I know I'm an an asshole for not being good on updates, but I managed to crack this one out finally. Tell me what you think, please! And thanks for all of the REVIEWS on the previous chapters! You guys are awesome for putting up with me still.


When Irial returned to his bedchambers, emotions dancing like a spectrum behind his eyes, he'd been very much looking forward to finding Niall peacefully asleep in his bed- dark locks fanning out behind him in dreaming, lips parted in thought. Instead, the sight he stumbled upon was vastly different than that which he'd imagined.

Niall was no longer maudlin or teary-eyed as he'd first been when Irial had left him. Nor was he asleep- or in the bed for that matter. No, instead his Gancanaugh was moving frenetically, in the middle of tucking his undershirts into his trousers, and his boots were already laced, as if prepared for a long journey. His injuries had healed into angry bruises along his cheekbone and lips. His fingers shook slightly. Irial was too shocked to process the anger bubbling beneath the surface of his thoughts.

Indescribable emotions flitted across Niall's youthful face as he met Irial's bewildered gaze. Eyes the color of honey shone back at him nervously.

Allowing his tendrils of shadow to reach out, Irial tasted on Niall varying shades of anxiety and guilt, which alarmed him to no end.

Stepping further into the room, eyes tracking Niall's frozen form, Irial closes the door firmly behind him. "What are you doing?" he asked, trying to sound gentle but knowingly failing.

The ice seemed to melt away from Niall's stoic form; he straightened his shoulders and stood taller (a move that passively annoyed Irial, since they are both of the same height), no longer looking like a child who'd been caught stealing.

Clearing his throat, the boy said, "Leaving, if you don't mind."

Irial tilted his head, observing Niall's stance, the way his words have formed. He let Niall self-conciously fidget beneath his dark gaze. "What is this about, Niall? Have you forgotten that there are fey who wish to see you dead or worse? Why are you-"

"I very well know that, Irial", Niall admitted, his voice not quite what Irial would deem strong. "And you have been extremely kind to me. More than I can truly repay you for. Yet… I cannot stay here, not now, not so soon, not without knowing what this is." He paused, his brow low. "I do not expect you to understand. It is something I must do-"

"What do you mean by 'this'?" Irial asked, his eyes hard.

Niall startled. "This?"

"You said, 'not without knowing what this is'. To what are you referring?"

Niall swallowed, wetting his lips slightly. Out of guilt? Fear? Niall's emotional spectrum was fascinating to Irial, flickering from one feeling to the next; what he could taste on his tongue was bitter, tangy, and mesmerizing and had no name.

"I-" Niall paused. When Niall finally spoke again, his voice sounded oddly strangled. "This relationship we have. I do not know what to call it or how to name it, but I fear that it just may kill me, Irial. I… I do not fear death, but I would much rather understand its reasons for visiting my doorstep."

It took Irial a full minute to process what Niall had said. Then he replied, far too harshly, "You want to leave because you're afraid? Even after I promised to keep you safe from those… imbeciles?" His eyes burned with anger and underlying frustration and want because Niall- his Gancananaugh- could not be so foolish to doubt him. Not now.

Niall visibly winced at the words flung at him, and for a moment, Irial regretted having spoken such angry words aloud. But then Niall retorted just as coldly, "I am not a child to be coddled or another one of your playthings, Irial. I've lived Solitary for more than I can remember, and I can protect myself without your help, I'm sure of it."

Feeling his anger become almost palpable now, Irial stepped closer to Niall, until their noses almost brushed. "I did not save you from those brutes to see you to run off", he ground out. Niall's scent was cloyingly thick, filling his nose and leaving his mouth dry. Brown eyes stared back firmly at him.

"This is not your decision, Irial. It is mine."

Panic was making Irial numb. His thoughts were muddled and his limbs were clay. Niall couldn't leave him. Not now, not when they'd come so very close. Streams of: He'sminehecan'tleavemeyetnonono raced through his mind. He had to make Niall see, he had to convince him to stay, convince him that he needn't worry, that Irial would kiss his fears away. But Niall looked determined and stubborn, as if nothing Irial said or did would change his decision; it was a choice he was proud of, one he'd spent possibly a long while having considered. An immovable object.

Yet, as he stared back into Niall's stern, frustrated brown eyes, he could see the pain in them, the indecision, the fear and naïveté of a boy too young to understand all that he was feeling. And that's when Irial saw his opportunity. As terrible as Irial was, the thought of exploiting Niall's unseated emotions sounded wrong even to his own ears, but he knew that it must be done. Because as much as Irial hated further manipulating Niall, he was too strongly attached –By what? Sentiment?- to simply watch him leave as if they never were.

"You would leave me?" Irial hissed in a wounded tone, motioning to Niall's still undone trousers, "Like this? Without a goodbye?"

Other fey wouldn't have noticed when Niall's eyes softened ever so slightly, when the strength in his voice evaporated into a sigh, the his fists unclenched. But Irial did. "What would you have me say, Irial?"

Irial did his best impression of a wounded animal, eyes big with concern and sadness and sentiment. "That you'll stay. That you won't leave me cold and alone, wondering for your safety."

Niall's visibly deep intake of breath spoke wonders. The Gancanagh bit his lips, looking oddly like he wanted to cry, despite having a stern expression. "I never wanted to hurt you", he whispered. "I- I just…" He trailed off, obviously confused, lost to his own thoughts and insecurities.

It was at that moment that Irial took his chance. Pulling Niall into his arms, he let the younger faery to sink into his embrace, allowing him to take comfort in Irial's breadth of chest and thudding heartbeat. Niall held him as one would an oak, as if Irial were all that kept him tethered to the world around them. "I'm sorry", Niall whispered, breath hot on Irial's throat. "It was foolish, but I was afraid-"

"Shh", Irial crooned, rubbing slow circles along Niall's steady back. "Don't worry yourself, Gancanagh."'

When Irial felt Niall nod slightly against his shoulder, hands tightening around his neck, Irial felt triumphant- and like an utter bastard-for coaxing Niall into his arms. But when Niall's nose began to lightly skim his jaw and lush lips began to hesitantly tug at the corner of his mouth, any guilt Irial might have felt was easily quelled. Only the feel of Niall's hot skin beneath his palms, in his mouth, and along his body mattered.

He wasn't sure when they'd made it to the bed or if they had at all. Or when clothing had grown too bothersome and they'd shed their underthings. Irial found himself silencing Niall's apologies with his tongue, hot breath on hot breath, limbs tangled on the carpeted floor, the two of them rutting like beasts.

Irial had Niall's long body pinned beneath his, grinding into him, licking, tugging, biting at the flesh of his throat, grabbing handfuls of his delicate hair with both hands. Niall fighting back just as hard, but never enough. Never, ever enough. Niall's cries of ecstasy pierced the veil of night as Irial pounded into him, marking him, searing his name into his flush skin. When they both orgasmed, Irial's eyes blurred and he moaned into the side of Niall's throat, sweat-covered, but pleased.

Niall, exhausted and spent, tucked into Irial's side, and for a long while they held one another. There was no more talk of leaving or of insecurity. For a time immeasurable Niall rested his eyes as Irial watched the candlelight flicker in the reflection of the ceiling chandelier. His fingers idly played with a lock of Niall's hair.

The feeling was timeless, calming, soothing, a lie made manifest by their own willingness to accept illusions. It gave Irial hope, albeit false, that they could remain this way forever.