Chapter Text
“Dance upon the stars tonight… Smile and pain will fade away… Words of mine will turn to ash… When you call the last light down…” The young Mourn Watcher’s voice carried across the Necropolis halls as he sang softly. “Moon reminds me of your grace… All the love I can't repay… Rest and know that I will pray… Farewell my dear old friend…”
The once agitated undead now swayed on their feet as they stared entranced at the mage. He began stepping back, coaxing them to come with him to return to where they belonged. He continued his song, a soft smile on his face when he saw it was working as he’d hoped. “Moon, sun, all remind me of your grace… Faith, care, all the love I can't repay… Moon, sun, all remind me of your grace… Faith, care, all the love I can't repay…”
Soon the undead were calm once more and returning to their places. He sighed in relief, then placed his hands on his hips when he noticed the other spirits his song had attracted. Several wisps circled him happily, making him laugh. “You’re welcome, but I’m afraid that’s all for today. I need to be getting home.”
The wisps circled him again before floating peacefully away. He could feel they were eager for him to return tomorrow. He was about to turn to head to the Eluvian when he felt something strange. It was a spirit he’d never sensed before, yet somehow it felt familiar. He looked around him to see if he could find the source. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something dart away, leaving a trail of colorful sparkles behind it. Curious, he jogged forward to chase it.
When he turned the corner, however, there was no trace of the spirit. It hadn’t felt malicious, so he wasn’t worried. In fact it felt… almost like how singing made him feel. Not when he had an audience, but rather when he was alone and his songs were just for himself. A joyful kind of peace that came with being comfortable in who he was.
“Lysandre! There you are, my dear.” The voice of his mentor broke the mage from his thoughts, and he turned to see Emmrich and Manfred approaching him.
“Professor!” Lysandre greeted with a warm smile.
“Must I always have to insist that simply ‘Emmrich’ will suffice?”
“Always, Professor.” The younger Necromancer teased with a wink.
Emmrich shook his head, though his lips were turned up in an amused smile. “At any rate, I’m glad I caught you before you left. I think I may have finally discovered a spell for you to see Spite as Lucanis does.”
“Really?” Lysandre’s red-amber eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Yes, however…” Emmrich held his fingers together in a steeple shape in front of him, his smile fading slightly. “It ventures dangerously close to blood magic, I’m afraid. As do many spells that affect the mind.”
Lysandre’s shoulders sank. With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his white hair. It was longer now than when he’d first formed the Veilguard, reaching down to almost his shoulders. “Meaning Lucanis probably won’t be comfortable with it…” even though they all wanted this.
“I suggest talking it over with him, just in case.” Emmrich said, sympathy in his eyes. “Are you going to see him now?”
“Hopefully…” the young Watcher kicked at the dirt beneath his boot dejectedly. “It’s only been a month since we saved the world, but it feels like he keeps being given more and more work.”
“And a Crow never abandons a contract.” Emmrich sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t see why he doesn’t just refuse. You can’t abandon something that was never yours to begin with.”
“Most likely the work is coming directly from Caterina.” Lucanis could never refuse Caterina. “Plus… he’s First Talon now. Even if his grandmother is calling the shots, he’s the new face of the Crows.”
“I’m sorry, my dear.” Emmrich let his hand rest comfortingly on his pupil’s shoulder. “I do hope you three get more time together soon.”
“Me too. I can’t even imagine the tantrum Spite must be throwing.”
“No!” The demon stomped its foot as it glared down at Lucanis. “We are. Seeing. Rook! You. Promised!”
Lucanis sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose to try to soothe his headache. “I know, Spite. I miss him just as much as you do, but–”
“You. Promised!” Spite repeated, its tail flicking in irritation. Ever since that night of passion in Rook’s mind, the demon had appeared to Lucanis in that same form. It still wore his face, mirrored his clothing, but now it was taller–unfair–with four black horns curving back on its head and a spaded tail that proved a great indicator of the demon’s mood. “We work. We kill. Then we see Rook!”
