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Neve’s hand hovered over the handle like a spell held on hesitant lips. Opening it meant facing it. The reason her feet had taken her to the door of Rook’s quarters. Meant looking at a body bruised and mangled. And pretending that the wounds on Rook’s skin didn’t have their echoes in her heart. Some part of her wondered what was different, this time—the other knew. And these two parts of her agreed that this question was better left without an answer. Or at least, that’s what Neve willed into her mind like the scorching brand of a farmer to his cattle.
Still, there she was.
She closed her eyes and breathed in. Walking away was an option.
But turning away from Trouble, when she needed her? It wasn’t.
Neve Gallus opened the door.
The lights of the aquarium danced over features that lit up with a smile that made Neve’s step uneven as she rounded the chaise longue Rook called a bed. If Rook was in any pain, after chugging enough potions to make one’s stomach lurch and enough healing spells to make a templar a mage, she didn’t show it. She waved with a hand bound with a sling, decorated by drawings. One of her nails went missing, some of the others only half complete, jagged and torn. Her leg was wrapped with a stick and against the couch, a cane rested.
Neve’s eyes lingered on the cane. It had no padding. It was a poor piece of work. She figured that it was all they had on hand, better than nothing. The wood would bite and chafe against Rook’s armpit, when she’d be cleared to move around. And it wouldn’t last long, not with the poor quality of the wood. She didn’t even have to touch it to know that it’d break at the worst time and Rook would be sent to the ground. She knew canes like these too well.
“You need a new cane.” Neve started, her eyes still on the offensive crutch. “I know a guy.”
“You always do.” Rook said, sitting up with a wince and leading Neve’s eyes back to her. The more Neve saw, the worse she felt. One sleeve of the shirt hung loosely, revealing a bicep covered in bandages that were too loose with stains of blood that seeped through the gauze. “I’ve looked better, haven’t I?”
Rook’s laugh sounded hollow and hurt Neve’s ears. She knew that laugh. It was usually preceded by a self-deprecating comment that made Neve’s brow furrow. “You look—”
“Please, Neve. I need at least one person to give it to me straight here,” Rook managed to sit up, not setting her injured foot on the ground but instead letting it over. Neve made a note to find a small stool for her to set her feet on during her recovery. “If that’s possible for any of us.”
Neve let the joke fall in silence between them. Managing a small chuckle would be too much. All she can do, is take it in. Take in the bruised state of Trouble. An eye that has blood tainting the white. A gash on a lip held together by stitches. It must hurt Rook, to smile. And Rook smiles a lot. She smirks. She grins. It makes Neve’s heart skip a beat—and now, it’ll hurt for a while. And the worst is?
One second longer and she would never have seen that smile again.
Neve felt her eyes begin to water so she turned to face the fish, who would find no offense at the element. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to will the thought away. But it worms its way through leaving in its wake twisted images of lips turned blue, never to twist into a smile again.
“Hey. Stay with me, Neve.” Rook leaned forward, her free arm wrapping itself around her thigh and pulling her back. Neve turned around with a sneer and Rook leaned back with a chuckle that sent her hand seeking her cracked ribs. “Damn, I’m already in a rough shape, I’ll have to call for the right to raincheck if you want to fight me.”
Neve shook her head, in full disbelief. “That’s my problem, Rook. You’re in a rough shape—I’m not the one who needs comforting.”
“Then explain to me why you look like a despair demon crawled up your shapely arse and died there?”
Rook’s eloquence knew the same bounds of her recklessness—Neve knew that her strands of gray hair would have siblings if Rook kept this up. “I’ll take the compliment about my arse and not say anything about the rest, thank you. And keep your foot off the ground.”
“Sure, sure.” Rook said, not moving an inch. Neve looked her over. She had only intended to stop by, hoping that Rook would be asleep, to fill up her carafe of water and make sure that she was still breathing. But Rook was awake and feisty. At least, that was a good sign. And Neve took all she could get.
“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” Neve said, ending the debate between the two parts of herself, her hand pushing Rook back against the couch and sitting next to Rook. She thought it over—if she were to light the veilfire lamps of Rook’s chamber, she’d have to see it all. And she knew that the images would dance behind her eyelids for nights to come. But on the other hand, if she didn’t look…
She snapped her fingers, her magic lighting the lamps bright enough for them both to close their eyes for a second to adjust. “Don’t move. And don’t talk.”
“The former is hard, the latter is impossible.” Rook wasn’t wrong. Silence and Rook were not words usually found together, save for being bound by the word ‘broken’. She had her moments, of course, of quiet contemplation. But those were rare and oftentimes were the prelude to a storm of actions or a deluge of emotions that Rook would hide behind a smile—it’d be crooked for a while, now. “You’re the one wincing, are you sure you want to take a look? It’s pretty nasty.”
Neve scoffed. “Please. I’m insulted you’d think a bit of blood and pus would throw me off my rhythm.” She peeled off the bandage, taking out the packing of the wound and looking into the tissues as she sanitized the area. “You’re lucky I know my way around a bandage, these weren’t nearly tight enough.”
“They were good, Bellara knows her stuff. I just pulled on them.”
Neve sighed. “Why, pray tell, would you pull on your bandages?” She asked, trying to keep her cool.
