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

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“We did it,” Shevawna gasped.

“We did,” Vilkas said, approaching with a smile on his face and half-closed eyes and before she knew it he was hugging her. “You fought well, Shield-Sister.”

“And you,” Shevawna managed to get out, hugging him back, still too high on post-battle euphoria to question why she was hugging a man she thought she hated. “But I'm not a full Companion, isn't there some sort of initiation first?”

“Someone from the Circle watches you on a dangerous mission to make sure you're honourable,” Vilkas growled, still not letting go of her. “They say you are, you're in. I watched you doing all this, you're honourable and you're brave.”

“But you're not in the Circle any more,” Shevawna gasped, suddenly feeling very nervous. He still hadn't let go of her.

“No,” said Vilkas quietly. “But my word still counts for something or Kodlak would have thrown me out.”

He still hadn't let her go and Shevawna was started to get a bit worried. She was still full of adrenaline from the battle, ready to fight some more or run, run run until it was all out of her system, or find someone cute and fuck them til they screamed, but Vilkas was holding her and she could do none of those things.

“Vilkas,” she whispered. “You need to let me go. Either let me go or have sex with me because I really need to get it out of my – mmm!” He'd started as she'd said the word sex, eyes wide as he'd stared down at her – and then she'd seen a wildness, an all too familiar hunger in his eyes and now he was kissing her, lips on hers as he crushed her to him, scooping her up and walking her backwards until she felt her back meet the inside of a Draugr coffin, pinning her in place as he finally stopped kissing her and began removing her top, her headdress having already fallen off by this point.

All right then, sex it was, which was a bit weird considering she'd thought they hated each other, but then his mouth found her nipple and she stopped giving it a second thought because damn that felt good.

“Yes, oh yes,” she whispered and then Vilkas's fingers were sliding into her smallclothes and that felt even better. Thumb on her clit and fingers sliding into her cunt, and it all felt good, so good, Vilkas knew what he was doing, that was a surprise but a pleasant one. She'd heard Nord men were all about the cock and fucking and not a lot else, but Vilkas seemed to know what foreplay was.

“Please... yes, more, harder...”

“Gods, I want you, gods I need you, I can't stop, I can't...”

“Don't stop... don't stop... yes, like that...”

“... what are you doing to me, why... gods yes, yes, you're beautiful, yes...”

Shevawna closed her eyes as his fingers worked deeper, orgasm claiming her as she clung on to him, and by the old gods, he really did know what he was doing. Shevawna clung on to him, shrieking his name as she came before collapsing in his arms.

Vilkas's fingers left her, and he let her go, stepping away as she slid to the ground, exhausted. Was there going to be more? Was he going to fuck her next? He must want more, she'd not even touched him. Would he let her suck him off? She'd be all right with going down on him after that orgasm.

But he hadn't said anything and when she looked up, he was blushing furiously, staring at his hand in horror, fingers still dripping with her juices.

“Vilkas?” Shevawna asked, confused. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” Vilkas whispered, looking horrified... and revolted and that was really not cool, he had no right to still hate her after all this. “I should never... I need to go...” He grabbed his gauntlets and helm, both cast to the side in all the flurry of kissing, and fled for the newly opened tunnel in one of the coffins.

“Vilkas... wait, Vilkas, we didn't even... don't you want to... Vilkas!” Shevawna shouted after him. It was to no avail. Vilkas was gone and Shevawna was left in a heap on the floor, half-dressed, exhausted and very very confused.

“Did I do something wrong?” Shevawna whispered, trying to work out whether she was angry or hurt or just plain puzzled. One thing was for sure though. She would never understand Nords.

A/N: Oh Vilkas, Y U so messed up? But you're fun to write.

Also I got to use Olfina's line about being a woman in Skyrim! With appropriate context! *proud of self*

Next chapter is the aftermath in which Shevawna turns up at Jorrvaskr wanting answers, only to find Vilkas is being the biggest self-pitying w00bie it's possible to be and that drastic measures may be called for...

This clash-match is perfect, Vilkas is fantastic as ship of Shevawna! he is pride, a little prejudice, and he is certainly for her a conquer most difficult! I loved this!

The suffering of Vilkas is heartbreaking! but I always thought he could do it!

hot, warm moment between the two .... they are very interesting ... but after all he is the most interesting from the point of view of culture clash, prejudice and love! I look forward to the rest!

I love that you chose Vilkas, on the other hand I'm loving that Shevawna, slowly, is starting to be affected by other traditions ... and that she is not indifferent to the type of brotherhood that is in Jorrvaskr. I'm curious to see this encounter between different social realities and the union can not that be amazing!

