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Rook blinked, awareness trickling back in fragments and half-lidded recognition of the waking world — the cold pre-dawn air from the open window, the soft satin sheets, the warmth of the body nestled against her back, warding off the worst of the morning chill. With one arm over her middle, the other beneath her head, and deep, even breaths fanning her hair, Emmrich held her in his sleep, still dreaming in the Fade.
She traced his fingers, dug gently into her side, across her belly, bare of any gold. He held her close, the long line of his body pressed against her, sleep-warmed and relaxed. She stretched gingerly, joints popping as she turned in place until she faced him, noses almost touching.
It was rare for her to wake before him, rarer still for sleep not to pull her back when she did.
But Rook relished in these moments, as few as they were — tracing the planes of Emmrich's face with her eyes. The curve of his jaw. The flare of his nostrils. The sweep of his eyelashes. The wrinkles softened by sleep.
It was a luxury Rook could have never imagined just a scant few years ago — a plucky junior member of the Order with more gall than sense, a stupid, stupid girl who never thought things through, too brave for her own good. It was unsurprising that they tossed her out when she became too inconvenient.
But, oh, with Emmrich… with Emmrich, she was wanted, desired — not the babe abandoned, not the foundling passed from Watcher to Watcher, not the little girl with no one to call her own and belonged to no one in return.
Here she was loved.
Here she was home — her things among his things. A closet built for two. Her favorite soap next to his shampoo. Baubles on the shelf and tchotchkes lining the mantel. His ring on her finger. Hers on his.
Emmrich shifted onto his back, breathing still even. His arm was on his stomach now, his sleeping shirt riding up and exposing the trail of grey hair there. Her eyes followed along the prominent lines of his hips, disappearing into his pyjamas—the length of him outlined against the fabric.
Rook had a wicked thought.
She moved carefully, sliding down their shared bed, and settling next to his legs until she was comfortable. She rested a hand on his thigh, breath ghosting along the edges of his sleeping pants. She kissed the skin there, inhaling his scent and letting it warm her to the bone.
Mouthing at his exposed hip, Rook’s hand stroked a line along his thigh, brushing against a clothed knee, feeling the muscle flex under her palm in response. She moved higher and higher until they nearly reached the junction between his legs, the palpable heat of him already igniting her blood. Her fingers caressed him through the fabric, touches light and teasing, just enough to make him twitch before they danced along the edges of his pyjamas.
This was a familiar scene — waking the other with pleasure, fingers pressed just so, mouth set to work early and eager. It was an indulgence, these slow mornings, the giving and the taking, the gentle push and pull between lovers.
Rook tugged at his pants, just enough to free his cock, half-hard, and took him in hand, hot to the touch. Emmrich's breathing hitched when she ran a tongue up his length, root to tip. She did it again, flattening her tongue and running it along the veins of his cock, tasting skin and wanting more. She engulfed him in the wet heat of her mouth, swirling her tongue on the head, swallowing the salty beads of precum gathering there while her hand found the base of his cock, encircling him in a gentle grip before starting a slow, even pace, matching the bob of her head.
She was no longer the inexperienced girl from those early days, fumbling and blushing at her first taste of cock, shameless enthusiasm making up for those clumsy attempts at pleasure.
Now, his body was as familiar to her as her own.
He hardened further under her ministrations, responding eagerly to her touch, throbbing at each pass. Saliva dribbled down his length, coating him and her fingers, easing the glide of her hand. She took him deeper — inch by inch, careful and slow, until her lips met her fist and she felt him at the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, cheeks hollowed out, throat tight, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.
A sharp inhale echoed above her followed quickly by a moan, soft and breathy. A hand weaved into her hair and kept her still. Rook looked up, meeting hazel eyes, half-lidded and watching her intently. Emmrich did not press her deeper, only held her as she swallowed around him again, throat constricting as he groaned quietly.
“That’s it, darling,” he said, voice low, still raspy from sleep. “Perfect.”
Rook hummed at the praise, pleased and greedy for more. She flattened her tongue on the underside of his cock, pressing it firmly, just like he taught her, as she pulled back, lips suckling the tip as she caught her breath.
Emmrich’s hand lowered to her cheeks, thumb wiping away the stray tears that slipped out. “My gorgeous girl.” His thumb brushed the corner of her lips, eyes twinkling. “How you spoil me.”
