The way Emmrich had spoken his name in that uncommonly gentle way of his had Rook sitting up ramrod straight. This was it, Rook thought. Emmrich was going to let him down now that the man's patience had reached its breaking point. He shouldn't have thrown himself on the sword like, pathetic Rook was already cursing himself and —
— Oh. Rook blinked owlishly before giving Emmrich a sheepish smile like a boy caught sneaking frogs home in his trouser pockets. Not that he's done that — recently.
"Sorry," He said with a breathy laugh. "I'm just not used to talking about myself at length." Any length, really, but Emmrich didn't need to know that part.
Rook settles, then he'll offer his arm to Emmrich on the walk back to the eluvian. It would be proper behavior after a date, right? Only, for whatever reason beyond even him, though he assumed out of habit, Rook lingered back and complimented the Caretaker on their skill with a hitch knot when they've docked. It was, though! He just thought they should know that. He then trotted back to Emmrich's side and lost the nerve even to walk too close.
Manfred as a welcomed sight, and before Emmrich sent him off, Rook asked if he could grab a decanter from the kitchens as well. It marveled at how fast an ambulatory skeleton could be because, by the time Rook and Emmrich were in the music room, Manfred was just leaving. Everything was set on the closed piano case, and Rook beelined for it.
After uncorking the wine, Rook gave it a sniff before humming and declaring it likely came from the Seleny riverside before pouring nearly the bottle into the decanter. The glassware had a delicate, narrow neck that fanned out at the bottom to a wide, oblong shape. Ruby red liquid churned like a scarlet whirpool as Rook carefully swirled the decanter around by its glass neck.
"This needs to breathe a little first," he said before the color returned to the tips of his ears. "Ah...you probably know all that. Want anything else? I set a chaise up by the window we could...watch the sunset that never actually sets?"
He would not have expected Rook to know a great deal about wine. That seemed more the area of people with leisure time. Even he had limited knowledge; he knew generally what paired with what type of vegetarian dish but little beyond that.
"I would never have been able to identify where it came from," Emmrich said honestly. "What I want is this time with you."
He took the decanter from Rook's hands and set it back on the tray before reclaiming Rook's hands. It was astounding to think Rook, so sure on the field, so confident speaking to leaders of so many groups, was anxious here, with him.
"Breathe, as the wine does, my dear. Sitting sounds lovely." He guided Rook over by the hands to the chaise, let go long enough to bring the tray over in easy reach, and then joined Rook.
"I don't see a great many sunsets. Most of my work is exactly where you found me, deep in the Necropolis. I do enjoy a good sunrise, however. Do you have a favorite place to view sunsets or sunrises? There's one spot I've found just outside the Necropolis where the first rays of the sun light up the world in a way that's positively magical, sending spills of color through the trees to dapple the whole area."
He weighed the mood briefly before putting an arm around Rook's shoulders. That was some impressive musculature there and he was very interested in getting his hands on the man. Slowly, though. Rook seemed about ready to dash out of his own skin due to nerves.
"It's the most popular region for vineyards; at least, that's what the ship owners would tell me when I was a dockworker for an Antivian shipping company," Rook answered unthinkingly. Aside from rubbing his hand at his collar, a tick upward in his brow, and sudden tightness in the line of his mouth, Rook forced himself into a passivity that belied the pang of fear welling in the pit of his stomach.
Don't be absurd — Emmrich wouldn't care you used to be a dockhand. He's not that kind of man. Rook reminded himself that Emmrich wasn't judgemental and that he was wrong to worry. Not to mention, Emmrich had come from a poor background as well, hadn't he? A lifetime ago, and when the Wardens found you, higher education wasn't high on their priorities. No, no. Rook shook his head in a silent debate with himself — his self-consciousness in his bid to impress Emmrich wasn't going to make him bitter.
— Then Emmrich takes his hands, and Rook remembers how to breathe again. My dear, the man says so easily and Rook beams at that, there was no denying the way it made something flutter in his chest. It was a good thing they were sitting, and Rook was no longer holding anything made of glass the way the physical contact turned his knees to jelly.
"My first posting was in Jader," said Rook as he turned on the chaise until he and Emmrich's thighs were pressed together — a little bold, but Emmrich had given him the push. "The sun would always set into the Waking Sea, and when I was posted on the ramparts, I could watch it. Like a firestone dropping into a bath of sapphires — I think the only thing that compares is the sunrises over the Frostbacks that turn the snow tops into these shades of pale pink and brilliant white."
He looked at Emmrich and smiled more easily, "I always wanted to see Nevarra — like Cumberland. Is it true they skate on the river in winter?"
"When I was little, I thought the docks the most exciting place. Obviously they were river docks, in Nevarra City, so nothing nearly as chaotic and busy as you must have dealt with, but I was enchanted. I could happily spend hours there."
If Rook isn't used to talking about himself, and clearly is even more nervous than before at dropping such a small tidbit of information, then Emmrich will fill in the gaps. Clearly his company was welcome, with the way the man responded to his touch. He would trust to that.
It was all the easier to trust to that when their thighs touched. Emmrich's control slipped briefly and his gaze wandered down Rook's body, mouth slightly parted, before he got himself back in hand seconds later. It only made sense that he'd be weak with Rook reciprocating the contact and speaking so beautifully about a sunset over the sea.
"Those sound stunning." And one's in Ferelden, and the other Orlais. The former is better than it once was by all reports, but necromancers disappear in Ferelden. They don't return. As far as Orlais... well. There's a cold animosity there and while necromancers don't vanish, they do have a deliberately nasty time. Orlais knows it can't take Nevarra and resents its people for that. He won't be seeing either of those.
"And yes! When the Nevarra river freezes over it's a tight time for trade, but a delightful time to take to the ice. I've spent many, many winter afternoons skating." His eyes are lit up and gaze a little distant in memory, because it's been a few years there too. He's cut back a lot on outside activities the last few years, as a sort of preparation for the future. Liches didn't just run out to go ice skating, after all.
"Cumberland is lovely too, a fantastically cluttered city where everything seems to be on top of everything else. The closer to the sea you get, the more likely you are to find buildings that are six, seven stories tall, with each story built at a different time. They lean, precariously, you'd think, but they stand because the builders incorporate mages and primal--magic with stone and earth -- to ensure they stay up. It's not somewhere to go if you're claustrophobic, but it is a wonder."
"They probably smelled better than the docks in Wycome. That's got to be for certain." Rook snorted. "Somedays, you didn't know which smelled fouler — the fish or us. But it was honest work, and the Antivan merchants would throw us a bottle or two if they liked us. It turns out a great way to learn your letters is to recognize the nicer labels being shipped in. Cute, though, the thought of you running underfoot, playing. Childhood dreams of going privateer? The Dread Pirate Emmrich Volkarin?"
The more they spoke, the easier Rook found it to speak more openly about the smaller details of his little life before the Wardens and all thanks to Emmrich. He didn't register that the older man was patiently guiding the conversation in a way that Rook didn't feel the need to throw up his usual walls.
What doesn't escape his notice, however, is Emmrich's gaze briefly drifting south. That gave Rook a bit more confidence — it seemed the esteemed academic wasn't immune to broad shoulders. That was good to know. Rook might have shifted his weight and moved his arms in a subtle flex. Just to avoid getting stiff, mind you.
"Do you still ice skate? I haven't since I was a boy, but I assume it's just one of those things you don't forget." Or Rook would try and fall flat on his ass, but at least the company would be good should they ever get the chance if Emmrich saw him worth bringing around his homeland beyond the walls of the Necropolis. Then, boldly, Rook cracked with, "Yes, I'm certain Nevarran mages are good at keeping things erect."
He smiled at the description, but actually laughed at the questions. It was clear Rook found it much easier to talk if Emmrich lead the way.