Terribly forgetful OP here agrees Scent would be better.

i'd read this a while back, but didn't comment because i mostly lurk. i can't believe there aren't any more comments though! this was really hot, and i thank you for writing it.

but where are you?

Lydia watched Andril watch her from beneath lowered eye lids. His glaze drifted over her slowly coming to rest on her chest. She could feel her traitorous nipples pebbling beneath the fabric. She hastily crossed her
arms. She was aware her posture was defensive. But she couldn’t do this. Not right now! And not with Andril!

The snotty altmer was just to attractive. He had never given any indication he was interested in her! And, she refused to open herself to rejection. She lowered her eyes. “Don’t look away” his quiet voice was husky, filled with some emotion she could not define. So she hesitated, and then met his gaze. Just for a moment something flickered in his.

Lydia was no blushing innocent. She realized that unless she stopped it, she would be on her back with him between her legs. As much as she desired him, she just couldn't go through with it. He leaned forward slowly. She quickly backed away almost tripping over her skirt in her haste. “My thane you made your point. I will watch my words in the future”. She was proud that her voice came out sounding so steady.

He, blinked before deliberately reaching for her hand raising it to his lips “Goodnight Lydia”. The door quietly closed behind him. Lydia felt relief, regret and envy all at the same time .

Only Andril could oust himself from an awkward situation with such grace. She could not allow him even a hint of what she was truly feeling. She had witnessed how women threw themselves at him. She refused to just be one of the crowd. He would move on. For her it would not be so easy.

Breezehouse one week later

Andril woke to the smell of warm sweet rolls and something savory. Lydia had been to the Bannered Mare and picked up breakfast. He sighed deeply to himself. A remarkable change had come over his housecarl, since their return from Marketh. She had been acting reserved around him, taking his orders without question.

But, he noticed the way she would look at him, when she thought he wasn’t watching. There was a new sexual tension between them which she refused to acknowledge. He lay back running his hands through his hair. Lydia was so serious these days. He never thought he would miss her sass but he did. He wanted the old Lydia back. He was unaware he would get his wish. But that is another story.

Authors note:
Thank you so much for reading and commenting on this fill. I tried to find a way to include smut. However, I couldn’t fix the timeline to make it fit in with the other fill I’m writing about Andril and Lydia. That prompt is written to include their first time together. I am planning a part two for this story which includes smut and consensual spanking. It will have to take place a few months after this story ends thou. Again thank you. Your comments and encouragement kept me writing.

OMG sweet!

So glad you updated! I can't wait to read ore about the two. Are they up already? I love them

I really hope that everything goes well! Miss you and your story!

Thank you I am so happy you enjoyed this. I started a different fill about Andril and Lydia but got distracted writing this. I don't know how to post links on here. But it can be found on the Kink Meme Skyrim page 5 on page 8 of 33. It's the second fill under a prompt "Sassy Lydia and Snarky High Elf M!DB. It's titled "Worlds Apart a housecarls story". I am working on the next part and will be updating that soon. If you don't like the kinks for that particular fill no worries. Once I finish that I plan to write part two of this one and post it here on this page as promished. Enjoy!

“We need to head back to Jorrvaskr” he said quietly. Reljir stepped towards him just as Aela reached for his hand. The whelp stopped and leaned towards her. The two of them were becoming engrossed in each other again. At this rate they would be out here all night. Skjor sighed before walking over and deliberately inserting himself between them.

Aela resisted slightly and Skjor growled warningly at her. She silently allowed her arm to drop. He immediately turned to the whelp half expecting a fight. The younger man met his gaze somewhat sheepishly before lowering his eyes. Skjor could sense the astonishment coming from the wolves as they simultaneously reached a startling conclusion.
.
Reljir was respecting him as alpha. He briefly wondered at the whelp using pack mannerisms. But then he dismissed it as some instinct from the dragon blood. He was already planning his next move.

Reljir caught the look Aela flashed him, and smiled reassuringly at her. The alpha was right. If they wanted to reach Jorrvaskr with their dignity in place, they needed a little distance between them. Besides he had no desire for Skjor to visit his displeasure upon her. It wasn‘t necessary. The walk to Whiterun was not that long. Soon the two of them would be free to do what they wanted.

He planned to rent them a room at the Bannered Mare. He wanted privacy this evening, away from both the wolf pack and the alpha. Wait! Wait! Wait! When had he began to accept Skjor as his alpha? He could see Aela turning to look at him, reacting to his spiking emotions.

He pulled his thoughts inward and began to examine the question. Earlier he thought he had made a conscious decision to act subordinate. But, now he could see there was much more to it. When he really thought about it he could see Aela’s influence in all of this.

