@batboysappreciationweek Day Four — Jan 15th
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Suggestive but nothing explicit
Silence and a much needed breath of fresh air. An escape from their busy lives.
Cassian raised his eyebrows at the dried paint on the table before it clicked in his mind and he grimaced, stepping away from the table.
Rhysand chuckled while Azriel got comfortable in one of the chairs. “Yeah, I wouldn't touch that.” He muttered, his eyes glinting with amusement as he clapped Cassian on the shoulder on his way to the rooms, just to see if anything had been left behind from the girls trip two weeks prior.
“Really? On the table where we eat our food up here!?” Cassian called out. He was a mixture of impressed and disgusted.
Azriel raised his eyebrows from his position in the chair by the crackling fire, his hazel eyes lifting from the examination of his blade — the obsidian hilt of Truth-Teller was illuminated by the firelight, the blade aglow in the light of the orange flames.
“Now you know how I feel with you and Y/N. . .” He trailed off, hiding a shiver of disgust behind his ever present air of stoicism. “I know more about your sex life than I should, really.”
“Hey, that's different!” Cassian argued, flopping down on the couch, making sure to be careful of his wings.
Azriel gave him a deadpan look. “I've almost walked in on you three times in the last month.”
“That's only three times out of the. . .” He trailed off trying to think of how many times the two of you had done it in the last month. He couldn't remember. The number was high, though. “Three times out of the many, many times it happened.” Cassian shrugged.
“Learn how to lock the door.” Azriel suggested with an exasperated sigh just as Rhysand entered the room again, holding a small basket and two bottles of wine.
“Look what the ladies left behind.” Rhysand grinned, holding them both up.
Inside the small basket were several small jars of homemade, cleansing face masks made from herbs, clays, and scented oils. Each one was labeled by who made it.
Each one was unique in texture, view, and consistency. . . But they all smelled heavenly.
Rhysand set the wine and the basket down and instinctively reached for the one Feyre made, while Cassian reached for the one you made, uncapping it and inhaling a scent he knew all too perfectly.
Cassian grinned, holding the small jar close.
The High Lord looked to Azriel expectantly.
The Shadowsinger shook his head, although he wasn't truly opposed. They were supposed to be relaxing, after all.
“Oh, c'mon, Az.” Rhysand nearly purred with a smirk on his face, holding the basket out towards Azriel.
He sighed and averted his gaze, reluctantly reaching into the basket to pick out a random one.
When Azriel finally looked at the label, his brows furrowed. “Why does Lucien have one?” He asked, holding it up to show Lucien's script on the small jar.
Cassian barked out a loud laugh, collecting a small bit of the heavenly scented face mask you made. It was perfect. He willingly spread some of it on his face, Rhysand following his lead.
“He likes to crash the girls' trips.” Rhysand smirked. “He just enjoys the gossip.”
Azriel's nose scrunched slightly, but didn't comment as he opened the small jar, smelling it. Cinnamon and crisp apples. It would have to do.
He sighed and hesitantly smeared some of the mask on his face, not looking at either of his brothers. He secretly enjoyed the scent and the coolness of the soothing mask.
As the last remnants of sunlight filtered through the cabin window, the three males sat there sipping wine and wearing clay masks; Cassian and Rhysand gossiping while Azriel listened intently, occasionally offering a few comments or flat reactions.
They would never tell anyone about this.
They had reputations to uphold, after all.
