Reader. Writer. Geek. Feel free to drop a request. Sometimes I cry over fictional characters... a lot. Quill and Ink is where you'll find all of my Harry Potter fanfictions. A Court of Wings and Canines (ACOWAC) is where you'll find all of my ACOTAR and Throne of Glass fanfictions. I ship: [x]Cazriel[x]Snupin[x]Elorcan[x]Snamione[x]And I swear the cadre have fucked each other over the centuries, and Dorian and Aedion have fucked at least three times. There are a lot of questionable ships and headcanons in my harbour. They aren't for the faint hearted. If you can't stomach them - fuck off.
He offered a crooked smile. “I’m tired.” Not a lie. Certainly not the truth. But deception slipped easily by his lips; it was the nature of his job to deceive.
Azriel clenched his jaw. He wasn’t in the mood for this… this pestering and prodding. The endless looks across the table and the hushed conversations when they thought he couldn’t hear them or that his shadows weren’t lurking nearby.
“I have work to do,” he said pointedly, making to step around Cassian’s looming frame. It wasn’t a move he was accustomed to making - it was usually others who made to avoid him.
Cassian’s arm flew out to stop him from passing and he smacked into the mass of muscle. An involuntary snarl left his mouth.
“I will say this once, Cassian,” he threatened, standing firmly against the barricade of his brothers arm. His shadows had erupted around his shoulders, whispering to him the location of each person in the house: Feyre and Elain in the kitchen, Amren and Mor on the roof. “Move.”
Cassian’s wings flared. “So you can run away again,” he said, narrowing his eyes and leaning down to glare into Azriel’s icy eyes. “Which pocket of shadow have you been hiding in all week? Feyre was beside herself when you stormed out that night. Rhysand spent hours talking her down. I froze my ass off in those mountains looking for you, and Mor -”
Shadows enveloped the corridor. Tendrils of wispy mist coiled around their frames, looping between splayed legs and clenched fists. Azriel’s teeth ached with the tension in his jaw and a jolt of energy shot through his body; an ache to let go and release. Soft mutterings from his shadows and whispered warnings to breathe, inhale slowly, and let go sharply….
He couldn’t bare it any longer.
He felt the steely mass of Cassian's jaw meeting his knuckles and then a startled grunt from the Illyrian. Cassian stumbled in surprise but recovered quick enough to ram his shoulder into Azriel’s chest. They locked limbs, shoving each other into walls and knocking picture frames down. Curses - fucks, bastards, dick heads - were spat with intent to hurt, and scrambling from other rooms could be heard above the growling and snarls.
Azriel took a blow to the cheek that he knew was going to leave a bruise and he retaliated by locking an arm around Cassian’s neck and dragging him to the ground. They scrambled and tore at each other, ignoring the shouts of those who had been drawn to the commotion - no one could exactly decipher which of the females had shouted to stop - but neither of them was stupid enough to interfere.
It was raw energy - pure testosterone - that sent Azriel's fists hammering down upon Cassians. The Illyrian was pinned beneath him, momentarily blindsided by shadows that whirled around them. But the general recovered quickly and kicked Azriel away, sending him barrelling into a wall that cracked beneath the impact.
Cassian dodged a boot to the head and managed to pin Azriel face down. "What. Is . Wrong. With. You." he panted, struggling to hold Azriel's writhing body.
"Go fuck yourself," spat Azriel through gritted teeth. He bent his knee sharply to ram the heel of his boot into Cassian's lower back. He was satisfied with the grunt of pain and made to buck Cassian off him again.
"You're acting insane," gritted Cassian, holding his shoulders down. He needed Rhys to winnow them out of here. The corridor was too small, this house too claustrophobic. He needed to get Azriel to open ground where he could fight and roar and bring the world around him to a cataclysmic end - safely.
"Az, please," said Cassian, digging his fingers into the shadowsingers shoulders. His brother's rage enclosed them in a hurricane of misting shadows. Cassian couldn't hear them, but he was sure they were trying to frantically soothe their master. "Just please let me help. Please."
His shadows were everywhere. He couldn't rein them in. They whirled around his head, whispering to him about the look of terror on Feyre's face. They told him that Amren was shielding her while Mor hovered closer. They whispered that she was hesitant and angry, that she looked sad and frightened by the sight of him on the floor, hissing and spitting promises to knock Cassian into last year.
But it was a different voice he heard in the chaos. It was soft, carried on the dance of his shadows to reach his ears. "Azriel, please stop hurting."
Cassian's hands held him firmly to the carpet. He could feel the worn threads rubbing his cheek - he would have a friction burn tomorrow - and his nose hurt too. It might be broken.
"Azriel…"
Elain.
It was her voice that stopped him from trashing. His name on her lips was soothing. He felt his shadows softly say her name.
Elain. Elain. Elaine.
He swallowed thickly. The words wouldn't come. He felt Cassian knead his shoulders. His hand was still placed wearily on that weak spot near his wings - just in case. But Azriel was tired now. His fight had been quenched. The icy rage had lulled for another day. He was tired now and those were the words that left his lips, muffled softly into the carpet for only Cassian to hear.
