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Lucanis is used to seeing Silas bat his eyelashes at pretty much everyone they come across. Spite is not.
Lucanis has been there for Rook just about everywhere. In Minrathous, in Treviso, in Arlathan forest, in the gross Hossberg Wetlands, in the Necropolis. He's proud to say that Silas is partial to asking him for company when he's out and about doing missions, but the peace of it all is broken often by the ability Rook has to find someone —not Lucanis, pointedly— to flirt with.
He doesn't mind much. Lucanis has a jealous streak, sure, but he knows Rook; the very least he can do for the elf after everything that's happened is let him have his lighthearted fun when he can get it. It's never meant anything, as far as Lucanis knows, and so he tries not to make a big deal out of it even when Spite takes every instance like a personal affront.
It continues to shock Lucanis how much Spite genuinely seems to love Rook, to want him. When they go to the Necropolis and Silas immediately jumps in to twirl his hair around his finger while Vorgoth explains the new hauntings they've had, Spite goes absolutely ballistic.
Lucanis rolls his eyes as the demon starts to go on and on; ours, Lucanis, stop this! Doesn't he. Know? Doesn't he. CARE? We will remind. Ours!
Emmrich is about as used to Spite’s pathetic speeches about Silas as Lucanis is at this point, and he sends him a look that he shrugs off easily. He can handle Spite.
When they go to Minrathous, weeks after the dragon ravaged the city, Silas finds it in him to charm his way into Ashur’s graces. Lucanis watches in peace while Rook, as per usual, flirts his way thorough the whole conversation about Venatori and darkspawn. It almost makes him smile, honestly. Spite can't say the same thing.
Instead of Emmrich, there's Harding today, who can't hear a word coming out of Spite's mouth —thankfully, the fact that Emmrich can hear is already torture enough— but can definitely pass him a handkerchief when blood starts to spur out of his nose.
Silas turns around immediately when he hears the hushed reassurances that he's fine, conversation with the Viper immediately done as he walks towards Lucanis with quick steps, checking him over with sweet efficiency. Not like he needs it, Spite stops as soon as Rook's attention is back on them. They leave not a minute after, and Lucanis gets to rest on the sofa next to the fireplace while Silas reads to him. Not a bad way to end the day, after all.
Lucanis discovers the one exception to his jealousy a random Tuesday in Treviso.
Thinking about it, there has never been a meeting with Rook and Viago that didn't also involve Teia. Stuck in the situation he is now, he hopes there aren't any more.
Viago hadn't actually arranged a meeting with the two of them. He'd called on Rook for some catching up and in his sweet naivety, Silas had asked him to tag along. He knew that as soon as he walked through the door and saw in real time Viago’s smile fall.
He'd composed himself quickly enough for Rook, who had been doing some secret handshake with Jacobus to the side, to not notice, but Lucanis certainly did.
Things don't get… better, afterwards. Viago calls on Rook with a drawling voice that Lucanis has heard him use on Teia plenty of times, and Silas listens without any of his snarky or sarcastic remarks, which is unsettling. Viago isn't shy as he literally commands Rook to sit on the floor, but by the way he obeys without question, Lucanis knows this must've been a regular occurrence at some point. He's very confused for a quick second before Viago’s hands find Silas' hair and start to very carefully braid it through —Lucanis can see how he pulls on it, catches the way Silas’ throat moves as he gulps and throws his head back, so he can look at Viago while they talk—.
Havoc wrecks inside him.
It's like he's watching the exchange from underwater while someone screams and cries inside his head. He can't make out the words either Viago or Rook are saying, and he feels himself answer more than once, but there's no thought process behind his words. There is just violence, and the surprising realization is that it's all Lucanis. Spite is actually suspiciously quiet, which worries him, but only in the back of his mind. There are more pressing matters right now than the hollowed sobs that he can sort of hear.
Resentment builds with every second that passes. He thinks for how long did you purposefully hid him from me, he thinks while I was pining for you, was it him warming your bed?, he thinks haven't you taken enough from me?, he thinks I want to braid Rook's hair.
