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Eris arched his body, his abdominals stretching as he pushed his upper back harder into the mattress. He did it at the same time as lifting his hands up and tangling them in his short hair, clawing it back in a picture of pure desperation. His face, now partially obscured, was painted with one of the most gorgeous blushes that Azriel had ever seen. Sweat coated his neck, his chest, and his pretty, kiss-reddened mouth was dropped halfway open as he heaved in gasping breaths. A few times, he would swallow after an inhale, only letting go of the breath after the knot of his throat stopped moving. On that kind of exhale, a ragged little noise would escape along with it.
It made Azriel feel like he wasn’t even real. Like he was stuck in the cottony stasis of some sort of dream, unsure how he'd gotten there or where he would go, only existing to watch the sight before him unfold.
Nowadays, he found himself feeling that way on a fairly regular basis, much to his dismay. Things were different, now that Eris was High Lord.
Azriel had been pretending not to notice up until now. He had sort of made it into a game for himself. He would see how many seconds he could go pretending that nothing had changed, that Eris was someone he could still look at with all the coldness of the Winter tundra.
He did only little things, nothing that he would have done—that he had done—in the past. He would simply urge his lip to curl into a snarl when Eris gave his more condescending glances, or send the male a glare from across the banquet table at the semi-frequent meetings his High Lord and the new ruler of Autumn held. Innocuous acts of opposition that were far less obvious than choking the male out on the floor of a royal meeting room.
Prythian had slowly begun creeping towards something like unity since the defeat of Koschei. It had been a strange, frightening foe to face, and while the death toll was surprisingly lower than that of the war with Hybern, it had still made a devastating impact on the collective psyche of the citizens of Prythian. And that, somewhat bizarrely, brought people together in a way they hadn't quite managed to develop in the aftermath of Hybern.
And so there were meetings. It presented the perfect opportunity for Azriel to practice his game. Eris would make a well-veiled, sharp-toothed quip—though never truly cruel anymore—and the Shadowsinger would count down until the moment he had to give in to deference. Then he would look away, and try not to grumble at his body's traitorous instincts.
He wasn't sure if it was the sheer amount of power Eris exuded as High Lord, or if it was somehow carved into his Illyrian bones, unshakable. Will bow before authority. Perhaps it was both. Either way, it was entirely stupid and endlessly frustrating.
Azriel, of course, never stooped so low to actually bow for Eris. But every time he couldn't keep his brutal, cold gaze on the Fire Lord, it felt as damn close to prostration as he would allow himself to reach.
He’d been getting better, though. Over time, Azriel had marked significant progress in the length of time he could subtly defy the natural, overbearing pull of the Autumn High Lord's magic. He was able to test other ways he could put a leash on that insanely demeaning urge to duck his head, or Mother forbid, take a knee. Eris would make a comment in parting, something just to get at Azriel, and he would once again be able to spit a response right back. During the first full week of Eris' public High Lordship, when he'd resumed his working relationship with Rhysand, Azriel had barely been able to look at Eris whenever he wanted to shut down the High Lord's teasing snark. Nevermind actually give a response.
But now, if Eris said, "I look forward to watching you brood for the entire duration of the next meeting, instead of contributing anything of use," Azriel would be able to shoot back, "Perhaps the fact that I captivate you even in silence is more telling of your investment in the meetings than of mine," right before letting his trusted shadows envelop him. Quickly, to avoid anyone seeing the heat that rose to his cheeks turn into a visible blush.
So, progress.
But Azriel knew—had known since the moment the crown graced Eris' sculpted brow, really—that it wouldn't be something he could just leave at the bedroom door, when the time came.
And how would he explain it? To Eris, he hadn't changed. Not really, at least. Because of the game he's played with himself every time the High Lord graced Night with his bejeweled presence, he'd been able to exist under the guise of sameness. But in his soul, he'd felt the shift in dynamic, the shift in power. Eris had felt it too, of course, because he'd lived it . The thing was, because he'd been so busy living it, he wouldn't have noticed the change in Azriel .
He didn't fault Eris for this. In fact, it was preferable, regarding his goal in pretending that he was the same male with the same reactions and the same feelings since before Eris' Ascension.
But once they had begun to cross that certain line again, Azriel hadn’t been able to deny that he couldn’t hide it anymore.
They'd only ever called it “fooling around”. A few stolen moments of hot, wet tongues slipping into each other's mouths, the occasional hurried handjob, the infrequent fingerfuck that Azriel would have to force himself to stop thinking about days later. Sometimes angry and quick, sometimes gentle and…also quick. Neither of them ever stayed the night. That wasn’t something that came with fooling around.
But this...now Eris was in Azriel’s bed . Writhing with denied pleasure atop his mattress, among his bed linens, in his chambers.
Because, after all, Eris was a Cauldron-damned—or Cauldron-blessed—High Lord now. No more father's wrath looming at the edges of their various noncommittal trysts. So he was comfortable enough to be there, in Azriel's bed, already mostly undressed. The arousal that clouded the room smelled so mouth-wateringly delicious that the Shadowsinger could barely take a normal breath.
He was grossly unprepared. Azriel was mad with lust, and he wasn't even doing anything.
They'd only been kissing, shedding Eris' ridiculous amount of layers here and there, engaging in a slight, irregular grind against each other, and Azriel was already hard as nails. So hard, in fact, that he could feel his own undergarments developing a damp spot where his trapped cock leaked at the tip. He wasn't even close to being naked—still dressed in his trousers and black tunic, a rare departure from his usual leathers.
And while Eris was at least more bare, certain parts of his body were still obscured by his undershorts. Simple, somewhat loose, and fully opaque. They were entirely offensive to Azriel's mission of disrobing the High Lord, but they also at least kept the Illyrian male from literally drooling, or going entirely blank in his lusty haze. He felt like he was going to shatter into a thousand pieces if he had any more stimuli to process.
And he was quite literally just kneeling there, looking at the glorious, half-naked sex god that was High Lord Eris Vanserra.
Azriel had shifted back onto his knees in order to catch a breath and ensure that he wouldn't come in his pants just from a few minutes of heavy petting. Eris had evidently not been a fan of this move, but Azriel knew him. He would not beg. So that had reduced him to…this. Clutching his own hair, eyebrows drawing together, strangled whimpers escaping him despite his best efforts.
Azriel's attempt to get his own act together was in vain after all. Because, while watching Eris pour out noises that implied that he was just as needy, the Shadowsinger had a thought. A thought that decided to make itself into a sentence, tumbling from his mouth alongside a breathless groan.
" Fuck , Eris, I could come just looking at you."
For a moment, Azriel's mind went blank as Eris' panting breaths evened out. Second by second, he settled until he was completely flat on his back, no longer arched with frustrated desire. Then, with a little more pointed precision, Eris wrenched his hands from his hair so he could properly look at Azriel. He even went so far as to prop himself up on one forearm. His face, still flushed, was twisted with something a little less decipherable than confusion.
"What did you just say?"
The next thing Azriel did was, like the damning sentence, entirely without thought. It was an immediate reaction, almost a reflex. He brought up one scarred hand and covered half of his face, looking at Eris through the space between his pointer and middle finger.
It had been a habitual movement of his, long ago, after his hands had been mangled into untouchable, painful appendages, useless and burning even after the fire had been doused. Once they'd healed enough for him to be able to move, he would bring one up to his face whenever a young Rhys or Cassian would try to ask him anything. With young egos that feared any bruising, Azriel knew that his new brothers always preferred to think of it as submission. He was content to leave it that way, but even in his young mind, he knew it was also a deliberate denial of their hot-poker curiosity. And an obvious display of what had happened to him. Any question about his first eleven years could be answered by the gesture, the exposure of his scarred hand. And any questions about anything else would be denied the same way, a simple way of saying “Don’t even bother.”
After a while, Rhys and Cassian learned that Azriel was more reactive to taunts and jibes than questions, so they pivoted to volleying more of those the little Shadowsinger’s way. Internally, he was glad that he didn't have to tell them about his brothers or his mother or the days and days and days of darkness or what he thought of the girls they saw scrubbing laundry outside in the early mornings before training. He preferred their juvenile cruelty, if it could have even been called that. Anything Cassian and Rhys did or said was a mere shadow of what Azriel's half brothers and father subjected him to.
