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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

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That's the one story I can't get enough of. I am so desperately craving for more 😍😍

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part 5

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Three Summary: Lori asks the Brothers if she can make a phone call and finds herself having to deal with her feelings for Sy.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.7k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Three Warnings: Mild smut, fluff, some angst.

Authors Note: I'm feeling better these days. Thank you for your support, I know I'm way behind on comments and reblogs but I will get to them. Thanks to @henryobsessed and @nashibirne for beta reading this chapter.

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Four Part Six (Coming Soon)

Lori

I woke up feeling warmed to my core by a soothing heavy heat. It took me a moment to remember why.

Sy.

It had been a few years since I’d actually spent a night sleeping next to a man. Jake and I rarely slept together other than short naps between sessions.

Oh shit. I forgot about Jake.

I’d have to try and call him. Although the thing between Jake and I was casual, I didn’t feel right standing him up. In the hasty way Sy had made me leave last night and then what happened when we got to the hotel, I’d forgotten about Jake and our plan to hook up tonight. I hadn’t seen him since my parents had died. He had given me the space I wanted and I appreciated that.

I wondered briefly how I would broach the subject of calling him with the Brothers, but then I felt Sy move, and all thoughts of Jake went away.

“Mornin’ Babycakes,” Sy murmured.

“You stayed,” I said, and I lifted my hand to his bearded cheek.

“Toldja I would.”

“Thank you.”

In the bright lights of the morning, I felt embarrassed about my behaviour last night; it's not like me to cry like that. I can’t believe I actually asked him to sleep with me and I had half thought he’d be gone when I woke. But he had stayed.

I lowered my eyes as self-consciousness crept in. All that did was make my ears burn hotter as I saw his chest pressed against mine. He had an amazing body, muscular though not cut, a nicely defined shape, broad at the shoulders and narrowing slightly at his waist. He was hairy across his chest and abdomen, and thoroughly covered in tattoos of all different styles and sizes. His nipple piercings were a tantalising surprise, and made me bite my lip as I wondered if he liked them played with.

I felt his finger under my chin and as I raised my gaze he smiled kindly as if he was trying to tell me my embarrassment was unnecessary. I smiled back and scratched at his beard while he inhaled deeply and his eyes flickered closed. Then they flung open and he shook my hand off his face.

“Walker’s here.”

I lifted my head and saw the same moustached smirk on his too handsome face as I saw last night.

“Good morning,” Walker said evenly. “I assume you slept well. You must have been tired, you barely stirred.”

There was a subtle dig in his statement. I didn’t know what he meant and it made his smirk seem even more lecherous.

“We’ll be leaving shortly. You should get ready,” Walker said but he made no move to leave.

“Give’r some privacy Walker. Let her get dressed,” Sy growled.

Walker raised an eyebrow but stood, straightening his jacket and rolling his neck.

“Breakfast is on its way. Meeting in my room in an hour. We leave from there,” Walker addressed Syverson, pointedly ignoring me and walked out the door.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Walker made me nervous in a way I wasn’t used to with men. When he looked at me I felt like he couldn’t care less about me, while simultaneously wondering what I’d look like naked.

Suddenly I realised what made Walker smirk at me like that. “He thinks we slept together.”

“We did,” Syverson said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes. “I mean, he thinks we…”

“Fucked?”

“Yeah.”

I felt myself blushing while Sy shrugged.

“Probably. The others know nothin’ happened.”

I bit my lip. Well, not exactly nothing happened. There was that moment we almost kissed and we were currently tangled up together. Sy’s heavy thigh was between mine and it would only take a slight movement from him and it’d be pressed up against my core.

Syverson tucked his fingers under my jaw and lifted my chin. Why did he keep doing that and why did I like it?

“I feel a little silly about last night,” I explained.

“Feel fine to me,” Syverson said, smirking. Squeezing me and drawing me closer he added in a low voice, “real fine.”

My body felt shaky and my fingers trembled. God those arms of his felt good. All of him felt good; the coarse hair across his chest, the way his pecs flexed against my body as he drew me closer, the weight of his arms and legs. He was so big I had assumed he’d be rough and brutish, but the way he touched me so gently made me feel delicate and wanted. So much about him was unexpected.

I could see myself falling for him and falling deeply. Who was I kidding? I was already falling and falling fast.

His gaze was darkening, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth, and he let it slip out of his teeth slowly. For a few beats there was silence as his stare burned into me. His breath started getting harder, audible through his slightly flaring nose.

“I want to kiss you,” he said.

My breath was as laboured as his, my heartbeat thundered in my chest and a warmth spread through my body from deep within my centre. I couldn’t speak, I just kept staring at him.

“But I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

I did. So fucking much. I wanted to close my eyes and lean into him, feel those undoubtedly soft lips on mine, and on my neck, and my breasts.

“We better get up,” I said softly.

If Syverson was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He simply dipped his head and let me go.

I slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth with vigour, trying to calm myself down. It wasn’t easy.

When I came out Syverson was starting breakfast. He was dressed, sans guns which were sitting on the small dining table. It had been a while since I had been around guns so casually. Even spending time at the clubhouse, guns were strapped to bodies or hung on walls, not flung on tables. But there they were, sitting amongst our eggs and bacon.

He looked up from concentrating on buttering the toast he laid out on his plate and handed me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” I took a sip then made a face.

“Awful ain’t it?” Syverson chuckled.

“Terrible,” I agreed, smiling, but I took another sip.

“Want me to butter your bread?” he asked with a suggestive smirk.

“You’re disgusting,” I replied with a laugh and shook my head. “I can do it.”

“No trouble. Doin’ mine anyway.”

“Okay,”

“Here, have these ones,” he lifted the plate for me to take the finished slices, but pulled it back quickly, “Hold up, want them cut?”

“You gonna cut the crusts off for me too?” I teased.

Sy grinned, a faint redness blossomed on his cheeks, “If ya want me to, li’l girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I said petulantly, playing along.

“I know,” he said, still grinning. His eyes wandered slowly over my body.

My mouth felt dry and I quickly took a big gulp of my coffee to break myself from his gaze.

We ate in silence. Sy ate quickly, much quicker than me and sipped on his coffee watching me eat. I kept sneaking glances at him and each time I found his eyes on me.

I was nervous as we entered Walker’s room. Despite his reassurances, I was sure the guys would see me differently. I don’t know if they believed we hadn’t actually had sex, and worried they would look at me like Walker had. Plus, I felt that even though we hadn’t actually fucked, my desire to would be written all over my face. Sy had to practically drag me in, and I held his hand in a firm grip.

He had been right though. Every face except Walker’s turned to me as I entered the room, each one seemed friendly and genuine. Mike’s grin was comically big, and he patted the bed next to him.

“Saved ya a spot.”

Sy let my hand go and I snuck a peek at him. He smiled and nodded his head towards Mike.

“Go on,” Sy said, almost indulgently. I was confused by his response, but he folded his arms and gestured towards Mike again.

Mike’s grin grew bigger, and he snuck a quick kiss on my cheek as I sat beside him. I blushed and laughed at his boldness turning away quickly and Mike chuckled. I cautiously raised my eyes to Sy who just shrugged and gave me one of his silly winks.

Walker cleared his throat, throwing a hard look at me. The room grew serious, and the meeting began. He outlined his plan for the day, laid out a few contingencies, including what to do if we separated. It was agreed I would ride with Sy, but I noticed a slight disdain in his voice. They confirmed stop points, and where they planned to spend the night.

“Any questions?” Walker asked as the toolbox meeting rounded up.

I looked around the room, all the Brothers were shaking their heads.

“I have one,” I said softly.

“You’re here as a courtesy, not for operational input,” Walker said dismissively.

“It’s not about that. It’s personal.”

Walker sighed like he had no time for personal matters and made a hurry up gesture.

“Can I make a phone call?”

“We’ve already told your brother of your status,” he said.

“Thank you. But no, I don’t mean Nate.”

“We’ve organised time off work.”

“It’s a friend.”

“Your brother contacted your friends, letting them know of a family emergency.”

I swallowed hard and looked at the floor. “He doesn’t know about this one,” I said softly.

“Boyfriend?” Sy asked with a hint of hurt. I looked at him and his face reflected his tone.

“We weren’t told about a boyfriend,” Walker frowed. He didn't seem upset because I may have a boyfriend, he seemed pissed off that something was kept from him that could fuck up his operation.

“He’s not my boyfriend…” I paused trying to find the right words to explain Jake. “It’s not exactly a relationship you’d tell your brother about.”

“Oooh. Kinky,” Mike piped up. Marshall smacked the back of his head, and I suppressed a grin despite how I felt.

“No. It’s…” My eyes went to Sy; I wanted him to understand for some reason. Why do I care what he thinks of me? What any of them think of me for that matter? “Just not… committed… we’re…”

“Friends,” Sy suggested softly. I nodded and he smiled.

“Fuck buddies,” Mike spoke again, raising his hand like he wanted to hi-five me, “Nice.”

Geralt smacked his head this time, giving him a low growl.

Walker seemed to have had enough and sighed. “Call him. Syverson, let her use your phone and monitor the call. Make sure she gives nothing away.” I opened my mouth to protest but he talked over me, “You’ll have access to a phone when we get to the clubhouse. But no phone calls with anyone except your brother. You contact anyone else and your phone privileges will be revoked. Do we have an understanding?”

I crossed my arms beneath my breasts and did my best impersonation of a thirteen year old girl. “Yes Daddy.”

I heard snickers from Sy and Mikey. August raised his eyebrow, so I stuck out my tongue. Geralt and Walter joined the chorus of muffled chortles.

“Get her the fuck out of here Syverson, before I show her just how strict this Daddy can be.”

The lurid look in his eyes made my eyes widen slightly before I schooled my features. He saw though. He fucking saw and he smirked. I felt my face start to burn so I stood and turned away quickly, going straight for the door. Sy followed me out, closing the door behind him.

But not before I heard August chuckle.

Still fuming by the time we got back to the room, I snatched the phone out of Sy’s hand and looked around for some privacy.

“Sit,” Sy said firmly, “And put it on speaker.”

His tone made me pause, “Are you mad at me?”

“No, Babycakes,” he said, reaching out to cup my neck, his thumb caressing my cheek. “Next time you need something, you come to me,” he paused like he just thought of something and added, “Or Marshall or Geralt if I ain’t around, ‘kay?”

“Okay, Sy.”

“Good girl,” he said.

His off handed praise made me bite my lip. Fuck, the tension between us was mounting to the point where I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist him if he tried anything. As I looked at him, I almost regretted saying no to the kiss this morning. And the offer he made last night.

“Make the call,” he said roughly, leaning back into the chair.

A little rattled myself, I tapped in Jake’s number. It rang so long I thought he wasn’t going to pick up. I’d have to send him a text or something. Breaking up via text is not what he deserves, even if he was just a casual hook up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jake. It’s Lori. How are you?”

“Great. Why are you calling from a private number? You ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, that’s good, babygirl,” his voice dropped to a deeper tone. “Looking forward to seeing you again. I keep thinking about how good your pus—”

“Yeah, uh, here’s the thing,” I interrupted quickly. My face felt like it was on fire, and I consciously avoided looking at Sy.

“Uh oh. You’re cancelling.”

“Yeah, uh…” Fuck, I had no idea what to say to him. “I shouldn’t have said yes in the first place. I’m not… I’m not really in a good headspace.”

“Your parents?” he asked softly, concern evident in his tone.

A lump formed in my throat. I opened my mouth to reply, then shut it again. I made a noise that I hoped sounded like agreement.

“I understand. Maybe I could come over and hang out at your place? No pressure to do anything, let's just hang out.”

I panicked and looked at Sy.

Sy leaned in close and whispered lowly in my ear, “Tell him you’re stayin’ at the club house with your brother.”

“I’m not at my place, I’m staying with my brother,” I repeated.

“Oh, well you could still come to my place. Sounds like you need a friend and…”

“Look, Jake, I said no.” My voice came out harsher than I expected.

Why did Jake have to be so sweet all of a sudden? He changed when my parents died, calling me more often, wanting to see me. It dawned on me that he may have wanted more than just a causal relationship. I don’t know why but it made me angry.

“I’m sorry, I don't get it. What’s going on? A few days ago you said you were–”

“I don’t want to see you right now. I’m sorry, I… I’m going through some shit. I need space. I’m not…”

“Babygirl, Let me help you…”

“Jake this is what it is, nothing more. I’m sorry.” I ended the call and felt the sting of frustrated tears. Again. I quickly wiped my eyes, frustrated that I couldn’t keep my emotions in check.

Sy reached out and put his hand on my knee, giving me an almost fatherly pat.

“Friend, huh?” Sy asked with a sly grin.

“I didn’t know… It was only ever a hook up,” he humphed and I shook my head. “I feel like an asshole. He’s a nice guy.”

“Sometimes fuckin’ is just fuckin’,” Sy said rubbing my thigh gently. “Sometimes it’s more, and ya can’t always tell which one the other person thinks it is.”

There was a sincerity to his tone that surprised me, but even more surprising was his gentleness, his kindness. He didn’t have to be. He is obviously interested in me, made several advances and… Oh.

“Is that what you want with me?” I asked softly, “Just fucking?”

Sy shook his head slowly. He put his hand on my nape and drew me close. His smile twitched and he looked like he was going to say something but he kept his mouth shut.

“Come ‘ere.”

He patted his thigh and lifted his chin, beckoning me closer. I felt like I was having some kind of out of body experience. It was so unlike me, but when Sy wasn’t being flirty and got serious, my brain melted down and I couldn’t act, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare back at him. He put his hands on my hips and guided me to stand. I let him, and sat on his lap, my legs across his.

“You keep makin’ eyes at me, baby,” he said in a low gravelly voice and bounced me on his legs until I was sitting just so. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were tryin’ to tell me somethin’. Now, you tell me if I’m wrong, but I think you want to kiss me as much as I wanna kiss you.”

I looked away, feeling embarrassed at being so called out. I heard him chuckle and he cupped my cheek, slowly turning my head until I faced him again.

“You’re not wrong… but…”

“But what?” He said grinning broadly,

“I don’t date bikers,” I said.

“I ain’t askin’ for a date.”

I huffed. “Of course not, how stupid of me.”

He chuckled, “I don’t date clients.”

“But you do fuck them,” I retorted, completely aware of how petulant I sounded.

Sy shook his head. “I never have.”

“So what are you asking for?”

His brows furrowed and for a moment he seemed genuinely confused. He opened his mouth to say something when there was a knock on the door and Mike stuck his head in. His eyes darted around then widened as he took in our position.

“You want somethin’, Mike?” Sy prompted, roughly.

“Walker says we’ve gotta go.”

Sy grimaced. “Tell him we’ll be out in a minute.”

He waited until Mike left before he spoke again.

“I care about ya, Lori. We all do.”

I nodded and hung my head, confusion muddling my thoughts until I couldn’t tell up from down. My throat felt tight and for a second I thought I might cry again.

“Hey,” Sy said, his drawl soft and hypnotic, “I don’t know where this can go, but since the first moment I saw ya I haven’t been able to getcha outta my head.”

He licked his lips and stared at mine as my tongue mimicked his actions. His arms tightened around me, and I closed my eyes. I couldn’t say no anymore, I wanted him too much, he’d invaded me and I couldn’t fight it anymore.

I felt his breath like a caress on my moistened lips and I waited but felt nothing. I opened my eyes.

“You sure?” he asked, “once I kiss ya, there’s no goin’ back for me.”

“Please, Sy,” I murmured, leaning my head down until our foreheads nearly touched.

His lips brushed mine, soft as suede, like he was still testing me. I felt the tension in his shoulders as I slid my hand up his arm to his neck. His beard tickled my cheeks, chin and nose and I felt its pleasant tingle through my nerves down my spine.

I moaned as he stroked my lips, parting them with gentle force until his tongue swept across them. I shivered and fire hit me between my legs as his velvety tongue slid over mine and I pulled him closer.

Then it was over, he pulled away with a mumbled curse. I felt light headed, dizzy, I don’t think I took a breath the whole time. I opened my eyes and saw that his were following the path of his hand down my arm.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered and I felt crushed. Then his fervent eyes met mine and he took my face in his hands then angled my head until my throat was bare to him. He kissed me there, speaking softly into my skin, “Shoulda waited ‘til we had more time.”

“Oh.” I said simply because like my breath, my words were gone.

“Fuck, we gotta go.”

He stood quickly, wrapping an arm around me, standing me up with him. He grabbed our bags and I dumbly followed behind, my fingers on my still tingling lips.

I glanced at him as he had his hand on the door and he turned his head. Abruptly he dropped the bags and pushed me against the wall, his lips on mine as his hand cradled my head.

This kiss was nothing like the last one. There was a desperation, a need as his tongue filled my mouth, invading, exploring and demanding. I clung to him weakly as his mouth moved down my neck. He hooked my leg onto his hip then slowly circled and I could feel him, hard and ready against me. I moved with him, I couldn’t stop my own desperation showing through.

