'Don't follow me' he would have said, but words where sucked from his mind when the hand at his arm suddenly became firm, pushing him. A drunken Vilkas was backed up against the dark alcove of the hall, coming nose to nose with a mer that smelled like spice and mead and drunk. He, a wolf, had been cornered.
Two hands felt his chest, sliding up and down the steel until nestled comfortably astride his throat. The elf's solid body soon pressed to his, lips licked hungrily and he eyed Vilkas as prey. He wanted that wolf, a taste of his wild fire. And he did so, Vilkas humming in surprise to feel a stubbled face against his own, a minstrel's hand through his hair.
And lips that tasted like sex and heat. The whelp's eyes drifted shut, sucking in the Nords lower lip and moaning in pleasure. And by the gods he felt Vilkas begin to kiss back. It was frantic and sloppy, Vilkas shuddering to feel a male tongue wrestle his own, battle for dominance. He felt the graze of predatory teeth and hot breath on his neck and for a brief moment, chaotic pleasure coursed through him.
They grunted and swayed, Vilkas' hands remaining holding a pair of arms while the other felt their brazen way around. “How beautiful you are,” The elf moaned, grinding his two legs into the trapped man, making Vilkas snarl, only to be snarled at in return. His cock twitched angrily behind his armor “Mysterious and carnal, How I'd love to feel more”
A wayward hand dove low, palm gliding along worn wolf fur before resting between Vilkas' legs, gripping firmly and lips dragging along his untouched throat. It was then the mer had gone too far.
“Enough!” Vilkas cried out, his cock lengthening fully with just a single brush. The Bosmer was swung around, his back slammed against the wall and his head spinning. The other male took both hands away from Vilkas immediately, looking frantically apologetic. He didn't foresee this happening- Livid with rage, Vilkas grabbed the mans face painfully tight, squashing his cheeks with a massive grip. He glared daggers at his attacker, the hair on his neck raised “You learn your place, bard.” He shook the face he just kissed, furious at being taken prisoner for those few moments. The beast inside him was contested, but so ready to fuck.
“I'm sorry” He gulped, ebony eyes wincing and sobering. “I didn't mean anything-”
“Just!...Just be quiet. And leave me be.” Vilkas let him go from his shaking grip, turning roughly and marching away to his private room, the Bosmer frowning to hear the slam of a door. He rubbed his face in defeat, tasting him, still feeling the prickling heat of beard against skin. He turned about and shuffled his way to the whelping room. He probably won't sleep well tonight..
Vilkas tore away his clothing in a heated mess, panting and sweating feverishly as a lump caught in his throat. He wanted to howl, claw and sprint, to let the beast free in any way. But he couldn't, he was trapped in here. His cock refused to surrender, jutting from his now naked hips and weeping in need. The smell of him clung.
He threw his slender body against his bed, legs spread wide and an arm draped over his forehead “Damn you,” He groaned. He hated the idea of himself jacking off. “Damn you to Oblivion” He took his cock in hand, squeezing from base to tip- it was so hard, he wouldn't last a minute.
He pumped himself, downcast eyes watching his foreskin move with each pull and a gasp on every breath. His hand moved out of pace with his bucking hips, free hand wandering down to pull his thigh apart. He found a pace his body would be pleased to fuck with, grunts turning into shuddered gasps.
His wolf howled, but Vilkas merely swallowed his cry as he came into his hands, open mouthed and writhing. His seed spurted out thick and musky, the smell of himself making him weak. His drunken body shook, his facepaint smudged along his pillow as he nuzzled it, breathed into it.
As he recovered he tried not to think of the taste of his lips, the fact that he'd gotten so hot for the male. He was skilled and exotic, everything Vilkas was not used to and it made him unbearably angry. But the poor man was drunk, he didn't deserve that. How he'll be able to face the man tomorrow he'll never know.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Muses and Mead 9 (Vilkas M/M)
Date: 2013-02-13 04:01 am (UTC)'Don't follow me' he would have said, but words where sucked from his mind when the hand at his arm suddenly became firm, pushing him. A drunken Vilkas was backed up against the dark alcove of the hall, coming nose to nose with a mer that smelled like spice and mead and drunk. He, a wolf, had been cornered.
