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I.
The mirror’s reflection would make her shudder, if she was willing to show any body reaction.
Nesta was using pants for the first time in her life -- dark, tight and reinforced on the knees with leather. It was Feyre’s, of course. Her sister had borrowed her a pair of training clothes almost two weeks ago, after their last arguing about how Nesta was dealing with her own abilities after the war.
“I said no.” Nesta’s voice was like a whip, cutting its way thru the air around them.
“I heard you from the first time, and the second, and the th--.” Feyre answered, just one step behind, keeping Nesta from avoiding it again.
“Stop following me like a starved dog.” She hissed, trying hard not to increase the rhythm of her steps.
“Then give me a good reason.” The youngest fae raised her index finger, going around Nesta to stop her. “One, and I’ll never ask again.”
Feyre’s eyes were burning with the untamed dare. The same eyes as her own, the same eyes as their mother. She knew that her own eyes were pale blue flames now, her heart racing with the challenge. And then, just as a cold winter wind, it was all wiped away, the warm emotions living her core, her critical and rational mind taking over.
She turned to the other side, dismissing Feyre completely, and restarted walking.
“Tell me when you quit hiding.”
And that was it, that single line made her column straightened, her nails digging into her palms with strength enough to hurt as she stormed in the direction of her room.
Nesta blinked, trying to get used with the reflection, with the feeling of the tissue touching her legs. Should it look like this?
The only women she saw dressing it were Feyre, Morrigan and Amren and the illyrian outfits had looked different in any of them. Feyre’s was tight, but not much, Morrigan’s was like a second skin, much like the boys’, Amren looked like a child’s suit, which she supposed it was, even if no one mentioned.
Feyre’s clothes were a little big on her body, she decided after a detailed examination. Her slim legs didn’t have muscles enough to stretch the material, but at least they were the same waist and hip size.
Nesta rolled up the sleeves of the matching shirt, folding them past her elbows. The tissue was slightly transparent, just enough to give a light sensation and allow her skin to breathe under it. You will be sweating like a farm worker, her mind remembered with a disgusted noise.
And, if she stayed one minute more standing there, she would have done a great job in convincing herself to dismiss Feyre entirely. But she wasn’t hiding, she would never hide again from her sisters, not when they needed something, not when they wanted something. Never again.
II.
Nesta has always been silent, a whisper of steel and flame, contained, controlled, and her steps matched it. The fae grace had shaped her walking in something barely audible, unless she wanted to be heard -- which was definitely not the case.
It wasn’t hard to find the right spot, the sound of laughs reached her down stairs and ended before she finished going up. Small crashing sounds followed and she hurried just a little, without even notice the worry running in her veins.
Feyre’s back was turned to her, her once skinny body now detailed with slim muscles. She saw her sister’s hair braided tight, flying as she threw a sequence of punches -- right in Cassian’s covered hands.
Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? The first thought in Nesta’s mind revealed how much she had absorbed in a few seconds. His long hair was wrapped with his usual strand of leather, or most of it -- a few threads had escaped and now clinged to his sweat-damp face. His controlled breath smashed into her as a wave, his heartbeat overloading her fae hearing. The lines of sweat that started at his neck followed a path down the dark hair on his chest, lower and lower until the waistband of his training trousers.
Immediately, she stopped her gaze, a stone-cold mask taking over her features. After the battle with Hybern, she has been… How could she say? Sensitive, yes, sensitive to his presence, which, of course, bothers her to no end.
“What the hell, Feyre?!” Cassian complained, recoiling his hands, surprised with the sudden punch.
A tug in her lips threatened to form a smirk when she noticed that he had been distracted by her presence alone. Feyre turned, following Cassian’s forceful gaze. The smile in the other’s face was brighter than the golden light of the sun, casting its warmth in the roof, when she spotted Nesta.
Feyre moved forward, for sure to include Nesta right away in whatever she was doing, but the elder sister rose a polite hand to stop her.
“I’ll observe for a while.” Showing certain in each step, she found her way to a long chair, propping her elbows in her knees to give Feyre - and Cassian - her full attention.
She thought she saw her sister giving little excited jumps in her way back.
III.
Even if she wouldn’t admit, she enjoyed her accurate senses and was glad, at some point, for being able to see all their quick movements, catch the glimpses of change, watch the light dancing in their wings when Cassian tried over and over to explain how the balance of Feyre’s body should be changed to use the wings in their full strength and power.
Feyre was positively terrible. She kept committing the same mistakes and her left wing could do everything faster than her right wing.