He watches Rook close his eyes and fall back, resting against Viago like he's the rock that keeps him from crumbling down, and brown scarred fingers move his bangs out his face with practiced, fake reverence. Lucanis feels nauseous. He moves to get up, feeling his stomach churn and turn every other way, but there are hands on his knees in a second. The background screaming and crying stops.
When he looks up, Viago's hands are still mid-air, where Silas was a second ago. Now, however, he's kneeling in front of Lucanis, eyes intent and focused, brows furrowed in clear worry, his hair only half-braided. Rook looks like he couldn't care less.
“You okay?”
“I… was just going to get some coffee from Café Pietra, since we're here.” Lucanis lies easily, pretending that the wind hasn't absolutely left his lungs. He didn't even see Silas move.
“Oh, I'd kill for some chocolate, actually. Viago, talk to you later?” The exchange is too quick for Lucanis to catch up, and it seems that it is for Viago as well.
He gapes for a second, hands unmoving, before they fall and he mumbles something that sounds like sure back at Silas, even though the elf is clearly not paying attention to him anymore, one of his hands finding Lucanis' to drag him away from the chair and into the busy streets of Treviso.
Lucanis can feel clearly Spite’s hurt, and he has a hard time adjusting to it. He's dealt with the demon’s anger enough times for it to be like background noise behind his eyes, but his hurt strikes Lucanis as particularly sharp.
It wanes, little by little. Rook drags him around the market, buying little trinkets for each one of his companions while Lucanis gets the actual food and substance and Spite goes on short rampages about how witless and uninteresting and plain Viago is that Lucanis joins in shamelessly, even though it gets them some odd looks. He makes Lucanis laugh, despite everything, and Silas pokes around to try and get Lucanis to tell him what they're talking about. He pretends to seal his lips and throw away the key.
—
“Rook, why must you torture me like this?”
The elf laughs, choking on the water he'd been sipping just a second ago as the entire table giggles alongside him. It's been twenty minutes of Rook tearing into him for what he'd called, “the biggest insult to their country he's ever seen.” Mind you, they were talking about the paella he made for them a couple days ago.
“I'm just saying! Real paella doesn't have seafood, Lucanis.” He leans over the table, face smug, one of those dangerous smirks hanging on the edge of his lips, just out of reach. Lucanis scoffs, trying very hard not to feel affected by him as he rolls his eyes.
“I adjusted it to everyone's taste! You're a purist.”
“You're a sinner, that's what you are! I will talk to Viago at once about sending you to exile.”
Lucanis sends him a tired look, but by Silas' reaction —one of those gorgeous smiles of his, given freely and with little care— he can tell it's probably come across as fond. He's still prickly about Viago, though, and the comment lingers.
The loud conversation subsides into quiet talking and shuffling as they all put their plates and cutlery away. Rook, on dishes duty for the week, rolls up his sleeves in preparation, shoulder against the fireplace.
Lucanis' eyes latch onto him, starving even though him and Silas spend plenty of time together. He watches intently as he works his sleeves up so they won't fall as he works, and almost sighs as more and more of the permanent blue and white body paint across his arms gets revealed. The fire makes the light, warm and red, dance upon his skin, and Lucanis yearns to reach out and trace it as it moves.
“He. Caught you!” Spite remarks, gleefully.
Lucanis looks up sharply, still sitting —he’s the cook, which means he doesn't have to put the table away nor clean the dishes—, and sure enough, Rook's eyes are on his, soft as ever, perhaps even softer in this light. His hands are still now, and he doesn't move from the fireplace, like he's scared he will spook Lucanis off.
Even so, he panics. Lucanis averts his eyes as quickly as they meet Silas', and gets up while the tips of his ears and his cheeks get progressively hotter and hotter. Be normal. Be civil. You're an adult man and you can handle a bit of embarrassment.
He's lying to himself. He picks up a few of the things that still haven't been put away and scurries after Bellara and Neve, who are having a conversation about the spirit archive as they pile up plates and prepare the leftovers for whatever team Rook picks tomorrow to have for dinner wherever it is they are needed. There is no way to know how long they will be gone, so it's always nice to have some homemade food to bring along, and Lucanis is grateful that he gets to to that for them. Especially Rook, who gets the least rest of them all.