"I am so tired brother," he whispered.
Cassian saw the stray tears fall from Azriel's eyes. His chest hurt. A deep ache took his breath and he squeezed his brother's shoulders again. "Let me get you out of here.. Some place quiet."
Azriel nodded into the carpet.
"Can you winnow us?" said Cassian to Mor.
"Of course," she replied. Her voice too sounded thick and wobbly.
They were gone in a heartbeat and free falling toward pine trees and snow-capped mountains in the next. Mor winnowed away as fast as she had arrived, and Cassian banked neatly beside Azriel to land along the snow-filled trail to the cabin. Azriel trudged ahead, his wings clipped tightly and his head a fraction too low. Cassian followed him into the cabin and closed the door behind the world that was breaking his brother.
He woke the following morning with a pleasant ache below the waist. They had pushed the beds together, sleeping side by side, wings occasionally draping over one another, and limbs tangled and rejigged throughout the night. A feline stretch later that made his back click, Cassian rolled over to drape an arm around the source of heat at his side. Smooth skin greeted him and he smiled into his pillow when a pleasant sigh reached his ears.
“Morning,” was the husky greeting.
Opening his eyes, he saw Azriel peering back through strands of ruffled hair, hazel eyes watching him carefully. He smiled, bringing a hand up to brush the other Illyrian’s dishevelled hair to one side.
“Mornin’,” he whispered, brushing the pad of his thumb along the edge of Azriel’s lips. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning across the bed to breach the gap between them and planted a reassuring kiss onto warm lips. Always so, so warm.
No one had bothered them during the night. Cassian was sure that someone had to have heard them - that nuisance of a headboard had clattered too loudly - but the door never opened and no one banged on the walls. He still wasn’t sure what had sprung this upon them; Azriel lay almost catatonic and Cassian knew the Illyrian was waiting to be kicked out and hushed. Bringing a hand up to cup his chin, Cassian planted another tender kiss, hoping his actions spoke louder than any words he could come up with. Azriel closed his eyes in response, kissing softly back, and they nestled closer together, eyes closing again.
Good morning, was the dark purr in the back of his head. Cassian’s eyes flew open. There isn’t much better than sex but turkey rashers and toast is close.
In his arms, he felt Azriel stiffen and then murmur that, “Rhysand say’s-”
Oh my, have I got a boner to pick with you two. What a poorly kept secret.
Cassian glowered, tightening his hold around Azriel’s waist. “I heard what he has to say.” Thumping from the bedroom door quietened his colourful reply to the High Lord and instead, he replied, “Wrong room.”
Rhysand’s dark chuckle echoed from outside the door. “I could make a sex joke, you know,” was the jeer and Cassian was relieved when Azriel rolled his eyes. “But I’d hate to sound cocky.”
Cassian grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and flung it at the door. The laugh from outside tempered him and he made to throw another, but Azriel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and shook his head. “He’ll tire of his jeering and go away. In the meantime… I’d really like to just lay here with you a bit longer.”
Cassian melted into Azriel’s arms, tightening his own hold on the Illyrian and inhaling the scent of Solstice and happiness and Rhysand’s fading voice in the back of his mind that he was happy for them.
It was Azriel’s shadows that he felt first; gentle touches coiling around his neck. A breath caught in his throat and he swallowed thickly, nodding in reply. Yes. Yes, I will play with you. Those soft caresses turned powerful, strong palms gripped his wrists and in one swift movement, Cassian found himself facing the wall. Confident fingers entwined between his locks and pushed his face against the wall.
He was a weak fool allowing a grunt to escape and the hold on his hair tightened, a hard body pressing against his wings. Wings that opened like the eager submissive he was…. Azriel’s breath ghosted his ear and he exhaled, letting his eyes droop. His hands twitched against the strong hold, fingers tracing some part of Azriel’s body, unhappy with the fabric guarding skin he’d forgotten. He pushed back enough to graze the soft bulge in the Illyrians’ pants. Oh, he’d change that….
“It’s been a while,” was the soft murmur and fingers traced the grooves and curves on his strong wings. Oh, Cauldron… A pitiful moan escaped his lips and he could hear the smirk dripping from Azriel’s words. “I’d forgotten what a wanton whore you could be.”
He swallowed his next groan when Azriel pulled his head back and nipped his earlobe. “Take your shirt off,” was the sleak order and Cassian obliged, removing his sore jaw from the wall along with the irritating fabric that stopped him from feeling all of the Shadowsinger. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, hoping to catch sight of tanned bare skin and maybe some more, but his head was tugged back again, a hand catching both wrists and binding them against his back.
“Az... “ he choked, treacherous body responding to the power he could feel in the shadows that slipped around his shoulders, tickling his tight nipples and sending waves to his cock. He could feel Azriel’s bare chest against his wings, warm and chiselled. He wanted to push his hips against the trail of hair he knew disappeared beneath the other males belt but his damned pants were in the way.
