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highqueenofelfhame · 1 year

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a/n: i know what we’re all thinking: em, you really don’t need ANOTHER multichapter fic going. but you know what? suck it. this is fun to write and i’m having a good time so you’re getting another one goddammit. and guess what! nobody dies in this one! i hope you like it <3

When it rained in Wendlyn, it really fucking poured.

Most of the first week she had spent in its coastal capital city of Varese had been spent in tank tops and shorts when she wasn’t in the office. Each day was bright and sunny, the late August sun turning her skin a golden hue that she couldn’t quite achieve in Rifthold or Orynth. Back in either of her home cities it was always a little too overcast to really enjoy the sunshine. In Wendlyn, she woke up sticky with sweat if she forgot to turn the AC down while she slept.

Today, however, the sun was hiding behind a dark gray sky as the clouds opened up in a nearly torrential downpour. While Orynth produced rolling thunder storms and Rifthold was in a perpetual state of drizzly and wet, Varese liked to bottle up its feelings and let them all out at once.

Never having been to the country before, Aelin didn’t know that an overcast sky more often than not meant that a wyrd gate was going to open in the sky and dump an ocean onto the city all at once for several hours at a time. It was how she ended running down the sidewalk, yanking at a rusted door knob until she escaped the rain and found herself standing inside a dimly lit pub.

With every, step water sloshed in her running shoes causing her to wince at the trail of prints she left behind. Gods, the barkeep would probably want to throw her out for tracking in such a mess. That thought alone gave her pause while she scanned the mostly empty pub, her eyes finally finding the door for the gender neutral bathrooms in the back corner. Perfect. She could wring her hair out in the sink and try to get some of it out of her shirt, maybe her shorts, too, before she made herself at home on one of the barstools.

A few snickers followed her through the pub, her body weaving through the tables until she was safely locked in the bathroom and peeling her shirt from her body. It took three or four tries, but she managed to get enough water squeezed out that it wouldn’t be totally plastered to her torso. She followed suit with her shorts, thank the gods she had been out for a jog when the sky opted into a meltdown, and finally went to work on her ponytail.

“This is as good as it’s going to get,” she mused, adjusting her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. Aelin took a brief moment to swipe at the mascara that had gathered beneath her eyes. There had been times she looked worse. Now she just looked like a tourist that got caught in the rain. Which she kind of was.

Not that it mattered– Aelin knew a grand total of about ten people on a personal level in the city. The chances of her running into anyone that she really knew were slim, and if she did they would laugh with her about it. Even if she ran into some of the employees from her family’s charity that she didn’t know quite as well, it would just become another silly story of Aelin outside of work. Did she really need more of those on the roster? Not really, but she also didn’t take herself so seriously that she cared.

By the time she made her way back into the main room of the pub, a handful of others caught in the storm had stumbled in. It was nicer now that she was actually looking around. The lighting cast a warm glow over the worn furniture and walls, soccer jerseys and memorabilia covering every available inch. Behind the bar itself, shelves went to the ceiling boasting various types and flavors of alcohol. A neon sign hung in the center of it all that read The Neon Moon, blue light reflecting off all the bottles and glasses. It reminded her of her favorite bar in Orynth, the Staghorn, and she made a mental note to bring Lysandra here when she came to visit in a few weeks.

By the time she made it to the bar and slid into the seat, a stunningly handsome man with long black hair and bronze skin had appeared. A white dishrag lay over his shoulder as he came to a stop in front of her, bracing his forearms against the edge of the bar. A smirk tugged at his lips as he looked over at the door and then back to her, onyx eyes meeting hers. Aelin held up her hands in apology.

“I’m clearly not from around here, and had no idea that that,” she pointed toward the window, “was going to happen today.”

The man chuckled, “If it makes you feel any better, we barely know when it’s going to happen, either.”

Aelin was a simple woman: accents got to her. The Wendlyn accent was a lovely, lilting one, and she was already enjoying her time here immensely because of it. It made her swoon, even if the beautiful man before her wasn’t exactly her type.

“What can I get you to drink?” He asked, placing an empty glass between them as the bell above the door sounded at the arrival of another patron.