Rook looked away and remained silent. Neve followed those pretty eyes to the bathtub, sitting in the corner with clean towels. Next to it, there was a lone sock that belonged on the splint-bound leg. Bars of soap found themselves underneath the belly of the tub. “Couldn’t make it?” Neve asked, her tone soft.
A single nod.
She knew how that felt. How that had felt. She was a detective. Without even thinking about it, her mind reconstructed the scene. Rook, struggling with that useless crutch, hobbling and stumbling to the bronze tub. The soap slipping past her reach—perhaps that would be whence the mark on the crutch came. The wood had it coming, Neve thought. For not being good enough and being more of a hindrance than a help and most of all, being the blatant symbol of something that could not be—either for a time, or for forever. Neve knew how that felt, all too well. She’d had to live with it. And as she looked back at Rook, she saw that there was something new for her Trouble to learn, too. Something new to learn to live with.
And the thought was a vexation to her heart and an affront that’d linger in her mind, despite its inevitability. “I won’t ask you if you need help.” Neve’s warning was kindness-wrapped and bound with affection. “I will just say that it is there, if you ask for it. I will take off your bandages. It will take a while. And wait outside the door, while you try again. That too, will take a while.”
Neve would do her the kindness where there had been brutality for her, borne out of good intentions that left something missing in her, something more than a leg, until she could put words on it. Independence.
Rook seemed to sense the words unspoken interwoven in the ones Neve said, mulling it over as the frost mage kneeled down. She was no saint, no believer. But it felt right to hear her prosthetic clank against the floor. It didn’t drag—she was too used to having it to make such boorish mistake. It didn’t drag like Rook’s crutch will, when she’d try to get to the tub and fight the damned thing more than her own body. Something so menial will feel so needlessly humiliating. She busied her mind by undoing the splint, taking more time than necessary.
If Rook heard her gasp when she saw the damage, the torn flesh held together by stitches that danced together alongside the discovered flesh, she didn’t say anything. “The stitches will need to be re-done. I’ll leave them in for tonight, but Emmrich should know better—you’re not a corpse, this will tear your leg apart if you put too much pressure on it. And I know you, Trouble. You will. It’s a matter of time.” Neve spoke, her voice rising without her realizing, until she felt a hand reach for her cheek, forcing her gaze upwards.
Maker, she was beautiful. Bruised, mangled and breathtaking. As Neve gazed up, a hand with torn nails so warm against her cold cheek, she understood religion a little better. For what was she, if not a goddess? Scratch that, rip the page and let the wisps have at it. Goddesses, divinities and martyrs, the whole clique burns bright and fizzles into embers, fuel for thuribles, Neve thought. This was flesh. Torn and ragged. Blood seeping in the white of an eye that looked down at her with such softness her breath halted somewhere between her lungs and her throat.
“It’s not about the bandages.” Rook’s certainty was as solid and tangible as the hand that tangled in Neve’s hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. Neve closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. “I’m here, Neve. I’m alright.”
Neve’s lips curled into a frown, her brow furrowed. Her hand wrapped around the uninjured flesh, at the back of her tibia. “What if you—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here.” Trouble’s thumb came to caress her cheek in gentle circles. Neve clung tighter to her, to that flesh that could’ve been gone so easily.
To all that could’ve been gone in an instant. Coffees, late at night, shared alongside whispers and kisses. The leg could’ve been gone. Neve would’ve gotten her a matching prosthetic, Rook would’ve smiled and jested. She could’ve lost the whole damn leg, and Neve would do the same—hell, the two legs. Her arm could’ve been lost, not wrapped in a sling, but torn away. The other one, too. Perhaps it will, perhaps all of Rook, someday, would be ripped, piece by piece. Lost to an uncaring world. And whose hand, would hold Neve’s face, then, as she looked up?
“You’re here.” The words come out in a breathless whisper and return with more vigor as her hand clung desperately to what could’ve been lost. “You’re here.”
She planted a kiss on Rook’s knee, letting her forehead rest against it for an instant. She rose to her feet, her lower back reminding her that her seating posture at her desk was an infamy. Neve took her time, as promised. She unfurled the bandages on the soft knuckles, kissing the heel of Trouble’s wrist, her eyes darting to meet hers treacherously. “As I said, I’ll be right outside. You need only to ask.” Neve said once she was satisfied with what could suffer a soak.
Rook nodded, her eyes lingering on the damn crutch. It was important to let Trouble have a choice in the matter. To not ask ceaselessly if she needed help with every menial task. To not assume help was needed or wanted. Each step she took towards the door was slow and measured. And came with a silent prayer that Neve Gallus could not voice.
When the door was within reach, Neve’s heart was constricted. The door handle felt more resistant as she pushed down.
“Neve?”
“Yes?” She answered, too quickly and in a breath that was too light.
“I’ll ask for help, if you ask to stay.” Rook said, her hand on the crutch.
A pain for a pain. Something needed and uncomfortable, foreign, for the two of them.
“Trouble, let me stay, please?” Neve knew the answer just as well as she knew why the question mattered. She let her hands brace against the back of the couch, clenching it tightly. “Let me be there for you. I want—I need to.”
