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separatist-apologist · 9 months

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We Never Go Out Of Style

Could end in burning flames or paradise

Summary: When Gwyn breaks up with her boyfriend on the eve of Nesta's destination wedding, Nesta Archeron has only one objective: set Gwyn up with her high school crush.

Note: Based on this tweet from @heathermcwrites: "One of my bridesmaids just broke up with her bf who was supposed to come to my wedding & I was sad for her for about 3 seconds until I remembered that her crush will also be at the wedding (single) and I'm now more committed to this 2nd chance romance than to my own marriage."

"I should also note that this is a destination wedding so there are EVEN MORE opportunities for uh…shenanigans"

“This whole week has been a bachelorette party, Nes,” Emerie complained from Nesta’s couch. One slim arm was thrown over her eyes, dark hair a tangled mass against the pillows. Gwyn nodded, slumped on the hard floor while her feet rubbed against the soft, black and white shag carpet sitting just beneath a coffee table. Gwyn didn’t bother mentioning that Cassian’s ass cheeks were imprinted on the glass, though her eyes kept drifting toward it.

How had they not broken it?

That didn’t matter? Not when Nests flung open the curtains in her suite living room, earning groans of protest from the very hungover Gwyn and Emerie. “Turn it off, Nesta.”

“I can’t turn off the sun, Em,” Nesta replied. “And it’s almost noon. Don’t make me spend the day with my sisters.”

“Why not?” Gwyn asked, turning to bury her face in the squishy, leather couch. “They went to bed earlier than we did.”

“Come on. Lets do the work out class in the pool and have a few drinks—”

Both Emerie and Gwyn groaned again at the mention of alcohol. The Archeron sisters could drink like fish, and wake up just as pretty as they’d started. Not Gwyn, though. After their hike, Nesta and Cassian had wanted to go to another club, where drinks were half off if you were a lady. Had Gwyn taken advantage, flirting with men at the bar only to pass drinks along to Azriel—and Cassian, if he was nearby? Yes.

And what had it gotten her? Passed out on the floor of Nesta’s suite while Azriel was god knows where, all while her friend was hoping for a repeat.

“I can’t, Nesta. My mouth is dry.”

“Drink some water,” Nesta said casually before vanishing behind a doorway. She returned moments later with two of her own swimsuits. Neither Gwyn nor Emerie made any attempt at catching them, leaving the red fabric hanging in her hair. No matter what they said, Gwyn knew she and Emerie would put them on and be in the pool within an hour.

“Will you braid my hair?” she asked of Emerie instead, ignoring the soft sound of triumph that left Nesta’s throat. Emerie peeked open a pretty brown eye, glazed from the bad sleep they’d gotten, and mumbled that sounded mostly like agreement. Maybe a little swearing, too, which Nesta promptly ignored.

“Cassian bought a bunch of frozen breakfast burritos. Want me to microwave—”

“Yes.” They said it in unison, the most certain either Gwyn or Emerie had been all day. While Nesta powered up the microwave and moved through the kitchen with the same efficiency she employed in the courtroom, Gwyn tried not to complain too much when Emerie began dragging a brush through her hair before snapping little plastic ponytails against Gwyn’s scalp to create two thick, cute bubble braids.

The smell of cheese and peppers filled the air, turning Gwyn’s stomach hollow with hunger. She scarfed one down while Nesta watched, triumphant. “It’s fixing you, isn’t it?”

“No,” she lied. “Make me another.”

Nesta only laughed, pretty as ever in another black bikini that somehow made her seem impossibly tan. Gwyn retreated to the bathroom, throwing on the red suit that Cassian probably loved on Nesta given the scraps of fabric held together by flimsy string. She tried not to think too much about what Azriel might think.

But she wondered, all the same, if he’d have any reaction at all. She traded places with Emerie, scarfing down another piping hot burrito and chugging a cold glass of orange juice before she said a word.

“You know, I have an actual bachelorette plan for this weekend,” Gwyn began, drumming her fingers against the laminate countertop. “I’ve been putting it together since we got here.” “Cassian told me,” Nesta admitted, eliciting a choked sound of outrage from Gwyn.

“How—Azriel.”

