Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I’m not going to apologize.”

Azriel scoffs at his lover’s words, unable to hide his amusement as he adjusts his hair in the mirror. The sliver of light filtering in through the one area of his window that never gets covered by his blackout curtains provides more than enough luminosity to serve Azriel’s purposes. 

“I didn’t ask you to,” he replies.

He’s just finished washing up after his early morning training session with Cassian and Rhys. He remembers how fast the disappointment on their faces shifted to mock outrage when didn’t grab breakfast with them afterwards because he’s “got better things to do.”

He left before they could bug him more about it, but Azriel is sure that they’re spending their meal coming up with wild guesses as to the identity of the “better place” that their brother is heading to. Azriel is happy to let them speculate, certain that none of their guesses will reach the truth: the better place is his bed, where Eris Vanserra is waiting for him to return. 

There’s an inexplicable sense of comfort that settles over Azriel’s being whenever Eris is able to rest calmly under the vigilant watch of his own shadows. It speaks volumes of the level of trust that the two have built with one another that the eldest child of Beron Vanserra, who is used to keeping one eye open all the time in preparation against the possibility of retribution from his younger brothers, feels comfortable enough to sleep peacefully in Azriel’s apartment.

Due to both of their busy schedules, complicated family lives to navigate, and major roles to play in their respective courts, Azriel and Eris rarely have moments together where they’re not fighting against borrowed time. Fortunately, today, neither of them are expected anywhere. Azriel intends to make good use of this rare happenstance.

Though admittedly, when Azriel was imagining returning to his apartment to spend said treasured time with his lover, he had a far more romantic vision in mind than whatever the fuck he’s dealing with right now. 

“Our fireling is pouting.”

  “ Let him pout. ” Azriel internally rolls his eyes at the shadows’ worries, knowing that they are well aware that Eris is just being dramatic. 

Azriel figures he might as well go ahead and assess his lover if only to appease his shadows and promptly shifts his gaze off his own reflection and refocuses on Eris’ instead.

Sure, the son of Autumn may have mastered the ability to keep up a straight face. It’s only expected, given the family the male grew up in. However, since before they got together, Azriel always finds himself in awe of the sheer vivacity of the emotions that pour out of those amber hues. 

Azriel feels the corner of his lips lift up in a smirk as he finally catches that golden gaze, the indignation he finds in it doing nothing to dampen his mirth. 

At this present moment, Azriel’s sheer force of will is the only method that is working to hold him back from vocalizing the merriment rising in his chest as a result of Eris’s dramatic display.

On one side, Azriel knows he is privileged to be allowed to see the fearsome heir of the Autumn Court in such a vulnerable state. And he does feel honored, truly. 

Yet at the same time, the sight of a sulky Eris Vanserra, fully naked in Azriel’s bed at his Velaris apartment, is just too funny to ignore. The pale skin of Eris’ face and his copper locs both provide a stark contrast against the charcoal colored sheets that the Autumn male currently has wrapped around himself. 

Azriel fails to hide the chuckle that escapes him once Eris finally breaks their eye contact in the mirror. He finds the formidible Autumn general to be utterly adorable in times like this. How could he not? Azriel swears he can feel his heart beat faster in his chest as he spies the porcelain skin between Eris’ brows crinkle. The frown that forms on the petulant male’s face pushes his brows into a furrow and his luscious pink lips into a protruding pout. Azriel wants to kiss him. 

Azriel supposes he should probably finish getting dressed and so he finally looks away from the mirror and pulls out the drawer that holds his briefs.

“Master… he is still pouting.”

“I’m sure he is.”

Azriel hums, pulling out two pairs of briefs before closing the drawer. He isn’t exactly sure why some of his shadows have decided to place Eris’ pout as their top priority, especially when he knows that the particular two who keep bothering him are supposed to be monitoring the windows and the area outside of his apartment.

“We are keeping an eye on them… We are also just… obviously we are multitasking.”

“You know, ever since I started seeing Eris, all of you shadows seem to have adopted his bratty attitude.”

“You don’t pay us for our attitude.”