She preened, enjoying herself — thighs rubbing together at his voice, heat pooling low in her belly. She descended upon him again, swirling her tongue on the head of his cock before engulfing him, fist pumping what her mouth could not reach. Emmrich groaned softly, petting her hair as lips, tongue, and hand worked in tandem to bring him closer to the edge.
Rook moved faster, catching the way Emmrich's stomach tightened, breathing turning heavy, and eyes slipping close as he focused on the pleasure. Lewd sounds filled the room as she pulled back and swallowed him again and again, the tight contractions of her throat pulling more groans from his lips, cock twitching in the heat of her mouth.
Emmrich's grip tightened around her hair, and she felt the push of his hips against her mouth as he moved with her, quickly settling into a mutual, pleasurable rhythm. But it did not last long — he was close, Rook could tell, and she relaxed under his grip, allowing him to take over and chase after his completion. He pressed her deeper, further than before, and she choked around him, breathing cut off, tears springing to life and rolling down her cheeks.
It was worth it — the sound that left him was guttural. It strained against his throat, low and cracked before he finally spilled himself down her waiting mouth.
His grip slackened as she drank her fill — warmth spreading through her at every twitch of his cock, a thrill of satisfaction running down her spine and settling in her core at the taste of the man she loved most. She pulled back and continued to lap at him, determined to clean every last drop as he softened.
When he regained his breath, Emmrich beckoned her toward him. “Come here, darling.”
Rook released his cock with one last lick before tucking him back into his pyjamas. She crawled over him, plastering herself onto his side, his arms wrapping around her shoulders.
Emmrich kissed her temple, nuzzling into her hair, one hand wiping away the remnants of her tears. He brushed his lips against her forehead, whispering, “Good morning to you too.”
Emmrich spoiled her on mornings like this — indulging in whatever her heart desired, insisting she only sit and command him, no matter how ridiculous. She could have candy for breakfast and he would only raise an eyebrow before somehow procuring a box of Orlesian frilly cakes.
He bustled around the kitchen, washing his hands, and taking out the cookware. He hummed under his breath, a little tune she heard his students singing the other day. They were both still in their night clothes, robes thrown over for propriety. It was their day off and they had nowhere to be.
“Anything you’re craving, dearest?”
Rook rested her hand on her chin, smirking at his words. “Well, if I get to pick, what about your co—”
“Rook.” Her words were interrupted with a stern call of her name, Emmrich shaking his head at her fondly.
She barked a laugh. “Fine, fine,” she conceded. She traced the rim of her cup of tea, thinking. “What about… pancakes?”
Emmrich rolled the sleeves of his robe up. “As you wish.”
So it was done — expertly flipped in a pan and presented to her, drizzled in Antivan honey and Orlesian chocolate sauce, topped with cream and powdered sugar. It was a miracle she didn't get a cavity just by looking at it, Emmrich teased when she dug into the pancake with a fork, her notorious sweet tooth peeking through.
He turned to the stove again. “How about an omelet?”
Before she could answer, mouth still halfway through chewing the first pancake, there it was, just like magic — the most perfect omelet in the world, stuffed with cheese imported straight from Ferelden, hearty mushrooms, fresh tomatoes, and chives from their garden. She abandoned her pancake to attack the omelet instead.
Emmrich chuckled, taking his place on the breakfast table, a pancake on his plate — simply drizzled with honey and nothing more — and a steaming cup of tea in his hand. He watched her over the rim, gaze soft and affectionate. But oh, how the tenderness pressed hard against her chest, Rook swallowing her food heavily, throat closing up behind it. She looked away.
Maker, it was a dream, some kind of strange children’s tale — Rook followed a trail of breadcrumbs to a warm house and a doting family. She knew better than to take it for granted yet it still itched in the back of her eyes like something wrong.
When the business with the blighted gods was through, she spent weeks, months waiting for the other shoe to drop.
They had not returned to Nevarra immediately, electing to travel and help with the restoration efforts first. It made sense, in her head, it was her responsibility. But each new day woke Rook to the sense of dread that Emmrich would finally realize she wasn't what he was looking for. She saw the devotion in his eyes, held it in her arms — but when all was said and done, who was she to deserve it? What was left of her when she had no world to save, when the dashing young hero Emmrich so admired was gone and all that was left were the pieces of the girl who jumped into the deep end of the pool too fast?
Rook felt so small in those days — the world too wide, too big, too much for her to mend, skin cut and raw from handling the shards of what was left behind.
She was drowning. She would have gotten through the worst of it — darkspawn, dragons, gods — only to keel over and die after. How fucking embarrassing.
