Chapter Text
Stunning moodboard made by ater-love
The man beneath Azriel (Mick? Mickey? Nicky? Fuck.) was hot, that much he knew. Azriel studied his golden-blonde curls glistening with sweat as he pounded into his ass. The man’s hands were curled into fists on either side of his head as he moaned beneath him with each thrust. Azriel had one hand clamped to the back of the man’s neck and the other braced on his hip as he fucked him.
But he struggled to concentrate, as he so often did these days while buried in someone or other. The two beers and four Old Fashioneds he had consumed at Rita’s were not helping. He grit his teeth and tried to focus on the pleasure of pounding into this very attractive man beneath him, slowing down his thrusts to measured sliding and grinding. Mickey (?) moaned beneath him, and Azriel assumed it was working, so continued his slow, deliberate pace.
As he did, he became distracted by the way the light illuminated a spiderweb in the corner of the room and lost his rhythm. Fuck. He mentally slapped himself in the face and reached around the man’s torso to grip his cock. Possibly Nicky bucked and groaned beneath him as Azriel started working him with his hand in tandem with his thrusts into his ass. Maybe bringing Mick to the edge would get him there, too.
“Faster,” the man breathed, and Azriel obliged, picking up the pace as sweat slid down his temples. Fuck, it was hot in here. He could finally feel himself unraveling though, so he leaned into the speed and chaos, pounding with his dick and jerking with his hand until he felt shudders before him, a moan gracing his ears, and then warm cum spilling over his fingers. That’ll do it. His own body responded in kind and he was suddenly coming, spilling into Mickey or Mick or Nicky (oh god, was it Mike?) with a relieved groan.
They both stilled and panted for a few moments before Azriel slid out of him, dismounting him and rolling over. He slid off his condom and threw it into the trash before reaching down for a discarded shirt, cleaning his hand off and dropping it to the floor again.
The man rolled over as well, his beautiful muscles glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. God damn, he really was hot. Greek god vibes. If only Azriel could remember his fucking name.
“Damn,” the man panted, pushing his curls out of his eyes. Azriel grinned arrogantly–he knew he was good at fucking. Even with the six drinks. Even with the distraction that he couldn't shake lately.
“Do you, uh…” the man began, looking around. Fuck, here came the awkward part. “Do you want me to…stay…or?”
Azriel met Greek God’s eyes. How had they gotten here? Surely they hadn't taken his bike, he wasn't that irresponsible. Had they walked all the way? Called a car? He had a fuzzy memory of being dropped off in a black–oh, fuck. Had Cassian dropped them off? Jesus, this was getting more embarrassing by the minute.
Azriel cleared his throat. He still hadn't answered. Mystery man swung upwards, reading the silence. “I'll get out of your hair,” he rushed out. Azriel sat up and watched as the man gathered up his clothes from around the room and began tugging them back on. Guilt crept up his spine. He should ask someone to stay one of these days. But, honestly, people tended to sound more relieved than anything else when he didn't. He knew a part of everyone he fucked was frightened of him. He couldn't control the hint of danger others felt around him, even at his most respectful. So it was probably best this way.
Once dressed, Mickey/Mick/Nicky/Mike slid his wallet out of his pocket and extracted a business card, leaving it on a side table. “Call me, if you want,” he said awkwardly, before pocketing his wallet once more.
Azriel cleared his throat, his elbows rested on his knees. “Do you have a way to get home?” he asked.
The man waved an unconcerned hand. “I'll walk back to the bar. I like the fresh air.”
That was probably a forty-five minute walk, but Azriel didn't say anything.
“Well, bye Azriel,” he said at the threshold of the bedroom. “Thanks for…have a good night.”
Azriel grimaced internally. Of course the Greek god remembered his name. He hazarded the most confident guess he could.
“Night, Mickey.”
The man’s brows bunched momentarily, but then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.
Azriel sighed and rose, making his way to the bathroom to clean up. He paused by the side table and lifted the card he knew he would never use.
Fuck. The dude’s name was Jason.
Azriel collapsed onto his bed thirty minutes later after having showered, brushed his teeth, and changed his sheets. He may be a piece of shit, but he was a neat piece of shit, and didn't like the idea of sleeping in Mickey-Jason’s cum.
Fuck, he hated himself. Why did he have to be such a goddamn asshole? That was a perfectly nice, very fucking good-looking man who Azriel was sure he would never see again. Especially not after he got his name wrong.
He had been so off his game for the last couple of months. His pattern was the same as it had always been: see a beautiful stranger at the bar, eye fuck them until they approached him, bring them home to his condo, pound the fuck out of them and send them on their way. But he normally wasn't so goddamn removed. Distracted. He sometimes even texted them for a round two another night.
