Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sylus is wrapping up his intel search when he pauses his mouse on a file on his desk top. The digital manila folder taunts him. He isn’t proud of what he keeps in there, rather he shouldn’t be proud of what he keeps in there. But something in him is unfalteringly proud to have this set of data.

It is, of course, data about you.

And how could he not be proud of something that involves you.

He sighs to himself, dragging a hand along his jaw to work at the growing tension there. He is running it through his hair when his internal morality gives up completely, faltering into his guilty desires. He clicks on the folder.

His screen is lit immediately with photos of you. There are a few documents, files about the strange men that seem to encounter you and linger in your life. He tries to push down his envy and concern, scrolling past them so they’re removed from view.

It helps.

Sylus is a very… visual person.

It’s probably a large reason for why you have damned him so wholly. You are one of the most beautiful things he’s ever witnessed. You always are- every time he sees you.

But he hasn’t seen you recently. You’ve barely even talked in the past week since you last left his base in the N109 zone. He understands that you need space, that you need time to search for answers to who and what you are. You are transforming right before his eyes- and that doesn’t always include him. Which is okay- it should be okay.

The first night without you was fine. But the next night he woke up in cold sweats, hands searching for a body that wasn’t and had never shared a bed with him in this lifetime. And there was no consolation- you weren’t anywhere to be found. It took him longer than he would like to admit to realize exactly which lifetime he was living in; the one where you ran away from him so constantly. He texted you then, laying awake until he received a message back, reassuring him that you were okay. He had laid there for 6 hours.

It didn’t stop- he was plagued by sleepless nights and haunting thoughts in the day. He couldn’t get the images of you, trapped by madmen scientists and potential lovers alike, to leave his brain. On the third night he took his first step down this dark path.

Mephisto was supposed to simply follow you from a distance. Make sure you were safe- report to Sylus any major events. When you caught the crow the first time, lurking around the stairs of your apartment, he came back with one leg. The poor guy- he didn’t deserve the abuse but Sylus could understand your frustration. You didn’t ask to be watched over, nor protected. And you were capable of protecting yourself. You are extremely capable. That’s part of the problem.

You’re also reckless, and a little bit crazy.

When Mephisto reported general irregularities on the 6th night Sylus couldn’t stop himself- he needed to know you were okay. So yes, he started tasking Mephisto with taking photos.

Said photos are in front of Sylus now. It has become a nightly routine, to look at the collection, growing every day, and calm himself enough to sleep by gazing at these peaceful snippets of your life. He selects one in particular, his favourite of the group, taking a sip of the sharp liquor that sits in a glass on his desk.

The photo is blown up wide on his screen, and he reaches his free hand to trace at the outline of you. You’re in the living room, long legs exposed to the warm light, cut off only by a large T-shirt. Your feet are clad in fuzzy kitty slippers and your hands wrap around a mug of tea and a book.

It’s sweet. He can feel his heart settling the longer he gazes at the pixels on his screen.

And yet… he can’t stop himself as his fingers scroll down and down, searching for the one photo that’s been branded into his brain since he first seen it. A welling of shame rises in him- he shouldn’t be looking at it he knows- it’s not the purpose of this-

He finds the familiar thumbnail. The sound of his mouse clicking solidifies the dirty anticipation growing within him.

His hand comes to trace at his mouth as his other massages the back of his neck. He lets out a sigh, eyelashes lowering involuntarily as he settles back to gaze at the photo. In it, you are only in a towel, shot from behind. His tongue plays across the backs of his teeth as he takes in your smooth skin, the towel draping gracefully, like you knew he would be watching, arching to reveal the tight muscles in your back and the line of your spine. He wishes he could rip the towel away, trace that line with his fingers as far as it goes. Then maybe even further.

He can feel himself getting aroused, staring at the taunt backs of your legs, the curve of your ass just visible through the plush cotton. He sucks once on his teeth, hand running across his face, rubbing at his eyes hard.

God- he isn’t this type of man is he? He peeks his eyes open, fingers coming to the screen again to trace that line on your back.

He is this type of man. He feels that realization settle into his being, and in a fit of aroused embarrassment he flicks the monitor off.

---------

Sylus swirls his glass of whiskey, just once, before taking a long sip. His eyes are locked on the screens in front of him- three to be exact. The set up in his office is helpful in many ways, usually allowing him to cross examine data-sets, files, and security footage alike. It’s where he picks apart his targets until they are bare before him, laid out in digital nakedness, planning the moves that will force them to crumble.

And yet tonight the screens are filled with you.

To his left sits your kitchen, dim now in the evening dusk. He often tunes in at the alerts to watch you make your tea, humming sweet songs in that beautiful voice of yours while you lounge against your countertops. Mornings are his second favourite time- you often dress in only a large t-shirt. The peace he sees in these scenes fill him with a sense of comfort and joy (and of course the sight of your long legs give him something blissful to daydream of during his most boring meetings).

To his right is your living room, lit by just a single warm lamp. It’s so cute that you leave a single light on every night, he thinks to himself that you might be just a tiny bit afraid of the dark. He loves to watch as you settle in for the evening, usually glancing at the link on his phone between dealings and meetings alike. It gives him such a sense of calm, to see you living your comfortable, safe life. And he can’t help but laugh aloud on the days he sees you attacking Mephisto (that poor bird) who gets caught on his surveillance from time to time.

He knows it’s too far. It was only supposed to be Mephisto. But the time between your meetings stretched on and on, and three weeks had passed since he had seen your lovely face. He only received texts, and that wasn’t enough, not nearly.

In front of him, engulfing his view, is your bedroom. It’s dark, lit faintly by the lights of the bright city and the moon; you’ve just crawled into bed.

His hand grasps onto the armrest of his leather chair. You are wearing just that big shirt again, the one you always wear. It must be your favourite. And in the faint light he can see your bare legs, so smooth with the softest looking skin, as you clamber onto the mattress. The shirt rides up and he can see the curve of your gorgeous ass. His grip tightens on the armrest uncontrollably.

He takes a deep breath before swallowing down another mouthful of liquor. He feels so selfish, so satisfied with his view. He can’t help the line of heat that wakens along his spine, curling into his navel. You open the sheets on the bed and flop down, and he can see your breasts bouncing beneath the loose cotton of your pyjamas.

He feels his jaw clench as he imagines his hands, so big compared to your body, fanning across your breast. How he would dip his tongue to lave at your neck, how he would bite-

But something tonight is different than the last few nights he has been watching you. You don’t turn to your side as you usually do when you fall asleep. You close your eyes, but then he watches, blood-red irises locked onto pixels, as your hand drifts to your thighs.

It moves slowly, almost teasing. He watches as you brush against the skin there, moving your other hand beneath your shirt. It’s moving up now- grasping at your full breast. His breath is leaving his body, his hand white-knuckle on his glass. He shifts in his seat, discomfort irritating him as his once soft cock is hardening.

You are touching yourself. So clearly, right there on his screen. “Oh yes, Kitten,” he says to himself, a guilty smirk that’s filled with excited mischief spreading across his face. “Please continue…” he whispers, curling towards the screen as if it would allow him to see more clearly.

To his guilty satisfaction you do continue- hand twisting at your nipples beneath your shirt, your other hand now moving between your thighs to slip underneath your panties. He watches almost in heat as your fingers begin to move, circling and pulsing against yourself.

