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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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BUT OPEN FOR FILLS

HELPFUL TIPS

>Please post your prompts with the paired characters and any notable kinks/trigger warnings in the title.
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Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

GASP! OP has her fingers crossed! :)

OP is DEFINITELY good with that, anon! :)

Hey anon,

First of all, really enjoyed the story, so I hope you don't mind me offering some critique for you.

I really liked your plot in this. It was an interesting idea and you carried the ideas through the piece well. The concept of looking at Erandur's feelings towards Ryla and then how he reacts to Onmund is quite interesting. I have to say as well, I thought you wrote Onmund well, especially capturing his naivety and youth as well as his enthusiasm. His change in character towards the end after the events had occurred were nice too. He didn't change too much, the essence of his character was still there, but you could see how he had been affected and forced to grow. It was a nice touch.

As for the things I thought need a bit of tweaking perhaps there were only two:
I found that, now and then, the story moved a bit too quickly and I got a little lost as to what was happening. Usually, I think it was a change of scene, especially Erandur's return to Nightcaller Temple and then back to the college? I think perhaps, some extra punctuation might solve the worst of that, maybe just using a dash or something to separate out paragraphs that are occurring in different locations.

The second issue I had was that I found Erandur to be a little bit out of character every now and then. There are parts where I think you wrote him beautifully, his self doubting or self hating moments where he thinks back to his past etc. The bits that I found ooc are probably just a personal thing, (since I imagine everyone views characters in different ways, depending on how they interpret things they do or say), but for me, he was a tad blunt or over-reactive, I suppose. As a wise old elf who's a priest of Mara, I imagine him to be almost endlessly patient and understanding of people, always using careful, measured, quiet responses, unless in extreme situations. At times he seems to respond quite violently (ish) to things. To use an example 'Erandur came from his day dream, finding Ryla's beautiful smiling eyes on him and he flushed, looking away from her. "What?!" He snapped, but her smile only grew.' Although I can understand exactly why someone would give this reaction in this situation, I would imagine Erandur to simply change the subject or gloss over his embarrassment. Again, these are all just personal tastes.

Anyway in summary, very good overall, and I look forward to seeing more of your work (if I can find it on here). Hope my critique was helpful and not too harsh :)

I would love to see multiple mini-fills covering age gaps for het, slash, and femslash situations (e.g. Olava the Feeble and Jon Battle-Born; Octieve San and Erdi, Igrod Ravencrone and Lami;Skald the Elder and Rustleif, etc.)

Don't really care who, as long as there is 20-30 years plus age difference and the elder is giving younger oral and toy stimulation to orgasm.

Kinks - age difference, oral, ass-play (rimming, fingering) dub-con, horker/mammoth tusks, potions, forced/reluctant orgasms, dom/sub.

squicks - non-con, intercourse

I'm eager to see what happens next, keep up the good work!

I realize this prompt was posted a while back, but I'm working on something! I'll try to get it up in the next few days.

I would like to see a DB who is not quite as skilled in battle... but has unbelievable luck! Maybe they somehow always manage to find the best loots, or maybe she would be losing a fight but something always happens (eg. enemy trips) so DB always comes out on top, or maybe she stumbles into the truth behind things quite accidentally.
Obviously the prompt would work best with the Thieve's Guild. All the jobs that she's involved in always manage to succeed, despite the odds.

Bonus if
-DB is playing a luck based game with members of the Thieve's Guild without really knowing the rules (the members are messing with the newbie) but in the end she ends up with all the winnings
-Mercer decides that he'd be better off staying in the Guild with how much the DB is pulling in at every job????
-Showing an extremely amused Nocturnal

GO WILD ANONS!

Hurrah, a fill OuO

Eeeeee my heart hurts but I am looking forward to next part~

!!!

Yay!

I am still here.

Watching.

Waiting.

This passerby anon is eagerly looking forward to the next segment! A Balimund fill is a good fill.