Her love tilted her head back, her hair brushing against her hand. Neve let herself indulge. She let her knuckles trail a gentle path on the side of Rook’s exposed neck. Let her heart feel a little fuller as she leaned into the touch. Soft eyes gazing up at hers. “Neve, will you help me?”
Rook knew the answer, too.
But there were things she did not know. She did not know how soft Neve could be. She looked at the crutch like it owed her money, before taking it and striding purposefully, setting it off to the side. “I have a cane.” She said, her teeth gritted as she stared down at the offending piece of wood. “I will go and get it, tonight. And you will take it and use it.” She turned to Rook, then looked at the bathtub.
She closed her eyes and willed the Lighthouse, or the Caretaker—whoever heard such calls, to have water be poured into the bronze tub. She sat on its edge, her hand feeling the water, before her fingers traced a rune alongside its underbelly. Then, her hand came back up. She pressed it to her neck, then her forehead, before nodding to herself.
“You’re sweet.” Rook said as she watched the frost mage kneel down and retrieve the bars of soap.
“Nice of you to notice.” Neve set them by the edge of the tub, before going back to the satchel she’d brought, taking a bundle of herbs from it. She plucked some of the leaves, before making a show of tossing them into water with a flourish. It got a laugh from Rook and Neve turned back with a little shrug of her shoulder accompanied by a lopsided grin.
“You’re also silly.”
“Someone’s awfully perceptive tonight.” Neve said as she looked up and down at Rook. “How do you want to do this?”
“Carry me like one of your Orlesian girls.” Rook draped her hand over her face, sighing dramatically.
Neve huffed, a smile still on her lips as she came closer, one arm hooking under Rook’s knees, the other wrapping around her shoulder. Rook’s arms flew to her neck, a squeak leaving her lips as Neve lifted her up. “I was joking!”
“I wasn’t.” Neve said as she took her to the tub, very gently setting her to sit against it. She’d carried people out of burning buildings, this was nothing.
“Someone’s a little smug.” Rook commented on Neve’s expression. “With good reason.”
“What? I can’t carry my girl? Make her feel like a princess?” Neve had to bite her tongue not to laugh at the look of absolute shock, then the strong blush rising on Rook’s cheeks and neck. This wouldn’t help her smugness. “Come on, lift your arm up for me.”
Rook didn’t even say anything. Didn’t even look at Neve. Just raised her arm.
It was a struggle to keep her smugness to a minimum as she unbuttoned Rook’s shirt, before pulling it over her head, slowly and carefully. She tried to keep her gaze methodical—this was about helping Rook. But the expense of skin that was revealed to her eyes was intoxicating. She tried to chide herself—get a grip, Gallus—but she couldn’t help herself, trailing her index from Rook’s shoulder to her throat, before slowly gliding down her chest. The goosebumps that rose on Rook’s skin had their echoes on Neve’s own. Her finger then made its way down to Rook’s lower stomach, watching as her Trouble tensed under her touch, drawing a smirk from Neve’s lips, then a low chuckle as her finger drifted to Rook’s waist, placing her hand there, over an old scar and eliciting a gasp from the younger woman. Neve savored the feeling of the flesh underneath her palm, her thumb drawing the outline of the fading scar. It was poorly healed, Rook hadn’t taken proper care of it.
Neve would ensure the scars she got from this fight would not have the same fate. And the others that will follow.
She knelt down, her eyes on Rook as she hooked her fingers in the loose-fitting linen pants that had been snacked on by mites. “Ready? Or do you want to do it yourself?”
“I’d never tell a pretty girl not to take off my pants.” Rook said and Neve rolled her eyes fondly, pulling the pants and underwear down Rook’s bottom, before she led her hand to the small of Rook’s back, her leg going underneath Rook’s injured one to help her sit up enough to pull the pants and underwear down to her knees. She closed her eyes, willing her mind to remain focused on the task at hand. But this close, she could smell Rook’s sweat and more.
She licked her lower lip without realizing, pulling the underwear and pants down and carefully removing them, setting Rook’s leg to rest against her kneeling thigh. “There you are.” She breathed out, finally looking up. Rook must’ve sensed her inner battle. She decided to join in.
But not on the side of Neve’s sanity.
She parted her thighs, giving Neve an ample view and were the frost mage not already kneeling on the ground, she would’ve found herself there. All Neve could do was look, first at the ample, strong thighs that flexed under her gaze, then at the apex of Rook’s thighs, where an enchanting sight awaited her. Above, Rook’s eyes glimmered with the promise of mischief and an oath of a word that Neve’s lips could not yet speak but breathed with every heaving of her chest and beat of her heart. “You’re injured.” Neve said, breathless. “We shouldn’t.”
She rose to her feet slowly, still holding Rook’s leg. “You’re no fun.”
“I’d rather not have you fall backwards, hit your head and die on me.” Neve had to bite down a laugh at the look on Trouble’s face—the girl looked devastated. “It’d be a hard one to explain.”
“They do call it ‘the little death’ in Orlais, do they not?” Rook argued but still allowed Neve to help her into the bathtub, the mage wrapping her deceptively strong arm around the small of her back and the other one hooking underneath her legs as she gently lowered her into the warm water.
