#bishop laidir

The simulated mornings in the fade would never get easier on Bishop. The pseudo-sunrise gave no heat, the off-colored glow reminded him more of the coast before a thunderstorm than the golden rays he loved. The elf shrugged his robe closer, trying to keep the warmth of sleep on him as he puttered his way across the courtyard, up floating stone steps towards the kitchen. His mind wandered from the eerie glow of the “sky” to this morning's first few blinks of restless sleep into dim candlelight, supernatural in source as well, but much more welcomed. 

-

Bishop's good eye adjusted quickly, taking in the shadow of the figure he was tangled up with. Sheets wrapped around both their bodies. The taller man still slept, his usually pristine coiffed hair currently soft and natural, gently covering his brows. It took everything in Bishop not to trace over every line, every mark across Emmrich's sleeping face and neck; peppering more kisses like he had mere hours before. He decided against it, the weary mage deserved to sleep like the dead a little while longer. 

Bishop hadn't intended to stay in the Necromancer's chambers that evening, but after encounters with blighted beings the previous day, they had tested the limits of their ragtag guard. Emmrich insisted Bishop use the necromancer's self made disinfectant (a combination of hearth laurel, deep mushrooms, and some kind of enchantment. The smell was a tinge medicinal, sharp with magic, but also earthy); an old Nevarran blend for after working with the undead. The mage requested he personally check that none of their wounds went without care, and Bishop offered the same in turn…. the process had gone much later into the night than intended… 

Now breathing in the remnants of the odd almondy-earthy-magic spiced scent, feeling the warmth of the man beneath him, Bishop's heart fluttered. He was no stranger to the excitement of l̶o̶v̶e̶  companionship, but this was the first time in a long time it made him feel lighter, it was almost dizzying the way Emmrich had enchanted him in such a short time. The elf slowly pulled away and watched Emmrich's chest rise and fall, faintest snore following the rhythm. 

Bishop had been using his chest as a pillow, an intricately stitched pattern of his sleeping gown now temporarily traced over Bishop's cheek. He ran a hand across the delicate indents and grazed the shadow of a beard. Bishop had been too preoccupied with the recent run-ins with darkspawn to care about how his appearance had been the last several days. “Scratchy-” a comment muttered from the quivering lips of the necromancer the night before resurfaced in Bishop's mind and a flush bit his face and ears. He'd have to remember to shave the unwanted stubble this morning, else he'd get an earful from both Emmrich and Margaux about the importance of “self care” again. His niece had been all but too excited to tell the other man all about Bishop's “selfless to a fault” habits - the necromancer instantly joined Margaux in her ongoing battle to get her uncle to take care of himself. Bishop's eye gazed back down to Emmrich, admiring his immaculately thin mustache - a far cry from Bishop's own bushy lip. The candlelight of the study, soft, but enough to see the traces of bruises blooming across his jaw, neck, collarbones - gown hiding even more Bishop knew without a doubt were nested against Emmrich's lily pale skin. He also knew he fared no better. If he was to ask, the marks could be magicked away without a second thought, much like those from the battle the day before were worked out with trained hands. However, a scarf for a few fleeting days to keep the fluttering in his stomach was something the elf was choosing to remain selfish about. It made his chest tight to know without a doubt Emmrich's high collars wouldn’t just be his eccentric fashion choice, but a practical one as well. Echos of desperate pleas reminded Bishop the marks weren't only welcomed but hungrily requested. 

A gnawing feeling in Bishop's mind was trying to signal that this was foolish, that there were more important things at stake and there would be dire consequences for being distracted, but Bishop used a significant amount of energy to tell the wolf to shove it and the thoughts bitterly dispersed. He knew it wasn't all the unwanted passenger taunting those ideas though. Ghosts of his past had trained his heart to be wary. Everything about this c̶o̶u̶r̶t̶s̶h̶i̶p̶  f̶l̶i̶n̶g̶  r̶e̶l̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶p̶  connection had felt more real than anything he'd had in years. Bishop had found that Emmrich treated him in a way where the elf felt not just needed but wanted, and not just for the physical advances, but genuine quiet moments of intimacy, lingering glances, actual caring conversations. It didn't seem like this was only a quick fun thing to relieve the stress of their situation. Bishop was damn near as terrified to define this good thing as he was to take down the Gods of his kinship, but gods if he didn't wish to spend not just this moment but tomorrow and the day after that with the man who had allowed him to feel like himself for a few moments. Selfish, his niece demanded he be more selfish, so Bishop leaned in once more and kissed the temple of the resting man. He wanted this to be more, to be his, to be them together with Emmrich. 

The necromancer stirred from the kiss’ touch and his heavily lidded eyes caught Bishop's, a gentle smile instantly rising from his half conscious face. “Good morning my dear.” 

Bishop almost couldn't bear the weight of how those simple words twisted him even more madly i̶n̶ l̶o̶v̶e̶. The elf's own face bloomed into a giant toothy smile, bracing himself once more as he leaned across the bunk, kissing h̶i̶s the mage.

Emmrich leaned up into the kiss, chuckling at the sweet sight of the slightly flushed elf. Through half-lidded eyes, and though his body was still slow from sleep, Emmrich's teasing tone was quick, “It's with a heavy heart that I must rest a while more before I can go another round so early my dear. Though for you I'd try-” their mouths had barely parted when the necromancer sighed his words, reaching a heavily ringed hand to rest on top the one Bishop was leaning down on.

Bishop instantly turned his head and cleared his throat, the thought hadn't not crossed his mind, but it was going to be another long day and they both needed their energy for fighting for now… “As much as we'd both enjoy that-” Bishop linked digits with the hand that had fallen on top of his and pulled the knuckles to his lips, “-we should probably greet the others soon…” he kissed the rings, glittering like stars on Emmrich's hand, gemstones and ornate designs like an entire galaxy, and gave a gentle squeeze to the hand. “Dream a little longer Em. I will go get us some tea and a nibble and be back soon.” 

“A nibble? Why, Bishop, I do believe we had plenty of that last night.” The quirk of Emmrich's lips, framed by his dark mustache and Bishop was undone. The necromancer howled as Bishop pounced down into the crook of Emmrich's neck and rapidly kissed the mage, their laughter combining into a tender song. 

“Wicked,” Bishop tutted, “You are a wicked man Emmrich Volkarin. And I am powerless against your dastardly ways.” Through the laughter and shower of affection, their positions in the bunk had shifted. Bishop found himself now hovering, his face looking down upon the taller man. Calming from his laughing fit, Emmrich now lay flat on his back, Bishop essentially pinning him to the bed. Bishop could feel him taking in the sights, studying the elf like he was a new theory or spell. 

Emmrich looked up at Bishop like he was the universe. Emmrich's hands slid, with all the confidence of reaching for the stars and hoping to come down with one in your fist. The mage's palms found purchase cupping the elf's cheeks, thumbs running across Bishop's greying temples, curved cheeks, across the long scarred gash that ran a good length through his right eye. Emmrich was solving the equations hidden in his freckles, interpreting dreams from each of his wrinkles. Bishop felt like he was drowning, breathless and afraid, to be the subject of such dedicated and wordless admiration. Seemingly satisfied with his research, Emmrich hummed sweetly and closed his eyes once again,  head nestling back onto his silk threaded pillow. “I'd like black tea if it isn't too much trouble, Love.” His words were a whisper.