Meme Announcements!
Oct. 29th, 2011 12:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyrimkinkmemeANNOUNCEMENTS: 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
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 8c/?
Date: 2013-03-03 02:12 am (UTC)“Hatred is not all that stirs your blood, puppet.”
He pressed his mouth to hers in a brutal, punishing kiss, lips hard and demanding, tongue forcing its way between her teeth to plunder her mouth. He devoured her, and despite her inner struggle to resist, desire coiled in her belly, proving his condemning words correct.
How was it possible for him to incite her so? She wondered if it was her brief contact with the beast blood of the wolf that made her body so willing to ready itself for capable, proven mate, but there were many strong and able bodied warriors she had counted as companion, and none of them stirred her so.
None of them had defeated her, either.
At the reminder of his victory, she renewed her struggle, reaching up her hands to claw at his wrists and pry herself from his unrelenting embrace. But he was implacable, too strong even for her, and she knew her efforts were futile.
He only tightened his grip, and deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue against hers in a sordid reminder of how he had worked that velvety heat against the slick core of her.
Even the thought if it sent another jolt through her, tendrils of heat and lust sliding silkily down her spine to gather between her legs, where she felt the wetness gather.
She stopped fighting him then, more concerned with battling the evidence of her arousal. His mouth instantly gentled against hers, tongue retreating in favor of soft bites and licks against her lips, stealing her breath and will to resist and her moan escaped before she could stop it.
He pulled back, and she could see the sardonic glint of victory shining in his eyes; his beautiful, cruel mouth slanted in an arrogant smirk.
She wanted nothing more than to kick it from his smug face. She settled for glaring her renewed fury at him. “Yes, you can heat my blood with your mouth, Nord, but shame follows in its wake. It haunts me. Devours me as your mouth never can. Is this what you want to hear?”
He looked taken aback at her confession, and he released his grip on her hair and face, his voice husky. ”There does not have to be shame here, Ysmir. You are Dragonborn. The war is over, and you have a duty to Skyrim, one I would see you complete. You are soon to be my wife, soon queen to a high king. This also bears responsibility, and an honor that most would find…”
She interrupted him with a snarl. “You might assume so, but this marriage is a farce, to my mind. Do not pretend otherwise. It may gain you what you desire, for now,” she taunted, “but do not think you can manipulate me forever.”
He did not grace her with a response, simply shifted her in his arms to finish the bindings of her hair with quick, nimble fingers. His easy dismissal angered her, but it also gave her pause. He did not understand that her fury stemmed from more than her loss in battle, and his own false assumptions could work to her advantage.
She sat in his lap, trying to plot again, but it was difficult to ignore the heat of him beneath her, and the growing hardness she felt there. She shifted against him, and heard the indrawn hiss of his breath. He moved suddenly, grabbing the flat metal bowl from the table and waving it in front of her face.
Distracted, she studied the dulled reflection of herself, ignoring the stubborn jut of her chin and the flashing green of her eyes, to focus on her hair. Most of it was still a loose tumble of curls down her back, but braids at her temples, two on each side, kept the mass from her face. It was essentially the same style he wore, but despite its simplicity, it was flattering to her features.
She set down the bowl, and said, softly, “Thank you.”
His eyebrows shot up, as if surprised she could show simple gratitude. His mouth quirked in a small smile, the heat of it finding her ear, and his voice was as a silky caress. “Is there any other service my thane requires?”