Aphephobia - Cynthia/Cyrus
Title: Aphephobia
Rating: NC17 (sexual acts, dubious consent)
Word Count: 5890
Pairing: Cynthia/Cyrus
Summary: She hadn't expected to find him, but after his attempt to end the world from Spear Pillar, she couldn't very well let him just wander around on his own.
Warnings: Consent is incredibly dubious here; exactly how consensual everything ended up being is up to interpretation, mostly depending on how unbiased you believe Cynthia's viewpoint to be, though she is neither malicious nor intentionally misleading.
Cynthia's arrival in Sunyshore had been a quiet one, unannounced and unplanned; in the end, she hadn't really known why she had gone. Perhaps it had been the sea, and the urge to look out at a flat horizon instead of the peaks and twists of Victory Road; perhaps it had been a compulsion, a need to see exactly what it was about this place that had turned out the wreck of a man she had left behind in that horrific place between worlds. Either way, she was here and determined to find at least one thing enjoyable, even if the brief meeting she had with the gym leader here did nothing to dispel her suspicion that there was possibly something in the water - Volkner, after all, carried that same sense of arrogant boredom, though at least he had the common courtesy to relax it a little bit around the Champion of the region.
She was there for two days; on the second day, she entered the lighthouse.
The elevator to the observation deck was large and rambling, too slow for her tastes; she had heard the view was beautiful, and as it rose she moved slightly with it, leaning forward to bounce up gently onto the balls of her feet and setting her heels back down with a gentle clack before repeating the motion again, light and steady, until that vague dropping feeling settled into the pit of her stomach as the elevator slowed to a halt.
The morning sun glittering off the water made her breath catch in her throat as the heavy steel doors slid open; a smile crept across her features, light and soft, and she surged forward almost in spite of herself, pressing against the railing to get a better look.
The description she had gotten of the view was truly understated; the contrast of the gentle waves brushing against the rocky shore below and the whitecaps in the distance was something she found calming, in its own way. The ocean commanded a great deal of respect; after a few moments of taking it in, she stepped back, trailing her fingers along the railing as she followed the narrow path provided by the design of the deck, and as she turned the corner she was made immediately aware of the fact that she wasn't the only one on the deck.
Cyrus...
That shock of blue hair was unmistakable, along with his stance and the look in his eyes when he turned to face her; for a fleeting odd moment she found herself wondering if she had accidentally spoken aloud, until she realized that he probably heard her footsteps and the general sounds of her approach.
It had been a long time since she'd seen him last, and longer still since she'd seen him sane; for the time being, he seemed to be rational. The look in his eyes was sharp, an undeniably haughty quality behind his stare; it was distinct enough to let her know that though he was...different, somehow, in a way that she couldn't explain, the leader of Team Galactic was still very much alive.
"...well."
It was all he offered her, and she realized that she'd been staring.
"Well," she repeated, folding her arms lightly as she studied him; the gesture remained casual, not defensive. "I hadn't expected to see you here, Cyrus."
To her surprise, he didn't snap at her, nor did he leave; he simply turned back to the windows, his fingers closing around the railing in front of him. He began to speak without looking at her, his voice quiet; she found herself moving forward, joining him without getting too close, keeping a sense of distance between them.
"The disruption of time...the stagnation of space...such vital ways in which that world is different from this one. And yet in some ways, it remains the same."
"You didn't find what you were looking for," she said, her tone careful; he glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the sea in front of them.
"No...I didn't."
She paused for a moment, thinking; when she spoke again, her tone had brightened considerably. "Well, I have to say that I certainly don't blame you for coming back."
"...I see," he replied, in a way that made it perfectly clear that he didn't.
"That place was horrific."
"It was...rather disconcerting." Judging by the tone creeping into his voice, the place in question clearly wasn't the only thing he was finding disconcerting at the moment; he looked at her oddly, and she responded with something that she knew would catch him off-guard.
She smiled at him.
"It's good to see you again, Cyrus."
Once again, his attention was given to the ocean instead of her face. "...do you honestly expect me to return the sentiment?"
Though Cynthia suspected the response was supposed to be pointed, it did nothing to dampen her tone. "Of course not. A sentiment can be expressed without the expectation of it being returned, you know."
He offered her a noncommittal noise in return before unwrapping his fingers from around the railing in front of them, turning from her in a quick, precise motion that let her know exactly what he was doing; he didn't intend to stay.
"Cyrus," she said, and though the smile hadn't left her face and her tone remained light, there was a sense of sharpness behind the name as it left her mouth; though he continued to give her his back, she had to admit a sense of satisfaction when he paused. "Can you answer something for me?"
"...what is it?" he replied, automatic.
"Where do you think you're going?"
He didn't answer, though the tension emanating from him was suddenly almost tangible.
"Well," she said, an amused tone coloring her words, "after that stunt of yours on Mount Coronet, I can't exactly let you wander around alone without knowing what you're up to."
He turned to face her then, quickly, and though his expression was carefully kept unreadable for the most part, his eyes were blazing. "...you can't...you have no power over me."
She simply tipped her head slightly, that smile edging a bit closer to a knowing smirk as she pulled a Pokéball from her belt. "Why don't you show me around town, sweetheart?"
To Cyrus' credit, he seemed to tolerate Cynthia's presence far better than she had expected; of course, he made no secret of the fact that he didn't want her there, and she hadn't believed that he would do otherwise - but at the same time, though any answers he gave her were brief, he remained civil.
"You know a lot about this place," Cynthia said, her gaze darting upward to scale the sharp cliffs leading upward, away from the beach that they had eventually come to be standing on.
"I know a lot," Cyrus replied, his gaze wary, "about a lot of things."
She looked back at him, his surliness earning him a light laugh for his effort. "Well, I'm sure you do," she said, the chuckle fading away with the receding of the waves. "I've just never really spent much time in this particular city, and it's nice to have someone to show me around."
And as she spoke she reached out, and was immediately surprised by his reaction; her fingertips had barely met his sleeve when he was immediately shrugging her off, pulling away in a quick, deliberate motion that was clearly intended to look casual, but for all the world had seemed more like a flinch to her than anything else.
"Is something bothering you?"
"...physical contact is unnecessary," Cyrus said flatly. "Given our circumstances...I believe it to be both needless and inappropriate."
"I was just touching your clothes, Cyrus," she pointed out, though her tone remained light. "But, well - suit yourself, I suppose."
Just then, the fading light of the day was suddenly enhanced, the last rays of the sun outshone by the streetlamps and the light spilling from the market.