It was beautiful, though, and it suited her well. Feyre has never been a creature of small vision, her dreams were higher than Nesta’s, she has known it since the day Feyre painted the night sky. One day she would fly thru it -- except that it would be figuratively and not with real wings.
Her sister spreaded her dark wings, mimicking Cassian’s moves. He folded one wing as he punched forward, using the move to push him stronger. He did it with ease, repeating with the other side of his body to show himself, apparently.
Nesta shifted, rolling her eyes, but keeping herself silent. She was trying to show some sort of approval, trust or whatever in Feyre’s abilities, she was trying to look like she believed wholly in the potential of her little sister.
When Feyre fell face first, she was also trying to avoid the amusement in her eyes.
“Shit.” Feyre complained, rubbing her sore nose, following to rub her forehead.
Cassian’s laughter was still echoing when he offered a hand to help her out.
“I think it’s enough of punching while having wings for today, I don’t want Az complaining that I’m stealing his job. Or Rhys complaining that I’m ruining his nights because you’re sore all over.” A sensual smirk appeared in Cassian’s lips and she watched her sister punch his arm, tired. He pretended it hurt anyways.
“Nesta could join us for the last part, I think.” Feyre suggested, her eyes big with the request.
“Yeah, Ness, unless you’re enjoying the view too much.” To prove his point, all the muscles in Cassian’s abdomen contracted, showing with more details his heavy worked out body, only cutted by his war scars.
She snorted, raising to her feet and walking past him to stand next to Feyre. If the fae was willing to acknowledge, she would notice the change in her breathing, but she stood with an unbothered calm even while his eyes drank the view of her in those tight clothes.
Feyre’s eyebrows got up twice before Cassian reassumed the ability of talking.
“10 push-ups, let’s see if you can lift anything heavier than a shoe.”
He was staring right into her eyes when he said it, the muscles in his body shifting not with a rational command, but in response to the rage she now showed in her blue-gray eyes. He didn’t get to give her orders like this, who the hell he thinks --
“C’mon, Nesta. I’ll show you how.” Her sister’s hand was in hers after that, keeping her from bark an answer.
She followed Feyre’s lead, placing her arms in the right position and thanking for the leather reinforcing the tissue covering her knees. The first push-up had her going too low, and her flat belly almost touched the floor.
“Not so low.” Feyre whispered, already up again, with her arms straight.
Nesta had to reunite a great amount of force of will to raise her body, and then, down again. She could feel the pressure inside her ears as she forced herself up. Her arms started to tremble in the third push-up.
“You need to contract your core muscles or you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Cassian’s voice sounded very close to her. She could see his booted feet in her line of vision.
If she wasn’t so focused in not to fall, she would have grunted. But she did as she was told anyway, she was goddamn here already.
Nesta was trying to contract everything, from her neck to her thighs.
“Breath. In when you’re going up, out when you’re going down.”
How he even knew that she was running out of breath? Her focus had been completely in the strength.
When the eighth push-up came, she decided that it was a terrible idea. The war was over, they won, she had no reason to be here, sweating for nothing. But then she recalled how the things happened, how different it could have been if she mastered her powers, if she knew how to use the right weapons.
It made her go up again, exhaling the air so hard that it made a noise. She dared to look a little to her side as she lowered, very tempted to rest her head in the cold floor. Feyre was waiting for her, holding herself down in the way Nesta should be doing, the right way. Her sister's smile was still there, almost nudging her to the last push-up.
You’re not some weak lady, Nesta. Up, now! The order she gave herself made her seem ridiculous, but at least her arms brought her up again, trembling terribly, almost giving up.
When she lowered herself, half falling in the floor, her decorum was gone. She rested her face for one entire minute in the cold rock of the floor before caring with anyone else. Her arms were aching and she could swear some weird substance was running in her veins, making her feel some sort of well even with the pain.
The next things were easier, or her body was now heated enough to not feel like one step from dying all the time. She discovered that she could run for a small period and she was good at stretching. In anything else, pretty much a disaster.
When the ‘last part’, as Feyre called, ended, her shirt was clinging to the sweat in her skin and she was thankful for wearing a bra. To her relief, Feyre looked just as wrecked. She wouldn’t give a single thought to the fact that Cassian still looked marvelous.
“Tomorrow, right after Feyre’s training. You better bring a towel, sweetheart.” His voice came from deep in his chest.
IV.
In the next day, Nesta was nowhere to be seen in the town house. She had spent the whole night mind-complaining about the soreness in her limbs.
