Chapter Text
Some minutes later, Emmrich is bent over the balustrade, just as promised. Rook stands slightly to his side, carefully fingering him open with oil the elf suspiciously already had on hand—for his sword, he claimed, though Emmrich initially struggled to believe that. It’s difficult, he finds, to diligently instruct someone on how to do something like this while simultaneously staying quiet. It doesn’t help that he can never quite tell if Rook is teasing him or if he’s honestly asking for input.
“Do you want another one?” Rook whispers into Emmrich’s ear, gently pressing the tip of another finger along the rim of his lubricated hole.
Like that. Rook’s voice is so soft that it’s impossible to identify a tone, and Emmrich can’t see his face. There’s something thrillingly erotic about it, this manner of deprivation that Emmrich never would have considered possible, which makes it all the more difficult for him to concentrate on actually giving proper instruction. He doesn’t want to have to watch his volume this way, but he must. He wants to see Rook’s face, but he cannot. He wishes he could remove at least one layer of his costume, but he doesn’t dare.
Spirits, he feels like he’s boiling alive already. The night air is nowhere near cool enough to ease the heat generated by his body and he hasn’t shed a single piece of his clothing other than his overcoat, which is thrown over the balustrade beside him, so much of that heat is trapped tight to his person. His breeches and underwear are the only articles shifted out of place, and only enough for Rook to be able to reach his hole, which means his erection, fully filled out now, is still trapped beneath them. It’s an exquisite agony, as well as a distraction that he can’t afford to entertain at the moment.
“Emmrich?”
“Ah, yes, please,” Emmrich finally replies. He forces himself to take even, measured breaths in an effort to recenter himself. “Another, if you will.”
Rook huffs a laugh through his nose, tickling Emmrich’s ear. “Yes, sir.”
As a third finger slides in along his other two, Rook starts working him open more rigorously. It’s been some time since Emmrich has had anything inside him, but Rook’s soothing touches along his waist and stomach with his free hand calm him enough to keep him from growing tense enough to make it too painful.
There’s a moment when one of Rook’s fingers oh so lightly brushes against Emmrich’s prostate, causing him to jolt a little and gasp. The sensation catches him entirely off guard, and he certainly hadn’t remembered it feeling so electric before. Perhaps it’s because he hadn’t expected it, or because it’s been so long, or maybe because of their present circumstances… (Or perhaps it’s because he hasn’t been with someone he’s cared for as profoundly as he does Rook.)
Regardless, Rook lets out an intrigued hum. “What was that?” he asks. “Did I touch something sensitive?”
“Just so…” Emmrich grips the balustrade hard as he tries yet again to level out his somewhat uneven breathing, unable ignore the way Rook abandons his effort to stretch him out so that he can curiously probe about for the spot he’d touched. “If you curl your fingers down somewhat, it sh-should be—ngh…!”
Emmrich claps one gloved hand over his mouth to muffle the shaky and harsh exhale that comes as Rook more than just brushes that spot. Once it’s located, Rook begins to massage it without mercy. Distantly, Emmrich can feel the way his cock starts to leak. It’s difficult to focus on something as intangible as embarrassment for it, however, when pleasure ripples through him in such inexorable waves. When Rook finally relents, just as the pleasure was almost about to rebound back towards pain, a shudder goes through Emmrich’s body. He lets his hand fall from his mouth so he can pant for breath.
“That was…very unkind of you, Rook,” Emmrich mutters, turning his head to give Rook what he hopes is a properly disapproving look. He suspects he fails—or, more likely, had no hope of succeeding—when Rook unabashedly stares back with an avid gleam in his eyes.
“Sorry, Emmrich, I couldn’t resist. I just like making you feel good…” Emmrich’s expression softens a little at the sentiment. And then Rook continues, “And seeing you lose your composure like that is pretty sexy.”
Goodness gracious. What does Emmrich even say to that? It’s one thing that Rook possesses such a carnal desire for him at all, but to hear Rook confess so blatantly that he thinks that Emmrich is…is… Spirits.
“That’s…” He swallows hard. “Is it…?” he asks before he can second guess himself. He can’t stand to look at Rook, with his dark-eyed hunger, but he’s too helplessly drawn in by it to break eye contact.
“Of course it is.” Rook spreads his fingers inside Emmrich, making him shiver, and goes back to working him open while generally avoiding his prostate for now. “Just as sexy as when you’re acting all proper and gentlemanly, or when you’re praising me, or when you’re getting excited talking about the Fade or necromancy…”
Emmrich can’t help but laugh, wobbly as it is. “It sounds as though you would feel that way no matter what it is I’m doing…”
“Well…kinda? Different kinds of sexy, though,” Rook clarifies offhandedly with a smile. “Also, what did I tell you earlier? Wanting you isn’t something I can just stop doing. Even just watching you drink tea is enough to make me trip over myself to impress you.”
Oh, how Emmrich’s heart flutters for Rook and his effortlessly enchanting demeanor. Emmrich has grand ideas of romance, and enjoys acting upon those fancies, but Rook is so casual and natural as though he’s making simple observations rather than flirting. It had taken Emmrich longer than he cares to admit to realize that Rook had been flirting with him at all, rather than just complimenting him. Rook is no bard, but if he were to attempt to become one, there is no doubt in Emmrich’s mind that he’d take the role spectacularly.
“Rook…” Emmrich realizes he’s smiling back, and hopes that Rook doesn’t see him for the besotted fool he is. Is there anything he can do to collect himself, and regain at least a fraction of his dignity? Not that it will last long, surely, in the face of Rook’s passion, but still…
One thing springs to mind—a tried and true tactic to tame his spirited lover.
“Darling, I, ah…” Emmrich clears his throat. “You have done very well so far,” he praises warmly. “Better than I would have expected for your first time attempting it. I’m very proud of you.”
