A greedy businessman overdue for a wake up call invited the Onychinus leader to a birthday celebration. Sylus knew the perfect gift--and an even more perfect artist--to commission to make his petty vision come true.
CW: oneshot, crowfish(rafayel x sylus), sexual tension, powerbottom!rafayel, switch!sylus (sub leaning), pwp, heavy smut, oral, anal, spit/saliva, biting, edging, sylus sluts himself out, condescending dirty talk, brief aftercare, subtle yearning
There were many bastards Sylus had to play his cards right with, but one in particular was extra careful with his hand. Onychinus would be the leading trader in protocore-infused gadgets if it weren’t for the CEO of a weaponry distribution company causing roadblocks for the thrill of it.
More and more patents were bought by his company which lead to distributors once amicable with Onychinus stating strict loyalty to their new boss. Brute force would be a no-brainer if it weren’t for the complex political systems running underneath the guise of ‘contracts’ the greedy pest forced many to sign— an audacious move considering the nature of N109.
Despite the inconveniences, Sylus was willing to be patient. It paid off when he unexpectedly received an invitation from the CEO; a birthday celebration blatantly organized to stroke his ego.
It was then that Sylus began to listen to his petty impulses, and hell he might as well. He had no qualms throwing a card down when it could potentially lead to a perfect window for brute force in order to proceed with his overall plans.
And part of the plan involved completely indulging in this pettiness to his heart’s content.
Sylus primarily saw Linkon through Mephisto’s eyes over the years, the digital surveillance swooping through streets cluttered with civilians too busy on their phones and traffic to notice the sly crow. Having knowledge of the layout gave him constant advantages during unprecedented dealings; one of which involved cracking the code on a particular assassin’s double life.
Rafayel’s day job involved owning a quaint art studio in a forgettable section of downtown Linkon. Foot traffic was minimal and Rafayel was seldom present, but when he stepped through the glass doors he wouldn’t reappear for hours. When Mephisto spotted Rafayel’s commute the day after the birthday invitation graced his desk, Sylus was quick to materialize within the territory.
The concrete thudded from Sylus’ sure steps as he rounded a block and pushed the doors open, taking in the unremarkable interior design with disinterest. Whether it was Rafayel’s art or not, it was becoming apparent each second why he chose not to be in here often; the overall vibe reminded him of performative, forgetful showings he had attended for show. The only details that made the space slightly intriguing was the fact that Rafayel’s art was meticulously placed throughout, his elaborate signature marking each canvas. It made Sylus wonder what the design of his home could be and if it showed off the same fiery themes as his temperament.
He hoped he could find himself knocking on his front door soon.
The epoxy echoed under his footsteps as he made his way through the art studio. His only lead of the man’s whereabouts was the fervent clicking of a keyboard in a back office. Sylus saw the back of who he was looking for, hunched over a computer screen and completely oblivious to his presence.
Leaning against the doorframe, Sylus couldn’t help himself from taking in Rafayel’s appearance. He was dressed in a way he had never seen before; loose-fitted dress shirt accompanied by slacks and shoes made of what he presumed to be high quality fabrics. It was a complete contrast to the dark apparel that hid the blood he spilled in the N109; the mask he wore hid all but eyes that threatened him on more than one occasion.
However, it never stopped the notorious crimelord from playing with fire. He had yet to get burned.
“Do you make all your clients wait?”
Sylus purposefully added an impatient bite to the end of his sentence to ensure he received attention. It did the trick; Rafayel’s back straightened as his head swiveled in his direction. The amount of sunlight that came into the office was a sound choice; for the first time he saw purple hues mixed with the dark blue that reminded Sylus of a distant galaxy. Tiny beauty marks were peppered onto his smooth skin which led his gaze down to parted, shocked lips; a nice tint of pink that complimented the hues around his irises.
It was a shame Rafayel mostly hid behind a mask and shadows within the N109, but he could now see why he needed to hide such expressive features.
Sylus was taken out of his stupor when Rafayel gripped his arm with lightning speed and yanked him further into the office. Sylus’ back caused a light thud against the wall shared by the doorway. Even though he had some height over Rafayel, the man’s dissatisfaction practically loomed over him.
“We work with credible clientele,” Rafayel said, hand still clutching his arm while his face contorted in irritation, “and criminals do not fit the standards.”