In the present, jarred by the old gesture making a reappearance, Azriel dropped his hand from his face. He curled his fists atop his clothed thighs.
“Shadowsinger? Will you repeat?”
Azriel had to look away in order to manage, "No." As if he still truly were an adolescent, unsure how to socialize with males his age without feeling like a caged animal. “It was nothing.”
One of Azriel's shadows, peeking out over his shoulder, noted the way Eris’ beautiful eyes brightened and the way his mouth quirked into a grin both devious and delighted.
"How long has it been, wind-rider? Feeling worked up?"
The truth was, Azriel hadn’t been with anyone else since Eris Ascended the Autumn throne. Hell, he hadn’t been with anyone other than Eris since they fell into the habit of fooling around together.
And the other truth was, Azriel was so turned on that he could barely even think.
His cock was heavy and uncomfortable where it strained against two layers of clothing, leaking a little more every time his eyes landed anywhere on the High Lord before him. His entire body felt flushed, and his wings were tingling with the arousal that seemed to surge through every vein and pulse-point in his body.
But it wasn't like he was going to say any of that. He still had to work his way up to looking directly at the High Lord again.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eris begin to reach towards the bulge in his pants. With a flash of panic, Azriel gently pushed his hand away, his heart rate picking up.
Eris looked up, his long, pale lashes curving nearly up to his brows.
"You don't want me to touch you?" He asked blankly.
Afraid that he would choke on any words he tried to speak, Azriel merely shook his head. What could he say that wouldn't send embarrassment surging through him in ways he hadn’t felt since childhood? I feel like I'm gonna come instantly if you lay a hand on me, wasn't exactly something reassuring to hear from a bed partner.
He looked back at Eris, ducking his head a little. His shadows were crowded underneath his wings, a few curling near his shoulders or around his waist. But mostly they stayed hidden, as if they too didn't know how to react in the face of Eris'...everything. His undeniable might, his overpowering sensuality, his eyes so bright they seemed to be forged of molten rock.
Not to mention his body . It looked utterly amazing. There was no other way to put it, he was just…well, his body had always been absurdly attractive. But as a High Lord, he was…bigger.
Now that he had gained the power of his birthright, spent more time developing himself into a person unburdened by regular torture and punishment, there was a distinct difference in his body's musculature. Not something that would be noticeable with his many layers of proper, regal clothes on, but a change nonetheless.
His shoulders had always been broad, but now that they were bare, no longer covered by clothes or draped with long, red hair, Azriel could see that they were rounded with new bulk. Eris’ chest, as well, seemed to have filled out. There was more of a curve to his pectorals, and when relaxed, the shadow cast by the muscles was deeper than before. Azriel could feel his shadowy companions observing the dual slashes of shade under his chest, as if they wanted to join the darkness there. And below that, the Autumn Lord's abdominals were still as sculpted as ever, long and toned, but his ribs were less visible than they had been the last time Azriel had seen Eris shirtless.
Once, Eris had pushed Azriel down onto the floor of his cabin, before it had succumbed to the wrath of Beron’s flame in his final battle against his eldest son. That day, the Fire Heir had not only shoved off his perfectly tailored pants, but his shirt and waistcoat as well. After getting over the shock of seeing Eris entirely nude, Azriel noticed that Eris’ ribs stuck out even when he wasn't posed or stretching in a way that intentionally exposed them. It wasn't uncommon in High Fae, but it did make it notable when Azriel couldn't quite make out the bones underneath the High Lord's perfect, lily-white skin as much as he had before.
That day, Eris had gathered both of their cocks together in one hand, sending both of them careening towards simultaneous completion as he held himself up with his free arm. The way he hovered over Azriel made it so that he could watch every glorious expression that passed over the soon-to-be-High-Lord's face.
The memory made Azriel's arousal surge, and he made the mistake of looking further down. He was sitting up on his shins with a knee on either side of Eris' long, strong thighs. And between them, Azriel could see how hard Eris was. His cock was straining against his mid-length underwear, and Azriel's mouth watered just at the thought of it, the memory.
Of all the males that Azriel had been with over the decades, centuries, Eris by far had some of the nicest anatomy he had ever seen. Everywhere. It had infuriated him. Because, of all people, why did Eris deserve a cock so... good-looking . It wasn't the biggest Azriel had encountered, by length—though Eris was up there on the list—or girth, but it was definitely the most attractive. And Azriel didn't generally think of dicks as particularly attractive in the first place. He liked the feel of them, sure, when he needed it. He liked the sounds males made when he wrapped a scarred hand around them, liked that no matter how harsh or textured, they still always shivered with pleasure at his ministry. But when he thought of a beautiful male, Azriel’s first mental picture was not usually of what was in their pants. This, incidentally, made it an even harder hurdle to get over when he couldn't stop thinking about what was in Eris'.
The Autumn Lord chuckled, the sound charming and slightly pompous. "What's going on with you, bat?"
Azriel swallowed, only able to shake his head again and utter another unconvincing "Nothing."
His breath was shuddering out of him like it was below freezing. In reality, he was so warm that he could feel a bead of sweat roll down his back, right between his wings. The sensation was acute, practically heightened, and suddenly he could feel the press of his clothes wherever they brushed his skin. His pants were soft, thankfully not as restrictive as they would have been if he'd worn his leathers, but they still made him feel entirely trapped.
The problem was, he wasn't sure he'd fare any better if he took his pants off. Then, he'd be in contact with nothing , and only the Mother knew what would happen to his desperation if he no longer had that odd source of security. He felt damned if he did, damned if he didn't.
As the sweat slicking Azriel's back made its way down past the joints of his wings, they twitched and flapped impatiently. The shadows hiding underneath them echoed the motion. He couldn’t think with so many sensations teasing his body, occupying his mind, while he wasn't even moving .
And the fact was, Azriel'd had sex. A lot of it, in fact. So this reaction, this strange lock-up, was even more disconcerting because of the fact that it had never happened in the past. It was like he'd never been with Eris before. Or anyone , for that matter, and he couldn't think of any explanation other than the powerful magic that now twined through the Autumn Lord’s body and soul.
Azriel let that be his comfort; this would have happened to him with any newly crowned High Lord. After such a big shift in power, things needed time to...settle. That's all that was happening. The Illyrian, constructed and bred for servitude of the most brutal nature, was laden with the instincts and hormones magically awakened by the Ascension of a High Lord. In a vulnerable context like this, like sex , it was no wonder Azriel's body was literally revolting against him. Making him seem like an inexperienced, overwhelmed mess in front of the one male that he'd never want to expose such weakness to.
But it wasn't like there was anything he could do about it. He was entirely stuck, eyes roving over Eris' stellar, strong form, breath quickening every time his gaze caught on the High Lord's clothed erection. As Azriel stared longingly, an audible whimper broke from his throat, and he could feel his face heat even more.
Eris was watching him, eyebrows raised, though not quite in surprise.
“You're sure you don't want me to touch you?” He asked, voice mercifully flat. Azriel merely nodded, clenching his fists even tighter. Eris almost looked amused, a little curious as he tilted his head to the side. "Do you want to touch...me?"
" Please ." Azriel moaned, the muscles in his abdomen trembling with restraint as he forced himself not to fall forward and grind against Eris til he made a mess of his trousers.
The High Lord gave an expectant smile, tilting his head a little. "Not sure what you're waiting for, Shadowsinger. I'm not stopping you." He gestured invitingly with one elegant hand.
Azriel swallowed, forcing himself not to react when an entirely pathetic, soft noise followed the click of his throat. He shifted down on the bed, shuffling back quietly, as if afraid of making the bed springs creak. He wasn't—afraid, that is—but he knew that he needed to take every possible measure to stay in control. His movements were slow for fear that if he did anything too sudden, his body's preposterous instincts would take over. He wasn't sure what they would make him do, but he was sure that whatever it ended up being, he wouldn't be able to make eye contact with Eris for a long time after.
He glanced up to find the male's heated gaze already trained on him.
“I’d like you to touch me, Azriel.” Eris said. The Shadowsinger had to suppress a shudder at the sound of his name on the High Lord’s tongue. It wasn't said like a command, but more like an assurance. Whether or not that was Eris’ intention didn't matter, though, because any desire passed from a High Lord’s lips rang out like a command either way. Azriel wouldn't admit it even if it was tortured out of him, but he was glad to have something to heed to.