Two hands felt his chest, sliding up and down the steel until nestled comfortably astride his throat. The elf's solid body soon pressed to his, lips licked hungrily and he eyed Vilkas as prey. He wanted that wolf, a taste of his wild fire. And he did so, Vilkas humming in surprise to feel a stubbled face against his own, a minstrel's hand through his hair.
And lips that tasted like sex and heat. The whelp's eyes drifted shut, sucking in the Nords lower lip and moaning in pleasure. And by the gods he felt Vilkas begin to kiss back. It was frantic and sloppy, Vilkas shuddering to feel a male tongue wrestle his own, battle for dominance. He felt the graze of predatory teeth and hot breath on his neck and for a brief moment, chaotic pleasure coursed through him.
They grunted and swayed, Vilkas' hands remaining holding a pair of arms while the other felt their brazen way around. “How beautiful you are,” The elf moaned, grinding his two legs into the trapped man, making Vilkas snarl, only to be snarled at in return. His cock twitched angrily behind his armor “Mysterious and carnal, How I'd love to feel more”
A wayward hand dove low, palm gliding along worn wolf fur before resting between Vilkas' legs, gripping firmly and lips dragging along his untouched throat. It was then the mer had gone too far.
“Enough!” Vilkas cried out, his cock lengthening fully with just a single brush. The Bosmer was swung around, his back slammed against the wall and his head spinning. The other male took both hands away from Vilkas immediately, looking frantically apologetic. He didn't foresee this happening-
Livid with rage, Vilkas grabbed the mans face painfully tight, squashing his cheeks with a massive grip. He glared daggers at his attacker, the hair on his neck raised “You learn your place, bard.” He shook the face he just kissed, furious at being taken prisoner for those few moments. The beast inside him was contested, but so ready to fuck.
“I'm sorry” He gulped, ebony eyes wincing and sobering. “I didn't mean anything-”
“Just!...Just be quiet. And leave me be.” Vilkas let him go from his shaking grip, turning roughly and marching away to his private room, the Bosmer frowning to hear the slam of a door. He rubbed his face in defeat, tasting him, still feeling the prickling heat of beard against skin. He turned about and shuffled his way to the whelping room. He probably won't sleep well tonight..
Vilkas tore away his clothing in a heated mess, panting and sweating feverishly as a lump caught in his throat. He wanted to howl, claw and sprint, to let the beast free in any way. But he couldn't, he was trapped in here. His cock refused to surrender, jutting from his now naked hips and weeping in need. The smell of him clung.
He threw his slender body against his bed, legs spread wide and an arm draped over his forehead “Damn you,” He groaned. He hated the idea of himself jacking off. “Damn you to Oblivion” He took his cock in hand, squeezing from base to tip- it was so hard, he wouldn't last a minute.
He pumped himself, downcast eyes watching his foreskin move with each pull and a gasp on every breath. His hand moved out of pace with his bucking hips, free hand wandering down to pull his thigh apart. He found a pace his body would be pleased to fuck with, grunts turning into shuddered gasps.
His wolf howled, but Vilkas merely swallowed his cry as he came into his hands, open mouthed and writhing. His seed spurted out thick and musky, the smell of himself making him weak. His drunken body shook, his facepaint smudged along his pillow as he nuzzled it, breathed into it.
As he recovered he tried not to think of the taste of his lips, the fact that he'd gotten so hot for the male. He was skilled and exotic, everything Vilkas was not used to and it made him unbearably angry. But the poor man was drunk, he didn't deserve that. How he'll be able to face the man tomorrow he'll never know.