Summary:
Set in the There Be Dragons, Harry Universe, this snippet is meant to be an exploration of the relationship of Hadrian(ACE) and Wikhn(King). It is NOT TBDH canon. Features language, snark and Wikhn + Hadrian being very, very petty.
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/M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16.
WARNINGS: Smexy Hints. Slash. Angst. Family. GORE. Blood. OC's. OOCness. TBDH Universe. AU. Other warnings will be added as I see fit.
A/N: This is my brain attempting to write something between Hadrian and Wikhn. I was trying to write an Easter fic and this came out instead. Um. OOPS? It's a tad bloody, because this is WIKHN we're talking about and there's a touch of language, because this is HADRIAN, having to deal with WIKHN and they're blunt/rough/dark with each other. I also wanted to try the three-line perspective thing, with Theo/Charlie/Harry glimpses, as they watch Wikhn and Hadrian, with everything playing out. And it's definitely got American spelling/expressions in it, because my brain is fried. Please bear with it!
Thanks for reading and your continued support of this dragel-fandom-love-fest ~Scion
No one is really sure why it started, because Wikhn is sensitive at best and a downright bastard at worst.
Hadrian is a fire-spitting dictator either way and both of them hate to apologize.
So.
It's no surprise that it drags out for as long as it does, but, quite frankly, no one expected it to be this way.
Harry thinks it starts when a sleepy, exhausted Wikhn, drags himself into the kitchen. He's recovering terribly slow from their resting period and Harry's not sure why. He is a bit worried when Wikhn takes the last slice of cinnamon raisin toast and shuffles over to the toaster.
Cinnamon-raisin toast is Hadrian's favorite.
His absolute favorite.
And Wikhn is toasting it.
Wikhn who doesn't like raisins or anything else for that matter, in his toast.
Either he's lost a bet or he's being nice.
Both options are significantly terrifying.
It's almost painful to watch his drooping wait until the toaster pops up. Wikhn levitates said toast over to the counter near the different types of butter Quinn has set out. It takes him an extraordinary amount of time to get the whole 'buttering the toast' thing to happen.
And then the toast is painstakingly floated into Wikhn's hands, where he shuffles towards the doorway-presumably to wait.
Harry watches, cautiously. It doesn't escape his notice that while Wikhn's movements are slow and half-there, he's also perfectly turned out in his new navy shirt, with the ruffled collar and the glittering gems on the shoulders. It buttons beautifully at his slender wrists and tucks quite nicely into his equally slender trousers, highlighting a slim waist and trim figure.
In short, lovely.
It's a lot of effort, Harry thinks.
He hopes it's not wasted. Poor Wikhn is often something of a zombie after resting periods. Preferring to spend the day(or the week!) lazing about in typical fae fashion. He will drink endless pots of tea. Nibble on all sorts of foods and generally curl up like a contented cat in the lap or arms of whichever Bonded will humor him.
Generally, most of them will, unless otherwise occupied. A sleepy, cuddly Wikhn is no hardship after all. And most times, the fae is particularly affectionate when half-asleep.
This gesture seems angled for the intent of making his 'idiot of an ACE' his personal pillow for a few hours. Harry doesn't think Hadrian will protest, after all-he's given up on understanding their odd relationship and acknowledges that as long as they are fine with it, he'll pretend it makes sense.
Even when it doesn't.
So Wikhn stands there, awkwardly half-hovering in the doorway, looking as if he's about to fall asleep on his feet, his head faintly tipped to the side, as if listening for something.
Quinn taps a spoon against the ceramic teapot at the counter and it draws their attention, in tandem with his mental prods. They hold up fingers in answer, as to how much sugar they want in their respective brews. He'd rather fix them all en masse rather than one of a time-and he's always adding something to the mixture. Invisible fiber. Thin protein. Extra caffeine and even, once, extra chlorophyll.
Harry tries not to think of that too much.
It's fine until Hadrian rounds the corner at a near run, chasing after a cackling Fred who is holding something that looks like the pair of trousers he should have been wearing. They both collide with Quinn who stepped out into the hallway carry on the long-distance conversation with Dyshoka since this morning. The small serving tray was still in hand, loaded with the promised drinks—coffees, teas and cocoas, but in that instant, Quinn's concentration is only a fraction of what it normally is.
