Playing With Fire
a/n: This one-shot was written to fulfill a prompt, one that I saved until the right inspiration hit 😏 Thanks to the anon who sent this in many moons ago! I saw you, and I’m finally prepared to deliver.
Nesta meets Cassian when she was human, still engaged to Thomas, before Feyre. They start a thing and then meet each other when Feyre visits her. (smut please) combined with this prompt I received for kinktober from @moodymelanist 💕 Maybe some handcuffing/tied up action. Up to you who gets tied up and who’s in charge 👀
So, here it is— set in canon, shameless Nessian smut where Nesta is still human and neither of them have any good sense or control as it pertains to the other. Verbal sparring included.
Warning(s): strong language, smut, mentions of infidelity——————————————————————————
Food in the human realm was always so bland. The company, however, never was.
Tense silence wasn’t uncommon for these dinners. The words they lacked at times always came back around in bursts of ire or mirth, but which one was always uncertain. Sometimes, it was both.
One thing he was always sure to do was keep an eye trained on Nesta Archeron. She was as elegant as ever, tempting in the most depraved ways, and even more so because he couldn’t have her. Not legitimately, anyway.
Before these routine visits to the Archeron estate, Cassian hadn’t been a stranger to their part of the world. As irony would have it, his path had crossed with Nesta Archeron’s several times before Feyre had entered their lives in the Night Court, and he had no way of knowing at the time that their initial encounter would prove to make things complicated.
Mostly because he hadn’t been able to stay away ever since.
Cassian had been in the human realm gathering intel on the Night Court’s behalf, collecting what little scraps of info he could regarding the tensions among the Courts and with Hybern. Azriel and his team were up to their ears in leads, and Cassian had agreed to assess the few in that particular corner of the world in order to help his brother the best he could. He’d landed to rest his wings after flying for so many hours, he’d lost count. A small creek ran within the trees, and he had just knelt along its edge to splash water over his face when a twig snapped nearby.
With a predator’s focus, he whirled around. It was the first time he’d locked eyes with Nesta, and looking back, it was the first time she’d struck him a little stupid. Like an amateur, he’d blinked at her for seconds until she’d broken the silence, demanding to know who he was and what business he had in their woods.
At the time, he’d been impressed with her nerve. For a human to lift her chin in quiet defiance and dare to demand answers from him was a far cry from his usual encounters, and he’d been in awe of her ever since.
Their initial conversation was a bit of a blur, but after offering to help her carry the firewood she hauled in her slender arms, Nesta’s walls had crumbled infinitesimally. It had surprised him when she recommended he adjust his camp site by a few dozen paces to place him within the borders of her family’s private property. The only thing she asked in return was his silence, and Cassian hadn’t been keen to bring attention to himself in the first place.
For the few days he’d camped there, he’d offered a lending hand in any heavy lifting required to earn his keep. Most of the time it involved copious amounts of firewood, and since he was no stranger to preparing for the frigid winters of Illyria, assisting Nesta with the task was almost negligible.
Cassian had told her he meant to earn the safety of his campsite, but in truth, he wasn’t interested in any unnecessary distance between himself and this elegant and brutal puzzle who barely humored him in casual conversation. It wasn’t for his lack of trying.
The first time he had seen that intoxicating and addicting spark flash within her blue eyes, he’d been a goner. Somehow, he’d goaded her into a loaded debate around the prejudices between humans and the Fae, among the lower and High Fae. That moment, sitting near the small campfire they’d stacked together at his tent, Nesta’s face had flashed with equal parts ire and need after a particularly blunt point Cassian had made.
Her lips were against his before he had a moment to process, and as someone who was rarely caught off-guard, he had faked his composure well enough. Despite never having been with a human woman, his blood roared in a way that had him staggering forward to press his body to hers.
They’d made it into his modest tent before their clothes had been shed with little finesse. Everything about the physical was different with her, and it took an extraordinary amount of self-control to remember to master his intensity enough to keep her safe.
A sharp cough and kick to his ankle brought him back to the present. Azriel eyed him curiously from the chair next to Cassian, his keen expression asking a hundred questions without the man uttering a word. His shadows danced over his shoulders, a bit more chaotic than usual, and Cassian wondered if they were the reason for Az’s check-in. Nosy little bastards.
“I’m good,” he murmured, shoving his food around with his fork.
He wasn’t good, not fine at all. Sitting near Nesta and treating her like a mere acquaintance was chipping away at his sanity in a way that had his heart pounding against the inside of his chest, and Azriel didn’t seem ignorant enough for his liking.
“You don’t look well,” Feyre remarked, her blue eyes round with concern. Cassian hated all the lies he committed by omission, especially when Feyre was so open and kind with him, but what was he supposed to say?
