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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This is a great prompt!

Markarth was rotten, right down to the bedrock, and Dyce had no illusions that he could somehow cure the city. But he could lop this head off the hydra at least. Without even thinking about it he lashed out with the improvised weapon, twisting it past Madanach’s ribs and finding his heart.

Caught by surprise, Madanach could only gape, and thrash about like a landed fish until he finally was still, his life’s blood bubbling over Dyce’s fingers and a look of sheer shock on his face, that someone dared.

Dyce yanked the weapon out of Madanach’s chest. That hadn’t quite gone according to plan.

To his relief, Madanach had a key on him, and it fit the lock to the gate that led off into the dark from the passageway to Madanach’s room. It had to go somewhere, and anywhere was better than Cidhna Mine. Dyce cleaned the blood off his shiv and off his hand, and took a deep breath.

“Borgakh,” Dyce called. “Madanach wants to see the Orc who beat Borkul in a fair fight.” He grinned.

“Really?” Borgakh said, as Borkul scowled and stood aside for her to enter.

“Oh yeah, I think he’s got plans for you.”

Borgakh strode ahead of him and then stopped when she reached Madanach’s room. She looked over her shoulder at Dyce with an unreadable expression.

“You killed him,” she said quietly.

“Mm. I don’t feel terribly bad about it. Do you think I should?”

“No, I just-” She looked over the corpse again. “You didn’t even give him time to fight back.” A tooth scraped across her bottom lip. “Maybe you can get us out of here after all.”

“Well, I’ve found a way out, but I don’t know where it goes.”

Borgakh smiled at him, “I’m following.”

This time, he didn’t hear an unspoken ‘husband’ at the end of it.

Dyce locked the door behind them. Not everyone in Cidhna Mine deserved to be there, but Dyce was not going to give them the chance to get revenge on the people of Markarth. The passageway led off into the dark, and Dyce took the lead.

The first signs of life he found were a great number of spiderwebs, and he waited for Borgakh to catch up. The passageway was no longer silent; a soft rustling sound was coming from up ahead.

Skyrim’s spiders hadn’t bothered Dyce much once he’d gotten over the original shock of how big they were, but he rarely went adventuring without sharp steel and armour either, and his heart sank at the sight of dozens of huge, hairy legs silhouetted against what he now realised was a definite glow up ahead of them.

There was no way he could sneak Borgakh past the creatures; there was nothing for it but to wade in. The shiv seemed hopelessly undersized; spiders didn’t have weak points as such; you just had to mush their insides until they stopped moving.

It was a crunchy, squelchy battle, and it went on for far too long, in Dyce’s estimation. His arms ached and buzzed from poison, and blood welled from a dozen small wounds. He heard Borgakh hiss when she got bitten, but they were trying not to wake whatever else might be down here and kept quiet.

The rags he wore grew more ragged as he stomped and punched and battered the creatures. By the time the last twitching leg stopped twitching, he was up to his elbows in substances he didn’t want to think about, and generously sprinkled with spider hairs, which tended to break off and itch whoever came in contact with them.

“Yuk.” Dyce gave up and took off what remained of his shirt, using the relatively clean interior to wipe off the worst of the goo. When he offered it to Borgakh, she seemed bemused that he was even bothered.

To Dyce’s relief, the hand carved tunnel opened up into a larger room, lit by steady gas flames trapped behind glass.

“What is this place?” Borgakh asked, tapping one of the lamps experimentally.

“Dwemer ruin,” Dyce said. “Markarth’s built on top of a Dwemer city. This is a good sign; there has to be a way out of here.”

Dyce had been waiting for the familiar tik-a-tak sounds of Dwarven spiders, and he was not left waiting for long. This was something he could use his shiv on.

“Break the soul gem,” he advised, as the mechanical creatures advanced. “Or puncture one of the steam reservoirs.” He demonstrated, darting in and skewering one.

Borgakh raised an eyebrow. Then she reached out, and picked up one of the spiders, ignoring the way its legs tried to strike at her, and brought it down with all her strength on the stone floor. With a squeal of tortured metal and a shower of sparks, the spider disintegrated.

“That works too.” He could see her teeth gleam as she grinned. “In fact, you’ve given me an idea.” He put his foot on the spider in front of him, seized two of its legs, and pulled. “There is a lot of truth to the overused line that size doesn’t matter,” he said through gritted teeth. Wrenching the spider’s legs off, he staggered back. “But it can help.”

