the staircase fic (part two)
the staircase fic (part 2 of 2) part one found here
Pairing: Syverson x Reader
Summary: After you and Sy both spill out your hearts, you make up. On the floor.
Words: 8.6k
tags: miscommunications, domestic arguments, hurt/comfort, p-in-v intercourse
Flat on your back on the staircase, your dejected expression remains entirely unchanged as you stare up at your fiancé.
Sy’s expression, however, morphs into one of shock. “I am happy for you. ‘Course I am," he utters. His voice lowers as he deeply implores next, “Hear me when I say that.”
“Yeah,” you impassively mutter, and you know your voice is unconvincing. You’ve gone from frustrated to angry to hurt to…empty.
Here's what Sy’s just not getting: These thoughts you’re having and these words you’re saying and this emotional state you’re currently finding yourself in…They're not just from this one evening. It’s not like his behavior during this one party has stirred all this up.
While he’s probably thinking you're reacting solely from this one event tonight, in the background, there have been a lot of things–little things, seemingly insignificant things–building up doubt in your mind for a long time now. Miniscule-weighing crumbs of Sy’s disinterest that, put together, have actual mass.
The recent lack of interest in wedding planning. The withholding of compliments. The disinterest in your coworkers. Separately, these individual things may not be much, but put together, they all make a heavy statement. Put together, they equate to a diminishing interest in you.
Maybe tonight was an unspoken plea on your part for him to prove you wrong. Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was a petition. You don't know. Whatever it was, he failed it.
In growing discomfort, Sy murmurs, “C’mon, Y/N…I…” but, evidently struggling for the right thing to actually say, his words fall short.
Your unpleasant ones take their place. “Sometimes I just don’t feel that way,” you admit in a whisper, looking away.
With disbelief coating each word, Sy slowly tries to clarify your point. “That…I ain’t happy for you?”
Heavily, you shrug, and then you close your eyes, mentally telling yourself not to cry. You remind yourself that you’re not sad here; you’re mad.
“Y/N…”
Mental images pass through your head of how your friend Jen's husband acted tonight. How he'd been working late but still had showed up for his wife's birthday party. How he'd stuck by Jen's side for a majority of the night to celebrate with her. How he seemed just fine conversing with all her coworkers. …How he'd seemed to even actually enjoy it.
Jen had a partner tonight. You were alone.
Worse than that, you were alone without even being alone.
Straightening his legs out and digging his heavy boots into the carpet to plant himself there, Sy lays entirely horizontally–diagonally, actually, but as flat as possible on a set of stairs–and rests his left elbow on the spot next to your shoulder. This gives him the ability to cradle your face with his right hand.
“Y/N, I’m happier’n shit for you,” Sy reassures, and it would almost sound funny, but you’re trying to keep yourself from crying, so all it does is make you want to tear up even more.
Here he is, finally saying the words you’ve longed to hear, and they aren’t even cheering you up. You’re still just so embarrassed by everything, so hurt, so–mad. You’re mad, you tell yourself again.
“I am," he insists at your silence, almost shaking you a little bit with his right hand. "You went to school for a long damn time. You worked your ass off. You deserve it.”
Nodding, you compose yourself a little bit, but your eyes noticeably burn when you finally open them again. “But you don’t like it,” you tell him.
“Don’t like what?”
You frown. “My job.”
Sy frowns back. “When'd I ever say that?”
Offering him a flat look, you reply, “I’m not dumb. You might not dislike my actual job, but you dislike the people I work with.”
Conceding, Sy tilts his head to the side a bit. "I…might not care for some'a 'em."
“Obviously,” you mutter, wishing you could just get up and stop having this conversation.
Sy's still laying on top of you, though.
“And…that’s what’s got you upset?” he asks, eyebrows almost touching one another with how severely they’re pushed together in a mixture of concern and confusion. “That I…don’t like your coworkers?”
You look to the side again, and Sy taps your chin to get you to look back at him. “Hey.”
Knowing you sound like a whining child, you turn your eyes back to his and reply, "I just want you to.”
"Okay…" Sy says, perplexed. Treading carefully, his voice is slow when he says, "So next time I'll get to know ‘em. I just promised you that."
You nod, and that’s when a thin pool of water begins to rim your eyes. Sy just watches you with his mouth dropped open.
He can’t take it when you cry. Never has been able to.
But you’re not even crying right now, and you aren’t going to start crying. You’re upset, yeah, but you’re–you have to remind yourself you’re frustrated, and you’re–you’re pissed off.
After being an antisocial ass all night, Sy had talked to you by the front door earlier on like you were a child, you remind yourself. He’d grabbed you by the ankle to keep you from fleeing up the stairs, and now he’s got you pinned on them, and–you’re mad here. All night, he acted like a dick.
Still, your eyes won’t stop burning, and Sy won’t stop staring into them.
“Y/N, why would me not carin’ for the people you work with upset you this much?” he asks while you dab at the corner of one of your eyes with a knuckle. “I…Help me out here.”
Taking another deep breath, you mutter, “It’s more than just you not likin’ the people I work with.”
“So what is it?”
You blink a few times trying to formulate the right words, but you know however you answer that it won’t make sense to him. That, or it'll cause an actual fight. It'll offend him.
“Y/N,” Sy whispers reverently. “Talk to me here. I can’t fix shit if I don’t understand.”
