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The Hunting Lodge, Autumn’s border with Winter
After days of searching, the shadows found Eris. Azriel wanted to throttle him. And hold him. Instead, the Shadowsinger just watched. The impossible male was leaning over an easel, red hair pulled back, a streak of black paint smeared across his temple. But it was the pair of sleek, silver Smokehounds, one lounging upon a scarlet cushion, the other standing beside it, that piqued the spymaster’s interest.
“Future, chin up, lovely. I want to see a regal hound.” The hound lifted her muzzle, as if catching a scent. “Perfect.” Eris squinted his eyes and leaned in, brush gliding against canvas. He’d yet to notice the Illyrian. Azriel was enjoying the chance to finally spy undetected, on the Autumn male.
“Hunt, stand beside your sister, but face that way. Point.” As Eris made the command, the second hound froze, nose pointing forward, front paw bent at a perfect angle. It was clearly a pose the hound was trained to hold. “Excellent. I knew you were the ones to choose. So clever.” The hounds’ eyes held a delighted, keen light, ears perked up. Eris mixed more paint on his palette. Brows furrowed, he bit his lip in concentration.
Azriel studied the Fae from the shadows of a moss covered oak. When Eris wasn’t acting the cruel prince or sly tactician, he almost looked soft. A beautiful male, regardless of his moods and masks, there was a part of the spymaster that wanted to see his mate like this forever.
In this certain slant of light, it almost seemed as though Eris held a flame that might be in need of occasional guarding, and the Shadowsinger, as the bond pulled at his breastbone, wondered if he would be up to the task. Madness.
***
The sun began to set behind the snowcapped Winter Court mountains, bleeding into a pink sky. Eris sighed, ready to call it a day. Azriel had been watching him for the better part of an hour. Being unable to sneak around his mate miffed the Shadowsinger. So he would let the Illyrian have his fun.
The Autumn heir packed the easel and paints into their wooden boxes, tucking them neatly into a pocket between the worlds.
He reached down for a small bag, and at the crinkling sound of brown paper, both hounds trotted up, tails wagging. Future’s pink tongue lolled to the side, exposing bone white fangs. The fireling offered each one a sweet candied walnut, scratching behind their ears, before picking up the drying canvas.
“Future. Hunt. Follow.” Eris made his way to the cabin, two canine forms shifting and bounding at his side. It was only a matter of time before Azriel found this secret place, so he left a small tear in the wards, for the Singer’s shadows to follow.
Fireplace lit, he kept the flames low, and leaned the canvas against the far wall to dry. Eris heard four knocks to the door. The clever male had picked up on the heir’s code. “Enter.”
He feigned a look of surprise. “Hello, bat.” Azriel shut the door behind him. The hounds sniffed his boots with interest, tawny eyes watchful.
“How long have you known I was here, brat?” Azriel approached Eris, thumb brushing the dried paint on his temple, and then, to another spot on his neck. The prince’s pulse quickened under those scarred fingers, and a dark brow rose at the faint scent of forest and sandalwood. His mate clearly enjoyed how affected Eris was by a single touch.
The Autumn prince caught himself and smirked. “I have no idea what you mean.” He pulled out a decanter of amber liquor, filling two glasses and offered one to the Illyrian.
“Can I see?” Azriel asked, almost shyly. “Your painting?” He tucked his wings in tighter. A tell, Eris noted. His mate was nervous.
Now it was Eris’s turn to blush. He pulled the unfinished portrait from the corner. “Don’t laugh.” And with an exhale, Eris turned it to face the Shadowsinger. He shouldn’t feel so vulnerable, so exposed, and yet, some part of him wanted to winnow away.
Eris looked up after several moments of silence, and what he saw made him swallow. Azriel’s eyes were a warm meadow of golden greens and brown. They scanned the painting slowly, then moved up to study Eris’s flushed face. The Autumn male ground his teeth to stop himself from saying something stupid.
“It’s good.” Azriel’s voice was full of joyful surprise. Eris sniffed primly, but was secretly elated, relieved that his mate liked something he had created. Stupid bond.
“My mother insisted that my brothers and I each master a musical instrument, learn to dance, and know the basics of one art form.” Eris put the canvas down.