I like the Thieves Guild as much as the next person, but I always wished there was an option to get rid of them (like there is for the Dark Brotherhood) especially since I typically play as the big damn hero type.

Maybe the DB infiltrates/joins the Guild, just to betray them later? Or maybe someone in the Guild betrays them and works with the DB to bring the down? Or maybe they just rally the troops and storm the Ratway one night. Whatever you decide, most of the Thieves Guild members should either be dead or in jail at the end.

I'd like the DB to be working with Mjoll and/or Unmind Snow-Shod (housecarl to the Jarl). Also celebratory sex afterwards is a very yes! Please keep it either M/F or F/F though.

Kinks: hair pulling, dirty talk, exhibitionism

Squicks: toilet things, blood play, sadism, non con

Fralia Gray-Mane set her basket on the hearth, offering a tired smile to her husband. “The Thane has returned. There’s talk that she’s going to take Breezeholme.” She tugged her cap from her head, her snow white hair pale in the firelight. “Danica said that she was heavy with child. It won’t be long before she births her child.”

Eorlund paused in sharpening the dagger in his hand, raising his blue eyes to meet his wife’s. “I take it you and the other women of the village will help with the birth then.” He watched his wife nod and swallowed. “It will be good to have that house occupied again,” he allowed cautiously. His stomach clenched as he mentally calculated the last time he had seen the Thane of Whiterun to the present. No, it was not possible. Surely—just the once? “Is she intending to stay?”

Fralia shrugged, frowning as a sharp rap sounded on the door. “Who could be calling at this hour?” She rose from the chair she had been settled into, her expression confused. What with the division between the Gray-Manes and the Battle-Borns, the visitors to their home had dwindled. It was truly unusual for there to be any visitors after dark. Dark was the province of thieves, vampires and werewolves.

Eorlund stood, grabbing for his two-handed silver axe and starting past his wife. Whiterun was a relatively safe town but bad things—such as the recent spate of vampire attacks—did sometime happen to good people. “Hold, wife,” he ordered, stepping past his frail bride to the door. He pulled it slightly open, shock filling his face. “Avulstein?”

“Let me in, Father. Please,” called the desperate voice of his younger son. Eorlund pulled open the door, hauling his son out of the night.

Fralia set the ladle in the pot and hurried towards her white-blonde haired son, her hands tracing his face as if memorizing him. “Avulstein, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice brittle. She had not wanted to let her sons go off to fight the Imperials—not both of them. Wasn’t it bad enough that her Olfina pined after that Battle-Born boy? She didn’t want to lose all of her children.

Avulstein shook his head, fear filling his blue eyes. “Thorald was taken,” he admitted quietly, watching the horror blossom in his mother’s cornflower eyes. “By the Thalmor,” he added.

Eorlund’s expression sobered, his blue eyes shuttered. “How long ago, Avulstein?” He set the axe back against the wall and dropped heavily onto the stool he’d been sitting on before. He saw this war for what it was—the petty squabbling of two giants with innocent people trampled underfoot. And now his eldest was lost to him—to the Thalmor. Why could his sons not have just been happy to learn the craft of their ancestors—to learn to man the SkyForge and serve the Companions?

Avulstein sat across from his father, a bowl of stew pressed into his hand by his mother. “Nearly a year, Father. I’ve been avoiding patrols and Imperials since then and only just made it back. But they’re looking for me and if they find me, I’ll be sent to the Thalmor too.”

Eorlund groaned tiredly, his broad hands wiping down his face. “I told you, Fralia, that we had no business getting involved in Ulfric’s war.” He met his wife’s gaze, seeing the fury rise. “We are blacksmiths—but you needed to take a side.” Turning to face his youngest son, he saw the same passion of his wife’s in the younger Gray-Mane’s eyes. “You can stay here as long as you like, Avulstein. I beg of you, do not go looking for a fight with the Thalmor. Or the Battle-Borns.” He stood, brushing off the lap of his hide armor and starting upstairs. “I’m to bed. Goodnight.”

