Chapter Text
Working from Emmrich's house was, well, weird.
She had never dated another civil servant, so working from any former (fleeting) partner's house had been off the table and had given Calliope the perfect excuse to retreat to her flat to work in peace. There were just too many things to make sure were in place first. A secure internet connection; certain electronic devices had to be switched off, as well as simple things, like making sure no one was pratting about in their underwear in the background of a Candlehop call with the minister.
At Emmrich’s, everything was already set up. He even had a spare laptop stand and keyboard so she could sit at his dining room table without betraying their musculoskeletal health and safety training. His office was just down the hall so that they wouldn't disturb each other on calls and so people would be none the wiser that they were, in fact, working from the same house. To be sure, she blurred the background of her video, even though it was blessedly another admin Friday, where all she had to do was hand over to the on-call PS at the end of the day.
Emmrich had popped in throughout the morning, offering cups of tea whenever he made one, which seemed to be every half an hour. She joined him each time, sitting on the counter in his spare T-shirt and her rumpled skirt from yesterday, sneaking in a kiss or two as they waited for the kettle to boil. Calliope thought him mad for having a hot drink while the heat wave was still lingering over Hunter Fell, but she watched him prepare it as he measured the dried leaves, adding them to the infuser and steeping them in a teapot. He even had a timer for it.
“I just throw a teabag in and call it a day.” She remarked during one such brewing session. “I tend to have matcha more; it’s nicer cold than normal tea.”
Emmrich’s nose wrinkled. “Darling, it tastes like grass.”
“Yes, very yummy grass.”
He presented her with a mug, tea now perfectly steeped. “Try this.”
It was hot—too bloody hot for a heatwave—but Calliope couldn’t deny it was delicious. It was a black tea, slightly fruity; the added honey lent a floral note without being too sweet.
She hopped down from the counter, grabbed her phone from the dining table and took a picture of the tea, sending it straight to ‘hot leaf juice’. The law (written in the group chat description) was that they had to take a photo of any new teas they tried. Which she explained to Emmrich, noting his quizzical expression at her action.
They stood in a comfortable silence, sipping on the tea, until Emmrich placed down his mug gently on the counter.
“I have a… friend coming over tonight.”
Oh. This is where she gets knocked down a peg. There was someone else. What could Emmrich otherwise mean by ‘friend’?
Well, the only friends she knew of were Neve and Lucanis, but they were together. Or… Johanna. Calliope’s eyes bulged, and she concentrated on drinking her too-hot tea while her mind raced.
“They’ll be staying the weekend, and you’re more than welcome to stay also.”
He wasn’t fucking Johanna. Surely. Not while they were… well, doing what they’re doing.
Calliope had only just slept with Emmrich. What did he mean by ‘welcome to stay also’? She wasn’t about to jump into threesomes with him. Not yet, anyways. Never with Johanna. Calliope could admit that Johanna was slightly cool, but her putrid personality could not be made up for with striking animal print scarves.
“I can give you two privacy. It’s no problem.”
“I would really like you to meet him.”
Him? Okay. Not Johanna. Maker, it was too early for this (it was precisely midday).
“It’s probably too soon, but I think you’d get along.” “Emmrich, who is it?”
“Oh. Yes. His name is Manfred. He’s my ward.”
“You have a child?” She spluttered. Him fucking Johanna actually would have been less of a surprise than this.
Emmrich held his hands out defensively. “No! Not exactly.”
Emmrich shuffled in place, caught his bearings, and began to speak. “Just over a decade ago, there was a despicable Mortalitasi. Blackthorne. He had a list of offences longer than my arm, and we expected to find something terrible when we finally infiltrated his manor, but we didn’t expect an entire undead army. Illegal, obviously. What purpose he had for them, I still do not know. Many of the spirits had been unwilling to cross over the Veil, and Blackthorne had forced them into bodies.”
Emmrich paused for a moment, visibly shaken by the events he recalled. Calliope recalled the event; she was at the Necropolis University when it happened. The aftermath was horrifying, all of the bodies in various states of decomposition, and some spirits held on; the enchantments were too strong for them to fight against to go back to the Fade. As part of her Funerary Rites course, she attended the memorial.