But not since her. Since that one spring night months ago, when he had seen her at Rita’s and thought she was the most beautiful human he had ever encountered. With her dark brown eyes that sparkled like galaxies and her honey-brown hair that hung in whimsical curls over her breasts. Those godforsaken freckles and that little gold hoop in her nose. Fuck, she had been like nothing he had ever seen.
Elaine.
He hadn't been able to remember another person’s name since then. Since he had prowled up to her at the bar, asking if he could buy her a drink. Since they had moved on the dance floor together, her short but curvy frame sucking him in like a fucking black hole. Since he had brought her back to this very room, and had laid her down and fucked her. But no–that wasn't really right. First she had fucked his fingers with her mouth, slowly and sensually, until he was begging her to stop before he came. And then she was grinding on him, both of them still clothed, soaking his thigh through her tights as she rode him. And then she had opened her legs for him and he had feasted on her perfect cunt until she was screaming as he thrusted his fingers inside her while his lips sucked on her clit. And then she had climbed atop him, both of their clothes finally shed, and had fucked herself on his cock hard and fast, until he was moaning as he came inside her.
And he hadn’t fucking given her his number. He had been so absolutely stunned by her, her face and the way she moved and her soft voice and huge eyes and ethereal spirit and god the way she had fucked him, that he hadn’t even remembered to give her his goddamn number.
So now he went to Rita’s every weekend night, and waited for her. When she didn’t show up by bar close, he found a stranger to take home and fuck. Man, woman, nonbinary person, Azriel didn’t care. He just liked to get behind someone and sink his cock into them.
But she never came back, and he never got her out of his head. Maybe she had been a visiting tourist. Maybe he would never see her again, and would just continue to fuck strangers and forget their names and faces instantly. And the worst part, besides never seeing her again, was that the sex wasn’t even satisfying anymore. He got to come, sure, but it was always disappointing when it wasn’t inside of her. Elaine. He got more satisfaction coming into his hand remembering how she felt around him and the noises she made, the noises she had coaxed from him, than from sinking his cock into a stranger.
It was fucked up, really. Azriel was a busy person. A focused person. His career was on the rise at the firm and he worked nearly twelve hours a day, his eyes blurry by the time he mounted his bike as the sun was going down. He already lost sleep due to his demanding work as finance director, not to mention his bullshit dreams (nightmares) that woke him up half his nights. He couldn’t afford to also lose sleep and focus over a woman he had met and fucked one time, no matter how perfect she had been.
So Azriel lay in bed and resolved to stop spending his weekend nights at Rita’s waiting for her. If it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t meant to be. Anyway, what did he expect to get from seeing her again? More unbelievable fucking? A relationship, for god’s sake? His stomach twisted at the prospect. Under no circumstance would she want him when she actually got to know him, so what was he even doing pining after her? He didn’t know how to be in a fucking relationship. He was absolutely broken in that regard, and he expected to never be fixed.
Tomorrow he would wake up, sweat out the hangover in the gym, and go about his day not thinking about mystery-woman Elaine. He made that promise to himself as he closed his eyes, drifting into another fitful, disturbed night of semi-sleep.
Elain hummed to herself as she arranged bottles on the shelves of her shop. She was organizing tinctures she had made from her garden on the rooftop of her building, which housed her living quarters and beneath it her little shop.
It was mostly a space for her to make her living fortune-telling by reading tarot cards and palms, but she also enjoyed making and selling tinctures for all kinds of remedies. Non-magic folk liked to believe they were buying organic “natural” remedies for their ailments, and would probably never accept that magic ran through each of her recipes.
Elain didn't make a lot of money, but she had inherited some after her parents’ death, and the building was passed on to her from her father, so she had meager needs for money. She didn't really need things like health insurance when she had magic to aid her healing.
Elain enjoyed her simple, quiet life in the Rainbow district of Velaris. She did what she loved, tending to her garden and using her powers to help guide people who came to see her. She had few friends and even fewer lovers (especially since her failed engagement), which did not usually bother her.
Only recently, she had had a night with a stranger that haunted her. She had found herself at Rita’s after a particularly harrowing vision, wishing to escape her residence for a while, and had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
The only problem was that Elain was not a typical drinker of alcohol. She enjoyed the occasional wine here and there, but she had had several strong drinks that night, and she could not for the life of her remember the stranger’s name, nor his voice, nor even his face. She knew she went home with him (as rash as that choice was), and she knew they had had sex (and based on how she felt the next day, it had been especially good).
