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clockwork-ashes · 3 months ago

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Bright Flames, Dark Shadows

Summary: When Eris is injured during what was supposed to be a very simple mission, Azriel knows how to make it better (one-shot). Read below, or on Ao3 :)

Note: I was looking for something else on my computer and I found FICS!!! thank you for reading <3

Azriel had been working with Eris for months. He’d trusted the spoiled prince to get them safely out of harm’s way, and to take them to a secure location. He’d been expecting Eris to winnow them to his personal home, but as they materialized in the unfamiliar space, Azriel realized it was the first time he was seeing the other male’s room. With a small growl, Eris let go of Azriel’s leathers, shoving past him but not touching his wings. Eris barely lifted a finger, the stunning, stone fireplace to his right roaring to life along with the bronze sconces that lined the walls.

All of Eris’s cottage was elegant, the furniture in it made of expensive carved mahogany that matched the gleaming hardwood floors and sideboards, everything organized, orderly, and tasteful. Eris’s bedroom was much the same. Two comfortable-looking cushioned chairs were placed near the fireplace, a low table between them was covered in multiple neat piles of thick books. His bed was huge, pushed up against the opposite wall, big enough for multiple people to lie in it. The carved pattern on the dresser, mirror, and nightstands was intricate — beautiful. Not knowing what to do with himself, Azriel merely stood where Eris had left him — right in the middle of the bedroom.

Azriel took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, livid that they’d been caught by surprise but the anger not showing on his face. Some of Azriel’s shadows skittered around him, the rest trailed after Eris as he stumbled to the dresser, knocking into it with his knees so that it hit the wall with an ugly thud. Azriel watched as Eris leaned toward the mirror, wincing as Eris wiped at his mouth with the dark brown sleeve of his well-tailored jacket.

“What the fuck?” Blood nearly the same colour of Eris’s hair dripped from his nose, leaking down his face, staining the collar of the offwhite shirt that peaked out of Eris’s jacket. Eris tugged open the dresser’s top drawer, all his shirts neatly folded inside, taking one out and holding it up against his face. He turned to face Azriel, his newly cut hair in disarray as he gestured wildly in Azriel’s direction, “Some fucking spymaster.” His voice was muffled by the shirt, but it did nothing to hide his angry tone, “I thought those shadows were useful.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. For the most part, Eris had been treating Azriel’s shadows like he treated his hounds: with an unexpected softness. The shadows liked brushing up against Eris’s hands as he wrote, or curling up over his shoulders as he read. Azriel had apologized the first few times it had happened, but Eris had assured him that he didn’t mind. He didn’t like the way Eris was talking about them now, though. “They are useful.”

“They are not.”

“They were distracted,” Azriel snapped, defending them.

Eris moved the shirt away from his face, the bleeding seemed to have slowed. He snorted, the sound watery, “By what?” He turned back to the mirror.

Azriel was moments away from retorting “by you,” but he stopped himself. There must have been a reason his shadows monitored the Autumn Court heir’s every move. Azriel assumed it was because they didn’t trust Eris Vanserra, and he didn’t want to offend one of the Night Court’s most important allies by telling him as much.

“Give me that pitcher,” Eris demanded.

Azriel would have ignored him had he not felt slightly responsible for Eris’s current state. It wasn’t that Eris hadn’t been a decent enough fighter, but they both hadn’t been expecting an ambush, and as the more experienced one, Azriel should have kept an eye on him. Azriel handed Eris the pitcher that had been sitting on the nightstand, watching as water sloshed over the edges and onto the dresser as Eris shoved a clean part of the shirt into it before he brought the wet fabric to his face.

Eris leaned closer to the mirror, nearly knocking over the pitcher, and made a funny noise deep in his throat before he spoke. “Cauldron fucking boil me,” he bemoaned, one of his fingers gingerly touching the tip of his nose. “I think it’s crooked.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. His nose looked fine, perfect, even. “It is not.”

Azriel was debating whether or not to sit in one of the chairs when Eris turned an accusatory gaze in his direction, “I blame you for this complete and utter disaster.”

Azriel blamed himself too. That night was supposed to be nothing more than a routine lookout. If he’d known that Koschei was going to send others after them, he wouldn’t have taken Eris with him in the first place. Azriel would have thought about what it might have meant that he’d wanted to take Eris with him, but Azriel was too focused on the way his shadows seemed to be trying to warn Eris that he’d probably end up making his injuries a lot worse if he didn’t calm down.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Azriel suggested, his voice smooth.