But Emmrich was there, always there — cupping her face, telling her to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth, he would remind her, let it fill up her lungs before exhaling, slow and steady. It was alright if she couldn't do it the first time, let's just try again, darling. Again and again, until Rook stopped stuttering, until her hands stopped shaking, and her head was finally above water.
It was enough to get her through the day in a daze, with little memory of finally returning to the Lighthouse at the end of it. When she came to, she cried for the first time in a long time that same night, Emmrich pressing her to his chest and rubbing circles on her back as she spluttered and sobbed and got snot on his nice shirt and satin sheets. She tried to push him away, to clean herself up, but he only held her tighter, hand brushing sweat-slicked hair and lips kissing wet cheeks.
And in the morning, when the tears had dried and Rook woke from a fitful sleep, he took her hand and brought her home — to never-sunny Nevarra, to the upper halls of the Necropolis where his apartments were nestled, pressing the key to the front door into her hand and saying this was hers.
Emmrich held her hand now, jolting her out of her thoughts, rubbing the back of her palm in soothing circles with his thumb. “You were a hundred leagues away just now, my love,” he said softly. “Where did you go?”
Rook blinked, returning to the present — and laughed, bursts of giggles bubbling from her lungs until she was out of breath. Emmrich squeezed her hand, beautiful face scrunched in confusion, and still, she laughed and laughed and laughed — at the absurdity, at the improbability. The warmth of his hand was too real to be a dream. Let the wrongness itch, she thought nonsensically, let it try to claw at her eyeballs and find a home up her nose, curled around her brain. It would find no sustenance there — she knew better.
She survived. She was home. She just needed to breathe.
(In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady. The voice in her head was Emmrich's and always would be.)
“Nowhere.” Rook grinned. “I'm right here.”
It was torture, simply torture, and Emmrich was a terrible, cruel man.
Rook squirmed in his lap, cunt stuffed, the length of him stretching her open and filling her to the hilt. She panted, grinding herself on him until a swift smack was delivered on her naked thigh. It didn't hurt so much as momentarily burned, and she clenched around him tightly, fingers digging into the wood of the desk in front of them.
Emmrich made a tutting sound. “Be still, darling.” His hand dipped his quill into the inkpot, the clink of the glass was enough to set her on edge. “I still have work to do.”
It was unfair — Rook only wanted a little attention. She had slinked into his home office, pawed at him while he was grading papers, fingers dancing along his arm, down his chest, ghosting over the edges of his pants. Just a little attention. She was certainly more interesting than some student’s papers, wasn't she?
He had turned to her with sharp eyes that made her shiver — and next thing she knew she was naked on his lap, sinking into his cock, already so pleased at the fullness of him and the delicious soreness that would certainly come after. She had moved, gyrated her hips, pulling herself up only to sink down on him again, before Emmrich stilled her with hands on her waist.
His breath was on her neck as he kissed her shoulder, teeth lightly nipping the skin. “If you can be a good and very, very still until I finish my work, then you may continue. You can do that, can't you, darling?”
There was a challenge in his voice and Rook, the stupid girl she was, never backed down from one. She nodded.
“Good girl.”
Good girl, good girl, good girl. The sound of it made her throb, and she panted and purred and preened, eager, so eager for more. She could be good, more than good, just to hear him say it again.
Emmrich was breathing into her, his warmth sliding under her skin, pleasure igniting every vein. He squeezed her hips, palmed her thighs before letting her go, returning to his work, quill in one hand, eyes poring over the essay, writing comments on the margins and a grade on the top right before moving to the next one.
Rook survived two more essays — the clink of the inkpot, the scratch of the quill, the soft rumbles of Emmrich's chest as he hummed in thought — before she began to squirm.
Emmrich rubbed the thigh where he had smacked her with an absurd sort of gentleness that did nothing to calm the inferno under her skin.
“How are you, dear?”
“Never better,” she answered through gritted teeth.
He chuckled, returning to his work — almost. His free hand snaked up her thigh, between her legs, Rook's breath hitching when he found his prize.
Unfair.
Unfair. Unfair. Unfair.
“You're— you're cheating,” Rook whined.
“Am I?” The pads of Emmrich's fingers toyed with her clit, rubbing circles as heat pooled in her core. He nipped at the lobe of her ear, then lowered to the sensitive spot beneath it, her brain filling with cotton as he continued to circle her clit, cheeks flushing. Her hips jerked in response, begging for more friction, and his hand stopped. Rook whined again, chasing after him before he hushed her, fingers still pressed to her clit, unmoving.