You're not gathering any hint of angry annoyance whatsoever from Sy's tone like you've anticipated; there's just genuine confusion in its place. Compared to just a few moments ago when he stormed into the home tense and fighting-mad, this is entirely opposite now. Now he's asking you to talk it out. Now he's all-but-begging for you to explain your thoughts to him.
You know why there's a sudden shift: Sy hates it when you cry.
You definitely aren’t using tears as a form of manipulation here, but damn if it’s working.
While your heart begins to wildly thump, you contemplate what to even say. As much as you want to run away from all of this shit right now and pretend it never even happened, you can’t. You’re flat on your back in the middle of the staircase with Sy's insistent weight covering you, and you know you won’t be getting up until this is settled.
Even though he’s quite literally pinning you, you suppose you do need to get it out, you guess. The shit you tell yourself sometimes. The negative stories you make up when you don't hear anything positive from Sy.
You don’t hear much from Sy at all.
Taking one final heavy breath in, you shakily let out your hot air.
“If you’re not interested in my coworkers," you begin in the quietest voice possible, "then that’s just a few steps away from you not bein’ interested in me.”
As the air between your faces turns deafeningly silent, Sy waits for you to say more. Judging by his face, he’s already not piecing together what you’re saying. He truly doesn't understand.
“They're important to me, and you don't care," you say. "You literally don’t give a shit. And even more than that, you, like, actively dislike them. So…I know how this stuff goes."
"And how’s that?”
You sigh. “C’mon, Sy.”
“Baby,” he insists, “I really don’t get what you’re tryin’ to say here. What d’you mean, ‘you know how this stuff goes’?”
"Eventually there'll be more things I’m invited to,” you explain. “More work things, or maybe just–maybe just things for fun. It’s bound to happen. There’ll be someone else’s birthday, or someone else’s promotion, or someone else’s retirement…I’ll get invited to join people for drinks after work or something.”
“Right…And…”
Feeling like you’re crazy, you sigh. “And since you don't like any of ‘em, you won't ever go. So I’ll go alone. And they’ll ask where you are, and I’ll make something up about the military. And…that’d be that. But I’d still wish that you’d go with me when you were able to. While you’d start wishin’ I didn’t go at all. That I didn’t even work where I worked.” Your breath hitches. “While you’d start thinkin’ that somehow I’ve changed.”
Sy’s mouth slightly opens. Before he can speak, you take the tiniest break before going on again.
“But you’ll keep it to yourself at first. Until one day you get tired of bein' around me altogether.”
Sy’s lips remain parted. “You’re sayin' that because I don’t like some'a your coworkers,” he reiterates, sounding stunned, “I’m gonna get tired of you."
You look to the side.
Well. You did try to make Sy jealous earlier tonight, and he did nothing. Nothing. Nothing to suggest you were a couple. Nothing to hint at the fact that you're his fiancée.
And even besides all that, you dressed up nicely tonight for the first time in forever, and he still hasn’t even commented on it. Not once.
You shrug. “I’m–Well, if I’m bein’ honest, Sy, I kinda feel like you’re already gettin’ tired of me,” you admit, making your tone as soft as possible to outweigh your bluntness.
"I–" Sy spends a long, long moment just staring down at you. He still looks like he's been sucker-punched. “Y/N…”
“So…Yeah.” You clear your throat. “The more you get tired of me, then it's just a matter of time before you find someone else that you like better, especially during deployments. And then you'll–And then you'll just be done with me,” you finally finish, voice croaky and almost incomprehensible, and there’s a long and heavy pause.
Then: “What?”
While Sy incredulously stares at you, you stare back almost apologetically, your eyebrows turned upwards. “It’s a natural progression of events,” you murmur.
"A natural progression of events,” he slowly repeats in his heavy accent.
"...Yeah."
You’re not going to really start crying. You're not. Your eyes are just wet.
“‘Cause then you’ll decide…"
Like his pupils have been expanding, his eyes look dark, and they move all around your face before they focus right back on your own glistening ones. "Decide what?"
"That you don't love me anymore,” you mumble, and you try to shift a little to the side to get some cooler air to take in.
As you do, Sy’s face goes through a series of changes, shifting from confusion to deeper confusion to utter disbelief. He takes your chin in his hand and guides you to look directly at him, but his mouth remains dropped open.
"I--I didn't–" Sy's desperate face finally morphs into resolve. "Y/N, that won’t ever happen. That won't ever, ever happen."
Sliding his hand up from your chin, Sy cradles your jaw so he can brush over the apple of your cheek with his thumb. You’ve felt his touch be gentle like this, but now it’s stronger, more depserate. "I love you more’n…I love you more’n anything on this earth.”
In reply, you just minutely nod so the movement of your head won’t rattle your tearborne eyes. Finally he’s saying something, you think.
“You hear that?”
You nod again. “Yeah.”
Still holding your face, Sy goes on, “Hear that?”
You take a deep breath in and a deep breath out, feeling some relief that your deceiving thoughts aren’t true, after all, but still–this is the first time Sy’s said he’s loved you in a long time. It’s more than he's offered to you at all in a long time. A long, long time.
It somehow does little to quell the emotions that’ve been embodening you. How Sy’s been behaving tonight…How he’s been behaving for quite some time now… It’s–It’s really–
It’s made you mad, you remind yourself again, clenching your jaw as Sy cradles it. It’s made you feel mad and vindictive and passive-aggressive and a slew of other angry emotions, and–and–
It’s hurt. More than anything, it’s hurt. This anger you keep trying to go back to is simply a covering, a facade, and you know that with certainty. You’re hurt. And something like that doesn’t just go away.
