Archive of Our Own

Emmrich stands alone in the centre of his library, staring at the door Rook has just slammed shut behind him. Manfred, carefully descending the spiral stairs, hisses at Emmrich.

“Don’t start,” Emmrich says, finally tearing his gaze away from the door. 

He sinks back into his desk chair, sighing deeply. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought it up at all, but it’s gnawed at him for weeks. He really only meant to be fair to Rook, but it backfired spectacularly. 

If they should survive tomorrow, there remains the simple matter of their respective ages, even if Rook utterly refuses to listen to reason about it. Emmrich feels selfish enough as it is, having allowed himself to be taken in so thoroughly by a pair of smouldering eyes and Rook’s razor-sharp wit. At his big age, he should know better than to allow such folly. The years between them are such that even if they should have another thirty years together, he would perish and leave Rook heartbroken for probably at least another one to two decades. Either that, or Rook will be taken away from him far too soon, a thought so unbearable he has to close his eyes against it.

But with his eyes closed, all he can see is the look on Rook’s face just before he turned to leave: lips pressed together, brows drawn, his tired eyes big and full of hurt. If Emmrich didn’t know better, he’d say he was on the verge of tears, but no: never Rook. Not once has he seen the man so much as shed a tear. Indomitable, persistent, ever-charming Rook, whose wonderfully broad shoulders carry the worries and sorrows of their whole team and at times, the whole world, without so much as trembling under the weight. At least, that's what he projects to the world.

Yet, when Emmrich realises that it is unbecoming of him to think in nothing but convenient half-truths, he is forced to admit that something he said must have upset his unshakable companion very badly. For even the best interpretation of their argument allows no wriggle room: he’s hurt Rook, and possibly done irreparable damage to their relationship.

Is that not exactly what he set out to do? To break things off? He cannot even claim having chosen his words poorly; he never does. No, it was naught but cowardice to attempt to make a decision unilaterally without so much as getting Rook’s thoughts on the matter.

In the end, he couldn’t even really go through with it, leaving it up in the air for both of them.

“Oh, Manfred,” Emmrich sighs, rubbing his tired eyes with his gloved hand, “what would you do?”

“Dunno!” Manfred replies cheerily.

“You mean you ‘don’t kn–,’ oh, never mind. I’ve been a terrible fool.”

“Yes!”

“I must go and apologise-”

“Yes!”

For the first time since Manfred gained the ability to speak a handful of words, Emmrich very briefly wishes he hadn’t.

“Yes, thank you, Manfred. I shall be back later.”

“Okay!”

Emmrich’s withering stare has little effect on his young, skeletal ward, and Manfred simply walks away in search of more stimulating pursuits. Perhaps it is not so dissimilar to parenthood as he had thought it to be when Rook called Manfred their skeletal, magic-flinging son. 

Their son. How Emmrich wishes he could turn back time to a mere fifteen minutes ago, before he ruined a perfectly happy companionship with his own insecurities. What has he done?

Emmrich has barely stepped out into the Lighthouse proper when Taash appears in front of him.

“Hey, you, corpsef–... Death m–... Emmrich. What did you do?”

“Taash,” Emmrich says curtly, ignoring the barrage of would-be insults, “you will have to elaborate, I’m afraid.”

“Rook,” they say, “he looked all messed up. Crying. Haven’t seen him look this bad since after Minrathous, so… What did you do?”

Given all that’s happened, it’s all too easy to forget how downcast Rook had seemed when they first met. He felt personally responsible for the destruction of Minrathous, which was the direct result of his choice to help Treviso, in his mind. Nonsense, of course, but Rook had felt it all the same. The fact Emmrich has caused similar sorrow makes his stomach turn. 

“I fear I’ve made a mistake, Taash. One I aim to rectify immediately.”

For a moment, Emmrich fears Taash might stop him. They’re good friends with Rook, having bonded quickly over their both being trans. It has been wonderful, even as an outsider to their experiences, to watch them grow to feel less alone in their struggles with their identities.

“He’s not in his room. I think he went down into that room with the piano.”

The music room. Emmrich had found Rook there once, attempting - and failing - to play a half-remembered tune from years long behind him, a half-formed apology for his poor musicianship already on his lips the moment their eyes would meet. 

“Thank you, Taash.”

Taash only shrugs and goes about their way while Emmrich hastily makes his way down the stairs, rehearsing his apology in his head. Upon entering the music room, he finds it empty, void of the welcome sight of Rook sitting behind the piano, focusing on the keys beneath him. 

His eyes turn towards the stone entryway and the Fade portals he knows lie in wait behind it. Doubt assails him: perhaps Rook doesn’t wish to speak to him at all. If he’s gone out of his way to be alone, then maybe what he truly needs is for Emmrich to take the hint.

But Emmrich, in no small part thanks to Rook’s own opinion on the matter, is only a mortal man, and he is therefore not strong enough to leave it alone.

When he steps out of the second portal, he finds himself high above the Lighthouse on a large, floating piece of its grounds. Rook sits on the edge, his back turned to the Lighthouse, looking out into the endless swirling mists of the Fade. 

Emmrich approaches slowly, making sure to scrape his boots against the stone to make his presence known. Rook doesn’t move, sitting stock-still, offering no acknowledgment of Emmrich’s presence.

“Rook, darling?”

Rook jumps and turns to look at him. Even in this unnatural light, his eyes are clearly bloodshot. He looks even more tired than usual, though getting him to admit he’s tired at all is akin to drawing blood from a stone.

“Hi.”

It’s all wrong. Rook isn’t one to be short with anyone, and his voice sounds hoarse and flat. 

“May I join you?”

At first, Rook doesn’t answer him. His teeth worry at the inside of his bottom lip, and he’s not meeting Emmrich’s gaze. Just as the latter prepares to make a dignified exit while he still can, Rook turns away from him and pats the spot next to him on the ledge.

Emmrich gingerly lowers himself to the ground, his legs dangling over the bottomless Fade beneath. In spite of having rehearsed his apology, he finds the words won’t come out, at first. What if he says the wrong thing again, in spite of having picked his words with such enormous care?

Rook sighs.

“If you’ve nothing to say, I’d prefer it if you left.”

“No, I do. I-I wanted to say that I am sorry. I should never have sprung that on you.”

Again, Rook presses his lips together. He nods, slowly.

“Right. The timing was the problem.”

“No! I mean… I only meant to be fair to you, my dear.”

At this, Rook scoffs and shakes his head.

“It’s fine.”

It is evidently not fine. Emmrich is having trouble conceiving of a moment in time during which the world, and indeed his personal life, were less ‘fine’ than right at this moment.

And yet, things become inconceivably even less so immediately. 

“I’m used to it, but I do feel you should’ve granted me the dignity of a better excuse.”

As he has come to experience more often than usual lately, Emmrich finds himself at a loss for words. Rook appears utterly despondent. He fumbles for a response, rapidly feeling the conversation slipping away from him.

“A better excuse for what?”

“It’s… It’s par for the course, you know. Whomever birthed me decided it was best for me to give me up. My adoptive parents then decided it was best for me to try and mould me into their perfect daughter. When they couldn’t, it was best to let me fend for myself. Even the Shadow Dragons eventually decided it was in my best interest to be hidden away.”

Oh. Oh, no. Emmrich begins to realise, far too late, that his insecurities about his age and mortality, impending or not, have so far eclipsed any sensible observation of their relationship that he never once stopped to think that Rook simply, actually, does not care at all. That, in fact, is still understating it: he never even considered Emmrich’s age a factor. Somehow, all of Emmrich’s comments about being a young, dashing adventurer have gone right over his head.

Worse, when Rook had tried to counter Emmrich with humour, offering him a graceful way out of the awful situation he was creating, and tried to get him to talk about what they mean to each other, Emmrich had accused him of waylaying his point.

“Rook, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, it’s fine. You were just acting in my best interest, weren’t you? Everyone always does, or they say they do, when what they really mean is that I’m in the way. You’re the first one to bring my age into it, though. After all, I’m only about forty years old. Surely I cannot be trusted to understand the consequences of my own decisions.”

This bitter, vicious sarcasm is so unlike him. Rook thinks he was trying to let him down gently. Dismissing him with clever words and lovely sentiments, cloaked in a veneer of well-meaning concern. And here sits the object of his affections, telling him that everyone in his life who has ever claimed to act in his best interest had done so for their own selfish reasons.

Emmrich, to his horror, realises he was no different today.

Rook looks at him, at last. His eyes are brimming with unshed tears.

“The least you could have done was be honest. From you especially this was so… Disappointing.”

In the silence that follows, Emmrich looks at Rook as he reckons with what the situation has become. He observes his hands, rough with callouses from where he holds his staff. His arms, deceptively strong. His beautiful, well-fed body, strong yet soft and - if he allows himself to think it - deliciously plump. His face, handsome but weary, and his hair, long and hanging loose, thinning already. Likely the stress. There’s freckles, sparse in some areas and more intense in others, like on top of his arms.

Not once did Emmrich consider Rook to be ‘in the way.’ If anything, Emmrich only saw himself standing in the way of a happy future for Rook. He made a decision based on Rook’s potential happiness or lack thereof and he made it on his own. A horrendous mistake to make. 

“I never thought of you as being in the way, Rook. I… I fear my decision had less to do with you than it should have.”

Rook stares at him but says nothing, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I didn’t lie to you. I respect you far too much to do that to you.”

“But not enough to let me make my own decisions.”

Emmrich feels he deserves that. 

“It wasn’t right for me to make a decision for you, but I must urge you to believe me that I wasn’t–... I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.”

“Then what did you mean to do?”

“I… I had intended to prevent you from tying yourself to an old fool. I thought… I thought I was saving you from an inordinate amount of grief in the future.”

Rook scoffs again.

“I don’t–... I don’t know whether I find this more or less insulting than what you said originally.”

How are his rhetorical skills failing him this badly? Has he not been in love in so long that he has entirely forgotten how to soothe a lover’s quarrel? Or has he simply done too much damage already?

When he truly finds himself at a loss for words, he decides to ask.

“How can I make this right, darling?”

Perhaps it’s the way he says it, or perhaps it’s Rook finding some sort of forgiveness within him.

“Tell me what it is that scares you. The entirety of it, this time.”

Where to start? 

“I was but a young boy when my parents died. Eleven, or twelve. It’s a bit of a blur, I’m afraid. My whole life I’ve feared the same fate: here one day, gone the next. I’ve… I’ve not had a relationship in some time, as you know. As the years went on I became more and more aware of my impending mortality–”

“Emmrich, you’re fifty-three years old. You’re hardly on death’s doorstep.”

“While you’re…” 

Not wrong. Rook simply is not wrong, but he isn’t sure he is ready to admit that to himself yet. He’s only just given up his dreams of immortality.

