Chapter Text
Ash
*
It was early spring when he returned to Augus Each Uisge’s lake. It was his favourite time to visit, when winter was leaving and his blood quickened with the promise of warmer days and balmy nights, when people stayed out later and were quicker to leave cares behind in the arms of another. He tried to visit Augus when the marsh marigolds were blossoming yellow on the banks of his lake, bumblebees fattening themselves on pollen, the chill of winter still in the air, even as the sun chased it away.
He hadn’t visited his brother for two months. The time before it had been to crash during a particularly bad hangover. Augus had sniped at him for it, but eventually succumbed and brought him a blanket, pillows and food when it became obvious that Ash wasn’t leaving, and Augus wanted him there.
This time, however, he simply wanted to visit. It was a day where it felt good to be in the fae world. Where everything was a little brighter, a little more vibrant. And he’d missed Augus a great deal. Sometimes he let more time pass between seeing him than he wanted to, because he didn’t want to get in the habit of visiting too often, crowding him. Augus was easily crowded.
Augus was the Each Uisge, after all. A terrifying waterhorse fae – to humans at least, who formed the main part of his diet. In all previous incarnations, he and Ash had never seen eye to eye, and they certainly weren’t brothers and technically weren’t now. For Ash was the Glashtyn, a fellow predatory waterhorse, Unseelie and territorial, and it was only in this lifetime that Augus had apparently decided to both give himself a first name, and a younger runt brother, and ignore all the traditions and lives that had gone before. By the time their previous life memories started trickling through in abstracts and impulses to draw blood and chase waterhorses of their territory it was too late; but biology remained, dictating their appetites, their need to hunt.
Augus wasn’t in his home, nor digesting prey at the bottom of his lake, which meant he was probably nearby. Perhaps foraging or even lying down in the spring sun. There was a flat sunning rock hidden in a stand of weeping willows and an understorey of dense brush. The rock hung over an ever-babbling, blue-green creek that fed directly into Augus’ lake, and was protected by more stands of rock and tree nearby, cloistering the flat, dark grey stone and giving it privacy. Augus slept there, outdoors, when the weather began to warm.
Ash moved up across the lake bank quietly, grinning to himself. If Augus was asleep, he could think of several annoying ways to wake him up. He would push himself on the rock beside him, make himself a nuisance, bother him until the annoyed spark in Augus’ eyes would disappear behind an acceptance warm with welcome. Though how long it took for the spark to recede, depended a great deal on just how annoying Ash was being.
He couldn’t help himself; Augus had an austere streak, Ash was mischievous.
A breeze helped hide his footsteps, rustling leaves and branches together, creating sound around him. Ash became lost in his own thoughts, thinking about how good it would be just to stay with Augus for a few days, to live a simpler life with him. He loved his home over in the human world, he loved going out to bars and pubs and cafes, looking for company or for sex when he wasn’t hunting; but there was a pared down easiness when he stayed with Augus. It reminded him of the old days, of the times when-
Ash froze.
That was not like the old days.
Ash fumbled, as though his hands dropped something that wasn’t even there. Instead of sleeping or reading, Augus was...
Yeah, how about we just leave him alone and pretend that this didn’t- Fuck. He is. Oh god, he is.
Augus was half on his side, half on his back, spine arched lightly, face tilted up towards the sun. He was nude, his clothing folded near him as though... as though this was something he’d done before. As though he maybe even had routines, or preferences about it. Freckles smattered his cheeks, even his shoulders, which meant he had been taking advantage of the sun. Damp hair clung to the rock behind him, his lashes were thickly black against his cheeks and his mouth half-open, because his hand – Oh my fucking god, Ash thought – was stroking languidly up his cock. Not even wrapped around it, just the flats of his fingers drifting lazily, up and down, over and over.
Augus made a low, soft sound that lifted up over the breeze, winnowed its way into Ash’s ears and plinked into his mind, making him suddenly aware of what he was watching.