He runs out of things to do quickly, and yet by the time he's done, everyone but Rook has either gone or is leaving. He catches Taash's eye as they walk out the door, and the qunari winks at him right before it closes behind them. Traitors. All of them.
“So, any news from Teia? Or Viago?” Silas starts, stepping away from the fireplace and towards Lucanis, who doesn't move at all.
“Why do you think Viago would talk to me about the state of Treviso instead of you? You're the protegè, no?” Lucanis mumbles back, jealousy seeping into his words as Spite hisses in agreement, only a step behind Rook.
The fact that Spite supports him on this isn't a good thing, but the reassurance brings him comfort nonetheless. Rook looks confused as he steps closer, and closer, and Lucanis can't stand the look of kicked puppy that he's got on his face. So he turns and starts making some coffee. And chocolate, because Silas likes chocolate. He almost groans out loud.
“Pathetic.” Spite concedes, but he sounds almost sweet. Lucanis sends him a look that shuts him right up.
Suddenly, a warm hand comes over his, and he takes a hard breath in, turning his head to look at Silas, who is now just inches away, hip leaning on the counter as he looks at Lucanis through half-lidded eyes. The pointy ends of his ears, that poke through his long white hair, are a bright pink color. Maybe it wasn't Lucanis that shut Spite up at all. Rook lets go of his hand, and he mourns the loss like someone just cut it off.
“I don't… like Viago anymore, if that's what you're worried about.”
“Anymore?!”
“Anymore?!”
Lucanis and Spite yell out at the same time. Of course, Rook can't know that, but Lucanis feels the support in every single one of his bones. This is probably the first time not in battle that he's felt so in tandem with Spite.
“What do you mean anymore?” He hisses, actually groaning when the coffee pot starts ringing. He holds up one finger to Silas, hoping it will be enough to silence him until he's got a cup of coffee in his hands. Rook does, pressing his lips together and crossing his arms, waiting patiently —even though he's clearly brooding— for his own cup.
Lucanis takes advantage of the moment to wallow in his clouds of doom. He knows he's being stupid about this; 18 year old Lucanis had been smitten with Viago, and it had taken him a good while to get over it, so how could he be surprised that Rook had also fallen under his spell, once upon a time?
It still gnaws at his insides. It's bad enough that Silas is a Crow; he's seen Lucanis fail so many times at this point that it's unclear to him why Rook even keeps him around anymore. He lets the insecurity eat at him while he gets their respective mugs: they’d each made their own cup with a pottery set that Bellara had brought along as a way to break the ice once the whole team got together for the first time. They're a bit wonky, but reaching for them always gives Lucanis a resemblance of peace, the texture of settled paint over the clay reassuring.
Lucanis' plan had been to paint his plain black, but everyone had disapproved of his choice, so Rook did what he did best and mediated the situation for him, refusing to leave Lucanis in the spotlight.
“Why don't you paint a little moon?” He'd suggested, while everyone else kept the chatter up, sitting close to Lucanis, their knees touching whenever they moved. Lucanis agreed, easily —doesn’t Rook know he'd say yes to anything he wanted?—. They made light conversion as they worked, and all of their companions chimed in with comments about how their mugs were coming along.
Once Lucanis was satisfied with the craters of the moon, he put his mug down. And then he realized.
Rook wasn't quite done with his yet, but it was distinguishable enough. The pitch black sky, littered with tiny yellow and white stars, and missing the moon. He had smiled at Lucanis when he'd realized the look of surprise on his face.
“Matching mugs!”
Rook snaps him right out of the memory by taking the mugs out of his hands and serving the coffee and his chocolate without a word. Spite says something absolutely indistinguishable, and it takes Lucanis and embarrassingly long time that he's speaking in hushed elven —when did Spite start talking elven? He makes a mental note to ask about it later—, like he's hoping that Rook will hear, that Rook will understand. There's longing in his voice.
It tugs at his stomach.
“So, Viago.” Lucanis starts, taking his coffee out of Silas' hand and purposefully letting his fingers touch the elf's, hiding his satisfied smile by drinking when the man shivers.
“I don't know what about it is so interesting to you.” Rook scoffs, turning away to sit on the floor besides the fire, dishes long forgotten. Spite follows him like he isn't even aware that it's happening, never straying far from his side.
