skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

Meme Announcements!

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

Happy Holidays, fellow Kinkmemers! I have returned and have no reasonable excuse for my absence except LIFE. I will be working on updating the archives. If anyone sees anything amiss, please let me know.

I am also hoping to find another Mod and an Archivist.

The more dedicated people we have in this Meme the less chance of it dying. I admit that being the sole keeper of the Meme is not great for the fandom. If something were to happen to me, for good, this place would go the way of the Fallout Kink Meme. Let's not let that happen! If anyone would be interested in Modding/Archiving, please drop me a line. Thanks! <3

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Thank you! It's entirely possible that dossier may come in to play later on, I just need to work out the fine details.

I've not really written a lot of Elenwen before so I'm glad her characterisation worked! At first I just thought it would be amusing to have Elenwen of all people comforting Elisif, but when you realise Elenwen developed those motherly and understanding and empathic characteristics not from raising kids but from interrogating her victims, it does get really rather creepy.

lol nice prompt! I suck at writing, but i can totally picture a vex/brynjolf/delvin. because they are awesome.

Wow, I forgot I made this prompt- totally still interested :D

The flying lizard would not land. The battle had been going to ten minute now and Njada and Ria had to head back to Whiterun after being hit with flames.

This dragon was much bigger than the one Vilkas and Ariella had faced. Not as big as the one at Helgen but still big. Ariella and Aela were side-by-side launching arrows at the flying beast. The huntress had noticed the visible shake in the Breton and her wolf could smell the woman’s fear.

When the beast did land Vilkas, Farkas, Skjor and Athis moved quickly, carefully. Athis played as distraction while the other three focused on the wings. Athis was considerable fast than the others and was good at keeping the beasts attention.

When it was on the ground it was much easier to aim arrows at. It was also much easier to see where the arrows hit and stuck. Ariella noticed her arrows would always stick in the beast where as Aela’s frequently bounced off, hardly ever sticking; the huntress had noticed this too.

Their arrows were running low. Aela knew it made no sense that Ariella’ arrows did more damage. The huntress was the expert marksman, she had trained for years of her life, she had the strength to back it up, she wasn’t cowering like some milk drinker at the sight of her prey.

Aela shook her wolf from her thoughts, she wasn’t angry at Ariella there was no reason to be mad at her. Pride aside she knew Ariella would do more damage with the arrows they had remaining.

“You keep shooting, I’m going down there.” Ariella simply nodded and the Huntress jumped down off their perch drawing her sword. Farkas stuck with Skjor and Aela made a note to stick with Vilkas or Athis.

The Dragon it seemed was down for good, its wings torn to shreds and a good lot of arrows sticking out of its neck. Ariella knew the creature would die soon, they would all know about her soon enough.

She let her last arrow fly, she had been aiming for the head but her shaking hands caused her to hit the body. She cursed and carefully drew her sword. Yet as she dropped down onto the ground she heard the Dragon hit the ground. Looking over she saw the dead dragon; her heart began to race.

Farkas had made the killing blow, his greatsword embedded in the Dragon’s skull. He grinned at Aela in triumph and the huntress simply made a face and walked away without another word.

Vilkas observed the scene between his brother and the huntress with curiosity. The crackling sound of the Dragon’s flesh brought him back to reality.

Farkas, Aela, Skjor and Athis all stopped in their tracks to stare at the great beast. As its skin flaked away and colourful lights began to pool. He heard the gasps as the other companions took in the beauty of the dragon’s soul.

Even though he had seen if before it was still amazing, beautiful.

The colours distracted him and suddenly they began streaming towards Ariella. They encircled her, making her skin glow as her soul and the dragon’s soul became one.

Once the soul was absorbed there was a stunned silence.

None of the Companions present knew what to say. Ariella had her eyes closed and she swayed on her feet. Vilkas immediately reached out and steadied her.

The Greybeards had told her she had to fight the soul, had to get it to show her what she wanted it to. If the soul made its own decisions then soon she would be more dragon then man.

Just because the beast was dead didn’t mean the battle was over.

With her eyes closed she swayed on her feet for a few moments before seemingly coming back to Nirn. She smiled at Vilkas and in the few moments that passed shock left the other Companions and they surrounded the Breton with a swarm of questions.

ohohooh! lovely the scene of the fight with the dragon! Ariella now will have to explain some things, but in particular I can not wait for clarification of the situation of Farkas and Aela, I think she is very jealous! :D

Aw. I love Farei already. :)

Sequel to 'All creatures great and small', featuring Farkas and Nibenor (Male Bosmer DB).

Kinks:Slash. Size. Bosmer. Nord. Angst/ loneliness. Hurt/comfort. Anal. Oral.

---

Welcome Returns

It had been three days. That was all. Just three days, not even a span. Three days was nothing. It came and went in the blink of an eye, lost to the patterns of life’s routines.

Farkas knew it, and well. But he also couldn’t care less at this point in time, that the period that Nibenor had been away for was utterly insignificant. In length, anyway.

He sighed heavily, staring into Jorrvaskr’s ever burning fire, tugging a stray strand of dark hair out of his eyes. Somewhere behind him, a shield sibling tutted quietly as they took note of his state.

Not that he cared.

Nibenor, their shield brother, Bosmer, Dragonborn and most importantly, his recently claimed lover, was gone. Not for good, Farkas reminded himself. Not unless something untoward occurred whilst he was out on his adventures, which was certainly a possibility. But one that, while occurring on numerous occasions before, never seemed to stop Nibenor from returning home to Whiterun. Not necessarily unscathed, but he always did manage to return.

Except that this was different, Farkas grudgingly remembered. This wasn’t that Jarl Balgruff had sent him to deal with some bandits, or to fetch someone’s lost sword or even delve into some cave full of Dwemer ruins and Falmer. This was Dragonborn, world saving business.

This was serious.

