So I’ve always wondered how it would have gone if Rhysand had gotten the chance to tell Feyre about him being her mate himself. So this slight AU takes place the day after the Inn scene and assumes they had never been shot down and the Suriel wasn’t in the picture.
—
Rhysand grasped me tightly in his arms as he aimed us towards his Velaris townhouse below. The city was a canvas of lavender and orange in the fading light, the lanterns lining the winding Sidra like a chain of stars.
As he held onto me, I tried not to notice the way his torso was pressed up against mine, every contour of that strong body matching up with every soft curve of mine, the way his muscles eased and stretched with every flap of his enormous velvety wings.
I let my head lean in to the crook of his shoulder and jaw, resting there beneath. I could almost fall asleep, despite my usual terror at flying with the Illyrians. I was so comfortable in his arms. I let my eyes close for a moment, savoring the warmth between us.
My mind wandered, and maybe it was the closeness of our bodies, but my thoughts took me to the night before…remembering the way we had tangled and touched in that tiny bed at the Inn…the way he had felt propped up behind me as I yielded to him…the way he had run his hands over me…how much I had wanted him to just take me fully…it was enough to set me aflame right there in the sky.
I jerked my eyes back open and tried to focus on the leather detailing of the lapels of his Illyrian training jacket, anything to stem those traitorous thoughts. I counted the threads in the silver embroidering of his undershirt, counted the buttons below that, opened loosely over the russet skin of his tattooed chest. The chest that was broad and smooth with muscled strength…another wave of warmth ran down me, pooling at the core of me and I bit my lip hard, hoping he wouldn’t notice the strain across our bond.
I edged a glance upwards at his face, wondering if perhaps he too was remembering our night…but his dark brows were furrowed, his eyes faraway and focused. I swallowed, wanting to say something, address this thing between us, whatever it was.
We had scarcely spoken the entire way home after those hours training in the Steppes. I could sense he had wanted to say…something. I had indeed caught him several times opening and closing his mouth as if starting to speak before thinking better of it. I had shrugged it off, busying myself instead with my own training. But I wouldn’t be able to ignore it much longer, especially now that we had permanently crossed some invisible line that had been drawn in the sand between us these past few months.
As we touched down on the Townhouse roof terrace, I let out a relieved sigh at the reliable feeling of a steady surface below us. He set me down gently and removed his hands from me quickly, as if he were afraid of repeating last night so soon.
He straightened up, adjusting his elegant leather jacket as I tried to rearrange the tussled strands of my windswept hair. I watched his deft and graceful hands button the places his shirt it had gone loose from our day of travel, wanting so much to feel those nimble fingers in me again…
But no. I couldn’t let those thoughts in. I reinforced my mental walls of adamant, envisioning them wrapping in more vines of protection. Whether from his intruding thoughts or my own traitorous ones, I wasn’t sure.
“Dinner,” was all Rhys murmured after a moment, gesturing to the stairwell to our right. His eyes did not meet mine as we quietly made our way down to the dining room, where I hoped to find Mor or Amren or…anyone really. Anyone to fill the heavy silence between us.
The corridor of the Townhouse was dark, the last bits of sunlight streaming in from the stained glass windows casting a low glow over the floorboards. I watched my boots as we descended each flight of stairs, marking each of his steps behind me, thinking about how much I wanted to just turn around and hide in one of the passing bedrooms.
When we finally reached the dining room, I was disappointed to find the large oak table spotless and empty, save for two steaming plates of chicken and vegetables flanked by a glass of wine each.
“Cerridwen and Nuala,” Rhysand said in answer to my questioning look, pulling out a chair for me. “I sent a request directly to their minds an hour ago while we were flying. I assumed you would be too tired to go out,”
Indeed he was right, and I tried to arrange my face into some semblance of graciousness as I took a seat. I jumped slightly as I felt his broad hands graze my shoulders, but he was only spreading the napkin out into my lap for me.
