Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nights like tonight aren’t Zayne’s favorites.

For starters, a persistent headache has been making his temples throb since he started his shift eleven hours ago. On top of that, someone had to leave mid shift to tend to an emergency at home. 

It’s not that Zayne doesn’t get it, he completely does and doesn’t mind having to pick up the slack when needed, but it gets to a point where he begins to feel more foolish than charitable. 

A wailing child has been relentlessly making their voice heard for the past two hours. The father dutifully attempts to calm them, but all of his efforts are futile. Successful recovery is what he wishes for all his patients, but he needs this child’s mother to get better this very second so this noisy child can be taken home. 

A fire alarm going off earlier, a leak in the break room, and a patient trying to assault him after learning sodium rich foods are in fact not recommended for individuals with heart conditions were really just the icing on the cake. 

Taking a look at his watch, he’s never been more relieved to only have thirty minutes left here. He almost considers spending half of the time hiding in the bathroom and reemerging just to clock out, but his conscience won’t let him do that. 

All he has to do is tough it out. There’s calming cups of tea, a cozy blanket, and a bottle of wine if he really wants to indulge waiting for him at home. 

When he’s finally able to take off his badge to relinquish the title of doctor for the night, he’s absolutely weary. Exhaustion is barreling through his bloodstream, making it difficult for his feet to have any meaningful movement as he begins to make his way out of the hospital. 

The night seems unassuming, but something lingers in the air that has the hairs on the back of Zayne’s neck rising. Ordinarily, this would make him more alert, make his steps a little bit bigger, but the rush of panic settles and there’s a sense of familiarity crashing over him. 

“Need a ride?”

The voice makes Zayne freeze just as his hand lands on the handle to open the car door. Slow and deep, lust embedded into every single syllable that he speaks. It always makes the pit of his stomach warm whenever he hears him, but now isn’t the place or the time. He’s too tired, borderline cranky, definitely prone to snapping if someone were to say the wrong thing to him right now. 

“You pull up next to my car and ask me if I need a ride,” Zayne comments dryly, not even bothering to spare Sylus a glance. “You must really be bored tonight.”

“Quite the opposite,” Sylus easily counters. He doesn’t have to turn around to know the clicking of boots against gravel is him dismounting his motorcycle. He doesn’t know what possesses him to stay where he’s standing instead of continuing to get in the car, but Sylus is suddenly in front of him. Ruby eyes slowly assess him, starting with the scrub cap haphazardly on his head, trailing down to bloodshot eyes with deep bags beneath them, and settling on his lips that surely are in need of some chapstick right now. “If you ask me, my timing is rather impeccable.”

“And what makes you say that?” Zayne argues, narrowing his eyes.

An inch, it’s a measly inch height advantage, but Sylus appears to tower over him when he moves in just a little bit closer. How can a man that always looks intimidating always smell so sweet, pomegranates and honey making their way into Zayne’s nostrils, completely obliterating the scent of bleach and the overwhelming stench of sickness. Involuntarily, his stomach flips again. 

“You’re tired, Zayne.” He doesn’t say it in a way that’s  argumentative or to prove a point, he’s just stating a fact. “You’ve had a long day.”

“All my days are long.”

“But today was especially long, no?”

Somehow, Sylus is always everywhere and nowhere at all—able to amass intel at rapid speed without any indication how he got it. If Zayne has to be honest, it’s almost like he has a bird’s eye view of the entire city, watching over everyone until he decides it’s time for him to step in. 

“If you know my day was long, I don’t see why you’re here just pestering me,” he grumbles. 

“Pestering?” Sylus laughs, his deep, rich chuckle echoing in the silence of the night. “I’m here to give you a ride, you shouldn’t be driving while tired. Surely, you know that.”

He would usually have some more fight in him, more energy to continue with this back and forth no matter how pointless he deems it, but he’s depleted. Every ounce of energy he had went into finishing his shift and he simply has nothing more to give. 

Sylus must know this too, turning to get the extra helmet and placing it over Zayne’s head without another word. He puts his on next, mounting the bike and patting the space behind him. 

If only he weren’t so tired. He’d scowl and reprimand Sylus for commanding him like some kind of dog. He’d think of some other smart remark even though Sylus would simply smirk and counter him with ease. 

It’s not the case though, not tonight. 

Resigning, he boards the bike, wrapping his arms around his rock hard midsection. It’s because he’s tired—not because he likes this in the slightest—that he leans his head against his back, letting the hum of the motor lull his senses as Sylus pulls off and starts to make his way toward Zayne’s apartment. 

