#azris fluff

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He didn’t so much as bolt out of bed as fall. Splitting, mind-belting pain shot across his temples. Firewhiskey. Eris, pouring them glasses and glasses of it, comfortably drinking him under the table, then coaxing him to bed with promises of a slow morning together and hands trailing over his wings.

The perfect lie, Azriel had realised.

His shadows barely have time to settle about his shoulders before he grits out, Find him, and they scatter.

He ignores the errant want racketing over his skin in favour of pulling open the wardrobe. Two empty coathangers. Shirt and jacket. A pair of trousers is gone from the dresser. He glances at where Eris had left his boots, neatly paired by the door, to find them gone. Fuck. In an instant, his head clears.

He throws on a pair of trousers—his, hooked up from the floor where he’d left them beside the bed—and a shirt—Eris’, because it has those fiddly sleeves they adore in Autumn for the decorum of undressing as slowly as possible, and recently modified to fit someone with wings—before he pulls on shoes and has to tuck in his wings to fit through the doorframe of the room.

The servants he passes in the corridor skirt around him, eyeing the few shadows still simmering nervously around his shoulders, but he pays them no mind as he ducks his head into Eris’ study. Nothing. The library is empty. So too the music room, the solar and the training ring (bar the Captain of Eris’ guard, running through drills).

When he stalks into the dining room, he’s greeted only by the startled but smug, bemused face of one of Eris’ brothers. Cyrus. Fourth eldest. More interested in the financial aspects of his Court, and spends most of his time either reading and modifying reports, or torturing puppies for kicks. He recalls Mor once spilt a whole glass of wine on him from a balcony at an official gathering. Eris had hidden a laugh behind a well-timed sip of liquor.

He pauses his latest endeavour into bills or bloodletting to turn his attention to him. Scans him up and down. Arches a brow.

“Looking for someone?” he asks mildly, setting down his teacup delicately in his saucer, but not quite managing to meet his eye as he does. His gaze lingers on his wings, and Azriel fights the urge to snarl. “I haven’t seen him, before you ask…” A wry smirk. “...or threaten the dungeons. He’s probably getting cold feet…”

A shadow curls against his ear. 

Found him.

They winnow him away before Az can tell Cyrus the maid spits in his tea, and it’s probably for the best. Good material to embarrass Eris’ brothers comes rarely these days, and he’d rather make him pale in front of a crowd, at least.

He lands on soft ground, leaves crunching beneath his feet, in one of the forests which dot the Court. Stilled, he listens. Waits. Then he hears it.

Running water and splashing.

A gentle murmur. “No shaking. I mean it. Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

He follows it, as though pulled by some invisible string, and clears the treeline.

By a brook, running through the middle of the copse of poplars, there he is. He’s sitting with his back turned to him, his hair loose down his back and glinting with bronzes in the late-morning sun, legs stretched out in front of him on the ground. In the water, two of the hounds—Astra and Clementine, if Az were to guess—are playing with each other. Tousling and chasing, flicking water around and leaving trails of smoke in their wake. One of his hands rests beside him, his fingers tapping a steady, thudding rhythm.

For a moment, Azriel just takes in the sight. 

Out in the forests, he has always thought Eris is most at home. He can posture in a politician's study and tie a male in knots with only the words on his lips all he likes, and why wouldn’t he when he is so accomplished at it, but he is truly, quietly radiant here. A son of his Court, through and through. Some warm, but oddly hollow, feeling pangs through his chest at the idea.

The tapping of Eris’ fingers stops. 

“I know you’re there, Azriel.”

He tilts his head just a fraction, so he can eye him over his shoulder.

“I thought you were supposed to be stealthy.”

Az huffs a laugh. It comes out shakier than he’d have liked. “It doesn’t seem to work on you,” he says.

Eris hums and turns away.

Az just goes to sit next to him, cross-legged on the dry leaves and comfortable enough with his wings splayed out, one curled tentatively around him, but not close enough to crowd. For a little while, they watch the dogs, and that’s all.

He can wait like this for a long time, letting Eris work through exactly how to word what he wants to say. When he has it straight in his head, he’ll start talking. There’s no need to fill the silence, nor any need to give anything they aren’t ready for. He knows he doesn’t have to prompt him into the conversation they should have.