But Rook did ask for the entirety of it. Confound it all.

“You’re not wrong,” Emmrich continues, clasping his hands to stop himself from fidgeting, “but when one holds the alternative to mortality within one’s grasp, every day feels as though one is staring death in the face, so to speak.”

Rook seems to consider this.

“Seems rather stupid to have pursued it at all then, if it robbed you of being able to live your life while you’re still here.”

That is a piece of conventional wisdom Emmrich wishes he had possessed decades ago. After all, his desire for lichdom nearly deprived him of Rook, as well.

“Yes, well…”

“Sorry,” Rook says, rubbing a hand over his face, “I shouldn’t have said that. It was rude.”

“I rather think I deserve worse than that from you, after what I’ve done.”

Rook waves a hand, as if he might dismiss the very words from the air they were spoken into.

“You were explaining yourself. Go on.”

Right. “I had chosen not to pursue anyone seriously, anymore. When confronted with the idea of passing from this world, I can barely stand to think of leaving Manfred behind. How will he fare without me? Who would raise him with a gentle hand, as I have? My desire for intimacy was mostly met by more casual encounters, and though I craved a deeper connection with another person, I–... I couldn’t bear the thought of burdening another soul with the loss, or my own with leaving yet another thing that is dear to me.”

Rook’s hand twitches on his thigh. A moment later, he sets it down on the ground between them. Emmrich doesn’t hesitate even a second before taking it between his own, as though Rook might become one with the Fade around them if he doesn’t. Rook chuckles dryly. 

“And then I came along and ruined everything.”

It’s clearly meant as a joke, but he’s not far off from the truth.

“Even before I realised what your intentions were, I thought you were delightfully charming. You have a way of inspiring people to go beyond what they think is possible. I do believe you rather swept me off my feet a bit.”

“What changed?”

Remembering Manfred’s still skeleton in his arms still makes him feel sick.

“Very nearly losing dear Manfred reinforced a more general fear of death, I’m afraid.”

“So it became about the possibility of losing me, as well.”

“Yes.”

“How do you suppose you might have felt if I did die tomorrow, our parting words being what they were?”

Emmrich is momentarily stunned into silence.

“I–...”

“You didn’t think of that? Because from where I’m standing, I don’t think old age is going to be the problem.”

“I have such faith in us, in you, darling, I…”

Even to his own ears, it sounds like a pitiful excuse. For a long while, they sit in silence. It is Rook who speaks first.

“Look, Emmrich, I–... I want to be with you, but I need you to want to be with me, too.”

Emmrich knows he wants him. Has known, really, from the moment Rook first flirted with him. Or, rather, from the moment he first realised Rook had been flirting with him. How thrilling it has been, to be chased again for the first time in years, and by a younger man no less. In the quiet, unguarded hours of the night, Emmrich's thoughts drift to his companion with alarming regularity. Uncouth though it is to admit, the blood does run hot at the thought of those hands on his naked body, the press of those lips below the collar, but they’ve never gone that far. No, indeed, beyond a few rather intense moments where their hands wandered but did not tread beyond the boundaries of any fabrics, they haven't been... Intimate.

It is entirely beyond the realm of Emmrich’s imagination that Rook could possibly think he doesn’t want him. The fact that he harbours any uncertainty in the first place is surely testament to Emmrich’s total inability to get over himself.

“I apologise, my darling, for ever even allowing the possibility to exist in your mind that I don’t. I would ask that you allow me to make things right.”

He can see his own hope reflected in Rook’s eyes, but there is such fear there. Emmrich wishes, once again, that he hadn’t put it there in the first place. Baring the depths of his desire is a terrifying prospect: he’s done his best to keep it close to his heart, to never say too much too fast, to never commit to a relationship he’s certain he doesn’t get to have anymore. 

Meanwhile, the man opposite him is all but begging him to take what he’s offering.

Manfred was right. He has been a terrible fool. 

Rook avoids his eyes. “It’s fi–”

Emmrich shakes his head.

“It is not. You needn’t debase yourself with lies on my account. I was too afraid of what it might mean if I allowed myself to have this. Your presence in my life has… Complicated things. There are days and often nights when I can scarcely think of anything but you.”

When Rook only stares at him with no reply forthcoming, Emmrich fears he’s made yet another wrong step in having said too much, too quickly.

“Oh.”

The fear that clouded his darling’s eyes is dissipating, making way for that blossoming, infectious hope. Such wonder in his expression, to the point where Emmrich wonders if he hasn’t kept his feelings much, much too close to his heart. Does Rook truly not know how he affects him?

“Poor Bellara keeps having to correct my work, and Harding has commented on it more than once that I appear–... I believe she used the word ‘mopey.’ I’ve been distracted, and–”

“In fairness, the world is about to end–”

“No, Rook. I–...” 

“It’s alright, Emmrich,” Rook says, squeezing Emmrich’s hand. “You don’t owe me any explanations. You don’t have to say anything. I will take whatever you wish to offer me, for however long it lasts. Whether that is one week or five years, or twenty, I don’t care. I am happy with whatever it is you’re willing to give.”

Rook’s plain refusal to ask for anything breaks his heart. Is this truly the best Emmrich can offer someone so extraordinary? A tepid little affair that will inevitably end in misery if he cannot bring himself to wholly commit to this wonderful, exhilarating companionship they might have?

Unacceptable. These are not results Emmrich is willing to even consider.

“Might I ask you to accompany me, dearest?”

Rook blinks.

“Uh. Sure. Where to?”

“Come with me.”

He pulls Rook away from the ledge by the hand, only letting go when they are safely through the first portal together. The short walk to Rook’s quarters feels like he’s passing through an eternity of silence, interrupted only by the sound of their footsteps echoing down the stone halls. 

It is upon entering the room that Emmrich becomes aware of two fatal flaws in his plan. One: that he has never actually laid eyes upon Rook’s personal space, and two; that he therefore was unaware of the fact that there isn’t a bed to be found. A fairly uninviting leather sofa appears to be the only source of comfort, and the room’s various surfaces remain pitifully bare. The wall to wall aquarium - or illusion thereof - is a lovely touch, however. 

Behind him, Rook chuckles. 

“I don’t usually like to spend time in here. It’s really just where I come to talk to Solas.”

“Ah. Then where…?”

“In the infirmary.”

Rook walks past him and sinks into the sofa, the weight of the world finally descending from his shoulders. Emmrich sits with him, momentarily transfixed by the water and the various creatures swimming inside it. An odd, fixed point in the Fade where all appears so much more peaceful than it truly is.

“So… Why are we here?”

“In truth, I did not want to be interrupted by Hezenkoss or, worse, Manfred. I thought your quarters might be a more peaceful retreat, but I did not realise your accommodations are so… Minimalistic.”

Rook is smiling.

“Interrupted?”

It’s a subject he is yet to broach with Rook, mostly because he had hoped Rook would take the lead on this. Harding’s admittedly well-meaning, yet vexing commentary on their respective ages, how fast she thinks they are moving, and how distracted Emmrich has allowed himself to get, has gotten to him. 

He lays a hand on Rook’s bare forearm and watches his face carefully.

“I fear I’ve caused you great anguish, Rook. I made you feel unwanted.”

A minute rolling of the eyes, paired with a half-hearted shrug. Yes, Emmrich has caused him anguish, but he doesn’t wish to speak about it anymore. Pretending the fresh wound does not exist is much easier than tending to it.

“You’ve apologised. I forgive you.”

“I– Thank you, but that is not what this is about.”

“It isn’t?”

“I fear I’ve allowed outside opinions to influence my conduct with regards to you and our relationship.”

Rook just stares at him for a moment. He looks amused. That’s not necessarily in Emmrich’s favour.

“Is this about Harding?”

Mortifying.

“How did you–”

“You lot always seem to wait until I’m in earshot to discuss things I really don’t wish to hear.”

Emmrich groans and rubs a hand over his face.

“And you didn’t think to mention it?”

“What, like you did?”

Touché. 

“Fair point.”

“I’m mostly unable to get past the fact that you would take her word over mine. She’s still a decade younger than me.”

“In hindsight, I can see how that does appear especially foolish, yes.”

He’s really made an incredible dog’s breakfast of this, and he still hasn’t been able to get to the point. Next to him, however, Rook’s body shakes with laughter. Two hands, warm and inviting, bring him in for a kiss so affectionate, so unexpectedly joyful, that it makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“Amatus,” Rook whispers against his lips, sending a shiver down his spine, “if this is your long-winded way of telling me that Lace Harding is the reason you haven’t had your way with me yet–”

“Not just Harding, no. Although I suppose she had me worried I would put undue pressure on y–”

Rook’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, Emmrich notices. 

“Undue pressure? Emmrich, I…”

As though it’s a secret that the very walls of the Lighthouse aren’t allowed to hear, Rook leans in, his scruffy beard grazing delightfully against the skin of Emmrich’s cheek.

“I thought you wanted to take things slow…” he whispers. “I thought… Perhaps you didn’t feel ready. But if you are, then I should like you to know that there is nothing, nothing in this world I desire more than for you to put your hands on me.”

The kiss against his jaw is hot and full of promise, but Emmrich can’t let Rook take the lead when it is he who has something to prove.

“If only we had spoken to one another sooner, darling.”

“Let’s keep that in mind for the future.” Rook concurs, his hands twitching nervously on Emmrich’s shoulders. “I–... May I?”

“Yes, you may, but first–”

Emmrich sits up, makes quick work of shedding their boots, and pushes Rook back against the armrest, crawling over him until he can rest his full weight on top of him. How he’s longed to feel that strong, soft body against his own again.

Rook wastes no time, hands rapidly descending down Emmrich’s sides and promptly grabbing two handfuls of his backside. 

“Finally,” Rook breathes into Emmrich’s neck, followed by a kiss against his jaw, “been thinking about that for weeks.”

There’s still much to discuss, but it is an uphill battle to regain some semblance of control in the face of Rook’s fully unleashed desire. Upon reflection, he should have known better than to think that Rook would be anything but a sweeping tide.

“My darling…” Emmrich says softly, hoping to inject enough affection into the word to get Rook to focus. 

“Mm?”

Excellent. “You must tell me how to touch you. I do not wish to handle based on assumptions about your body alone.”

For a moment Rook stills completely, and Emmrich fears having once again said the wrong thing. 

Rook, however, brings his arms up to hug him to his chest, peppering his face with kisses.

“Amatus…”

He’d said that earlier as well. Emmrich thinks he can infer what it means, but…

“What was that, darling?”

Rook pulls back, eyes roaming Emmrich’s face, a glimmer of uncertainty among the obvious arousal. 

“It’s… It means ‘beloved.’ If-if you’d rather I don’t–”

“My love,” Emmrich whispers, cutting off the unwelcome stream of doubts with a kiss, “to be your beloved is an honour and a privilege.”

