Communication is Key

When Cassian had felt Rhysand's touch in his mind, he had assumed it would be a follow-up about the trade agreements they had been making with the Winter Court. He let the pen fall from his grasp, ignoring the splatter of ink it sent across the very important document — screw you, Beron — and leaned back in his chair, working a kink out of his hand while easing the walls and barriers from around his mind.

Cassian. Rhysand's voice was a midnight caress.

I finished the contract with Winter, Rhys, but Kallias is still suspicious and he wants more to bind you by than a signature. Then there's this business with Beron. He keeps asking about Mor —

Cassian.

Rhys' tone was chiding, amused, but there was something else there, sharp and cunning, that reminded him just how powerful the male was.

Cassian paused. ...Yes?

Do you remember the summer after you met Mor?

Cassian froze.

He did remember, of course. How could you forget something like that? They'd been young and full of testosterone, and with Az tailing Mor like a lovesick puppy, they'd been tamped with extra energy at the loss of their sparring partner. Rhys and he had flown to the Steppes, landed deep in the wilderness, further than they'd ever gone during the Blood Rite. They spent the day there, fishing, playing, and reveling in youth, and then lay, the thrumming energy of the morning quietened at least for now, beneath the stars.

Perhaps it was because the sky was undiluted and pure, or perhaps it was because Cass had never been able to sit still for more than a minute and the silence was getting to him, but he hadn't thought twice about rolling over atop his friend, pinning him to the ground. This was new territory for both of them; Illyrians only ever showed this sort of bravado in the presence of a female — to do any more or any less was just asking for ridicule. But Cassian didn't let himself hesitate at the surprised look in Rhysand's eye before he leaned down to kiss him. And after that, things went hazy.
It was something they had never brought up, at the time because they got enough trouble as it was just for being alive, and in later years because it was simply habit and neither one of them wanted to deal with the unnecessary awkwardness that was sure to follow that conversation.

Cassian wiped his suddenly sweaty palms against his pants. I remember.

Rhys purred, and Cassian hadn't thought he'd ever get to hear that sultry note in his voice ever again. Come to bed, Cassian.

...What about Feyre?

I want you. We want you.

He hesitated. Yes, he wanted, but as an Illyrian, as a male, he'd learned to think past want. He didn't know what this would mean for their future or how they would act after this moment of indulgence. Cassian was contemplating the hell he'd give himself that night, alone in bed with naught for company but the cold sheets, if he were to decline.

Rhys felt his reluctance, and whispered again, We'll talk when you get here. Come, Cass. Please.

His misgivings vanished at the "please," for who was he to deny his High Lord?

Cassian stood.

*

Cass walked the wide hallway to the High Lady's rooms.

Oddly, it was the smell that made him tense. Normally, no one person's scent could be distinguished in a public place, not even in a private home. The amount of people that passed through was a number too vast, and eventually all the many smells got tangled up in an intricate web that distinguished that one place from every other.

Not this hallway.

No one would dare walk the hallway to the High Lady's personal chambers, not in a million years. Yet here he was, tainting the heady scent of them, a Mated pair, with his own musk. It didn't seem right.

The hallway ended before a massive mahogany archway and the door set within it. It was looming, ominous, and not at all helping the ball of nerves in his belly.

Rhysand opened the door before he could knock, leaving it open just long enough for him to catch a scent of Feyre and the lingering scent of their mixed arousal. Likely, that scent hadn't left since their first night together, and it never would, even if you set to the floors with steel sponge.

He turned to find Rhys watching him, a knowing gleam in his eye.

Cassian swallowed and shifted his weight. "I'm here," he offered weakly.

Rhys smirked and slid his hands into his pockets. "Why didn't you tell me?" His tone was amenable enough, but the accusatory nature of his words less so.

"Tell you what?" Cassian asked, though of course he knew.

Rhysand's smile was a little too sharp. "Don't play stupid. She told me all about your little episode."

All the muscles in his body went taut, and all the stiffness he'd worked from his back only minutes ago came rushing back as icy fingers clenched tight around his heart. His harsh breaths were loud in the stillness of the hallway, a reminder that he was in fact alone with the most dangerous male in Prythian. Who was at this moment only slightly less terrifying than the beast in the library.

Relax, Rhys whispered in his mind, and against his will, Cassian felt himself doing just that.

Damned Daemati. Cassian was sure to project that thought extra loud.

The ensuing chuckle crawled up his spine like a whisper of silk.

"Relax," Rhys repeated, out loud. "And stop stalling." A fiendish smile curved his lips, but again it didn't look right. Too much teeth made him look wolfish.

A tremor broke Cassian's laugh in two, and he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tic. "I'm having a really hard time figuring out if you're flirting with me or if you want to tear my heart out and eat it." He chuckled again, apprehensive. "It's kind of making me want to piss myself."

"A habit from the Court of Nightmares."

Cassian took a breath. He was still standing here, alive, so Rhysand couldn't be that mad, right?

"Not mad, exactly," Rhys admitted, voice suddenly serious. "Only curious. And disappointed that you didn't trust me enough to tell me yourself."

Cassian let out a laugh then, incredulous and full of nerves. "You know how scary you are when you're protecting her?"

"The truth, Cassian."

He loosed a breath. "Look. It's not exactly easy to fancy your best friend's wife, let alone their Mate. And when it's you two... Cauldron, you've been through so much shit, and somehow you found a way to get through it, and the way you love each other is so obvious, so fairy tale, it doesn't seem real. And I'd just — Well, fuck, I would never get between that."

Rhysand was silent for so long that Cassian wasn't sure if he was supposed to leave or not.

Finally, he said, "I'm still not okay with it, I think, even if it's not your fault how you feel."

Cassian sagged against the wall. "Then why did you call me —"

"I called you because of her," he said. "She's curious about you. No matter what she says out loud, I can read her intentions better than my own. I didn't tell her that I was upset about you, because she was already uncomfortable and she didn't need any more of that from me. The same way you will not stand between us, I will not stand between you."

Cassian blinked in surprise.

A wicked smirk cut across Rhys' features, genuine this time, and it set his violet eyes alight with lust. "Besides," he said, voice lower now, rougher, "she's never had two Illyrians at once." The look he threw Cassian had the general clearing his throat and shifting his weight against the sudden pressure in his pants. "The sounds she'll make will have you cum in minutes."

Rhys spun around with characteristic flair, drew open the door and motioned over his shoulder for Cassian to follow.

Cassian couldn't get in fast enough.