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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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But is this the plan? Or is it a trap? Very worried about Vilkas, looking forward to this!

No, no, really, why should I be crying? these are not tears, I just have a perfect fic in my eye!

Who is the
wizard?

Translations at the bottom.

"Paarthurnax?" Therion wondered aloud, eyes marginally widening.

"An oddly grandiloquent name,” Farengar replied absentmindedly as he scanned the skies for the dragon circling somewhere overhead.

“This coming from ‘Farengar Secret-Fire’?” the mer asked with a chuckle, as he tucked in his white shirt and collected his armor.

After a moment of carefully listening, Therion paused, before drawing a deep breath.

“STENFAH!”

His bellow shook the walls of the bedroom, nearly jarring Farengar into the window he was looking through.

Caught off guard, Farengar whirled around to face Therion, the source of the upset. It was easy to forget that voice could contain so much power. The half-naked Altmer dawned his enchanted armor as though nothing extraordinary had transpired, pouring himself into the perfectly fitted leather. Farengar watched him dress in the muted morning light, filtering through the high windows, as he pondered over that voice which felled dragons and brought men to their knees.

Even half dressed, Therion looked impressive. He was poised, muscular, and a literal breath away from unleashing that incredible power from between his lips. For a strange and perplexing moment, Farengar couldn’t recognize him as the Therion he knew; that galling and mysterious elf who fascinated Farengar, often despite his best efforts. This Therion was a stranger whom looked impossibly unreal. Like a hero of legend from the old tales.

Invincible.

Reflexively, Farengar's eyes wandered over the jagged scars exposed above the elf's shirt. A stark reminder of Therion's frailty… and his mortality. He had the voice and soul of a dragon, but not the flesh of one.

Farengar tore his gaze away before Therion could notice. He had seen him scowling quietly at his scars when he thought the wizard wasn't looking.

“Someone you know?” Farengar asked when Therion didn't explain his shout or who Paarthurnax was. Disguising his jumbled and indistinct feelings of concern, he followed Therion downstairs.

The elf was grinning broadly in what appeared to be delighted surprise.

“Do you remember when I told you I have one friend in Skyrim?” Therion asked, before shaking his head and breaking into laughter. “Who do I think I’m talking to. Of course you remember. You probably remember the herb I picked during the conversation.”

“Blue mountain flower,” Farengar supplied without hesitation.

Therion glanced over at the wizard in curious amazement. Farengar’s memory never failed to astound.

“Well,” Therion said, pointing to the sky as he opened the door. "That’s him, there."

Farengar stared in wide eyed amazement, awed by the sight. A large, gold dragon soared majestically overhead, circling the skies with ease and indifference for the many arrows whizzing past its body.

“You shouted something to him," Farengar said eagerly, his eyes keenly locked skyward as he spoke. "What did you say?”

Therion admired the spirit of excitement shining in Farengar's eyes. Dragons, herbs, magic - when presented by anything of scholarly potential, he suddenly became alight with enthusiasm. Therion wanted to show him so many wonderful things and watch that light of intellect and discovery burn. His expression softened as he realized the likelihood he would live long enough to do so was fantastically low. Every day he lived felt like borrowed time. A future with Farengar was a wonderful, albeit unlikely, dream. He couldn’t help laughing out loud at the irony of it all. A mer worrying about outliving his human love. Ondolemar would probably chuckle at least a little, and he vowed to tell his cousin if they met again.

“A polite reply to his summons," Therion explained with a fond smile. "‘On my way’, or something to that effect. Paarthurnax has rigorously tried to explain the culture of the dov to me. Etiquette, especially.”

Farengar gave him a curious stare, perhaps tinged with jealousy.

“I’m trying to imagine you sitting on a mountain top, learning manners from a dragon,” he explained, sounding dubious.

Therion caught his meaning and sniffed a bit indignantly, momentarily looking every bit the stereotype of a haughty Altmer. There were times, he mused, when Farengar’s preconceptions of adventurers could be tiresome. He didn’t enjoy being lumped into the 'adventurer' category as a whole.