It suddenly made sense. Gifts were always exchanged during a pair bond among Hircines children. The beast spirit would trade qualities with its mate to strengthen their union.

Reljir realized Aela’s gift to him was extra special. Aela’s family was Jorrvaskrs wolf pack. She had gifted him with the ability to bond with that exclusive group. Reljir found he was fine with Skjor being his alpha.

From a young age, he had been taught to respect his elders. It felt natural to lump Skjor into that group. Reljir smiled inwardly again. This was Aela’s influence on him.

Among the bear tribes, not all males inherited Hircines gifts. Only the werebears became solitary at puberty. However, for Reljir it had been a little different. Because of the prophecy, his mother had insisted he learn Ansei traditions.

Even when granted the freedom to roam, he used to return to his village to continue his training. However, these interludes were short. He had always felt compelled to return to the wilderness. Now he realized he had started feeling more comfortable with people when he met Aela. Had the bonding began way back then?

It was so refreshing to enjoy being part of a community. His bear stirred slightly in agreement. In fact, the bear felt relieved that he finally got it.

By now the small group was approaching the drawbridge to Whiterun. Reljir was abruptly snatched out of his thoughts. “DOVAHKIIN!” The thundering sound reverberated across the sky causing the ground to shake. What in the world?

Sorry for being so neglectful, I'll try and update more often.
---

When the man eventually gained control there were supplies laid out before him. He wasn’t sure where they had come from but he wasn’t about question the beast. It was resting and it had actually considered taking care of him for once.

Vilkas dressed in the strange bloody armour that was slightly torn. He wondered how the beast had gotten if off the body of what ever poor soul it had killed. All the clothing seemed to be intact enough to keep him warm. The pack’s strapped were ripped so Vilkas scooped the supplies into the sack and carried it as he walked.

He tried to get a bearing on where he was. He saw a small town and his heart began to pound. He looked up to the mountain and knew exactly why the beast had brought him here.

Ivarstead. It wanted him to go to High Hrothgar.

He didn’t dare think about why he was making this journey, even though he knew the answer. Instead he counted every step he took as he made his journey. Determined to distract himself however he could until the wolf showed itself again and he could give into it.

Vilkas finally made it to High Hrothgar and by some stroke of luck as he approached he saw one of the monks collecting their food supplies. Vilkas ran through the snow and tried to yell over the blowing wind but he was, unsurprisingly not heard.

“Excuse me!” Vilkas called as he got to the bottom of the steps. The Monk slowly turned to regard him and after a moment recognition flashed across his face. Arngeir’s expression changed and he made a gesture to invite Vilkas inside.

The sun was setting, the wind was picking up so Vilkas didn’t waste anytime going inside.

He shook off the snow that was on him and followed the Greybeard leader further inside.

“I suppose you’ve come about the Dragonborn.” The old monk asked once he neared the kitchen. He offered Vilkas a seat and then began putting away the supplies they had. Vilkas felt a pain in his chest but he forced himself to talk through it, he had to know.

“Yes. I-We want to know what happened.” He said, the other companions wanted that closure too, Vilkas was sure. “If you’ll be willing to tell us that is.”

Once the supplies were away Arngeir poured two tankards of hot milk and sat down. “The Dragonborn defeated Alduin.”

The Greybeard leader took a sip of his drink and honestly that fact had surprised Vilkas. He thought in his very heart and souls that she would not have been capable of doing such a thing, he didn’t think she was strong enough.

“When she returned to Nirn she was gravely injured. She was not conscious upon her return and Par- the leader of our Order had to carry her down from the Throat of the World to here.” He took another seat and Vilkas felt his throat tightening, he didn’t dare speak. “She had a large wound that pierced straight through her stomach and it took everything he knew to stop her from bleeding out, but we couldn’t stop all the bleeding. The wound was much better than it was when she first arrived but it was still terrible when she woke.”

Vilkas didn’t move, he felt frozen in his seat. “She bandaged her wounds up, put on her armour and set out. We tried to stop her, there was no way she would make it down the mountain in her condition and we told her that.”

“Wh-What did she say?” Vilkas asked, almost without him meaning to. The way the Greybeard let his shoulders sag made Vilkas think she had said something alarming.

“We told her she would die if she left in her condition and she just said one word, “good,” then made her goodbyes, gave us thanks and left, without even taking any healing potions from us.” Vilkas felt a pang in his heart and another pang in his stomach: guilt.

“We had not heard her thu’um since she left and you coming here to know about where she is only confirms it. The Dragonborn is dead.”