Borgakh laughed, “You could almost be an Orc, sometimes.”

Dyce flailed around experimentally with his new weapons for a few moments. “Why thank you. Let’s get going.”

When they ran across a couple of sphere centurions, Borgakh followed his example by ripping a sword off one and beating it to death while Dyce dodged and stabbed at the other.

Best of all, they found themselves climbing stairs. Despite the fact that they hadn’t slept in nearly two days, the thought of freedom pushed them on, past the bruises and spider bites.

When they reached the huge, bronze door, for a moment Dyce was afraid it was rusted shut. Then Borgakh put her shoulder to it as well, and with a resentful screech it opened.

And there was sunlight, pouring down over the city of Markarth spread below them. Dyce’s eyes watered as he stared up into a rare cloudless sky. He found himself gulping fresh air, and it tasted sweeter than mead. He wondered if he was drunk on it. He felt drunk.

Water poured down through the channels from the mountain behind them, and he and Borgakh stumbled down the steps to the nearest bridge. They scooped up the water with their hands, and drank and drank. Despite the near-freezing temperature and the fact that public washing was probably frowned on, they scrubbed at their arms and faces, and let their feet dangle in the water.

Dyce had blisters. He wasn’t used to walking barefoot.

They grinned at each other. Most of the warpaint had been washed off Borgakh’s face, and only a few streaks of red clay remained around her eyes. Dyce could see the hair starting to grow back on the shaved portions of her head, just a dark fuzz that he was very tempted to touch, just to see what it felt like.

So he did. Just his fingertips on the side of her head, both of them still beaded with water. It felt like he imagined it would, soft, short bristles that invited rubbing, or stroking. She kept grinning at him, teeth white against lips a darker green than the rest of her skin. Eyes like sunrise.

Borgakh reached forward to run her fingers through his ponytail, tugging gently on the damp ends.

“It’s so pretty,” she said, like it was a decoration rather that part of him. “I like the colour. And it’s so long.” She rubbed his hair between her fingertips.

He could have done something with that, made a joke, but he didn’t. He was content to let her play with his hair. Well no, not content. There was more he wanted, and he wanted it more with each passing moment.

Eventually she lifted her gaze from his hair and looked into his eyes again. He felt her lean in when he did, and he cupped the side of her head with his hand before sliding his fingers down the side of her face and pressing his mouth to hers. He felt her tug slightly at his hair as her fingers tangled in it.

She parted her lips for him, hot and welcoming, but Dyce took his time, feeling her tusks press against his lips and then he flicked his tongue over her lower lip to investigate one further. It wasn’t sharp. He tilted his head and took the other between his lips. She liked his hair; he liked her teeth and he wondered what they’d feel like on either side of his cock; he thought he’d fit fairly neatly between them.

He purred at the thought and then Borgakh abandoned his hair and ran her calloused hands up and down his bare back as he shifted closer. She tried to suck on his teeth and he chuckled and showed her how it was really done; a tangle of lips and tongues and irregular breathing.

When they broke apart her eyes were shining. “I want you,” she said with some surprise, as if she’d just noticed something new. “I mean, I want to have sex with you.”

Bravo, please continue.

“Sweet Namira, even I don’t eat eyeballs,” Eola muttered.

OMG, I was ROLLING. And “Shrouded Morsel.” I’m curious about what Madanach does to deserters; I love that he’s still a man to be feared, even though you’ve shown us a softer side of him.

Also, “Don’t talk with your mouth full” has got to be one of the funniest lines I’ve read on this meme.

The plot thickens! Madanach's going to figure it out sooner rather than later, he's a clever fellow. Both the angst and the smut were very well done; I especially loved the practical translation of Cariad, and Madanach's possessiveness. And the Firefly reference.

And "What Shall We Do With the Captured Stormcloak." This fic continues to have priceless moments of dark hilarity.

“I cannot help it if you're fat, Eola,”

I died. XD

I like that we get to see the King side of Madanach after seeing the prisoner and the father.

It is interesting that no matter how competent or strong Madanach is, Liriel will constantly see his mortality because he's human (an older one at that) and she's an Altmer. So there's a frailty to his story that we wouldn't have gotten if you had chosen a human DB. I like it!

What Shall We Do With the Captured Stormcloak

I expect lyrics at some point. ^_~

Loved the use of the Firefly theme. It really is perfect for this.

