the thought of bryn’s voice getting huskier and his accent getting more pronounced as he gets more and more turned on has me SALIVATING. hearing that between your thighs? i am unwell.
ohhh my god.
He first noticed it upon flirting with you. The way your cheeks reddened when he used little terms of endearment. You urging him to speak more. He can't be that interesting - so he deduces that it must be something about his voice.
"Y'alright, lass?" He leans into the accent a touch more than usual and watches your thighs squeeze together. With a sudden boost of confidence he leans closer, nose brushing yours before he speaks again.
"Lookin' a lil flushed."
nsfw - explicit sexual content. minors should not read or engage with this post in any way.
Brynjolf's voice is practically a growl in his chest. One hand presses to your hip, keeping you pinned to the bed while the other works in tandem with his tongue. Your thighs quiver and you're starting to feel faint but he doesn't budge.
"Fuckin' hell, lass." Brynjolf groans again, two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. The pleasure is only heightened by those eyes glittering up at you and the shameless tongue running along his lower lip.
"Look at ya, so wet jus' for me." He shoves his fingers back into you, a shiver of arousal twisting through you. Brynjolf knows exactly where he has you, desperately close to an orgasm he just won't give you.
"S'pretty." Brynjolf mumbles thoughtlessly, dipping his face toward your skin again. His warm tongue works around his knuckles while he's fucking you, slurping so shamelessly at your cunt. You can hardly breathe, gripping the headboard as if it's a lifeline.
Brynjolf is always vocal when he fucks you. Praise, light degradation, teases, all of it. When he has you seated in his lap, cock throbbing so deep you can hardly form a coherent thought and he's babbling into your throat.
"Good job, lass. Always so fuckin' good." He groans, hips rolling into yours. His cock twitches and you try to raise your hips, to fuck yourself on his cock, but big hands on your hips keep you still.
"Stay still f'me." Bryn mutters and leaves sloppy kisses down your shoulder. "Let me feel ya, lass."
"That's my girl." He groans into your chest, the way he's thrusting just slow enough to keep you from cumming.
And when he has you pinned against the bed he just can't shut up. Brynjolf's hand holds your wrists, mean hips fucking you senseless. He wants you to cum again, so selfish because all he wants is you to moan his name. You can handle one more, right?
"I know, lovey." The mock sympathy goes right to your head. "Know how good it feels, don' worry."
"Bryn," you whine his name like it's the only word you know. He grins, hitching your leg over his hip and angling his hips just enough to drive you mad. He feels so fucking good and he knows it.
"Yeah, baby?" He grunts, lips just out of reach. His voice is so thick that it's nearly as arousing as the way he's fucking you. "What d'you want from me? Ask nice."
After being brought outside for some fresh air Mercer realizes the two of you aren't alone. Luckily for them, Mercer doesn't always mind an audience when he's with you
Rating: 18+ Explicit Sexual Content
Word Count: 2.6k
Ao3 Link + Tags
Inspired by this post from @argisthebulwark <3
"Gods you're terrible," you sneered with a playful smack against Mercer's chest after he whispered the current dirty thought on his mind in your ear.
Neither of you got far from the hidden entrance of the Guild before he had wrapped his arms around you to bring you closer to him, taking a moment to enjoy the gentle evening breeze of Riften against both of your flushed skin. You looked up at the star filled sky and smiled. It was far from surprising to find yourself teetering on the line of drunk, especially on a Loredas evening when you didn't have a job lined up, but it was a rare treat for Mercer to find himself in that position, albeit to a lesser extent.
"You're thinking the same thing sweetheart," he mumbled before moving his lips to your neck and leaving a few soft kisses. His gentle nature would've been shocking had you not been beside him at every drink. The heat of Vekel's private brew of fire whiskey was heavy on his breath. "That's why you dragged me out here."
It was impossible not to smirk at him, causing you to grab his face to make him to stop and look at you. "That's not true," you reminded him while holding him in place. "You were itching for a fight with Delvin."
A sour expression overtook his features as he rolled his eyes, which was enough for you to let go before he spoke. "Nothing happened."
"You got in his face and asked him if he had a staring problem, and that was after shoving him."
He didn't say anything and a sigh left your lips. The two of them have been at odds for the better half of the month with no clear reason as to why despite your best efforts to pry. It wasn't uncommon for members to have spats with one another, even more so for those who have been a part of the Guild for decades, but there was always thick uncomfortable tension when it was between senior members. Mercer's involvement made it all the more apparent.
With that in mind you decided it was best to drop it in favor of preserving the rest of your evening, instead taking a moment to give him a small kiss in hopes it would brighten his mood. "Come on," you said while grabbing his hand and giving him a sly smile, "you were right. I was thinking about that." He didn't budge, however, and turned his head to look past the gate. It made you raise a brow towards him. "What's it now?"
"Somebody's watching us."