“Where was she going to go?”

“She was making for the College of Winterhold but there’s not a hope on Nirn that she made it.” Vilkas finally took a sip of the warm milk on the table and stared at the cup, willing the stinging in his eyes to stop. Praying it would all be over soon.

“There’s been no word of the Dragonborn for some time, she must be…” A lump in his throat stopped him from saying the word. “She must be… dead.”

Every inch of him was screaming that it wasn’t true but he knew he would only be lying to himself at this point.

“You can stay the night to process the information but you must leave by morning.”

“I understand.” Vilkas felt numb.

BY AKATOSH AN UPDATE!
This actually made my terrible say so much better!!
I hope you update again soon I love, love, LOVE this story.

Happy EXTREMELY belated birthday! Maybe we can call it an early Christmas present? Happy summer solstice?
PAIRING: M!DBAltmer/Farengar Secret-Fire
KINKS: Slash, light bondage, gagging
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Therion breathed slowly, calming himself. His hands trembled with excitement as he turned the page of his book, eagerly devouring the words. Without looking up, he took a sip of mead from his flagon. He savored the sweet nectar as it warmed his body, and let the carbonation tingle delightfully on his tongue. A wistful sigh escaped his lips as he began to feel deeply relaxed.

The door to the keep slammed shut with such force that Therion could feel his chair vibrate. Startled, his feet slipped from the table, causing the contents of his flagon to slosh. He deftly avoided spilling his drink upon his book, covering the cup with his hand. A soft growl escaped his lips as the irksome sound of angry footfalls made his slender ears twitch.

Farengar Secret-Fire stormed into his laboratory, throwing his staff against the wall where it usually rested.

Therion raised a slender eyebrow, curious what could have put the human mage in such a furor.

Farengar snapped his gaze onto the Dragonborn, noticing him for the first time.

“Get out,” he barked, ripping the book from Therion’s hands and tossing it away before turning to his alchemy station where he began to loudly grinding an ingredient with his mortar and pestle.

Therion watched him in a daze. As the shock wore off, however, his blood began to boil. Moving with practiced silence and grace, he stood beside the wizard, hand resting on the black handle of his Akaviri Dai-Katana.

“You’re ruining that nirn root,” Therion said quietly, causing the wizard to jump as he became aware of his presence.

“What? I’m not even… Ah,” he stopped, realizing he was grinding the ingredient he meant to dilute, and placed it on the alembic to boil.

Therion smirked, eliciting an indignant look from the wizard.

“You have a rudimentary grasp of the alchemical art. Are you expecting praise for your ‘help’?” Farengar asked, taking a step away from Therion as he continued his work. “I’ve better things to do than inflating your already oversized ego.”

Therion laughed.

“My oversized ego?” he replied incredulously.

“Are you deaf or simple? I told you to get out. Where did I put those...” he trailed off, turning to search through the contents of his desk.

“Your grand entrance nearly left me deaf,” Therion said, massaging his ear. “What happened, Farengar? You’re more ‘pleasant’ than usual tonight, even for you.”

Farengar slammed his desk drawer shut, empty handed.

“The concern of the great and mighty Dragonborn,” he said with unpleasant sarcasm, “Am I supposed to be flattered?”

Therion snatched the book he had been reading from the table.

“I’ll find somewhere else to read in peace,” he said irritably, tucking the book away.

Farengar waved his hand at the door, waiting for Therion to leave.

The Dragonborn turned to go, and Farengar heaved a sigh of relief behind him. His body tensed as the mer whirled around on him.

“Oh, and approach me in such a manner again...” Therion said, bearing down on the grumpy court wizard, causing him to retreat several steps, “and I may not be so patient next time.”

That he killed more than just dragons for a living was not common knowledge. Therion Adamonest, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, had a most disconcerting air around him when provoked. He was quick to smile, but just as likely, and as quick, with his blade.

The mage seemed duly frightened as he noticed him shiver.

Farengar looked for escape from his trapped position between the crux of his desk and the armored mer. The Nord’s breathing quickened and Therion remained to ensure the mage was sufficiently intimidated.

“By the Nine, why won’t you leave already?!” Farengar cursed, looking skyward as he found himself unable to escape.

Therion paused. This was not the way a frightened man acted. He made a quick perusal of all the ingredients sitting on his alchemy stand.

“Ah,” Therion said in a low chuckle. “Who was it?”

“What fool nonsense are you on about?” Farengar asked, tightly folding his arms.

“Who gave you the love potion? My coin would be on Arcadia, of course,” he said with a wolfish grin. “Short on wisp wrappings, are you? I could try to buy some from Arcadia’s Cauldron, but she might be conveniently out of stock, I suspect.”

