Summary:
Set in the There Be Dragons, Harry Universe, this snippet is fills the prompt of "More Hadrian/Wikhn Interaction Please!" to the anon that requested-Enjoy!
Pairings:
Harry Potter x Harry's Bonded
Disclaimer:
I do not own any Harry Potter anything. That belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just like playing with Harry in my own little world of storyville. I make no money by writing this fanfiction. All original characters are my own.
Rating:
T – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16.
WARNINGS: Smexy Hints. Slash. Silliness. OC's. OOCness. TBDH Universe. AU. Other warnings will be added as I see fit.
A/N: I was thinking about Hadrian wayyyy to much this morning and somehow, this whole ficlet came into existence. Basically, I just wanted a mopey Hadrian missing Wikhn (an ACE wishing his King was at hand) and this is what I ended up. There's angst. I think. I mean, I didn't do it on purpose? Sorta kinda maybe...? Enjoy! ~Scion
Because it's Hadrian.
And Hadrian, alone, has always been that way.
Alone.
He refuses their company, rejects any offers of help and silently bears his burdens without complaint.
Especially when Harry is involved.
Theo wishes he could lecture that stubbornness out of him—but it's an idle wish. Most times, he is eternally grateful, for it seems that only Hadrian is self-sufficient enough to shield them all, should something happen to Theo.
He will do his utmost to be sure that it will never happen, for he is Slytherin, after all and there are contingencies upon contingencies. Lines he will cross to be sure that their peaceful life remains as it is.
And yet.
This is Hadrian.
Harry watches, from a distance, as they talk. He says nothing when the stacks of parchment change from Theo's hands to Hadrian's.
He pretends not to hear the body count, the kill count and the possibility of things taking a turn for the worst. It's not good.
It's never good.
But this is how they are.
So they do all that they can.
Of course they close ranks, for his Gheyos care enough beyond their ranks.
Or so Harry likes to think. That is how their Circle has always been. Sometimes, he wonders if it's spillover from his empathy and others, he can simply watch them, together, like this.
Hadrian broods in the war room, with Theo's parchments scattered about the floor around him, while he makes workable plans in between of tallying up needed resources.
He's good at this—it is an ACE's strength, after all—and it shows, in the way that even though he is occupied, they have all gathered around him.
From their Queen to their Joker, they crowd close enough to be within arms' reach, taking care not to mess up the careful stacks of parchment.
They lounge about the war table, atop the settee, keep watch by the window and roll about on the floor.
There's nothing dignified about it.
But the sight only makes Harry's heart ache.
Hadrian is doing it again.
Shouldering everything, for their sake.
And no matter what, he can't break through that. Arielle knows he's tried many times. Has already offered twice for this incident of friends-turned-enemies.
Fred comes to him at the doorway, with George right behind him. They both hug Harry, nuzzling against his neck and chin, trying to cheer him up.
He only whuffles, softly, in answer. He knows what they want—what they are asking—and he has no answer. This is Hadrian after all.
One who walks, cloaked in darkness and smothered in the emptiness of the pitch black shadows of the night.
"Let's give him some space, eh?" Fred coaxes. "He'll be fine, he always is."
George gives him a Look for those words, but nuzzles Harry's cheek. "He's right, Harry. Mostly. We'll only be in the way and you know-" he stops, when Harry turns straight to him, trying to burrow deeper into his embrace.
It's a gesture of desperation—at least, from their Harry—when he feels this way.
"Shhh," Fred soothes, already casting a silencing spell over them, as he eases the war room door shut. In the hallway, they can make as much noise as they want.
He doesn't want Hadrian or the rest of their watchdogs to start worrying. Their worrying always worries him and Fred does not have patience for that.
Not today, anyway.
"Hey, hey—shhh." George nuzzles Harry's head this time, rubbing a bit more insistently when he feels Harry's hands fisting in the give of his baggy jumper. "You alright?"
Harry shakes his head, once.
"Charlie," Fred mouths, over Harry's head.
George simply nods.
It's not the same.
In fact, it's so jarringly the opposite that Hadrian doesn't even want to process it.
But he has to.
It is his duty after all and shadows beware, should he shirk such a thing. He can feel them, crawling about the corners of the room, churning as restlessly as his mind does.
Even sitting here, in the middle of the war room, where the wards are the strongest and his Gheyos are beside him—it doesn't help.
None of it helps.
And Theo—well, he could never refuse his Alpha, not with that stricken expression on his too-young face. For all of his experience and all of his strength, Hadrian will always be his Alpha's shield, no matter the reason at whatever the cost.
This is simply one of those times.
It is his own fault he is feeling so depleted at present and therefore unable to properly center himself for what promises to be a mind-numbing mission with little margin for error.
His Queen shifts, restlessly, from their position off to his left, wary eyes tracking his movements as he sorts and signs the parchments.
Hadrian can't muster up a smile nor a flicker of emotion. The yawning chasm inside of him is so dark, deep and empty—he has nothing left to dredge from its blackened depths.
Nothing at all.
Tiredness stalks him, demanding that he rest his body from the abuses he's put it through in the past week alone. He has pushed himself to new limits, after all, scarcely stopping enough for the barest measures of recovery and healing.
