Necromaniac No 1

Even a brief glance into his beloved's eyes melted him. He was still so young! Rook was barely a young adult; he had his whole life ahead of him. Emmrich didn't doubt the sincerity of his feelings in the slightest—and yet Rook not only accepted his plan—he had even encouraged him not to give up on his lifelong dream. For no one's sake, neither for himself, nor for Manfred, nor for anyone else close to him. What spark from the other side had so steeled Rook's soul with courage? There was more to it than just a sentimental impulse to flatter him. In the past days and hours, he hadn't let a single hint of doubt surface. He was emotional and excited, no question about it, but by no means hesitant. It was pure, sincere conviction with which Rook morally supported him. In his conviction, he seemed as unyielding as the stone from which the gravestones in the Necropolis garden had been hewn. Marked, imperishable, yet speaking so much despite their silence, they lined the path along which Rook and Emmrich walked hand in hand. It was the last day, yet they were in no hurry. Despite the hours slipping away with breathless speed, there was no urge to quicken their pace. Rook and he had come to revel in the here and now. This was where it had begun for them. Their shared care for the graves and the spirits, the shared recitation of the ritual verses of the Mournwatch —and the getting to know each other in the process—had brought them together. It was only fitting that they had chosen this place to bid farewell to Emmrich's life. There it was, the subtle, barely perceptible hint of regret for his own mortality, stirring within Emmrich. Rook had sensed it immediately. That subtle change in the way he held his hand. The warmth and the mortal strength within it would fade, but what would remain forever was the gesture of love that bound them together. Rook stopped and turned to Emmrich, gazing up at him, into those beautiful, sincere eyes, brown and green, which had become the epitome of tenderness to him. "I'm with you," he said, placing his right hand against Emmrich's chest. Even there, he could feel the heartbeat. Beneath the fabric of dyed burial silk, carefully stitched with intricate gold-threaded borders, he felt the warmth of his beloved's body.

"You sensed my thoughts and feelings, didn't you?" Emmrich's frown accentuated the lines of age on his face. Rook loved every single millimeter of them. "Not only that, I share them too. If only I could do more than that. I want to be by your side. Until the very last moment." He took a deep breath. "And after that, too." They pressed themselves intimately against one another. Rook's lips and the tip of his nose touched the hollow of Emmrich's neck; there was a pleasing difference in their sizes, and Rook felt once again an euphoric tingling in his body and soul. It was infatuation that seemed to pull him in every direction, intoxicating him in a way that even the profound rituals of his order and his immersion in the mystical depths of magic could not evoke in him. As if of its own accord, his body reacted, drawn to the one he desired so intensely. His lips made contact, gliding gently over his skin. As he exhaled, a fragile sigh, his breath mingled with the fine pores, allowing the remaining traces of Emmrich's captivating perfume to rise to his nose. This aroma alone seduced him anew, effortlessly overcoming the barrier of his reason, as if an athlete had cleared three steps in perfect superiority. “Oh, my Darling!” Emmrich whispered, wrapping his arms around the chest of him, his hands searching for a place to claw into, letting himself fall down the spiral of never-ending instinct to hold, to own, to possess the one and only man his love had grown into. Like a beautiful plant would have been buried deep into the soil of existence, just to break to the surface, shine in its growth, becoming stronger with every day of rain or sunshine, leaning against the harsh winds of life. Until it became a force of its own, its blossoms the very essence of beauty itself.

