skyrimkinkmeme | Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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There's so many people in Skyrim willing to teach the Dragonborn. So why not some stories about the Dragonborn learning (or teaching) a new skill and the friendship (or smut or romance) that forms from that experience?

It feels like it's really open to exploration so I'm encrougaing multi fills for this ^.^

Dazzle me A!Anons!

I love this prompt! Seconded.

Probably the closest thing to romance I could write for the Guild's best infiltrator :)

--

Vex sighed. The newest recruit swore and picked up the pieces from yet another lockpick, the chest’s simple steel lock still nowhere near open. He had been trying for nearly twenty minutes. In that time, a guard could walk by, a dog could smell him, the clouds might part and bathe him in damning moonlight. It would not do.

“Here, let me show you again.”

The recruit shuffled aside, rubbing his aching thighs. Vex couldn’t figure what had Brynjolf seen on the boy, but he was paying her good money for her time and expertise and she would never turn that down. Especially since she sincerely doubted he’d ever be skilled enough to be able to steal it back.

“And remind me to punch Niruin when he comes back from his Whiterun job. Anyway, here’s what you’re doing wrong. See my little finger? You have to press it against the chest like this; it steadies your hand. Your hands shake, and your picks keep breaking because of it.”

The recruit looked down at his hands, frowning. He wasn’t much for words, but the rumor mill around the Guild was what they lived on, and it’d been said the Nord kid had a tendency to jump when he heard loud noises, and that he didn’t like spending much time in the open. Vex stepped aside as he gave it another go, much steadier this time, and remembering to focus on his breathing like she’d told him. She could grant that he’d be far from the first in the Guild with a past they’d rather forget about, but so much vulnerability could make a would be thief a dead one.

“Say,” she drawled, “what made you take up Brynjolf’s offer to come check out our little operation down here?”

The recruit stopped rotating the lock and turned to look at her. The pick broke under the pressure. She could tell by his grimace he was trying not to flush.

“Um, I needed the coin.”

Vex nodded. Though he wasn’t much younger than herself, the recruit didn’t look like he could take anyone in a fight, and someone without any other talents usually had to resort to thieving or banditry if they didn’t want to starve like a beggar. He wasn’t nearly attractive enough for anyone to pay him for his company, not enough anyway. She wondered how the going rates had changed since the last time she’d tried to make an honest living, back when she didn’t have the skill to rob a man blind and gut him if he bothered her. She frowned.

“Fair enough. But you won’t be able to make any if you can’t learn how to open a simple lock. Try again, and if you get it this time, you get to keep anything inside that chest.”

The recruit smiled. “Really?”

It was impressive what a person could do for the right kind of motivation. There was nothing in the chest but a pair of boots and a dagger, but the kid opened the lock faster than she’d ever seen him and grinned when he admired his reward.

“Thank you. Are you sure I can keep these? I could probably get a nice price out of Helga if I tell her these are sacred Dibellian boots or whatever.”

“Well, look at you,” she smiled, “I didn’t know you had such business sense. Or that you could speak that much. Maybe you’re actually good for something.”

He stood away from her as if she’d burned him, face reddening. Vex ground her teeth, cursing soft hearted idiots internally.

“Look –”

He cleared his throat. “I should go. Thanks again for the lesson. Oh, and, um, remember to punch Niruin.”

He left her there, crouching by herself next to the training chests, surrounded by broken lockpicks like a new recruit. Wondering why her first impulse had been to stop him.

--

tags: char:Vex, char:M!DB, race:Nord, kink:UST?

I really like this! And now I'm incredibly curious about this new kid and about Vex's interest in him.

D'Aw, so cute!

Nice fun fic, and now I'm curious about what Bryn saw in the hopeless picklock :)

OP here! This is cute. I love the shy little Nord. There aren't a lot of those.

"No, that's too much pressure on the lock!" Ursa nearly hissed at him, "Honestly, after all this time haven't you learnt a thing from seeing me do it?" she pouted, making herself look like a bratty child rather than the bratty teenager she was.

"We can't all be born criminals! I shouldn't even be learning this, you're the one who insisted I learn how."

"Of course I insisted, you lost the keys I gave you! Now you'll have to learn to pick locks."

"I wouldn't have lost those keys, if you hadn't insisted on surrounding us with thieves."

"I'm a thief! How are we not supposed to be surrounded by more?" she rolled her eyes. "Less talk, more picking the lock."

He twisted the pick a bit more and a faint scraping sound was heard, right before he started to twist the wrench next, very slowly. When he felt tension he stopped and tried to ease the lock a bit, moving the lockpick a bit before starting over. Eventually, he unlocked it. The mysterious locked chest she'd insisted he practice on was finally open.