With a held breath, he slipped his scarred fingers under the cinched waistband of Eris' undershorts. He gently eased the fabric down, dipping one hand in to gingerly handle Eris' cock. The High Lord gasped a little—nothing more than a sharp inhale through the nose—and Azriel directed him so that the waistband didn't catch when he slid it down. The material was still trapped under Eris where he laid against the bed, so it wasn't so much that the undergarments were being tugged off , and more that the waist band was pulled down just enough to tuck up underneath Eris' flushed, hardened length.
Azriel was once again confronted with the fact that the Autumn male was somehow devastatingly pretty everywhere . For a moment, he only stared, holding Eris at the base with one large hand. A bead of liquid welled at the tip. Azriel couldn't tear his eyes away if he tried.
He felt like he was being given something precious, something that couldn't be un-given. That the bastard Shadowsinger of Illyria, with his irreparably scarred hands and perpetually longing heart, was allowed to touch a new High Lord like this was almost unfathomable. He was being granted what many, many people could never say they would experience in their entire immortal lives.
With his mouth dropped slightly open in his entranced state, Azriel gently traced his thumb along the underside of Eris' cock. He pushed slightly against the ridge of the head, relishing in the small noise it elicited from Eris and pretending that the care he took was not related to reverence.
He teased at the tip of the High Lord's cock, though not with malintent. He didn't need to rile Eris up—the way the male's arousal was curling through Azriel's bedchambers was proof enough of that fact—but he had always liked it best when Eris was slick and glistening, and Azriel's shadows seemed to have no intent to travel out from underneath his wings to grab his oil. So he focused where Eris’ natural wetness was gathering, and made it his mission to coax as much of the clear liquid out as possible.
He could feel Eris trying to squirm beneath him.
The sensation sent a surge of heady, mind-melting desire through Azriel. It was a pleasure unto itself, knowing that he was able to make Eris feel such a way. Azriel had to hitch a leg up to alleviate some of the pressure on his cock from the mattress. Even still, it was uncomfortable, bordering on painful, but he would rather have that than nothing. Or, Mother forbid, something softer, more attentive. Like Eris' own hand.
Forcing the thoughts from his mind, lest he start indulging the overwhelming desires of his body, Azriel focused on the precise, focused movements that Eris liked the most.
“ Azriel.” The High Lord groaned, the most beautiful sound. He was still half propped up on one forearm, and Azriel was able to observe the entire length of his pale throat as he exposed it, tipping his head back. The Shadowsinger was so captivated by the sight, paired with the feeling of Eris in his hand, that he was nearly startled when Eris snapped his head back down to look at him once more. “Az.” He repeated. The High Lord hadn't merely been moaning his name, but had been trying to get his attention.
“Eris.” Azriel responded, forcing his head to clear.
“In case you’ve forgotten since the last time, I’m no water sprite. If you're not going to use oil, I suggest you find another way to acquire sufficient means of getting me wet.”
Azriel felt his entire body shudder at the sound of Eris’ words as he exhaled. The sultry tone of the male’s voice was unlike almost any other that Azriel had heard from a bed partner. Somehow equal parts logical and snarky, level and impatient. And entirely, erotically seductive. Azriel blinked slowly as Eris’ words slinked through his mind. The High Lord raised an expectant brow.
“You could use your mouth.” He suggested plainly.
A truly ridiculous sound, one that Azriel had never before heard from his own voice, vibrated in the Shadowsinger’s throat.
To stop the soft gurgle from escalating into a whine, he dipped his head forward and swiped the tip of his tongue through Eris' pre-cum. Immediately, the High Lord's hand flew to his hair, tangled in it harshly. A choked-off noise sounded from Eris, and Azriel forced his eyes not to roll back as it echoed in his mind. He swallowed, savoring the subtle, almost sweet flavor before leaning forward to lap more broadly at the head of Eris' cock. He alternated between using the flat of his tongue and the tip, occasionally his whole mouth, but never quite making his way to the shaft.
While Eris was not necessarily the biggest that Azriel had ever been faced with in the bedroom, he did not fool himself into thinking that Eris was of average size.
Everything about the male had a certain lengthened quality to it. Stretched, thin limbs, a marker for High Fae anatomy. Large hands—longer than Azriel's, but thinner, more delicate. Or at least, they looked more delicate. Azriel knew their capabilities. Eris' abdomen was elongated as well, wiry and muscle-bound, sinfully thin at the waist. Very different from the stocky body type that was more common among Illyrians. Azriel and Cassian were both tall, yes, but there was a certain lack of grace in their construction compared to someone like Eris.
The bottom line was, that trait in his anatomy extended to every part of his body. His size below the belt was nothing to scoff at.
So Azriel focused on taking it little by little, partially for that reason, and partially because he felt like the noises that he was causing were more vital to life than air.
Eris always made such pretty noises.
It was something that Azriel learned more over time, as they were able to find more and more secluded places to slip away to. Eris had a voice that reminded Azriel of maple syrup. Low and deep when regular, thick and sweet when flavored with arousal. He wanted to drown himself in each little sound Eris offered up as he continued his limited ministrations.
“You're being quite the tease today.” Eris mused, petting back Azriel's hair without urgency. Azriel only hummed a little, taking Eris further into his mouth placatingly. The High Lord chuckled. “I didn't say it was a bad thing.”
The Shadowsinger felt his eyes roll back as they fluttered shut, both from the scrap of praise hidden in that sentence, and from the way Eris carded both hands through his hair at the same time. He cradled the back of Azriel's head as he bobbed down further, further, until the tip of Eris’ cock hit the back of his throat. He had to suppress a gag. When he pulled back, he could feel Eris leak onto his tongue. Azriel swallowed around the length, another absurd groan sounding in the Shadowsinger's throat as he lost himself to the taste of the Autumn Lord.
His own cock was still uncomfortably trapped between his body and the mattress, and he wiggled his hips a little, trying to figure out how to alleviate the pressure without taking Eris from his mouth. That only added some friction to the pressure, tipping the scales dangerously towards a release he did not yet want to face. He silently called on a few of his shadows to possibly slip under him, between himself and the bed. They did not oblige, remaining tucked up under his wings. So he couldn’t move, his shadows wouldn’t help, and he couldn’t adjust himself manually in the off chance that he came at a single touch of his own hand. He was stuck once more. Before Azriel could stop himself, a pained whimper escaped as he tongued the tip of Eris’ cock.
“Shadowsinger? Are you alright?” Eris’ voice billowed up vaguely.
Another groan escaped Azriel, this time at the soft flow of the royal male’s words, and he gave a muffled mm-hmm as he sucked down intently. He had just begun a more consistent pace when the High Lord tugged on his hair lightly once, twice, until Azriel pulled off. He looked up through half-lidded eyes, consciously smoothing his brows from where they had been drawn in discomfort.
“Are you going to tell me the truth?” Eris asked, the slightest curl at the corners of his lips. His face was still flushed, along with his arched ears, even his neck, but he still somehow looked entirely put together. Or at least a lot more put together than Azriel felt. He only held Eris’ bright gaze, leaning down to mouth at the base of his length, but right as he pressed his lips to the soft skin there, Eris tugged his head back by the hair once more. “You can move if you need to, Az. What do you want?”
Azriel tried to nuzzle down into the crook of Eris’ leg, but the High Lord held him fast by the hair. So he responded honestly, “I just want to make you come, Eris.” But his mind was still jumbled, and the taste of Eris lingering on his tongue was quite commanding, so it came out more like Js’ wanna make’yuh come, Ers .
Eris gave a slight grin, foxish and mischievous. “How would you like to make me come, Azriel?”
No longer bothering with diction, Azriel groaned, “I wanna taste you.”
Eris chuckled, sliding his hand all the way back through Azriel's hair before circling it under, cupping his jaw. Then, tragically, he tucked himself back into his drawers and began to pull away, shuffling backwards up the bed until he was able to sit against the headboard.
“If you are uncomfortable, then do yourself a favor and get on your knees. Here,” Eris grabbed one of the extra pillows that decorated the bed, now haphazardly. A solstice gift from Mor, part of a set dyed with a garish orange color that Azriel had initially kept while holding onto the ludicrous hope that Mor would one day return his affections. Perhaps join him in his chambers. He wanted to show that he cared. Eris tossed him the pillow unceremoniously. “You can even use this. The wonders of comfort never cease.”
