It was casually done, only a soft shrug of dismissal to warn her, and then he pulled the fabric over his head without so much as a by your leave.
He managed to look even larger than when he had been covered by the bulk of his garments. His shoulders were impossibly wide, his chest broad, his belly tightly coiled with corded muscle. Scars of past battles were present almost everywhere she looked. Some old and white, some new, still raw and red, some partially hidden by the dusting of tawny hair that coiled on his chest and trailed in a narrow line down his belly. Her eyes, seemingly no longer under her own control, followed the line until it disappeared into the waistband of his pants, slung impossibly low on his surprisingly narrow hips.
When he made to remove those as well, she almost did bolt for the door. But she held her ground and stared resolutely at the floor as the pants and everything underneath joined the neatly folded pile.
His voice was a velvety caress. “You’ve now given me two marks, little dragon. If you had so wished to claim me as your own, you might have tried a simple asking. We Nords are not so barbaric in our courtship as the Empire is wont to paint us.”
She glanced up carefully to find him poking gingerly around a bloom of crimson on his inner thigh, where two welted crescents stood as stark reminders of her lost temper. The bruised skin was high on his thickly muscled leg, much closer to his groin than she had realized.
It looked like a lover’s mark.
She stiffened, feeling a flush of heat flare in her face and down her neck. Her eyes moved swiftly to his face, where she found a soft smile playing around his mouth, gentling the harsh planes of his rugged face, giving him a winsome sort of handsomeness that left her shaking her head for daring to think such a thing.
His deep voice warmed her again. “Perhaps I will return the favor.”
The image came swift and fierce to her mind before she could stop it. His wide, cruel mouth, teasing so close to her most intimate, most vulnerable place, his breath hot against her skin, the scrape of his teeth taunting her to a kind of begging that did not lead to bitter shame, but the sweet ache of release.
But only shame followed in the wake of such thoughts. Surely there was something wrong with her, and she cursed her betraying blood. It had always been too quickly heated by baser passions. She was like her twin in that fact, despite her repeated attempts to learn the icy control that had so governed her elder brother and father.
He was the enemy, she reminded herself. And her brothers were dead because of his war.
The enemy turned from her to the wardrobe, pulling out and putting on a richly woven robe, in crimson and gold, styled in the Imperial tradition. It sat too snugly on the breadth of his shoulders. After a moment of fishing around, he drew out a second robe.
She looked at it with longing, allowing herself a brief moment of hope, quickly dashed. He only pulled from the robe’s moorings the twice-stitched fabric that served as belt, and tossed the rest of the garment over his shoulder.
It fell in a disgraced heap to the floor, under the chair. The crumpled, rich fabric provided sharp contrast to the simple well-worn garments that he had folded neatly, and with such loving care.
It was as if an omen.
She knew which method of handling he would reserve for her.
She braced herself as he approached. He slipped the belt of fabric between his teeth and grinned wolfishly down at her in a mockery of her forced muteness.
She was not certain what to expect next, but it was not for him to wrap his massive arms around her, folding her almost gently into his chest. The feel of him consumed her, burned her like a brand, his scent filling her nose with each shallow breath. She felt a flare of panic, was about to struggle against him, until she realized he was working loose the knotted, abrasive rope that bound her hands behind her.
She waited, muscles tensely coiled. He took his sweet time, as careful and precise as he had been with his garments. She knew he was enjoying this. Her humiliation. The feel of her body. She longed to use the strength of her legs against his smug arrogance, but she knew it was not the time.
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 3b/?
He managed to look even larger than when he had been covered by the bulk of his garments. His shoulders were impossibly wide, his chest broad, his belly tightly coiled with corded muscle. Scars of past battles were present almost everywhere she looked. Some old and white, some new, still raw and red, some partially hidden by the dusting of tawny hair that coiled on his chest and trailed in a narrow line down his belly. Her eyes, seemingly no longer under her own control, followed the line until it disappeared into the waistband of his pants, slung impossibly low on his surprisingly narrow hips.
When he made to remove those as well, she almost did bolt for the door. But she held her ground and stared resolutely at the floor as the pants and everything underneath joined the neatly folded pile.
His voice was a velvety caress. “You’ve now given me two marks, little dragon. If you had so wished to claim me as your own, you might have tried a simple asking. We Nords are not so barbaric in our courtship as the Empire is wont to paint us.”
She glanced up carefully to find him poking gingerly around a bloom of crimson on his inner thigh, where two welted crescents stood as stark reminders of her lost temper. The bruised skin was high on his thickly muscled leg, much closer to his groin than she had realized.
It looked like a lover’s mark.
She stiffened, feeling a flush of heat flare in her face and down her neck. Her eyes moved swiftly to his face, where she found a soft smile playing around his mouth, gentling the harsh planes of his rugged face, giving him a winsome sort of handsomeness that left her shaking her head for daring to think such a thing.
His deep voice warmed her again. “Perhaps I will return the favor.”
The image came swift and fierce to her mind before she could stop it. His wide, cruel mouth, teasing so close to her most intimate, most vulnerable place, his breath hot against her skin, the scrape of his teeth taunting her to a kind of begging that did not lead to bitter shame, but the sweet ache of release.
But only shame followed in the wake of such thoughts. Surely there was something wrong with her, and she cursed her betraying blood. It had always been too quickly heated by baser passions. She was like her twin in that fact, despite her repeated attempts to learn the icy control that had so governed her elder brother and father.
He was the enemy, she reminded herself. And her brothers were dead because of his war.
The enemy turned from her to the wardrobe, pulling out and putting on a richly woven robe, in crimson and gold, styled in the Imperial tradition. It sat too snugly on the breadth of his shoulders. After a moment of fishing around, he drew out a second robe.
She looked at it with longing, allowing herself a brief moment of hope, quickly dashed. He only pulled from the robe’s moorings the twice-stitched fabric that served as belt, and tossed the rest of the garment over his shoulder.
It fell in a disgraced heap to the floor, under the chair. The crumpled, rich fabric provided sharp contrast to the simple well-worn garments that he had folded neatly, and with such loving care.
It was as if an omen.
She knew which method of handling he would reserve for her.
She braced herself as he approached. He slipped the belt of fabric between his teeth and grinned wolfishly down at her in a mockery of her forced muteness.
She was not certain what to expect next, but it was not for him to wrap his massive arms around her, folding her almost gently into his chest. The feel of him consumed her, burned her like a brand, his scent filling her nose with each shallow breath. She felt a flare of panic, was about to struggle against him, until she realized he was working loose the knotted, abrasive rope that bound her hands behind her.
She waited, muscles tensely coiled. He took his sweet time, as careful and precise as he had been with his garments. She knew he was enjoying this. Her humiliation. The feel of her body. She longed to use the strength of her legs against his smug arrogance, but she knew it was not the time.
Not yet.