Sex was super hot, but the resolution left me sad. =(

Well you have to admit, the very idea is preposterous.”

Right. Preposterous. Of course.

Romlyn was glad Serano couldn’t see his face in their position. When he didn’t answer Serano continued talking.

"I mean, I spend my days travelling across the country and don’t have a stable source of income. You still earn most of your money by selling stolen mead and waste far too much time in the tavern. We have our hands full trying to ensure our own survival. Why should we bring a child into this?”

The altmer was right; he was always right. Romlyn had never seen it that way, never even thought about it rationally. Hadn’t even thought it through. It had been nothing more than a vague idea, but he couldn’t accept that his fantasy was crushed this easily. Besides, Serano’s arguments didn’t answer the question Romlyn had asked weeks ago.

“But don’t you want to have children?”

“Not in this situation. Maybe if I still lived in my family’s mansion on Alinor and had married a woman… ”

Romlyn was certain he couldn’t have been more hurt if Serano had hit him with the fire spell after all.

Now that explained a lot. It was not like Serano didn’t want to have children; he just didn’t want to have any children with Romlyn.

He felt so stupid. He kept imagining all those ridiculous scenarios with a son or a daughter, long evenings wasted with pointless chatter in front of the fireplace, teaching their child the ways of the world, growing old together... He knew it sounded sappy, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted all those boring, normal things people had come to expect when they thought about marriage. That was what he had meant when he had talked about becoming a real family.

His husband was obviously not interested in any of that.

The altmer kept going. “Besides, the only way for us to get children is to adopt, and in Skyrim we will only get human ones. If I come back home with a human child, my family will disown me. I would never be able to go back home again, or at least not until our children are dead.”

“Oh.” Now that was a reason Romlyn hadn’t seen coming.

Everyone knew that most altmer tended to have slightly extreme views about the purity of their blood line. It was simply unheard of that an altmer decided to share his life with anyone that wasn’t an altmer of the opposite gender, so they could have nice, pure-blooded altmer children to strengthen the Dominion. There were exceptions, of course, but those relationships rarely worked out. Romlyn had always figured this antiquated racism wouldn’t be an issue between them. After all, he wasn’t just something Serano had on the side, they were married. Why worry about the race of one’s children when he had already decided to spite his kin by choosing an inappropriate spouse? As it stood, his marriage with a male dunmer would cause most altmer to look at Serano in disdain…

“Oh”, he repeated.

Romlyn had never even considered that their relationship might cause problems for his husband.

Serano was Romlyn’s only family. That fact tended to make him forget that this was not how it was the other way around. He remembered that Serano had told him once he had initially come to Skyrim to search for his brother; but there were probably more family members waiting for him back home. Eventually Romlyn would have to face them and hopefully convince them that he was the perfect match for Serano and a worthy addition to the family. If they wouldn’t accept non-altmer children then they couldn’t have any; it was as simple as that. If his hunch was correct then he would already have a hard time making Serano’s family accept him. There was no need to complicate matters even further.

Romlyn realized that he didn’t even know where exactly Serano came from. It was obvious that Skyrim was not his home country, but up to now he’d had no proof that Serano used to live on the Summerset Isles.

Serano never talked about such things.

It was also the first time he had mentioned that he intended to return to his family on the Summerset Isles. Romlyn had only read about the province, and the books he had found were mostly about the Aldmeri history of Serano’s homeland. But he had read enough to know that dunmer like him would not be welcomed there, even though the country had officially become more tolerant towards other races. A few decades ago they probably would have made him turn right back at the border. Living there and enduring the constant scrutiny and disdain of Serano’s kin would be worse than going to Windhelm and begging to be allowed into the slums of Ulfric’s city.

He had read enough to know that it was a place he didn’t need to see for himself. But if Serano decided to go there he would follow without question.

He wondered what it would be like to live in a foreign country full of people who would probably hate him on principle. But then he remembered he had already learned that when he had come to Skyrim.

But this time it would be different. He would be fine. He would be no penniless fugitive and he wouldn’t be alone. Serano would be by his side.

Still, he was curious.

“What does your family think about… us?” He tried to gesture between them both, and whatever it was that was there.

“They don’t know about the marriage, and I intend to keep it that way.”

