It had been a fortnight since Farkas had last seen the man that haunted his dreams. Now once again, as every night since Hagen left him, he was lying on his bed, curled up under the bear pelt that still smelled of them both, of their union that fateful night. He remembered every touch, every whisper, every kiss so clearly. How the other man's hands curled up in his hair while his lips brushed over his throat, how their sweaty bodies clung together while they moved in the same rythm. Even the taste of his lover's arousal on his lips lingered. So sweet, so intoxicating. Never indicating the bitter taste of betrayal. But no, not now. He would not think of it now.
Farkas's hands glid down his naked torso, trying to mimic the touches his lover had blessed him with what felt like a lifetime ago. He swallowed the pain and summoned up the most wonderful night he could remember. The night Hagen, the dragonborn, made him his.
It was coming for a long time, really. For several months they had travelled together, laughed together, fought together. Farkas knew he was the one. His bright eyes, deep blue, yet not as bright as his own, had captured him from the very first moment. Hagen rarely smiled, but his eyes always held some mischief in them. To most people, the dragonborn seemed like a hard, cold man, but Farkas knew better. He knew the child that was hiding behind all that strenght, that power, and that tempting body. He remembered all the silly pranks his love would pull on Vilkas, the other twin never suspecting a thing. Who ever would have blamed someone as serious and strong as the dragonborn to cast an ice spell on Vilkas' wolf armour, thus freezing it in a solid block and forcing the grumpy Companion to leave his room in nothing but his loincloth. Farkas smiled at the memories of all the silly things they had gone through together. Yet, this smile hurt, for no matter how hard he tried, he could not forget the bitterness his love had left where once his heart used to be.
He knew the attraction was mutual. Hagen's eyes would always linger on Farkas. When he fought, when he bathed, even when he thought the other Companion was asleep. But he was not the only one watching Farkas was familiar with every move the other man made, every swing of his battle axe, every step he took. He knew every scar that graced the other man's body. The other man was muscular, similar to himself, and didn't bother shaving regularly. He had that rugged, weatherbeaten look that made Nord men so appealing. He was manly. In Farkas's eyes, this was the only fitting description at the time. However, if someone asked him now to describe the dragonborn, he would use different terms. Still manly, of course, but also delicious, hot and big. So many new words, so many new emotions. So many new sides to the man he knew so well.
He did not remember exactly how it all started. Hagen came to his room, and no words were spoken as their mouths collided. Within moments they were tugging at each other's armour, eager to taste the flesh below. Farkas remembered Hagen's strong, calloused hands fisting his hair, pulling it just enough to allow his hungry mouth access to the werewolf's neck. His teeth carefully scratched the sensitive skin while the other man moaned in pleasure. At this memory Farkas's hand slid between his legs, gently gripping his stiff member. He was so gentle with him at first. As if he was afraid to break him. But no, Farkas would not break under any torture, be it oh so deadly or gentle.
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timeasmymeasure
Of Love and Betrayal 01a/?
Date: 2013-03-22 10:31 pm (UTC)The sheets still smelled of him.
It had been a fortnight since Farkas had last seen the man that haunted his dreams. Now once again, as every night since Hagen left him, he was lying on his bed, curled up under the bear pelt that still smelled of them both, of their union that fateful night.
He remembered every touch, every whisper, every kiss so clearly. How the other man's hands curled up in his hair while his lips brushed over his throat, how their sweaty bodies clung together while they moved in the same rythm. Even the taste of his lover's arousal on his lips lingered. So sweet, so intoxicating. Never indicating the bitter taste of betrayal.
But no, not now. He would not think of it now.
Farkas's hands glid down his naked torso, trying to mimic the touches his lover had blessed him with what felt like a lifetime ago. He swallowed the pain and summoned up the most wonderful night he could remember. The night Hagen, the dragonborn, made him his.
It was coming for a long time, really. For several months they had travelled together, laughed together, fought together. Farkas knew he was the one. His bright eyes, deep blue, yet not as bright as his own, had captured him from the very first moment. Hagen rarely smiled, but his eyes always held some mischief in them. To most people, the dragonborn seemed like a hard, cold man, but Farkas knew better. He knew the child that was hiding behind all that strenght, that power, and that tempting body. He remembered all the silly pranks his love would pull on Vilkas, the other twin never suspecting a thing. Who ever would have blamed someone as serious and strong as the dragonborn to cast an ice spell on Vilkas' wolf armour, thus freezing it in a solid block and forcing the grumpy Companion to leave his room in nothing but his loincloth.
Farkas smiled at the memories of all the silly things they had gone through together. Yet, this smile hurt, for no matter how hard he tried, he could not forget the bitterness his love had left where once his heart used to be.
He knew the attraction was mutual. Hagen's eyes would always linger on Farkas. When he fought, when he bathed, even when he thought the other Companion was asleep.
But he was not the only one watching
Farkas was familiar with every move the other man made, every swing of his battle axe, every step he took. He knew every scar that graced the other man's body. The other man was muscular, similar to himself, and didn't bother shaving regularly. He had that rugged, weatherbeaten look that made Nord men so appealing. He was manly. In Farkas's eyes, this was the only fitting description at the time.
However, if someone asked him now to describe the dragonborn, he would use different terms. Still manly, of course, but also delicious, hot and big. So many new words, so many new emotions. So many new sides to the man he knew so well.
He did not remember exactly how it all started. Hagen came to his room, and no words were spoken as their mouths collided. Within moments they were tugging at each other's armour, eager to taste the flesh below. Farkas remembered Hagen's strong, calloused hands fisting his hair, pulling it just enough to allow his hungry mouth access to the werewolf's neck. His teeth carefully scratched the sensitive skin while the other man moaned in pleasure.
At this memory Farkas's hand slid between his legs, gently gripping his stiff member. He was so gentle with him at first. As if he was afraid to break him. But no, Farkas would not break under any torture, be it oh so deadly or gentle.