Yuriel nestled close to Emmrich, feeling his breath quicken. This wasn't an embrace to find peace. Quite the opposite; the mere fact that they clung to each other was enough to intoxicate them both. Why did this consuming desire refuse to subside for even a single second? "Look at us, my love. We're like two swans who never want to leave their pond." "A swan?" Yuriel asked, his hand slid through Emmrich's hair, down his elegantly shaped neck, and finally resting on his back. Emmrich nodded, caressing Yuriel's neck, his slightly moist lips sliding up his throat until they reached his mouth. It moved Emmrich to feel that Yuriel's lips were still throbbing and swollen in a strangely beautiful way, from all the unspeakably wonderful things he had done to him during the past night. "So faithful and graceful, destined for each other—and beautiful, swan-like." He kissed him, whispering his poetic words to his beloved. Yuriel blushed at the tender flattery. Emmrich seemed completely unaware that these words amounted to seduction. "You do things to me I never even dreamed of. My capacity for affection has always been limited. And now… as if you hadn't just taken my hand to explore the world, but as if you had lifted me up to the stars." For a moment they paused, looked into each other's eyes, and what they found was deep, unconditional love. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had found each other in the midst of such terrible times. Their feelings for one another were so evident that no words were needed to say.

There could be no stronger agreement than this. For all that would inevitably follow. Emmrich moved first. He grasped Yuriel by the upper arms and pressed him with demanding determination against the monument with the intricately crafted skeletal couple, carved in stone, who would love each other for all eternity in the necropolis. Right here, Emmrich and Yuriel had kissed for the first time. Here they did it again, right in this fateful moment. Probably for the last time as two living lovers. Yuriel wanted it just as much, yet he was overcome by the raw desire with which Emmrich pushed him against the base of the monument. His lips demanded as much as his hands, greedily searching for the most intimate parts of Yuriel's trembling body. "By all good spirits…" Yuriel gasped, willingly opening his legs and lips to everything Emmrich hoped to find on and inside him. He didn't doubt for a heartbeat that he would get it all—and that he deserved it. Even more, Yuriel wished he could give him more than just his body. "Will you take me again?" he whispered against Emmrich's cheek, still frantically trying to untie the loops of his trousers. Apparently, Emmrich's hands were too shaky to work effectively. "As often as I can," Emmrich replied conspiratorially, then bit him playfully and greedily just above the collarbone, ensuring that Yuriel wouldn't end the day without seeing marks in the mirror. Yuriel was seized by fervor as he felt the suction on his sensitive skin; it aroused him in the best possible way, finally awakening the bestial desire within him.

With a swift movement, he grasped Emmrich's hips and executed a sweeping half-turn, almost painfully slamming him against the wall that had just moments before supported himself. He grasped his wrists and pressed them against the silent stone as well, but could only extend them far enough so that Emmrich's arms were bent over his head; he was simply much taller than Yuriel. Nothing about this, however, lessened the vehemence with which the elf declared him his prey, right here and now. "I think it's my turn this time," he grinned provocatively at him. Emmrich's eyes betrayed incredible excitement in response to this love-starved counterattack from his much younger lover. "Oh, really?" he teased him, quite deliberately. “Oh! YES!” replied Yuriel. “You can’t get involved with a young, wild stallion and then expect to ride a mare every day.” Yuriel proved that he possessed more muscle than his slender frame would suggest by pressing himself belly to belly against Emmrich, pinning him against the rock. Yuriel’s half-open trousers slipped down a little further. Emmrich found this burning desire highly pleasurable. He feigned resistance with little conviction; it merely served to further spur him on—and thus himself. "Still wild and untamed," he whispered to him. "And wild with desire." "I can feel it," Emmrich smirked, and returned the thrust from his navel downwards. They were both exceptionally hard and throbbing. Devoid of any rational thought, with aimless fumbling they managed to push Emmrich's trousers down far enough that Yuriel had the free angle he needed to press against Emmrich's opening. They still stood belly to belly at the base of the statue, their eyes fixed on each other. Yuriel grasped Emmrich's wrists once more and pressed his arms against the stone. The strength of his grip and his rigid physique spoke volumes about the state of his bursting lust for Emmrich. It was intoxicating.