“You said ‘if that's what you're worried about’.” Lucanis swallows, words heavy and unspeakable before he spits them out, in a hurry: “I am worried about it, actually. So. Explain.”
Spite snipes, “TOO rough!”
“Please?” Lucanis adds, trying to show how vulnerable and exposed and stupid he feels.
Rook looks up at him, one eye a vibrant violet and one eye white in its blindness, and Lucanis knows that something big is coming. He feels it under his skin, behind his eyes, ringing in his ears. Silas’ eyes are not yet watery, but red in a way that makes Lucanis itchy to hold him, and he watches as the elf manages a shaky breath and opens his mouth.
“I… wasn't born in Treviso. You know that. The Crows took me in after they disbanded the slavery ring that owned–” he stops himself with a sharp intake of breath, and a frustrated head shake, ”that held me captive. I was fifteen, then. I didn't know how to read, or write, and I’m very serious when I say I couldn't tell the dagger’s handle from the blade.”
Rook laughs, a wet and tragic sounding thing that breaks Lucanis' heart right in two, but the story is not over yet, so he dutifully keeps his mouth shut.
“Viago was at the head of the murder that saved me that night. He was the first face I saw when they found my coffin. I was tied, and terrified, and so tired, but I started fighting as soon as the lid opened up. Viago always says that he took one look at me and decided I was coming back home with him, as a De Riva. He… was there for me, you know? In some fucked up way, he made me, Lucanis. I don't know where I'd be if he hadn't disobeyed orders that night and taken me straight to the Crows. Sometimes I think about it.”
Rook goes deadly silent, his body tensing further, his breath so quiet that Lucanis only knows it's shaky because Spite lets him know.
Lucanis watches as one of Spite's hands —his hands, somehow, kind of— ventures towards Silas' hair, just barely grazing one of the half-curls that frames his face. “Scared. So sad. So soft.” Spite turns to look at him, eyes wide and bright, “He NEEDS you.”
It's honestly ridiculous how fast Lucanis scrambles to Silas' side. He falls to his knees next to him, leaving his coffee aside in favor of stretching his hands out, one over Rook's knee, the other desperately combing through his long hair until it's resting against the nape of his neck. Rook looks at him, his eyes properly misty now, like he's fighting back the tears. They fall even so.
“You don't have to explain anything else, Silas. I shuldn’t have brought it up-” Lucanis whispers, filling with more regret the longer he looks into his eyes.
“He will always mean something to me, Lucanis. But you…” Rook goes on, like Lucanis hadn't even opened his mouth, and he pushes himself up, closer to Lucanis, his chocolate also forgotten on the floor, “you're something else. You're…”, his gaze is wild and unguarded, and Lucanis genuinely can't breathe as Rook lifts one of his hands to caress his cheek, eyes so big and so full of misplaced devotion that all the fight goes out of Lucanis at once as he leans in to kiss him.
Some dam that had constrained the building feelings within Lucanis absolutely breaks. He sinks into Silas like he's a sailor in the middle of a storm, moaning against his mouth and digging his fingernails in the skin of his neck like he can never let go of him.
Silas whines, and Lucanis lets the sound run through his lips and tongue with a pleased groan. It feels neverending, the push and pull, Rook's hand on his face now becoming Rook's hand on his jaw, squeezing so he can drag Lucanis even closer, basically forcing him to fall forward, every inch of their chests glued together as they both pant, not willing to tear away from each other even as they run out of breath.
The kiss becomes less of a kiss and more of Lucanis and Silas dragging their lips together while they try very hard to stop for a quick gulp of air, swapping spit and pressing hard to lick wherever they can reach, behind each other's teeth, over each other's tongue, swallowing every gasp. It's lazy, and still desperate in a way that forces Lucanis to realize how badly he's wanted this, to be the one to breathe air into Rook, to feel him under his hands and under his mouth like this; soft and pliant. There's a little sound, and in the haze of it all, Lucanis doesn't know if it's him who made it or Silas.
As it turns out, it's Spite.
“Give him. Tongue. Again. He's hungry for it. Loves it. Loves you.” For lack of a better word, it all sounds spiteful. Lucanis has never heard him sound so annoyed in Silas' presence.