Nesta grimaced. “They don’t keep secrets. Cassian especially. It sounds really fun, Gwyn,” Nesta added, though Gwyn could see she didn’t really mean it.

A little offended, Gwyn asked, “What’s wrong with the night I have planned?”

“No Cassian.”

Gwyn spluttered. “That—that’s the whole point! You have your whole life to see Cassian!”

Nesta nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek. “What if we combined them—”

“Then it’s just a regular night! A stripper was coming, Nes,” she added, snapping her fingers in front of Nesta’s face. “And not just any stripper, but an Italian stripper, which I was assured is better than a regular one.”

“Cassian would probably think that’s very funny—”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Gwyn grumbled. “Why would you wait until now to tell me?”

“I thought maybe Azriel would convince you—”

“Why would you think that?” Gwyn demanded, suddenly defensive. Nesta’s cheeks seemed to darken even as those silvery blue eyes flashed a warning. Gwyn was going to lose this fight. Nesta shook her head, brushing strands of her that had escaped her own braided hair from her face.

“I—”

“He’s obviously into you,” Emerie interrupted, strolling into the room in a vibrant purple two piece. She’d braided her hair, too, which warmed Gwyn. They’d been wearing the same hairstyle for years, and not even marriage was going to stop that. No matter how chaotic their lives got, they were still friends first. “We all saw that picture he put up, too. That man doesn’t have one woman on his grid but now he’s got you.”

Nesta was fiddling with the ties at the front of her swimsuit. Quietly—so quietly Gwyn barely heard her, she murmured, “I put you two in the same room.”

“You what?!”

Nesta sighed. “When you ended things, he called me. Wanted to know why, and how to get you back blah blah blah. I didn’t help him, but…you had that crush on Azriel in high school—”

“Oh my God,” Gwyn mumbled, putting her head in her hands. “And this whole time…I thought…”

“Did it work, at least?” Emerie asked curiously, picking up one of the microwave burritos from a paper plate. “Have you…you know?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“That’s a yes,” Nesta said, slapping a high five out with Emerie. “Do you like him?”

“I’m not answering that, either. I’m feeling a little betrayed right now. ”

Nesta sighed. “Well, don’t. It was done out of love for you both—Azriel is stupid when it comes to women and you…God, Gwyn, do you have any idea how much it has sucked watching you lose yourself to Jonathon?”

Gwyn looked between her friends, heart pounding. Emerie grimaced.

“He made you so small,” she murmured, squeezing Gwyn’s hand.

“All he did was complain,” Nesta added darkly. “The amount of times I had to remind Cassian he couldn’t hit him…” Nesta shook her head.

“It doesn’t have to be Azriel,” Emerie amended hastily. “It just seemed like maybe you two…”

“So you both knew?” Gwyn asked flatly, unsure how she felt about the whole thing. Though a new, more terrible thought was settling in her chest. “Did Az—”

“No!” Nesta said quickly. “God, no. Not even Cassian knew.”

“Because he—”

“Can’t keep a secret, yeah,” Nesta agreed. Gwyn exhaled a breath. If Azriel had known, Gwyn thought she would have had to pack up her things and fly home, change her name, and start over in an entirely new city. “He doesn’t know. And it seems like he likes you. Rhys told Cassian Azriel said something that made him think so. He didn’t say what, though.”

Gwyn could have admitted she and Azriel slept together. Could have put Nesta and Emerie out of their misery and told the truth. Instead, she clarified, “So, this whole time, you’ve been playing matchmaker during your wedding?”

Nesta nodded without an ounce of shame. “I’m more committed to your romance than my own marriage, Gwyn. Don’t be mad,” she added, the closest Gwyn would get to an apology. “You’re so stubborn…if I’d told you what I was thinking, you would have avoided him on principle.”

“Yeah, and I probably wouldn’t have slept with him in the airplane bathroom,” she grumbled.

Emerie burst out laughing. “I didn’t believe Mor when she told me she saw you two go in there. She’s going to die—”

“Do not tell her!” Gwyn shrieked. “Tell no one.”