Eris paid him no mind, scrubbing a little too aggressively at the blood on his face. Most of it had come off, and his nose had finally stopped bleeding. “Don’t tell me what to do,” Eris muttered, wiping at some of the blood on his neck.

Azriel regretted that Eris had gotten hit in the face with the pommel of a sword, not really knowing why. He’d spent years fantasizing about doing the very same thing, but spending so much time with Eris had Azriel — and he could barely believe it — liking him. “Vanserra, get on the bed,” Eris straightened, raising his brows, “Let me have a look.”

“First Cassian, now you. I don’t like being ordered around by overgrown bats.” Despite the statement, Eris made his way to the bed, leaning up against the headboard, boot clad feet on the dark red covers.

Azriel sat down, sinking into the obviously very expensive mattress. He put out a hand, wiggling his fingers.

Eris passed him the shirt with a scowl. “Like you’d know how to fix a broken nose. You’re not a fucking healer.”

Azriel had been spending too much time with the spoiled prince and his nearly infinite amount of patience seemed to be at its end. “Would you just let me look,” he snapped.

Eris was still scowling as Azriel tipped his head back just a bit, cradling Eris’s jaw in one hand, taking in every feature of his face. He was beautiful in an undeniable sort of way, and now that he’d cut his hair, Azriel thought he looked even better.

Azriel gently wiped at any remaining blood that stained the other male’s skin. Through the thin fabric of the shirt, Azriel could feel the sharp planes of Eris’s face and was reminded of the first time he’d ever seen the Autumn Court prince. He’d thought Eris was classically beautiful in a way that reminded Azriel of broken shards of stained glass. Lovely, yet dangerous.

Azriel put the ruined shirt on the bed, using the hand that wasn’t holding Eris’s chin to move some of the hair that had fallen over Eris’s brow. His nose wasn’t bleeding anymore, a small cut underneath his eye was already starting to heal, and the bruise on his jaw seemed to be fading. His nose definitely wasn’t crooked, but Azriel ran the tip of his scarred finger along the sloped bridge of it just to make sure.

Azriel hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten to Eris. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he murmured.

He watched as Eris’s eyes fluttered, “I heard the crunch,” he breathed.

Azriel didn’t know what came over him, in the moment he thought it might have been madness. Eris was one of his oldest enemies, he was cruel, and ruthless, and he deserved only the worst. That was what he’d believed for centuries. He didn’t know what might have possessed him to press his lips to the mean line of Eris’s mouth, but he knew that it felt… right. Eris parted his lips in a shocked gasp, golden flames bright in his wide eyes.

Azriel was completely out of his mind. He’d never, not once in his entire life, done something without thinking it through. The panic seized him quite suddenly, his wings flaring just a bit as he made to move back, to move away. Azriel was more than just a little surprised when Eris lifted his hand, threading his slender fingers into the dark hair at the base of Azriel’s scalp, pulling him closer in another kiss.

Azriel kissed Eris harder this time, grabbing the other male’s face in both hands, thumbs sliding against sharp cheekbones, lips moving with the force of weeks’ worth of wanting. Eris’s bottom lip was caught between Azriel’s teeth, his other hand coming up to fist in Azriel’s leathers. Weeks upon weeks of working with Eris, talking to him, trusting him. A helpless sound escaped Eris’s lips when Azriel slowly moved his hands so that his thumbs traced the shape of the smooth, pale, column of Eris’s throat. Azriel had more than a million things to do, but as he opened his mouth, Eris’s tongue pushing against his in a savage claiming, Azriel leaned into him, all those things forgotten.

Azriel wanted to move so that he was right between Eris’s thighs, to press the other male into the bed, to watch a prince of Autumn come undone. Their kisses were messy, urgent, desperate. Eris pulled him closer, and Azriel thought he could drown in the feel of him, the taste of him. The taste of crackling embers, of rich cognac, of Autumn mornings.

Azriel’s hands slid down to Eris’s chest, undoing the golden buttons of his jacket, pulling it wide. Eris tugged on the roots of Azriel’s hair in a way that nearly had him forgetting his own name. Azriel couldn’t deny that he was drawn to Eris like a moth was drawn to a flame, he just hoped he didn’t get burned. The tips of Azriel’s fingers found the laces of Eris’s bloodied, ruined shirt. He wanted the shirt to come off, he’d never wanted anything more.