“Surprise me.”

“Make her a whiskey sour. And me one while you’re at it.” The voice came from behind her, and her stomach flipped at the sound. His accent was a little different, his tongue rolling through the r sounds, lips hugging every letter in between.

When Aelin looked over at the man sidling up to the bar, she almost wanted to get up and leave. To come back when she didn’t look like a drowned rat. He wasn’t as soaked to the bone as Aelin had been when she first ran in for safety, but his t-shirt was just wet enough to really show off his deliciously muscled chest. The short sleeves were bunched up just above his bicep, revealing golden brown skin and a tattoo that swirled elegantly all the way down to his fingertips. The same tattoo appeared to crawl up his neck, adding definition to his jaw that he didn’t need, but gods it really did him favors.

Unfortunately, his body had nothing on his face. From the sharp jaw and prominent cheekbones, to his perfectly straight nose and full lips. It was difficult to pinpoint the shade of his eyes with the pub being so dark, but she was certain they were green, maybe hazel. By the time she met his gaze, he was combing his fingers through his long, silver hair and working it up onto the top of his head similar to the style she had her own in. Gods damn him, but it looked way better on him than it had ever looked on her.

“Anything for you, captain,” the barkeep drawled, causing her new friend to roll his eyes as he slid onto the stool beside her. Out of her peripheral vision, she caught the dark-haired man giving a mock of a two finger salute before getting to work on their drinks.

“Connall’s surprises are usually accompanied by a vicious hangover the morning after,” the man said, leaning toward her like they were sharing a secret. “It would be a pity for that to happen to you.”

“Thank you for looking out for me, but I can usually hold my liquor pretty well.”

The man laughed, a deep rich sound that she felt in her bones. Maybe it was the lack of any romantic interest in her life for the past two years, or maybe every sound he made was really that perfect, but Aelin wanted to wrap his voice around her like a cocoon.

“So can I, but that last time we left our drinks wholly up to him, I couldn’t get out of bed for nearly thirty six hours unless it was to be sick.” Aelin’s nose wrinkled, incredibly thankful that someone had intervened on her behalf.

“I don’t have time to be bedridden for any number of days,” she conceded with a nod, looking over at the bartender– Connall. He sent a wink in her direction while he finished up their drinks, sliding hers a few inches down the counter until it was nestled in her hands.

“Nobody does,” the man beside her replied, tapping the lip of his glass against hers. “I’m Rowan, by the way.”

“Aelin.” He nodded, eyes tracing over her face before moving to one of the several televisions above the bar just as a soccer game between Orynth and the Red Desert. His eyes followed the happenings on the screen, never moving from the ball that was juggled from player to player. When one of the Staghorns made a goal, she didn’t miss how his hand clenched around the tumbler in his hand. “You really like soccer, huh?”

“Football,” he corrected, giving her a look from the corner of his eye, “But yes.”

“And who are you rooting for in this match?” Aelin brought her own glass to her lips and sipped through the two tiny straws. She was no novice to the game, in fact she had been raised around it. Aedion, her cousin, played the sport from the time he could walk until he tore his meniscus and ACL in one go his first year as a professional in the league.

Sports had never quite called to her the way the arts did. Growing up she had danced, and still did occasionally, played piano and guitar, even dabbled a bit with painting when she was in the mood for it. Fine arts didn’t hold her attention as much as the performing arts. She just wasn’t as skilled with a paintbrush as she was on a grand piano or with pointe shoes on her feet. As much as her father would have loved for her to chase a ball around a field, she just didn’t care to. The single year they’d tried to get her into a kids league she had spent her time practicing turns on the sidelines. After that, they’d given up on her potential soccer career and let her do what she loved most.

“My money says he wants Terrasen to lose,” Connall said, pointing at Rowan with squinty, accusatory eyes.

“As a Terrasonian, I take wild offense to that.” The irony made her want to smile, but she ducked her head down for another sip of her drink instead to stay aloof.

“It’s nothing personal, lass,” the bartender chuckled. “He’s got personal interest in the game is all.”

