Smut Drabbles

by aureliu_s

Summary:

Smut. Smut and fluff. Smut and angst. I needed a place to dump my filthy writing, so here we are. These will all vary in length. Tags will be updated accordingly, and I'll try to put summaries/warnings at the start of chapters. Comments & kudos are life, enjoy! :)

{requests welcome, but no promises}

Chapter 1: Common (Skyrim)

He was whispering sweet nothings in the smooth, exotic language of Higher Atmoran against her ear, mixed in with his rocky groans and noises of pleasure that reverberated through her entire body.

“Miraak,” she whined, but his response was lost in his own language, “Common.” The medium pace of his hips didn’t stop but she could feel his breath falter for just a moment, before he pressed his lips closed to her ear:

 

“Perhaps you should learn Atmoran, sweet thing.” He kissed the shell of her ear. “That way you can know,” bit at her earlobe, “all the things I say to you,” teeth grazed the soft flesh of her neck, “all the lovely little things I say to you when I have my cock in you. When you spread these beautiful legs for me,” he traced the inside of her thigh. The Priest gave a low, appreciative groan that started in his chest—he was just goading her on at this point. “Feel how tight you are for me, sweet thing.” His grip tightened for a moment on her hip, turning to steel. “Does that feel good? You enjoy being-“ he snapped his hips upwards, the slap of skin against skin drowned out by her cry of shocked ecstasy, “-so full. Don’t you.” Another snap, this one accompanied by a rough grunt as he sunk his teeth into the junction of her neck and shoulder. Tharya arched away from him but he held her in place. “No one else pleasures you so, do they, my beautiful? No one else is capable. ” He pressed his body flush against hers, squeezing her leg and pressing a kiss to her temple. “No one else gives you the cock you deserve, sweet thing, because no one else is me. ”

Chapter 2: In the Gardens (Dragon Age)

Sebastian knew, better than everyone, that Azriel Trevelyan, their precious Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, did not dress the way she did for attention.

 

He also knew most people would not believe him if he said as much, but he knew it, and that was all that mattered. He knew that she dressed the way she did because she felt like it, and sometimes as a dare for other men to try and intrude on her personal space, so she could wait patiently for him to stride over and put an arm around her in the protective way he did. She relished in his warm hands and scarred fingers. But she never let these other men go too far, and if they did...well, Maker, the woman could make a damn convincing scene if she wanted to. And in Orlais, a scene would make it to every news column in Val Royeaux before the hour was done.

 

He figured Josephine had probably talked her down from her original dress, but he liked this one just as much. He remembered sitting in bed and watching her check a million times in the mirror. It was pale blue with swirling silver designs at the bottom, the complementary colors of House Trevelyan. A trio of glistening necklaces hung against her exposed upper chest before the scooping, low neckline. Rather innocent, just enough to stir talk, until she walked by and you caught glimpse of the dress's open back, proudly displaying her strong shoulders and tanned skin. Her makeup was soft except for her signature dark eyeshadow, which made those lavender eyes glow and dance in the chandelier light. Her lips were painted silver and sparkled when she spoke. She was dazzling tonight, and there was no need to make a scene because the Orlesians were smart--the Orlesians had picked up on the ring adorning her left hand and the matching one on his before they had even entered the Winter Palace. Men and women alike gave her a respectable berth.

 

"You look strained." A warm but calloused hand slipped into his and he squeezed it on instinct, bringing her knuckles to his lips, admiring her manicured nails.

"Orlais is no place to let our guard down."

Azriel rolled her eyes and put her cheek on the shoulder of his sleek black uniform, sliding a hand beneath the crushed velvet crimson cape that hung off his shoulders and gently rubbing his back.

"If you're giving me answers like that, you must be exhausted, handsome." He allowed himself to sink away from his stiff posture and put his chin on her hair after kissing it. One gloved hand fell to her lower back and drifted to rest on the curve of her rear, giving it an appreciative pat.

"The talks happened three hours ago. Florianne is dead. And still this party drags on," he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, "and still they toast."

"As long as Celene is here, so are we." Azriel murmured. He was sure her eyes were closed, she sounded so tired. "But that feels nice." He smiled a little and continued flexing his fingers in and out of the flesh of her ass below the dress, working at the muscle still taut from battle beneath. "Until Celene walks up behind us. How grateful do you think she'd be then?" They laughed together, and Azriel put her chin on his shoulder to peer outside. Sebastian had situated himself near the glass doors leading out to the garden for a reason, many hours ago. An escape route, easy access to Dorian and Cullen, and a good view of the whole ballroom. Truly an archer's choice. "Come on." She circled him, took his wrist in one hand and her skirts in the other, and pulled him towards the door.

"I can't leave," he protested half-heartedly. Corbinian was asleep where he stood at the door. So, the Starkhaven delegation had finally bitten the dust. Azriel only turned to smile at him.

 

They walked together through the gardens under the moonlight at a leisurely pace, not pausing until they came to a secluded little courtyard. Neither of them knew how they got to it, there was so many twists and turns in the gardens. But the Winter Palace looked relatively far away, and the hum of chatter had died off. With a huff Azriel sat on a circular stone table that was low to the ground, surrounded by a few metal chairs, and moved her skirts to pull at her high heels.

"Let me," he murmured, kneeling at her feet. They were heeled boots, he saw, reaching to her knees, done up the sides with tight belts. They were slow work. Absently he pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, lips trailing downwards as he exposed more and more skin to the cool midnight air. One boot came off and then the next, but he still found himself kneeling, running his hands soothingly up and down her legs and scraping his teeth over the soft skin of her thigh.

"Sebastian," she sighed once and gently tapped his head, making him stand. Azriel slung her arms around her neck and they kissed, languid and lazy but no less loving. Her lips tasted like fine champagne and felt crusty with the glittery silver, but he didn't care. He cradled her head in one hand and nudged her backwards so he could slip his tongue past her teeth. This was where he wanted to be, not suckling at the makeup on her lips. In the warmth and wetness of her mouth.

 

Her shoulders hit the table below them and before he knew it he was clambering onto it, laying himself over her, undoing his belt to toss his sword away. He didn't know how to use the damn thing, anyway. It clattered unceremoniously to the stones and she gasped, half sitting up.

"Someone's going to hear that, you idiot," Azriel tried to reprimand him but she was laughing.

"I hope they do," he chortled back. Sebastian captured one glove between his teeth and pulled it off, and then the other. His first freed hand dove between her legs, fingers stroking her clit through the thin lace underwear he'd watched her put on. She moaned quietly against his auburn hair, threading her fingers into it, rubbing the back of his neck. He watched her strong thighs go taut and twitch closed around his arm.

"Relax, kitten, enjoy and relax," he cooed, and pressed slow, wet kisses to the underside of her jaw. "You've done enough for one day. You deserve this." She seemed to like that idea, and the night air hit his sleeve as her legs fell back to the table. He started to stroke her again, pressing his fingers against the cloth until it was damp and she was moving her hips with his hand, moaning his name gently and thoughtfully into the solitary night. He loved the way she twicthed and writhed; there was little energy behind it, but still her body found graceful and fulfilling ways to show its pleasure. He pushed the white fabric aside.

"One or two?"

"Two," she breathed. He pushed two fingers in and her nails dug into his arms for a moment before he urged her to relax again, rubbing his thumb in slow but tantalizing circles against her clit and pumping his fingers slowly in and out of her. There was a serene smile on her face and he found himself mirroring it as she clenched around him, drawing him in, almost moving his hand of her own accord. The table below did not budge. Her skirts occasionally got in the way but she would giggle and push them off only to latch her hands around his arm again.

 

"You deserve this too," she whispered up at him through half-lidded eyes. Sebastian hadn't noticed but now one of her elegant hands traveled to the crotch of his black pants, a whisper of a touch against his straining erection. He was loathe to leave her empty but she winked at him and licked his fingers, undoing his pants and bringing his cock out of its confinement. He didn't need to be asked twice. Sebastian held her thighs apart with both hands and watched with immense satisfaction as his length slipped with familiar ease past her folds. They moaned together even as clothes fell in their way; they made it work. She grasped for his pushing hips and he bent to smother her in kisses, locking their lips together for what felt like two eternities.

"I can't get anything on this dress," she half-whined, her hands curling into and out of his jacket, hips bucking more frequently to meet his determined thrusts.

"I have gloves," he slurred back. He was disappointed there wasn't more of her to hold, that her full breasts that swelled with her quick breathing were trapped beneath this dress. With a cry sent upwards into the night she locked her legs around him, back arching, and almost instantly he rammed deep inside her and spilled himself. A few more sloppy but well-placed thrusts--he knew how to please his fiancee, after all--she mirrored the act, holding him tightly before both their bodies went lax and his head fell to her chest. His cock went soft but neither of them moved for a long time.

 

"Your makeup doesn't even look touched," he marveled once she sat up, "fix my hair, since I can already tell you ruined it." She smiled and kissed him while she smoothed his hair back. Her tongue danced lazily with his; he took it upon himself to fix her skirts. Sebastian found odd irony when he knelt to put her boots back on.

"Inquisitor!" A close voice went up from the winding garden paths and they both froze. Azriel snatched his belt from the ground and went about fastening it in its original position.

"How do I look?" She asked. Sebastian grinned.

"Like you've just had a wonderful, relaxing orgasm." Normally he would've found a prettier way to say it but he had been at the Winter Palace for nearly ten hours now. His manners were beginning to thin.

Azriel grinned back and wound her arm with his. The voice called out for her again.

"Good."

Chapter 3: The Chantry (Dragon Age)

Notes:

14 - "You are beautiful, my goddess."

idk why, i don't usually write sebastian as spiteful but here we are

She wasn't sure, exactly, how they found themselves in the secluded Chantry in the gardens near midnight. She wasn't sure how Sebastian's broody silence had turned into roaming, teasing touches and wet kisses. He did not entirely trust Chantries, not anymore, merely on instinct. He rarely visited the one in Starkhaven, and was more often found at the smaller, private one in the castle if the urge to pray washed over him. But they had wandered in here together after neither of them could sleep, and now he was laying her down against the frigid stone floor, making gooseflesh of her arms, undoing the buttons of her blue and silver tunic. His palms were warm but the tips of his fingers were cool as he kneaded her breasts and tweaked her nipples. He kissed her strongly and heatedly, as if he had something to show. As if he was getting back at someone.

 

And when she looked up from her spot on the floor, Andraste's stony gaze was staring forever outwards just above them. Azriel was not as religious as she probably should've been, but here, here, with Sebastian Vael's repentent mouth between her legs, his praying hands latched around her breasts, she felt a pang of pride. Of look at me, sweet Andraste. She knew Sebastian had not abandoned his faith completely; she could never expect him to, not when it had played such a huge part in his life. But he had not returned the same from Kirkwall, after the Chantry exploded, and hundreds of innocent lives had been devoured by the Void. How could you believe, as strongly and feverently as he did, after that? After murders had gone unchecked, unavenged, and the murderer had been allowed to walk free? Azriel would not use him to get back at the Maker, or Andraste. But she would relish in this small victory.

 

"Sebastian," she dug her fingers into his mahogany hair and moaned his name fluidly, wanting him and his warmth to come back. He was quiet save for his own groans and rumbles, very intent on whatever battle he was fighting within himself. It seemed he, too, would treasure this little win. Soft lips kissed their way up the flesh of her stomach, wandering around her sternum, nipping at the column of her throat until he captured her parted lips.

"Here, lily pad," he husked out, "turn over." A vengeful excitement bubbled in her veins as he pulled her against his chest and then sat up. She took the chance to shrug her tunic off, baring herself completely in front of the stone Andraste. After all, was that not how She had walked through the flames?

 

Caressing her hips, Sebastian guided her back onto his hard length, their conjoined sounds of pleasure filling the little Chantry.

"Perfect, my love, perfect." He growled, bringing her hips down while he thrusted forward. Azriel let every sound escape her, let every whine and cry get thrown directly to Andraste's outstretched hand. The rhythmic slap of skin as Sebastian plowed into her from behind did nothing to muffle it. "You are so beautiful." He sighed. Azriel pushed herself up so she was kneeling upright like him, latching her hands down on his and dragging them over her firm stomach, up to catch her breasts that jounced with every forward motion of his hips met by the backward motion of hers. She twisted to kiss him. His piston thrusts slowed for a moment, eliciting a drawling moan from her lips. They became passionate but gentler, smoother, a little circular motion slung to it. She could feel the way his hands slid around and down her back to cup her ass, to map the curve of her spine, to find where their bodies met. Reverent, she thought with a smile.

 

"You are beautiful," he repeated, and then very purposefully leaned into her ear, adding in a low and taunting voice: "my goddess."

Chapter 4: The River (Skyrim)

Notes:

during the second war with the thalmor, miraak is found unconscious on the battlefield by a group of bosmer rebels, who plan to take him to the silvenar to form an alliance against the thalmor. but on the road, he finds himself missing someone...

HAHA THAT WAS SO CHEESY SORRY

With caution he found his way through the trees and underbrush to the stream one of the elves had called his attention to. What was fifty paces for them was more like fifteen or twenty for him; looking back, he could still see the fire and the camp. Either way it mattered little. He stripped and ducked into the stream, which was surprisingly deep—most likely an offshoot or tributary of some larger river, then. Just deep enough to circle his thighs, just deep enough to succumb and lie down in and look up at the stars peeking down at him through the treetops.

How had he gotten here? It was difficult to remember. When Tharya had pulled him out of Apocrypha all those years ago—even that felt odd to say, all those years ago—he hardly imagined she would take him here of all places. Valenwood, in the middle of summer, fighting to liberate the continent from the looming shadow of elitist, nationalist elves. The heat killed him day in and day out, the bugs were more than annoying, and their situation was not entirely stable. Last week he'd covered himself in mud and trekked through a swamp to throw Dominion animals off his scent while attacking a rural Thalmor outpost. What was he even doing it all for? What did he have to look forward to?

Looking up at the twin moons, the answer was simple. Tharya, of course. And he'd be lying if he said some part of him didn't like the adventure, but if Tharya had never asked he would've never come. Even if they didn't agree on what should be done with the Thalmor after the war, they could agree the war itself had been harrowing and one set of trials after another, but they had gone through it together and for that, they were stronger. Wistfully he turned his head and tried not to be disappointed when she wasn't lying there beside him, enjoying the brief interlude between all the fighting and planning. Enjoying the cool water and the night's stillness. When he closed his eyes she was, quietly asking after the names of constellations in his ear, but when he opened them it was merely an empty space between him and the bank. He cursed dehydration. If he was going to hallucinate, they should at least be good ones.

With a sigh Miraak raised his head just enough to gaze down his own body, and after too much water filling his ears he levered up and sat with his tired arms resting on his knees. He'd lost weight. Not an insane amount, but enough where he noticed. Tharya noticed too, the last time she'd put her arms around him and touched his stomach and sides. You're thinner than I remember, she'd murmured into his back. He remembered it. The last time they'd had a moment to themselves, a moment long enough to sink into bed and take their time in undressing each other and he'd been able to kiss the soft hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, hold her sides and tell her she, too, was thinner than he remembered, and that concerned him much more than his own apparent loss. Miraak hadn't realized the muscles in his back had gone so lax thinking about it, but now he sat slouched like a question mark, like a bent tree trunk.

He told himself he shouldn't think of that night, especially not so close to the camp, but he couldn't help it. It had been maybe...a month ago? More? They had both been so busy dealing with the war and too tired at any given moment to find it within themselves to cast it all off and set aside the world's problems for eating, let alone sex. And now here he was, a quasi-captive, memories of the last time he'd made love to her flooding his exhausted brain as if it had been eons ago. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't help remembering the softness of her skin, kissing the new freckles on her shoulders, pressing his tongue into her mouth and hearing all the sweet noises she pressed into his shoulder. A tent was far from soundproof. As much as he loved to hear her in full, and as much as he almost didn't care who heard them, he knew it mattered to her. But he knew his lips between her thighs mattered too—the thought crossed him as one hand, acting on its own, wrapped firmly around the base of his cock.

His mouth between her legs and the scratch of his beard on pale skin, that drove her crazy. The refreshingly cool water now seemed colder as blood surged through him, sending a shiver up his spine and a rush to his groin. With a shaky breath he pulled himself out of the daydream to realize he was almost painfully hard and not doing anything about it. So he returned. It almost felt dirty to think about her like this, detached from her, far away, not knowing where she was. But it excited him too. Whenever these thoughts entered him she was always around, and he could catch her arm and let them seep into her ear. Briefly he thought of the blush that claimed her neck and face whenever he toed the line. The blush didn't last, usually never did, especially once he'd sunken his cock into her. On the warpath, and last time, she'd bit her hand to stay quiet, but he remembered the way she would cry out, mewl and grip his arms and whisper his name over and over and over. In slow motions he began to stroke himself, feeling oddly vulnerable and even more aroused sitting like this with his legs open, cold water touching parts of him that were newly sensitive to the sensation. Aimlessly he fingered his own tip and used the precum to make his shaft slick, easy. Below the water Miraak's free hand curled into the fine sand and dirt and little rocks of the streambed.

What had started as dipping his toes had become completely drowning himself in memories of her, of Tharya, of her tight little pussy obediently taking all of his stiff cock, of her palms spread on his stomach while she rocked her hips with the guidance of his hands, of the way she would whine when he gripped her and flipped them over and dug his hips into her one hard thrust at at time. Of the way she would claw at his arms, beg to be kissed, curl her toes and moan for him if and when he whispered the command against her ear, and he would relish in the obscene noises they created together and her face when she came undone all over his cock. He liked better yet the way her mouth opened when he kept going; legendary Yokudan stamina had made it a staple of their sex that one of his orgasms equaled nearly two of hers. He remembered the tears that would touch her eyes--good tears, she assured him the first time they had sprung there. Gods, what a darling little submissive she was. Fucked perfectly she would cry, always eager to please--it wasn't in her nature to be coy or bratty but it was in his. What a darling little submissive--who liked to be called good girl, even though she wouldn't admit it in her wildest dreams, and who liked to end her nights utterly spent and wrapped in his arms-

It was all of this that finally made his jaw release with a gasp as his cock spilled over, and even then he milked himself for everything he had until his brown knuckles had been painted white. Tharya. At this point she would smile as he rolled his hips into her, having peaked at an orgasm and letting them both down slowly, slowly, riding it out until his thrusts were languid and almost soothing. He thought of her little mewl whenever he pulled out. He thought of the way she reached for him, pulling him back to comfort. Without thinking he sank back into the river, affectionately and slowly fisting his cock with an edge of a squeeze until he felt the way Tharya looked after he'd thoroughly ploughed her. He couldn't help it; the first, and only, strangled moan left his sealed lips.

The only thing that could've made this moment perfect--besides of course if it had been his lover's little hand or even her mouth that had pleasured him so--was if she was here to drape herself against his chest with a content sigh, still a little tender, a little squirmy, but content nonetheless. Here she'd stroke his hair and kiss each inch of his face, familiarize herself once again with his scars. Put her cheek on his heart and rub his chest or his arms and they'd murmur quietly and lovingly to each other, content with the tired caresses of each other's hands. Content.

No, he thought to himself, her mouth is too little, and they hadn't tried that before. She would've brought it up--but then again, maybe she was too frightened to. He grinned a little at the prospect.

But it was just him and the river washing his seed away as he spread out and caught his breath. Just him, the river, and the ever faithful night sky above.

Chapter 5: Doorframe (Skyrim)

Notes:

hehe i wrote this at 11 pm, sorry in advance because it SUCKS & no i didn't proofread but not sorry for brunwulf's war table (also if you don't think miraak would show off by fucking stand up you're wrong, he's a super show off it boosts his ego)

It was hard to believe that the man she saw seated at the table was a man at all. For a moment she thought he was asleep in that chair, sitting with his knees spread and his head aimed at the window, chin held between his gloved fingers. In the darkness she couldn't even see the rise and fall of his chest, and over the rain she couldn't hear his breathing. The pale, greyish moonlight filtering in through the windows only caught portions of his face, casting his eyes in shadow but touching his lips and jaw with illumination. It was hard to believe he was a man at all, sitting so quietly and so firmly rooted to the earth upon which he lived, so unmoving like a statue. It was hard to believe, but then he spoke. 

 

"I know you are staring at me." 

 

His voice was tired, his accent thick and rugged, but his words were a little jest. Tharya had no idea how he could always feel her eyes on him, even for the briefest handful of seconds, but each time without fail he did. 

"You weren't in bed, so I went looking." She said softly from the doorway. Even though she couldn't see it she knew his eyes slid to look at her.

"I couldn't sleep." 

"So you came and sat at the war table?" She chuckled gently, taking a few steps forward. Undoubtedly his eyes slid over her figure in the dappled moonlight. She knew his mannerisms all too well by now. 

"Even though it hurts, the sound of rain is oddly soothing," Miraak admitted at long last, looking back to the windows. "Like one of Mona's lullabies that I can't quite remember," he added absently. Tharya let silence settle over the room as a flash of lightning lit it; lightning that, for the smallest of seconds, revealed Miraak's entire figure to her. In that second she saw his face, his hair mussed and tangled from running his hands through it, his eyes alert but heavy, needing rest. The broad expanse of his shoulders cast a distorted shadow on the floorboards behind him. His robes looked untouched from earlier.

 

"You didn't come to bed," Tharya realized slowly, remembering his gloves. Though she had guessed it to begin with. 

"No," he hummed. "I spoke with Brunwulf for a time. He's very...macho, for an egalitarian." 

" You're very macho." She reminded him, moving forward again until she was standing between his open knees. His knees which, she noticed, were the height of the table itself. And a war table was not made for sitting at. A gradual movement caught her eye and she watched as he lifted one hand to his mouth, catching the index fingertip of his lefthand glove between his teeth and giving it a pull. He repeated the action until the glove was loose enough to pull off, and placed his elbow on the table so she could see his hand in the moonlight. It looked disembodied, since the darkness swallowed everything above his elbow. Another flash of lightning. He was staring at her. In one precise move his index finger curled back to him, gesturing her closer. 

 

It was a little difficult as he took his righthand glove off in the same fashion as the other, but she managed to situate herself comfortably on his lap with strong thighs below her and hips between her legs. Warm hands slid below the hem of her shirt to mold around the smallest part of her waist, fingers touching on either side. 