It isn't the first time.
He's grateful that their Pareya are at least attentive. It was a relief to see that the twins had come for Harry. Seeing the worry and the heartache in those solemn emerald eyes, always undoes him to some degree. There will always be things that he does, that he can't explain more beyond instinct.
Things that he simply has to do.
There are also things he would never wish for Harry to know about him, simply because it is enough to know that Harry chose him.
Wanted him. Cared for him. Still cares for him.
And yet.
Yet…the one he wants now…
Is Wikhn.
The prickly Fae bastard that is glaringly absent.
He doesn't even know when they reached this point, because honestly, he didn't see it coming. They were always at each other's throats and now—this feeling, this shift, it's different. It's difficult to swallow and he doesn't want to think too deeply about it.
Wikhn is off taking care of some sort of business—rationally, Hadrian knows this—and irrationally, he does not care. His instincts are ruffled. His element is uneasy. He wants what he cannot have.
And right now, he wants Wikhn.
Even if it means angry words and claws drawing blood.
He wants—no, needs what only his King can give him.
His Gheyos shuffle restlessly again in the room and he sighs, shoulders slumping. He would offer an apology if he could swallow enough of his pride to allow it.
Pride is the only thing keeping him upright at this moment, so perhaps, he'll save the groveling for later—and only if they are truly unhappy with him.
He doubts that they are, for there is only worry reflected back to him, as they attempt to inch closer, taking care of his personal space and trying not to anger him by encroaching on it.
They want to be closer. They want to help. They want to help however he will let them and yet—he still can't bring himself to give into that support just yet.
It's hard.
It's gotten easier, but it is still hard.
He has been alone for so very long, after all.
At the darkest corner of the room, their Joker swears, stumbling forward from the shadows that have moved him. He is the most sensitive to Hadrian's elemental shifts, after all. He glares at the darkness for a long moment, before stomping forward to offer a stiff, jerky bow to his ACE.
"If you want him that badly—do you want me to bring him back?"
And the thought is laughable.
For Wikhn is no one's and even if Hadrian were to order him back, he knows the Fae well enough to know that his order would be ignored outright.
Wikhn will come whenever Wikhn wants.
And only when he feels like it, never mind the circumstances.
"…it would be a wasted trip," Hadrian says, hollowly.
The Joker's hands clench tight at his sides, a quiver of unrestrained rage in his body. He looks as if he would like to say a few more things, but Hadrian merely arches a single brow and watches as the walls of carefully constructed anger are torn down to reveal the absolute worry.
Beside him, their Queen snorts. "He isn't coming back, any time soon. I can't feel him near at all."
There are a few murmurs of agreement and it makes Hadrian's heart hurt.
He can't sense Wikhn the way they can, but sometimes, he'll simply know. And right now, he knows they are right.
Wherever his wayward King has gone, he will not be home tonight.
"Still…" his Queen muses. "If you're going to keep on moping so much…" the words trail off suggestively, along with another undone button at the top of their indoor uniform.
"Not really in the mood," Hadrian says, half-heartedly.
But that's mostly a lie.
A mood is nothing. Distraction will be everything. If he doesn't stop now—he might make a mistake somewhere.
And this is too important to mess up.
He has until tomorrow afternoon, anyway.
His Joker scowls down at him and Hadrian stifles a laugh. It's enough for now. He reaches up and pulls the barely-resisting Gheyo down to his lap.
His Queen whisks the parchments away to safety and the rest of his Gheyos are already on him. He relaxes into their hands—touching, stroking and checking to be sure he's fine.
And then his Joker is settled in his lap, arms locked determinedly around his neck and Hadrian can only give into the kiss that follows.
The ache is still there.
But it's duller now.
And that's enough.
Eventually, they've exhausted themselves.
Hadrian extracts himself from the awkward tangle of arms, legs and somehow—flexible armor. It takes a flicker of his aura to be sure that they will stay and not follow him about the house. Their worrying only makes his worrying worse.
He'll be fine on his own for a few minutes, no matter what they may think.
This isn't the first time he's had to push through something like this. So Hadrian slips out of the war room and leaves his sleeping Bonded behind. He heads for the front door, a plan slowly forming in his mind.
He'll tour around the grounds, just to be sure that everything's fine. There's a tiny itch in the back of his head and he can't shake it.
All he wants to know is that—and he stops, in mid-step, passing his own bedroom door.
The shadows contained within are restless and angry. He hesitates, then gently calls them out to his side, before releasing them within the house.
Harry will scold him later, he's sure, because Theo often gets headaches from too much shadow-energy around him. Though it shouldn't bother his element, Hadrian thinks that there is something Theo is hiding from them.
Perhaps they will learn what it is.
Soon.
He continues on through the darkened hallways of their Gheyo wing, and stumbles again—as he passes Wikhn's room.
The Fae's presence is almost overwhelming and yet, the absence of his magic, means that he is not here.
Hadrian lingers, a moment, before he starts walking again. He is entirely unprepared for the thin arms and cold fingers that wrap around him from behind.