“And that involves hoping my home team loses?” Aelin’s brows rose and her hand fell over her heart as if she were wounded while she swiveled to look at the man beside her just as he stood and moved into the barstool directly next to hers. Their shoulders were nearly touching, warmth radiating off of his body. It might have been warm outside, but sitting indoors with air conditioning in damp clothes made her want to lean into him to steal his body heat.

“As he mentioned, it’s nothing personal,” Rowan told her, eyes drifting from the tv to her face as it cut to a commercial break.

“Besides, they won the world cup last year.”

“You watch the games?” Aelin snorted, occupying her mouth with her cocktail to choose her words carefully.

“Gods, no. But it’s hard to miss something like that when the entire city is in full on celebratory-party-mode for an entire month afterward. I do not get the hype of watching grown men perform cardio for several hours. I mean, that’s all it really is, right? Kicking a ball from one end of the field to another, dramatically collapsing when the opponent’s elbow hardly grazes a shoulder.” Aelin shrugged. All of it was true. Of course when it had been Aedion on the field, she had screamed until her lungs wanted to give out. But now that she didn’t have any personal ties to any players, it was so boring. The games lasted for hours and once Terrasen entered mid-November, it was entirely too cold outside to enjoy, anyway. Aelin had priorities, like keeping her fingers on her hands and not losing them to frostbite.

“It’s a bit more than that, don’t you think?” Rowan inquired, his–definitely green– eyes dipped down to her lips before coming back up to hers. A loose strand of hair fell from his bun to dangle over his cheek when he turned on his stool to face her completely. With one elbow he was leaning against the bar, his fingers loosely laced together in front of his stomach. His knee grazed along her upper thigh with the movement, and gods above she needed to get laid if something so small and insignificant was lighting fires in her blood.

“No.” She said it flatly, trying not to smile when he leaned forward to be just a little closer to her. Again, his eyes trailed over her body, all the way down her legs to her toes and back up again.

“You look like a dancer,” he said softly, head tilting slightly. “I want you to watch their feet. The way they can sprint up and down the field, juggling the ball from foot to foot without the slightest stumble. Watch the way that they spin around one another, the lines their body’s make when they pass the ball or shoot a goal. It’s a fast paced dance.”

Soccer had never sounded as sexy as it did when this man spoke about it. And sure enough, when the game was back on the screen she leaned forward and watched, looking for the things he’d said to her. More than once Rowan pointed things out to her, tilting his head so his lips were near her ear. Like he was telling her a secret that nobody else knew. Goosebumps erupted over her arms and legs and she didn’t think it had much to do with the chill of the room and her wet clothes.

By the time the next commercial break came around, she was ready to concede and agree. What the men on the field did was, in fact, a form of art. Not the kind that she loved, but she could see it still. The grace the men possessed, the way they looked like sculptures of ancient civilizations when their muscles flexed beneath their clothes. Just this once, she would admit defeat. Nothing would make her care that much about soccer, but she could appreciate the artistry they made with their bodies.

Rowan’s eyes had just met hers again, taking a brief vacation first to watch her lips part in anticipation of an answer, when something ice cold and wet hit her hands and then flooded from the bartop down onto her lap. Aelin shrieked in surprise, the cold shock of the ice against her skin jolting her off her seat and yanking a sharp, deep breath into her lungs.

“What the hell?” She all but shouted, immediately glaring at the friendly bartender she was becoming acquaintances with.

“Oh, shit,” he said loudly, throwing the towel from his shoulder on top of the puddle. Napkins appeared in Rowan’s hands as he pressed them into hers so she could press them to her lower abdomen. Instead of just watching, he bent down and began to press more against the rivets of water than ran down her legs. Connall, instead of cleaning up the mess he’d made, was watching the pair of them with a small smirk on his lips. If Aelin didn’t know any better, she would swore the bastard did it on purpose.

“She really didn’t need your help in the wet clothes department,” Rowan growled, standing to his full height and dropping the paper towels onto the wet counter.

“Perhaps she needs yours,” his friend fired back, and Aelin was positive her eyebrows had shot well into her hairline as he tossed Rowan a set of keys. “There are dry and clean clothes upstairs.”