He lifted my shirt, and he buried his head into the top of my breasts, his lips sucking softly tongue lapping like he was tasting me.

“Sy…” I breathed, leaning my heavy head back against the wall.

He groaned into my skin, and my knee threatened to give out as his teeth nipped at me. I became liquid in his arms, surrendering completely and completely lost.

There was a knock at the door and quicker than I could track, Sy pulled my shirt down and pressed his body against the door.

“She’s in the bathroom,” he said, “We’re comin’.”

Disorientated, I smoothed my hair down and righted my shirt with hands that trembled. Jesus Christ that man could kiss.

“You ok?” he asked.

I nodded, still a little stunned. He drew me close and laid a gentle kiss on my hairline.

“Speechless, huh? Musta been good.”.

His teasing snapped me out of my stupor and I pushed him away with a laugh.

“Or so terrible I’m still trying to work out a way to let you down gently.”

“There’s my girl,” he chuckled. He picked up our bags and put his arm around me. “C’mon, let’s go.”

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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

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Holy Hell @sillyrabbit81 I am already addicted to this.... That's so fabulous 😍😍❤️❤️

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood Part 3

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Three Summary: Lori meets the Brothers.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 4 k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Three Warnings:

Masturbation, caught in the act, flirting, smutty thoughts, embarrassment, angst, fluff.

Authors Note: Thanks to @henryobsessed for beta reading.

I hope you enjoy it!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Two Part Four (Coming Soon)

Lori

We had only been on the highway for a few minutes when I heard the other bikes. They drew up in formation and briefly took up all four lanes. Each rider was wearing their colours and full-face helmets so I couldn’t get a read on any of them, other than they all looked to be close to Sy’s size and build. Well, except one, who seemed a little slimmer, but was at least as tall as the others.

One of the riders signalled something to Syverson who inclined his head in response. Then two of the bikes pulled ahead while two others fell behind and they stayed that way for the rest of the journey.

The problem with being a pillion on a motorcycle, especially on a long stretch of highway, was that you didn’t have much to do except think.

It wasn’t something I normally had a problem with, I was fairly comfortable with my own company for the most part, but I had a lot on my mind and not a lot of it was pleasant.

There was one incessant thought, one that wouldn’t leave me alone despite how often I tried to ignore it. It was inescapable considering my arms were currently wrapped around the subject of those thoughts.

Syverson. He was a complication in my life that I didn't need right now.

The first problem was that he was attracted to me.

I shouldn’t be surprised really. Not because I thought of myself as remarkably good looking, but because he’s a biker and I’d heard the phrase “any hole is a goal” uttered too many times by guys like him to take his attraction as anything more than a passing interest.

When I realised he was checking me out, my first thought was that I should take advantage of it because if I got him on my side it might make dealing with him and the rest of the Brothers easier. So I played up the innocent girl act by biting my lip and looking wide-eyed. But if I'm honest with myself, it had only been partly an act.

The truth was I found Sy to be ridiculously hot.

And funny.

And honest.

And kind.

And sweet Jesus, when he swept his thumb over my lips I almost moaned.

Which was my second problem. I was attracted to him too.

Sy might appear a little different to most of the bikers I knew, but in the end, he was in the life and that meant he was not a viable option as a romantic partner. I’d seen too much heartache and too many failed relationships to go down that road.

I loved my mother, but I didn’t want her life. A life walking around a clubhouse wearing a patch that read “Property of ….” so other assholes don’t try to touch you, always being worried about his fidelity and the social stigma that comes from being associated. Not to mention the constant stress of knowing your partner could end up in jail or dead.

Still, there was no harm in flirting with him, right? Who knows how long I was going to be stuck with them, so what was the harm in having a bit of fun? I’m sure he’d be up for it. I've yet to meet a biker who wasn't keen for a bit of no strings attached sex.

No, not a good idea. Not with Sy anyway. I liked him too much already. He had made me laugh for God’s sake. After all the shit I’d been through, it only took one perfectly imperfect wink for me to melt. If he'd tried to pick me up in a bar and he wasn't in the life, there's no doubt in my mind I’d go home with him.

No. Hooking up with Sy would be too risky. The last thing I wanted was to catch feelings.

I concentrated on ignoring how hard his body was, how good he smelled, how blue his eyes were, and how cute his dimples were when he smiled.

Fuck. Maybe it was already too late.

After a couple of hours of fixating on Sy and arguing with myself, I finally found something that took my mind off it.

I was freezing.

The icy wind of the Arizona desert cut right through my jeans. My knees were starting to ache and my leg muscles cramped.

I huddled closer to Sy, leaning my head against his shoulder to use his huge form as a windbreak. It worked, mostly, but my hands were unprotected, my gloves were no longer enough to keep my fingers from growing numb. I started making fists, trying to keep the blood pumping, hoping it would warm me up.

I felt Sy take my hands, one at a time, and slip each into his unzipped pockets in the front of his jacket. Instantly they felt warmer, and once again I was surprised by his kind gesture.

I tightened my arms around him, hoping he’d realise I was trying to thank him. He seemed to understand and gave my knee a gentle pat. He left it there for a few moments, and I could feel the warmth of him heating my cold knee through his glove.

Ever so slowly, he moved his hand down my calf and rubbed it gently, as if he were massaging heat back into my cramping muscles, before he worked his way up again. I held my breath as he patted my thigh and I squeezed him tight again, this time tightening my thighs as well.

I suddenly didn’t feel quite as cold.

I was not going to fall for him, I was not going to let his tender gestures fool me. I was not going to be seduced by a few moments of sweetness and a nice smile and a strong body and amused eyes so clear and blue they were like the sky on a cloudless day.

No way. Not worth it.

As soon as the cold ebbed away, a sudden wave of weariness hit me and I felt tired. Dead tired.

The rumbling sound of the v-twin between my legs, its gentle vibration at this speed, and the smoothness of the road became a soothing lullaby, and I found myself dozing, suspended in the twilight between being awake and asleep. It made the final hours fly by and it wasn’t until we turned off the highway that I was able to stay awake.

By the time Sy and the other riders pulled into a motel it was very late, well after midnight, and I felt a little sorry for the other guests. Not many people can sleep through the sound of one set of aftermarket pipes, let alone five.

When Sy killed the engine, I groaned as a muscle in the bottom of my foot tightened. It was gonna take a minute for me to get off the damn bike and I was a little embarrassed as the others were already lifting their long legs over their rides and Sy was waiting patiently for me to dismount. The guy who had signalled Sy on the highway headed towards hotel reception immediately, not even taking the time to remove his helmet.

I took a deep breath and willed myself to clamber ungracefully off the bike. My legs protested, but I was able to clear the bike before they gave out and I stumbled into a firm body that caught me by the shoulders before I ate pavement.

“Ooft! Easy sweetheart.”

I looked up at a man with a beard similar to Sy’s, but his hair fell around his face in thick curls, almost like a cherub from an old painting. His blue eyes were serious and a little stern, even as a smile split his face and his voice was unexpectedly warm. My breath caught in my throat, he was gorgeous.

“Has Syverson already worn you out?” he asked in a gentle voice with a soft and polite English accent.

His hands held my upper arms, straightening me until I was standing again. My legs still felt like jelly, and not just because of exhaustion. I was right when I thought the other riders were as big as Sy, this guy was at least as burly. But unlike Syverson this guy had the appearance of a cranky grizzly, having little of Sy’s playfulness despite his smile.

“Ease up, Marshall,” Sy said. I looked at him gratefully and one side of his mouth turned up in a smile in return.

“She’s fine,” Marshall said, and I turned back to him.

He was staring at me, his head tilted to the side showing off a large black and grey rose tattoo on his neck and a small gage in his ear. He looked like he was studying me, and from the wolfish grin on his face, he seemed to like what he saw. My heart started to race, thundering so loud I thought there was no way he couldn’t hear it.

“Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

I nodded slowly and Marshall tentatively let me go, keeping his hands close as if he thought I would fall again. Once he was satisfied I could stand on my own accord, he loosened the straps of my helmet and gently took it off before smoothing my tousled hair. He tucked the helmet under his arm while he helped me take my gloves off and shoved them into the helmet.

Two more bikers flanked Marshall. Both were unbelievably appealing too. One of them drew my attention immediately because of his unusual and striking appearance. He had silvery-white hair pulled back into a braid which isn’t unusual in itself but his face wasn’t that of an old man; he looked to be in his late 30s. The other was younger, probably my age, no way was he over 25. He appeared to have a youthful enthusiasm that I hadn’t seen in the others.

I stared at all four of them with my mouth no doubt agape. These weren’t bikers, these were models, each one more attractive than the last.

“I’m Mike,” the younger one introduced himself, grinning broadly.

He was cute and cheerful, his blue eyes seemed to sparkle as if he knew something you didn’t. He had a barbell piercing through his eyebrow and a small stud in one of his ears. There was a glimpse of a tattoo that poked above his jacket and up his neck, but I couldn’t make out what it was.

I instantly liked him and returned his affable smile. In a way, he reminded me of my brother before the drugs and the club sucked the life out of his eyes. I stuck my hand out to give him a shake, but before I could introduce myself, he threw his arms wide and wrapped them around my waist. He squeezed with a groan and lifted my feet off the ground. I yelped but started to giggle; I was not expecting this level of flirtation within seconds of meeting him. I liked it though, his flirtations came across as playful and fun rather than sleazy.

“Mike,” Sy barked.

“Fuck, alright.” Mike put me down but not before he whispered in my ear, “He never lets me have any fun.”

Mike planted a quick kiss on my cheek and let me go. Marshall must have seen because he smacked the back of Mike’s head.

“Fucking creep,” Marshall reprimanded.

I was worried that it would go further than that, but Mike just chuckled and rubbed the back of his head like it was something he was used to.

Sy stood beside me and laid a heavy arm lightly around my shoulders, directing my attention to the other biker.

“This old man is Geralt,” he said, smirking.

Geralt gave Sy a weary look from beneath lowered brows before he offered me his hand with a half-smile. I took it and I gasped as I looked at his eyes, I had never seen such bright amber eyes in real life before. They were beautiful and appeared to shine even in the darkness of the car park. I opened my mouth to tell him my name when I heard another voice behind me.

“Syverson.” A set of keys were thrown at Sy, which Sy caught easily in one hand. “Take the client to her room, you take the first watch.”

I turned to the guy, he wasn’t looking at me, his eyes were on Marshall, throwing him another set of keys.

“Marshall, you’re with Mike, second, third shift. Geralt, you’re with me, fourth, I’m fifth. Any questions?”

I felt Sy stiffen, seeming to bristle at the orders. This last Brother was obviously in charge and when he finally looked in my direction, I could see why.

He took my breath away. He was just as attractive as the others but he had a next level aura of danger that the others couldn’t compete with. He shouldn’t be so good looking; by all rights his Tom Selleck moustache should look ridiculous, but it somehow didn’t.

“Walker,” he said simply.

“Lori,” I managed to mumble. There was something about Walker that simultaneously made me feel hot and cold. He wasn’t tattooed or pierced the way the others were, but he was far more intimidating than the rest of the Brothers.

He smirked and raised his eyebrows as he looked me up and down.

“She’s pretty,” he said, while still appraising me, and obviously not addressing me, “but I don’t get what all the fuss is about.”

Heat rose to my cheeks as anger and embarrassment swirled within me. I was tired, sore, and been through hell in the two weeks since my parents had been killed; the last thing I wanted to do was get into an argument in a car park. But I knew if I was going to get any respect from this guy I couldn’t let his rudeness slide. I knew guys like Walker and I couldn’t let him get away with shit like that or he’ll think he can walk all over me.

I was also too exhausted to fight, too tense, so I snatched the keys and my bag out of Sy’s hands and made my way to the room.

“Jesus, Walker,” Sy said behind me. “Do ya always have to be such an asshole?”

If Walker replied, I didn’t hear it.

I opened my room and slammed the door closed, locking it behind me. I went straight for the bathroom, dropping my pack carelessly on the bed and stripping off my clothes as I went.

The room was basic but clean and well maintained, however the bathroom left a lot to be desired. I took one look at the showerhead and knew it wouldn’t be the best shower of my life.

When I turned the water on, the pressure was so hard I had to cover my nipples before I could stand to be under the spray. But the water was blessedly hot and was exactly what I needed to soothe away the aches and pains of the ride.

I leaned my forehead against the tiles and took advantage of the harsh spray, letting the water massage my back. It felt good, real good, and as my thoughts started to drift, a familiar need began deep in my core as my body cried out for my nearly nightly ritual before I slept.

My hand moved slowly over my breasts, nipples hardening under my fingers, I turned around, the water pressure no longer hurt, the stinging pain only served to heighten my arousal. I pressed my back against the cool tiles as my hand drifted lower, the competing temperatures made my skin feel electrified, sensitive to every touch. My fingers danced slowly over my belly, getting lower, and lower until they slid over the small patch of hair on my mound. I shivered as the pads of my fingers ghosted over my clit, seeking the warmth and slick of my throbbing heat.

A moan escaped my throat as I slid two fingers inside me, curling them deeply, feeling for that smooth spongy spot. It was hard to reach at this angle, so I widened my legs, curled my spine and groaned as I found it.

I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts wander, thinking for a moment of Jake, my sometimes fuck buddy, but quickly my thoughts shifted, and it was no longer his face I saw in my mind.

Images of Sy came quickly, the way he felt as I held him while we rode. How he had caressed my leg sent shivers up my spine as I imagined him touching me like that again, skin against skin.

But that wasn’t all, I thought of all of them, Marshall, Mike, Geralt, wondered how each of them would feel. Would their hands be rough on my skin? Would their lips be soft on mine? Would they grunt and groan? Would they whisper words of praise in my ear? Were they dominant, or primal, or tender, or giving, or maybe all of it at once? I know I shouldn’t let these men invade my fantasies, but God, I couldn’t stop.

Then I thought of Walker with that smirk, that teasing grin that made me want to both slap him and drop to my knees.

“Fuck,” I mumbled as my thighs started to tremble.

“Fuck!” cried a louder, deeper voice.

I froze. I became a deer in headlights as I looked towards the door and saw a figure distorted by the thin layer of condensation that clung to the glass of the shower.

Snapping into action, I swiped an arm across the glass catching a fleeting glimpse of a wide-eyed Sy as he slammed the bathroom door shut.

I turned the water off and grabbed a towel, my breath coming in heaves, my guts churning as my face burned with embarrassment.

Okay. Think about this clearly. He couldn’t have actually seen anything, the glass was too fogged up.

He had heard though, there was no doubt about that.

Oh God.

I had been thinking about him, and the others too. I had left the bathroom door open and everything, he’s going to think that I did that on purpose. But I didn’t, I had locked the door to the room and…

Asshole!

Fury overtook my shame and I stormed out of the bathroom.

“You pervert! I locked the door.”

Sy was standing by the window, peeking through the curtains. His jacket was off, slung over the back of a chair and a silver handled gun was strapped to his thigh. He turned slowly, taking in my appearance and sucked on his bottom lip as he took a few steps towards me.

“It’s a hotel, Babycakes. They have spare keys.”

“My name is Lori and I would have thought a locked door meant I wanted privacy.”

Shrugging, he grinned. “You ain’t gonna get much privacy until we get to the Clubhouse.”

“What? You’re staying in here?” My voice was a little shrill but Sy nodded and I shook my head. “No. I thought you’d wait outside the door. I don’t want to be sleeping here with… men I don’t know.”

I almost said Walker but stopped myself. Oddly he was the only one I didn’t feel like I could trust.

“You scared of us, baby?” Sy asked in a low voice.

The back of his fingers skimmed over my still damp shoulder and down my arm. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, his touch was eerily similar to what I had just been fantasising about, gentle yet deliberate, hot and thrilling.

“Why?” My voice was huskier than I hoped it would be. “Does that turn you on? Is that the kind of sick shit your club is into?”

“Not at all,” Sy replied steadily, smirking, “I like my women willin’.” He cupped a hand under my jaw, lifting my chin higher. “Did ya finish the job in there?”

My eyes widened in shock, I didn’t think he would be so bold as to come right out and say what he saw. He chuckled as his hand slid down my neck, resting on the bare skin of my chest.

“I could give ya a hand if ya want,” Sy said, his voice seemed lower if that was possible, deeper, rougher, deliberately seductive, “Might feel good.”

“Is that a standard service you offer as part of your contract or…?”

I tried to sound disinterested, but my voice betrayed me. I was breathless, my body was a hot, throbbing mess. Sy licked his lips and my eyes were drawn to them. They looked so plush and inviting, and the whiskers surrounding his mouth seemed so soft.

“It’s an optional extra,” Sy shrugged and his fingers traced the edge of my towel, “But for you, I’ll throw it in for free, no charge.”

“No thanks.”

It’s what I said but it’s not what I meant. I said no out of habit, having said no to men like him my entire life. It was a lie and an obvious one. My fingers were already sinking into his beard, and I could feel him clench his jaw beneath my touch and his nostrils flared. Taking half a step closer, I met his eyes. They were hooded, dark and still held a glimmer of amusement. His hand moved to the nape of my neck, the other snaked around my waist, resting on the small of my back.

