Chapter Text
There is an extra shade, an additional flavour to Lucanis's blank expression as he steps out of Caterina's study with a parting nod, Illario following behind. The tightness between Lucanis's brows is barely noticeable for most, but to Illario, it is a glaringly obvious resigned frown. And the tension in the corner of his lips that keeps them carefully neutral—a miserable pout.
Miserable and resigned—an understandable blend of emotions after the dressing-down by their First Talon.
Oh, the old crone was livid, even though the fury had some time to crust over behind her icy tone.
When Caterina sent for Illario, Lucanis was already standing there, in the middle of the room, head bowed and eyes cast timidly onto the floor. He was there, alone with Caterina, for at least half an hour before Illario.
She declared that such disgrace from her grandson toward her honourable guest would not be tolerated. Trusting Lucanis in delicate matters was out of the question, she stated, and demanded that he, Illario Dellamorte, must remedy the situation and accustom Lucanis to his duties as one of the heirs of the House. Both of them, dismissed.
Illario, if he was being honest with himself, thoroughly enjoyed the rather poor showing of his cousin.
The guest of honour at the sudden and rare banquet in the Villa Dellamorte was Lady Doria Ondesperi from Antiva City. The current head of House Ondesperi, the sole owner of a fleet of some thirty vessels, and a widow. She married her late husband Giuseppe a little over a year ago and lost him not two months later to a storm. After the appropriate one-year mourning period, she was invited to the banquet, which both Lucanis and Illario were required to attend. A specially tailored new outfit was ordered for each of them.
A transparent intent to make one of them a pretty chess piece in the game of Antivan power alliances.
Lady Ondesperi arrived in Treviso with her own luxurious pinnace and made her entrance to the Villa Dellamorte wearing delectably risqué attire. The front of her long black dress, decorated with silver filigree embroidery, was modest, almost plain, befitting a grieving widow. But the plunging back of it was so deep that one less stitch at the bottom would have exposed the base of her spine. Lady Ondesperi was, frankly, breathtaking.
Marriage… wasn't something Illario wished upon himself, but his ego still felt tender after Lady Doria excused herself from their small talk and asked if he knew where Lucanis went.
Of course, Illario followed her, curious.
Lucanis was hiding in the farthest gazebo of the gardens all alone, nursing a glass of wine. He was not easy to spot, this far away from the brighter lighting of the main venue, hidden in the shadows in his dark clothes. But Lady Doria knew what she was looking for. And, judging from her sure stride, she was on a mission.
Lucanis turned to greet her, a polite smile on his face. His eyes were wary: he knew who she was.
Lady Doria cut off whatever courteous nonsense Lucanis started to recite by closing the distance between them and gently tapping her own glass against Lucanis's. She told him to spare her the small talk. She was the kind of woman who knew what she wanted. And she was here to decide for herself whether she wanted what she saw.
Illario would have had a dozen smooth lines to answer such a forward offer, but Lucanis froze like a startled deer. Doria frowned at this stupor, but then an indulgent smile blossomed on her face. She carefully extracted the almost-full glass of wine from Lucanis's fingers and put it away. She then leaned down—she had a good three inches on Lucanis in her elegant shoes—and whispered something in his ear, making his eyes widen. He still hadn't uttered a word, his lips a tight, distressed line.
With an impatient sigh, Doria brought her hand to Lucanis's cheek and then slid it down, fingers sneaking under the chaste high collar of his shirt. Lucanis's left shoulder twitched, the motion exaggerated by the ripples on the silk lining of his cape. A useless garment, existing only to provide an eggshell-coloured backdrop for Lucanis's ridiculously narrow waist.
Doria withdrew her fingers in surprise, and Lucanis immediately took a step back.
He pushed out a clipped, breathless apology and fled, leaving Doria alone in the gazebo, her face quickly twisting into an expression of humiliation and disgust.
A disastrous performance. A spectacular failure for Caterina's favourite grandson—her fabled Mage Killer. A tragedy. Riveting. Delicious.
Of course, Caterina learned about this within minutes. She barely waited for the banquet to be over before all but dragging Lucanis into her study by his scruff. The only reason she refrained was probably that she didn't want to ruin the specially ordered black vest and the fine lilac shirt she commissioned for this occasion.
And now Illario is saddled with the bothersome task of addressing the issue of his cousin's inexperience. He sighs and makes a mental note to cancel his own rendezvous plans.
