#and it's going to involve fondling the necromancer

[heylittleriotact]

𝓐𝓵𝓰𝓸𝓻 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼:

The normal cooling of a body after death as it equilibrates with the ambient temperature.

Takes place immediately following the ending of Act 3 and features Emmrich and Amina taking a moment to themselves after all is said and done. Emmrich takes care of his beloved Reaper, and following a brief discussion about their respective plans for the future, she returns the favour.

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3:

The roar of victory was a dull thrum that followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, part elation that the Elvhen threat had been bested, and partly devastation for the many lives their success had cost. Amina acknowledged every single person she passed by: hugs and handshakes were reciprocated without question, and condolences were extended to the bereaved with all of the dignified sincerity of a Watcher. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but if asked, Amina would do it all again 

The ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony outside was muffled. Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach. 

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and running the other comfortingly down her back.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Their voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give out, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, barely registering that it landed right in her sick. Everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto that would tether her here. 

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother–” Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time… she had intended to visit Harding’s mother in person to check in on her in the days following her daughter’s death, but Elgar’nan - and Solas - had made that impossible.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her, breaking her from the inside. 

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast as she attempted to draw strength from that agony as she always had: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: slender as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him. 

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion against life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them… 

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…” 

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her overloaded nervous system and providing some relief until another horror blundered into her mind with nauseating insistence. 

“Shit.” Her eyes went wide. “Manfred… Emmrich, wh-where is Manfred?!”

“Manfred is perfectly safe,” he soothed, “He’s in the abundantly capable hands of Myrna and Vorgoth for the moment. In fact, before I left, I overheard Myrna explaining to him Karloff’s Five Principles of Ethical Reanimation.”

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to–”

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you’ve pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But–”

“It’s so incredibly kind of you to want to give your condolences to Lace’s mother in person, but it need not happen this instant. The… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south in due course.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care enough to select a different one. “You need to rest,” he repeated.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return - please let me be the one to help you now?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe. 

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and dishevelled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” he whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers, “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak: emotions overwhelmed her capacity for words. The immeasurable highs and lows had won out, capped off on the highest of highs by Emmrich’s solemn declaration: she would never face anything alone again. The fight left her as she closed her eyes and nodded, and this time Emmrich caught her tears and wiped them away. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before turning to the others. 

“She’s in no danger,” he assured them. “The gifts of a Reaper are channelled through a place of deep sorrow and grief where one should not dwell indefinitely: she is merely exhausted, and in light of this ordeal coming to an end, her body and mind are insisting upon rest and recuperation for a time. I shall go with her to find a room and get her settled in.” 

“I’ll scour the pantry.” Lucanis announced without hesitation, already shedding his gore-slicked coat. “A house like this will have a well stocked larder: I cannot do much else to assist, but I will see to it that Rook gets a good meal.” 

“And I’ll find something strong to drink -  I think we could all use one - especially Rook,” Taash volunteered grimly. 

Davrin finished checking over a cut under Assan’s eye, deeming it to be harmless. “Assan can keep her company after I find him something to eat. I’m sure he’d love to cuddle up with his favourite person after a day like today.”

“I’ll make sure word gets around that she’s not to be disturbed under any circumstances - Maker knows there’ll be all kinds of people at the door wanting her attention.” Neve remarked. “She’s in good hands with you, Emmrich. We’ll take care of everything else: you take care of her.” 

Their words echoed in Amina’s mind as Emmrich started to lead her away towards the carpeted stairs. It wasn’t long ago that she would have fought tooth and nail to avoid accepting their help for fear that she didn’t actually deserve it - that she had somehow tricked good-hearted people into thinking that she was worth any amount of concern. But now with this aching, vacuous hole in her chest threatening to devour her from the inside, knowing that she had many sets of arms to fall back into… it meant everything. 

“I love you too,” she said as they walked, the gold rings tied to her boots to alert any nearby spirits of her presence chiming with each tired step. “I love you so much Emmrich, I - I…” Her voice wavered and broke again.

He shushed her gently as they rose the stairs and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place comforting kisses to bloodied and dented metal. “It’s alright, darling. I know… I know.” 

They made it to the landing at the top of the stairs and Emmrich loosened his hand from hers only long enough to gesture through the air, causing the lamps lining the long hallway to illuminate with the familiar and consoling green light of veilfire - it reminded her so much of home… their home.

