Take Me If You Can [teaser]
Happy Halloween! This is not a trick, just a treat for all of you <3 Kinky canon-verse Azris is coming soon, though not quite in time to qualify as a kinktober fic. Minors DNI. Please be mindful of the warnings before clicking beyond the break. This isn't as edited as my usual stuff so please be kind to me.
I used my usual Azris taglist for this but if this snippet isn't your vibe than please disregard the tag. Have a great Halloween :)
CONTENT WARNINGS: CNC (Consensual Non-Consent,) violence, fighting, chasing/hunting, bondage, primal play, making the fae be FAE™, degradation, cutting off clothes, teasing, faebane is involved, toxic masculinity.
Azriel feels the faebane enter his bloodstream immediately, his shadows fade and the stones on the backs of his hands lose their light. As usual, his first reaction is panic. And since Azriel is no coward, he’ll choose fight over literal flight every time. His lungs tighten, gaze searching for any sign of the Autumn male as his heart beats too quickly. Even though this is something he chose, something he asked for, has begged for before, it still goes against every instinct that has kept him alive for the past five and a half centuries.
“You know you can make things easier for yourself any time, Shadowsinger.”
Eris’s voice echoes off the trees, the bastard is using a spell that makes it impossible for Azriel to guess his location because the sound surrounds him.
“Just say the word,” Eris taunts, “or stay still for once like a good little brute and let me catch you.”
Stay still? Like hell he will. Azriel takes off, sprinting across the cushion of fallen needles and moss.
He sidesteps a tree root arching out of the loamy earth, air already sawing in and out of his lungs.
Eris’s laugh sounds from somewhere in front of him. Azriel skids on the soil, turning so quickly he has to push himself off a sap-sticky trunk to stop from crashing into it.
“Running is pointless, you know?”
And Azriel hates himself for the way that coldly arrogant voice, those unmistakably posh vowels, sends a bolt of desire shooting down his spine.
“You will never outrun me. If you try to hide, I will find you. If you try to fly away, I will winnow to you in an instant and take you someplace where no one will hear the way you’ll be screaming for me by the end of the night.”
Azriel runs faster, eyes adjusting to the rapidly darkening forest. He thinks there’s a lake nearby and starts heading in that direction. If he can get to any kind of clearing, he’ll stand a better chance.
Eris doesn’t stop trying to bait him, still projecting his voice so it hits Azriel from every direction.
“You’re nothing without your magic, Shadowsinger. You’re just a helpless male. A coward running instead of facing me. Without your shadows, without your power, you’re useless. What good is a spymaster who can’t spy? A soldier who’s too scared to fight?”
Azriel sees a glimmer through the trees up ahead—moonlight on rippling water.
“What chance do you, a powerless brute, have against me—a high fae prince, the heir to the Autumn Court?” Eris laughs again, “The fact of the matter is that you don’t. I will always find you, Azriel.”
And fuck but the surety in Eris’s voice makes Azriel’s cock stiffen in his leathers. He palms himself hard enough to hurt—not the good kind of hurt—because he can’t afford an erection slowing him down, not when the lake is so close.
“And, when I catch you, I’ll show you exactly what use you’ll be to me.”
It’s a threat. It’s a promise.
Azriel breaks through the tree line and onto the gravelly shore.
But he hasn’t been thinking ahead, doesn’t know where to go because the only options are the water, back into the forest, or into the sky. Flying is the surest way to be caught. Illyrian wings are a hindrance to swimming. The forest means he loses any advantage this clear line of sight gives him.
Though these thoughts fly through his mind in an instant, that’s all it takes. A warm weight slams into him and sends both of their bodies crashing onto the gravel. Azriel lands on his back and the stones bite into his wings, dozens of small cuts on the sensitive membrane open as one—a symphony of exquisitely bright pain blooming.
“Hello, little bat,” Eris sneers above him, auburn curls falling onto his forehead from the chase. The princeling cocks his head, “Giving in so soon?”