The move closer is what lets him know Eris is going to open his mouth. How he catches the muscle in his jaw tick. How he takes a breath deeper than necessary.

He frowns. 

“I’m sorry I let you wake up alone.”

He’s still watching the dogs.

“It wasn’t the nicest feeling,” Azriel says. 

He hated it, actually. Always, he hates it when Eris does this. He is prone to disappearing before something important, before dinners and gatherings to clear his head. But Az will always come to find him.

Eris swallows thickly. Drops his head to Az’s shoulder.

“Forgive me,” he says quietly. 

When Eris seeks out his hand, Az draws his wing tighter around him and lets his thumb brush over the uneven skin there without flinching. He skims over the ring on his finger. Golden and engraved, yes, but simple. A gift with no expectation, and one Az had worn around his neck before he could let himself have it on his hand. Sometimes he still does, on missions or dangerous exploits. He would be devastated to lose it.

Azriel squeezes Eris’ hand as he interlocks their fingers. “You’re forgiven,” he replies softly, then, slyly, “even though you left me hard without any way to satisfy myself.”

Ah, there it is. Eris scoffs, and Azriel relaxes a fraction when he finally looks up at him.

“And here I was thinking we were having a serious moment,” he drawls, “but you and your cock—”

“—which you can’t live without—”

His whole face flushes red. “We are not talking about this again.”

Az snickers. “You said it.” He presses a kiss to Eris’ temple, small smile still on his face.

Silence falls again, but it’s less heavy now. The dogs have tired each other out and are sitting at the bank, dripping wet and panting, tails wagging. One of them snaps her jaw at a shadow which had got too curious for its own good. It dissipates, then reappears at his shoulder, hissing at them. Then the others, content to hide beneath his wings, start to simmer.

Eris exhales.

“Tomorrow is bothering me more than I’d care to admit,” he says sharply, almost like he can’t believe he’s hearing himself speak the words.

Tomorrow is the Solstice party in Velaris with everyone. All of his family, including Elain and Lucien, back from their trip, even Nesta if she can stomach being in the same room as Amren, will be there. Eris, most importantly, too, but not if it’s going to be like this. Az would rather spend the Solstice here, sat at the bank of a brook, with Eris curled against him, than he would make him endure something he’ll hate for his sake. The gods know he’s had enough of that.

“We don’t have to go,” he tells him. “You know that.”

“Of course we do,” he fires back, “you love holidays. I’m not going to take that from you.”

Damn him, his heart stutters in his chest.

“Eris—”

“We’re going,” he says firmly, “as unfortunate as your brothers might find that.”

There is nothing in this world Azriel would like more than for his two worlds to collide. For Cassian to be able to look Eris dead in the eye and treat him fairly, for Rhys to see him as something more than a political rival and something better than his father. 

It’s… wishful thinking.

But instead of saying any of that, Az squeezes his hand again. “It doesn’t matter what they think.”

The brook batters the rocks at its bed.

A moment passes.

Two.

One of the hounds lies down, and the other joins her.

“No,” Eris says, “it doesn’t.”  

Azriel has warned them, warned everyone, that he and Eris will leave as soon as someone comments anything, with no preamble and no pleading to have them stay. I won’t have it, he’d snapped in Rhys’ office, eyeing each of them and daring them to object. No one did. Not even Mor.

Azriel has made it very clear to them what Eris means to him.

They don’t understand; they’ve never seen Eris like this. Never known him tender or vulnerable or contemplative, and they most likely never will. Tomorrow, he’ll be what they expect. Arrogant, sneering, and tolerable only because he has to be. Only Az gets him as he is.

He shifts, pulls his legs in then stretches back out languidly, a hitched sound catching in his throat, shuffling so he can lie his head on Az’s thigh, almost in his lap, and tugs his hand to his chest. Happily, Azriel lets him.

Carefully, he casts his gaze back up at him. 

“What were you dreaming about?” he asks, more aloof than he probably is. No doubt, Az had been hard and muttering dirty things under his breath in his sleep when Eris left him that morning, drenching them both in the scent of sweet arousal and a certain amount of desperation—that Eris happens to enjoy.

The question is a distraction of the most obvious kind. If it will get him to smile, Az will play along; talking can come as soon as Eris does.

“Lots of things,” Az replies, his tone light and non-committal. He leans back and—

“Like what?” Eris presses.

