whimpering from pained pleasure.
One stiff little peak is captured between his teeth, drawing quiet sounds from your throat as he nips lightly, then soothes the sting with a lap of his tongue. Sylus takes his time, mirroring the leisure of your stroking hand, to leave you equally as dizzy and overstimulated.
"You're perfect," his voice vibrates where his mouth presses into your soft flesh.. "I could stay right here forever."
You snort at that, a small breathless sound.
Liar.
And sure enough, he doesn't stay like this much longer. Not because Sylus doesn't want to, but because he can't.
His attention shifts back and forth between giving and taking, between driving you closer to the edge and rocking helplessly into your touch. With every passing second, it is becoming more difficult to keep the Aether Core in check. Crimson colour casts over your entwined bodies, painting you both in the light of his hunger while he needs to watch your smaller hand move across his bulge.
Fabrics grow damp, straining over his throbbing erection as it leaks pre-cum into the soft clothing item, his need palpable in every movement, every sound. The control slips through Sylus's fingers like sand, the glow in his eye flaring brighter as you bring him closer and closer to the edge. He can feel it—how close he is, how close you are, and how thin the line between teasing and cruelty has all but vanished.
He wants you to lose yourself in it first. Wants your breath gone, your thoughts scattered, your body aching before he allows himself anything resembling relief.
That is, until you can't take it anymore; until the heat in that small space between your bodies becomes unbearable and you dare to tease him. "How much do you need me?" you whisper, your voice barely there, wicked in its timing, while you tease the evident stain of pre-cum.
How you rub that spot with the perfect amount of pleasure ignites tingles low in Sylus's back, leading his breath to turn ragged, his urgency tearing through him with no mercy. He wants you, he wants to be in you, to be one with you. His fingers toy with the thin strap of your panties before repaying your cruelty in kind with the perfect pressure of two digits tracing the shape of your pussy through silk.
"All talk and no bite, sweetie," Sylus manages to tease with a mocking lilt to his voice despite the torture. "Aren't you just as desperate as me?" he goes on with a sigh, rubbing his fingers along the fabric until it moulds to your pussy lips.
You bristle at that, even as want throbs low in your core. It rewards Sylus with a glare, one that speaks of pure need and pride. He loves you like that, snarky, lust-filled, insatiable, just like him, while this dance between you continues. "Hmm… you are so cute," Sylus breathes you in at that, shamelessly inhaling your perfume mixing with the distinct scent of your arousal for him to moan low.
Pale lashes flutter shut momentarily as soon as Sylus feels your touch through the damp fabric of his briefs. His hands reach around your hips, firm enough to pull you down into him with little hesitation to grind the heavy weight of his arousal against your barely covered pussy.
After all, it is only fair that you feel what you have created. You need to be held accountable for the ache only you can craft. "Come on, conquer me," Sylus coaxes, while slipping his fingers beneath your panties to tease you more. "Take me down with you."
His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside just enough for his hand to slide between your bodies, a single finger dragging through your slickness. The moves are painfully slow, intentionally taking his sweet time thanks to the language your body speaks. "You're so wet already," he murmurs, while his thumb finds your clit to make you squirm. "Seems we're in the same trouble."
The space between you grows unbearable. Every small movement feels magnified—the way your weight settles, the way his body reacts instantly, helplessly, to the closeness. But you let him touch you, let him tease you, allow him to settle you right down on his bulge for him to gasp.
"Boss-man, you're so sensitive," you purr lightly, teasingly, just like you have learned from your lover. His breath stutters when you press down just a little more, and you can feel Sylus trying to regain composure, trying to act like he's still in control—and it makes your grin widen wickedly.
"Then do something about it," he says instead, whispering the challenge against your mouth, as his eyes remain locked on yours. "Show me you can handle me." His palm slides up your back, his fingers spreading over your shoulder blades as he pulls you into a kiss that's all heat and need.
The sight you are greeted with once you pull back is beyond the paintings people pay heavy sums of money for. Sylus's robe hangs open, his sweat-damp chest rising and falling with each exhale and topped off with his cock heavy and flushed, leaking against his stomach. He looks like a man consumed, a man driven mad with desire, held back only by the thinnest shred of control.
"Come here," he urges, softer now, coaxing instead of commanding. "Use me. I want to feel you."
His hands slide over your ass, lifting you with ease and settling you over his groin. The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, slick and insistent, impossibly hard. "Sweetheart," and what's left of Sylus is only need, pure need for you to take care of him, to settle on top of him. "I already begged. Don't make me do it again." The red glow in his eyes flares faintly, bright with focus as his hands guide you.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you shift, and for a moment—just a moment—your touch softens, your hand wrapping around his length gently as you grasp him for support.
Sylus shudders at the bliss of your soft hand wrapping around his aching cock, stroking him with a gentleness that belied the desperation in his eyes. The contrast of your delicate touch against his throbbing, rigid flesh sent a jolt of electricity through his body, making him grit his teeth and suck in a sharp breath through clenched jaws.
Your hand is so cute, so much softer than his own, so graceful in its touch. Even in a most filthy situation like this, do you stroke his cock like it's some sort of treasure to you.
"Fuck, your hand feels so good." his hips jerk involuntarily into your touch. "So soft and perfect, like the rest of you." He can't take this, can't take how sweet and caring you can be when he least expects it.
You lean down just enough to brush a playful kiss along the edge of his jaw, making him hiss softly and smirk when his fingers tighten. Exactly as planned.
All of this, only to wreck him further as you guide the tip through your slick folds, rubbing it against your clit for sweet moans to ring right beside his ear. Sylus watches it all with a near transfixed attention, paying witness to the view as you rub the swollen head of his cock through your slick folds and coat him in your arousal.
The feel of your pussy lips parting around his tip, the sounds of your sweet moans falling like music into his ears, it all pushes him to the brink of madness. He can feel the heat of you, the slick, silken walls that would soon be gripping his length most perfectly, and it makes him throb and leak all over your fingers.
His hands slide along your waist, coaxing you closer with a gentleness that seems at odds with his needs. But then, thank the heavens, you finally move, even if just a little, and Sylus shudders.
"That's it," he exhales, and sounds almost grateful. "Just like that." His eyes roll back from pleasure, his thighs flexing in response–he almost feels like tearing off his own skin.
But Sylus needs to watch, needs to peel his eyes open again to take in the way your body hovers over him, the way your breasts sway, the way your slick coats him as you rub him where you need it most.
Whether it's mercy or your own lust that finally tips you over the edge hardly matters, not when you finally lower your hips, not when all that is wrong in the world might finally be right thanks to the perfect hug of your walls around Sylus's cock.
His ragged, broken exhales of relief and want tangle together so tightly there's no separating them. "…There," Sylus exhales through his nose, then takes a moment to compose himself before he adds. "That's where you belong."
You grin at his most filthy words because you always find amusement in the lack of filter once he gets like this. But the brush of a fingertip along the tense line of his jaw reminds Sylus of how very much you are in charge, even in the moment he's lost completely. The Aether Core pulses in his gaze in response to the way you take him in inch by inch until there's nowhere else for either of you to go.
Your breath stutters the moment his hands lock around your hips, almost as if Sylus is daring you to try and escape. Not that you would. Not when every movement beneath you steals the air from your lungs and leaves your thoughts scattered.
Every drive of his cock pulls a breathy tune of pleasure from your chest, every drag of his length stretches you open, filling you so deeply it borders on overwhelming. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, then, matched only by the way his breath breaks against your throat and your own voice slips loose without restraint.
"That's it, sweetheart," and Sylus sounds almost drunk on the moment. "Take what you need. Use me. Don't stop until you can't anymore."His words are filled with confidence in how well he knows your body. "I want you right here. With me. On me."
His hand slides up your back, dragging you into a kiss that is all heat and teeth and impatience. You answer it on instinct, fingers fisting in his hair to tug just hard enough to draw a broken sound from him. Your body tightens as sensation builds, and you hate how easily Sylus reads it—you can see the knowledge in his gaze, in the way his mouth curves like he has already won.
"Come on, baby," he coos near your ear. "Take care of me. Don't tell me you're already satisfied."
"You're annoying," you pant as the urge grows to bite him, the words slipping out on a groan because you know he's teasing you on purpose.
A crooked smile pulls at his mouth, then his cock throbbing inside of you all because of the banter he is so addicted to. "Annoying, huh?" His voice drops, smug and wicked. "Seems like it's working then."
It does work, and you hate that he knows it. Your body reacts instantly, betraying you as the challenge in his tone sinks under your skin. Everything tightens, slickens, draws him in closer with each movement. He watches it all—every shudder, every gasp—eyes dark, intent, devouring you without mercy.
"Fuck," he breathes out in complete disbelief. "Look at you." It becomes a shared effort as Sylus helps lift you off his cock and sink back down. The couch groans beneath you, the sound obscene enough to make heat flood your body as you lift yourself just enough to feel him stretch you again before sinking fully, making him bottom out. It stings, yes, but you don't stop, and the sound he makes tells you he wouldn't want you to even if you could.
"You're an expert by now," Sylus murmurs with a wrecked voice. "All those test rides paid off." Your lips part on a sharp breath, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth despite the offence you should perhaps be taking.
And then you take control, lifting yourself and sinking back down on him for Sylus to admire. Your back arches, your breath stutters because your body struggles and yields in equal measure as you take him again. Slowly, you let him feel it all—every inch he has claimed flutters in a tightening hug, every breath he has stolen now heats his sensitive skin as you let your body collapse on top of his.
When you start to grind into him, pressing your clit forward before lifting again, he finally tightens his grip, helping you move and guide you just enough to keep you steady. Sylus is drunk on the sight of you working yourself on his cock; how your chest rises and falls fast, breasts bouncing with each determined drop of your hips, and the look in his eyes turns dark with appreciation.
The glow beneath his eye flares brighter; it pulses in time with his uneven breathing now that whatever restraint he had left is burning away slowly but surely.
Sylus begins to meet you halfway, thrusting up to match your rhythm. He's breathing hard now that your body tightens around him again and again. And you feel it building too— the tension, the pressure. He pulls you down into another kiss to steal and savour every sound you make.
Every movement feels sharper now, every response amplified until it is impossible to tell where one of you ends and the other begins. "You feel too good to be true," he groans, so greedy, so needy as his face ducks into the crook of your neck, pointy teeth teasing your skin, wet tongue tasting your sweat.
Maybe this is all a fever dream conjured by the Aether Core. But your ass feels too good in his hands, too perfectly squeezable to be a dream. He lifts you just enough before letting you drop back down on him, over and over, until the sensation builds too high to ignore. "Come on," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Let go. I've got you."