The only thing Elain remembered about the man she had allowed between her thighs and into her body was his hands. They had been beautiful, brown tanned skin stretched over large, strong, sure, commanding fingers. And they were absolutely covered in thick, raised scars. Burn scars, if Elain had to guess. But they were more extensive than any burn scars she had ever seen–covering his hands in a rough, leathery textured pattern that reminded her of vines creeping over the roots of a great tree deep in the forest. They were brutal and stunning. Mesmerizing. Those hands with those scars were all Elain could remember about that night. She remembered how they looked, yes, but she also remembered how they felt. She could recall clearly, like she had consumed no alcohol at all, how they had felt caressing her breasts, sliding between her thighs, sinking into her core through her slickness. She remembered how they felt holding her hips and her jaw as she rode him. But most of all, she remembered how those fingers felt in her mouth. How she had been unable to resist bringing them between her lips, sliding her tongue over them and sucking on them, how they had tasted and how she had fucked them with her mouth like it had been his cock between her lips and not his fingers.
Elain found herself thinking about those scarred hands more often than she would like to admit over the past weeks, and usually in bed, alone. She found herself remembering them as she slid her own fingers between her legs and into herself, imagining that they were larger, warmer, scarred– his.
Elain occasionally considered returning to Rita's to see if the stranger would be there, but she always hesitated until she talked herself out of it. He had not given her his number (or at least, it wasn't in her phone, no card in her wallet, and she sure as hell didn't remember it), so he must not have been too interested.
She wouldn't even know how to recognize him again, unless she went to every male in the bar and asked to examine their hands, which seemed impractical and desperate. She tried to prod her Sight into telling her something about him, but her mind had been too addled that night. Without an object of his or even a name, she could discern nothing. So she went about her days, trying not to think of those hands and failing when a need for them overtook her most nights.
The next morning, Sunday, Azriel did as he had resolved to do. He woke up early, went to the gym in his building, and tried to sweat out the remaining liquor. He returned to his condo and showered before he made a protein shake for breakfast. He was just finishing up some laundry when Cassian called him.
“Yep?” Azriel asked his brother, who wasn't really his brother but was as close as he had ever had.
“Rhys and I are coming over,” Cassian answered. Azriel raised an eyebrow even though it wouldn't be seen.
“Did we have plans?”
Cassian grunted over the line. “No, but you owe us after last night. You promised us a truth or dare.”
Azriel groaned. “I'm thirty-five. I'm not doing a truth or dare.”
“No, no, no,” Cassian protested. “Last night you called me and made me drag your drunk ass and some random stranger to your condo for you. So you could fuck. And you know what you interrupted?”
Azriel ran a hand over his face, shame flooding him. Cassian took his silence as a no.
“I had a woman’s pussy inches from my mouth.”
Azriel frowned down at his phone. “Then why the fuck did you say yes?”
His brother laughed roughly over the line. “Because you called so many times I thought it was an emergency! And then you promised you would do anything if I did you this one favor. So Rhysie and I are coming over to see you keep your word on that.”
Azriel sighed, tugging his hair in exasperation with himself. God, he wasn't usually such a messy drunk.
“Fine, whatever,” he said, and hung up.
Twenty minutes later, his buzzer sounded, and Azriel hit the button to let his brothers in. They both appeared in his doorway minutes later, wearing shit-eating grins on their faces. Oh, god. What were they going to make him do?
Rhys looked around the condo with his dark blue eyes. “Jesus, for someone who drank so much last night your place is alarmingly clean. I bet you even changed your sheets before you went to bed, huh?”
Azriel glared at him.
Rhys just crossed his arms, golden tattooed skin pulling taut over his muscles. His blue-black hair was swept neatly over his forehead and he wore clothes that were altogether too nice for a random Sunday: slacks and a dress shirt with an overcoat. Fucking dickhead.
“Brother,” Cassian said, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl and tossing it up and down in front of him. “I know you'll fuck anything that moves, but that one seemed nice. Where is he?”
Azriel scoffed. His brothers never could fucking butt out of his business, even when he gave them nothing at their prodding.
“What do you guys want from me?” Azriel asked, ignoring Cassian’s question.
“Truth or dare?” Cassian asked him, waggling his dark eyebrows. His long dark hair fell loosely to his shoulders and his mammoth frame dwarfed Azriel's kitchen somehow, even though the space was quite large. He took a huge bite of the apple as challenge gleamed in his eyes.
Azriel released one long, drawn out sigh of grudging acceptance. These shitheads were not going to leave him alone until they got what they came for.
“Dare,” he grumbled, sipping the last dregs of his coffee and steeling his spine for whatever bullshit they came up with. They already knew he wouldn’t pick truth. Azriel would rather die than reveal a secret.
Rhysand and Cassian grinned at each other mischievously. Azriel put his mug in the sink, grimacing. This could not be good.
“You’re going to go get your fortune told,” Rhys said smugly.