Fralia shook her head as Eorlund disappeared upstairs to their bedchamber, her lips pressed tight. “Damned Battle-Borns. They know something, I’m sure of it.” She glanced at Avulstein, her expression softening. “My son. Let’s get you to bed.”

Author's Note: I happen to love Voltaire's "When You're Evil" (thank you, OP!) and loved the idea of the prompt of the Listener teaching the song to Cicero. Hence the following. The words are from the above song--with a little alteration. Only a little. Please, enjoy.

"When You're...Evil?" 1/1

Nazir frowned, rising from the table where he’d been reading missives from across Tamriel. He had thought he heard—singing? Not Cicero’s demented singing. No, this had sounded like the Listener.

But the Listener did not sing. And she certainly did not sing about…being evil?

“Now, Cicero, if you sing with me, I’ll give you this wonderful, luscious sweet-roll,” purred the velvety voice of the Listener from the other room. How could the promise of a pastry sound like something so much more lascivious, wondered Nazir, reaching down to adjust himself.

“But…Listener…the song is…” came the whine of the Jester-clad madman.

The Listener chuckled—it sounded so dark and malevolent that Nazir felt something stir within himself. “Twisted, my lovely Keeper. And oh so perfect for our Brotherhood. Please? For me?” Nazir could practically imagine the doleful look that the Listener was casting towards Cicero—the quivering lip was always a nice touch, the Redguard thought.

A deep sigh from the Keeper. “Very well, Listener.” He sounded oddly sane –to be fair, Cicero was far more sane around the Listener than anyone else. Maybe because she was a bit mad herself.

“Now together. I’ll teach you my favorite part—you’ll like it, I promise you, Cicero. We’ll even change some of the words to better fit it to the Brotherhood. Now, one, two, three. ‘I'm the fear that keeps you waked. I'm the shadows on the wall. I'm the monsters they become. I'm the nightmare in your skull. I'm a dagger in your back. And extra turn upon the rack. I'm the quivering of your heart. A stabbing pain, a sudden start.’” A quick giggle from the Listener had Nazir leaning forward. “Now for the refrain, my lovely Keeper,” crooned the Listener and Nazir could imagine the luscious Listener crawling into the Keeper’s lap. “’And it's so easy when you're evil. This is the life, you see. Lord Sithis tips his hat to me. I do it all because I'm evil. And I do it all for free. Your tears are all the pay I'll ever need.’”

Nazir swallowed, settling back in his chair. He had to admit, the song did fit the Brotherhood.

“Now, dear sweet Cicero, here’s your sweet-roll, as promised. Oh, and Nazir?” called the voice of the Listener as she padded away from the happily chomping Keeper and into view of the chocolate-skinned Speaker.

Nazir looked up at the curvy woman standing atop the stone stairs. “Yes, my Listener?”

She chuckled, crooking a finger at him in the universal signal of ‘come here.’ “Would you like me to teach you the rest of the song? It does get SO lonely being evil.”

It wasn’t often that Dark Brotherhood business brought her to Riften. Not that she was complaining—it meant that as soon as she finished finding out who the contract was on, she could collapse into bed alongside Brynjolf and get some well-deserved rest.

Tugging her cowl over her dark auburn curls, she dropped noiselessly to the cobbled floor of the Ratway—the warren of interconnecting tunnels and dead-ends having that same smell of wet decay that she remembered. If she was lucky, she would be able to chat up the “bitter son” described by the Night Mother, find out who the “bitter son” wanted dead, and get home in time to tuck Gabriella and Gallus into their beds.

Cicero was lurking somewhere behind her, his wishes for sweetrolls or carrots echoing eerily off the wet stones. She had tried to get him to stay behind at the Ragged Flagon but her jester refused. Ever since the Thalmor had taken and hurt her nearly a year before, she’d found that both the Thieves’ Guild and the Brotherhood had developed an annoying if understandable tendency to hover over her. And she was not even going to mention anything about the Companions in Whiterun. In the case of Cicero it meant that he accompanied her on every contract, whether she wanted him to or not.

