Chapter Text
"That was CLEARLY an INVITATION! And you did NOTHING!"
There was a crash as a plate was flung across the room to collide with the wall beside the doorframe. To anyone else it might seem like poltergeist activity taking place in the small pantry behind the Lighthouse kitchen, but for Lucanis the culprit was visible – an eerie shadow facsimile of himself, seething where it stood in the far corner. It’s eyes glowed violet, and small wisps of black smoke-like tendrils rose from the edges of its form.
“What are you complaining about now, Spite?”
Lucanis gave a heavy sigh, reaching for the broom and dustpan in the corner to begin cleaning up the mess. He did his best not to react the demon’s tantrum, but of course Spite’s true residence wasn’t here in the room but inside his own head – meaning whatever front he put up was easily seen through. So while on the surface he might seem calm and disinterested, the demon no doubt felt the frustration coming off of him in waves. Which is why Lucanis didn’t even flinch as another plate smashed against the wall just as he’d swept up the last few pieces from the first. Hilarious.
"Rook! ROOK!" Lucanis avoided looking over at tantrum in progress, instead diligently cleaning up porcelain pieces from the second projectile. "You like them! You flirted! I SAW YOU! 'A goodbye kiss' you said!”
“I’m Antivan. We do tend to lean into the romantic turn of phrase, now and then.” With all the pieces in the dustpan, Lucanis stood and moved to the bin beside the fireplace, tipping the debris down onto the trash. The moment he looked up from his task, he found himself face-to-face with his darker self.
“They asked about a first kiss – said they didn’t remember! HOW. ARE YOU. THIS DENSE?!”
Two hands slammed into the wall behind Lucanis, and knowing that the spirit could physically touch him the assassin backed up against the stone on reflex, bracing for some kind of impact from the angry demon. Instead, the dark mirror image of his own face moved in, glaring at him eye to glowing eye.
"They wanted a reminder of what a first kiss is like. Wanted YOU to remind them! They WANTED a FIRST KISS! FROM YOU! And you talked about WORK!?"
The Crow took a moment to process that claim. Was that what Rook had intended? Lucanis had just assumed they were both lamenting the lack of romance in either of their lives, not… Was Spite actually correct?
“Oh yes, BIG surprise, the spirit is better at understanding emotions than the contract killer!”
Stop reading my thoughts! Lucanis glared back at the demon who only smirked proudly in response. "Even if that was the case, I prefer clearly stated interest from someone if I’m going to pursue something more physical.”
"THEY ASKED YOU TO REMIND THEM!” More dark smoke billowed off of Spite as it leaned in closer. “At the VERY LEAST you could have followed that up with an offer to HELP! But NOOOOO! With you it's all work work WORK with you! NEVER any FUN!"
The conversation was replaying in his head now as Lucanis tried to focus on Rook’s expressions. Was he really hoping to initiate something? Set up an opening for something more? To be fair, Lucanis was far more versed in finding openings in one’s defense for an attack than he was any inuendoes or unspoken offers for more… consensual fair. But now, looking for those hints… was that a coy look on the Veil Jumper’s face? And after, when he shifted talk about his own busy life, was there a moment of disappointment? Mierda. It’s right.
"Of course I'm right."
The anger had drained from Spite's voice, it’s gloating turning it’s words to a wicked purr. A finger and thumb grabbed Lucanis by the chin, holding his head in place so he couldn’t avoid the smug expression staring back ay him.
"Perhaps you're too used to your only partner being able to read your thoughts. You've forgotten that others can’t do the same."
Amidst the demon’s gloating came an unwanted flood of memories. Long, lonely nights in the Ossuary after the two of them were forced together. Anger and frustration turned to fighting, and then… other ways to burn off the emotions. Hands against him, not stopped by clothing, stroking and dipping and penetrating where they liked. Lucanis wasn’t sure if it would be more comforting to think of it all as unwilling or to admit to himself that it was wanted. Needed. A dark, dirty comfort in his empty underwater cell. In the daylight hours he’d rationalize it as just… masturbation with extra steps, but that wasn’t accurate. Spite might be able to read him and know exactly what to do to bring them both pleasure, but that demon’s mind was it’s own. It may be housed in his mind, but the two were separate beings. It was someone else that had brought him to climax time and time again, ghostly fingers jammed into his mouth so the guards wouldn’t hear the sounds – the pleasure being had in a place meant for only misery. Exactly as Spite wanted it.
The thoughts became more solid and sharp, memories of pleasure making his body start to warm and stir, his anger with the demon almost as much a trigger for the bodily response as the memories themselves.
"Stop. That… that was different. I was desperate.”
Spite scoffed loudly. "I don't know about you, but I'm still feeling pretty desperate!"
Lucanis took the moment to pull away, stepping around the specter to pace the room. Spite allowed the escape, turning to follow the man with his same mocking smile.
"But wait… I DO know about you! I know every thought that passes through that thick skull of yours!”
The Crow stopped, facing away from Spite. “Regrettably, yes, you do. What of it?”
Spite took a step, but in that step blinked his way to be directly behind Lucanis. One hand rested atop his shoulder, the other grabbed at him by the waist.
“Perhaps you missed the signs from Rook, but YOU have had thought of your own about THEM!”
