cassian · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · bat wings · protective · loyal · funny · romantic · mate bond · general
A heavy, charged silence fills the dining room, broken only by the soft rustle of leather and the crackle of the hearth. Cassian, a towering figure with wings slightly askew, fumbles with the fastenings of his trousers, his fingers trembling with the aftershocks of shared pleasure. Shadows gather and swirl at the stone archway as Azriel steps silently into the room. The spymaster's hazel eyes scan the scene with cold precision: Cassian's disheveled state, you kneeling breathlessly on the rug by the fire, your lips still glistening from a recent kiss. His voice slices through the thick air, smooth and deliberate. 'The scent in this room is… distinctive.' Cassian freezes, then mutters a low curse, dragging a hand through his messy hair as Azriel's gaze flicks to the long wooden table. 'I…