He reacts a split-second too late to their presence and everything goes down. In a tangle of legs, arms and yelps, there's an awkward pile on the floor.
Of course, that meant things also went flying.
Such as the tray.
The tray slides and Ethan's spell is a bit late catching up to it.
Fred's expression is one of guilty surprise. He hadn't expected that, but he'd only been having a bit of fun. He helps Quinn to his feet, twitching when George appears next to him. Then sudden drop in noise—breakfast chatter—draws his attention. And then Fred is like the rest of them, staring in silent horror as they all take in the shattered teacups and the spilled tea.
Shattered teacups.
Spilled tea.
Among the mess, there's two distinct details.
Wikhn's favorite cup.
Wikhn's favorite tea.
On the floor.
ON. The. FLOOR.
ON. WIKHN.
His pretty navy shirt with the slight circular imprint of a hastily cast shield that—protected Harry—and part of Wikhn's shirt. No one speaks as Wikhn gestures at his shirt, once and then twice—but the cleaning spell doesn't even seem to register.
The wet stain remains and Wikhn seems frozen in shock.
There is a very long, very awkward, extremely silent pause.
Namely, Hadrian has good reflexes-he should have been able to react a bit-faster? Or maybe that was Wikhn. Someone. Anyone. Quinn should've watched where he was going…
"...reparo?" Hadrian offers. He looks just about as surprised to see Wikhn scowling at him as the twins do.
There's a round of horrified silence, before Wikhn looks down at the coveted slice of toast in hand. He meets Hadrian's gaze quite steadily and takes a large bite out of the top left corner.
Fred chokes. George elbows him.
The silence worsens.
It's broken when Harry shifts, uncomfortably-drawing their attention to him. He has a feeling something "not-good" is starting here and he doesn't want to be the one to explain it to Theo.
Hadrian remains frozen for another beat, then casts an off-handed reparo at the broken shards. The cups reassemble themselves-incorrectly-Wikhn's favorite mug included.
Something that might have been a growl, slips through Wikhn's lips. He tears another angry bite out of the slice of toast, before gliding over to Harry and slipping it on his plate. He spits the mouthful out in the garbage can, ignoring Quinn's displeasure.
A half-second later, he's stalking out of the kitchen, a heavy tension leaving with him.
No one dares to speak for a few minutes.
They've all seen the start of Wikhn's temper tantrums before.
If they could actually be called that. Normally, it's specific annoyances to his person by two specific people. Hadrian and Fred.
Everyone is waiting to see whether the drama will end here or continue on.
Harry hopes it ends. He really does have a bad feeling about this.
It's only when Hadrian takes a large gulp of his newly restored coffee, that he's sputtering and spitting out something into his napkin-several, fat, unexpected—raisins?
There's another pause, this one, significantly more painful than the previous.
Hadrian crumples the napkin into a ball and jerks upright from his chair. He stalks out of the kitchen to the curious glances of the Pareya and the worrisome looks from the rest of his Bonded.
"This is going to be bad, isn't it?" Charlie ventures. The expression on his face is begging someone to contradict him, because Hadrian and Wikhn's-"fights", for lack of a better term-are hard on everyone and neither is ever willing to give in first.
Ethan and George both shoot a look at Fred, trying to guess whether it was the redhead or Hadrian that has ticked Wikhn off. Their dark fae has been moodier than usual, but he's also been practicing quite strenuously for a special series of upcoming duels.
Kranten duels.
It's taken since last dueling season for him to work up to the level that he's happy with. They've all gamely suffered through his occasional—few that they are—mood swings, from his changed diet and exhausting workouts.
Harry sighs. He'll be glad when the duels are over and Wikhn is back to eating, sleeping and working out on a more sane schedule. He also hopes that they are all reading this wrong.
Really, really, wrong.
But after all this time, he knows better than to think that Charlie is wrong.
It continues without pause-when Hadrian takes the last dry towel when they are all in the shared showers. Morning practice has been grueling and unforgivable. They're crowded into their usual spots—with a bit of shuffling, because Wikhn's sharing with their Queen, instead of their ACE.
And said ACE is pretending not to notice the obvious snub.
Like good Gheyos, the rest of them are pretending not to notice either.
But a dry towel warmed and ready, is a nice thing to have.