"This is my shirt," he noted quietly. 

"That shouldn't come as a surprise." 

"Nothing has come yet." His lips flashed a grin and then leaned forward to press against hers in a delicate kiss. Outside the delayed thunder—two lightning strikes worth—rumbled over Windhelm, and then with a furious crack split the quiet rain. The entirety of the Palace of the Kings seemed to shake as another booming noise assaulted it, the windows trembled, and they both jolted against each other. The thunder resided until it was needed again, and Tharya felt him mirror her amused smile against her lips. Scared by thunder? Them? Who'd fought vampires and demons and Daedric Princes?

 

She supposed thunder held some merit of its own, especially intruding on a moment that was oddly tender for the dead of night, when most people slept soundly in their beds. 

"Are you going to sleep in these robes? Boots and all?" She teased, her voice nearly a whisper despite being the only two people awake to hear. "I can tell you right now that isn't a good idea." Without much thought her fingers found the hem of his outermost robe and followed it down to where each side met, just below his sternum, held by a small clasp concealed on the inside. Her progress was interrupted when he kissed her again, capturing her lips in a smooth dance before working towards her jaw and settling on her neck. 

"You aren't helping." 

"I wasn't trying to." He teased, nipping her earlobe before sealing his mouth over the soft underside of her jaw. Both hands splayed against her back, the heat of his skin making her spine feel frigid in comparison. She managed to push the outer layer off his shoulders and down to the crook of his elbows. The second and last layer—since these were only spring robes , which meant fewer layers and much lighter fabric—proved a bit more challenging. It was more fitted than the outer one, clasped as the base of his throat all the way down to where it tucked into the hem of his pants. She only managed in getting the first few buttons undone; being on the inside they were much harder to grapple with from the outside. But it was enough, three or four down, to slide her palms below the fabric and spread them against his chest. 

 

"You're a handsy little thing," he rumbled against her neck, scraping his teeth over her skin. Securing both arms around her—a feeling she'd never tire of, being grasped so effortlessly and safely in such muscular limbs—he rose from the chair with a little grunt of effort. Lightning flashed over her closed eyes, and this time the thunder pounced almost as immediately as the lightning itself.

 

Tharya tangled her fingers into his hair only after she succeeded in two things: undoing more buttons and pushing his shirt down to expose his shoulders. Wrapping her arms around his neck brought him back up to kiss her lovingly, languidly enjoying her lips with his own before pressing his tongue past them. He was moving towards the stairs, the open door, but paused in the threshold to press her back to the cold stone. "If you keep undressing me with your lovely little hands I think I may take you here and now," he whispered against the soft shell of her ear. Despite his words his voice was...soft. Temperate. For just a moment he pressed his weight against her, leaving his arms to shrug off his robe and pull his shirt free from his waist, only to guide her hands towards the remaining buttons. "Finish what you started for me, little one." Again he spoke so kindly, so gently it almost didn't seem to make sense. But she was forgetting, as it was so easy to forget, that he of all people did not lack a tender heart. He, of all people, could be compassionate and loving when he wanted to. One arm slid free of the garment, returned to her, and then the other followed suit, but then he tugged lightly on her shirt and nudged her nose with his. " I want to be handsy too." A fake pout played at his lips and she rolled her eyes. 

"Poor doorframe." Tharya giggled, grabbing the hem of the shirt. 

"Good doorframe. He's helping me keep you up," Miraak grinned. "Though I could probably manage on my own." 

"You're just a show off." She wiggled her arms out of the sleeves and then pulled it off, instinctively bringing him closer to cover herself. 

 

"Dii rahhe," he groaned softly, "you are so beautiful." Miraak pulled himself away just enough to lean down and kiss her neck, her throat, her breasts, closing his mouth around each nipple in turn. It was a shocking contrast, the wet and warm of his mouth against the cold stone and damp air, and it made gooseflesh of her arms and legs. "I meant what I said about taking you here and now," he breathed into the space between them. "There are other things I could do but I think," another slow, meaningful kiss, "I think I just want to make excellent love to you against this doorframe." Tharya giggled again, because he was the only person who seemed to get her to do that, and nodded once. 

"Then I think you should do that. Although," she hummed, "this doorframe, or do you want to switch sides?" 

"Oh, I hadn't thought of it. Perhaps a different doorframe altogether?" He suggested playfully, one hand dipping to where their bodies met to adjust her thighs, spread them further and them lock them back around his waist, hiking her up against the wall so they were nearly eye-level. "I saw a rather large one earlier today, in that main hall." 

"Like the one that leads into and out of the palace?" She snickered, shaking her head.

"Mmh, perhaps." He raised an eyebrow. "But it was very big. I did not think people needed such large doorframes." Another kiss, but this was one quick and routine. "I know I said I would make excellent love to you and nothing else, but I may have lied." Tharya gasped. 

"I'm wounded." 

"No, you would be, but fortunately I am a quick thinker." He grinned as one hand found its way between her legs. His elbow had to bend at an awkward angle but it was more than worth it for the real gasp that left her lips as he rubbed the tip of his index and middle finger against her through the fabric. "And trust me, little one," he leaned closer to her ear, "there is no way you can take someone my size without being eased into it."

 

The mere thought of him filling her was enough to make her mouth water; something she was glad he couldn't see or hear, because it made her cheeks flare with embarrassment and her stomach twist with anticipation. Gods, he was a quick thinker. Not that she had doubted it, but she had barely strung together a coherent thought since before she'd come down here to find him. 

"You aren't very subtle," Miraak murmured, his shoulders vibrating as he chuckled. "Concealing your desires is not a specialty, is it?"

"Shut uh-" just as she spoke he pushed her underwear aside to stroke his fingertip against her clit, "-up. Bastard." Her hands moved to grasp his shoulders, squeezing them in unison with the jump of her hips when he flicked her clit again. 

"Take these off for me, sweet thing," he purred, kissing her when she clumsily lifted her hips away from the wall enough to pull the offending garment away. He curled his fingers into it and removed it one leg at a time, and when his hips nestled back between hers she could feel the prominence of his crotch. She had no idea how he was still torturing himself with pants. "Start with one. Relax your back," he crooned, "I'll take care of you. Just relax." It took some deep breaths but she finally was able to ease the taut rope of her spine, and she did he took the opportunity to sink his middle finger past her folds. The moan that left her lips was muffled into his shoulder and accompanied by a flash of lightning. "Relax," he whispered again, "I would love to hear all your exquisite sounds, prinsaessa, but I'm afraid there are other people close by." Tharya huffed but heard the lightness in his voice. When did he get so cocky?

 

Subconsciously she began rocking her hips to the easy thrusting of his hand, and before long he was murmuring something else to her and pushing his index finger in beside the first. "Good girl, just like that." She let her head drop to his shoulder, pushing into his neck to conceal the embarrassing string of mewls and whimpers that left her lips. He let his cheek rest against her hair. 

 

Carefully Miraak pressed his thumb to her clit and spread his fingers in a little scissor motion, relishing in the cut off moan that floated to his ears, the rest drowned out by thunder. Impatient of him, maybe, but his cock straining against his pants was edging closer to unbearable, and each thrust of his fingers into the deliciously tight pussy he so wanted to be in was making his mind hazy. 

"That...feels really g-good," Tharya mumbled shyly against his ear. Oh good gods, she was testing his resolve. Whether she knew it or not. His breathing became labored, his arms shaky with anticipation and desire. His resolve, and his strength. He had no doubts he could keep her up like this, but... 

 

Change of plans. Without hesitation he lifted Tharya off the wall and stumbled, walked, felt his way back to the war table. "Miraak-" realization touched her eyes the moment he set her down on the edge, placing a hand on her stomach to ease her back onto the wood. Before she could say anything else he removed his fingers, not missing the whine from below as her knees closed together. With his clean hand he pulled at the lacing of his pants, tugging it loose enough to reach past the hem and, feeling Tharya's eyes watching his every movement, pull his cock free. It was a sigh of relief that left his lips, and then a smirk pulling at them as he dragged his wet fingers over his length and caught her eyes from above. A splash of lightning illuminated to him her flushed face, her arms tucked against her chest, her eyes widening as they locked gazes and very quickly looking away.

 

"No," he reached for her chin and swiveled it back. "Eyes here." 

"I..I..." 

"You like what you see," he leaned down to kiss her slowly, "you like the prospect of me being inside of you, hm, little one?" Another kiss and he coaxed her tongue out with his own, lubricating himself in one hand with a combination of his own precum and her wetness. "Isn't that right? I said I'll take care of you, prinsaessa," both hands fell to her knees now, pushing them aside—to at least make enough room for his hips, he thought, but then thought better of it, and pressed them down against the war table. "I meant it." It took some restraint but when he shifted forward, all he did was drag the head of his cock between her folds, watching as she squirmed and bit her fist to keep quiet. But he watched it all intently, the beauty of her pussy waiting to take him and the slow pulsation of his glistening cock waiting to take her. Gods, he wanted to see her face when he filled her. Wanted to hear her cry his name when she came for him, even if it woke the whole damn palace. Fine, let them watch. 

"M-Miraak..." she reached down for his wrist, breathing quickly. Gods, he wanted to fuck her. But he could have his fun. 

"Say please," he cooed, watching her face shift back into equal parts timid and embarrassed. 

"...please." 

"What do you want me to do?" A grin played at his lips. She frowned up at him. "Fine, fine." He playfully pushed at her mouth with his thumb. "Don't pout at me." Miraak leaned down towards her ear. "I'll let it slide this once." And slowly, giving her one last kiss and then watching her face intently, he pushed the head of his cock forward. She took him squirming, inch by inch, his girth stretching her more than his fingers had—by far. "There you go, good girl. Just like that, prinsaessa. Good girl. You feel exquisite," he moaned, "you take my cock so well, little one."

 

Halfway she nearly yelled his name but was quick to muffle it, locking her arms around his shoulders to block her voice from escaping. 

"O-oh...Miraak," she whimpered, gripping his hair, "Miraak, Miraak, Miraak..."

"Easy, sweet thing." His head fell to her shoulder. 

"You're so perfect. So tight for me." It felt like an eternity, an aching eternity, until he was fully seated inside of her. Lightning assaulted the haze of his vision and thunder rattled his ears, but none of it mattered. He had planned on sitting up but now he didn't want to leave her arms, or remove her from his embrace. "How does that feel?" All he got in reply was a senseless mewl as her legs closed around him. Just as carefully he dragged his hips back and pushed them forward again, sparks dancing across his body as her pussy tightened only for him to force it wide once more. The stretch must be delightful. Once she grew accustomed to him, all however many inches—he didn't even care enough to remember at this exact moment—he set an easy but deep pace, the combination of prodding all her sweet spots and regular movement losing them both to the bliss. "You take my cock perfectly. So tight. There you go, just like that." After an experimental change in pace her back arched clear off the table, and he wished to all the gods he could've heard in full the moan she swallowed down. It gave him the chance to return his mouth to her throat, sucking and biting gently at all the soft skin he'd made love to earlier. 

 

"Oh--gods," she whined, "please don't stop, please. That..." 

"If it were up to me," he paused to wrestle down a moan of his own, "I wouldn’t." At that moment Miraak realized he probably should've closed the door behind him once he had decided to move for the table; the squelch and gentle collision of skin with each thrust in combination with their poorly muffled noises were probably enough to at least wake a light sleeper.

 

But truthfully he didn't care; if anyone did wake up, they'd be kind enough to close the door themselves.

 

It all happened so quickly. For a moment she clung to him for dear life, and he swore he heard her beg him to make her cum, arms tightly slung around his neck as her toes curled against the curve of his back. "J-just don't stop," she mewled, letting out a pitched gasp he couldn't be bothered to smother with each thrust. This table must be sturdy. He felt a pang of comical guilt for Brunwulf, who'd have to sit here tomorrow morning... "Don't...oh, gods, please..." 

"Cum for me, prinsaessa, " he growled out, "go ahead. Cum all over my cock. Tell me how good it feels." For a second he pulled her lips into a heated kiss. " Cum for me. " Even though she did, spilling herself over his length, he didn't, couldn't find it within himself to stop. Curse that Yokudan stamina, but just this once. He did slow, however, to pry her off the table and stagger back a few steps from it, hooking her knees over his elbows and doing his best to support her back. The swing of his hips was enough momentum to slam forward, the remnants of her orgasm plastered now against her inner thighs. The clap of skin each time their bodies met was much more defined as he steeled himself and effectively bounced her onto his cock with the force of each thrust. "Oh-- fuck, " he groaned deeply, burying his nose in her hair. "I'm going to fill you up, prinsaessa , fill you with my cock and all my cum." Both hands sat like padlocks on her hips. "Fuck. You're so tight for me, prinsae... " he cut himself off with a rocky moan, "such a good girl. Fill this pretty little pussy of yours." She pulled his hair almost to the point of pain, whining about a second orgasm, digging her nails into his back as she scrambled for purchase. His thrusts went frantic, his voice rising until he blew, groaning, feeling his hot seed flush out overpower her own orgasm and fill her to the brim. He kept his hips locked there, making sure everything he had was hers before he felt his shoulders begin to relax.

 

Quietly and gradually they caught their breath, pulling back to kiss one another lazily, enjoying the bodily fatigue that claimed them limb by limb. 

"So you didn't need the doorframe," she whispered breathily, gently stroking his hair as an apology for pulling it. Even as she said it his knees grew weak from the sudden and prolonged exertion, standing without aid in the center of the room. 

" Nid, " he groaned back, placing a little kiss on her cheek. "I told you so." 

"That was, uhm..." she hid her face in his neck, "impressive." 

"Oh?" He chuckled, glancing to the chair this had all started in. Technically his pants were still on, so he could... 

"I mean...not many people...could, you know, do that. " She peered at him, chewing her lip. "I'm saying you're strong and it's hot." A little laugh left Miraak's chest. 

"Ah. Thank you for the clarification, sweet thing." On uncertain legs he made his way towards the chair. "And thank you for the compliment." He murmured against her ear. With a groan he sat back down, uncaring whether or not Brunwulf or anyone would be sitting in his same chair come morning. It's not like they had made love in the chair. The table, now, that was an altogether different story. But a good one. Tharya made a little noise as his softened cock pressed into her, now with her hips nestled against his in his lap she didn't have much space to move. "Just a moment, little one." He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. "I'm old and need my moment's rest." 

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're thirty." 

"Old." Miraak rubbed his hands up and down her sides. As he did he cracked one eye open, sliding his hands around the smallest part of her waist like he had not too long ago, his fingers touching on either side. "You are so little." 

"Your hands are just big," Tharya chuckled.

After a moment she draped herself against his chest, sighing heavily against his neck and closing her eyes. Outside the rain continued, the lightning came and the thunder clashed. Outside the world slept, except for them. Slowly the chill in the room began to creep back into their warmed skin, and the call of a nice warm bed—as opposed to a stiff wooden chair too small for his stature—was undeniable. He thought of lifting her off his cock but figured it would be better saved for the privacy of their own quarters, where there would be towels handy. That and he liked the sensation. "Oh," he muttered suddenly, "how does a bath sound?" 

"It's nearly one in the morning," Tharya replied. 

"I repeat my question." 

She was quiet for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, a bath sounds good, actually. We have to pick up our clothes though." He groaned theatrically. 

"Ugh. Isn't there servants for that?" 

"Not for us, dummy." A snicker left her lips. "And what makes you think some maid is gonna come pick up my underwear at one in the morning because we asked?" 

"A smart maid looking to keep her job." 

"Well, you're wrong." She sat up and kissed his forehead, but seemed loathe to remove herself from him, just like he was. "Now you have to carry me." He gave her a knowing wink, reveled in her blush, and put both arms around her as he stood. 

 

"Yes, yes, leave it all to the old man..."

Notes:

i was thinking of posting a chapter or two about nsfw headcanons i have for miraak/tharya + other characters???? do i bother??

Chapter 6: No (Skyrim)

Notes:

i needed to write miraak/dukaan. i just had to. i woke up at 8:30 am to write miraak being a bottom for the first and only time in 4500 years. please enjoy. it is not proofread. (also miraak has the NICEST butt and you can't change my mind)

Miraak's cock slid easily down his throat again, and Dukaan splayed his hands against the other man's hips to keep him there, his nose brushing Miraak's stomach. He sighed happily around the shaft before drawing back again, tongue swirling at the tip, and then letting the length slip down into his throat once more. Above him Miraak groaned deeply, head lolling backwards.

 

"Please let me?" He asked when he drew back again, smiling up at the Yokudan. Dukaan had never seen him so malleable; usually when someone had their mouth around him he was bossy, pushing heads and pulling hair, husking out commands. Not this time though, and that was a first. They were in the kitchen—what had started as a harmless kiss had somehow turned to this, and Dukaan briefly wondered if they should move somewhere else for the sake of cleanliness of the Last Dragonborn's home—and Miraak's hands were clutching the edge of the wooden counter, his brown knuckles bony and white. He was breathing heavy, no shirt, pants hardly undone and sitting loosely around his hips, and quite clearly enjoying himself. "Are you... blushing? " 

 

"No," Miraak snapped weakly, looking down at him. His bottom lip was angry red from where he'd been biting it. He was blushing; the other man's face was colored a deep ruddy brown, from his neck to the tips of his ears. It made a pretty sight, the crimson mixing with earthy brown.

"You're so beautiful when you blush," Dukaan smiled, wrapping his hand around the man's cock. "Please?" 

" No ," the Dragonborn said again, but his resolve was slipping. 

"I only want to take care of you, my love," he crooned, "you know you would like it, you just have to relax. " From the slump in his shoulders he was trying to keep himself guarded but failing. Miraak heaved a sigh as Dukaan peppered kisses along his shaft, watching his belly, chiseled with taut muscle, expand and deflate as he breathed.

 

"Come now. It must be tiring, always being in charge." His tongue flicked out to trace the thick vein running along the underside of the length in his hand. "Wouldn't it be nice to let someone look after you?" Miraak didn't reply. In the silence Dukaan huffed quietly and then wrapped his lips back around the Dragonborn's cock, grasping him by the hips, and then finding his hands wrapped around the perfectly firm spheres of Miraak's ass. He groaned around the Yokudan who jumped at the sound reverberating through his thighs and into his groin. He wasn't usually jumpy—so he really must be slipping after all.

 

When Dukaan pulled away he exhaled a hot breath that fanned out against Miraak's thighs, giving his cock a few languid pulls as he licked his lips. The Yokudan was breathing hard, his mouth hung open and eyes half-closed as he looked down at the other man, running his fingers lightly through Dukaan's inky hair. "You have the perfect cock," he murmured, tentatively kissing the tip, licking it, freeing his other hand to cradle his balls. Miraak jumped at the touch, his hands turning to fists in Dukaan's hair. Dukaan hummed in thought before leaning forward to take one in his mouth, pumping his hand slowly around the length of Miraak's cock, his eyes traveling upwards to lock the other man's gaze. 

 

The First Dragonborn looked torn between utter submission and barking a command; submission wasn't his style, but it seemed to be what he was leaning towards, with pitiful, whining moans and his brow loose to display the full pleasure on his flushed face. 

 

Flushed. Dukaan hadn't seen color touch his cheeks in so long, he almost didn't recognize it here and now.

 

Finally he was satisfied and leaned back on his thighs again, spreading his hands against Miraak's stomach. "Turn around," he breathed. Golden eyes widened. 

"No," Miraak whispered.

"Please?" Dukaan reached around to dig his fingers into that perfect ass again, kneading it with an appreciative groan. "I would love to put my face between these cheeks." 

" No, " Miraak rasped, tugging his hair. What was that, that fourth time he’d said no? The Roscrean chuckled as he got to his feet, pulling the fellow Priest forward to rest against his chest. 

"Relax, pretty boy," he soothed. The First Dragonborn had never seemed small before, but leaning here with his cheek to the other man's chest he surely felt...different. Miraak took the opportunity to catch his breath and close his eyes. 

 

After a moment Dukaan reached for his chin and tilted his head up, letting the Yokudan's jaw rest on his sternum. He almost looked innocent , like this, his eyes big and his face lazy with pleasure. "You are beautiful, you know?" Dukaan murmured with a smile, running his fingers through chocolatey brown hair. "My lovely, beautiful little Dragonborn who can kill me with a word." They both chuckled at that, and gently Miraak straightened out and put his hands on Dukaan's hips. "Will you turn around for me now?" He asked sweetly, stroking the other man's face.

 

Instantly his features fell, and a certain kind of guarded worry overtook him. Dukaan could see he was fighting it, though--he was trying to remain open, but his intuition was telling him otherwise. After a minute of watching this battle, he frowned, and put a hand over Dukaan's eyes. 

"Close your eyes," he said, hardly above a breath, a whisper. 

"Only if you kiss me," Dukaan said cheekily. With a grumble Miraak obliged him, planting a long, languid kiss against his lips, gently pressing his tongue into his mouth. Before he could lose himself though, the Roscrean took his waist and twisted him away, breaking their kiss, so Miraak's back was completely to him. He kept his eyes shut. "Now imagine if your little Nord was right in front of you," he hummed, bowing his head to kiss and suck Miraak's shoulder, rubbing his hips generously. "Her legs spread for you the way you like, her little clit aching for your attention," as he spoke he wrapped one hand firmly around the Yokudan's dick and stroked it lightly. "She wants you to fill her just as perfectly as you always do, my love. She wants you to pound her little pussy and suck her breasts and make her cry for you...can you imagine it?" Unknowingly the Yokudan's hips gyrated slowly against Dukaan's hand, a low rumble leaving his throat, his pupils blown wide. "What a nice threesome that would make," Dukaan commented absently. 

 

"Why?" Miraak growled, and Dukaan debated his cryptic question before grinning.

"I like getting you worked up, beautiful," he purred, "it's hot to see you so intent ; selfishly, just so I can make you come down again." He reached for one leg and grabbed the back of Miraak's thigh, hitching it upwards against the counter. "I'm about to make you into my own little mess, beautiful. I want to see your face when someone else fills you up with their cock, and stuffs you full of their cum."

 

He abandoned all other actions to grab his cock and pump himself a few times. It wasn't his favorite but he had to open his eyes a little to see what he was doing--and gods, what a pretty sight it was. Never in his life did he think Miraak Althëasson, of all people, would let his guard down enough for this. This was total trust. Complete and utter reliability on Dukaan's unspoken promise to guard his wellbeing while he was, more or less, not even in the right mindset to think about it. The muscles in his shoulders were bunched and tight, the same in his lower back, his hips rigid. Even so, he had never thought he would get the Yokudan here, and still the sight was a gorgeous shock to the system. 

