Chapter Text
There was no true, reliable night at the Lighthouse. The Fade sky soared around them in all the hues of soft day most of the time; sometimes it turned the deep grey of a storm, though it never rained. Other times the light faded to moody twilight or brightened to fresh dawn without much regard for what was supposed to come before or after each. Only rarely did the whole of the place take on the rich darkness of midnight, and then the sky swirled with shimmerings that were very certainly not stars.
So it was that Rook didn't blink at the shining light that greeted her when she opened the door, though it was a little after one in the morning by her candle clock. The courtyard breathed with the quiet of late night. During her first couple of weeks here this had been a recipe for a pounding headache, but now she simply shaded her tired eyes as she crossed the old stones and slipped into the dimness of the kitchen building.
She had considered a few excuses for making her way here before she ever got out of bed. Only when she saw the familiar shape of Lucanis by the fire did she realize they were all weak, and by then it was too late: he was already turning, his mouth curling into the bitter smile he always managed to make sweet for her. In the face of that regard, dissembling felt impossible.
Instead, without speaking, she rounded the table, stepping into the ring of firelight he stood in and leaning against the table's edge. There wasn’t much other light; the magical sconces seemed to understand it was supposed to be night, and little of the brightness outside filtered in. It made the large space feel close, and the fire's light warmer.
Draped half in darkness, the planes of Lucanis's face shifted as the fire crackled and popped. Even in shadow and sharp relief Rook found what she saw comforting. He was a killer and an abomination, yes, but more than that, he was Lucanis. She couldn’t help but relax in his steady presence.
“Hello, Rook,” he said softly into her silence, and she smiled to hear her name in his soft rasp. The last of the uncertainty drained out of her.
“I wanted to see you,” she said simply.
The fire moved and changed, making his expression hard to see, but he tilted his head and Rook could imagine the slow grin. She inhaled deeply, smoke and coffee and the complex spices of the dinner he'd made hours before all mingling. As she breathed out, Lucanis stepped toward her.
The flames murmured as she watched his slow approach. Lucanis moved like a study of casual power; it was beautiful. She did not try to disguise the way her eyes trailed over him.
He stopped just within her personal space, and she leaned forward to meet him like a plant growing toward light. She hadn't planned to kiss him, but with no memory of rising up her lips were suddenly on his. They were not soft, exactly, but they were surprisingly pliant under her own, tender. Half-expecting him to withdraw, she felt something tight loosen in her chest as he cupped her jaw instead. His touch was unbearably gentle.
The kiss lingered for another moment before Lucanis leaned back, his hand still on her face, and regarded her seriously. This close, even with the bright fire behind casting him wholly into shadow, she could see the details. His angular face seemed permanently tired, but a faint smile eased the drawn lines; his eyes were dark and intent. She reached out and ran fingers through his beard on impulse, and he turned his head to kiss them.
His mustache and breath both tickled her skin when he said, voice low, “This still isn't a good idea.”
Rook let her hand fall. “Can't a girl say thank you for dessert?” Her attempt at wryness stumbled over the catch in her throat, and she resisted the urge to press her cheek into his warm palm where it still lingered.
The kiss had been chaste, his touch light, but there was an unmistakable longing in his gaze. In another context she would already be tugging him toward his room. Sex she understood. But there was something delicate that was maybe beginning here, and that she only knew how to fuck up. It was a troubling feeling, and it made her hesitant.
Lucanis huffed a laugh and stroked a thumb over her cheekbone. Her spine tingled. His almond-shaped eyes were narrowed with teasing humor. “You said thank you already, earlier.”
“There are ways, and ways,” Rook ventured, and paused. To hell with hesitation. She leaned forward, watching his eyes track her, and kissed him again. She didn’t want chaste—she wanted his mouth—and she ran her tongue over his lips until they parted with a sigh. He did taste of coffee, but also of something else she couldn't place, and she deepened the kiss, trying her best to figure it out. His hand slid up from her jaw and past her ear to tangle in her hair, the jaw-length waves just long enough for him to find purchase. His teeth grazed her tongue.
She groaned and rose the rest of the way off the table's edge to bring herself flush to his body. His other hand settled on her hip as hers came up to grip his waist. It had taken her months to kiss Lucanis and now that she was here she was never going to stop, and given what he was doing with his tongue he seemed to feel the same.