Three days ago Farkas had followed his significantly smaller partner up into Dragonsreach, where the Bosmer had petitioned the Jarl to allow him to trap a dragon in the keep. An outlandish, desperate attempt to end the trouble of Alduin Worldeater that, against all odds, Balgruff had agreed to.

For a moment, none of them had believed it. The Dark Elf housecarl had stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. Nibenor had simply stared before collecting his wits and nodding as Balgruff had led them out towards the terrace.

It had whirled by, the agreement, the shout, a red dragon swooping in and causing chaos only to be trapped like a skeever. And just a few minutes after, Nibenor had pecked Farkas on the cheek, promised he’d be back soon and hopped onto the back of the dragon before disappearing off to the-Divines-only-knew-where.

Or Sovngarde, in actuality.

Now, Farkas trusted Nibenor to return to him beyond everything else. Their relationship depended on that trust, and so they both gave it freely. And in all honesty, the warrior in him both craved to hear the stories Nibenor would return with, and seethed jealously at the same time. But the lover worried.

The lover, the more caring, if not anywhere near rational part of him knew that there was a good chance that Nibenor would die in his endeavours. Hell, the rational part of him knew that too.

Too many times Nibenor had stumbled into Jorrvaskr limping or bleeding or bruised or barely conscious. And that was against things that dwelled on Nirn. What was he going to do against a dragon that was devouring souls in the afterlife?

He trusted Nibenor as a warrior. But the thought that he wouldn’t come back to him was utterly terrifying. The two of them had only been ‘official’ as Ria referred to it, for a few months, but Farkas couldn’t imagine what he would do without the little elf now.

“Brother.”

The voice startled Farkas out of his unusually deep thoughts and he turned to see Vilkas standing behind him, frowning down at him.

“What?” Farkas replied, mildly irritated at the interruption.

“You need to get out of here and do something, Farkas. You’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep worrying about him.”

“So I’m supposed to not worry?”

“Yes,” Vilkas replied bluntly, folding his arms over his chest

“It’s not going to help him, is it?”

Farkas averted his gaze.

“No.”

“Look. There’s a job just come in, some necklace has been stolen from one of the farmers and wants it back. The pay’s good so you, Torvar and Athis go and get it back.”

“Three of us?”

Vilkas shrugged.

“Bandits. It’s worth being careful when they’re so desperate
they’d steal a farmer’s trinket.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Athis and Torvar are waiting in the courtyard. They’ve got the details, so get to it.”

Farkas shoved his chair backwards, irritated. But Vilkas was probably right about him needing to get out. His brother always was the smart one.

“Oh and Farkas,” Vilkas called over his shoulder before turning to look at his twin. Farkas lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t go daydreaming about him and get yourself into trouble. He’ll be back. You just need to give him time.”

The taller twin nodded at his brother’s words before hefting his greatsword and heading out to meet his shield brothers.

This Dragonborn lark wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Or so Nibenor had decided when he had hit the ground. Hard.

Just a week ago he had been in Whiterun, climbing onto Odahviing’s back to be ferried over to Skuldafn. It was probably the worst thing he had ever done, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he really, really had to see this through, he would’ve attempted to turn back a long time ago. Though in reality, a long time was in fact, seven days. Or at least, he thought it was. He’d lost accurate count of the days shortly after arriving at the temple.

Odahviing’s flight had taken at least one day, and Nibenor had been so tired from clinging to the dragon’s spine for most of it, that he’d had to rest before he could even think of entering the temple. And when he’d tried there had been dragons. Two, to begin with. Dragonborn or not, there were times when just one dragon could easily kill him. Two was just unfair. But he’d manage to kill them both, somehow.

He thought that that, maybe, had taken the best part of his second day since leaving Whiterun, after all the hiding and dodging and shooting and running and screaming. And resting and eating.
When he had recovered enough to continue, his concept of timing had gone somewhat askew. He couldn’t begin to judge how long he had slept, for the sky around Skuldafn seemed perpetually dark. He had risen, eaten and made his way forwards, only to be confronted by wave upon wave of draugr. It seemed to have taken forever to get inside and by the time he managed to yank the heavy iron door open and tumble inside, he’d already been bone weary from fighting.
Melee was hardly his forte. Nibenor thrived by sneaking, slashing, stabbing or shooting. Not shouting himself hoarse to repel five draugr at once. He wasn’t built for enduring heavy blows again and again.

Eventually he had managed to drag and fight his way through dank halls filled with draugr and deathlords and skeevers and dragon priests.

His reward? Learning how to summon storms and falling through a portal to be dumped unceremoniously on the ground of Sovngarde.

Now, he didn’t want to be ungrateful to the powers that be, but he felt that perhaps he deserved a little more...not that he wasn’t aware that he had to kill Alduin first. Oh no, that little task hung before him like an irritating spider, always just a bit too far out of reach to bat away.

He shook his head, trying to rid the image of tiny spiders bouncing on webs. Perhaps he had hit his head and was suffering from concussion? He wasn’t sure. In all honesty, the only thing he was sure of now was that he wanted to kill Alduin and get back to Farkas as soon as was elvenly possible.

He staggered to his feet, wincing at a spike of pain that lanced through his temple, touching fingertips to the pulsing point. Blood smeared beneath them and he grit his teeth, wiping the warm liquid away before staggering forwards. He knew he needed to stop and rest, that his body was bordering on exhaustion, that the multiple lacerations and bruises and potentially cracked bones needed attention. His heart argued that he needed Farkas more.

All he had to do was find his way through the mist and kill an evil dragon and he could return to Skyrim to fall into the arms of his lover.

The mist turned out to be a problem, all but blinding him and he took every step carefully, eyes scouring the ground for the dirt track path beneath his feet. Behind him, the soul of a Nord he encountered followed eagerly, the ghostly hand a cool presence on his back, chilling through his armour.

The man had been distraught with grief and fear, arriving in Sovngarde expecting the afterlife the stories had promised...mead and meat and mates. Not mist and the threat of Alduin.

