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the-lonelybarricade · 14 days

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A Blaze in the Dark - (11/13)

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

Buckle up because this chapter gets spicy 🌶

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist・Previous Chapter

The ceramic vase shattering against the marble floor was a distant, far-away sound.

Elain found it reminiscent of submerging her head in a bathtub, the way she was enveloped in warmth while the details of the outside world became muted. Blurry. If she tried to focus away from the heat blooming on her skin, she could pick out an awareness of some things. Like the water spilling over the console table, seeping into her skirts and dripping over the edge, where it collected into a puddle atop the fragments of the vase below.

Her damp skirts may have been of greater concern to her, where they not presently bunched over her hips, thrown across the table as haphazardly as the bouquet of scarlet geraniums that had once occupied the space she was sitting in.

She’d handpicked those flowers with Vassa yesterday morning. They still had plenty of life in them, and she would need to scold Lucien for acting with such haste in discarding them.

Another time. Currently, she—

“Lucien!”

The gasp was involuntary, as was the arch of her spine, her body taken over by some ravenous creature that demanded to be closer, to be touching him, especially when his teeth grazed over her collarbone.

“I told you what would happen if you misbehaved,” he said, flicking his eyes to her face only briefly, just long enough to let the authority of his words linger, pressing against her as firmly as his strong body.

“I have never—” she sucked in a sharp breath as his mouth closed over her breast. Her nipples hardened beneath his lashing tongue, sending ripples of heated pleasure coursing through her. “Never— ah, misbehaved… in my life.”

That used to be the case, at least. Her governess had always asserted that Elain was the most perfect of her sisters. And by that she’d meant the most quiet, the most restrained, the most obedient.

At this, Lucien lifted his head, releasing her from his torment however briefly. Elain couldn’t help but shiver at his expression, the dark hunger within it. She held herself still, like she was standing in the line of a predator’s gaze, as he drew his lips to her ear and said in a rich, low voice, “I thought you’d know better than to lie to me, sweet wife. If you’ve never misbehaved, then tell me what you’re doing at this very second?”

He paused, waiting for her to answer. The sound of her panting filled the silence, and she wondered how he was so perfectly composed. How she didn’t hear a sound from him, despite how his mouth hovered just beside her ear.

“I’m sitting atop a table,” she said, tugging pointedly at the arm he’d looped beneath her knee, keeping her spread open before him. “Because my husband—”

“There you go again,” he chided.

She cried out, knowing what was coming even before his teeth sunk into her neck as retribution, followed by the slow drag of his tongue to soothe away the hurt. She squirmed in his hold and he made a deep, rumbling sound in the back of his throat, something similar to laughter but lazier, more taunting.

“You can be so petulant when you want to be. Where’s my good girl?”

This was a side of her husband she hadn’t been anticipating. He’d been so sweet, so gentle the first time they’d made love that she hadn’t known there could be this other side of him. The Lucien who was firmer, more demanding, but underneath always, always, loving. And when he discovered how much she enjoyed his firmer touch, well…

Lucien’s hand—the one that wasn’t holding her leg captive—raised from where he had been stroking her inner thigh, his fingers perpetually creeping just close enough to where she wanted him, but never any further.

Now, they wrapped around her throat.

“Remind me what I told you, wife.”

His lips returned to her neck as he waited, covering her skin in small nips and licks that made it extraordinarily difficult to focus on his question. Particularly when he ground his hips forward, using his clothed erection to offer her the barest amount of friction. Only to retreat when Elain pushed forward, desperate to chase the small fraction of pleasure.

Ducked against her neck, she could feel his lips pull into a smile, insufferably pleased at every twitch and huff he elicited from her. Initially she tried to restrain them, if only so he couldn’t have the satisfaction, but all that seemed to achieve was making the game more interesting to Lucien.

And now, with his fingers tightening at her throat, she knew he was growing impatient.

“We have to be quiet,” she said, repeating his earlier instruction. There was a strange thrill in the sensation of her words straining against his palm. “Otherwise someone will come down this hall and catch us.”