"I was skinny, fast, and trustworthy. It was a poor combination for some parts of the city, but the docks always needed messages run for a copper or two." If Neve hadn't seen him so easily and clearly, this might not have been part of tonight's discussion. He wasn't ashamed of his past, but many others would try to shame him for it. But not Rook. Not Neve. Not anyone at the Lighthouse.
"I did briefly imagine being a grand pirate captain, but even as a child I was partial to being clean and not smelling like rotten fish. The bathing facilities on ships leave much to be desired, and any city in Nevarra has inexpensive heated common baths. My dream, actually, well." Emmrich smiles but there's a faint flush there. He's going to leave out his dream of a sweeping romance that ends in a wedding, that's not something to simply drop on someone, but the rest is truly a little ridiculous.
"I wanted to be a gentleman adventurer, rescuing those in need in truly sweeping fashion, smelling always of lilacs, well-dressed, well-read, and very, very handy with sword and cloak. I would be as known for my writing as Brother Genitivi, but mine would be about the flowers of every land... and they'd be clever books to boot, because I wouldn't just be describing flowers, but romances as well. Young Emmrich heard a lot of grand stories while underfoot running messages into taverns, past bards and other sorts of storytellers."
Which is one of many, many reasons it's deeply disappointing he'd never met Varric. To have come so close.... But his disappointment has nothing on Rook's loss, so he will say nothing on that topic.
He's trying to find another topic when Rook flexes. The timing is suggestive, like Rook wants him to notice, and oh, does he. Emmrich drops the hand around the man's shoulder to run along an arm, feeling those muscles deliberately now. This man is the most built of any Emmrich's pursued, or been pursued by. In fact he'd never truly been down hard for someone shaped like this before. And now? Now he's fighting with all of his might to keep from wondering what someone this strong can do, because he's going to take things slow for Rook's sake.
At least there's a question that throws him a line to follow. "I haven't skated in a while, but I'd love to teach you. I'm certain it will come right back." Of course the other, well. His mind's right back in the gutter and there's no question of intention.
"We've erected great marvels," he says with a small smirk. "Magic can be quite useful in many, many ways. I'm often willing to give practical demonstrations to interested parties."
Emmrich twirls the fingers of the hand not on Rook. Silver-white energy threads materialize around them, and he gestures toward the piano bench. It scoots right over, hauled on those threads which then dissipate. He moves the tray with the decanter and glasses one-handedly onto the bench, so it's within reach, and then carefully calls up force magic again to slowly lift the decanter and pour. It's delicate work, and probably not as impressive for a non-mage in how delicate it is, but he does want to demonstrate skill and also make sure Rook's not going to flee if he finds out more about Emmrich's abilities.
"Skinny, fast, and trustworthy — I don't know, I happen to quite like the combination as it stands now."
Flirtations aside, he smiled at the idea of a scrawny little slip of a boy weaving around a crowded city and achingly thought of himself at that moment. Even in those dire circumstances, there has always been hope in some small form or another. Emmrich understood that those scraps or hope were as important as what you managed to scrounge for the dinner table every night.
"Hah!" Rook barked a laugh at the short-lived dream of piracy and the reason why, "True — it's why I only took work on the docks. Well, that and I happen to be a terrible swimmer."
Rook watched Emmrich with rapt attention as he bore his innermost wish for the future, which he held so young. His expression softened to something more subdued, almost wistful, with a note of longing—not for the figure of Emmrich's imagination but for the very real man sitting so close to him now.
"A tragedy that," Rook said after a lull in Emmrich's story, "Guess you'll just have to settle for being Emmrich — the gentleman scholar saving the world from ancient gods and being well-read, well-dressed, and smelling of myrrh in addition to the lilacs. Whatever will we do?"
Any dicussion of skating fell out of Rook's ears as his eyes darkened from honey amber to a thin halo of color against dilating pupils as his pulse rushed when a fine-boned hand coursed up his arm. Emmrich had made some comment at dinner about going slow, but Rook had privately hoped it was only that — just a comment to be forgotten later, as in the sooner, the better. He was just about to try for a sly remark about loving a private demonstration over a practical one when Emmrich put his skills on display.
Magic wasn't new to Rook, but his understanding of it before the Wardens had been regulated to Chantry sermons and night terrors. The church had, of course, conveniently neglected to mention what a marvel it was to see an adept practitioner work his craft, making even the mundane extraordinary. Rook's face lit up with an almost boyish delight at the silvery threads weaving around the room. Even when it was over, Rook was still awestruck that he forgot to reach for his wine glass.
"I'd love to see what those things can do to a stubborn set of clothes," Rook let the comment slip before he even had a sip of wine to blame for it. The glass was already pressed to his lips and it was by some miracle he played it off with a slow drink from his glass where he didn't choke as it dawned on him how forward he had been.
Rook was in full flirtation-and-flattery mode and Emmrich was far from immune. It flattered him greatly that Rook was attracted to him. That wasn't a rare occurrence, but it had been some time since someone he'd been interested in had shared that interest. And it had been far, far longer since someone was so clearly interested. Emmrich could not write this off as pure flattery and playfulness, not after this evening.
And not after that last comment, either. He'd seen Rook's delight at the use of his magic, and hearing that... well. Emmrich was only human.
"Would you?" he asked, smirking.
Emmrich summoned up tiny threads again, grateful that he needed precise care when working with corpses, very aware of how he should never mention that particular detail. He was so very tempted to undo Rook's shirt, but he'd barely touched the man so far. Instead he guided the force magic to his vest and opened the top button before the magic faded away.
"Like that? Or were you thinking of something else?" It was time to rectify the other matter. Emmrich hadn't stopped touching the man's arm, he didn't think he was capable of it, but his other hand went to rest on Rook's heart before he traced the buttons of Rook's shirt upward, slowly, with long fingers until he reached the top one.
"This, for instance?" Two can be forward. Two would have to be, to get anywhere near where Emmrich would like Rook tonight.
It was gratifying for Rook to see he was making headway in the direction he had hoped the evening would since accepting the dinner invitation. Maybe it wasn't an attractive feature, depending on who you asked, but Rook could talk up a potential partner with relative ease. If he didn't want to spend the night alone, chances were typically in his favor. The frightening that — the thing he's never done before and still gives him pause — is he'd never wanted to be with anyone for more than a night.
— Emmrich was uniquely and wholly apart from that rule Rook foisted upon himself so many years ago.
"Would I ever?" Rook's voice dropped a pitch as he set his wine glass down after one last pull. The rich taste was heavy on his tongue but not enough to make his head feel lighter as he watched phantom silver threads materialize and undo Emmrich's vest and button, which only revealed a stripe of flesh along his pale throat. Maker, the man wore his shirt collars far too high.
"You're certainly on the right track..."
Rook watched Emmrich's hand trail up his chest to his collar. Where Emmrich went north, Rook took a bolder approach and slid his hand up Emmrich's toned yet slender thigh, coming to rest on the red sash cinched around Emmrich's waist, hooking a finger under the fabric and starting to toy with a shirt button underneath. All the while, he kept eye contact with Emmrich. Watching for any signs he was moving too quickly. The man had been equally coy about his romantic history, and Rook was just as mindful not to overstep.
He's been the first for people before, and they've never had the level of confidence that Rook was now showing. It was impressive. And arousing. Emmrich may have been the one to suggest wine but he's lost all interest in it; he wants his hands otherwise occupied.
Emmrich inhaled sharply as Rook began touching him in return. Confident indeed. And oh, the way Rook looked at him, pupils blown out and yet still focused, intent.
He stopped touching Rook so he could move on the lounge and straddle Rook's lap, bringing them face to face. Gently he cupped the side of Rook's face with one hand.