Farengar shivered again and looked away as he forced his arms to remain at his sides.

Therion burst into laughter.

“Get out,” Farengar ordered, head held high, glaring defiantly at him from the shadows of his blue cowl.

“Why not call a guard, court wizard?” Therion chuckled. “If you think you can restrain yourself around Whiterun’s finest. As you can barely keep your hands off of me.”

Farengar finally pushed the Dragonborn away, who gracefully stepped away laughing as he did so.

“Is my torment so amusing to you?” Farengar asked, gasping for breath as he spoke. Therion’s smile widened. If he was out of breath, then he was not holding up as well as he pretended to be.

“In a word, yes,” Therion replied. “The most antisocial, introverted man I’ve ever met, driven to find affection mentally, not to mention physically? It’s a delicious sort of irony. Ever been under the effect of a love potion before, master wizard? I suppose not - it doesn’t sound like your field of alchemy.”

“I prefer more academic research - so no, I never tried one for recreation. But I do know how to craft a cure,” Farengar said indignantly.

“Which is very astute of you, except,” Therion snickered, “You may have noticed that certain, ah, desires are becoming more and more distracting? Your mind is going to give way very soon, and you won’t have a say in anything you do afterwards.”

Farengar gave him an unsettled look.

Therion held up his hands. “I’m a perfect gentleman. I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage. I don’t need potions to bed someone.”

The wizard relaxed a little.

“However,” Therion added, “If you don’t take an antidote soon, you might, ah, not give any choice in the matter.”

Farengar stiffened, looking more wary than ever.

“Oh, don’t look so anxious. Even if you lived a hundred years, you couldn’t overwhelm me - the maids of Dragonsreach or the guards, however… oh dear, who would win, if you ran into Irileth, I wonder?”

“I’m going to kill Arcadia,” Farengar growled. “I never knew she was capable of such a tasteless humor!”

“Humor?” Therion echoed. “You think she gave you a love potion to laugh at your expense?”

“Why else?” Farengar snarled, searching through his potions for a cure.

“For someone so smart, you’re remarkably dense,” Therion remarked. Who would have thought such an arrogant man would be so humble about his appeal.

“I suppose you believe that Arcadia possesses some inexplicable interest in my mind or body?” he said dismissively.

“Or your heart, more precisely,” Therion said, leaning back against his desk while the wizard continued rummaging for alchemy supplies. “Though you make it sound as if the notion is preposterous.”

“Precisely so,” Farengar said, returning to his alembic.

Therion caught his arm and whirled him around, holding him a breadth away.

“What are you doing?!” Farengar demanded, his sea green eyes searching Therion’s face.

“Looking at you,” Therion said simply, using his free hand to tilt the wizard’s face from side to side.

Farengar struggled against the mer’s grip, but his arms were like iron, and he could not drop the potion in his right hand. He glared daggers at Therion, trying to ignore the sensations the mer stirred in him. Locking his gaze on the other man’s amber eyes, he tried to ignore the handsome features of the mer’s high cheek bones, gold lips, and intelligent eyes, searching his own for something unknown to him. Even his hair seemed absurdly handsome, framing his face with elegant, dark, golden curls. As he struggled against the Dragonborn, he wondered, despite himself, what those lips felt like. Therion moved closer, as if he might kiss him at any moment. Farengar’s heart raced in his chest, but he kept his face a mask of irritation and distaste, hoping the Dragonborn could not feel its beats.

“As I thought,” Therion said, his warm breath making Farengar’s head spin.

“What?” Farengar demanded, wishing Therion would either let go or pull him closer and take him. Truly, he could not tell which he wanted, as his head spun.

Therion leaned close, whispering seductively in the wizard’s ear. “You’re actually quite handsome, Farengar.”

The wizard could not help shuddering at the softly spoken words. “You bastard,” he replied. “Did you not just claim you would not try to take advantage of my situation? And now you’re trying to entice me? Why do you mock me?!”

Therion flashed one of his usual grins.

“I said I wouldn’t take advantage of you, I never said I wouldn’t tease you,” the Dragonborn replied, admiring the wizard’s face in his grip. “Though I was quite serious when I called you handsome. Curious, why you refuse to believe me. How might I convince you of the truth, I wonder?” he asked with a dark grin, pulling Farengar’s chin closer.

The wizard’s breath caught in his throat as the mer moved to kiss him. Therion paused, his slender ears perking up, causing the three, tiny, silver rings in his ear to bounce.

“Damn,” Therion whispered. “I may kill that woman myself.”

