#must have slept in a fucked up position cuz my body is in so much pain

[maraariana01]

took a nap cuz i was tired, feeling even worse now girl help

[bastardsonofday]

You Ain’t Getting Over Him

Prequel to Best Kind of Friends

title from new rules by dua lipa

no editing we die like mne

rhycien smut

ao3     best kind of friends    ko-fi    commisions

“Never do that again.”

“You don’t own me!” Lucien snarled at Tamlin.

Tam clutched at the desk he’s leaning on. “As long as you’re my Emissary, you’ll do as I say!”

“Fuck you, Tam.”

“You slept with the enemy!”

“Technically, we never slept.”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear that!”

“What is your fucking problem? You’ve never cared about who I had sex with before!”

“Because your partners weren’t Rhysand.” Lucien opened his mouth to argue, but Tamlin continued yelling. “He killed my father, Lucien!”

“You killed his sister and mother!”

“Really missing the point, Lucien. He’s the enemy. Sleep with his Court. Sleep with his people. Sleep with his significant other. Sleep with the rest of the fucking Country! I don’t care, just. Not. Him. Please, Lucien. Just not Rhysand.”

Tamlin looked like he was on the verge of tears. There were dents in the oak table from Tamlin’s hands. Lucien guessed he had to be glad that he grateful that was all Tamlin’s hands were crushing. Lucien sighed, relenting. “Fine, Tamlin. Fine.” He said softly. “I won’t see Rhysand anymore. Fine.”

Tamlin didn’t even say ‘thank you’.

It had been forty-nine years, and no Rhysand. None, whatsoever. Until Calanmai, when Rhysand had mysteriously appeared. When Lucien had seen him, Rhys pulled him behind a tree. When Rhys usually pulled Lucien behind a tree something of the scandalous nature generally happened, but not now. Now, Rhys looked concerned. He spoke in a low voice and quickly. It took Lucien a minute for his brain to catch-up. Then, Lucien realized what Rhys was saying. Feyre had been out here. She was out of her room. Lucien’s eyes widened, and before he could get a word in edgewise, Rhys winnowed away—leaving Lucien standing in the woods alone.

Lucien woke up when he heard the doors close with a click. Lucien opened his eyes but didn’t move. He listened to the person’s footsteps as they got closer and closer. It could be very many people. Probably not Amarantha, he couldn’t hear her heels but could hear boots. Not Tamlin. Tamlin was way heavier than this guy. Could it be some other High Lord or…?

“Hello little Lucien.” Lucien got a noseful of mint.

Lucien sat up, and turned around. His back was raw and scarring, but the pain was mostly gone. Movement was slightly irritating, especially because of his shirt rubbing against his wounds, but not outwardly painful. “Rhys.”

Rhysand leaned against the door to the cell, his hands in his pockets. His hair ruffled despite not seeing wind in months, and a sparkle in his dim violet eyes. The smirk on his lips was evil. It shouldn’t have made Lucien’s stomach twist, but it did.

No. Lucien told himself, like he did every time Rhys came to him like this. No. No. No. You can’t do this. You’re betraying Tamlin.

And yet, he always did it anyway.

Not this time.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Checking up on you.” Rhys said. Lucien must have scoffed, because Rhys got defensive in that suave way he did. “Why? Do Booty Call Rules mean I can’t check up on my favorite-well, booty?”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “You suck.”

“I do indeed do that.” Rhys said, his voice low. Lucien didn’t like the fact that they were both wearing clothes still.

No, Lucien. Bad Lucien. Stop that.

“So I hear.” Lucien said, his voice devoid of humor. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he did—and Rhys frowned. Right words, wrong tone. This wasn’t how their game was played.

“What’s up?” Rhys walked over to Lucien and sat next to him. “Rather cuddle?” He asked with a wiggling eyebrow.

No. Say no, Lucien. No. No no no no no- “Honestly?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Honestly.”

“I’d rather do much more than cuddle.”

Rhys grinned and leaned in, his hand crawled onto Lucien’s leg. No, Lucien. No no no NOO NO NO NO NO BAD-

Before Lucien could object Rhys stumbled back, as if he had been pushed. Rhys’ eyes were wide. “Okay, woah. You don’t need to shout...” Rhys said, but he didn’t seem upset.

Shou-? Oh. Oops.

“Rhys, wait-” Lucien said. He stood to grab Rhys’ hand and stopped. Don’t do this. The little voice in his head told him. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.

“You hate me. Don’t you?” Rhys whispered.

“What-? No-!”

“Lucien, why are you suddenly so against sleeping with me? It’s not-Tamlin isn’t hurting you, is he?”

“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous.” Now was not the time for that. “Rhys, I just-Tamlin says-”

“‘Tamlin says’? Is that it?” Rhys scoffed. He crossed his arms, and leaned back against the wall.

“He’s my friend, Rhys-”

“He’s an asshole.”

“And my High Lord.” Lucien said. Rhys clenched his jaw. “Rhysand. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Tamlin’s always objected, what’s different now?”

Lucien swallowed thickly. “We haven’t been together for a long time.”

“Unfortunately, I am aware of that fact.” Rhys said with a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

“Rhys, Tam and I are friends.”

“Unfortunately, I am also aware of that fact.” Only bitterness.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

“Why? Because I’m the enemy? ‘Cuz I’m the Big Bad High Lord of Night? Because I’m evil?”

“Because it’s not fair to Tamlin, and it’s not fair to me.”