“Then how ‘bout I eat ya pussy cause I want to?”

He pulled me closer, our bodies met and his fingers slid into my hair. I put a hand to the centre of his chest, I had every intention of pushing him away and he must have known because he held me tighter, pressing his hardness into my hip.

“’Cause I wanna hear ya make those noises again, but this time I want you to make ‘em because of me.”

My core fluttered, no it was more than that, every muscle in my body seemed to quiver with anticipation of his offer, and dear God did he have the confidence of a man that knew he could deliver.

“No thanks,” I managed to utter. Barely.

Sy’s grin didn’t waver as he inhaled deeply and let me go.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug and went back to his position by the window.

It took me a minute to get my bearings. I was completely dumbstruck, still overwhelmed by Sy even though he was now across the room.

I cleared my throat and swallowed hard. Fuck me, was I in trouble here.

Sy glanced at me over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk.

“You’re really gonna stay here all night?” I asked.

“For a couple of hours, then one of the others will take over,” he said, his voice sounding a little more serious and matter of fact than it had moments ago.

I didn’t like the sound of that. All five of them coming and going in my room while I slept, me not knowing who I’d wake up to?

Despite Sy’s advance or maybe because of it, I felt like I could trust him and would rather he stayed with me than the others. Having to keep an eye on one horny biker would be easier than having to watch out for five.

I took my bag from the bed and dressed in the bathroom, with the door closed. Though I was beat, I blow dried my hair with the shitty hair dryer the hotel had attached to the wall before braiding it.

While I was brushing my teeth I looked at my pyjamas in the mirror, realising now why Sy had chuckled when he saw them. When I packed, I had no idea the Brothers would actually be in my room with me. The tank top was so thin you could see the dark pinkish skin around my nipples.

The thought made my body warm. Part of me liked the thought of them seeing me like this. But I knew it would be a mistake to go down that road. Nope, my pussy would be a barren wasteland for the foreseeable future.

Pointedly not looking at Sy, I went back into the room and grabbed my shirt from the floor, turning it the right way round and slipping it on over the top.

First thing I was going to do when I got to the clubhouse was buy new pyjamas.

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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

Text

I love it... Can't wait for more ❤️

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part One Summary: After her parents death, Lori is back at the club she grew up in and finds herself being sent away with an attractive but completely unknown biker.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.3k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Reverse harem, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part One Warnings:

Mention of death, drug use, violence, body fluids, slight angst, blink and you'll miss it implication of smut.

Authors Note: I've been working on this story for about nine months, maybe more? I keep thinking I'm going to forget about it, but it keeps worming its way back into my brain and the only way to purge it is to write it and post it, so I woke up this morning and decided fuck it, post it.

I have a heap of people to thank for discussing the story with me and for beta reading. Because it's been such a long process, if I have forgotten you, I sincerely apologise. So thanks a million to @amberangel112 @henryobsessed @littlefreya @nashibirne

I hope you enjoy it!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Lori

When I noticed the gathering started winding down and some of the out of state clubs began to leave, I was able to breathe a little easier for the first time in two weeks.

Although I thought it unlikely that the uneasy truce of a wake would be disturbed by anything more than a punch up, I still worried about it and the subsequent attention of the media and the cops. I had hopes that my face wouldn't be plastered all over the news, but it seemed a little unlikely given the scrutiny that the funeral had been under. I was under no illusions that my brother would escape unscathed.

Thinking of my brother made me glance at Nate.

I sighed; It was a good thing the media weren’t here now, and the cops were too chicken shit to try and breach the walls of the compound.

With a rolled-up $50 note up his nose and two women hanging off him, Nate was the epitome of the biker stereotype. His dirty blonde hair hung to his shoulders, his face was hardened and scarred, making him seem older than his thirty years, as did the tattooed cursive on his forehead just beneath his hairline.

Nate took his hit, throwing his head back and wiping at his nose. He grinned as he sniffed and handed the note to one of the girls. I could hear his snort across the room and above the thrumming beat of the dance music; his nostrils must be fucked.

From what I knew, he’d been like this for days, and although normally he tried to hide the extent of his drug habit from me, the fact he was openly high and allowing one of the girls to rub his crotch showed how far gone he was.

I’d like to think his behaviour was a one off, that it was his way of dealing with Mum and Dad's death. But I doubted it.

So much had changed since I last spent any time at the clubhouse to the point where it was almost unrecognisable. The common room used to be homey despite being in an industrial building; carpeted with soft sofas, plush rugs and sturdy wooden coffee tables. Now it was like a nightclub, complete with stripper poles, black and red leather sofas, smoky glass topped tables, and neon lights.

I hated it.

Crossing my legs, I started to get angry. I used to love coming here when Dad was President, seeing all my uncles and their families. Even memories of the sweets and sodas the guys used to sneak me behind my mother’s back wasn’t enough to calm my mood. Thoughts of the last few times I was here were too vivid. Seeing what my father and brother had become and the way my uncles had stopped seeing me as a little girl made me stop coming here about five years ago. It was also about the time Mum had finally decided to divorce Dad.

I’d had enough, seen enough. Nate didn’t even appear to be on planet earth anymore; he won’t notice if I slip out. I’ll just go home, have a long bath, maybe call Jake and invite him over.

As stealthily as I could, I got my bag and nearly made it to the small cut out of the closed roller door when a Prospect laid a hand roughly on my wrist. His fingers dug into my skin painfully and he pulled my arm with a short jerk, bringing me closer, until my body bumped into his.

“Hooks wants a word,” he said, all smug and grinning as if this idiot knew what Nate would want with me.

I didn’t know him, but I knew a million like him, and he thinks he knows me. He thinks I’m just another girl, one of the desperate groupies who hang around hoping to tame a wild biker or use them for drugs or clout. He obviously didn’t know Nate was my brother, or he’d never lay a hand on me.

Looking down at my wrist, I smirked before raising my eyes, letting as much of my anger seep through as I dared. I may have been out of the life for years, but I still knew how to play the game.

“I suggest you remove your hand, Prospect before…”

I didn’t get to finish my warning as a fist smashed into the boy’s face. His nose made a sickening crunch followed by a crimson spray of blood which splattered on the floor barely missing my heels.

The fist belonged to Hustle who was grinning like a Cheshire cat at the chance to expel some pent up aggression. He was Nate’s Sergeant at Arms, his enforcer, and my father’s before that. He loved a bit of a fight, but he wasn’t crazy, his violence was usually held on a tight leash.

“Fuck off, pup,” he growled. His eyes danced, obviously not 100% sober, but it was alcohol rather than drugs that Hustle preferred.

The Prospect held his nose and his tongue, but the fiery hatred that burned in his eyes couldn’t be hidden.

“Hooks wants her,” he managed to say, spitting blood onto the concrete floor.

“I’ll take her to her brother,” Hustle said, amused at the way the Prospect's face went white and his eyes widened. Hustle chuckled as the Prospect mumbled apologies to me and scampered away.

“Think he’ll make it?” I asked Hustle when he turned back to me.

Hustle shrugged, it wasn’t really his decision to make but being a senior member of the club, his opinion had weight.

“Takes a punch like a champ, that’s a good sign.” Then he smiled at me, “You alright, Babycakes?”

I mirrored his smile, I couldn’t help it; until two weeks ago no one had called me Babycakes in years. I had almost forgotten the nickname until I was suddenly and violently thrust back into this world.

The name had been bestowed on me when I was a kid. I had complained bitterly that everyone else I knew had a cool nickname and I wanted one too. I can’t remember who first called me that, it was probably Hustle himself. He was one of the few guys in the club I still trusted, he never made a pass at me as I grew into a woman, and that had meant a lot to me at the time. It still did.

“Yeah, I’m good. What does Nate want?”

“Dunno,” Hustle lied smoothly.

I rolled my eyes at him, and he shrugged again. He’d defend me against anyone, but his loyalty was to the club before anything and anyone else, including me.

“C’mon,” he said, putting a soft hand on my upper back and guiding me gently but firmly to my father’s old office.

The room was one thing that Nate hadn’t changed in the years since he’d slowly taken over Dad’s empire. The office was still clad in rich wood panelling, painted blood red, with black accents. Various memorabilia filled the room including a large fresco of the club’s Colours which drew the eye to the wall behind my father’s dark timbre desk. I remember when Dad commissioned it, he had been so proud to show it off.

Nate was standing near the desk, talking to another biker I’d never met before. I didn’t remember seeing him at the funeral, but there were a lot of out of towners there.

He was good looking enough, with close cropped hair, a scruffy dark brown beard and bright blue eyes that seemed intelligent but still had that familiar aura of danger that I used to think all men possessed. Physically broad and well built, he didn’t strike me as a guy who indulged in vices the way Nate and most of his club did. He seemed fit, if a little soft around the edges; he had the body of a strong man rather than a bodybuilder. His thick arms were visible below the sleeves of his black t-shirt, revealing black and grey tattoos of engines, flames, smoke and skulls. Memento Mori was written in cursive across his throat, though it was partially hidden by his beard. My Brother’s Keeper was etched along one forearm and Never Alone across the other, both in the same elaborate script and gaudy silver and gold rings encircled nearly all his fingers. He would make an imposing figure to anyone who hadn’t grown up with men like him.

His jacket was hanging on the back of one of the chairs in front of my father’s desk. I couldn’t place the colours, except of course for the 1% patch. He had to be from out of state, I knew all the clubs in Nevada, but I had never heard of The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood and the large wolf’s head howling at the moon was too recognisable for me to have forgotten a patch like that.

Out of Town nodded towards me as I entered the room. I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes; maybe he had been at the funeral after all. He seemed polite and business-like on the surface, but his eyes studied me intently, lingering briefly on my breasts.

To be fair though, his gaze was practically that of a gentleman’s in this world so I let it slide and nodded back to him before lazily flopping on one of the leather sofas, hoping my casualness would hide my apprehension.

“What do you want, Nate?” I asked, hoping I sounded terse rather than worried.

“I need to talk to you about some things,” he said, sounding surprisingly level-headed considering the copious amounts of drugs he’s been taking. The words ‘functional addict’ crossed my mind.

“I’ve been here all day, hell, I’ve been around for nearly two weeks. You’ve had all that time to talk to me, now I’m tired and I want to go home. Can’t we talk about it tomorrow?”

“The contact only just got finalised,” he explained.

“A contract?” I shook my head. “No. You know I don’t want to know anything about—”

“This contract is about you,” Nate interrupted.

I blinked and looked from Nate to Out of Town to Hustle and back to Nate. “Excuse me?”

“For your protection,” Nate added.

“I’m not in the life, I don’t—”

“Neither was your mum, Babycakes,” Hustle said softly.

I felt a sudden chill at Hustle’s words. I could believe that in my brother’s drug-addled state he was being overprotective, or plain paranoid, but Hustle wasn’t prone to exaggeration.

Hustle had loved Mum and not in a way that was disrespectful. He seemed to admire her, respecting her fidelity and steadfastness. There weren’t a lot of women like Mum in the circle’s Hustle ran in. Most women wanted to play the bad boy game, they liked the danger of a biker, the excitement of an untameable man. Love was rarely long term, and Hustle knew that as well as anyone after three failed marriages.

It wasn’t just the women who didn’t stick around, most of the men couldn’t keep their cocks in their pants. Even Dad had been known to screw around on occasion while he was still married to Mum. It was the life and it was another reason I avoided it.

“You said she was collateral damage, you said she wasn’t a target,” I said to Hustle, unable to keep the accusation of dishonesty from my tone.

“New information has come to light,” Nate responded and I turned my ire towards him with a glower. He raised a finger at me and continued, “Specific threats against all our families. Most of the guys have already moved their women and kids out of state, and since I don’t have a woman or kids, the threat is on the last of my family. You.”

I knew where this was going now. The past two weeks had been intense and not just because of my parents death. Everywhere I went I needed permission from Nate and if he did let me leave, it was with Hustle or one of the other senior club members. I thought it was because of the cops or media attention.

“Fuck.” I dropped my head into my hands.

It’s not the first time I’ve had to leave the state. Hell, once a few years ago, Mum and I had to go to Canada and stay with a friendly club up there for three months. Anger boiled in me, I thought I was out, free from this shit. I should have known better, no one ever truly leaves the life.

“How long?” I asked.

“Until the threat is eliminated,” Nate said matter of factly. I could have smacked him.

“Fucking hell!”

“I’m sorry, Lori.”

I looked up at Nate. He never apologised and although it seemed genuine, it didn’t diminish my anger. He obviously felt guilty about something and I wondered how much to blame he was for what was going on; how badly he had fucked up? However, the appearance of regret in Nate’s eyes was fleeting, and he became cold and business-like again.

“This is Syverson,” Nate pointed to Out of Towner, “His club specialises in protection. You’ll be going with him to their clubhouse just outside of Dallas and waiting it out with them.”

“Texas? Across half the fucking country? Come on, Nate, really? I thought you meant New Mexico or California.”

“It’s where I live,” Syverson finally spoke up.

His voice surprised me. He was a southerner and his drawl was subtle but it was there, and his tone was soothingly deep.

“We take long term protection cases back to the clubhouse. It’s secure and well fortified and more guys to share the load,” Syverson smiled at me. I suppose he meant for it to be reassuring, but it came across as patronising.

“You’ll leave tonight,” Nate said. “All the clubs leaving is good cover; no one will notice another biker and his old lady heading out.”

“Wait, we’re going on his bike? To Dallas? That’ll take a week!” My thighs and hips groaned at the prospect. That’s a long time on a bike and I haven’t ridden that far in years.

“Three days, if we make some headway tonight,” Syverson said and like a mind reader he added, “We’ll stop plenty to stretch your legs, sugar.”

I raised my eyebrows at ‘sugar’, but Nate didn’t blink. Hustle gave him some side-eye that Syverson caught but ignored. That was interesting. Despite never hearing of him before, for Hustle to let it go meant this guy, or his club, or both, had some serious clout.

Looking at the three men I could see no way out of this; my shoulders slumped and I gave up. My parents were dead, my brother was a criminal and a drug addict, and I was being pulled back into a world I thought I had left behind. I wanted to cry, but I knew I couldn’t show any sign of weakness, so I stayed angry instead. I figured it would be better to give in and go with Syverson and try to worm my way home later. I knew Nate well enough that if I tried to fight him he wouldn’t be above handcuffing me to Syverson and basically allowing him to kidnap me.

I looked again at Syverson. He stared back at me, not trying to stare me down like a lot of bikers do, but as if he were trying to show me he had nothing to hide. His eyes didn’t waver as they held mine, no sign of shifty glances, no sign that he wasn’t who he appeared to be. He was either trustworthy or an extremely good actor. Not even my brother could look at me like that.

“I’ll have to go home, pack and change,” I said, waving a hand over my black dress. There was no way I could get on a bike in my tight pencil skirt and maintain any dignity. “You’ll let me do that, right?”

Nate grinned and nodded. “Hustle will drive you home in the van, Syverson will follow, get you packed and then you’ll leave tonight.”

Gritting my teeth I dipped my head to Nate. He returned the gesture and I saw again the brief look of guilt in his eyes. I glanced at Hustle, but he was already walking out the door.

I followed Hustle and Syverson through the clubhouse and got into the van, barely registering what was going on. I had too many thoughts in my mind and I was already mentally making a list of what to pack. I knew I’d have to pack light, bikes weren’t exactly ideal for hauling luggage.

I clenched my fists in frustration as Hustle drove out of the compound. Three days on a bike, plus God only knows how long I was supposed to be at the clubhouse. There was no way I’d have enough space for all the clothes and other things I would normally take like books, my laptop and my hair straightener.

I sighed heavily and looked out the window. It was already dark and I was a little hungry, but my anger and nervousness masked most of the pangs I felt in my belly.

“It's going to be okay, Babycakes,” Hustle said, confidently “The Club’s been through shit like this before and we’ve come good.”

“Back when you had Dad,” I pointed out, “He always had a cool head for situations like this.”

“Hook’s is up to it.”

“Yeah? Think he’ll lay off the coke long enough to think rationally? It was probably something dumb he did to get the Club in the shit in the first place.”

“Babycakes,” Hustle said with a warning tone in his voice.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he didn’t fuck with the wrong guy or get too greedy. Tell me exactly why I’m being shipped off?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Of course not. I’m just a fucking mushroom y’all keep in the dark and feed me shit.”

Hustle chuckled and I stared daggers at him, crossing my arms and raising my eyebrows.

“You’re cute when you get angry, Babycakes.”

“Fuck you,” I growled, but my lips twitched and I had to suppress a grin, Hustle was just too damn likeable.

I stared out the window again and saw in the side mirror that a single headlight was following us. It must be my ride.

“What do you know about him?” I tilted my head towards Syverson riding behind us. “Do you know anything about him?”