Fuck, just go back and wait for him, and don’t ever-
Ash’s throat caught, suddenly he was forcing his deep, shocked breaths to a shallow, silent breathing, fast as it picked up alongside the deafening sound of his own heart.
His hand, open and lax, suddenly tingled. His fingers flexed, and his mouth warmed with saliva. Watching Augus’ fingers on himself, Ash’s hand curled like it could feel the shape of him even from where he stood. Augus’ cock was flushed darker with blood, lightly curved, and Ash grit his teeth together because no, this was not happening, he wasn’t, he was just confused. Who wouldn’t be confused seeing that laid out in front of them. Not only Augus – who was gorgeous anyway – but like that, like the stone was a platter and Augus was trying to show himself off to his best angle.
Leave, you idiot.
Ash turned around quietly, started creeping away. He shook his head as he went, as though he could shake what he’d seen right out of his head. His breath trembled in his lungs and his hands clenched into fists. Because no, it wasn’t like he’d had those dreams or anything, Augus was his goddamned brother and this was just, he could just pretend this was like one of those dreams he’d had even though this was about a thousand times better and oh fuck he’d looked good on that rock. Why didn’t Augus masturbate in a room, like most people? Why did it have to be under the sun, on a rock, in an idyllic environment, like some ridiculous 60s hippie porn-
Augus cried out. It was a sound slightly more abandoned than the first, it dragged at Ash’s ears. It pulled him so that he ended up facing the way that he’d come, staring into the distance.
You can’t do this. You can’t. Don’t. Just, seriously, Ash, don’t do it. If he caught you, you’d never live it down. Besides, it’s not like he knew you were coming, you’ve got time to go back, pretend you were never here, visit him in a few hours.
Ash smacked a hand over his face when he made an unsteady step back towards the clearing.
He stopped again.
He would have to be blind not to recognise how attractive his brother was. After all, significant chunks of the fae world held him up as an example of Unseelie fae beautiful; charming, menacing, androgynous in appearance, always a calculating glint in those green eyes.
Ash had always just told himself that he didn’t see Augus in ‘that way,’ and for the most part his brain listened, except for those occasions when he’d had too much pizza or when he’d had too much to drink and his mind dumped strange dreams into his head that left him sticky with come when he woke up and often rutting into the mattress like some teenager. Yeah, he’d never told Augus about those.
And that all got dumped into a file in his mind that simply said, in loud, screaming letters: DON’T GO THERE.
Maybe he could just go back, watch, and then...put it in the file and leave it alone. It would just be dream fodder, that was all. It wasn’t like-
‘Shit, fuck,’ Ash breathed. ‘I am a good brother. And good brothers don’t watch their gorgeous fucking brothers jerk themselves off, so, okay. Yep. Okay.’
Ash turned around again and started walking back towards Augus’ home underneath his lake, away from the flat stone, resolved and hands clenched so tightly that his palms were sweating.
He was almost out of earshot, he was sure, when a sharper, almost pained cry reached his ears and Ash froze and turned around.
That could’ve been a cry for help, maybe, and...responsible brothers would just go back and- You don’t even believe yourself, you dick.
Ash squeezed his eyes shut, turned around, his feet started moving back long before he gave them permission to. In very little time at all, he was crouched behind scrub, peering through branches and leaves, keeping his breath light and shallow so that his brother wouldn’t hear him.
Not that Augus would, because it was clear he wasn’t concentrating on anything else but himself.
He’d shifted, now lying flat on his back, his knees bent and apart and Ash almost groaned, because that was, oh fuck. The balls of his feet were pressed into the stone, and he still had his eyes closed, his mouth open. Just enough that someone could slip a tongue inside and force it wider and-
Ash? How about you cut it the fuck out.