“Be still, remember, dearest?”
A hot flush of arousal and petulance ran through her. Instead of answering, she tipped her head back onto his shoulder, turning her head and pressing close to his collar. Her nose drew a line up his throat, inhaling the scent of potash, sage, and oakmoss, until she nipped at his jaw in a small show of defiance.
“Very well then.” He removed his hand from her altogether.
Rook nearly cried at the loss. “Emmrich, please.”
She was casually ignored, Emmrich returning to his papers. Maker pity her, she would find no mercy from him now. She sat very still after that — or tried to. Breathing heavily, core aching, toes curling on the carpet, it was easier said than done. Her blood quickened under her skin and she was sure he must feel it too — the thrumming of her pulse, from her neck to her cunt, beating, beating, beating.
Rook bit her lip when she nearly begged again — but oh, how prettily she would do it, batting her lashes and wobbling her lip if he would even deign to look at her. She would beg him to take a scalpel and split her open, taking his fingers and pressing them deeper, under skin, under muscle. She would beg him to forge a place between her lungs and her heart and stay there. His hand in her ribs, her heart in his palm — she would beg him to eat it, her blood bright on his lips, staining teeth, biting through the muscle, tearing through arteries until there was nothing left, until she was lodged so wholly in his gut that nothing would tear them apart.
Oh, how the heat of his thighs burned into hers. The line of his torso, the teasing brush of cool, gold buttons on her back drove her mad, her slick dripping across her thighs and down his lap. She wasn't sure how she lasted or for how long, mind emptying and eyes glazing over, trying to focus on breathing and not the inferno turning her every nerve raw.
Rook barely felt Emmrich shift beneath her, putting his work away, his fingers trailing up her thigh, and lips pressed to her temple.
“Darling.”
She hummed, his voice, soft and low and silky, curling like ribbons around her brain. His fingers were between her legs again, trailing from the place they were connected to her clit. She inhaled sharply when he touched her there, a cut-off whine escaping from her lips as electricity raced up her spine.
“My good, gorgeous girl.” Emmrich tweaked at the sensitive nub, alternating soft, deft touches with deliberate firmness. “You're doing so well.” The smell of her arousal permeated the room and he breathed her in. “It’s high time I took care of you, isn't it?”
“Can I, can I—” Rook started, voice soft and stuttering turning quickly to something inelegant. “Please, please, please, please—”
“You may.” He circled her clit again, expert fingers making her tighten around him. “Take what you need, dear heart.”
She gasped in relief, leaning forward, elbows on the desk as she used it for leverage. Emmrich's hands were splayed on her hips, her back, pressing along her vertebrae, goosebumps rising along her skin.
Canting her hips, she ground against him, panting as he brushed against the sensitive spot inside her, thighs shaking and eyes slipping close. She set a quick pace, bouncing on his lap, dragging his cock out of her only to fill her up. Again and again, the delicious stretch ignited her veins.
Rook did not last long, not after all that teasing, Emmrich picking up the rhythm when her pace faltered as she shook around him, gut tightening and walls spasming. Her loud moans filled the room as he grunted behind her, close to the edge himself. With a final thrust, pressing as deep as he could go, he came — filling her up and painting her with his seed.
She slumped forward, catching her breath, Emmrich leaning his head on her sweat-slicked back.
They stayed like that for a moment, content to just breathe together, before he moved, ever diligent, gently slipping out of her and taking her into his arms, unheeding of the mess she was making on him. Rook found herself on the couch of his office, Emmrich kissing her forehead with a soft assurance that he would be only a moment.
She dozed in and out of consciousness, barely registering when he returned with a soft, wet cloth, content to let him clean her as he wished. She quietly mumbled a half-intelligible love you when he draped a blanket over her body.
Rook napped for the rest of the morning, the sun inching across the sky.
Manfred let out a happy hiss as he poured the teapot over two dainty cups, pushing them toward Emmrich and Rook. “Tea!”
“Thank you so much, Manfred.” Emmrich smiled at him, eyes crinkling with fondness. Rook yawned, pushing away the last of her sleepiness and finding the container of sugar, scooping three heaping spoons into her tea.
Rook had woken up mid-afternoon, much later than she expected, drooling and scratching the patterns left on her cheek from the throw pillow she'd been lying on. But then again, she wasn't too surprised. She did have an early morning.