“I’m highly educated in proper, refined behavior. Both dragon and otherwise. More often than not, I simply choose to ignore it,” Therion said with a private smile, cutting a quick path through town toward the market. “I only stand on ceremony with Paarthurnax. The exchange of greetings, for example. The amount of thu’um in your reply is important. Answering a dov with a weaker shout is submissive. Whereas, shouting back with a greater thu’um is issuing them a challenge or insult. Generally speaking, I’m outright rude to all other dragons,” he added with a chuckle.

Doing up the straps of his black, Nightingale armor, he slid his hands through his leather gloves. They left his fingers exposed - an invaluable asset for retaining manual dexterity. Wriggling his fingers freely, he wrapped them around the Akaviri dai-katana hilt at his side, ready to face whatever troubles might come.

Paarthurnax landed at the same time Therion calmly strode across the town square, talons digging long gouges into the split-level stone pathway that met above the market and below the blacksmith.

The guards kept their bows drawn, but held their fire, watching the Dragonborn and the Dragon draw up to one another, gazes locked. Farengar felt compelled to stay back with the gathering crowd, staring at the proud, weathered figure of the dragon as though spell-bound.

“Drem yol lok.”

The deep voice, ancient and powerful, seemed to come from everywhere; thrumming in Farengar’s chest like the beat of his heart, echoing in his ears.

“Drem,” Therion replied, his amber eyes meeting slitted gold.

“There is urgent news of arokon, trouble,” Paarthurnax said, his booming voice directed to Therion alone, his piercing gaze centered on the Dragonborn. “The Kirsfahliil, Altmer, have found a weapon. Modokar kroved sil zun.”

A commotion came from the back of the crowd, one Farengar remained unaware of until a Whiterun guard was ushering him aside to make room for a procession. The Jarl, and soon to be High King, Balgruuf pressed past the circle of bodies formed around Therion.

“This is the second time you’ve brought a dragon into a city,” Balgruuf said in a rich, commanding voice. His bearing was remarkably calm, though he spared a glance toward some children hiding in the bushes to gape at the beast with fatherly concern. “I assume you have as good of a reason now, as you did before, Dragonborn.”

A gout of smoke poured from Paarthurnax’s maw as he gave Balgruuf an intent look, taking notice of the crowd of humanoids for the first time.

“Who is this, that speaks as kriisjor, ruler?” the dragon asked, his patient, articulate voice tinged with what might have been disapproval.

“Exactly that. This is Balgruuf. Bronjun,” Therion said with a smile, repeating the word in Tamrielic like Paarthurnax often did, “The Nord King.”

A rumble came from Paarthurnax’s throat.

“You are not bronjun?” he asked, sounding surprised. “You are Dovahkiin.”

Farengar saw the hint of a smile on Therion’s lips.

“The politics of man are… nuanced,” he said with a sly half smile. “You were talking about an Altmer weapon? A thing of devastating power, which defiles souls? However poor my grasp of dovahzul, this bodes ill.”

“Geh. The Krisfahliil have trapped the souls of dovah within a Dilfahliil artifact. The power unleashed is... modokar. Devastating." The booming bass voice of Paarthurnax cast a spell over the crowd of people, pressed in to listen, less interested in keeping a cautious distance. "Through a hanuheim, vision, I watched as stone and earth burned, turning to ash.”

The Dragonborn was the first to break the silence.

“Thalmor with dangerous Dwemer artifacts,” Therion said with a sigh. “Just what we needed.”

A deep rumble came from Paarthurnax’s enormous throat as he leaned closer to Therion, inclining his head until his old, clouded eyes could see him clearly. He spoke slowly, his low, booming voice, filled with bitter sorrow.

“The dov cry out on the winds in faaz, pain. They reach out in their ahnak, agony.”

Farengar's chest tightened, Paarthurnax's voice wrenching empathetic sorrow from himself, and he surmised, the crowd as well.

