“You know you’ll never have any children of your own.” He stated. The werewolf smiled softly.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Farkas...”
“I know,” Farkas cut him off “you think I haven’t thought about this. That I don’t know what I’m asking. I’ll never have whelps of my own, I’ll never have a beautiful wife and a happy family. And we won’t die old and gray together, because we’re different. But that’s ok. I choose you because being with you for the rest of my life is more important to me than that stuff.
Vilkas will have his kids and I’ll be their uncle who can teach them to fight and hunt and drink. And I’ll have my beautiful husband by my side and I’ll never have to worry about watching you fade to gray. And I know one day, a long time from now, when I’m in Sovngarde with our brothers and sisters, you’ll come to me from out of the mist. I know you’ll come back to me, no matter what separates us.
I don’t want you to worry about what I won’t have. I’m asking you to marry me because I understand what I will have. I’ll have you and that’s all I want.”
Nibenor felt his shoulders tremble, a soft warmth spreading through his chest and he threw himself against his lover, his arms tightening around his broad, pale shoulders. The warm metal of the amulet pressed against his chest, a solid reminder of what had come to pass, as Farkas’s arms wrapped around him once more.
“...Can I take that as a yes then?” Farkas murmured, his lips against the elf’s ear.
“Yes.”
Farkas gave no verbal response; the only noise he made was a soft purr as he kissed at Nibenor’s neck, turning their bodies until the elf was pressed against pillow and mattress. His hands moved slowly, fluttering over Nibenor’s skin, tracing the long sharp lines of his ears, the Nord’s lips following the striking paths of cheekbones and down his stark jaw line.
The Bosmer’s breath caught at the touches, muscles tensing for the briefest of seconds before loosening, his body melting against the mattress. Farkas knew the lines of his body better than the elf did himself, knew every curve and angle, the dips and swells of bone and muscle. The way the skin at his temples tightened whenever he gasped, the heaving of his chest when he was lost in his ecstasy, the way delicate, calloused fingers would claw at his back when he was inside him.
There was little Farkas didn’t know about the Dragonborn, and there was no hesitation in asking him to bind their lives together until one ended. Or his, to be more precise. Their time together was limited, he knew that now and he wasn’t going to waste that time, be it only a few months or fifty years. Not when he could cherish the little man as much as he deserved.
Not when he could make him arch his back and squeal at his touch.
His lips found the hard knot of the other’s larynx, his teeth grazing against it as his hands followed down slowly. A soft shudder ran through the other man as his fingers traced over his shoulders, careful not to place any pressure on dark bruises. Instead, he let his lips find the gaps between them, kissing at warm white skin, lapping at unsullied flesh.
Nibenor’s slender fingers found his hair, curling into the dark strands and Farkas glanced up briefly. Black eyes were closed and lips parted, soft gasps of breath releasing rhythmically.
Farkas smiled to himself, knowing his little elf was beginning to lose control already. The hard muscles of his abdomen quivered as he ran his fingertips against them, the skin smooth and warm, unspoiled but for the odd scars. His lips followed, trailing after his hands, his mouth stopping at a hip bone whilst large hands slid underneath the elf to cup at firm buttocks.
Re: Misfire: Welcome Returns, sequel to 'All creatures great and small' 6b/?
“You know you’ll never have any children of your own.” He stated.
The werewolf smiled softly.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Farkas...”
“I know,” Farkas cut him off “you think I haven’t thought about this. That I don’t know what I’m asking. I’ll never have whelps of my own, I’ll never have a beautiful wife and a happy family. And we won’t die old and gray together, because we’re different. But that’s ok. I choose you because being with you for the rest of my life is more important to me than that stuff.
Vilkas will have his kids and I’ll be their uncle who can teach them to fight and hunt and drink. And I’ll have my beautiful husband by my side and I’ll never have to worry about watching you fade to gray. And I know one day, a long time from now, when I’m in Sovngarde with our brothers and sisters, you’ll come to me from out of the mist. I know you’ll come back to me, no matter what separates us.
I don’t want you to worry about what I won’t have. I’m asking you to marry me because I understand what I will have. I’ll have you and that’s all I want.”
Nibenor felt his shoulders tremble, a soft warmth spreading through his chest and he threw himself against his lover, his arms tightening around his broad, pale shoulders. The warm metal of the amulet pressed against his chest, a solid reminder of what had come to pass, as Farkas’s arms wrapped around him once more.
“...Can I take that as a yes then?” Farkas murmured, his lips against the elf’s ear.
“Yes.”
Farkas gave no verbal response; the only noise he made was a soft purr as he kissed at Nibenor’s neck, turning their bodies until the elf was pressed against pillow and mattress. His hands moved slowly, fluttering over Nibenor’s skin, tracing the long sharp lines of his ears, the Nord’s lips following the striking paths of cheekbones and down his stark jaw line.
The Bosmer’s breath caught at the touches, muscles tensing for the briefest of seconds before loosening, his body melting against the mattress. Farkas knew the lines of his body better than the elf did himself, knew every curve and angle, the dips and swells of bone and muscle. The way the skin at his temples tightened whenever he gasped, the heaving of his chest when he was lost in his ecstasy, the way delicate, calloused fingers would claw at his back when he was inside him.
There was little Farkas didn’t know about the Dragonborn, and there was no hesitation in asking him to bind their lives together until one ended. Or his, to be more precise. Their time together was limited, he knew that now and he wasn’t going to waste that time, be it only a few months or fifty years. Not when he could cherish the little man as much as he deserved.
Not when he could make him arch his back and squeal at his touch.
His lips found the hard knot of the other’s larynx, his teeth grazing against it as his hands followed down slowly. A soft shudder ran through the other man as his fingers traced over his shoulders, careful not to place any pressure on dark bruises. Instead, he let his lips find the gaps between them, kissing at warm white skin, lapping at unsullied flesh.
Nibenor’s slender fingers found his hair, curling into the dark strands and Farkas glanced up briefly. Black eyes were closed and lips parted, soft gasps of breath releasing rhythmically.
Farkas smiled to himself, knowing his little elf was beginning to lose control already. The hard muscles of his abdomen quivered as he ran his fingertips against them, the skin smooth and warm, unspoiled but for the odd scars. His lips followed, trailing after his hands, his mouth stopping at a hip bone whilst large hands slid underneath the elf to cup at firm buttocks.