Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard
Rating: M
Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte x Non-Rook Ingellvar x Spite
Tags: First Time, Humor, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship
[Read on AO3]
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The warm light from the lanterns cast an amber glow in Lucanis' study, making a room used for the planning of death feel inexplicably alive. There was the soft scratch of pen on paper and the whisper of pages turning as Lucanis reviewed contracts and Astrid read from a recent academic paper published jointly by Bellara Lutare and Professor Emmrich Volkarin. Lucanis let out a low sigh — almost a groan — as he sat back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. Astrid's gaze left the paper and fell on him with an amused smile.
"Need a break?" she asked lightly as she set the journal down. It was Spite's low grumble that answered from somewhere along Lucanis' spine.
Too. Much. Paper.
Astrid chuckled softly and stood, crossing the room with a comfortable ease that had come from months of close proximity. When she first arrived in Treviso, Astrid would never have imagined actually stepping foot inside the Dellamorte Family House. Now, she spent more time there than in the Guest House that was ostensibly hers. She stood behind Lucanis, fingers gently kneading at the base of his skull. The way he seemed to melt at her touch never ceased to make her smile.
"Is this something that has to be resolved tonight?"
"No," Lucanis admitted, and Astrid watched his eyes close as his head tipped back. "But it should be dealt with sooner than later."
"Then come back to it in a few hours. It won't get done if both you and Spite are restless." Lucanis hummed softly, considering her words. The room was quiet as Astrid's hands shifted lower, now gently massaging his shoulders. Lucanis' eyes opened and held hers for a long moment, expression warm and uncharacteristically unguarded, before he took one of her hands in his to press a soft kiss to her fingertips. Astrid felt a shiver in her spine at the intimacy of it.
Want, Spite said, and there was something almost wondering in his tone, as if he were discovering the word's meaning for the first time.
"Yes," Lucanis whispered, his gaze never leaving Astrid's, and a subtle but undeniable heat warmed her body. She leaned over him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. The angle was somewhat awkward, with Astrid effectively upside-down, but the slow glide of his lips against hers never failed to spark a tender ache in her chest. Lucanis' hand cupped her jaw, the touch impossibly gentle and warm.
"This is going to hurt your neck," she murmured against his lips with a quiet chuckle as they parted. She stepped around so she could lean against the edge of the desk, hands resting on the solid wood. To her surprise — and well-tempered delight — Lucanis' hands moved to her hips, drawing her to stand between his knees, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him even through layers of fabric. "Lucanis?" Her voice had a breathy element to it, unable to fully hide her desire for him.
They'd done this part before. Gentle kisses and tender touches that set her skin aflame, kindling a heat low in her belly that craved release. But it was always contained, always stopped before clothing was removed or touches became anything more than exploratory. Theirs was a slow romance, one that she savored more than a rushed passion any day.
Still, she liked to know what to expect.
"You've never pushed," Lucanis murmured. It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway.
"I wanted you to be ready."
"I am now." Lucanis stood, bringing Astrid with him, hands still on her hips. "Come with me."
The walk to his bedroom felt both endless and too short. Spite's energy crackled along Lucanis' skin, more present than usual, and Astrid could feel him hovering near the surface as they moved through the darkened halls of the Family House. With each step toward the bedroom, Astrid could feel Spite's presence growing stronger — not intrusive, but attentive. His energy wrapped around Lucanis' spine, and she sensed his curiosity building like a question waiting to be asked.
The door closed behind them and Lucanis turned to face her, hands already reaching. The next kiss was deeper, more urgent, and Astrid felt the moment Spite's attention sharpened — the energy beneath Lucanis' skin suddenly crackling with interest.
Curious, Spite murmured, close enough she could almost feel him even though he hadn't manifested. Why does it feel different now?
"Desire," Astrid answered against his mouth, her hands already working at the buttons of his vest. "A different way of kissing." She brushed her tongue against his, testing and seeking, and was rewarded by a low groan rumbling in Lucanis' chest. One of his hands drifted up under her shirt, leaving a trail of fire where his skin touched hers, and her breath hitched. With the last of the buttons undone, Astrid pushed Lucanis' vest off his shoulders. It fell forgotten to the floor.
