bakerstreet | over a drink

( it must be said:

she has an absolutely absurd amount of hair. so many fine violet strands as to make up a not insignificant portion of her total weight; hair by the handful, constantly worn loose mostly because she’d never mastered anything else and never been as interested in devoting time to that as all of the other interesting things she could be doing with her time. she’s hit as many enemies in the face with her hair as with her blade or orb, but she must be doing something right for how soft it feels beneath his fingers.

it is a subtler gesture than hers, but that doesn’t mean she misses it. athénaïs is so conscious of her personal space at any given time — even as she’s making free with someone else’s — and that hyper-awareness serves her well, her gaze settling on him thoughtfully as her hand settles, linking their fingers and tucking hers beneath his palm. )

What’s that they say about pouring from an empty cup? I don’t know if they scaled for apocalypses, of course.

( probably solas will be in her ear later, yapping about focus. that was probably going to be true anyway. )

[Playing with rings could be seen as idle boldness, a shiny thing catching her eye as she fidgets. Threading their fingers together, holding hands, that says something more, something with intent. Emmrich can't ignore the greater context of this either, the comments she's made of late and the way she's looked at him.

There is a choice here.

It is not a difficult one.

Emmrich relaxes where he holds her and gives her hand a squeeze. There are several responses he could make, and he settles upon the one that is perhaps a little ridiculous, but therefore perfectly suitable for the evening.]

In case of apocalypses, perhaps one must fill their cup all the more when they've opportunity to do so. And if you need assistance in doing so...

( he is quite frankly asking for it when her smile sharpens into sly amusement and she asks— )

Did you want to pour into my cup, Emmrich?

( in a way that definitely would have got them both reprimanded if she’d ever been one of his students. )

[He'd deliberately opened the door to that and he knows it. He knows her enough to be aware that she'd never miss an opportunity quite like that, no less.

Emmrich smiles down at her with mischief and warmth.]

You do seem to have a taste for the more expensive vintages.

[Finer, older, the last one fits the best but he won't give in to his own self-doubt right in this moment. He moves his hand from her shoulder to her chin, encouraging just the right angle so he can brush his lips against hers.

How very, very good she'd never been one of his students.]

( satisfied with her terrible choices — the quip, not the man — athénaïs tilts obligingly as directed, the grip of her hand still entwined with his between them tightening. it is a sweet, even chaste kiss for a moment, and a breath parts them, and when she shifts closer again the second kiss has a decisive thoroughness— she tastes like the expensive vintage only one of them can actually afford, and the sweet she’d eaten at the previous establishment before he joined her, and some other thing that’s just her, probably, magic and elven and individual.

heroically, when they part, she manages not to crack wise about his being expensive. (though it may be too much to hope that she won’t be workshopping the funniest way to retell that, later, when she’s up late drinking something lucanis-approved with neve when everyone’s meant to be sleeping.) )

I know what I like, ( she says, instead, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. ) And what I want.

[The second kiss is much better than the first, though the look in her eyes that comes after says he may have miscalculated with his comments after all. He's not certain how, but it's likely he'll find out one way or another.]

And I am touched to fall into both those categories, my dear.

[Emmrich runs a thumb along her chin, considering, before glancing over toward the counter.]

Shall I pay and we relocate again, or would you care to linger here longer?

( neve may not be able to keep a straight face around him for a solid forty-eight hours. don’t worry about it. )

I like the sound of what relocation might entail, ( she says, after a moment where he might be able to see the wheels turning in her head while she decides whether or not she’s going to argue with him about who’s paying. (he’ll be glad to know: she decides against, but it wasn’t a done deal until the moment she decided it.) ) The Lighthouse, or...?

( the novelty of actually being allowed back in nevarra hasn’t entirely worn off, her complicated feelings about the mourn watch notwithstanding. and she finds herself curious about what emmrich’s own home might be like, wherever he stays when he isn’t being scooped up by adventurers on mad quests against madder gods.

she doesn’t quite pose the question directly, but it flavours the curiosity with which she leaves the possibilities open-ended. )

[He waits, knowing full well what the battle is. She cannot possibly expect to afford this, though. Even as a friend of the owner.

Thankfully she makes the practical choice, but then it's his turn to debate. The Lighthouse is familiar, but carries the not-insignificant risk of interruption, whether by messenger, teammate, or Manfred. He's also not certain if his soul can survive a declaration of them "doing it" should certain people be in the library when they go from the eluvian to one of their rooms. Not the first or only time, at least, whichever this winds up being.]