“I’ll make the Thalmor regret their akir, aggression,” Therion said with certainty, a dark glint in his eyes.

“Nox,” Paarthurnax said, his tone grateful and intrigued. “Though it may be simpler to let the Krisfahliil, your kin, destroy the remaining dov... you still choose to intervene. To save the dov from destruction.”

Therion nodded.

“Most swore loyalty to me. And I’d rather see their souls in their bodies, than used as weapons by the Thalmor.”

Paarthurnax leaned back on his haunches and the Jarl, sensing a lull in their conversation, took Therion by the shoulder.

“Let us convene the jarls,” Balgruuf said, directing his guards to gather the rulers of Skyrim. “You will join us, won’t you, Dragonborn?”

“Of course. You know me,” Therion said with mock enthusiasm, “I just can’t get enough of these meetings.”

The mer’s eyes met Farengar's and he paused thoughtfully, then turned to address Paarthurnax.

“Stay awhile before you fly back to the Throat of the World, my friend. I’ll buy you a goat,” Therion said grinning, motioning Farengar over with a nod. “Allow me to introduce the Court Wizard of Whiterun, Farengar Secret-Fire. An avid student of Dovahzul. Perhaps you would indulge him some questions, in my absence?”

Farengar’s eyes widened. A thousand questions formed on his tongue as he walked through the gawking crowd to stand beside Therion. At a loss for words, he stared up into the gigantic maw hovering over him.

To his utter surprise, he heard a deep sound come from the dragon; a chuckle.

“Bek. Very well,” Paarthurnax said. “His pronunciation cannot be more appalling than your own.”

Farengar felt weak at the knees. Not only was a dragon going to converse with him, but now that Paarthurnax had begun to relax, he was actually joking.

“He’s a better student than I, though you may have to correct the poor habits I’ve taught him. I’m sure by the next time we meet, he’ll be teaching me,” Therion said, savoring the look of absolute joy on Farengar’s face. It was an expression he intended to treasure to the end of his days. With a flourish, he bade them goodbye, paid the butcher for a goat, and left with Balgruuf and his entourage.

Farengar watched the massive dragon eat with fascination. Engrossed, for once he paid no mind of the crowd gathering around him, their curious eyes fixed on him and the dragon.

Paarthurnax devoured his goat. A process which took no time at all.

Once the ancient dragon had finished his dinner, he breathed a long gout of flame on the ground with a loud YOL! and laid down comfortably on the warm stone. With a content, and cat-like yawn, he looked the wizard over with slow, deliberate eyes.

“Tell me what words you know in our tongue, jul,” Paarthurnax said once he was satisfied with his examination.

Farengar’s fear evaporated at the opportunity to display his learning and gain more knowledge. He listed off what he knew one word at a time, Paarthurnax regularly correcting him. Therion, he realized in short order, had not been acting humble when he declared his pronunciation was nothing short of awful.

“Impressive,” Paarthurnax said, after he had finished.

Farengar’s heart swelled at the complement so much he felt as though his chest might burst.

“Few jul know this much. What do you wish to learn from me?”

One phrase came leapt to mind.

“Hin voth, Zu’u mindok drem, lingrah vod vodahmin,” Farengar said slowly, repeating the words carefully from memory.

“Hmm,” Paarthurnax said, huffing thoughtfully through his snout.

Farengar, waited patiently, wondering if the pronunciation was beyond recognition. Many of the words had learned from Therion had to be said in Tamrielic before Paarthurnax could recognize and correct them. Therion had never gotten around to translating this phrase, and intuition told him he would simply act inscrutable if he asked him to repeat it.

“Hm. Not bad, as poetry goes,” Paarthurnax said finally, thoughtfully shifting his torn, leathery wings.

“Poetry?” Farengar asked when the dragon didn’t elaborate, apparently lost in its own thoughts.

“He finally managed to pronounce something nalgask, properly,” Paarthurnax said, and after a thoughtful pause, translated the phrase in his low, bass voice.

