#lucaimy

Thanks to @elishnord and @fangirlsalad for being my beta readers :3

Apparently I am wholly and fully in my smut era and for the first time in my life? I’m?? Not sorry?? In fact, you’re welcome. Yeah, that’s what I said.

Inspired by this fic by Chibi Seren on AO3 (aka @serensama )

Sex pollen/Desire Demon Trope

<snippet 55(b)>

[What if Spite didn’t defeat the Desire Demon taunting Naimy in her dream?]

*there you are (Italian translation)

CW/TW: the consent is there but it’s funky, angst, near-death experience, oral sex, vaginal sex, fingering (not in that order shut up), strong language, sexual assault (by the desire demon), I guess voyeurism? (Spite is much more involved this time than usual)

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“You have no power here, Spite,” Desire snarled, disappearing from Spite’s grasp in a puff of smoke. Spite looked around like a wild animal in search of a threat. Through the floor between Naimeryn’s knees came first a hand to close around her neck, then the rest of Desire’s torso behind it. The demon surged up, locking its lips with hers and forcing its tentacle-like tongue into her mouth. It was repugnant, sour and bumpy and coarse.

“NO!” Spite lunged back towards her as the demon pushed its tongue deeper, shoving it down her throat, making her choke…

As Spite reached them, Naimeryn awoke, falling from the chaise from the force with which she threw herself upward. Her mouth still tasted vile. Her throat burned. The burning sensation spread through her like wild fire, and she could not help but cry out. Cold sweat covered her skin. Her bones ached and her head spun and white hot heat coiled in her core. She gasped for breath that raked painfully down her esophagus.

“Emmrich don’t go in there —“ Taash.

“Did you not hear her scream?”

“Yeah, but it smells like she’s —“

Her door burst open.

“Rook?” Emmrich called.

“ROOK!” Taash shouted, concern finally sharpening their tone.Two sets of footsteps came around the couch. “You reek. But you’re not — I don’t understand.”

“Taash!” Emmrich’s voice was stern.

“No, Emmrich, you don’t understand —“

DON’T! TOUCH!

Naimeryn’s head snapped up at the sound of Spite’s voice. Lucanis stood in her doorway, eyes wide, chest heaving. She felt herself lick her lips. Why did he have to be so handsome? She could feel Desire’s hands on her body when the demon had worn his face. She wanted him to do it for real. She wanted more. Far from innocent thoughts raced through her mind. They were painful, a physical ache that tore desperately at the apex of her legs. What had Desire done to her?

Emmrich waved glowing hands over her without touching. He sucked a hissing breath through his teeth.

“This is a demon’s work,” he ground out.

DESIRE! Spite barked. ATTACKED IN. DREAM!

“That’s not fair,” Taash ground out, reaching for Naimeryn’s hand. Spite once again snapped at them.

NO! TOUCHING WILL. HURT!

“Spite,” she wheezed, “what’s happening?”

The slide of her own tongue within her mouth was erotic, and she clamped down against the moan it almost drew from her. She wanted Lucanis’s tongue against the roof of her mouth. Creators, Naimeryn. We’ve already been down that road! He doesn’t want to!

The next sound she had to suppress was a sob.

“Desire’s Kiss,” Emmrich remarked gravely. “It’s a rare attack, but not unheard of. A jealous Desire Demon is especially opposed to being turned down when seeking to possess someone.”

“A Desire Demon tried to possess Rook?” Lucanis croaked out.

JEALOUS? Spite hissed. I CAME. TO PROTECT ROOK. MY FAULT?

“Spite —“ Emmrich began gently.

“Maybe if she didn’t have to dream to get some action,” Taash directed the half-finished jab at Lucanis, and Naimeryn smacked them. Skin on skin was simultaneously bliss and agony. She recoiled from the touch she herself had initiated, falling over onto her hip. Her thighs brushed together and she could feel her small clothes, drenched. This was the most mortifying thing that had ever happened in her whole entire life.

“Out,” she whined at them. An audience was the last thing she needed for whatever this was.

CAN’T! Spite snapped. DESIRE WILL. SWALLOW YOU. WHOLE.

“He’s right, I’m afraid,” Emmrich said warily.

“Can you want to bone so bad you die?” Taash asked, the seriousness of the situation hitting them like a ton of bricks. “Is Rook going to die?”

“Emmrich?” Naimeryn asked weakly, hating how her breath came in little pants. She did her best to hold perfectly still, to not let her sensitive skin touch anything. The floor beneath her palms made her yearn to feel flesh instead. “You have something for this, don’t you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Emmrich looked completely distraught. “Desire’s Kiss is all-consuming, and can only be cured when the desire is sated. That is why it is so often fatal — those who lust for money or power have no hope of countering the effects, as they can never have enough of either. Those who desire food and drink over consume to their own demise.”

“But Rook isn’t that kind of greedy,” Taash finished, giving Lucanis another pointed look.

“Don’t look at him,” Naimeryn snapped through gritted teeth. “This isn’t his responsibility. It’s not his fault. He isn’t obligated to —“

“Do not talk about me as though I am not here,” Lucanis said softly, his voice firm. Buttery. Naimeryn wanted to swallow his voice, feel it inside of her.

Maker’s Breath.

“Rook,” Emmrich said quietly, “do you want Lucanis to stay?”

His name was a balm against the burning in her soul. She choked out a little sob. “I don’t want to make him do something he doesn’t want to.”

“Oh, he wants to,” Taash grumbled, rising to their feet. “Maybe not like this, but he wants to.”

And out the door they went. That didn’t make sense.

“Rook,” Emmrich said pointedly. “You will die if you do nothing. But I do not have to let Lucanis stay.”

Spite hissed in displeasure. Emmrich addressed the demon coolly.

“You do not understand this, Spite, but consent is imperative in situations involving any kind of physical intimacy.”

Naimeryn buried her face in her shoulder, grateful her hair hid it from view but hating how she could feel each individual strand brush across her cheek, over her ear — an almost orgasmic sensation but not quite, not enough — around her neck in a strangling caress. “I told Spite that Lucanis needs space. He shouldn’t have brought him here.”

She moaned his name, and the sound sent a jolt straight to his groin. His fist tightened on her doorknob. Every word Rook uttered dripped in her pain, triggered his own. Words meant to protect, to shield him from her agony, but which were venom in his ears.

AND I. TOLD YOU. LUCANIS. DOES NOT WANT. SPACE!

“You are doing it again,” Lucanis said. “Emmrich, please give us a moment. I will then leave if Rook wishes it of me.”

NO! Spite yowled.

“Yes,” he said firmly. He did not want to leave her. But if she truly did not want him to stay…

Emmrich slowly stood, came back around the couch and table. He laid a worried hand on Lucanis’s shoulder, threw one last strained glance at Rook, who remained as still as he’d ever seen her on the floor, then exited.

“Emmrich,” he called softly after the older man.

“Hm?”

“Do not let Taash stay in the library.”

“No, certainly not,” Emmrich agreed. He hesitated. “Lucanis.”

The mage’s voice cracked. “Please don’t let her die.”

Lucanis’s chest squeezed. “It is not my intention.”

He shut the door, his fingers deftly twisting the lock. Why would he lock it? He knew why. It is not my intention. He couldn’t make Rook let him save her.

He also, more importantly, absolutely, non-negotiably, couldn’t lose Rook.

Naimeryn refused to look at him as he closed the door. She fisted her hands in the hem of the night wrap. Silk slid tantalizingly across her palms. She refused to look at him as he came around the couch. She bit her lips hard enough to know she was leaving bruises. She refused to look at him as he crouched in front of her, but didn’t touch her. Her whole body trembled — desire, mortification, pain, fear, desperation… who could tell?

“You don’t have to stay,” she choked out to the floor. When had she begun to cry? She’d barely noticed the twisting, roiling pain of her unrequited feelings for him beneath the embarrassment and the burning want threatening to melt her from the inside out. Her breath trembled and tears dropped off the end of her nose, to her hands, to the floor. She would never be able to face him again. Not after this. “I’ll, um. I’ll figure? Something. Out?”

People pleasured themselves, didn’t they? How hard could it be?

“I do not want to leave you. Not like this.”

Naimeryn hiccuped. It felt like her chest was going to explode. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you everything,” he said insistantly, instantly. A suppressed sob nearly made her elbows buckle. She braced herself, managing not to fall. Fabric rubbed against her nipples and she bit down again against the groan it pulled from her. She imagined the warmth of his hands there instead.

No. Stop.

“Rook, why did the Desire Demon do this?” Lucanis asked her. He kept his hands on his knees. She trembled as she cried. Did she truly want him to leave? His heart clenched in his chest to see her so unraveled. You don’t owe me anything.

I don’t want to make him do something he doesn’t want to.

SHE —

“Shut up,” he ground out at Spite. “Rook. Why was there a Desire Demon in your dream?”

“Because,” she whined at the floor, her hands flexing against the stone. “I was dreaming about you.”

The breath whooshed from his lungs. Dreaming about him had drawn a Desire Demon to her. But that could only mean…

“Sometimes I do that,” Rook admitted in a tiny, defeated voice. “It… moreso since the morning in the safehouse.”

He could still feel her, nestled in close to his chest. Her breath on his neck. The desire to kiss her lips almost unsuppressable.

“I try not to, I swear. I’m so… sorry.”

This was the most exhilarating thing anyone had ever told him… and she was apologizing?

SHE THINKS YOU. DO NOT. WANT! Spite growled at him in frustration. He crouched behind Rook, practically vibrating with his irritation. He wanted to soothe her, he radiated it. But Spite did not think of Rook as a romantic or sexual being — he saw her as light, as joy, as both his protector and his to protect. He could do nothing for her, and it was driving the demon nearly as crazy as Lucanis felt, knowing he could help her, but unable to do it if she would not accept it willingly.

Of course she thought he didn’t want her. Had he not been holding her at arm’s length for months? Had he not backed out of kissing her at the last possible moment? Twice? Of course she thought she needed to apologize. She probably thought such a revelation would be unwanted. Uncomfortable. He had certainly not been open and honest about his feelings for her.

But who can decide what they dream? Should he admit his to her? Admit that when Spite had pulled him out, it had been her face dominating even his sleeping thoughts?

“You do not need to be sorry,” he murmured.

