WIP Whenever: YEP, STILL CHIPPING AWAY
I'd love to have this chapter up during the first week of pride. This is part of my modern EmmRook AU (but starring Dorian), A Night Like This.
Dorian ordered his usual Fereldan beer – the sort that came in a dark bottle with a stylized dog on the label, with an aftertaste of brown bread and bug repellant – which he found very drinkable, to his chagrin. In times like these he needed his alcohol to work bitter and slow; no good-times fruity drinks until he had a plan to sabotage the evening.
“Emm, I’ve had a thought, ” Dorian began, once he thought of something that didn’t involve faking a stomach bug.
“Oh? Praytell!” Emmrich looked up from his phone. Perched precariously on his beaky nose were a pair of gold-rimmed reading spectacles. From his vantage, Dorian could see the vague colorblocking of Bellara Lutare’s profile picture in the WhatsApp chat header. Ah, no doubt seeking a little moral support from his beloved former grad student; she was often the ‘good cop’ to Dorian’s bad. And Emmrich needed a bad cop after Johanna fucked off to whatever conspiracy-driven granola cult had taken her in after one too many Chat GPT sessions…
The sight made him laugh, “You didn’t…”
“Didn’t what? What’s the matter?”
Dorian jabbed a finger towards the offending eyewear. “The geezer glasses. I can’t believe you actually brought those.”
“Of course I brought them. It’s no secret that my eyes have taken a turn for the woolly,” Emmrich shrugged, doffing the spectacles to let them hang by their skull and malachite-beaded chain. “You might consider a pair for yourself: presbyopia is a cruel mistress after forty.”
Never mind that Dorian already had a pair that he refused to use outside of his locked office, it was the literal and metaphorical optics of the thing. “This isn’t – I thought you were worried about looking old!”
“These don’t make me look old!”
“You’re right, you look like a schoolmarm who forgot to wax,” Dorian quipped. “Put those away before someone thinks their grand-dad’s come to collect them.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little choleric about this, my dear? Any – ” He paused for a moment, feeling the shape of those heavy words before opting for a tactful, “ – romantic partner is eventually going to see me wearing them.”
“They’re going to see your prick, too, but I don’t see you whipping that out at first convenience,” snapped Dorian.
“What does that have to do with –”
“They make you look decrepit, full stop, now hand them over!”
“And where praytell, upon your person will you be keeping them?” Emmrich's gaze swept downwards and settled on the suddenly very constrictive front of Dorian's leather shorts, as if waiting for his bits to perform a critically-acclaimed tap dance. An infuriating hint of a victorious smile crinkled the corners of his hazel eyes, “I’m sure they’d look very fetching around your neck.”
Kaffas. The man had the capacity to be incredibly sexy at the most inconvenient times: just like in uni. "I would just keep those tucked away, if I were you."
"Your advice has been duly noted," chirped Emmrich, without a hint of sarcasm. But Dorian could recognize a 'go fuck yourself' in a variety of languages, even Volkarin. He beckoned his bejeweled hand magnanimously, “But do go on, my dear, what was your idea?”
“What if – and don’t take this the wrong way – you tried playing hard to get this time?”
Emmrich’s Silent Movie eyebrows furrowed, “Hard to get?”
“Yes, you know – hard to get. Basic manipulation of the scarcity principle…”
“I know what it means, I’ve just never been taken with the concept,” he frowned. “I’m a staunch believer in people being frank and forthright with their interests – romantic or otherwise.”
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