It feels almost ridiculous how those few words make you come undone. But the pressure snaps all at once, and your body tightens hard around him as you break. Sylus follows you with a final, deep thrust where he buries himself inside you, his body shuddering as he fills you, holding you there like he needs the closeness as much as the release.
Then, for a charged moment, he doesn't move at all—just stays pressed against you, lost in tranquillity, while breathing you in. When he finally exhales, it's long and ruined, his body still shuddering beneath you while his forehead falls to your shoulder.
"…You really are going to ruin me." Though he sounds like he's already long accepted such a fate.
Just as Sylus has accepted, no embraced the delicious sting of your fingers now that they tighten in his hair, tugging at his roots as you tilt your head just enough to lean in further, to look a bit like a hunter eyeing her prey. "Good."
But it doesn't just stop there–not tonight, no, that was just the beginning. It's way more fun to nudge your hips into lazy motions while you remain pressed against Sylus's chest, still warm and oh-so pliant from the aftermath of the first round.
It's subtle at first, just enough movement to make you register it, to realise he isn't done with anything at all. His chest rises against yours, slow and controlled breaths of rich air, while his fingers curl with intent now that they guide you again before you can decide whether to resist.
There's no mistaking it, not with the sound that falling past Sylus's lips. A groan so utterly debauched upon that first flutter, you reward him with. Warm breath brushes past your temple, then down slowly along your cheek, jaw and throat as Sylus nuzzles into you.
"You have to forgive me, kitten," he murmurs into your ear. "But I don't think I can be satisfied with one round." The breath he blows against your ear is cruel in how effective it is to make you shudder, and you hate how quickly it works as well.
His hands slide beneath your thighs, squeezing as he lifts you without effort. Paired with the murmured command for you to "Wrap your legs around me, sweetie," your body betrays you instantly. Locked around him, Sylus begins to carry you through his sanctuary leisurely.
Settled deeply inside you, you feel every step Sylus takes. With each step, you feel the tip of his length pressing insistently into you, demanding more and more. You squirm, whine under your breath, claw at him in protest—though that only seems to encourage him further.
"Where should we go, hm?" Sylus muses aloud, mostly to himself, but with all the time in the world. He knows you're past offering any useful input now that you're clawing at him. Your arms are already around his neck, holding on too tight for someone who plans to argue.
Strong hands light you a little higher then, before letting you sink down on his cock again, to allow a beautiful and softened moan to breathe across your naked skin, thanks to how perfectly you hug him.
Could he put you down on the TV cabinet? No. How about the bathroom? Hm… That's better for an afterthought, Sylus decides.
By now, you press your face into his shoulder, equal parts annoyed and breathless, while painting pretty little streaks of red along his shoulder as you struggle for any small amount of moral support.
"Careful," you grumble so incredibly sweet, that it is impossible for Sylus not to chuckle softly in response, then brush a kiss to your temple where he whispers, "you're not very convincing..."
You're just about to snap back when cold meets your spine without warning.
The shock draws a sharp gasp from you, your fingers clawing into his arms as that familiar, and awfully arousing, glare is pointed in his direction. How you hiss his name, enunciating each syllable with venom makes Sylus throb inside you.
He laughs then and there. That unmistakable, rich and deep laugh from the depths of his chest as he presses you into the window, caging you in completely with his body. "Mhm, I love it when you look at me like that, kitten…" he murmurs while drinking in your angered look.
His eyes gleam when he feels you tense, when he feels how quickly shock turns into something entirely else. "What's weighing so heavily on your heart, sweetie?" He purrs along your throat. By now, you're pressed up against the glass to the point it's hard to breathe, two sweat-slick bodies flush against another with the icy touch of the glass along your back. "Oh. I get it. You want more, right?"
He presses a soft kiss to your jaw—mockingly gentle. The familiar, and deeply appreciated, sting to his scalp welcomes Sylus in response as your nails scrape just hard enough to get your point across.
"Don't you dare mock me, Sylus," you warn him with that utterly cute and breathless stutter you only use when arousal and anger war inside you. "Sylus~" A sigh of his name thanks to a potent shudder lapping at your sanity.
"Sylus, Sylus, give me more, Sylus~" he dares to mimic your voice with a lovesick sigh before burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Don't worry, I'll warm you up soon enough," he murmurs with another stupid smirk on his face. His hands have long since started roaming along the goosebumps covering your skin, drawing teasing circles around your hardened nipples.
How can a man wreck you this much time and time again? Most humiliating about this scenario is how you swear to yourself not to stoop to his level again, never again. And yet you find yourself in his trap, a willing victim despite the teeth you try to use on him. "Screw you," it could have given Sylus pause, were it not for the strain in your voice and the weakened attitude.
His laughter vibrates through you where he's pressed so close. "Oh, I intend to, kitten," it's sinful amusement weaving its way through his voice."I will screw you over and over again, as you so eloquently put it."
He draws back slowly out of your dripping cunt, just enough for you to feel the absence, just enough to make you tense and miss the stretch. Nuzzling against you, with his lips brushing chaste kisses against your glossy, kiss-swollen mouth, Sylus takes his time, letting you feel the loss, the emptiness.
"Right. Now." The movement that follows knocks the air from your lungs, drives a sharp sound from you that you absolutely do not mean to make.
Sylus pulls you closer, closer, closer until there is nowhere left to go. He begins to move in earnest, pulling your body down as he thrusts up into you, this time less relenting and entirely conquering. Warm hands grip the backs of your thighs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he hoists your legs up and over his elbows, letting your ankles dangle uselessly like a pretty accessory as he looms over you, his broad chest heaving with each ragged breath.
A softened command breathes gently over your lower face when he leans in for silvery strands to tickle your forehead. "Arms around my neck, sweetie," to then wait until you comply, until your arms rest securely around him, nails digging into his shoulders.
He is so very drawn to you that every sound will play in his mind forever, unfiltered and raw. "And let me hear that pretty voice of yours," he adds while tickling the shell of your ear with a blow of cool air. "You're holding back." Take the nip of his teeth as encouragement to part your lips.
It's cold at your back, and unbearably hot everywhere else. The dual sensations cause dizziness, and your vision blurs from the intensity of the moment. Sylus is overheating from his desires, and the heat seeps into every curve of your being as well.
You don't even know where else to put your hands because just holding him isn't enough, and well, holding onto Sylus for long isn't as exciting as being pressed into the window. So, your palms push him away only to draw his face right back against yours to chase a kiss that is all teeth and tongue—nasty and untamed. The pulse behind his eye flares at that, thrives back to greedy life and seems to burn ever brighter at the sinful view that you make.
"Come on, sweetie," so rough, so raspy that nobody could resist him now. "Tell me how good this feels." But you, ever the hissy little thing, refuse to answer properly—of course you do. The sound you make instead is sharp and breathless, pulled out of you when Sylus shifts again, when the pressure builds in a way that causes your thoughts to scatter.
Delicious, how your body reacts, how you tremble even as you try to hold onto that bite of attitude.
It only makes him worse. Makes Sylus want you way worse. He keeps moving, relentless without being hurried, though buried to the hilt with each thrust. His movements are designed to push you to the brink of madness, to make you squirm and use those little claws to make him yours.
The sound of your breath mixes with the low, broken noises Sylus makes when his control slips further and further through his fingers. That's when his mouth finds yours, silencing whatever sharp remark you tried to throw at him. It's a deep kiss, all-consuming in its intent until you are left dizzy.
Though you bite at his lip in retaliation, which prompts a pleased sound from deep within his chest. Despite yourself, your body betrays you anew as it softens where you tried to fiercely to remain sharp. You lean into Sylus's onslaught on your senses, clawing and pawing and hugging his figure like your personal canvas in desperate attempts to anchor yourself.
Sylus just grins wider; that triumphant smile sends a shiver down your spine. He loves seeing you like this; so lost in pleasure, drowning in the sensations of him inside you, around you, consuming you utterly. "I know you're tired," he says softly, almost indulgent. "But your body disagrees with you here."
Your back arches off the slippery glass, a sharp inhale sounding in the small space between your lips when the tension coils too tight to ignore. You glare at him through it, furious at how right he is, at how easily he reads you.
"Don't deny it, kitten," Sylus murmurs. "I can feel how much you are enjoying this."
Smug bastard.
Your walls clench around him then, gripping his cock in the most perfect way to put Sylus in a situation akin to yours. So close to sweet release, to pure bliss. So he can't stop chasing it, chasing you, driving his length into you with increasing fervour. Each thrust pushes you higher, tighter, until you are teetering on the brink of ecstasy.
"Fuck, yes. That's it, sweetie. Let go for me," he groans into your chest after his face collided forward, lips dragging across the swell of your breasts. The lust has roughened him, has shed off the layers of restraint Sylus usually likes to don. Each thrust settles him snug against you; he craves to grind his pelvis against your clit–eager to hear those pretty whines and breathy moans until the pleasure borders on pain—but you crave it, need it, ache for more.
Uneven waves of satisfaction ebb and flow inside you, causing your nails to dig into his skin as softly spoken curses rain in on his parade for how good he makes you feel, for how impossible it is to stay defiant when he knows you this well.
His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts, kneading the pillowy flesh as he rolls your nipples between his fingers. Sylus pinches and plucks at the sensitive buds, sending jolts of electricity shooting through your body, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch. Teeth graze, then sink into the hollow of your throat just enough to leave you gasping, marking you in ways he simply can't resist.
"Come on, baby. Give me everything," he urges in a low and seductive rumble. "Let it happen. Allow me to feel you come undone in my arms again."
Ah, how perfectly your breath stutters, how loudly your pulse drums in his ears, how your blood races underneath your heated skin. Muscles tense, then give as the second release hits hard enough to leave you shaking against him. You don't scream his name, but it's right there on your tongue, swallowed only because he steals your mouth again and keeps you close, keeps you right where he wants you with your nails raking down his back most deliciously.
"That's it, kitten," Sylus moans right beside your ear, panting roughly from the art of your pussy clenching around his cock, gripping him and throbbing so perfectly until your juices coat his shaft and balls. "Give me everything," he adds quietly, forehead resting in the crook of your neck. "I want all of it, just like that."
Gone is the pride, to hell with the attitude, all that remains are breathless calls of "Sylus!" in trembling variations as you cling to him while riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm. In the same moment, his composure finally shatters for good. He continues to thrust into you and prolongs the ecstasy with every deep, grinding stroke. The Aether Core blazes, light flaring bright enough to paint the glass and the room and your skin alike. Sylus groans long and low as the tension finally breaks, leaving him just as undone as you are.
