now posting: work of the living — a da:v fic
ao3 & wattpad
Lucanis looked at the cup. Then his hand moved without his permission. An inch. Toward Manfred. The gesture was small, involuntary, and unlike anything Lucanis would choose to do. It was Spite. Reaching for the skeleton through Lucanis's fingers. Not threatening. Curious. The demon who had spent months inside a body surrounded by living people he could not understand had found one dead thing he liked.
CURIOSITY HAS FEET.
Lucanis pulled his hand back. Nobody noticed except Mia.
And Emmrich, who set his tea down and looked across the table at Lucanis with the unhurried attention of a man making a professional observation.
"You can hear him?" Lucanis asked.
"From this distance, yes."
Lucanis was quiet for a moment. His thumb pressed against his index finger.
"My apologies."
"None required." Emmrich picked his tea back up. "Occupational circumstance. The Mourn Watch develops certain sensitivities."
Its still really funny to me that veilguard made one of the starting backgrounds for the pc just explicitly "you're a necromancer who works at the necromancy factory" and then they don't even let you do any necromancy
Characters: Lucanis Dellamorte, Spite, Rook Laidir (Spiterookcanis) (Rook only appears in fantasies; specific descriptions are due to this being written with @the-muffin-master 's Rook, Saar in mind)
Summary: Left at the Lighthouse for a mandatory break by Rook, every thought seems to return to Rook, and, mind unfiltered by exhaustion, Spite takes advantage to push the imagined scenarios.
Word count: 1,954
Content: Masturbation, kind of? (Technically Spite is controlling an arm but its all the same body, so....)
Extra: This Rook, Saar, in addition to Common, speaks a Thedas equivalent to Portuguese.
If Lucanis thought it was hard to focus before, it was impossible now. As a Crow there was an expectation that one could solve, or kill, the impossible.
But this? The Lighthouse made his eyes itch and throb. Spite, even when he chose to be quiet, which was rare, sat in his mind like a boulder wedged against his brain.
He was slowly but surely getting sleep back with his new partnership with Spite and Rook’s affections….but the amount of time he’d spent over indulging in coffee and forcing himself awake, on top of going out to fight had left him mentally and physically drained.
It would take time to recover from the self destruction he’d put himself through. Longer than he’d prefer. He had a job to do. And…people to protect.
Sometimes he was barely making memories. Maybe whole days were fuzzy. No one had said anything. He hadn’t accidentally stabbed someone he wasn’t supposed to. He wondered if that clarity was Spite carrying him where he faltered…
Today was a Rook assigned down day. He'd already left with Bellara and Davrin.
Lucanis wrote in his logbook, hoping if he scheduled his day it would help him remember it. Sleeping the whole thing through was tempting but the thought of it had him grinding his teeth.
Breakfast.
The funny thing was that despite his hapless state his mind was conjuring more things than less. He supposed it had to do with an inability to filter thoughts. So the word ‘breakfast’ conjured images of food, then Rook, then of Rook making him breakfast.
Maybe he’d be in a real bed and not this cot in the pantry. His bed back in the villa with the silken sheets. Maybe Rook would be there, not at the door with food but in his bed. Maybe he’d feel ravenous but not for food–
He mentally clapped his hands together.
“OoOoh!” Went Spite. “Touch. RoOK.”
Lucanis didn’t need to tell Spite that Rook wasn’t actually there. Now that the demon understood space better, the both of them knew that Spite was teasing him.
Alright. After breakfast would be an opportune time for extended exercise. It wasn’t as though he didn’t get exercise. It was more about stretching and re-familiarizing himself with his body. It was easy to take something's function for granted until it stopped doing what you wanted it to do.
Better to take the time to identify cricks in his back or soreness in his legs so he could work on leveling out the amount of strain he was putting on them.
This conjured images of him stretching, doing handstands on a balancing beam. He was good enough to do full splits with ease. But then most master assassins were.
His mind wandered to Rook again, wondering how flexible he was. The man was a Qunari, his Rook – He paused, a blush blooming across his cheeks. He mentally coughed into his fist. Rook was interesting in regards to what one imagined a Qunari to be.
He was just as towering but thinner. For a Qunari, anyway; he was still wider than, at minimum, one and a half Lucanis’s. But it did give him a sleekness that said speed instead of bulk like most Qunari.
And it was true, the man had a speed that you might not expect. He shook his head to blow away the thoughts like so many dandelion seeds.
But the Rook part stuck. Flexibility was good for anyone to learn…he imagined going through the motions of his typical Crow stretching routines with him. Maybe…Rook wouldn’t get the position quite right. And saying ‘stretch further’ wasn’t helpful advice.
He’d need to go to him and correct it himself, spreading Rook’s legs, hands on his thighs…
His breathing quickened at the thought.
Then he’d have Rook lean forward with his arms out and hands clasped. It worked itself over like dreams would. His position in space snapped him to whatever spot was relevant to the fantasy – he bit his lip, groaning in frustration, wiping at the word. To the imagined scenario.
So now he was behind Rook, his hands back on the Qunari’s thighs. Just to help him keep that good stretch going. And he whispered in Rook’s ear, the same things he always told Rook in the heat of battle but the tone was…different.
“Good job, Rook.” His imagined self purred to the imagined Rook.
His trousers were getting tight.
No, no, no. He needed to get up and do something. A bit of toast, some jam, and a coffee. Perfectly serviceable breakfast. So out of the pantry and into the kitchen he went, bustling around on auto pilot as his thoughts continued to turn. He hated that he couldn’t even blame his previous thoughts on Spite.
“Eat. Rook.”
“No. Rook is out.”
“NO.” Spite ground out. “Rook is. Here.” The ‘here’ sounded slithery, like a snake wrapping around his mind. It drew back the thoughts of Rook in his bed and Rook stretched out across the floor.