Azriel crossed his arms. “Again with this bullshit?” They were obsessed with getting Azriel to admit that anything even slightly against scientific logic–astrology, tarot cards, anything to do with fucking chakras–had any merit. He could not and would not accept anything that could not be proven unequivocally by the scientific method.
“Phone, keys, wallet, man. Rhysie will drive.”
Azriel looked between the two. “I’ll take my bike and follow,” he pushed back, sliding on his gloves and reaching for his helmet, both of which always sat on his kitchen island. He could at least get some fresh air before no doubt being suffocated by oils and incense and god knows what else.
“Fine,” Cassian grumbled, and moved back towards the door.
Azriel indulged in one more long, annoyed sigh before acquiescing, grabbing his things and surreptitiously sliding Jason’s business card into the trash bin. Might as well get this the fuck over with.
They drove, Azriel following on his motorcycle, to a little artsy street in the Rainbow district–somewhere Azriel would never voluntarily go. Rhysand loved it here, though, thought it was cultural or some shit. But Azriel thought he really just liked to flirt with the beautiful young woman that ran an art gallery around the corner.
Cassian linked his massive arm with Azriel’s and dragged him up the street, pointing to the door of a shop so tiny and dark, he wouldn’t have even noticed it walking by. There wasn’t even a sign over the door. Azriel had his helmet tucked under his other arm. Rhys chuckled behind them.
“Here we are,” Cassian said, and pulled open the door to tinkling bells.
Azriel stared at them both, and they stared right back. He raised his eyebrows at them. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asked finally, waiting for them to walk away.
“Oh, you didn’t think we were going to let you do this alone, did you?” Rhysand asked, his grin growing.
Azriel opened his mouth to retort but Rhys kept talking. “Oh, no, brother. We’re going to watch you squirm.”
Azriel glared at them both, but they were standing behind him with crossed arms like fucking bouncers at a club. So he rolled his eyes and walked in through the door, the dickheads following behind him and snickering.
The first thing that hit him was the smell of dried herbs and flowers. It wasn’t smoky and cloying like he had feared. It was actually rather refreshing. The second thing that hit him was the overwhelming amount of crap in the shop. There were bottles and books and vials and bundles of flowers everywhere. But it all seemed to be well-organized, everything in its place and stacked and labeled neatly. The third thing Azriel noticed was that no one else was in the space–not even a clerk.
The three men peered around the shop, Azriel grimacing when he spotted a table piled with tarot cards and star charts and other such bullshit.
“Hello?” Cassian called loudly, startling both of his brothers.
“Jesus,” Azriel grumbled. Cassian just shrugged.
“I’ll be right out,” a soft voice called. Azriel froze. He recognized that voice. He had only heard it for one night, but he had heard it make all kinds of delicious noises. He couldn’t forget that voice if he tried.
He turned on his heel and crowded his brothers, trying to push them towards the door.
“The fuck!” Cassian protested, pushing back.
“Get the fuck out,” Azriel hissed, shooing them like neighborhood cats.
“Why?” Rhys asked, trying to crane his head over Azriel’s shoulder to see who was coming.
“For the love of god, please,” Azriel begged, shoving them each in their chests probably a little too hard.
Cassian threw up his hands. “Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you? Fine!” he huffed, and then turned. Rhysand quirked an eyebrow at Azriel but followed his brother out, leaving Azriel standing there stiff as a board, facing the door.
“You don’t want an audience?” that hypnotic voice asked, and Azriel found himself turning as slowly as possible, like he might startle her away into nonexistence again if he moved too fast.
He finally faced the interior, and there she was.
Elaine.
Her glorious honey hair was twisted into one long, thick braid, emerging from under a handkerchief wrapped around her head, highlighting her gorgeous face. Her eyes were just as sparkling and wide and deep as he remembered, a shade of brown so rich they were almost mahogany, framed in thick, sweeping dark lashes. Doe eyes, he realized suddenly, staring at her in silence. She had eyes like a doe.
Her lips were plush and rosy and looked as soft as he remembered them being on his own, on his neck, his chest, his fingers. She was wearing a casual, long, gauzy light-green dress that looked flowy and airy and made her alabaster skin glow with a sun-kissed sheen.
Azriel cleared his throat, realizing he had been still and silent for too long. Elaine just blinked at him, tilting her head slightly. He noted her pattern of freckles over her face had been correct in his memory, down to the tiny one grazing her left jawline. And that little golden hoop still shone on her left nostril.
“Are you alright?” she asked, moving behind the counter and busying herself with some piles of paper, clearly waiting for him to tell her why he was there.
Did she– fuck, did she not know who he was?
Had he been fucking forgettable?
Azriel could feel his cheeks and neck burning with a blush, something he hadn’t experienced since his teenage days.
“I…” he started, but honestly didn’t know how to complete his statement.
Elaine must have taken pity on him. “Are you here for a reading, or for some products?” she asked kindly.
