Pavani

Azriel doesn't often pray.

It's not so much a practice that many Fae engage in, but a lifestyle that few adopt and leave the many out of. Azriel is not an extremely religious man, but he's praying to whoever wants to listen to him- be it the Mother, the Cauldron, hell, even a human god - that no one is awake when he gets home.

You're snoozing against his chest, one of his hands under your knees while the other curls around your back to support your weight. You'd dozed off on his shoulder down by the bank of the Sidra and he's sure that he would have had to be a vile, cruel man to wake you. Instead he'd scooped you into his arms, walking at a steady pace and shielding you from the chilly night air with a blanket of his shadows that were all-too delighted to swarm your sleeping figure. They adore you, and Azriel feels a phantom pull at the corner of his mouth that he doesn't indulge in, instead readjusting his hold to tuck you further into his chest.

You let out a sleepy sigh against his neck, face burrowing there like a heat-seeking missile. Your breath fans out over his neck and down his chest, warming him and chilling him all at once. He nearly stumbles in his path, suddenly overcome with the privilege it is to be able to do this- to hold you, to feel you, to love you, to carry you to bed when you doze off on his shoulder like he makes you feel safe.

You're newly mated but taking it slow. You haven't made him food yet, and he doesn't want you to, because he wants to savor moments like these. Moments where you're leaning into his touch not because your body tells you to, but because your heart does. You'd gazed up at him earlier and told him you'd seen a black cat roaming the streets outside of your job earlier, and you'd thought of him. You'd said it so sweetly, 'It made me think of you- I think it was you coming to say hi to me, wasn't it?'

His heart had nearly beat right out of his chest. Your pretty eyes when you'd said it, your pretty voice, the way you'd leaned closer to him until your legs were brushing his were all so much to bear that he'd almost stopped breathing. This tender sweetness isn't slow to him, it's not boring or excruciating or anything else that Cassian has described not bedding Nesta as, and he's more than happy to take his time with you if it means carrying you home after date nights by the river.

The only problem is, he can't take you home. Not to your apartment; you're already starting to shiver despite his shadows which means it's too cold to walk you the length of Velaris, and he'd wake you if he flew. The distance between your apartment and his residences has never been an issue due to his wings, but the last thing he wants to do is wake you, so he carefully treks up towards the River House and prays for an empty foyer.

What he gets, of course, is his entire family awake and alert.

If they'd known he was going out on a date earlier, they hadn't said anything. But Morrigan had looked long and hard at his attire, and Amren had scathed about the cologne he'd chosen, griping about how she hated special occasions because 'the boys switch their stenches'.

He ascends the staircase as steadily and gently as possible, his senses on overdrive as you breathe against him and he tries scoping out the environment simultaneously. It's rather hard to focus and so he takes a deep breath, sending a shadow to open the french doors in the garden and stepping into the seemingly empty space.

Damn his family- they'd been too smart to sit within eyesight.

They're bunched up on couches and chairs to his left and his right, eyes widening and filling with glee as he carries in a sleeping woman. There are shadows clouded around your face that keep you shielded from the bright lights of the foyer, but Rhysand throws out a hand anyways to dim them.

"Well-"

"Don't." Azriel and Cassian speak in unison, two brothers going head to head as Azriel tucks you tighter against him, "She's asleep, and she will stay asleep. We can talk later... I will talk later. Just- let her sleep."

"I'm expecting her for breakfast." Rhys warns, and Azriel will be sure to smuggle you out before the table is set should you wish to escape the chaos.

"She's pretty," Feyre breathes, her eyes glittering, her and Morrigan craning their necks to catch a glimpse of your face, but everyone keeps their voices low and no one protests as he heads for the stairs. Azriel can sense that they very much want to, but he thanks the mother at least for their respect as he stars up the stairs, shoes tracking wet footprints against the carpeting that he's sure will be magically expunged by morning.