He is hard now, cock fully erect and pressing against the zipper of his slacks. He downs the last of his whiskey in one gulp before slamming the glass down onto the desk before him. Gods help him. He is undoing his zipper, pulling out his cock and palming it in his hand.

You begin to moan and he almost looses himself. He wants to interrupt you. He wants to knock on your door so he can see your flushed face in person. And then he wants to take your chin in his hand and kiss you softly before bringing you back to bed- where he can fuck your pussy the way you clearly need him too.

His hand is wrapping around himself as your moans get louder and louder, turning into cries. He watches as you take two fingers and plunge them into yourself, an agonizingly slow rhythm that he is proud to watch you take. He would fuck you like that. Slow and deep and hard.

He can feel himself begin to pant, hand speeding up without volition even though you are moving so beautifully fucking slow with yourself. It’s sending him into some frenzy- to see you like this. It’s so dirty, so wrong, so everything he could have fucking asked for. He watches your hips twitch upward, pressing against your own hands. You’re doing such a good job- fucking yourself so good. He wants to watch you cum. He wants to cum with you.

And he feels it rising in him, his hips thrusting up into his own hand. Just thinking about how wet you are right now, this very second. It’s driving him crazy. The pressure within him rises and he lets out a grunt as his orgasm teeters on the edge of the precipice he is running to-

And then-

Fuck

“Sylus…” your voice drifts through his speakers, irrevocable and undeniably a cry of his own name. “P-please…Sylus-“ your tone hitches and his orgasm crashes over him, his seed emptying onto his dress shirt and the tops of his thighs. His head spins for just a moment, his breaths coming in short panting waves.

His name.

You called his name as you fucked yourself.

And he is truly lost.

—----------------

You texted him today. He doesn’t really know how to reply so he’s left you on read for just a little bit too long to be normal. Usually he responds to you immediately, but this little phrase had him frozen, locked in on his cell phone in the middle of a very important meeting.

Luke had nudged him when he didn’t respond to a conversation he was very much in the middle of, and he fought down his blush as he composed himself. Gods, how you managed to fluster him into this silly boyishness in the middle of a weapons deal escaped him.

Now he is in his car, staring at the few lines of text like it was revelational news:

Hi Mr.Onychinus.

I’ve been wondering…

Have you been watching anything interesting lately? I need some recommendations ;)

Surely you couldn’t know that his favourite programming was you these days. He had been so meticulous in hiding his secret cameras. So shamefully distant in order to hide his growing obsession.

His hand hovers over the screen, mind empty at how to respond.

He could tell you- he could play and tease and make you wonder so intensely about what nefarious things he’s been doing that you finally come back to him.

Maybe you would invite him over, finally, even if just to remove the cameras.

But then- he wouldn’t have his favourite program anymore. And oh how he loves to watch you dance around in your slippers, and settle into your nest of blankets, cuddling into the stuffed animal he won you like the little Kitten you are.

His fingers begin to type:

Haven’t had much time for television, Sweetie.

He sends it before he can change his mind.

And then quickly, like a nervous boy, he adds:

Maybe we could find something together to watch soon?

He finds himself biting at his lip, gnawing in quiet nervousness. He wants to see so badly it feels like an ache in his chest. But he had promised himself, when you left his base the last time, that he would give you the space you need.

He’s broken from his trance when Keiran knocks against the tinted window to his left. His car has been stalled for some time now, stopped at his final destination. He looks up from his daze to see that he is finally back at base.

Oh-

He doesn’t look at Luke or Kieran as he moves swiftly inside. The haze that lingers in his brain almost locks out the sound of Luke chuckling. Sylus hears him say something to Kieran- along the lines of ‘What’s gotten into him lately?’

It’s you. You’ve gotten into him, wormed your way into his brain and eaten at his resolve like a parasite he never wanted removed.

He thinks again about the scene he was graced with 2 nights ago now. Your soft thighs spread apart, fingers twisted deeply inside while you thought of him. Oh how he wanted to show you what it would really be like- how the thoughts of taking you have consumed him.

He thinks about it as he makes his way to the office, running a hand along his mouth before pushing it through his hair in some self-soothing gesture that feels foreign to him.

And his thoughts start to churn into something more twisted- darker than he’d like to admit when it comes to you.

He could sneak into your home. Wait for you in your living room with your favourite lamp turned on, until you walked through the door. Your face would take on that surprised expression he loved, a soft ‘O’ shape to your lips. He would smile at you, teasingly, and you would get angry maybe. Or maybe you finally break for him, letting that facade of a wall crash down around you as your fantasies of him flood through your mind. Maybe you would stride over to him, straddle his lap, take his face between your pretty hands and-

He makes it to the door of his office. The only thing that breaks him out of his fantasies is the excitement at the possibility that you’re home. You should be home by now, not quite yet asleep. He clicks the door behind him with resolve.

He feels frenzied as he starts his monitors, leg bouncing as a current of anticipation flood through him, the soft glow of light bathing him in his dark room. He doesn’t even take a second to pour himself a drink today- he needs to see you.

When he finally logs in to the footage of your apartment, live in front of him he feels his excitement twist into dread.

You are not alone.

You sit on your small sofa with another man; a large young boy of a man that is too close for Sylus’ comfort. You are laughing, and he turns the audio on so he can eavesdrop.

The man’s voice isn’t pleasant to listen to- teasing you mercilessly about some game you had played with him earlier. He tells you how you could have never won if he didn’t go easy on you. He knows this type of flirtation well- it is, in fact, something Sylus might say to you, albeit more smoothly and certainly with more of a joking intonation. But it works on you just as well as you move to swat the man’s arm, whining his name as he takes the chance to move closer to you.

“Caleb-“ you cry, “You’ve always been such a sore loser.” His laugh is clear and loud. And Sylus grits his teeth as Caleb moves to take you into a playful hug. He notices briefly how his own hands are clenching around nothing, fists balling as he curves towards the screen like he can reach out and rip you away from this asshole.

“Aw, Pipsqueak,” Caleb coos, and it pains Sylus to watch you melt into the hug. “Don’t blow a gasket I’m just teasing you-“

Pff. Sylus scoffs to himself. It’s honestly such rudimentary flirtation, so obvious he almost feels bad for the guy. But then again- he supposes Caleb can get away with it. He recalls from his intensive research that this is the one you grew up with.

His stomach churns in his gut. If Caleb finally made a move- maybe you would return the affection? Maybe you would accept the distance between yourself and Sylus, taking the very real and present option that’s actively involved in your life.

He looks away from the screen with a huff as your hands reach around Caleb’s back, returning the hug as it shifts into embrace. He hears your soft voice, quiet and sweet as it whispers, “I missed this so much…I wish you didn’t live so far away…”

It’s a gentle moment, something he is not supposed to be a part of.

It strikes him through his entire being.

He turns off the monitors.

He feels the guilt gnaw at him- it’s gone too far now. He will never forget the way you melted into another man’s arms, something you won’t even let yourself do with him. Your walls with him seemed so impossible to dissolve, so difficult to slip past. All he wants is to see you in your most vulnerable state, to be able to watch you like this in person.

He goes to his drink cabinet, pulling out his strongest liquor and pouring a large glass.

