“If I’m very lucky,” Arthur shot back with a grin. Syler smiled, shy but undeniably thrilled.
Thirty-Six
They settled on the couch—a couch that matched the one in his office suspiciously well, by the way—in the adjoining living room, Arthur content to resume his rightful place with his head in his handler’s lap. Syler carded a hand absentmindedly through his hair as he put together the after action report for the D.C. debacle and went over the list of damaged equipment he needed to replace in both the operations department and his apartment.
“I think that damned AI fried half of my server banks in the lock out,” he grumbled a few hours later, thumbing his screen irritably. Arthur nuzzled against his hip consolingly, flicking through his own tablet as he finalized his much briefer report. Lucky bastard had less paperwork when he wasn’t the one who had to explain exactly what the hell they’d gone up against to the big wigs. “I’m debating how much I can leave out or dumb down without them noticing.”
“What are we leaving out, exactly?”
“Everything that might lead them to trying to make a Pyrona of their own.”
Arthur suppressed a wince at the thought. “So most of it then.”
“There’s a distinct possibility that two versions of this report are going to exist and only one of them will be external.”
“I think,” Arthur drawled, dragging his tablet away and setting his own aside, “that you should take a break.”
“Mm, just let me finish this and then we can enjoy our paid punishment however you like.” Arthur grinned wickedly. Syler felt an immediate pang of regret, followed by a spike of arousal. His agent tended to come up with ideas in two camps—incredibly enjoyable or utterly terrifying. “Arthur...” he warned.
The other man was already up. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”
“Arthur—” And he was already gone, disappeared around the corner leading to the stairs. Syler considered following to see what trouble he was getting up to, but ultimately decided against it. It was someone else’s turn to watch the man.
He immersed himself back into the reports, alternating between tablet and laptop as he slowly cobbled together some version of a believable story based loosely on the final copy he was transmitting to Boothman. He was just giving it a final read through when a pair of hands settled on his neck and started massaging lightly into the knots at the base. He lolled his head back, dropping the tablet on the couch and gracing his agent with an indulgent expression. Then his eyebrows shot up.
“Where is your shirt and why is your hair wet?”
“Come upstairs,” he crooned, tugging Syler up from the couch. He was down to just a pair of slim joggers. Huh, odds were swinging towards the incredibly enjoyable camp then. Syler stood and moved around the couch, reaching a hand out to stroke down his exposed ribs and capture a well muscled hip before darting closer to kiss him.
Arthur grinned. “Upstairs. With a bed.”
Syler wasn’t going to argue with that logic. He followed behind gamely, cock taking a pronounced interest in the proceedings at the view he was graced with as they made their way up the stairs. Now that the other man was his, it felt only fair to take a certain level of pride in his own catch. And lord, what a catch.
He pressed up against Arthur when they got to the third floor landing, hands trailing over and around his toned stomach, mouthing at his neck. “Have I told you how incredibly attractive you are before?”
“Not in that tone of voice, so please feel free to keep going.” He deftly pulled them through the doorway, turning to capture Syler’s mouth as he worked a hand under his borrowed shirt. Syler shamelessly dropped his hands down to cup the other man’s ass. “I’m fond of this too.”
“Good,” he replied, tugging down his joggers and dropping back against the bed, sprawled out in an entirely pornographic display. “It’s yours tonight.”
Syler shucked his own sweats, cock now firmly invested in the proceedings. He licked his lips, pupils blown and eyes gone very dark, climbing onto the bed with as much grace as he could muster before dipping his head down to draw the blond up for a thoroughly filthy kiss.
Arthur hooked his arms around him, drawing him down against his chest, hands roaming freely down to grip his ass and back up to tug at his hair. “Come on sweetheart. Equipment is on the bedside table. Now show me a good time.”
“Oh,” he pressed a bite to the underside of Arthur’s jaw, “I fully intend to.”
He set to work mapping out every glorious inch of the other man, hands taking a particular interest in the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders, mouth tracing a path across his chest. He breathed out over a nipple, intent on sucking them both in due time. Arthur arched up against him when his mouth finally closed around the first.
“Sensitive,” he noted, tone faux clinical as his hand drifted across the planes of the blond’s stomach to settle temptingly on his upper thigh. He continued his slow path down the other man’s stomach, working diligently down to the space just above his cock, relishing in every noise and muttered curse the man lobbed his way, before sitting up, right hand pressed firm to the other man’s sternum as he admired his handiwork.
“Syler,” his handsome menace threatened, “if you don’t get back down there, I might kill you.”
“It’s not my fault you teased yourself before we started.” The younger man gave him a wicked grin, reaching for the lube on the table. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“You were meant to.” He was tugged unceremoniously back down, the older man’s mouth as intent as the hands that pressed their hips into perfect alignment. He ground up against Syler, one hand darting back