Rook’s eyes widen, then droop halfway closed the same way they did not long ago, a syrupy smile tugging at his lips. Between the praise and Emmrich petting his hair, Rook had turned into a sweet little docile thing. Like a puppy, he’d thought at the time. He hadn’t realized at first that Rook had been affected by it in a much more…prurient manner until later.
“Yeah?” Rook’s voice goes a little breathy. “You are? I did good?”
“Indeed. You listened closely, and made sure to be very careful with me. I dare say I’m ready now. Good boy,” he adds, knowing how those two words affect his Rook so.
To Emmrich’s surprise, Rook unceremoniously pulls his fingers free, and leans in to kiss him. It’s somewhat slapdash and wanton, but Rook’s obvious craving for him makes even his lack of skill endearing and enjoyable in its own way. Though Emmrich endeavors to guide him, albeit incrementally, as Rook’s enthusiasm can get quite a ways ahead of him.
The kiss doesn’t last too long, even though Rook is clearly reluctant to pull away.
“I had a good teacher.” He bites his lip before asking, “So…can I fuck you now?”
The bluntness and crudeness of the question disperses whatever composure Emmrich was able to muster. “Language,” he nearly croaks, once he’s picked up his jaw from whence it dropped. “But…y-yes, Rook. You may.”
“Thank you…” Rook shifts properly into place behind him. Emmrich hears the quiet jangle of one belt, then a second being undone as Rook nuzzles into the back of his neck. “Thank you, Emmrich…” He hears Rook’s other gauntlet clattering carelessly to the ground.
Like a puppy… Emmrich feels his face flare with heat. …Or perhaps a…? He shakes his head minutely to rid himself of a most vulgar and frankly outright disrespectful train of thought.
Even if he hadn’t managed to succeed in clearing his mind, the feel of the tip of Rook’s erection at his loosened hole certainly would have. When Rook begins to slide in, a shudder goes through Emmrich. Knowing he won’t be able to keep his voice low on his own, he covers his mouth with one gloved hand. Rook’s hands, meanwhile, clamp down on his hips hard, just as Emmrich had imagined they might countless times. It’s much more satisfying in reality; he feels strangely safe and secure in those calloused hands, despite knowing that he’s powerless to escape them. And hearing Rook breathe out a moan as he sheathes himself entirely, his clothed hips pressing against Emmrich’s backside, is a special kind of delight.
“Sh-shit… Emmrich… You’re so hot inside…” Rook’s torrid whispers send prickling goosebumps along Emmrich’s nape. “…and so t-tight. Maker, you feel so good…”
Emmrich doesn’t dare pull his hand away from his mouth to reply. It proves to be the prudent course of action as Rook soon draws back and slides in again. The first few rocking movements are gentle, slow, somewhat unsure. He’s testing the waters, Emmrich realizes. It strikes him only now that this is Rook’s first time. When Rook spoke of bending him over and taking him, whenever Emmrich thought about it and tried to ignore his tingles of arousal, whenever Rook shot him knowing, mischievous little looks here and there the past week, it wasn’t ever just about the act itself—Rook’s virginity had also been on the line.
And Emmrich has irreversibly taken it from him. Here, now, where anyone could chance upon them.
Rook deserves better than such desperate fumbling. Emmrich had lost his own virginity in a similarly fraught manner; he ought to have known better. If only he had taken even a moment to consider it with a clear head, he could have made this moment more meaningful for Rook, more romantic, and certainly less perilous. However, planning a nice date in the Necropolis is much less difficult than having to say no to Rook’s face, especially when he’d been so impossibly charming and persuasive. Emmrich cannot help that he is weak to Rook’s brand of confidence, but if he hadn’t wasted so much time playing the lovesick fool in the first place, and just thought…
It doesn’t take long for Rook to start moving quicker, into an erratic, fluctuating circuit that intermittently passes over Emmrich’s prostate. Not knowing when to expect the flashes of pleasure has Emmrich tense and sensitive. The hand not over his mouth grips tight to the balustrade, and he feels his legs twitching below him. It’s difficult to agonize over his mistakes in such a state, and the intoxication of lust begins to cloud his mind in his moment of weakness.
Rook, meanwhile, grips his hips bruisingly tight, letting out low whimpers and grunts with each thrust. It soon becomes clear that it’s only due to the fact that they must stay relatively silent that Rook doesn’t give into base instinct and take Emmrich fast and hard. In that, Emmrich is both relieved and proud that Rook has maintained such situational awareness. He would say so, even just for Rook’s gratification, if only covering his mouth weren’t equally as essential at the moment.
“E-Emmrich,” Rook whispers into Emmrich’s shoulder, his earlier assertiveness melted away in the furnace of mutual pleasure, “is it good? Am I good…?” He lets out a quiet little moan. “Please, tell me…? Please…?”
Emmrich feels his legs tremble dangerously. It’s already hard enough, between Rook’s tight hold, the quick yet somewhat jerky pace of his thrusting, and the heat muddling his head, but to hear Rook ask of him like this… It’s just like the last time, when arousal had well and truly taken Rook’s mind, and that remarkably vulnerable side had come out. He had been so desperate for Emmrich’s favor and approval…and something about it had made Emmrich burn, just as it is now.
Perhaps, in the same way Rook finds his loss of composure (and everything else, supposedly) attractive, there is something in Rook’s inexperience and genuine desire to please that resonates with something that sleeps deep inside of Emmrich. A satisfaction that Rook has put his vulnerable self in Emmrich’s hands, and his alone. Shame and self-censure strike him immediately; how different is he from the corrupt tyrants they constantly face to feel so titillated by holding such power over someone who trusts him? But in his desirous state, instead of the frigid swoop he’s used to, it only sears deep into his gut and his loins.