Buried securely inside you, his cock throbs and pulses, accompanied by shudders wrecking his broad frame from the force of his release. "You feel so good, sweetheart. So perfect around my cock." He praises in the most sweet, most filthy way possible with a love-drunk expression on his face.
He keeps you close while the aftershocks move through you both, with firm arms locked around your body because Sylus has no intention of letting you drift even an inch away. "You tremble so much because of me," he observes, not to mock you, but more so to stroke his own ego. "It's… charming."
But you lack time to respond since his mouth finds yours again in a slow, claiming kiss that lingers. Fully satisfied, though still very much hungry. The movement of his lips on top of yours makes your head spin almost as much as the release did, for your thoughts to scatter again.
When he finally pulls back, Sylus rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing softly. It's apparent that the glow in his eye hasn't faded yet, the Aether Core still very much alive and feasting behind his gaze as he takes in every single detail about your debauched state.
Sylus indulges in the lingering heat of you, in the way your body still responds to him despite the fading tremors. Despite your satisfaction, he knows that he can push you for more eventually. This moment, this night is far from ending—though he momentarily considers a respite.
"We're not done, kitten." The words are low and assured, touched with a hint of amusement and a hidden care behind them all. "Not yet." His tone turns almost deceptively sweet as his gaze roams over you openly, affectionate and hungry all at once.
"Do you want to lie down for a bit, hm?" But you don't even have to respond for Sylus to move again. You're being carried across the room until your back finds comfort in silken sheets while Sylus remains snug inside you, giving you a lazy thrust forward that causes you to squirm as he shifts his weight on top of you.
The protest is cute, how your palms push against his chest. It earns you a low chuckle that vibrates through him. "Too much," it's barely louder than a breath, in a way that causes Sylus to take pity for his hand to smooth over your hair and his lips to press a gentle kiss against your forehead.
"Okay. Okay," he concedes then and eases back agonisingly slow.
Oh, but the noises. You're so sweet; the sound you make leaves his composure visibly frayed. So stuffed with your mixed juices that Sylus can't help but lean back on his shins instead of pulling away completely. His hands continue to hold your thighs open so he may appreciate how warm and soft you are, so full of his cum that he can't look away as it slowly spills from you while your body flutters around nothing now.
A slow exhale of a deep breath seems to echo in the quiet of the room. "Shh, I know, baby," he murmurs gently as he brushes your hair back when you squirm. "I know," added with a gentle trace along your thigh. "You did so well for me."
The feel of two long fingers moving through your folds to gather some of your mixed juices makes you squirm, makes you whine out his name in a way that causes his heart to stutter. "And look at you," he continues, because Sylus can be so sweet, so praising and proud of you. "Look at the mess we made." The unmistakable note of possession that he never bothers to hide softens his words.
But he can't stop, can't turn away from you, can't let go of his dearest treasure. He much prefers to bring his fingers to his mouth without breaking eye contact, sucking on them with all the time in the world until he pops them out once they stop tasting like you.
"But I can see that you need a little break," he says softly. "Don't you, kitten?" His lips curve upward, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips, savouring the exhaustion of your body. "Don't worry. I'll take very good care of you. I always do."
His hands move back to your body then, settling over your breasts in a warm embrace meant for comfort. He feels your pulse beneath his palms, the heat of your skin, the way you respond even now.
Unable to resist you for long, Sylus leans down again to place a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, where he decides to linger, to mouth against the giving swells. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt lingering on your skin from your intensive endeavours until you shift against him.
"You're insatiable too," Sylus murmurs, close enough that his words brush your ear. "I can see it in the way you react to me, even now." His thumb circles your sensitive clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips before he stills again—he is so pleased with himself.
"Mhh… but I promised you rest," he whispers into your breasts. "Regain your strength, kitten." Sylus's eyes flick back up to your face, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome features. "And once you're better… then, kitten, I'm going to make love to you again. All. Night. Long."
Sylus pulls back at last, finally taking pity on you. He massages your calves first, where his thumbs work in steady strokes, then he moves up to your thighs, to press slow circles into your hips until the tension eases little by little.
You huff quietly at the attention, half spent, half stubborn about how much you still want him, even as your body betrays you by relaxing beneath his touch.
Sylus tracks every shift in your breathing, every flicker of expression as the post-fuck haze settles in beautifully. That is when his focus drops, his gaze following the path of his hands down to watch how your mixed juices create a perverse masterpiece as it slowly pushes out of you.
You tense instinctively, thighs twitching as if to close while a heated wave of embarrassment washes over you. It's obscene in its intimacy, the way it tells on you so openly, revealing the evidence of what you have shared, like a private testament to the way Sylus has taken his time with you.
He feels his body respond instantly, his cock twitching against his thigh as a hummed tone of want rumbles and rises in his chest as he tries to behave. "Beautiful," Sylus sounds low and rough with rekindled lust. "Look at your pretty pussy, so stuffed with my cum."
You will never grow accustomed to that shift in him, to the way the polish and decorum can peel away once he allows himself to indulge. Beneath all those layers of outward control, there is a creature made entirely of lust and desire—and it has a filthy mouth.
Worse now, with his breath hot against your sensitive flesh as Sylus inhales the musky scent of your essences deeply. The awareness of his touch slides up your thighs again, nudging them wider, and opening you fully beneath his ravenous gaze. He takes his time looking, drinking in every small reaction you give him, and you feel every second of it.
"Tell me, kitten," his fingers trace a teasing path through the glistening folds there, gathering proof that you are not nearly as done as you pretend. You gasp sharply with trembling thighs , and mutter something under your breath that might be his name or might be a warning.
With a smirk to his lips, Sylus lifts his hand and swipes the tips of his fingers across his lips. His tongue flicks out slowly to taste you, to make a show of your flavour as his eyes flutter shut most theatrically. A low moan of content leaves his chest before he looks back at you again.
"Do you see the problem?" he inquires, and suddenly Sylus sounds almost casual. "How am I meant to give you a break when your body looks like that?"
He leans down as he speaks, close enough that you can feel the heat of his mouth as he just hovers right above your clit in a most maddening way. "I want to taste you," Sylus confesses with a featherlight caress of his lips along your outer lips.
A quiet whine slips free as he hovers right there, impatience growing with every quickening beat of your heart. Sylus is excellent at coaxing you to give him just a little more, give him the filthy view of your pussy clenching around barely more than his cum… And the chuckle he offers in return is rich with satisfaction.
"Ah, but I promised," there, mocking compassion with an almost airy delight to his voice. His lips move continuously against your pussy, each word a well-chosen test of your composure. "Patience, baby."
The kiss he presses there is barely more than a suggestion, light enough to make you gasp sharply and send a jolt of electricity through your figure. You try to bite back a moan and fail miserably.
"You're not ready for more, are you?"
But in reality, the bastard got you worked up all over again with nothing more than teasing touches and those almost-innocent kisses. That look that tells you plainly he is nowhere near finished with you, that his mind is still full of filthy plans he intends to carry out at his leisure. You play directly into his hands now that you find your spark again to glare up at him with a sharp huff of breath.
"You're so annoying," you complain flat out right into his face as your brows knit together in irritation. They create that look Sylus adores so much. "Aww, kitten… none of that," Sylus cuts in immediately, silencing whatever protest is about to slip past your pretty lips by kissing you instead.
You are not entirely sure when or how he manages to move above you once more, when his weight settles over yours and pins you back into the mattress, but it hardly matters now that all you can register is the taste of him, the lingering mix of you both on his mouth. His lips move against yours with need, the heat of his body seeping into you all over again now that you are pressed back down almost too eagerly.
Seems like the promise of a break lies forgotten in the depths of his mind now that Sylus drags his length through your slick folds again. The sensation is impossible to resist, and each thrust brings his tip to catch against your clit—almost like he is trying to stir you awake.
"You feel heavenly, baby," he praises, and then he reaches for your hand, guiding it down between you, dragging your fingers through your own folds for you to realise how soaked you are, how messy, how completely filthy.
It is nasty.
It is so hot.
You barely have time to register it before he lifts your hand again, though not to allow you to pull back, no, but to allow Sylus a moment to appreciate the sheen clinging to them. His attention makes your tummy flutter with want as you appreciate him—just Sylus. How pretty he is in these low lights, how sharp and beautiful his features align. But you also know exactly what he is thinking without Sylus having to say a word.
Then, warmth encloses your fingers without warning, and the sensation makes your breath hitch sharply in your chest. "S-Sylus-!" Is nothing more but a cute stutter upon the drag of his tongue along your digits, through each gap. He takes his time and thoroughly coats your fingers with spit until drops of it run along your knuckles.
You can feel it everywhere, can hear the slick sounds of him sucking in your fingers paired with his softly muffled moans that move through his chest. You feel the heat in your face, feel the tightness in your throat due to the way Sylus lingers long enough for your hips to twitch, for your thighs to tense as if your body is trying to follow where your hand has gone.
Drunk on the view Sylus presents, you are caught on the sight of silver hair falling loose, lashes low, and his usually smart mouth occupied with sucking your fingers. The gesture works you up so fast it makes you feel near lightheaded as you feel your pussy throb in response, needy and insistent for more again and yet again.
Sylus reluctantly releases you, allowing a trail of spit to connect his lips to the tips of the well-coated digits to exhale a low drag out of his mouth. "So responsive…" he murmurs, and sounds incredibly pleased with himself. "You liked that, didn't you? Liked seeing me suck on your fingers," while already guiding your hand back down where he positions them right above your clit.
It's almost ridiculous how you only manage to moan his name, to groan his name, to try and warn him by hissing his name because your mind lags behind most terribly. But what else could you do when Sylus orchestrates that wet slap caused by your fingers connecting with your pussy? He makes you slap your clit once, twice, even with that crooked smirk on his lips.
His own hand replaces yours then, middle and ring finger sinking into you without hesitation, and you take him right back in, your body fluttering and squelching greedily around the intrusion as his mouth trails kisses down your chest.
"Tell me you want more. Tell me you are ready," Sylus nearly pleads with you. Though you are so far gone that you barely register his words, barely register your own fingers moving, rubbing your clit until his voice cuts through the haze and pulls you back just enough to hear yourself answer.
"Uhm, I want it, I want you," you admit, softer than anything you have said to him since this whole ordeal began, while your free hand tangles into damp silver strands.
