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What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 10/??

[(Anonymous)]

He wasn’t the only one, up ahead he could hear shouting and he spied a familiar figure stumbling down the street towards them.

“Spies! You’re all...filthy Imperial spies. Come out’n fight! Like Nords!”

“Rolff,” Dyce growled. “How many times have I gotta-”

Ulfric put his hand on Dyce’s shoulder. Dyce waited as Ulfric pushed his hood off his head.

“Rolff,” he said. “Rolff Stone-Fist, do you recognise me?”

Rolff frowned, “Yeah. You’re...you’re th’ Jarl. Whatt’re you doin’ here?”

“You’re making a nuisance of yourself. Go home and sober up.”

“Yesh, yesh my Jarl,” Rolff made an attempt to salute and reeled away.

“And stop causing trouble!” Ulfric called after him. In a lower tone he added to Dyce, “Let’s see if he takes any more notice of me than he does of you.”

Dyce was smiling at him.

“What?” Ulfric pulled his hood back over his head. “This is my city. I should keep down the troublemakers.”

Dyce chuckled indulgently and they strode on in companionable silence.

“Why do you like them so much?” Ulfric asked eventually. “The elves.”

“They’re sarcastic,” Dyce said. “It’s hilarious. Most of them are into pretty kinky stuff; one of them showed me part of Vivec’s Lessons once. I was speechless. Nice voices. Nice people. Divines know I wouldn’t put up with it if I was treated the way they were.”

“They don’t have to put up with it; they’re welcome to leave,” Ulfric said.

“Could you just for one minute imagine what it’s like for them?” Dyce waved his arms. “For someone who wants to be king, you suck at identifying potential allies.”

“And for a blow-in from Highrock you claim to know an awful lot about governing Nords. Nords are my people; they are who I fight and if need be will die for. Not elves.”

“What if the Dragonborn had been an elf?” Dyce asked.

“Bretons practically are elves,” Ulfric huffed irritably.

Dyce looked thoughtful, in a drunk sort of way. “I suppose there’s hope for you yet then.” He gave Ulfric a crooked smile, “I’ll tell them what you did, you know. About Rolff.”

Ulfric didn’t know what to say about that. He certainly didn’t feel grateful. It didn’t matter, as Dyce patted him on the shoulder as he walked past him towards Hjerim without waiting for a response. It was only once he’d gone, and Ulfric was halfway up the steps to the Palace of Kings, that he realised he hadn’t actually passed on the orders he’d originally summoned Dyce to receive.

Tomorrow then.

Only tomorrow was in no hurry to arrive. Ulfric lay under his furs, eyes shut, but every time he tried to relax the sound of the Cornerclub seemed to echo in his ears. It was maddening, and the more he tried to block it out the worse it got. Eventually he gave up and went with it, going back there in his mind, the taste of brandy still in his mouth.

Dyce’s leather under his fingers.

This time he was free to stroke, to slide his hand down Dyce’s ribs. He felt his cock stir, the familiar sensation of his blood quickening in his veins. He didn’t move, not yet. Behind his eyelids, Dyce turned to him, affectionate, obedient. Ulfric licked his lower lip and heaved a sigh, concentrating. The sounds of the Cornerclub finally faded as he concentrated on Dyce, making him real, remembering his freckles, the size of his hands.

From there he was obliged to imagine, to guess, as he peeled away the leather. He wasn’t in the Cornerclub now, but his own bed, Dyce pliant and eager. Have him taste like brandy. Have him lean and hard. Have him hot.

Ulfric was hard now, he could feel the weight of the furs pushing his cock against his stomach. He shifted, moving his hips, feeling the sheet slide against his skin, a wrinkle catching on the end of his erection. Not comfortable, he slid a hand down his chest and stomach, his blunt fingers barely registering the scars as he concentrated on pretending it wasn’t his hand. Dyce cupped his balls, weighing them, thoughtful then pleased, and encircled the base of Ulfric’s cock with his finger and thumb.

Ulfric slowly stroked up his length and squeezed the head of his cock, imagining Dyce on his knees, sucking and squeezing, looking up at him with big, adoring eyes even as his cheeks hollowed and spit ran down his chin. Like that, taste it. All of it.