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There was only one thing more frustrating than Solas thinking himself right, and that was when he was right.
He’d suggested Rook advance on a Venatori stronghold from a somewhat perilous route across some rocky islands so they could maintain the element of surprise. Rook had instead decided to use a more direct entry, which led to the Venatori leader escaping during the pandemonium with an artifact needed to power a giant stone construct they’d been hoping to take out of commission. With no leads on where the leader had gone, much less if he even still had the artifact, they’d had no choice but to drag themselves back to the Lighthouse with failure dogging their heels.
“I’m sure we will catch up to them eventually,” said Emmrich, giving Rook a gentle pat on the shoulder.
While Rook appreciated the gesture, he couldn’t quite will himself to smile. A few months into leadership and he’d already steered them straight into a dead end. “We should have entered through the back,” said Rook, grousing at himself. “Like Solas said.”
“You couldn’t have known there would be three exits.”
“It’s my job to know these things,” said Rook. “I should have-”
“The opportunity for 'should' has passed, my dear,” said Emmrich kindly. “I have told many a student the same thing. Accidents happen, and your main concern should be doing better in the future.”
Emmrich’s scholarly voice reminded Rook so much of his days as an apprentice in the Anderfels Circle that it made him instinctively straighten his back. “Not sure Solas will see it the same way,” he said, sighing.
“Well, mmm.” Emmrich touched his gold-adorned fingers to his lips. “I suppose an apology is in order, on that front. But I’m sure you had good reason not to take his advice.”
Rook would have liked to say he did, but taking the stronghold from the front had been more of an overconfident whim than anything else. With Taash positioned outside the exit to the chasms, he’d assumed they would be able to pick off the Venatori who attempted to flee via those rocky islands. A brilliant, strategic plan, he’d thought – right up until the leader escaped through a different exit and locked the door behind himself. By the time they’d dealt with all the Venatori and managed to get it open, he’d been long gone.
Not a total wash, since they had liberated the place from Venatori influence, but still... the artifact was in the Venatori’s hands now, and the likelihood of finding it again was slim.
“I doubt he’ll see it as anything more than an excuse,” said Rook miserably. The prospect of Solas’ disappointment was more affecting than he liked to admit.
“You’ll survive his disappointment, I'm sure,” said Emmrich with a chuckle. “But should you need refuge, my door is open to you.”
Emmrich’s unerring kindness made it difficult to be as grumpy as he wanted to be. Rook managed a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Emmrich inclined his head. “Best of luck, Rook.”
“Thanks,” said Rook. “I’ll need it.”
He brought himself upstairs and into his room with all the gravity of a man approaching a noose. A little dramatic, perhaps, but Solas could sharpen his tongue into a weapon when he was angry with you, and it was even more effective at proximity. He found the man sitting on the chaise lounge with a book in hand.
“I hear a distinct lack of celebration from your companions,” said Solas, nose still buried in his book. “I take it retrieval of the artifact did not go well?”
“Not exactly,” said Rook, self-consciously scratching his nape.
“Elaborate,” said Solas.
Rook closed the door and joined Solas on the lounge, dropping heavily onto a cushion. “The leader got away with the artifact.”
The book finally fell from Solas’ face. He placed it on the surface behind them. “How?” he asked, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“There was a third exit,” said Rook, feeling stupidly like a kid being interrogated by an elder. “The front, the one with the chasm and those rocky islands, and a pathway into the catacombs. He escaped through the latter before we could grab him.”
Solas’ frown deepened. “I apologise, then. It seems my advice was not as helpful as I had expected.”
The apology caught Rook off guard. Now Rook felt even worse. “It wasn’t that. I didn’t actually, uh...”
A brief silence followed before Solas finished the sentence for him, “You didn’t take my advice.”
“Yeah,” said Rook, his gaze lowered and hands wringing together in his lap. “I just had Taash guard the chasm exit and went in through the front.”
Solas let out a deep, disappointed sigh, and Rook's face warmed with embarrassment. He wanted to sink past the couch cushions and into the floor.
“I suggested the chasm for its discretion. Did it not occur to you that the leader might find some means to escape if you went through the front?”
“I thought guarding the chasm covered that,” said Rook, fighting with himself not to whine.
