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[skyrimkinkmeme]

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

Happy Holidays, fellow Kinkmemers! I have returned and have no reasonable excuse for my absence except LIFE. I will be working on updating the archives. If anyone sees anything amiss, please let me know.

I am also hoping to find another Mod and an Archivist.

The more dedicated people we have in this Meme the less chance of it dying. I admit that being the sole keeper of the Meme is not great for the fandom. If something were to happen to me, for good, this place would go the way of the Fallout Kink Meme. Let's not let that happen! If anyone would be interested in Modding/Archiving, please drop me a line. Thanks! <3

Comments

Etiquette 1/??

[(Anonymous)]

I uh, don't think this is probably what you meant about being unwilling at first, but I TRIED.


----


There were no fools in the Stormcloak army, they had always told him. You were a hero just for giving Ulfric Stormcloak a sword he could rely on; loyalty and dedication were more important than anything.

But Haakon had never felt less heroic. His hands were bound behind his back, his axe was gone, and he was surrounded by Thalmor, no doubt on their way to some prison to have him tortured.

And they might have gotten him there, had it not been for the snow.

"Feet are freezing off," one of them was grumbling.

"Silence," said the officer - that was what Haakon assumed he was; he seemed to be giving the orders - at the front of the line. "We're nearly there."

They were 'nearly' nowhere, Haakon knew. That was what happened when you tried to take a mountain pass in a blizzard. A smart traveler - a Nord - would have found a hollow and waited out the storm, or read the clouds and gone back to an inn; but the elves seemed to think their willpower could get them to wherever they were going. Now they were leagues from an inn, much less a village; trailing along the bottom of a cliff because it was the only thing they could see. Haakon could have found shelter anywhere in this part of Skyrim, but the cold was only just beginning to chill him. The elves would freeze long before he did, he thought bitterly, and he would dance on their stinking elf corpses and laugh.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

The two Thalmor behind him paused, and Haakon listened.

"Excuse me!"

"I heard it," said one.

"Keep walking!" the officer snapped.

"Excuse me!" It was louder this time, a reedy male voice - an elf's voice. "Beautiful, wonderful travelers, helpful friends--" He dropped down before the officer, and Haakon squinted at him through the snow. Had he been scaling the cliff?

The Thalmor officer drew his sword, in response to which the cliff-elf held up his hands and backed away. "No need for that, I was merely--"

"This is Thalmor business." The officer raised his sword.

"Yes, I see that," said the elf dryly (a wood elf, Haakon now saw), taking another step back. A snow-heavy brown cloak hid nearly all of him, but his raised hands wore leather gauntlets. "My apologies. Do you know the way to the nearest village? I'm quite lost. And very cold," he added, wiggling his bare fingers.

The officer didn't drop his sword. "Back away."

The wood elf stared at him for a moment, then turned to the two Thalmor behind Haakon. "You fellows?"

The tension was palpable, but neither spoke.

"I can get you out of here," Haakon said.

One of the elves behind him prodded his back with a mace. "Why didn't you say so!"

"You'll take us all where we wish to go," the officer hissed between his teeth.

The wood elf's eyes met Haakon's through the snow. "No, I believe that invitation was for me."

Twin daggers were in his hands faster than the Thalmor officer could move. The elven sword glinted as it swung and a flare of magic burned in the high elf's hand, but the wood elf was quicker. The officer stumbled back, clutching his gut, and fell. The soldiers behind Haakon shoved him to the ground on their way past him. They wore armor where their superior had not, but the cloaked elf knew where to hit them. Blood sprayed across him as he cut down one, but the other soldier slammed his mace into the elf's side, knocking him off his feet. Haakon pushed himself up as the Thalmor soldier raised his mace over his head, and he charged, shoulder first. The elf was taller, but Haakon was a wall of heavy muscle, and they hit the ground hard, limbs tangled.

"Move, Nord!" Hands on his back pushed him out of the way. The Thalmor soldier made a strangled noise of protest and flung up his arm, but too late to stop the dagger that sank into his throat.

The wood elf breathed out a cloud of ice in the sudden stillness, leaning back on his heels. "Curse this snow," he said finally, wiping off his daggers.

Etiquette 2/??

[(Anonymous)]

"Cut these damn things," said Haakon, twisting around to show the elf his hands. Though the elf kept his daggers sharp, the ropes were thick, and the snow had soaked through Haakon's trousers by the time he heard a snap and felt the pressure around his wrists evaporate. He started to stand up, but the elf took one of his hands, examining the angry red line.

