Lore & spice @seekingloreandspice - Tumblr Blog

got me feelin’ greedy (and it’s all your fault)

SUMMARY: “You’re soaked to the bone, kitten.” The cool red of his gaze is steady on you as water slips over his cheeks and down his neck, little rivulets catching the lamplight before they disappear beneath his collar. “Clothes need to come off.” You huff out a timid laugh, and then you realize he’s not joking. “It was just a bit of rain,” you say, wishing you sounded more convincing. “Sweetie, we are, at best, several centuries removed from the medicine that can effectively treat pneumonia.” He folds his arms across his chest like he’s squaring up for an argument. “And besides, we have to share a blanket— one which I’d prefer you didn’t get sopping wet.” He lifts a brow. “Now strip.” (or, the night in the yurt if it had stormed: a grasslands romance rewrite)

PAIRING: sylus x reader RATING: explicit 🔞 (mdni) WORD COUNT: 5.6k TAGS: fem!reader (reader has hair that can retain water and be tucked behind their ear), grasslands romance rewrite, pwp, smut with feelings, forced proximity, there was only one bed (and also only one blanket), nudity, sharing body heat, huddling for warmth, first kiss, love confessions, accidental voyeurism, vaginal fingering, come eating, cunnilingus (face sitting), masturbation, improved use of evol (light bondage), use of pet names (kitten, sweetie), the barest sprinkling of angst bc i simply cannot help myself

NOTE: the cutesy softness of sylus’s grasslands romance card has me in a chokehold, but the gremlins in my brain yearn for smut. so. here we are. (also available to registered users on ao3!)

The storm comes on like a dirge.

One moment, you’re enjoying the novelty of fresh air—something you’re realizing you’ve never actually breathed in all your time living in Linkon—and the next, Tarna is frantically ushering you and Sylus onto horses and telling you that you need to move.

And unfortunately, she read the heavens correctly. They split in sorrow, unleashing a heaving gale whose purpose is rampant, wretched devastation. It is a sight to behold, until swiftly, terrifyingly it is not.

Once-clear skies churn themselves into an ominous grey, and harsh, sea-chilled winds blow the tall grass flat as far as the eye can see. And then: rain. It’s cold and biting and coming down in such thick sheets that you can barely see the ground beneath the blur of your horse’s hooves. Thank God the beast seems to know where you’re going because you certainly don’t.

Sylus rides next to you at a full gallop, head ducked to avoid the splintering sting of raindrops, and Tarna rides slightly ahead of him. Before long, the three of you are sliding to a halt in the middle of a temporary camp, and then Sylus is dragging you off your saddle and into his arms, one hand at your waist and the other beneath your knees.

“This way!” Tarna calls over the din, and Sylus hustles after her, jostling you about in his haste to escape the rain.

The next moment, you’re inside a yurt, its flap angrily slapping shut behind you as you untuck your head from beneath Sylus’s chin to take everything in. A circular, knee-height wall transitions into a slanted ceiling that’s held up by a central post, and there’s a single lantern hanging near the top that throws dim orange light over the tiny space. Shadows lick across the rug-covered floor, the deep burgundies and muted yellows of the weaves flashing brown and grey as bursts of lightning filter through the canopy.

Sylus sets you down gently, and you immediately miss his warmth. You shake out your legs to try and get some feeling back in them after the hard ride but stop as soon as you realize you’re just flinging water everywhere, including on Tarna. There’s barely enough room for the three of you to stand in here comfortably, especially with Sylus’s broad frame. But shelter is shelter, and you’re grateful for it.

“Apologies that we don’t have anything larger,” Tarna says, hunching slightly so that she can stand a bit farther away from the two of you without her head scraping the yurt, “but it should at least keep you dry and shield you from the worst of the cold.”

You push your hair back to stop water dripping down your face and then scan the interior. In addition to the lantern, there’s a single, too-narrow bedroll and exactly one blanket. Wonderful.

“Thank you,” Sylus says to Tarna, sincere in his appreciation but also effectively dismissing her.

With a half-bow, Tarna mutters a polite See you in the morning, and then she’s gone, leaving you alone with Sylus.