Lucanis is walking stiffly beside him, gaze fixed straight ahead—ever the dutiful Crow.
"Come on, cousin, relax. It's not so bad!" Illario claps Lucanis on the back as they walk. The touch is light, just a pat, really, but Lucanis's breath hitches, and he angles away from his cousin's hand.
Illario waits until they turn the corner and stops abruptly, tugging Lucanis by the shoulder to face him.
"What?" demands Lucanis sourly, shaking off Illario's fingers.
"Did megera cane you again?" asks Illario in a low voice, eyes scanning his cousin.
"Caterina is our First Talon," Lucanis points out coldly.
Now Illario sees it—Lucanis's cravat is not tucked in quite as perfectly as during the banquet. And the vest does not bear any blow marks.
"She made you take off your shirt!" spits Illario, a familiar anger rising in his chest. This anger was planted when Caterina took them in—the last two living drops of her bloodline—and grew into a thorny, poisonous thicket. There were still nights when the sting of nails raking his shoulders in passion would make his back throb with phantom pain.
"We are both thirty!" hisses Illario. "How often does she still do it?"
"Sometimes," shrugs Lucanis. "It's nothing."
"Right. Nothing," parrots Illario with a scoff and squeezes his shoulders. Lucanis flinches.
He slaps Illario's hands away, but Illario steps closer and runs his palms over his cousin's sides. Lucanis sucks in a breath in pain and shoves Illario away.
"Stop!" he snaps. "I'm fine!"
"Sure you are! And she definitely didn't break the skin, right? And your rib definitely didn't cave in because she used the handle side ?!"
"It's—"
"—nothing, I know. Always such an obedient grandson! " Illario shakes his head. "You do realise we are going to a specialist for your little problem ?"
"What does it have to do with—" starts Lucanis, but Illario cuts him off with a sneer.
"Think! A bruised back is not sexy ! Welts across your arse are not sexy !"
"She doesn't do... that."
"I surely hope she doesn't!" Illario laughs bitterly. "I hope this kind of punishment stopped when you started growing pubic hair."
Lucanis frowns and opens his mouth, but Illario waves him off.
"Just get these injuries fixed, would you? I will see you tomorrow, I have arrangements to do."
When Illario meets him the next evening, Lucanis looks put together and focused and smells lightly of elfroot and citrus-scented soap.
"I see you heeded my advice and visited Lucenzo," notes Illario instead of a greeting. "Was that rib cracked or fractured?" he asks, ducking into a narrow passage to guide them through the streets of Treviso.
"Just a fracture. Not a problem," Lucanis brushes him off. "Where are we going?"
"A pleasure parlour a Crow can trust. Make sure to remember the way, cousin." Illario chuckles at Lucanis's sceptical frown and makes his way through the thin evening crowd of the market.
One bridge across a canal, then left by the boats, an alley, two turns—and they are there.
"Welcome to Sogno di Seta , cousin!" announces Illario and opens the simple door with a flair and an exaggerated bow.
"Idiota," mutters Lucanis and steps in. Illario follows him.
Sogno di Seta is a secretive establishment that thoroughly vets and harshly charges its clientele, which is why only the most expensive Crows can afford to frequent it.
Inside, the parlour is softly lit by multiple lanterns and lamps of various sizes, and the room lacks any kind of central point. Instead, it is arranged into clusters of petal-like private alcoves with delicate low tables and soft-looking cushions lying directly on the floor. A murmur of voices fills the room, but the curves and bends of the carved wooden walls scramble the sound, making it impossible to untangle words spoken in a neighbouring alcove. Unless one has Lucanis's freakish hearing, that is.
Illario leads him to one of the petal-shaped niches and settles on the cushions, watching Lucanis do the same. A bottle of wine is already waiting for them on the table. Illario tilts it until the liquid touches the cork, opens the bottle with a corkscrew, and dabs the wet side of the cork against the back of his palm.
Illario doesn't talk for a few minutes, letting Lucanis stew.
"No poison, it seems!" exclaims Illario, wiping the wine stain from his skin.
"No fast-acting poison," Lucanis points out quickly, almost automatically.
"Oh, don't be so paranoid. This place has never had any of its clients poisoned," dismisses Illario and pours the wine for both of them.
"To your special night!" he teases and lifts his glass in a mocking toast.