He released Farengar’s face and ushered him into his bed chamber as the door to Dragonsreach opened.

Farengar gave him a questioning look.

“A woman approaches. I imagine it’s Arcadia. Perhaps with a silly story that this is all some misunderstanding? While she subtly twirls her hair and smiles at you? No matter. She’ll not get what she wants,” Therion said, closing the door.

“Stay away from me,” Farengar said suddenly, moving away, as a demanding warmth racked his body. “I fear I may not be wholly capable of constraining myself much longer.”

“Here,” Therion said, pointing to the chair at the wizard’s desk. “Sit.”

Farengar sat and watched as the Dragonborn opened his pack, removing a length of rope.

“What are you intending on doing?” Farengar asked with distrust.

“I should think that much was obvious. Or would you rather take your chances, with your body overriding your sensibilities? I could let Arcadia in and-”

“Very well,” Farengar said with an exasperated sigh, putting his hands behind the chair. “Place my palms together or I’ll burn my way through the ropes.”

Therion tied the mage’s hands and then encircled his chest.

“You seem suspiciously familiar with how to secure someone in such a manner,” Farengar said, trying to sound indifferent.

“I have a fascinating night job, when I’m not playing hero,” Therion said with a smirk. “It wouldn’t fit well in the Dragonborn ballads, however, so please don’t inquire further.”

“Farengar?”

They both looked toward the door, hearing Arcadia calling.

“I’ll deal with her,” Therion whispered.

The wizard nodded.

“Before I go… sorry for this,” Therion said softly.

“Sorry for wh-” Farengar began, but was interrupted by a cloth being forced in his mouth. He yelled something incomprehensible as Therion gagged him.

“I’ve had this delightful potion once myself,” Therion said, his eyes dark and angry at the recalled memory, “And very soon you’ll be shouting as the effects grow worse. Best to avoid anyone else finding you like this, no?”

Farengar glared at the mer, breathing heavily through his nose.

“You’re welcome,” Therion said with a wink, heading out the door.

“Oh, Dragonborn,” Arcadia said in surprise, looking up from Farengar’s alchemy station. “What are you doing here?”

“Robbing the good wizard,” Therion replied with a smile.

“You’re what?” Arcadia asked, looking alarmed.

“Only joking,” Therion said, leaning casually against the alchemy station beside her. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, I was just looking for Farengar…” she said, glancing at the door to his bed chamber.

“Oh, what business do you have with him?” Therion asked, leaning a little closer, causing Arcadia to flush. “Are the two of you… involved?” he asked, with a touch of disappointment in his voice.

“D-Dragonborn,” Arcadia stammered, looking up at the tall mer. “Um, no, not really. I was, ah, just dropping by to see if he might like an alchemy ingredient I acquired, you see.”

“Oh, really?” Therion said happily. “May I see? I dabble in alchemy a bit.”

“Uh, sure, I suppose,” she said uncertainly, things clearly not going as she had expected. Reaching into her bag she retrieved a shimmering set of wisp wrappings that floated ethereally in her hand.

“They’re quite lovely,” Therion said, placing his hand on hers as he took them.

Arcadia blushed and swallowed, letting him examine the ingredient. “I’m glad you like them.”

Therion quickly placed them in his pocket. “I’ll make sure Farengar gets them, I’m sure he’ll be very grateful for your visit when he gets back.”

“Gets back?” she asked, looking at his pocket, about to demand the ingredient back.

“From the Temple of Kynareth. He seemed quite keen on seeing Danica,” Therion said.

“Danica?” Arcadia repeated. “Not the priestess?!”

“Yes. Perhaps he’s feeling ill?” Therion said.

“Sorry, I have to go!” Arcadia said, looking pale and dashing from the room.

Therion took the wisp wrappings from his pocket and turned to Farengar’s alchemy station. “Dabble” had been putting it mildly about his alchemy skills.

As he put together the antidote, he recalled the last time he had tasted it and sighed to himself. People who used potions and devious means to attain another’s heart or body riled him. He ignored the sick dread that filled him, knowing what the last stage would be like for Farengar. “I still might kill that woman,” he murmured to himself as he worked. “Though that would be poor manners. I wouldn't want to rob Farengar of a little vengeance of his own.”

With the potion complete, he returned to Farengar’s chamber where the wizard struggled futilely to free himself, a small trail of black smoke coming from his palms. Therion shut the door behind him and removed the wizard’s gag.

“UNTIE ME!” he bellowed, before Therion quickly muffled him, placing his hand over the wizard’s mouth.

