Meme Announcements!

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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 - 44/?

[(Anonymous)]

From the time Farengar had first found his magicka as a boy, he had been fighting. He had been in more fights than he could remember. Children twice his size had gone out of their way to attack him, adults cheering them on. He had learned early on, out of necessity, how to trap an opponent quickly. Despite this, he had a difficult time keeping the elf under control.

Therion struggled against him as if his life depended on it, the wizard pushing his advantage, and pinning his arms, while pressing him into a corner.

“Dragonborn,” Farengar said sharply, seeking to calm the frantic elf before he could wrench himself free or shout him apart. The title had no effect, and Farengar’s stomach turned as he looked at the struggling elf, whose eyes were stricken with terror.

“Therion,” he tried instead, adopting a softer tone.

Farengar felt him slacken, and repeated his name several times until he ceased his struggles.

Looking up, he could clearly see the deep, dark circles around the elf’s eyes, as he watched him peer over his shoulder at the rest of the room, drawing deep breaths to calm himself.

Amber eyes swept back down to Farengar’s sea green, and then down to his hands, still pinning Therion’s arms to his chest.

Farengar released him, stepping away.

The patrons were looking warily at the Dragonborn, the mood in the air tense, until he stumbled a bit unsteadily, bending down to help up the men he had knocked down with his voice. They stumbled to their feet, and Therion stumbled with them, clapping a hand on their backs, while ordering them drinks from the bar with a friendly laugh.

Therion politely declined drinking with them, saying he’d had quite enough, and tripped a bit, draping an arm over Farengar’s shoulders for support.

Farengar looked at his arm and then back to the elf.

“You’re not actually drunk,” he whispered so no one else could hear.

Therion leaned his face unsteadily against Farengar’s hood, whispering into his ear, Farengar suppressing a shudder as the warm elf rested against him.

“No, but they don’t need to know that,” Therion said quietly. “They’ll forgive a drunken Dragonborn more easily than they will a panicked Altmer.”

“Mmm,” Farengar said, not disagreeing. “The point I was trying to make, is that you don’t actually need to lean on me for support.”

Farengar heard a chuckle from beneath his mask.

“No, but it’s much more convincing, isn’t it? Help me upstairs and I’ll make it worth your while…” Therion murmured. “I’ll teach you to speak some in Dragon.”

The wizard paused, considering.

“Against my better judgement, I accept your terms,” Farengar said.

He helped Therion walk, the elf stumbling along as convincingly as if he were actually hammered.

“Which room?” Farengar asked at the top of the stairs.

“Don’t have one.”

“What? We’ve been in Solitude for days, where have you been sleeping?” Farengar asked, opening the door to his room, adding, “Or, more to the point, not sleeping.”

Abandoning the drunk act, Therion nimbly sprang to his feet as the door clicked shut. Crossing the room, he fell face down onto the large bed with a content sigh. Rolling onto his back, he kicked his boots off and placed his hands behind his head.

“By all means, please, make yourself at home,” Farengar said sarcastically, dragging a chair beside the bed.

“If you insist,” Therion said with a chuckle. Pulling down his hood and removing his mask, he grinned up at Farengar from the bed.

“It’s not my place to judge a man for wearing a hood. But why the mask?” Farengar asked, wondering how he had wound up with the Dragonborn in his bed. He would have thrown him out, but the tired look in his eyes, combined with the fresh memory of his terrified struggle against his grip, made him sympathetic. Therion had looked genuinely scared for his life.

The elf shrugged.

“The people we rescued from the Thalmor were panicking at the sight of an Altmer. I decided to cover up a bit, lest my face make someone faint. More than usual,” he said with an impish grin followed by a yawn.

Farengar frowned.

“Don’t fall asleep in my bed,” he warned. “I don’t want to get my head taken off for waking you.”