 

"Relax," Dukaan murmured, gently rubbing his sides. "Don't be so tense." Even now he wasn't completely giving himself up. Miraak could've been laying down, or bent over something, or on his back with his legs pushed apart. That would be total submission. In this way his body was still rigid, still formed enough that Dukaan couldn't bounce him on his cock like he could if Miraak was bent over the counter--couldn't pound into him like he could if he was laying down, or gods, on his hands and knees. That image danced briefly across his eyes. He thought of the way his hips would slam into that perfectly firm, round ass, of the way the other man's back could arch and dip and--no, this way, Miraak still had some semblance of control over his body's movements. He wasn't willing to give it all up just yet.

 

"Relax, my love," he cooed, rubbing Miraak's shoulders. "I'll take care of you, I promise. I should've used something to stretch you out first," Dukaan nipped his earlobe, "but relax. I know you, and I promise I'll take care of you. You need only trust me." He reached for his cock again and used his free hand to find the Yokudan's hole and circle it lightly, pressing against it. "It will hurt a little, but I believe you would grumble and say you're accustomed to pain if you your mind was working right now," as he spoke he teased the first knuckle of one finger past the tight ring of muscle and Miraak jumped in surprise. Dukaan stilled him gently. "But I will take care of you. Imagine," a smile crossed his lips, "imagine how good it would feel to be fucked like this, on your face and knees, with your legs spread for me?" He pushed the finger deeper, and the Yokudan gasped loudly, clawing back to find some kind of purchase to hold onto. "Would you let me make love to you like that, my darling?" The finger curled and swirled and he reached his base knuckle. "I'd love to dress you up sometime. You would look so beautiful in pretty lace," Miraak mumbled something incoherent as Dukaan hummed against the soft part of his ear, burning hot, just like his face. "Silk, too. Something sheer. Would you dress up for me, my love? Some pretty lingerie? You would look beautiful." As he spoke he retracted his finger and felt the Yokudan's hips relax as he did; then, keeping his thumb over the other man's hole he guided his cock to it, rubbing his tip against it with firm pressure before slipping it in.

 

Dukaan felt the muscles in Miraak's torso crunch together, felt his body close itself to the intrusion, but again went to soothe him with plenty of rubbing and soft words. As he did he pressed each inch of his cock in slowly, until at long last his hips were nestled warmly against the Dragonborn's backside and he sighed in content. He wished he could open his eyes just once to see what a pretty sight Miraak made, now with the addition of his cock. 

 

"How do you feel?" His only response was Miraak grabbing the hand stationed on his hip, squeezing it in a death grip before loosening his hold. "Fine," he grit out--he was returning to his usual self, his hard vocabulary and his closed off attitude. No, no no no. That simply wouldn't do. Slowly Dukaan began rocking himself in and out, shallow at first. He wound his arms around Miraak and brought his back to his chest, fingers lightly rubbing his nipples. "No, no, my love. Tell me how it feels," he crooned, "how does it make you feel, taking someone's cock inside you for the first time?" A sharp inhale as he squeezed each nipple between his fingertips and then let go, rubbing his hands over Miraak's chest, tight and broad with muscle. "Please?" He whispered with a fake little pout.

 

After a moment the Yokudan sighed shakily, and reached down for his neglected cock. 

"Ah-ah. Let me take care of that, beautiful," Dukaan chided, and replaced his hand. "You focus on your words, young man." Miraak huffed something inaudible but instead wound his arm back around the other man's neck, bringing his lips close to the Roscrean's ear. 

 

"Maybe your dick isn't so small after all." 

 

Dukaan barked out an amused laugh, feeling the Dragonborn smile against his cheek before kissing it. A short little whine left his lips as Dukaan dragged his cock out and pushed all the way back in, and with a hint of eagerness Miraak pushed back against him when he did it again. 

"Oh, yes, please moan into my ear," Dukaan groaned. "I want to hear everything, darling." He took this as initiative to speed up, matching the pace with his hand wrapped around the Dragonborn's shaft, fingering his tip while the slap of his hips became audible. Miraak immediately opened the floodgates for an endless stream of moans and whimpers, all an octave or two higher than his normal voice, his fingers latching again into Dukaan's hair. With his leg held up and his torso twisted back he was in an odd position, but didn't seem to care. And then, finally- 

 

"Oh... fuck, that feels so good." It was a groan, loud and low against his ear, and as soon as he said it Dukaan rammed his hips forward. Miraak's breath caught in a pathetic whine. "Fuck me that hard, or I'll-"

"You're in no position to be making demands, my love," Dukaan growled. Without thinking he drew one hand back and let it fall harshly against the Dragonborn's ass, eliciting a short yelp.

 

Despite his words he plowed upwards into Miraak exactly as hard as he wanted, judging his pleasure by the pitch and volume of each noise he made. A million filthy things flew through his mind but he settled on the kinder ones, appreciatively rubbing the sphere of the other man's rear before slapping it again. Some day I'm going to bend you over my knee and spank the cocky bastard right out of you, Miraak Althëasson.  

 

"You are so tight," he whispered, "so tight, all for me, beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that before? How pretty and tight your ass is?" In a show of affection he clasped the Yokudan to his chest and found the crook of his neck to kiss. 

"Dukaan, I-I-" Miraak swallowed down a guttural moan as the other Priest finally lifted his head, chestnut brown eyes wide open and set with determination. For a moment it was all Dukaan could do to examine the pitifully submissive expression on his lover's face, open and completely unguarded. So beautiful. A thin film of sweat covered his forehead and his bottom lip was swollen from being bitten and sucked to try and contain himself. The steady jerk of his body, the hard breaths leaving his lips, the way his eyes fluttered and rolled when he moaned--it was almost too much. All things he had never seen Miraak do before, he was seeing now, in complete openness and vulernability. "Please cum inside me," he murmured, and Dukaan nearly shouted. 

 

"Only if you look at me when you cum," he whispered back. "I want to see your face the moment you spill in my hand, and I want to know what you look like when all my cum is inside you." He blushed again, bit his lip again, and nodded once.

 

It took another hit to his ass, a bruising kiss, and pressing his hips flush against the edge of the counter for Dukaan to pound him properly, and he could've shouted again when Miraak whined his name, once, then twice. His pace was frantic around the Dragonborn's cock and finally he came, roughly, his body going taut as a rope and hips slamming the counter hard enough they would bruise, thrusting his weeping tip deep into Dukaan's palm as hot cum painted the Roscrean's closed fist. Dukaan peered over his shoulder and opened his palm to see the mess, and Miraak moaned his name again, and without thinking he grabbed the Yokudan's hip and held him still as he thrusted into him at a dizzying pace before his cock seized and throbbed and shot out a thick rope of cum, one after the other. 

 

He looked up at just the right time. Miraak's face was both twisted and smooth, his brows knit high together but his mouth agape, his eyes rolling before squeezing shut, his jaw loose but neck rigid. It took a moment and a couple of hard thrusts but finally Dukaan slowed and lightened his hold on the other man's hip. Heavy panting filled the kitchen and he stroked the First Dragonborn's cock languidly before letting his leg down. "You look so hot when you cum," he admitted with a weary chuckle. Miraak leaned forward onto his elbows to catch his breath, for a moment affording the Roscrean with a view of him bent over, and the slowly fading crimson handprints on his skin. Dukaan thrusted shallowly into him, catching the way his legs trembled. "You look so good when you're full."

 

When Miraak stood straight again he pressed himself back into the man behind him, allowing his chin to be grabbed and turned so he could be kissed. The other Priest's hands roamed his body slowly, soothingly. "So, the mighty Miraak Althëasson is finally brought off his pedestal," he teased. "What would your little Nord think?" 

"No," Miraak muttered—a fifth time. "You will keep this to yourself if you value your life, Roscrean."

"Of course. I only joke." Dukaan patted his stomach lightly. In truth he was shocked and somewhat honored Miraak had seen fit to let himself be taken. Seen fit to let Dukaan to be the one to do it. He wouldn't forget his anytime soon, but he, of course, would keep the memory of that face locked tightly behind his lips. He could tell a tale if Miraak had been the one to dominate him, but the other way around...well, it was simply protecting his most tender feelings. That, Dukaan knew, was of the utmost importance to Miraak. "Thank you, my love. You are wonderful in every way." The Yokudan merely hummed in response. 

 

"Allow me one last victory?" 

"Hm?" 

"I am going to carry you upstairs," Dukaan smiled brightly against his neck. 

"No you are not. Do you know how much I weigh?" 

"And then I am going to clean you off, and sit in a hot bath with you, and rub your shoulders and kiss you until you fall asleep." Lightly he turned Miraak in his arms, winding his limbs around the other man. "And then I am going to carry you to bed, and kiss you, and let you sleep until your little wife gets home."

Miraak looked skeptical. "Oh, come now. You can't weigh much more than Vahlok?" The Yokudan laughed quietly, a genuine smile taking over his features.

"My brother is a twig. I do not think you can carry me, but-" he was cut off as Dukaan hefted him into his arms with a short grunt, and he looked down in surprise. "But you can certainly try." Happily the Miraak wound his arms and legs around the other Priest, nuzzling into his neck. Yes, a bath sounded good right now. 

 

"You are heavier than I expected." 

"I told you, you oaf."

Chapter 7: NSFW Alphabet (Miraak)

Notes:

i got bored, and couldn't decide if i should write this in terms of "you", "his partner", or "tharya", so just assume anything here goes for all three. may update later if i decide i want it to be tharya-centric

A - Aftercare 

 

Although he very much enjoys the afterglow, Miraak is practically the king of aftercare. Give him a minute or two to relax himself and he’ll immediately be there for his partner, asking if they need anything, cleaning them up, getting them tea or bringing them to a hot bath. He loves loves loves to cuddle. He generally doesn’t ask for much but sometimes he will want a massage or to have his hair played with.

B - Body part

 

On himself he obviously enjoys his dick but also his chest and hands. He enjoys his partner touching his chest because it is the center of his power, more or less—since his Voice is not pure and harmonious like Tharya, his Thu’um is a much more throaty, bellowing sound that almost always originates in his chest.

 

On his partner, he’ll adore anything, but he is definitely a legs/ass man so he’ll always pay close attention to those.

C - Cum

 

Man cums a lot. He has a lot of stamina so it may take a couple normal people orgasms for this behemoth to blow. He always wants to cum inside his partner, but will oblige requests for belly, backshots, chest and face.

 

D - Dirty Secret

 

Honestly? He doesn’t have many. Once he gets more comfortable out of Apocrypha, Miraak is very open with his sexuality—it’s a big part of him and also him as a Dragon Priest, so he has never really been ashamed of it. He’ll tell his partner most things up front.

That being said, he would be 1000% into play wrestling as a kind of foreplay. The power trip, the playful vibe, the possibilities are endless.

 

E - Experience

 

So, let’s get one thing straight: in personal canon Miraak is a Priest of the Moth/School of the Moth, aka, a Dibellan Priest. Dibellan priests were much more versatile in ye Olden Dayes; he was in regular attendance for religious ceremonies which very often involved orgies, ritual sex and bathing, tantra, and whatever the Atmoran equivalent of the Kama Sutra was. On top of it, he had two concubines. On top of that , he’s a pansexual disaster on fire.

So he has lots of experience.

 

F - Favorite position

 

Easily his favorite position is spooning--it's intimate, close, usually puts him around his partner's neck/ear area (perfect for the filthy shit he says), and gives him good access and good control. He also has go-tos like missionary (he will pull your legs every which way in this one) and cowgirl, loves to have someone ride him, and would go for a mating press occasionally. He will fuck standing up to show off his strength, and his partner is expected to notice it. Though he doesn’t hate it he doesn’t tend to go for positions like doggy style.

G - Goofy

 

Believe it or not, he can be pretty talkative. That doesn’t always necessarily translate to being funny, since most of it is dirty talk or praise, and as a Dibellan priest there is a certain level of reverence that he believes belongs in sex. However he isn't always stone cold serious; he would enjoy seeing his partner smiling, and making sex a light, carefree affair.

 

H - Hair

 

He’s Yoku-Atmoran. He’s hairy. Man is a bear but it isn’t uncomfortable (at least, he's fine with it). He goes to great lengths to keep himself clean and presentable without altering his natural state. His partner can pull his hair (on his noggin) as hard as they want, but he’ll usually not pull theirs. Steer clear of the chest hair though, too many people have ripped out arm/chest hair by accident and that shit hurts.

 

I - Intimacy

 

Miraak is...surprisingly intimate. It’s probably a result of his Dibellan priesthood, but even when he’s bruising someone’s hips and purpling their skin he’ll hold their hands and tell them how good they are or how beautiful they look and muster up the best kisses. He loves holding hands during sex, and loves being physically close to/as wrapped up with his partner as much as he can be.

 

J - Jack off

 

This is a bit of a risky venture; in Apocrypha he learned very quickly that any kind of self-touching was a blatant invitation to Hermaeus Mora, and thus, hasn’t done it in a while. He gets used to it again out of Apocrypha (ESPECIALLY after meeting Tharya OOF that's like the first person he's seen in years and he can't decide if he wants to hold her hand or fuck her senseless) but it still sets him on edge. If you ask him to jack off for you he happily will, because that is a safe environment, or if he’s particularly needy he will take a scorching hot and unusually long shower.

 

K - Kink

 

Oh man, where to begin? Size kink size kink size kink. Smaller than him? Perfect. He’ll rail you. Doesn’t matter if you’re skinny or chubby or fat, if you’re smaller than him (which most people are), you’re good. He also has a big breeding kink (see: cum) though he’s sterile. A praise kink, but it’s subtle. Not sure if cockwarming is a kink but that too? He likes overstimulating people too, but only sometimes.

 

L - Location

 

Usually in private. Doesn’t matter what the room is, as long as it’s private. He hates being interrupted, but will sometimes take risks at the edges of his/your comfort zone.

 

M - Motivation

 

Despite the copious amounts of sex in his past life, he just spent 4400 years in Oblivion. His sex drive was already fairly high, and once he gets comfortable out of Apocrypha it’s fairly high again. But if you bend over arcane enchanters even the slightest bit, beware.

 

N - No

 

He will not do anything on himself that involves bondage or choking; he’s had enough of that and he hates feeling powerless, oftentimes it will remind him too much of Apocrypha. However he will oblige if his partner wants to be tied up, but not with rope, generally with magic or ribbon—things that break easily. He will touch his partner's neck or put his hand on it (see: dirty secret) but will never grip it. He also doesn’t enjoy degradation of any kind, whether spewing it or receiving it. He will not fuck in public, and lack of consent is very obviously a no.

 

O - Oral

 

Miraak was legendary within Dibellan follower circles for his sex, his dick, but also his mouth. He will devour you and it will be the best thing since sliced bread. Don’t be too surprised if you’re spent from just him giving oral (he’s not surprised either); he will swallow all your cum and dive right back in.

On himself, he knows with his size it can be difficult, so he’ll happily take whatever you can give but he won’t force it. If you manage to astound the world by deepthroating or even just taking most of him he will have to consider options about using your mouth to cockwarm. It’s not exactly about how much, but what you do with what you can take.

 

P - Pace

 

Absolutely willing to do anything. He’s sexy dom dream daddy, but he’s also a big service dom. Whatever pace you want, he’ll give it to you. Generally, he settles for something deep and medium in speed.

 

Q - Quickie

 

Doesn’t like them. Prefers to take his time (again because he’s a Dibellan priest, there is some amount of reverence in sex) and will try to avoid doing quickies unless absolutely needed. That being said, he's horny almost 100% of the time, so the chance they happen isn't totally 0.

 

R - Risk

 

As said before, he prefers private areas for sex, but sometimes he gets a little cocky. He’s not entirely against a long-lasting invisibility spell and fucking you in some hall in the Blue Palace, as long as you can stay quiet. He doesn’t often, but he may use magic (or a telepathic connection, if you’re a mage) to tease you in public/around other people.

 

(In case this is also referring to other risks) he's sterile, so there's no risk of impregnating someone, as much as he may want to.

 

S - Stamina

 

Mans is kind of a sex god. Also legendary for his stamina. Atmorans are famously large, but Yokudans are famously impossible to kill. Miraak can go for anywhere between 2-4 rounds (keep in mind one of his orgasms equals about two of anyone else’s), but he will rest a bit probably after 3.

T - Toys

 

Not against them, but doesn’t use them often. Sometimes the urge hits him and he will, maybe using something made of magic or, if you’re feeling adventurous, made of ice by his talented hands. He prefers using himself to pleasure his partner.

 

U - Unfair

 

He actually enjoys teasing his partner in public--not necessarily by touching them, but with his words. He'll whisper stuff in their ear or use their telepathic connection at the WORST times. But in bed he's ultimate service dom--anything they want, it's theirs, any time, any way.

 

V - Volume

 

Loud. He sees no reason to keep himself quiet, and actually quite likes hearing himself moan. The longer and more rounds you go, whether he's on top or bottom, he WILL get more whimpery. He will hope his partner is the same, and will probably stay more quiet if they don’t make much sound.

 

W - Wild Card

 

Because Miraak is a different kind of Dragonborn than, say, Tharya or even Alessia, he is much more draconic than them. He makes rumbly noises that don’t sound entirely human (don’t be scared of it, just think of it like a huge, dangerous cat purring), and also has an odd state between human and dragon where, while still in his human form, golden scales cover parts of his body. Generally his arms and neck, though they sometimes go lower. These scales will definitely make an appearance during sex sooner or later, and they don’t mean anything bad; in fact, the scales are an indicator of immense emotion, so he’s feeling something very strong for or towards you whenever they do appear.

 

You are allowed to rake your nails over them, but he will go a little feral.

 

X - X-ray

 

Atmorans are famed for their great stature and great dicks. Though shorter than his kinsmen because of his Yokudan blood, he is no different. He’s veiny with the perfect amount of girth and (as much as I’d like to give him a massive dong, let’s be realistic, I literally had to do research for this) about 7.5" (maybe 8" if I want to abandon reality). By normal standards, he's in like the 95th percentile already, but normal standards don't have Atmorans. As aforementioned, my man is hairy, but he goes to extra lengths to keep himself well groomed and probably misuses a lot of spells to get a close cut down there.

Y - Yearning

 

We already decided his sex drive is fairly high. Not crazy high, but above average, mostly because of the fact that he’s willing to have sex at any moment of the day or night. Again, since Miraak is a Special Kinda Dovahkiin, he inherited the dragons’ territorial personality and thus will always want to be around his partner. If it turns into sex, who cares. He doesn’t.

 

Z - Zzz

 

Generally, Miraak will only fall asleep after sex if it’s nighttime, early in the morning, or he’s feeling particularly lazy. Other times he’ll doze off a little with his partner, or stay up and talk to them, before (reluctantly) getting up and going about his day. If his partner falls asleep afterwards, no matter what time of day, he will stay in bed to stroke their hair and their face—both keeping his own watch while they sleep, and getting his daily quota of tender moments in.

Chapter 8: Dii Mul Gein (Skyrim)

Notes:

so, i've decided i will say fuck it & post all the bits of non-contextual & sometimes unfinished smut i have floating around simply because i want to :^)

He carefully pressed his thumb over the tip and dragged it down, smearing precum as far as he could before stroking upwards again. That was easy, then. After a moment she pushed his hand away and replaced it with hers.
"Usually I would use all the fluid from your pretty, soaking pussy on myself," he purred into her hair, but she didn't miss the uneven cadence of his tone. "You make for excellent lubrication, little one. Smothering my cock in your heat..." he left that thought unfinished, but the growl that followed was certainly enough to guess at how he felt about that.

Groaning deeply, he pushed her hand away and replaced it with his own. She was alright with that--he could finish himself off if he wanted to. Moth Priest aside, she was a little surprised to see how shameless he was about touching himself. 

Scooting upwards she settled by his head, dragging her fingers lightly over his chest, his collarbones, even his throat. Up the line of his jaw and over her lips, stopping only when his mouth fell open and he sucked both fingers in, closing his teeth around them when she tried to retreat.
"Take notes," he breathed against her hand, "for when you have my cock in your little mouth." 

Heat flared in her face as he set to work, tongue lathing over each finger, each knuckle with expert ease. His free hand wrapped diligently around her wrist to keep her there. The wet heat of his mouth was something she'd experienced only in kisses, but this time it was completely different. He was sucking the salt straight off her skin and, as she felt by the clench of his throat, swallowing it greedily. Part of her was sure that was just for show--he did intend to have her lips around his cock someday, and he would expect she would learn from this. He only slowed when a rumbly moan escaped his throat and his eyes fluttered closed, brow knit together. Scraping his teeth over her knuckles as she drew them away, he licked his spit-wet lips with a lewd slowness that didn't match the way his body twitched, eager to orgasm.

"Say it," he rasped, "gods, say it." Her face grew hot again. He certainly was shameless, wasn't he? He wanted her to...? "Little one," came his voice again, this time more of a command than a request. It sent shivers straight to her core. "You do as I say."

In one energetic move he slipped his arm around her and shifted his legs to roll them over, balancing himself on one arm.
"And if I want you to tell me to cum for you, those should be the only words leaving your lips," he growled, hovering close to her face. The wet sounds of him jerking himself off had reached a crescendo, a maximum, and she knew he would be beyond disappointed--maybe even a little aggravated--if she didn't comply. It was a shocking request, true, but one he had no intention of letting her wiggle out of.

Chewing her underlip, she took his flushed face in both cool hands, watching him grin as he examined her scarlet blush. 
"Miraak..." with a pitched moan he leaned down to press his head into her neck, shoulders flexing nicely with the movement. She had to. Moving her lips close to his ear, she swallowed her nerved in one go. "Cum for me, dii mul gein." 

With a final moan his teeth clamped on her shoulder, body drawing tight as a wire, before she felt the first spurts of hot seed skim over her belly.

With her stomach painted white he allowed himself to relax, shaking arms pushing up one last time so he could sit on his heels and examine her. Golden eyes slid slowly over her form as if she was the one who'd just had a breath-stealing orgasm, eyeing the shirt pushed up to her chest and the newly-gifted silk underwear now duly soaked through. His entire face settled into a lazily content grin.