So in retaliation, Wikhn removes the anti-fog charms on the bathroom mirrors and hides Hadrian's shaving toiletries with a notice-me-not spell.
The foggy mirrors can't be charmed back and even though Hadrian eventually deigns to let his Prince help, he's not happy about it.
They turn out for lunch in a mismatched, disgruntled bunch.
Hadrian's patchy scuff isn't as neat as it could be. Wikhn's hair is still wet-and no spell will dry it, for Ethan's tried.
Afternoon practice will be deadly and violent today.
The other Gheyos are wary and gun-shy. They eat lightly, twitching in their seats-a restless undercurrent of energy keeping them on their toes. They know well enough by now, to stay out of Hadrian's way and leave their fuming ACE to his own devices. They know exceptionally well, to Leave. Wikhn. Alone.
Hadrian is growling out orders as he calls them to stand in formation. They're supposed to be working out a new fight plan. Wikhn fairly prowls onto the field, a taunting gleam in his usually pale pink eyes.
Pale pink eyes that are swiftly bleeding red as his cursed sword materializes in his hand. He's looking to blow off more than a little steam.
"...they're going to kill each other." Harry says, matter-of-factly.
Charlie winces. "Probably."
Theo rolls his eyes. "Let them."
By the time the Gheyos are exhausted-Hadrian and Wikhn look as if they are only just warming up. The others are littered across the training grounds, trying to catch their breath. Their Queen has the presence of mind to shuffle the others somewhere off to the edge of the designated practice area, just as a precaution.
It takes a matter of minutes before Wikhn and Hadrian are locked in combat, each of them sporting nasty, bloody wounds, neither inclined to surrender first. They break apart at their Queen's whistle, because the rest of them won't stand for this sort of farce. If the ACE and King want to duke it out, they're more than welcome to-as long as it doesn't drag the rest of them into the mess.
It can be a barely civil duel, if that's what they want, but only if that's what they're after. The Queen whistles, calling them to order. They shuffle to their respective spots at the unspoken cue.
The pause gives them a moment to regroup.
Wikhn hefts his sword meaningfully in his hand.
Hadrian rolls his shoulders back, ready.
"...I'm surprised they're still at it," Charlie hums.
Harry rolls his eyes. "I'm not. Didn't you see Wik?"
"This better end tonight." Theo grumbles.
It carries over into the next day.
Harry dispatches everyone else to be out of the house. He's not sure that leaving his Gheyos to handle everything is a good idea, but he'd rather everyone else was out of the line of fire.
Particularly a certain redheaded twin.
So he drags them out of the house to accompany him.
But as of right now, everyone's staring in shock.
The outdoor stadium in the main section of the Gheyo division in midtown-is on fire.
On. FIRE.
Harry's not sure what to do about that, see, because he's fairly certain the fire-breathing dragel hovering above it-is Hadrian. It's been a long while since he's seen Hadrian in full dragon form and it's impressive.
Something groans and creaks in the distance.
Charlie stares, speechless. They were on their way to the second meeting of the afternoon.
"...you've got to be kidding me!" Ethan grumbles. He shifts his knapsack to the other shoulder, half-heartedly renewing the featherlight charm. "Seriously?"
George stifles a groan of his own. "I thought one of their rules was no destruction of public property?"
"Wik likes that cup," Fred mutters. "Dahlia gave it to him."
George gives him a sharp look. He's surprised that Fred would know that—and even more so that he'd say as much. "You couldn't undo it?"
"Not without re-breaking it and I can't guarantee it'll break right. The charm's pretty strong." Fred rubs the back of his neck, his freckled face looking unusually serious. He has, after all, been on the receiving end of Wikhn's fierce temper almost as many times as Hadrian.
The phantom ache in his shoulder reminds him that when they fight, one of their unspoken rules is no physical attacks.
George leans into him. Fred rests his head on George's shoulder, wishing he'd timed his prank just a smidge better.
Harry sighs. "As long as they don't-break anything else," he says, carefully.
Something crashes in the distance.
Harry twitches, exasperated.
Charlie draws him close. "Don't think about it."
"...tell me I'm seeing things?" Theo says, plaintively.
"You're seeing things," Charlie answers, quickly.
"Definitely seeing things," Harry echoes.
