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After The Fight - Cullavelan +18

Warning : explicite

The war room was eerily silent.Normally, even in the latest hours, it hummed with hurried whispers, rushed footsteps, the rustle of maps handled with urgency. But tonight, everything was still. The torches lining the walls burned lazily, casting trembling shadows across the dark stone—like the last echoes of a storm that had only just passed. A storm that had nearly swept everything away.

Aril’s footsteps echoed faintly against the floor, muffled by the weight of boots caked in earth and dried blood. Her cloak hung heavy on her shoulders, damp with moisture, and her long dark brown hair—almost black—clung to the back of her neck. The adrenaline had faded hours ago, yet her body still buzzed, numbed by lingering tension. She hadn’t found the strength to change her clothes, nor to bathe. Not yet. Not now.

Her eyes had grown used to the dimness, and then she saw him: alone, standing near the central table, both hands braced flat on the map, his head slightly bowed. Cullen.

He didn’t move as she entered. He seemed frozen, rigid, his broad shoulders barely rising with a breath held too tightly. Stray blond strands fell untidily over his brow, glistening with a mix of sweat and dried rain. He had removed his gloves, but still wore his breastplate, the metal stained with dust and grime. He stared at the map as if it might suddenly speak—might tell him why some had fallen and others had not. Where the mistakes were. Where the blame should lie.

Aril approached slowly, her steps light but sure. She didn’t need to speak his name. He felt her presence, lifted his eyes, and looked at her the way one looks at a memory they had scarcely dared to hope they'd see again. Relief and pain, both tangled in his gaze.

“Planning to restart the war, or just relive it one more time?” she asked, her voice hoarse, cracked with fatigue but still tinged with her usual irony.

A short breath escaped Cullen—perhaps a laugh, perhaps a sigh. He straightened a little, though his gaze never left the map. “I don’t think I’ve quite realised it’s over.”

She stepped up beside him, her fingers brushing the edge of the table. The map was dotted with dozens of tokens—some knocked over, others pushed aside with force. Scratches in the wood betrayed the tension of the last hours. She observed it all, then turned her head toward him.

“And now? Planning to stay here and stare at ghosts?”

At last, he truly looked at her. His features were drawn—more so than usual. The dark circles beneath his eyes were deep, fatigue etched into every line of his face. And yet, despite it all, there was something else: warmth, a restrained intensity, something feverish simmering just beneath the surface.

He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to make sure she was whole—that she wouldn’t vanish if he dared to blink. “Did you come alone?” he asked simply.

Aril shrugged, arms folded across her chest. “Didn’t feel like celebrating in the main hall. Too many cheers. Too much forced laughter.”

A silence followed. Then: “And you, clearly, aren’t in the mood to celebrate either.”

He looked away, lips pressed together, visibly at a loss for words. Aril watched him closely, then let out a barely audible sigh.

She knew what he was feeling. That crushing weight of the after . The moment suspended between relief and emptiness, when you no longer know what to do with your hands—or your heart. They had won. They were alive. But at what cost?

The space between them felt both minuscule and impossible to cross. She took one more step, slowly, her gaze softening without losing its intensity.

“You’re trembling, Cullen.”

He lowered his eyes to his hands, which were, in fact, shaking ever so slightly. “I know.”

His voice was little more than a whisper. Aril reached out without hesitation, and her fingers brushed lightly against his. That simple contact sent a current through the air between them. He looked up at her, startled. She wasn’t smiling. Her expression was serious—almost solemn—yet impossibly tender. That rare kind of tenderness she kept only for him.

There was nothing more to say. The world had gone quiet. There was only the two of them, and the slow, flickering torchlight.

The touch was brief, but enough. It sparked something.

Cullen didn’t pull his hand away. On the contrary, his trembling fingers found hers, as if holding on to keep from slipping under. His eyes searched hers with almost painful intensity. It wasn’t fear. It was what came after. When there were no more enemies, no more shouts—only the hollow in your chest… and the unbearable need to be held, to be touched, to be seen.

Aril didn’t let go. Instead, she slowly slid her fingers along his palm, up to his wrist. She felt the taut tendons beneath the skin, the living warmth, and somewhere in it, the echo of battle still etched into his flesh. He was here. Whole. And yet so fragile in that moment.

She was still standing only because she hadn’t yet allowed herself to fall apart. But she could have—at any time. And he knew that.

She gently drew him closer.

He followed without protest. A hand at her waist, awkward, hesitant. He was taller, but she was the one leading—always. And there, in that clumsy embrace amid maps and flickering torches, Cullen let himself be guided.

His head came to rest against her shoulder, and she felt his warm breath against her neck. He needed this embrace as much as she did. Not as comfort, but as an anchor. Something real in a world that had just shifted entirely.

��You’re alive,” he murmured. “I was afraid that…”

She placed a firm hand on the back of his neck, gently urging him to lift his head. Her gaze locked with his—steady, calm, grounded.

“I’m here. With you.”

It wasn’t a promise. It was a statement. And in Aril’s low, deep voice, there was no room for doubt.

The silence between them thickened. There were no more unnecessary movements, no distance left to maintain. They knew now. Cullen’s eyes dropped from hers to her lips, then back again, as if he were still wrestling with himself.

She didn’t give him time to hesitate.

Her kiss was direct—unhurried, but unwavering. A firm pressure, heavy with restrained urgency. He responded at once, with a sigh that sounded almost like a sob. His hand found her hip and gripped tighter. And the world, once again, narrowed to a single point of contact: their mouths, their bodies, this silent hunger that gripped them both.

It wasn’t elegant passion, refined or graceful. There were no studied movements. It was intoxication. A pulse.

Aril’s fingers hooked into his belt buckle, pulling him closer. Cullen stumbled into her awkwardly, and she felt laughter stir against his lips—brief, rough, almost nervous. He murmured an apology, already half breathless, but she cut him off in a whisper:

“Fewer thoughts. More you.”

And he obeyed.

The kiss resumed—hotter, messier. Their teeth clashed, their noses bumped. Cullen finally tore off his breastplate with a clumsy, almost frantic movement, letting it fall to the stone floor with a dull thud. She helped him with the straps, her hands precise despite the weariness. And once the armour was gone, she pressed her palms to his chest, guiding him gently back against the table.

He stepped back without resistance, the backs of his legs hitting the wood. He leaned into it, watching Aril approach again, a near-feral gleam in her eye. She looked sharper, more alive than she had in days—not because she wasn’t exhausted, but because she was clinging to him now.

Her hands slipped beneath the linen tunic he wore underneath, touching skin, scars, muscles knotted tight with tension. He was burning. He was alive. And so was she.

“You’re looking at me like I might vanish,” she breathed, her lips near his ear.

He closed his eyes, shivering. “I’m afraid it’s a dream. That you’re a dream.”

She kissed his temple, then his jaw, then the hollow of his throat.

“I’m very real, my heart. And I want you. Here. Now.”

This time, it was he who kissed her—less controlled, more ravenous. His hands fumbled for the ties of her tunic, too hurried, too unsteady to manage properly. She laughed softly, caught his wrists, and gently made him slow down.

“Easy,” she whispered. “You’ll have me. But let me.”

Her fingers moved to her own tunic, unlacing it with quiet efficiency. The fabric slipped down her body, revealing pale elven skin smeared with sweat, dirt, and blood. Cullen looked at her like a parched man who’d stumbled upon an oasis.

She was radiant, even like this—especially like this—fierce, untamed, and more alive than ever.

She moved towards him, slowly, sliding between his thighs, and kissed him again—this time slower, pouring into it all the tenderness she’d kept buried for weeks. Cullen let out a soft moan, his hands pressed to her back, pulling her into him like he might fall apart if he let her go.