Lucanis glares at Illario with his lips pursed and doesn't touch his wine.
"Drink." Illario sips his own wine and pushes Lucanis's glass closer to him with his fingers. "Nothing helps with the nerves better than a pleasant buzz in your head. Well, that and the Mig, of course. But we won't be using that kind of help."
"I'm not—" starts Lucanis, but Illario interrupts him with a laugh.
"Not nervous? Tell that to your tailor, who will have to make you new trousers when you are done clawing through yours."
Lucanis glances at his lap, where his hands were bunching the fabric of his trousers in a vice-like grip, and deliberately relaxes his fingers.
"It's… new to me," he admits but reaches for the wine glass.
"The whole of Antiva is painfully aware by now," Illario cannot resist the jab. The shadow of shame in his cousin's eyes is a welcome, spicy pairing to the wine.
Lucanis scowls and drinks from his glass.
"You will be in good hands here," assures Illario. "Now, choose: a man or a woman?"
"What?" Lucanis looks confused, his eyes trained on Illario's face as if looking for a tell.
"It is your night; you get to choose who you want to spend it with. A man or a woman?"
Lucanis looks away, his face falling back into his default blankness.
"I'm pretty sure Caterina meant a woman," he says, his voice plain.
"Well, she didn't actually specify. And she is not here, so I am asking you to choose." Illario fishes two sovereigns from his pocket. "A man…" he puts one coin heads-up on the table in front of Lucanis. Another one goes right next to it, tails-up. "Or a woman?"
Lucanis stares at the coins as if they contain some kind of cosmic horror.
"Caterina will know," he states, expressionless.
"No, she will not! Both are already paid for. Whichever you choose, I'll have the other. No sense in wasting gold. Caterina will have no way to know who you chose. A Crow never breaks their contract, and in Sogno di Seta , nobody talks about their clients. Some of them are Talons, after all. So?"
"I don't think I have a preference… yet," manages Lucanis. He touches the two coins with his fingers.
"Come on, it cannot be that hard!" goads Illario, tapping the bulb of his glass. A smirk tugs at his lips as he watches Lucanis, the favourite grandson and the example for all Crows, quiver inside at the choice of which bounty to enjoy.
Pathetic. Positively pitiful. Delightful.
"Is it choice itself that scares you so, cousin?" prods Illario. "Would you like me to relieve you of this choice, to make things more familiar ?"
"Don't test my brotherly restraint, Illario," warns Lucanis, a flash of anger lighting up his eyes. "I want a man."
"Oh," Illario nods in appreciation. "A spiteful choice! You do surprise me sometimes, cousin. Now finish your wine—we have a cherry to pop."
Bianca is… good. She is petite and dark-eyed, and she does wonders with her small hands. All those careful, light touches, and her soft voice asking for permission… Illario feels like a fragile gift being unwrapped with patience. It's not at all a bad feeling. She hasn't even touched him below the waist, but he is already fully stiff in his breeches and, in all honesty, even a bit breathless.
Oh, she is good, a perfect match to handle even the most skittish of virgins. Bianca and Tino were recommended as the best at these kinds of jobs, and from what Illario feels so far, worth every sovereign. And those are many sovereigns. Caterina's expense, of course, so Illario splurged. Only the best for his dearest cousin. The real reason, of course, being that he gets to have the unused option…
Bianca's lips ghost over Illario's clavicle while her hands caress his shoulder blades. A shiver runs down his back, and Illario hums in appreciation. His hands are itching to gather Bianca into his lap, but he is willing to play her game.
If Tino is even half as good at this unfurling of shy flowers, Lucanis should be forgetting his last name by now.
A polite knock startles both him and Bianca as she was about to unbuckle his belt.
"What?!" he barks, frustrated.
"My apologies, señor, but you requested to be notified if any problem arises with your companion…" says a voice from behind the door.
"Quel cretino! What did he do?" groans Illario and puts his shirt back on, irritation in his movements.
"Señor wouldn't allow himself to be touched, and Tino feels uncomfortable proceeding without his consent. If a more forceful approach is desired, Marco would be a better choice. Would you like a replacement?"
"No, wait! I will go talk to him."
Illario stands with a sigh and smiles at Bianca in apology.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I am needed elsewhere, it seems."
He follows the owner of the voice, a middle-aged handsome man, to the room where Lucanis is being serviced.