It was all Nibenor could do to try and lead the soul through the mist, his own eyes seeing more clearly than the fallen man’s. The cold hand on his back disturbed him, but there was no other way to help him, practically blind as he was in the mist.

A roar from above halted the elf steps and the soul swallowed thickly. Nibenor cast a glance to him, watching him searching desperately in the fog. His own eyes narrowed as he looked up and around. It was impossible to find Alduin by sight and the mist only distorted the sound of his roars, confusing the direction it came from.

“He’s here...he’s coming for me...Dragonborn please...”

“It’s ok, he’s not going to get you,” the hand dropped from his back, even as he attempted to convince the man, “we just have to keep moving. If we stop, then he’ll find us. And I’m sure it’s not far now.”

He took a few steps forwards, stopping to look up when a roar sounded again, closer now. Jaws snapped. Nibenor turned, finding only swirling mist where the soul had been, gone in Alduin’s wake.

He swallowed thickly. The man had been too scared, too grief stricken to even give his name and he could only feel shame that he had not tried harder to get it out of him. When he returned, he knew people would ask about Sovngarde and he would tell them what he saw and what he did...how he met a Nord soul quaking in fear, snapped up by Alduin minutes after he found him, and not a name to remember him by.

It was only the will to not let it happen to another that forced him on, sorrow raging through his chest at the thought that there was nothing left of the man anymore. Around him, roars echoed and he wondered how many souls were wandering out here, lost and blind and frightened, how many were being snapped up. And with every one, Alduin’s power grew.

The sorrow changed, curling in his chest, the chill of it fading as something hotter took its place. His steps quickened, his eyes keener now as he stalked through the mist and it seemed to only take moments to break through the final curtain of it, to where the air was clear and bright.

The Hall of Valour loomed before him, grand and bright, its braziers warming sending the air above the curling and shimmering. The whalebone bridge that he had been told about gleamed white against the darkness of the chasm below.

It was only the figure standing before it that stopped him from rushing to it, and he stepped carefully instead, approaching the figure cautiously.

He was bigger than any Nord he’d ever seen before, broad and barrel chested, bigger even than his own Farkas who dwarfed most others. The giant axe across his back longer than Nibenor was tall. He must have appeared a mere child to the man, but he stepped forward regardless.

The man looked down as he approached, a look of curiosity on his bearded face. Thick arms crossed over his bare chest.

“What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here in Sovngarde Souls-End, Shor’s gift to the honoured dead?”

Nibenor blinked, listening as the resonance of the man’s voice faded, lingering in the air. The tones were as deep as befitted a man of his bulk, low as Paarthurnax’s own notes.

“I pursue Alduin, the World Eater.”

The man’s eyebrows lifted at that, no doubt surprised by the bold statement coming from so small a person as Nibenor.

“A fateful errand,” he mused “No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde’s threshold. But Shor restrained out wrathful onslaught, perhaps, deep counselled, your doom he foresaw.”

Nibenor blinked. The man spoke like a bard reciting ancient verses and it took him a moment to understand his words.

“Can I enter the hall of valour?”

“No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

“By right of birth. I am Dragonborn.”

“Ahh,” the response surprised Nibenor as joy fell across the huge man’s face “It’s been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood. But living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge ‘til I judge them worthy by the warrior’s test.”

That much Nibenor understood. A fight. Typical of a Nord, he thought and yet his hand fell to his blade regardless. He had guessed it might come to this all along and he wished he had been wrong about that. He was hardly in any condition to fight, his body exhausted and aching from the days that had come before.
Wounds beneath his armour that twinged every time he moved, splitting open as he jumped away from the man’s attacks.
Bruises ached, more forming as the blunt side of the axe made contact with his left shoulder, stiff muscles creaking as he darted in to land his own blows. His speed was his strength and even that was dwindling.

He didn’t know whether it was through luck or skill that the man decided he was worthy, the wounds that Nibenor had inflicted fading away as soon as he called an end to their fight. Dried blood marked the wounds and the elf frowned as he backed away, racing over the bridge towards the hall of valour.

He was close now, so close to defeating Alduin for good, and he was damned if he was going to fall now.

Night fell over Whiterun and Farkas sighed heavily to himself, leaning against the watchtower’s stone wall, watching the plains.

Nothing moved, saved for the flicker of patrolling guards torches.
Not that he was expecting anything to, but he had hoped for some distraction from his loneliness.

The trip out with Torvar and Athis had done the trick, while it had lasted, and taking his frustrations out on bandits had temporarily eased him. But it didn’t change the fact that now his partner had been gone for a week, and he was lonely and bored and worried. And there was no-one to warm his bed.

In the past, he would’ve just found some whore or tavern girl to ease the chill of Skyrim’s winter nights. It was hardly an option now, not when he still believed that the little elf would return. Not when he didn’t want anyone else in his bed.

His eyes closed as he leant on the wall, listening to the cheers coming from the mead hall at his back. Torvar and Athis had done themselves proud today, their skill worthy of the praise and celebrations going on inside.

He wondered how much the others noticed Nib’s absence. No doubt they did to an extent, he had proven himself popular with the others, no matter how much they teased him. He sighed again, heart heavy with loneliness. All he wanted was to see his lover safely home.

A door creaked behind him and Farkas buried his head in his arms. No doubt someone would be coming to try and get him to join the party. It was the last thing he wanted to do. Gritting his teeth, he waited to hear his brother’s voice or Aela’s, or whoever else they had sent out.

“Lad.”

He jumped, startled, turning. He hadn’t expected it to be Kodlak. Especially not to join festivities, the older man was less concerned about such things.

“You need to come inside, Farkas.” His tone was grave and Farkas swallowed, his heart starting to beat faster in his chest.

“Why?”

“Nibenor’s returned. You need to go to him.”
Farkas didn’t hear more than the first two words before he sprinted for the door, wishing he wasn’t so large and lumbering. Sometimes it would be nice to be as nimble as little Nibenor.