Never in his wildest dreams did Azriel think he’d want, need, Eris Vanserra. A prince born into the most savage of courts, born of blood, and ash, and fire.

Azriel was playing with fire.

Azriel didn’t like fire.

With only half a thought, Azriel roughly shoved Eris away from him.

Eris had red embers dancing in the deep amber of his eyes, his cheeks were flushed and his lips slightly swollen. They were staring at each other, no one speaking for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds in the room their ragged breaths and the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

Eris ran a hand through his hair, flashing Azriel the pale skin of his wrist as the sleeve lifted. “Well,” Eris started, “That was unexpected.” He huffed a breathless, awkward laugh. Azriel guessed that it might have also been unwelcome.

“That was…” Azriel paused. He didn’t know what to say. That was nice? That was entirely unplanned? That was something they should do again? He couldn’t read the expression on Eris’s face and his shadows weren’t being very helpful. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

Azriel knew he’d chipped away at Eris all these weeks. They’d gotten past Azriel’s one-word answers and Eris’s cruel remarks. They’d researched, and spied, and fought together. They talked to one another, trusted one another, but as soon as Azriel finished his sentence, he thought that perhaps he’d taken any progress they’d made and thrown it into roaring flames.

Watching Eris flip from open and vulnerable to cold and aloof, was like watching the last rays of sun disappear over the horizon — blink and you’d miss it. Eris nodded once, his eyes cold, lifting his chin just a bit. Eris’s voice as he spoke was smooth, arrogant, not a hint of the warmth Azriel had gotten used to. “Usually, males and females alike wait until the morning after to say something along those lines.”

Azriel stiffened, well aware that he’d managed to hurt Eris. He didn’t know what to say to make this whole thing better, but was saved from having to speak when the door to Eris’s bedroom slammed against the wall as it flew open.

“I think I’ve found those—” Eris’s younger brother faltered, stopping suddenly, almost as if he’d hit some sort of ward.

Azriel nearly tripped over himself as he abruptly stood, him and Eris weren’t even that close to each other anymore but he felt like he desperately needed the space. Shadows frantically swirled around his feet, some skittering towards the Vanserra by the door. They hadn’t warned him for the second time that night of someone else’s presence, and Azriel was starting to think they were playing some sort of cruel joke on him.

Azriel had spoken to Rufus many times in their combined efforts to stop Koschei, and the young male almost always had something to say. Rendering him speechless wasn’t something that Azriel would have thought possible, but there he was, multiple ancient looking scrolls in his arms, his jaw slack as his russet eyes looked between the Autumn Court’s Heir and the Night Court’s Spymaster.

Azriel was certain that alarm was evident all over the features of his usually blank face, his shadows dancing around him as he waited for someone else to speak.

Rufus angled his head, amusement glittering in his all-too clever eyes. He looked very much like Lucien as he drawled, “Am I interrupting something?”

Eris’s sharp response nearly had Azriel flinching. “No.”

Rufus smiled, elegant auburn brows raised as he adjusted the scrolls in his arms, “I have many questions.”

Eris’s smile in return was more of a bare of teeth, “And you will ask none of them.”

“I’ll ask them later,” he didn’t even look in Azriel’s direction as he threw himself onto one of the cushioned chairs by the fire. “I got those maps you asked for.”

Azriel had forgotten that they’d asked Rufus to look for some older maps of the continent. Eris had been sure that they would be able to find some in the library of the Forest House, and Rufus had been the one who offered to look for them.

“Are you going to look over these with us, Shadowsinger, or are you going to stay by the foot of Eris’s bed the whole night?”

Rufus spoke to Azriel, but Eris answered for him. “Azriel was just leaving.”

Azriel turned his head sharply to face Eris. He was still leaning against the headboard of his bed, his hair messier than Azriel had ever seen it, his mouth set in a way that suggested he wasn’t very pleased.

“Eris…” Azriel made to take a step towards him.

The Autumn prince just waved a hand dismissively, “Have a goodnight.”

Azriel barely heard him, the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He couldn’t help but feel as though leaving Eris’s cottage might be an even bigger mistake than the kiss. Azriel nodded once at Eris, deciding he’d winnow straight to the House of Wind as shadows swarmed him; he wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone right now. Eris’s flame bright eyes was the last thing Azriel saw as he was engulfed in darkness.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #eris vanserra #azris #eris x azriel #i found so much writing from around the time of prince of ashes LOL #it’s like i found a memory chest in my basement i’m so happy about it #ashes writes sometimes

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