Brawns and Smarts, Brains and Farts
The sweaty Nord pressed his meaty hand into your shoulder as his leg sweeper underneath you. You toppled backwards. His knee pressed into your chest. You were both in your small clothes, bare chested. Despite the bitter snowstorm outside the flickering hearthfire kept you both glistening with sweat.
"Don't worry, everyone loses to me the first dozen times" Farkas said, his shoulder length black hair falling down his face like shadowy waterfalls. His breath smelled heavily of meat and mead.
"There's always a first time for everything" you said. You pushed back and toppled him to the side. He was on all fours like an animal. You seized the opportunity and grappled his back.
"That was a mistake" Farkas said. He had hoped you took such an easy bait. He moved like slippery fire. One instant you were clutching his back, and in the next his feet were tossing you upwards. You slid between his legs and his massive thighs. He gripped your neck like a vice, leaving the supple haunches of his buttocks staring you unpleasantly close in the face. The dark earthy notes of the hairy man underneath the small shorts were punctuated by the salty and spurt wafts of sweat.
Your hands instinctively went to your throat as you tried to pry yourself free from his grip. You pulled, but the keg like legs may as well have been wrapped with steel cables.
"Don't bother. Your not gonna get out. You know what they say about me and my brother.." He said.
"I know I know" you squeezed out. Everyone knew. They said it whenever you'd walk past: "You we're blessed with Ysgramor's brawn, but Vilkas got his smarts."
"That's the polite version," Farkas said. He squeezed you tighter. "My brother Villas got Ysgramor's brains while I got his.."
You didn't have to put it together. You knew what he was going to say—and more regrettably what he was about to do. "Farkas, don't you dare!" You becried to no avail. The thick Nord squat back, pressing his backside onto your face. You were smothered between the two cheeks. You could feel his body quiver and tense. You pulled back but you couldn't escape it.
It wasn't particularly loud, but it was as violent as a giant, and as dense as the misty fog of Markarth. He held you there long enough to run out of breath and be forced into breathing it in. The fumes were indescribably noxious. You recall once, on a hunting excursion, you had stepped in a fresh and ripe mound of troll dung. Prior to this that had been the worst smell you had experienced. Now, thinking on it, you would gladly have buried your face in that pile of dung than spend another moment smelling the stomach souring, mind melting gas cloud Farkas had birthed.
He let you lose, but only enough to barely free your face from his ass. From the corner of your eye you saw Vilkas enter with a scroll of parchment in front of his face.
"We have three new requests this wee--" he stopped mod sentence when the smell hit him. "Talos' hairy balls. Farkas did you fart?" He looked and saw you and the position he was in.
Farkas was laughing silently. Vilkas' grimacing face slowly drew into a wicked grin. "Hold. Stop right there. Heel '' He bade Farkas to halt. This would end. The smarter brother would be your savior this night.
Vilkas made for the feast table and poured himself a mug of mead and grabbed a carrot. Pulling a bench up, he sat and watched. "Alright, you can continue"
Farkas laughed a hearty bellyaugh.
"Vilkas get him off me" you protested.
"You're the wrestler, you get him off you."
You struggled to get free but Farkas was still holding you in place. You tapped his side.
"You're tapping out?" Farkas said.
Vilkas snorted some mead out his nose.
"This isn't Cyrodill Rules. You don't tap out. Skyrim Rules say you get out, or I let you out." Farkas said.
"This isn't funny" you say, a mouth half full of Nord arse.
"Course it's not, for you. I'm just glad I'm not the one Farkas is farting on. Growing up I called him Fart-kas, as he was so gods damn gassy all the time."
"I preferred Fark-ass, but people didn't get it unless I spelled it out.”
"Hit him again brother, so I can see it first hand"
Farkas obliged. He pressed your face deep into his crevice. He leaned to one side and put all of his thunder into this blast. Considerably louder—if not muffled by your face— and hall shakingly violent, the blast went on for bsone time. To think a Nords innards could hold such endless and pungent gas.
"Ahhh...now that one felt great." Farkas said.
With a flip and twist, Farkas was able to reverse position. He now sat on your head like the Jarl of Farts.
Vilkas handed him a mug of mead.
"To Brawns and Smarts" Vilkas said, holding up his glass.
"To Brains and Farts!" Farkas said.
They downed their glasses.
Outside the cold and indifferent moon shone through on the walls of Jorvaskr. Gods help you now.
