Chapter 1: Ground Rules
Chapter Text
DAY 1
“Your travel bag could use a wash.” The Prince of Autumn sneers, lip curling in disgust.
Thirty seconds. They’ve been here for thirty seconds.
And so it begins, Azriel sighs.
“It’s not a travel bag.” The shadowsinger retorts flatly, dropping the heavy, dusty sack at his feet. “It’s a tent.”
Azriel scans their surroundings. The landscape is surprisingly green and verdant considering their location. He’s flown above this region before, but he’s not familiar with this particular valley, nestled as it is between sloping hills carpeted in rolling woodlands. The hills at their backs to the east are sizeable, and there is a bracing freshness to the air here that suggests they are standing at a higher altitude. It’s nothing like the mountains of Illyria which Azriel has spent a lifetime traversing. This place is not hard or unforgiving. On the contrary, between the sunshine warming his face and the calming melody of birdsong, the spymaster would be perfectly content to sit awhile on the grass and simply enjoy the view. If he were alone he might have done so, but alas, he is not.
Eris does not survey the landscape, but looks instead at Azriel. The spymaster can feel the weight of the prince’s expectant gaze upon him. He’s making a face, Azriel is certain, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction of looking. Nope, he’d rather take in the scene before him.
They’re in Autumn’s western wilderness, almost at the Summer Court border, and it shows. This luscious valley, with just a smattering of red and yellow in the distant woodland canopy, could easily be located in Summer. The atmosphere has the feel of one of those glorious, golden inbetween days when the season starts to turn from the heady abundance of ripe fruit and hot air to the crisp perfection of a bountiful harvest. It doesn’t matter how old Azriel gets, it’s still odd, having hailed from a solar court, to see with his own eyes the act of transformation frozen like this by the land’s magic. The weather will change, but the climate will not, not really. Tomorrow will be another glorious day, and the next, and the next…
Fuck, how long am I gonna be here?
That sobering thought pulls Azriel’s back to more practical matters. Where to put the tent? Despite being surrounded by woodlands on every side, they are standing in the middle of a sprawling grassland. The view is admittedly breathtaking, but Azriel feels far too exposed here with the nearest tree line a good distance away. He can sense the strength of the warding here, but he’d feel much more comfortable operating somewhere dark and sheltered. He should have insisted on choosing the location, but this was the only way Eris would agree to the arrangement. Rhys had given him a sympathetic look before agreeing to the compromise.
Rhys owes me big time.
“Should I be concerned about your eyesight?” The prince asks, interrupting the spymaster’s train of thought. “Do you not see the perfectly good shelter behind you made of stone and glass? That is a house. It has indoor plumbing and bed linen. Or perhaps you are not familiar with such comforts.”
Azriel rolls his eyes, and turns finally to look at the reason he is here. “My eyesight is fine. I didn’t think you’d want to share a confined space with a lesser breed.”
“A surprisingly astute observation,” Eris drawls. “Normally I’d agree, but you are not ruining my view with a tent and traipsing mud all over the floors when you inevitably ask to use the facilities.”
Azriel scowls at this. Given the choice he wouldn’t ask Eris for a damned thing. He would rather shiver in his tent when the temperature drops at night and bathe in the stream, would rather not be here at all. He’s about to make a scathing retort along these lines but Eris is talking again, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.
“If we’re doing this then we’re doing it my way. You may live like a dog at home, but here you will just have to pretend to be civilised. There is a guest room. Make use of it.“
“Fine.” Azriel huffs, grabbing the sack once more and turning towards the house.
Eris scoffs and strides forward, seemingly determined to reach the house before him. The shadowsinger has at least two inches in height on the prince and could easily beat him in this petty little race - the temptation is certainly there - but he wants to study the building’s exterior before being cajoled inside.
It’s a pretty little two storey stone structure the colour of rain clouds. It’s decorative in a way most rustic Autumn Court cabins - designed more with functionality in mind - are not. Rather than a porch, it has a stone terrace of sorts overhung with a pretty wooden pergola which supports a stunning grapevine. There’s no fruit visible - Azriel isn’t even sure grapes could grow in Autumn - but the pretty foliage casts the entire space in a serene green shadow, providing ample cover from the sun. The whole space feels surprisingly warm and lush and distinctly summery, despite the cooling wind from the open grassland. A myriad of stone planters and pots sit about the open space, all completely overgrown with weeds, loosely delineating a garden once cared for from the encroaching wilderness. Considering why they’re here it seems an odd place for Eris to have picked. Azriel scowls at the large glass patio doors, which seem perfect for letting all that beautiful natural light in, and awful for concealing people inside.
“Spit it out.” The prince barks, as though hearing the shadowsinger’s thoughts.
“Given that someone wants you dead, this is a questionable hideout.”
“Someone always wants me dead,” Eris huffs irritably. “This whole valley is warded and not well known. If the threat is as serious as you all suggest then I’m obviously not going to keep to my usual haunts or routine. I’ve not been here in some time. And besides, I have you, my own fucking bodyguard to keep me safe. Lucky me.”
The prince punctuates this final retort with a withering look at the spymaster before disappearing inside. Azriel sighs, pausing at the threshold to fortify his strength. Several deep breaths later, he removes his actual travel bag from inside the canvas sack, abandons the tent at the door and steps tentatively into the building.
“Not there.” Eris calls from somewhere inside, though Azriel cannot see him. “Tent in the shed where it belongs. And take your boots off when you come back in!”
The spymaster gives the sack at his feet a long suffering look, as if to say, this fucking guy, but does as he’s told. Rhys had asked him, no, told him not to kill the prince, to…“play nice”. Even Rhys had winced saying it. Easy for him, he’s not stuck here with Eris playing guard dog. Feyre, who had looked apologetic throughout the entire meeting, had simply squeezed Azriel’s arm in consolation and whispered “spit in the bastard’s food.”
If things go to plan, Eris will be the High Lord of Autumn in the very near future. After the prince made good on some significant bargains at great personal risk for Azriel’s High Lord and Lady, the Night Court deemed it prudent to improve relations with Autumn’s future leader. So when a death threat detailing the prince’s exact movements and locations throughout Prythian had been discovered by Azriel’s own spies in the Hewn City, the Night Court naturally informed their ally and offered their protection. Afterall, they’re counting on Eris usurping his murderous father, and he can’t very well do that if he’s dead. The Inner Circle strategised endlessly about this. Azriel knows why he’s here, why it has to be him, but Cauldron spare him, it’s going to be torture, and not the fun kind…
Inside the house it’s surprisingly comfortable. It looks well lived in and tended, though the slightest must lingers in the air, presumably stale since the prince’s last visit. Eris is busy opening windows and doors and checking things over. If Azriel had to guess, he’d suspect that the prince usually comes here alone. It’s not a huge space but it’s well furnished and nicely decorated. Huge bookshelves line one wall of the living room, which also has an array of comfortable chairs near the windows and fireplace. Eris obviously enjoys reading in his spare time. The spymaster wonders if he’ll learn anything useful about the prince while he’s here. Perhaps it won’t be a complete waste of time...
Azriel wanders into the kitchen. It’s a small space, with little room for more than one person. A ceramic basin sits under a window which takes up the length of one wall, looking out onto that stunning grassland view. At the back of the room, a large stove is built into the brickwork. It looks well loved and well used. Cupboards and shelves line every other wall and the space is surprisingly packed with cooking paraphernalia.
The spymaster doesn’t immediately spot the prince as he enters the kitchen, though he can hear shuffling noises. Stepping fully into the room, the tableau that greets him is disconcerting to say the least. Eris is crouching on the floor to stock the cold box and pantry with food. The fabric of his immaculately pressed trousers is actually touching the stone tiles. The prince must have abandoned his jacket at some point, because he’s just in his shirtsleeves, which have been rolled up to expose the pale expanse of his forearms.
Azriel is stunned, truly stunned, at the mundane scene. He’s never seen the prince kneel before, never even seen his forearms, and they’ve been in battle together. Admittedly, he’s never actually witnessed Eris in battle firsthand, though he’s heard tales of the prince’s valour in the war against Hybern. The spymaster didn’t even fight him that fateful day on the ice when Cassian stabbed the prince, right before Feyre revealed her new title. Azriel knows that Eris is a capable warrior, a general even, and yet, he never thinks of the prince doing anything remotely physical, unless it’s something highly performative and perfectly controlled in a pretty outfit, like dancing at the Hewn City ball.
Cauldron, is Eris actually going to get his hands dirty while we’re here?
The thought is certainly intriguing. Azriel turns away to survey the contents of an open cupboard, conscious that he’s been staring silently at Eris for a conspicuously long time. Though the prince seems to pay him no mind, he wouldn’t want the bastard to get any ideas…
The worktop is littered with an inordinate amount of ingredients, dried and fresh. Odd. Eris must enjoy cooking or surely he would have brought simpler fare to sustain them. It’s strange to think of the prince doing something so domesticated when he’s obviously used to having servants waiting on him hand and foot.
“You cook?” The spymaster asks, bemused.
The prince looks up from where he squats in the pantry, balancing onions on top of a sack of potatoes.
“Thought I’d drag a servant along to take care of things?” Eris scoffs.
Azriel shugs. “I just can’t imagine you cooking.”
“I’m not surprised. You don’t look like you have the mental capacity to imagine much.”
The insult rolls easily off of the spymaster, who finds himself staring at Eris again as he bends further into the pantry, the fabric of his shirt straining against the muscles of his back. It’s strange too to think of the body lurking beneath the prince’s carefully crafted exterior, to remember that Eris is a person of flesh and bone, not just an asshole who’s so damn easy to hate.
“Enjoying the view?” Eris pipes up, throwing a bemused glance over his shoulder.
Azriel stutters, the illusion shattered, but quickly recovers. “It’s not every day you see the Prince of Autumn on his knees. Suits you.”
The prince’s brows shoot up as he stands and turns, dusting his hands off and turning his attention to stocking the cupboards overhead. “If that’s your attempt at flirting, you’re terrible at it.”
“That’s not what I meant!” The spymaster protests, fighting a furious blush.
Eris snorts but says nothing. Infuriated, Azriel leaves in search of his room. It won’t do to let the prince get under his skin. Who knows how long he’ll have to endure the brat?
Up a narrow wooden staircase the spymaster finds three doors. Behind the first is a tiled bathroom with a large bathtub. No surprise there; Eris looks the sort to make a hobby of bathing. Behind the second, he finds a master bedroom with an outrageously large bed and a stack of books on the bedside. There’s no mistaking Eris’s room. Behind the final door, Azriel finds the guest room. It’s plain and unassuming, which is fine, but the bed, while likely adequate for an average fae adult, is certainly not large enough for a full grown Illyrian. Azriel feels claustrophobic just looking at it. With a resigned sigh, he drops his bag on the floor beside a wooden chest. Not for all the gold in Prythian is Eris going to swap him, and he sure as shit isn’t going to ask.
Urgh.
-
It’s been an age since Eris has been here and he’s already feeling nostalgic. This place has been the setting for many happy memories. Visits here have always been peaceful, whenever he can manage to get away from prying eyes and endless responsibilities at the Forest House. The prince’s heart swells to return. He’d prefer to be here in better circumstances of course, alone and at liberty to swan about the place half naked, get day time drunk and read smut until his heart’s content. Cauldron, when was the last time he had a break? It’s been far too long. And now he’s here with the cursed spymaster, who will surely watch and judge everything he does, shackled as they are together. Literally.
This fucking shield…
Helion, deeming the Night Court worthy of his tutelage, has taught Rhysand to cast extension shields onto more than one person which shrink and expand in size depending on their proximity. Rhysand, arrogant asshole that he is, clearly thinks Eris should be kissing his feet for trusting him with such information.
Azriel and Eris had spent an hour testing it. The maximum distance they can manage apart is about twenty feet without the pressure of the shield forcibly drawing them back together. It’s so powerful that Cassian had been thrown ten feet in the air when he’d tried to come between them. Eris had grinned like a cat at that. The second limitation is that they can’t winnow or shadow walk independently, which could be disastrous, so they have to travel everywhere together. It’s certainly useful for keeping would-be assassins away, but as the Prince of Autumn, he cannot risk appearing shackled in a protective shield to the Night Court spymaster. Not only would it look suspicious as fuck, it would be a political nightmare. Gods, the rumours…So now, here they are, stuck together until the criminals can be caught and the immediate threat to the prince’s life neutralised.
Oh well, Eris sighs. I’ll just have to make the most of it.
Truthfully the prince can already think of a few ways to amuse himself, if Azriel’s reaction to some light teasing earlier had been anything to go by. Considering Azriel is the Night Court spymaster and a trained warrior at that, he is so incredibly easy to rile up. That could be fun. Eris chuckles to think of the deep blush Azriel had fought to control when the prince had joked about flirting. He had definitely been staring earlier…
Cauldron, maybe Azriel was flirting, Eris ponders. No, the brute is surely incapable of it. Yet he did turn a delightful shade at the slightest provocation, like a youngling with a crush! The prince chuckles again. If the prospect of flirting shakes his composure so easily then it would be a terrible waste not to make sport of it…
Eris tucks the idea away for later as he dusts himself off. Azriel re-appears and the prince, feeling beyond amused to have found such an obvious weakness in the spymaster to prod at, smiles to himself. Azriel eyes him warily but says nothing as they set off together in search of firewood. There are things to do after all if they’re going to make themselves comfortable.
They walk for ten minutes towards the treeline when the sound of thunder stops them abruptly. The ground trembles. Azriel springs forward and throws an arm backward around the prince, wings flaring upward in a magnificent dome above them. Cobalt blue siphons flare and the Illyrian looks ready to kill or sweep the prince to safety. He looks like a damned hero in one of the epic romances Eris secretly inhaled in his youth about valiant warriors rescuing princesses from grizzly deaths. As if a fire drake is about to spring out of the treeline. As if Eris doesn't know his own land like the back of his hand. As if the prince hasn’t the power to defend himself from the creatures about to appear.
“Horses.” Eris snorts irritably, batting Azriel’s arm away. “Save the heroics for someone who needs them.”
Azriel shoots him a disgruntled look, but sure enough, a herd of wild horses emerges from the treeline ahead and makes a dash across the open plain of the grassland. The reluctant allies stand and watch in silence as the creatures pass, transfixed by their beauty and their wildness. Eris feels the sudden urge to run. But of course he can’t, shackled as he is to Azriel.
“Come on.” Eris sighs.
They collect firewood without further incident or unnecessary heroics. When they get back to the house, they test the water pump and outflow pipes, which requires more scrabbling about on hands and knees than Eris would like, cut back the worst of the weeds from the edge of the terrace, clean the hearth, carry out the patio furniture - a sturdy iron table and two chairs - and light the stove.
By noon they are both tired and dirty. Eris’s clean shirt is now grimly covered in all manner of things, and Azriel, who took off his outer layers some time ago and rolled up his own shirtsleeves, looks equally filthy. Eris removes the worst of the dirt from them both with a wave of his hand, but they still scrub their hands and arms at the kitchen sink. Magic truly has nothing on the application of hot soapy water to skin when it comes to feeling clean.
Hard work out of the way, the prince has one more task before he can truly relax. But first, food. Pulling together a simple luncheon - cold cuts, cheese, bread and ale to share - Eris carries a laden tray out to the patio where Azriel is already seated. The spymaster looks completely absurd against the vivid palette of the warm autumn day, a discordant blot of ink spilt on an otherwise harmonious painting.
The prince promptly sits, pushes a plate and a glass across the table towards the Illyrian, and tucks in without waiting. The meal is devoured wordlessly between the two of them. When only crumbs remain and the final dregs of beer, Eris sighs contentedly, the afternoon sun and cooling wind off the grasslands a tonic for his weariness.
Now down to business.
Eris turns finally towards Azriel and spreads his hands upon the table between them as though he is about to begin negotiations. Though really there is nothing to negotiate. This is the prince’s house, and these are his rules. The spymaster eyes him steadily, as if he has been expecting this, and is eager to get it out of the way.
“Ground rules.” The prince begins, his voice deadly serious as he surveys the spymaster. Azriel looks as though he’s bracing himself for aggravation. Wise.
“One: no boots on carpets or soft furnishings, and coasters on the wooden furniture. If you ruin my stuff I will incinerate you.”
Azriel rolls his eyes but says nothing.
“Two: I get priority use of the bathroom. If I want to use it, you have to leave. Got it?”
Azriel makes a face at that.
“Problem?” Eris sneers, ready to spar.
“Several. But none I suspect you’re willing to do anything about.”
“Yet another astute observation. Very good, little bat.” The prince smirks at the absurd nickname.
Azriel’s face contorts finally into real offence. “I’m hardly little, or a bat.”
“Subjective.” Eris waves dismissively. “From where I’m sitting…”
“Now who needs their eyes testing? I’m objectively bigger than you.” The spymaster protests, chest puffing up and wings flaring in indignation.
“Yes, yes, I see your wings. They’re very pretty.” Eris snorts. Azriel scowls and glares daggers at the prince, who might be worried for his own safety if he weren’t so delighted with how easy it is to provoke the spymaster. “Three: I will cook. You clean the dishes, but otherwise stay out of the kitchen. I don’t want you ruining anything.”
Azriel, whose wings are tucked close to his body once more, looks genuinely taken aback by this. “You don’t have magic for that?”
“Of course I do, but I hardly think it’s fair that I labour over dinner and you do nothing in return.”
Eris omits the fact that while the house is equipped with basic maintenance magic, he never quite got the dish washing right. Too much broken crockery. Never stacked properly. He could wave a hand and make the food disappear, but it feels a bit grimy. He wants to know that soap and water have run over the surface of every utensil, and that they’ve had a good scrub. Honestly it’s just quicker and more satisfying doing it by hand, which is what he does when he’s here. But he’s not telling Azriel that.
“Fine.” Azriel sighs.
“Great. Now that’s settled. I’m going to get cleaned up. I’ll leave you to take care of this.” Eris waves at the dishes and saunters off without another word.
-
Azriel seriously considers contacting Rhys and Feyre and begging to swap with Cassian. How the fuck is he going to survive this when he’s already itching to throttle the prince? Eris is going to be High Lord, he reminds himself, and I cannot kill the future High Lord. Urgh, he’s such a fucking brat though, Azriel grunts, glaring at the dishes. The spymaster sighs. Get a grip. You’re giving him exactly what he wants. If Eris wants a reaction, then he’s going to be calm, collected and impervious to his bullshit.
A full hour passes before Eris re-emerges downstairs, looking clean and resplendent once more. In that time Azriel has cleaned the dishes, brought firewood to the hearth, and started tackling more weeds on the patio. Eris says nothing of this as he swans out to the terrace with a book and a bottle of wine. The spymaster is a little disappointed to see the prince looking pristine once more. Eris had looked good disheveled, the spymaster decides. Hard work suits him.
Another hour and a half passes and Eris is still sitting there with his damned book, sipping wine and occasionally chuckling to himself. Azriel watches the prince incredulously as he continues to weed and inspect the exterior of the building and the contents of the shed.
What is he reading anyway? Azriel grumbles to himself as he wipes the sweat from his brow. Is he going to sit there all damned day? Doesn’t he see there’s still plenty of work to be done? And what about dinner? Will he start cooking soon?
Unable to bear it any longer, Azriel sits pointedly on the other patio chair and unsheathes Truth-Teller. Eris’s eyes snap to the drawn blade with a flash of alarm, and only relax a fraction when Azriel starts to clean and sharpen the weapon. He expects the prince to look up and be prompted into movement, but after a brief, disapproving glance, Eris is engrossed in his book once more and pays him no mind whatsoever. Fifteen minutes pass in disbelieving silence until Azriel can’t hold his tongue any longer.
“So, this is how you spend your time?” He gestures towards Eris’s book and wine with his blade.
Eris makes a show of lowering his book and giving the spymaster a withering look. “I work every single day of my life. Forgive me for taking a break.”
Azriel snorts at the prince’s dramatics, and continues sharpening Truth-Teller. “Well, don’t let me stop you from enjoying yourself.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
Half an hour passes and still Eris does not move. Instead he quietly turns pages and sips his wine. Azriel can’t stop himself from looking over every now and then to see if the prince will move.
“Still enjoying the view?” Eris eventually asks, without even bothering looking up from his book.
“Knock that off.” Azriel grunts irritably. “Are you just going to sit around reading all day?” He asks in annoyance before he can think better of it.
Eris smiles like a cat as he gazes at Azriel over the top of his book, clearly enjoying riling the spymaster up. “I can think of more pleasurable pursuits but alas, they don’t lend themselves to having an audience. Unless you enjoy watching, of course.”
Azriel scowls, fighting another damned blush, and stares firmly at Truth-Teller.
“Reading is the next best thing, and drinking of course.” Eris adds. “Let me guess, if you had time to yourself you’d spend it sharpening knives and killing animals with your bare hands?”
Azriel gives him a flat look. “Of course not.”
“Then tell me, what would you do?” Eris folds the book elegantly on the table before him and replenishes his wine glass. With a snap of his fingers another glass appears, which he promptly fills with wine for Azriel. But the prince does not slide it across the table. Instead he holds it hostage next to his own glass, a clear bribe. Indulge me and I will indulge you, the gesture seems to say. Azriel bites.
It’s been such a long time since Azriel had any stretch of time to himself, that he draws a blank at answering the question. What would he do if he had a stretch of free time?
“I don’t know.” The spymaster admits.
Eris rolls his eyes and pushes the wine across the table. “Why not start with this? It’s as good a pastime as any.”
Azriel shakes his head. “I should keep a clear head.”
“Expecting an assassin to jump out of the bushes?” The prince snorts.
Azriel frowns and eyes the glass of white suspiciously. They are pretty safe here. He could relax a little if he chose to. But the idea of just sitting here and drinking with Eris, enjoying the scenery, feels weird.
“No.” The spymaster shakes his head and resumes sharpening Truth-Teller. “But I’d rather keep my wits about me.”
The prince falls silent, but Azriel can feel his eyes upon him. When he looks up, Eris is smirking at him, his eyes full of wicked delight.
“What?” Azriel snaps.
“There’s a spider in your hair.”
Azriel panics, jumps out of his seat and immediately starts batting at his head. He hates spiders. “What the fuck! Is it gone?”
The spymaster’s skin crawls at the idea of the little beastie roaming his body. They remind him of his father’s cellar. Shadows flit impotently about his shoulders, trying to locate the insect, but unable to find it in Azriel’s distress. Eris stands suddenly and bats Azriel’s hands away.
“Stay still.” The prince commands, voice firm, though there is an undercurrent of amusement still lingering there. “Sit.”
Planting hands on Azriel’s shoulders, Eris pushes him back into his seat. The next moment, the prince’s fingers are brushing over his hair and shoulders. He flicks something off of Azriel’s tunic and the spymaster breathes a little more easily.
“You are spider free,” Eris mutters, “though there is a lot of debris in your hair. Oh, and another bug.”
Azriel shudders, his hands reaching upward again, but Eris bats him away. “Stay put.” He instructs.
The spymaster does just that and tries to look anywhere other than the prince’s crotch, inches from his face. Eris’s fingers begin lightly combing through his hair and picking out the occasional insect or speck of dirt.
“What were you doing, rolling in mud?” Eris asks incredulously, raking his fingers through the length of the spymaster’s curls.
“Weeding.” Azriel says simply, not caring to elaborate.