Azriel, momentarily distracted by Eris’ dry tone and the amusement it engendered, stood easily. A breath of relief tore from his lungs as the pressure on his crotch ceased. Without much elegance, he dropped the pillow to the floor at the foot of the bed. He was about to kneel before the edge of it when Eris said, “I’d prefer it if you faced the other way, little bat.”
Azriel immediately redirected, turning around and facing the far wall. But not without saying, with played-up offense, “ Little ?”
Eris chuckled, his hand already combing through Azriel's hair before he even crossed fully into view.
“This better?” The High Lord asked, though it practically fell on deaf ears with the way Azriel's mind went blank at the sight of the male standing before him, now entirely, gloriously bare. Azriel didn't know what to marvel at the most: Eris’ long legs, cut with sculpted muscle. Or between them, where his arousal was visible, leaking, shining with Azriel's saliva. “Shadowsinger.” Eris said, tilting his head back a little so that his gaze landed on the Lord of Autumn’s eyes. “Is this more comfortable for you?”
Azriel nodded as best he could, equally wordless at the sight of Eris’ perfect High Fae face.
“Good.” The Autumn Lord said curtly. “Now open your mouth.”
The Illyrian obeyed, pushing his tongue forward enough that it covered the line of his bottom teeth. Eris hummed noncommittally—neither praise nor disappointment undercutting the noise—and used his free hand to guide himself back into the Shadowsinger's waiting mouth. Really, he could've just canted his hips forward and had Azriel figure out the rest, but he suspected that Eris liked the softness of this sort of control.
Azriel took Eris inch by inch, sealing his lips and sucking what Eris allowed during the slow push in. He was at what he knew to be about the halfway mark, Eris’ cock beginning to nudge at the back of his throat again, when the High Lord pulled his hips back just as slowly. Azriel felt practically giddy now that he didn't have the distraction of the mattress pressing against his erection. The two layers of clothing were like nothing compared to that, but still binding enough that he didn't feel overwhelmed with possibility. He felt his undergarments grow wetter as Eris pushed back in again, still going at a gentle pace.
Azriel reached up and clutched the backs of the male’s thighs, moaning around his length in a way that seemed fabricated, but unfortunately wasn't. He tried to draw his head back himself, wanting to set a faster pace, wanting to bring Eris to that edge quickly. Eris allowed it, but kept one hand in Azriel's hair. He opened his eyes to see Eris’ other arm reach back until he was able to join that hand with Azriel's own where it grasped his leg. It added such a beautiful twist to Eris’ body that Azriel forced his eyes to stay open when he pushed forward, even if it made tears spring to his eyes as Eris reached the back of his throat yet again.
He was able to bob his head at his own speed, and soon, Azriel was basking in the deep coos of pleasure that resonated in Eris’ syrupy tone. His pants felt more and more constricted with each passing second, but he paid it no mind, focusing only on the slide of Eris against his tongue and the endlessly enthralling makeup of his physique. From his torso to his shoulders to his face, even his short hair—slightly mussed from when he'd buried his own fingers in it. Everything about the High Lord held Azriel's attention almost entirely. But what truly kept him in a state of arrest were those eyes; burning, practically glowing with power, with fire, with lust.
If Azriel were glaring, he would count the seconds that it took for him to look away. But he wasn't glaring, so he didn't have to. He could look all he wanted. That was a power in itself that nearly made him dizzy.
As he kept his pace but took more and more of Eris on each pass, he watched the Autumn male’s reddish brows twitch together. His rosy mouth dropped open, little ahn ’s sounding with each bob of Azriel's head. Soon, his eyes were slipping shut, his hips occasionally twitching forward when Azriel sucked harder or swallowed around his cock.
Without Eris' burning gaze keeping him grounded in place, his attention once again wandered to his own untouched length. He allowed himself the slightest reprieve by taking the hand not covered by Eris’ own and pressing it gently against himself over his pants. He didn't go any further, didn't even call on his shadows to undo his buttons—though he supposed they wouldn't answer anyway, apparently still both enraptured and intimidated by the High Lord—but simply held his hand over the bulge in his pants. He didn't move it, or move against it, entirely aware that if he did, all of his previous self-control would've been for nothing.
He looked up to find Eris’ eyes still screwed shut.
“ Az, fuck, your mouth.” He breathed, eyebrows turning up a little where they were drawn. Of the times they'd fooled around together in the past, that was the expression that Azriel had come to seek the most. He relished in the way it made Eris look almost nervous, worried, instead of what it really meant. Those were feelings that Azriel had never seen—and likely never would see—color Eris’ sharp face. Azriel was endlessly, somewhat absurdly delighted by the fact that the expression meant Eris was close.
The realization made his cock try to twitch in his pants. Practically on instinct, Azriel pulled back nearly all the way. He held only the head of Eris’ length in his mouth, flexing his tongue experimentally as he looked up. The High Lord’s eyes slid open, his mouth twitching up at the corners.
“I remember your request, Shadowsinger.” He said with an aggravatingly smooth timbre, carding his fingers through Azriel’s hair. “I’ll warn you.”
Azriel’s heart thudded in his chest at the thought. He felt his own brows draw together as he fought another pitiful whimper, moving his free hand off of his clothed cock so that he could gather the fabric of his pants into a resolute fist. It slightly backfired, with the way the material stretched taut across him. It was far less pressure than the bed had provided, making it, against his intentions, far more pleasurable. He refused to react to it, grasping the fabric so tight that dull pain began to clench in the muscles of his hand.
All the while, he stayed still, watching Eris watch him. The High Lord repeated the motion with his hand, pushing back Azriel’s hair, the slightest pull coming from his long fingers. Azriel felt his eyelids flutter.
“Leaving all the work to me now, hm?” The High Lord asked, raising an unimpressed brow. A strikingly familiar bloom of ire tugged in Azriel’s gut, and he finally found it within himself to pull away, not even bothering to hold Eris in place.
“You’re telling me you wouldn’t enjoy it if you could—”
Azriel was abruptly silenced by Eris pushing a thumb into his mouth, hooking it behind his front bottom teeth, forcing his tongue to curl up.
“If I could fuck your throat until you choke on it?” Eris grinned, each of his white teeth gleaming in the low faelight of Azriel’s bedchamber. An awkward noise burbled out of his throat, something that wanted to be a denial but was almost a moan, a confirmation. Eris crooned, “Why, if that’s what you wanted, my Shadowsinger, you could have simply asked.”
He drew his thumb from Azriel’s mouth, only to swiftly refill it once more. The Shadowsinger had to breathe out very evenly through his nose as Eris pushed in, going further than Azriel had been taking on his own. In his pants, his cock pulsed in time with the echo of Eris’ words.
My Shadowsinger, my Shadowsinger, my Shadowsinger.
As Eris pulled back, a little less slowly than before, Azriel was hit with the unfortunate realization that a few more words like that from the High Lord, and he would be gone. Those two words alone sent sybaritic tremors of pleasure all the way down to the tips of Azriel’s fingers, filling every corner of his mind, every inch of his throat that Eris didn’t yet push himself down.
He started with an undemanding pace, mercifully, allowing Azriel time to adjust to the redistribution of control.
Eris, however, did not waste time. It wasn’t long before he was cradling Azriel’s head with both hands, moving his hips at an even rhythm. Azriel could recognize the pursuit in his pace, and it soon got to the point where he gave up on trying to swallow. Saliva slipped down his chin as Eris fucked his mouth, and Azriel couldn’t even find it within him to care.
Then, the High Lord stilled, and for a moment Azriel found himself actually nervous. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt nervous with someone, nevermind in this environment, and it was so bizarre that when he refocused, Eris was positioned a bit differently than before. He’d hitched one of his beautifully long, pale legs up, and was bracing it on the bed behind Azriel.
Azriel felt his nostrils flare as the High Lord smirked down at him. The pretentious prick had been planning this—he’d asked Azriel to face a certain way for a reason, he’d wanted to be the one to set the pace, and yet had given Azriel shit for expecting it from the Autumn Lord. Cheeky bastard. Azriel wanted to say it, but his mouth was full, so he only thought it in Eris’ direction. The male silently responded with a twitch of his eyebrow, a widening of his knowing smile.