As far as Sylus was concerned, he was only an eager client hoping to work with a renowned artist. He couldn’t help a light chuckle from escaping, narrowed eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Not only do you make potential customers wait, but you profile them too?” He gently pried Rafayel’s hand off his arm, leaning down to invade the artist’s space a smidgen more. “What will the critics say when I report discriminatory, ironic services?”
His favorite assassin’s jaw clenched as he yanked his hand away in order to press an accusatory finger to his chest. Sylus felt a gentle flutter in the cavity when he noticed the reddened shade of Rafayel’s ears.
“What are you getting at?” he demanded.
There was an unspoken rule that Linkon was off limits to N109 residents. Discretion was critical for those who could afford to toe the lines between the two regions. Too much interaction would risk the Hunter’s Association catching a strong whiff of illegal dealings that were meant to stay below the surface, one of which involved the nepo-bastard CEO who wanted to stake his claim in the weaponry game.
There was no doubt in his mind that Rafayel was well accustomed to the politics of it all, and Sylus knew that his impromptu appearance during his secret day job crossed a nerve. Sylus was too petty to care about the unspoken boundary being tested— a favor needed to be fulfilled.
With a smirk, Sylus pushed himself off the wall and walked around Rafayel in favor of leaning against the office desk with crossed arms.
Rafayel took his time turning to Sylus, a look of disinterest managing to coexist with his general irritation.
“Five minutes to elaborate. Your little bird should know who’s coming.”
His knowledge of Mephisto didn’t phase him. Of course he’d catch on.
Sylus grinned, “I’d like to commission his birthday gift. I trust your expertise in painting portraits.”
There had been countless favors Sylus had done for the assassin out of both the kindness of his heart and the overall convenience. A few strings he needed to pull happened to align with Rafayel’s agenda against Lemurian traffickers, which meant he could gradually build rapport with him. However, Rafayel didn’t need to know that some of these strings would require being tugged in ways that particularly favored Sylus, and this happened to be one of those moments.
Considering how amicable they’d become, the assassin-slash-artist would be foolish to deny him service.
Rafayel refused to move, eyes burning into his own. “I’m guaranteed that he’d want the same. What makes your idea so different?”
Sylus couldn’t contain the smug tone from blossoming as he sounded out the last word. “I’m the subject. Naked.”
The reason behind the decision was simple: he wanted the birthday boy to know that he was picking a weaponry fight with a well-endowed rival. He wasn’t going to attend, but Mephisto will document his clear, uncensored reaction.
He was met with dramatically slow blinks from Rafayel, each one making Sylus’ grin grow. After a long moment, he placed a hand on his forehead with a groan that rivaled a feeble, dehydrated animal. “No. You’re not,” Rafayel denied without hesitation. “I’m not getting in the middle of your little fued—“
“But for me you will,” Sylus interjected. He pushed himself off the desk, hands tucked in his pockets while he peered down at Rafayel with a light tilt of his head. “I’ll pay you handsomely.”
“And I’ll pay you to leave,” Rafayel retorted. The tension was back in his jaw as he took a large step back. “I’ll have my head assistant wire the check when she comes back.”
Sylus closed the space with a step forward. “I’ll only leave when we agree on a compromise.” Sylus said. “You wouldn’t want to lose the chance of gaining a loyal client, would you?”
“I have enough of those,” Rafayel said with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t need to add an insane one to the list.”
Another step back, and another step he took forward.
“Is it because I’m supposedly insane?” Sylus pressed. “Or does the subject matter not meet your standards?”
Another step back. One more and his heel would hit the wall. Rafayel still held his ground despite how aggravated he appeared.
“Three minutes. My assistants come back in one.”
Another step forward. Sylus was enjoying every second of the stolen moment.
“Let them,” Sylus said slowly while grazing his fingers against the wall, a hair away from Rafayel’s waist. He leaned his head near the shell of the artist’s ear. “You know where I stand.”
All that was left was the digital tick of the clock on his monitor. When he leaned his head back, his gaze immediately locked onto Rafayel’s stubborn ones. The nonverbal exchange was fueled by a tension that would cause an onlooker to flinch with each second that ticked by.
Rafayel lifted his arm and temporarily broke eye contact to peer down at his watch.