“Yes I do!” She huffed into her shoulder. She jerked her head, as though the sensation of her lips moving against the fabric of her clothing were unbearable. “I shouldn’t. You don’t even like me. You like her.”

The last word was a strangled sob that nearly snapped his resolve to wait until she was okay to touch her. Every word sliced into him as surely as any blade. He had caused that pain. He was the only one to blame for her believing those things were true. And who —

I. TOLD. YOU! Spite yowled. LUCANIS DOES NOT. LIKE. NEVE!

Neve?!

The night in the kitchen flooded his mind. Neve’s proposition, promptly refused. The way Rook had not wanted to eat the pie the other mage had saved for her. The way her eyes were red and puffy with tears she would neither admit nor discuss. He’d thought he’d avoided sending mixed signals since then — about Neve, in any case. Coffee with lavender cream. Excuses not to go on any missions with the two of them.

But then… the pantry. And the night before Zara…

Damn it.

“Spite —“ Rook whined at the demon, an unspoken plea. Don’t try to make me feel better. Don’t give me false hope. Please just let it go.

“I do not,” Lucanis whispered.

Rook froze. Finally lifted her head. Stared at him with her drawn, tear-streaked face and wide, dewey eyes. He shook his head, his chest aching.

“I do not,” he repeated softly, finally allowing himself to reach for her, fingertips feather-light against her cheek lest he hurt her. Her eyelids fluttered and a little gasp escaped, a final tear sliding down to meet his touch.

“But you… you didn’t… and then…”

“I am sorry,” Lucanis told her earnestly. “I wanted to do something to show you I cared, and then I could not… and I hurt you instead. And then I did not know how to fix it, or if I deserved to. This is my fault.”

“No,” she rasped.

“Yes. I have been a fool, Rook,” she peeked at him through her hair, and his expression as he watched her was an agony of his own. Carefully, oh so carefully, he used his hand to move her hair back.

“You have become so incredibly important to me,” he spoke quietly, earnestly, words she longed to hear but was terrified to allow herself to believe, “more important than I… my stupidity has led us here.”

“I don’t understand… why would you want… me?” She felt another tear fall, its slide and the return of the soft pressure of his fingers on her cheek driving her mad. She wanted to take his digits into her mouth one by one and suck on them. What a preposterous idea. It would be better he closed them around her throat and ended this right now.

Even that made her insides squirm. What in the Abyss was wrong with her? Her breath quickened.

“Taash is right… I wish the circumstances were different,” Lucanis muttered, but something shifted in his gaze with her reaction, a hooded look in his eyes that was somehow much more intensely smoldering than any of the looks he’d given her thus far. Would he look that hungrily at her with no clothes? Her tongue flicked across her lower lip, and she once again pined for his instead. “Will you let me fix it?”

Maybe this was all a hallucination caused by the Desire Demon’s kiss. If it was a hallucination, what would it hurt to give in? Except her soul. She swallowed thickly and moved one hand to his wrist, worrying the hem of her wrap anxiously between the fingers of her other despite the searing sensation the action brought. He felt real, warmth permeating her palm. “Only if you don’t ask me to blame you. Only if you mean it. Only if you really, truly want to.”

“Deal,” he said quietly, forcibly.

LESS TALK. MORE FIX!

Naimeryn finally met his eyes, and her heart stopped. If this were a hallucination, it was a terrifyingly realistic one. His brow was furrowed anxiously. He looked too much himself. It couldn’t be a hallucination. But that meant…

“You really care about me?” She whispered it out like a plea. Lucanis’s hand slid across her cheek to the back of her head, the sensation making her eyelids flutter and her heartbeat pound painfully in her core.

“Yes, Rook, I do,” Lucanis told her solemnly, leaning in to press her lips. Softly, softly. She flinched as though he’d hurt her, but her arms wrapped around his neck in a desperate embrace and she gripped his shoulders and she kissed him too eagerly for him to even consider stopping, pulling back. She tasted of salt and acid. The demon. Could kissing her ignite the effects in him as well?

NO. STUPID LUCANIS.

It mattered little. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her to his chest. Gently, carefully. She groaned, her breath hissing.

“Everything hurts,” she whimpered into his mouth. He cradled her against him.

“Spite, you’re sure about —“

YES! PAIN BECAUSE. NO RELEASE! LUCANIS IS. TOO SLOW! WILL ONLY GET. WORSE!

Lucanis ground out a frustrated sigh. “I have never done this before, forgive me for not knowing how to just…”

“Never?” Rook blinked at him, her expression delirious, shocked. “Me, either.”

Her voice was so weak, her arms slacking around his shoulders. Panic and Spite’s howling demands flooded him. She deserved someone who knew what they were doing, not someone who had theories based on reading books.

THERE IS. NO ONE. ELSE! Spite screeched at him.

“Forgive me,” Lucanis whispered, pulling his hand from her hair and sliding it down between them, into the satiny folds of her night wrap, his fingers brushing against her drenched underthings. Her hips bucked against his palm, a soft moan fell from her lips.

“Lucanis,” she breathed, her eyelids fluttering madly. “Please.”

Lucanis’s lips were back on hers. Warm. Soft. Fuck. Naimeryn wanted more. He stroked her through her small clothes, the friction easily pulling gasps and sob-like moans from her — right on the edge of pain and pleasure. The more purposely he touched her, the more her limbs felt like hers again. She tightened her grip around his shoulders, pressed herself flush with him, the heat of his body soothing the ache in hers. Tentatively, not having any idea what she was doing, she licked his lips. They parted for her, his tongue meeting hers. She moaned, accidentally nipping him, pulled back to apologize. His mouth was on her neck, and she forgot what she was sorry for.

Lucanis’s fingers pushed the gusset of Rook’s small clothes aside, slid through her soft, hot, wet flesh. This coupled with the open-mouthed kisses he was trailing along the column of her neck earned him a soft whine and an arch in her back. At the same time, he could sense her growing weaker — her grip on his shoulder was slipping, she moved less against him.

NO TIME. FOR THIS! Spite growled at him. TOUCH. EARS!

“Her ears?” He murmured against her throat.

“Mm, yes please,” her words were barely audible on her breath.

Nothing about this was ideal, but there was no way Lucanis was going to lay Rook on the floor. He adjusted his grip, lifting and spinning to place her nearly-limp body on the couch. Touching her ears did not feel like it would be any faster than what he was already doing.

“Do you trust me, Rook?” He placed a breathless kiss to the inside of her knee.

“Mmhmm.”

He pulled her underwear out of his way and ducked his head.

“Stay with me, Rook,” she thought she heard him say. And then.

Naimeryn jolted as Lucanis drew his tongue across her skin there. Involuntarily her fingers gripped into the fabric of the couch. His beard tickled her sensitive flesh, his lips and tongue lavished attention against her as though he had never before tasted anything so sweet. Her lids were too heavy to open her eyes, the sensation of boiling from within undulating in time with his attentions. A suck at her clit was like a shock to her barely beating heart, and she arched partly off the couch, one hand fisting in his hair as her ankles crossed behind his head. More, Creators, please.

Naimeryn had never had an orgasm before. She screamed as it tore through her, her thighs squeezing against the sides of Lucanis’s head so hard she feared she might suffocate him. His tongue softened against her clit, feather-light flicks that coaxed her through the overwhelming wave of sensation pulling her under.

Rook collapsed against the couch, and Lucanis felt himself lick his lips before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Mierda.

Her legs trembled against his shoulders. A soft whimper escaped her, and she covered her eyes with her forearm. He could feel heat rolling off of her in waves again.

NOT. ENOUGH! Spite hissed at him. The demon perched on the console table above them, his brow drawn in apparent concern. Rook’s free hand was pulling weakly at the tie of her wrap.

“Hurts,” she mumbled. “Hot.”

“Does it always work this fast?” Lucanis asked the demon, making quick work of the sash. He hesitated, then helped Rook shrug the garment off. He did not like standing over her, fully dressed, with her shaking and sweating and naked beneath him.

MONTHS OF WANT, Spite grumbled at him. DESIRE. BURIED FOR YEARS. NOT ALLOWED. ALL AT ONCE. TOO MUCH.

Lucanis drew in a shaky breath and tugged at the collar of his shirt. How was he supposed to satiate years of repressed sexual frustration? And before Rook’s body could no longer tolerate the strain? He leaned over her, one hand pressing into the couch by her head and the other gripping the back. One knee between her thighs while one foot remained planted in the floor. He pressed his lips to hers and kissed and kissed and kissed until she moved her arm, threaded her fingers through his hair at the back of his head.

“You cannot die from this,” he told her firmly. “You are stronger than this.”

Keeping his weight on his foot and the hand on the back of the chaise, he caressed her scarred cheek with the knuckles of his other hand.

Her tongue sought his, a sign of life he was happy to reward. He drew her into his mouth, sucked, greedily swallowed the renewed moaning from her lips. He traced his fingers back at Spite’s urging, giving one ear an experimental stroke. He’d always heard elf ears were sensitive, but he hadn’t expected the deep gasp, the jolt of vigor through her limbs, the surge of her hips against his thigh. Encouraged, he angled his head to deepen the kiss and repeated the movement more purposefully. A needy mewl escaped Rook, her nails digging into his scalp as his thumb pressed and slid across the smooth cartilage, massaged her elongated whorl, pinched the pointed tip. The tip appeared the most sensitive, her breath coming in amorous gasps and both hands tracing his torso.

Lucanis’s own body smoldered under her attentions. He wanted her — of course he did. Had done for some time. He loved her.

A terrifying realization about someone you yourself pushed away and were now desperately attempting not to lose.

“Naimy,” he murmured experimentally, earning him an enthusiastic suck on his own tongue followed by a hot trail of kisses across his face, to his jaw. He was so caught off guard that for a moment he forgot what he’d been trying to say.

“Lucanis,” she breathed. “Please, I… I need more.”

She sounded ashamed. He turned his head and buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deep. Lavender and sweat. He drew his tongue along her skin, releasing her ear to wrap his arm around her, settling her more fully onto the couch, climbing fully on himself. He held himself off of her a fraction of an inch, worshipping that beautiful neck of hers with his mouth while his hand returned to the fork of her legs. She was afraid to ask for more, not knowing he was willing to give her absolutely everything, right down to his soul, if it meant tomorrow he could see her smile.

