Chapter Text
Elain didn’t think it would be this difficult.
It had been a long time coming. After Koschei, after Beron’s death, after Lucien discovered his father was actually Helion and he would be heir to the Day Court, after it had gotten too hard to deny her burgeoning feelings for the male the Cauldron had set apart for her, Elain had finally been ready to explore a romantic relationship with Lucien.
They had already begun a very tentative friendship and had been growing closer, and she knew now, had seen for herself the kind of male he was—deeply loyal and kind and hopeful, even when the world had tried to beat those qualities out of him. And Elain couldn’t deny the attraction. She had never been blind to how beautiful he was, or to his interest in her, even when she hadn’t reciprocated. So when he finally, finally broached the topic of something more, she was somewhat nervous but definitely wanted to pursue their connection. The flash of joy that crossed his face when she agreed was a memory she held close to her heart.
Lucien had been nothing but a gentleman to her in these early weeks. Oh, she had heard about him over the years, about how…popular he was all around Prythian, the numerous people he had bedded, his reputation as a rake. But his behaviour around her was completely counter to all those rumours. He wasn’t a rake at all. He was polite, thoughtful, gracious.
And it was kind of pissing her off, to be honest.
Really, it was her own fault. She had been the one to set the pace for their relationship to progress, and Lucien had deferred to her. She was 25, and had only ever expected a human lifetime. Time passed differently for the fae, and for someone who had already lived centuries, Lucien understood that whatever time she needed would feel like a few minutes to him. He had just smiled at her and told her, “We can take as long as you need, Elain.”
And maybe it was silly, wanting to take her time, but the bond between them had terrified her since she was first Made, had made her feel like she didn’t have any choices in her new fae life and that it created the feelings she had for Lucien that felt way beyond her control. It wasn’t like that, she had eventually realized—it was her own attraction to Lucien that the bond only magnified. But she needed to know him for himself and he needed to know her too, outside of the bond telling them they were supposed to be together. So at the very beginning of exploring their relationship, she had asked for a courtship, where he would visit her at the River House and they would get to know each other slowly. And she had declared sex off the table. All it would do was complicate things.
But tell that to her traitorous body that wanted to throw itself at Lucien the more they spent time together.
Lucien, however, seemed relatively unaffected, which infuriated her. She had spent enough time around mated males to know how demonstrative they could be—her brothers-in-law couldn’t be in the same room with her sisters without touching them somehow.
No, she was the problem here. She thought she would be the one slowing them down and pulling back, but she kept finding herself drawn to him and wanting more and more. Innocent hand-holding on their walks had progressed to a fleeting touch here and there when she’d “accidentally” squeeze past him in the kitchen while they were baking. And if their talks in the parlour had been more kissing than talking lately, well, who could blame her? He was just so beautiful, so gentle, so charming.
And Lucien was captivating–he had lived so many of her lifetimes already, and he had hundreds of stories. And he didn’t keep any of his past from her, which was something she hadn’t been prepared for. She had been so used to people protecting her from everything and never sharing the full truth. But Lucien was willing to tell her the best and worst about his life. He told her about growing up in Autumn and the beauty of the court and about the messy family dynamics with his brothers. He told her about Jesminda and the guilt that continued to follow him since her death and around their own mating bond. The fact that he told her that, even though it might upset her, was actually pretty refreshing considering the protective bubble that her sisters and their friends had put her in for years. It might have stung a bit, but could she really feel bad about his ambiguous feelings about their bond when she had felt similarly for so long? At least he was honest with her.
He also told her about the Spring Court and the early good times with Tamlin and later the abuse and shame he felt from Amarantha’s tortures and Ianthe’s manipulations. He told her about his travels and the sights he wanted to show her. And he told her his anger and frustration and his empathy for how his mother hid his true parentage for so long, and how Helion and the Day Court had welcomed him as one of their own. He had her laughing at his description of Helion’s antics as a new father to a centuries-old son, and the over-the-top coronation ceremony he was planning to claim Lucien as a prince of Day.
“It’s very strange to think of you as a prince, you know,” Elain commented. “You’re royalty.”