“Ah yes, this lovely stage of the potion,” Therion said, glad he had tied the mage to the chair when he had the chance. “Farengar,” he whispered into the wizard’s ear as he struggled and grunted. “If you shout again, I will gag you and leave you locked in this room. Do you understand?”

The wizard stopped.

“Good,” Therion said, removing his hand. “Now, you must be thirsty. I’ve brought you a flagon of my best mead. Here.”

Farengar moved his face to the side, stubbornly refusing the cup.

“Too good for elven mead?” Therion asked, taking a sip of the cup.

“I don’t want what’s in that cup,” Farengar growled. “Untie me.”

Therion suspected he might refuse the antidote at this stage. He had done the same. It was a vain hope he would fall for such an obvious ploy.

Well, on to plan B, he thought.

“I know what you want,” he said seductively, moving to lean casually against the desk in front of the wizard. “And I have no reservations about giving you what we both desire,” he said, allowing the lust to shine in his amber eyes.

“Then untie me!” Farengar demanded looking pained and half mad with desire.

“We both know I can’t do that,” Therion said, slowly undoing the buckles of his black Nightingale armor, under Farengar’s intense gaze. “But, if you do as I say, I can make it worth your while.” Moving his hands slowly and deliberately, he tossed aside his chest piece and began undoing the buttons of his white shirt, gradually exposing the gold skin of bare chest.

Farengar looked torn.

Therion bolted forward suddenly, grabbing his face as he had before.

“Drink the potion,” he told the wizard, “And I’ll finish what I started, before we were interrupted.”

Farengar’s eyes looked lost and wild, but stubborn as ever. “No,” he said through clenched teeth, though he sounded divided.

“Gods, but you are stubborn! Even I wasn’t this bad!” Therion said, kicking the desk in frustration, he uttered a curse in the Ayleid tongue of his ancestors. “Why can’t you be cooperative just once?”

“Because you’ll leave the moment I've consumed that damned concoction!” Farengar shouted, struggling against his bonds.

“That’s what this is about!” Therion said, clapping his hands. “May I live to see a thousand, I won’t understand how you can be so arrogant yet completely insecure! You’re handsome, the most intelligent and inquisitive human I’ve ever known, and although you’re a complete bastard half the time, I would eagerly drag you into my bed and pleasure you until you forgot your own name!”

Farengar looked up at him in surprise.

Therion placed his hands on the wizard's head and lowered his cowl, looking at him without the ever present secretive shadows shrouding his face.

“Farengar, you’re going to drink this potion. And I will still be here after. But make no mistake, you are drinking this potion,” Therion said, staring intently at him.

Farengar locked his jaw, glaring back at Therion with dogged determination.

In a flash, Therion took a swig from his flagon and grabbed the mage by the back of head. Tilting him back, he pressed his lips against Farengar’s and opened the wizard’s mouth with his tongue.

Farengar moaned and opened his mouth, unable to resist. Therion kissed him deeply, the honeyed potion passing the wizard’s lips at his encouragement.

“Swallow it,” Therion told him, “And I’ll do it again.”

Heat flowed through Farengar’s body and he swallowed the brew, and stared longingly at Therion’s exposed golden flesh.

Therion drank from the flagon again and once more trapped the wizard’s lips with his. This time he released Farengar’s brown hair and gently ran his hand along the wizard’s cheek and neck, eliciting a low moan from the Nord.

Farengar swallowed the potion.

“Mmm, so you can do as your told then?” Therion said with a mischievous chuckle.

He took a third swig of the flagon, and eagerly tasted the wizard, holding either side of his face as the wizard eagerly returned his fire, matching the deft and skillful movements of his tongue. The Dragonborn felt his head spin as he reluctantly pulled away to give him the last dose.

“Wait,” Farengar begged, looking away, his breathing ragged. “Please, just untie me. You want me as much as I do you. Please…” he whispered desperately at the Dragonborn in the small, dark, bed chamber. When he looked back at Therion, his eyes were filled with longing and heartache. “I would know your love. Or I’d prefer to know nothing at all.”

His voice pained Therion, as he had known it would. The enchantment drove him to speak as though he might never again feel such love again in his life. Therion lifted the cup to his lips to take the final sip, but stopped as Farengar looked at him fiercely, and said, "Don't."

“I don’t want the last of that potion,” Farengar said, the raw misery in his voice unexpectedly cutting deep into Therion. "My heart can take no more of this torment."

And now I’m certain, I will kill that woman myself, Therion thought silently, watching the wizard suffer. What to do… the wizard might spit the potion out if he forced it, and then the effect would be weakened or undone, depending on the strength of the spell infecting him, which seemed unduly strong. Therion lowered his head and sighed, tapping the cup in thought. What to do, what to do...