Augus was now stroking the backs of his fingers over his cock, lingering at the head, circling it. His other hand rested lightly over his chest. Every now and then he lazily dragged an index finger over to brush at his own nipple and Ash swallowed because now the both of them were hard. Ash reached down and shifted himself so that he was more comfortable in his jeans. His face felt like it was burning. Surely Augus would just take himself in hand soon enough, jerk himself off, and stripe that lean torso with come and it would be done. Just a dream that Ash wouldn’t have to think about anymore.
And they’d hang out and talk about the Unseelie Court and Augus’ clients and people Ash had picked up and make jokes like they always did and it wouldn’t be like this.
Ash felt a wave of relief move through him when Augus shifted and let his cock settle in the concave of his palm. He wrapped his fingers around himself with so much precision that Ash had to swallow a sound of frustration. It was so like Augus, who had always been controlled, detached even. Watching him start to move his hand on himself, up and down, with that steady, exact movement made it hard not to approach, to wrap his own hand around him, pin him down with a hand on his sternum and make it fast and messy and watch his eyes fly open and his mouth widen. It was only that Ash wanted his hips to arch up off the stone, to see his skin, sun-kissed, become flushed with sensation and-
Augus pressed his lips together on a moan, his eyes pressed closed, his forehead knitted.
His hips undulated up slightly into his hand, then again. Augus reached up and actually dragged a hand through his own hair, moaning again. Ash didn’t think his hands had ever felt so hungry for anything. He was ashamed of what he was doing, of what would happen if Augus caught him, because Augus didn’t miss a thing. He would realise immediately that Ash was turned on, hard in his pants, and he’d either brush it off with a laugh and say that it was to be expected with an arrogant raise of his eyebrow. Or he’d be speechless, and it would be awkward. There was no knowing how that would go.
Ash he knew he should leave. But he couldn’t drag himself away. Not now. It was partly that he wanted to know as much about Augus as he could, and he never got to see him enough; like this...this was something he could know, even if he never thought about it again. Even if Augus never knew that he’d seen it. He liked having and holding pieces of knowledge about his private, reclusive brother. He liked thinking that he was the only one to have ever seen this. That, when Augus was alone in early spring, and maybe at other times of the year, he crept onto a sun-warmed rock, shed his clothing, and caressed his body with a grace and care that stole the breath from Ash’s throat.
Augus’ hand was moving faster now, it would be over soon. Augus’ mouth dropped open wider, and his claws – that he always kept so much sharper than Ash’s filed down nails – scraped rhythmically over his side, his nipple, occasionally trailing up to tangle and untangle his hair, to twist the sensitive waterweed that sprouted from his scalp alongside his mane around his finger. His hips were shifting up into his hand, and Augus’ throat worked. Ash thought his breath might be hitching, but he couldn’t tell. If he was closer, he’d press his face by Augus’ mouth and feel each of those exhales hot against his skin.
But he wasn’t closer.
Ash’s hand strayed down to his own cock in his jeans, and he unbuttoned his fly quietly, drew himself out, squeezing a hand around himself. He licked his lips, forced his eyes shut.
Dreaming about it is one thing. Then you go and watch him jerking himself off, that’s another thing. Now you’re gonna jerk yourself off to it? That’s...Ash, if there was a line with this shit, you’re sprinting across it like an Olympian.
Ash fisted his fingers around the tip of himself, compressing the flesh and hissing. It was a punishing grip. He couldn’t decide yet what he was doing. A loud part of his mind kept shouting at him to cut it out, to leave, to just put it behind him, to stop already.
His eyes slipped open, just a sliver, and he saw Augus in some perfectly filmed scene that he couldn’t have imagined even in his most elaborate fantasies. Precisely because it was so controlled, so languorous. Except Augus’ hips were jerking up into his hand, and Ash’s eyes widened and his own hand involuntarily moved in response, because that was good.
Augus stopped. He withdrew his palm.
Ash thought that he’d been caught out, but no, Augus still kept his head tilted back, his mouth open like he could drink down the sun. His hips were raised off the stone. But instead of touching himself, and, Ash could see, his cock was clearly begging to be touched, Augus rested his palm flat on his pelvis and took several deep breaths. His other hand was tracing a spiral into the centre of his own chest.
