Work Text:
1. body
They first lay eyes on each other at a crappy college cafeteria. Cassian's adoptive brother is dating Nesta's sister, so naturally Rhys has organised a big group of them to meet up, because Rhys is just a friendly bastard. However, Feyre, his girlfriend, has another sister, Elain, who's studying biology full time and can only meet on campus, so here they are: Rhys, Feyre, Elain, Cassian, his other brother Azriel. And Nesta.
His first thought is that she's the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.
Which is kind of disconcerting, really, because she and her sisters are very alike, but Cassian has never felt anything but friendly towards Feyre.
He thinks maybe it's the fire in her eyes that makes her unlike any other woman he's met.
Unfortunately, she appears to hate him on sight. Although in hindsight he didn't give a very good first impression.
"Hey, I'm Cassian. If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" After that bombshell, he'd given her a saucy wink. Rhys snorted behind him, and Feyre giggled.
Nesta looked at him like he imagined she'd look at something nasty stuck to the sole of her shoe.
Since then she's ignored him completely. Cassian knows he needs to work on his introductions, but this seems a little over the top. Nevertheless, she was clearly offended, and Cassian doesn't make a habit out of being a douchebag except for the occasional suggestive joke. So when she goes up to get another drink he follows her, and while the barista makes her drink Cassian apologises.
She fixes him with an icy stare. "You've already made it quite clear what kind of woman you think I am, so I'd prefer you took your insincere apologies elsewhere."
He gapes for a full fifteen seconds, as the barista clinks around discreetly behind her machine. "'Insincere apologies'? I'd prefer you took that stick out of your ass, sweetheart!"
She glares at him, and he curses the fact that the anger just makes her eyes shine brighter. "Excuse me?"
He sighs. "Look, I know the joke was pretty bad taste, but it wasn't supposed to reflect on who you are as a person, and I am truly sorry that I offended you."
Nesta opens her mouth to reply-- and then the barista says her name and slides out her latte, and in a second Nesta has whipped around, grabbed the drink and stalked back to the booth.
Cassian stares after her, and it occurs to him that despite her venom and the fact she clearly hates him, he wants to keep talking to her, to get a rise out of her, to make those blue-grey eyes shine and those pale cheeks flush.
Most of all, he wants to see what she looks like when she smiles.
Oh shit.
2. popsicle
When Cassian comes into the kitchen of Feyre and Rhys' apartment, he's expecting to find one of them there. Instead, Nesta is sitting at the counter, scrolling through Instagram with one hand. In the other, she's holding a green popsicle, which is slowly melting down the stick onto her fingers. She's clearly forgotten about it, and Cassian takes a moment to appreciate the picture: golden-brown hair glowing in the late afternoon sunshine; a tiny crease between her brows and her rosebud lips firmed in concentration as she skims some post. He feels a little tug in his chest as he watches her, oblivious to the world around her.
Diffusing the moment before he can think too much about that tug, Cassian clears his throat. Nesta jumps, then turns to glare at him.
He nods at the popsicle, smirking. "I'd be happy to lick that off you if you aren't going to."
Nesta's frown pinches inwards in her confusion, until she sees the popsicle now dripping over her hand and wrist. She blinks. "I'd forgotten--"
He sees her eyes suddenly widen and then narrow as she realises the double entendre of his offer. "Oh, for fuck's sake--" Shooting another glare his way that makes him chuckle softly, she rips off a handful of kitchen roll and wipes up her hand. She throws the paper away and begins to lick the popsicle vigorously, attempting to salvage the ruins of the sweet.
Cassian feels his eyes widen as he watches, and his collar suddenly feels a little tight. Not to mention other areas. . .
Nesta turns back to him, as if wondering why he hasn't said anything stupid in the last two minutes. He's pretty sure his eyes must look a little glazed, because slowly, slowly, she smirks.
And - looking him dead in the eyes - she licks one long stroke up the popsicle.
He swallows.
Then, her face going perfectly blank, she opens her mouth and bites straight through the popsicle - so hard the stick breaks clear in half.
This time his swallow is more like a gulp.
3. thrust
[4:15pm] Cassian: hey i cant get a hold of anyone else about dinner tonight - do u know what restaurant were meeting at??
[4:16] Cassian: all i can remember is the name is some shit to do with space
[4:21] Nesta: You literally flat with Azriel, why couldn't you ask him? The man absorbs information like a sponge. I'm pretty sure he's a spy.