Rhys’ eyebrows drew together with a frown. “What’s not fair to you?”

Lucien scowled at Rhys. “Don’t care about Tamlin?”

“Why should I? He’s not my friend.”

“And I am?” Water brimmed at Lucien’s eyes. They were just fuck-buddies. Why was Rhysand fighting this? Why did he care?

“Yeah, Lucien.” Rhys sighed. He looked disappointment. “I thought I was your friend too. You know, since we’re the only people in this entire country who recognize that this entire thing is fucking bullshit and we’re all wearing masks.” Rhys sighed. “Maybe we have been apart too long, you’re letting Tamlin rot your mind, Vanserra.”

Last name territory, uh-oh. “Rhys, it’s not like that!”

“Isn’t it?” Rhys turned to walk out.

“Rhys, stop.”

“You don’t want to fuck or talk, then I’m leaving.” Rhys said.

“Rhys-”

“Don’t do that. Don’t ‘Rhys’ me.”

“He’s my High Lord! What am I supposed to do?”

“What we’ve been doing for the past few decades? Despite him knowing?”

Lucien’s back itched. He looked at the ground. That little voice in his head continued to wail and warn: Don’t do it. You’ll regret it. Please Lucien, you’ll never be able to stop fucking him unless you stop yourself from touching him in the first place. Lucien really hated that little voice in his head. Mostly, because he knew it was right. Even if he didn’t like what it said.

Rhys shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. Lucien’s belly twisted and his body shivered. “I guess we’re over then, Lucien.”

“Rhys-”

“Are we over or not?” Rhys asked.

“Rhys, it’s not that simple.”

“It’s a yes or no question, Lucien. I think it is that simple.”

Don’t do it, Lucien. Don’t do it.

“No.”

Clearly that was not the answer Rhys had expected. “What?”

“No.” Lucien repeated. He took a few strides right up to Rhysand, pushed him up against the wall and kissed him. Hard. Rhys grinned against his lips. Lucien pulled back, dropped down from his toes (it bugged him that Rhys was taller than he was—made a great many things inconvenient, even if it was a small height difference).

Rhys blew hair out of his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Lucien’s neck and pushed him up against the wall, and Lucien screamed. “Stop!” Rhys froze, eyes wide. What just happened? What did he do?

Lucien wasn’t leaning on the wall. His eyes were wide and his pupil was dilated, but he shook too. His shaky hands brushed strands of hair from his face. His lips and skin seemed paler than normal.

“Hey? You okay?” Rhysand asked. He bent down and brought Lucien into an upright position. Lucien trembled in his arms. “What-What just happened? Did you change your mind?”

Lucien gulped, taking in a deep breath as he did. “I-I’m okay. Just-That-That hurt.” He mumbled, blushing. The remnants of pain stung the endings of his limbs—his fingers tingled. He shrugged Rhysand off.

“What hurt?”

“Don’t-No pressing me against anything. My back it-it isn’t healed yet.” Lucien mumbled.

“She didn’t let you heal?” Rhys asked softly.

“It’s fine, Rhys. Really, it’s-”

“Turn around.”

“Rhysand-”

“Turn around.” Rhys ordered. Lucien rolled his eyes, but did as he was told (for once in his life). Lucien turned, and pulled off his shirt in a swift gesture—showcasing his back to Rhys’ scrutiny.

“Can I touch?” Rhys asked gently.

Lucien nodded.

Slowly, Rhys touched a finger to the puckered red half-scabs on his back. Most had already turned into scars, but some weren’t at that stage yet. Lucien gasped. He ground his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Oh! Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s fine. Just… your hands are cold and the skin is still… sensitive.” Lucien mumbled.

Rhys grinned, and even though Lucien couldn’t see it since Rhys was behind him, Lucien could feel it on his neck. It made him flush. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?” Rhys purred. He pressed his lips to the first scar. Magic flowed from him… an anesthetic. Lucien gasped, eyes wide, and clenched his fists together. He pulled himself away from Rhysand and turned around.

“You-You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.”

“I’m still the enemy, Rhys.”

Rhys put his hand on Lucien’s forearm and the other went to Lucien’s face. Rhys brushed away a stray hair, his other hand stroking the forearm comfortingly. Slowly, Rhys leaned down to kiss Lucien. Lucien didn’t pull away.

The kiss was like sparks. It glittered in Lucien’s mouth, and warmth spread over his body. The warmth, he knew, had nothing to do with the his magic. The kiss was languid and sweet. Soft, like the ones he used to share with Jes or Andras—not like the ones he and Rhys usually gave each other. Those kisses were always hard and wanting and so very hot. Danger tinged every movement they made together, for fear they’d be caught or worse. But this… this was sweet. That was what made Lucien blush. It shouldn’t have been that way, but it was.

Rhysand pulled back and grinned at him annoyingly. “You’re turning red.” He said, his eyes glittering in a way that could have been misconstrued as malicious. “That’s cute.”

“The day I turn red for you, Rhysand, will be the day I kiss your ass.”

“Oh? So you want to kiss my ass tonight? Is that what you want?”

“Fuck you.”

“You always do.”

Lucien burst into laughs from their foreplay as Rhys kissed him again. Dangerous and hot? Yes. But always full of laughs and sly grins. If you couldn’t laugh with your lover, then really, what good was being silly during sex? What good was playing these games? To get Rhys to break, that was always Lucien’s goal (and visa versa). It was what made this cruel, stupid world better; to be able to laugh.