You skimmed the area between the Talos shrine and overgrown flowers, your eyes having adjusted to the darkness not too long after stepping outside, but nothing caught your attention aside from a few swaying branches. "Probably just a guard on their route," you settled on. "You're being paranoid."
"It's Delvin."
"Case in point."
That got him to shoot you a dirty look and he let go of your hand. The culmination of their brief confrontation was Delvin telling Mercer, "I don't need to take your shit," before storming off towards The Ratway. Meanwhile, you dragged an amused Mercer to the Cistern with the plan to take him to his house. There was a chance he could be out here, mainly if he was done cooling off and wanted to return underground, but you doubted he would sulk in the shadows.
"He's behind that pillar," he told you with a subtle point in the direction of the set of side stairs to the Temple of Mara. "Watching us."
It was your turn to roll your eyes, struggling to hide your growing frustrations as you refused to indulge him with even a simple glance over while crossing your arms. "Yes because we're so entertaining to watch right now."
A small gasp escaped your lips after he grabbed your face and scowled, squeezing your cheeks to keep your gaze fixed on him. He took a moment before he spoke. "You want to be?"
There wasn't a chance for you to answer before he kissed you with enough force that made you take a step back, instinctively making you wrap your arms around him for some stability. He released his hold on your face and moved his hand to the back of your head. It didn't take much before you were returning the favor, the faint whiskey on his lips mixing with the mead on yours, while you toyed with the idea he presented in the back of your mind. Partaking in it on any level would only be fanning the flames regarding their quarrel but it would be a lie to say the thought didn't excite you the slightest bit, even if it was fueled by alcohol.
You swiped your tongue against his bottom lip before biting down. The tiniest noise escaped his mouth and into yours. That alone made your decision and you put both your hands on his chest to give him a shove into the arching stone pillar that supported the upper walkway, a dull thud echoing into your ears as you dropped to your knees on the dirt in front of him, being mindful of the surrounding graves. His eyes followed your hands as they made their way to the waistband of his pants and watched as you began to undo the buckles.
The sight made his cock throb as you freed him from the confinement of his leather pants. His breath hitched after you spat on your hand and wrapped it around him, giving a few steady strokes while looking up at him. "You're filthy," he taunted.
"And that's why you're so hard," you shot back at him with a wicked grin. Acts like this in public spaces weren't uncommon between the two of you seeing as Mercer clearly had a fetish for it, a trait he established early upon meeting you with his own behavior. Tonight, however, his malicious intent was obvious. "What kind of pervert gets off just thinking another man is watching?"
His hand was quick to grab the hair near the crown of your head, tugging hard enough to make you wince. "The kind that knows he has what they want."
A shiver was sent down your spine and the cold air didn't help. His hand left to dangle at his side, the other gently bracing the wall behind him. You had an inkling that you played a minor part in their squabble, considering the tension was most obvious when the three of you were in a shared space, but to hear him say it excited you in ways you didn't want to admit. It made your heart race while your core started to ache, the wet spot in your panties beginning to grow.
Without wasting any more time you brought your tongue to the base of his cock, pressing it flat against him before dragging it up at it slowly and circling it around the tip once reaching it. Glancing upward showed that he had closed his eyes and tilted his head back, his breath becoming shaky when you repeated the motion. It changed to an audible gasp when you took more of him into your mouth, keeping the teasing pace as you bobbed your head back and forth to meet your hand that continued to stroke him.
It didn't take long for his fingers to entangle themselves in your hair once more and follow your movements. "Fuck," he groaned, the word leaving his lips louder than usual. It was obvious that he wanted the supposed third party to hear his enjoyment. "Your mouth was made for me." You didn't mind his vocalness, in fact you preferred it, and it aided in your own arousal.
That wasn't enough for him, however. The grip he had on you began to feel tense. It was the only warning he was going to give and despite knowing that you continued at your leisure. If he was correct in claiming that Delvin was watching then you felt it was only right to give a good show which meant you needed to rile Mercer up. Besides, that was always easy to do. The events of this evening, as well as whenever this feud began, already did most of the work for you.
As expected, he was quick to react. He grabbed as much hair as he could and took over your movements, forcing you to take his entire cock down your throat at a swift pace. Your eyes began to water as your mind went fuzzy, the sound of you gagging while you tightened around him filling the air. "This what you wanted? Hm?" His words were strained and he let out a quiet moan. "Let him see how you crave being used by your Guildmaster?"
You clawed at the fabric of his pants. It was the only reply you could muster as he used your mouth to please himself. Whatever else he was saying was lost on your ears. Sweat rested at your brows and your entire body was incredibly warm. In a matter of seconds your eyes went wide as he shoved you down to the base of his cock, using his hand to keep you there. The scent of him was almost as intoxicating as your drinks when your nose became buried in his pubes. There was no doubt in your mind that there was spit all over the lower half of your face.
After a few hits against his thighs he pulled you back, allowing you to take an obscene amount of deep breaths in the midst of your coughing as he looked down at you. His hand was still in your hair.