Another voice whispers in the back of his mind, perhaps that of guilty pleasure: would it not be more cruel to deny Rook what he wants just so Emmrich may soothe his conscience? Rook’s esteem, his admiration, his affection, and now his chastity—he’s given it all to Emmrich of his own free will. Whatever Emmrich may think of himself, Rook has decided he was worth it, and worth trying so hard for. And who wouldn’t feel terribly powerful in his position, having earned the wholehearted devotion of someone so larger-than-life like Rook is? He may be relatively young, but Rook is still an adult in the end, and it’s not as though Emmrich is taking advantage of him…
When Rook pleads with him again, Emmrich shivers. Right, Rook had asked him for something, hadn’t he? For Emmrich to praise him, tell him how good he is. But were he to take his hand away from his mouth so he might give Rook what he wants, how likely is it that something other than just words comes out along with it? And how likely is it that someone other than Rook hears it? He moans into the soft leather of his glove as Rook’s grip tightens on his hips and his pace grows more careless and wild.
There’s a frustrated little grunt from Rook, and suddenly Emmrich feels a brief pressure as Rook bites into his cravat and high collar and yanks on them. Luckily, the cravat is soon tugged free of its pin rather than strangling him, but Emmrich doesn’t hear the clink of the metal on stone as it falls. He doesn’t have more than a moment of relief or the chance to appreciate the night air on his exposed neck, slightly damp with sweat, because Rook soon sinks his teeth into the back of his neck, ripping a startled groan from him. Just over one of his upper trapezii, the back of his mind supplies unhelpfully, decades of necromantic study kicking in even in his present state.
Emmrich isn’t one for masochism, generally, but the fervor with which Rook sucks and bites at his skin rouses something in him regardless. It had last time, as well, when Rook had worked a love mark just beside his throat. That mark had lasted for the better part of this last week—Emmrich always blushed upon seeing it when he went to shave in the morning—but it had faded in its entirety just the other day.
(Last time, Rook had done it because he had gotten excited from earning Emmrich’s praise. And now he’s doing it out of frustration that he’s being denied it… Is Emmrich doomed to be bitten no matter what he does? Exciting or no, he really must teach Rook at least a modicum of self-restraint. At least where biting is concerned.)
When Rook finally releases him with a gasp for air, Emmrich takes his chance to speak without being interrupted.
“You’re doing very well, darling,” he forces out in a rush before Rook can bite him again, trying to keep his voice low. Rook’s pace stutters a little as Emmrich speaks, thankfully uninterrupted. “Staying quiet can’t be easy for you…”
“I-it’s not,” Rook agrees weakly. “But you’ll make us stop if I’m loud, so…I’m trying to—nnh—behave…” Emmrich refrains from pointing out that biting him doesn’t seem like something one would do when attempting to behave. “Do you…do you feel good?”
“I do, yes,” he breathes. Unfairly good, even, considering Rook’s level of experience. He’d thought so last time, too; Rook seems to be something of a quick learner where lovemaking is concerned. “Marvelous… Such a good boy, Rook—ah!”
Emmrich barely strangles his moan to an acceptable volume as Rook suddenly thrusts roughly into him once, then twice, dragging hard over his prostate both times. Then, with a pathetic little moan, Rook buries his face between Emmrich’s scapulae, and comes to a full stop. Confusion turns into an almost comic disbelief when Emmrich realizes that Rook is ejaculating. But anything nearing a laugh (out of surprise and fondness, not at Rook’s expense!) that might have escaped him dies immediately when the horror that Rook is still inside him finally dawns. While there is something undeniably erotic about it—the filthiness of such an act, and Rook’s excitement and inexperience leading to its prematurity—the fact of the matter is that they still have a party to get back to after this!
But…this is Rook’s first time, and he’s young yet. Of course his stamina wouldn’t last him long; one more thing Emmrich should have been able to account for had he only thought on it before all this. Rook is clinging tightly to Emmrich, shuddering and whimpering with the force of his orgasm, and Emmrich doesn’t want to ruin it for him. It’s too late now, he concludes, and so he’ll allow Rook this. He’ll figure out how to handle this mess in the meantime…
(Maybe later, once he’s had a bath, this will be just an amusing and fond memory, and Emmrich can have a little laugh to himself about it then.)
When Rook finally relaxes, he’s panting heavily against Emmrich’s back, and his grip on his hips has loosened entirely. Emmrich is impressed that Rook is able to keep himself standing at all in this state.
With a low, tentative, “Rook?” Emmrich attempts to get his attention.
Rook startles a little, gasps, and stiffens up. Another groaning whine escapes him, but this one sounds much more like dismay than pleasure.
“…I am so sorry, Emmrich,” he mumbles against Emmrich’s spine, barely audible. “I-I wasn’t thinking, and it hit me so suddenly, and when you said that—”
Emmrich shushes him to put a stop to the rambling, a wry smile pulling at his lips. His poor eager lover… If Emmrich has failed Rook as the more experienced of the two of them in every other aspect, then at least he can try to make up for it by being supportive in this. “It’s all right, Rook.” His voice, he notes, sounds a bit hoarse; they may have been muffled, but his moans were still torn from him nonetheless.
“Really?” Rook sounds small. If Emmrich didn’t know better, he’d wonder if the throatiness of his voice came from tears, rather than… Well.
“Yes, really,” he says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. He pats one of Rook’s hands, gently encouraging him to pull out. There’s a little pang of loss, the sensation of suddenly feeling so empty hard to ignore, but he could hardly comfort Rook in this position.
“Oh…”
It’s so quiet that Emmrich almost doesn’t hear it. When he glances over his shoulder, he sees Rook looking at his backside with a somewhat entranced gaze. Another wave of heat washes through him, in a strange mixture of flattery and mortified anger. It’s not as though he doesn’t want Rook to be attracted to him, or that he wants him to feel ashamed for his early release, but…the nerve of him to make such a mess and then be so allured by it without an ounce of remorse!
Emmrich purses his lips, and pushes himself up. Though his knees still feel a bit weak, the short-lived spark of indignation grants him enough energy to straighten up, and turn to lean back against the balustrade. He slides a hand into his inner coat pocket, retrieves his handkerchief, then reaches behind himself to start sopping up the worst of the mess that’s started to ooze out. It won’t be a perfect solution, but it will be enough that he won’t utterly humiliate himself when they return to the party.