Lucien hummed in approval. “And wouldn’t you be mortified if someone were to catch you like this? So indecent, so eager to let your husband fuck you over a table.” He clicked his tongue, but she knew he loved seeing her like this. Knew because of the stark affection in his voice as he added, “Then everyone would know that sweet Elain Vanserra isn’t as prim and proper as she pretends.”

The shaky breath that parted her lips was one of relief. She relished knowing she could be like this with him. Bold and reckless and willing to take what she wanted, even if that risked being seen for who she was.

“I’ll be good,” she said, tilting her head back to expose more of her throat to him. Pliant, but only because she wanted to be. Docile, but only because she was in full control of who she did and did not obey. “I’ll be quiet.”

As a reward, Lucien kissed her temple and murmured against her skin, sweet as melted sugar, “Good girl.”

Elain’s eyes fluttered shut. His praise lit something deep and warm inside her. It was more than a craving. It was an addiction.

He knew its effect on her, knew how to drip each dose of it to keep her wound and wanting, willing to do anything he asked just so she might hear him whisper it again. For now, he chucked and offered her one more sweet kiss against her brow before instructing, “Stay still for me.”

That was one direction that she was never very good at following. Even as a little girl, when her governess would make each of them stand with proper posture and recite poetry, she would always be reprimanded for fidgeting with her skirts. Feyre used to accuse their governess of creating rules with the purpose of setting them up for failure.

Now, Elain wondered if her husband was just as cruel.

His hand returned between her legs, broad fingers curving in until they brushed over the arousal coating her inner thigh. Elain took a deep breath, recalling how they’d ended up here.

I have a secret, she’d said, giggling and a little bit drunk on the wine they’d shared at dinner.

Oh? One that you might trust on your husband’s ears?

She’d stopped and pulled him down an unlit hall that she knew was scarcely used, even by servants. There wasn’t a single candle lit in this direction, and the thick drapes over most of the windows were drawn, meaning that they had to fumble their way through the darkness until Elain was satisfied that no one would find them. Lucien had been patient with her, humouring it all with his soft, bemused laughter. That was until she corralled him against the wall and whispered her condemning secret into his ear.

I’m not wearing anything under my skirts.

Then all of his charming humour faded, like paint scraped from a portrait. And Elain had barely any time to prepare herself before her husband had erupted on her in a fervor of kissing and tearing at each other’s clothes that had amounted to this—

To Lucien swearing under his breath, continuing his exploration until his fingers finally, finally, sought the small bump at the apex of her thighs. He circled his thumb lazily around her clit, still not touching it as he smirked at the wetness he found, at how easily his fingers slid against her.

She whimpered, and that small noise was enough for him to withdraw. Her frustration was beginning to take on a sharper edge, the ache more persistent. More consuming. He’d been teasing her like this for what felt like hours.

“Please.”

Lucien cooed with false sympathy. “Poor thing. I’ve given you so many chances. Now you’ll have to earn it.”

“How?”

“Open your mouth.”

Familiarity tugged at the corner of her memory, but like the shattered vase and the trampled flowers, it was a far-away detail. There was only Lucien, his teasing touch and heated voice, which made her feel as though she’d swallowed something warm. That she was melting from the inside out.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she said, overwrought and breathless and still daring to be bold with him.

She parted her lips, holding her mouth open. She didn’t realize she was expecting his arousal-coated fingers until he leaned over and spit onto her waiting tongue.

It took her a moment to process what he’d just done. In the dim light, his eyes were the only bright thing, like the smouldering pits of a bottomless forge, glowing molten gold and copper. Elain’s heart was hammering, keeping herself perfectly still beneath his appraisal. Her mouth was still open, still presenting his spit to the open air, not quite certain what would please him.

“Hold that on your tongue until I tell you to swallow.”

She couldn’t answer him, not without disobeying his order. So she nodded instead, keeping her tongue cradled in position, trying to ignore the saliva already welling in the back of her mouth.

