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When Lucanis wakes nowadays, after giving Spite (relatively) (supervised) free reign, most times it's an immediate thing - a switch being flipped, a page turned over to expose the writing on the other side. Even if they don't have to wake every day to put their lives in danger, there are no slow, lazy mornings anymore. Occasionally, there's the sharp, fizzy-pop sensation of his consciousness mixing with Spite's for a few moments, like an acrid, floral soap of some kind, but he's even come to enjoy those too.
This is not one of those mornings. He's aware of movement, first; movement and heat, and skin, soft and warm, caught between his hands. Familiar sensations, he realizes distantly. He's usually involved in the getting-there portion, nowadays, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He's aware that someone's speaking. A beat or two later, he realizes it's his own voice- or rather, Spite's voice in his mouth, filth spilling from his lips with the ease of an Andrastian reciting the Chant. “You're close. Yes, perfect. Ours- come for us. For me.” His - Spite's? - hand moves somewhere hot and wet and his fingers respond on instinct, finding the slick, hard nub and rubbing a tight circle into it. There's a surprised little shriek above him, then -
Then pleasure hits him like a charging druffalo, and his eyes snap open with a sharp groan just in time to see - feel - Rook shake apart above him and around him, head thrown back and mouth open on a cry. In the candlelight, her hair unbraided and falling like an inkspill around her shoulders, brows drawn together, chasing her climax with each desperate little rock of her hips… She's lovelier than any Trevisan sunset he's ever seen.
But it's not his name that escapes her.
“Spite,” Rook moans, one hand leaving the headboard to bury in his hair and pull him into a kiss as her head tilts back forward.
Somewhere behind his temples, Spite cackles. I did it! Not you! She likes! Me! he gloats.
Now. Okay. It's not like they haven't discussed the fact that Spite is, essentially, a constant audience to everything they do, in public or private. After some gentle cajoling from Rook, he's generally behaved himself in the bedroom; keeping his comments quiet, his presence unobtrusive as he's capable of.
But then… there have been a few times, more recently. Curious at first, peering through Lucanis’ eyes at Rook on her knees. Snapping demands at him when she's spread out in front of him, flushed and arching. Touch! There! Want to. Feel!
He'd warned her at first, about Spite's growing interest. Rook had laughed, pressed a kiss to his forehead, said, “Cute. Let me know if he wants any hands-on experience,” and climbed out of bed to start their day. All he'd been able to do was run both hands down his face and very firmly tell the blossoming arousal no.
That night, Spite had been closer to the surface than ever, his presence a thick cloak around Lucanis’ shoulders as he pressed kisses into her neck and shoulders. At one point, he’d given into the urge to bite, something sparking between them as his teeth caught the skin of her earlobe for a moment. And she'd moaned, loud enough for them both to take a momentary pause.
Now, his own climax is still a hot, tense coil in his stomach, but he takes a moment to kiss her through the tiny, electrified twitches of her hips. “Rook,” he breathes as they part. “Amor. Mi vida.”
Rook finally opens her eyes and laughs a little, breathlessly, the vice grip on his hair gentling so she can card her fingers through it. “There you are,” she says. “Good morning.” She punctuates it with a sudden, grinding roll of her hips, and he groans out loud, head falling back.
“A very good morning, I see,” he murmurs, lifting his head back up a heartbeat later to drink her in. Glistening faintly with sweat, cheeks still flushed with exertion. Her neck and chest are dotted with purple and red bite marks, and he throbs with the sense-memory of his mouth on her skin - and the urge to put more there. “Were you two enjoying yourselves?”
He doesn't wait for a response, instead using her surprise to leverage them up and over, and pin her to the mattress. Her answering laugh, surprised and delighted, is like music. “Thought you might be a little more… I don't know. Possessive-” He cuts her off as he slides home again, filling her back up with ease. “Ah! Lucanis-”
“Should I be?” he murmurs, and sets his teeth to one of the marks Spite's left behind. Rook exhales, shaky in the way of the overwhelmed, arms rising to wind around his shoulders. “If it doesn't bother you… ”
She smacks his arm lightly in admonishment. “Of course it doesn't,” she manages, tilting her head back to offer him better access. “He's part of you. That could- ah, Maker- never bother me.”
Spite preens, a triumphant glow filling Lucanis from head to toe. Likes me! She! Likes me!
Lucanis hums, ignoring the demon in favor of kissing his way back up to Rook’s mouth. He grinds into her, and takes a moment to enjoy the way she gasps and squirms. His arousal, now that he's awake enough to truly enjoy it, is a pot simmering on the back burner, hot and alive but an afterthought to more important things.
Things like the tightened, raised skin of her nipple against the pad of his thumb, and the breathy sigh she feeds into his mouth when he scrapes over it with a nail.