Lucanis wasted no time. He drew his fingers through her wet flesh once, circled her clit, and then his fingers were inside of her, and Naimeryn’s breath dissolved into ragged gasps. Two fingers moved within her to the last knuckle, whilst his thumb continued to rub her clit, and Naimeryn was writhing beneath him, ready to come undone again. He continued to kiss and lick and bite and suck at her neck, and she was certain she would very much like him to never stop. She ran her hand through his hair, tantalizing in its silky softness. She bit her lips and moaned and arched into his touch, feeling heat coil in her core once more. Even as she felt herself clenching around his digits, even as the pressure of his thumb became too much, even as she was sobbing his name, she wanted more. Needed more.

Clearly that’s not what he wants, the nasty voice in the back of her head scoffed. But even as Naimeryn felt anxiety blossom, Lucanis withdrew his dripping hand from her, pulled back enough to meet her eye, and licked his fingers.

Naimeryn had never been so turned on in her life, and she was still suffering the effects of Desire’s Kiss.

She fisted her hand in the collar of his shirt, using it and the one still at the back of his head to pull herself up, crashing her lips into his. He smiled against her mouth and murmured, “Eccoti qui.”

She didn’t know what it meant. It didn’t matter. His hands were around her waist, holding her up, his mouth — Maker’s Breath, was that what she tasted like? — devoted to hers in a way she could never have imagined in her wildest daydreams. She fumbled with his collar chain, got two buttons undone before some clarity cut through the haze.

“Lucanis,” she gasped, trying and failing to break the kiss. She had to be sure. Stop, Creators, Naimeryn, slow down. Trying to tamp down her own desires now was painful, and brought weakness back to her limbs. The harder she fought it, she realized, the faster it would kill her. How much would it take to make it stop?

“Lucanis,” she tried again, between kisses this time. “You don’t have to do any more than you have.”

“Yes I do,” he breathed, scooping her protests from her mouth with that tongue. Her legs trembled, her thighs soaking in her moisture. “You have to survive this, Naimy.”

He kissed over to her ear, experimentally sucking at her earlobe. Her fingers clenched against his collarbone.

“You have to, because I want to do this, everything, without your life depending on it.”

He’d meant it to be hungry, husky, arousing. His desperation dulled the effect somewhat.

“I want that too,” she whispered, her fingers finally returning to his buttons. He laved against her mangled ear, pulling sound after sound that tightened his already rock-hard cock.

“How did I get so lucky?” Rook moaned softly, pushing his waistcoat back to gain access to his shirt.

“You?” He chuckled. “The charming hero who rescued the hapless by rogue? I wonder.”

Her hands were warmer than he’d ever felt them as they found the skin of his chest. As she ran her fingers down across his abs, however, she wobbled in his grasp.

“Your hero is feeling a bit like the hapless one currently,” she murmured. Her head bobbed weakly on her neck.

STILL TAKING! TOO LONG! Spite yowled, pacing along the length of the fish tank. But Lucanis had already shed his shirt, gently laid her back down on the couch. He prayed he’d last long enough to make sure she finished first as he all but tore off his belt and jerked his pants down just enough to release his length.

“Please,” Rook begged him again, reaching up for his face. He shoved memories of Zara away and fell into her touch. She clutched his cheeks, pressed his lips, wriggled beneath him. Lucanis ran his hands down her sides, gripping her hips to line himself up properly. His chest ached with violent vacillations between now, now, now and the desperate desire not to hurt her, to be gentle, careful. He pressed the head into her folds and she whimpered into his mouth, fingers threading pleadingly through his beard, up into his hair, her arms coccooning his head in her devotion. Maker, she was his.

Naimeryn’s back arched off the couch as Lucanis slid into her. She’d been afraid of pain. She’d been afraid it would be awkward. But Lucanis eased her thighs a little farther apart, filled her completely, and the only thing that boiled through her was the word YES. She moaned his name, rocked her hips against his, scraped her nails down his back. Lucanis set a steady rhythm, one hand playing with her clit in time with his thrusts — he had to make sure she came. She bit her lips, trying desperately to be quiet, to swallow her cries and gasps, but it was useless. The thought of everyone in the Lighthouse hearing her was mortifying, but with every thrust, every flick of those deft fingers against her, she could only scream, only beg. Harder, deeper, faster, please, more.

Lucanis had thought about this more times than he’d ever cared to admit. That Rook would be so vocal had never occurred to him, but every sound she uttered intensified his arousal, making it harder for him to reign himself in. Harder to hold himself back from the edge. Just before he thought he could take no more, he felt her clench, shattering around him as her nails dug into his shoulder. The strength of her climax squeezing him and the bite of pain was too much, and he spilled right after her.

Fuck, he hadn’t even asked if she was all right with him coming inside of her. He gasped into her neck, his hips stuttering. She flexed her legs against his sides, her hands sliding to cup his face again, pulling him up until she could kiss him again, her lips on his so sweet, so careful, so soothing.

Lucanis smothered her in kisses. They lay entwined, no words shared, only quiet presses of lips to skin. Promises, apologies, devotions, endearments, professions all made with nary a sound until he was hard again. Naimeryn moved her hips experimentally beneath him, encouraging him on. The urgency of the need had waned to a dull ache, nearly expended, and their movements were slow, soft, languid thrusts and meandering hands. Her gasps were hushed and airy, his kisses on her cheeks, her lips, her neck, her forehead, her collarbone all but silent. If Desire’s Kiss would kill her now, she thought vaguely, this would be worth dying for.

“Naimy,” Lucanis murmured against her ear, his arms closing tighter around her as he neared the precipice again, “I promise you, never again will you be left wondering where I stand when it comes to you.”

Naimeryn turned her head and pressed a kiss into his temple. “I can’t believe you actually — uh, mm”

Lucanis had picked up his pace, striking something deep within her that stole her breath and her words.

“Should I pull out this time?” He asked her, a bit breathlessly, his tone sheepish. It took Naimeryn a moment to understand what he was asking.

“Oh, that’s not really… nece… ssary,” she moaned as he hit that spot again, harder this time. She turned her head, seeking his mouth, and he obliged, crushing her lips beneath his as he snapped his hips against hers. Naimeryn had heard that coming together with your partner was rare, but as he buried himself to the hilt and moaned into her mouth, she also came undone, wrapping her arms and legs around him tightly, holding him as close to her as was physically possible. This was what bliss felt like, she decided.

A shame it had taken a jealous desire demon to get here, but at least they were here.

“Are you all right?” Lucanis asked her gently, carefully brushing sweaty locks of hair away from her face. She couldn’t help but smile up at him. He was so handsome. And he was… hers?

“Much better now, thanks,” she felt her cheeks growing warm and she tried to duck her head, but he curled his finger beneath her chin.

“Do not hide,” he asked of her. “I rather like the way you blush.”

A giddy giggle escaped her. “I’m not sure the demon didn’t actually possess me. How can this be real?”

Tentatively, she squeezed her arm back beneath his to stroke his face. He nuzzled into her palm, trapping her hand between his cheek and shoulder. Those brown eyes burned down into hers.

“I am sorry I made you suffer,” he said solemnly.

“Technically Desire made me suffer,” she told him gently, cupping his face with her other hand as well. He frowned.

“It would not have happened had I been honest with you,” he lamented. “With myself.”

“Maybe that’s the silverite lining to this,” Naimeryn smirked at him, teasing, hoping to assuage his worries. She smoothed her thumb over his brow, and his eyelids fluttered contentedly.

“You can’t be serious,” he blew a snort of laughter out his nose.

“No, I suppose not,” she admitted, brushing a stray bit of hair out of his face, “but who knows how long we’d have kept missing each other otherwise?”

“Knowing me?” Lucanis smirked ruefully. “Too long.”

He ducked his head, granting her a kiss that was somehow both apology and devotion. Naimeryn held his face and kissed him back, hoping she could cradle him softly enough that he’d be able to feel just how precious he really was to her.

BONUS:

Solas stood, arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrow quirked in irritation, his violet eyes glaring with stern displeasure.

I’m not giving this a snippet number because I’m not sure whether or not this scene will be canon yet. When I wrote Lucanis asking Naimy to stay the night, it devolved into this scene, but I’m not 100% certain where any of these things are going to fall in the timeline just yet — I’m still tinkering — and I do NOT want to spoil the painfully slow burn or mess up any of the scenes I’ve already written, so I have this in a seperate note currently. Keep that in mind as you read, as there are some inconsistencies between the “stay” snippet and this because if this is canon it will be LATER, and I’m unsure if it will be attached to that snippet or not.

[yada yada fluff Naimy wants a goodnight kiss Davrin plays a stupid game and gets a stupid prize, Lucanis asks Naimy to stay the night but has “no ulterior motives” (he didn’t. Honest. But Naimy is… Naimy. And Lucanis is bewitched, body and soul).]

CW/TW: SMUT! Fair warning I have not written “the main event.” You shall see what I mean. That is a bit of a struggle for me I’m afraid.

ALSO! Note. In the fluff I posted the timeline is set after Naimy recovers from the Fangscorcher mission, but it’s before Murder of Crows/The Scene they cut/Lucaimy first fight. When I first wrote it, though, I wrote it as though this happened AFTER all of that (which I feel like would make more sense for them to have sex the first time… but probably not for it to be the first time they spent the night together on purpose). So I may still use this in canon but not with the first spending the night but attached. Anyway. I’ll stop rambling and let you read.

————————————————————————

You have no idea what to do with a woman, Illario’s scathing remark rang in his ears. But Rook sighed contentedly, nestled herself into his side, rested her chin on his chest and threw one leg across his stomach, and Lucanis found he had quite a few ideas what could be done with a woman.

He himself had taken those things off the table. He swallowed thickly. Perhaps this had been a bad idea.

“You should get some sleep,” Rook told him with a soft smile as she gazed at him in that way she had that made his entire being warm. “I’ll make sure Spite lets you rest.”

She glanced pointedly down at her leg, then lazily circled his torso with one of her arms as well. It was pleasant. It would not stop the demon from getting him up and moving around if he chose. Lucanis blew out a small snort of laughter.