The first sip burns satisfyingly down his throat, acid to fight off the jealous roar erupting inside of him.

He sits down again, hand sliding against the smooth leather of his chair, the feeling of the alcohol soothing the ache within him.

He empties his mind, calming himself. Maybe it’s for the best- maybe it’s better to adjust to the reality that he would always be there, watching over you from a distance.

He is resolving within himself when a buzzing sound vibrates from his pocket. Absentmindedly he picks up his cellphone, opening the notification.

And then like a puppet, his heart riots against his chest as he sees your name.

:

I would like that.

You messaged. He watches the three dots appear at the bottom of your text thread, anticipating whatever you might say next with baited breath.

:

If you were nicer to me maybe you could be here right now…

The words strike at his chest. He holds the phone in one hand gingerly, jealousy rearing its ugly green head again.

How could you say that to him while you were so clearly enjoying your time with another man.

Maybe it’s the strong alcohol he has been indulging himself with, but he moves to reply:

I’m sure you’re surrounding yourself with better company.

It is shallow and insecure, biting and self-pitying. Gods, he has really lost himself when it comes to you. It feels pathetic, how he has eagerly lapped up any sight of you while you continue unknowing, taunting him simply by existing. He should feel more ashamed. But he is just quietly enraged he cannot be the one on your sofa right now- even if you would be texting another man.

Although- if it were him you wouldn’t have the chance to let your attention drift. He would do everything to keep those beautiful eyes on him, those hands busied with playful teasing, your mouth occupied with words he could feel the warmth of.

The dots appear again.

:

I fear my company didn’t entertain me in quite the same way as you.

Winning games feels much more satisfying when I’m defeating the leader of the most notorious N109 syndicate.

He can’t help the smile that creeps across his face. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps you weren’t so enamoured by that man on your sofa.

Curiosity grapples at his brain, his hands moving without another thought. The availability to spy into your life, just for a little longer, is an addictive and dangerous drug.

Soon his monitors are on again, his face lit by the warm lighting of your living room.

He’s surprised to see that you’re alone, swaddled in blankets and cozy on your couch.

The alcohol burns in his stomach with regret. He guesses he might have overreacted after all.

:

What are you doing right now, Kitten?

He sends the text and then aptly watches his screen as the ding resounds through his speakers. A small mischievous smile crosses your lips as you read the message. He watches you type your reply and then a moment later watches the text bubble pop up on his phone screen.

:

Like you can’t already guess?

It’s another phrase that teases the edge. But there’s no way you could know he’s watching you. Not once have you acknowledged his cameras. And you would have, the bold fierce spirit and distain towards his interference with your life would burn in you until you let him know his place.

Kittens love to scratch when they are ruffled too far.

And oh- he wants your claws raking marks down his back.

He feels something inside him shift, memories of the other night spreading like wildfire through his mind. And the jealousy that rocked him now bleeds into something dark and possessive, something excited. He wants to chase. Like a dog of some Hunt Goddess, he would run after you as many times as the earth orbits.

:

I can never know what it is you do in your free time, Kitten ;)

He laughs as he sends this, dark amusement at the irony. And quickly he follows it-

:

I assume you must be spending your alone time thinking about me…

He watches as you smile again at your phone, shifting in your seat so you recline against the armrest, legs long on the couch. You tuck the corner of your blanket close to your face, hiding the mischief in your expression. There’s something different about the way you are when you’re alone, in the moments where he watches you interact with him. Something dark and playful and so magnetic resonates from you- he can feel it through the screen.

The sight of it awakens the heat that’s laid subdued within him, sparking through his spine. He shifts back against his chair, phone in hand, head tilted back against the headrest.

He remembers the time you asked him if he had neck tension. How he wished then, as he wishes now, that you would press your thumbs into his shoulders, massaging the stress from his body in a way that only you can.

He wants to memorize the feeling of your touch against his bare skin.

His phone buzzes.

:

And what do you imagine me thinking about, Sylus?

He feels his breath hitch. It’s unlike you, to flirt with him in such a bold way. To entice him like this. It’s something he’s always wanted and it’s beyond him why he’s receiving it now. But he’s not about to question it. You dangle the treat in front of his nose and like the dog he is - he bites.

He spreads his legs to make room for the ache of his growing erection. He feels a little pathetic as the heat chases down his spine, spurred on by only your attention. But he loves it- this kind of self-demoralization fires a dark and deep want in him. Because it’s you-God it’s you that he is subjecting himself to this for, and so it feels like sanctity, like ritual, the opportunity to ache for you.

It’s such a cruel game you are playing- and he longs for you to play harder. Perhaps he thought wrong of your capabilities- maybe he wasn’t so secretive with his own intentions. After all- it seems you are starting to understand exactly how he likes to be toyed with.

He lets go of his mind.

:

Naughty Kitten…

He sends, feeling the hunger in him rising through his chest, breath coming a little bit faster now.

:

Trying to get into my head again, are you?

He can’t blame you, he’s been trying to get into your head for quite some time now.

You reply quickly and he watches as one of your hands moves down to your chest, a single finger trailing between your collar bones, teasing, light as a feather. The low cut of your shirt shows the swell of your breast as you take a deep breath, sighing. And then a buzz-

:

Naughty Sylus…

The words surge through his middle and shoot around bolt of arousal through him. And then another message-

:
What kind of thoughts are you having if you can’t even share them?

Fuck he loves it when you tease him.

He can’t help but chuckle, moving his hand to palm his hardening length. Here he is again in his chair, his favourite show, his favourite person, yet this time it’s like he’s almost there with you.

Gods help him if he was- he thinks about how he would be on his knees, fighting the urge to drool at your feet. He hopes you wouldn’t make him beg for too long before indulging him with the taste of you, the sight of pleasure, brought from his tongue and fingers deep in your core, gracing across your beautiful face. He would delight in every second- he would work you until your thighs squeezed tight against each side of his head, until you were grinding that pretty pussy of yours against his face. He would suffocate before he stopped eating you.

His hand is moving to unzip his slacks when you message again.

:

Are you there Sylus? Cat got your tongue?

Oh fuck, right, he had to reply.

:

Just got caught up in my thoughts, Kitten.
These ones are so specifically delicious.

He laughs to himself, low and throaty and feral, as he frees his hard cock from his trousers. He takes a long lick at his hand, eyes locked into the burning image of you on his screen, covering it in saliva, before he moves it down to squeeze along the base of himself. He takes a single stroke and oh fuck if it isn’t better than any other woman he had ever been with, simply for the sight of you in near proximity.

He watches as one of your hands types a reply, the same darkening smile on your face and your other hand moves to your breast. It pulls at your nipple through your shirt, tugging it into a stiff peak. He moans at the sight, stroking his cock in a slow dragging motion.

It strikes him that you are touching yourself because of him- right there on his screen, encouraged by his words. The realization makes him so turned on he can’t string together another thought. He hears himself let out a suppressed low sound, desperate and so embaressing.

Your message lights up his phone.

:

I’m having some delicious thoughts myself.

He thinks he might die, his hand gripping himself tighter. His eyes squeeze shut at the warm wet slide of his own hand, his imagination filling in the sight of you there above him, tits bouncing as your wet, tight core wraps around the entirety of him.

Another buzz. His eyes shoot open.

:

Do you want to know what I’m thinking about Sylus?