While she appreciated the insane Jester’s company—he really had become her little brother, even if he was almost a decade her senior—it sometimes did make her jobs a little odd. Like when he advocated the benefits of “stabby, stab, stab.”

Pausing at the junction deep within the Ratway’s Warrens, she listened hard. Down one branch she could hear the scrape of a boot. Expensive, by the sound of it. Just the kind of boot a bitter son might wear. Casting a glance behind her, she turned towards the sound, her Dragonbone daggers palmed as she crept forward. It didn’t take many steps to reach the source, though she nearly swallowed her tongue when she spotted the “bitter son.”

Sibbi Black-Briar glanced up from the dagger he was spinning on a wooden table, the years barely affecting his handsomeness. He still kept his dark hair shorn close and his dark eyes still held an intelligence that most ignored. “Ah. You’ve come.” He motioned carelessly at the Black Sacrament that he’d laid out—the candles still burning.

Katrin frowned, glad that she’d worn her cowl instead of just her hood. “The Dark Mother has heard your prayer. We have come to hear your contract.” This had to be good, she thought. And it couldn’t be about that idiot girl all those years ago—Katrin had taken care of her personally as a favor to the man before her.

Sibbi nodded, slipping his dagger back into its sheath, his arms crossing over his chest. “Nice to know all of that works,” he offered, again glancing at the Black Sacrament. “Now, down to business.”

Katrin nodded. Good, she was one conversation closer to finally being able to go home. And not having to be around the sociopathic Black-Briar any longer than necessary was an added benefit. “Yes.”

Sibbi chuckled. “This has been a long time coming, I’m afraid. The person I want you to kill is our current Jarl. My mother, Maven Black-Briar. Can you do this?”

Katrin gaped at Sibbi Blackbriar, not really believing that she was hearing the words coming from his mouth. Wishing that he would take the words back. But the rasping whisper of the Night Mother had sent her to him, sent her to listen to his prayer for a murder in the skeever-infested warrens beneath the city. Katrin felt nausea rise in her belly, wanting to say no. Saying yes meant dooming the Thieves’ Guild. Saying no meant disobeying the Night Mother. What was it that they said about a slave serving two masters?

“Well?”

Katrin swallowed, ignoring the blood rushing in her ears. “It will be done.”

A contract on Maven Blackbriar.

She was so fucked.

Excuse me? Did you just really imply that a male who suffered through a rape should go out and rape a female in return????

Is it restricted to just the humans or can the other races be used as well?

Coming from a person that often has difficulty taking constructive criticism, this little piece makes me so, so happy. Which is weird, but I guess the reason why is because the things you didn't like were so small!

I did have punctuation separating shifts in time and place, but I guess when I copied the text from my word document, the punctuation didn't follow or I thought I didn't need it because it was a new post online. I don't know.

As for Erandur being OOC, ugh. I know. It was difficult portraying him because, like you said, he's a priest of Mara and I see him being pretty patient and kind, but then in game when you stand too close he shouts, "What the-!" and moves away, as well as when you heal him he snaps, "I hope you're not expecting a thank you." I guess I just imagined that after spending so much time with my Dragonborn, he was comfortable enough to express things more honestly....?

Anyways, I'm so glad you liked it! I do have some other stories posted on here one about an Orc (Boltraz) and Ulfric, there's also another one featuring Cicero and The Listener (Kilah). So sorry about the shameless self-promotion. :\

Tags: char:Vilkas; char:Ria; relationship:het; kink:comfort/hurt; kink:fluff

Every warrior had something they hated to deal with. Farkas had his problems with spiders, Aela had spitting matches with sabre cats, Kodlak couldn't stand the sight of hagravens, and Skjor had issues with Falmer.

Vilkas had frost trolls.

In the northern reaches of Eastmarch, after clearing out a cave of bears with Ria (at least, he reminded himself, he got to see the pure, unadulterated joy on her face when she finished off the last of them), the pair encountered not one, not two, but three damned frost trolls. Whatever strange sense of humor the gods had, he wasn't sure he understood it.