Romlyn flinched as if Serano had hit him. They had been married for half a year, but still the altmer wanted to keep their relationship a secret; the only reason Romlyn could come up with for such a behavior was that Serano was ashamed of him. He wasn’t sure what was so objectionable about him, but elitist racists could probably come up with a lot of reasons.

It hurt.

But what did all of that mean? Serano wanted to go back to Alinor and live with his family again, but he didn’t want them to know that he and Romlyn were married? How would he go about keeping that hidden?

No. Don’t finish that thought. Stop right there.

He would have to leave Romlyn behind.

For a second he forgot how to breathe.

His knees started to hurt because of the uncomfortable position. He kept shifting his weight even though it didn’t help in the slightest.

Serano didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move off of him.

The altmer’s next words caught him off guard. “Do you want to have children?”

It was a cruel question, immediately after the altmer’s dismissive comments and after he had listed all the reasons why they couldn’t have children. Mustn’t have any. But he had to admit that the thought of raising a child together with that man was making him feel… something.

He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like. They both didn’t know the first thing about how to treat children. Most likely it would end badly, with a traumatized child, a depressed Romlyn and a stressed Serano who went on a killing spree to vent his frustration from having to play hide-and-seek. Or they could all be dead tomorrow, what with all the dragons burning their way through the province.

Or Serano could one day wake up and decide that this makeshift family was not worth the effort.

“Yes, I do. Badly.”

It wasn’t logical. Maybe it didn’t need to be. The man he loved had asked him if he wanted to have children, and so there had been only one answer.

“Serano?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you marry me?”

Now the question was out, and he couldn’t take it back again.

Ever since the altmer had walked up to him with the Amulet of Mara around his neck he had wondered about that. The not-quite-proposal had been sudden to the point that it had felt entirely random. He could still picture the altmer’s smug face, the patronizing smile before Serano had raised his voice so the rest of the tavern could hear him loud and clear: “Interested in me, are you?”

He hadn’t asked him then because it hadn’t been important. The only thing that mattered at that time was that the altmer was interested in him as well.

Of course he wasn’t expecting a story about love at first sight – it hadn’t been like that for him, either – but he just wanted something. He needed to know what his husband wanted from him, why he was here. How Serano wanted their life to continue. What he thought he had been getting himself into when they had exchanged vows in the temple.

He was prepared for a lie. He expected it, actually. Maybe an obvious lie would even hurt less than the truth. He felt a strange sort of apprehension; he wanted to know the answer even though he feared it at the same time.

“Because I needed to find a reason to keep on fighting.”

He didn’t know what to make of that answer. It was neither the kind lie nor the harsh truth he had been steeling himself for; but he wasn’t sure just what it was.

Serano’s fingers tried to pry Romlyn’s right fist open. Since he couldn’t fight his lover’s strength he simply allowed it – and the dry clunk of metal scraping against metal when Serano intertwined their fingers caught his attention. His lover was wearing a crude golden ring on his finger that hit against Romlyn’s wedding ring. It took him a few moments to realize that Serano was wearing his own Bond of Matrimony. He had never seen it on the altmer’s finger before and he stared at their joined hands in wonder.

“And did you find it?”, he dared to ask.

The rings had been bland and without any markings when Maramal had handed them over; Serano had complained about it as soon as the ceremony was over, claiming that Riften’s thane deserved more expensive ones. Of course Maramal had refused to let Balimund make new ones, and so Serano had spent the rest of the first day of their marriage at the smithy, trying to engrave each other’s names into the rings without damaging the enchantment. It had taken hours and it hadn’t worked out that well; but Romlyn could easily decipher the crooked, uneven letters on Serano’s ring.

Why had that been so important? Why had he wasted so much time on a ring he didn’t even wear?

“What do you think?”

A reason to keep on fighting; suddenly Romlyn remembered. One night, a few days after Serano had come to Riften for the very first time and they were nothing more than casual acquaintances they had sat in the tavern together. The altmer had bought enough of Romlyn’s mead to end up more than slightly intoxicated. At first he had just bragged about his heroic deeds as a mercenary; but suddenly the mer’s mood had turned dour and Romlyn had managed to learn more about this mysterious stranger than others from this one conversation that had consisted mostly of short, slurred half-sentences. Serano had admitted that it hadn’t been his choice to come to Skyrim, and the only reason he stayed was because he couldn’t go back home. Becoming a mercenary and a thief had been the only way to survive. But now he was supposed to fight dragons and protect the obnoxious humans of this province from all sorts of deadly threats even though their fate didn’t concern him in the slightest. His life was nothing like he had wanted it to be.

WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH THE CAPTURED STORMCLOAK
WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH THE CAPTURED STORMCLOAK
WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH THE CAPTURED STORMCLOAK
EARLY IN THE MORNIN'?!

LEAVE'IM WITH THE HAGS UNTIL HE CRIES OUT
PUNCH'IM IN THE TEETH UNTIL THEY FLY OUT
HANG'IM BY HIS GUTS UNTIL THEY DRY OUT
EARLY IN THE MORNING.

AND SO ON.

*passernon disappears in a puff of smoke*

Serano had mentioned that he wasn’t sure why he even kept trying. This province wasn’t his home and it would never be, and his old home was completely out of his reach. He kept fighting himself through his days without any ambitions or enthusiasm, without care whether he lived or died. He kept fighting because he had to, because it was some sort of obligation, but his actions were always without meaning. He lacked an ulterior motive, a goal or ambition besides the money to keep himself going. And with that he also lacked the iron will to live that allowed other mercenaries to overcome their boundaries again and again to last longer than a few months in this profession. A purpose.

But the altmer was not looking for anything that grand. A reason to survive was all he needed, something to make him put some effort into fighting for his life, no matter how small or ludicrous it was.

“I just want something that’s mine”, he had drawled, gaze fixed firmly on his tankard. “Nothing special, just… something to come back to, you know?”

It was not a good reason to marry, but Romlyn had heard worse. It was probably the best reason there was for marrying a complete stranger. Romlyn still didn’t know why the altmer had settled on him of all people, but it was more than he had hoped for.

Except that Romlyn obviously wasn’t a good enough reason when Serano still tried to throw his life away.

But even if he was: What would Serano do when the option presented itself to return to his old life, to go back to Alinor? When the need to keep on fighting disappeared? What would become of them then?

Serano probably noticed that something was off when Romlyn remained silent. The altmer cleared his throat awkwardly. “Look, I know I don’t say this nearly as often as I should but…” A short pause, as if the mer needed to make up his mind before continuing. “The time we spend together means a lot to me. I know I’m not an easy person to be with most of the time, and you have no idea how grateful I am that you put up with me. You are… I really care about you.”

Romlyn swallowed hard.

He hadn’t seen that one coming.

Their hands were slightly sweaty, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“I hate almost everything about Skyrim and my life here in general”, Serano admitted after a while. “But… I’m glad I’m not alone in this. You make all this… bearable.”

The words were nice. They reminded him why he loved the altmer.

But Serano had made a habit of telling people what they liked to hear. He knew how to manipulate everyone into doing what he wanted. The altmer had already lied to him earlier, so how could Romlyn be sure that he was not simply trying to make him feel better? Considering how rarely Serano talked about his feelings it was a grand gesture already, but Romlyn needed more. He had spent the last few months building his life around this man’s existence and he wanted Serano to do the same.

Nothing special, just… something to come back to, you know?

Nothing special.

So what if his family disapproved of their marriage? So what if they would disown Serano? Romlyn was his family as well, had to be special to Serano whether he wanted that or not. His other family hadn’t done a damn thing for him ever since he had come to Skyrim. Romlyn was the only one who was trying his hardest to protect him from his own stupidity. He had always been there for Serano, would give his life for him if he had to, so why, why, why…

He yanked his hand out of Serano’s grip and twisted his body around. He was still trapped beneath his lover’s body but he managed to turn over onto his back so he could look into Serano’s face. “If you mean that then don’t leave. Stay with me.”

For a second he thought Serano would skin him alive. The gentle expression he had worn to match his words collapsed in an instant. Romlyn saw how his brow furrowed in anger, saw the lines on his forehead deepening, his whole face twisting into a frown that radiated pure disdain. He felt the almost familiar, animalistic instinct to bare his throat and submit to the mer. Somehow he managed not to flinch.

“Serano, please. Take it easy for a few more days. I just want to be sure that this isn’t the last time I see you.”

No.

That was not what he had meant to say.

When he had asked Serano to stay with him he hadn’t meant it like that.

Even though he was still staring defiantly at his lover, he had already backed down, settled for the lesser demand.

