Raylen
Chapter nine
Venturing into the dense forest on the edge of Everend Market offers a refreshing escape from the oppressive heat of the valley.
Up here, beneath the ancient, interlocking canopy of the white pines, the air is cool and smells heavily of damp earth and wild lavender.
Cinder is somewhere nearby, chasing a large magical dragonfly, leaving the small clearing entirely to us.
Thwack.
My arrow buries itself dead center into the makeshift burlap target I tied to a sturdy elm tree. I reach into my quiver and pull out another arrow. All the while, my ears track the steady, rhythmic pacing of the elf behind me.
Sylar is wearing his heavy scholar robes despite the summer humidity, a thick stack of parchment sheets clutched tightly in his hands.
He’s been pacing the same ten-foot stretch of grass for the last hour, his brow furrowed so deeply it looks permanent.
If he weren’t so stressed, I’d be tempted to chuckle at how damn adorable he looks.
“The structural alignment of the southern constellations dictates a clear trajectory for the next three months, provided the alchemical variance of the atmosphere remains under two percent,” Sylar recites, his voice tight, devoid of any warmth.
He stops, staring at the page, and lets out a long, deeply frustrated sigh.
Thwack.
I release another arrow, landing right next to the first. I glance over my shoulder, resting my bow against my boot. “You’re overthinking the numbers, Sy. You sound like you’re reading a dictionary while falling asleep, not talking about the sky.”
Sylar tenses. The parchment sheets crinkles loudly in his grip.
“You’re not helping, Raylen. This is the Celestial Society.
They don’t care for poetic fluff or daydreaming.
They are the highest academic minds in Dun Steorra.
If my data is not perfect, they will laugh me out of the whole damn market.
” He throws his hands up in frustration.
“But it’s lacking something. I can feel it.
Every time I read the conclusion, it feels hollow. I don’t know, dead on the page.”
He sinks down onto a log, defeated, his black hair falling forward.
I set my bow down against a tree and cross the clearing. I slide onto the log right next to him, close enough that our shoulders press together. He doesn’t pull away.
“Look at me,” I say softly, tilting his chin.
Sylar turns his head, his brilliant eyes filled with a desperate stare that makes my chest ache.
“You’re trying to speak their language instead of your own,” I tell him.
“I’ve spent the last ten years reading articles about stars, trying to find pieces of you in them.
But the stuff you just read? That’s not you.
Do you remember the night before I left Moonscliffe?
We sat there after our tutoring session, and you talked to me for two hours without a single note. You didn’t read a damn thing.”
Sylar blinks, his lips parting slightly. “I remember. I was teaching you about some of my favorite myths.”
“No,” I say, a soft smile tugging at my mouth.
“You were telling me a story. You were waxing poetic about the lore, explaining the meaning behind the stories. You were showing me the exact differences between the celestial myths. Your whole damn face lit up, Sy. You were so passionate it practically made the air vibrate around us.”
I lean in a fraction closer, my voice dropping to a warm, steady murmur.
“Screw the fucking numbers and the alchemical variance. Tell them about the myths you love. Weave the history and passion into the data. That’s what’s missing.
They have plenty of calculators, but they don’t have anyone who looks at the night sky the way you do. ”
Sylar stares at me, frozen. For a long, breathless moment, the only sound in the forest is the distant flapping of Cinder’s wings and the light breeze hitting the leaves. I watch the panic in his eyes slowly fracture, replaced by a sudden, brilliant spark of realization.
“The lore,” he whispers. “The myths show cultural variations. Each culture has its own version! Connecting the mathematical models with the foundational stories of the three elven cultures would transform it from a data presentation into celestial history.”
He jumps up from the log so abruptly that he nearly drops his notes. There’s a breathtakingly radiant smile on his face that transforms his rigid features into something handsome.
Beautiful.
Passionate.
The grumpy scholar vanishes, replaced by the brilliant elf I started falling in love with a decade ago.