“Clearly, you were wrong.” A chill crept into Solas’ tone, and Rook grimaced at it. “That artifact now remains in the hands of the Venatori, and consequently, Elgar’nan. This loss could have been prevented had you listened to me, Rook.”
Rook scrubbed his hands over his rapidly warming face. “I know, I know. Any advice on what our next steps should be?”
“Other than keeping an ear to the ground?” A rhetorical question. “You already had my advice and you chose to ignore it. If this is a matter of trust, I understand, Rook, but you must believe I have only the best intentions where Elgar’nan is concerned. Have I not led you well before this incident?”
This conversation was turning out to be even worse than Rook had anticipated. He was guilty enough about his failure of leadership without Solas salting the wound.
“It’s not that,” said Rook. “I don’t think you’d deliberately sabotage me. I just thought I had everything in hand.”
“I would not give you advice without merit,” said Solas.
“I know, and I’m sorry,” said Rook, shoulders drooping. “This is my fault, my mess, and I’ll find some way to fix it.”
“And if you can’t?”
“I’ll keep trying even if it looks that way."
While Solas’ face remained stony, he did nod, which was reassuring. “Nonetheless,” started Solas, which was less reassuring. “I would like to provide you with the opportunity for penance and leave you with a reminder of the consequences of insouciance-”
“I think that’s going a bit far,” Rook interjected, before closing his mouth when Solas cast him an annoyed look.
“In a battle such as this, you cannot afford to lead your team into these sorts of mistakes,” continued Solas, as though Rook hadn’t spoken at all. “Their lives are your responsibility, just like the success and failure of these missions are.”
Rook listened in silence, letting the words sink in, because Solas was right: as leader, he had a responsibility to his team, and he had failed to live up to that responsibility on this mission. This wasn’t likely to be the last mistake he made, but recognising them was the first - if not most important - step toward improving for his team.
“If you had failed of your own merits, that would have been understandable,” said Solas. “But you ignored a clear route of success in favour of your own pride.”
Rook thought it a bit rich coming from a man who was pride, but he held his tongue.
“So I will avail you of it,” finished Solas, before gesturing Rook to the space beside him. “Stand.”
“Pardon?” said Rook, a little taken aback by the command. He hadn’t anticipated anything beyond one of Solas’ lectures.
“You heard me, Rook,” said Solas, his voice tinged with impatience.
Rook wanted to refuse, and maybe he should have refused, but he’d always been prone to self-flagellation when things went wrong. So he stood, taking position beside Solas.
“So are you going to tell me why I’m standing here, or...?”
“As I understand, this is the method used to reprimand wayward children.”
It took Rook a moment to register what Solas meant, and he looked at the man with open shock once Solas’ intentions set in. “I’m not a child.”
“You are by my measure,” said Solas wryly. Which, considering Solas’ age, was probably a valid perspective on their age difference, but Rook was affronted all the same.
“I’m in my twenties!”
“Are you expecting that to change my mind?” He gestured to his lap, easy as can be, like he wasn’t asking a grown man to bend over and accept a spanking. “Bend over so we may begin.”
Rook swallowed hard. “You’re serious.”
“What have I said to give you the impression otherwise?” asked Solas.
“Nothing, I guess, but...” Rook trailed off, his voice growing weaker by the minute, his already weak resolve crumbling.
“Rook,” said Solas, a little gentler this time. “I will not force this on you, but this is an outlet you need and a reminder that will serve you well in the future.”
“So you want to do this because you think it will benefit me?” asked Rook, and he hated that Solas was right. A brief, painful expression of pertinence painted on his body would make his failure easier to bear, like he’d made up for it, just a little.
“I know it will benefit you,” said Solas.
Rook exhaled heavily through his nose. He couldn’t believe he was thinking about agreeing to this. He’d never been spanked in his life, not even in the Circle, nor by his parents – or what little he could remember of them, and he’d certainly never expected it to come up as an adult. But here he was, dithering in place while considering letting Solas lay into him with his palm.
After a time, Solas spoke again. “I will only ask once more: bend over. If you do not wish to comply, you are free to refuse.”
