A/N: I got my four chapter lead back! So you guys get another update! YAY! Also, there's a LITTLE BIT of SMUT in this chapter ;) Now that we've gone there, I can't resist. CHICAGO FIRE IS ALL NEW TONIGHT. YAY!
Happy reading!
angellwings
CHAPTER TWENTY: We'll Work It Out
Sylvie has officially found the best way to wake up from a lazy afternoon catnap. Or, hell, any long stretch of sleep. Nap or sleepover doesn't matter. To make it the best all that matters is waking up with Matt Casey's head between her legs.
"Jesus, oh my god, Matt."
Her hands reach under the comforter for him. One finds the back of his head and the other presses into the hand he's clasped around her thigh. She arches off the bed ever so slightly, wriggling closer to his mouth on instinct.
He adjusts his hold and wraps an arm around her waist. It keeps her firmly in position no matter how her hips buck from his determined attention.
She has a particularly sensitive spot around her clit. In her entire adult life, none of her partners have discovered it — even by accident. She only knows about it thanks to the vibrator in her nightstand. She's stopped even considering that someone might find it…
Until Matt does.
She lets out a rare curse in the midst of a full body quiver and arches dramatically against the matress. Holy shit. There's a pause where she feels Matt's mouth form a grin. It only adds to her excitement. He can be a smug bastard when he wants to be. She freaking loves it. He's obviously pleased with that little bit of magic he's uncovered. Not as pleased as she is, though. Especially when he changes the angle of his mouth with the intent of focusing on her new found weakness.
He doesn't stop until she's a shaking, writhing, nearly sobbing from the pleasure pile of boneless goo. Twice. She came fucking twice. Practically back to back. She would be mortified by the mewling whimpers and desperate moans if it hadn't all felt so damn good. She's still panting harshly, completely limp, and absolutely dazed with pleasure when Matt pushes himself up to the head of the bed and hovers with his gloriously naked form horizontal over hers. His hands are holding him up on either side of her head while he looks down at her with the biggest shit-eating grin.
"Afternoon," he greets in a feigned breezy tone. "How was your nap?"
She laughs and wraps her arms around his middle, shaking her head at him before replying. "Oh, it was great. Very fitful until someone decided to wake me up and wear me out again. Now, I think I need another one. Holy shit, Matt. That was unfair."
He dips his head to place a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. "All's fair in love and war, Sylvie," he says with a wink.
"Mmkay," she replies with a playful eye roll. "Well, if we plan on sitting up or getting out of bed anytime soon you may have to carry me — thanks to your little stunt."
"Why would we get out of bed?" He asks her with a quirked brow. "I'm pretty happy right here."
She feels a smile instantly split her face at his words. The confirmation that he's having just as much fun as she is feels unbelievable. She'd spent so much time assuming this would never happen and having all of him literally in front of her right now is surreal.
"So, just so you know, everything we did before I fell asleep and after I woke up exceeded any and all expectations," she tells him while she wraps her legs around his waist and skims her hands up and down his back.
"Alright, well, in that same spirit of honesty," Matt tells her as he returns her beaming smile. "I wholeheartedly agree."
He leans his weight on one arm, wraps the other one around her bare shoulders, and then flips their positions. She finds herself straddling him in an instant. He's been pulling that move a lot. She knows why. He's trying to keep pressure off her injured side.
Beautiful, thoughtful man.
From her position on top of him, she gets a view of the alarm clock on his bedside table and winces.
"It's almost four and we never ate anything," she tells him. They're caloric intake is definitely not appropriate for the amount of calories they've already burned. How is she not famished?
"Oh, I'd say I've eaten plenty," Matt replies with a lewd smirk.
The comment is so unexpected that she has no control over the way her mouth drops open or the near obnoxious volume of her full bellied guffaw.
"Matthew Casey!" She mockingly scolds through the remnants of her laughter. "I have never seen this side of you before!" Her fingers thread through his as she leans down to smile her way into a kiss. Once that's done her mirthful gaze locks with his. "I am completely here for it."