“Something the matter?” was the knowing question and he nodded thinking yes, yes there is. Warm lips kissed the grooves between his shoulder and neck, teeth nipping the sensitive skin and making him sigh. “Want help?”
Cassian wiggled his fingers, hooking around Azriel’s belt and tugging his desires. He was rewarded with a deep chuckle, having forgotten until now how the sound of Azriel’s laugh could send blood rushing to his groin. Let me turn around, cauldron, please…
“Let me see that sweet face,” was the order and he turned eagerly, thankful his hands were free to roam and grope whatever skin he could reach. Whatever skin the other male would allow….
Azriel stood just as tall, equally as powerful, but there was always something about the dark Illyrian that made Cassian feel meek and careful beneath his unreadable gaze. Az’s features were elegant edges and gentle ripples over each rounded muscle. Cassian’s gaze fell straight to the line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the shadowsinger pants. He hoped his looks didn’t betray the greed that burned in the pits of his stomach, but the quiet scoff from Azriel told him otherwise. Cassian cursed his treacherous body again. “Can I… just once before…” and he flicked his jaw over to the bed.
Azriel raised a dark brow in response. He reached out to finger Cassian’s belt thoughtfully. “Did you think I was going to strap you down and let you have all the fun?” His marred fingers made quick work of the golden belt, clicking loudly as he undone the buckle, and the swift whip as he pulled it from its confines made Cassian flinch. “Now that’d be no fun at all for me.”
Azriel’s warm lips swallowed any response he could muster and he groaned satisfyingly into the kiss. Cauldron, yes…. Like sighing a breath of fresh air, his chest loosened with every slip of his tongue. Exploring Azriel’s mouth was like rediscovering a lost memory. He remembered the missing tooth after they’d had their first fight in the training camps; he could feel the sharp edge of a recent filling; he moaned at the warm lips around his tongue, pulling gently, then teeth nipping his bottom lip.
Their hips ground together, seeking that much needed friction, and Cassian swallowed a smug sound when Azriel whispered his first longing sentiment since they’d started playing together. His hands found the buttons on the other males pants, fumbling with them and pulling the fly apart, eager to feel the heavy heat he was sure would mirror his own.
“Allow me,” was the husky offer and Azriel expertly flicked open Cassian’s buttons, teasingly lowering the zip and palming the bulge that strained against its hold. “Eager. Always so eager.”
Cassian groaned with frustration, wiggling his pants around his hips and reaching to push Azriel’s down,but the Illyrian swatted him away with a sharp thwack. “Pants off,” was the sharp command and Cassian obeyed, swallowing when Azriel’s fingers slipped beneath the band of his underwear and tugged sharply. “Those too.”
He stood in all his glory, wings shaking with the need to stretch and flex like his erect cock, jutting needingly from his groin and twitching with anticipation. His fingers itched too, not sure what to reach for - the heavyweight between his legs, the swollen bulge in Azriel’s pants… Azriel’s pants which were annoyingly still on.
He chanced reaching for them, fingers just brushing the fabric before Azriel stepped out of reach. “Fuck, Az… come on,” he groaned, half bringing his hands to rub his face but quickly dropping them at the amused look on the other man’s face. So weak, so needy….
“‘Wanton’ is the word you’re grasping for,” was the rich purr and Azriel took the scarf from the bed, smoothing it over his hands. He looked up to meet Cassian’s gaze and licked his lips. “We haven’t even begun and you’re already saluting the ceiling with that cock of yours.” Cassian nodded, eyeing the scarf with excitement he hoped wasn’t vibrating off him. He hardly registered Azriel’s words when the soft material brushed against his bare thigh, ghosting the edge of his balls and he pushed back against the wall, sighing. “Sit down, Cassian, before you buck yourself through the wall. What a sight that’d be for whichever unwilling soul was to pass.”
He didn’t care what Azriel called him as long as that soft teasing material brushed him again. His knees buckled when he hit the side of the single bed - his own bed he noted - and Azriel pushed his shoulders down to meet the mattress. His wings tucked neatly behind him; he fought the urge to expand them and beg for just one more teasing stroke in just the right spot.
“The bed is so small though,” he said instead, motioning with his hands and then cocking his head towards Azriel’s bed. “Let’s put them together. More room.”
“You won’t be moving much when I get started,” was the teasing insight into what lay ahead. The scarf draped just out of reach of his stomach and he reached out to touch, wanting to lower it enough to tease his own self, but Azriel pulled it out of reach and instead stooped to trail a finger along his stomach, drawing teasing swirls up his chest, around his tight nipples and then cupped his chin. Cassian arched into the touch.
“Hands up,” was the deadly whisper.
The scarf was gentle on his wrist but tight enough to hold his arms above his head and attach to the headboard. His knees were bent, at Azriel’s request and he fought every instinct to buck his hips. His cock stood, thrumming with a touch starved ache and he lifted his head to follow Azriel’s footsteps back to the bed.