I met your sister months ago and slept with her. I wish that was the only time, but I came back more than once before I even knew you. Never mind the times I’ve traveled alongside you and Rhys. I’ve ended up in her chambers every time, her fiancé be damned.
To his credit, he hadn’t known Nesta was engaged the first time he’d bedded her. She’d moved with such purpose and claimed him so thoroughly that it should have been more obvious that she’d been seeking some level of control, but he couldn’t think on that too long without entertaining what happened to make her crave it.
“I’m tired, Fey,” he lied, his lips stretching into a confident smile. “It’s been a long day with travel.”
Rhys swirled the wine in his glass and shot an amused glance in Cassian’s direction. “I winnowed you most of the way.”
Cassian’s head snapped back in a laugh, and the rest joined him. He didn’t begrudge Rhys for his teasing, and he forgot it altogether when he dropped his chin to find Nesta’s eyes fixed over his throat.
“Maybe,” he drawled, dragging his eyes away from Nesta to address Rhys, “but you’re taxing enough in your own right.”
They shared a laugh and quieted down to continue their meal. Cassian took a long pull of his wine and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the sound of Nesta’s cool voice.
“I assume the food isn’t to your tastes. Again.”
Always with this, he thought. He couldn’t help the fact that he was Fae and experienced food differently, no more than Nesta could help that she was human.
A fact he was reminded of every time he thought of her in any capacity.
“Ah, Sweetheart,” he said lazily, propping his elbow on the back of the empty chair to his other side. “The food is fine. You know my tastes are especially particular.”
Her cheeks flushed, but he held her eyes as long as she’d let him. She would likely have his balls for being so outrightly suggestive, but he was half a beat from handing them over most of the time anyway.
With a dismissive clearing of her throat, Nesta’s attention turned to her own goblet of wine. A satisfied smirk tugged at Cassian’s mouth for the rest of the meal.
Everyone was tired by the end of dessert, and Cassian was close to boiling from the inside out with the way his blood thrummed through his veins. Each of them made their ways to their respective rooms with minimal fuss.
Blessedly, Azriel offered to do first patrol of the grounds— something Cassian was happy to accept. Az was restless at night and never settled down at the same time, so anticipating his moves was difficult. If he did first patrol, at least Cassian was aware of when he’d returned to their room. The chances of him leaving after that were slim.
If Cassian was tasked with patrol first, things were more complicated. He had to be hyper aware of the time being that Az would go looking for him if he was gone too long. The problem was anticipating how long his brother was content to wait before going after him. The last thing he needed was Azriel’s shadows swooping into his business and scandalizing their master for the rest of time with what they found.
So yes, the offer from his brother was a blessing straight from the Cauldron.
Waiting for him to return was another matter in and of itself, never mind the need to seem unaffected by the delay in the face of someone who conducted spy work for their court. Azriel didn’t turn a knowing gaze toward him when they switched off, and that was an improvement from dinner only hours before. If Az noticed anything amiss with Cassian, he had the decency to keep it to himself.
Cassian flew his laps over the Archeron estate, his eyes scanning the grounds as well as a few yards beyond the perimeter in case anything lurked within the forest. Nothing seemed obviously out of the ordinary, but he made an additional lap to be sure.
On his final pass, his eyes lingered on the flicker of candlelight spilling from an all too familiar window. The balcony doors were slightly ajar, the long curtains tucked tightly against each other. They billowed in the wind, and Cassian adjusted his wings to angle in their direction as if summoned by some silent beacon.
His boots were quiet on the cobblestones. He thanked the Cauldron for small mercies since it offered him several moments to catch his breath and steady his nerves. Shaking his head, he suppressed a laugh at his own expense for being torn up over a human woman that he saw infrequently at best. He squared his shoulders and gripped one of the curtains between his calloused fingers, easing it open and tucking his wings tight to avoid snagging the delicate fabric.
He felt her presence before his eyes landed on her form, sitting at the vanity nearby. As usual, she kept her attention fixed resolutely on her task and avoided eye contact altogether. Cassian would have been offended if not for his preternatural hearing picking up the way her breath hitched and her heart sped up at realizing his presence. He refused to preen considering those same physiological responses accompanied a myriad of emotions, though.
Cassian dragged his eyes away and channeled his focus on shutting the balcony doors quietly. When they were properly secured, he pulled the curtains tight and turned toward Nesta with a lump in his throat.
Her shoulders rolled with the effort of removing her shawl. She hadn’t worn it at dinner, but with the stubborn chill within her chambers, Cassian assumed she’d grabbed it in defense of the cold.
