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“There’s a new High Lord of Autumn.”
Azriel looks up, releasing the buckles of his riding leathers. His black dragon, Umbra, tilts her head down towards her rider so he can brush the snow from between the scales on her neck.
“Eris Vanserra?”
Umbra rumbles in confirmation. “The new High Lord will be an improvement. The Autumn dragons have been less than satisfied with the leadership of the old one.”
“I suppose we’ll be flying there very soon, then,” Azriel tells her, going over the post-flight checks and inspecting the hard-to-see areas of his dragon, making sure there are no hidden injuries.
“Indeed.”
For the inauguration of the new High Lord of Autumn, Azriel would be afforded a rare opportunity to see the Autumn Court from the inside as courtier and emissary. It’s a rainy morning on the day of the festivities and they make the long flight with a protective charm over their clothing.
They arrive in Autumn, Rhys and Feyre and Azriel. The Night Court delegation is dressed in their finest black, accented with silver. The rain makes their dragons glimmer like they, too, have their scales limned with silver. Starlight on a sea of black scales.
He slides down Umbra’s back and lands lightly on his feet. The air in Autumn is colder than in Velaris, where it’s currently summer. Azriel has always felt unmoored in the unchanging climates of the seasonal courts. Something about the stasis would make him want to jump out of his skin.
They are welcomed by an Autumn Court official who guides them to the throne room of the Forest House. Inside it’s warm and bright and Azriel openly admires the interior now that he can actually see it. The old High Lord hadn’t taken kindly to outsiders and had effectively locked the Court down. The dragons had suffered significant losses because the High Lord in his paranoia had culled the Autumn flock significantly. Azriel only knows because he kept tabs with the help of his shadows, and they only offered him glimpses.
The Night Court hoped to establish a trade agreement in exchange for their assistance in repopulating. The Night Court was, after all, where the dragons had originally emerged from deep within the centre of Ramiel - or so the legends said. Whatever the truth of it was, the Night Court was exceptionally knowledgeable about dragon husbandry. No doubt they could use this to their advantage.
The new High Lord of Autumn is a fire wielder, like his father had been. There are nods to fire-wielding all throughout the Forest House, its interior and decorations. The Autumn Court had its own dragon lore, but the fire-wielding gene appeared consistently in their ancestry, to the point that one now could not claim to be High Lord of Autumn Court without fire powers.
It made them uniquely well-suited to the challenges of dragon riding.
Azriel clenches his scarred fists. He could have done with some fire power himself, but his shadow-wielding is of little use to quench dragonfire. Even a Fae’s regenerative abilities are no match for it. He should know
It seems fitting that the High Lord has a shock of fiery red hair, Azriel observes beside Rhys and Feyre, bowing politely when they introduce him. He makes small talk, remarks on the elegance of the Forest House - that earns him a brilliant smile that takes him by surprise.
Throughout the evening, he catches amber flashing at him from across the room. He suppresses a smirk whenever it happens. It’s flattering, but a dalliance with the High Lord would certainly be a challenge for the diplomatic relationship they were trying to build between their courts. So he just sips his wine and tucks this little delight safely away.
After the festivities, Azriel retires to the chambers that were arranged for him. He wakes up not long after, his heart pounding and sweating heavily.
He feels unbearably hot.
He throws off the covers, but it’s his skin that feels too tight and he is left feeling agitated.
It’s not just that he feels hot - he feels restless. His head is throbbing, adrenaline is rushing through his veins and triggers his fight or flight without any real threat. It takes a while to realize that he isn’t feeling the aftereffects of some shadow-ridden nightmare, but that he is experiencing the emotions from his dragon, through the bond that only a dragon and their rider can share.
And it isn’t danger he’s feeling - it’s lust. Pure, unadulterated lust. He’s burning up with a need that he doesn’t know how to fulfil. It is not he who is afflicted by this unquenchable thirst for touch - it is her.
He fists himself, but his scarred hand feels too rough on the sensitive skin of his cock. He burns, and aches, and there is little that relieves the fiery lust that takes hold of him. He casts out his mind to Umbra, but she’s too caught up to realize she left her end of their bond completely open.
He jumps up out of bed and only pulls on the bottoms of the fineries he stripped out of earlier that evening. Barefoot, he runs through the halls of the Forest House, barely managing to not slip on the shining floor boards as he rounds a corner. Blindly, he chases after the rough location of where he can feel Umbra, and bursts through a side door onto a wet lawn. The rain has stopped, but the soil squelches beneath his feet as he skids to a stop and takes in the scene of two dragons soaring through the sky.
One black. One red. His dragon. And Eris Vanserra’s.
They tumble, race up high before plummeting down, twirling around each other.
He attempts to catch his breath, hand on his chest, but he still feels breathless. Behind him, another figure steps onto the lawn. From the corner of his eye he sees a shock of red hair coming up beside him.
Waves and waves of lust cause his knees to buckle and he drops down, catching himself on his hands. The wet grass feels cool enough beneath his hands that he touches them to his neck in an attempt to cool down. With how hot he feels, he had half expect to hear the sizzle of evaporation but the only sound he can hear is the combined panting of himself and Eris Vanserra.