After that, Azriel didn’t have to do much thinking. Eris was able to reach a lot deeper with the slight change in angle, so the Shadowsinger primarily focused on relaxing his throat and trying to subdue his gag reflex. It resulted in undeniably obscene noises filling the air, teasing at his shadows where they still hid under his wings. Azriel could feel them writhe happily, their palpable excitement ratcheting higher every time Eris let out a soft moan. That, in turn, sent ripples of pleasure straight to Azriel’s cock.
“Cauldron, Az,” Eris shuddered, his grip on the Illyrian’s hair tightening. “It’s like you were made for this, made for taking my— fuck, you’re doing so well. Made for me.”
The raw praise, so genuine that Eris had to interrupt himself to deliver it, made Azriel nearly see stars. Tears pricked at his eyes as Eris fucked him faster, harder, deeper, and he felt another garbled whimper catch in his occupied throat. A genuine cry of pleasure broke from Eris, almost as if in response. Something dangerously deep and carnal pulled low in Azriel’s abdomen.
And he realized, with what could only be genuine horror, that he wasn’t going to be able to hold off. Eris was close, and so, preposterously, was he.
Azriel knew for a fact that it was too much at once. His shadows, Eris’ blatant praise and wordless sounds, the feeling of him in the Shadowsinger’s mouth, his throat . The scent of the High Lord of Autumn’s arousal alone was enough to bring Azriel to the verge of shattering, nevermind the press of the fabric where it was pulled tightly across his leaking, hard length.
Azriel was only conscious of his own pleading moans when he heard them through the symphony of Eris’ voice and the wet slide of his cock.
He was going to come. Azriel was going to come, and he hadn’t even taken his clothes off. In a last-ditch attempt to prolong the inevitable, Azriel’s hands flew up, one to clutch Eris’ hip, the other reaching between his parted legs to press against the soft muscle of his backside, effectively stilling his thrusts. It was of no use. Azriel was already past the point of no return. But he suspected that he would literally collapse if he came while Eris was fucking his throat, so he pushed forward, closer, until his nose was buried in the well-managed hair that curled at the base of Eris’ cock.
If Eris reacted, Azriel didn’t hear it. He probably wouldn’t even feel it if the High Lord tried to tug at his hair. For at the same moment that Eris became fully sheathed in Azriel’s throat, he felt the hand of pleasure lure him to the edge. Or rather shove him, quite insistently. Blooms of light burst behind his eyelids as his body shivered violently through his orgasm, his hands clenching where they gripped the different spots on Eris’ legs.
While the ecstasy of release was still crashing through Azriel’s body, he heard Eris give another little laugh, this one breathy and a bit strained.
“Alright,” the High Lord gasped, running his fingers through the short locks of Azriel’s hair once more. “You’ve proven your skills, Shadowsinger.” Azriel blinked, sending the tears that had welled in his eyes down his cheeks. Eris’ voice was a bit ragged when he spoke, huskier than Azriel had ever heard it since his Ascension. “If you’d please, I would very much like to come now.”
There was literally no way Azriel could refuse. So, with pants far more sticky and wet than before, he leaned back until Eris was able to thrust into his mouth again, resuming his pace without lingering. Azriel was unable to do anything but take it, so he did. Soon, the grip on his hair tightened to a deliciously painful degree, the scent of the High Lord’s arousal turned far sharper, spiced and prominent, and Eris’ rapid moans started taking the vague shape of Azriel’s name. And then his mouth was flooding with warm, salty wetness, Eris’ sonorous voice reaching a non-verbal crescendo as he came on the Shadowsinger’s tongue. Just how Azriel had asked.
The air stilled as Eris’ moans of pleasure faded into silence. The carnal release that seemed to pulse through the very room dulled down as well, and Azriel was able to relax in the stillness for a moment.
The taste wasn't…bad. Azriel had never particularly enjoyed the taste of ejaculate, and tended to avoid it when fucking males. But with Eris…he'd wanted it. And he would not have been able to explain why if asked. Especially since the granting of his request had hindered more pleasurable results than he'd expected. Meaning, he didn't hate the taste.
But there was a big difference between not hating something and liking it, and it wasn't like he was about to beg for more.
Unless he wanted you to, a shadow suggested slyly from where it was tucked underneath one wing talon. Another one of his shadows was simply laughing at him. Azriel ignored them, breathing out through his nose slowly as he looked up at the High Lord of Autumn.
Gently, Eris took his leg from where it was propped up on the bed, returning to a full standing position while Azriel’s lips were still wrapped around his cock, not yet soft. With a gentleness that was practically unbearable in the wake of his previous unrestrained ferocity, Eris smoothed back the Shadowsinger's hair, untangling his long fingers from the black strands.
Azriel breathed evenly as he pulled back, swallowing before he all but slumped against the High Lord. He rested his forehead against Eris’ pelvic bone, shutting his eyes as his body was finally given the chance to settle since his climax. Eris kept petting his hair through it.
“Are you going to let me take care of you now?” He asked, his voice having regained some of its High Lordly poise.
“No need.” Azriel mumbled, not yet pulling away to look at the frustratingly put-together Vanserra.
“What was that?” Eris asked, a glimmer of amusement in his buttery tone. Azriel couldn't tell if he actually needed the repetition, or if he was just teasing Azriel into repeating the somewhat humiliating truth.
From his position, was able to glance down at his own pants. Both his undergarments and his casual brown trousers were soaked, and was able to swipe two fingers through the cum that had seeped through.
Still resting his forehead against Eris, Azriel brought his hand up to display the evidence of his release. He felt Eris grab his hand, pulling his arm a little so that it stretched up even more, examining Azriel closer.
Then, hushed and dark and impossibly sexy, he heard Eris laugh a little.
“You've been busy down there. Sneaky bat.”
Azriel, looser and less guarded in his come-down, chuckled against Eris' leg before scraping his teeth there. He wasn't about to admit out loud that he hadn't even really touched himself.
Eris hummed, still combing through Azriel's hair. “I didn't see any of our little friends help you out.” He added, the mirth in his voice sounding somewhat conspiratorial.
Azriel's shadows chittered excitedly in response, addressing Eris directly, apparently uncaring that he couldn't hear them. They overlapped too much for Azriel to bother with deciphering their jovial messages. The only thing he could really make out was the repetition of the word our.
“They were feeling shy.” Azriel replied, unable to wipe the smile from his mouth. He was glad it was out of Eris’ view.
“ They're the shy ones?” The High Lord gently pushed Azriel's head back until their eyes could meet, and he had to force his features into neutrality. “Like you haven't been hiding away from me this whole time.”
Eris tilted his head, his amber eyes softening in a way that Azriel wanted to look away from. But he couldn't, not with Eris’ hand in his hair.
“I'm not hiding.” He murmured.
Eris’ gentle look guttered out, and he rolled his eyes, patting Azriel's cheek condescendingly before stepping away. The Shadowsinger felt like he could breathe again.
“Would you like to take those unwearable pants off now? Perhaps gain some self respect in the process?” The High Lord snipped, giving a pointed look to Azriel’s crotch before making his way over to one of the dressers that the Shadowsinger kept his clothes in. Azriel felt his cheeks heat at the blatant disgust that he, quite frankly, should have expected from the Autumn Lord. But then, almost offhandedly despite the quieter tone he took, Eris added, “Shame serves no one but the pain that it feeds on.” And a few beats later, “Or those who get off on it, I suppose.”
Azriel's mouth went dry. Eris wasn’t chastising Azriel for what had happened. He was chastising Azriel for feeling embarrassed by it. It was such a surprising realization that he could only watch as Eris started to open the dresser drawers, shuffling the contents around in each one before finding what he was looking for. Azriel’s shadows did nothing to stop it.
Ordinarily, if someone got past the simple wards spelling his private belongings—which Eris clearly had done without breaking a sweat—the tendrils of darkness would have swarmed the bureau before he could even touch one of the handles. But they were still too wrapped up in little whispers of delight, like younglings seeing a handsome boy pass by. Some of it even Azriel couldn't understand, but he caught snippets of, he notices, and, friends, and, missed us.
So Azriel only observed with removed curiosity as Eris found a pair of well-worn sleep pants and tossed them in his direction. He caught them silently, still staring at the male’s nude, sleek body.
Eris snapped his fingers as he leaned against the tall dresser, and the faint scent of magic cut through the lingering arousal in the air as his undergarments appeared on his person once again. Azriel began to change into his new pair of pants, disregarding the fact that Eris had neglected to throw in a pair of underwear. Or a new shirt.