Nesta had been waiting for him, he realized. It didn’t come as a total surprise, but his brain was usually inclined to assume she found their dalliances more convenient than something worth delaying a warm bath on a cold night.
She cleared her throat, the sound prim somehow. “I assume all is well around the estate.”
“All clear,” he responded, humoring her need for small talk. Both knew he wasn’t there for the scintillating conversation or an update on the grounds, but he would allow her the pretense.
Nesta turned around, her shoulders back and her chin high— a queen in every sense of the word. Some dark part of Cassian loved that he knew what it meant to dishevel her, to watch her lose that carefully crafted presentation she gave to everyone else. The thought made his blood heat and his tongue a bit bolder.
“Would you rather I stand here, or will you invite me to sit?” He gestured lazily toward the bench at the foot of her bed. “I don’t know the rules for how we’re playing things tonight.”
Nesta scoffed, but he swore her eyes twitched slightly at the corners in amusement. “Sit, if you’d like,” she said, but no trace of the hostess was present in her tone. “Don’t drag any mud across the rug.”
Cassian walked casually over to the bench and lowered his considerable weight while listening for any creaks that hinted to issues of integrity. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He offered his widest smile and bent forward to loosen the laces of his leather boots. Setting them neatly to the side, he stretched his wings and rested an elbow atop his thigh. Nesta’s eyes darted to his forearm, trailing to where his hand hanged casually between his legs, and he couldn’t resist shooting a wink her way.
“We meet again.”
Nesta’s tone was unimpressed. “It would appear so.”
Each of their ill-planned meet-ups flashed through Cassian’s mind like some kind of highlight reel of hedonistic decisions. Her nails against his back. How the estate’s old storage shed creaked with their weight pressed against the aging wall. The little gasp of air she took when he raked his teeth over her throat. How his callused palm rasped over the delicate wallpaper of the nearby inn as he pushed into her from behind. The indulgent groan she allowed herself when he entered her.
Cassian barely suppressed an actual shake of his head to clear the thoughts away. “A warm welcome as always,” he drawled.
Patience a thing of the past, Nesta walked toward him, yet stopped several feet away. She clasped her fingers together and lowered them over her skirts, a portrait of the inconvenienced.
“Do you expect me to believe you’re here for company and tea?” she bit.
“I think we both know why I’m here, Sweetheart.”
Nesta cheeks reddened in irritation, but Cassian had always loved the way the blush crept over her face. He straightened as she closed the distance, bringing them almost eye to eye. Too bad they’d never see the world that way— not if their usual interactions were any indication.
“You’re presumptuous—“
“I’ve been right so far,” he interrupted with a smirk, and he wondered how much restraint it took for Nesta to allow his head to stay on his shoulders.
“— and insufferable. I don’t know why I continue to entertain this song and dance, nor why I engage in this ridiculous tit for tat.”
Cassian chuckled, running his tongue over the front of his teeth. Nesta chewed the inside of her lip, a quirk Cassian doubted she knew of herself if she did it in front of him. The display appealed to the General in him, who sized up an opponent and knew exactly when to make a calculated move. He rose slowly to his feet and watched Nesta’s throat bob at his closeness.
Enough with the faulty armor and the bullshit, loaded silences. Nesta wasn’t as clever at hiding herself from Cassian as she aimed to be, and she hardly gave him enough credit for his own skills in observation. It made him wonder how dense her future husband had proven to be if she assumed so little of other people.
“Admit it. You bite back because it’s the only time you feel anything anymore,” he taunted, pressing a hand to the small of her back. “And you hate it.”
His free hand traced the delicate line of her collar bone. The moment her restraint snapped was always a beautiful one, and it was the sole reason Cassian hadn’t yet allowed himself to slant his mouth over hers. It would have been a shame to miss it.
Nesta was quiet for a while, her breaths faster than before. With one more drag of his knuckles over the base of her neck, Nesta launched into action, fumbling with the ties of her gown. Her words were swift, cutting.
“You don’t get to fly in at your leisure and act like you know me.” Cassian offered a cocky grin, his eyes sliding down to watch the sheer efficiency of her work. It was enough to keep her talking, and if she was talking, a shot remained for them yet. “And don’t think because we’ve traded a couple of orgasms that you’re entitled to an opinion.”
Cassian laughed humorlessly. “I’m sure your husband would love to hear this means nothing. That you managed to find some pleasure for yourself while you pretend you don’t think on it otherwise. ”
Not his proudest moment, but the man’s existence was enough to sour Cassian’s mood. He couldn’t resist the jab.
“He’s not my husband.”
For all he’d said, it was a compelling denial— only that it was missing a few critical considerations. His wings twitched in torture or delight, and damn him if he was supposed to figure it out. He stepped forward, turning to crowd her against the nearby wall. Nesta tilted her chin to look at him, and he savored the way the forced indifference played across her features.