"You're good to me," he mumbled finally, "you paint a pretty picture when you're decorated with my seed." Spreading both hands against her belly, Miraak watched with sharp eyes as he massaged it into her skin, warm and sticky hands sliding up to caress her breasts under the shirt. "No," he shook his head, "no, I like filling you more." 

Hot fingers danced downwards to press ever so lightly against the fabric over her folds, rubbing slowly back and forth before hooking into her underwear and starting to drag it away. She let him maneuver her legs to his liking to get it off and spent the entire time gazing at her clit until he lifted each ankle to his lips and kissed it.

"Now," he said in a low voice, hiking each knee over his shoulder as he shifted downwards, "be a good girl and spread your legs for me."

Chapter 9: Untitled (Skyrim)

Notes:

my smut writing has just gotten increasingly more vulgar over the years, i think i'm hitting a peak where i just don't care to sugar coat things anymore

"Are you that loud, little one?" He snorted just as he ground his hips forward against hers, aided by the fact that her legs were spread to accommodate his waist so he could press the outline of his half-hard cock against her. 
"I-I--no, don't be that way," she spluttered, cheeks heating ferociously. 
"Having trouble with your words, princess?" He cooed, rocking steadily against her folds, just tantalizingly enough where she could readily feel his length. All of it. 
"No," she inhaled and then quickly chewed her lip to bite down a pathetic noise. He drew back and then forward again, breathing out slowly through his nose. 
"I can wait all day," he chortled. "Can you?"
"Y-yes," she tried to sound firm but it faltered when he pressed his groin flush against her, dipping his head to bite at her earlobe.
"Are you sure?" Miraak purred, voice low and sultry. "Are you sure you could go a whole day thinking about my cock and how good it would feel to let me make love to you, a whole day without doing anything about, it?" Her shaky inhale was enough to make him chuckle again. "A whole day without my fingers stretching you out or touching your clit just the way you like, just the way to make you squirm and cum on my hand. Hm?" Her neck arched as she pressed her head back against the pillow. She would not make a noise. "A whole day without my head between your thighs, eating you up, devouring you, putting my tongue in you...sucking on your pussy, biting on your pink little clit until you get to cum in my mouth. Do you think you can go the whole day without that?"

"Can you?" She countered in a weak voice, feeling his erection twitch against her folds even with the conjoined barrier of their underwear keeping them apart. 
"We'll see," he growled. "But can you go a day without all that? Or without my mouth on you? Who kisses you just the way you like with tongue, princess? And who stretches you out so well on his cock, who lets you take all of it, who fills your little belly up with cum when you ask? Who stuffs your pretty pussy full when you get him hard like this?" Another hard roll of his hips and she gasped at the feeling. Fully hard and straining to be welcomed by her insides. "Tell me. Who fucks you so well, little one? Who pounds into you until you're satisfied, hm? Who spends his nights pumping you full of his cum like a good priest should for his goddess? Tell me. Who touches you just the way you want to be touched?"

Swallowing against her dry throat, Tharya shut her eyes and carefully threaded her fingers into his hair, allowing herself, finally, a soft mewl at the sensation of his cock rubbing against her.
"You," she whispered finally.
"Who takes care of you and lets you cum when you want to, hm?"
"You," she repeated, softer. "You, you. I w-want...you."
"Good girl," he rumbled, nipping at her neck. "Good girl. I do. Now tell me what you want me to do. Where you want me to touch. I'll take care of you if you tell me." That was a promise she couldn't afford to slip up on. Take care of you. Gods, yes, she wanted his sex. She wanted his hands and his tongue and most importantly, his dick pressing into her. The very thought of it made her whimper.
"Wherever you want," she whispered. Miraak only clicked his tongue.
"Tell me," he repeated. 

Hesitantly she took one of his hands and slid it down her body, trying to close her thighs around his hips tighter. With his palm cupping her soaked sex she swallowed again.
"Here," she breathed, "p-please." He hummed in delight.

Chapter 10: Firsts (Skyrim)

Notes:

woah, something a little soft? unheard of in this fic

He tossed her underwear away with a jerk of his head and squeezed her ankles in either hand and pulling her legs apart, gaze falling with a hungry growl on the untouched pussy waiting for him. 

Tharya brought her legs together so hard he heard her kneecaps knock against each other, both hands scrambling down to cover herself with a small shriek.
"Miraak!" He frowned before looking up at her, and any semblance of disappointment melted away. Flushed scarlet from chest to hairline, her eyes were glittering with small tears, her breaths erratic and frequent as the beating of hummingbird wings. He growled again, but this time it was accompanied by a cold shudder as scales slid over his arms. A single song came from his dovah: Protect. Stop and protect. 

"Here, princess," he said softly, leaning down onto his elbows to kiss her hot forehead. "Relax. Relax. I'm here. We can stop."
"No, I-" she squeaked, shifting tightly below him. "It's not th-that." She took a stabilizing breath once he started stroking her cheek, hovering worriedly above her thrumming body. "I just wasn't expecting that." Ah. He was a looker, always one to take his time in admiring a lover no matter their state of dress--or undress. After a moment he cursed himself. He should've known  something like that would set her racing.
"I am sorry, little one," Miraak whispered. "I did not intend to make you uncomfortable." He pressed a light kiss to her warm lips. "I am glad you told me."
"N-no," she whispered back. "I mean, yes, but...I don't know. It was just surprising. Being-" she cleared her throat meekly. "Looked at."

After a moment he chuckled and nodded in understanding.
"I will try to curtail my habits then," he smiled. Another heavy breath--this one maybe of relief--and she smiled back.
"It's okay. I'm sorry I'm so jumpy." Her hands retreated and lightly touched his chest. "Any sex I've had was really boring so, um--no one's ever...done this." 
"Don't apologize, darling," he hummed, nudging his nose against hers. Her fingers trailed carefully up his arms, a familiar action, a comfortable action. She looked a little puzzled by the appearance of his scales. "If you need something of me, just pull my hair. Hard."
"But that-"
"Will hurt, yes, and get my attention." He kissed her again, feeling that the heat radiating off her body had subdued somewhat. After a moment she nodded.
"Okay. It's been a long time. Just, um..." squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped his shoulders tightly. "Just please be gentle with me." Even so close to her he almost didn't hear the request, such a soft and faraway whisper. 
"I would not dream of being anything else, my love." He pressed his forehead against hers. "I will take care of you." Grinning, he held up his pinky. "Promise." She smiled faintly and hooked her little finger with his. "Now relax. Unclench your muscles. Regain your breath." 

Kissing his way down her body again, starting in the hollow of her throat and then down over the silk covering her breasts, the soft flesh of her belly, and treating the silvery stretch marks of her inner thighs to some love, he found himself exactly where he had started.

Hesitating a moment he grabbed her hands, fisted into the rug, and placed them firmly on his head, humming approval when little fingers curled gently into his hair. When he glanced up she wasn't watching him--which meant he could watch her. Gods, four years he had waited to take this woman to bed and at long last he could. He merely pursed his lips to kiss her clit as lightly as he could, relishing in the shiver that made her legs slide around him. Four years. He had not minded the wait, not truly. He would wait forever if she asked him to. It was the first time he remembered ever having patience. And now, now he could love her in every way he knew. Show her just how much he worshiped her in every way possible. 

Spreading one hand against her belly, he dragged a finger of his other hand carefully through her delicate folds. He would go slower than he could make time go with his Shout if she asked him to. He would take the whole day like this, just kissing her, if she asked. Absently he began stroking her belly, rubbing his warm palm over soft skin. Just be gentle with me. He seared those words into his brain, the face she had made when she uttered them. 

Another shiver as he dragged his finger back and forth, edging his way towards the same kind of firmness he'd use with his tongue. Gods, he would get to taste her. That alone sent a rush of blood to his cock. Slowly he uncurled his middle finger as well and used both to spread her labia, dropping the thumb of the hand on her stomach to press against the nub of her clit. With all three fingers he massaged that pussy into opening for him, unable to take his eyes off the slick wetness sliding out of her. She must've liked that, because her hips fluttered and a soft, gorgeous sound left her throat far above him. He couldn't help himself.

"Like that, princess?" His only reply was a whine. How much could he say? How much could she take? "Do you want me to talk to you?" A little laugh.
"You know I hate awkward silence." Her words were hitched at the end as he flicked carefully at her clit, bringing a smile to his lips. He kissed her again.
"Good girl." He had no fingers inside her but still he felt her walls flutter at that. "Can I call you that?" She sighed pleasantly.
"Y-yes." 
"Perfect." Another kiss, another flick and a generous, gentle roll under the pad of his thumb. "You're such a pretty little thing." Slowly, he found his lips making love to her folds, talking aimed for her very core. "So wet for me already, princess."

Her hips moved again and she whimpered out a soft agreement, kneading his scalp in her hands. At least she liked him talking to her. He couldn't imagine the strain of trying to keep all his filthy words to himself.

Just as she started to move, stopping her regular kneading of his hair and let her legs slip over his shoulders, he pressed his tongue out past his lips and licked her slowly but surely, pausing only to tease her bud on the very tip of his tongue before reverting back to kissing. The gasp that left her was heavenly, and the moan after it, stunningly divine. Treating her clit with hid thumb still he flicked his tongue out again. Kitten licks devolved into long stripes, wetting even his fingers holding her open, and then eventually he tilted his head just so and dove into her in earnest. Carefully, of course. Gently. Just like he'd promised. But enough to make her squirm. 

The noises she made were godly, all high-pitched and embarrassed but all oozing pure pleasure. He was sure he'd never heard anything more beautiful in his life than the first time she whined his name, thighs squeezing around his ears just a moment after. He placed both hands against her stomach and then felt her grab his wrists, hips fighting between squirming away and rutting into his mouth. He let her take his hands, palms pressed together and fingers laced, squeezing and pulling them just like her thighs pushed at him and then sucked him back in.

He let his tongue swipe across her pussy, prod and soothe and suckle the delicate flesh, devouring her in the kindest way possible. Her spine arched and she writhed as best she could with his hands holding her in place. The squeeze around his head from her thighs sent a blood rush straight to his crotch. 

"Ah--Miraak--Miraak!" All good cries, as far as he knew. She hadn't pulled his hair yet. Later they could talk about a word to use. Her orgasm broke like a dam, flooding his tongue as her hips drew tense, and he lapped it all up greedily. Yes, gods yes, he did. She tasted like the stars. He sucked her clit into his mouth as she came and cleaned her folds off nicely until they glistened with his saliva, and only his saliva. She didn't grab his hair, but the small urgency with which she let go of his hand and made a fist at his scalp told him to draw back. Slowly, he did, retracting his tongue and letting his hot breath pant against her as he rubbed her thighs to loosen them. 

Groaning as he sat up, he stretched himself out over her again and captured her lips.
"You have such a pretty pussy," he rumbled, and she mewled pitifully into his mouth at the praise. "Such a good girl for me. Did it feel good to cum on my tongue?" A somewhat frantic nod. "Good." He leaned in to kiss her again. "Was I gentle enough?" This time she hummed and put her arms around his neck with a smile. "Good." Then he'd kept his promise. That was all he cared about.

She gasped a little when he sat back on his knees, eyes falling briefly to the hard bulge in his pants before flickering back up to him as if he hadn't seen it.
"What about you?" 
"Another time, princess," he said softly, kissing her forehead. "I want to go slow." She nodded--of course. For all his hard work he could make conditions too. Slow worked just fine with her. 
"Okay." She felt her spine loosen when he spread one hand over her belly to rub it. "I'm not sure I could fit that anyway."

He grinned against her ear as he laid down beside her, dragging his fingertips over her hips.

"Oh, you will, princess. Soon."

Chapter 11: Modern AU (Skyrim)

Notes:

just some old modern au hookup stuff i found floating about :^) as much as i enjoy vulgar miraak, i very much more enjoy the sexy soft miraak. time to write more of him

She has never felt particularly strong about her shower but right now it feels like the best place on Nirn, with this behemoth of a man--a stranger--rocking his hips gently but rhythmically against her, the girth and pure length of his cock still hitting every spot she didn't even know she had til they met last night. His arms are holding her legs up and apart, but slowly they are creeping around her to hold her in a strangely intimate embrace. Since he is so tall, the water doesn't reach her except in faint sprays and steam racing into her lungs. 
"You're so good and tight for me, little one," he praises in a soft voice, both large hands now holding her from below, the bottom of her thighs. She can't help the mewl that escapes her at those words--who knew she would be such a sucker for good praise? His lips curl in a faint smile against her ear. 

After a moment he rearranges them, hiking her legs around his hips and grasping her hands, pulling them upwards and pressing them against the hot tile below his palms. His hips begin to pick up and his lips dip to kiss the corner of her mouth, then her cheek and neck, suckling delicately on her skin as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him. And he didn't even know her name. A groan escapes him, sexy and throaty, when she clenches around him, her knees twitching. 
"Good girl," he croons, dragging his tongue over her lips before pressing it into her mouth and kissing her passionately. His hips pick up another notch and she can feel her back sliding against the shower wall.
"Ah- ah-"
"You make such pretty noises." His eyes are open, half-lidded and glazed with sex and sleep but open. She fights to keep hers open too, catching his gaze as he fucks her and not letting go.

Tharya tries to squeeze his hands but they're so much bigger than hers, her fingers are trapped under his palms. He chuckles and mumbles something she doesn't hear. 
"Can you wait just a little longer for me, baby girl?" He whispers through another groan, tossing his head back. "Achté. Tight little thing." But her stomach is clenching and her vision is hazy and no, she doesn't really think she can hold in an orgasm, as much as she wants to. Simply because he asked. He moans, a rumbly but pleasant and open noise, and his composure starts to slip. She digs her nails into his palms.
"Ah-mm...I can't," she whines, toes curling as his cock drives into her with purpose, and a wet slap reaches her ears. "I can't...please..." he grunts and then smirks.
"Cum for me then, little one. Cum all over my cock." Tenderly he touches her nose with his. "But look at me when you do."

As with everything he says, she obeys, struggling to keep her eyes open and her face flushing as he watches her contort with an orgasm. Her hips buck up into his just as he thrusts into her, sending dazzling stars into her eyes. He moans again and releases her hands when her arms strain against his, pries her off the wall, holds her close to his chest and slams his whole cock into her once, twice. Again. Again. It rattles her orgasm out of control as her cervix is touched each time, her whole body jolting in his steel grip.
"Can I?" He breathes with effort, looking at her with glazed eyes. "Can I fill you up, princess?"

Before she even knows what she's doing she nods vehemently, a chorus of please leaving her lips as his skin slaps hers again. 
"Ah, fuck-" he shoves into her one last time and she feels his seed coat her insides hotly, strong arms curling around her with a tight grasp. "Fuck," he repeats quieter, dropping his cheek to rest against her temple. His cock twitches delightfully inside her and he gyrates his hips a little, spreading his cum, pushing it in. All she has the brains to do is whine and claw at his chiseled back, panting into his beard. "Oh, you're so good, princess," he sighs, thrusting shallowly into her. "So good." 

Vaguely she's aware of him stroking her back and turning so she can get some of the water, rubbing it into her skin while his cock softens inside of her but he doesn't pull out. Twice this man has made love to her and each time it has been nothing short of amazing. 
"Does that feel good?" He hums, rubbing her hair.
"Mhm," she sighs into his shoulder.
"Good." After a while he reaches down to pull his cock out of her, chuckling when her legs tighten around his waist and her brows scrunch. "Don't worry, little one. Just for now." He seals this promise with a gentle kiss against her wet lips. 

Reluctantly he puts her down. Her feet are all pins and needles but she obliges, turning into the water to wash her face and soak her hair. His hands slide appreciatively over her skin, pausing to let his fingertips glide across her entrance and gather the fluid leaking from her. She twitches a little and behind her he sighs in content with his fingers in his mouth. 
"You've got great legs," he purrs against her ear, grinning before pulling away. One hand draws back to deliver a playful slap to her ass and he immediately grips the cheek in his hand, kneading it lovingly. Well, at least she knows which part of the body he likes most. 
"You've got great pecs," she retorts, and he bellows out a laugh that makes the steam dance.

Chapter 12: A Report (Dragon Age)

Notes:

less spicy but i may expand on it later on!

When Blackwall went up to the Inquisitor's quarters he didn't exactly know what to find; Azriel had said she was always available to them, no matter time of day or night. What Blackwall had forgotten was that she was an engaged woman—silly of him to forget, after he'd spent so many nights lusting for her suntanned body and perfect lips—and that meant her quarters were only partially hers.

She shared them with her betrothed, one Prince of Starkhaven. 

But these thoughts were not passing through his mind when he passed the threshold of her rooms and went up the three flights of stairs required to step into the chamber itself, and they weren't crossing his mind until he saw a bronze-skinned figure in a red satin robe standing between a pare of bare legs and kissing those fantastically perfect lips with a lover's passion. Experimentally, and he didn't know why, the Warden cleared his throat.

Neither of them jumped. Were they used to such interruptions? Sebastian twisted his head and Azriel's lavender eyes fixed on him from where she sat perched on the corner of her own desk. She was wearing a robe too, significantly shorter, pale blue in color. The fabric rested against the highest point of her thighs, just an inch or so below where her legs met her hips. 
"I have a report," he blurted stupidly. Stupid, stupid, that's what he was. He tore his eyes off the Inquisitor—engaged, engaged, married, her fiancé is standing right there—and looked instead at Sebastian, expecting his usually calm face to be drawn together in anger. It was not. Actually, he was smirking. Or grinning. Or smiling slyly, it was hard to tell. Blackwall held no particular feelings for others of his sex but he was not so proud as to admit when his fellow men looked good; and Sebastian did look good, with red satin draped over his bronze Antivan skin, sleeves hiding strong archer's arms but the open front revealing a smooth and toned torso.

His auburn hair was a little mussed and wavy, but strangely the image of him without armor and his usual clean-cut appearance did not at all detract from his air of elegant, subtle power.

"Bring it over," Azriel made a lazy motion with her hand, ring flashing in the morning light. Oh Maker. Bring it over. Blackwall felt those words tug at his very being, at his very core, at the ache he was battling between his legs. Stiffly and soldierly he marched to the Inquisitor seated like an exotic queen on her desk, her bare legs strong and beautiful and long and smooth and entirely irresistible for his traitorous eyes. Very aware Sebastian was watching his every movement, blink and breath of air, Blackwall handed the report to Azriel, and took very many, very large steps backwards.

"What is it?" Sebastian wondered aloud, moving to stand beside the Warden. When there was no answer the Prince swiveled his head and his bright blue eyes to the bearded man beside him, expecting. "Is it from Commander Rutherford?"
"A report—yes, my lord." His voice was so easy, so cordial. So princely. This was not Sebastian Vael talking, Blackwall had heard that; this was the Prince of Starkhaven. And it was crushingly deliberate. "The first. About Kirkwall, the treaty." The Warden cleared his throat. "And how the men. Are faring." 

For a brief moment he blinked, squeezed his eyes together and then cleared his throat again, willing some natural flow into his words. Please, Andraste, Maker, don't abandon me here with this temptress and her holy statue of a husband. This woman who had haunted his dreams and his bed since Haven. This woman whose adorned left hand had done nothing to quell his filthy thoughts.

"Oh, yes. I've been anticipating this." Azriel said.
"As have I." Sebastian left Blackwall's side to circle behind the Inquisitor, pressing against her back. With blown pupils the Warden watched the Prince tug at the loose bow knot of the Inquisitor's robe. Another tug and the satin arms fell limp and free of one another. This couldn't be happening. Maybe he was expected to leave? But he felt glued to the spot, his boots too heavy to lift from the rug, his eyes unable to find any one thing to focus on. 
"Don't think I'm not still angry with you," Azriel chided to the last son of Vael, who kissed her hair and flattened one hand to her exposed belly. The robe shifted, and Blackwall almost cursed aloud when the side curves of her breasts came into view. As the robe gave more of her away Blackwall was beginning to piece together each image he'd ever had in the dark of the night, each fragment of his shameful midnight imagination. Her breasts—from what achingly little he could see—were just as he thought, full, round, would fit perfectly into one's palms. Her upper body was muscled but lean, her shoulders rounded, her arms and hands strong, even with shining manicured nails. Her thighs gave a hint of fleshiness; they spread against the desk's surface. Her calves were strong and good, sweet, blessed Andraste, even her feet and arches and toes were perfect. 
"Yes, I know you are," Sebastian replied, perching his chin on her shoulder. "I plan to make it up to you."

Andraste's flaming knickers. The Prince slid his hands up to caress her breasts, the robe slipping dangerously on her shoulders. Together, just like that, they read the report, with Sebastian Vael's hands on his lover's chest, kneading and fondling and rolling her nipples between his scarred fingers.

Suddenly Azriel looked up at him, and Sebastian took the chance to nuzzle into her neck and kiss it, tongue lathing over her sunny skin. Smiling politely, she let her cheek rest on her fiance's auburn hair.

"Would you like to stay, Warden?"

Chapter 13: Did You Miss Me? (Skyrim)

Notes:

not as spicy as it could've been, but my brain crapped out :^) it was 3 am

Both hands sneak down to wrap around her thighs and pull them open, squeezing the soft flesh he has so missed as he thrusts into her. Steady and deep. Always deep. Always filling every nook and cranny of her body only the way he can, always spoiling her with his sex, always giving her the best. Holding her legs open proves to be beneficial; she loves to squirm, and after a year of celibacy will probably squirm right off his cock if she moves too much, something he does not have the patience for in this moment. With her legs spread in his iron grip only her hands and hips are free to wiggle as they choose, back arching off his chest, moans of his name sung to the open sky above them.

"Gods, I've missed you, woman," he groans into her shoulder, sinking his teeth into the base of her neck. Using his arm to weigh down one hip he finds her clit on the tips of his fingers, eyes rolling when she jerks and whines his name. There is no poison more potent in the world than listening to his wife make all her pretty sounds.
"Miraak, Miraak-" she gasps and cuts herself off when he rolls the bud between his fingers, paired with a particularly hard thrust that rocks her whole body on top of his. He keeps that up. "I-I-" she's trying to say she missed him too, he realizes with a grin, and promises himself that once she cums he'll give her the chance to form coherent sentences again. As is, with her pussy so tight around him, sucking him back in every time he draws out and fluttering like a vice as he toys with her clit, he's surprised he could form any sentences at all. She makes him forget the words of all seven languages he knows. 

