#also I love sylus and his transactional pov but it also stresses me out

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 10

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Suggestive

Word Count: 1630

Written: 23rd December 2024

Notes: Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Masterlist

Sylus isn't used to people touching him. If anyone does, it's often sharp, and jagged and with intent to harm or kill. No matter how far back he thinks, he's known very little contact that hasn't come at a price. It's normally paid in blood. It's not always his blood...

His first time re-meeting you, had been just as sharp... and drenched in regret.

If he could go the rest of his life never seeing disgust in your eyes, and never hurting you again like a callous fool, he'd be satisfied. Not happy, but it's a low bar for survival, he thinks.

He meets so many of his experiences with kindness and affection with you. You open doors he has kept closed for a long time. You pull him into light, and not the kind that burns or mutes his evol. Through you, Sylus experiences what life can be like. When he lives, and doesn't just survive.

It is... perfect, in the way that imperfections are. A sign of real living.

After slaking his thirst with you for the first time, though it had stayed a dull throb because truly there was no absolution for his need, he had been unsure what to do next. A part of him had wondered, worried, if you would leave, straight after, with no use for him. Or worse even, full of regret, that ended you in his arms.

He had reached for you, pulling you close, wavering on the edge of shattering, but you had curled into him, and gladly shared the glow with him.

Making no move to leave, no indication of disappointment, no feeling of regret. Simply tired and sated and clingy. In the best of ways.

Since then, he has mastered the art of caring for you. His role, he thinks, to tend to you after. He has to keep your joy and comfort, he has to be there to ease, so he never loses you.

It takes you time before you realise that he has placed it on himself, a self assigned repayment for sins he cannot explain to you, and a need to justify your love for him. Until the day it clicks, and you soothe the ache in his body with your hands. He fights for a moment, unsure how to accept, unused to it. How is he to repay it? But you are determined and you are full of love you give freely, and he cannot fight against a torrent.

He has eased since then, you share now. Who is more ready, who needs it more in the moment, whose edges require tending quickest.

Sylus has come face to face with the way he views your connection. He does not need to fulfil every desire, though he still wants to, and he does not need to give and give and never take. When he talks about being used and using, he means to be joined together, but you flinch at the wording and he has to reevaluate. He wants what you offer. Unconditional and precious. He offers you his heart, his soul, his body in return. There is no requirement or bar to clear.

Truly he would still wear your leash, but if your hand trembles to put it on him, he does not need it. If you would not gleefully devour his heart with your teeth, he will keep it in his chest to beat for you. If there is no weapon he can be that satisfies a need for vengeance you no longer seem to hold, then he will be your companion. Sylus will adapt and learn.

As long as you tell him that you love him and want him, he will learn true joy, and true living.

For the flower of his life blooms only in your arms, and he sees no other garden by your soul. It is a peaceful thing, and he knows so little of peace, that it is always a marvel.

You soothe the muscles in his arms, hand drifting patterns into his face, over his throat, down his chest, over his arm, and back. A cycle of drifting touches. You draw infinity, hearts, and flowers on his skin. He is purring happily without control.

Yet it is just you here, and if he would cut his chest open for you, then he can allow you to see him purr and keen for every touch you offer. Even if it does cause his cheeks to redden.

And you lay kisses there too.

The afterglow is his favourite. He thinks. Existence in a space between hunger and satisfaction. He can watch the highs come down slowly, and breathe in the relief and warmth of you steadying.

He holds you, and you touch him without reason, though maybe you don't need a reason. He certainly doesn't, captivated by every part of you. Tucking you closer against himself. It's never close enough, like he's chasing the sensation of his soul melded with yours forever.

He hopes when everything does end, you join once more, and disappear together.

You reach hands out to pull him closer, on top of you, and he does so gladly. Carefully pressing his weight down, grounding you with himself, his body, his heart, his arms around you. Protective and possessive and hoping to carve himself into you.

Your fingers trace patterns into his back now, soothing across his sides and over his hips, one follows a slow ascend into his hair, drifting short nails like you're fussing a cat.

He'd make a comment about insult, but his body jerks into you, hips rolling, and moaning into where he's buried his face into your neck. Taking long, pulling inhales of you. Sweaty and satisfied.

Your laugh earns a pinch at the side, but it's not harsh enough and you kiss the side of his head in 'apology', and return to your affections.

Sylus is used to sleeping light, or not sleeping at all. To be caught unawares would be a great insult, and he hasn't survived so long just on his ties to the sword in your soul. He does not relax easily, and even the first times spent with you, he barely slept. Or slept oddly.

Feeling like a guard more than a partner.

The longer he spent, being soothed, being loved, the easier it had gotten to drift off. To trust you as his watchman. To let his eyes close and body ease.

As he falls asleep, held and loved by you, he hears you whisper against his hair, "Goodnight Beloved." and he gladly eases into dreams he knows will be filled with you.