Predictable. He gets off on hearing about his fantasies. Puts a lot of effort into making them a reality. Azriel gets off on telling him.

“There was a headboard,” he says. “You were very, very loud, and you were begging me for it like a bitch in heat. So—” a shit-eating grin— “the usual.” With an incredulous kind of laugh, Eris rolls his eyes, but that delightful blush high on his cheekbones is back. Such a gorgeous face. His free hand comes to toy with the stray strands of his hair. 

Az's voice dips. 

“You were so coy.” He watches attentively as Eris’ pupils blow out a little. “You teased me all night and I dragged you out of whatever party we were at to have you pressed in that little alcove by the orchards. You remember it?” That earns him a heated glare. They’ve defiled that poor alcove more than any other place in the House outside of Eris’ chambers. How could he ever forget? “Then, I carried you to bed because you couldn’t walk and had you again, and again, and again, until all you could think to do was scream my name.”

Eris tuts. “You do always last longer in your head.” Az wonders if he knows how breathy he sounds, or how horny that makes him.

“Is that a challenge?” he asks.

“Maybe.” 

“Hm, maybe.” The finger he’d had twirling the loose strands of Eris’ hair by his cheek runs along his jawline. “You know what else I was dreaming about?” he asks lowly, catching that deliciously glazed look in Eris’ eye as he shifts again, perhaps to relieve himself of the growing tightness at his crotch. Az can scent it, that wonderfully subtle, burgeoning, burning arousal.

“Tell me,” Eris says, blinking up at him.

Az pulls Eris’ chin up just enough that it surely can’t quite be comfortable.

He smiles pleasantly.

Squeezes his hand.

“Your pretty, pretty mouth.”

It happens as though they’d planned it, how easily Eris lets go, turns and crawls towards him, knees rustling the leaves on the ground. He grips the top of his thigh to yank Az’s hips to his—fuck—! The sweetest contact of Eris nuzzling his face against the very thin fabric of these stupid, in-the-way trousers makes Azriel suck in a breath and card his hand through Eris’ hair, only to tug him away when he gets hard enough to itch for real friction.

“I should make you beg for it,” he hisses. On his knees for him, he’s already halfway there.

He shakes his head. “Don’t.” He pushes against Az’s hand and goes to fiddle with his waistband. His shadows creep down his forearms, ready to restrain, but Az stops them, waiting for what he knows is coming right… “Please, Az, don’t.”

“Maybe,” he purrs. 

His name grinds out of Eris’ mouth, half-pleading and half-pissed off, exactly how it should be, and gods if it isn’t the best thing he’s ever heard. Truly, he’s powerless to stop his grip in his hair loosening, gentling to a caress that has him keening. He barely has time to think before Eris is fiddling with the ties at his crotch and pulling his waistband off his hips just enough to expose him.

The first kitten lick to the tip of his cock is a cruel tease and Eris bats his fucking eyelashes at him while he does it, knowing that’s all it takes to make him fully hard. That all he needs is to see his tongue swipe at the pearl of pre-cum at the head and for him to moan just like that only from the taste.

Wings splayed out behind him and twitching from the pleasure that shoots straight up his spine, Azriel has to lean back to give Eris more room. Greedily, he takes it, wrapping his lips around the head and—

“Fuck, Eris…”

He feels him smile into the bob of his head, his tongue curled along the underside of his cock which makes him fight rolling his hips into his mouth. Instead, Az guides him down, pushing him take more and more like he knows he can. He feels it when he swallows and tries to relax his throat until his nose is pressed against the trimmed hair at the base of his dick, when he groans and the vibrations make Azriel tighten his hand into a fist as his head falls back.

They work into a rhythm, Az picking up the slack where Eris falters, and he doesn’t falter much, with timed movement of hips. Enough to send shudders through his whole body, but not enough to hurt or bruise. Only when Eris start to grind his own hips does Az snap his calf against his backside, stopping him from giving himself any relief. 

“None of that,” he grits out. 

Az wants him to come untouched in his breeches, right here, on the autumn leaves by the brook.

Eris, it seems, wants Az to come in his mouth.

He can feel the tension coiling in his stomach with every pass of Eris’ mouth, but it twists when his hand leaves its white-knuckled grasp on the hem of his shirt to play with his balls and oh he’s so close…

“Keep going,” he pants, stroking at the back of Eris’ head wherever he can. He has to… fuck, no, he has… shit… he has to see. With everything he can spare, Az tips his chin down so he can watch. 