The Illyrian held a familiar tube in one hand and he tensed with excitement when he saw the equally familiar plug in the other hand. Cassian was sure his bottom lip was shredded from chewing out his frustration.
Azriel’s hazel eyes twinkled when he held out the plug. “So eager. Always so, so eager.” He perched on the edge of the bed - it creaked beneath their weight - and ran a hand along Cassian’s strained muscles; each one twitched and Cassian closed his eyes. “Open your eyes. I don’t want you to miss a thing.”
Cassian obeyed, opening in time to see Azriel’s face close the gap between them and they kissed again. Az’s fingers ghosted between his legs, trailing the sensitive skin around his balls and avoiding every sweet spot. He bucked his hips, desperate for any contact. “Dammit, Az… will you just touch it already,” he broke their kiss, pleaded, the desperation clear in his voice.
Azriel smirked down at him. “Impatient, sweet boy.” He ran the plug, long and thick, against Cassian’s lip and his smirk turned feral. “Care to assist?”
Cassian didn’t needed ordering around. He knew how this went. Parting his lips, the tip of the plug slipped between them and he lapped at the smooth silicone toy, swirling his tongue and lathering the length with his spit. He groaned around the length of the toy, accepting every inch that was offered down his throat. Fuck… He needed to replace the cold object with Azriel’s warm length; wanting to feel the stretch in his jaw and the sharp taste of warm semen pooling down his throat. Azriel pulled the toy out of his mouth with a sloppy string of spit attached and swiped his thumb along Cassian’s bottom lip. His hands slipped between Cassian’s thick thighs, nudging them further apart and the sound of lube squirting from the tube made him shift.
“Patience,” was the soothing reply but Cassian yelped when cool, wet fingers circled his pucker and one finger nudged inside of him. He shut his eyes, moaning with satisfaction.
“Yes,” he sighed, relaxing his lower half with a soft puff as Azriel slipped another finger into his tight pucker. He nodded when ready, accepting the gentle slide of slick fingers working his muscle, twisting, turning, scissoring. They brushed against sensitive areas, never quite reaching that desired target, and he growled his frustrations. Ignoring the deep chuckle, he bucked his hips with each movement, looking down his own body to watch his cock bounce with the rhythm.
Azriel replaced his warm fingers with the cold plug and gently eased it in. “Almost ready,” was the promise and Cassian ground his teeth against the welcoming stretch. The silicone toy brushed right against the spot he desired, making him plead with Azriel to touch him, any part of him.
Strong hands pinned his bucking hips to the bed and Azriel slipped gracefully between his spread legs, large wings brushing Cassian’s outer thighs. With a feral smile, he lowered his head to breath against the sensitive skin and Cassian moaned when a warm heat wrapped around his swollen head. “Yes… oh, yeah…” A skilled tongue slid around his length, plump lips catching the sensitive skin and moving up and down, up and down. Cassian moaned, head flopping to the side and into his pillow. “Azriel… that’s so - oh, please…”
His balls tightened; the warmth of Azriel’s mouth, the tongue pressed against his length and the heat of Azriel’s throat swallowing around his swollen head. “Az, I’ll cum if - no, please….” He growled his frustration into the pillow when Azriel released his cock with a wet pop and sat back on his heels to smirk up the bed at him. “You fucking tease,” he spat, glaring at the ceiling, afraid his eyes would well with frustrated tears.
Azriel barked a laugh, bringing his own palm to rub his swollen pants. Cassian’s mood quickly softened when he watched those scarred fingers unfold material and release the heavy cock that had been hidden from him. He wet his lips, instinct making him tug against the scarf that bound his hands. Damn scarf… He looked down the length of his body, passed his swollen cock glistening in the dimly lit room, and watched Azriel’s hand tighten around his own cock, slowly working the length. The skin folded over a plump, purple head, revealing a sleek, wet tip that Cassian wanted to lap at.
He watched Azriel’s knuckles, shifting beneath scarred skin as he tightened his hold, twisting expertly every now and then. His head rolled back and Cassian gaped at the strong jaw, thick adam's apple bobbing beneath day old stubble. The bed seemed too big now; now that Azriel was so far away and looking so beautiful with his wings spread. “Enough,” he hissed, begged. Fuck it, he needed to be fucked now. Legs over shoulders, against the wall, on his side - anything! “Please, please.”
“Please what?”
Cassian struggled against his restraints, almost sobbing with irritation. “Fuck me,” he cried. “Please fuck me.”
It was a swift movement, all muscle and wide wings; Azriel’s pants were pulled off and flung across the room. The plug was removed from his hole and left a wanting emptiness. He tried to scoot down the bed, closer to the delicious bouncing cock that he knew was going to be fucking him in a minute. He lifted his hips, encouraging Azriel to use him, ram him…. Just fucking fuck me.
He hissed at the stretch, so different to the plug - thicker, longer - but so much warmer and heavier and capable of touching all the places he needed. “Yes, Az… yes, move….”. His head hit the board but Azriel pulled him further down the mattress and onto his thick length, passing the ring of muscle and pausing to let him adjust. “I can take it,” he grumbled, wiggling his hips to beg for friction.