Sylus is unusually quiet, a lack of the usual banter he insists on initiating, but he has more self awareness than an inclination to be annoying merely for the plot. He even offers to stop off for some food, that diner they both like that’s open late, but Zayne is even too tired for that, desiring nothing but the softness of his mattress and the warmth of his favorite, knitted blanket. 

Apartment coming into view, he straightens up, really dreading that he was content with living in a five floor walk up. The engine cuts and maybe, just maybe, he’s happy he didn’t have to drive home tonight even though he’s going to have to take a cab to work in the morning. 

“Thanks.” He pulls the helmet off his head, blinking a few times so his eyes can readjust. He stands awkwardly with the protective item in his hands, waiting for the silver haired man to take it from him. Instead of taking it, the silver-haired man takes off his own helmet, stowing it away before taking the one in Zayne’s hand. 

“Why are you making that face?” Sylus asks, cocking his head to the side. 

Unaware he was even making a face, Zayne schools his expression into something more neutral, dusting an imaginary piece of lint off the shoulder of his coat. “I wasn’t making a face.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he replies in that perpetually teasing tone. “Now are we just going to stand here, or are you going to open the door? I’m fine with either, but for your sake we should go inside.”

Puzzled, Zayne’s pink lips part, unaware of the reason why Sylus is expecting entry into his home, but he decides against asking, unwilling to hear whatever convoluted reason is going to leave his mouth. He just turns, walking up to the door, listening to the steady steps of their shoes hitting the pavement. Fishing in his coat pocket for his keys, he grumbles, sifting through the ones for the hospital before finding the silver one that opens his door. 

“Should I carry you?” The question makes Zayne stop, one foot already on the first step of the many flights to go. Of course Sylus has that stupid, punchable smirk plastered across his even stupider, perfect face. Zayne just huffs, continuing his ascent. “I really don’t mind. Do you think you’re heavy?”

Zayne pauses again, rolling his eyes as he turns to face him again. “Are you going to find a way to ask again if I continue to ignore you?”

Sylus shrugs, still smirking. “Possibly.”

Zayn resigns again, lips pursed tightly as he just stands, stiffer than a board. “Well?” He gently taps one foot against the floor. “I’d rather not stand here all night.”

“Apologies, your highness,” Sylus chuckles. Like he’s picking up a pillow and carrying it to a different room, he hoists Zayne over his shoulder and makes his way up the stairs, even taking the keys from his hand to open his apartment door. He closes it behind him before putting Zayne down gently, not a sweat broken. 

Yet, he isn’t making any motions to leave, slipping off his shoes and giving Zayne a confused look… as if this is his home and he belongs here. 

“I would take a shower if I were you,” he suggests. “Or I can run you a bath.”

Sitting in his own dirt doesn’t sound appealing at all, but neither does Sylus in his house while he doesn’t have a careful eye on him. Who knows what he’ll get up to. 

“I’m going to shower,” he says slowly. “And you’re going to…?”

“Wait for you.” He smiles, one that reaches his eyes and makes them shine like actual rubies. “Shout if you need anything.”

He’s there, and then he’s gone, stalking towards Zayne’s bedroom like he’s supposed to be here. Too tired to inquire why he has not gone home yet, he just sighs and takes off his coat, hanging it up. On the way to the bathroom he strips, a trail of clothes left in his wake. 

Under the stream of the hot water, he lets his head rest against the cool tiles as the dirt and grime of the day begins to swirl down the drain. Just standing here feels so good, he almost forgets he actually needs to scrub himself, soaping up his loofah and scrubbing himself clean after a few more minutes of stillness. 

He stays under the water a while longer, thinking about how long today was and it’s probably going to feel equally longer tomorrow. What he needs right now is a drink, one that probably tastes disgusting but will make every memory from today leave his brain. Laughable really, how useful Sylus would have been if he bothered to let it be known he was coming. Surely, he has some kind of egregiously expensive liquor at home that will check off every requirement Zayne is looking for right now. 

Stepping out of the shower, he carefully wraps a towel around his waist, droplets of water still running down his chest as he makes his way back to the bedroom. He’s so tired, he’s debating even putting clothes on, just let his nude body hug the sheets as he drifts off. 

Curious, he goes back toward the front door, seeing it locked securely, but Sylus’ shoes are still by the door. A knit between his brows, he makes his way to his room. 

Instead of—he doesn’t fucking know, just going home—Sylus is laid out on his bed like an overgrown house cat, pants and shirt nowhere to be seen. One long leg casually crossed over the other as he scrolls on his phone. 

Zayne clears his throat, making him look up. “There you are,” the intruder says, putting his phone down. “I didn’t know how long you were going to keep me waiting. How was your shower?”