Their breaths were heavy, uneven. Every movement mattered. Every brush, every pressure. This wasn’t desire born of lust—it was born of survival. Of needing to live through what they’d just endured. Together.

Cullen remained leaning against the table, breath shallow, his eyes lost in Aril’s. He said nothing—he didn’t need to. Not now. His body spoke for him: every tensed muscle, every shiver that ran across his skin at her slightest touch.

She stepped closer again, her hands resting on his hips. He was completely at her mercy. He knew it. And he had no intention of taking back control.

Aril pressed her lips to the line of his throat, where the tension throbbed just beneath the skin. She felt him tense, then yield under her mouth. She kissed him softly at first, then nipped—just enough to draw a sigh from him, one he clumsily stifled against his own hand.

“You’re still so tense,” she murmured against his neck. “Let me.”

She traced the line of his jaw with her mouth, moving down slowly, lingering on each heartbeat fluttering beneath his skin. Her tongue brushed his collarbone, then lower. Cullen trembled under her, his breath stuttering in bursts. He said nothing, but everything about him was speaking: the barely suppressed tremors, the way his fingers clutched the table, or tangled helplessly in his own hair.

When she reached his chest, Aril slowed even more. Her hands slid over his skin, palms open, caressing with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. She could feel the warmth, the tension vibrating through him. And then—his scars.

They marked his skin like fragments of history. Some old, smoothed by time; others still fresh, pink and tender. Aril traced one with her fingertips, then bent to place a kiss upon it.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Every mark, every line, every bit of you.”

Cullen looked away for a moment, cheeks flushing red. He’d always been modest. But under her words, under her gaze—there was no judgement, only adoration. And it disarmed him more surely than any blade ever could.

Her mouth continued its journey, slowly, methodically, down his chest. She lingered at his sides, nipping the skin just above his waistband. Her hands kept exploring, brushing over sensitive hollows, coaxing delicious shudders. He was panting now, and she could feel how hard he was fighting not to beg.

But she liked to feel him tremble.

And then, she saw it. The prominent bulge beneath his trousers—already swollen, pulsing, trapped within the fabric. Her kisses drifted toward that precise point, and each brush of her lips seemed to set him further ablaze. She stroked the shape gently, her eyes lifting to meet his—his were shut tight, head tilted back, lips parted in a sigh that bordered on pain.

She deepened the motion, slow and deliberate, teasing. One hand caressed the curve of him, her palm warm and sure. This time, he moaned—truly. A muffled sound, swallowed by the hush of the war room. She felt his hips twitch towards her, seeking more.

“Aril…” he breathed, voice hoarse, nearly breaking.

She looked up at him, lips curled in a sly smile. “Yes?”

He blushed, turned his gaze aside, but couldn’t hold back the whispered plea:

“Please…”

She didn’t need anything more.

Her fingers curled around the leather strap of his trousers, undoing it slowly, as if time no longer held any meaning. The fabric slid down his hips at an agonising pace, revealing skin golden in the torchlight, goosefleshed and trembling. Then came his underwear, which she pushed aside with a tenderness that bordered on cruel.

And there he was—hard, upright, pulsing with heat and anticipation. She paused to admire him, not out of hesitation, but like one might gaze upon a masterpiece before daring to touch it. Then she leaned in, and her lips brushed against his erection.

Cullen stifled a soul-deep moan, his head falling back entirely. His hands gripped the edge of the table, as if to stop himself from melting beneath her. Aril, ever composed, remained poised—gentle in her dominance. She kissed him slowly, from base to tip, every press of her lips sending shivers shooting up Cullen’s spine. She could feel him battling the urge to cry out, to lose control—and it thrilled her.

She played with him, switching between featherlight kisses and firmer strokes of her tongue, drawing lazy circles. She brushed him, retreated, returned again. Each time, Cullen held his breath, then sighed—sometimes in relief, sometimes in sheer frustration.

“You’re… cruel,” he whispered between gasps, half-bewitched.

She looked up at him, her mouth still busy, and replied in silence—with just her eyes: I know.

She had made him wait. Long enough for every touch to make him gasp. Long enough for each sigh to sound like a plea.

And yet, for all the teasing, all the swirls of tongue and lingering kisses, for all the burning tension coiling in her own belly, Aril hadn’t rushed. She’d taken her time. Because Cullen deserved to be savoured.

But now, she’d waited long enough.

Her fingers wrapped gently around the base of his cock, holding him in just the right position as she leaned forward. This time, she didn’t simply kiss him. She took him fully into her mouth—in one fluid, deliberate motion, without hesitation, without caution.

A ragged gasp tore from Cullen. His back arched against the table, his whole body straining towards her. He hadn’t expected the change of pace—and it hit him like a shockwave. One hand slipped into her hair—not to guide her, no, just to feel her, to ground himself in the reality that she was truly there, holding him between her lips with something close to reverence.

Aril wasn’t in the mood to tease anymore.

She moved with a contained hunger—starved, yet steady. Her mouth glided over him with a firm, sensual rhythm. Her cheeks hollowed slightly with each motion, her half-lidded eyes fixed on him. There was no mischief in her gaze now, only want—raw, unfiltered, almost feral devotion.

And Cullen—he was utterly, completely lost.

He couldn’t do anything but watch her. His eyes stayed locked on her, burning with desire, lips parted in an endless string of sighs. Every time she descended over him, a shiver ran through him, climbing up his spine to explode at the base of his skull. It felt like the world around them had vanished—there was nothing left but the heat of her mouth, the weight of her gaze, and that indescribable pleasure flooding through him.

She felt everything: the subtle jolts of his hips, the muffled moans he could no longer hold back, his trembling hand running through her hair, as if to say thank you, thank you, again and again.

He was so beautiful like this—undone, vulnerable, offered up entirely.

But she had no intention of letting him fall apart just yet.

She pulled back suddenly, her mouth leaving him with a wet, wrenching sound. Cullen let out a frustrated moan, caught somewhere between begging and unfinished ecstasy. He searched for her eyes, dazed, breath ragged.

But she gave him no time to protest.

Aril straightened up, took him by the nape, and kissed him. A kiss slow, deep, filled with heat and tenderness. Their tongues met, rediscovered each other—he tasted himself on her lips, and something else too, something more primal, more grounded.

Then she pushed him back gently, guiding him until his shoulder blades met the edge of the table. He realised too late.

With a firm, confident motion, she shoved him down, and his back landed hard against the solid surface, sending the war map, strategy pieces, quills, and all the little artefacts gathered over the last days of battle crashing to the floor in a dull, chaotic thud.

The war was over.

And tonight, this table had only one purpose.

Cullen lay sprawled upon it, legs slightly apart, breath uneven, arms braced behind him for support. He stared up at her, cheeks flushed, hair tousled, his muscles still tight with the tension of denied release.

And Aril… Aril stood before him, gazing at him like a feast she had no intention of leaving unfinished.

She didn’t let him catch his breath.

Hardly had she laid him down than Aril climbed atop him, her hands planted on either side of his chest, her dark hair falling around her face like a cascade of shadows and promises. She settled above him with the smooth grace of a predator confident in her domain.

Her eyes locked with Cullen’s, and a smirk curled at her lips—gentle, yet fiercely playful.

Then she began to move.

At first, slowly. She rolls her hips, her bare backside grinding against his hardened cock, soaked with want, with anticipation, with frustration still unmet. The contact is searing, achingly precise—a caress in its own right. She glides, lazily, back and forth along his length, pressing his desire against the curve of her body in a delicious, almost cruel friction.