Sylus's pupils dilate at the sight of you touching yourself so unashamedly, feeling your body arching and tightening around his fingers. He has never seen a masterpiece to equal the beauty of your need, written there across your face without shame.
"That's it, baby. Touch yourself for me," his voice feels near decadent. "Get yourself nice and worked up again." He begins to pump his fingers slowly, letting you feel every inch of the intrusion as he coaxes you back into relaxation. "I want to hear my little dove. Can you moan for me? Can you make those pretty noises, kitten? Don't be shy." He purrs into your neck, his breath layering hot and heavy on your skin like the most powdery perfume.
Desperation rolls off you in waves now that you tremble anew, your body betraying you for Sylus to drown. His cock throbs and leaks against your thigh as he grinds into you, smearing you with the proof of how badly he wants you. Please, won't you take him out of his misery?
"Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you again," his hips drag against you while his fingers pump relentlessly into you. They curl just right, brush that sensitive place inside you that makes you moan out loud, and suddenly you are too aware of everything, of the way your body tightens, of how close you are tipping.
There is a sudden and new sensation to it all as Sylus starts to circle your G-spot and presses into it to feel it harden and grow bigger. "That's it, kitten," he encourages as well, eager to watch you come undone once more. But the pleasure builds too fast, too sharp and overwhelming to make your breath break into short gasps.
Why does he keep stroking that spot? Why does the pressure make your thighs twitch? It pulls that strange, dangerous sensation up from deep in your stomach, close to something you are absolutely not ready to give him—or anyone.
Perhaps it's the sensations that overwhelm you too soon, another orgasm threatening to crash over you in mere moments after he swore you would have a break. But you move without thinking, planting the sole of your foot against his abdomen and pushing away from him before scrambling as your fingers dig into the sheets. Swiftly, more swiftly than Sylus would have ever expected in this scenario, you twist and try to turn away from whatever madness is about to overtake you.
However, you forget briefly that Sylus already promised he would chase you.
Before you can even get your bearings, the familiar red mist coils around your ankles, sliding up your thighs with just enough pressure to wrench a moan from your chest now that you are dragged across the bed, your body pulled inexorably toward him.
"Kitten…" His voice is almost scolding, but the pleasure he takes in this is unmistakable. Your fingers' strength as they cling to the mattress holds no candle to something as unfair as energy manipulation, causing you to be tugged back across the giant bed until your ass bounces against Sylus's thighs.
And then he is there, all of him, draped over you like a heavy blanket of muscle and heat as he pins you in place. Lazy kisses trail up your spine until his chin hooks over your shoulder and the tip of his nose nudges your cheek. "Running from me? Really?"
"Fuck," you curse out quietly because of how much his Evol always turns you on, without fail. Then, slowly, carefully, you turn your head just enough to meet his amused expression—already knowing you have walked straight into exactly what he wanted.
You do not expect the sound he makes then, that soft click of his tongue paired with a crooked little smirk, as though he has any right at all to judge you when he is the one who set this in motion, who tugged and coaxed and pressed until your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up.
"You said you wanted to continue," he murmurs while peppering the sweetest kisses all across your cheek and eyebrow; they feel almost unfair in their sweetness. "And now you're trying to run from me? You shouldn't play with me like that."
"'S just… what you did, you…" You stumble over your words like a fool, the dread of embarrassing yourself causing your thoughts to tangle on your tongue as the memory of that overwhelming sensation swirls in your mind. "I mean—"
A sound that becomes a mix between a hum and a laugh vibrates against your back, and his mouth slides down the line of your throat to your shoulder. "Mhm… forgive me. Perhaps I should have warned you," he concedes softly. "I suppose my surprises don't always land quite the way I intend."
His Evol tightens around your thighs then, a gentle pressure at first to coax rather than confine. And it works, oh, does it work wonders now that the red mist moulds to the shape of your breasts and cups them. The flow of energy is delicious; it's warm yet cold at once, sometimes almost suffocating before its touch threatens to vanish.
It makes you squirm back, causes your hips to shift on instinct to seek the familiar solidity behind you. "You're teasing me again," is your softened, breathy complaint, followed by a whimper that makes Sylus's eyes roll back in pleasure before nuzzling into your nape.
"Okay. No more teasing, sweetie, mh?" He gives in with a roll of his hips, using the red mist to swiftly position his cock to glide through your folds. "Better now?" Sylus whispers gently while allowing you to work yourself up along his length as it slides through your folds.
A chuckle rumbles through his chest when he feels the tension drain from you. "Shh. It's alright, kitten. I've got you," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "I know I can be… a lot. But I'll always catch you when you fall. I'll always chase you and make it all better again."
His hands settle on your hips, squeezing the soft flesh enough for his fingers to sink into your skin as he holds you close. He encourages you to draw back until you can feel every inch of his body pressing against yours, from his broad chest to his muscular thighs bracketing your own.
"You feel that? Feel how much I want you, always?" he purrs, seductively needy and full of love. "I can't get enough of you, can't stop touching you, tasting you, fucking you." His mouth returns to your neck, slower this time as plush lips map familiar paths. His Evol follows the motion of his body, guiding the way you move, the way your hips respond.
"Just like that," an encouragement accompanied by his touch sliding between your thighs to rub your clit in slow, gentle circles. "Let yourself feel it. I'm right here." Your body trembles in response, the hitch in your breath a traitorous sound that begs the fiend to rub you faster.
His cock throbs against your ass, leaking pre-cum and smearing it across your skin as Sylus grinds into you—seeking friction, seeking relief. "Feels good, baby?" His breath is hot against your ear. "Let yourself enjoy this, let yourself feel every inch of me. I want to be inside you again, may I?"
Sylus's hands slide up to your breasts, where you feel the warmth of his palms cup your soft shape to knead slowly and just enough for your nipples to stiffen. The small sounds you try and fail to keep entice him to give you more—always more. Because those sighs and breathy moans do something to him, he likes them. Likes how easily he pulls them from you, how your body answers him without hesitation now.
His fingers pinch your nipples properly then, rolling the peaks just enough to make your back arch and your hips shift restlessly against him. Until your breathing stutters as you squirm restlessly, helplessly. You're caught between wanting more and already feeling as if this is too much.
Why is it too much?
Because Sylus's Evol relentlessly conquers your figure, the red mist curls close, holding your back pressed firmly to his chest for the tendrils to slide over your breasts and hips. They guide the slow push of your body back into him while his lips scatter soft, however indulgent, kisses over your shoulder.
That's where Sylus decides to settle, savouring the alluring scent of your perfume and the drumming pulse of your little heart. His hands drift down to your hips, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he draws you back against him, encouraging a steady grind against his cock.
You're slick, so very wet and warm and messy from your earlier shared bliss, that it makes everything glide far too easily. With each roll of his hips, the thick head catches on your entrance, teasing you both with the promise of being filled once more.
"Fuck," Sylus murmurs in that uncharacteristic rough tone before it is softened by a huffed chuckle. "I can't get enough of you." Aware of how much you enjoy hearing his sounds, to lose your mind in his pleasure, Sylus moans softly right into your ear. "Can you feel how wet you are, kitten? Feel what we did to you?" His tone softens at that, at the memory of making love to you time and time again.
A shuddering breath causes goosebumps to trickle down your skin then, before Sylus's hips press forward just enough for his cock to nudge inside you, only a fraction, before he pulls back again. Over and over. A fiendish cruelty to make your body ache with the lack of it—the lack of him.
The force of his Evol vibrates against your skin as it lifts and kneads your breasts, making them sway with the slow drive of his hips. Heat and energy crackles across your skin, though ultimately it's the familiar roughened touch of Sylus's fingertips that causes you to give in.
He drags them down your stomach, finding your clit where he circles the nub in leisure patterns. Just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble and your breath hitch, your body reacting openly as his cock throbs against your ass cheek, where pre-cum leaks and smears across your skin as he moves, chasing friction, chasing you.
"That's it," he encourages. "Grind back on me. Show me how much you want it… how much you want me again." The red mist tightens around your breasts, squeezing gently but insistently.
Your skin feels too sensitive, every nerve alight at once. Empty, swollen, your body clenches around nothing, fluttering in a way that draws a sound from you Sylus will store in his mind for eternity.
He feels it all, the way you start to shake, the way your breathing breaks into desperate little pants as your hips rock back into him with growing urgency, the head of his cock catching at your entrance again and again, teasing the stretch you crave without ever following through.
"Come on, sweetheart," Sylus coaxes softly like the devil upon your shoulder out for redemption. "Don't be shy. If I can beg, so can you."
"Sylus," you moan, but your voice is strained. You already present yourself in the most admirable arch, open for him to take you again if he wasn't so terribly proud at the worst times.
He knows what he has done to you, knows that he finally managed to break down your walls. "I know, baby," Sylus whispers as his lips move along your jaw and pepper kisses across your cheek. "You're tired." A pause, it's almost playful how he leaves you in suspense. "And now you want to play princess with me after trying to escape me."
With a shake of your head, you finally give up and say the word he has been longing for, the retribution for the way you earlier dared to tease him. "Please," nothing but a mumble regarded at the mattress underneath you.
But you can't seriously expect this to be enough for Sylus? No way would a whispered 'please' satisfy him after the show he put on for you.
"You know that's not enough. Don't you?" A breathy chuckle warms your skin as his fingers leave your clit, and his Evol takes their place. The energy swirls through your folds, pulses directly against you in a way that immediately makes your thighs shake harder than his fingers did.
It draws moans from you whether you want them to or not, your grip tightening in the silken sheets as your words stumble out. "P-please, Sylus, please, ngh-, just," your voice falters, pride warring uselessly with the way your body gives him everything anyway. It's never been clear whose pride runs deeper—yours or his—and moments like these prove it.
But the pressure doesn't relent. Neither does the sensation of his heavy cock, so warm and hard, nestled right against the soft flesh of your ass. Sylus is draped over you like a meaty blanket, squishing you not just with muscle but also his stubborn will.
"Please, Sylus," he murmurs the words right beside your ear, instructing you to repeat them.
And when you do, when you grind your teeth before mumbling another, "Please, Sylus," he grins and can't help but nip into your neck, right where your traps are. A slow lick of his tongue soothes the burning pain a moment before he resumes his guiding words. "Fill me, make me feel... whole," is almost a purr now, the way he pronounces the word 'whole' carries an entirely unique meaning for you and him. For your souls are one.
You turn your head then and meet the wicked glint in those crimson depths. "Kitten…" the asshole in question breathes into your ear. How on earth Sylus suddenly possesses this much restraint is a conundrum to you. Just this afternoon, he nearly wanted to devour an entire planet.