He does it like he’s made for it, made for him and only him. Eris knows exactly how to tip him over the edge, but Az knows what’ll do it for him.

“You’re so good for me, Eris,” he coos, “so pretty, so perfect, aren’t you?”

And Eris fucking whines, keens, breaks. Az’s wings twitch and tighten. His shadows fizzle. He gasps. Comes so hard down Eris’ throat he might as well be in a different universe. Barely manages to catch the sight of him swallowing everything he gives him, but, by the gods, he does, doesn’t he? Takes it all and pulls off him with a heinously lewd smack, then rests his head against Az’s thigh, chest heaving.

Az reaches for him and tugs him up, settles him in his lap, and crashes his lips against his. Eris’ half-lidded eyes widen, then shut as his tongue sweeps into his mouth, the taste of his spend still lingering. They barely pull apart before Az latches onto Eris’ neck, sucking a bruise into the tender skin big enough that everyone will notice tomorrow and that’s just what he wants. For everyone to know he’s unashamedly his and his alone.

Eris laughs as Az pulls at his shirt. “We’re not doing this on the dirty ground in front of the hounds,” he breathes out, as Az pointedly ignores him. The hounds will find their own way back. “And,” he continues, “I might need a moment.”

Probably. Az can feel the wetness of where he came against his stomach as he grips him impossibly closer. “Want you so bad,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and full of post-climax roughness, against his skin. Gives him another bruise, this one at his collarbone. 

The hand that swipes across the top of his wing makes him shake with overstimulation and stop his ministrations. Eris uses his opportunity. 

“You can have me,” he says, his lips pressed against Az’s ear, “in bed. Where there’s a headboard for you to dream of again tonight. Sound acceptable for you, you silly bat?” 

On anyone else’s tongue, bat would make him bristle, but the way Eris says it always makes him soft.

“Fine,” he relents, only because the headboard does sound appealing. 

Az shifts his hold so he can stand and keep Eris wrapped around him. If his hand finds its way to his ass, that’s mere coincidence, just as he’s sure he didn’t mean to squeak at the contact.

To hide the blush on his cheeks, no doubt, Eris presses gentle kisses to his jawline. “We’ll see if you can last, hm?” he teases.

Az glowers. “Asshole.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

Eris purrs a contented chuckle, and Az’s shadows whisk them back to the House.

The Solstice tomorrow might end up being a shitshow, but Azriel couldn't care less right now.

The bright sheen of burnished copper flashed among the crowd before disappearing again. The cool mist of shadowy darkness enveloped over his Illyrian frame before swallowing him whole inside. Within a moment, Azriel materialized in the dark mouth of an alley. Sharp sounds of children's laughter cracked through his awareness before he drowned out the background distractions once more. Wings tucked and shadows cloaking, he positioned himself against the damp brick of the neighboring shop. This newest vantage point opened up onto the heart of the square, centered directly into the dead end loop of produce and sweets vendors. 

“Az?” Rhys’ voice boomed inside his head. “Where are you?”

“I’m busy.” Slamming the gates of his mind closed before his High Lord could question him further. 

Azriel visually scanned over the crowd, easily finding who he was looking for. Eyes narrowed and laser focused, he watched and waited. What he was waiting for, he wasn’t entirely sure himself. A tell. A minor slip. Some indication that this aching premonition in his chest was right. He would know it when he saw it. 

This mission was not sanctioned by his brother but Azriel had learned that sometimes it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Especially when he knew that permission would not have been granted in this case. Rhysand had come to reluctantly trust Eris Vanserra. Bargains and business and whatever else had transpired between them outside of Azriel’s knowledge, Rhysand had come to believe that having Eris on their side was an asset. Az however believed that allowing him to roam freely among the streets of Velaris was a mistake and he was intent on proving it. 

He tracked the prince of Autumn’s movements carefully. Tall and lithe, Eris moved with a natural grace that set Azriel’s teeth on edge. He was dressed far more casually than he had been earlier at his meeting with the Night Court. Gone were the frills and vestiges of court royalty, replaced with the soft pile of a knitted sweater and tailored pants. A small leather satchel hung from his side, tucked discreetly under the well worn cloak draped over his shoulders. 