The inside of the mead hall was warm, the smell of roasted meats and honey greeting him. And yet no-one was eating, no-one was drinking or talking or laughing, instead gathered in front of the far doors. He was moving for the mass before he had time to fully comprehend the scene, knowing only that his partner was amongst them.

His hands found shoulders, pulling his brothers and sisters out of the way, forming a path for himself. His breath caught.

Little Nibenor sat on the floor, propped up by Vilkas, his eyes firmly closed. He was somehow paler than usual, the slight tinge that usually coloured his cheeks faded. Wounds adorned his bare arms, dried blood crusted around them.

Vilkas looked up, meeting his twins gaze calmly.

“You should take him downstairs. Get him cleaned up, we’ll get the healer over. The guards said they tried to heal him when he arrived back up at Dragonsreach, but he wouldn’t have it. They thought it’d be better to bring him here to get him sorted.”

Farkas could only nod, stooping to scoop the Dragonborn from off the floor. He was still warm and his own heart slowed its pace.

Injured but alive.

He turned without a word, his siblings moving aside to let him pass as he made his way down to his bedroom. Nibenor stirred as he walked, indecipherable noises escaping him even as Farkas struggled to open the door to his chambers. When he finally managed to get the doors to swing inwards he stepped through, placing the elf onto his bed.

Dark eyes twitched at the shift in movement, opening slowly, searching in the dim light of Farkas’ss room. The Nord hurried to light a lamp, finding those black eyes trained on him when the warm glow spread through the room.

“Nib?”

The elf smiled quietly, in response, fingers of his left hand waggling in a quiet wave. Farkas hurried to him.

“Evening.” The smaller man murmured as Farkas settled next to him, taking his left hand into his own. It trembled as he did and he couldn’t quite bring himself to smile back at his partner. Not when the elf’s lips were so chapped that they split and bled at the motion. He reached towards him, wiping the thin trails away with his thumb.

Nibenor’s hand lifted to catch his, entwining his fingers with the larger man’s, pulling him closer. His eyes drifted shut.

“He’s gone, you know,” He spoke, his voice thin and cracking “he’s not coming back.”

There was so much pride in that frail voice that Farkas couldn’t help but let a smile cross his lips.

“Yeah, you did good.”

Nibenor snorted.

“I did better than ‘good’, thank you very much.”

Farkas chuckled in response, the elf’s cheekiness flaring, easing his worries some.

“We should get you clean before the healer comes down.”

“Probably.”

The Bosmer didn’t bother to open his eyes and Farkas rolled his own, setting to the task of undressing the man. It proved to be more difficult than he had thought, with the man only half conscious and, after struggling to remove both gauntlets, he settled for cutting the rest away. The leather was soaked with sweat and blood anyway, torn to tatters in others. There was little point trying to salvage it.

It was only when Farkas had dumped the last of the ruined armour aside that he stopped to look at the damage it had concealed. The large, violently purple bruise that covered his left shoulder caught his attention first, but as he looked down more caught his attention.

It seemed there wasn’t a patch of skin left unmarred, either by bruise or graze or laceration. Nibenor winced as his fingers ran over his skin. His eyes opened, meeting Farkas’s pale eyes, finding concern in them.

“I’ll be right back.” The Nord murmured, leaving the room to collect water and cloths, returning a few moments later. The elf was watching him quietly, face oddly neutral. Farkas soaked a cloth in the water, wringing it out before tentatively wiping at the streaks of dried blood that ran the length of the Dragonborn’s leg.

He glanced up briefly when the elf flinched.

“Water’s cold.” Nibenor explained simply. Farkas nodded, moving
further to the wound across his thigh. It had been there for some months now, left by a bandit that Nibenor had run into on his return to Jorrvaskr one evening. It still gave him trouble, the wound having been split open time and time again, and today was no exception. It seemed it was never going to get a chance to heal fully. He was going to be left limping for a long time.

“You should really let this heal.” He commented, wiping crusted blood away, revealing the wound below. It was shallower than he had first thought, the lower layers of flesh finally having knitted together, the top still raw and open.

Nibenor grunted.

“Well...it should have a chance to now. I haven’t got any plans for tomorrow.”

Farkas chuckled at that, kissing gently at the top of the elf’s thigh, feeling dark hairs brushing against his lips before he continued wiping the other man clean.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, little elf.”

“...I think...” Nibenor paused, swallowing and Farkas looked up as he shifted to sit on the bed beside the other man, beginning to wipe his torso clean “...I don’t think I would have come back, if it wasn’t for you.”

“I didn’t think a wood elf would like Sovngarde that much.”

The black haired man scowled.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Farkas. If it wasn’t for you...I don’t think I’d have survived it.”

The Nord glanced up, meeting his partner’s gaze, suddenly serious.

“You’re the Dragonborn. You’d manage...maybe I’m just extra...what’s the word...?”

“Incentive?”

“Yeah, incentive.”

“Maybe you’re right...I’m just glad to be back.”

Farkas smiled at that, a comfort and reassurance that he hadn’t felt since Nibenor had left settling itself in his chest. Nibenor fell silent, eyes drifting closed again as Farkas wiped the last wound clean before the priestess arrived.

Nibenor slept for a long time after his return, though when he woke he felt as though it had been a few hours, not days, as he was informed by Aela, who’d taken to watching over him when Farkas couldn’t.

Now, still swaddled in the sheets of Farkas’s bed, he stretched, feeling his stiff muscles loosening. He would be sore for days more after such a long stretch of inactivity, but the worst would pass shortly.

Aela excused herself quietly, no doubt to inform Farkas that he had woken.

He smiled at that, pulling himself into a sitting position, looking about Farkas’s chambers, noting the familiar disarray. The Nord was not one for tidiness or organisation and Nibenor often wondered how he found things amidst the empty bottles and discarded bowls that had once been full of sugary treats. His lute sat in the corner, the only thing other than his sword that Farkas took any particular care over. Nibenor had never heard him play though.

