Black Nerdy Witchy Hippie Chick

Yet tears were for holy men... and, folly though it sounded, Ormund Hightower was a husband before he was ever a penitent.

True or not, he still knelt at the altars of the Starry Sept whenever duty and time allowed. His prayers were measured and humble, his hands clasped just so, his voice carrying the proper weight of contrition. He lit candles to the Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone alike, made his offerings on holy days, and listened patiently whilst septons spoke of virtue, duty, and the burdens the gods laid upon noble men.

Yet for all his devotion, Ormund possessed another passion besides prayer : he had a nose for perfumes.

Not merely an appreciation, but a keen, almost indecent sense for them, the way a hound might scent blood in the dark.

He could name the oils in any lady's hair from three paces, pick apart the florals and the musks and the rare eastern extracts : the smokebark from Qohor, the jasmine of Myr, the crushed petals of the winter rose. And yours, he'd told you once on your wedding night, after he'd spent two hours just pressing his face to the hollow of your throat, breathing you in — yours was the only scent that ever made his cock ache.

In company, when you teased him for it — which part, my lord? which part of me smells sweetest? — he'd play the gallant. Your hair, he'd say, lifting a strand between his fingers, letting the candlelight catch it. Or your wrist. The ladies would coo, your sisters would blush, the old men would nod and call him a devoted husband and you a beloved wife.

But when the door closed.

When the servants had taken the wine cups and the rushes had been swept and the candles burned low in their holders, and you stood before the basin in nothing but your thin linen shift, washing the powder and the perfume of the Great Hall from your skin — then he would tell you the truth.

You asked again, and you always asked, in the intimate dark of your bedchamber when the fire had dwindled to embers and you could feel the weight of his gaze on your back like a hand. Which part, husband?

His mouth would find your neck, wet and hot, his tongue dragging salt and skin and the faint trace of rosewater you'd dabbed there.

Your cunt, he'd murmur against your pulse, teeth scraping. When I'm hungry. He'd pause, breathing you in. Your neck, when I want to leave a mark. Your tongue, when I want to taste how sinful you can be when the gods aren't watching.

He was a man obsessed with perfumes, your husband. But his favorite had always been yours, yes, that particular musk of you, the scent that lingered in the sheets when you'd risen, that clung to the pillows he'd press his face into while you were away at the sept or at market.

That night, he stood at the basin longer than usual.

He watched you through the rippled reflection in the water before he plunged his face in, scrubbing the day's dust and the Great Hall's smoke from his skin. The candlelight caught the water trickling down his bare chest, the dark hair that matted his sternum, the hard muscle of his shoulders. Your husband slept bare every night, had done since your wedding, claiming your linens were too soft for wool and that anyway, he liked the feel of your thighs against his skin.

But tonight he wasn't watching you wash. He was watching you pray.

You were on your knees at the foot of the bed, hands clasped before you, head bowed. The shift you wore was good linen, near translucent in the firelight, falling to your calves and hiding nothing. The outline of your body — the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips, the shape of your cunt pressed against your thighs — all of it visible, all of it offered.

Your lips moved in silent devotion. Seven blessings. Seven thanks. The prayer for a husband's safe return, the one for a fruitful womb, the one your mother had taught you for forgiving a man his sins.

He didn't deserve forgiveness tonight.

When you finished, you made the sign of the seven-pointed star and slipped beneath the furs, settling onto your side, back to him. You hummed — that soft, contented sound you made when the sheets were clean and the bed was warm and you could feel him climbing in behind you.

Goodnight, my lord, you murmured.

He pressed his chest to your back. Skin to linen. The heat of him, still damp from the basin, seeping through the thin fabric. His cock was already half-hard against the curve of your ass, and you didn't flinch.

Goodnight, my love.

His mouth found your neck. A kiss, soft at first, then wetter, slower, his teeth grazing the tendon that ran from your ear to your shoulder. His palm spread flat on your belly, fingers splayed, just resting.

You didn't move.

Instead you pushed back into him. A slow, deliberate arch of your spine, pushing your ass against his cock, your back bowing until your shoulders pressed his chest and your hips cradled him. Your eyes were still closed. A faint smirk touched your lips.

He groaned. The sound was rough, dragged from somewhere deep, and he bit your earlobe for it.

Minx.

His hand slipped, down from your belly, across the linen, gathering the hem of your shift and pulling it up your thighs. Slow. Deliberate. The fabric whispered against your skin, bunching around your hips, leaving you bare from the waist down.

His fingers found the thatch of dark hair between your legs. He touched it first — just touched, just felt the coarse curls against his calloused fingertips. Then he tugged. Gentle pulls, wrapping strands around his fingers, tugging just enough to make your hips shift, to make you press back against him harder.

Nothing, he breathed into your ear. No smallclothes. No shift beneath the shift. You came to bed bare for me.

You said nothing. Your hand reached back, found the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the damp hair at his skull.

His fingers slid lower.

Through the hair, through the wet heat of you, parting the lips of your cunt with a slowness that bordered on cruel. He found your pearl — that tight, swollen nub hidden in its hood of flesh — and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.

You gasped. A real sound, torn from you, your hips bucking into his hand.

He pressed his mouth to your ear, and he laughed — a low, dark sound that vibrated through his chest into your back.

Oh, the gods would weep to see you now, wife. So pious at the sept. So proper at the feast. And here, in the dark, you spread your legs for a finger and a whisper.

His thumb worked your pearl in slow circles, wet with your slick, while his middle finger traced the length of your slit. Up and down. Teasing the entrance, pressing just barely at the rim of you, then dragging back up to circle your pearl again.

You were soaked. Puffy and swollen and dripping for him, your slick coating his fingers, your thighs trembling where they pressed together around his hand.

He kept whispering.

You think the septon knows? When he gives you the seven blessings and you lower your eyes so demurely — you think he knows your cunt is this wet? That you knelt at the altar this morning with your thighs pressed tight to keep my seed from running down your leg?

Two fingers. He pushed them into you without warning, without prelude, just the sudden, slick slide of them burying to the knuckle in your heat.

You cried out. Not loud — bitten off, swallowed, your hand clapping over your own mouth as his fingers curled inside you.

His other hand clamped over yours, pulling it away, lacing his fingers through yours and pressing your palm flat to the mattress.

No, he said. I want to hear you.

He fucked you with his fingers. There was no other word for it — the wet, obscene squash of his hand moving between your thighs, the rhythm of it, the way he curled his fingers to find that spot inside you that made your vision white at the edges. Your hips moved with him, pushing back to meet every thrust, your mouth open against the pillow, your moans muffled into the feathers.

That's it. That's my wife. His voice was wrecked, ragged. You take my fingers so well, love. What will you take next?

The sound of it filled the quiet room. The wet slap of his hand, the rhythm of his breathing, the broken sounds you made beneath him. He fucked you with three fingers now, stretching you open, his thumb pressing hard on your pearl while his teeth found your shoulder and bit down — just enough to mark, just enough to make you gasp.

You taste like honey and sin, he murmured against the bite mark. And I am the hungriest man in the Reach.

The squash of his wet hand. The stutter of your breath. The way you whispered his name, broken and desperate, as he pushed you closer and closer to that edge.

Come for me, he said. Let the whole of the Hightower know what a sinful little wife I have.

And in the dark of your bedchamber, with the prayers still warm on your lips and his fingers buried deep inside you, you did.

He was not finished.

The thought came to you through the haze, through the aftershocks still pulsing through your thighs, through the wet sound of your own breathing as you lay there, limp and shattered, your cunt still clenching around nothing. You thought perhaps he would roll off, would press a kiss to your shoulder and settle against your back, would whisper some sweet nothing and fall asleep with his nose pressed to your hair.

But Ormund Hightower was not a man who took one meal and called himself fed.

He pulled his fingers from you slow — dragging along your inner walls, making you shudder at the loss. You heard him bring them to his mouth. Heard the wet and sinful sound of him sucking them clean, the low groan he made tasting you on his own skin.

Then he grabbed your hip and turned you.

The world spun, furs and linen and candlelight, and then you were on your back, your husband looming over you, his face dark with hunger. His dirty blonde hair hung damp across his brow, eyes black in the firelight, and mouth wet with you.

He kissed you. Oh, how he kissed you.

Not the chaste peck of a husband taking leave. Not the gentle press of a man being tender. This was a claiming — his tongue sliding into your mouth, thick and insistent, and you tasted yourself on him. Salty and musk and the copper of your own arousal. He kissed you until you couldn't breathe, until your chest heaved and your hands came up to push at his shoulders, and only then did he break it, mouths still close, breath mingling.

You taste even better on my tongue, he said. But I want your warmth.

He took off your shift, and then descended.

His mouth trailed down your chin, your throat, the hollow between your collarbones. He paused at your breasts — took a nipple between his teeth, bit just enough to make you arch, soothed it with his tongue while his hand found the other and pinched. Then lower. Over the soft swell of your belly, the jut of your hipbone, the place where your thighs began.

He settled between them.

Your hands found his hair before he'd even reached his destination — fingers tangling in the thick, dark curls, gripping hard. You bucked your hips toward his mouth, desperate, needy, the overstimulation from before still singing in your nerves.

He pinned you.

His hands clamped down on your hips, hard enough to bruise, pressing you flat into the mattress. You could not move, could not grind against his face, could not evenchase the friction you craved. You were held open, held still, held.

Patience, he murmured against your inner thigh. I'll have you when I'm ready.

His breath was hot on your cunt. You felt it — the warm exhalation against your soaked, swollen flesh — and your whole body trembled. You were raw from his fingers, sensitive to the point of pain, every nerve ending standing at attention and begging.

He licked you.

A single, long stroke, from the base of your slit to the tip of your pearl, his tongue flat and broad and wet. You cried out. Your hips strained against his grip, but he held you fast, and he did it again. And again. Each stroke slower than the last, savoring, tasting, groaning against your flesh until you felt the vibration through your whole body.

Gods, he breathed into you. I could die here. I would die happy, with your cunt on my tongue.

He ate you like a starving man.

His mouth devoured you — lips sucking your pearl, tongue fucking into your hole, his nose pressing against your clit with every movement. He groaned against you, the sound muffled by your flesh, and the vibration sent sparks up your spine. He pulled you impossibly closer, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you harder against his face, and you let him. You gave him everything. Your hands fisted in his hair, holding him there, and you rode his mouth with what little freedom he allowed you.

Ormund — His name came out broken, keening.

He answered by pressing his thumb to your pearl — hard, rubbing tight circles while his tongue speared into you, fucking you open, drinking everything you gave him.

You were close again too soon. Too fast. The pleasure was almost pain, the overstimulation building like a fever, and you tried to push his head away. You couldn't. Your hands pulled at his curls but he didn't stop, didn't slow, his thumb pressing harder, his tongue deeper.

Please — please, husband, I cannot —

He did not stop.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, like a wall falling, like the whole of the Hightower crumbling to dust. You screamed. You saw white — a blinding, total whiteness that blotted out the room, the candles, the man between your thighs. Your cunt clenched and spasmed, flooding his mouth, and he groaned against you and kept licking, kept sucking, drawing it out until you were sobbing, until you were pushing at his shoulders with what little strength you had left.

Only then did he lift his head.

His face was slick with you. His chin gleamed in the candlelight, his lips wet, his eyes dark and satisfied. He did not wipe his mouth. He simply looked at you broken and panting beneath him, your thighs trembling, your cunt still fluttering) and he smiled.

But he was not finished.

Ormund reached to the bedside table. His hand moved with practiced ease, finding a small vial of cut crystal, the kind that usually held perfumes and rare oils. He uncorked it with his teeth.

And while your cunt still wept with your peak, he gathered it.

His fingers slid into you again — gentle this time, coaxing, milking your orgasm as it ebbed. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he held the vial beneath you, watched as your own wetness trickled down his fingers and into the crystal. Drop by drop. The vial filled with your slick, pale and thick in the candlelight, and he watched it with the same reverence he gave the seven-pointed star.

When the vial was full, he corked it. Set it back on the bedside table. Returned his gaze to you.

You opened your mouth — to tease him, perhaps. To ask if he meant to wear your scent to court tomorrow, or if he planned to anoint himself before the septon. You were used to his strange ways with perfume, his collections of oils and essences, his obsession with the way things smelled.

But before the words could form, he took you.

His breeches disappeared, and with a single, swift motion — his hand on your hip, the blunt head of his cock pressing at your entrance, and then he was inside you. All of him. In one stroke, burying to the hilt, filling you completely.

Your breath left you in a rush. Your back arched off the bed. His name was a prayer, a curse, a sob.

He began to move.

No more talking, he growled, his forehead pressed to yours, his hips driving into you with desperate, hungry strokes. No more games. I want to feel you come on my cock. I want to feel you milk me dry.

So he fucked you.

Crude as it sound, there was no other word. He fucked you with the same hunger he'd eaten you with, with the same devotion he prayed with, with the same obsession he collected his perfumes. His hips slammed into yours, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, and you wrapped your legs around his waist and held on.

Come for me, he demanded. Again. Now.

And you did. Because you could not help it. Because he owned every part of you, because your body answered his before your mind could catch up, because the sight of him above you (sweating, desperate, beautiful) undid something deep in your chest.

You shattered around him.

He followed a heartbeat later, his groan low and guttural, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into you. Hot and thick, filling you, marking you from the inside.

He collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his face buried in your neck. He breathed you in, a long, shuddering inhale, and you felt his lips press a kiss to your pulse.

You smell like sin, he murmured against your skin. Like heaven and sin and everything I should not want.

His hand found the vial on the bedside table. He held it up to the candlelight, watching your slick catch the glow.

And I want to keep every drop.

He settled behind you like a man coming home.