Theo signs a large stack of papers that explain away the mess that Hadrian and Wikhn made of the public dueling grounds. He's torn between annoyance at having to deal with their little squabble and admiration at the fact that it was enough combined power to tear down some rather powerful spells for the actual destruction of the place.
He casts a look over his shoulder.
Wikhn is studiously looking down at his feet. Blood drips from his left cheek, dribbling onto his shattered armor-some pieces half-embedded in his torso. His shuddering breaths are coming easier than they were a few minutes ago, proof that his healing is kicking in.
Hadrian is resolutely staring off into the distance. As if his broken arms are nothing to worry about and that the gouge in his leg hasn't gone down to the bone.
Theo doesn't want to think any further than that. Not now. He'll ream them out later. Much later.
"Clean up before you come home," he growls. "You know Harry hates to see you like this."
Neither Gheyo answers.
But when Theo turns to glare at them, they've vanished.
He's not sure whether he's relieved or irritated.
Probably both.
"That has to hurt," Harry mumbles. There is a collective wince from all of them.
Charlie's eyes are squeezed shut. "It hurts," he mutters.
Theo shudders. He's speechless, really.
Of course, the mess doesn't stop there.
The next incident was Wikhn's reaction to Hadrian's too-polite refusal to allow him to participate in the Kranten duels. After all, Wikhn's newest training regimen has doubled in the past five months at least, and he's been looking forward to the no-holds-barred fight for weeks. This privilege is important.
In response to Hadrian's order, Wikhn is equally petty. He's more than a little annoyed now.
Hadrian's reaction upon finding himself volunteered and now mandatory in attendance for said Kranten duels is very vocal and loud. Especially when he can't get himself out of it, having already removed Wikhn from the duels and therefore used his only escape route. There is only one exception allowed per dueling set, after all.
A helpful detail that Wikhn knows. If he's going to suffer, then this idiot of an ACE will too.
The duel officials didn't care either way.
Hadrian has to compete.
Wikhn scowls and simmers from his forced viewpoint in the stands.
"Someone has to stop them," Charlie says, torn in fascination and horror.
"I am not going to stop them," Harry throws back.
Theo slumps. "...why is it always me?"
The carefully-worded suggestion from their Alpha, does little to cool the furious flames of pettiness and poorly-concealed bruised egos.
Hadrian's stiff acknowledgment is ruined by Wikhn's exaggerated motions behind his back.
Hadrian's attempt to stop said motions results in a hole through the living room and straight out to the front yard, courtesy of Wikhn's more...explosive talents.
Charlie threatens them out into the front yard. Theo is so done with them right now.
An annoyed and equally furious Ethan, demands that they repair it manually. He conveniently leaves the needed material in sight and draws a ward that will prevent them from entering or escaping.
It's the principle of the thing-neither one will break it. They are both far too proud to chicken out in the face of manual labor. It will also conveniently keep them from destroying more public property.
Harry high-fives Ethan on the way in, because that is absolutely brilliant. He's rewarded with a kiss for such a cheerful token of affection. He pretends not to notice the two glowering Gheyos banished to the front yard.
"I'm not sure whether I should be worried or amazed," Theo deadpans.
"Amazed," Harry supplies.
"Worried," Charlie corrects.
They've repaired the outer wall-mostly.
Not without a significant amount of squished fingers, stolen brick mortar and shattered masonry tools.
They are now, of course, repairing the wall from opposite ends.
An exasperated George has threatened to cast a separating ward if they can't keep their-pettiness-to themselves. When it comes down to the final wall, they finish-with bloody handprints.
George scours them off of the wall and banishes them to the showers with a mild stinging hex that both dodge-by pushing each other into it. George rolls his eyes. Fred stifles a snicker in the background.
"...didn't they just repair that?" Harry stares through the gaping hole in the wall.
"They did," Charlie confirms. He's trying not to notice that Hadrian has Wikhn by the neck-and that Wikhn's legs are locked around Hadrian's neck-right before they both slam into the ground. There's a small shockwave radiating out from the impact and that's how Charlie knows that there's definitely fae magic in that little twisting move.
Theo growls, straightening up from his chari where he's been rubbing his forehead for the past half-hour. "That's. IT."
True to his word, Theo's had it.