Feeling her body coil tightly, he abandons her other leg as well and lets her thighs snap shut around his wrist, freeing his other hand to drape over her throat. An utterly pleased rumble leaves his chest as the sight and feel of caressing her neck after so long. 
"Good girl, there you go, cum for me," he finds himself whispering without the words ever registering in his head. "Cum for me, princess. You deserve it. Taking my cock so well after a year..." he trails off when she digs her nails into his sides, hard enough to make them hurt even dull as they are, her legs tight and twisted around one another when her body snaps like cut wire. Miraak slows, though he doesn't truly want to, and immediately zeroes in on the sensation of her orgasm gushing over his cock and seeping out to drip along his shaft and fingertips. He is not ashamed to say it almost makes him burst right there and then.

Her fluid is hot and sticky and by the Mighty, delicious as he swipes his digits around her folds and lifts them to his mouth, moaning loudly at the taste of her on his tongue.

"I missed you too," she breathes at last, relaxed against his chest save for the small, gyrating movements of her hips around his cock. She can feel the way he pulses inside of her, in time with his heartbeat, and did not miss the way his eyes rolled back just now when he delivered his coated fingers to his lips. She touches his jaw to turn his face and he obliges, letting her kiss him, kiss the salt off his lips.

With the forest floor as their only bed he wraps one arm snugly around her and sits up, groaning when she sinks back down onto his length. She takes the chance to roll her hips back against him--exactly how many times has she caught herself thinking of riding him whenever they saw each other again?--but stills when he grabs her hips.

"The night is young, my wife," he chuckles against her ear. Rubbing his hands soothingly up and down her sides, Miraak tucks his face into her neck and inhales deeply, letting the sigh out into her shoulder. Even so, he doesn't argue when she continues to move her hips, albeit gently, holding his legs in front of her for support. Large hands move to cradle her breasts and, more reverently, her belly, the bottom of it tight around the bulge of his cock. He rubs her thighs as they flex and shift against him and somehow manages to grab her butt in both hands, earning a pleased groan from the depths of his chest.

"So it is, husband," she giggles--it's been a long time since she's last done that--reaching back to thread her fingers into his hair. Despite the fact he's probably aching to cum Miraak hums and puts his arms around her and lets her massage his scalp.

It takes some maneuvering and no small amount of snickering but she manages to turn herself around in his lap, gently pulling his face down to kiss him again. His hands fist around her butt, unsurprisingly. First to break away she kisses his cheek, his jaw, and the finds herself greeted by the soft expanse of his neck. She always wonders how it's possible for one man to have such a nice neck. 

Rocking her hips slowly again earns a muted sigh from the First Dragonborn. She runs her hands up his torso and caresses his arms, rubs his shoulders, lets her mouth latch gently onto the spot just above his collarbone. 
"If you're going to ride me, woman, you should get on with it," he purrs, "before I toss you down and do it myself." 
"Fussy," she mutters, rolling her eyes. Planting her hands against his chest she gives each pectoral a loving squeeze--just for good measure--before nudging him back. "Lie down then, Mr. Impatient." He doesn't oblige right away, though he does get a good chuckle when she tries to push him. "Listen, your window of opportunity is closing," she chides.
"No it isn't," he hums, kissing her playfully. His lips dip towards her ear. "Because you would always sit on my cock for me if I only ask nicely, prinsaessa, isn't that right?" He coos. 

Squeezing her hips and grinning like a bandit, he finally does as asked and lays down with a sigh against his robe, spread beneath them atop the grass. 
"Go ahead, princess," he teases, spreading his hands against her belly. "Give me a show." His eyes narrow just the slightest bit. "Pleasure yourself on me just like you want to, little one."

Her face hot, Tharya absently wonders how the bastard managed to turn the tables that quickly, and then briefly calculates how long it'll be until she can shove his cheeky butt on a ship back to Hammerfell.

Chapter 14: Day of Rejuvenation (Skyrim)

Notes:

ah yes, more miraak/dukaan content, this time in the merethic era...two things i love most. should i make a tharya version of this??

He’s young and arrogant and you’re getting attached , Zahkriisos had said. Just because he has a pretty face and, what, strong arms, you lose all common sense?

 

As Dukaan enters the Dawn Palace with his robe clutched tightly around him, he replays all of Zahkriisos’s berating in his head. Miraak may be arrogant and more prideful than a peacock, but he isn’t that young. Only seven years Dukaan’s junior, which isn’t much considering Atmoran lifespans, but Zahkriisos’s true complaint had been that Dukaan is technically the Yokudan’s superior Priest in terms of seniority, and technically also his inferior because Miraak is First Mage. Though it doesn’t mean much, if something ever did come up, it could jeopardize any kind of relationship they-

Relationship , Dukaan scoffs at himself. You’re not in a relationship. No, he isn’t. For all their flirting and all Miraak’s filthy little comments, they are not together. The First Mage is a busy man with no time for real attachments, but he seems to have ample time to attend the needs of his acolytes and followers. The Cult of the Rose Dawn is the largest Moth following in the Soulstheim region, and Miraak, generously called the Lord of Dawn , sits at its head with his knees spread and a grin on his plump lips.

But today is the Day of Rejuvenation. Normally Dukaan doesn’t follow the Moth calendar—he himself is an Owl Priest, and Owls don’t have much in the way of holidays—but Miraak had announced he would be away for three days at the Dawn Palace to attend to the ceremonies and observances of the holiday. Ahzidal never stopped berating him for it, and never stopped commenting on how quiet Caecil-Moore seems with the only real threat to his power gone. There are ceremonies, Dukaan knows, not just copious anounts of sex, but healing sessions, comfort services like massages, meditation. At its core, the Day of Rejuvenation is like a day off, a spa day, and a visit to a brothel all in one—Miraak would be upset to hear him say it so crudely, though. He takes being a Moth Priest quite seriously, which Dukaan is glad for. Some Moths (a lot of Moths) are just slippery sex addicts, but Miraak seems to enjoy all parts of his job equally. Healing, meditation, taking care of widows and orphans, officiating marriages, assisting pregnancies and births. It is...strangely beautiful to see a Moth Priest truly devoted to his cause. 

 

The din of voices and people rises as Dukaan is led to an expansive marble bath bordered by columns and open-air hallways on all sides. The bath itself is split down the center by a marble walkway that stops short of the opposite edge. It is there, lounging in the clear water with the sunset framing him divinely, that Miraak sits. 

 

Dukaan doesn't see him at first, though. The attendant who led him in bows and leaves him standing there dumbly on the walk, taking in the scene. There are... lots of naked people. Not everyone; some people wear wispy pink or white undergarments, some wear more solid tunics or gowns of orange and red, others in just their skin. No one is ever forced to undress in the Rose Dawn, nor is anyone forced to... engage , for lack of a better word, in the cult's many activities. The air is light and free of judgement even though Dukaan is wearing a full robe. 

 

The bath is bordered by well-trimmed grass and plants on all four sides, with short trees in bloom, bushes showing blue roses, little flowers peeking through the green. Clutching his robe, he takes a careful step forward. There are so many different people, so many different bodies. Skin colors that range from the deepest Yokudan brown to the fairest Atmoran white and the most vibrant Aldmeri gold, and everything between. Women that could lift Dukaan with one arm, men he could lift with one arm, people with scars, people with birthmarks, people like twigs and people with stretch marks on their curves. Not everyone is hvaing sex, either, though some are. Some people are just chatting and drinking, others are washing each other, some are merely cuddling, others still are relaxing by their lonesome. And then he sees Miraak. 

 

The Lord of Dawn is no different than his followers, but it is the swirling pink paint on his body that distinguishes him from the rest. The markings are foreign to Dukaan but undoubtedly ceremonial; they curl around his muscles and follow the natural lines of his broad body, creating circles around his joints, curving around his pectorals and outlining his ribs, his biceps, his thighs. There are none on his face save for a delicate four-pointed star centered on his forehead, and his lips are glossy and sparkling. Round opals set in gold cling to his earlobes. 

 

On his left is a busty, curvy Yokudan woman with her head shaved and a gem somehow piercing her bottom lip; they are chatting animatedly, and her legs are across his lap, one hand playing with his hair. On his right is a gold-skinned Aldmer man with snowy hair and a pale red birthmark slashing his face, dreamily caressing Miraak’s chest. Dukaan can’t blame him. The man has amazing tits. 

 

Carefully Dukaan unties the front of the robe, watching as Miraak finally notices him standing there. Golden eyes widen before fixing on him, on him alone and nothing else; the Yokudan woman and Aldmer man draped over his arms seem to realize this, and after a moment they wade away together for the illusion of privacy. It leaves only Miraak, sitting with his arms laid across the marble and his knees spread, the pink markings bright and crisp against his dark skin. With ceremonial slowness Dukaan shoulders out of the robe, holding it for a moment before letting it drop around his ankles. He has nothing but his skin underneath. For a desperate moment he wonders why Miraak doesn’t look at him, but just holds his gaze; Dukaan has conditioned and braided his hair like a lovestruck teenager and bathed in oils to make his skin soft for Miraak, waxed his legs for Miraak, trimmed his beard, even put makeup on for Miraak. Then he realizes that the man is just being courteous, smiling steadily at him instead of drooling over his naked body like an amateur.

With sinful grace Miraak stands, the water pooling around his hips, and Dukaan swallows and tries not to drool over him. He wades close and extends both arms up to the Roscrean, helping him off the walkway. The water is crystal clear and warm with flower petals floating about, but it is nothing compared to the embrace of the First Mage’s arms around him. With a fluttering breath Dukaan draws his focus away from the way those muscles feel, wet and warm and strong, the way those biceps close him in, those broad shoulders beg to be kissed, the marbled planes of his abs and the jut of his hips against Dukaan’s softer stomach.

“I can’t return to Caecil-Moore,” Miraak says quietly, still holding him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The shimmery gold pigment on his eyelids sparkles in the sunset. “If that’s what you need.” Disappointment curls in the Owl Priest’s gut.
“No,” he says. “I just came to see what if all the chatter was true.” Miraak stands six inches shorter than him, so he has to angle his head up to be eye-level. He adjusts his gaze and raises an eyebrow.
“Chatter?”
“Oh, you’ve got the Moth circles in an uproar,” Dukaan snickers. “I think they’re finally glad someone who actually follows their doctrine is in charge.” And they don’t stop talking about your dick, he thinks, but leaves that out. Miraak is somewhat revered for his sex, though he probably knows it. Most people Dukaan has discreetly spoken to have called it a religious experience. Now it’s time to put his plan into action—he’ll be his own judge of just how religious an experience it is.

“I’m glad you are here,” Miraak murmurs before the Roscrean can say anything, though, sword-calloused hands wrapping around his hips. His golden eyes flare intensely. “And I’m glad you have no problem dropping your robe in front of everyone.” Oh, Dukaan wants to shriek and melt into his arms right there, but no, he’s seasoned, and older, and he must keep his composure.
“And why is that, sunflower?” He chuckles, rubbing his hands up the Yokudan’s sides.
“Because.” Miraak cranes forward to kiss him once, a promising kiss. “I cannot leave, so if you’re here for me to fuck you, that’ll have to happen in front of everyone as well.”

Oh.

But the bastard is stroking his back as if nothing is abnormal, and they’re both standing there naked as anything in sight of everyone. At least he has paint. Tracing the pink, Dukaan wonders how the water hasn’t washed it away yet. It curves around his chest, slides down his stomach, curls at his hips. He enjoys the prospect of so much power tucked away in this short, muscled frame. That’ll have to happen in front of everyone as well. He runs his hands up those thick arms, grasps those broad shoulders, traces the parallel pink lines traveling up the throat that holds the strongest Thu’um Dukaan has ever felt in his life, and then pulls the First Mage onto his tiptoes to ask for another kiss. Miraak’s mouth is warm, moving expertly with his own, wet, his lips tasting sweet because of the gloss on them. Shamelessly he finds the rest of the Yokudan’s body, careful not to scratch the paint that marks him as special, as divine, sighing when a hot tongue slips past his lips to tangle with his own.

Miraak kisses him until he can’t breathe and pulls away with a gasp, holding the smaller man’s arms for dear life. It isn’t fair to call him smaller, really; though he’s shorter, he’s much...thicker.
“Don’t tell Zahkriisos I came,” Dukaan whispers as the Moth Priest ducks his head to kiss his neck, tongue lathing over his soft skin.
“You haven’t cum yet,” comes the cheeky reply, followed promptly by a teasing bite, a tantalizing suck. One hand wraps around his cock, still embarrassingly soft. With one arm wrapped around Miraak’s neck, Dukaan props one leg over the other man’s hip, gently pressing forward into the hand pleasuring him. The smack of their lips meeting is lewd and wet, leaving saliva draping in strings between them. Forget his dick, his mouth alone is heavenly.

Miraak rolls the head of his cock in his hand, pressing his thumb over the tip in a way that makes Dukaan’s hips stutter. “They’re going to look at you,” he says quietly.
“I don’t care,” he lies. The First Mage growls at that—he likes the idea of taking someone in view of others, then? Of taking Dukaan in front of his followers?
“Then step back,” Miraak rumbles, pressing him in the desired direction. “And spread your legs.” The Roscrean shivers helplessly as he does as asked, his thighs hitting the edge of the walkway that brought him here in the first place. Without a word Miraak lifts him so he’s sitting on it, pushes him back, and grabs his knees to push them apart.

For a moment Dukaan regrets lying, because he can feel the eyes on him, feel the attention on them both, but the difference is Miraak has probably been expecting this attention, gotten used to it by now. Only for a moment, though, because he sees the way those sunset eyes rake over his body, his lanky figure, and drink all of him in with an obscene lick of the lips. Tracing his belly and his soft thighs with his gaze, Miraak looks like a dragon lying in wait. His teeth sink into the smooth flesh of Dukaan’s leg, soothing the marks with the flat of his tongue before sucking the skin into his mouth. The Roscrean allows himself to moan, this time, his stomach flipping, toes curling around nothing. There is an undeniable thrill to being held open, exposed, prone like this. Ripe for the taking. One hand crawls down to stroke his cock, growing hard with each section of skin sucked into the wet heat of the First Mage’s mouth.

 

Miraak kisses up to his hip before wrapping his arms fully around each leg, preventing any kind of real squirming. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmurs, and Dukaan shakes his head frantically.
“No,” he blurts as his hand is swatted away and replaced. “Don’t.”
“Not now ,” Miraak chuckles, and then wraps his mouth snugly around the Roscrean’s cock without another word. His back spasms off the wet marble and a strangled cry leaves his lips, quite possibly drawing more attention to him, but gods, by Alduin, by anyone, that feels good. The Yokudan doesn’t waste his time either. Almost immediately after, he drags the flat of his tongue up Dukaan’s length like it’s candy , golden eyes flitting upwards to hold his gaze. And then he dives down again, letting his cock hit the back of his throat and slide further .

 

The bastard doesn’t have a gag reflex.

 

Dukaan moans loudly into the relative quiet of the bath as Miraak devours him effortlessly, eyes rolling and knees fighting to snap closed around that bobbing head, but he’s held down. He tries to thrust upwards but all he can do is buck reflexively into the other man’s mouth, hands scraping the polished stone for something to hold. People are watching the Lord of Dawn suck his dick like his life depends on it and not batting an eye. People are watching two Dragon Priests make love and not sparing them a second glance.

“Miraak-” he tries to speak, toes pointed, “Miraak, Miraak! Oh, fuck ,” he groans as he feels his cock slide easily and slowly down the other man’s throat, tantalizingly, achingly slowly. The bastard is teasing him. He’s the one sucking Dukaan off and somehow, somehow he’s teasing . “Don’t stop,” the Roscrean pleads. A squeeze of his thighs is all he gets in reply. Miraak huffs through his nostrils and gradually retreats, slathering the flushed head of Dukaan’s cock with his tongue and his saliva before sitting up and pressing his own fingers into his mouth. He sucks them briefly, then gives the other man’s cock a few languid strokes before grinning up at him and descending again. Those two fingers travel downwards until they brush Dukaan’s hole, his muscles clamped tight. With his free hand Miraak lets go of one leg and lays his palm on the man’s belly, rubbing it slowly, comfortingly. He fights between the sensations around his cock and the soothing action for a long moment before finally letting his shoulders fall back on the warm marble.

“Good,” the Lord of Dawn rumbles, “relax, anaka. ” He is the only other Dragon Priest on Soulstheim who knows the Roscrean language, and in this moment Dukaan is grateful for it; anaka means splendid one . The way Miraak says it lights his veins on fire but also gives him the illusion of privacy. No one else hears it, and he doubts many people would understand if they did. Anaka. It makes him tremble with delight, and slowly one finger presses into him with a pleased groan from its owner. Dukaan believes he could do anything in this very moment if only Miraak calls him anaka one more time. That fiery mouth takes him again, letting him slip easily against the other man’s tongue, spoiling him on those sweet lips. There is a blissful stretch as a second finger joins the first and together they coax Dukaan’s body closer to an orgasm he hadn’t felt building before. He tries to keep it down, but the insistent sucking on his cock, the hand on his stomach, the deliciously thick fingers stretching him open and the echoes of anaka in that sinful accented voice make him cry out and writhe, hands clamping around Miraak’s head.

“Up, up,” he breathes, but the man doesn’t obey. “Miraak-! Oh, gods, please, Miraak, I can’t...” The fingers part and press and thrust into him slickly.
“Cum for me, then, anaka .” The words float to him through a wall of bliss, and his traitorous body obeys almost immediately, letting an orgasm ripple through his limbs and strike his groin. Even worse, Miraak drinks it all down like a man dying of thirst in the desert, head pressed between Dukaan’s thighs, fingers slowly leaving him to hold his legs. With a cry the Roscrean grips his hair and begs him to sit up; the man had been prepared to go right back to sucking him off, and that would’ve been the end of Dukaan the Owl Priest, third most senior mage on Soulstheim.

Grinning and flushed, Miraak takes his hips and pulls him off the edge, all but holding his weight. Dukaan kisses him fervently, tasting his own salt, tasting his own cum, clinging to the man who calls him anaka . With their bodies pressed flush together like this he can feel the erection that his First Mage has been ignoring all this time.
“Turn around,” Miraak purrs, and then moves him to his own liking. Without being told to Dukaan bends himself in half over the walkway, making sure to arch his back to show his ass off and grind back into the sturdy Yokudan. “Eager, anaka? ” He teases, rubbing both hands over the backside proffered so nicely to him, like a present.
“Yes,” Dukaan whines, breath catching when he feels Miraak’s hips tilt forward against him. He takes it as a sign to keep going, regardless of how needy and ridiculous it makes him look, tossing his weight into feeling the wet length of Miraak’s cock slide against him. He’s certain no amount of fingers will ever prepare him for all of that , big and veiny and absolutely gorgeous.

A heavy hand on the small of his back stills him almost immediately, and he sucks in a deep breath as Miraak shifts behind him and then the head of his cock is pressing into Dukaan with theatrical slowness. Each inch is a mile but he takes it greedily. He is so thick and good and by Alduin, it stretches him so deliciously, fills him so well, and briefly he dreams about having that cock in his mouth, down his throat. Some day. For now, though, the First Mage is balls deep inside of him, hips nestled against his ass, and Dukaan’s hands flex on the marble walkway, grabbing the fabric of the robe he discarded there a century ago.

“Fuck me,” he whispers to himself, eyes rolling. Miraak hears it, though, and locks both hands around his hips.
“As you command,” he hums, and slams forward into Dukaan with abandon.

Shamelessly he presses himself up on his elbows and moans into the dusky sky, bracing his shoulders against each impact. Well, he did ask, didn’t he? There’s a low, rocky sound from behind and he realizes it’s Miraak and that it was a moan , a sexy, full-throated moan. His cock drives easily into Dukaan, not because he’s sufficiently stretched out, but because there’s that much power behind each thrust. It sends stars dancing at the corners of his vision, being pounded into like this in front of at least sixty other people, losing his mind to the Lord of Dawn’s dick and those sinful noises Miraak’s making. He is not quiet, not at all, and he doesn’t seem to care. 

 

For a moment the Roscrean wishes he was a fly on the wall watching this all unfold: Miraak standing on strong legs behind him and bouncing him off his hips with each push, he himself sprawled against the marble walk on his hands with his back arched tightly outwards. The pink paint must accentuate every movement of those hips, every roll of those pretty muscles.
“ Achté ,” he curses, “so tight for me, anaka. How many nights have you dreamed of taking my cock like this? You fit me well.” Dukaan is vaguely aware he’s hard again but pays no attention to himself; it’s not like he could’ve split his attention elsewhere if he tried. There is only the feeling of Miraak’s cock sliding in and out of him, of calloused hands gripping his ass—and then smacking it, a high, filthy sound that makes him grunt and moan like a virgin. “Oh?” A dark chuckle. “I can feel you tighten around me, Dukaan.” The way he says that name is...is sex in words.

Slipping both arms around him, Miraak hoists him up so the Roscrean is wilting back against his chest, and then puts one hand around his weeping length to jerk him off in time with each thrust. He really does it all, doesn’t he? “You like being fucked in front of all these people, hm?” He drawls, groaning deeply as his cock hits a new angle with Dukaan’s hips open like this. “Show them how good you are for me, anaka. ” Another slap, this one burning just as delightfully as the first against his skin. The First Mage huffs a laugh at that. “They can’t feel it, but I can,” he whispers, then moans again, “you like it that much?”
“Yes!” Dukaan cries, scrambling to grab onto something, anything. “Yes, yes, oh gods, yes—just like that, just like that. Fuck!” Awareness of a second orgasm flickers behind his closed eyes before vanishing, swallowed by the awareness of Miraak’s cock throbbing hotly inside of him.
“Inside?” He grunts.
“Inside, please ,” he begs, stomach flipping at the idea of being stuffed full of this man’s cum and his cock all at once. The sound he makes when his partner finally tips over the brink of an orgasm is strangled but relieved, blissfully relieved, blissfully satisfied. Miraak fucks him even through the orgasm he’s been craving this whole time, teeth latching onto his shoulder with a desperate groan, pushing his cum further inside until Dukaan feels his own seed burst onto his stomach and the arm around his middle. 