Serano didn’t answer. He didn’t even move or react in the slightest. He just kept his gaze firmly fixed on Romlyn, probably trying to intimidate him just by his stare.

“Serano.”

Just give me something. Anything.

For a few seconds they just stared at each other like that. Their breathing and the voices of the people outside were the only sounds. He hoped he had managed to show his husband that he was serious. He would fight for this man if he had to.

“…Alright. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” The altmer’s face stayed hard and unrelenting as he spoke, but his voice was uncharacteristically soft. He had caved in.

“…What? You mean it?” Romlyn just stared at him dumbfounded. He had not expected that. At all.

This situation had no precedent, and he was not sure how he was supposed to react. He didn’t know what exactly it was that had made the altmer back down. It was almost too good to be true. He wanted to ask why, but feared that this small miracle would end.

Serano had listened to reason. Serano had listened to him.

The altmer narrowed his eyes. “Just for a few days, of course. The world probably won’t end if I take some time off. But if you don’t want me here I-”

Before he could finish the sentence Romlyn closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to his collarbone. He didn’t dare to outright kiss him – the altmer didn’t enjoy physical contact he hadn’t initiated – but when his brain finally registered that Serano was serious intense relief flooded his system. He needed to touch him, confirm that this was real, hold on to this man and never let him go. The soft chuckle Serano made told him it had been the right decision. Romlyn’s chin was pushed up and long, callused fingers carefully cupped his face. Their gazes locked for a few seconds.

The anticipation was worse than the first time they had kissed, inside Riften’s temple, with all of Serano’s closest friends and even the jarl staring at them expectantly. Just like back then Romlyn felt like this needed to be special, that it needed to mean something; that it needed to be slow and deliberate. The altmer’s breath was hot on his skin, almost unbearably so. He waited for Serano to make the first step and gasped in surprise when a tongue was shoved roughly into his mouth. Romlyn took that as his cue and wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulders and pulled him down onto him, experimentally licking at Serano’s tongue. He tasted so good…

An irritated grunt was all the warning he got before his thighs were roughly shoved apart and a knee rubbed insistently at his crotch. He couldn’t suppress a needy moan at the unexpected stimulation and spread his legs even further.

Just for a few days.

It was enough for now. It had to be enough. It was not much, but it was a start. The altmer had agreed to stay in Whiterun for a few more days, and maybe, just maybe, they could work with that. They had never actually lived together before, so maybe if they experienced what that was like…

Those are better than the ones I was considering! XD

Thank you, passerbynon. Thank you so much. :)

“I will fuck you right here, on the floor”, Serano declared all of a sudden.

“Yessss. Yes, please”, was all Romlyn could manage. He tried to wrap his legs around his lover’s waist but Serano forced them back down immediately. Deft hands yanked and pulled at his tunic, trying to get him out of his clothes. Romlyn turned his head a little to offer his ear to Serano again and it didn’t take long until sharp teeth nipped at the sensitive flesh. Serano’s panting breath drowned out all other sound. He could barely even hear the gossiping women outside or the usual bustle of the market place at morning anymore; even Adrianne’s hammering next door had turned into a soft background noise. The other shops must have opened some time during their argument… He hadn’t noticed it was that time of day already.

Realization struck him like a wayward lightning spell.

“No! Wait, wait, not here, not now”, he gasped. “I have to open the shop soon. A customer could come in any moment. We’ll scare them off if we have sex right here.”

Serano bit his ear again, harder this time, just on the wrong side of painful. Still, the altmer pulled back obediently, his expression somewhere between disappointment and annoyance.

“Fine. But you will make this up to me tonight.”

“Of course I will.” He just had to smile softly at those words. Tonight. Serano would still be here when the day was over. They would spend their day together, like a normal couple.

He had always wondered what that would be like.

His husband’s face softened somewhat, but he still looked irritated. “I just hope you’re not expecting me to rest in bed all day. I agree that it might not be the wisest idea to face the Stormcloak army in my condition, but I’m not a crippled old man, either. There has to be something I can do around the house.”

“I understand. In fact, I could use some help. There are a few errands you could run for me; you won’t even need to leave town for that.”

“Alright. What do you need?”

Romlyn smiled wryly. He really hadn’t expected it would end this well when he had raised his hand against Serano. There was more than one time when he had been almost certain that he would not get out of this alive.

It just showed that he had misjudged the altmer.

But that was not his fault; Serano was just so hard to figure out most of the time.