The shift of the furs, the creak of the bedframe, the warmth of his chest pressing against your back. His arm slid beneath your head, making a pillow of his bicep, and he pulled the covers up over both of you — silk and the heavy quilt your mother had stitched for your wedding. He tucked it beneath your chin with a tenderness that seemed impossible from the man who'd just fucked you into the mattress.

His mouth found your neck. Small kisses, pecks really, soft as moth wings, trailing from your ear down to your shoulder. You felt him smile against your skin.

You were still catching your breath. Still floating in that warm, liquid haze that followed his claiming, your limbs heavy, your cunt sore and satisfied, the ghost of his cock and fingers still stretching you. You felt his softening length pressed against the curve of your ass, wet and spent, and you pushed back into him instinctively.

His hand found your breast. It always did. Every night, without fail, whether he'd taken you or not, his palm would cup your flesh, his thumb would find your nipple, and he would hold you like that until sleep took him. You'd come to expect it, to need it, the weight of his hand a comfort you couldn't name.

But his other hand did not go to your waist.

It slipped lower. Over the curve of your hip, across the soft skin of your belly, down through the coarse hair between your thighs. You were too tired to open your eyes, too spent to question, but you felt his fingers find your entrance — slick and swollen and still leaking his seed.

He pushed inside you.

Two fingers. Slow and gentle, a soft intrusion that made you sigh rather than gasp. He buried them to the knuckle, and then he stilled.

To keep your scent on me by morning, he murmured against your hair. So I can take you with me when I rise.

You hummed. A sound of agreement, or surrender, or simple exhaustion. Your hand found his where it cupped your breast, and you held him there, your fingers intertwined with his.

You were already gone. Already drifting into that deep, dreamless sleep that only a well-fucked wife could find. Your breathing evened, your body relaxed fully against his, your cunt clenching occasionally around his fingers in reflexive, dreaming pulses.

The Maiden herself might blush to hear such thoughts, and even the Stranger would raise an eyebrow, if the tales were true. Yet what were gods and their judgments beside the comfort and joy your husband brought you? Let the septons mutter of sin. Let them wag their fingers and speak of virtue. The Seven might forgive you...

You’d arrived yesterday and stepping off the dock alone was liberating. This must've been what it was like for Dorothy to step out of Kansas into Oz; stepping out of the boring monotony and into a literal rainbow. Pride flags waving in the breeze of the gorgeous June afternoon made you smile wide. Walking past the town hall, the streets were filled with people of all types; elderly retired couples who've probably lived here for years, vendors busking, you smiled big at a beautiful black women trying to entice customers into a restaurant.

You decided to stop and take a quick look the menu. A new city, a schedule of events in your head. Tonight alone you had tickets to a new drag trivia show, "Are You Smarter than a Drag Queen?" And now…dinner plans. You asked the woman for directions to your hotel. Finding it fairly quickly, and walking past a bookstore that you had seen pictures of online. It was once a standard beach shack, nothing more than a place to camp out near the beach; set back a ways from the sidewalk, covered in ivy and wild flowers. You knew inside the books were stacked floor to ceiling. But the bookstore was closed; it would have to wait til tomorrow.

Your first full day had been as fun as your first night. The bookstore was perfect, easily finding a whole bunch of books, including some new plays for next school year. Now, you were dressing for a Pride weekend kick off rave hosted by a club known as the “Red Room” and the theme was Beyonce vs Gaga.

Your new pink dress almost shimmered, matching well with the platform sandals you’d found in a vintage shop. You’d been studying makeup tutorials and decided to go with a slightly Wicked-esque makeup design, pairing emerald green eye shadow with bubblegum pink lipstick. Your trans flag colored fan making a perfect accessory to the pink dress and fake tiara you’d won last night; your knowledge of queer TV/movie trivia proving you WERE smarter than a drag queen.

The club was everything you’d ever thought a gay nightclub could ever be. Low red lighting mixed with flashing highlights in all different colors, bodies pressed against each other.

You were able to get your order to the bartender over the loud remixes of Beyoncé’s and Gaga’s greatest hits. Sipping your drink, you nearly dropped it as someone caught your eye. You weren’t sure if they were a boy, girl, or neither.

Their dark raven hair was plaited on the sides, with a few silver beads in the strands; the rest tucked up into bun. A green mesh shirt revealed a beautiful wolf tattoo that stretched up their arm. It also paired well with what looked like black leather shorts and platform boots that made their already tall form seem giant. Their face seemed to sparkle with a golden shimmer and a slight green highlight to their cheeks. Black lipstick matched their nails and their eyeliner wings were surely sharp enough to cut any homophobe down.

You got a good look as you suddenly realized they were making eye contact and strolling over to you. They leaned against the bar next to you and were pleasantly surprised you were able to hear their deep masculine voice order an old fashioned. Classy. You flashed them a wry smirk which they returned with a wink.

You bit your lip nervously. Sometimes you truly felt like a wallflower, clinging to the sides but once someone saw you, you could bloom. It was just getting started you struggled with.

They leaned in close and were glad you could hear them whisper in a velvety steel voice, “I need a smoke. Care to join me?" You nodded in response. Taking your hand, you found their touch cool, but in a refreshing way. Even more so as the two of you stepped out into the welcoming night air. Bringing the small paper tube to their lips and lighting it, you were surprised to smell not the usual tobacco, but weed. They turned to you

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not so long as you share.” You joked back and they passed you the joint. You took a deep inhale as the alcohol and THC mingled in a wonderful cocktail of bliss.

“My name is Loki," they introduced themselves. You told them your name as you passed the joint back. Taking it, they brought your hand to their lips, pressing a kiss to it.“I actually saw you last night at the drag show. I’m pleased to see you here tonight.” They said. Their eyes sparkled in the street light like two emeralds.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, you were absolutely adorable on stage. And I was impressed at your knowledge of queer media."

“Thank you, kind of a passion of mine.” You admitted, shyly. As much as you found it all interesting, you were used to people rolling their eyes. Loki on the other hand, took a hit from the joint, and actually managing to blow a smoke heart into the air.

“I wonder what else you’re passionate about.” They purred. Feeling a surge of confidence. You plucked the joint from their lips and took the final hit.

“Follow me and I’ll show you.” The two of you descended the stairs back into dance club where your fears seemed to disappear into the darkness while your confident side emerged. Leading you into the crowd, a remix of Telephone blasted through the speakers.

You understood why fans became not just as tools for artistic expression in ballroom culture but helping to keep cool in the tight dance spaces as you started to move your body to the rhythm of the song. Your back to Loki's chest, they leaned in close and their voice was so clear, you'd swear it seemed to echo in your mind "May I touch you, pet?"

You turned your head and nodded at them. Their hands started at your hips, somehow seeming to pull you even closer. Moving up your waist over your soft tummy, their touch was that same coolness from before, which brought its own sweet relief. Their hands just grazing your breast, their teasing touch driving you crazy with desire.

As the evening stretched on, the crowd was treated to a drag queen dressed as in cowboy garb as she danced and lip-synched a mix of Beyoncé’s hits from Cowboy Carter. Afterwards was last call and the crowd began to move out into the street.

“Maybe it’s the weed, or the booze, but I am DYING for a piece of pizza.” You said, giggling. Loki smiled.

“I know just the spot."

Even though Loki was a bit taller than you, the two of you seemed to lean on each other as you strolled up the main street of Provincetown in the glow of not only the streetlights and the moonlight, but the town hall was light up in a rainbow of spotlights.

“Wow, it’s kind of amazing to be in a place so open and …well, prideful.” You joked. Loki chuckled.

“Let me guess, small town?”

“Yeah, is it that obvious?”

“Don’t worry. I actually find it admirable. Your eyes lighting up with the passion and pride inside you.” Your face heated up at their words, feeling not just seen, but admired. “Sometimes in a big city, people can get lost and even being different starts to feel the same.” They explained, then paused and giggled. "That didn’t make much sense, did it?"

"In a drunk way, it did.” You joked back.

“Good.” Loki led you up the block to a place that a neon slice piece of pizza called 'Twisted Pizza'; a tall building tucked on a corner. Inside, 4 different pizzas sat in a display. You ordered a slice of sausage/pepperoni pizza and Loki ordered a veggie; they also insisted on paying.

"My treat for your company." They said, coolly.

The two of you found a bench and sat in a comfortable silence as you ate. The pizza was absolutely delicious; the crust was sprinkled with a hint of paprika, making the tomato sauce seem even more robust with a perfect amount of cheese.

“Gods.” Loki groaned. “Some may say New York has the best pizza, but I’d choose this any day.”

“You sound so sure."

"I live in New York, darling. Trust me, this is better."

“Fair enough. What do you do in New York?” You asked, making Loki pause, their smile seeming to falter for only a moment.

“Oh, this and that. What about you? Surely something of extreme importantance.”

“You could say that. I’m a theater teacher.”

“Ah-ha! A role of great importance. Who do you teach, the bard I’d hope?”

"Of course. He’s a definite, and then I have a rotating cannon of absurdists, and I’ve even introduced theater of the ridiculous to my high school seniors."

“Fascinating.” The two of you sat discussing theater for easily another hour, that is until you started yawning.

“Oh don’t, you’ll get me going-“ Loki said before they yawned. “I suppose it is rather late. Are you staying in town long?"

“Through Monday.”

"Excellent. Are you planning to go to the rally tomorrow, and the parade?”

“Yep! Though I have nothing planned for the evening. The after party for the parade I heard is a little lame.”

“I’ll be at the rally as well and can confirm the party is usually a let down. Would you like to go to dinner after the parade?”

“Sounds wonderful."

Wonderful was an understatement. It was perfect. Even though the clouds threatened rain all day; everything seemed to go off without a hitch. You found a little café to grab a coffee and muffin for breakfast; Deciding to settle in with a new book you'd bought, a script you’d picked up that you were thinking about teaching next year. You watch people, couples, families, crowds ebb and flow in the store fronts and the public square where volunteers were setting up for the rally. It truly filled you with pride, to see a community so colorful and friendly all together.

“Well, hello darling.” You turned. Loki was dressed what looked like a black tank binder, a vest covered in patches, black shorts with fishnets and platform boots. Not to mention sharp black eyeliner, and green eye shadow that matched their dark green lipstick with golden glitter gloss. their hair was partially plated and flowers and beads were tied into the braids.

“Hello yourself, beautiful.”

“Oh this old thing?” Loki smirked.

“It’s very well made, lemme see.” Loki sat next to you so you could further examine their patches. Your favorite was a toss up between one that said “My super power is throwing dildos full of wasps,” and another that said “Going to Hel on a Full Scholarship.”

The two of you talked further until the rally kicked off. A beautiful drag queen in a fabulous pink shirt that matched her hair, and white overalls splattered in paint the colors of the lesbian flag. She read her speech from a clipboard, speaking about trans rights, the history of pride in Provincetown, and how important community and solidarity are in unprecedented times. Her words moved you to tears, and Loki wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you a little closer towards them.

Your heart was racing, being able to be so openly emotional,and Loki made you feel safe to do so. The rally continued as members of the local select board, representatives, and members of the community talked. You were especially inspired by a black woman who read a beautiful poem entitled Lesbians.

After the rally was the parade down through the center of town. You and Loki happily strolled along behind a an elderly gay couple wearing matching outfits that looked like the yellow brick road, with red ruby sneakers. They were pulling a speaker, some of the best queer anthems playing loud, even louder with you and Loki singing along.

The parade lead right into the bar where the after party was held. But just as you and Loki were getting close, thunder rung out from above, and a few drops quickly turned into a torrential downpour.

“Oh shit.” You yelled, hoping not to get too soaked as you held your bag over your head Suddenly, you were sheltered as an umbrella seemed to open magically above you. You weren’t even sure where Loki had pulled from. But you eagerly huddled close to them all the same. You looked up at Loki, who seemed to roll their eyes but smiled.

“What’s that look for?" You asked

“Nothing. I just have to thank someone later before I smack him in the head.” Loki said.

Thankfully, the rainstorm didn’t last long; but even with Loki’s umbrella you could feel that your shoes were soaked, and god only knows what your makeup looked like.

"I think I need to freshen up, so I’ll go back to my hotel room and meet you for dinner?”

“Sounds lovely, darling." They said, voice filled with romantic promise. "Until we meet again.” They pressed a kiss to the back of your hand and strolled off whistling 'Singing in the Rain.'

A nice cook shower helped refresh you from the chill of the rain, and you were happy you’d brought one more formal sundress. An emerald green with matching gold gladiator sandals.

Applying a few spritzes of perfume, you saw out the window that the sun was just starting to dip below the buildings; the remaining clouds appearing purple against an orange sky as the last of the afternoon storms gave way to a rainbow.

The restaurant was a seafood place overlooking the beach. Loki’s hair was hung loose; Black inky waves flowing free but they’d pushed it back on side with a clip of a jasmine gardenia. A white button up shirt, with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up, black suit trousers and shoes helped present more masculine, but with a soft edge.

A friendly familiar greeting from Loki to the hostess resulted in the two of you on a rooftop deck, dining under the sky. Loki pulled your chair out for you, and offered their hand as soon as you both were seated.

"Thank you Loki. Not just for dinner, but for making my first time in P-Town so special."

“It has been my privilege and my pleasure, darling. It’s been wonderful to spend time with such a thoughtful kind soul. My coworkers can get a little…egotistical.”

“Oh really? And what exactly do you do for work?” You noted to yourself that this was the second time you asked. And again, Loki gave pause.

“Oh uh...” Loki's eyes cast downward. But regained their confidence quickly. “Well, I work in public service, as it were. But I’d rather hear more about your work. Teaching must certainly have its ups and downs."

“Oh absolutely.” You accepted the deflection for now, not wanting to push something they might not want to talk about.