Rook hesitates, nervous hands stroking Emmrich’s sides. 

“Is now the wrong time to say I love you?”

In spite of all his fears, in spite of what it means he will have to face in the future, Emmrich finds he cannot stop smiling.

“No such thing. I love you, too, my dearest Rook.”

Why had he been so afraid to say so out loud? It’s not as if he didn’t think so already, privately, in the safety of his mind. The way Rook looks at him now, so full of adoration and devotion, makes him want to say it again, and again, and again. For years to come, or as Rook had said, for however long it lasts.

“As for my body,” Rook then says, and Emmrich forces himself to pay attention, no matter how distracting Rook’s fingers on his lower back are, “the body I have is the body I want. As you are quite familiar with the ‘finer points of anatomy,’ I should think you can feel your way there.”

Utterly unhelpful and yet Emmrich finds himself excited by the prospect of finding out exactly what his lover likes and dislikes. A finger beneath his chin forces him to meet Rook’s eyes once more, however.

“But just to be perfectly, crystal clear,” Rook says quietly, his voice low, “I very much wish for you to consummate this relationship.”

Emmrich is not ignorant about what this might mean to Rook, to share in his body the way he’s asking to.

“You’re certain?” 

Rook laughs again, accentuated by an affectionate squeeze.

“I assure you, many a nighttime fantasy has involved you, me, and your desk.”

He can envision it now, a wanton Rook bent over his desk, the length of his naked back laid out before him, his to caress, to kiss, to…

Focus, Emmrich tells himself sternly. He can’t be losing himself in Rook like this already, not when there is still so much penance to be paid.

He sits up on his knees and settles his hands on Rook’s hips.

“Scoot down for me, darling.”

Rook wriggles down the uncooperative leather couch until he’s mostly lying down. Satisfied that this will give Rook enough leverage, Emmrich leans down to kiss him, distracting him as he moves to gently but firmly press his thigh between Rook’s legs. 

The sound of the gasp and shaky exhale that follow, Emmrich wishes he could bottle up and carry with him forever. He gives Rook’s hips a firm squeeze, encouraging him to move, to seek his pleasure, and watches in delight as his eyes flutter shut when he begins to slowly grind against Emmrich’s leg. He'd liked this, that one time on the other sofa, when they were so very close to being intimate before Assan and Davrin’s return to the Lighthouse interrupted them.

“Very good,” Emmrich says, kissing him once more before beginning to take off his jewellery. At once, his hand is in Rook’s, who presses his lips to one of his rings, then to the back of his hand.

“Let me.”

How can such strong hands be so gentle? Being a Mourn Watcher is precise, elegant work in Emmrich’s humble opinion. He can’t even recall the last time he’s had to throw a punch. Meanwhile Rook was so depleted from constant fighting that he discarded his staff mid-battle and started beating Venatori to a pulp with his bare hands on at least one occasion.

Emmrich shouldn’t find that thrilling, but again, he’s only a mortal man. It is especially thrilling that hands capable of such violence should treat him as if he’s something precious: gently sliding his rings off one by one while never letting go of Emmrich’s hand. The cuff and bracelets follow, after which his glove is slowly peeled off.

Rook, it seems, marvels at every inch of newly exposed skin. He turns Emmrich’s hand over and kisses his palm, his wrist, and lets his finger trail against the row of bracelets and bangles on his other hand.

“Should I take these off? Or do you like to keep them on?”

In spite of his best efforts, Emmrich can feel his face contorting with disgust.

“You cannot think me so vulgar.”

The pure, sparkling mirth in Rook’s eyes tells him he’s been had.

“Just making sure.”

One by one, the jewellery is removed from his left arm. Each piece is slipped off his wrist and carefully laid by the sofa, until Emmrich’s arm is bare and there is a small fortune worth of gold on the floor. Rook appears momentarily transfixed, ghosting his lips over the pulse that beats steadily - and quickly - in Emmrich’s wrist. The kiss, soft as a flower petal, sends a very pleasant tingle from his fingertips all the way down his spine. 

In turn, Emmrich takes the opportunity to stroke his lover’s face, to feel the texture of his beard against his fingers. Rook leans in, not at all unlike a cat, affectionately rubbing his face against Emmrich’s hand. 

“Your hands are so soft,” Rook comments, taking Emmrich’s hand and twining their fingers together. 

Emmrich kisses their joined hands, lingering to inhale the scent: fragrant and aromatic from his bath earlier this evening.

“I take great care in maintaining my personal grooming, even with the blight knocking on our very doorstep.”

“I know. You always look–... You’re beautiful.”

He is hovering mere inches away from Rook’s face, having intended to steal another kiss, but now he remains, slack-jawed, the words dancing inside his ears.

Rook frowns. 

“Emmrich?”

Let it go, he tells himself.

“It’s nothing, dearest. As you were.”

But based on the available evidence, Rook has likely never in his life let anything go.

“I refuse to believe this is the first time anyone’s told you that.”

“It isn’t. Just that it’s been some time.”

Rook’s eyes narrow. He’s been caught.

“Some time since…?”

“Since… I’ve considered myself worthy of the term.”

Perhaps he’s expecting to be chastised for being silly and self-deprecating, or for Rook to make a joke.

“I understand.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what you looked like before, but I understand what it’s like to… Mourn the loss of things you used to like about yourself.”

Rook does understand, but why?

“What is it you mourn, my darling?”

“My voice.”

Until this very moment, it had never once occurred to Emmrich that some changes to one’s body, even if one chose them, are not always equally welcome. Now that the choice is no longer his to make, he wonders if he would have mourned his physical self, had he achieved lichdom. In the context of his relationship with Rook, certainly, but on its own?

“How so?”

“I always had a deep voice for a–… Before. I hated it for the longest time. It wasn’t right for the body I was in. Over time… I don’t know. It became the one thing that I did like about myself.”

Rook is quiet for a moment. Emmrich doesn’t dare to break the silence.

“I used to be able to sing.”

There is such longing in that statement. Such loss.

“Can’t, anymore. Voice cracks when I try. Never… Never seem to find the right register. It’s such a small loss compared to what I’ve gained from it.”

Emmrich shakes his head. 

“It’s a loss, all the same.”

“Yeah,” Rook says, and clears his throat, “and you? What is it you mourn?”

“Oh, darling… So many things. The lustre and colour of my hair, not to mention the amount of it, my youthful countenance, the way my back didn’t ache with such regularity.”

As if called to it, Rook runs his fingers through his hair, tousling the salt and pepper strands into disarray. Emmrich is grateful to have bathed: there’s nothing as off-putting as a handful of pomade.

“I understand, but…” Rook says again, smiling ear to ear. Emmrich wonders what it is that he sees that sparks such joy. It’s true that there’s not usually a hair out of place, but…

“For what it’s worth, I could happily occupy myself by looking at you all day. I have, once.”

That can’t be true. Rook’s flattery is not usually so fantastical. 

“There’s no need–”

“Do you remember when I came over to have a look at that book you showed me?”

“Yes? An account of the early history of the Necropolis, if I recall.”

“Yes. Or, well, I suppose so.”

“You suppose so?”

“Didn’t read a word.”

Emmrich doesn’t know whether he can’t or shouldn’t dignify that with a response.

“But it’s a marvellous first edition. We haven’t seen such an accurate–”

Rook shrugs. “I got distracted.”

He may be making light of the situation, but Emmrich realises he means every word. Thinking back, it’s not as if he hadn’t tried to communicate his opinion of Emmrich’s looks, either. It’s just that the recipient of those compliments is occasionally somewhat obtuse.

“Thank you, Rook. For soothing my foolish anxieties.”

“Not foolish. Just unnecessary.”

Emmrich, not knowing what to say, pushes his knee farther up against him, falling forward to catch him in a searing kiss. As he so often does, Rook meets him halfway, moaning into his mouth as he rubs up against him. Emmrich captures his wandering hands and holds them, loosely and in one hand, over Rook’s head. Can’t be too delicate with that sore wrist.

To today’s list of delightful discoveries, Emmrich is most pleased to add that Rook is not at all a quiet lover. All sorts of lovely noises escape him, from grunts to sighs to half-formulated whispers that Emmrich can’t really make out. Music to his ears.

“I know it might not mean much coming from me, Rook,” Emmrich tells him, extricating himself from their kiss with great difficulty, “but your voice has brought me much comfort… And brings me great pleasure.”

Rook’s rhythm against his thigh falters as he shudders. 

“Really?”

“More than you know,” Emmrich admits, using his free hand to pull Rook’s hair away from his neck and shoulders. “I’ve had, on occasion, rather salacious thoughts about what you might say.”

The noise the man beneath him produces is almost akin to a whine: pinched and desperate.

“Say? When?”

“I had hoped that you might proposition me.”

“Did you?”

Emmrich refuses to feel ashamed, not when Rook is looking at him the way he is, rutting against him like a wild animal. 

“I thought you might whisk me away, as it were. Invite me into your chambers, seduce me–”

“Mhm.”

“–and kiss me. Whisper your desire into my skin-”

“A-aha. Yeah?”

“-tempt me onto my knees. Touching and teasing me until–”

“Festis bei umo canavarum.”

It comes out in a rush of air as Rook arches slightly underneath him, hips stuttering. Emmrich arches a single brow.

“Pardon?”

“You will be the death of me,” Rook translates, trying and failing to catch his breath. “Sweet weeping Maker, Emmrich, you can’t talk like that.”

“I– Apologies. I didn’t mean–”

“No, Emmrich, you misunderstand.”

For the first time since they’ve known each other, Rook looks embarrassed. Emmrich immediately decides he doesn’t like that look on him, not one bit, especially not now.

“Tell me, dearest.”

“One of the many boons of my body is that I–... I feel pleasure a lot more intensely than I used to.”

“I must admit I am confused. That sounds wonderful, to me.”

“No. I mean, yes, it is, but–”

“But?”

Rook groans. “I was seconds away from–”

Oh.

“Oh!”

“Yes.”

“Darling, I fail to see the problem.”

Rook’s eyebrows make a heroic effort to acquaint with his hairline.

“I… Don’t follow.”

“We do not set out until daybreak tomorrow morning. The night is young, yet. It was never my intention for our coupling to be… Brief.”

“I must admit I hadn’t considered any other possibility than it being brief.”

“Why?”

“World-ending danger just outside our door?”

“That is precisely why it shouldn’t be.”

Rook blinks, as if this hadn’t occurred to him either. Then, the smile returns to his face.

“I suppose it bodes well for our relationship that we enjoy listening to each other talk, then.”

One must always be mindful of letting adoration go to one’s head, but even Emmrich cannot deny the rush he feels upon hearing that. He leans over Rook again and kisses his cheek, his hands working quickly between them to undo the buttons on Rook’s shirt.