Looking at it, he decided it was decent. “I excelled at dance, probably from all the sword play Beron forced upon us. And learned to play the cello and the piano. Painting was my chosen art form.” The Shadowsinger’s eyes took him in.
“Lucien was gods awful at painting. The asshole made a very wealthy Lady weep after he attempted to paint her portrait. It was a diplomatic nightmare.” Azriel’s brow rose with humor. “He mastered piano easily, and dance, but painting…” Eris tsked and shook his head. “And Vidar dances like a shaved bear.” At this, the Illyrian released a throaty chuckle.
“Asa was a quick study, competent enough in all, but he excelled in sculpture. Would carve little animals and leave them around the House.” Eris’s felt his flame gutter for a spell as he was about to mention the twins.
***
Azriel felt the urge to see him smile again.
“And what about Sylvan?” Eris looked up in surprise. It worked and the male’s dimple returning. “That prick was good at everything he tried. But the violin was his best accomplishment. Would make all the old Fae well up during ceremonies.” Eris rolled his eyes.
He placed his glass down on a side table. “Why are you here, Azriel?”
Why was Azriel here? Officially, he was here as Night’s spymaster, wasn’t he? The Shadowsinger wanted to test the wards and to search this secret place that his shadows had barely been able to find.
But he was male enough to also admit that he could not stop thinking about the feel of his mate’s skin, the scent of his hair, the sound of his voice.
“Just spying.” Azriel finished his drink with a smirk. His shadows tutted. Liar.
Eris scoffed, then completely changed the subject. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.” The male turned on his heel and entered an alcove, which clearly acted as a rustic kitchen.
There was a small stove, shelves with herbs and stacks of bowls and plates. He grabbed a loaf of crusty bread, and an earthenware bowl of what appeared to be some kind of meat stew. Azriel noted the small flames igniting from his palms, and began to smell the savory stew warming up. His stomach growled. Eris looked up.
“Here. I’m going to place the bowl on the table with two plates. You’ll have to serve yourself. Wouldn’t want an accidental frenzy to occur.” Azriel felt his face heat.
Eris reached up and brushed a finger over the Illyrian’s cheekbone. “A blushing bat,” he cooed, bringing his mouth close enough to feel the other male’s warm breath on his lips.
Then, the fireling pulled away. And Azriel shivered from the lack of warmth. Come back.
“I have paint all over. I’ll return once I clean up.” Eris pointed to a stool, and walked over to the kitchen, grabbing plates and silverware. He handed them to Azriel, then glided up a small set of stairs.
The Illyrian was ravenous. He'd flown most of the way to Autumn, after another night in the Hewn City dungeons. His spies had uncovered two more members of a poisons smuggling ring. They appeared to all be High Fae from the Court of Nightmares. Keir always let his court favorites run amuck. The Steward needed to be dealt with.
Luckily, all were quick to talk. The Hewn City males paid handsomely for rare poisons made in Montesere, with the expectation to sell them to Prythian’s courts, for a profit. So far, Azriel and his spies had stopped the smugglers from exporting beyond the Night Court.
The Inner Circle was now debating next steps. Amren argued for keeping the rare poisons, while Feyre believed it most ethical to destroy the dangerous contraband altogether. Rhys saw the wisdom in both options. Azriel wondered what the clever Autumn prince would do. Madness.
The Shadowsinger spooned stew into his plate, and took a slice of bread. He should probably wait for Eris, but who knew how long the preening fae would take to wash his stupidly pretty face. And gods. Azriel had never tasted anything so good. The meat was tender and perfectly spiced. Root vegetables bursting with flavors. The male let out an appreciative groan.
“Autumn Stew. Very easy. It’s my mother’s recipe. Venison, carrots, potatoes, peas, and some spices,” Eris said from the stairs. Azriel hummed.
The Autumn male had cleaned his face and neck, and changed into a simple white tunic. He served himself a plate, and the fae ate in comfortable silence. Eris finished, then held the large bowl with an arched brow.
Azriel shook his head and cleared his throat. “Thank you. It was, um, very good.” Since when was he so awkward?
Eris smiled, a genuine smile, similar to the one he offered when Azriel had complimented his painting. Clearly, the male loved to be praised and to have his ego stroked. Azriel’s cock hardened, knowing how the fireling reacted to his praise, and his strokes.
