Brynjolf reached up to place his fingers on the outside of Dyce’s leather-clad thigh. And Dyce stepped away, just out of reach. He raised an eyebrow and looked down at Brynjolf, a smile playing about his lips, “Sorry, old friend, but you’ve just told me nothing gets you off like someone playing hard to get. So, if you want me, I guess that’s where I’ll be. You have a good evening.”
Brynjolf lowered his hand and uncrossed his legs, resting his arm on one knee, “Really? I think you’re underestimating me. I like a chase because I’m damn good at it, lad.”
“No, you just think you’re hot.” Brynjolf was putting himself on display and Dyce obligingly looked, his gaze sweeping the Nord’s long legs, and back up to the gap in his armour at his collarbone to where a few curls of red hair were visible above the black leather. “Admittedly, you are.”
“Oh, I think you’ve been sadly misinformed as to where my real talents lie.” Dyce couldn’t help himself glancing down briefly to Brynjolf’s crotch, and then back up again. The Nord was grinning. “Well, sadly it looks like you won’t find out.”
Dyce shrugged. “Sadly. I’ll get over it, I’m sure.”
“We both know you don’t want to.”
“Do we? You seem to have missed something, Byrn. So I’ll tell you.” Dyce stepped away from the table and put one foot on either side of Brynjolf’s knees. He bent at the waist until he was nose to nose with the Nord, his Nightingale armour creaking slightly as he did so. “You may like a chase better than a conquest, but me, sometimes I just want to tease.”
Brynjolf leaned forward an inch and Dyce straightened up, “Oh, so close, and yet so far.”
“What are you gonna do now, lad?” Brynjolf asked, folding his arms. “Strip?”
“What have you done to deserve that?” Dyce asked. “I don’t want to just make you hard, I want to make you beg.”
Brynjolf didn’t unfold his arms, he just shook his head. And then he hooked a leg around Dyce’s ankle and kicked the other one out from under him. Dyce yelped and his knees landed either side of Brynjolf’s hips, his hands on the Nord’s chest.
“Oh, very funny,” he said. “So what happened to your famous chase?”
Brynjolf unfolded his arms and reached up to tangle his fingers in Dyce’s ponytail. He tugged, not hard, and Dyce let himself be pulled closer. “You got caught, lad.” He gave him a surprisingly sweet smile, and then leaned up and kissed him. Dyce’s fingers curled on Brynjolf’s armour as he kissed him back. He tasted mead, the sweetness of which didn’t match the ferocity with which they butted noses and crushed their lips together.
It seemed everyone had been holding back for far too long.
Dyce settled down more comfortably in Brynjolf’s lap. Leather did not stretch, and Dyce knew well how painful it could be to have too much fun in leather pants. So he ground down on the bulge he could feel under his arse and Brynjolf grunted and wrapped his other arm around Dyce’s back.
When they broke apart they were panting, lips swollen and eyes dark. Brynjolf looked like he was going to say something but in the end he just sighed and scraped his teeth across his bottom lip.
Deft fingers made short work of buttons and buckles as Dyce pulled open Brynjolf’s jacket, and he sat back and gazed admiringly at the broad, hairy chest he found underneath. He pinched Brynjolf's right nipple, then slid his hand down his ribs and over his stomach, feeling the muscles underneath flex. With abs like that, the man had to be able to fuck for hours, he thought.
Brynjolf had had a go at the Nightingale armour, but it didn’t come off easily, all overlapping leather scales, and no obvious way of getting it off, so he attacked Dyce’s belt instead, and the leather ties below it.
“Gods, I thought you wanted to delay your gratification,” Dyce said, his hips rising as Brynjolf reached into his pants, and gave him a squeeze.
“And I thought you were a tease,” Brynjolf said hoarsely.
“I lied,” Dyce breathed against his mouth.