Heavy footfalls in the corridor alerted him to someone’s approach and he shifted, pulling the blanket further up his still naked body. The bedroom doors were still partly open and although he was sure the person was Farkas, it didn’t hurt to be cautious. He hardly wanted to be flashing the goods to everyone.

When the footfalls stopped momentarily before entering the room, followed by a quiet knock, Nibenor frowned. Farkas never observed such courtesies with anyone, let alone the person who shared his bed.

“Come in.” He called, finding his voice hoarse. Whether from shouting too much or from sleeping for three days, he couldn’t tell.

The door swung in quietly and the familiar figure of Vilkas stepped through, devoid of his wolf armour, for once. He smiled cautiously, a look that meant he wasn’t quite sure of the situation. Nibenor could hardly blame him, the man was still adjusting to the idea that his brother was sleeping with a male wood elf.

Nibenor smiled back, attempting to ease the man’s tensions and he was rewarded with a nod, the Nord settling into the chair beside the bed. There was a tray of food in his hands, the rich smell of beef stew rising from a bowl and the elf suddenly realised how hungry he was. His stomach growled loudly. Vilkas laughed.

“I guess you’ll be wanting this, then.” He commented, handing the tray to Nibenor.

The Dragonborn reached for it eagerly, hissing through his teeth when his bruised shoulder pulled at the motion. Vilkas settled for placing the food in the elf’s lap instead, watching as Nibenor tore into it eagerly. It took only seconds for the small cob of bread to disappear.

“You should slow down; Farkas will have my head if you choke on my watch.”

Nibenor swallowed thickly, nodding, reining his appetite in.

“I hear Alduin is no longer a problem.”

The elf nodded.

“He’s gone, for good this time. Dead, not just banished.”

“I see. And Sovngarde?”

“Safe.”

“I meant...”

“It’s big,” Nibenor interrupted, between bites of food “and peaceful and rowdy. The sky has lights like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

“And Tsun tested you?”

“...Is that the huge man who guards the bridge?”

“By Shor’s decree, yes.”

“Ah...then yes.”

“...That’s it? Just yes?”

“We fought, I got a few hits on him, he let me in. What more do you want?”

“Details.”

“About?”

“Everything.”

Nibenor shook his head, wiping stew from his mouth. The events were fuzzy in his mind.
“I...don’t remember all that much. I was tired and hurt...but you’d like it. Heroes everywhere,” he paused, looking up at his lover’s twin “I met Ysgramor...he doesn’t look much like the statue in his tomb.”

Vilkas laughed at that.

“I always thought that there was some...embellishment when it came to that statue.”

“Just a bit. I wish I could tell you more Vilkas but...it’s all...foggy, like it was just a dream,” he shrugged “Sorry.”

Vilkas sighed.

“I suppose, given the state you were in when you returned, that it’s hardly surprising. The priestess had quite a time healing you. She couldn’t manage it all.”

“That would explain the bruise.”

The Nord nodded.

“Ah well, perhaps in time it will return to you and you can give us all a good tale.”

“I’ll try to remember.”

“Well...we’ll all see it for ourselves someday. Anyway, I suppose you’re wondering where Farkas is?”

“Um...well...yes.”

“He left on some...business two days ago, once he was sure you were stable. He said he wanted to get back before you woke, but he lingered too long for that to happen.”

“Oh?”

“He would’ve stayed until you woke but he was very driven to get to the task he set himself.”

“You’re being very cryptic.”

“Aye. Well, you’ll see in time. At any rate, he should be back any time now.”
Nibenor couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he settled for nodding, looking at the now empty tray in front of him. Vilkas reached over, lifting it from his lap, his expression suddenly embarrassed.

“Is there...anything else you need?”

Nibenor smiled.

“Nothing that requires your assistance.”

He looked relieved at that.

“Ah...then, I’ll leave you to rest. The priestess said she’d come by later to check on your injuries.”

The man turned and left at that, closing the door behind him. True to his word, Danica showed up some time later that day, prodding and poking him until he made it clear that he’d had enough. Farkas’s absence only served to put him in a bad mood and by the time evening fell, he was almost beside himself with boredom. There was only so much a Bosmer could sleep, even as injured as he was.

Relief only came later when Farkas returned, staggering into the room after his trip and despite the obvious weariness he felt, he embraced Nibenor warmly, gathering him into strong arms.

Nibenor sighed at the touch, feeling thick limbs wrapping about him, pulling his small frame against his partner’s broad chest.

“I’ve missed you, little elf.” He murmured, face pressed into Nibenor’s dark hair, the stubble on his jaw scratching as he spoke.

The Dragonborn smiled, pressing himself against his lover.

“I’ve missed you too, Farkas.”

“Aela and Vilkas said you’ve been asleep most of the time.”

“Well I missed you when I was awake, ok?”

A soft rumble of laughter vibrated in Farkas’s chest.

“Ok then,” he paused hands beginning to roam over Nibenor’s bruise-mottled body and he pulled back to look him over “the healer said you were healing well.”

Nibenor nodded.

“I’m sore but...not in any real pain. She’s healed the worst. The rest will take care of itself, I think.”

“That’s good. Means I can do all the things to you that I’ve been thinking about while you were away.”

He caught the intonation, the way Farkas’s voice always dropped when he had something less than platonic on his mind. Nibenor smiled coyly.

“Oh? Do tell.”

A soft kiss at the corner of him jaw made him flush, an unexpected heat rising in his body at the touch that held so many promises.

“I’d rather show.”

The Nord learned forwards, pressing warm lips against the elf’s and Nibenor sighed, feeling arms tightening further. He lifted his own to Farkas’s armoured back, feeling cool metal press against his palms and he squirmed, the need to feel Farkas’s flesh beneath his palms sudden and overwhelming.

He found his hands moving of their own accord, finding buckles and loosening them as quickly as possible. Farkas seemed not to notice, his lips and teeth preoccupied with worrying Nibenor’s lip. It was only when the Bosmer began to tug insistently at his breastplate that he pulled away, tossing the metal aside. It clattered to the floor loudly.

