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Rook stumbled down a corridor in the Lighthouse, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She hadn't bothered to put on shoes when leaving her room, but the stone that should've been icy against her bare feet was pleasantly warm. The gentle tingle of magic buzzed against her soles as she made her way to the kitchen. This place was like that; anything you needed for survival or comfort, leaping to respond to your very thoughts. She was gradually getting used to the Fade, but a prickle of unease still ran down her neck every time a door opened before her hand could even reach the knob.
She stifled a yawn, dragging a hand down her face. Her stomach growled, and she wondered hopefully if there were any leftovers from dinner. It was Lucanis’ turn to cook that evening, but she’d been hunkered over Neve’s extensive notes and had entirely missed the meal. Her mouth watered at the thought of seared salmon with a balsamic glaze, tender golden potatoes, and the crisp salad she'd seen him tossing earlier. His sleeves were rolled up, the muscles of his tanned forearms flexing as his hands moved with practiced dexterity. Her eyes had dipped to trace the ridges of veins down to his deftly competent fingers, forgetting herself for a moment.
She'd made excuses, hastening from the room, and felt the heat of his gaze follow her like flames against her skin. Now, she groaned in frustration at the insistent gnaw of hunger. She stepped outside, eyes zeroing in on the dining hall across the courtyard. The place was forever lit by the pink-orange glow of this part of the Fade, giving everything a dreamlike quality. A wolf statue, tall and imposing, stared her down as she passed. She wrinkled her nose at it.
Everyone else was asleep by now, as she'd like to be. Unfortunately, clearing her mind enough to rest strengthened her connection to Solas. She flexed her hands into fists, fingernails biting into her palms at remembered irritation. He was impossibly smug, made worse by the fact that he was always right. The few times he left her alone to dream, nightmares clung to her mind; thick and soupy with dread. She huffed out an irritated breath, running a hand through the waves of her pale hair. It was ice blonde, contrasted by sharp bone structure and frigid blue eyes that culminated in a severe kind of loveliness. The points of her ears barely poked through the strands of her loose hair.
The door swung open, clicking shut behind her without her intervention, and she felt a draught of heat from the ever-crackling fireplace. Its flames danced merrily, lighting the room in bouncing gold. The scent of heavy spices and woodsmoke rose up to meet her, heady and a little intoxicating. Or maybe that was the sleep deprivation.
She crept to the tiny kitchen, keeping her footfalls silent in case Lucanis had managed to fall asleep for once. Heatless candles danced here, the flickers of their tiny flames reflected in jars of dried herbs and fruits that lined the shelves. She scraped together the remnants of that night's meal- there was never much left when Luca cooked- and stood listlessly in the kitchen as she ate.
A movement in her periphery made her jump, hand flying to her chest as she spun on her heel. Lucanis stood at the doorway of the pantry, his features hidden in shadow.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, willing her heart rate to slow. “I didn't hear you get up. Did I wake you?”
Something about his movements caught her attention; fluid and graceful as always, but now with an edge of something like hunger. It put her in mind of a predator, observing prey. He stepped into the path of the firelight, his face emerging from the darkness to reveal the dangerous curve of a smirk. A chill rushed over her skin as she took in the way he moved toward her without breaking his appraising stare.
“Rook.” A growl rumbled in his throat. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and she stiffened as his eyes flashed unmistakably purple. This was not Lucanis.
“Spite,” she kept her tone careful, a warning. “Where's Lucanis?”
“He sleeps. Stay quiet.” The voice was not quite a whisper, not quite a purr, with a hard edge that issued a challenge. “Don't want him to wake. Always tired, always coffee. Always keeping ME. INSIDE.”
The last few words he bit out in a snarl, and Rook had to stop herself from taking a step back.
“Well,” she inclined her head, and his sharp eyes snapped to her neck. “You're out now. But I'd prefer you didn't go running off this time. Lucanis has places to be tomorrow.”
“No running.” Spite took a step closer, and she felt her muscles lock in place like a rabbit in a hunter’s snare. “Now we can talk.”
“You want to talk to me? How flattering.”
“You smell like. Salt and magic.” Another step, and this time she couldn't help but retreat. “Fade and sweat on your skin.”