The Necropolis is lovely this time of night, if you're comfortable going there? Though I don't know that my place is quite in order. I packed with some haste and wasn't expecting to entertain.

[By most people's definition it isn't a mess. He would never let it get there. But he is hyperaware of how many books he'd left unshelved when sorting out what to bring. There are also a few of his nicer coats on the couch; he'd taken a little time trying to decide which to bring before settling on the one he most often wore. First impressions were tricky things and he'd wanted to look his best.

While he awaits her answer Emmrich gives her hand another squeeze and starts to straighten a little. He's not pulling away, but he can't get out of the booth without her moving and he wasn't a fan of prolonged canoodling in bars.]

( taking the hint and the cue, athénaïs hums as she slips out of the booth they’d taken up, gathering her cloak and shrugging it back about her shoulders. it’s something of a process as she moves out of his way, hauling all of her hair over one shoulder and out of the way so she can attach the cloakpin closures to her coat beneath without strangling herself in the process— )

I promise it looks better than the disaster area I left behind, ( she says, warmly, glancing up mid-manoeuvre. ) Would it help if I promised to have only eyes for you and not your housekeeping?

( because it’s likely that was going to be the case anyway. )

[He watches her move in a way he hasn't before, eyes drifting over her as she moves even as he gets up. Her glance back may mean she catches it, but he's not ashamed. Not with what she's saying.

It's also very easy to believe she left quite the chaos in her wake, but that's not here, just there.]

Yes, I believe it does.

[There's a time and a place for flattery and this is definitely both. Emmrich settles the bill with the owner, paying less than he'd expected. Apparently her discount extends to her company. As soon as that's done he's offering her his arm.]

Shall we?

[The way to the eluvian is familiar, which is still a wonder sometimes. The world is truly at their fingertips. Once through he guides her down to the faculty quarters, deep underground and peaceful.]

Somewhat the opposite of the Lighthouse, [he says as he opens the door. The front room is a couch, a coffee table, and bookcases filled with books and notes and skulls, along with a few other bones here and there. Past there is the dining area, as well as an open door to his bedroom.]

Please, come in.

( athénaïs is not immune to the particular thrill of finding herself somewhere previously forbidden, or at least off-limits to her; it can come as no surprise that she hasn’t been invited to the private spaces of senior mourn watch faculty before now. (but however preferable this is to sneaking past taash: there is not a snowball’s chance with a rage demon that they weren’t seen strolling arm in arm down here, and even less of one that it won’t be all over the usual grapevines by tomorrow at the latest.) that curiosity is tempered by her own earlier promise not to be,

but it is there, as she soaks in the familiarity of the necropolis and the new route of a path she’s never needed to walk, the particular spaces it leads to. and she does take in his space, too, with a lopsided smile for what emmrich volkarin thinks is untidy enough to warrant warning his companion about. )

This is much cosier than what we’ve stolen you away to, ( she notes, not bothering to unfasten her cloak from her coat when she can just shrug both off together, discarding them on his (already be-coated) couch.

it’s easy to imagine him here without the audience of her, how the space fits him, what he might have chosen to take from it, or to leave. )

[There are always eyes watching in the Necropolis. Far fewer tongues, but gossip did spread, and Emmrich was used to it. He couldn't imagine she'd be bothered by it either. Athénaïs is not one to fret about such things.]

Ah, but on most days the view in the Lighthouse is far superior.

[It's not mere flattery. In part he adores the view of the Fade, being able to walk up a few steps and watch the flow of magic, but he's far from unaware of her as well. She's gorgeous, warm shades of purple and brown that reflect the bright, sparkling spirit within. It's simply that he's never let himself linger on her charms before.

Emmrich shuts down the part of his brain that's yelling at him to hang up all the coats and cloaks and removes his to add it to the pile. His fingers only twitch a little, and they're easily stilled by him sliding his hands around her waist.

This does make the height difference very apparent, though. There can be no drawing her close to kiss her, which... means the couch and the coats. His housekeeping couldn't have fallen short at a more inconvenient time, truly. With regret in his eyes he releases her.]

One moment, my dear.

[There's no time to hang them up, or rather, this is no time for that. Emmrich scoops up the garments and carefully lay them on top of the books on top of the table and actively pushes that from his mind as he reaches for her again, this time seeking to guide them both down to the couch.]