Nibenor couldn’t say that he noticed, far too preoccupied with sliding his hands beneath Farkas’s roughspun shirt, kneading the hard swells of his pectorals. Smooth skin slid beneath his fingertips, warm and comforting and Nibenor couldn’t help grinning at the sensation, feeling his lover so very real, so close after their time apart. He shifted forwards once more, pressing his bare torso against the other man, wanting to hold and savour him, to make up for the lost time, the absence, the chill of it fading as Farkas settled his large hands onto his back once more.

The Nord stilled, and Nibenor smiled against his shoulder to know that his partner knew him so well, knew that for the moment, it was simply his presence, his heat that was needed.

Fatigue washed over him suddenly, and he slumped against the Companion, settling his head onto the broad shoulder.

“Over did it, did we?” Farkas chuckled. Nibenor could only nod in agreement as the larger man shifted back onto the bed, still cradling him in his thick arms. Rough blankets were pulled up a moment later, tucked about him before Farkas laid him onto the mattress and pulled away.

A murmur of protest escaped Nibenor, unbidden, his hand automatically reaching for his werewolf. He didn’t want him to leave him alone, not yet, not after he had only just returned from his long trip.

“Hush, Nib, I’m just getting my armour off.”

And indeed, Nibenor found as he lifted his head, the taller man was pulling off shin guards, leaving him in only his dark trousers.

The elf dropped his head back to the lumpy pillow, watching as Farkas returned to the bed, sliding under the sheets. It didn’t take Nibenor a second to curl up against his side, back into the familiar position as if nothing had happened.

Thick fingers stroked the fine strands of his hair as he settled down, a soft rumble of laughter vibrating through Farkas’s broad chest. Nibenor smiled in response, used to the sensation. The Nord often gave his low, quiet rumbles when he was content and he found the noise endearing and comforting.

“You should sleep, little elf.”

“I’ve slept all day.”

“And you still need more. I know you want to. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better promise that.”

“I do.”

The Dragonborn glanced up to his partner, meeting the pale blue of his eyes before nodding, unable to do anything but trust him completely and give into the slumber that was tugging at his consciousness.

Farkas couldn’t say how long Nibenor slept for, only that the Bosmer dozed off against him almost immediately. His slumber was deep and quiet, the elf barely stirring, his breathing almost imperceptible, save for the soft puffs of warm air against his own chest.

Although the elf would protest, he still had a long way to go until he was fully recovered from his trip. The Nord couldn’t say he was pleased to return to find Nibenor’s injuries as they were. The healer had sped the process up, but the cuts and bruises from his battles still lingered, smaller, shallower, but there. Whether Nibenor was putting on a brave face against the pain, or whether he was really feeling better, Farkas wasn’t sure. He wondered if it was simply the joy of being reunited that staved off the worst of the pain for him.

He sighed lightly, looking down at the sleeping man, his skin a pale yellow in the glow of the lantern’s light, a sickly contrast to the purple mottling across his back. He traced a hand down, feeling Nibenor shift in response. That alone was enough to pull back, fear of hurting him making him almost afraid to touch him.

He couldn’t bear the thought of his little elf being in pain, especially by his own hands. If he could, he would’ve gone to Sovngarde in Nibenor’s place and beaten Alduin for him. If he could. Still, that was Nibenor’s birthright as Dragonborn.

He glanced over to the small stand beside the bed, finding the small cloth package to still be there, an odd mix of comfort and nervousness welling in his chest as he looked at it.

As soon as he had been certain that Nibenor was in safe hands with the healer he had headed for Riften. Guilt still plagued him that he had left his lovers side so soon after his return, but the urgency he had felt to act had overpowered it at the time. Looking at the bundle, he knew it had been right to do, comfort by its presence, its meaning. And the smaller man cradled against him.
Amulets of Mara weren’t too hard to come by, but after a week of asking around, he knew there were none to be found in Whiterun.

The temple of Mara had been his best chance to get one, and despite riding himself, and his horse, ragged to get there and back, he couldn’t regret it too much.

Well, not as long as Nibenor said yes, anyway...

He woke to the sound of music, a soft lilting tune plucked from the strings of a lute, gently rousing him from the depths of his sleep.

Nibenor blinked, eyes heavy and blurry, his ears straining for the sound of the lute, pinpointing its position at the other side of the room. He turned his head slowly, looking up, finding Farkas perched on a chair that was far too small, plucking at the strings of the beautifully carved instrument. He had never heard him play before, though he had oft seen him polishing the wood and tightening its strings.

His lover barely seemed to notice that he had woken, his head down, presumably watching his fingering.

The elf himself couldn’t play any instrument to save his life and had been told on more than one occasion that his singing was more akin to a howl of agony than anything that resembled music. The sight of his partner playing fascinated him, the lingering tendrils of sleep falling from his mind as he watched thick fingers move with a surprising deftness.

The only other person he knew, other than the bards, with any particular talent for music was Erandur, though perhaps that was obvious given that he had been a member of the bards college for a short time. Though the Dunmer seemed to use only his voice. The older mer had once sang for him, a sad lingering song in his native Dunmeri that had filled Nibenor with a sense of loss and longing. Perhaps it was what the Dunmer felt when they thought of all they had lost throughout history. In the end, Nibenor had had to ask him to stop, overwhelmed by the emotions it had stirred in him, unable to understand how Erandur’s slow lament had caused such a reaction.

Listening to Farkas play, he didn’t ever want him to stop. Save to hear his voice. He couldn’t say what emotion the song struck within him, save that it reassured him. It seemed to soothe, or at least distract him, from the aches building in his battered body. The one thing he did know was that the song was for him and him only and that it made him love Farkas more than he thought possible. It was at times like this that he simply couldn’t understand how someone could name him ‘ice-brain’, or accuse him of being dense or indifferent.

