Glen had more doubts than most people knew; he had constantly felt the weight of his mother’s successes, the fact he never seemed to connect to anyone with the seeming ease of his fellows. That his mother had called a Quest had been humiliating. His doubts had not abated with the knowledge that the mouthy demon he was stuck with did not need him at all.

The only place in which he’d had any sort of confidence had been his looks, and that was small comfort indeed when he still spent most of his time alone.

It was not until they had first tried to make things work, only for them to completely fall apart, that he had realized he felt none of the usual pressures around Beckett.

Becket, who always smelled and tasted of apples, always had a smile, who loved to touch, and seemed to have no problem adjusting to any situation. Glen wished he had such ease himself.

He shook his head in fond amusement as he watched Beckett charm the coldest faerie to ever live – utterly oblivious to the fact that until this moment, the hag had not smiled at anyone in at least a decade.

Finishing his wine, he set it on a passing tray and quietly stepped out, needing a breath of fresh air. Striding down the hallway, he ducked through one of the myriad rooms and out onto the balcony, bracing his arms on the railing.

The night was cool, summer fading lazily into autumn, a soothing relief from the stuffy heat of the overcrowded ballroom. He sighed softly and looked up, wishing he were home in bed with his demon, not stuck here for hours yet. All that he’d needed to accomplish was done; the rest was socializing and mindless chatter – something his mother adored but which he only ever tolerated.

Becket had the same affinity, the same ease, as his mother, and Glen could only envy it.

He heard soft footsteps behind him, and started to turn when familiar hands landed gently on his back, smoothing between the juncture of his wings before spanning his lower back and wrapping around his waist. “You were doing splendidly, pretty cat-bird,” Becket said softly. “You should not fret so.”

Glen smiled faintly, the knots in his chest and stomach undone as easily as that. “I am not pretty,” he said tolerantly.

Becket chuckled, the sound light and easy, then released him to stand next to Glen on the balcony. Folding his arms on the railing, he tilted his head back and looked up, moonlight making his silver hair shine. “I’ve heard compliments about you all night, you know. How proud your mother should be, and how fortunate I am.”

“Mm,” Glen agreed. “Quite fortunate to be stuck with a thick-headed griffon who only took how many months to appreciate what a Quest had given him?” He reached out and gently lifted the pendant around Becket’s throat – a shimmering blue spell stone, one of those he had obtained in his own quest to win back his demon.

“You’re being silly,” Becket said, tilting his head just a little more, making a silent request. “We were both at fault and you know it, pretty cat-bird.”

Glen smiled faintly and bent to fulfill the unspoken request, sliding a hand into the lovely silver hair and covering Becket’s mouth with his own. He’d never cared much for apples one way or the other; they were simply something he ate when it showed up on his plate.

Now, though…Becket ate the things like nothing else existed. Glen had once ordered cider for him, and the enthusiastic thanks he had been given for that… Apples were swiftly becoming his favorite as well.

Becket was warm and pliant in his arms, kissing him back with all the enthusiasm and joy he seemed to show for everything, but with an additional heat he showed no one else. It made Glen growl and pull his demon close.

Delicate claws glided through hair, just barely digging into his scalp before teasing across the back of his neck, making Glen shiver. “Becket…”

Breaking the kiss, Becket lapped at his lips briefly before pulling away enough to smile up at him – a smile that was full of everything except good intentions. “I locked the door before I came out.”

“You are evil,” Glen replied, and kissed Becket before he could reply, twisting so that his lover was up against the balcony railing, bent over it, clinging tightly to him as Glen kissed him senseless.

So many times during their awkward, fumbling courtship – if it could even be called that – he had wanted to kiss Becket, to see what that troublesome mouth tasted like, if Becket was as cool as his silver coloring or perhaps burned as hot as the sparks which occasionally flared in his eyes.

He’d always hesitated, unable to gauge what sort of reaction such a bold move would get. Then he had lost Becket, and determined to try and get him back. The kiss he had finally gotten for his effort was the finest kiss he’d ever had.

All of Becket’s kisses were fine, and made him think of that first one, that one which said this demon was well and truly his despite all that had seemed to stand between them. “Locked the door, hmm? Did you come out here to comfort me, or to have your wicked way?”

“Comfort with a hope for wickedness,” Becket said with a laugh. “I always want to be pounced by my pretty cat-bird.”

“I am not pretty,” Glen retorted, using his talons with practiced ease to open Becket’s jacket and shirt, baring a fine, muscled chest to which he immediately put his mouth. Whatever Becket’s intended reply, it was lost as his demon groaned, leaning back even further over the railing to bare himself completely to Glen’s attention.

He moved to give Becket another kiss, raking his talons lightly over the bare chest, loving the way Becket shivered. No one else saw Becket this way, not anymore. This demon belonged to him and no one else.

Growling low, he yanked Becket away from the balcony and pulled them into the room, too impatient to stumble his way through the dark room, settling for the moonlit square of rug just past the curtains between the room and balcony.

Becket went easily, tugging him down, mouth hot and eager, hands only more so as they went quickly to work on their clothes, and Glen groaned loud and long to finally feel all that fine, pale skin pressed against him, ravaging Becket’s mouth until his own lips were bruised and he was badly in need of air.

“Pretty cat-bird,” Becket said, voice husky, his claws raking through Glen’s close, fine pelt, the sensation a delicious agony.

He bit back a cry as those hands then slid around to rake down his back, digging through pelt and fur, Becket knowing all too well where and how to touch.

Pushing Becket’s legs apart, he settled between them, swallowing the moan Becket surrendered at the way their cocks slid against each other. He rolled his hips, making everything oh so wonderfully worse, drugged on the heat and scent and flavor of his lover – and that they were naked on the floor of one of his great uncle’s morning rooms only seemed to make everything sharper, hotter.

Still, he was glad Becket had locked the door.

He bucked in surprise and pleasure as Becket wrapped a hand around his cock and began to tug, groaning as he thrust into that hand, fumbling to return the favor, stroking hard, pulling Becket’s pleasure from him – demanding it, needing it as the world narrowed to nothing but the demon beneath him, the thick scent of lust that filled the air, the sheen of sweat on Becket’s skin. Tension coiled in him, everything going tight from his muscles to his wings, and even the cool air blowing in from the open balcony could not abate the heat that burned everything else away.

Becket came with a hoarse, barely muffled cry and Glen followed a second later, burying his own shout in Becket’s ever-willing mouth.

The world returned in pieces, first the cool night air and the moonlight that made Becket look as though he were carved from it; then the scent of cooling sweat and recent lust, the sound of Becket’s breathing slowly returning to normal, the steady beat of his heart. Lastly came the distant strains of music from the ballroom, reminding him they were not, unfortunately, the only two in the world.

“I suppose we should go back to the party,” he said idly, not moving.

Becket laughed; it rumbled in his chest before spilling from his mouth. “In wrinkled clothes and tousled hair. Not that I mind everyone knowing I just had my wicked way with you, pretty cat-bird, but your relatives might string us both up by our ears.”

“Discretion, hmm?” Glen asked, sharing his laughter. “Better to run away? I suppose I could live with that.”

Lazy kissed were pressed to his cheeks, his nose, and finally his mouth. “Take me to bed and I’ll make the reprimand we get in the morning worth it.”

“You are always worth it,” Glen replied, petting him idly, returning the soft, lazy kisses. “However, I will gladly take the compensation anyway.”

Becket smiled and kissed him one last time before they moved to dress enough they could reach their bedroom and discard the clothes once more.