However, now that he’s facing Rook, he finally has the opportunity to properly behold the young man for the first time since he’d turned to bend over the balustrade in the first place.
Rook’s face is flushed, though it’s hard to pick out with only moonlight to see by. No longer distracted, he looks a pitiful sight indeed, with that little pout and such open eyes. Sweat glistens on his forehead and temples, and a couple dampened locks of hair cling to the skin. His attire is messy, too, gauntlets missing, sleeves and tunic askew, multiple belts undone, and his trousers barely hanging off of his hips. And not to mention his softened manhood, wet and nearly dripping with oil and semen.
He looks like a wretched but well-tupped mess, if Emmrich were to be terribly crass about it. Even so, he finds himself as captivated by Rook, and this sensitive side of him, as ever. He looks humiliated and, in a rare case, abashed. To think this is the same creature that had seduced Emmrich into this situation to start with…
Oh, Emmrich can’t bring himself be too upset with him.
“Especially considering your history…” he continues. “I should have expected it, really. After all, the first time that I was in your position, I was rather…er…”
He trails off when he sees Rook’s expression turns less miserable and a touch more vexed. Clearing his throat, Emmrich changes the subject so that he doesn’t rouse Rook’s jealousy once more.
“I-in any case, do not fret, my dear.” He smiles. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, and I’m not upset with you. You were very quiet and well-behaved otherwise.” The springing-this-in-public part and the biting were things he could address back home and in private, he decides. He reaches up with his free hand, and pets Rook’s hair instead, murmuring, “Good boy.”
Rook perks up at that, just as he had hoped. “Do you, uh, need help with that?” He tucks himself back in his trousers and nods in the direction of Emmrich’s working arm with too keen eyes.
“Ah, no, I’m…just about done.” Face heating a bit, Emmrich finishes up, and sets the balled up, filthy handkerchief on the balustrade for now. He has the feeling Rook would have a little more fun with that task than warranted…
Denied, Rook pouts again. “Well, then at least let me help with this.”
Emmrich gasps when Rook’s hand comes to cup his restrained but no less aching erection and rubs, sending a full body shudder through Emmrich. It’s the first time he’s been properly touched this whole time, and it feels consequently sensitive. Especially since it’s Rook’s hand, rather than his own.
“I-if you’d like…” Emmrich tries to go for polite, but the words come out too faint to be anything but painfully excited.
With a grin, Rook immediately goes to undo Emmrich’s breeches and pull them down along with his underthings. Emmrich’s length is ruddy and rather damp with sweat and pre, and when it’s exposed to the air, he hisses. Both his exposure and the sudden temperature shift feel like almost too much, and his heart starts pounding again. When Rook wraps his hand around him, the same one he’d prepared Emmrich with earlier, Emmrich replaces his hand over his mouth to smother any further noises.
As Rook begins working him, his free hand moves to Emmrich’s hip. He doesn’t hold Emmrich still, couldn’t properly with only one hand like this, but it’s not meant to be restrictive so much as it is grounding. And, leaning so heavily against the balustrade as he is, Emmrich is thankful for it.
“I’m sorry I was so impatient and for, y’know, finishing inside you,” Rook murmurs, leaning in close. “I promise I’ll be better in the future… I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, and this, all week, and…” He strokes Emmrich a little faster, the glide smooth thanks to the pre-cum that’s dribbling out steadily now. “I just had to take a chance. And after what happened back there, I just wanted to…to make you mine… Is that strange?” His eyes go partially hooded, a sultry look indeed. “Despite all the trouble I’ve put you through, thanks for letting me have you…”
With a roiling wave of heat in his gut, Emmrich remembers when Rook had confessed to some fantasies about him. He’d covered Rook’s mouth, then, unable to listen to it all without losing face. He doesn’t have that option now, and he already feels so unbearably wound up without Rook sharing sentiments that are simultaneously so shameless and so painfully earnest. Has he ever felt so exposed while dressed in so many layers before?
“You sound so good, even muffled…” Rook grins up at him. “Hey, Emmrich, when we get back to the Lighthouse, I want another go… To make up for my poor performance, of course.”
Emmrich gives him an incredulous look over his hand. He wants to go again? So soon? Emmrich hasn’t even finished now! Would he even be able to manage it twice in one night? Even if he could, he’s not certain he ought to encourage such insatiability.
“Mm, can’t wait to hear you when you get to be loud… If you were anything like you were last time…” Rook trails off when Emmrich puts his other hand on the young man’s shoulder, giving it a desperate squeeze. It makes Rook chuckle. “Oh, am I talking too much? Worried someone will hear?”
That’s not exactly what Emmrich had in mind, but he nods anyway.
“Well, guess I should occupy my ‘smart mouth’ with something, huh?” Rook winks, and Emmrich feels his heart flutter.
He had thought that Rook meant he’d go for Emmrich’s now partially bared neck. But though Rook does leave a kiss upon it (given his mouth isn’t available), Emmrich quickly realizes he had something much more salacious in mind when he starts sinking down to his knees. As if taking Rook’s virginity tonight wasn’t enough, is he about to take Rook’s first attempt at fellatio as well?
No, “take” isn’t the right word, is it? Emmrich hadn’t ever asked himself, Rook all but metaphorically shoved them into his hands. But then again, he realizes, it’s not that he feels guilty for accepting any of it. Rather, he feels guilty for finding it all so stirring; who else can claim to hold such an honor as being Rook’s first in just about everything, after all? He is not a possessive man (not like Rook seems to be), nor is he particularly proud or boastful, but…he can’t help but derive a not insignificant level of pleasure from it.
…No, he certainly isn’t proud at all.
When Rook opens his mouth, he judiciously starts small. As he fondles Emmrich, he licks and sucks the sides while his hand is occupied. He’s not shy, and seemingly not put off by the taste. The more Rook experiments, the more Emmrich is glad for his hand over his mouth. With all of his focus on Emmrich, Rook can now hears his irregular breaths through his nose, all the stifled moans, all the small whimpers that manage to slip through, and is surely reveling in it. Whatever is audible over his own work, of course.