Things like the ache in his jaw, to which Spite supplies him with the memory of Rook’s fingers in his hair, holding his mouth to the damp, clenching heat between her thighs, catching her clit between his teeth as she came on his fingers.
Things like, as he sits back on his heels and hikes her hips into his lap, the way she opens her eyes and looks at him - heavy-lidded and warm, but still with the sweet, knowing curl of her lips.
She reaches for him, and he intercepts her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingers.
“Mi vida,” he murmurs again against her knuckles. “How many times?”
Rook blinks at him, caught off guard.
“How many… what?”
He guides her hand back over his shoulder and grasps her hip, the only warning she gets before he drives into her again. “How many times,” he repeats over the cry that escapes her, “did he make you come?”
She bites her lip, eyes fluttering shut. Lucanis isn’t sure if it’s because of him, bullying that soft, sensitive spot inside her in a way that has to border on pain now, or if it’s the question itself. “Twice,” she finally answers, almost shy about it. “I had to show him how the first time. He’s a good student, though.” She glances up at him, mock-demure, but he sees the coy little smile she’s trying - and failing - to hold back. Trying to rile him up, then; both of them. He wants to taste it; Spite wants to bite the full curve of her lip.
There’s no reason to resist the urge, so he leans down again, kissing that smile away. It’s slow, sweet with promise, refusing to let Spite goad him into something darker. We’ll get to that, he tells the demon, and Spite seems to accept this, settling back into the audience. He moves properly, then, relishing in the shocked, punched-out little noises she makes. “I suppose I have some catching up to do, then,” he murmurs into the space between them. Rook just chokes something that resembles his name. Her thighs shake where they’re pressed against his waist, ankle hooking behind his back.
“Lucanis- fuck,” she pants. She grasps uselessly at the sheets with the hand he’s not still holding onto, burying her fingers in the fabric as her head slams back with his next thrust. “Lucanis, wait, I can’t-”
He shushes her, running a hand down her side. “You can, amor. I know you can,” he soothes, enjoying the way her eyes roll back each time he pushes into her. “You two are not allowed to have all the fun, mm?”
She laughs, breathy and desperate. “I guess not,” Rook agrees.
She meets his next thrust halfway, and from there it’s a hopeless tangle of limbs, shared breath, and the hot slide of slick skin, pink with exertion. He lets go of her hand to draw one leg higher, then the other, to fold her back nearly in half. That next thrust drags a yelp from her that melts into a moan, so he does it again, and again.
Spite is a heavy presence again at his back, stirring back to the surface the closer he gets. Smells like. Salt, and flowers, he snarls. Touch her there. Again!
He shakes his head like there’s water in his ears, and when he opens his eyes, the bed is bathed in purple light, Spite’s wings curled down around the two of them. He worries, but only for a moment, because Rook’s eyes - bright and hazy, but still warm and golden - flicker open and settle on him, and she smiles like sunlight. Like she’s never felt more safe, cradled in his embrace and that of their demon.
His peak takes him by surprise, the coil in his stomach snapping without warning; he barely has a moment to manage half her name before his movements lose their rhythm and he buries himself deep inside her. She catches him as he curls inward on himself, forehead pressed to her collarbone as the wave of pleasure crackles through his core and out to his extremities. Distantly, he feels her clench around him in turn, falling into her third orgasm. “Rook,” he chokes, fist tightening in the pillow.
The room is silent for a few minutes, save for the crackling of the hearth and their combined heavy breathing. Once he’s more confident in his ability to move his limbs, Lucanis sits back a little, pressing a kiss to Rook’s ankle before he releases it gently. She winces a little as he lowers one, then the other, back to the mattress, but pulls him down closer anyway.
She kisses him, long and sweet, and presses another to his forehead when they part.
Then she giggles, shoulders shaking against his. He lifts his head, arching a brow at her in question. “Maker, I hope nobody came looking for us,” she says. “We’re going to have to apologize to your housekeepers. And maybe Caterina, just by proxy.”
Lucanis groans, rolls off her onto his back, and tells her, “If you mention my grandmother while we are in bed again, I will walk out of this room.”
This does approximately nothing to stop her laughter, only muffles it as she buries her face in her hands. He watches her for a few moments, chest so full of fond warmth it feels like it’s ready to explode. Spite has settled for the moment as well, but his interest piques as Lucanis moves again.
Rook removes her hands from her face just in time to see him settle between her knees, level with her stomach. “What are you- oh!”
He grins at her, and Spite chooses that moment to cradle them both in his wings again, caging them off from the rest of the world and whatever the day holds. “Like I said,” he murmurs, and lowers his mouth to her cunt again. “I have some catching up to do.”