“Farengar,” he asked. “Do you trust my honor?”

“In what way?” the mage asked still sounding wretchedly forlorn.

“If I make a vow, I am an honorable man who will uphold my oath, am I not?” Therion asked, looking at him in earnest.

“What sort of vow?” Farengar asked.

“I’ll untie you and make passionate love to you, if you drink the last of this potion first,” Therion said, toying with the belt of his black Nightingale armor.

Farengar fought with the idea. “If I recover my senses, I might not feel as I do now. I want you now. Please…”

“Those are my terms,” Therion said with finality, moving his hands away from his belt.

“I suppose the residual influence would be in effect for at least an hour, “Farengar said, considering. “If you promise to uphold your end of the bargain immediately, on your honor, then yes,” he agreed, his breath quickening.

“Very well, on my honor,” Therion said. Taking the last of the potion, he pulled a dagger from his boot and placed it at Farengar’s ropes. Gently, he gave Farengar the last of the potion, letting the kiss linger long after the wizard swallowed the last of it.

When at last he broke away he gave the wizard a small, sad smile, as he removed his knife and sheathed it. “I’m sorry, Farengar.”

The devastation and pain in the wizard’s eyes hurt like a dagger in his chest.

“You swore on your honor!” he shouted.

“Yes. Fortunately, you don’t know me very well. Or you'd know I have none,” Therion replied with a cheerless smile, quickly gagging the man as he began to yell.

Therion laid in Farengar’s bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The wizard remained still, his head bowed, all of the fight having gone out of him, his heart broken. Therion wondered if he had ever felt so damned wretched, in all his hundred thirty-four years, as he did at that moment.

Therion rubbed his fingers together, fire sparking and coming to life in his hand. With a look around the room, he flicked his hand, and a tiny ball of flame spun and split off in five directions, lighting all of the candles in the room. Farengar watched with a flicker of interest before once again looking away in silence.

“I learned it on the Summerset Isle,” Therion said, speaking toward the unresponsive figure. “I was barely thirty back then. I used to sit in my room, bored to tears. So I made a game of seeing how many I could successfully light. My parents became legitimately concerned about the number of candles I kept in my room. And the singe marks on my walls and blankets.”

Farengar remained still.

“My record, if you’re curious, is twenty-six,” Therion said, a little pride in his voice.

Farengar made no response, but Therion felt the mood lighten ever so slightly, even if it was just on his end.

“The heartbreak…” he said slowly, hesitant to revisit the past. “It hurts like hell. My friends had to drag me out of town and tie me to a tree. I even broke Talamagne’s arm, poor bastard. I'd have beaten all five of them to a pulp if it hadn't been for Aran knocking me senseless. A blessing he didn't leave me simple too, I still see stars just remembering him cracking my head against Auriel’s statue," he said, rubbing the back of his head nostalgically. "After they forced me to take the antidote, my heart ached so awfully within my chest, I wished I could die. But after an hour, the love, heartbreak, desire…” he waved his hand absently, “All gone. Just temporary illusions, created by someone who wants to force you to feel as they do. So they can rob you of your senses... and take what they want of you.”

Farengar looked toward Therion as the mer fell into an uncharacteristic silence.
He watched in fascination as Therion began to absently weave an elegant pattern of fire in the space above him, staring at the ceiling as he did so.

“Love doesn’t take what it wants,” he said solemnly, looping a trail of fire into his intricate design without looking. The glowing artwork bathed the room in warm, red light. Farengar watched the design grow, until Therion sighed and extinguished it with a gesture, as if waving away the past as well.

Reaching behind his back, he removed the book there.

“Have you ever read A Dance in Fire?” Therion asked, his usual playfully aloof demeanor returning, as he cracked open the worn book. “I’m going to assume you have, and read it to you anyway. Hopefully it will make the time pass quicker,” he said, clearing his throat, “The scene: The Imperial City, Cyrodil. The date: seven Frost Fall, third era, three hundred ninety-seven. It seemed as if the palace had always housed the Atrius Building Commission, the company of clerks and estate agents who authored and notarized nearly every construction of any note in the Empire…”

Therion read on, bringing different voices to each character and giving them individual personalities, while settling into the role of narrator and pouring his deep, resonating voice into each line.

When he closed the book, he was certain at least two hours had passed. He cleared his throat, feeling a bit hoarse. The wizard would be completely cured, and that was worth the extra wait. Pouring two glasses of water, he removed the gag from Farengar’s mouth and sliced his ropes apart.

The first thing Farengar did was to pull up the cowl of his robe, shrouding his face once more.

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