Chapter Text
“The carriage is here, ser!”
Rook curses, throwing a look over her shoulder at the maid helping her dress. “Faster, please!”
The young human’s face is flushed red, hair drifting out of her bun, and she purses her lips as she ties the last few strings at the back of Rook’s corset. “I only have two hands, m’lady!”
A second maid enters the room, her expression little better than the first. “Terrible news, miss. Your hounds got into the washing again. I tried to stop them, but those damned beasts…!” She holds out her hands, displaying many pairs of disheveled tights.
“Well, shit.” Rook stares forlornly at the layers of torn fabric. “I have to wear something to Dorian’s party, Brit. He’ll never invite me back if I disappoint him.” Archon Dorian had been quite clear: fancy dress – “something to put the Orlesians to shame” – was essential when celebrating the first Wintersend since Elgar’nan’s defeat. Her layered dress dwarfs her; her curled hair bounces; her make-up shimmers. She is decorated and glamoured to no end, but she has no doubt bare legs at such a party would undo every other effort. “Are none of them salvageable?”
“Well…” Brit pulls up pair after pair of delicate tights, her nose wrinkling at the damage, before her expression brightens. “This pair – ah.” She holds them up in both hands: dark tights to match Rook’s dark dress, completely unmarred save for a very large tear right through the gusset. “Your dress is lengthy enough…”
“Then it will be our little secret. Hurry; hurry!”
In no time at all Rook finally exits the manor. Swaths of fabric cover her, dark blues and greys to represent the Wardens, and she can’t help spinning to set the dress in motion. Her coachman doesn’t look at all impressed, but Emmrich claps his hands from inside the carriage.
“Gorgeous, my dear! Absolutely gorgeous!”
She grins up at him, waiting outside the carriage door for the coachman to open it. “I clean up nicely, hmm?”
“Most impressively so!”
The small door opens and Rook’s smile fades. The carriage is crammed full to bursting with presents, from roof to ceiling and against three of the four walls, each package elaborately wrapped in colourful paper and glittering ribbons. The only space free is the space Emmrich sits in. “These are…?”
“Gifts for the new Archon and his magisters! And gifts for friends; gifts for allies; gifts for maids and servants and on and on.” Emmrich’s smile turns apologetic. “I thought to ride up front with our dear driver. As much as I shall miss your company –”
“Oh!” She frowns, not liking that plan in the least. The carriage ride from her rented rooms in upper Minrathous to Dorian’s palace is a long and boring one, tedious in its twists and turns through streets dripping in history and power, and she’d hoped for a distraction. “But Professor…”
“I understand your disappointment, my dear. I had hoped to regale you with the latest tales from the Necropolis.” He sighs, before hesitantly patting his lap. “I suppose, if it is not too impertinent, we might double up? As it were…”
“It is very impertinent,” Rook laughs. “But if you are willing…?”
“Of course, my dear, of course! More than willing! Hop aboard and we shall be off!”
It takes more effort than a single hop. Her dress isn’t intended to be mashed into a cramped carriage, and she spends a frantic few minutes apologizing to Emmrich as layers of silk and satin blanket him. Eventually she is seated upon his thighs, her dress pulled up all around her, and the door closes. She gives the coachman an appreciative wave – and her maids a cheery thumbs-up – before she looks over her shoulder at Emmrich. Beneath waves of fabric he seems much smaller, but he doesn’t seem the least put-out by it. “Are you comfortable? Truly?”
“Positively perfect, my dear. Ah – there is the question of where I might put my hands…?”
She grabs both bangled arms and wraps them about her waist. “There. Bumpy as this road may be, now I won’t embarrass myself by rattling around the carriage!”
If her brazenness surprises him he doesn’t speak against it, though twin spots of colour brighten his cheeks. “The others shall be ever so jealous. Last I heard, all of them were assigned to one carriage.”
“Oof.” She smiles sympathetically. Taash, Harding, Neve, Lucanis, and Bellara? “Poor Bellara.”
“We’ll drive her to the nearest Eluvian after this ends. Without all of these presents – oh!”
The carriage jolts forward, rattling along over ancient cobblestone, and Rook bounces atop Emmrich’s thighs. His arms reflexively tighten around her and she shifts, attempting to find a more comfortable position –
Something hard rests against her ass.