The heir’s eyes darkened. “I can smell you, bat. An Autumn stew kink?” His voice was smooth, but there was an underlying flirtation that always flustered Azriel. He had to find the higher ground, quickly.
But once again, Eris was quicker, and the Shadowsinger felt the grounds shift. How did the Autumn male keep doing this? The fireling walked to the door, shrugging a sapphire blue coat with a fur-lined hood over his tunic. Future and Hunt sprung up, tails wagging, padding towards Eris. “Want to come?”
“Where?” Azriel asked. In an attempt to gain the upper hand, he crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned slightly back, stretching long legs in front of him as his wings spread behind.
***
Eris knew his scent shifted as his eyes took in the male. Long, leather clad legs stretched before him, knees bent and spread, the perfect amount of space for him to kneel between them and… the male’s beautiful wings were displayed at a perfect angle. Azriel’s muscled arms flexed in a clear show of strength.
The prince knew what the male was doing, how much he desired to have the upper hand. And by the end of the night, Eris might let him have it. But not yet. He wanted the Shadowsinger to work for it.
“I have a surprise. Something you will enjoy.” The fireling’s eyes were golden ore. This male is trouble, Azriel thought even as he stood.
“Fine. I will hike out to whatever Autumn Court tree you want to show me, but you have to promise to race me back.”
The Illyrian was wildly competitive and this would be his chance to finally get the fireling where he wanted him. On his cock, an entirely too lewd shadow whispered, as it flew out and wound itself around Eris’s wrist.
The Autumn male studied Azriel with his serpentine gaze. “Fine.”
“I can fly.” Az noted, as they left the cabin, hounds running ahead.
“I can winnow.” Eris matched, step for step.
“Fine,” the Spymaster agreed. “So where is this place you want to show me?”
The Autumn male smirked. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.” Then, he turned, his freckled cheeks flushed in annoyance. “And it’s not a fucking tree, you brute.”
Azriel laughed. Somehow, between wanting to throttle him, then fuck him, this male made Azriel laugh.
* * *
They hiked through an ancient pine forest, the evening sky darkening to a plum color. Eris held a small flame in his left hand to guide them. The hounds lept ahead, sure footed and yapping. A full disc of moon had the forest awash in silver light.
“I imagine you are in your element, Shadowsinger,” Eris said in his smooth voice.
Azriel smiled softly. If he had been a male to say what was in his heart, he would tell Eris that the moon was like the fireling’s skin. The constellations, now peeking through a veil of twilight, were the freckles the Illyrian had mapped out a hundred times on the bridge of his mate’s perfect nose, along his cheekbones, his strong shoulders.
But Azriel would say none of this to Eris.
The moon was now snugly perched high in the crisp Autumn sky. They had been walking uphill for a bit, as the air grew cold and thinner.
“Alright.” Eris laid a warm hand along Azriel’s forearm. Their eyes met. “Do you trust me to winnow you the rest of the way?”
Azriel nodded, some unknown fae instinct that lay dormant within taking over.
“Good. Close your eyes. Don’t open them ‘til I say,” Eris whispered.
The Shadowsinger closed his eyes, breathing in balsam scented night air. The Autumn heir took Azriel’s scarred hand in his own, and winnowed them.
A cold breeze tickled the Illyrian’s wings, the shadows humming along his shoulders and back. They buzzed with pleasure and awe. Azriel fought to keep his eyes closed.
He heard Eris release a breath from his lips. “Alright Shadowsinger. You may look now,” he whispered, releasing the male’s hand, and stepping away.
Nothing could have prepared Azriel for the view. The night sky was a bowl of star systems spread before them, reflected below in the stillness of a mirror-smooth lake. And then, as if waiting for his arrival, waves of green, blue and violet lights rippled across the night sky.
It was Starfall, only bigger and bolder. Instead of a million single stars shooting across the horizon, the starbursts had joined together to float on a tide of night, synchronized in a perfect, swaying dance. It took Azriel’s breath away.
This nocturnal beauty, so much a part of his Court’s magic, was here in Autumn all along. Eris had shown it to him. He turned to look at his mate, who was staring at him with such vulnerability, so much longing, that it cracked something in Azriel.