"I don't know any healing spells, I'm afraid."

Haakon hesitated. The kindness was unexpected. "It's fine," he said, standing.

The elf stood with him, huddling deeper into his wet cloak. "You weren't lying about knowing the way, I hope," he frowned.

"No, but-" Haakon glanced over his shoulder as he started walking- "it'll be a day before we reach an inn, in this weather."

The elf made a face. "I can't sleep in the snow," he said.

"I know." Haakon turned back. "There's a mine ahead."

They walked in silence for some time, the wind blowing at their backs. When even Haakon had crossed his arms tight over his chest, the elf shuffled through the snow to walk beside him. "I don't know how you can stand living here," he said quickly, as if to explain.

"Don't your people live in some kind of jungle?" Haakon raised an eyebrow at him.

"What's your point? I'm covered in icicles," the elf complained, lifting a frozen strand of blond hair and letting it fall.

Haakon was first to break the next bout of silence. "What's your name, elf?"

"Lenethir." His voice was half muffled by his cloak; he was hiding his chin in it, as much as he could. "And you?"

"Haakon."

"Very pleased to meet you under these charming circumstances, Haakon. Do you always look like that?"

Haakon glanced at him, taken aback. "Like what?"

"Well, a bit..." Lenethir glanced away, badly concealing a grin.

"A bit what??"

"Oh, never mind."

Haakon stared at him. "Never mind!"

"Yes, I'm sorry I brought it up."

Lenethir's eyes were playful and teasing, but Haakon scowled anyway, scratching his chin. He probably looked worse for wear - he'd been a prisoner for more than a day, and he could never be bothered to keep his chin free of stubble even when he was at home in Windhelm, and he was vaguely aware that his hair was a tangled black mess in need of cutting - but he didn't consider himself bad-looking. He just looked like a damn Stormcloak, that was all.

Evidently, elves had higher standards.

Lenethir changed the subject to Skyrim's generally objectionable taste in music, which Haakon argued against indignantly, but somewhere in the middle of a tangent about the inferiority of lutes Haakon interrupted, pointing: there was a door in the side of the cliff.

Inside it was the abandoned mine, which was so dark that they had to leave the door open to investigate it. The back of the cave was a pile of stones and smashed timbers where the ceiling had buckled, and there was little left - only a few tattered furs where there ought to have been bedrolls - but the elf flung off his cloak and flopped onto a fur like it was all he'd ever wanted. "Be a good fellow and build a fire," he said, closing his eyes.

"With what?" Haakon was picking through the debris: a wolf skull, a rotted cabbage in a barrel, an empty cart, a spit for the fire (but nothing to cook with, not that they had food).

"Oh." Lenethir sat up again and dug a small pack out of his cloak, and produced a rolled piece of parchment. He peered at the things Haakon was going through. "Set that cart over in the corner. And move the spit, if you don't mind."

Haakon frowned at him - he didn't care to follow orders unless they were Stormcloak orders, and particularly from an elf - but did as he was asked.

"Back up," said Lenethir. He unrolled the parchment and read some words Haakon didn't recognize, then pointed at the cart.

"Is this magic?" Haakon started to ask, but the fireball that shot out of the elf's hand cut him off. The cart burst into pieces, and the pieces burst into flames. Haakon stared at it. Lenethir was grinning. "I hate magic," Haakon concluded.

Etiquette 3/??

[(Anonymous)]

"Then don't use my fire," said Lenethir cheerfully, getting off his fur. He dragged the spit back over toward the fire, kicking the pieces that had scattered into a neat pile, and hung his heavy cloak up to dry. Next he peeled off his leather armor, piece by piece, buckle by buckle, and Haakon found himself watching. He had seen elves in armor and elves in robes, but never this, and he was curious. Lenethir's skin was the yellow-brown of clay, and his arms were muscled like an archer's - which, Haakon supposed, was what he might have expected of wood elves, if he'd ever cared to think about it. If Lenethir knew he was staring, he didn't mention it. He stopped at his trousers, anyway, and dragged two of the furs over close to the fire.

Haakon followed suit. The limited space meant the furs were piled close together, so when each was wrapped up in his own, their heads were close together.

"Where are we going, by the way?"

"An inn."

"And then?"