“Oh, please!” Emmrich exclaimed through his dry throat as he felt Yuriel inside him piece by piece, without knowing what he was actually pleading for. That moment, standing there with trembling knees, surrendering to his lover's body in the middle of the necropolis garden, made a reality of what the necromancer had often secretly dreamed of, always assuming it would remain a lustful, forbidden fantasy in his mind. Here it became reality. Their boundless love for one another made it possible, tangible, deep, and intimate. They moved as a perfectly in sync, both eager to diminish even the slightest gap between them. "My darling," Emmrich sighed at the sensation, and Yuriel responded with a blissful gasp that gradually grew louder. For the first time, it dawned on Emmrich that they might not be alone. This was a frequented spot, both for their colleagues and for visitors from out of town accompanied by a Mournwatch member. It took several more devoted movements before Emmrich had mustered enough willpower to express himself. "We could be sp…" "Let them!" Yuriel replied boldly, even before Emmrich had finished his sentence. Yuriel released Emmrich's wrists and instead clasped his shoulders. Emmrich immediately returned the affectionate embrace, covering his slightly upturned face with many scattered little kisses.

The attempt to address these thoroughly morally charged misgivings had drained every ounce of rational energy from him. It would have been more accurate to say that Emmrich was, in that moment, no longer in communion with his own intellect. A primal, instinct-driven desire had gained the upper hand. As an experienced mage, Emmrich was well aware of the risk that his intense emotions might attract a demon of lust. Even though wizards of every land commonly denied this out of self-preservation—the risk was ever-present. He, however, did not blind himself to this dangerous truth; instead, he possessed a remedy entirely his own for dealing with it: Love. His unconditional love for Yuriel would keep his desire pure and safeguard him against insidious corruption. Nevertheless, the far greater risk here was being discovered by one of the necropolis’s mortal visitors. This game was no longer uncharted territory for them. Who knew how often, by now, they had been overheard or observed during their lovemaking? It was hardly conceivable that they had gotten away with such reckless public behavior unnoticed. And the worst part of it was that they both enjoyed it. No sooner did the thought cross his mind than a tingling surge of adrenaline ignited within him even more intensely. He felt a deep, wanton sensation stir inside him and let out a loud moan. Yuriel simply couldn’t help but reward his overwhelmed reaction with "even more of that." Good heavens—that wasn't all. The elf’s slender, sinewy hands explored him, assuring themselves with gliding caresses that Emmrich’s skin—across his chest and belly—was glowing and throbbing; hot and damp, they bore witness to just how deeply his beloved was soothed by what he was doing to him.

“Is this it, my love?” Yuriel whispered, his voice taking on that wicked timbre he reserved solely for those moments when they coupled like lewd acolytes upon an altar. That tone made Emmrich bite his lower lip—though only for a moment. For as soon as Yuriel let his whispering lips wander downward from Emmrich’s ear and began to suck devotedly at his neck, Emmrich let out another involuntary gasp. In doing so, he was—as the old saying goes—loud enough to wake the dead. The irony in the making… Yuriel’s hands had crept lower down the body. His fingertips—and his carefully filed nails—glided through the trimmed, recently regrowing pubic hair in the lowest region between Emmrich’s hipbones. Yuriel toyed with it, rubbing gently—and in a bid for recognition—with his most sensitive part. The heat was remarkable. Finally, he grasped his fully engorged shaft and tended to the man’s pleasure—a task he understood perfectly through his intimate knowledge of his own body, and for which he found, with confident ease, the golden mean between forceful intensity and playful softness. What Emmrich felt, bordered on sheer bliss. He would have fiercely contested the notion that there was any room for improvement.