“Oh fuck-“ he can’t help but whisper as he slows down the pace of his hand. He had placed his phone on the desk without even thinking, his other hand gripping the armrest.

Deja Vu plays at his brain as he reaches for his phone with shaky hands, eyes flitting back to the screen.

There you are, legs spread, hand underneath the waistband of your sleep shorts and your hands moves slowly in tight circles.

Fuck- he stops touching himself for fear this would be over before it even truly begins.

His thumb trembles as he hastily types.

:

Please Kitten.

Please tell me.

He’s begging through text now, he feels the delightful admonishment wash over him, chuckling at his own state of submission for you.

What a man he was- but his self-depreciating thoughts are cut off as you moan, hips flexing into your hand. Your hand that holds your phone drops to your chest, phone abandoned as your free hand now clings at your breast, the blanket, the back of the couch.

“Fuck” you whisper, your hand moving frantically fast now. And suddenly, to his disappointment, it stops, like you’re teasing yourself. You laugh, giddy. It’s a sound he commits to memory.

He picks up his phone again, emboldened by your reaction to him.

:

Kitten.

Tell me now.

Please.

He watches as you shift your hips, hand moving deeper as your pace and direction change. Fuck, he realizes that your fingers must be inside yourself and you’re fucking into your pussy to get some feeling close to how he would feel as he fucked into you. He grabs at his cock again, the pace of his hand matching your own.

He wonders how many fingers you have inside of you. He knows it’s not enough to mimic a cock, let alone his. He can imagine your lips parted for the first time as he fucks into you. He can’t wait, the fantasies overwhelm his mind. He wants it so badly.

You pick up the phone, eyes tracking across the screen under lowered eyelashes. And then your head tilts back, eyes closing again as your lips part for him- your hips rock hard against your hand.

He learns quickly that you like him begging for you.

Your moans are pitching higher and higher. He can’t get enough, gripping onto his armrest as he fucks into his own hand. He is dripping onto his own hand, his cock the hardest it’s ever been flushing an angry shade, the tip red.

A wave of thoughts overcome him- you were so desperate for him- so filthy as you fuck yourself thinking he doesn’t know…and he imagines the satisfaction of thrusting deep into your pussy knowing it’s his- that it’s been his for quite some time now.

He can see you getting close, you’ve left him on read while you fuck yourself with your fingers but he doesn’t care as he delights in the show. Your moans pitch and your hips buck and he can’t help but feel his orgasm accelerate along with your own.

Somehow, by some evil force of hunger within him, he grabs his phone in his hand, typing a hurried sentence before he falls into his own fit of pleasure.

:

I need you, Kitten.

You moan as you feel the buzz of the phone. And then you pick it up, almost drunk on the feeling of your self-pleasure and your head tips back again as you tense, body stiffening besides the sporadic thrust of your hand.

Sylus’ smirk is filled with satisfaction as he cums, hips jerking and seed splattering over his dress shirt for the second time this week. The waves of pleasure that aftershock through his spine have his breath stuttering. He watches as you lay there, in much of the same state.

He laughs as he thinks about it- how he made you cum before he’s even touched you, kissed you, let alone fucked you.

He strokes once at his softening cock before looking around for the towel he now abashedly keeps in his desk. He is wiping himself clean as he hears something from the cameras.

You groan as you take your head in your hands. A flush crosses your cheeks, you curl into a small ball. You almost seem embarrassed. He wants to step through the screen, step directly into your apartment, he wants to hold you close and kiss your forehead and tell you how you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed.

But he simply watches, for it’s all he can do. You gather up your cell phone into your small hands. The blush is furious across your face.

His phone lights up, having gone into sleep mode on his desk, buzzing awake.

:

You’ll have to find out some other time <3.
Good night Sylus.

It’s quick and short. He watches as you shut off your phone and fling it away, quickly gathering yourself in your blanket. You shut off the lamp and tuck yourself in.

He is left bewildered. Did he do something wrong. Did he go too far?

He slides a hand down his face as he turns off the monitor.

It was time for some face-to-face interaction.

Chapter Text

Sylus takes a steadying breath, rearranging the bouquet of flowers he had set on the dining table before him. The roses are hiding too many buds of the baby’s breath. He plays with the different heights of the stems, busying his hands as he waits for the bell on his front door to ring. 

The entire house is quiet, everyone tucked away into their respective individual space at his request. Luke and Kieran had both scoffed when he wouldn’t answer why he needed space tonight. Keiran had even mumbled something that sounded like your name, rolling his eyes. Sylus had ignored it- he had preparations to take care of after all. The chef was instructed to create a very special course for dinner tonight, and he had secured some very expensive wines as well. It has to be perfect. 

Because it is the first time he is seeing you in a month. 

And because it is the first time he is seeing you after having seen you. 

His heart is beating unfamiliarly in his chest, he rubs at the spot beneath his collar bones. He had dressed in a soft silk red dress shirt, unbuttoned of course at the top, a chain linking across his neck that trails down into his navel. It had taken some time to pick the right outfit. He had even been indecisive over his cologne, opting for some woodsy musk scent hinted with citrus. He hopes that you will like it. You haven’t spoken to him much after your heated text exchange last week. In fact, the only message you sent was to arrange today. 

It wasn’t meant to be so formal, but somehow in all of his anticipation it has now become a very fine dinner. You had simply mentioned that you would be in the N109 zone for some work- and you needed a place to stay overnight. 

He had tried not to sound so incredibly excited when he offered you a space here, at his base. 

He clears his throat, fingering at one of the rose stems. He pricks himself on a rouge thorn when the sound of the door bell ringing resounds through the house. He sucks the blood that springs forth from his finger, feet already moving. He is hurried when exiting the dining room, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he strides to the front door. Red eyes are wild, hair tousled with maybe too much mousse. 

Oh gods he isn’t ready for you. But you are here. And he has been praying for this moment since you last graced himself with your presence. 

More than anything, by far, he is simply excited. A current of anticipation runs like electricity through his heart, working his throat into a nervous swallow. 

He opens the door as he plasters on a calm and composed expression. Time seems to slow down as the sight of you on his front stoop is revealed. 

“We finally meet again, Kitten…” He teases, the sound resonating low from his throat until he trails off, taking a long look at you. 

His eyes savour what they see. You are standing proudly before him, as you always do, with confidence that pulls your shoulders back. Your hair floats down around your long neck and sharp shoulders, framing your pretty eyes and high cheekbones. Your lips look so soft, coated in that red glossy colour he loves most. 

He desperately wants to know how it would look smeared over the skin of his neck, his chest, gods his cock. Yes, especially that.  

A blush like roses graces your cheeks. You stare at him with mocking attitude, rolling your eyes. But he can’t hear what you say because his gaze moves down and oh- fuck- how will he keep himself together now. You are not wearing your work outfit, which usually does a number on him as is. No, instead you have chosen a blouse that almost matches his. It’s a deep red silk, so shiny and soft looking, long sleeves billowing down to your dainty hands. He loves how small you are compared to him, he can imagine one of those hands wouldn’t be enough to hold all of him. You might have to use both. He has to clear his throat again when his gaze rakes down, taking in the high waisted leather pants you’ve encased the gorgeous curves of your legs in. Hips so round and clearly on display, begging to be grabbed. And your top is unbuttoned, fuck, he can see the edges of your lace black bra, your breasts carefully held together and pushed high on your chest. 