“Mm,” he muttered, lifting his hand to run his knuckles delicately over her jaw. “We can talk about the rest later.”
Nesta’s breaths shuddered out of her, each one a blessing against the skin of Cassian’s throat. Trailing his finger beneath her chin, he eased it up toward his own and slide his lips over hers. It was only enough to have her lean into him, a fact that seemed like a self-induced ache atop their existing dynamic.
Those blue eyes, so expressive beneath her pinched brow, scanned Cassian’s face for something he couldn’t quite label. That fevered need for control rolled off of her in waves, and since life seemed to offer Nesta Archeron very little of it, Cassian decided he would gladly toss the reins to her. Anything— truly, anything— to keep her curves pressed against him.
“How will you have me tonight, Nesta?” he murmured, letting her name roll slowly from his tongue.
Sure, slender hands reached for his waist. His breath caught, but he hoped to recover quickly enough that Nesta wouldn’t notice the way her touch affected him. Perhaps it was too late for such hopes, but Cassian hadn’t made peace with showing a woman like Nesta his hand. It was no offense meant for her; rather, he knew with such little ammunition, it would take nothing for her to bring him to his knees.
He would kneel for much less, after all.
Her cheek was warm beneath his large hand, her lips plush— yet, unyielding somehow. Cassian angled his head to deepen the kiss, but Nesta batted his hand away from her face and leaned away before he realized what she aimed to do. How many times would she gain the upper hand with him— someone who had lived years beyond her own age and had navigated much more strategically-complex situations?
“Hands to yourself,” she snapped, but the breathiness in her tone gave her away. If she’d aimed for unaffected, she had failed spectacularly. A weird sense of pride warmed Cassian at the thought.
For dramatic pause, Cassian made a show of situating the gauntlets at each of his wrists as he backed away. The siphons caught the low candlelight and reflected a crimson hue, warming the room and giving a false sense of intimacy that felt too real for what it was.
Removing his flying leathers, he threw them over a nearby armchair rather than dropping the heavy garments to the rug. Nesta looked down her nose at the offending pieces, but her gaze slid to Cassian quickly, surveying him up and down like she was seeing him in a tunic and pants for the first time.
“Sweetheart?” he goaded, allowing his mouth to tick upward in the smirk she cursed so often.
“On the bed, propped against the pillows,” she managed, her gown dropping to the floor and leaving her in only a shift.
Cassian’s mouth watered at the sight. Most often, Nesta would only go as far as to let him take her in the thin garment, but it did very little in leaving things to the imagination.
To save her the trouble, Cassian loosened the neckline of his tunic and reached behind him to unfasten the buttons below his wings. They twitched against his wishes, displaying his anticipation to anyone within a reasonable distance. Nesta being the only one was no comfort. She was the last person who needed evidence of the nagging ache he felt when it came to her.
Her eyes scanned every inch of his exposed torso, and the heat of her attention was a nearly tangible thing in the room. Cassian forced an eyebrow up in challenge, a show of his indifference, although he wondered if the lie was worth it anymore.
Padding over to her bed, he lowered his body against the plush linens and arranged the pillows to accommodate his wings comfortably. As comfortable as they could be, anyway.
Despite their many nights together, Cassian hadn’t managed to offer access to such an intimate part of himself. To anyone who wasn’t Illyrian, it would have seemed counterintuitive that he would readily offer his cock to someone before allowing any touch to his wings, but he’d been lucky that Nesta never tried.
Cassian rested one arm against the bedspread, laying the other casually against his stomach. He dragged it slowly toward the leather stays of his pants, but Nesta’s commanding voice stopped him.
“I’ll do it.”
Her words were like lightning to his spine. His cock hardened under her attention, only made worse by her measured approach. He offered his free hand toward her, more in affection than an offer of assistance, but the glare she threw in his direction reminded him of their stipulations.
Hands to himself, then.
With a knowing smile, he tucked the rejected hand behind his head and splayed the other wider across the skin of his stomach. He would follow Nesta’s rules, sure, but he never agreed to stop goading her. As long as that fire flashed across her blue eyes, he wouldn’t be able to resist stoking it.
Nesta chewed her lip once more, and Cassian barely stifled a moan. She hadn’t touched him, yet he was unraveling at a record pace. At least, he thought he was, but he’d been ignorant to how his restraint would be tested when she threw a leg over his hips and straddled him. Her hands grazed his chest, and he allowed his eyes to roll closed.
Nesta dragged her nails lightly over his chest and down the muscles of his stomach. His back bowed in pleasure, his hands launching toward her waist before his brain caught up. He stopped them just in time, hovering inches from her soft curves and his fingers twitching to haul her against him.