“They do, but that’s no reason to risk the actual big death, Trouble.” Neve handed her a washing cloth, lining up the soaps by the edge of the tub. She braced her arms on the edge of the tub, watching as Rook washed herself, her head resting on her arms. But, as the leader attempted to reach back, she winced and nearly dropped her sling-bound arm in the water. “Careful, love. Here, may I help?”
“Only because I know you’re dying for a nice view of my back.” Rook wrung out the washcloth before giving it to Neve as the mage knelt down behind her, pushing up her sleeves as high as they could go.
“Any view of your back is a nice one.” Neve said, taking the washcloth, her hand going to Rook’s shoulder, pushing her forward. She worked the soap into Rook’s skin. Soft circles. Her other hand started softly massaging Rook’s shoulder, Trouble’s head tilting down to give her better access. “Scooch a bit, there you go.” Neve cooed, her hand bearing the cloth disappearing into the water and cleaning the small of Rook’s back. Once satisfied, she set it down on the edge of the tub, after wringing it.
“I’m not done, Trouble.” She said as Rook tried to move back. She placed her two hands on either side of Rook’s neck, her thumbs rubbing soft circles on the tense, knotted muscles that wound around each other like a nest of snakes under her Trouble’s skin. “Let me take care of you.”
There was a groan in response and Neve wasn’t sure it was entirely due to the massage. “I’m not at risk of hitting my head here.” Rook said, trying to turn her head to look at Neve, but the frost mage’s grip on her neck tightened. One of Neve’s hands went to the front of Rook’s throat, loosely wrapping itself around it. Her thumb brushed against the skin there, before Rook’s hand took hers, leading it to her face and kissing the pulse point at the heel of Neve’s hand. “I know you’ll catch me.”
“Can’t let that pretty neck break, can I?” The hand that had been massaging Rook’s neck paused to gently caress the skin there. “And I certainly cannot let my pretty girl fall.”
She felt Rook suck in a long breath, the hand on her throat teasing Rook with a soft stroke of her knuckles, before reaching for the washcloth. Neve leaned forward, dipping it into the water and wringing it with one hand, before pressing it against Rook’s chest. Her chin rested against Rook’s shoulder, close enough to hear the words that Trouble muttered. “Too late for that.”
Neve’s lips pressed a feather-light kiss against Rook’s neck, just below her ear. Her voice, a low whisper. A confession. “I’ll catch you if you catch me.” A promise. An oath. The world would not let them keep it—but she spoke the words nonetheless and ignored the nagging, sinking dread that was the funeral shroud clouding her vision from the sight in front of her. Damned be the shroud and away with the cold, cruel world: there was beauty in front of her and under her hands.
She pushed back that veil and let her eyes take in the grace of her lover’s shoulder, goosebumps rising to meet her lips. The elegant curve of Rook’s neck as her kisses continued their venture to her neck, soft gasps escaping chapped, bruised lips. She let a kiss linger at the junction of Rook’s jaw and neck. Let her eyes close for an instant as she took in the smell that now mingled in her sheets and made her morning haze delirious with the idea that Rook slept alongside her. When she re-opened them, she cast her gaze to her hand. She leaned forward, ignoring the slight discomfort of the bronze tub’s edge digging into her ribs, just below her breasts. She wrapped her hand around Rook’s arm, guiding her to rest against her. Neve nuzzled Rook’s forehead with her cheek, resting her head there as she washed her lover’s body.
Neve Gallus took her time. Did not let Rook dictate the speed with which she’ll proceed—this was Neve’s privilege. “Hush, Trouble. Let me take my time.” She’d purr, watching her Rook’s hips rise up, only to be pushed down by Neve’s hand.
She trailed the washcloth down the valley of Rook’s breast. Let it float there, as her hand went to cup the underside of her breast. She traced its soft curve, before her hand closed in around the flesh. Her thumb swiped softly at the erect nipple. “Neve…” Came a warning as Rook arched into her hand. She looked up, her blown pupils making Neve’s breath catch in her throat. “If you don’t touch me—”
“Patience.” She pressed a soothing kiss to Trouble’s furrowed brow. Neve mocked a pout, her playful offense slightly less believable as her index joined her thumb and pinched Rook’s nipple, making her hips jerk and the water slosh as Neve spoke. “You won’t let me enjoy my woman at my own pace?”
Rook swallowed, hard. “Your woman,” The words were like music to Neve’s ears. “needs you.”
Now, it was Neve’s turn to shiver, her hand squeezing Rook’s breast. “I got you, Trouble. Always.” She ignored the protest in her neck at the odd angle and captured Rook’s lips in hers, her hand drifting lower, her palm gliding alongside the soap-covered skin, feeling each bump and groove. Her fingers threaded through coarse hair, and she had to hold back a fond chuckle as Rook’s hips reached up to meet her palm. “Eager, are we?”
“When it comes to you, yes. And speaking of coming…” Rook trailed off, her hand reaching for Neve’s, but the grip the detective had on her arm held her back. Rook whined and Neve found her resolve in tatters. She could never say no to that woman. Neve’s hand took Rook’s closed fist, bringing their intertwined hand to rest against Rook’s chest. She brushed her thumb against the smooth skin, cherishing the gentle squeeze of Rook’s hand against hers. Rook’s head leaned against Neve’s neck, her gaze imploring. But before she could say anything, Neve’s tongue was swiping at her lower lip, swallowing the relieved moan that tried to escape and keeping it for herself as Neve’s hand finally drifted lower.
