ハトの落し物にご注意ください

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It was the perfect romantic setting. Snow was floating softly outside the penthouse windows, blanketing the city and making the room feel as cozy as the inside of a snowglobe. The fireplace cast a warm, inviting glow on the thick rug and plush furniture, and the newly decorated Christmas tree sparkled red and gold in the corner. The food was eaten, the drinks were drunk, and their guests were gone. Lucien and Tamlin were sitting alone, on his couch, with Tamlin’s newly unwrapped gift in his lap.

Pajamas. Silky satin green pajamas.

He expected Tamlin to laugh in surprise, to hold them up to himself to check the size, and maybe kiss him for the sweet gesture, but… Tamlin just… stared at them, and Lucien’s heart sank.

He should have gone with red. Green was one of the least sexy colors of the rainbow, but Tamlin’s eyes were green, and he was sexy as hell. How could he have gotten it so wrong?

Lucien scratched at the scar above his eye.

Maybe pajamas wasn’t the best first gift, after all. Tamlin’s jingle-bell antler headband and his own candy-striped sweater didn’t count, as they were more gag gifts than anything else, and the tree was theirs to share. The night before, he’d bought everyone drinks, and Tamlin had bought him dinner.

He wanted Tamlin to have something of his own. Pajamas had seemed like a harmless enough idea at the time, since he was going to spend the night, except… well. Lucien never wore pajamas. And buying sleepwear at this stage in their relationship made it clear that he only had bedroom thoughts on his mind.

It was a wonder that Tamlin hadn’t bolted for the door yet.

His poor, sweet, shy, nervous Tam, who had admitted to being assaulted by the dean back in college…

Lucien groaned aloud. “I’m sorry,” he said, and rubbed his forehead with a wince. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m being stupid. You don’t have to wear them.”

Tamlin slowly rubbed the embroidered lapels between his fingers. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he said with a shrug.

Lucien’s head jerked back in surprise.

“I-I mean, not tonight, anyway,” Tamlin stammered. His face turned red, even in the firelight.

Lucien’s brows rose. Maybe there was hope after all. “Oh?” he said as Tamlin ducked his head to hide his smile. Lucien sat up and grinned. “Oh, really…”

Tamlin chuckled shyly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I could wear them for a little while, to see if they fit…”

“Uh-huh,” Lucien said, tucking one leg underneath him as he turned to face his boyfriend on the couch. He flicked up his brows. “Keep talking. I like where this is going.”

Tamlin dropped his gaze to the pile of green satin in his lap. “I-I don’t know,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. “I’m not very good at this.”

Lucien’s dreams of untying strategically placed ribbons evaporated as he reached out to comfort his boyfriend. “Hey,” he soothed, rubbing his hand across Tamlin’s broad shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s your first time.”

Even if he meant well, it was the wrong thing to say. “I mean, it’s not my first time,” Tamlin said defensively. “But it was different with—with Feyre.”

Lucien could feel his hopeful smile fade. “Am I pushing you too much?” he asked gently.

“No,” Tamlin said, but he wouldn’t meet Lucien’s gaze.

Lucien withdrew his hand from Tamlin’s shoulder to run it through his long red hair. “No, I know I am,” he said regretfully, then shook his head. “After everything you told me last night, I shouldn’t be—”

“Yes, you should.” Tamlin set the pajamas aside to turn and face him. “I don’t want that to be my life anymore. I’m tired of being broken. I want to be with—with you.”

Lucien looked up to see Tamlin blushing again, and he gave him a soft smile. “You’re not broken, Tam.”

“I feel like I am.”

Lucien considered this, then leaned forward. “Come here,” he murmured. When Tamlin moved closer, Lucien kissed him, gently. “Your lips don’t seem to be broken,” he said, then grinned.

Tamlin chuckled, but his smile didn’t last. “What about the rest of me?”

Lucien considered his answer, then shifted closer to kiss him again, slower. He slid his hand around Tamlin’s neck, into his loose, long blond hair, and Tamlin didn’t pull away. When his lips parted for breath, he felt Tamlin do the same before moving closer to kiss him back.

Lucien’s heart sped up, but he forced himself to go slow. Even as Tamlin’s fingers brushed against his cheek, touching his hair, drifting down his neck.

“Maybe,” Lucien murmured, and let his mouth trail across Tamlin’s perfect jawline. “Maybe we should find out.”

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I massively fell out of love with the original concept for this since I failed to render it how i wanted. i'm just not skilled enough yet. a shame because how these two meet has always been very vivid to me. Maybe I'll try to do a better job way down the line in procreate or smthn, I think it's a good exercise.

I'd originally had Tam and Rhys meet immediately after the human war under the pretense that Tam was in his teens when it concluded, but learned later that Tam would've only been 7 lol. So the interpretation has changed a bit...

This occurs at the Dawn court like a whole decade after the human war for independence is won. Tensions had mostly died down between Prythian and the Spring Court, the only court that fought staunchly in favor of slavery. They had lost plenty and faced significant indictments during the negotiations that followed, to the extreme displeasure of Tam's father. And yet, there are still negotiations to be made. Dawn Court was considered a neutral touchpoint.

Tamlin himself was silently grateful for the war’s outcome. He’d always been the softest brother, never having been able to stomach his family’s treatment of their slaves. When Tam is asked to shadow the rest of his family as a scribe, he doesn't complain.

Spring and Night’s families pass by each other in the halls in between meetings. Neither would have courteous words to say to one another, as such, everyone is silent despite the palpable tension in the air.

Rhysand, hair still cut close to his scalp from his time commanding the military, stays close to his mother, and pointedly ignores the glares of the Spring royal family. He never let the brutish appearances of the southern slave-owning court ruffle him, despite his burning contempt. Celyddon was easily the strongest high fae male he’d ever seen, and his sons had all inherited his build. Their bodies blocked the sun from his eyes as they walked past.

As the two groups had almost completely passed each other, Rhysand double takes when he spots the unfamiliarly small figure at the back of the entourage.

Since when did Cel have a third son?

The male young, likely no older than fifteen; a child. He has the awkward lanky build of one experiencing their first growth spurt, and Rhysand distantly wonders if this one would grow to be as tall, broad, and violent as the others. The boy's hair is as golden as his mother’s and falls like a messy mop about his shoulders. He’s underdressed compared to the rest of the group; almost plain looking. Instead of gripping a court sword, he holds a stack of parchment in his arms.

Eyes like newleaf glance towards him warily, and Rhysand notices the purple swelling around his left eye.