“Why would I want to sleep when I finally…” he hesitated at the word finally. But that wasn’t really a secret, was it? “I finally have you here,” he finished, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“Because I’m not going anywhere, and when else are you going to get a restful night’s sleep?” She asked, squirming even closer to him, though he hadn’t thought it possible.

“I would rather make some coffee and ensure you actually rest,” he told her honestly, beginning to stir.

“Nope!” In an instant, she was on top of him, sitting triumphantly on his stomach with her hands on his shoulders. Lucanis felt his heartrate quicken. What a view. “You are not to leave this cot until morning or you’ve gotten some rest, whichever comes first.”

Her tone was playful — clearly, Rook had no idea the effect she had on him. He swallowed thickly and adopted a teasing tone as well.

“You are a strong woman, Rook, but do you truly think it wise to come between the Demon of Vyrantium and his coffee?”

She stifled a giggle and leaned in, making him groan internally. “Perhaps it’s not my strength I plan to rely on, but the master assassin’s reticence to hurt harmless little old me.”

She batted her eyelashes at him with feigned innocence.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You, Rook, are anything but harmless.”

She started to giggle in delight, but it dissolved into a gasp as he grabbed her hip and shoulder, reversing their positions in one smooth movement. If he’d though the view looking up at her was something, the view looking down was breathtaking. Spite cackled, and Lucanis had to remind himself to breathe. She flushed, one hand still resting loosely on his shoulder, the other on his forearm. Involuntarily, his fingers flexed at her hip. Soft.

Their fight flooded his mind for a moment, the driving rain. The feel of her skin beneath his palms again. The urge to keep going, to push past the nerves and the fact that they were on a public rooftop in Minrathos of all places, to give her everything rushed back into his veins. He’d told her he just wanted her to stay.

He’d told her he didn’t have ulterior motives.

Naimeryn’a hand floated from his shoulder to his face for the briefest of moments, then her fingers slid through his hair and to the back of his head. She pulled him down and herself up simultaneously, and he met her halfway with lips and teeth and tongue. A fire bloomed between them, a heat Lucanis did not know how to quench, or if he even could.

He wasn’t even sure he wanted to.

Naimeryn’s other arm wrapped around his neck, and he squeezed her ass as he more firmly hooked her knee over his hip and pressed her between himself and the cot, resting the majority of his weight on his other elbow, by her head. She rewarded him by wrapping her other leg around his midsection as well, squeezing him between her thighs. He moaned into her mouth, his free hand sliding up her side to cup her breast. She arched her back into his touch, and he could feel the heat radiating from the fork of her legs against his.

“La Mia fiamma,” he murmured into her mouth, and her hands slid back to cup his face. He could not remember a time this had made him uncomfortable. The coolness of her palms against his cheeks, the thread of her fingers through his beard, the gentle caress of her thumbs across each scar as she came upon it, were all things he craved now. As she gave him each of them now, he captured her tongue in devotion and sucked gently, simultaneously squeezing her breast before sliding his own thumb firmly across the nipple pebbling beneath her shirt. She moaned and ground her hips against him, not flinching away from his hardening length. He pressed against her experimentally, and she gasped, hands sliding down to fist into the collar of his shirt.

“Do you still — want… coffee?” She fumbled out between kisses.

He slipped his hand beneath her shirt to continue to fondle her, and she squeezed her thighs again. He worried her nipple between his finger and thumb, capturing each sound she made in response with kisses of his own.

“Which do you think… I would prefer?” He managed to get out around gasps for breath. She giggled softly. Then she stroked his face to pull his attention fully to hers. He froze, worried he’d done something wrong.

“Are you okay with this?” She asked softly. “I know you said you didn’t have any intentions when you asked me to stay and now… I just want to make sure I’m not moving too fast.”

A small tremor of nerves passed through Lucanis’s core. “We have been closer before than we are now. Do you wish to stop?”

She bit her lower lip and shook her head, her eyes hooded and her cheeks flushed. Awkwardly, she stuttered, “I know, I… I just… I don’t know what you… want? And I don’t want to overstep a boundary you’ve set and I feel like I… may? Have?”

“Would you be more comfortable if I promise to tell you the moment you have?” He smirked at her. His chest ached. Even when she was the one arguably in the more compromising position, her first thought was always of him.

“Don’t grin at me like that,” she chided, “yes, of course I want you to tell me if I do something to make you uncomfortable.”

“As you wish,” he only smirked harder, feeling himself twitch at the little gasp the phrase elicited from her. “But you must promise me the same.”

Her flush was so intense he thought he could feel its heat rolling off of her in waves. “I don’t think you could make me uncomfortable if you tried,” she mumbled.

“Nor shall I endeavor to,” he told her seriously, sliding his hand out of her shirt and to its clasps. “May I see you?”

Her blush was several shades more intense than usual, but she nodded, her fingers playing with his collar chain. “And you?”

“I am yours,” he told her, leaning back in to recapture her mouth as he popped her shirt clasps one after another with one finger. Once it fell open, he slid his hand beneath one side, relishing in the feel of every inch of her skin beneath his palm as he pushed it over her shoulder, letting her wriggle the rest of the way out while his fingertips traced the line of her bicep and forearm, capturing her hand and intertwining their fingers. He pressed her hand into the cot above their heads, never breaking their lip lock as he adjusted his weight to use his other hand to help her the rest of the way out of her shirt. He had pressed her other hand into the mattress before Spite helpfully reminded him that she had wanted to take his shirt off as well. Mierda.

But Naimeryn squirmed her hips against his and squeezed his hands, making no effort to free herself. She bit her lower lip and gazed up at him, her pupil blown and her lids half down. She really was a beautiful creature, all pale skin and dark hair and small, soft curves. Lucanis felt himself lick his lips, shuffling his grip so he had both of her hands in one of his, drawing the other in a slow caress down the side of her face, along the column of her neck, down across her breast, allowing his fingertips to brush each scar that marred her flesh on the way down. Her breath hitched as he touched those on her torso — the ones she never wanted to talk about, or told a different story about each time. She would tell him about them when she was ready, or she wouldn’t, he decided. It made no difference to him.

Lucanis was overcome with a desire to taste, and so he ducked back down to her. He squeezed her hands, his free hand returning to fondling while his mouth exploded freely. He kissed and licked and nibbled along her throat, pulling soft gasps and sighs from her the whole way. He allowed a gentle bite at her collarbone which earned him a buck of her hips and then he kissed his way lower.

The sounds he pulled from Rook as he licked and suckled her sent aching pangs of need down the length of his cock. She arched into his mouth, forcing him to abandon her other breast to support the small of her back with his hand. She whimpered his name and strained against his grip, rutting against the thigh he held pressed against the crux of her legs. He flattened his tongue and lapped against her until her legs were trembling against either side of his.

Without releasing her hands, he came away, kissing once more to the side of her neck before sitting partially up, pulling at his buttons one-handed. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, her tongue slid across her lower lip. Fuck. He shrugged out of his shirt halfway, then finally released her hands to pull it the rest of the way off. They were on him in an instant, fingertips and nails and palms exploring every contour of his arms, his back, his abs. She squirmed up into his lap, forcing him to sit back on his heels as she once more wrapped her legs around his waist and her lips around his. He burned beneath her attentions, straining against the constraints of his pants.

He’d wanted her at the river.

He’d wanted her in that damned armor Teia had sent.

He’d wanted her on the rooftop.

None of those instances compared to how badly he wanted her now.

“Naimy,” he groaned. He’d called her it on impulse, without having really decided to, but it earned him another buck of her hips and her half-naked body pressed flush to his. His hands slid up her bare back, to the back of her head, to her ears. Her whole body jolted and she nipped his lips as he pressed his thumbs into them and slid up along their length.

“W-wait, don’t —!” She moaned. “I’ll —“

Her thighs squeezed and her head tilted back with a sob of his name. He knew instantly he had teased her too far, but it was satisfaction and not disappointment that settled into his gut.

The man who didn’t know what to do with a woman could make his woman come without even getting so much as his hand into her pants.

Naimeryn’s face was on fire with embarrassment and her eyes brimmed with tears, which stirred momentary panic.

“I’m so sorry,” she covered her face with her hands. “I’ve ruined —“

“Naimy,” he caught her wrists, and she peeked at him between her fingers.

“You have not ruined anything,” he told her firmly. When she widened the gap between her digits, he gave her a smirk. “Except perhaps your underthings.”

“Lucanis,” she groaned, and he grinned, kissing her in the space between her hands until she finally removed them in favor of holding his again. Against his mouth, she murmured, “can we still…?”

Maker’s Breath, this woman.

“That is entirely up to you,” he told her, though he hoped against hope the answer was yes.

“No,” she insisted, pulling back slightly. “It’s up to you, too.”

Lucanis found himself smiling at her, shaking his head, just a little. “What did I do to deserve you?”

She rolled her eyes playfully at him. “You keep asking me that like the answer is going to change.”

She leaned back in and began to pepper his face, every scar, every mark, every inch with soft, gentle kisses. “You. Just. Do.” She punctuated each word with a more firm kiss than the others, and to his mouth. He chased her lips with his when she moved away, all the while his fingers working her belt and the laces of her trousers.

“This would have been easier had you changed into your wrap,” he teased gently as she scooted herself back on his lap to allow him easier access.

“In my defense,” she teased back, sliding her hands down his torso with tantalizing slowness, “I may have been told a certain someone had no intentions for the evening.”

Impatient, Lucanis cupped her ass with one hand and the back of her head with the other, leaning her back on the cot before beginning to slide her pants off. He wanted her naked now, now, now, but he forced himself to slow down. He did not want to seem overeager.

BUT YOU. ARE!

Shut up.

Lucanis kissed as he undressed. She had scars on her legs, too. It seemed no part of her body was stranger to claws and knives and whips, and while part of him wished she’d never known a moment of hurt in her life, he found he could only admire her more with each new mark he uncovered. He made a point to kiss them specifically. Never again would she feel less than because of a scar she bore so long as he had a say in it. He discarded her trousers and kissed her foot, curling his hand around the other. How was it possible for them to be so cold?

Rook giggled. “Ticklish,” she murmured, giving him a gentle nudge against his face as her way of asking him to stop. He ran his hands back up her legs, gripping her hips and pulling her down so he could reach her lips again. It had been too long since he’d kissed her there, after all. As her tongue tentatively danced with his, he felt her fingers working at his waistband. Relief flooded him as his cock sprang free, and then.