Meanwhile, Lucien unlaced himself from his trousers. At this point in their marriage, Elain might very well have seen her husband naked more often than she’d seen him clothed. She would have thought that their weeks of rabid love-making would have cured some of the shock of seeing him undressed. Yet, as her eyes welcomed his impressive length for the second time that day, she was immediately seized with a sharp, aching need to feel him inside her again.

Lucien closed a fist around his cock, offering her a slow, leisurely pump that was all for show. Her attention narrowed to the arousal beading at the tip of his flushed head, and there was something about staring at his cock while holding her tongue on display that made her long to taste it.

Maybe he could see the filthy imaginings behind her eyes, because Lucien looked at her and smirked. “You’re going to be good for me aren’t you, sweetheart? Going to do what I say?”

He notched himself at her entrance without waiting for a response.

She tried to restrain herself. She did. But as he pushed in, stretching her so full, she couldn’t help the small whimper that built in the back of her throat. Her head started to fall back, her eyes fluttering shut, when Lucien caught her at the chin, pulling her gaze to meet his as he thrust the rest of the way in, forcing their hips flush.

This time, there was an ounce of derision as he asked her, “You’re not going to swallow are you, Elain?”

She shook her head, panting through her nose. Drool was collecting beneath her tongue and she could feel Lucien throbbing inside her. Not moving, not giving her the friction she was desperate for.

“Show me.”

Elain stuck out her tongue, tilting her head back to prevent excess saliva from spilling over her lips. Lucien brushed his thumb to wipe away the small amount that trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

“Look at you,” he praised. “Desperate and drooling for me. You can be such a good girl when you want to be.”

He withdrew slightly, and she could feel him drag against every sensitive nerve. She anchored her nails into his shoulders, but nothing prepared her for his next thrust and the way she practically choked to keep herself from gasping, from swallowing.

Lucien grunted, “Fuck, Elain.”

There it was. The first crack in Lucien’s facade. It was only a matter of time before her husband became equally as desperate, as undone, as she was. One of her hands slipped into his hair, knowing precisely how to expedite his unravelling.

Weaving his scarlet hair between her fingers, Elain tugged with a measure of aggression equal to his own. He let out a startled noise before snapping his hips forward in response.

“My wife wants to play rough?” He asked, driving his hips forward harder, faster. The console table was beginning to wobble beneath the momentum, knocking into the wall in what would be a rather transparent announcement of what this corridor was being used for if anyone were to walk within earshot.

Elain was beyond caring, as was Lucien, who pulled her leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle of his thrusts so that his cock pierced impossibly further, demanding space in her body she wasn’t certain existed.

She screamed, thought it was gurgled by saliva, and she worried if she didn’t swallow she might very well choke. Lucien grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her neck back as he demanded again, “Open.”

She obeyed, allowing her husband to spit in her mouth a second time, the act punctuated by his brutal thrusts and his bruising grip.

“Swallow,” he said, taking mercy.

The reprieve was short lived, because the minute she opened her lips to suck in a greedy breath, Lucien’s was there, tongue pushing past her teeth to claim her mouth. He had her practically folded in half, perfectly moulded to take every inch of him. Flushed and drooling and covered in love bites, there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t marked as his.

But it was just as well, when his unkempt clothes and tousled hair and damp skin marked him as hers. The Prince and the rake and the gentle, tender husband all uniquely combined into this man who was unleashing his full self upon her, giving her everything she wanted, everything she craved.

Her whines, smothered by his mouth, rose into a fever pitch, and that was when his fingers in her hair loosened, then fell away altogether. Their lips parted, a string of saliva still connecting them, as he murmured so sweetly to her, “Come for me, Elain. My beautiful wife.”

At last, his fingers returned between her legs, rubbing at that spot she’d been desperate for from the very start. Her head fell back against the wall and he chased her, laying kisses anywhere he could find as he babbled a string of sweet, gooey nonsense. I know. I know, honey. You’re doing so well. Taking me so well. You’re so beautiful.