Cullen moans at once, head thrown back. "Aril… please…" His voice is hoarse, thick with longing, and his hands reach for her hips with a hesitant touch, as though he barely dares to claim her.

She chuckles softly, tilts her head and murmurs, teasing but gentle: "You can touch me, you know. I’m very real. And all yours."

His hands then settle more firmly on her, fingers gripping at her hips, gliding over her smooth skin. But she doesn’t stop—she keeps rubbing against him slowly, with maddening precision, feeling how his cock twitches beneath her with each movement. She makes him wait, makes him moan, pushes him to the edge while maintaining control over every breath he takes.

"You like that, hm?" she whispers in his ear, before biting gently beneath his jaw and trailing fevered kisses down his chest, wet nips and burning kisses like signatures inked by her mouth.

"Aril, I’m— I’m gonna lose my mind…" he breathes, fingers digging into her thighs, his eyes wild with need.

And then, without warning, she stops—just for a moment. She looks down at him, her figure bathed in the pale glow of the war room’s torches, and in that suspended silence, she murmurs simply:

"Then lose it for me."

And she sinks down onto him. No gentleness. No restraint. In a single, brutally honest motion, she takes him in to the hilt. A strangled cry escapes Cullen—his whole body tenses beneath her, shocked, electrified. He tries to rise, a hand on her waist, concern flashing through him.

"Aril— careful! You’ll hurt yourself—"

But she silences him with a breathless, tender smile, her fingers brushing his cheek. "You really think this is my first ride, my love?" A quick kiss. "Let me handle this."

Her tone, calm yet commanding, soothes his worries as quickly as they appeared. Cullen sinks back against the table, his arms falling open around her, offering her all of himself—all his trust.

And Aril begins to move.

Not slowly. She sets a pace from the start—firm, commanding. She rides him with an intensity that borders on wild, a rhythm speaking of long-held desire, of a victory stolen from fate, and of a deep, primal need to connect—skin to skin, breath to breath.

Cullen has no choice but to cling to her. His hands roam everywhere—her hips rolling against him, her taut stomach, the perfect curve of her breasts. He touches her like one would worship a goddess, every caress filled with reverence, passion, adoration.

"Maker… you’re beautiful…" he breathes, voice breaking, as she keeps taking him—again and again.

And she smiles, triumphant, her brow damp with sweat, thighs trembling with exertion, and she murmurs against his lips: "Then keep your eyes on me. Till the very end."

Their moans tangle and wrap around the stone walls of the war room like a wild, untamed melody. The entire fortress seems to vanish—nothing exists but this breath, this body, this fire. The night outside could collapse into itself, and neither of them would notice.

Cullen, who barely dared to breathe earlier, is now completely undone beneath Aril’s movements. He moans without restraint, lips parted, his throat vibrating with every sound. Each roll of Aril’s hips tears a rawer, deeper sound from his chest. He is nothing but sensation now. His hands hold her, caress her with new fervour—shaking, hungry. And she, Aril, drinks in every one of his reactions with feral delight.

"That’s it… let go, Cullen…" she whispers, her voice low, thick with desire and command.

He nods, unable to respond with anything more than a drawn-out, almost desperate moan. She devours him with her eyes—this proud man reduced to the purest form of pleasure by her hips, her mouth, the way she leads and he follows. It’s a power that’s intimate, tender, and burning—a bond woven in each breath, each cry.

She slows for a heartbeat—just enough to make him gasp, to edge on frustration—then picks up the pace with even more fervour. Her thighs slap gently against his hips, her hands trailing over his sweat-slicked chest.

Then suddenly, she leans in, never breaking rhythm, and murmurs in his ear: "Sit up."

He doesn’t even ask. His trembling arms bend, his core tightens as he rises just as she told him to, hands sliding along her back to hold her tighter still. She settles firmly astride his thighs, still impaled on him, gripping his shoulders to anchor herself.

"That’s better, hm?" she breathes, her arms wrapping around his neck.

"Maker… Aril…" He can’t form words anymore—his lips search for hers like a man dying of thirst.

She answers at once. She kisses him the way she rides him: without restraint, without fear. Their kiss is ravenous, messy, filled with teeth and shared gasps. Her tongue claims his mouth with dominance, and he follows her eagerly, completely devoted to the woman who is driving him mad.

She doesn’t slow. If anything, her hips move with greater force—deeper, faster—and Cullen groans long and loud into her mouth, his fingers gripping her arse, trying to keep her pressed against him.

"Maker… I— I won’t last if you keep this up…" he confesses, voice cracked and breaking.

But she just laughs softly, her forehead resting against his. "Then don’t. Give me everything."

And she keeps moving—harder, faster, deeper. Her breasts pressed to his chest, their breaths tangled, their bodies slipping and sliding together. She feels him vibrating beneath her, his pleasure rising fast beneath her fingers, her mouth, her relentless rhythm.

Their voices break together in the stifling air, and there is nothing left but that sound — that instinctive cry, that ragged song of two lovers burning in unison, mapped now upon the same crumpled parchment, in a stone sanctuary turned into their temple of flesh.

Their bodies move out of sync, at the edge of surrender and intoxicating abandon. It is no longer a perfectly led dance, but a near-feral struggle against the breaking point, against the explosion rising in their loins, in their throats, in every taut, trembling inch of skin. Aril moans against his mouth, her hands tangled in Cullen’s hair, her legs shaking around his waist.

Then, without warning, Cullen stiffens. His hips thrust, striking deeper than ever before, and with a hoarse groan, he comes at once, utterly unrestrained. “Maker—!” he gasps against her neck, arms trembling, muscles seized.

The release rips through him, his breath stuttering and lost against Aril’s skin. She jolts beneath him, back arching from the shock. She has not yet come, but she feels the heat, the raw power of his climax, and it electrifies her — pulls a deep, broken moan from her lips.

She lingers for a moment, seemingly still, but slick with want. Then, slowly, she draws back from him, her thighs gliding against his. She rolls onto her side, her gaze steady and intense, burning with need — then stretches out languidly along the edge of the table, one leg bent, the other extended... and parts her thighs without a word.

Just a look. A silent command. And Cullen understands at once.

Still panting, legs unsteady, he sinks to his knees before her, reverence in every motion. He begins by kissing the inside of her thigh — clumsy, lips still tingling — pouring every ounce of tenderness into the gesture, as though in apology, as though in worship.

“You’re so beautiful… Maker… Aril…”

She lifts an eyebrow, lets out a low laugh, her fingers already slipping into his tousled blond hair.

“Talk less. Do.” He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He moves up, kissing the top of her thigh, her hip, then slowly makes his way down again, until he reaches her centre. He begins to kiss her — hesitant at first, then with growing passion, with fervour. His nose nuzzles against her skin, his lips part to take her in, his tongue seeks, explores.

Aril’s thighs clamp around him in a sharp reflex, and a low, impatient groan escapes her. “Yes... just like that.”

He obeys without thinking, as if born for this. He savours her, almost drinks her in, consumed by her taste, by the rising pitch of her moans. One hand slides along her thigh, the other ventures between her legs.

One finger. Then two. He slides them in slowly, curls them, pulls them out, pushes back in.

She tenses.

He adds a third, carefully, always attentive, attuned to her every reaction.

Aril gasps, her head falling back. “Cullen…” she moans, voice rough, trembling slightly.

Her fingers clutch at his hair, pulling him harder against her, and he yields, eager to lose himself, to immerse himself in her pleasure like a silent vow.

“There… more…”

His fingers move, his tongue vibrates — he doesn’t stop. He hears the sounds she makes, the words she can no longer form, and he knows she’s close. So close.