He follows the contours of your smooth muscles up to your collar bones, your neck. And there, tucked away close to your ear is the faintest colour of a bruise. 

His heart stops beating- shock runs through him in the same vein as jealous rage and numbing frustration. 

He feels his tongue dart to swipe again his bottom teeth, sucking his lip in as he scrambles to maintain composure. His jaw clenches with the effort and he looks away. 

A mark on your neck? From what? From who? His mind spirals. Maybe you and Caleb did end up finishing your intimate moment in some kind of - he cuts off the thought for fear of throwing up or contorting his face in disgust. Still, he feels a muscle in his face, right next to his nose, twitch. He fights away the sneer. A mark. He is the one who should be marking you. You were everything to him- all he wants is to claim you for the world to see- and you’re here now with someone else’s mark on you. 

A part of him cycles through all the reasons why you might not want someone like him- in the simplest of reasons he isn’t available to you. And in the most complicated- he’s too docile, too passive. He hasn’t made a move to progress your clear attraction together- maybe you got tired of waiting, moving onto someone who isn’t afraid of breaking the tension. 

But how could he- when he barely has you in his life as it is. How can he risk pushing too far and losing you completely?

He is lost. But your unimpressed gaze drags him back to the moment. 

“Are you feeling okay, Sylus?” You say dryly, the smirk on your face a rival to his own. 

“O-Oh yes, Sweetie.” He tries a smile but it’s toothy and his voice sounds raspy even to him. “Why do you ask?” He cocks an eyebrow, stepping aside from where he’s been dumbstruck in the doorway so you can step inside. 

Your laugh is a taunting melody as you step past him, close enough he can smell the dark vanilla scent of your perfume. Once you’re mostly past him he takes a deep breath, hoping despite the turmoil of emotions that it will linger in his nose long after you inevitably leave again. 

“Because, Sylus, I spoke an entire sentence to you and you didn’t respond-“ You turn around quickly, eyes shooting a pressing look as he closes the door. “You don’t seem entirely like yourself today.” Its intonation is like a question, lilting upward in tone at the end. 

He looks down, reaches deep to quell the jealous well of emotion and desire that’s risen within him before meeting your gaze with new fever. 

“I was a little distracted…” he begins to drawl, and it sounds almost taunting to his own ears as he strides forward to close the distance between you. From this position his head is fully tilted down, gazing onto your face from above. You look so cute like this, so small and so tempting. “You have something…” He draws a hand to your exposed collarbone, thumb brushing so gently against your skin that he watches you shiver. “Right…” He pauses, letting his thumb brush upwards, hand framing the back of your neck with his long fingers. He wants to wrap his hand around your throat- he wants to hold your chin in the crook between his thumb and forefinger, neck covered by his hand, as he thrusts himself into you. “…here.” He finishes, tapping at the spot just under your ear. 

He catches only the surprise in your eyes, wide and round, your small gasp as your hand darts upward. But in the same speed he steps back, swiftly walking away. He strides to the dining room, hands coming together to massage away the tension, fingers flexing involuntarily as they search for your skin, grieving the contact. He is shoving his jealousy down as he calls out to you from over his shoulder. “Your dinner is this way, Kitten.”

He tries to wrestle with the urge to retreat behind his own internal wall as you come to meet him in the dining area, hair shifted now so it lays over your shoulder, covering the mark. Your gaze is tense- close to a glare, but he maintains his facade of composition. 

He pulls out a chair, waving a hand for you to sit. As he helps you tuck into your spot at the head of the table he can’t help himself- he sneaks his hands softly, like a whisper, around the curtain of your hair. He watches as you still from the nearness, the backs of his hands brushing against the nape of your neck. An insatiable desire overcomes him as he drops his head down, nose nestling into the air by your ear as he cascades your hair down your back once more. It smells faintly of flowers, lilacs he thinks. He takes a deep breath and watches your eyelids lower, you take a small gasp of air as you realize you’ve been holding your breath. He takes one big hand and wraps it around the back of your neck, pressing his thumb to the small circular bruise with gentle pressure. His voice is low and rasping with uncontrolled emotion as he whispers to you, “ Your neck is too pretty to be covered up, Kitten.” 

He watches your throat move as you swallow hard and he gazes at the source of the tense silence between you. He backs away, fingers brushing gently on your skin as he retreats. He looks away from the mark. Proof of your desire, proof of your need. 

Need for someone other than him. 

He had hoped, when he first heard his name pass your lips, that he was the only one on your mind. And when you teased and flirted with him, after saying goodbye to another man, the hope turned into something closer to knowledge- tentative certainty. But no, it seems now that he is just one of many fantasies and playthings that are at your beck and call. His mind flits through the profiles of the 4 other men you keep too close for his comfort. Which of them was blessed with the opportunity to gift you this mark? And why couldn’t it be him? Why was he subjected to half-vulnerable text threads and lingering glances. Touches unreturned. Need unmatched. 

It’s no wonder he’s had to hide away in the dark and spy on you to get some fix. You are a cruel and taunting master to his starving yearning. 

What does he have to do to be granted more privilege? What does he have to do to be treated with the chance to show you what he could give you? And how can he make your need for anyone else disappear? His mind grinds on, frustration itching underneath his skin. If you just gave him the chance, he could show you exactly why no-one else would ever compare. 

His eyes lock into yours, so many unsaid things suffocating the space between you. He takes the seat to your right, noticing the red blush streaking across your face. As he moves his long legs underneath the table he feels a surge of energy break through his carefully constructed boundaries. Why should he keep feigning politeness and civility when your interests were already straying? 

He is so tired of sitting unrewarded for his loyalty. 

He settles into his seat, forearms taking up so much space as he braces against the table, slipping one of his long legs to press against yours. He feels you tense, watches your gaze dart to his. He is so close to you he can smell your scent, vanilla and lilac, opium to his addiction. 

“I-it’s not what you think…” You start, hands fiddling at the silverware to each side of your plate. Your gazes meet and he finds himself burying emotion again, only for it to rise like some ocean creature surging from dark depths. 

“Hm, well it looks like you’ve been keeping yourself quite entertained, Sweetie.” He bites out, tone betraying his cool mask of composure. The words hit like a slap- not loud, but designed to sting. Your breath catches, his fingers flex once against the tabletop. 

It looks like you had some other man fuck you after touching yourself for him. It looks like you teased him and played with him and made him feel so special- only to reward another man with your attention. 

It looks like he is here for your convenience. 

Something about that strikes his heart, but another part of the realization awakens his desire, unrelenting and ever-present. Because he would be such a happy servant to you- you can use him as much as you want. He just aches to be the one you run to in your need- and all he gets is rejection. 

You’re quiet for a moment, but then your lips slip into an almost self-depreciating smile. “Okay…maybe it is a little bit of what it looks like.” Your eyes flash upwards to meet his. Your gaze holds something new and challenging- a hardness he isn’t accustomed to anymore coming from you. You pull at your hair so it covers the mark. “But really, Sylus, why should it matter to you?” 

You are taunting him. Acting like he hadn’t begged for you the last time you spoke. Like he wasn’t aching for you every single moment of every day- waking and sleeping. There is something frustrated in your tone- he can recognize the same tension in his own voice. You are mad for some reason. 