Why is the breathing different? Faster? Spite asked, manifesting beside them now, head cocked as he studied Astrid's flushed face.
"Arousal increases heart rate and respiration," she managed between kisses, her speech pattern reverting to academic as her focus wavered while Lucanis' mouth moved to her neck.
Why?
"Spite," Lucanis groaned against her skin. "Please."
"Blood flow," Astrid continued, breathless. "The body needs more air to — oh—" Lucanis' teeth grazed her pulse point, and her explanation died in her throat.
He pushed Astrid's shirt up over her head, and pulled back just enough to take in all of her bared skin. His hands, normally calloused and rough, felt like velvet as they traced over her waist and ribs. Astrid closed the distance between them, her lips just under his jaw, teeth gently grazing his throat. Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt next.
Skin is. Different colors, Spite commented over Lucanis' heated groan. Here. He pointed at the flush spreading across Astrid's chest. Why?
"Capillaries dilating," she answered automatically, pulling back from Lucanis' throat, and then laughed breathlessly as Lucanis paused to stare at her. "What?"
"You're actually answering him. While we're—" He gestured vaguely between them, her topless and him with his shirt half undone in her hands.
"He asked a question." It made sense to her. Spite had never had a body before being forced into Lucanis. Physical sensation, desire, arousal—all of it was as foreign to him as the Fade would be to someone who'd never dreamed. His questions weren't ignorance; they were inquiry.
She always. Answers, Spite said, sounding almost smug. Our Seer.
"I'm aware," Lucanis muttered, but there was fondness in his exasperation as he kissed her again. He had her backed against the door, and her hands resumed their path to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Once it was out of her way, her mouth dropped his collarbone, teeth and tongue against his skin. Her fingers traced the lines of muscle, the scars she'd come to know through their sessions together. Lucanis shivered under her touch, and she felt his arousal pressing against her hip as he pulled her closer.
It hurts, Spite said suddenly, concerned. Why does it hurt?
Astrid froze, pulling back to look at Lucanis' face. "What hurts? Where?"
Lucanis' eyes went wide, face flushing darker. "Spite, no—"
Here. Spite's energy concentrated lower, he gestured toward Lucanis' groin, and understanding dawned on Astrid's face.
"Oh," she said, fighting back a smile. "That's not—Spite, that's not pain. That's arousal."
But it ACHES, Spite insisted. Pressure. Tight. Hurts.
"It's supposed to feel like that," Astrid explained gently, trying very hard not to laugh at the mortified expression on Lucanis' face. "It means Lucanis wants this. Wants me."
Oh. A pause. Will it stop hurting?
"Eventually, yes."
When?
Lucanis dropped his forehead to her shoulder with a groan. "Mierda, Spite."
Astrid couldn't help it—she laughed, soft and warm, threading her fingers through Lucanis' hair. "It's alright. He's learning."
I am LEARNING, Spite agreed, sounding almost indignant.
"I know you are," Astrid soothed, tilting Lucanis' face up to kiss him. "And you're doing very well. Now, would you like me to help with that?" Her hands slid lower, teasing at his waistband, and he shivered again, hips twitching against her palm. Lucanis groaned against her mouth, drawing back with a ragged breath, and she could see the want in his eyes — pupils blown wide.
"The bed," Lucanis managed, voice rough. For a heartbeat he just looked at her—flushed skin, kiss-swollen lips, the way her eyes held his without fear or hesitation. Then he moved, hands on her hips as he guided her back. They navigated the space between the door and bed without breaking contact, mouths seeking, hands exploring. Lucanis' legs hit the bed first and he sat heavily, pulling Astrid into his lap. One of his hands splayed over her lower back, holding her close, as the other one slid up her ribs to cup a breast. Astrid hissed through her teeth, back arching as his thumb traced a slow circle around her nipple.
There. Spite pointed, suddenly sharing space with them again. Why does that touch. Make that sound?
Astrid followed his gaze, the way his finger should have brushed over the same delicate skin Lucanis' thumb was circling. "It's sensitive. Lots of nerve endings—"
Lucanis put his mouth there, as if testing the theory, and Astrid's explanation dissolved into a soft moan.