“I was unaware that my manner of speech affected you so, Rook darling.”

“You’re not the only one who’s had thoughts.”

Rook sits up enough to let Emmrich take his shirt off. When he lays back, arms over his head still, his hair spread out like a crescent sun setting upon mountains, Emmrich finds himself utterly breathless.

Emmrich thinks of himself as having an awful lot of sharp angles. His physique is well maintained and he’s healthy, but he is thin and not particularly strong. Rook, on the other hand, is nothing but soft curves. His arms are surprisingly strong, especially for a mage, but resting as they are now they simply look soft and welcoming. The bulge of his stomach creates a slight roll on the sides of his trousers, and Emmrich cannot resist giving them a well-earned squeeze. This, surprisingly, makes Rook laugh.

“Ticklish, are you?” 

“No, that’s not it. Just… Enjoying myself.”

“As am I, my darling, handsome Rook.”

Now that he can finally see Rook’s bare upper body up close, he notices two things: one, how perfectly neat the scars on his chest are, and two, that Rook blushes most intensely on his cheeks and his collarbones. He looks thoroughly ravaged already and Emmrich’s barely laid a hand on him. 

“Flattery will get you absolutely everywhere this evening, amatus.”

“Mm. Tell me, how long does it take you to… Recuperate?”

“I, uh… About an hour. Yourself?”

It is Emmrich’s turn to smile. He allows himself a moment longer to admire the delightfully flushed shape of Rook’s body, daring to trace a finger along the scar on the very centre of his chest.

“Much longer, I’m afraid. However,” Emmrich says, slowly drawing his gaze up to Rook’s face, “one of my body’s many boons is the ability to enjoy the pleasure of your company for a rather extended period of time.”

Rook puts his hand over Emmrich’s until he can feel his heart beating against his palm, strong and fast. With each heartbeat, Emmrich thinks it again: I love you, I love you, I love you.

“In for a long night, am I?” 

The sound of his voice, husky and gravelly with lust, lights a flame in Emmrich’s very core.

“The night ends when you wish for it to end, my dear.”

Rook squeezes his hand before letting him go, eyes wide. 

“Touch me, Emmrich, please.”

It’s a request he can’t very well refuse. It takes but a few clever manoeuvres to undo Rook’s belt and trouser buttons, but he doesn’t move to take the garment off just yet. Instead, he shifts to lay down next to him, propped up on one arm, and slowly moves the hand on Rook’s chest down his body.

“If you insist.”

Rook turns to face him, dismissing Emmrich’s plan and quickly pushing off his trousers. He hooks a leg over Emmrich’s hips to allow him better access, happily nuzzling along his jaw, and finally taking a long, deep breath.

“Maker’s breath, do you always smell this good?”

Emmrich chuckles. Still his stomach flips upon hearing such things.

“I try to. Certainly on evenings where I suspect you may visit.”

He gingerly touches Rook’s undergarments, upon which he immediately arches into his hand, seeking much needed relief. 

While it is true that Emmrich is more familiar with different anatomies than most, he still has to venture to understand Rook’s particularities. It does, however, appear he needn’t worry too much. For the moment his fingers touch where Rook most wants him to, it becomes immediately apparent that he is enjoying the proceedings immensely. His undergarments are thoroughly soaked, and Emmrich can easily feel the hardened outline of his clitoris against his fingertips. It is larger than he’s accustomed to, which certainly explains Rook’s particular predicament.

“Now,” Emmrich says quietly, “where were we?”

“Right a-about here, yeah.”

The way Rook shakes in his arms tells him he was not at all joking. The slightest touch could very well push him over the edge already. Utterly fascinating.

Rook did once praise him for his control.

“Breathe, darling. Allow me to take care of you.”

Something that sounds vaguely like one of Rook’s colourful Tevene curses falls from his lips. A remnant of his upbringing, Emmrich supposes. He withdraws his hand and - in spite of Rook’s protest - evokes the Fade around them. 

“Do you trust me?”

Rook’s eyes dart around as he watches the wisps and misty swirls dance and fade away around them. Upon registering what Emmrich’s asking him, he looks at him, instead.

“Your being by my side has made me feel I can achieve anything. That I can do what is required of me. Yes, Emmrich, I trust you. With my life, always.”

Emmrich maintains control of the magic, but only just. His heart swells in his chest and, just for a moment, he finds it hard to speak.

“I–...”

He clears his throat. 

“Then allow me. Close your eyes.”

Rook closes his eyes and breathes slowly, deeply.

“Let the Fade soothe you, my darling. Allow the spirits that abide here to share with you their joy, their calmness.”

Around him, Rook’s arms slowly go slack, just resting against him now. His breathing remains steady. His shoulders lose some of their tension. Another deep breath, and Emmrich can almost feel the pent-up energy leaving his body.

“May it shelter us, here, on this evening. Let us find bliss and peace in this moment, within this pocket of the Fade.”

Without saying anything, Rook’s fingers find his jaw, tilting his face until their lips meet. The hand at his jaw moves to the back of his head, where tender fingertips lovingly pet his hair, brushing the backs of his ears. At this, Emmrich is forced to conclude his active manipulation of the Fade, pulling Rook in closer against him. 

Recent encounters, insofar there have been any at all, have not been nearly intimate enough for his last several partners to have discovered how sensitive his ears are. At first, Rook doesn’t touch them again, instead coaxing Emmrich’s mouth open with his tongue, deepening an already excellent kiss. For a very pleasant while, there’s nothing but the slide of their tongues, of their warm, mortal, alive bodies pressed together. It is Rook’s hand who takes his hand and places it back between his legs, and it is Emmrich who breaks the kiss to see where he’s touching.

In that moment, Rook kisses his cheek, the curve of his jaw. The very tip of his nose just barely touches the earshell, before he moves to take the lobe between his teeth, ever so gently.

Emmrich arches into him, exhaling slowly. 

“You’re being very distracting, darling.”

“Am I?” 

The tip of Rook’s tongue is doing rather wicked things to him, twirling and flicking against his earlobe without ever applying too much pressure. 

It’s a delicious give-and-take of pleasure, much more than Emmrich had imagined. In his fantasies, he either seduces Rook or Rook seduces him. The person to initiate also takes the lead. Here, he notices, they are both so preoccupied with pleasing the other that neither one of them truly leads.

And though this is certainly not an error, it is a course he aims to correct.

“Yes, you are, my sweet,” Emmrich murmurs against the curve of Rook’s shoulder, picking and choosing which freckles are particularly deserving of his attention. “Words cannot express what you do to me.”

Halfway across the space between his shoulder and his neck, Rook tilts his head to give Emmrich more room. The smattering of kisses he leaves there have Rook’s breath hitching in his throat. Goosebumps rise all over his skin, from his upper arm to his neck.

“O-oh,” Rook stutters, “that’s–”

“Very good.”

Emmrich marvels at how responsive his body is, intending to turn him over fully later so that he might explore the back of his neck as well. If his theory is sound, then that will bring Rook great pleasure, indeed.

“I thought you wanted me to seduce you,” Rook chuckles, sounding out of breath. “But I fear I am resoundingly outmatched.”

With the very tip of his middle finger, Emmrich lazily circles the tip of Rook’s clitoris, just barely protruding from his undergarments. 

“I do have over a decade of experience on you.”

Rook gasps, his hand firmly squeezing Emmrich’s side. 

“Y-you would use that against me, even now?”

Emmrich has done everything within his power - and within reason - to attempt to calm Rook down, but it’s clear it takes him no time at all to approach his peak once more. It really is fascinating, and part of Emmrich wonders whether it would truly take all of an hour for him to be able to do so once more. If Rook is amenable, it’s something he would enjoy putting to the test, extensively.

“Never against you, Rook,” Emmrich whispers, moving his finger faster, “never again. My only desire is to bring you to ecstasy.”

Rook whimpers against his neck, fisting his hand in Emmrich’s vest. Feeling bold, Emmrich elects to venture beyond the fabric still between them. His fingers are immediately coated in Rook’s hot, slippery slick, easily allowing him to part the labia and find his prize.

To his surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t be given that he was provided with due warning, Rook’s hips jolt against his hand. That, to Emmrich, does not appear to be pleasurable; rather, it is too much. 

Perhaps this is what Rook had meant when he told Emmrich to ‘feel his way there.’ It stands to reason that it cannot be too difficult to understand.

“I’ve thought of you, of this, perhaps more than I should have, but never did I imagine you so very sensitive.”

There’s a breathless laugh just by his ear. “And now?”

“Now…”

It is key, Emmrich knows, not to overthink things. In considering the present state and structure of Rook’s anatomy, he concludes that perhaps a different approach is warranted. Gently, he allows his clitoris to slip between his middle and index finger, and finds that there is indeed enough length for him to stroke him, slowly. It is not dissimilar to how he would touch himself, albeit with less pressure.

“Now I yearn to see how you might respond when I take you into my mouth.”

There’s a faint scrape of teeth against his neck; Rook fighting to maintain control. 

“You’re– You’re more than welcome to–”

“I will,” Emmrich promises hotly, feeling his prick stir in sympathy with the delicate, twitching shaft between his fingers. “You have my word.”

Rook moans into his shoulder and squeezes him again. Emmrich presses on.

“Is this what you dreamt of, darling? For me to touch you like this?”

“Mm-mhm… Yeah, among… Among other things.”

“You mentioned my desk.”

Another desperate whine, and something he correctly deciphers to be an affirmative nod. Rook is rock hard between his fingers now.

“Perhaps when Manfred is away for training at the Necropolis.”

“M-Maker–”

“You might entice me to seat you upon my desk.”

“Uh-uhuh?”

“Where I shall feast upon you, until you prevail on me to stop, and–”

“Venhedis, Emmrich, I–”

Emmrich is delighted that he needn’t even truly venture beyond the boundaries of propriety for Rook to enjoy what he’s saying. That said, he suspects he would enjoy it a great deal if he did.

“If it pleases you, I would turn you around, tease you with my fingers until–”

“Emmrich, Emmrich–”

And it is paramount, he thinks, that he chooses his timing perfectly.

“You beg me to fuck you.”

His modest use of just the one curse word is nothing compared to the litany of vulgarity that falls from Rook’s lips, Tevene and common alike, as he shakes to pieces in Emmrich’s arms. Emmrich does not withdraw his fingers, keeping up his steady stroking, until Rook’s hand closes around his wrist like a vise. 

Moments later, after Rook stops twitching, Emmrich retrieves his fingers, swiping his tongue through the delectable web between. Rook watches, wide-eyed, and flops onto his back.

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before.”

“One mustn’t wear it out.”

Rook takes his hand and kisses it, before closing his mouth around three of Emmrich’s digits and sucking. All Emmrich can do is stare.

“I really hope you meant what you said,” Rook says, upon releasing his fingers. 