Though your pride finally gives way to lust when he dares to move his Evol along your slit, over your hole dripping with his cum, to push in slowly.
"Please. Make. Me. Whole." You bite the words out he longs to hear, and are rewarded with a groan and the feel of his hips finally moving. "That's my good girl," he purrs in the most seductive tune. "Such a good little kitten, begging so sweetly." He murmurs in victory over having finally managed to make you crumble.
His Evol throbs against your pussy, the red energy curling low and close, swirling and tingling against skin that already feels too sensitive—pushing more heat, more want through you until your thighs tremble. You feel it everywhere, not just where it touches, but deeper, coiling inward as Sylus's hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to anchor you there, to keep you open.
"You want to feel whole, baby? I'll make you whole, I'll complete us both again." There is affection in his words despite the promise threaded through them. When he finally pushes forward, it happens smoothly, almost effortlessly, your body stretching without resistance thanks to how wet you are.
You feel him sink into you at once, buried to the hilt in one long motion that pulls a sound from your chest as your walls clamp and flutter around his thick shaft, as if trying to pull him even closer.
He stays there for a moment, fully seated, hips pressed flush to you, to make you aware of how full you are, how stretched, how your body keeps reacting on its own. "That's it, kitten. Fuck, you always feel incredible."
When he starts moving, it is slow and steady, his hips rolling and rocking into you with an undeniable intention to make you feel everything—each thrust pushing you further up the bed, your body jolting with the force even as you try to brace yourself.
Every press, every pull, courses through you like the most potent liquor. The sounds that fill the room are messy and intimate, your breath breaking apart alongside his very own until you feel close to giving up. With his weight settled over you, Sylus presses his chest into your back, one hand moving until his palm may rest flat against your stomach to keep you stable.
His mouth finds your shoulder, where he nips and kisses before lingering on exceptionally sensitive spots, while his Evol slides up your sides to cup your breast. You hear your own breathy sounds slipping with every press of his hips.
"That's my good girl," he murmurs in a voice strained with lust. "Always taking me so well. Because you're made for me. And I'm made for you." His other hand slides around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm, fast circles that make your body tense immediately, your walls fluttering tighter around him as the pressure builds yet again.
Strained little moans fall from your lips as Sylus fills you like this, stretching you in a way no one else ever could, but your thighs are burning now, muscles trembling after everything he has already taken from you on the couch and against the window. Being held up, folded around him, takes its toll.
Sylus knows it too. You become aware of that fact once his chest presses more firmly into your shoulders, encouraging you to give in without asking. His Evol steadies you where your strength falters. "You don't have to act tough with me," he promises through shaky moans from behind your shoulder while you feel his touch travel down your side until he guides your body to lie down.
The mattress receives you a moment after the red mist tucks a pillow beneath your hips, raising you just enough for your back to fall into a natural arch. It eases the strain, even as the new angle pulls a gasp from your lips. Sylus straddles you from behind, large hands moving along the curve of your ass, gripping your thighs and watching the way the flesh gives under his touch.
"Yes, just like that, sweetie," he coaxes as he settles you fully into prone bone, while keeping himself elevated. A firm hand is planted beside your head, the other secure around your hip as he begins to move again.
You feel his weight more fully now, almost as if you are pinned beneath him, though it feels far too good to resist. Sylus moves deep and slow as he takes you, gentle even in his strength. Curiously, you turn your head and press your cheek into the sheets as you glance back just enough to see the strain in his muscles each time Sylus draws your hips back against him.
You feel just how deep he is through every slow movement brushing against your cervix, and still, he stays close, almost needy. Sylus's body shields yours while he moves in deep, languid strokes for your softness to give easily beneath his strength. His hands wander across your skin, squeezing, soothing, leaving goosebumps wherever they may pass.
His hand slides around to your front, finding your breast and cupping the soft mound as he continues to rock into you. "That's it, baby. Just like that," Sylus encourages while pulling you back onto him with each thrust. Your body trembles now, muscles aching from the overwhelming pleasure you have given yourself over to.
Sensing it, Sylus gentles his pace until his movements are little more than a steady rhythm meant to keep you right here with him. "I've got you, kitten. I've got you," he murmurs. "Just relax and let me make you feel good. Let me take care of you, like I always do."
His hand slides up your thigh, cupping your pussy for his fingertips to rub slow circles against your clit that make your breath hitch again. His hips roll steadily, filling you so completely you can't think past the sensation. "That's my girl," he praises. "My perfect love."
The urgency builds anew when his thrusts grow harder, faster, causing the bed to creak beneath the force of your passion. Your body tightens again, your walls fluttering around his shaft most encouragingly. "That's it, sweetie. Come for me," he coaxes so gently, almost like he wasn't the one thrusting into you from behind. "I want to feel this pretty pussy squeezing my cock, want to feel you coming undone around me."
He feels his own climax creeping closer, his body tightening as the pleasure gathers low and heavy. But Sylus holds himself back, determined to give you the release you crave first.
He wants to watch you break apart beneath him, to hear you cry his name when the pleasure finally carries you over the edge once more.
"Come on, kitten. Give in to it," he urges, his voice strained and rough with lust. "Let go, baby. I've got you. I'll always catch you." With a final, hard thrust, Sylus buries himself deep inside you, grinding against your cervix as he rubs your clit firmly. Your orgasm is a sensation to him as well, the way your hips lift to escape the insistent circling of his fingertips around your clit as that tidal wave of pleasure drowns you whole.
You feel yourself clench around his cock, your fingers curling into the satin sheets as crumbled moans of his name in variations are breathed from your lips.
Through ragged breaths, he praises you as the aftershocks of your shared climax roll through both of your figures. "I love you so much, sweetie. More than anything in this world or the next." He sounds almost sated now…
Sylus’s hands do not settle, not even after everything he has already taken from you. They keep redrawing the deeply cherished shape of your body like he wants to explore you forever. Your skin gleams beneath the soft glow of the lamp, sweat catching the light along every dip and curve, and the sight alone keeps his fingers wandering.
When he finally pulls out, he cannot resist squeezing your ass, watching the flesh give and shift beneath his palms. Only then does Sylus guide you onto your back, though his hands never leave you. They slide over your waist and upward to cup your breasts as he leans down.
His mouth is still warm when he begins to kiss along your collarbone, then the soft curves of your breasts, almost worshipfully.
But desire runs too hot in his body; it is never-ending for you. Not when your thighs are so squishy beneath his firm grip now that he kneads the sore muscles. He can't get enough of you, not when you spread your legs so willingly for him to nuzzle into your slick folds and breathe you in slowly.
The mingled scent of sex and heat drives him to groan against your flesh. "Kitten," he murmurs in guilt, with lips pressed close enough that you feel the heat of his words. "I don't think I can ever be sated."
His tongue slides over your pussy in slow strokes to taste and linger where you are most sensitive. Its warmth and pressure cause your hips to squirm and shift as if to escape, but his hands tighten on your thighs to hold you exactly where he wants you.
The sensation is too much and not enough all at once, his lips sealing around you as he sucks gently, then firmer in an unbroken rhythm. Your breath stutters for his name to release like a whimpered prayer. "Sylus, please." You really can't do this anymore; you feel like you will melt if he keeps going.
But Sylus, Sylus has full trust in you. And if anything, he presses closer as his mouth works you steadily, relentlessly, as if his whole purpose in life is to pull every sound and sensation from you. Beneath him, his own arousal stirs again from the taste of you, hips pressing down into the mattress for friction he barely registers while his mouth stays devotedly between your thighs.
His tongue pushes deeper then until your vision blurs. Your body begins to tense around the rising pleasure, breath breaking into short, uneven pulls as the edge draws closer.
"Please—Sylus—I can't—" Your hands fist in his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.
"Shh," he breathes softly now, but no less certain. "You can handle it. I know you can." The moment he adds is fingers, something snaps loose inside you. With two digits sliding into you and curling just right, you are helpless against the onslaught as pained pleasure builds too fast to track.
"I've got you," he murmurs, tongue lashing your clit while his fingers work on you. "Let go for me, kitten." Sylus feels it when you start to tighten, the way your body stiffens from pleasure coiling too tight to hold. "There you are."
Your body convulses as your orgasm crashes through you, your hips lifting helplessly as you come apart beneath him. You feel everything: his mouth, his fingers, and his hunger. Through it all, Sylus stays with you, in you, drawing the pleasure out slowly until your thighs tremble and your breath breaks into helpless, uneven sounds.
Only when it starts to ebb does he slow, gentling his touch while pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs and up to your mound, before easing his fingers out carefully. "That's my girl," in a honey-warmed voice.
Now that he is on top of you, darkened eyes gaze fondly over that sated look on your face. Then, at last, he kisses you gently for you to taste yourself on his tongue, to feel the lingering proof of what you have done together.
"I'll never get tired of you," Sylus repeats quietly against your lips. "Not ever."
Once you are in his arms, he holds you close as if he strives to keep you there. With absentminded strokes along your skin as if stopping is imply be unfathomable. "Now rest," he whispers. "Let me take care of you."
He carries you to the bathroom when your legs won't quite cooperate to the bathtub that is already beginning to fill by the time he lowers you into it. The heat warms your sore muscles and draws a soft sigh from you.
Only once he is entirely sure that you have settled does Sylus allow himself to follow. Settled behind you, he pulls you back against him with his arms securely around your waist.
"Is this alright?" He allows the question to be barely more than a breath brushing your ear. And you respond with a nod while already sinking into him, into the warmth of the water and the comforting strength at your back. His hands set off to ease and ground your figure until the last of your tension slips away. For a long while, Sylus simply holds you as he tucks his face against the curve of your neck to press lazy kisses into your skin.
Beneath the water, his hands roam you without purpose beyond touch itself; he simply follows the shape of familiar ground. Until his fingers find your breasts to cover them in the warmth of palms and draw you closer until your back is flush with his chest.
When his lips brush your ear, his voice is quiet and pure. "I love you more than anything, kitten. In this world, and whatever comes after. You're mine—and I'm yours. Always."
Now, unable to resist your gentle giant, you turn in his arms to look at Sylus and raise your hands for a cradling touch to his cheeks. His eyes are so soft whenever he says things like that that you cannot resist the urge to kiss him. Slower than before, a silent way to reciprocate his confession.
Firmly, his hands slide down to your hips until your body finds itself pressed so close that there is no space left between you. When you part, you let your fingers drift down to confirm what you already felt.
Sylus is still hard.