“Supposedly ex-military, but that's just a rumour. They're all supposedly ex-something, but…” Hustle shrugged.

“No one knows?”

Hustle shook his head.

“Do you know anything about the club, The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood? I’ve never heard of them.”

“Not much, except that they’re small, selective and secretive. They’ve got a good reputation, powerful despite their size, specialising in protection and a few other things.”

I nodded slowly. It didn’t make sense to me that a small nonaffiliated club from halfway across the country would take me in. Always before when I was sent away, it had been to a branch of my fathers club, or one they were heavily associated with. It must be costing Nate a fortune for the club to work with him.

“It’s bad isn’t it, Hustle?” I asked softly, feeling a small spike of fear working its way into my gut.

“Just do what they tell you to and you'll be fine, Babycakes.” Hustle laid a gentle hand on my knee and gave me a fatherly pat before putting his hand back on the wheel. “They’ll take good care of you. They’re to be trusted.”

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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

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Kitty adventures

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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

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Alberto Vargas

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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

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Oh @nashibirne that really touched me deeply. It's so emotional, so pure and poetic. I love it ❤️😘

Just a short drabble inspired by Lacrimosa - Requiem in d-minor by Mozart. For music, lyrics and translation see end of posting.

Enjoy!

Pairing: August Walker x unnamed ofc

Words: ~ 680

Warnings: angst, discussion of death, implied smut

A huge thank you to @sillyrabbit81 for your help and for proof reading. Love you, bunny 💜 Edited by me, though, there might be mistakes!

My masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

LACRIMOSA

She looked like an angel. No, more like Sleeping Beauty, lying on the vintage four poster bed, her head resting on the thick pillow, her silky, brunette hair spread out, flowing around her beautiful face, contrasting with the milk white damask brocade sheets she had inherited from her grandmother and that she loved so much. Her hands were placed on her belly, clasped in what seemed to be a silent prayer, although August knew she struggled with her belief. Her lips were slightly parted, her chest was heaving regularly.

August stepped closer to the bed, his eyes raking her body, drinking in the sight of her curves that were hidden by the pinkish silken negligee he had gifted her with on Valentine's Day.

My fairytale princess, he thought, shaking his head, still not able to fully comprehend the nature of his feelings for her, still doubting that she was able and willing to love him despite all he was, despite all he was not.

A hoarse sigh escaped his lips and he flinched, afraid he would wake her but she laid perfectly still, not even realizing that he was standing so close now, just an arm length away from a gentle touch.

August frowned, the vision of her lying on her deathbed instead of sleeping peacefully, scaring him. The thought of finding her deprived of life, of all vitality, of the unconditional vividness that distinguished her from every woman he'd ever known before formed a knot in his stomach although he was aware that her time hadn't come yet.

She was life, not death, she was breathing, she was crying.

His heart clenched when he noticed a thick teardrop that welled up under her long lashes, falling almost languorously from her eye, rolling down her rosy cheeks, leaving a wet trace that flowed into the corner of her mouth where the salty liquid mixed with her saliva.

Her tongue darted out to taste her own sadness and August reached out and placed his hand on her cheek gently, caressing the spot under her eye tenderly, desperately trying to dry the spring of her tears.

She gasped under his touch, her eyes flying open, the light green of her iris shone even brighter than usual. Gazing at him with a frown she seemed to wonder where she was. August grabbed her hands, covering them with his, whispering soothing words, waiting patiently for her to return to reality.

When she smiled at him, he knew she was back and he kissed her lips, still tasting the salt of her tear.

"Why are you crying, princess?"

She freed her hands from his grip and ran them through his chocolate brown curls with a melancholic sigh.

"It's just the music," she said with another loving smile, "no need to worry."

August's eyes wandered to her ears and he wondered how he hadn't realized before that she was wearing her airpods.

"What are you listening to?"

Instead of replying she took one of the in-ear buds and gave it to him.

August laid down beside her, pressing his naked body that was still damp from the recent shower against hers, enjoying the feeling of closeness and intimacy before putting the headphone into his ear.

Lacrimosa dies illa

Qua resurget ex favilla

Judicandus homo reus

As soon as the deeply sad and beautiful sound and words reached his heart and mind he knew why she was shedding tears, why the music was touching her so much.

She turned to him and wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him closer, searching for contact and he willingly gave her his all.

Desperately in need of each other they clung together, pressing their love between their bodies to preserve it like you preserve the beauty of a flower by pressing it between the pages of a heavy book.

And for the first time in years August Walker was able to let go and cry all the tears that had been waiting to escape and cleanse his soul from all burden and doubt.

Lacrimosa dies illa

Qua resurget ex favilla

Judicandus homo reus.

Huic ergo parce, Deus:

Pie Jesu Domine,

Dona eis requiem.

Amen.

------

Mournful that day

When from the ashes shall rise

a guilty man to be judged.

Lord, have mercy on him.

Gentle Lord Jesus,

grant them eternal rest.

Amen.

Taglist

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @artandotherdelights-ficrecs @notabronte @littlefreya @luclittlepond @eldarwen333 @marantha @liliumdream @enchantedbytomandhenry @greensleeves888 @witcherfan @margauxmargaux07 @radaofrivia @m07belzen @a-little-counter-esperanto @starstruckkittyangel @mary-ann84 @sillyrabbit81 @emelinelovesjc @wheretheriversrunintothesea @kingliam2019 @pandaxnienke @littleone65 @coloraturadiva @cynic-spirit @captainbucky-yt @diegos-butt @cavillsthighs @ysmmsy @identity2212 @captainsy-cookiemonster

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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

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I can feel the desire that Geralt feels for Jaskier... It's so beautifully written, with so much passion and longing. Very well done my lovely @nashibirne 😘😘😘

@lunedelorient

This is the second part of your request for my milestone celebration. Thank you so much!

"And second our beloved Geralt. The theme is open to whatever the muse tells you to do!"

I know it took me a while but better late than never, right? 😘

I know the trope I chose is not really your cup of tea but it's what the muse told me, so maybe you still want to give it a shot.

This is my first try on Geraskier, so be lenient with me, y'all 💜

Pairing: Geraskier

Summary: Geralt discovers he's bisexual

Warnings: smut! 18+, NSFW, sex, threesome, spit roast, bisexuality, anxiety, vaginal sex, oral sex (m receiving)

Proofread by the wonderful @sillyrabbit81 Thanks for your help, lovely 💕 Edited by me, there will be mistakes.

My masterlist

My headcanon masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Geralt of Rivia has never desired a man.

For him it has always been women that did the trick

Sure, in his late teenage years he tried some stuff with his roommate Eskel, but that was just out of curiosity. Fun. Experimentation. Nothing more.

Many years later he meets the man who changes his mind, though. Who makes a difference. Who's able to strike a different chord.

The bard makes him feel things he's considered impossible.

Jaskier awakens a desire within Geralt that scares the fuck out of him.

He tries to fight it, he tortures himself by banishing from his mind the feelings Jask awakens.

He gives an oath to himself to withstand temptation because he doesn't want to jeopardize the deep friendship they have.

When he realizes that he's fighting a losing battle, he tells the bard to fuck off. He leaves him behind in the mountains to protect his heart and his ability to think straight and make reasonable decisions.

But it isn't meant to be like this. They aren't supposed to be separated and so their paths cross again.

Geralt soon has to admit to himself that his feelings haven't changed a bit and the fighting and self-denial starts all over again.

He does well, lulling himself into a false sense of security, until one night at the Inn.

Jaskier has been flirting with Rose, the woman who runs the pub, all evening. He's so full of sweet talk, all honey-tongued and the very pretty widow enjoys it a lot, obviously encouraging him.

Geralt is so frustrated with the situation, he sits in the corner booth, brooding over many ales, watching Jaskier's amorous adventure from the corner of his eye.

He calls it a night early, stumbling up the stairs to his room pretty drunk, drifting off to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He wakes up a few hours later and leaves his room to take a piss, still confused, his senses clouded with alcohol and heartache.

He only realizes he has opened the wrong door on his way back when he sees Jaskier and Rose in a very compromising position.

Rose is on all fours on the bard's bed, Jask is kneeling behind her, his dick balls deep inside her pussy.

Geralt freezes in place, Rose gasps with shock, Jaskier flinches but he doesn't let go of the woman's hips. He doesn't pull out, he continues to move slowly, thrusting with tiny motions.

Geralt mumbles an excuse, embarrassed and ashamed, and is about to turn around and leave when Jaskier's voice stops him.

"Don't go," Jaskier says, his voice deep and thick with desire. "Join us."

What happens next is nothing but a blur in retrospect, fast forward and slow motion at the same time - externally controlled and internally wanted.

Geralt finds himself in front of the bed without his clothes, his cock in Rose's mouth, sucked greedily by the beautiful, skilled woman, but all he's able to see is Jaskier, looking him right in the eyes while fucking Rose from behind, staring at him, unable to look away.

Geralt isn't able to tell who leans in first, all he knows is that he completely forgets about Rose, whose lips are still wrapped around his cock.

Jaskier's lips on his is all he feels, his tongue in his mouth is all that counts, the bard's hands on Geralt's body is all he wants.

They hardly realize that Rose frees herself from their cocks and leaves, giving them a piece of her mind on her way out.

They don't care anyway. They are the only ones in that room at the Inn.

There is touching and making out, stroking and caressing, sloppy kisses and sensual motions.

They are top and bottom and everything in between.

They are rough and gentle, fast and slow, feverish and lazy.

They are Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier and their need for each other.

They are the witcher and the bard and their love for each other

They are two men who make love that night, who fuck each other drunk with desire.

They are the unlikely couple who spends their first night together and each and every night after that - as friends and as lovers.

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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

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Hell this is hot. 🔥🔥🔥 It's so freaking amazing how you write that desperation that these two have for each other... I absolutely love it ❤️

Even If You Don't Mean It - Part Two

Summary: When Sy returns home, things escalate quickly.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 8.3k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Smut including oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talking, implied masturbation (m and f), showering together, slight praise kink, mentions of PTSD, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of war, angst, fluff.

Part Two Warnings:

Smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, discussion of masturbation, slight praise kink, slight angst, fluff.

Authors Note:

Thanks once again to my wonderful friends and beta readers @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed . Your constant support and friendship means the world to me.

A massive thank you to @radiantheartbeat for editing you have truely lifted my writing and inspired me to be better. It has meant the world to me and I have enjoyed getting to know you through the process as well. Everyone, if you want some more great Henry content, please check out her blog here . You won't be disappointed.

Divider made by me.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3 (Coming soon)

The night before Sy is due home, you can barely sleep. You’re unable to keep your body or mind still, restlessly tossing and turning until you finally begin to doze. However, sleep does come in short waves, exhaustion makes your heavy lids close, only for them to pop open minutes later with excitement and nervous energy. Thoughts race through your mind as if you’re on a coffee binge, sometimes rushing through so fast you can’t pin them down. You’re elated, jittery, and terrified all at once.

Never in your life have you felt such a cocktail of emotions. It makes sense though; there is so much riding on tomorrow. What if you and Sy don’t click like you had when you last saw each other? What if he realises that you’re not what he really wants in this life?

Pushing aside your worries and insecurities as best as you can, you finally succumb to uninterrupted sleep in the early hours of morning and don't wake until well into daylight. In a way, this was good, Sy was planning to come to your apartment after lunch, so there is plenty of time to get yourself ready.

You take a long shower, using the time under the warm water as a way to stay calm. After you dress, you put on makeup and fix your hair, deliberately keeping your pace measured and unhurried. You don’t want to be ready too early, knowing that waiting around for Sy with nothing to do will send you into an anxiety induced panic. You double check that the apartment is clean, that you have all the ingredients for dinner, and that you have plenty of beer.

When the security buzzer goes off during the next unnecessary inspection of your apartment, you freeze like a deer in headlights. You can barely breathe. Every muscle in your body tenses and you have to force yourself to move. Will you even be able to make it to the door?

Your hands tremble as you press the intercom button.

“Hello?” you rasp.

“It’s me, Sugar. It’s Sy.”

Your hand flies to your mouth, your body can’t decide if it wants to sob with relief or squeal in excitement. Your stomach churns in on itself, you feel faint and lean your head against the wall for support.

“Sugar?” Sy repeats. “You there?”

Oh shit! How long have you left him standing there? Your face burns so hot you think you might break out in a sweat.

“Yeah, I’m… uh… I’m here,” you stutter.

“You gonna let me in, baby?” Sy says and even through the crackling static of your intercom you can hear the amusement in his voice.

You press the security button to open the door. Your breathing grows shallow as you wait for Sy to make his way up the stairs, and you find it hard to swallow.

You’re trying not to lose it.

You have to get a hold of yourself or you’re going to ruin everything. You fill your lungs with air until they’re nearly bursting, holding it in for a count of three, then slowly letting it out. You do it again, and again, hoping to reach some level of calm before he arrives at your door.

The next moments happen in slow motion: he knocks— you open the door, and he’s standing there within your reach. You could lift your hand and touch him, if only to make sure he’s real, but all you can do is gawk. He’s taller than you remember, his eyes are bluer too, and you’re surprised to see he still has his beard.

You swallow hard and try to smile, to say hello, to say anything, but you just stare at him. You would feel embarrassed, but it seems he has been struck motionless as well. Well, not quite motionless, you can see his chest heave with every hard and heavy breath. He’s so big, his chest strains against his t-shirt, revealing the outline of his pecs with every inhale. His jeans fare no better, so tight against his thighs you think there was no way they could be comfortable.

Tearing your gaze from Sy’s body, you meet his eyes. Beneath his lowered brows they are dark with a hunger that you’re not sure you are ready for. It’s overwhelming, threatening to consume you from the inside out, until there’s nothing left except your craving for him. He starts to move, taking small but deliberate steps into your apartment. You barely notice the overnight bag that is slung over his shoulder until he drops it in your entryway.

Your fingers slip from the door knob as you move back to give him room, and the heavy door swings itself shut with a solid thud. Like a lion stalking his prey, Sy follows you step by step until your back hits the wall. He catches your hand as it falls and his eyes lower to watch as he entwines your fingers together; your hand is so small in his. Bringing your joined hands to his chest, he closes the distance between you with one short stride. Your heart skips a beat at this gesture, his tenderness is so unexpected.

With the tips of his fingers, he steadily glides them up your bare arm. His touch is so light that your skin tightens into goosebumps, and you shiver. Sy’s lips curl into a smile as his hand moves across your collar-bone until he holds your chin, raising it just enough to look into your eyes.

He’s so close that his scent fills your nose like a vapor. The subtle masculine fusion of spice and leather makes your mouth water with a greedy desire. You lick your lips, just as Sy’s pink tongue darts out to sweep over his own.

He moves closer still, his body crowds yours, and though you’re trembling, you reach your free hand for his lower back and draw him towards you. He raises his eyebrows, and he dips his head slightly as if to ask; Are we doing this? Is this what you want? He must be as tongue tied as you are.

You nod in response and close your eyes. You feel his warm breath first as it tickles at your wet lips, and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb strokes your cheek as he gives your hand a squeeze.

Then his lips press against yours; closed, firm pillows beneath a layer of soft flesh. They stroke over yours, moving with a dreamy ease. His beard gently grazes over your skin, the sensation of his soft whiskers is new and electrifying. His mouth parts, and his tongue slowly laps at your top lip, coaxing you to open for him. You yield, you have to, you couldn’t have stopped him even if you tried.

Meeting his tongue with yours, the contact makes you both moan. Sy’s hips press against yours as your hand fists in his t-shirt, gripping firmly and tugging him closer. For a moment you’re both uncontrolled, lost in each other. Your hand lifts his shirt to feel the warm skin on his back. His body feels hot, hard, and dense. His hulking, powerful physique is undeniable as his hips begin to roll in tight circles against you.

Sy’s hand slides down your neck, clutching your throat momentarily before moving lower. He brushes his flattened hand over your chest, palming your breasts with a low growl. Your legs are no longer strong enough to hold you up and you melt into him, becoming boneless in his embrace.

As quickly as you get lost, Sy brings you back, breaking the kiss with a gentle peck. You both open your eyes as he moves his hand to caress your cheek while you straighten his shirt.

Sy is grinning widely, seemingly satisfied for now. His face is flushed, and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes drink you in. You want to look away because your cheeks feel aflame under his gaze, but you don’t, and you’re sure he can feel how your skin burns. You let him look, because you’re looking too. You’re searching and examining for the details of him that you remember and also trying to discover what is new. His light freckles, his unique blue eyes with the slash of brown within the left, the small scar on his nose, those are familiar; there is a new scar on his cheek, and a deep tan to his skin.

“Hi,” Sy says, finally.

You laugh, for the first time in nearly eighteen months you hear his voice without the filter of some sort of electronic device and it's wonderful. “Hi.”

Sy huffs with a smile and shakes his head as if in disbelief. You can’t quite believe it yourself; to have him finally here with you, in the flesh, it’s like a dream. He kisses your mouth again, just a soft brush of his lips before he groans.

