I think there's only like two of you that like Florence other than me, and I'm not even entirely sure either of those people ship Fly, but I do, and I like writing cute Fly smut (Sylvester gets severely neglected in the smut department in general) so here's another one.

If you want to fly, give up everything that weighs you down.

"Do we talk enough?" Florence asked him suddenly.

Sylvester raised his head. "Huh?"

She supposed she couldn't blame him for being confused that that was what reaction she gave him while his tongue was doing glorious things to one of her breasts, but it was times like these that made her second guess whether they were doing this whole relationship thing correctly. They had a grand total of one previous relationship between the two of them, after all. Florence shifted her weight, and he eased over next to her. "I just mean, I don't know," she said with a shrug. "We always do this."

"Do…"

"We just keep kissing and then other stuff happens. I know we talk a lot in other situations, but...I don't know. Is it weird to have intercourse while silent? No words, I mean."

"Is this about how you overheard Toby and Happy in the van and he was asking her to tell him he was better looking than Paul Rudd?"

Maybe it was, a little bit. "I dunno. I just keep hearing that communication is so important in relationships, and it makes sense." They'd slept together four times – three and a half, really; her mom called once – and Florence couldn't remember any words passing between them during any of those times aside from the pro forma is this okay? exchange that always happened before anything went anywhere. "I don't think it has to be, like…gross talk. Like on the dirty websites. But just…observations. How we feel. Stuff like that."

"I actually wouldn't know what goes on on the dirty websites, but there's something new I just learned about you."

"You've never watched something weird just out of curiosity?"

"Something weird, yes. Dirty websites, no."

"I mean, it's not like I make a habit of…stop laughing at me."

"Sorry." Sylvester pressed his lips together. "Valid concern, sorry."

"Thank you. It's just, as scientists, wouldn't we want to make each experience the best it can be? What if talking like that makes it better, somehow?"

Sylvester shrugged, leaning in and kissing her. "We can try that. Do you want to go first?"

"Uh…" She was the one that suggested this. "You…" she glanced down his body. "Your penis is hard."

Sylvester nodded. "So are your nipples."

"I feel like we're doing this wrong."

"I definitely agree."

They stared at each other a moment, then Florence burst into giggles, leaning over and kissing him, her hand up to his face, fingers splayed over his cheek. He kissed her back, tugging her closer, his lips near her ear. "You're better looking than Paul Rudd," he whispered.

She pushed away from him, snorting with laughter. "Sly," she said when she was able to speak, "what the damn hell?"

"I'm just trying to do what you want," he said with a smirk. "And should I be offended that you didn't say you too?"

She rolled back toward him, smacking his chest lightly. "I'm sure you are. I'm not even entirely sure I know who Paul Rudd is." She placed a kiss to his shoulder. "I just…I know how much communication has helped Happy and Toby, and how it helped, then hurt, then helped Walter and Paige all over again. We went through such a mess to get to this point, and I just…" she shrugged. "I don't want this to stop. I like this."

"I do too," he said. "But communication isn't always about words. Example." He shifted over her, dropping his mouth to one of her breasts, his hand cupping the other one, and Florence's muscles twitched as she felt the sensation shooting downward, air rushing into her lungs. She put a hand on his, encouraging him to keep it in place. He did – but he lifted his head. "See? I could ask you if you like that every two seconds, or I could pay attention to your reactions. It's like litmus tests. You see the paper change color and you know."

Chemistry reference. Dear God, she was in trouble. Or maybe not, since I'm not afraid of this. Hmm. Florence lifted her legs, getting her heels around his hips and using them to pull him down. He balanced on his forearms, keeping most of his weight off of her, and she wrapped her legs more tightly around him as his hips lowered and they ground against each other, making his breath hitch and hers grow heavier from the friction. His tongue on her nipple was enhancing everything else in a way that had her body quivering, even now.

"Are you ready?" he asked, after another minute or so.

Florence gave herself a mental once over. She was small and he wasn't and they required a lot of warmup. Sylvester had been doing amazingly with the contact that this level of intimacy required, but his aversion to germs still limited a little of what they could do foreplay wise, even utilizing the box of gloves they always had on the bed. Fortunately, Florence had come to learn how incredibly sensitive her breasts were, and Sylvester had learned just as quickly how much he enjoyed giving them attention. The past few minutes had helped immensely. "Yep," she said, tugging his head up so she could kiss him on the mouth. She shifted her hips as he lifted up slightly and backed toward the edge of the bed, and she scooted with him. Once Sylvester had repositioned, standing at the foot and leaning over her, he kissed her once more before he reached between them, positioning himself. He eased in slowly, not going all the way, watching her face. There was something especially intimate about this part, him looking down at her with love and concern, it all feeling good to him but potentially uncomfortable on her end if she wasn't ready. Thankfully she was, and although there was a lot they could communicate through body language, she did want to get better at verbalizing.

"Good."

Well, one word was better than nothing, at least.

Sylvester drew his hips back, and when he pushed them forward again he stopped at the same point as before, making sure she was still okay. They didn't address this in television and movies and on dirty websites. This was supposed to be the dream, the well – endowed man and the tiny, compact woman, although they both knew this would be terribly unpleasant for her if they weren't so careful.

But they were, and oh, what they were together was incredible when they gave it the proper time.

"Good," she breathed again, looking up at him with her eyes half closed. He lowered his head, kissing her neck, using the hand that wasn't helping him balance to run over her stomach. His touch electrified her. Who could have imagined that the slight butterflies she'd gotten the previous February that she'd pushed down and denied could have turned into this? Why had she let herself get so confused? She couldn't even imagine doing this with anyone else. She hadn't done this with anyone else.