Greed was something that Neve was used to when it came to Rook. At first, such feelings came in the company of a hint of shame. But in the privacy of Rook’s quarters and in the confidence of her lover’s warm mouth, Neve let that crumb of shame disintegrate and relished in the glory of greed.
The sleeve of her shirt rolled down, but she didn’t mind, even as water sloshed and wet it. Because against her fingers, she could feel Rook. She cupped her sex, letting Rook’s roll into her palm. It was self-indulgent, certainly. But she was allowed this one greed, this avarice of her. This control she had over this woman who canted her hips into Neve’s hand, eager and impatient, moaning into her mouth as Neve’s fingers parted her lips. Her index trailed up, teasing like her tongue as she withdrew from Rook’s mouth. Rook’s lips sought hers, but Neve was just out of reach. “You’re beautiful.” Neve’s reverent whisper was almost lost to the sloshing of the water as her thumb came to rest on Rook’s clit. Her shoulder welcomed Rook’s head when she let it roll back, knowing Neve would catch her. “I got you, Trouble.”
Truth was, Trouble had her wrapped around her finger—though their situations were currently reversed. Neve couldn’t keep her eyes off that face which had become as soothing and familiar as the Minrathous Lullaby. But this tune, though sung in Neve’s apartment often and sometimes hurriedly in back alleys, was theirs. It belonged not to a place, but to them and them alone. And Neve yearned to pluck every note from Rook’s body. She moved in soft circles, her own lips parting in a gasp as she felt Rook tense up underneath her, as those eyes that held enough need and desperation to make her heart pause for an instant. Rook didn’t need to ask—her body did.
And Neve could never say no to that woman.
She circled her clit, softly at first, just enough to get those pretty eyes open. “Look at me, Trouble.” As the words left her lips, Neve wondered which of them was the most desperate. But the answer mattered not, not when the water sloshes as Rook’s hips danced alongside her fingers, not as her stomach tightened. Her lips captured Neve’s in a searing kiss, the hand that held Neve’s to her chest tightening its grip around Neve’s fingers. Neve moaned into the kiss as her hand drifted lower, two fingers slipping into Rook with no resistance. “Aren’t you just delightful?” She breathed out, her thumb coming to rest against Rook’s clit. She needed an instant to capture this memory. Freeze it in time and hold it close to her chest, sear it in her mind. Because she could never let go of this.
Of Rook’s wet heat clenching around her as she moved, of the sweet sounds that escaped her lips and found themselves cradled against Neve’s. She pumped her fingers in time with the sweet pants that Rook breathed into her mouth, their tongues dancing languidly as Neve’s fingers curled. Rook’s hand left hers, reaching to tangle into Neve’s hair, bringing her to Rook’s neck. She licked at first, before sucking the taut skin of her neck, her nostrils flaring against her skin as her fingers started working faster, her thumb circling her clit with more pressure. “Just like that, my darling.” She breathed out, kissing the reddening skin, pressing her head to Rook’s. She felt her start to tighten around her fingers, her hips’ rhythm becoming frantic. Neve felt her own yearn to echo the movement, heat pooling low in her abdomen as Rook’s head turned to look at her.
“Kiss me.”
Neve would never say no to that woman.
Not when her lips parted in a strangled moan in Neve’s hungry mouth, their kiss growing messy as Rook’s grip on her hair tightened, keeping her there, right against her. Neve couldn’t hold back anymore. Her free hand left Rook’s chest, her nails scraping against the skin of her torso. She cursed the buttons on the side of her pants as she undid two of them. She groaned, finding herself soaked. Neve ground the heel of her palm against her clit. She slipped one finger into her cunt, gasping into Rook’s mouth as she bucked into her hand, her leg trembling. They panted into each other’s mouths, Neve’s fingers curling with each thrust, her thumb spelling out her name on Trouble’s clit. Followed by three words that hung between them like a sword about to fall--like a warm blanket—like home. “Let go, let go for me.” Neve’s words were mumbled against Rook’s mouth, her teeth nibbling on her lower lip as her love’s hips bucked, words of adoration spilling out in a charivari of moans, pants and gasps of Neve’s name. Neve slowed her hand, watching that beautiful arched back slowly come down as she worked her through her orgasm with soft whispers. “There you are, my Trouble. Gently, for me.”
She let her forehead rest against Trouble’s, her hand still working between her legs, her hips thrusting lazily as she tried to slowly calm herself down. This wasn’t about her. This was for Trouble. With a barely restrained groan, she withdrew the finger, keeping her wet hand on the side of the tub. “Breathe with me.” Neve ordered, Rook’s chest still heaving from her orgasm. With each exhale, Neve withdrew her fingers a little more. Rook greedily clenched against her. Refusing to let go. When her hand came up, she brought it up to Rook’s face, caressing the dimple whose every appearance made Neve want to kiss her, regardless of the time and place.
“You’re so soft with me.” Rook said, still slightly dazed.
“You deserve it.”
“You make me believe I do.”
