28. Irving

28

IRVING

T he world swirled around me in a green and brown and gray haze as we walked back to my apartment, Sylvan leaning against me the way he used to. This was how life was meant to go. Whether I'd always believed it or not, Sylvan and I were destined to be with each other. We needed to grow old together, spending our days in the woods and our nights in each other's arms.

We stumbled into the bedroom, tumbling onto the bed together. I tried to set my glasses on the nightstand, but I missed the surface and they tumbled off somewhere I would inevitably have to search on my hands and knees to find. Our clothing had come off somewhere between the front door and the bed, leaving a trail of fabric leading to the scene of the crime.

Sylvan's lips closed around mine. We were locked together now, and nothing could tear us apart. A brief thought of that paper I was supposed to grade flashed in my mind, but it was gone as soon as Sylvan kissed me again. The paper could wait, and both my student and I would be better off leaving it be for a few hours, or days, or however long it took for me to pry my fae away from me.

"Is that…my painting?" Sylvan looked past me at the frame hanging on the wall.

"Yes," I said, taking his head in my hands and refocusing his gaze on me. "What did you think I would do with it? Throw it in the bin?"

Sylvan shook his head. "No, but I didn't think you would place it in your bedroom. You actually like it, don't you?"

"Of course. It's my favorite piece of artwork I own – aside from the more recent one you gave me. I was thinking about putting that one on the ceiling."

Sylvan glanced up and I pushed him back onto the pillows, climbing on top of him. Even the chatterbox himself shut up once I got to work on him, with only the occasional moan slipping out.

These precious minutes spent together were divine. I'd been dreaming about them for months, and even now I could hardly believe we were actually together again. Sylvan's fingers brushed against my skin, naked and vulnerable to his soft touch. His hair fell into his eyes and I brushed it away again, tucking it behind one long, pointed ear. It jostled free again mere moments later, but I ignored it. I had more important things to focus on than an errant strand of hair.

Each thrust, each breath, each stroke, each whimper wove together into the perfect moment. Twice in my life had I doubted that Sylvan and I were meant for each other, and in one short gasp, all that doubt was torn away from me. There was no one else in the world who could complete me like Sylvan.

A final shudder sent us crashing back to reality, falling back against the soft welcoming bed, our bodies sweaty and heaving for breath. Soon, we would have to get up and tidy the mess we made, but not yet. We deserved to spend a little more time reveling in each other, envisioning what a life spent beside each other would look like.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked softly, placing my hand on Sylvan's chest.

He played with the twine on his finger, first spinning it around before sliding it up and down the length of the digit.

"I'm thinking about you," he replied after a long beat. You made the right decision, Irving. You won't regret it."

"Marrying you?" I reached up and put my hand over his, the twine rubbing against my palm. "No, I don't think I will regret it. I don't think I'll regret it at all."