“Christ, baby, I just wanna…” His eyes are scorching and he presses himself into you. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His lips meet yours again. He’s rougher now, and his kisses leave your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck. Teeth scrape at your skin, his mouth sucks, and you squirm in his arms, giggling as he growls into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Sy,” you half whine, half laugh.

Leaving you with one last nibble, he stands back. He draws his lower lip into his mouth and folds his arms over his chest as if he needs to deliberately hold himself back. Maybe he does.

“Damn, baby, look at you.”

Looking down at your summer dress and bare feet, you shake your head and walk down the hall, past the bathroom and your bedroom, into the kitchen and family room. You glance over your shoulder and smile as Sy follows you. You’re still a little rattled by his kiss and the anxiety that led up to today, but you also feel a giddy high and you don’t think the smile on your face will fade easily.

“Want a beer?” you ask.

He nods, “Thanks.”

Going to the fridge, you get a beer for Sy and a wine cooler for yourself. You open them both and hand Sy his. His eyes haven’t left you once.

“Well, cheers,” you say, lifting your bottle to Sy’s.

“Cheers.” Sy grins and meets your bottle with his.

You rest against the countertop while Sy leans against the island. Unable to take your eyes off him, as he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a sip. His bicep curls into a ball, straining the sleeve of his shirt as lifts the bottle higher, and his Adam's Apple bobs as he swallows nearly half of his beer. As he pulls the bottle from his lips, his tongue peeks between them, licking them with satisfaction before sucking first the bottom one, then the top one into his mouth. He is so effortlessly sexual and masculine, just watching him drink feels pornographic, and you hurriedly take a drink before he notices how you’re staring at him.

“You’re quiet,” Sy notes.

Shrugging, you finally escape the capture of his gaze and bring your drink to your lips, “It’s different having you here.”

Sy hums, as if thinking about his response, “It is,” he agrees.

You peek at him, his attention is still on you, and you don’t know how to act. This new dynamic seems strange to you. He’s so familiar; his voice, the tone and rhythm, is one you’d easily pick out of a crowd. You feel like you know him so well, but the man in front of you, the physical embodiment of that voice, is practically unknown.

“I like it though,” Sy says with a grin, “Bein’ here with you.”

“Me too,” You smile back at him then drink.

Sy puts his beer down on the counter and, widening his stance, opens his arms. “Come ‘ere.”

You hesitate. After the heated moment you exchanged in the entryway, you worry another kiss like that will send you both straight to the bedroom. Would that be a bad thing though?

Sy sees your hesitation and cocks his head a little to the side. You feel your cheeks warming as Sy softens his expression and lifts his chin in a beckoning gesture. “Come ‘ere,” he repeats, a little more gently.

Taking a deep breath, you step between his legs and his arms encircle your waist. He pulls your body close with a satisfied hum. Your body is a little stiff with anticipation.

“What did you plan for us to do today, Sugar?”

“I thought we could watch a movie,” you say, “Then I’d cook you dinner.”

“You don’t want to go out?” Sy asks.

“Sorry, I thought…” You turn your head away worried you’re assuming too much. Sy puts a crooked finger under your chin and lifts your face to his.

“Go on,” he says.

“I thought it would be nice… to be alone.”

“That sounds perfect,” Sy says, drawing out each word, showing his genuine affection for your plan.

Tension rises in your body, your muscles grow taut and expectant as he moves his hand to your neck. He gently fondles your throat then moves down your chest, his eyes follow the path of his hand until it rests between your breasts. Your lips part as your chest heaves beneath his hand, you can’t catch your breath.

You think he’s going to kiss you as he licks at his lips and places his hand on your cheek, instead he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against yours. You’re both still, neither of you moving as you stay in the moment. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch, something about being real. Then he opens his eyes, and they blaze with heat.

“What movie?” Sy asks throatily, as he lifts his head from yours.

“Huh?” You have no idea what he’s talking about.

Sy chuckles and the tension breaks, suddenly you can breathe again, “What movie do you want to watch?”

“We don’t have to,” you say, downplaying your suggestion, “It’s silly now that I think about it.”

“No, Sugar. Tell me.”

“Freddy versus Jason?” Sy’s eyebrows raise when you say the title, and you cringe a little, it was a dumb idea.

“You remember that?” he asks, smiling crookedly.

“Of course,” you smile, hesitantly.

“God damn, baby. You’re such a sweet thing.” He kisses your forehead, and his beard prickles your skin. He leans back a little and looks at you while you struggle not to squirm under his intense gaze.

“What?” you ask.

He keeps staring at you, but slowly the edges of his mouth lift into a smile, “Nothin’. Let’s go watch the movie.”

Sy smirks as you take him to your couch. You give him a questioning look as he sits and pulls you onto his lap, your legs straddling his huge thighs.

“I remember this couch,” Sy says. “Thought about it a lot while I was gone.”

His hands slide over your waist and he cups your ass. Your eyes widen as he pulls you closer and raises his hips until you can feel his jeans between your legs. He is so strong, manhandling you with ease and you giggle at his display.

“I remember too,” you laugh.

Sy puts a hand on your neck and gently brings your face close to his. Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, his eyes study your face before they roam lower.

“I remember you just like this,” Sy says in a deep, rough tone, “Every time I’d think of you, you were sittin’ just like this.”

Words fail you as you swallow hard, and your heart picks up its pace. You place a hand on his shoulder and run it over to his neck. Sy’s eyes close as your hand glides over the short velvety hair on his head and he makes that noise, that deep satisfied groan you heard on the phone so many times.

“You would touch me just like that,” Sy mumbles. He opens his eyes, and he doesn’t even try to hide the scorching urgency in them, “Keep doin’ that.”

Because you can’t speak, you nod as you put your other hand against his chest. It slides down his shirt, and biting your lip, you savour every curve and dip of his muscles that you can feel through the thin cotton. You tug lightly at it, lifting the hem. Sy sits forward quickly, and you both pull it off.

It barely hits the floor before Sy’s arms are around you and his lips find yours. His kiss is rough and hungry, without a hint of softness as his beard stings your lips when you kiss him back. His tongue slips past your lips instantly, demanding and dominating as he explores your mouth.

Sy clutches you to him, his kiss doesn’t stop as his hands move over your back and presses his chest hard against yours. You hold onto his arms, moaning at the feeling of his dense muscles beneath his smooth skin.

“Fuck, baby,” Sy breaths into your mouth, “I want this so much. I need you so bad.”

Your hands move to his shoulders and down his back, and you pull him closer too. Soon he is touching you everywhere, squeezing at your breasts, running his hands under your dress and up your thigh, kneading your ass through your panties.

An ache grows between your legs, a deep urgent desire pulses through your veins. You want him, you want all of him. Your hips begin to move, grinding against him as you seek to ease your need. Your head falls back, your throat exposed, and Sy latches on, sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin.

“I want to fuck you right here,” He growls into your neck, “I wanna taste you… I wanna be inside of you… I wanna be all fuckin’ over you.”

You feel Sy move beneath you and he holds your waist and the back of your head as he rolls you over into a sitting position on the couch. He’s on his knees in front of you, lifting your dress, and pulling desperately at your panties.

“Sy,” you say, pushing a flattened hand against his chest.

Sy looks at you, his face a picture of pure animal lust. His jaw is clenched tight, his nostrils are flaring, and his teeth are almost barred. You gasp and your core clenches, you have never had a man look at you like that before.

His hands go to your hips, and he pulls you to the edge of the couch before leaning his body over yours.

Sy’s brows come together, lifting, wrinkling his forehead like he is pleading, “Please, don’t ask me to stop.” His arm wraps around your lower back, lifting your body against his and his hand rests on your neck. “I’m just gonna touch you.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you tell him softly. He growls, and you cup his cheeks, holding his head close to yours. “But… slow down. Don’t rush.”

“Okay,” he rumbles, brushing his lips against yours so delicately that you shiver. “Okay,” he repeats, losing some of his urgency, but none of his desire.

Sy drops his head to your neck, and he kisses you, using his lips, tongue, and breath to caress your skin with the lightest of touches. His shoulders are bunched tight and you wonder if it’s an indication of how hard he’s trying to hold himself back for you.

“Sy,” you moan.

Sy kisses your jaw, down your throat, making his way to the tops of your breasts. His mouth is wet as he sucks at your exposed skin, and you run your hand over his close cropped hair.

“I wanna make you say my name like that over ‘n’ over,” Sy groans into your chest, “Fuck, baby, I just wanna make you feel good.”

Sy kisses you over the fabric of your dress, you can feel the heat of his breath through the thin cotton as he warms your skin with his descent. He keeps moving lower, over your breasts, down your belly, and across your hips. He puts his hands on your knees and his thumbs rub the inside of your thighs. They’re warm on your skin, comforting, though rough and calloused. They’re the hands of a man who knows how to touch a woman.

“Will ya let me, baby?”

He moves his hands up your thighs slowly, kissing your knees as he waits for you to speak.

“Yes,” you can barely breathe.

Sy groans as his teeth sink teasingly into the flesh above your knee. You mewl and your body twists as his hands continue to climb. His fingers hook into your panties at your hips, and he looks at you.

“I’m gonna take these off.”

“Sy…”

“I ain’t finished,” Sy says quickly. He brings his face to yours, so close that you’re sharing each other's air. “I’m gonna take these off, then I’m gonna touch you there, put my fingers inside you.” He pauses, to softly skim his lips over yours, gliding his tongue delicately over them. “Then I’m gonna put my mouth on you,” Sy murmurs through his kisses. “Gonna taste how sweet you are… and darlin’ I can’t wait to hear how you say my name when I make you come.”

“Fuck!” Your hands grip his arms, your fingers digging into his flexed muscles, your whole body feels restless with unspent energy and desire.

“Will ya let me do that for you?”

You bite your lip, look directly into his stormy blue eyes, and nod.

Sy groans and kisses you as he tugs at your panties. Without needing to be asked you lift your ass a little and he pulls them down where they fall to the carpet. With his mouth still on yours he spreads your legs and moves between them.

His hands move up your thighs, lifting your dress as he goes.

“Want me to take this off?” you ask, pulling at your dress.

“Not yet,” Sy says, “When I went down on you in my head, ya always had a dress on.” Sy grins and clamps his jaw tight as he growls through gritted teeth, “You don’t wanna know the things I’ve done to you in my head. The things I wanna do—”

“Don’t I?” you interrupt. Fuck yes, you want to know, “Maybe I’ve thought of the same things.”

Sy’s eyes close as he breathes deep through his nose. “You thought of me? Doin’ things to you? Touchin’ you?” He asks, as he digs his fingers into the meatiest part of your thighs and eases your legs further apart.

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely and lick your lips. .

“That’s so hot,” Sy murmurs. His hands go higher, until his thumbs reach the crease at the top of your thighs. “Did ya touch yourself?”

“Yes,” you say, somehow not embarrassed to admit it.

“So. Fuckin’. Hot.” His thumbs run over your swollen, soaked slit and he curses. “Shit, baby, you’re so fuckin’ wet. You want this too, don’t ya? You want me to touch ya?”

“Please.”

“God damn baby, you’re so good to me. How did I touch ya when you thought of me?” Sy slips his hands under you and shifts you to the side until half of your ass is off the couch. “Hmm? Tell me.” He grabs a couple of throw pillows and puts them in the corner.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

Sy just grins and leans over you. He cradles the back of your head and splays the other hand against your back.

“Lay down.”

He guides you until you're laying against the corner of the couch. He bites on his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as he looks over you. His eyes are dark as he studies you and runs his huge hands over your sides until he’s sitting back on his heels, “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, I can barely stand it.”

Your whole body trembles with anticipation, you had no idea it was going to be like this, how much you need him. You want to scream “fuck me already”, but this languid pace, his gentle touch, feels so good.

“You still haven’t told me how I touch ya when you think of me.”

Sy holds the ankle closest to the couch and lifts your foot until he can place it on the cushion, leaving the other on the carpet. You’re spread open now, your body is on fire, but your skin feels cool where the air touches your bare wet centre. He doesn’t look though, instead he kisses your thigh near your raised knee.

Your mouth feels dry, and you swallow hard. “At first, you touch me… like you are now,” you tell Sy. He closes his eyes against your thigh and groans. “Soft, and gentle. It makes me feel like you care about me.”

“I do, baby. So much,” Sy shakes his head, “You’ve got no idea.”

“Then later, you’re rougher… harder.”

“God damn it, I—”

Sy stops talking mid-sentence and his eyes are fixed firmly on your exposed pussy. He doesn’t move, he barely blinks, then he licks his lips before pulling the lower one into his mouth. You wait, thinking he’ll move, that he’ll do or say something, but he doesn’t. Feeling exposed, and unsure, you bring your legs together.

“Don’t you dare,” Sy says with an authority that makes you freeze instantly and your core clench. He finally lifts his eyes to yours, “You are so gorgeous.” He looks slowly over you, all the way down to the hand still wrapped around your ankle, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over the bone. He moves his hand up your leg, following its path with his eyes before diverting and he brings his face close to yours. “Even when I dreamed of this… God, you’re just so much more…”

A small smile plays on Sy’s lips as he trails off, his fingers rising up your thigh, making you quiver with agonizing anticipation of his touch. Your heart is beating so hard you feel it everywhere, your cheeks, your ears, your thighs and your core, they all throb in time.

Sy looks back between your legs as his fingers glide over your wet and swollen skin. One of them brushes over your clit and you gasp. His smile widens as he slides a finger into you. You feel yourself tighten, but you’re so wet he slips in easily.

Sliding in and out slowly, Sy’s mouth parts as he watches, his chest puffs harder and heavier. You start to relax as he moves, surrendering to his touch. He sighs and kisses your thigh again.

“That’s it, baby.” Sy says. “You’re so good for me. You’re so soft and so pretty.”

He adds a second finger curling them inside you. Your body twists, your eyes close, the urge to seek friction is too strong and your hips start to roll.

“Sy,” you moan, “Sy I…”

Something soft and velvety brushes over your clit. You open your eyes to see Sy staring back at you, the tip of his tongue against your sensitive nub. Still kneeling on the carpet, he’s bent at the waist chest on the couch, his mouth hovering over your pussy.

Sy. His mouth. Your pussy. Oh God!

“Oh fuck,” you say with a shuddering breath.

Sy grins as he sweeps his broad, wet tongue over you. Your body quivers, every muscle coiling tight. He closes his eyes and growls.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, “You’re fucking breathtaking.”

Sy puts his head down and takes you into his mouth. He sucks gently, while his tongue moves over you and his fingers pump against your spot.

“Oh, fuck!” you cry.

You throw your head back against the pillows, your back arching as you try to push yourself against Sy’s mouth. He is so warm, his tongue subtly rough, and his soft beard rubs against your delicate skin; the contrasting textures mingle and heighten every sensation.

It doesn’t take him long to have you mewling, quickly discovering what you like, he uses it to his advantage, deliberately teasing, drawing you out. It’s like he wants to stay between your legs and never leave.

Sliding his hand under your ass Sy lifts your hips, tilting them at a new angle, and he somehow seems to take more of you into his mouth. He keeps playing with you, varying his technique, speed, and firmness, listening to you and watching. Always watching. His eyes stay on you, even when he groans and closes his eyes, they pop open straight away, dark and hazy, pupils blown wide, drunk on lust.

You reach for him, your fingers slide over his beard and jaw. His eyes widen a moment, then keeping his mouth firmly on you, they shut slowly as he leans into your hand. You scratch softly at his beard as he works you closer to your peak and he practically purrs around your clit every time you squirm or moan.

Sy builds you slowly but ruthlessly, until every muscle in your body tightens and shakes, desperate for release. His hand slides out from beneath your ass, and you grab hold of it, fingers clamping down hard around his. Your heel digs into the couch, trying to get purchase as your back arches and your whole body pulls taut. Finally, you snap, and you cry out sharply as the tension releases in explosions of hot pleasure.

As your orgasm ebbs, you continue to tremble and can’t stop. Sy leans over you and covers your body with his. His fingers are still inside you, not moving, just keeping you full, and you like the way it feels. He looks at you, his brows drawn low together as he slips his free arm around your back. You wrap your arms around him and snake a leg around his too, clinging to as much of him as you can. He pulls you close, and you nuzzle into his neck, seeking the comfort of his warm skin.

“You’re ok, baby,” Sy whispers in your ear, “You’re good. I’ve gotcha.”

“I can’t stop shaking,” you whisper back.

“I know,” Sy lifts his head. “Take your time, baby. You were right, we ain’t gotta rush.”

Sy’s smiles reassuringly, his lips are glossy, his beard glistens and you realise with both horror and desire that it’s from you. His mouth and beard are wet with evidence of your arousal. You bite your lip and lean into his shoulder again to hide your face.

Sy’s pulls back so you can’t hide, one eyebrow is raised in question. “What’re you thinking right now, Sugar?”

He licks at his lips and all at once, you feel the ache deep in your gut return, and once again your cheeks flare. Smirking, Sy lets his fingers slip from your clenching core and brings them to your lips.