Rook shifted his weight from foot to foot for a good while before sighing and reaching for the straps on his armour. “I’ll need to remove some of this first. It’ll get in the way."
Solas merely nodded, and Rook proceeded to step over to his wardrobe to stow his armour inside. First his gauntlets, then his belts and breastplate, and finally some of the more fiddly bits: weapon straps, daggers, pouches, and the mantle he draped over a shoulder. He was significantly more dressed down by the time he returned to Solas, and it was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn’t managed to talk himself out of this whole thing yet.
As he stood in front of Solas, still fully clothed, he felt oddly bare. Which meant he felt downright raw when he bent himself over Solas’ lap, his trousers tightening with the new position and conforming to the shape of his rear. Even with them still on, his face was burning, the tips of his ears a bright pink. He felt Solas’ palm fold gently over the swell of his ass and jumped like the man had already begun. Solas’ knees dug into his chest and hips, and he was grateful that Solas wasn’t wearing his entire ensemble today. Just his coat and soft, black leggings that clung to his thighs and freed up his feet.
“If you wish me to stop, you only need ask.”
Rook swallowed. “So, just... ‘stop’?”
“Whatever you can manage,” said Solas gently, his other hand folding over the small of Rook’s spine to hold him steady. “Is there anything you want to say or ask before we begin?”
“No,” murmured Rook, letting his head drop heavily between his shoulders.
With that, Solas raised his hand and brought it down on Rook’s rear, a loud clap that Rook immediately feared was audible to the other residents of the Lighthouse. As though reading his mind, Solas said: “Your companions will not hear.” And then his hand came down again on the opposite cheek hard enough to send Rook rocking forward in his lap. The sting from the other one was still subsiding into a throb, and this fresh sting made Rook grimace and squirm. Even through fabric, Solas was delivering powerful blows.
He grabbed one of Solas’ ankles as the blows continued, his face burning red as the man settled into a steady rhythm. The slap, slap, slap of Solas’ palm on his ass filled the room and he was all too cognizant of the growing burn beneath the fabric of his trousers and the warmth of Solas’ hand on the small of his back. With each blow, he rocked forward, a little gasp flitting from his throat. It wasn’t... intolerable; he was a combatant, so the blows were easy to endure, but it was terribly embarrassing to be bent over and punished like a child.
He couldn’t deny that it helped, though. Cathartic in an odd way, the steady throbbing blotting out the criticism he’d subjected himself to since his failure to retrieve the artifact. Maybe Solas had a point about the benefits of this.
“Have you done this before?” he asked, his voice a little shaky.
Solas paused, hand hovering in midair. “The mortal elves were not the first to conceive of such a thing,” was all he said, cryptic as ever. Rook gathered that was a ‘yes’.
“So, a sex thing? The ancient elves invented that?” He paused, eyeing Solas in his peripheral. “Wait, did Mythal-?”
Solas hit him a little harder for that, and Rook groaned. “Did I say you could talk, Rook?”
“Well, no, but you didn’t say I couldn’t talk either...”
“Then consider this me telling you now.”
There was something oddly persuasive about Solas’ command, so he obeyed, closing his teeth over his bottom lip to suppress the urge to speak. Solas’ hand continued to rain down, with the occasional blow falling upon his thighs and prompting him to jolt. The strokes there left a fiercer sting that lingered for longer.
He wondered what he looked like under the fabric now: pink and red, with the beginnings of bruises, maybe some in the shape of Solas’ palm, and his face flared impossibly hotter at that thought. He kept his head low, jaw brushing Solas’ leg as he got lost in the steady slap of Solas’ palm. His mind was growing fuzzier, and he stared at the floor, breathing hard, his limbs twitching with each strike.
Solas’ hand ceased after a time, and Rook thought the punishment done – until Solas hitched him up with a knee and slid a hand under his hips, working open the ties on his trousers. He made a startled little noise, and Solas’ hands paused.
“Do you wish me to stop?” he asked.
Rook chewed his bottom lip. “...No,” he choked out, the word carrying the weight of a confession.
The ties came loose, and Solas tugged his trousers and underwear down until they pooled on the floor. With those out of the way, Solas reached down to cradle Rook’s chin, drawing his head up and around with care.