“You looked so serene. I couldn't bring myself to wake you, my dear,” Emmrich had said when he found her, naked, wrapped only in a blanket, and walking into their bedroom, hunting for something to wear. He had smiled and kissed her temple. “Would you like a late lunch?”
She agreed immediately and they set up a simple spread, mostly fruits and roasted vegetables. She helped herself to a little bit of everything.
She could hear Manfred hissing happily next to Emmrich, the bony clack of his mandible a gleeful chorus to his words as he regaled them of his day's lessons. Emmrich had insisted on a proper, holistic Mourn Watcher education for him, Manfred recently joining the academy's student body with much enthusiasm, learning from new teachers and peers alike.
Manfred’s vocabulary had rapidly expanded with the thrill of such new experiences, alongside his magic — much to the delight and pride of Emmrich and Rook. Their skeleton son, growing up so quickly. The thought never failed to bring a smile to both their faces.
It was such a charming image — a family. Hers.
It made her giddy, her stomach turning in funny ways as she chewed on an eggplant. She thought of their apartments — one of the many benefits of Emmrich's seniority and reputation among the Watchers. Spacious rooms, warm fires, the little garden out back — surely there was room for one more?
Rook jerked her head, taken aback by the direction of her thoughts. She downed her tea to stop herself from choking.
It wasn’t as if they hadn't spoken of it before, whispered between sheets as they held each other in the night, hopes for the future or flights of fancy, tomorrow's plans, or next year's. But she was almost embarrassed to admit she hadn't thought of them outside that — out in broad daylight, with neither the distraction of sleep nor pleasure.
Rook found she didn't quite mind the idea — growing round with his baby or adopting a foundling like her. No, she would even venture to say she’d like it very, very much. It felt right and she flushed at the thought, catching Emmrich watching her from the corner of her eye. She poured herself another cup of tea with twice as much sugar, and she almost gagged. She quickly put it down with a clatter.
“Are you alright, dearest?” Emmrich reached for her, cupping her cheek, turning her face toward his, and searching her eyes. He was warm and Rook hoarded it — the heat, the affection — like pieces of grave gold that she could bury with her. Something that would go on while she became food for the earth.
Here were his hands, fashioned to fit in hers and in the curve of her cheeks.
Here was his smile, trapped in amber, preserved for all the ages to come.
Here was his child, his daughter, his son. Wasn’t Rook the luckiest woman in the world to have two of him? How about three?
Rook spluttered in his grasp, and without thinking, blurted out, “Do you want a baby?”
“What—”
“Maybe two. Maybe three. Your eyes, my hair—”
“Hold on, darling—”
“— a whole brood of little Volkarins taking the Necropolis by storm —”
“Baby!” Manfred hissed.
“Wouldn’t it be nice?” She turned to Manfred. “Do you want a sibling? Siblings?”
“Yes!”
“There we go!” Rook had a manic gleam in her eye, her mouth going faster than Emmrich could catch up, an unfiltered stream of consciousness. “If we do it now, the old-fashioned way anyway, they’ll be born in the spring — wouldn’t it be just so pretty? I think I’d like that, it wouldn’t be too hot or too cold, but then again, if the baby’s anything like me, there’s all the pollen and my allergies — do babies get allergies? Maker, we’re gonna have to ask about that, it’d be terrible if the first thing they experience is a giant sneeze in those itty bitty lungs or worse—”
“Rook.” He took her by the cheek again, shaking her only a little.
She blinked at him. “Yes?”
“A baby…” he started, his face doing ten different things at once. It was fascinating. He took a deep breath, then another one. “It is… uncommon for infants in their first year to have allergic reactions to inhaled substances — pollen, mold, and so on. It’s more likely to be a food allergy if any at all.”
“Oh. That’s good.” She looked down, deflating and staring at the rim of her teacup.
“That said, allergies can and do develop at any time. We’ll keep a close eye.”
“Right. Right!”
“Now…” His hand dropped from her cheek and found her fingers, pulling them onto his lap. “What brought this on, darling?” Though, he was quick to add, “Not that I’m opposed, mind you.”
Not that I’m opposed — her heart soared and she grinned at him. “Was just thinking maybe Manfred was getting lonely.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, unconvinced. Manfred chittered next to him. “Not lonely!”
“And… and…” She swallowed, cheeks burning. Her voice was soft when she said, “And… I wanted. Really wanted. One. Maybe two? Or three? Down the road…”
“Let’s…” Emmrich trailed off, his gaze heating as they flicked from her lips, to her stomach, and back to her eyes. “Let’s start with one and work our way from there, shall we?”