"Goodness, it has gotten late," Cynthia said, glancing up at the bright bulbs in surprise, though it wasn't long before her gaze returned to him. "Do you know where you're staying tonight?"
Cyrus simply stared at her, his eyes widening a bit as a vaguely appalled look crept across his features. It was incredibly obvious that he had anticipated the question; she simply smiled at him patiently in return, clearly awaiting his answer.
"...you can't," he managed eventually, but her hand fingering Garchomp's Pokéball at her belt seemed to be all the reassurance he needed that yes, she very well could; by the time he turned away from her, gesturing with a tip of his head that she should follow him, he was back to wearing that carefully unreadable expression.
Though Cynthia couldn't say for sure where she had expected to go, the place he brought her to had been in plain sight from the beginning - a sprawling building high on the rocks, highly visible but difficult to reach. In some ways, she supposed it was fitting.
"I didn't realize you owned property here," she said when they were finally close enough for her to properly examine it; she craned her head back, taking in the old-fashioned embellishments along the top of the porch.
"Where did you think I would be going...?" Cyrus asked, continuing on toward the front door without her.
"An inn or something, I guess," she said.
Though Cyrus didn't look at her, he was plainly unimpressed. "Either way...it's been a while since I've stayed."
As though to prove his words, the key seemed to stick as he tried to unlock the place; he jerked the still-closed door forward, slamming it against the frame before trying again. "Need help?" Cynthia asked, only half in jest; he shook his head but didn't answer verbally. She immediately recognized the battle against the door for what it was - it was quickly becoming one of those pride things - and though she stood back and let him fiddle with it, she was grateful when he got it open on the second attempt; the interior of the house was black, seeming to swallow him whole before she moved to follow him.
"How long did you say it's been, exactly?" she said, filling time as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.
"Years," he replied, a strangely bitter note behind his tone; she could hear his hand scraping lightly along the wall, looking for some sort of lightswitch, and as she thought about the response she found herself tempted to ask him why.
The thought was quickly gone from her mind, however, as the lights above flared to life, dispelling the darkness of the room so quickly that she found herself raising her arm against the glare, shielding her eyes until they could handle the glow.
The room they were standing in was both large and open, the warm wooden walls leading up to a high, vaulted ceiling; though the furniture was sparse in comparison to the size of the room, her eyes were immediately drawn further inward, to the opposite side of the building. Windows lined the far wall, looking out over the dark sea below; once in a while the whitecaps were illuminated by the beams shining forth from the lighthouse, passing over the water only to revolve away into darkness again and again.
It was the sort of room that would be lovely in the daylight, with the sun streaming in at morning; while he obviously hadn't lied about the length of time he had spent away - the dust coating the shelves that lined the wall immediately to her right was a solid indication of that - it didn't change her thoughts on the place.
"It's beautiful," she said, voice thick with awe. "Cyrus, I didn't - "
She turned to face him, her words dying in her throat as she found that he had moved away from her, scaling the stairs that were a brief ways off to the left; he paused where he was, looking about to rest his hand on the banister only to pull away when he realized that that surface, too, wasn't immune to dust. He watched her, waiting without responding to the compliment, and Cynthia certainly wasn't about to be left on the lower floor without him; she crossed over to meet him on the stairs, taking them two at a time until she had caught up with him.
"I didn't know you had a place like this," she said, picking up where she'd left off, the cheerful tone replacing any agitation she might have been tempted to throw at him.
"...the property has belonged to my family for a while, I believe." His pace on the stairs was quick, his words unhampered by the climb. "Consider it an inheritance of sorts...I'm the last to own it."
Cynthia followed him in silence; normally she would have been tempted to ask him something, to further the conversation somehow regardless of the awkward turn it had taken, but it was clear from his tone that topics around his family life were not up for discussion. Instead, she found herself feeling oddly content with the knowledge that he had told her anything at all; Cyrus wasn't one to give information freely, and despite the following he had amassed with Team Galactic, surprisingly little was known about his personal life. However, in very few words, he had told her a fair amount - that his family had money, or at least had had money once; that he was an only child, and the last of his family line. And though she doubted he realized it, in a way he had also explained why he had come back to Sunyshore City after his time in the Distortion World, instead of returning to the Galactic headquarters in Veilstone.
He had told her that regardless of whatever memories this place held for him, he had simply done what most people would do after they had experienced something that had deeply scared them - he had returned home.
The thought was such a human one that it was almost startling. Cynthia didn't doubt that somewhere deep down, Cyrus' basic humanity was still intact, but it was unusual to think of him acting on it in such a way; while it did make sense - after all, the man she had left behind in the Distortion World was nothing like the calm, stoic front he showed to the general public and the members of Team Galactic - it was something that she found that she simply didn't think about very often, if at all.
Now, of course, probably wasn't the best time to think about it either, as it distracted her from paying attention to the fact that they had reached the top of the stairs; the collision was brief, but he had stepped back just the same. It was a motion that seemed so practiced that it came automatically, and he didn't reach out to ensure that she was steady.
"Sorry," she said, her voice a sheepish murmur.
He didn't respond to the apology, instead gesturing vaguely down the hallway to his left. "Stay where you would like...I don't particularly care."
"No tour?" Cynthia said, an obvious tease creeping into her voice; he shot her a sudden, pointed look and she laughed, briefly, lightly. "It's okay, Cyrus. I'm joking."
A long moment went to awkwardness, the hallway thick with hesitation as he didn't seem to know how to answer. A patient smile crept across her features as she waited, crossing her arms lightly in front of her; she could practically see his mind working, though in the end, he didn't really answer her at all - he simply inclined his head briefly as though acknowledging her words and her presence for the final time that evening, and he muttered something softly in her general direction before stepping around her and moving down the hall directly opposite the one he had told her to take, disappearing into one of the rooms.
Whatever he had said, it had been fairly unintelligible, or perhaps just too quiet to hear; she stared after him, making sure to remember where he had gone before shrugging slightly to herself and turning down the hallway he had indicated.
It could have been anything at all, really, but she liked to think that it was his way of bidding her a good evening - even if he seemed unsure as to exactly how to do that.
She couldn't sleep.
The light was still on under the door he had disappeared through when Cynthia knocked later that night, but she hesitated before tapping lightly on it, unsure of whether he was still awake or simply hadn't doused the light before falling asleep himself; after all, the light was still on downstairs, though she wouldn't necessarily blame him if he was tired of darkness for a while.
In the end, though, there wasn't really anything to be lost through trying; she was pleased when Cyrus responded, and the stiffly formal command of "Enter" amused her. A soft smile was present across her expression when she opened the door, though it quickly shifted to a somewhat curious expression upon seeing the room.