“A handful were content, willing to stay on our side. One of the undead didn’t leave my side; a curious little fellow, he watched with interest, fascinated by our work, and was in no way hostile. So I took him under my wing; he lived here for a time, but whatever that bastard had put him through had made Manfred unique. He can draw from the Fade, like you or I. So we decided it was best for him to stay at the Necropolis, learning everything about the Fade as we did.”
Calliope reached over, taking one of Emmrich’s hands in her own. “Emmrich… That’s incredible. I remember when it happened. I helped prepare the memorial for the souls who crossed back over. I would love to meet Manfred.”
“It’s not too soon?”
Her arms threaded through his, wrapping around his slim waist, and she craned her head to look into his hazel eyes. “I don’t think so.”
Emmrich’s hands slid to her bum, gripping the round cheeks, and pulled her flush against him. “That makes me very happy indeed.”
The eternally annoying—and now just plain rude—sound of a Candlehop call echoed through the house. Met with deep sighs from the pair.
“I’ll be back for that kiss,” Emmrich promised.
12.45 pm
Calliope pushed her weight against the door into her and Lace’s flat. As if it weren’t enough to climb up four flights of stairs to their attic flat, the door only unlocked when someone pushed bodily against it. A trick the landlady told them on their first day, her golden prosthetic fitting perfectly into the scrapes on the door. It had never been fixed in the three years they’d lived here, but the trick had yet to fail them, so they hadn’t complained.
Calliope kicked off her heels (blasted contraptions) and went straight to her bedroom. Her room was on the smaller side. It just about fit a double bed, though it had to run directly under the window, negating one side entirely of access, and subjugating the poor occupant of the left-hand side (Calliope, obviously) to the risk of whacking their head against the sloping ceiling above every morning. Which she did.
The walls were lined with books, shelves stacked full, and her bedside table revealed even more tomes. The slightly musty scent of old pages hung in the air. Small trinkets caught the afternoon light coming through the window; novelty snow globes and geodes sparkled, and seashells and corroded coinage of various currencies lay dormant.
Her bed wasn't made; the dark paisley duvet cover she'd been using throughout the heatwave had been tussled into the middle of her bed in her sleep and had stayed there since yesterday morning.
Calliope tore through her wardrobe and chest of drawers, pulling out somewhat sexy—realistically, they just weren’t stained or full of holes—pyjamas she hadn't worn in years and matching sets of underwear. Because, really, it was the least she could do to come across slightly put together. She threw her makeup into a weekend bag, hoping and praying she had actually put everything away in it after she got ready yesterday.
The blouse and skirt she was forced to rewear on her travel home got tossed into the corner, falling short of the laundry basket. She stood in her underwear (a clean pair now, not the lilac set that also got tossed into the laundry corner) and tried to work out what on earth she should wear to meet Manfred.
Of course, she went for a simple black summer dress that fell loosely over her hips and was embroidered with tiny golden beetles, reminiscent of the carrion beetles she had grown up with in the Necropolis.
“Rook, are you staying for dinner? Taash was going to—” Harding stopped as she entered Calliope’s room. Which now looked like a bronto had been set loose within it.
“Can’t.” Calliope began as she pushed past Lace to slip on her sandals. “Meeting Emmrich’s undead son, love you, bye,” Calliope yelled over her shoulder, and the front door slammed shut behind her.
6 pm
There was a knock at the door, abrupt and harsh-sounding against the wooden front door.
Calliope followed Emmrich to the entrance; he gave her a quick smile, one that betrayed his excitement entirely. He opened the front door; she combed through her fringe and smoothed the black sundress she wore over her hips. Maker, she was nervous.
She heard a joyous hiss as Emmrich greeted his ward. Over Emmrich’s shoulder, she could barely see Manfred, only his skeletal hands as he and Emmrich embraced, and the bucket hat that sat on his head.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Emmrich announced and stepped aside to reveal Calliope. A flush instantly rose to her cheeks.
“Whosit?” Manfred asked; his voice was a hiss, catching between his words and combining them.
“This is Calliope.” Emmrich’s arm around her waist grounded her somewhat, reminding her she wasn’t alone. “We’re seeing each other.”
Manfred’s bright green eyes turned to her; if undead could squint, he was doing so, assessing her, especially how Emmrich held her.
