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What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 33/35

[(Anonymous)]

Ulfric was woken, like he usually was, by the need to relieve himself. The cries of sea eagles circling outside his window, however, were new. He felt warm and sated and he started his morning ritual of cataloguing everything that had been done, and everything that needed doing. The war was over. He’d won. He was going to be king. Skyrim was going to be his. He had to organise which troops to leave in Solitude. His chain of thought was completely snapped as he remembered something else.

He had a lover. A flighty and unpredictable one with a habit of disappearing and falling into bed with other people.

This last thought startled him into action and he rolled over, half expecting the rest of the bed to be empty. It wasn’t. Dyce was sleeping on his stomach, his red hair half pulled free of his ponytail and spread across the pillow in a tangled mess.

Ulfric moved closer, watching him sleep and resisting the urge to stroke his cheek, or his hair, or the hand that was the only other part of him not covered by blankets. Eventually nature’s call grew too urgent and he slipped out from between the covers.

When he returned Dyce was still asleep. “Bloody little thief,” he murmured. When he’d disappeared the day before, he’d left Ulfric with what felt like a gaping hole in his chest. Just waltzed right off with his heart along with half a dozen other things he was sure Dyce hadn’t noticed he’d missed from his palace.

He couldn’t hold it against him. He didn’t seem to do it deliberately.

Despite it going against years of habit, he climbed back into bed. The movement must have woken Dyce up, for he cracked open a blue eye and spent a few moments focusing it.

“Hmm.” He reached out and patted Ulfric reassuringly on his bare chest and then rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes.

“Good morning,” Ulfric said.

“Yep,” Dyce agreed, feeling the mess of hair on his head and sitting up to comb out the loop of linen that usually held it back but was right now doing nothing useful at all.

Ulfric lay back on his pillow and enjoyed watching him, the way he moved, the way the indirect sunlight reflecting off the floor made his skin glow. A lover fit for a king indeed, but he was more than that. Dragonborn. General Stormblade. Mostly just him. Mostly because when he looked at Ulfric, Ulfric felt like a person.

It had been so long since he’d seen someone else just being there. Dyce rubbed his stubble and blinked when he looked out the window and yawned. It was fascinating. Dyce watched him too; he admired him with a series of quick, amused little glances. Ulfric could almost feel his gaze like a caress across his shoulders and chest, and he was well aware of Dyce’s opinion on other aspects of his physique. It was a little unnerving, to be the recipient of such gleefully lustful attention, but it was also pleasing as well. Despite the adventures of the night before, he wasn’t quite flaccid.

“I could marry you, you know,” Ulfric said thoughtfully.

Dyce stopped wrestling with the knots in his hair and shot him a dubious look. “You could try,” he retorted.

“Politically advantageous.” He smiled, “Certainly a lot of fun.”

“You don’t need to marry someone to have fun. Case in point; this right here. Also.” Dyce pulled his hair back and retied it before turning to face Ulfric, “If you mention the word ‘politically’ while I’m naked, I’m not going to be naked in future. Not where you can see, anyway.”

“All right, all right. You’ve made your point.” For now, at least. This was how it was going to be, he realised, and as much as part of him still wanted to chain Dyce to the bedpost, he accepted that he simply couldn’t.

He’d have to trust that Dyce had been honest when he said he couldn’t stay away from people who wanted him around. Dyce was always honest. He’d come back. It would have to be enough until Ulfric worked out a way to convince him to stay.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Dyce looked worried and uncertain. “The war.”

“Yes, the civil war is over. In a few months the Moot will meet and they will make me High King.” Dyce actually had the cheek to look sorry for him, and Ulfric frowned. Certainly there were some things that weren’t going to be pleasant, but he’d known that he was destined for this since he’d been a boy.