My love.

My Elain.

My wife.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

It always ended this way, no matter how roughly they fucked. Whenever the rhythm of his hips fractured and light burst behind her eyes, it was always to a string of I love yous. She murmured it back, between her gasping and shuddering, until his hips slowed and stopped entirely.

And then they were folded atop the console table in the corridor of their palace, mostly undressed, and kissing each other like there wasn’t a single thing else that mattered in the world.

Her head was spinning when Lucien, with what seemed a great deal of reluctance, finally pulled away. They were both panting, still gripping onto each other as they anchored back into reality. The awareness that a world existed outside of her husband came back in slow, trickling pieces.

The first thing she noticed was Lucien’s dishevelled hair. He’d worn it so nicely at dinner, with pieces braided back from his face and tied in a knot, the rest spilling over his shoulders like red ink. Now those braids were torn loose, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to smooth some of them back into place.

It was as she reached for him that she noticed candlelight gleaming off the scarlet strands—a startling revelation, when before, the corridor had been smothered in darkness. Elain’s eyes flickered to the far wall, trailing from one golden sconce to the next. She marked with awe that they were all lit. Every single candle, spitting and flickering light down the entire stretch of the hall.

She giggled at the revelation, drawing her attention to the likely culprit.

“What can I say?” Lucien offered her a roguish grin as he tucked himself back into his trousers. “My love for you is a burning flame.”

It wasn’t the first time it happened, though it’d never occurred at such a large scale. Lucien tilted his head down the length of the corridor, assessing his handiwork with what she could only amount to pride.

Elain couldn’t hide her own smile. She happened to enjoy the phenomenon—so much, in fact, that she kept a candle at their bedside that she’d barred anyone from lighting through conventional means. Her goal was to see the entire stick of wax melted by her birthday.

Her joy at the display of candlelight was fleeting, however, once she caught sight of the mess it illuminated. Beneath the table, the vase they’d knocked over was completely shattered and had sent pieces of painted pottery flying in all directions over the marble floor. She hoped the vase hadn’t been expensive and further, that it’d held no sentimental value.

Even so, most of her grief was directed towards the limp geraniums, whose once vivid petals were now crushed and wilted.

She couldn’t keep the despair from her voice. “We ruined the flowers.”

Lucien spared a glance toward the collateral of their love-making and frowned. He took her hand, raising it to his lips in apology. “I’ll set off tomorrow and get you a new bouquet,” he promised. “What’s your favourite flower?”

It was such an innocent, off-handed question.

At first, Elain’s lips curled into a smile, prepared to tease him for not remembering, before she recalled with shackling clarity that Lucien hadn’t been the last person to ask her that question. It had been her True Love, in a dream that felt like centuries ago.

In my leisure, I like to plant flowers.

Do you have a favourite?

Sweet alyssum.

Lucien, oblivious to the riptide of memory tugging her under, began the patient task of fixing her dress into a somewhat decent state.

“Is it another secret?” he teased.

The recollection was disorienting. Some part of her mind insisted on inserting her husband in the memory, when she knew it’d been someone different. She could picture his smug lips, inches from her ear and whispering so softly, And why’s that one your favourite? She could see the flash of scarlet hair, though there’d been no light. No features at all to distinguish one gentleman of her heart from another.

“I have many favourite flowers,” she said, fighting against the confusing images. She didn’t want to be remembering the dream at all; she wanted to cast her True Love and all thoughts about him permanently in the past. “It depends on which quality I’m using to assess them.”

Lucien smiled as if endeared by her answer. “What are the qualities?” He asked, pressing at her shoulder to urge her to swivel on the table, just enough so he might slip her dress back up her torso and begin lacing it.

“If I were to choose a flower for its appearance, it would be gaillardia.”

“Why’s that?”

“They remind me of you,” she said, growing shy at the admission. “Red and copper and gold. They’re one of the most vibrant flowers I’ve ever seen.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “And what about before you met me?”

