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Rook stirred in her sleep, hair spilling across the pillow in loose waves. The dim shimmer of Fade-light – that strange phosphorescence with darting shapes like fish behind glass – bathed her room in a faint, eerie glow. It hummed soft and constant, like a memory of lyrium, casting the Lighthouse in perpetual twilight. Hard to tell night from day here, but somehow, Rook had carved out a sleep rhythm that worked for her.
The room was warm. Safe. The Lighthouse seemed to mould itself to her comfort.
The door creaked.
She didn’t wake.
Exhaustion from the battle with the Gloom Howler had crushed her the moment she’d collapsed into bed, stopping only to strip out of her armour. She hadn’t even bothered to pull her hair down from its messy bun.
A shadow slipped into the room. It moved like Lucanis Dellamorte – broad shoulders, confident grace – but there was something off. His eyes glowed faintly, deep purple in the gloom. His steps were hesitant, hunched. Less predator, more… something uncertain. Caged.
Spite knew he shouldn’t be here.
He knew the shape of Rook de Riva called to Lucanis in ways he couldn’t quite understand. The yearning, the restraint, the hunger just beneath the surface – Spite had felt it. Had tasted it through their shared soul. Lucanis longed for her. Touched her only in dreams. Even when their lips had nearly met, he’d pulled away.
Pathetic.
Spite would take what Lucanis wouldn’t. Show him what he was missing.
Even if, technically, the hands doing the touching still belonged to Lucanis.
He crept closer to the bed. Rook lay sprawled on her stomach, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, face turned toward him in sleep. The covers had slipped low across her back. Her tunic had ridden up just enough to expose the gentle curve of her lower spine.
Spite inhaled deeply. She smelled of honey and hellebore. A soft, wild sweetness.
He smiled with Lucanis’s mouth and knelt beside the bed, studying her. Her features were soft in sleep, her lashes fluttering as she dreamed. Shapely. Strong. Beautiful in a way that was more than skin-deep.
Spite reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. His fingers barely grazed her cheek.
She didn’t stir.
Carefully, he peeled the blanket away from her back, letting it slide down to reveal the clean slope of her spine, the dip of her waist, the firm curve of her ass. He swallowed. His – or rather, Lucanis’s – body responded with a low, simmering heat.
He mounted her thighs, straddling her gently, and set his hands to her back.
At first, he just rubbed. Smooth, rhythmic motions over tense muscles, kneading into the tightness between her shoulders. His thumbs pressed deep into the notches beside her spine, finding the little knots that made her twitch and sigh. She moaned softly in her sleep, shifting beneath him.
His fingers worked down her back in long, deliberate strokes, tracing the shape of her. He explored with reverence disguised as routine, digging into the tight curves of muscle near her shoulder blades, then sweeping out to the edges of her ribs, brushing just beneath her sides where she was warmest. She responded even in sleep, breathing deeper, her body loosening under his touch.
He shifted his weight slightly, letting his thighs bracket her hips more firmly. The press of her ass against his groin made him exhale, low and hungry. But he waited.
This was still foreplay. For her. For him. For the part of Lucanis that always held back.
He found a deep knot just above her right hip and rolled his knuckles into it, slow and firm. Rook let out a sound – not quite a moan, but close. A deep, contented sigh. Spite could feel her body melting beneath him, giving itself over, one breath at a time.
“Mm,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep. Her shoulders shifted again, and she exhaled sharply when he found another tense spot near her lower spine.
“Good girl,” Spite whispered, too soft for her waking mind to catch, but he relished saying it.
Her skin was warm beneath his palms. Soft in a way that no memory of Lucanis' ever was. Not the fine Antivan silks, not the plush bedding of the Dellamorte estate, not even the press of Spite’s own sensations in the Fade.
She was better.
His hands crept lower. Slower now. More deliberate.
Fingertips swept along the small of her back, then dragged inward to the dip just above her tailbone. His thumbs pressed down with a little more force, eliciting a satisfying pop from her spine – a stretch released. Rook let out a low, breathy sound that made Spite’s pulse jump.
He lingered there. Kneading small, lazy circles into the flesh at the top of her hips. Her tunic had ridden high enough now that he could see the top swell of her ass, pale and smooth in the Fade-lit dark.