He lays you in his bed with reverence. He can't believe he gets to put you there- it doesn't matter to him that your clothes are on or that your hair had gotten frizzy against his shoulder, that your fingers are cold to the touch or that your breathing is starting to thicken in soft snores. You couldn't be more beautiful to him than like this: peaceful and safe in his bed.

He backs away and surveys you like a masterpiece. He nearly forgets to cover you, but his shadows drag his thick duvet up around your shoulder as you turn on your side, nose pressing into the pillow Azriel is sure smells like him. Then he remembers he's getting in with you, and dazedly wanders to his dresser to get changed. He opts for a respectable amount of clothing instead of his usual briefs, and tears prick at his eyes when you roll into his arms the second the bed dips beneath his weight. You let out a hum- a sound so groggy yet satisfied that it thrums in his ribcage, playing at his heartstrings like a harp. He found you. You found him. He gets to do this for the rest of his life.

You stumbled out of the tub, skin glistening and overheated. Whether from the temperature of the water, or the Spymaster’s proposition; you didn’t know.

You couldn’t believe you were seriously contemplating his offer. I mean, what would you even wear? Your leathers were ridden with dirt and sweat, and by the time you could get them cleaned he’d surely be asleep by then, right?

Suddenly, the sound of fabric hitting wood made you jump a metre to the left. You turned around, having no idea what to expect, but what befell you left you even more confused.

A breezy, linen shift dress, folded on the wooden bench beneath the washbasin. You looked up and around in alarm, as if someone had looked into your mind and took it upon themselves to see to your reservations about your lack of appropriate clothing.

“What the fuck?” You whispered, reaching out and poking the linen with a lone finger. You were met with soft fabric. It was certainly real.

“I’m not doing this.” You muttered to yourself once more. “No way.”

Sure of your decision, you moved to go pick up your fighting leathers to put them back on. Before you could grasp a stray sleeve, they disappeared right before your eyes.

You whipped around in alarm, wondering who could have possibly done that. Who was fucking with you? The tub filling autonomously was one thing, but now your clothes appearing and disappearing according to your thoughts? Somebody had to be doing this.

It couldn’t be Azriel, could it? No, what motive would he have to set you up with such a riddle if he seemed so reluctant to continue it himself? Nobody else was aware of what engagements you might have made while here, everyone thought you were just here to bathe and rest before flying back.

That is why you were there, right?

That only left one option; the house itself having magical meddling powers. Meddling with you and your life and your risky decisions. 

As if in response, a bottle of perfume appeared next to the folded shift.

You stared up at the ceiling. “It’s you…” You shook your head. “It’s the House.” 

A phantom wind blew a few strands of your hair upwards in response.

You scoffed. “You like meddling and drama, huh?” 

Another gust, this time blowing the hem of the towel wrapped around your chest and midriff.

“If you’re going to put me through this, give me a glass of red wine. A big one. Or I won’t have the confidence.” You laughed shakily, both a mix of nerves and incredulity at the situation. 

You were half hoping to be ignored, that this was all in your head, but so it appeared. A glass of red wine. Without thinking, you let go of your tightly clutched towel and threw the wine back in four hard gulps. You’d made your bed now, but you were certain you couldn’t lie in it without some liquid courage.

“Now, House,” You wiped your mouth with a giggle. Not yet a drunken giggle; a nervous one. “Show me to his room.” 

Your eyes darted to the wooden bench on your right as a gust of wind blew one of the sleeves of the shift dress upwards; clearly to catch your attention, and you almost slapped yourself at your stupidity.

“Yes. Clothes.” You sighed, before pulling on the loose shift and fastening the buttons from the neckline down to the waistline. It was clearly a nightgown, else it was a dress appropriate for very few other occasions. Hanging the towel back up, you pattered out of the bathing chamber in nothing but the shift, your hair falling damp over your shoulders and the hem grazing just above your mid-thighs.

You turned to go left towards the stairs, but a force dragged you right back almost instantly.

“Right, then.” You mumbled, stepping to the right. No response. You kept walking to the right until you reached another set of stairs. 

