antimonyschnuck

The Desk

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Emhyr/Geralt

Rating: explicit (but you'll get cockblocked by the desk)

King Carlo Alberto of Sardinia had a whimsical monstrosity of a desk. You can see it in the video. Do watch it. If you think my descriptions are exaggerated - they are not.

I had to imagine it to be Emhyr's desk and the things that would happen with, on and under it.

1400 words will jump out from the hidden compartment underneath if you press on this whittled ornamentation saying "read more":

The Emperor sat behind his desk and read an assay of the Temerian infrastructure regarding trade routes. Well, it was his desk now, it used to be Foltest's desk, and Foltest's candle stick illuminating the document.

The Emperor pulled out a small drawer with an inbuilt inkwell and accidentally nudged a hidden button opening a tiny hidden compartment. He sighed. Foltest's ridiculous desk was a mechanical abomination. It was beautiful, massive, made of red wood with golden inlays and covered in whittled ornaments, including lion heads at exactly the right hight you would constantly bump your knees into the sharp reliefs. It was also riddled with secret compartments. Some of the secret compartments had secret compartments. Most of them were so small they were completely useless.

When the Emperor had taken over the study with the desk, he'd inspected the table together with Mererid and they'd found the mouldy remnants of an ancient sandwich in one of the hidden drawers. Foltest had obviously lost it in his desk.

It wasn't just the desk, either - the chair, a magnificent piece of furniture with plush red velvet upholstry, also came with secret compartments. Unwisely he'd dropped that information as an amusing anecdote in the first days when Cirilla had arrived after having saved the world, resolved in her decision to take her place as crown princess in order to save the world some more, but still highly suspicious of her father and his motives - understandably so. She'd then broken into his study to search it - quite successfully until she'd actually disassembled the chair and then wasn't able to re-assemble it again. That's how he'd found her, sitting on the floor in the midst of chair parts, sweating. "You could have just asked," he'd said mildly and left her to it. The chair was whole again by morning.

The Emperor closed the compartment he'd accidentally opened and froze. He didn't know if it was a sound he'd heard or if the shadows in the gloomy study had moved or maybe it was a slight draught in the air - but he was sure he wasn't alone in the room anymore.

He tried to act normal, forced himself to look at the document in front of him, and slipped his hand into the folds of his clothes to get the dagger he always kept on his person. Ard feainn. But of course he had already changed into his nightgown and robe - he'd just wanted to have a last look at this tract before going to bed. No dagger.

He silently apologised to Foltest's ghost for slandering his desk seconds earlier (he'd never silently apologised for having him assassinated) and inconspicuously slid his hand along the artfully whittled edge of the table, resembling fronds with tiny leaves. One of them was the button for a compartment holding the sharp knife the Emperor used as a letter opener. His fingers brushed over them, pressing on the leaves, but none of them gave.

Now he'd definitely heard a sound coming from the shadows to his right, not much, just the whisper of fabric moving against fabric.
He surrepticiously checked his position at the desk, and indeed, he was sitting a little more to the left than usually. His fingers reached further to the right on the wooden relief when parts of the shadows separated from the dark next to him. He frantically pushed the small leaf decorations, not trying to appear oblivious to the threat anymore, desperately pressing his fingertips into the wood when finally one of the wooden leaves sank in and the flat drawer with the knife popped out.

The Emperor grabbed it - and kept very still when at the same time a hand came around his neck, fingers light on the skin of his throat, not pressing in just yet but in the right positions to cut off the brain's oxygen supply.

He decided he had nothing to lose and stabbed back and down with his letter opener where his attacker's thigh should have been, but another hand caught his wrist and the knife with preternatural swiftness. A voice chuckled next to his ear. "You should take a guard with you on your late night work excursions."

The Emperor kept rigid although his instincts wanted to sigh and relax at the witcher's voice. That voice hummed low into his ear now. "Yeah that smells much better on you than the fear. Hope I frightened you into better security measures though."

Emhyr clenched his jaw. Adrenalin was still pumping through his system. This wasn't over yet. He consciously relaxed his arm, dropping the knife, and Geralt released his wrist. Fool.

He leaned back and reached up, taking hold of Geralt's neck in a firm caress and then suddenly pushed hard into his chair's armrest with all his body weight, tipping the chair over to the right. He fell slowly, still holding on to Geralt's neck, but he landed on the floor, pulling Geralt down with him. From there he managed to roll on top of the witcher, mainly because the insufferable cur was laughing and struggled only half-heartedly against being held down. He'd helpfully kicked the chair away though, which was considerate.

Emhyr panted. "Do you yield?" Geralt had let himself being captured but nevertheless, he'd pinned him down well now. Emhyr allowed his lips to slip into a self-satisfied smirk - which froze on his face when he felt Geralt's hand on his naked arse, slowly moving down his inner thigh and back.

"Hmmm," Geralt grumbled, putting all the pleasure he took from feeling Emhyr up into his low growl. "Let me think about it."

Emhyr's thumb slowly slid up Geralt's erection through the thin fabric of the courtly leg wear inflicted on him by Mererid. Their gazes had locked.

"Making a good point there, maybe you should drive it home," Geralt purred.

Emhyr rolled his eyes but couldn't stop himself laugh. "Ugh that was bad. Stop talking." The speed he got Geralt out of those trousers betrayed the practice they'd had lately. Geralt smirked.

They writhed around on the floor some and Emhyr had Geralt make some interesting noises before he got up and stared his desk down. Geralt rose from the floor too, a lot less elegantly than he was capable of, and snorted. "Forgot where you put the grease jar?"

Emhyr opened a panel decorated with whittled lillies, revealing a small space showcasing the statue of a horse. He turned it a little, there was a click and a little drawer opened next to the niche. It was empty. "Hvren." Emhyr pulled on what looked like a row of studs above the horse figurine and another drawer opened - bearing a jar. Emhyr made a triumphant sound.

"You know you don't have to actually use those silly desk compartments, you could just-" Geralt stopped talking because he got bent over and pressed down on the surface of said desk. He chuckled. "Yes I yield. You got me. I'm at your mercy, alright." He dissolved into less articulate groans when Emhyr's fingers did a good job of subduing him.

Emhyr couldn't keep himself from moaning when he entered Geralt and trembled while he pressed deep into him. He steadied himself against the edge of the desk and -

"Oomph! What the-" Geralt rolled a little to the side with his torso, as much as his position let him. Where his face had been hovering over the desk there was now a little box that had popped up on springs when Emhyr had accidentally touched the triggering button underneath the table's edge. "This isn't what I meant when I said I like it rough," Geralt snickered. "What the fuck is that."

"The sand box," Emhyr rasped, like that was a reasonable explanation for anything. He quickly pushed Geralt a little sideways and then resumed fucking him properly. The desk did not object any further, neither did Geralt.

***

"Lose the desk. Seriously." They were sitting huddled underneath it. Geralt had his hands somewhere underneath Emhyr's nightgown again and Emhyr had his face burried in Geralt's neck. "Get one with a closed leg space," Geralt grinned suggestively.

"It is a gorgeous desk, and unique," Emhyr protested half-heartedly.

"I really hope so." Geralt nosed into Emhyr's hair. "It has a lever that is a horse, though."

Emhyr laughed soundlessly into Geralt's shoulder. "The desk would make a fine gift to bestow on a loyal member of the court, don't you think?"

Geralt grinned. "Gift worthy for an accomplished young general who likes horses a lot?"

Emhyr cackled. "It will be such a great honour, he will have to use it and cannot get rid of it himself."

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed contentedly: "I'm such a bad influence on you."