He furrowed his brow in confusion. “You know your sister is basically a queen, right?”
“It’s just that…Nesta was supposed to be the one to end up with a prince. That’s what my mother always said.”
“And look who Nesta ended up with.”
She laughed lightly. “My mother would be positively rolling in her grave. A fae warrior known as Lord of Bloodshed was not what she wanted for Nesta. But she also never cared if Nesta would be happy married to some fancy royal, and she is truly happy with Cassian.” Elain thought for a moment. “She’d also never have expected Feyre to be anything like a High Lady. She always counted her out.”
“And you? What were you supposed to do?”
“Beauty was supposed to be my bargaining chip in marriage negotiations, according to my mother. She said I would marry for love and beauty.”
“Hmm,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And what did you actually want to marry for?”
That surprised her. She had expected some obligatory courtly compliment to her beauty that always made her uncomfortable. It was easy to notice beauty, but most people never saw her for more than that and never bothered to go deeper with her. Lucien actually cared about her thoughts and her feelings. That was new for her.
“She was right about love,” Elain said quietly. “That’s always what I wanted—want.” It was not love yet with Lucien, but it felt like it could be, like they were climbing to the precipice of something and would have to decide if they would keep going to the very top and take the leap together.
Her 25 years were nothing to his centuries of living, but Lucien’s honesty and interest could get her talking, so she told him about her relationships with her father and with her sisters and going from luxury to poverty and back again and about Graysen and the horrors and blessing of the Cauldron and the utter confusion and loneliness of having her life completely altered. Both of them had never had anyone else to talk to who would really listen, so the early days of their courtship were spent talking and absorbing as much as they could about each other.
But now, weeks in, Elain thought she might burst out of her skin with longing. She had asked for this slowness, and she’d adhere to it—she wasn’t an Archeron for nothing—but she couldn’t help but touch him, tangle her fingers in his hair while they talked, kiss him all the time. They hadn’t done much but kiss, but they were getting very good at that. She was pretty sure Lucien had been born knowing how to kiss her exactly the way she wanted him to. And he definitely knew what he was doing to her, if the cocky grins he gave her when she pulled him back for more were any indication.
She had massively underestimated her own attraction to Lucien and the potency of a mating bond when the mates were in constant close proximity and harmony. The bond wanted them together, wanted them near each other, wanted them touching. It was way too weird to talk to her sisters about this, so Elain had gone to Gwyn, fresh off her own newly accepted mating bond with Azriel, and asked in confidence if it was the bond making her this…tactile around Lucien or if it was her.
Gwyn’s teal eyes had sparkled with mirth and understanding. “It’s both, really–the bond is amplifying your feelings, not making them for you. The feelings you have are your own, though. You’re ultimately in control. But it’s very normal to feel this way,” she reassured Elain. “Nesta told me she was the same with Cassian, even before the bond snapped for them—she wanted to be with him all the time. And I’m still the same with Azriel,” Gwyn said with a dreamy look on her face.
While she was relieved to know she wasn’t losing her mind with lust, Elain still felt overwhelmed with feelings after trying to suppress them for so long after turning fae. Her own desires and the bond’s desires were fighting against her common sense and the knowledge that they had all the time in the world and didn’t need to rush. And Lucien was content to let her set the pace without pushing her for more. He was careful with her, always checking in to make sure she was comfortable with what they were doing.
But his carefulness was for himself as well, she suspected. There was something he was holding back from her too, like he didn’t want to scare her with what he felt for her, the intensity of it, or how much he wanted more from their relationship. But she was dying to know if he was as affected by her as she was by him. Sometimes she saw the longing in his eyes, noticed the hand reaching out to touch her and then flexing back, and lately when they’d been kissing, she’d felt the jump against her abdomen and saw Lucien’s blush.
So she wasn’t the only one affected, but she didn’t, couldn’t press for more yet, even though she wanted to–sudden shyness would seize her and keep her from asking for more. She had been the one who wanted this pace, and she still wasn’t ready for everything—she didn’t want him to think she was leading him on and being a tease. She had heard that from Graysen before— no one likes a tease, Elain— and while she knew Lucien was nothing like him at all, that shame was still burned in her mind.