"What a pretty mess you make."
His words caused a tiny smile to form on your lips but it was quick to replaced by a sharp cry as he dragged you up to your feet. You found yourself shoved face first against the stone pillar as he took his spot behind you, his hands moving to the waistband of your leather pants. It brought you even more excitement as you undid the front of them yourself to help him. "Delvin would've at least said please," you berated him, purposely raising your voice.
"Should've followed him out then." Mercer replied while pulling down both your pants and panties. Three of his fingers pressed against your pussy and he rubbed them between your folds, coating them in your wetness. It was enough to keep you from speaking, instead a tiny whimper slipping through as you closed your eyes. "That's what I thought."
He brought that hand back and gave his cock a few steady strokes while his other kept a firm grip on your hip as he aligned himself. A hiss left your lips as he pushed himself inside you, going slow to ensure you felt every inch of him. When he was close to the base he tugged on you to pull you back and take it, forcing your eyes to open as another cry escaped your sore throat.
It didn't take long for him to find his rhythm, thrusting his hips at a fast pace as the chilled breeze felt nice against your exposed flesh. An overwhelming heat began to race throughout your entire body as you found it hard to stay quiet, not that either of you wanted that, and you tried to grasp at the stone as you continued to moan with broken swears interlaced. You could feel your own wetness dripping down your inner thigh.
"Think he's touching himself?" Mercer managed to ask. "Wishing it was him fucking you instead of me?"
"If you care so much," your voice trembled as you spoke, "then be a nice Guildmaster and let him have a turn."
He gave your ass a firm smack in response, thrusting himself harder inside you as you tightened around him. "Fucking greedy little thing," he groaned at the feeling. With the hand still on you he dug the tips of his fingers into your skin, his nails leaving a lasting mark alongside the lingering red handprint. "Just can't help yourself, hm?"
You didn't say anything coherent. Everything was beginning to blur as you felt yourself getting close to the edge and it was only amplified when you felt his body leaning overtop of yours as his free hand snaked around and found your clit. His breath was heavy against your ear and he used two fingers to rub circles against you. "Gods Mercer," you whined. "Don't stop."
A smirk formed on his lips before he moved his fingers faster, finding the noises you were making to be encouraging music to his ears. "Oh come on," he mocked. His other hand left your hip and made its way to grab the lower half of your face, your glossy gaze held with force in the supposed direction of Delvin. "You can do better than that." He squeezed your face harder. "Really let him know what he's missing."
You didn't hesitate to indulge him and allowed your moans to get louder as he continued to hold onto your face and fuck you. "Please please please," you managed to cry out. "I'm so close Guildmaster."
"That's it," he praised. "Let him hear how pathetic my cock makes you."
You continued to beg, your voice making it hard for him to stick to his rhythm. It wasn't going to take much longer before both of you would find yourselves coming undone. Your core ached as you started arch your back, finding yourself trying to stand on the tips of your toes in hopes of feeling his cock deeper inside you. Keeping your eyes open felt impossible. He noticed and took it upon himself to move the fingers against your clit even faster, using the pressure in an attempt to keep you steady as your knees started to quiver and buck in response to everything you were feeling.
Countless swears left your lips as you felt your orgasm begin to race throughout your entire body, your fingers scratching at the stone as you tightened around him for the final time. He brought his one hand to a halt while the other left your face, still keeping his body close to yours, however. His focus was kept on his rutting hips before burying himself to the hilt and saying your name as he spilled inside you. The sudden warmth made you twitch.
And maybe, just maybe, through hazy eyes did you catch a glimpse of a shifting Delvin right where Mercer said he was.
Both of you took a moment to catch your breath before he pulled himself out, the small whine you do every time bringing him a faint smile as your combined mess dripped down your thighs. He adjusted himself back into his pants and brushed a hand against the fading print he left on your ass, holding back a cruel chuckle at your slight shudder from his touch. A few seconds passed but you remained too motionless for his liking. "Still want to give him a turn?" There was a genuine hint of disdain in his lowered voice.
You shook your head while hiding your eye roll, pushing yourself away from the stone pillar and pulling your pants up to refasten them. "Sounds like you want to watch," you threw back at him as you turned around. He didn't say anything and it made you smirk, taking a few steps closer to him. "That's what I thought. Fucking pervert."
He let out an aggravated sigh, taking his turn to roll his eyes while crossing his arms. "So are you going to him or coming with me?"
"I already came with you," you joked to no avail. He refused to dignify that with a response of his own, giving you a chance to try again. "I always want to go with you."
PART TWO... PUT! MERCER'S! COCK! IN! HER! THROAT! YOU GOTTA FINISH THE LESSON.
(PRETTY PLEASE)
pt 1 nsfw - explicit sexual content. minors shouldn't read or interact with this post in any way.
Mercer's desk is a fucking wreck. Spilled ink dries on some important contract but he can't worry about that now. Every sensation has dialed into the sheer pleasure of Brynjolf's recruit moaning around him.