“Hey,” Sy murmurs. “Look at me.”
Still not saying anything, you slowly bring your red eyes back to Sy’s, and there’s a moroseness you see within his that you feel you’re helplessly mirroring.
“You…You gotta know that,” Sy says, retaining the little desperate edge to his tone.
The moment you look away again, Sy’s face falls.
You feel guilty, but he has to realize how he’s been acting recently. He has to hear how it’s affected you. In a handful of ways, he’s made you feel ignored. Unspecial. Sure, he loves you, but does he care?
“I do, Sy, but I just…”
While you take a deep breath then let it out slowly, Sy seems at a strange loss for words.
“It’s just…” You sigh. “I just wanna feel like you do. I want you to–I want you to be–”
Your sentence trails off, and, hating the way you sound, you want to groan at yourself. Your eyes won’t stop watering up. No matter how rapidly you keep blinking to dry them up, no matter how many times you keep wiping at the sides of them, no matter how strong your resolve is to not cry right now, it’s not working. None of it is. Something about being on the damn staircase like this in such a compromising position is fucking up your ability to emotionally regulate.
Roughly, you cough, and then all at once, the deep and sudden dejection you’ve been trying to hold inside cracks open. It forcefully slams into your body. Suddenly, you're sad.
You’re able to croak out, “I just want you…to…care,” but you can't say anything more than that because then your eyes start truly burning, and then they start filling with water, and then the water starts falling down your face, and then–fuck. You're crying.
Sy quickly but gently shakes one of your arms. “Hey…Baby. I–I care," he mumbles. "C’mon, now…”
Almost to hide, you finally just close your eyes entirely, and it makes it feel like thick, warm water is stagnantly pooling in the divots of your eye sockets.
“Hey,” Sy whispers again, softly shaking your arm again, and there’s an edge of desperation lacing his voice. “Hey, hey, hey.”
You don't speak or open your eyes, but you start taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. God dammit. You’re being so fucking stupid right now.
But you feel how you feel.
“Dar–Hey, shh," Sy tries again. "Shh.”
Almost in distress, his fingers move across your cheeks to wipe off the moisture there. “I said I’d–Y/N, of course I care about you. I…I asked you to marry me.”
You whine through your crying, feeling helpless and ridiculous. Just–there seems to be no getting through to him. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, though, Sy presses his lips together and changes tactics instantly.
“Sit up.” Sy pushes his upper body off of you quicker than you can expect, moving himself entirely to the side. “Sit up with me.”
When Sy’s body weight is gone, you’re left in a strange-looking position, knees spread and body cold. You accept the hand that he holds out in offering to assist you up, and since you’re technically already sitting on a step, you just have to close your legs and raise your upper body. In no time, Sy’s wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in close to his side.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, and you look up at him curiously, your back slightly aching. “Just c’mere.”
Your body tenses with not only the discomfort of having laid on the stairs for so long but also the lingering stiffness of your emotions. When you’re directly next to Sy, you’re still tightly wound-up that your shoulders are almost to your ears.
He starts running his hand up and down your bare arm. “Relax,” he says in a deep whisper.
While his hand wrapped around you continues to soothe you, he reaches out his other hand to cradle your head into his chest, and you find it harder to fight his instructions. He smells good. He smells safe.
Because he’s so fond of it, he always wears this particular button-up shirt whenever you go out somewhere, and when you press your face into it more, the familiarity of it soothes you. The fabric is thin all over and almost faded under the armpits, and the collar’s perpetually wrinkly. And you love it.
Finally relaxing some, your muscles droop, but tears still leak from your eyes.
Sy heaves in a lungful of air, the breath expanding his entire chest. “I–I don’t–”
He leaves the rest of his sentence unfinished and instead brings his hand over your hair. Over and over again like it’s actually soothing himself, he smoothes his hand over your hair while you both just collect your breathing together.
It's not until several moments later when your eyes wander back to his own that he speaks again.
“I–I fucked up tonight,” he murmurs. “I did. I know I did. But…it sounds like I been fuckin’ up a lot.”
You can only sniff.
“And I’m gonna fix that,” he vows. “‘Cause this right here? Watchin' you cryin’? ‘Cause’a me? I can’t take it."
Nodding, you wipe your eyes. “It’s only bad like this ‘cause I’ve been keepin’ it inside so long.”
“That’s what–” Sighing, Sy cuts himself off. “It shouldn’t’ve gotten to this point.”
“Well, it’s not like I didn’t try to tell you before. You’re sorta stubborn, Sy,” you say deadpan, and he grunts.
“I’ll talk next time,” Sy promises for the tenth time, and you despondently frown. “I’ll talk to every fuckin’ person, Y/N.”
You sigh a little.
“You know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Sy tells you.
“I know,” you say before swallowing thickly. “It’s just–I don't want you doin' somethin' just ‘cause I want you to,” you tell him. “I want you to want to."
Slowly, Sy nods, and you can tell he’s taking you seriously, but there’s something within him he appears to be keeping inside. He looks away with his jaw firmly set and momentarily stares at the wall.
“And I know what you’re gonna say,” you murmur while wiping your eyes. “You’re gonna say that I just wanted you to suck up to everyone tonight. But that’s not true. Seriously. I honestly wouldn’t've even cared if you did show your ass to everyone.”
Sy’s eyes dart back to your face, jumping from feature to feature. “...Did I just hear you right?”