“Look,” he murmured, a gentle command and one Rook could have ignored, but Rook rose onto his elbows and glanced back at himself anyway.
He was just as red as he’d imagined, his ass and thighs painted with the shape of Solas’ palm and it was too – too arousing a sight; he couldn’t deny it now, that he was getting more out of this than just a punishment. And after teasing Solas about the proclivities of the ancient elves, no less. He’d no doubt that Solas could tell what had happened, because the way he closed his fingers over Rook’s ass and began to knead and stroke was nothing short of sensual.
“What do you think, Rook?”
“Wh-what do I think?” Rook stuttered out.
“Do you think you deserve more?”
Rook swallowed hard. The hand on his jaw shifted, Solas’ arm curling around his clavicle to hold him in place so he’d be able to watch without strain on his back. The gentle way Solas handled him was at sharp contrast with the burning he’d inflicted on Rook’s ass.
It was difficult to admit what he wanted: “I- I guess- yes.”
“You guess?” Solas said, his hand still kneading and soothing.
“Yes,” said Rook raggedly. Then, barely above a whisper, “Please.”
The first stroke to bare skin sounded like the slam of a door, or perhaps a cannon shot, loud in a way that made Rook’s ears ring. Or maybe that was just the arousal heightening all of his senses. When he rocked in Solas’ lap this time, a hardness drove into Solas’ thigh.
Each time Solas drew his hand back and brought it down was visible to Rook now. He involuntarily braced before each stroke, his thighs tensing, back arching, but it never quite prepared him for the sting and the throb of his cock as it ground into Solas’ leg. This was the last thing he would have thought would get him going, but here he was, rutting into Solas’ leg like an animal while the man spanked him.
With the ragged way Solas was breathing, he knew the man was just as aroused as he was. Maybe even more so, given that Solas hadn’t been intimate with anyone in millennia, and the insights into Solas’ personal life gave Rook the impression he had an active – if neglected - libido. He might’ve reached down to palm Solas through his leggings if the strokes to his ass didn’t successfully jar that idea from his mind. It was hard to focus on anything other than whimpering and writhing and rutting under these conditions.
A particularly hard stroke dragged a moan out of him and Solas promptly slid two fingers past his open lips. He let them in, closing his mouth over them, sucking obediently while Solas made soft, hitching sounds and twitched in a way that suggested he was having a hard time not giving in to the reflex to push Rook onto the floor and shove his cock down Rook’s throat. He lathed his tongue over the pads of Solas’ fingers with a deliberate slowness, and the groan he got in response filled his belly with heat.
“Beautiful,” murmured Solas, soft and dazed.
He pressed his fingers down on Rook’s tongue on his next strike and Rook whimpered wetly around them. With Solas’ fingers winching his mouth open, giving him no room to swallow, saliva began to gather and stripe down the sides of his mouth, staining his chin and dripping like sweat. Thought there was plenty of that too, a slickness that stuck his hair to his forehead and gathered at every point of contact between their sweltering bodies.
The strokes continued to come and Rook involuntarily rolled his hips after each one, driving his straining erection into the hard planes of Solas’ thigh, the smoothness of Solas’ leggings providing a delicious friction, his cock head catching on the elasticity of it. The burning of his ass was a perfect counterpoint to the pleasure. He thought, dazedly, that Solas could have stuck two more fingers inside him, into a different hole, and he wouldn’t have complained at all, but his lips were much too occupied to make the suggestion.
His toes curled and his legs quivered, the prelude to his climax, and Solas must have noticed, because he ceased his strokes in favor of sliding his hand between Rook’s thighs, closing his fingers around Rook’s hard cock. And one stroke – embarrassingly enough – was all it took for Rook to arch his back and bite down on Solas’ fingers and empty himself onto Solas’ thigh.
He felt the electric buzz of completion everywhere: his cock, his sac, his thighs, the base of his spine, and in each finger and toe, and it was bliss, the sort of climax that robbed you of all coherent thought. He continued to shiver for several minutes after falling from that peak, and then slowly, slowly, he fell still, leaning his flushed and sweaty cheek on Solas’ leg while he struggled to recover some sense of control. The grip of his teeth slowly eased and Solas extracted his fingers, pressing them briefly to Rook’s parted lips before his hand fell away.