Then suddenly, her body tenses beneath his hands, her fingers dance through his hair, and she cries his name — loud, clear, broken. “Cullen—!”

She comes against his mouth, violently, powerfully, thighs shaking, hands gripping him like he’s the only anchor in the storm. He holds her, supports her, stays with her — faithful, devoted — through every last shudder.

She collapses back onto the wood with a deep, stunned groan, her breath ragged in the heat.

A dense silence settles for a moment — broken only by the wet sound of Cullen pressing one last kiss into the hollow of her thigh before he slowly lifts his head, lips glistening, eyes soft, almost awed.

Silence settles again — thick, almost sacred. No more cries, no more ragged sighs, no more sounds of flesh against wood. Only their mingled breaths, still uneven, and the wild beating of two hearts seeking each other in the calm after the storm.

Aril slowly collapses against him, as if her body has finally surrendered all its weapons. She is damp, burning, her brow beaded with sweat, brown strands clinging to her temples. But her gaze is peaceful. Calmer than it’s been in a long time.

She doesn’t speak at first. Just lets out a hoarse breath that slips from her parted lips as she nestles into the curve of Cullen’s chest, her legs still numb, her skin hypersensitive to the faintest brush of air.

Cullen gently wraps his arms around her, still trembling, but steady now. He holds her with quiet strength, his broad hands slowly trailing down her spine — as if in thanks, as if to keep her close, as if to protect her even now, when the danger has finally passed.

He presses a long, silent kiss to her forehead. Then another, into her hair.

Their bare skin still clings together, sweat mingling with the scent they now share. The scent of victory. Of life. Of release.

Aril sighs against his collarbone, a faint smile curving her lips. “We did it…”

Her voice is rough, cracked with emotion as much as with effort. She curls closer into him, her forehead resting against the warmth of his skin.

Cullen lowers his gaze to her, a breath of laughter escaping his throat. “Maker, yes…” he replies softly. He draws in a deep breath, one hand sliding up to the back of her neck. “And… we’re still here.”

A companionable silence follows, heavy with everything unspoken.

Aril tilts her chin to look at him, her dark eyes sparkling despite the fatigue, despite the weight that has now lifted. She says nothing more. She doesn’t need to. She sees everything in Cullen’s eyes — the gratitude, the love, the relief. The simple truth that he’s still here too, after all they’ve endured.

She places a hand on his cheek, her thumb tracing an invisible path across his flushed cheekbone. She whispers: “I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Cullen shakes his head slowly, eyes shining. “I should be the one saying that…”

He rests his forehead against hers. For a moment, nothing exists but the space between their breaths, their heartbeats. No war. No Inquisition. No duties. Just them.

Then, slowly, they lie back on the table — awkwardly, but together — the crumpled maps forgotten beneath their weight, the small game pieces scattered to the floor, unimportant now.

The wood creaks beneath them, but neither pays it any mind.

Aril rests her head against his chest. Cullen drapes an arm around her, the other tucked beneath her neck. They remain like that, in silence, bathed in the dim light of the war room.

Outside, all is calm. Inside too. The world can wait a little longer.

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#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #dai cullen #cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #dragon age romance #+18 #nsfw #inquisitor lavellan

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f4iryt3a · 3 months ago

Text

A Stolen Moment - EmmRook (Emmrich*transmasc Rook) +18

Warning : explicite

Commission from @/volkahrin (on x)!

The cool evening air carried the scent of damp stone and night-blooming jasmine as Nels and Emmrich approached the imposing manor. Perched atop a hill, the estate loomed over the valley, its majestic contours outlined by the golden glow of lanterns lining the main pathway. Behind finely wrought iron gates, the meticulously manicured gardens seemed to stretch endlessly. From the grand, illuminated hall, bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses spilled out, mingling with the elegant strains of a string quartet. A masquerade of wealth and arrogance, perfectly suited to obscure the evening’s true stakes.

Tonight, their task was as perilous as it was vital. Hidden among the guests at this extravagant gala was a noble privy to dangerous secrets. Their allies were relying on them to infiltrate the soirée, identify this individual, and, if possible, retrieve sensitive documents that could alter the course of events. Failure was not an option.

“ Don’t forget ” Emmrich murmured as they passed through the gates “ we’re walking among serpents. One mistake, and we’re dead. ”

Nels smirked, exuding nonchalance despite the palpable tension. A gloved hand brushed the dagger concealed beneath his tailored coat “ You always know how to make an evening fun. ”

The plan was simple in theory : to enter without raising suspicion, they would pose as a married couple. It was a convenient cover that allowed them to move together and interact naturally, though it posed certain challenges—especially for Emmrich, whose sense of professionalism rarely meshed well with such roles.

The manor, a testament to boundless opulence, seemed to glow under the moonlight. Its pristine white walls, adorned with intricate frescoes, spoke of old wealth. Through the grand windows, the ballroom came into view, teeming with figures draped in silk and velvet, jewels sparkling at their necks like ostentatious trophies. At the centre of the room, a glittering chandelier hung like a constellation, adding an almost surreal touch to the already suffocating atmosphere. Yet every exchanged smile and peal of laughter was as sharp as a blade.

For Nels and Emmrich, this environment was a jungle masquerading as a garden. Every guest, beneath their veneer of civility, was a potential enemy, spy, or threat. Their mission was all the more dangerous because, once exposed, there would be no escape and no forgiveness.

The choice of a married couple as a cover was no accident : in this world, the closeness and natural camaraderie expected of a couple lent credibility to their presence. But while Emmrich approached the role with the rigidity of a soldier begrudgingly following orders, Nels seemed determined to enjoy himself, seizing the opportunity to test his partner’s nerves in this golden cage of subterfuge.

" Focus " Emmrich had snapped earlier that evening, his features taut with tension " We're not here to have fun. " " Don’t worry, my love " Nels had replied, his voice soft and teasing " I’ll be absolutely charming. "

The moment they stepped through the grand doors of the manor, Nels slipped into his role with disarming ease. Playing the attentive husband, he turned to Emmrich with a dazzling smile. With an exaggerated flourish, he reached for his partner’s lapel and adjusted his tie, his fingers lingering just a little too long. " You look stunning tonight, my dear " he murmured, his tone so convincing that anyone watching would have believed him.

Emmrich stiffened instantly, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted around the room " Stop that " he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice barely audible over the hum of the gathering.

Unbothered, Nels tilted his head slightly, a mischievous smile curving his lips " Come now, don’t pull that face. You’re supposed to be madly in love with me. "

To underscore his point, he leaned in, his warm breath brushing against Emmrich’s ear " You could at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself. "

The tension between them spiked. Emmrich turned his head just enough to shoot a fleeting glare of irritation. But as much as Nels’s behaviour grated on him, he had no choice but to play along. It was their cover, after all.

With calculated ease, Nels took Emmrich’s hand and intertwined their fingers, lifting them in a show of exaggerated affection " There we go " he whispered, his tone dripping with mock satisfaction " Now you really look like a man in love. "

Emmrich forced himself not to pull away, though every fibre of his being protested against the charade. His lips stretched into something resembling a smile—cold and taut—while his eyes scanned the room, searching for their target.

Nels, for his part, played his role to perfection. Beneath the façade of frivolity, his sharp gaze swept the room, noting every detail, every face, every possible exit. His hand, still clasped with Emmrich’s, radiated a feigned warmth, but his mind was razor-sharp, always alert. For now, their cover held.

But in this gilded jungle, it wouldn’t be long before the real predators emerged.

