Silva
The alarm was a melodicblast, the phone's vibration making it buzz loudly against the polished wood surface of the antique bedside table. Silva jolted awake, lifting her head from the fluffy cloud of softness where she was enveloped, just in time to watch his hand shoot out from the duvet to silence the alarm. The apartment was grey with dim, pre-dawn light, and she felt like she could easily sleep for another hour or four.
She had prepared herself for the early morning wake-up, however, knowing it was coming and actually dragging herself from the bed were two completely different things. Stretching, she forced herself to wakefulness, knowing it would do no good to dawdle, not wanting to throw off his schedule. She was surprised then, when Tate seemed to snuggle deeper into the cocoon of blankets after silencing the alarm, rather than urging her to get up. When the alarm sounded again, nine minutes later, and his pale green hand once more left the confines of the duvet to swipe unseeingly at the screen, she barely managed to suppress a giggle as his head completely disappeared into the white nest of fluffy down.
He'd already been at the bar when she'd arrived the previous evening, having left directly from work. The Pixie's regulars knew who she was at that point — eyes would avert as she passed, no massive green hands would reach out to brush her thighs or grab her ass, and she would make it to her customary stool at the far end of the Pixie's gleaming bar unmolested, a dagger-toothed smile greeting her before she stretched up to kiss his smooth, green cheek.
She'd still been in her work clothes when she'd arrived: a mint green, a-line dress with a scalloped lace hem that brushed the top of her knees, layered with an emerald cardigan, which she knew made her green eyes sparkle. Normally she would have taken a moment to change before leaving the office, but that day she’d been eager to leave, to escape Tannar’s too-interested smile and probing questions about her weekend plans. It didn't matter that he was handsome and charming, friendly and eager to impress. His blue eyes were friendly and intelligent and his smile was kind, and Silva knew that he might have been someone she would have been interested in six months earlier, an awareness that tightened her stomach and made her squirm. He had a crush on Silva of the daylight hours, but Silva of the nighttime was no longer happy to be stuffed away, not anymore.
He’d been standing at the end of the bar, lean arms crossed as he surveyed the pool league matches with a sharp eye, listening to the bluster and chatter coming from the huge orcs clustered around the tables. She walked across the pub with purpose, not allowing any of the walking bodies in her way slow her down.
Things had been different since he'd come home toher, since the night she’d watched him sleep. She’d memorized the slope and planes of his face, and the rise and fall of his shoulders. The silvery scar that cut through his hairline and eyebrow had a twin at the center of his throat, and she had pressed her lips to it as gently as she'd been able, endeavoring not to wake him. He'd never told her how he'd come to acquire them, but now she wanted to know. She wanted to knoweverything; wanted to climb into his skin, wanted to examine and analyze his memories, and nothing less than all of him would do. She’d brushed her lips to his before tucking back against his front, nestling her cheek against his heart, reveling that she had him there in Cambric Creek, a step away from her daily life.
He'd stood behind her in line at the Black Sheep Beanery the following morning, his hand resting at her lower back, and it had felt more natural and right than anything else in her existence ever had. She’d looked around the coffee shop beaming,hopingsomeone would see her, hopingeveryonewould see her. She was done living a half-life, done with the lies, done pretending. They’d found a table near a side wall, drinking their coffee and picking at a shared pastry as they people watched. She'd pointed out business owners and City Council members, three insectoid sisters who were the proprietors of a darling little plant shop, and Jack Hemming himself, never raising his mirrored aviators as he chatted amiably with the staff as he'd placed his order. It was too cold to spend any length of time out of doors, but she walked him down Main Street, pointing out the shops and restaurants she thought he would be interested in — an occultist's tea shop and an esoteric little bookstore, a stationery shop that pressed their own papers and mixed their own ink, and half a dozen different pubs and restaurants.
He could tell himself that he wasn't able to give her the things she wanted until he was blue in the face — she was no longer happy to sit back and let other people tell her what she could and couldn't have, and Silva had decided she wanted it all. Her family and her community and him, with no concessions.