“The Aurora Borealis appear only during certain times, on Autumn’s border with Winter. When I saw them as a youngling, I imagined it was how the Night Court sky always looked.” Eris let out a soft laugh. “But when I saw them more recently, I thought of you. Thought you might like to see them.”
Azriel swallowed down the lump in his throat. No one had ever taken the time to surprise him, to care what he might think. It was all so new. It left him feeling raw; it frightened him. His eyes burned, and there was a sharp tug at his breastbone.
He should just leave. This was not part of the plan, not something he could endure. He could take threats and sparring, sarcastic comebacks, political maneuvers and mind-blowing sex.
But not fucking crying over the night sky, over Eris Vanserra’s eyes, how they looked at him with so much fear and hope, a fear that he was partially responsible for placing in the male.
How many times had he hurt his mate? Grabbed him in anger, called him a snake, a cruel, pampered prince. Allowed others to call him those names. Threatened him. Spied on him.
Azriel felt that familiar tension: the Night Court, his love for his family, everything he thought he believed in, pushing against the pull of Eris and their bond. The intense, magical pull towards something new, something that could be his, and his alone. What if?
“Eris, there’s something—” Azriel was cut short when the Autumn male leaned forward and brushed his lips against the Shadowsinger’s. It was so different from how they normally kissed— no striving for control, no teeth or nails or possession. This was soft and giving, asked for nothing in return. Yet in that moment, Azriel would have given Eris anything.
The red haired male pulled away, slowly. His eyes, still so molten, so unsure, looked back at the dancing lights, moving in waves above them.
Azriel glanced at Eris. “Thank you. For taking me here. For showing me this. It’s… beautiful.”
He drank in the gilded eyes of his mate. I want to see everything you would show me. Every part of you is beautiful, he longed to say.
“You’re welcome,” the Autumn prince replied. I would take you anywhere, go anywhere with you, if you would let me. Amber eyes replied. Azriel wondered if he’d imagined it.
They watched the lights glide along the sky for a bit longer, the hounds shifting to smoke, only to reappear along the lake, giving chase on the pebbled shore. Azriel released a slight shiver, and Eris’s head snapped to the male beside him.
“You’re cold.” His palms heated, glowing in the darkness. Before Azriel could object, he placed them against the Illyrian’s broad chest, warming him. When he pulled away, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“I guess you are too chilled to race after all. It is fine if you forfeit, bat. I am uniquely aware of how sensitive your wings can be. I will just winnow us—.” Before Eris could finish his sentence, Azriel’s wings snapped open to their full span, a breeze drifting over the fireling.
“The only rule: if you winnow, it has to be in single spurts. You can’t just winnow back to the bottom,” Azriel said.
Eris nodded. “Fair.”
“Also, loser has to do whatever the winner says. For the entire night.” Azriel smiled wickedly, as he took in the Autumn male's red hair peaking beneath his fur lined hood, to his beautiful face in the moonlight, and down his lithe form.
“Deal.” Eris said, with the confidence of a male who knew he was going to win. “Are you ready?”
Az nodded. “First one back to the cabin wins.”
Wings raised and knees bent, Azriel was certain he’d win. The wind would practically carry him down the mountain. And Eris, only allowed short spurts of winnows, would have to traverse most of the rocky terrain on foot. Even his High Fae speed couldn’t compete with Illyrian wingspan.
“Ready, and go!” Azriel took flight immediately, gaining an altitude where he could keep an eye on the fireling. But still beat him. The Autumn male was liable to fall down the mountain in the darkness. The Shadowsinger would probably wind up saving his life.
But when he looked down, there was no sign of Eris. Had he already fallen? Did he cheat and just winnow back? Where was the male? A sudden flash of movement caught his eye. He almost missed it.
There, with all the grace of a High Fae prince, Eris leapt, from the highest tree branches of the ancient pines, to another. Only when he couldn’t make the leap, did the male winnow the short distance to the next treetop. Azriel couldn’t believe his eyes.
He was stunning, and wild, and moved like the wind. These were his forests, this was his court, his magic. Eris was Autumn. Once again, he had underestimated the beautiful male. And gods damn it. He was winning.