She arched an eyebrow, hoping her reflexive swallow didn't seem like the nervous tic it was. Lifting the collar of her nightgown, she made a show out of smelling herself. She detected nothing beyond the lavender soap from her earlier bath.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Head full of nightmares and lies. Little Rook,” he stepped closer still, and she felt the press of stone against her back as she met the wall. Amusement crept into his voice. “You’re afraid.”
“Not sure you're quite getting the point of a conversation.” The words came out unsteady. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”
He braced a hand on the wall behind her head, caging her in as he leaned down, until he was inches from her ear. She felt his breath against her neck as he spoke, chills erupting across her skin.
“This one,” his free hand curled into the fabric of her nightgown, bunching it at her hip. “Is always in his head. Protect Rook. Must keep Rook safe. He's so careful with you.”
“Lucanis and I are friends.” her mouth was dry, throat scratchy.
“Friends,” his chuckle was ironic, and close enough that she could feel the deep rumble of it. “He worries. Won't let me near you… Are you so breakable, little Rook?”
She couldn't stifle a soft gasp, her breaths carrying a ragged edge. This was dangerous and wrong in so many ways, but she couldn't bring herself to push him away. She felt frozen; at his mercy. Heat flushed across her skin and, to her humiliation, between her legs.
In the next instant his nostrils flared, eyes flashing as they dipped to take her in. She wore no breast band, and the peaks of her hardening nipples were clearly visible through her nightgown. The hand at her hip tightened, fingers digging into her skin so hard they were sure to bruise. Animalistic hunger was the last thing she saw on his face, before he crushed his body against hers. His mouth claimed her, hot and demanding, tongue darting out to lick her lips. He took advantage of her gasp, snaking his tongue into her mouth and sliding it against hers in a practiced motion. He tasted like fire and coffee, setting her nerve endings alight, and she twisted her fingers into his vest to pull him closer.
“Spite,” the plea was breathy between frantic kisses. “We should stop, this isn't right-”
“Stay still.” He moaned against her lips, sending tingles rushing over her whole body. “Stay quiet. Lucanis needs to sleep.”
She squeezed her thighs together in a futile attempt to hide her arousal, but it only made the ache more insistent. His weight pressed into her, and she felt the hard ridge of something against her hip bone. A small whimper escaped her throat. Something in her snapped, and she stopped resisting. She wound one arm around his neck, fingers clawing into his soft brown hair, her other hand still insistently dragging him against her.
Her hips bucked against the hard length of him, earning her a bitten off hiss from between his teeth. She felt a brief thrill of power, before the hand he braced against the wall snapped around her throat. The hand gripping her hip shoved her roughly back against the wall, putting a fraction of distance between their bodies. She gasped at the sudden change, and the feeling of his fingers on her throat. He was letting her breathe, but his hand squeezed the sides of her neck in a way that left her lightheaded.
“Stay still. Stay QUIET.” The words were a growl, and she trembled with pure fear and desire. “Can’t do as she's told.”
“I'm sorry.” Rook breathed, her eyes lingering on his lips.
“He thinks. I’ll hurt you.” Another dark chuckle that tightened low in her belly. His eyes glimmered with danger. “I could. You want it.”
The blush on her cheeks deepened further as wetness spread between her legs. She pressed her knees together and looked down, embarrassed. A groan ripped from his chest and he kissed her again, feverishly. Her nerves felt electric, tingles raced over every inch of her, even his beard against her skin was like the lick of flames. His fingers tightened on her neck, squeezing a little, and she gasped at the shock of pleasure at the apex of her thighs. Why was this turning her on?
His hand slid from her hip, down, until she felt his calloused fingertips graze the bare skin at the back of her knee. He was teasing her. She wanted to struggle, to beg, anything to get him to ease the need growing inside her; but something primal kept her in place. Achingly slowly, he traced his fingers around the top of her thigh, inching toward the seam between her legs. Her breathing was harsh and ragged and punctuated with whimpers; she sounded undone.
“Please,” it was barely a whisper.
“Is she going to be good?” His hand slipped between her legs and she gasped, but he left it resting just above her knees. She could feel how wet she was, the cotton of her smallclothes soaked through where it pressed against her. It took all her willpower not to rock towards him, searching for the friction she so desperately needed.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I promise. Please, touch me.”
