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Sylus would tear the world apart brick by brick and build it back up again with his bare hands if you so much as asked him to. He’ll do anything to give you pleasure, even if it pains him. But as much as he hates to admit it, he has his limits too, places where he firmly draws the line, moments where he has to be selfish so he doesn’t hurt so terribly even if it brings you joy.
And he’s quickly approaching one now.
His ruby eyes follow the coarse rope that goes from his palm, up to one of the wood beams of the room, and down to where they criss-cross around your arms. Your feet dangle a few centimeters above the floor, just out of your toes’ reach, enough to discourage you from moving too much and injuring yourself. The haughty look in your eyes has withered from you hanging there and from Sylus’ unforgiving touches in the past half hour. He hasn’t even entered you yet, enjoying working you all the way up and making you crash over and over again with just his fingers. The sweet noises and desperate expressions you make are too indulgent to stop.
The dim light of the room glimmers on your cheeks. Sylus realizes that the sheen is not sweat, it’s tears. You’re crying. His brow furrows. Why aren’t you using the safeword? Are you in that much pain? Are you not able to speak? His hand twitches to lower the rope so you can stand, fearing you’re in pain, but you merely twist your face into a sneer.
“That’s all you got?”
Sylus’ mouth falls open in disbelief. You’re egging him on. You’re clearly suffering but you still want this? You’re about to provoke his speechlessness again when he pushes you against the wall, legs between yours so he can prop you up.
He can’t bear to see you in pain anymore.
“And what’s this?” Sylus’ voice sounds higher, strained. “Is the big scary hunter crying now?”
Why does he hate this? He’s not enjoying this as much as he thought he would, and apparently not as much as you do.
From your bleary eyes and twitching muscles, you’re clearly overstimulated. You struggle to push him off, still roleplaying as the caught hunter with secrets to keep.
Sylus tries to stay in character for your sake, but he’s breaking. “Had enough yet? Ready to tell me what you know? Come on, spit it out.”
Tell me to stop and I’ll stop. Please.
The tear that splashes onto his hand is the last straw. You smirk through it.
“You’ll have to try harder than that.”
He’ll be the first to say that everything you do is elegant; even the way you cry is pretty. But here, you look so helpless. Every moan you make morphs into quiet cries for help, he’s the one being tortured, fantasy blurs into reality, it’s too much—
“Diamond,” he gasps. “Diamond, kitten, diamond.”
The safeword takes a second to sink in, but you blink away tears until clarity returns to your eyes. Your fingers work quickly to undo the knots and you fall into Sylus’ embrace. His stricken expression is enough to pull you out of whatever subspace you slipped into. It’s your turn to be distressed by his tears.
“Okay, it’s okay, let’s stop,” you whisper gently, pulling him to your chest. He snuggles into you, begging your steady heartbeats to calm his racing ones.
“Say it,” he rasps, and squeezes you when you don’t respond. “You have to say you’re fine, or I’m not convinced.”
“I’m fine, Sylus. Really. I’m okay.”
He believes you. He’ll believe you. He continues to hold onto you until he feels strong enough to pull away and look at your face. Your eyes are still pink and puffy, but the confidence and trust in them remains strong. The words you murmur as you stroke his hair becomes his mantra, and soon he’s healed enough to hear your latest request:
“Let’s cuddle instead. Let me take care of you.”
A genuine smile spreads on his lips as you pat his cheeks dry.
“As you wish.”