Rhys’ hands slowly traveled to Lucien’s back, curling around it and pulling Lucien closer to Rhys. Lucien’s hands were already on his shirt, and Rhys was grinning as Lucien struggled to pull it over his head. With every touch of Rhys’ hands, a small stinging sensation entered Lucien and then vanished and was replaced with nothing. Not even numb—painkiller would have been simpler magic to work, but Rhys was never one to half-ass something-well, he would half-ass something just not this particularly thing.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.” Lucien whispered between kisses.

“But I want to.” Rhysand responded, breathing Lucien in with every word.

Lucien pulled back from Rhysand before he began to travel down Rhys’ neck and chest to his lower target area.  “And apparently, what the High Lord wants. The High Lord gets.” Tamlin be damned. Just one more time.

He lowered himself further, kissing his way down Rhys’ chest until Lucien was on his knees in front of Rhys. He bit hickeys around his partner’s pants as he undid their clasps. The pants fell to the ground, and Rhys kicked them off, forgotten in the side of the room. Rhys stumbled when Lucien pulled down his underwear too, and soon Rhys had fallen on the ground. Graceful when horny? Rhys was not.

Lucien snorted, and let Rhys sit back up, naked on the ground. “What?” Rhys asked, pinking slightly.

“Aw, Rhys. You’re turning red.” Lucien said, repeating his own words to him. Lucien pressed a quick kiss to his inner thigh. “That’s cute.”

“The day I turn red for you, Lucien Vanserra, is the day you pound me into the ground of your cell.”

“Oh?” Lucien raised an eyebrow as he began to kiss Rhys’ pelvis, making his way over to more sensitive areas. “You want me to pound you? Is that what you want?”

Rhysand chuckled and let out a moan as Lucien licked his hard dick. He quivered in anticipation. “Fuck me,” he breathed.

“My pleasure.”

Lucien began to suck Rhysand off. The process was slow, as Lucien worked him up. Lucien’s hands lay beneath Rhys’s ass, to both stabilize Lucien and to begin to work Rhysand open. Lucien used what was left of his magic to warm his hands, slowly massaging Rhysand’s ass to relax his muscles. Lucien continued to blow and Rhys began to make quite obscene moans. Rhys clenched his hands, putting them over his head and looking down so he could watch what Lucien was doing. Every time Lucien would take his mouth from Rhys’ head Rhys would whimper, and Lucien would take a breath and then go to the base of Rhys’ penis and lick and kiss his way back up.

The massaging of Rhys’ ass continued, slowly spreading warmth through his cheeks. The heat made Rhys grow pinker. Seeing Rhys’ face—flush and staring at him, mouth open, pupils blown—made Lucien chuckle as he sucked Rhys off. The vibration from his laugh rubbed against Rhys’ dick, and Rhys cried out a “Fuck! Lucien! Fuck!” and whip his head back, thrusting his hips forward further into Lucien’s throat. Lucien took the thrusts, and when Rhys regained control of his hips. Lucien deepthroated him, sending him back into a flurry of “fucks!” and “Lucien!” and “Luci-! Fuckin-!” and a great many other obscene exclamations.

Rhysand came into Lucien’s mouth without holding out very long (relative to their other excursions). Lucien assumed it was because it had been so long for them, and Rhys just didn’t have the stamina anymore. Lucien swallowed until Rhys was done and then sat back on his heels and wiped at his mouth.

Rhys pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he rode out his orgasm. Finally, his breathing slowed and his sighs and moans became silent. Rhys sat up, and saw his partner hard though his pants. “Well that just won’t do.” Rhys said.

On shaky legs he climbed over slowly, and helped Lucien pull off his own bottoms, releasing his very hard and (as Rhys put it) in-need-of-attention dick. Lucien leaned against a wall, surprised when his back hit it and he experienced no pain. Rhysand had done as he said he would do, he healed Lucien. And even though Lucien was extremely horny and turn on, he couldn’t help but interrupt the mood as Rhys lowered himself to Lucien’s pelvis.

“What do I owe you?” It was a dangerous question, Lucien knew. But better ask now, while the High Lord of Night was crazed with his orgasm than later when Rhys would come to collect in full control of his facilities.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, and evil smirk falling on his lips. “Besides a couple orgasms, I’m sure we can think of something.” Rhys lowered his mouth onto Lucien’s penis and Lucien gasped. His hands clenched in Rhys’ silky midnight tresses. For a moment, Lucien wasn’t Lucien, just a mess of hormones and pleasure.

And then that damned little voice was back. “I meant for my back.” Lucien said when he could form words again.

Rhysand frowned and pulled himself off of Lucien’s dick. He slowly pressed kisses down the shaft and placed hickeys on his thighs. “Nothing.” He said finally.

“W-What?” The stammer was more because of the sex than the surprise of Rhys’ answer.

“Nothing.”

“Yo-You never do a-anything for free.” Lucien whispered as Rhys began to massage Lucien’s balls in his left hand and draw lazy circles on Lucien’s hip with his right.

“I do when it suits me to. If I traded healing for sex with you, it wouldn’t really be consensual, would it? But since I would like to ride you against hard surfaces, your back will have to be healed. Thus is life. Thus is sex.”

“Thus is shut up and get your mouth back on my dick.”

“Eloquent, Lucien. I can totally tell why you were chosen as emissary with that sharp wit of yours.”

