I swore up and down I did not have the bandwidth for kinktober this year. OH WELL. Here we go, I'll write for whatever days I feel like writing and see what comes out of it.
"Please-"
"Please," Lucien echoes, sinking his teeth into Azriel's shoulder. The deft fingers toying with the ring in his cock give a vicious tug, and he nearly bites through his cheek trying to stifle the moan. "You beg so sweetly when you want something, Spymaster. What pretty little noises fall from those lips when you're supposed to be quiet."
Azriel’s whimper only serves to delight Lucien further. The cock sliding between his thighs gives a pronounced twitch, and a callused thumb swirls against the tender spot just beneath his tip- fuck, fuck. Lucien and his godsdamned hands are the bane of his existence.
"Your mate is downstairs, Azriel." His mate, his mate‐ bold of his lover to bring her up at a time like this. His lips pull back into a snarl as that wicked thumb presses harder. "Are you going to come thinking about her, down there with Elain? With my cock between your legs?"
"Lucien, please-"
"Or are you going to behave and wait until you have permission?"
Die. That's what he's going to fucking do. He's going to die and it's going to have been worth every moment of this exquisite torture. His wings twitch where they're trapped against his back, folded uncomfortably between Lucien's body and his. It makes the pleasure sweeter when it finally does come, but he'll never tell Lucien that.
Especially not after the bastard runs his tongue along the edge of the radius towards the talon. Azriel shudders, and the shadows quiver with him, racing along the ceiling in anticipation. They feel it all: his pain, his pleasure. They hunger just as deeply. He wishes they were close enough to cover him, to help, to hide the desperate way he cants his hips, thrusting into Lucien's hand.
The dark chuckle at his back could rival Rhys on his worst days. Fuck, he can't think about Rhys right now. Can't think about anything but the squeeze of Lucien's fingers around the base of his cock, and the sweet torture of his imagination conjuring Gwyneth and Elain in a far less chaste position than what is likely occurring downstairs.
Fuck. Fuck. Just the idea of them together-
He squeezes his legs, pulling a long, low moan from the male at his back. Yeah, fuck yeah, that's it. The harder he squeezes, the more insistent Lucien's thrusts become, until he's the one gasping.
Azriel's head snaps back, his hair in Lucien's fist. The kiss is war and ruin, teeth and tongues battling as the High Fae chases his release while refusing Azriel his own. It's fine, he can take it. He can take all of it. He has plans for Lucien's sharp tongue later.
tamsand: 10/10. the gold standard. basically canon as far as I'm concerned. there is nothing pithy I can say about them here that hasn't already been said. they are never far from my heart.
azris: 15/10. that being said, there is a certain je ne sais quoi missing from azris that tamsand has. I just can't see these two in a happy loving relationship, and therefore it's missing that sort of tragedy. it's only really compelling to me in its potential for self loathing and guilt and violence, and don't get me wrong. that's hot. I want to watch them erotically tear each other apart set to Lingua Ignota's IF THE POISON WON'T TAKE YOU MY DOGS WILL.
tamcien: 9/10. it falls just short of tamsand for me, but i cannot deny it's toxic yaoi potential. pour one out for Tamlin. his ex-boyfriend stole his girlfriend and then said girlfriend stole his current boyfriend. man drives away everyone he loves.
rhyssian: okay you cannot convince me these two didn't fool around as teenagers, but Cassian is one of those like "too oblivious to realize he's bi" guys who figured it's not gay if there's no women around. this was Rhys's first teenage heartbreak. still, they've both relatively moved on, outside of a weird homoerotic loyalty that tinges their relationship. it would be a 3/10 but I must bump it up to 7/10 for poor Nesta.
luzriel: 6/10 on Azriel's side. 1/10 on Lucien's side. Azriel is talking shit and generally acting like a tryhard because he wants to fuck Lucien so bad it makes him look stupid, but Lucien doesn't even know Azriel's name. he's having a nice day, in fact. he saw a snail on his morning walk. effervescent.
casris: eh like a 5/10, maybe a 4.5/10. Cassian's canonically a little too earnest for it to get to the place it needs to be.
lurian: like maybe a 4/10. Jurian did spend the first month he knew Lucien constantly negging him, so it's not Not Toxic, but they seem to have gotten past that. I see them as one of those gay married couples who are always sort of sniping at each other and you're stuck there questioning why Lucien even puts up with this man. (but then again that's every Jurian ship, really.) it's only slightly toxic but it's a load bearing toxicity.
rhys/helion: they get a 2/10 because Rhys is too much of a closet case to go through with it, but if he ever did, it would fix him.
cazriel: 1/10. these two are fine. their individual toxic behavior is inverse to the other in a way that just cancels each other out.
lussian: -5/10. i say this from the bottom of my heart, Lucien could fix Cassian. we need to let them try. for Nesta.