“If I don’t see every material on my list in your bedroom by tonight, the deal is off,” he said. In the distance, the front door of the studio opened, voices and the clack of heels eliminating the quiet ambiance that once surrounded them. Rafayel lowered his voice so that it was only them that could hear it, “three sessions tops, then it’s all yours.”
Sylus matched his voice level, unable to dampen the satisfied smile. “Deal,” he agreed. With a light push off the wall with his hand, he gave Rafayel a wink before he materialized into red mist.
The demands didn’t stop at the list of art materials. As soon as Rafayel entered Sylus’ wing the next evening, he had Luke and Kieran stumbling over each other trying to gather every amenity and fulfill each demand.
Red candles meticulously placed and lit around the loveseat Sylus would sit on.
Three rows of cheese sticks stacked on a plate within Rafayel’s reach as he painted.
Five bottles of room-temperature mineral water lined beside the easel.
Needless to say, the twins were ready to disappear once Rafayel waved them away like a spoiled Duke with a grand vision.
“Why five?” Sylus asked in amusement, arms crossed over his thin, silk robe as he watched Rafayel busily squeeze various colors onto a wooden pallet.
Rafayel shrugged. “Not only is it better than four, I could test their competence.”
“Well, you’ve made my boys learn to stay away while you are here.”
“Then you’ll be the one restocking everything during breaks.” Rafayel said with an indifferent tone, not bothering to look up. “Hire stronger help.”
Rafayel always had a quick mouth, but he was particularly punchy this evening.
With an amused breath, Sylus decided that he was going to get comfortable for their first painting session. He pulled off the robe and carelessly threw it onto his bed, his bare body settling onto the couch with sprawled legs. Sylus felt a pair of eyes on him the moment he grabbed the wine glass and bottle on the end table, leisurely pouring the red contents while purposefully avoiding eye contact.
Leaned back with closed eyes, he took an unhurried sip, free arm resting on the back of the couch. It was quiet while the dry wine passed back and forth in his mouth… Identifying notes was a skill he was still trying to master, but the practice helped pass time.
Sylus felt something cold on his left thigh which made him open one eye in wonder. The slick metal of a gun was balanced on the muscle, the barrel tilted towards the easle. Rafayel’s body heat contrasted the weapon, the tips of his fingers hardly grazing Sylus’ exposed skin as he pulled away.
“The candle will catch the barrel’s glint.” Rafayel muttered, gaze still latched onto the gun. Sylus hummed, not overlooking the sight of Rafayel’s reddening ears in the dim light.
“Nice touch,” Sylus hummed, “I knew I could trust your eye for detail.”
Rafayel looked up, his expression ironically blank. His hands reached out to adjust Sylus’ hair, making goosebumps subtly form each time he felt a nail graze his scalp.
“I need you to stay still for a while,” Rafayel instructed, though the bossy undertone was softened by a relaxed, nearly intimate cadence, “take one more sip of wine before propping your elbow on the backrest.”
Sylus did as told, eyes never leaving Rafayel’s while having another sip and placing his arm in the instructed spot once he was finished.
Sylus question wasn’t poking for confirmation; It was a subtle test to see where Rafayel mentally stood. The red conveniently never left the artist’s ears as he continued to adjust his posture and appearance until satisfied.
“Just like this. Don’t move.”
The first half of the session was quiet and uneventful. Sylus was only allowed to observe Rafayel while he was in his artistic zone, trained eyes flickering between him and the canvas that was being scratched by granite. They caught each other's eyes multiple times, some moments lingering more than others, but it became a guessing game on what could be going on in Rafayel’s mind.
Are his calculated eyes masking annoyance at the impromptu request?
Could the slight frown be a sign of utter focus as he sketched Sylus’ nude figure?
Does the occasional lick of his lips suggest a grounding habit to keep his thoughts from wandering too far…
Sylus stared at the stack of cheese to maintain control of himself.
“What made you decide that showing yourself off at a party was the perfect gift?”
Sylus’ attention snapped back to Rafayel’s when the question was asked. He still heard lines being sketched on the canvas as he continued to work.
“You choose now to ask,” Sylus noticed, “was your other client curious?”
He couldn’t stave off the desire to know what was said between them much longer. Mephisto could track whereabouts but no further intel on the CEO and Rafayel’s exchange. The artist seemed tolerant of his feathered spy but knew he’d play a pointless, dangerous game if he went even further.