Even that wasn’t enough to stop the constant pull she felt towards Lucien, though. And she was tired of fighting the bond all the time, tired of letting common sense and her human sensibilities win. Especially when he looked as handsome and elegant as he did today, looking like every fantasy she’d ever had of him in a half-buttoned white shirt, a dark green waistcoat, fawn-coloured pants, and shiny brown boots. So maybe when they were talking in the parlour one afternoon and she climbed on top of him to straddle his lap and kiss him, it was her finally giving in to that desire for more.
Elain let herself fall into the pure pleasure of kissing Lucien. It always surprised her how her entire focus would narrow to him, to his mouth, to the warmth of his tongue against hers, making it feel like they were the only two people in the world. His arms had wrapped around her when she’d impulsively thrown herself at him, and she could feel him bunching the material at the back of her dress between his fingers. He caught himself and smoothed his hands over her back before politely resting his hands on her waist.
She wanted that desperation in him back, though, so she deepened the kiss, running her hands over his chest until they were raking through his hair. He groaned into her mouth, and a thrill went through her. She moved against him, impatient and aching for more, even though she didn’t know for what exactly. His own hands were creeping up her torso, and she broke the kiss to breathe out, “Lucien.”
“Elain, can I touch you?” he panted. “Please.”
The “yes” had barely left her lips when his hands were on her breasts, learning the shape of them, massaging over and over in tight circles until her nipples were visible through her dress. Lucien had been so calm, so respectful since this courtship had started, but she was finally seeing the fire in him that she’d heard so much about and that had been fueling her dreams lately. Even through all the layers of fabric, she was sure he could tell how wet he was making her. That thought had her diving back for his mouth, and they were in their own little world again. She felt like her blood had been set on fire—was that his magic, or just what he did to her? Whatever it was, it was exactly what she’d been wanting from him. It was passionate, it was perfect… and then the sound of a throat clearing shattered their private universe.
Elain was not prone to cursing, but the only word bouncing around her head at that moment was “Shit.”
Elain and Lucien froze, then both turned to find her family standing in the doorway. Rhys was smirking, Feyre was grinning and practically vibrating with excitement, and even baby Nyx, held in Rhys’s arms, was looking wide-eyed at them.
At that moment, Elain realized she was still straddling Lucien and felt her face heat even more. She tried to scramble off, but fell to the side on to the cushion, one leg still thrown over his lap, while the other was bent next to his thigh. Lucien grabbed her hips to keep her in place.
She squirmed to get herself into a more ladylike position before realizing why exactly Lucien wanted her there. She discreetly arranged her soft pink skirts to cover him so as not to embarrass him in front of Rhys and Feyre, and instead forced herself to appear as poised as possible when one is interrupted mid-grind atop their mate.
“We didn’t mean to interrupt,” Feyre said, with a smile that indicated that she was in fact delighted to have caught them in the act.
“You absolutely did,” Lucien muttered, echoing exactly what Elain was thinking.
“Now, now, little Lucien,” Rhys crooned, “surely someone taught you manners? And to not take advantage of an unchaperoned single female?”
Elain’s irritation flared. There was nothing little about Lucien at all—she’d just had ample proof of that. Also, she was perfectly capable of deciding who could take advantage of her, thank you very much.
Rhys and Lucien were clearly conversing mind-to-mind, and finally Lucien rolled his eyes and nodded. Elain looked at him in askance, and he shook his head and smiled reassuringly. Nothing to worry about, then.
Except Rhys and Feyre were still there, in the doorway, and she was still half-perched on top of Lucien and wanted to get back to what they were doing before they were interrupted. “What are you three up to?” she asked them, noting their more formal clothing, and hoped that it meant they were vacating the premises.
“We’re off to dinner with the palace governors,” Feyre said. Elain widened her eyes at her and tilted her head toward the door to stop talking and get going.
“And you’re taking Nyx?” Lucien said curiously. Gods, they were never going to leave if Lucien kept talking to them.