It wasn't a bedroom, as she had thought, but rather an office; unlike the other areas she had seen, the dust appeared to have been brushed from a few of the surfaces recently, albeit a bit haphazardly. The desk commanding the center of the room was large, the warm-colored wood of the paneling matching the walls downstairs; it struck her then just how old-fashioned the place was, especially in comparison with the glinting metal and flashing machines that she was used to associating with both Cyrus himself and the emblem on his vest, and something about his presence behind such a relic seemed odd, out of place.
And yet there he was, some book that she couldn't identify from her position near the door sprawled open across it, and he didn't look up as she closed the door behind her.
"I thought you would be asleep by now," she said, tipping her head slightly.
"...likewise," he said in response, his eyes never leaving the pages.
She paused for a moment before approaching the desk, planting her hands down on either side of the book he was looking over - she wasn't about to be ignored like that, after all, though her tone remained pleasant. "I just don't sleep too well in beds that aren't my own, I guess."
He looked up at her then, clearly unimpressed. "I see."
It was clear that the line of conversation they were on was going nowhere fast; she diverted her attention to the book between them, looking over a few lines and taking a moment to translate the letters from their upside-down forms in relation to her position. "Hey - is that...?" She tilted her head for a moment before pushing off of the desk, moving around it to stand next to him. "It is! Do you know how rare this book is, Cyrus? I mean, you research the legends too, so of course you do, but..."
"...I'm aware, yes."
Cyrus hadn't moved from his position behind the desk, though there was an unmistakable rigidity overtaking his posture; Cynthia's eyes continued to scan down the page, unaware of how close this sudden move on her part had brought them - until she could suddenly feel him jerk back, away from where her arm had come to rest against his shoulder.
She looked at him oddly then, her hand fluttering back to rest on her hip. "Cyrus, what is wrong? I can hardly come near you without you acting as though you're being burned." She paused, thinking. "You weren't hurt, were you? In that place..."
Again, his expression remained impassive when he returned her stare, though his eyes were ablaze with cold fire. "Of course not."
"Hm." She looked him over for a moment before thinking again. "You're sure? Maybe you should let me have a look."
"That...I find that to be unnecessary, Cynthia."
"Well, you're not acting like it's unnecessary!" Despite her words, her tone remained bright, a gentle smile gracing her features. "Now come on; let's see."
She reached out to him again, and he pulled back before her fingers could even properly alight on his shoulder; he stood up from where he had been seated on the desk chair, the anger in his eyes even more apparent.
"...I told you not to touch me."
Cynthia paused for a moment, as though considering his request...before suddenly surging forward, getting a good grip on his arm, near the wrist, bunching the fabric of his sleeve tightly beneath her fingers.
To her surprise, Cyrus didn't attempt to pull away from her again; instead, he froze, simply staring at the point of contact like it was something about to consume him whole. She didn't have to be touching him in any other way to know that he had gone completely rigid again, and whatever color he may have had was gone from his complexion.
He can't be...
The thought crossed her mind slowly, hazily, and she decided to test it; she reached out with her free hand, her fingertips grazing gently against the side of his face, high and close to his hairline.
That got him to move, turning his head away from her touch sharply, though he still didn't try to wrench his wrist from her grasp; his breathing had picked up to the point where it was noticeably shallow, but other than that, after the initial movement he had become very still once again.
She continued to look at him, even though he continued to look away. This was a definite fear reaction, in response to something as natural as touch, and she could only begin to guess at the reasons why.
Cynthia had known Cyrus as he had presented himself - the calculating cult leader, twisted and delusional, dangerous in his ambition. But the longer they stood there, the harder it hit her that she really didn't know anything about him: what he had done in his lifetime, the things he had seen, what had happened to him that made him feel that he had to destroy the world to purge himself of it...
It was entirely possible that no one knew; maybe that was what had gone wrong to begin with.
"Well," she said, looking for something to say. "I...you know that I'm not going to hurt you, right?"
It took him a moment, but he responded eventually, muttering something that was quiet to the point that she couldn't make out anything beyond a deeply bitter tone behind the words.
"Cyrus, I'm sorry...but can you say that again for me?"
"...I said that I didn't think you would."
Despite the answer, he still hadn't moved; the muscles in his body had become rigid to the point that he was almost shaking.
Cynthia lowered her eyes, giving a gentle shake of her head. "That's good to hear. But sweetheart...you're really not acting like it."
She hesitated for a moment before reaching out again, her hand finding the side of his face. His skin was surprisingly soft, but cold to the touch; she could feel him flinch slightly at the contact, but he didn't pull away from her otherwise. She continued to reach out to him, her touch gentle; her fingertips trailed lightly down his face, starting near his temple and tracing across his cheekbones, further down his jawline and near that hollow spot beneath his ear.
That was around where he seemed to decide that he'd had enough, jerking back from her again; she stepped forward, following his movements carefully so as not to initiate more contact than was necessary, and after a moment's pause, she began the process again.
In the end, she wasn't sure why she was doing it; she knew he probably wouldn't take anything away from this experience in the end, but still, she felt she had to try. Maybe it was the hope presented by the small patches of humanity she was beginning to unearth; maybe it was just a desire to somehow ease some of the pain that this world must have inflicted on him. Either way, she found herself quickly coming to know the increase in tension before he flinched away from her, memorizing what it felt like and stopping just before to allow him a moment before she continued; she repeated the gesture once, twice, again and again until some of the rigidity in his posture had subsided.
He remained silent the whole time, though after a while his attention shifted; eventually, he was able to look her in the eyes, though his gaze was wary. In the meantime, she had found a sense of fascination in every touch; the unexpectedly soft quality his skin held, the tautness near his jaw, the sharp angles of his bone structure contrasting the oddly concave sweep underneath his cheekbones - all of it was new, and she knew that not many others could know the way that touching him felt. In the end, she couldn't help but think that it was another thing he was giving her, and she smiled at the thought.
When she could feel him relax a bit underneath her touch, she began another soft, downward motion, brushing her hand gently down his face, though she didn't stop where she had been; her fingers continued onward and back, sliding ever-so-slightly beneath his collar to find the nape of his neck, and though she could feel him flinch against the contact, she remained firm in her grasp, her fingertips taking up a soft massaging motion.
He continued to look at her, though his expression had quickly become unreadable. "Cynthia," he started, shaking his head and again attempting to pull back; she stopped the gentle kneading of her fingertips, but didn't allow him to pull away just yet.