He keeps shooting Emmrich these little impish looks, too. It’s thrilling and almost humbling, watching Rook and knowing he’s putting on a show as much as he’s simply pleasuring him. There’s an affected licentiousness to the way he eventually parts his lips to suckle on the head of Emmrich’s stand, and the way he jerks his hand along the shaft is purposefully provocative.
Something in Rook changes, like a switch has been flipped, once the dizziness of arousal passes for him. It had happened before, as well. Never mind a puppy—he turns into a cat playing with his prey. Emmrich feels a shiver up his spine as he remembers the way Rook had cornered him here to begin with.
Shaking with his effort to stay still, Emmrich moans plaintively as Rook finally opens his mouth wide and attempts to sink down along his length after taking a deep breath. However, Rook gags almost immediately, and quickly jerks his head back to avoid choking. A stubborn and determined look steals over his face, a familiar one that has always inspired Emmrich. In this moment, though, it excites him more than anything. Suddenly, he wishes Rook was holding him still. If ever he wanted to prevent himself from unconsciously bucking his hips, it would be now.
As Rook throws himself into perfecting this brand new skill, Emmrich shuts his eyes. He can’t keep watching this or images of Rook so earnestly sucking him will haunt him for weeks. (Then again, they probably already will whether he watches or not.) Even acknowledging the pleasure coursing through him now as coming from Rook’s mouth and hand is nearly enough to make him melt in his boots.
The usage of his mouth aside, Rook seems to remember exactly what Emmrich likes from the last time they were intimate, his more sensitive spots and the amount of pressure he prefers. How closely had Rook paid attention as he pleasured Emmrich then? Had he intended to experiment and study each subtle reaction, or was it a subconscious instinct, the same way he would observe an opponent’s movements in battle? Either possibility—the dedicated student or the battle master—sends yet another rush through Emmrich.
And to think Rook had seen him become such a wreck, and still desired him thus.
Emmrich has had students who had grown feelings for him in the past. It was only natural, he’d assured them as he broke their poor innocent hearts, as he was a kindly and supportive guide to knowledge, and the satisfaction therein, and a safe target for their affections besides. Some of them, he learned from a few more forward pupils, had had ideas that Emmrich might act differently in private. More self-possessed, more improper, more…exacting, perhaps.
He never developed a complex over it, but he couldn’t deny that there had been a point where he wondered (worried, rather) if Rook had any of those ideas himself. Emmrich tried his best, when Rook had begged of him last time, to play the part and live up to at least some of those old expectations. At the time, he thought he had pulled it off quite well, even if it was a role he wasn't familiar with. But when Rook had turned the tables on him…
And what if I’m done being good?
…Emmrich had so quickly collapsed, as a newly dispossessed skeleton might. It hardly took any effort at all on Rook’s part, too. The moment he’d made his interest clear, Emmrich gave in, turned himself over to whatever attentions Rook might bestow him. Johanna had always called him a sentimental milksop, and though he would bristle at the intended insult, he could never quite deny it. And yet, despite the weak-willed way Emmrich all but bared his neck for him, Rook wanted him still.
Considering all of that, it really shouldn’t have surprised him at all when Rook admitted his interest in flustering Emmrich. He couldn’t deny he may be starting to cotton on to the idea himself…
Emmrich’s ears prick suddenly as a noise stands out from his stifled noises and quiet slurping, low as they may be. Was that a rustle in the greenery below? That quiet susurrus of leaves, was it from the wind or a nocturnal creature, or was it from a party-goer entering the garden? Adrenaline joins the chorus of hormones coursing through Emmrich’s veins, and it only serves to heighten the pleasure that sings through him as magic does through lyrium.
But no matter how good it feels, or how difficult to dissuade Rook it might be, he has to put an end to this. He needs to tell Rook to stop, or at least take a pause, because they might not be alone.
A hot, wet heat suddenly enveloping almost the whole of his manhood yanks a ragged but muffled cry from him, and he presses his hand even harder against his mouth. There’s the barest brush of teeth that adds to the rushing in his veins. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, can’t bear to witness Rook’s lips stretched around him, because it may be his undoing. He feels Rook swallow around him and finally pull back, and feels himself grow lightheaded.
Then again, he dimly remembers, Rook’s hearing is superior to his. If there really was someone there, wouldn’t Rook have noticed? He is a talented warrior; if they were at risk, would he not act? Is his lack of reaction due to his confidence that they were still generally unobserved? Maybe Emmrich, in his roused tizzy, was simply hearing things, and he confused his stuttered breathing or the rushing of blood in his ears for something else.
That isn’t enough to convince his overactive hindbrain, however. That thrill of ignominy refuses to fade away, and he feels his cock pulse in Rook’s hand. To be caught in flagrante delicto, deshabille and with his hand over his mouth just to stay quiet as his younger lover, on his knees, sucks at him with such barely tempered fervor… It would be terrible. Disastrous. Scandalous. Humiliating, even. And the thought of it is most certainly humiliating…but undeniably stimulating, as well.
A husky laugh. “Do you just always start begging when you’re about to cum, Professor…?”
How crude! …Wait, begging?
With a start, and a flush of mixed panic and shameful arousal through his system, Emmrich’s eyes fly open. Suddenly, he becomes cognizant of his hand hanging limp against his clavicle, and what would have been pleading words and desperate whimpers of Rook’s name turn into a scandalized gasp. At some point, caught up in the overwhelming sensation and his own sordid thoughts, his hand must have fallen from his face, and his mouth must have been running itself well without permission from any of his higher faculties.
His teeth clack as he slams his mouth shut, and replaces his hand tightly over it. How mortifying…! And based on Rook’s wording, this may have happened the last time, too. But he hadn’t been erroneous in his observation; Emmrich can feel the heat in his loins growing taut.
