Skyrim Page 3 - "Either you're naked, or I'm drunk. Maybe both."

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Defiling the Emperor - 3/7

[(Anonymous)]

He mumbled something indistinct, blushing deeper than ever. One of his big hands was on the back of my neck, stroking the soft hair there. The other was on my arse, fingernails scraping the skin as he tried to yank me even closer; still grinding hopelessly against me. He tossed his head, covering his red face with a mop of hair.

"Love?"

"Want you... inside me," he muttered, from under his brown hair.

I pushed the hair off his face, grooming it into the two curtains that it usually hung in, and peered into his eyes as he flushed with embarrassment and tried to look away. I held his head still and forced him to focus on me.

"Are you saying you want me to fuck you, rather than the other way round?"

Martin nodded, bright red and speechless.

"Oh my."

Since I'd started sleeping with Martin, I'd started researching Cyrodiilic history: specifically those parts which dealt with royal bastards becoming heir to the throne, and Emperors who preferred men to women. You could say it was relevant to my interests. I'd discovered that there was a long tradition within Cyrodiil of older, more experienced, higher-ranking noblemen taking younger, less experienced, lower-ranking men to bed. Martin was a few years older than me, definitely more experienced thanks to Sanguine, and could not get higher in rank without ascending to godhood. Knowing this, I was no longer surprised about the Blades' acceptance of our relationship. Clearly, Martin buggering me was part of centuries of tradition, nothing more to be said about it.

But the other way round? I'd picked up both historical documents and dubious erotica, and the books were sitting in my bag. I was planning to leave them as a present for Martin when I left again. What better gift could there be for someone who loved reading as much as he did? I'd hoped the erotica would ease his loneliness when I wasn't there to help. I'd read the stories myself. They were pretty hot.

However, everything I'd read suggested that in the normal way of things, it was always the older, more experienced man who was the one doing the penetration; and the younger, less experienced man who got penetrated. Personally, I thought that was a silly rule - sex was sex no matter whose cock was in the other; and sex with someone you loved was special, to be treasured. But I didn't want to do anything that would diminish Martin's standing in other people's eyes – make them see him as less of a leader.

I wavered, uncertain of what to do. If I said no to Martin, he'd think he'd done something wrong, and be upset. We could try to have a conversation about Cyrodiilic tradition, but I wasn't sure if that would work while he had blue balls to go with his blue blood. And who in Oblivion's business was it what we did in the bedroom anyway? Would High Chancellor Ocato deny him the throne, even though there were no other known Septim heirs, because he'd heard that Martin liked to be fucked in the arse? That was preposterous.

Fuck that. I looked into my Emperor's eyes and said "Yes".

He seemed amazed. Overcome. Relieved, even. I smoothed his hair back onto the pillow, and kissed him again, deeply; probing his mouth with my roving tongue. His eyes were wide, and dark with lust, as I reached for the bottle of oil that we kept by the bed. Then I stopped.

"What?". Martin was very anxious, trembling even.

"This isn't going to work. You'll either have to roll over, or lift your arse up somehow."

"I want to face you. I want to watch you fuck me." If Martin's leaking cock hadn't shown me how turned on he was, that sentence would have alerted me. He only ever used crude language when he was desperately horny.

Snatching up a spare pillow, I put a clean towel on top of it, and shoved it under his hips. It lifted his buttocks enough for me to be able to reach his hole easily. "Much better."