You nod. “Any version of you is better than no version at all, Sy. That’s what I’m sayin’. I just–" You sigh. "I don't even know.”
Nodding, he’s quiet, and you feel like your point is finally starting to get across to him. “I only sat down in the first place for you to…do your thing. You work with 'em. Already know 'em. Didn't wanna ruin anything.”
“But I was talkin’ to another man and, like, showin’ off and stuff right in front of you,” you go on. “Like, for a good majority of the night.”
Sy’s eyes turn sharper. “I knew you were tryin’ to get attention,” he tells you. “Just didn’t know why. That’s exactly why we're in this position now.”
You keep a tiny frown on your face. He knew you were trying to get his attention, yet he still did nothing. “But why didn’t you do something?” you whisper.
“Wh–?” Sy begins to retaliate with something but then stops himself. “‘Cause I didn't wanna ruin shit for you,” he repeats.
You’re still not satisfied, and it shows.
“Listen, if you’da done that shit somewhere else, we woulda settled it right away. Woulda been havin' this here discussion up in that restaurant and not on a fuckin’ staircase.”
You wipe the tip of your nose. “We can literally get up off the stairs at any time.”
“But,” Sy ignores you to say, “‘causin’ a scene with your supervisor in the room and about thirty other witnesses you gotta see on Monday mornin’ prob’ly wouldn’ta been the best first impression. So I kept my distance. While you were thinkin’ all’a this mess about me not wantin’ to be with you anymore, I was just try’na behave.”
“But–It wasn’t just Preston, though, Sy. You didn’t care about talkin’ to anyone at all tonight,” you tell him. "You didn’t do anything. It was like you–you didn’t–”
"I get it," he mutters. “I get it. I was comin’ across like a dick.”
You don't know what to say. You're still holding onto the hurt from earlier, but his words are beginning to help.
He seems to struggle with finding any more words after that, though. And you get it. He doesn’t talk like this. He doesn’t talk like this ever.
It takes several moments of silence filled with your hitched breathing before Sy prepares to say anything else, and whatever he’s about to let out, you can tell he feels vulnerable about it. He begins rubbing his neck to signal his discomfort.
“You’re one of the smartest people I know, Y/N," he starts, initially looking away and then finally meeting your eyes again. "I fuckin’ mean that. A helluva lot smarter’n me.” Sy clears his throat before continuing, “You deserve your job a hundred percent. Hell, you deserve your boss’s job. An’ I know I prob’ly don’t…I know I don't show it enough, or say it enough, but…I'm happy for you. I am. Seriously. And I’m proud of you.”
Trying not to start crying all over again, you rapidly blink a few times.
"And I love you," Sy seriously vows for the second time tonight. "I love you so much I can’t even–there ain't even enough words to explain it. If you–” Sy shortly coughs. "Don't doubt that. If your mind ever starts wanderin'...Just–Don't let it. Don’t ever doubt that I love you."
Sy’s thumb brushes across your cheekbone once more, and all you can think to say back is, “I love you, too.”
“Then why d’you look so damn sad when you’re sayin’ it?” he whispers.
“‘Cause I still don’t understand–” You clear your throat. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”
He looks confused. “I’m an open book to you, Y/N. What don’tchu understand?”
“What did you mean when you said you didn’t wanna start a pissin’ contest with all the men there tonight?” you ask. “I only really talked to Preston. That’s just one man. I mean, besides my boss that I talked to for just a second because he was so drunk…”
Sy rubs his beard. He’s quiet while he gets his answer together in his head, and it takes quite some time for him to do it. He stops himself at least twice, opening his mouth and then snapping it shut again.
“I know I haven’t gotten to know ‘em that much,” is what he finally says when he’s decided which words to speak. “Yet. I know that. But…You got eyes just the same as me, Y/N.”
“...What does that even mean?”
He sighs. “You gotta admit that tonight was just a big excuse for everyone to show off their money.”
Your face slowly twists in confusion. “I didn’t think anyone there was showin’ off,” you murmur, and Sy challengingly lifts his eyebrows. “Really. That’s just how they are. They’re actually pretty cool people once you get to know them. I mean, most of them, at least.”
“Y/N, all the men were wearin’ Rolexes,” Sy comments. “Fuckin’ Rolexes. And their shoes alone prob’ly cost more than this entire outfit did.”
Pausing, you’re taken aback at tonight's turn of events. The pressing frustration you’ve had this evening has been due to Sy not talking enough, and now here he is, talking, but talking in a way he never, ever does. Always unapologetically himself, Sy never compares himself to other people. The walking epitome of his DILLIGAF t-shirt, the man exudes confidence. “Fuck what other people think” could be his catchphrase. …Now he’s bringing up what the other people at the party tonight were wearing. Of all things.
“I guess I just don’t pay attention to stuff like that,” you murmur, eyes drifting to the cuffs of Sy’s shirt where you know he’s wearing his chunky black watch that you love so much.
“Well, I’m sure you paid attention to how your boss covered the entire dinners–and drinks–of close to three dozen people, yeah?” Sy asks.
“Well, yeah…And that was really crazy,” you admit, but you quickly remind him, “but everyone’s gonna pay him back for the food. Jen said he does it because he has some special credit card and it helps him with rewards or somethin’, I dunno.”
Sy grunts, retaining the somewhat skeptical look on his face.