[4:23] Cassian: oh so THATS why i can never find him when i need him. . . srsly tho i cant find anyone do u know where were going
[4:28] Nesta: *sigh* It's called Rita's, dipshit. The space one was Starfall, and we went there like a month ago.
[4:30] Cassian: thanks babe (r u sure its not the space one tho i swear it was the space one)
[4:30] Cassian: how does rhys find these places anyways
[4:36] Nesta: Don't call me babe, asshole. And no, it is definitely Rita's.
[4:37] Nesta: Thrust me.
[4:38] Cassian: all u had to do was ask, nes
[4:41] Nesta: What.
[4:41] Nesta: *TRUST!! *TRUST ME!!!!
[4:42] Cassian: oh ok. . . i see how it is
[4:45] Nesta: . . .
[4:45] Nesta: Not a word about this to the others or I'll slice off your balls and serve them to you on a platter.
[4:47] Cassian: its ok babe ur hopeless attraction to me can be our secret ;)
[5:01] Nesta: Asshole.
4. hands
He still hasn't worked out an excuse for going over to Nesta's flat when he turns into her driveway. Or when he gets out of his car. Or when he walks in the open front door.
"What are you doing here."
She's in the kitchen, making pizza. He sneaks a handful of cheese from where she's grating it to put on one uncooked pizza before it goes in the oven. She elbows him in the ribs.
"Oof-- I'm here to see you, sweetheart!" (He is. Maybe she'll fall for his double bluff. Maybe he doesn't want her to.)
She rolls her eyes. (Okay, she fell for it.) "Do you ever give a straight answer to anything?"
"No, really!" (No, really.) "It's true!" (It's true.)
She doesn't deign to answer him. To cover his disappointment, he steals more cheese. She smacks his arm. He pokes his tongue out at her.
Nesta points to another lump of dough to her left. "This needs to be rolled out. Put your hands somewhere useful."
It takes a moment, but slowly a huge grin spreads across his face. "I'd love to."
She scowls at him, that adorable line forming between her delicate brows that he just wants to kiss away. "Cassian, if you make one more fucking sex joke--"
Some things never change.
5. tangled
His phone rings just as he's rounding the last corner before he gets to his apartment building. He's been taking morning runs for years; they clear his mind and give him space to percolate ideas in peace. (You wouldn't think Azriel was a very rowdy flatmate, but he's been having Elain over a lot lately, and Cassian feels like he should let the two of them have some privacy for. . .whatever they're doing. Probably just gardening to be honest, but there's no harm in being careful.)
Now he slows to a walk and pulls out his phone. It's. . .Nesta.
Nesta has never called him. Ever.
He answers quickly, almost fearfully. "Anything wrong, sweetheart?"
Her voice sounds like it's a long way from the receiver. "Yeah, uh, I'm fine but. . .I do need a little help." There's silence for a few moments. She speaks again, and this time her voice is a little quieter, uncertain. "Are you. . .are you still there? Cassian?"
The vulnerability he can hear in those words causes something to catch in his throat. He's never heard her say his name before.
He clears his throat, but his voice is still hoarse when he speaks. "Yeah, I'm still here. Are you at home?"
"Yes."
"I'll be over in a sec."
***
He understands now why she sounded so distant on the phone. Nesta's arms and torso are wrapped in a tangle of fishing net; she called him using her feet.
"How on earth did you manage this?" he asks, as he cuts her loose with his pocket knife.
Nesta's dignity has been compromised; her answer is subdued, without her usual fire. "I was cleaning out the store cupboard. The net fell on me and I flailed around and tangled it up." She sighs. "It was my father's."
Cassian stops for a second. "It's. . .okay that I'm cutting it?"
Her mouth twists wryly. "I think untangling it by hand would take far longer than I want to be stuck wearing it. Father won't be using it anymore." She gazes into space.
Cassian pulls the last of the net away and rubs her arms to get the circulation back. He hates seeing her like this and not being able to comfort her. Hold her. But he can't violate her boundaries.
So he'll have to try something else. "I can think of better reasons to be tied up." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Nesta is silent for a painful moment. Then she kicks him in the shin. "You're such a prick." But her eyes are sparkling again, and he swears he sees the corner of her mouth quirk up in a tiny smile.