Ever the gentlemen, but it irked me for some reason. I shot him a mildly indignant look and snatched the napkin back.
“I can handle that myself, thank you,” I curtly unfolded it myself.
But Rhysand only smirked as he made his way around the table to the opposite side where his plate was set.
Damn you, and your damn smirking.
Surprise flashed across his face as he took his seat, before being replaced by that feline amusement I was so used to. I felt a wave of relief at that. Maybe we wouldn’t have to acknowledge last night at all. Maybe we could continue on as normal, unchanged after all.
But something told me that wasn’t going to happen as my body thrilled at the sound of his deep voice in my head, replying,
But that winning smirk worked so well for me last night.
I felt a hot flush creep into my cheeks, but I refused to look at him. I gingerly began cutting my chicken, trying not to let my knife and fork tremble in my hands.
You’ll end up cutting yourself that way, Feyre darling.
I shot my eyes back up to meet the crinkled violet of his as his smirk deepened. I scowled and ignored him, carrying on with my tenuous cutting.
The clock on the mantel chimed half past eight, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin at the sudden noise. My eyes caught on Rhys’s movement across the table, it seeming to jar him as well.
“Is it really that late already?” I said, in a lame attempt at small talk.
I watched his face, trying to read any reaction there. But it indecipherable was as he replied smoothly, “It’s been a long day, we should get some rest,”
“Yes, I want another good night’s rest,” I slyly hoped he would catch my intention behind the words. I had slept more restfully last night than I had in months. The fact that it was due to being in his arms was a small matter I wasn’t sure I could handle.
But he only cast his eyes down at my plate.
“Feyre, you’ve barely eaten anything,” he said, and I could see the veiled concern etched within his eyes. I looked glumly down at my barely-touched dinner, the food indeed more moved around on the plate than anything.
“What is it to you?” I asked casually, putting down my utensils on the smooth wood varnish.
A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Are you hurt? Sick?” he asked softly.
“No,” I replied, sitting back in my chair. “I’m fine,”
“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, lying his hands flat on the table, as if ready to spring to my aid at a second’s notice.
I resisted rolling my eyes as I said, “I’m just…not hungry. Really,” I hoped it would quay the emergent worry in his face. He relaxed, though I could tell he didn’t fully believe me.
“Well, then I suppose if I am just being a distraction,” he muttered curtly, swiftly standing and disappearing the plates with a wave of his hand.
I felt an unwelcome pang at the word. Distraction. What I had asked for last night…not friendship, not a bond…not even love. I internally cringed and watched his dark silhouette disappear up the stairs.
I instantly wanted to run after him…to apologize or flirt more, I didn’t know. But my legs would not move, and any words died in my throat as I heard the distinct click of his bedroom door shutting upstairs.
Ten minutes later, I found myself pacing outside his room, up and down the hallway, praying he couldn’t hear me, couldn’t see what a fool I was.
I nearly knocked once, but couldn’t bring myself to. Couldn’t think of what to say. I had too many questions for him. But I also felt a need to apologize. To explain. But the nerve never came.
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I hid in my room the rest of the evening, holed up in bed with a book in my lap. But I read without really comprehending anything, my hands mechanically turning the pages as my mind wandered elsewhere. These months I’d spent here…how he had taken me in, given me clothes and money and food and shelter and everything else. It had begun as a bargain, yes, but now?
I had had his tongue in my mouth and his fingers inside me last night. Yet I had stupidly told him it was just meaningless fun…but I knew, deep inside, that it wasn’t just fun. It wasn’t just a distraction.
And that terrified me.
I sat there in bed, trying to find the right words to say to him until the clock on my cherrywood dresser tolled eleven. So, I gave up and dressed for bed, though sleep sounded as equally unappealing to my racing mind.
After slipping on my satin nightgown and silky robe, I crawled underneath the plush green duvet and switched off the lantern at my bedside. Instantly, the darkness sweeping across the room seeming to gloat at me, yet another reminder of the High Lord no doubt sleeping peacefully down the hall.