Harry is trying not to laugh in a corner because, at this point, he's given up and has decided that humor is the best course of action. He had wondered how long Theo would let them rampage, but like Theo, he recognized the importance of letting the Gheyos sort out Gheyo business. So now, they're back to sorting it out, Theo-style. Harry is there for moral support. Charlie, of course, is helping the twins repair the wall.
Both Gheyos are kneeling on the floor, eyes on Theo's feet, hands clasped behind their back.
Theo's eyes are pitch black and his aura is so thick and potent-breathing is a bit difficult. He says nothing, simply lets his pent-up displeasure convey his feelings on the matter.
Wikhn is the first to squirm because, he doesn't like this-Theo mad at him. He knows better and he doesn't like it when he's not in his Alpha's good graces. Doesn't like the way it feels. Hates to have disappointed Harry.
Theo's sharp eyes zero in on him first. "Wikhn."
The dark fae meets his gaze almost defiantly, the fight leaving him almost at once when his red-eyes lock onto Theo's black ones. There isn't anger there, but rather intense disappointment.
Wikhn swallows. That's much worse.
"You know better," Theo scolds.
Wikhn droops. Nothing more is needed.
Theo sighs. He approaches them, reaching out a hand to gently ruffle Wikhn's hair, ignoring the way that Wikhn ever-so-slightly leans into the contact. He bends down and whispers softly in one pale, pointed ear.
There's a jerky nod and barely audible mumble in answer.
"Thank you," Theo says simply. He watches Wikhn leave and then turns his disappointed look to Hadrian.
There's a long moment, before Harry clears his throat. He offers a formal bow to Theo and exits the room. He knows the power play that is often visible is the push-and-pull of authority between two of his Bonded struggling to show him the same strong front. He'll excuse himself to give them a bit of privacy.
It's only when the door's shut tight behind him, that Hadrian slumps.
"Theo-I-"
"Don't want to hear it," Theo says, simply. He holds up a hand to forestall the excuses he knows will come. "His duels, Hadrian? Really? And the house? Even the twins aren't that bad and they blew up the kitchen. Quinn's kitchen." Theo waves a hand at him.
Hadrian relaxes, moving to roll up to his feet. He hates being in that position-it reminds him of when he was younger and far too reckless for his own good. It also reminds him of too many lectures from his exasperated ACE who had simply started forgoing the lecture and moving straight to the discipline.
Silence stretches out between them, but it's comfortable now.
Theo's Alpha aura is gradually easing and flowing back to him, which makes it much easier to breathe.
"...I'm sorry. It got out of hand."
"Out of hand?" Theo echoes. "By the time there are holes in the walls-it's a bit more than out of hand."
"He just-it-" Hadrian sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, tangling the ends. He knows he should have stopped, but Wikhn was being Wikhn and he couldn't really help it. "You know how he is."
"Yes. He baits you and you let him," Theo snorts. He has heard this argument before. "He's your King."
"He's Harry's Gheyo." Hadrian counters. "You know what that means."
And Theo does. He tries not to smile.
Because Wikhn, for all of his faults, is an incredible Gheyo and fiercely loyal. He's also rather fond of the broody fae. There are scars that can't be healed, but will eventually fade. Sometimes, Hadrian accidentally scrapes them open and Theo has learned to mediate between them.
There are scars that can't be healed, but will eventually fade. Sometimes, Hadrian accidentally scrapes them open and Theo has learned to mediate between them. Wikhn won't listen to anyone else, after all, with the exception of Harry. He makes a special exception for Theo and in turn, Theo tries his best not to abuse it.
"I also know that an apology goes a long way."
Hadrian groans.
Theo smiles. "It doesn't matter who started it or how it started-just end it, alright? Apologize."
The telltale slump of Hadrian's shoulders means that he will-eventually. Probably by tonight, if Wikhn will deign to listen to him long enough for said apology to be delivered.
"It won't be that bad," Theo says, chuckling. He knows now, that this will end. He's glad. The fourth day of this would be really unbearable. "Now, the same thing I told him-I didn't have a headache until you lot started up. So formal armor and full turnout. Harry and I have a meeting to attend and I think we're feeling a bit on edge."
The dirty look Hadrian sends his way, only makes Theo laugh louder.
It's suitable punishment, he thinks, for the headache both literal and otherwise, that he's suffered through for today.
Hadrian doesn't slam the study door on his way out, but he does swear in the hallway-and promptly apologizes for it to Harry, who has been diligently waiting outside.