It would be so easy to slip lower. But he held back. Teased himself with restraint.
She was pliant beneath him. Warm. Responsive. Her breathing was different now – shallower, hitching faintly when he grazed too close to something sensitive.
Fingers found the edge of her ass, kneading gently, exploring. A quiet, wet sound met his ears, followed by a new scent – thick, spicy, needy.
Spite made a soft sound in Lucanis’ throat, somewhere between a hum and a growl. She was firmer than he expected. Strong. Yet yielding.
He dipped lower, fingers sliding under the swell of her cheeks. He could feel heat radiating from her, warmth damp and slick between her thighs.
That scent again.
He brushed her wet slit with a single fingertip.
Rook moaned. Her breath caught sharp in her throat. She stirred beneath him, shifting her hips ever so slightly. Then--
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Lucanis…?” she whispered, voice thick with sleep and confusion.
Spite froze, hand still nestled between her thighs.
She blinked up at him slowly. Her eyes were unfocused, but her body betrayed no fear – just dazed arousal and the lazy weight of sleep still draped over her. Her skin was flushed. Her lips parted.
Spite smiled.
“No,” he murmured, voice rougher than usual – more gravel than velvet. “Not him.”
Confusion flickered through her expression. Then understanding. Not shock. Not panic. Just… realization.
Her breathing changed.
Spite moved his hand again, slower now, letting two fingers glide through the slickness between her folds. Rook gasped, her body twitching in response. But she didn’t stop him.
“Would he. Touch you. Like this?” Spite rasped, lowering himself closer to her ear. “So slow. And deep? He thinks about it. Every night. Wakes. Aching. From it. But never does.”
He pressed his fingers against her entrance, just enough for her to feel the pressure. Not entering. Just teasing.
“I can feel it,” he whispered. “What he wants. What you want. The way. You look at him. The way. You shiver.”
His mouth was so close to her now, brushing the shell of her ear. Lucanis’ breath. Spite’s words. Rook shivered beneath him. Her eyes fluttered again. A soft moan slipped from her lips – helpless, high, wanting.
And still, she didn’t tell him to stop.
Spite smirked, slipping his fingers just a little deeper. Her body welcomed him, slick and hot and trembling. He ground his hips lightly against her rear, letting her feel Lucanis’ erection straining through his trousers.
“Tell me. To stop,” he murmured. “I will.”
A beat.
Silence.
Then, Rook exhaled.
“… don’t stop.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. But it was enough.
Spite exhaled slowly through Lucanis’ nose, nostrils flaring like a man savouring fine wine. His fingers pressed deeper, sliding inside her with decadent ease. Her body welcomed him – hot, slick, pulsing gently around his touch. He curled his fingers upward, slow and deliberate, until he found that perfect spot that made her jolt.
Rook gasped beneath him, her hips twitching into his hand.
“That is. Good,” he rasped. “Good. Girl.”
He moved with cruel precision – just two fingers stroking deep, again and again, dragging over the sensitive nerves until she was panting softly, burying her face in the pillow. His other hand smoothed up her spine, slow and steady, grounding her in sensation. She melted under him, completely pliant, her thighs parting further without conscious thought.
“I can. Feel you around me,” he murmured into her ear, his voice a velvet snarl. “So greedy. Lucanis. Would never have guessed. You would be this wet for me.”
He pulled his fingers free with a slick noise and brought them to his mouth, tasting her slowly. His tongue dragged over his knuckles with something close to reverence.
“Mmm,” he breathed. “No wonder. He dreams of you.”
Rook whimpered. She turned her head slightly to look back at him – at Lucanis’ face twisted into something darker, hungrier. And yet, her eyes were glassy with lust. Her lips trembled, parted.
“You want more,” he said, not a question. “Say it.”
“I…” she hesitated, blinking slowly. Then, stronger: “I want more.”
He grinned.
Lucanis’ hands moved to her hips, gripping firmly as he ground against her, letting her feel just how hard he was. The thick ridge of his cock strained beneath the fabric, pressing right into the cleft of her ass. Rook arched her back instinctively, grinding back.
“You feel that?” he growled. “That. Is yours. It has always. Been yours.”