Still that fluttering something beat at her ribcage. It frightened her. Seeking refuge, Rook turned from it and focused on what she did know. Whatever else there was, there was this: Lucanis's lips, his tongue, his teeth, his spiced-sweet-bitter coffee taste, his killer's hands, his body pressed against hers. That was real. She bit down on the lip between her teeth and drank in the sound she got in response.
He broke their kiss to drag his mouth down the side of her neck, and she moaned his name, clutched at his head to press him closer to her skin. His hair was thick and surprisingly coarse against her fingers, but closer to his scalp it turned silky—a secret softness that seemed far too on the nose to actually exist. She dug her fingers through it greedily. With a hum of pleasure, he worked his way back up to take her earlobe almost delicately in his teeth, and Rook reached down between them to palm the arousal straining at his trousers.
Lucanis caught her wrist almost the instant she touched him, stilling her hand completely and then pulling it away. She gave a low laugh and tugged against his grip. But he did not laugh himself, nor release her, and as he turned his face from her neck, his tight expression was plain.
Something cold dropped clear through her to the bottom of her stomach, and Rook rocked back like she'd been struck. The table creaked as she sank into a brittle facsimile of her earlier casual lean. So much for not fucking up that fragile thing.
Rook tends to think in straight lines, Varric had said flippantly when he introduced her back before everything went wrong. She owed him resounding ‘fuck you’ for being right.
This man had gone straight from a year of torture to an impossible fight against blighted gods, all while carrying a demon who should never have been able to possess him in the first place. For all her concern for his state, for all the space she gave him when the flirting was too much, for all that she’d tried to remind herself that going slow was her best bet, the first chance she’d got she’d thrown all that out the window. She'd grabbed at him like she was back at Weisshaupt, passing the time between patrols with a quickie. Rook made herself meet his eyes for a full beat before giving up and dropping her face toward the flagstones. “I'm sorry,” she said, voice cracking with regret.
Gentle fingers tilted her chin up. Lucanis waited patiently to speak while she gathered herself to meet his gaze, and she found herself surprised to find no reproach in those dark depths, only warmth. The hold on her wrist changed, loosened.
“Don't be sorry.” His voice was low and soft, the roughness of it warm. “It is not out of a lack of desire that I stilled your hand. It was nearly beyond me to do so.”
He released her wrist only to step in, closing the distance between them. Rook found herself pinned between the table’s edge and the Crow’s body, his hips deliberately pressed against hers, the evidence of his words hard against her belly. The tightness of his face remained, but she realized she was seeing restraint where she had assumed objection and feared worse.
After a moment's hesitation, she rested her newly freed hand on his chest.
Lucanis smiled, glancing down at the touch, his lashes dark against his cheek. “Have you ever seen what happens if you set a starving man before a feast?” he asked conversationally, his accent as slow and rich as honey. “He eats too fast. He becomes sick. He doesn’t taste, let alone enjoy, a single bite.” His eyes rose back to hers, and Rook, already struggling to breathe at his words, sucked in a breath to see the intensity he brought to bear. “I won’t have that. When I make love to you, I want to have taken my time every step of the way.”
The low grate of his voice played over her skin like fingertips and a sound distressingly close to a whimper escaped her traitor throat. Her fingers curled against his vest. His smile became something wicked, and for an eternity they stood like that, Rook’s chest too tight for her lungs to work normally. Then he relented and stepped away with a sly little bow, granting enough space for her to straighten up and remember how to use her throat.
“Um,” she started, and then passed her hand over her face and gave a small hah. The fire crackled merrily as if amused by the situation. “Alright.” They looked at each other across the inches, and then Rook smiled broadly. “So, starving man, can I kiss you again? Or have you decided you’re sated for now?” It was freeing, being done with the dance, not having to play coy. Straight lines indeed.
Teeth flashed sharply as Lucanis grinned. “Oh, I think I can find room for a little dessert. You have a very sweet mouth, you know.”
Rook clamped her lips closed over her reply and raised her eyebrows, and he laughed, taking her face in his hands and raining kisses all across it until she laughed too. Then his mouth was on hers again, clever and teasing and, yes, sweet.
She curled her fingers back into his hair, her eyes falling closed. Behind her lids was darkest night, and all the stars shone.