Something occurs to him. "How come you called me, and not Feyre? Or Elain?"
Her eyes drop to the floor. "You were. . .the first contact that showed up." She looks up, but doesn't quite meet his eyes. "And you're probably a bit more practical. Than them."
He lets it go. But he can't help feeling a little male pride. And maybe also a glimmer of. . .hope.
+1. bite me
Once again he's walking through her open front door, but this time Nesta is sitting in the living room. Or rather slumping. He's shocked to see she's wrapped in a blanket, even in the summer heat, nose red, surrounded by used tissues.
Seriously, the tissues are everywhere. On the sofa, on the floor, on the coffee table. They trail out of the room.
Cassian just blinks at it all for a moment. Then he strides forward to Nesta where she sits on the sofa and feels her forehead. "Cass'n?" she asks blearily.
"You're burning up." He tells her. "Do you want me to get a doctor?"
"Nnn." She shakes her head, then coughs weakly. "S'just flu. 'M okay."
Cassian looks down at her. He's never noticed how small she is before - he feels an absurd desire to protect her. (You can't protect her from the flu, dumbass, he thinks.) But he can do the next best thing. "I'm going to look after you," he decides.
Her brow crinkles. "Nnn," she says again, but she doesn't sound very convinced, and she nuzzles his hand when he feels her forehead again. He tries not to impart too much meaning into this gesture. Her face is hot; his hand is cool. He remembers something. "Unless you. . .want me to call your sisters?"
This time she shakes her head violently, before dropping her head back against the seat cushions in exhaustion at the effort spent in that simple action. He thinks he knows why. Nesta has always been the older sister, fierce, cutting towards everyone except Elain. She doesn't want her sisters to see her at her weakest. (Cassian isn't sure if this is an entirely healthy way of living, but he'll respect her wishes. Anyway, he's hardly qualified to coach anyone on their coping mechanisms.)
Looks like it's just him then. (He's not complaining.)
"You need to be in bed," he says, racking his brains for the methods he used to look after Rhys when he had the flu years ago. "You need bed rest, and to be replacing fluid. You should've been drinking water," he tells Nesta reproachfully. And while she's still defending herself he scoops an arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees and whisks her up the stairs to her bedroom.
She's so small and light. He never noticed when she was well and battling him with words, because Nesta's fire made her magnificent.
"Where are your flatmates?" he asks, a little surprised he didn't think of them before. Nesta met Mor and Amren through Rhys, and he would certainly be able to hear them if they were home.
"Vacation," Nesta mutters. "Florida. Was g'nna go too, but. . .told them I had a cold."
He supposes he doesn't really blame them for leaving her alone when she's sick. Nesta can be very persuasive. But the protective urge surges in his chest. She was going to handle it by herself. Sometimes he just wishes that she'd ask for help. With anything. God knows, he'd be there in a second. (Pathetic, he chides himself.)
She points out her room with a shaky hand and he lays her in the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. He brings her a glass of water and makes her drink a little. He gives her some paracetamol, and bathes her brow with a cloth soaked in cool water. She falls into a restless sleep and he breathes a sigh of relief.
He brushes some loose strands of hair back behind her ear. Then he goes out to get ingredients for chicken soup.
In hindsight, he should've left a note.
He's only gone for probably 15 minutes, but when he gets back, Nesta is no longer asleep. Or even in her bed. She's sitting halfway down the stairs, slumped against the wall.
Cassian drops the shopping bag on the floor and runs to her. "Sweetheart. . ."
Her face is wet, and she's trying to dry it with the already-damp sleeve of her pyjama top. With a jerk he realises she's crying. "I thought. . .you'd left me alone."
In a flash he's on the step beside her and pulling her into his arms. "Never." He wipes her tears away with one hand, but keeps the other locked around her. "You can't get rid of me that easy, sweetheart." He debates with himself for a second, then pulls her onto his lap. She doesn't object, just brings her knees up to her chest and buries her face in his neck. Cassian wraps his arms around the tiny ball that is Nesta, and rests his chin on the top of her head.
They sit there for long moments, before Cassian realises she's dripping snot on his collar.
Oh right. The flu.