Rook snickers. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
A distant alarm rings in Emmrich’s mind when he sees Rook return to sucking him. Emmrich is close, after all, and if Rook continues on like that, then his mouth may be swiftly overwhelmed. He has to warn him, though it takes conscious effort to act on that thought.
“Rook…” The name comes out partially in a breathy moan as Emmrich lowers his hand again. The other moves to Rook’s head, sliding into his hair, but not pulling. “…dearest, if you continue like this, y-you’ll—”
A loud, moist pop interrupts him as Rook pulls off. “No need to worry about it,” he says in a most cavalier tone. “I can handle it. Besides, we don’t want to leave a mess for someone else to find, do we…?”
There’s a shudder goes through him as he picks up Rook’s intent. His hips twitch, but he resists bucking into Rook’s mouth as he gets back to it. It’s quite unfair of him to use such appealing and efficacious logic to Emmrich’s lust-addled mind. What argument could he possibly come up with against that when he can hardly tear his focus away from Rook? His mouth, his affection, his attention, his cocksure attitude, and, oh, how desperately Emmrich wants him.
Between his spiraling thoughts and Rook’s ministrations, it doesn’t take much longer for Emmrich to be overcome with ecstasy. His loud cry and following groans are thankfully stifled, and his other hand aches with how tightly he grips the balustrade. It’s a miracle he keeps just enough presence of mind to stay as still as possible so he doesn’t cause Rook any more trouble than he already is.
While Rook does his level best to swallow, some of Emmrich’s release dribbles from the corners of his mouth by the time Emmrich’s orgasm has finally finished its course. At the very least, he doesn’t choke on it. Rook lets Emmrich’s softening length fall from his mouth, and lifts a hand to wipe up the remaining rivulets of white with his fingers. He makes sure Emmrich’s eyes are on him, looking both entertained and entranced at once, before he licks those fingers clean. The sensual manner in which he does so makes it seem as though it were the most delectable delicacy he’s ever tasted, and Emmrich lets out a shallow breath as he watches.
“So, how’d I do, Professor?” Rook purrs when he’s finished, though his voice is rather gravelly.
“Rook…”
“What?” For a man trying to appear innocent, Rook isn’t even trying to suppress his avid grin. “Did I do badly?” he asks as he politely tucks Emmrich back into his smallclothes and breeches, and sets them back to rights for him.
If Emmrich didn’t know how truly desperate for praise Rook is, he would think Rook was only trying to tease him. But it doesn’t matter even if Rook really is only teasing, because Emmrich can’t help but recall how forlorn he’d looked when he’d had his premature climax, so contrite and ashamed of himself. With that so fresh in his memory, Emmrich can’t bring himself to do anything but answer honestly.
“No…quite the opposite,” he soothes, running his fingers gently through Rook’s hair. “You’re a very quick learner, aren’t you? Though it’s no wonder, considering how you put your all into trying new things.” Emmrich gives him a somewhat lopsided but sincere smile. “You did very well, I assure you. And, knowing you, you’ll only improve over time.”
“Anything for you, Emmrich.” Rook gives him a heady look, eyes half-lidded and a dreamy smile pulling at his lips. He looks ravishing and adorable at once, and Emmrich has half a mind to kiss him. In fact, that’s exactly what he intends to do.
Unfortunately, Emmrich fails to account for the post-coital, gelatinous quality of his limbs, and only remembers it when it’s too late. Feeling much like a newborn foal, whatever power Emmrich had to keep his legs from buckling under him fades the moment he attempts to use them. Though he tries to cling to the balustrade to keep his footing, it’s only thanks to Rook’s quick reaction time that he doesn’t fully collapse to the ground. Both of those powerful arms wrap around Emmrich’s waist, and Emmrich’s, in turn, find themselves haphazardly looped around Rook’s neck and shoulder.
“Th-thank you, darling,” he wheezes. “That would have done quite a number on my knees…”
Rook laughs mirthfully, and helps ease Emmrich down to his level. “Just can’t help falling for me, can you?”
It’s a jest, Emmrich knows, but truer than perhaps Rook knows. It makes Emmrich smile again, and finally follow through on his urge to kiss him, sliding one of his hands into Rook’s hair to gently pull him in. When Emmrich tastes himself on the young man’s tongue, he feels his face prickle with heat, but nothing so insignificant as that could ever cause him to part from his dear Rook.
For being such a quick learner in so many arenas, Rook yet struggles with kissing. Perhaps because it’s more of a dance than an independent pursuit, and he hasn’t quite picked up the steps, let alone grown accustomed to working alongside a partner. It’s endearing, in that reprehensible way, how little Rook truly knows about what it truly means to be intimate with another person. Still, as Rook makes another sloppy attempt at devouring Emmrich, starting with his mouth, he swears to himself that he’ll give him a proper (insofar as such a thing can be “proper”) lesson on kissing at some point in the future.
Eventually, Emmrich forces himself to break the kiss, though Rook unconsciously tries to follow him before remembering himself.
“We ought to return to the party.” He licks his lips to clear them of excess saliva. “We’ve been gone long enough to be missed, I’m sure,” he adds with a small chortle, leaning to either side to pick up Rook’s gauntlets while they’re already down here.
Rook doesn’t immediately reply, and when Emmrich looks at him again, he has that fanciful look on his face again. Emmrich might even call it love-struck, if he were to ever be so bold.
“Are you listening, Rook?” he asks, some of his amusement slipping into his tone.
Rook jumps a little, coming back to reality. “Uh…yes. I was.”
“And what did I say?”
He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it, looking a little sheepish. Emmrich isn’t trying to tease him, really. He only wants to make sure Rook doesn’t get any ideas about keeping him here on this terrace any longer than necessary. If he just so happens to enjoy how sweet on him Rook appears to be, then that’s entirely secondary.
“Let’s return to the party,” Emmrich repeats. “Just for a little while longer, and then we can finally return home to the Lighthouse.”
Rook groans, and takes his gauntlets when Emmrich passes them over. “All right, all right,” he grumbles.