“See the decor, my dear?” Emmrich’s voice is higher than usual, pushing a level of frantic panic she’s only ever heard from him once before. “The baubles and enchanted candles are quite brilliant, don’t you think? Perhaps a touch gaudy – reds have never been my colour –”
Another bump catches them both off guard, and the something hard beneath her presses more firmly between her cheeks. Emmrich makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and Rook finally catches on.
Emmrich has an erection.
Her first reaction is embarrassment. What terrible timing; what a terrible position; what a terrible thing not to have control over!
Her second reaction is interest.
Professor Volkarin has been a good friend these past few months. A wise teacher, a passionate scholar, and a dedicated Watcher, he’d surprised her with his enthusiasm not just for their mission but also their companions. He cares for the living and the dead – and, possibly, for her…?
It may not be that serious. How long has it been since he felt a warm body close to his? Come to think of it, how long has it been since she had a warm body against her? Not since Davrin…
Another bump, larger this time, and Rook actually bounces. She lands against his erection and can’t stifle her moan, though she throws both hands out to stabilize herself.
“Didn’t think it would be this rocky!” she says, her voice strong even as her heartbeat fills her ears. The professor’s clothed cock rests right against her bare pussy, having found that damned gap in her tights. Excitement sends shivers down her arms and legs, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to rub herself against him. She tries to focus on the view out their window – dark streets with festive lights and oversized ornaments – but the longer they sit the harder the necromancer becomes, and her thoughts turn from distracting herself to wondering. She’d never considered bedding him – he’s old enough to be her grandfather! – but with things as they are, would he appreciate her taking this further? Or is she about to embarrass them both?
Grabbing courage and lust by the balls, she shifts on Emmrich’s lap. Ever-so-slightly, as if trying to get comfortable. His erection twitches as he makes a sound – almost a word, barely a whisper – and Rook bites her lip. Not a clear sign of approval…but her excitement is beginning to dampen his trousers. She either needs to find someplace else to sit or – or –
She squirms. Just a little. A small wiggle of her ass, back and forth, and hears the tiniest moan behind her.
Was that enjoyment…?
Then…
Instead of wiggling again, she purposefully grinds against his cock, rubbing her wetness up and down the length of him. She’s breathing hard now, face flushed by the possibilities drifting through her lust-clouded mind, and she can’t stop imagining what it might feel like when he enters her. To have him slide inside her right there in the carriage, the act hidden beneath satin and silk…!
His moving hands catch her by surprise. Leaving her waist, they find their way under her skirts to glide along her thighs, rubbing against her tights as if warming her. She shows her approval by continuing her grind against his cock, damp patch be damned, and can’t hide her squeak when one of his arms curls over her hip to place his fingers against her bare cunt.
“Oh –” She ducks her head, staring at her massive skirt as if she might see his long, many-ringed hands. Two fingers spread her folds while a third slides inside her, and she shivers as his thumb settles against her clit. “Oh…” Why hadn’t she imagined he’d be good at this? Why had she never considered his years of experience? In seconds – with one hand! – he nearly takes her to pieces, leaving her shaking with one pumping finger and his slowly circling thumb. His mouth settles on her bare skin between neck and collarbone and she tilts her head to the side, moaning low as she lets him play. He's a downright tease, keeping his pace slow but steady, and it isn't long before Rook needs more.
Unfortunately, at this angle even his long fingers can’t delve far, so she gradually begins to rock back and forth, attempting to fuck herself on that lone finger. It feels good – it feels wonderful – but it isn’t enough. It isn’t nearly enough.
Pressing forward against his hand, she leaves enough space between her back and his chest to slide a hand between them. His moan of approval convinces her to keep moving, to be reckless and brazen and foolishly risky, really, but she might have done it even without his moan. The moan simply makes her move faster as she undoes his trousers, shifting her weight to one side so she can pull his cock free. In her hand it feels impressive enough: not the girthiest by any means, but long, long enough that she bites her lip again, and once it’s free she actually plants her feet on the floor of the carriage. She levers herself off his lap for the smallest of seconds, and when she sits again his bare cock rests directly against her folds.
“My dear Rook,” he murmurs, the first he’s spoken since this began. His fingers still strum against and within her, keeping a steady pace that has her panting. “My dear, dear Rook. I – I shall not ask. I would not dare –”
“I would,” she murmurs back, and places a hand on his busy arm. She pushes it away to grind freely against him. With every backwards movement the head of his cock presses a little further into her, in measurements thin as a hair. Little by little she worms her way back on his lap, feeling his cock head gradually spread her folds until desire stamps the last remnants of patience out of her. She levers herself up once again, pausing a moment to properly line herself up, and then sits hard. In an instant his cock head stretches her, parts her, delves deep as she wiggles her ass right against his thighs.
