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A chaste kiss goodnight. A simple dance lesson that devolved into a slow sway, holding you in his arms, in the middle of the dining hall. And more walks in the garden, watching as you leaned down to pick flowers, to speak with graves and wisps alike.
And here he was.
Thinking of all the ways he could take you.
That chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth that could devolve into him pinning you to the door, after you followed his lips inside. How he might shove his hand under your skirt, let you ride his thigh as he made you whine. Such a fantasy turning into something far more carnal than a chaste goodnight kiss .
How quickly that waltz could have become a tango, bodies pressed together. How each time he twirled you in his arms, your back to his front, he thought of undressing you, until you were in nothing but your shoes. Or perhaps skip the dance entirely and go straight for dessert. With his head buried between your thighs on the dining table, damn anyone who walked in to see him take you like that.
The first filthy thought had been after you had spoken to his parent’s grave. The way you went on both knees, the way you looked back up over your shoulder. Emmrich had to kneel next to you, to hide his reaction. Your first kiss, at Lover’s Grave, a perfect moment to cherish. Yet, even as he told you about that flower, even as you ran your hands through his hair while he kissed you.
All he could think about was bending you over that marble and fucking you.
“Hey.” Taash’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“Hm?” he blinked, refocused on the task at hand. “Yes, I was just… thinking.”
“… Okay.”
You were skipping back over, hair in disarray. It was so quick, the image of you on your back, your hair in the same state, the giggle that, in his mind’s eye, turned into a full-body moan. Taash just rolled their eyes as he congratulated you, though it was obvious he had no idea for what. You took his hand, pressed such an innocent kiss to his cheek. Taash narrowed their eyes at him as he sighed in content. A pause as he met their gaze, even as you wrapped yourself around his arm.
“… There are rooms here, you know.” they said.
“What?” he scoffed, hoped that his false ignorance would-
“Hall of Valor, everyone’s blood is pumping.” they shrugged. “You might as well. I can smell you both.”
“Taash!” he scolded.
“What?” they snapped. “It’s not like it’s a new thing for you two!”
Emmrich tensed up, but you just tilted your head to the side.
“Taash, seriously?” you ask, playing with his thumb ring.
All you two had done was kiss. Oh, but the idea of going further, to thread his fingers with yours, keeping you from touching yourself so he could show you exactly how to-
“Emmrich sucks at hiding the smell.” Taash cracks their neck, that near permanent scowl deepening. “Whatever, see you two at dinner.”
Emmrich screwed his eyes shut, and took a deep breath. It really was becoming a distraction. Ever since you had shared that secret with him; to savor every moment, knowing that he would be your first for plenty of things. He pulled your hand up, ran his lips across your knuckles.
“Did you want to get out of here?” you asked, voice lowered.
“Is it what Taash said?” he turned to face you, brushed your hair back in place. “Darling, don’t let them get to you.”
How easy it would be to guide you, he thought. Especially as you leaned into his touch; all he had to do was hold the back of your skull, thread his fingers through your hair, and you would move exactly where he wanted. He could paint your neck in marks, or better yet make you go down on your knees, talk you through how to suck his cock.
The small kitten licks, the way you would take too much of him, but so eager to please. It would take time, to get himself down your throat. The idea of smeared makeup, the tears at the corner of your eyes. Or better yet, his cum painting your face, leaving you wanting, gasping for him to take you. Perhaps he should take Taash’s suggestion. Or better yet, take you to the beach, where he could see you sun-kissed and hope that ocean waves would drown out your screams. Wouldn’t that be a perfect way to take you, to have your first time? A rememberable moment for such a special occasion-
“Emmrich?”
“Hm?”
“Are you alright?” you cupped his face. “I lost you for a moment.”
He blinked.
“I’m fine, my dear.” he sighed, and kissed the palm of your hand before standing straight. “I might just need to lie down, that’s all.”
“Let’s get you back to the Lighthouse, then.”
Emmrich followed you, his hand in yours. The Eluvian was a curious thing: the Lyrium dagger connected them past the Crossroads, letting you move from Lighthouse to Destination. He did not let go of you, not even as you opened the door to the rooms he kept. He squeezed your hand as he wordlessly found a trick skull, the bedroom that was hidden away revealing itself. It wasn’t until you did not follow him past the revealed doorway that he frowned, looking back at you.