As if reading his mind, Eris commented, “I’d like to request that you keep your tunic on for now.” He cracked a playful smile, crossing his long arms over his chest. The new muscle he'd gained flexed in his biceps, his shoulders, his chest. Azriel's shadows hummed in what was undoubtedly hunger for all the new dips of shade Eris had created by folding his arms. The High Lord continued, eyes glimmering, “It’s my intention to take it off you myself when the time comes.”
Azriel raised a brow, finally able to convince his shadows to do something. Even if that something was taking his soaked pants and underwear to his laundry basket. At least they were listening to him again.
“You have plans.” Azriel said, not a question.
Eris shrugged. “Plans. Hopes. Either way, I'm not done with you yet, Shadowsinger. How absurd would it be if I left before even getting you out of your shirt?” Eris put a mocking hand on his chest. “I don't know if I could handle the tragedy.”
Azriel took his turn to roll his eyes. Eris only grinned at him, dropping the sarcastic persona as he pushed off of the dresser.
“Alas, I would like to take a break to eat before we continue.” He said, making his way languidly through the room.
Azriel blinked, partially wondering if he heard right.
“To eat ?”
Eris approached until there was only a small space between them. He was so close that Azriel could see shards of pure gold in his amber eyes, and all the lines that creased the male's face when he made a demeaning look, like Azriel was being stupid. Up close, it was unfairly attractive.
“Unless you truly are a bat and only eat bugs and other vermin,” Eris said coolly, “I was under the assumption that you have to sustain yourself like the rest of us. You know, with regular Fae food. Do you have any?”
Azriel blinked and, in his confusion, found himself automatically responding, “Uh—what kind?”
Eris snickered a little, offering another shrug before continuing his unhurried trek through Azriel's bedchamber.
“I don't know, anything. Something fresh.”
Azriel could only stare. Eris Vanserra, the High Lord of Autumn, wanted food, and his only requirement was that it be fresh. Azriel thought about his small personal kitchen, which really only held a few almost-stale loaves of bread and some dry, salted meats that he reserved for missions. Possibly a few jars of pickled carrots hidden in the far corners of his cabinets. Nothing that fit Eris’ minimal request. Azriel didn’t even know what that entailed . Fruits? Vegetables? Baked goods? All three could meet Eris’ parameters, and that stupidly submissive part of Azriel didn’t want to choose the wrong one.
The High Lord made his way to the door, as if he were about to go hunting around Azriel's apartment himself.
Before he could stop them, Azriel's shadows raced away, bleeding into the corners of the room in a way that meant they were retreating to a new location entirely.
“Hang on,” Azriel told Eris, unsure of the plans that his dark companions had in mind. Or whatever version of a mind they possessed. Even over five centuries with them didn't grant Azriel the secrets of their inner-workings, but over time, he found himself enjoying the thought that they had ideas and interests and likes of their own.
A shadow tugged at his hand, and he held it out, watching as they congregated over his palm. When they dispersed, an entire bunch of purple grapes was left in their wake. Cold enough that Azriel could feel them despite the toughened scar tissue stretched across his palms.
A small spark of surprised panic burst through him as he looked at his swirling companions.
“Did you take these from the grocer’s stand by the river?” He demanded out loud, not caring if Eris heard. The High Lord was preoccupied anyway, it seemed, as he let out a low, “Oh, perfect,” and plucked the bunch of grapes right out of Azriel’s hand while he was still glaring at his mischievous shadows.
“You need to pay for those, you know.” He scolded, low but not soft. “It takes Selewyne a lot of energy to keep his produce fresh and cold overnight.”
“These are cold.” Eris noted from where he'd wandered out of Azriel's eyeline. “And seedless. How considerate of your little shades.”
Azriel could feel a few of them break away, likely to swirl happily—or perhaps guiltily—closer to Eris, who was not chastising them.
“No, don't go to him.” The Shadowsinger instructed accusatorially, looking at the little swirls of darkness without letting the amusement inside him show on his face. “Go grab some gold marks and leave them in the stand where Selewyne will find them.”
A few shadows curled off, plodding over to where Azriel kept his spending money. He knew Eris was watching him or his shadows—or both—but he didn't yet make eye contact while waiting for his companions to return. When they did, they swirled in front of him, murmuring It is done, like they'd been sent on some grievous mission of ultimate peril and sacrifice. Not for the first time, Azriel wished Eris could hear the secret whispers of the dark tendrils. He was sure the High Lord would delight in their dramatics. He couldn't suppress his chuckle, beckoning the shadows closer with a little hummed tune, something low that they always enjoyed. They delightedly rushed back to him, tucking back under his wings, under his chin, skating along his bare shoulders.
When Azriel finally looked back at Eris, now leaning against the dresser once more, he was watching with an amused light dancing in his eyes. A portrait of indulgence with his casual stance, his bare chest, the slow, easy way he was eating the grapes the shadows had gladly provided. One of said shadows was inching closer to the High Lord, slinking across the floor in a way that could have been less conspicuous if the shadow so desired. But Azriel had the sneaking suspicion that it wanted to be noticed by the regal Vanserra.
The tendril curled around his bare ankle, snickering excitedly in the frequency that only Azriel could hear.
“Shy, huh?” Eris asked, watching the shade with a raised brow. It none-too-gently tugged where it held onto him, and Eris was forced forward a step, towards the bed. He looked up at Azriel imploringly, a smile almost teasing at his full lips. Azriel merely shrugged.
“Better lighting when you’re on the bed.” He said dryly.
Eris audibly chuckled as the shadow continued to urge him forward, a second one joining the effort. “Better lighting? I would think they’d prefer me in the darker corners of your bat cave.”
Azriel snorted as Eris almost tripped a little with how demanding the shadows were. They hadn’t touched him all evening.
“I said better lighting, not brighter. They like the contrast.”
True, the way the floating faelights were positioned around Azriel’s bed allowed for more of a stark difference between dark and light. As opposed to Eris being bathed entirely in somewhat dim lighting, he turned into a delicious canvas of highlights and shadows when stretched out on Azriel’s bed. This, of course, was by design. Azriel’s shadows loved having little organic places to nestle on the bodies of his bedmates, and Eris, with his pale skin and bright, coppery hair, simply happened to be one of the more satisfying candidates for the magical wisps to curl against.
Eris glanced up once more when his knees hit the foot of the bed.
“Is it alright?” He asked.
“Is what alright?”
The High Lord gestured with the grapes in his hand, the bunch still mostly laden with fruit. “Forgive me, but for a moment I almost thought that you would have some sort of measure of manners in the bedroom. I have seen the error of my ways, and won’t ask again.”
Azriel watched, unimpressed, as a teasing glint flashed in Eris’ golden-brown eyes. The fucker knew that Azriel was, in fact, somewhat a stickler for good manners. But it seemed he also knew that Azriel, in his post-coital state of relaxation, would let Eris do pretty much anything.
Still, he snipped, “I was going to say that you get a pass to eat on the bed since you’re a High Lord, but now I’m not sure I’m feeling so considerate.”
Eris chuckled, biting one of the grapes directly off the vine before circling around to the side of the bed, laying down anyway. He was mostly propped up against the pillows pushed against the headboard, and the shadows that had ushered him there pooled underneath his back, chittering contentedly. They licked close to his ribs, where the shade from his position defined his muscled body.
With lazy, molten eyes, Eris beckoned Azriel over with a jerk of the head. He went easily, clambering onto the bed with less ease than a wingless High Fae. He settled next to the Autumn Lord, who was watching him somewhat mirthfully. After a moment, he looked away and began to eat his grapes again, and for a moment, the two males floated in companionable silence, Eris’ effortlessness seeming to rub off on Azriel. His humiliation had waned almost completely in the face of his bewilderment at Eris’ request, and he found himself more at ease than he would have thought possible moments before, on his knees and shaking with carnal desperation.
The High lord plucked one of the grapes off of its stem, holding it gently with two fingertips. Azriel watched, entranced, as he held up the bunch of fruit, only looking at the Shadowsinger sidelong.
“I’ve got to eat a lot more nowadays, you know. My body has to support so much more magic now that I burn through my nutrients twice as fast as before. Here,” the High Lord held the grape to Azriel’s mouth, and he took it between his teeth without thinking. Eris kept talking as if nothing had happened. “So I have to compensate, or else I can’t keep up.”
