wip wednesday
this is so rough of a draft it's ridiculous, but I'm currently attemtping to temporarily conquer my executive dysfunction demons enough to put some Emmrook smut out into the world. post-Memorial Gardens date with inexperienced Rook and down-horrendously-bad Emmrich. I'm gonna go throw up now
I do ask that you at least avoid putting pressure on that stiff left wrist, Emmrich had said to Rook during their dinner in the Memorial Gardens, and he was thinking about it again now, as he watched her all but limp into the Lighthouse’s dining hall. She’d gone to the Anderfels with Davrin and Harding earlier, to help clear out some of the blight surrounding Lavendel. By the look of her, the work had gone beyond merely destroying boils and tentacles. Something heavy-hitting. Hopefully nothing worse than a particularly large specimen of darkspawn. Hopefully no more than one. But he doubted it. He sincerely doubted it. “Darling,” he said in greeting, setting his teacup down on the dining table. Rook shot him a weary but warm smile – the open affection in it still new enough that the sight shot a tingle of a thrill up Emmrich’s spine – but didn’t break her stride as she headed directly for the pot-bellied stove in the far corner of the room. “Hey, Emmrich. All quiet here?” “Of course.” He kept watching her, mentally cataloguing what he saw: the slumped set of her shoulders, the stiff line of her back, the leg she was resting a disproportionate amount of weight on. Responsibility exacts a toll on the body. “Are you all right?” “Yeah.” There was the sound of metal on stoneware, and hot water being poured over tea leaves. Then Rook turned around to face him, blowing out a long sigh, carefully cradling the twin to his own teacup in her hands. “Just a little sore. We got jumped by some darkspawn – nothing we couldn’t handle, though.” She grinned. “Evka can pull some serious moves with that hammer.” Emmrich instinctively smiled back (how could he not?) though he wasn’t quite feeling it; not only was Rook definitely favoring the one leg, she was also still favoring her left wrist. Even more so than she had been at dinner, in fact. But before he could open his mouth to say anything, she was pushing away from the stove, already on the move again, though she did make a detour to briefly rest her forehead against his. Probably, she was hoping to forestall any protest he might make about her needing to take the time to slow down and rest, and damn if it didn’t work perfectly. In that moment his senses were overwhelmed by the rush prompted by even that barest of physical contact – the hint of warmth where they touched, the tickle of her hair against his skin, the knowledge that if he tilted his face upwards just so he could kiss her (and she would allow it). The almost-sour drop of sensation from his chest to his gut when he made the split-second decision to deny himself that pleasure. We can move slowly, he’d also said to Rook, and he had meant it. No matter that she made him feel like the absolute worst example of a besotted fool, like a horribly naive schoolboy after the high of a first kiss even: eager yet terrified and clumsy but wanting more all at the same time. No, he was the older, more experienced party in this wholly unexpected relationship, and he had a responsibility to Rook to conduct himself like it. He had to set an example. She deserved nothing less than a gentleman who would respect and cherish her – and if she ever settled for less, later in her life, it would be through no failing of his. (Of course Rook would have more lovers, after him. Emmrich wasn’t so idealistic as to believe himself her one and only. That blush of first love would pass, and she would move on. Surely she would never give any serious thought to binding herself to a middle-aged professor with delusions of grandeur, not when she was still so young. But oh, how he would treasure her while it lasted.) “I know what you’re going to say,” she murmured, and he couldn’t help the small intake of breath at the tenor of her voice. “But I’ve got some letters to write and send off. They can’t wait. I’ll rest soon. I promise.”