The prince’s fingers feel undeniably good against his scalp. His eyelids droop as the inspection continues. Eris is meticulous, but he’s also surprisingly gentle. It’s been a long, long time since anyone has touched his hair like this. And even though it’s the bratty Prince of Autumn, and even though Eris is surely going to pull away any minute now, for a moment Azriel lets himself close his eyes and enjoy it. Cauldron, he’s grateful that Eris can’t see his face, can’t see how much pleasure this simple touch is giving him.
“Oh, hold still there’s something else.” Eris muses.
Azriel, only half listening, gasps loudly and nearly jumps out of his skin when a finger brushes lightly against the soft inner membrane of his wing. The sensation against his uber sensitive wing shudders through him, sending a ripple of pleasure down his spine and straight to his cock. Reacting to the unexpected touch, his body has a mind of its own. His wings instinctively whoosh open and his hands shoot up to grab at Eris. They land on the prince’s waist in a vice-like grip. Eris flinches, his hands flying away from the spymaster’s body.
“Don’t.” Azriel chokes out, drawing his wings close to his back and willing his pulse to calm.
“Sorry.” Eris breathes.
They stay like that for a long, tense moment. Azriel is afraid to move lest Eris see his furious blush or guess the cause of it. He prays to the Mother the prince won’t notice his sudden, violent arousal, that would be beyond mortifying. Neither male speaks, but when Eris eventually clears his throat, Azriel realises he’s still holding the prince in a death grip. His grip slackens immediately and Eris steps back. Azriel does not dare look up. Cauldron, he wishes he could launch into the air or simply shadow walk away, but the shield prevents it.
The sound of a chair scraping against the flag stones breaks his reverie. Finally the spymaster forces himself to look. Eris reclines in his seat, sipping his wine, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
“So…” the prince ventures, “does touching your wings always turn you on?”
Azriel glares daggers at Eris. “Oh fuck off.”
With that the spymaster swipes the second glass of wine from the table and stalks back into the house. The sound of the prince’s laughter, loud and full of mirth, follows him inside.
Mother, spare me.
Chapter 2: Reading Material
Summary:
Eris just wants to relax and read his book. Azriel gets bored and decides to snoop in the prince's personal library.
Notes:
The prompt for day 2 of the Azris Week 2025 Challenge is 'Slice of Life'.
NSFW.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
DAY 2
“What are we doing today?” Azriel asks, draining the last of his coffee and looking ready to take off into the air.
“I’m trying this thing called relaxation. You’re making it very unpleasant.” Eris responds, not bothering to look up from his book.
It’s still morning and they’ve not long finished breakfast, but the prince has no immediate plans to move from his seat on the patio. The day, warm and pleasant and serene, is the perfect weather for reading. Eris has nowhere to be and no immediate obligations to attend to. When was the last time that happened?
“I can’t sit on my ass all day.” The spymaster complains. “Not without a reason at least.”
“Then leave.” Eris suggests glibly, knowing full well that Azriel cannot.
“You know I can’t do that.”
The prince snorts. As if he could forget that they are tethered together for the foreseeable future inside this forsaken protective shield…
“I have just opened my book and poured another coffee. You will have to entertain yourself.” Eris waves dismissively, not bothering to look up from the volume in his hand.
Azriel huffs and stands abruptly from the patio chair. The spymaster strides out onto the grass and the prince, intrigued, glances over just as the male tugs off his tunic. Eris straightens in his chair, his eyes snagging on the obscene swell of Azriel’s biceps in his sleeveless undershirt.
“What are you doing?” The prince asks, trying and failing to sound anything but intrigued by the half naked display.
“Entertaining myself.” The spymaster responds archly, cracking his knuckles.
“You’re ruining my view.” Eris retorts.
Azriel scoffs and begins working through drills. The prince forces himself to look down at his book and continue reading, but as an hour ticks by, he cannot help but look up and admire the shadowsinger’s athleticism. It is very…distracting.
Finished with his drills, Azriel finally stops to stretch and shake his limbs loose, and Eris cannot help but notice how the loose fitting undershirt shifts about the male’s torso as he moves, drawing attention to each graceful arc of his body. Side panels in the fabric give the occasional intriguing glimpse of inked skin. When the Illyrian lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow, revealing a flash of dangerous looking abs, Eris realises he is actually salivating.
Fucking hell, he looks positively edible. The thought crosses the prince’s mind before he can shake sense into himself. What the fuck, Eris? Shut the fuck up.
Azriel grabs his discarded tunic and turns back towards the house. The prince pulls his book upward, as though the sun has him straining his eyes, and buries his furiously blushing face in its pages. He hopes to fuck it looks like he’s engrossed in the volume, despite the fact he’s re-read the same paragraph eight times and still has no idea what it says.
“I’m going to clean up.” Azriel calls as he passes.
Eris hums in acknowledgement, ears turning pink, and prays to the Mother the spymaster is not paying attention to him.
-
Azriel feels fresh and content now that he’s burned some energy and washed himself clean. He pockets the wet stone from his room, intending to sharpen Truth-Teller, his usual go-to when he has time to kill, and heads back towards the patio. Passing through the living room, curiosity gets the better of him, and he stops to peruse the large wall of bookshelves to see what reading material Eris keeps.
Azriel runs a scarred finger over the spines as he reads titles, picking one or two books at random. Naturally his eyes scan the margins for handwritten notes, and fan the pages for scraps of paper, wondering what tasty morsel of information he might glean about the prince. Nothing. The contents of the books themselves are dreary topics; dry histories, maps, and almanacs for solar courts.
No thanks.
The spymaster is about to leave when a purple spine with faded gilt lettering snags his attention, hidden away innocuously towards the bottom of the shelving. It looks well loved and oft read. A history of Vanserra lineage perhaps? Intrigued, Azriel slides the tome from the shelf, opens a page at random and begins to read:
“His tongue slid over the tip of Andor’s aching length, the feel of him soft and weighty in his mouth. Rough hands made a tight fist in the master’s hair as a voice, gruff and low, commanded him to swallow.”
Azriel’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull. Eris has a dirty book, about males , sitting on his bookshelf?
What the actual fuck?
The spymaster’s mind reels with this new information. Now that he considers it, he’s not entirely surprised to discover that the prince is attracted to males. Afterall, he’s fae and old as fuck, why wouldn’t he? Azriel himself enjoys males on occasion. It’s illegal in Autumn, which would probably explain why the spymaster has never caught hint of the prince’s lovers, especially if he prefers males over females. He should turn this valuable intel over in his mind, and think of all the ways in which it might be prove useful as leverage, but then his eyes snag on the page once more and Azriel becomes more intrigued by the filth in his hands, and the idea of learning exactly what gets the prince off. As he sinks into a chair, wings flaring and eyes never leaving the page, he tells himself that he’s simply gathering more intelligence while Eris is otherwise engaged.
Azriel keeps reading, transfixed:
“Tadek‘s head falls back on a groan as the warrior palms him roughly and thrusts again, pounding deep into the very centre of him. “Say it.” Andor demands with another brutal thrust. Tadek’s face flushes with heat and he can barely look up at the male restraining him. “Please…fill me.” The warrior growls with satisfaction and twists the Lord’s nipple viciously between his fingers. Tadek chokes on a groan. “Good boy.” Andor chuckles darkly, his rugged face twisting with a demonic smile as he starts pounding into the powerless male beneath him, intent on filling him to the brim.”
Fuck me. Azriel’s spine tingles and his gut clenches with interest. Eris reads this? Is this what he’s into?
“What are you doing?” A panicked voice calls out.
Azriel’s head snaps up, a faint blush creeping over his face at being caught red handed. The prince looks positively murderous where he stands, the colour leached from his face.
“Reading.” The spymaster responds innocently, a knowing smirk curling the edge of his mouth.
Eris is before him in an instant, whipping the book out of his hand and turning away. Azriel spots the prince glancing briefly at the open page before snapping the book shut. The spymaster wisely says nothing. He had not intended to be caught spying on Eris, nor did he want the prince to know what he just discovered.
Eris still has his back to Azriel as he steps towards the door. He has not gone far when he spins suddenly on foot to face the spymaster, nostrils flared wide. The prince is now bright red with embarrassment, but that’s not the only emotion colouring his features. There’s also surprise there…and vindication.
Shit.
Azriel realises with no small amount of horror that Eris can smell the subtle shift in his scent.
He knows that I like it too.
The prince says nothing, but his eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch. The spymaster swallows, all but confirming his guilt. He’s about to say something, when Eris turns away, book still in hand.
“I’m going to make lunch.” The prince announces primly, and exits the room.
-
Lunch is a tense affair. Eris tries and fails to remain unaffected and uncaring as they eat. He turns all of his attention back to the book in his hand - not the one with the purple spine, that has been hidden away in his bedroom - but a satirical novel which had engrossed him all morning. Now he can’t for the life of him concentrate on it.
Azriel says nothing. He had looked a little sheepish when Eris found him reading his well loved Sellyn Drake volume, and positively guilty when the prince had scented the faint stirrings of arousal in the air. That had been a surprise. If you had asked Eris yesterday, he would’ve said with disgusted certainty that he could guess the type of fantasy lover to stir Azriel’s loins: petite, blonde, innocent-looking, unavailable and distinctly female. Now he’s not so sure.
The spymaster is suspiciously stoic once more as he eats his meal in silence. The prince is tempted to finish his own lunch quickly and disappear inside, but that is the reaction of an embarrassed person, and he refuses to play that part any longer. So he stays at the table, eating at a leisurely pace and forcing himself to read his book as if he isn’t itching to run away. Eris can feel Azriel’s eyes on him, like a feather teasingly brushing against his skin. He wants to bat it away, but that would mean losing his cool, and he is not going to do that .
“Do they fuck in this one too?” Azriel’s voice, full of calm amusement, cuts through the stillness of the air.
The prince’s eyes snap in a panic to the spymaster. Eris can feel his ears turning pink as mortification burns through him in a flash. He forces himself to sigh as if simply exasperated, and shoots a withering look at Azriel, who looks quietly amused in his chair.
This must be payback for yesterday, Eris wagers, thinking of Azriel’s embarrassment when his body reacted so readily to the prince’s touch. He hadn’t known brushing dirt from the spymaster’s wing would elicit such a response. It hadn’t been his intention to turn Azriel on. Then again, he didn’t need to spend so long brushing his fingers through the spymaster’s hair and curiously breathing in the mist and cedar scent of him either.
“I’m sure it was a shock for you,” the prince begins, “opening a book and discovering that you actually recognised some of the words, but I’m surprised you were able to string them together into coherent sentences and come to any conclusions about the plot.”
Azriel snorts, not so easily thrown off. “Now that you mention it, I did recognise a few words but maybe you could help me with their wider context. The story probably went over my head.”
Eris freezes in icy cold terror. He looks up, aghast, and there is a truly demonic look in Azriel’s eye. Wicked delight shines there when the spymaster opens his mouth to speak again.
“Something about brutal thrusting with an aching length.” Azriel looks satisfied beyond measure as he emphasises each phrase.
Eris cannot speak. Words fail him. Powerful emotions stir within him, the strongest being abject mortification and rage. But another feeling, quiet and strange, stirs in his gut in response to the way the spymaster’s deep resonant voice drops to wrap around each dirty word. Oh gods, his body likes it.
Fucking traitor, the prince seethes at himself .
Eris, who had closed his eyes against the onslaught, forces himself to open them. This is a game of dare and he is not going to lose. He sucks in a deep breath and stares calmly into Azriel’s eyes, ready to retaliate. But the spymaster isn’t finished.
“Good boy.” Azriel’s voice drops again as he looks directly at Eris.
The prince’s eyes flare with shock and rage and confusion. It sounds obscene coming from the spymaster’s mouth. Obscenely good.
“Now what was that about?” Azriel innocently asks.
Good gods.
Eris clears his throat and forces himself to calm. He has a lifetime of practice in saving face under pressure to draw upon. “Didn’t realise you were such an inexperienced lover, spymaster. You’re welcome to borrow the book if you require instruction. You looked like you were rather enjoying it earlier.”
Azriel’s face cracks. There’s that sheepish look again. He had been enjoying it. Oh dear, Eris muses wickedly, what would your precious family think about that?
The prince finally feels like he’s in with a chance of winning this strange game unfolding between them, but not without great risk. Namely, he’s fairly certain that Azriel is going to scent his arousal if he starts spouting off more dirty words.
Better to quit while I’m ahead, he decides.
Eris stands abruptly to make his retreat. “Well, as entertaining as this has been, I’m going to bathe. Help yourself to a book while I’m gone. There’s no shame in learning, even at your age.”
Azriel rolls his eyes but says nothing as the prince leaves. Finally alone in the bathroom, with a locked door between them and the sound of running water to mask his movements, Eris takes a much needed moment to breathe.
What the fuck was that?
Never in a million years did he think he’d hear the brooding Illyrian say something so obscene, even if it had been teasing. Mother above, did he have to drop his voice like that? It had sounded genuine, enthusiastic, dangerous…
The scent of Eris’s arousal, pent up and confused, unfurls around him as he finally stops holding back. It’s pointless denying it, his body had liked the way those words sounded coming from Azriel’s mouth. His cock had liked it tremendously. Eris grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, at the bulge nudging insistently at the fabric of his trousers.
No, he tells himself sternly. I am not stooping to that.
Eris starts to undress for the bath and his hands immediately gravitate towards the waistband of his trousers. As he peels back the fabric, he cannot help but squeeze the aching length of himself.
Good boy. Azriel’s voice rings out in his head.
The prince shudders, his eyes rolling back on a groan. He watches the movement in the mirror, trying and failing to reprimand himself for such weakness. Fuck it feels good. The bath is almost full. If he’s going to do this, he doesn’t have much longer to disguise it with the noise from the tap. Eris frowns in horny rage and indecision.
Fuck it.
Eris grips himself in earnest and lets his imagination run wild as he rolls his wrist and jerks his hand. He can feel the ghost of the spymaster’s vice-like grip on his waist as he envisions the Illyrrian thrusting wildly above him. It takes Eris a shamefully short time to come, with Azriel’s voice in his head and flashes of that obscenely hot body driving him to climax.
Spent finally, and ready to bathe, the prince vanishes the evidence of his orgasm with a wave of his hand. He turns away from the mirror, unable to look himself in the eye, and sinks into the waiting water to wash away his worries. How the fuck is he going to look Azriel in the eye at dinner?
Never again, Eris swears.
Mercifully, Azriel attempts no more recitations from the purple book that evening, and makes little conversation. In fact, both males seem eager to retreat from one another to their own corners of the house. After dinner, Eris curls up to read by the fire in the living room. After washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, Azriel disappears out onto the patio, presumably to communicate with his High Lord and Lady and listen to the whispers of his shadows. The creepy little bastards have been flitting about the shadowsinger for hours. Eris is tempted to ask for an update on the Hewn City investigation, but that would require seeking Azriel out, and he’d rather avoid further interaction tonight if he can.
Without waiting to bid the spymaster goodnight, the prince stands finally and heads towards the staircase. Trudging upstairs, Eris can feel the faint pressure of the shield building as he approaches its threshold. He stops halfway up the staircase. Too much further and the pressure of the shield will snap them back into closer proximity. Eris sighs and waits. Sure enough, Azriel soon drifts back inside to the living room, drawn by that same pressure. The prince does not wait to catch his eye as he continues on his way to bed.
Safely ensconced in his room for the night, Eris’s eye catches on the nightstand, and his mind immediately jumps to the smutty book he’s hidden behind it. For a mad moment he briefly considers leaving the purple volume on Azriel’s bed for him to find.
To continue the joke, his brain rationalises. Yeah, sure, he deadpans. Not because you want to think about him jerking off in the room next door, holding your book and getting ideas.
Eris frowns again and curses his own transparency. Really, this is his own fault. He’d felt so smug yesterday teasing Azriel for blushing at some light flirting and seeing how readily the spymaster reacted to a simple touch. And now look at him, falling apart and coming all over himself at the first hint of dominance in Azriel’s voice.
Get a grip, Eris scolds himself. Gods, how am I going to look at that smug, odious face tomorrow? Bastard’s ruined one of my favourite books.
It strikes him then, a dreadful realisation: Azriel only found one of his dirty books. There are at least a dozen more in the living room where the spymaster is currently sitting.
Shit.
Cursing his own stupidity for not remembering to move his pornography - with no previous guests it’s never been an issue before - the prince sighs and admits defeat. It’s too late, there’s nothing he can do about it now.
Balls, Eris thinks, and bursts out laughing.
Notes:
I love this slightly more relaxed, sassy and jovial Eris who is capable of laughing at the absurdity of things rather than worrying all the time (as per my long fic angsty Eris in Who Will Hold Me?).
Fun fact: the smut in this chapter was inspired by two of my personal favourite romantic books:
1. The purple spine of Eris's smut is inspired by the Roman tracts (dirty Edwardian gay smut) hidden in plain sight on the shelves of Jack Hawthorne is Freya Markse's A Power Unbound (please read the whole trilogy it's incredible).
2. Tadek, the protagonist in Eris's Sellyn Drake novel, had his name taken from Alexandra Rowland's stunning novel A Taste of Gold and Iron.The boys try baking in a tiny ass kitchen in tomorrow's chapter, "Yes, chef".
Chapter 3: Yes, Chef
Summary:
Sexually frustrated Eris channels his feelings into baked goods. Azriel wants to help.
Notes:
The prompt for day 3 of the Azris Week 2025 Challenge is 'Contact'.
NSFW.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
DAY 3
Azriel had lain awake thinking about Eris last night, turning his discovery about the prince’s sexual proclivities over and over in his head. He had weighed up everything he knew and felt about the Heir of Autumn in light of this new information, feeling as though he’d unearthed something crucial about Eris. Now that he knows, it makes so much sense. How had he never guessed?
When dawn’s early light wakes him, the spymaster dimly remembers reciting dirty words from the purple book with its gilt lettering and the prince’s furious blushing, as he might a dream. Gone are all thoughts of strategy and politics. What remains is mere bodily intrigue. In his semi conscious state he and Eris merge with the characters in the novel. He becomes Andor, the demanding warrior taking his pleasure from the prince, who in turn becomes Tadek, the Lordling eager to please him. Azriel is soon rock hard and sleepily wringing pleasure from himself. It is Eris’s blushing face, alight with shock and pleasure, that he sees when he comes.
Sated, but more than a little shocked at himself, the spymaster quietly washes, dresses and begins working through his drills before the prince rises. He only manages to step a few paces outside the patio door to train under the serene shade of the pergola, given the pressure of the protective shield tethering him to Eris. If the prince feels his movement at the threshold of the barrier, it does not entice him to stir from his room.
Azriel helps himself to a light breakfast while the shadows flit about him relaying their reports. Intel has been steadily pouring in from his spies of their efforts in the Hewn City. There are a few leads but nothing substantial has been uncovered and no one has yet been apprehended. The spymaster sighs. He’s itching to turn the Hewn City over with a fine toothed comb, but he begrudgingly accepts that he’s best placed here, protecting the prince while his shadows and spies work. His unexpected presence in the city would undoubtedly drive the assailants even further underground.
The sun has been up for two hours by the time Eris finally rises. Azriel, busying himself inspecting the shed and taking inventory of its contents, doesn’t see the prince as he moves about inside, but he soon hears clattering coming from the kitchen. He assumes that Eris is making himself breakfast, but the prince doesn’t emerge.
Azriel considers sending in a shadow to scout out the prince’s movements, but after how they left things yesterday in unchartered territory, sending in a shadow, which Eris seems particularly adept at spotting, might be asking for trouble. He doesn’t want the prince to suspect or accuse him of spying, but walking over and simply asking what he’s doing feels foreign to Azriel…
Curiosity eventually wins over. Azriel steps back inside and heads to the kitchen, making no attempt to disguise the noise of his entrance.
“Need help?” He asks, popping his head around the kitchen door.
Nothing could have prepared him for the scene he interrupts. Eris is baking. Baking . The Prince of Autumn. Azriel has no idea what he’s making, but it looks complex. He’s squinting at a faded recipe card propped against the wall. The script is tiny and elaborate and the recipe looks long. The worktop is covered in flour and dough and every kind of baking utensil imaginable. Copper pans simmer on the stove top, filling the small room with a mouthwatering aroma.
Eris, in shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and with an apron wrapped about his waist, looks up from his work. His expression, which had been one of rapt attention to the dough in his hands, becomes immediately guarded on spotting Azriel. The prince makes no attempt to explain whatever ambitious confection he’s attempting to create on the floured worktop. His eyes merely fall back to the dough and his hands resume their kneading. The movement looks practiced. Long fingers move hypnotically, squeezing and pinching as palms flatten and roll and smooth bumps out of the lumpen mass. Azriel feels the ghost of those fingers raking against his scalp and he ponders briefly, madly, what other wonders Eris might work on his body. The spymaster shudders and looks away.
“Yes,” the prince replies in a brusk tone, still not looking up. “Make yourself useful and wash as I go.”
Well, I didn’t expect that, Azriel muses. But he’s prepared to help if it means he has a reason to watch Eris. Stepping into the space, Azriel fills the basin and starts to work through the backlog of dirty dishes. Remembering the mortification of the prince touching his wings, the spymaster tucks them tight against his body. Better safe than sorry.
Eris grunts behind him, and Azriel turns in time to see him folding and pounding butter into a mound of dough. It’s a strangely compelling sight. There’s flour dusting the prince’s flushed cheeks. Strong hands and muscled forearms strain and tense as they expertly knead and roll the dough. A lock of hair has fallen into the prince’s face, which even from this angle the spymaster can see is singularly focused on the task before him. Eris is biting his bottom lip and his brow is furrowed. He looks so different like this, getting his hands dirty. It suits him. Azriel realises that he’s staring again.
Not good.
-
“What are you making?” The spymaster asks.
“Autumn delicacy.” Eris murmurs absentmindedly, without bothering to turn.
Concentration is needed. He hasn’t made these tarts in decades and the pastry, delicate layers of butter and sugar and flour, is complex to make. Eris had woken craving for something sweet, and the fancy had taken him to try some baking. It’s as good a distraction as any from his frustration, both with the situation and with himself for his weakness yesterday. He still can’t believe he touched himself thinking about Azriel . Worse yet, he came shamefully hard and fast, replaying the memory on repeat of the spymaster’s low voice talking dirty.
Urgh. Eris winces. This is his own fault. It’s been too long since he’s had a good fuck, that’s all. Best not to think about it, he decides. Certainly not while the spymaster is close by. Who knows what the shadows whisper to him?
The two males work in silence for some time, both intent on their own tasks. When Azriel begins to collect discarded dishes and utensils from the worktop, Eris acutely feels the disadvantage of such a small kitchen. It’s long and narrow with little space to move about in. The prince narrows his eyes on the baking trays that he’s currently lining with individual cases for the delicate pastry, his hands covered in flour and butter. He’s running out of dishes and needs something fresh for the egg glaze.
“Hand me another bowl? Something small.” Eris calls over his shoulder. “And these can be washed.”
Azriel is suddenly behind him, reaching around to place a bowl on the worktop.
“Yes, chef.” The spymaster’s voice dips, low and dangerous, as he steps into the prince’s space.
Holy Mother.
Eris’s lips part on a silent gasp. His entire body tenses. Azriel does not touch him, but he comes so close that his voice feels like a caress against the prince’s ear. Heat radiates from the male and that intriguing mist and cedar scent fills the prince’s nostrils. The overwhelming presence of the spymaster in such close proximity is gone as quickly as it came, and Eris is left quietly but violently unspooling from the assault on his senses. The sound of Azriel’s voice rings out through the ensuing silence, reverberating through Eris’s bones and rushing through his blood. The prince’s body hums in delight and anticipation. More, it pleads.