The first gentle brush of her fingers along his length sent a violent shiver through his whole body.

“I’m sorry,” she began against his mouth, pulling her hand back quickly. He shook his head but refused to break the kiss. He needed her too badly.

“No,” he murmured across her lips. “Good.”

Encouraged, her hand returned to his body. She was cautious, perhaps overly gentle in her experimental caresses, but every stroke threatened to topple him over the edge himself.

“Mierda, Mia fiamma,” he groaned, his breath coming in little gasps as he finally conceded defeat and kissed over to her neck. She let him, stroking him a bit more purposely and sending his whole body trembling.

“Tell me what you like?” She whispered breathlessly in his ear, and the request coupled with the feel of her fingers wrapped around his dick and the way she rubbed her palm against the head was nearly enough to make him come undone. Not trusting himself to speak, he covered her hand with his, kissing and sucking and nipping at her neck as he guided her to squeeze a bit more firmly, to move a bit more quickly. Her little sighs and moans in his ear, the way she squirmed a bit beneath him, the way she smelled and tasted and felt all drove him mad.

No one ASKED ME for Rook StoryTime Prompt 14 (Rook attends a celebration) but my brain was ruminating on it anyway and I wrote something so angsty and raw and emotionally charged and uuuuuuugh I cannot stand it. So yeah, here ya’ll go, have some post-game Lucaimy. With a side helping of Illario.

[the team attends “the gods are defeated and Treviso is free!” Celebrations in Treviso. There is a masquerade ball, and although Lucanis has Naimy wear a gown and mask which match his own attire, Caterina ensures Lucanis is seen dancing all night… with every suitable Crow in attendance.]

CW/TW: controlling behavior, half-assed manipulation (Illario & Rook are getting to be on better terms after all), ANGST, steamy stuff

NOTE: I’m using Google translate for the Italian so if it’s wrong PLEASE comment and let me know! Naimy says “I love you, Lucanis, more than the sun and stars.” And Lucanis says “you *are* my sun and stars.”

——————————————————————————

The dance ended, and Lucanis’s bow was stiff, quick — what was expected of him, but rushed. Naimeryn stiffled a smirk as he sidestepped out of his dance partner’s reach and began to thread through the dispersing couples towards her. She pushed off the wall and took half a step towards him, relieved to see the apologetic smile that was splitting his face.

“Lucanis,” Caterina’s sharp tone startled them both as she once again appeared out of nowhere, another elegantly dressed woman at her elbow. Naimy’s heart fell. Once was an exception. Twice, perhaps a coincidence. Even the third time could perhaps be chalked up to important acquaintances. But four times?

Then she realized — there were eight houses, weren’t there? So… she could count on at least *three more* times, if these were the most promising members of each house. It was not lost on her, either, the care Caterina was taking with her choices. All women. All elves. All dark haired.

Naimy bit her lip and shrank back again as Lucanis tossed her a panicked look, but hesitated and forced a polite smile as Caterina introduced the next lady on his dance card for the evening. She didn’t know how long these types of parties generally lasted — even at the magister’s house, she’d never worked one — or how many dances there generally were. But surely seven dances was… a lot? It seemed a lot of energy to her. Harding and Taash had retired to a table on the far side of the room after only three. Was Lucanis tired? He surely would be by the end of the night, at this rate.

Naimy was aware of Illario leaning on the next column over. She should hide her discontent, or at least *smile,* but unable to manage either, she fixed her mask back over her face. As he sidled over to her, she prepared to shoo him away, but found she didn’t even have the energy for that. She was crumbling, and suspected he knew it.

“You should not take it personally,” he told her quietly, leaning next to her with a hair’s breadth space between them. The gentleness in his tone startled her — he sounded… more like Lucanis than himself. “Caterina is not *purposely* shutting you out.”

Naimy was surprised to see a genuinely concerned expression on his face, though he did not meet her eye, choosing instead to watch the guests twirling on the dance floor. His eyes followed Lucanis, his brow furrowed. Why he would be trying to comfort her, she did not know, though it wasn’t unappreciated. She snorted out a bitter laugh.

“I thought you were supposed to be a *good* liar.”

He chuckled, too. “And I always thought *you* naive.”

They lapsed into silence as the song swelled to a crescendo. Lucanis was spinning the peacock-masked beauty at the center of the floor. Perfect black ringlets shining in the chandelier light. Dark, buttery smooth skin. An ample bosum pushed up so high it almost spilled out the top of her gorgeous satin dress. Naimy dropped her gaze and adjusted her mask as a disguise for wiping her eyes, hoping Illario could not see the tears stinging at their corners.

“He’s First Talon, now,” she told Illario with a hopeless shrug. “I… I always knew this would be the case. There are appearances to uphold.”

“Caterina does hold those dear,” Illario allowed cautiously. “If Caterina is not careful, however, she will foil her own plans.”

“What do you mean?” Naimy asked.

Illario smirked down at her. “Do you truly believe my cousin would not choose you, the only thing he has ever wanted, over the mantle he has *never* wanted?”

Naimy snorted at him. “That’s what *you* want him to do, Illario.”

She turned and walked away, determined to make her way out of the opera house. She needed some air.

Lucanis had told her already, hadn’t he? *There is no one “better.” I have chosen. I chose* you.

But could she ask that of him? Being a Crow was *who he was.* She could never ask him to change that for her. She didn’t want him to.

All Naimeryn had ever wanted was for Lucanis to be happy.

She found the side door and let herself out into the gardens, gasping for breath. She shut the door firmly behind her and stumbled along the path, her vision blurring with tears she fought even as they began to roll down her cheeks. *Dammit.*

She was so stupid. She supposed she hadn’t expected Caterina to be so overt about it. But then, why bother trying to conceal her intentions from someone like Naimy? What was she going to do? Jealously cut in on every single one of his dances? To what end?

Naimeryn didn’t want to be the reason Lucanis struggled. Didn’t want to be the one forcing him into tough decisions he might not want or be ready to make. Didn’t want to be the reason his relationship with his grandmother soured.

She reached the dock, where he’d brought her that night. It seemed a lifetime ago now.

Naimeryn lifted the many layers of skirts and sat atop the first stair, shedding her heels and dipping her feet into the river. It was cold, now, with winter closing in. She sighed, laying her mask in the grass beside her and burying her face in her knees. She cried silently into the luxurious fabric of her gown. She had helped stop *three different gods* from destroying the world, damn it. Why did that seem to count for nothing?

*Sometimes love just isn’t enough.* Wasn’t that what her mother had always said about her father? Love wasn’t enough to keep people together. Love wasn’t enough in the face of danger or prosecution or desperation or… tradition. Appearances. Social standing.

Sure, she’d help save Thedas, but strip that away, take away this gorgeous gown and the mask and the jewelry, and she was still just —

“Naimeryn.”

Naimeryn jumped out of her skin and to her feet at the sound of Lucanis’s voice, hastily wiping her eyes. She grimaced as her skirts fell, her having forgotten to hold them, the hem greedily taking on water like a woman thirsting to death. She pulled herself away from the dock, back onto the path, closer to him.

“What are you doing out here?” She asked, doing her best to keep her tone lighthearted, though she knew Spite had likely already blown her cover. “Shouldn’t you be —“

Naimeryn gasped as Lucanis closed the distance between them in two easy strides, sweeping her into his arms and crashing his mouth into hers. On instinct alone her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him back with a contented sigh. He pressed her tightly against him, murmuring “I am *exactly* where I should be,” into her mouth before deepening the kiss. Naimeryn’s head spun, but she clung to him for dear life. She felt herself beginning to cry again even as his embrace became more torrid, as though he’d been starving all night and now could not get his fill of her. She sucked gently at his tongue, and he moaned softly, the sound vibrating her lips. Her heartbeat fell to the fork of her legs.

She couldn’t do this, she reminded herself. She couldn’t ask him to choose. She wouldn’t.

SMELLS LIKE. FEAR. AND LONGING. WANTS YOU! TO STOP!

Lucanis stilled.

“No,” Naimeryn shook her head, hating that it came out as a sob. “No that’s not — I *don’t* want you to sto… I don’t —“

“*Mia fiamma,* I am *so sorry,*” Lucanis whispered.

“It’s not your fault,” Naimy wiped desperately at her eyes, as though that would make it stop. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs taking over the task.

“I made you a promise,” Lucanis said softly, his tone firm. “That I would not allow Caterina to attempt to replace you, yet I have allowed her to monopolize my time all evening. I should have been more insistent.”

“You have to do what you have to do,” Naimy hiccuped, “this is your life. This is who you are. You *deserve* —“

“What, Naimy, what do I deserve?” He murmured. “Tell me.”

“*Everything,*” she gasped out, her chest heaving and aching and threatening to drag her to the bottom of the river of her grief.

“Then you must allow me to have it,” he told her softly. She sniffled, struggling to get her tears under control.

“What do you mean?” She whispered.

“If I deserve everything,” he said, continuing to wipe her tears away with gentle insistence, “then you cannot run away like this. *Everything* includes *you.* As long as you will have me.”

Naimy felt her throat closing, and she shook her head in panic. “Illario said you would choose me. I can’t — I can’t ask you to — I can’t be the reason you —“

“Please breathe,” he whispered. She nodded, swallowing thickly and struggling to get her breathing under control.

“I told you I never wanted to be First Talon?” He asked her as she managed to breathe through the panic. She nodded to the ground.

“But —“

“Please, *mia fiamma,* let me finish.”

She nodded again.

“In all honesty, I did not think I had the ability,” Lucanis told her, allowing his hands to fall from her face, fingertips just barely brushing along her arms until they reached her hands, which he grasped in his. “But you… you have never doubted me. Never questioned. You have made *me* believe I can be worthy of the mantle, that I can be who the Crows need me to be.”

He reached back up with one hand, gently curling a finger under her chin to tilt her head up to meet his gaze again.

“*You* are the reason I can be First Talon. If Illario has given you the impression I must choose *either* you *or* First Talon, allow me to assuage your fears. There is no *or.* Choosing you *is* choosing First Talon. And if choosing you means I cannot have it, that is *not* a sacrifice. It is *you,* only you, that I cannot sacrifice.”