“Shh,” he cautioned to his shield-sister before the trolls caught sight of them. Ria listened, and readied herself by his side. Neither of them were ones to avoid any sort of battle, nor were any of the Companions, but Vilkas still felt the tell-tale rush of adrenaline as one of the trolls cocked its ugly head towards them. Here goes nothing...

Vilkas raised his sword in preparation as the troll barreled towards them at full speed. Ria fired off arrows next to him, and by the time the troll reached them, it only took a few hits of the greatsword to bring the beast down. One down, two to go...

The second troll caught the sound of the fight, and soon was running down towards the Companions with the third troll right behind. Ria's arrows continued to blaze through the air. She wasn't the archer Aela was, but she was getting better with a bow, and for that Vilkas was grateful. Not just grateful. He was proud. He had seen her come this far, and, really, she could hold her own without him. As he watched her fire away, gratefulness and pride and a third emotion (which stirred in the pit of his belly and below the hem of his leathers and which he believed was too inappropriate to name) all swirled inside him.

The problem with these emotions, he soon discovered, was that they were distractions. Enough of a distraction, in fact, to allow one of the trolls to reach Ria and knock her aside with an audible thunk. She collapsed to the ground after flying through the air a short ways, hitting the earth with enough force to knock her out.

No.

Vilkas reared his sword in fury as the troll turned to him. The damned things were nearly impossible to take out without fire, but he'd give it his best shot if it was the last thing he did. Damn it all, she was not going to die.

It had been a while since he'd felt this sort of anger in battle. He'd unleashed his rage when Kodlak had died, but so had everyone. That had been an attack on his own ground, leaving one of his own dead. This, this was different. Strictly speaking, he was passing through the trolls' territory, but, also strictly speaking, the trolls attacked first. And they'd had the nerve to attack someone precious to him, an unforgivable offense.

For half a moment, he regretted that he'd given up the beast blood. If he had that, he would be twice as strong against the trolls, and he'd defeat them easily. Then again, he might have lost control if that were the case.

His sword swung everywhere as he attacked the giant beasts. In retrospect, he would realize how reckless his fighting had been, how his adrenaline got the better of him when he should have been strategically planning the battle, but in the moment it mattered little. It seemed to be working out for the best, as one of the trolls fell to the ground before him. The other was beginning to falter, and, with a few more hacks of his sword, it, too, crumbled to the earth.

Ria.

Ria was still collapsed to the ground, just a short distance from himself. Vilkas ran to her, not caring about the pain in his side. Maybe some bruising or a broken rib was what he'd gotten, but she was faring far worse. “Vilkas?” Gods, was her voice really that weak?

“I'm here.” He helped her to sit up. “It's just a short walk to Windhelm. You can make it. I've got you.”

He had to keep her safe. They had to make it to Windhelm, had to get healing potions before the shops closed and then find a room in one of the taverns. There was no other option.

She had to live.

A!A: I'm not sure how many installments this'll take (my story chunks tend to be a bit bigger than character limit allows, and I've still got some stuff to work out), but I'll try to finish it up soon! Also, since OP said fluff, smut and angst are all fine, I've tried to include all three!

The walk to Windhelm was probably much shorter than Ria imagined it was. To be fair, a brooding Vilkas and a knock to the head weren't the best combination. Vilkas seemed to have trouble talking or doing anything other than focusing on the path right ahead of them. When she joked about him being her knight in shining armor, like in all those silly fairy stories her mother told her growing up, he didn't respond, save for a resigned “hmmph.”

They reached the city before sunset, and Vilkas left her in the inn while he ran to the apothecary. Apothecary, alchemist... one of those things. Somewhere he could get healing potions. She felt fine, but she imagined he'd need them. He'd limped the whole way there.

When he returned to the inn, he wasn't limping any more. She guessed he'd already taken a healing potion or two from the bag of them he carried. Without saying a word, he pulled a rather strong one out of the bag and tossed it to her.