“Up?” You asked into thin air. No response.

You placed one foot on the staircase going upwards, and nothing seemed to try to drag you back or turn you around. So you continued upwards, one foot in front of the other until you reached the very top.

The scent changed up here. Something darker, and way more potent lingered in the air. A long with a woodsy kind of scent. You liked it though, you decided.

You walked down the corridor past several doors, until your body was forcefully stopped in front of one. 

“Here?” You whispered, and a gust of wind blew your hair in response. Almost as if to also say, ‘you’re on your own now.’

Your heart began to thunder in your chest; it felt so loudly you were sure your fellow Illyrian on the other side of the door could hear it as easily as you could.

“Fuck.” You muttered silently. You were really doing this.

Lifting your arm, you rapped your knuckles quietly on the door. 

No response came, yet a barely visible black shadow slithered under the door and up to the handle, turning and opening it itself. Slowly, the door creaked open, and you dared yourself to look inside.

You peered in, and yet you couldn’t see anybody in there. And then, a low, commanding voice crept towards you. 

“Come in.” 

You crept in on silent bare feet, cursing at yourself at your hair still dripping on his wooden floorboards.

“Don’t worry about it.” He crooned, somehow sensing your shame at the mess your wet hair was making. The door closed behind you as you took another step forwards into his room. 

“Where are you?” Your voice was merely a whisper.

“Behind you.” He whispered back, directly into your ear and you immediately jumped. Your head whipped around, and you were shocked to find him stood between you and the door you had just come through.

“How did you…” You trailed off, as you looked him up and down. He was in nothing but loose brown jodhpurs.

A sly smile crept onto his beautifully chiselled face. “So you found my chambers after all.” He ignored your question.

“After such an enticing appetiser,” You rolled your neck in reference. “How could you expect me to not?”

“Ah. There’s that voice again.” He purred. “I thought you’d lost it for a moment.”

You felt a blush rising up your neck as he was clearly mocking your initial shyness, but you tried not to let it show.

“You expect me to not be slightly taken aback by your advances?” You raised an eyebrow. “You’d never spoken a word to me in private before. Barely even spoken to me at all in training.”

This time he pretended to look taken aback. “Advances? I have made none such.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could retort about how you were promised a massage, a large hand wrapped itself around your neck.

“Do not,” His voice was gentle, yet his words were anything but. “Roll your eyes at me.” He squeezed gently for emphasis. 

You swallowed hard. “So you’re the master both in and out of the training ring, I see.” You whispered hoarsely, your throat tight. 

“If you ever made any other assumption about me,” Azriel spoke softly. “Don’t.”

And then he let go of your neck, turned you around and pushed you forwards until your knees hit the frame of his four poster bed. You didn’t dare wince, though.

“Lay on your stomach.” He commanded.

You looked over your shoulder and blinked at him. You were suddenly very aware of your lack of underwear under the linen shift.

“For your massage?” He peered sideways at you, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Right.” You swallowed, crawling onto his sheets and lying face down, putting your arms by your sides. 

“I don’t expect it will feel very effective through your clothes.” He spoke lowly, dragging out each word.

You looked over your shoulder from your spot on the bed. “Can’t you try?”

He paused, staring at you inquisitively. And then, “No. I cannot.”

You sighed, and began unbuttoning the shift from the waist upwards. He couldn’t see what was facing the bed, anyway. You covered your chest with one arm, and tugged the dress down with your other until the linen was bunched around your waist. Thankfully, the bottom half was still where it should be, over your thighs.

You heard him retreat away from the bed, and faintly made out the sound of a bottle opening and closing. And then hands rubbing together. 

“Some oil. For moisture.” He explained. You wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t, though. Something told you that he knew what he was doing. 

You felt the weight shift on the mattress as he climbed on, settling behind you to the left on his knees. 

Before you had time to think about it, strong thumbs pushed into the rippling muscles above your shoulder blades, and began pressing harder and harder in the surrounding areas.