“I know that it’s kinda like a different world. It was like that at first for me, too. They’re… They’re rich people,” you awkwardly chuckle. “With the salaries they all make, that’s just…how it is. But seriously, none of them are snobby or anything. And none of them were lookin’ at you like you were some sorta redneck, either, Sy. They seriously weren’t.”
Sy supplies you with a short nod, and you can see through it instantly.
“Babe, they weren’t,” you repeat.
“Yeah, well.” He rubs his neck again. “I’ll get me a three-piece suit for next time so I won’t stick out as much,” he mumbles.
"Huh?”
From where he’s just looked off to the side, Sy looks you straight in the eye again. “Toldja I’m gonna be goin’ to more of your work stuff with you. I mean that. You got my word.”
“Yeah, but–Sy, you dont have to–I don't want you to get a new suit,” you tell him. “I don’t want you to–I don’t want you to do any of that. I just want you to be yourself. I don’t care what you wear.”
Suddenly, Sy gets stoic, almost as withdrawn as he was earlier. It only serves to fire you up again.
“And tonight I wanted to introduce you to the people I work with not just so you could meet them, but so that they could meet you. Not some fake version of you puttin' on some act. Wearin’ a suit. Wearin' a Rolex. Drinkin' nasty wine you hate just as much as I do." You shrug. "Just you. Exactly as you are."
Sy briefly hangs his head for a second, putting one of his hands on the back of his scalp. He exhales audibly before lifting his head again, and when you meet his eyes, yours widen with worry.
Sy just–he doesn't fucking act like this. Not ever. While you continue looking up at him to try to interpret what’s really going on in his head now, he says something next that you’re not expecting.
"You know I’m always gonna provide for you,” he states. "That's what I'm gonna do."
You nod slowly. “...I know.”
“An’ you can rely on me to provide for you no matter how–no matter what,” he goes on, and again, you nod.
“Yeah, Sy,” you answer. “I know.”
There’s a resoluteness in his words that doesn’t necessarily match the concern on his face, and you just don’t understand his expression right now.
“And same for me,” you fill the silence. “I’ll provide, too. That’s why I…It’s give-and-take, Sy. You don’t have to be all macho all of a sudden. I work, you work. We both bring somethin’ to the table. We’re a partnership.”
Hardly ever seeing any chinks in his armor, you’re sincerely taken aback.
"Sy, I…What's the matter?"
Heavily, he sighs. “I ain’t ever gonna touch the kinda money those people make, Y/N,” he finally makes his point, voice impossibly low.
“It’s–”
“Not in my lifetime," he interrupts. "Not even close.”
This status thing is something that really matters to him. It's something he’s truly insecure about, you're beginning to understand. Something he’s so insecure about that he doesn’t even know how to actually express it.
In the military, there’s no way to really distinguish between who has money and who doesn’t–at least not out in the field. There’s rank. There’s rank earned from hard work and length of service, and that’s how everyone earns their respect. They respect the rank, not an outward display of wealth. Even at the nice military balls you’ve gone to, there weren’t thousand-dollar suits and expensive watches to be seen; there were uniforms and pendants and medallions.
Of course, there were nice dresses and expensive jewelry and all types of things that had you yourself feeling inferior, so…you know the feeling.
“You make excellent money as it is,” you immediately retort, and he just scoffs. "You do," you maintain.
“Let’s say that’s true,” Sy quietly replies, "which it ain't–"
“And even if you didn’t,” you interrupt him as soon as you realize he's about to say something negative, “what difference would it make at all? That kinda stuff isn’t important to me, Sy. I’d love you regardless.”
“Y/N–”
You repeat yourself: "Regardless."
Slowly, Sy's tongue slips out, and he wets both of his lips together while he nods at you. His silence continues, though, and this time, unlike earlier when it was he who knew that there was something going on with you that you weren’t sharing, this time, there’s something he’s not sharing. You just don’t know what it is.
“There’s…I don’t…Are you…Are you upset that I might make more money than you do one day or something?”
“Hell, no,” Sy replies right away. “You go out and earn all the money you want to. Go all the way to the top. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”
“So what’s wrong?” you whisper, and Sy heaves a sigh.
Almost incomprehensibly, almost as if he doesn’t even want to even speak, he mumbles, “Just wouldn’t ever wantchu to start thinkin’ someone else could offer more.”
Sincerely hoping he's kidding, your mouth drops.
Leaning over and tightly holding onto Sy’s arms, you kiss him. Deep and meaningfully, you kiss him, straining your neck from it. “Sy, seriously. That won’t ever happen,” you repeat his words back to him. “Never.”
After kissing Sy once more, just as long and just as meaningfully, you then briefly rest your head onto his shoulder. “You could be flat-broke, and I still wouldn’t want anyone else but you,” you tell him. “I’d think you were the best man in the world. No matter what. I mean that.”
Sy chuckles. “I don’t ever plan on goin’ flat-broke,” he says with a tiny smirk, “but that’s good to know.”
Finally, you smile a little, too.
“Now, before your mind goes runnin’ off somewhere,” he murmurs, “you know I don’t think you’d really be goin’ off lookin’ for shinier things, alright? I…”
As he trails off, you meet his eyes to let him know you understand what he’s saying. “...Just needed to hear me say it out loud,” you softly finish for him.
Sy makes a little noise like, “Mm.”
“Sometimes I need to hear you say things out loud, too."
"I hear you loud and clear,” he tells you. "I'll do better. I won’t be such an asshole next time, alright?”