A few minutes later, both of them have dusted themselves off, recollected themselves, and put their costumes back into order. There was only so much they could manage without much in the way of light (luckily Rook had managed to catch the tiny glint of Emmrich’s cravat pin), but they made it work somehow. Hopefully, anyway. Now that they’re getting ready to return, Emmrich can’t help but notice the slight wet sensation in his underthings… With a small grimace, he tries to force his attention away from anything that might be out of his control.
“I do hope you enjoyed yourself?” Emmrich quietly asks just before they enter the sitting room again to rejoin the party.
“Sure did.” Rook beams up at him. “Thanks for indulging me. Consider our promise satisfied, Professor.”
With an alacrity Emmrich could never hope to match, Rook pulls him down into one last kiss.
The rest of the party is its own unique kind of struggle. Emmrich can’t help but feel eyes on him, and fear that Rook’s love mark is peeking over the top of his high collar and refastened cravat. Does the servant with discerning eyes notice any untoward stains on his person that he or Rook may have missed as he passes him a glass of red wine? Is that young woman looking at him oddly because she smells something strange, or because he almost chokes on his drink when Rook gives him a provocative smirk and lick of the lips from across the salon?
And speaking of smells, he makes his best effort to avoid Taash and their too-sensitive nose—because if they get a whiff of either of them, Emmrich especially, then they’ll know—but it’s a moot point when he sees Rook approach them later during the party. Taash rears their head back slightly with a disgusted look, and their head whips back and forth, looking around ’til they meet Emmrich’s eyes. His face burns at the accusatory question he reads on their face: Really!? In public!?
As much as he wants to pass the blame entirely to Rook, Emmrich knows he’s just as culpable for not being the voice of reason between them. At least he can claim he tried.
Though Emmrich wishes to play the wallflower and stick to the sidelines, Rook soon catches him and tugs him back into the limelight, and eventually a dance. Embarrassing as it is, Emmrich does not dare to spurn his Rook so publicly again, and makes sure to pay him the proper courting that’s due. And if it slips from a duty to his lover into something simple and fun, then it must be thanks to Rook’s charms.
Emmrich feels like a celestial body as they spin about the dance floor, caught in the irresistible pull of Rook’s orbit. And Rook shines much like the sun, with his dazzling costume and warm smile. His youthful exuberance is often enviable, but tonight it is infectious, and they end up dancing longer than Emmrich had expected to. It is easy, he finds, to forget the flow of time (and any uncomfortable sensations in one’s breeches) when caught up in the presence of the person one loves. Harding had warned Emmrich to slow down, to not run at full gallop lest he be caught unawares by any sudden and unpleasant surprises. He most certainly has tried, but it’s difficult to not follow at Rook’s pace, natural leader that he is. Charismatic, determined, attentive, cunning when he needs to be; how could anyone resist, let alone a man who has fallen so hopelessly in love with him?
And yet…
As he and Rook leave the dance floor to join the rest of their party, Emmrich smiles at him fondly, remembering his secret promise earlier in the night. Perhaps Rook doesn’t need any protecting on the battlefield, but Emmrich will do whatever he must to protect Rook’s loving heart. After being shown so many of its vulnerabilities, normally hidden underneath the mantle of leadership, who better than Emmrich to safeguard it?
…If he wants to manage that successfully, he thinks wryly to himself, he’ll have to learn how to tell Rook ‘no’ someday.
When the time comes that the Veilguard can safely leave while still fulfilling their end of the agreement, they immediately take it. Cyrille blows them all kisses as they depart the salon. Their host, Emmrich hears as they meander the Crossroads together, attempted to flirt with and beguile each and every member of the Veilguard, but got resounding disinterest at best and blunt rejection at worst. Emmrich feels a moment of pity for them…but they did attempt to create a rift in his relationship with Rook, so nothing more than that.
As they reach the Crossroads’ hub, Emmrich is stopped short from breaking away from the group towards the dock that would eventually lead to the Nevarran eluvian by a grinning Rook. With too much coyness in his voice, he asks Neve if she could so kindly retrieve Manfred from his lessons with the Mourn Watch.
“Emmrich is very tired, y’see,” he explains. “Long night. I just need to make sure he gets some rest, if you know what I mean. We’d really appreciate it.”
“…Oh, all right. You owe me one, Rook,” is all she says in reply, with an all too knowing glint in her eyes, before sauntering off arm in arm with an oblivious Lucanis. Face burning, Emmrich finds himself envious of the assassin’s blissful ignorance.
It’s only when the rest of them arrive back to the Lighthouse and part ways in the library that Emmrich realizes, with a shameful start, that he’d left his soiled handkerchief back on the chateau’s terrace. It’s far too late to return for it, however, so he tries to banish the thought from his mind. It’s not as though Emmrich would ever see Cyrille or their servants again. And he has more handkerchiefs in his room, anyway.
Before anything, though: a bath.
An hour or so later, Emmrich emerges from the bathroom, wearing nothing but his quilted dressing gown. Moments after a fatigued but contented sigh passes through his lips, Rook appears from the wings like a bolt from the blue. With an alarmed squawk, it’s all Emmrich can do to keep his footing as Rook drags him to his room. How long had he been waiting for Emmrich? Surely not the entire time he’d been bathing?
The door to Rook’s room has only just been locked shut behind them when Emmrich realizes that Rook had been quite serious about wanting to make up for his “poor performance” after all.
The next morning, shortly before dawn (in the real world, anyway, as the Lighthouse seems to be always illuminated as though it’s late afternoon), Emmrich strolls to the laboratory, fully dressed, from the communal bathroom feeling both achy and satisfied indeed.
Rook had been merciless when they returned home, but in only the most pleasurable of ways. And, afterwards, they’d both been far too exhausted to draw another bath, so they’d simply wiped off the worst of the mess, and went to sleep, putting it off for the next morning. When he woke up, it was on Rook’s divan with the elf plastered to Emmrich’s side, head on his chest. With such an adorable sight waiting him, it made it difficult for Emmrich to want to leave, but he felt appallingly filthy, and he was in dire need of that bath.