“My dearest, precious Rook,” Emmrich says gravely, “I do not make promises I do not intend to keep.”

“Good. That’ll give me something to look forward to, through tomorrow’s battle.”

The mention of tomorrow gives them both pause, a momentary bursting of the bubble they’ve encased themselves in. There’s no need for them to speak. Looking at each other, they know perfectly well what the other is thinking: tomorrow could very well be the end of this, and any of the days thereafter until the gods are defeated and the situation with Solas is resolved.

“I will go wherever you need me to.” Emmrich promises solemnly. 

Rook sits up and leans over, wordlessly pulling Emmrich closer to the centre of the sofa and promptly seating himself upon his thighs. Without meeting his eye, he begins the removal of the very last piece of jewellery upon his person: the collar pin and its chains. 

Having Rook on top of him is the direct fulfilment of a very well-loved fantasy, but it is entirely wrong. For one, Rook looks the exact same as he did seconds before leaving Emmrich in his room earlier, and two, he is sitting upright, entirely too far away.

“Darling?”

No response. Instead, Rook carefully removes the pin and slides it through the holes in Emmrich’s vest until the chain is free, before putting both the adornment and its chain with the rest of the assembled jewellery.

The silence in the room suddenly seems unbearably loud while Rook quickly pops the buttons on Emmrich’s vest, finally sliding it open to reveal the shirt beneath. His hands linger on Emmrich’s sides, unmoving.

After one moment of silence too long, Emmrich sits up and lets his vest slide off his shoulders before putting a hand to Rook’s face.

“Rook?”

At last, Rook looks at him.

“What if we don’t make it through tomorrow?”

It’s not something he bothers to often think about. It would be impossible to overstate the consequences if they lost. The world could very well be entirely lost to the blight, and every last one of their team could perish.

“If that comes to pass,” Emmrich says quietly, bringing Rook in closer and touching their foreheads together, “then all we might hope for is that we take the joy of this moment with us into the Fade.”

It’s as if the Fade closes around them once more as Rook closes his eyes, a very frail smile on his lips. 

“And if it doesn’t come to pass?”

Emmrich blinks. In truth, he hadn’t considered this yet at all. Perhaps this is what Harding meant when she told him to ‘watch for the branches.’ What happens if they should survive and come out the other end of this impossibly bleak nightmare together?

He cannot and does not want to abandon the Necropolis, and while willing to - and possibly able, should they still have the Crossroads at their disposal - attempt a long distance relationship, that has not worked out well for him in the past. The thought that simple, everyday matters could tear them apart after surviving all that they have seems impossibly cruel. 

In spite of Emmrich’s inability to answer, Rook kisses him, popping the button at his collar and teasing a finger against the bare skin of his throat. 

“Lie down,” Rook whispers against his mouth. “I’ve waited too long not to enjoy this.”

Emmrich lies back down and firmly tamps down on the impulse to cover himself, somehow. They’ve been over this. Why is this proving to be so much more difficult than the more casual encounters he’s had?

With every button Rook nimbly undoes, he becomes more and more aware of the fact that this is the first time Rook will see him fully nude. What if he proves a disappointment? His many layers and the grave dowry he wears serve a dual purpose: style and protection. By virtue of putting effort into his appearance, he will always look presentable, and there’s little reason to wonder at what lies beneath. No such insurance now. 

The best course of action seems to be to close his eyes and enjoy the sensation of Rook’s breathing moving ever lower; the feeling of his hair gliding across his skin as he moves; how warm his hands feel against him when his shirt is spread open and pulled down his shoulders. 

It proves difficult not to squirm in the ensuing silence. Emmrich knows what he looks like, for pity’s sake. His skin sags in unflattering places, the hair on his body has grown sparse and grey in others, and he doesn’t have all of Rook’s gorgeous muscles to fill up his slender figure. It is simply a fact that he looks his age.

The clasps on his belt are undone and his sash is pulled loose, baring the last of his abdomen to the man above him. Loving hands squeeze his sides and stroke the soft skin of his stomach, teasing the waistband of his trousers but never moving down past it. 

“Emmrich, look at me.”

Rook sounds out of breath, and when Emmrich opens his eyes he finds him hovering over him with colour high on his cheeks and his eyes dark as night.

He anticipates a kiss that never finds his mouth, landing instead on his clavicle, then his shoulder. The sudden feeling of Rook’s breath against his ear does nothing to steady the hammering of his heart inside his chest.

“Look at you. If I’d known what you were hiding beneath all those buttons I wouldn’t have bothered to preserve them.”

“I’ll thank you not to damage my clothing, darling.”

“Then I’ll thank you not to wear so much of it in the future.”

“Don’t be ridicu–”

A soft nip of teeth to his earlobe.

“I’m not. You’ve no idea. No idea…”

Rook trails off, and Emmrich supposes he really doesn’t have any idea. As a man, he doesn’t need to, but as a scholar, it irks him.

“Then… Tell me.”

“Don’t rightly know where to start. You’re a feast. Kaffas, Emmrich–” 

There is nothing gentle about the way Rook kisses and sucks at his neck, another area so sensitive from the collar chafing against it all day that it makes Emmrich’s eyes roll back. 

“Promise me one more thing, amatus.”

Emmrich makes a vague noise to indicate he’s heard him. It’s hard to speak with Rook kissing every inch of his face.

“If we make it out of this alive, I–... I can’t go back to Minrathous. I don’t want to be apart from you or Manfred. Take me with you to Nevarra, let me join the Mourn Watch.”

It is seldom the case that Emmrich arrives at the obvious conclusion to a question so quickly. The question is whether or not he wants this. The answer is yes, yes of course he does.

“I’d be delighted to have you.”

Even with his eyes closed, he can tell Rook is beaming through their kiss.

“And I, Professor Volkarin,” Rook mutters, his lips finding Emmrich’s ear once again, “would be delighted to have you.”

To hear his title slip from Rook’s tongue in such a sinful manner sets his blood alight in ways it hasn’t been in a very long time. His hips arch of their own accord and unexpectedly - but very pleasantly - meet with the firm weight of Rook’s hand.

“A-ahh, darling, I–”

“Like that, don’t you?”

Briefly, Emmrich wonders whether it is at all worth it to deny as much. He can’t, really, what with the evidence of his excitement being so plainly apparent.

“Not usually,” he says, gasping when Rook squeezes him through his trousers, “but you have a habit of making the mundane extraordinary.”

At once, Rook sits up to look at him. The hand that was doing such lovely things to him disappears.

“There is nothing mundane about you.”

Emmrich very strongly feels there is, but just about manages not to voice it. Rook rewards him with a kiss, and another on his chin. He nudges Emmrich’s chin up with his nose and kisses his throat, his clavicle, moving farther and farther south. 

“You’re brilliant, Emmrich,” Rook insists. “I could listen to you talk for hours.”

“Well, I suppose that depending on your choice of specialty, you may very well be in my class.”

Rook’s downward trajectory stops. Emmrich looks down to find him staring at him through his lashes. There is no mistaking the intent in those eyes.

“Then I promise you’ll have my rapt attention, professor.”

Oh, no. He can’t have that, no matter how intoxicating the idea is.

“Rook,” Emmrich warns, “that’s not what I–”

“Of course not,” Rook interrupts, looking and sounding no less lecherous than he did a moment ago. “You’d never.”

“I assure you, I never have, certainly not with a student.”

The mere implication makes him feel ill, but then, Rook would only be a student as a matter of formality. He’s a very accomplished mage in his own right, and Emmrich has no doubt he’ll breeze through. In fact, something thrills at the idea of teaching him the minutiae of the magic he himself has become an expert at.

Good grief, he’s already trying to justify himself.

“Naturally,” Rook affirms airily, continuing to make his way down Emmrich’s body. “I very much look forward to seeing you at the lectern.”

Emmrich won’t grace that with a response, certainly not when Rook is nuzzling above his waistband, lips ghosting over his erection but never touching. His hands stroke the inside of Emmrich’s thighs, before settling on the garters around his calves.

“Now these…”

Something in Emmrich feels the need to defend himself.

“Old-fashioned, perhaps, but I enjoy the comfort of them.”

With ease, Rook props Emmrich’s feet up against his chest so that he might unpin the garters and slide them off, along with his socks. 

“You misunderstand again, amatus.”

“What?”

Rook kisses his ankle and rubs his hands up and down the tops of Emmrich’s feet. He only now notices how cold they’ve gotten.

“I found them very… Enticing, as you would say.”

Emmrich is certain he’s being indulged.

“I thought you wanted me to wear less clothing in the future, darling.”

“Does unwrapping a gift during the solstice become less exciting for its lack of layers?”

A gift. 

“I–...”

Rook lets go of his legs and takes him into his arms, enveloping him with his body. It is the warmest Emmrich has felt this evening, burrowed safely into his lover’s chest. In spite of being taller than Rook by almost a full head, he feels sheltered, almost small, in his embrace.

“I love you,” Rook says, after a moment of silence. “Come what may tomorrow, I hope you know that.”

He does. That, at least, he knows for certain.

“I do. I love you, my darling, so much. I’m sorry I was too much of a pillock to say so out loud.” 

Rook presses his nose to Emmrich’s cheek with such palpable affection that Emmrich cannot help but laugh. The moment is filled with joy, bright and sparkling like the sun even in this cold, enclosed room in the Fade.

“Now,” Rook murmurs between kisses, “I’d very, very much like to get these off.”

There’s a tug at the back of his trousers, a thumb pulling on the waistband as well as his underpants. The last of his many layers protecting him from total exposure. 

In return, he hooks a finger into Rook’s underwear.

“Likewise.”

In the next moment, Rook takes off his own pants with very little ceremony. Then, he kneels between Emmrich’s legs, unbuttoning his - by now very tight - trousers slowly. Emmrich’s throat goes dry at the sight, watching Rook the entire time as he finally gets rid of the last of his clothes. 

For once, he doesn’t even get time to be insecure. Whatever it is that’s come over Rook, he wastes no time in getting his mouth on Emmrich. His hot, wet tongue swipes all along Emmrich’s shaft before his lips close around the head, taking him into his mouth immediately.

At this moment in time, Emmrich cannot tell whether he or Rook wants this more. While he struggles to keep still and not wantonly bury himself inside the man’s throat, it is Rook who moans around him as if it’s him that’s being pleasured. 

“Darling Rook…” Emmrich breathes, stroking Rook’s cheek. “If I’d known you– oh– wanted this so badly…”

Often, reality can not live up to one’s prior fantasies. In this case, he finds the fantasy pales by comparison. Somehow, when he’d pictured this, he thought Rook would be composed, in control. Instead, he is impassioned and - dare he say - sloppy in the most gratifying way. 

Rook lets him go for a second, saliva glistening on his lips. 

“Then what?”

Emmrich grasps his jaw and pulls him in for a kiss, tasting himself. 