The rest of the meal was a romantic, wonderful experience. But every time you tried to ask more about Loki’s personal life, they seemed to deflect. You'd asked them again about their life and instead they redirected back to you, though they did it rather sweetly.

"What would you do if you could do anything at all?" Without a moment's hesitation, you answered

"Open a bookstore café! With a small stage to host like poetry nights, small scenes, a fancy table to play Dungeons and Dragons. And sections specifically for queer and banned books right up front."

"It sounds wonderful. I’ve never played but I find the whole idea interesting. You Midgardians-" Loki paused, biting their lip

"Midgard… wait…you're from Asgard?" With some of the new citizens moving out of New Asgard, you'd had one or two Asgardian kids in your classes.

Loki looked at you curiously, their eyebrows ached. "Do you really not recognize me?"

You studied Loki's face. They weren't wearing makeup, but you still noticed their jaw line looked chiseled from ice. Forest green eyes that seemed to twinkle with golden flecks in the low light of the restaurant. You shook your head, worried you'd upset them.

Loki seemed to sigh, whether in relief of amusement you weren't sure

"I am Prince Loki of Asgard."

Suddenly it all clicked in your brain, your jaw dropping

"Oh..my god..i mean your highness? I mean,oh goodness…" you were suddenly flustered and Loki smiled

"Just Loki is fine from your lips, pet. Though you're simply adorable."

Taking a breath and gathering your thoughts, the first question out of your mouth was "What on are you doing in Provincetown?" Making both laugh

"How about we go for a walk on the beach and I'll explain everything?"

The sun was almost fully set over the horizon, reflecting off the beach to crate a picturesque moment between the two of you. Loki offered to carried your shoes as you walked along the now cooling sand; and you enjoyed wrapping your arms around theirs. Feeling safe and secure, not scared to be alone with them. You'd heard of Loki's vicious attack on New York, but you also had seen them working with the Avengers; helping take out Thanos and save the universe.

"Asgard is rather open; but there's something about Midgard queer culture that is so…fun." They smiled. "Plus, coming out here gives me a chance to hide in plain sight from my brother and his friends. They're not…so awful, I've even gone to New York pride with Barnes and Rogers. But Provincetown is so charming; so much art and culture, vibrant and full of life. Other Midgardians are so…boring.

"Yeah, Loki, they're straight." You teased. "I'm surprised you don't find me boring," you admitted.

"Perish the thought, darling. You're so creative and thoughtful. I'm going to have a talk with Stark. I'm sure there's a school in New York in need of a theater teacher. You'd fit right in."

Your heart swelled at the idea. A big city school, living near the Greenwich Village, art and culture on every corner? It was a dream come true…except…

"I can't, Loki. I have students who need me. I've got students trying to figure themselves out; they deserve to have someone like them in their corner. Someone has to teach them about ballroom culture." You teased.

"I understand completely. Do you think I could at least convince you to come visit me in New York?"

"Perhaps, it's a bit of a trip though."

Loki took your hands. "Do you trust me, darling?" They asked. And you nodded. "Yes, Loki." Leaning in close, Loki kissed you fully for the first time that weekend, their lips fitting against yours so perfectly.

They wrapped their arms around you, holding you close to their firm, strong chest. You closed your eyes as a warm gust of wind rushed around you. Opening your eyes and breaking the kiss, you saw you were standing in a lavish apartment that seemed to combine modern and what you assumed Asgardian culture. A real stone fireplace, but a decent sized TV; a plush looking velvet green couch and a dark wood coffee table that matched bookshleves lined with books of all sizes.

"Is this? Are we…?" You could hardly believe it. You knew Loki was a magic user but had no idea the extent of their powers.

"See for yourself, pet." Loki said, a smirk tugging at their lips as they gestured towards enormous floor to ceiling windows. Rushing over, you looked out and saw you were indeed overlooking New York City. You were in Stark Tower, in Loki's apartment.

"And you should see the bedroom…" Loki purred in your ear, coming up behind you and wrapping their arms around your waist.

"Would you care to show me?" You said back, biting your lip.

Guiding you down a hall lined with beautiful art, some that you weren't entirely sure were just copies of famous works, into a bedroom with a grand wooden four-post bed frame. Green sheets covered the surface, with gold trimming on the pillows and edges of the blanket.

"What beautiful craftsmanship." You breathed. Loki came up behind you, kissing your neck. "And helpful for…other things, if you're into that."

"I've been…curious. You admitted, feeling your face heating up. A few nips to your neck in between Loki's hot open mouth kisses had your knees shaking.

"I can take the lead." Loki offered. "Unless you're really curious about other things. I do have powerful transformation magic." The idea sent your mind reeling, and made your pussy even wetter, combined with feeling Loki's hard cock nudging against your ass.

"Perhaps…another time… Do we need a safe word?" You asked, breathily

"I'll go slow at first." Loki promised. "Let you see everything I do to you, and if you want me to stop at all, simply say frost."

"Yes…my prince." You breathed out, feeling their smile at the crook of your neck.

"I have to admit, hearing that from your lips does make me feel…" they let out a low groan "powerful…." Loki flicked their wrist and you felt the zipper on your dress slide down slowly as they pulled the straps down. Slowly, they let your dress fall, revealing A special lingerie set you'd purchased one of those silly Instagram ads; a black mesh bra and panty set with little rainbow embroidered all over.

"So adorable, my little pet." Turning you in their grip they kissed your deeply, their tongue running against yours, seeking access which you happily welcomed in. Even if your head was spinning a little bit

"Loki" you whispered, breaking the kiss. They let out a low noise to acknowledge you, continuing to kiss your cheek as their hands wandered up and down your frame.

"Is this...just for tonight?" You tried to keep your voice calm and level, not wanting to make more out of this than it might be. But Loki truly had you feeling SOMETHING special. Smiling gently, they pressed a kiss to your forehead before pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

"I promise I will take care of you, however you need, pet. You didn't have to offer your hand, but since I've kissed it, I am at your command."

"Now I know why they call you silver tongue." You teased

"There's another reason, darling. Allow me to show you."

Lifting you, something that you'd never expected possible with your rubenesque form, and plopping you down on the mattress, which you found was soft as a cloud, leaning back against what felt like silk blankets and spreading your legs wide. Loki twirled their finger and suddenly soft ropes slid onto the bed like snakes, twisting in intricate knots to tie your limbs to the individual posts. They flicked their wrist again and slow jazz filled the room.

"Keep your eyes on me, pet. Or I shall prolong your pleasure." Unbuttoning their shirt slowly, then undoing their pants before pulling them down; their cock bouncing free from silk boxers. You were no stranger to toys of all sizes; though you had to admit a busy teaching schedule didn't leave much time to date. But Loki's cock had you trying to clench your thighs, the ties holding them wide open. Stroking it a few times, Loki growled.

"Such a desperate little whore. A perfect toy for a prince." The degrading words only heightened your arousal. Loki knelt on the bed between your legs. Still stroking their cock, they leaned down to kiss your inner thighs, getting closer to your cunt. "Absolutely soaking wet for me. I'm honored."

Licking a long stripe up your slit, your hips pushing up into their face as much as you could against the bonds. A low toe curling moan left your lips and Loki purred in return.

"Yes little pet. Dance for me." Focusing their attention with their tongue and lips on your clit, two fingers from their other hand came up to finger you, sliding in and out slowly. And that chill in their touch seemed even stronger now.

"Is that, your magic?" You panted

"Oh yes, pet. You'll find I'm full of surprises. All of which will drown you in unending pleasure."

Pressing up into your g-spot had you crying out in pleasure; Feeling the pressure of an orgasm build.

"Not so fast pet, I want to feel my cock buried in your warm wet cunt as it clenches me while you cum." Pulling their fingers from you and bringing them to their own lips, they laved their tongue over them. Then they traced them along your stomach in some kind of design.

"This will keep you from getting pregnant until we can discuss that aspect further."

"You…you want kids?"

"Perhaps, but nothing that must be decided now. For now, I want to spend every moment exploring every contour of your soft, pliant form." The words made you whimper in pleasure. You loved your body, but it wasn't always what partners were looking for. Hearing Loki praise your curves, drove you wild. Especially with the bite of harshness. Somehow Loki seemed to push every button you didn't know you had

Leaning over you fully, bringing their hands to fondle your breasts, pinching and pulling your nipples which pebbled instantly at their cool touch. Kissing you again, your longed to wrap your arms around them, dragging your nails down their back. The restraint though was even hotter though. Feeling Loki's strong body on top of yours.

Rubbing their cock up and down your slit, they looked deep into your eyes. "Tell me you want this, my pet. Tell me you want to be claimed by me."

"Yes, Loki. My prince, please. I want your cock deep inside me." You pleaded. Worried your pillow talk sound like some lame porno, you closed your eyes. Suddenly Loki's thumb and forefinger pinched your chin, bringing their face so close to yours that you could feel their words on your lips.

"I Said. Eyes. On. Me." Their lips thundered down on yours, kissing you deeply as they thrust their hips forward. Moving their cock in and out of you, breaking the kiss as you gasped out in pleasure, your toes curling and you pressed your body up against theirs.

"Fuck, pet. Your tight quim was made for my cock. I've been thinking about doing this since I met you in that club. Thought of fucking you against the wall in that alley."

"Loki, fuck… You feel so good. More, please!" You begged moaned. One of Loki's hands moved between your legs, circling your clit and alternating speeds. "Fuck Loki..right there…"

"Trust me darling, I know just the right spots to touch and love. Advantage of having a very fluid partner." Loki's face shifted just a bit appearing more feminine before shifting back. The thought of fulfilling your fantasies only drove your pleasure further. Every moment of Loki's touch pushed you further to climax.

"Loki I'm..I'm gonna…"

"Me too, pet. Can I come inside you?"

"Please please please!" You panted, the idea sounding so hot to you. In a moment, your hips bucked up, your pussy clenching Loki's cock. They gave one final hard thrust and you felt them cumming in you, the warmth spreading and mixing with your own fluids. Loki fucked you through both your orgasms, grunting and groaning.

Finally, your brain started to come back down to your body. Loki's thrusts slowed and they lay on top of you. Their body on top of yours made you feel so safe and secure. Especially since your mind was spinning from all the excitement you were feeling. An amazing weekend topped off with fantastic sex with THE god of mischief. The realization started to make you laugh at how insane it all seemed.

Loki rested their head between your breasts, smiling. "What's so funny, pet?"

"I just had sex with the god of mischief. Whom I met in Provincetown, during pride month. It's just a little wild don't you think?"

"It is, but I think it's also a bit…" they placed quick kiss to your lips "Mischievous." Both of you laughed again before Loki waved their hand and the restraints fell off your arms. You brought them to wrap around Loki as they positioned you to lay on your sides.

"I told you darling. I was rather impressed by your knowledge. I had to meet the delightful little spark I saw on staging voguing to 'Born this Way' You bit your lip, feeling your face heat up.

Part of the show had involved a dance competition with the drag queen. You hadn't danced on stage since high school, but you thought of how you encouraged your students and felt the confidence to dance. Knowing Loki was in the audience, it made you feel seen, in a way you weren't sure you'd ever felt before.

"Thank you, my prince." You pressed a kiss to their cheek. "You've made this a perfect weekend." Suddenly a thought hit you.

"Shit, all my stuff is at the hotel. And check out is in the morning." Loki once again waved their hand and all your stuff appeared in a neat pile in the corner.

"Feel like spending the summer in New York, darling? The pride festival is one of hell of a time."

You reached your car pressing the unlock button several times throwing your work bag in the backseat. The car door boomed as it was slammed shut. Gripping the steering wheel you screamed.

"I HATEEEE IT HERE!!!!" Work was beyond frustrating today and you hit your boiling point by the time 4pm rolled around. You loved your job it was fun. But the people were terrible and made it unbearable on their worst days. You took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down before you went home to Clark. Once you calmed down you pushed your car's start button and started to drive home.

Even the drive home was painstakingly slow, no one in this city could drive worth a DAMN. Your shoulders hunched, knuckles gripping the steering. Mind well past annoyance you were pissed.

You growled as you stood still in traffic for yet another light. This was the longest commute ever. You could feel the frustrated energy escape your mouth as a deep annoyed growl.

Clark turned his head towards traffic and honed his hearing to you. He heard that growl the hair on his arms stood on end. You were mad as a bull. Usually he would run you a hot bath, snuggle you and lay out your favorite dinner to rid of these bad days when you hated your job.

But he had a different idea. He knew your commute home routine down to the second so he got to work. To hopefully make you feel better.

Forty-five painstakingly minutes later you pulled into your apartment buildings parking garage. The concrete numbers gave you relief you were far away from your stupid job with your stupid boss and stupid coworkers. But you were still keyed up with energy that felt like a cinder block.

You grabbed your bag locked your keys and headed to the elevator and pushed the button to yours and Clark's floor.

The bell to the elevator dinged, Clark paused what he was doing as he put the last ice cube in your drink glass.

The front door opened and there was his girl. Your shoulders were up, you had a tired angry look on your face. Despite your tired features you still smiled at Clark as you took off your shoes and set your bag down. You let your hair out of the ponytail you wrangled it into.

"Hi baby."

Clark greeted you walking over with the glass in hand and pecked your lips. You smiled into his kiss. Clark could make any bad day instantly better especially with his mouth.

You smiled at him. And took the drink from his hand taking a sip. You hummed at how smoothe the dark liquid was. It was your favorite.

You gazed at Clark he was so handsome as he smiled back at you biting his lip. You clocked it immediately. He had a question that he was obviously nervous about.

"Your thinking too hard about something Clarky, what's up?" You asked.

"Um, well...I heard you growl from 3 miles away, and scream in the car before you left your job." He told.

"Shit." You spoke.