The prince, entirely too hot in his clothing and feeling half mad with rage and want, wonders if the spymaster realises the effect he’s having. Does Azriel know what it does to me when he drops his voice like that? Eris grits his teeth and closes his eyes. He must, the bastard.
Looking intently down at the worktop, the prince wills himself to calm and focus on the task at hand, but suddenly the spymaster is behind him again.
“Can I?” Azriel asks, reaching around Eris once more for the dirty dishes.
The prince, feeling completely flustered, fails to move out of the way, and instead steps backward into the spymaster with his hands still full of the delicate dough. They bump awkwardly into one another, failing to co-ordinate their bodies. Eris almost jumps out of his skin as his ass collides with Azriel’s hip. Seemingly unfazed, the spymaster simply places two broad hands on the prince’s hips and moves him bodily to the side. Azriel quickly retrieves the dirty dishes and retreats to the basin, but Eris, feeling somehow molten and tense all at once, like a volcano ready to erupt, can still feel those handprints burning through the fabric of his trousers. He shakes his head to clear it, and turns once more to his work.
Mercifully, Azriel does not touch Eris again as he finishes preparing the tarts and gets them into the oven. Steering clear of one another, both males silently work in tandem to clean down the worktops and put everything away while the kitchen slowly fills with the delicious smell of baking pastry.
Looking completely delectable and ready to demolish, Eris carefully removes the baked treats from the oven and works quickly to transfer each tartlet onto the cooling rack. Azriel, loitering by the sink, his work finally done, eyes him closely.
“So…can I try one?” The spymaster asks.
The prince glances backwards, finally allowing himself to look at Azriel. The Illyrian looks at home in the kitchen, a dish rag draped over one shoulder, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up to expose powerful forearms, his face a little flushed from the heat of the oven.
“I suppose you can.” Eris finds himself saying, and reaches out to proffer a delicate little tartlet to Azriel.
The spymaster takes the warm pastry carefully from the prince, their fingertips glancing, and puts the entire thing in his mouth. Eris watches closely to gauge his reaction. He hasn’t tried a pastry yet so he’s not sure how they turned out. Azriel’s face blooms with pleasure, and the usually stoic male chokes on a groan. The prince flushes with pride and genuine delight, his doubt falling away. He cannot help but smile smugly as the spymaster tries to school his features. Eris raises an expectant eyebrow, waiting for Azriel’s verbal approval.
“Thoughts?” He asks.
“Fine.” Azriel chokes, obviously holding back. “It’s fine.”
“Just fine? You don’t want anymore then?” Eris snorts, plucking another tart from the rack beside him.
Azriel steps forward, reaching out to take it, but the prince swipes it out of reach. The spymaster freezes and relents, his eyes narrowing hungrily on the tart.
“Fine, they’re good. And I’d like another.” Azriel reaches out again, but Eris twists away. Angling his body to protect the rest of the tarts on the worktop at his back, Eris holds the delicate pastry above his head and out of Azriel’s reach.
“Good? Just good?” The prince prompts.
The spymaster rolls his eyes. “Delicious. They’re delicious.”
Azriel steps right into Eris’s personal space, seemingly intent on eating another pastry. He loops one hand around Eris to swipe one from the counter, while the other reaches upwards to grab at the pastry still in the prince’s grip. Not one to be beaten, Eris blocks the first attack by grabbing the muscled forearm attempting to snake around him, and strains to hold the pastry in his hand even higher still to block the second.
Azriel gives him a furious look and licks a crumb from the corner of his mouth with his tongue. Eris’s eyes snag on the motion. He’s acutely aware of how close they are, of how easy it would be to close the distance between them. The prince, hearing his own heartbeat thundering in his chest, curses himself for entertaining the idea. When he realises he can hear Azriel’s heart too, beating like a drum in response to his own, he knows they are in dangerous waters.
“You didn’t say please.” Eris points out.
It’s all he can think to say to break the tension, but it comes out a whisper, and only makes Azriel move closer, mere inches from his face. The spymaster’s eyes, large and hazel, drink him in. Azriel’s eyes drop to Eris’s lips, and the prince wonders deliriously if they are about to kiss. But suddenly his wrist is pinned high above him against the cupboard. The arm in his own grip snakes further behind the prince, drawing them closer as the spymaster’s chest bumps against his own.
Azriel looks down on Eris, his eyes aflame with the challenge. And although Eris is so incredibly distracted by the hard cage of the spymaster’s body, he’ll be damned if he lets the Illyrian snag another pastry so easily. Azriel seems to read the daring, stubborn glint in Eris’s eye, because he moves impossibly closer. The spymaster’s grip strengthens as he dips his face to the prince’s. Their lips are almost touching, their eyes full of one another, when Azriel opens his mouth to speak.
“Please.” The spymaster’s voice is low and dangerous, his lips so close to Eris’s own that the prince can feel the hot expulsion of breath and taste the scent of caramel apples and sugared pastry as viscerally as he hears the word itself. The sound of it reverberates through the prince and draws an unexpected noise of wanting from him. Azriel’s eyes flare wide with recognition and darken with intent.
Their lips crash together and suddenly they are kissing. It is a fierce, wanting embrace, full of heat and fire. Eris doesn’t know who moved first. It hardly seems to matter now that they are finally tasting one another. Azriel’s hips crush into his own, pinning him against the worktop, as their hands desperately claw at one another’s chests and shoulders.
Eris buries his hands in Azriel’s hair and pulls the male closer, groaning as their tongues brush and the kiss deepens. The spymaster’s hands, which had wrapped around the prince’s torso to roam his back, dip to his hips and ass, squeezing and tugging with a moan. Eris gasps at the touch, his gut clenching to think of those hands touching the rest of him, and dips his own hands to roam the solid, impressive bulk of the spymaster’s torso. Without warning, Eris finds himself lifted onto the worktop and Azriel is suddenly between his thighs. Pleasure shoots through the prince and the spymaster groans as their bodies crush together. The angle is dangerous with all this glorious heat and friction between them, and the impressive, thickening length of the spymaster trapped against the prince’s crotch.
Fuck.
Eris wraps his legs instinctively about Azriel’s waist, drawing him in. The pastries, long forgotten, are almost crushed in the commotion as the males desperately pull at one another, trying to get as close as possible with all these layers of clothing between them. The prince gasps again as the spymaster bucks against him, the full length of Azriel a leaden weight, hard and insistent against the seam of Eris’s trousers. The prince too is rock hard. Their kiss is momentarily broken in the aftershock of the thrust, and their eyes meet for the first time in this new reality, in which it’s a very real possibility that they’re going to have sex right here in the kitchen.
Are we about to fuck? Eris wonders, feeling dizzy with pleasure. It’s all happening so quickly that the prince can barely think.
Hazel eyes drink him in as both males fall still and share breath. Neither of them move. The first kiss could still be written off as just the heat of the moment. If they kiss again, how could it be seen as anything other than deliberate? Azriel’s eyes fall to Eris’s mouth, and the prince finds himself biting his lower lip, lightheaded with desire and doubt. He can’t think with the spymaster so close and looking at him like that, but he knows he’s in danger. Azriel is a spymaster to a foreign court and they are going to be trapped here together for who knows how long.
Fuck.
Azriel must read the doubt or the fear in Eris’s face, because suddenly he’s pulling back and releasing the prince. Eris straightens his spine and tries to calm his breathing as they survey one another.
“That…shouldn’t have happened.” Azriel offers, his voice hesitant.
Eris finds himself nodding awkwardly. His eyes drop in the briefest of glances to Azriel’s crotch and his eyes almost pop out of his skull to see the glorious length of the spymaster bulging against his trousers. They both blush as Azriel adjusts himself.
“No,” Eris agrees, clearing his throat. “That was…just the heat of the moment.”
It’s Azriel’s turn to nod dumbly. “I’ll go.”
The prince breathes a sigh of relief when the spymaster turns and leaves the kitchen. He hears the patio door open and close. When his heart is no longer thundering in his chest, he picks up a tartlet and finally takes a bite. He chokes on a gluttonous cry.
Fucking hell, that is delicious.
Notes:
Inspiration for this chapter:
-I absolutely loved and was inspired by Tessabeth's Fresh Meat, an incredible AU in which Eris is an incarcerated Michelin star chef and Azriel his assigned prison officer. The occupation suits Eris perfectly!
-People saying Yes, Chef to Jeremy Allen White's character in The Bear...why is that so sexy?!Tomorrow, an even more sexually frustrated Eris needs to get out of this damned summer house and try his hand at something else - fishing! The boys get wet on the river bank, Autumn style.
Chapter 4: Read My Lips
Summary:
The boys go fishing and try to clear the air after yesterday's unexpected kiss. They end up discussing everything they're not going to do.
Notes:
The prompt for day 4 of the Azris Week Challenge 2025 is: read between the lines.
NSFW.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
DAY 4
The next morning Eris is itching to get out of the house, which feels entirely claustrophobic in light of yesterday’s searing kiss. It’s bad enough that he’s stuck here with Azriel, without envisioning how it would feel to kiss him against every wall and surface. It was impossible to see the spymaster again yesterday without having such ludicrous thoughts, even though Azriel mercifully made himself as scarce as possible. The prince needs fresh air and something to occupy his mind.
Eris rises a little while after dawn, feeling irritable and ready to get the day over and done with. Quietly exiting his room so as not to wake Azriel next door, he makes a beeline to the bathroom and pulls at the handle, but the door is stuck.
“Fucking handle.” Eris hisses, already losing his temper with the day ahead.
The prince rattles the door, about ready to wrench it from its frame in the mood he’s in, even if it means waking the spymaster, when suddenly noise sounds within the bathroom and the door flies open. Azriel stands before him, dripping wet and naked but for the towel clutched about his hips by a deeply scarred hand. The sight of so much glorious muscled flesh has the prince’s traitorous eyes widening like saucepans. Where the fuck else is he meant to look? Azriel is simply too big, filling the doorway and demanding to be seen.
“Fucking - do you always bathe in complete silence? What were you doing in there? I thought you were asleep!” Eris finds himself predisposed to anger this morning as his voice, loud and terse, smashes the serenity of dawn, filling the cabin with far too much noise. But rage is safe.
Azriel scowls. Eris turns away and steps aside, not trusting his self restraint when it comes to ogling the spymaster, who looks equally as flustered to be face to face with the prince.
“Having a soak. That against the law?” Azriel mutters, securing the towel tighter about him and padding into the hallway. At least he remembers rule number two about Eris’s priority use of the bathroom. Small victories. The prince strides into the tiled room like he owns it, which he does, thank you very much.
“We’re going fishing today.” Eris barks over his shoulder, not bothering to elaborate as he slams the door in Azriel’s face.
Is this a fucking test? The prince seethes, his face flushed with sudden heat at the confrontation. He might laugh at the absurdity of the situation if he wasn’t so damned frustrated. Mother, spare me.
A pile of black fabric lays neatly folded on top of the laundry basket. Azriel’s sleep clothes, if Eris had to guess. The bathwater is still warm and the air is heavy with the scent of cedar. A stub of glistening soap sweats on the edge of the bathtub where Azriel abandoned it. Eris stares dumbly at the well used lump as he considers his options. Sleep has not magically ridden him of this new attraction to the spymaster, who had been blushing so invitingly when he first opened the door. So how the hell is he going to face Azriel again and keep his dignity intact? Mind racing, Eris forces himself to think it through.
We can’t fuck, he reasons. That would be incredibly stupid, and I am not fucking stupid. The only way we’re going to get through this without dying of mortification, or succumbing to completely stupid horny decisions - hot, delicious, hard decisions…Shut up! The only way we’re going to get through this is by having a conversation, and clearing the air. Fuck.
Eris was really hoping it wouldn’t come to that. But he can’t very well ignore the proverbial Suriel in the garden. Azriel isn’t going away any time soon. The prince sighs. He seriously considers touching himself again, if just to ease some of his body’s tension, but it’s too quiet and the idea of Azriel knowing…No. He’s got to be strong.
Cauldron, give me strength.
-
It’s a relief to be out of the house. The walk is quiet and long as they trudge through the woods. Eris leads the way, carting a bag that the spymaster assumes contains fishing gear. After an hour or so of walking, the prince leads them to a stunning stretch of river close to the Summer Court border.
The day is hot and bright and stunningly beautiful. Azriel wishes that for once he was wearing something other than black. His tunic is already beginning to stick to him by the time they set up on the river bank. The water, which looks invitingly cool, is surprisingly serene for such a large river. Eris sets his bag on the ground beneath a handsome tree, and crosses a few feet across the grass to inspect the water more closely. Azriel follows suit.
“Isn’t the water a little shallow here for fishing poles?” The spymaster’s voice croaks a little after such a stretch of silence.
“We’re not using a line.” The prince responds without offering further explanation.
Eris says nothing as he sinks gracefully onto the grass and starts to tug at his boots. Azriel watches on, confused as the prince removes his socks and rolls up each trouser leg above the knee. When he stands and removes his light jacket to roll his shirtsleeves, the spymaster tries not to watch too closely, lest he be caught.
Eris is sure footed on the grassy bank, and Azriel watches with some amazement as he wades out into a shallow stream of water. He has a good idea of what the prince is about to attempt, but he hadn’t expected it. He’s even more surprised when Eris turns back towards him, looking directly at Azriel for the first time all morning, and beckons him to join.
Azriel makes quick work of removing his boots and socks and rolling up his trousers. The water is cold, and a blessed relief after the heat of the morning. He’s slow to join the prince, taking time over the slippery rocks. Water is truly not Azriel’s element, and he’d imagined it wouldn’t be Eris’s either, being the son of flame. And yet the Prince of Autumn looks as content in the river as Azriel could ever imagine the High Lord of Summer.
When they are within splashing distance, Eris holds up a hand to halt Azriel’s progress. The spymaster gives him a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow as if to ask what next? Eris raises a single finger slowly to his lips and makes a silent shushing motion. Azriel’s lips twitch with amusement, but obediently, he makes no noise. Amber eyes watch him for a long moment, alight with mischief, and something else, before turning that intense focus to the surface of the water streaming past their legs.
Azriel studies the prince closely, glad of this open invitation to watch, and only wishes he could know what Eris is thinking. The spymaster’s own thoughts have strayed very little from yesterday’s kiss. How could he think of anything else when every time his mind tried to still or focus, he could only feel the ghost of Eris’s mouth on his own, the searing heat of the prince’s tongue, or the feel of muscled thighs clenched tight around his waist. The tension in the kitchen, the anticipation…fuck it had been almost as delicious as the taste he finally stole from Eris. Gods, if the prince hadn’t hesitated, the spymaster doubts he would have had the self restraint to stop.
Azriel is glad Eris is so entirely focused on the water so as not to see his blush. They don’t speak for a long time. The prince is preternaturally still, hands poised at his sides. One moment he is standing, and the next his body has folded and his arms have plunged into the river. With an explosive spray of water which coats them both, Eris emerges with a long, silver scaled fish in his hands.
The prince, his shirt sodden and hair wild, clutches the fish to his chest as he stands. When he catches the spymaster’s eye he grins triumphantly, and it is a sight to behold. Azriel’s mouth is agape as he watches Eris smash the creature’s head against a rock jutting from the water. The fish falls still in his hands and Eris launches it in an underhand throw onto the grass of the river bank.
“Your turn.” The prince smiles again, eyes full of delight and challenge.
Azriel nods dumbly, a little in awe of the lordling. Eris is a natural but Azriel has never attempted fishing like this before. He breathes deeply and studies the water. Ten minutes pass in tense silence before a sliver of silver scales catches his eyes beneath the water. Azriel lunges and misses completely. He emerges from the water completely sodden. He turns to glare at Eris, who is chuckling quietly beside him.
“I can’t help but notice,” Azriel begins, wiping water from his eyes, “that you joked about me killing animals with my bare hands in my spare time, and yet that’s exactly what you chose to do.”
“Oh, did you not care for lunch today?” Eris smirks, though his lips falter a little when Azriel pulls at his drenched tunic.
They wade out of the water and back onto the grass. Azriel spends a full minute wringing his shirt before giving up on it. He pulls at the tie beneath his wings and pulls the whole thing, and the sopping undershirt beneath it, over his head. He wrings the garments thoroughly and sets them out on the grass to dry. When he turns back Eris is busy building a fire, his eyes set almost defiantly on the task. His own shirt is damp, and clinging to his surprisingly sculpted torso, but he does not remove it.
Azriel gathers more fallen wood from the trees for the fire and kneels beside the prince in the grass. Eris says nothing as he guts, cleans and begins to cook the fish on sticks over the flames, his face a mask of that same intense focus the spymaster had witnessed yesterday in the kitchen. Azriel is happy to watch those deft fingers move, and finds himself wondering yet again what other hidden talents those hands possess.
Eris removes seasoning, a generous pat of butter in waxed paper, a small loaf of seeded bread, and a couple of bottles of cider from the bag Azriel had mistakenly thought contained fishing equipment, along with enamel dishes to eat from. The spymaster almost chuckles at the contents of the bag, because of course Eris carted all of this stuff to improve their lunch, clearly not one to prioritise practicality over pleasure. When Azriel bites into the delicate flesh the fish, the seasoning and the fat of the butter perfectly balanced, he barely suppresses a groan. He’s had to do that a lot lately. Eris might be a brat, but fuck can he cook.
They eat in silence. When the food has been demolished, and the cider half drunk, Eris pulls out a small tin and opens the lid, revealing a batch of those delicious tartlets from yesterday. There’s a tense moment when the prince sets the tin between them on the grass, and the spymaster pauses, unsure of how to proceed.
Azriel’s eyes snag on the treats and his stomach clenches at the visceral memory of that damned kiss. Even amidst all the confusion and shock of having kissed Eris Vanserra, in its aftermath the most overwhelming feeling was simply one of wanting more. That hunger hasn’t abated. Eris had tasted of caramel apple and buttered pastry, and when Azriel looks now at the tarts, his mouth starting to water in anticipation of eating one, the flame of desire he tried so hard to snuff sparks to life in his gut.
Risking the briefest of glances at Eris, who looks as though he too is remembering yesterday, Azriel wonders if…no. Best not. Instead, the spymaster occupies his mouth with a tart, and cannot help but sigh with pleasure.
Fuck that is good.
Eris glances over at the noise, but looks away before their eyes can meet. Azriel takes a swig of cider and wills his racing heart to calm. The prince mercifully says nothing as he eats his own sweet treat, and the moment passes.
Keep it together.
-
The temperature builds as the sun continues to arc across the glorious blue sky. It’s comfortable in the shade of the tree though, the cool grass and gentle breeze caressing the prince’s bare feet and arms. His shirt is dry now. Eris had opted to quietly dry himself using fire magic rather than undress in front of Azriel, though he’s not complaining about the spymaster’s shirtless state, even if it is incredibly distracting.
Stomach full, awkward as fuck moment come and gone, Eris decides to lie back on the grass and digest. If he can make himself appear relaxed and at ease, then perhaps he will start to feel it, he reasons. Crossing his arms behind his head, he sinks backwards onto the soft, cool grass and exhales a deep breath. His breathing slows and he tries to look the picture of relaxation, even if a quiet tempest is growing in his gut.
From this angle, Eris’s vision is dominated by Azriel’s back where he sits on the grass. The sculpted arc of the spymaster’s torso peeks out from beneath those intriguing membranous wings. Black swirling ink ripples as powerful muscles subtly shift with every quiet exhale.
Fuck, does he have to be so hot?
Eris forces himself to close his eyes, as though on the verge of a nap. What else is there to do?
Lots of things…his mind offers. Eris sighs in frustration. Be strong. Yes, he’s hot, but you’ve had plenty of hot fae before. When this is all over and you’re caught up on work, call Yulian to your chambers and spend the night getting fucked senseless.
Pleased with his plan, Eris wills his mind to clear of all thoughts of Azriel and that ridiculous kiss. That ridiculously hot kiss - shut up!
Eris frowns, his eyes squinting open against the brightness of the day. Maybe he needs to just bite the blade and talk to Azriel. If he can clear the air then perhaps they can move past this. What he needs to do is throw ice water on the situation. Staring stubbornly at the impossibly blue sky - anywhere but at the male who’s been occupying entirely too much of his thoughts of late - when he opens his mouth to speak, Eris imagines it’s the clouds he’s talking to.
“Yesterday,” the prince begins, voice cold and solemn as he considers his words, “what happened obviously can’t happen again.”
Azriel tenses beside him but does not turn to look.
“I don’t need to tell you how serious the consequences would be for everyone involved given the history between our courts and the current political climate.” Eris adds, hoping his tone conveys the gravity of the situation, what is at stake, and by extension, how seriously the prince takes his duties.
“No.” The spymaster says simply, his voice strangely flat as he continues to stare out at the river.
“Good, so we agree?” The prince asks, looking searchingly at what little he can see of the spymaster’s face. “No kissing.”
“Agreed. No kissing.” Azriel mutters.
The spymaster seems quiet, thoughtful. It’s easier talking sideways rather than head on, looking outwards and upwards, rather than at one another. And yet…Eris wishes he could Azriel’s face and gauge his true reaction.
“Right.” Eris agrees with a sigh. This is for the best, even if it is…disappointing.
“Or fucking.” Azriel adds, turning to look back at the prince.
Eris’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth parts to hear the way Azriel’s voice wraps enticingly around the word. He hadn’t expected that.
“Just being clear.” Azriel shrugs, still looking at him. His voice is dismissive, businesslike, but there’s something flashing in those hazel eyes. Intrigue. He’s studying Eris closely, his eyes lingering on his throat. The prince can’t help but feel this is a test of some kind.
“...Right.” Eris murmurs. “No fucking.”
The prince just about manages to hold the spymaster’s eye. Something flashes there again. Azriel twists, turning his upper body towards Eris and setting a broad hand on the grass beside the prince’s waist.
“In that case, I need some clarification.” Azriel ventures, a slightly more playful, daring edge to his voice.
“Oh?” Eris swallows, eyes snagging on the spymaster’s half naked body, appreciating the graceful ease of his limbs and the way his chest tenses and shifts as he moves. The view is criminally enticing. The prince’s hands move instinctively from under his head, as though to touch the spymaster, or protect himself, and twist together anxiously on his stomach.
“Yesterday, before the…incident, was there something I did which I should avoid, to stop… that from happening again?” Azriel asks, his voice almost mocking in its faux innocence.
He’s fucking toying with me, the bastard.
Eris glares at Azriel but says nothing. The spymaster’s face lights up with mischief as he twists his body completely to lie on the grass, propping himself on an elbow and looking down at the prince with wry amusement and intrigue. Eris fights a blush and wills his body not to melt under that intense hazel gaze. His hands tense and flex and he wills them to still.
“Does it bother you, for example, when I talk like this?” Azriel drops his voice and emphasises the words in exactly the same way he had yesterday when he’d said yes chef, and the day before that when he’d called Eris a good boy.
The prince tenses, his body flushing with heat just as it has every time the spymaster has spoken like this, low and dirty, as if he plans on commanding Eris to come just with the sound of his silken voice.
“What?” Eris swallows hard. “What the fuck do you mean?”
The slightest of smiles curls at the edge of Azriel’s lip. The spymaster’s eyes are dark and hooded as he stares down at the prince. Eris watches with equal parts horror and anticipation as Azriel shifts closer. But not for all the gold in Prythian would Eris break eye contact, that would feel like submitting to the tempest of desire raging once more within him. No, he must stay in control.
Azriel dips his head and for one heartstopping moment the prince is certain the spymaster is about to break their agreement and kiss him. But instead he turns, bringing his lips close to the shell of the prince’s ear. Azriel doesn’t make contact, but Eris can feel the spymaster’s hot breath caressing his sensitive skin. He stops breathing, his entire body poised in anticipation of whatever is about to happen.