Luckily, he was successful in slipping out without disturbing Rook. That, or Rook slept like the dead. In either case, Emmrich made sure he was properly tucked in before leaving.
He was shocked, upon entering the bathroom and removing his dressing gown, by the utter carnage Rook had wreaked on his body. No wonder he felt so sore—there were two additional hickeys on top of the one on the back of his neck made the night before; three on his chest, one of them right next to a nipple; several bruises on his side from Rook’s jealous squeezing, and even more on his hips (so many that most of them blended together); and a couple more hickeys and bite marks on his thighs to top it all off. Rook, Emmrich thought to himself as he catalogued every blemish, had truly gone too far. He’ll need to talk to him about this rather barbaric treatment sooner rather than later, before this became a bad habit.
He’d ignored the naked adoration that inevitably crept onto his face as he thought of his irrepressible lover.
Emmrich opens the door to his room feeling refreshed and in good spirits, and sees the cart usually holding his mother’s tea set missing. Manfred must already have gone to brew some tea. How delightful—if he’s lucky, Lucanis has already started on breakfast, and Manfred will be able to snag a portion to bring along with the tea.
Perhaps he’d even bring two portions, and Emmrich could go fetch Rook for a nice early breakfast together… He doesn’t notice the fond smile on his face until he hears a familiar haughty scoff, and it turns rather strained. It was nice while it lasted, at least.
“Someone’s looking pleased with himself,” Johanna snipes. Emmrich had yet to confirm with certainty whether she could see as well as hear, so at least her bursting his happy little bubble has settled that question. “You also didn’t come back last night. Don’t tell me you were with your little pet the whole time?”
“He’s not anyone’s ‘pet’,” Emmrich replies with a weariness borne of habit. “And he does have a name, even if you’ve seemed rather disinclined to use it.” Then again, maybe she had forgotten it; it wouldn’t be the first time she hadn’t bothered remembering the name of someone she thought unworthy of note from the start.
“So you were with him,” she barrels on, ignoring him. It’s something she did even when they were friends, so he’s accustomed to the treatment. “I hope he didn’t exhaust your tired old bones overmuch?”
“You’re only two years younger than me, Johanna.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You know what they say about throwing stones in glass houses.”
“And how old is he, Volkarin? Sixteen?”
Emmrich, in shock, inhales his own saliva and chokes on it. He covers his mouth politely as he coughs in an attempt to clear his trachea. “Johanna!” He means to scold her, but it just comes out as a scandalized wheeze. “He’s in the latter half of his twenties! He’s a fully grown adult!”
“So you’re only twice his age, then?” She laughs in a way that almost sounds like a cackle, with a condescension that would easily surpass that of any member of Nevarran nobility. “Now, I’m not surprised by your tastes—” And what is that supposed to mean? “—but I am by his.” A facetiously thoughtful hum. “Do you think he has a complicated relationship with his father?”
“He doesn’t—” Emmrich interrupts himself with a huff, and shakes his head. He refuses to get caught up in her nonsense yet again. They aren’t fellow novices in the Mourn Watch anymore. “That’s hardly any of your business,” he says curtly.
The door opens to reveal Manfred with the tea cart. It has the tea, of course, but also a meal underneath a silver plate cover. Only a single plate, Emmrich can’t help but note. But he smiles when Manfred gives a hiss in greeting, thankful for the intervention all the same.
“Ugh, that thing…” There’s an added level of venom in her reverberating voice. “Between it and that lovesick puppy of yours, I’m sure you—”
Manfred hisses a loud irritated growl. He lifts the cover off the plate, charges over to Johanna’s skull, and slams it down over her. “Bad!” He slaps the dome with a gloved hand. “Quiet!”
Emmrich doesn’t expect the dome to affect her, certain that her ties to it are rather more metaphysical than that, but he’s shocked when her vitriolic reply is practically inaudible. With wide eyes, he looks over at Manfred, who ambles back over to the cart, and goes through the motions of preparing his morning tea. Then Emmrich looks over at the dome. He squints, spying nearly invisible chains of translucent magic along the curvature of the silver dome in a net-like pattern. It’s a spirit containment spell, he realizes. It’s crafted with the plate cover serving as the frame of reference for the weave of magic—a common enough shortcut. It’s not a complex arrangement all told, especially compared to his own level of spellcraft, but certainly something a few levels above Manfred’s.
Did someone else teach him this? Did he read about it in a book, perhaps? Or could it be that Manfred…
Suddenly, a hot cup of tea is held up on a tray lifted into his periphery with a happy little gurgle, and Emmrich returns his attention to his ward.
“Manfred, how did you learn how to cast that spell?” he asks, raising a curious brow as he takes the cup. “Did Neve or Bellara teach you?”
“Spell…?” Manfred looks at where the dome covers Johanna, then back at Emmrich, cocking his skull. “…Spell?” He is plainly unaware of the containment spell he’d cast.
That startles a laugh out of Emmrich. “My goodness! To think that your magic is developing so quickly!” He pats Manfred on the shoulder. “In that case, why don’t I teach you something new this morning?”
Manfred lets out a gleeful burble, cheering and dancing in place excitedly as Emmrich sits down to eat. In between bites of a nice light breakfast, he begins to teach his ward some simple healing magic. After all, if he’s going to be sneaking after Rook or anyone else into the Crossroads again, it’d be best to at least have him ready to play a support role, rather than an active one.
That old fear of his does crop up again during the lesson. However, while it sends that familiar chill through his body, threatening to close his throat, it’s a little easier for him to resist it this time. Death terrifies him still (and likely always will), but he refuses to let it steal away this peaceful, joyful morning he shares with Manfred. One day, when Emmrich must leave Manfred behind, no one will be able to say that Emmrich had not done all he could to ensure that Manfred will be prepared to continue on without him.
And Rook, too, for that matter. He made a promise, after all.