for @inquisimer and @dadrunkwriting
Elgaris "Elegy" Ingellvar x Lucanis Dellamorte (SFW, feat. Bellara, pre-relationship, pining), words 697
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Lucanis’s eyes trail over the page as Bellara is busying herself with the evening’s meal, finding himself grateful for the low light and warmth of the fire to hide the soft flush that comes to his cheeks. His mind drifting and filling in details between the lines, drifting further and further away from the protagonist Bellara has crafted, to the beautiful and intriguing young Mourn Watcher who leads and somehow holds them all together. Bellara’s writing, despite the elf’s modesty and lack of confidence in their skill, was better than some of the cheap romance serials he managed to snag and pour over between jobs, but this one… Even Spite, whose participation usually consists of needling and teasing Lucanis over his reading selections, or else taking turns of phrase far too literally, is silent as they pour over the new passage.
Lucanis’s heart stops. The idea of such devotion and love, expressed in such a way… Those lines alone deserve so much more than the simple, crumpled, scribbled piece of paper they’re written on. More than publication, even. Immortality. This is the kind of love people spend their whole lives dreaming of, searching for. The kind he’s dreamed of, but given up the idea of ever having for himself as a Crow and with the Venatori thrusting him and Spite together. Something about the passage feels… warm, soft, familiar, in a way the assassin can’t quite put his finger on.
“I- don’t remember this from the last draft,” Lucanis manages softly.
“Which bit,” the elf asks over their shoulder as they carefully finish plating.
Lucanis flushes a little again, grateful for the elf’s inattention as he swallows and carefully reads aloud the lines which have affected him. “Teach me the language of love as your heart speaks it, and I will forget every word I’ve ever read or spoken, and make yours my native tongue.”
“Ah, darn,” Bellara laughs shyly, shaking her head as she glances over his shoulder to the lines he’s pointing to. “Yeah, it’s wonderful isn’t it,” the elf sighs wistfully with a smile. “Wish I could take credit for that.”
“That, um, that was my contribution,” Elgaris offers shyly. Lucanis whips around, a little alarmed he’s been so thoroughly distracted they’ve somehow managed to take them by surprise with their entrance, before he’s distracted all over again by the sight of them where they stand in the doorway, golden skin and blonde hair glowing in the firelight, the faint lines of their tattoos peeking out from beneath the collar of their shirt and sleeves, soft lavender eyes slowly lifting to meet his.
In that moment, there is no language left to forget. Suddenly Lucanis doesn’t have any words at all. He cannot be certain if he’s been silent and staring for a few seconds, or hours, or that he’s even remembering to draw breaths.
“You’re beautiful,” Lucanis says softly before his mind has entirely caught up with his mouth. “Your- your writing,” he stammers, fighting down the furious heat that threatens to overtake his face as Spite cackles in amusement. “Your writing is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Elgaris smiles softly.
“You know, you should write something together,” Bellara interjects, unintentionally breaking the spell of whatever it is that hangs between the pair of them. “You two always come up with the best lines to add to the romance serials I’ve written. I think maybe I’m going to stick to the mystery/crime serials,” the elf says thoughtfully.
“Maybe Neve could share some more of her stories with you for inspiration,” Elgaris replies, with an amused sideways glance to Lucanis.
“Ooh, do you think,” Bellara asks, eyes lighting up, her interest in their resident detective probably the Lighthouse’s worst kept secret. “Yeah. I- I’m gonna ask her after dinner.” Elgaris smiles softly, crossing the room to briefly rest a hand on Lucanis’s shoulder and offering it a gently squeeze.
“Coffee,” they ask softly as Bellara babbles, brainstorming aloud about what sort of adventures she might write about next.
“Yes, please,” Lucanis replies, hopefully not as breathless as he feels, unable to help but to melt a little into his chair beneath their touch.