Sylus and the singular bedroll.

If the evening hadn’t turned quite so cruel, you might have the energy to track down a second one. But it did, and you don’t, so with a resigned sigh, you toe off your boots and step toward the pallet. It’s just one night. And besides, you’re so exhausted that you’ll probably pass out before your head even hits the pillow.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

You pause in your tracks and stare blankly at Sylus. “Going… to bed?”

He props a hand on his hip and gestures vaguely in your direction, eyes roving up and down your form as he appraises you with palpable distaste. “Not like that you’re not.”

A peal of thunder shakes the yurt, and you look down at yourself, unsure what fault he found. “Like what?”

“You’re soaked to the bone, kitten.” The cool red of his gaze is steady on you as water slips over his cheeks and down his neck, little rivulets catching the lamplight before they disappear beneath his collar. “Clothes need to come off.”

You huff out a timid laugh, and then you realize he’s not joking. “It was just a bit of rain,” you say, wishing you sounded more convincing.

“Sweetie, we are, at best, several centuries removed from the medicine that can effectively treat pneumonia.” He folds his arms across his chest like he’s squaring up for an argument. “And besides, we have to share a blanket— one which I’d prefer you didn’t get sopping wet.” He lifts a brow. “Now strip.”

The command sends a pulse of nervous energy through your limbs, but he’s right. You hate that he’s right. And you hate even more that the thought of being naked around him is causing your blood to heat.

He looks at you expectantly.

You’re being ridiculous. You’re both adults, and it’s just one night. You can do this. Better exposed than ill, or however the saying goes. “Turn around,” you mutter weakly.

Sylus looks like he’s about to say something more, but then he just closes his mouth and dutifully faces the entrance to the yurt, giving you his back.

You let a few seconds pass, just to be sure that he’s going to stay put, and when he does, you begin the arduous process of peeling off layer after layer of rain-drenched fabric. Your pants and long-sleeved shirt fight you something fierce, but you’re eventually victorious. Once you’re bare, you lay your clothes flat on one of the rugs and send up a silent prayer that everything will be dry by morning.

After, you quickly slide into the bedroll, desperate to both hide your nudity and escape from the slight draft seeping into the confined space. To your surprise, the blanket is thick and heavy— a sturdy but pliable weave that’s less scratchy than it looks.

“You can turn around now,” you say to Sylus, covers pulled up to your chin.

He moves slowly, head lagging a moment behind his shoulders like he’s waiting for you to take back your words. But you don’t, and then he’s facing you, a gentle smirk warming his features.

And then he goes for his belt.

You squeak and duck under the blanket before you see something you shouldn’t.

The soft trill of his laughter fills the yurt as he says, “My, my. Someone’s awfully shy tonight.”

“I’m just… giving you your privacy.”

He lets out an amused huff. “Sure you are.”

Heavy, wet snaps of fabric startles you a few times as Sylus disrobes, but you resolutely remain beneath the covers, eyes pinched shut just in case the visual barrier were to fail.

Sylus putters around for longer than you expect, but from the sounds of it—the rasping slide of leather cord becoming knots—he’s tying off the entrance to the yurt. Smart. Thanks to his efforts, maybe you won’t wake up half-frozen. Eventually, his steps carry him toward the bedroll, and you hurriedly roll onto your side so that you’re facing away from him.

He slides in without fanfare, then his voice is at your ear, a slow drawl that has your breath stuttering: “Do I need to beg for it?”

You peek over the blanket to find him far too close, and you choke out a garbled, “What?”

His mouth pulls into a devilish grin. “The blanket, kitten.” His gaze crawls over your thoroughly cocooned body before returning to your eyes. “Unless you’ve decided not to share?”

“Oh. Right.” You slowly feed some of it to him while also scooting yourself a bit farther away, to the very edge of the bedroll.

“Much obliged,” he says, rustling next to you as he adjusts the lay of the blanket across his chest.

His hair is a darker shade of grey, you notice, color weighed down by the rain. It suits him well enough, but you find yourself missing the ashen, silvered hue you’ve grown so used to.

