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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

Re: Fire and Potions - 35/?

[(Anonymous)]

Farengar grit his teeth as they made their way through the large gate of Whiterun. The townsfolk were collectively staring as he and Therion entered, and Farengar returned their looks with an icy stare.

Ysolda and Hulda leaned together, speaking in hushed whispers.

“Farengar actually left Whiterun!?” Hulda asked in surprise, always on the lookout for a tidbit of juicy gossip to impart to her patrons at the Bannered Mare.

"It's actually a romantic tale," Ysolda said with a small sigh, sparring a heartfelt smile at the wizard, despite his death glare. "The guards say he rushed out in the middle of the night to find the missing Thane."

Hulda raised her eyebrows, looking impressed. "Huh! Do you suppose they've made up since their quarrel in Dragonsreach then?"

"Hm, it's hard to say, isn't it?"

Ysolda and Hulda watched silently as Therion and Farengar discussed something outside the Thane's house. The court wizard shook his head. The Dragonborn, wearing his perpetual grin of mischief, leaned down to whisper something into Farengar's ear.

Whatever he said caused the court wizard to stiffen, then shove the Dragonborn into Breezehome, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Oh my," Ysolda said, her cheeks blossoming a faint red.

"They do seem to have quite the, ah, passionate relationship, don't they?"

------

"You conniving, manipulative- I could kill you!" Farengar hissed, bearing down on the elf.

"Hold on, you may have already succeeded," Therion winced, putting a hand on his chest as he sank into the nearest chair beside the fire pit.

"It’s no less than you deserve," Farengar said with a merciless scowl.

"This is what a mer gets for asking a man for help?" Therion asked, giving him an absolutely galling look of innocence.

"Help? That’s how you ask for help? Request I come inside and then threaten to 'give Whiterun something to really talk about' when I decline?"

Therion only barely suppressed a chuckle rising in his throat.

"Right, now that you're here, help me out of my armor, would you?"

Farengar turned on his heel, heading for the door.

The mer sighed.

"Please?"

The way Therion said it, caused Farengar to stop. It hadn't been imploring or flowery, just sincere.

"Don't you have a housecarl for these sorts of things?" Farengar asked with an annoyed frown, moving beside Therion. His eyes wandered over the inky armor, looking for the catches which seemed to supernaturally blend in with the material.

"Lydia? We have an arrangement. She comes by, but she doesn’t live here,” Therion said, turning to give Farengar a better view of the nearly invisible buckles. “Even if I could adjust to the idea of living with a stranger, she seems none too fond of me, nor 'carrying my burdens', so we’re both happier.”

Therion listened as Farengar worked the straps loose, quietly cursing and pulling.

“Ward spells are much less cumbersome,” he said with a derisive snort.

“Oh, certainly,” Therion agreed, “If you enjoy armor that falls off at the worst possible moment.” Robes were about as much protection as walking around naked in his opinion, but more importantly, light armor just looked sexier.

Although, he rather liked the way robes looked on Farengar.

They looked like they could easily be pulled open and slid off the wizard’s muscular frame. Trapping his arms in the sleeves, as he pressed him against the wall. Hungrily kissing his neck, while listening to his delectable moans.

He blinked, noticing Farengar was glaring at him.

Therion cocked an eyebrow in silent question, wondering if he had noticed the almost certainly blatant lust in his expression.

“If you can’t maintain a simple ward spell, then I suppose dressing like a common foot soldier would of course be preferable,” the wizard replied, and Therion could hear he had struck a nerve about his choice of attire, and also that he was as oblivious as ever. He was slightly disappointed, part of him hoping the mage might notice his lingering gaze.