When he finished, Farengar stared at nothing. His body felt numb and far away. Even his perpetually racing mind was stunningly silent.

Therion had, in is his own inscrutable way, confessed his feelings.

With you I know peace, long since forgotten.

Farengar grappled with the words for what felt like a very long time, then set them aside.

He could work them out later.

Perhaps it was a mistake. Or, he was reading too much into it. As the whispering crowd around him most certainly was, he noticed with ire. And though it may have been his imagination, even the formidable figure of the dragon before him seemed to be looking at him with what might pass for intrigue. Reading the emotions of a dragon was difficult.

He focused his attention back to their lesson, while his mind inevitably trailed back to what he was trying to ignore.

Therion.

Was he trying to tell him... He stopped the thought, cutting it off before he could finish it.

It didn't matter, he told himself.

Sentiment, affection, devotion - they were all pure foolishness. Pleasant diversions for a time, but painful when gone. Love was the greatest lie of all, and he had no intention of falling for it a second time.

Given time Therion's infatuation would fade, and that was all there was to it.

Comforted with this thought, Farengar pushed Therion's words to the back of his mind and learned everything he could from Paarthurnax, the delight of new words replacing his agitation.

----------------

Therion arranged his face to look interested and then let his mind wander as Proventus began to drone on about finances. He had, at some point as a young mer, imagined Nord politics as infinitely more interesting than Altmer affairs of state. Perhaps with men dressed in pelts, entering death matches in arenas covered in snow, to decide the rations budget in some kind of battle royal. The corners of his mouth drew up as he imagined the pale, middle aged human steward locked in mortal combat over the cost of porridge.

Where there's politics, there are boring meetings, Therion lamented. Even in Skyrim. At least there's mead.

A tremor ran through his body, as his thin ears likewise detected the sound of wings.

And dragons, he added, feeling Paarthurnax's departure in his blood. The sensation of another dov was a strange thing; like a tingle of lightning running through one's veins. At moments like these he sometimes wondered if it was odd that he didn't find his powers strange in the slightest.

Pierce the veil of death and destroy a god, then suddenly you're jaded about everything, he thought with a silent chuckle.

"Dragonborn!" Proventus huffed in irritation.

"Yes?" Therion asked, raising an eyebrow. Though his face was still carefully masked, he had obviously missed a question aimed at him while his focus had been on Paarthurnax's departing emanation.

Proventus lowered his scroll to scowl at the elf.

"Are you paying attention?" he demanded impatiently.

"No," Therion replied with galling sincerity and a charming smile.

Jarl Balgruuf - High King Balgruuf, Therion amended mentally, though his coronation was a few hours away yet - made a noise which sounded suspiciously like choked laughter.

"Honestly, sometimes I don't know why we include you in these meetings," Proventus snapped, fixing Therion with the full weight of his disapproving stare.

"By all means don’t," Therion replied, jumping to his feet. "I'll just be on my-"

"Dragonborn."

The High King's voice was neither demanding nor chastising. It was a firm tone that asked for his help with such respect and reasonability that Therion found he couldn't refuse.

Sighing, he sank back into his chair.

"Now then," Proventus said, eagerly tucking back into his scroll, quill dabbed with ink and ready to strike. "The feasibility of an assault on the Summerset Isle by sea. What are your thoughts? If we could produce thirty war ships, what losses would you project?"

Therion heard footsteps which immediately lifted his spirits before he even heard the door open, revealing the blue robed figure of Farengar. Therion smiled and glanced up at Farengar as he passed. The wizard ignored him as Therion expected, taking his seat and immediately tuning out the meeting to stare into the fire crackling away in the brazier in the center of the room.

"Thirty ships sounds great," Therion said, leaning back in his chair.

"Excellent," Proventus replied, looking at the next item on the list.

"If you're trying to kill the Aldmeri Dominion with laughter, it will certainly get the job done."

The steward grumbled and pursed his lips.

