THE Possum

A Sport of Stars and Fire

Azris | E | lunaophelia

Summary:

Azriel Singer, “Terror of the Montreal Stars," and Eris Vanserra, star center and Captain of the Boston Fire, have been pitted as rivals since the 2009 NHL draft. When Singer stumbles upon Vanserra in a compromising position after a home game, he realizes they may have more in common than he thought. In lieu of an NDA (or a bargain tattoo), Singer gives Vanserra his number. It’s not much in the way of leverage, but it’s all Vanserra is going to get. Or is it?

Or, a rivals-to-lovers Hockey-AU romp with our favorite ACOTAR boys, featuring codependent Azriel & Cassian, modern epistolary romance (a.k.a. sexting, HA), so much yearning, and very little hockey.

Notes:

A Sport of Stars and Fire

Azris | E | lunaophelia

Summary:

Azriel Singer, “Terror of the Montreal Stars," and Eris Vanserra, star center and Captain of the Boston Fire, have been pitted as rivals since the 2009 NHL draft. When Singer stumbles upon Vanserra in a compromising position after a home game, he realizes they may have more in common than he thought. In lieu of an NDA (or a bargain tattoo), Singer gives Vanserra his number. It’s not much in the way of leverage, but it’s all Vanserra is going to get. Or is it?

Or, a rivals-to-lovers Hockey-AU romp with our favorite ACOTAR boys, featuring codependent Azriel & Cassian, modern epistolary romance (a.k.a. sexting, HA), so much yearning, and very little hockey.

Notes:

It was a beautiful, hot summer’s night, and Azriel was stuck inside, again. Outside, the stars across Velaris glittered, like little pinpricks in the sky. Streetlamps were glowing, and wind carried the late night chatter between friends. The possibilities of the night were endless.

The window on the top floor of the Night household was slightly ajar, and for the last ten minutes Azriel had been trying to figure out a way he could use this opportunity for his advantage. He was on the carpet floor, poised, looking for the ideal opening – a jump to the boxes on the left, then a climbing of the dresser, then a scrambling at the wall, and then – window. He took a deep breath, wiggled a little for the perfect position, and then - jumped. Excellent. He landed with grace, elegance, a faultless leap. Second jump – onto the dresser. He slipped a little, his paw catching on the shiny wood. A little tetter on the edge, but he made it, he recovered. He looked around - quick.

Ok. No one saw it. He was fine. It was ok. All good. Recovered.

Final phase of the operation. He scrambled up the wall, paws outstretched, managed to hook himself onto the windowsill. He pulled himself up, so perfect, so elegant, absolutely impeccable. The window was in front of him, the little crack between the townhouse and the beautiful outside. Azriel slotted his paw into the gap and started to push. He only needed to get his little head through, the rest of him would move like liquid. Just a bit more, a little push, just a little -

“Azzy!” A shout came. Azriel looked behind him. If cats could swear, you’d best believe every single obscenity would have been coming out his mouth at that very moment.

“Naughty little shadow!” Feyre walked over, and scooped Azriel up, and pulling him close to her chest “What are you doing my sweet boy?”

He struggled, pushing at her, but she held on tight, saying how beautiful and sweet he was. Azril did not care– it was a trap. She would take him downstairs, take away his freedom, and then call him a cutie-pie all while stripping him of his only chance at the outside world. And Azriel would not stand for this treatment any longer, no sir he would not. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He swiped at Feyre, claws out. She shrieked, and her grip loosened. He scrambled again, and she was holding on, and he swiped and then – he was out of her grip. He was on the floor again, and she was reaching down to grab him, but Azriel was too fast. Jump to the box, then the dresser, no time to worry about the little slip, scramble up the wall, and then forcing his way through the gap in the window.

“Azriel!” Feyre shouted, but it was no use – he was out. Out in the hot sticky night. And Caldron, if the air didn’t smell good. He slipped onto the roof tiles, and glanced behind himself. Feyre was scowling. She had opened the window and was trying to coax him back inside. Azriel sat, just out of reach, tail flicking. She fished around in her pockets and her hand extended again, something resting on her palm. The wind carried the scent. Oh. What a clever woman she was. His favourite, the little chicken treats, the ones that came in the yellow packet. Crispy on the outside, pillow soft on the inside – no, he must concentrate, he could not be dissuaded from his mission. Even if they did smell so delicious, surely one couldn’t hurt… Feyre shook her outstretched hand, and Azriel found himself leaning forward, then a bit more, gods just a little bite -

“Come on azzy-cat, come here. It’s ok, sweet baby.” She said in a sing-song voice. “Come back inside”

It was this last statement that shook him out of his stupidity. He couldn't. He couldn't have the treats. His freedom. His mission. That was more important. Feyre’s sweet face turned into a scowl, and she tried for a sterner approach.

“Azriel. Az. Get back inside. Now.”

Azriel meowed a soft goodbye, and then turned on his paws, jumping off their rooftop and onto the next, into the night. Feyre yelled behind him. He wished he could tell her not to worry – he didn't like seeing her upset. But this was necessary.

He would be back by sunrise. As long as the mission was successful.

Tag list - @spookypersondinosaur