The golden statue was in arms reach. For once luck was with us, it seemed. Maybe Delvin will finally stop blathering on about that curse when I return with this beauty. I shot a grin over my shoulder towards Brynjolf, who was rather grudgingly looking impressed, and took another step towards the plinth in the centre of the room. As my foot landed a loud click reverberated around the chamber.
In slow motion I saw the fragile pottery vase drop, straight into the oil filled puddle I was standing in. But it was far too late for me to do anything other than try desperately to cast FlameCloak in the deluded hope that that might protect me. What a pathetic way for the Dragonborn to die. The spell died out as Brynjolf slammed into me, trying to knock me out of the way. The blast of fire roared over us and my nose filled with the acrid stench of burning leather. My eyes widened with the growing realisation... "Bryn? We're on fire." He grinned down at me, euphoric with surviving, "You said it, lass." I pushed him off me and scrambled to my knees, slapping at the flames that were merrily burning his oil soaked leathers, "No, we really are on fire, you idiot." Brynjolf cursed and began rolling on the floor, trying to smother the flames and I turned my attention to my own fires. They weren't dying down and I was now started to feel the pain of the burns so I began stripping, yanking my boots off. Besides me I could hear Brynjolf doing the same. By the Nine, I wish I'd bothered to learn an ice spell. When I was naked I glanced down, checking myself. Not too bad. Just surface burns. A brief, vain panic had me pull my hair out of it's tie, checking it was all still there but fortunately the hood had protected it. Then I turned to Bryn. Who was naked. Our eyes met and then against my will my gaze was dragged down. My cheeks flushed involuntarily and I resisted the urge to spin back around. Right, nothing awkward here. "You need healing."
Sex on Fire: 1/?
The golden statue was in arms reach. For once luck was with us, it seemed. Maybe Delvin will finally stop blathering on about that curse when I return with this beauty. I shot a grin over my shoulder towards Brynjolf, who was rather grudgingly looking impressed, and took another step towards the plinth in the centre of the room. As my foot landed a loud click reverberated around the chamber.
In slow motion I saw the fragile pottery vase drop, straight into the oil filled puddle I was standing in. But it was far too late for me to do anything other than try desperately to cast FlameCloak in the deluded hope that that might protect me. What a pathetic way for the Dragonborn to die. The spell died out as Brynjolf slammed into me, trying to knock me out of the way. The blast of fire roared over us and my nose filled with the acrid stench of burning leather. My eyes widened with the growing realisation...
"Bryn? We're on fire."
He grinned down at me, euphoric with surviving, "You said it, lass."
I pushed him off me and scrambled to my knees, slapping at the flames that were merrily burning his oil soaked leathers, "No, we really are on fire, you idiot."
Brynjolf cursed and began rolling on the floor, trying to smother the flames and I turned my attention to my own fires. They weren't dying down and I was now started to feel the pain of the burns so I began stripping, yanking my boots off. Besides me I could hear Brynjolf doing the same. By the Nine, I wish I'd bothered to learn an ice spell. When I was naked I glanced down, checking myself. Not too bad. Just surface burns. A brief, vain panic had me pull my hair out of it's tie, checking it was all still there but fortunately the hood had protected it. Then I turned to Bryn. Who was naked. Our eyes met and then against my will my gaze was dragged down. My cheeks flushed involuntarily and I resisted the urge to spin back around. Right, nothing awkward here. "You need healing."