“You answer my question with another,” Rafayel responded, not bothering to hide a smirk. “Typical tactic used by jealous types.”
Maybe it was the fact he had been holding a pose for well over an hour that caused a muscle in his eye to twitch.
“It simply means we both want answers,” Sylus said, rolling the wine glass in his hand, “may I?”
Rafayel reached for the fruit bowl beside him. “Sure. After you answer my question.”
Sylus’ eyebrow arched. “Is that an order?”
Rafayel looked over, a unique aura swimming through his gaze. “I can make it one.”
The candles in the room still flickered with life, red wax gathering in clumps at the base of all the wicks. Shadows danced around Rafayel’s standing frame as he casually popped a grape into his mouth despite his fingers being smudged with graphite. Sylus watched the slow, indulgent motion of his chews with utmost attention, his choice of words standing out like a sore thumb.
A break was long overdue.
Placing the glass on the end table and the gun on the cushion, Sylus stood up. Rafayel kept his eyes trained on his face but the subtle line that showed between his brow was blatant. Wordlessly standing beside him, he turned his head to look at the canvas. The fabrics of Rafayel’s clothing barely tickled his arm and exposed side.
An impressive amount of work was done: defined lines, shadows where his skin made contact with the furniture, the gist of his body shape. He pointed to the sketch, finger hovering above his stomach.
“My abs are more defined,” Sylus said, “make sure to include it.”
“I’m hardly finished,” Rafayel groaned, turning to grab another grape, “this would go faster if you—“
His words faltered when Sylus took a hold of his wrist, guiding his hand to lay flat on the top part of his abdomen.
He heard the heavy breath before he saw the expression that matched it.
When Sylus turned away from the portrait, his nose nearly grazed Rafayel’s. The idea of maintaining a grip on himself was long forgotten; he craved a fix that only he could provide. He dragged the hand down—slowly, carefully. Sylus listened to the way Rafayel’s breath thinned and tilted his head as if he was going to initiate a kiss.
“…but another reference wouldn’t hurt, would it my dear painter?”
Sylus knew what he was doing. Teasing with his body. Pushing just enough to see if the man would finally crack. He was all for testing the waters to see if a fish would bite. Additionally, he always sensed something between them. Even when they were not on the same page, the fuel to their bickering never stemmed from hatred. It arguably felt like a game, a risk that could reward something freeing.
And so be it that he chose to see if the fire would burn him.
A hand slid onto his neck. Warm, sure fingers that lightly held his throat, preventing him from leaning forward. There was no pressure applied, but all the weight was heard from the three slow tsks that came from Rafayel.
How curious…it excited him.
“If you wanted a break, Sylus, you should have just said so,” Rafayel chided, a knowing grin soon flourishing as he kept his face dangerously close. His other hand never stopped sliding down. “Who knew you’d get so needy when you’re uptight.”
Sylus’ cock twitched the moment Rafayel’s palm found its way, muscles tightening when he felt the firm hand wrap around it. Noses touching, Rafayel’s condescending smirk was centimeters from landing onto Sylus’ parted lips.
Sylus’ eyelids lowered from pure lust. He could act needy.
“It’s about time you kiss me,” Sylus murmured, the request soft and low.
Rafayel frowned. “Is that an order?” he mocked, the breath of his words hitting his sensitive lips. He didn’t give Sylus time to respond, rolling his occupied fingers around the sensitive wet head. “It’s time you sit on that bed.”
Sylus couldn’t help himself from holding onto Rafayel’s waist to ground himself, the banter fogging his logic.
“And then what?” he asked, walking backwards until he felt the foot of the bed on his calves. One gentle push from the artist led him to gracefully land on the mattress, elbows propped up while his lustful eyes took in Rafayel’s smug ones.
He didn’t immediately answer his question; the seductive man was too busy looking Sylus up and down while biting his lower lip in thought. He soon reached out and placed the pads of his index and middle on Sylus’ lips, following an invisible trail down his neck, chest, and torso. He didn’t feel much different from the canvas across the room from the way Rafayel mapped his body with practiced intention. He couldn’t help himself from tensing from anticipation, goosebumps forming once more.