You pressed your mouth into the sheets as an attempt to conceal the soft groans that rumbled through you as he once again kneaded your extremely sore muscles. He moved inwards, closing in around your spine before traveling back up to that sore, sweet spot on your neck below your skull. His fingers gently pinched the sides, and again his thumbs pushed hard into the back.

You bit your lip hard, and couldn’t stop your hands from reaching out and gripping the sheets as the sensations on your pressure points made you squirm and writhe beneath his touch. 

He hadn’t caused you to make much of a sound, until his strong hands had landed on a sore spot on your left shoulder. 

“Fuck.” You hissed, pulling your hand up towards your mouth and biting on your own knuckle to stifle the sound.

He pulled your hand away from your mouth. “Not happening, sweetheart. I wanna hear you.” He tucked your arm back by your side, even as you continued trying to squirm. “There’s a good girl, you can handle it.” He spoke soothingly, as he dug his fingers directly into the crevices above your collarbones. 

“How are you so good at this?” You whimpered, as his hands returned to your back and made their way down your spine.

“I’m good at a lot of things.” He answered cryptically.

Once he was done with your back, he began rhythmically squeezing your calves, squeeze, pause, move up, repeat. Each squeeze was tantalising, and you were fighting the urge to kick out at him.

You whimpered quietly, and he let out a knowing chuckle. But there was something ever so slightly sadistic about it. 

“Poor little Valkyrie. You don’t realise how much you use your legs, until you touch them afterwards.” He murmured, squeezing your calf in turn.

“Not a Valkyrie yet.” You mumbled into the sheets once again.

He suddenly pinched hard on your calf. “You’re whatever I say you are.” He said, before running his hand slowly up to the back of your thigh.

One squeeze. Two squeeze. He applied more oil, before pressing his thumbs hard into your hamstrings and driving upwards until he was grazing the hem of your linen dress. 

This was dangerously uncharted territory. You reminded yourself that you had on no undergarments, and had no idea if Azriel was at all aware of this fact. If he was, he certainly didn’t let on.

He drove his thumb harder into the backs of your upper thighs and you mewled loudly in response.

“Oh, how responsive.” He purred, before moving his hand tantalisingly close to the space between your thighs. He was kneading your inner thighs now, and you were holding your breath without realising. 

His hands were getting closer and closer there, and you weren’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or not. Was this part of the massage, or was this something else entirely?

“Azriel,” You weakly warned.

“Hm?” He paused his ministrations, but let his hand linger in between your thighs.

“Where are you going?” You inhaled sharply. 

“Where do you want me to take you?” He whispered.

“Azriel.” You repeated, more sternly this time.

“Do you want me to stop?” He rasped, and moved his hand even closer. With one hand, he continued to knead the back of your left thigh. With his other, he moved it closer and closer to your core.

“Azriel,” You whined, half in defeat. 

“Do you?” He whispered.

“No.” You whispered back.

“I can’t hear you,” He gave the back of your thigh an encouraging squeeze with one hand, and began pulling the hem of your dress up with the other.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped, grasping the sheets again and surprising even yourself at your cadence.

He pulled the material up until he was bunching it at your waist, and your backside was entirely bared to him. 

You didn’t dare breathe as you waited. You couldn’t feel anything but air, until suddenly he continued to drive his thumbs and fingers into your thighs, moving further and further upwards. Doing exactly the same thing, just on your ass now instead of just your legs.

Oh. So he really was just giving you a massage.

“Fuck.” He gritted out, and you looked over your shoulder in confusion.

Your eyes widened as you took in his pained expression, and his significantly tighter pants.

“You don’t look so comfortable.” You said in a sultry voice.

“Don’t start with me now.” He hissed, and reached forwards to push your face back into the mattress.

You were completely at his mercy, and the worst part was that it excited you. He could do anything. Absolutely anything he wanted from this position, and you hated that the thought didn’t alarm you, but actually elated you.

There was a shift of fabrics behind you, and before long he was moving to straddle your legs with his own, resuming the massage on your lower back once more. But despite being face down, you didn’t need to turn around to realise that it was bare legs that straddled yours.

