Project Help Lucanis Sleep
Set during Dragon Age: The Veilguard, when the companions decide to take turns watching Lucanis while he sleeps so when Spite takes over he doesn't wreak havoc.
Pairing: Rook!Seth x Lucanis-Spite, but before the kabedon cutscene.
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It started during Taash's turn to watch over Lucanis while he slept. First Spite tried leaving the Lighthouse. "Noooo. No-no. Spite, I said No-no. Go back. Back. Where's your room?" Taash wagged a finger at him.
Next, Spite wandered around the Lighthouse ground floor, pretty harmlessly, to Taash's surprise. Until he got intrigued by the fireplace, sticking his hand over the fire, almost in the fire- "SPITE! What did I say about fire? Hm? No-no. PSSHT. NO-NO." [Spite hisses. Lucanis woke up the next day with a light burn on his fingertips, which Emmrich healed in no time. Taash apologised for not catching Spite quicker.]
One night, Spite commented that Taash's room smelled like sweat, rage and barely-bound lust and Taash decided from then on that Spite was NOT ALLOWED to go near their room.
Then just the other night, Spite tried to go up the stairs to Seth and Halla's room.
"Whaddyou want up there, Spite?" Taash is not far behind. They let him out again, despite Lucanis telling them not to. But ehh.
"Want Seth." Spite halts, one foot on the step.
"...Whaddyou want Seth for."
Spite does not know how to answer. The words do not mix well with the noise from the body. The Fade seems to swell and ebb, stirring within him this wordless need to press on and stay put. "Want Seth." He manages, purple eyes narrowing.
"Okay. Is it important?" Taash asks, close enough to grab Spite if necessary but still give him space. They cross their arms and lean against the staircase, feigning nonchalance.
Was it important? No, Spite concludes, checking through their situation. Physical. Mental. Danger? None. The distinct absence of fear, desperation and malice means it is not immediately necessary. So not important. But there is still that need. That nameless hunger for a nameless thing. Something Seth has. But not right now, and hunger is familiar. So, not important.
He shakes his head no, and obediently returns back to Lucanis' their room.
The next day, Taash reported the incident at breakfast. Lucanis was bothered but did not elaborate. Taash decided that Lucanis was probably just annoyed that they let Spite out, and shrugged it off. Seth and Halla exchanged looks. That evening, Seth took over from Taash.
"Best we find out what Spite wants, right?" Seth settles into the extra cot he moved down from the infirmary to squish into the pantry with Lucanis. The cot squeaks, sinking with Seth's weight. But it'll hold, Seth thinks. If not, the floor is not too far away.
"You don't have to indulge him everything." Lucanis grumbles, settling in his own bed for the night, tugging up the covers.
"What if I want to?" Seth lies on his side to face Lucanis, arm tucked under his head. "We learnt that Spite is more than what we thought, and I think it'd be good to get to know him better. It can't hurt. Maybe it'll help you sleep more, too."
It can hurt, Lucanis thinks, sceptical of this whole thing. Despite Emmrich's words, Lucanis can't help but distrust the thing inside him. This isn't some cute little spirit like Curiosity or something nice like Kindness. This is Spite. And Lucanis never liked the idea of not being in full control.
"Just sleep, Lucanis. I can handle it. Halla is sleeping outside too, if anything happens. We'll be okay. You'll be okay. We got you." Seth nods at him. "G'night."
Lucanis knocked out like a light, poor guy. Seth barely found his comfy spot when Lucanis bolted upright in his bed, skin cracked and glowing purple.
"Seth." Spite's burning purple eyes pinned on him.
"Oh-whoa! Hello. I- I heard you wanted to see me." Seth sat up too.
Spite's brows furrow. Yes, the thing, that unnamed thing that Seth possesses is here. The hunger flares into his throat, burns down his hands, tingles in his palms for want of it. He must have it. He will have it.
Where is it? It is an ephemerous thing, lights in the fog, thick, a sharp scent that is here, is here and nowhere. Around him. On him. All over him. Seth is saturated in it. Drenched in it. Spite reaches out to take it, touching dry skin.
"Hm? Is there something on me?" Seth's question punctures Spite's haze.
Spite's eyes narrow. "Where is it?" He feels about uselessly, trying to catch a cloud.
"What are you looking for? I don't got nothing here. See?" Seth pats his chest where Spite is feeling about, shows his neckline clean of accessories, his empty hands save for his wedding ring, his sleeping pants that have no pockets. "What do you need, Spite?"
But it IS here! Spite growls, patting around agitatedly. It is calling, it is singing, waves and waves of sound rolling off Seth, siren song to this unnamed thing deep inside, that terrible hunger that cannot be sated, that is all the more troublesome because it is the first hunger Spite feels that does not lust for blood. For revenge. For justice. For sport.
"Hey! Hey!" Spite has pushed Seth down in his efforts, and Seth is not fighting him. "Spite, talk to me. You said you wanted to see me."
"I want..." It's not as though Spite was idle, slothing around waiting for Lucanis to sleep. Spite spent days tearing through Lucanis' memories and knowledge, trying to find the real-world resonance to this hunger. But all he found was a million ways to end lives. Deeply intriguing and delicious ideas, but not what he wanted. Not what Lucanis wants, too...if Spite were to guess from the irritation his human vessel directed at him all day.
"You want..?" Seth rolled his hand, coaxing Spite to continue.
Spite pursed his lips. "You. This." A vague gesture in Seth's direction.
Me? Seth raised his eyebrows. "Uh...what's this, exactly?" Surely the spirit didn't want to have sex, did he?