He moaned, groaned, cried out with pure elation when Azriel finally moved inside of him, binding their bodies in a tangle of legs and hips and sweat dripping and slipping. His cock bounced freely, the tug as it slapped against his stomach making him ache for a touch. He bit down on his lip as Azriel’s cock hit his sweet spot; his fucking became sloppy and Cassian knew the Illyrian was ready.
Azriel’s face, usually unreadable and controlled, had slacked; mouth open, eyes glazed and almost crossed, breathing laboured with every jerk of his hips. “Cum Azriel. I need to see you cum,” he whispered and in that moment, when the Illyrian pushed forward heavily, tensed, and spilled his warm seed, Cassian cried along with his own pleasure, strings of white semen spurting from his cock and slopping across his stomach.
Azriel slumped forward, head drooped and hair hanging over his eyes. His breathing was heavy and Cassian wanted to reach out and wipe his sweaty hair away. Tugging pointedly at the scarf, Azriel reached out with one hand to remove it and Cassian didn’t hesitate to reach out and touch him. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispered, noticing the shadows that had slid back into place. He lowered his legs and sat up to straddle the bed. Ignoring the pleasurable ache in his backside, ignoring the friction burn on his wrists, he reached out to sweep dark hair from Azriel’s eyes. “Please don’t hide from me.”
Azriel’s hazel eyes met his own, the lust having been sated and the need for release spent, they now swam with hesitation. “I’m sorry if I made you-”
“Don’t,” hissed Cassian, cupping the man’s jaw in his palms. He was aware of the fluid that leaked from his body and clung to his stomach but fought the thoughts and brought their sweaty foreheads together. “I have known you for over 500 years and you have never once made me do anything I haven’t wanted to do. I want you , as much of you as I can have, and then some more.”
Azriel’s shadows slipped around his wrists, tickling the burns where the scarf had pulled too tight. “I’m sorry about those,” was the almost silent murmur.
“Come sooth them in the shower with me,” said Cassian, leaning forward to kiss the Illyrians warm lips. He brushed his thumb along his kiss, planting one more before nudging them both off the bed. He loosened his wings and ruffled them, reaching out to catch Azriel’s hand and brushing his thumb along his knuckles.
A warm smile was his reply and the scarf remained hanging loosely from the bedpost.
⁂ Cassian is very shy when it comes to PDA. He’s usually the loudest in a group, but when it comes to showing genuine affection he prefers to be subtle.
⁂ He likes to hold hands. Walking along the Sidra hand in hand is his favourite thing to do. He’ll often snake an arm around your waist and hold you close.
⁂ Cassian likes when you sit on his lap. It’s as PDA as he’s willing to get without a few drinks to loosen his nerves.
⁂ His gaze will follow you around the room. When you catch his eye, he’ll smile softly and pat his lap.
⁂ Cassian has dimples.
⁂ He’s easily wound up when things go wrong. You soon realise that running your fingers through his hair calms him down.
⁂ Cassian’s wing are extra sensitive after being damaged in the war. There’s a spot on the left that makes him purr.
⁂ You touched that spot in public before. Feyre asked if the stray cat had found its way back up to the house of wind. Rhysand and Azriel knew better.
Warnings for mature content and scenes of a sexual nature.
I wrote this a long time ago.
-
“Thanks, Az,” he said, letting the soft blue scarf slip between his fingers.
They were stood near the fireplace swapping Solstice gifts and sipping their high lord's most expensive wine. Cassian hoped that Azriel liked his gift too. As he folded the scarf back into the tissue paper it had been wrapped in, a small card fluttered to his feet.
“What’s that?” asked Mor, her ever keen eyes not missing a beat.
“Gift receipt,” Azriel answered for him before he even got the chance to flip the card over and look. “I wasn’t sure which colour would suit you best.”
“Blue is best,” he assured. “It’ll be perfect for the mountains.”
“You’re welcome,” crooned the Illyrian.
Cassian flipped the card over, surprised to find that it was not a gift receipt but in fact a short handwritten note in Azriel’s crooked penmanship:
Bring the scarf upstairs before bed. I want to show you what it really does.
He frowned at the words, opening his mouth to question Azriel, but the shadowsinger had slinked across the room to help Feyre into the long-eared wooly hat he’d gifted to her.
**
He was sober enough to maneuver the stairs while balancing his Solstice gifts, despite the copious amounts of wine Amren had forced down his throat. The night had ended well, with people slowly dwindling towards the stairs to retire to bed; well fed and pleasantly merry. He had left Rhys and Feyre on the couch curling closer together with every passing minute. The final straw had been when someone moaned - he still wasn’t sure who - and decided it was his dignity would have been damaged if he stayed any longer.
“Don’t go downstairs for a while,” he announced into the semi-dark room, nudging the bedroom door closed with his hip. Fae lights lingered in each corner of the room, making the too small place feel cozy. “Actually, maybe stay away from the couch until we can get it cleaned.”