Amren’s place sounded like a great choice and she was already there right after breakfast, bringing the books and notes she had been reading. Never existed, in the long history of the fae world, someone like Amren, so they had been searching for similarities, anything to help in the discovery of which powers and tricks the older creature possessed.
It was also a good thing for her own.
So far, Nesta had learned little about what she stole from the Cauldron, but she had finally being able to see her own mental shields in its complexity. They were not dark and hideous as she feared they would be; indeed, Nesta’s mental shields were made of steel, no a solid mass, but huge pieces of silvery steel, connected by rivers of white light, the same light that had appeared when they faced the king.
She was also able to create fire, a blue-ish flame, different of her sister’s and Beron’s own flames. It could burn all the same, though no smoke came from it and the touch was as freezing as death. She thought that she maybe would be strong enough to winnow, but wasn’t exactly eager to start a new potential failure.
They searched in the books all day, with many pauses to eat and to train their mental shields. Amren wasn’t solid, but a silver-grey smoke that repelled any of Nesta’s tries.
When she was mentally exhausted enough - and before Amren could decide to throw her out of the loft - she found her way to the town house, where a small bottle and a note were waiting for her in her bedroom's door.
“I should have known you would be sore, drink up, I’m flying you at 10am tomorrow.
Cassian.”
Nesta’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the sloppy handwriting, but she drank it without a second thought.
V.
Whatever that drink was, it made all her limbs relax, even the tension in her back softened until she could barely feel it anymore. She slept a remarkably wonderful, dreamless sleep and only came back to consciousness when the warm sunlight touched her face.
She mumbled, too relaxed to think straight, turning to the other side to avoid the clarity.
The sheets’ touch in her skin and the comfy pillow almost dragged right back to that nice place in her mind, almost.
Some rational, annoying part of Nesta’s mind noticed that the sunlight wasn’t supposed to reach her bed in the early hours of morning and that was the reason why her curtains were always open -- by the time the sun started to cast its light inside, she would be completely awake and doing something useful with her morning.
One of her eyes opened - the one which wasn’t buried in the pillow - and she needed a minute to absorb the brightness, the golden glow turning her clear walls in pure light.
It took about five minutes after that to have her leaving her room, right to the kitchen. She had showered as quickly as possible, dressed in the new training clothes that Nuala or Cerridwen or both had brought her, and wrapped her hair in a very messy bun. She hated to be late and hated even more to do things in a rush, not to have time to prepare herself for the next events, to raise her walls to endure the day.
One of the wraiths, Nesta guessed it was Cerridwen for the way she held the plates, had already settled a few breakfast options and the blonde sat graciously.
She choose three blueberry cupcakes and some juice she didn’t know. Apparently, there were many things in the food department that she didn’t know.
“Can I fix your hair while you eat, my lady?” The maid’s voice was a whisper of darkness, quiet and charming.
“Yes, I would like to.” Nesta answered after swallowing a piece of her cupcake.
One day, she would thank the maid for it, for the help. She was working on it, because, according to Elain, it was important to be thankful and Nesta was trying to be better to her sisters, or the best she could be.
Training for Feyre, thanks for Elain. She repeated in her mind. Learn about faes to help Amren. She remembered to add, because she had connected with Amren somehow.
Nesta was finishing her second cupcake when she heard the known sound of wings cutting the air, followed by a low noise when they landed in the front porch.
Something eased in her insides, maybe part of her expected that he wouldn’t show up, that she would dress those stupid pants and let Cerridwen wrap her hair for nothing. And, maybe, the other part felt like an elastic loosing, as if some invisible thread had curled inside all of her muscles and been kept taut from yesterday until now.
Feyre strode inside, her hair a complete mess after training and flying and she sat down in front of Nesta with the same lack as finesse as always. It was involuntary to look for wounds, her eyes scanning her sister’s body in a quick inspection.
“I like your new training clothes.” Feyre offered, finding a glass to fill with juice.
Nesta nodded, it hasn’t been her choice, but she supposed it fit better than Feyre’s borrowed one. Slowly, her hand pushed her own plate in Feyre’s direction, so she could have the last cupcake -- her sister always liked blueberries.
After a tentative smirk - or almost, Nesta grabbed the towel Cerridwen had left waiting for her and walked to the living room.
The sensation of him came before his form appeared, a weird lightness, as if something wasn’t heavier anymore, as if her own body was nothing more than an extension of something.
He turned to her in the precise moment she stepped in, his bourbon eyes finding hers and she ignored how her lungs found hard to maintain a rhythm. Cassian was finally wearing a shirt, a sleeveless brown shirt, followed by a pair of loose clear pants. They were covered in dirt already, probably courtesy of her sister.
