#at the same time i have to respect feyres undying loyalty despite them because shes just that good

[mmvalentine]

On His Knees | Feysand

Canon divergent. Scene lift from ACOSF. Smut aplenty. This is a little oneshot I wrote for @asteria-of-mars after we shared a rant. For you darling x

“Sit down,” Rhys snarled.

The raw command in that voice, the utter dominance and power… Nesta froze, fighting it, hating that Fae part of her that bowed to such things.

Rhys said, “You are going to stay. You are going to listen.”

She let out a low laugh. “You’re not my High Lord. You don’t give me orders.” But she knew how powerful he was. Had seen it, felt it. Still trembled to be near him.

Rhys scented that fear. One side of his mouth curled up in a cruel smile. “You want to go head-to-head, Nesta Archeron?” he purred. The High Lord of the Night Court gestured to the sloping lawn beyond the windows. “We’ve got plenty of space out there for a brawl.”

Nesta bared her teeth, silently roaring at her body to obey her orders. She’d sooner die than bow to him. To any of them.

Rhys’s smile grew, well aware of that fact.

“That’s enough,” Feyre snapped at Rhys. “I told you to keep out of it.”

He dragged his star-flecked eyes to his mate. Feyre angled her head, nostrils flaring, and said to Rhysand, “You can either leave, or you can stay and keep your mouth shut.”

Rhys again crossed his arms, but said nothing.

"I want to speak to my sister. Alone," Nesta ordered. "We'll be in the hall," he said.

Cassian's fist tightened at the implied insult that they didn't trust her enough to go further than that. From the way Feyre's jaw tightened, he suspected she wasn't pleased at the subtle jab. Rhys would be getting the verbal beating he deserved later.

*

Rhys paced back and forth in their bedroom while he waited for Feyre to return. Nesta had gone with Cassian fifteen minutes ago, but he still hadn't seen his mate.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, she burst through the door.

"What the hell was that?" she hissed. "We talked about this. You agreed you could either be respectful or keep quiet." "I was as respectful as she was," Rhys said evenly. "You challenged her to a brawl, and then stood outside the door like a gods damned sentry!" "You know what she is capable of," Rhys said coldly, anger and fear still tugging at his gut at the thought of leaving Feyre alone with Nesta. "She is not our enemy, Rhys!" Feyre exploded. "We aren't trying to trap her, we're trying to help her, Cauldron damn you! How are we supposed to get her to trust us if she thinks we don't trust her?"

"Trust her?" Rhys repeated, appalled. "I don't trust her as far as I can spit. She and that other sister of yours-" "What the hell did Elain do?" Feyre interrupted. "Nothing," Rhys seethed. "She sat back and did nothing for years because Nesta was perfectly pleasant to her, and it did not benefit her to stand up for you or lift a finger to help. Meanwhile, Nesta tore you down year after year and practically dragged your family to its grave. Now here she is in our house, telling you it's somehow your fault that she's here even though you have yet again saved her miserable life-"

"That is enough, Rhysand. That is so far out of line." Feyre stood with her back straight, eyes blazing. Every bit his even match, every bit his High Lady.

"I know you don't like her," she stated, her voice clipped. "Either of them. But we are going to help them. I will not abandon Nesta, or Elain." "I didn't say abandon-" “They’re my sisters, Rhys,” Feyre reprimanded him. “They’re your abusers, Feyre!” he roared back.

They just stood there for a minute, breathing hard into the silence. Feyre shook her head.

“I know. But they're my family. And I love them.”

All the anger blew out of Rhys, then. He dropped to his knees in front of her. Fell on the mountains tattooed there. “But I love you,” her said. Hoarsely. Desperately. “And I can’t… I can’t see you get hurt anymore.” He leaned his head against her belly. "I just can't."

Feyre sighed, and pushed her hands through his blue-black hair.

"I know. But Rhys, imagine if I told you to turn your back on Cassian. Or Azriel. Or Mor. Imagine if I told you I could not forgive Amren the atrocities she committed before she was Fae."

Rhys's hands stroked their way up her calves, up the backs of her thighs and hugged her to him.

"If they hurt one hair on your head, I would."

Feyre gave him a look that was equal parts exasperation, and love. "You would, wouldn't you?" she murmured, ruefully.

Rhys groaned into her stomach. "I'm sorry, Feyre. I'm sorry."

Feyre ran her fingers over his scalp. "I'm still mad at you."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Rhys repeated. He kissed across her hips, along the tops of her thighs. Then he looked up at her with violet eyes like chasms. "It's doesn't matter what I think. You're my High Lady and I will follow wherever you lead. My beloved. My queen. My mate."

At the last, he nipped at her stomach with his teeth. Feyre's hands tightened in his hair.

"Well I would like it if you at least tried to empathise with my sisters," she said. "And if I can't?" Rhys asked. His eyes pleaded. Feyre sighed.

"Then you're going to need to get good at apologising."

Rhys lifted her sweater then, and pressed open mouthed kisses to the exposed skin there. "I can do that," he said. Moved his hands up to cup her ass as he sank down lower on his knees, his lips trailing downward.

"I'm sorry, Feyre," he whispered. A kiss on her navel. "I'm sorry." A kiss at her waistband. Rhys vanished her clothes with a thought.

"I'm sorry." And then he put his mouth over her and slid his tongue up the hot centre of her. Feyre gasped, and her hands landed on his shoulders. Rhys walked her back toward the bed, sat her down on the edge and then pushed her to lie back. Lifted her legs onto his shoulders and then put his mouth on her again.

Feyre arched her back, and pulled him closer with her legs. Rhys's hands gripped her thighs tighter, and his tongue worked her in broad strokes. Up and down, savouring every part of her.

"Who do you go to your knees for?" Feyre breathed. Rhys lifted his mouth from her, only to plunge two fingers deep inside her.

"Only you," he replied, and then sucked her clit into his mouth. Feyre bucked her hips off the bed, and Rhys moaned in response. The sound vibrated against her where his lips moved over the heat of her.

"Who do you yield to?" Feyre gasped. Rhys sped up his fingers, his own breathing coming fast with his arousal.

"Only you," he repeated, and flicked his tongue fast over her clit. Feyre started to move, matching her hips to his rhythm.

"Who..." Feyre's breathing caught then, and Rhys surged up and over her, covering her body with his as his fingers kept fucking into her, his thumb now moving over her clit to replace his tongue.

"Always you, always only you," he said onto her lips, and then kissed until her climax broke over his hand.

Rhys watched the wave build and and break in her eyes, and then pressed kisses to her jaw as it receded. Then he linked his fingers through hers where they were resting above her head, and put his face in her neck.

"Am I forgiven, Feyre darling?" he asked softly.

"Not even slightly," Feyre replied, then rolled on top of him, vanished his clothes with her own magic, and rode his cock until he begged for mercy.

And so began the High Lord's apologies.

****

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