Meandering down the hallway, they apraised a few rooms - a study and a nursery among them - before finding a well-appointed bedroom near the end of the hall. 

The same veilfire that illuminated the hallway flooded the room with a self-assured wave of Emmrich’s fingers through the air, revealing the gilded frame of the largest four-poster bed Amina had ever seen. 

A modestly sized house would have fit comfortably within the textured red walls of the room, and every square inch was bedecked with glittering opulence and expensive furniture.

What had happened to the people who called this place home? She thought of the nursery, silent and dark, her heart sinking further.

“I know…” Emmrich’s sigh was put-upon. “It’s practically a hovel isn’t it? But our only option currently, I’m afraid.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a wry smile and despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile a little too if only for the fact that his dry humour was at its most uplifting when things seemed bleakest: it was a rarely praised trait of a good Watcher to be able to maintain a sense of humour - sometimes being able to laugh was the only thing that could keep said Watcher sane.

He closed the heavy cherry door behind them softly and turned the latch, his definition of ‘recuperation’ clearly non-negotiable to anyone who found themselves outside of the bedchamber wanting to talk to her.  

The silence was inescapable now, contrasting strongly to the overwhelming chorus of sound she’d been subjected to for hours. It filled her head - made it feel full of cotton - and she frowned, standing perfectly still, observing Emmrich as he hung his staff from the rack by the door and shed his bloodied and tattered coat, hanging it with care before turning to Amina. 

“We need to get you out of that armour.” 

He set his gloves on a nearby console table and rolled up his sleeves, agile fingers performing the task with an ease that suggested he hadn’t personally assisted with the culling of a tyrannical elvhen god today. Amina felt her mouth go dry under his perceiving gaze - she’d taken direct blows from Hurlocks that winded her less than the intensity of those eyes. Overwhelmed and at her wit’s end or not, he was capable of sending something in her soul aflutter even at a time like this… that could only mean that she was still alive, right? That she hadn’t laid the last shred of her own mortal conscience on the pyre in the name of saving what little of Thedas remained to be saved?

She swallowed thickly. “I’m experiencing some sort of deja vu, I think,” she murmured, as he closed the distance between them and began loosening her baldric. “Because I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

An amused smile visited his face, his eyes downcast and focused on his task. “We have, haven’t we? I recall that convincing you to allow me to stitch you up on that occasion was also similar to pulling teeth.”

He kissed her again and went back to work, stripping away pieces of moulded metal in silence, shucking away the intimidating, unrelenting shell of a Reaper and exposing the soft, vulnerable person underneath. 

He had made it all the way down to her greaves when she emitted a sharp gasp and clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“My shield! Where’s my shield?!” She twisted in his grasp as if to look around the room for the worn and dented buckler she famously refused to part with. 

Emmrich’s brow furrowed and he worked another strap loose. “It was broken, darling, remember? By Elgar’nan.” 

At his words, the memory rushed back to her: massive fingers curling over the edge of her shield as she held it aloft in the darkness, determined to stand her ground, her body protesting with the sheer effort of keeping her defence up in the looming shadow of her ancient enemy… the sound of metal whining as it bent in that ungodly strong grip and finally shattered…

I dropped it and finished the fight with only my sword and the dagger…

“Oh, right… how silly of me to forget…” she said distantly as Emmrich finished with the greave and rose with a gingerness that at last indicated his own fatigue.

“Details will likely come and go in a disconcerting haze over the coming days.” He parted from her and peered into a secondary room off the one they were in and disappeared into it when it seemed to contain what he was looking for. The sound of running water soon followed and he re-emerged. “Try not to concern yourself with them: they are of little importance right now. You have no need for a shield or sword - we are safe.” He ran a hand down her shoulder affectionately. “I understand that contradicts a large part of your vocational education, but you must trust me. Now if you’ll follow me, we’ll take care of all of that… debris in your hair.”

‘Debris’ was hardly what she would call the grisly amalgamation of fluids and various clumped tissues that would make even the most decay-happy embalmers back home feel squeamish, but Amina took Emmrich’s hand and followed him without complaint.

A gigantic clawfoot tub was filling with water in the middle of the cavernous bathroom, and judging by the calming aroma diffusing through the air, Emmrich had helped himself to some of the scented bath oils that belonged to whomever owned the manor. 