The man positions himself to knock politely, but Illario just rolls his eyes, opens the door, and walks in.
Lucanis is sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands on his lap and his expression vacant. Still fully dressed, save for his missing cravat. Figures.
Tino is also still in his soft-looking trousers and a loose silk shirt. Even as an elf he is a little bit taller than Lucanis but much more slender, with light brown eyes and black curls. Lucanis's cravat is folded neatly at his side.
"What is he doing here?" asks Lucanis evenly. "Is it not bad business to invade a client's privacy like this?"
Before the older man can answer, Illario nods for him to leave.
"I am the client, cousin. You are the mission. Now, what happened here?"
Lucanis's jaw flexes, but he doesn't answer.
"Señor doesn't seem to be willing," offers Tino tentatively. "As per our contract of service—"
"Nonsense. He is willing!" says Illario forcefully.
He walks up to Lucanis and pulls him off the bed and into the far corner.
Illario crowds Lucanis into the wall and leans close to his face.
"What is wrong with you, cousin?" he whispers.
Lucanis looks up at him, his gaze heated and his brows drawn up.
"I don't love him! How am I supposed to do… that with someone I don't even know?"
"Love?!" Illario almost laughs, but the ridiculousness of this statement makes him shake his head instead. "Are you saving yourself for love? Cousin, you should stop reading those stupid serials! They fill your head with trash!"
"Well, I am not you."
"I arranged a very good deal for you, cousin! Better take it now, before some difficult client fucks you whether you want it or not! You know the hazards of our work."
"You don't have to worry about me."
"Ah, I see. Caterina doesn't assign these kinds of clients to you , does she?" says Illario bitterly.
Lucanis huffs and looks away. "I don't want to argue with you here, Illario. It's fine, let's just leave. I'd rather take another caning, honestly."
"You see, it's my ribs she is going to crack this time, because it's my task."
"I will take the blame. I will tell her it was my fault," promises Lucanis, his voice earnest.
"A second beating in three days? That can't be healthy." Illario scoffs. With a sigh, he brings his palms on either side of Lucanis's face.
"Come on, cousin. Let's relax and try this again. Alright?" he coaxes, stroking the back of Lucanis's head with his fingers. Lucanis leans into the touch but catches himself and glares at Illario. The tension still drains out of him somewhat. Illario's occasional harassment is probably the only non-harmful touch the cloistered pathetico gets in his life.
"Fine," he mumbles.
"Great!" cheers Illario, patting his cheek and pushing off. "I have something in mind that may help."
Illario saunters to the bed and sits where Lucanis had been fidgeting a few minutes ago.
"You don't even have to do anything for now," says Illario in the gentlest of his voices. "You enjoy reading those novels, right? Let's see if an outsider's perspective will entice you."
"What?!" Lucanis gapes, scandalised.
"Just to get you started. Relax, you won't even see my cock, I promise." Illario waves his hand and turns to Tino.
"Let's show my companion what you were going to do if he let you."
"Well…" Tino moves close to Illario and regards him for a moment. Then he turns his head towards Lucanis and lets his gaze linger. "First, I was going to tell him that he is beautiful."
Lucanis doesn't react visibly, but his eyes are on the two of them now.
Illario looks the courtesan over, impressed. Tino is catching up quickly.
"This is very sweet, Tino. It must be very precious to hear, I am sure. What would you do next?" he prompts in a low voice.
"Next, I would ask him if I could touch his hair. It is as black as a raven's feather and looks so soft," purrs Tino.
"And what would he answer?" inquires Illario quietly, without looking.
He hears Lucanis's breath catching, and then, a moment later, a barely audible, "...Okay."
Tino smiles, gently removes the hair tie from Illario's hair, and cards his fingers through the strands.
Illario closes his eyes for a second at the sensation.
"Then," continues Tino, "I would very much like to kiss him, if he would let me."
He moves to bridge the gap between them but stops halfway, tilting his head towards Lucanis and glancing at him.
Illario is also waiting, wondering if Lucanis is hooked by this little game.
Another quiet "Okay" confirms that yes, the lamb is following.
Tino leans in and wets Illario's lips with a brief, tentative kiss, only a flicker of tongue. Illario resists the urge to pull the elf in and show off a proper kiss. Do not spook the lamb.
"I then would ask if I could unbutton his shirt." Tino hovers his fingers at the top button.