"If anything we start to do is uncomfortable, or something you don't completely like, please speak up, my dear. I give you my word that I will not be offended or upset. Stop me at any time. If there's anything you prefer, please say that as well. The best times result from clear communication. ...and if your mouth is occupied and you want something to stop, pat me anywhere twice."
The last note is needed, because with that Emmrich is moving in to occupy Rook's mouth with a slow, careful kiss.
If Rook had been confident earlier, the moment Emmrich shifted and fell into Rook's lap with quicksilver fluidity, he was downright assured the night was going well. His hands gripped Emmrich's thighs to keep him balanced, but the other man seemed to keep steady on his own. Rook noted he must have excellent flexibility and core strength and tucked that little tidbit of information away for later use.
"You're sweet," Is as much Rook can get out before his mouth is slotted against Emmrich's in a kiss.
The kiss is tender and wonderful but too shallow, too hesitant. Emmrich's words struck him then, and Rook wondered if when he mentioned Emmrich was his first relationship led the other to conclude something else entirely. Rook could have explained himself better, or he decided to see if he could test the limits here and tease without going too far. Of course, he went with the latter.
— Rook tapped Emmrich on the small of his back in two distinct thumps before pulling back.
"Just wanted to ask," Rook said evenly, though the mischievous smile stayed on his face, "Do you like clove — no allergies, anything like that? I've always used a clove oil that I keep in my pack for my blades." He even risked a waggle of his brow, "Really eases the way."
'Sweet' feels an odd word choice, but perhaps that's simply Emmrich's habits of being more careful with his words speaking.
Rook's hands are warm on him, holding him, making him certain that this is wanted as the kiss stays careful until Rook taps him. Emmrich pulls back instantly, concern on his face. If that was too much, he's entirely misreading some signals and needs to re-evaluate his approach.
Before he can gently inquire further, Rook's talking and it doesn't make sense. A clove oil that...
Emmrich tilts his head, blinking, trying to readjust how those words fit in with everything else. They only fit if he disregards what Rook said at dinner.
"You said this was your first time," he half-says, half-asks. "Have we miscommunicated?"
The concern on Emmrich's face wasn't the reaction Rook had hoped for, but admittedly, he was navigating blindly now. If this were anyone else and any other time, there wouldn't have been the wine, the dinner, or even much in the way of conversation. All Rook knew was rushed encounters to — well, bluntly and coarsely put, scratch an itch. That isn't what he wanted with Emmrich, not at all.
"You didn't, I did." Rook tried for a disarming chuckle only to clear his throat and reassess. "When I said I'd never been with anyone romantically — I meant just that. Romantically."
There was that gripping fear again of looking foolish from revealing too much. Rook wanted to fidget, but that would have been a disastrous idea with Emmrich in astride his lap. He didn't want to add accidentally bucking the man onto the ground to his growing list of mistakes.
"The evening was going so well that I wanted to— well, I didn't want you to think that I was a— but..." On a sharp exhale, Rook shook his head and tried again. "I wanted to make it clear that I wasn't looking for another notch in the bedpost. Now you probably think I'm crass and we can stop if you want. Maybe I should stop talking."
"Oh," said Emmrich, as it started to sink in. "Oh."
Now everything fit into place, the confidence and the nervousness, the reactions, the jokes. His expression turned soft and warm and he ran a thumb along Rook's cheekbone.
"I would never be on the lap of someone I find crass." And he wasn't about to move off of Rook, since he was still fairly certain that Rook wanted him here. Emmrich considered his next move, eyes drifting down Rook's body openly now. His smile transformed to something made far more of smirk and arousal.
"Normally I'd say you should never stop talking, my dear, but I do fear I'm going to need to get in the way of you talking for a time." This time the kiss is hungry, with Emmrich nipping Rook's lower lip. He drops his hands down to the buttons of Rook's shirt, feeling rather sure that this was wanted.
At first, Rook barely suppressed the urge to flinch, not sure what to make of 'Oh.' Tension bled out of him when it became clear the realization that Emmrich came to wasn't that he had made a mistake.
"I don't know," Rook smoothed his hands back up Emmrich's legs and up his flank to settle on his back, "I think I could persuade you to be a little crass here shortly."
Rook was glad to stop running his mouth when Emmrich occupied it with his own then. He gasped when teeth pinched at his lip and only wanted more; he wanted Emmrich's hands on bare skin and the taste of him on his tongue. Rook tilted his head, and after some awkward seconds of teeth clacking together, he was able to deepen the kiss. He moaned happily and greedily as he started to pull at the sash wrapped around Emmrich's waist.
—And pulled, then tugged at the other side of Emmrich's waist. Maker's breath, and Rook thought it was difficult to take his plate mail off in a hurry. How many layers did Emmrich have on? If he yanked any hard, he might tear something or throw Emmrich off, and by the fine feel of the fabric, he wasn't sure what Emmrich would be more upset about.
"Sorry—" Rook pulled back, breathless. "Sorry, but would you be kind enough for a little help?"
At any other time he might attempt an explanation about the difference between being crass and temporarily acting it, but he had Rook's tongue invading his mouth shortly thereafter and much preferred this over discussion.
The man's hands moved on him and he made an approving noise into the kiss even as he started to work Rook's shirt open. He needed the man's neck bare. There was exploration to indulge in.
When Rook pulled back and apologized Emmrich blinked at him, trying to process what was being asked for. Help how? The tugging on his clothing clued him in and he had to shake his head in amusement. Emmrich wanted to tease. Emmrich wanted to tease so very badly. But Rook had been nervous the whole evening, so Emmrich does not.
Instead he leans a little back and unbuttons his vest, slides it off his shoulders, unfastens the chain of his sash and unties it, and resists the urge to fold both before dropping them on the ground. He'd love to fold them. But he has a new partner to entertain instead, so he makes a slow show of unbuttoning his shirt and opening it, baring his chest for Rook's eyes.
The chaise wasn't so large as to make two people determined to undress the other an easy task. At one point, Rook felt as if he'd have to dislocate his shoulder just to make getting out of his shirt easier with how wedged he was between Emmrich and the back of the chaise. Not to mention those damnable layers on Emmrich — one after the other, they seemed endless.
Blessedly, Emmrich got the message and graciously offered his assistance. The sight had Rook's groin warm and tightened in the confines of his fatigue trousers. Rook mentally cataloged each state of undress for future reference, almost like formulating a plan of attack. By the end, he almost expected the rest of Emmrich to be just as adorned in gold. That wasn't the case, but Rook was thrilled by smooth skin over lean muscle and a tapered waist he couldn't wait to get his hands around with pressure to bruise.
"Better than better," Rook said, awed at the sight laid out before him.
He hadn't just sat there and stared as Emmrich undressed. When the other man had leaned back, Rook took advantage of the little extra wiggle room and worked on his own state of overdress. They had been the same fatigues he'd always worn off duty in the Wardens, and he could get them off in short order. With a couple of jerking motions, he shouldered off his padded vest and shirt.
It was only then he idly wondered what Emmrich thought of tattoos. The griffon that snaked up the length of his left arm could always be seen from the forearm, but not the griffons on his chest or ones on his back. Privately, he hoped they would impress as he was fond of their artistry even when some of these were sun-damaged or altered by scars.
"You're gorgeous," Brought back to the present, Rook wound his arms back around Emmrich's waist and pulled him close, and started to press firm, hungry kisses on Emmrich's neck and shoulder.
Emmrich knew he was attractive, but the way Rook looked at him truly made him feel it. He was desired.
But he wasn't the only one. As Rook undressed he revealed far more art on his body than Emmrich had imagined, and a plethora of scars that the professor wanted to know the stories behind. He'd scarcely had the time to begin tracing one piece on Rook's chest before he was pulled firmly against the man and Rook began kissing him.
"As are you," he replied in a lower voice than before, tilting his head so Rook had full access. His hands explored the man's muscular back, tracing along what scars crossed his path. There was such power to Rook's form, and he'd clearly survived so much.