"Slow," Mercer pants through gritted teeth, desperately trying to keep up the facade that this is a lesson. "Slower, you gotta let 'em feel it."
Thank the fucking gods his thieves are actually busy. The Cistern is uncharacteristically empty, bunks made and no one snoring in them. The recruit crouches under his desk, fists in the undone waist of his pants wrenching him closer.
She feels divine. Mercer's terrified that if his grip on the desk slips he'll collapse. Her tongue trails under his cock, drool running down her chin and flushed lips so soft on him. The shape of her teeth is fading into a light bruise on his hip and Mercer swears there's a possessiveness in the way she grabs him.
She gazes up at him, sucking in deep breaths as his cock rests against her mouth. Mercer's never seen anything so debauched. He throbs against her flushed skin, pleasure stealing his voice as her hand wraps around the base of his cock. She's breathing too heavily, obviously holding her breath for too long.
"Told you to breathe through your nose." He sounds so fucking weak. Kisses are pressed absently to his cock and Mercer never wants Brynjolf to experience this. The recruit shifts, tongue running along the length of him sending shivers up his spine.
She's a quick learner, though Mercer will never admit something like that aloud. She's swift to swallow his cock again with a bruising grip on his hips. The muscles of her throat contract and she sucks in a noisy breath through her nose. Mercer bites down on his lip, swearing he tastes blood but he refuses to finish so quickly.
"Good." He praises, absently petting the back of her hair. "Keep goin' just like that."
It's all too good. Mercer swears it's just because he's been alone for so long but he can hardly remain upright. He can't fight it off much longer, not when Brynjolf's favorite little recruit is whining around his cock. Her hips buck against his boot and Mercer's restraint fails.
"I'm gonna -" he warns her, wrenching on the back of her collar. Finishing down her throat feels too fucking intimate, too much like this is something he wants. Instead he watches his cum drip down her cheeks, catching on the bridge of her nose. She glares up at him, her thumb swiping at the mess on her mouth.
"Think I've learned enough?" She snarks but Mercer doesn't have energy for banter.
Yes, she's a fast learner. She feels good. She's got enough tips to not feel embarrassed during her first time with Brynjolf.
But he wants to say no. To keep her here, fuck and feel every inch of her until he's had his fill. To claim some sort of ownership over her before Brynjolf has a chance.
"Dunno." It's noncommittal, Mercer's specialty. He zips his pants once more and helps her to unsteady feet. "Gotta get you a bath before the others come back."
my desire to be playing skyrim coinciding with a horrible heatwave in the uk is extremely unfortunate when my "gaming set up" is just a laptop that has to fight for its life and emits the heat of a thousand suns
LDB!thief gets some deep-throat training from her grumpy old git of a guild master. after all, how else is she gonna suck off that little "boyfriend" of her's, huh?
nsfw - explicit sexual content. minors should not read or interact with this post in any way.
"Watch your teeth." Mercer instructs, ignoring the cock throbbing in his pants. Brynjolf's beloved little recruit smacks at him but follows his instructions well, her brows furrowed. He doesn't comment on how cute her attempt to glare is while she's drooling around his fingers.
Mercer's fingers slide along her tongue again, knuckles bumping against her lip but he doesn't withdraw. He stays there, probably enjoying the sight too much. Tears gather along her lashes and her cheeks are bright red, watery eyes staring back up at him.
"Better." He breathes, indulging too much in the moment. The plush warmth of her lips around his fingers is better than any of the meaningless flings he's had in years. Mercer wonders if he could convince Brynjolf to share.
Her tongue lolls out when Mercer retracts his hand, swiping at the drool on her lower lip. Her cheeks are bright and Mercer swears her hips roll where she's perched on his thigh.
"Should practice more." He sighs as if he isn't just as eager. "I've heard my fair share of Bryn's partners whinin' - 'too big, doesn't fit'. All types of shit."
"Fine." Her annoyed grumble is betrayed by her tongue sliding between his fingers. Mercer bites back whatever sound it summons and shoves two digits into her mouth once more.
Her eyes flutter closed again and he knows she's focusing. Her teeth knock on his knuckle but he doesn't comment. Mercer's thumb grips her chin, tilting her head back and watching intently at the muscles in her throat working.
"Good job," he mutters absently, fucking his fingers into her mouth. Her whines go straight to the cock he's struggling to ignore, paired with the insistent roll of her hips toward his. She's grabbing the front of his armor and wrenching him closer while Mercer indulges in the warmth of her tongue.