He brought her to the sink and pulled over an upholstered stool from the nearby vanity, placing it in front of the sink and gently directing her to sit, his hand on her lower back guiding her. “The bath will be more relaxing if at least your hair is clean before you get in,” he explained, turning the taps and motioning for her to lean back. 

“Is this supposed to fix things?” Her voice was so quiet and insubstantial over the rushing water - she was surprised Emmrich even heard her as she settled the base of her skull at the rim of the sink basin and he began sweeping her long hair into his hands, wetting it and carefully picking out pieces of marble and bone and viscera as he found them. 

“There is nothing to be fixed, my darling - least of all you, if that’s your primary concern. You know as well as I that our work can be exhausting - mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s why we are well compensated and encouraged to take time away from the Necropolis when we feel we need it. A lesson was learned at some point over the untold years that the Necropolis has existed and people have vowed to serve its departed souls, and that is: one cannot effectively fill the cups of others when their own is dry.” He reached over her and Amina looked up at him, hanging onto his every word. She did know all of this - in fact she’d dispensed similar advice to other Watchers and mourners alike in the past, but… hearing it from someone else… being told that it was alright and that she didn’t have to be strong right now was deeply comforting. “It is not demonstrative of carelessness to the plight of others to think of oneself. I’m of the mind that it’s one of the more selfless virtues a person can aspire to.” 

Amina closed her eyes and sighed, her nose filling with the delicate floral scent of the soap that Emmrich had started methodically working through her hair. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” 

A tender caress passed over her temple. “I do try. Are you feeling a little bit better? It looks as though some colour has returned to your face.” 

“Now you’re just laying it on thick by implying that my face had any colour to begin with, but yes… I feel steadier, more grounded.” 

“That’s music to my ears, darling,” and indeed Emmrich seemed to sag in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he rinsed away the lathered soap, his touch unerringly mild. Washing the hair of the deceased required a gentle hand - the follicles on the scalp dilated as the skin began to dehydrate in the hours after death, making it easy to accidentally pull out clumps of a decedent’s hair if one handled it too roughly.

So much of the world thought their calling was one of macabre vulgarity when it was actually an ineffable devotion of love and tenderness when it came to the handling of all things… alive or dead.

Excess water trickled down the drain as he wrung out her hair and gestured for her to sit upright with a light touch of his fingers on her shoulder - he was so good at that - so confident in his ability to impart instructions that he didn’t even need words to make his expectation clear. She turned on the seat, putting her back to him so it was easier for him to weave her damp hair into a braid.

She closed her eyes again and a satisfied hum resonated in her chest as slender fingers stroked through her hair, separating it and passing the strands from hand to hand. 

When he was done, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’ll leave you to the privacy of your bath, but I will remain close by: if you require anything at all, my dearest love, just call.” He bowed his head respectfully, his thumb tracing the soft skin at the inside of her wrist before he turned to depart.

“Please stay,” she entreated, locking her fingers between his before he could step out of reach. He halted. “I… I would rather not be alone right now, if it’s alright with you.” 

He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “Of course. In that case, I’ll step out while you make yourself comfortable and will return when you’re ready for me.” 

Ever the gentleman. He clearly wasn’t going to let their passion in the Necropolis the night before get the better of decades of deeply ingrained propriety. She felt her pulse quicken slightly at the fresh memory of their night together and wondered if the invitation to keep her company while she sat naked in a bathtub made his heart pound too, but a wave of shame crashed through her just as quickly, smothering the heat that had started to smoulder in her belly: people were dead, and now was not the time for such thoughts. 

When the door closed behind Emmrich, Amina clambored out of her stiff, smelly clothing, grimacing as she peeled sticky fabric from her skin. She left everything in a heap and nudged it to the other side of the room with her bare foot, wanting to be as far away from the stench as possible. When she was satisfied, she sank into the bathtub, a purely reflexive moan slipping from her lips at the feeling of relief as warm water enfolded aching muscles. The water was almost instantly dirtied, but she didn’t care - it felt amazing. 

“You can come in.” She drew her braid over her shoulder and folded her arms on the porcelain edge of the tub, resting her chin on her hands. Even if it mattered to her there was no need to fear for her modesty: whatever Emmrich had added to the water made it semi-opaque and it looked very pretty in the light of the veilfire.