With the night came the familiar, comforting patterns of hands and bodies — small rituals as they left the day behind, routines they both knew like the back of their hands.
It started with gold.
Rook slipped the rings off Emmrich's fingers, one by one, pressing kisses to his knuckles, her lips against the skin taut over bone, slowing when she reached his pinky, brushing the red stone. It was his father's, she remembered, and the sentimentality pinched at her heart.
Emmrich twisted his hand away from her, pulling the ring off and holding it up between them. He smiled. “If… When we have a child… I'll pass this on to them when they're older.”
“Oh, Emmrich.”
“I…” He swallowed heavily, eyeing the ring. “I always imagined doing that, a little family heirloom — back when I was a much younger man, still entertaining dreams of marrying and having my own family.”
Rook frowned. “I was serious about earlier, you know.”
Admittedly, she thought in private, a little manic, a little dazed, but still perfectly serious. No matter when they chose to take that next step.
“I know, darling.” Emmrich set the ring down on the dresser. It clinked in the little bowl with the rest of his grave gold. “Thank you.”
They continued with the rest of their nighttime routine — Emmrich tugging her into their ensuite, activating the rune that brought hot water into the porcelain tub, large enough to fit two more than comfortably. She rifled through the cabinets for soaps and bath oils, the smell of lavender and sage wafting up to her nose as she found the right ones.
Rook placed the bottles close to the tub and turned to Emmrich, already undoing his shirt.
She reached for him. “Let me.”
He yielded to her easily, he always did, and it sent a thrill of pleasure down her spine as she deftly undid the buttons, fingers scraping down his chest, his breath hitching as she skimmed past his nipples.
Teeth sinking into her lips, she pushed the fabric off him, admiring the contours of his chest and the grey hair trailing down his stomach. She followed it with her fingers, all the way to his navel and the front of his trousers. She cupped him, wrapping her fingers around his length, unable to help herself, and he flushed, red creeping up his neck.
Emmrich stilled her with a touch, a half-strained chuckle leaving his lips. “Behave.”
Rook pouted but acquiesced, reaching for the ties of his pants and undoing them quickly, keeping her hands from wandering.
Stepping out of his clothes, he was finally bare — and, Maker, what a lovely sight. The most beautiful man on Thedas, all soft skin and gentle eyes. And completely hers.
Rook thought back, almost bursting into fits of giggles at the absurdity, the surreality, of it again — and how there was a time, not too long ago, when she wasn't sure what she wanted from Emmrich, uncertain and floundering with rough, clumsy flirts that spelled just how inexperienced she was, thoroughly desperate for his attention.
It was a miracle he was somehow charmed by it all.
He would kiss her and she'd freeze, hold her hand and she'd stiffen. Relax, he'd say, they would go slow, as slow as she needed. But how could she when he was in her space, his aftershave in her lungs, and he held her like something precious?
No one had looked at her that way before — and it burned. Emmrich saw beneath the bull and bluster, coaxed it gently aside until she was bare, heart open on a marble slab ready for the autopsy, the dissection of her core under patient, expert hands.
Emmrich had ruined her for anything less than utter devotion, and now, Rook wanted it all.
He turned her into a greedy little thing.
She pulled him down, nails biting into the back of his neck as she crashed their lips together, desire simmering hot and low in her belly. He was bent awkwardly, eyebrows raised and hands hovering in surprise. But he was always quick to recover — pressing fingers into her sides, eyes slipping close as he tilted his head, capturing her lips properly.
Rook moaned into the kiss, licking at the seam of his mouth, pushing her tongue against his lips — and only meeting teeth. Emmrich smiled when she huffed in frustration. She pushed herself against him, clothed breasts against his naked chest, and his hands slid up, past her waist, and rested on her cheeks. He pulled her away.
And that was always how the night would go — slow until it wasn't, light brushes turning bruising, and then back again — under Emmrich's unending patience, tugging her along to complete their routine, Rook whining and pouting until he placated her with a kiss to her forehead and a promise of later.
His hands were chaste, not straying from their path, never lingering in one place too long as he peeled away her clothes, unclasping buttons, and untying knots with the finesse of a man who had done this a hundred times before. She could almost believe him unaffected by her at all if not for the pervasive blush that stained his cheeks, or the subtle quickening of his breath. His hands may not linger, but his eyes certainly did. Rook only smirked, rubbing her thighs together.