Emerie and Nesta, eyes bright with delight that their scheming had worked immediately, nodded their heads in agreement. God, how had they even gotten here? Looking up at the popcorn ceiling overhead, Gwyn forced herself to say, “It’s not like that between me and Azriel. It’s…this is just a vacation thing. Proximity—”

“Oh, bullshit!” Nesta exploded while Emerie swallowed the laughter causing her shoulders to shake. “Azriel isn’t capable of casual anything.”

Gwyn wanted to believe that. He’d said a lot of things, always with his cock in her body. Never…never without. And Gwyn was cautious to trust anything a man said in the middle of sex given he was likely to say anything he thought she wanted to hear if it meant he got to finish.

“I don’t know how we got here,” Gwyn grumbled, rubbing her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Do not meddle, okay? If you want to change the bachelorette party tonight, that's on you.”

“Finally,” Nesta breathed, her delight evident.

“Control freak,” Emerie teased.

And somehow, everything was fine. All Gwyn’s resentment melted away as they devolved into silly teasing, finishing their food and drinks before heading out into the hot Italian air. The sun bounced off the flagstones, blinding the three of them until they clutched at each other, giggling and lamenting that they’d forgotten to put on sunscreen. Gwyn’s hat and sunglasses were in the room she shared with Azriel, and today she didn’t dare run down to get them. She’d hoped to avoid Azriel until she knew how to tell him they’d been set up.

It didn’t matter, at any rate. He was already laid out in a pool chair, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes, arms folded behind his head while one muscular leg was bent at the knee, causing the muscles in his abdomen to flex obscenely.

It was absurd, how handsome he was. More absurd when he lowered his glasses to look at her walk past him—as if both Nesta and Emerie didn’t immediately notice. He wasn’t beating the not interested charges, which both annoyed and thrilled her. Azriel didn’t seem to notice the group of beautiful blondes in the pool all laughing loudly, hoping for his attention. Nor did he pay them any mind as they continued to get out of the pool, dripping wet as they slicked their hair back right in front of him.

Even after he’d put his mirrored shades back on, Gwyn could feel his gaze burning against her skin.

Azriel isn’t capable of anything causal.

To find out the truth, she was going to have to just ask him flat out what he wanted. And if he wanted to keep this going when they got home—for real, and not when he was erect or drunk or lost to romantic moonlight. Gwyn swallowed.

It was better to know.

Right?

AZRIEL:

“What was the point of asking me to throw you a bachelor party if we were going to end up with the girls?” Azriel grumbled, thinking of all the wasted money Cassian was flushing down the toilet. It didn’t matter if Rhysand and Nesta had venmoed him more than he’d spent—it was the principle of the thing. He’d paid for a stripper. And not just any stripper, but an Italian stripper, which was, apparently, better than American ones.

“Nes wants to be together tonight,” Cassian said, flashing Azriel a grin. So much for a nice night out—Azriel was wearing a pair of salmon colored shorts and a white and blue Hawaiian shirt wholly unbuttoned and a lei around his neck. Cassian’s choice, of course, tied together with flip flops that made him feel like a middle aged dad on a Florida beach.

“You’ll be with her your whole life,” Azriel reminded him, for all the good it did. They were still at the resort for a themed beach night at the adults-only club, and judging from the others he’d seen, their clothes weren’t creative.

The girls were worse—or better, depending on your point of view. Better, because they were in bikini tops and tied sarongs, and worse because every fucking man with eyes was hovering, hoping to drag one of them home. Rhys immediately pushed onto the pulsating dance floor, mere shadow in the black lit dark. Feyre didn’t seem to mind the attention, or was merely trying to get a rise out of Azriel’s brother.

And Rhysand was so, so stupid he fell for it every single time. Azriel wondered if they’d be married next.

At the bar, Elain Archeron was carefully arranging glasses filled with pale, pink liquid on a circular tray. That seemed safe enough—he was terrified to look for Gwyn and see her with another man. A distraction was exactly what he needed.

And a drink.

Or maybe six.

“Want help?” he asked Elain. She looked up, relieved to find him and not one of the crawling creeps. Glancing just behind her, Azriel found Lucien Vanserra having a loud conversation with his brothers wife, oblivious to his own being hit on simply for breathing. How could Nesta and Cassian find this preferable to a quiet evening with food and strippers?

“Yes,” she nodded, shouting over the thudding music. Azriel took the tray and brought it to her husband while Elain began doling them out with a pleased smile.