"It's not a bad thing baby i promise...But i had an idea that might help you feel better if your up for it." Clark told coming closer to you.

You cocked your head in his direction showing you were listening.

"If you wanna let off some steam do it to me...I can take it." Clark offered.

Your mouth dropped open.

"I'm serious baby, punch me, pinch me, scratch me...I can take it all."

Clark knelt down on his knees and looked up at you with the most puppy dog look in those blue eyes of his.

You took another sip of your drink setting it on the table and ran your hands down through Clark's curls. You watched his eyes close softly. You smiled smugly. You'd enjoy this.

"Are you going to be a good boy for me?" You commanded.

"Yes ma'am I'll be a good boy for you. " Clark let out a slow breath.

"Good, go strip and I'll meet you on our bed." Clark stood up kissed your cheek and obeyed.

When you entered your bedroom you felt Clarks' eyes follow you as you walked around your room. You grabbed some comfy clothes out of the dresser and something else that you had in the far back of the dresser. You only used it a few times and every time was amazing. You smiled sweetly at Clark as you went into the bathroom to change.

You came out holding the straps in your hand. Clark shivered. He looked at them then to you.

"We both know you can rip right though these, but your not going to this time. Understand?"

Clark nodded.

"I need words Clark"

"I won't rip the rope ma'am, I promise." Clark told.

"Good boy, back up all the way to the headboard." You instructed.

Clark obeyed. His eyes watched you as you tied each of his limbs to the bedposts.

"Is this too tight?" You asked.

"No, its comfortable ma'am."

"good." You smiled as you took Clark's position on your shared bed right now. Body sprawled out tied like a starfish his head rested on the pillows as he stared at you. In one of his old shirts with your boxers peaking just from under the hem.

He groaned as you ran your nails down his leg as hard as you could. You smiled. Climbing on top of Clark you kissed him roughly while straddling him. He moaned into your mouth while you bit his tongue softly. He groaned deeply at that one.

You broke the kiss and moved to his chest licking his perfect sculpted biceps then you bit him Clark shivered and whined as you did so. You were enjoying this Clark was at your mercy and he couldn't touch you for anything but his noises were melting your anger away with every bite and scratch you left on his skin.

"Harder, please." Clark whined.

You lifted your hand and slapped him as hard as you could. Clark moaned and his cock shook. You felt a warm sensation wash over you. That was hot

"You like that?" You cooed at him getting in his face.

"yes...I like that." Clark moaned.

You hit Clark more and he moaned after each slap it turned you on. You stopped after a while as you sat on his waist. You felt how hard his cock was against you. Clark's face was red as he panted and his chest was too where you just slapped him. He looked so pathetically cute smiling back at you.

Clark watched you slip off your shirt and bra all in one. As you shook them in his face. He smiled dopily opening his mouth while you lowered your nipples down to this mouth. You moaned as he sucked and flicked his tongue over your nipple. Then he went to the other one. He nibbled on your nipples a bit.

"Good Boi..." You praised.

Clark kept going then he went to the other one. And repeated.

Your hands tangled in his dark curls as he enjoyed your breasts. You pulled them away from him Clark pouted at the disconnect. You shook your finger in his face.

"Don't pout, baby." You cooed. Standing up looking down at Clark.

He looked at you confused before he saw what you were doing and he smiled, he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. As you took a seat on his face.

Wet sloppy sounds and moans from you were all that was in the room. Clark lapped at your clit dragging his tongue through your folds, to your hole and back. He bucked his hips up while he ate you out.

"mmm feels good Clark." You mewled.

Your nails scratched at his arms again as he sucked hard. Then you felt a cool breeze down there and you moaned in relief and tried not to giggle. Clark knew you got hot during sex and cooled you down with his wind breath. There were extra props dating Superman and him using his powers for your pleasure was one of them, not that you ever complained about it.

Clark heard your pussy clenching in his ears he knew you were close so he gave it his all getting you there. He was leaking pre cum by now and would probably have to change the sheets after this but he didn't care.

"I-I'm gonna..." You moaned loudly as you came, and Clark drank it down in two swallows. You dragged your nails down his arms as you came.

You climbed off of Clark to grab a water bottle you took a sip and gave Clark the straw so he could have some as well.

You continued your scratching and licking all over Clark's body. As he moaned and did everything you asked of him. He was being such a good boy for you. Your frustrations from the day melting away with every lick and bite. This might be your new favorite activity to let off some steam with Clark.

Every time Clark moans when something feels good you smirk evilly like you know what your doing to him.

oh you knew as soon as you started this and he didn't mind one bit. He'd take the strap burns around his limbs, the scratches, and bites on his chest, biceps, and arms as a reward for making you feel good. He could take it, he could take you letting off some steam. He was superman after all.

After the many bites all over Clark's chest you were satisfied enough. You were both wet enough to continue into the final lap of this.

You took your favorite seat squatting down onto his cock moaning out as you went. Clark's eyes could have rolled into the back of his skull with how good you felt around him. You held on to his chest as you slid up and slid back down getting into a nice rhythm. Clark bucked up helping you.

"Clark!" You screamed. He smiled stupidly again. He was long gone at least a few hours ago.

You rolled your hips faster on Clark. He felt so good, so big, he was so deep every time you went down. You mewled. You both breathed heavily into each others faces as the pace got quicker, faster and defiantly harder.

Clark clenched his fists he promised not to break another pair of ropes but you felt so good around him with every thrust. He heard your heartbeat rapidly and he groaned deeply. The sound made his hips shutter and shake uncontrollably. Then he felt your teeth again on his bicep and he moaned so loud as he came, as you did too.

When you both settled down from your climaxes you untied the ropes. And threw Clark a towel and a pair of boxers. You looked over his body at the many marks you left on him.

"I think i broke a record." You told Clark.

"I think you did too. I counted 50." Clark told turning his arms over. They were starting to heal already.

"So, do you feel better?" Clark asked.

You nodded.

"Yeah, much better. I love you."

"I love you too, baby."

Jack was exhausted. He slumped against his car unlocking it and throwing his bag into the front seat. He checked the time on his phone. A picture of you and him flashing on the screen as he looked at the time. He stared at the picture of you and him. Running his finger over your face on the screen. He had worked two weeks straight without a day off.

He thought about you everyday leaving you good morning texts, I miss you’s, i love you’s, and a few dirty messages as well at ungodly hours. And you having to read them in the morning before you go into work yourself. A few of them made you late for work just because you had a morning quickie.

Monday 12:00 am-Jackie: I wanna pound you against every surface in my home, babygirl.

Tuesday 3:00 am-Jackie: I’m eating this granola bar but im hungry for something else, think you can help?

Wednesday 9:48pm Jackie: Goodnight baby, I’ll be dreaming of you on me all through the night.

Thursday 11:56pm Jackie: I miss your pretty pussy so fucking much… Friday 5:09 am Jackie: send me a voicemail of those pretty sounds that i love so much from your mouth baby.

Saturday 6:40 am Jackie: I miss you baby can’t wait to spend my days off with you, i love you

Sunday 10:58 pm Jackie: check your voicemail sweetheart.

You have one new message from Jack Abbot

You placed your phone on your countertop On speaker as the voicemail played.

“Hi baby it’s 8am I just got home I’m about to pass out for a few hours, But i just wanted to let you know i have the next three days off. And during all those three days I’m going to bury my cock in you every hour, minute, and second of those days. Don't even wear any underwear the only thing I want you to wear is my cum dripping down your legs.

You heard a shuffle in the background and a deep groan followed by Jack’s chuckle.

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. I love you.”

Your mouth dropped and you shivered at his request. How dare he be so sweet yet so filthy all at once.

You packed a few things in your weekend tote bag, grabbed your shoes, phone charger and your keys. Your phone lit up with a message from Jack. As you got situated in your car.

Monday 12:00pm Jackie: I hope you did your stretches today cause baby I'm going to bend you like a pretzel.

You bit your lips and smiled. He was hot as hell when he was turned on. This was going to be a fun few days. You started your car and drove towards Jack's home.

A steamy kiss at the door...and one dangerous look later landed you on the couch with Jack holding the back of your thighs as he bounced you on his cock. Your heart hammered in your chest and you got goosebumps as he slid his hands across your stomach up the valley of your breast as one hand massaged one.

Jack grunted as he kissed from your neck to the back of your shoulder blade. Your head fell on his shoulder as you moaned his name.

"Mmm-feels so good." Jack smiled.

He felt your legs start to tremble. He ran his hands along your legs to where you were connected and rubbed his thumb across your clit.

"Cum, for me." He whispered in your ear. While he nibbled on it.

You mewled and whined softly.

"Come on you can do it..." Soon your walls tightened and you came. Jack stayed inside your pussy till your orgasm passed. You slid off his lap undo the floor his dark eyes followed you.

You looked at his hard cock as it bobbed around then back at him slowly. Jack scooted closer to the edge. You glided your hand across his shaft pumping teasingly. His legs shifted wider because of you. He chuckled.

"Such a tease--babygirl." He smirked.

Sticking your tongue out you licked up his shaft tasting yourself in the process and hallowed out your mouth to take more and suck as you pumped.

"F-Fuck..." Jack gripped the couch cushions.

The salty sweet taste of cum on his cock was just mmm so bad but it felt so good. You moaned happily while Jack was defiantly getting his mind blown. He was getting hard again with every lick of your tongue and suck of your mouth. You got lost in sucking him off, Jack started moving his hips using your mouth as a fleshlight your mouth felt so good to him.

Jack let out filthy moans, groans and grunts quietly. You let out a few yourself. You decided to try something you were curious if he liked it or not. You started to massage his balls softly. Jack's eyes bugged out and he put his hand over his mouth to try and stop the loudest moan you've ever heard. But it didn't suffice. And he moaned your name like a prayer.

Jack's climax came soon after his cum leaking all over your mouth. His moans singing to you. You moved your face and his cum ran down your chest. Jack was breathing heavily trying to catch his breath as you took a breather on the carpet.

Jack laughed like a little kid.

"Holy...shit...your an animal too huh?"

You laughed in return. "Surprise." you sang.

After that session you and Jack took a break to eat food and drink water.

Then another thing led to another as you and Jack left a trail of your clothes all the way to the glass shower in his bathroom.

Jack used your shower cap as a pillow for his forehead as he pounded into you from behind. Your hands gripped the handles in the shower tighter as you were pressed up against the glass.

The mix of moans, running warm water and squelches from you and Jack were enough to send you into another round of curses from your man.

"mmm...right there." you mewled as your voice echoed off the walls.

"You like that?"

"mmhm." You lazily responded.

Jack pulled you back by your hips so your back was flush against his chest as he started to thrust slowly which sent you to an even higher plane of ecstasy. Your hand reached the wall and slid in to his wet hair as you squeezed with every thrust. Soon you both came again in spews of noises. You bathed each other and made out while a mix of cum ran down your legs just as he promised.

You and Jack finished off the night in yet another precarious position this time he folded you in half in a mating press as he stared in your eyes the entire time. Giving you fast thrusts then slow then back to fast. You were both sweating and cum was defiantly in at least 3 rooms in his house by now. But neither you or Jack cared you were just consumed with each others bodies in the most physical way possible.

"mmm...you ready to cum one last time for me pretty girl?" Jack spoke in your ear.

You just nodded not being able to talk over the immense pleasure you were feeling. You had added new scratches to Jack's back over the past few hours, not that he cared he gave you a few bites on your thighs. You matched each other's freak so it was all good anyways.

Jack slipped out a little bit just to wiggle his fingers around in your pussy a bit before returning his cock inside of you. You opened your mouth and Jack put his fingers in. Your legs wrapped around Jack's torso like a boa constrictor as he continued. His head rested in your neck while his fingers played in your mouth.

"Cum on baby... don't hide it i know you've got one more."

you felt the coil in your lower belly one more time wind up and the over stimulation made it even better. You were thrown off your climax in one loud noise followed by a whimper at the end. Jack grunted deeply as his legs trembled as he came one last time.

You both shook from over-stimulation as your nerves bounced around in tiny tremors underneath your skin.

"I'm never going that long without you again."

Jack told in the dark as he drifted off to sleep.

25 Matrinalis

To my dear man,

I was delighted and relieved to receive your letter. I know that you’re able to look after yourself, but still I worry that you may suffer mistreatment while in Denerim. How delightful that Davrin and Assan were able to join you, that does ease my mind. Your journey sounds fascinating, perhaps we should plan a holiday in the summer months, I have missed travelling with you. It’s wonderful that Ferelden is beginning to recover from the blight, the Wardens are truly tireless in their efforts.

You haven’t missed much here, the same tiresome arguments by our fellow Watchers continue apace. I cannot fathom why some of our ranks consider ill-gained political power and subterfuge more important than our duties to the dead. Especially as Johanna has shown us all the cost of untoward ambition, but- I’m sorry, darling. I don’t mean to bore you with more unpleasant Necropolis politics. I’ve been most busy recently with my new students. They seem to be engaged during my lessons, their recent discussions have been quite rousing.

I’m afraid I must confess that I have been preoccupied of late. I miss the loveliness of your voice, your company- your touch. I wake each morning still expecting to feel your warmth. But fret not over my foolish, sentimental heart, my dear. Simply send me more letters telling me of your adventures, and I shall sate myself by imagining that I am by your side.

I love you, darling Winny. Please stay safe, and send Davrin my salutations.

Yours entirely,

E

[a shaky scrawl beneath says ‘hullo Papa!’ with a drawing of a smiling skull]

12 Parvulis

Darling,

It gladdens my heart to know that you’ve missed me, and I’m sure that Davrin hasn’t tired of your occasional yearning. Your visit to the Alienage sounds harrowing, I’m glad that you were able to bring even a modicum of hope to your fellow elves. I hope that you don’t feel too overburdened by the responsibility, my dearest heart. We fought for a safer future and yet remain shackled by a cruelly unjust past. I’m always here if you need to unburden yourself. Simply say the word.