“I’ll show you that you do. However long it takes.” Neve spoke as Rook’s attention turned to her hand braced against the tub. Her hand left Neve’s hair, her index and thumb circling Neve’s wrist and bringing her hand to rest against her chest. Neve let the gentle, calming thumping of her heart soothe the past pains and scars. Then, that calm turned back into a storm, reigniting the fire she’d tried to smother as Rook brought her finger to her lips, her tongue darting it out to lick a stripe from her knuckle to the top of her finger.
“Luckily for you, we have time.” Rook said and before Neve could interject, her lips sealed around her fingers, sucking her clean and making Neve squeeze her eyes shut and bite her lower lip.
Neve’s shirt was pretty much soaked. Rook’s movements in the bath had caused water to spill and she’d nearly slipped in a shallow puddle when she rose to her feet. Rook’s laugh was music to her ears, covering the cracking of her lower back and her grunt as she leaned back down.
“Neve, your shirt!”
“Laundry detail is on you tomorrow.” Neve said as she lifted Trouble from the bath, setting her to rest against the bathtub. “Let me dry you up.”
There was something so intimate about the way Rook looked at her as Neve wrapped a towel around her shoulders, another in her hands. She was slow and methodical, mumbling mostly to herself. “Shouldn’t have left you to soak for so long.” She lifted Rook’s arm, even through the towel, Neve’s touch as she trailed the towel down her side, all the way to her knee made her gasp. “I’ll see if Bel can come up with a makeshift shower, pruned skin and stitches don’t do mix well.”
“Nice pillow talk, Gallus.” Rook dryly commented as Neve chuckled, bending down to dry Rook’s injured leg in careful dabs. “Give that talk to all the ladies?”
“Only mine.” Neve said, her soft words balanced by what she said next. “Who keeps getting herself into trouble.”
“If someone’s getting into Trouble, it’s you. Two fingers deep, even.” Rook looked immensely proud of her joke. Neve refrained from slapping her thigh in retaliation. Instead, she finished drying off Rook, ignoring her batting eyelashes.
“And if you want more of that, you’ll keep yourself from getting injured.” Neve said as she set the towel down, bringing the one that had been on Rook’s shoulders to her own, before lifting Rook up again. She was about to deposit her on the couch when Trouble’s arms tightened around her arms, her eyes bearing into Neve’s.
“How am I supposed to avoid getting hurt, when it means I get a pretty girl to carry me around?” Rook all but purred in her arms. Neve shook her head fondly, gently setting Rook down.
“You don’t need to get hurt for that. You can just ask.” Neve said, knowing that she would come to regret these words. Oh, well. Her work kept her in shape and there were worst things in the world than carrying her girl around. The words felt right. Her girl.
Her girl who was currently looking up at her, so beautiful despite her battered state, like Neve was made of pure gold. Neve’s index trailed across Rook’s jaw, tilting her head up. “What’s got you looking at me like that?” She muttered, halfway to herself. “Like what you see?” She thought of her own state. Though she didn’t get injured herself, Rook electing to take others with her, Neve had barely slept since Rook returned. The first two days, Trouble was in and out of consciousness. Were she able to hold her eyes open for longer than a second, she would’ve been greeted by Neve’s scattered notes on the cot next to her and the piling cups of coffee. The circles underneath her eyes had been a permanent fixture on Neve’s features for a while, now. But they’d darkened as the sand piled in an hourglass that Neve longed to turn on its head. Give them more time. Before the tables turned. Still, Rook’s eyes never changed. Her gaze was as perennial as the crashing waves against the docks and just as soothing to Neve.
“I love what I see.” Rook said, simply. As if these words didn’t make Neve’s knees buckle. She hid the tremors by sinking to her knees, her hands gripping Rook’s thighs as she parted them. “I always do.”
The perpetuality of Rook’s devotion, maintained and re-invoked like a binding spell, was too much for Neve. The words were a balm on the wounds the feeling they stemmed from inflicted. She craved the bite as much as she relished in the scar it’d leave. One way or another, come what may, Neve knew that she would be bearing it for as long as she lived.
She sunk her teeth in Rook’s thigh, heated eyes looking up with an appetite that went beyond sexual attraction. Rook’s hand cradled the back of her neck, her touch soothing but fueling the fire all the same. Neve couldn’t wait—time was of the essence and even the strongest of her magic could only halt it for a short while. She kissed the reddened skin, her tongue lavishing it with adoration.
She wouldn’t be the only one with a mark from this. Neve Gallus gave as good as she got. That was her world—however brighter Trouble made it, it was one of its irrefutable, unescapable laws.
Neve’s eyes drifted down to Rook’s cunt. The sight of her glistening lips made her smirk coyly. Were she not so worked up and eager to forget the marring of Rook’s flesh by claiming it for herself, she would’ve taken her time. Some things were to be treasured. Worth taking one’s time. But her hunger burned brighter than Rook’s magic. She licked a long stripe, from Rook’s entrance, to her clitoris, Rook twitched as the tip of her tongue lingered on the sensitive bundle of nerves. The edge of her tongue prodded at it, twisting her initials there. Her name was echoed in a breathy moan that Rook’s lips gasped out, soft as sea breeze.