He dumped the pile of gifts onto the dressing table he shared with Azriel while they were staying over for Solstice. The shadowsinger was perched on the edge of his own small, single bed, holding a thick strip of black leather in his hand. Cassian grinned - it was his Solstice gift to Azriel. He’d noticed the shadowsinger was in need of a new belt when his usual one had started to look scuffed and scratched.
“You like it?” he asked, sitting on the edge of his own too small bed and beginning to unthread the laces on his heavy boots. Kicking them off with a grunt, he shoved them under the bed and wriggled his toes. “It’s got close bottomed sheaths so your daggers don’t rip those annoying little holes in your pants anymore.”
Azriel made a sound of approval. “I can definitely put this to good use,” he said, fingering the heavy leather. He put it to one side and the heavy silver buckle clinked.
Cassian reached into his pocket and held out the note that had been hidden in the tissue paper. “So, what does it really do?” he asked with a crooked smile.
Azriel’s eyes slid to the pile of gifts and indicated with his chin. “Bring it over and I’ll show you,” he said softly.
Cassian retrieved the scarf, letting his fingers roam over the soft material. There was nothing peculiar about to scarf to suggest it had any hidden features. He stood before Azriel, displaying the scarf with raised eyebrows.
“Amaze me,” he declared.
The shadowsinger eyed the scarf with a neutral look before reaching his marked hands out to touch the material, momentarily brushing his fingers against Cassian’s.
“I couldn’t decide at first,” said Azriel, running a thumb along the scarf. “What to get you for Solstice that is. You have enough knives to start your own business and I didn’t think Rhys would appreciate me buying you a pet. Then I saw this in the craft shop and thought it’d be nice on you.”
Cassian snorted and brought the scarf over his head to loop it around his neck, letting it hang freely down to his waist. “Picture perfect, right?” he smirked. Azriel held the ends of the scarf in his hands, looking at them for long enough to make Cassian frown. “Az?” he asked gently.
His friend looked up from the bed, hazel eyes flickering with some sort of emotion. “I like how it looks around your neck,” admitted Azriel and he let the material fall from his fingers. “I wonder how it’d looked wrapped around here though,” he said quietly, bring his scarred palms around Cassian’s wrists.
Cassian’s throat bobbed, a foreign yet familiar feeling bubbling in his stomach as he felt the marred skin brush his wrists. He hadn’t anticipated a move like this. Surprised, he blurted out, “Around where?” and Azriel let go of his wrist to tug the scarf from his neck. The material pooled into the shadowsingers lap.
Careful hands moved to his hips, pulling him forward until he stood directly between muscled thighs. Tanned hands reached up to wrap the scarf around both his wrists and tighten it. “Oh,” he said blushing slightly.
“And around there,” said Azriel, pointing to the wooden headboard on the tiny bed. It was enough to make Cassian’s cheeks blaze when he realised what exactly was being propositioned. His mouth felt dry, jaw too stiff to open, so he swallowed thickly instead. It had been a long time since they had done anything like this and he wasn’t sure why Azriel suddenly wanted to begin again.
The scarf felt light around his wrists, the soft material tickling the delicate skin around his calloused palms. He stomach clenched when Azriel’s hands traced a line from his hips to the back of his thighs. A gentle squeeze made his fists clench and he registered the twitch on his friend's lips.
“You like games, Cassian. You’re competitive,” he purred, peering up from the bed.
Cassian was too aware of the heavy sensation that shot to his groin, the tingling around his wrists where the scarf tickled him softly, and Azriel’s face just inches from his twitching cock. His cheeks flared when the shadowsinger noticed the shift in his pants and he looked everywhere but those smoldering eyes.
The bed creaked when Azriel stood and Cassian took an instinctive step back to allow him room. His hands remained wrapped in the scarf, joined near his belt buckle and scraping against his own treacherous cock that had stirred to life. His mouth opened to say something but shut again, not wanting to spoil the moment. Azriel’s lips twitched again and he took a step closer into Cassian’s space. The shadowsingers groin pressed against Cassian’s bound hands and nudged his erection. Cassian sighed softly at the sensation.
“I’ve forgotten,” he said lamely - truthfully - because it had been a long time since he had lain with a man.
“Let me show you,” purred Azriel, drawing Cassian’s head forward with a guiding hand behind his neck.
His insides squirmed when their mouths met. Warm lips plush against his own and when Azriel’s teasing tongue slid against his bottom lip, he opened with a soft moan; opened the gates for that flood of memories that warmed him from the inside. His fingers twitched from their confined position, giving him that much-needed pressure but preventing his erection from rubbing against where he really desired - Azriel. Though his eyes closed, he could feel the shadows that drifted around his ears, tickling sweat spots and tracing forgotten places.
Before he could think too much of the gentle lips that caressed his own, Azriel pulled back and the flicker of emotion in his eyes had been replaced with a burning desire. Cassian fidgeted on the spot.
Rhys: well… a 69 is when two people who love each other very much get together with a 6 and a 9 and a 5 6 7 8 *spotlight turns on* *breaks into jazz number*
After hurling that box into the Sidra, Cassian finds refuge on the snowy rooftops.