See? Spite sounded delighted. Do it again.
"Spite, I swear—" Lucanis started.
"It's fine," Astrid managed, threading her fingers through Lucanis' hair. "This is good."
What about. There?
"Where?"
THERE.
"Spite, you need to be more—" Astrid paused. "Are you pointing at my elbow?"
Yes.
Lucanis actually laughed, the sound rumbling against her chest as his breath ghosted over her skin. "What do you want to know about her elbow?"
Curious.
Lucanis obliged, his fingers gently grasping Astrid's elbow, thumb on the soft skin of the inner joint. His touch was tender, an amused smile still curling his lips as he met her gaze. "Anything?" he asked, and laughter bubbled up in her chest.
"Not this time," she answered playfully, and then shifted her hips so she could feel his arousal firmly between her legs. They both groaned at the friction, her head falling to his shoulder. "But that did."
The remainder of their clothing was removed in short order, pants and smallclothes discarded as Lucanis looped an arm around Astrid's waist and lay her on the mattress. His mouth was on her throat again, laving her skin in hot, wet kisses as his hands explored her body. She gripped his hair — not enough to bring pain, but desperately holding him closer — gasping little words of encouragement. Yes and there and please.
Spite's presence shifted, energy crackling —almost exploratory — along Lucanis' fingertips as they traced her hipbone before dipping between her thighs. Astrid gasped at the sensation, like lightning coupled with the firm pressure against her sensitive skin.
Scent is. Different. Spite inhaled, even though he didn't technically need to breathe. Sweet and salt. Why?
"Pheromones, sweat, arousal—" Astrid's clinical explanation was interrupted by Lucanis' fingers slipping inside of her, and she lost her train of thought entirely.
You like. When Lucanis. Touches you.
"Yes," she gasped. He stroked her slowly, eyes dark and intense as he watched each reaction. Every sigh and twitch of her muscles. The way her fingers clutched at his shoulders.
Why there?
"Because—ah, yes—because it feels good."
But why does it FEEL good? Spite pressed.
Lucanis pulled back just enough to look at Spite's manifested form, and Astrid couldn't stop the whimper she let out when his hand stopped. "Can we have this conversation after?"
Need to know. NOW.
"Spite—"
"No, it's—" Astrid was trying very hard not to laugh at the absurdity while also being desperate for more contact. "Nerve density, evolutionary biology, the brain's pleasure centers—"
Sounds complicated.
"It is," Lucanis muttered, but his fingers, blessedly, resumed. There was an expression on his face that Astrid couldn't quite read before his mouth was on hers again. She gasped and moaned against his lips, her hips canting in time with his hand. Another exploratory jolt of Spite's energy, this time from deep inside her, sent sparks flying behind her eyes as she nearly screamed with pleasure. Lucanis pulled back abruptly.
"Good," Astrid assured him breathlessly. "Very good."
Wanted to touch. To KNOW. They both looked at Spite, where he appeared to hover just beside them on the bed.
"And what did you learn?" she asked, even as her body clenched and ached to be filled again. To chase her pleasure.
I understand now. We make her feel. She makes us feel. Together. His hand touched his own sternum, imitating a gesture Astrid had seen Lucanis make countless times.
"Yes," Lucanis answered, his gaze shifting back to Astrid. "It's… different now."
Not. Empty.
Lucanis' breath caught, and Astrid watched something shift in his expression—recognition, maybe, or relief. "No. Not empty." His hand found hers, fingers lacing together. "Never with you."
Astrid's eyes stung with unexpected emotion, and she reached up with her free hand to cup his face, drawing him closer for a soft, slow kiss. He settled his weight on top of her, solid and warm and achingly beautiful, their pace slowed now. Between them, Spite's energy crackled, drawing little sounds of pleasure as it brushed against a nipple or low on the stomach. And when Lucanis finally slid into her, both of them moaning softly at the joining, Astrid could hear Spite's low rumble of satisfaction in her ear. There were no more words after that, only encouragements and gasps and pleas. Lucanis' hand gripped Astrid's tightly as he set a slow, sensual pace. Spite's manifestation had disappeared, overwhelmed by sensation and coiled now around Lucanis' spine, where Astrid's free hand pressed. His wings took form, mantling over both Astrid and Lucanis.
