My first foray into Wicked Lovely. I'm amazed no ones written Seth/Keenan before. I don't know if I ship it, but wow, I might be now. XD

Wicked Lovely belongs to the wicked lovely Melissa Marr. Not me.

Coalescence: the process by which two separate masses seem to "pull" each other together should they make the slightest contact


It's Aislinn who sees faeries. It's her that can feel his breath creeping down the nape of her neck, his fingers ghosting down her jaw line, the heat of him as he presses his body to hers and prompts her to open her lips to him.

She was the one who could see him.

But she was never the one to incite the lust, the cravings and the urges that brought him back to the her. It was never her moans he heard as he tangled his fingers in her hair, as he ground her into whatever surface was closest.

It was never her.

Never.

There are three rules. Three rules that bind him as surely as the Earth orbits the Sun. Three rules that he can never break. No matter how much every desire that created him crave to do so.

It doesn't matter.

Rule #3: Faeries can't lie.

He gives her his word before he realizes the weight of it.

"Alright," he laughs, as she crosses her arms and gives him a look. "If that's what you so desire." He drops his voice low as he murmurs into her ear, letting his hands wander over her frame.

With his head buried at her neck, lips nipping at her skin, he feels the words as much as hears them. It's a good thing too, as her voice is nearly impossible to hear over the heartless beat of the club's music."That's it? He's safe?"

His lips curve up in a grin he cares nothing for. "Sam, Shaun, whatever his name his... I won't touch him."

"Seth," she snarls, heat flaring: in her words, off of her, sinking into his skin. More than a summer's day. A sulfurous sun.

His laugh trails off as he watches the dancer from between strands of her hair. "You have my word: I will initiate no contact with Seth Morgan." He says it to appease her. Fickle as he is, his attention is gone. Even his hands still on her body.

A mortal locks eyes with him. Threads of night coalesce into hair to bless his perfect face, full lips barred from his by a silver ring. If a mortal ever sought perfection – and so many do – there never was one that had come as close to finding it as this one.

The mortal keeps his eyes on him as Aislinn slides into his hold. Keenan can feel himself sicken at how perfectly they mold together.

"Seth," she says again, but this time so differently. Gone is the heat of hatred, replaced by another kind of heat. She lifts her face to his, and Keenan wishes it was him kissing the silver from Seth's lips.

Rules aren't meant to be broken. Rules aren't meant to be broken. It's a refrain that echoes in his head. Rules aren't meant to be broken.

He dances alone, feverishly, as if the movement can free his minds from the thoughts. He's no longer sure if people can see him. A flicker of heat, or a scowling mortal. He doesn't care. Let him flicker out like a gutted candle. Let him roar back to life in the crowded club. Let the flames he feels burning him lash out, and destroy everything.

He doesn't care.

He dances, pushes himself harder and harder. He'll sweat the desire from his bones somehow.

The night presses in, almost as constricting as the ever-present stench of iron. He wonders who he's putting up with it for; his supposed Summer Queen, or a mortal he was forbidden? It's a question he doesn't really know the answer to anymore. Wind lifts the garbage littering the empty parking lot, caressing its cool breath over his lips. Leaning back against a chain link fence, he's almost glad of the faint buzz of pain it provides. It helps clear his mind.

The night sky is so marred here, blotted out by the city's lights. He can barely see the stars, just as he can barely hear what it is the wind whispers. In its void, he's left to imagine what it would say if he could hear it. And he does. Sinful, beautiful things that send a shiver down his spine and his blood pooling.

The stars burn on. Miniature suns in an untouchable night sky.

Rule #2:Don't speak of faeries to humans.

With a twist of his fingers and a little glamour, Keenan's whoever he wants to be. He settles on a guise similar enough to his normal one, yet one Seth won't recognize. During the next week, in whatever moment allowed to him, he follows Seth. He can't help it. Every inch of him wants to race forward, to force the mortal to see him. To give up the search for his Summer Queen and live out the mortal's petty years with him.

But he gave his word, and his word can not be broken.

He knows Seth sees him. He can feel the play of heat across his shoulders from his gaze, though he never catches him. By the time he brings his head around, Seth is back to sipping coffee, lips burnt red, or perusing through records, long slender fingers illicit in their movements.

The first time he finally sees Seth's watching him, he's sitting in Rabbit's chair, a tattoo needle jack-rabbiting against his flesh. Keenan's shirt's off as Rabbit etches the tattoo on him, his muscles drawn tight from the pain and his skin flushed. Rabbit's movements are clinical as he moves around the Summer King, gloved hand brushing against his nipple as the needle stains his skin. With the way Seth's looking at him, Keenan can't help the groan that slips from his lips as he hardens at the touch.

Seth's lips part as he hitches in a ragged breath, and for a moment, Keenan sees heat flare in his eyes.

His Summer Girls are beautiful. Aislinn's beautiful. Seth is walking, snake-draped sin, and to someone who spends his days dreaming of heat, Seth offers more than he's ever felt.

The promise to Aislinn binds him every second of every day. He keeps his every word. Invisible to the mortal's star-studded eyes, he sates himself. He keeps a dying breath between their skin as he presses close, as his lips ghost over Seth's stark clavicles. As he almost presses his lips to the mortals.

He keeps to the rules. But barely.

...

Rule #1: Don't fall in love with mortals.

.

"This one." A voice made of frigid cold, darkest night, a star's pure light, and sinful heat says, and Keenan can feel himself harden. Seth's long fingers hold out a vinyl record; light refracts off its surface like an oil slick. "You'll like this one."