Finally, without so much as a sideways glance in your direction, Sylus folds an arm behind his head, tosses you an austere Sleep well, kitten, and lets his eyes drift shut.

Seconds pass, and you’re unable to turn back around, captivated by how the lamplight plays against his skin, how it’s melting away the timeless severity of his features. You almost don’t recognize him without a cutting smirk plastered on his face. He’s not relaxed—not exactly—but he seems… less burdened.

The longer you stare, the more you want to reach over and trace the elegant slope of his jaw. Would he enjoy your touch, you wonder?

You ball your hand to keep from acting on the impulse and instead push out an irritated sigh.

“If you're struggling to fall asleep,” he says, jolting you out of your revelry, “I know a trick we could try.” His eyes remain shut even as the ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You clench your jaw and turn away, curling your knees to your chest in search of warmth that doesn’t exist.

He lets out a sigh of his own. “Suit yourself.”

Rain pelts the yurt from all directions, winds carving chaotic patterns as the thunder rolls across the plains. It goes on and on, showing no signs of abating. You’ve experienced worse storms by far, but never with only a few layers of tanned hides and a bit of felt between you and the elements. Lightning flashes here and there, unpredictable and rudely startling you awake on the rare occasion that you’re comfortable enough to begin drifting off. It would be less annoying if your wet hair wasn’t sapping every last ounce of heat from your body.

You’re miserable, you decide.

You’re cold and wet and naked and miserable.

And then an arm wraps around your middle and drags you backward until you’re pressed flush against a warm, broad chest.

“W-what are you doing?” you ask, pulse skittering.

Sylus fits his arm atop yours, his elbow ending up near your stomach as his hand loosely covers your fist. His breaths are close and warm against your ear. “Your shivering is making it impossible to sleep,” he says.

You swallow. “Then I’ll put my clothes back on.”

“Nonsense, they’re still wet.” His voice has a gravelly quality to it you haven’t heard before— vague and lazy from exhaustion, like he’s hinting at words more so than saying them. “You do that and you’ll be even worse off than you were before.”

“Sylus, we’re naked,” you whisper, a note of panic in your tone.

“Oh?” he says. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Sylus—”

“Relax, kitten. It’s a cold night, and we both need to get some rest.”

A particularly harsh gust of wind forces its way through the gaps around the yurt’s entry flap, and you shiver as the cold air hits your face.

“Let me keep you warm,” he finishes.

He is quite warm. In fact, the chill that had settled into your bones is already subsiding, and maybe you’re a fool but you don’t want to give up your only source of heat. “Fine, but no funny business.”

He huffs a laugh, and for some reason that puts you at ease. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

His offer seems genuine enough, so you finally untense your muscles and relax into him, glad for his warmth and the weight of his arm slung over your waist. But when Sylus pulled you to him, you must have ended up on top of a rock, or maybe a stick, and it’s digging painfully into your hip. You wiggle a bit to find a more comfortable position, and a choked sound catches in his throat, his cock stirring against the back of your thigh.

“As long as you don’t keep squirming like that,” he adds.

You immediately go still and wonder, not for the first time, if it would be possible to just cease existing. Perhaps a resonance burst could take you out? “Sorry,” you whisper.

Sylus exhales a slow, strained breath but eventually calms his body back down.

Outside, the storm rages on, a steady barrage of thunder and lightning and all the trappings of an angry god. Perhaps it’s a consequence of your arrival here— a cosmic balancing of the scales that you disturbed when you hurtled back through time. Or perhaps it’s just poor luck.

Then, there’s a different noise.

At first, you try to convince yourself that it’s creaking wood or wailing animals or anything other than pleasure-drunk moans coming from one of the nearby yurts. But as Sylus’s cock grows steadily harder, the faint pulse of his quickened heartbeat thrumming against your skin, you know your instincts are correct.

To his credit, he keeps his breathing even.

You, on the other hand, are faring much worse, and as you fight to remain unaffected, heat stubbornly pools low in your belly— a barely tolerable simmer that threatens to become more. Your thoughts stray to how easy it would be for Sylus to sheath himself in you, to push slowly, brazenly into you. Just a shift of his hips, and your bodies would be joined.