His length juts against your tummy in an attention-demanding way. But for once, he won't push for more, won't hope for anything. Perhaps that is the reason why his breath catches when you wrap your fingers around his shaft to stroke, squeeze, and deliciously torture him until you feel him throb in your hand.
Sylus lets out a low sound of restraint, though his hips shift instinctively into your hand. "You feel what you do to me?" It's a complaint accompanied by a willing body as his forehead rests against yours. "You're enjoying this a little too much."
But he enjoys it too. He guides your hand, encourages the motion without rushing it due to the gentle touch he keeps. "Yes, just like that," he murmurs. "You always know how to touch me."
His hips begin to move with your hand, causing the bath and bubbles to awaken around your bodies. And then he succumbs as he pulls you on top of him and ducks his face into your neck for another confession. "I want you," he says softly. "Let me feel you around me. Sit with me like this, will you?"
The way he asks sends a pulse of heat through you before you even give your consenting nod. His fingers tighten at your hips as he guides you back down onto him, and your breath catches as your sore body adjusts to his size all over again.
But your typical attitude is long gone by now. What remains is an undying ember of lust and love for your Sylus, and the terribly gnawing desire to forever feel as one with him.
Here, he doesn't thrust, nor does he roll his hips or move at all. He just lets you feel every inch of him while holding you as close as possible. "Stay with me," he murmurs. "I only want to feel you."
There is no rush in him now, only want and warmth while he keeps you tucked against his chest. You stay there with him, his cock throbbing faintly inside you as his hands soothe and trace you. Eventually, when you are both loose-limbed, he lifts you easily from the tub and dries you off with a careful hand.
With your signature robes draped over your bodies, Sylus carries you back to the bedroom, settling onto the mattress with you straddling his hips. The gentle pressure of his thumbs easing the tension from your shoulders brings your cheek to rest against his chest, and you let his heartbeat be your lullaby for the night.
"That's my girl," he murmurs softly. "You're so beautiful." He tilts your chin up once more, crimson eyes softened until they look like candy as he leans in to kiss you again, slow and tender and so dearly filled with love. Beneath you, his hips move just enough to remind you of his presence.
As he kisses you, Sylus’s hips begin to roll beneath you, his hard cock stirring inside your still-sensitive core. A soft groan escapes him now that his hands guide you to move with him. The robe around your figure falls open, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze and pressing them flush against his own now that you are lying down. Together on the mattress, you find yourself cradled against his chest with his cock resting deep within your warmth.
Through it all, he lets his fingers brush along your hairline and gently massage your neck until you manage to doze off. When sleep finally takes you, Sylus feels it immediately, your body relaxing fully against his.
In response, he holds you a little tighter and cradles your head while his lips rest on your temple. "Sleep," he whispers. "I've got you. I'm sorry for taking it all out on you."
He lets his eyes close soon after, with arms securely wrapped around you. The last thought in his mind before slumber claims him is of how utterly perfect this moment is—holding you, being one with you, in every way possible.
Aerion Targaryen x reader - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Summary: Your uncle guards the royal family with his life, and yet when the prince turns his attention to you, it derails your whole life. What happens behind closed doors becomes a pattern no one names, and a claim no one dares to challenge.
Warnings: SMUT 18+ p in v, coercion, unprotected sex, fingering, loss of virginity, she's like incredibly innocent and inexperienced, corruption (!), dub-con/non-con vibes, this is DARK so reader discretion
A/N: i apologise i got very carried away with this fic, its like dark af. ive been sat watching the olympics marinating in my Aerion obsession, so yeah theres been plenty of time for writing <3
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS - WC: 6.0k
The hall is loud in the way it always is when the court gathers. There are too many voices layered over one another, silk brushing stone, the faint clatter of cups and plates as servants move through the crowd.
You stand where you are meant to stand, just behind your uncle's shoulder, hands folded neatly before you.
This is familiar ground.
You have learned how to make yourself small in rooms like this, how to take up as little space as courtesy allows.
Your uncle speaks to another member of the Kingsguard, you listen without really hearing, eyes drifting over banners and torchlight, the gold-threaded dragons that catch the glow and throw it back. The heat of the room settles against your skin.
You think, distantly, about how long you will be expected to stand here before you are dismissed.
Aerion Targaryen has also been bored for most of the evening.
The faces blur together from his vantage at the high table; lords too eager to be seen, ladies too careful with their smiles. He watches them with the faint disdain of someone who has learned the shape of courtly games and found them wanting. His attention drifts, idle, over the room.
It snags on you by accident.
Not because you are loud. Not because you are remarkable in any way the court would name. You are standing half a step behind your uncle, head inclined, eyes lowered in the practised manner of someone who has learned where to place herself.
It is the ordinariness of the gesture that catches him, the way you seem to exist as an extension of another man’s duty.
He knows your uncle well enough. Knows the shape of his loyalty, the steadiness of his service. He has bled for the crown; he has knelt for it. The thought that this, too, belongs to that service; your quiet presence at his shoulder, settles into Aerion’s mind with a peculiar weight.
You glance up at the banners and then away again, attention already moving on. Your face holds no awareness of him. The lack of recognition is almost refreshing.
Aerion leans back in his seat, gaze lingering.
He notes how young you look in the soft torchlight, though not a child, grown enough that the court would not question your presence here, grown enough that your name might one day be spoken in negotiations and favours.
He imagines it spoken now, just to himself. He already knows it, of course. He knows where you come from. He knows what family you are an extension of.
You shift your weight slightly as the crowd moves, a small adjustment to keep from being jostled. Your uncle's hand comes up briefly, a quiet, unconscious check that you are still there. The gesture is so ordinary it almost goes unnoticed.
Aerion’s mouth curves, faintly.
He looks away after that, attention drawn back to the hall, to the murmur of the court and the empty words traded in his presence. But the image of you settles into him and does not quite leave.
That night, you think you are alone.
The fire has burned low, leaving your chambers wrapped in a soft, wavering half-light. You have already unpinned your hair and changed into a thin shift meant only for sleep. The quiet is heavy in the way it always is when the castle settles for the night, the Red Keep sighing around you with distant footsteps and murmured guards.
You are brushing out the last of the tangles when you feel it.
Not a sound or movement.
Just that sudden, pricking awareness of being watched. Your breath catches. You turn slowly, heart stuttering in your chest.
He stands just inside the door.
Aerion Targaryen does not look as though he has crept in. He stands with the easy confidence of someone who has never learned to fear being anywhere he wishes to be. The door is closed behind him.
You do not remember hearing it open.
For a moment, your mind refuses to make sense of what your eyes are telling you. This is not a place princes come. Not unannounced, and definitely not unguarded. Your first instinct is that you are about to be reprimanded for something you cannot name, that you have somehow done wrong without knowing it.
You drop the brush, and it hits the floor with a soft thud.
“My prince,” you breathe, the words coming out thin. You sink into a hurried, awkward curtsy, pulse roaring in your ears. Your thoughts scatter; your uncle serves the crown, your house is loyal, you have never even spoken to him before. You have done nothing wrong.
His eyes move over you in an unhurried sweep. Not leering. Not hurried. But assessing. You are acutely aware of how little the thin fabric hides, how undone you are, hair loose around your shoulders, no jewels, no silks, nothing that marks you as courtly or prepared to be seen.
“So this is where they keep you,” he says mildly.
The words land wrong. Not cruel. Not kind. Possessive in a way that makes your stomach tighten.
You do not know what to say. You have been taught how to speak to princes in daylight, in halls full of witnesses. You have not been taught how to speak to one who appears in your bedchamber after dark.
“I- if you need something, I can fetch my uncle-”
He takes a single step forward. The room seems to shrink around him.
“No,” Aerion says softly. “You won’t do that.”
Your breath stutters. The command is not loud. It doesn’t need to be. There is something in his tone that suggests refusal is not a thing that exists between you and him.
He comes closer, slow, deliberate. You find yourself backing up without quite meaning to, until the edge of the bed presses into the backs of your knees. Your heart is pounding so hard you are certain he must be able to hear it.
“You don’t look like you expected a visitor,” he remarks.
You swallow. “I didn't.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “You will learn.”
His gaze lifts to your face at last. It is sharp, unsettlingly intent, as though he is trying to read something in you. Fear, perhaps, or innocence.
The shape of how easily you might bend.
You have the terrible sense of being seen in a way you never have been before, not as someone’s niece, not as a polite presence in the background of court, but as something singular.
“You don’t even look at me,” he notes.
You realise you have dropped your eyes again without meaning to. You force yourself to raise them, meeting his gaze for the briefest moment before it feels too heavy to hold.
He notices that too.
“So sheltered,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “They keep you all soft and unknowing, don’t they?”
Your hands curl in the fabric of your shift. You are not sure whether you are being insulted, or something else entirely. The room feels too warm.
He steps close enough now that you can feel the heat of him, the solid reality of his presence. You are acutely aware of the difference between you, his height, his certainty, the way he fills the space without effort.
“I noticed you tonight,” he says, simply.
Your chest tightens. You do not remember doing anything to be noticed.
“You stood where you were told. You kept your eyes down. You didn’t even realise I was looking at you.” His mouth curves. “That is either very wise or very foolish.”
"I meant no disrespect, my prince"
His hand lifts.
For a second, you think he is going to strike you. The thought flashes bright and terrifying through your mind. Instead, his fingers catch a loose strand of your hair, lifting it, letting it slide through his hand.
The touch is light, but the effect is not.
“You will learn to look where I tell you to look. To stand where I place you. To understand what is expected of you.”
“You belong,” Aerion finishes, eyes dark on yours, “to me now.”
The silence stretches between you like a drawn blade, and in that terrible quiet, understanding finally crashes over you like a cold wave.
His eyes, those pale violet eyes that have been watching you with such unsettling intensity since he entered your chambers, drop deliberately to your mouth, then lower still, tracing the line of your throat and neckline of your nightgown.
When his gaze returns to yours there's something preying in his expression, something that makes your breath catch and your heart hammer harder against your ribs.
"You've only just realised," Aerion says softly, and there's dark amusement threading through his voice. "How innocent you truly are."
You take an instinctive step backward, but there's nowhere to go. He remains perfectly still, watching your retreat with the patience of a predator who knows his prey cannot escape.
"My prince, I-" Your voice emerges barely above a whisper. "It's late. If someone were to find you here-"
"No one will disturb us." He says it with absolute certainty, and you realise with a sinking feeling that he's right.
He's a Targaryen prince.
Who would dare question his presence anywhere in the Red Keep? Who would dare protect you from him?