His voice is stolen away by a harsh, huffing breath as Wikhn bites his ear. "Ignoring me when I've come all this way, just for you?" he purrs.
And Hadrian can't breathe.
Won't breathe.
He needs this, desperately, to be real.
"Shhhh," Wikhn soothes, twining around him and moving to stand in front so that Hadrian can stare down at him in all of his pale, shimmering glory.
Clad in black—as always—glowing coral eyes and inky, tousled hair, Wikhn smirks up at him. His slender fingers splay across Hadrian's stubbled cheek, teasing at his lips and temples.
"Are we feeling that miserable?" Wikhn hums, teasingly. "Come now, I was only gone a month—hardly enough to time to miss me, if at all."
And Hadrian doesn't answer then, only gives in to the way that Wikhn is pressing up against him, all lean muscle and sweetly scented mischief. If this is a dream, he'll take it still.
His element flutters and shivers inside of him. He silently tamps it down.
Wikhn leads him from the hall, to his bedroom.
Convenient, Hadrian thinks. He hopes his imagination is asleep, because surely he couldn't dream up something this perfect-?
Wikhn locks the door behind him, with a careless wave of one hand, as he crowds Hadrian back to the bed, until he's forced to sit, as his legs give out from under him.
"Mm, really though—" Wikhn tips Hadrian's chin up, with a single, perfectly manicured finger.
Instinct flares between them—the bond between their titled ranks is as old as time, after all.
But Wikhn's smirk only grows wider and Hadrian's desperation only deepens.
Hadrian reaches out, trying and failing to grasp at the lithe figure that so easily eludes him. And Wikhn is dancing around the bed, skittering away as if to challenge him.
And Hadrian can only watch.
And wait.
Barely daring to breathe—this hurts.
And then, almost as if he's seeing things, the smirk vanishes.
Silence stretches out between them and the air grows heavy with what remains unsaid.
Hadrian stares, confused and bewildered as Wikhn turns away, stripping out of his shirt and vest with quick, nimble fingers. He won't look at Hadrian in the eyes, but he's nearly naked before he approaches the bed once more.
That's not what he's after, Hadrian thinks. As much as he would love to touch and savor that beautiful body—what he wants is so much more than-!
And it all falls apart as it comes together.
For Wikhn's eyes finally settle on him once more, rich, dark and red—in that eerie way when he is so close to the edge that calls to him. Yet, there is no judgment there. No scorn, no mockery, no anger.
The wealth of warmth and compassion reflected, is enough to undo him right there.
Wikhn crawls onto the bed, easily sliding beneath the covers. Even the light playfulness about him, has disappeared, leaving behind a steady, measured warmth.
He settles in, with his back to the wall, sitting upright, one hand outstretched.
It's the only invitation that Hadrian needs.
It feels like years, when Hadrian finally stirs. He's loathe to relinquish his position—draped over Wikhn, face pressed to the warmth of that bare stomach—and Wikhn's magic twining softly around him. He didn't remember falling asleep in the same way he doesn't remember waking.
But there is strength in his body again.
He can feel Wikhn's hands, one feathering through his hair in soft, deliberate strokes, the other scratching gently over his shoulders and neck.
It's soothing enough to settle him.
And as he always is in these moments, Wikhn holds his silence. He only offers comfort—however Hadrian will accept it—and pours it out generously.
It hurts still—the betrayal of friends. The loss of something that has meant so much to all of them. It hurts Harry the most, Hadrian knows. His empathy would have warned him before everything came to a head.
Harry who is leaning deeply on Theo, which means Theo is leaning back on him—and Hadrian squeezes his eyes shut.
Sometimes, it's a heavy burden to bear.
And Wikhn is leaning forward, folding himself over to hug whatever he can reach of Hadrian, a soft kiss pressed atop Hadrian's head—almost as an afterthought.
And just like that, the weight lifts.
Tension drains away as if it was never there.
Hadrian sighs.
It's enough. Because no matter what, this is what makes the difference for him.
No matter how hard he's tried to deny it. Despite both of their efforts to ignore it—this is how they fit together in moments like this.
An ACE and his King.
A Circle and its livelihood.
Refuge in the arms of fate.
Hadrian shudders, allowing Wikhn to begin to rearrange him so they can touch each other more freely. He won't refuse this.
Never.
Because Wikhn's arms always feel like home.
And there, he can safely rest his head, as long as he needs.
When his heart and mind have rested enough, he will rise—and he knows, without asking—that Wikhn will rise with him, blade in hand.
Soon, whatever stands in their way, will be no more.
This is NOT TBDH-canon. Like most of my prompts, this was written in a single draft writing session and has not been extensively proofed. I couldn't help the present-tense structure, it just came out that way, but this moment was circling through my head all day, so I had to write it down.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed a softer side of Hadrian/Wikhn. These two dorks are my favorite Gheyo ACE/King pair, right next to Ilsa/Greta. The only actual "plot" was that there was a friendship Circle that betrayed them and poor Hadrian has to work out the finer details of how they're going to avenge/protect against the inevitable upcoming skirmish.
Thanks for your patience, and as always, THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT! ~Scion