“I would sacrifice *everything* if it made you happy,” Naimeryn whispered. “Even my own heart. I don’t… I don’t want you to have to spend the rest of your life defending your decision. Defending *me.*”

His hand brushed against her face to cup her cheek, and she took a shuddering breath as she nuzzled into his palm.

“I don’t need to defend anything,” he told her, a dangerous edge in his voice he’d never used when speaking to her, though she knew it wasn’t directed *at* her. “So long as you agree, my decision is final. Tell me what you want.”

“You already know,” she whimpered. He moved his other hand to her waist, pulling her in. She breathed deeply, drinking in the scent of coffee and sweat, crushing the tremor of nerves as she caught a hint of one of the other women’s perfume.

“Tell me,” he practically purred into her ear.

“I want to be with you,” her voice cracked, and then she moaned as he pressed his lips into her neck, just beneath her ear, his mustache tickling her jaw. He supported her head gently on the other side as she tilted it back. Emboldened by the way he was crushing her against him, her mischievous side awakened, and she slid her arms under his jacket to wrap around his waist.

“*Ti amo, Lucanis,*” she told him. He froze, but she continued the phrase she’d been practicing slowly and deliberately, afraid if she rushed her pronunciation would suffer for it. “Piu del sole e delle stelle.”

He pulled back to gaze into her face, his expression soft and warm and adoring. “Did Teia teach you that?”

“She’s been teaching me Antivan,” she nodded. A smile split his face.

“*Tu sei il mio sole e le mie stelle,*” he told her, watching her face happily as she went over the translation silently to herself. *You* are *my sun and stars.* Heat spread across her cheeks and up her ears.

“Always my light in the dark,” he added, leaning in.

“Cousin!”

A low growl of frustration escaped Lucanis, and he pressed a quick peck to her lips anyway before turning slightly back in Illario’s direction.

“*What?*”

“Caterina is not pleased with my, ah… intervention,” Illario said, looking more uncomfortable than Naimeryn had ever seen him. “I’m being remanded back to House de Riva for the night.”

He nodded over his shoulder to where Viago stood, arms crossed over his chest, expression half thunderous annoyance and half amusement. She thought he might have winked at her, but that seemed unlikely.

“She sent me to… *fetch* you, first,” Illario told him, stepping closer to clap his cousin on the shoulder. “I can always say I could not find you, and you could slip away with your paramour. Who would tell? Not Viago, certainly.”

“You could,” Lucanis’s smirk was mischievous, “but I believe I owe Rook at least *one* dance.”

YES! DANCE!

Naimeryn flushed. “We don’t have to —“

“*She* upset *you,*” Illario shrugged casually, walking backwards towards Viago. “I am inclined to advise you to return the favor. Though, I am dreadfully disappointed to have to miss it.”

{huge shoutout to @elishnord for getting me the in-game dialogue I needed for this :3}

Marrying two ideas together again because that’s how this entire fic has been coming together I STG 😌

[Lucanis finds out there’s no separating him from Spite, and neither he nor Naimy take the news well]

CW/TW: brief mention of death, panic attack, anxiety, self loathing, despair

Quick Note: I wrote this last night half asleep and have not edited it at all since so I hope it’s good 😌

——————————————————————————

Naimeryn absolved to check in on her new neighbor. The professor had a daunting task ahead of him — he’d practically brought an entire second library to occupy his shelves, and if she were being honest with herself, she wanted to offer to help him put them away. She was willing to bet at least some of Emmrich’s books were in trade. Legible to her. The thought made her giddy.

As she turned the corner into his hallway, she reminded herself firmly not to be overbearing. Offering to assist in organizing his books was one thing, but pawing them too much or asking to borrow was out of the question. Better to build a rapport with the man before getting handsy with his things.

She’d almost reached his door when she realized someone had beaten her to it. Hearing voices coming from the room through the door, which was open a crack, she slowed and quieted her footsteps so as not to interrupt, raising his hand to knock whenever a pause in their conversation presented itself. She froze, however, upon hearing Lucanis’s voice.

“Emmrich, I need to ask,” he was saying, his voice strained. Nervous. “Can you separate Spite from me?”

Naimy’s heart skipped a beat. Well, she’d known that was what he wanted, hadn’t she? It was why he’d asked to come along to recruit the professor in the first place. She supposed she hadn’t expected him to make the request so quickly.

Emmrich seemed to hesitate, then he said, “I’m afraid your bond cannot be undone, Lucanis. Not while you live.”

The sound that tumbled from Lucanis’s mouth was akin to a laugh, but it was so… defeated. It struck her heart like a war hammer, and Naimy heard herself actually gasp in pain as he said, “then that’s it.”

That’s it. So hopeless. So lost. Resigned. He hated that he was an “abomination.” Agreed with Harding that it made him dangerous. Agreed with Davrin that the rest of the team shouldn’t trust him. Thought an “abomination” was “all” he was.

Naimy clutched at her chest, every breath painful. She retreated down the hall, desperate to be anywhere but there.

Oh.

She had spent so much time worried about Lucanis, she hadn’t realized. She had been hoping they could be separated, too.

Spite was not Determination anymore.

Before Zara… what were you?

“YOURS. YOUR DETERMINATION.”

She choked out another gasp for breath, clutching the railing overlooking the library. Her legs were suddenly wobbily, too wobbily to carry her any further. She leaned against the bannister, struggling to get her breathing back under control.

She hadn’t realized she’d wanted it selfishly. Hadn’t realized she’d gotten her hopes up, too.

Stupid.

…

Lucanis heard Rook flee, though she’d managed to make it to the door unnoticed. So she knew, and wanted to give him space to process. Perhaps that was better.

“Forcing this possession upon you and Spite was a travesty,” Emmrich said sympathetically, pulling his attention back into the room, “but with patience, you two might reach an accord.”

ALREADY HAVE. DEAL! Spite snapped. LUCANIS PROMISED!

Lucanis grit his teeth, unable to cope with the myriad of emotions swirling through him. Frustration, grief, irritation… self-loathing. He had allowed this to happen. This was his own fault. Through he clenched jaw, he snapped at the old mage, “with Spite?”

He was already very tired of the almost-pitying look Emmrich’s regarded him with.

“Consider it, please,” the professor said gently, and Lucanis could barely hear him over the rush of his own blood in his veins. He felt unsteady, more unsteady than he had in quite some time. “For your own futures.”

Lucanis have a stiff nod and left. This had been his last hope, honestly. His fists clenched at his sides, he stormed down the hallway. What did he have now?

As he reached the end of the corridor, his gaze fell on her, leaning against the wooden railing of the landing, and calm washed over him. Unable to help himself, he drew closer to her, reaching for her on impulse. Just before his hand brushed the small of her back, he remembered himself.

Mierda, what was he thinking? What right did he have to reach for her? To seek comfort from her? She did not owe him anything. It was only this thought that dulled the roar in his ears. Once it was gone, it was replaced by a sound that sent a spear of ice through his heart — Rook’s pained, gasping breaths.

“Rook?” His hand was on the small of her back anyway. She trembled beneath his palm.

“Air,” she croaked.

Lucanis recognized a panic attack instantly — it was in the white of her knuckles against the bannister, the glazed-over appearance of her good eye, the cold sweat covering her exposed skin. She was ghostly pale. He pulled her from the railing with his hand curled around her waist and the other carefully tugging one hand off of it. Concern for her made him want to rush her out of the Lighthouse, but her shaky steps wouldn’t allow it. He matched her pace, guiding her down — he started towards the courtyard, but she tugged him towards the Eluvian chamber.

“Real air,” her tone was pleading.

Caretaker met them at the Eluvian, and the spirit passed its hand over the surface, then waved them through. Lucanis was confused… but then they stepped directly into the Cantori Diamond, without having to pass through the Crossroads. That was convenient.

Rook tugged on his hand, and he followed her out the side window and into the night. He’d expected her to stop on the balcony, but instead she made her way across it and a few nearby rooftops before stopping on the third and sinking heavily onto it. Her feet dangled down one side, her bottom resting on the narrow beam that made up its apex, her shoulders slumped. Only once she was seated did she begin to gasp in deep, full gulps of air.

His home. She’d come to his home to find calm.

BOTH IN. PAIN, Spite hissed. COMMON COMFORT.

The feelings whirling within him reached a fever pitch that drew him to sit beside her, mimicking her pose, his hands clasped between his knees as he gazed out over his city.

“I did not know you have a thinking spot in Treviso,” Lucanis said softly after doing a few rounds of breathing himself. He kept his gaze on the buildings and canals and twinkling lights, but watched her in his peripherie. She was not crying, but her face was strained. He realized belatedly he had sat to her left — he hadn’t meant to. Surely changing now would be strange?

“Teia brought us this way the first time I ever came to the city,” Rook told him with a small, tight smile. “I don’t know what made me turn around, but this view… it took my breath away.”

“You can see most of the city from here,” he acknowledged. They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, Rook picking her nails and Lucanis watching her unobserved, not even bothering to hide he was doing it. He wanted to ask her what was wrong. He wanted to comfort her. Somehow, he could not seem to manage to do either.

“This isn’t about me,” she said suddenly, wringing her hands in her lap. “I should be consoling you, not — not whatever this is.”

Lucanis turned her words over in his head slowly for a moment. “You are… upset because of Spite? What Emmrich said?”

The corners of her mouth tugged down sharply, and she nodded wordlessly.

“Rook,” Lucanis began, planning to tell her not to worry about him even as he felt as though he were coming apart at the seams.

“It’s stupid, and I’m sorry,” she said, a sob finally tearing itself from her lips. “I — I just… I miss him.”

Lucanis froze. Spite perked.

“I know he isn’t Determination anymore,” Rook told Treviso. “But I… I used to find strength when I had none with a purple haze at the edges of my vision. I used to cry myself asleep, with no one to care or comfort me, and know I wasn’t alone, because I could feel him there with me. I — I thought I was just hoping Emmrich would be able to undo it for you. I want so desperately for you to get your life back; for you to be happy.”

This admission had his heart in his throat.

“But I… I didn’t realize how much I was hoping… for my sake,” Rook’s shoulders collapsed under the pressure of the guilt and misery weighing down her words. “I think I thought… if the two of you could be separated then maybe… maybe I’d get those things back.”