Lucanis cursed under his breath. “We are not the same as you demons. We are capable of having thoughts without acting on them. Impulses are not the same as-”
The memory of a daydream was forced into Lucanis’ thoughts. The first look at sunlight after a year, dappled across the face of the Veil Jumper who had freed him as they passed through the market in Treviso. The delicate tattooed marking upon his cheek and brow, the soft lips that found a smile so easily, and eyes that were excitedly darting from stall to stall to taking in all the wares they hadn’t seen before with a child-like wonder that had long been burned away from Lucanis himself.
He had wanted to kiss those lips. No, more than that – he had wanted to spoil his savior, buy him every fine piece of silk in the market only to take him home and wrap him in only that. Deck him in fine jewels so the light of the candles would glint against their skin as each delicate length of fabric was slowly pulled away, like petals plucked off a flower. He was still unsure if this flower had a… stem or not, but Lucanis didn’t care. Whatever was found beneath, he would take in his mouth and worship with his fingers. He wanted to cash in his debt with moans and gasps and begging from the sweet Dalish elf – each only a drop in the coffer of what he owed them. Trade the sun on their face for the dancing light of a fireplace, their eyes closed in bliss as Lucanis lifted their legs up to his chest and-
“Stop it.”
“No.” Spite pressed forward against Lucanis’ back. It was always a strange sensation. Spite looked like him, but when contact was made, it felt more like an unclothed, unadorned body – a shape, minus any belts or buckles or jewelry. There was a presence there that could be felt physically, but what his eyes saw was only an illusion.
An illusion that was reaching further around his body so that one hand could glide over the growing tension at the front of his trousers.
"Get fucked,” Lucanis growled.
"We could arrange that,” came the mocking reply by his ear.
Before he could offer more protest, Lucanis found himself shoved forward. The Crow’s reflexes kept him from falling to his knees, instead turning so he collapsed into a mostly seated position on the cot – which seemed to be just what the demon intended. In another blink, Spite was straddling his lap, it’s hand grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of Lucanis’ head, forcing him to look up just in time for the space to be closed with a hungry, demanding kiss.
There was no need for Spite to waste time undressing it’s target. The demon could choose what to pass through and what to effect directly. The hand that had stroked the front of the assassin’s pants before now wrapped around the shaft of the cock beneath, straining against it’s cloth prison even as the demon began pumping – there was a crude analogy to be made to the Ossuary, but it was perhaps a bit too on the nose to be worth lingering on.
It was cruel how easily the demon could cheat. Every thought and reaction was clearly read and responded to. While there had been nights where Spite had taken vindictive pleasure in drawing things out, edging the man to try to make him beg, there had been just as many where the mutual goal of release was too pressing and the demon simply overloaded his host with all the things he liked, rushing to that climax at a breakneck speed. And if Lucanis had been lucky, he would only make him do that once.
Tonight seemed to be the latter example – no playing, no taunting, just pleasure. Burning, agonizing, painfully intense pleasure. Spite’s mouth moved to his neck, equal parts biting and sucking, likely leaving bruises even through the high collar on the shirt Lucanis wore. It’s hand left his hair, clawing down his back, grabbing rough hold of his ass to tug him into an upward thrust. Frantic, needy, every sensation being one shared with his headmate. Despite how it may seem, this avalanche of intimate stimulation was a selfish act on Spite’s part. The demon wanted that climax, and it would get to experience it through Lucanis. The man was a tool for the demon’s own satisfaction.
A wet patch was already starting to form on the front of Lucanis’ pants, and with sudden realization he reached down to unbutton and pull himself free before they got much further. He did his own laundry, after all, and Spite didn’t care what sort of mess it made during these moments. He grit his teeth, trying to resist the building pressure, to draw things out.
“You… have no appreciation… for romance…”
The demon chuckled into his neck. “Should I bring you flowers later?”
Lucanis cursed, and taking a page from Spite he put his full concentration into trying to withhold that building knot of tightness forming between his legs. He tried to shift his thoughts to something else, something awful – the blight, the Elven gods, that damned writhing ball of nugs – anything to stave off the inevitable.
“Lucanis…”
His eyes flashed open at the sound of his name being moaned, not by Spite but by his sweet Elven savior. There, bouncing on his lap, clothes a half-opened, haphazard mess, was Rook. They gave him a breathless smile, and Lucanis felt his resolve melt away in an instant.
His feet arched, bracing against the floor with just the toes of his boots, hands grabbing for the hips currently riding him, head falling back with an open-mouthed moan that echoed off the stone walls. It was lucky he had unbuttoned, as the ensuing spurt instead arched upwards through the body atop him, falling against the cobbled floor with each pulse.
Spite cackled through its own moaning, the illusion broken as it returned to it’s copied form once more. Despite the activities and so unlike the real version, Spite’s hair was unmussed, clothing all sitting perfect as always and without so much as a blush on it’s dark purple cheeks. Though the expression looked for a brief moment as blissed-out as Lucanis himself, it quickly shifted to the same satisfied gloat that had become all too common for such moments. Spite hadn’t just enjoyed itself… it had won.
“Mierda…” A sense of shame flooded Lucanis, and despite his body still reeling from the recent release, he made himself stand to fetch a wet cloth. He cleaned himself, then saw to the small puddle on the floor, wanting to wipe away all trace of what they’d done.
“I knew you wanted them.”
The demon was pointedly ignored, but Lucanis could still hear that infuriating smirk in its voice.
“You should learn to listen to me more. I’m always right. What I want, you want – deep down, even if you’re too much of a boring old coward to admit it.”
Lucanis felt sleep pulling on him. Thankfully he had acquired some coffee from Café Pietra – time to brew himself a fresh cup. Or twelve.