Authors Note: It’s up to you how to interpret this scene. I originally wrote it as being Cazriel’s unrequited feelings but it can also be read as Nessian, and Moriel.
-
“Talk to me. Nesta. Tell me--”
He grimaced when she ripped her hand out of his grip, those gloves scraping against his calluses, and she stared him down. Although he was taller, towering above her slender frame, she managed to wither him. A mighty vengeful queen.
He stalled, a heavy breath leaving his lungs - it was a questionable sound - and awaited the verbal lashing she could deliver; the one she always reserved to shred him into ribbons.
But Nesta said nothing, save for the sound of a dismissing hiss that slipped through her bared teeth beneath a curling lip - one that seemed to grimace with disgust - and she flung her chin in the air, turning her back to disappear into the shadows.
The box was smooth beneath his fingers, tauntingly flawless until he dug his nails into the perfect material and ripped it from his pocket. Without a glance, he hurled that box into the Sidra, hoping the ice froze over tenfold and forgot it and her.
-
His wings were cold.
He was sure they were more than cold if he were honest, but he felt numb. What did it matter the damage he was doing to the still-fragile scar tissue? Let them fall off were his miserable thoughts. What did he care?
The beating of wings alerted him to a presence and the soft crunch of boots on snow made him tense. “It’s been a while, brother,” came Azriel’s soft voice as the Illyrian lowered himself onto the snow-capped tiles of the rooftop. Cassian drew his knees tighter, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his chin against them.
He wasn’t in the mood.
Heat surrounded his wings and cast a shadow over them. He noticed Azriel’s wings then, wide and strong, the right one shielding his own cold wings and wrapping around his body. A heavy sigh escaped his chest. “Thanks,” he mumbled, still staring over the Sidra to the star littered horizon.
“I know how it feels,” admitted Azriel in a heavy voice. The Illyrian had mimicked his position - knees pulled tight, chin resting on folded arms - and his hair was concealing his eyes. Cassian could see from his peripherals the shadows that snuck around his friend’s neck, wrapping around his shoulders and arms. They stopped short of touching his own skin and a fleeting thought to reach out and touch them crossed his mind but he quickly tightened his fists and watched the stars again.
“To want someone who doesn’t want you,” said Azriel. “Sometimes I pretend the feeling isn’t in vain and then I almost forget the hurt, but then I look at them and they aren’t looking back.”
Cassian said nothing. His chest hurt. There was a feeling brewing, one he couldn’t quite put into words. And he realised that there were no words for this - it just hurt. A thick lump rose in his throat and he shakingly swallowed it down. Azriel’s extended wing brushed against his shoulder. There was a pleasant heat there now that made him acknowledge the onslaught of snow that had fallen around his stagnant form. He brushed it from his hair.
Azriel’s wing twitched beside him. “When we were in the war, I remember thinking that if I was given 5 minutes to talk to one person for the last time ever, that I’d go looking for them and they probably wouldn’t notice me, but I’d watch them through my last breaths.”
Cassian brushed the sting out of his eyes, refusing to drop one tear. He wouldn’t dare. Sniffing quickly, he shook his head and pulled a less than confident smirk across his colds lips. “She’d notice you alright, brother. Maybe not the way you want but she’d be there, guiding you through those breaths in her own way.” He tucked stray hairs behind his ears and puffed heavily. Azriel was looking at him strangely, his brow subtly creased. “Mor, I mean. She’d notice you,” he clarified, huffing a small laugh. Azriel’s eyes flickered and he looked away.
Cassian dropped his chin onto his arms again. He could hear murmurs from the terrace below them where people celebrated, the sound of snow falling had picked up and there was laughter in the distance. Beside him, he could hear Azriel’s steady breaths and then a soft sigh that escaped the Illyrians lips.
[Elide/Lorcan]
Rated M for masterbation.
I cannot contain my love for these two. Rowaelin who?
-
He was awake - again.
Somewhere between the fourth dawn bird chirping and his fourteenth intrusive thought of the dark haired girl sleeping on the cot above him, Lorcan Salvaterre gave up any hopes of sleep, and sat up from the uncomfortable bed roll he lay claim to. He had tossed and turned into the early hours of the morning, and now he could smell dew on the grass where the sun was thawing the remnants of another bitterly cold night.
The boat he had commandeered - like a common thief, Elide liked to remind him - was anchored near a small patch of woodland, and far enough from civilisation that he hadn't second thought sleeping in the cabin last night. Usually, he rested on the deck where any potential ambush could be picked off easily.
His keen hearing detected nothing out of place, and instead registered the now familiar rise and fall of Elide's slumber. The woman at present - his very reasoning for unrest - was curled on her left side and facing him. Her dark hair was strewn across a makeshift pillow, and her slender neck met a softy curved shoulder that peaked out from beneath a thin blanket.