Theo is still laughing when Harry comes to him. They kiss.
Harry purrs contentedly. "All sorted?"
"Quite."
Stony-faced and silent, Wikhn and Hadrian turn out in full-dress and formal wear. The rest of their Gheyos fall in behind them as they make their way to the general council. They're used to being shuffled together in full formal, so there's little complaint.
A long-distance portal is spun to take them to their meeting destination.
Harry stands close to Theo, dressed from head to toe in elaborate finery. He is wearing their Circle jewels, along with their respective colors. Scales in full-view, along with his claim marks.
A fully-decked-out submissive is a beautiful sight to behold.
But Harry only stands imperiously, his gaze hardened, his shoulders deceptively light and set back. Beside him, Theo looks almost as broody and dark as Wikhn. His golden eyes are too bright-too gold, almost.
The portal swallows them whole.
They arrive on a sandy, windy desert sort of place.
The Gheyos throw up sand shields and everyone moves at the same pace, as they enter into the nearly empty isolation conference hub. There are three other Circles present and a host of Goblins and Vampires.
Of course, tensions are high and business is not as usual.
They are, after all, ironing out the finer points of a very specific trade agreement. The Vampires on here on behalf of their Vampire Lord and the Goblins, well, they are ever as they are.
Dragels, in support of the Vampires, have come. This trade agreement will also benefit Nevarah, but it would mean allowing access to their Nevermore realm, a detail that they've always kept from the Goblins.
Still, the dragels are always willing to reconsider, for Nevarah is a safe haven and there is always room for growth. The Circles have spread out a bit, doing their best to present a united, but not-too-threatening front.
Harry and his Circle is one such group. He makes a muted sound of distress, to which Theo calmly reaches over and holds his hand.
It's a good distraction.
Wikhn shifts uneasily.
Hadrian tries not to read anything into that. He knows better than to ignore Wikhn's natural reactions and instincts in a new situation. He's had far too much experience with that-in hindsight, anyway.
As if sensing the same, Theo gives the faintest, barely perceptible shake of his head.
They wait.
Of course the negotiations go wrong.
Terribly, horribly, awfully wrong.
Three vampires and two goblins go down before the dragels charge into the fray.
Hadrian has five seconds to analyze and react. He does so, with ease.
"Get Harry out of here!" He growls at Theo and throws out a spell-dampening ward, to give their Vampire friends an advantage.
Wikhn bolsters the spell with a hefty jolt of fae magic. It doubles and strengthens the intent.
The Vampires screech and hiss, for the Goblins came prepared for them-and there is erasure magic being liberally flung around, along with goblin-crafted silver weaponry.
Hadrian finds himself fighting back to back with Wikhn, as they discover the Fabrine wisping up from the conference room's floor. It's not too hard to keep up, but he is a bit tired. The past few days have been stressful. "I'm sorry," he half-shouts, over the din.
Wikhn twitches-and Hadrian knows he's been heard. The lack of answer means that an apology isn't quite enough though.
"...best out of three?" He offers. Going for the same target would be showy and not exactly efficient, but it would be quick. He wants this over with as soon as possible. He hates being on the otherside of Wikhn's good graces more than he'll ever admit.
"Higher headcount," Wikhn retorts, sensibly. He pushes back and slashes down, carving up the summoned spirit as his cursed sword makes it corporeal enough to cut. There's an answering scream somewhere else and Wikhn's look is positively feral.
"Headcount?" Hadrian repeats, turning to get an eyeful of an ash-covered, blood-spattered and thoroughly delighted, Wikhn. He can't deny that the sight is turning him on in more ways than one. "You're enjoying this aren't you?"
"Whatever gave me away?"
"Get that smirk off your face."
"Make me."
"Is that a challenge?"
"That's a promise."
"Keep it up and you'll have to promise something more."
Wikhn laughs darkly. His fae allure is surging to the forefront and it's enticing in the best and worst of ways. He loves the thrill of the fight and it's only ever obvious in moments like this. The vampires are even shying away from him and the Goblins haven't learned to-yet. In fact, the unexpected skirmish is such a delight, that he's feeling generous enough to finally swallow the original spark of irritation that set this whole mess in motion.