E | Dom/Sub Dynamics (but Az can't fight heart eyes) | 2.3kish
--
There is something exorbitantly luxurious about staying in bed past sunrise. After what many could refer to as several life times, considering his lifestyle and the company he keeps, Azriel has allowed himself these moments more and more. His younger self, say in his two or three hundreds, would have demanded fastidious military discipline and strict adherence to his routines and physical regiments.
Now?
Well, now, in his late five hundreds …
Azriel is seeing the wisdom in taking things slower.
“Fuck, Azriel,” Lucien’s words come out in a heady groan. His breathing is huffed pants. Sunlight paints the sweat dripping down his brown skin like droplets of captured flames. “Gods above, you’re so …”
Azriel cants his hips up. He bears down on his entrance, begging, pleading for this to be the time. If he can just beckon Lucien inside by happenstance of a willing hole and sweat and oil slickened skin, perhaps —
Lucien shoves down on Azriel’s abdomen, forcing his entire body down into the mattress. He clicks his tongue in displeasure. The hand working Azriel’s shaft halts.
“Naughty.”
Azriel rolls his eyes.
The hand is removed completely.
A throaty whine recoils out of Azriel.
Lucien’s teeth graze down Azriel’s neck. The only remaining physical contact between the males. “Are you trying to cheat, Shadowsinger?”
There’s no point in lying. Azriel shifts uncomfortably. The head of his cock is obscenely purpled. His sac is tight, heavy, impossibly delayed from release. Every cord of muscle in his body is wound tight, especially those in his lower abdomen which feel bunched and strained against the pressure of continually denied release.
Lucien has been edging him for what feels like ages.
It’s probably been more like an hour.
But still.
Azriel has lost his shame. He wants to whine. He wants to beg. He wants to suck Lucien’s fat cock into his mouth, gargle his balls, tickle his taint —
Whatever the fuck it will take to get the infuriating male to. Let. Him. Come.
Lucien had whispered something about not letting Azriel come until Elain returned from her current stake out as he’d stirred Azriel from sleep with a slicked hand on his cock. But surely he couldn’t be so masochistic? Azriel turns his head now to look into that mismatched gaze. Sadistic glee dances in that russet eye.
Azriel would want to fight the male under older circumstances. But now, he knows the full extent of the filthy mouth this courtier possesses. The fingers and lips and tongue capable of rending the most earth shattering orgasms. The infuriating way Lucien has already clawed under his rib cage and hooked into that fluttering space he thought only held enough room for Elain.
No, Azriel doesn’t want to fight Lucien.
He wants … He wants to earn his release damn it. He wants to be good.
“What do I have to do?” he asks gruffly, swallowing all pride.
Lucien drags a knuckle down the sharp line of Azriel’s jaw. His metal eye clicks as he observes the movement. “I told you from the beginning.”
“I have begged,” Azriel hisses insolently. “You’ve changed the rules. You haven’t held your side —”
A howl erupts from Azriel as Lucien swats his engorged cock in reprimand. “That wasn’t begging before. You can do better. You would drag your body through knives until you were bloody ribbons just to kiss my boot if you wanted it badly enough.” He grips the hair just behind the crown of Azriel’s head and yanks. He stares down his nose at Azriel, imposing in all of his regality and imposing strength. “You would whore yourself in any manner I asked if you thought it would get you what you want, hm?”
It isn’t the first time Azriel is reminded that a High Lord’s blood runs through this male’s veins. He takes control like a fish takes to water. It’s like breathing. An instinct.
The same instinct that makes a male like Azriel quiver under his stern voice, his iron hold. He wants Lucien to dominate him. Control him. Tell him what to do. Azriel welcomes it with a hungry moan and weeping cock.
“That’s it,” Lucien purrs as Azriel goes lax under his not-so-gentle touch. “Be a good pet. I’ll take care of you.” Mischief flashes across his expression before he flicks his tongue behind Azriel’s ear, driving him wild. The contrast of hot breath, slick saliva, and his rough tongue has no right to drive Azriel mad with desire. But it does. He does.
Azriel is squirming again despite his want to be good. Somewhere in the back of his mind, wherever his rationality has gone to hide while the beast of his unquenchable lust roams free, he knows this will cost him precious more moments of edging. He at least maintains enough control to not dry hump Lucien for some kind of relief, some kind of pressure to ease the second heartbeat pulsing at his waist.
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” croons Lucien.