But it pierced through Neve like lightning. Her mouth wrapped around her clit, sucking greedily, her hand drifting once more to her halfway undone pants. She drove two fingers in herself, the moan she let out against Rook’s skin making her buckle into her face. Rook wanted her. Needed her. And Neve was more than happy to oblige—always. Her hand led Rook’s injured leg to rest against her shoulder, her eyes drifting to Rook once more. The sight of her lover, disheveled, eager and oh, so wanting, broke her to pieces.
Her tongue danced alongside Rook’s clit, one finger prodding at her entrance, withdrawing. She let her thumb and index twirl the thread of arousal that maculated her finger, before diving in with her middle and ring finger. Rook, splayed out for her. She wasn’t sure who needed this more, who was more desperate, who was the lamb and who was the knife and truth was, it mattered not. Her mouth wrapped hungrily around Rook, her fingers slowly entering Rook, savoring each inch and each gasp that escaped. She curled them, once she was as deep as she could get. The way her Trouble clenched against her was nothing short of divine, that leg on her shoulder bringing her closer.
The hand between her legs moved faster as Neve’s tongue lashed against Rook’s clit, her gasps turning into unabashed moans as Rook’s hips started canting into her face. Her two fingers curled up with each thrust, slow, but deep. Neve needed all of her, until there was nothing that the world could take. She spelled out three words against Rook’s clit, the heat in her lower belly scalding as she clenched around her own fingers, parting her own legs and plunging deep into herself. There was no telling whence the squelching sounds came, covered as they were by Rook’s moans, now desperate and breathy as Neve led her where she needed her. To doom, to loss, to completion, to her. Neve’s eyes rolled back as Rook’s fingers clenched impossibly tight around her fingers, almost halting the movement of her wrist as she worked her through her orgasm. She felt wetness drip down her wrist. She took out her fingers hungrily, her tongue leaving Rook’s overstimulated clit to lap up at her release. From her slicked entrance, to her clit, Neve’s tongue refused to let go, refused to let a single drop go to waste.
Above her, Rook’s head was fully thrown back, her free hand to her mouth. The sight revived Neve’s hunger as she keened, her hips buckling into her own hands. It wasn’t enough, she needed it all. The greed that clenched around her heart—what right had they, to ask for more in a world that gave little and took all—it won out against every sense she had. What would not be given, she would rip out and what was given, she would cherish. Her tongue plunged into Rook’s wet heat, her fingers leaving her pants.
She got up on shaky legs, her brown eyes dark and nearly predatory, her hand going to Rook’s shoulder to balance herself. Trouble’s eyes met hers, hazed and dazed meeting ice-capped fire. “I need you.” Neve’s words came out with the desperation of a drowning woman. She took Rook’s face into her hand, where Rook’s release still lingered. She crushed their lips together, her teeth biting at Rook’s lower lip on the opposite side of the gash. She’d make this hers. Wouldn’t let the world take Rook from her. “I need you.” She repeated, her forehead bracing against Rook’s, her eyes wide and breath coming in short gasps, a strand of saliva holding them bound.
“Have me. You know I’m yours.” Trouble’s words were wildfire in Neve’s veins. Her hand trembled as she led her fingers, still soaked with her own arousal, to Rook’s lips.
“You’ll take all I have to give, won’t you?” Neve’s breath was caught in her throat, her voice barely above a whisper. When Rook nodded, her lips parting, Neve let her fingers trail in, gliding across Rook’s eager tongue. She knew Rook would take it, bad moods and late nights, fingers and tongue, heart and soul—she’ll take it all. And Neve was afraid of how willing, eager, even, she was to give it all. Her heart skipped a beat as Rook’s head moved forward. Her fingers hit the back of Rook’s throat, eliciting a strangled moan as she took Neve’s fingers to her knuckle.
It was too much. It wasn’t enough.
Neve withdrew her fingers. They gripped Rook’s naked flesh, leading her to lay on the couch, her other hand undoing the buttons of her pants. She slid them down, cursing a quiet kaffas as the pants caught on her prosthetic. Her practiced ease fought with her desperation, both of them winning out as Neve fumbled with the clasps of her prosthetic leg, Rook’s hand cupping her sex and definitely not making things easier. With a frustrated groan, she managed to get her leg free, pulling down her pants and letting the padding that molded her stump fall to the floor as she removed her pants, before climbing atop Rook, whose hand refused to leave her, an amused grin on her features at Neve’s misfortune.
Before Rook could open that charming mouth of hers to let out a quip, Neve lowered herself down, a hair away from Rook’s mouth. She watched as Rook’s tongue darted out and lifted herself up just enough to watch Rook’s frustration, before she set herself down on Rook’s eager tongue. Neve’s slight annoyance disappeared as Rook’s tongue met her. She ground down with a groan, bracing her forearms on the couch as she slid herself over Rook’s eager tongue. She coursed a hand through her hair, trying to catch her breath, to make herself last longer. But she knew that with all the pent-up frustration in her, she would not be able to resist Trouble much longer. Especially not as an arm hooked around her thigh, bringing her down to fully seat atop Rook’s face.