“You get tired faster?” Azriel asked mid-chew. Eris wrinkled his nose, eating one of the grapes and swallowing completely before answering.
“ Tired isn’t exactly how I’d describe it. My energy doesn’t really drain the same way as it did before. But the power becomes…unstable.” Eris explained. He brought up his free hand and let a few flames flicker between his fingers. “Not the type of thing to ignore if you’re a fire wielder. At this point, though, it’s become routine. I eat whenever I feel hungry, whether the magic starts to grow unmanageable or not.”
You didn’t eat whenever you were hungry before? Azriel thought privately, thinking of his first moments out of his father’s estate. It had taken him years to understand that, under the care of Rhys’ mother, he could eat whenever he wished. He couldn’t imagine going through that shift as a fully developed Faerie, breaking through five centuries of that sort of feeding mindset. Azriel wondered if Beron had anything to do with it. But he knew it was stupid to wonder about something so obvious. He kept the thought tucked away.
Out loud, Azriel said, “Been training too?”
Eris snickered. “Well, that’s not new. I was my father’s General, you know. Why, do you notice a difference?”
He shuffled a little, turning on his side and propping up his head with his free hand, bicep and pectorals flexing in the process. Azriel allowed a few seconds of admiration before rolling his eyes.
“Preening doesn’t work on me, Vanserra. I’ve already gotten on my knees for you. Don’t push it.”
Eris chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling beautifully as he returned to his previous position. He didn’t act bashful despite the blush spreading across his nose, high on his cheeks. With both hands freed, Eris was able to feed Azriel another grape, which he again took without comment.
“Well, by the time I’m done with you,” the High Lord replied, “I ensure that your dulcet tones will only sing my praises.” He raised one of his arched brows in challenge. Azriel could practically count the copper hairs, all smoothed and well-shaped. Was he closer than before? Azriel was sure he hadn’t been that close when he’d laid down.
“Is that what you want?” He asked lowly, his voice sounding almost foreign to his own ears, partially obscured by the roar of blood as his heart beat faster. Eris only responded by holding another grape to his lips, which he parted without ceasing eye contact. Azriel ate slowly, savoring the cool sweetness that burst across his tongue when his teeth pierced the fruit’s thin skin. He didn’t consider himself particularly sentimental, but if he was, he would compare the taste, the feeling, to a nice day right on the cusp of Autumn. Air cooled by a soft breeze, but enough sun to bathe him in warm, golden light.
Azriel leaned in closer, tilting his head a little, an invitation. Eris’ responding laugh was so subtle that he wouldn’t have heard it if he weren’t a hair's breadth away. Instead of leaning into a kiss, however, he simply offered another grape from the dwindling bunch. And Azriel accepted, like all the times before. He didn’t look away, didn’t even blink, as Eris watched him, all that undeniable power heating his look.
But Azriel was beginning to think, even as his shadows were sedate and subdued in the face of Eris’ magic, that it wasn’t all about the power. It wasn’t the call of his Illyrian blood, urging him to worship that which demanded respect simply by virtue of existing. Maybe there was something within him demanding that he give himself over to Eris, but it wasn’t in the way that his people were bred to exemplify. And with his head more clear, Azriel was starting to suspect just what it was that he felt. Had been feeling, for quite a while, if he really thought back. Maybe it had become stronger since Eris’ Ascension, what with all the meetings between High Lords that the Autumn leader had been attending, but it hadn’t been triggered by it.
“Eris,” Azriel murmured, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Eris, there’s something I need to—”
Just as the words formed in his mind, the gentle caress of a sharp claw slashed through them, requesting entry. Azriel’s brother, Azriel’s High Lord.
What. Azriel thought flatly as he let his High Lord in. His brother’s deep voice echoed uncannily through Azriel’s mind with a smarmy chuckle.
What a warm welcome. He mused sarcastically.
Well, you’d think that after all these years, you would’ve learned good timing. Azriel quipped. Rhys gave another haughty little laugh.
I have a job for you. You’re busy?
Obviously.
At the same time that Rhys asked, With what? Eris piped up with his own question.
“Has your brother come to whisk you away?”
His voice was dry, and when Azriel refocused, Eris was no longer looking at him.
“Whatever he’s got in mind, I’m turning him down. Can I tell him I’m with you?”
Eris’ attention snapped up at this, his lips parted in surprise. After a moment of looking caught off guard, and undeniably cute, he schooled his features and said, “What you tell your High Lord is your business, Shadowsinger.”
So Azriel answered Rhys, Eris Vanserra is feeding me grapes.
Rhys barked out a full, true laugh, but when Azriel remained quiet, the sound turned a little nervous and awkward.
You're serious?
Is it urgent? Azriel said in lieu of a confirmation. What vein of expertise does this job require?
Not necessarily urgent. And nothing heavy. Primarily investigative. Rhys answered, his voice sounding easy despite Azriel knowing that he had been thrown off course by Azriel’s admittance.
Then I’ll do it later.
Too wrapped up in letting Autumn’s new High Lord court you with grapes?
Azriel felt a devious smile curl across his face. Technically, I provided the grapes.
I assure you there will still be grapes available to share after the assignment. Rhys said dryly. Azriel ignored this. The automatic assumption that he would be easily swayed into taking the job.
Well, Azriel said, his mental voice clipped, nothing masking the slight edge of annoyance in his tone. I’ll have you know we’ve been doing a lot more than courting. We’re just taking a break to replenish. Is that a sufficient excuse? Or would you like to hear about how he’s going to split me open with his big Autumn Court co—
That got Rhys to slam down a divider on the mental link. Harder, in fact, than Azriel had ever experienced before. He couldn’t wipe the self-righteous grin from his face when he looked at Eris.
“He’s gone.” He told the High Lord.
“Nothing important, then?”
“Not yet.” Azriel assured him, eyes wandering to Eris’ mouth as he ate the last remaining grape from the bunch. Without even moving, he reduced the stripped vine to nothing. Not even ash. It burned away and left no trace behind. Azriel shivered at the casual display of absolute power.
“You were going to tell me about something—” Eris tried to say, but Azriel was already moving, drawing the High Lord into a kiss, sharing the sweetness that had flooded both of their mouths.
“Doesn’t matter.” He murmured against Eris’ lips. The High Lord made a disapproving noise, however, and pushed Azriel away just enough that they disconnected.
“I thought you were done hiding from me.” Eris said, practically a whisper. “Your shadows stopped.” He gestured to where they’d taken to curling in the spots where natural shadows were cast on Eris’ body.
“I'm not hiding.” Azriel responded, just as he had earlier.
“Then why don't you go on and tell me what you were going to say?” Eris challenged, the fire in his eyes flickering eerily.
Azriel swallowed, his low-simmering arousal wavering as acidic nervousness sliced through his abdomen.
“It’s nothi—”
“Don’t say it’s nothing.”
Eris wasn’t smiling when he said it. Azriel swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry and scraped. The Autumn Lord looked at him expectantly, a new, serious set to his face. Azriel chewed his bottom lip.
“I don’t want to ruin things.” He answered truthfully, looking away when the hold Eris’ eyes had on him became too much to bear.
“What’s there to ruin?” Eris murmured, and Azriel had to reposition so that the High Lord wasn’t even in his peripheral. He turned his back to Eris, slinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting pensively on the edge.
“This.” Azriel said plainly, waving a hand to encompass their minimal relationship. It wasn’t even that, really. It was just fooling around, just a means of getting satisfaction. They were barely even friends. “Whatever this is. I was hoping you’d fuck me tonight.”
Azriel felt the warm press of Eris’ lithe hand low on his back, between his loosely held wings. He forced himself not to suck in a surprised breath.
“Well that’s convenient, then. I was hoping for the same thing.” Eris said, voice somewhat matter-of-fact. “Though I’m unsure what you could say that would ruin that.”
Azriel got up then, pulling away from Eris’ touch in favor of pacing back and forth across his hardwood floor.
“Singer?” The High Lord asked, voice no longer flat and pointed. “Are you alright?”
He was not, in fact, alright. His stomach felt like it was trying to tie itself into sailor knots, his wings twitching as his shadows slid between him and Eris, unsure who to drape across.