His hands moved further up your back, kneading your neck and shoulders once more with both hands. And then he removed one.

He kept massaging you with his left hand, but his right was nowhere to be felt. 

“Tell me I can’t touch you.” He whispered.

“You’re already touching me.” You frowned. 

“No.” He grunted, and his free hand moved back down to your ass, dangerously close to the middle. “Tell. Me. I. Can’t.” He almost gasped.

Your eyes widened, and your breathing was becoming ragged. “Azriel.” You panted, shivering at his proximity.

“Tell me.” He groaned, letting his palm lay flat against your backside while his other hand continued to massage your shoulder.

“I won’t. I won’t tell you not to. I am yours to do with whatever you please.” You gasped, gripping the sheets and taken aback by your own boldness.

That was entirely it. His undoing. The hand on your ass moved down, and you whimpered as you felt him drag one finger up your core.

“Fuck,” He muttered. “You’re absolutely soaked.”

You felt your cheeks reddening, and you were thankful that your face was pressed down now. You almost involuntarily pushed your backside towards him like a cat in heat, your body begging for more. 

He stroked you with two fingers now, but hadn’t gone any further. You groaned indignantly at the lack of fulfilment.

“Hmm?” He hummed. “Is there something you want?” He murmured, and circled your entrance with his middle finger. 

“Azriel.” You whispered, but it was more of a rasp.

“I love the sound of my name on your lips.” He breathed. “But please, Valkyrie, use your words.” 

You hesitated for a moment, thinking about how unbelievable the situation at hand was. 

Fuck it. 

“You, Azriel. I want to feel you.” You panted. “Now.”

He pushed two fingers inside, and you instantly groaned loudly at the stretch. 

“Oh, listen to all that pretty music. Just for me.” He dragged his fingers out again, and pushed back in. Torturously slow, yet deliciously effective. You didn’t spare a thought to wonder how you’d got here with your tutor, no. All you could think about was how fucking amazing his fingers felt. 

His other hand left your shoulder, and he used it to spread your legs further apart. Then, he slid it under you and let his palm massage the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, while the fingers on his other hand continued to push in and out of you. 

“Fuck, Azriel.” You pulled the sheets hard this time, not bothering to keep your arms tucked into your sides as he had placed them. 

He shifted forwards, and you felt it. You felt him, in between your legs. Nudging the crevice in between your thighs. You knew you hadn’t imagined the shift and rustle of fabric and the feeling of bare skin earlier. He was completely bare behind you. He pulled his fingers out of you, and with his other hand he gently grabbed your jaw and turned your head to look over your shoulder behind you.

And then he made you watch as he took his fingers into his mouth and sucked every last bit of your arousal off them. 

You felt your thighs clench at the sight. Nobody had ever made you feel this way; made your stomach feel so tight and your legs feel so shaky.

He shifted forwards once more, and nudged the tip of his cock against where you were still completely soaked. He let it drag up and down, coating himself in your arousal. 

“Wait.” He murmured, and leaned forwards to pull a pillow from the top of the bed. He pulled your hips upwards, and slid the pillow underneath them so that your body made a slight bump instead of a straight line. 

He didn’t give you a moment more to prepare yourself before he pushed into you, and the two of you gasped in unison at the fit. 

You bit your lip and moaned lowly as you felt him bury himself to the hilt, the position of your raised hips with the pillow pressing against your stomach was driving you fucking crazy.

He placed one hand flat on the bed next to your head, and the other gripped tightly onto your hip as he began to move in and out. 

It was now the two of you moaning in tandem, as he ground into you over and over again.

“You’re so fucking tight, Valkyrie.” He whimpered. Genuinely whimpered. If you weren’t too sedated by pleasure, you might have gasped in shock.

Pressure was building in your stomach, and you couldn’t help but clench around him in response. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. Don’t do that. Not unless you want me to come immediately.” He groaned, and this brought a smug fucking smile to your face.