Emmrich sat on the vanity stool. “How is it, darling?” 

“It’s perfect.” She found his hand with hers again - it seemed she couldn’t bear to be parted from him for long… not when they’d come so close to losing one another.

“You have no idea what a relief that is to hear.” 

Her lips curved into a smile as she studied him silently, turning thoughts and feelings over in her mind. Her heart was heavy, and her body was spent. People had indeed died - tragedy and victory apportioned in equal measure, but Emmrich was right: she had given as much of herself to the cause as she was capable of giving… and then some. There was still work to be done - the restoration of Thedas would be long and difficult. But it was time to rest and take a hard-earned moment of peace for what it was, even though a persistent voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to cease dallying in the bath and get back to work. 

No.

“Would you like to join me?” 

The question was posed such that it caught Emmrich off guard, causing his eyes to widen and a flush of colour to creep over his pallid skin. His mouth hung open slightly.

“J-join you? I can wait until you’re done - that is to say: finished - I would hate to impose, you see–” 

She listened to him stumble over his words, enchanted by his flustered demeanour until she decided it was time to rescue him, and said, “It’s no imposition at all. Besides, if you’re in the same state as I am underneath all those clothes, I suspect you’ve got bits of darkspawn in places where even your flexible limbs can’t reach: a collaborative approach to bathing would serve us best in this situation.” 

Emmrich’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “You make a compelling argument, I admit, but–” 

“We had sex in a coffin under the Necropolis last night because we knew the world might end in the morning, Emmrich - I think it’s fair to say that any notion that this is in any way a traditional courtship has gone out the window.” She reached out and popped loose the topmost button of his shirt. “Besides, the idea of having to wait through an entire courtship before I can have you sounds torturous…” her thumb and forefinger found another button, and he didn’t move to stop her. “I think I prefer our abridged approach, if I’m being honest…” she smirked and went for the third button but he intercepted her, graceful fingers catching her wrist.

“That may be the case, dearest, but I still intend to treat you with the veneration you are owed as my beloved.” 

A shiver ran up her spine - it might have been the sentiment - my beloved - or the fact that it was delivered in a tone half an octave lower than usual. She couldn’t settle on a conclusion, but she felt emboldened regardless.

“Then you can start by getting into this ridiculously large bathtub with me,” she whispered coquettishly, and she followed the path of his hand with her eyes as it released her wrist and drifted to that third button, slipping it free with a practised twist.

She felt herself smile properly for the first time that day as Emmrich disrobed and lowered himself into the water across from her: it was real - he was real - and he wanted her. Wanted her enough to occupy dirty bathwater with her without complaint. 

His legs brushed against hers under the water and she resisted the very compelling urge to launch herself at him just to feel his skin on hers as she had the night before. Instead, she grabbed a bar of soap and a sponge off the tray on the side of the tub and held them up. 

Emmrich tilted his head inquisitively but said nothing: the amused curl of his lips said it all. He turned his back to her and slotted himself between her legs and Amina wet the soap and began wiping away the worst of the dirt from his shoulders and back with the sponge. She took her time, relishing the warmth of him under her fingers as she washed away the remains of the day. 

“So… about those plans you mentioned earlier: care to expand on them?” She ventured. 

She didn’t want to think about today anymore, didn’t want to linger on thoughts of Varric and Harding… those would insist on themselves enough over the coming months as she grieved them, she knew that for certain. Right now turning her mind to thoughts of a future that was almost lost seemed like a better distraction.

Emmrich chuckled warmly, the comforting lilt reverberating around the room. “It’s an extensive list, I’m afraid, too lengthy and detailed to summarise neatly in a few breaths.” She squeezed the sponge and sent a stream of water and suds meandering down his arm, tracing the shape of his sharp angles and lissom composition. “Truth be told, I was actually hoping you might render some assistance.” 

“Oh?”

“As you know, I have pupils awaiting my return to the Necropolis: their studies have been regrettably delayed in my absence, not to mention Manfred will require oversight as he embarks on his own educational journey.” 

“But…”

“I’ve rather enjoyed my time beyond the walls of the Necropolis, and now that I’m not… now that I will most certainly…” He seemed unable to settle on a palatable way to say ‘die’. 

“It’s alright,” she squeezed his shoulder softly. “Go on.” 