The manor’s hallways were a labyrinth of luxury and intrigue. The polished wooden floors gleamed under the dim light of suspended chandeliers, while thick rugs muffled the sound of footsteps. Paintings of unsettling realism adorned the walls, depicting unknown faces with stern gazes that seemed to judge anyone who dared to pass. Emmrich led the way, his rigid posture betraying his focus, while Nels followed with a more relaxed stride, his eyes scanning their surroundings with feigned nonchalance. Every hallway, every slightly ajar door, could conceal a threat, and yet another, more insidious tension lingered between them.

In the grand ballroom they had just left, eyes had turned to them more than once. Curious or suspicious, the guests had observed the strange pair: a stoic, almost military man escorted by a far more expressive companion. Nels had played his part flawlessly, his easy smile and affectionate gestures enough to mask their true mission. But in the deserted hallways, his loving husband façade became a game he couldn’t resist playing.

As they turned into a narrower corridor, Nels placed a light hand on the small of Emmrich’s back, a touch just intimate enough to provoke a slight tensing of his shoulders " You should relax a little " he murmured, his voice soft and laced with amusement.

Without even looking at him, Emmrich replied in a low, sharp tone " And you should focus. "

But Nels, ever the provocateur, shrugged with a mock-innocent smile " I am focused, my love. I’m just making sure our cover is… convincing. "

The look Emmrich shot him could have frozen blood " What you’re doing is playing with fire. "

Still, Nels persisted, his smile widening as they passed a couple of guests who eyed them curiously. He slid his fingers into Emmrich’s, intertwining their hands with a disarming ease " And what if I’m not playing ? " he whispered, his voice so low it seemed meant for Emmrich alone.

Emmrich stiffened but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he averted his gaze, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. That tiny movement betrayed the internal battle he was trying to hide: between the need to maintain their flawless cover and the irresistible urge to smack the smug grin off Nels’s face.

Every room they passed through was a meticulously crafted scene. They briefly mingled with guests in an art gallery where imposing canvases commanded attention, then lingered near a buffet where the air was thick with the scent of spices and exotic fruits. Naturally, Nels couldn’t resist slipping in a suggestive comment as he selected a glass of wine, murmuring to Emmrich " This reminds me of our honeymoon in Halruaa. Remember ? You drank far too much that night. "

Emmrich pursed his lips, a muscle twitching in his jaw “ Stop distracting yourself ” he growled under his breath.

Finally, under the guise of exploring, they slipped into a quieter room, far from the bustle of the guests. A silent library stretched before them, its towering shelves packed with leather-bound books and carefully arranged artifacts. Heavy velvet curtains framed the windows, blocking almost all exterior light and casting the room in a semi-darkness broken only by the faint glow of a few oil lamps.

Emmrich closed the door behind them and immediately turned to Nels “ Do you really need to play this game ? You know how dangerous it is. ”

Leaning casually against a bookshelf, Nels raised an eyebrow, his mischievous smile still firmly in place “I thought you appreciated my enthusiasm. ”

Emmrich stepped closer, his steely gaze locked on his companion’s “ This isn’t a game to me, Nels. ” His voice was low, almost a growl “ Every move matters. Every mistake could cost us our lives. ”

For the first time, Nels hesitated. But he couldn’t resist murmuring, his tone unusually sincere “ What if I told you I do it for you ? ”

The silence that followed was charged with a different kind of tension, more intimate. The atmosphere of the library, with its dim lighting and isolation, made their closeness feel unavoidably more intense. Emmrich, though still visibly irritated, averted his gaze slightly, as if trying to regain control of his emotions.

But Nels, true to form, refused to let the moment fade. He reached out to brush his fingers against Emmrich’s sleeve, a gesture almost comforting “ I know you want everything to be perfect. But sometimes, you have to improvise. ”

Emmrich sighed, his resolve wavering for a moment. But before he could respond, footsteps echoed in the distance, shattering the fragile intimacy of the moment. Their eyes met, and in an instant, they slipped back into their roles: two infiltrators on high alert, ready to resume their mission.

The atmosphere in the library was heavy, almost oppressive. The silence, broken only by the faint crackle of an oil lamp, heightened the palpable tension between Nels and Emmrich. Standing face to face, their gazes clashed like sharp blades. One wore an insolent smile, the other a hard, unyielding expression.

“ Enough ” Emmrich hissed, his voice low and cutting. His eyes bore into Nels with an intensity that would have made anyone else back down “ Do you even realize what you’re doing ? Every time you open your mouth, every unnecessary gesture you make, you’re putting this mission at risk. ”

He stepped closer, closing the space between them “ Do you take this seriously? Because I do. And I have no intention of dying tonight because you don’t know when to stop. ”

Emmrich’s tone was cold, but beneath the icy façade lay another emotion: worry. It wasn’t just the mission that concerned him but Nels’s safety as well. Yet Nels seemed impervious to the gravity of the situation.

Crossing his arms, a smug grin spread across Nels’s face “ You know, you’d be a lot more convincing if you actually played your part ” he said lightly, his tone teasing.

Emmrich clenched his fists, his jaw tightening “ This isn’t a game, Nels. ”

“ Oh, I know. ” Nels stepped forward as well, shrinking the gap between them until it was dangerously small “ But if we’re going to convince these people we’re a real couple, you’re going to have to do better than scowling and marching around like you’re wearing armor. ”

Then, with a bold gesture, Nels lifted a hand and gently placed it against Emmrich’s cheek “ See ” he murmured, his tone suddenly softer, almost affectionate “ a real couple looks at each other like this. ”

The contrast between the apparent lightness of his words and the intimacy of the gesture made Emmrich falter. He froze, his eyes searching Nels’s, his breath catching for a moment. This was no longer a game, and they both knew it.

Emmrich stepped back slightly, as if to regain his composure, but the intensity of the moment held him captive. He had intended to reprimand Nels, to make him understand the importance of their mission, but the warmth of Nels’s hand on his skin muddled his thoughts.

“ Why are you doing this ? ” he finally asked, his voice quieter, less certain. It was no longer an accusation but a genuine question, tinged with confusion and vulnerability.

Nels raised an eyebrow, his grin softening “ Maybe because I want you to stop carrying everything on your shoulders. Maybe because… ” He hesitated, his gaze turning more serious “ Maybe because this means more to me than it should. ”

The words, ambiguous as they were, struck Emmrich right in the heart. He briefly averted his gaze, his face betraying an emotion he would have preferred to keep hidden. But Nels, ever bold, slid his fingers under Emmrich’s chin, gently forcing him to look up.

“ Look at me ” he murmured.

And Emmrich obeyed, their gazes locking in an unbearable tension. Their roles as infiltrators suddenly seemed hollow in the face of the raw truth emerging between them: what they pretended to be for the mission was far closer to what they truly felt.

For a fleeting moment, everything else faded away: the manor, the mission, the risks. It was just Nels and Emmrich, two men trapped in a game of pretense that had begun to reveal the truth. But before the moment could evolve, the sound of footsteps in the distance abruptly yanked them back to reality.

Emmrich stepped back, his mask of stoicism slipping back into place, but something in his eyes had shifted. As for Nels, he merely offered a lopsided grin, triumphant and slightly amused. “ We should go ” he murmured with a wink, slipping back into his role with unnerving ease.

Yet the silence that followed their departure from the library was heavy with everything left unsaid.

The silence after their confrontation in the library was almost suffocating. The tension, building for hours, had crystallized into a breaking point. Emmrich stood rigid, his back straight and jaw clenched, as though trying to wrest control over his emotions. But Nels, true to himself, refused to let the moment fade without a spark.

