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ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

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Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 4b/?

[(Anonymous)]

She jumped when his chin came to rest on her shoulder, his voice the raspy caress of smoke and velvet as he spoke so close to her ear, through the tangle of her hair. “Do you remember the first time I held you like this in my arms?”

His hands did not remain idle, but traced lazy circles down her now quivering sides. His question barely registered in the haze of trepidation, but then the memory formed.

Helgen.

Alduin would have killed her then, on those curved stone steps of the crumbling tower, if not for this man hauling her back into the safety of his unwelcome embrace.

She was shocked he even remembered.

“Some might be inclined to argue you owe me your life.”

The daft Nord had proceeded to shove her out of the high hole in the wall after the Dragon’s retreat. Her fear briefly forgotten, she snorted at his presumption and audacity, giving a vigorous shake of her head.

This earned her a sharp bark of laughter, and then he pressed into her, dancing her forward.

“Perhaps you owe something else, then.”

She took a few stumbling steps, but dug in her heels when they were a few feet from the bed.

His fingers clenched around her arm, turned her in his embrace. “The bed is not the place for our coupling either. At least not in the traditional sense.”

Snaking one arm around her waist, he lifted her as if she weighed no more than a deathbell blossom, shrugging off her desperate, scissoring kicks to his shin with such ease she felt the flaring of frustrated temper. He leaned her against the closest of the four wide posts that stood at each corner of the bed, supporting her weight with his chest as he raised her bound arms above her head to secure the bindings high on the wooden pillar, above the joint where the cross supports intersected.

When he stepped back and released her, a slow slide down the length of his chest that left her senses reeling, she found his trap complete.
She was stretched, not given any leverage, unable even to rest her heels fully on the ground unless by great effort.

She knew the position would become painful if she were left too long, but worry for pain lost out to shame in the war of what concerned her most.

She was completely bared to his gaze, the backward cant of her arms leaving her chest arched, her breasts thrust forward as if in offering. Despite the heat of her recent exertions, the lingering chill in the large, vaulted room left her nipples peaked and already sensitive.

He stared down at her, surveying his handiwork, and his next softly spoken words caught her by surprise.

“Your own people planned to slaughter you that day.”

Could the man never do anything expected? She glared at him through the tangle of curls that had fallen over her face, unwilling to be confronted with how foolish she had been, how reckless to join in on the attack of the Stormcloak camp that chance had dumped in her path.

Newly arrived in Skyrim, carried on the swiftly beating wings of fury and vengeance, she was not yet officially enlisted, and in the heat of battle-victory she was not known as friend or foe.

She hadn’t even been given the chance to explain herself. It had always bothered her, tucked in the back of her smoldering resentment, but she would not be admitting such a thing to him.

He smiled brightly at her scowl, a fake thing that showed off the evenness of his white teeth.

“Not to worry, little prisoner. I have other plans for such a ripe catch. Skyrim has well taught many a Nord the importance of letting no thing go to waste.”

One hand traced a gentle circle at her wrist, near the bindings, before he trailed his fingers down. She twitched as he ghosted over the sensitive, ticklish underside of her arm. His hand continued its slow, gentle descent, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw.
Down the length of her neck.

And lower.

She willed her body not to respond against the feel of his large, firm hand cupping the weight of her breast in his roughened palm. A useless attempt, for when his blunt thumb flicked over her sensitive peak with a precise pressure that marked him instantly as experienced lover, creating a delicious, unceasing friction that soon skirted the boundary of pleasure and pain, a white hot lick of flame spread down to coil in her belly.

And lower still.