But as I drifted, my mind wandered back to that cramped room in the Inn…to the feel of his hands on my breasts, his fingers moving in me, his lips devouring my neck…how I had wanted so badly just to yield fully to him, to let him have me completely. How much that meant to me. How much that frightened me to my very core.
I shivered and clamped my knees together, as if it could keep the wave of want at bay. My mind played the night over and over…the way he had spoken…the bits and pieces he had given me…Let me touch you…Because I was jealous and pissed off…She’s mine.
I stiffened. That was it.
I needed to know. Needed to know what it all meant. What I meant to him.
I clenched my jaw, let out a sharp breath and sent one word down the bond;
The seconds ticked on, and my heartbeat fluttered faster. Waiting.
We have one awkward meal and you’re back to calling me Rhysand?
I fought the tug of a smile that lifted my lips and I shot straight up in bed, though there was nothing in the darkness of my room. It was just his voice inside my head.
Please. I want to talk to you. In person.
Might as well address me as High Lord, while you’re at it.
I rolled my eyes and just sent one word back down the bond:
Please.
For a few horrible moments, I thought he wouldn’t come. Perhaps he had decided I was too indecisive, too spiteful, too soiled for him. I put my hands over my face, feeling shame creep in, and slumped down against my pillow.
“Well I suppose if you say ‘please’…”
I shot back up, throwing the covers off me as he appeared in the darkness, as if made from mist, silent and swift as the night. I clenched my bedsheets as I took him in; he was shirtless, loose silk sleeping pants the only thing covering his form, his velvet wings hanging unceremoniously behind him.
With some effort, I fought to keep my eyes from tracing the contours of his torso, the way the pattern of his tattoos tapered off towards his lower abdomen…the corded muscles of his forearms leading to strong hands now dipping into his pockets as he leaned against my bedpost.
“Feyre,” he said in a singsong voice, no doubt tracking where my eyes were. It snapped me from my observance and I flushed warmly.
I could see the slight amusement in his eyes as I met his eyes again.
“You wanted to see me?”
I rose quickly and rather shakily from my bed, the hem of my satin robe hitting the floor and opening the front, revealing the simple albeit very short nightgown I had put on underneath.
“Or perhaps you wanted another distraction,” he said as his eyes drank me in, not a question at all.
I watched Rhys watch me, saw the panic and lust and unsureness cross his face as he took me in, from toes to eyebrows. Saw the silent restraint in his body, the body I had become so used to seeing over these months of training together.
I took a slow step towards him. He stood unmoving, not taking his eyes from mine, though I could now see him grasping that bedpost like it was supporting him entirely.
“Not a distraction,” I said firmly, trying to convey everything I felt in those few words.
He did not hide his reaction to me as he again cast his eyes down my body. I tried to ignore the way my nightown rode up with each step, at the growing impulse to throw my legs around his waist right there and then.
“I need to know…” I hesitated as I finally closed the gap between us. My shoulders tensing, I continued, “…what there is between us,”
His face was unreadable and again he didn’t move, did not even flinch as he held steadfast onto that bedpost, as if one wrong move would send us spiraling into dangerous territory again.
“I need to understand this, Rhys,” I gestured to the small space between us.
I watched his face change again, into something hopeful, but hesitant. His hands finally let go of that post to grasp my arms, lightly running up and down them. It raised goosebumps in their path.
Something drew me into him, something I couldn’t name. Like a tether, ever shortening as the minutes passed…
“Feyre…” he voice was guttural as he angled his head to rest against mine. I heard him breath in. Breathe me in. I did the same, reveling in the citrus and sea that always hovered around him.
“You said you just wanted fun,”
I cringed, and swallowed thickly. “I know what I said, but that’s not what I want,”
“Then why am I here, Feyre?” There was the question. His hands left my arms. My lower lip trembled as I took in his beautiful face. So devastatingly beautiful.