"You're trembling," Aerion observes, taking a single step toward you. You force yourself not to retreat again, though every instinct screams at you to run. "Are you frightened of me?"
The honest answer catches in your throat.
Yes, I'm terrified.
But you can't say that to a prince, can you? You've been taught your whole life to be gracious, obedient, and respectful to your betters.
"I'm... uncertain of your intentions, my prince," you manage, trying to keep your voice steady.
His mouth curves into something that might be a smile if it reached his eyes.
"Uncertain." He repeats the word as though tasting it. "Such a diplomatic answer. You've been well-trained." Another step closer. "But I think you know exactly what my intentions are. You simply don't want to acknowledge them."
"The crown has been generous to your family," Aerion continues, his voice soft and terrible. "Your uncle serves in the Kingsguard. Your father holds his lands by royal decree. Everything you have, everything you are, exists because the throne permits it."
He's close enough now that you can see the silver-gold of his hair in the candlelight, feel the warmth of his body. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
You do. You belong to the crown as surely as any piece of property, any holding or title. And he is the crown's son.
"Yes," you whisper, because what else can you say?
"Yes, what?"
Your throat tightens. "Yes, my prince."
"Good," the word is almost gentle. His hand rises, and you flinch involuntarily, but he only traces one finger along your jawline, tipping your face up to meet his gaze. "You're lovelier up close."
"Thank you, my prince," you manage to answer, mostly because you're scared of the consequences if you don't.
"So innocent," he murmurs, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "So sheltered. Tell me, has anyone ever touched you?"
The question sends mortification burning through you. You try to look away, but his hand on your jaw prevents it. "Answer me."
"No." The word emerges small and ashamed. "No, my prince."
"No one?" His eyes gleam with something dark and satisfied. "Not even yourself?"
"My prince, please-"
"Answer the question."
Tears of humiliation prick at your eyes. "No. I- I wouldn't. It would be sinful."
"Sinful," he repeats, and now he does smile, sharp and cruel. "Oh, my sweet, obedient little dove. The things I'm going to teach you tonight will make you reconsider your definition of sin."
Your breath comes faster now, panic rising in your chest. "Please. I'm not- I don't-"
"You don't what? Want this?" His other hand settles on your waist, possessive and sure.
You shake your head against his hand, "No, of course not, my prince, I would be honoured but-"
"It's irrelevant. You belong to me now. I've decided it. Do you think your wants matter against a prince's claim?"
"Someone will hear," you try desperately. "Someone will know-"
"And they'll say nothing." His certainty is absolute. "Because I'm Aerion Targaryen. Who would risk my displeasure to defend you from dishonour?" His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer. "Your uncle? He's sworn to obey the royal family. Your father? He's too far away and too dependent on the crown's favour."
The terrible truth of it settles over you like a shroud. He's right. You're alone with him, and no one will help you, and he knows it.
"But perhaps," he continues, his voice dropping lower, "you don't want to be saved. Perhaps there's a part of you that's curious. That wonders what it would be like to be touched by a prince, to be claimed by dragon's blood."
His hand moves up your spine, and despite your fear, despite everything, your body responds with a shiver that has nothing to do with cold. "There it is. Your body knows, even if your mind hasn't accepted it yet."
"I don't-" But your protest dies as his mouth descends to your throat, pressing against the pulse point there. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced, warm and wet and intimate in a way that makes your knees weaken.
"Don't lie to me," he murmurs against your skin. "I can feel your heart racing. I can feel you trembling. Fear and desire aren't as different as you might think."
His teeth graze your throat, and a sound escapes you, half gasp, half whimper. Shame floods through you at your body's betrayal, but you can't control it. You've never been touched like this, never even imagined being touched like this.
"That's better," Aerion says approvingly. "Stop fighting. Accept what this is. You might not believe it, but I'm not here to hurt you." His hands move to the ties of your nightgown, and your own hands fly up instinctively to stop him.
"Please," you whisper, one last desperate plea. "Please, my prince. I'm not ready. I don't know-"
"I know." He catches your wrists easily, holding them in one hand while the other continues its work. "That's what makes this perfect. You're mine to shape, mine to teach. No one else has touched you. No one else ever will. Only me."
The ties come loose, and cool air touches your skin as he draws the nightgown down your shoulders. You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to watch your own ruin, but his voice cuts through the darkness.
"Look at me."
You don't want to, you do not know how.
"Look. At. Me." Each word is a command, and you find yourself obeying despite everything, opening your eyes to meet his gaze.
"Good girl. You're going to watch. You're going to see exactly what I do to you, so you never forget this night."
The nightgown falls away completely, pooling at your feet, and you stand before him naked and exposed. His eyes travel over you with undisguised hunger, possessive and thorough.
You've never felt more vulnerable in your life.
"Perfect," he breathes. "Absolutely perfect. And all mine."
He releases your wrists to touch you properly, and you stand frozen as his hands map your body; shoulders, collarbones, the curve of your breasts. When his thumbs brush over your nipples, you gasp at the shock of sensation, and he makes a satisfied sound.
"Sensitive. I thought you might be." He does it again, watching your face as you struggle not to react. "Your body is honest, even when you try to hide. See how it responds to me? How it knows what it was made for?"
"My prince, we should not be doing this. It is wrong," you whisper, even as heat pools low in your belly.
"This is inevitable." He lowers his head, and his mouth closes over one breast, hot and wet. Your hands come up to his shoulders, to push him away, you tell yourself, but instead you find yourself gripping the fabric of his doublet as your knees threaten to give out entirely.
He takes his time, lavishing attention on your breasts until you're gasping and shaking, until the fear has tangled so completely with sensation that you can't separate them anymore. Then he straightens, and his hands move to his own clothing.
"Help me," he commands, and when you hesitate, "Now."
Your fingers fumble with the fastenings of his doublet, clumsy and inexperienced. He watches you struggle with that same dark amusement, making no move to help, forcing you to participate in your own undoing.
When you finally get the doublet open, he shrugs it off, then guides your hands to the ties of his shirt.
"You've never undressed a man before," he observes. "Never even seen one naked, have you?"
You shake your head mutely, face burning.
"Another first I'm taking from you. Another thing that will always be mine."
When his chest is bare, he catches your hand and places it flat against his skin. His body is warm, solid, real in a way that makes this all undeniably happening. You can feel his heart beating under your palm, steady and sure where yours is racing.
"Touch me," he says. "Learn what a man feels like. What I feel like."
You don't want to, but your hand moves anyway, exploring tentatively. His skin is smooth over hard muscle, so different from your own softness. He watches your face the entire time, reading every flicker of emotion, every hint of reluctant curiosity.
When he begins unlacing his breeches, you look away, but his hand catches your chin.
"Watch," he reminds you. "You don't get to hide from this."
So you watch, heart in your throat, as he reveals himself completely. The sight of him, fully aroused and clearly intent on you, sends a fresh wave of panic through your system.
"Don't look so frightened," he says, though there's satisfaction in his voice, some twisted part of him that enjoys your fear. "I'll make it good for you. Eventually." He steps closer, and you feel him against your belly, hard and hot and impossible to ignore. "But first, you need to understand something. This-" his hand slides between your legs without warning and you whimper in shock, "-belongs to me now. Your innocence, your body, your pleasure. All of it. Mine."
His fingers explore you with a kind of confident familiarity. The sensation is overwhelming, too much, and you try to close your legs, but he prevents it easily.
"Stay still," he orders. "Let me feel you. Let me see how wet you are for me despite all your pretend protests."
Shame burns through you as his fingers slide through your folds, discovering the evidence of your body's betrayal. You are wet, despite your fear, despite your hesitation, and he makes sure you know he's noticed.
One finger circles your entrance, teasing, and you tense in anticipation of invasion. But he doesn't push inside yet, just continues that maddening exploration, building sensation despite your resistance. "I could take you now. Throw you on that bed and claim you quickly, get it over with. But where's the pleasure in that? No, I want you desperate first. I want you begging."
"I won't," you gasp out. "I won't beg you for this."
His smile is cruel. "We'll see."
He walks you backward until your legs hit the bed, then pushes you down onto it. You land on your back, and he follows you down, covering your body with his. You turn your face away, and he allows it this time, his mouth finding your throat instead.
"I'm going to touch you until you're trembling," he murmurs against your skin. "Until you're so desperate for release that you forget to be afraid. And then, when you're ready, when your body is ready, I'm going to take your maidenhead and make you mine in truth."
His hand returns between your legs, and this time his touch is more purposeful. He finds a spot that makes you jerk and gasp, and he focuses there, circling and stroking with maddening patience. The sensation builds despite your attempts to resist it, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core.
"That's it," he encourages darkly.
You bite your lip, trying to stay silent, but small sounds escape anyway, whimpers and gasps that you can't control. Your hips move without your permission, seeking more of that terrible, wonderful friction.
"Look how quickly you learn," Aerion says with satisfaction. "Stop fighting it."
His finger finally pushes inside you, and the intrusion makes you tense. It's strange, uncomfortable, foreign. But he works you patiently, adding a second finger, stretching you while his thumb continues its work on that sensitive spot.
The dual sensations war within you, discomfort and pleasure, violation and need.
"So tight," he breathes. "So perfect. You're going to feel exquisite around my cock."
The crude words make you flush, but your body clenches around his fingers in response, and he laughs softly.
"You like that. You like hearing what I'm going to do to you." His fingers curl inside you, finding some spot that makes you cry out. "There it is. Your body has so many secrets, and I'm going to learn every one of them."
He works you with skilled precision, building the pleasure higher and higher until you're writhing beneath him, until the fear has been consumed by sensation, until you're making sounds you've never made before.
Your hands clutch at the bedding, at his shoulders, seeking anchor in the storm of feeling.
"Please," you hear yourself gasp, though you're not sure what you want.
"Please what?" His voice is dark with triumph. "Please stop? Please continue? Please make you come? You need to be specific."
You can't answer, can't think, can only feel as he drives you higher. The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, "Come for me," he commands. "Just let go. Let me feel it."
Your body obeys him as though it belongs to him already, and the release crashes over you in waves. You cry out, back arching, inner muscles clenching around his fingers as pleasure whites out your vision. "What was that you said about not begging?"
He works you through it, prolonging it, until you're gasping and oversensitive and trembling. "Beautiful," he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers. "Absolutely beautiful. And that was just my hand. Imagine what it will feel like when I'm inside you properly."
You're still floating in the aftermath, mind hazy, when you feel him position himself between your legs. The blunt pressure of him against your entrance brings reality crashing back.