( the bump of her knees to back him up into it — she almost certainly has some practise at navigating the gap in their heights, kneeing down across his lap as he sits. the more compelling part of that, immediately, is how much better it is, immediately, to squeezing into even the plushest corner booth. )

I know, ( she says, a warm joke, bringing her hands up to his face, thumbs finding the edges of his jaw: ) you imagined me taller.

( her personality is at least six feet. )

[He breathes out as she straddles him, gaze heavy. This is so much better. Her hold is light and inviting and Emmrich relaxes into the touch even as a smirk pulls up the corner of his mouth.]

You do have quite the presence.

[Emmrich turns his head a little to kiss one of her fingers, and slowly slides his hands up her sides.]

But you are exactly as tall as you should be. It suits you.

[Tiny, but fierce. She is sized to be underestimated, and her enemies do that to their very short-lived regret. As his palms brush her breasts he uses his fingers to urge her forward and more against him; he feels it's long past time to resume kissing.]

( her thumb swoops across his jaw before she slides her hand into his hair and leans, gladly, into the pursuit of further kissing; he can feel the shape of her smile press against his mouth before her lips part and he just has to assume the degree of smugness that might have otherwise been indicated.

it’s a safe bet. she’s warm and a little tipsy and very pleased with herself, following his urging closer and letting her weight settle high across his thighs. of all the possible ways her night could have gone, this is definitely the best outcome—

even if first thing in the morning she’s going to panic and go looking for something to bring back to the lighthouse for manfred. )

It seems, ( she murmurs, arch, against his mouth, ) to suit you.

[Emmrich laughs, warm and fond. Her confidence is a treasure, and one of the many things about her that draws him.]

And if I said you looked good on me?

[The revelation that she means her flirtation, that she's not just having fun, changes everything. It also makes this one of the best nights he's had in years, and it's still young.

His scalp tingles lightly where she's touching, and it reminds him of a long-held question that now he can get the answer to. Emmrich slowly slides his fingers through her hair, taking in exactly how smooth and cool the strands feel. He'd always thought they'd feel warmer, but perhaps that was his own impression of how he'd feel if he had to deal with even half as much.]

( it’s heavy, that much is immediately obvious, too; hair by the handful, spilling over her shoulders and his hands— almost improbably well kept, all things considered. then again, it can come as no surprise that she takes such pains with her appearance as her lipstick smudges across his mouth,

she smears it there with her thumb. decides she likes it: marking her territory. making a bit of a mess of him. )

I’d say how big’s the mirror in your bedroom?

( so she can check. for science. )

[He takes great care of his appearance and the smearing of what has to be lipstick on his face is a deliberate response to that, he's quite sure. It's such a very her thing.

As is the question. It wasn't like he was planning on staying in the living room for long.]

Let's let you judge.

[Confidently, Emmrich pulls her flush against him and stands. He slips arm underneath her to to make sure she doesn't slip, and then he walks them into the room. With a flick of his wrist he lights the candles to show off a room that is very homey, especially compared to the laboratory in the Lighthouse. The bed is large, as are both wardrobes, the rug is plush, and there's a full-size mirror near the bed, along with a smaller one over the dresser where his shaving kit usually goes.

Emmrich sits on the side of the bed facing the mirror and raises an eyebrow before leaning in to kiss her jawline and neck and leave lipstick marks in return. They're in the right place for her to get a good look, but he doesn't have to make it easy.]

( athénaïs nearly laughs — of course emmrich has two wardrobes — but it’s affectionate, not derisive, and maybe a touch envious. (imagine having two wardrobes!) the feel of his mouth on her throat, however, is immediately diverting; the warmth of him, when they’re now closer than they’ve certainly ever been and the distinct sensation she is beginning to feel that they are not remotely close enough.

(she’s a little impressed, too, at the ease with which he lifts and carries her, even if she is maybe the smallest person either of them know. she has a couple inches on harding, but dwarves have a certain density that elves do not.)

smudges of her grey-purple lipstick now well and truly shared between them— )

I’m beginning to judge us overdressed, ( she says, half tease and half suggestion, her ankles still locked behind him where she’d instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as he’d stood. this is absolutely going to have to change if she wants to get her trousers (or his) off; on the other hand, it’s a very pleasant place to be. )

I can't imagine why.

[he says into the skin of her neck. He doesn't disagree. She feels fantastic against him, warm and soft, but she'd feel even better if there wasn't clothing in the way.

Emmrich traces her back through her blouse, fingers heavy along her spine. Over her shoulders he continues, making sure to graze both sides of her collarbone before he starts unbuttoning her blouse.]

You're welcome to assist with rectifying the situation.