Emmrich rocked his hips experimentally, rubbing his half-hard cock against Rook's stomach just because he could in this position, seeking to find out if Rook was in a similar state yet. To be fair Emmrich had been a little turned on since kissing the man in the Memorial Gardens, but he doubted that had done much for Rook.
His touch lingered on a longer scar on Rook's back and he followed it again with fingertips deliberately. A claw of some sort, he thought, just based on the jagged nature. A claw from something big. He'll ask for stories after, he decided, because, as evidenced by a quiet, breathy sound, he was very much enjoying how Rook was putting his mouth to use currently.
"Your body is a marvel that I want to explore," he said in Rook's ear, low and intent.
Desired only scratched at the surface of what Emmrich was to Rook at that moment. In the couple of months that Rook had known Emmrich, the draw had been near-instantaneous and hadn't wavered since. The attraction had startled him nearly as much as their introduction. Rook had been honest about the fact that magic was new to him and that he had grown up in a culture that feared it. You couldn't get more far removed from his comfort than necromancy, but Emmrich was a surprise.
In a short amount of time, Rook had come to associate Emmrich only with safety and compassion. The moment Emmrich entwined their hands together, that time in his lab, and pulled back the veil on death. Even before the Gardens, Rook knew he had fallen for him. Rook had never felt this way about anyone; he had avoided any chance before. Now, it thrilled as much as it terrified. If this is what falling in love felt like, it was incredible.
Rook arched his back into Emmrich's touch, knowing where those fingers were tracing the raised scar tissue raked across his back courtesy of a shriek in the Deep Roads. He shivered at the sensation but found it strangely pleasant, even intimate. No one's taken the time to touch him like this, he realized. He shuddered again at Emmrich's words hot against the shell of his ear. Oh, two could play at that.
"Wanted the same since that evening in Gardens," Rook's voice was a hoarse whisper, needful as it was demanding. "Brought myself off so many times that night thinking of you. I swear I thought I went blind afterward."
The hand at Emmrich's back slid up to cup the back of his neck, holding him firm.
"What do you imagine the gods would think if I took you against one of those murals of their smug faces on the wall over there? Or bend you over the piano, the keys striking every time I thrust into you so you'd never be able to hear a note being played without going weak in the knees. We've got all night. We might not even have to choose."
He felt Rook shake against him and smiled, turning the scar exploration into a caress. Pieces were continuing to fall into place -- no relationships before, and thus likely, based on that and how Rook responded to intimate touch, no partners that took their time with him. There had been no possessiveness to the thought that he'd be Rook's first sexually, but now there's a fierce, protective spark amidst the growing feelings he has for Hugh. He's going to make sure the man gets touched how he needs to be, deserves to be. He's going to make sure Rook feels cherished with him.
Emmrich shifted to whisper something along those lines to Rook and was beaten to the punch as Rook went filthy. A full-body shudder ran through him at the thought of Rook coming to thoughts of him, jerking himself off on the other side of the wall from where Emmrich slept.
And that was nothing compared to what followed. Emmrich forgot himself enough to moan at the images Rook presented, realizing the man absolutely could bend him over anything with ease. The hand on the back of his neck made that very, very clear.
He was almost always the one making the calls in his sexual encounters, almost always the one deciding and taking initiative, and this possible reversal was thrilling. Sure, he'd had some fantasies about being bent over things before, but he'd never had opportunity to try it.
"Both," he pants, knowing he's being needy but they're being intimate; it's only right to be open in this setting.
Emmrich slides a hand between them, getting a nice feel of Rook's abdomen, before he's searching for whatever holds Rook's pants closed.
He'd started this with thoughts of slow love- making in a refuge away from it all, and now he wants so badly to be fucked.
Confidence and apprehension balanced on a knife's edge as Rook knew exactly what to do but wasn't entirely sure how to be 'romantic' about it. He cared too much about Emmrich to rush through the motions and take him like they were about to be caught. The man deserved something out of all those stories he read or dreamed about, and while Rook knew he wouldn't pass muster there, he had to make an effort at least.
"I can do both," Rook said roughly. He would do anything Emmrich as of him at that point, even if the man wanted him on his knees and begging. Actually, now that the thought crossed his mind, he wouldn't be opposed to that in the slightest.
The hand at Emmrich's neck slid down his back and moved to help with the belt. The buckle was large, made of iron, and unwieldy. Rook made a noise that sounded like 'let me' as he pulled at the latch. His movements were graceless with need because, by now, his arousal was painfully constrained in his smalls.
The belt is pulled off fast as a whip and thrown aside with the rest of his clothes. After an uphill battle with the leather laces, Rook could have sobbed with relief when he tugged his aching cock out of his small clothes and let it sit erect against his abdomen.
"Wait a moment," Rook said on a drawn-out exhale as he reached over the chaise.
The half-filled wine glass now in his hand was swirled once before Rook took a measured sip and set the glass back down again. With a hungry look in his eyes, Rook put his back around Emmrich's neck and drew him firmly, almost roughly, into a kiss. The purpose is made clear when his tongue plunges into Emmrich's mouth, and the berry-tart taste of the wine fills both their mouths. Scarlet red rivulets of the mouthful that didn't pass Emmrich's lips run down Rook's chin. When he's sure Emmrich managed to swallow, Rook pulls back and wipes his widely grinning mouth with the back of his hand.
"Wanted you to try the wine before we got...distracted."
He might be asking too much, but he's aware that fantasy rarely becomes reality and will not hold Rook to anything promised in the building heat of arousal. Though he'll definitely dream.
And oh, what a shape his dreams suddenly take when he sees Rook's cock. Emmrich has never sought out... larger... experiences, he takes his partners as he finds them, but the fact that this is a part of Rook makes it something he craves.
Wait, Rook says, and somehow Emmrich does, watching this man's every movement with quiet hunger that matches the look now shining in Rook's eyes. Tongue and wine alike spill into his mouth and he groans, relaxing at the mix of flavors. Rook absolutely knows what he's doing. And Emmrich would gladly get drunk off kisses like that. Perhaps another time.
"How considerate of you," Emmrich says warmly before leaning in and licking a drop off Rook's chin that escaped the wipe. He's going to be so very distracting.
The first part of that is the most straightforward -- Emmrich reaches down to take Rook's cock in hand and truly feel the girth there. His pupils blow out as he strokes it; there is a non-zero chance that he will have trouble walking tomorrow. With his other hand he unfastens his own trousers and starts shoving them down a little, along with the red silk smalls. It's difficult with just one hand, while his legs are spread, but he eventually manages to get himself out.
Emmrich leans in for a hard, sucking kiss at Rook's neck as he presses his cock to Rook's and strokes them both together.
The impulse to remark upon Emmrich's palpable surprise at the proportionate size of him was a fleeting one. He's had encounters before that ended more abruptly than usual simply because the other person found him...uncomfortable to accommodate. Rook didn't want to shoot himself in the foot now. Although he wasn't such a saint, he tried and failed spectacularly to hide the self-satisfied grin that broke across his face.
Emmrich quite literally wiped the smirk off Rook's face. Looking momentarily taken aback, only for his expression to shift to something starved, desperate to know what else that clever tongue could do.
Instead, Rook first became acquainted with Emmrich's hands. All higher thought was punched out of him with a low moan when Emmrich soon wrapped his fingers around them both. It was a bit funny to hear the tinkling of jewelry every time Emmrich stroked him like little bells. Rook then realizes he's never going to be able to hear bells again without finding his trousers tighter.
He watched with interest as Emmrich's conductor-fine, gold-bangled hands worked on the fastenings on his own pants. His mouth watered first at the sight of silken smalls as red as wine, and for a moment, he wanted to get his teeth around those. That attention shifted to the slimmer, nicely sized arousal Emmrich slid out of silk.