Neve arched her back, bracing one hand behind herself as she started moving her hips, Rook’s nose nuzzle her clit and her tongue dipping inside her. She used her spare hand to thread through Rook’s hair, before gripping it tightly, a warning, a question unspoken. When Trouble nodded against her, Neve allowed greed to overtake completely. She thrust her hip into Rook’s face, closing her eyes and throwing her head back, the hand holding her up shaking with effort, her thighs burning as she started fucking Rook’s face in earnest. Her gasps and moans sounded muffled to her ears as she felt the knots that had constricted in her lower stomach come lose with each eager swipe of Rook’s tongue, alternating between thrusting into Neve and laying flat, her jaw clenched as she let Neve ride her into oblivion.
She let go with a cry, feeling herself gush and leak into Trouble, stars bursting behind her closed eyes as her hips lost all rhythm, frantically rubbing herself on Rook. Her thighs quaked, her throat bared and mouth open, dissolving into a choir of moans as she slowly came down from her high. Rook lapped at her, her mouth wrapping around her clit before sucking, hard. Neve had to bend forward, her forehead meeting the arm of the couch abruptly as Rook refused to let go of her, her tongue circling her clit, her breath hot against her as she dragged another orgasm out of Neve. She felt tears run down her face at the cruel, delightful overstimulation, only pushing herself away when the pain became more than she could take.
She would’ve tumbled to the ground if Rook’s arm hadn’t wrapped around her waist, helping down to rest on Rook’s side as she desperately tried to catch her breath. Rook held her. Kissed her sweat-covered forehead. Her twitching eyelids. Murmured soft words that Neve’s ringing ears couldn’t parse.
“I think I made your lip worse.” Neve said once she could muster enough brainpower and breath to speak, her hand cradling Rook’s cheek. “And I’ll need to clean it up before you get infected.”
“That’s fine, but I’ll need you to be my personal healer to make up for it.” Rook squeezed her hip, bumping their foreheads together and nuzzling her nose. Neve closed her eyes for a brief instant. She wasn’t sure what she did to deserve Trouble, but she was glad.
“I’m not exactly well-versed in the healing arts, you know.” She said, remembering her mentors chastising her for her lack of patience when it came to healing magics. “I’m better at preventing harm by causing it.”
“Then you’ll have to tag alongside me all the time and as for your skill in healing magic—I’m not well-versed into being a good patient, so I think we’ll work great.”
“Always one for the silver linings. Fine, I’ll suppose I’ll have to watch your back. It’s a pretty one, there are worse fates in life. But now, you need rest—don’t pout, you’re not fit to step a foot out the Lighthouse. And if, for some reason, must, you’ll take me with you.”
“Ah, so commanding.” Rook chuckled, kissing the tip of her nose as she tried to slide onto her side, but winced.
“This,” She pointed at Rook’s ribs. “Is precisely why I need to be. Now, let’s get you cleaned up and dressed up, I won’t lose you to an infection.”
Despite Neve’s claims to being a poor healer, she was competent when it came to it. Rook didn’t ask how it came to be—she knew the answer. A lifetime of rescuing people and pushing gauze into wounds that wouldn’t stop bleeding made one quite adept at healing. She tied up the bandage around the stick that kept Rook’s leg immobilized, after working through the stitches and ensuring that they wouldn’t pull.
“I know you, there’s no point in telling you to not be reckless. So, I’ll just ensure that you don’t hurt yourself whenever a dumb thought crosses your mind.” She’d said as she moved on to Rook’s sling. Her touch was cold. Frost magic seeped through every part of her mana. Most healing magic often felt like the soothing heat of a body’s warmth, but Neve’s was like a soft breeze on a hot summer’s day as it coursed through Rook’s body, soothing inflammation where it could and dulling the pain where it couldn’t.
By the time she was done, Neve had shed away her shirt and covered her shoulders with the discarded towel. It had been soaked and despite the warmth of the Lighthouse, she didn’t fancy catching her death due to recklessness—that was Trouble’s domain. “Are you going to walk around half-naked? Not that I mind, but maybe not outside my quarters. I don’t share well.”
That got a chuckle out of Neve. “I’d rather not terrorize poor Emmrich by walking around in the nude, no. Guess we’ll have to work something out.” She’d said as she clasped her prosthetic on.
Rook thought that never had never looked more beautiful as she put on one of Rook’s old shirts, not caring one bit about the permanent stain mustard had left there, pulling on a skirt that Rook didn’t even know she had there. “Are you going back to your room?” Rook had asked after a moment of silence as Neve pushed the towels around the puddles with her foot.
Neve gave a non-committal hum, before turning around to look at Rook. “I do have a lot of work to get through. Someone’s stunts will have me playing catch up for days.”
“I have space on my coffee table.”
“I’ll need a change of clothes.”
“You look good in mine.”
“I’ll wake you up at odd hours of the night—and the wisps might follow me here.”
“I’ll fall back asleep in your arms. And the wisps are good company.”
Neve chuckled, shaking her head. “You just need to say it, Rook.”
“Stay?”
“Only because you asked.” Neve said with a soft smile, sitting herself by Rook’s side, her fingers threading through Rook’s mussed up hair. “And were so insistent about it.”
“Only because you wanted to.” Rook leaned into her touch, before bringing Neve to lay with her, wrapping her arm around the mage’s waist and pressing her tighter. “And were waiting around for me to ask.”