“Is this it, baby?” Your eyes slam shut.

Yes, that’s it, Sy.

You had no idea he was going to be like this, dirty, eager, unselfish, yet dominant and it’s blowing your mind. Sy moves his fingers to slide over your lips, so slick from you that you can’t feel the roughness of his pad.

“You got so wet for me,” Sy says huskily. “Tasted so fuckin’ sweet, just like I knew you would. And those noises you made for me,” he hums as if he’s just sampled something delicious, “God damn they were hotter ‘n hell.”

A whimper leaves your throat as you try to speak. “It felt amazing, Sy.” You open your eyes. “You made me feel so good.”

Sy groans, his voice rumbles like thunder in his chest, “I’ll do it again if you want,” he says. You almost giggle at his eagerness and you nod.

Without hesitation, he slides out of your arms. At first, you’re not sure what he’s doing, then you feel his hands push your thighs further apart.

“No, Sy,” You can’t stop your laugh this time as you grab hold of his shoulders, and he lets you bring his body back over yours, “I don't mean now.”

Sighing like he’s actually disappointed, Sy climbs onto the couch, settling between your legs. He holds his body weight on one arm and looks down between your legs. Although he’s had his shirt off for a while, you haven’t had the wherewithal to actually look at his body. Shirtless, he seems even bigger than you thought. His shoulders are massive, and you can see the corded muscles rippling under his skin as he supports himself over you. His pecs are tight below a dark layer of fur, and his core is engaged, making his abs stand out. He has more hair around his navel and following its trail lower, it disappears beneath his jeans, rousing your curiosity and desire.

Sy’s hand cups your pussy, interrupting your thoughts, and he lowers himself slightly, you feel some of his weight.

“You feel so good in my hand, Sugar,” Sy says. He leans down into your ear, his lips tickle as they move against it. He rubs his hand over your slit in long firm strokes. “I knew you would. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop touching you.”

Moving your hands down Sy’s chest they stop at his belt and your fingers slide into the tantalising dark hair that sinks below his jeans. Your hand slides lower, searching and when you find what you’re seeking, you gasp. Palming him over his jeans, you explore him with your fingers, spreading them over and around to gauge his girth and length. Sy sinks his teeth into your earlobe with a growl that seems to come from deep in his gut, and your heart kicks in your chest as you feel how thick he is.

“Fuck,” you breathe. Your fingers keep sliding along his shaft until you finally reach the head of his cock, and your thighs pull together, in excitement or fear, you can’t tell, “So big.”

“That’s all for you, baby,” Sy rumbles into your ear, “You make me so fuckin’ hard. The way you look. The way you feel. The way you smell… the way you fuckin’ taste.”

You let out a moan as a rush of lust rips through you. The way he talks, it’s— you’ve never heard anything like it. His head moves above yours and he’s shaking it, disbelieving.

“’N’ your voice… Sugar,” Sy’s lips crush yours, pressing firmly, then pulling them into his mouth. His hand leaves your pussy to hold your hand against him, pressing your palm hard against his jean-clad erection. He moves, rutting against your hand, obscenely, “Your voice fuckin’ kills me.”

“I want to touch you, Sy,” you say, pulling on his neck, drawing him closer to you until you can purr into his ear, “I want to feel you.

“Fuck,” Sy exhales in a long and shaky breath. The sound thrills you to your core and your body surges. “Where, baby? Tell me, where?”

You know he knows where you want to touch him, you practically are already, only the denim of his jeans stops you. But you realise quickly he wants to hear you say the words. You wonder if he likes hearing dirty things as much as he seems to like saying them.

Talking like this, being dirty like this, isn’t something you’re used to. But it’s Sy. You know him. Of course you were nervous when he arrived, but more than that, you were excited. It feels the same now, an ansty energy makes your muscles tremble, but your anticipation makes your blood feel like jet fuel in your veins. His seemingly easy and raw sexuality makes you not only feel comfortable to express yourself, but also to match his crudeness with your own.

“I want to touch your cock,” you say softly in his ear, before nipping at his earlobe.

A strangled moan comes from Sy’s throat and then his lips are on yours. His tongue pushes deep into your mouth, filling you for a moment, before he pulls away. His hand cups your jaw and you are forced to look at him. That animalistic look of primal need is back in his eyes, there’s an aggressive tension in his gaze, and each breath he takes is ragged and harsh.

Sy keeps looking at you, staring for so long that you surrender under the scrutiny and try to look away. He brings your face back to his, and although his eyes blaze with rank animal lust, the tightness has left his face.

Bringing your lips back to his, you grab at his belt while you kiss him. Sy lets go of your other hand and you make quick work of undoing his belt, the buckle flying wildly as you continue to tear at the buttons.

“Jesus,” Sy groans, watching as you undress him. You slide your hands under his jeans and boxers, tentatively squeezing his firm ass cheeks before pushing the garments down around his thighs.

A small yelp sounds from him as you continue trying to unrobe him.

“Stop a second, Sugar,” Sy says, his voice pitched oddly high, “I’m caught in my boxers.”

Your hands immediately fly away from his thighs, terrified that you’re hurting him, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

He chuckles, “It’s fine… I’m fine,” he inhales as he moves into a more upright position, pulling his boxers back up before kicking off his jeans and exhaling a sigh of relief. “Sit up for me, baby.”

He slides his hand under your head until you’re upright. He kisses you again, his hands roaming over your breasts, cupping them, and gently squeezing. His thumb finds your nipple through your dress, they’re so tight and firm he couldn’t miss them. He pinches your bud, and you feel it like white hot lightning down your spine, straight to your core.

You moan, and reach out to touch Sy, you want to feel him in your hand, you want to know what he looks like, you want to make him feel like he made you feel. Your fingers find the elastic of his boxers, but Sy’s hand stops you. He holds your hand to him, right in the middle of his furry chest.

“Wait a bit baby,” Sy says. “I don’t want this to be over yet.”

“It doesn’t have to be over yet, I just want to feel you.”

Sy chuckles, “While I appreciate your faith in me, ya gotta know I ain’t gonna last a single minute once you touch me.”

“So?” You lean into Sy’s neck, kissing him with soft lips. His skin makes your lips tingle from his stubbly, sultry flesh. “We’ve got all night.”

“You want me to stay the night?” Sy asks, his fingers loosen their grip on your hand, and you run your fingers through the hair across his chest.

“You did bring your bag. You want to stay, don’t you?”

He rubs at the back of his neck, “Just making sure you still want me to,” his voice is strange, weaker than normal and for the first time he struggles to meet your eyes.

“I do, Sy. But do you?”

Sy doesn’t reply, instead he grabs hold of your dress, “Take this off for me. I wanna see you.”

“If you take your pants off,” you bargain with a grin.

“Deal,” Sy says, returning your smile.

Wasting no time, Sy shimmies his boxers off. He moves so quickly you don’t get the chance to see him before he meets your lips again with his. His arms encircle your back, his hands rubbing along your spine, the heel of his palm digging deep into your muscles.

Lifting your leg over his thick thighs, you sit on his lap, just as Sy pulls down your zipper. You reach for him again, but your dress covers him.

“Wait,” Sy says, firmly. God, he sounds like he did that day when you heard him speak with the authority of his rank and your core flutters. He speaks again, softer this time and with a smirk full of torrid intent. “I wanna undress you, I wanna enjoy this.”

Heat floods you, your face and ears burn, but your arousal overtakes any anxiety you have, and you laugh softly.

“Another one of those things you thought about?” you tease.

His smile grows bigger as he almost reverently slips a finger under your thin strap and slides it down your shoulder.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

Sy leans in and kisses your shoulder, first one, then the other. His teeth scrape along your collarbone, causing you to shiver. Lowly chuckling, his finger traces the edge of your neckline, his rough pad caresses the tops of your breasts.

“There’s not much I haven’t thought about,” Sy says. He sounds almost distracted, like he’s talking to himself not you. “I’ve spent days with you in my head. Thought about bein’ with you in so many ways.”

“Sy…” You barely breathe, your voice a whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes trapping yours in his heated gaze, as he suddenly fists your dress and lifts it over your head. When you see him again, his eyes are still on yours, but they are wide open and his jaw is slack.

“You’re fuckin’ naked,” Sy mutters. You bite your lip, so you don’t laugh at him, you don’t want to ruin the moment. Sy closes his eyes, smirking like a fool, and shakes his head, “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and you burst out laughing. You feel bad and your head drops into his neck.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to laugh,” you say.

Sy chuckles, but you can hear the embarrassment in his laugh. He mirrors your position, dipping his head unto your neck and you can feel his beard prickle your skin. His arms snake around your back, finding your spine and he traces its path with a delicate touch of his finger tips. Your body arches instinctively at the sensation and your laughter abruptly stops. When he reaches the end of your buttocks, his hands move back to your neck, and he starts again.

“You’re so responsive,” He sounds distant again as if he’s talking to himself. “I never thought…”

You wait for him to finish but he doesn’t, he just presses a kiss against your forehead. Dipping your head, you look into the space between you, glimpse him for the first time.

Big.

It’s the only word that comes into your head as you stare at him. He stands straight up, thick and long, but not grotesquely so. He honestly looks perfect, and you smile, what else did you expect? Just another thing to add to the list of reason’s why Sy is perfect.

Not perfect, no. That’s not an accurate or fair label. Although you know him well, you know there’s a lot you don’t know, and possibly will never know about him. Why did he pull away from you before he deployed? Why did he call you that first time? Why did he call you that night when he seemed on the verge of a breakdown? There was trauma, there had to be. Maybe even a sense of self-doubt, despite his confident attitude. You know that a relationship with an active member of the military won’t be easy, but for him you will try. Not perfect, no, but maybe perfect for you.

Need scorch through your veins as if they hold acid, you have to touch him, have to feel how hard and soft he is. You don’t think about it, you don’t hesitate, and you wrap your hand around the middle of his shaft, gripping him gently. He’s so husky that you might even need two hands.

Sy’s reaction is immediate and strong, gasping as his body freezes, and the arms that caressed you gently now hold your hips in a vice-like grip. He throbs in your hand, and though his skin is nearly as soft as his lips, it’s so tight around his steel-like hardness, you think it must be painful. You move your hand, slowly, more to just feel him in your palm than for his pleasure, you enjoy the silky texture of him. He’s smooth, yet veiny, and hot, so fucking hot in your grasp. You moan as you kiss his neck, and your tongue catches his sweat as it breaks over his skin.

Hands grip your neck, lifting your head and Sy’s mouth is on yours. Feverish and hungry, it feels like he’s trying to devour you, swallow you up into him. His frantic kiss spurs you on and you start to pump your hand. As quickly as his kiss begins, he breaks it just as fast to look at your hand wrapped around his cock. He utters a curse, but you barely hear his whispered word.

Then he’s looking over your body, his eyes are wild, dark, and darting as if he can’t decide where to look. His hands tighten slightly around your neck as he groans.

“Fuck, thats good baby. That’s so fuckin’ good.”

“Touch me, Sy,” you urge.

Growling, his hands grab your breasts, his mouth follows swiftly, hot, wet, and sloppy; he mouths, licks, and sucks. He presses his mouth against you so hard you begin to lean back. Sy splays a hand across your back to keep you from falling and lifts his head from your breasts. He brings his other hand to your chin and tips your forehead to his.

“You gotta stop or I’m gonna cum,” Sy says in a rough and jagged voice.

“Cum in my mouth,” you say.

“Oh shit,” Sy’s body tightens, and his hips jerk off the couch, “You really want that, baby?”

Smirking and nodding, you climb off his lap and kneel on the carpet between his legs. You keep pumping him as you crane your neck to look at him.

“Do you want me to put your cock in my mouth?” you smile coyly, like you don’t know exactly what you are doing to him. You know, you can see the effect and it’s intoxicating. Knowing that every moan is for you, every groan is because of your touch, and every growl is because he wants more of you, sends you flying.

Clenching his teeth and practically snarling, Sy says, “Baby, I want to be inside you in any way you’ll let me.”

Your jaw drops, and you ache deep in your empty core. Fuck. He knows just what to say to make you turn into liquid.

“You better open your mouth or I’m gonna cum all over your pretty face.”

Fuck.

For a second you think about letting him do just that and you’re shocked. You’ve never wanted a man to do that to you before. But this isn’t just any man, this is Sy. You want him so badly, you want him so completely, you want to give him your whole self, you want him to do things to you that you would never trust another man to do.

You look at him in your hand, so male, husky, and potent. You look up as Sy’s thighs start to tense and his abs tighten. His chest is pumping with effort, sweat makes his body glisten as it clings to his hair, his mouth is parted sucking in breath, and his brows are drawn tight together as his eyes watch your every movement.

He is stunning.

Licking your lips, you lean down over him and despite how close he is, Sy puts his hand to your cheek.

“Look at me,” Sy says. “I wanna see— Fuck!”

He stops mid word as you put him in your mouth. There’s no point in teasing him, or building him up, he’s already there. He’s tense, sweating and each breath is a gasping groan.

Your lips stretch around him and although he’s like satin in your mouth, you know your lips will be swollen tomorrow. You don’t care, you want to see him to his end, you want to give him this pleasure. Your tongue laps at him and you suck softly as you keep increasing your rhythm.

When he said he was close, you had no idea he was this near to the edge. His breathing becomes rapid, to the point where you don’t think he might hyperventilate. Then he stops breathing altogether and his eyes go wide as his face twists with strain and he throws his head back. You feel him grow thicker and throb in your mouth, his abs contract and his hips raise off the couch as his thighs tighten, the muscles trembling under the tension.

“Oh fuck,” he says repeatedly, until he groans out your name and fills your mouth with hot jets of his release.

When he stills, you slide your lips over him one more time, capturing with your tongue any remaining come and swallow. He shivers with a chuckle, his head is still thrown back, but he reaches for you, pulling you up onto his lap. Locking you in his embrace, he brings your head to his shoulder holding you close to him and despite his obviously woozy state, he lays a few closed mouth kisses over your cheeks and lips. Then he stills and closes his eyes with a hum.

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legendarywizarddetective · 2 years

Text

I am so happy that you are back and that you bring along such a great piece of art makes it even better. Can't wait to see how the two of them will act together ❤️😍

Even If You Don't Mean It - Part One

Summary: An unexpected phone call from a brief fling grows into a new long distance romance.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 7.8k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Part One Warnings:

Implied masturbation (male), mild discussion of sex, mentions of war, mild angst, fluff.

Authors Note:

So this has been a lengthy saga. I need to thank @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for their wonderful beta reading and guidance. As always they curb my crazier ideas or encourage me to go further and without them I wouldn't have pushed myself to get this done. I also need to thank @radiantheartbeat for her brilliant and ruthless editing. I have enjoyed working with you immensely, my writing definitely needs some tidying up and I thank you for your honesty and openness and for offering to help me out. I cannot thank you enough.

This story ballooned from a small one-shot to a three (maybe four) part series. I was inspired by a non-Sy moment in the movie Sand Castle. The scene where Harper calls home before the big operation always struck a cord with me. My heart ached for him, and was a glimpse into his private life. The scene made me think, would Sy make a phone call like that? Would Sy ask someone he probably shouldn't be for a promise? Anyway, thats what lead me down this crazy path. I hope you enjoy it.

Divider made by me.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part 2 (Coming soon)

2003

4.30am Iraq

6:30pm USA

The phone rings.

Absent-mindedly, you pick up the cordless phone from the dock and put it between your ear and shoulder to keep your hands free.

“Hello?”

Picking up the wooden spoon, you stir the chicken stir-fry, that’s nearly ready, making sure nothing sticks to the pan as you give the vegetables another minute to cook through.

In your ear the line sounds strange; a digital, robotic hum buzzes in the background, like cicadas on a late summer’s day. Perhaps it’s a long distance call from a college friend, something.

A deep male voice, with a hint of a southern drawl, says your name. He sounds hesitant, as if he’s not sure he has the right number.

“Yeah,” you say, “That’s me.”

The receiver crackles, sounding as though the man must have released a held breath. There’s silence for a few beats. Then a few more; no sound except for the drone of the robot bugs. You sigh, wondering if this was a prank call or a wrong number. But that couldn’t be, this person knew your name. Maybe the call was dropped.

“Hello?” you ask irritably.

You impatiently turn off the gas and get a plate from the cupboard. You’re about to hang up, when you hear the man clear his throat.

“It’s Sy,” he says simply.

Sy? You almost drop both the stir-fry and the phone. You think fast, placing the pan on the stove and taking a seat at the small dining table in your kitchen. Gripping the phone in one hand, you quickly bring the waiting wine glass to your lips with the other, gulping down the dry Pinot Grigio and nearly finishing the glass.

“Syverson?” you ask stupidly.

Why on earth was he calling you? He should be overseas. At least that’s what he had told you two months ago.

“Are you home already?” Then you gasp, your hand covers your mouth. Oh my god. What if he was shot or injured? “Did you get hurt?”