Her features were gentle in sleep. The tiredness and stress that had been following them for days had ebbed away with the night, and she looked care free in sleep. She looked comfortable. And there was an instinctual side of Lorcan that flared with satisfaction. He had kept the female safe, like a good Fae male should. All was well.
If only she would let him touch that neck. He had breathed in her aroma all night; lavender, from a mixture of herbs she had washed with, and sweet from the molasses she had traded for in the previous town. The coppery tang of blood had vanished some time ago with the end of her bleed, and was replaced with a scent of maidenhood - fertile and ripe. He had tossed and turned all night, enveloped by the smell of her womanhood, and beaten down the primal urge to take, take, take.
Now she slumbered unaware, like a lamb in a wolf's den, and he couldn't pull his eyes from the soft curve where her neck met her shoulder. To sink his teeth into the gentle groove, to taste and touch for just a moment…
A morning bird's song startled him, and he realised the sight he must be. Sitting on the floor with his canines on show, leering at a sleeping woman in the crack of dawn that slithered through the broken window shutter.
Furthermore, was the bigger problem he now had to deal with. The front of his trousers tented obviously with the lusting he had driven himself too. Staring down at the bulge in his pants with disgust, he threw the thin blanket off his legs, and crept like a thief in the night out of the cabin.
If she had woken and saw him, leering at her like a piece of meat, and then looked down at his straining cock…
He hurled insults at himself on the deck of their boat, double checking the rigging, and refusing to acknowledge the demand in his pants. He wouldn't allow himself…he couldn't start a habit now that their paths were to remain entwined on this journey to find that bitch-queen.
He filled their water bottles, readjusted their packs, and cursed those damned birds for their intolerable happiness. But he could hear her breathing; he knew what her chest looked like with each breath, and how her rounded breasts would rise and fall and rise and fall, and how they might feel in his hands…while his lips roamed her neck, nipping and tasting from ear to that forsaken curve he wanted to latch his canines around.
It was instinctual. He was off the boat before he could register any clear thoughts and striding into the woodland in search of some place discreet. He didn't go far, just enough she wouldn't hear him and close enough that he could still see the boat. His hand undid buttons at his front in a juvenile, clumsy manner, and he braced his palm against a tree for support, finally pulling his aching cock free. It was almost relief enough just to be without the constraint of fabric, but his traitorous hand cradled the soft skin and moved of its own accord.
Elide and her eyes that bore into his soul. They were eyes that made him feel like he had a soul left to look at, and that it wasn't mangled and torn from his crimes. He wondered if she would ever see him as he sees her - desirable, wanted, touchable.
Elide and her mouth that could cut a man with words like a dagger's edge. She was sharp and fast with untouchable wit. He wondered what those lips would feel like pressed against his own, and if her tongue would roam his mouth, brushing against his canines…
His eyes lost focus while his hand moved back and forth, pulling every filthy thought he could muster into each stroke across his swollen head. Sweat pooled above his brow, his hair falling forth around his lowered head, and he allowed a hiss of satisfaction between his lips.
Elide...curled up in bed, sighing softly each time she moved. Those little sounds had tormented him all night, and he recalled every little moan she made as if she were splayed beneath him. A groan tumbled from his throat.
Elide and her fucking neck.
His top lip recoiled and he emitted a guttural growl, spilling his seed in ropey lengths onto the tree trunk. He continued to pump his cock, sighing with relief as his orgasm washed away every knot and kink he had been holding onto, and letting a shaky breath leave his chest.
Lorcan rested his forehead against the tree, allowing his cock to soften in his hand. He wouldn't make a habit of this. But he didn't feel guilty either. He eyed the evidence of his release glistening against the trees rough trunk, and a satisfied, lopsided grin crossed his face.
"Lorcan?" he heard her hesitant call.
He hastily tucked himself away, rubbing his hands against his pants, and brushing his hair from his face. He made a show of stepping out of the trees and tying the buttons on his pants. Thank Hellas that she wasn't Fae - the stench of arousal and release must be rolling off him right now - she would have smelled his actions within seconds.
Elide stood on the deck, hands folded across her chest against the morning chill. "Oh, sorry," she muttered, assuming he had risen to pee. The slightest pink tinge crossed her cheeks. "I didn't realise you were-"
He rolled his eyes dismissively, stepping back onto the boat. "I can't think of a better place to answer nature's call than in nature itself."
Her lips twitched in response." Well if you've marked that tree I'll find another," she told him unabashedly, and he felt his chest flutter at how comfortable they had become around each other.
"I believe that is more of a dog trait-"
"Exactly my point," she cut across him, and with a proud smirk, brushed passed. Her elbow ever so slightly grazed his torso and sent his chest into another traitorous frenzy.
Get a hold of yourself, he scolded himself as he watched her cross onto the grassland, you're a grown man.
When she threw a questioning look over her shoulder and pointed to a tree as if to ask if that one was okay, he couldn't help but smile against his own stubbornness, and it was then that Lorcan Salvaterre knew he was royally fucked. Elide Lochan had stirred something inside of him that he had thought long dead.
ellievsbear
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton
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