“Sharp tongue too, as you well know.” Lucien snapped back. Rhys nipped at his inner thigh and Lucien let out a moan. Pre-cum began to pearl at his head.

Rhys chuckled and licked the pre-cum up before enclosing his mouth around the whole of Lucien’s head. He pumped with his hands and sucked. Lucien’s hips thrusted involuntarily into Rhys’ mouth, and Rhys sped up his pace to match Lucien. Rhys scooted Lucien’s hips forward slightly, and slipped one finger up to Lucien’s ass. He massaged the muscles on Lucien’s rim while he sucked Lucien’s penis. Lucien moaned and panted, his hair knotted and sweaty from the sex. Rhys grinned around Lucien’s cock. He scraped Lucien’s dick lightly with his teeth before plunging his finger into Lucien’s asshole, making Lucien scream and cum at the same time.

Rhys swallowed the semen dutifully, curling and extending his finger in Lucien’s ass. The sensations that washed over Lucien made him see stars. When Rhys hit Lucien’s G-Spot another rush of pleasure, prickly and perfect, would rush over Lucien in another wave. The orgasm lasted longer than Lucien’s had in a long time, and when it was finished Lucien couldn’t see or hear or smell—only feel as every touch felt electrified and made him shiver and writhe. When the orgasm finally faded away, Lucien slowly blinked his eyes open to Rhys leaning over him, pressing gentle kisses to his body while Lucien rode it out, his finger still pumping in Lucien’s ass.

Lucien let himself come down from his high, and he kissed Rhys back with their usual hardness and spark—tongues intertwining, teeth nipping at lips, hot and wet and open. Rhys continued to work Lucien, hitting Lucien’s G-Spot and watching him arch backwards into the wall and let out a strangled and raspy moan. He wasn’t hard again yet, but since Lucien was from Autumn both knew that his Littler Lucien would be back at full attention in no time. Now, it was the more difficult challenge of getting Rhysand’s member back to hard.

Lucien shifted closer to Rhysand so their legs were intertwined, but so that Rhys could continue fingering him. They kissed as they moved together. Lucien kissed a line down Rhys’ jaw, nipping at the skin there. His hands wandered around Rhys’ body, slowly making their way over to his back and then down to his ass.

Rhys grinned and pulled back enough to speak. “Well, aren’t you eager?”

“Weren’t you the one who asked to be pounded? I’m just getting you ready.” Lucien reminded him as he leaned down to lick Rhys’ rock hard nipples.

Rhys laughed breathlessly. “As I remember it,” he gasped, “you said you wanted to kiss my ass first. I don’t see any ass-kissing.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “And you won’t see it when I’ll do it either. But you’ll certainly feel it.”

Lucien shifted Rhys into his lap suddenly, Rhys’ hand falling from Lucien’s ass. Lucien fingered Rhys’ own asshole gently teasing it open. “And I thought I was the only whore Under the Mountain.” Rhys muttered.

Lucien kissed Rhys again, swallowing any moans Rhys’ elicited. Lucien pulled back, saliva connecting their mouth in strings. Rhys gulped thickly. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his pupils were blown so wide Lucien couldn’t even see their iconic violet irises anymore. “You know what they call me: the Slut of Spring.” Lucien replied and he bit down onto Rhys’ shoulder and Rhys cried out. Gently, Lucien stroked Rhys’ penis, nudging it into a state of half-hardness.

There’s no lube here. Lucien told Rhys gently. Rhys’ eyes flickered closed and his breaths came slowly but heavily. Remember the rules?

Red light, green light. Rhys mumbled back. Sometimes for him it was easier, they had found, to speak mind-to-mind when he was in this state. Lucien didn’t particularly love opening his mind-walls but consent, they both agreed, was more important.

Talk to me, Rhysand… Lucien whispered in his mind. He continued to stroke Rhys, pumping him slightly harder and faster. Rhys’ breathing rose in speed, matching Lucien’s pace. He swayed, absorbed in the pleasure and stimulation.

Green light. He said back.

Are you sure?

Just fuck me already. Or, must I insult you one more time?

Lucien chuckled against Rhys’ collarbone. Completely dry, he plunged a finger into Rhys’ asshole, beginning to work him open. “Who’s the whore now?” Lucien teased.

Rhys opened an eye lazily. “Promises, promises.” He hummed. “Last I checked you still weren’t kissing my ass.”

“So needy.” Lucien tsked. Lucien flipped Rhysand, pushing his belly onto the dirty floor of Lucien’s cell. Lucien pushed another finger inside of Rhysand and Rhys cried out, dragging his nails against the hard dirt floor.

Green light.

Lucien fucked Rhys with his fingers, curling his long digits and uncurling them in Rhys’ prostate, making him wither and moan. He jerked his ass back against Lucien’s fingers, and back against the floor. Lucien leaned down and kissed Rhys’ cheek. Happy? Lucien asked to a response of groans and growls.

Lucien chuckled and traveled a hand to Rhys’ bellyside and stroked his completely hard dick. Now, both Lucien and Rhys were erect. Perfect, just a little more opening Rhys’ ass and then they were set to go. The thought of entering Rhys made Lucien’s cock twitched in anticipation. Lucien leaned down and nipped at one of Rhys’ cheeks to distract from Lucien pushing yet a third dry finger into Rhys’ ass. Rhys whimpered in a way that made Lucien want to fuck him even more. The coiling in Lucien’s belly warm and wet. Rhys was already quivering and writhing on the floor, almost gone and Lucien hadn’t even entered him—they were definitely out of practice, usually it took twice the stimulation so far for Rhys to orgasm like he had fifteen minutes ago.