Azriel banked, letting the cool breeze carry him forward. He needed this. The Shadowsinger wanted the male at his mercy, squirming with pleasure. Wanted him melting beneath him. Above him, riding him. But once again, Eris surprised him, and began to glow, allowing the fireling to see in the denser, darker parts of the forest, where Azriel had hoped to gain the lead from above.
Azriel flapped his wings, able to see the cabin. The Smokehounds were running ahead, two streaks of silver in the moonlight. Just a little further.
Eris was falling behind, slightly, as the trees thinned out, having to sprint for some of the path leading to the house. Azriel was beginning his descent, ready to land and claim his victory, when Eris winnowed the last few feet, directly in front of the lodge. He bolted for the door, just as Azriel landed, directly in front of him, blocking his way.
The Illyrian knew he would win. He would now grab Eris and drag him to the bed, or the couch, or the floor, and he would be Azriel’s for the entire night. His cock hardened at the thought. Azriel leaned against the door, crossing his arms, a smug look on his beautiful face.
The Autumn male froze, his pink mouth in a silent O, then snapped shut. That mischievous glint entered his eyes, and the cheeky fae winked before winnowing away. Azriel gasped and turned, bursting through the front door.
“Eris, you brat,” Azriel ground out, breathing heavily from the doorway. And there was the fireling, sprawled out on the couch beside the fire.
He affected a lazy stance, his feet reclined, one foot casually crossed over the other, hands behind his head. But the heaving of his chest gave him away. Sweat plastered his red hair to his pink cheeks. Azriel could hear him gulping down air.
And then, the Illyrian lost control. It seemed to erupt from him, starting at his cheeks and his twitching mouth, curling upwards. A deep sonorous laughter escaped his throat. Eris looked at him like he had lost his mind. Because surely he had.
This infuriating, stubborn male. Lounging on the couch, chest heaving from exertion, in his coat, sweating by the fire, had made the Night Court’s spymaster and torturer, belly laugh. Azriel was bent over, holding his stomach, a tear falling down his cheek. He took a deep breath and made the mistake of looking at Eris again.
The fireling looked so befuddled, it started all over again. More guffaws escaped him. Azriel had to get it together.
Eris, realizing his affected effortless lounge was not believable in the least, sat up stiffly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, you can laugh Shadowsinger, but I won, fair and square. So, you are mine for the night.” Pout swiftly shifting to a smirk, he stood, predatory grace returning.
Azriel pushed the door shut behind him, noting the hounds were laying on small rugs in the adjacent room.
He walked towards the other male. “You win, brat. I am yours for one night.” His voice was low and husky.
It caressed Eris, sending a lick of sparks down his spine. The Autumn male shrugged off his coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. He kicked off his boots and padded over to the Illyrian, laying a palm on his broad chest.
Eris leaned over, whispering against his ear, “I want you on your knees for me.” He nipped at Azriel’s lobe, the flesh soft and cool on his lips. “And then, I want to ride you until it’s only my name in your mouth. Tonight, it’s your turn to beg.”
Azriel had never been so turned on. He had always considered himself a dominant lover. And yet, somehow, this felt good. It felt freeing to give up control, to let Eris remove his clothes, disarm him, pull him down for a rough kiss, and push his tongue through the seam of his lips.
The Shadowsinger, now naked, pulled Eris’s tunic up, over his arms and head, then helped to remove his pants. He trailed his hands along the lean male’s smooth chest, the ridges of his ribs, lightly circling his pebbling pink nipples.
Eris mimicked the motions on Azriel’s muscled chest, along the black tattoos and dusky nipples. The Illyrian released a groan.
The prince lay back on the couch, reclining. His cock was hard and already leaking. Pumping it, he looked up from under thick lashes at the Illyrian towering above him. Amber eyes and arched brow seemed to say, “Well?”
Azriel needed to taste him. He dropped to his knees and locked both arms under the other male’s knees, pulling them over his broad shoulders.
Eris gasped and bit the pillow of his lower lip as they locked eyes. He took in the flat plane of his male’s creamy stomach, the soft, lean thighs, his cock, tipped with pink, and then, beneath it all, his perfect pink hole. There were several constellations of freckles on his thighs and they were beautiful.