“Then I would have had you on your knees weeks ago.” 

“Fuck, that’s it,” Rook says, kissing him hard. “I want you on your knees. Here, now. Turn over.”

Far be it from him to refuse Rook when he’s asking like this, but it does stump him.

“I don’t follow, why–”

“You bathed before I did, didn’t you? Smell like soap all over.”

Realisation hits him like a tonne of bricks. For a moment, he feels faint.

“I– Are you sure–”

“Oh yes, yes I am.”

“You really don’t have to, I’m perfectly happy with–”

Rook laughs. “Somehow, I knew you’d be fussy about this.”

Emmrich feels his mouth fall open.

“I am not ‘fussy.’ I am merely concerned about hygiene.”

Rook stares at him.

“Three days ago, you kissed me when I had blight boil all over my face.”

“That was different.”

“Yes. This is a fair bit cleaner.”

That’s hard to argue with, even Emmrich must admit that.

“But–”

“I’ll wash my mouth out after. If you don’t want me to do this–”

“I do, I very much do–”

Rook shuts him up with a kiss.

“Then get on your knees, professor, or we’ll be here all night.”

Crawling up onto quaking knees, Emmrich rests his arms on the armrest and braces himself for what he knows is coming. He enjoys this, yes. Thoroughly, in fact, but usually he’d take much more time to prepare himself properly. It’s not that he hasn’t washed himself perfectly well, but–

Rook’s hands on his hips, his stomach resting against his backside. Reflexively, Emmrich pushes back in anticipation of a pleasure he immediately realises Rook cannot provide.

Behind him, Rook sighs.

“I know. It’s the one thing I feel I’m missing out on.”

Strands of hair tickle his back just before he feels the soft press of lips against his spine.

“What a sight you’d be…”

“Darling, I didn’t–... I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Rook says, kissing each of the ridges along the spine, lingering at his tailbone. “It’s good for me to still have nice things to dream about.”

Whatever he wanted to say in reply dies on Emmrich’s tongue the moment he feels what is sure to be Rook biting his cheek, resulting in him producing the most undignified sound. 

“Now, now, professor…”

What was it Rook said earlier? That he’d be the death of him? Most rich, coming from him. His erection bobs full and heavy between his legs, neglected entirely in favour of Rook’s hands spreading his cheeks, squeezing the flesh between his fingers. The anticipation is almost too much.

“Do not ever call me that in front of our colleagues, Rook. Please.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

The sudden feeling of Rook’s tongue pressing against his perineum and slowly swiping up has his thighs shaking. 

“Oh, that’s–”

“Good?”

“Yes, do it again– Ah!”

Rook obliges, and needs very little instruction from there. Emmrich should’ve known he meant it when he called him a feast: he’s being devoured. It’s in the way his fingers dig into his skin as he holds his hips in place, and how his tongue firmly swipes and swirls around his hole.

Emmrich whimpers and presses his forehead into the sofa’s armrest as he arches his back. Rook moans against him, receiving him with much enthusiasm, the sensation of which goes directly to his prick. What he wouldn’t give for Rook to breach him, to have him make love to him in the way they both desire him to.

There is a way. It’s even a way he has access to. Not today, but when they return to his home in Nevarra, safe and sound. The thought alone makes him throb.

“Darling– Aah, if you please–”

Rook only barely responds, and does not cease his ministrations.

“Hm?” 

“Mmnh… You needn’t miss out. There’s an implement we might use– Aah…”

“Mmmhm.”

“And– And I would like it very much indeed, if you did.”

“Hmm.”

“Is that– Ngh…”

Rook grants him a moment of respite, at last.

“You’re creating an impressive hoard of promises, amatus.”

In spite of being wholly out of breath, Emmrich chuckles, gasping for air when Rook presses a finger to his hole instead, rubbing, teasing. 

“If I had known…” Rook says, his hot breath on the back of Emmrich’s neck, “I might have arranged for such an ‘implement.’”

It’s very much a good thing Emmrich is already on his knees, since Rook seems intent on pushing him past the point of begging.

“But as I did not,” Rook continues, pressing his finger down more firmly,  “perhaps you’d like this, instead.”

“Saliva is a very poor lubricant, Rook.”

“That is not at all an answer to my question, but if you’d like me to go to the kitchen to retrieve the olive oil…”

It was only a token protest anyway, really.

“Absolutely not, and… Please.”

To his credit, Rook does make an effort to make the process as painless as possible. His finger slides in with very little effort, and he moves slowly to give Emmrich time to accommodate. 

Much too slowly. Perhaps it’s the tension of the present moment, or the years gone by, or the fact that he truly loves the man who is torturing him, but he cannot remember when he was last riled up so quickly.

“Roooook…” Emmrich groans, pushing back against the finger inside of him, hoping he’ll catch the blasted hint. There’s a soft chuckle by his shoulder.

“Something the matter?”

It’s enough to make a grown man sob. His body almost aches with the need for attention.

“Please…”

“More, is it?”

Emmrich only nods for fear of sounding even more desperate. After a moment, Rook’s finger disappears and there’s an awful lot of shuffling behind him. Then, Rook’s shoulders nudge his legs further apart, and he slides up underneath him, one arm between, and one outside of the bracket of Emmrich’s legs.

“Hello there.”

Rook grins, before firmly squeezing Emmrich’s rump and pushing him forward until he can once again take his cock into his mouth. 

The sudden intense heat and wetness surrounding his neglected prick makes him cry out, and it’s only seconds later when Rook’s finger finds his opening again. With the change in angle, he can feel Rook pressing against his prostate, and Emmrich thrusts involuntarily. 

Rook moans around him, greedily tilting his head back and looking up at Emmrich as he presses forward until his nose meets with his pubic hair.

Whatever part of him is still lucid enough to notice anything realises that Rook liked that. He pries his shaking hand free from the sofa and cradles Rook’s head in it, his fingers tangling in long, thoroughly disheveled hair. 

Once again, Rook moans his approval, and Emmrich dares to close his hand into a fist. To his delight, Rook’s eyes flutter shut, and Emmrich slowly begins to thrust into his mouth, meeting the rhythm of the finger buried inside him. 

“Ohh, that’s perfect, darling–... Keep going–”

The sight of Rook taking his length all the way into his throat, tears forming at the corners of his eyes, saliva beginning to dribble out of his mouth, hair pulled taut in Emmrich’s hand, dazes him. It’s the lewdest thing he’s seen in years.

Rook grazes his prostate again, and again, and does not let up when Emmrich’s hips stutter and he can’t move for how overwhelmed his body is. For minutes, he balances on a knife’s edge. It’s electric, pure pleasure, and he can feel the pressure of an impending orgasm already, much too soon and much faster than anticipated. When Rook once again forces Emmrich down his throat and swallows around him, it almost becomes too much.

He pulls hard on Rook’s hair.

“Off.”

For long, breathless moments, they stare at each other. Emmrich can only imagine what he must look like, but Rook looks utterly wrecked. A thorough mess that Emmrich is solely responsible for, from his messy hair to how red his lips are. His cock twitches against his belly.

“Go wash. Do not dawdle.”

Rook is out from under him in record time, already halfway across the room with his pants still on his knees. Mercifully, by the time he’s down the hall, he’s got them buttoned up.

Emmrich lays down on his back and shivers, happy to be off of his knees but feeling suddenly cold in the absence of Rook’s immense heat. He stretches and relishes the echoing sensations from but a moment ago.

Taash’s voice carries down the hallway.

“You guys having sex?”

Rarely, if ever, in his life has Emmrich felt his face change colour this fast. Rook wasn’t wearing a shirt. He dares peek over the sofa and finds the hallway empty, so they must’ve seen each other on the gallery.

The next sound to echo down the hallway is unmistakably that of two hands meeting in the air. Emmrich sinks into the sofa and wishes it would swallow him. He has to tell Rook to practice some discretion.

A minute or two pass before he can hear the familiar sound of Rook’s footsteps coming down the hallway. When the door closes, Emmrich sits up.

“I’m back– What?”

He takes Rook’s hands in his and kisses them, happy to find them smelling of the heavily perfumed soap Rook prefers.

“I’d really prefer it if we kept our more intimate relations private in the future, darling.”

It takes Rook a moment to catch on, but realisation dawns quickly.

“Oh, I’m… Sorry, Emmrich. You’re right. It’s juvenile.”

“A bit, yes.”

“Kind of hard not to boast when it’s you, but… I shouldn’t think of you as a conquest.”

At least on principle, Emmrich agrees: he’s not a trophy. Even so, it would be a lie to say it leaves him entirely unaffected to know that Rook thinks of him as a prize. A catch.

“There’s worse crimes one can commit.”

Rook’s smile is almost bashful as he leans down to kiss him, his thumbs caressing Emmrich’s cheekbones.

“How can I make it up to you?”

“Mmm,” Emmrich hums, unbuttoning Rook’s trousers and sliding them off. “How, indeed. Come here.”

With a hand on his hips to guide him, Emmrich pulls Rook into his lap. He takes Rook’s face into his hands and kisses him once, ever so softly.

“This moment belongs to us, my love. No one else.”

His left hand threads through Rook’s hair, whose eyes widen with anticipation. Emmrich indulges him, taking another fistful of his hair and tugging his head back, eliciting a soft, satisfied sound. 

It’s fascinating, how Rook at once likes it rough but also has to be treated like the most fragile of glass, lest he be pushed over the edge prematurely. There is much Emmrich longs to know about him and his body that he doesn’t yet, but all in due time. All in due time.

“Bite me.”

Emmrich’s musings come to an abrupt end.

“Pardon?”

“I mean it. On my neck or my shoulder. Bite me.”

Rook glances at him, Emmrich’s grip on his hair gone slack. He smirks and touches a finger to Emmrich’s lips, slightly lifting his upper lip with his pinky.

“Unless these are dentures, of course.”

The cheek! 

“My teeth are perfectly fine, thank you.”

“They certainly look perfect.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation, though Rook’s eyes gleam with mischief.

“Almost as if they’re not– Mm…”

Emmrich soothes the love bite with a kiss. Rook shudders in his arms.

“Come again?”

“Probably, if you keep that up.”

Oh?

“Already?”

Rook clears his throat. 

“Haven’t exactly had the opportunity to handle myself. Here I talk to Solas and the infirmary’s never empty.”

As Emmrich never has much reason to go there, he has no idea. Strange, though, that he didn’t know: everyone else has beds in their own rooms and they never mentioned them being uncomfortable to the point they’d rather sleep somewhere else. Certainly not the infirmary.

Wait. What?

“Never? You’ve… Not once?”

“No.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Especially with the immense stress Rook is under at all times, he would benefit immensely from some relief. How terrible that he shouldn’t have any privacy in this Lighthouse he calls his home. 