“No… uh — I’m in Iraq.”

Images from the fall of Baghdad came unbidden to your mind. You prefer not to watch the news, but these days it is impossible to avoid. Between the 24-hour news stations, newspapers, magazines, or the homepage where you check your email, it was difficult not to absorb at least some knowledge of what was happening in the Middle East; bombings, firefights, IED attacks, and countless other presumed horrors.

It didn't explain why he was calling you though. The two of you hadn't known each other very well. You were barely even friends, having only seen each other a few times before he left for Iraq. You were undeniably attracted to him. To you, he was the total package: ruggedly good looking with his buzz-cut, chiseled jaw, blue eyes to die for, and a tall, powerful, burly physique. The fact that he was a soldier hadn’t put you off either. Your father was a retired marine, and your brother was currently serving, so you knew enough decent military men to not instantly dismiss Syverson.

“Hello?” Sy says.

Shit.

What do you say? How do you talk to him? Why was he even calling?

The one date he had taken you on was good, the make-out session on your couch at the end of the night had been even better. As far as you were concerned, the date went well and you were sure he would ask you to go on another. Over the next few weeks he had called a handful of times, but when he didn’t ask you out again, you assumed that he wasn’t interested. The last time he called was to tell you he was being deployed. He gave you no promises and you offered none in return, knowing what deployment meant, especially during wartime.

“Sorry,” you say with a short laugh, “I’m surprised you’re calling me.”

“Want me to go?” His voice became gruff and guarded, but his tone softens your demeanor.

“No, not at all. I… I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Silence again.

You wrack your brain trying to think of something to say, anything to fill this awkward silence. You don’t know why he’s calling you, but you’re sure he doesn’t get to sit around making overseas calls all the time. You think back to when your father was deployed in the Gulf War, trying to remember what you would talk about. You remember telling him about school, about a new song you heard, you told him boring, everyday things.

You’ve been silent too long and you don’t want the short time he has to be wasted, so you say the first thing that pops into your head, “Hey, remember when we were talking about how I’d never seen Ghostbusters?” You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“Yeah?” You sit up a little straighter in your chair, he actually sounds interested.

“Well, I watched it a few weeks ago.”

“Ya did?” His voice became lighter, as though he were smiling.

“Yeah, it was on TV,” you say, smiling, “I sort of understand why you had a crush on Sigourney Weaver back in the day.”

“Hell, Sugar, you ought to see her in Alien.” Sy whistles, “She is fine.”

“I saw Alien: Resurrection,” you laugh, “She’s still looking pretty good.”

“She’s great in that, but ya gotta watch Alien. And Aliens as well. Ya can probably give Alien 3 a pass though.”

“Ok, I’ll put those on my list then.” Shit, there goes that topic. You quickly try to think of something else. “Oh my God! Have you heard they’re making an Alien versus Predator movie?”

“You’re kiddin’,” Sy says, “Really?”

“Yeah, I can’t decide if it will be awesome or terrible.”

“It could be awesome. The Xenomorphs will fuck shit up,” Sy says confidently.

“But the Yautja had a Xenomorph skull in the ship at the end of Predator 2, so we know they hunt them.”

From there the conversation between you both simply flows.

You go back and forth, each arguing for your side and gently ribbing the other in jest. The conversation is easy, as comfortable as it had been when you went on that date.

“Yup,” Sy says in an altered tone. It’s short and cold, and noticeably different, you realise instantly that he isn’t talking to you. Your father has a similar tone.

“Give me a minute,” Sy adds in his work voice.

No, not his work voice, that’s his Captain’s voice. Your heart flutters. Christ, that’s hot. The subtle air of authority in his baritone makes your knees weaker than you care to admit.

“I gotta get going, Sugar,” Sy says.

“Yeah, of course.” There is a sinking feeling in your belly, you don’t want him to go yet.

More droning bugs. This silence is short though and not as awkward. Progress.

“I don’t know when I can call ya again,” Sy says apologetically, as if you were expecting this phone call in the first place, let alone more in the future, “I’d like to, when I can — that is, if you want me to.”

“Sure.” You giggle a little, thinking about your conversation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask you how you were or anything. Just talked your ear off about a stupid movie.”

Sy hums, “No, Sugar, it was...” you hear him take a deep breath, “it was exactly what I needed.”

You shift in your seat as a feeling of pleasant warmth radiates through you, “Well then, next time, I’ll give you a review of Freddy versus Jason.”

“Hold on, now! Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees? They made a movie ‘bout that?”

“Like I said, next time,” you deliberately tease.

Sy chuckles. It’s a short laugh, more indulgent than amused, but you’ll take it.

“I look forward to it, Sugar. Bye now.”

“Bye, Sy.”

The phone goes silent.

For a while you sit looking at the receiver in your hand with a mixture of happiness and confusion. Was he just bored? Did he try to call other people and they weren’t available? Did this mean he liked you like you had originally thought? Will you have to wait another three months before he reaches out again? Maybe he does this to all the girls, calling them while he’s away to make them feel special so that when he comes home he doesn’t have to work so hard to get with them.

Shaking your head, you admit you can’t possibly know why he called. No amount of guessing or theorising would answer that question. Finishing the wine in your glass, you pour another before finally eating your stir-fry.

It’s a little cold, but you don’t mind.

About two weeks later Sy phones again. You’re in bed, comfortably reading, thinking about letting the call go to the answering machine as you normally would this late at night, but ever since Sy’s phone call, you rarely let the machine take them.

“Hello?” you ask, feeling a little silly when you hear the hopeful note in your voice.

“Hey Sugar,” Sy says, and your mood soars.

“Sy! Oh my God! How are you? What’s been happening? It’s good to hear from you,” you gush.

Sy chuckles, and although you feel a little embarrassed by your obvious excitement, you’re pleased that he seems happy.

“I’m glad I caught ya,” Sy says, “I’ve been curious about this Freddy versus Jason thing. Can’t stop thinking ‘bout it.”

“It’s just a movie, Sy,” you laugh, “It’s a good movie, but it’s no Citizen Kane.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve been lookin’ forward to hearin’ you tell me all about it.”

“Oh,” A warmth spreads over your cheeks at the playful way he emphasises those last few words, making them suggestive and flirtatious. You swallow hard as your words get caught in your throat and manage to rasp out, “Um, ok.”

Over the next couple of months, Sy calls you regularly, usually two or three times a month. The calls aren’t long, ten or fifteen minutes at most, but you look forward to them like a kid looks forward to Christmas. After each call you’re on a high for a day or two, replaying the conversations in your head. When that thrill wears off, you start to think about the next call you'll have with him and the excitement builds anew.

“Are you seein’ anyone?” Sy asks during the fourth or maybe fifth call.

The question seems to come from nowhere, but you’re relieved because maybe he will give you an idea of why he’s been calling you. Is this just friendship? Are you just a person to anchor him to normal life, someone to talk to so he can have a break from whatever it is he’s seeing and doing over there? Or is there the potential for more?

“I’m not dating anyone.”

Sy falls into silence and the robotic hum is back. Although you always do most of the talking, he hasn’t gone this quiet since your first call. Maybe he’s expecting you to say something else.

“Are you?” you ask with trepidation. What if he says yes?

“No, Sugar,” Sy chuffs and you feel a rush through your body as your heart pumps faster, “Now, uh, tell me more about this car you’re thinkin’ of buyin’?”

Months pass by and nothing changes. This thing between the two of you is never discussed and you’re mostly okay with it. Sure, when you think of him your stomach flips and you can’t concentrate, but you enjoy his calls, and you tell yourself that his friendship is enough.

One call seems to change everything. Sy is about to hang up when he asks you a question.

“Hey, before you go, I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“Sure. I can try.”

There’s a beat of silence while you hold your breath.

“Will ya send me a picture of yourself?” Sy asks.

Your eyes widen.

“A picture?” You shift awkwardly on your couch, bringing your knees to your chest, “What kind of picture?” you ask with a shake in your voice.

“Whatever you want, Sugar,” Sy says lightly, “One from your birthday, maybe from a party, or weddin’, or somethin’. I'll take anythin’.”

“Oh,” You let out a giggle of relief, “Oh, I can do that. I thought you meant…” Heat burns your ears, you aren’t going to finish that sentence.

“Thought I meant what?” Sy asks before suddenly barking out a laugh, “Oh, no. No, I didn’t mean a picture like that,” He pauses and while he still sounds amused, his voice lowers, “I wouldn’t say no though.”

“Well, I will say no, to that kind of picture,” you say, still thoroughly embarrassed by your misinterpretation, and a little shocked. It’s the first time he’s really flirted with you.

“Cain’t blame a man for tryin’,” Sy jokes.

“But, I will send you a nice one, if you send me one of yourself too.”

“Deal. Now, ya got a pen handy? I’ll tell you how to get it to me.”

The next day you look through the last couple of rolls of film you developed, and check the images on your new digital camera. There is one photo you like, taken at a game of putt-putt, but it’s casual and you aren’t dressed up. It’s a candid shot, you’re laughing and half looking at the camera while lining up for your putt. You decide to send that one, along with a picture you'll take this weekend when you go out with friends.

On Monday, you place the photos in a box along with the latest edition of Rolling Stone, a book, some pretzels and trail mix, hot sauce, a foam football, and some socks that your brother said all the guys were raving about. You wonder if it is too much, if it’s crossing a line, but your brother assures you that Sy will love it.

Nearing the end of the conversation with your brother, he becomes serious, giving you the third degree, and warning you that those Special Forces guys are a different breed.

“They’re gone six to nine months of the year just for training when they're not deployed. On tour, he could be gone anywhere from six months to two years. They frequently won’t be able to tell you where they’re going. Communication is difficult, coms black outs are common. I don’t know this for sure, but they seem to move more than we did growing up.”

“Are you saying I should stay away?”

“No. I’m just giving you the facts. You have to decide if he’s worth the price you’ll have to pay. Being alone and waiting isn’t easy, you saw how hard it was on Mom.”

He’s right, you know that. But the way your hands start to shake, and the way your mouth goes dry whenever you hear the phone ring, that can’t be ignored.

“We’re just talking,” you retort. “He’s never said he wants more than that anyway.”

“You know I love you. You’re my little sister. But, if you think he’s calling you every week…”

“Sometimes every two weeks,” you correct him.

“Fine, every two weeks,” You can practically see him rolling his eyes, “If you think he’s calling you that often because he wants to be your friend, then you’re a dumbass. He’s interested in you. He’ll ask you out at some stage, you wait and see.”

The call with your brother leaves you in a strange headspace. Part of you wants more from Sy too. Well, a large part of you wants that, but your brother's warning has got you all tied up in knots. Even if Sy does want more than friendship, would you be able to deal with that? Truthfully, you don’t know.

You stare into the shipping box, feeling like it’s missing something. Other than the photos, there’s nothing tangible of you in there, and it feels too impersonal. You think a letter might be nice, you’ll make it short and keep it light, just like your phone calls.

Dear Sy,

Forgive me if I’ve overstepped by sending you some gifts. I know my brother always loves getting packages from home, so I hope you do too. He recommended the socks, and hopefully the recommendation of a Jarhead is okay with you. Haha!

I can’t wait to hear from you again. I’ve really been enjoying our phone calls. I was thinking that I could keep writing to you too, if you’d like, and maybe send you some more magazines or snacks. Next time we talk you'll have to give me a few ideas.

I bought two copies of the book I sent you. I thought it might be fun to both read it so we can talk about it together. Maybe that’s silly. I don’t even know how much time you have to read. I don’t even know if you like reading, or if you do, what kind of books you like. But, I’d like to know Sy. I’d like to know those things about you.

Take care.

You sign the letter with just your name, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you throw it in the box, tape it shut and take it to the Post Office.

When you check the mailbox a week later, you see a small white envelope with your address handwritten in a small, narrow, but neat, script. You quickly turn it over and see that it’s from Sy.

It’s embarrassing how quickly you race to get inside your apartment. With shaky hands you unlock your door, dump your bag on the floor, and try to get comfortable on the couch. You’re too excited, your body tingles with goosebumps, and your fingers tremble.

He touched this, you think, he wrote this for me, this is his handwriting.

You carefully open the envelope, peeling back the flap slowly, watching as the glue pulls away in strings before it snaps apart. Inside is a photograph and what looks like a letter on white paper with faded blue lines.

You pull out the picture first. It’s a headshot and it’s a little blurry, but it still takes your breath away. Sy is wearing a dark brown shirt with a green and black scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s staring into the camera. His brows are drawn together in a serious expression. He looks different to the way you remember him; his face is a little slimmer, and the beard is new. You didn’t think they were allowed to have beards.

All at once you remember the night he took you on that date, and you subconsciously draw your thighs together. Looking at his short hair, you remember how it felt, soft like velvet as you ran your hand over it when you kissed. He was so warm, his skin was almost hot to the touch as your hand had caressed his neck.

You wonder if he’ll have the beard when he comes back. You wonder what his kisses would feel like with the beard. His lips had been smooth and strong. Would his beard prick at your lips? Would it chafe at your skin like a five o’clock shadow, or will its length make it softer? Would its coarseness add a layer of sensory pleasure that you haven't felt before?

Knowing that those kinds of questions will only lead you down a path of distraction, you put the photo down, and take out the letter. You have to read it several times before it starts to sink in.

Sugar,

Sorry about the quality of the photo, I didn't have many options. I got it from one of my team, he took pictures of all of us a few months ago before we left the city. If I don’t look impressed, it’s because I wasn’t. Thought it was a stupid idea, but I’m glad I let him take it cause now I can send it to you myself instead of asking my sister to send you one. Although, if you want a better one, I can ask her.

I want to thank you for talking to me. You didn’t have to, and I don’t know how to tell you how much I appreciate it. Talking to you has been just what I’ve needed. Remind me to tell you about the other girl who’s keeping me sane this tour, she’s a little smaller than you, much hairier, barks when she’s hungry, and answers to the name Aika.

I also want to apologise for not spending more time with you before I left. I was an idiot, an asshole really. I wanted to, it’s only that I was leaving and thought it would be better that way. I regret that now, I should have made more effort and not been

There’s more I want to say, but I want to say it to you in person. For now, I want you to know that I look forward to speaking to you, just thinking about it makes me smile, and more than once I’ve been caught thinking of you by my guys.

I’ll call you real soon and I look forward to your photo. I’m laughing now, thinking of how cute you must have looked, all embarrassed, when you thought I was asking for a dirty picture. I remember how cute you looked when I kissed you that night. I think about that sometimes. I think

Thank you,

By the time Sy calls you again, you must have read his letter a hundred times and looked at his photo twice that amount. You keep both on your nightstand, committing his words and image to memory before you sleep each night, strengthening your recall whenever you think of him.

“I gotta make this quick, Sugar. I ain’t got much time, but I got your package today and had to thank you,” Sy greets you.

“Yeah? You got it? Is it ok that I sent you the other stuff? I wasn’t sure. If you don’t want any of it, you can give it away. I don’t—”

“Hell no, baby! I ain’t givin’ any of it away,” he sounds a little outraged at the suggestion, “I love everythin’ you sent me,” his voice softens and you would give anything to see his face, “You’re just as gorgeous as I remember.”

You smile and you feel your body heat up. You’re glad he can’t see you right now, you would barely be able to look at him.

“Sy…” you murmur. “I, uh, thank you. That’s sweet.”

“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about it. It’s the truth.” Sy chuckled. “And you sent me two photos. And all the other things. Not gonna lie, darlin’, I feel a li’l spoiled.”

You laugh, feeling a little uncomfortable. Not because of anything Sy has said, but rather it’s your brother's advice that plays on your mind. You change the subject, first asking him about the book and if he wants to do a read-along. He does. Then you ask if he wants you to send more packages. He does. However, it takes a while for him to admit it, he doesn’t want you to go to any trouble.

“I should be the one buyin’ you things, and givin’ you surprises,” There’s a hint of flippancy in his tone, but not much, “Takin’ you out somewhere nice to eat.”

Oh. Maybe your brother was right.

You laugh it off, “It’s 2003, Sy, women can pay for themselves.”

“I’m serious, Sugar. No woman of mine would be buyin’ me dinner.”

Woman of mine? Did he even realise what he just said? Or was he just speaking in a general sense?

“Well, I’m not trying to pay for dinner. I just want to send you some more magazines and socks.”

“You’re a sweet thing ain’t ya?” Sy says and his words set fire to your cheeks. “You takin’ the time to talk to me is more than enough.”

“What if I send you another picture with each package? I'll—”

“Deal,” Sy interrupts and you giggle.

Sy laughs, it’s a little teasing and you think about the last paragraph of his letter, the part that until now you haven’t wanted to acknowledge. You two have grown comfortable with each other, and a little light flirtation at this point of a relationship is natural, even for friends. You’re both testing the boundaries, seeing what you can get away with, probing for the potential of more. But, even so, you still aren’t sure you want to go there with Sy because there’s too much to unpack, so you redirect and ask him about Aika.