"And how many would you recommend?" he asked in a tone only a displeased accountant could.

"None," Therion replied, leaning forward. "Alinor is an island country surrounded by sheer cliffs, nigh impossible to scale by invading forces. Our naval force is second to none. If by some miracle you defeated the navy, the country would simply turtle its defenses and wait your forces out till the literal end of their days. Feel free to add the ship budget to the porridge column," Therion added helpfully with a small grin.

Proventus looked hopefully at the High King.

Balgruuf sighed.

"Don't add the columns, Proventus. The issue at hand isn't that we've saved coin on war ships. It's how to invade the Summerset Isle at all."

"Of course!" the small Imperial replied indignantly. "I simply wanted to move the funds into the miscellaneous section, carry the three, and there," he said, scribbling away furiously, intent on perfect accuracy.

Therion found he had to admire Proventus’ dedication, however deplorable his tunnel vision.

“Our priorities are out of order. Preparing to invade will do us little good if we can’t first find out where their weapon is, discover how it works, and how to destroy it,” Jarl Merilis said, drumming her fingers thoughtfully on the table. “We’re completely in the dark. We need to prepare a defense at the least. What about sending out reconnaissance?”

“You mean spies,” purred Maven approvingly. “A grand idea.”

Old Jarl Idgrod let out one of her cronish laughs.

“Anyone have an Altmer spy lying around somewhere? One that isn’t a double agent, hm?”

Jarl Igmund rolled his eyes. “Well?” he asked the room snobbishly. “Isn’t it obvious? Send the Dragonborn. Skyrim doesn’t exactly have Altmer to spare.”

His comment was met with grumbled annoyance.

The newly appointed Jarl Sybille intervened.

“The Dragonborn would be recognized in an instant,” she said in a remarkably diplomatic tone. “And his strength may better serve us here.”

Jarl Igmund snorted.

“That’s the entire point, my dear. Disguise him and send him to the Summerset Isle. In the mass confusion of Thalmor evacuating Skyrim, one more won’t be noticed. And no one could be a better fit for espionage with his powers. If he were discovered, he’d surely have an easier time escaping than any other elf. He could even disrupt things on the other side. How do you invade an island? Why, have someone on the inside open the door for you. Simple as that.”

Therion didn’t know which aggravated him more. The man’s sneering tone or the fact that he was right. And the Jarl only half knew how right he was when he described Therion as a ‘fit for espionage’.

Therion shook his head.

“I’m too recognizable,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hands.

Farengar looked up from the fire.

“We could use magic,” he said.

Therion scowled inwardly. Of all the times he had to join the conversation, it would be now.

“We could enchant a group of Nords to accompany you, disguised as Altmer. They could follow your lead. Infiltrate the country.”

Therion frowned. Farengar thought he was helping. He was trying to give him allies to keep him safe and the ability to see his home.

“No,” Therion said firmly.

Farengar’s eyes met his and the mage cocked a brow.

“There are too many variables,” Therion explained. “And I’d fail spectacularly at infiltrating Alinor, undercover Nords or not.”

Farengar held his gaze in thoughtful silence as the room murmured. Everyone was now in favor of sending the Dragonborn except the Dragonborn himself.

Therion was grateful to hear a guard announce the return of General Tullius, sparing him any further comment.

The General was welcomed in a fanfare of excitement, which quickly died to hushed whispers. Therion tried to peer through the press of bodies behind him. His delicate ears detected an odd metallic sound amongst the scrape of metal boots on stone. It was the clinking of chains.

General Tullius nodded respectfully to the assembly, then motioned to his guards.

“Apologies for taking so long,” the white haired General said, removing his helmet. “But I trust you’ll find my absence was worth the wait.”

He looked at Therion as he spoke, to the mer’s confusion.

Therion watched the guards approach and realized there was a man at the center, hands chained behind his back, he was hunched over. An Altmer, barely able to stand, wearing ruined Thalmor robes.

“Head Justicar Ondolemar,” General Tullius declared.