“Even then.”

Elain marvelled a bit at that. As if subconsciously, she’d always felt some sort of draw to him, even before she’d known his name or his face or the colour of his eyes. That admission must have warmed him, because he paused his task to drop his head and press a lingering kiss to her shoulder.

“And your other favourites?”

“Sunflowers,” she hummed, “because they’re easy to grow, in addition to being beautiful.”

Lucien used his nose to trace the path of her shoulder, gliding up and along the crook of her neck, where he nuzzled himself closer and mused, “A bright, beautiful thing that thrives in adverse conditions? That sounds like you, sweet wife.”

A warm, wonderful feeling bubbled inside her. She leaned into his touch, wondering if this was what complete and utter happiness felt like.

“Are there any others?” He asked, offering one last, departing kiss so that he could return to his task.

“Just one,” she said, feeling less wary about it. She could reclaim the flower, make it something special to them. “Sweet alyssum. I like it for its meaning, worth beyond beauty.”

Lucien halted, the ties of her dress still lifted in his hands. “Is… is that a common flower in Carterhaugh?”

“I suppose,” she said, having never considered its abundance. “It used to grow very generously on the grounds of our manor. I used to collect the blossoms and dry them for tea. Allegedly, it’s meant to have soothing properties, though it never seemed to have much effect on my sisters’ tempers.”

He wasn’t saying anything. She waited for his response, allowing the silence to stretch beyond considerate thought, until the icy hands of anxiety began to stake their grip. Had she said something wrong? Elain glanced over her shoulder to find him staring at her, not moving an inch.

It was an effort to keep her apprehension from showing. “Is everything alright?”

Lucien shook his head as if he could physically dispel his thoughts. “Everything’s fine,” he said, though his eyes were still wide. “You reminded me of a story I’d once heard before, that’s all.”

“Oh?” She tried to turn further to face him, but he gently placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place, insistent on finishing. “Will you share it with me?”

“Another time,” he said, with an apologetic kiss along her spine. “I think right now, we should focus on making ourselves presentable and cleaning up this mess.”

His voice held a tightness that told her he was hiding something. That whatever he’d recalled had set him off balance. Curiosity burned at her. Enough that she almost pressed, prepared to accuse him of still keeping secrets. But she thought of his scars, recalling the weight of the memories that plagued him, and decided to hold her tongue.

She knew her husband loved her, and she trusted him enough to offer him the freedom to process his thoughts. He would reveal the truth to her in his own time. When he was ready for it.

Elain went to sleep that night in the large circular room in the corner tower of the East Wing. Lucien’s bedroom, or so it used to be. Now it was hers, too, and she cherished the intimacy of sharing a bedroom with her husband.

Whatever bothered Lucien had disappeared by the time they made it to their bedroom, and hadn’t prevented him from continuing his nightly tradition of laying her out on the bed, kissing his way down her stomach, and burying his face between her legs.

Beneath his slow tongue, her body became the strangest combination of weightless and heavy. Taught and loose. Lapping back and forth between the shores of pleasure and slumber until she settled somewhere in the middle, capable of only soft, contented sighs and drifting thoughts.

You’re so sweet like this, she heard him murmur to her, his voice just slightly louder than the fire popping and crackling in their hearth. My sweet Elain. My sweet wife.

My sweet soul.

That one couldn’t have been right. Must have been a figment of her dozing mind, blending reality with memory until she was delivered into the depths of a warm, caressing darkness.

When she next opened her eyes, she was startled to find that the space beside her was empty. Where she’d fallen asleep in the arms of her husband, she now sat up in her bed alone, his side vacant and cold, as if he’d never been there to begin with. Elain was prepared to light a candle and search for him when a voice drifted through the dark.

“Hello?”

Lucien? She thought. She nearly called to him, his name shaping her tongue before other oddities crept into her awareness.