Azriel turns around and leans his weight back against the dresser as he slides up onto the edge of it. Azriel stretches out his wings and involuntarily releases a sigh as he relaxes. It’s truly amazing how something so simple as a stretch can erase all the tension that had been building up in his body since he woke up four hours prior. 

Azriel places one pair of briefs to his left, letting it lay flat on the wood of his dresser.

“I don’t pay you at all.”

Azriel eyes his lover, watching as the heir to the Autumn Court grips the charcoal sheets tightly from under the blanket. The male keeps hold of them and Azriel watches as the outline of Eris’ arms move underneath the covers, the male seemingly attempting to cross his arms over his chest while not letting go of the sheets. Of course, Eris is Eris , and so his lover succeeds in his endeavor.

“That’s for sure. Certainly not with your company.”

Azriel fights off the urge to laugh. He really doesn’t know what he’d do without his shadows, his loyal longtime companions. 

“Touché. Now get back to work.”

“Yes master.”  

Azriel likes to think of him and Eris as two rocks that were shaped by the seas of opposite shores. They have both been worn and cracked by the many different challenges they’ve had to face, their edges marred and full of distinct hollows. Yet to their surprise, one day they find that those trauma-worn cavities, the ones shaped by completely different waters, happen to match up to each other perfectly, their empty spaces no longer to remain unfilled. 

It is in times like these, in his bedroom with his lover, where Azriel finds himself very appreciative of the fact that he and Eris are very different males at heart. Mostly because if Azriel ever finds himself in the same position as Eris is right now–chin tilted upwards and mouth curled into an arrogant smirk, the male beaming with the same level of pride as a winning battalion over his sole achievement of successfully pulling the sheets tighter around himself without exposing a single square his beautiful bare skin to the cool air of the room–well, Azriel would just have to find the closest cage and lock himself in it for another eleven years. 

At that thought, Azriel decides he should get back to the matter at hand. He looks away from Eris and focuses on the piece of clothing in his lap. He starts to ball up the pair of briefs, his wings involuntary twitching as the fabric brushes up against the more sensitive parts of his mangled hands. 

If he didn’t know any better, Azriel might even have been impressed with Eris’ ingenuity. But alas, Azriel knows that thanks to the fire in his lover’s blood, Eris never actually gets cold. Therefore, the male’s refusal to break free from his leaf-roller of bedsheets is the result of the bastard’s unyielding commitment to being a petty little shit.

It doesn’t even make any sense , Azriel thinks to himself as he passes the now-completed ‘brief-ball’ into his left hand. Given the facts of the situation, Azriel is the only person who should be feeling anything close to remotely displeased at the moment. He’s the one who actually ‘lost’ their supposed battle. 

But at the same time, Azriel isn’t surprised at all, actually. Eris is and always has been a Vanserra through and through. Strong willed, brilliant-minded, well-dressed, and stubborn to a tee. They are all traits that Azriel has come to love about him. Yet, they are also part of the factors that contribute to situations like this: the aftermath of the couple’s alleged night-long brutal battle over custody of the bed sheets.

Azriel readies his left arm, loaded with his weapon. His target is distracted - if Azriel is to wager a guess, the Autumn Court prince is probably building an argument in his head to justify his propensity for taking all of the covers hostage every single time the two share a bed together. Despite Azriel’s insistence that he ‘does not give a single Cassian-sized shit about bed-sheets’ and the additional reminder that ‘baby, I slept in a cage for eleven years, I don’t know the first thing about thread-count,’ Eris still seems Cauldron-bent on defending himself for his body’s subconscious thievish tendencies. 

Excitement trills within Azriel as he locks his eyes on his target, the predator within him purrs, begging him to go for the kill. 

“Think fast!” Azriel launches the balled up black brief straight at his lover’s frowning face.

“Wha–?” Eris starts to ask but is quickly cut off as the briefs smack him in the nose. 

Azriel releases a roar of laughter, the sight of pure disappointment falling over Eris’ face proving to be too much for his composure to handle. The male didn’t have a chance to unhook his arms from under his shield of bed sheets and so Azriel had the privilege of watching those freckled cheeks flush red as the offending pair of briefs slowly slid off Eris’ nose and fell onto his sheet-covered lap. 