Her one kiss turns into another solid few minutes of lazy open mouthed lip locks. She's half convinced they're on their way to never getting out of bed, just like Matt wanted, until her stomach lets out an awkward growl that interrupts the sounds of their kisses and appreciative sighs. Matt chuckles against her lips before releasing her hands to teasingly pat her ass.
"Okay, I get it," he tells her. "We need food."
"It's safe to say I've worked off those funfetti pancakes from this morning," she says with a sheepish smile.
"You mean the sugar didn't sustain you through the entire day?" He asks with a sarcastic lift of his brows. "Color me shocked."
She feigns offense and smacks his shoulder lightly. "Rude!"
"Oh, and your stomach grumbling in the middle of a make out session wasn't rude?" He asks with a pointed glance.
She laughs and rolls off of him. Good God, Matt Casey in a playful mood is a powerful thing. She needs him just like this far more often. "Get up, jerk. I need hydration and protein."
She steps out of bed, scoops his t-shirt off the floor, and throws it on before walking over to her suitcase and grabbing a fresh pair of underwear. She debates putting on a pair of sleep shorts or sweats but decides against it. She doesn't hear Stella or Severide shuffling around outside of Matt's room so she assumes they're still alone. No need for pants just yet. However, socks? Very vital to her ice cold feet.
She feels a kiss against the back of her neck and then two strong arms band around her waist from behind. He is so much more touch oriented than she expected. It thrills her because touch is very much a means of affection and communication for her. It always has been. Her hands cover his as they rest on her stomach and then she lets herself lean into him. Her back against his solid chest feels perfect and the way his chin is able rest perfectly on her shoulder seems too convenient to be coincidental. They fit too well together for this relationship they're building to be a fluke or merely a result of close proximity. Everything about this seems right.
"What are we thinking?" He asks before kissing her neck again. "Take out or do we actually make something?"
"You know what I really want? And I honestly can't tell you why," she begins rhetorically. "A grilled cheese sandwich."
An amused chuff escapes him. "First funfetti pancakes and now a grilled cheese. Sylvie Brett you are officially adorable. Grilled cheese sandwiches it is."
Grilled cheese sandwiches. She requested grilled cheese sandwiches.
It's almost unbearably cute.
So, now here they are in the kitchen, both barely dressed, standing in front of the stove melting butter in a skillet.
He makes a face as Brett spreads mayonnaise on her bread.
"What the hell is that?" He asks in outrage.
"Oh, no," she says with a sigh and an almost imperceptible grin. "Are you one of those no mayo people? Putting mayo on your grilled cheese makes it a superior grilled cheese!"
She reaches for two more slices of bread to make his but he wraps a hand around her wrist to stop her. "I'll make mine, thank you. I don't trust you now that I know you're a mayo grilled cheese person. I am shocked and appalled, Sylvie. Shocked and appalled."
"That's fine. I guess I'll just put my jeans on and go home if you're so shocked and appalled," she says with a playful smirk.
She sets the butter knife down and starts to step back from the counter, but he still has a hold on her wrist. His reflexes are also quicker than hers so she has no time to break away before he pulls her into him. He lets go of her wrist to wrap his arms around her waist, his hands settle on the top curve of her ass which is barely covered by his borrowed shirt.
He smiles triumphantly as they stand chest to chest in the kitchen. His thin t-shirt does nothing to prevent her body heat from seeping into his. He's ready to get lunch over with so they can get back to bed.
"You're not going anywhere," he tells her. "The day's still early and I have plans to take excellent advantage of all the daylight we have left."
"Fine," she says with a purposefully dramatic pout. "You can have yours without mayonnaise. I'll allow it."
He rolls his eyes and chuckles. "How gracious of you."
The sandwiches take longer to finish than they should - thanks to the way Sylvie keeps him permanently distracted. He can't help it if he stops every so often for a kiss or to tease her or hold her closer. He'd held back on his tactile instincts with her because he hadn't wanted to cross any lines, but now the floodgates are open and he's free to be as touchy feely as he wants. He can tell Sylvie is surprised by how truly tactile he is, and he gets it. He's been very intentionally controlled with her in the past.