“Nesta,” he begged, his voice a whisper.
She eyed him curiously, and pushed back so that she was straddling his shins. With the same mastery she had used on the stays of her gown, she loosened Cassian pants and hooked her fingers into the waistband. Cassian lifted his hips as best he could to help, groaning when she left them bunched just below his knees.
Nesta ran a slender finger from the head of his cock, teasing the entirety of his length in a way that had him twitching beneath her ministrations. A satisfied smile stretched across her beautiful face, and as if she was capable of the smallest mercies, she crawled over him and sealed her mouth against his.
The soft fabric of her shift glided over his chest, a solid contrast to the almost primal way she took his mouth. Cassian met her in a battle for what little dominance remained, dragging her full bottom lip between his teeth and kissing her senseless again.
His knuckles fisted the bed linens, and Mother’s tits, he regretted the earlier version of himself who threw any and all control to the wind. Something about Nesta went straight to his bloodstream, and the effect didn’t seem concerned with showing Cassian any kindness.
Nesta pulled away roughly and inched down Cassian’s body to line him up with her entrance. He opened his mouth to offer a touch, a taste— whatever got her ready for him and had her pretty little moans dancing in the air around them. She shook her head as if understanding his intent. The head of his cock pressed against her, and Nesta leaned forward to slide her lips over his.
“Still think we should talk?” she whispered, teasing his mouth with a soft flick of her tongue.
Cassian’s eyes rolled behind his eyelids, both in irritation and brain-melting pleasure. A beat passed before he clued in to her intentions. She had artfully dodged any response during Cassian’s own attempt at gaining the upper hand; so artfully, in fact, that he had wondered if his words had registered with her at all.
Damn him for underestimating the catalogue created by Nesta’s razor sharp wit. Of course she’d heard him and understood his meaning. Withholding any response had been every bit strategic. She wasn’t the type to allow life to drone on by accident.
A hiss tore from his mouth at the divine tension around his cock. With no shortage of intention, he forced his eyes open to take her in, and he thanked the Cauldron for his timing when Nesta straightened completely to lower herself over him. Tendrils of loose hair danced around her sharp cheekbones, both dusted with a vicious shade of pink that seemed exclusive to Nesta. Everything about the woman was a new experience, unique in every sense of the word.
Back arched, Nesta allowed her head to roll back over her shoulders while she chased her pleasure. Every muscle in Cassian’s legs and core were engaged in a feeble attempt to preserve the last shreds of his dignity. No one had ever rattled him to such a degree, but he didn’t fight it. He was happy for it, even. What that said about him, he didn’t know.
Nesta relaxed her thighs, moaning at her fullness once their hips were flush. Cassian’s hands drifted to her thighs, his thumbs ghosting a mindless path over her pebbled skin. He realized his mistake right before her head snapped forward, fire swirling in her eyes.
“Cassian,” she warned, her tone too breathy to be truly threatening.
Cassian released her with savage efficiency and laid his clenched fists by his side. Nesta resumed her rhythm, riding him expertly and ramping up the pace once she found the angle that served her best.
His hands opened and closed with the effort of keeping them in their assigned places. The silk shift clung to Nesta’s body in all the right ways, and a soft sheen of sweat erupted over her skin. Cassian hadn’t know temptation like her in his life.
Nesta’s hips faltered slightly, and instinctually, Cassian reached for her waist to steady her. His attention stayed on her face, lost in mindless pleasure and with abandon he knew in his soul she never allowed herself. Cassian flexed his hips slightly to shove his hands underneath him; otherwise, he feared proving Nesta’s assumptions that he was an uncivilized brute. Usually, he had no problem playing the part for the sake of their banter, but nothing was worth risking how safe Nesta felt with him. Nothing.
The movement had Nesta moaning into the quiet room, loud enough that Cassian barely suppressed the urge to shush her. She wasn’t a woman who seemed overly keen on being silenced in her own home, no matter how problematic her circumstances. Instead, Cassian bit the inside of his cheek almost to the point of pain to keep himself level. Nesta, on the other hand, seemed overcome with her need for release. Her head snapped forward, her eyes locking on Cassian’s and a hand planted on his lower abdomen for leverage.
“I’m—” she whimpered, but she never finished her thought. Before she had a chance, her jaw went slack with pleasure and her free hand slid over the front of her shift to tease a nipple through the soft fabric. The sight alone threatened to unravel him, but he was a little in awe of how quickly she’d come in comparison to their usual times together.
“Gods, Nesta,” Cassian breathed. Her core pulsed around him, and his eyes rolled behind his lids. He’d originally had more to offer in way of a comment, but the tension around his cock was enough to melt all coherent thought away.