With affection,

E

PS- I hope you received the small package that I sent to you and Davrin, may it comfort you both in the days ahead.

27 Parvulis

Darling,

It was no trouble at all, I saw the collection of sweets and foodstuffs while I was at market and thought that you might like a small reminder of home. I hope that most of it survived the journey. And of course I’m happy to provide distraction. I shall endeavour to make every letter a beacon of light to brighten your days. 

The city is bustling as everyone prepares for the ancestral pageants. I’ve always enjoyed the soft light of the lanterns that envelope the streets, though I shied away from the actual pageantry. Autumn has arrived so quickly, I can’t help but feel refreshed by the crisp morning air when I take my daily constitutional. I know that you aren’t a morning person, darling, but I do think that everyone should see the sun rise at least once.

I took our son around the city streets so that he could feel that same wonder we felt when we were young. I tried to explain my origins to him, my boyhood in Nevarra’s alleys. He asked a variety of questions and seemed delighted by the city and its people (and they him). However, I’m not sure that he truly understood my humble origins. Even the most remarkable of curiosity spirits must struggle with comprehending societal complexities. Despite that, it was a lovely evening. Manfred is always such a joy.

His mastery of advanced spirit calling is progressing most splendidly, you would be proud of him. He has also been tending to your apiary. I think it brings him peace, to be like his papa. I’ll assist him in the coming weeks with gathering honey in time for your return.

I must end this letter here, I’m afraid. The spirit of Beltran, a former colleague and friend, is wreaking havoc in the lower levels. He always did enjoy the odd jape.

Love you,

E

29 Parvulis

Oh darling, I’ve just received your package. What a remarkable find! A first edition of Souhami’s ATreatise of Spectral Transmutation, and in such fantastic condition. You wonderful man, wherever did you find it? It shall have pride of place in my study. I’ll think of you whenever I gaze upon it.

I love you, my dear.

E

PS- Johanna has enquired after you. Despite her customary incivility, I can tell that she misses your company.

10 Frumentum

Beloved,

You mustn’t tease me so. The second month without you has arrived and I feel almost feverish with desperation. You have no idea the spell you’ve cast on me from great distance, dear Winny. 

This is the third letter I’ve attempted to write to you, the others lie unfinished on my desk. My shame was too great to finish them. I’m trying to fill my days completely so that the hours flow as quickly as the Cumber. The worst moments are when I wake and those hours before sleep claims me- all that fills my thoughts is you. I’m rendered quite useless, made sick with impatient, thwarted desire. Shall I tell you of my thoughts, darling? Shall I lay myself bare?

Even now, I clasp my locket containing your lovely portrait. It excites and steadies me in equal measure. Forgive my unseemly coarseness, but there have been countless nights where I have sought relief by gazing at your portrait, prick in hand. 

Have you done the same, dear man? 

To all who see you, they witness the glorious hero, the reserved scholar of the Necropolis. They don’t know the glorious truth of you, my handsome libertine.

My thoughts are filled, not with romance or sentiment, but with lust.

It arouses me to think of our past adventures, when you visited my laboratory and without the faintest hint of shame, fell to your knees. How easily you undid my trousers to take me into your mouth. Even now I can feel the softness of your lips, the heat of your mouth as you took me down your throat. Maker, your heavenly moans still echo in my ears. How I long to wring those moans from you once more, my Rook.

Your eyes glittered like the rarest jewels when you looked up at me, your lips the most wonderful adornment around my length. How I gripped that embalming table as you breathed life back into me! Amongst the proud gazes of the dead, you made me feel alive!

With every thrust into my inadequate hand, I think of you, sweet husband, so lovely on your knees as my hands rest on your halo of curls. I look forward to recreating that moment.

Oh darling, how I long to bend you over and fill you to the brim, to hold your quivering, shining flesh between my fingers as you stretch around me. Do you harden at the thought of taking me deep? Please tell me that you do, describe your ache so that we might share it. 

I want to feel you pressed against me, to feel the movement of limb and muscle as you desperately impale yourself on my shaft. The delicious melody of your sighs taunting me, daring me once more to spill my seed to thoughts of you. I am but your servant, my love. I would do anything you ask and thank you for the pleasure.  

You would be startled, perhaps horrified, seeing the frequency with which I have chased after self pleasure, as though I was once again a young man. It hasn’t lately provided satisfaction. More than once my spend has splashed against the glass of your portrait. And even with such stark evidence of that quiet shame, I can only think one simple thought- that I wish it were your face, so that I may clean it off with my starving, vulgar tongue. 

By the Maker, I’m made hopelessly hard again. I feel possessed, my hand is not my own as it brushes against my straining trousers. If only I could be sated. I shall attend myself and have an early sleep.

I’m sorry, dear husband. Scold me if you must. Punish me if that is your whim. But know that I miss you, and love you dearly.

Forever yours.

E

18 Harvestmere

Emm-

I must say that I was surprised to read the contents of your letter, thankfully I didn’t open it near Davrin. Though I am impressed with your use of ancient Tevene. I’m writing back in kind. 

Don’t you know that you could never scandalise me, husband? Whatever your darkest desire, I’m happy to do it. There should never be any shame between us, only bliss- you told me that in our early days together.

And of course I ache for you. It’s unbearable. There are moments when it feels like you are next to me, holding me tight, as though our spirits have reunited and been made flesh. Such sensations overwhelm me. I barely need to touch my  cock-head before I come to the feeling of you deep inside me. 

I’m inundated with thoughts of fucking. I think of every crypt we’ve fucked in, wondering if this time we’d be caught… perhaps I’ll fuck you in one of the sacred halls once I return, hm? The living and the dead will know that we’re soulmates in carnality. They’ll see how handsome you are when in a dishevelled state, covered in sweat and come. I would do that for you. Simply ask. 

Or maybe you want them to see me knighted by your sword as you drag it across my face, marking me as yours. They would see the desperation in my eyes as I try to swallow you as deep as any courtesan. I would happily be your  scabbard, dear man. 

See, my love- I hold no shame! I’m proudly your libertine, your rakehell.

I’ve already tossed myself off to your letter once today. I will treasure it, Emm. But, oh, you are filthy for sullying my portrait! Now every time you look at it for years to come, we’ll both know about your little depravity. 

Should I provide you with another portrait to better assist with your lecherous thoughts? I know the most exquisite painter who specialises in discreet portraiture. 

I can recline on our bed, barely clad in grave gold and one of your dressing gowns, a hand delicately posed over my erection. Or we can recreate one of our antique paintings and be immortalised in delicto flagrante, our limbs entangled as we lose ourselves to ecstasy… Does that cause a dark thrill? Or perhaps you’d prefer another locket with only a painting of my cock? It would be our secret, a gift for you to keep close and use as you wish.

I love you, Volkarin. I would never think of scolding you, but a punishment seems fitting. Until I return, I don’t want you to have any relief. Cage yourself and remember that you’re mine, and I’m yours. It always excites me to think of you made forcibly chaste. When you next write, wear a plug to help ease your thoughts. And please describe what you’re wearing, I miss being dazzled by your finery, even if it’s simply your dressing gown.

Soon we will be together again, dear husband. I miss you so.

Eternally yours,

Winny

30 Frumentum

You beautiful man, truly we are twin flames! I’ve submitted to your punishment most ardently these last few days. It’s deliciously painful to sit here while stuffed and unable to remedy the heat roiling within me. 

I’ve chosen the brass plug to challenge myself. The slow stretch of it left me gasping, I must admit. I’m still adjusting to its cold weight. Even as I sit here at our tea table, it curves deep into me, obscene in its teasing pleasure. I find myself making the most inelegant sounds whenever my movements cause it to press ever further. 

I keep gripping the table in a failed effort to steady myself, but it isn’t possible when your words have burned themselves into my heart. I’ve submitted to the storm of our shared passion, and yet my erection is half-thwarted, the firmness of the ring around my shaft acting as my jailer. The lightest touch of my leaking cock sends a jolt down my spine that threatens to unravel my resolve.

Promise me that you’ll ride me upon your return, darling Winny. Promise me that you won’t leave my arms for at least a tenday. I can bear the next two weeks encaged if you promise me that. I’m off to bed, once I remove this plug. Hopefully, I’ll dream of your rough, filthy grunts and the heated slap of your arse down my length. 

Oh Rook, how dearly I love you. 

It’s morning now. I’m half dressed and unsure how to best spend this lazy day. I’m in a half tied tunic, my socks and suspenders, and naught else, save for my banyan and plug. You might think me a rather decadent figure in my current state. It’s such a beautiful day, I think that I will take a long constitutional in the park. Shall I be incorrigible and wear my plug whilst I walk? I think I shall. 

I’ve lately thought of tying you up. It has been an age since we last practiced, it’s always such an exhilarating experience. I want to restrict you in the softest of ropes and the most luxurious velvet blindfold, my dear. I’ll kiss each bound limb with utter tenderness- your arms as they’re tied together, your manhood as I encircle it with rope, your shoulder blades as I lower you on your knees. My kisses will descend to the lush swell of your thighs as I spread them wide. Only then will I have you as I want you, unfurled like the prettiest grave flower. 

Would you enjoy that, my dear Rook? Bound, with the most intimate part of your anatomy exposed to my admiring gaze. Trying to continue each slow, measured breath as I taste you. I wonder if you could maintain your composure as I take you- the ropes pressing into your skin with each deep thrust, throbbing with pleasure without the bliss of relief, panting as I lovingly guided you through every movement. 

I would handle you so gently, my dear. Unless you prefer a firmer touch-

Oh, but I am frustrating myself with these reveries! I risk losing the morning if I continue to daydream about our possible congress. I shall do my daring walk around the park, which will allow me to think of you for a little while longer. Then I will dress properly for the day and have a rather more respectable lunch with some old friends.

There are only two weeks left before my beloved husband returns to my arms. I am counting down the days until Manfred and I can welcome you home. 

I miss you, Godwin. Write me a letter before you depart, and I’ll hope for you and Davrin to have a safe return.

I love you, darling man.

-E

[Final letter unsent, left on Godwin and Emmrich’s bed.]

14 Umbralis 

Winny, by the time you read this, it will be your nameday. Manfred and I worked very hard on making you an apple and fig cake. Manfred carefully added your favourite flowers around its edges. He truly is a delightful spirit.

I know that you will be too tired from your travels to celebrate fully, but I will make you something hearty for dinner, followed by an assortment of presents. Afterwards, I’m happy to do whatever you desire, for as long as you desire, even if it’s as simple as reading in bed. I’ve taken a small holiday so that we can spend time together. Our colleagues did not seem particularly surprised.

Every time you travel, I’m reminded how wonderful my life has become due to your presence. I know I’ve said it before, but there was a time when I had unhappily consigned myself to permanent bachelorhood. Yet, we live in an age that has granted us miracles amidst the horrors. And do forgive my relentless sentimentality, my dear man, but your unwavering love is a cherished miracle.

Happy nameday, darling. May our love continue beyond this life. I’m so happy that you’re home.

-Emmrich

As the hero of the Mourn Watch, he was allowed to resume his former life back in Nevarra, his previous trespasses forgiven. With Emmrich’s help, he rebuilt his life, a true watcher once more. Amidst the ever unquiet dead of the Necropolis, he was truly happy.

“It’s time to harvest the honey, and I’ll use some of it for tomorrow’s celebration. Other activities may follow, Maker willing,” he said softly, not looking at Taash. 

He looked over at the small table where Emmrich was preparing his favourite drink, pepper apple tea. It was a reminder of a very different time. He almost sobbed when he drank it a year ago, his memories of home overwhelming him. Emmrich brought a jar into the Fade so that Godwin could be comforted by it when needed. 

It was the moment when his friendly feelings towards the affable professor began to shift.

He cleared his throat. “I discovered as a lad that bees that pollinate Necropolis flowers create a rich honey with unusual flavours. It also has a host of interesting medicinal qualities, which may be an unexpected transmutation from the spirits and Fade magic that permeate the grounds. The wisps have been very curious about my beehive!”

Taash crossed their arms, leaning back in their chair as Godwin spoke excitedly. “Yeah, I’m not having corpse honey.”

“Taash, we’ve discussed your misconceptions about Nevarran customs before, corpses play no part in the process.” Godwin slumped in his chair, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Emmrich placed a cup of tea in front of him. He bent down, kissing the top of Godwin’s head before sitting beside him. Now that Manfred was busy being trained by the Mourn Watch, Emmrich resumed his old tea duties, taking pleasure in the small ritual. 

“Actually, my dear, our burial process may help-” Emmrich noticed Godwin’s pleading look, its meaning clear.

It probably wasn’t wise to publicly discuss his findings on how the decomposition of bodies may enrich the soil, further assisting with the terroir of his partner’s honey. Even though he knew that Godwin would be fascinated, Taash wouldn’t understand, and it would undo all their hard work to humanise their profession. 

“Ahem. I shall disclose my findings later, when we’re alone.”

Taash’s frown deepened, but they chose to let it go. “How’d you even get into this beekeeping stuff, Rook?” Taash asked, attempting to be more polite. It was an ongoing process, but Godwin appreciated it all the same.

“As a boy, my mothers didn’t want me exploring too many of the Necropolis’ lower corridors alone. So they gave me a choice of hobbies. I liked insects, so owning an apiary was ideal.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” Taash interjected.

“If only I’d taken up dragon-hunting as a child,” Godwin replied with a chuckle.

Taash snorted, tilting their head for him to continue.

