Vilkas heard the sound of the artist spitting, warmth on his cock and delicious friction of a hand pumping him. He palmed the head, teased his slit, did everything to send Vilkas over “-like that, don't stop!” He warned, the elf hoping to Dibella he'd last to please the Nord. A few more agonizing moments of Vilkas feeling him inside he breaks, throwing his head back and snarling with release. It comes in waves, his back arched and shivering moans escaping him while he watched the Bosmer above him “Come on, give it to me!” He shook, opening his legs and feeling the mer's seed flood into him, hot and stinging.
He gasped as the mer collapsed on him, Vilkas' arms moving to their sides. His world spun as he tried to bring breath back into his lungs, feeling dreadlocks spread across his shoulder like a draped hand. His hole contracted and throbbed around the bosmer's softening cock, trembling under his solid weight. The elf faltered in thought, but carefully reached a bare hand up, stroking his pale shoulder and chest. It was comforting not to be pushed away.
Vilkas let him lay there, buried deeply inside him, until they both felt the sweat dry off their bodies and their breath return. The artist had his eyes closed, his face resting against the Nord's chest which he stroked and palmed “You're not going to make me leave, are you?” He finally spoke up.
“No, I won't.” Vilkas said, his voice hoarse and low. His mind had been surprisingly empty until it came to him about everything that'd just happened. He felt as if a vice around his heart had been loosened, a constant coldness let out to warm. Was this relief? Acceptance?
“You've been so good to me,” He admitted “And I've been stubborn, Pathetically so.” The Bosmer chose to let Vilkas sort his own self out “I failed to see just how bad it's become, I've been in the dark for so long...It took a friend like you to see me through it.”
“You're not out of it yet” the elf looked up, reaching forward to touch Vilkas' cheek, seeing his face stained with his runny paint. The companion took the time to actually enjoy his face- his pouty lips covered in bites, the fascinating bone structure, his hawk-like nose. He called him friend, but the turmoil that stirred inside him merely looking at the elf felt more like a lover's doing.
Vilkas sighed when the elf heaved himself up from his chest, withdrawing slowly and Vilkas had the full view of the dried mess clinging to his stomach, of the mers flaccid cock. A tan hand massaged his thigh, moving achingly slow up and over his sack. Vilkas shuddered to the touch but not unyielding “What are you doing?” he whispered, feeling a chill rush over his spent member.
“Just relax..” Vilkas stared at him, uncertain but then his eyes drifted shut, arms relaxed. “Rest your mind, Vilkas.” He began to feel the artist's hands map his body, comfortingly and sensuously. Soon Vilkas' eyes refused to open with his mouth slack in exhaustion and physical contentment- the Bosmer smiled when he heard the young Nord's first snore. He was out, probably for the first time in more than a week..
He couldn't leave this spot, seated on his knees with Vilkas' legs wrapped around his thighs. The wolf man would wake up even if he tried to leave, so he stayed. All night the artist sat motionless aside from a gentle stroke or touch on Vilkas' body, writing poetry in his mind of him. Please let this be the start of something better for him, and for them.
((Well that winded up a lot longer than I thought it was going to be, but I had fun writing it. I wasn't honestly expecting Vilkas to turn out such a dark character, but the bosmer did meet vilkas during a very rough time in his life. Thanks for reading!))
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Muses and Mead 16 FINISHED!
Date: 2013-02-16 05:50 am (UTC)He gasped as the mer collapsed on him, Vilkas' arms moving to their sides. His world spun as he tried to bring breath back into his lungs, feeling dreadlocks spread across his shoulder like a draped hand. His hole contracted and throbbed around the bosmer's softening cock, trembling under his solid weight. The elf faltered in thought, but carefully reached a bare hand up, stroking his pale shoulder and chest. It was comforting not to be pushed away.
Vilkas let him lay there, buried deeply inside him, until they both felt the sweat dry off their bodies and their breath return. The artist had his eyes closed, his face resting against the Nord's chest which he stroked and palmed “You're not going to make me leave, are you?” He finally spoke up.
“No, I won't.” Vilkas said, his voice hoarse and low. His mind had been surprisingly empty until it came to him about everything that'd just happened. He felt as if a vice around his heart had been loosened, a constant coldness let out to warm. Was this relief? Acceptance?
“You've been so good to me,” He admitted “And I've been stubborn, Pathetically so.” The Bosmer chose to let Vilkas sort his own self out “I failed to see just how bad it's become, I've been in the dark for so long...It took a friend like you to see me through it.”
“You're not out of it yet” the elf looked up, reaching forward to touch Vilkas' cheek, seeing his face stained with his runny paint. The companion took the time to actually enjoy his face- his pouty lips covered in bites, the fascinating bone structure, his hawk-like nose. He called him friend, but the turmoil that stirred inside him merely looking at the elf felt more like a lover's doing.
Vilkas sighed when the elf heaved himself up from his chest, withdrawing slowly and Vilkas had the full view of the dried mess clinging to his stomach, of the mers flaccid cock. A tan hand massaged his thigh, moving achingly slow up and over his sack. Vilkas shuddered to the touch but not unyielding “What are you doing?” he whispered, feeling a chill rush over his spent member.
“Just relax..” Vilkas stared at him, uncertain but then his eyes drifted shut, arms relaxed.
“Rest your mind, Vilkas.” He began to feel the artist's hands map his body, comfortingly and sensuously. Soon Vilkas' eyes refused to open with his mouth slack in exhaustion and physical contentment- the Bosmer smiled when he heard the young Nord's first snore. He was out, probably for the first time in more than a week..
He couldn't leave this spot, seated on his knees with Vilkas' legs wrapped around his thighs. The wolf man would wake up even if he tried to leave, so he stayed. All night the artist sat motionless aside from a gentle stroke or touch on Vilkas' body, writing poetry in his mind of him. Please let this be the start of something better for him, and for them.
((Well that winded up a lot longer than I thought it was going to be, but I had fun writing it. I wasn't honestly expecting Vilkas to turn out such a dark character, but the bosmer did meet vilkas during a very rough time in his life. Thanks for reading!))