Or perhaps it wouldn’t be so simple.

Perhaps he’d first need to prepare you with his fingers— stretch you so that you could take him. He feels big, you can’t help but notice. Big and heavy and thick.

The unmistakable slap of skin against skin filters through the thin walls of the yurt, and Sylus’s cock twitches.

“How long are you going to pretend to be asleep?” you ask, unable to stand the unnatural silence any longer.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then: “Is there something unconvincing about my performance?”

You purse your lips to keep from laughing. “Oh, just one rather large something, I’d say.”

Sylus buries his forehead in the curve of your neck. “I’m trying my best here, kitten. Go easy on me.”

“It’s okay,” you say, suddenly wanting to reassure him, and then another wave of energetic moans cuts through the patter of rain. It sends a surge of heat straight to your core, and you squeeze your thighs together to take the edge off. “They’re, uh… getting to me, too.”

Sylus groans, his cock pressing against you a bit more firmly as he tightens his grip on your hand. “Stop talking,” he says, voice stiff and rough, and if he meant to discourage you, he did a terrible job.

You want to hear more of him like this, like he’s fighting for composure just as badly as you are.

So you cant your hips, and the angle is such that your slick cunt drags along the hot, hard length of him.

Sylus’s hand darts up to grab your jaw, grip almost punishing as he turns your head until vibrant, searing crimson is all you can see. “You are playing a very dangerous game, sweetie. My self-control is not limitless.”

You smile and brush the tip of your nose against his. “Mmm, I’m counting on it,” you say, and then you grind against him again, bolder than before.

You’re tired of pretending like you don’t want him, like you haven’t wanted him for weeks now. Like you haven’t spent multiple nights with your hand between your thighs thinking of what it would be like to have his body moving against yours, taut muscles gleaming with sweat, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

What it would feel like to have him filling you, fucking you, ruining you for anyone else, his teeth at your neck marking you as his.

You want to know what shade of red his eyes are when he’s lost to pleasure.

And you want to know what sound he gives up when he comes.

On a sharp exhale, Sylus abruptly pulls back far enough to wedge the blanket between your bodies, partially uncovering himself in the process, and you instantly hate the fibrous layer of wool that replaces the smooth flesh of his hips. His eyes are pinched shut, brows drawn together like he’s in pain as he sucks in ragged breaths.

“Did I… do something wrong?” you ask, voice small.

The briefest of smiles— there and gone before you can even blink. “Not in the slightest,” he says, subtly shaking his head. Those striking red eyes of his find you again, hot as embers, sharp as glass.

You press your lips together, suddenly worried you catastrophically misread this entire situation, that he really was only interested in keeping you warm. “Then… do you not… want me… like that?”

“Oh, kitten.” His expression softens as he brings a hand to your jaw. “I want to bed you more than I want to breathe.”

Your breath hitches at the unexpected confession, and you bite your lip. Slowly, cautiously, you roll so that your back is flat on the pallet, and then you slide yourself closer. Tuck yourself beneath him. “So bed me.”

His eyes roam over you, catching on your lips, your neck, the rise and fall of your chest, and there’s something almost mournful in his gaze. “Not like this,” he says, brushing a strand of damp hair off your forehead, touch light. “Not surrounded by mud and goats.” His hand finally settles against your jaw, fingers so long they curl around to the back of your head. “You deserve better than that.”

“I don’t want better,” you say. “I want now.” Heart in your throat, you bring a palm to his chest, astonished at how his muscles tense at the mildest of contact. “I want you.”

Sylus sweeps his thumb over your cheek, staring at you with such soft wonder that it makes you ache. “Say that again.”

It might be the first honest thing he’s ever asked of you, and he looks like he’ll die if you refuse him. When did you amass such power over him? Warmth trickles down your spine. “I want you, Sylus.”

He smiles but it’s fragile, eyes flitting over your features like he’s discovering each of them anew. “I never have been able to deny you,” he says, and it sounds like a confession, like an apology.

