THAT CRIMSON SHADE OF RED – LADS SYLUS
Summary: Sylus notices your new lipstick immediately. But what happens when he likes it a little too much? Maybe it finally tempts him to kiss you for the first time.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sylus notices the new shade of your lipstick almost immediately, even without you having to tell him. You’re standing in the hallway, dressed to perfection, the crimson hue freshly applied against your lips, just as he strides past–one hand in his pocket, the other hanging loosely by sis side his side.
The colour so striking, so rich, and yet so familiar, that his sharp, perceptive gaze catches on it instantly.
“This colour looks rather ravishing on your lips, kitten.”
A small smirk pulls at his lips as he stops to stand beside you, eyes flickering from your reflection to the real you. There’s something so observing and calculating about the way he looks as you, as if he’s studying you, reading his favorite book, peeling your layers back, uncovering the meaning beneath your deliberate choice.
“Is that a new shade?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, interested, the way a predator does when it spots something worth his time.
“Yes, Sylus.” you smile and turn to look at him, knowing, the crimson decorating your lips as you press them together. “I got this shade because it matches your eyes.”
His smirk falters for a fraction of a second, just enough for you to notice. A moment passes before his fingers reach forward, curling gently beneath your chin, tilting your face up, so he can admire it properly. Something unreadable and dark lingers in his gaze, something that makes your heart beat a little faster in your chest.
“Oh, really?” His voice low, amused, rough.
Thumb ghosting your bottom lip, teasing, but featherlight, tugging ever so slightly before retreating. His other hand brushes against your waist, not pulling you in just yet, but just enough so you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Why? Don’t you want the lipstick to just stay on my lips, hmm?”
The smirk playing on your lips only depends, because you can see it–the way his eyes darken, his breath catches in his throat, controlled jet unmistakably heavier. Oh, and you knew exactly what were you doing when you picked out that shade in the store earlier.
“Careful, kitten,” he murmurs, “You say things like that, and you might just get exactly what you’re asking for.”
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m asking for.”
His restraint? Shattered. A sharp exhale leaves him, his fingers tightening around your waist as he pulls you flush against his broad chest, your hands landing against the solid plane of it.
And then, without another breath of hesitation, he crashes his lips onto yours—hungry, desperate, devouring, like a starved man finally indulging in something he’s been craving far too long.
The heat of it floods through you, igniting every nerve, as his fingers dig in just enough to leave ghostly imprints against your skin. The taste of him, of heat and subtle spice, lingers on your tongue, intoxicating, thrilling, addictive. His lips move with a skilled precision, tilting your head just how he wants it, deepening, consuming, possessing.
When he finally pulls back, breathless but smug, his eyes flicker to the smudged mess of red staining his lips, your mouth, the skin around it—like an undeniable brand of possession, decorating the both of you, claiming him as yours, claiming you as his.
“Hmm, look at you, kitten–absolutely ruined.”
Your breath is shaky, chest rising and falling as you attempt to ground yourself, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt to regain your sanity. His thumb traces your lip again, this time without care for neatness, smearing it further just to watch you gasp and squirm under his touch. His crimson gaze is fixed on yours, piercing, amused.
“Should we make it worse? What do you think, sweetie? Yes? No? Maybe so?”
Sylus is looking at you like he wants to devour you whole. And he does. And you want him to, too.
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his lips before his hands cradle your face again, and his lips are back on yours, rougher, deeper, claiming you with every calculated movement. His body presses flush against yours, pinning you to the wall, warmth seeping into every inch of you, his fingers threading into your hair as he tilts your head back, demanding, relentless.
Your lungs scream for air, your lipstick ruined beyond repair this time, but you don’t care. You’re too drunk on him, in the intoxicating heat of his touch, the way his lips work against yours as if they were always meant to be there.
When he finally pulls back, you can barely keep your knees from buckling.
"Hmmm, now that’s better," he purrs against your ear, his voice a sultry caress. A single fingertip brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his touch deliberate, lingering.
"But I did say we’d make it worse, didn’t I?"
You stare at him, eyes blown wide, lips still parted, dazed beyond reason. Your fingers tighten around the front of his shirt, the only thing keeping you upright in the whirlwind he’s just thrown you into.
And Sylus knows. He knows exactly how undone you are.
He leans in, just slightly, his breath fanning across your skin, his lips pressing a deceptively sweet kiss to your shoulder.
"Hmmm," he hums, the smug amusement thick in his tone. "That’s what I thought."
With calculated ease, you reach for the lipstick again, swiping a fresh coat onto your already ruined lips. Sylus watches, intrigued, until you step forward, rising onto your toes, hands braced against his shoulders, and press a lingering, candid kiss to his cheek.
His gaze flickers sideways, sharp, searching. A hint of heat creeps up the back of his neck, and for the first time, it’s his smirk that falters.
Before he can react, before he can reclaim the moment, you’re already turning away, as if he hadn’t just wrecked you completely against that wall.
But you don’t get so far.
A slow, deliberate pull stops you, his fingers curling around your wrist, pressing you right back into him.
"Where do you think you’re going, sweetie?"
A soft chuckle escapes you, your fingers trailing along the fabric of his shirt, a playful dance of touch and tease against his broad chest.
"Did you enjoy my lipstick that much, Sy~?"
A husky chuckle rumbles from his chest, deep and amused. His fingers tighten, his gaze hooded, burning.
"Kitten," he murmurs, voice rich and velvety, "if you wanted another round, all you had to do was ask. If you can handle it, hmm?"
The shiver that runs through you is immediate, unavoidable. There’s something lethal in his tone, something saccharine and dangerous, something that has you unraveling all over again. You’re swallowing hard.
"Then, I'm asking nicely."
A sharp inhale. A slow, satisfied smirk. And then—
Another kiss. Another claim. Another surrender.
And oh, you already know—you’re never walking away from this man untouched again.
He will buy you everything in that pretty shade of crimson. And he will kiss you plenty more when you wear it for him, too.
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