“Rhys,” I steadied my voice, as I asked a question of my own, “Why do you bother?”
Confusion darkened his eyes.
“I happen to find you quite attractive, Feyre,” His hands resumed their exploration, this time running slowly over the curve of my hips, gently tugging the fabric of my gown upwards. “As I have told you many times,”
“Evidently,” I breathed, pushing my pelvis against the new hardness of his, wishing we could just throw away all that had been said and submit fully to this feeling. He gave my thighs a long squeeze as his mouth met my cheekbone, trailing kisses down towards my earlobe. I could feel the cool air kiss my now exposed upper thighs. He bunched the fabric up more, his own hips moving ever so slightly in to crush gently against mine. I stifled a groan, tried to ignore the melting feeling soaring across my body.
“But why bring me here? To Velaris?” I whispered against his jaw as his mouth roamed to my ear, placing a restrained kiss upon its point.
“I happen to find you quite interesting, darling,” Rhys breathed into my ear, but there was panic in his eyes as he straightened back around to face me. He couldn’t hide that, not from me.
“But why bring me here to your home?” I broke from him, taking a step back, stemming this flow of warmth before it consumed us fully. “Why let me sleep in your private rooms? Why introduce me to your family, your court, your—”
“I…care about you Feyre,” Rhys interjected, scanning my face.
“Why?” My voice became strained. “Is it just petty revenge against Tamlin, still?”
“No,” Rhys hissed. “He has nothing to do with this, Feyre,”
“Is it our bargain then? Are you not able to break it or–”
“The bargain is nothing,” Rhys’ voice was flat as he placed both his broad hands on either side of my face. “Nothing,”
And I believed him, but still there was something missing. Something I couldn’t quite reconcile…
“Then why am I here?” Tears escaped my eyes, tears I had kept at bay for too long, tears of frustration, tears of hopelessness. I still didn’t understand. Why he had gone through all these pains to give me a place to be happy. Even if he now felt as strongly for me as I did for him, in the beginning we had been barely more than strangers. It still didn’t add up.
“What am I to you?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Rhys struggled for a moment, his jaw set, his eyes furiously scanning my face again, as if trying to read something within it.
“Feyre, I have to tell you something,” His voice sounded almost shaky, his lips near trembling. “Something I should have told you sooner,”
I had never seen him so…vulnerable. Not in this way.
I waited for him to go on. But he didn’t say anything for a long moment before he gently backed us up until my rear met edge of the mattress. I reached behind me and grasped onto it, anything to keep me steady, to keep my hands from grasping onto him and never letting go.
He leaned in and laid a soft kiss on each side of my neck, before lifting his mouth to my tear-stained cheeks. He gently kissed away my tears, as he once had done Under the Mountain.
“You’re not just a distraction,” I whispered against his face. “You’re…more than that, Rhys,”
I locked eyes with him, and before I could decide against it, I swiftly brought my face to his and kissed him deeply. There was hunger and desperation in that kiss, a kiss we had not truly shared yet.
His hands returned to my hips, running over the bend of them as I pressed myself fully into him, wanting to taste him and feel him and understand this pull between us. And from the way his lips drank mine in, the way his hands roamed my thighs, I knew he was trying desperately to understand, too.
“Rhys…” I said from behind his lips and broke us apart again.
He stood panting before me, eyes closed. His hands went slack at his sides, and he angled his body away again.
“Feyre, don’t…” he trailed off. “I don’t think I can handle it…not again,”
My heart broke for him as I took his hand back in mine.
“Rhys, I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “Just…tell me, please,”
“Feyre…” He gave me another kiss, this time long and sweet, like it held all the words he was about to give me. “There is a story I need to tell you first,”
I imagine after this, Feyre reacts very much the same as in the original, with her fleeing to Mor and demanding to be taken away to think. So you can assume the cabin scene plays out the same in my AU :) Hope you all enjoyed!
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