No, he is not. He is not slowing himself down. Who the fuck does that? Come on, Augus. Just mess yourself up a little, Jesus. Why does it always have to be like this with you?
But Augus waited. His breathing settled, his hand stayed still on his hip. It was at least two or three solid minutes before Augus lifted his hand to himself again. And then he didn’t wrap it around properly, but started trailing his fingers up and down.
Jesus, fuck, how long have you been doing this to yourself?
Frustration curdled inside of him, that he was – somehow – being subjected to that same tight, rational control that all of Augus’ clients must have been subjected to. Augus the professional dominant, who hunted humans but offered his other skills to the fae, breaking them carefully, putting them back together again.
How calculating Augus was, and it was so not what Ash was about. It wasn’t that Ash didn’t appreciate orgasm denial, the rise and fall of arousal in the bedroom, it was that Augus was like this all the damned time. Even now. And Ash’s role in his brother’s life had never been to leave that be. It had always been to shake things up, to mess around in Augus’ presence a little, to remind him that chaos was okay, and disorder could be fun.
So watching him, unable to touch, unable to even indicate to Augus that he was there, it chafed at him. He moved his hand on his cock anyway, needing something to distract himself from the growing rush of thoughts in his head.
Finally, Augus wrapped his hand around his cock, started a slow, unpredictable rhythm. His hips began moving up to meet his hand again, and when he twisted his hand around the head of his cock, a fractured cry came out of his mouth. It was quiet, but it seemed to ripple through the core of Ash as he heard it. He licked his lips again, desperate, hand moving quickly and wanting to hold himself back, wanting to – stupidly – come at the same time as Augus.
So when Augus made himself stop, again, Ash fisted his fingers into his shirt and for once, wished for claws to shred something. He blew out his breath and his muscles were shaking, because if he listened to his body he would just go over there and finish the job himself. He forced his breathing to calm down and looked up at the blue sky, distracting himself. Even then, he could see the silhouette of Augus laying upon the rock in his mind. His damp, black hair spread out, curling, snarling on the stone. And he just – he couldn’t help himself – he wanted to see him spread out on his bed, couch, floor.
Oh fuck, the floor.
Ash bit his tongue and forced himself to think of some of the worst hangovers he’d ever had. The ones where he was convinced he was never going to drink again. Where he regretted being born with waterhorse metabolism because even after years of habituation and practice, his body still told him in no uncertain terms that he was poisoning himself. He thought of mornings and days and evenings spent hunched over toilets and too many painkillers hastily swallowed down dry and that awful acidic taste when they got stuck in the back of his throat and started to dissolve before he could mouth down a quick handful of water from the tap. He played it all back through his mind, and finally started to feel like he was getting a semblance of-
‘Ah, fuck,’ Augus cried out.
Ash was lost. His hand started moving on himself again. Augus sound disarmed, but there was no way – with that slow-moving hand, with his palm caressing his ribs – that he really knew what it was like to be taken apart. It was like Augus had read a manual on how to seduce someone. He was doing everything right, but there was no spontaneity in it. No wildness.
Ash wanted him wild.
He needed that.
When he looked back, Augus was still moving his hand against himself, but it wasn’t fast, it wasn’t a blur of motion. His back wasn’t arched off the stone, though he had started writhing fretfully from time to time, and his head was tilted to the side now, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and pained lines etched into his forehead.
Augus was enjoying himself, but he wasn’t taking himself apart.
Ash shook his head again, in disbelief. He had tears of frustration in his eyes, aroused and caught up in his own pleasure, embarrassed at what he was doing and unfamiliar with embarrassment, flushed and tangled in himself. He was so hard in his own hand, and so close, and he wanted to hold off so much.
Augus suddenly lifted his hand from his chest like he wanted to grab onto something and Ash couldn’t help himself.