You want to ask him what he means. You’ve only known each other for a short time, during which he’s done nothing but press your buttons— expertly, you might add. He is a vexing, tedious, insolent man... that you'd very much like to fuck, it turns out. So instead, you hold your breath as his lips brush against yours, featherlight. You’ve always struggled with patience, but for this—for him—you’ll try.

He looks at you again, gaze so molten that it could raze entire cities. “No sense in starting now.”

And then he kisses you. He kisses you so hard it hurts. Kisses you so hard you can think of nothing else, his lips plush and sure and hungry against yours. You gasp when he licks into you, stealing bits of his breath to fill your lungs with the taste of him.

“On one condition,” Sylus says, breaking away.

You surge forward, instinctively chasing after his mouth, but he’s faster than you and you’re left panting. “Are you—” You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you trying to negotiate with me right now?”

A slow grin spreads across his too-handsome face. “Maybe.” He dips his head to lick and suck his way down your throat. “Are you in the mood to bargain?”

You groan, fingers digging into his shoulders as you arch into him, sick for more. “Name your terms.” He lazily kneads your breast, and you whine. “Quickly.”

“So demanding,” he chides, nuzzling at your pulse point.

“Sylus.”

He stifles a laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “First you don’t want me to touch you, and now I’m not touching you enough.” His thumb brushes the underside of your breast before he glides his hand down, down, down— over your ribs, your hip, touch scorching you more thoroughly than any flames ever could. “I’m getting mixed signals, kitten.”

You bury your fingers in his hair and yank, pulling his head back so that you can glare at him properly. “You are such a tease,” you hiss.

“All right, all right. Needy little thing.” Sylus palms the back of your thigh and gives a possessive squeeze before he slides his hand back up to cup the curve of your ass. “I propose the following exchange: I give you this now”—he drags a finger along your slit in a way that pulls a moan from your throat—“and once we’re back in our own time, you allow me to take care of you the way you deserve.”

“Deal.” The word is out before he’s even finished his sentence. It’s excruciating, the way you burn for him— the way you’re surely about to combust if you can’t have him here and now and completely.

“Really?” He has the audacity to look bemused as he continues to torment you with almost-touches, clever fingers dipping between your bodies, knuckles brushing against your inner thighs as he coaxes your legs apart. “No clarifying questions? No counter-offer?”

You roll your hips, delirious with want. “Sylus, please don’t make me beg.”

His gaze is a devouring thing, bright with untamed, concentrated hunger. “Oh, but I so love it when you do.”

And then his fingers are at your entrance, pushing in slow and thick. He slants his mouth against yours to swallow the pathetic, warbling noise you make, and then he threads his other arm beneath your neck, cradling you closer as you bow against him, your nipples rubbing against the hard planes of his chest. His thumb circles your clit, and the combination of friction and pressure is so perfectly unbearable, and—

Your release hits you like a thunderclap, swift and sharp.

You throw your head to the side, and Sylus barely manages to cover your mouth with his hand before the scream pours out of you.

“That’s it,” he encourages, lips at your throat, fingers sweetly fucking you through it. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

You writhe against him, fractured whines muffled against his palm as you claw at his back, his neck, his hair— any part of him you can reach. But he’s undeterred by your onslaught, and he doesn’t let up until there’s stillness between your tremors, until your keening devolves into scattered whimpers.

“It appears someone was strung a little tight,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear before he pulls back to look at you. “Feel better, kitten?”

His face slips in and out of focus as aftershocks continue to wrack your body. You catch your lower lip between your teeth and hum, dizzy with satisfaction.

Sylus withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, eyes slipping shut as he swipes them across his tongue. He groans, savoring his prize, and then fixes you with a heated gaze. “Would you like a taste?” he asks, hovering the pads of his fingers above your lips, waiting. Watching.

You nod, transfixed by the ravenous glint in his eyes, desiring nothing more than to please him, to see his features twist with want, to hear him make that lovely guttural sound again. So you take his fingers between your lips and suck.