“There isn’t much else to say. I enjoyed it, and eventually moved my apiary from my family garden to the upper Necropolis. When I began training within the Watch, I was too busy to continue. And once I was encouraged to leave Nevarra, well-”

He couldn’t stop the bitterness that seeped into his tongue, tinging his words. Emmrich clutched his hand, always ready to comfort him. He knew that losing his home had tormented Godwin, becoming a festering wound of regret. It was only just beginning to heal.

“So why’d you start up it again?” 

Godwin gazed at Emmrich, filled with a terrible, depthless need. He often wondered if he could bear the feelings that overcame him whenever he looked at his husband. 

Continuous want twisted through him, cutting painfully through muscle and sinew, threading itself around bone. Sometimes it twisted around his heart, its roots as tenacious as the cruelest blight. Such sharp desire was foreign to him, he who used to feel more mind than man. 

He feared that it would crack him open, expose his yielding mortal flesh and greedy heart for all to see. That it would flow into every hollow cavity until it filled his mouth like blood. 

Could one die from lust, from tender devotion? It must be possible, a rare occurrence that was recorded in the depths of the archives. Perhaps Vorgoth could point him in the right direction.

It kept him awake sometimes, when Emmrich held him close in slumber, his breath soft and warm against his back. He wondered if his adoration would continue beyond him, calcifying in the spaces where his soul once resided, waiting for his lover’s return. 

What would a future necromancer hear if they briefly resurrected him, would his yearning echo from the ether before collapsing under its own weight?

Emmrich- are you there? I want you, I want you, I want-

Godwin’s voice fell to a rough whisper. “It was love. I started again for love.”

———

One year ago, post-Weisshaupt

“Darling, come sit with me.” Emmrich motioned to an austere stone bench surrounded by moon lillies. They’d spent a week in the Necropolis, battling the demons and restless spirits that continued to be attracted to unstable Fade magic.

Godwin followed him, a soft smile on his face. “It always feels like our first time here, when we kissed beneath the lovers’ tomb.”

Emmrich shared his smile, his heartbeat quickening in remembrance. He felt the same way.

“I wanted to give you a gift, Winny. A small token to show my affection.” Elegant, ringed fingers reached out, grasping Godwin’s hands.

Godwin’s eyes crinkled in happy surprise. Emmrich couldn’t help but look at the pleasant curve of his full lips. 

“Oh, Emmrich, you needn’t have done that.”

“I know, and yet it gave me pleasure to do so all the same.” 

He leaned forward, his face earnest. “I know that you miss Nevarra, my dear. I’ve seen your joy on returning to these halls once more. I swear to you, if we survive the onslaught wrought by these abominations, I will ensure your return to the Necropolis.”

Godwin dared not to hope. Hope meant possible heartbreak, and he had to stand firm. “That’s a lovely thought. But it isn’t necessary-”

“No, Godwin.” Emmrich spoke firmly, but with his customary kindness. “It’s entirely necessary. I want you to come home. You deserve to have the life that you worked for. If I could will it from the Fade myself, I would. And, if I may be so bold, I would like you to live with me. If that’s amenable to you.”

Godwin’s eyes were almost golden in the perpetual twilight of the graveyard. They looked at Emmrich, uncomprehending.

“You- you’d like me to move in with you?”

“Of course, my dear. It’s a selfish request, I must admit. Waking with you in my arms each morning has become a treasured indulgence, one that I’m loathe to relinquish.”

He hooked a finger beneath Godwin’s chin, looking longingly into his eyes. Godwin loved the gentle pressure of metal rings against his yielding skin, the indentation of jewels remaining briefly like a ghostly kiss.

He often dreamed of Emmrich seeing him resplendent in his grave jewellery. Would he feel the same keen exhilaration that Godwin felt whenever he saw his lover adorned only in gold?

Not that any jewellery remained. When he travelled with Varric on their search for the Dread Wolf, it became too dangerous to travel so visibly as a watcher. Thieves and mercenaries could be just as dangerous as fiends. With great anguish, he sold everything except the elven ring he was found with as a baby. In only one season, he’d lost his calling, his grave dowry, his identity. He’d even grown used to wearing rags.

Godwin moved closer, his lips brushing against Emmrich’s. Don’t hope, you foolish man. Not yet.

“Nothing would make me happier, my dear Volkarin.”

His eyes fluttered close as they kissed. It felt like the first time, his heart hammering as they held each other, filled with the warm rush of passion that made him feel so wonderfully alive. 

Emmrich pulled away first, though his body screamed to keep his lover close, to not let go. The years collapsed with Godwin near, as though a Fade tear crackled in his heart. He felt like they had been companions for years, so quick was their understanding. His love would last an eternity, and there wasn’t nearly time enough. It made him afraid, so afraid.

“Darling,” he said, his voice made low with unexplored want. “Follow me. Your gift still awaits.”

Godwin looked coyly at him. “I thought that you were my gift, my love.”

Emmrich’s eyes widened, still startled at Godwin's teasing flirtations. Godwin always found it charming how easily he could make Emmrich’s eloquent tongue go still. 

Emmrich chuckled, smiling softly. He kissed Godwin’s cheek. “You wonderful man. Now, follow me, before you lead me to utter distraction. Close your eyes.”

Godwin obeyed, allowing himself to be carefully led to the edges of the graveyard. He hummed a rude Nevarran folk song to amuse Emmrich, a holdover from his more rebellious days.

“We’re here, you can open your eyes.”

At first, all he saw was a dance of wisps, their pulsing blue light relaxing. They seemed to be exploring something.

“An apiary? Emmrich, this is wonderful!” Godwin delightedly inspected the large beehive that stood in front of them. 

It was a brightly painted, tiered structure that reached Godwin’s chest. He remembered a time when the hives were as large as him, giving them a magical, sacred quality. He always felt so protective of them, weeping when some colonies inevitably failed. He dismantled the hive, describing the structure to Emmrich, who listened attentively. 

“This lowest level is the brood box where the queen lays her eggs, these interior frames act as a nursery space for the larvae.” He showed off numerous thin frames. “This screen here separates the queen and her eggs from the honey. I harvest the honey from the upper box.” 

He put the hive back together, gazing at it in admiration. “Oh Emm, you lovely thing!”

He smiled brightly at Emmrich and hugged him tightly. That smile would burn itself into Emmrich’s memory.

“Think of this as evidence of my promise. It will be waiting for you when you return.”

Godwin looked from beneath his lashes, his love plain. The force of it made Emmrich tremble. “Alright, my lovely Volkarin. I’ll hold you to this promise.”

Emmrich gestured emphatically, looking into his eyes. “I shouldn’t say this, darling. It’s unfair, perhaps even cruel. But I fear for you every time that we leave the safety of the Lighthouse. I feel like a jealous lover, fretting about your dance with Death. I fear every night that it will succeed, that you will fall prey to its courtship.”

Godwin looked in anguish at Emmrich’s dark eyes, made glassy with tears. “Please don’t cry, Emm. There’s no need to dwell on unknowable futures. I’m here with you and I intend to stay that way.”

Emmrich buried his face in Godwin’s neck, letting the tears fall. He buried his fingers in the softness of Godwin’s coat. “I thought that my greatest fear was my own demise, but I’m afraid that has been sorely eclipsed by the thought of losing you.”

His thoughts became a fearful whirl. Don’t leave me, Winny, please. I love you dearly. I can’t bury you. I haven’t yet bought your grave dowry.

Godwin rubbed Emmrich’s back, his face resolute. “I promise you. We’ll survive, and I’ll return home. No god or blight could ever keep me from you. I love you.” 

Emmrich wanted to respond in kind. How desperately he wanted to. “I- oh, darling. Let’s move your present. We can have dinner before we return to the Lighthouse.”

Godwin paused, pushing down his disappointment. He knew that Emmrich loved him, that much was clear. He could wait for him to say it. He just hoped that he found the courage soon.

———

Now

“You didn’t tell him that you loved him at the end of the world, Emmrich?” Lucanis perched in the pantry doorway, a coffee in hand. “I thought that you were the romantic.”

“You’re one to talk!” Neve called out from his room. Lucanis cleared his throat and fell silent, focussing on his drink. Their relationship had continued to grow, and the pair spent their time between Treviso and Dock Town, helping in efforts to rebuild. The Crows had become a surprisingly welcome sight in Minrathous.

Emmrich looked chagrined. “Don’t you start! It was a strange time, and I was taken aback by the intensity of my feelings. Before that dreadful battle, I was still astonished that he reciprocated my feelings at all. I worried that I might be a burden at a time when he most needed clarity of thought.”

“Even though you asked me to move in with you, and I happily agreed,” Godwin replied. “It’s not everyday that a dashing man asks you to move in with him, and then asks if you want to leave him shortly after.”

Emmrich winced at Godwin’s teasing, still finding it deeply embarrassing. 

Neve peered out, looking at the couple with interest. She and Lucanis glanced at each other. 

“Yes, yes, I know, darling. I’m a fool. However, when you disappeared into the Fade, I-” he exhaled shakily. “Well, after the agonies of those weeks, I knew that I could no longer hesitate. I wanted you to know how much l loved you. I hope that I have more than made up for my past hesitation.”

Godwin twisted his wedding ring. It was a gold band inlaid with a skeleton, a malachite heart at its feet. Emmrich wore a matching band. “Yes, I believe you have.”

They smiled at each other until Taash interrupted by making retching noises. Emmrich looked at them sternly as he picked up his tea cup.

Godwin laughed, they’d fallen back into old habits so quickly. “Yes, well enough about that, we have our plan. Lucanis and Neve are going to Treviso’s markets for dinner ingredients, Bel’s arriving later today with mead and wine, Davrin’s made decor for the party, and Emm and I will bring back ingredients for apple cake and hazelnut torte.”

Tomorrow would mark a year since they defeated the false gods, saving all of Thedas. It was a celebration of their victory and continuing friendship. It was also a celebration of everyone lost along the way, with good food, drink and joyful companionship. But tonight was a night to cook, catch up, and remember their time in the Lighthouse.

Godwin focussed on the eerie sounds of the Fade as conversation continued around him. Magic and displaced materials still floated around the Lighthouse, but there was something else. A strange feeling of contentment that seemed to suffuse the air itself. Perhaps that was the Lighthouse spirit that Bellara once spoke about. It felt comforting somehow, as though they were meant to be here. 

Everyone soon went their separate ways, leaving the Lighthouse temporarily quiet. Emmrich and Godwin travelled to a small graveyard in the upper Necropolis, after a short detour to their apartment to change clothes. Emmrich couldn’t help but smile while Godwin fussed over his beekeeping helmet, ensuring it was well-fastened to his suit.

“You don’t want a bee up your nose, believe me.” It had been a horrible experience that didn’t need repeating.

“Then I will gladly defer to your expertise, darling. I’m not fond of bee stings.”

There was sunlight in this area of the Necropolis, and Godwin basked in its warmth. The graves were ancient and attracted very few visitors, making it perfect for a beehive. Godwin made sure that he went around the graveyard on occasion, speaking to its residents and leaving them small tokens as thanks. 

The partners moved to the apiary, which was crowded with busy worker bees. Emmrich hesitated, he’d always kept a respectful distance from the hive.

“It’s alright, the suit’s linen is thick. As long as you remain calm, all will be well.” Godwin gestured for him to come closer, taking his hand protectively.

“Harvesting honey is simple, really. I’ve perfected a spell to safely move the bees while I collect the frames. Using magic hastens the process.” 

He weaved a spell, creating a hazy, silvery cloud. Emmrich enjoyed watching Godwin perform magic. His hands moved like a calligrapher- economic, controlled, yet with small artistic flourishes. Perhaps it was the last vestige of his rebellious youth manifesting itself through his spellcraft.

“Oh! It has the scent of magnolia!” Emmrich smiled delightedly. What a charming use of mundane magic.

Godwin tilted his head, focussing on his smoke cloud. “The scent calms them, and it’s a flower that’s pollinated by beetles rather than bees, so the poor things won’t be confused.”

They watched as the cloud covered the beehive. The bees slowly started to disperse, moving to the lower levels. Their buzzing changed, the droning becoming almost languid.

“How marvellous!” Emmrich moved closer to inspect the effects of Godwin’s magic. Such teeming life working in their unknowable patterns. And my husband helped to create this little world.

The bees took no notice of him as they flew down into the brood box. Emmrich watched them, filled with a quiet joy. Had he become a lich, would he have felt the same way? Would it have been different, more complex, perhaps?

Godwin interrupted his thoughts. “I’m thinking about selling my honey during the next city pageant. I think ‘Ambrosia by Sr Ingellvar, Volkarin, and Associates’ has a lovely ring to it.” 

He began to work. He opened the upper box, removing a honeycombed frame. He gently brushed off the remaining straggler bees, passing it to Emmrich. 

“Darling, it’s very sweet of you to include me, but it’s not necessary.” Emmrich felt touched by his husband’s thoughtfulness.

Godwin turned, holding a frame. Emmrich could see his cheeky smile through the netted helmet. 

“My love, I was talking about Manfred, he’s been helping me for months in between his classes. He loves having the bees around him. And I have to honour my bees, of course.”

Emmrich softly harrumphed, making Godwin laugh. “Well. I’m glad that he’s enjoying himself, and that he’s continuing to expand his interests.”

Godwin shut the beehive and dispelled the cloud. The bees would return to normal in a few minutes. “Yes, I’m proud of our son, too. Let’s go back, this is more than enough.”

As they walked back home, Emmrich discussed his research into the dead’s role in possibly producing flowers with more potent nectar. As he’d hoped, Godwin was enrapt by his findings, asking if he’d like to speak to the Nevarran Beekeeping Guild.

They continued chatting through the halls, now a normal sight to Watchers and students alike. The senior professor and his scholar husband, former firebrand turned hero of Thedas. They all saw how Godwin looked at Emmrich as the older man enthusiastically gesticulated his points, his eyes filled with loving tenderness. They saw how quickly Emmrich returned the look. They had become mascots of sorts for the more romantically inclined Mourn Watchers.