When Rhys’ hole was puckered and stretched open enough, Lucien positioning himself, still stroking Rhysand gently with one hand, and withdrew the other gently. He let Rhys catch his breath while he began to wet his penis. Wetness had begun to form at the tip of Rhys’ head, and Lucien swiped at what was there. He licked his other hand (the one which had been recently burrowed in Rhys’ ass) to gather some moisture. With the two he wet his dick slightly, sliding his hands up and down the shaft as a sort-of natural lube. When he thought he was ready he warned Rhys gently, pressing a kiss to the back of Rhys’ sweat-stricken neck. Then, while Lucien was whispering soft words into his ear (and Rhys was responding rather obscenely in his mind with vigor), Lucien pushed his dick into Rhys’ ass. Rhys screamed at the contact, begging for more in Lucien’s mind.

Rhys babbled both out-loud and in Lucien’s mind. Mixtures of “more” and “Fox boy, my fox boy” and “fuck harder please fuck”.

“More, harder, more, more more, Cauldron Lucien, Cauldron-!”

“N-Not so bad yourself.” Lucien grunted out as he pounded into Rhys’ ass much like he’d promised. His pace was fast and hard, slamming into Rhys roughly. Lucien wrapped a hand around Rhys’ penis, rubbing him out as fast as he pounded into the his lover. Rhys let out a scream as he came not long after Lucien had entered him—beelining for his G-Spot. His semen spurted against the floor and his belly and chest, also covering Lucien’s hand. Lucien let go of Rhys’ penis once his release hit, his own eyes flickering closed as he continued to pound into Rhys.

Rhys’ orgasm rippled through him. His body tensed and released sporadically, sparing Lucien’s dick no rest as his ass clenched and relaxed around it—effectively pumping Lucien’s cock itself. Lucien shuddered, and followed Rhys with his own orgasm after hearing the sounds coming from Rhys’ own pleasure. Lucien came with a hoarse cry, and his fingers dragged down Rhys’ back, leaving behind scrapes.

Once Lucien could coherently think again (though his body still felt like jelly), Lucien slipped out of Rhysand’s ass. He fell to the floor, leaning his head against the ground. He blinked his eyes closed exhausted from his orgasms. So maybe Rhys wasn’t the only one whose stamina needed to be rebuilt up. Rhys scooted over to him, ignoring the mess he dragged with him. Rhys settled with his shoulder in the cranny between Lucien’s neck and chest. Rhys snaked his arms around Lucien and Lucien, whose limbs were still too heavy to move, let himself become intertwined with Rhys. Together they closed their eyes, still panting, and fell into a light and pleasureful haze sleep.

Lucien awoke to the gentle circles being rubbed into his hip. He blinked his good eye open lazily, watching as Rhys drew invisible designs over his torso. Rhys’ eyes flicked up to his and Rhys grinned. He pressed a long languid kiss to Lucien’s lips. He pushed his tongue, and they kissed lazily, hands roaming not for the purpose of turning one another on, but simply to feel the heat of the other under their hands.

Aftercare for them had always been at this slow and cat-like pace—filled with stolen kisses and warm touches like the one they shared now. Lucien opened both of his eyes and pulled back from the kiss wistfully, as if he didn’t want to go. Rhys pressed a kiss to his hairline, and Lucien slowly sat up, regaining some strength in his jelly-like limbs. He glanced down at Rhys, still dirty from rolling around on the ground of the cell and covered in dried semen.

Rhys looked down, seeing what he was. “Oh. That.” Rhys said. He waved a hand flippantly, and the dirt and excess sex disappeared from both of them. Lucien bet that the scratches he’d made down Rhys’ back had already healed too. Besides for the fact that they were both naked and cuddling, Lucien was sure a passerby wouldn’t even be able to tell they’d had sex. Rhysand was good at clean-up magic like this, when aftercare wasn’t available for the two of them.

Lucien settled back in Rhys’ arms. Rhys was so warm, his body curved and muscled. So nice to touch, if Lucien had to be honest. He was broader than Lucien was but that wasn’t hard, Lucien had relatively narrow shoulders. Lucien liked to run his fingers over Rhys’ torso… just feeling. His skin was so smooth and clean—he liked to manscape, Lucien knew. Though Lucien was surprised that he could keep up the regime Under the Mountain—then he remembered that Rhys’ job down here was to have sex, so he guessed Amarantha liked a clean male. That was something Lucien had never needed to know.

Amarantha… what a mood killer.

Lucien’s eyes widened and he bolted from his spot, springing up to his feet. His body suddenly no longer felt heavy or weak. Feyre.

He had to get to her. She was hurt. He’d meant to get to her as soon as he could stand and wasn’t in danger of infection (since he hadn’t been allowed bandages to keep sickness out)-the pain from his back had been so dibilitating he hadn’t be able to leave. But now, since Rhys had healed his back-

“Hey, what’s on fire?” Rhys purred from his spot on the floor.

“Fuck off, Rhys.” That bastard. Lucien had to go. Where the fuck were his pants? Lucien scanned the room frantically for his discarded clothes.

Rhys frowned. “Don’t be a bitch. What’s wrong?” He raised an eyebrow and stood. Lucien found his pants and turned them back from inside out as Rhys pressed a teasing kiss to his neck. Lucien waved him off impaintently. “Talk to me.”