He finally herded her into the bath, both of them slipping in, one after the other. When they settled, Rook in Emmrich's lap at his insistence, his hands ran down her back, pressing the knots that she didn't know were there, a low moan on her lips. Her breath hitched as his fingers ran down her spine, counting each vertebra as if to make sure she didn't lose any between the bath yesterday and today. She laughed. Another absurd little thought.
Emmrich reached for the shampoo, lathering his hands and working his way through her hair, careful not to pull. His nails scratched along her scalp methodically, working in sections until he rinsed her off. She relaxed, turning warm and drowsy, and he continued, soap on her shoulders, down her arm, across her belly, his fingers skimming below her breasts, teasing her nipples.
“Behave,” she echoed his word from earlier and he laughed, hands returning to her side and rubbing circles on her skin.
“Of course, darling.” He was quick after that, finishing them both up before the water turned tepid and uncomfortable.
Eventually, they dragged themselves back to their bedroom, patting the other down with soft cotton towels, trading lazy kisses, hands warmed with magic leaving her hair soft and dry as he brushed through them. Emmrich pulled a nightie out of the closet and helped her dress, slipping it over her head with another peck. And another, and another, until she was giggling. The silky fabric was luxurious against her skin, as were his hands, rubbing her sides and warming her through.
In turn, Rook buttoned up his sleeping shirt, distracted by more kisses along her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, inserting the wrong buttons into the wrong holes. She playfully swatted him away, redoing the buttons with a laugh.
Rook smoothed down the front of his shirt before standing on her toes and pressing their lips together. It was easy to melt into him, to wrap her arms around his neck, leaning in close and letting him take her weight as he embraced her. Her toes curled on the carpet, finding pleasure even at the simple press of their mouths.
“I love you,” she said when they parted, tucking herself under his chin like she belonged there, burying her nose into his chest.
“I adore you,” was his reply, whispered into her hair, soft with affection. “Are you cold, my dear?”
The breeze from the open window ghosted over her skin, goosebumps rising and toes rubbing together. Rook nodded.
Emmrich smiled at her again and turned to the dresser, pulling out a pair of fuzzy socks. It was one more tradition — even if she would end up kicking the socks off in the middle of the night. He never minded.
“Sit.” He gestured to the bed.
“I can do that myself—”
“Nonsense. Allow me.”
It was a token protest at best, and she sat on the bed, Emmrich kneeling before her. He placed one foot on his lap, caressing her ankle and following the line of it down to her toes. He pressed his knuckles to the arch and Rook could not help the moan that escaped her.
“You make such lovely sounds, dearest.”
She flushed and looked away, eyes on the far wall as a blush crept up her cheeks, a coil of heat crawling down her spine.
He chuckled and rolled the sock onto her foot, quickly followed by the second one. He kissed the bare skin above it, brushing his lips up the line of her calf, then her knee. Rook's breath hitched as his hand slid under her night dress, playing on the edges where her thigh met her hip.
“You make me so very happy, darling.” He rested his cheek on her thigh, the fabric riding up. “Let me show you how much.”
He pressed her knees apart, settling between them, lips grazing her inner thigh as he brought a finger to her core, tracing her folds. Rook squirmed, breath stuttering and face fiery, then scooted forward, granting him more access to her body, exposing her wet cunt to him.
Emmrich made a pleased sound and ghosted a finger over her clit, pressure barely there. Rook's hips jerked forward, begging for more.
“Oh my, eager, aren't you?”
“No more teasing,” she panted. “Please. You promised.”
“So I did.”
He placed the barest increase of pressure on her clit, kissing up her thigh, as he circled her once, then twice, harder and harder each time.
“I love you,” he mouthed against her flesh. She nearly cried at the easy affection — a silly thing to do after such a lovely day. She sucked in a sharp breath instead, focusing on the pleasure. She was slicker than ever, the heady scent of her arousal permeating the air as Emmrich continued to stroke her. His fingers dipped lower, gathering her slick and spreading it through her folds before teasing her apart.
She panted, rolling her hips toward him, his hand catching on her entrance. He eased two fingers into her wet heat, the delightful stretch making her groan, stoking the inferno in her veins.
“More,” she demanded.
Emmrich obliged, a third finger slipping into her, curling and hitting where she was most tender. Another groan left her lips as she rocked into him, white spots in her vision at every press.
“More. More.” One leg hooked over his shoulder, the heel of her socked foot digging into his back while her hand winded through his hair. “Please.”