“When I talk like this,” Azriel’s voice, low and deep, rumbles against his ear, sending bolts of pleasure straight through Eris, “does it bother you? I just want to…clarify the rules. Wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Eris’s eyes flutter shut as his body melts into the vibrations of Azriel’s voice. When he opens them a second later Azriel is smirking down at him. Eris feels his face burning with rage and mortification.
“Do you like that?” Azriel asks, his face so close that Eris could reach up and kiss him if he wanted. And fuck, does he want to.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” The prince snarls, but it comes out more of a whimper.
Azriel’s face lights up, as though Eris is silently setting him a challenge he’s only too happy to accept. He dips his head again, bringing his face close to Eris’s neck, but still does not touch him.
“What are you doing?” Eris whispers, a hair's breadth away from caving. The fight has all but left him. All that remains is barely concealed longing.
Azriel breathes deeply, inhaling Eris’s scent. Whatever he smells makes his eyes darken with intent.
“Testing a theory.” Azriel responds, voice thick and low.
In one seamless movement the spymaster rolls and suddenly is on top of the prince, arms bracketing Eris’s head, knees straddling his waist. But still he does not touch the prince. Eris gasps and stares up at the cage Azriel has made with his body. The view is breathtaking. A powerful torso and arms encase him, huge black wings make a dome above them, and directly above his face is Azriel’s. Arresting features look as though they’ve been carved in marble and brought to life by the Mother herself, and those hazel eyes are full of heat. The spymaster dominates Eris’s vision, blocking the sun and the sky, until all he can see is Azriel. For the life of him he can’t look away.
Fuck, the prince scowls up the spymaster. Why the hell did I agree to no fucking?
“Don’t worry, brat, I’m not going to kiss you.” Azriel smirks, dipping his head again to Eris’s neck.
The spymaster’s nose grazes the delicate column of the prince’s throat, breathing deeply again, from the nape of his neck to the lobe of his ear. Eris stifles a groan at the sensation, which sends a jolt of pleasure straight down his spine.
“I’m not going to bite your earlobe.” Azriel whispers gruffly, talking into the shell of Eris’s ear.
Eris gasps, realising exactly what Azriel is doing, hating and loving it in equal measure. The spymaster traces a thumb along the prince’s lower lip and the touch ignites him.
“I’m not going to bite you here.” Azriel trails that same thumb down his neck, drawing a line of fire across Eris’s skin.
“Or here.” The spymaster gently grazes the tip of his scarred index finger over the hard edge of the prince’s clavicle and across the thin stretch of linen which covers the plane of his chest, pausing to graze a hardened nipple through the shirt. “Or here.”
Eris gasps at the electric shock of the touch, his gaze locking onto Azriel’s face in bewildered disbelief. The spymaster is studying him closely, his eyes dark with lust. The prince dare not move, in case the last thread of his self restraint should snap.
Torture. Blissful fucking torture.
Azriel’s hand continues its journey south across the plane of Eris’s chest and stomach. When it reaches the waistband of his trousers it stops, splaying flat against his abdomen, a solid heavy weight that burns through the fabric of his clothes. His skin is itching to make contact. Without warning, that same hand begins to pull at each button of the prince’s shirt, popping every one of them open, before laying flat against his chest. Eris’s heart beats loudly beneath Azriel’s palm. Hazel eyes drink him in as the rough skin of the spymaster’s hand slowly works its way back down across the prince’s stomach, ending once more at his naval. The languid touch feels almost possessive, proprietary.
Azriel’s eyes, full of fire, slowly roam the length of the prince, who fights the urge to squirm beneath such scalding focus. Eris shudders, what little remaining blood in his head rushing south. Azriel’s hand, so hot and heavy on his abdomen, is just inches too high from where Eris wants to feel it. Feeling half mad with arousal and ready to crack under the pressure of his wanting, Eris finds himself ready to play this game of dare.
“What else aren’t you going to do?” He asks, voice rough with desire.
Azriel’s eyes flare with delight and he bites his bottom lip. Eris wants to feel it between his teeth.
“I’m not going to roll you over and bite your ass.” Azriel growls. “And I’m definitely not going to see how many fingers you can take.”
The prince doesn’t even try to suppress his groan. It’s pointless. He is rock hard and the spymaster knows it. Azriel knows exactly what he’s doing to Eris. The prince finally dares to look down at the spymaster’s crotch, his eyes almost popping out of his skull when they snag on the huge bulge straining above him. Fuck, he wants to touch.
Azriel doesn’t give Eris time to think any further about what he would do if only they hadn’t just made that stupid agreement, because he knocks the prince’s legs apart and plants a knee on the grass between his thighs, scattering any semblance of coherent thought left in his mind. Eris jolts at the contact, the slight pressure eliciting a groan from him. He glares daggers at Azriel for making himself so fucking hard to resist, even though he’s certain his body will explode if he stops. The spymaster smirks in response to the prince’s accusatory look. When Azriel speaks again, his voice drops and his eyes darken, tapping into that strange new power he has discovered. He need only open his mouth with intent and Eris simply melts at the sound.
“What’s wrong? I’m not breaking any rules. No kissing, no fucking. So why don’t you just rut against my leg like I know you’re dying to?” Azriel applies more pressure against Eris’s aching length, and the prince instinctively jerks his hips at the touch.
“Good boy.” Azriel groans.
Eris gasps and his hands cling to those powerful forearms bracketing his head as if to restrain his captor. He should incinerate the spymaster for such insolence. He should stab him at the very least, alliance be damned. But fuck if it doesn’t turn him on.
“Hmm,” Azriel moans, “For a brat you’re very good at following instructions. You like being told what to do, don’t you?”
Eris glares at Azriel in shock and mortification and so much fucking lust. Because yes, he does like to be dominated. And Azriel is clearly enjoying this as much as he is.
Fuck.
“Touch yourself.” Azriel commands in that low voice, any semblance of playfulness vanished from his features. Just pure predatory desire remains.
Fuuuck.
Eris is in real trouble because there’s no fucking way he can stop now, not with Azriel above him looking as horny as he feels, and using all that dark, intense energy at his command to dominate the prince. The spymaster watches the prince like a hawk as he dips a hand beneath his waistband and grips himself.
“Show me.” Azriel grunts, eyes pinned to Eris’s crotch. “I want to watch.”
The prince shudders, feeling delirious with arousal at the low command, and pulls himself free. The cool air hits the sensitive skin of his cock. He’s so turned on right now that he’s leaking precum, like some randy youngling. Azriel groans and licks his lips. It’s a hungry noise that sends another ripple of pleasure through the spymaster’s captive, and Eris wonders if his self restraint is taking as much of a battering as his own.
The prince grips himself at the base and slowly fists his cock. Azriel’s knee is still wedged between his thighs, and the warmth of the contact, the heat of him beneath his balls and against his ass, is enough to make Eris throb with longing. Silently, Azriel reaches a hand down to his own trousers, pulling roughly at the laces and freeing his glorious sex. Eris gapes at the size of him, mouth watering.
“Still going to call me little bat?” Azriel asks, voice husky.
Eris licks his lips, rasping. “Not fair to say…without closer inspection. That could be a trick of the light.”
“It’s not.” Azriel chuckles darkly. “Be careful what you say, or I’m going to have to break our agreement and fuck some sense into you.”
The prince moans at the dark promise in the spymaster’s voice. When Azriel begins to stroke himself in earnest, Eris instinctively matches his pace and movements, gliding a thumb over his weeping crown and shuddering at the sensation when Azriel does. As their eyes lock and their arms bob with each stroke, it almost feels as though they are touching one another.
“Like that,” the spymaster pants, his eyes drinking in every movement. “Slowly.”
The prince groans, despising and relishing how his body responds to the spymaster’s. He is going to come, and soon, and Azriel is going to see him completely lose himself. The thought is terrifying, and exhilarating beyond belief.
Fuuuuck.
-
Azriel is rapidly losing control as Eris writhes beneath him. He wants to touch him so badly, to taste him. Heart pounding with desire, his fingers curl into the mud beside the prince’s head. He’s been torturing Eris by slowly edging him towards orgasm, but never letting him have it. Every time the prince groans and tries to increase the pace or starts mindlessly thrusting against the spymaster’s knee, Azriel commands him to slow down in that deep low voice he’s discovered Eris likes so much. Fuck it makes him hot.
Eris is panting beneath him. His shirt is wide open and his rose pink nipples are standing to attention, just begging to be sucked. The warm freckled skin of his sculpted chest is beaded with sweat. Azriel wants to lick it off. The prince’s cock, hard and glistening and so very lickable, hypnotises the spymaster as it weeps with yet more precum. Eris looks so utterly fucked, completely unravelled. Azriel wants to devour him.
“Please.” Eris suddenly chokes, gazing up at him through half lidded eyes, and Azriel loses it. He knows exactly what Eris craves, what he too has been denying himself. He wants it just as badly. Hearing that broken plea from the prince’s lips crumbles the last of his restraint.
“Harder.” Azriel commands.
Talons thrusting into the mud on either side of the prince’s head, the spymaster collapses onto an elbow as his own hand begins to rapidly stroke himself. His forehead touches Eris’s, their sweat mingling, their breath shared, both freely moaning in a continuous stream as their movements become frantic.
“Come for me.” Azriel pants, his voice a snarl through ragged breaths.
Eris cries out just as Azriel’s orgasm begins to rip through him. The waves of pleasure that hit him are overwhelming. He finds himself almost collapsing onto Eris as he comes in a long, shuddering stream, splattering all over the prince’s stomach. They’re so close that he feels the shock of Eris’s orgasm against his own skin, the hot cum almost burning his abdomen. He feels dirty in the best way.
The spymaster stays curved over the prince, half collapsed onto his panting chest, for a long moment as they reel in the aftershock of their shared pleasure. Finally, Azriel pulls back far enough to survey the damage. They are a mess, covered in sweat and cum. He meets Eris’s eye, and there is shock there, certainly, but also something else he cannot read in the afterglow of pleasure.
Unhooking his talons from the earth, Azriel reluctantly sits back on his haunches, giving the prince some space. He doesn’t know where they go from here.
“Well that escalated quickly.” Eris breathes.
The prince catches his eye and suddenly, inexplicably, they are laughing.
Notes:
As far as I'm concerned, Eris taught Lucien how to fish, so naturally he's incredible at it. I love the idea of Azriel witnessing yet another practical skill of the prince that takes him by surprise!
I stole a little bit from my own work here. In my long fic, Who Will Hold Me, Eris majorly gets off on Azriel's voice, and the spymaster just loves to tell the prince to touch himself.
This chapter was a whole day and a half late because of life. Life happened. Life happened hard. It's here now though. In the next chapter for day 5, which may or may not be published tomorrow, the boys experience one of my all time favourite tropes: only one bed. I cannot wait!
Chapter 5: Closer
Summary:
The protective shield malfunctions, forcing Eris and Azriel into closer proximity. Eris realises that he is crushing hard on Azriel and tries (for the sake of his rapidly diminishing self respect), to gain the upper hand in this strange game unfolding between them. The prince has definitely bitten off more than he can chew.
Notes:
The prompt for day five of the Azris Week 2025 Challenge is: favourite trope. Mine is only one bed.
TW: sexually explicit and mildly dubious consent in places.
P.S.
This was started ages ago but not finished in time for the Azris week challenge. This is one of the chapters I looked forward to writing the most and wanted to do it justice. It ended up becoming a beast of a chapter!
Enjoy 9,113 words of smut! :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
DAY 5
Steam curls around the prince's head and drifts towards the crack in the window. A glass of wine sweats on the side of the tub. Eris has been in the bath for half an hour and has no intentions of leaving any time soon. He needs time to stew over his predicament. What the fuck is going to do about Azriel?
They’ve fallen into a tentative truce, wilfully ignoring one another, not denying yesterday’s madness on the river bank, but certainly not indulging in it either. After their fishing excursion, they’d said little for the rest of the day. When they’d arrived home they had gravitated towards the living room and patio respectively, to find what privacy they could. Last night, lying in bed, Eris had allowed himself to turn the events of the last few days over in his head, analysing their every interaction. He had lain awake for some time like that, sleep eluding him, fretting that he’d made a fatal error. In the wrong hands, this sort of information could destroy the Prince of Autumn, and Eris is unsure the spymaster can be relied upon for his discretion.
Some time after midnight light footsteps had sounded in the hallway and Eris had assumed Azriel merely wanted the bathroom. But when the muffled noise had stopped abruptly outside of his bedroom door, Eris had frozen, his breath catching. Azriel stayed there for a long minute, and the prince had wondered if the spymaster was deciding whether or not to knock. Only when those same footsteps retreated did Eris breathe a sigh of relief. Though if he’s brutally honest with himself, he was more than a little disappointed.
What would he have done if Azriel had knocked on his door? Would he have let him in? Would he have invited the spymaster to lie beside him, naked? If Azriel had told him to, would he have touched himself again, and let the male watch?
Yes.
It’s so incredibly difficult to resist that lethal baritone when the spymaster wields it against him. Azriel’s voice, already smooth and rich and masculine, swells and darkens when he speaks to command Eris. It somehow makes the Illyrian, who is already unnecessarily big, seem impossibly larger. It is the voice of a male who knows he is going to get whatever he wants out of you. That damned voice. Eris shudders just to think of it.
No wonder he tortures people for a living.
Yes, if Azriel had knocked on his door last night and commanded Eris to do any number of unspeakable things, he probably would have melted into submission. Cauldron, with time, a voice like that could have him rolling over and begging.
Fuck.
This, Eris reminds himself, is why he needs to be disciplined. Even if they are careful and discreet, every touch and look of longing will only prove how much he desires Azriel, and how little strength he possesses to resist him. Desire is a weakness that can be exploited, and while Eris trusts his alliance with the Night Court to an extent, he’s wary of Azriel having such power over him.
The prince considers, not for the first time, if this unexpected frisson between them has been engineered in some way by the spymaster to trap him in a compromising position, either literally or figuratively. But that doesn’t seem to ring true. Eris had started it, the flirting. He had accidentally touched Azriel’s wing and turned him on, and the spymaster had been ridiculously flustered and uncomfortable. And when the prince caught him reading that dirty book and scented his arousal, Azriel had for a moment looked almost as embarrassed as Eris felt.
In truth, things changed after that. How could it not? They’d discovered something intimate about each other, something neither publicly admits to. They both like males. That had been a surprise. The prince isn’t ashamed of his sexuality, but he has to be so incredibly discreet about it. Beron would kill him if he found out. Azriel surely knows that. And for whatever reason, the spymaster has chosen to keep his interest in males private too. Truthfully, if Azriel wasn’t spymaster to a foreign court, Eris would almost certainly have seduced him by now, would have relished the challenge. But alas…
The prince sighs and sips his wine. It’s better this way.
-
Azriel paces the length of the patio. He’s spent most of his time out here lately to avoid Eris. Yesterday had been a mistake, another moment of temporary insanity. How would he ever explain it to his family, to his High Lord and Lady, if it ever came to light? How could he account for such a lapse in judgement? The truth is that he didn’t do his job properly. Azriel never fucks about on a job. He takes his work incredibly seriously. But he did with Eris. Twice. More if he considers the flirting…
What the fuck was I thinking? He frowns.
How much you wanted to see the prince come all over himself, a wicked little voice in his head helpfully supplies.
Azriel grimaces and glares out into the darkness. Today he’s kept himself busy diligently working in the garden to quiet his thoughts, alternating between weeding and roof repairs in an attempt to keep his hands occupied. When the heat and the exertion made rest necessary, the spymaster busied himself responding to reports and messages from the Hewn City while he sat. Anything is better than letting his mind wander back to the prince and everything they could be doing but definitely shouldn’t.
No one needs to know… that same seductive voice suggests.
Stop it, he scolds himself. That’s wishful thinking and it’s not going to happen.
It’s late, and Azriel knows he should turn in soon, but going to bed means facing another long night ahead, driving himself wild thinking about the way Eris had pleaded to come yesterday. Going to bed means battling the temptation to touch himself. Something he absolutely should not do. He fucked up and he doesn’t deserve to come.
Last night Azriel had almost caved and sought Eris out. He had stood outside the prince’s room in the darkness like a stalker, frozen with indecision. He knew Eris was awake and could hear his heart hammering in his chest. But he’d managed to talk himself down and withdraw to his room. He’d spent the rest of the night agonising over the temptation of Eris and the stupidity of pursuing him.
Today hasn’t been any easier. Azriel is itching to fly away. If only he could put some distance between himself and the prince he’s certain his desire would fizzle out to nothing. Shadows keep flitting impotently about him, enticing him to retreat into the safety of their embrace, but he can’t do that.
A noise sounds in the darkness. Suddenly alert to his surroundings, Azriel remembers why he is here: to protect the prince. Siphons flaring, he steps into the shadows surrounding the house, sending his own scouts ahead. But he doesn’t wait to hear their reports as he proceeds, needing the distraction, even as the pressure of the shield tethering him to Eris begins to strain and tug at his limbs. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Azriel perseveres, determined to do his damned job. If only he could manage another few steps…
Snap!
The shadowsinger flies into the air and slams into the bathroom window ledge. Somewhere inside Eris shouts out in alarm and protest. Pain stabs through Azriel’s shoulder where he collides with the stone wall of the house.
Fucking shield!
Azriel grits his teeth and clings to the window ledge, wings instinctively flaring wide in response to being suddenly airborne. He manages to hook an arm inside the open window as he catches his breath.
“Fucking ow!” Azriel snarls, the pressure of the shield still tugging him towards Eris.
He tries to release the ledge and fly back to the ground but the crushing force urging him forward makes it impossible.
“I’m coming in.” The spymaster groans, resigned to do as the shield commands, and climbs awkwardly inside.
Inside the steamy bathroom, Eris sloshes in the bathtub, hands clenching the sides of the porcelain. The prince looks as though he is holding on for dear life, and honestly, Azriel is impressed he managed to stay in the water.
“Azriel what the fuck? I’m naked!” Eris shouts, sitting upright in the tub.
The spymaster falls on the floor, grasping his injured shoulder.
“So I can see.” He hisses through gritted teeth. “Fucking shield. Nearly broke my neck!”
“Can you get the fuck out now?” Eris snaps.
Azriel glares at him. “Gimme a minute.”
It’s a relief to finally be close again with the pressure of the shield finally dissipating in the prince’s presence. The spymaster stumbles to his feet and heads to the door. But when he opens it to step through, he can’t move. The shield has tightened around them, quartering its perimeter. They can’t be more than five feet apart right now.
“Fuck.” Azriel hisses.
“No. Do not fucking tell me -”
“I can’t move.”
“Fucking try.” Eris grips the bathtub, determined.
Azriel takes a deep breath, and rushes at the exit, as if he can trick the shield into behaving.
Snap!
The force of the shield knocks the spymaster back into the bathroom like a rubber band. A cry tears out of Azriel as he crashes into the bathtub and lands on top of Eris. They both shout in protest and pain, Azriel’s wings caught awkwardly between them, Eris flailing below as water splashes everywhere, drenching the spymaster and the floor.
“Fuck!” Eris shouts.
With some effort, Azriel manages to pull himself up and climb awkwardly out of the tub, injured arm protesting the movement. Finally standing, the spymaster carefully rolls his shoulder to assess the extent of the damage. Now the shock of the impact has passed, luckily it already feels like it’s healing. Keeping his back turned towards the prince to offer some modicum of privacy, Azriel makes a show of checking his weapons and siphons are still in place, needing something, anything, to distract him from the mortification of the situation and the very naked prince behind him.
“What the fuck happened?” Eris demands from the bathtub.
“I heard a noise outside and the shield snapped me back.”
A fox, his shadows whisper, and Azriel fights a grimace. He’s not telling Eris that.
“Why has it shrunk?” The prince demands.
Water sloshes behind the spymaster, and he can hear fabric rustling. When he turns, Eris is wrapped in a towelling robe, looking furious, and fishing a wine glass out of the bathtub.
“I don’t know.” Azriel mutters. “Maybe the magic was pushed too far and it’s keeping us closer, assuming we’ll be safer together.”
“We’ve got to go back.” The prince grumbles irritably, crossing his arms. “Have Rhysand or Helion fix it.”
“It’s late.” Azriel points out, still feeling guilty about failing to do his job properly, and embarrassed about fucking up again and making a fool of himself in front of Eris. “Besides, the shield might reset if we just give it a little time. If it’s not fixed by morning…we’ll go back and ask for help.”
Eris shoots him a look, his eyes narrowing as if he’s about to protest, but he says nothing. Azriel watches him closely.
“Fine.” The prince finally sighs, looking away.
With that Eris turns to stride out of the room, but when he reaches the door they both feel the overwhelming pressure of the shield once more. The prince turns to look impatiently at the spymaster.
“Come on then.” Eris barks.
Azriel falls into step behind him. When they reach Eris’s room, the prince marches inside, but the spymaster pauses at the threshold, making the pressure of the shield jolt them both again.
“What the fuck?” Eris snarls, spinning on his heel to level an accusatory glare at Azriel.
Azriel swallows. He’s going to have to sleep in here. That hadn’t even crossed his mind.
Fuck.
“Sorry, it’s just…are you okay with me sleeping in here?” Azriel feels awkward, uncertain, but Eris just looks flustered and pissed.
“The bed is too far from the door and I am not sleeping on the floor.” Eris insists, sounding like an absolute brat.
Azriel almost laughs. He doesn’t know if he wants to kiss the prince for being so petulant and giving the spymaster a reason to stay, or insist they sleep with a door between them. That’s a lie. He knows exactly what he wants to do. The spymaster grips the doorframe to stop himself from striding forward and sweeping the prince into his arms.
“Do I…have to sleep on the floor?” He asks tentatively, carefully watching the prince’s reaction.
Eris raises an eyebrow. “That depends. Are you going to steal the covers?”
Azriel blinks at him. Eris is going to let him into his bed? Under his sheets? The spymaster prays for strength and finds himself shaking his head.
“Then no. But keep to your side.” Eris warns, turning away.
The prince seems casual, suspiciously so, as he pulls on sleep shorts and finally drops his robe. Azriel stares at the smooth flesh of his broad, muscled back before it’s covered by a light short sleeved sleep shirt. Eris turns towards the bed and stops to throw another impatient look over his shoulder.
“Stop hovering.” The prince grumbles. “Just come in and close the door.”
Azriel obeys. He averts his gaze as Eris climbs onto the far side of the obnoxiously large mattress. Turning away and perching on the edge of the bed, Azriel starts to unlace his boots and tug at his clothing. The spymaster curses himself, wishing he’d thought to insist they swing by his room first to get some sleep clothes, though typically he prefers to sleep in just his undershorts. But this tentative truce between them is charged with a tension that Azriel dare not inspect too closely. It feels like a crazy dream filled with unimaginable possibilities. And even if nothing happens, he can just lie here and let his body hum in such close proximity to the prince. So long as he does not test his luck.
Stop thinking about him, the spymaster scolds himself, and immediately proceeds to think about the prince.
Azriel quietly tugs his shirt over his head, his shoulder only giving off a dull ache now, and stands to remove his weapons, siphons and trousers. Folding his clothes and placing everything in a neat pile on the floor within easy reach, he turns finally to the bed. Eris, propped up against the pillows with a book, glances over. Azriel hears the prince’s lips part in the stillness of the room, even though he cannot see that plush mouth, hidden as it is behind a book. Fighting a blush, the spymaster lifts the edge of the sheets and slips into bed.