She whimpers - whimpers - when he tries to unwrap his arms, so he just picks her up again. "Bed, Nesta," he says firmly at her noise of protest. And to bed she goes, laid down and tucked up once again. "Now you're gonna have to drink extra to make up for all that water you just lost," he says remorsefully. "I'm so sorry, Nes. I should've left a note."
She gazes up at him, her face so open he feels a physical ache in his chest. "'S'okay. . . Not sure if. . .I can actu'lly read. . .right now." Her eyes drop closed, and he hears her breathing lengthen out.
Cassian sighs. Vulnerable Nesta is tearing his heart out. And when she's better, Angry Nesta is going to tear his balls off too for seeing her like this. He has an inclination to just stay in this room forever, gazing at Nesta's sleeping face, but that's a little creepy and Twilight-esque, so he gets up to leave.
Or tries to. But somehow Nesta, even in sleep, is still holding one of his hands in her feeble grip. He doesn't even know when she took it, but when he tries to gently peel it off, she grips tighter, and her head turns restlessly on the pillow.
He sits back down.
***
It's late evening when she lets go and rolls over, and reluctantly he gets up and heads downstairs to make soup and get her more water.
This time he leaves a note.
And just in case she's too sick to read it, he makes sure to bang around in the kitchen, just so she knows he's still there when she wakes up.
When he carries up the soup and water she's still asleep, so he sets it on her bedside table, selects a book from the shelves covering one wall of her room, and settles in for the long haul. He has no intention of leaving again in the near future.
Hours pass. Nesta wakes up intermittently, and he gives her a sip of water or a spoonful of soup. He soothes her brow with a cold cloth when she's feverish, brushes hair out of her face, holds her hand when she reaches out searchingly. Around two a.m. he falls asleep in his chair.
They're still holding hands when he wakes up. And Nesta is watching him.
He squeezes her hand and gives her a small smile. She doesn't smile back, but she doesn't look away either, or let go of his hand. She holds his gaze until her eyelids droop and she falls asleep once again.
***
Cassian remembers Rhys being feverish for three days. But by four p.m. on the second day, Nesta's fever has broken. Knowing her, she probably fought it off with the strength of her will alone. She's still fatigued, and every so often a coughing fit will tear through her that makes Cassian's own throat hurt, but she's sitting up in bed, replacing water steadily and has managed to eat almost a whole bowl of soup by herself.
He keeps waiting for her to tell him to go away; braces for it, even though she still needs help walking the short distance to the bathroom, and he's forbidden her from trying to descend the stairs. And yet she says nothing about him leaving, though things are almost back to normal. They bicker: over Cassian's cooking (she still eats the soup); books and movies; even the colour of Nesta's pyjamas ("They're fucking red!" "Vermillion is red, dickhead!"). Cassian tells her every joke he can think of (most of them are pretty vulgar) and Nesta gives him that icy stare (he's pretty sure she nearly smiles a few times, though).
But Nesta is still weak, eventually tiring enough as night falls that he makes her lie down, tucks the covers around her, and turns out the light. He considers going to the guest bedroom for a second. . .but no, what if Nesta needs him? (What if you need Nesta? something inside him whispers.) So he settles back in the chair beside her bed, even though it's a little too small to be comfortable for a man of his size. He listens to her soft breathing until he eventually drops off as well.
***
In the middle of the night, he wakes. He's not sure what jerked him out of slumber, but looking around the room, nothing seems to be amiss. Except. . .
Nesta. She's sitting bolt upright, and her breaths, while quiet, are coming fast and hoarse.
"Nesta?" he asks softly. She jumps. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Her breathing slows gradually, and he dares to take her hand. She holds on tightly, scrubs her face with her free hand.
"Nightmare," she says finally. Her voice breaks.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks tentatively. He knows the Archeron sisters had a hard childhood, but he doesn't really know any of the details. But he doesn't want to force her fragile trust by asking right now, especially while she's so weak.
Silence. Then-- "No, thank you." She lies back against the pillows, her face hidden by the darkness of the room. His chest pinches. He wishes she'd trust him.
But she's still holding his hand.
She's quiet so long he thinks she's fallen asleep. But suddenly, she clears her throat. "Would you. . ." She coughs uncomfortably. "Could you hold me? Please?"
He's sure if he could actually see the room right now, it would be spinning.