Nesta stayed atop him through the aftershocks, until her hips were still and flush against Cassian’s again. He kept his eyes closed for a moment before looking up at her beneath lazy lids, his mouth drying at how stunning she was with the flush of release stippling her fair skin.
Her bottom lip was imprisoned between her teeth, a ghost of a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. To Cassian’s surprise, Nesta slide her hands over the tight muscles of his stomach and up to his chest. She ran her thumb over each of his nipples, earning a shaking moan in return before ghosting her lips over his.
Cassian put the full might of his discipline into keeping his hips still despite the way his cock throbbed, still painfully hard inside her. Nesta was especially sensitive after she came, and on an even simpler note, she didn’t owe him an orgasm in return. Regardless, he had some awkward arrangements to make and some things to take care of before he tried slipping into bed only feet away from Azriel. He would never let him live it down.
Before he could bemoan the fact, Nesta rocked gently over him. Her curves were pressed flush against the hard lines of his body, and even though he could feel the full warmth of her beneath the silk she wore, it was hardly enough. What he would give— an embarrassing number of things, really— to feel her smooth skin gliding over his own.
Nesta moaned into the quiet, tracing Cassian’s lips teasingly with her tongue. He chased her mouth when she moved to sit-up but settled quickly into the pillow when he remembered the sight she was to behold, thoroughly debauched and relaxed in a way he guessed almost no one saw. The possibility that he was the only one sent a shiver down his spine.
Without any warning, Nesta started rocking her hips in long, languid strokes. Cassian bit his bottom lip viciously to keep from crying out, his head rolling back into the plush pillow and exposing his throat without a second thought.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
His focus narrowed to every sensation, no matter how faint. Anywhere Nesta touched him came alive with something akin to wildfire, and sweat erupted over every inch of his skin. He swallowed, forcing down the lump in his throat and hauling a deep breath in to his lungs to steady his heartbeat.
Nesta’s breaths soughed through the charged air of the room, her chest rising and falling as if battling against the silk confines. Cassian lowered his chin to take her in properly and opened his mouth to say the gods only knew what— perhaps a thesis of her perfection, a prayer to the divine patchwork of the universe that brought them into each others orbit no matter how temporary their circumstances. Each time they met, Cassian was closer and closer to damning the universe for the very same.
The rising body heat, both his and Nesta’s, felt a bit like a cage with his hands trapped beneath him. Fully intending to honor their rules, he slid them out from under his body and gripped the bed linens once more, moaning at how the cool air tickled his fevered skin. He didn’t miss the way Nesta’s attention snapped toward the action, nor her quick recovery in an attempt to shield it from him. Suspicion and ire for her fiance threatened to choke him, but discussing either had no place in that moment. Or ever, if Nesta had anything to say of it. She usually had the last word no matter the topic.
“Nesta,” he rasped, pausing to gather himself when her eyes met his, “can you come for me again, Sweetheart?”
Fuck, he hoped she would. Nesta was always so responsive, but her release had turned her bones to jelly, it seemed. Considering he was still under “no touching” protocol, worshiping every inch of her smooth skin the way she deserved was out of the question at the moment. Next time, if the opportunity presented itself. Maybe. Hopefully.
Before uttering a word, Nesta pulled her shift over her head and tossed it carelessly to the floor. The sight of her— despite having very little room for imagination before— threatened to send him over the edge, but he gritted his teeth and fought against it. He wanted to feel Nesta come again, for the tight grip of her to carry him through each and every wave of pleasure.
Nesta scanned his body again, her expression turning almost sheepish. A tension lay beneath her actions at his question.
“I think so,” she moaned, hips rocking that same languid rhythm. Something like determination flashed across her face, and all he wanted was to take things into his own hands to save her the trouble.
It would only take one word, and he’d have her under him. He knew her body well if she could trust him to take care of her, but getting there wasn’t going to happen if her mind had been preoccupied before he’d landed on her balcony. And with demons he’d never know or understand. The thought gave him pause, particularly with her vigilance of his smallest actions.
“We’ll get you there,” he promised, his voice rough. With intentional slowness, he brought his wrists together before her and watched her brow wrinkle in consideration. “You’re safe with me.”
Emotions warred across her face— confusion, awe, perhaps a hint of relief. Whatever the combination, it was almost intimidating to be under the intensity of such focus. Her hips slowed to a halt, her decision made, and she reached out to grip each of his wrists with her elegant hands.
“You’re sure?”
Cassian nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Lust blazed down his spine at being on the receiving end of Nesta’s mercy, and although he mostly meant to make her more comfortable, he couldn’t ignore the way his body sang with anticipation.