It’s strange and awkward, lying next to Eris in the low lamp light, as if they’re an old married couple winding down after the day is done. The prince stares intently at his book as though what’s happening is the most normal thing in the world and has no effect on him whatsoever. But the spymaster can hear his elevated pulse when he shifts on the bed.
Azriel rolls onto his stomach, carefully crossing his arms beneath his head and tucking his wings in tight. He often sleeps on his side, but he’s not entirely sure what to do with his body in such close proximity to Eris. Trapping his cock beneath him initially seems like the safest option to avoid bringing any attention to it. Then again, as the cool sheets begin to warm beneath him, the pressure of his weight against the plush mattress has him thinking about the prince’s ass.
Nope, not going there.
The spymaster shifts slightly to alleviate some of the pressure against his crotch. Feeling tense and not even remotely sleepy, he uses his vantage point to risk a glance up at Eris. The prince is reading a purple book, and for a moment, the spymaster feels giddy at the prospect of Eris being in bed beside him reading the pornography that Azriel found. He squints at the spine but he can’t catch the title from this angle.
“Can I help with something?” Eris asks, in his best impersonation of the Prince of Autumn, bored and better than everybody else. But by now, Azriel can tell that his tone is laboured.
“What are you reading?” He ventures.
The prince looks down at him warily. “This thing called a book.”
Azriel rolls his eyes. “What is the book about?”
“It’s a novel.” Eris shrugs dismissively, as if that is explanation enough, and turns his eyes back to the page.
Interest piqued, Azriel’s eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch, and he finds his lip curling upward. He shouldn’t…No, he shouldn’t say anything. But Mother spare him, Eris has set him up so nicely.
Fuck it.
“So…do they fuck in this one too?”
The prince’s head whips in his direction, his face flushing with rage and disbelief and Azriel snorts before he can stop himself. Eris scowls at him, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink, and Azriel’s mouth splits into a grin.
“So fucking immature.” Eris grumbles. “Not every book I own is smut!”
“No, just twenty three of them.” Azriel retorts gleefully.
He counted. The spymaster found twenty two more dirty books in the living room after finding that first volume with the purple spine. The prince’s mouth drops open and Azriel loses it. He buries his face in a pillow and shakes silently with laughter.
“Seriously, what the fuck?” Eris demands, outraged.
Before the spymaster can emerge from the pillow, he feels a sharp thud on the back of his head. The prince has whacked him with the hardback.
“Ow!” Azriel complains, lifting his head.
“Idiot.” Eris mumbles, re-opening the book and staring furiously down at it.
“Says the idiot keeping dirty books in plain sight.” Azriel scoffs.
The prince huffs irritably and turns to look at him again. “You’re the first guest I’ve had here so it’s never been an issue before. Suffice to say you’ve put me off the idea of inviting anyone ever again.”
“I’m hardly a bad guest. I’ve followed all of your rules haven’t I?” Azriel asks, then immediately finds himself faintly blushing. He’d meant the ground rules Eris had set on day one, not yesterday’s hasty agreement not to kiss…or fuck.
The prince’s brow furrows as he stares uncertainly at his book. “You bent them far enough yesterday.” He mutters.
Azriel studies Eris closely. “If I went too far…” He trails off, wondering if he misjudged yesterday and needs to apologise.
The prince shakes his head. “We both went too far.”
The room is silent for a long moment.
“I’m not going to tell anyone.” Azriel finally speaks. He’d decided that days ago, when he first felt a true spark of attraction toward the prince. When he’d realised that the feeling was mutual.
Eris’s eyes snap to his, as if to discern a lie. They soften a little after a moment and some of the tension leaves the prince’s face.
“Good. Neither am I.”
Azriel feels a weight lifted from his chest. He’s been agonising over his fuck up and hearing Eris say that he is going to keep this secret has him breathing a sigh of relief.
Well, that’s that then.
-
Eris feels his shoulders slacken slightly as he looks down at the book in his hands. He’s not taken in a word he’s been reading, mind whirring as he digests what Azriel just said.
He isn’t going to tell anyone.
Surprisingly, Eris believes him. Perhaps because Azriel genuinely seemed to enjoy yesterday as much as he did. You can’t fake an orgasm like that. It had been real. And the foreplay…Azriel had instigated it, had enthusiastically commanded Eris to touch himself, to come.
Fuck. The prince sighs at the thought. It was good. Too fucking good.
Azriel has been quiet, positively sheepish, around him ever since. He had even seemed hesitant to enter the bedroom just now. The spymaster had blushed getting into bed, like a virgin taking a lover for the first time.
Is he worried about it happening again?
Eris isn’t sure. Truthfully, now that he is certain the attraction is mutual and has some measure of trust in Azriel’s discretion, his biggest concern isn’t the prospect of something happening between them. No, what’s bothering him is this weird power dynamic whenever the air becomes thick with sexual tension. Eris goes completely weak at the knees, like a youngling with a crush, and forgets that he’s the Cauldron blessed Prince of Autumn. Whenever Azriel gets that dangerous look in his eyes, when he drops his voice, or looms over the prince…it’s like he knows he could have Eris with a snap of his fingers. And honestly, Azriel probably could, but that isn’t who Beron’s heir apparent is supposed to be.
Eris has long enjoyed submitting to males in the bedroom. Really it gets him off more than it should. The Prince of Autumn is supposed to be dominant in every area of his life. He’s supposed to enjoy fucking females and impregnating them left, right and centre. But alas, he has no taste for it. The prince’s lovers are usually professional courtesans like Yulian, discreet and anonymous fae who don’t bat an eyelid at what Eris enjoys behind closed doors. Courtesans are safe and reliable lovers. They’re not politcial players or spymasters to foreign courts. They’re also not as powerful as Eris in any sense of the word. They know he could incinerate them or ruin their reputations or simply make them disappear if they tried to blackmail him. Thankfully the prince has never faced such a dilemma.
Azriel is unchartered territory. Despite their different stations in life, the Illyrian has truthfully always felt like a peer to Eris. Azriel may be low born, but much like the prince, the spymaster is arguably one of the most powerful and influential fae in Prythian. So even if Eris believes that Azriel won’t use this secret against him, letting him see what is usually hidden is still a huge risk. He doesn’t want to make a fool of himself, or worse, let the spymaster win this strange game they unwittingly began by breaking the rules.
No kissing and no fucking, Eris reminds himself with a sigh.
Giving in to his desire, and kissing Azriel, or asking to be fucked, would mean giving the spymaster bragging rights for all eternity, and worse still, admitting his weakness for the male. No, he has no interest in defeat. He would however like very much to see Azriel cave and lose control.
How to push him…?
The prince tries to think of a strategy to turn the tide in his favour. Something. Anything to unmoor the spymaster and gain the upper hand. But it’s so distracting and aggravating with a half naked Azriel here beside him…
“So you counted all my dirty books,” Eris begins. “Did you enjoy reading them too?”
Hazel eyes look warily up at him. “I skimmed a few. I had help.”
A shadow peeks out from Azriel’s hair, and Eris almost jumps out of his skin. He’d almost forgotten about the strange creatures. They’ve been very coy and rarely visible since they’ve been here, though the prince supposes they probably dislike all this sunshine.
“They can do that? Are they sentient?” Eris swallows, curiosity momentarily eclipsing his plan.
“Sort of. It’s complicated.” Azriel shrugs and doesn’t offer any more information.
The shadow, which has been staring at Eris - does it have eyes? - slides down Azriel’s neck and perches on top of the ludicrous swell of his bicep.
“Why is it looking at me?” The prince asks, staring back at the strange, silken strand.
“Curiosity.”
“Yours or its?”
“Both.” Azriel smiles coyly and looks affectionately at the shadow as if it is a pet. They seem to be silently communicating.
The prince’s stomach drops as he wonders what intel the little spy is sharing with its master. Perhaps the location of the purple book. Perhaps something even more embarrassing.
“Well I allowed you, not your shadows, into the room. I don’t want them on the bed sheets. Who knows what they’ve been touching.” Eris huffs irritably, his face heating as he looks back down at his book, merely a prop at this point.
The shadow disappears and Eris breathes more easily. It feels like they are alone again.
“Are you always such a brat?” Azriel asks incredulously.
“Says the male who gets off on telling me what to do.” Eris bites, eyes still trained on the page.
“You loved it.” The spymaster growls.
Eris scoffs and rolls his eyes. Feeling the weight of Azriel’s gaze upon him, he keeps his eyes furiously pinned to his book, as though it is a lifeline, and tries not to blush. Perhaps ignoring the male will teach him a lesson.
“Look at me.” Azriel says sternly.
Eris freezes. There’s that voice again. It is imperative that he resists at all costs. He must resist. Luckily, the prince has a lifetime of experience adopting a mask of indifference under pressure.
“No thanks, little bat.” Eris smirks at his book, as though he’s reading something particularly amusing and far more interesting than his bedmate.
It happens so quickly the prince barely has time to yelp. Azriel pounces, yanking Eris’s legs until his back hits the mattress, and straddles his waist. Scarred hands bracket his head, closing the door on the cage of the spymaster’s body. The prince is trapped. Again. Eris miraculously manages to hold onto his book, and after the initial shock of the assault, he simply raises it again to block the view of Azriel’s ridiculous body looming above him.
“And people call me dramatic.” The prince snorts, staring intently at the words on the page and trying desperately not to think about the heat and the breadth and the heady masculine scent of the male above him. “Did you want something? I’m rather busy.”
“What did you call me?” Azriel demands, his voice low and dangerous.
“Hmm?” Eris asks, feigning deaf ears and suppressing a shudder. “What’s that, little bat?”
The prince can feel the spymaster’s glare burning a hole through the paper that separates them. Eris smiles triumphantly at his book as he might a co-conspirator. Azriel really doesn’t like that nickname. Further proving this point, the spymaster snatches the book out of the prince’s hands and throws it aside. Eris merely raises an eyebrow, fighting a smug grin as Azriel glares down at him.
“If you’re quite finished being a brute, I’m trying to read.” The prince levels a stern look up at the furious spymaster, hoping to rankle him even further.
It works. Azriel’s face is a picture of fury over the petty nickname. Eris forces himself to hold that intense gaze, and not stare at the twitching muscles in the spymaster’s chest and arms.
“Did you have something to say little bat, or are you just trying to intimidate me?” Eris asks, his tone mockingly polite. “I assure you, it’s not working.”
Liar.
“Call me little again, and I’m going to stuff something in that mouth and teach you a lesson.”
The prince swallows hard, his mask faltering. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. Azriel’s eyes flare triumphantly as Eris submits to silence.
Oh, fuck this guy.
The prince can admit that he is old enough to know better than to be so obstinate. This is surely a trap he’s walking into, one he doesn’t have the willpower to claw his way out of. But he’s not thinking about that, or the stern talking to he’d given himself earlier in the bath about recklessness. Right now the only thing he cares about is wiping that smug look off the spymaster’s face and pushing him even further into fury. There’s fire in the prince’s veins and mischief in his eyes when he opens his mouth defiantly to speak.
“Littl-”
Eris doesn’t even finish the word as a hand, rough skinned and broad, clamps over his mouth. He grabs at Azriel’s arm to tear him away but the brute is too strong. Shouting out, the sound of his protests are muffled by the gag of a palm. Eris starts bucking in an attempt to throw Azriel off, but the bastard just clenches his thighs around the prince’s hips, bringing their crotches dangerously close together. Eris tries and fails not to think about that as he attempts to physically overpower Azriel. He’s losing. Badly. By now, the spymaster has impressively managed to pin the prince’s wrists above his head with one hand, while still covering his mouth with the other. Glaring up at Azriel, Eris thrashes wildly, the motion creating a delicious friction between his thighs as he crushes against the male above him.
Oh fuck.
Could he use his fire magic to blow the bastard away or winnow them directly above the river to throw him off? Sure. But where’s the fun in that?
Eris stops thrashing and falls still. He’s going to get hard and make a fool of himself if he keeps moving against the firm pillow of Azriel’s ass and the inviting weight of his cock. The spymaster is panting above him and there’s a dark gleam in his eye, as if he can read the prince’s mind.
“You really are a brat, aren’t you?” The spymaster licks his lips, shifting his hips where he sits on top of the prince’s already swelling cock. The movement, too delicious to be anything but deliberate, sends a jolt of electricity through Eris. He groans into Azriel’s palm, and nips at the flesh there. A slow, dangerous smile curls the edges of the spymaster’s mouth.
The prince blinks slowly, like a cat, as if to say “You love it.”
Azriel finally removes his hand from Eris’s mouth and the prince gasps in a lungful of air. The heady scent of arousal, the spymaster’s and his own, floods his nostrils. All thoughts of retreat and of caution disappear.
“Ready for your punishment?” Azriel asks, dropping a hand to rearrange the thickening bulge of himself through the thin fabric of his undershorts.
Eris watches the movement like a fae starved. He licks his lips and nods. Azriel’s eyes darken and Eris feels the male shift and tense above him.
“No kissing.” The prince blurts a hasty reminder before his captor can pounce.
“No fucking.” The spymaster adds thickly.
The words sit hot and heavy between them as they assess one another. These are the rules. These are the boundaries. This is their agreement. Everything else is fair game.
“Deal.” Eris nods.
-
Azriel launches himself at Eris’s neck, nose trailing the skin, closely followed by his lips, teeth and tongue. The prince gasps and the spymaster wants to wrap his mouth around the sound.
“We said no kissing.” Eris chokes on a groan as he speaks, all the while tilting his head to give Azriel more access.
“My lips will not touch yours.” The spymaster speaks his promise into the prince’s skin, sealing it with a wet, open mouthed kiss that has Eris writhing beneath him. “Didn’t say any other body parts are off limits.”
Azriel bites Eris’s throat, eliciting a delicious groan. The spymaster still has the prince’s wrists pinned against the pillows with one hand. When Eris tugs at his restraint, Azriel releases him, pulling backwards to read the prince’s expression.
“If you want me to stop, any time, tell me.” Azriel cautions the prince, who seems to be taking silent council with himself.
The spymaster has no intention of doing anything against the prince’s will, and every intention of testing what Eris will do, and let him do, within the rules of the game they have devised. Sitting back on his haunches, Azriel runs a hand beneath the loose shirt from Eris’s abdomen and up over his ribcage, stopping just short of a nipple.
“Want me to stop?”
Eris says nothing as he watches, lips parted and eyes hooded with desire. The silence stretches on for a moment, the anticipation killing Azriel, until he finally glances a finger lightly over the hardened nub of flesh. Eris groans, sending a shudder through Azriel. He rolls the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and watches with predatory focus as the prince arches his back. Azriel pinches the flesh hard and Eris visibly thickens beneath him, tenting the fabric of his sleep shorts.
He likes the pain.
The spymaster is going to have fun with that information.
“Mmm, that’s what I thought. Shall I continue?”
Eris nods, slowly. Azriel bites his lip, his cock growing heavy with each passing moment. “Open your shirt.” He commands, tugging at the material.
To his delight, Eris does exactly that, holding Azriel’s eye as he works the buttons slowly. There’s submission in the act, certainly, but there’s also power in it. The prince seems to read and respond to the spymaster’s need for control as much as the spymaster understands the prince’s need to relinquish it. Azriel hadn’t expected them to be so sexually compatible. His opinion of Eris is improving by the day.
“Good boy.” Azriel praises, and dips his head to lick a nipple.
Eris groans, louder this time, and both hands shoot to Azriel’s head. Fingers tighten their grip in the spymaster’s hair as he licks and nips and lavishes each nipple with sloppy, open mouthed kisses. When the prince is writhing beneath him, Azriel pulls back to sit on his haunches and survey his work. There’s colour in Eris’s cheeks, his hair is mussed against the pillow, and his bottom lip looks bruised, as though he’s been biting it. Azriel groans at the sight. Gods he wants to kiss him. Instead, he runs his hands down the length of the prince’s glorious torso and stops them at the waistband of his shorts.
“What else should I kiss?” The spymaster asks, his voice silken.
Eris groans and his cock, already standing to attention in his shorts, visibly twitches. Azriel chuckles and palms the prince through the thin material, eliciting a delicious sound. He’s in no rush. Torture is his specialty after all, and he intends to find and test every one of the prince’s boundaries.
“Hmm, I’d love to taste this, but brats don’t get rewards until they’ve had their punishment.” Azriel mocks, squeezing Eris once more and rubbing the heel of his hand up and down the length of him.
The prince grunts and grips Azriel’s thighs, his fingernails digging into the skin there. The spymaster leans forward, his heavy cock resting against the prince’s own, and grazes his thumb across that beautiful bitten lower lip, wetting it with the prince’s saliva. Eris’s eyes flutter shut at the contact. His lips part and his tongue licks the rough pad of Azriel’s thumb before sucking it into his mouth. It’s Azriel’s turn to groan now as Eris lavishes this thumb with attention and their cocks rub together through the thin fabric separating them. The prince’s eyes open and when their gazes meet, Eris, observing the effect he’s having on Azriel, moans and redoubles his efforts.
“Your mouth would look so pretty wrapped around my cock.” Azriel’s voice is low, almost reverent, as he hungrily drinks in the sight.
Removing his thumb from the prince’s mouth with a satisfying pop, the spymaster pulls his already weeping cock free from his undershorts. Eris sucks in a breath and his eyes widen. The noise fills Azriel with simple male pride. If only they hadn’t made a deal not to fuck, he could prove to Eris that having a big cock isn’t as important as knowing how to use it. For now, he can’t wait to touch the back of the prince’s throat and make him choke on that little bat nickname.
“Do you want to kiss it?” Azriel asks, slowing stroking himself.
Eris, who, hasn’t taken his eyes off of Azriel’s cock, nods mutely, biting his lip as he reaches forward.
“Manners, brat.” Azriel responds sharply.
This is another test. Another boundary. Eris’s eyes snap to his with shock, and rage, and…lust.
Fuck yes, he likes this.
“Pretty please.” Eris responds sarcastically in a sickly sweet voice, batting his eyelashes up at the spymaster. But the tops of his ears are red, and his pulse has picked up. Hearing the teasing voice makes the spymaster’s cock twitch.
“Mmmm, good boy.” Azriel growls appreciatively, moving up the bed to straddle Eris’s chest. The prince licks his lips and runs his hands up the length of the spymaster’s thighs to rest on his hips.
“Open your mouth.” The spymaster commands.
Azriel leans forward and watches hungrily as Eris obediently opens his mouth and takes him in hand. The prince looks up, watching the spymaster’s expression closely as he licks the tip and wraps his lips around the crown. Azriel’s eyes flutter shut on a soft moan as pleasure rips through him. His hands shoot to the headboard and mattress for better purchase. When he looks down, Eris is teasing his crown and foreskin while skilled hands grip and expertly work the base of him.
“Mmmm, look at you.” Azriel groans, drinking in the sight.
Without warning, the prince sucks the spymaster deep into his mouth, taking most of his cock. A guttral cry rips out of Azriel as Eris starts a brutal assault of pleasure. His lips and tongue apply a tight wet pressure that matches the firm grip of his hands, and his tongue laps at the crown with every pass. The spymaster can only watch and grip the headboard as the prince’s head bobs up and down beneath him.
Eris clearly knows what he’s doing. Azriel might be the one on top, but the prince is fucking him with his mouth and his tongue and his hands, there’s no doubt about that. For a dizzying minute, Azriel is free falling. He’s meant to be in control but Eris is quickly gaining the upper hand.
“Fuuuuck.” Azriel groans. “You look good sucking my cock.”
Eris moans around him and starts to tease his balls, clearly enjoying the praise. Azriel instinctively starts to buck, needing to go deeper, harder. The prince doesn’t miss a beat. He immediately moves his hands to the spymaster’s hips and pulls the Illyrian down fully onto his face, relaxing his jaw and taking the male deep into his throat. Azriel loses his grip on the headboard as his arms come crashing onto the pillows. For a second he’s worried about smothering Eris, but the prince doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest as he enthusiastically swallows, constricting his throat around the sensitive crown of Azriel. Eris is all hungry lips and greedy fingers, grabbing handfuls of Azriel’s ass as he gorges on his cock. The spymaster is dizzy with pleasure as he braces his arms and starts rutting deep into the prince’s throat, losing himself to the pure animal ecstacy of it.
“Fuck!” Azriel hisses.
He’s going to come, very soon, if he’s not careful, and Azriel is always careful. He doesn’t come before his partner, that’s just a rule of his, and besides, he likes to be in control, to draw it out. With some effort, the spymaster stops moving, straightens his arms and pulls slowly backwards. Eris is quite a sight to behold beneath him, red hair wild against the pillow, amber eyes blown wide with pleasure, and pink lips stretched obscenely about the width of Azriel as he slowly pulls out. They are both panting when the spymaster finally sits back on his haunches.
“Fuck me,” Azriel breathes, running the back of a scarred hand appreciatively down the length of Eris’s neck. “Who knew that mouth was so talented?”
“You should see what my ass can do.” Eris retorts, eyes ablaze.
Azriel’s eyes flare in response to the challenge in the prince’s voice. Gods he wants to fuck Eris, but rules are rules. Still, he can toy with the prince at least…
“Mmmm,” Azriel muses, moving down the bed, to tug off their remaining clothes. “If you insist.”
When they are both finally bare, the spymaster stands beside the bed, looming over the prince where he’s sprawled out on the sheets. Azriel touches himself as he takes his fill of Eris. The prince might be an insufferable brat, but fuck is he exquisite to look at, to touch .
“Ready for your reward?” Azriel asks, licking his lips.
Eris, who has risen onto his elbows to get a better look at Azriel, merely nods, words seeming to fail him.
“Get on your hands and knees.” Azriel commands.
The prince swallows thickly and does what he’s told. Eris is a fantasy from the darkest recesses of Azriel’s mind laid out like this, but when he turns over and bares that glorious ass in submission, the spymaster could come just looking at him. The animal part of Azriel’s brain zeroes in on the tight ring of muscle hidden in the deep crevice of Eris’s ass, and his cock throbs.
Holding back is a true test in self restraint, but he wants to commit the image to memory, and he’s more than happy to make the brat wait while he does. Approaching slowly, wordlessly, Azriel runs his hands appreciatively over each globe of flesh, and squeezes hard. Eris gasps at the contact.
“Fuck, Autumn.” Azriel groans. “I can’t wait to taste you.”
-
The prince’s plan has all but flown out the window. Azriel had opened his damned mouth and started talking with that voice, and Eris was powerless against it. It had felt undeniably good, seeing Azriel lose control when Eris was giving him head. But now he’s making a fool of himself, shivering and leaking precum all over the sheets as he nervously waits on hands and knees for the spymaster to touch him. Yet he’s too far gone to stop. He’s so fucking turned on right now, waiting to see if it’s Azriel’s fingers or tongue or cock he’s about to feel inside his ass.
Fuck, I hope it’s all three.
Azriel’s hands are still gripping his ass cheeks, kneading and stretching the flesh. The touch is thrilling. When it suddenly stops, the hands falling away, Eris turns finally to look impatiently over his shoulder. Azriel’s eyes are full of carnal delight as he drops suddenly to his elbows and buries his face in Eris’s ass.
The prince cries out as the spymaster begins his obscene torture with tongue and lips and teeth. Eris feels so much as Azriel grabs and kneads his cheeks and bites and licks and kisses whatever he can reach with fervour. When the spymaster turns his attention in earnest to his entrance, lapping at the muscle before penetrating that tight ring with the tip of his tongue, the prince’s arms wobble at the assault of pleasure, and the knowledge of who is doing this to him. Eris collapses onto the mattress, burying his face into the sheets and moaning freely.