For a while, there was silence. Solas gently stroked his ass and thighs and Rook remained pliant while he did. His palm was smooth, and his long, dexterous fingers found all the places that ached the worst and worked them over until they receded into a hot throb. He’d never thought about how gentle Solas could be until now. The man was handling him like something delicate and precious. His other hand swiped through Rook’s sweaty hair, dragging it over his scalp and tucking it behind his ears.
“You are a good leader, Rook,” said Solas, quite out of the blue. Rook turned his head to glance back at the man.
“What?” he murmured, dazed.
“You are a good leader,” said Solas again, speaking in a calm and steady register. “Your team believes in you and trusts you, and so do I.”
Rook swallowed hard and dropped his head back between his shoulders. The rush of sensation was receding, leaving him unexpectedly exposed and emotionally raw. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you need to hear it,” said Solas. “Your mistakes do not define you, Rook, and I trust those you make will only strengthen your resolve to improve.”
Rook took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, moisture gathering under his eyelashes, making them shine. As much as he would have liked to curl up to hide this embarrassing display, Solas didn’t let him; he gathered Rook into his lap and tucked Rook’s head under his chin, his arms encircling Rook’s waist. He held Rook with such care, so delicately, and that made the tears come faster. He hadn’t been held like this in- he wasn’t sure he had ever been held like this.
Rook tucked his arms between their bodies and buried his face into Solas’ shoulder. The leather rapidly developed a wet patch.
“Rook,” said Solas, voice warm and steady, a buoy for Rook’s emotions. “Are you alright?”
Rook cleared his throat, which was thick with mucus. “I’m fine.” Sore, hot and dazed, with tears catching under his eyelashes, but fine. Being held by Solas was unexpectedly soothing. “That was just, uh- it was really-”
Finding the right words proved impossible, so Rook conceded defeat with a helpless little shrug. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to examine what he was feeling and why he was feeling it.
“No explanation is necessary,” murmured Solas, one hand venturing up to drift through Rook’s hair. “I merely needed to know you were alright. You can sit here for as long as you need.”
The tears continued to come, and it was a good, long cry, cathartic, and after an indeterminable length of time he finally ran dry and transitioned to using Solas’ shoulder as a pillow instead. His nose was all gunked up and his eyes and backside were sore, but he hadn’t been this relaxed since his ordeal with the Evanuris had begun. Evidently, Solas had been right about this being what he needed. Which was a little embarrassing, but he was too comfortable to feel the full force of that.
He sat with his face tucked against the side of Solas’ neck and listened to the man breathe. His head was pleasantly empty, his thoughts few and far between and difficult to hold on to. Sleep beckoned, and Solas’ hand stroking a steady path through his hair wasn’t helping matters. He had things he needed to do, but it was oh, so tempting to close his eyes and drift off, and Solas even seemed to be encouraging it, adjusting their bodies so Rook was pillowed on his chest and stomach.
“Got things to do,” he muttered.
Solas tsked. “They can wait. Go to sleep.”
“But...” His mind was too dulled to come up with an argument.
“Your companions will knock if there is a need,” Solas assured him.
Rook wanted to protest – should have protested, but it’d been months since he’d had a good, long sleep, and this seemed to be the prelude to one. “Fine,” he murmured. He could curse his lack of willpower later. “Just for a few hours.”
Solas repositioned them until Rook’s back rested against the chaise longue, enveloping him there with his long limbs. His hand continued to glide gently through Rook’s hair. Rook loosely draped his legs over Solas’ and sighed warmly against the man's clavicle.
“Sleep,” Solas murmured, and Rook did.
It was some hours before Rook awoke, his body warm in a way it never usually was when he fell asleep on his chaise lounge. The Lighthouse was much too cold, and the bedding was inadequate. But Solas had served as a remarkably effective blanket. Soft, cozy, radiating heat, and coiled around Rook in a way that covered most bare skin. His hot breath further warmed the crown of Rook’s head. His rear was warm too, and not in an unpleasant way. Though he might change his mind on that once he had to sit on it.