In a husky voice, rough with passion, he asked, “I am on my knees for you fireling, and it’s quite a view. What next?” Azriel nipped at the male’s inner thigh, then licked a slow trail, never touching where he knew the male was dying to be touched.
***
Eris was on fire. It was lapping up his spine, coursing through his veins. “I want you to put your mouth on me. I want to fuck your perfect mouth,” he ground out, voice low with want.
So Azriel did.
With one smooth movement, the Illyrian took the other male fully into his mouth. His tongue ran along the underside, skimming a vein, before sucking him in deeper, until Eris was nudging the back of Azriel’s throat. He relaxed his jaw, and breathed through his nose before pulling away, only to bring himself back again.
Eris arched his back, unable to stop himself from pushing further into the warmth, pulling whimpers and moans from him. He was so close. The suction and pressure of his mate’s mouth and tongue and throat. Lifting a long pale leg, he grazed, ever so gently, along the talon of a single wing. Azriel groaned, the vibration on Eris’s cock causing the male to buck his hips again.
The steady rhythm was ripping pleasure from Eris. “Azriel. So perfect.” He ground out as his mate’s wicked tongue licked the slit at the head of his cock, tasting the pearly drop leaking out.
Azriel kept a heavy hand splayed against the fireling’s lower abdomen, and took him down his throat one more time, hollowing out his cheeks, and Eris’s hands shot out, nails biting into his mate’s powerful shoulders. The Autumn male gasped, head thrown back and eyes shut. The Illyrian swallowed, then pulled up to lick the last drop from the pink tip.
***
Eris shuddered and grasped soft black curls, his back arching almost painfully.
The Singer pulled off his mate. His let his gaze roam, taking in the beautiful make’s dilated pupils and wet, pink lips, the flush across his cheeks.
The fireling still had a long leg slung over Azriel’s shoulder, another bent up, heel resting on the edge of the couch. The prince tried to lift his leg from the Shadowsinger’s tattooed shoulder, but it was trembling. If he stood now, he might fall on his face. Azriel smirked with an impossible arrogance, then turned his head, taking his mate’s thigh in his hand and kissing it. Another tremor shook through Eris’s body.
Azriel stood, his cock stiff and curving up towards his flat stomach. Eris’s eyes went straight to it, as he licked his lips. “My turn,” he cooed, pulling the Illyrian towards his seated form. He held the winged male by the backs of his thighs, stroking the warm, taught skin, pulling until his cock was right in front of his face.
A pink tongue darted out, catching a single drop of pre come and moving it around the swollen head, into the slit, he took his mate fully in his mouth.
Eris circled the base in one hand, scratching up the Illyrian’s thighs, to the swell of his firm ass, and up to his lower back. Azriel might have been purring. He could not be certain. Because then, looking up into his eyes, pupils blown out to allow a ring of gold, the fireling, with his warmed palm, rubbed along the edge of a single wing.
Azriel was going to come too quickly. He gasped, then went to pull the fireling’s hand away.
Eris pulled his mouth off the Singer’s cock, and tsked. “Azriel. You know the rules. I get to do whatever I want. And tonight, I want to learn exactly how to touch you here,” the fireling stroked a single finger along a wing’s lower rim, “and here.” The Autumn heir reached up, smoothing his palm along the rigid bone covered in soft leather-like skin.
Azriel groaned between gritted teeth. “Eris,” he panted. He couldn’t catch his breath.
Eris sat up and the Autumn prince nearly killed him. Warm lips brushed along the bottom of his wing, licking a line along the edge, and with his fingernails, ever so gently, scratched up and over the delicate tissue, over small veins and faded scars, over hardened bones and warm, translucent membrane.
The shadows skittered along, following Eris’s fingers, as if guiding his mate, encouraging his exploration.
“Does that feel good?” Eris cooed. Azriel couldn’t speak. He exhaled, and squeezed his eyes shut. His male’s wings were magnificent. Every single part.
Eris stood and reaching up, stroking the talon over the Illyrian’s shoulder. His other one gripped the inky curls at the nape of his mate’s neck, tugging his head back. His lips moved along the hinge of the Shadowsinger’s jaw.
Azriel was panting, his hands at his sides in fists. Eris smirked. He knew the Illyrian just wanted to grab his bratty hips and fuck into him. The fireling likely wanted that too, but it would be on his terms.