“I have to go.”

“I thought I was the one to always up and leave after sex.”

“Feyre-I have to get to Feyre-”

“Oh no need to do that.” Rhys said. He pushed himself from Lucien, pouting because of Lucien’s insistence to stop playing their little game. He yawned tiredly. “I’ve taken care of it.”

The only words that ran through Lucien’s head were: Tamlin was right.

Tamlin had been right. Completely right. Rhys was the enemy, and Lucien always thought with his dick.

“You did… what?” He breathed, frozen in horror.

Rhys scowled. “I healed her. She’s fine. What’s up your butt? Well,” he smirked, “besides me-”

Lucien grabbed him by his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. “What? You healed her? What deal did you trick her into making?”

Rhys’ eyebrows parted slightly. His mask of playful indifference fell back into place. The mask he and Lucien used to share. That had been what had pulled them towards one another in the first place, what still turned them on about one another to this day. Even now, the proximity of Lucien to him made something tickle in his lower belly, despite that Lucien was clearly not in a playing mood. He was furious, and not in the fun way.

“Did I make a deal with you?”

Lucien flinched, horrified. “You didn’t… have sex with her-?”

“What? No!”

Lucien’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he still seemed furious. “You’re such an ass, Rhys. What did you promise her? What did you make her do?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in.” Rhys grumbled. This Lucien was no fun at all. Rhys suddenly became very interested in his nails. “Just one week out of one month of the rest her life.”

“What?”

“She seemed very happy to give it to me. Especially after I explained that you wouldn’t be coming to save her this time-”

Lucien punched Rhys so fast that Rhys didn’t see it coming. There was a sickening crunch. Rhys cried out, grabbing his nose. Lucien was shoved to the other side of the room by invisible hands and when he tried to throw himself back at Rhys (not with the goal of sex) the hands kept him back. Rhys touched his nose gently, and when he pulled back he tasted the blood which dribbled into his mouth and colored his hand.

“You utter bastard. You broke my nose!”

“I’ll break more than that, you ass!” Lucien growled. Rhys ran a finger the length of his nose. It fixed itself and he wiped at his nose, to take away any excess blood. Lucien tried to throw himself at Rhys again, but the hands still held him back. They tightened around him, squeezing him in bad ways.

“Usually I wouldn’t hold this encounter against you, Fox Boy.” Rhys said as he sashayed across the room. Slowly picking up his clothes in a way that showcased his body. Lucien tried once more to break from the hands that held him back, but he cried out as they constricted around him.

Rhysand pulled up his pants and threw his shirt over his shoulder lazily. “But,” he continued from his latest statement, “I can’t ignore the fact that you broke my nose after some damn good and damn needed, if I do say so myself, sex. However, I made this choice before you did either that, but your actions only confirm my decision.”

Lucien tried to insult him, but the hands had found their way up to his mouth and gagged it. Lucien still grumbled and made noises of opposition, not to mention what he was shouting at Rhys through his head, but Rhys wasn’t looking for his thoughts and since Lucien wasn’t a daemati they didn’t travel farther than his own mind. “This will be the last time we will, probably, ever have sex. As much as I’d love to continue our little affair, I can’t.”

The gags around Lucien’s mouth shattered and Lucien snarled at Rhys (who seemed quite surprised that Lucien had enough magic power to brake through his gag-bonds): “You’ll be back. Begging too, you piece of shit. You fucktard-”

Rhys interrupted him, but Lucien continued to insult Rhys while Rhys spoke. “I’ve found my Mate, Little Lucien. I highly doubt I’ll be back.” He sighed unhappily as he saw the state the two of them were in. “I wish we would end this relationship on a happier note, Foxy, but unfortunately, I guess it just won’t be that way.” He walked towards the door, and waved to Lucien.

“Thanks, Lucien. It was good for me too.” He said. The minute Rhysand flounced from the room and the door closed behind him, the magic restraining Lucien disappeared and Lucien fell to the ground.

The fact that Rhys had mentioned the mating bond flew over Lucien’s head, as he continued to seethe that Rhys had manipulated Feyre into making a deal with him. That motherfucker. That Lucien wasn’t there to stop her. It hadn’t been worth it, Lucien decided. He’d doomed her. This was all his fault, and his penis’. He curled up against the door, tears leaking from his eyes. Tamlin had been right. Tamlin had been so right.

And yet, Lucien still yearned for Rhys in a way he hadn’t in years before now. It had been a mistake to sleep with him. Lucien had regressed. He missed another’s skin against his. He missed Rhysand’s quick and practiced tongue. Lucien would have to start over. It would take him forever to get over Rhys now. Though it was definitely easier with the hate in his heart, but his body still begged for more, wanted more.

Rhys would come back. Lucien wasn’t the only one of their couple to need the other. Feyre… He’d betrayed not just Tamlin, but Feyre too. She had been whimpering in her cell, worrying over the pact she’d made while Lucien sexed up the male who’d backed her into the corner in the first place. Lucien’s guilt felt heavier when he realized he’d had more or less the same magics preformed on him, and Rhys had asked for nothing in return.

Lucien was a horrible friend. Feyre should hate him.

No more. Never again. Lucien couldn’t get over Rhys if he kept going back to him. He would never let someone wait that long again. He would never put anyone in the situation Feyre had been in. Tamlin had been right, Rhysand was the enemy and one did not sleep with the enemy.