“You liked that. You liked making me squirm, you little minx.” He wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, before leaning down so that his breath was now tickling the back of your neck. “Let me touch your wings.” He whispered sinfully.

You shook your head. Absolutely not. 

He hissed, and immediately began fucking you harder. You were somehow gaining an upper hand in his eyes, and he absolutely hated it. 

“Why.” He gritted.

“Next time.” You purred. You were somebody new now. You had gained a heart of fire and felt reborn. 

You suddenly pushed yourself up off the bed, and forced him to withdraw from you as a result.

You turned around and sat on your knees, letting yourself take in the devastating body of the male before you. He blinked at you, certainly confused yet made no effort to stop you or regain control. 

His abdomen was even more impressive when you could see the V of his obliques, and his bronze thighs rippled with muscle. You boldly reached a hand out, and dragged it down his torso. He didn’t object. So you tested the waters. You pushed him down. 

To your absolute surprise and delight, he let his back hit the mattress and straightened his legs out beneath him. 

You got on all fours, and crawled towards where he now lay on the bed. Without warning, you lifted your leg over his hip and sank down. But not entirely. 

You let his tip graze your core, not letting yourself be fully seated. 

“What are you playing at?” He muttered through gritted teeth.

“I’m taking my time.” You replied sweetly, letting yourself sink down onto just the very tip. 

He reached up, and tried to pull your hips down onto him to no avail. You held yourself in place, not letting him get what he wants.

“We’re not doing this.” He warned. “You’re not doing this.”

“Or what?” You mused, sinking slightly further down, before retreating back up entirely.

“Enough.” He muttered.

You ignored him, making the same ministrations with your hips, until he reached up with both hands and forcefully pulled you down until your hips slammed onto his. 

You threw your head back and groaned loudly, whether in pain or pleasure you had no clue. He was big. He was so fucking big, and unbearably so from this angle. 

“Oh come on, you can take it.” He began moving your hips in a circle, but not up and down yet. He at least offered you that mercy. His voice softened slightly as he noticed your slightly pained expression. “Come on sweet girl, I know you can take it all.”

“Your dick is fucking huge, Azriel.” You rasped, shaking your head as if afraid to maintain eye contact now that you were face to face.

To your surprise, he burst out laughing. “It wasn’t me who put us in this position, was it?” He gave a lopsided grin. 

You glared down at him, and decided that there were more important things than the slight pain you felt at this angle. You lifted your hips and began rhythmically moving up and down hard, tensing your walls around him while you did so.

You watched his jaw clench hard at the sensation, his eyes almost squeezing shut and you smirked proudly. 

His eyes narrowed in realisation, before he reached up and wrapped his fingers around your throat. Before you could do anything, he pulled you off him and slammed you down onto the bed. 

He stared hard into your eyes as he began rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance once more. You bit your lip and bucked your hips upwards, but he retreated almost instantly.

“Oh, it’s not fun when it’s being done to you, is it?” He purred patronisingly. But even he couldn’t control himself for long. He slammed into you again, and the hand around your throat moved up as he pushed two of his fingers into your mouth. 

Without needing instruction, you sucked earnestly as you batted your lashes at him. Your eyes began to water at the sensation of him filling you from this angle, and you knew there wouldn’t be too long left until you climaxed.

“Such a good girl.” He panted, his forehead becoming damp with sweat. You could smell it, smell him, smell you, smell your bodies mixing and the release of all sorts of chemicals you didn’t understand and yet it turned you on so fucking much. 

Moments later, he rested his forehead against yours as his thrusts became more and more laboured. 

“I need to come inside you.” He whined. “Please, tell me I can come inside you.”

You reached up and caressed his jaw before throwing your head back in pleasure. “Fill me up.” You whispered affirmatively.

He didn’t need to be told twice. After one or two more thrusts, his hips practically convulsed as he spilled himself into you. It felt fucking amazing without a doubt, but you weren’t there yourself. Close, but not there. 