Really? They’re going to play this game?

Zayne would normally pinch his brow in a moment like this, shake his head and ask Sylus what the hell he’s still doing here. If he had even iota of energy left, he might’ve shoved his feet off the bed and pushed him out the door himself, but he can’t bother right now. 

He lets the towel fall to the ground, pushes Sylus over so he has enough room and comfortably gets under the covers himself, pulling the string to take the lamp on his bedside table off. Grabbing his sleep mask from beneath the pillow, he rests it over his eyes and starts to let his body sink into the comfort of the mattress. 

The man beside him knows him, but it seems Zayne’s still able to surprise him every now and then, hearing some kind of snort while he feels the space next to him shifting. Ignoring it, he turns on his side. 

Sylus refuses to be ignored, immediately clinging to Zayne’s back, nuzzling his nose against the shell of his ear. “Don’t tell me you’re going to bed already, Doctor.” His breath is hot, tempting. “You’ve barely spoken to me the entire night.”

And if it were up to Zayne, he wouldn’t have spoken a single word to him because he had zero business running into him tonight, but he digresses. Determined to sleep, Zayne doesn’t move, doing his best impression of a brick and laying as still as possible. 

“Ah, come on.” He hugs Zayne’s midsection tighter, pressing more into his body. “I haven’t gotten to help you relieve stress yet.”

Zayne remains in place, hoping Sylus will just quit the antics and go to sleep if he insists on staying here for the night. But he’s persistent, nudging him, rocking against him, and ending up on top of him once Zayne still doesn’t move a muscle. 

“Sylus,” Zayne grumbles, momentarily breathless at the sudden weight on top of him.  

“Now you hear me,” he chuckles, peeling the silk mask off of Zayne’s eyes. 

“I have work tomorrow,” Zayne states, trying to push the man off him. “If you insist on staying, sleep.”

“Doctor,” Sylus purrs, completely ignoring him, letting his large hands run up Zayne’s abs, hovering just over his chest, and it’s hard to deny just how good that feels. “Are you really going to go to sleep when you’re still so wound up?”

“I’m not wound up,” Zayne argues, watching to see what Sylus’ hands do next. “It comes with the job. I didn’t expect everyday to be easy.”

“Then why does it look like your vein is about to pop out of your neck?” His voice gets lower with each word spoken, lips moving in closer until they’re brushing against the skin of his neck, the tip of his tongue collecting the salt of his skin. 

And it makes Zayne shudder the slightest bit, a rush of blood shooting down south as he wills himself to just close his eyes and get some sleep. Sylus, though, seems to want the opposite, his lips slowly moving across Zayne’s skin. 

“Seems a bit better now,” Sylus laughs against his skin, moving to plant his lips along the other side.

“Are you finished?” Zayne sighs, surrendering to the splattering of kisses pressed against his collar bone. There’s no denying how good it feels, every single kiss so soft, so gentle, so different from all the cruelty Sylus is known to inflict on others. 

Absolutely astounding how much tenderness he’s capable of, making his way to Zayne’s lips, cradling the sides of his face as he gives him a featherlight kiss. It makes his cock even harder. 

“Am I finished?” Sylus says sarcastically against his lips, pressing another kiss to them. “Seems like you want me to keep going, actually.”

“You’re insufferable.” 

“Aw, you flatter me.” 

Zayne has no choice but to just shake his head as Sylus continues to decorate his skin with kisses, pressing them to all the sensitive pulse points—the veins in his neck, that one spot right behind his ear that only Sylus is privy too, the little spot where his happy trail ends and his cock begins. It makes him shudder, but this is the most relaxed he’s felt the entire day. In a profession where nothing can be anticipated, always caught off guard by the next patient’s condition, it’s nice having this familiarity with Sylus.

That’s why his hands move to cup Sylus’s firm ass, his breaths stuttering when those ruby eyes stare at him with so much intent, more desire than his heart is able to handle.

“Tell me, doctor,” he purrs, leaning in so their lips brush when he speaks. “Do you want to fuck me? Or should I fuck you?”

Zayne almost wants to laugh, shaking his head the slightest bit as he grips his cheeks again, letting his fingers sink into his tanned skin. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he murmurs in response, letting two fingers slip into his parted cheeks. “I bet I’m not even going to be surprised at what I find here.”

A knowing smirk is plastered on Sylus’ face when Zayne’s fingers meet the smooth surface of the butt plug inside him. Just to tease him, payback for the torment of not letting him sleep, Zayne pushes it in a little further, listening to the breathy moan that escapes the silver haired man at the extra pressure. It’s always nice to see the way his face absolutely crumples, eyes shutting tight as he leans forward, putting all his weight on Zayne’s chest as he swivels his hips.