There were still so many things he needed to ask, so much they had to talk about. Romlyn always feared that he might push Serano too far, that he would destroy everything they had. But maybe he could show his husband that having a family to take care of him had its advantages.

Maybe he could make Serano understand.

They could make this work. He just knew it.

-------------------------------------------------------
A!Anon: Sorry for the long delay. This part was just really important and I wanted it to be just perfect. You won't believe how many times I had to delete and rewrite it.
Next week I'll be on vacation and won't be able to write anything during that time. It will probably take some time for me to update.
Look forward to Serano trying to play house and that smut I have been promising for a while now.

*RUNS to Solitude, seconding all the way*

Okay, so BBC Merlin. The one in which Merlin is a Dragonlord, and thus, talks to dragons.

He knows the dragon language, guys. Possibly more of it than anyone else but a dragon. He can also summon dragons; possibly anyone at all (Alduin? Paarthurnax? Akatosh the god?). Plus, there's the whole 'cannot disobey a Dragonlord thing.'

I want Merlin in Skyrim. He may or may not be the Dragonborn. He may be a random Breton that the DB meets one day.

Just incorporate the Merlin concept of Dragonlords into the tale of the Dragonborn, however you want.

Bonus points:
-Greybeards have no idea what to make of him

-Instead of fighting dragons, he talks them down/dismisses them

-Dragonborn, /technically/ has to obey all of Merlin's commands

- the Great Dragon (Kilgharrah) shows up

I think Kilgharrah and Paarthurnax having a tea party is a totally different prompt, yes?

This is the sequel to In My Time of Need which can be found here http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=4910214

Melina sat on the floor in her room, she smiled down at her three month old daughter. “Drem yol lok Emira,” she murmured with a grinned as her daughter cooed.

Her eyes snapped to the door, and watched it intently, her body tensing, preparing to protect her daughter by any means. She moves slowly placing her Emira behind her on the floor. She watched the door open slowly, a shout building in her throat ready to be let loose.

Balgruuf stepped into the room, he moved slowly. He watched his wife’s amber eyes and waited till they soften once more. Since she came back from destroying Alduin she had changed, people had to be a lot more careful, especially when their daughter was nearby.

He was the only one who could enter this room safely, the rest had been shouted out, or a blade placed to their throat, only his calming hand had stopped her from killing the intruders. Then there was the dragon language that his wife spoke often. When he first married her she had only used that foreign language once in a while, but now… Now it was different.

In a way she was still the same woman he married, still protective, loving, strong headed, and loyal. But the changes were large ones, she reminded him of a bear protecting her cub, except this bear can kill you with its shout.

Another large change he noticed, dragons avoided wherever she was. After Alduin died one dragon decided to attack Whiterun, he had ordered the guard to protect the city. Melina had been down at the market with Amira and all hell broke loose.

From the reports, stories and rumor, he wasn’t sure what the actual truth was. Some said the dragon tried getting away, speaking to her in the dragon tongue. Other say that the dragon was flying away as it was. Then there were the ones that said she shouted the dragon to death. It didn’t matter which was true, but one thing he noticed for himself was dragons avoided the dragonborn.

There had been a few dragons that flew overhead and spotted her. He knew they did and he watched as they flew away quickly.

Things had changed greatly since she came down from that mountain, and kept changing. No one was allowed near the child, only him. She was very protective and would kill a person for touching the child.

Then there was the constant amber eyes, but it was more than that. He wasn’t positive if he was seeing things or if it was actually happening, but it seemed as if her pupils turned into slits, not the normal round shape they were supposed to have.

Now he watched his wife eyes as he stepped through the door. They were cold, hard, calculating, not the same as the woman he had married. He knew in a moment they would soften, but never turn back to her crystal green eyes.

“Court finished early today?” Emilia asked.

And here was another change to add to the list - her voice. It used to be soft spoken, but with an underlining of firmness and certainty, now there was change, but he couldn’t place what that change was. He had heard the red dragon speak many times now, and to his misgivings reminded him of that.

“Yes, there wasn’t many problems to deal with,” Balgruuf murmured as he took a seat on the floor next to his wife. He smiled sadly as she rested her head on his shoulder. He still loved her, but he didn’t know if he could accept all these changes. When he married her, he had thought he knew what it meant to be dragonborn, but now he knew he was wrong. He knew nothing.