Eris huffs indignantly and turns away from him, muttering something under his breath.

Azriel only gets distracted by Eris’ side-profile for a second. He is more than guilty of harboring a long-held suspicion that the Mother took extra time when she was crafting Eris Vanserra. The male holds too much beauty for his own good, especially when left alone in a room with Azriel, who has long given up any efforts to try and be a good male.

“What was that?” Azriel asks, wings flaring as he slips off the dresser, grabbing the pair of briefs he left on its surface before sitting at the edge of the bed. Azriel only has a couple seconds to calculate the two feet of space between them before he finds himself thrust into the mercy of his lover’s fierce, yet truly adorable, glare.

“You–,” Eris starts.

“Sorry, couldn’t hear you through your fae swaddle.” Eris’ mouth drops open in shock after Azriel interrupts him. Azriel takes the momentary silence to scoot just a little closer to Eris on the bed, shortening the distance between them to only a foot.

“Fuck you,” Eris speaks calmly, his nose upturned and gaze narrowed on Azriel in disdain. He wonders how long the other is going to maintain this persona.

“Fuck me?!” Azriel can feel his own eyes widen with incredulity as Eris nods in response to his question.

“Ris, if anything, I should be saying ‘fuck you!” Azriel emphatically gestures to Eris with the pair of briefs that are still in his hands, “You are, quite literally, leaf-rolled in the evidence!”

“I have every right to be in my own fae swaddle,” Eris closes his eyes with a humph and looks away indignantly, pulling the sheets tighter around himself.

“You do.”

“You have no right to be mad at me.”

“Never said I was.”

“You don’t even need sheets,” Eris looks back towards him then, holding the charcoal colored covers even closer to himself as if he’s worried Azriel is going to try to rip them away from him. 

“Your body radiates enough warmth on its own,” Eris finishes, causing Azriel to bark out a laugh.

“Says the male with literal fire coursing through his veins,” Azriel crosses his own arms across his chest, discarding the briefs he was holding as he did so.

“It’s a matter of principle , Azriel,” Eris drags out the last syllable and Azriel lets his eyes fall onto his lover’s tongue as he does so, only refocusing on the whole of Eris when his lover calls his name.

“Principle?” Azriel asks, letting his eyes take in Eris up and down as he assesses his next move.

Eris must see something in his eyes before Azriel even comes to a decision.

“Azriel, don’t you dare,” he tries, but it’s too late. Azriel already has managed to get a strong grip on Eris’ arm through the sheets and tugs the Autumn Prince to his feet.

Now the couple are standing up straight, facing one another in the open area beside the bed. Azriel is fully naked, his wings held high and a proud smile plastered onto his face. Eris, on the other hand, starts pouting again, and quickly reassembles his leaf roller to cover his shoulders and body while he stands. 

“You speak of it being a matter of principle, Eris?” Azriel asks, taking a couple of steps back from his lover, widening the gap between them.

“Tell me,” Azriel continues, trying not to let any glee show on his face as he can see Eris eyeing the growing space in question, “What exactly is the doctrine that I am supposed to be following, hmm?”

Azriel admires Eris as the male shifts his entire posture at his question. His face wipes of any emotion, he straightens his posture, and he narrows his gaze on Azriel, his aura radiating nothing other than regality. 

“The Creed of Me,” Eris responds unblinkingly, not intending to leave any room for argument.

“The Creed of Eris Vanserra?” Azriel asks, taking a single step closer to his lover.

“Yes,” Eris nods and Azriel watches as the male once again lets his amber gaze flicker down towards the slightly shortened gap between them, then back up towards his lips. 

“And why should I follow a creed that supports the whims of the little fae I see here in front of me?” Azriel raises an eyebrow, he’s long learned to love playing with fire.

“What?!” Azriel thinks that Eris’ ability to maintain such a regal attitude, his eyes widening in righteous shock–much like one would expect a noble to respond to the disrespect of a commoner–while simultaneously wrapped in his charcoal colored self-made fae swaddle is truly impressive.