“I’ll admit, you are a wonderful reference,” he practically whispered. The candles casted even more shadows on Rafayel’s face than before, adding a nice touch to his sultry tone. He leaned into Sylus, their mouths centimeters apart. Hovering, testing, teasing. “Don’t move a muscle.”
When their lips connected, his muscles relaxed from the validation he felt from their shared sexual tension. The slow and sensual affair was one he touched himself at the thought of, hoping a moment like this would soon come to fruition.
The sheets crumpled within Sylus’ fists as their mouthy session turned into a heated dance, every nerve in his body vibrating with impatience for what was to come. A part of him hoped that he could pleasure Rafayel in his own way during their ‘break,’ but if the artist saw fit to do what was best for his subject, there was no reason to get in his way.
Sylus’ mind fogged as Rafayel’s pillowy lips worked down his body. Solid pecks trickled down his jaw and placed extra suction on the most sensitive points on his throat.
“With a mouth like yours, who knew you’d be so quiet and obedient," Rafayel mumbled into his neck as he continued his trail of kisses.
Sylus was about to respond when a bite dissolved his suggestive words into a pleased moan.
The pressure between his cock and Rafayel’s clothing became unsatisfactory, leading Sylus to buck his hips in search of more friction. The contact made Rafayel grunt, head bending to show enough neck for Sylus to impulsively run a tongue along the smooth plain.
“Have you always been this impatient?” Rafayel huffed, allowing for Sylus to end his affection with a small bite before pulling his head away. When his eyes opened, he noticed the artist’s gaze glued onto Sylus’ erection as he began to work at his pants. “Keep those hands on the sheets for me…and eyes right here.”
Sylus grinned, fingers curling from anticipation, “I will. For now.”
When Rafayel removed his clothes, it became even harder not to flip him over. All he wanted was to guide his tongue along the soft map of flesh.
Cause moans to break through from his ready hands.
Feel the muscle of his cock squirm in his watering mouth.
The grip on the sheets tightened while he bit down on his tongue in an effort to control his impulses. He hungrily watched Rafayel pump himself while his naked thighs straddled him.
“You don’t need help?” Sylus asked as Rafayel aligned himself to Sylus’ tip. In response, Rafayel held a hand out in front of the other’s mouth, the palm already glistening from precum. Sylus stared at it, causing Rafayel to release a cocky snort.
“Too high and mighty to spit on it, crimelord?” Rafayel teased with a dangerously low voice. Sylus’ eyes flickered up to his.
“Sometimes all it takes,” Sylus began with a rivaling tone, gaze burning into his as he tilted his head, “is a verbal command, dear painter.” His tongue gathered saliva before he pushed it out, the spit dripping onto the palm like the wax that surrounded them.
Eyes narrowing, Rafayel held the hand even closer.
The swirls of color Sylus saw in his eyes earlier that day were replaced by blown out pupils surrounded by a dark blue hue. The lack of lighting added an intense edge, candle-lit flames hardly showing off a glimmer.
He spat more onto the hand.
With a satisfied hum, Rafayel reached behind them and coated Sylus’ cock with it, firm hand stroking the twitchy girth. Head craned, he let out a pleased sigh, breath tightening when Rafayel rolled his palm around his reddened tip.
It was soon replaced by Rafayel’s entrance, the man moving his hips in painfully slow circles as more and more of himself was taken. The more he felt, the less control he had. All the teasing made it where Sylus would be at risk of cumming from a few grinds. He flexed his hands in order to concentrate, head coming back up to find Rafayel’s mouth. The other allowed him to lead the kiss, tongues rotating and fervently working around each other. With every moan, Rafayel consumed it with greed. He captured Sylus’ tongue between his lips, sucking the muscle while his hips rolled and ass lifted up and down. Every curse or filler word that escaped Sylus’ mouth was muffled with pitiful ease.
Only thread of saliva held them together as Rafayel pulled his face away, the string breaking and falling onto Sylus’ chin as he began to bounce.
“I won’t last—“ Sylus groaned, body lightly bouncing on the mattress as Rafayel rode him like a toy. He slowed down a fraction, placing his forehead onto Sylus’.
“You will,” he told him, never losing rhythm. “Ten seconds.”
It was too much. Sylus’ elbows gave out from underneath him as his arms folded over his head, teeth gritted from the intense stimulation.