"How's Amira doing?" He asked softly as he lightly touched his daughter's hair. He watched Melina carefully incase she didn't like what he was doing. He knew enough to move his hand quickly if she growled. Yes his wife growls now. It wasn't something he didn't want to be reminded of.

He was about to say more but was interrupted by banging on his door and an urgent voice. He rose quickly, when he saw his wife agitated look and her ready to shout. He opened the door and stood in front of it, blocking his wife's view of the person and in the process saving their life.

"My Jarl, there is an emergency!" Irileth stated quickly.

"What is the emergency?" Balgruuf asked, his voice filled with worry.

"The storm cloaks are at the gate demanding for the dragonborn. They already killed the guards at the gate, we are holding them at the walls" Irileth informed him.

He tensed as he felt movement behind him. "Take her, I'll deal with his. They want the dragonborn, they'll get the dragonborn" Melina bit out coldly, both him and his housecarl flinched by the cold, murderous look on her face. He took his daughter hastily as his wife dressed in her armor.

Balgruuf watched his wife storm out and new more changes were to come. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew.

http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?view=5024902#t5024902

This is a link to the sequel to this story for those of you interested. Hope to hear from you through the second part!!!! :D

So Assassin lady is ninjaing into a house to kill its occupant. Meanwhile, Nightingale dude has been given a sweep job in this person's house. Cue awkward meeting and mind-blowing sex either before or after the jobs have been done.

Squicks are anal and bathroom stuff.

(Let's just pretend I didn't post that off of anon at first. DX)

Oh, gods, there is nothing right about this.

It didn't seem to be enough to pull Drevis away, though. By now, Cailean had started up roughly, pounding his lover against the mattress hard enough that the Dunmer feared it might break under them. Onmund didn't seem to mind the tempo, though; on the contrary, his moans had only escalated into pleasured screams, and his fingernails were raking across the Imperial's back with each movement.

“D-don't you dare stop!” he shouted, his voice shaking. Cailean answered him with a deep kiss, and worked his hips harder against the larger man's tight ass. Drevis focused on where their bodies met, his own hand working just as quickly against his aching length. His mind was becoming blurry with need, and small gasps escaped his mouth, though he still had enough composure to stop himself from making any noise. The last thing he needed was for two of his students to find out that a professor was invisible, no less than two feet away from their bed, and beating himself dry to the sight of them.

His fears were soon overrun anyway. That might have had something to do with Cailean shoving Onmund back against the mattress and pinning his shoulders down, practically growling obscene promises at him. The Nord's face was flushed, his body sweaty and working hard against his lover's. Cailean rammed forward again, burying his cock even deeper within him, and Drevis clapped his free hand over his mouth to stifle his moans. Gods help him, but he needed somebody that rough on him. It had been years, even decades since he had shared his bed. His other hand squeezed at his leaking member, building up the tension that threatened to spill over. His vision was blurring at the corners now, but not so much that he couldn't see the heated scene so close to him. Onmund's face was contorted now, his eyes squeezed shut, and Drevis pumped himself harder. Both the Nord and the Dunmer were close to release by now, and the professor knew he needed to come first if he could escape.

Damn it all, the noise was enough to drive him crazy. Even with his eyes closed, he was aware of the squeaking of the bed, overrun by Onmund's yelling and Cailean's growling. Still, he forced his eyes open when the Nord's noise finally hit its peak, and was graced with the sight of him spilling across Cailean's stomach and chest. Cailean was gaining speed as well, and Drevis quickened until he came almost in unison with the Imperial. He was more than thankful that the man on the bed had a louder voice than him.

When his own throes had released him, he leaned back in the chair, his chest heaving. Cailean had slumped over Onmund as well, and both were panting with post-sex euphoria.

“Wow...” the Nord murmured, running a hand through his lover's soaked hair. Cailean grinned and buried his face in Onmund's neck, earning weak, rumbling laughter. Drevis, on the other hand, was making an effort yet again to be silent. Tying his robes tightly together to hide the mess, he stood the moment he was sure his legs could support him, and sneaked out of the room as quickly and quietly as he could.

The spell wore off the moment he had re-entered the Hall of Countenance. Drevis heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed on his bed, sticky robes and all. With any luck, he wouldn't see either of the boys until his next lecture.

He'd make a point to teach them how to cast Muffle most effectively.

more like +1000000000000!

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