At some point during Rook’s slumber, Solas must have fallen asleep as well. Rook raised his head just enough to gaze up at the man, taking in the long eyelashes brushing his cheeks and his full, parted lips. His chest brushed Rook’s as he took slow, even breaths.
Drawn by an inexplicable impulse, Rook raised his hand to trace the elegant line of Solas’ cheekbone. His skin was soft, lightly freckled. He brushed his fingers up to Solas’ forehead and felt the dimple of an old scar. Further up, there was a shade to suggest Solas’ hairline, though - magically or otherwise - it didn’t appear he could grow hair anymore. He moved on to touching the tip of an ear, long and tapered, if shorter than his own. A nicely shaped ear.
The man's eyes fluttered and opened in response to the contact and Rook hastily dropped his hand away.
“Mmm, did you sleep well?” asked Solas, sounding dazed, a marvellous roughness to his voice.
“You’re not a half-bad blanket,” said Rook, yawning into a fist. “I could do with something to eat after that. I’ll bring you up something.”
“You know that isn’t necessary.”
“I also know you enjoy Lucanis’ cooking, so don’t try to be coy about it.”
Solas chuckled softly, softer than Rook had ever heard him, and began to stretch those long limbs of his. “Do as you like.”
“I will,” said Rook as he dragged himself upright, scrubbing his eyes with a forearm. Pressure on his ass, as expected, made the warmth transition to pain and he grimaced. “Fenedhis, you have a heavy hand.”
“As needed for an effective reminder. Among other things.” Solas turned onto his back as Rook threw his legs over the side of the lounge.
“Maybe we could-” Rook’s voice died in his throat as he noticed two bowls by the door, both covered with tablecloths so they would retain their heat. One was much smaller than the other, with respect for Solas’ modest eating habits.
It took Solas a moment to notice what he was looking at, then his eyebrows raised and he said, quite calmly, “Ah.”
Lucanis had seen them. Worse, Spite had seen them, and he tended to have a loose tongue. They’d both seen Rook with no pants on, Solas cuddling him, and oh, creators, how was he going to explain that? He wiped his hands down his face with a despairing little groan.
“Spite is going to tell everyone.”
“He isn’t an especially effective communicator,” said Solas, unperturbed. He stood to retrieve the bowls, peeling off the tablecloths to unveil a hearty meal. “Ah, paella.”
“You’re thinking of food right now?”
“Your assassin friends’ offerings deserve appreciation,” said Solas as he brought the bowls over to the lounge. He handed the bigger bowl to Rook, who grumpily accepted it. “I see he has recalled my preference in regards to portion size.”
“Little difficult not to when you stop eating after a few mouthfuls,” said Rook as he spooned a portion of rice and vegetables into his mouth. Deliciously spiced, as per usual, and it momentarily distracted him from the terrible ordeal of knowing Spite would soon be asking people ‘Why. Was. Rook. Pantless. With Pride?’.
“I am able to be sustained on very little,” said Solas. “More than this would be overindulgence.”
“That’s a good thing, sometimes,” said Rook, swallowing another mouthful of his paella. “You should indulge more.”
“I already did,” said Solas, giving him a meaningful look before spooning more paella into his mouth.
Rook’s cheeks flared. “So...” He tapped his spoon against the edge of his bowl. “Maybe not the best time to ask, since Spite’ll be turning the entire Lighthouse into gossip central soon, but was that a one-time thing or...?”
“It is whatever you want it to be,” said Solas. “Do you want it to be a one-time occurrence?”
Impossibly, the colour on Rook’s cheeks darkened even further. “I mean, if you’re willing, I wouldn’t mind repeat sessions.”
“Sessions?” Solas repeated, amused. “I appreciate the enthusiasm.”
“Is... that a yes?” asked Rook hesitantly.
“It is.” Solas ran his knuckles feather-light over Rook’s thigh before returning to his meal. Even that little contact was enough to make Rook jump. “You may ask at your leisure. But, should I find it appropriate, I will suggest it myself.”
That was far more appealing a thought than it should have been. Rook barely resisted the urge to bury his face in his knees. “Just remind me to put my pants back on after,” he muttered. “I don’t need my team discussing my bare ass because I left it hanging out again.”
Solas chuckled. “Of course, Rook.”