Then, however—interrupted only for a brief instant—Yuriel licked his own right hand and proceeded to do exactly what he had done just two seconds earlier; yet this time, it was something more. The warm fluid enveloped him completely, along with the hand that was lavishing such love upon him. It bore a striking resemblance to the sensation of actually being inside someone’s body—inside their very core. Very, very similar indeed. Without consciously directing the movement, Emmrich thrust his hips forward to meet it. Yuriel offered him precisely the resistance that he—beside himself with ecstasy as he was—needed so damn urgently in that moment. He did it so well that Emmrich wanted to beg him to pause for a moment—before it was too late. Instead, he recognized his own hoarse voice cracking as he cried out for more. Emmrich got exactly what he wanted. The exquisite rapture seized him utterly, in all its merciless bloom. Whatever contractions his body—now past fifty—was still capable of, it bestowed upon him with lavish generosity. Fortunately, Yuriel pressed him with his body against the monument, allowing Emmrich to simply let go and relax. With his eyes closed and his thoughts filled with infinite bliss, he let his chin sink onto his lover’s left shoulder. He, too, was breathing heavily, and the sticky, wet sensation covering large areas of their bodies led Emmrich to assume—with a high degree of certainty—that he was not the only one who had just found his release. It was unclear where he drew this certainty from, but in that moment, Emmrich would have sworn that Yuriel was thinking and feeling exactly the same things he was—as if, through the act, they had truly fused together, body and soul. "Let's stay like this," Emmrich breathed to him, and he saw Yuriel smile, even though he had not yet opened his eyes. He could see it without seeing. Never before had he been given such vehement proof that love was pure magic. Neither of them barely noticed how the time of this final night slipped away. Yet they would have no regrets about it, for they spent that time together in the best way possible.

As they clung to one another—belly to belly, arms entwined—voices and footsteps could be heard somewhere nearby. Faint and distant, to be sure, yet no longer to be denied. No word of coordination passed between them; instead, they glided silently and furtively downward—stealthy as secret lovers who would endure every hardship the world could inflict, just to remain undisturbed with one another for a single moment longer. They came to rest soundlessly—Emmrich on his back, Yuriel atop him. Their clothes hung haphazardly upon their bodies, anywhere but where they belonged; yet under no circumstances would they have taken measures to sever that connection at navel-level. Now, all that remained for them was to hope that visitors to the garden would not decide—of all things—to take a closer look at this particular monument—or the graves in its immediate vicinity. Emmrich returned Yuriel’s mischievous grin and tucked a tousled strand of red hair behind the long, pointed ear. They spent the time they waited for the voices and footsteps to recede exchanging lavish kisses—kisses whose intensity was befitting of the situation. When they were finally alone again, they gazed into each other’s eyes with deep affection. “What exactly are we doing here?” Emmrich asked with a chuckle, shaking his head good-naturedly. “We’ve already done all of this. Vows of love, kisses, deep gazes, dramatic farewell sex, ‘bidding-adieu-to-mortality’ sex…” Yuriel, visibly self-satisfied, basked ever more deeply in his happiness with every item Emmrich listed. “We laughed and cleared the air—just in case… We dried each other’s tears; we made love once more.”

Yuriel’s gaze grew gentle as he tenderly stroked Emmrich’s half-bared chest. “We thought we were ready,” he summarized. “But we couldn’t have been more wrong. Oh, Emmrich—how deeply I must love you to let you go to a place where I cannot follow.” “Not yet! Not… yet!” Emmrich emphasized the words strongly, gazing deep into those blue elven eyes. “But I will wait for you, my love! You possess the strength and the will to one day walk the path of the Lich yourself, and finally follow me through the gates of death.” “I will! I promise you.” “And yet…” Yuriel looked at him questioningly. "What is it?" Since Emmrich didn't answer him right away, Yuriel propped himself up on his forearms, lying on his stomach, and crawled a little closer until their faces were level with one another. "Emmrich…?" "My love…" Emmrich began hesitantly, stroking his cheek and tracing the pulse beating visibly in his neck. "You are still so young. Johanna was right about that—you are in the prime of your life. And you have—for all the love you feel for me—the right to a long, fulfilling life of your own." Yuriel regarded him with a frown. He couldn't fathom what his beloved was getting at. "I would truly wait. Yuriel, you could enjoy your full natural lifespan unhindered—and even become a father yourself. For me, those years would ultimately be but a trifle; yet for you, they could be…"