“Thank you, dear - it’s only that my priorities have been somewhat reorganised given the revised trajectory of my life: I no longer have a theoretically unlimited amount of time in which to see the world, and I find myself wondering if it would be terribly selfish of me to defer the date of my return for a while longer - take a sabbatical of sorts so that I may continue to experience the wonders of the continent without the looming threat of annihilation… with you, should you wish to accompany me.” He looked over his shoulder at her and Amina wasn’t ignorant of the fleeting glance that wandered down to her soapy breasts, nor the desire that shadowed his eyes at the sight of her pale nipples just peeking over the surface of the water. Oh dear, he was getting distracted…

“Don’t know how much of the continent there is left to see after everything.” She wrung the sponge, making a subtle but very deliberate show of pushing her breasts together with the insides of her arms. Emmrich’s throat bobbed and he seemed to win some inner struggle after a moment and looked forward again. “But yeah… I think a break would do us both some good. Besides, ‘seeing the world’ was what I was supposed to be doing anyway before this nightmare started. I’ll go anywhere with you, Emmrich,” she smiled. “Especially if there’s a beach involved.” 

She scooted closer to him, bracketing him between her thighs, finding his skin with hers as she reached around him to start soaping up his chest. Spurred on by the breathy little gasp he made, Amina continued to wash him, kissing up the line of his neck as she did. 

“What other plans would you like to make with me, darling?” She whispered, softly catching his earlobe between her teeth and earning a tantalising whine for her trouble. 

“At the moment, none that are fit for polite company…”

“Good thing it’s just the two of us then.” She let go of the sponge and dipped her hand beneath the surface of the fragrant water, unable to see, but able to feel her way, fingers dancing over his abdomen, following the neatly tended to strip of hair that started at his navel, down, down, down until she found him - and she found him to be rock hard. 

He moaned in earnest now, his head falling back against her shoulder, hand rising to cup the side of her face as she slowly stroked the length of him, humming contentedly, unable to help herself: she wanted him in her, on her, and around her at all times.

“Care to hear about my plans?” She pressed a kiss to the expanse of skin under his ear. “We can compare notes after.”

“Please,” he breathed, eyes closed, a contented smile spreading across his face - the very definition of the cat that got the cream. 

She drew nondescript shapes on his chest with her fingers, lingering on the patch of hair at his sternum, the bar of soap forgotten and lost to the bottom of the tub. “First on my list when we get out of this bath: I’m going to make love to you - slowly… sweetly.” She drew her lower lip through her teeth at the throb of his cock under her fingers and the shudder she coaxed from him when she ran the tip of her thumb over his slit, feeling the slick texture of his anticipation even in the water. “... and after that, I’m going to do it again, and Maker-willing, a third time after that if I have my way…” 

His eyebrows rose, but his eyes remained shut, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Aren’t we ambitious?” He purred, arcing up into her touch a little. “One can’t help but wonder what you’ll do after that…”

“Oh, find something to eat.” She answered matter-of-factly, entirely at the mercy of the rising heat between her thighs. “I expect I will have worked up quite an appetite, you see.” 

“It’s important to stay nourished,” Emmrich agreed, exhaling deeply as she continued to fondle him under the water. “That feels so good, darling…” 

“Good.” She smiled against his skin and kissed his temple. “Because that’s also part of my plan, broadly speaking: I’m going to make you feel amazing for the rest of our lives, Emmrich. Not a single sun will set on a day where you feel alone: your joys will be my joys, your sorrows my sorrows.”

His eyes opened at that and he regarded her with that soft look of utter adoration that he was so adept at. He stroked her cheek and she nuzzled into his long fingered hand. “My dear… that was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” 

“Delivered whilst pleasuring you no less.”

“You are beyond compare, darling Amina.” He sighed and lazily thrust up into her hand again. “And I daresay our respective plans indeed bear many similarities. I would even go so far as to say they align perfectly.” He sat forward and turned so he was face to face with her again, collecting her arms and drawing her close so their noses were almost touching. 

“Lucky me.” 

He traced each vertebrae of her spine with lithe fingers, bangles clinking together as they slipped down his arm one after the other, his hand finding the curve of her rear and drawing their centres even closer together. She positively ached with need for him as he cradled her face and kissed her deeply, unabashedly exploring her mouth and tasting her with a dominance she was not anticipating. When they parted her lips and cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown wide. 

“I’m going to make a home with you, Rook - that is my plan.” 