After a few minutes of the two of you panting, he pulled himself out of you and began making his way down the bed. 

“Where are you going?” You lifted your head to look down at him.

He hooked his arms underneath your thighs, nudging his nose close to your core. His wings were spread out majestically behind him, and he truly was a sight to behold in this moment. 

He took a step in your direction and his shadows launched themselves toward you. They curled around your ankles and arms, making you gasp in a surprise. Azriel watched your shoulder relax when you realized it was him. It made him weak in ways he didn’t care to admit.

You turned around and smiled at him. It reached your eyes – and it made him long for something that was already right at his fingertips.

And yes. You were utterly divine.

He felt small tug in his chest, because how had he come to deserve that look in your eyes, when he never deserved to be seen by you at all? He felt an overwhelming need to touch you. To make sure it was real. Because sometimes it felt too good to be true.

So he forgot about Rhys for a moment and walked toward you.

Only when he was close — feeling your warmth, hearing your steady breathing — did his hands reach for your waist.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you said. Your hand reached for his cheek without hesitation, stroking his skin gently. Your thumb slid beneath his eye. His shadows shuddered, and he thought he would give you the world if you only asked.

You waited for him to speak but he only leaned into you, resting his forehead against your collarbone. He breathed your scent. Vanilla and sugar. You quivered a little because you were ticklish.

“Are you okay?” you ask, worry lingering in your voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with that important commissioner from another court?”

“It can wait.”

It was a lie, of course. It couldn’t really wait, and Rhys would have his head if he didn’t show up in his study in a moment. And he was going be late and his was n e v e r late.

But he didn’t seem to care right now. Not when he had you this close and he was breathing you. Not when he could feel softness of your body against him.

“Okay. Seriously” you tried again after a moment of silence. “Is everything okay?”

He sighted. You were always sweet with him and somehow it almost felt illegal.

“It’s okay now,” he replied eventually, burying his head further into the place where your neck met your shoulder. You laughed softly, tightening your arms around him.

He didn’t deserve you. He knew he didn’t. And when those thoughts began creeping in, your arms cradled him closer, as if you knew exactly what he was thinking. You seemed to possess a rare talent for reading him.

“I love you,” you said, as it was the easiest thing in the world. Loving him.

Your arms tightened around him even more, and he heard your short breath as you tried to press his whole body to yours.

“I love you this much,” you breathed out, trying to squeeze him.

You were impossible. You were cute and sweet and entirely too much. Azriel couldn’t help himself and he gripped your hip deliberately. You squeaked as if you were betrayed. He chuckled low, straightening slightly, his hand never leaving your waist.

“Traitor,” you huffed in mock seriousness. But your eyes betrayed you. They always betrayed you.

“I thought you were feeling sad but you just wanted to irritate me.”

You didn’t really look irritated at all.

In one swift motion, he lifted you onto the table, hands braced on either side of you. He nudged your knees with his thigh, and you opened them so he could stand between them.

Your body felt warm. It always did when he was close. Azriel softened when he saw your cheeks turning pink.

He reached for your hair, hooking a finger under the ribbon that held it back and gently pulling it free. Your hair fell over your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Divine,” he murmured.

Your cheeks flushed deeper.

Azriel ducked to capture your lips, but you stopped him with your hand against his mouth.

 “No kissing unless you tell me what’s going on.”

You sounded firm, though your breath hitched when his hand returned to your hip. He loved the way your body responded to him. It was not cold and calculated. It was warm and very much alive.

“Nothing,” he said, using his other hand to tuck a loose strand behind your ear.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

He sighed.

“I just saw you standing there and couldn’t help myself” he said truthfully, his voice low and husky. “You look really pretty in afternoon light, you know?”

He cradled your cheek. You leaned into his scarred hand as if it were the safest place in the world, even that his hands have done a lot of ugly things. His first instinct was to pull back but he didn’t because even if his insecurities still lingered, it was easier now — with you — to silence them.

He was learning to accept what you were willing to give.