"Wait," you gasp. "Please, wait-"
"No more waiting." His voice is firm. "You'll be fine."
He pushes forward, and the stretch is immediate. You cry out, hands flying to his chest, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head.
"Breathe," he instructs. "Don't fight it. Accept it."
But it hurts, the invasion too much, too large, splitting you open. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he continues his steady advance, claiming you inch by inch.
"That's it," he soothes, though there's possession in his voice, not comfort. "Take me. Take all of me."
When he's fully seated inside you, he pauses, letting you adjust to the fullness. You're breathing hard, tears on your cheeks, and he leans down to lick them away.
"You're mine now," he whispers against your skin. "Completely, irrevocably mine. No one else will ever have this. No one else will ever know you like this." He begins to move, slow withdrawals and deep thrusts that make you gasp. "Say it. Say you're mine."
"I'm yours," you whisper, because it's true now, because he's made it true.
"Again."
"I'm yours, my prince."
"Good girl." His pace increases, and the pain begins to fade, replaced by a strange fullness, a building pressure. "Such a good, obedient girl. Taking your prince's cock so well."
His words should shame you, but instead they send heat through your system. Your body adjusts to him, accepts him, the pleasure begins to build again.
It shouldn't feel good, shouldn't feel like anything but violation, but your body responds to the friction, to the fullness, to the way he angles his hips to hit that spot inside you.
"You feel it, don't you?" He reads your body like a book. "You're going to come on my cock. You're going to come while I take your maidenhead, and you'll never be able to deny that your body wanted this."
"No," you protest weakly, but he's right. The pleasure builds despite everything, despite your shame, despite your fear. His body moves over yours with practiced skill, taking you with deep, possessive strokes that claim you utterly.
"Yes," he counters.
One of his hands releases your wrist to slide between your bodies, finding that sensitive spot again. The added stimulation is too much, and you feel yourself climbing toward that peak again, helpless to stop it.
"Come," he orders. "Come for me while I'm inside you. You can do it."
Your body obeys, clenching around him as pleasure crashes through you again. You hear yourself cry out his name and his answering groan of satisfaction as your body milks his.
"That's it," he gasps. "That's perfect. You're perfect."
His thrusts become harder, more erratic, chasing his own release. You lie beneath him, overwhelmed and oversensitive, as he uses your body for his pleasure. When he finally reaches his peak, he buries himself deep and spills inside you with a groan, marking you internally as surely as he's marked you in every other way.
He collapses over you, breathing hard, and you lie there stunned and trembling, trying to process what just happened. What you just did. What you just became.
After a long moment, he withdraws, and you feel the evidence of your lost innocence between your thighs. He looks down at it with dark satisfaction.
"There," he says softly. "Now it's done. You're no longer an innocent maiden." He traces a finger through the mess on your thigh, then brings it to your lips. "Taste it. Taste what we made together."
You turn your face away, but he's insistent.
"Taste it, or I'll take you again right now, while you're still sore and sensitive."
Reluctantly, you part your lips, and he slides his finger into your mouth. The taste is strange, copper and salt and something else, and you feel tears slide down your temples at the degradation of it.
"Good girl," he praises, withdrawing his finger.
He settles beside you on the bed, pulling you against his body in a mockery of tenderness. You lie rigid in his arms, mind reeling.
"This is just the beginning," Aerion murmurs into your hair, hand sliding possessively over your hip. "I'll visit you whenever I please. I'll take you whenever I want. And you'll accept it, won't you?"
You close your eyes, unable to answer. Your body still tingles with the aftermath of pleasure, even as your mind recoils from what happened.
And the worst part, the part you'll never be able to admit aloud, is that some dark, hidden part of you loved it.
Wanted it.
Wants him still.
"Sleep," he commands softly. "You'll need your strength. I'm not nearly done with you yet."
You belong to Aerion Targaryen now, in every way that matters.
And there's nothing you can do about it.
It becomes a pattern.
Not announced nor acknowledged. But inevitable, the way storms are inevitable once the air turns heavy enough.
Aerion comes to you at night.
Sometimes he arrives when the Keep is still loud with distant laughter and music, when courtiers linger too long over wine and secrets. Sometimes he comes when the halls have gone quiet, when even the servants have learned to walk softly.
You never hear him approach. You only ever realise he is there when the door is already closed and the air in the room feels different.
Your uncle stands guard in the corridor.
The knowledge sits in your chest like a stone. You know the sound of his boots. You know the rhythm of his breathing when he pauses at the far end of the hall. You know that he believes he is protecting you from intruders, from drunken lords, from the careless dangers of court.
He does not know he is guarding the door against a prince.
The first time it occurs to you, really occurs to you, you feel faint with it. The wrongness. The way duty and betrayal sit side by side, impossible to untangle.
You lie awake one night, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet shift of movement beyond your door, and you wonder what it would mean if he ever knew. If you would be ruined. If your house would be.
Aerion laughs when you finally whisper your fear to him.
“They would thank me,” he says lazily, as though you have said something amusing. He is seated at the edge of your bed, boots still on, crown discarded somewhere you cannot see. “You are safer with me than with any number of old men with swords.”
It is the way he says safer that unsettles you.
“You don’t want them to know,” he tells you, fingers idly tracing the line of your wrist. “The court is cruel. They chew soft things to pieces. I am sparing you that.”
You think of the way eyes linger on you during the day now. The way conversations falter when you enter a room. The way someone laughed too sharply behind their hand when you passed last week. You do not know what they know, but you know they sense something.
Being chosen leaves a mark, even when no one can name it.
And then there are some nights when you tell yourself you should refuse him, but the thought never survives the sound of his voice at your door.
There is a terrible relief in the regularity of it.
In knowing when the world will narrow to the size of your chambers, to the weight of his presence, to the certainty of his attention.
“It suits you,” Aerion remarks one evening, watching you with that sharp, considering gaze. “This waiting. This quiet obedience.”
You bristle at the word obedience, but he only smiles, smug and unrepentant.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like being kept,” he adds. “I see the way you look when you hear my steps.”
It is humiliating, how true that is.
“You should be grateful,” he tells you, not unkindly. “I could leave you to the mercy of rumour. Instead, I keep you close.”
You always feel guilty in the quiet hours before dawn, when the Keep is hushed and your thoughts have room to turn on you. Guilty for the ease with which you let this become your reality. Guilty for the way part of you thrills at being singled out by someone so dangerous, so untouchable. Guilty for the strange, unwanted comfort of knowing exactly where you stand with him, even if that place is beneath.
“You are mine,” Aerion repeats, he does so every time you see him, as though it is the simplest truth in the world. “And I take care of what belongs to me.”
The arrangement settles into something that feels almost… stable.
It is dangerous. But it's also intoxicating.
A couple of weeks later, the hall is too bright for secrets.
Torchlight glints off gold and polished stone, off goblets raised in careless toasts. Music spills across the floor in slow, measured rhythms meant for noble couples and careful steps. You stand at the edge of the crowd, doing what you have learned to do best; be present without being seen.
It does not work tonight.
You feel the shift before you see him. The way conversations falter. The way heads turn, then turn away too quickly.
Aerion enters the hall like a disturbance in still water, and the court parts around him without thinking. He is dressed for spectacle, black and gold, the dragon stitched into his shoulder, every inch a prince.
His eyes find you immediately.
The look is not subtle.
Your stomach tightens. You tell yourself not to react, not to let the heat of his attention show on your face. You lower your gaze, as you have taught yourself to do, but it does not seem to matter. He is already crossing the floor.
When he reaches you, he does not bow. Does not offer polite words. He takes your hand.
The contact is casual to anyone watching. Familiar enough to be remarked upon, not scandalous enough to be protested. Your fingers curl around his, breath catching as he draws you out of the safety of the shadows and into the open space of the dance floor.
“You’re hiding,” he murmurs, low enough that only you hear. “That no longer suits you.”
The music swells. The dancers part for you both, forming a loose circle of watching faces. You feel every eye on your back, on the way his hand settles at your waist as though it has always belonged there. The placement is deliberate. Possessive.
Too intimate to be mistaken.
Your heart is hammering. “People are watching.”
“Good,” Aerion says lightly.
He guides you into the dance without asking. His hand is firm at your lower back, fingers splayed. You move because he moves you, your steps falling into rhythm with his as the court looks on. You have never been this visible in your life.
The taboo hums in the air between you.
It is not forbidden, not truly. Your blood is noble. Your house stands high enough that no one can cry scandal without inviting dangerous questions of their own.
There are rules, yes, but rules bend for princes. The wrongness of it is softer than rumour, sharper than law. No one can say it is wrong.
They can only watch.
Aerion’s thumb presses into your side as you turn, a subtle reminder of where you belong in his orbit. He draws you closer than the dance requires. Too close. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him through layers of silk and brocade.
“You feel them staring,” he says, a smile in his voice. “You always do.”
You swallow. “This isn’t discreet.”
He laughs quietly. “I’m tired of discreet.”
The word is a dismissal of the small mercy he once pretended this was.
You catch your reflection in the polished surface of a nearby goblet as you turn, a flash of your face, too flushed, too aware, his hand too sure at your waist. The visual of you together is stark. Prince and girl. Dragon and something caught in its shadow.
You see the way it must look to them, the imbalance written into the very way you stand.
Aerion does not care.
He guides you through the final turn of the dance and does not release you when the music softens. His hand remains at your back. His gaze lingers on you, unapologetic, daring anyone to speak.
Let them see, the look says.
Let them understand what cannot be undone.
The whispers start before the music has even faded. You feel them like a current, brushing past your skin, carrying your name on mouths that do not dare speak it too loudly.
Aerion leans in, close enough that his breath warms your ear.
“You’re done being hidden,” he tells you. “Anyone who has eyes can see what you are to me.”
The claim is not shouted. It does not need to be.
The court has already heard it.
idk what happened here i like blanked lol, im working on like 2 fics atm, one is a part 2 to 'marked by gold' which seems to be in high demand <3
𝓡: “You were always three steps ahead of me when we walked this path as students.”
𝓐: “I remember. You talked the entire time.”
𝓡: “That's rude! I was only making conversation because it was fun seeing you try to hide the blush on your face.”
𝓐: “…I wasn’t blushing.”
𝓡: “You absolutely were!”
AND THEN THEY GREW UP 😭♥️😭♥️😭♥️
thought it was a perfect time to post since i received this on his bday and it’s valentine’s week ♥️ AAAAAA IM SUCH A SUCKER FOR TIME SKIPS IM BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS RN
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