How could anyone say that about a person who could coax such a wonderful sound from a piece of wood and metal?

The music quietened, the notes seeming to shimmer and fade in the air before Farkas. Except that it wasn’t notes. He flushed to think he had been so moved that he could see the music, when it was just the glimmer of a chain around Farkas’s neck that was catching in the dim lantern light.

Nibenor frowned. He had never seen Farkas wear anything about his neck before and the thought puzzled him. He only forgot about it when the Nord suddenly looked up, his dark hair falling back from his face as he set his lute aside and stood, pacing barefoot to the bed.

He stooped, crawling into the bed once more, pulling Nibenor into his arms and the elf let himself be manhandled until they were both comfortable. Nibenor smiled, pressing his face against the rough stubble of Farkas’s throat, his hand lifting to rest on the opposite shoulder.

“I’ve never heard you play before.” He murmured, warming against Farkas’s bare torso.

“Don’t do it much...it doesn’t feel worth it unless someone wants to listen. Everyone’s got the Bannered Mare’s bard if they want music.”

“They don’t want to hear you play?” his fingers grazed something smooth, finding the links of the chain that Farkas wore. He played idly as the Companion spoke.

“Most of them don’t know I do. None of the whelps anyway and Aela’s not much for music. I play for Vilkas sometimes, or Kodlak, if he’s in the mood. They don’t ask very often though.”

“That’s a shame,” Nibenor answered fingers trailing down the chain absent-mindedly “you play well.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I don’t know much about music, but I know what I like. And I like what you played. Erandur sang to me once...it was such a sad song that I couldn’t bear to listen to him for long. I liked the sound, but not how it made me feel.”

“Oh?

“It was like listening to someone’s heart breaking.”

“And what I played?”

Nibenor paused, his fingers meeting a thick plate of metal at the end of the chain, rising onto it slowly.

“It was like listening to someone’s heart start to beat. Soft and slow but warm...alive.”

“Hmmm...I think I like that.”

“How do you even come up with that?”

“I don’t know I just...play and it comes. The music always sounds to me like what I...feel like when I’m playing. I can play other stuff too. Ragnar the red, and all that stuff,” he paused as Nibenor swirled his fingers against the stone at the centre of the pendant he wore “but I like playing how I feel best.”

Nibenor opened his eyes looking down at his hand, paused over the warm gold of Farkas’s necklace. Recognition and realisation struck him as he stared at the metal. He swallowed.

“How did you feel when you were playing?” his voice wavered slightly as he spoke, his breath and heart quickening.

“Hopeful.” Farkas replied and Nibenor looked up to meet his eyes. He wondered if it was by design that the amulet of Mara fell over the Nord’s heart, the metal seeming to thrum with the strong steady beat of the organ beneath.

Nibenor swallowed thickly, looking down to the amulet again, thoughts racing. Perhaps he should have seen this coming, they had been in a relationship for months now, and by Nord standards, a few months of courting was practically a promise to lifelong commitment.

But not for a Bosmer. He wondered if Farkas understood what he was asking, if he realised it would mean watching his husband stay young and strong, the magic in his blood extending his years whilst he himself grew old and frail. It was so short a time.
But that was life in Skyrim. Short and often brutal, as Erandur had once explained when he had commented on the oddness of Nord marriage customs. Farkas didn’t have another fifty years to think about whom he would spend his life with. Another fifty years would be his life...and he was choosing to spend it with him.

Nibenor let his eyes drift shut, his decision formed, though he had known what his answer would be all along. Taking a breath, he looked up at the other man, meeting pale blue eyes. The Nord’s face was surprisingly neutral, though he could see the hope in their depths and the nervousness that made his pulse race in his throat.

“You know you’ll never have any children of your own.” He stated.
The werewolf smiled softly.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Farkas...”

“I know,” Farkas cut him off “you think I haven’t thought about this. That I don’t know what I’m asking. I’ll never have whelps of my own, I’ll never have a beautiful wife and a happy family. And we won’t die old and gray together, because we’re different. But that’s ok. I choose you because being with you for the rest of my life is more important to me than that stuff.

Vilkas will have his kids and I’ll be their uncle who can teach them to fight and hunt and drink. And I’ll have my beautiful husband by my side and I’ll never have to worry about watching you fade to gray. And I know one day, a long time from now, when I’m in Sovngarde with our brothers and sisters, you’ll come to me from out of the mist. I know you’ll come back to me, no matter what separates us.

I don’t want you to worry about what I won’t have. I’m asking you to marry me because I understand what I will have. I’ll have you and that’s all I want.”

Nibenor felt his shoulders tremble, a soft warmth spreading through his chest and he threw himself against his lover, his arms tightening around his broad, pale shoulders. The warm metal of the amulet pressed against his chest, a solid reminder of what had come to pass, as Farkas’s arms wrapped around him once more.

“...Can I take that as a yes then?” Farkas murmured, his lips against the elf’s ear.

“Yes.”

Farkas gave no verbal response; the only noise he made was a soft purr as he kissed at Nibenor’s neck, turning their bodies until the elf was pressed against pillow and mattress. His hands moved slowly, fluttering over Nibenor’s skin, tracing the long sharp lines of his ears, the Nord’s lips following the striking paths of cheekbones and down his stark jaw line.

The Bosmer’s breath caught at the touches, muscles tensing for the briefest of seconds before loosening, his body melting against the mattress. Farkas knew the lines of his body better than the elf did himself, knew every curve and angle, the dips and swells of bone and muscle. The way the skin at his temples tightened whenever he gasped, the heaving of his chest when he was lost in his ecstasy, the way delicate, calloused fingers would claw at his back when he was inside him.

There was little Farkas didn’t know about the Dragonborn, and there was no hesitation in asking him to bind their lives together until one ended. Or his, to be more precise. Their time together was limited, he knew that now and he wasn’t going to waste that time, be it only a few months or fifty years. Not when he could cherish the little man as much as he deserved.