Jesus fucking Christ. She had no fucking clue who he was.
Azriel cleared his throat again. “A-” his voice caught and he tried once more. “A reading.” And then he added in a rush as if he couldn’t stop himself, “My brothers dared me.”
That was probably an asshole thing to say. This was her livelihood. But she just smiled lightly with those gorgeous fucking lips and nodded. “That happens more than you’d think,” she said without sounding the least bit bothered.
Azriel approached the counter slowly, trying to get her to look up and meet his eyes. Maybe if she really looked at him, she would remember him.
And then another thought struck him as he gingerly set his helmet down on the counter. The girl of his dreams that he couldn’t stop thinking about and fucking his own hand to was a fucking… fortune-teller? The universe had to be fucking with him. He could not think of a worse person to have become inexplicably obsessed with.
Elaine flicked her eyes to his helmet and then up to his, but no recognition flashed there. “Tarot or palms?” was all she asked, looking at him placidly.
Azriel almost laughed out loud. Palm reading was already a ludicrous idea, but imagining someone trying to read his mangled, disgusting palms was so painfully ironic it was almost funny. He clasped his still-gloved hands behind his back. “Tarot,” he answered, though he cringed internally. He didn’t want to do that, either.
But as she swept past him, nodding, he almost staggered as the scent of her perfume billowed around him. It was exactly the same as she had smelled in his bed, riding him, letting him bury his face between her thighs, letting him come inside her as she screamed. Jasmine and honey. The only reason he had recognized the smell of jasmine at all was because he had a particular affinity for jasmine tea on cold winter days. Her scent was so strong in that moment he almost reached for her, like a sick fucking psychopath.
Instead, he clenched his fingers behind his back.
He supposed he was going to let her do a fucking tarot reading, then.
Elain began preparing her space at her fortune-telling table, glancing up at the man in her store every couple of seconds. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Even the smell of him–cedar and something like fresh night air–stirred something in her. But she was certain she had never met him before.
He was a stunning specimen, tall and lean but clearly muscled, his golden-brown arms bulging beneath the short-sleeved, dark blue shirt he wore. Intricate, swirling tattoos peeked out from his shoulders and crept up his neck, and Elain found herself wanting to touch them. The hair around his ears and above his neck was shaved close to his head, but the rest of it flowed in dark waves and hung over his brow in soft, boyish curls the color of raven’s feathers, framing stunning hazel eyes.
Those eyes looked beautiful, but haunted. She could see his tormented soul peering at her from beneath his long, dark lashes. The stranger had an aura to him, that much was undeniable. He exuded something powerful. Something ancient. Something stirring.
And his voice–his voice was smooth and dark, like whispers of silk falling through a still night sky. Almost dangerous in its softness, as if it were a trap. The way he moved edged on dangerous, as well. Precise, calculated, intentional.
Elain tried to clear her head and she indicated to the chair at the table, sitting on the stool behind it.
The man approached slowly in that sure-footed manner, sliding gracefully into the chair, his hands now clasped on his lap beneath the table. She noticed small silver hoops dangling from his earlobes, a cobalt gem shining on each.
“What is your name?” Elain asked, picking up her deck of cards and shuffling them.
A beat of silence passed before he answered. “Azriel,” he stated simply. Something again flickered through her at his name, but she only nodded. Her Sight was certainly eager to read this one.
“That is an unusual name,” she answered gently. “I’m Elain.”
She tracked a swallow through the stranger’s throat as he watched her carefully. “My father was a religious dick,” he answered. “He thought it was hilarious to name a baby after the angel of death.”
Elain blinked up at his staggeringly beautiful face. “Well, I think it’s a very nice-sounding name,” she commented. “Does your father regret naming you something so…intense?”
The stranger named Azriel responded without even a modicum of emotion passing over his face or through his voice. “He’s dead.”
Elain swallowed. “I see. I’m sorry to hear that.”
He leaned forward slightly, invading her space just a bit, causing a blush to creep up her chest, which she hoped he didn’t notice. “I’m not,” he answered.
She suppressed a nervous giggle, instead focusing down on the cards. “Are you ready?”
He leaned back again, eyes flicking first to her lips and then down to the cards. He just shrugged.
Elain began, removing three cards from the deck and placing them face-down before him. She used the cards to guide her, but it was really her Sight that interpreted them for her, winding its way through her clients’ spirits and reading the cards for her.
Azriel stared down at the cards as she placed one steady hand atop the first. Her Sight swelled in her, and she fought to keep her eyes from shifting as she slowly flipped it over. She did not think this man would take it well if her eyes suddenly shifted to white and she began speaking in riddles. She could control it, though–the power. She let it hum throughout her but not overpower her.
They both looked down at what the first card revealed.
