Love Letters
“My rose,” Lor’themar’s silken, molten-chocolate voice rumbles from the aether to fill the room entire, and Rommath’s back stiffens, eyes wide with a deep flush blossoming swiftly across his cheeks and ears, which press back close to his head.
He has miscalculated. Badly.[Rommath/Lor'themar Theron, NSFW, AO3, Ko-fi]
When that midnight fugue hits and you write a whole fic on a whim on your phone and then have to face your deeds and actions the next day but actually it’s not that bad? Yeah.
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The message appears on Rommath’s desk sometime around noon, while he is doing his due diligence stretching his legs briefly before returning to his office and his paperwork. A tray carrying a light luncheon has been placed on the small table beside his massive mahogany desk – a piece inherited from his predecessor, Belo’vir, that has room for a truly despair-inducing amount of papers – and tucked between the bowl of cut up fruits and the glass of white wine rests a scroll carrying the seal of the Regent Lord’s office.
Rommath pops half a grape in his mouth with an eye roll. It can’t be urgent if he hasn’t been summoned back to the Spire, and it hasn’t arrived through the normal, official means: that is, dragonhawk courier to Sun’s Reach by the docks, delivered by someone ready to take a reply back. An official correspondence between the Grand Magister’s office in the rebuilt Magister’s Terrace on Quel’danas and that of the Regent Lord in Sunfury Spire, back in Silvermoon.
This scroll almost certainly is little more than Lor’themar attempting to alleviate his boredom while Thalyssra is in Suramar, and Liadrin and Halduron both are gone on their own different assignments, thus leaving him all on his lonesome. Child of a man that he can be, he seems to have decided to bother Rommath instead of working.