Nels stepped forward again, once more closing the space between them. He stood so close that Emmrich could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin “ You always hide behind that mask of control ” Nels murmured, his voice soft but laced with a barely veiled challenge “ But I see what’s underneath. ”

Before Emmrich could respond, Nels deliberately brushed his shoulder as he leaned in, their bodies briefly touching. What seemed like an innocent gesture carried a weight of unspoken intent. Then, without waiting for permission, Nels rose onto the tips of his toes and pressed his lips against Emmrich’s.

The kiss was hesitant at first, a question asked in silence. Emmrich froze, stunned, but only for a moment. The dam broke, and he responded with an intensity that was almost brutal. His hands gripped Nels’s hips, pulling him closer as if to anchor him in place.

Their restraint vanished as quickly as it had crumbled. Movements turned feverish, almost desperate. Emmrich’s fingers fumbled with Nels’s shirt, trying to undo it, while Nels clung to Emmrich’s neck, deepening their kiss. Their bodies pressed together with a palpable urgency, as if all the air in the room had been sucked away, leaving only the visceral need to touch.

Ever the provocateur, Nels murmured between kisses “ See ? We’re really playing our roles now .” His voice was interrupted by ragged breaths, but the smirk on his lips revealed his amusement.

“ Please ” Emmrich growled, his voice rough and laden with desire. Yet even in that command, there was an undercurrent of tenderness he couldn’t quite hide.

They stumbled awkwardly toward the desk, their movements impatient and clumsy. Emmrich lifted Nels, setting him on the edge of the furniture, his hands roaming his partner’s body with a fervor that betrayed months, perhaps years, of repressed longing. The sound of a lamp toppling to the floor briefly halted them, their eyes meeting with a shared flicker of amusement and urgency.

Emmrich’s hands grew bolder, exploring Nels’s skin with a mix of tenderness and voracity. Every sigh, every shiver was met with escalating intensity. Nels, ever playful, let out a deliberately loud moan before whispering “ Careful, someone might hear us. ”

Emmrich responded by gripping Nels’s waist firmly, pinning him against the desk, his hot breath brushing his ear “ Then stop making so much noise. ”

Their movements became more urgent, more synchronized. Nels’s fingers clung to Emmrich’s clothes, tugging and nearly tearing the fabric in his haste. Their bodies aligned with an instinctive fluidity, every action carrying a balance of raw desire and profound connection.

The desk creaked under their weight, but neither seemed to care. Whispers of provocation, murmured confessions, and husky sighs filled the air. Emmrich, usually so composed, let out a deep, guttural moan, and Nels, delighted, captured it with a fervent kiss.

The silence surrounding them seemed to hum with almost tangible tension. Nels, seated on the edge of the desk, kept his gaze locked with Emmrich’s, an impish smile playing on his lips, though his breathing subtly quickened. Across from him, Emmrich hesitated, his usual mask of control fractured by the storm of emotions he was struggling to contain. Every fiber of his being seemed torn between the irresistible pull to give in and the fear of crossing an irreversible line.

In the end, it was Emmrich who succumbed to that silent call, stepping decisively toward Nels. He placed a gentle hand on his hip, a touch that seemed innocuous but sent a shiver up the younger man’s spine. The air around them crackled with static. Slowly, Emmrich raised his hand to brush Nels’s face, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw with an almost painfully tender precision.

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though they both held their breath. Then, in a movement as instinctive as it was inevitable, Emmrich leaned in and pressed his lips to Nels’s. The first contact was hesitant, a soft, fleeting pressure that only stoked the smoldering fire between them. But the kiss quickly deepened, their restraint shattering under the weight of a desire that had been simmering far too long.

Emmrich’s lips parted slightly, inviting Nels to take their exchange further. Nels responded with eager abandon, wrapping his arms around Emmrich’s neck to pull him closer. The kiss became a fiery dance, a blend of tenderness and raw passion. The heat of their bodies mingled, their ragged breaths colliding in a disordered symphony.

Emmrich’s hands grew bolder. They left Nels’s face to slide down his neck and shoulders, finally gripping his hips with firm resolve. The gravity of the moment anchored them both in this bubble outside of time. Nels, his eyes still glinting with that playful mischief, broke the kiss briefly, a provocative smile curving his lips.

“ So, this is how you lose control ? ” he teased, his voice husky with poorly hidden excitement.

Emmrich, slightly breathless, fixed him with a gaze so intense it caused Nels’s smile to falter. “ You have no idea what you’re doing ” he replied in a low, gravelly voice, his tone balancing on the edge of challenge and desire.

Before Nels could respond, Emmrich claimed his lips again, this time with an unmistakable air of dominance. His fingers slipped beneath Nels’s shirt, exploring the warmth of his skin before tugging the fabric upward. Nels complied without hesitation, lifting his arms to make the movement easier. The garment was gone in an instant, discarded carelessly on the floor, leaving Nels’s scarred torso exposed under the dim light.

Emmrich paused, his eyes settling on the scars from Nels’s top surgery. His expression shifted, the passion softening into quiet admiration. He placed a hand on Nels’s chest, his fingers gently tracing the lines of the scars as though committing every detail to memory.

“ You’re beautiful ” he murmured at last, his voice carrying a disarming sincerity. He leaned forward to press a light kiss to the largest scar, his lips lingering against the skin as if trying to pour all his admiration into that single, tender gesture.

Nels felt his heart race. This moment, far from being purely physical, carried an emotional depth he hadn’t anticipated. Emmrich’s tenderness broke through any defenses he might have held, leaving him vulnerable yet strangely at peace.

“ You don’t have to be so gentle ” Nels muttered with a teasing smile, though his voice betrayed a flicker of emotion.

Emmrich raised his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips “ And you should learn to let someone care for you. ”

That reply left Nels speechless, his cheeks flushing slightly. But before he could retort, Emmrich captured his lips again, sealing away any protest in a kiss filled with purpose.

The first kiss hadn’t extinguished the tension between them. On the contrary, it had fanned the flames, turning every glance, every movement, into a subtle game of power. Nels, ever eager to seize the upper hand, was the first to break the charged silence that followed. His mischievous smile returned as he leaned back slightly, his fingers drifting lazily over the collar of Emmrich’s shirt before letting go.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft but brimming with undeniable mischief “ I didn’t think you had it in you, old corpse. ” His eyes sparkled with calculated defiance, daring Emmrich to respond.

Emmrich raised an eyebrow, his initially neutral expression hardening slightly. “ Old corpse, huh ? ” he replied, his deep voice calm, the kind of calm that precedes a storm. He crossed his arms over his chest, the movement emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders “ I could surprise you more, but I’m not sure you could keep up. ”

Nels let out a soft laugh, a light sound that nonetheless echoed through the room like a provocation. He stepped closer to Emmrich, his movements slow and deliberate, a sharp contrast to the excitement simmering just beneath the surface. “ Oh, I think I could give you a run for your money ” he murmured, his voice dipping into a lower, almost whisper-like tone.

Without waiting for a response, Nels placed a hand on Emmrich’s chest, his fingers softly tracing the folds of his shirt “ Look at you, so tense… ” He stopped just above the first button, tilting his head slightly “ Are you afraid of what might happen if you let yourself go ? ”

A flicker passed through Emmrich’s eyes. He caught Nels’s hand gently but firmly, halting his exploration “ And you—are you afraid of what might happen if I decide to rise to your provocations ? ”

Nels’s breath hitched for a moment, but his smile didn’t falter. He leaned in slightly, their faces now so close their noses almost touched “ Why not find out, then ? ” His tone was mocking, but his eyes betrayed a palpable, almost feverish excitement.