Even Eris’ face appeared softer. Perhaps it was the loose unbound curtain of red drifting down to his shoulders. Brows no longer pinched, cheekbones still refined but less sharp. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear as he leaned over the wares of a sweets vendor and Azriel's heart skipped. The pale slender throat on display, heat flooded Azriel's face before hot anger followed. A throat he's already wrapped his hand around in anger. Every wrongdoing of Eris Vanserra flashed heavily in his mind. Azriel's palms itched at the memory as he clenched his fists at his side. 

How dare he flit about his city so unassuming, playing tourist. If only everyone around this square knew what predator lurked among them. Azriel felt a low rumble of a growl building in his chest. At some silent command, a lone shadow shot out of the alleyway and into the crowd.

“Looking for anything particular?” The vendor greeted.

“I was just parsing through your licorice selection,” Eris replied idylly.

“We grow the root ourselves! Largest selection in the city.”

Eris smirked at the males obvious peddling. “I’m actually looking for something in particular. A soft licorice coated in sea salt. It’s surprisingly uncommon to find and unfortunately one of my favorites.”

The errant shadow relayed the conversation and it sounded inside Az’s head, much like his connection with Rhys. Azriel frowned at the mention of licorice. His eyes narrowed further as he inspected Eris at the stall as if the news of his preferred treat somehow confirmed whatever sinister beliefs he had of the Autumn prince. He thought of his own hatred of the foul candy and the knot in his chest tightened further at the evidence that his hatred was justified. 

“Ahhh,” the vendor sighed. “An uncommon taste indeed, some would say acquired.” With a twinkle in his eye the vendor turned and plucked a smaller crate from the side table of the booth. 

Azriel watched as Eris’ amber eyes briefly widened. 

The vendor plucked the paper wrapped piece from the crate. “A sample?”

Eris accepted and untwisted the ends of the wrapper. His hands slowed as Azriel’s heart sped up. Carefully, nimbly, Eris’s elegant fingers unrolled the soft treat and grasped it between finger and thumb. His rosy lips parted and ever so slowly unfurled his pink tongue. His amber eyes snapped to the corner of the tablecloth drifting in the breeze, making direct eye contact with the errant shadow hiding there as he winked and pulled the sweet into his mouth.

“I hope the bat saw that,” he mused inwardly, scanning the periphery for every shadowy spot that the Illyrian might be skulking. Eris didn’t need to spot him, he knew he was there. He would show himself in good time. He could practically hear the pounding of Azriel’s heart from here. That same heavy thudding rhythm that he had felt against his hand and he scrabbled for breath beneath the weight of him at the High Lord’s meeting. 

Eris repressed the memory in his mind, savoring the rich bloom of the sweet in his mouth. As the vendor scooped the candies into a bag, Eris refrained from turning and scanning the crowd. That nagging ache in his chest, that feeling of being watched, had dissipated. He chose to believe that was a good thing. 

Having paid, he stashed his purchase into the satchel at his side. Not even a full step into the milling crowd again and there was a brief swirling of air between the booths. He didn’t even glance sideways as he smirked knowingly. 

“What are you doing here, Eris?” Azriel nearly growled, cold fury wafted from him.

Eris took a cleansing breath, a smirk still proudly displayed upon his fine lips. “I seem to remember being invited here by your High Lord,” he intoned. “Or did you miss that bit of information as well?”

Az’s wings twitched with agitation at the dig. Rhys had indeed invited Eris here to Night Court and then promptly barred himself and Cassian from being part of the meeting. Whatever had been discussed behind closed doors was still a mystery to him and Eris knew it. 

“This appears to be outside the bounds of an official meeting,” Az growled. 

Turning to face his opponent, Eris’s smirk grew into a full fledged grin. Amber eyes glittering with feral delight. “I was unaware there were restrictions to my travel, Spymaster. Is this the part where you drag me off to some dungeon?”

The thought had crossed Azriel’s mind on more than one occasion. Capturing this meddling fire fae and torturing him for information, seeking some kind of justice for Mor, watching the flame sputter out in his beguiling eyes. He thought of it quite often in fact. Mostly alone in his room in the quiet of night, hand palming his rigid cock. 

The question lingered between them unanswered, Azriel still looming unmoving. 