"Just try to relax," she said, and when he didn't move again, she picked up the same light motion once more; it wasn't long before her other hand had loosened, releasing the fabric she'd been holding such a tight grip on.
When that hand reached up, alighting gently on his face, her thumb stroking gently across his cheek, she wasn't quite sure what to make of the fact that his skin was no longer quite as cold.
They both seemed to realize it at the same time, and he promptly averted his gaze, a deep sense of dislike for the situation in his eyes; she, on the other hand, found herself amused at the light flush creeping across his features.
She didn't look away from him, and she smiled honey-slow.
Though he shifted uneasily when she moved closer, he didn't pull away; she leaned forward, her words flowing soft and easy into his ear. "It's a warm night," she said, her voice gently teasing, just enough to let him know that she'd seen it. "Isn't it?"
"...I...yes." Cyrus' voice was odd, thick, and though his breathing was beginning to elevate again, Cynthia had a feeling that it wasn't through fear this time.
And when she shifted their position to kiss him, he didn't flinch away from her this time.
At first he remained largely unresponsive, seemingly unwilling to move into her touch; she could feel her hand slipping away from his face as though through its own volition, finding his shoulder and pulling him toward her, and it was then that there was a deep reaction, something she could feel emanating from him rather than anything she was aware of physically. The hand at the back of his neck trailed upward, burying itself in his hair and toying with the thick locks; she could feel his hands tentatively coming to rest against her waist, and though the motion was unnatural in some ways, the lightness of his touch was electrifying.
Finding an acceptable level of contact was experimental, a test that she was more than happy to undergo - in a way, it was more exciting like that, finding out firsthand that his spine was deliciously sensitive as she trailed her fingers down his back, garnering a deep, quiet noise from the back of his throat, and though it was always a bit unnerving to find out what he didn't like (for some odd reason prolonged contact with his chest seemed to make him edge away from her, and the one attempt at his belt had resulted in him breaking off the kiss so quickly it had nearly given her whiplash, though the prior knowledge about his spine had definitely been useful in coaxing him back into it), in some ways that was rewarding as well. Experiences like this were something to be shared, after all, and mapping out his body with her fingertips, being allowed to understand what he would and wouldn't want...
In several ways, it was enticing.
His own touch, as well, steadily became more involved, trailing down her waist to her hips before tracing back up and kneading into her shoulderblades, pulling soft vocalizations from deep within her, and it wasn't long before he wasn't the only one flushed. And through it all, he was kissing her, and though the motion was deep and claiming, there was a sense of inexperience behind it all - a questioning, almost naive air behind his gestures, and somehow that was what affected her most deeply.
When she pulled away from him, he didn't move to stop her; somewhere along the line he had allowed his eyes to slide closed, and he didn't open them right away. When she slid her hand between them, however, coming to rest on that emblem over the left side of his chest, his gaze was immediately focused on her again.
Her motions from there were slow and deliberate, letting him know exactly what she was doing and that he was more than welcome to stop her if he so desired; somewhere in the back of her mind, she was fully aware that he wouldn't. It was for that reason that the deep intake of breath was satisfying as her hand slipped down a bit lower, toying with the bottom hem of his shirt and pulling it up a couple of inches, her fingertips sliding beneath it to stroke across the bare skin of his abdomen.
The tension in his body was immediately apparent, as was the quiet swear he offered beneath his breath; though she could feel his hands fall away from where they had come to rest against her hips, he didn't move to make her stop, to pull her away. She left her hand where it was for a moment before shifting her arm a bit, her touch arching higher against his body, touching the lower half of his sternum before sweeping back downward and returning to that same spot, drawing another of those deep, gentle noises from him as she did so.
To be honest, she was surprised that he had allowed her what he had; she wasn't sure exactly when he had progressed from resisting her touch to seeming to desire it, but the transition was lovely, filling her with the desire to encourage it, to drive it onward.
His hand found her arm when she moved for his belt again; she looked up at him, the question obvious in her eyes.
"...don't."
She bowed her head slightly in response. "Do you really want me to stop?"
The hesitation before his answer made her immediately glad that her head was lowered and he couldn't see her face; in a way, she already knew what he was going to say.
"...continue, then. However, if I tell you to back down..."
"Of course," she said, slipping the end of the belt back through the buckle and beginning to work at the fastenings beneath.
She supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised that he was already beginning to respond physically; given that touch was such a foreign thing to him, it was only natural that he should find himself so quickly aroused by their activities and the removal of clothing. However, slipping her hand beneath his clothes to find him already semi-erect wasn't something she had expected; it had already shown on her expression by the time she fully realized it, and even if she was aware that it was terrible, judging by the way he moved she found herself almost grateful that they were in a position that he couldn't easily pull away from.
She paused before continuing further, slipping her hand out from beneath his clothes again and gesturing to the chair that he'd abandoned what felt like such a long time ago. "Sit down?" she said, the soft smile returning to her features.
Cyrus did as he was told, albeit in a manner that somehow managed to be both skeptical and vaguely dazed; she noticed with vague, morbid amusement that he seemed to relax when she got to her knees in front of him, though it didn't seem to stop his hand from finding her hair when she began to manipulate clothing, exposing him. His touch was firm, but he wasn't twisting his fingers into her hair at first; that changed abruptly when she reached out, taking his shaft in her hand and began stroking, lightly at first, and only when it was apparent that at the very least he wasn't going to wrench her head sideways did she begin to increase the speed and firmness of the gesture.
It wasn't long before she could feel him shift, pressing into her touch, soft vocalizations escaping him as she continued; the noises had just begun to taper down when she took his erection into her mouth, at which point she became incredibly aware of the fact that they stopped altogether, quickly culled into silence as that familiar sense of tension overtook his body. The sudden lack of verbal feedback was momentarily alarming, but just the same, he didn't stop her; she didn't break contact entirely, the tip of her tongue still lightly flicking the head even after she'd pulled back, but there was a definite break before she had continued.
He hadn't protested.
She had expected that he wouldn't hold out for long, and he didn't, though the physical reaction was disconcerting; when he orgasmed, he did so in near-silence, the only sound being a short, choked sound escaping his throat, sharp and staccato.
She had gone to bed alone that night, wandering back toward the room she had selected for herself on weak legs; they had come to a mutual decision on that, at least, though in hindsight it was mostly unspoken - Cyrus hadn't been inclined to discuss it with her, and Cynthia wasn't about to force it.
He was already downstairs the next morning, standing at the windows on the far side of that massive room and looking out at the sea, and she couldn't be sure that he'd slept; she had moved to stand next to him, and tried to pretend that it didn't sting when he shifted away from her, increasing the distance between them.
