Being in love and alone proves too much for Vilkas, inspiring him to send a letter to the Bosmer that won his heart. And when they meet, it could decide the fates of their very lives and days to come. sequel to 'Purity'
First Morndas of Sun's Dawn- Morthal First Loredas of Sun's Dawn- Falkreath Second Fredas of Sun's Dawn- Riften Third Morndas of Sun's Dawn- Solitude
It went on and on like that. He couldn't remember the day he realized that the adventures seemed to coalesce and he never felt like he came home. Not that he had a home, but in that feeling his poems where full of sadness. That feeling one only knows once they realize home is but a distant memory. People here needed him now, he couldn't rest. If the Dragonborn wasn't there, innocent people would die. It wore the poet down thin to where he felt no need to carry his flute because no music played. Sometimes he'd listen to the silence and tears would come to his eyes.
This wasn't the life he wanted.
He was an elf all alone, bags slung over his back as he trudged through the tundra by Eastmarch. His horse had been killed. Bandits had a way of sneaking up on him when he least expected it... he felt too tired to weep over her corpse or just the pure frustration of it all. Maybe this Skyrim cold was freezing him over, but loss was routine and killing men to survive took a heavy toll on his heart.
But there was a few things that kept him smiling. Those trips to Whiterun felt painfully long and the days to mere hours he had to spend there where blessed. The ones that took him in first at Jorrvaskr never failed to cheer his heart- even the bratty Dunmer Athis and Njada had grown on him. But it really wasn't about them, he couldn't lie. The reason why was truly because of Vilkas. The once-wolf was bitter and aloof, even now to most, but Gods, the Bosmer saw clear through that. When they reunited over drinks he was an open book, fully submissive to his violent self and clean when he's in the artist's company. He smiles, laughs, and is so damn beautiful in that Nordic way that he keeps a very big piece of the mer with him even after they bid goodnight.
What they had was sublimely chaste. It wasn't about the sex when it came to Vilkas simply because there was none. And that simple fact made the Bosmer obsessed with him on those nights they could talk. Just simply share time with another soul, teach it and learn from it. He wanted Vilkas more than anything in the world and he was certain that the Nord felt the same way.
But those nights where behind him. Weeks behind now becoming months, he forgot the smell of his musk and the feel of his lips when they kissed goodnight.
It was getting dark as he approached Windhelm, that prison of a city. He wasn't welcome there even if Ulfric Stormcloak praised him so highly. That didn't matter because he still looked like an elf and it scared Nords, but he tried to look forward to something anyway as the guards came into sight.
But there was something else, the rush of feet from behind him- He swung around, stumbling back not from wind but from the sight of a naked young man sprinting towards him.
“Wait, your the Harbinger of the Companions! I have a message I need to deliver to you. An “Anonymous” paid quite a bit of gold to get this into your hands..oh! And there's this..”
Along with the note was a small capped bottle, and through the handblown glass was something so minute he couldn't see. The Bosmer's heart felt an immediate dread fearing it was another mysterious death threat, a calling card to some madman cult, or another of the Dark Brotherhood types.. his heart grew weary but ignoring burdens came with a far heavier price than the joy of ignorance.
“You must have traveled through that storm, I don't know how you Nords do it..” The Bosmer tried to ignore the fact the courier boy was as close to nude as humanly possible. Save for the hat.
Two Step (M!DB/Vilkas)
sequel to 'Purity'
Specs:
relationship: slash. Characters: Vilkas, M!DB. Kinks: wordplay, hurt and comfort, masturbation, fluff, romance, angst, anal, oral, marking. race: bosmer
~~~~
First Morndas of Sun's Dawn- Morthal
First Loredas of Sun's Dawn- Falkreath
Second Fredas of Sun's Dawn- Riften
Third Morndas of Sun's Dawn- Solitude
It went on and on like that. He couldn't remember the day he realized that the adventures seemed to coalesce and he never felt like he came home. Not that he had a home, but in that feeling his poems where full of sadness. That feeling one only knows once they realize home is but a distant memory. People here needed him now, he couldn't rest. If the Dragonborn wasn't there, innocent people would die. It wore the poet down thin to where he felt no need to carry his flute because no music played. Sometimes he'd listen to the silence and tears would come to his eyes.
This wasn't the life he wanted.
He was an elf all alone, bags slung over his back as he trudged through the tundra by Eastmarch. His horse had been killed. Bandits had a way of sneaking up on him when he least expected it... he felt too tired to weep over her corpse or just the pure frustration of it all. Maybe this Skyrim cold was freezing him over, but loss was routine and killing men to survive took a heavy toll on his heart.
But there was a few things that kept him smiling. Those trips to Whiterun felt painfully long and the days to mere hours he had to spend there where blessed. The ones that took him in first at Jorrvaskr never failed to cheer his heart- even the bratty Dunmer Athis and Njada had grown on him. But it really wasn't about them, he couldn't lie. The reason why was truly because of Vilkas. The once-wolf was bitter and aloof, even now to most, but Gods, the Bosmer saw clear through that. When they reunited over drinks he was an open book, fully submissive to his violent self and clean when he's in the artist's company. He smiles, laughs, and is so damn beautiful in that Nordic way that he keeps a very big piece of the mer with him even after they bid goodnight.
What they had was sublimely chaste. It wasn't about the sex when it came to Vilkas simply because there was none. And that simple fact made the Bosmer obsessed with him on those nights they could talk. Just simply share time with another soul, teach it and learn from it. He wanted Vilkas more than anything in the world and he was certain that the Nord felt the same way.
But those nights where behind him. Weeks behind now becoming months, he forgot the smell of his musk and the feel of his lips when they kissed goodnight.
It was getting dark as he approached Windhelm, that prison of a city. He wasn't welcome there even if Ulfric Stormcloak praised him so highly. That didn't matter because he still looked like an elf and it scared Nords, but he tried to look forward to something anyway as the guards came into sight.
But there was something else, the rush of feet from behind him- He swung around, stumbling back not from wind but from the sight of a naked young man sprinting towards him.
“Wait, your the Harbinger of the Companions! I have a message I need to deliver to you. An “Anonymous” paid quite a bit of gold to get this into your hands..oh! And there's this..”
Along with the note was a small capped bottle, and through the handblown glass was something so minute he couldn't see. The Bosmer's heart felt an immediate dread fearing it was another mysterious death threat, a calling card to some madman cult, or another of the Dark Brotherhood types.. his heart grew weary but ignoring burdens came with a far heavier price than the joy of ignorance.
“You must have traveled through that storm, I don't know how you Nords do it..” The Bosmer tried to ignore the fact the courier boy was as close to nude as humanly possible. Save for the hat.