It should be me.
Augus’ fingers splayed, curled around something invisible, and then lowered back down to the ground. Augus tilted his head back up to the sky again, his hips moved eagerly into what he was doing, he began to pant. Ash could hear that from where he was.
If Ash had anything to do with it, Augus would have started with panting, and then been pushed further to see where he’d end up. He ground his teeth together, bit at his tongue again. Trailed fingers away from his cock briefly and squeezed his own balls to hold himself off, to ground himself. He bit off a sound in his throat, but it was silenced by the wind, the sound of brush moving around him, Augus shifting on the stone.
Ash couldn’t wait any longer. He raised his hand back to his cock and jerked himself off rapidly, not caring for finesse or control, wanting the mess of it. His knees pressed into the dirt where he crouched, and he angled himself away from his clothing, breathing building in his chest, even as he stifled the sound of it.
His hips thrust forward as he came, he braced himself on damp leaf litter, watching Augus hungrily. And Augus, whether it was a miracle of timing, or his energy had somehow picked up on what was happening nearby, suddenly opened his mouth on a loud, unfettered gasp, and his neck arched. His hips lifted off the stone and he shot come over his torso, glinting white-green in the sunlight, striping across his skin. Ash’s mouth watered, his mind heat and lust as he came harder than he had in a long time, watching his brother, his hands, that body, knowing the perfect mind that lay behind it all.
He kept a hold of himself as he leaned his weight on his other hand, head tipping forwards, shock and arousal still racing through him.
That just happened. That just happened and you fucking let it happen.
Ash raised his head to look at Augus, body prickling with shame. He shouldn’t have stayed. This wasn’t fantasy. This wasn’t a dream he couldn’t control. This was something he chose without even really fighting himself over it. And now that arousal was starting to fade, as he softened in his own grip, a strange paranoia crept over him; that Augus would turn his head and stare condemnation at him. That he would be unwelcome now. That he had done the unacceptable, breached a fundamental trust.
His heart felt too big for his chest. He watched, as silent as possible, as Augus rested one hand in his hair, the other to the side of his cock, limp against his skin. His torso was wet with ejaculate and Ash flushed at the fact that he wanted to taste it so badly. That he had to, at some point, know. Was it anything like his own? He knew what he tasted like, that sort of thing had never bothered him. Did their being related – at least as predatory waterhorses – create similarities in the flavour? Or did their different lifestyles and diet change it?
It was Ash who left first. He tucked himself into his jeans behind his boxers, zipped and buttoned up his fly, moving the tag on the zip as slowly as possible so the sound didn’t alert Augus. And then he waited. He waited until the breeze picked up and the weeping willows and brushes were whispering and rustling, he waited until he could creep away unheard, tingling and mouth dry and determined to make sure that Augus never knew and paranoid that he would take one look at him and simply know.
Three hours later Ash turned on Augus’ doorstep again, telling himself that he could force the smile, he could make it work. And he was surprised, because when he saw Augus in his chair like always, reading a book on herbs and making notations in ink, his smile wasn’t forced. His heart fluttered painfully in his chest, but aside from that, he felt like this would be okay.
Augus looked up at him, offered a half-smile of welcome to see him, and Ash swore his heart skipped a beat.
‘You’re staying for a few days? I suppose it is early spring. Did you run out of people to fuck?’
No.
‘No such thing, brother. You know that,’ Ash said, walking across and jumping onto the couch, putting his feet up on the cushions and watching as Augus frowned at him. ‘You got any food?’
Augus’ eyes narrowed, and then he shrugged one shoulder.
‘Perhaps. For you? Probably not.’
But Augus got up and wandered into the pantry, and Ash closed his eyes, pressed his fist into his chest.
He wouldn’t ever bring it up, he knew that. But he knew he’d seared something into his own mind, into his cells; it was there now, he couldn’t unsee it.
It would be centuries before anything ever came of it.