His thumb stroked your cheek – your eyelids fluttered and you tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his scarred palm.

Azriel’s heart slammed against his ribs.

The Shadowmaster unraveled before you – because of you. He was completely at your mercy. And he didn’t even know if you were aware of it.

“You really should go to the meeting” you mumbled against his hand. Shadows stired against his body.

“It doesn’t seem as appealing as this.”

You opened your eyes.

“Rhys is going to be pissed,” you said.

But Azriel didn’t seem to mind when he leaned on. His nose brushed the side of your throat first – barely there but he could feel you shiver under his touch. He smiled dangerously.

“Always so responsive” he murmured with lips against your skin and you felt your body flushing.

“Az-” you warned him, though it didn’t sound much as a warning to him. Not when he pressed and felt your pulse jumping beneath his lips. And that was the permission he needed.

His lips pressed just below your ear.

Not rushed, not demanding. Soft and slow.

His kiss lingered.

Your hand found his arm for balance.

“Az-“ you tried again but his mouth moved lower with another kiss. Warmer and firmer this time.

He felt the tremor that run through you.

He couldn’t help smiling into your neck. His voice dropped against your soft skin.

“You react like this every time.”

You tried to respond and failed. Your breath left you in a quiet sigh.

His lips found the sensitive curve where your neck met your shoulder and he took his sweet time kissing, pausing, letting his breath warm your skin before pressing another slow kiss there.

Your head tipped back instinctively, exposing more of your throat.

His hand tightened at your waist and a low, quiet sound left him.

You sighed again and just as Azriel leaned in to kiss your pulse once more, someone cleared his throat loudly.

Your eyes flew open. Over Azriel’s shoulder, you met Rhys’s violet gaze. He stood in the doorway, looking half amused, half irritated. You gasped loudly, feeling your cheeks go warm. Azriel stiffened but he didn’t turn. His breath still hovered over your throat and shoulders.

Rhys scoffed and you felt embarrassingly warm.

“Right!” you squeaked out, trying to push Azriel off of you but at the same moment, you realized in horror, that his lips found another point on your shoulder to linger. You almost gasped again. You wiggled against Azriel’s warm body and tried to free yourself from him.

“Az, please. The meeting.”

Azriel sighed into you and it was almost worse than kissing because you could feel his breath on your whole neck. You felt like fainting.

“Yes, Az,” Rhys said very calmly. “The meeting.”

“Go away,” Azriel said flatly and you made a mortified little sound and tried again to push away.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“The meeting. Now” Rhys’ tone shifted. It was less teasing, more command.

Azriel’s jaw ticked.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled towards Rhys and he tried really hard not to tease you.

“I’m not,” Azriel said instead. Rhys rolled his eyes.

“You have a minute,” The High Lord commanded and left the doorframe.

Azriel rested his forehead briefly against your temple.

“I will be back,” he said quietly.

You smiled softly, still warm and a little bit embarrassed, as you brushed your fingertips along the collar of his shirt.

“I know.”

He lingered. His hazel eyes pinning yours.

“Az, please,” you gave out a breathy laugh. “Rhys is going to kill you.”

You tried again to push away. But he still lingered just one second too long. Then he pressed one final, deliberate kiss to your neck — slower than necessary.

“Oh,” you breathed.

Outside the door, Rhys repeated laudly:

“Azriel.”

Az appeared at the door with the expression of a male who has been deeply wronged.

Rhys took one look at him — slightly disheveled, shadows restless, eyes dark – then glanced at you, still seated on the table, flushed and luminous.

Rhys’ lips curved slowly.

Azriel’s wings shifted in warning.

Rhys lifted his hands. “Relax. I’m not commenting.”

Azriel ignored him.

Rhys leaned closer as they stepped into the corridor.

“You could at least attempt subtlety.”

Azriel didnt’t miss a beat. “I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”

Rhys laughed loudly despite himself as they disappeared down the hall.

Inside the library, you touched the side of your neck where Azriel’s mouth had been.

Still warm an still tingling.