The High Lord of Autumn is wild-eyed, sweat beading on the bare skin of his chest - he too, has opted only for loose bottoms in his haste to discover the source of their intensifying desire.
“Fuck,” the fire-wielding Lord breathes as he stands, nearly doubled over, hands on his knees. “What the hell are they doing?”
Azriel sits back on his heels, his hands falling loosely to his lap as he helplessly takes in the scene of their dragons, locked in some kind of mating ritual. “I think… I think they’re coupling.”
Eris throws Azriel an incredulous look. “Do you feel that, too?”
Azriel winces as another wave of lust washes over him. Their dragons have now descended beyond view, but he can clearly hear their keening breeding calls echoing. “Yeah - yeah, I do.”
He shifts. His cock is uncomfortably hard and he surreptitiously fists the fabric at his hip on the side not facing Eris, hoping to relieve some of the pressure.
Eris nearly screams out his frustration, throwing his hands in his hair. Azriel tries not to look, but the High Lord’s loose bottoms leave very little to the imagination. Eris draws his hands down and his eyes flash towards Azriel’s. Az can’t recall noticing earlier how full his top lip is, how handsome the features of this Autumn fire-wielder. But he notices it now.
It seems to be enough for Azriel’s lust to sharpen and charge an unstoppable course. He watches Eris’ eyes darken, as if he too, feels the waves of lust finding purchase in him.
With a muttered “Fuck it,” the High Lord launches himself at Azriel.
His shadows fly out in all directions when they crash together. His whole body sings at every of Eris’ feverish touches and overwhelms every single one of his senses.
Eris smells of apples and spices.
He can’t help himself, acts on pure impulse and instinct and sinks his teeth down in that delicious neck, ripping a moan from that delicious throat. He tastes of salt and a metallic tang, though he might have just drawn blood. He doesn’t care. All he wants is to taste more, to ravage this man straddling him.
He licks a stripe up his neck, bites at that sharp jaw and presses his mouth against Eris’. Both their lips part and when their tongues meet, it’s absolutely electric. He tastes of mulled wine. All at once, it both quenches his thirst and makes him even more ravenous. He had no idea that he could feel anything so intensely.
Their bottoms are easily discarded and their naked bodies press together in the wet grass, muttering each other’s names and singing each other’s praises. In this moment, all that exists is the raw desire and the exquisite pleasure of giving in to it.
Azriel wakes up groggy, sore and grumpy in the High Lord’s suite. The body beside him, breathing deeply and evenly, is warm and… very tempting. But with one look at the bite marks marring the freckled skin, Azriel flushes and decides that he’s had more than enough temptation. He gathers the shadows that have scattered and manages to find the way back to his own rooms.
It’s only about half an hour after dawn, but he’s fairly sure he won’t catch any more sleep. Besides, he wants to make sure that Umbra is alright. He gets dressed in his riding leathers, neatly packs away the rest of his things and heads out, calling for Umbra.
They meet on the fields.
“You’re up early, shadow-wielder.”
Azriel shrugs. “It seems you had fun last night.”
“I am extatic.”
He sighs. “You left your end of the bond wide open, did you know that? Your emotions were heightened, to say the least, and it was hard for me to suffer them.”
Umbra blinks at him. “I apologize. I got caught up in the moment.”
Azriel nods. “We have some time to kill. Do you want to explore the terrain from the sky?”
Umbra shakes her body, her scales making a rattling sound. “Whatever you want, Azriel. I imagine Phaestus wouldn’t mind accompanying us.”
“Phaestus?”
“The fireling’s dragon.”
“The one you spent last night with?”
“One and the same.”
Azriel shrugs. “I’m alright with it, but please don’t do anything to throw me off, alright? You made some insane manoeuvres last night.”
Umbra shrieks with delight. Disturbingly, it sounds a lot like a laugh.
Azriel takes a running start to jump up on her back. They take off, and turn over the Forest House to the eastern lands. They climb high enough that Azriel can see the sea in the distance. They bank, and Eris’ red dragon, Phaestus, appears from the left. They descend into a steady glide and their wings just brush each other, for just a moment. Azriel catches the affectionate gesture and smiles.
“Looks like you two really hit it off. You chose well, Umbra. As far as dragons go, Phaestus is a magnificent specimen.”
“Thank you, shadow-wielder,” Phaestus replies.
Azriel nearly slips off Umbra’s back.
Eris wakes up alone, and feels a small pang of disappointment. While Azriel wasn’t exactly ideal in terms of a lover, he certainly hadn’t disappointed and he wouldn’t have mind exploring more of what those shadows could do in the early hours of the morning. Oh well.
He squints against the morning sun’s rays, and reaches out for Phaestus.
“Where are you?”
“With the shadow-wielder and Umbra. We’ll head over your way.”
A minute later, Eris spots them on the horizon. When they land, Azriel looks somewhat dismayed. Eris steels himself. He’d hoped this encounter wouldn’t be unpleasant, but he can only conclude that Azriel is not at all pleased with the events of last night. That’s alright. They’d go their separate ways soon.
“Actually, I think we’ll see them again very soon,” Phaestus speaks in his mind.
Eris frowns, utterly confused. What? Why?
“Good morning, fireling,” he hears a female voice speak in his mind.
“It’s a pleasure to meet my mate’s rider.”