“But… That moment we shared on the library sofa–”

Rook’s laugh sounds desperate, rueful almost. It’s a memory that brings Emmrich great pleasure: Rook falling asleep against him on the sofa. Emmrich waking him with a kiss. Rook drawing him in, his hand daring to go beneath Emmrich’s vest to caress his back through his shirt. Emmrich deepening the kiss, his thigh pressing between Rook's legs, his own erection brushing against Rook's thigh.

Now that he thinks about it, Rook had left with Harding for the mountains the very next day.

“Yeah, no, not even that night. I had to walk it off for the next three days.”

“You poor, deprived soul,” Emmrich laments. “I had no idea.”

Rook shrugs, smiling again.

“I dream of you, sometimes. It helps.”

That can’t nearly be enough. Determined to set this to rights, Emmrich kisses him.

“Not a dream this time, my darling. Tell me what it is you wish for and I shall make it so.”

Without hesitating, Rook reaches down between them and takes Emmrich’s cock in hand, pressing it up against his wet vulva and grinding up against him.

“I think you know,” he answers.

The slick slide of his steadily hardening clitoris against Emmrich’s glans makes him shudder. Still a little sensitive, then, but not too much to enjoy this. Emmrich leans back with his hands on Rook’s thighs, and thrusts up against him. It’s not the kind of frottage he’s accustomed to, but it is exquisite in its own right.

“Not what I meant,” Rook chuckles, leaning back on Emmrich’s knees for more leverage, “but you seem to be enjoying this.”

“Anticipation is its own reward, Rook.” 

“I’ve been doing very little else for many weeks, amatus.”

“Mm, indeed, but you did ask to make up for your earlier indiscretion.” 

At this, Rook laughs, interrupted by his own gasp when Emmrich presses up against him more firmly. 

“A-and this is my punishment, is it?”

Emmrich raises a single brow and smiles.

“Part of it, yes.”

He puts his hand on Rook’s waist and pulls him in, slipping a hand between his legs. His jaunt to the washing basin has left him wet halfway down his thighs. 

“Your ‘punishment,’ if you will, is to abstain from your climax until I say you may.”

The laughter in his ear is breathless, feverish.

“Emmrich, I am terrible at this particular game.”

“Not in my hands, darling. Have no fear.”

Rook whimpers into his shoulder, and Emmrich realises that he, too, needs to practice some restraint. He was already so close once this evening, pushed too far, too fast by a man who seems both unwilling and unable to cease making his heart race at every opportunity.

“Now, may I?”

“I’d go so far as to kindly request you get a bloody move on, Emmrich.”

Emmrich slips two fingers inside at once, taking care not to move too fast. Rook’s hands grab the back of the couch so hard that Emmrich can hear the leather crunching next to his ears.

It’s not long before Rook is grinding and bucking against his hand, egging him on, begging in his ear to please, please give him more already. A third finger meets with very little resistance, though it does little to abate the pleading by his shoulder. Emmrich curls his fingers, searching and finding–

“Sweet fucking–”

Rook’s whole body goes rigid, his pleading and grunting reducing to whimpers as Emmrich firmly rubs the most sensitive part of him. He can feel him quivering right down to his fingers, the muscle already occasionally spasming. When Rook’s breathing just starts to become erratic, he tuts and withdraws his fingers entirely.

“You massive bastard,” Rook whines.

“Such language, dearest. You’re usually so well-spoken.”

“Fuck off. Fuck me, rather.”

The ferocity with which he says it startles a laugh out of Emmrich.

“I do believe that’s the first time someone’s said that to me in bed.”

“We’re on a sofa, and I don’t believe that for a second, anyway. You’re a tease, Emmrich.”

Emmrich leans his head back against the sofa and smiles, taking himself in hand. He’s soaked down to his palm, and the slide of his cock in his hand is simply divine. Rook is right: he is teasing, because if he weren’t, he’d long be inside his lover already.

“Mmm… Are you not satisfied, darling?”

Ah, if looks could kill. 

“Amatus…”

In spite of Rook’s best attempt to look imposing, Emmrich’s smile grows.

“Perhaps if you asked nicely. Good manners are so important, Rook.”

The image of Rook’s eyes twitching slightly, combined with the way his nostrils flare and how he bites his lips to keep from smiling, Emmrich tucks away in the warmest corner of his mind.

“I see,” he says, licking his lips. “Apologies, professor. I forget myself.”

Emmrich’s cock twitches in his hand. Damnable Rook. Never again will he be able to hear him speak his title and not think of this evening. 

“Well?”

Rook puts his lips to Emmrich’s ear, breathing shakily. Emmrich shivers.

“Professor Volkarin,” he begins, “would you be so kind, so very, very kind…”

“Excellent start.”

“Would you please be so kind as to make love to me, and to make me yours, body and soul? Here, upon this… Dreadful sofa, that I hate–”

Emmrich, feeling foolish and utterly besotted, finds himself chortling with glee.

“Go on.”

“Would you love me in this corner of the Fade, and hereafter, hopefully very soon, in your no doubt perfectly nice bed in Nevarra, and thereafter, possibly in a broom closet somewhere?”

He shouldn’t be entertaining this. Really, he shouldn’t.

“I think we can perhaps do better than a broom closet.”

Rook snorts, unable to stay in his character.  

“So? How was that?”

“You were splendid. Yes, my darling. Of course I will.”

“How do you want me?”

In truth, Emmrich would be happy any which way, but it’s certainly not gone unnoticed that Rook likes to have his back against the wall, or on the couch, or to be the one sat upon his desk while Emmrich stands. 

“Lie down.”

Rook obliges happily, looking positively giddy once he’s on his back and Emmrich hovers over him. 

“Happy?” 

Rook nods, hands rubbing affectionately against Emmrich’s sides.

“Immensely. You have no idea.” 

“You know, my darling,” Emmrich mumbles as he lines himself up and carefully pushes inside, “I think I finally do.”

There is nothing in the world that could compare to the bliss of this moment. From the way Rook’s legs tangle with his own, to the nails digging into his shoulders, to the sublime feeling of being inside of him, everything is pure perfection. Held in each other’s arms, slowly rocking together in unison, Emmrich finds it incredibly hard to remember whatever moved him to wait so long to do this.

“Remind me why we waited to do this?” Rook says, echoing his thoughts.

“Oh, darling… I haven’t the foggiest idea. I fear I’ve wasted so much of my life waiting.”

Waiting for the inevitable. For the final curtain to fall on his life at last, and terrified of it all the while. Of course he’s achieved great things and made it very far in life, but so much of it also slipped through his fingers and was lost with time. The opportunity to have children, to marry, to share his life and his home with a companion. Things he wanted, desperately, and eventually forced himself to give up on.

In their infinite attempts at kindness, people have often told him these things do not make a full life alone, and Emmrich agrees. One’s life need not revolve around any one other person, but he feels the well-meaning people in his life often forget that he already possesses the things they imagine do make a full life: he is well-travelled, well-read, enjoying an illustrious career in his field of choice, and his life knows no lack of adventure. It is precisely that which he is patronisingly told he doesn’t strictly need that he craves. Companionship, intimacy, a family life. The Mourn Watch, Manfred and the people here at the Lighthouse have filled that void, but only up to a point. He was so young when he lost his parents, barely even sound of mind enough to make the memories he’s certain they could’ve had.

Rook brushes some of his hair out of his face, pulling him out of his reverie.

“No more waiting. You get to have this right now, for as long as you want.” 

For once, Emmrich agrees. With the way Rook holds his face in his hands, thumbs brushing affectionately over his moustache between small pecks to the lips, it would be impossible not to.

They both still for a moment, the sound of their breathing the only audible sound in the room. Emmrich gently rubs their noses together, noting how Rook’s scrunches when he’s smiling as big as he is.

“That’ll be perfect, my love,” Emmrich says quietly, “for we’ve much to catch up on, back at home.”

Rook chuckles and stubbornly grinds his hips up against Emmrich, tilting his head back in a languid display of pleasure. 

“Promises, promises…”

Emmrich raises his eyebrows, well aware he’s rising to the bait.

“You would doubt the veracity of my claims, even now?”

“You’ve yet to present your arguments, professor.”

It seems his poor knees will have to suffer a moment longer. He pulls out without warning, greatly disappointing the man beneath.

“Up you get, on your knees.”

He directs Rook to lean on the backrest and positions himself behind him, teasing his cock against Rook’s cunt. When he inevitably pushes back against him, Emmrich moves away. 

“Ah, ah.”

For all his whining, Rook does stay still. Emmrich gathers his hair in one hand and pulls backwards until he meets resistance. What a picture he is, his back arched, shoulders and arms flexing as he holds on to the sofa. 

“I trust I have your attention?” Emmrich asks, pleased when Rook’s quick little breaths hitch in his throat as he swallows.

“Yes, professor.”

Allowing this was a terrible idea. Rook could ruin him with one word if he merely inflects it the right way at the wrong time. It is never wise to think with one’s member and he is proud to say he’s not often been guilty of it over the course of his life. This evening, however, he must profess having done so. 

And as he is too far gone now, he intends to continue doing so.

“Very good. Now…”

He pushes back inside, agonisingly slowly, feeling every twitch of the muscle along the way until he’s buried all the way to his hips. 

“Ahh– I–... Emmrich, I really–”

Rook doesn’t even finish his sentence, thighs shaking and mouth slack as Emmrich thrusts, only producing minute gasps and other small but pleased noises. 

“Excellent, darling. You’re doing very well.”

Emmrich tugs on his hair.

“Mmn–”

“I intend to have you on every available surface in my home, Rook.”

“Holy f–”

With a snap of his hips, Emmrich slams into Rook, shivering at the sensation. Before him, Rook clings to the armrest. 

“The staff at the Necropolis will understand if I take some time off. After all, we must get you ready for your apprenticeship. Settle into our home. Recuperate. ”

“M-mhm.”

Another hard thrust, and Rook cries out. 

“That will not actually take very long, of course.”

“Oh, Maker…” Rook sighs shakily, hands scrambling for any sort of hold. Just when he no longer anticipates it, Emmrich moves again, not stopping this time. 

“But it is– Ah, it is important–”

“Emmrich, amatus, please–”

“That we–” Emmrich gasps, feeling Rook quiver around him, “–make up for lost time.”

“Y-you make a compelling– hng– case. Ohh, fuck–”

He notices Rook’s hand moving to reach between his legs and immediately takes it in his free hand, pinning it on his back. He very nearly sobs with frustration.

“You are an evil man, Emmrich Volkarin.”

Emmrich slows down, thoroughly enjoying the view of his prick sliding in and out of Rook with such ease.

“You would pretend you’re not enjoying this, Rook, darling? When you’re positively dripping onto the sofa?”

“That’s your fault.”