“Raylen, you’re a genius,” he breathes. “If I restructure the second chapter to highlight the difference between Emberleigh’s forest gods, or even the magic behind Gearwick’s brilliant inventions, I could—yes! Yes, that is exactly what it needs!”
Watching him pace the grass again, his voice suddenly alive with the fire I remember, he mutters new ideas to himself.
A fiercely proud smile breaks across my face. I pick my bow back up, feeling a sudden, electric surge of confidence settling into my bones.
If he can conquer the stars with that beautiful brain of his, the least I can do is conquer a few moving targets at the trials.
Suddenly, Sylar’s head snaps up, and he storms toward me, his boots eating up the distance between us. Before I can register his intentions, he’s kissing me with a fierce passion, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt from him before.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, controlling and dominating like I usually do with my partners. The tables have been flipped, and I have to admit, coming from Sylar, my grumpy scholar who claims he never truly felt passion with anyone but me… it’s overwhelming. Really fucking overwhelming.
My cock throbs in my pants, needing relief.
As if reading my thoughts, his hand is already there, wrapping around my erection through the material of my trousers.
“Fuck, Sy. Slow down. We are still out in public where anyone can see us.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know our spot in the forest is secluded enough.
Sylar doesn’t even flinch; in fact, he acts as if he didn’t even hear me.
This animalistic, passionate need has taken over.
My nipples pebble hard against my vest as he walks back and slams me against a tree.
It’s so fucking sexy. Where the hell did this elf come from?
His lips find my neck, sucking and licking at the sensitive spots that drive me wild.
My breathing is harsh. I’m trembling, the bark digging into my back and only adding to all the sensations. “Sylar,” I gasp when he starts picking up the pace, playing my body through my clothing as he groans and marks me with his lips.
I thought I knew what pleasure felt like.
I’ve had my share of warm beds and nameless bodies, but no one has ever possessed me with this kind of raw, devastating hunger.
Then, to my utter astonishment, he drops to his knees.
My whole world spins when he unbuttons my trousers and shoves my pants down my thighs, right out in the open for anyone to see.
I quickly scan the trees, but all thoughts of prying eyes seem to leave my mind when Sylar licks a long path the length of my throbbing cock.
My desperate, needy cock bounces so eagerly, it almost smacks him in the face. “Fucking hell!” I shout before clasping a hand over my mouth. “Sylar,” I whisper. “You don’t need to do this.”
As much as it would fucking kill me to put my dick away, I know Sylar. He isn’t the type to just fuck in public, and if he’s doing this just for me, then…
Another gasp leaves my mouth, and my eyes roll to the back of my head.
Sylar takes my cock between his lips and sucks.
He begins moaning while keeping up with a frantic rhythm that has me seeing fucking stars.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. He’s enjoying this.
My resolve completely crumbles. I no longer care that we are out in the open.
I no longer care that anyone can hear me.
I no longer care that I’m usually the dominant one.
I just lose myself in the feelings as I thrust down Sylar’s throat. My fingers find his obsidian hair, and I guide him onto my length at a speed that leaves me breathless. Sylar continues to groan, the vibrations sending me fucking soaring. With another loud shout, I spill down his throat.
While I wait for my soul to come back to my body, I close my eyes and pant, my fingers leaving Sy’s hair to clasp the tree behind me in hopes it makes me feel grounded.
When I finally glance down at Sylar, there’s a vulnerable, almost proud look on his face.
“Did I do okay?” he whispers, sounding unsure.
My thumb finds the stray cum that has spilled from his lips as I wipe it off.
He realizes what I’m doing and reaches for my hand.
He licks every last drop, and I swear I get hard again.
Pulling him into a filthy kiss, I make out with him right there against the tree until he’s begging for me to return the favor.
And I do. When we’re finished, I kiss him again on his lips, the taste of us mingling.
“No one has ever wrecked me like this before, Sy. Not till you.”