She feels too good to not fuck at least once. Maybe Brynjolf won't be too mad it he knows it's well intentioned. The recruit's eyes meet his and Mercer's startled by the heat he finds there, glazed over and full of want. He slows his ministrations, ensuring that she feels every fucking inch of him in her mouth.
summary: Vilkas swore a vow of chastity, devoting every facet of his life to the Companions. It was easy until the Last Dragonborn enters Jorrvaskr and becomes his ultimate temptation.
feat: Vilkas/f!LDB
warnings: explicit sexual content - minors should not read or interact with this post in any way. A lot of guilt and sexual fantasies.
original request
Taking the vow is easy. Vilkas repeats the words with confidence. He dedicates the whole of his being to the Companions - mind, body, soul. Everything he is and will become belongs to his Shield Siblings. He will forgo the pleasures most ordinary folks indulge in, holding himself to a standard he's certain will uphold the honor of the Companions.
Farkas' elbow nudges his childishly while they recite the vow of chastity. Vilkas' cheeks burn at the mere mention of sex. It had been Farkas' biggest hesitation about joining the Inner Circle but Vilkas simply couldn't relate. How could his brother be so utterly juvenile? To consider not joining the Inner Circle for something so frivolous?
They are Companions, elite warriors entering the Inner Circle. They are skilled, educated, and willing to give up their lives for their fellow Companions. Weapons to be used by their elders. The least they can do is give up drunken one night stands in favor of serving their brotherhood.
In Vilkas' mind, the vow relieves a fair amount of stress from his life. The pressure to maintain a social life is lightened and his habit of focusing solely on work is no longer questioned. He is free to devote himself to the Companions without it seeming out of place.
Life in Jorrvaskr is easy. Vilkas is well suited for this. He can withstand Farkas' whining about long journeys and missing the warmth of the occasional tryst with some merchant. It's easy to give up a pleasure he's never bothered to indulge in, Vilkas assumes.
Recruits come and go but their Inner Circle remains unchanged. Never wavering from their goal or distracted by something frivolous like love. Farkas matures, his complaints about loneliness subsiding as adulthood steals adolescent urges.
"Vilkas, a moment." Kodlak requests, the rest of their group dispersing. Farkas leaves him with a smack on the shoulder. "I spoke with the Dragonborn today." Vilkas doesn't like the warning in his tone. "She'd like to train with us while she's in Whiterun."
"She can join like the rest of the recruits." Vilkas grumbles, already annoyed at the thought of the Dragonborn throwing around her titles to gain admittance.
"Test her, then." Kodlak waves a hand and Vilkas bites back his argument. Why must he handle this? "She's in the training yard."
He should've kept his mouth shut, perhaps someone else would've dealt with this 'test' if he'd merely nodded along to the Harbinger's words. Instead he's tacked on another duty to his already busy day. He needs to prepare for a meeting with the stuffy folks from Dragonsreach and hasn't unpacked from his last mission in the Rift.
The first time he sees her it's startling. The Dragonborn is speaking so easily with Aela, unfamiliar armor hugging curves that Vilkas is oddly interested in. Shaking his head he attempts to clear his mind of such thoughts.
"Dragonborn." He barks the title, saving himself from asking her name. She turns to him, her lips still parted and something within him feels too warm.
"You must be Vilkas." Oh, the way his name sounds on her tongue is dangerous. "Don't go easy on me, alright?"
Sparring with her feels an awful like dancing. She moves with him, falling into a rhythm too natural for strangers. That smile never seems to leave her face, even when Vilkas knocks the sword from her hand. She seems to know that she's won before the fight even begins.
Vilkas is sick. That must be it. He must have contracted an illness - Whiterun is chilly at night, perhaps he caught a cold. That must be why he's sweating through his shirt. His face heats and he's all too aware of his fellow Companions carrying on their conversation not far off.
The Dragonborn's arm twists under his bicep, her back pressed to his chest and booted foot hooking around his. Vilkas is certain that his restraint will hold - she may be a good fighter but he's been training since childhood. He doesn't question the muscle memory, merely distraught by his body's reaction.
Pain explodes down his spine as he's slammed into the ground. The Dragonborn's victorious smile is brighter than the sunlight streaming over her shoulder. Vilkas' head swims with questions but that sweaty, nervous feeling is stealing his voice once more.
She's straddling his hips. The blunted tip of a practice sword digs into the skin of his chest. Vilkas gapes up at her, unable to process his body's instinctual urge to roll his hips into hers.
"You alright?" The Dragonborn's head tilts and Vilkas can't speak. Arousal tingles throughout his exhausted body, hands clenching against the instinct to rest on her hips. She clambers off of him and for a moment Vilkas lies there, glaring up at the sunny skies as if they've offended him.
He's suddenly reminded of Farkas' hesitance while taking their vow. With sweat gathering along his spine Vilkas spares a few moments to collect himself, fighting to ignore the way her laugh makes everything feel a bit lighter.
Vilkas' knees ache when he rises to his feet once more. The Dragonborn is speaking to his brother and Vilkas detests the lash of jealousy that rips through him. He presses a hand to his chest, deeply annoyed by the amount of emotions he's been subjected to due to her arrival.