His hold loosens on Azriel’s hair and he cards both of his strong hands through. Lucien laughs when Azriel shifts again. The sound is astoundingly beautiful. Warm, rich, and vibrating through the bedsheets, the air, making the world shimmer that much more intoxicatingly around them.
What the fuck kind of High Fae magic is this?
Azriel feels dazed.
Maybe it's all of the blood pooling in his swollen balls.
Lucien hooks a thumb on Azriel’s bottom lip. “Show me how good this mouth can be,” Lucien says huskily. Saliva begins to pool around his thumb, but neither of them moves to correct the impending mess.
Looking up through his dark lashes, Azriel begins. “P-please —”
“On your hands and knees, slut,” Lucien cuts him off sweetly.
Azriel stutters. Flushes.
It’s obvious Lucien enjoys the constant reminder who has the power here.
Lucien tightens his hold on his hair for a moment, and then releases him. He pats Azriel’s cheek, smearing the thumb that is wet from Azriel’s own drool. “Now.”
Slowly, Azriel positions himself on the wide mattress. He’s careful to tuck his wings in at his back. They pulse with the exertion of his breathing as he fights to control himself. Azriel knows what Lucien wants. Once he’s on his hands and knees, he folds forward, placing his head on the mattress, just beside Lucien’s bare hip.
“Please. Lucien. Please.”
He takes a chance and inches forward, nuzzling his nose against Lucien’s impossibly warm skin. The scent of the work he’s put in already to pleasure Azriel is worn like a subtle musk. When he isn’t denied for his actions, Azriel presses forward. He traces the tip of his nose along the crease of Lucien’s hip bone. He presses kisses along the cut of musculature there, following it down, down, down.
A nearly inaudible gasp escapes Lucien’s lips.
Azriel hums in satisfaction.
He isn’t chatty here. He’s never chatty. When Azriel dirty talks in bed, it’s impromptu and infrequent. Azriel doesn’t have the same gift Lucien and Elain hold. To talk through their every deviant thought or action. Instead, he lets his touch communicate how much he wants this, how much he wants Lucien. His touch, his body, his fucking cock buried inside of him, stroking his prostate within an inch of his life.
Azriel groans at the thought. A spurt of precome dribbles from his untouched cock.
The room is drenched in the scent of their shared arousal.
Azriel’s mouth has made its way to Lucien’s own proud cock. Standing stiff, the thick veins running up it pulsing with unmet desire. Unbidden, Azriel’s tongue is lapping at the most prominent vein, following its strong path upwards. When he reaches the head, he’s barely thinking about consequences anymore. His nose and mouth and thoughts are inundated with Lucien.
“That’s it, just like that. Show me how you beg so well, Az. Show me how — fuuuuck.”
The velvet skin of Lucien’s cockhead glides into Azriel’s mouth. He moans around it greedily. Until now, Lucien hasn’t allowed Azriel to touch him. But it's all he wants, all he could ever want. Licking and sucking and swallowing down this male’s glorious prick, making a mess of himself in the process. Azriel could get lost in giving.
Chin damp with his own saliva, Azriel releases Lucien’s cock with a groan. He drops his head down to suck one of Lucien’s heavy balls into his mouth. He lavishes it with all of the desperate, aching need he feels. It's overwhelming. He releases it, nuzzles Lucien's sac and tongues at the sensitive skin beneath.
Above him, leaning against the pillows like a Lord at Court, Lucien swears vehemently. The muscles in his stomach coil as he crunches forward, gripping the sides of Azriel’s face. He drags his mouth over to his other testicle, pointedly. Azriel laps at it like a starving animal.
“Cauldron blessed — That fucking mouth — Yes, yes,” Lucien groans and then he’s shoving Azriel’s head down while he kicks up his legs, bending his knees and opening his thighs wider.
Azriel would whimper at the gift, but his mouth is too busy accepting the generous offering. When his lips close on Lucien’s entrance, the male drops back down on the pillows. The noises he makes are salacious. Praising. Azriel preens under them. He’s so caught up in worshipping Lucien’s ass, he even temporarily forgets his own need.
But Lucien hasn’t.
“Gods above, that’s how it’s done,” Lucien says on a gasp, dragging Azriel up by his shoulders. “That’s how you fucking beg,” he praises as he shoves his open mouth against Azriel’s. They kiss deeply, thoroughly. A heady mix of both of them.
Lucien’s hands don’t stop. They’ve dropped down to Azriel’s waist, drawing his body up until he has hold of both of his ass cheeks. He spreads them. Azriel’s wings spread in anticipation and Lucien chuckles into his mouth at the unconscious give away.