Nesta leaned backward and tugged at his pants, still bunched around his calves. Any questions died on his tongue when, after a few tugs, Nesta oriented toward him with the leather stays of his pants.
Clever woman, he thought. She made quick work of his wrists and tugged upward until Cassian assisted in lifting his hands toward the headboard. Securing what remained of the leather cord around the decorative spindle mounted at the bed’s center, Nesta took her time kissing a path from his wrist, down his forearm, over his bicep, and finally, taking his mouth in a savage, claiming kiss that made his cock throb.
Her hips picked up pace, and Cassian’s jaw dropped in silent groan. They dissolved into quiet moans, Nesta’s eager and almost possessive grip all over his body. Determination shone beautifully across her face in the low light of her room, but watching her blue eyes roll in pleasure threatened any rational thought.
Nesta’s movements turned desperate in her chase for release, and Cassian couldn’t take it anymore. He lifted his chin in invitation, relieved when she leaned forward heavily and pressed her lips to his.
Rocking his hips into her, he dragged her bottom lip between his teeth. “Let me,” he murmured, punctuating the point with another press of his hips. “I’ve got you.”
Nesta whimpered. Her forehead rested against his chin— the only sign of her concession she would give, he thought— before releasing a long, low moan and lowering to the center of his chest.
His movement was restricted by his pants, but he managed to press his feet into the mattress enough to allow himself the leverage to thrust deeper inside her. Nesta’s hips stilled and allowed him full control, muttering soft curses against his skin with each roll of his hips.
Release taunted him. The way Nesta’s breathing had picked up and her nails pressed into his skin indicated how imminent it was for her. Cassian pressed a rough kiss to her hair and slowed his pace, pulling out almost entirely and rolling slowing into her once more. It wasn’t the first time he’d fucked Nesta in such a way, one that had her gasping his name into the quiet room and the head of his cock teasing the delicate, sensitive tissue just inside her entrance.
“Come for me,” he ordered roughly against her temple. “Take me with you.”
With the first clench of her walls around him, Cassian was gone— a slave to Nesta’s scent, to the way her body moved over him, and how each syllable of his name became a curse and a prayer from her lips. He turned his face quickly into his bicep, sinking his teeth into the muscle to keep from crying out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come so hard. Truth be told, he was lucky he remembered his own name.
They lay there for several moments catching their breath. Sweat coated them both, but neither seemed to be in a hurry to move. Their time without risk of suspicions had likely run out minutes before, so one of them needed to take the initiative. Cassian decided it was enough to relax the savage grip he had on Nesta’s headboard and the leather stays, and they shared a chuckle at the way the wood creaked in relief. Perhaps he’d been holding on a bit tighter than he thought.
With a contented sigh, Nesta sat up and eased off of him to clean up. Cassian regretted the loss of her weight immediately, but she returned a minute later with a cool cloth in hand. The hem of her robe hanged close to the ground, and if the soft fabric hadn’t run the contours of her figure in such a satisfying way, the full coverage of the garment would have been downright criminal.
Nesta made quick work of releasing his hands and wrapped the cool cloth around each of his wrists to soothe the redness. It was unnecessary in Cassian’s opinion, but rejecting such an outward display of care from Nesta felt as safe as traveling a field riddled with snares.
“You know, the gauntlets will cover any marks.”
Nesta’s eyes slid to his, and his breath hitched. The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Maybe,” she conceded, her voice laced with dry humor. “Although, it seems poor form to send you on your way without making sure you’re alright.”
Cassian laughed, a rough chuckle in contrast to such an intimate moment. It was better that way. How his chest expanded, the warmth he felt— that road only led to impossible things, painful things.
Things he couldn’t help but want some nights, anyway.
Before he could conjure some sort of reply, Nesta reached for the leather stays and laced them loosely back into place to allow Cassian enough room to pull up his pants. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed to stand, tucking himself away and pretending he didn’t notice the way Nesta’s stare lingered. His attention was better fixed on the task at hand considering he needed to locate his tunic, wrestle with his flying leathers, and shove his feet back into his boots. The thought alone added a layer of fatigue to his loose, tired muscles.
He slid his tunic on and reached for his leathers, but Nesta’s voice interrupted. “Don’t you need to clean up? Won’t the others know?”
“I’d planned to clean-up in the bathroom near the room I’m staying in. No sense in leaving my scent behind in case your sister visits you here.”
Refocused, he made quick work of the many buckles on his flying gear. He wasn’t lying to Nesta with his answer. Every word was logical, rational— just as he’d intended. The hidden truth was that he couldn’t afford the potential intimacy of staying, couldn’t stomach the domesticity of it. The lines had been drawn in the sand many years ago by forces greater than themselves, and Cassian wasn’t the starry-eyed idealist that Rhys was. The wall represented far more than the division of land.
