[ 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 ] ― @selenaites and receiver lock eyes across the room
Seducing Illyrian males is not so different from seducing human men. The flutter of lashes, the well - placed smile, the veil of helplessness to appeal to their pride and vanity. It’s all the same and it strikes her that both the Fae and mortals put their men in charge when so little can fell them. Nesta thinks it’s all a load of fucking shit, but no one wants to hear that. Not from her especially, but not from anyone, she suspects. Everything in Velaris is starshine and perfection, and Cauldron forbid a girl has a complaint.
Cassian’s been watching her all day. He watches her every day because it’s one of the missions he can't reject. It’s not Azriel’s shift and the weight of the General’s attention is far heavier than the Shadowsinger’s. Or maybe that’s just the weight of that thing in her chest that pulls taut whenever he is near, string tied tight to entreat her closer to him. Nesta wishes she didn’t care for it. She wishes she didn’t care for his attention either.
But she’s been watching him just as much as he’s been watching her. The warmth of his gaze is different today though. Nesta knows that look all too well; she wonders if Morrigan has been called away somewhere, and then she berates herself for it. What does it matter that he knows he can come here and look at her this way whenever he’d like and she would give herself over freely? It’s what she was made for anyway. Created by her mother and the Mother, just for Cassian’s eyes.
She can feel his hands before he’s even touched her. Nesta asks the House to turn the lights down before she joins him on the sofa that looks too small for all of him. When she perches on his lap, the look in his eyes has changed to something far more knowing. Something sad has shifted in his face, something that speaks to understanding she thinks.
Cassian doesn’t touch her. Didn’t he want to touch her? Did she read this all wrong? Nesta brings her fingers to the strong line of his jaw and tries to be gentle when she traces either side from his chin to his temple. I'll stop reminding you it's me, she promises. If she does it right, he says nothing, but finally he brings his palms to her cheeks and the way he touches her is so devastatingly careful that immediately her eyes are brimming with tears. ❝ You don’t want me, ❞ she accuses wetly instead of the pretty supplication she'd planned for rougher hands so he won’t think about what he’s cutting his teeth on when he hopefully kisses her soon. As far as seduction goes, it’s not her best. Why can’t she ever be easy? ❝ Didn’t you– Don’t you want me to– I want– ❞
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