“Do I at least get some sort of Last Rites? A final drink perhaps?” Eris questioned coyly. “If I’m going to be held prisoner for some minor infraction, the least you could do is let me be drunk.” 

Azriel shook his head in confusion, eyes narrowed upon Eris and his angular face. Before he could utter a word, Eris laid his slender hand upon the sleeve of his training leathers and the world went dark. 

The clinking of glasses sounded in his ears before anything came into view. Azriel didn’t recognize where they were at all. Turning his head side to side he surveyed the room, a dark and elegant taproom it seemed. All dark wood and hushed voices, smoke lingering above a pair of males sitting in a corner booth, one of them smoking a pipe. His shadows had abandoned him the second they arrived, zooming through the darkened corners and inspecting for danger. 

Eris slid himself onto the stool to his left, cozying up to the empty bar counter and signalling across the bar with a tap of his fingers.

“Where the fuck are we?” 

“Autumn Court of course,” Eris replied without even looking his way. “You didn’t really think I’d choose some Night Court swill for my final drink, did you?”

Once again, Azriel didn’t answer. It was at this moment he realized he had lost control of the situation. What he had planned on doing when he revealed himself to Eris in the market square, he didn’t know, and now he was courts away from home. He could winnow himself this instant. Return to Velaris unscathed and embarrassed, never to speak of this again. But as he swiveled his gaze to the male at the bar, posture loose and demeanor confident, he couldn’t find the will to leave. 

Eris slid the second of the heavy bottomed whiskey glasses across the bar in Az’s direction. An invitation. His shadows had returned without any news of danger or strife. Clenching his hands at his sides and rolling his shoulders, Azriel forced himself into feigned cordiality. He was rather curious about Eris's intentions. 

Tipping his glass, Eris clicked it against the one still sitting upon the bar top. “Cheers,” he said as he brought his own drink to his lips. Azriel didn’t bother taking a seat, stepping closer to the bar and snatching the glass up. He threw his head back and the drink burned its way down his throat. Hot and pleasant in equal measure with a touch of something smoky. 

“It’s meant to be savored,” Eris quipped as he tapped the bar again to signal for another drink. “This isn’t the sort of drivel you toss back in those brothels you frequent.” 

Before Azriel could reply, another glass slid his way. “Sip it,” Eris commanded, his voice smoky as the air around them. “Let it linger on your tongue. Once you get past the burn it really mellows out nicely.”

Azriel listened to direction, much easier than he probably should have, but something about the dark quiet of this place and the intriguing male beside him lulled his hyperawareness to a dull hum. Even his shadows had settled, tucked along the ridge of his wings, still and quiet. 

He sipped, holding the burning liquid on his tongue, rolling it from side to side as the fire dissipated and a smoky flavor bloomed. Cinnamon and a hint of fig followed, with a touch of honey. Eris watched the Spymaster’s face intently as he studied the notes and swallowed. 

“See?”

Azriel nodded in agreement before letting a measure of silence pass. “What were you doing in Velaris earlier?” Azriel questioned, staring down at his glass. 

“As I said, I was invited on official–,”

“You know what I mean, Vanserra,” Az snapped, turning his head toward him with a searing glare. No answer followed, nothing but that aggravating smirk. 

“Mor hates when you visit,” he declared, hoping idly to push Eris into enough irritation to give him a reason to leave.

“Mor hates her father too but that doesn’t stop his access to your fabled city,” Eris responded coolly as he took another sip.

Azriel had nothing else to say to that. Despite his complicated feelings about Mor and her history, this wasn’t the time. The silence settled between them, surprisingly easy and calm. The animosity Azriel had felt following Eris through the city streets had evaporated and yet he still couldn't bring himself to just winnow home. Whatever this was felt companionable and quaint. A pang of melancholy hit Az square in the chest. 

The knock of an empty glass on the bar top broke through his reverie. “Well,” Eris started as he eased himself from the stool. “I’ve had my final drink. I suppose now is when I surrender.” 

He faced Azriel again with that aggravating smirk, one eyebrow cocked in jest. Az stood straighter, clearly faking a confidence he didn’t feel. Eris couldn’t actually be serious about surrender to capture could he? He stood stock still a moment, gauging the amber eyes before him and trying to read past their mischievous sparkle. But Eris didn’t back down.