"Wait," All sense of control gone, and back in Emmrich's court, Rook could only whine as he was brought closer to the edge and dropped his head on Emmrich's shoulder, "Want to...want to prep you, make love to you, can't last long like this— please."
He drank in every reaction he got from Rook, memorizing the noises and responses for future reference. The moan in particular got a brief, satisfied smirk from him -- the sound felt better than even the feel of his cock against Rook's.
Emmrich closed his eyes, starting to lose himself in the friction, until Rook spoke. They had had some sort of plan. If not for 'make love' and the 'please' in there Emmrich might have argued for this, but both are enough that he pulled his hand back and nodded shakily.
"Right. Right." For that... He opened his eyes and found Rook's pack with his eyes, casting force magic again to yank it over to them and put it down within Rook's reach. It would be impolite to go through it without permission.
In the meantime he does what has to be done and gets up even though he immediately misses the feeling of Rook against him. Rook has become such a craving, such a constant desire, in so short a time. It would be terrifying if it didn't seem like Rook was equally lost.
Emmrich removed his boots, socks, trousers, and smalls so that he was naked and re-straddled Rook, now set for whatever position they wind up in. Quickly he wrapped his arms around Rook's shoulders and set himself to kissing the man's shoulders and collarbones, worshiping his body as much as he could.
"Anything you ask for, my darling," he murmured against Rook's skin.
At Emmrich's mercy, Rook is able to step back from the precipice of early release. Even still, he shudders at the loss of contact as if the room was plunged into the depths of winter without that warm body pressing against his. His hand made a weak gesture as if trying to draw Emmrich back in, but it dropped beside him. Right, he had asked, and for a reason.
Before he even gets his head on straight, Emmrich has used magic to send Rook's pack flying over to him. Despite being achingly hard and desperate to get his hands back on the man, Rook had to hand it to him.
"Convenient little thing, that," He said with an impressed whistle.
Rook then quickly discovers it's next to impossible to rummage through his pack for one small vial tucked amidst the chaos of his lack of organizational skills quickly on a good day. On a day, he's also watching Emmrich undress, and the sight of those ruby red silk smalls get pulled down those leanly toned legs? He wouldn't be so dramatic as to say he was fighting for his life trying to find that bottle, but it was getting pretty damned close. After nearly dropping the small green bottle not once but twice Rook set it aside just as Emmrich returned to his lap.
Rook was quick to run his hands along any part of Emmrich he could, warmed to be called 'my darling.' Emmrich was quick with a word of affection; Rook learned and was finding himself spellbound by it.
"Anything?" he asked as his self-assurance started to stoke back to life, and his eyes darkened. Rook put his hands underneath Emmrich's thighs and, with little warning or fanfare, stood up.
Without any risk of insulting the man, Rook determined that Emmrich weighed near the same but less than his full plate and broad axe with the shield. Once he was on his feet, it hardly strained his abilities to carry Emmrich no more than ten paces across the foot and set him on top of the closed piano case.
"Bent over the piano," Rook huffed as he placed his hands flat on either side of Emmrich and leaned in close til their noses touched, "That was one option on the table, yeah?"
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— Oh. Rook blinked owlishly before giving Emmrich a sheepish smile like a boy caught sneaking frogs home in his trouser pockets. Not that he's done that — recently.
"Sorry," He said with a breathy laugh. "I'm just not used to talking about myself at length." Any length, really, but Emmrich didn't need to know that part.
Rook settles, then he'll offer his arm to Emmrich on the walk back to the eluvian. It would be proper behavior after a date, right? Only, for whatever reason beyond even him, though he assumed out of habit, Rook lingered back and complimented the Caretaker on their skill with a hitch knot when they've docked. It was, though! He just thought they should know that. He then trotted back to Emmrich's side and lost the nerve even to walk too close.
Manfred as a welcomed sight, and before Emmrich sent him off, Rook asked if he could grab a decanter from the kitchens as well. It marveled at how fast an ambulatory skeleton could be because, by the time Rook and Emmrich were in the music room, Manfred was just leaving. Everything was set on the closed piano case, and Rook beelined for it.
After uncorking the wine, Rook gave it a sniff before humming and declaring it likely came from the Seleny riverside before pouring nearly the bottle into the decanter. The glassware had a delicate, narrow neck that fanned out at the bottom to a wide, oblong shape. Ruby red liquid churned like a scarlet whirpool as Rook carefully swirled the decanter around by its glass neck.
"This needs to breathe a little first," he said before the color returned to the tips of his ears. "Ah...you probably know all that. Want anything else? I set a chaise up by the window we could...watch the sunset that never actually sets?"
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"I would never have been able to identify where it came from," Emmrich said honestly. "What I want is this time with you."
He took the decanter from Rook's hands and set it back on the tray before reclaiming Rook's hands. It was astounding to think Rook, so sure on the field, so confident speaking to leaders of so many groups, was anxious here, with him.
"Breathe, as the wine does, my dear. Sitting sounds lovely." He guided Rook over by the hands to the chaise, let go long enough to bring the tray over in easy reach, and then joined Rook.
"I don't see a great many sunsets. Most of my work is exactly where you found me, deep in the Necropolis. I do enjoy a good sunrise, however. Do you have a favorite place to view sunsets or sunrises? There's one spot I've found just outside the Necropolis where the first rays of the sun light up the world in a way that's positively magical, sending spills of color through the trees to dapple the whole area."
He weighed the mood briefly before putting an arm around Rook's shoulders. That was some impressive musculature there and he was very interested in getting his hands on the man. Slowly, though. Rook seemed about ready to dash out of his own skin due to nerves.
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Don't be absurd — Emmrich wouldn't care you used to be a dockhand. He's not that kind of man. Rook reminded himself that Emmrich wasn't judgemental and that he was wrong to worry. Not to mention, Emmrich had come from a poor background as well, hadn't he? A lifetime ago, and when the Wardens found you, higher education wasn't high on their priorities. No, no. Rook shook his head in a silent debate with himself — his self-consciousness in his bid to impress Emmrich wasn't going to make him bitter.
— Then Emmrich takes his hands, and Rook remembers how to breathe again. My dear, the man says so easily and Rook beams at that, there was no denying the way it made something flutter in his chest. It was a good thing they were sitting, and Rook was no longer holding anything made of glass the way the physical contact turned his knees to jelly.
"My first posting was in Jader," said Rook as he turned on the chaise until he and Emmrich's thighs were pressed together — a little bold, but Emmrich had given him the push. "The sun would always set into the Waking Sea, and when I was posted on the ramparts, I could watch it. Like a firestone dropping into a bath of sapphires — I think the only thing that compares is the sunrises over the Frostbacks that turn the snow tops into these shades of pale pink and brilliant white."
He looked at Emmrich and smiled more easily, "I always wanted to see Nevarra — like Cumberland. Is it true they skate on the river in winter?"
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If Rook isn't used to talking about himself, and clearly is even more nervous than before at dropping such a small tidbit of information, then Emmrich will fill in the gaps. Clearly his company was welcome, with the way the man responded to his touch. He would trust to that.
It was all the easier to trust to that when their thighs touched. Emmrich's control slipped briefly and his gaze wandered down Rook's body, mouth slightly parted, before he got himself back in hand seconds later. It only made sense that he'd be weak with Rook reciprocating the contact and speaking so beautifully about a sunset over the sea.
"Those sound stunning." And one's in Ferelden, and the other Orlais. The former is better than it once was by all reports, but necromancers disappear in Ferelden. They don't return. As far as Orlais... well. There's a cold animosity there and while necromancers don't vanish, they do have a deliberately nasty time. Orlais knows it can't take Nevarra and resents its people for that. He won't be seeing either of those.