The First Talon glanced at the paperwork on his desk, quite possibly the worst part about his promotion. Aside from all the socializing he was forced to do. This was exactly why he didn’t want the job in the first place. Sighing again in defeat, he turned back to the demon. “I suppose… a quick break would be—”
“Yes!” Spite grinned in victory and in a flash it had closed the distance between them. It reached a long, slender finger to tilt the assassin’s chin up. It leaned down to bring their lips achingly close together, but not yet touching. “Been lonely. With just two.” Its tail slowly traced up his thigh.
Lucanis swallowed as he tried to slow his heartbeat, but he couldn’t stop his face from flushing at the demon’s sudden closeness. “I know…” he tried to reach up to close that gap, but Spite pulled back. The assassin grunted in frustration.
“Rook first.” The demon replied with a mischievous smirk. “Then. You get your kiss.” Spite had grown quite bold in his teasing with this new form. Once they figured out they could fluster Lucanis even easier with it, they’d become relentless. That damned tail.
Of course he had to fall for a demon called Spite. “You are insufferable.” Lucanis huffed.
Spite simply chuckled.
While Rook still had his dorm room at the Necropolis, he chose to spend most nights in the Lighthouse. He’d grown comfortable there, and there was always a chance he’d find some of his friends.
Bellara had chosen to keep the Archive Spirit in the Lighthouse instead of moving it to Arlathan Forest. It was safer in the Fade, guarded in this hidden sanctuary, so she was probably the one who visited the most often after Rook.
Davrin took Assan to the South to help with the Hero of Ferelden and his team with reclaiming Ferelden. That meant less Eluvians for him to use for a quick visit. He sent missives to the Lighthouse when he could on their progress. It was slow, but promising. They had already reclaimed Haven and were marching for Redcliffe.
Neve came back occasionally when she needed a break, though Rook suspected it was more to spend time with Bellara than anything else. Lysandre had noticed them getting closer since that final battle, and he was happy for them. He tried to ask what he could do to help with the reconstruction efforts, but the detective waved him off. “I’ll let you know when I need you, but for now you focus on your wedding.” She had said with a knowing look.
Taash was still with the Chargers, who had taken on the contract of helping Minrathous rebuild. Probably didn’t hurt that their boss was not-so-secretly dating the Archon. If anyone had an issue with their ruler being with a Qunari, no one dared speak it. Taash themselves hadn’t returned to the Lighthouse–likely still mourning Harding, he couldn’t blame them–but they did send brief update letters to Rook on occasion. He made sure to answer them with his own updates.
Obviously he saw Emmrich almost every day. They often worked and studied together, even taking tea in the Memorial Gardens when they had the time. Manfred’s progress was coming along great. He only set fire to his coat twice this past week. Then there was Emmrich’s other, more delicate pupil–Anders. The mage was apprehensive about the arrangement at first, but when it was clear he wasn’t going to be ostracized by the other Watchers he began to relax. Just a little. His progress was going to be slow, but he was willing to try.
And Lucanis… he and Rook seemed to keep missing each other. They had agreed to hold off on the Watcher moving to Treviso until they got Caterina’s blessing, which… might take some time. Instead they left notes for each other in the Lighthouse. Updates, sweet nothings, even sometimes little doodles from Spite. Usually lewd in nature.
There was one other concern with being away from his fiancé for so long. Voracity. The demon inside of him was usually quelled by his singing, but when she woke up she was… cranky. He held off drinking any blood as long as he could, but after just a week the cravings became all he could think about. He knew he needed to ask for help when he looked at the body he was supposed to be embalming and wondered if anyone would notice if he drank the blood he had just drained from it. He didn’t, of course. That was crossing a line he refused to cross, so he turned to the one other person he knew he could trust with this.
Emmrich didn’t even hesitate when Rook explained himself. The professor just rolled up his sleeve and offered his arm to the younger mage. His blood was sweeter than Lucanis’, but not quite as satisfying. Still, grateful didn’t even begin to describe how Lysandre felt for having Emmrich as his friend, colleague, and mentor. He only asked for blood when he couldn’t stand it any longer. It seemed like a week was about his limit.