Rook wore desire like second skin, flesh turning hot, her blood burning just beneath. She needed him — his hands, his mouth, his cock, obscene hunger settling low and wild inside her. She tugged at his hair again and nearly cried when he withdrew his fingers.
Emmrich wrapped his arms around her thighs, curling her legs over his shoulders and around his ears as he breathed her in, kissing the skin again as if to say as you wish.
His tongue was on her before she could think, mouth slotting perfectly over her cunt as she gasped. He lapped at her, tongue flat from her entrance to her clit, swirling and sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves before doing it again. And again. And again. Rook's thighs shook around his ears, her legs locked in his arms, slick dripping down his chin and onto the floor.
She was wrecked as he buried his face into her wet heat, tongue fucking into her core, nose nudging her clit, drinking her slick straight from the source. Her mouth hung open as she breathed heavily, sweat glistening on her neck as the fabric of her nightie clung to her body, outlining her breasts, her hips, leaving little to the imagination as Emmrich ruined her with his mouth alone.
“Fuck— Emmrich, Emmrich—” she chanted his name, shameless, writhing into his face, his hair tight in her little fist. A part of her wondered if he could even breathe. Another part didn't care, chasing after her pleasure, taking everything Emmrich was willing to give.
“I'm— I'm close, so close, don't stop—”
Emmrich kept pace with her rolling hips — if his jaw ached, he didn't show it. He looked almost as wrecked as she felt — his hair mussed, eyes glazed with unabashed lust, and face damp with sweat and slick. His fingers left indents on her thighs and the wet lewd sounds of his tongue in her cunt were a loud complementary chorus to her wanton moaning.
When she felt him shudder against her, she snapped — the tight coil of her arousal coming undone. She cried out his name, legs tense, and back arching, pulling his face even closer, burying him between her legs. Emmrich continued to lap at her, tongue tracing her folds and her clit, chasing her taste, drinking her essence, as she bucked against him, stars exploding behind her eyes until she was shaking and sensitive, too sensitive.
Rook took him by the collar of his sleeping shirt, pulling him up and kissing him ferociously, sucking his lips, his tongue, and tasting herself. She fell backward onto the bed, taking him with her, his hips slotted between her legs.
One hand scratched down his front, reaching for his pants. When she found him, she let out a soft breath of surprise. He was soft, cock flagging, and the fabric warm and sticky.
“Ah—” Emmrich breathed hard when she wrapped her hand around him anyway, slipping past the band of his sleeping pants, thumb brushing on the tip, spreading his release on her fingers. “Darling, please—”
“Did you…?”
His face was pink, the heat of mortification spreading up his ears. “Yes.”
He had come untouched, undone by the taste and sounds of her pleasure alone.
A new heat settled in her gut.
“Let me…” Rook pushed him away and pressed him onto his back, against the pillows. “Let me clean you up.”
She fluttered her lashes at him and licked her lips, bringing her hand, sticky with his essence, to her mouth. She closed her eyes and tasted him, savoring the salt on her tongue.
He was delicious.
She wanted more.
She wanted to crawl under Emmrich's skin but settled with peeling his pants away instead, just enough to expose him to the cool night air. His blush only deepened when she stopped to admire him — the soft curve of his cock stuck to his thigh and the sizeable weight of him in her hand.
“Rook—”
She cut him off and mouthed the side of his cock, kitten licks as she gathered his essence on her tongue. He didn't stir, but Emmrich's groan above her was enough. Rook was gentle, lapping up his sides then pressing her mouth to his head. She sucked delicately, lips covering her teeth, swallowing the leftover of his release until he was clean. She let go of him with a pop, admiring her work.
Emmrich's hand was on her cheek, pulling her toward him. “Oh, my darling girl.” He brushed their noses together. “You'll spoil me rotten.”
It was what he deserved, she thought when they pressed their mouths together, the mix of their arousals heavy on their tongues.
She savored it.
Later, much, much later — Emmrich was on his back, Rook curled into his side. The moon was high in the sky, but she fought to stay awake, eyelids growing heavier by the moment, breath deepening without her permission.
Just another minute, another second, please — to admire the high arch of his cheeks, and the fall of his hair. Her fingers traced circles on his chest, palm flat over his heart, feeling the strong, steady beat of it.
“Sleep, darling,” Emmrich murmured in the dark, eyes still closed. “I'll still be here in the morning.”
And he was.
And for every morning after.