Our Seer. Our Lucanis. He sounded breathless, in awe of the sensations he was feeling through Lucanis' body. He sounded wrecked, and that sent an unexpected thrill through Astrid. Her leg hooked around Lucanis' hip, pulling him impossibly closer as his teeth bit gently at her shoulder and Spite's energy rippled between them both. When release came, it was a gentle kind of shatter, leaving Astrid trembling as she gasped for breath. Lucanis kissed her deeply as he followed after, a broken sound emerging from somewhere deep in his chest.
They laid together atop the sheets after, Astrid insisting that Lucanis stay on top of her as they caught their breaths together. Her fingers threaded gently in his hair as she pressed soft kisses to his shoulder. He was trembling in her arms, a vulnerability to him that he so rarely showed.
"That… I…" She could feel his throat working as he fought for the right words. A sound between a sigh and a laugh escaped his lips, ghosting over her throat. "Now I understand why people write poetry about it." Astrid chuckled softly, drawing her arms tighter around him.
"I'll try not to let it go to my head," she teased, but the smile on her lips was tender and affectionate.
Better than food, Spite noted, a contentment in his voice as he basked in the afterglow from Lucanis' spine. Even his wings had dissipated now, leaving only the quiet hum of his energy over Lucanis' skin where it touched Astrid's. Makes us. Warm.
Astrid turned her head to catch Lucanis' lips in one more soft kiss, her hand traveling down to gently stroke his spine, where Spite's energy was most concentrated. "Me too."
I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.
-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a
~*Spiritual Experience*~
I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.
Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.
He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only
BARELY
enough space for the fireworks
and certainly none for his truck.
So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand.
This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.
He begins,
and this is crucial to what happens next,
by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it
unsecured
on his lawn.
Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.
His process for unloading the fireworks is to
1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls.
2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile
He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things.
3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed
4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup.
5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her.
6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house.
7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too.
8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate
9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed
10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.
Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man?
Answer: Absolutely Not.
There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else.
(This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual)
Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally.
Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.
I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.
However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up.
and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop"
And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."
For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."
I move under the eaves.
"Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled."
"Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not."
"Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."
Sometimes,
the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.
The Gods were not merciful today.
It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this,
But I got to see it today.
Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before.
Oh. I realized as it got closer.
That's RAIN.
Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say,
five to tent square miles,
is instead concentrated into an area of say,
my neighborhood exactly.
So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.
The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel.
Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge.
Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.
My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp.
They do not have a tarp.
They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.
Which is when the hail begins.
"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy.
"HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!"
"OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"
I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic.
The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor.
Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.
So.
I was raised Agnostic
-but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.
---
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Implicit or explicit enumeration of uncountable things (example: taking inventory of the fucks which one gives)
Suggesting the divisibility of things which are not customarily thought of as able to be subdivided (example: "six whole people")
Using words that aren't numbers as numbers (example: "one William dollars")
Technically correct but contextually misleading estimates (example: looking at a group of several thousand things and observing that there are "at least three")
Incongruous qualifiers for apparently simple sums or tallies (example: she was twenty-seven years old, not counting 2014)
In the tags of this post, I have put a word count number. This is the number I am asking you to write today on your current WIP. You join the game by writing them!
You continue to game by reblogging this with a number between 1 and 400 words in your tags. This is the number you are asking your followers to write today on their current WIP.
If you reblog, you gotta go write the words previous asked for, since fair's fair.
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nothing but respect for our troops (smut writers) but listen. i dont want to be the person to tell you this, but not every character is going to be a dom or a sub. some people. and i know this is hard to hear. but some people do have vanilla sex. and some of those people might even be The Character.
I know I’m never on, but I encourage all of you to watch and share this video as much as possible. This is an Australian reporter covering the LA protests. You can see, on camera, the cop turn and purposely aim at her before firing. This narrative that it’s all the protestors is a clear lie.
Also I can't emphasize enough what a big fuckup this was for perception in Australia. This was a reporter for their equivalent of Fox News, and she was live when it happened. So they're trying to say she was caught in the crossfire now but even the Australian conservatives aren't buying it.
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