“At least not for no reason,” you reply, smiling something soft that lingers for a few seconds before flattening out in concern. "Hey. You still look like something's wrong."
He looks sullen. “Well. I made you cry.”
Your eyes are still a little sore, but you’re genuinely glad you talked things out. "But then you made it better."
He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Apology accepted?”
“Yeah.” Not able to hold it in anymore, you actually grin. “I guess you’re forgiven.”
“Now, I ain’t tellin’ you to pull any’a that shit’chu did tonight again,” he tells you, “but I get it, alright? I get it. I'm ownin’ that.”
“Thanks, Sy,” you whisper, and he promptly kisses you again.
Finally, he's initiating a kiss, touching his lips to yours with a tenderness that only comes after arguing. As you naturally tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, you realize you haven’t apologized yourself.
You break your lips away from Sy’s with a smack. “I’m…I’m sorry, too. For actin’ up tonight.”
Sy grunts, but he seems to let it go quickly based on the playful way he taps the end of your nose. “Brat.”
You stick your tongue out at him.
“We good now?” he confirms, and you happily nod while he taps your forehead next. “Ain’t got nothin’ left brewin’ up in here?”
With a big tight-lipped smile, you shake your head. “I said everything I needed to say.”
“You sure?”
“I mean, I might be able to think of a few more things to throw out there while we're at it,” you murmur.
He raises an eyebrow. “Might as well let it all out while we’re here," he says. "Lay it on me.”
You begin playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. “Left your beard hair in the bathroom sink this mornin’.”
“Oh, I’ll get right on that,” he reassures quietly, smoothing a hand over your stomach while he leans in to steal another kiss. It goes on without a break for several seconds, and by the time you disconnect your lips, you find yourself laying back on the stairs again, Sy hovering atop you.
"There's dried up mud from your boots on the kitchen floor,” you utter with your lips moving against Sy’s, and he slides his mouth away from yours to place a kiss on your cheek next.
“I’ll have it scrubbed clean,” he murmurs while making his way to your neck, kissing there and almost making you break out in goosebumps from the sensation of his beard. “With a toothbrush.”
His hand glides up to cup one of your breasts while you go on, “You’ve got me laid out on the stairs, and I’m probably gonna be injured in some way when I get up,” you go on, and at that, Sy doesn’t have a reply; he just nips at your neck.
“And then you let an unwed intern talk to me all night with no sort of intervention.”
Unimpressed, Sy lifts his head from your neck and raises an eyebrow. “I can easily still getchu ‘cross my lap right here, right now.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re not spanking me,” you tell him, trying not to laugh, and the side of Sy’s mouth curves upwards, too.
“Says who?” he challenges.
You smile. “Says me.”
Mischeviously, Sy looks to the side. “I could.”
“Not on the stairs,” you challenge right back, accepting another ever-wettening kiss.
Sy takes your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls at it while sucking. He lets it go with a wet pop. “I’d make it work.”
“Mmhm,” you mumble unconvincingly against his mouth when it covers yours again. You give one another slower and detached kisses next: one, two, three, your lips smacking.
“Keepin’ me laid out on the steps like this isn’t uncomfortable at all.”
While your heart rate speeds up, Sy begins running his thumb along the plumpness of your bottom lip. It’s tantilizing for a moment, but just because you can, you lean forward and gently bite his thumb, playfully squinting your eyes at him a little.
“Lookatchu. Keep complainin' 'bout it but ain't even tryin' to get up.”
“It’s all this charm you got,” you mutter after Sy’s thumb pops out of your mouth.
Sy grunts. “I like you like this," he says, pushing up your dress until it's bunched at your waist. As your back slightly arches, your chest quickly heaves. “We can stay just like this. Have us some make-up sex right like this.”
You turn your head to the side. “Oh, is that what we’re gonna do?”
“Mm.” While kissing the offered skin of your neck again, Sy trails his hand up and down your upper thigh.
“You sure know how to spoil a woman.” You bite your lip through a smile.
"Sure as shit workin’ on it,” Sy tells you, and your smile drops a bit when he switches from sweet to dirty: “I’ll spoil you so much, both your legs’ll be wet by the time I’m done.”
Not able to deny how his words and actions are already causing your pussy to tingle, you swallow. “So much romance, I can’t handle it.”
“That’s what you wanted, though,” he lowers his voice and says directly into your ear. “Playin’ games even though you got a rock on your hand ‘cause you wanted me to let everyone know you’re mine.”
Sy's hand inches higher, playing with the sides of your panties, and, unable to help it, you quietly whimper. As your eyes slip closed, you succumb to the combined feeling of Sy's hand possessively touching your leg and his mouth wetly kissing your throat.
“Gets you goin’, don’t it?” Sy asks after placing a quick bite on the skin of your neck. “Me remindin’ you who you belong to.”
At the attention you’ve been all-but-begging for tonight and are finally receiving, another small, soft noise escapes your lips. Still– “I’m not property.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’d you wear this dress for tonight?” Sy asks. His voice loses its menacing tone and gets lower. “Those people at the party or me?”
“Mm." You straighten out your heavy head and open up your equally-heavy eyes. "What happens if I say both?”
Sy presses his lips together and tightens his jaw, and you smirk while lifting your hands to his cheeks. As you cradle his face like that, Sy takes a handful of your hair in his free hand and similarly cradles the back of your head. “Who’d you wear this dress for?”
You look to the side and bare your neck again. “You.”
“Who?”
“You.”