Therion’s blood turned to ice in his veins as he watched his cousin be dragged forward.

“The torturer of the Dragonborn,” Tullius added in a severe, hateful tone. “We kept him alive so his sentence could be carried out before this assembly.”

Translations:
Dov - Dragonkind
Dovah - Dragon
Stenfah - advancing/on my way
Bronjun - Nord King
Drem yol lok - Greetings
Dream - Peace
Kriisjor - Anyone of high power
Arokon - Trouble
Modokar kroved sil zun - Devastate defile soul weapon
Geh - Yes
Kirsfahliil - Altmer, High elves
Dilfahliil - Dwemer
Hanuheim - Vision
Ahnak - agony
Nox - Thank you
Jul - Human
Nalgask - Proper

I found this gem today and read it all in one long, very pleasant gulp! I'm really loving the plot you've put on stage and I can't wait to find out more. Really, this is one of the bests Skyrim stories I've ever read and I look forward to the next update!

(capctcha says "seize the day" but I misread "seize the dov"!)

Thank you so much!
I'm honestly astounded you read it all in one go!!! That in itself is amazing, because sweet baby Talos did this fill take off. It is almost the length of a novel.

I love this prompt! I will certainly try to fill it, OP.

mmmmmhhnnnhh | !! updates please!

After Vilkas left for bed Athis rose from his seat; part of him felt guilty about what was going to happen but it was necessary. Athis bought two bottles of Honningbrew mead and made his way over to the dunmer seated in the corner.

He had already made eye contact with her several times throughout the night. He knew that she held some interest in him but he wasn’t sure how much. Athis hadn’t studied magic for at least a century but even he didn’t miss the enchantment on the robes she wore.

When Athis slid into the seat beside her the Nord and Khajiit she was with shuffled their chairs away slightly.

“Can I offer you a drink?” He asked with a smile, holding out the bottle. She shyly accepted the bottle, a light blush forming on her cheeks. “The name’s Athis, I’m a Companion.”

“Brelyna, a mage.” She sounded almost disappointed.

“I used to study magic once.” A truth Athis often left out of conversation. He smiled at her and ran a finger along the hem of her robes. “Must have been well over a century ago now.”

He stopped touching her robes; alteration and the enchantment was strong. “What school?”

“Enchantments mostly, a bit of destruction here and there.”

“I’m alteration myself.”

“I can tell, I’m guessing an expert.” She turned away slightly.

“I’m still learning.”

“Nonsense I bet you’re a very skilled mage. Telekinesis, paralyse, detect dead, all useful.”

“I-I can’t detect dead, not yet.”

“But you can do the rest?”

“Yes. Detecting dead is a different kind of spell from the rest, but I’ll get there. I just need more dead things to practice with.”

“There are plenty of crypts around you know.”

“Yes, but my combat spells are useless, I’d be overrun if I ever tried.” She slumped in her seat.

“Well perhaps I could escort you, in return for a favour.” Her eyes lit up as she looked at him.

---

Athis trudged out into the snow and across to the general store. He banged three times and after waiting for what seemed like an eternity the door opened. He walked in and the door was closed behind him, blocking the blizzard out.

“So has he gone to sleep?” Farkas said after the door was properly closed.

“Should be out, I had the innkeeper slip some sleeping draught into his stew.” Athis shook the snow off his cloak, even though he knew he would soon be going back out into it.

“The carriage is ready and waiting.” Aela said, picking up her supplies.

“Slight change of plans.” Athis announced. The other two companions looked at him with concerned expressions. “I’ve enlisted the help of a mage, paralysis would make the process far easier, don’t you think?”

Athis knew Nords didn’t like magic. The two glanced at each other, “Good thinking, hopefully we won’t cause too many damages this way.” Aela said. She pulled the silver chains from a bag and held them, ready to be used to bind Vilkas.

Farkas pulled on gloves and covered most of his exposed flesh to save himself from being burned by the silver.