“Amazing you can drive with this thing,” Zayne chuckles to himself.

He teases him a little more, pushing it in deeper so the plug nudges right against his prostate, putting a hand on Sylus’ muscled back to feel all his shaky inhales. Then he pulls it out just enough to have Sylus grinding against his hand, desperate for more.

Impatience is quickly taking over, Zayne pulling out the plug completely, breaths heavy as he fumbles for the lube.

“Let me, doctor,” Sylus says, regaining his composure as his freakishly long arm reaches over for the nightstand, quickly grabbing and uncapping the bottle. 

He’s just as needy—but then again, Sylus always is—coating his palm with lube to slick up Zayne’s cock. Of course, the movement is hurried and it feels more like the worst handjob in existence, but there isn’t a single thing to complain about once Sylus starts to lower himself, breaching himself.

“Just like that,” Zayne praises, voice husky as Sylus puts a hand on his shoulder for balance. His touch is never gentle, always a force to be reckoned with, but Zayne always welcomes it, willing to be in pain for the sake of Sylus’ pleasure. “You’re always so good to me.”

“Wouldn’t want to make the doctor mad, now would I?” Sylus smirks, trying to disguise a crack in his voice when he bottoms all the way out, his ass meeting Zayne’s lap. 

This view is always so mesmerizing, seeing Sylus’ flushed face as his cock bobs against his stomach with nine inches stuffed inside him. Zayne can’t help but pinch one of his brown nipples, watching the way his cock instantly jerks in response. He does the same to the other, pinching hard enough for the indent of his nail to be embedded into the skin of his pecs. 

And while some would call him a sadist, he knows what Sylus likes, knows exactly what he’s able to handle. He could slam his fist into the man’s face and there’s a chance he would come on the spot while he laughs and asks for more. 

Zayne keeps an eye on his cock, paying attention to the way the tip grows redder and redder, more precum dribbling and making his shaft shiny and sticky. When he’s as hard as he can be, Zayne ceases the nipple abuse, licking his lips at how sore and puffy they look, the work of his careful hands. 

“Planning to just leave me hanging?” Sylus pants, already reaching for Zayne’s hand, trying to put it back on his chest. 

But Zayne doesn’t give in, putting all his weight into his hand to keep it steady by his side. Not that Sylus doesn’t have the strength to rip his arm clean off the socket, toss the now useless limb into the ocean and stalk off into the night, but he just wouldn’t. Zayne is confident to say his callous behavior doesn’t extend to him, a rarity he has no problem taking advantage of. 

“Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to be helping me?” His hands find their way back to his toned cheeks, giving them a squeeze. “What was it you said? Stress relief?”

“Did I say that?” Sylus hums, lazily rolling his hips. “I’m pretty sure you told me stress will always be in your life as long as I’m around.”

Trying to stifle a laugh is difficult, because he’s pretty sure he said that a couple days ago. Or maybe it was a couple weeks ago. Could have even been a couple months ago. 

Everyday with Sylus borders on the edge of being harassment, but Zayne would be lying if he said it wasn’t entertaining. He would be an even bigger liar if he claimed not to care about him. Should a day come where he gets a call from Luke or Kieran saying Sylus has met some kind of untimely demise, he would take a trip to the N109 zone himself to determine who could have been strong enough to take out Onychinus’ fearless leader. 

Moving his hands to his impeccably trimmed waist, Zayne thrusts up. “I don’t remember saying that,” he laughs lightly, licking his lips as he feels himself throb. Being inside Sylus might actually be better than anything else, already feeling himself getting so lost, grunting as his hips jut up again. 

“Funny how your memory is always bad whenever we’re having sex.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” Zayne comments dryly with an eyeroll.

“I think the last guy I killed was saying something like that before I put a bullet between his eyes.”

Zayne scoffs, amazed that he somehow always finds a way to bring up murder.

Yet, that always turns him on more, knowing that the man who has taken so many lives is sitting on his cock, waiting to be fucked mercilessly. The man that makes so many people tremble in fear comes to his house and turns into this pliant, unrecognizable creature.

“At least he got to enjoy the view before he died,” Zayne chuckles, admiring every handsome feature on his face—the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharpness of his jawline, the fullness of his pink lips, the slants of his eyes that house those precious rubies—as his hips jerk up again. 

“Doesn’t matter much if I only care about how you look at me.” And this always happens, sweetness between teasing that he never knows when to expect. There’s always a softer look in his eyes when he says things like this, words that always make Zayne question exactly what they’re doing.