Spite sat on her other side, and although she could not feel him, the demon wrapped his arms around her frame. WOULD NOT BE. SAME, he said sadly. I MISS ROOK. TOO.

“Maker, you must hate me,” Rook said in a tiny voice. “Feeling sorry for myself when you…”

Lucanis let out a heavy sigh. She was so worried about being selfish, but he had never once considered how she might feel in the midst of all of this. He knew she hated Zara for doing this to them, and still had never even thought to wonder what Rook might want done about the demon. Never thought about what having the spirit ripped away from her had done to her. He unclasped his hands from between his knees, not even hesitating as he reached across to between hers, interlacing their fingers and resting their hands on her lower thigh. She sniffled, turning her watery gaze to him in surprise. Not knowing what he could say, or if he should even try, he offered her only a small, sad smile. With one of her own, she scooted over to him, laying her head on his shoulder and giving his hand a soft squeeze. He allowed himself to press his cheek into the top of her head and return the gesture lightly.

Comes directly chronologically after Snippet 10

Some friends were JUSTIFIABLY a little grumpy with me after yesterday’s What If snippet. (Cough cough, @rookwithawand cough @elishnord cough cough). Also I am noticing a trend of me making Naimy work REALLY REALLY hard for all her kissies and I agree that I needed to just *give* her some.

So, friends, I hope a hangover is low enough stakes for earning some smoochies :3

[Naimy awakes after a night of drinking with Lucanis and Davrin to discover she did not sleep alone.]

CW/TW: as promised, kissies :3 I mean they’re in “bed” together but this FEELS SFW to me? Fluffy fluff :3 light teasing.

——————————————————————————

For someone who hated the sensation of having a hangover, Naimeryn sure had had a lot of them. She groaned as her head throbbed, the room beginning the spin before she’d even opened her eyes. Maybe if she asked very nicely, Lucanis would make her something good for breakfast.

Lucanis.

The night before came back in a rush, and she realized there was still a warm body wrapped around hers. He’d… he’d stayed???

She opened her eyes. A strong, hairy forearm definitely rested across her chest. She could feel the soft rise and fall of his chest against her back. Her heart fluttered, and her hangover seemed suddenly wholly unimportant.

Naimeryn’s heartbeat began to race. Had he slept? If he was sleeping, she didn’t want to wake him. She chewed her lip. If he was sleeping, Spite was awake. She loved Spite, but she really wanted to snuggle with Lucanis, not his demon. She stifled a giddy giggle. She, Naimeryn Thorne. Snuggling with someone. Someone who wanted to snuggle with her. Someone wanted to snuggle with her. And not just anyone.

Or maybe he just fell asleep, the nasty voice in the back of her head offered unhelpfully.

Memory was vague, but no. He’d pulled her back against his chest, effectively trapping himself there. And, he was a master assassin. If he’d wanted to leave before she woke up, he certainly could have, and she’d have been none the wiser. But he hadn’t.

She shifted carefully, knowing it was likely fruitless — surely he’d wake at the slightest movement? — but hoping to sneak a look at him while he slept. Would he look peaceful? Her heart ached. He deserved peace.

Slowly, Naimeryn rolled herself towards him. He was so warm, all the time, and for a moment she forgot her plan to try to catch him sleeping. She nuzzled into his chest, allowing herself a deep breath of his scent. Coffee and blade oil and… something sweet. Was that… cinnamon?

Hoping her distraction had not foiled her plans, Naimeryn lifted her head just enough to peek at his face. His eyes were closed, his expression was, indeed, serene, and he remained still, but she sensed he was merely humoring her. She placed her palms gently across his collarbone, lacing her fingers and resting her chin on her hands as she gazed at his handsome face. She found herself etching his features into her mind, never wanting to forget this moment, the way the fish tank light softly contoured over his cheekbones, the slight flutter of his eyelashes against his tanned skin, the little curve at the corners of his mouth. She smiled slightly to herself, biting her lower lip with something other than nerves.

Naimeryn squirmed against him, scooting up a little more on the couch. She hesitated. Would he mind? She took a deep breath through her nose.

Softly, she pressed her lips to his. His immediate reciprocation was proof she’d been correct about his wakefulness, and the butterflies came to life in her torso in a flurry. His arms tightened around her waist, and she allowed her hands to splay across his chest. He smiled against her mouth.

“You know, I once had this very idea,” he murmured, one hand beginning to trace lazy patterns across her back with his fingertips. She pulled back just enough to meet those smoldering brown eyes with hers.

“Did you?” She asked apprehensively. He nodded, his expression turning somewhat sheepish.

“Do you remember the morning in the safehouse?”

Naimeryn felt her cheeks growing hot. “You… you thought about kissing me… way back then?”

He gave her a smirk that sent her heart fluttering, bringing one hand up to gently caress her cheekbone with his knuckles. “You happen to be very kissable.”

Naimeryn ducked her head, a giggle overtaking her as her flush travelled to the tips of her ears. “No one else has ever thought so.”

“This confirms my suspicions,” he told her thoughtfully, and she peeked back at him curiously. “Clearly the world is full of idiots.”

Naimeryn could not help but burst out laughing. As she laughed, he continually brushed her hair back out of her face. How wonderful it was to have him here, like this.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see how much you were struggling,” she said softly, leaning into his touch. “I wish I could have been there for you sooner.”

“You keep saying that,” he shook his head, “as though you were not. Though, I suppose holding back my feelings for you was unnecessary torment.”

Surprised by her own boldness, Naimeryn smirked and told him, “I can help soothe any lasting ailments of your past foolishness, if you like.”

She felt heat blossoming across her cheeks again, but Lucanis wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her in, his expression deadly serious as he murmured back, “I would like that very much.”

This kiss was a bit more insistent than those they had had this far, warmth blazing into heat that made the space between them burn. His fingers flexed softly on her neck, hers on his shoulders. Just when Naimeryn thought she might fall over the edge and catch fire herself, her hangover reminded her unforgivingly of its presence. Despite her still-prone perch atop Lucanis, she swayed.

Worry flashed in her mind that he might be upset she’d broken their lip lock, but instead he… chuckled? His fingers gently stroked through her hair.

“Have a bit too much last night, Rook?” He teased. She gave him a playful glare through the mounting headache.

“You were there,” she reminded him with a roll of her eyes.

“I was, and look how fortunately that turned out for me,” he sat up, pulling her with him, and allowed a final quick peck on the lips which left her wanting. “Come. I will make you something to eat.”

I have 10000000 WIP whenever/word with friends/tag game drafts that need answering but I really felt like I needed to just share these as their own dedicated post.

I’m drawing threads through the fic and connecting different storylines across its timeline and therefore weaving previously loose snippets together into the narrative and it is THE COOLEST FEELING EVER.

I’ve had this thread of Dareth’s scarf floating loosely in the sea of the fic for ages and I’m finally tying that all together with help of friends ideas and I just am so unimaginably grateful. So for those who are new/need a refresh:

- when Naimy & Neve come to Treviso for the beginning of Sea of Blood, Dareth & Jacobus guide them to Teia. Naimy’s armor stands out and draws the attention of the Antaam, so Dareth uses his scarf to obscure her breastplate as they travel through the city.

- POSSIBLE GAME SPOILER! Naimy brought the scarf back to Treviso to return it to Dareth when they were in the city for A Slow Poison. In the confusion of Dareth being dead and needing to get Jacobus to safely, the scarf is forgotten.

- [SNIPPET 88, which you’re about to read] this occurs just before they return to Treviso to plan Caterina’s funeral (after which Lucaimy go shopping for the dress)

- Caterina’s funeral, and then Illario’s unwelcome handsy bullshit. Followed then by Lucaimy discovering Spite & Naimy have history, recruiting Davrin, The Choice & Naimy being sick

- [Snippet 89, which you are ALSO about to read] occurs directly before the Venatori stakeout, Lucanis getting injured, and my forced just one bed trope snippets 😌

I have to shout out @elishnord for this one. He was understandably a little disappointed Naimy didn’t give Illario a bit of what he deserves after Caterina’s funeral, and suggested a scenario that was SO PLAUSIBLE I couldn’t not explore that 😌

[SNIPPET 88: Lucanis tells Naimy she can’t give Jacobus his cousin’s scarf.]

[SNIPPET 89: Naimy finally gets some closure about the scarf.]

CW/TW: nonspecific Naimy angst, strong language, brief violence, nonconsensual touch, Lucanis being entirely too hot

——————————————————————————

“What do you have there?” Lucanis asked, nodding to the box on the table.

“I was bringing this back to Dareth last time,” she told him, opening the lid as he walked over to show him the scarf. “Obviously I… can’t do that now. But I thought… do you think Jacobus would want it?”

Lucanis froze, his fingers a fraction of an inch from the Crow pin. “Jacobus?”

“Yeah, the boy we rescued from the cage? This was his cousin’s. We — Neve and I — we met them on the way to the Diamond the night we came for you,” Naimeryn rubbed her upper arms sadly. “He lent it to me to keep the Antaam off our backs.”

“Rook,” Lucanis’s expression flashed to concern. “He is a Fledgling. He will not be allowed such a thing.”

Her head snapped up to him in surprise.

“What — what do you mean?” She asked, her hands involuntarily squeezing her own arms. “It should be his, shouldn’t it?”

“But it isn’t,” Lucanis shook his head. “It belonged to his late relative. It will be seen as a sentimental item. His head of house will take it, and if he hides it and is discovered, he will be beaten. It is kinder that you keep it and think of it as a gift.”

Naimeryn spluttered over several syllables, her emotions all at war with one another. Keep it? A gift? A story Zevran had once told her played over in her head. It was those damned Dalish gloves, truth be told, he had said. I tell this woman one story about my mother’s gloves, taken by the Crows…

“You were… a slave,” Lucanis seemed to be trying a different tactic to help her understand, though it was clear he was treading carefully, each word calculated. “Surely you were not allowed to keep anything of your mother’s?”

Naimeryn thought about the pendant, enchanted to suppress her magic, hidden in her wasteband for years, now resting innocuously in the bottom of one of her drawers. Had it ever been her mother’s? Technically, she supposed, no. Perhaps that was why she still kept it.