“Never,” Azriel growls, slamming a fist into Eris’s side, just below his ribs and rearing up. His forehead meets Eris’s with a crack, shards of light splinter through his vision but Azriel works on muscle memory, throwing Eris off balance and flipping them.
But as he reaches to grab a fistful of Eris’s hair and pin his head in place, the male smirks. Heat wraps around Azriel’s extended wrist as the world darkens, the lake dissolves and he can’t breathe, can’t….
His shoulders burn as his arms are stretched above him to their limit, the rough bark of a tree trunk presses into the open cut on his cheek and Azriel hisses as the hand on his nape presses harder.
“Pathetic,” Eris scoffs, releasing his head with a shove.
Azriel tries to hit him, kick him, something, but his legs won’t move. Glancing down, he sees ropes of flame wrapped around his ankles, glowing orange against the darkness.
“Thinking you could run from me? Honestly,” from somewhere behind him Eris tuts disapprovingly, “this level of delusion would be cute if it weren’t so pitiful.”
“Fuck you,” Azriel cranes his neck and spits but it lands a few feet short of Eris’s polished boots.
“Oh, don’t worry little bat, you will. Try that again. If you make it, I’ll let you lick them clean.”
Despite himself, Azriel’s getting hard. He presses his forehead against the uneven bark, trying to stop the blood from rushing out of his head.
“Oh, I think you like the sound of that,” Eris croons, close enough for Azriel to feel the warmth of his breath on the shell of his ear. “Is that what you are, Azriel? Nothing better than a dog panting at my feet?”
Azriel throws his head back hoping to hit Eris, but all he succeeds in doing is pulling a muscle.
Then there’s cool metal and the familiar edge of a gemstone dragging down the central tendon of his right wing and Azriel’s breath leaves his lungs all at once as he arches into the touch.
Eris chuckles, “Look at you. The famed spymaster of the Night Court, the legendary shadowsinger, and you barely put up a fight. Already so desperate for me.”
“I’m not done fighting,” Azriel sneers, struggling against the restraints.
“Oh but you are,” Eris sounds gleeful. The heat of him presses Azriel into the unyielding tree. Azriel can’t help the noise that slips past his lips when Eris reaches into his leathers without warning and wraps his fingers around Azriel’s cock and strokes leisurely. “Just as I thought.”
The heat of Eris’s skin, the cool metal of his rings, makes Azriel shudder. Eris’s teeth graze the tattoos on his neck and Azriel’s torn between trying to headbutt him again and giving him better access to the sensitive expanse of skin.
“I know how much you hate this,” condescension laces Eris’s words. “You hate that I’m the only one who can give you what you need.” He sighs, releasing Azriel’s cock. “It must be so frustrating not being able to allow yourself the things you want, needing someone else to give them to you, needing me to be that someone.”
A vertical line of pressure lands between Azriel’s shoulder blades—a knife, larger than the one with the faebane.
“Stop,” he grits out, though it lacks conviction.
The moment Eris tackled him onto the lakeshore, Azriel realized how long it’s been since their last game, and just how tired he is. It’s been months since Nyx was born—since Azriel almost lost a third of his family in a single moment and has been doing everything in his power since then to make sure everyone is safe.
The blade cuts through the laces running down his spine, the night air eliciting goosebumps on the newly exposed skin.
“Eris,” Azriel warns. The knife stills halfway through its journey.
“Yes, Azriel?”
The waiting blade, the lack of derision in the words—Azriel doesn’t need to be told that Eris is giving him a chance to stop this now.
He should take it. Azriel should never have let things get this far. Eris is right that a part of him loathes how much he craves this, craves him—the male he’s hated for so long, who’s impossibly complicated, whose masks are so layered that he doesn’t know where they end and Eris begins.
This goes against everything he’s believed his whole life: vulnerability is weakness, weakness is shameful. The last place he should ever want to be is at someone else’s mercy. He’s Rhysand’s spymaster for fuck’s sake—Azriel is the one who binds, he’s the one who wields the blade. It’s who he’s always been: the person everyone needs him to be
— — —full fic coming soon-ish!
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