Rafayel was quick to grab his arms and pin them above, his eyes closed as he chased his high.
He was being ridden as if he were being used. A muscular, hearty body that could hit his prostate just right. All Sylus could do was watch, mouth agape from pleasure, as Rafayel ground and bounced while using his arm as an anchor.
Sylus’ face was grabbed as Rafayel forced him to hold eye contact.
As he picked up speed, Rafayel leaned over and kissed him again, biting his lip with a deep pull. His breathing became laboured as he continued the count. Sylus could almost feel tears form at the corners of his eyes.
His abdomen tensed, every muscle taught with stress and the pain of holding himself back.
It only took one more powerful hit against the prostate for Sylus to come undone, cum spewing from him like a current behind floodgates. Rafayel milked every ounce of energy with a consistent pace, interrupting Sylus’ moans and shudders with a wet kiss.
Sylus obediently followed the pace the artist set but pulled his arms from his hold in order to place his hands on his hips.
“…still need to…” Sylus tiredly said between the kiss “…taste you.”
“I know you do.” Rafayel murmured, giving another chaste peck before he slowly slid himself off Sylus. Rafayel’s cock was still hard, the length once pressed between their bodies now exposed and aligned in front of Sylus’ mouth. “Take it.”
Placing his hands on Rafayel’s thighs, he quickly did without hesitation. It pleasantly slid into his ready mouth, the hardened veins and stretched skin a pleasant texture on his tongue. He felt nails against his scalp, strands anchored by ready hands as Rafayel pushed him further down.
He soon found a rhythm, eyes closing as his head bobbed against the moist sex. Rafayel’s hand continued to guide his head as he thrusted, knees supported by the mattress. The tip was repeatedly felt near the back of his throat and continuously hit the same spot over and over and faster and faster as Rafayel became more worked up. Sylus kept his mouth relaxed, fixated on how full his mouth was and the pleasured sounds the man above him made.
With one final thrust and moan, his mouth was filled with his release. The somewhat salty taste became more prominent with each passing moment, Rafayel’s tight grip on his strands loosening into a gentle, praising caress. When Rafayel slid himself out, Sylus licked his lips and swallowed the last few drops.
He fell back onto the bed with a tired, pleased sigh as he rubbed his face. Rafayel rolled onto the space beside him, chest heaving as he came down from the euphoric high.
Sylus held his hand out towards the closest set of towels, a stream of mist following his mental command and dragging the thick cotton to his awaiting grasp.
“It's about more than showing off.” He found himself speaking as he wiped clean, looking at Rafayel as he did so.
His eyes were closed, but he was still conscious.
He seemed conscious enough. Sylus grabbed the other towel, cleaning Rafayel as well. As he did so, he felt a subtle bloom in his chest; comforting like flowerbeds on a sunny day.
“You asked why I’m showing myself off in this painting. It’s more than that.”
When Rafayel acknowledged him with a sound, he kept going.
“Over here, greed rewards power. Selfishness guarantees preservation. But ignorance? It only leads to tension.”
Sylus crumpled the towels when he was done, lying on his side as he studied Rafayel’s relaxed state with soft eyes. He continued to speak.
“When you pair that trait with ego, your downfall is guaranteed. That’s what this painting’s for. That’s his warning.”
One way or another, he would get his way. Many doubted his confidence and discernment only to turn and see that he took advantage of their limited visions. The CEO was no different from the crowd, and soon he will prove them right.
Starting with a daring gift made by talented hands and a petty commisioner.
Rafayel’s eyes soon fluttered open. They quietly regarded each other as Sylus’ words settled in the space between them. Rolling onto his belly, Rafayel propped his head on his crossed arms while looking at him.
“When you asked if he was curious,” he began. “I wouldn’t know.”
Sylus didn’t hesitate to ask. “Why?”
He smiled. “He was too ignorant to ask.”
For the first time in a while, deep amusement swirled and formed into an authentic bubble of laughter. It echoed through his bedroom, the contagious sound soon causing Rafayel to join.
Their exchange reaffirmed that his commission was in good hands. The remaining two sessions that would bring his vision to life would be sweeter than the cake the birthday boy’s guests would consume.
He couldn’t wait to soil that bastard’s day.
Divider creds: @uzmacchiato