A deal was a deal.
Eris leaned into Azriel’s mouth, taking his lips in his own, licking at the seam. A question, a plea. And the Shadowsinger opened, tongues and breaths merging. It was all so much.
Every time with this male, was so much. The pleasure, the pain, his hands stroking a soft rhythm up his wings, letting the calluses of his palms and the pleasant edge of his fingernails scratched the sensitive skin, only to sooth with feather light fingertips and soft kisses, all the way down.
“Could you come from this alone, little bat? My hands on your wings?” Eris whispered against his lips. Azriel took a ragged breath.
“I bet you could. But I’m selfish, and I need you inside of me.” Eris whispered, as Azriel groaned with need. Gods, he wanted that too. If he grabbed Eris, and pushed him against the couch, spread him out and fucked into him, would that be cheating? Probably. He was supposed to let Eris take the lead.
It was killing him. The male’s hands and lips on his wings were killing him. How did a fae without wings know exactly how to touch him? How did he know which parts would feel the best? He was a natural.
Eris pulled Azriel by his shoulders and turned him, back and wings to the couch. “Can you sit on the couch? With your wings?” Amber eyes looked directly into the Illyrian’s, lit with concern and question. Azriel folded his wings and nodded, then sat. The fireling crawled into his lap, facing him.
“I think I want to ride your cock,” his mischievous eyes molten with need. Swollen pink lips turned into a smirk. Fuck yes. Azriel was ready. But nothing was ever easy with this male of his. “The rules are this.” His warm palm pumped the Shadowsinger’s cock, and he quicky pulled a vial of oil from some pocket between the realms.
Azriel had the fleeting thought that between the lubricant, squares of cheese for the hounds, and art supplies, Eris’s inter-worldly storage space was probably a sight to behold.
Eris whispered, “first, you can’t move. I am in charge.” Azriel groaned.
“And second, you come only when I let you.” The cruel male poured a generous amount of oil in his hand, reaching back and began to slowly opening himself up. With his other hand, he covered Azriel’s cock. Azriel was barely able to do more than clench his fists, trying to reach around and touch his mate, ply the other male open. But Eris would not allow it.
When Azriel’s hands strayed to hold the male’s narrow waist, Eris took both hands and placed them by the Illyrian’s sides. “Hands stay here, or I will bind you,” Eris warned with a cruel smirk.
Then, the fireling, reached behind, and lowered himself down, inch by inch onto the Illyrian’s length. Eris hissed with pleasure at the stretch, throwing his head back to expose the expanse of a freckled collarbone, a moon white throat.
Azriel broke the rules, and placed a tan, scarred hand around that gorgeous throat. Eris allowed it, even as he arched a brow, noting the Shadowsinger’s violation.
Once Azriel was completely buried in Eris, the fireling gave himself a minute to adjust. He breathed out, tensed and released his tight channel, leaving Azriel gasping in pleasure. “Gods, Autumn. You were made for me.”
Eris melted under his praise, beneath the large hands stroking his neck, his chest and down his back. But when Azriel’s hands reached to grab for his mate’s ass, to hold it and move, Eris reached around and took his wrists. His dimpled smirk showed that Eris knew exactly what the other male was trying to do. He pushed his hands back down to the couch.
“Eris please, I need you to move.” Azriel bucked his hips up, needing some friction, needing more. His mate took pity on him, and lifted up, almost pulling off of the Illyrian completely, only to move down, bottoming out.
Both males released the filthiest sounds of pleasure. The Autumn prince repeated this rhythm several times, watching Azriel’s face. His breath hitched, wings twitched, signaling to Eris how close he was. So, the cruel male stopped.
“No, Eris. Keep moving. Please. Keep moving,” Azriel ground out, and unable to stop himself, he grabbed the male by the hips, ready to move him. Eris shook his head, and with a warm ribbon of fire, tied the Shadowsinger’s wrists behind his back. Shadows swirled over his shoulders, as if they were laughing at him. Traitors.
Eris began to move again. He braced himself on Azriel’s shoulders. The shadows twisting around the fireling’s wrists, skimming down the knobs of his spine. The male found a rhythm that made his mate groan again.