Feyre laughed. “We’ve learned that new regulations tend to go over more easily when Nyx is there to charm them.” She plucked the baby from Rhys’s arms and touched her nose to his. “Right, little star?” Nyx babbled in response.
“We thought we’d inform you that we’d be gone for the evening,” Rhys said.
“Enjoy your dinner.” Elain said, hoping to usher them out.
Thankfully, they took the hint and wished them good night. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Rhys called over his shoulder as they left.
“That doesn’t exactly narrow anything down, Rhys,” they could hear Feyre say as their voices faded away.
Elain turned back to face Lucien. They stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter.
“That was mortifying,” she said, still laughing.
Lucien grinned. “It could have been worse, you know. Cassian would never let us live it down if he had been the one to find us.”
“If you think Rhys isn’t going to be relaying this scene to all of them, I have very bad news for you,” Elain informed him.
“I’ll live,” he said and leaned over to kiss her, less frantic than before, but deeper. Elain melted and returned the kiss eagerly. “Where were we?” he murmured.
“Well, we could return to our conversation,” she began. Honestly, she couldn’t even remember what they were talking about before. “Or perhaps I will let you take advantage of me again.”
“My lady, if anyone was taking advantage, it was you. If I recall, you were the one who climbed on top of me.”
She really had, hadn’t she? Elain buried her head in his shoulder.
He lifted her chin, and she forced herself to look at him. “Don’t hide from me, dove. How were you less embarrassed about being discovered by Feyre and Rhys than about taking what you want?”
She shook her head, eyes cast down again. She had just been so bold—finally—but this felt so vulnerable, too vulnerable even.
“I loved that you did that,” he whispered in her ear, his voice low. He kissed her gently this time, slowly drawing them back into the world that was hushed and simple and just for them, with nothing and no one intruding. She could feel her whole body relaxing but also heating up as Lucien soothed her with his kisses and his closeness.
“Did you like it too?” he asked, lips still against her own, like he couldn’t bear to tear them away.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Do you want more?”
She nodded. How could she not? Where would they be now if Feyre and Rhys hadn’t interrupted?
Lucien regarded her seriously. “What does more mean to you?”
“I—I’m not ready yet for—” she faltered, cursing her stupid human sensibilities that made it so hard to just say things that any fae would have no problem voicing. “I loved what we were doing before, and I want more. So…more of…that?”
"How much more?"
She gathered up some of her earlier boldness. "Try me."
He stared at her for a moment, until he seemed to come to a decision and nodded, leaning back on the settee. “Take your underwear off, Elain.”
She started. She hadn’t expected that from him, but both the command and the authority in his voice had her wanting to instantly obey. He cocked an eyebrow at her, silently asking if she was okay with that.
In response, she moved off of him to stand and slid her hands along her thighs, drawing up her skirts as she did. If she thought she was being bold before, this was more than she had expected for today, no matter how much she wanted to move their physical relationship further. She didn’t know what exactly he wanted, but she trusted him to not push her any further than she was comfortable with. The material gathered in front of her still gave her some modesty as she tugged down each side of her panties until they fell to the floor. Lucien’s throat bobbed as he tracked her movements. Elain leaned forward and reached for the ties on his buckskin pants.
Lucien placed his hands over hers and gently pushed them away. “No,” he said.
“No?” Elain asked, confused.
His hands went to her hips and pulled her onto him, arranging her so that her centre rested his muscled thigh. Elain held back a gasp when their bodies met.
“You’re not ready to take my cock yet.” The command-laced tone was back, and this time, she couldn’t help her swift intake of breath. Lucien had decided to be bold today too. “I want you to do exactly what you were doing before, but this time, take your pleasure on my thigh.”
Her stomach flipped at his words. She was sure he knew what he was doing to her. At the very least, he must have felt her heart rate jump. “You’ve never spoken to me like that before.”
He gave her a slow, knowing smile. “But you like it, don’t you, dove?”
Elain could feel her cheeks heating, but she nodded. Gentlemanly Lucien was wonderful, but she thought she might like Filthy Lucien even more.