He slid his fingers up, gently, rough against the inside of her thigh. His fingertips lingered just below her pussy, and she knew he could feel slickness there. He exhaled a rough moan, his lips meeting hers again, slowly and more deliberately. She unraveled further with every brush of their mouths, every taste of his tongue. Her knees parted a little without her permission, and she could feel his smirk against her lips.
She felt empty inside, pussy clenching around nothing, needing to be filled by any part of him. His fingers were so close. A pitiful whine escaped her, and maybe he took pity, because he broke the kiss, sliding up that final inch to press against the soaked fabric of her undergarments. Her gasp was sharp, and cut off quickly when his fingers tightened on her neck. He began rubbing in slow circles, sending shocks of ecstasy through her. She bit her lip hard to keep from crying out, her eyes locked on his, which were dark with lust.
“Being so quiet.” His tone was husky with approval. “Good girl.”
The words turned her insides liquid, her knees failing her so she was held up only by the wall at her back and the hand on her throat. His fingers continued to work her, steady, and she felt tightness coiling low inside her. Her eyes fluttered shut, lips parting to form a silent ‘oh’ of pleasure as she gave herself over to him. It was like tipping back too far in a chair; at the exact moment you realize you're falling and you can't stop, when your heart leaps into your throat.
She panted as he sped up, zeroing in on the place that made her struggle under his fingers. Her hands curled tight into the fabric of his shirt in an effort to keep from moaning, and she could feel her orgasm fast approaching. She couldn't hold still any longer, grinding against him recklessly and praying to the Maker that he wouldn't stop.
“Not yet,” Spite whispered against the sensitive skin of her neck. She couldn't help a whine in protest. “I say when.”
“Please,” the word was somewhere between a gasp and a sob. “I can't, Spite, I need to-”
The hand around her neck tightened, cutting her off, and his steady movements halted abruptly. It was all she could do not to scream in frustration. She bit down on her own tongue, blinking through blurry vision as she realized her eyes brimmed with tears.
“You can.” He hissed, his lips pulled back in a snarl that showed the white gleam of his teeth. “Because I am not done yet.”
But then his grip on her loosened. His shoulders went slack, and he blinked several times, shaking his head once as if to clear it. The spark of purple faded from his eyes, and Lucanis registered his hands; one around her neck and one between her thighs. His gaze traveled over her- nightgown askew, lips swollen and red, tear tracks down flushed cheeks- and he jumped back in horror. The sudden shift of his weight caused her to stumble on weak legs and she fell forward, his hands landing solid on her hips to steady her.
“Rook,” his tone was downright panicked. “I am so sorry. Have I hurt you? What did he do?”
He put a few feet of space between them, eyes searching her skin as though expecting to see her wounded. Rook was lightheaded, aching, her thighs smeared wet.
“Lucanis, no, I-” she wasn't quite sure what to say. “You don't need to feel guilty, Spite…”
“He took advantage of you?” Anger rose in his voice.
“No!” She said, too quickly, and then looked at her own feet. The next words were barely more than a whisper. “Spite didn't do anything wrong.”
He was silent for so long that she chanced a look up at him, and found him focused on her with intensity. His eyes were cautious, searching, with a hint of something like hope.
“You're not afraid?” He took a small step back toward her, hands upheld between them as if to show he meant no harm. “My hand was at your throat.”
She swallowed as he moved closer to her, remembering moments ago when those strong hands had pinned her to the wall in ecstasy. Her eyes dropped to his fingers, where the slick evidence of her arousal still lingered. He followed her gaze and his eyes flared, darkening as though he'd just noticed it himself.
“He said you think about me.” She said; an explanation to fill the weighted silence. “That I'm always in your head?”
When he met her gaze again, his look nearly took her to her knees. He simmered with the heat of barely restrained lust, but made no move to close the distance between them.
“You want me to touch you,” he spoke carefully, but every word was taught with tension. “Like that?”
She couldn't breathe, couldn't even move, pinned under the full force of his stare. Trembling, she managed a weak nod. Then, he was on her, kissing her like she was the answer to his prayers. If Spite kissed to claim her, Lucanis kissed to worship her. His lips were gentle, coaxing, and his hands came up to cup the sides of her face as he clutched her to him. She fell into him limply, dizzy with heat and want.