Rating: NC17 (sexual acts, dubious consent)
Word Count: 5890
Pairing: Cynthia/Cyrus
Summary: She hadn't expected to find him, but after his attempt to end the world from Spear Pillar, she couldn't very well let him just wander around on his own.
Warnings: Consent is incredibly dubious here; exactly how consensual everything ended up being is up to interpretation, mostly depending on how unbiased you believe Cynthia's viewpoint to be, though she is neither malicious nor intentionally misleading.
Cynthia's arrival in Sunyshore had been a quiet one, unannounced and unplanned; in the end, she hadn't really known why she had gone. Perhaps it had been the sea, and the urge to look out at a flat horizon instead of the peaks and twists of Victory Road; perhaps it had been a compulsion, a need to see exactly what it was about this place that had turned out the wreck of a man she had left behind in that horrific place between worlds. Either way, she was here and determined to find at least one thing enjoyable, even if the brief meeting she had with the gym leader here did nothing to dispel her suspicion that there was possibly something in the water - Volkner, after all, carried that same sense of arrogant boredom, though at least he had the common courtesy to relax it a little bit around the Champion of the region.
She was there for two days; on the second day, she entered the lighthouse.
The elevator to the observation deck was large and rambling, too slow for her tastes; she had heard the view was beautiful, and as it rose she moved slightly with it, leaning forward to bounce up gently onto the balls of her feet and setting her heels back down with a gentle clack before repeating the motion again, light and steady, until that vague dropping feeling settled into the pit of her stomach as the elevator slowed to a halt.
The morning sun glittering off the water made her breath catch in her throat as the heavy steel doors slid open; a smile crept across her features, light and soft, and she surged forward almost in spite of herself, pressing against the railing to get a better look.
The description she had gotten of the view was truly understated; the contrast of the gentle waves brushing against the rocky shore below and the whitecaps in the distance was something she found calming, in its own way. The ocean commanded a great deal of respect; after a few moments of taking it in, she stepped back, trailing her fingers along the railing as she followed the narrow path provided by the design of the deck, and as she turned the corner she was made immediately aware of the fact that she wasn't the only one on the deck.
Cyrus...
That shock of blue hair was unmistakable, along with his stance and the look in his eyes when he turned to face her; for a fleeting odd moment she found herself wondering if she had accidentally spoken aloud, until she realized that he probably heard her footsteps and the general sounds of her approach.
It had been a long time since she'd seen him last, and longer still since she'd seen him sane; for the time being, he seemed to be rational. The look in his eyes was sharp, an undeniably haughty quality behind his stare; it was distinct enough to let her know that though he was...different, somehow, in a way that she couldn't explain, the leader of Team Galactic was still very much alive.
"...well."
It was all he offered her, and she realized that she'd been staring.
"Well," she repeated, folding her arms lightly as she studied him; the gesture remained casual, not defensive. "I hadn't expected to see you here, Cyrus."
To her surprise, he didn't snap at her, nor did he leave; he simply turned back to the windows, his fingers closing around the railing in front of him. He began to speak without looking at her, his voice quiet; she found herself moving forward, joining him without getting too close, keeping a sense of distance between them.
"The disruption of time...the stagnation of space...such vital ways in which that world is different from this one. And yet in some ways, it remains the same."
"You didn't find what you were looking for," she said, her tone careful; he glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the sea in front of them.
"No...I didn't."
She paused for a moment, thinking; when she spoke again, her tone had brightened considerably. "Well, I have to say that I certainly don't blame you for coming back."
"...I see," he replied, in a way that made it perfectly clear that he didn't.
"That place was horrific."
"It was...rather disconcerting." Judging by the tone creeping into his voice, the place in question clearly wasn't the only thing he was finding disconcerting at the moment; he looked at her oddly, and she responded with something that she knew would catch him off-guard.
She smiled at him.
"It's good to see you again, Cyrus."
Once again, his attention was given to the ocean instead of her face. "...do you honestly expect me to return the sentiment?"
Though Cynthia suspected the response was supposed to be pointed, it did nothing to dampen her tone. "Of course not. A sentiment can be expressed without the expectation of it being returned, you know."
He offered her a noncommittal noise in return before unwrapping his fingers from around the railing in front of them, turning from her in a quick, precise motion that let her know exactly what he was doing; he didn't intend to stay.
"Cyrus," she said, and though the smile hadn't left her face and her tone remained light, there was a sense of sharpness behind the name as it left her mouth; though he continued to give her his back, she had to admit a sense of satisfaction when he paused. "Can you answer something for me?"
"...what is it?" he replied, automatic.
"Where do you think you're going?"
He didn't answer, though the tension emanating from him was suddenly almost tangible.
"Well," she said, an amused tone coloring her words, "after that stunt of yours on Mount Coronet, I can't exactly let you wander around alone without knowing what you're up to."
He turned to face her then, quickly, and though his expression was carefully kept unreadable for the most part, his eyes were blazing. "...you can't...you have no power over me."
She simply tipped her head slightly, that smile edging a bit closer to a knowing smirk as she pulled a Pokéball from her belt. "Why don't you show me around town, sweetheart?"
To Cyrus' credit, he seemed to tolerate Cynthia's presence far better than she had expected; of course, he made no secret of the fact that he didn't want her there, and she hadn't believed that he would do otherwise - but at the same time, though any answers he gave her were brief, he remained civil.
"You know a lot about this place," Cynthia said, her gaze darting upward to scale the sharp cliffs leading upward, away from the beach that they had eventually come to be standing on.
"I know a lot," Cyrus replied, his gaze wary, "about a lot of things."
She looked back at him, his surliness earning him a light laugh for his effort. "Well, I'm sure you do," she said, the chuckle fading away with the receding of the waves. "I've just never really spent much time in this particular city, and it's nice to have someone to show me around."
And as she spoke she reached out, and was immediately surprised by his reaction; her fingertips had barely met his sleeve when he was immediately shrugging her off, pulling away in a quick, deliberate motion that was clearly intended to look casual, but for all the world had seemed more like a flinch to her than anything else.
"Is something bothering you?"
"...physical contact is unnecessary," Cyrus said flatly. "Given our circumstances...I believe it to be both needless and inappropriate."
"I was just touching your clothes, Cyrus," she pointed out, though her tone remained light. "But, well - suit yourself, I suppose."
Just then, the fading light of the day was suddenly enhanced, the last rays of the sun outshone by the streetlamps and the light spilling from the market.