He rewards you with the most beautiful response— body tensing against yours, hand clutching at your jaw. Something like a growl rumbles deep in his chest as he rocks into you, his cock sliding between your thighs, and you’re instantly, hopelessly desperate for more.

Suddenly, the world tilts, and between one breath and the next, you’re above him, knees on either side of his head as whirling bands of his Evol tingle against your limbs. He splays a hand against your lower back to nudge you closer, and then his mouth is on your cunt, the hot, wet glide of his tongue pulling a moan from you.

“Such a noisy kitten,” he says, and the vibration of his voice against your clit has you moaning again. “Much as I adore the sounds you make for me, I’m not overly fond of sharing them with the kind people in this camp. Now, can you keep yourself quiet”—his Evol caresses your mouth, pushing against your lips like a gag—“or will you need some assistance?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, tongue painting a flat, wide stripe along your entrance before flicking pointedly against your clit. You gasp but stop yourself from mewling, and you feel his lips curve into a smile.

“Good girl.”

He’s not gentle with you after that, and you suspect, given his untempered liveliness, that he’s trying to bully a moan out of you. You tangle one hand in his hair and occupy the other with your breast, kneading the sensitive flesh as you grind your hips against his chin, and it earns you a quiet grunt.

And then you hear the drag of skin on skin. You twist enough to glance behind you and discover Sylus is stroking himself, fist closed around his obscenely large cock, and good God how is that thing ever going to fit inside you?

But oh, do you want to try.

Even if it takes all night.

You reach for him, but he’s quicker, his Evol winding around your wrist and then pinning it against your spine.

“Sylus, please—” He suckles at your clit, and you arch, holding your breath until you gain control of your reaction. “Please let me touch you.”

“Gladly,” he mumbles, tilting his head to rub his nose against you so that he’s free to talk. “Just as soon as we’re back in the N109 Zone.”

You pull at his hair, and the lower half of his face may be concealed, but crinkles bunch in the corners of his eyes and you know he’s grinning. “That’s not fair.”

“Consider it motivation,” he says, lifting a brow before he slowly works his mouth against you. “I know I certainly do.”

He’s making it difficult to concentrate but you’re determined. “We— ah— had a deal!”

Sylus turns his head to nip at your inner thigh. “Yes, and perhaps next time you’ll negotiate terms that are more to your liking.”

You can only stare at him slack-jawed, finally realizing what trick he hid beneath his cryptic phrasing earlier. He’ll satisfy you all right, but that will be the limit of tonight’s activities. “Bastard,” you seethe, mostly angry at yourself for being outmaneuvered.

“That’s an odd way of saying that I’m a selfless and attentive lover.” He licks into you greedily as if to prove his point. “Especially since what I’d really like to do is stuff my cock so far down your throat that those pretty eyes of yours get all watery.”

You make a soft sound of arousal and clench on nothing, and Sylus appears to take notice.

“Oh, so you’d like that, would you?” He drags his tongue through your folds, humming thoughtfully. “Mmm, another time, perhaps.”

Your heart drums as wild and hard as the rain, pounding out a beat that feels like a beginning. “We could do that now,” you say, breathless.

He chuckles. “An admirable effort, but I’m afraid we’ve already agreed to tonight’s terms.” Even in the dull dark of the yurt, his gaze is a brilliant red. “And I always honor my deals.”

“Bastard,” you say again, but it lacks heat.

“Impatience has a price, sweetie.” He presses a chaste kiss to your clit and squeezes your hip affectionately. “But just for you, I’ll clear my schedule after we get back so that you can punish me for my numerous and varied transgressions.” And with that, he returns to messily laving at your cunt.

You come undone in perfect silence, a riot of pleasure coursing through your limbs and filling you with such exquisite bliss that you can scarcely breathe.

Beneath you, Sylus groans, low and long, his hand gripping your waist so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t break a rib. And then he goes lax, the once-manic press of his tongue turning languid as you ride out your release. When your hips finally still, he’s gazing up at you with a mixture of awe and arrogance.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself,” you scold.

His laugh is like music, and it’s quickly becoming your favorite song. “It’s a good thing I have you here to keep me grounded,” he says, lovingly running his hands up and down your waist.