Azriel chuckles darkly as he pulls back to survey his work. Eris blushes furiously into his arm. He’s not coy in the bedroom, not in the slightest. The prince loves having his ass eaten and he’s certaintly no stranger to it. But knowing that Azriel is the one giving him this pleasure is doing funny things to him. And yet, now that he’s started, he doesn’t want to stop.
An oil slicked finger runs the length of the crease of his ass, causing Eris to cry out afresh in surprise and delight. He didn’t even hear a vial of oil being opened, and wonders dimly if Azriel found it in his bedside cabinet. There’s no time to think or worry further though, when that same thick finger breaches his tight entrance, and slips slowly inside.
“Fuck!” Eris moans into his arm.
Azriel gasps from where he watches, as though he is witnessing something miraculous. He’s hooked one powerful forearm beneath Eris’s stomach to keep his ass in the air, while his other hand is busy slowly working him open. That single finger feels so fucking good as Azriel plunges it in and out.
“How many fingers can this ass take? Hmm?” Azriel asks, his voice low with intent.
Eris cries out as Azriel bites his ass hard and slips another finger in alongside the first. The muscle protests as it stretches and burns, but on the third pass of those thick fingers inside of him, he loosens and melts into the deliciously tight fit of it.
“So fucking tight.” Azriel growls, scissoring his fingers. “How would you take my cock?”
Pain tears into pleasure as the prince imagines the spymaster ploughing into him. Azriel’s cock had been an incredibly tight fit in his mouth. How would it fit in his ass? The thought has him salivating and clenching around the male’s fingers. The spymaster groans appreciatively in response and lines another digit up.
“Mmmm, is your ass as greedy as your mouth?” Azriel grunts, pushing past Eris’s resistance to add a third finger into the tight centre of him.
When he’s knuckle deep, Azriel curls those fingers cruelly and keeps them there. Eris lets out a guttural cry, pleasure ripping through him and stuttering out as still Azriel does not move. The prince jerks his hips in desperation, needing the friction. The spymaster lets him, seemingly content to watch.
“That’s it,” Azriel groans, “fuck yourself on my fingers, you greedy little brat.”
“Fuck you.” Eris snarls, still sliding backwards and forwards on those slick fingers.
Truthfully, the sound of the spymaster talking dirty has the prince ready to come all over the sheets. Azriel chuckles darkly as though he knows this, and slides his fingers in to the knuckle, curling them again. Eris cries out, his cock leaking now in an almost steady stream of precum onto the mattress and the rough skin of Azriel’s arm as he slaps against it.
“Oh you really wanna be fucked, don’t you?” The spymaster grunts, and starts pumping his fingers in earnest.
The prince’s cock, heavy and aching, slaps insistently against the spymaster’s arm with every thrust of those fingers. Pleasure coils low in Eris’s gut as Azriel relentlessly pounds into him. It’s entirely possible that he’s going to come, and Azriel hasn’t even touched his cock. The spymaster seems to sense this as he picks up the pace.
“Is this how you like to be fucked? Hard and messy?” Azriel pants, his grip on Eris bruisingly tight. “If only this were my cock and not my fingers - imagine how much deeper I could fuck you.”
The prince groans and bucks his hips backwards to meet each thrust of the spymaster’s fingers while his cock slaps against that powerful forearm, desperately seeking friction. Azriel chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying keeping Eris teetering on the edge.
“Tell me what you want.” The spymaster commands.
“Harder…my cock.” Eris stutters.
Fingers slip suddenly from him, leaving the prince clenching around nothing as the spymaster shifts to kneel behind him on the bed. Azriel knocks his knees wider and Eris practically jumps out of his skin to feel powerful thighs pressing against the backs of his own and the burning hot touch of Azriel’s hard cock grazing his balls. For one heartstopping moment, he wonders if Azriel is about to fuck him, and finds himself silently groaning in disappointment when he doesn’t.
Instead, the spymaster pulls the prince’s hips upward with one impossibly strong hand, while reaching around with another to grasp his cock. Eris cannot stop himself from crying out at the contact. Rough, calloused fingers grip him firmly at the base, but do not move, as the other hand at his hip takes up its position again behind him. The tips of two fingers gently breach his entrance and then still. Eris is a bundle of nerves, his very being wholly focused on the sensation of those two hands on his body, as he silently begs for release.
“Do you want to come?” Azriel’s voice cuts through the sound of the prince’s panting breaths.
“Argh - yes!” Eris grunts, hating this torture, and absolutely loving it too.
Azriel chuckles. “Magic word.”
“Please.” Eris whispers, closing his eyes as if in prayer.
Fuck, he breathes. He swore he was going to gain the upper hand, and here is, begging to be touched. But it’s so fucking good…
“Good boy.” The spymaster breathes, slowly plunging his fingers into the prince’s ass while he firmly strokes the length of his weeping cock.
Every thought in Eris’s head evaporates as he melts into the sensation. Azriel sighs with deep satisfaction, as if the prince’s pleasure is his own. When he’s knuckle deep, the spymaster curls his fingers inside of Eris with one hand and smears hot precum all over the prince’s crown with the other.
“Fuuuck, Azriel!” Eris shouts.
Azriel growls appreciatively and sets a brutal rhythm with his hands. Eris is about to explode. He’s groaning freely now into the mattress, hands desperately clinging to the sheets.
“Oh fuck, look at you,” Azriel pants, sounding almost as close to the brink as Eris. “Are you going to be a good boy and come for me?”
Fuuuuuck.
The orgasm hits Eris with the speed of an arrow right at the very centre of him, the impact crashing through him like a tidal wave. It’s the way Azriel had ground out his words of praise when his fingers brushed against that tight spot deep within Eris that sent him hurtling over the edge. There’s just something about the brooding spymaster’s voice that sends him wild.
The prince comes in a long shuddering stream onto the mattress and his chest and Azriel’s wildly pumping hand as he shouts obscenities. When he’s finally spent, Eris collapses onto the mess with a groan, his limbs feeling like jelly, and his ass, bereft of Azriel’s fingers, still high in the air. He feels it then, the unmistakable crown of the spymaster’s cock, slick with oil, pulsing against his puckered entrance. It feels so fucking good. Azriel could slip inside of him right now and he doesn’t think he’d have the will or the desire to stop him. But the spymaster doesn’t. Instead, he begins to slide the hot length of himself up and down the crease of Eris’s ass cheeks. It burns in the best possible way as Azriel’s cock smears precum and oil over and over the sensitive skin there. Eris shudders.
“Fuck, Autumn,” Azriel pants, grabbing Eris by the hips to keep him in place. “I’m going to come all over this ass and imagine I’m buried deep inside of you.”
Eris cries out in shock and heady arousal, even spent as he is. He turns his head to peer back at Azriel, their eyes locking. Fuck, it’s a sight to behold. Azriel, slick with sweat and looking painfully hard, works the obscene length of himself between Eris’s ass cheeks, arms and chest straining, wings flaring wide, and a look of absolute feral desire twisting his features. Eris is filled with giddy delight and vindication to see Azriel so turned on. He might have caved, but so has the spymaster. The Illyrian is proving just how badly he wants this too.
Azriel’s hip buck wildly as he loses himself to the sensation. Eris arches his back into the mattress to offer up more of his ass, but its so slippery with the combination of oil and sweat and cum that soon Azriel is grabbing his throbbing cock and desperately jerking himself while he holds Eris’s hips in place in a bruising grip. When Azriel’s face, usually so stoic and calm, folds under the weight of his release - eyes squeezed shut, nostrils flared wide, mouth open and crying out - Eris watches on with wonder. Azriel is undeniably hot, but he looks beautiful like this, so free and alive and feral . The fire in the prince’s blood sings.
Hot cum splatters against Eris’s ass, decorating his skin. It feels obscenely good to be marked like this, as though Azriel is claiming his territory. Eris gasps at the sensation. How would it feel to be filled by Azriel?
The spymaster folds over onto the prince’s back. Hot panting breaths warm Eris’s neck for a delicious sweaty moment, and then Azriel is rolling onto the mattress beside him and releasing a heavy sigh. The prince peers over at his bedmate, trying to determine his reaction. Will he be embarrassed, ashamed, resentful, now that their passion is cooling on the sheets? They have to sleep here together afterall. At that thought Eris vanishes the mess from their bodies and the bed with a snap of his fingers. But when hazel eyes find his own, Azriel looks sated. There is shock but also warmth and amusement in his features, as if they are both in on the same hilariously unexpected joke.
“Eris, you are wasted as a prince.” Azriel chortles. The prince stares at the spymaster quizically. “You would make a fortune giving head.”
“Oh fuck off!” Eris barks, punching the spymaster in the gut.
“What?!” Azriel wheezes, clearly delighted with his joke. “It’s a compliment. I would’ve paid good money for that.”
Eris finds himself blushing, a quiet part of himself enjoying the praise. But he’s not going to tell Azriel that. Pushing that feeling aside, he scowls at the spymaster and pinches his nipples hard in retaliation. Azriel gasps and winces and laughs like a youngling. The noise does something to Eris, softens him just a fraction.
“You’re awfully cocky for someone who’s sleeping on the floor.” The prince smiles, smoothing out his hair.
Azriel’s smile drops. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Azriel narrows his eyes at Eris, as if assessing an opponent for weakness. Then he slowly reaches out and hooks an arm around the prince’s waist. Eris lets himself be pulled and manhandled, curious to see what will happen. Azriel rolls him onto his side until his back is parallel with the spymaster’s chest. Then he runs those large skillful hands down the length of his spine and Eris practically purrs.
“You could.” Azriel whispers, kneading the prince’s shoulders. “Or you could let me stay.”
“I’ll consider it.” Eris sighs, as Azriel expertly circles his thumbs into the knots of muscle in his back and promptly falls asleep.
Notes:
So, I've thought a lot about the boys in this short fic. There's a tiny smattering of angst, but otherwise I wanted this to be quite a light fic. Eris and Azriel both need more joy in their lives, so I've made them both more lighthearted than I usually would.
Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos thus far. Two more chapters to go!
Next chapter prompt is: safe for work. How ever will the boys get work done after last night?
Chapter 6: Work to Do
Summary:
As their break draws to a close, Eris and Azriel have work to do, and feelings to feel!
Notes:
The prompt for day six of the Azris Week 2025 Challenge is 'safe for work'.
Yes this is super late! I had to take a break from writing The Break - the irony! - but I have my final chapter nearly ready and will be posting when I can. Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos on this fun project that’s just taken waaaay longer than I thought it would!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
DAY 6
Eris wakes the next morning feeling strangely content. He had slept surprisingly well next to Azriel after bending the rules so spectacularly. Eyes still shut against the early morning light, the prince’s toes curl beneath the sheets to remember all that had passed between them before sleep. Stretching and blinking out of his daze, Eris immediately realises that Azriel is not beside him. The room is empty. Only a hint of cedar lingers on the cooling bed linen. The spymaster must have already risen and started the day. But then…
The shield!
Eris sits bolt upright, remembering how the magical barrier binding them had malfunctioned and shrunk last night. For a single, panicked moment, the prince wonders if the protective shield has somehow dissolved, if something has happened to the spymaster. But when he moves towards the edge of the mattress to look out of the window, Eris feels the slightest pressure tugging him towards the bedroom door, and knows that the Illyrian is near. Safe in the knowledge that Azriel has not disappeared and that he can empty his bowels with his dignity intact, Eris breathes a sigh of relief. Pulling on his robe he pads towards the bathroom to take advantage of his newfound freedom.
After washing and dressing, the prince spends longer than usual before the mirror. It’s imperative that he looks effortlessly hot today, as if he has extended no more energy than usual on his appearance. Ideally, when Azriel first claps eyes on him, he will be visibly shaken by how good Eris looks. Perhaps he will unconsciously lick his lips and blush in that becoming way of his. Meanwhile, the prince will appear completely unaffected by Azriel’s presence. He will remain calm and collected, if not a little amused, as if he has no recollection of their bodies aching to be one last night.
Eris breathes deeply, calming his blood and focusing his energy on each careful, deliberate step through the house. By the time he reaches the kitchen he feels positively reptilian, all cold blooded calculation and silent, predatory steps. He spots his target through the kitchen window. Azriel is seated at the patio table, which is strewn with papers and the large ceramic coffee pot. He looks handsome as he reads. One leg is draped casually over a knee and a light breeze sways the spymaster’s dark locks in a way that has the prince’s fingers itching. A single shadow flits about Azriel’s shoulders. Eris looks away, immediately conscious of the little spies. There’s nothing for it now. Best make his presence known before he is discovered. Gathering together a small plate of fruit, one of yesterday’s leftover pastries, and a fresh cup and saucer, the prince makes for the patio.
“Good morning.” Azriel offers, looking up from his papers with a quiet smile as Eris emerges under the cool shade of the grapevine.
“Good morning.” Eris returns brightly, determined to act as though nothing of consequence has changed.
The prince watches the spymaster gather his papers from the table to make room for the breakfast things. Azriel straightens the strewn sheets into a single pile on his lap, and Eris wonders if they relate to his would-be assassin, but he’s not going to ask.
“Sleep well?” Azriel inquires, the merest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Like a babe.” Eris replies sunnily, baring his teeth in a predatory smile before sinking them into an apple.
Azriel’s eyes flit to the prince’s throat before dropping once more to his papers. It’s the briefest of glances, but Eris catches it. He is hyper aware of his body as he sits at the little iron table, his proximity to Azriel, the sound of their hearts beating as though in call and response. The steady ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump in his chest finds a rhythm with Azriel’s distant thump thump thump. He wonders if the spymaster is listening too.
“A suspect has been apprehended.” Azriel’s voice cuts through the quiet concert of their bodies, shattering the prince’s train of thought.
“When?” Eris demands, amber eyes locking onto hazel.
“Early hours of this morning. Looks like he hails from the Autumn Court and has contacts in the Hewn City. He’s been detained and my agents are searching his home in Autumn as well as interrogating his connections in Night. It’s too early to be certain, but they believe he was working alone.”
The prince sinks back into his chair, forgetting his breakfast. His relief is quiet but substantial. There have been so many death threats in the prince’s long life that this is nothing out of the ordinary. However, he saw the notes left by the mad fae, the eerily detailed log of his movements and locations over the last two months. It had shaken him a little, powerful as he is, to know that someone wanted so badly to kill him that they had been close enough to stalk his movements.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You looked peaceful.” Azriel confesses. “Besides, it’s not safe to leave just yet. We’re not completely certain we have the right fae. There’s a fair amount of evidence but he needs to be interrogated.”
Eris nods dumbly as the words sink in. In truth, he doesn’t know how to feel. But as the shock settles, so does his resolve to return to Autumn and carry out his plans to usurp Beron. He has work to do. Staring at his coffee cup, he finds he does not care for any details regarding his would-be assailant. No, there are more important things to focus on.
“There is much to do before we return.” Eris says simply, and stands to clear away the breakfast things.
-
Azriel should be glad. They’ve caught the bastard, and all but filed the evidence of his wrongdoing. He will be interrogated by Azriel’s second in command, possibly tomorrow. When they are certain that they have the right person, that the threat to the prince’s life is neutralised, they can finally return to Night and have this chafing shield removed.
Azriel’s work will begin in earnest then, interrogating the prisoner himself and learning everything his agents have been unable to uncover. He’s pleased with the work his spies have done, and how quickly they’ve uncovered the plot. But in truth he’s been itching to return to the Hewn City, to sink his own teeth into this case and unravel its mystery.
So why does he feel so unsettled?
Azriel looks out across the verdant grassland to the forest beyond. In six days he hasn’t grown tired of this view. Any day now they will have to return and put this strange break from normality behind them. He will go back to Velaris and the prince to Autumn, presumably retreating to the safety of mutual animosity once more. They couldn’t possibly do otherwise, not without drawing suspicion to whatever has happened to change their opinion of one another. Azriel is unsure how he feels about the prince now, but he certainly doesn’t detest him as he did before. Eris has been surprisingly good company, to say nothing of their unexpected dalliance. That’s been the biggest shock of all.
When he’d woken this morning to the whisper of his shadows, Azriel had been reluctant to get up. Truthfully he’d been holding out hope that Eris would wake and sleepily invite his touch, that they might see where things went of their own accord. But the pressure of the shield had lessened considerably, and his shadows were eager for him to test its boundary. When he’d made it out of the bedroom door, he’d been both relieved and a little disappointed to see that the shield had indeed reset itself, and that he’d had no reason to linger.
It’s for the best, he decides. We’ll be back to normality before we know it.
After sharing the news with Eris, the prince had disappeared inside. He still hasn’t emerged. Azriel turns briefly to look over his shoulder and back through the glass door. The prince is still hunched in an armchair over his papers. He looks serious and deep in thought.
Probably eager to return, Azriel reasons, studying the way Eris’s brow furrows at whatever he is reading.
With a sigh, the spymaster turns back to his own work. He needs to finish reading through all these reports. His shadows have been busy relaying them from field agents since his arrival. Usually Azriel would be eager to delve into such work, to meticulously turn over every detail, but instead he finds himself staring rather wistfully at the distant tree line again. In truth, he feels a little sad to leave. It’s so calm and beautiful here. But needs must.
Hours pass, and eventually Eris emerges with a simple luncheon for them both. They eat in silence, saying nothing of their respective tasks. Azriel keeps his eyes on the horizon, afraid his longing and uncertainty will be obvious if he allows himself to look at the prince. He need not have worried. Eris barely looks up from his papers as he eats.
As the meal draws to a close, Azriel finds himself itching to say something to keep the prince there before he disappears again. In truth, he’d like to take a break from his work and do something with Eris. How much longer will he have the novelty of time to spare and a willing companion to relax with? When he returns to Night he’ll no doubt be stuck alone in the Hewn City for days on end. Interrogations are demanding and lonely. Azriel has to mentally withdraw to a dark place to do his work there. It’s not an inviting prospect, not when he compares it to a pleasant stroll in a beautiful place with a handsome companion. It’s this thought which finally spurs the spymaster to break the silence.
“Could we go for a walk? I’d like to stretch my legs before I get back to work.”
Azriel hopes the prince can’t tell how much he wants this. It’s a simple request. He can’t very well wander off by himself after all. To his relief, Eris looks surprised but not opposed to the idea.
“Certainly.”
Dishes washed and bladders relieved, Azriel and Eris set off in companionable silence across the grassland towards the forest. Neither speak, both seemingly content to dwell on their own thoughts. When they reach the treeline they follow the path they had taken on the first day to collect firewood. How differently the spymaster had felt then. Azriel was so annoyed when he first arrived. Eris had been aggravating and flirtatious of all things. It might be a new strategy, the flirting, but it’s certainly effective. Azriel can’t remember the last time he felt so flustered around Eris…
The chase.
At the High Lord’s meeting Azriel had been enraged, but chasing the Autumn brat beforehand had been simply embarrassing. The memory comes flooding back to him. A dense forest in the west of the Autumn Court, only a few years ago. Azriel had tried and failed to catch Eris that day to have his memory erased by Rhys, just like his brothers. The prince had somehow evaded the spymaster. Eris had been suspiciously fast and infuriatingly arrogant, leading a merry chase through the forest. When Azriel finally pinned Eris against a tree, the prince had the gall to smirk and make a comment which left him red faced and furious.
“Didn’t think I was your type.” Eris had sneered.
Even now, Azriel blushes. He’s always been a little blind to Eris, and so very reactive. The prince knows just what to say to make him fly into a rage and make reckless decisions that feel good in the moment and have him questioning everything afterwards.
“What’s that face for?” Eris asks in a bemused tone, breaking Azriel’s reverie.
The spymaster clears his throat and tries to play off his embarrassment as irritation. “Just remembering how annoying it was trying to catch you in a different forest.”
Eris grins. “You were so slow, even with the shadows.”
“I was not slow. You were just weirdly fast.” Azriel retorts.
“I don’t know why you’re surprised. I’m much faster than you. Those ridiculous wings aren’t built for speed on the ground.”
Azriel scoffs and looks ready to disagree.
“Azriel, you can’t honestly think you’re faster than me.” Eris retorts, incredulous.
“In a flat out race I could take you.”
Eris laughs at that. “And yet you didn’t catch me in the forest.”
“That was a fluke.” Azriel insists stubbornly.
He’s stronger and fitter than Eris for certain. He hasn’t seen the prince train once since they’ve been here, just drink wine and read. On the rare occasion Eris has physically exerted himself it’s been to make use of his skilful hands, not his legs.
Eris stops and turns to look at Azriel, pinning him with a stare both amused and disbelieving. Azriel stops too.
“Azriel, you can’t possibly think you could catch me, certainly not without cheating.” Eris looks meaningfully at the shadow swirling about Azriel’s neck.
The spymaster scoffs. He could absolutely catch the prince without the use of his shadows. His gaze roams the prince unabashedly. Azriel intends for the look to be one of cold assessment, but his body betrays him. There is enough quiet heat and intrigue in his gaze to bring the most delightful blush to the prince’s cheeks.
“Wanna bet?” Azriel asks.
Eris swallows, and Azriel watches the movement. He considers reaching out and pulling the beautiful male into his embrace, if only to sniff greedily at his neck and run his hands hungrily down his spine. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. They’ve got to find a way back from this, because they can’t go any further. And yet, and yet…
Azriel bites his lip and clenches his fists. Eris is watching him like he’s having exactly the same internal crisis. They will have to leave soon and part ways. Maybe…maybe they should just enjoy each other while they can.
The prince’s heart dances, his shadows whisper seductively.
The spymaster shudders, overcome suddenly by the slow hunger which has been simmering since dawn, since he awoke encased in the spiced Autumnal scent of Eris and wanted so badly to reach out and fold that lithe body into his arms. Now he feels ravenous. Azriel knows without thinking that he is going to touch the prince, that he needs to touch the prince. But he only manages half a step forwards before Eris darts off into the forest without a backwards glance.
Azriel immediately bounds after him, tucking his wings in tight. Eris is fast, a blur of white linen and red hair as he sprints through the forest, jumping impressively over fallen branches and zigzagging through the trees. The spymaster pushes his body to its limits, but he doesn’t feel the burning in his lungs or the weariness in his legs. All that remains is the pure animal exhilaration of the hunt. Azriel runs like a hound on the tail of a fox, hungry and bloody minded, his every sense trained on the prince ahead.
Azriel is gaining on Eris, but not by much. The prince is aggravatingly fast for someone who always appears to be at leisure. Cutting suddenly to the left, Eris leads Azriel off the forest path and into the denser growth of trees and bushes. It’s harder to run on the uneven terrain, but the prince makes light work of it. Azriel stumbles but doesn’t stop. When he loses sight of the prince, he resists the temptation to use his shadows to locate him. The pressure of the shield provides enough assurance that he can’t be that far away.
Beyond the sound of Azriel’s own laboured breathing and the crunch of his boots the woods have fallen eerily quiet. He can no longer hear Eris’s footsteps. The spymaster slows and narrows his eyes. The prince is hiding. Good. Azriel is better at sniffing out hiding places than chasing prey on foot. The spymaster ducks behind a large oak and begins moving silently from tree to tree, eyes hawkishly scanning his surroundings.
A tense moment passes in silence. Azriel is about to climb the nearest tree when Eris drops onto the forest floor before him, landing on his feet like a damned cat. The prince, looking entirely too pleased with himself, winks at the spymaster - actually winks! - before darting off again. Azriel is already moving, practically frothing at the mouth to catch the prince and wipe that smug look off of his face. But Eris is too fast.