Sylvester slid his hand up to her breast, massaging it and groaning quietly against her neck. Florence shuddered, pushing up against his hand, gasping when his thumb caressed her nipple just as he brushed the spot inside her. Another benefit to being thoroughly warmed up – she didn't need long. She could already feel the tension building, preparing to snap. "Oh, it feels so good," she whispered to him, closing her eyes and digging her heels into his hip and gasping again when that resulted in him going deeper inside of her. She wasn't a big moaner, but she swore she was breathing hard enough that everyone nearby would still be able to hear her. Neither she nor Sylvester were going to be winning any awards for stamina, but she thought she might be closer than him. Despite their limited encounters – although after the next time they wouldn't be able to count them on one hand any longer – she already knew she liked finishing just ahead of him, with the feel of her climax being what brought him over. She tightened her legs around him. "Hold up," she said, and he stilled, closing his eyes when she tightened around him before releasing and then squeezing again. He slowly began to resume thrusting. "No," she said. "Stay still." She pushed her hips upward, tightening again, needing to bring him along, and she watched his face, appreciating how he bit his lip to keep a groan inside. She ground her hips up against him, continuing to contract her muscles rhythmically around him. She got all she knew of strategical sex from a couple erotic novels she'd found herself flipping through at the library – she had a sneaking feeling that everything she'd seen on the dirty websites were a little extreme – but the library gave what seemed to be a few legit ideas, and this one in particular seemed to be a gold mine for reactions. She loved how easy it was to get him close to the point of losing control while trying to act like he wasn't.

Sylvester's lips finally separated so he could gasp, his breath heavy. He looked to the side, reaching for the box of gloves. Florence was in a better position to grab it, and she reached out, pulling it closer. Sylvester grabbed on, fitting it onto his hand and reaching between them again, because two could play this game. Florence's hands dug into his arm and shoulder. Dammit, Sylvester. "I was just trying to…" she trailed off, needing oxygen but unable to breath steadily. "…get us to the same place." She squirmed underneath him.

"Uh – uh," Sylvester said, raising his eyebrows. "If I can't move, neither can you." She stilled, biting down on her lip. "Okay, okay," she gasped. He pressed his finger against her nerves, moving it side to side, and she hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. "O-kay." Sylvester smiled, slowly beginning to rock his hips again. She settled back into her previous rhythm, and they moved in tandem, both breathing hard enough that she was sure the windows were fogged up, betraying them to everyone who looked up.

"Let me get on top," she said, placing a hand on his chest. Sylvester lifted up, letting her scoot back enough for him to sit on the edge of the bed. She crawled off of it, circling around so they were face to face. She put her hands on the side of his face, kissing him again, because for all her concern about them kissing so much and talking so little, she loved kissing him, she didn't want talking more to mean kissing less and she thought they could kiss constantly for the rest of their lives and it still wouldn't feel like enough. Sylvester shifted slightly farther back, the length of his thighs on the bed, and she mounted him, her hands on the side of his neck as she sank down, immediately moving her hips back and forth against him. They could kiss better this way, and she had more control. They both preferred to finish this way.

This position also gave them both free use of their hands, meaning she could run hers over his shoulders and through his hair and he could touch her breasts or curl around her back or hold her hips and he chose the latter, because they were both close, both needed just a little bit more to fall over the edge, and they weren't exactly moving aggressively per se, but more so than before. Their kisses were growing sloppier, less controlled as the need for oxygen increased, and Florence dug her nails into his shoulders when his gloved hand found her nerves again. God, she was close.

"Florence. Florence." Sylvester's eyes were closed, and she could tell he was trying to get out a sentence; she was starting to fully understand what he'd said earlier about not necessarily needing words to communicate. She could tell by the way he felt and looked and sounded exactly what he was trying to tell her and when she opened her mouth to say yes, her as well, her release surprised her a few seconds early and instead her mouth formed the words oh my God but no sound came out. She just tensed and then shook on top of him, triggering his own wave of pleasure immediately following, just as she'd hoped. He groaned, his fingertips pressing into her hips; they would probably leave tiny bruises but she didn't care one bit. They stared at each other, eyes and mouths open as their hips rocked against each other, drawing it all out. For a moment, she couldn't get enough air in, and she wondered if she looked like a fish out of water, struggling, but then whatever had a hold on her lungs released and she gasped, gulping up oxygen.

"Oh wow," Sylvester said breathlessly, looking at her with wide eyes. He moved slightly under her and she flinched; she would be sensitive down there for a while. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said, putting a finger to his lips. He didn't have to say he was sorry for just about anything after that. She leaned forward and put her forehead against his. "Holy shit."

"Agreed."

She playfully rubbed her nose against his. "Lies. You don't cuss. At least not like a normal person."

"You're one to talk."

"I thought my oddities were part of my charm?"

"How did you…oh, I'm gonna kill Cabe."

"Why?" She shrugged. "I take it as a compliment." They'd been joking, but she knew the look that came over her face was serious. "Everyone else has used my quirks as a reason to stay away from me. And you…you fell in love with me because of them. I still don't know that I understand."

He linked his hands behind her back. "Maybe you will, one day."

She knew he was referencing how she'd never said the words back to him. She also knew he didn't care. Most people weren't in love when they started dating, although the other two couples at Scorpion Partners both defied that norm. He started out ahead of where most people did, she started out in more of the typical range, and it didn't bother him. He just savored every moment they spent together and hoped that someday he would hear that word from her, because he wanted to be loved back but he also wanted her to know what love was like. It was that understanding and lack of pressure that made her know that he would be hearing it from her - sooner than he might think.

She almost wanted to say it now.