But this is who he's been wanting to be with her for a few weeks now. Affectionate, open, and light. The relief he feels at finally being able to let down his guard is palpable. He knows Sylvie feels it too.
They sit down at the table to eat and Matt drags her chair closer to his. He drapes one arm across the back of her chair. She reciprocates by angling herself toward him and throwing one of her legs over his. They munch on their sandwiches in comfortable silence, sneaking giddy glances at each other as they do.
Sylvie breaks the silence by holding out the untouched half of her sandwich toward him. "Try it."
"Hell no. I don't want your mayo monstrosity," he replies with a scoff.
"When was the last time you tried it?" She asks, with a knowing glance.
"My mom made them that way one time when I was a kid," he replies. "I hated it."
"So did I when I was a kid," she tells him with a smirk. "You don't think your taste buds have matured since then? Try it."
He sighs and grimaces but takes it from her and begrudgingly takes a bite. Damn, okay. That's actually pretty good.
"Alright," he says after he swallows. "I don't hate it."
"That's a point for me," Sylvie quips as she takes her finger and tallies an invisible mark in the air. "And none for you."
"Hey," he protests. "No one said anything about keeping score."
"Oh, Matt," Sylvie says with a patronizing pat to his cheek. "I shouldn't have to."
He laughs loudly and drops the arm from the back of the chair to her shoulders, gently tugging her closer. "I see how it is."
She chuckles and then presses her lips to his cheek in a soft kiss. "I'm kidding," she tells him with her lips still against his cheek. She leans back to meet his eyes with an affectionate smile. "I may be competitive but I'm not that competitive."
He didn't take her words seriously, but he loves that she's offering him comfort just in case he did. There are things that will haunt him about a certain previous relationship for a long time to come. One of the good things about moving on with someone who already knows you so well is that she knows better than most what those things might be. She knew Gabby Dawson as well as he did. So, while he knew she was kidding, it's reassuring to hear soothing words before he even has a moment to overthink it.
A faint ringing suddenly fills the air. They both turn their heads toward the sound.
"That's my phone," Sylvie says as she untangles herself from him and stands from the table. "It might be important."
She sprints toward his bedroom and emerges a minute or two later with the phone pressed to her ear.
"Spencer," she says with obvious relief as she sits back down at the table. "It's been a while since I had an update. I was getting nervous." She returns to her seat next to him as she listens. He tries to listen too but all he can make out is a few muffled words. "Tomorrow? Sure. I mean I'll have to clear it with Boden, but I should be able to meet you tomorrow." There's a pause where she gives him an affirmative hum and nods, even if he can't see it from the other end of the phone line. "Yes, I will meet you at the precinct tomorrow. Thanks for calling."
She ends the call and he can tell immediately that something's wrong. There's a tiny wrinkle in between her brows.
"What's up?" He asks as he laces his fingers through hers. "What did he say?"
"Not much," she replies, running a hand through her disheveled golden hair. "Just that he wants to meet with me to update me on the case tomorrow at five."
He narrows a concerned gaze on her. "So then what's with the face?" He sweeps a light touch over her furrowed brow to emphasize what he means. "You look worried."
"I am worried," she admits. "He sounded...off. You don't think there's something wrong, do you? I mean would he make me come all the way down to the precinct if it was bad news?"
He honestly has no idea, but he can't let her spend the next twenty four hours wallowing in uncertainty.
"I'm sure if it was anything urgent he wouldn't have held off until tomorrow," Matt assures her. He kisses her temple before continuing. "It's gonna be okay, Sylvie. There's no way anyone's going to let you spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. One way or another, we'll work it out."
She nods and then wraps her arms around his midsection. Her head falls onto his shoulder with a tired sigh. "Thank you, Matt."
"Anytime," he responds.
He means it too. He's not going to let her spend her life living in fear of one of Hope's lowlife ex-boyfriends. If it turns out Spencer can't take care of it then he'll find another way. Sylvie deserves to get her life back. He'll help her anyway he can.