“If you insist,” Az said as he reached for Eris’s arm and for a split second he swore he could have felt a tremor pass through the Autumn prince’s limb.

Eris wasn’t wholly surprised when they didn’t materialize into some dingy basement room. He was however taken aback by the choice of location. The massive room was even less lit than the taproom, the outer walls hidden fully in darkness. Only the large square middle of the room was lit by streams of neon fae light dancing slowly through the air. Drumbeats pulsed from the stage to their right and Eris took in the sights from where they stood. Fae of all shapes and colors and sizes were dancing, some in groups and some alone or in pairs. All of them undulating to the slow rhythm of the band. 

The corner of Eris’s mouth tipped up in a sly grin. “Not exactly the torture I was expecting but torture none the less.”

Azriel couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of his own lips. “It’s not like you can’t dance. I’ve seen you on the floor before,” he jested. 

Eris threw his head back and laughed. A full and surprised laugh. His copper hair slipped down his back and exposed his bobbing throat. Azriel’s first instinct was to lean in and taste it. 

Shaken by his own thoughts, he turned and abruptly made his way to the edge of the dance floor. Calming his racing heart he centered his breathing, letting the beat of the drums pulse over his skin. This was his go to when he couldn’t stand the oppressive thoughts of his own mind anymore. Where he escaped when couldn’t stand the heavy weight of his friends and their well meaning platitudes. Right now, he couldn't stand to face the male behind him or the realization of why he had brought Eris here. Closing his eyes, Azriel just listened. He took in the music around him and let everything else melt away. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it took him to ease his way to the dance floor, all he knew was that for just this moment, everything felt right.

Eris watched from the sidelines. His eyes tracked the limber movements of the warrior on the floor, wings tucked and always conscious of those around him, even with his eyes closed. It almost reminded him of his hounds bounding through the woods. If he could stop the hastening of time and watch them in slow motion, Eris felt it would look a lot like Azriel right now. Twisting around tree trunks and over branches, winding their way through dense forest. As one song bled into two and then three, Eris pushed himself from the table he had been leaning on and approached the floor.

Azriel didn’t seem to be aware of his presence. If he was, he didn’t show it. Lost in the music and movement of his own body, he continued dancing. His face no longer pinched in intense concentration or ire, Eris couldn’t help but find him beautiful. Slipping between other fae, he joined the crowd. 

A few moments passed, both dancing in each other's periphery, not worried about anything else but this moment. It was only when Az spun to face him that Eris noticed his surprise at seeing him there. 

“The last time you saw me dance,” Eris raised his voice above the music. “I was vying for the hand of Feyre’s sister. Tell me Spymaster…who’s hand am I vying for now?”

Azriel stilled for the briefest of moments, hand dropping back down to his sides. His mouth didn’t move in answer, but his body picked back up quickly, swaying to the music as he stepped closer to Eris. Not one to back down, Eris met him in the middle. Their chests nearly touching as they matched each other's rhythm. The misty shadows that always accompanied Azriel now drifted lazily between them, occasionally twirling themselves over Eris’s exposed wrists. 

First it was the drift of a hand against Eris’s side. Then it was the nudge of a hip as Eris stepped in closer. In a matter of minutes their bodies were pressed together, dancing in tandem.

“Are you going to take me to bed or not?” Eris questioned, his eyes glittering and half lidded. 

“We didn’t even kiss,” Az pointed out, hands drifting to his hips and pulling Eris closer.

“Let’s change that then.”

Azriel gave himself over to instinct as he leaned down the few inches down to Eris’s upturned face. This time his palms itched for a different reason, scarred hand gliding over silky skin, he wrapped his hand around Eris’s slender throat and pulled gently. One teasing lick to his plush bottom lip and Eris opened freely and matched his energy. 

The first taste was lingering smoke from the earlier whiskey, but as Azriel continued exploring he tasted the salty licorice he had watched Eris eat. He stroked along that same wet tongue he had seen envelope the sweet. It tasted earthy and pleasantly bitter, not at all like the pungent and acrid taste he had believed he hated. 

He pulled his head back and met Eris’s gaze, surprised to find he had buried his scarred hand into his hair. Eris’s hands gripped along the front of his tunic at his chest. 

“Let’s go,” Az managed to speak with a croak.

Gone was the aggravating smirk, replaced with the relaxed confidence. “Lead the way.”

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