You card your fingers through his still-damp hair. “You’re too far away.”

He hears your request well enough and uses his Evol to reposition you so that you’re lying against his side. You kiss him before your hip even touches the bedroll, groaning when you taste yourself on his tongue.

And then, an idea strikes you. Sex may be off the menu for tonight, but—

You drag a finger through the sticky mess on Sylus’s stomach and then pull back, taking your fingers into your mouth and licking them clean. Sylus watches you with rapt fascination, and you relish in the heady tang of his essence before you swallow.

“Naughty kitten,” he admonishes, though it sounds more like a compliment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he’s clean again, the red-black wisps of his Evol lingering on his skin for a moment until they finally flake away into nothing.

With one hand, Sylus rearranges the blanket so that it’s covering both of you, and with the other, he pulls you against his chest. You slot one of your legs between his and drape an arm across his ribs, just above his heart.

Outside, the storm has calmed to a sluggish drizzle, thunder muted as it rolls in the distance, and you think the worst of it might be past you, but only time will tell.

In the quiet between breaths, a nagging feeling grows in your gut. Eventually, you recognize it for what it is: dread. “Sylus?” you ask, voice thin as you trace small circles against his chest. “What if we can’t get back?”

His response is immediate and firm. “We will.”

“But what if we can’t?”

“Then I’ll count myself lucky to be stuck here with you,” he says, tone all too pleasant.

You push yourself up onto an elbow so that you can glare at him. “Sylus, I’m being serious.”

He sighs— a noisy sound filled with displeasure at being badgered into answering earnestly. Although, it's not exactly an answer when he says, “It’s not safe for us here, sweetie.”

You worry your lip, recalling the way the Talanian people had looked almost… scared of Sylus when you crossed paths earlier today. “Are you saying that because of what happened with Tarna?” She'd made a comment about his eyes, and he’d responded with one of his easy-going laughs and explained the red had been with him since birth, but that had only seemed to make her more wary.

“Partly, but the more pressing issue is your Evol.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and settles his hand against the side of your neck. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but your ability has been a little… unreliable lately, and if you resonate at the wrong time, you’re likely to end up roasting on a spit alongside some hogs.”

You laugh at the thought, absurd as it is. “As if you’d let them lay a finger on me.”

“You’re not wrong,” he says, brows lifting in agreement, “but how exactly do you think I’d ensure your safety?”

You frown. “I…”

“How many of them do you think I’d have to kill before they gave up?” he asks, expression almost serene in how resigned it is. “One? Five? Ten? Would I need to wipe out the whole tribe?”

“Sylus, stop,” you say, breath gone from your lungs.

His hand tenses against your neck, and despite the blatant threat, his tone remains soft when he next speaks. “Those are the stakes, kitten. Because you’re right.” Something cruel and ancient flashes behind his eyes. “There’s not a world in which I allow them to harm you.”

The fresh air you’d been enjoying so much is suddenly too thick— oppressive in a way that tastes like poison. “I don’t want you hurting anyone because of me,” you say. It comes out weaker than you intended.

Sylus holds your horrified gaze a moment longer and then guides your head back to his shoulder. “I know,” he says and presses a kiss to your forehead. Perhaps it’s a promise. Perhaps it’s an apology. “Which is why we’re going to find that knife—or the hunk of rock it was carved from—and you’re going to get us back home.” His arm tightens around you. “Anything else is simply not an option.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond, so you just hug him a bit harder.

“And besides,” he says, lips moving against your hair as he squeezes the curve of your ass, “I seem to recall that I have a deal to collect on, and I am very much looking forward to it.”

His words have heat pooling between your thighs again, but he lulls you into a dreamless sleep with gentle touches.

The clouds are gone when morning breaks, and later that afternoon, just as Sylus predicted, you locate the protocore-infected gem. It’s a relief— or, it should be. But for a reason you can’t quite place, you’re sad for the success.

At least, until you remember what awaits you back in the present day.

And the next evening, as the sun kisses the horizon and Sylus competes for the prize that contains your ticket home, your cheers are the loudest.

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