Nesta scoffed. “My sheets already smell of you. What’s the difference?”
Cassian finished tying his boots and stood to his full height. He walked slowly toward her, barely resisting the urge to reach out and tame a rogue strand of her hair. Or snap the ties of her robe. Either way.
Forcing his cockiest grin, he said, “Nothing, really.” He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “But the latter will have you thinking of me. It’s a risk I can justify.”
Nesta rolled her eyes and shoved him away, albeit half-heartedly. “I wonder how I’ll ever get the smell of gargoyle out of them. They may be better off burned.”
Cassian’s hand dropped to her waist, pulling her flush against him and kissing her greedily through his laughter. She kissed him with equal fervor, and it was a miracle he managed to pull himself away with any level of composure.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sweetheart.”
Her scowl had him biting the inside of his cheek as he took the several steps backward to the balcony doors. Nesta stayed rooted to her spot on the rug, those blue eyes locked up tight and giving nothing away.
She heaved a breath, crossing her arms. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”
The wind was chilly against his wings, and they twitched in anticipation of the flight.
“Maybe I’ll remember this time,” he teased. “Be sure to lock these—”
“I know how to secure my room, thank you,” she quipped.
Cassian backed away with his hands up in contrition. “Fair enough.”
He rolled his shoulders and turned to step onto the balcony’s stone ledge. He scanned the immediate perimeter and gauged the winds, but it was hard to tell if the thrumming under his skin had anything to do with either of them at all.
His wings flapped in assessment, and when he was satisfied with the conditions enough for take-off, he threw a knowing wink over his shoulder.
“Night, Nesta.”
A moment later, he was airborne. He swore he heard mutterings of “arrogant” and “brute” along the winds as if their loyalties insisted he was informed. Cassian chuckled, shaking his head back and forth.
Nothing he hadn’t heard before.
—
Flying laps to burn off steam had seemed like a decent idea— until he’d rounded the estate once and realized the bone-deep heaviness his body carried. It was enough to force himself to the proper landing and keep his feet nearly silent on his walk to the washroom.
Once he was properly clean, he dragged his body to his and Azriel’s room and crept quietly inside. Azriel was a terrible sleeper in his own quarters on the darkest night of the year, so Cassian didn’t have much room for error. And that was without consideration of how the dark favored Az in the first place. He glanced at Az’s sleeping form and breathed a sigh of relief that he seemed unaffected by his return.
With a grace uncharacteristic of his usual bedtime, Cassian peeled the blanket down the bed and settled against the sheet. He laid on his stomach to allow his wings adequate space and folded an arm beneath his pillow. The damned thing went flat under the weight of his head, and because his mind was occupied with all things Nesta, he almost heard a loaded comment about his head’s abnormal size.
A loud huff sounded in the room, and Cassian blinked against the darkness. It could have been his own breath with the way his head swam, but before he could embrace the false comfort of that theory, Azriel’s level voice rasped through the small space between their beds.
“You, brother,” he began, pausing to let out another breath, “have lost your damned mind.”
Perhaps it was his role as the Night Court’s Spymaster, but Az’s voice always held such cold calculation. It was soft and calm, yet loaded in a way that commanded focus. The image it conjured was something akin to a large swaddle of baby blankets, but upon folding back the corner, one found themselves looking at a bundle of daggers.
Cassian begrudged Azriel’s ability to be so careless with his breathing— for taking it for granted— when his own was lodged in his throat. Only his body’s involuntary panic forced air into his lungs seconds later. A million responses bounced around in his skull, and his tongue was prepared to fire off one that made the most sense when it finally landed.
His free hand moved to his face, his calluses making a rasping sound against the light stubble dusting his jaw. Cassian inhaled deeply and released it over several, controlled seconds. His hand continued its vigorous path over his eyes, cheeks, jaw, and provided some shallow illusion of comfort while he considered how to respond.
Care was required when talking to Azriel, mostly because Cassian never knew how much the asshole knew in the first place. For all he knew, Az thought he’d cut his duties short to fly over the human lands with minimal coverage. Either that, or despite his best efforts in cleaning up, the essence of his visit to Nesta’s room remained and sent Azriel’s shadows fluttering the moment he entered the room. But could he readily identify Cassian’s partner? Or did he assume him to be an impetuous, arrogant Male who took his risks in a local tavern?
Exhaustion settled into his bones, sending all his previous considerations into slow-floating splinters through his mind until they were a faint echo of good sense. The only cohesive thought he could muster rolled off his tongue, and he wasn’t naive to how much truth lay in two seemingly harmless words.
“I know.”
——————————————————————————
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