“I’m going to kill you one of these days,” Rowan grumbled, his hand sliding into hers with ease as he led her around the back of the bar and through a door she hadn’t noticed before.

“You’ve been telling me that for years!” Connall shouted after them, but Rowan was already slamming the door shut and guiding her up the stairs. He paused on the top step, keys jingling as he worked the lock. Before she knew it the door was swinging open, Rowan tugging her up the last few steps. As soon as she was inside he closed the door and sidestepped several boxes to flip on the light.

It was a small room, clearly used primarily for storage. Boxes and crates were stacked in the first half of the room. From the look of it, most of them contained paperwork and several years worth of receipts. Two dark wooden doors were on the wall to her left, and what remained of the room was taken up by a queen-size daybed with a nightstand on each side. It didn’t look like anyone lived up here, more like it was used as a place to crash when they got too drunk to stumble home after closing.

Rowan was moving around the space with ease, going through the second door. Light from the setting sun illuminated it just enough that she could see it was a bathroom. He emerged moments later with a towel that he handed to her to really get her legs dry. By the time she was as dry as she could get while still wearing her clothes, he was walking out of the first door with a bundle of cloth in each hand.

“You’ll be swimming in these since they’re mine, but better my clothes than one of the other’s.”

Aelin took the shirt and pair of shorts from him looking from the door to the bathroom and back to the bed. After spending the entire summer surrounded by a schedule that gave her no wiggle room for fun or spontaneity, the choice was obvious. All summer long she had been working her ass off, and while she loved what she did and wouldn’t change a second of the time she had spent here, she needed a few hours of fun. If this was the only chance she was going to have for the rest of her stay in Wendlyn, she was going to let Rowan see what he would be missing if he played the role of the gentleman and waited patiently for her to change in the bathroom.

Maybe she was feeling reckless because she hadn’t had the chance to let the wildfire that fueled her soul burn. Maybe it was because she hadn’t had a single orgasm gifted to her by a man in two years. It was definitely Lysandra’s voice in the back of her mind, urging her to live a little and experience what Wendlyn had to offer. It had been said with a waggle of eyebrows and she knew she didn’t mean the sights or food. Lys meant the men, and she had one hell of one standing in front of her, his tongue wetting his bottom lip and eyes full of hunger. She may have been taking the advice that a little flirting never hurt anybody to an extreme, but she had the feeling that her best friend would approve. Whatever the reason, she found herself walking over toward the bed and laying the fresh set of clothes on the corner while she raised her arms to pull her hair free.

Long, golden strands tumbled down her back in messy waves, stopping at the curve of her lower back. When she turned to face him and boldly pulled her shirt over her head, Aelin was pretty sure she could hear him trying to swallow from across the room. As a beautiful young woman, she was used to being looked at with desire. But the way he was looking at her was different. Gone were the sparkling green eyes she’d seen downstairs. Now his pupils were so dilated that there was hardly any green left and his fingers twitched against his thighs.

“I think he did it on purpose,” she whispered conspiratorially. “He didn’t sound very sorry.”

“No,” he swallowed, “he didn’t.”

“Maybe he thinks you need to loosen up. And that I would be perfect for the job. Would you agree?” Aelin toed off her running shoes, peeled the socks from her feet. If the tension in the room hadn’t been so thick it could be cut with a knife, she probably would have winced at the slapping sound they made when they hit the floor. It didn’t seem to deter Rowan, though. He had only taken a step closer.

“Aye.” Just in that one syllable, his voice was deeper and far more gravely than it had been at any other point in the evening. Aelin shimmied out of her shorts, letting them slip down her legs and pool around her feet on the floor. Rowan was close enough for her to touch, so she did. Her fingers ran a straight line down his torso to the hem of his shirt.

“It’s your turn,” she whispered, fingertips grazing against his skin. He was quick to oblige her, grasping his collar at the nape of his neck and pulling his shirt off in one easy motion.

The audacity he had to stand in front of her looking like he was handcrafted by the gods themselves was going to kill her entirely. The tattoo that covered his left arm swirled over his chest and up his neck. Aelin wanted to follow those lines with her tongue, memorizing every dip and curve, every muscle along with the taste of his skin. That was a goal she would definitely achieve by the time they went their separate ways.

