Belethor was a sucker for priceless possessions, and the dragonborn was for sale one night only. The desire to take advantage of the opportunity was irresistible. This close, Belethor could still see the stain of blood on the other man’s lips. The crimson glimmer enticed him.
Belethor grabbed Ardbur’s shirtfront and tugged him against his body. With his mouth, he caught the rush of air leaving the dragonborn’s lips. He could taste the metallic tang of blood.
Ardbur’s chest rumbled. He broke away and pulled off his dark leather tunic and shirt. Then he grabbed Belethor and swung him around against the counter. The rough wooden grain pressed into the small of Belethor’s back as the dragonborn leaned over him. “You’re really not scared, are you?” Ardbur murmured, lips quirking.
He didn’t wait for an answer. The dragonborn’s burning hand slid past Belethor’s ruined shirt and up his back. As Ardbur pressed against the other man, his hand held the shopkeeper steady, preventing an uncomfortable back cramp. Their hips ground together. Ardbur’s teeth grazed the other man’s neck, his breath hot.
Belethor pulled the dragonborn’s hips even closer. He reached up and clawed hard at Ardbur’s shoulders. The dragonborn hissed and arched his back. The teeth nibbling at his throat became less gentle, sinking into the muscle between Belethor’s neck and shoulder.
As Belethor ran his hands back down the dragonborn’s sculpted back, he could feel the trails of blood he’d created. He could make the dragonborn bleed. The notion sent a heady rush through the merchant’s head. Belethor had made Ardbur bleed, where a dozen bandits wielding swords and daggers had failed.
Belethor clapped a hand onto the dragonborn’s chest, his fingers digging into flesh. He would have added another five tears to the man’s skin, but Ardbur grabbed Belethor’s wrist. The dragonborn’s grip was stronger than an iron manacle.
“Belethor,” he reprimanded. After a moment, Ardbur released his wrist. He helped slide the torn shirt off the merchant’s shoulders. However, before Belethor could pull his arms free of the sleeves, Ardbur twisted the fabric in one hand and held tightly, binding the man’s arms behind his back. The dragonborn shifted his weight forward again, pinning the merchant’s hands to the countertop.
Belethor could feel his spine protesting at the angle, but he didn’t care. He wanted to feel the heat and strength of the dragonborn’s body bearing down on his.
Ardbur ran his lips across Belethor’s bared chest. His mouth left wet marks over the scar of Belethor’s healed wound. The dragonborn’s lips travelled back up to the crook of the merchant’s neck. His mouth ghosted over the spot he’d bitten, drawing away the blood that Belethor had previously been oblivious too.
“Even the Dragonborn Can Bleed” Belethor/M!DB, 4a/4
Belethor grabbed Ardbur’s shirtfront and tugged him against his body. With his mouth, he caught the rush of air leaving the dragonborn’s lips. He could taste the metallic tang of blood.
Ardbur’s chest rumbled. He broke away and pulled off his dark leather tunic and shirt. Then he grabbed Belethor and swung him around against the counter. The rough wooden grain pressed into the small of Belethor’s back as the dragonborn leaned over him. “You’re really not scared, are you?” Ardbur murmured, lips quirking.
He didn’t wait for an answer. The dragonborn’s burning hand slid past Belethor’s ruined shirt and up his back. As Ardbur pressed against the other man, his hand held the shopkeeper steady, preventing an uncomfortable back cramp. Their hips ground together. Ardbur’s teeth grazed the other man’s neck, his breath hot.
Belethor pulled the dragonborn’s hips even closer. He reached up and clawed hard at Ardbur’s shoulders. The dragonborn hissed and arched his back. The teeth nibbling at his throat became less gentle, sinking into the muscle between Belethor’s neck and shoulder.
As Belethor ran his hands back down the dragonborn’s sculpted back, he could feel the trails of blood he’d created. He could make the dragonborn bleed. The notion sent a heady rush through the merchant’s head. Belethor had made Ardbur bleed, where a dozen bandits wielding swords and daggers had failed.
Belethor clapped a hand onto the dragonborn’s chest, his fingers digging into flesh. He would have added another five tears to the man’s skin, but Ardbur grabbed Belethor’s wrist. The dragonborn’s grip was stronger than an iron manacle.
“Belethor,” he reprimanded. After a moment, Ardbur released his wrist. He helped slide the torn shirt off the merchant’s shoulders. However, before Belethor could pull his arms free of the sleeves, Ardbur twisted the fabric in one hand and held tightly, binding the man’s arms behind his back. The dragonborn shifted his weight forward again, pinning the merchant’s hands to the countertop.
Belethor could feel his spine protesting at the angle, but he didn’t care. He wanted to feel the heat and strength of the dragonborn’s body bearing down on his.
Ardbur ran his lips across Belethor’s bared chest. His mouth left wet marks over the scar of Belethor’s healed wound. The dragonborn’s lips travelled back up to the crook of the merchant’s neck. His mouth ghosted over the spot he’d bitten, drawing away the blood that Belethor had previously been oblivious too.