Haakon rolled over, propping himself up in his elbows. Lenethir tilted his head back as far as he could, giving him an upside-down inquisitive look.

"We're closest to Windhelm," said Haakon. "Do you know nothing of Skyrim?"

"I know enough." Lenethir settled back into his furs. "Windhelm is home to the Stormcloaks, is it not?"

"It is," said Haakon, and his voice came out more defensive than he meant it to.

The elf's voice sounded disapproving. "I thought as much."

Haakon frowned. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning I've no interest in throwing myself into a den of angry wolves."

"Because you're an elf," Haakon surmised.

"Very observant."

"We don't all hate elves."

"Do you?"

"Would you outlaw the worship of Talos?"

"I don't give a damn who you worship." Lenethir rolled over, and his voice was muffled. "It's nothing to do with me."

The fire popped, and that was the end of the conversation. Haakon drifted to sleep.

The next morning, both the weather and the conversation were lighter, though Haakon was starving (which was, in fact, the first thing he talked about). This led to a discussion about mead, and brandy, and whether Haakon had ever been to Cyrodiil (he had not, and saw no reason to ever leave Skyrim, and said so, to which Lenethir laughed), and what exactly Lenethir had been doing on the cliff (avoiding bandits, he said, but Haakon was beginning to think it was more like avoiding them or ambushing them; whichever seemed more feasible).

Lenethir had a quick smile and laughing eyes, and he tended to talk more than he listened. He was fast distracted by tangents, and teasing jokes rolled off his tongue one after another, but Haakon found it easy to listen to. He'd been surrounded by war for some time now, and war was grim. Lenethir was not.

By the time they spotted the smoke from the inn, the sun had started to fall behind the trees, and Lenethir was walking with his shoulder nearly pressed against Haakon's arm for warmth.

Lenethir cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Haakon's armor. "Are you going to be, ah, welcome here?"

Haakon grinned. "Don't worry, elf. This is Stormcloak territory."

"Am I going to be welcome here?"

"Of course. You're with me." Haakon clapped a hand on his shoulder. "And you've got coin."

"Coin enough for both of us, you mean."

"I got you out of that blizzard."

"And I killed your Thalmor!" Lenethir sighed dramatically. "I suppose I feel generous."

There was no one in the inn but them, and the innkeeper cooked them fresh fish and brought them all the mead Lenethir could buy, until the fire started to become too hot. It was nearly midnight when the the innkeeper asked if they would mind him going to sleep. When they said they did not, and both got up, he locked the inn's front door and retired to his own room, leaving the fire to burn low.

Etiquette 4/??

[(Anonymous)]

Lenethir stretched. "Sleep well," he said, and went to his room.

Haakon's head was pleasantly full of mead, and the bed was warm, and the room was dark when he put out the bedside candle; but he could not sleep. There was only a partition between his room and Lenethir's rather than a true wall, and he could hear the elf shifting. Tomorrow he would be back to Windhelm to report his mishap, and Lenethir would be gone - somewhere. Likely nowhere full of Stormcloaks, as wary as he was.

Haakon tapped his fingers against the bedframe and got up.

He crept into the main hall, bare feet on the stone, and into Lenethir's room. It was a true country inn, with open timber doorways instead of proper doors, but Lenethir heard him anyway and sat upright.

"Sneaking up on me?"

Haakon grinned. "All that coin, you know."

"You won't get it easily." The elf settled back on his hands, just shadows and pale moonlight touching his hair and the curve of his bare shoulders.

Haakon didn't stop to think: he came close to the edge of the bed and swung one leg over Lenethir's, sliding his hands down those appealing arms--

"What are you doing?" Lenethir smacked them away. "You're drunk, you fool."

"I'm not drunk." Haakon grabbed one of Lenethir's wrists in his much larger hand, and then the other, and joined them over the elf's head.

Lenethir squirmed angrily beneath him, tugging against his grip. "I won't warn you twice."

"Mm." Haakon knelt over him and brushed his lips over Lenethir's throat, his free hand tracing an invisible path over smooth skin down to rough linen. He slid his fingers under the fabric, and that was when his other hand suddenly felt...peculiar.

He stopped and looked up. Swirling green light glowed in one of Lenethir's trapped hands, and it was pointed at Haakon.

He was too slow; it hit him as he tried to scramble backwards, and his body immediately stopped obeying him. His brain was working; his muscles had frozen.