“I think Spite’s jealous. He wants you.” He whispers, his lips still stuck to Rook's, so that every word he says is stopped by a lingering kiss.
Silas' tongue darts out to wet his lips absentmindedly, but he only manages to drag it across Lucanis' mouth instead. It's disgusting. It's everything Lucanis wants.
He truly can't stop himself when he pushes forward again to kiss him, deep, as deep as he can get, the hand that used to cradle his thigh now sliding up to his waist and the one straying in the back of his neck now displayed like a nice collar around his throat, thumb pressing hard on his pulse. When they need air again, Silas chokes out, “Would you be fine with that?”
Lucanis, who had all but forgotten about Spite, proceeds to whimper. Out loud. He'd be embarrassed if he couldn't feel the way Silas' heartbeat goes absolutely crazy, the way he presses hard against his hand and bares as much as he can of his throat.
Maker, he's so fucking cute. Lucanis backs away a little, staying strong even when Rook whines under him. He can barely focus like this, let alone with their drool mixing as they speak. Lucanis really should definitely not find that as arousing as he does.
“I don't want him to hurt you, corazón.”
“I would. NEVER!”
“Come on, Spite would never. He likes me more than you.” Silas drawls with a little eye roll that stops as soon as Lucanis bends down again to place a chaste kiss on his lips before he murmurs a little ‘do your worst’ that leaves Rook kind of confused, until he sees the purple glow in his eyes. Spite. Lucanis was talking to Spite.
He barely gets time to enjoy the pure adrenaline that threatens to crush him before Spite's mouth is onto his.
“Rook. Rook!” Spite is insistent, calling for him in such earnest it honestly makes Silas kind of sad. Spite, whatever he truly is in his core, was as much of a consensual party as Lucanis was when it came to the twisted act that tied them together. Silas has always felt like their companions —Lucanis included, but he gets a pass because he was included in the traumatizing event— don't show enough empathy for him.
All thoughts of everyone else go straight out the window when Spite moves from his mouth to his jaw and neck. He bites down hard, and even though Rook would love to say that he moans so that Lucanis knows that he doesn't have to intervene, that would be a lie. He moans because he's an absolute whore, and those sharp, sharp teeth feel good. The demon continues his ministrations to Silas' neck, holding him in place with strong hands as he writhes and makes some truly pathetic sounds.
Spite soothes over the bites with his tongue, murmuring soft, soft words to him. “Vhenan. Vhenan. Corazón. Ours.” He says it over and over again, in-between the biting and the kissing, and Rook feels himself melting the longer it goes on, like he's made out of lava. “Smells like… lavender. Wet wood. And Lucanis. Lucanis.” Spite groans out loud, his nose dragging across his throat before Silas dives down to kiss him again.
Spite, as per usual, takes what he wants without meddling. In a blink, he's pushed Rook onto his back, gently cradling his head so that he doesn't hit the floor when he falls, but then the sweetness is gone, and there's only Spite, on top of him, ripping slightly at the hem of his shirt with one of his shiny claw-like nails so he can bite down on the now exposed skin of his shoulder. Silas cries out, and Spite pushes himself up to kiss his cheek, where the tears have left their mark, then lick the spot. Rook can't contain the shiver that runs through him, the electricity that forces a moan out of him.
“Salty. Beautiful. We want. Anything you want.”
Spite kisses him again, and yet Rook knows exactly when Lucanis is back. He bites down on his lip and licks the small droplet of blood that comes out away, calling out, “Rook.” with that deep, rumbling voice of his that reverberates inside Silas like a wave of heat. He hums back in lieu of an answer, and Lucanis' hand comes up to hold Rook's jaw in place as he pulls away to inspect Spite's hard work, sitting back on Silas’ lap to properly check over his torn shirt.
“He made a mess of you, huh?” Lucanis remarks with a possessive chuckle, using his free hand to trace the blossoming hickeys and hard bite marks. He presses his fingers harshly against the tender skin, and relishes in the way Rook hisses a bit. He leans in to kiss him again, sickly sweet, and chuckles when the elf arches his back, trying, as always, to get closer to the edge. “Good.”