With a slight tremor to her hands, she brought her fingers to the zipper that held her sports bra to her body, but Rowan was quick to stop her. With hands that dwarfed her’s, he gently removed her fingers from the zipper and replaced them with his own.

“I want to do that.” So he did, slowly pulling it down until it fell open. Aelin shrugged it off, and before it even hit the ground his hands were on either side of her face, his lips pressed fully against hers in the hottest kiss she’d ever had. It was the kind of kiss that made you forget about everything. Where she was, who she was, who he was? None of it mattered anymore, not as his tongue swept into her mouth and claimed her as his.

It didn’t take him long to lift her by her thighs, Aelin’s legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, and carry her to the bed. Though she expected to be dropped, he lowered her carefully, crawling over her body until he was flush against her. They touched everywhere; their chests syncopating to the other’s breathing, one of his hands pinning both of her’s above her head. The fingers of his free hand grazed her inner thigh and she was spreading them wider for him, a sound coming from her throat that she would swear on anyone’s grave she’d never made before.

Despite the bar downstairs, he took his time, pulling not one, but two orgasms from her before he even got her panties off. Rowan made quick work with a condom he’d fumbled out of his wallet, ripping the foil with his teeth so he never had to stop touching her.

And then he was sinking into her, hitting places she thought were only a myth. Being substantially larger than anyone else she’d ever been with, than any of her toys even, Aelin was nearly overstimulated by how good everything felt. The ache between her legs soon dwindled to nothing but sheer pleasure as he took her, unraveling her until she had nothing left to give.

When he went over the edge, she followed him one final time, her thighs and hands shaking. It seemed like they were both trying to fuse their bodies together, Aelin pulling him into her while he chased his release as deep as he could possibly be inside her. After, he collapsed on top of her. Both were covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair spread out across her skin as he placed tired, sloppy kisses across her chest.

The next thing she knew, she was blinking bleary eyes and trying to make sense of where she was. At some point they had both fallen asleep, Rowan’s arm slung over her waist and his face pressed against her naked back. Soft light was beginning to creep through the window and she knew they had slept blissfully through the night.

Not wanting to wake the man behind her, she carefully slipped out of his arms, quietly tugging on her undergarments and then the fresh change of clothes he’d grabbed from the closet hours ago for her to wear. She skipped socks, pulling her shoes on and wadding her now dry clothes into a ball in her arms. As much as she hated to leave, she didn’t need to be one of those clingy one night stands, no matter how much she would like a repeat of the night.

As she was tiptoeing to the door, one of those old receipts caught her eye. A cup of pens was nestled in the box next to them and she took a short moment to scribble out a message before tucking it into the pocket of Rowan’s discarded jeans. He didn’t move or make a sound, his breathing still deep and peaceful. Long silver hair fanned out over his pillow, the hair tie he used around his wrist while he slept. The man truly was a work of art, she thought to herself as she slipped out the door.

Before it closed all the way, she took one last moment to get a tiny peek of his too-handsome face and that god-like body. Lysandra was going to absolutely die when Aelin told her about this one. She was pretty sure she had died at one point or another last night. Even now, her legs still shook from the force of all five orgasms he’d coaxed from her, his whispers of “Just one more for me, love,” branded into her mind forever. With any hope, she would see him again.

Their suspicions from last night about Connall not being at all sorry were confirmed when she stepped into the bar. He was already awake and tending to something on a computer, or perhaps he’d yet to get home after a night of running the bar during a game. A smirk spread across his lips as he took her in, eyes catching on the clothes she wore that were most certainly not hers, her golden hair that was surely a mess, and the healthy blush her cheeks sported. Nobody looked the way she did without having had the absolute best sex of their life. Connall winked.

“You so did it on purpose,” she whispered, not wanting her voice to carry up the stairs and wake Rowan. Instead of responding, Connall let her out the door.

“Terrasen won, by the way,” he told her, causing a laugh to bubble out of her as she stepped out into the early morning, a cool breeze kissing her skin that the rain had ushered in.

Yes, it most certainly seemed they had.

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