He kissed her thoroughly, brushing her hair back from her sweat-damp brow. He gathered her against him like she was no more than a doll, and she gasped, but still his hands didn't stray to move sensitive parts of her. Needy, she pushed her hips into him, smiling into the kiss when she found him still hard for her. He broke away with a groan, pushing her back to the wall gently but firmly.
“Mierda,” he breathed, gaze roaming over her. “You're trying to kill me.”
“Please, Lucanis,” she was sure she looked pathetic, begging him. Spite had driven her to the brink and left her there, gasping and desperate. “I need more. I need you.”
“Rook,” he spoke her name like an oath. “You don't know how long I've wanted you. I dream of touching you. But he is so close to the surface right now. If I lost control, harmed you-”
He looked stricken, worry and desire warring over control of his expression. He pulled her against him, pressing his face into her hair.
“I couldn't live with myself.” He finished, breath hot at the top of her head. Warmth pulsed behind her ribcage at his concern.
She pressed one hand to his chest, pushing him back just far enough to look into his eyes.
“Spite won't hurt me.” She said, holding his gaze so he knew she meant it. “I trust you- both of you.”
Something in his eyes and posture changed; his shoulders sagged as if in relief, hands fisting in the back of her nightgown as he kissed her tenderly. Her fingers twined into his hair, demanding. She didn't want tenderness. The fire under her skin blazed for him, sparks erupting everywhere they touched. Like he could feel her desperation, his hands started to roam over her. They slid over the planes of her stomach, clad only in the thin layer of her silk nightgown, and her breathing hitched. She jumped when she felt him graze the underside of her breasts in an unspoken question.
“Please,” she practically writhed beneath his touch, all sensation. “Lucanis.”
His name fell from her lips on a moan as he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, before closing his hands over her small breasts. He made a choked off sound in the back of his throat, and she felt his cock twitch where it pressed against her. With deft hands he unlaced the back of her nightgown, and she let it slip down her body in a rush of smooth silk. She stood exposed; nothing but her smallclothes to cover the expanse of her skin.
Goosebumps trailed over her as she felt his stare like touch. He was drinking her in, and the look on his face was nothing short of reverent. Then his lips were on her again, and need pulsed between her legs, spurred on by the slide of his tongue against hers. In one movement his hands were under her ass, lifting her up so her legs wrapped around his waist. Then they were moving, and even with her eyes closed she knew he was taking her to his bed in the pantry. She began frantically working at the buttons of his vest, which he shoved off his shoulders and let fall after setting her down on the mattress.
And then he sank to his knees. Staring up at her from between her legs, she was sure she'd never seen anything so beautiful. Maybe she never would again. His shoulder length hair was messy where her fingers had tangled in it, his mouth open slightly as if in awe, and the way he looked her over somehow made her feel even more naked. He closed the distance between them, bracing a hand on either side of her hips as he kissed her once, softly.
He let his lips ghost across her skin as he moved down to kiss the sharp line of her jaw, shivers blossoming where his beard scraped her neck. Her hands found themselves in his hair of their own accord as she grasped for something to hold on to. Her breaths were coming in little gasps and pants, and she continuously shifted her weight in search of friction. She tipped her head back, a tiny yelp escaping her as she felt his teeth graze her collarbone. His tongue darted out, licking over the sensitive skin before sucking it into his mouth. Sparks danced behind her eyelids, wetness flooding the seat of her smallclothes, and she knew there would be a dark spot on the sheets beneath her. Heat flushed her skin, embarrassed at how helplessly her body craved his touch.
She tried to close her legs, her knees pressing slightly together before his hands tightened on them, inching them back apart. His grip wasn't as punishing as Spite’s had been, but there was no breaking it. The feeling of being bared to him, open for him, nearly overwhelmed her. She let out a pleading whine, and felt his devilish smile against her skin. Then he was dipping his head, his tongue hot against her nipple. He slipped it into his mouth, sucking gently as one hand left her knee to cup her other breast. He pinched, teasing the nipple between his fingers. She cried out, bucking her hips toward him as though that would ease the throbbing tension inside her. This was torture.