"Goodness, it has gotten late," Cynthia said, glancing up at the bright bulbs in surprise, though it wasn't long before her gaze returned to him. "Do you know where you're staying tonight?"
Cyrus simply stared at her, his eyes widening a bit as a vaguely appalled look crept across his features. It was incredibly obvious that he had anticipated the question; she simply smiled at him patiently in return, clearly awaiting his answer.
"...you can't," he managed eventually, but her hand fingering Garchomp's Pokéball at her belt seemed to be all the reassurance he needed that yes, she very well could; by the time he turned away from her, gesturing with a tip of his head that she should follow him, he was back to wearing that carefully unreadable expression.
Though Cynthia couldn't say for sure where she had expected to go, the place he brought her to had been in plain sight from the beginning - a sprawling building high on the rocks, highly visible but difficult to reach. In some ways, she supposed it was fitting.
"I didn't realize you owned property here," she said when they were finally close enough for her to properly examine it; she craned her head back, taking in the old-fashioned embellishments along the top of the porch.
"Where did you think I would be going...?" Cyrus asked, continuing on toward the front door without her.
"An inn or something, I guess," she said.
Though Cyrus didn't look at her, he was plainly unimpressed. "Either way...it's been a while since I've stayed."
As though to prove his words, the key seemed to stick as he tried to unlock the place; he jerked the still-closed door forward, slamming it against the frame before trying again. "Need help?" Cynthia asked, only half in jest; he shook his head but didn't answer verbally. She immediately recognized the battle against the door for what it was - it was quickly becoming one of those pride things - and though she stood back and let him fiddle with it, she was grateful when he got it open on the second attempt; the interior of the house was black, seeming to swallow him whole before she moved to follow him.
"How long did you say it's been, exactly?" she said, filling time as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.
"Years," he replied, a strangely bitter note behind his tone; she could hear his hand scraping lightly along the wall, looking for some sort of lightswitch, and as she thought about the response she found herself tempted to ask him why.
The thought was quickly gone from her mind, however, as the lights above flared to life, dispelling the darkness of the room so quickly that she found herself raising her arm against the glare, shielding her eyes until they could handle the glow.
The room they were standing in was both large and open, the warm wooden walls leading up to a high, vaulted ceiling; though the furniture was sparse in comparison to the size of the room, her eyes were immediately drawn further inward, to the opposite side of the building. Windows lined the far wall, looking out over the dark sea below; once in a while the whitecaps were illuminated by the beams shining forth from the lighthouse, passing over the water only to revolve away into darkness again and again.
It was the sort of room that would be lovely in the daylight, with the sun streaming in at morning; while he obviously hadn't lied about the length of time he had spent away - the dust coating the shelves that lined the wall immediately to her right was a solid indication of that - it didn't change her thoughts on the place.
"It's beautiful," she said, voice thick with awe. "Cyrus, I didn't - "
She turned to face him, her words dying in her throat as she found that he had moved away from her, scaling the stairs that were a brief ways off to the left; he paused where he was, looking about to rest his hand on the banister only to pull away when he realized that that surface, too, wasn't immune to dust. He watched her, waiting without responding to the compliment, and Cynthia certainly wasn't about to be left on the lower floor without him; she crossed over to meet him on the stairs, taking them two at a time until she had caught up with him.
"I didn't know you had a place like this," she said, picking up where she'd left off, the cheerful tone replacing any agitation she might have been tempted to throw at him.
"...the property has belonged to my family for a while, I believe." His pace on the stairs was quick, his words unhampered by the climb. "Consider it an inheritance of sorts...I'm the last to own it."
Cynthia followed him in silence; normally she would have been tempted to ask him something, to further the conversation somehow regardless of the awkward turn it had taken, but it was clear from his tone that topics around his family life were not up for discussion. Instead, she found herself feeling oddly content with the knowledge that he had told her anything at all; Cyrus wasn't one to give information freely, and despite the following he had amassed with Team Galactic, surprisingly little was known about his personal life. However, in very few words, he had told her a fair amount - that his family had money, or at least had had money once; that he was an only child, and the last of his family line. And though she doubted he realized it, in a way he had also explained why he had come back to Sunyshore City after his time in the Distortion World, instead of returning to the Galactic headquarters in Veilstone.
He had told her that regardless of whatever memories this place held for him, he had simply done what most people would do after they had experienced something that had deeply scared them - he had returned home.
The thought was such a human one that it was almost startling. Cynthia didn't doubt that somewhere deep down, Cyrus' basic humanity was still intact, but it was unusual to think of him acting on it in such a way; while it did make sense - after all, the man she had left behind in the Distortion World was nothing like the calm, stoic front he showed to the general public and the members of Team Galactic - it was something that she found that she simply didn't think about very often, if at all.
Now, of course, probably wasn't the best time to think about it either, as it distracted her from paying attention to the fact that they had reached the top of the stairs; the collision was brief, but he had stepped back just the same. It was a motion that seemed so practiced that it came automatically, and he didn't reach out to ensure that she was steady.
"Sorry," she said, her voice a sheepish murmur.
He didn't respond to the apology, instead gesturing vaguely down the hallway to his left. "Stay where you would like...I don't particularly care."
"No tour?" Cynthia said, an obvious tease creeping into her voice; he shot her a sudden, pointed look and she laughed, briefly, lightly. "It's okay, Cyrus. I'm joking."
A long moment went to awkwardness, the hallway thick with hesitation as he didn't seem to know how to answer. A patient smile crept across her features as she waited, crossing her arms lightly in front of her; she could practically see his mind working, though in the end, he didn't really answer her at all - he simply inclined his head briefly as though acknowledging her words and her presence for the final time that evening, and he muttered something softly in her general direction before stepping around her and moving down the hall directly opposite the one he had told her to take, disappearing into one of the rooms.
Whatever he had said, it had been fairly unintelligible, or perhaps just too quiet to hear; she stared after him, making sure to remember where he had gone before shrugging slightly to herself and turning down the hallway he had indicated.
It could have been anything at all, really, but she liked to think that it was his way of bidding her a good evening - even if he seemed unsure as to exactly how to do that.
She couldn't sleep.
The light was still on under the door he had disappeared through when Cynthia knocked later that night, but she hesitated before tapping lightly on it, unsure of whether he was still awake or simply hadn't doused the light before falling asleep himself; after all, the light was still on downstairs, though she wouldn't necessarily blame him if he was tired of darkness for a while.
In the end, though, there wasn't really anything to be lost through trying; she was pleased when Cyrus responded, and the stiffly formal command of "Enter" amused her. A soft smile was present across her expression when she opened the door, though it quickly shifted to a somewhat curious expression upon seeing the room.