Spite grunted in frustration, throwing himself off the bed, off Seth, to pace the few steps available to him. "Do you not know???" He whirls around, glaring at Seth.
"I'm sorry, Spite, I don't know what you're talking about," Seth sits up slowly, putting his feet back on the floor. "Maybe if you told me more about it. Is this a thing you are looking for? An object?"
A negative grunt. More aggressive pacing.
"Not an object. Okay... am I supposed to say something? Do you want me to say something?"
"I know when I want you to speak, Rook." Spite snaps back, offended.
"I'm sorry, sorry. Just guessing. Okay. So this is something I have on my person. But not an object. Not a word. My...uh...soul?" A last ditch effort. Not that Seth remembers Emmrich ever telling him that spirits need souls.
Soul? Soul chimes. Bell chimes. Chantry bells. Incense. Droning music. Itchy body, sweat, hurting buttocks on hard wood. Bowed head. Just so. Fold hands together. Pretend the person in the coffin is someone dear.
Not soul. Spite goes back to pacing.
Seth exhales a sigh of relief, and quietly wonders if Lucanis is sleeping okay if Spite is so active. "Okay. Well um. I don't have magic so it can't be that- Did it help to touch me?"
Spite pauses, thinking. It felt like scratching through sand to find the bottom. But did it scratch that itch? Spite turns to look at Seth, who sat there looking at him confused yet earnest.
"Y-yeah? Maybe? You wanna try it again? Come here," Seth pats the space beside him. Spite goes, and sits next to Seth, watching the strange burn in the sliver of space between them, the surge of hunger, the throbbing ache of being just short of knowing.
"So, I'm gonna try and touch you, and you tell me if that helps, okay?" That made sense to Seth. Something he had that was not an object, not words, not his soul. So maybe something he could do. He tentatively laid a hand on Spite's.
Flowers bloom on the back of his palm. Sun on the face, sea breeze, the rare days when the colourful roofs of Treviso match the feeling of the first burst of sweetness of cool oranges. The fleeting image vanished as suddenly as it came. Spite slapped his free hand over Seth's.
"Ow-" said Seth. But Spite didn't hear it, overcome by the fleeting memory of burrowing into clean, scratchy linen.
"It's...helping?" Seth asked, terribly lost.
Spite's gaze darted over Seth, up and down, trying to find it, find where it lies thickest, find the source. He tried touching Seth's chest like he did earlier. But there it was again, a sharpness- from Lucanis?- of that racing dread. Of wanting and needing but alarm. Do Not. The noise fills Spite's senses, darkness and the doors Caterina forbids Lucanis to open, the perfume of coffee, sweet vanilla, flowers, orange zest, the linen, the sea-
"Oop," Seth is taken aback when Spite tips over nose first into his chest. And stays there for a breath, two breaths- Oh. This... this isn't so bad? Seth thinks. He wants...a hug? Seth wonders, wrapping his arms around Spite experimentally.
He laughs in relief when he feels Spite relax fully into his embrace. Seth is so giddy with relief he lies back down, taking Spite with him. In bed, he rubs Spite's back.
"Oh, you just needed a hug, did you." Seth is so amused and so touched by this. Well, if his assumption is correct, that is.
"This is a 'hug'?" Spite asks, a little muffled. He turns his head aside to speak better. "Your heart is racing."
"Yeah, this is a hug. We're hugging. Is... is this your first hug? Do you like it?"
Deep in the thick of Seth's fog, Spite feels everything slow, but it does not feel alarming. The opposite, it feels...
Spite can't find the word.
"Slow." Spite manages, leaving Seth without any further clarity.
Slow? What does that mean? Why does Spite speak like this? Taash said Spite was easy to understand??
"Slow, huh. Hmm. Slow can be good. When you're not working, it is good to slow down, for example. Relax. Get some rest." Seth tries to be useful.
Seth's chest and neck rumbles when he speaks. It is strange to feel it against one's face. Spite can feel Seth's breath, his blood, his heart beating. Spite feels that uniquely mortal life beneath his palm that feels different the way Lucanis feels. There is no tautness right now, no reaching out to feel, to sense, to hear, to see. There is just the bizarre shape of Seth's body, firm and soft and bumpy in places that is unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Big here. Smaller here. Round here. Sharper and harder here. A long bone here.
Spite thought himself experienced with the human body, thanks to Lucanis' expertise. Spite is also familiar with what it means to go near a human body (Or lately, a monster body). And what it means to have a body draw close. Fluid, harsh, shadow, flashes of metal and blood, lightning strikes, forms and motions so fast, so precise it is beyond memory and into instinct, into nature. But this is none of that. 'Hugging' must be the opposite of that. 'Hugging' is slow. It slows down the physical body, the mind settles into an unfamiliar nest of scents and textures, and the hunger... quiets.
"So, um. Is this helping? Is this what you wanted, Spite?" Seth asks, after being patiently laid on. "Spite?"
Seth looks down to no glow. Deep, even breaths. The full weight of Lucanis on him.
UM. Seth's eyes grow wide. OKAY?
Now what? Seth debates risking waking Lucanis up to move him back onto his bed, or just lie here and let...um. Lucanis wake up to find him sleeping directly on another man. Which would be worse right now? Seth hesitates, and decides that Lucanis probably would appreciate waking up in his own bed, even if he accidentally get jostled awake and discovers himself lying on another man.
Thus began the very difficult quest of shifting Lucanis off him and tucking him back into bed without waking him up.