Once back in their apartment, they shrugged off their suits, happy to be less restricted. Emmrich followed Godwin into their cosy, crowded kitchen, frames in hand. Godwin showed him how to carefully extract the honey, sitting down at the large kitchen table. 

His golden bracelets jangled as he worked, pouring thick, dark honey into a bowl, then mashing the honeycomb into malleable beeswax to be melted later. Emmrich watched as honey dripped from the beeswax into a bowl. And still Godwin worked, humming as he filtered everything through cheesecloth and checked his harvest for any imperfections.

Emmrich couldn’t help but be drawn to his arms, graceful and sinewy, once more bedecked in grave gold. One thin, braided bracelet was a welcome home present from Godwin’s family. Another was Rivaini loot, a gift from his former companions. The others were from Emmrich, who tried to make up for those years they hadn’t known each other, who tried to stanch those early months of overwhelming grief. 

He looked at the gold as armour, a way to keep Godwin strong when he wasn’t there to hold him up. There were still more gifts to come.

Godwin treasured these symbols of love and friendship, including his wedding band, his most treasured jewellery. After a difficult year that followed many other difficult years, he felt himself again.

“There. Now we simply have to wait a few hours and I’ll mould the beeswax for Lucanis.” He’d found some antique beetle shaped moulds he was dying to try out. He pushed back his chair, looking happily at his work. “Would you like to try some?”

“I’d love to. Do you have a spoon at hand?” 

“No, it’s best the old fashioned way.” Godwin took a tiny portion of unused honeycomb and broke it in half. “Extend your hand.”

Godwin drizzled honey onto Emmrich’s fingers. Emmrich brought his fingers to his lips, slowly tasting it. His eyes brightened with delight. It had depth, tasting almost of caramel, with interesting herbal, woody notes. 

“Darling, this is marvellous! I’ve never had anything like it.”

Godwin beamed at the praise. “I’m so pleased that you like it!” 

He looked at Emmrich for a moment, his lips quirking in amusement. “You have a bit in your moustache. Here, let me get it for you.”

He stood and reached for a cloth, gently wiping honey away from Emmrich’s well-coiffed moustache. He paused for a moment, looking at his husband’s smiling mouth, a continual siren’s call. Need bubbled in him again, and he gave in to it, as he always did.

Godwin kissed him fervently, straddling him as he tasted the sweetness on his tongue. He bunched the worn, soft cotton of Emmrich’s waistcoat between his fingers. Emmrich’s eyes widened before they fluttered shut, hungrily returning the kiss. 

His dick hardened as Godwin moaned. There was no greater bliss than this, having his man pressed against him, granting him life with each wonderful kiss.

Emmrich needed more. Godwin’s low moans and clever tongue created a storm of desire within him, one that wouldn’t be easily quelled. He dipped his gloved fingers into the still dripping honey. He pulled away from Godwin and leaned back on his chair, considering him with tilted head and hooded eyes. 

He held his hand aloft, his clear command unspoken.

With an expression of unfettered lust, Godwin sucked Emmrich’s fingers, letting supple leather and thick, heavy rings rest on his tongue. He sucked with gusto, looking deeply into Emmrich’s eyes as he thoroughly lapped honey off each finger with obscene noises of pleasure. It tasted even sweeter this way.

Emmrich’s lips parted as he exhaled shuddering breaths. His free hand reached under Godwin’s tunic, wanting to feel the comfort of his skin. “Well done, my magnificent Rook.”

Godwin’s dick throbbed. He still remembered Emmrich’s praises on the battlefield, the shock of hearing such easy affirmations amidst the bloodshed. It did something to him even then, though he never admitted it. In the months following their victory, Rook gave way to ‘Winnie darling’ and a host of other sweet endearments. 

But when alone, he became his Rook once more. Emmrich’s lovely, brave Rook that so easily yielded to well-placed praise. Deserved praise. Calling him Rook reminded Emmrich of all their first times. The first time Emmrich realised that Godwin’s flirting was sincere. Their first kiss. Their first stolen moment. The first time they'd given in to desire, in this very apartment. 

The first time Emmrich knew that he would live, because he had people to live for.

“Shall we retire to another room, darling? I wouldn’t want to accidentally overturn your efforts.” Emmrich’s fingers traced a path up Godwin’s back. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure. You’re so comfortable. Can’t I convince you to stay here?” Godwin’s hand caressed Emmrich’s cheek as he grinded slowly in his lap. He placed his hand on the wall to steady himself, his breaths growing heavier.

“Oh, you wicked man.” Emmrich’s voice was rough as he grabbed Godwin’s wrist.

Godwin’s amber eyes searched his, thoughtful and serious. “Is it wicked to want my husband?”

Emmrich’s face softened. My husband. Their marriage was new, and the utterance of this additional title still surprised and delighted him. We belong to each other. 

“Perhaps, my dear Rook. What is it that you want?” He kissed Godwin’s palm, waiting for his answer. 

Godwin’s hands contrasted with the softness of his lips. His hands were roughened in travels for his recent research, a comparative study of ancient burial practice in Nevarra and other regions in northern Thedas. His former companions had piqued his interest in discovering when regional death practices diverged. Emmrich found Godwin’s passion for his intellectual pursuits very alluring.

“I’m feeling greedy. I want you to adore me, Emm.” His burr became more pronounced as his voice deepened. “Touch me. Fill me until I can’t hold any more of you. That’s what I want.” 

Emmrich’s brow raised, intrigued. “Is that all? Well, adoring you is as easy as summoning spirits, and much more pleasurable. All you ever need to do is ask.” 

Godwin grinned, playfully kissing his nose. “Do you mean it?”

“Until my dying breath. Now, get up and follow me or I’ll have to put you over my knee.”

Godwin’s surprisingly filthy laugh sent waves of liquid pleasure down Emmrich’s spine. He shimmied off Emmrich with only a small grunt of discomfort. No matter how boyish his face remained or how much Emmrich teasingly called Godwin ‘his young man’, he was almost forty. Aches and pains were more common than they used to be.

They went upstairs, their progress slowed by Emmrich pinning Godwin against the wall, his  pleased smile turning into wonder as he kissed him. He moved from his mouth to the crook of his neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses and possessive bites. 

Emmrich delighted in his smell, the sweetness of his hair oil alongside the cleanly masculine scent of his skin, like a garden on a warm summer’s day. But it was the gentle chorus of sounds wrung from his husbands lips that moved him the most, followed by the deep warmth of his laughter.

“I love you, darling. So very much.”

Godwin looked at him with dazed eyes and parted lips. He placed a hand on Emmrich’s chest. He could feel his heart hammering.

“I love you, too.” 

Though neither considered themselves to be particularly religious, they spoke with a soft reverence that bordered on prayer.

They moved to their bedroom. It was awash in the false sunlight of the upper levels, perfect for the rare lazy day. Like every room in their home, it was filled with books, trinkets and magical ephemera. 

Godwin glanced at their dresser, which displayed the seamless merging of their lives. Emmrich’s pomades and shaving equipment was interspersed with Godwin’s hair products and cologne.  

He turned. His childhood quilt sat in a heap on their large canopy bed. In Nevarran fashion, each pillar had intricate carvings of skeletal figures in artistic poses.

The worn patterned rugs were soft underfoot. They walked past their chaise longue and the small table where they had tea most mornings. Emmrich’s jade tea set, one of the few keepsakes he had left from his mother, still sat on the table from earlier that morning.

Emmrich didn’t follow Godwin’s gaze. He only cared about the man in front of him. He spoke softly. “Remove your clothes, darling. Let me admire you.”

Golden eyes turned back at him. Godwin slowly removed his tunic, revealing his slender frame. His shoulders were broad, his torso decorated with dark scars from old battles. Dark, curly hair trailed down his stomach, disappearing beneath his trousers.

Emmrich’s eyes burned with desire as Godwin slowly removed his well-tailored trousers, followed by patterned socks. Godwin stood for a moment only in his briefs, his smile cheeky. His dick strained against the light fabric.

“Shall I continue?” There was a strained rasp in his voice.

Clasping his hands together, Emmrich gave a small nod, not trusting himself to speak. Godwin shed his briefs and sat primly on the bed, waiting for his husband to follow. He stroked himself as he watched Emmrich, his eyes hooded. He was already leaking.

Emmrich unbuttoned his waistcoat, throwing it aside. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and removed his glove, revealing slender, hairy arms, before placing his rings back on his fingers. He moved toward the bed, but stopped for a moment. 

Godwin’s grave gold shone in the light. They jangled with each slow stroke. The sheen from his bracelets reflected on his skin, making his deep brown skin appear luminous, as though he glowed from within. Emmrich was struck once more by the knowledge that elves were originally spirit made flesh. Seeing his husband in front of him, he didn’t doubt it.

“Seeing you like this makes me rue the fact that I lack artistic ability.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes. Your beauty deserves to be immortalised, darling.” 

Godwin huffed out a laugh. “Hmm. Well, I think that right now, I deserve something else. Come here.” 

With those words, Emmrich moved. He stood in front of Godwin, his expression thoughtful. His gaze flickered down, and he slowly lowered himself. 

Emmrich kissed him softly. “Were there poetry to describe the softness of your lips, dear Rook.” 

He kissed a trail down Godwin’s body, paying rapt attention to every inch of exposed skin. Godwin watched his descent, barely breathing. He pushed up his sliding glasses.

Emmrich dropped to his knees, gazing at Godwin’s dick in adoration. He looked up at Godwin, his eyes wide. “How could I 

be anything but hopelessly devoted to you? My glorious, handsome champion.”

He pressed a lusty kiss to Godwin’s tip, the muted rosy brown reminding him of an orchid variety he once grew. He’d told Godwin of his thoughts once, he had been both amused and flattered at the comparison. 

“And you’re correct, darling. You deserve all that I can give to you.”

Godwin bit his lip as Emmrich went down on him. Emmrich savoured his husband, slowly taking him down his throat. There were many aspects of Emmrich Volkarin that only a select group knew. One was that he hardly had a gag reflex, enjoying the feel of his partner’s bush on his face and their happy cries when he took all of them. This was one such occasion. 

He gasped as Emmrich bobbed on his length, before pausing with a contented moan that vibrated down Godwin’s shaft. For a few delicious moments, Emmrich held Godwin’s dick at the back of his throat, looking up at him from beneath thick, kohlled lashes, his glassy eyes drunk on lust. 

Godwin brushed Emmrich’s hair back, his hands trembling. “Please, don’t look at me like that. It’s too much.”

Emmrich didn’t avert his gaze, not even when he moaned at the weight of Godwin’s length. He always did have to excel at every activity.

He clasped one of Godwin’s hands, moving it in a clear pantomime. 

Use me.

Godwin’s eyes widened. He did as requested, pushing and pulling Emmrich’s head until he found the perfect rhythm that made him clench his teeth and furrow his brow in concentration. Emmrich’s eyes watered as Godwin fucked his mouth, his touch still gentle even as his movements grew rougher.

His fingers twitched in Emmrich’s hair. “Maker’s tits, you feel so good. I’m going to come-”

Emmrich shook his head. Godwin released him. Emmrich slowed down, holding the base of Godwin’s dick as his movements grew softer. He ignored Godwin’s pleas to keep going, edging him at a glacial pace. 

When he seemed certain that Godwin wouldn’t come immediately, he rewarded him by messily sucking his tip and tonguing his slit, earning a series of grateful whines from Godwin.

Godwin fell back on the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. He bucked into Emmrich’s fist as Emmrich licked and fondled the underside of his shaft, dragging his flattened tongue against every vein. Godwin cried out when that thorough attention moved to his balls. It was always heavenly having his husband on his knees. 

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Emmrich stopped.

Godwin sat up, his disappointment obvious. His voice was husky. “Is everything alright, my love?” 

Emmrich stood up and quickly kissed him, his smile reassuring. “Quite alright, my dear. I thought that you deserved more than a fleeting moment of passion. I want you to savour this.”

“Oh? And is teasing me part of your plan?” His thoughts were a jumble, all he could focus on was the painful throbbing of his dick, which glistened with Emmrich’s spit.

“Of course, darling. Consider it a small preview of the joys to come. Now, I simply must remove these clothes.”

He took off his shirt, displaying the still dark hair of his hairy chest. His body had slightly softened with age, though his slender frame meant that  his muscles were still visible. 

He turned around as he placed the shirt in their washing pile, showing off his tattoo. It was a beautiful piece that Godwin deeply admired, spanning the whole of his back. It was an accurate recreation of his spine, scapulae and ribs, with his favourite flowers pouring from his ribcage and falling down his spinal column. The perfect mingling of life and death.

It was all done with a delicate hand, making Emmrich into a beautiful work of art. When they married, Emmrich added another flower, the shroud’s kiss, to commemorate their union. Godwin found it extremely touching.

Emmrich removed his trousers, leaving only his underwear and sock suspenders. Godwin thought that his old fashioned clothing was charming and attractive. He loved that Emmrich took the same care in his appearance that he did in everything else. 

Once Emmrich put everything away, he turned back around. 

Another aspect that few people knew about Emmrich was his love of piercings. It developed as a young man, one of his few thrills, and continued over the decades. His ear was first, common with Nevarran men. His nipples followed, a not uncommon practice amongst a certain set of Nevarran mages. However, only the most dedicated continued to adorn their genitals.

Godwin had been shocked when he first saw Emmrich’s dick, the head decorated with a thick balled hoop. Emmrich called it ‘the king’s piercing’, since it was rumoured that many of the former Pentaghast royals had one. His piercings continued with three barbells along his frenulum, which were blasphemously called ‘Andraste’s Tears’.