Selfishly, he wishes the Dragonborn would leave. Surely she has more important tasks to take care of, why waste time at Jorrvaskr? All she's accomplishing is distracting him from his duties. It's easy to sink into these feelings, anger has been Vilkas' passenger through the hardest parts of his life.
He can't figure out what it is about the Dragonborn that draws his attention so easily. Vilkas puzzles at it, fussing at the problem like an old wound he refuses to let heal.
It would be far simpler to hate her. Vilkas buries his face in his hands and wishes he could at least be impartial to her presence. He's tried to stomp out whatever she's ignited within him, that tug in his chest whenever he senses her presence.
Vilkas quickly learns that it's impossible to avoid her. Jorrvaskr's halls don't allow him to run far. He orbits her instead - moving when she moves, maintaining a careful distance between their bodies. Conversations are short, controlled affairs if they cannot be avoided.
When she's seated near Athis, Vilkas gathers his plate and settles far from the table with his brother. Farkas doesn't seem too bothered to have the company and Vilkas needs something to smother the way her laugh rings through his mind. His eyes wander throughout the evening and Vilkas assures himself that it's merely risk assessment - she's an unknown variable in his home. It's understandable to keep tabs on her.
The tension within him only grows with each day that passes. He's never been a relaxed man but Vilkas has tightened the restraints on himself, terrified of that control slipping. He rolls his shoulders again and huffs out a frustrated sigh at the pinching pain he finds there.
He'll take his brother's advice, Vilkas thinks. A warm soak will help his muscles. Maybe if he's lucky it will relax him enough to get a few hours of peace within his head, too. Vilkas slings a towel over his shoulder, thankful for the relative quiet of Jorrvaskr late in the night.
Steam rises to meet him, nearly blinding him. Vilkas tosses his tunic near the door and unlaces his trousers. Scrubbing at his face he takes a few steps closer, preparing himself to step into the water when he pauses.
Of fucking course. Vilkas is frozen in place, heart hammering as the Dragonborn's arms stretch out of the waters. He sees nothing but the scarred skin of her back as she twists hair away from her face but he's entranced.
Scars. Tattoos. Skin flushed from warm water. He can still see the angry red mark down her shoulder from the seam in her armor. She sighs, arms stretching far overhead and Vilkas fears alerting her. He should return to his bedchambers before she spies him but any sound he makes could draw her attention.
She dips forward and Vilkas feels filthy for watching so intently. The swell of her chest, the curve of her spine, all of it is so deliciously bare before him. Vilkas takes a step back, the words of his vow slamming to the forefront of his mind.
He is a Companion. He is not a man. He will indulge in no earthly desires. His only purpose is to serve the Circle.
"Oh!" The Dragonborn wraps an arm around her breasts as she whirls toward him, that smile growing on her face. Water drips down her temple and catches on her chest. Vilkas' mouth is suddenly dry from the sight.
He should apologize for his intrusion. He should gather his towel and the tunic he'd so carelessly removed. He's scheduled entire weeks around staying away from her, never allowing them to be alone together, yet here he stands. The guilt clawing at his mind leaves him a bit woozy as he searches for any excuse to disappear.
"You can come in." The Dragonborn's free hand splashes playfully at the water, her eyes raking so shamelessly over his bare chest. "I won't bite."
Her words stick in Vilkas' brain, summoning an awful amount of fantasies. Her teeth on his throat when he sinks into the water. Biting into his shoulder as she crawls into his lap. It's concerning how easy it would be to join her in the pool, to indulge in every fantasy only she can produce within him.
He's fucking disgusting. Vilkas is a disgrace to the Companions. He is a weapon for his fellow warriors. A shield for the common citizen. He is not a man. He renounced his entitlement to pleasures of the flesh.
He babbles something that he prays resembles an apology and scrambles to his chambers. Vilkas realizes only too late that he's left his shirt behind. Falling to his knees he clutches at his pillows, soundlessly reciting the words of his vow while willing his cock to cease throbbing in his undone pants.
"I'm a weapon for my companions." Vilkas whines the words, squeezing at his cock. He can't shake the way she'd look at him - her eyes tracing every line of his torso, surely noticing the affect she had on him.
"I will indulge in no earthly desires." Fuck, his palm's sticky with precum as he strokes himself closer to completion. He can hardly breathe and his skin's slick from the steamy room. He's a disgrace. He wonders if she liked what she saw. He's a wreck.
"I live only to serve the Companions."
"What is it?" Vilkas seethes, hands firmly on either side of her head. The Dragonborn gazes up at him, the intensity in her eyes only fueling the irrational hatred burning through him. Sparring with her has become the one indulgence he allows - she fights so differently from those he's trained with, he assures himself. It's only natural that he wants to learn.
"What have you done to me?"
Magicka? Some sort of potion? Perhaps she's poisoned him. Vilkas has no clue what kind of spell she'd cast to have such a grip on his heart but it needs to cease. He must be freed from this encompassing need she's cursed him with.
