He drew a bow over the slender strings, the sound was haunting and dischordant at first, the mer's body swaying, his head ducked and looking as if in a trance. Vilkas' breath felt like it was stuck in his throat, notes starting to fall into place, up and down. This was far from a joyful tune, but how beautiful it sounded.
Then he heard the elf's native tongue for the first time, words directly from the page. Vilkas' heart pounded, blood flushing to his cheeks at the sound of the Bosmer's smooth voice, deep and controlled. His face contorted with emotion, unashamed of throwing his hair back, furrowing his brow, his voice breaking off at seemingly the perfect time to make Vilkas' body tremble.
But what did he say? Vilkas saw the mer's abstract black eyes open, they could have been looking anywhere, but somehow he just knew the dragonborn was looking right into him. Whatever the words may be, well, clearly they where about him. Vilkas' ears burned.
It was over before he wanted it to be, the sights and smells, the undeniably sexual burn in that voice left him utterly quiet.
“Do you want to know what it means?” He whispered.
“Yes...” Vilkas whispered back, even if he didn't need to.
He placed a new roll of paper in his hands, eyes on the way Vilkas reached out to take it. The way the Nord moved told him exactly how much he liked it. He didn't need to ask.
Birth of the Raven
His cage was tempest-tossed in flame, a cage of glorious sadness, this Phoenix did reside Shall I pluck this lock, free this captive For in this birth of freedom, The phoenix flames would douse For in my minds eye nevermore would there be a sight as beautiful as his raven wings unfurled in glorious, glorious freedom.
Vilkas had read it three times in a row before he realized that the bosmer had already cleaned the plates away and was standing, waiting to bid him a goodnight. “I'm glad you came to listen. Sometimes my frustration comes out in the strangest ways.” He laughed quietly, gazing at Vilkas a few moments more before bidding him goodnight, Vilkas remaining seated.
He went to bed reading it, laying back and remembering the sounds, The faces that matched the words. What in Shor's name was this new blooded trying to do to him? Write beautiful music in his name, remain a constant tickle in the back of his hunt-clouded mind. What in all of Tamriel does he want from me?
As breathtaking as his music was, as cheerful and intellectual he was, something big told Vilkas not to get close. These feelings where distressing, he didn't know where to place it apart from the obvious lust his wolf feels for him. He'd spent so many years alone with the beast, this new soul honestly scared Vilkas.
Re: Muses and Mead 11 (Vilkas M/M)
Then he heard the elf's native tongue for the first time, words directly from the page. Vilkas' heart pounded, blood flushing to his cheeks at the sound of the Bosmer's smooth voice, deep and controlled. His face contorted with emotion, unashamed of throwing his hair back, furrowing his brow, his voice breaking off at seemingly the perfect time to make Vilkas' body tremble.
But what did he say? Vilkas saw the mer's abstract black eyes open, they could have been looking anywhere, but somehow he just knew the dragonborn was looking right into him. Whatever the words may be, well, clearly they where about him. Vilkas' ears burned.
It was over before he wanted it to be, the sights and smells, the undeniably sexual burn in that voice left him utterly quiet.
“Do you want to know what it means?” He whispered.
“Yes...” Vilkas whispered back, even if he didn't need to.
He placed a new roll of paper in his hands, eyes on the way Vilkas reached out to take it. The way the Nord moved told him exactly how much he liked it. He didn't need to ask.
Birth of the Raven
His cage was tempest-tossed in flame,
a cage of glorious sadness,
this Phoenix did reside
Shall I pluck this lock, free this captive
For in this birth of freedom,
The phoenix flames would douse
For in my minds eye
nevermore would there be a sight as beautiful
as his raven wings unfurled in glorious,
glorious freedom.
Vilkas had read it three times in a row before he realized that the bosmer had already cleaned the plates away and was standing, waiting to bid him a goodnight. “I'm glad you came to listen. Sometimes my frustration comes out in the strangest ways.” He laughed quietly, gazing at Vilkas a few moments more before bidding him goodnight, Vilkas remaining seated.
He went to bed reading it, laying back and remembering the sounds, The faces that matched the words.
What in Shor's name was this new blooded trying to do to him? Write beautiful music in his name, remain a constant tickle in the back of his hunt-clouded mind. What in all of Tamriel does he want from me?
As breathtaking as his music was, as cheerful and intellectual he was, something big told Vilkas not to get close. These feelings where distressing, he didn't know where to place it apart from the obvious lust his wolf feels for him. He'd spent so many years alone with the beast, this new soul honestly scared Vilkas.
He read the translation again.
He went to sleep feeling bleak.