You look so beautiful when you’re like this. 

He feels himself staring blankly back at you, locking away his turmoil from his face. He swallows once, teeth gritting into each other. “Did I say that I cared, Kitten?” His breath was short, his mind slipping into defence mode. 

Of course he cares. He cares so much he can’t even recognize himself anymore.

But he wasn’t about to admit how much he cares when you are sitting there marred with a mark from another man’s mouth. You cock your head at him, mouth pressed into a tense smile. “I guess you didn’t.” You bite at him. If the context wasn’t so painful he would delight at the tone of your voice. He loves to annoy you- your face is flustered with pink blush, your eyes so filled with fire, your teeth biting into each other.

If only you would sink them into his neck instead. 

The first course arrives, the chef quiet as he places your plates of food before you. Even he senses the thick tension in the room. Sylus grabs the expensive bottle of wine he’d set out earlier. He reaches for your glass, fingers brushing against your hand as he passes overtop of it. He feels your gaze burning into the side of his face and meets it with heated pointedness. 

His smile is deceitful, he is losing his control as he says, “You’ll like this one. It pairs well with…indulgence.” The pause drips with insinuation. The only sound comes from the swig of wine being poured too generously.

You take the glass from him, resting fingers on the stem, brushing against his own. As your hands meet his eyes drop to the contact. It’s demoralizing how even this touch sends a line of electricity through him.

“Ah,” he says, tone dripping with bitterness. “So you can touch me?” 

You say nothing still, and he pulls back, swirling his wine once around in his glass. He watches the dark liquid catch the light. 

Pathetic. That is the only word echoing through his head. Pathetic for letting a faint bruise pull out the ground from beneath him. Pathetic for imagining someone else’s mouth there, someone else drawing those pretty sounds you make from your soft lips. He’s yours, so wholly, so entirely. And yet he can’t even act like it. 

It is time to stop being so afraid of his own desires. The weight is too much to bear anymore, and like an old wooden bridge that’s been walked over too many times, he finally snaps. 

He sets the glass down with care, watching you take a large sip from your own. Without warning, his hand lifts, brushing your hair away from your neck once again. The bruise stares at him, smug and defiant. He presses his thumb into it, just like before, slow and deliberate this time, a claiming of the spot despite its lack of ownership to him. 

“It’s a shame..” He murmurs low, voice wrapped in the velvet of a man giving way to deep seated desire. “It could’ve been mine.” His eyes connect with yours as he finishes, heat searing between you. 

You are too steady, too unflinching. Your eyes are sparkling with an energy of excitement. He feels so naive- he always expected such blatant remarks to scare you away. But of course you aren’t running, you never run away from anything.

And with thrilling surprise, you now run towards him. 

“And what’s stopping you?” The challenge is plain in your tone, the tension in the room shifting into something tangibly more…electric. 

He feels his breath catch, smirk faltering. He pushes a breathless laugh from his lungs, then catches his leg underneath yours, pressing against your calf and thigh. He delights in the pressure, relishes this moment. He’s been holding back for so long, but now- everything is lost as you open the flood gates without hesitation. 

“Do you like letting them touch you, Kitten?” He cocks his head, a mocking smile coming back to his face. “Or do you just like knowing I’ll find out?” 

You tilt your head, mimicking his own movements with frustration. “Maybe…” you drawl, your voice gracing the room with a low husky purr. “I like knowing you’ll watch and do nothing.”

His breath releases in a short burst. He feels himself still, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Oh. 

Fuck. 

He was so incredibly, terribly, delightfully wrong about you wasn’t he? 

And somehow you are more perfect than he had even realized. His smirk falters, then sharpens. He leans in towards you, gaze locked into that mischievous cruel eyes as he props his head on one hand. “Careful…”he says softly. “You’ll find out exactly how wrong you are.” 

He feels himself floundering slightly, unable to process enough to keep playing this game of yours. But he tries, oh he wants to play, he wants to win. He’s already won so much tonight but if he could just touch you, kiss you-

You take a slow sip of your wine, your smirk holding an air of ego that makes him melt. “I think you’ve already proved me right, Sylus.” 

The words slide under his skin like a blade. On the surface he gives you a slow, dangerous smile- but inside, something desperate claws at him. Because you are right. He’s been watching you. He’s been doing nothing. And the truth is, he doesn’t want to lose the privilege of being near you, even if it means swallowing down his hunger.

Even if it meant starving. He would lock himself away, beast in a cage, as long as you would come to feed him crumbs from time to time. 

He can’t stop looking at your mouth. 

You take another slow sip of wine, your tongue lazily flicking at a drop spilling over the bowl of the glass. He tracks the movement and feels your eyes watching- so entertained by your own enchantment of him. You are drawing out the silence, allowing it to stifle him into desperation. God- he hates it. He loves that he hates it. 

His voice is raw, dark, needy. “Tell me.”

Your eyes at laughing at him, your smile is one of a victor. “Tell you what, Syslus?” The look on your face is haughty, so in control. He can’t wait until you’re begging underneath him. 

“Tell me what you need, Kitten.” He stretches a hand towards you, watching as his fingers wrap around your small wrist. So soft, the skin just underneath. He wants to kiss you here, but he taps his finger instead, right against the point of your pulse. 

“What I need? You think you can give it to me, Sylus?” You are too amused, it feels condescending almost. But he is so inexplicably turned on by the way you are amused by him- that he is the reason for your emotion, your attention. 

“I’d make it my only purpose.” He hates how desperate he sounds. He loves that it’s all for you. 

Your smile falls into something darker, heavy with the thrill of this game. You lean forward, invading the space between your noses. “What I need, Sylus, is a man who pays attention to my every want and need.” Your words are slow and purposeful, landing in his chest so they brand into him. A rulebook, a guide. His tongue swipes at his lips as you continue, he can feel his arousal begin to blossom in his navel. 

“I need a man who watches me and learns what I need. He’d have to understand me just as I understand myself-“ You bite at your lip and your eyes shift down, for a long moment to stare at his lips. He lets out a short sigh, his own eyes darting to gaze at your soft rounded mouth before meeting your gaze again. So much fire- so much passion. He almost lets it all out, tells you how closely he watches; how he studies your every habit, how he is so obsessed with understanding you that he has abandoned all pride. 

He wants to take you right here. He wants to show you just how much he understands. 

You continue, dragging your fingertips around the rim of your glass, “I need a man who won’t touch me right away. Who’s going to make me wait until I can’t think about anything else. And he’ll know when the time is right- to finally do it. To give me so much pleasure I’ll have no choice but remember it when I’m alone, at night. When I try to sleep but I just can’t, because he’s still on my mind.”

Sylus’ brain has short circuited. He shifts in his seat to relieve the pressure building between his legs, he sees you notice. The laughter returns to your eyes- gods you’re so fucking enjoyable- and he takes his hand away from your wrist. He wants to be exactly that for you. And yet- he can’t seem to find the words. He can only imagine you, underneath him- oh gods above him. 

But you are rising from your chair- suddenly, and he wants to pull you back, keep this moment forever. You seem to notice the confusion fronting along his brow- the desperation flashes raw across his face and he wants to sink into the seat from the embarrassment of his need. 