He hates her. Vilkas abhors the Dragonborn with every cell in his body. He's disgusted by the tenderness in her motions when her finger ghosts over his jaw. He decides that he will no longer train with her. Kodlak can insist all he wants, Vilkas will refuse. He cannot stand the sick feeling she leaves in his gut.
"You have to leave." He gulps, the anger faltering into something that feels dangerously affectionate. "You have to leave me alone."
"I'm not here just to torment you." The Dragonborn scoffs and Vilkas feels wonderfully at home. Please, he wishes he could beg her, please hate me. He should move - the practice sword is long gone and the way he's crouched over her is less than practical, but Vilkas finds himself stuck.
"I'm only here to train in combat before I move on." Gods, the thought of her leaving is sickening. How empty will his life be when she's gone?
"Conclude your business." The attempt at intimidation backfires. He's too close to her, the scent of her skin invading his nose and beckoning him in. "Leave Jorrvaskr."
"You have no authority over me." The Dragonborn shoves his chest and Vilkas allows himself to roll away from her. He lies on his back and attempts to ground himself, grasping for the vow he'd taken as if it can shield him from the arousal stealing through his body.
Shoving gracelessly to his feet, Vilkas feels the sudden urge to be away. He can't stand the weight of anyone's eyes on him. Shame fuels every step as he hustles down Jorrvaskr's worn steps, only able to breathe when he's triple checked the lock on his bedroom door.
The comfort of his bed does nothing to dissipate the need deep within him. Vilkas combs through the stack of unfinished reports at his side, silently begging for something, anything to hold his attention off of her.
The look in her eye when she gazed up at him is haunting. Cheeks heating with embarrassment Vilkas selfishly wonders if she liked his body on hers. The hitch in her breath and the needless way her hand lingered on him. Her body shifting under his. In another life it could have felt like something.
Vilkas must rid himself of this feeling. Biting at his lower lip he rubs at his cock, sensation only heightened by the haze in his mind. The Dragonborn's touch, her lips so close to his.
It would have been terribly easy to kiss her. To dip closer, allowing his body to press to hers. To lean into that hand and let her hold his face. Vilkas' eyes flutter closed as fantasies tangle in his mind, all of them featuring her.
The Dragonborn kissing him. The way she'd straddled him. Her fists in his shirt dragging him closer, demanding that he acknowledge whatever was growing between them. He bites back a moan upon imagining her hand stroking his cock instead of his own, those dazzling eyes watching every little reaction she could draw out of him.
It takes more effort than he cares to admit but Vilkas is growing accustomed to her presence. The Dragonborn eats and trains with them but is not bound by the same responsibilities as a Companion. It's grating to watch her share a meal and laugh with them before disappearing from Jorrvaskr for the evening, spending her nights at a tavern or Dragonsreach.
He should be relieved, he supposes. The nights she slumbers only a few doors away from him are the most difficult. It heats his blood in a way he attempts to blame on annoyance but in the dead of night he must face the truth of his situation.
He can't fathom what it is about her that drives him mad. He's met and befriended plenty of women in his life. None of them have gotten under his skin like this. It's like he can't breathe around her, like he's addicted to her presence.
"You've been staring an awful lot."
Vilkas nearly leaps out of his skin. The Dragonborn leans into his doorway, a grin on her face that always means trouble for him. He turns, clutching the unlaced tunic to his chest as his moment of peace has been intruded upon.
"You're the Dragonborn." He lies, stepping toward her. The last thing he needs is her entering his bedchambers, though the mere thought leaves him breathless.
"That's all?" Her head cocks, one foot moving to cross the threshold. Vilkas bears an arm against the doorframe as if it's his last defense.
The indecent part of his mind already knows what will happen. If she walks through his door she'll certainly sit on his bed. She'll recline against the pillows he's whimpered her name into countless times. Vilkas can admit that he's a weak man that won't be able to refuse her much longer.
"You can tell me if there's something bothering you, Vilkas." She smirks up at him and Vilkas nearly melts. The Dragonborn leans into the doorway - too close but he can't back down.
She knows exactly what she's doing to him. The Dragonborn sees right through him. Vilkas can't make himself form the words though - he can think only of his vow. He is a Companion. He is a member of the Inner Circle. He is a warrior that has dedicated his life to his Shield Siblings. He has forfeited any claim to worldly pleasures in service of his Guild.
"You can be irresponsible for one night, can't you?"
Gods, he wants to. He wants to shirk his responsibilities for one night and be with her. Vilkas wishes for nothing more than to know every inch of her body but duty stills his tongue.
"I can't." Vilkas whispers, his lips barely brushing hers. Every bit of his body aches as if she is the only solution for his pain. The Dragonborn's fingers brush his hair, Vilkas' poor fingers clamping the doorway to hold himself back.
He must restrain himself. The Dragonborn's body leans dangerously close and he should bolt from the room or slam the door. He should be anywhere but here, desperately preening for a hint of affection from her. Guilt and arousal twist into one messy emotion deep in his gut that leaves Vilkas breathless.