As for Voracity’s other appetite… there was only so much the mage could do on his own for that. His own hands couldn’t compare to the pleasure of being brought to the brink by two others. He’d daydream about the last time they were together, when they’d gone all night uninterrupted inside his own mind. Some nights he didn’t get much sleep at all thanks to his insatiable inner demon who longed for Lucanis and Spite as much as the mage himself did.
So when Lysandre smelled the intoxicating aroma of Antivan coffee in the air as he approached the Lighthouse dining hall, his heart leapt from excitement. He practically ran to the doors and threw them open to find Lucanis standing in that small little kitchen, cooking something that smelled almost as heavenly as the fresh coffee waiting for them in the pot.
Lucanis looked up from his pan, and his entire demeanor shifted as soon as he saw his fiance standing there in the doorway. His body relaxed and his eyes softened, an easy smile forming instantly on his face. “Mi amor,” he breathed out as if in disbelief then set his wooden spoon down to rest against the edge of the pan and opened his arms in invitation.
Lysandre had to hold himself back from sprinting over to the Crow and throwing his arms around his neck. That probably wasn’t the best idea while he was cooking. So instead he walked a little faster than casually and into Lucanis’ waiting embrace. The mage held him as tight as he could, burying his face into his shoulder and inhaling his scent. Coffee and Antivan cologne. Spite’s wings fluttered to life and encircled them both. “I’ve missed you so much…” Lysandre muttered against the assassin’s shirt.
“Not a day went by when I wasn’t thinking of you, cariño.” was Lucanis’ reply. He pulled away enough so he could properly look into Lysandre’s eyes. They leaned in for a kiss, but before their lips touched there was a flash of purple in the Crow’s eyes. The kiss that was going to be warm and gentle was instead rough and hungry as Spite took over.
Lysandre moaned into the kiss, his body already melting into the other man’s. His hands moved up into Lucanis’ hair, while the demon’s slid down to cup the mage’s ass. Leave it to Spite to get right to the point.
A faint acrid scent suddenly hit their noses, and Lucanis was instantly back in control. He broke the kiss and turned to his pan to try and salvage the meal before it burned any more. “Mierda, Spite! How many times have I told you that cooking is a delicate art requiring precise focus and timing?”
“Worth it.” Was the demon’s response, now standing beside Rook with a smug look. Lucanis barely repressed an eye roll.
Lysandre laughed, a sound that relaxed both man and spirit. He stepped behind Lucanis and wound his arms around his waist, letting his head rest on the Crow’s shoulder. “Precise focus, huh?” He asked in a mischievous tone. “Surely a great assassin like you isn’t distracted so easily.”
“Naturally.” Lucanis replied easily. “When I have a goal–a target–even one as small as cooking a meal, I don’t let anything get in my way.”
“Oh, really?” Lysandre turned his head into Lucanis’ neck, letting his lips brush against the exposed skin above his collar. “Anything?” He challenged.
A shiver of anticipation ran down the assassin’s spine, and he caught on to what the mage was planning. He let out a low hum, almost a growl. “Anything.” He accepted the challenge.
Lysandre grinned and started peppering Lucanis’ neck and jawline with slow kisses. He let his lips trail up to the Crow’s ear, nipping at the earlobe and tugging it gently with his teeth.
Lucanis stifled a gasp, biting his lip as his eyes focused on the pan in front of him. It didn’t help that his body yearned for his fiancé’s touch, and so was more sensitive than he normally was. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to back down. He focused on the dish in front of him, reaching for the dried herbs to add just a little more kick.
Meanwhile, the mage’s hands roamed freely across Lucanis’ chest. He enjoyed the feeling of the soft, silky fabric of the assassin’s vest beneath his fingertips. Eventually he found a button and began to undo it, followed by another and another. All while he shifted to the other side of Lucanis’ neck to continue his work on fresh, untouched skin.
Not one to be left out of a game, Spite stood behind Lysandre and reached around the mage to rest its hands on the assassin’s hips. Its tail flicked once and then curled around his leg.
“Two against one?” Lucanis mused, closing his eyes only briefly to enjoy the sensations. “I’ve faced worse odds.”
“That so?” Lysandre placed one more kiss against the assassin’s neck before he quickly ducked down and moved to kneel in front of him. “Guess it’s time for a little appetizer, then.”