“Can we try not to get so wrecked tonight?” Emeries voice pulled Azriel from his eyes off Elain and found Gwyn standing close enough to touch. Back in that red top that had been haunting him since he’d seen it at the pool. Did she even know the effect she was having? He wished she’d kept the braids in her hair, though her thick, cinnamon colored hair fell in thick waves down her back which was erotic in its own kind of way.

He wanted to wrap it around his wrist until her back was arched in the air. She hadn’t come home the night before, likely tucked in with Nesta but Azriel’s imagination had run wild. He imagined her all night with another man, writhing with pleasure and screaming his name.

Cassian had told him when he woke up he’d found Gwyn asleep in the bathroom, one arm flung over the closed lid of the toilet, and Emerie on the couch wrapped up in one of his shirts. Azriel hadn’t dared to ask why Cassian was telling him that, though the knot of anxiety that had formed in chest eased significantly when he learned she was safe—and still his.

Gwyn offered him a tentative smile before throwing back her shot. So much skin was on display—so much he could touch without anyone thinking twice. In fact, Azriel could see her breasts peeking from the bottom of the swim top, taunting him when Gwyn stepped back, shaking her head with a grimace.

Cheeks flushed, she said, “That was awful.”

“It’s a barbie shot!” Elain told her cheerfully, pushing one toward Azriel. Gwyn’s eyes found him again, smiling sweetly before she took Emerie’s hand and led her back out onto the dance floor.

Fuck. Holding his glass, Azriel couldn’t drag his eyes off the sway of her hips or the way her hair swished back and forth.

A heavy hand clapped on Azriel’s shoulder, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. Cassian, just behind, grinned. “Want to dance?”

Azriel leveled a flat stare. He’d never danced a day in his life—he wasn’t about to start now. He was content to watch. Cassian, too, given he beckoned for Azriel to follow him up a set of grimy stairs where beautiful women came down, eyeing him up and down and running their hands down his chest while pretending there was so little space they had to touch him.

Normally that kind of would amuse him, but today it irritated him.

“I paid for a private room,” Cassian told him, the music quieter as he pushed into a door with his tattooed shoulder. It was nice, with a long, semi-circular table with booth and chair seating and a glass window overlooking the dance floor beneath. The stripper pole in the middle of the room made Azriel wish he hadn’t canceled the one he’d paid for Cassian’s bachelor party.

“Should have kept the stripper,” Rhys said, reading Azriel’s thoughts.

“Maybe we can get Nesta—”

“No!” Rhys and Azriel said at once, falling into their seats with wide eyes.

“Don’t make this weird, man,” Azriel added as Cassian chuckled. “Save that for tonight.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Rhys asked Cassian, who pulled up a chair across from them.

“It will be when the pizzas get up here. I know…look, I know you two really tried, but I don’t need one last night of freedom. I don’t want to pretend to be single.”

Azriel and Rhys sighed, though neither could pretend to be surprised. All Cassian had ever wanted was Nesta. It made sense, he supposed, that Cassian would want to spend this night with her, too. He knew, from the look on Rhys’s face, that the same soft jealousy he felt was echoed in his brother.

They wanted what Cassian had.

“We can do strippers when Feyre decides to marry Rhys,” Cassian added with a laugh.

“Yeah fucking right,” Rhys grumbled, cheeks flushed. “Not if I want to keep my balls.”

“Az, then.”

“Don’t look at me,” he replied, heart thumping loudly. “I’m not getting married anytime soon.”

He wondered what Cassian knew when he replied rather smugly, “We’ll see.”

Had Gwyn told Nesta? Or had Rhys told Cassian? That seemed the most likely given Rhys was suddenly studiously examining his fingernails. He was spared a confrontation by Elain Archeron, repaying the distraction favor, albeit unwittingly, to bring up more shots, along with the Vanserra brothers.

“Nice,” Lucien said, setting a round of beers in front of them. “Bottle service?”

“Do I look cheap, Vanserra?” Cassian replied with a grin.