So he said, once again with too much honesty, “No.”
Eris' voice was careful. Moreso than Azriel had ever heard it in the past. “Why not?”
“ Because —” Azriel breathed, clawing his hair back as his chest began to heave. “It’s—I’m—the fact is, Eris…”
“The fact is…?”
The spymaster had to muster more courage than he had needed going into literal battle in order to turn and face Eris once more.
He still felt like he was going to throw up when he choked out, “The fact is, I’m falling in love with you.”
A short, sharp breath forced its way from Azriel’s chest, but he continued before Eris could get in a reply. His mouth was dropped slightly open, anyway, eyes suddenly sharp as a hawk’s despite his apparent speechlessness.
“And it’s not…that doesn’t fit into what we have, right now. And I didn’t want to tell you because I like what we’re doing, and I like that we can finally go further than before, and I like the time we spend together, and I don’t want to lose that. But every time I’m with you, I feel like I’m more and more at risk of giving my heart away, and I’m not about to do that with someone who doesn’t want it. Again.”
Azriel finished the admission with another heaved breath, his chest expanding with it. And still, he didn’t feel like he was getting any actual air into his lungs. Eris was looking at him unblinking, suddenly on alert, his toned body held taut and tense. The spymaster, torturer, Illyria’s Prince of Darkness…couldn’t look. He stared at the floor.
“Azriel…” Eris said, and the Shadowsinger already felt his heart squeezing uncomfortably, a tug in his chest that made him feel even more constricted. He could barely breathe, and the way Eris’ full attention and soft voice was directed at him did not help, and he was still wearing the same shirt he’d started the night in. The material was suddenly far more scratchy and uncomfortable than it had been before, and he pulled nervously at the ties in the middle of his chest.
“Az.”
It was less Eris’ voice that snapped him out of it and more that the High Lord was right in front of him now, gently encircling his scarred wrists with large, pale hands. Azriel’s breaths were more like little gasps as his vision focused on Eris’ gold-burnished gaze.
“Shadowsinger.”
“Yes. Yes?”
“I need you to look within yourself—really think—and tell me if you think what you’re feeling is truly love.”
Azriel’s mind whited out as Eris’ words ricocheted through him.
They’d had a conversation, once, about Mor. A fight, sort of, that ended with kisses that were more like teeth scraping across soft lips, fingers digging into muscle so hard it would bruise, resonant growls as Azriel desperately ground himself against Eris, their hard lengths sliding together as they latched their teeth and nails into semi-exposed skin.
You didn’t love her, Azriel. Eris had told him, his face infuriatingly blank despite the aggression in his tone. You devoted yourself to her, you gave yourself up for her, but that’s not love. She never asked for that.
The person you love doesn’t have to ask for it in order for it to exist. Azriel had sputtered, further frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t contain that very feeling.
Maybe not, Eris had snarled, but if you truly did love her, you would have confronted the fact that she didn’t want you back a lot sooner. But you held on, Azriel and that’s when what was originally just juvenile devotion tipped towards willful denial. That’s not love. That’s a dog that won’t let go when it bites the arm it thinks is a bone.
“It’s not delusion.” Azriel told Eris, the past argument simultaneously clearing his head and clouding it.
“I didn’t ask if it was. I don’t think you’re delusional.” Eris told him slowly. “But I know how my magic has…changed. A High Lord’s power is orbital. I know what it can do to people.”
Azriel shook his head as he stepped back out of Eris’ hold.
“The magic may make me want to worship you, but it is not what’s causing this.” Azriel gestured to his own chest, hoping that Eris could see the mess of emotions tangled underneath his flesh and bone. “It can’t force something like love.”
“ Worship me?” Eris blurted, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. Azriel shook his head, running an exasperated hand down his face. He wished he could say he didn’t expect his night to go this way, but frankly, he wasn’t very surprised, knowing his own track record. One would think that he’d be properly socialized after five hundred and twenty seven years out of captivity, but alas. Eris shook his head, as if shaking off the question so that he could replace it with a new one. “How do you know the difference, Azriel?”
Azriel had to physically straighten to stop himself from feeling the sting of the words.
But it was the jolt he needed in order to look at Eris with some sort of fortification. His brows drew together as his frustration concentrated within him, gathering under his tongue as he felt his thoughts take more solid forms.
“I would do anything for you, Eris.” He said flatly. The High Lord blinked once, opening his mouth to respond, but Azriel held up a silencing hand. “It’s not new. I started feeling it after the second Hybernian War. And I knew it was true when I stayed on the continent for days on end, waiting for any sign of life from you. I knew it when I chose you over Cassian without even a second thought. I knew it when Koschei nearly got you, too, and when you became High Lord, and the first time I saw you at a meeting after that, even though I could barely look you in the eye.”
Eris pursed his lips, watching Azriel stonily as he let the confession roll off his tongue in a sharp deluge.
“But what makes me think— know —that I’m falling in love with you is the fact that I want it back. I want to know that you would do anything for me too. Even as High Lord. And I want to be with you, Eris. Not just in here,” he gestured broadly to his bedchamber, “but all the time. Everywhere. And, to be candid, I don’t think I would want that with you if it weren’t because of love.”
It was a bitter way to tell someone he loved them. But that someone was Eris Vanserra, and Azriel wasn’t sure that Eris would believe him if he weren’t so blunt about it. Neither of them were strangers to their past of animosity. The final word of his admission rang out in the thick silence that followed.
Azriel counted the seconds as he held eye contact, and his stance. He would not look away. Eris was entirely unreadable, as still as a statue, but Azriel would not look away. The High Lord didn’t respond, didn’t say a word, and still, Azriel would not look away.
Then, before his eyes, Eris seemed to sort of…melt. His features softened, lightened, a hundred different emotions crossing his face in one fleeting motion. They left behind one that Azriel had never seen the High Lord exhibit before, not even during his own Ascension: wonder. Pure, unfiltered awe.
Azriel watched Eris’ pale chest start to flush, the rise and fall of it becoming more rapid. A distant impression of a smile began to play at his parted lips, and his eyes flared with a fire so bright that the amber turned almost completely white-hot, only differentiated from the sclera by a ring of burning orange-gold. A flicker of light caught Azriel’s attention, and he looked down to see tongues of flame winding their way around Eris’ hands and wrists. The movements were uncannily similar to that of Azriel’s shadows.
One of them—the same one as before, he suspected—ventured forward to curl around Eris’ ankle. It pulled, and he stepped closer.
And then suddenly he was crashing into Azriel, fire-wreathed hands framing his face without burning. The Shadowsinger couldn’t feel scared if he tried, anyway. Not with the way Eris pressed his lips to Azriel’s own, hard and desperate and perfect.
“I’m a hypocrite.” Eris gasped against Azriel’s mouth between their fervent, unrefined kisses.
“Why’s that?” Azriel asked, grabbing Eris by his thin waist and drawing their hips together as he absentmindedly canted his own forward. Eris’ fingers weren’t gentle as they sunk into the Shadowsinger’s night-dark hair, holding on like he was afraid Azriel would melt into the shadows at any moment.
“Sometimes, I feel like I’ve loved you for my entire life.” Eris shuddered out, his low voice ragged and cracking.
Azriel didn’t know whether or not to laugh or moan, so he pushed Eris backwards, encouraging him towards the bed.
This time, when they moved, they moved together. No direction or instruction from one male or the other. They didn’t even need to speak, save for half-mumbled praises that always trailed off in favor of sucking marks into each other’s skin, or engaging in bruising kisses that left Azriel breathless despite his centuries of experience.
And later, when Eris was buried inside of him, reaching so perfectly deep that Azriel’s entire body trembled, he couldn’t string together any real words except the damning three.
He’d never said them to a bedmate in all his five hundred and thirty eight years. But as Eris rolled his hips behind him, helping hold Azriel up with one arm snaked around his torso, he couldn’t find it within him to say anything else. So he let the triadic phrase fall from his lips every time Eris’ own soft mouth grazed his sweat-slick skin. Hell, every time the High Lord thrust into him. Every second, every chance he got, he said it. Over and over again, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.
And with each whispered confession, Azriel heard an echo. A smoky, regal voice, hot breath puffing against the back of his neck. With the echo came a truth. Like the Shadowsinger had known that he would do anything for the male that moved with him, within him, Azriel knew that the three words Eris returned were nothing but true.