Growing increasingly aggravated, Azriel caves and sends a shadow to trip the prince. It’s a small, petty move, but the spymaster’s competitive side is finally getting the better of him. Eris stumbles and quickly recovers, but not fast enough to escape Azriel’s clutches. Leaping at the opportunity to seize his prey, the spymaster grabs the prince by the wrist. Eris shouts out and tries to yank himself free, but Azriel holds fast, bringing him to a sudden halt.
“Dirty cheater!” Eris snarls, turning on Azriel.
Azriel grins like a maniac, the beast in his chest ready to sink its teeth into the prince, rules be damned.
“I won.” Azriel smiles triumphantly, still holding Eris’s wrist in his unwavering grip. “What’s my prize?”
-
Eris raises an eyebrow, feigning disinterest, despite the way his heart stutters. “What do you want?”
Azriel releases the prince but steps slowly towards him, backing him against a large oak tree. Eris quietly gasps when his back hits the trunk. He cannot help but lick his lips as he gazes up at the spymaster. The sound of their ragged breathing fills the air between them as their bodies hum with the aftershock of exertion. Eris wonders, hopes, that Azriel is going to close the distance between them, but the spymaster looks suddenly uncertain. There had been dark hunger in his eyes when he’d caught Eris, but now he has him cornered, Azriel seems almost nervous to make his request.
“I want to kiss you.” Azriel whispers, as if the forest is listening.
Oh. The prince hadn’t expected that. A dirty command in that low, irresistible voice? Yes. To be edged into begging for release by Azriel’s hand or mouth? Yes please. But this? Eris swallows, every sense trained on the spymaster.
“You know the rules.”
“Maybe I want to break them.” Azriel’s voice is quiet and soft, as if he too is surprised at his own words. “Can I kiss you?”
Warmth blooms in the prince’s chest. Eris studies the face before him. Hazel eyes are open and curious, but there’s a flicker of anxiety in the set of Azriel’s features that makes the prince want to cave immediately and say yes. Azriel isn’t commanding him to do anything, isn’t using that domineering tone that turns Eris to jelly. No, this is different.
Eris knows what he should say. We’re going to have to return soon. It’s not a good idea. We made those rules for a reason.
But Eris says nothing. Instead he reaches out a hand to touch Azriel’s cheek and sinks his fingers into the dark curls at the back of his head. The spymaster’s eyes flutter shut at the contact. When they blink open, his relief is palpable. Azriel slips his arms around Eris, drawing their bodies together.
When they kiss, it is slow, curious, exploratory. Not like their first. That had been all fire and adrenaline, the shock of it almost as overwhelming as the kiss itself. This kiss is honest, searching. Azriel’s lips are soft and warm, his chest and hips and arms solid against Eris. They kiss without intention or strategy, just a willingness to feel whatever this is or could be between them. It takes Eris’s breath away.
When Azriel deepens the kiss, his tongue caressing the prince’s, the shock of it has Eris gasping like he’s never been kissed before. He finds himself clutching at the spymaster’s powerful arms to stop himself from melting completely.
Azriel pulls back, sensing the shift. “Do you want to stop?” He’s a little breathless, plush lips tantalisingly pink and moist.
Eris drinks him in. This is where he stops. This is where he puts an end to the madness. He must think about his exit strategy, about how he buries this kiss, and with it any opportunity for Azriel to use it against him. If all goes to plan he’s about to become the High Lord of Autumn. Everything he has worked for these last five centuries might finally come to fruition. There is no room for mistakes. There is no room for whatever this is. There is no room for Azriel, the unknown variable in this equation.
Azriel is staring at him like an unanswered question, his mouth still invitingly agape, his brow starting to furrow. Sunlight peeks through the leaves and catches in those stunning hazel eyes, illuminating them in shades of gold and vivid green for one perfect moment. Eris wavers. Concern flits across the spymaster’s handsome face, and he looks serious as he draws back further. His voice is quiet but earnest when he speaks again. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Azriel relinquishes his hold on Eris, but Eris is not done with him.
“Kiss me.” The prince commands, voice ragged as he drags the spymaster back into his embrace.
-
Azriel does exactly what he’s told. Within a heartbeat he’s crushing Eris back against the tree and kissing the prince as though this is their last. Quite possibly it is.
Eris sighs like a starved fae at a feast, and Azriel wonders if the prince feels what he does, the heady pleasure and the unexpected surge of emotion. He cannot believe the simple joy of kissing Eris. Why hasn’t he tried it sooner?
They are both moaning freely now, hands roaming and squeezing, their bodies slotted so delectably together under the shade of the tree. For the simple pleasure of it, Azriel slows the kiss and grazes his knuckles down the length of each freckled arm. When his hands meet Eris’s, he laces their fingers, delighting in how responsive the prince is to his touch.
Azriel is just turning his head to lavish attention on Eris’s neck when a talon, cold and black as star kissed night, scrapes against the walls of his mind. Azriel recoils, gasping at the unexpected shock of it.
Shit.
Eris is staring quizzically at him, but Azriel doesn’t have time to explain. He makes a simple wait gesture with his hand and steps back from the prince. The spymaster breathes deeply to calm himself as he awaits the intrusion of his High Lord. He prays his mental shields are strong enough to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden. For good measure he closes his eyes so that he can’t see Eris, so that he might forget what they were just doing.
“Now a good time, Az?” Rhys drawls.
Azriel wills ice into his veins to cool his lust. “Just collecting firewood, but I can talk.” The lie comes easily.
“Any updates?”
“Rumi should be interrogating the assailant this afternoon. Did you not get my note earlier?”
“I got it. Just wanted to check in. Is Eris driving you crazy?”
Azriel forces a snort and tries to ignore the stab of guilt in his gut. “You could say that.”
Rhys chuckles. “So, when are you coming home?”
“As soon as I can. We’ll come straight to the River House so you can remove the shield, then I’ll head to the Hewn City to finish up interrogations.”
“Thank you, brother. I know this hasn’t been easy.”
Guilt sloshes nauseously in Azriel’s stomach. “Don’t mention it. I’ll keep you updated.”
“Good. Speak soon, Az.” Rhy’s voice grows distant as the conversation draws to a close.
With silence ringing between his ears, Azriel opens his eyes. His gaze immediately lands on Eris. The prince has clearly gathered what just happened, because he is deathly pale. Gone is the light in his eyes. His features have hardened, his posture straightened.
“Rhysand?” Eris asks, his voice quiet and serious.
Azriel can only nod.
“This didn’t happen.” Eris insists. And Azriel wonders who he’s trying to convince. “We need to forget about it. We’re too old to be making mistakes like this.”
The prince is right of course. There’s no way around this. So much could go spectacularly wrong. A casual dalliance is not worth the risk.
“Agreed.” Azriel sighs.
“Come on, let’s go.”
Eris is already stalking off in the direction of home. Azriel casts a final longing glance at the oak tree and bids farewell to all that could have been.
Notes:
The final chapter is coming soon! The final prompt is 'freedom', which sees the boys set free in more ways than one.
Chapter 7: Freedom
Summary:
The threat has been neutralised, the bags packed. There's nothing left to do but go home, break the shield tethering them together, and finally be free of one another. But Eris and Azriel finds themselves reluctant to leave the summer house and their unexpectedly pleasant break from reality to return to normality.
Notes:
The prompt for day seven of the Azris Week 2025 Challenge was 'free day', which I interpreted as freedom.
This chapter is really really really NSFW and contains mildly dubious consent in places.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
DAY 7
Everything is ready. The bags are packed, the house is clean, and the patio furniture secured in the shed. Eris and Azriel stand in the living room, surveying their work in the warm light of the afternoon sun. They’ve barely spoken all day while they prepared to leave. What is there to say? After that kiss yesterday words feel impossible - being in the same room together, dangerous. Azriel doesn’t know how to act. At least now he has an out. He need only endure Eris’s company for the journey home, which will take all but seconds to winnow, and then they will finally be free of one another, safe from whatever this is.
Word had come in the early hours that during interrogation the assailant confessed to a plot to kill Eris. The fae showed no remorse, just cold blooded rage and a single minded desire to murder the future High Lord. Azriel was surprised to learn that the male was working alone. Rumi’s reports paint a picture of a fae of middling powers with obsessive tendencies and a personal vendetta against Beron and his heir. Azriel hasn’t shared any details with Eris, and thankfully the prince hasn’t asked for any. The reports are disturbing to say the least.
But that’s not why Azriel’s stomach is in knots. His chest feels tight, every muscle tense and uneasy. There is nothing left to do but go. Yet the idea of leaving fills him with dread. Truthfully he’s not ready to go to the Hewn City dungeons, not yet. Is he eager to pull what information he can from the sick fuck who’d planned to murder Eris in a grizzly way, and dole out his own special brand of punishment? Absolutely. But he can’t quash this nagging feeling that he needs to say something to the prince before they leave this place. The way the conversation had abruptly ended yesterday has left a sour taste in Azriel’s mouth. There’s no time left to play. This is their last chance to address what happened this week.
Azriel’s fingers twitch impotently at his sides as the prince smoothes out cushions on the sofas and double checks the windows are sealed. It occurs to him that Eris is stalling. It’s now or never.
“Eris.” Azriel’s voice is quieter than he’d intended. “Before we leave, we need to talk about yesterday.”
Eris, who has avoided eye contact all day, finally looks at him. His expression is guarded, his eyes dim, like a door closing.
“No, we don’t.” He dismisses.
Azriel shoots him a look.
“What?” The prince snaps. “What is there to talk about? It shouldn’t have happened and it won’t be happening again. Just forget it.”
A tense moment passes in which Azriel fears that Eris is going to grab him and simply winnow them away, but instead, he turns his back on Azriel and sighs. It’s the sound of someone who is deeply bothered but pretending not to be. The prince is so obviously afraid of someone finding out about what happened between them. Usually the spymaster would delight in such a tell, would file a secret of this magnitude away to be used when needed for manipulation or blackmail. Eris isn’t thinking straight, reacting so emotionally, showing his weakness. Azriel should take advantage of that, alliance or no. Who knows when this might be useful in future? But for reasons he can’t quite fathom, the idea makes him queasy.
Perhaps it’s because he actually had fun. Azriel has enjoyed his time with the prince. Maybe it’s selfish to want to keep his memory of this week untainted by what they have to be, who they have to be, in the real world. But truthfully he doesn’t want to ruin it. Besides, exposing the prince would mean exposing himself, and he’s sure as hell not ready for his family to know he enjoys males, let alone Eris Vanserra.
“Eris.“ The name slips from Azriel’s lips, firm but gentle. Coaxing.
The prince turns on his heel to stare defiantly at the spymaster. He looks ready to fight. Azriel speaks again before he has the chance, voice calm and earnest.
“I’m going to say this again because I don’t think you believed me the first time.” Azriel takes a deep breath. “I’m not going to tell a soul about what happened between us. I will protect this secret.”
Eris scoffs and eyes him warily. “From your daemati High Lord and Lady?”
“Yes.” Azriel insists. “They don’t even know I take male lovers, so they have no reason to suspect anything. As far as I’m concerned, it’s none of their business.”
“I doubt they’d agree with that. You're spymaster to a foreign court and I’m about to take the Autumn throne. You clearly don’t understand what is at stake.”
“Eris, we’re just fucking around, not sharing court secrets.” Azriel’s voice is almost mocking. “You’ve trusted me with your life this week, why not trust me with this?”
-
Eris frowns. It’s frightening how much he wants to believe Azriel. Even more terrifying is how tempted he is to stop thinking all together, to stride across this room and kiss the spymaster. When they leave here reality awaits them. Eris must return to a life of long days and lonely nights. Who knows when they’ll see each other again, let alone have a chance like this to enjoy some harmless fun?
The prince looks at Azriel, that handsome face open and imploring in the same way it had been yesterday when they kissed. Eris had caved then beneath the oak tree, unable to deny the brooding Illyrian’s silent plea for more. And now, he cannot look away.
Mother, give me strength.
Eris says nothing, held prisoner as he is in the spymaster’s gaze. Reading his silence as invitation, Azriel takes a decisive step towards him. The prince’s heart jumps at the intent look on the spymaster’s face.
“Stop.” Eris commands, voice betraying his panic.
Azriel stops. “Are you so afraid of me?”
“No, I’m afraid of what I’ll do if you come any closer.” The words slip breathlessly out before Eris can stop them.
The prince hadn’t intended to be so honest. But as the seconds tick by and still they do not leave, Eris finds he cannot bear this oppressive silence between them. The way Azriel is looking at him is driving him mad. The spymaster’s gaze flits to the prince’s mouth. Hazel eyes are full of anticipation, and a hunger that he does not try to hide. Pupils dilated and body tensed as if to strike, the sound of Azriel’s heart beats like a war drum in the quiet of the room. The air between them shifts almost imperceptibly. If Eris wasn’t familiar as he is by now with Azriel’s scent, he may not have noticed the subtle aroma of his budding arousal beginning to unfurl. The prince shudders and breaks out in goosebumps, his body betraying him.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Eris breathes, barely keeping a leash on his own desire.
“Like what?” Azriel asks, his voice oddly flat and quiet.
“Like you’re going to kiss me.” Eris hisses.
Azriel swallows, his eyes darting once more to the prince’s mouth.
“Would it be so terrible? We’ve already broken that rule.”
Eris scowls. “Are you always this difficult?”
“Are you always this stubborn?” Azriel retorts, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
Eris sighs, feeling a little deflated. “When I need to be, yes.”
Reading the prince’s tone, Azriel relents. He bends to collect his bag from the floor and slings it over his shoulder before stepping towards the prince in readiness to winnow.
“Okay. I’m ready when you are.” Azriel says simply, offering an elbow for Eris to touch. There’s no emotion in his voice, no warmth but no coldness either, just acceptance of the prince’s decision.
Mist and cedar encase Eris as he takes Azriel’s elbow with a firm grip. He’s surprised that the spymaster relented so easily, that he didn’t turn that intense gaze upon him or simply command him to undress and be done with it. Cauldron, he’s going to miss that voice. It’s going to be a challenge not to think of it every time he touches himself, not to think of Azriel . He doesn’t even want to begin probing that thought.
Eris bites his lip and winnows them away. He only hopes he won’t regret his decision.
-
Azriel blinks as they re-emerge…in the bedroom. They are still in Eris’s summer house. The spymaster turns to question the prince, but before he can ask about the hold up, Eris is already speaking.
“This would be a one time only deal. No strings. No one can know. Just fucking.”
The prince speaks with the voice of the future High Lord of Autumn as he levels a hard look at the spymaster. Azriel’s spine straightens to hear the natural authority in his tone.
“Just fucking?” The spymaster repeats, fighting the temptation to squirm under the intensity of those amber eyes.
“Kissing is also permissible.” The prince adds, as though they are negotiating a business deal, not on the cusp of falling into bed together.
“How romantic.” Azriel responds dryly.
“I don’t do romance.”
“Noted. Any other demands, my lord?”
Eris glares, but his cheeks flush pink at the mocking use of a title. “No marks.”
“Fine.”
Azriel drops his bag to the floor. It falls with a heavy thud on the wooden boards. Then he turns his full attention to the prince before him. There is a defiant expression on that handsome face, a look of arrogant superiority in the tilt of his chin, as if the prince is merely bored and looking for someone to toy with, as if he is in control of the situation. But Eris isn’t fooling him. Azriel can hear his heart hammering in his chest, see the eye that wants to twitch and the bruised bottom lip which has so obviously been nervously bitten. No doubt if he hovered his fingers just above the nape of the prince’s neck, he would feel every fine hair there standing on end.
Seemingly satisfied with the terms of their tryst, Eris starts to remove his own shirt, fingers making quick work of a column of buttons. He’s still acting as though he is in control, as though this is merely a business transaction that must be completed as efficiently as possible so they can get on with their lives. In some ways it is, but if this is Azriel’s only shot, they’re doing it his way. He’s not giving this arrogant prick any reason to jest about his performance in the bedroom. No, he’s going to make this so good the prince will be begging before the end.
Azriel moves closer and Eris’s pupils dilate as if to drink him in. It feels undeniably good watching the prince’s body betray him. Eris is many things out in the world. He may command Beron’s armies and cut down his political opponents with sharp words and sneering looks, but in this room, right now, he’s completely at Azriel’s mercy, even if he doesn’t realise it yet.
Azriel’s hands, calloused and scarred, bat Eris’s away. He unhooks the last of the buttons and runs both hands beneath the shirt, roaming across the prince’s ribcage and upward to graze each nipple. Eris shudders beneath him. The spymaster wraps a broad hand around the prince’s waist and pulls their bodies flush together. Eris buzzes with tension beneath his touch, gasping when their hips and faces align. Azriel doesn’t waste any time. He kisses Eris with the eagerness of someone who knows this is their last. The prince seems to share the sentiment as he wraps his arms about Azriel and draws him closer. Tongues dance and teeth nip and soon they are both panting.
Azriel moves to his neck next, kissing and nipping his way up the column of the prince’s throat. He doesn’t linger for long in any one place, conscious of leaving marks. When he reaches Eris’s ear and begins softly torturing the skin there, the prince gasps and tilts his head to give better access.
“How do you like to be fucked?” Azriel whispers into the shell of the prince’s ear. “Hard and fast? Slow and deep?”
Eris groans beneath him, fingers digging into the spymaster’s arms.
“Hard.” Eris whispers hoarsely. “And deep.”
“Mmmm, correct answer.” Azriel purrs, taking an earlobe between his teeth.
Before Eris has a chance to catch his breath, Azriel unfastens the prince’s trousers and dips a hand beneath the fabric. The spymaster palms the hardening length within, exhilarated to feel the evidence of the male’s desire for him. Eris exhales as though he’s been holding his breath for this very moment. His eyes flutter shut. Azriel could watch this all day, but unfortunately they don’t have all day. They are expected back some time this afternoon and there is much he plans to do to Eris.
The spymaster pulls at the rest of the prince’s clothes and pushes the naked prince onto the bed. Azriel looks down at his captive and licks his lips. Eris is a vision laid out on the sheets, pert nipples and hard cock all standing to attention as he awaits Azriel’s touch. A deep rumble erupts from his chest, a purely animal groan of satisfaction, as he descends onto the bed. Claiming the prince’s lips with his own in a fierce kiss, the spymaster knocks Eris’s knees wide apart and dips his hand to grip the already weeping length of him.
-
Eris is all hands and lips as he tugs hungrily at Azriel’s hair and clothing. Now that he’s finally given in he feels positively ravenous for him. Naked as he is, writhing beneath the fully dressed male, the prince feels even more exposed in his hunger. He tugs at Azriel’s fighting leathers, but doesn’t get very far undressing him. The spymaster seems much more intent on unravelling Eris by any means necessary. He grazes the rough pad of his thumb over the sensitive head of the prince’s cock. Eris gasps at the unexpected pleasure of it and Azriel does it again.
“Fuck!” The prince chokes against the spymaster’s lips, as pleasure, hot and overbearing, sears through him.
Azriel chuckles darkly and swipes his thumb over the crown again, spreading hot precum over the sensitive skin. Eris cries out, breaking their kiss. But before he can retaliate, Azriel dips his head to run his tongue from the base to the tip of his cock. Eris groans as that wicked tongue laps up his precum and warm lips wrap around the width of him. The spymaster wastes no time as he sets a steady rhythm with his lips and tongue and hand.
The prince is moaning freely now, unable to pretend this is doing anything but absolutely ruining him. So, when a hand, somehow slippery with oil begins to massage his balls and dip lower to the crease of his ass, Eris can do nothing but make tighter fists in Azriel’s hair and silently beg for more.
The oil is a cold shock against the prince’s skin. Azriel runs a finger, thick and scarred, over the tight ring of muscle at his entrance, and Eris can hardly wait to feel it inside of him. He bends his knees and opens his legs wider to accommodate the male kneeling between his thighs. The spymaster takes the prince’s cock deep into his throat just as his finger breaches that tight entrance. Eris chokes on a groan as his body resists the intrusion. He already feels tense and full with just one finger, he can’t imagine what it will be like to have Azriel’s cock inside of him.
Eris is groaning and tearing at Azriel’s hair as the spymaster starts to work him open with his fingers while his mouth continues its sensual assault. Azriel is annoyingly good at this. Eris had been hoping and fearing in equal measure that the brooding spymaster, so sinful just to look at, would turn out to be a disappointing fuck. He might go home sexually frustrated and needing an extra long session with Yulian, sure, but he’d also have no end of material to rile the Illyrian up with. Imagine all the jokes he could make, the snide double entendre that Azriel wouldn’t dare pull him up on in front of others. Childish? Certainly. Unbecoming of the High Lord Eris intends to be? Absolutely. But for some incomprehensible reason the Night Court spymaster is simply delicious to torture.
There’s time yet to be disappointed, Eris reasons.
But that train of thought evaporates when Azriel curls his fingers deep inside of his ass. The prince’s eyes practically roll out of his skull at the sheer pleasure of it. Azriel hums his approval as he pulls back, releasing Eris’s cock with an obscenely wet sound. The spymaster’s lips are invitingly red, his cheeks flushed, and his expression one of arrogant pride.
Fuck, I’m close, Eris realises with no small measure of panic. And he fucking knows it.
Azriel smiles dangerously as he slows the motion of his fingers, plunging them in and out of Eris as if he has all the time in the world to watch the prince crumble. The spymaster watches with rapt attention as he scissors his fingers. Eris cries out, his back arching off of the bed and his eyes clenching shut. Muscle burns under the strain of those intrusive fingers, but when Azriel moves again, the pain melts into pleasure.
When he opens his eyes, Azriel is still looking at him, but he’s no longer smiling. Pupils blown wise and lips parted, he watches the prince with an intensity that makes Eris blush. It’s as though he is committing the image to memory, and perhaps he is.
“This,” Azriel breathes, voice ragged, “is how I’m going to fuck you. I want to watch you take my cock.”
The prince’s entire body clenches with arousal around the spymaster’s fingers. Azriel groans and pulls suddenly free. Eris watches as Azriel stands and starts to undress, coveting every exquisite inch of golden brown skin and toned, sumptuous flesh as it’s revealed. When Azriel stands fully naked, squeezing the aching length of himself, Eris cannot look away. In the golden light of the afternoon sun, he can finally take a proper look at the spymaster.
Fuck, he is big.
Azriel smiles down at him, wicked delight and pure male arrogance in his gaze as the prince absentmindedly licks his lips and waits to be fucked.
“Now show me how badly you want to be fucked.” Azriel commands, stepping towards the bed without climbing onto it.
Eris does exactly that. Moving to sit on the edge of the mattress, he takes Azriel’s cock in hand and looks up directly into his eyes. The look is both a dare and an invitation, because even though Azriel is the one calling the shots right now, Eris is no simpering virgin who doesn’t know what he’s doing. He remembers how quickly the spymaster unravelled last time he got his lips around him. Azriel sucks in a breath as Eris leans forward and starts to kiss that straining cock with slow, sensual open mouthed kisses, pulling down the foreskin and lavishing the crown with attention.
“Fuck.” Azriel groans above him and buries his hands in the prince’s hair. “Good boy.” He growls, making Eris’s toes curl into the bedside rug.
The prince moans enthusiastically and takes the spymaster deep into his mouth without warning. Azriel gasps and makes a tight fist in the prince’s hair. It hurts in the best way. Eris stares up at the handsome male as he takes the hot length of him even deeper, almost to the point of choking, as if to say, “ this is how deeply I want to be fucked”. Azriel’s eyes are heavy lidded and fixed on Eris, mouth agape and quietly panting. He looks completely unravelled like this, out of control and so fucking hot.