Well now it was just a full erection. Wonderful. In the dining room. Lucky for him no one else had bothered coming through to eat yet. He carried his plate and his coffee as he walked quickly back to the pantry.
“Mierda,” He muttered, “Over eager demon.” He stuffed a barrel in front of the door, his toast and coffee sat atop it and wrestled with his pants. Just take care of it. He sat askew on the cot. As though it hadn’t been he himself who’d been doing most of the fantasizing…
Something happened. Not like when Spite took over and pushed him to the back of his mind. This was a touch different. Just one of his hands, Spite’s purple energy wafting off it like steam. When it gripped his cock he bowled over and groaned.
It was both his and not his hand at that moment. Unfamiliar enough.
“Spite..!” He ground out through gritted teeth.
“Rook.” Spite responded smoothly.
Lucanis understood the intention. Right now Spite didn’t want Lucanis thinking about what he was looking to do for the day or even about Spite himself.
Spite wanted to touch him while he fantasized about Rook.
…And unfortunately for Lucanis that very thought ripped a pathetic moan from him. He nodded, closed his eyes, leaned back and…imagined.
Rook in his bed. Not on this cot or on that couch of Rook’s (where did that Qunari even sleep? As though Lucanis had any place to talk, really…) but his large bed back at villa Dellamorte.
Maybe he’d wake to the sheets and blankets askew, Rook’s exposed hip a tease. Squeeze. Spite helpfully interjected. Spite’s word was accompanied by that same action being taken on his cock and Lucanis accidentally bit his tongue. As before the fantasy did a jump and Lucanis’s hand was massaging one of Rook’s lovely breasts.
His Rook, our, stirred, bleary eyed and sweet.
“Meu amor.” Cooed fantasy Rook to him. This qunari was all kinds of impossible. Gigantic with those large curved horns. But sweet as a lamb and at times endearingly shy. If Lucanis was caught unawares Rook could choose to break the assassin in twain.
But, as with Spite, he had found trust to extend. He knew what Rook was capable of and he also knew that Rook would never hurt him.
He was jumped out of such saccharine musings by a twist of his cock by Spite that made him gasp. Seems a certain demon wanted him to get back on track….
His mind returned to his and Rook’s stretching in an endless white room. The backdrop didn’t matter all that much. Rook wasn’t…wearing a damn thing this time though. And he was sweaty with exertion from whatever pretend exercise Lucanis’s mind had run him through.
A shift and his arms were loosely looped over Rook’s hips. He leaned forward while Rook was sitting back, arms out behind him to keep from flopping to the floor.
Lucanis licked the sweat from Rook’s skin, brushing over his breasts; it made Rook shiver.
This wasn’t Lucanis’s usual go-to start but this…he sighed. Fantasy had now become a joint effort between Spite and himself. Which meant that, seemingly, Spite’s inclinations rippled across the scenarios and influenced him.
Not that Lucanis was put off by it. Rook’s breathing was shallow, quick and his back arched. Lucanis suckled on a breast and growled in satisfaction at Rook’s needy noises.
Lucanis was dwarfed by this man and yet, with clever hand and tongue the mountain was chiseled to a hill. Pliant. There was satisfaction in that.
Another shift – Rook was on his back. The fantasy had brushed past all the preamble and preparation that actual sex required and had him pressed deep into Rook’s pussy. If Lucanis weren’t overcome by his lust he might be concerned by how good Spite was at giving a hand job.
Did it have to do with feelings? Was Spite watching these fantasies too, stroking just so to match whatever ‘scene’ Lucanis was in? ‘An opera in a brothel’, Lucanis mused.
Of course Rook felt just right. But there was a sort of numbness in fantasy. A baseline of imagined pleasure that couldn’t be brought up or down. It just, was. He wondered how Rook would truly feel. To have his fingers in the man’s muscled thighs as he thrust…
He choked on his own saliva, forcing his tongue back before he could bite it again. Spite was speeding up. And then, the touch was gone – He opened his eyes to find his own hand trying to shove itself in his mouth.
No thought was voiced in his mind, only the visualization of slick, wet fingers caressing his cock. That was more than enough to get him to open wide and suck.
It really should have felt strange to suck his own fingers like that. But it didn’t. It felt like someone else’s. And he supposed in a way they were.
Fingers slick enough by Spite’s standards, he drew the hand away.
Lucanis was going to burn with embarrassment later when he remembered how he leaned forward to chase those fingers with his mouth.
Eyes closed. Position readjusted for comfort. Spite knew just when to start, as the fantasy resumed with him thrusting into Rook. His pussy soft, his legs strong and muscled.
“Rook,” His fantasy self called out, breathless. Lucanis was hot, sweating through his clothes.
And maybe. Maybe? Maybe Rook would...maybe he would say…
“Lucanis.” The sound was sweet, syrupy, and needy. Unfortunately that was all the dialogue Lucanis could dream up. He wasn’t a writer.
That was alright. There was...feeling. He held one of Rook’s hands. His mind converted sounds he hadn’t even known he’d cataloged into perfectly edited in moans and groans for Rook.
He could only hope his first thought back into battle beside the Qunari wasn’t….all this the next he heard Rook’s grunts of excursion.
“Mierda…!” He could barely breath, the drop off was just a moment, a singular moment away --
He imagined how beautiful Rook would look cumming, overtaken and breathless. Sweat soaked and glistening. He’d look up at Lucanis and smile. The open smile that spoke his joy fearlessly, his eyes soft and sparkling.
His free hand was slapped over his mouth to muffle him as he came.
“Maker….” He breathed out. Spite rumbled. Or purred? In his mind. This did not sound like laughter at his expense; more like the sound of a contented cat.