"You can." Her words nudge him closer toward damnation. "Are you not your own man?"
"I am a Companion." Vilkas' eyes fall closed as if that will fight off the temptation. He can feel the Dragonborn's breath on his skin, speaking dangerously close.
"What do you want, Vilkas?"
Gods, he wants her. He wants to touch her, to feel her, to know her inside and out. Vilkas wants to allow her lips to touch his overheated skin. He wishes for nothing more than to taste her, to hear her whining his name.
"What I want doesn't matter." His attempt at an authoritative voice falls horribly flat. The Dragonborn's hands are on his chest and Vilkas nearly collapses.
I am a Companion. I am a warrior. I am no longer a man.
"It matters to me." Her nose brushes his and it would be so fucking easy. "What you want matters to me."
"You must stop." His voice is ragged, every muscle tensed against the pounding need to touch her. "I cannot withstand your temptation. You must stop doing this to me."
"Do you truly want me to stop?"
No. The sick, selfish part of Vilkas wants her to push him. To break him down until he admits how badly he wants her. He wants her to touch him, tease him, tempt him until his vow is broken.
"I-" he stutters, unable to answer. One of her hands is sliding down his stomach and every ounce of his attention is spent tracking that. He can't open his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the heat when she looks at him.
He doesn't answer. Vilkas allows the Dragonborn to walk away from him, unable to watch her depart. He forces himself to remain in the doorway, battling back the need threatening to consume him before slinking off to bed.
Vilkas has never been an especially religious man. He recites the words when asked and bows his head in reverence but within the safety of his own mind he's never bothered worrying too much over what the gods think of his actions. He's always been too preoccupied by the opinions of his peers and elders.
The Dragonborn moaning his name is enough to make him worship. Vilkas' conviction is already broken when he bows over her, lips desperately seeking her skin. She tastes of sweat and blood from her last battle and Vilkas has never known anything so sweet.
"I want you." He voices the words he's hidden from against her throat. With selfish hands on her back to keep her body pressed to his and tears in his eyes, Vilkas damns himself.
"I need you." He sobs into the Dragonborn's shoulder, unraveled by her leg wrapping around his waist. He's already so deep inside of her but he has to get closer, driven to feel every inch of her.
"I want you, Vilkas." She whispers into his hair and Vilkas feels something deep within him break. The Dragonborn kisses him and Vilkas swears the universe narrows down to this single moment. He throbs inside of her, hips grinding into hers and realizes just how thoroughly he belongs to her.
He's not a Companion. He's not a member of the Inner Circle. He's wrecked all of those connections, broken every single vow he'd taken for her. Her lips sear down his jaw, her ownership of him solidified with every second that passes.
"Stop thinking." The Dragonborn instructs, her hips shifting as if to remind him that he's inside her. Their eyes meet and for a fleeting moment terror fills Vilkas - he's thrown his entire life away for this.
"Do you know what this means, Vilkas?" Her voice is absolute, leaving no more room for him to hide. No excuses he can make.
"Yes." He clutches the Dragonborn close, his heart aching with fear and joy and every little feeling in between. He has no clue what tomorrow will look like but for one evening he can indulge in the fantasy that he is simply a man in love.
He'll throw it all away. Vilkas decides in this moment that nothing matters as much as her. The Dragonborn's kissing him again and with only a few thrusts of his hips he's certain life will never be the same. She's undone him so thoroughly, stripped him of his convictions and the responsibility he wore like a second skin until nothing remained.
Vilkas forges a new vow within himself. While the Dragonborn whines his name and arches her back into his touch he devotes the rest of his wasted life to her - protecting her, following her, loving her. Only her for the rest of his days.
"I am yours," he sighs into the Dragonborn's skin. Tears stream down his face but the sheer pleasure of being with her outweighs any embarrassment. Her fingers grip his back and her hips roll into his, messy and imperfect and terrifyingly addictive. Her lips tickle at his ear when she whispers that she loves him too.
Everything he is and could ever become belongs to her. Even when he's exhausted and terrified of what the morning will bring Vilkas is aware that he'd gladly give it all up for her. He will exile himself, sever ties with those he's known since childhood, give up every dream to know the pleasure of her hand in his.
i wanna trap mercer in the backrooms and watch him mentally unravel
mercer is already mentally unraveling in his everyday life you don't even have to put him anywhere. just sit his ass behind his desk and watch him spiral about how everyone knows his secret and they're plotting against him. sweating and panicking while everyone else goes on with their normal life.
"writing fanfiction on the clock" and then they work a desk job... I'll be bagging someone's groceries while the character bags a bad bitch. get on my level.
if i can be a little tmi for a second. i've had a recurring yeast infection since november. i'm in the middle of a 6 month course of weekly yeast infection treatments. and to be honest? mercer frey's fault. my disease.