“I was a slave,” Naimeryn insisted, tears pricking at the back of her eyes. “Jacobus is a Crow. It is not the same. It should not be the same!”

Another thought occurred to her, making her heart twist all the tighter. Around the knot in her throat, she whispered, “Were you allowed nothing to remember your parents by?“

Lucanis looked so shocked, she might as well have slapped him. He replaced the lid on the box and took a half-step back, clearing his throat.

“No,” he said quietly. “Of course not. Illario and I cannot afford such weaknesses.”

“Weakness?” Naimeryn whispered. “People form attachments, Lucanis, that’s not —“

“It is the way it is,” he told her. His tone was placating, like if he explained it matter-of-factly enough, she’d understand and let it go. But she didn’t understand.

“He’s just a kid,” she said severely, “and Dareth was all he had left. You and I both know what that’s like.”

“I know, Rook, but —“

“No,” she shook her head. “I can’t accept that a scarf is so dangerous that having it is cause for being beaten, for what? His safety? Do you know how little sense that makes?”

She turned away from him, feeling stupid for being so upset. She took a deep breath, then turned back to find him watching her, his brow furrowed and those damned eyes of his big and wide and alight in the fireplace glow.

“I wish you and Illario had been allowed something of your parents’,” she told him.

“And your mother?” He asked quietly.

She scowled into the flames, shaking her head and barely feeling the warmth. “She left me plenty.”

Absentmindedly, she rubbed her forearm, hard enough that it hurt. As though after all these years she would finally be able to scrub it away.

“I really just don’t seem to know anything about anything,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

“It is not common knowledge,” he said gently.

“It’s okay, Lucanis, you don’t have to try to make me feel better,” she told him. “You’d better hold onto that, though. I don’t know what to do with it. I’ll meet you by the Eluvian?”

“Of course,” she thought he sounded… disappointed? He probably thought her a fool. She slipped quickly from the dining hall to go wait for him by the Vi’Revas.

…

Lucanis felt foolish.

Had he not thought to himself, in the Ossuary, that he could not see Rook having a romantic relationship with a Crow? Had he not thought she would not be able to stomach the realities of that life? This was proof he had been right.

He threw the box containing the scarf onto one of the shelves in the pantry, irritated with himself. Why did it matter? He could not entertain such thoughts about her. She was his contract holder. He was… a mess. An abomination.

Spite snickered in his ear. YOU WANT. TO THINK IT. WHY NOT JUST. GIVE IN? IT WOULD NOT BE. UNWELCOME.

“I cannot encourage a crush,” Lucanis grumbled to the demon, shrugging on his cloak and reaching for his weapon belt. “I am a professional.”

YOU KEEP SAYING. THAT. LIKE IT IS. SUPPOSED TO MEAN. SOMETHING.

It was supposed to mean something. If it no longer did, then what was even left of the man he had been?

This thought was too much. With a frustrated growl, Lucanis stalked out of the pantry, slamming the door behind him. Spite cackled with glee, coming on like a surge, nearly succeeding in taking control. Lucanis clenched his fists and jaw, squeezing his eyes shut, pushing the demon back down into his place. He could not do this.

He could not be this.

“Lucanis?”

“Neve,” he gasped, whirling towards the stairway to the deck. How could he have forgotten she was out there, this entire time? He really was a mess. She was eyeing him in that kind but cautious way she had.

She might like him, too, but at least she was sensible about it.

————————————————————————

[89]

Jacobus was in his usual spot, leaning moodily on the railing between the meeting table and Fletcher, staring blankly down at the happenings in the casino below. Naimeryn stepped around him, tapping his closer shoulder as she went, then sliding quickly to his opposite side. He snorted out a chuckle, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“I’d be a terrible Fledgling if that worked on me, Rook,” Jacobus turned his head to grin at her as she leaned over the bannister next to him.

“Yeah, but humor me, so I can feel like I’m helping keep you on your toes,” she nudged his shoulder gently with hers. “How is training going?”

“You think I don’t know you’ve already been checking in with Heir about me?” He asked pointedly. He still wore a little smirk — not angry, then.

“I don’t mean to meddle, and I’m not trying to keep that a secret from you,” Naimeryn told him gently. “But I would like to hear what you think.”

“Rook!” Two big hands closed around her waist, pulling her off of her feet and sweeping her up into a pair of arms she wanted nothing to do with. For a moment, she was so startled that the only thought in her head was OFF! She swung blindly, her fist colliding with Illario’s nose and an audible crunch!

He dropped her, her bottom colliding painfully with the wooden floor.

“What the fuck, Rook?” He snapped down to her, holding his nose as blood ran between his fingers. Oh, no. What had she done?

Naimeryn’s shoulders shot to her ears and she choked on her breath, covering her mouth with her hand and feeling her eyes grow wide. She barely felt Jacobus’s hands on her upper arm, hauling her to her feet.

“Illario!” she squeaked. “I am so sorry! I —“

She couldn’t say I didn’t realize it was you.

“I told you I don’t like being touched — shit, I’m sorry, here, I’ll fix it.”

She was shit with healing spells, but it was a nose. She could set it with her hands and just take the sting away — that was easy enough. Illario leaned in cooperatively — she didn’t think to realize it was a little too cooperatively — barely flinching as she used two fingers to set his nose. Carefully, she pulsed some soothing magic into it, so focused on her task she didn’t notice he was reaching for her until his hands were once again wrapped around her waist.

“Illario, please,” she snapped, jerking her hands down to grab his wrists. She leaned her upper body back away as he leaned in. “That was an accident. The next one won’t be.”

And Lucanis all but gave me permission to electrocute you this time.

“You wound me yet again, cara mia!” He pouted, and a shudder ran down her spine. She may not know Antivan, but the possessive tone his voice carried whenever he called her that was plenty for her to know she didn’t like it. “I had hoped we might continue our discussion from after Caterina’s funeral.”

Seriously? This man did not know when to quit.

“I would really prefer we didn’t,” she said tightly, gripping his wrists hard enough that he finally allowed her to push him back.

“Everything… okay, Rook?” Jacobus asked, stepping forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with her, crowding the taller man out. Illario’s eyes flicked from Naimeryn’s face to the teenager being cautious, but still too bold for her comfort, in his intervention.

“Ah, the Fledgling,” he scowled, then a dastardly sort of smirk split his lips. “Do you extend your affections to everyone but me, Rook?”

Lucanis was right. Illario had no comprehension of relationships that were more than transactional.

“I am a child, Signore Dellamorte,” Jacobus said hotly. “Just what are you accusing Rook of?”

Naimeryn grabbed for his hand, which he unfisted to lace his fingers with hers, and tucked him forcibly behind her. She knew little enough of Crow politics, but she did not want Jacobus becoming target practice for Illario’s sour mood. She wasn’t in Treviso often enough. She worried about the boy as it was, more than he probably cared for. She didn’t need another reason to be scared for him.

Creators, she loved this child, but he was going to catch a beating if he wasn’t careful. She couldn’t have that on her conscience.

“Why don’t you run along to your Heir?” Illario sneered. Naimeryn stepped more fully in front of Jacobus, forcing him to look back at her. Don’t mind him. Pay attention to me.

“He can’t,” she said levelly, thinking rapidly to come up with some kind of excuse for Illario to need to be the one to leave. “I… um. I have something for him!”

Hopefully Jacobus wouldn’t be disappointed she didn’t actually come bearing gifts.

Illario’s eyebrows shot up. “That is most improper, Rook.”

“Well, you would be the authority on impropriety,” Jacobus muttered under his breath. Naimeryn stepped on his foot. Jacobus, I am begging you to shut up.

“What is improper?” Lucanis’s voice asked as he stepped around the corner, and Naimeryn stifled a sigh of relief. She wondered how much he had seen — or heard. Would he really be okay with her striking his cousin? His eyes swept over Illario’s face, the blood on his hand and shirt, but he made no comment.

“Rook has a gift for the Fledgling,” Illario smirked at her. Like a training yard bully getting one of his peers into trouble.

“It’s not a gift,” Lucanis said, nonchalantly pulling a thin, narrow box from his cloak. Naimeryn’s mouth went dry and she stared at it in surprise. Had he really…? He handed it to her without looking at her. “She is returning something which belongs to him.”

Deep emotions stirred in Naimeryn’s core, and she struggled to suppress her smile. This was a big deal, she knew, and she planned to make sure Lucanis knew how grateful she was later. She turned her back to Illario to press the box into Jacobus’s hands.

“You lent me this the night we first met, do you remember?” She said pointedly. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get it back to you.”

Jacobus opened the lid — slammed it shut again.

“Yes,” he said tightly. “I had nearly forgotten. Thank you for returning it.”

She gave his wrist a gentle squeeze and patted his cheek. “I’ll see you next time.”

Jacobus nodded, then left as quickly as his feet would carry him.

When Naimeryn turned back, Illario was scowling at them with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Do you truly expect me to buy that charade?”

“Are you going to make this a problem, Illario?” Lucanis asked him simply. “Do you think that worth your while?”

Illario stared at him levelly for a moment, anger flashing in his eyes. He covered it quickly, as was his way with any genuine emotion, but it made Naimeryn nervous.

“I hear you’re on the hunt for Zara,” Illario drawled. “Don’t trust me to get the job done, Cousin?”

“It cannot hurt to chase multiple leads, surely?” Lucanis replied coolly. “You have your sources, and I mine.”

“Hmph,” Illario crossed his arms, eyes sweeping to Naimeryn for a moment. She squared her shoulders. “Next time you’re here, keep a closer eye on your Rook, would you?”

He started to stalk past them.

“It may be more beneficial for you to pay better mind to where you find your hands,” Lucanis said it quietly, just as Illario passed him, but his tone was so sharp Naimeryn was actually a bit startled. With a snotty “tsk,” Illario continued on his way. Once he was gone, Lucanis turned his head back to her with an incredulous smirk on his face.

“What?” She squeaked, feeling heat spread across her cheeks.

“I thought you were going to shock him,” he said, his tone jokingly accusatory. This relaxed her somewhat, and she allowed herself a nervous laugh.

“Oh, I think he was plenty shocked,” she chuckled. “I’m so sorry.”

Lucanis shrugged. “You can only give the man so many warnings. Come, I have the stakeout location from Viago.”

“Lead the way.”