You chuckle. “Relax, Sylus. I’ll be right back.” 

He watches closely as you leave him sat at the dining table, breathless and needy and aching for you. Your wide hips float, long legs taunting him. You shoot one look over your shoulder, a flash of teeth in a smile so cunning and knowing he wonders if you might be sent from some universe god to enact karma upon him; for all the bad deeds he’s ever done he now suffers this tormenting ache. 

And he waits for you to return. 

—

But you don’t return. 

5 minutes slip past, then 8, 10. He sits and waits for you, glancing at his watch, but you are gone. 

For a moment he is afraid you have abandoned him completely. 

His feet take him out of the dining room. He searches the foyer, then clambers up the stairs. His heart beats a little bit faster when he thinks of his office, a place he often found you snooping around in, more likely a target now that you are frustrated with him. You always seemed to have some plan hidden behind the moves you make, and he was so easily distracted, so enamoured and shaken that he has practically gifted you free time to peruse his data at your leisure. 

And it abruptly crosses his mind that he never asked you what business you had in the N109 zone. 

How you regularly make him forget that he owns almost all of the most important crime trading information in the country, and that you are a Hunter tasked on fighting said crime, escapes him. 

He would appreciate the cunning more if it wasn’t playing at his heart and body, taunting him to get what it wants. 

He pushes his office door open with force, a kind of nervous frustration pulsating through him. The scene hits him like a rouge wave- a crashing of visual information he processes in just a few seconds. You are sitting in his leather chair, hand reaching for the power button to his monitors. 

He can’t control it- Evol tendrils unleash from his outstretched hand, curling and twisting until they clasp around your wrists. Your gaze shoots to his, panic and some chagrin at being caught in your intrusiveness. He loves how raw your emotions look like this- eyes wide, mouth open. 

He feels himself bristle inside at your audacity. It fires up some dormant controlling urge deeply rooted in his belly. This is his lair- his data is his treasure. And here you are taunting him, playing with him, in order to steal. 

He can feel his posture change. Shoulders broadening with the surge of defensive energy. His head tilts down and he curls his lips into a slow, cooling smirk. 

When he looks up at you, it’s a flash of red light, and then your hands are bound at the armrests. His Evol whispers around you- what a delightful feeling it always is to interact with you through this state. He can feel you- not just your skin, as his Evol presses against it, but your aura. The hum between your resonance and his shadows- they vibrate against each other, like magnets that hold the same charge. Pushing against one another to form some invisible thick force, ready to explode. 

He walks behind you as you watch him with that pretty face, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. Instead he wraps his big hands around either side of the chair backing and hauls you backward, leaving space for him to slide in between you and his desk. He settles against the desktop with his hips, glances slowly over his shoulder at the screen. 

His heart skips a beat as he sees the logo of his tech ware, indicating the computer is booting up. He shoots another look at you- you look so guilty and frazzled, gods he loves it when he gets to see you like this. You are always so composed, so ready for anything. But in moments like these- you’re forced to give up control, the power, knowing you are in the wrong. 

He loves catching you. And especially now- it gives him something to cling to in this battle of wits and power. 

He reaches a long arm to the power button of his screens. “And what exactly were you looking for in here, Kitten?” He asks, turning the monitor screens black once again. Your face is wary, a little bit nervous.  “You tease me and taunt me and leave me waiting just so you could what? Steal my information?” He doesn’t feel hurt- no- just frustrated. He is so happy to be used by you, in any way you will grant him your attention, but it makes him realize even more how desperate he is for the chance to truly capture you. To be allowed to feel your skin with his own hands, his mouth, his tongue- his frustration only grows and he is breaking apart, pushed too far now. 

He loves being able to catch you off guard. 

He wants to show you, prove to you, that he can give you exactly what you want. He is not afraid- no- he is frenzied. 

“I-I was…” you stutter, then your lips press closed. His smirk deepens as he enjoys the sight of you- so dominating just minutes ago now reduced to stuttering. He wants you to melt for him. The inclination is sudden and all encompassing - he wants to make a mess of you, just as you’ve done to him. 

“You were…” he taunts, cocking his head. The glow from his far lamp casts a long shadow onto you, his body blocking the light. But your eyes are shining, sparkling with something now that wasn’t there at first. He trails one of his tendrils, smokey and dark, so it drifts around your arms, wrapping softly at your waist. More drift off, curling and wrapping your body softly, twining around your calves, your knees. He watches as your legs twitch when they press onto your clothed limbs, licks at the back of his teeth, working his jaw at the sight of it. 

Fuck it’s so hard to keep himself restrained. He hasn’t let himself even come close to imagining you in such a compromising position- and yet he beholds you now. You are quiet, eyes closed and lips parted slightly, shivering at the sensations of his smokey Evol lining around your body. They twist up your thighs, and you gasp as they wrap up along your hips. 

He can feel you through them, something like an echo of a touch, and he wants to sink to his knees at the feeling. You are so soft, so curved and perfect. He can almost taste the leather of your pants, the light sweat on your skin. 

He shakes his head slightly, repeats himself, “You were…?” He prompts, but you aren’t looking at him. He wants to see your eyes. With a devious smirk in place he lets out a chuckle, making himself comfortable on his desktop. In a quick movement, using his Evol, he quickly parts your knees. It does the trick- you gasp again, eyes shooting open to stare at him. 

He smiles. He feels your attention wash over him and he is so helplessly bound to making it last. He leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of your head. He leans his head in close, eyes connecting with yours intensely. “Spying.” He whispers. At the same breath his Evol snakes tighter, forcing your breath to quicken as they slither and move against your body. “Do you know what I do to spies, Sweetie?”

His gaze is soft despite the hardness of his question. Of course he would never do anything to you besides worship the ground you walk on, but his frustration drives him to tease you. To make you feel what he’s felt for too long now. 

You just give a whimper. “I just needed to-to check on something.” You stutter out. Your voice is raspy, your eyes dart from his own gaze to the places where his Evol connects to your skin. And then, they land at his lips. When your eyes turn upwards again to meet his gaze they are wanting, filled with yearning. 

Sylus hums a dry sound. He grasps the chair backing more tightly in his hands, tongue darting to lick at his lips. “Should I punish you, Kitten?” He watches as you respond to him, shifting your hips, fingers clenching and unclenching into fists. 

Oh- you want him like this. You want him ready to break for you, lose every ounce of control he has. You want him uncaged. Wild. 

His breath is moving too fast now- he can feel the stiffness tightening his pants. “Is that what you wanted, Sweetie? To frustrate me so much I break for you?”

Your eyes flash, lips curling slightly into a smile. And even though he might be standing over you, binding you down, it is still decidedly you who is in control. With just a word he would release you, just a word he would back off. 

But you’ve made yourself so clear to him tonight. You want him. And you want him like this- confident and sure. Taking charge despite your unrelenting control. 

“Yes please.” You whisper, finally, your voice cracking. “I- should be punished, Sylus. I broke a rule…” Your eyes are like a doe’s. He can’t stop himself- he leans down, relaxing his forehead against yours, eyes closing. His breath shudders out. He shakes his head once, unable to hide how lost he is. 

He opens his eyes to fill his gaze with yours. You are tense, anticipating his next move. But he can’t quite bring himself to do it- to meet your lips together. He lets his Evol slip away from you- he wants to taunt you and tease you, of course. He wants you writhing from him, before he even touches you. He wants to give you everything you want.