Calliope stepped forward, hand outstretched. “It’s lovely to meet you, Manfred. Emmrich told me so much about you.” Manfred’s hand enclosed around Calliope’s; his bones were surprisingly warm to the touch.
“Nice to meetcha!”
10.15 pm
It all felt very… domestic. Getting ready for bed slowly, not hurried by the come-down from sex, just the two of them, side by side, brushing teeth at the ‘his and hers’ sinks in Emmrich’s en suite. Somewhat unsurprisingly, Emmrich had a more elaborate skincare routine than she did, so she retreated to Emmrich’s plush bed first. Her paltry pot of cheap face cream looked out of place next to his tonics and creams. Emmrich’s pile of gold bangles next to her earrings and watch.
“I’m so glad you get along with Manfred.” Emmrich peered at her from the bathroom doorway, massaging in one of his creams. His eyes widened upon seeing her curves clad in a satin negligee, the colour of blood, so dark it was almost black in the dim lights of the bedroom. “He’s very sweet!” Calliope exclaimed, “I can see why you took a shine to him.”
Emmrich finally walked out of the bathroom, wearing only a pair of soft shorts, the jet black of his tattoos standing proud against his pale skin, and he joined Calliope lounging on the bed. “I hope all the questions weren't too imposing. He's a spirit of curiosity and can get carried away.”
“No, I get it! Audric at work is the same. Though, thank you for saving me with some of them.”
“Of course, my dear.”
Emmrich ducked his head and pressed a relatively chaste kiss to Calliope's lips. She deepened it with a swipe of her tongue on his bottom lip.
Soon, Emmich caged her in, his mouth never leaving hers.
“Emmrich,” Calliope’s voice was breathy, panting as Emmrich nipped and sucked at her neck. “Are you sure we…”
“Manfred won’t hear us,” Emmrich began, his hand holding her jaw, thumb slowly trailing over her swollen lips. “His room is in the basement and soundproofed, so he—and we—can make as much noise as we wish.” His thumb dipped between her lips, brushing over her teeth. Calliope flicked her tongue against it, enclosing her lips and lightly sucked. Emmrich bit back a groan, and Calliope felt it rumble in his chest. His barely covered cock twitched against her bare cunt as she hummed around Emmrich's thumb.
“I want to taste you.”
Right, well, no time like the present to ask for the scenario she had gotten off to the most times in the past few weeks. “Can I sit on your face?”
A blush instantly covered her cheeks at her brazenness. But there was just something about his moustache that had left her wanting to feel it against her sensitive clit. Emmrich looked equally shocked at her forthright question, though it quickly passed into a smirk as his eyes darkened.
“I would like nothing more.” Emmrich rolled onto his back and gestured for her to move over him.
Her thighs encircled his head, his nose already nudged against her sensitive cunt. His hot breath tickled her skin. Her arms were braced against the dark wooden headboard, holding her torso up. “Calliope, you can relax.” Emmrich gripped her ass to punctuate his words, guiding her hips down until he could comfortably reach her cunt. Soft kisses dotted the inside of her thighs, and Calliope shivered, bucking her hips gently as she sank down, relaxing into position from Emmrich’s guidance.
He gave an experimental lick, testing his reach, and elicited a garbled ‘fuck’ from Calliope.
Emmrich plundered between her legs, nipping and sucking at her clit, eliciting garbled moans from Calliope as she ground down onto his face. Maker’s breath, it felt spectacular. She was grateful for the headboard to steady her; she felt relaxed and listless, head resting atop her arms, even as heat and coiled tension pooled in her core. She was grateful for Emmrich’s steady hands; she feared she’d lose herself in the ecstasy that ran hot through her veins.
That was, until Emmrich impaled her on his tongue. Her gasp echoed around her, bringing into focus the sound of Emmrich lapping at her cunt, alternating between spearing her with his tongue and languidly kissing her taut bundle of nerves. His soft hums—moans—wracked through her, sending jolts of pleasure up her spine. His grip on her thighs was biting, kneading into her flesh as he held her close, unrelenting in granting her pleasure—the slight pain melding with her euphoria.
Calliope buried a hand in Emmrich’s hair, needing to hold on to something softer than the headboard, needing to hold him. She moved her hips wantonly, grinding onto Emmrich’s face with abandon, chasing her climax. Her walls fluttered around nothing, Emmrich’s tongue concentrating on her clit, driving her to the precipice.