Amina considered him - his intelligent bottle green eyes inches from hers, their breath shared, their bodies practically flush. Despite how lust-addled her exhausted brain was, tears returned to her, driven by the sheer depth of Emmrich’s ambitions for them: A home. A life together and all that could come with it if she only dared to dream it - her: the Necropolis foundling who never felt like she truly belonged anywhere or mattered to anyone beyond the basic charity of some.

“We need to hurry up and finish with this bath,” she rasped, her voice low to keep it steady. “I need you. I need you now.” She crushed her lips to his hungrily and breathed, “I love you.” 

What immediately followed was a frenzy of soap and bubbles and water splashing over the tile floor as they finished scrubbing each other down with much less sensual flair than before. The plunger was pulled from the bottom of the tub and they towelled off as it drained, pausing intermittently to passionately embrace. 

“I never thought I could be this happy,” she panted, rising on her tip-toes to pepper his jawline with kisses. 

“Nor I,” Emmrich concurred. He turned her head and buried his nose in her neck, sucking a rosy mark onto her skin, unable to help himself as her hands roamed. He snaked his arm around her waist and hoisted her aloft, racing for the bedroom, her legs tight around him, her entire being coursing with the anticipatory thrill of their imminent union. 

He placed her on the bed with a tenderness that contrasted heavily with the urgency of their flight from the bathroom and prowled over the bed towards her, the inherent grace of his body setting her heart aflame as he splayed one hand over her lower belly and slid her leg aside with the other, opening her like the cherished pages of a beloved tome. He looked positively sinful between her legs, his hair dishevelled and dripping rivulets of water down his neck and shoulders. 

Her breath hitched at the feeling of his lips against her, the soft tickle of his moustache over the sensitive skin at the peak of her thighs. “Ohhh…”

His eyes were locked on hers. He parted her with his fingers, dipped his head, and —

Thump-thump-thump.

Of course there was someone at the door. 

Amina heaved a massive sigh and dragged her hands through her hair in exasperation. She’d seen Emmrich annoyed before - or at least she thought she had - but the look on his face now was one of primly murderous intent: the face of a man whose nearly boundless patience was being sorely tested in this moment. The expression softened, though, when he looked back to her and said, “I’ll see to it, darling - I shan’t take long.” He placed his lips sweetly against her swollen bud - a parting kiss - before sliding from the bed. 

He quickly donned an elegant paisley dressing gown that he snatched from the wardrobe, and Amina knew he would never have considered helping himself to someone else’s things under normal circumstances, but his clothes were in a filthy heap on the bathroom floor, and while they had all grown quite close during their time together, Emmrich preferred to keep some things private. 

She propped her head on her hand and stifled a giggle as he walked past a shelf, flung out an arm, grabbed a book without looking, and arranged it in front of him in such a way that it concealed his prominent arousal. She couldn’t tell who was outside as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, so she let her head fall to the pillow and rolled onto her back. It was a very comfortable bed: soft pillows, expensive linens.

Terribly comfortable. 

Weeks of broken sleep caught up with her all at once as she fought to keep her eyes open: she was so tired all of a sudden. 

So incredibly, inescapably tired…

If Lucanis had drawn any conclusions about the reason for his state of dress or his wet hair, he kept them to himself but for the briefest arching of a brow as he handed Emmrich the tray of toasted cheese sandwiches and bid him a long and restful night of sleep. Emmrich wished him the same and watched the Crow disappear back down the stairs before retreating into the room and locking the door again.

“Lucanis managed to scrape together–” he looked towards the bed and paused: Amina was sleeping soundly on top of the comforter, her face peaceful and unvexed: a rare sight indeed. Something in his chest pulled as he watched her even, deep breaths, her mouth slightly open as she slumbered. 

He set down the sandwiches and the book very carefully on the console table, not daring to make any noise that might startle her awake before making his way over to the bed and positioning her under the blankets with the same amount of care, manoeuvring her battered and scarred legs so she was covered and warm.

She had such plans for the evening, but as he shed the dressing gown and slipped into the bed alongside her, he was grateful that she had found rest at last: they had the rest of their lives to make love.

The veilfire light in the room was snuffed with a wave, and as he curled around her in the dark, losing himself in the scent of her, he found his own respite in the rhythm of her heart beneath his hand and the unpromised gift of tomorrow.