“The six of swords,” Elain recited. “Reversed.” Azriel just stared down at the card, which depicted a woman and child being rowed over water, their backs turned, six swords lining their way. Elain’s Sight was already prodding, directing, whispering to her. She couldn’t read Azriel as quickly or as easily as she could some. She saw only flashes of images, fleeting sounds.
“This card tells me that you carry heavy emotional baggage,” she said as gently as she could. Azriel’s eyes flickered as he glanced up at her face. “Perhaps some trauma or unresolved issues from your childhood still haunt you,” she offered.
He seemed to take a bracing breath. “Well I didn’t need cards to tell me that,” he said, not unkindly, but with a heavy dose of skepticism. Elain felt her lips twitch despite herself.
“This card also suggests that you try to move on, or maybe to pretend like these things never happened? But something keeps you tethered to the events of your past.” Her Sight prodded her with an image of him, tossing and mumbling in his sleep. “Nightmares, perhaps?” She watched his face pale just slightly before he blinked away his surprise. “Your rational mind is strong, that much is obvious,” Elain continued. “Maybe too strong. Following your intuition, your gut, may help you move forward in the future.”
Azriel just blinked slowly at her, but said nothing.
“I think that perhaps your father’s death still bothers you, no?” she asked carefully. He just stared at her some more, so she continued. “Not because you miss him, but because…” she saw flashes of a terrified little boy. A little boy who felt so alone inside himself. “Because you were maybe involved, or–”
“Let’s move to the next card,” Azriel interrupted. It was a gentle request, but a firm one. Elain swallowed. She had hit too close to the mark. But she was so curious. She tried to reign her Sight in as she nodded and flipped over the next card. A demon with two human prisoners–one man, one woman–looked up at them.
“The devil,” she said quietly.
Azriel’s brows rose. “Oh. Great.” It was sarcastic, but she could tell he didn’t love what he was seeing.
“It’s reversed,” Elain said quickly. “A reversed devil means great change is coming for you.”
Azriel looked like he wanted to get up and leave, but she pressed on. “It represents a reclaiming of power. Of control.”
Her Sight swirled from her and through him, searching. She felt that stirring ancient power beneath his skin again, and it vibrated like it was desperate to get free. If Elain wasn’t mistaken, she recognized magic within Azriel. Strong magic. But it did not seem like he would take that information well, so she spoke carefully.
“Something is holding you back, like chains. Your childhood trauma, perhaps. But more likely…a resistance within yourself. Finding freedom will require self-reflection. Pain. Change. But you will emerge truly transformed.”
Azriel was looking at her like what she said was absolute bullshit. But he didn’t know what she saw behind his eyes. The command he could have over his magic. The power. She suppressed a shudder of delight at what she saw. She could feel her own control slipping. Wanting to take her under to show her what it truly beheld in his future.
So she shook her head slightly and flipped the third card.
She met his eyes before reading it. “The lovers.”
Azriel’s hazel gaze once again drifted from her eyes down to her lips, lingering there before they dropped to the card: the classic Adam and Eve scene, the angel Raphael above them. His eyes flicked back to hers.
“You will find a grand and cosmic love,” Elain said quietly, as Azriel slowly drew a lip between his teeth. “You will build something out of free will, choices, unity. You–” she cut herself off as she was suddenly flooded with images of herself instead of him. What in the fates–it was her, smiling, laughing, moaning with pleasure. She mentally poked her Sight back, as if to tell it to behave. This wasn’t a reading for herself.
Azriel just stared at her lips, chewing on his own slowly.
“I what?” he asked darkly, smoothly.
Elain cleared her throat, her blush creeping back up her neck. “I believe you will find great passion and unending love,” she said quietly, tearing her own eyes away from his sensual mouth. “Flesh and passion meeting in an otherworldly romance.”
A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face. Elain didn’t think he was thinking about love at all as he leaned forward, placing his hands on the table in front of him. She briefly thought it odd they were still gloved.
“Is that what your future holds too, Elain?” he asked, his voice nearing a purr. “A meeting of flesh and passion?”
“I–” she stammered, distracted by the way his invasion of her space made her lightheaded. “This isn’t my–” she was feeling fully unhinged, grasping to reel her Sight and her sudden desire back in.
Azriel just chuckled lightly, leaning back in his chair once more. “Are we done?” he asked–again, not unkindly. Just decidedly.
Elain glanced down at his hands. Her Sight was pushing her, begging her to continue reading him. She didn’t want to be done. She wanted to see what his palms held.
“Would you like a palm reading as well?” Elaine asked.
God, please no.