The bed. The bedding wasn’t right. Lucien liked to sleep with the window open, inviting the biting autumn into their chamber, and when she’d complained about the cold, he compromised by piling their bed with fur-lined coverlets and thick blankets. They were nowhere to be found on this bed, nor were they necessary given the breeze circulating the room that was too light, too warm, to belong to the Eastern Kingdom.

She was not in the bed she’d fallen asleep in. She was not awake at all.

“Is that you?” Elain called. After all this time, she still didn’t have a name for him. “My True Love?”

A floorboard creaked beneath his weight.

“It’s me,” he said.

It was a relief, perhaps, that Lucien hadn’t abandoned her in the middle of the night. But one that was short-lived, given that she was alone with another man. In a dark, intimate space. Naked, just as she’d been when she’d fallen asleep in her husband’s arms. The room was completely dark, devoid even of moonlight, and still she scrambled for a sheet to cover herself.

It felt like a betrayal of Lucien to be here, but she wasn’t certain how to leave. This was the first time her True Love had been the one to summon her to their dreamland. She was wary of why he would choose to do so now, when they hadn’t communicated since the day they were to meet in Carterhaugh Gardens. Nesta’s note said he hadn’t shown up, and Elain was so preoccupied by her relationship with Lucien that she hadn’t properly considered why.

Why insist on meeting, why send her the coin to do so, if he wasn’t going to be there? Did he know that she hadn’t been there either? Given his absence, she’d assumed that they’d parted ways mutually, though she supposed there hadn’t been any proper closure. No heartfelt goodbyes, no explanations for what had gone wrong.

“You didn’t meet me in Carterhaugh,” he said. There was no accusation, only simple curiosity as he asked, “Why?”

His question surprised her. How would he know if he hadn’t been there either? It was a test, perhaps.

“I was there,” she protested, recalling Nesta’s letter. “I waited at the labyrinth’s center as long as I could. I did not see any man with a rose behind his ear.”

Her assertion was met with a moment of stunned silence.

Then he said, “Impossible. I was there from the moment the sun rose and a good while after it set.”

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Nesta would have seen him. Would have assessed every man in the center of the maze, and would have told her the truth if he’d been there. Wouldn’t she? Elain wasn’t certain who to believe. She’d never known her sister to lie, not about something like this.

“You must have had your head turned,” she rationalized. “And the flower escaped my notice.”

Had Nesta not looked properly? Had she gone at all? Elain couldn’t make sense of it, though she told herself that regardless, it didn’t matter. She didn’t need to know who her True Love was. She was happily, blissfully married.

“My mistake, then, to rely on your scrutiny. Were there too many men in the labyrinth’s center to pay each a thorough assessment?”

He couldn’t see it, but Elain crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t care for your tone.”

“Answer me truthfully, then. Did you come to meet me that day in Carterhaugh?”

Elain didn’t see a reason to keep the truth from him. “I sent someone on my behalf. And they told me that no man suited your description.”

“I see.”

Without being able to gauge his expression, she couldn’t determine if he was angry with her. His voice revealed no emotion at all, though she imagined that she would be frustrated in his place. From his perspective, he believed that she was in a loveless marriage. That she was miserable and was too much of a coward to pursue their life together.

Though it was all built on a lie, she began to feel defensive. Of Lucien, of her life with him, of her reasons for staying. “It is easy for you to cast judgment when there was no risk for you. You demanded an impossible task—it would have been a two day journey to meet you, an absence my husband would certainly have noticed.”

“And tell me of your husband.”

“What of him?”

“I was going to help you flee him,” he reminded her. There was an edge to his voice. “I didn’t consider it an impossible task because I believed his notice of your absence would be inevitable once we ran away together. Unless you were planning to go back? Has your desire to escape your marriage changed?”

This was it. This was the moment to tell him, to end things between them for good. She swallowed back her guilt, knowing that any resulting heartbreak would be her burden to carry. She’d been the one to place the first butterfly under tongue, despite knowing that they would always end up here. Saying their goodbyes.