“Lucanis,” she heard the ragged frustration in her own voice. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly, kissing a line down to the top of her belly.
“Patience, amor,” the term made something flutter in her stomach. “It will be better if you don't rush.”
She'd never been so turned on in her life. Her fingers flexed, tugging his hair a bit, but she didn't protest. She wanted to earn his praise nearly as much as she wanted to feel the thick hardness of him buried inside her. His teeth nipped at her skin again and she hissed in combined pain and pleasure. He sucked another mark above her belly button, like a little wine stain against the snowy landscape of her body. She hardly even heard the desperate sounds coming from her own throat, she was so lost in the feeling of him.
Finally, he reached the top edge of her undergarments. His hands slid along her thighs possessively, fingers spread wide, before settling on the curve where her hips met her ass. He slipped his fingers under the elastic of her waistband, and in one motion he’d lifted her hips off the bed and slipped them down her legs. She was spread wide for him, her pussy lips rosy and swollen with the rush of blood beneath her skin. The sheets under her were indeed dark, the wetness between her legs staining the fabric. She heard his breath leave his lungs, and once again felt the flush of embarrassment and the urge to close her legs.
“You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”
His voice was soft, and her heart squeezed almost painfully. When his eyes met hers they were brown like hot coffee, ground spices, and the cobbled side streets of Treviso. Then, a flash of purple. Hunger.
“So pink. So wet. Let me TASTE.” She gasped sharply as Spite’s fingers tightened around her legs once more, yanking her to the edge of the bed.
She barely had time for her heart to jump into her throat before his mouth was on her. The first stroke of his tongue was pure heat. He was more deliberate than she expected, licking from the entrance of her pussy all the way to her swollen clit. Her cry reverberated around the stone room, her head tipping back in bliss. He lifted her thighs, bracing them on his shoulders so his hands were free to slide up to her breasts. He kneaded them, each no more than a handful, toying with her nipples as his tongue brushed over her clit.
He gave a few more infuriatingly gentle flicks before closing his lips around it and sucking. She pulled on his hair harder, but if she hurt him he didn't show it. A growl of pure desire rumbled against her as the flat of his tongue stroked her again and again, driving her to the brink. She was already close, having been denied once, and she could hear the pitch of her moans edging higher. The muscles in her legs and stomach were taught, her whole body arching into his touch. Her entire focus narrowed to the hot, slick movement of his mouth, and the hollow sensation of needing to be filled up.
Then, the movement stopped. A cry that was somewhere between indignant and anguished wrenched itself from her throat when he whispered,
“Not. Yet.”
Then, a change.
“Come now, Spite,” Lucanis' voice was like velvet in comparison. “She's been such a good girl, shouldn't we reward her?”
Her heart pounded in her ears, her body shaking each time she felt the puff of his breath against her. Adrenaline cut through the fog of lust at the thrill of their argument; she felt helpless, pinned like prey while they decided what to do with her.
“Please,” she begged, the edge of a sob creeping into the sound. “Please let me come. I need it, I'll do anything.”
“No.” Spite hissed, drawing back so she could see his smirk. “Not until we're inside her.”
“You know,” Lucanis lifted his hands to the sides of her body, gentle for a moment before flipping her onto her back and straddling her in a fluid motion. “You make a good point.”
His lips crashed to hers, and she fumbled at the buttons of his shirt until she could push it off of him, exposing the ripple of his abdominal muscles. A trail of dark hair led down to his trousers, where she could clearly see the outline of him straining behind the fabric. She reached for him on instinct, her hand sliding over his clothed cock and eliciting a delicious groan. His hand closed around her wrist, not harshly, and pinned it once more to the mattress.
“I have waited for this, Rook,” he spoke the words against her neck, kissing her. “Later, you can have me. All of me. But tonight, it is my turn.”
He unfastened his belt, sliding off his trousers and smallclothes at the same time, and then she was staring at all of him. His cock was long and thick, glistening with precum. A single drip ran down his shaft in the flickering light. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips as she stared, and she watched it twitch. She was sure she saw his throat bob, and she would've opened wide for him right then if he hadn't kissed her.