“… I thought you slept at the Necropolis.” you whispered.
“No,” he smiled. “Granted, Manfred does. We tried having him rest here, but the Fade does something to his structure-”
“This is your room.”
“Yes, I…”
He stopped, watched as you came to stand next to him. He kicked himself for not realizing what it might look like.
“I promised slow.” he said, and brought your hand up to his lips. “Thank you, dearest. You do not have to come in if you don’t want.”
He kissed your hand before letting go and pulled off his coat. The moment he hung it up, the Fade lit the candles, casting the room inside in the same warm orange glow as his study. You remained rooted by the door frame, staring at the bed. Emmrich looked at it with you.
It was a rather simple thing, compared to most he’s had in his life. An Orelsian King size, with feather padding and high thread count sheets. He started to undo the sash around his waist, unbuckled the various chains and belts. His boots were halfway off when you moved. He watched, slowly undoing all of his grave gold, as you walked inside.
Hunter and prey. He thought, as you seemingly forgot he was there. He placed all his jewelry into the awaiting bowl, the lone red glove set next to it. Emmrich kept the vest on, but undid his collar. Just enough, so a small bit of his chest hair was peaking out.
You toed off your shoes as one hand reached out for the bed. He sat down, perched on the edge. You did not respond, just moved to sit on the bed as well, legs tucked underneath you. The excursion had been a simple one; you had worn a simple shirt and loose skirt, in a Rivani cut. Your hands splayed across his duvet, seemingly in awe that you were here. You looked up at him, and like every poem about halla and demons, froze in place when you locked eyes with Emmrich.
You’re my first… anything. I’ve never been with anyone. He recalled that wonderful, debilitating secret you had shared. The one that made him all the more insatiable for you, the thing that centered around every filthy thought and pornographic fantasy. You had no idea the gift you had given him. He waited, the anticipation making his heart skip, and heat pool in his gut.
But Emmrich was no wolf in sheep’s clothing. He had laughed, once, when a paramour from Orlais compared him to the Black Fox. But what was the difference, really? His traps were full of honeyed words, of gentle guidance towards something . Wine and flowers and hymns in ripe and fertile fields. Watching, waiting to see if this was more than just a passing fancy, and it was. You gave him something vulnerable, something as rare as dragon treasure. He was a little more silver these days, not a true Black Fox, but perhaps…
“I swear to you,” he said, your name a prayer on his lips. “I will not do anything unless you ask.”
Your lips parted just so. Emmrich so desperately wanted to take back his words. Instead, he lay down on his side, stretched out on his bed. He sees how your eyes zero in on where his shirt is undone, and the thatch of graying chest hair that peaks out. The pillow under his head is soft. Conveniently, it’s large enough for two.
“We can just lay here.” he said, hands resting on his stomach. “And, should you decide to leave, I will not stop you.”
“… Did you want me to leave?” you asked.
Emmrich shakes his head no. Here he is, exposing his soft underbelly, with hazel eyes taking in each twitch, all of your indecision. He already had your first kiss, tucked close to his pocket. He would have every ‘first’, but not before you made that decision.
This poor hen will open the gate, some buried poet in the back of his skull hummed. Let them rest their head in my mouth. I will have them beg me to tear them apart. Until there is nothing left but feathers, scattered across the ground.
He forced himself to breathe slowly. To keep his hands resting on his stomach. Like all foolish, naive prey, you laid down next to him. Shuffled close, brushed your feet against his. He blinked slow, desperate to pin you down, to have you gasping for so much more. Instead, you scoot closer, until you share the pillow with him. Until there are centimeters between your mouth and his.
You both laid like that for some time, studying each other. He loved it. You licked your lips, eyes unable to look away from his own. The soft warmth of your breath as you moved closer, until the back of his hand was against your body. He watched as you took his wrist, placed it on your waist. Emmrich rubbed soft circles where your shirt met your skirt, staring into your eyes once more.
“Can I kiss you?” you whispered.
He nodded, barely. Your hand fit perfectly on his neck, a thumb that brushed his jaw. The soft press of lips, chaste, like always. The timid flick of your tongue, a mockery of his tactics. It was such a thrill, to know you had been paying attention. He held your waist, trembled from keeping still. You were trembling as well, those tentative fingers wrapped around his neck, one hand finding its way to open part of his shirt. Your other hand played with the hair on the nape of his neck.