“No thank you,” Azriel answered, still rattled from the card reading, even though he would never admit it. The first two cards had made him squirm, just as his brothers had wanted. When she got to the final one, though, he knew it was all bullshit. No great, cosmic love would ever find him. He had just wanted to see if he could make her squirm too. And it turned out that with a few well-selected words, careful timing of glances, and his lips calling her attention, he could. He ignored the fact that by the end of that interaction, he was hardly controlling his own words or actions.
He didn’t need his palms read, and he certainly didn’t need Elaine to see his hands again. Especially when she didn’t even remember him or the night they had spent together.
He clasped his gloved fingers in front of him.
Elaine’s huge mahogany eyes sparkled with intrigue as she glanced down at his leather-clad hands.
“I’m quite good at it,” she encouraged softly, leaning closer to him. “I’ll give it to you on the house.”
Azriel bit back a sigh. She really was beautiful, and had been kind to him. He didn’t need to ruin her day with his horrible hands.
“Really, it’s–” he started, but then a mischievous smile was breaking across her face and before he could even process what was happening, Elaine had snatched his hand with uncannily nimble fingers and was sliding his glove off eagerly.
They both froze when his fingers were revealed, still clutched in hers from her insane sleight of hand. Azriel’s eyes slowly slid up to her face. Her own eyes just stared and stared down at his scars, widening to unearthly levels. Her lips parted as she slowly slid a thumb over the ridges on his palm, and Azriel felt his cock stir.
She recognized his hands–that much was clear as he watched a gorgeous pink flush creep up her neck in tendrils before painting her face like a sunset. She ran her thumb over the scars again, but did not recoil, did not grimace, did not look pitying. Just the same as the first time she had seen them, when she had only looked upon them in wonder. When she had breathed a single word as she had gazed at them: “beautiful.”
Slowly, so slowly, her ethereal eyes slid up to meet his, recognition flickering in them.
Azriel raised a brow. “Remember me now?” he asked, willing some humor into his voice.
Elaine squeaked a little nondescript sound. He had to bite back a smile at that.
“I–” she tried, seemingly absentmindedly caressing his hand now. He tried to ignore his hardening cock, remembering everything else she had done to his hands that night. He tried to think about fucking anything other than her tongue pressing down on his fingers while she swallowed them into her mouth.
“I’m sorry, I–” she continued mumbling, her face turning a deeper shade of red. “I had had so much to drink, and I don’t usually–and–I wasn’t expecting–”
Azriel tried to grin at her reassuringly, even though he felt anything but casual about this interaction. “It’s alright,” he said. “I can’t be memorable every time.” He meant it as a joke, but it came out stilted and short. Why wasn’t she dropping his hand? Why wasn’t he pulling it away?
A nervous giggle escaped Elaine. “No!” she cried, her eyes turning into fucking saucers. “It was me, I almost never drink, and I drank–well, I drank a lot that night, and I really couldn’t remember anything, but I–” she fumbled for the words, clutching his hand a little tighter. “I remembered these hands,” she nearly whispered, and Azriel had to force a swallow as his mouth dried out.
“I remembered how they felt on me, in me, in…in my mouth,” she murmured, looking back down, pulling her lip between her teeth.
Azriel had to fight his eyes rolling back at her words. Her admission of everything he had remembered and imagined over the past weeks alone in his room, cock in his fist. He was rock fucking hard now.
He turned his hand over, offering her his mangled palm. “And do my scars tell you anything?” he asked, his voice dropping to dangerously sultry levels.
Elaine’s voice shook slightly as she met his eyes again and answered. “Only that you endured something tragic,” she whispered, placing her other hand atop his so that she was holding it in both of hers. She slowly began tugging them towards her face, and Azriel’s heart rate kicked up, his chest moving rapidly as he let her pull his hand.
“They tell me that you harbor great pain beneath your beauty,” she continued, massaging her thumbs into his palm. A low, inescapable groan left his lips at that and her eyes flashed knowingly.
“They tell me that you walk through life with hope and strength despite what you have seen and felt.” His fingers were mere inches from her lips now, and he suddenly didn’t give a fuck that she was a fortune-teller (which was not a real thing). He didn’t give a fuck that under no circumstance would they actually work as a pair. He didn’t give a fuck that he had been slightly terrified about what she had read with her cards.
He only knew that he needed her lips on his hands. Her tongue running over his fingers. Her hot, wet mouth taking–
The door banged open and Cassian’s loud, obnoxious, terribly-timed voice rang through the space.
“Taking a long time, br–” he cut himself off as he and Rhys halted in the entrance to the store, seeing Elaine holding Azriel’s hand inches from her parted lips, the blush painted across her face, the strain in Azriel’s body.
Azriel jerked his head to look at his brothers. They both stood there stunned, two pairs of eyebrows raised so high they were almost in their hairlines.