"And yes! When the Nevarra river freezes over it's a tight time for trade, but a delightful time to take to the ice. I've spent many, many winter afternoons skating." His eyes are lit up and gaze a little distant in memory, because it's been a few years there too. He's cut back a lot on outside activities the last few years, as a sort of preparation for the future. Liches didn't just run out to go ice skating, after all.
"Cumberland is lovely too, a fantastically cluttered city where everything seems to be on top of everything else. The closer to the sea you get, the more likely you are to find buildings that are six, seven stories tall, with each story built at a different time. They lean, precariously, you'd think, but they stand because the builders incorporate mages and primal--magic with stone and earth -- to ensure they stay up. It's not somewhere to go if you're claustrophobic, but it is a wonder."
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The more they spoke, the easier Rook found it to speak more openly about the smaller details of his little life before the Wardens and all thanks to Emmrich. He didn't register that the older man was patiently guiding the conversation in a way that Rook didn't feel the need to throw up his usual walls.
What doesn't escape his notice, however, is Emmrich's gaze briefly drifting south. That gave Rook a bit more confidence — it seemed the esteemed academic wasn't immune to broad shoulders. That was good to know. Rook might have shifted his weight and moved his arms in a subtle flex. Just to avoid getting stiff, mind you.
"Do you still ice skate? I haven't since I was a boy, but I assume it's just one of those things you don't forget." Or Rook would try and fall flat on his ass, but at least the company would be good should they ever get the chance if Emmrich saw him worth bringing around his homeland beyond the walls of the Necropolis. Then, boldly, Rook cracked with, "Yes, I'm certain Nevarran mages are good at keeping things erect."
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"I was skinny, fast, and trustworthy. It was a poor combination for some parts of the city, but the docks always needed messages run for a copper or two." If Neve hadn't seen him so easily and clearly, this might not have been part of tonight's discussion. He wasn't ashamed of his past, but many others would try to shame him for it. But not Rook. Not Neve. Not anyone at the Lighthouse.
"I did briefly imagine being a grand pirate captain, but even as a child I was partial to being clean and not smelling like rotten fish. The bathing facilities on ships leave much to be desired, and any city in Nevarra has inexpensive heated common baths. My dream, actually, well." Emmrich smiles but there's a faint flush there. He's going to leave out his dream of a sweeping romance that ends in a wedding, that's not something to simply drop on someone, but the rest is truly a little ridiculous.
"I wanted to be a gentleman adventurer, rescuing those in need in truly sweeping fashion, smelling always of lilacs, well-dressed, well-read, and very, very handy with sword and cloak. I would be as known for my writing as Brother Genitivi, but mine would be about the flowers of every land... and they'd be clever books to boot, because I wouldn't just be describing flowers, but romances as well. Young Emmrich heard a lot of grand stories while underfoot running messages into taverns, past bards and other sorts of storytellers."
Which is one of many, many reasons it's deeply disappointing he'd never met Varric. To have come so close.... But his disappointment has nothing on Rook's loss, so he will say nothing on that topic.
He's trying to find another topic when Rook flexes. The timing is suggestive, like Rook wants him to notice, and oh, does he. Emmrich drops the hand around the man's shoulder to run along an arm, feeling those muscles deliberately now. This man is the most built of any Emmrich's pursued, or been pursued by. In fact he'd never truly been down hard for someone shaped like this before. And now? Now he's fighting with all of his might to keep from wondering what someone this strong can do, because he's going to take things slow for Rook's sake.
At least there's a question that throws him a line to follow. "I haven't skated in a while, but I'd love to teach you. I'm certain it will come right back." Of course the other, well. His mind's right back in the gutter and there's no question of intention.
"We've erected great marvels," he says with a small smirk. "Magic can be quite useful in many, many ways. I'm often willing to give practical demonstrations to interested parties."
Emmrich twirls the fingers of the hand not on Rook. Silver-white energy threads materialize around them, and he gestures toward the piano bench. It scoots right over, hauled on those threads which then dissipate. He moves the tray with the decanter and glasses one-handedly onto the bench, so it's within reach, and then carefully calls up force magic again to slowly lift the decanter and pour. It's delicate work, and probably not as impressive for a non-mage in how delicate it is, but he does want to demonstrate skill and also make sure Rook's not going to flee if he finds out more about Emmrich's abilities.
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Flirtations aside, he smiled at the idea of a scrawny little slip of a boy weaving around a crowded city and achingly thought of himself at that moment. Even in those dire circumstances, there has always been hope in some small form or another. Emmrich understood that those scraps or hope were as important as what you managed to scrounge for the dinner table every night.
"Hah!" Rook barked a laugh at the short-lived dream of piracy and the reason why, "True — it's why I only took work on the docks. Well, that and I happen to be a terrible swimmer."
Rook watched Emmrich with rapt attention as he bore his innermost wish for the future, which he held so young. His expression softened to something more subdued, almost wistful, with a note of longing—not for the figure of Emmrich's imagination but for the very real man sitting so close to him now.
"A tragedy that," Rook said after a lull in Emmrich's story, "Guess you'll just have to settle for being Emmrich — the gentleman scholar saving the world from ancient gods and being well-read, well-dressed, and smelling of myrrh in addition to the lilacs. Whatever will we do?"
Any dicussion of skating fell out of Rook's ears as his eyes darkened from honey amber to a thin halo of color against dilating pupils as his pulse rushed when a fine-boned hand coursed up his arm. Emmrich had made some comment at dinner about going slow, but Rook had privately hoped it was only that — just a comment to be forgotten later, as in the sooner, the better. He was just about to try for a sly remark about loving a private demonstration over a practical one when Emmrich put his skills on display.
Magic wasn't new to Rook, but his understanding of it before the Wardens had been regulated to Chantry sermons and night terrors. The church had, of course, conveniently neglected to mention what a marvel it was to see an adept practitioner work his craft, making even the mundane extraordinary. Rook's face lit up with an almost boyish delight at the silvery threads weaving around the room. Even when it was over, Rook was still awestruck that he forgot to reach for his wine glass.
"I'd love to see what those things can do to a stubborn set of clothes," Rook let the comment slip before he even had a sip of wine to blame for it. The glass was already pressed to his lips and it was by some miracle he played it off with a slow drink from his glass where he didn't choke as it dawned on him how forward he had been.
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And not after that last comment, either. He'd seen Rook's delight at the use of his magic, and hearing that... well. Emmrich was only human.
"Would you?" he asked, smirking.
Emmrich summoned up tiny threads again, grateful that he needed precise care when working with corpses, very aware of how he should never mention that particular detail. He was so very tempted to undo Rook's shirt, but he'd barely touched the man so far. Instead he guided the force magic to his vest and opened the top button before the magic faded away.
"Like that? Or were you thinking of something else?" It was time to rectify the other matter. Emmrich hadn't stopped touching the man's arm, he didn't think he was capable of it, but his other hand went to rest on Rook's heart before he traced the buttons of Rook's shirt upward, slowly, with long fingers until he reached the top one.
"This, for instance?" Two can be forward. Two would have to be, to get anywhere near where Emmrich would like Rook tonight.
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— Emmrich was uniquely and wholly apart from that rule Rook foisted upon himself so many years ago.
"Would I ever?" Rook's voice dropped a pitch as he set his wine glass down after one last pull. The rich taste was heavy on his tongue but not enough to make his head feel lighter as he watched phantom silver threads materialize and undo Emmrich's vest and button, which only revealed a stripe of flesh along his pale throat. Maker, the man wore his shirt collars far too high.
"You're certainly on the right track..."
Rook watched Emmrich's hand trail up his chest to his collar. Where Emmrich went north, Rook took a bolder approach and slid his hand up Emmrich's toned yet slender thigh, coming to rest on the red sash cinched around Emmrich's waist, hooking a finger under the fabric and starting to toy with a shirt button underneath. All the while, he kept eye contact with Emmrich. Watching for any signs he was moving too quickly. The man had been equally coy about his romantic history, and Rook was just as mindful not to overstep.