It wasn't a bedroom, as she had thought, but rather an office; unlike the other areas she had seen, the dust appeared to have been brushed from a few of the surfaces recently, albeit a bit haphazardly. The desk commanding the center of the room was large, the warm-colored wood of the paneling matching the walls downstairs; it struck her then just how old-fashioned the place was, especially in comparison with the glinting metal and flashing machines that she was used to associating with both Cyrus himself and the emblem on his vest, and something about his presence behind such a relic seemed odd, out of place.
And yet there he was, some book that she couldn't identify from her position near the door sprawled open across it, and he didn't look up as she closed the door behind her.
"I thought you would be asleep by now," she said, tipping her head slightly.
"...likewise," he said in response, his eyes never leaving the pages.
She paused for a moment before approaching the desk, planting her hands down on either side of the book he was looking over - she wasn't about to be ignored like that, after all, though her tone remained pleasant. "I just don't sleep too well in beds that aren't my own, I guess."
He looked up at her then, clearly unimpressed. "I see."
It was clear that the line of conversation they were on was going nowhere fast; she diverted her attention to the book between them, looking over a few lines and taking a moment to translate the letters from their upside-down forms in relation to her position. "Hey - is that...?" She tilted her head for a moment before pushing off of the desk, moving around it to stand next to him. "It is! Do you know how rare this book is, Cyrus? I mean, you research the legends too, so of course you do, but..."
"...I'm aware, yes."
Cyrus hadn't moved from his position behind the desk, though there was an unmistakable rigidity overtaking his posture; Cynthia's eyes continued to scan down the page, unaware of how close this sudden move on her part had brought them - until she could suddenly feel him jerk back, away from where her arm had come to rest against his shoulder.
She looked at him oddly then, her hand fluttering back to rest on her hip. "Cyrus, what is wrong? I can hardly come near you without you acting as though you're being burned." She paused, thinking. "You weren't hurt, were you? In that place..."
Again, his expression remained impassive when he returned her stare, though his eyes were ablaze with cold fire. "Of course not."
"Hm." She looked him over for a moment before thinking again. "You're sure? Maybe you should let me have a look."
"That...I find that to be unnecessary, Cynthia."
"Well, you're not acting like it's unnecessary!" Despite her words, her tone remained bright, a gentle smile gracing her features. "Now come on; let's see."
She reached out to him again, and he pulled back before her fingers could even properly alight on his shoulder; he stood up from where he had been seated on the desk chair, the anger in his eyes even more apparent.
"...I told you not to touch me."
Cynthia paused for a moment, as though considering his request...before suddenly surging forward, getting a good grip on his arm, near the wrist, bunching the fabric of his sleeve tightly beneath her fingers.
To her surprise, Cyrus didn't attempt to pull away from her again; instead, he froze, simply staring at the point of contact like it was something about to consume him whole. She didn't have to be touching him in any other way to know that he had gone completely rigid again, and whatever color he may have had was gone from his complexion.
He can't be...
The thought crossed her mind slowly, hazily, and she decided to test it; she reached out with her free hand, her fingertips grazing gently against the side of his face, high and close to his hairline.
That got him to move, turning his head away from her touch sharply, though he still didn't try to wrench his wrist from her grasp; his breathing had picked up to the point where it was noticeably shallow, but other than that, after the initial movement he had become very still once again.
She continued to look at him, even though he continued to look away. This was a definite fear reaction, in response to something as natural as touch, and she could only begin to guess at the reasons why.
Cynthia had known Cyrus as he had presented himself - the calculating cult leader, twisted and delusional, dangerous in his ambition. But the longer they stood there, the harder it hit her that she really didn't know anything about him: what he had done in his lifetime, the things he had seen, what had happened to him that made him feel that he had to destroy the world to purge himself of it...
It was entirely possible that no one knew; maybe that was what had gone wrong to begin with.
"Well," she said, looking for something to say. "I...you know that I'm not going to hurt you, right?"
It took him a moment, but he responded eventually, muttering something that was quiet to the point that she couldn't make out anything beyond a deeply bitter tone behind the words.
"Cyrus, I'm sorry...but can you say that again for me?"
"...I said that I didn't think you would."
Despite the answer, he still hadn't moved; the muscles in his body had become rigid to the point that he was almost shaking.
Cynthia lowered her eyes, giving a gentle shake of her head. "That's good to hear. But sweetheart...you're really not acting like it."
She hesitated for a moment before reaching out again, her hand finding the side of his face. His skin was surprisingly soft, but cold to the touch; she could feel him flinch slightly at the contact, but he didn't pull away from her otherwise. She continued to reach out to him, her touch gentle; her fingertips trailed lightly down his face, starting near his temple and tracing across his cheekbones, further down his jawline and near that hollow spot beneath his ear.
That was around where he seemed to decide that he'd had enough, jerking back from her again; she stepped forward, following his movements carefully so as not to initiate more contact than was necessary, and after a moment's pause, she began the process again.
In the end, she wasn't sure why she was doing it; she knew he probably wouldn't take anything away from this experience in the end, but still, she felt she had to try. Maybe it was the hope presented by the small patches of humanity she was beginning to unearth; maybe it was just a desire to somehow ease some of the pain that this world must have inflicted on him. Either way, she found herself quickly coming to know the increase in tension before he flinched away from her, memorizing what it felt like and stopping just before to allow him a moment before she continued; she repeated the gesture once, twice, again and again until some of the rigidity in his posture had subsided.
He remained silent the whole time, though after a while his attention shifted; eventually, he was able to look her in the eyes, though his gaze was wary. In the meantime, she had found a sense of fascination in every touch; the unexpectedly soft quality his skin held, the tautness near his jaw, the sharp angles of his bone structure contrasting the oddly concave sweep underneath his cheekbones - all of it was new, and she knew that not many others could know the way that touching him felt. In the end, she couldn't help but think that it was another thing he was giving her, and she smiled at the thought.
When she could feel him relax a bit underneath her touch, she began another soft, downward motion, brushing her hand gently down his face, though she didn't stop where she had been; her fingers continued onward and back, sliding ever-so-slightly beneath his collar to find the nape of his neck, and though she could feel him flinch against the contact, she remained firm in her grasp, her fingertips taking up a soft massaging motion.
He continued to look at her, though his expression had quickly become unreadable. "Cynthia," he started, shaking his head and again attempting to pull back; she stopped the gentle kneading of her fingertips, but didn't allow him to pull away just yet.
"Just try to relax," she said, and when he didn't move again, she picked up the same light motion once more; it wasn't long before her other hand had loosened, releasing the fabric she'd been holding such a tight grip on.