Emmrich leaned in as well, closing the minuscule gap between them. His voice, low and rough, vibrated against Nels’s lips “ You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, you little brat. ”

This time, it was Nels who shivered, but he didn’t pull back. Instead, he placed a hand on the back of Emmrich’s neck, his fingers tangling gently in the older man’s hair “ Then show me ” he breathed, his voice equal parts defiant and pleading.

It was Emmrich who gave in first this time, not out of weakness but by choice. With a swift motion, he grabbed Nels’s hips, pulling him close with a force that made the younger man gasp. He pressed his forehead against Nels’s, his warm breath grazing his skin.

“ You shouldn’t play with fire ” he murmured, his voice a low growl.

Nels, far from intimidated, placed his hands on Emmrich’s shoulders, gently but assertively guiding him back toward the desk behind them “ Maybe I want to burn ” he retorted, his smile widening.

The impact of Emmrich’s back against the edge of the desk didn’t interrupt their dance of provocations. If anything, it heightened the intensity of their exchange. Nels leaned into him slightly, his fingers toying with the edges of Emmrich’s shirt as he gazed up at him, equal parts challenging and vulnerable.

Emmrich looked at him, his patience already wearing thin “ You think you’re in control, but you couldn’t be more wrong. ”

“ Then.. prove it ” Nels whispered, their lips almost brushing.

Emmrich’s gaze darkened, a mix of desire and resolve. In an instant, he flipped the dynamic, grabbing Nels by the waist and pinning him firmly but gently against the desk “ You want to play? Fine. But don’t forget who makes the rules. ”

The shiver that ran through Nels’s body at those words was impossible to hide. Yet even in this vulnerable position, he managed a soft laugh. “You talk a lot for someone holding back so much,” he teased, his voice rougher now, touched by the effects of Emmrich’s actions.

The tension between them reached a fever pitch, each word and every movement a mutual provocation, a delicate dance between dominance and surrender. The air in the room felt charged, almost electric, and neither seemed willing to fully yield, even as their shared desire became undeniable.

Pinned against the desk, Nels’s breath quickened, his chest rising and falling with a tension that was far from nervous. Despite his dominated position, he hadn’t lost his sharp, provocative edge. The cold wood of the desk against his skin contrasted starkly with the heat radiating from their closely pressed bodies. Turning his head slightly, he shot Emmrich a sidelong glance, his eyes gleaming with restrained mischief.

“ So, this is your big show of control ? ” Nels murmured, his voice rough and thick with a challenge that hung heavy in the charged air.

Emmrich responded with a crooked smile, the kind that belonged to a man on the verge of giving in to a desire he’d held back for too long. His hands slid slowly along Nels’s sides, tracing burning circles over the thin layer of fabric that still shielded his skin “ You want me to show you what control really means, Nels ? ” he murmured, his deep voice sending a shiver down the younger man’s spine.

Nels gave a wry smirk, though it faltered slightly when Emmrich’s fingers landed with deliberate firmness on his hips. The older man tilted his head slightly, his heated gaze locking onto his partner’s before his hands drifted downward, stopping at the buckle of Nels’s pants.

The scrape of metal against Emmrich’s fingers sent a jolt through Nels’s body, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he straightened his chest slightly, his hands resting over Emmrich’s “ Go ahead ” he breathed, his tone wavering between taunt and plea.

Emmrich responded with a low, approving growl. He unfastened the buckle with an almost maddening slowness, savoring every second of the intense gaze Nels was giving him. Once the pants were loosened, he slid the fabric down over Nels’s muscled hips, revealing more skin and the scattered scars that marked his body like a collection of memories.

The silence between them was heavy, filled with nothing but ragged breaths and the growing weight of their tension. Emmrich’s fingers skimmed over Nels’s thighs, tracing the contours of his taut muscles before traveling back up toward his hips. His hands paused for a moment, as if giving Nels a chance to catch his breath. But Nels didn’t retreat. Instead, he shifted slightly, his hips brushing against Emmrich’s in a wordless demand for something more direct.

“ You waited all this time just for this ? ” Nels teased in a breathy whisper, though his labored breathing betrayed his own arousal.

Emmrich raised an eyebrow, his expression equal parts amused and predatory “Y ou still manage to talk so much, even when you’re at my mercy. Impressive. ” His gravelly voice filled the charged air between them, but his movements remained unhurried, laced with surprising tenderness.

He crouched slightly, his lips brushing against Nels’s skin, starting at the faint line of his abdomen. Shivers visibly rippled across Nels’s body, his chest rising and falling erratically. Emmrich trailed a path of kisses along the inside of his thighs, his beard grazing sensitive skin, eliciting gasps of both pleasure and frustration.

Unable to stay still any longer, Nels reached out, his hand lightly gripping Emmrich’s shoulders “ Quit beating around the bush, old man ” he breathed, his voice thick with a mix of desire and impatience.

But Emmrich was not a man to be rushed. He tilted his head up slightly, meeting Nels’s gaze with a slow, calculated smile “ You’re always in such a hurry… ” he murmured before letting his fingers glide to the edge of the last barrier that separated Nels from full vulnerability.

With deliberate precision, Emmrich undid the fabric, peeling it away with an almost ceremonial slowness, baring his lover to the room’s dim light. His fingers grazed Nels’s hips, tracing gentle circles before trailing down the inside of his thighs again.

Nels closed his eyes, his head tipping back slightly as a trembling sigh escaped his lips. Still, even in this moment, he couldn’t resist maintaining his provocations “ So, are you going to keep teasing me, or are you finally going to prove yourself ? ”

Emmrich’s smile widened slightly, though he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his lips against Nels’s sensitive skin, sending a visible shudder through his body. His movements grew more purposeful, a perfect blend of urgency and control.

The tension between them hadn’t faded—it had transformed into a delicate game of balance, a dance of challenge and surrender. Each movement, each breath, layered their shared intimacy with deeper meaning, the unspoken language of their connection resonating in every touch.

The heat of their bodies had intensified, filling the room with an almost tangible atmosphere. But as their breaths mingled and their movements lost their initial frenzy, an unexpected tenderness settled in—a calm after the storm.

Emmrich, leaning over Nels, felt a hesitation creep over him. It wasn’t fear or doubt but a sudden, sharp realization: behind every teasing gesture, every trembling sigh, lay a truth they had both been avoiding for far too long. He slowed down, his strong hands shifting to an almost timid caress.

Nels opened his eyes, his pupils blown wide with desire as they met Emmrich’s intense gaze. But what he saw in those dark eyes wasn’t just passion; it was something far deeper, something fragile and sincere. The smirk he’d worn until now faltered, giving way to a more vulnerable expression.

“ Why are you stopping ? ” he murmured, his voice barely audible, as if afraid to shatter the moment.

Emmrich’s broad, steady hand cupped Nels’s cheek, his thumb tracing slow circles against his slightly damp skin “ Because I’m looking at you.. ” he said, his gravelly voice heavy with meaning “ And I’m realizing... I want you to understand just how much you mean to me. ”

Those words, simple yet weighted with profound emotion, made Nels falter. His unshakable confidence crumbled under the force of Emmrich’s honesty. He averted his gaze briefly, as though trying to hide the flush rising to his cheeks, but Emmrich, unwilling to let him retreat, gently caught his chin and turned him back.

“ Look at me, Nels.. ” he commanded softly, his voice tinged with tenderness “ I don’t want you to hide. Not now. Not from me. ”

Nels swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. His trembling fingers reached out, clutching Emmrich’s arm for support “ I… I’m not used to this kind of thing ” he admitted in a halting whisper, his tone wavering between a hesitant confession and an awkward attempt at humor.