“What do you mean ‘little?’” Eris asks. Azriel makes a concentrated effort to keep his own expression impassive aside from tiny shreds of amusement. He can tell that Eris’ fists are tightening–despite the fact that the sheets cover them–based on the increased amount of crinkles in the area surrounding the location where Eris holds them tight. 

“Azriel!?” Eris calls him, “What do you mean little? I’m taller than you.”

“Who has more muscle mass?” Azriel asks as he takes a step forward, responding indirectly. He admires the twitch in Eris’ eyebrows as the male gets increasingly irritated by Azriel’s put-on aloofness. 

Eris isn’t stupid, that’s why it’s so fun to mess with him.

“Well sorry I don't have two giant ass wings attached to my back nor do I shovel food into my mouth like underfed swine.”

Azriel takes another step closer to him.

“Underfed swine?” he asks as an involuntary chuckle escapes him, that’s a new one .

“Yes,” Eris replies with finality, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as Azriel takes it upon himself to inch forward even more.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Azriel starts, watching as Eris takes a step back closer towards the bed, still eyeing him in suspicion.

“But the thing is,” Azriel continues, finally letting his mouth curl up into a devilish smirk, “You don’t seem to mind how I eat when it's your ass that I’m diving into.”

Eris’ mouth drops open in shock, his swaddle unraveling and falling to the floor.

“Azri–” utter satisfaction fills his chest as he watches a blush tint Eris’ freckled cheeks.

“You’re just trying to distract me,” Eris clenches his jaw, trying to recompose himself. It’s of little use though, Azriel already knows he’s won.

“Oh yeah?” Azriel asks, stepping even closer to Eris, successfully crowding the taller male against the side of the bed. 

“Yes. I find it quite rude,” Eris points out, his tone dripping in the signature Vanserra haughtiness. 

Azriel knows that the only reason he’s won their little argument today is probably because Eris is still half asleep and was adorably hyperfocused on his self-made leaf-roll. Azriel’d be Cauldron-damned if he doesn’t take advantage of the situation.

“I’m not so sure you’re all that upset about it, baby,” Azriel can scent his lover’s arousal in the air.

“You know I’m not a liar, Shadowsinger,” Eris replies as Azriel brings them nose to nose. The Autumn heir slips both of his hands into Azriel’s locks. Azriel can’t deny the stirrings of heat in his core as he feels one of those hands fall down to the curls at the back of his neck while the other remains seemingly entertained with the strands surrounding the crown of his head. Azriel never really pays too much mind to the various locations that Eris’ skilled hands find themselves on his body, as long as he can feel his lover’s presence he’s pretty amenable to any suggestion. 

“I didn’t say you were,” he points out. Eris’ fingers stutter, interrupting the consistent rhythm they had started to thrum into Azriel’s skull.

“Shut up,” Eris orders him. Azriel stares back into his eyes, he’s long since accepted that he’ll forever be enchanted by those never-ending pools of ambrosia. 

“Make me.” Azriel raises his brow in challenge and lets his eyes fall closed as soon as he spies Eris lean forward in reply.

Azriel feels his body and soul ignite with delight as soon as he feels Eris’ lips press against his. Azriel’s long since decided he doesn’t care that the Mother hasn’t blessed him with a mating bond. If it’s not Eris, he doesn’t want it. 

Azriel bites at Eris’ bottom lip and lets his hands slide down the lean muscle of Eris’ thighs until he lands on the area just under his knees, he doesn’t even take note of his wings spreading to balance out the weight of the two full-grown men. Instead, Azriel moans loudly, the sound swallowed almost immediately by a moan of his own in response to Eris’ hum of pleasure. Azriel doesn’t know how anyone else could manage to constantly keep him on his toes the way that Eris is able to. 

He lets another moan escape as he feels Eris’ lengthy fingers tug at his hair. Azriel responds in kind, tugging on the back of Eris’ knees, needing to be closer. His movement causes Eris to fall back onto the bed, his copper curls bright against the charcoal sheets. Azriel follows him, not wanting to miss a single press of Eris’ lips against his. Azriel has to readjust his weight though, always cautious of the added weight of his wings. 