"Take what's inside." Erik gave her a confused look before looking inside the chest. There was a light leather armour, probably enchanted given the feel it had to it; it came with a hood, boots and bracers. It reminded him a bit of Ursa's armour, it was overall similar - at least in the overall idea for it and the brown palette. "It's yours, has been for a while."

"What?" he had no idea what she meant yet the armour was familiar... "Where have I seen this before...?"

"Remember Windhelm, a while ago? Almost a year, I think, maybe more. We had to get that amulet back for Cruel-Sea, the mer who had it... well, you know the rest."

Yes, he remembered the rest quite well. Perhaps a few years ago, before that kind woman he'd never met before payed for his iron armour, he would've shuddered at this fresher memory. The Summerset Shadows were like a Thalmor criminal organisation, strictly Altmer and strictly... well, strict! Upon previous agreement with Ursa, Erik had attempted to aproach them peacefully and while he took care of them in the only way he could, she snuck into their hideout. He rushed after her but she was always two steps ahead. While she examined the enemy, looked for potential weak spots, he was the one who did all the fighting.

Ursa was frankly useless in combat - close or ranged; and her only real assets were pickpocketing and sneaking about, though her sharp wit and decent lockpicking skills weren't a deal breaker, nor was her adept knowledge of alchemy. Erik had slain their foes, quick and clean with one strike of his battleaxe, and they'd made their way further. However, once the last of them were dead - eliminated quietly and stealthily (as stealthily as someone with a battleaxe can kill, more so) their leader, Linwe, had shown. And the elf was quite gifted in the Arcane arts, fast, and had a nice sword. Erik spent most of their fight dodging - or trying to, and got out of it with only a few burns, cuts and bruises.

However, he barely got out at all. After accidentally setting fire to his own banner, Linwe was so enraged he'd gotten ready to roast the just-fallen-down Erik to a crisp, and no armour could protect him from that. He could practically feel the heat gathering in the elf's palm, the tip of his sword at his throat. And then...

"Hey, pointy-ears!" an almost ridiculously high pitched voice called out from right behind Linwe. Of course, Ursa! He hadn't seen Ursa in the commotion going on between them at all. Linwe broke his concentration and barely turned to look over his shoulder when she whacked him across the head with an iron pot she found lying around. He was disoriented long enough for her to slit his throat, clumsy and inexpirienced, she made an absolute mess of it, but he bled out soon enough and they were safer than they were barely a moment ago.

That was the first time Erik had seen her kill someone. She was barely a child when they'd met and she still was, and she'd taken a life with her own two hands. Such were the casualties of war, the loss of innocence and the necessity for the unimaginable. Somehow, she'd kept herself together and merely commented how the man had fine armour and it was a shame all that blood ruined it, or at least stained it. Though he'd noticed how she stared at the blood on her hands even after it was washed out, for days to come.

They'd looted the bodies and the entire hideout for valuables and finished the job, and on the way from Windhelm to Riften, she confided in him.

"How do you do it?" she mumbled, only continuing when she'd seen him turn around and listen. "How do you... kill them?"

It was an odd question but a necessary one. Erik wasn't really sure himself, it was... difficult, at first at least. Those he'd killed had haunted him until there came others and others and eventually, there were so many he couldn't remember their faces or when or how or even why. He was just defending himself, he always said, and it helped... but she wasn't defending herself that day, she was defending him. And yet, it was the same - how many times had he killed to defend one of his clients, her included?

"...I got used to it, I suppose. Scary thought but I did. Blood and death are unavoidable when you're a mercenary. When you're a thief too, apparently." he smiled at her. When she didn't respond, merely staring at the ground before them as they rode onward, he ruffled her hair. "Cheer up, Ursa. You stopped a wicked man, there's no shame in that. If you hadn't I would be dead, and we probably wouldn't be here." he didn't know how to comfort her right now, and he hoped he'd never have to comfort someone expirience this ever again.

She'd nodded and on the same sturdy horse, they'd talked little until they reached the Riften stables.

The armour he was holding right now didn't have a single stain on it, and looked even better than he remembered it ever being.

"I had it tailored for you..." she admited, "I'd stuffed it all in my knapsack while you were guarding the entrance. It's your size, I think." she smiled. "It's good armour with good enchantments, and you deserve it. I have mine already."

He quite clearly remembered the elven man - more expirienced as he may have been, Arkay rest his soul - wasn't as broad shouldered and most likely had smaller feet. It took the girl a lot of money and a lot of savings to have the armour tailored to his size and the enchantments were probably improved - if not made anew - by some wizard from Gods know where.

"Thank you." he smiled brightly at her and pulled her in for a hug; they stayed like that for a minute or so before he kissed the top of her head and closed the now empty chest.

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