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Emmrich inhaled sharply as Rook began touching him in return. Confident indeed. And oh, the way Rook looked at him, pupils blown out and yet still focused, intent.
He stopped touching Rook so he could move on the lounge and straddle Rook's lap, bringing them face to face. Gently he cupped the side of Rook's face with one hand.
"If anything we start to do is uncomfortable, or something you don't completely like, please speak up, my dear. I give you my word that I will not be offended or upset. Stop me at any time. If there's anything you prefer, please say that as well. The best times result from clear communication. ...and if your mouth is occupied and you want something to stop, pat me anywhere twice."
The last note is needed, because with that Emmrich is moving in to occupy Rook's mouth with a slow, careful kiss.
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"You're sweet," Is as much Rook can get out before his mouth is slotted against Emmrich's in a kiss.
The kiss is tender and wonderful but too shallow, too hesitant. Emmrich's words struck him then, and Rook wondered if when he mentioned Emmrich was his first relationship led the other to conclude something else entirely. Rook could have explained himself better, or he decided to see if he could test the limits here and tease without going too far. Of course, he went with the latter.
— Rook tapped Emmrich on the small of his back in two distinct thumps before pulling back.
"Just wanted to ask," Rook said evenly, though the mischievous smile stayed on his face, "Do you like clove — no allergies, anything like that? I've always used a clove oil that I keep in my pack for my blades." He even risked a waggle of his brow, "Really eases the way."
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Rook's hands are warm on him, holding him, making him certain that this is wanted as the kiss stays careful until Rook taps him. Emmrich pulls back instantly, concern on his face. If that was too much, he's entirely misreading some signals and needs to re-evaluate his approach.
Before he can gently inquire further, Rook's talking and it doesn't make sense. A clove oil that...
Emmrich tilts his head, blinking, trying to readjust how those words fit in with everything else. They only fit if he disregards what Rook said at dinner.
"You said this was your first time," he half-says, half-asks. "Have we miscommunicated?"
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"You didn't, I did." Rook tried for a disarming chuckle only to clear his throat and reassess. "When I said I'd never been with anyone romantically — I meant just that. Romantically."
There was that gripping fear again of looking foolish from revealing too much. Rook wanted to fidget, but that would have been a disastrous idea with Emmrich in astride his lap. He didn't want to add accidentally bucking the man onto the ground to his growing list of mistakes.
"The evening was going so well that I wanted to— well, I didn't want you to think that I was a— but..." On a sharp exhale, Rook shook his head and tried again. "I wanted to make it clear that I wasn't looking for another notch in the bedpost. Now you probably think I'm crass and we can stop if you want. Maybe I should stop talking."
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Now everything fit into place, the confidence and the nervousness, the reactions, the jokes. His expression turned soft and warm and he ran a thumb along Rook's cheekbone.
"I would never be on the lap of someone I find crass." And he wasn't about to move off of Rook, since he was still fairly certain that Rook wanted him here. Emmrich considered his next move, eyes drifting down Rook's body openly now. His smile transformed to something made far more of smirk and arousal.
"Normally I'd say you should never stop talking, my dear, but I do fear I'm going to need to get in the way of you talking for a time." This time the kiss is hungry, with Emmrich nipping Rook's lower lip. He drops his hands down to the buttons of Rook's shirt, feeling rather sure that this was wanted.
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"I don't know," Rook smoothed his hands back up Emmrich's legs and up his flank to settle on his back, "I think I could persuade you to be a little crass here shortly."
Rook was glad to stop running his mouth when Emmrich occupied it with his own then. He gasped when teeth pinched at his lip and only wanted more; he wanted Emmrich's hands on bare skin and the taste of him on his tongue. Rook tilted his head, and after some awkward seconds of teeth clacking together, he was able to deepen the kiss. He moaned happily and greedily as he started to pull at the sash wrapped around Emmrich's waist.
—And pulled, then tugged at the other side of Emmrich's waist. Maker's breath, and Rook thought it was difficult to take his plate mail off in a hurry. How many layers did Emmrich have on? If he yanked any hard, he might tear something or throw Emmrich off, and by the fine feel of the fabric, he wasn't sure what Emmrich would be more upset about.
"Sorry—" Rook pulled back, breathless. "Sorry, but would you be kind enough for a little help?"
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The man's hands moved on him and he made an approving noise into the kiss even as he started to work Rook's shirt open. He needed the man's neck bare. There was exploration to indulge in.
When Rook pulled back and apologized Emmrich blinked at him, trying to process what was being asked for. Help how? The tugging on his clothing clued him in and he had to shake his head in amusement. Emmrich wanted to tease. Emmrich wanted to tease so very badly. But Rook had been nervous the whole evening, so Emmrich does not.
Instead he leans a little back and unbuttons his vest, slides it off his shoulders, unfastens the chain of his sash and unties it, and resists the urge to fold both before dropping them on the ground. He'd love to fold them. But he has a new partner to entertain instead, so he makes a slow show of unbuttoning his shirt and opening it, baring his chest for Rook's eyes.
"How's that? Better?"
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Blessedly, Emmrich got the message and graciously offered his assistance. The sight had Rook's groin warm and tightened in the confines of his fatigue trousers. Rook mentally cataloged each state of undress for future reference, almost like formulating a plan of attack. By the end, he almost expected the rest of Emmrich to be just as adorned in gold. That wasn't the case, but Rook was thrilled by smooth skin over lean muscle and a tapered waist he couldn't wait to get his hands around with pressure to bruise.
"Better than better," Rook said, awed at the sight laid out before him.
He hadn't just sat there and stared as Emmrich undressed. When the other man had leaned back, Rook took advantage of the little extra wiggle room and worked on his own state of overdress. They had been the same fatigues he'd always worn off duty in the Wardens, and he could get them off in short order. With a couple of jerking motions, he shouldered off his padded vest and shirt.
It was only then he idly wondered what Emmrich thought of tattoos. The griffon that snaked up the length of his left arm could always be seen from the forearm, but not the griffons on his chest or ones on his back. Privately, he hoped they would impress as he was fond of their artistry even when some of these were sun-damaged or altered by scars.
"You're gorgeous," Brought back to the present, Rook wound his arms back around Emmrich's waist and pulled him close, and started to press firm, hungry kisses on Emmrich's neck and shoulder.
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But he wasn't the only one. As Rook undressed he revealed far more art on his body than Emmrich had imagined, and a plethora of scars that the professor wanted to know the stories behind. He'd scarcely had the time to begin tracing one piece on Rook's chest before he was pulled firmly against the man and Rook began kissing him.
"As are you," he replied in a lower voice than before, tilting his head so Rook had full access. His hands explored the man's muscular back, tracing along what scars crossed his path. There was such power to Rook's form, and he'd clearly survived so much.
Emmrich rocked his hips experimentally, rubbing his half-hard cock against Rook's stomach just because he could in this position, seeking to find out if Rook was in a similar state yet. To be fair Emmrich had been a little turned on since kissing the man in the Memorial Gardens, but he doubted that had done much for Rook.
His touch lingered on a longer scar on Rook's back and he followed it again with fingertips deliberately. A claw of some sort, he thought, just based on the jagged nature. A claw from something big. He'll ask for stories after, he decided, because, as evidenced by a quiet, breathy sound, he was very much enjoying how Rook was putting his mouth to use currently.
"Your body is a marvel that I want to explore," he said in Rook's ear, low and intent.
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In a short amount of time, Rook had come to associate Emmrich only with safety and compassion. The moment Emmrich entwined their hands together, that time in his lab, and pulled back the veil on death. Even before the Gardens, Rook knew he had fallen for him. Rook had never felt this way about anyone; he had avoided any chance before. Now, it thrilled as much as it terrified. If this is what falling in love felt like, it was incredible.