Your knee moved up, nervous, unsure if it was allowed to rest against his hip. He broke the kiss, locked eyes with you. Emmrich gave you such a soft smile, moving his hand to help you rest your knee more comfortable against him. Your leg fit perfect, with your calf falling against the small of his back. He let his leg slip between your thighs, crossing his ankle with yours. You smiled back, kissing him again.
When your hands left his face, he whimpered into your mouth. You just moaned, rolling your hips against his. There was a pause when you did, and he took the chance to drag his lips down, forcing you to tilt your head back, exposing your neck to his lips and teeth. Emmrich ran his hand up and down your thigh, fingers catching every so slightly against the outer seam of your shirt. He kept his lower half still, let you roll your hips against him again.
He was hard; how could he not be? To know that some things came to you so naturally, and when you gasped as said instinct consumed you. How you gasped his name, hands that were so confident on the field, now shaking as they roamed his neck, found the open collar, scratched at the tuft of hair that peaked out.
“Please…” you gasped, kissing his chin, bumping teeth as you moved to kiss his lips again. “Emmrich, please.”
He sighed, a petered off moan, as you rolled your hips against his clothed erection. He pulled you closer, the hand on your thigh moving to the small of your back.
“For what, dearest?” he knew he was being mean. He lightened the blow with a kiss to the crown of your head. “Tell me.”
“Touch me.”
“I am.”
“Touch me,” you begged. And how wonderful it was, when he stole your breath, sucking your tongue into his mouth. “Emmrich.”
He held you, stilling your movements. You whined into his mouth, nails digging into him as you returned the kiss. He gently pulled your shirt out from your skirt, rested bare fingers against your stomach. He let his fingers glide over hip bones and back muscles once.
The image of grabbing you, of pulling you closer. Rutting like teenagers on his bed. Of you tearing his clothes off, that look of desperation turned frenzy. Perhaps he would pull you higher, let you sit on his face. A throne fit for royalty, and all yours. But in truth, the pleasure would be all his. After all, it was rare for any partner in the past to just have one session like that. How he would hold your hips to his face, just like how he held them now. Tightly, to stop you from moving. You would take all he would give, but not before he had you begging.
Instead, he rests his hands back on your hips, whimpers as you break the kiss, mouthing at his neck, using your leg to pull his hips closer to yours. It was incredibly, the friction, the desperation as you fumbled with the small buttons of his shirt. He leaned back a little, and you nipped his collarbone, pulling him by the front of his clothing. His cock throbbed in his pants; he popped the button on the side, the one that held your skirt in place.
“Where should I touch you?” he asked.
“I don’t know!” you huffed. “Just… please.”
He laughed and placed his hand back on your waist, soaking in the warmth under his palm. You pressed every closer to him, even as his fingers played with the edges of your underwear. The idea of tearing them off your body made him whimper into your mouth; perhaps he would take them from you after, or even ask. He would love to watch your face as he did so — and if he did in such a casual way, perhaps in his study, with the door open, for anyone to hear?
He shifted his leg higher, pressed it against your center. Your leg hitched higher, and you rubbed yourself against his erection. The soft gasp that he chased into your mouth. His hand was still on your hip, the other pinned under your head. If you asked, and you would, soon, if he were lucky, he would hold the back of your neck, guide you by your hair. His other would pull the skirt off in a quick yank…
“So much we could do,” He sighed. “But I did promise you, didn’t I? I won’t do anything, unless you ask.”
“I am asking.”
“Words, darling.”
You went quiet, your hands moving to frame the opening in his shirt. Oh, but he had so many thoughts as you grew timid in his arms. Of pulling both of your underwear down, of sliding his cock between your thighs and your sex, letting you soak him until there was a mess of slick, cum and sweat. Or perhaps he would suck on your tits, feel you shake in his arms — and wouldn’t that be something? To have you cum from his mouth, but not because he sucked on your clit, the most obvious choice. You were so insistent on wearing those low cut blouses, with a neckline that made him wild.
And Yet,
Your hips had yet to stop moving, the flush across your face as you chased your own new-found pleasure. A damp spot had formed in his own underwear, and he was no longer able to stop himself from joining you. For even with his cock begging to be freed, he knew you were driving yourself insane. And you had soaked through your underwear, the skirt more of a sash of fabric, and long ago made useless.