Tagging:

@rhysanoodle @highladyofherondale @rhysands-highlady @rhyciensmut

[heauxlycoitus]

“A man created the first camera in order to capture the beauty and essence of the woman and the female form. I’m just going back to the original intent of the camera.”

~Ferdinand the Photographer~

I think one of the main struggles I have in releasing my sexual goddess is overcoming the idea that my body isn’t wrong. It’s not a barrier. Nor is it a stumbling block. It’s actually art. I am art. And I wanted–craved–the opportunity for my body to be seen from the eye of an artist. I remember walking through the Louvre Museum in Paris almost 2 years ago and thinking that I could be them if my body wasn’t wrong. There were countless statues and paintings of women and they were beautiful. I was just wrong. But deep down, I had hope that maybe the way I saw my body was wrong and not my body itself. I wanted to be incorrect about my body thesis, but didn’t know how to adjust it or throw it away altogether. I wanted to see something different. I knew I had to see it to believe it to change it this time. I needed empirical evidence in order to change my mind about the body I tow around. Someone needed to help me on this journey and help free me of my inner shame and virgin trauma.

So I was minding my own business and decided to start swiping. I usually swipe right on the white ones, most of the Black ones, all the pilots. This one caught my eye cuz he just looked hella regular, but also like he had an inner spice to him. Something about the button-up, tucked in shirt with brown belt made me think that there was more to him than met my eye. Totally like the trash-ass book 50 Shades of Grey. I liked it and I was intrigued. I make my best and worst life decisions when intrigued.

Ding! He immediately writes back. What a change. He was friendly with several exclamation points, exuding a non-asshole temperament, shared that he’s not interested or looking for a relationship, but he’s an erotic nude photographer and would like to take photos of me.

Me: Well, why the hell not!

We meet in his hotel. Because of the Coronavirus, we had to register me at the hotel. I was worried they wouldn’t let me in! Front Desk guy asks what I’m here for and my Tinder Photographer says, “Oh, she’s only going to be here for one or two hours.”

OMG! The whole front desk thinks I’m a prostitute! How embarrassing. I just stare back in my “Well, what he said” face cuz I’m working on not needing to prove my self or ethic to folks that don’t matter.

We go up to the ninth floor. I wonder about what kind of small talk to make in an elevator when you’re about to be very naked in less than 5 minutes. I guess the weather is a suitable topic.

Cloudy.

As soon as I walk in, I scan for sketch things like cameras, odd odors, drugs, copious amounts of alcohol, blood stains. I’d really rather this not be my last day on earth. Also, my first nude photo shoot left me traumatized, but that’ll be saved for another blog entry.

Ferdinand rushes in and starts moving furniture frantically and with intention. I’m standing there for 2.5 seconds like, “Oh. I guess this is when I take my clothes off…” As he scoots around and checks lighting and makes his plan for the photo shoot, I disrobe and unleash my floppy boobs. When I uncupped my breasts, I thought he would quit what he was doing and lick his lips or something. He didn’t. I slowly took off my undershorts and thought maybe this would be the time for him to be annoying and borderline gross–make a gesture or remark of my pubic hair or use his spidey-sense or fingers to check my wetness. Ferdinand never stares at me like I’m a piece of meat ready to be demolished. I was butt ass naked but still shrouded in my dignity somehow.

As discussed before, all photos were to be taken on my iPhone 7. I didn’t really know how good the photos would be cuz I’m 3 generations behind and only know how to do regular shit on my phone. I hand it over and he starts snapping. I could hear the dull tapping that a phone makes when someone presses the screen to take a photo. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and I thought they were just regular pictures. I really really hope this isn’t going to be a waste of my time. Cuz I mean, I am a bit obsessed with nude photography and have high standards for this art form. But also, maybe he’ll do suck photos and then ask for a fuck later as a thank you. I was prepared for suck pictures, a fuck, and a lip-lick throughout as icing on the cake.

A bit lost at first, I just stand there. I don’t do well exposed or dancing. I need specific instructions. The whole free idea really stresses me out cuz it’s just too many choices and I get overwhelmed. He gives no instructions at first. In my head I’m like, “Lemme just put my forearm on the window ledge and look contemplative at the clouds.” I saw that on Pinterest once and it looked nice. That was my first pose before Ferdinand started giving me directions.

Sit here. Stand. One leg up. Cross your leg. Lean back. Lean forward on your knee. Let’s move this chair. Oh the natural lighting is going away. Face the window. Hands up. Arch your back. Open your legs wider.

Spread your lips.

More.

We took photos next to the window. Sitting on the ottoman. On the floor. In the corner. In the bathtub. Shower. Legs up. Legs out. Breasts covered. Breasts hanging. Clit peeking out.

It was intense. We take a break and he shows me the pictures and I almost burst into tears. I’m not wrong. I’m art. I look like I was made on purpose. By design. Not a single centimeter out of order. My breasts and thighs and hips, buttocks and back chub and belly pudge and knees and ankles and neckline, arm crease and wrists and fingernails made sense. My pubic hair framed my lips which framed my clit. How had I not seen this before?

Speechless. I made myself speechless.

We make a plan for the rest of our time together. He asked about what other poses and focus areas. I tell him that when I get nervous I do this stupid grin that I hate and it ruins photos. I look for the stupid grin and ask him to do those ones again. I want more of my nipples and areolas. My collarbone cuz it’s my favorite. More next to the brown hallway cuz I think it’s a nice contrast to my skin tone. He wants to try a tiny complimentary hotel red and yellow apple next to my clitoris.