Reluctantly, he breaks away from Eris’ lips and instead mouths at the cute little freckles that dust his lover’s shoulder. Azriel removes his hands from Eris’ legs and raises one to the sheets beside them and curls the other into Eris’ hair. A squeeze on his ass sends a muffled moan straight into Eris’ shoulder and Azriel quickly releases Eris’ hair and grabs the pale hand that has been tangled in his own for quite some time now. Eris immediately interlaces his fingers with Azriel’s, the simple intimacy in the gesture causing his heart to soar. Azriel’s wings flare as a result of the heightened emotions and he ignores the trail of saliva that follows as he promptly detaches his lips from Eris’ shoulder and reattaches them to those luscious wanting lips. 

Morning turns into noon and Azriel finds himself back in his bed, Eris’ head lay on his shoulder. As the Autumn Court male’s soft snores ghost over Azriel’s tattooed skin, the Shadowsinger realizes he probably finds too much comfort in the rhythm provided by his lover’s regular inhales and exhales of breath. 

Yet at the same time, Azriel finds himself wondering if maybe the Mother hasn’t given up on him yet. Both Rhys and Cassian finding their mates so close to one another admittedly caused Azriel to negatively spiral. He was convinced the Mother didn’t think there was anyone for him. He knows logically that fated mates are extremely rare and has long since moved beyond that state of self doubt. However, there are times that Azriel looks at Eris and he swears the birds in the valley sing louder, the water moves faster, and the trees grow taller. Sometimes he feels as if the wind takes extra time to donate a breeze just so that Azriel can hold onto Eris’ scent. It’s moments like this where he is left to wonder if maybe the Mother is waiting to bestow him and Eris with their official mating bond until some distant moment in the future. Maybe there are some trials that he and Eris still have to go through as individuals before the Mother can allow them to be tied together through the golden bond held only by ‘fated mates.’ 

Her blessing is not necessary though, not anymore. 

Nothing makes Azriel happier than mornings like this, the ones that he and Eris can spend together full of wit, conversation, laughter, banter, and Eris. Eris Vanserra is an enigma, a gift that never fails to keep on giving. Azriel adores all the pieces that make Eris Vanserra into Eris Vanserra. He also treasures the fact that Eris only ever asks for Azriel, the son of Autumn never wants the Shadowsinger or spymaster, he just wants to be with him.

It’s only through sheer honesty that Eris and Azriel were able to come together in a way that didn’t erase the past, but allowed them to share the truth with one another and to grow together. Where they stand now is a far cry from what they were before the war with Hybern. 

Now, Azriel truly can’t see himself being happy with anyone else. Mate or not, no one will compare to the gorgeous man before him. Even better, Azriel knows that Eris feels the same. Eris has told Azriel plenty of times that the Shadowsinger is the only thing that makes sense in his fucked up world. In return, Azriel simply reiterates his desire for Eris to stop being so dramatic. 

Eris knows that Azriel doesn’t mean it, though. Plus, asking a Vanserra not to be dramatic is like asking Feyre not to be a busybody. Some things are just facts of existence, to try to change it is a pointless endeavor that will yield nothing. 

Alas, Azriel wouldn’t want to have Eris any other way.

Hours later, the two find themselves cuddling once again, this time lying atop some blankets that Azriel had spread out in front of the fireplace in his living room. Azriel is laying with his head atop Eris’ chest, his wings spread out above them, content to listen to his lover’s heart beat as he feels those long elegant fingers run through his hair.

“Eris?” he asks, speaking into the silence.

“Hmm?” Eris hums a reply, the vibrations of it tickling Azriel’s cheek where it lay against his skin.

“You know I am a permanent acolyte of your doctrine, yeah?” Azriel lets his scarred finger trail the line between Eris’ pecs, content to watch him as he breathes. 

“Yeah,” Eris chuckles, causing the tickles against Azriel’s cheeks to reignite in full force, “Just as I am to yours, my love.”