Her True Love deserved a happy ending, and she wished she could give that to him. But her heart belonged to Lucien. She suspected it always would.

“My husband is not the man I thought him to be,” she said. “He is good—kind.”

“There are plenty of good and kind men that do not treat their wives as well as they deserve.”

Even in her dreams, even from someone who did not know Lucien, she would not tolerate such accusations. “He treats me better than anyone I know.”

Her True Love paused, like he was inclined to argue, but instead asked, “Are you happy with him?”

Elain didn’t waver, didn’t hesitate for even a second.

“Yes.”

It was the honest, simple truth.

She was met with further silence as her True Love processed this answer, what it meant for him. For them.

“Then consider this our last meeting,” he said cordially. “I will not disrupt your marriage any further. I truly wish you happiness, lady.”

To his credit, he sounded sincere. And she thought he must be a very decent man. One who could perhaps learn to find happiness in his circumstances the same way she had.

“Wait,” she called to him.

He paused. Curious. “Yes?”

“Your wife… Do you think you could find happiness with her? I feel a kinship to her,” she admitted, pressing her hand to her chest. “I hope she can find happiness in her marriage as well.”

Her True Love laughed, and there was a warmth to it, an affection, that swelled her heart. “My wife is extraordinary. I promise I will endeavour to make her happy.”

That brought her more peace than she could have hoped for.

“Then perhaps we were not meant to find each other in this lifetime,” she said. “Perhaps the Mother willed our lives to walk in parallel. I hope we can each find fulfillment on our separate paths.”

There was an ounce of whimsy in his response, his tone a touch too knowing as he said, “Perhaps one day our paths will converge outside our dreams. I’ll be looking forward to it until then, my sweet soul.”

When Elain next opened her eyes, it was to one eye of russet and another of metal. Lucien was watching her sleep, a soft smile parting his lips. The kind that was rare to see from him. Not sarcastic or smug or self-satisfied, just… happy.

A low humming noise rumbled in his throat. “Good morning, wife.”

He leaned down to kiss her, slow and unhurried, like the steady creep of fog drifting just outside their open window. The air was fresh with dew, but too chilly to coax her from the warmth of her husband’s body and the pile of blankets.

He asked between a trail of kisses along her neck, “Did you have a nice dream?”

For a moment, she panicked. Did she tell him? Would he understand? The last thing Elain wanted was for her husband to lock himself in his study to try and track down her True Love. It was over. There was no need to plague his mind with it.

“I… I don’t remember it.” She said, shuffling closer to press her face into his chest, hoping to distract him from the lie by dragging her lips across his throat. “Did you? Have a nice dream?”

“I did.” His fingers lovingly traced the shape of her spine, and he was still wearing that beautiful, unrestrained smile. “I dreamt of you.”

If only Elain could have been so lucky.

“Couldn’t have been so nice, then,” she teased, nipping at his neck.

He made another of those rich, throaty noises that she only seemed capable of eliciting in the mornings.

“You’re mistaken. There is no dream lovelier. Though I doubt any could compare to this.”

“To what?”

Lucien placed both hands on her hips and heaved her up so that she was practically lying atop him. His eyes were so rich with affection she almost couldn’t stand to be the sole focus of it, could feel her face heating as though she were standing directly in the sun’s path.

“Waking up to the sight of you.”

He pushed one of her curls behind her ear, studying her face like he was memorizing every detail. Elain was beginning to suspect an ulterior motive.

“You’re being rather complimentary, husband.” She trailed her fingers suggestively over the planes of his chest. “Is there something you’re after?”

“A good many things, Elain.”

Lucien kissed her, and she could feel him harden against her stomach. It was a pattern she’d noticed before, and this time she couldn’t contain her curiosity. She retreated from their kiss in favour of pulling up the blankets to glance down their bodies, admiring the thick appendage that was already swelling to attention.

“Does it always do that in the morning?”

He chuckled. “It will do that so long as you are naked in bed with me.”