Eris swallows, his throat constricting around Azriel’s crown, making the spymaster curse again and grip his head in earnest to rut into it. Eris’s hands fly to Azriel’s ass, tugging him closer in invitation as he relaxes his jaw. The spymaster starts to thrust, hitting the back of the prince’s throat with every pass.
“Fuck. Yes. Autumn.” Azriel punctuates every word with a thrust into Eris’s throat, bringing tears to the prince’s eyes.
The prince groans and his cock twitches. He loves hearing the spymaster losing it, and would happily swallow every drop if Azriel were to come right now. But there’s no chance of that as the spymaster pulls suddenly free, leaving the prince gasping around nothing.
“On your back. Now.” Azriel commands, breath ragged.
The prince might smile with pride to see how quickly he unravelled the spymaster, if his mouth wasn’t watering at the sight of Azriel panting and spit slicked and ready to fuck him. Eris moves backward, propping himself up on his elbows as he watches Azriel smear his weeping cock generously with oil and move onto the bed above him. Drawing close between his legs, the spymaster’s thighs brush the prince’s own as he lines himself up. When the hot head of Azriel’s cock pushes against Eris’s ass, his whole body tenses.
It’s not going to fit, the prince thinks, biting his lip as he eyes the glistening base of the spymaster.
“Ready?” Azriel asks, setting one hand on the mattress to steady himself.
Eris nods, dropping his head back on the bed and attempting to relax his muscles. Azriel pushes, and even with the sheer quantity of oil between them and all that stretching with his fingers, it still fucking hurts. Pain tears through the ring of muscle at the prince’s entrance, and he grits his teeth as the spymaster works his way inside. Azriel must only be an inch deep when he stops, eyes wide and a look of pure restraint on his features. He waits for a long moment as Eris breathes and attempts to adjust to the obscene girth of him.
When Azriel moves again, only another inch, the burning pain is so acute that Eris cannot suppress a sharp wince. His hands fly to the spymaster’s forearms where they bracket his head, his fingers digging into the muscle. Azriel stops.
“Relax.” The spymaster commands, as if it’s that fucking easy.
Eris glares up at him, then down at where their bodies are joined. His eyes nearly pop out of his head. Azriel is hardly in at all, there’s still so much, really too much cock. It’s ridiculously thick as well as long. The prince has had his fair share of big dicks before, and perhaps it’s just been a long time since his last, but Azriel is really pushing the limit of what Eris can fit in his body.
“You good?” Azriel pants, chest and arms seemingly tense with the effort of restraint.
Eris grits his teeth and nods. He can take the pain if he knows the pleasure will follow, he just has to take it slowly. Azriel moves another inch. The prince cries out in pain and tenses up around the spymaster, clenching tight around his cock. The spymaster cries out too, though clearly from the pleasure of it, then grunts with the effort of holding back. The noise sends a thrill through the prince. Even though it hurts, he clenches again, hard, just to see the spymaster’s reaction.
“Fuck.” Azriel groans, but miraculously stays still. “Relax Eris. Stop clenching or I’m going to -”
The spymaster cuts himself off as he clocks the wicked glint in the prince’s eye. Azriel levels a dark look at Eris as he plunges in another inch without warning. Eris cries out again and digs his nails into Azriel’s forearms as pain tears through him.
“What’s the matter,” the spymaster taunts, voice raspy from the pleasure and exertion, “too big for you?”
Eris’s face flushes crimson with rage and arousal. Never one to back down from a challenge, the prince clenches again, hard, around Azriel, who is still frozen above him. The spymaster chokes on a groan, eyes flaring wide with pleasure as he glares down at his captive.
“What’s the matter, no self control?” Eris sneers, teeth gritted against the pain.
Azriel snarls as Eris clenches yet again in defiance, despite wincing at the pain of it. Azriel thrusts hard and fast, just another inch, shutting them both up as pleasure and pain tear through them respectively.
“Had enough?” Azriel pants, even though he’s little more than halfway in.
Eris glares at the spymaster. There’s not a chance in hell he’s giving in. “More.” He demands.
But instead of ploughing ahead, Azriel pulls out a couple of inches and thrusts shallowly back in. Eris isn’t ready for the pleasure when it comes, neither of them are. They both gasp as they lock eyes and Azriel continues the motion. With every thrust the spymaster ploughs a little deeper, and the prince is caught between the mind bending pleasure and the bodily pain of it.
“All of it.” Eris demands, suddenly impatient to be full of Azriel.
-
Azriel doesn’t wait to be told twice. He slams in to the hilt, crying out with the sheer pleasure and relief of it. Eris clenches again as he winces, and Azriel waits for him to adjust and relax, even though it takes all of his effort to keep from pulling out and ploughing all the way back in again. Eris is so fucking tight. It feels incredible.
For a long moment, their jagged breaths fill the space between them as their bodies adjusts to this new reality of heat and overstimulated nerves and so much fucking pressure. When Azriel moves, pulling out a couple of inches and thrusting shallowly back in, the pleasure is overwhelming. Eris groans loudly and watches on with something like disbelief as Azriel pulls almost all of the way out and slams all the way back in. Pleasure shoots up the spymaster’s spine as they both cry out.
“Fuck.” Eris hisses.
A low animal growl escapes Azriel’s throat as he watches Eris writhe beneath him with every thrust. The sensation is unbelievable. The prince is so tight and perfect wrapped around his cock. Eris looks obscenely good like this too, hair askew against the sheets, chest heaving with each heavy breath and face twisted in pleasure. Azriel can’t wait to watch him come.
Cauldron, save me, the spymaster thinks as he stares down at the prince unravelling beneath him. There’s no coming back from this.
The prince is clinging to the spymaster now, knees spread wide in supplication, and Azriel cannot quite believing the intense pleasure of fucking Eris. He pulls the prince’s thighs upward and hooks his arms under the back of each knee. The angle is impossibly deep as Azriel crushes his hips forward and sets a brutal rhythm. The prince’s eyes squeeze shut at the onslaught of pleasure, but the spymaster is having none of it.
“Look at me.” Azriel’s voice is rough with desire. Amber eyes fly open and snap to hazel. “Watch me fuck you.”
Eris’s face is alive with shock and arousal as he looks down at where their bodies are joined. Azriel looks too, and the sight is almost enough to make him come on the spot. There’s something insanely satisfying about watching the thick length of himself sliding in and out of Eris’s tight ass while the prince’s rock hard cock bounces against his stomach, just begging to be touched. Azriel’s eyes flit back to Eris’s face and the hypnotic look of wonder there. He’s never seen the prince look so dazed and fuckable. The spymaster bends the prince’s knees even more and moves closer, slowing right down as he plunges deeper and grinds their hips together. Eris wanted it deep after all. The pressure is delectable.
The prince gasps, his mouth open and wanting in his pleasure as his eyes flutter shut, and for a mad moment, the spymaster can think only of kissing him. He wonders how the prince would feel about something so intimate during such a vulnerable moment, spread out as he is beneath Azriel. When amber eyes, alight with pleasure, open and snag on his, the spymaster doesn’t think twice. He dips his head and captures the prince’s lips with his own, kissing him deeply. Azriel’s tongue delves deep into that hot mouth and Eris returns the kiss fiercely, his hands flying to Azriel’s neck and burying in his hair as he tugs him impossibly closer.
When Azriel comes up for air, he knows he’s going to come like this if he doesn’t pull back, and he wants to make sure he gives Eris exactly what he wants first.
“Deep enough?” Azriel pants, as he grinds his hip down into Eris’s again.
The prince chokes on a gasp and makes a fist in the spymaster’s hair as he grunts his agreement. He’s practically folded in half at this angle, his cock bobbing against Azriel’s stomach and leaving a sticky trail of precum.
“Good. Then let me fuck you harder.” The spymaster growls.
-
Eris’s eyes go wide when Azriel suddenly pulls out and flips him onto stomach. The spymaster doesn’t bother to direct the prince, merely pulls his ass into the air, lines himself up and slams all the way in to the hilt. Pleasure rips through Eris with just the slightest edge of pain. It nearly ruins him.
“Fuck!” The prince cries, not even managing to get fully onto his hands and knees before the spymaster pounds into him again, knocking the breath from him.
Azriel sets a brutal pace as he fucks Eris into the mattress, fingers locked around the prince’s hips in a bruising grip. The prince cannot speak, can barely think. All he can do is submit to the feeling of being fucked like an animal by the spymaster. And gods does it feel good. Azriel pants as he pounds into him with a continuous stream of groans, heavy balls slapping against Eris with every thrust. The prince is going to come all over these sheets, and soon. He wanted to be fucked hard and Mother spare him, Azriel is giving him exactly what he asked for.
The prince is on the cusp of touching himself or begging for mercy when the spymaster suddenly stops to catch his breath. Azriel slides his hands appreciatively from Eris’s hips to his ass, gripping each cheek and squeezing. His cock is still buried deep inside, tantalisingly hot and hard.
“Fuck, Autumn, this view,” Azriel grunts, kneading Eris’s ass. “I wish you could see how good you look wrapped around my cock.”
Eris swallows. He’ll never admit it but he loves hearing the spymaster talk dirty. Instead he clenches tight around Azriel and slides backward onto his obscenely large cock, eliciting an animal sound from the male that makes his mouth water.
“Good boy.” Azriel groans, pushing and pulling Eris’s ass as it slides up and down his cock. “That’s it, fuck yourself on my cock.”
Eris moans at the praise as he rises onto his hands and thrusts shallowly back and forth, desperately seeking friction. He wishes he had time to ride Azriel properly. It’s a hard angle to maintain, and soon, Azriel is gripping his hips with one hand and his hair with another. Azriel pulls Eris backward as he thrusts slowly forward, glancing the tight knot of pleasure inside of the prince. Eris cries out, nerves firing. With his back arched like this and his throat exposed, the angle is perfect.
“Mmmm, do you like that?” Azriel moans, grinding his hips against Eris’s ass.
“Fuuuck.” The prince groans and silently begs for more. He’s so close it’s painful.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Azriel chuckles darkly and thrusts again, tortuously slowly.
“So…close.” Eris pants. Words are failing him. All he can think about is Azriel filling him, how fucking good it feels, and how much he doesn’t want it to end.
“Mmmm, you want it harder?” Azriel teases mockingly, grinding his hips again.
Eris groans loudly, hoping it’s answer enough.
“Say it.” Azriel commands, voice suddenly dark and low, not a hint of amusement left.
“Harder. Fuck me harder, Azriel.” Eris chokes, moving backwards to meet Azriel’s next thrust.
The spymaster grunts and thrusts again, harder, faster, deeper this time. “Say it again.” He pants, voice rough with desire. Azriel is losing control. He must be close too.
“Fuuuck!” Eris groans loudly, as Azriel’s thrusts come faster and harder and entirely frantic as pressure builds in the base of his spine. “Fuck me - fuck me, Azriel - fuck -”
The prince’s voice grows hoarse and pleading as he turns feral in his passion. Every thought and feeling is wiped out by the sudden explosion of white hot pleasure. The orgasm crashes through Eris. He comes all over the sheets in a long spluttering stream of cum while Azriel continues to pound relentlessly into him, drawing the release out. It’s too much, entirely too much all at once. A moment later, as the prince’s orgasm dissipates into breathless satisfaction, the spymaster is shuddering and crying out. Heat blooms deep within Eris as Azriel fills him. Feeling the spymaster orgasm inside of him makes the prince weak with feeling, stomach clenching and his spine tingling with pure animal gratification.
Fuck yes.
-
The tension runs out of Azriel as they collapse onto the sheets, sweaty and panting in the afterglow of release. After a breath, the spymaster slowly extricates himself from the prince and rolls onto the mattress beside him. Azriel’s wings, tucked in tight, are trapped beneath him, but he doesn’t feel the discomfort, sated as he is.
Eris is breathing heavily next to him, hair a wreck, looking completely fucked out and dangerously hot. The sheets, freshly made not half an hour ago, are rumpled and sticky. The air smells like sex. What a mess. What a glorious fucking mess.
I just fucked Eris.
The thought is shocking, absurd…and entirely true. Azriel can’t believe it. He can’t believe how good it was. As if hearing his internal monologue, the prince looks over, locking eyes with the spymaster. Amber irises are bright, skin flushed, face set in its own shocked expression. Eris is still lying on his stomach, covered in his own cum. Neither of them move.
“We should clean up.” The prince states, sounding completely disinterested in the task.
“Yes. We should.” Azriel responds flatly, eyes roaming the rumpled bed and the otherwise pristine room and landing on Eris’s ass.
Still neither of them move. When the spymaster looks back at the prince’s face, there’s a curious expression there. Eris looks how Azriel feels, reluctant to leave yet uncertain of where they stand in this strange new reality. The way the prince’s eyes linger on his for a moment longer than necessary though has the spymaster wondering if Eris would be receptive to his touch now that they are both spent. They haven’t left yet after all. The deal still stands.
Azriel rolls onto his side and does something he’s aching to do before he loses his nerve. He raises a hand and grazes the backs of his fingers softly down the length of the prince’s spine and over the curve of his ass. Eris gasps quietly, and visibly shudders beneath his touch. His eyes flutter shut and when they open again there is a quiet, guarded expression on the prince’s handsome face. Azriel wants to kiss it away.
No risk, no reward, he reminds himself, taking a fortifying breath. Fuck it.
“As this is a one time only deal,” Azriel begins, emboldened by the prince’s reaction to continue stroking his perfectly round cheek, “and we’ve already made a mess…do you wanna make a little more?”
Eris’s eyes widen at the suggestion, then his lip curls into a wry smile that has become so familiar this last week. “Tut, tut, shadowsinger, avoiding work?”
Yes. He’d much rather be here, doing this with Eris, than in the Hewn City dungeons right now.
Azriel shrugs, as if he’s not already growing hard again at the prospect of having Eris wrapped around his cock. He wants to reach out and pull the prince backward against him, and fuck him slowly this time.
“We wouldn’t be missed for another hour or two. Plenty of time to clean up.” The spymaster reasons, trying to sound as though he could take it or leave it, though with every passing second it becomes harder to convince himself of that.
The prince’s eyes flit to the spymaster’s cock, widening just a fraction at the sight. Azriel is already semi erect. “Hmm, it would be a shame to waste that obnoxiously large cock of yours, considering I’m already stretched.”
The spymaster snorts, suddenly feeling ridiculously happy at the prospect of another stolen hour. He pinches the prince’s ass, earning an irritated yelp. Eris bats his hand away as he rises onto his knees and starts to wipe away the mess from his body with the sheet.
“So you admit I’m not a little bat.” Azriel chuckles, rolling onto his back to watch the prince at his leisure. He stretches his wings out and tucks them neatly in behind him, making himself comfortable now that he’s confident he’ll get at least another fuck.
Eris rolls his eyes. “I should have guessed that an Illyrian would need his ego stroking in bed. Oooh Azriel,” the prince’s voice goes up an octave in mock performance of an overenthusiastic lover, “please fuck me with your giant cock! Would you have preferred that?”
Azriel laughs but his cock doesn’t mind it at all. “Maybe. Try it and I’ll let you know.”
Eris snorts, but when his eyes snag again on Azriel’s cock, he licks his lips.
“Can you take it like this?” The prince asks, looking pointedly at the spymaster’s wings.
If it means I get to watch you ride me, then yes, Azriel thinks, gladly .
The spymaster simply nods and watches with growing arousal as the prince straddles his waist. When Eris grips him in one hand and summons a vial of oil in the other, Azriel lets out a satisfied huff. The prince douses his cock in yet more oil, even though he’s still wet and glistening with the stuff, and gently smears it over his sensitive skin. The spymaster hisses at the motion, his cock fully hard now.
“Oooh Azriel,” Eris teases, as he glides his thumb over the tender crown, “you’re sooo big.”
There’s mockery in the prince’s voice, but it’s also huskier, lower than before. The spymaster knows he’s being purposefully ridiculous, but fuck if he doesn’t like the way that needy, breathy voice sounds coming out of the prince’s throat to praise his cock. Azriel’s hands snake up Eris’s thighs as the prince lines himself up and their eyes lock. The spymaster hisses at the contact when his sensitive crown touches the still dripping cleft of the prince’s ass.
All of the amusement on Eris’s face vanishes as Azriel breaches his entrance. The prince is still tight but there’s much less resistance than before, and he slides down the first few inches of the spymaster’s cock without needing to stop. They both gasp. Eris feels unbelievably good.
Azriel’s fingers dig into Eris’s thighs as the prince’s ass swallows the rest of him. A choked sound escapes the prince’s lips. He’s rock hard now but his expression is guarded once more. The spymaster wants to watch him unravel again, wants to hear that husky voice wrap around his name before they leave this place and have to pretend it never happened.
“You were saying.” Azriel prompts, a dark look in his eye.
-
Eris glares at him, but his stomach clenches with arousal at the prospect of carrying on. Azriel has by far been the more vocal of the two during heated moments, always taking charge. The prince knows himself. In the privacy of the bedroom he has no qualms with being bossed about. He likes to be dominated, his lovers to be rough and demanding and vocal. But Azriel clearly doesn’t think Eris has it in him to talk dirty, let alone carry on a joke about it. More fool him.
Challenge accepted.
“Azriel,” Eris drawls, biting his lip and running his hands up the Illyrian’s chest. His entire demeanour transforms as he channels the energy of the femme courtesans he enjoys topping on occasion himself. Playing a part? That he can do. “Baby, you’re too big.”
Azriel’s eyes go impossibly wide. Eris suppresses a grin as he rolls his hips experimentally. Pleasure cracks like lightning within him and his mask falters.
Fuck, that feels good.
The spymaster groans, his fingers digging into the prince’s thighs. Eris leans forward, rising upward and sliding his ass slowly back down the length of Azriel’s cock. The pleasure is dizzying.
“Do you like that?” Eris asks, voice unintentionally husky as he repeats the motion.
Azriel is staring up at him like he’s grown a second head, but his fingers are still holding his thighs in a bruising grip and his pupils are blown wide. His throat bobs as he silently nods, as if transfixed. Emboldened by the spymaster’s reaction, Eris pulls all the way up, almost to the crown of him, and slams back down, bringing their hips crashing together. The pleasure nearly winds him.
Catching his breath, Eris sits slowly backward. Seated fully on the incredible length of Azriel, gravity drives his cock impossibly deep. The prince feels so full. The spymaster is still watching him with that wide eyed expression, waiting to see what he’ll do, what he’ll say , next.
He’s actually enjoying this, Eris realises with a thrill. Fuck, so am I.
“What do you want, big boy?” He asks, voice oozing sex as he clenches around the rock hard length of the male beneath him.
A groan rips from Azriel’s lips. “Call me baby.” He pants, not a trace of amusement in his hoarse tone, as if the prince’s hips have dragged a confession from him.
Eris swallows and his stomach clenches with interest. These are dangerous waters, but fuck if they don’t feel good.
“Yes, baby.” He moans, and starts to move in earnest.
The prince has never called anyone baby , and he can’t believe how good the pet name feels on his lips as he looks down at the spymaster, who practically vibrates with desire beneath him. Pleasure barrels through Eris as he rides Azriel. They are both moaning freely now, not a hint of mockery left between them, just desire, naked and raw.
“You feel so fucking good, baby.” Eris pants, his voice lacking any of his former playfulness.
Azriel groans and jerks his hips. He’s been bucking like that occasionally, and Eris can tell how desperately the spymaster wants to hold him still and fuck him. The prince had been holding back but his resolve finally crumbles. He’s close and he just wants to feel that magnificent cock driving into him. The prince leans forward and the spymaster grips his waist.
“Fuck me, baby please.” Eris pleads.
Azriel immediately bends his knees and drives his hips upward. His thrusts are hard and fast and exactly what Eris wants.
“Fuck - baby, yes!” He cries out, simply not caring anymore. It feels so good to finally give in and let go.
They are both coming in a matter of seconds, gasping and staring wide eyed at one another in shock and heady arousal as their passion spills over into blissful release. Collapsing onto Azriel’s heaving chest, cock still buried within him, Eris breaks into breathless laughter. They are both covered in cum and sweat and even with his magic to move things along, they’ll have a job cleaning this all up. But he can’t bring himself to care. He feels light, joyous even. Life’s worries are nowhere in sight.
“What a mess.” The prince snorts, looking up at the spymaster.
Azriel grins. Eris grins back at him.
-
Today must be Azriel’s lucky day, because after arriving in the Hewn City, he received word that the prisoner awaiting interrogation had blacked out and been seen by a healer, which means that work has to wait until tomorrow. So, after parting ways with the Autumn prince and reporting to Rhys, he flew straight home to his apartment in Velaris.
It’s weird, finally being free of the protective shield, being free of Eris. The prince had remained in surprisingly good spirits while they cleaned themselves and the bed sheets. Eris had insisted they both bathe, despite using magic to rid them each of the smell of sex. When they were finally ready to leave though, they had both retreated somewhat, needing to reel themselves back in before the journey home.
At Azriel’s request they had headed outside to winnow. He’d wanted to see the stunning grassland view one last time before leaving. The tall grass had been golden in the late afternoon light, the sky impossibly blue, and the summer house perfectly picturesque. Truthfully, Azriel already misses the serenity of the place, the surprising satisfaction of quiet domesticity that he fell into with Eris.
The prince had watched him closely while he took a final panoramic view of the place, but neither spoke as Eris gently touched his forearm and winnowed them away. They were quiet too as Rhys removed the protective shield which had shackled them together this last week. And though Eris said nothing of consequence when they finally came to part ways, Azriel thought he saw some of the prince’s earlier playfulness gleaming in those amber eyes. He’ll miss that too.
Finally home and untethered in Velaris, Azriel can’t help but compare his apartment to the summer house. The space is sparsely decorated. It never bothered him before but it feels somewhat lacking in comfort now, especially with no snarky prince to pad about the kitchen cooking something delicious. Dreary mid winter weather outside the window isn’t helping either.
Darkness is setting in as Azriel lights the lamps and moves to the bedroom to unpack his travel bag. Removing clothes and toiletries, his fingers collide with something he definitely did not pack. His breath catches as he pulls the object free. Azriel looks down to find a familiar purple book with faded gilt lettering in his hands. The Sellyn Drake novel. Eris must have placed it in his bag while he was bathing. Azriel finds himself smiling like an idiot at it. He opens the book - force of habit - and smells the pages. It has the scent of a well loved book that’s spent many years in the same sunny spot and…Eris. It smells like Eris. Just a hint of spice and smoke, but enough.
Azriel chuckles as he grazes a thumb along the pages, thinking of how mercilessly he teased Eris when he found the dirty novel. To his delight, he finds something tucked into its pages that had definitely not been there the last time: a folded slip of paper. The spymaster opens the note. On it, written in beautiful cursive handwriting, is a single word:
Enjoy.
It’s not signed, but he would recognise Eris’s hand anywhere. Fingering the paper as his shadows brush its edges, Azriel senses what little magic the stationery possesses. It is a simple enchantment, one the spymaster uses everyday for his own discreet and informal correspondence with agents in the field. Curious. This isn’t merely a note, it’s a direct line of communication.
Azriel bites his lip as he marvels at the slip of paper. Excitement, sudden and inexplicable, bubbles within him as he wonders if this is what he hopes it is: an invitation.
Notes:
It's done! Finally! I've finished my Azris week challenge story at last! And only a month late. Oh well...For all who read it, my long fic, Who Will Hold Me, will resume soon.
Thank you for all the love and comments on this story. I've loved writing something much lighter and more joyous than usual. These boys have had a great time, and so have I. Thanks for sticking with us <3
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