“Are we ready to do this?” The two men nodded in response to their Harbinger and the three set out. Farkas thanked the shop keep for allowing them to stay before leaving. They had apparently helped retrieve one of her shipments a week or two ago so she was happy to let them stay.

Inside the inn there were brief introductions before Athis led them into the room Vilkas was sleeping in. Aela and Farkas stayed at the door, they would wait until the spell was cast.

Vilkas rolled over and put his pillow over his face and with that Athis gave Brelyna the signal and she began to cast.

Aw aw aw, I was so hopeful that it could be Ariella... somehow still alive. Don't kill my hope, A!A, even if I'm being stupid.
Well, here it comes. Dawning, at last. What an idiot you were Vilkas, and soon you are going to realize it fully.

Nooooooooooo! Not Ondolemar!!!

char:vilkas char:farkas kink:marriage kink:threesome kink:rough_sex race:Nord kink:dub_con kink:biting

Vilkas blocked her exit, glaring at her.

“Get out of my way,” Cetine growled.

Vilkas did not move from the door. She had never gotten along with the Nord, but after marrying his brother, each day his mood grew more and more foul. Any chance he got, he’d throw insults. If they were in the yard, he took every opportunity to best her. He was bullying her behind his brother’s back and she had had enough.

“Answer my question.”

Cetine glared at him. “I don’t know where the fuck your shield is, stop asking me. It wasn’t my job to send it off. Stop using me to run your errands--I’m your brother’s wife, not your slave.”

She was tall, even for a Nord woman, so Vilkas did not tower over her the way he towered over others. But she was learning that he did not need to use his size to intimidate. Even at eye-level he could make almost anyone shrink. She straightened herself at the thought. He would not win this. Not today.

Vilkas grabbed her arm and shoved her into the wall. A small gasp caught in her throat, surprised by his move. The only place he had ever laid a hand on her was in the yard.

Rage surfaced in her chest and she pushed him back. “Piss off, Vilkas. Go find yourself a whore and get laid. Maybe that’ll fix your attitude.”

Vilkas glared at her, eyes burning and he shoved her back into the wall, his face inches from hers. He grabbed her chin. The wolf danced over his dark, gray eyes. “Shall we test that poisonous little mouth of yours then?”

Cetine held her breath. What on earth was he doing?

His hand moved to the back of her head, forcing her to him and their mouths crashed together. Shock, relief, and delight washed over her. She opened her mouth to invite him in. And then the confusion and disgust hit her. She pulled her mouth from his, turning her face away, panting.

“What are you doing?” Her voice came out smaller and weaker than she intended.

“What I should have done to you long ago,” he whispered. Cetine denied him her lips, but he found her neck and that feeling of falling pulled at the pit of her stomach. Her knees buckled, but Vilkas pressed himself against her, into the wall to hold her up.

“V-Vilkas, when was the last time you changed?” She could barely get the words out as he explored her neck with his lips and nipped down the column of flesh.

He pulled his mouth away, just barely, so that his breath heated her skin and caused her to shiver. “Is that what you think this is?” His mouth returned, this time he sank his teeth into the place where her neck and shoulder joined.

Cetine gasped and reached for the back of his head, to pull him off or hold him there—she wasn’t sure. “We can’t do this. This is wrong.”

She felt him smile against her. “Then tell me to stop.”

The horror of her situation swelled around her. Vilkas’s hand was between them, untying the laces of her leather pants. Cetine bit her trembling lip, trying to force the words, but they wouldn’t come. She didn’t want this, why was she allowing it? She loved Farkas, more than anything in the world. She hadn’t shared a bed with another man since meeting him, even though it took months upon agonizing months for him to court her. And when she finally had him—all of him, she wanted nothing else. Or so she thought.

And then there was Vilkas. He had haunted her mind from the start. With his cruel words and sharp glares, he was the exact opposite of Farkas. But in her dreams, he filled that dark, empty place Farkas couldn’t venture. Between the twins, it was as if one man had been split in two. Neither would complete her alone.