Honey-gold eyes had climbed up her legs as she moved across the bar the night before, jagged teeth pulling into a smile as she hopped confidently onto her barstool.
"Very pretty, dove . . . off to someplace special?"
"Yes, actually." Silva had felt her own smile stretch, mirroring the impossible width of his as she gripped a handful of his black shirt, dragging him lower and closer, until she was able to press her nose to his neck, breathing in his freedom before moving her lips to his. "I came straight from work to see someoneveryspecial."
He'd lifted her with a squeak, placing her on the edge of the bar as soon as he'd locked the door behind the last staggering orc that night. The needle-sharp points of his teeth dragged up her leg, nosing at the trim of her dress as he slipped off her peau de soie slingback, pausing to admire the fabric. "Well I'm terribly sorry, but someone very special is going to have to piss off. You're stuck with me, for now."
She'd huffed, kicking at his shoulder as he pulled up a bar stool. "Stop it. Did you do another double today?" His eyes were tired, she’d noted, wondering if he would want to go straight to bed that night, as he often did. "Have you eaten yet? I can run down the street while you’re closing up and grab you someth—"
She’d cut off on a squeal as she was pushed precariously to her back, his long fingers hooking under the sides of her lace panties, dragging them down her hips.
"I haven't . . . but I'm about to."
Now the long line of his body was warm against hers beneath the duvet, and the hard heat of his erection pressed to her belly, and Silva had a mind to give him a taste of his own medicine.
He had been in a particularly wicked mood last night, keeping her on her back with her legs around his shoulders for what had felt like hours, repeatedly bringing her to the edge of her climax before backing off, slowing the movement of his tongue, the points of his teeth dancing over her thighs. She had whined and writhed, pulling on his hair and begging him for release, but all Tate had done, repeatedly, was laugh.
She'd been relocated upstairs at that point, cradled in his arms and carried like a doll, her dress carefully removed and draped over the back of one of his modern-looking chairs, before placing her spread-eagle in the middle of the billiards table. His fingers were long and slender, able to press and slide against that spot inside her that she could never reach herself, making her cry out over and over again, playing her like an instrument, the same as he had that very first night, in the backroom of the bar.
"You are," he’d murmured against her slick center, pausing to press his teeth into the crease of her thigh, "thewhingiestlittle princess. Pull my hair one more time and see what it gets you, dove."
His shaft was hard in her hand as she gripped it beneath the duvet, stroking him slowly. A low groan sounded from the mountain of white pillows beside her, and Silva giggled. She loved the heat of him, the slip and slide of his foreskin against her palm, and the softly mumbled curses that fell from his lips as she teased his cock tip with a barely-there pressure of her nail.
"It’s time to rise and shine, sleepyhead," she sing-songed softly, smiling when he whimpered in response. The tips of her nails grazed his exposed glans, teasing at the seam, dipping into his slit until he bucked into her hands. "Oh no, that’s very rude. It’s daytime.Iget to make the rules now."
The duvet whipped back at her words, and she nearly choked on her laughter at his scrunched nose and narrowed eyes. "Aye, is that so?"
"Mmhm. That’s the way it works."
"Just remember, dove, the sun will go down again tonigh—" His words broke off on a groan, his head dropping back as she began to stroke him in earnest, moving with a continuous twist over his shiny, pink-edged head. Silva kept a firm grip, working him steadily until he was weeping pre-cum, his sac beginning to lift and contract from where she cupped it.It’s called a morning stiff, not ‘you have all night to do something about it,’ isn’t that what he said?He wasn’t going to last long, so she intended to have her fun while she could.
His gasp, when she let go, allowing his cock to bob and twitch in the air, shivered up her spine, a thrill ofpowerthat she’d scarcely experienced before.
"What are you doing, Silva?" His voice was strained with a note of warning and his teeth clenched, and she wondered if the wideness of her smile resembled his own as she gazed down. Tate’s hands fisted the bedding as she began to stroke him again, anticipating the moment when she would release him, but it didn’t make his growl of frustration any less lovely to her ears when she did.