Lenethir slid out from under him. For a moment he left Haakon's peripheral vision, and then he was being shoved over onto his side; then onto his back. "Don't you look funny," Lenethir said, his voice soft but unkind. He eased the angles out of Haakon's limbs himself, so that he was lying as straight as a board, his arms hanging over the edge of the bed on either side.

It only then occurred to Haakon to wonder just how badly he'd offended the elf, and as Lenethir walked around the room and dug through his pack, hmmming to himself, he also wondered where those daggers were.

"Ah, good." Lenethir picked up the leather cord he'd tied his hair with from the table and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping it around Haakon's wrist. He paused in tying him to the bedframe. "Wiggle your fingers."

Haakon tried, and found that they could, in fact, move - just a little.

"That's what I thought. Thank you." Another swirling green spell sprang into Lenethir's hand, and it shot straight to Haakon's chest, though it didn't feel like much of anything. The elf got back up and walked around the room again, examining everything. Finally he looked up at the rafters, and said, "Hello, there," and climbed on top of the table to reach. He had to hang from the rafter with one hand to untie the rope dangling there, though Haakon was much too uncertain about where this was going to admire his easy agility.

Lenethir was now where Haakon had been just minutes earlier, straddling his legs, tying down his other hand. "There." He leaned down and crossed his arms on Haakon's chest, smiling a thin little smile. "You think you can do whatever you like."

Etiquette 5/5

[(Anonymous)]

Haakon tried to retort, but his mouth refused to open. Lenethir must have seen it in his eyes, because he shrugged and said, "No, it's all right, you don't need to explain. That is what you think. You find an elf you don't like and you kill him; you find an elf you get along with, and you think you can sneak into his bed. Surely he wouldn't object." He pushed himself up, but just so there was enough space for one of his hands to slide down Haakon's stomach. "And I'll give credit where it's due; you're not terrible-looking, for a Nord." His fingers brushed beneath Haakon's trousers. "But that isn't the point. You take what you want, isn't that right?" His hand stroked up Haakon's hard length, torturously slow, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

The spell was wearing off; Haakon had tensed all over. He strained against his bindings automatically, but he couldn't bring himself to care whether he got free as long as Lenethir kept doing what he was doing.

The elf removed his hand for a second to push his long hair over his shoulder. "Anyway," he resumed stroking Haakon's cock lazily, slowly, "you've got to learn that we - elves, as you say - are not here to either submit to your will or try to control it. We have things to do, just as you do, and most of them have nothing to do with Nords or Nord politics." Haakon thrusted into his hand, grunting. Lenethir seemed not to notice. "Barring Thalmor, of course; they care about your politics a great deal."

"Shut up and - ah--" Lenethir anticipated his request and stroked faster, though still not fast enough.

"I'm sorry, darling, I nearly forgot about what you wanted." His smirk and his voice were full of sarcasm, but Haakon didn't care. His hips bucked, his arms were taut against the cord and the rope; he bit his lip--

And Lenethir's hand vanished. Haakon opened his eyes. The elf was getting off the bed.

"Elf," he hissed, his tone a warning.

Lenethir turned back on his way to the door and smiled. "Good night!"

"Elf."

The shadow disappeared from the doorway.

"Elf."

There was a creak from the other side of the partition, in Haakon's room.

"Lenethir?"

Eventually, Haakon left off apologizing and calling the elf politely by his name and asking him to please please please come back and untie him. It was going to be a very uncomfortable night if he couldn't work his hands free; and it was going to be even more uncomfortable if he had to ask the innkeeper to free them in the morning.


-----


tags:

relationship:slash kink:bondage kink:denial kink:handjob char:M!PC

OP

[(Anonymous)]

Actually I like this a great deal. This is wonderful.

Re: Etiquette 5/5

[(Anonymous)]

Oh man that was not how I expected that fill to go. Great characters there, and the twist at the end was excellent.

Re: Etiquette 5/5

[(Anonymous)]

HAHAH1 The ending was great~ XD

Re: Etiquette 5/5

[(Anonymous)]

Aww, poor Haakon! He can't help being a clumsy Nord who's too young and stupid to think about others as real people! Or maybe he can, now. Hmm.

A cautionary tale!

Re: Etiquette 5/5

[(Anonymous)]

ROFL this story made me laugh lol! Very witty.

Re: Etiquette 5/5

[(Anonymous)]

HA! I really liked this!