His lips were slow and soft, and she craved more, more, more. His thigh nudged her knees apart, and she tightened one hand around his shoulder as she felt the slick tip of him press against her, the points of her fingernails leaving little crescent shaped grooves in his skin. He dipped one hand between their bodies, angling his cock so that it would slide against her clit when he rocked his hips. She willed him to breach her, to thrust in and claim her, but he kept up his slow assault on her senses. His kisses made her mind heavy like liquor; all she could do was want him, move with him in pursuit of the endless spark of his touch.
Within moments she buzzed with the high of another approaching orgasm. Both hands clung to his shoulders now, as though she were lost in a tidal wave and he was an anchor.
“Are you ready?” He hesitated, breaking the kiss, and she pulled him back to her frantically. She nodded against his lips, relief flooding her at the promise of release.
“Then come for me.”
He lined himself up with her entrance, pushing in steadily until he was sheathed inside her. She was so wet that her body put up no resistance, but she still felt the sudden stretch of him like a shockwave. She clenched around him, whining pathetically, and then her orgasm was ripping through her. She saw a flash of white, her eyelids fluttering as she panted and spasmed, her body shaking against him. He held her through it, thrusting into her at a slow, steady pace. He had to grit his teeth to keep from following her over the edge immediately.
Eventually, the tension in her limbs gave way to boneless quaking, her moans going from frantic to drawn out and satisfied. A delirious smile spread across her face when she saw him looking down at her in amazement. Then his hands were around her face again, caging her in so her whole world was just them, and his kiss was dominating.
“MINE.” Spite’s voice rumbled against her mouth, and she felt a hand close around her throat again as he began to fuck her. Hard.
Strangled gasps barely escaped her as his other hand smacked into her ass, grabbing and using the leverage to drive into her even harder. The sharp sting faded almost immediately to ache and pleasure. Overstimulation had her seeing stars, and tears blurred her vision again. He was fire and her cold world melted to open for him, and her body knew the truth of it. She was his, and he was hers. The room filled with the wet sounds of their bodies coming together again and again; with their heat and ragged breath, and the cloud of magic that always hung in the Lighthouse air.
“Harder,” she managed to plead, and the hand around her neck flexed as he complied.
“Rook,” her name on his lips made her feel feral.
“Say it again?”
“Rook,” it was a claim and a command, a promise and a threat. Her eyes rolled back in her head as her pussy pulsed around him. He moaned, his kisses sloppy and open mouthed, like he needed her just as much as she needed him. His grip on her throat made her head swim.
“Spite,” she gasped in the moments between when their lips met. “Oh fuck, Spite, I'm going to-”
“Let go, little Rook.” He breathed against her lips, and she did.
She unraveled, crying out in desperation and ecstasy as he continued to pound her into the mattress. Clawing at him, she left long angry streaks of red along his back, and his answering moan only fueled the waves of pleasure that crashed over her. She felt the twitch of his cock, buried deep inside her, and then the rush of heat as he spilled into her.
Slowly, the hand on her throat loosened, the world coming back into a hazy focus. Lucanis panted on top of her, his eyes warm and brown again. There was so much adoration there, but also a tinge of worry. He slipped out of her gently, his gaze roaming over her, and she became conscious of the marks and bruises that littered her skin.
“Are you okay?” His voice was husky in the aftermath of exertion. “Did he- did I… did we hurt you?”
“Only when I asked you to.” A devious smile curled her mouth, and she pulled him back to her lips, letting her arms drape lazily around his neck.
“Rook,” he chastised, though she could feel his smile. “At least tell me if you're sore?”
She hummed thoughtfully, flexing her arms and legs to test the muscles, and immediately hissed in pain. His chuckle was warm with fondness.
“See?” He raised an eyebrow. “That is what I thought. I'll draw you a bath.”
He moved as if to stand, but she snatched his wrist in the last second, pulling him back down. He didn't resist, and gathered her to him, wrapping them both into the bundle of his soft sheets and pressing a kiss to her sweaty temple.
“Don’t go,” she mumbled, nuzzling into the warmth of his chest. Her eyelids were already heavy with exhaustion.
She felt, more than heard the rumble of his reply as she drifted off.
“I couldn't if I tried.”