The vampires are even shying away from him and the Goblins haven't learned to-yet. In fact, the unexpected skirmish is such a delight, that he's feeling generous enough to finally swallow the original spark of irritation that set this whole mess in motion.
Generous enough to forgive. Possibly. He won't turn down bribes or otherwise, if Hadrian is willing to grovel to him. He is a Gheyo King after all and pride must be soothed.
"I'm serious," Hadrian growls. He can feel the shift in Wikhn's temper as the fae's magic ghosts over his skin. Because all earlier irritation has fled and he can feel the bloodlust starting to simmer up in his veins. The battlelust will be right behind it and he wants.
Wants so very much to have his lovely King in his bed tonight.
Especially the way he is now.
Wikhn blows him a kiss and strikes a pose that is too tempting—too telling—right before spinning in a half-circle, fast enough to send the newly severed heads flying.
"So am I," Wikhn purrs. "So am I."
"Wikhn-!"
"Higher headcount," Wikhn sing-songs.
And Hadrian throws himself into the battle with a vengeance.
He wins, of course.
Because he's Hadrian and he had a goal.
And probably because Wikhn brought the final traitor up to him and waited for Hadrian to finish him off-and thus earn one more 'head' than he had. It's his own way of apologizing.
The fight is over now and the place is a mess, naturally.
From the sounds of it, the conference hub might be blown away if the sandstorm gets any worse. They'll need to leave this place before it falls apart.
But their own Gheyos-and those of the other three Circles-are already giving into their instincts. There's too much blood and magic in the air, after all and Wikhn's the only fae present. His fairy dust is liberally swirling through the agitated air.
It's been a good fight and the battlelust makes itself known in a singular wave.
Wikhn's wicked grin promises all sorts of things and Hadrian doesn't know whether he can trust it. Yet.
After all, his apology hasn't quite been accepted.
He lets Wikhn guide the bloody, sloppy kiss that happens next, groaning as the slender, pointed fingers dig into his aching side.
"Forgiven," Wikhn murmurs against his split lip. "Now fuck me."
That, Hadrian thinks, he can do quite well.
The next morning, Wikhn lounges comfortably in Hadrian's soft bed. He's still healing from their fight-and their night-and the faint sheen of fairy dust is a testament to that.
Hadrian gives an annoyed grumble, because that stuff gets everywhere and the smug look on Wikhn's face says that he's doing it on purpose. It aids his healing, but doesn't necessarily always have to be so—shimmery. Right now, it collects in the fading scratches, claw and bite marks from their fantastic night.
"Stop complaining, grumpy pants." Wikhn hums. He nuzzles along Hadrian's collarbone, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex.
"Oh?" Hadrian drawls, tilting his head forward to allow more of Wikhn's soft, nibbling lips. "Or else what?"
"Shut up." Wikhn kisses him to shut him up and it works.
Hadrian can't find it in himself to be annoyed, especially when Wikhn looks so disgustingly pleased with himself.
"...I'm sorry about the cup."
Wikhn hums. "Dahlia gave it to me."
Hadrian stiffens. Now he's actually sorry, because a gift from a former ACE is something that is significantly treasured.
"And her ACE gave it to her, who got it from her ACE, who got it from King-"
And Hadrian doesn't want to hear it anymore. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!"
Wikhn pulls him closer for a bite, drinking easily and slowly-enough to work them up again.
Hadrian groans, when he pulls away, feeling his entire body flush with sensation, as newly sensitized skin begins to relay everything to him.
This is the advantage to the fairy dust all over his bed.
"...bastard."
"You know you love it," Wikhn snarks. "C'mon or did I wear you out already?"
"...you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Hadrian groans, because fae stamina is certainly different from dragel stamina, considering how busy the night was.
"Am I?"
"Suppose I shut that pretty mouth of yours?"
"You think my mouth is pretty? Aw, honey."
"And filthy." Hadrian mutters. He doesn't give Wikhn a chance to complain, but the lack of protest somehow makes him think that Wikhn doesn't mind in the least.
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 just wanted to write something for Easter(Happy Easter you guys!), and this came out instead. So here, have some Hadrian and Wikhn being EXTREMELY petty about pointless things. Because they are dorks like that. Chapter 102 is at about 5k right now. Whew. I hope to work on it some more this holiday weekend. As always, THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT! ~Scion