“I’ve made you wait long enough, you’ve been good. So, so good.” His nose rubs along Azriel’s cheek bone. Azriel’s mouth is still hanging up. He pants for breath. Fresh precome leaks from his cock.
“I need it, Lucien,” Azriel croaks, feeling his hole flutter. He’s been worked open and towards climax so many times. He knows he can take all of Lucien in one thrust. “Please, I need y-you, you to fuck me, pl— ah.”
Lucien gives him exactly what he needs.
He pushes in with one exacting movement. Spearing Azriel wide open on his cock.
It’s euphoric.
Until it’s not.
Lucien holds Azriel down against his pelvis. He doesn’t move. It’s another pleasure coated form of torture, to be split open on Lucien but to not get the friction Azriel craves.
“Lucien,” Azriel groans. He searches the male’s face desperately. “Move,” he pleads.
A lopsided grin stretches Lucien’s scarred cheek. “How long do you think you could sit like this? Warming my cock?” Azriel’s hands are free and he isn’t afraid to use them as leverage. He lets one hand slide down behind them and takes hold of Lucien’s sac. “ Hnngh, oh, not long, you think.” He laughs in that addictive way. The puffs of his breath cascade across Azriel’s skin and he shivers with intense emotions he doesn’t want to name.
To Azriel’s absolute relief, Lucien begins to draw out of him. It’s far too slow, far too controlled, but he will take any movement.
Lucien releases his iron hold on Azriel’s hips, allowing for natural grinding against one another. Azriel is rising and falling in time to increase the depth and speed of Lucien’s thrusts. His erection bobs against his stomach and each wet slap is nearly enough to send him over the edge.
Winding his arms up and around Azriel’s shoulders, Lucien pulls their chests flush. He uses his position with his knees bent and feet planted on the mattress to begin fucking into Azriel in earnest.
“Next time,” he promises against Azriel’s hair. “Next time I will make you sit on my cock for hours, until all you can do is squirm and beg for mercy. You’ll be nothing but a leaking, filthy mess of lust for me.”
Azriel arches back as Lucien scrapes his nails along his skin. Filthy moans punch out of him. His cock is trapped in the space between their bodies.
“Can you come like this, sweetheart?” Lucien croons.
“I …” Azriel wants to say yes. He’s dizzy with need. Arousal is so hot and tight in his stomach, he wants to implode from it. But Lucien is driving into him so deeply at this angle, it isn’t quite enough on his prostate. His face scrunches up. Fuck, fuck he needs to come. His skin is too tight, slick all over with sweat.
Lucien takes pity. “Shh, okay. I’ll take care of you.”
With Azriel’s wings, it limits the positions they can flip into carelessly, but Lucien is strong. Strong enough to lift Azriel up while remaining sheathed inside of him. On his knees, he moves to the edge of the bed. Lucien waits until Azriel has his wings spread correctly, and then he drops him on to his back.
Lucien stands between Azriel’s legs, holding one while leveraging his foot on the mattress.
“Touch yourself, Azriel.”
It’s the only command he gets before Lucien is hammering into him. Pounding him into the mattress. Azriel strokes his cock once, twice, before blinding release sweeps over him.
He doesn’t know when Lucien spills inside of him. When the other male collapses over top of him, only held up by the two hands planted alongside Azriel’s head.
Azriel is hoarse from the sounds of his release. As parched as after the end of battle. His bones feel liquified.
There’s come streaked clear up to his chin.
Lucien’s russet eye is staring down at him in shocked delight. His ruddy cheeks are spread wide with a grin.
“Well.”
Azriel coughs and sputters. “‘Well’,” he repeats in his gravely tone.
Lucien collapses the rest of the way on top of him. Azriel scrunches his nose at the mess he’s dropped into. He pulls out of Azriel and then he can feel how much more is leaking out of him. They’re both filthy.
“To the market then?” Lucien says, shoulders still shaking with laughter.
“We should bathe first.”
“You don’t think your High Lady would appreciate her trinkets coated in the scent of our releases? What better token of our joint ventures could she ask for?”
Azriel rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smirk picturing Feyre’s reaction. Equal parts disgust and intrigue. The High Lady cannot resist sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong and this would be just the scent she would want to follow up on. He takes note when Lucien rises and by now he is familiar enough with the male’s ways in bed to know he is fetching Azriel a damp cloth.
It will be warm. Comforting to sensitive skin.
When he returns, Lucien thoroughly cleans Azriel’s neck and chest. When he moves between his legs, he is much more delicate. Azriel lets his eyes close momentarily, luxuriating. They don’t need to rush off to the market, could honestly put it off another day if they needed to.
