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tenderness

Summary:

Lucanis and Rook (and Spite) spend some time together after a fight. It's sweet and tender. No more, no less.

Notes:

Disclaimer: I'm not fluent in English, so there might be some mistakes or some phrases that sound strange.

Work Text:

Rook sighed softly. The bittersweet aroma of fresh coffee enveloped him, soothing his senses. The tension in his shoulders slowly ebbed away. With a faint smile, he watched Lucanis’ practiced movements as he poured the steaming liquid into two cups. His sleeves were rolled up, and the warm glow of the fireplace cast a faint orange hue across his skin. Rook blinked sluggishly.

It had been two weeks since Lucanis was named First Talon. Together, they had purged the streets of Treviso of the remaining Venatori scum. The fight earlier that day had taken its toll. Rook felt every bruise; his muscles ached painfully with even the smallest motion. But when Lucanis turned to him with a gentle smile, the pain seemed insignificant. A warmth wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. He felt the way he had on the day Viago officially welcomed him into the House of Riva. He felt at home.

Lucanis placed the cups on the table and stepped closer to Rook. With deliberate care, he lifted Rook’s chin to inspect the bruises and cuts that marred his face. A disapproving sound escaped his lips.

“Perhaps I should ask Emmrich if he could resurrect those bastards,” he muttered.

Rook chuckled. “Haven’t you had enough?”

“I have,” Lucanis admitted, a growl lacing his voice, “but I wouldn’t mind making them pay for every one of your injuries.” A faint pink shimmered in his eyes—Spite, it seemed, had an opinion on the matter as well.

Rook raised his arm and tugged Lucanis closer by the collar. “A tempting idea,” he murmured before capturing Lucanis’ lips in a kiss. Lucanis sighed in contentment, leaning into him as one hand braced against the wall and his knees sank into the sofa. Rook let himself drown in the tenderness of Lucanis’ touch. One moment stretched into another, and then another. It was Lucanis who pulled back, his movements gentle. Everything about him radiated warmth—his gaze, his smile, his hands as they combed softly through Rook’s hair.

"I love your hair," Lucanis whispered, letting a dark strand slip between his fingers. "My hair loves you too," Rook murmured with a languid smile.

Lucanis settled beside him, reaching for one of the decorative cushions. He placed it on his lap and patted it lightly. “Come here, my love.”

Rook didn’t need to be told twice. With a quiet groan, he lay down, resting his head on Lucanis’ lap. Lucanis’ fingers stroked through his hair while his other hand rested on Rook’s chest.

“Mine,” Spite hissed contentedly.

Instead of replying, Rook brought Lucanis’ hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss against it. Keeping his eyes open became an impossible task; his body and mind grew lighter with every passing second. He could finally relax. Lucanis and Spite would watch over him. He was exactly where he belonged.