Sylus is always the first to claim (completely unprompted) he doesn’t date, citing it as being too tiring and worrisome, and there are a million other things he can be doing with his time. In the same breath, any suitor Zayne has always mysteriously disappears, there one moment and gone the next. He doesn’t even know how many times it has happened now, opting to put the safety of the other person first, politely declining their advances and looking over his shoulder for where Sylus is sure to be lurking.

But he guesses the specifics don’t really matter when fucking Sylus is like muscle memory, his body unconsciously moving for the sole purpose of pleasuring the man on top of him. 

If he doesn’t fuck him hard, he’ll complain. He learned that their first couple of times together and hasn’t forgotten it since, biting down on his lip for maximum concentration as he keeps pounding into Sylus. In the darkness of the room, his silver strands glimmer, a regality to him even though he’s quickly being torn apart. 

“More,” Sylus demands.

Zayne plants his feet on the mattress for more leverage, and continues to thrust. His affinity for being cold always melts when he connects with Sylus this way, his blood boiling hot, an inferno he’s always willing to be in if a certain someone is there to accompany him.

Each thrust is harder than the last, the sound of his balls slapping against his toned ass echoing and bouncing off the walls. “Sylus,” he moans absent mindedly, struggling to catch his breath with his quick movements. “Sy—”

Arms snake around his neck and lips crash on to his, quick and ferocious. Sylus absolutely devours his mouth, uncaring of his roughness when his teeth sink into Zayne’s bottom lip hard enough to break skin and draw blood.  

Just as he expects, the gentleness follows after, his warm tongue lapping over the injury he just inflicted before it slips into Zayne’s mouth. His tongue is always so persistent, licking every inch of Zayne’s mouth as if it’s his first time doing so.

If he says that of Sylus, Zayne would have to scold himself too, wrapping his arms tightly around his broad back as he plunges his tongue into Sylus’ warm mouth. He’s still thrusting too, feeling their noses bump as he’s closer and closer to tipping off the edge. 

This is the part he always struggles with, wanting to keep pleasing Sylus, to keep fucking into his tight hole until his big dick is making a mess between their bodies, but the primal urge inside of Zayne to chase his own orgasm and leave his mark inside the anti hero is always so strong. If it were anyone else, he would be terrified that he’s squeezing the breath out of someone, but he knows Sylus can handle this, can withstand Zayne’s strength and desperation. 

So he pulls his knees in and holds him even tighter, thrusting into him until he feels the telltale signs of an orgasm from Sylus—his heavy breaths, his trembling muscles, his body going completely limp, the stickiness on his skin. After, Zayne still gives him more, a few slower paced thrusts until he comes too, his cock slipping in and out so easily with the mixture of lube and cum.

Of course Sylus doesn’t roll off him, or make any motion to move actually, soft snores already coming out of him. 

“Really?” Zayn grumbles with no real heat in his voice, letting out a satisfied sigh as he cradles the big baby in his arms. 

“Aren’t you glad I came to get you?” Sylus asks, voice all sexy and sleepy, rubbing his nose into the crook of his neck. 

There’s a lot of things he can say right now. He can take advantage of his docile state and pluck his nose when he’s least expecting it. He can say no and push him off the bed. He can even say this will be the last time they do this little song and dance so he better appreciate every moment right now, but he decides against it. 

Something about tonight has the layers of ice around his heart defrosting, even though he can’t put his finger on it. 

Carding his fingers through silver strands, he tries to better pinpoint what it is. Definitely not his usual stalking tendencies, and it certainly isn’t his penchant for just staying opposed to asking if Zayne wants company like any normal person would do. 

Maybe it’s his willingness to be around Zayne no matter the mood he’s in, still wanting his company even when he’s feeling fairly unpleasant much like he was earlier tonight. There’s also how dependable he is, even if he gets things done in a manner that is unconventional. Then there’s his intelligence, his resourcefulness, his ability to always turn Zayne’s mood around despite how annoyed he claims to be. 

Maybe, just maybe, there’s nothing to narrow down and he already has all the answers. 

He takes a peek at Sylus, finding the man staring back at home with soft eyes, expecting an answer. 

“Yeah, I am,” Zayne replies, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

Happy to have a response, Sylus nestles back down onto his chest, slinging a long leg over Zayne’s own. 

And even with so much dead weight on top of him, he falls asleep with a smile on his face knowing the morning is going to start with his arms wrapped around Sylus’ waist when he drives him to work. 

Even better knowing the day will end with Sylus moaning out his name, even if he has no idea where that leaves them.