“So it is,” Emmrich replies, feeling incredibly smug and refusing to chastise himself for it. 

Rook glances over his shoulder. Maker, he looks–

“I want you to come inside of me.”

The full stop is not intentional, this time. Emmrich’s mouth feels dry.

“You’re certain? There’s no risk of–”

That thought should most definitely have occurred to him a fair bit sooner. It is almost phenomenally idiotic that he didn’t think to ask.

“Absolutely not. I– I took care of that decades ago.”

Oh, well– Took care of?

“Might I inquire as to how?”

Rook is silent for a moment. 

“Can you promise you won’t judge me for it?”

It’s in the past. Emmrich has no reason to. 

“I promise.”

“My family counted some very… Very talented blood mages among them. I took from their lessons what I needed to make myself infertile. To make the monthly bleeding stop.”

He turned blood magic against himself? 

“That… Must have been quite painful.”

“Not nearly as painful as not doing it, but yes.”

Emmrich can only begin to imagine. How alone he must have felt to have gone to such lengths, how helpless. He presses a kiss to his shoulder blade. 

“That was very brave of you.”

Never has he seen Rook use blood magic even once. He has no reason to fear its misuse.

“I–... Thank you.”

“And as for your request…”

With an arm around his chest, he pulls Rook upright against him, kissing the backs of his shoulders. Rook tilts his head back and Emmrich kisses him, too.

“Touch yourself, darling.”

Rook groans but does as he’s told. Emmrich watches, rapt, as he, too, takes two fingers to stroke himself, occasionally taking his slick and stroking the very tip with one finger ever so carefully. 

His own cock twitches against Rook’s cheeks, and Rook grinds back against him, offering what little friction he can. 

“That’s it, dearest…” Emmrich coos into his ear. “If you would let me, I should so like to watch you sometime.”

There’s a pitiful little whimper he can’t keep in.

“Emmrich, I– You–”

It’s a lovely little fantasy he’s entertained once or twice, but never thought he’d voice. Silly, now that he thinks about it. Rook clearly doesn’t mind.

“Perhaps I might catch you unawares as you are in the throes of your own passion–”

“Kaffas, y-yeah?”

“I’m sure you’d know I was there, but it wouldn’t stop you. Oh, darling, how eager I would be to join you–”

Rook is gasping for breath, clearly not very far off from his orgasm at all, but not quite there yet.

“Standing by the door, taking myself in hand, moving in time with your–”

In a flash, Rook’s hand is on his, squeezing hard.

“S-stop. I can’t take this.”

Emmrich kisses his neck and hugs him to his chest, tightly.

“Well done, my darling. You were wonderful.”

“I might not even make it to tomorrow this way.”

Emmrich laughs, burying his nose in Rook’s nape. Tomorrow is still very, very far away in his mind. He’d like to keep it that way for just a bit longer.

“Lie down, on your side.”

When he does, Emmrich cannot help but notice the sizable bite mark he’s left in the leather sometime over the last several minutes. Feeling pretty pleased with himself, he decides that perhaps he’s made Rook wait for long enough. They do, after all, have to retire to bed sometime.

Maybe even together. It seems odd, considering his present position, that the prospect should make him feel so excited.

Their fingers entwine on Rook’s side as Emmrich lays himself beside him. Rook waits until he’s snugly pressed against his back before he lifts his leg and guides Emmrich back inside.

Emmrich groans and bares his teeth against Rook’s shoulder, scraping the freckled skin, suddenly completely understanding the impulse to sink one’s teeth into something for sheer, mind-boggling pleasure. He can feel his resolve crumbling, control thrown to the wind in favour of fast, passionate love making. For all that he wants to keep their affairs private, he’s certain they can be heard down the hall.

Well, bully for whomever’s listening. 

Rook is teetering on the edge, with each of his body’s muscle spasms felt keenly by Emmrich.

“How perfect you ahh– are, darling. How lovely. Hold on for me a moment longer.”

“Merciful fucking– Don’t ask for much, d-do you?”

He shouldn’t find Rook’s constant cussing arousing. It’s crass. There is no reason why he shouldn’t stop baiting him into doing so.

And yet.

“I’ve not been accused of being a demanding lover before.”

Rook’s laugh is slightly hysterical, even as it tapers off into unbidden little gasps of air.

“Don’t make me feel special, now.”

“Oh, but you are,” Emmrich murmurs, slowing his pace, “you are special, Rook.”

“Yes, I am especially in need of a fucking orgasm. Yours or mine, at this point.”

It tickles Emmrich endlessly, that he should bring it out of him this badly. He’s also certain the feeling is entirely mutual. This is immediately proven true when Rook turns in his arms enough for him to kiss his cheek, nudging his head aside until his tongue can just about flick against his earlobe. 

“Come on,” Rook whispers, his voice but a low rumble, “I know you’ve thought about it. I certainly have.”

Emmrich is having trouble focusing. Devious man.

“About what?”

“Filling me with your seed. Good chance you’ll still be running down my legs tomorrow.”

It’s a filthy, thrilling thought. One he has, as Rook correctly surmised, had before. His rhythm stutters; he has to be careful, now. 

“I have given the matter some thought, yes.”

“One day,” Rook begins, and Emmrich knows he’s in for trouble, “you’re going to fuck me in the morning before work.”

It’s as if Rook himself is painting the picture in his mind. In their bed, warm and safe, enjoying a quick romp through the sheets before life’s responsibilities call once more.

“And every single time you see me that day, you will know what you did to me that morning.”

Walking past each other in the Necropolis, their eyes meeting. The knowledge that Rook will think of him all day, carrying with him the proof and result of their union. It would be nigh impossible not to whisk him away at that moment.

“And then we’ll probably find that broom closet.”

No. That cannot be borne. He has some level of decency to maintain.

“Office. My office.”

Rook whimpers, as if the thought of an office has any right to be so exciting.

“Didn’t think t-that was the desk you were promising me.”

It wasn’t.

“You’re going to bring me to ruin, my sweet,” Emmrich moans, thrusting faster. Rook’s hips tilt to meet him, forcing him deeper still. 

“There’s few who meet with– with such a satisfying demise.”

Emmrich thrusts hard, feeling his balls tightening. Rook cries out and lies back down, his nails digging into the leather before him. 

“You are sailing perilously close to the wind, darling. I can feel it.”

“O-ohh fuck, fuck… ”

Enough is enough. He lets go of Rook’s hand and reaches down, finding his clitoris and stroking it tightly. Rook thrashes against him.

“Yes, my darling,” Emmrich encourages him, just barely holding on himself. “Come, come, let me feel you.”

Rook arches against him, his body going rigid as he howls with ecstasy. He clamps down on Emmrich’s cock, the muscle throbbing and pulsing around him, all but forcing his own orgasm. His teeth sink into Rook’s shoulder as he comes in a vain attempt to quiet himself, still moving against him, even as his ejaculate seeps out of Rook and into the sofa below. 

In the long, quiet moments of the afterglow, Rook turns in his arms and huddles against his chest, slinging an arm and a leg across Emmrich. 

“Can’t believe Davrin tried to give you advice on how to do me,” Rook mumbles.

How? How is it possible Rook heard that conversation as well?

“I did tell him I know perfectly well what I’m doing.”

A kiss against his collarbone. A nuzzle against his jaw. 

“Yes, you do. You're a brilliant, handsome, astoundingly sexually competent professor. That could be your new book.”

Each adjective is followed by a kiss, until their lips meet. However tempting it is to stay here, within the safe confines of the room where they can pretend there are no more pressing matters, they cannot. Still, Emmrich lets the kiss linger, the last fleeting embers of their coupling.

“I won’t even consider it, but I do believe you’re quite forgiven for your earlier lapse in judgment.”

Rook doesn’t respond, and Emmrich looks down to find him drifting off. 

“Rook? Rook, darling, we must get up–”

“Mmrgh.”

“Not just because this sofa is no longer suitable for a good night’s rest–”

“Mmmmm.”

“But also because you have to wash, dearest, you can’t risk a urinary tract inf–”

At this, Rook’s sleepy visage breaks as he snorts out a laugh. In the next moment, Emmrich is rolled onto his back and kissed until he has to catch his breath.

“I love you. I hope to love you for a very long time, Emmrich, my heart.”

Emmrich stills underneath him, staring up in wonder. He must be truly blessed in some significant way, to have found such love amidst all the horrors of the blight.

“If fortune favours us, my darling, I will love you for the rest of my days.”

There’s something sad about Rook’s smile. It is that exact sadness Emmrich had tried to prevent from occurring at the start of the day, but he is learning to accept that to be loved by Rook is to at some point be mourned by Rook. For what is grief, if not love with nowhere left to go?

They do eventually make it off the sofa. Emmrich manages to convince Rook to relieve himself and wash, on the condition that Rook gets to sleep in his bed tonight. 

The joke, of course, is on Rook: there’s nothing Emmrich wants more than for his lover to fall asleep in his arms. Rook offers to bathe together, but Emmrich declines on the grounds that as much as he would enjoy taking the whole night, there is much to be done in the morning.

When they arrive at Emmrich’s reasonably respectable bed, much more refreshed and much less sticky, Rook just stares at it.

“How come the Lighthouse gave you such a nice bed?”

“The Lighthouse did not give me a bed at all. I had to have it brought here. It’s not nearly as comfortable as my own bed, of course, but one must make do– What?”

The bed, a four poster bed with a thick, dense mattress and curtains lining the sides, is nothing out of the ordinary for him. If anything, it is a cheap imitation of his own, with much less comfortable bedding.

“This is nicer than any bed I’ve ever owned,” Rook explains, “I really did bag myself a rich boyfriend.”

Emmrich’s lip curls in distaste. Not least because he knows for a fact that Rook is a great deal wealthier than he is.

“Don’t call me that, darling. It makes me feel like a dirty old man.”

Rook isn’t even trying to hide his laughter.

“Aren’t you? Aren’t I, for that matter?”

Emmrich bristles. 

“You’re only forty.”

“That makes us the elders of the Lighthouse, no matter how you look at it. Taash certainly thinks I’m an old fool. And either way, if you consider what we did to that poor sofa…”

Emmrich takes a deep breath and supposes he has to concede the point.

“It had it coming.”

One of the comforts Emmrich had insisted on bringing when he first arrived here is his pyjamas. Soft, well-worn, comfortable. Rook, entirely as he had anticipated, sleeps in his underwear.

Once Emmrich is beneath the sheets, a pair of grabby hands pull him all the way towards the other end of the bed, where he is at once turned into the proverbial little spoon.

“You are unbearably attractive.”

“I simply refuse to believe you find my pyjamas in any way enticing, Rook. Truly, I do.”

“Not as smart as you look, then.”

“Oh, hush.”

The softest of kisses lands on his nape.

“Goodnight, amatus. May we find ourselves here again tomorrow night.”