Emmrich nodded, understanding glinting in his eyes “ Neither am I ” he admitted, his tone sincere and soothing “ But I’m willing to try, if you are. ”

A silence filled with unspoken promises settled between them, broken only by the sound of their heavy, uneven breaths. Finally, Nels allowed a faint, fragile smile to tug at his lips, his natural boldness slowly returning “ You’re such a sentimental old man, aren’t you ? ” he teased, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness, revealing a rare vulnerability.

Emmrich chuckled softly, a deep, reassuring sound that hung in the air like an invisible caress “ Maybe I am ” he replied, lowering his head to press a slow, deep kiss to Nels’s lips.

That kiss carried all the tenderness he had long suppressed, all the acceptance he wanted to offer, wrapping them both in the quiet, unspoken understanding they had finally allowed themselves to share.

Their embrace resumed, but this time, it was different. Every movement, every caress carried a new significance, as if they were exploring not just each other's bodies but also the truths they had never dared to voice. Emmrich’s hands, once firm and assured, became more delicate, tracing paths along Nels’s skin with a clear intent: to convey through touch what words could not fully express.

As he explored Nels’s broad chest, his fingers lingered on the scars from his top surgery. Emmrich traced them slowly, as though committing their texture to memory. Then, he leaned down to press a kiss to each marked line, an act of reverence that sent shivers through Nels.

“ You’re beautiful ” Emmrich murmured against his skin, his words weighted with undeniable sincerity.

Nels felt his throat tighten, but he didn’t want to lose his composure “ You really have a way of making me feel weak ” he replied, a timidly defiant smile playing on his lips.

Emmrich moved lower, his hands charting a deliberate path along Nels’s hips, savoring every reaction, every shiver his touch elicited. He paused at his dicklit, gazing at it with disarming tenderness “ Every part of you is perfect ” he said softly, his deep voice carrying the weight of a promise.

With calculated slowness, he let his fingers trace the area, teasingly brushing against Nels’s heightened sensitivity. Each touch was precise, intentional—a delicate dance between control and surrender. His lips soon followed, gently kissing the dicklit, teasing it with measured, deliberate movements.

Nels let out a moan he tried to stifle, his hands gripping Emmrich’s shoulders tightly “ Fuck, Emm… ” he breathed, unable to hide how deeply the older man’s actions affected him.

The older man looked up, meeting his lover’s hazy gaze, a tender smile on his lips “ Let go ” he murmured softly “ You don’t have to prove anything here. ”

Encouraged by his words, Nels released some of the tension he carried. He surrendered to the sensations, to the trust he gave to no one else. Emmrich’s lips continued their exploration, alternating between kisses and soft flicks of his tongue, while his hands gripped Nels’s hips firmly to steady him, preventing any abrupt movement.

“ You know ” Nels said between ragged breaths, his voice trembling slightly “ you really have a knack for making me feel… special. ”

Emmrich paused for a moment, his eyes locking onto Nels’s with an intensity that was almost overwhelming “ That’s because you are ” he replied simply, his voice heavy with sincerity.

Those simple words stirred a wave of emotion within Nels. He lowered his gaze, a faint, shy smile playing on his lips. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel fully seen, fully accepted.

Emmrich, unwilling to shatter the moment, continued his adoration. He alternated between gentle movements and more assertive gestures, ensuring that every action carried not just pleasure but also a reaffirmation of the love he held for Nels. He paid close attention to every reaction, ready to slow down or intensify as needed.

As the intensity reached its peak, Nels placed a trembling hand on Emmrich’s head, his fingers tangling slightly in his hair “ Emm, stop… If you keep going, I’m going to… ”

Emmrich lifted his head, gently wiping his lips with a satisfied smile “ Isn’t that the point ? ” he replied, his tone playful yet imbued with undeniable tenderness. He moved back up slowly, pressing one last kiss to Nels’s lips, sealing their moment of intimacy with a blend of softness and passion.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty but filled with the weight of everything that had just transpired. Their eyes met, and in that wordless exchange lay a promise: to be there for each other, completely, without hesitation.

That moment, suspended in time where passion and vulnerability intertwined, marked a turning point in their relationship. It wasn’t merely an exploration of physical desire but a deep dive into the depths of their feelings. A silent vow to continue breaking down the walls they had built around their hearts—together.

The electric atmosphere that had enveloped the room gradually dissipated, replaced by the growing weight of reality. The outside world, held at bay by their moment of intimacy, abruptly forced its way back in as a dull sound echoed in the hallway. Perhaps it was a slamming door, hurried footsteps, or a distant voice, but it was enough to shatter the fragile cocoon they had created.

Emmrich froze, his senses honed by years of discipline and professionalism kicking in instantly “ We’ve been away too long ” he murmured, the gravity of the situation weighing down his voice once more. His hands, still resting on Nels’s hips, withdrew with a hint of hesitation, as if reluctant to let go of this unique moment.

Nels, sprawled against the desk, his shirt still partially undone and his hair slightly disheveled, flashed a mischievous smile despite the palpable tension “ Think they suspect we’re having fun in here while they’re handling the mission? ” he asked, his tone mockingly innocent but with a spark of defiance in his eyes.

“ If you want them to suspect, keep talking that loudly ” Emmrich retorted with a blend of exasperation and fondness.

With a resigned sigh, he straightened up and began tidying his clothes. His movements were swift and precise, yet his gaze kept drifting back to Nels, drawn despite himself. Nels, taking his sweet time, nonchalantly adjusted his outfit, his smile still fixed in place.

When they stepped out into the soirée, the contrast between the warmth of the room they had just left and the bustling clamor of the party was striking. Bright lights, the hum of conversations, and the clinking of glasses all felt almost surreal after their suspended moment.

Nels, ever himself, immediately slipped back into character. Running a hand through his hair to give it a semblance of order, he caught Emmrich’s gaze with a playful smile “ So, boss, want me to play the perfect little partner, or should I keep being insufferable ? ”

Emmrich, standing beside him, regarded him with an inscrutable expression. There was a newfound intensity in his eyes—a mix of respect and something softer he would never have allowed himself to show before “ Do what you do best ” he finally replied, a faint warmth breaking through his deep tone.

Back in the room, they resumed their tasks seamlessly. Nels, true to form, slipped into conversations with feigned ease, oscillating between casual charm and subtle barbs. But this time, his provocations toward Emmrich were different: they carried a new layer of complicity, a shared game that belonged only to them.

Emmrich, for his part, played his role with a renewed calm. His watchful eye scanned the crowd, always attuned to the smallest details, but he remained acutely aware of Nels’s every movement. Whenever their gazes met, there was a glimmer in Emmrich’s eyes that hadn’t been there before—a silent promise, an unspoken pact.

As they moved closer to the center of the room to monitor their target, a moment of stillness unfolded. Nels, standing slightly behind, reached out to adjust the collar of Emmrich’s jacket—a nearly imperceptible gesture, yet profoundly intimate. Their fingers brushed briefly, and that simple contact was enough to reignite the tension between them.

Emmrich averted his gaze, but not before a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. Nels, on the other hand, stepped back with a look of mischievous satisfaction etched across his face.

As the evening progressed and their target finally drew near, a charged silence settled between them. They both knew this mission, though no different from countless others, had marked a turning point.

At last, as Nels prepared to play his part in the final act of their plan, he cast one last glance at Emmrich. His lips parted, murmuring in a breath barely audible “We finish this, and after... we’ll see.”

Emmrich gave a barely perceptible nod, his gaze burning with determination—and with something deeper, something he still held tightly within himself.

The mission resumed, but everything had changed. Every gesture, every word exchanged between them was now imbued with what they had shared—and with a silent promise that nothing would ever be the same again.

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