Calliope swore and sucked in a sharp breath as she came, her hips stuttering, all the while Emmrich continued his ministrations and held her thighs tight, forcing her to ride out her orgasm until it became too much.
“Emmrich, please, I—” She cried out and swiftly rose onto her knees, cold air stark against her sopping wet cunt. She remained braced against the headboard, her limbs too shaky to move, breathing deeply as she came down from her high, her cunt still twitching.
Calliope heard the whisper of butter-soft sheets, felt the mattress depress behind her and the velvet of Emmrich’s cock against the cleft of her arse. She relaxed into his chest, head falling to his shoulder for support; under fluttering lashes, she saw his satisfied smile, his lips swollen, moustache glistening.
When he met her, she could taste herself on his lips, her wetness mixed with the gentle mint from Emmrich’s toothpaste. His hand roamed her body, skimming over her delicate inner thigh, fingers dancing atop the swell of her hips, pinching and stroking her rosy nipples, ripe for the picking. The other she encased with her own, grounded on her hip, a steady buoy, rolling with the ebb and flow of their hips. Heat quickly pooled in her core once more.
Soft sighs and whispered moans flowed from Calliope in hushed supplications to the Maker. “My dear,” Emmrich whispered, his nose nuzzling against her ear. His breath was hot against the tender skin of her neck. “You’ve been such a good girl for me. Now tell me, where do you want me?”
The scrape of teeth against her neck was intoxicating. Emmrich dipped underneath her satin negligee and circled her nipple with the tip of his finger, his fingernail slightly scratching the firm flesh. “Here?”
“No.” She gasped.
Emmrich swept over the curve of her rear, kneading the flesh. “Here?”
Calliope shook her head. “No.”
“Another time, then.” Emmrich mused. Calliope’s breath caught in her throat. She had never dared to let anyone enter there; she had experimented herself, of course, but the prospect of doing so with Emmrich sent a thrill racing through her.
Emmrich's hand finally skimmed over the soft hair between her legs. Calliope tilted her hips into his hand, a plea to be granted the friction she desperately wanted.
“Here?” He asked once more. She sucked in a ragged breath, humming to the affirmative.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” He removed his hand, and with the ghostly friction gone, Calliope whimpered, squirming in Emmrich’s arms.
The blunt head of Emmrich’s shaft slipped easily between her folds, guided by Emmrich to rest at her entrance. “I need you to say it, darling.”
“Yes.”
He inched into her. Slowly working her open, letting her adjust to his size. A stark difference from yesterday, when they had come together with wanton abandon, lust hazing all thoughts.
Finally, Emmrich withdrew and seated himself to the hilt, his hips flush to hers with one swift movement. Calliope arched into him, her knuckles white as she held onto the headboard.
She writhed against him, his hands teasing everywhere all at once, and yet not yet enough—languid, rhythmic and maddening. Her clit throbbed, the bundle of nerves seemingly the only place Emmrich was unwilling to touch since he entered her. Her composure was slipping with every thrust; every time Emmrich’s hips met her ass, she teetered closer to the edge, and the sounds of her dripping cunt were obscene.
Then Emmrich stopped moving. It was brief, a moment he covered up by peppering kisses along the lines of Callipe’s tattoo, looping around the swirls of flora that stretched over her shoulder. His breaths were sharp and shuddering in between the nips from teeth and swipes from his tongue.
Calliope couldn’t help herself. She ground down, taking every inch of Emmrich’s cock. She was so desperately, achingly close to release.
“Look at you… You can’t help yourself, can you, Calliope?”
He steered her forward so her head lay atop her hands that tightly held the headboard. Her locks fell down her back like a golden waterfall, undulating with her thrusts.
“Fuck, Emmrich. I'm going to—” A heaving sob cut off her words. Calliope trembled, her movements faltered, thighs shaking as she toppled over the edge of pleasure.
Emmrich rocked into her, gently guiding her hips for a few stuttering thrusts before he whispered her name like a prayer as he stiffened, his release pouring into her.
With a shudder, he pulled out of her. A sheen of sweat covered Calliope, and the refreshing summer air cooled her too-hot skin.
“I definitely need a shower,” she chuckled, still slightly breathless. “Care to join me?”