Vilkas moved his leg between her thighs and she cried out when he slipped his hand into her pants. His fingers slicked over her and she squirmed. She wasn’t wet. She was soaking.

He grinned. “Tell me to stop.”

She swallowed and tried to find her breath, her voice.

“That’s what I thought.” He came down on her mouth again and she could feel everything in her body betray her. Oh gods, she wanted this.

Vilkas’s comfortable stroking stopped, and before she could pull back and question why, he sank two of his long fingers into her.

Ceteine moaned and tilted her head back against the wall. She hadn’t expected him to slip in so easily. Vilkas pinned her and watched as he slowly pushed them further until they were as far as they could possibly go. She couldn’t find her voice—she couldn’t breathe, and he watched her with a satisfied look upon his face as he worked his fingers into her.

A deep chuckle from the other side of the room caused Cetine to open her eyes. Her husband sat in a chair at the small table in the corner, watching them. How long had he been there?

A wolfish grin spread over Farkas’s lips. “What did I tell you, brother?”

This is a delicious start. Please continue!

Holy crap! Ridiculously hot. And what mischief is Farkas up to? Well written, anon!

Oh my gaaad please continue, this is VERY hot! There's never enough sexy times with the two hottest brothers in Skyrim!

Cetine froze in horror. Vilkas removed his fingers from her and stepped away as his brother approached her. She searched his face. Was he angry? Did he witness her pleasure? Her cheeks were red with shame.

“Farkas, it’s not what you--”

He cupped her cheeks in his large, warm hands and leaned in to kiss her. It was soft and sweet as always. No trace of malice or anger on his lips or in his touch. She wanted to melt into him. Vilkas disappeared from her mind. It was just him. Just Farkas. The way it should be.

Their lips parted and he rested his forehead against hers. “I asked him to. Did you not want this?”

Cetine ripped away from him and stared in horror. Was this some kind of joke? Was he testing her?

Farkas pulled her back and kissed her again. Every time his lips touched her, it drove every other thought and worry from her mind. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vilkas with that manipulative smirk on his face.

Cetine pulled away again. “Farkas, what is going on?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at my brother.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “That’s not tr--”

“It doesn’t make me angry. We’ve always shared. I never dreamed of marrying a woman I couldn’t share with him.” He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth, to the edge of her jaw. She tilted her head to give him better access. “I want you to love him as much as I do. I want you to love him like you love me,” he said as his trailed his lips down the side of her neck. He found the mark where his brother sank his teeth and kissed it before making his own mark right over top of it. Cetine moaned again and leaned into him.

“Come, my love,” he whispered against her ear as he led her from the wall, to the middle of the room. His lips and hands never left her. She felt the edge of the bed press against the back of her thighs.

Farkas spun her around and in one fluid motion, he pulled the tunic up and over her head and threw it to the floor. She moved to cover her breasts and gasped as his hands traveled down her sides and over her hips. His lips traced her spine as he slowly lowered himself then yanked her pants down with her smalls.

Cetine cried out in surprise when he stood and pushed her down onto the bed. And there she lay, exposed to both of them. Farkas’s hand returned to the small of her back. She felt the weight of his knee sink into the mattress as he held the back of her thigh to move her leg and lifted her at the hip.

She heard a chair scrape across the floorboards. Was Vilkas going to watch? The thought shot through her like ice and she wildly looked over her shoulder. Her blood froze in her veins.

Farkas sat back in the chair, stroking himself. Cetine glanced over her shoulder, Vilkas’s hand dug into her hips as he positioned her again. She felt the heat of him at her slick entrance. Vilkas glanced over at his twin for permission. Farkas nodded.

Before she could protest, he sank himself into her.

I just blew through this entire story last night in lieu of sleeping. IT'S SO GOOD. Your writing voice comes through phenomenally and your characters are, to say the absolute least possible, ecstatically vibrant. I didn't know I could like Skyrim fanfiction this much. Keep writing!

Scorching hot. More please!

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