“Should I be jealous?” you ask with faux petulance. Shit. You aren’t supposed to be flirting back.

“Maybe,” he concedes, “She makes me smile almost as much as you do.”

You fall into silence, dropping your head with a grin. Fuck, you do want him to flirt with you. You can hear him breathing, suddenly heavy, and so loud that the robotic buzz is drowned out, and you like that too. When he speaks again, his voice is husky and deep.

“I’ll bet you’re smilin’ right now, ain’t ya, Sugar?”

“Sy…” you say softly. You’re more than just smiling, your body tingles and your heart beats so hard, you can feel it in your toes.

“Yeah, you are. You don’t have to tell me, I can hear it in your voice.” He makes a noise in his throat, like a groan, “I gotta go. I… Things are a li’l crazy ‘round here right now. It may be a while before I can call you again.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice, “Sy, I…”

“Yeah, baby?”

You shouldn’t say it. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You know you aren’t going to be able to stop yourself, because you want him to know. So much for working through how you feel about him later. Your heart already knows, it’s just taken your brain a little while to catch up.

“I think about that night we kissed too,” you whisper, referencing his letter.

He makes that noise again. You wonder if it’s the same noise he made in your ear that night and your spine feels like jelly.

“I gotta go,” Sy says so softly, you barely hear him, “I’ll be thinkin’ about you.”

Before you can say goodbye, the line goes dead.

It takes a while before you feel like you can move. You hold the phone tightly in your grasp, not wanting to let it go, because you fear if you do, you’ll forget the sound of his voice.

It’s over a month since you've heard from Sy. You know he said he was going to be busy, but after the second week of not hearing from him, you begin to doubt. You question everything, you stop reading his letter and looking at his picture. You remind yourself that he is on the other side of the world, and you remind yourself to protect your heart.

By the fifth week you’ve almost convinced yourself that he’s finished with you. You were just a distraction, a way for him to pass the time; a warm female voice to drown out the sounds of the cold men he dealt with daily.

What really messes with your mind is that even if he’s not calling because he doesn’t care about you, you’re incomprehensibly okay with that. You’re okay with it because it means he’s alright, it means he’s safe. He’d be a complete asshole, but he’d be fine. You can’t stand to think about other possible reasons for his silence.

When the phone rings, late on Sunday morning, you’re still in bed catching up on sleep. No longer do you answer the phone with your heart in your throat, indifference is all you can manage. It’s probably just your mother anyway, calling to remind you about meeting her for lunch.

But as soon as you raise the receiver to your ear, you know it’s him. The line crackles with the same robotic humming that you thought you’d never hear again.

“Sy?” you whisper, or at least you try. Your voice sounds strangled, even to your ears.

Blood roars in your head, from anger or relief you can’t tell because you feel both. You open your mouth to tell him you hate him, tell him you miss him, tell him you’re glad he’s okay. But you don’t. You slam your mouth shut, you keep it inside, you don’t want to give away too much. It was too painful after last time.

So you wait. As the silence stretches, the strange pulsing static of the line grows intolerable, and you begin to worry. Is this even Sy? Are you hearing things because you desperately want it to be him?

Then he clears his throat, a short cough that sounds wrong. As soon as he speaks you know something isn’t right.

“Hey, baby,” he sounds tired, but not just tired, depressed. Oh my God, what happened?

“Hey, Sy,” you say gently.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, you want him to tell you what happened, but you know he won’t. In all the time you’ve been speaking to him he hasn’t told you a thing, he hadn’t even mentioned Aika until his letter. You don’t take it personally, you knew next to nothing about your father’s or brother’s deployments. Sy may not even be allowed to tell you anything, that’s just the way things are in most military units. Still, after all these weeks, he must be calling you for a reason, you just can't put your finger on why.

“You never call me at this time of day, Sy. Are you okay?” you prompt lightly.

Sy sucks in a breath. It’s been so long since you saw him in person, and you can’t remember what he looks like when he does that. You wish you could remember. You wish for so much.

“I needed to hear your voice, Sugar,” he says softly, and your heart stutters as his reason for calling emerges. He’s speaking so slowly that his accent has become thick, and his voice is so heavy that it flows like syrup into your ear, “It's been too long.”

“You’ve been busy, huh?” you say, surprised at the lack of bitterness in your voice. You can’t bring yourself to be upset any more, not when he sounds so awful.

Sy hums in what could be agreement. He’s quiet for a while and you wait, hoping he’ll say something before you tear your hair out in frustration.

“When I—” Sy starts, then stops, and it takes a few moments for him to speak again, “I think about you, Sugar. A lot. More than I probably have a right to.”

You don’t know what to say. After all this time, are you finally going to have an honest conversation about your relationship? Are you going to talk about where this is going? If it’s going anywhere at all?

“Will ya do somethin’ for me?” He asks.

“Sure,” you say, “If I can.”

“Will ya tell me that you’re waitin’ for me? That you’ll be there when I get home?”

You’re a little taken aback, so you hesitate in answering. You think about the last month, the pain of not hearing from him, and the constant worrying. This is what a relationship with Sy would look like more often than not, irregular communication for months or years at a time. Is that what you want? Was he worth it?

“I won’t hold ya to it,” Sy says, “I just—”

“Sy—”

“Fuck, forget it—”

“Wait—”

“I shouldn’t’ve asked—”

“Sy, stop!” you say firmly, “Just stop,” Sy stops talking but he’s still there, you can hear him breathing, “I’m not going to say something like that just because you ask me to.”

“I know, I—”

“Would you let me finish, Sy?”

He grunts, low and guttural, his frustration as evident as yours. You wish you could see him. You wish he could see you. You don’t know if you have the right words to tell him how you feel, but you try.

“I want you to know that if I say something like that it’s because I really mean it. I don’t want you to doubt it, and if I tell you that now, like this, you will.”

The silence from Sy feels heavy, the dead air is thick with unspoken words. Your gut twists as you think of him alone, obviously going through something, and he reaches out to you, only to be rejected. But that’s not what you mean, and you need to let him know that.

“Can I tell you some other things? Some things you’ll know are true.”

“Please,” he murmurs.

“I can tell you that after we speak, I smile for hours, days, weeks,” your voice quivers and you take a deep breath. He doesn’t need your tears. “I think about how you laugh and how wonderful that sound is.”

You wonder what he’s doing in this moment. How is he sitting? Is he laying down? Is his head in his hands? Is he petting Aika? Is he alone? Has he showered? Can he shower? Is he wearing the socks you sent?

You want to comfort him, you want to tell him that it’s going to be ok, but you know you can’t. He knows you can’t promise him that. What do you say when you don’t know why he seems to be in so much pain? You don’t know what he could possibly need from you.

The truth. You tell him your truth.

“And I smile because for those moments that we’re talking, I’m not worried about you. I know you’re safe.”

You hear him expel breath into the phone. The speaker crackles and shudders, or is that him? Is he crying? Is he okay? You wish…

“I wish I could see your face when I talk to you. I wonder what it looks like when you say certain words or speak in a certain tone. I’d like to know what you look like when you’re quiet. Like now, I want to see your face so bad.”

“Me too baby,” his gravelly voice is throaty, his drawl is so strong.

“I want to see you when you get home, Sy. I do. I’m not making any promises, but I like you... a lot. I've liked you from the start. You’ve kept me at arm’s length though, and that just isn’t going to work for me.”

“Because I knew I was leaving,” he repeats the excuse he wrote in his letter, but his tone makes you wonder if he's not trying to convince himself more than you.

“When are you comin’ home?” you ask softly.

“Officially, my tour is up in a few weeks,” Sy’s voice is stronger now, more like what you’re used to, “But after what went down…” More silence, “Could be tomorrow, or six months from now.”

Six months. Or tomorrow. Or…

“Keep calling me, Sy. Or write if you can’t call. Do you have email where you are? Send me an email, even if it’s just one line.”

“I will, but I can’t email. There’s no internet at this camp.”

You hear him breathe in, long and deep. Then you hear that noise again, that deep rumble in his throat. Your thighs clench together and your face heats up.

“Sy, what are you doing?” you ask, just above a whisper.

“Right now? Layin’ on my bed. Just… thinkin’.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking about?”

Sy chuffs, “Not what, who.”

“Who are you thinking about then?” you ask innocently, not realising until too late what he means.

“You,” Sy says, and his voice takes on that low husky tone. Your thighs rub against one another, you can’t stop them, “I’m always thinkin’ of you— You wanna know what I’m thinkin’ about?”

“I don’t know,” you swallow, feeling breathless, “Do I?”

“How ‘bout I tell ya one thing I’m thinkin’ about, then you can tell me if ya wanna hear more.”

You want to know. You want to know if he’s having the same thoughts as you.

“Okay,” you murmur, and restlessness sinks deep into your bones. Your body is so hot, and you already feel the wetness ebbing from your center.

“I’m thinkin’ about that night I took ya out. Thinkin’ about that dress ya had on... God, you were so pretty. All night I wanted to kiss you.” He pauses, and you hear that sharp inahle again, “Then we went to your place and— fuck, baby, you really let me kiss you.”

“I liked that,” you tell him as you sigh, and he makes that noise that keeps driving you wild, “I liked you kissing me.”

“That’s good, baby,” Sy says, “That’s what I want... to make you feel good.”

“You did, Sy.”

“I wanna do that again. When I come home, I’m gonna kiss you just like that,” Your body heats even more at his suggestion. Would you let him kiss you again?

“I want that too, Sy,” you say firmly, despite your trembling voice, “I really want you to kiss me like that again.”

Sy hums, his deep voice rumbles in his throat, “Whenever I imagine that, making you feel good, it doesn’t stop at kissin’, Sugar.”

He just says it, a little tentatively perhaps, like he’s testing your reaction, but he just admits he’s thought about being intimate with you. And from the way he says it, he’s thought about it often.

“Do you wanna know more, or should I stop?”

You let out a small noise, like a squeak. You hope he knows that means yes.

“Where are you?” he asks. Is that a grin you sense in his voice?

You look around, like you've forgotten your location in this universe. God, he truly makes your brain shut down. He makes you stupid in the best possible way.

“Actually… I haven't gotten out of bed yet.”

“Shit,” Sy groans, drawing the word out.

His reaction makes you bold, and although your heart thunders, you close your eyes, and manage to speak, “I’m still in my t-shirt, the one I wear to bed.”

You hear him swallow, “Anything’ else?”

“Just my panties,” you barely breathe.

“Fuck,” Sy groans again. “You’re makin’ it really tough for me not to grab my cock right now, baby.”

“Oh,” you say on a long exhale, because you feel like you have to say something.

What you really want to say is: do it.

“Why don’t you?” you add quickly, squeezing your eyes shut in mortification.

Sy is quiet, all you hear is his quickening breaths. “Do ya want me to?” he asks, his voice is hoarse and breathy.

“Yes,” you admit. God, you’re shaking, your hands are trembling.

The speaker fills with static as he breathes out. “God dammit, I wanna touch you so bad. You gonna touch yourself too, Sugar?”

Shit. Oh shit. You weren’t expecting that. You’re definitely in the mood, but this is still too new and you’re insecure. You’ll probably end up replaying this moment later and cursing yourself.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Too much?” he says hoarsely, but gently. There’s no anger in his tone.

“I… I feel like I want…,” you don’t know how to explain yourself.

“Tell me, Sugar. It’s ok, tell me what you want.”

“It just feels… strange, to do this on the phone for the first time, instead of together, in person.”

Sy hums mulling it over, “But… you would want that?”

You don’t say anything. What can you say? You’ve just teased the hell out of him and now you feel like an ass.

“How bout we save all that ‘til we see each other again?” Sy suggests.

“I feel bad.”

“Nah,” Sy laughs, “I’ll just wait until ya hang up to finish.”

“Sy!” you exclaim, but you laugh along with him.

You talk for a few more minutes before you tell him that you have to go, “I’m meeting my mom for lunch. I’m already going to be late.”

“Yeah, I should go too. I’ve used every privilege I have as an officer, and some I don’t, to get the phone for this long,” He pauses and becomes serious, “I know what you said earlier, but… will ya do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me if you start seein’ someone.”

“I’m not going to start seeing anyone, Sy. I’m not sure where this is going with us, but I’m not about to throw it away either.”

Sy calls you more frequently now, usually once a week. There hasn’t been another call like that one, but you feel as though your relationship has changed again. It’s subtle, but tangible.

Sy says things like, “When I get back, we should see that,” or “I’d like to take you there when I get home.”

Tentative promises are made, and restrained flirtations are thrown around. You tell him you think about him, you tell him sometimes you want to see him so bad you ache. He tells you he wants to see you, he wants to kiss you; he hints that he wants you to be his, but the line you established on that earlier call is never crossed.

You both send more packages, more photos, and more letters. Sy sends you a picture with Aika, in it he’s wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a red shirt. He seems bigger than you remember. So broad in the chest. You wish he’d have taken the glasses off though, so you could see his handsome face.

Then the day finally comes, the day when he tells you he’s coming home. At first you can’t process it, like you had accepted that Sy was just a disembodied voice, not something to see, or touch, or smell. Then, as he lays out the process of returning home, you start to believe.

“I’ll really get to see you? In two weeks?” You ask incredulously.

“I’ll be all yours for thirty days. No work, nothin’.”

“What about your family?”

Sy grumbles, but you can tell he’s putting it on, “I suppose I’ll have to go see them for a few days.”

“Yeah, you should,” you say, smiling.

“Will ya come with me?” he asks.

“Sy…” You can’t fault his tenacity, “Let’s see how things are between us first?”

“There ain’t no way we won’t work,” Sy says, “I've never wanted a woman like I want you.”

“That’s only because you’ve had to wait over a year.”

“That ain’t it, baby,” Sy says seriously. Then his voice lowers, getting so gravelly he practically growls, “That’s why I’m so fuckin’ horny... but that ain’t why I want to be with you.”

As it always does when he talks like that, a fire ignites in your gut and radiates through you, heating your blood until you feel hot all over. You can’t imagine how it will feel to have him touch you and talk to you like that. You shiver just thinking about it.

You want to ask him why he wants to be with you, but he diverts the conversation and tells you he has to get you clearance to visit him. Sy lives on base, and he says it’s easier for him to pick you up to bring you to his place.

“Less paperwork,” he explains.

“Don’t you want me to meet you when you arrive?” The party atmosphere of homecoming was one that soldiers usually look forward to. If he doesn’t want you there, maybe he’s not as serious about you as you thought.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that. As much as I want you to be there,” Sy makes a noise like he’s sucking in air through his teeth, and says amused, “I don’t think you’d wanna meet the guys that way.”

“Yeah ok, good point,” you concede with a laugh. The thought of meeting his group and their families in an atmosphere like that is a bit intimidating.

“We’re plannin’ a barbeque for a couple of weeks after we get home. I’d like to take ya with me, and you can meet the guys then.”

“Sounds like a much more relaxed way to meet them.”

“Good,” Sy says, sounding pleased.

“Shit, I’m nervous just thinking about it.”

“What?! Meetin’ the boys? Baby, they love you already.”

Your eyes widen, “You told them about me?”

“I didn’t say anythin’, they just figured somethin’s up. Been a few comments about my mood having improved this deployment, and the packages I’ve been gettin’, and how they wanna meet the girl that keeps makin’ me smile.” Sy chuckles.

Your cheeks burn, but it's a pleasant feeling and you smile widely. You like hearing that he’s happy.

“Okay.” You don’t know what to say, so you steer the conversation back to his homecoming. “Will Aika be coming home with you?”

“Yeah,” Sy says and you can hear the joy in his voice. “She’ll be quarantined for three months though.”

“Oh, that’ll be tough,” you say sympathetically. “You’ll miss her.”

“I will,” Sy agrees. “But I’ll have you.”

God damn him. Four words and he renders you speechless again.

“Baby? Are ya still there?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking,” you scramble, trying to remember what you were talking about. “Oh, yeah. So, if you’re coming to get me anyway, why don’t you just stay with me?” you ask.

“Cause your couch is too small for me to sleep on.”

“My bed’s not too small.”

You hear Sy suck in a breath. “I can just go home at the end of the night. It'll be easier that way. You should still fill out the forms though, so you can visit me when ya want to and—”

“Sy,” you interrupt with a smile. It suddenly dawns on you that he’s nervous.

“Yup,” His lips make a small pop when he says it.

“You don’t want to sleep in my bed?” you ask, playing a little coy.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” Sy says roughly.

“Me neither.”

“I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.” There’s a question in his statement, like he’s unsure that you would want him to touch you.

“I wouldn't want you to,” You hold your breath in anticipation of his answer.

“From the second I see you, all I’m gonna want to do is touch you,” he groans.

A moan leaves your lips as your arousal wells between your legs. “I want that too.”

“And baby... Once I start, I ain't gonna stop,” Sy says.

His voice sounds strained, like he’s struggling to lift something. Then he clears his throat, his voice is back to its normal deep, soothing baritone, and he changes the subject.

“We’ll play it by ear then, Sugar.”

Part 2 (coming soon)

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