Elain continued to stare, feeling her mouth grow dry as she realized she had a great many curiosities when it came to her husband and his body. “That thing you do with your mouth,” she said, recalling the way he’d licked her just before they’d fallen asleep. “Does the equivalent feel nice for you?”

From the way his cock twitched in response to her question, she thought Lucien might have found the idea appealing. Even as he said, “It’s not necessary for child making.”

She glanced at him flatly. “That’s not what I asked.”

When he didn’t say anything further, Elain elected to take matters into her own hand. She shuffled down his body, reaching until her palm wrapped around his length.

“Fuck,” he bit out as she pumped her fist experimentally, the same way she’d seen him do it. “Yes, Elain. It feels nice for me, too.”

“Then show me—”

“You don’t have to.”

Elain ignored his protest and shuffled the rest of the way down his body, until she was crouched between his legs. “I want to be a good wife.”

“You are already a good wife.” His voice was becoming strained, particularly as she leaned over his cock and tentatively swiped her tongue over his head. “You’re—fuck. The best wife.”

“Then I don’t want you to ever forget it,” she crooned, repeating the small licking motion over the bead of moisture gathered at his tip. It was saltier and slightly more bitter than she expected, but the way Lucien shuddered warmed her blood. She kept the rest of him in her fist, continuing to move her hand up and down the length of his shaft. “Like this?”

“Elain—”

She giggled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His cock was pleasantly warm to the touch. Softer than she’d expect—not so different from silk, the way she could slide her palm against him with so little resistance. She wanted to know what it would feel like to take him in her mouth. What he would taste like.

“Cauldron,” he groaned.

Elain flicked her eyes up to see Lucien was watching, his eyes half-lidded and still utterly fixed on what she was doing as she slowly opened her mouth and slid his head between her lips. She swirled her tongue around him, marvelling at the taste, the sounds she was coaxing from him, how his hand speared into her hair and tugged.

“Stop—Stop, sweetheart, please. You’re going to make me come.”

Elain pulled her head up, but didn’t stop working him with her hand as she asked, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“If you want a child, it’d be a waste for it to go in your mouth,” he said candidly. His eyes were glazed, and he seemed to hesitate before adding, “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing myself all over your lips.”

Oh? Elain grinned, then lowered her mouth back down, taking in as much of him as she could manage. He was enormous, and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to fit all of him in her mouth, but Lucien didn’t seem to mind. His head had fallen back into the pillows, his lips parted open in pleasure. She hummed, delighted to see he was enjoying himself, and nearly gagged when his hips bucked in response.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

Lucien’s voice was ordinarily decadent. Rich and low and a little bit raspy. In the mornings that raspiness became thicker, more raw. And when he was like this, still half asleep and drunk with desire, it became the most exquisite sound she’d ever heard.

She hummed again to see if she could elicit the same response. It was exhilarating to be able to drive him senseless for a change, to watch the way he came apart as she hallowed her cheeks and continued bobbing her head. He was able to manage only a few more passes before his fingers tightened in her hair. His hips jerked forward, and a low guttural noise was all the warning she was given before he spilled into her mouth.

Elain waited until his body stopped shuddering before she swallowed and gently pulled away. She met his eyes as she sat up, swiping his spend from her bottom lip and sucking it from her thumb with a flourish. He made an odd sound in the back of his throat.

She sang, “Looks like you’ll have to make it up to me another time.”

Lucien shook his head. “Now,” he said, reaching for her. Elain yelped as she was dropped back atop his chest, and he was pulling her down to kiss her again and again, paying no mind to the taste of himself. He grunted, “I’ll make it up to you now.”

She believed that he would have made good on that promise if there hadn’t been a knock on the door.

“We’ll take our breakfast later,” he called.

The knock came again, more insistent. This time, followed by Vassa’s voice.

“Your Highness, I’ve received an urgent notice from the guards at the gatehouse. They say that King Beron is on his way. He’ll be arriving in a matter of minutes.”

#A Blaze in the Dark #Elucien #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #ABITD

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