Rook arched his back into Emmrich's touch, knowing where those fingers were tracing the raised scar tissue raked across his back courtesy of a shriek in the Deep Roads. He shivered at the sensation but found it strangely pleasant, even intimate. No one's taken the time to touch him like this, he realized. He shuddered again at Emmrich's words hot against the shell of his ear. Oh, two could play at that.
"Wanted the same since that evening in Gardens," Rook's voice was a hoarse whisper, needful as it was demanding. "Brought myself off so many times that night thinking of you. I swear I thought I went blind afterward."
The hand at Emmrich's back slid up to cup the back of his neck, holding him firm.
"What do you imagine the gods would think if I took you against one of those murals of their smug faces on the wall over there? Or bend you over the piano, the keys striking every time I thrust into you so you'd never be able to hear a note being played without going weak in the knees. We've got all night. We might not even have to choose."
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Emmrich shifted to whisper something along those lines to Rook and was beaten to the punch as Rook went filthy. A full-body shudder ran through him at the thought of Rook coming to thoughts of him, jerking himself off on the other side of the wall from where Emmrich slept.
And that was nothing compared to what followed. Emmrich forgot himself enough to moan at the images Rook presented, realizing the man absolutely could bend him over anything with ease. The hand on the back of his neck made that very, very clear.
He was almost always the one making the calls in his sexual encounters, almost always the one deciding and taking initiative, and this possible reversal was thrilling. Sure, he'd had some fantasies about being bent over things before, but he'd never had opportunity to try it.
"Both," he pants, knowing he's being needy but they're being intimate; it's only right to be open in this setting.
Emmrich slides a hand between them, getting a nice feel of Rook's abdomen, before he's searching for whatever holds Rook's pants closed.
He'd started this with thoughts of slow love- making in a refuge away from it all, and now he wants so badly to be fucked.
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"I can do both," Rook said roughly. He would do anything Emmrich as of him at that point, even if the man wanted him on his knees and begging. Actually, now that the thought crossed his mind, he wouldn't be opposed to that in the slightest.
The hand at Emmrich's neck slid down his back and moved to help with the belt. The buckle was large, made of iron, and unwieldy. Rook made a noise that sounded like 'let me' as he pulled at the latch. His movements were graceless with need because, by now, his arousal was painfully constrained in his smalls.
The belt is pulled off fast as a whip and thrown aside with the rest of his clothes. After an uphill battle with the leather laces, Rook could have sobbed with relief when he tugged his aching cock out of his small clothes and let it sit erect against his abdomen.
"Wait a moment," Rook said on a drawn-out exhale as he reached over the chaise.
The half-filled wine glass now in his hand was swirled once before Rook took a measured sip and set the glass back down again. With a hungry look in his eyes, Rook put his back around Emmrich's neck and drew him firmly, almost roughly, into a kiss. The purpose is made clear when his tongue plunges into Emmrich's mouth, and the berry-tart taste of the wine fills both their mouths. Scarlet red rivulets of the mouthful that didn't pass Emmrich's lips run down Rook's chin. When he's sure Emmrich managed to swallow, Rook pulls back and wipes his widely grinning mouth with the back of his hand.
"Wanted you to try the wine before we got...distracted."
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And oh, what a shape his dreams suddenly take when he sees Rook's cock. Emmrich has never sought out... larger... experiences, he takes his partners as he finds them, but the fact that this is a part of Rook makes it something he craves.
Wait, Rook says, and somehow Emmrich does, watching this man's every movement with quiet hunger that matches the look now shining in Rook's eyes. Tongue and wine alike spill into his mouth and he groans, relaxing at the mix of flavors. Rook absolutely knows what he's doing. And Emmrich would gladly get drunk off kisses like that. Perhaps another time.
"How considerate of you," Emmrich says warmly before leaning in and licking a drop off Rook's chin that escaped the wipe. He's going to be so very distracting.
The first part of that is the most straightforward -- Emmrich reaches down to take Rook's cock in hand and truly feel the girth there. His pupils blow out as he strokes it; there is a non-zero chance that he will have trouble walking tomorrow. With his other hand he unfastens his own trousers and starts shoving them down a little, along with the red silk smalls. It's difficult with just one hand, while his legs are spread, but he eventually manages to get himself out.
Emmrich leans in for a hard, sucking kiss at Rook's neck as he presses his cock to Rook's and strokes them both together.
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Emmrich quite literally wiped the smirk off Rook's face. Looking momentarily taken aback, only for his expression to shift to something starved, desperate to know what else that clever tongue could do.
Instead, Rook first became acquainted with Emmrich's hands. All higher thought was punched out of him with a low moan when Emmrich soon wrapped his fingers around them both. It was a bit funny to hear the tinkling of jewelry every time Emmrich stroked him like little bells. Rook then realizes he's never going to be able to hear bells again without finding his trousers tighter.
He watched with interest as Emmrich's conductor-fine, gold-bangled hands worked on the fastenings on his own pants. His mouth watered first at the sight of silken smalls as red as wine, and for a moment, he wanted to get his teeth around those. That attention shifted to the slimmer, nicely sized arousal Emmrich slid out of silk.
"Wait," All sense of control gone, and back in Emmrich's court, Rook could only whine as he was brought closer to the edge and dropped his head on Emmrich's shoulder, "Want to...want to prep you, make love to you, can't last long like this— please."
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Emmrich closed his eyes, starting to lose himself in the friction, until Rook spoke. They had had some sort of plan. If not for 'make love' and the 'please' in there Emmrich might have argued for this, but both are enough that he pulled his hand back and nodded shakily.
"Right. Right." For that... He opened his eyes and found Rook's pack with his eyes, casting force magic again to yank it over to them and put it down within Rook's reach. It would be impolite to go through it without permission.
In the meantime he does what has to be done and gets up even though he immediately misses the feeling of Rook against him. Rook has become such a craving, such a constant desire, in so short a time. It would be terrifying if it didn't seem like Rook was equally lost.
Emmrich removed his boots, socks, trousers, and smalls so that he was naked and re-straddled Rook, now set for whatever position they wind up in. Quickly he wrapped his arms around Rook's shoulders and set himself to kissing the man's shoulders and collarbones, worshiping his body as much as he could.
"Anything you ask for, my darling," he murmured against Rook's skin.
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Before he even gets his head on straight, Emmrich has used magic to send Rook's pack flying over to him. Despite being achingly hard and desperate to get his hands back on the man, Rook had to hand it to him.
"Convenient little thing, that," He said with an impressed whistle.
Rook then quickly discovers it's next to impossible to rummage through his pack for one small vial tucked amidst the chaos of his lack of organizational skills quickly on a good day. On a day, he's also watching Emmrich undress, and the sight of those ruby red silk smalls get pulled down those leanly toned legs? He wouldn't be so dramatic as to say he was fighting for his life trying to find that bottle, but it was getting pretty damned close. After nearly dropping the small green bottle not once but twice Rook set it aside just as Emmrich returned to his lap.
Rook was quick to run his hands along any part of Emmrich he could, warmed to be called 'my darling.' Emmrich was quick with a word of affection; Rook learned and was finding himself spellbound by it.
"Anything?" he asked as his self-assurance started to stoke back to life, and his eyes darkened. Rook put his hands underneath Emmrich's thighs and, with little warning or fanfare, stood up.
Without any risk of insulting the man, Rook determined that Emmrich weighed near the same but less than his full plate and broad axe with the shield. Once he was on his feet, it hardly strained his abilities to carry Emmrich no more than ten paces across the foot and set him on top of the closed piano case.
"Bent over the piano," Rook huffed as he placed his hands flat on either side of Emmrich and leaned in close til their noses touched, "That was one option on the table, yeah?"
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