He stood just enough to shove down Lucanis’ trousers, freeing his cock. It slapped hot against the small of her back, thick and flushed and already leaking at the tip. He groaned at the air on his skin, then leaned down, dragging the head through her slick folds, teasing her entrance without entering.
She whimpered again, pushing back. Needy now. Desperate.
“Beg,” Spite hissed. “Beg me. To fuck you.”
She shivered beneath him. The pause was only a second.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please fuck me.”
His cock pressed forward, slowly breaching her. He groaned low and deep in Lucanis’ throat as her tight, wet heat swallowed him inch by inch. She gasped, one hand gripping the bedsheets as she arched back into him.
“Yes,” he snarled. “You are perfect. Tight. Warm.”
He bottomed out with a slow thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Rook let out a strangled moan.
He stayed there for a moment, throbbing inside her, letting her feel every twitch, every pulse. His hands curled tight around her hips, thumbs digging in just enough to leave bruises if Lucanis was lucky.
Then he started to move.
Slowly, at first. Deliberate. He dragged his cock out with agonizing slowness, until only the thick head remained inside, then slammed back in with a sharp snap of his hips.
Rook jolted forward, her moan punched from her chest as the bed gave a faint creak beneath them. Her hands fisted the sheets. Her body shuddered with each thrust.
He set a rhythm – deep, dragging strokes that made her squirm, made her feel every thick inch of him filling her, stretching her. Wet sounds filled the room, obscenely loud with every stroke of his cock sinking back into her heat.
Her cunt clutched at him, greedy and slick.
Spite groaned softly behind clenched teeth, watching the way her ass bounced with each impact, the flush spreading across her back. He reached up and slid a hand along her spine, pressing down gently to curve her deeper – arching her until she was fully presenting, fully open.
Her walls clenched tight as he shifted the angle, hitting her perfectly. Her head dropped with a broken gasp.
“Sp--” she tried, but it melted into a moan.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
His fingers found her again, gliding between her thighs, slick with her arousal. He circled her clit with lazy precision, matching the pace of his thrusts. Her hips bucked at the contact, body desperate now, every muscle taut and trembling.
Her moans came faster. Louder. Less controlled.
She was unravelling beneath him, melting into the bed, her thighs sticky and shaking, her cunt pulsing around him like it was begging to be filled.
He fucked her harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing sharp and shameless in the stillness. Her cries rose with every thrust, every swipe of his fingers, every bruising snap of his hips.
Spite didn’t slow.
He leaned over her, body folding over her back, sweat-slick chest sliding against her spine as he pounded into her, each thrust knocking the breath from her lungs. His weight pressed her deeper into the mattress, pinning her like prey, like he’d caught her.
The hand between her legs never left her clit – his fingers worked her with brutal, perfect rhythm, slick and steady and utterly merciless. Her hips twitched, trying to escape, trying to chase it. She couldn’t choose.
She was helpless beneath him, and it was glorious.
Her cunt gripped him tight, pulsing in time with every thrust. He groaned low and deep, biting down on the junction of her neck and shoulder – not to mark her. Just to taste.
Rook’s voice had dissolved into incoherence – gasps, cries, the occasional broken syllable that might’ve been his name or maybe just prayer. Her legs spread wider on instinct, knees slipping on the sheets, pushing her ass higher to take him deeper.
Spite’s thrusts grew more erratic, more brutal – each one pounding into her like he wanted to fuck the hesitation out of Lucanis forever.
He yanked her hips back to meet every stroke, slamming into her with a wet, obscene sound, thick and fast and filthy.
Her whole body rocked with it. She was soaked – slick dripping down her thighs, his cock glistening every time he pulled out even slightly. The bed creaked under them, loud and rhythmic, echoing her ragged, desperate moans.
Spite’s breath caught. She was clenching around him, sucking him deeper, the sound of her so wet, so open, so eager.
He growled, wordless, and rammed into her hard enough to jolt her up the bed. She cried out, hands clawing at the sheets.
And then--
He grabbed her. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her shoulder, dragging her up and back against his chest so she was on her knees, impaled on him, legs spread wide.
Rook moaned – loud, helpless – as his cock drove into her from below, angle hitting a new, devastating place. Her head lolled back on his shoulder, her body trembling as his free hand slid down her front, cupped her breast, then rolled her nipple between slick fingers.