Godwin had poked and prodded them, asking him countless questions. Did the piercings hurt? (Yes, but not as much as one might think.) Did they ever snag on anything? (Rarely, I am very careful.) Why did you get them? (As a reminder that I am alive, my dear.) How do you piss with them? (Carefully, sitting down.) How did you even discover this type of piercing? (Darling, I am remarkably well read.) Would it hurt during sex? (Previous partners have found it an enjoyable experience.) Can I have a taste? (I desperately want you to, Winnie.)

Emmrich stood in front of Godwin, a hand on his hip. Godwin took off his glasses, flinging them on the chaise. With a wave of Emmerich’s hand, a flash of green appeared around Godwin’s head. A spectral blindfold covered his eyes. Emmrich bent down and kissed his cheek. 

“I want you to focus solely on my touch and my words. Let me guide you.”

Godwin reached out, his movement uncertain, until he found Emmrich’s hand. “Hurry, Emm. I need you.”

Emmrich didn’t need further encouragement. He eased Godwin onto his knees, making sure that he was comfortable. He enjoyed the view of Godwin’s pert ass as he warmed lube on his fingers. He slowly worked him open as Godwin moaned, shamelessly begging for more. 

There was a time, early on, when Godwin was more restrained about his desires. The perfect gentleman, in and out of bed. But Emmrich soon changed that. He understood that they were twinned spirits of curiosity and passion, all that was needed was a careful, loving touch.

“You’re beautiful like this, darling. That’s it, tell me what you need and you shall have it.”

“I need you inside me, all of you!”

Emmrich stopped his teasing. He also needed release. He cleaned his hands and pulled Godwin towards him, playfully brushing his hand across Godwin’s dick.

“Volkarin!” Godwin cried out in furious desperation. It wasn’t fair that Emmrich had learned how to tease back. He’d never take it so far.

Emmrich entered him slowly, enjoying the squeeze of his pierced head pushing past Godwin’s tight hole. They both shared a shaky, satisfied moan of union. 

“How wonderful you feel, Winnie. Focus on how well you take every inch of my length. I’ll take it slow so that you can savour it as much as I am. You stretch so magnificently.”

Godwin panted at the slow stretch as his dick brushed against soft sheets. 

“My darling man, so sensitive. Shall I move faster? Or shall I continue to worship your lovely bottom with my cock?” He grinned as he slapped Godwin’s ass, before massaging away the painful heat.

Godwin’s eyes widened beneath the blindfold. “Worship, worship’s fine!” His face burned as he heard Emmrich’s amused laugh.

Emmrich held his hips, pushing further. He’d always been content with his dick, not too large, but with enough heft and girth to please a paramore, or friend on occasion. Godwin’s rough grunts and the way he clenched the bedsheets certainly told him all he needed to know.

“Almost there. Your lovely hole was made to be filled, my dear husband.” 

Godwin reached down to stroke himself, but Emmrich took his arm, pinning it behind his back. 

“Ah, behave yourself, Rook,” he said sternly. 

Godwin’s dick throbbed at his commanding tone. He was so rarely stern with Godwin, it drove him wild to hear that hint of haughtiness in Emmrich’s voice. It suited him. 

“Alright, yes, my apologies.” He didn’t want Emmrich to stop again, it would drive him mad.

He swore as Emmrich fucked him, slow and deep. Each thrust dragged his piercing against Godwin’s prostate, an almost transcendent pleasure that made his legs shake.

Emmrich’s groan was wonderfully deep. He remembered when Godwin didn’t allow himself to be on the receiving end, always needing control. He also remembered when he was always the one on his knees, not sure whether his pleas to God were to the Maker or his lover. Now, he had the best of both worlds with his decadent, lovely companion.

“I adore you! By the Maker, you’re perfect,” he moaned as he pulled Godwin against him, wrapping his arm around his chest. Godwin smiled at the sudden contact, he felt anchored once more.

Emmrich kissed his ears fervently, tracing the sensitive, pointed tips with his tongue until Godwin could only cry out brokenly. Those cries turned into curses as Emmrich’s thrusts became rougher. Godwin blindly turned his head back.

“Fuck, oh fuck! Gods, Emmrich!” Godwin cried out. “Oh Maker, yes, fuck me!” Only Emmrich could inspire such coarse words. 

“There it is, that wicked tongue,” Emmrich murmured. “I can only ever do as you ask. You own my heart, dear man.”

Heat spread across Godwin’s face as Emmrich’s hand lightly gathered around his throat. His breaths quickened as Emmrich’s grip tightened, just enough for his rings to press against his skin. 

“My perfect husband. Moan for me again, please. Please, Winnie.” 

Godwin could hear the breathless desperation in his husband’s voice, but he couldn’t see how his coiffed hair now fell damp into his face. He couldn’t see how the muscles in his back flexed and tensed as he fucked his love into him. He couldn’t see the way Emmrich’s eyes shut in pleasure.

Godwin yielded. He moaned, whined and grunted as he was taken. He fell forward onto the bed. The light streamed onto his face, still blindfolded. Emmrich grabbed his narrow hips and pulled his ass into the air for better purchase, stuffing him full until his balls slapped against Godwin’s ass, hot and heavy. 

Godwin’s eyes rolled back. He clutched his quilt, his smile blissful. The room filled with a carnal chorus- the staccato rhythm of their moans and gasps, the steady, heavy sound of their bodies meeting. Their jewellery jangled as they moved together, both men covered in sweat.

“You’re mine, forever. Mine to cherish, to worship. My dearest husband to fuck whenever I wish. Isn’t that so?” Emmrich’s voice deepened, becoming imposing.

Godwin’s voice caught. The pleasure was almost unbearable. The weight of Emmrich’s pierced dick pushed relentlessly inside him, his laddered shaft creating a friction that grew more maddening with every thrust. It was exquisite, Emmrich’s understanding of anatomy. He knew exactly how to dismantle him. How to conquer him.

Godwin nodded furiously. His unseeing eyes watered. Emmrich tutted, swatting his behind with a sharp slap. He held Godwin’s head down.

“Darling, we’ve discussed this. I need to hear that lovely voice.” 

“Yes,” Godwin moaned. “I’m yours, my love. Eternally. Emm, please, I- I can’t hold on.” He felt like he was teetering on a precipice, all he needed was one last push.

Emmrich smiled tenderly, his fingers brushing against Godwin’s dick. Godwin shuddered, his whimper a pretty song. 

“Let go, my husband. I have you.” He stroked Godwin in time with his thrusts, saying sweet nothings all the while. 

Godwin came with a guttural moan, panting heavily as he covered his stomach and Emmrich’s hand with his seed. Emmrich carefully pulled out, still hard. Godwin sat up, thoroughly well-fucked. He lifted the blindfold, making it vanish. He looked at Emmrich, who was beautifully undone, his dark eyes still burning with unquenched heat.

Godwin shivered in anticipation. 

“Lie down and open your mouth. I want you to taste yourself.”

Godwin obeyed, lying on his back and sticking out his tongue. Emmrich thought that he looked wonderfully debauched. He thanked all the spirits in the Fade for the miracles that led to this. He lost his train of thought, grunting as Godwin cleaned the spend off his fingers. Always so eager.

“You’ve done so well, darling. Can you take a bit more?”

Godwin smiled tiredly, kissing Emmrich’s fingers. “Now who’s being tempting? I always want more of you, Volkarin.”

Emmrich uttered a soft hum of approval. He climbed on top of Godwin, kissing him as he entered him slowly, allowing them both another moment of shared bliss. They smiled softly at each other.

“You are rather splendid, my dear Rook.”

Godwin didn’t answer, instead kissing Emmrich’s chest and sucking his nipples until the older man moaned his name. 

There was no more conversation to be had, Emmrich just needed to see Godwin’s face as he fucked him. Godwin wrapped his legs around Emmrich, keeping him deep. His softening dick twitched, he wondered briefly if he’d get hard again.

His grunts were muffled as Emmrich kissed his face and throat with the same ardour as before. Godwin was one of the very few who’d ever seen this side of him, Emmrich the absolutely insatiable, powered solely by lust. 

He fucked Godwin with the singular intensity of a wild animal, or a devout worshipper making an offering. Godwin took it all, both willing prey and sacred vessel. He held on for dear life, demanding more, and Emmrich gave it to him until his sweat dripped onto Godwin’s skin. 

Godwin accepted that offering too, licking the sweat from Emmrich’s face. 

Emmrich looked at him with the same stunned wonder as before. He swore in an antiquated Nevarran dialect that Godwin rarely heard outside the classroom. In a different context, he would have been impressed. 

Tangled together amongst the sheets, Emmrich slowed down, his thrusts becoming jerky. He buried his face in Godwin’s neck as he breathed heavily.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” he said, his words barely more than a sigh. That familiar blinding rush started to overtake him.

Godwin held him tightly. “Come for me, my love. I need you.”

With shuddering breaths, Emmrich came, filling Godwin with his seed. He sagged in Godwin’s arms as his spunk steadily trickled from his husband’s hole. They smiled at each other, kissing sweetly.

“I love you, Winnie. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

Godwin laughed and nuzzled Emmrich’s nose. “I very much did.” He paused. “Emm?”

“Hmm?”

He thought back to the past year, to everything that happened. To the person who remained by his side. “I’m so glad that we found each other.”

Emmrich beamed at him, pushing back a damp lock of silver hair from his forehead. “Oh darling, I am too.”

The pair remained in each other’s arms for a while longer, until the need to clean up and finish preparing became too pressing to ignore.

————

Taash crowed victoriously. “I knew it! You didn’t just look at stupid bees, you fucked!”

Emmrich let out an incredulous gasp. “Taash, that is a deeply inappropriate thing to say.”

Godwin simply shrugged, a pleased grin still on his face as he put down numerous baskets and boxes. “A gentleman never kisses and tells”

“Ha!” they barked. “You don’t have to tell me anything, I can smell it on you. Gross,” they added, wrinkling their nose.

Both Godwin and Emmrich looked a bit horrified at that revelation. They shared a look.

“Please tell me that Bellara has arrived,” Godwin begged.

“Yeah, she’s in her old place with her girlfriend.” Taash jerked their head towards the door.

Godwin took Emmrich’s arm in his. “Well, Emm, it would be impolite not to say hello. Shall we? We’ll speak to you later, Taash.”

Taash grunted, already busy with making their contribution for that night’s potluck. The partners left the kitchen, once again making their rounds around the Lighthouse. 

Bellara was as bright as ever, and speaking with her left them feeling cheerful. She and her girlfriend, a fellow Veil Jumper, seemed well-suited, discussing their latest findings and suggesting that the companions restart their Fade book club. 

After that visit, they helped Davrin put up more decorations in Harding’s room, the plants still as vibrant as the day they left. Emmrich became misty eyed at Davrin’s large carving of Harding, carefully placed on a rustic table. 

They still searched for her, still hoped, but that hope had become a fragile, flickering thing. As Watchers, Godwin and Emmrich had made their peace and honoured her memory by making a small stone garden. Godwin knew that it was likely that the others had quietly done the same. 

Here, at least, it felt like she was still around. He still expected to see her around a corner, just as he did with Varric. His memories felt almost tangible, as though he could reach out and touch them. He’d promised Varric that he’d move on and not become burdened with regret. And he hadn’t, but still. He hoped that some part of them, some echo of their spirit, still existed in this small corner of the Fade. That they’d continue on.

“Are you quite alright, my dear?” Emmrich placed a hand on his shoulder. 

Godwin nodded and smiled, but it was hesitant. “I’m fine, love. This place still holds a few ghosts for me. Or perhaps I can still see all the branching paths not taken.”

“There’s no use in dwelling in the past, Rook. We did the best we could with shit odds. And now, we keep going and make sure the world is better for as long as possible.” Davrin leaned against the wall as he spoke. 

He spoke from experience. After everything, Davrin was given back a life that he never expected to have. He had to relearn how to simply be, without the doomed certainty of a Warden. He settled down in Arlathan Forest to help with the griffons, and reunited with his people. He learned how to be Davrin again.

Godwin fiddled with his sleeve. “I know, old friend.”

“C’mon, let’s go have a drink with the others. We can reminisce about all the times we got blight pus on us.” Davrin laughed at Godwin’s shudder.

“I had to burn all those clothes, there’s no way to get rid of that awful smell,” Godwin grumbled. “It still haunts my dreams.”

“It also destroyed his boots, I refused to let him into the house until he threw them away,” Emmrich added.

“I loved those boots, they were so comfortable!”

Emmrich looked at him askance as they walked towards the kitchen tower. “Darling, you’d stepped in so much blighted matter and darkspawn blood  that it was impossible to determine their original colour!”

The trio chatted as they moved into the kitchen, soon followed by everyone else. Looking around, Godwin saw them all, the people they were, that they might have been, shimmer beneath the surface of who they had become. Davrin was right. There was no other path except the one ahead of them.

But while they stayed in the Lighthouse, they could remember what led them here, what brought them together. They could celebrate and mourn the past in equal measure.

Taash held up their mug of ale. “To Harding and Tama. I still miss them. But it’s ok, I’m going to be ok.”

Bellara gave them a hug and held up a glass of wine. “To Cyrian. He’d be proud of what I’ve accomplished, I think.”

“Of course he would, Bel,” Neve replied. She held up a beer as Lucanis took her hand, her voice soft. “To the lost of Dock Town. You’re remembered, and you’ll be avenged.”

Godwin held up a glass of elderflower wine. “To Varric, and everyone we lost along the way. May their memories and stories continue.” He looked at Emmrich. “Hail the dead.”

Emmrich echoed him. Davrin looked around, and held up his mead. “To the future that we helped to save. If Thedas needs us, we’ll be there.”

The companions cheered to that, lifting their drinks. “To the future!”