Lucien adjusted his position underneath her, and she looked down at where they were connected. She was already so wet, and she was horrified at the possibility of ruining his pristine pants. Elain had always admired beautiful things, and she knew Lucien, like her, took pride in being perfectly attired.
“Lucien, I can’t, your pants—”
“I don’t care,” he growled. “Make a mess of me, Elain.”
They stared at each other for a moment until Elain dove for his mouth, and they were immediately back to the same intensity as they’d been at before being interrupted. Lucien pushed her skirts away so that the only thing between her core and his skin was the soft textured nap of the buckskin. She moaned into his mouth as he held her hips and worked her wetness along his tensed thigh.
Lucien was the first one to pull away from the kiss, looking down to watch her move against him, breathing heavily. He didn’t let go of her hips until she found her rhythm and could experiment with the movements that worked best for her. Only then did he move his hands back to her breasts and start unbuttoning the front of her dress. “Is this okay?” he rasped out.
“Yes,” she said, nodding frantically as she continued finding the angles that hit exactly the right spot. Elain was so into her rocking against him that she barely noticed Lucien’s frustration to find even more layers under her dress, stiff short stays and a shift underneath that. He groaned in frustration when he ran his hands over her back to find the tight lacing of her stays, and instead of unknotting and loosening them, he slid his hands back to her chest and impatiently tore down the front of the bodice and the shift as easy as tearing paper, grunting in triumph when he could finally touch bare skin, and then his hands were everywhere. She gasped. Somehow this feral side to him turned her on even more. Filthy and feral were really doing it for her today.
He looked a bit contrite at the torn material in his hand and flashed her an apologetic grin. He pulled back for a moment to look at her and froze. “Holy Gods, Elain. Holy Gods. You’re so fucking perfect.” She drew in a breath as his warm hands kneaded her breasts and nearly screamed when his mouth replaced one of his hands. She wanted his mouth there, but she also wanted his tongue tangling with hers again. She grasped his hair to yank him back to her mouth, and she moaned when he instantly returned his hand to her breast to squeeze. Could feral rub off on someone? Because she was feeling wild, the way her body was craving more sensation, more Lucien .
“You’re doing so well,” he panted in her ear. “Do you like riding my thigh like this? Do you know what you’re doing to me, dove?”
High on pleasure and safe in Lucien’s arms with all her inhibitions down, she boldly moved her hand to his manhood. “I can feel.”
His head fell back to rest on the top of the settee. “Oh fuck, Elain. You’re going to drive me crazy. Are you going to come for me soon? Want to see that so much. I think about it all the time–how you’ll sound, how you’ll taste. Want you so badly.” Then his mouth was on her throat, kissing and nipping its way up her jawline to her ear. At the same time he ground his thigh up into her while grabbing her hips again to push her down, putting more pressure on her core.
Elain had never felt like this before, this kind of intensity of feeling that she could feel building deep inside, releasing tiny whimpers that she barely recognized as coming from her. Between the pressure, the roughness of his pants against her, and his half-crazed words, her senses were overwhelmed, and she closed her eyes. She moved her hips frantically, reaching for more. Her lips found Lucien’s again in a messy, fervent kiss and she wrapped her arms around his neck for something to hold on to.
She pulled back, gasping for air, and cried out as her release took her. Later, she would think to be grateful that Feyre and Rhys weren’t home to hear the noises she was making, but in the moment, her whole world was Lucien—his molten gaze fixed on her, his fiery hair, his open-mouthed awe, his own gasps and groans as he shuddered with pleasure against her. She stroked his face as they both came down, panting.
They both smiled shyly, and Elain rested her head on his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart.
“So…that was more,” she said, her voice muffled in his shirt.
“It was,” he agreed. “Was it too much, dove?”
“No!” she blurted out too quickly, and she felt Lucien shake with laughter. She had no desire to go back to where they were before, and she didn’t want him to think she did. This new level of intimacy they had was exactly where she wanted to be. She lifted her head to give him a lingering kiss. “I think I like more.”