Though she still felt she didn't need it, she sipped it to humor him. To her surprise, she could feel the magic working away at a sprained rib, and a dull throbbing in her head that she hadn't even realized was there suddenly disappeared. “Thank you,” she said as cheerfully as she could manage, hoping to coax a smile out of him.

The smile never came, but at least he said something. “Have you eaten anything? Do you need me to get any food for you?”

“I picked up something at the bar while you were getting the healing potions. There's a sweetroll here for you, if you'd like,” she said, gesturing to the platter on the table.

Vilkas didn't take the sweetroll. He didn't even say a word as he grabbed his nightclothes out of his pack and walked behind the other side of the wardrobe to change. Not that it really blocked the view, nor did it really matter. As shield-siblings, she'd seen him in far more compromising situations than just having to remove his armor and slip on a tunic. His leathers didn't even come off. From where she sat, Ria could admire the muscles on his back in the brief interim in which he wore neither armor nor tunic, and, as much as she told herself not to stare, his leathers left little to the imagination.

The room was rather small, with just a single bed. It was all the inn had. Ria didn't mind, as she'd had less comfortable sleeping arrangements in the past. If worse came to worst, the two could take turns sleeping, though she knew full well that Vilkas would refuse and, instead, would stay up the whole night.

When he emerged, she patted the spot next to her on the bed, motioning for him to sit down. He didn't, of course he didn't. Whatever happened earlier still had him upset. To be fair, she couldn't remember much. It could have been worse than she'd known. But they were alive, and the trolls weren't. How bad could it really have been?

He just looked so tense. His body was completely rigid, his eyes were focused on a spot on the floor. He couldn't possibly stay like that all night. She'd just have to do something.

Slowly, she stood, all former aches gone, and she approached him. In retrospect, she would realize that wrapping her arms around a clearly upset warrior who was nearly a foot taller than her without any sort of warning was not necessarily the smartest idea, but at the moment it didn't matter. He needed comfort, and she was here for him. After his initial surprise, he relaxed in her grip and returned her embrace. He bent over, nuzzling his face into the space between her shoulder and her neck.

“There, there,” she whispered. “It's alright. I'm right here. Tell me what's wrong.”

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he murmured, his face still buried in the crook of her neck. “Back there, with the trolls... You fell, and I thought you might have died.”

Ria stroked his hair as his grip tightened around her. She really hadn't been out for that long, had she? She didn't feel any pain now; at the most, she'd been groggy when she'd woken to see the dead trolls and Vilkas standing over her. Whatever injuries she'd received were minor. Surely a knock to the head couldn't match the scar on her thigh from where she'd been bitten by a bear years before. She was hardier than everyone seemed to think.

She wiggled herself back from his embrace just a bit, just enough to get him to look at her. There were tears just beginning to form in his eyes as she cupped his face in her hands. “You're not going to lose me.” Her voice was clear as she tried to calm him. “I promise.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Vilkas leaned forward and kissed her. His lips were hungry against her. It wasn't like the brief, sweet sort of kisses she was used to from him, the kind that showed affection but also displayed a certain detachment that was appropriate for other Companions to see. It was fierce, and passionate, and definitely the sort of thing that he would never do in public. All she could think to do was open her mouth to him and let him deepen the kiss as much as he pleased. He took her invitation gladly, running his tongue along hers.

And then they were moving, her legs moving backwards of their own accord, until she felt the edge of the bed against her calves, and the pair collapsed on the bed in a heap of tangled limbs. Vilkas continued to kiss her, pressing his lips to her mouth, to her cheek, to her jaw.

For her part, Ria was running her hands down his neck, to his muscled chest, over anything she could reach. She'd hugged him before, sure, felt his torso pressed tight against hers, but that was nothing like this. Now she got the chance to appreciate his form.

The kisses he now placed along her jaw were feverish, frenzied. His rough stubble scratched her pleasantly as she tilted her head back for easier access. His rough palms glided along her ribcage and down to her waist, grasping at her as if to make sure she was still there.