When that hand reached up, alighting gently on his face, her thumb stroking gently across his cheek, she wasn't quite sure what to make of the fact that his skin was no longer quite as cold.
They both seemed to realize it at the same time, and he promptly averted his gaze, a deep sense of dislike for the situation in his eyes; she, on the other hand, found herself amused at the light flush creeping across his features.
She didn't look away from him, and she smiled honey-slow.
Though he shifted uneasily when she moved closer, he didn't pull away; she leaned forward, her words flowing soft and easy into his ear. "It's a warm night," she said, her voice gently teasing, just enough to let him know that she'd seen it. "Isn't it?"
"...I...yes." Cyrus' voice was odd, thick, and though his breathing was beginning to elevate again, Cynthia had a feeling that it wasn't through fear this time.
And when she shifted their position to kiss him, he didn't flinch away from her this time.
At first he remained largely unresponsive, seemingly unwilling to move into her touch; she could feel her hand slipping away from his face as though through its own volition, finding his shoulder and pulling him toward her, and it was then that there was a deep reaction, something she could feel emanating from him rather than anything she was aware of physically. The hand at the back of his neck trailed upward, burying itself in his hair and toying with the thick locks; she could feel his hands tentatively coming to rest against her waist, and though the motion was unnatural in some ways, the lightness of his touch was electrifying.
Finding an acceptable level of contact was experimental, a test that she was more than happy to undergo - in a way, it was more exciting like that, finding out firsthand that his spine was deliciously sensitive as she trailed her fingers down his back, garnering a deep, quiet noise from the back of his throat, and though it was always a bit unnerving to find out what he didn't like (for some odd reason prolonged contact with his chest seemed to make him edge away from her, and the one attempt at his belt had resulted in him breaking off the kiss so quickly it had nearly given her whiplash, though the prior knowledge about his spine had definitely been useful in coaxing him back into it), in some ways that was rewarding as well. Experiences like this were something to be shared, after all, and mapping out his body with her fingertips, being allowed to understand what he would and wouldn't want...
In several ways, it was enticing.
His own touch, as well, steadily became more involved, trailing down her waist to her hips before tracing back up and kneading into her shoulderblades, pulling soft vocalizations from deep within her, and it wasn't long before he wasn't the only one flushed. And through it all, he was kissing her, and though the motion was deep and claiming, there was a sense of inexperience behind it all - a questioning, almost naive air behind his gestures, and somehow that was what affected her most deeply.
When she pulled away from him, he didn't move to stop her; somewhere along the line he had allowed his eyes to slide closed, and he didn't open them right away. When she slid her hand between them, however, coming to rest on that emblem over the left side of his chest, his gaze was immediately focused on her again.
Her motions from there were slow and deliberate, letting him know exactly what she was doing and that he was more than welcome to stop her if he so desired; somewhere in the back of her mind, she was fully aware that he wouldn't. It was for that reason that the deep intake of breath was satisfying as her hand slipped down a bit lower, toying with the bottom hem of his shirt and pulling it up a couple of inches, her fingertips sliding beneath it to stroke across the bare skin of his abdomen.
The tension in his body was immediately apparent, as was the quiet swear he offered beneath his breath; though she could feel his hands fall away from where they had come to rest against her hips, he didn't move to make her stop, to pull her away. She left her hand where it was for a moment before shifting her arm a bit, her touch arching higher against his body, touching the lower half of his sternum before sweeping back downward and returning to that same spot, drawing another of those deep, gentle noises from him as she did so.
To be honest, she was surprised that he had allowed her what he had; she wasn't sure exactly when he had progressed from resisting her touch to seeming to desire it, but the transition was lovely, filling her with the desire to encourage it, to drive it onward.
His hand found her arm when she moved for his belt again; she looked up at him, the question obvious in her eyes.
"...don't."
She bowed her head slightly in response. "Do you really want me to stop?"
The hesitation before his answer made her immediately glad that her head was lowered and he couldn't see her face; in a way, she already knew what he was going to say.
"...continue, then. However, if I tell you to back down..."
"Of course," she said, slipping the end of the belt back through the buckle and beginning to work at the fastenings beneath.
She supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised that he was already beginning to respond physically; given that touch was such a foreign thing to him, it was only natural that he should find himself so quickly aroused by their activities and the removal of clothing. However, slipping her hand beneath his clothes to find him already semi-erect wasn't something she had expected; it had already shown on her expression by the time she fully realized it, and even if she was aware that it was terrible, judging by the way he moved she found herself almost grateful that they were in a position that he couldn't easily pull away from.
She paused before continuing further, slipping her hand out from beneath his clothes again and gesturing to the chair that he'd abandoned what felt like such a long time ago. "Sit down?" she said, the soft smile returning to her features.
Cyrus did as he was told, albeit in a manner that somehow managed to be both skeptical and vaguely dazed; she noticed with vague, morbid amusement that he seemed to relax when she got to her knees in front of him, though it didn't seem to stop his hand from finding her hair when she began to manipulate clothing, exposing him. His touch was firm, but he wasn't twisting his fingers into her hair at first; that changed abruptly when she reached out, taking his shaft in her hand and began stroking, lightly at first, and only when it was apparent that at the very least he wasn't going to wrench her head sideways did she begin to increase the speed and firmness of the gesture.
It wasn't long before she could feel him shift, pressing into her touch, soft vocalizations escaping him as she continued; the noises had just begun to taper down when she took his erection into her mouth, at which point she became incredibly aware of the fact that they stopped altogether, quickly culled into silence as that familiar sense of tension overtook his body. The sudden lack of verbal feedback was momentarily alarming, but just the same, he didn't stop her; she didn't break contact entirely, the tip of her tongue still lightly flicking the head even after she'd pulled back, but there was a definite break before she had continued.
He hadn't protested.
She had expected that he wouldn't hold out for long, and he didn't, though the physical reaction was disconcerting; when he orgasmed, he did so in near-silence, the only sound being a short, choked sound escaping his throat, sharp and staccato.
She had gone to bed alone that night, wandering back toward the room she had selected for herself on weak legs; they had come to a mutual decision on that, at least, though in hindsight it was mostly unspoken - Cyrus hadn't been inclined to discuss it with her, and Cynthia wasn't about to force it.
He was already downstairs the next morning, standing at the windows on the far side of that massive room and looking out at the sea, and she couldn't be sure that he'd slept; she had moved to stand next to him, and tried to pretend that it didn't sting when he shifted away from her, increasing the distance between them.