Lucanis had to pull his eyes away from the mage as he felt his belt be loosened. If he so much as glanced down once , he was sure he’d lose this little game. When Rook freed his half-hardened cock and wrapped his delicate fingers around the shaft, the Crow nearly stopped breathing.
He had almost forgotten about Spite, who took advantage of its new space to press firmly–as firmly as a Fade projection can be, anyway–against Lucanis’ back. The demon’s clawed hands gently encircled his neck one at a time, and it leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Smells like… desperation and lust.” It teased.
“As if you didn’t also–” Lucanis started a rebuttal, but it was cut off by a low moan when Lysandre let his tongue drag slowly up the length of the Crow’s shaft. He wanted to close his eyes, to lean back against the demon and let the two of them have their way with him, but he wasn’t going to lose without a fight. With a slow, steadying breath, he focused back on the food on the stove.
Lysandre hummed happily as he took the tip into his mouth. He was taking his time, savoring the taste and sounds he was drawing out of Lucanis that he’d missed so much. Slowly he let his tongue swirl around the head in his mouth before he took in more.
Spite grinned and opened his mouth to let his long forked tongue glide teasingly across the assassin’s jaw and up behind his ear. “Give in.” It growled and nipped at his ear. “Come for us. Lucanis.”
“Mierda…” The Crow swallowed hard and began counting in his head. 1… 2… 3… flip the ravioli so they don’t burn… 4… 5… Mierda. His counting started to sync up with the pace Lysandre’s head bobbed, which was not helping him concentrate. Maybe he shouldn’t have neglected the seduction aspects of Crow training, but he also didn’t see himself having such a visceral reaction to anyone else besides Rook and Spite. He didn’t want anyone else besides those two. Ever.
Lysandre moaned around the cock in his mouth as he let one of his hands slide down his own body and slip into his pants. His fingers slipped between his folds to find his needy clit, soaked and desperately longing for attention.
Spite watched the mage with lust filled eyes. “Look down. Rook is touching himself. For you.” He whispered into Lucanis’ ear in a singsong voice. “Those could be. Our fingers. Our tongue. Driving him mad.”
7… 8… Mierda … 6… the assassin lost count and practically slammed the wooden spoon down on the counter beside the stove as he leaned on it for support. His other hand released the pan and grabbed a fistful of Rook’s hair, tugging to urge him to take him faster, deeper.
And so he did. The mage closed his eyes and took the entire length into his mouth with a long moan. His fingers pleasuring himself moved faster, more frantic and he swayed his hips into his hand.
Spite chuckled in victory and unwound their tail from around Lucanis’ leg only to let it glide up to brush against the assassin’s balls. They were really liking the tail.
Lucanis had enough forethought to move the pan from the stove and onto the counter before he lost himself completely. Then he had both hands gripping Rook’s hair desperately, his eyes squeezed shut as he felt his climax building.
“Look down.” Spite ordered again, this time with more authority in their voice. “Watch Rook. Taste you. Milk you.”
The assassin obeyed, and when he opened his eyes he met Rook’s as the mage stared up at him, cheeks flushed and breathing heavy. He had pulled back just enough, lips parted and tongue out, so Lucanis could watch as his seed filled his mouth. A thin strand of saliva still connected them.
That was what pushed him over the edge, and came hard with a groan. He watched as his Rook lapped up every drop, pumping him to make sure he drained him dry. By the time Lucanis finished, he was a panting mess leaning on the counter for support.
Lysandre retracted his hand from his pants, fingers still glistening from his slick, and stood with a grin. “Does this mean I win?”
Lucanis had to take a second to compose himself before he could straighten up to give his answer. “You might have… if I hadn’t just finished cooking.” He gestured to the pan on the counter. “Dinner is ready.”
“I’m calling that a tie.” The mage raised his fingers to his mouth, prepared to lick them clean, but Lucanis caught his wrist before he could.
“If I’m to admit defeat to anyone.” The assassin breathed out, voice husky still with desire. He brought Lysandre’s fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, humming at the taste he had missed these long weeks. “It would be you.”