“Well, well, well,” Cassian started, shaking off his surprise. Elaine dropped Azriel’s hand at the same moment that he tugged it away from her, slipping his glove back on as quickly as he could. “What’s going on here?”
Azriel said nothing, silently commanding his dick to calm down as Elaine stood behind the table.
“Your friends are back,” she said quickly, walking away and heading to stand behind the counter.
Azriel scoffed, still sitting to conceal his hard-on. “They’re not my friends.”
“Oh?” she asked, busying herself again with random organizing as the blush lingered across her cheekbones.
“We’re his brothers,” Cassian supplied.
“Not by blood,” Azriel added, silently wishing his blood would rush anywhere but his fucking dick.
“I see,” Elaine answered, finally ceasing her frenzied organizing and looking up at Rhysand, who was just standing there staring at her.
“Rhys,” Azriel called after waiting a moment or two to see if his brother was even blinking.
Rhysand shook his head slightly and cleared his throat. “Apologies,” he said smoothly, walking further into the shop and approaching the counter. “You just look eerily similar to someone I…” he trailed off before finishing his sentence. It was not often that Rhysand became flustered; he usually had an arrogant, bored, regal air of ease about him.
Elaine tilted her head to the side. “My sister?” she asked, as if she had heard this more than once. “Feyre, at the art gallery around the corner?”
Azriel was finally able to stand and joined his brother at the counter, as Rhysand’s face lit up.
“Yes,” he said, snapping his fingers as a grin grew across his face. “Fey is your sister, huh? Well that makes sense. Different eyes, but…” he trailed off again, studying Elaine.
“You know her then?” Elaine asked, as Cassian rummaged around the shop looking at the labels on bottles.
Rhys waved a lazy hand noncommittally. “I enjoy the gallery and visit every once in a while. I don’t know her well.”
“What’s the total?” Azriel cut in, still feeling fucked off about his brothers interrupting whatever was about to happen with his hands and Elaine’s mouth.
“Oh,” she said, finally looking back at him. “Don’t bother.” She giggled nervously again, and the sound was quite…pleasant. “It was a dare, after all.”
Cassian chuckled from his spot between the shelves.
Azriel met Elaine’s eyes. “I can’t do that,” he offered, fighting a blush once more. “This is your livelihood.”
She blinked back at him. “Don’t worry about it. Just…” she slid a slip of receipt paper towards him. “Let me know if you ever want that palm reading.”
Azriel looked down at the slip of yellowed paper. It said “Elain Archeron,” in slightly messy writing, with a phone number below it.
Rhysand grinned stupidly, looking between them.
“No E,” Azriel said absentmindedly, still staring down at her name.
“Hmm?” she asked, watching his fingers trace over the slip of paper.
“Your name,” he clarified. “I thought it was spelled with an E at the end.”
“Oh,” she giggled lightly. “Nope. Common mistake though.”
She bit her lip, looking at him with something like expectation in her eyes. Fuck, she was waiting for him to give her his number. Azriel ran a hand through his hair before he scooped up his helmet from the counter.
This was about to make him the biggest fucking asshole on the planet, but he couldn’t give her his number. She stood for everything he didn’t believe in. Everything he couldn’t believe in. Yes, she was unbelievably beautiful, like a goddess incarnate. Yes, she looked at him and his scars and his whole demeanor in a way no one else ever had. Yes, sex with her had possibly been the best he'd ever had. Yes, he goddamn wanted to fuck her again.
But it wouldn't be fair to her, or to himself. So he chose to be the asshole instead.
“Thank you for the reading,” he managed to get out, before turning on his heel and leaving without another look back.
Elain stared at the place where Azriel had disappeared through the door, vaguely aware that his brothers were awkwardly attempting to shuffle out as well.
She stared and stared until they were gone, and then her eyes slid down to the counter. To the paper that still lay there, her name and number offered up to him, refuted. He hadn't even bothered to take her number.
She heard the sound of a motorcycle revving and knew it had to be him, driving away without a second look back. Running. As if he couldn't get away from her fast enough.
Had she done something wrong? Had something not been about to happen when his brothers had interrupted them?
She had felt the tension enveloping them, pulling them together like magnets. He had let her bring his hand nearly to her lips, wetness pooling between her thighs as she did. He had released that groan that sounded like needing .
Well, she thought, straightening her spine and crumpling the paper, throwing it into a wastebin. She had more dignity than letting one man’s rejection ruin her. Sure, he was gorgeous and interesting and mysterious and beckoning. But she hadn't gotten over a rejected engagement just to be beaten down again by another idiotic man. If they didn't want her, they were missing out.
Elain ignored the hollow feeling growing in her chest and busied herself with her daily tasks, resolved to forget about Azriel and his haunted eyes and exquisite hands.
The problem was, Elain Archeron was not typically good at forgetting.