“Oh, yes, never fear, Madam. It has been many years since poor Cicero has had to sing for his supper.” He reached into his coat, pulled out a leather pouch that jingled with septims, and tossed it onto the counter. “Anything hot will do. Just meat for the elf, but Cicero would love some carrots and leeks, and dessert, if you have it.”
“Right away, sir.”
When Eydis disappeared into the kitchens to fetch them some food, Cicero prowled over to Thael, who had disentangled himself from his furs and now luxuriated in the heat of the fire. “Master?” Thael laughed. “I hope you know I consider you my equal.”
Cicero just smiled. “You looked like you were suffering out there, Listener. You must be nearly frozen.” Smoothly and without hesitation, as if he’d done it a thousand times before, he put his hands on Thael’s shoulders and began to massage them gently. He leaned in close to Thael’s ear and said softly: “Next time, Cicero will keep you warm.”
He watched the Bosmer’s reaction carefully. He expected that the Listener would either stiffen and shrug Cicero’s hands off his shoulders, in which case he would need to change his tactics, or lean back against Cicero’s warm body, perhaps murmur some encouraging response...
Cicero did not expect him to smile and say brightly, “That’s very kind of you, Cicero! You’re always such a tremendous help.”
Well. THAT didn’t work. But if at first you don’t succeed...
“Humble Cicero is happy to serve the Listener.” Never taking his hand off the Listener’s shoulder, he stepped over the bench and sat down next to him. “You know, Listener, tonight, Cicero is hungry for something more than venison...”
“Me too! I hope they have some rabbit on hand. Maybe some ham...”
The Keeper rolled his eyes. “Yyyyes...but Cicero was thinking of what comes after dinner.”
“I’m right with you, Cicero. Some nice aged cheese, perhaps...too bad they probably don’t have any jagga. I’m telling you, if these Nords learned to ferment cows’ milk, places like this would get a lot more Bosmer customers.”
Cicero sighed in exasperation, not bothering to remind him that the Nords didn’t particularly want more Bosmer customers. “You couldn’t have just one itty bitty glass of wine, Listener? You know, wine tickles the senses and...mmm...frees the mind and body.” He gave Thael’s shoulder a squeeze.
“Oh, no, I just couldn’t betray Y’ffre like that! No, I’ll just have some warm milk before I retire, I think.”
Oh, yes, warm milk. Of course. The most romantic beverage of all. A surefire recipe for a night of debauchery.
Cicero was racking his brain trying to think of a way to get through to Thael when the innkeeper’s son appeared with two generous platters of food: venison and goat and vegetable stew and – Cicero’s heart leapt when he saw it – an enormous sweet roll, its snowy peak topped with thick, crimson snowberry compote. The wind outside rattled the windowpanes, and Cicero suddenly realized just how cold and hungry he was. The seduction of the Listener could wait...for now.
---
For the rest of that dull, wintry week, Cicero’s overtures repeatedly collapsed upon Thael’s tone-deaf ears. Cicero would think it was funny, if it weren’t so damned frustrating. Every time the elf parried one of Cicero’s advances, Cicero wanted him more. He would have preferred outright rejection to this.
As they rode side by side, Thael whistling some inane tune to himself, Cicero wondered why this was proving so much more difficult than usual. Perhaps it was simple inexperience. The Listener was young – Cicero wasn’t sure how many years “young” was for a Bosmer, but he had a puppyish enthusiasm Cicero rarely saw in a man his own age. If he were a human, Cicero would wager that he wasn’t much more than twenty. Could it be that the Listener – feared assassin and savior of the Brotherhood – had never even lain with anyone?
The thought of teaching the Listener, guiding him, taking him by the hand and showing him what his ravishing little body was meant to do...that made Cicero’s breath catch in his throat.
If At First You Don't Succeed... 3/?
“Right away, sir.”
When Eydis disappeared into the kitchens to fetch them some food, Cicero prowled over to Thael, who had disentangled himself from his furs and now luxuriated in the heat of the fire. “Master?” Thael laughed. “I hope you know I consider you my equal.”
Cicero just smiled. “You looked like you were suffering out there, Listener. You must be nearly frozen.” Smoothly and without hesitation, as if he’d done it a thousand times before, he put his hands on Thael’s shoulders and began to massage them gently. He leaned in close to Thael’s ear and said softly: “Next time, Cicero will keep you warm.”
He watched the Bosmer’s reaction carefully. He expected that the Listener would either stiffen and shrug Cicero’s hands off his shoulders, in which case he would need to change his tactics, or lean back against Cicero’s warm body, perhaps murmur some encouraging response...
Cicero did not expect him to smile and say brightly, “That’s very kind of you, Cicero! You’re always such a tremendous help.”
Well. THAT didn’t work. But if at first you don’t succeed...
“Humble Cicero is happy to serve the Listener.” Never taking his hand off the Listener’s shoulder, he stepped over the bench and sat down next to him. “You know, Listener, tonight, Cicero is hungry for something more than venison...”
“Me too! I hope they have some rabbit on hand. Maybe some ham...”
The Keeper rolled his eyes. “Yyyyes...but Cicero was thinking of what comes after dinner.”
“I’m right with you, Cicero. Some nice aged cheese, perhaps...too bad they probably don’t have any jagga. I’m telling you, if these Nords learned to ferment cows’ milk, places like this would get a lot more Bosmer customers.”
Cicero sighed in exasperation, not bothering to remind him that the Nords didn’t particularly want more Bosmer customers. “You couldn’t have just one itty bitty glass of wine, Listener? You know, wine tickles the senses and...mmm...frees the mind and body.” He gave Thael’s shoulder a squeeze.
“Oh, no, I just couldn’t betray Y’ffre like that! No, I’ll just have some warm milk before I retire, I think.”
Oh, yes, warm milk. Of course. The most romantic beverage of all. A surefire recipe for a night of debauchery.
Cicero was racking his brain trying to think of a way to get through to Thael when the innkeeper’s son appeared with two generous platters of food: venison and goat and vegetable stew and – Cicero’s heart leapt when he saw it – an enormous sweet roll, its snowy peak topped with thick, crimson snowberry compote. The wind outside rattled the windowpanes, and Cicero suddenly realized just how cold and hungry he was. The seduction of the Listener could wait...for now.
---
For the rest of that dull, wintry week, Cicero’s overtures repeatedly collapsed upon Thael’s tone-deaf ears. Cicero would think it was funny, if it weren’t so damned frustrating. Every time the elf parried one of Cicero’s advances, Cicero wanted him more. He would have preferred outright rejection to this.
As they rode side by side, Thael whistling some inane tune to himself, Cicero wondered why this was proving so much more difficult than usual. Perhaps it was simple inexperience. The Listener was young – Cicero wasn’t sure how many years “young” was for a Bosmer, but he had a puppyish enthusiasm Cicero rarely saw in a man his own age. If he were a human, Cicero would wager that he wasn’t much more than twenty. Could it be that the Listener – feared assassin and savior of the Brotherhood – had never even lain with anyone?
The thought of teaching the Listener, guiding him, taking him by the hand and showing him what his ravishing little body was meant to do...that made Cicero’s breath catch in his throat.