Not when he could make him arch his back and squeal at his touch.

His lips found the hard knot of the other’s larynx, his teeth grazing against it as his hands followed down slowly. A soft shudder ran through the other man as his fingers traced over his shoulders, careful not to place any pressure on dark bruises. Instead, he let his lips find the gaps between them, kissing at warm white skin, lapping at unsullied flesh.

Nibenor’s slender fingers found his hair, curling into the dark strands and Farkas glanced up briefly. Black eyes were closed and lips parted, soft gasps of breath releasing rhythmically.

Farkas smiled to himself, knowing his little elf was beginning to lose control already. The hard muscles of his abdomen quivered as he ran his fingertips against them, the skin smooth and warm, unspoiled but for the odd scars. His lips followed, trailing after his hands, his mouth stopping at a hip bone whilst large hands slid underneath the elf to cup at firm buttocks.

The Dragonborn grunted at the move, shifting, his legs parting slightly of their own accord and he looked down to the Nord settling between them. He never got over his own amusement of seeing Farkas’s considerable bulk between his thighs, the way his upper arms were as thick as his lower limbs.

He could never get over the sight of his cheeky smile either, the flash of teeth behind pink lips before they engulfed his member.
His back arched, a noise between a cry and a hiss escaping him before he even knew it was coming. Fingers gripped and kneaded the cheeks of his backside and he couldn’t do anything but let his mouth hang open and try to keep breathing. Farkas was not one to suck someone else off very often. That knowledge alone, combined with his absence only made it harder to control himself, to stave off the impending waves of orgasm building in his abdomen.

The soft noises his lover was making as he lavished his tongue along his length didn’t either and Nibenor found his hands winding into Farkas’s dark hair, tugging insistently.

The Nord pulled back confusion on his face, lips red and wet and open.

“I thought...”

The hand in his hair tugged again, upwards this time as Nibenor dragged his lover back to his face, crushing his mouth against the other man’s as soon as he could. He could taste the salt of his precum on those lips and found that it was a small price to pay to have his lover press against him again.

He parted his legs further, lifting his hips just enough to let his wet length rub against Farkas’s stomach.

“I want you, inside, now.”

“But...”

Nibenor had never seen Farkas’s mouth snap shut so quickly as it did at the look he gave him. But then, he had never seen Farkas being obedient at all.

Large hands grasped at his hips, tilting them upwards and placing them in Farkas’s lap. Breath caught in his throat as the Companion sucked on a finger before moving downwards. He didn’t see the motion, only felt the slicked digit slide in.

Not without difficulty, he thought, marvelling at how quickly his body had adjusted to not having his lover inside it regularly. It was always an odd sensation, his body both welcoming the intrusion and fighting it, pleasure singing even as his muscled clenched in an effort to remove the offending digit.

He had to fight his body’s efforts, to hold back his body’s natural instinct. Until the tip of that finger brushed against his prostate. Muscles clenched again, harder than before releasing and relaxing, suddenly tamed.

A second finger was added at that, the digits beginning to stretch him and Nibenor let his head fall back, his hips rising to meet the intrusion as breath caught once more. He could feel Farkas’s spare had kneading at his ass cheeks before sliding forwards to run lightly over his sack, to teasingly touch at the head of his dick.

Muscles clenched once more and he found himself being hauled upwards, fingers removed only to be replaced by something much more substantial a moment later. He hissed, feeling the burn of the stretch despite the lube that Farkas had hastily applied to his own member.

The Nord smiled watching the Mer’s reaction carefully, supporting his waist as the he slid lower, taking more of his cock in. He had missed this, the warmth, the tightness, the look of concentration on Nibenor’s face as he bit his lip and began to move his hips. That in itself was almost more erotic than the feeling of his walls and the steady clenching of his muscles.

Almost. But not quite. Especially when he could pull the man’s legs over his shoulders and plunge further into him, drowning out the elf’s attempts to control his pleasure.

Farkas wouldn’t stand for that. He would have his partner wailing by the end of this. He would have him crying out in the native tongue that he only spoke in these moments. The Companion didn’t understand the words, but the tone, that was what made him pound harder.

Nibenor’s delicate hands were wrapping behind his neck, holding his torso upright at Farkas gripped at his hips, thrusting upwards harder and faster now. Whimpers were breaking from the elf, his abs trembling with the effort of keeping him upright, his hard length weeping a steady trail of precum. Grunts broke from Farkas’s own throat, feeling fire beginning to engulf his lower body. Sweat trickled down his back, just as Nibenor’s torso began to glisten in the dim light, overshadowed only by the swollen head of his cock.

It was entirely too much for Nibenor, feeling pleasure shoot up his spine as Farkas plunged inside him as deep and as hard as possible. Ecstasy overwhelmed him as the length dragged against his prostate, the heat in his body soaring to unbearable levels. He was aware of his back arching, his cock pulsing as he came, accompanied by a low, strangled cry. Muscles spasmed, clenching around Farkas and moments later, the Nord was crushing their mouths together, muffling his own groans against his partner.

Nibenor wasn’t how sure how long they lay in each other’s arms, twisted and tangled, sweat and semen drying on cooling skin. Farkas was still buried within him and the Companion seemed content to stay there.

He wouldn’t have minded were it not for the aching that was settling into his muscles and he gentle disentangled himself before crawling up against the larger man’s chest. The reaction was instantaneous, a disappointed groan, but warm arms drew them together nevertheless. A blanket seemed to wind itself around them of its own accord, and in the haze of sleep that was claiming him, Nibenor was happy to believe that.

The amulet pressed warm against his chest.

The Dragonborn smiled, safe in the arms of his lover. The World-eater was banished, and whilst war would rage on outside, for the moment, he could cuddle against his fiancé, knowing that there would always be someone for him to come home to.

--
FIN

Now is the time for the answers Ariella! I wonder if you give us some background between Aela and farkas! love!

I wish there was a sign on your part! coming back? I really hope a new chapter! : 3

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