“Yes,” Eris responded, earning a warning smack in the chest from Elain. More people filed in, along with a very beautiful waitress and the bottle service Cassian had paid for. He barked at everyone to drink, and drink heavily, given it hadn’t come cheap. For the crowd they had, it seemed more than reasonable and no one paid him any mind when he ordered a glass of water and kept quietly to himself. He was waiting for an opening—one he found when Gwyn stumbled down the steps for the bathroom.

Azriel made his way after her, content in the knowledge that all their friends were too drunk to notice if they left together or not. And maybe this loud club wasn’t the place for a conversation, but when Gwyn pushed into the bathroom, Azriel followed right behind her.

“Is this a new kink I should be worried about?” she asked, though she still undid her bottoms to pee in front of him. Azriel turned, only a little embarrassed.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all day.”

“Oh? Why is that, I wonder?” she asked, her voice just a little louder than usual. Okay, so maybe she was a little more drunk than he thought. Azriel hesitated.

“Because I like you.”

“Me? Or me naked?”

Oof. “Both,” he murmured, swallowing hard. “I ah…I wanted to talk about going home.”

Her laugh bounced off the tile walls. “Are we breaking up?”

A flush, and then Gwyn, flip flops slapping against the floor while she went to wash her hands.

“No. I want to see you when this is all over. Just you,” he added.

As my girlfriend, though Azriel didn’t know if he dared to add that. Not when she was looking at him with…was that amusement? Was he about to have his heart broken?

“Just me?” Gwyn asked, shaking her wet hands between them. “This is starting to sound like a confession.”

“I just told you I liked you,” he reminded her. Gwyn’s smile widened.

“So you want..what, exactly?”

“You,” he replied, daring to come closer. Close enough to touch her arms, to smell the scent of her shampoo and the salt on her skin from dancing. “With me and no one else.”

“So…your girlfriend.”

The urge to play it cool, to tell her no and hedge his bets rose through his throat and nearly spilled out of his mouth. Did she want to be casual still? To keep her options open? Azriel didn’t, and the thought of agreeing to that made him want to vomit on the floor.

“Yes.”

Gwyn’s brows shot skyward. He’d caught her by surprise, then. “Just you and me,” he added, so it was perfectly clear to her. “No one else.”

“Starting…when?”

“Starting now,” he replied, pulling her closer still. “Right now.”

“You should know something,” Gwyn said, before rushing to tell him the whole, sordid saga of Nesta’s manipulation. With flushed cheeks and averted eyes, Gwyn told him how they’d been paired together—and that Nesta had known she’d been single the entire time. Azriel waited patiently, unsure why it was so critical he know this. Did Gwyn think he was going to change his mind, or that proximity was the only thing drawing him to her?

He wanted her in the airport, well before they ever got seated together, and told her as much. It was hardly romantic, telling your would-be girlfriend that you fucked her in an airplane bathroom because your attraction was driving you insane, but Gwyn obviously needed to hear it.

But even if that hadn’t been true—he’d still want her. And would have thanked Nesta for hitting him over the face with it.

“So…so it doesn’t matter?” she asked, twining her arms around his neck.

“Never did,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her mouth. Azriel might have taken her right then and there, but a pounding against the door reminded him that they were not anywhere private—and there were limited bathrooms.

“I can’t leave,” Gwyn lamented, reading his mind.

“Don’t drink too much,” he said instead, selfishly wanting her more than he wanted to carry her back to their shared room, black out drunk until she threw up in his lap. “Cassian has pizza upstairs. You should eat some.”

“Insatiable,” Gwyn teased, unlocking the door and dragging him out with her. Everything was perfect. Better than perfect because for the first time, Azriel genuinely believed he could have what Cassian and Nesta did. That this might actually be it for him, and all he had to do was hold tight and try not to fuck it up too badly.

He never considered outside forces were conspiring against him. And he never thought, when they were back just outside the dance floor and he’d pulled her flush against his body for a languid, long-coming kiss, that anyone would even care.

“Gwyn!”

Gwyn froze, turning her head in slow motion. Azriel, too, turned to look at the masculine voice calling over the music. His stomach dropped to the floor. There, in an ugly green and blue striped tie and a long sleeved, white button down made of stifling polyester, stood Jonathon.

“Fuck,” Gwyn whispered.

Fuck, indeed.

#gwynriel #dont look at me like that #i finish everything eventually

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