 

For a long moment they both remain there, panting out of sync, catching each other’s breath. People are looking. Some of them look undeniably aroused, and Dukaan wishes he could’ve seen Miraak’s face when he came, because something tells him it was a glorious sight and he was the only one who missed it.

Gradually the First Mage pulls him away from the walk, drifting backwards until he sits heavily on the marble bench that borders the bath below the water. Dukaan mewls as his softening cock is dug further in, back twisting until Miraak shushes him and pulls him into a snug embrace. The slow gyrating of his hips spreads his cum surely over the Roscrean’s insides, and he loves it. Around them the others are going back to their own little corners of the bath, whispering instead of talking, letting the pair revel in the quiet afterglow. They kiss but it's messy, breathless. Night has officially fallen over the Dawn Palace, which means it’ll be time to leave the bath soon anyway. Even so, Miraak shows no sign of leaving him for quite a while, entertaining his lazy kisses and rubbing his belly and chest.

“Stay so I can give you a massage,” he murmurs, pressing his hips up against Dukaan’s. “You can be the one to wash my markings off.” Though he knows little of Moth ceremonies, Dukaan knows that it’s an immense honor to be chosen to complete such a task. “You can eat with us.” The thought of dining, though, with all the people who just watched him be thoroughly fucked, is a little off-putting.
“I can’t,” Dukaan sighs quietly, a frown pulling at his dry lips. As promising as the massage sounds, as much as he would love to take a warm cloth to that body and wash the paint away, he can’t stay. Others will have his head or shame him to an early grave if they find out. “Can’t we sit here for a moment?” Even if he can’t stay, he isn’t quite ready to lift himself off Miraak’s lap or his cock, or leave the warm embrace of his arms.

With a soft sigh, Miraak nods, pressing a kiss to Dukaan’s temple as the other man relaxes back into him. “We can,” he says, earning a pleased hum. “And I won’t tell Zahkriisos.”

Chapter 15: Sex Over the Phone (like the Village People Song)

Notes:

i like to think my title game is strong sometimes :^)

"What are you wearing?" He asks it totally innocently, and she knows it. Her laugh is clear but light over the phone.
"Uh--some pants I should probably really wash, and that green shirt you like."
"Oh?" Miraak grins. "Dress up for me, did you, baby girl?"
"No, you smugass," Tharya laughs again. "And you, Mr. Althëasson? What choice of clothes have you donned this afternoon?"
"Right now? I just got out of the shower." He clicks the speaker button and puts the phone right on the pillow beside his ear, laying both hands on his chest. Maybe...
"Are you doing that ridiculous air drying thing again?" The roll of her eyes is audible. "Walking around naked?"
"What, you have a problem seeing me naked?" He teases. Vahlok is at class so the flat is his for the next four hours--of course he's walking around naked.
"Of course not," Tharya snorts, and then there's a long silence as she recollects her words. Miraak grins. Just like her to overthink. "I mean, like...it's not like I haven't before."
"You can say you like it, baby girl," he purrs against the speaker, half-joking and half-serious. Her laugh is quieter is this time. "In fact, you're missing out right now."
"Hm?"

"Mhm." All hesitation gone, he wraps one hand around his cock, a low sigh whistling from his lips. She isn't here, and won't be until probably the end of the week with night classes and work, and he hates having to use his hand when he doesn't need to, but...this could be fun. "Are you alone, prinsaessa?"
"Yeah," she says softly, reading his tone expertly.
"Good." Within a few strokes he is half-hard and growing harder by the second. Is her voice alone really enough to set him off? He almost marvels at it. That green shirt he likes...and what kind of pants? "Take something off."
"W-what?"
"Take something off," he says again. "Not the shirt."
"But..." there are a thousand protestations he thinks she'll say, but the easiest one comes from her lips. "You can't see it." For a moment he's delighted that she only resists undressing because he isn't there to watch, to comment, to kiss--it's strangely cute to think about, so he stores it away for later contemplation.
"Oh, yes I can," he grins. For a moment she giggles.
"Creep."

He remembers taking off her clothes a trillion times. Not every time it's just for sex--he enjoys undressing her, the same way he enjoys hot showers together. Her legs are lean but thighs a little fleshy, soft, pale compared to his own brown skin. She complains of no ass but certainly has a good one, firm with toned muscles and just the right size for his hand to fall on so his palm leaves a print to cover it. Another sigh leaves his lips.

"Miraak?"
"You have no idea how hard you make me," he groans and, as always, she is a little shocked by his bluntness. "What are you doing that's so important that you can't get in my bed?"
"Carrying a group project," she says a little bitterly, and he decides to leave the topic alone.
"Doesn't sound important enough." He rolls his thumb over his tip. Hell no, not even close to important enough. "Come relax, baby girl." Her breath shudders. "You deserve this cock."
"I...can't."
"Don't you like being filled up, princess?" Miraak glances down at himself--he has no idea how the sight of his own hand is hot--and smears precum around his shaft, almost painfully erect and with nothing to fuck except the curve of his palm. "Æsa--you have no idea how I need your tight little pussy right now."

He's sure the sound from the other end is a moan, soft and faraway. Tharya is not the type to touch herself, even if he asked nicely, but he knows words alone are sometimes enough to make her wet. And gods be damned if he wasn't good with words.
"Miraak..."

Her voice is intoxicating as ever, gentle as a breeze but obviously weighed down with the same kind of lust that has him rutting into his hand.
"Don't you want that, baby girl? My cock? That would make you feel good, you know it," he drawls slowly, "that's something important for you to come sit on." He lets his legs spread and one knee bend upwards, as if accommodating another person who woefully isn't there. A brief image flashes through his head of the last time he had convinced her to come on short notice--it's something of a talent. He had sent her into the work the next morning with an awkward, fucked-out shuffle in her step. For a moment he wonders why she hasn't said anything until he realizes she's listening to his ragged breaths, with the phone so close to his head, and all the muted sounds he's making.

"Remember the lace I bought for you?" He breathes, and she crackles to life on the other side.
"How could I forget," Tharya mutters to herself. How indeed? He buries her in gifts to his heart's content, and he very much enjoys buying her things she'd never wear except for him, once he does a little begging.
"Wear it for me?" He purrs, thinking of squeezing her hips, her thighs around his head, and the way the blue lace hugs the curve of her ass and that tiny waist all at once. His hand tightens fitfully around his cock in an attempt to mimic the way her pussy clenches so delightfully around him; it half-works, half-draws a moan out of his chest. "Come on, princess, you can do your work here."

She laughs once, abrupt and unconvinced. "I thought you'd forgotten about me needing to do work."
"Academic excellence is a turn-on," he snorts. "You can do your work once I'm done with you," he amends in a low voice, low and rocky, just the kind to set her imagine wild. His cock twitches. "Come here, let me fuck you until you can't stand, and then we can take a bath together." Her sigh is somewhere between aroused and blissful. "And then maybe fuck again in the bath, because you ride my cock so well. And then you can do your work, and I'll cook, and we can have sex and go to bed." The line is silent, but his cock aches as he holds it, rubbing his thumb against the tip in just a way that it makes his hips jump and stutter and a loud groan leave his lips. "You deserve it, baby girl," he coos, keeping his voice steady. "Come on. Let me take care of you for a night."

That always gets her.

A few empty seconds pass before there's movement on her end, and his hand pauses around his length, awaiting the verdict.
"Fine," she says softly, but her voice sounds relaxed--laying it out like that was a sure tactic to get what he wanted. And he absolutely intends to fuck her three separate times, because she absolutely does deserve the best sex on the continent, and that's his to give.

"But go quick," Miraak murmurs, "and don't forget the lace."

Chapter 16: Unholy (Skyrim)

Notes:

not as good as it could've been, but my first thing with sanguine despite me thirsting for him forever. basically an experiment, tho i definitely want to write more soon (tho GODDAMN it was so hard not to slip into miraak with this)

"Mh- Sanguine-" His name, gods--though he didn't really invoke the Aedra too much, lest they get interested in his dealings--his name sounded so good on her lips. So good. Her pussy was so wet for him and she took his fingers so well, it was all...astonishing, really. Tharya wasn't prude, exactly, but she was...shy, maybe. Unused to being touched, and unused to being undressed, unused to being kissed. But that was all Sanguine wanted to do, and with a few well-placed touches, a few smooth words, a few intimate little nicknames, she had unraveled easier than a loose knot.

Hovering over her flushed face with his lips parted and dry from watching her, he swallowed thickly. Azura's tits, she was so pretty. He didn't usually count looks for much; mortals were mortals, after all, but this one, she was something to look at in his eyes.
"Everything okay, beautiful?" He murmured, flexing his wrist, dragging his black fingers apart inside her. Her hips jumped so nicely, her walls trying to both stretch for him and close against the intrusion. A soft, hitched moan left those pink lips, and she nodded, hands tightening on his shoulders. "Good." Yes, it was good. So good. 

Without thinking he settled his thumb over the bud of her clit, feeling his long nail shrink downwards until it was dull and short. Those nails were handy as claws more often than not, but he didn't want to risk puncturing her skin or worse, slicing her insides. The two fingers currently sliding into and out of her heat had their nails dulled as well. Her breath jumped again when he began to rub her clit under the pad of his thumb, moving in trained circles around it, gathering her slick and pumping his fingers faster til they squelched in such an unholy way, perfect for bedding a Prince of Oblivion. 

He drew his knees up and hunched to latch his mouth around her breast, carefully nibbling his sharp canines into her soft flesh, sucking a cold nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. Yes, gods, he would make her come undone. He had wanted to for so long now.

His opposite hand went up to squeeze the opposite side of her chest, rolling and pinching whatever he could, tweaking her untouched nipple until she was writhing below him, hips gyrating against his palm. He would make her come undone, just like he'd always wanted.

"Sa-Sanguine, I-" her mouth worked but she made no words, cheeks flushed almost as red as his markings. He stretched his fingers inside her and pressed his thumb to her clit, bit at her breast again before pulling off it. 
"Oh," he groaned, "so good, honey. So good. Come on." Her thin fingers threaded into his dark hair, briefly brushing over the curl of his horns. He allowed himself a moan at that; she'd brushed the very tip of one, where it dipped towards his ear, the most sensitive bit. "Grab them," he grunted, nipping her sternum, her collarbone, sighing into the flesh of her neck. "Please, for me, sweetheart?" 

To punctuate he flicked at her clit again, drew his fingers out before forcing them back in when her thighs tried to close. Gods, what if he fucked her on his tongue, on his face, would she grab his horns then? Pull his hair? Or if he bounced her on his cock in just the right position? 

Abandoning his softness for a moment, the softness only this woman seemed to draw out of him, he bit her neck, her pulse, and let his fingers thrust into her with reckless speed. His thumb worked frantically against her clit as he sucked patches of soft, pale skin into his mouth, sinking his teeth just a little deeper, gripping her side tightly. She moaned his name, over and over, so Aedra-damned beautifully, and he rocked his hips against hers to alleviate the throbbing in his cock. 

Quickly, scrambling for purchase, her hands slid through his hair and twisted to latch onto his horns. 

"Just like that," he groaned, her pussy sucking his fingers in tightly. "Come on, beautiful, won't you cum for me? Cum in my hand, sweetheart."

Azura's glowing tits, she felt so good. She would feel even better around his cock, he knew it. The raised red ridges on his body, the piercings, he would fuck the Last Dragonborn so well on these silk sheets that she would never think of another mortal to pleasure her again--only him, only Sanguine, only the Daedric Prince of everything good in life.

"Cum," he growled, "so I can spread you open and fuck you, sweetheart." Normally he wasn't so bossy or macho but Tharya, she made him everything and nothing all at once. Her hips twisted away from him and she cried out, gripping his horns tighter, her legs snapping closed like a trap around his hips as he fingered her. "You'll take me so well after this, sweetheart," he chuckled now. "I'll make you feel so good, honey. You'll never wanna leave this bed." 

Her whole body, her whole precious, soft body pulled taut as a wire, her head pressing back into the pillows. He let his hand fuck her through the orgasm, let her climax spill over his fingers, into his palm, onto the red sheets. She smelled amazing. Like good sex, like sweet cum, like bone-deep pleasure and satisfaction. His cock swelled with the knowledge that he had given it to her. 

"Sanguine!" The cry was sharp enough to pull him out of his thoughts, and for him to realize he was still fingering her relentlessly even after she'd tired herself out. Carefully he slowed, pulled his fingers out as he kissed the bruises on her neck. He had no idea she'd be almost...delicate in bed.

"Sorry, sorry, beautiful," he murmured quietly, nudging her nose with his. "Close your eyes." Carefully she obeyed. Smirking, letting her catch her breath for a moment, he reached down to fist his cock. She would feel so good, and he was dying to be in her—a rare thing for him to feel for mortals. "Open up," he tapped her mouth lightly with his soiled fingers. Her eyelids fluttered. Less immediately, she obeyed this too, and made a soft noise when he slipped the digits into her mouth, her lips closing reflexively around them. 

"Suck," he purred, watching with delight as she hesitated before complying. "Don't you taste so good, sweetheart? You smell like candy, my girl. So good. Don't stop," he added when her lips began to part again. "You have enough for round two, honey?" Grinning, he gave himself a squeeze, letting his hot length nudge the inside of her thigh. "Cause I sure do."

Chapter 17: Afterparty (Skyrim)

Notes:

damn y'all. this takes place immediately after revenant. miraak's breeding kink goes WEEWOO WEEWOO at the end. i'm not super happy with it, and it's not particularly steamy, but enjoy.

Slipping away from the party was more than easy after dinner; Tharya made an excuse—a bad headache, she told Torygg—and Miraak very calmly escorted her away. The moment they were away from everyone, though, he swept her into his arms again, grinning wildly and dashing past guards, spinning her around, toppling into their room on the third floor. With a rested sigh he laid her flat on the bed and dropped himself beside her, holding his chin on one hand. Her husband. His wife. The titles rang merrily in their ears.

 

It was good to be away from everything and everyone. Apocrypha made him introverted, and Tharya seemed grateful to be away from the airheaded nobles below. They chatted aimlessly, and every once in a while one of them would touch or look at the silver and opal rings on their fingers and smile.

“Haven’t I already told you?” She raised an eyebrow at his question— but you’ve been with someone before, haven’t you? —reaching up to stroke his jaw. “Yes. It was bad, though.”
“Say more,” he said simply. Where was he going with this?
“Well, I don’t know. He was just a guy—an Altmer I went to college with. We were both kind of drunk, and he was...very grabby,” she made a face, eyes trained at something over his shoulder. “Not in a bad way, I mean, not like he was harassing me or anything. Just...not particularly...careful? Gentle? I don’t know.” She laughed quietly, shrugging one shoulder. “He was more drunk than me though, so he didn’t really last, it was quick. I didn’t—um...” she trailed off, glancing at him for a moment before shaking her head. “Finish.”

To her surprise, Miraak groaned and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, lips curling into a grimace. “I hate men like that,” was all he said.
“I bet you do,” she snickered. “I dunno. I wish I hadn’t cared so much about it back then. It’s not like it changed anything.” Absently she traced the shell of his ear and the line of his jaw, feeling the side of his neck before patting his chest. “But oh well.” He held her gaze for a moment before one hand wrapped lightly around her hip; he bent towards her, lips breezing over hers before kissing them fully, warmly. The hand on her hip slid to rest on her stomach, palm rubbing slow circles through the velvet of her dress.

“As your husband,” he murmured against her mouth before kissing her again—he really could not let the husband thing go, could he? “I believe I could rectify past...shall we say, subpar performances.” He hardly gave her a chance to reply though; kissing her again, pressing his tongue past her lips, lowering his other hand to cradle the back of her head and thread his fingers through her hair. He wanted to...? In the Blue Palace? His chuckle meant he could see her blush even in the dimness of the room. Gods, if she wanted anything in life, it would be to not blush so easily. “You can say no, prinsaessa, ” he reassured, “it does not have to be now. I am merely...what was that phrase? About tables?”

Before she could stop herself she burst into giggles, pressing her face into his chest. He vibrated with silent laughter, sliding one arm around her.
“Putting your options on the table?” She supplied. “Gods, I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”
“Like I said, that table may hold you, or me, and not us together,” he snickered, touching her hair. Tharya let her hands curl into his long black coat, inhaling his scent carefully. Of course he could so easily bring that up. It was practically second-nature to him. But, even if they were in the Blue Palace, the party was still going on downstairs. Torygg and Elisif were occupied, her family was busy, even Bhijirio and Runa were gone. The upper floors were silent. They’d only passed guards on their way up here. So, maybe...

Before she could get the words off Miraak was scooping her up, sighing as he got to his feet. “I believe a bath is in order,” he announced. Tharya wrapped her arms tentatively around his neck. No, no. She was being ridiculous. Right? They should wait until they were home in Whiterun. But still. Rectify past performances was almost too good to pass up; the words bounced around enticingly in her head. She felt her toes flex and curl in her slippers. No, no. Don’t be ridiculous. Just wait.

The problem was, she didn’t want to wait.

“Miraak?” She shifted her legs across his arm and raised her head from his shoulder to look at him. Gods, even his side profile was flawless.
“Here, princess,” he murmured. Rectify past performances. Would it be so bad if she...let him? And besides, how many times had she wondered or daydreamed or thought to herself or lain awake thinking about him?

Vibrant heat washed over her body, sending a shudder through her torso. “It can be tonight.”

He paused, debating her cryptic words for a long moment before looking at her; they were half-inside a shaft of moonlight streaming in from the window, so his face was cut vertically down the center, half lost in shadow and half brightened by the moons. After a moment he shifted backwards, and the darkness fell like a sheet over his face, leaving her with two faintly glowing forge fires staring back at her.
“Please say something,” Tharya chuckled feebly, gripping the collar of his coat tightly in one hand. The fires winked briefly—a blink. “If you were just joking-”
“Are you sure?” He murmured softly, eyes narrowing just the slightest. “It was not in jest, but I also do not expect anything of you before you are ready, prinsaessa. ” Warm lips found her forehead in the darkness.
“I know,” she let herself smile at that, fingers sliding into the silky brown hair at the nape of his neck. And it was true. He wouldn’t, and she knew. “But I’m sure.” It had been a very long time since she trusted someone so explicitly, but Miraak was Miraak. For all his skill in deception, she, and perhaps she alone, could rely on his words to be the truth.

He landed with an oompf on the bed again, pulling her into his lap despite her skirts, large hands cradling her cheeks gently.
“I love you,” he said through a smile, kissing the little space between her brows.
“Damn, I hope so,” Tharya snorted softly, “since you just married me.”
“Yes,” he hummed thoughtfully, “this can be our ceremony.”

When their lips met again it was somehow no different and wholly unfamiliar from the thousands of kisses they’d shared before; maybe more insistent, she thought, but no less loving. Miraak was not a quick kisser by any means. He took his time, lingered, kept the space between them thinner than a sheet of parchment, if there even was any space to begin with, and she let him. His kisses were far superior to hers, whatever he said. There was just something about his lips and the feel of his tongue sliding against hers and the sound it all made that was just...impossible to describe. He was impossible to describe.

Carefully she slid both hands into his hair, mussing it out of its neatly combed look—as much as she had loved it earlier in the evening, she much preferred his halfway messy look for now. Since she had known him his hair had always been soft and smooth between her fingers, just long enough to curl her hands into, just dark enough to be mistaken for black but this close, even in the moonlight, it was easy to see the brown, as finely colored as aged mahogany. A perfect contrast to her own gold streaked with naturally light browns and tans.
“Your hands and your lap are the first and second places I will always put my head on,” he chortled against her mouth, hands running up her sides. With the weight and fabric of the dress trapping her heat and him sitting so close, she felt like she was on fire. The kiss following those words was languid, slow, deep, everything and anything to leave her breathless when he pulled away. His lips trailed away, down, brushing over her cheek before tracing her jaw, and finally letting his mouth fall with a pleasant sigh to the junction of her neck and shoulder. “This spot is the third.”

 

With his mouth occupied his hands skirted around her waist to find the buttons holding the back of her dress together, undoing the first and second ones carefully.
“How did you like it?” He murmured once he reached the third.
“The dress?” She asked, feeling him nod. “Are you kidding? It’s great. And everyone else seemed to like it,” Tharya added with a faint smile. “If I can...well, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to wear it again, but if I can I’d like to keep it.” The fifth came undone, and with a light tug Miraak was able to slide the sleeves down off her shoulders, lips gliding along her collarbone.
“Of course you can,” he scoffed quietly, going after the sixth and seventh. At the base of her spine, the eighth broke free, and he nudged her off his lap to stand between his knees.

The First Dragonborn took her in one last time before maneuvering the velvet sleeves off and pulling the dress down until it pooled around her feet, pushing it away with his leg.
“Elisif gave you this?” He asked, touching the silk shift hugging her frame and slipping his arms around her waist.
“Sort of,” Tharya sighed, hands settling on his shoulders. “I think she wanted to try to be the one to dress me up, but I told her that was your job.” Miraak snorted as he adjusted himself and brought her back down to the bed with him, rolling over onto his elbows to press a warm kiss to her mouth.
“I cannot believe she liked that,” he muttered, moving downwards across the top of her chest before he met silk. The Nord didn’t reply as he slid downwards still, lips ghosting her sternum, her stomach, hands dragging over her hips as he came off the bed entirely to kneel at its edge. A little gasp left her lips when he reappeared at her knees, kissing her warmed skin carefully.

“Lift it for me,” he murmured against the inside of her knee, golden eyes flicking open and sliding across the space between them to lock onto hers. Her hands tightened around the fabric already bunched in her palms until he looked away again, thankfully, and she let out a breath she didn’t remember sucking in. But he didn’t move. He was utterly content to press those soft kisses to her legs for as long as he had to.
“Bastard,” she breathed aloud, and felt his mouth grin against her skin.
“I’ve heard worse for less.”

Swallowing once, she curled her fists deeper into the silk shift and brought it up the tiniest bit, and was immediately rewarded by the Dragon Priest shifting upwards to kiss a new part of her. Such a bastard. Another inch or so, her face burning, and his teeth sunk graciously into the softening part of her thigh. With a none too elegant squeal—gods be damned, she could feel her last shreds of dignity slipping away—she yanked it up, wiggling her hips to get it out from under her, and immediately felt a warm hand slide onto her stomach.