Ria was caught off-guard when he pulled away. “Do you want this?” he asked. For all the rough emotion in his voice, his eyes showed nothing but sincerity. “We don't have to do anything at all. I can even leave, if you want me to.”

With the tips of her fingers, Ria nudged a stray lock of hair behind Vilkas' ear. “I want this.” Her hands cupped his face as she gazed up at him, noting the insecurity marring his features and wondering where it came from. She was no idiot. She knew he'd had no issue bedding women in the past, if the sounds that used to come from his room were anything to be believed, but the look in his eyes now was that of a man who feared he'd lose everything. “I want you.”

“I didn't pick up any of the potion.”

“I can get some in the morning,” she reassured him.

“If you wish for me to stop-”

“I'll tell you.”

Whooo! *fans self vigorously* This is awesome!

and willed that all her smoochies (and most of her cheese) be left to the lovely A!A.

I just. This is more perfect than I was expecting and I can't deal with my feelings right now.

So what are the names of your other work and what pages will I find them on? I didn't write the above comment but would like to read more of your work.

A!A here: YAY! So glad you're enjoying!

That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed from there on out, as his lips sought hers once again. His hands slid under her shift, feeling for the mounds of her breasts. She wasn't a large woman, certainly the shortest at Jorrvaskr, but she wasn't tiny for an Imperial, either. Maybe her bust wasn't the size of an average Nord woman's, but it was enough to make him groan into her mouth.

His lips descended to her neck, kissing every inch of it, while his hands started to tug her shift upwards on her body, exposing her to the cool air. She pulled his tunic up in turn, and, soon, they had to break apart to fully remove the final barriers between them. Before he could kiss her again, her hands flew to the laces of his leathers, and his went to help her. Another minute, and they were both completely bare to one another.

Looking at him now was so different from earlier, when he'd been changing. Yes, she'd admired his back, and on several occasions before then she'd seen his bare torso, but that was all viewed with a sort of detached admiration. It couldn't compare to running her fingertips over his chest, to letting her gaze follow that lightly matted patch of hair running from the center of his chest to the parts she hadn't seen before.

Once again, Vilkas' lips attached themselves to her neck, sucking and nipping lightly. One of his hands slipped between Ria's legs, softly rubbing against her folds and causing her to buck up. His touch was light, just enough to make her moan quietly. His thumb grazed along her clit as one of his fingers delved into her and made sure she was fully aroused.

Ria didn't waste time fully exploring him. Tonight wasn't about exploration. Tonight was about release. Tonight was a culmination and a beginning; the culmination of whatever walls they were holding up, and the beginning of... of... well, whatever she could call this. Maybe it would just be sex, but the urgency in Vilkas' movements made her think it would be something far deeper than that. Not that she was complaining.

It wasn't long before his hand withdrew and he lined himself up at her entrance. “You're sure about this?” he rasped, barely loud enough for her to make out.

“Yes.”

Vilkas pushed into her slowly, peppering her face with kisses all the while. Once he was hilted inside, his lips found hers and he kissed her deeply.

As the two found their rhythm, he retracted from the kiss. Ria immediately wished he hadn't, but her displeasure was short-lived, as he reached a hand between them to rub at her clit. His fingers were more insistent than they'd been before, not just there to tease her, but instead working with the intention of coaxing an orgasm out of her as soon as possible.

Eventually, their climaxes caught up with them. Vilkas buried himself in her as his hand worked her furiously. When she finally clenched around him, he spilled inside her, groaning as he did. The two lay there panting for some time, enjoying the last waves of pleasure, until he pulled out and rolled over, pulling her with him.

“Better?” she asked as he caught his breath. When he nodded, she smiled. “Thank you, again, for saving my sorry hide earlier against those trolls,” she murmured, laying her head on his chest. Her finger dragged lazily over his stomach as she closed her eyes. “My knight in shining Skyforge steel, you are.”

His quiet laughter in response was the last thing she heard before sleep claimed her.

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