The Illyrian felt the pressure building at his base. Eris could sense it too, and sped up. The fireling was close, if his tightening muscles, gripping Azriel, were any indication. The Autumn male was a fucked out mess, with wild red waves skimming along strong, graceful shoulders, his neck exposed in total abandonment and pleasure. The Singer leaned up and sucked a red mark on the pale skin of his mate’s collarbone, moving to his shoulder, his chest.
“I want you to come for me, Azriel,” Eris said, breathless, as he moved gracefully, sliding up and down, then rubbing against the other male, pushing him deeper.
“Please, kalbim. So close.” The Illyrian gasped, breaking free of the flames keeping his wrists tied, he wrapped his arms around Eris’s back, his waist. He lifted the male up, in a hugging motion, dragged his entire body back down, pushing up into him. Eris threw his head back in pleasure.
“Right there.” The prince of Autumn was too lost in his own pleasure to note that Azriel had broken his rules. He bore down on his mate, pulling him as deep into his warmth as he could.
“Eris.” Azriel ground out his mate’s name. He drew out the s, and it sounded like a secret one kept close.
Azriel’s release came in a sudden burst of pleasure as Eris came on Azriel’s abdomen. The males panted, rib cages rising and falling. Eris leaned forward, and collapsed on top of his mate’s chest, the fireling’s forehead resting on the Illyrian’s shoulder.
They lay like that in the darkness, the low light of the fire dancing with the shadows. Eris, clinging to Azriel’s neck, while the Shadowsinger made slow, lazy circles along the fireling’s back. Neither said a word.
***
Azriel could feel Eris’s deep, rhythmic breathing, and, afraid the fireling would fall asleep, he sat up. Eris pulled off with a sigh. He was wobbly to stand, and with a flick of his hand, magicked away the sticky fluids and sweat from both fae bodies. And his couch.
He grabbed the first article of clothing he could find in the dimness— Azriel’s black tunic— and pulled it over his head. When he stood, it reached halfway down his thighs. The fire fae walked over to the kitchen alcove and grabbing a pitcher of water with both hands, held it above his mouth, and drank deeply. He carried it to the other male, still sprawled out, and held it out to him.
The spymaster took the cool pitcher, gratefully nodded, then tipped his head back and drank. Eris stood between his knees, waiting to take the pitcher back, but Az placed it on the table, then grabbed Eris by the bottom of his tunic and pulled him into his lap again. “You look like you’re mine wearing that,” he whispered against Eris’s mouth. His lips curved up.
“Is that what you want, Shadowsinger? For me to be yours?” Eris asked, a finger tracing patterns up Azriel’s bicep. His expression was unreadable, his voice barely a whisper.
Azriel loosed a breath. Tonight, he would try to be honest. “I don’t know what I want, Eris. I haven’t for a long time. Every time I think I do, it turns out I’m wrong.”
Eris hummed in understanding. “Well, you don’t need to figure it out right now. We hiked, then raced, then fucked.” The male let out a yawn.
Azriel chuckled and stood, Eris’s legs still wrapped around his waist. A second later, Eris had winnowed them into the bedroom on the second floor, directly in front of a large bed, covered in pillows. Pelts and quilts draped over the frame. A hearth was against one wall, a window with the moon peeking through.
The fireling, still wrapped around his mate, pointed a finger towards the hearth, lighting it. He yawned again. Azriel took the single step to the bed, laying him on the blankets gently. Eris pulled the pelts down, crawling beneath them. Some primal fae instinct noted that his mate was still wearing Azriel’s shirt, and he loved it.
Eris looked up, the perfect brat’s hair already splayed against his absurd number of pillows. He pulled a corner of the blanket down next to him, a silent invitation. Azriel took it without a second thought. Eris pulled off the tunic, tossing it aside, but before Azriel could register his disappointment, the fireling leaned into his mate, laying his head against the Illyrian’s chest, his own chest and torso tucked into the other's side.
Azriel had lost the race. So why did it feel like a triumph? Madness.
He pulled his wings in, cocooning the males in a space where they shared heartbeats and forgot the world for just a little while. At least for tonight, the Shadowsinger would not feel so alone.
Azriel fell asleep holding Eris, like a secret, close to his heart.