He should wait, until you were begging for him. Overstimulated, in tears with your face pressed to exposed chest. Drooling into the gray thatch of hair as he slipped his hand into your underwear and brushed against your clit.
He could have you on his cock, right now, pin you to the mattress and rest inside. Maybe he should get a cock ring, fuck you like an animal, until everything stank, until you were molded to him and even then, he would refuse to leave.
He kissed you so gently as he thought of all this, locking you away until you were no longer some sweet innocent thing. You moved, and Emmrich found himself gasping into your mouth as you somehow managed to focus on rocking against the head of his cock. It was perfect, so wonderful…
“… Just like that,” he heard himself saying, his grip on your hip tightening. “Excellent, my darling, my-”
Everything focused on that one moment. Emmrich was the one drooling, his mouth refusing to close shut. But you did not seem to care; what had started as innocent kitten licks and turned into you taking control, and he could only hope to follow.
“Here.” you pant into his mouth, tugging your skirt off from where it had bunched around your waist. “Touch me here.”
The moment he felt how damp your bush was, he came in his pants. You did not seem to notice, even as you moaned with him. He ran his fingers across your slit, watched as your breathing hitched, your thighs trying to close shut around his wrist. All it did was press him closer to you. When his heart finally stopped trying to claw out of his chest, he ran the tip of his middle up; you were so wet, the tip of his finger slipped with ease.
“You will show me how you do this,” he started, holding your gaze and he stroked you. “Have you ever touched yourself?”
“… Yes.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Only recently.”
He smiled, and found what he was looking for. Your eyes darken, and that wonderful, imaginative part of your lips. It made the mess in his trousers worth it.
“Oh?” he teased, slipping pointer and ring alongside his middle, a plain for you to rock against if you wanted. “Why only recently?”
You huffed, groaned into his neck. He kissed the crown of your head, let you tuck yourself under his chin. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was more than just his fingers mapping your lower lips. He let his thumb move from one side of your clitoral hood to the other, soaking his fingers in your slick.
“Emmrich-”
“Shh, my darling.” he whispered. “I already know why. Focus on my fingers, hm?”
He pulled his hand up, rested your clit between two knuckles. Rolled gently, adding pressure slowly. When your stomach clenched, he let go, dipping his fingers inside you, hummed at the soft squelch that filled the room.
“I should-” you shudder in his hands as he swiped his thumb up your clit before fingering you again. “Shit.”
“This is for you, dearest.” he said, even as he felt you kiss and bite his neck, trying to his lips. “Shall I drag it out for you?”
“No, please, don’t.” you whined. “I want to cum.”
“Very well.”
He picked up his pace, focused the palm of his hand against your clit. It took some effort to get his free hand out from underneath you. But when he did, he held the back of your neck, a fistful of hair as he held you. Emmrich was able to watch all those small details as you lost yourself.
How, when you clenched around his fingers, your upper lip would curl back. Your eyes out of focus, half-lidded, especially when he rolled his wrist counterclockwise, your clit the main focus. You took two fingers wonderfully, but whenever he tried to add a third, you would clench so hard he was afraid that he would lose them. He found that soft, spongy part inside you, rubbed the pads of his fingers against it. You held his wrist when he did, taking control, fucking yourself.
Emmrich smiled, pressed kisses against the corner of your mouth as you took what you wanted from him. You came as he did so, and he laid praise on your skin as you shook. When you buried your head in his chest again, whimpering into his open shirt…
He got greedy.
He found your clit with his fingers, focused on the bud. So soon after you had cum, you were whining all over. Clenching around nothing. He continued to play with your clit, chuckling as you shook in his arms. You were a twitching mess, but you couldn’t escape, not when he had the back of your neck in his other hand.
You yanked his hand out of your underwear. Emmrich looked down, saw that his fingers and pruned, just a little. You were looking at them with him, eyes still dark, despite your exhaustion. Your mouth opened obediently, tasting yourself on his fingers. His cock gave a half-hearted attempt to rise. He pulled his fingers away, chased the taste on your tongue. You wrapped yourself around him, your head finding its rightful place against his heart.
He stroked your back, listened as you drifted off to sleep in his arms.
“… I have so many plans for us.” he whispered. “One day… I will have you.”
He closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep. Dreaming of all the ways he would take you. Every one of them started with you begging.