She was close again – so close she could taste it in the back of her throat. Her moans were coming fast and helpless now, her body jolting with every thrust, every brush of his fingers against her clit.
And then – he pulled out.
Just. Like. That.
She sobbed out a noise of protest, her hips still twitching, cunt fluttering around nothing.
Spite grunted low in Lucanis’ throat and grabbed her by the waist, manhandling her like she weighed nothing. Before she could catch her breath, he flipped her onto her back and shoved her thighs apart. Lucanis’ cock was flushed and slick with her arousal, dripping against the curve of her ass, and Spite didn’t give her a moment to adjust.
He lined up and shoved back in – hard.
Rook cried out, her back arching off the bed. She was wide open to him now, every inch of her laid bare in the Fade-lit dark. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, slick with sweat, nipples stiff and aching.
Spite’s hands weren’t gentle.
He cupped one breast, then the other, rough palms sliding over her skin like he wanted to memorise her. He pinched her nipple between his fingers and rolled it, watching the way her mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. Then he leaned down and took it into his mouth, hot and wet, teeth grazing just enough to make her jerk beneath him.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. The new angle was obscene. He was grinding against her clit with every stroke, his cock so deep she could feel him in her belly.
Her hands scrabbled at his back, fingernails dragging across sweat-damp skin. Her lips moved, trying to say something – his name, maybe – but nothing came out. Just ragged moans and the wet, filthy sound of his cock slamming into her.
Spite watched her fall apart. Watched her twist and cry and beg without words. She was flushed all over, skin glowing under the dim blue shimmer, body trembling as she hovered on the edge again.
He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand, keeping her stretched beneath him, helpless to anything but what he gave her.
She clenched tight. Her breath caught.
Her orgasm slammed into her like a warhammer – her thighs locking around him, her body rippling around his cock, mouth open in a broken cry. She came hard, and he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down.
He fucked her through it.
His hips stuttered.
Spite slammed into her one final time, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural, broken sound – more growl than moan. His cock throbbed inside her, pulse after pulse of thick heat spilling deep into her, so much it leaked from around the seal of her cunt.
He stayed like that.
Pressed over her, hips flush to her ass, chest slick and rising against her back. Their bodies shuddered together, sweat beading and dripping, the air thick with sex.
By the time he stilled, they were soaked with sweat, her thighs sticky with slick and seed, the bed a ruined mess of creased sheets and lingering heat.
They lay there like that – breathing hard. Her eyes fluttered closed. His hand eased from her wrists.
And then--
Lucanis gasped. He blinked. Lifted his head.
“… Rook?”
And then the full, staggering realisation that he was buried inside her… and had just come inside her.
His breath hitched. He froze.
“Rook?” he rasped again, voice wrecked, low and stunned.
She stirred beneath him, lifting her head slightly, turning just enough to glance at him. Her eyes were half-lidded, her expression lazy with afterglow – but when she saw him, her smile softened.
There was no fear. No shame. Only something that looked dangerously close to affection.
Lucanis swallowed, heart hammering. His hands were still on her hips. He could feel her around him. Could still feel the pulsing aftershocks echoing through her body.
His voice broke when he asked:
“That was… Spite?”
Rook nodded slowly.
Silence stretched between them.
Lucanis looked down – looked at where their bodies were still joined, his cock still twitching inside her, her cunt still warm and dripping with their combined slick. A flush climbed his neck. Not from embarrassment. From shock.
Because even as the knowledge hit him like lightning.
It still felt good.
Too good.
He could remember everything. Every moan, every thrust, every tremble in her thighs. He hadn’t been gone. Just… quiet. Watching. Feeling.
And loving every Maker-damned second.
“I felt it,” he said softly, his voice almost a confession. “Everything he did. I felt all of it.”
She didn’t speak. Just reached back, resting her hand over his. Her thumb brushed his knuckles.
Lucanis swallowed again.
“And it was--” He stopped, brow furrowing. “It was…”
She waited.
“… Incredible.”
Her smile turned to a smirk, “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Lucanis exhaled hard, his body slumping slightly against hers.
Then, after a moment:
“Do you want to… do it again?”
And her answer came without hesitation.
“Yes.”