“Yeah, y'did,” Sy mutters. “And you didn’t know how to say it, so you stood next to my sister’s fuckin’ ex-boyfriend and touched his fuckin’ arm, right where I could see.”
You groan. “Don’t talk about him when you’re tryin’ to seduce me, Sy.”
“I can say whatever the hell I want,” he tells you as his mouth trails up your neck, and your pussy outrightly clenches. “Can’t I?”
“Sy, I’m seriously gonna be so sore tomorrow if we don’t move,” you whine.
“Yeah, you’re gonna be sore,” Sy whispers before biting your earlobe.
You squeeze his shoulder even as you can’t help but laugh. “Syyy.”
“Alright,” he deeply chuckles into your ear, but he still doesn’t get off your body. "C'mon."
It’s seriously ridiculous how slowly you two make it up the stairs together–you pushing yourself backwards up each step like a crab, Sy simultaneously doing a precarious bear-crawl on the sides of your body. You both won’t stop kissing long enough to stand upright, though, and when you get to the top step, you still don’t. You simply push yourself backwards onto the hallway rug and lay yourself out entirely.
It’s dark up here, the only light coming from the living room down below, and for about to be having spontaneous sex in the middle of your hallway floor, you find the ambiance nice. Crooking your index finger to gesture for Sy to join you, you bite your bottom lip and bend one of your legs up at the knee.
“Here?” Sy asks, and you nod.
On his knees before you, Sy slides his hands up and down your bare legs, almost worshipfully slowly, feeling the soft smoothness again and again. He undoes his belt with no real urgency after that and opens his jeans until the denim is loosely bunched in front of his thighs, and while watching him, you slide off your underwear.
You spread open your legs and pull your knees back a little, and Sy spends long moments just staring down at you. With his two forefingers pressed together, he reaches out and glides his hand directly to where you glisten, and his fingers dip into the dampness he finds there. After bringing his fingertips to his mouth to taste, he reaches back out to slide his fingers up and down your slit while keeping his eyes trained on yours. The intimacy makes you squirm atop the hallway rug.
Straightening your legs momentarily, you urge Sy forward with your feet on the back of his legs. After he falls down with a hand by your face for leverage, together you both push his pants and boxers down until they’re entirely off, then he finally lowers his torso to align with yours. Instantly, you feel his dick twitch against your leg.
He pushes hair away from your face. “I love you.”
“I love you back,” you whisper, smiling for a second, but when Sy leans down and kisses you, your mouth goes slack.
Sy keeps his mouth attached to yours while finding your wrists and lifting both of your hands above your head, and with you laying on the bare floor with his bare cock pressing against your bare core and his calloused hands pinning down your manicured ones, you really do feel at his mercy. Like he could roll you over as roughly as he wanted to and smack your ass until the indentation of his handprint showed up. Like he could do whatever he wanted. Like you're his.
You feel Sy’s knuckles brush along the inside of your thigh as he takes hold of himself and lines up with no other preamble, and the second he comes into contact with your pussy, he groans. When his cock dips inside, it’s familiar and perfect and everything you've needed and missed. Overwhelmed already, you heave in shallow lungfuls of air.
Sy slowly sinks all the way in, and all the frustrated tension in your body leaves the second he bottoms out. In its place is a different kind of tension, something exciting, something anticipatory–the heaviness of preparing to chase fulfillment together.
He was slow to bury himself to the hilt, but the first thrust he gives you is not gentle. It's firm and it's hard, hard enough to cast you back against the hallway wall, but when he continues moving, he's slow. Slow yet firm in some sort of tender yet masculine re-claiming, it takes long moments for your brain to even realize what your body's taking.
“Fuck,” you whimper, your voice echoing in the large open area around you. “Oh, fuck.”
After minutes of never changing his pace, Sy stops thrusting to shallowly circle his hips instead. “Wrap your legs ‘round me.”
You instantly listen, and he finally lets go of your wrists to rest his forearms next to your arms. Under his weight, you’re delightfully smothered.
Amidst Sy’s focused face, a small smile forms as he looks down at you wolfishly. Now simply grinding against you, he pulls down the front of your dress, exposing your breasts–boob tape and all.
“What’s all this shit,” Sy mutters under his breath, and he moves a hand as if preparing to rip the adhesives off.
“Sy, don’t you dare,” you hiss, finally moving your arms to stop him.
As you’re caught up between pleasure and horror and humor, you quickly take off the tape that helped with your cleavage all night. Immediately after freeing yourself, Sy’s quick with touching you all over, paying excess attention to your nipples until they’re hard and over-sensitive. His mouth stays near-constantly pressed to yours.
There’s an exact angle Sy figures out after that, one that gets you to not care how loud you’re becoming: With his hand under your ass to tilt your hips up just right, he relentlessly begins to slam inside you again. Little noises get punched out of you every other second while you grab onto his shoulders. You can't even move. All you can literally do is take it.
Sy's breathing loudly against your mouth when he says, “Look at me.”
You do as he requests.
“Who’s fuckin’ you?”
Feeling hot all over, you gasp and then close your eyes. Sy gratefully lets you have your moment to hide from the intensity of everything, and he lowers his face to the side of yours.
“Tell me who’s fuckin’ you,” he whispers directly into your ear.
“You,” you let out, finishing it in a moan. Your mouth won’t close. Sy just keeps rutting into you without ever pausing for a break. He’s so fucking vocal, saying whatever comes to his mind and moaning right there along with you. It’s easy to get lost in. It’s Sy.