Brynjolf tilted his head back as Dyce rasped his tongue on his stubble, then bit down on the edge of his jaw. Lick, bite. Lick bite. By the time he’d reached Brynjolf's ear, the larger man had pulled Dyce’s cock free of his pants and was stroking him slowly, base to tip for each bite.
Mead and Sympathy M!DB/Brynjolf 4/6
Brynjolf lowered his hand and uncrossed his legs, resting his arm on one knee, “Really? I think you’re underestimating me. I like a chase because I’m damn good at it, lad.”
“No, you just think you’re hot.” Brynjolf was putting himself on display and Dyce obligingly looked, his gaze sweeping the Nord’s long legs, and back up to the gap in his armour at his collarbone to where a few curls of red hair were visible above the black leather. “Admittedly, you are.”
“Oh, I think you’ve been sadly misinformed as to where my real talents lie.” Dyce couldn’t help himself glancing down briefly to Brynjolf’s crotch, and then back up again. The Nord was grinning. “Well, sadly it looks like you won’t find out.”
Dyce shrugged. “Sadly. I’ll get over it, I’m sure.”
“We both know you don’t want to.”
“Do we? You seem to have missed something, Byrn. So I’ll tell you.” Dyce stepped away from the table and put one foot on either side of Brynjolf’s knees. He bent at the waist until he was nose to nose with the Nord, his Nightingale armour creaking slightly as he did so. “You may like a chase better than a conquest, but me, sometimes I just want to tease.”
Brynjolf leaned forward an inch and Dyce straightened up, “Oh, so close, and yet so far.”
“What are you gonna do now, lad?” Brynjolf asked, folding his arms. “Strip?”
“What have you done to deserve that?” Dyce asked. “I don’t want to just make you hard, I want to make you beg.”
Brynjolf didn’t unfold his arms, he just shook his head. And then he hooked a leg around Dyce’s ankle and kicked the other one out from under him. Dyce yelped and his knees landed either side of Brynjolf’s hips, his hands on the Nord’s chest.
“Oh, very funny,” he said. “So what happened to your famous chase?”
Brynjolf unfolded his arms and reached up to tangle his fingers in Dyce’s ponytail. He tugged, not hard, and Dyce let himself be pulled closer. “You got caught, lad.” He gave him a surprisingly sweet smile, and then leaned up and kissed him. Dyce’s fingers curled on Brynjolf’s armour as he kissed him back. He tasted mead, the sweetness of which didn’t match the ferocity with which they butted noses and crushed their lips together.
It seemed everyone had been holding back for far too long.
Dyce settled down more comfortably in Brynjolf’s lap. Leather did not stretch, and Dyce knew well how painful it could be to have too much fun in leather pants. So he ground down on the bulge he could feel under his arse and Brynjolf grunted and wrapped his other arm around Dyce’s back.
When they broke apart they were panting, lips swollen and eyes dark. Brynjolf looked like he was going to say something but in the end he just sighed and scraped his teeth across his bottom lip.
Deft fingers made short work of buttons and buckles as Dyce pulled open Brynjolf’s jacket, and he sat back and gazed admiringly at the broad, hairy chest he found underneath. He pinched Brynjolf's right nipple, then slid his hand down his ribs and over his stomach, feeling the muscles underneath flex. With abs like that, the man had to be able to fuck for hours, he thought.
Brynjolf had had a go at the Nightingale armour, but it didn’t come off easily, all overlapping leather scales, and no obvious way of getting it off, so he attacked Dyce’s belt instead, and the leather ties below it.
“Gods, I thought you wanted to delay your gratification,” Dyce said, his hips rising as Brynjolf reached into his pants, and gave him a squeeze.
“And I thought you were a tease,” Brynjolf said hoarsely.
“I lied,” Dyce breathed against his mouth.
Brynjolf tilted his head back as Dyce rasped his tongue on his stubble, then bit down on the edge of his jaw. Lick, bite. Lick bite. By the time he’d reached Brynjolf's ear, the larger man had pulled Dyce’s cock free of his pants and was stroking him slowly, base to tip for each bite.