His feet were bare and there was something about the vulnerability of it, about the unshielded position he stood. He wasn’t ready to a fight, as he always looked to be before, he was… Exposed.
Nesta’s eyes finally met his again and what she saw made every part of her go taut and loose at the same time. His pupils were so blown that they devoured his irises, his mouth was parted and a ragged breath was literally audible. She became extremely aware that he wasn’t looking to her eyes, at least, not only to her eyes.
His gaze travelled up and down her body, each curve, each exposed part of pale skin and it made her more self-conscious than she thought was possible and it burned. Every spot his eyes landed burned with an urge that she never understood.
The training clothes she was using revealed more than any other thing she dressed in her life -- a pair of elastic pants, high on her waist and down to her calves and a tank top which gave much more support to her breasts. They were some color between night blue and purple, a color she has never seen in a tissue out of Prytian. She hadn’t imagined that it wouldn't be adequate, Feyre had used many similar clothes, but now…
She covered the part of her belly exposed between the tank top and the pants, not more than three or four fingers uncovered and it made Cassian regain some sanity again. His hands were still in his sides, clenching and unclenching as if they were too far from her body. It made Nesta’s own hands feel empty, even holding the towel.
“You --” He started, the voice too rough, stuck in his throat. Cassian coughed once. “I’m gonna take you to train.”
Nesta nodded, controlling with an iron hand her own breathing, not willing to even acknowledge the blush creeping to her face and neck, the heat pushing under her skin. Gripping the towel tight, she headed to the door, his steps following her close.
VI.
Luckily, she had years and years to master her self-control and even after more than one hour of intense practice, the parts of her body he touched were still over-sensitive, and he had been very careful to keep her close to his body while flying, to make sure to protect her from the cold wind, of course.
“I’m gonna touch you.” His voice came from her back and Nesta’s sweaty body trembled.
Because of the effort. She immediately explained to herself mentally.
They were trying some experimental defense moves, more like how she should stand and where to put more weight. At least she was doing something calm after the running, the push-ups, the abs working, the squats and lunges and whatever those things were called.
His warmth was already too much before he even reached for her, but when his arm curled around her waist, his hand spreaded over her belly, her rational thoughts left her at once, his fingertips touching the both parts of her clothes and all the bare skin in the middle. It was intimate, far more intimate than see him half naked, far more overwhelming.
She became so still that even the up and down of her chest created too much movement.
Cassian moved slowly, his body inches apart of her, his hand the only point of contact when he leaned in to talk to her.
“Let’s try some punches, you need to focus the tension right here.” She had never heard his commander's voice from close, but she guessed that was it, the voice he was using with her right now, what was keeping him from echoing the throaty sound he let scape in the town house.
“How?” Nesta asked quickly, not daring to say too much.
But why was she bothering? She shouldn’t be affected for it, for him, no, not at all. Sensitive, yes, but affected? A wave of coldness tried to push the warm feeling away, her mind starting to work thru all this, thru her momentary lack of control.
If he felt it or not, she couldn’t be sure, but Cassian’s fingers digged into her bare skin just a little bit, calling her attention again, keeping it in the moment and not in the many reasons she could find -- that she would find -- to keep herself in a safe zone.
“Choose a target point and contract your core, feel your muscles working together.”
She did, trying to keep her breath steady, to focus in her muscles. Paying attention to her own body in that way wasn’t an easy task, Nesta was already too used to her known masks and postures. This was way too new.
“Now, punch.” He commanded, sure of his own body and voice.
Her right arm followed his command without hesitation, feeling the stretch in her forearm, the clench of her fist.
He moved, slowly guiding himself to her left side, his other hand finding place in her back.
“Let the air leave your lungs when you punch, keep your balance. Again.”
Nesta did it many times more, throwing her fist in front, her spine steady by his hands, the sweet pressure Cassian kept when she should contract her muscles and the small release he allowed when she should breath in. Her mind counted twenty repetitions before he moved to her other side, his hands following around her waist without retreat one single inch.
“Your left side now.”
It took twenty more for his hands to leave her.
Cassian walked away only three steps, standing in front of her to offer a real target, his hands up for her to punch as much as she wanted, but his face called her attention immediately and she couldn’t decide what burned more -- his sure hands touching her body or his lustful eyes freeing her mind.
And Nesta caught herself wondering, hours after he flew them back to the town house, if his mouth would burn the most.