It's funny almost--he's a man of few words almost all of the time, but tonight, when it matters, his words and noises come spilling out.
He moves to look at your face again. “Who’s the only one that gets to?”
“You,” you open your eyes and rush out. “You forever.”
“‘Cause I love you,” he utters, words so sweet in contrast to how his body’s moving.
You hold onto his shoulders while staring up at him, slack-eyed and hazy. You both speak to each other with gasps and moans, and hearing Sy moan admist his grunting and groaning—fuck.
You extend your neck to offer your mouth to Sy again, and instantly he slots his mouth to yours, giving you his full tongue. Your hands move to his beard while you make out almost desperately. When it breaks, you kiss the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then his cheek, then his neck, gripping the back of his head and pulling him as close as possible. The heels of your feet dig into his ass cheeks.
“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he groans, and slack-jawed, you nod. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”
Together, you chase more and more, and you try not to think about how you won’t have this for much longer–you won’t be able to be together like this once he goes overseas again. You won’t get to feel him inside you. You won’t get to feel him kissing you, or sleeping next to you, or leaving traces of himself around the house–beard hair in the sink, boot-mud on the floor, crumbs on the counters. He’ll be gone.
You push all of that out of your head. He’s here right now, giving you everything. You’d told him just minutes ago that you need to feel like he cares. He’s giving you all of that and more.
“You close, baby?”
Jerkily, you nod, but you still can’t talk. There’s just the wet, slippery sound of your pussy as Sy continues to thrust in and out, everything a mix of freneticism and tenderness. The best you can, you flex your ass and erratically grind upwards, and you forcefully grasp Sy's skin to let him know you're about to come. He can probably feel it, too--your walls feel like they're vibrating.
You cry out when the feeling builds then crests then peaks, squeezing Sy’s sweaty neck as hard as you suddenly squeeze your eyes shut, and you have no idea what noises you make after that because then Sy gets frantic and then he gets loud and then he buries his face in your neck and then he shoots off inside you.
You’re left with a rapidly-beating heart, sweat all over, and a sore back. You feel Sy’s matching sweat and quick heartbeat when he collapses on top of you, panting.
“Good God,” you breathlessly get out when you can finally speak. “Fuck, Sy. Good way of showing you're sorry.”
You feel it as he chuckles. “Don't wantchu to ever doubt how I feel anymore. Ever.”
Staring at the ceiling, you run your fingers across his fuzzy just-barely-there hair. He pushes himself up just enough to look at you fully, and he presses his lips to yours gently. He doesn't say it, but you feel it anyway. I love you. You’re loved. You bask in it.
“Knees got fuckin’ rug-burn,” he mutters, and you make a sympathetic face.
“Worth it, though?”
He squeezes one of your tits. “Fuck yeah.”
The two of you look a sight–Sy naked from the waist-down, you with a dress bunched up at your waist and pulled down below your breasts. And you wouldn't ever imagine being with anybody else, imperfections and all.
“Let’s go to the courthouse, Sy,” you whisper, and that's when he pushes himself up with one arm.
He knows what you’re referring to, but still, he asks, “What?”
“Let’s go to the courthouse,” you repeat, very aware of his cock still inside you starting to soften. “Next week. Let’s go.”
“Baby. Your folks’ll fuckin’ kill me.”
“Fuck what other people think,” you say through a smile, and Sy easily returns it. “I love you.”
“And you know I love you, too,” Sy quietly replies, and what number is that? How many times has he said it so far? “So fuckin’ much. Makes my chest hurt sometimes.”
“Mm. Tell me more.”
Sy’s mouth turns upwards at the sides. “Tell you more’a what?” he asks, and you almost giggle. “Whatcha wanna hear more of?”
“That you love me.”
“I’ll tell you a hundred times a day, darlin’.” He straightens his face out and looks down at you seriously. “You bein’ for real? ‘Bout the courthouse?”
You nod. “Let’s do it. Before you head out again. Let's write up our vows, go down there, and get married.”
Sy looks comtemplative. “I already been workin’ on ‘em,” he says. “The vows.”
“What, really?” you sit up on your elbows and ask.
“Mmhm.”
You bite your lip. “That's hot.”
Sy slides out of you but makes no other effort to move. It’s quiet for a while after that, and you both really need to get off the hard floor, but there’s this moment between you that you don’t want to end yet. The afterglow of a highly emotional night.
"Missed your opportunity to spank me just now," you eventually break the silence while stretching, and Sy laughs.
"Mm. Didn't have to."
“Not when we’re both bein’ healthy, mature adults who actually talk things out, huh?"
“Now, you got a good point there,” Sy replies.
You want the fight to be entirely behind you. “So, uh. Next time, I promise I’ll tell you what’s wrong instead of bein’ petty,” you murmur.
Sy kisses your chin. “And next time I’ll be on my best worst behavior.”
You smile. “You sure you wouldn’t just rather stay home if there’s a next time?”
Sy lifts both of his eyebrows. “Don'tchu rope me into sayin’ somethin’ that’s gonna lead to me sleepin’ on the couch, now.”
For what feels like the tenth time tonight, you roll your eyes, but it’s good-natured now. Simply because you can, you reach your arm downward and smack your hand onto the back of his bare ass–hard. After letting out a noise that leaves you laughing uncontrollably, Sy narrows his eyes.
"Alright," he warns. "Get up an' go into the bedroom. Now."
You narrow your eyes right back. "Or else what?"