“Oh!”
“Ah!”
“Everything alright back there?” the coachman shouts, banging a fist on the front of the carriage. They lack a window on the front – thank the Maker – but apparently sound carries easily.
“Almost knocked over the presents!” Rook calls, as if she hadn’t just impaled herself on the longest cock she’s ever had the pleasure of riding. “We’re quite well, thank you!”
“Are we?” Emmrich whispers.
“Better than well, I’d say,” she murmurs. “Unless you’d prefer…?”
His hands grab her hips. “Ride me, darling.”
She doesn’t need telling twice! Grabbing the carriage door's handle and the presents beside her, she bounces on his cock with reckless abandon. Each bounce seems to send him deeper within her, and when she angles herself a little differently – back straighter, one hand on his thigh for leverage – his cock head manages to hit something inside her that sends waves of pleasure cascading through her body. She bites her tongue to stop from moaning, squeezing him as hard as she can.
“Here,” he murmurs, and then he’s thrusting, matching her rhythm if not quite her intensity. Again and again he fills her, fucks her, pumps his length into her. A part of her wishes she could see it, to watch this unexpected coupling, but with her dress in the way it remains a wish – or a desire for next time.
For next time! She actually laughs, a breathy sound hardly louder than the quiet plap, plap, plap of her ass against his thighs. From friend to lover so easily as that? They haven’t even finished and she’s thinking of the next round!
Thinking of finishing awakens something new within her, an extra twist to this moment of heady desire, and she bounces even harder.
“Finish inside me,” she gasps, even the mere idea of it forcing her further down her road to orgasm. “Don’t – don’t pull –”
“But the party, my dear. The mess…!”
She twists, still bouncing, to look him in the eyes. His hair isn’t quite perfect; his cheeks are lively with colour; desire glazes his gaze. He’s never looked better. “Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy watching me dance, knowing your mess is dripping down my thighs…?” His eyes widen as his mouth forms a perfect circle, and she laughs again. “I thought not.” She lowers her voice. “Come inside me, Professor. Please.”
“If – if my lady demands it –”
“Do you like it when I call you that? Professor?”
It’s his turn to give in to a breathy laugh. “You won’t hear me ask you to stop.”
“Good.” She turns back to the front, allowing her mind to return to thoughts of the near future: spending the evening with slick thighs and a secret…and how she might convince Emmrich to clean up his mess. She pictures herself lifting her skirts as he falls to his knees; dragging her hands through his hair as she pulls his mouth twixt her thighs; throwing a leg over his shoulder to keep him there… “Am I your lady, Professor?”
“You are – ah – whatever you wish to be – ngh – my dear Rook.”
She grins. His rhythm is increasing; every thrust grows harder, faster. He’s going to come. He’s going to fill her. He’s going to make such a mess of her, right here in the back of the carriage! With the driver never knowing; with the window open to the dark streets; with them dressed in their fancy best!
And her? Knowing he wants it heightens her drive even further, and she feels her ending speeding towards her even as she feels his cock driving harder and harder within her. She wants to yell, to screech, to beg for more –
She can’t even whisper his name. To open her mouth might give them both away, and so she clamps her teeth shut and whimpers in time to his thrusts. Faster – faster – faster – !
“Rook,” he gasps. A croon, a call, a warning. “Rook.”
She feels him come, feels his cock spasm as shot after shot of warmth coats her insides, and that triggers her own release. Her pussy quivers around him, clenching against his shaft as her body attempts to milk him for every last drop. She throws her head back, closing her eyes as pleasure vibrates through her – and when it finally begins to fade, she realizes his hands have slid inside the front of her dress to cup both breasts. She melts against him, giving a small hoot of surprise as he pinches her nipples. Who would have thought the necromancy professor might be so fond of flesh…?
“That was most unexpected,” he murmurs. “I cannot decide whether to apologize or thank you.”
She squeezes her pussy around him once more, delighting in his sudden gasp, and angles herself to grin up at him. “I believe thanks are more appropriate. And perhaps a promise, if I’m not completely out of line…?”
“A promise?”
She wiggles her hips. “To come back for seconds.”