He's stunned silent for so long that Nesta lets go off his hand. "Never mind," she says, in a neutral voice, but he thinks he catches a touch of hurt mixed in there, and it shocks him back into motion. In one movement he's lifted the covers and slid into the bed beside her. She's stiff at first but she softens as he wraps one arm around her waist and draws her close, pillowing her head on the other arm. She sighs, and tangles her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. Her legs entwine with his and she's asleep in seconds.
Cassian is not. He's painfully aware of every inch of where their bodies touch. He can feel her breaths ghosting over his neck, and the curve of her back where his hand rests.
Her forehead is right in front of his mouth. He wonders if he could get away with planting a soft kiss there. But what if she wakes up? What if she's just using him for his heat, or like a comically oversized teddy bear in the wake of her nightmare? Could he explain it away? ("Oh yeah, I was just kissing you on the forehead. Platonically. Like the little sister I never had, and definitely shouldn't be thinking about the way I think about you. Ha ha. Just kidding.") He can't see the faint line where her brow crinkles when she frowns, but he stares at the place he thinks it would be. Oh shit, he's leaning in. Fuck. No. Bad Cassian. Stop.
Impact. His lips brush her soft soft skin, and he can't help but rest there for a second before he pulls away.
Nesta makes a sort of cute snuffling noise (probably because her nose is blocked) and buries her face in his chest.
It takes him a very long time to go to sleep.
***
The sun is shining on his face, and he's wrapped in something warm.
Mmm. That's nice. Although maybe he needs to work out where he got this electric blanket - or whatever it is - and buy another one, because it seems to be only covering his front and a bit of his sides. Come to think of it, it's kind of heavy to be a blanket. And it's. . .breathing?
He opens his eyes-- And then opens them some more. He's lying on his back, and Nesta is sprawled across his chest.
Oh.
Oh.
Her cheek is pressed to his chest, and she looks more peaceful in sleep than he's ever seen her awake. It's painful how beautiful she is, her hair tangled and in need of a clean perhaps, but still glowing in the sunshine; her lashes gently brushing her cheeks. Her mouth open just a bit.
Cassian tries to memorise the scene. Maybe he'll never be like this with her ever again, so he doesn't wasn't to forget a single detail. He loops an arm over her waist, and risks a soft kiss on the top of her head.
She makes a soft sound as she stirs awake, and even as he tries to memorise that sound as well, he panics; did she feel the kiss? What happens if she felt the kiss??
Act natural, he decides, as he feels her tense on top of him, realise where she is. Who she's using as a mattress.
Her eyes are very wide as she lifts her head to look at him.
Cassian smiles softly; he can't help it. "Good morning, sweetheart."
Slowly - oh, so slowly - she smiles back. And it's as beautiful as he imagined.
***
They talk. They talk for a long time, and by the time Nesta climbs off him and sits up, a lot of things are resolved that Cassian could have only hoped for.
However, Nesta is still Nesta.
"I'm fine, Cassian," she says irritably, whisking clothes out of her dresser. Unsure of the protocol of their current situation, Cassian turns his back as she gets dressed. This process takes a while, because she can barely stand up. The sound of clothes rustling over her skin is a special kind of torture.
She's out of breath when she's done and he can finally turn back around. "Um. . ."
She narrows her eyes at him. "What."
"Your shirt is on backwards."
Her face falls and he can't bear the despair on her face. "Let me help you with that."
"Is that a sex joke?" she scowls at him suspiciously.
"It can be if you want it to, sweetheart." Cassian winks. "Lift up your arms."
Glaring, but too tired to put up a fight, Nesta allows him to take off her shirt - he chivalrously avoids looking down as he does so (at least, he only looks down for a couple seconds (Holy shit. . .)) - and turn it around before pulling it back over her.
A little wobbly, but still clutching tightly to her dignity, she stalks to the door, heading downstairs. "Uh-uh," he calls, and in a few steps he's close enough to sweep her off her unsteady feet. Dignity be damned. "The only way you're going down those stairs is if I carry you."
A black cloud sweeps over Nesta's countenance. "Bite me, asshole."
Cassian grins. "Alright." And he leans in, and gently nips her earlobe.
There's silence for a bit. Shit. Has he gone too far?He draws his head back to check Nesta's expression, panic blossoming in his chest.
But Nesta's expression. . . Her mouth has dropped open, and her eyes. . . Her eyes are a little glazed, the pupils dilated.
Then she blinks. "Who told you to stop? Bite me, asshole."