[Being undressed by another is an unparalleled delight, and it's one he hasn't indulged in for many, too many, months.]

What a polite invitation! ( the amusement colouring her voice is stronger, now, as she leans back to give him space and to slide her hands down his body between them, ) I’d practically be rude not to take you up on it.

( now, it makes a lot of sense to start where he has. for one thing, her blouse isn’t half so tight to her body as her trousers tend to be— for another, the position that they’re in is presently, necessarily but not unpleasantly, limiting. on the other hand,

he cannot be surprised that a penchant for mischief extends to all areas of her life, nigh on unchecked, and she lifts herself up just slightly on her knees to get to the fastenings of his trousers,

taking the scenic route, naturally, along the inside of his thighs. that the way she has to angle in doing so presses her breasts further toward his hands is a bonus; he will discover another pair of hands, skeletal, in short order as the lingerie beneath the fabric is silver-violet lace worked to represent hands, cupping. )

[The laughter on his face as he's about to comment about manners is wiped off as she goes far lower than he'd expected. Her hands are so warm where he's so sensitive, and Emmrich shifts underneath her, something just short of a jerk of his hips. Despite how he knows her, he is surprised.

His own underwear is shimmery black silk, just barely on the loose side of snug, and it does not hide his growing response to her.

Emmrich pauses to cup her still-covered breasts once he's past his surprise, thumbs brushing across them slowly. It's only after that that he finishes opening up her shirt and the mischief returns.]

Ah, I see you go for instructional clothing. Unfortunate that I seem to be coming to this from the wrong angle.

[This is an image that's going to stay with him. But there's far more to see and touch and delight in, so he wastes no time reaching around her to find and expertly unfasten the clasps. The pieces are urged down her shoulders so he can obediently cup her breasts and thumb one of her nipples.]

For now, ( she agrees, faux complacent, a gleam of intention in her eyes. she’s got plans for that mirror—

but the aborted movement underneath her is more immediately pressing, even as she sucks in a breath against the feel of his thumb against her pebbled skin, registering the sensation of warm metal against her breast where he is still, for now, wearing his grave gold. her eyes (lilac, like he likes) are darker and heavy-lidded, a self-satisfied sort of smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she follows this with a kiss to his jaw and then his mouth, lingering with more urgency than they had previously. not enough alcohol on either breath to regret this, tomorrow,

her fingers swoop, teasingly, along the silk-covered length of him just as she bites his lip. it’s experimental; what happens if she presses here? )

[She is truly beautiful, and he can't deny how the way she keeps up with him verbally and intellectually makes her all the more attractive. Emmrich meets her lips eagerly, hungrily, until the twinned sensations draw a quiet moan from him.

The slow and steady build of desire turns into a sharp-edged want. After a gentle pinch of her nipple and another kiss with his lightly throbbing lip Emmrich turns his efforts to his own clothes with a new haste. His vest comes off quickly, followed by him pulling off rings and bracelets to drop them into a nearby bowl for just them. They are both still wearing far, far too much.]

So you have another angle in mind?

[he asks in a rougher voice than before, wanting to keep the verbal play going.]

( her magpie gaze follows his jewellery off into that bowl, momentarily diverted — either by the shine or the jingle or just the thought that she could have taken at least one of those off with her teeth — but the new tenor of his voice draws her back to him, drawing her hands back to settle on his knees behind her so she can lean her weight back, insouciant and lissom. her blouse has slipped somewhere off his bed, and her brassiere, too, and she takes a moment to catch her breath as she considers him from this angle, kiss-swollen and wanting.

that’s also a good look on him, she decides, sliding from his lap to stand between his knees. )

As a matter of fact, ( she says, taking the opportunity of rising to unfasten her own trousers, toeing her boots off with expert efficiency— she turns with a deliberate sway of her hips to slide the supple leather down, probably inevitably revealing a matched set of skeletal hands on her ass,

though not for long. it’s a rather confronting angle, for a moment; striptease this is not. )

I was thinking, ( she says, sweeping her hair over her shoulder, ) that we could really get to grips with looking good on you. As it were.

( a nudge to his knees, she guides him to shift along the edge of the bed until he’s sat facing the larger of the two mirrors, and she takes a moment to really appreciate the picture he makes in it. he doesn’t even have to be completely undressed— there’s something to be said for the contrast, and for the thorough mussing of a man whose self-presentation she is really into. this is probably the thought in mind when she comes back to his lap, her back against his chest and her knees falling open either side of his thighs, )

See?

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