But a kiss- it means something to him. He wouldn’t have your first kiss be with your arms bound, playing this role of an angry lustful crime lord- it would be the opposite. It would be the beginning of the rest of his life- to kiss you. There would be before…and then there would be after. 

He shakes his head again, sending the emotion through his gaze so it sinks into you. “You don’t deserve punishment, Kitten…” He lets out a half-hearted scoff. Your eyes fill with a deeper understanding, the realization that this is no longer a game. The undercurrent is serious between you, and his next words are a whisper. “You just needed to ask…” He closes his eyes pained, embarrassed he can’t be the domineering man you want, his voice resounding with the ache of his heart. 

“I would give you anything you needed from me…” He whispers. 

Your hands release and immediately float upward to frame his face. He leans into your palm with reverence, eyes opening just underneath his eyelashes to take you in. He brushes his own fingertips against your cheekbone. You are so beautiful- exquisite. “Sylus…” You whisper gently, tugging at his hair so he shifts his nose to slide against your own. Your eyes close, chin tilting, and you press up to take his lips in yours. 

It is so soft, the gentle pressure of your plump bottom lip against the seam of his mouth. He lets his eyes fall completely shut, blocking out the world to savour the sensation of the kiss. 

And then you are moving, chin tilting and mouth opening. He feels the warmth of your breath, the wet heat of your mouth. He can’t help himself as he gasps into and tugs your bottom lip with his teeth softly. And then your fingers are threading across his scalp, such a delicious scratching that draws a low moan from him as he feels his eyes roll back behind closed lids. Yes- gods fuck yes. 

It is everything he has yearned for, ached for, hungered after. 

And like a glutton tasting the first bite of a feast- he indulges. 

His hands brace against both sides of your face and he deepens the kiss, tongue swiping out to lap at the place he bit. You sigh in response, a small whine coming from your throat. It makes him crazy, to finally hear the sound in his ears, feel the vibrations of it moving into his own mouth. He thinks briefly about how he will remember this moment forever, and then you are pulling him closer at the waist and he loses the ability to think completely. You wrap your legs around him, and his Evol springs to life without a second thought, wrapping your waist protectively, like the strong embrace of an arm, then twirling around your hips and thighs. As your mouths fight and dance, tongue and teeth, he lets his Evol explore where his hands are too tentative to reach for. 

And so he braces a hand on your back, keeping you steady as he moves you to sit on his desk, shoving whatever is on top to the ground. He doesn’t care what he breaks, he needs you displayed before him. And you settle there, his Evol tightening at the spots where your hips meet your thighs. Small tendrils of the smokey power drift to press gently at the apex of your thighs, flicking against you so moan, startled and happy, into Sylus’ mouth. The urge to take you here, right now, is too intense to fight off. You cant your hips forward, seeking even more friction from the Evol presence that plays against you. His hips tilt forward to grind into yours as he rears his head back. 

He can tell he looks feral from the expression that graces your face. You scratch your nails down one side of his jaw and circle your hips again, aching for him. His hands reach for your ass, pulling you towards the edge of the table and he thinks he sees a god as he drives his hardened length against the spot between your open thighs. It’s a feeling like addiction, he can’t stop rolling his hips slowly, languid, just how he knows you like it. 

But he is caught for a moment in his mind- jealousy rearing itself as your chin tilts backward, exposing your neck to him. And there is the mark once again. You are lost to the pleasure of the grind of your hips, and here he is staring at the evidence of you doing this with some other man. He slows the rolling of his hips, and you pick up where he’s left off, taking exactly the friction you’re needing. It hurts- the pleasure of you in contrast with your lack of care for him. 

But he is still for too long.

And you open your eyes to see his expression before he can hide it. The pain. Raw on his face. 

Your hips still. He can no longer avoid it.

“S-Sylus?” Your voice is horse, your eyes fogged by the wanton lust that you’ve succumbed to. Your hand reaches again for his jaw. 

He can only manage a small shake of his head, side to side. His forehead tilts down, eyes closing in shame. Because he has you- everything he’s wanted, right in front of him. And it’s not what he’s imagined. His obsession for you has become a barrier- because he wants you to be just as consumed with him as he is with you. 

“I’m sorry-“ he whispers, dark. He pulls away from you and the cold that meets his skin slashes against the places where you were keeping him warm. “I can’t.” He raises his eyes to meet yours. You are confused for a moment, but as he pulls completely away, one last lingering touch on your neck, you seem to understand. Your fingers brush lightly against the mark. Your eyes fill with something like regret, guilt. 

“I-I wish I could be what you want, Kitten.” He collapses down into the chair behind him. His head falls into his hand. 

“Sylus…” You start, moving towards him, but he uses his Evol to gently hold back the hand you reach out. He can’t bear your touch anymore. Not if it isn’t for him- not if it’s simply another outlet for your desires. You tug your hand gently away from the whirl of his power, pushing to reach him. Your hand lands on his neck, nails scratching slightly. He gives in, lets you climb on top of his lap, framing his face in your hands. And he lets you pull his face so it faces yours, he opens his red eyes. You are so beautiful it hurts. So tempting it twists inside of him. 

How can he want you so desperately while also suffering so intensely. 

“This is nothing-“ You whisper, he tracks the words on your sweet lips. “This was nothing to me.”

He feels like a child- like he is throwing some tantrum. “I-I just can’t, Kitten.” He whispers. “Not like this. Not because I’m just here.”

“Oh Sylus-“ You coo, pressing your lips against his cheek. “It’s not because you’re just here.”

Something lights inside of him- that ugly frustration and need rearing itself within. His eyes flash as they meet yours, he can tell by the surprise in your face. “Then what was it?” His words are tense, strong, a wall impenetrable. “Why?” He pains. 

You are lost above him, your mouth opening and closing with no words. “I-I…” you stutter and trail off. “I don’t know…” You whisper. “I’ve just- I’ve felt so heavy for so long and he…” you look away, ashamed. It makes him feel a sick sense of satisfaction- that you can feel some semblance of what has tormented him for so long. “He was there…he was just- he knew what he wanted from me.” 

It’s a slash against his heart. “And what makes me any different, then, Kitten?” The nickname doesn’t sound loving here, it is a reminder of the connection you betrayed. With his lust and need getting some satiation, the hurt finally bubbles up within him. 

You don’t say anything. And then- “I’m sorry, Sylus.” It is soft, it falls like snow onto his aching heart, cooling it into stillness. “I didn’t think-“ you cut yourself off. 

He places a hand on your cheek. There is a long moment of quiet. “Thank you…” He whispers, and he presses a cool kiss against your lips. “But I think you should go now.” 

You freeze above him, face shrinking with hurt and guilt. And then you simply nod at him before moving away. He doesn’t look at you as he hears you walk away, he sinks his forehead back into his palm. And your steps fade until the door opens, a soft click as it shuts behind you. 

And he finds himself in the dark of his office once again- shame and hurt and lust and everything that haunts him swirling inside his chest. 

He feels like such a failure. 

He wants you back. 

He wants his marks covering your body.

He wants to be yours. He’s known as such for too long. 

But now- now he realizes he wants you to be his. 

Wholly. Entirely. 

It consumes him.