In the middle of Part 2, he gets a phone call from the front desk. He sounds patient answering their questions. I stretch my back with my fingers gracing the floor. I hear that same dull tapping as he snaps a few photos. The lighting is great. Those were a couple of my favorite shots. That’s when I started to get aroused. I couldn’t help myself. My cheeks were getting rosy and my clitoris started to swell. I felt seen like a masterpiece in Madrid.

He gets off the phone and tells me to stay in that position–back arched, toes and fingers touching opposite floor ends. A lazy rainbow assisted by an ottoman if you will. He says he wants to take pictures of my mons pubis. OH LORD JESUS IS THIS BIOLOGY CLASS??!!! What in the world is a..then he inches closer to my v-line and I’m like, “Ooohhhh, well why did he just say the front hair part!” I totally forgot that it had a name. He knew the name. Other men I’ve slept with don’t even know the names of female anatomy–calling lips my vagina and shit. Ferdinand knew the woman’s body intimately without fucking me all because he had studied many and observed them through so many lenses over the years. I get more aroused.

He then says we need to do some pictures that exude **he pauses and thinks** pleasure. By now, I’m trying not to be breathless. I’m ovulating so I’m pretty moist already. It doesn’t take much. He places me near the bed lamp and says to touch myself.

Masturbate with an audience of one. Got it.

I slip my fingers between my lips and lost my breath. He took pictures of my circular motions as I played with my lips and clitoris. After him naming the scientific name of the “front hairy part” and him not licking his lips when I disrobed and him studying my body to grab her essence from the pit of virginal shame, they were begging for attention and finally got some. I reached a pretty deep breath and a low moan. He says I can go ahead and finish if I wanted and then just walks away giving me privacy to be with myself and my feminine energy.

I wasn’t ready to go deeper with my audience of one. Next time, absolutely. That was the one time I actually got scared. What if I go there and can’t get back? What if I like having an orgasm in front of an audience and I can’t replicate that experience ever again and then can’t orgasn ever again? What if this is when he goes ape-shit crazy? I wasn’t ready to be post-orgasm vulnerable. I knew I would want to be cuddled or to ride the wave of the cum. But we had more work to do. So I pulled myself back and my body was deeply sad. She was ready, but I was not.

I didn’t orgasm that time but I could have. Next time. Maybe when I have the iPhone 8 I’ll cum and he can get it on camera. After getting close to an orgasm, I sauntered into a few more poses–a little high off my own libido and ready to finish strong.

He asks if I want anything else. He’d taken almost 350 photos. I’m satisfied. He’s satisfied. I tell him I need to charge my phone for about 30 minutes.

I have so many questions. Like, how and why nude photography? Why women? Must the nude photography be done with a model that the photographer is sexually attracted to? Does the photographer’s sexual orientation and preference matter when choosing gender of the model?

He wants to hear my story. Where I am in my journey. Maybe he cares. Maybe he doesn’t. Perhaps that Spanish politeness coming through? I share anyway. Speaking and having him listen intently was like salve to a purity culture wound. He offered no advice or sage wisdom or encouragement. Just an occasional nod of attentiveness and full, deep eye contact where he saw my essence. And I let him. I gave him the heaviness of my vulnerability and he held it safely for me.

As I charged my phone, we talked. I kept waiting for him to lean over and let me infer that it was coital payment time now. I braced myself for the beckon and it never came. I wasn’t brave enough to ask if he felt the sexual tension at any time during the photo shoot. I sure did. But if we would have fucked, it would have ruined the sacred space of me and him together making art. It would have brought down the innocence and raw eroticism down to dirt level and left me shrugging my shoulders and figuring out when I could fuck my next one.

As my battery revived itself, I was still nude. But somehow, I wasn’t butt-ass naked. I’ll have to ponder the difference between the two in a later blog, but they are truly not the same. The whole time I sat on the couch, my hands gracing my thighs, breasts displayed, and body finally resting, his eyes never left mine. He could very well have stared at my exposed areolas or the haired triangle–my mons pubis–and imagined himself between my legs like every other guy, but he had the dignity, the audacity, and the reverence of the woman and feminine energy to not. I felt that and it almost made me weep again and get to an even deeper level of healing for my wounded soul. He had literally seen and snapped shots of my sacred spaces, gotten mere inches to be counted on 1 hand not 2 away from my treasures. I extended trust to him and he offered strong, safe hands to hold my vulnerability and sacred woundings. Time stood still and I inched my way further down my path towards healing and art and beauty and voice and honor and dignity and grace.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever meet Ferdinand again. I would love to take more pictures with him. I mean, I messaged him and did my best to beg and plead for another chance. I even said that I would shave if he brought his good camera. And y’all THAT is true dedication cuz me and my leg and pussy hair are real close.

Not fucking made me sit and be completely. Be all the things. I couldn’t run and hide behind fucking and flipping from position to position almost robotically. I didn’t fake an orgasm. I didn’t wonder why the guy didn’t care that I hadn’t cum. I brought my whole self in a way that I hadn’t in other sexual encounters. This photo shoot was somehow deper and more intimate than sex and I will wonder how and why it was like that for years to come.

That day, I learned, I need nothing else to be beauty. Nothing more to be art. Just me and my body.

Just me and my art.

Thanks Ferdinand. I’m glad I swiped right on you.