"Yes," breathes Lucanis from his corner.
Tino slowly works the buttons out. Illario strokes his wrists as his hands descend down to the next button.
"I would ask if I could touch his neck. The high collar of his shirt makes me wonder if the skin underneath is as soft as it looks," murmurs Tino, tugging at Illario's collar.
"N-no," comes the strangled reply.
"That's perfectly fine." Tino doesn't miss a beat. "Can I touch his chest instead?"
"You can," whispers Lucanis.
Tino first traces a circle on Illario's chest, then presses his palm flat against the breastbone. The elf lowers his eyelids briefly, as if concentrating on the contact. Feeling the heartbeat through his palm.
Illario covers Tino's hand with his own and hums. The sensation is unexpectedly intense for how simple the touch really is–just like a dish tastes sweeter with the right arrangement and mood.
Illario rubs Tino's hand with his thumb, encouraging him to continue. Tino brings his lips close to Illario's ear and asks in a breathy whisper, but loud enough for Lucanis to hear.
"Would he welcome my hands on his back...?"
"Yes..."
A barely audible utterance, more a sigh than a word.
On this clue, Tino brushes his fingers between Illario's shoulderblades, through the fabric of the shirt, and then moves the hand down his spine. With surprising firmness, he presses it against the small of Illario's back, pulling his body just an inch closer.
Illario lets out an exhale and shudders slightly, feeling his own arousal simmering. All this tension , all these rabbit touches, are getting to him too.
The corner is quiet, and Illario sneaks a look at his cousin.
Lucanis is leaning on the wall, his palms on the rich wallpaper, and his doe eyes are dark and shiny, fixed on the two men in front of him.
He is biting his lip. He looks sufficiently cooked .
With a smile, Illario backs away from the courtesan and pats the vacated space.
"Come here," he says in a husky tone.
Lucanis swallows but approaches the bed. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed, between Illario and Tino.
"Will you let me help you with your shirt?" asks Tino as he looks into Lucanis's eyes.
Lucanis nods, and the courtesan shifts closer, his clever fingers unhurriedly prying each button open.
"You have striking eyes. Their shape will be hard to forget even after we part ways," observes Tino with appreciation in his voice, and Lucanis's hands twitch.
"You don't have to say these things," he mutters, a flush spreading from his ears down onto his neck.
"Shush, just take the compliment." Illario rolls his eyes.
Tino flicks his gaze towards him in warning, and Illario grins.
"May I kiss you?" asks Tino, ignoring Illario's presence.
In response, Lucanis leans in himself and claims Tino's lips in a perfect reconstruction of the kiss he witnessed just a few minutes ago.
The elf smiles and deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into Lucanis's mouth with shallow, exploratory dips.
This tame, practically adolescent kiss already leaves Lucanis gasping. Tino takes it as an encouragement to cup his face with both hands and plunder his mouth with skill and fervour deserving the high price of the service.
Lucanis trembles and spills helpless, keening noises whenever Tino releases his lips to draw some air.
These sounds stir the heat low in Illario's gut, the sweet pangs bringing back his frustrated arousal. He is suddenly aware of where he is: close enough to his cousin for his shirt to brush against Illario's hand.
Illario is contemplating if he can sneak out without his formidable cousin noticing, and crawl back into Bianca's embrace, when Lucanis abruptly pulls back hard enough to bump into him.
"Wait," Lucanis pants. "No, wait!"
His body is tense, and his eyes are squeezed shut as if he is trying to contain something. Panic?
Tino backs off, giving Lucanis space.
"Hey, hey, it's alright," says Illario in a soothing tone. "You are doing great."
On an impulse, Illario threads his fingers through his cousin's hair and sees Tino shaking his head in warning.
Too late.
Lucanis tilts his head back into Illario's hand, lets out a distressed groan, and then folds, his body twitching, his breath a chain of stuttering gulps and puffs. When he is done twitching, he straightens up, a mortified expression on his face.
The room is silent.
"Did you just… cream yourself?" utters Illario, incredulous.
"A normal response to an overwhelming intimate situation," gently interjects Tino.
Lucanis stares straight ahead, all blood drained from his features.
"Oh… mierda…" laments Illario and rests his forehead on his palms.
He can almost hear the sound of Caterina's cane cutting the air above his back.
The muscles on his back spasm and ache, answering to the dull throb of phantom contusions.