Happy EXTREMELY belated birthday! Maybe we can call it an early Christmas present? Happy summer solstice? PAIRING: M!DBAltmer/Farengar Secret-Fire KINKS: Slash, light bondage, gagging ----------------------------------------------------------------- Therion breathed slowly, calming himself. His hands trembled with excitement as he turned the page of his book, eagerly devouring the words. Without looking up, he took a sip of mead from his flagon. He savored the sweet nectar as it warmed his body, and let the carbonation tingle delightfully on his tongue. A wistful sigh escaped his lips as he began to feel deeply relaxed.
The door to the keep slammed shut with such force that Therion could feel his chair vibrate. Startled, his feet slipped from the table, causing the contents of his flagon to slosh. He deftly avoided spilling his drink upon his book, covering the cup with his hand. A soft growl escaped his lips as the irksome sound of angry footfalls made his slender ears twitch.
Farengar Secret-Fire stormed into his laboratory, throwing his staff against the wall where it usually rested.
Therion raised a slender eyebrow, curious what could have put the human mage in such a furor.
Farengar snapped his gaze onto the Dragonborn, noticing him for the first time.
“Get out,” he barked, ripping the book from Therion’s hands and tossing it away before turning to his alchemy station where he began to loudly grinding an ingredient with his mortar and pestle.
Therion watched him in a daze. As the shock wore off, however, his blood began to boil. Moving with practiced silence and grace, he stood beside the wizard, hand resting on the black handle of his Akaviri Dai-Katana.
“You’re ruining that nirn root,” Therion said quietly, causing the wizard to jump as he became aware of his presence.
“What? I’m not even… Ah,” he stopped, realizing he was grinding the ingredient he meant to dilute, and placed it on the alembic to boil.
Therion smirked, eliciting an indignant look from the wizard.
“You have a rudimentary grasp of the alchemical art. Are you expecting praise for your ‘help’?” Farengar asked, taking a step away from Therion as he continued his work. “I’ve better things to do than inflating your already oversized ego.”
Therion laughed.
“My oversized ego?” he replied incredulously.
“Are you deaf or simple? I told you to get out. Where did I put those...” he trailed off, turning to search through the contents of his desk.
“Your grand entrance nearly left me deaf,” Therion said, massaging his ear. “What happened, Farengar? You’re more ‘pleasant’ than usual tonight, even for you.”
Farengar slammed his desk drawer shut, empty handed.
“The concern of the great and mighty Dragonborn,” he said with unpleasant sarcasm, “Am I supposed to be flattered?”
Therion snatched the book he had been reading from the table.
“I’ll find somewhere else to read in peace,” he said irritably, tucking the book away.
Farengar waved his hand at the door, waiting for Therion to leave.
The Dragonborn turned to go, and Farengar heaved a sigh of relief behind him. His body tensed as the mer whirled around on him.
“Oh, and approach me in such a manner again...” Therion said, bearing down on the grumpy court wizard, causing him to retreat several steps, “and I may not be so patient next time.”
That he killed more than just dragons for a living was not common knowledge. Therion Adamonest, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, had a most disconcerting air around him when provoked. He was quick to smile, but just as likely, and as quick, with his blade.
The mage seemed duly frightened as he noticed him shiver.
Farengar looked for escape from his trapped position between the crux of his desk and the armored mer. The Nord’s breathing quickened and Therion remained to ensure the mage was sufficiently intimidated.
“By the Nine, why won’t you leave already?!” Farengar cursed, looking skyward as he found himself unable to escape.
Therion paused. This was not the way a frightened man acted. He made a quick perusal of all the ingredients sitting on his alchemy stand.
Fire and Potions - 1/?
PAIRING: M!DBAltmer/Farengar Secret-Fire
KINKS: Slash, light bondage, gagging
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Therion breathed slowly, calming himself. His hands trembled with excitement as he turned the page of his book, eagerly devouring the words. Without looking up, he took a sip of mead from his flagon. He savored the sweet nectar as it warmed his body, and let the carbonation tingle delightfully on his tongue. A wistful sigh escaped his lips as he began to feel deeply relaxed.
The door to the keep slammed shut with such force that Therion could feel his chair vibrate. Startled, his feet slipped from the table, causing the contents of his flagon to slosh. He deftly avoided spilling his drink upon his book, covering the cup with his hand. A soft growl escaped his lips as the irksome sound of angry footfalls made his slender ears twitch.
Farengar Secret-Fire stormed into his laboratory, throwing his staff against the wall where it usually rested.
Therion raised a slender eyebrow, curious what could have put the human mage in such a furor.
Farengar snapped his gaze onto the Dragonborn, noticing him for the first time.
“Get out,” he barked, ripping the book from Therion’s hands and tossing it away before turning to his alchemy station where he began to loudly grinding an ingredient with his mortar and pestle.
Therion watched him in a daze. As the shock wore off, however, his blood began to boil. Moving with practiced silence and grace, he stood beside the wizard, hand resting on the black handle of his Akaviri Dai-Katana.
“You’re ruining that nirn root,” Therion said quietly, causing the wizard to jump as he became aware of his presence.
“What? I’m not even… Ah,” he stopped, realizing he was grinding the ingredient he meant to dilute, and placed it on the alembic to boil.
Therion smirked, eliciting an indignant look from the wizard.
“You have a rudimentary grasp of the alchemical art. Are you expecting praise for your ‘help’?” Farengar asked, taking a step away from Therion as he continued his work. “I’ve better things to do than inflating your already oversized ego.”
Therion laughed.
“My oversized ego?” he replied incredulously.
“Are you deaf or simple? I told you to get out. Where did I put those...” he trailed off, turning to search through the contents of his desk.
“Your grand entrance nearly left me deaf,” Therion said, massaging his ear. “What happened, Farengar? You’re more ‘pleasant’ than usual tonight, even for you.”
Farengar slammed his desk drawer shut, empty handed.
“The concern of the great and mighty Dragonborn,” he said with unpleasant sarcasm, “Am I supposed to be flattered?”
Therion snatched the book he had been reading from the table.
“I’ll find somewhere else to read in peace,” he said irritably, tucking the book away.
Farengar waved his hand at the door, waiting for Therion to leave.
The Dragonborn turned to go, and Farengar heaved a sigh of relief behind him. His body tensed as the mer whirled around on him.
“Oh, and approach me in such a manner again...” Therion said, bearing down on the grumpy court wizard, causing him to retreat several steps, “and I may not be so patient next time.”
That he killed more than just dragons for a living was not common knowledge. Therion Adamonest, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, had a most disconcerting air around him when provoked. He was quick to smile, but just as likely, and as quick, with his blade.
The mage seemed duly frightened as he noticed him shiver.
Farengar looked for escape from his trapped position between the crux of his desk and the armored mer. The Nord’s breathing quickened and Therion remained to ensure the mage was sufficiently intimidated.
“By the Nine, why won’t you leave already?!” Farengar cursed, looking skyward as he found himself unable to escape.
Therion paused. This was not the way a frightened man acted. He made a quick perusal of all the ingredients sitting on his alchemy stand.