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They were in the Dellamorte kitchens, and her wedding dress was getting in his way. Rook leaned against the edge of the table, dark hair streaming, her lips red and swollen. His ring winked at him in the dying firelight.
“There are too many skirts,” he said, lifting up another in his endless quest. Satin surrounded him.
“That’s your fault,” Rook said, tilting her head back and laughing. Her jewelry caught the light, drawing his attention to her neck, to the gold dripping down her chest. “You told me to let Teia pick the dress.”
“This is impossible,” he muttered, bringing his attention back to the issue at hand. Impatience won out. He started ripping. Fabric tore easily in his hands, exposing her thighs. The sight paused him for a moment, desire choking him so suddenly that he couldn’t breathe.
“Lucanis,” she scolded, but she simultaneously sounded delighted - when he looked at her, her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. He knew it was not from the wine.
“Someone probably died trying to get out of this dress,” Lucanis said, scowling, moving his hands to find their prize - her legs. Goosebumps rippled across her skin. His hands came to rest at her hips, reverent in their touch. “I’ll pay for another, if it matters that much.”
He would pay any amount of gold for this. He would pay for another dress, another wedding, he would pay for anything-
“No,” she said, “well, maybe - yes.” Her breath hitched. “It is a nice dress.”
He’d never thought he would have this; it was almost too much. Rook was in his arms - pliant, warm, and beautiful - and his, forever. The rest of their lives stretched out before him; she was at his side for it all. Love - aching, stupid, all-consuming love - overtook him.
His lips came crashing down on hers. Her fingers fumbled at his waist, pulling at strings, as her mouth parted. His hunger was overwhelming, a dark tide pulling him down. He followed the feeling, pushing aside her attempts, and lifting her onto the table. Her hands scrambled for purchase behind her; in doing so, knocking off a plate with bread and butter to the floor. It shattered upon impact.
She didn’t seem to notice.
“Lucanis,” she said, voice cracking slightly. He interrupted her, stealing another kiss. She smiled against his mouth. “Lucanis, the-” Her head turned to the side, denying him. “The party!”
The party was what had started this: their fate had been determined back in the main hall, when she’d given him a look that had made his knees weak, her finger toying around the edge of her wine glass. Everything else had happened in quick succession - leaving the table, barely making it to the hallway before they'd been so inexplicably drawn together, kissing her until he couldn't stand it anymore, falling into the first room they'd found - the kitchen. There may have even been servants when they'd burst in - neither one would have noticed.
He made his way down to the nape of her neck. The rest of the wedding could wait for them - the dancing, the drinking, the dessert. He had something else sweet in mind, and said as much.
That drew a sharp intake of breath from her. He dropped to a kneel, his head between her legs. She let out a “Lucanis!” that felt like a shot to the groin. The way she said his name - it buried itself deep, churning up his insides. It was all consuming; he was sure he could die from it.
It would be a good death.
Lucanis did not respond to her cries. His mouth was busy elsewhere. Eventually, Rook could not manage another word, only the occasional unintelligible moan. He wanted to make her come undone - no, not want. Needed. Would die to. It might be his only purpose in life. He had to stop himself from digging his fingers into her skin hard enough to bruise - that was for another time, they will have more time-
Her legs were looking for purchase - he grabbed them and firmly placed them on his shoulders. Her hands found his hair and she started to whine, no , it was begging, she was begging for him - closer, closer, more - and he obliged all too willingly. Whatever she asked of him would be hers. He promised her that in his vows. There was no Lucanis without Rook. There was no Rook without Lucanis.
He redoubled his efforts, ignoring the ache in his jaw, the fingers pulling at his hair. Rook writhed; he pressed a hand down on her stomach, staying her; she bucked her hips in response. Always stubborn.
She came with a start, her thighs clenching around his head, his name wrenched from her lips. He drank up the taste of her, his greed nearly drowning him. It took a minute before Rook sat up, her fingers unwinding from his hair. It had almost hurt him to pull away - being away from her skin felt like starvation, like dying of thirst.
When he looked up, Rook was sitting up and staring at him, pupils blown open. Sweat beaded on her skin. She was panting; it wasn’t from the dying fire. Lucanis wanted nothing more than to undo her like that, in a million different ways, but she had been right - there was still a party.
Maintaining eye contact, he wiped his mouth on her dress. Rook huffed at that, but her eyes belied a different sort of impatience. She watched, incredulous, as he pulled the ripped fabric back down, then her upper skirt. She showed no indication of what they’d done, except for the deep flush across Rook's cheeks, her chest.
Rook, whom he could still taste on his lips. He needed a moment to compose himself, and he stayed kneeling, head in her lap. Her fingers brushed against his beard, then trailed to cup his cheek. This act was second-nature for them. He glanced up at her.
“Fuck,” she said, very softly.
“We should probably get back,” he said. “We do have guests, you know.”
Rook’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking.”
“I would not joke about our wedding, Rook." He stood up, brushing off his wedding coat, ignoring how much he wanted to rip off her dress. "Something else on your mind?”
Rook stood too, and shoved an accusing finger into his chest. “You’re teasing me,” she said. “And on our wedding night, nonetheless.”
“We have plenty of time for that,” he said, emphasizing the last word with a quick, selfish nip against her throat, “later. Now, we have to go back to the party.”
Rook swayed on her feet for a moment, her finger dropping slowly. She faltered, swallowing twice, before saying, “You’re cruel and unjust.”
“People will be wondering where we went.”
“Everyone else,” Rook grit out, “can kick rocks.”
That drew out a laugh from him. He wanted nothing more than to continue, but good manners insisted otherwise. Friends awaited them. Family. “You are too beautiful to share with them," he said, running a hand through her hair, "but tonight, I must.”
Lucanis was thrilled at the blush that evoked. She looked away, smiling, then dragged her gaze back. She looked at his neck pointedly. “You're covered in my lipstick,” she said, licking her thumb and rubbing it against his skin. Her hand was shaking slightly; he hid a smile. “Wait.”
As tempting as it was to tell her to stop - to leave the red, to let everyone know why they’d been gone so long, what they were doing - he didn't. He tilted his chin up and waited as she slowly cleaned his neck, his chest, his face. He concentrated on watching her, admiring her, thinking about her vows, about the noises he’d elicited from her - about everything. Their wedding had been too quick. He wanted to marry her again, tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that-
“You're all clean,” she teased, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough for his grip on his desire to slip. Lucanis had to stop himself from pushing her back up onto the table. He breathed in and out, as calmly as he could, getting himself back under control, and waited for her to lead the way. She stepped past him slowly, grabbing his hand.
Lucanis allowed himself to be led from the kitchen, looking back at the table with fondness. But he was right - there would be time later, when the guests were gone, when the dawn was soon to break, when they could stumble back to their bed and finish what they'd started.