“Far enough,” he said in a low voice, “ kjerta , far enough, princess.” Painstakingly slowly he made his trail of kisses and little bites and lecherously divine movements with the flat of his tongue, and then wrapped a hand around either thigh and pulled each leg over a broad shoulder. “This is the fourth place I would always put my head.” He was grinning. She could hear it. Delicately he kissed the silvery stretch marks hiding on her innermost thighs and then sighed, hot breath fanning against her underwear which suddenly felt much too thin. “Though,” he craned upwards to nudge her stomach before relaxing again, replacing his hand on her belly. Her fingers latched around his wrist. “It might just become the first.”

“Miraak,” she whispered before she could stop herself, unable to keep the urgency out of her voice and with one hand remaining clutched around the bunched up shift that still hid the upper half of her torso. He hummed quietly, rubbing the hand on her stomach in slow circles against her skin.
“I know,” came the reply. “Relax, little one. Relax. I’ve got you.” Even as he spoke, his mouth brushed the fabric dangerously. “If you want me to stop, you need only say it. I will listen to you, I promise.”

Without another word he hooked his fingers into the smooth band of her underwear and eased it slowly off her hips. A hot, shuddering breath broke on her newly exposed skin. The embarrassment of having him there as an... audience made her legs want to curl, even as he handled them one by one to remove the garment completely and forget it on the floor. She was absolutely certain his eyes were open and he was looking. With her legs parted by his shoulders she couldn’t let them close, but gods, it was a tempting thought.

Humming to himself, Miraak freed both hand and nudged her thighs even wider—she swallowed a pitiful noise of shame at that—and, with his knuckles pressing into the soft flesh of her upper thighs, let his fingertips ghost once through her folds, slowly but precisely, and then spread.
“You are so beautiful,” he sighed, and she got the distinct feeling it wasn’t quite her he was talking about. Tharya flexed her fingers along his scalp and shivered when he started rubbing his thumbs over her labia, and then let them dip to move in slow, long ovals against her. She wasn’t sure if she could call it a massage, but that was likely what he considered it to be, easing her body into relaxing and opening to him.

 

Her knees pressed together tightly behind his head, heels digging into the muscles on either side of his spine. Even if her chest remained tight she could feel her hips going lax, the tension in her stomach releasing as his thumbs ran soothingly through her folds. A Dibellan trick if she’d ever felt one. He was saying something but she didn’t hear it; probably talking to himself. The thought made her cheeks flare. About her? Before the thought could go further, though, a wet warmth enveloped her clit, slowly, with measured caution. His tongue followed, dragging slowly, tortuously upwards until he sucked the bud lightly into his mouth before drawing away.

Her whole body felt frozen for a long moment, long enough for him to retract his hands and wrap one around her thigh again, laying the other low on her belly. His groan as his tongue found her again vibrated up into her, a rich, low sound that made her legs twist. He inhaled as if he wanted to say more and drew away again, kissing her folds lightly.
“Do you mind if I talk?” He whispered.
“No,” she breathed, hands sliding into his hair. The First Dragonborn rumbled his approval and she heard the distinct sound of a belt clicking apart.

His mouth returned, kissing her softly everywhere he could before he set to work, lapping eagerly at her folds, her clit, his tongue hot and wet against her and divine. The long stubble of his jaw rubbed her inner thighs as his lips moved, but somehow the little pinpricks of fire that left in its wake only made it better. She swallowed down embarrassing moans, releasing one hand from his hair to clamp it over her mouth. Oh, gods, it felt...it felt so good. Dignity be damned, she should’ve done this sooner. His tongue lathed expertly over her entrance, slicking over her clit like—like he was starving and she was a feast. Her gut curled tightly at that, thighs pressing around his ears. A strangled gasp escaped through her fingers.

He seemed to hear it because he paused, ever so briefly, breath breaking against her skin, and gave her stomach a gentle tap. “Give me your hands,” he said quietly. She gave him one; he pressed their palms together and laced their fingers at her side. “Both.” After a long moment she obliged, reluctantly letting him do the same with her opposite hand. “ G’entendé nallt verlissime vest sicär namūs abblissime samel’sæta , elskavin. ” Her hips twitched.
“I-in Tamrielic?” His tongue flicked out to circle and caress her clit and an unhindered moan fled her lips, her back bending off the comforter. She tried to tear her fingers away but he held them there, a grin making his cheeks shift.
“I said I have waited too long to devour you like this for you to be covering your pretty noises,” came the drawled, smug reply. He didn’t wait before diving back in, licking insistently at her bud, grabbing both her thighs when her legs shifted and curled against his shoulders.

Heat flared through her stomach as he held her in place, another moan fleeing her throat. Miraak’s teeth grazed her labia when it reached his ears, making her hips stutter and buck against his mouth. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to push him away with her feet or pull his head closer. With a yelp she squeezed his fingers as his tongue pressed into her with ease, toes curling against the stiff fabric of his coat. Her insides felt like molten lava coiling around a tight spring. His tongue felt so good , his mouth sucking around her felt otherworldly , and her heart was trying to pound straight out of her ribs at the sensation of it all.
“Miraak, Miraak, Miraak-” she gasped his name and writhed on the sheets until he weighed her hips down with his forearms to keep her still. For just a brief moment she gathered enough strength, enough courage to lift her head and look down past the ragged mountain range of her bunched shift to where he was—his brow creased in concentration, eyes closed as he ate into her. And the sound. Gods, the sound. Wet and lewd and...and...

Gods.

Unfortunately for her he lifted his head a moment later, parting his lips to drag his tongue slowly through her folds, eyes fluttering open as his mouth sealed around her clit one last time. Immediately he caught her gaze, looking only the tiniest bit startled, before releasing a hot breath against her flesh. Utterly unable to pull her eyes away, she held onto his stare as he moved his tongue lazily over the bud, ignoring the squirming of her thighs until he pulled away with a kiss. His eyes did move away then, traveling downwards to fix on her pussy, undoubtedly wet with his saliva. That sent a rapid shiver down her spine, being looked at. It conjured up a soft whine in her throat—a pathetic sound, but all she seemed able to make as she clung to his hands and watched him kiss her folds again and again, his lidded gaze fixed solely on the single part of her he’d never been able to see before.

Carefully he drew back, kissing her thighs before he stood, golden irises burning brightly in the dark. With a snap of his fingers the candelabra on the bedside table burst to life, sending burnished orange light high enough to illuminate his face. Her legs pressed together, face flushed terribly, she tried to draw her knees up and pull the shift down to her hips again. Miraak began the slow process of removing his rings, all except the opal and silver ones, and tossed them one by one onto the covers away from her.
“Ah,” he snipped, tapping her shin. “Don’t.” The buttons of his coat came next, each undone easily but not too quickly. “Look at me.” Swallowing again, she did so, watching as he grabbed one ankle and extended her leg up to rest against his chest. “Did that feel good, prinsaessa? ”

Her eyes flickered to the undershirt exposed as the first half of buttons fell loose. Just an undershirt, unfortunately. Tentatively she nodded, squeezing the shift again. He paused to drag his fingertips up the backside of her leg, bowing his head to kiss her ankle-
“I— aumf! ”
“Sorry!” She shrieked, levering up immediately to reach out for him. “Oh my gods, I’m so sorry. I just kicked you in the face.”
“By the Mighty, yes you did,” he groaned, feeling his jaw. Abruptly he burst out laughing, scrubbing both hands through his hair and leaning down to kiss her chastely. “My fault, though.” Suddenly she felt her features splitting to allow an amused smile. “I forgot you are ticklish.”
“Still, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head as he undid the rest of his coat, buttons forgotten. “Poor timing.”
“No, I needed a laugh,” he grinned, shrugging the coat off and onto the floor. “Do not worry yourself. An Aldmer once poked me in the eye when he tried to find my ear. That was much more painful.” Tharya grimaced at that. The eye? “This was not so much a kick as it was...a loving nudge,” he chortled, grabbing her hips to shift her upwards and allow space for him to kneel and stretch out over her. Smiling, he touched his nose to hers as he leaned down, settling on his elbows.
“Very loving,” she snorted. “Are you sure though? It was kind of a hard kick. Nudge.”
“Mhm. You could kiss it better, though, if you felt so inclined,” he grinned. She let her hands trail lightly up his arms, only slightly disappointed to find his shirt still covering his torso. He hadn’t taken it off? With a theatrical sigh she leaned upwards, bracing on his shoulders, and planted a soft kiss against his cheek, a second against the hinge of his jaw.

“Simply restorative,” Miraak chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers when she laid back again. She realized she very pointedly could not look at his mouth the same way ever again after knowing what he did with it. 

 

Without another word he seared a trail of kisses down the side of her neck, fingertips brushing her throat when he sucked a delicate patch of his skin past his lips and bit her, which shouldn’t have been half as pleasurable as it was. Half an inch down he did the same thing, growling happily—it took her some time to figure out what all his noises meant, but this one was definitely pleased—sucking and biting his way across her collarbone in a way she was sure would leave marks, even if faint, tomorrow.

Fingers curling into his sleeves, she pressed her head back to let a soft whine slide out of her throat, and felt him growl deeply against the column of her neck; it had just a noticeable edge of draconic sound in it, making it echo in her ears.

"Gods, woman," he rumbled, "you have no idea how long I've waited to hear you moan for me." In one movement he sat up and yanked his shirt off over his head, bare arms sliding around her waist to pull her up as well. “Silk looks good on you,” he hummed, hands climbing up her sides. “But so does the moonlight.” She didn’t make it easy though, hands roaming his torso, wanting to take in his chest. A laugh bubbled out of her throat when he tried to get the shift off anyway, puppeteering her arms away from him and moving them one by one. “Oh, you think it’s cute?” He snorted.
“Definitely a little funny,” she snickered back, wrapping her arms around his neck as they laid down again to trace the muscles of his shoulders and back, down his arms to feel the bulge of each bicep holding his weight. He found her lips again but didn’t linger, mouth wandering down her neck again, sucking and biting at the side of untouched skin.

Miraak leaned on one arm to free the opposite hand and let it travel down her bare body, letting his fingers find every inch of smooth, pale skin open to him. He’d seen her naked precious few times, but none compared to this, to having her totally open before him, to having her hands on his chest, her deep, hot breath against his temple. His traveling hand came to a stop, fingertips pressing lightly against her clit.
“Spread your legs for me, princess,” he drawled, nipping at her earlobe. Her sharp intake of breath wasn’t lost on his ears. 

 

Tharya curled one hand into his hair again and the other against his back, hesitantly doing as asked. Miraak hummed against the shell of her ear, breathing something that sounded like good girl but she couldn’t be quite certain, even so close. He drew his fingers lazily through her folds, pressing her thumb to her clit before pressing the tip of one to her entrance.
“Can I call you that?” He whispered against her cheek, kissing her jaw lightly. The finger flexed before it slipped easily into her heat, extracting a shamefully high mewl from her lips even as she nodded. Digging her nails into his shoulder, she gasped—the sound was cut short as he kissed her, tongue filling her mouth and glazing her thoughts, dispersing her words. She’d always liked his hands; they were strong, large, always warm, and smooth from wearing gloves so long. And now she liked his hands because his fingers were deliciously thick and long and he only waited a moment before pushing his middle finger in beside his index, groaning deeply against her lips.

 

She couldn’t say the intrusion was small nor easy to get used to, but he moved slowly, thrusting them gently in and out, twisting his wrist to let his knuckles curl against her walls. Her hips jumped at that, a dwindling moan pushing out of her lips and past his. Gods, his fingers alone required a stretch, but it felt so good. Without thinking she reached down to grasp his forearm, squeezing it tightly as his tendons shifted below her grip.
“Easy, princess,” he murmured, and then, “lower.” Each digit flexed and then parted, stretching outwards, drawing another moan out of her chest.
“Lower?”
“Lower,” he confirmed, raising an eyebrow at her. Her hand brushed his stomach. “Keep going.” She wandered to his hip, touched the prominent downwards line of muscle there, and her nails bumped into the fine fabric of his pants.

With a half-grunt Miraak pulled his fingers from her to take her hand and press it warmly against his groin, growling something in Atmoran as he curled her fingers around the faint indent of his cock beneath the black silk.
“There,” he sighed happily, pressing his index and middle fingers back into her and rocking his hips against her palm. Despite her best efforts she felt her cheeks flush again. She had not anticipated the night ending with the First Dragonborn grinding into her hand as he fingered her open but...apparently that was what it had come to.
“Gods,” she whined, partially from the pleasure of his hand and partially from the sensation of holding him quite literally in her palm.
“Now you see why I have to do this,” Miraak replied smugly, rubbing her clit under his thumb and parting his fingers for emphasis. “When I say you are little, elskavin , I mean it.”
“Yeah, but-” she bit her lip, trying to find the complete outline of his length with her digits.
“Undo them,” he hummed, rolling his hips over her wrist, “it’ll be easier.”

She hated how he so easily read her intentions sometimes, but without a second thought she took his suggestion. Atmorans didn’t use laces—at least not rich Atmorans, one of which the man above her was—so her searching brought her to three little metal clasps hidden expertly by the fabric somehow, but each slid open easily. Miraak nuzzled into her neck, his lips brushing over her skin; she realized he was entirely right about what he was doing. It was not half as intense as it had been with his head between her thighs, merely...an interlude, almost. The thought made her shiver against the blazing warmth of his torso. Abruptly she realized she could envision exactly how this underwear hugged his figure, and, dark as it was, left surprisingly little to the imagination; she could envision what exactly her fingers were searching for. Had she just not bothered looking before?

She had hardly undone the third clasp when he sat up again and lifted each finger to his mouth, gazing down at her as he pressed them into his mouth to suck them clean and grabbed the hem of his pants with the other hand, ruching them dangerously low around his waist until his other hand was free to take both pants and underwear off in one swift movement. Swallowing thickly, she kept her gaze trained vehemently on his face, even as he extended one arm to pull her up.

“Admirable,” he chortled, kissing her forehead as she melted against his chest. “But don’t deny yourself a good look, little one.” Warm lips found her ear. “It’s not worth missing the view.” As always, he was totally unabashed by his own words or what they insinuated, but she shifted against him, feeling his forearm flex against her belly. Carefully, without trying to alert him, she tilted her head just enough against his collarbone to let her eyes fall downwards. Above her, Miraak groaned, arm sliding snugly around her waist. “I told you.” The sight of his hand wrapped so perfectly around his cock shouldn’t have been nearly as sinfully good as it was, but inexplicable heat flooded her belly and she found herself unable to muster up a coherent reply to his teasing, entranced by the easy, smooth motion of his hand-

Clearing her throat she straightened her neck out to look up at him. What to say? He watched her curiously, perhaps gauging her for fear or uncertainty—some of it tickled at the back of her head, but not too potent yet for her to give it shape. Perhaps he also just wanted to know her reaction. It must be a great boost for his ego.
“Big,” she muttered before she could stop herself, and he tossed his head back to laugh.
“Eloquent,” he replied. 

 

Carefully, oh so carefully, she traced one of those lovely, prominent veins decorating his forearm down to the back of his palm, letting her fingers brush over his knuckles as his hand moved steadily. Heat emanated from him like a bonfire, and with her mouth watering, she briefly touched the base of his cock as his hand slipped upwards. He was hot and long and...and thick.  

 

Without truly registering what she was doing she let her body move as it wanted to, kissing the base of his neck, his shoulder, her lips skirting over his sternum to let his heart beat against her mouth, kissing his ribs, his stomach, moving down his delightfully muscled torso to her goal—her prize.
“Princess,” he said in a hitched voice, gently grabbing her jaw. “You can’t fit that.”
“Just don’t push me,” she replied with more conviction than she truly felt, hearing him exhale hotly into the darkness. Carefully she wrapped her fingers around him, relishing the heat of his shaft against the cool of her fingertips, and watched as his torso shuddered. She...definitely could not fit even half of this. Anywhere. Still, with her little wave of sudden confidence she leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss to the side of his shaft, tracing a thick, winding vein with her lips. The First Dragonborn gave a wavering moan, sliding both hands into her hair to cradle her head.

 

"Gods, woman-" he said breathlessly, eyes falling downwards to watch the measured procession of her mouth, her kisses along his cock. "Just when I thought I had you figured out." She let her lips part to smile and hum, watching his branded hip jump at the vibration. Drawing back slowly she dared to let her tongue flick out and trace along his skin, pressing the flat of it to the head of his cock. Eyes flickering up to him so she could watch his widen, she wrapped her mouth carefully around the tip. Miraak's eyelids fluttered dangerously, fingers curling into her hair.

 

" Falé, Tharya." It sounded like a curse, a dripping contrast to the way he breathed her name with just the slightest bits of desperation. Abruptly he wedged each hand under either of her arms and urged her upwards, into his hold, and stepped away from the bed with one arm supporting her. “We’ll see what else that pretty mouth can do when we’re home,” he growled, “for now, stop squirming.” It was a hard command to follow as anticipatory fire flooded her veins. His eyes softened as he took another lingering step backwards and turned so his back was mostly the window and the moonlight illuminated her. “Why are you standing?” In the dimness, his grin was just barely visible. “Miraak!” She bit her underlip before shaking her head. “ Standing? ”
“I like to show off,” he replied simply, “especially when my wife is watching.”
“I’m heavy ,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.
“You weigh nothing to a man a foot taller than you and as hard as I am, prinsaessa, ” he crooned, watching her jolt a little as he dragged the head of his cock across her entrance, gathering the wetness smoothing her folds. “Relax. I’ll take care of you.” Another swipe and he couldn’t stop himself from rolling his hips into it, pressing her lightly and watching the unabashed way her eyelids fluttered. “ Paratö? ” She looked so beautiful like this, poised with moonlight washing over her skin, faint marks littering her neck and sternum and that amazingly glazed look in her clear eyes. Gods, she was going to feel so good.

She gave him a soft nod, little hands latched onto his shoulders, and swallowed once. “Just please be—gentle,” she whispered, and he struggled not to let his heart melt so he could kiss her senseless right there. When she said it with that face and that voice, it was impossible to not react.
“Always, princess,” he promised back, and he meant it. Adjusting her closer so their foreheads could touch, Miraak placed one more kiss against those delightfully soft lips and then oh so carefully pressed the head of his cock into her.

Her eyes fluttered closed but his didn’t; he watched her face even as his own twisted, brows creasing together and jaw going lax as she whined his name, legs tightening around his torso. By the Mighty, she looked so perfect like this, her pretty lips parted, her forehead scrunched.
“Easy, little one,” he said softly, but his own voice was shaking. Four long years, almost five, of waiting patiently. It was undoubtedly worth it in his mind; he would’ve waited four millennia if she asked him to. Four years had given him plenty of practice with his fist to rebuild his stamina for this exact moment. But she took each inch of him without a single complaint and with a plethora of moans and light gasps, her mouth brushing his once in a silent request. He obliged, of course, kissing her slowly and freeing his other arm to hold onto her as well. 

 

“There you go,” Miraak groaned once her hips were nestled snugly against his, her walls fluttering uncertainly around his length. He let his head loll back with a loud moan; she felt good and she deserved to know it. “Fuck, Tharya.” She squirmed a little in his grasp. He couldn’t remember if he’d swore in Tamrielic in front of her before. “So tight for me, little one, gods, you have no idea how divine you feel.” Her mouth worked to form words but all that came was a pleasant sigh that broke against his chin, making him smile faintly. Gods, she was so tight, so warm. It was ethereal.

 

With all the caution in his being he started to drag his hips backwards, out and away just until his cock could slip out, and then pressed into her again with ceremonial slowness. This time he did allow his eyes to close to take the feeling in properly. Her walls enveloping him the second time was somehow just as breathtaking as the first, and it sent a dizzying rush of blood into his head. One knee very nearly unhinged beneath him, making his grip tighten urgently around her waist. Tharya gasped a little, touching her fingers to his face.
“Alright?” She managed quietly, nudging his nose with hers.
“You steal my words and my strength,” he breathed, letting a grin dance along his face. “Forgiveness. It—has been a while." She giggled breathlessly up at him, running her hands soothingly over his shoulders.

"We have time," she reassured.

"I used to be good at this," Miraak groaned, rolling his eyes. " Achté . Past my zenith in my old age." She did laugh fully this time, even as he drew his hips back and pushed up into her again, shrugging his discomfort off. Tharya slotted their foreheads together and held his eyes this time, sparking little fires of arousal across his skin as he settled into a quiet rhythm, slow but pressing deep, letting her squirm and stretch around him for the first time.

"How does that feel?" He whispered, flicking his head to toss his hair off his forehead. In the moonlight the little swell of her belly caught his eye, and—oh, gods, if he was making her bulge like that, he wouldn't last the night. "Alo vest’ar’mar fuet stral vor’min,” he groaned, hearing her moan against his neck, “G’ar’otor chieté vyathe.”

“Tamrielic,” she mewled to him, a blissed out reminder. She wanted to hear it that bad?
“Maybe you should just learn Atmoran,” he quipped, squeezing her thighs. “ Kjerta, kjerta, kjerta. ” She kissed him softly, making little sounds in her throat as he rolled his hips into her. His body was starting to move of its own accord now—it had been five thousand years since he'd last had sex but the muscle memory was starting to kick in at last.

 

"If you've always been this tight for me," he murmured, the smack of their lips parting delightfully loud in his ears, "then I should've asked sooner."

 

Drawing further into the moonlight but still clearing the window, Miraak let his hips slip into whatever they remembered how to do. He maneuvered her legs so her knees were over his elbows and his arms still wound tightly around her sides, the hinging swing of his lower body enough to drive his cock into her easily. Each time his length pulled away glistening with her slick and throbbing with the need to be buried in her again. The First Dragonborn considered himself a leg man by every definition, but the measured bounce of her breasts with each thrust made a low, draconic sound tear out of his chest. She was gorgeous like this. Gorgeous with her legs spread and her belly tight and her nails dragging down his chest just hard enough to leave faintly colored marks in their wake, gorgeous with her eyes squeezed shut and gorgeous as he filled every inch of her to the brim on his cock and teased every sweet spot she didn’t even know she had. She required little of him beyond the keeping of his initial promise; his pace wasn’t fast, just quick enough to match the momentum of his hips, but the pleasure in her voice and her sounds was deep-seated. She was an easy woman to please.

 

“You take my cock so well, princess,” Miraak groaned, finding her through his half-lidded gaze. “So tight for me.” Her entire body tightened at that, walls fluttering beautifully around him to squeeze his dick, legs pushing into his ribcage. Oh? She liked praise, of all things? Lewd praise? His mouth fit into a smile as a moan tumbled from his throat. Suddenly she gasped, digging little crescents into his pectorals with her nails and slung herself forward to latch onto him.
“Oh- Divines- Miraak- ”

Still grinning, he pressed an airy kiss into the curve of her neck, holding her still while he fucked up into her. Her thighs flexed and squirmed around his hips, toes curling into his lower back. Skin hot to the touch. Her back straightened and then arched away from him, pushing against his shoulders.
“Cum for me, prinsaessa ,” he purred against her ear, utterly delighted by the fact that she needed only his cock and good stretch, a few well-placed words and the small thrill of relying completely on his strength to bring her to an orgasm. 

 

She clenched around him again—lewd praise it was, then—and raked her hands over the flexed muscles of his biceps and chest, grabbing him tightly. He wouldn’t call it groping , but the woman certainly knew what she liked. Miraak hoisted her up to capture her lips, kissing her slowly and lazily, letting his tongue push past her lips to contrast the quickfire motion of his hips against hers. “Come on, princess,” he groaned. Was she holding back? The vice-like grip of her walls around his length was making him tremble again. “Cum for me. Cum on my cock.” She whined towards the window, hips bumping away from him, tightening her back until she bit firmly on his shoulder and let the tension in her lower body wash away on the tides of what was likely the best orgasm she’d had in her life. Her cum spilled hotly around the inches inside her, sliding down those that weren’t.

With a cold shudder that he recognized as a sure sign of his scales appearing he pressed carefully into her and watched, listened with a low rumble as he pulled back and pretty, milky white painted his brown skin. Tharya’s hand fell down his arms to grip his forearms weakly, her breath coming in short gasps as he thrusted shallowly. Vaguely he recognized a furious scarlet blush on her cheeks but thought little of it.

“Miraak,” she whispered, voice almost hoarse. “Why...?” Small fingers danced over the gleaming golden scales covering his arms; he let his gaze travel up her glowing, lax body to her eyes, fighting between pleasure and concern.
“Nothing bad,” the Atmoran replied with a growing smile, testing his knees before pulling her up and making his way towards the empty fireplace. They weren’t bad, that was true, though he didn’t remember the last time they had come out over an emotion that wasn’t negative. No, it was intense happiness coursing through his veins this time, intense relief, intense desire, intense everything. “Catch your breath,” he hummed as he knelt and laid her gently against the fur rug laid out on the cold stone floor, a dragon releasing its mate. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Clear eyes widened just the slightest on him. “You didn’t?”
“It will take more of you calling my name to bring me down,” came the reply as he lowered himself towards her belly, spreading her limp legs to let his gaze take in the last shreds of her orgasm slipping out of her, of her hips twitching, her pussy fluttering around nothing, now. He grabbed his cock in one hand to spread her slick and dragged his tongue languidly up through her folds, moaning into her core as he swallowed greedily, sucking her swollen clit into his mouth. Her thighs jerked hard, feet planting against his shoulders.
“ Miraak ,” she whined in that oh so delectable voice, but he was already done, having taken the rest of her orgasm for himself and satisfied with her taste in his throat.
“You taste heavenly,” he sighed into her belly, kissing it slowly before sitting up. 

 

For a moment he debated taking her like this where he could see her, but...no, it was repetitive. Absently he reached his free hand up to stroke her neck as she relaxed, humming when her hands clasped around his wrist. 

"I'm sorry," Tharya whispered after a moment, "was that embarrassingly quick?" Miraak chortled and shook his head, tracing his thumb along her throat.

" Elskavin, if only you had been there the first time I snuck off," he snorted. "It was pathetic, believe me." Gently he nudged her hip and laid down beside her. "Turn on your side."

"Did you really do that?" She asked as she obliged, turning her back to him. Even so, she was so much smaller that her shoulders were aligned with his chest. In the moment of reprieve she wrapped her legs around one of his and snuggled back into his warmth. 

"Of course," he replied with a scoff, tucking one arm under her side and letting his fingers drift over her belly. "You think I came out of Apocrypha ready to plough the first person in sight? You made my hormones go—what do you say?— haywire , woman. It was horrible and embarrassing, and I am very glad you let me keep those thick robes." 

 

She giggled into his arm, toes curling against his calf. "Yeah, well, you didn't exactly let me within an arm's length of you. Ever."

"And now you know why," he retorted. She sounded tired, and her body was warm and relaxed. "If you want to stop-"

"No," she cut him off unexpectedly. "I'm not gonna be like that Altmer guy." One arm reached back to wrap around his neck. " Paratö. " The Atmoran was somewhat clumsy on her lips but it made him smile nonetheless, even if she was only guessing what it meant. 

 

He latched one hand around the supple flesh of her leg and lifted it out of his way, planted one foot against the fur and guided his cock slowly back into her with a soft groan. She exhaled lowly with her head turned against the base of his neck, her breath warming his throat. 

"I should admit," he whispered into her hair, "I have dreamed far too many times of taking you exactly like this." Exactly in this position—a personal favorite—exactly in this moonlight, exactly with her body so soft and pressed against his. The only thing missing was clenched in his fist against her stomach, and with a short movement he tossed it outwards into the fireplace, watching the flames burst to life in a shower of sparks. His palm returned to cradle its prize and he relished in her little surprised gasp, fingers curling down over his knuckles. "For your rustic heart, prinsaessa."

 

This time she was quiet with her moans; delicate mewls and hitched noises mingled with pleasured whispers of his name against the crackle of the fire. He himself was mostly quiet, eyes closed and nuzzled into her golden hair and content to thrust almost soothingly into her to relish the sleepy kind of gentleness they were engulfed in. So close and touching everywhere, her fatigue was starting to seep into him. 

 

As much as he loved it, though, the ache in his cock needed to be satisfied, and the growling of his dovah would not be sated with such gentle movements. The man inside him might have been, but the dragon would not be. Her breath hitched when he pressed himself deep, fingers squeezing his, and she moaned when he did it again, again, again. The sight and sound of her skin colliding with his was enough to make him want to hear it faster, louder, thrusting into her quickly but making certain that she was gifted with every inch of him each time. 

 

"Gods, you take me so well, mea deusa, " he grunted, stretching his wrist down from her belly to roll her clit on his fingertips. She jumped and moaned beautifully, clamping around him. "Such a good girl for me. Do you think your Divines made you knowing I would get to make love to you like this?" Her fingernails scratched along his wrist as he fucked her—his scales had vanished, but they were certainly on the brink of returning. "Mighty, I've waited so long to fill you with my cum, princess, you have no idea how perfect you would look full of my seed..." Yes, definitely returning. The mere idea of her taking his cock, of her pretty and full and swollen with his cum dragged a shudder down his torso. " Vest’otor utlik at’vara galettur ."

 

This time she didn’t ask, and he felt a small relief. She didn't need to hear that one.

 

He touched her clit between his fingers again, treating it exactly the same way he did with his mouth, pressing and rubbing and pinching—even carefully, it elicited a great, excited little yelp of his name that sent blood rushing to his cock driving in and out of her clamped entrance. Close, gods he was close, but he couldn't leave her out. Her mannerisms in bed were new to him still but if the way she squirmed and pushed at the confines of his arms was any indication, she just needed a good nudge over the brink. 

 

Drawing back a little Miraak wrapped his hand firmly around her hip and watched with hazy pleasure as his hips drove up into her from behind, holding her fast in one spot and fucking into that tight little spot he couldn't see but knew was there for him to fill. 

"Can you cum again for me, princess?" He panted, half-demand and half-question. "One more time for me so I can stuff you full of my cum?" All she did was arch into him, angling her hips just so that he drove as deep as possible with each push, but that was all it took.

 

The experience of her orgasm was lost to him, buried under the avalanche of his own, the first worthy one in forty-five hundred years. Tuned out of the world for a moment he kept pumping into her, hardly aware of his own moan, his own pent-up breath breaking against her scalp--his body zeroed in on the single feeling of his seed flooding into her, filling what precious little space was left around his dick, saturating her folds as it seeped out of her, warmth blossoming against her cervix. She writhed and whined until he slowed, content with keeping himself buried in her to the hilt to ensure his cum stayed where it needed to. Before he knew it he was mumbling an old Moth fertility prayer under his breath into her freckled shoulder. Tharya looked and felt utterly blissed out, all but limp in his arms as she caught her breath a second time. He waited, deflating protectively around her, arms latched over her middle. 

 

The haze lifted slowly, first disappearing as her little sighs penetrated the fog behind his eyes, and then the feeling that he was still rocking into her, albeit slowly, gently. 

" Achté, you're so good for me," he hummed. "So good to me, little one." Absently one hand started to rub her stomach, warm and full and, he told himself, bulging around more than just his cock now. "Relax now. Let me take care of you, my wife." Those last words brought a tired smile to his lips. He wanted nothing more in the world than to take care of her. 

"As if you haven't been doing that," she joked but she sounded exhausted, snuggled into his arms and lying still in his embrace. 

"Thus far, you have been accommodating me, mea deusa. " Lips found the smooth skin of her freckled shoulder. "I am fortunate to worship a benevolent goddess." He laid his palm flat against her belly, feeling the thud of her heartbeat through it. "I am fortunate to worship at all." 

 

She merely hummed into his arm, reaching down to touch the pair of rings on his left hand, stroking each without a word.

For a long time the First Dragonborn remained quiet, reluctant to move, breathing slowly into her neck. She was light and warm and comfortable against him, and made no comment on his scales this time, merely touched them, tracing their razor-thin edges with her fingernail and watching the dancing firelight reflect on their smooth surfaces. The only sound she made was one of loss when he pulled away, running one hand gently up her thigh and hip as he sat up.
“How does a bath sound?”
“Good,” Tharya murmured, and allowed him to scoop her into his arms again and carry them both towards the small bathroom joined to their room—the exact motions, the exact route that had started this whole encounter initially. Absently he swayed on his feet as the water gurgled and crashed loudly into the porcelain behind them, stroking his fingers along her side.
“Tired?”
“Mhm,” she nodded against his neck, toying with a single strand of dark hair. “Sore.” Miraak chortled at that. He was sure he would be as well come morning. “You rocking me like a baby isn’t helping me stay awake,” she added with a smile.
“Who, me?” He scoffed. “I would never try to put you to sleep, elskavin. What kind of man do you think I am?”

The Last Dragonborn sighed as she moved in his grip, letting both of her arms settle snugly around his neck, her fingertips tracing light patterns against his shoulder. He felt the tickle of her eyelashes as her eyes closed, finally, and for a long time she was still until he thought she’d fallen asleep.

“A good one,” came the reply at last, soft and whispered against his throat. “A very good one.”

Notes:

game time: what do you think "Vest’otor utlik at’vara galettur" meant??? vote on your phones now! hint: it has to do with the two sentences that came before it

Chapter 18: Surprise Bedfellows (Skyrim)

Notes:

this horrible 11k smut was written to feature my friend's (nuwanders) AMAZING sexy irresistable hot cousin OC mathyas, since i literally love him so much. if you want KILLER skyrim content and a unique/original takes on in-game questlines and a cast of lovingly crafted OCs, go check out their fic king & lionheart! it's legit to die for!!!

“Easy, princess,” Miraak chuckled against her throat, squeezing her thighs in both hands. “You have me for many hours yet.” She made a sound against his mouth; no words, just a sound, though he couldn’t say he would be coherent either if he’d just had the first worthy orgasm in two months. It was absolutely criminal he had to go without this, without her legs around his waist and her flushed little face below him panting his name.

Normally he would’ve waited until she had time, too, between her work, to wine and dine her and then fuck her senseless, but this time he had brought gifts, and so time had been made, not found. The lace looked exquisite on her, as always: a peaceful white decorated with blue florals that hugged her breasts and hips delightfully. He hadn’t meant to soil them so soon, either, but sometimes underwear had to be pushed aside instead of taken off to achieve certain goals. He would take it off, though, as lovingly as he had put it on.

“It looks good on you,” Miraak murmured between kissing her parted lips, rolling his hips lightly against her. It had been too long since he’d been buried in her, too long since she’d been able to cum around him-

“Tharya?”

She twitched as he drew back, pulling each leg over one arm and shifting both ankles into one hand to hook his fingers into the band of the lace. Neither of them heard the approaching voice until it came again, along with the sound of shuffling papers. Abruptly Tharya levered up, reaching for his shoulders. Miraak raised an eyebrow, and sure enough, footsteps were coming down the hall.

“Who?” He murmured, abandoning her underwear for the time being to wrap one arm snugly around her middle.
“I think—it’s Mathyas,” she whispered, eyes growing wider. Vaguely she realized she ought to do something, maybe call out a half-hearted response, ask him to come back later, or perhaps just attempt to get her and Miraak as decent as possible before he arrived, but then his voice came again and he was much too close for comfort. And Miraak, of course, didn’t seem to care much; his lips were brushing over her neck again before she could finish speaking, her back connecting with the sheets once more. “Miraak!”

“Maybe he will want to join,” the Atmoran snickered, and grunted when she managed to whack the side of his shoulder. “What?”
“I need you to be serious and stop thinking with your crotch for two seconds,” she said. “Because a Redoran Councilor is about to walk in on us.”
“I was being serious,” he said, and when she looked up at him, she saw that he was indeed serious. Dreadfully serious.

 

In hindsight, this was bound to happen eventually; the number of times she and Mathyas visited each other’s city addresses to discuss the minutiae of council meetings, to vent to each other about their irritating peers, to bond and empathise over the hardships of their respective long distance relationships… they’d given up on petty formalities like knocking weeks ago. 

"Tharya?” The Dunmer’s voice was closer than before, and as embarrassment and tangible regret flooded her system, Tharya watched as he rounded the corner and stepped through the open threshold that connected her office and bedroom. Did Miraak not think to close doors beforehand? “The door was open, so I assumed you were in. I was hoping you could look over these reports with me, and, if you wanted, we could get...dinner..." Mathyas trailed off as he came to a halt just inside the door to her bedroom, a sheaf of papers tucked in one hand. His dark eyes lingered for a second, maybe two—but either way, longer than what was considered proper—and abruptly she smelled a spike of hot arousal from the elf, drowning out his otherwise familiar scent, but then the papers were lifted as a shield to block his view.

 

“ B’vehk , my apologies,” he said, voice balancing somewhere between strained and...and maybe a little amused. “I’ll come back-”

"You are taking my wife to dinner, Councilor?" Miraak interrupted.

"Good to see you, Miraak," Mathyas sighed after a moment. "I had no idea you were in the city."

"A new arrival, I'm afraid," the Atmoran grinned. "This is your second husband, prinsaessa? "

"I didn't sa-say that," Tharya mumbled, her breath hitching mid-sentence as Miraak sat up and drew out of her. The Dunmer's shoulder twitched. "I didn't," she repeated, presumably aimed for Mathyas this time. "I said work husband. It was a joke."

"That must make me your pleasure husband," he grinned, touching her chin.

 

"Forgive the intrusion," Mathyas cut in, bowing his head quickly and stiffly, "I'll...leave this on your desk, Tharya." He shifted a bit before turning for the door. "Have fun."

 

Miraak turned to look down at Tharya, both eyebrows raised. She curled her fingers tightly against his chest, desperately trying to sort out whatever diabolical plan he formed in his head—he had too many of those as of late. "He will come if we ask," the Atmoran murmured, and Tharya wished she knew how he was so certain. “And he’s pretty.” That , she couldn’t argue with. Miraak had been the one to point out the nice curve of his lips whenever he smirked, as if his smirk wasn't faint-inducing enough already, the elegant slope of each cheekbone; his face was not quite slender but not as broad as hers or Miraak’s. And his hair, Divines, his hair. Miraak may have been the first to voice it, but she had been thinking about it from the moment they met the Dunmer in that suffocating cell. 

 

Watching Mathyas reach to open the door, she nodded feebly.

 

"A moment, Councilor," Miraak called out, and she was impressed—though not surprised—by how level his voice was, even now. Looking like he was acting against his better judgement, Mathyas stopped just short of the door, his hand on the knob already, and turned. A second time his eyes betrayed him: they flitted to her first as she adjusted herself on the bed, grazing over the lace and blue flowers and exposed skin, and then widened as Miraak stood, his hair tousled from her fingers and underwear doing very little to hide the erection he seemed willing to put on hold for now. 

 

He ambled lazily across the room to the door and consequently Mathyas, with his back nearly to the wood. Leaning around the Dunmer, Miraak shut the door with one hand and, after a moment of thought, locked it. "Stay a minute," he said in a light voice, but a low one, meant strictly for Mathyas's ears. Golden eyes flitted down his figure before moving away. "Oh, I have missed your smooth little infant cheeks, Councilor," Miraak grinned, reaching out to pinch said cheeks. Mathyas swiftly dodged the Atmoran's hands; he'd been pinched one time too many in his adult life by this man already. " Elskavin tells me you did have scruff for a bit, yes? What a tragedy I was not here to see it." Chortling, he thumped the Dunmer on the back. "We will make an Atmoran of you yet, Dutheri. Put you on stilts and discard all your razors."

"Please don't," Mathyas groaned. 

 

Miraak rifled through the papers with fake interest, waving them at the Last Dragonborn. 

"These look important, elskavin. "
“I’m sure they are,” Tharya muttered in reply. “And I’m sure they can wait?” Mathyas watched as she stood carefully from the bed, no longer too intent on hiding herself. She glanced at Miraak, who nudged him forward with a knuckle to the spine, and then graciously extended one hand for Mathyas to take.
“Of course they can,” he murmured, lightly taking her fingers and letting Miraak walk him forward, the expanse of the Atmoran’s chest pressing against his back. Sandwiched between two Dragonborns was...not how he expected to end his afternoon. “They’re only reports.”

 

A low hum came from behind him, thoughtful as a hand ghosted over his back. "If you are here, Councilor, I assume you hold no prejudices about lying with other men." The comment struck him as odd for a moment--didn't Miraak have incredible Dibellan instincts or something?--but, just to be sure, he shook his head. 

"None," he confirmed. 

"Good." Miraak grinned down at him, threading long fingers through silky black hair. He leaned down and for a moment Mathyas tried to remember if he had ever thought about kissing the First Dragonborn—and then frowned as Miraak dodged him to kiss Tharya instead, starting at the base of her neck before finding her lips. “You can get us started, elskavin. ”

 

Whatever confusion Mathyas had was quickly washed away as cool fingers brushed his chin, calling his attention back to the woman in front of him. She smiled kindly. “He didn’t ask directly, but if you don’t want to, now’s the time with no hard feelings.” He measured the risk in his head before shrugging lightly.
“I want to,” he replied. Her smile grew.

Though he hadn’t kissed the Last Dragonborn before, somehow her lips were exactly as he guessed, imagined they would’ve been: soft, disarming, calming. Her mouth was warm against his own, moving experimentally, but he was sure to steadily return her affections, letting his hands find a respectable place on her waist to hold. Her skin was smooth and flushed warm under his palms. Carefully he explored the lace clinging to her hips—it was soft and thin. Expensive-feeling. Had she bought this herself?

 

"Is this new?" Mathyas murmured, tracing his fingers lightly over her hip. 

"You like it, Dutheri?" Miraak replied from somewhere in the room. The Dunmer thought for a moment before raising an eyebrow. 

"All those gifts from Hammerfell have just been nice underwear, haven't they?" He asked. Tharya sighed and nodded.

"Mostly." He tossed his head back to laugh; the small collection of boxes in her office had been ever-present since they first came here. He did like it, though. Would it be a crime to ask to see her in the contents of the other boxes?

 

Footsteps moved across the room and Miraak appeared behind him, casually slipping one arm around his waist and latching his teeth onto the tip of one ear. "She does look good, doesn't she, Dutheri." The Atmoran grinned slowly, reaching his free hand out to touch Tharya's chin. "I think the Councilor needs some lace of his own, elskavin. " Before Mathyas could even truly register what he was insinuating—or, gods forbid, let his mind give substance to the thought—Miraak’s hands were trailing along his shoulders, pulling the hem of his thin outer coat down his arms and tossing it away.

“Why wear such loose clothes when you have this figure, Councilor?” He purred, running his palms along Mathyas’s sides.
“Not all of us can walk around with our arms out like you,” he huffed back. The Dragon Priest chuckled once before drawing back and vanishing again.

 

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. Tharya drew him back in as surely as a well draws water; after being colleagues for long enough, he would be lying if he didn’t admit he had wondered , sometimes at least. She kissed him with more certainty now, hands drifting down his torso to undo the front clasps of his tunic. It was a relief to finally be rid of all his layers, especially with summer approaching the city. The tunic joined the coat on the floor, quickly followed by toed-off boots. Fresh confidence spilled into him, making his hands wander her torso appreciatively, brushing over the lace on her breasts and digging his fingers into the flesh of her ass, pulling her close so their bodies were pressed against one another. Gods, it had been too long since he had a good fuck.

 

Her tongue swiped across his lips as she drew back, hiking his undershirt up his stomach. The woman was persistent, at the very least, shifting off her toes for a moment to kiss the center of his chest once the shirt was gone.
“I should admit,” she chuckled, “the only thing that keeps me showing up to sparring sessions is getting to see you shirtless.” Mathyas snorted and lifted one hand to touch her chin, tracing his thumb over her lower lip.
“You think I don’t know that?”

Her reply was swallowed when he leaned in to kiss her again. He was in this, now. Gently rolling his hips forward to test the waters, he felt a lazy smirk pull at his lips. He was in this now, and he was looking forward to it.

Tharya gave him a light tug by the band of his trousers and he easily unlaced them, lifting one leg and then the other to shuck them off. Miraak, distant and faint, made an amused sound somewhere behind them. “I think she wants you in the bed, Councilor,” he crooned, just the slightest hint of condescension in his voice. “Your pants would have come off either way.”

He was in this, and he was looking forward to it, but he was definitely not prepared.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against her lips, but Tharya only shook her head.
“Don’t pay attention to him. He’s an ass sometimes.” Together they swayed backwards, lips meeting endlessly with a loud smack and hurried breathing. Maybe Mathyas had fantasized before, but how could he have known her mouth would be so good? With a quiet groan he slid his tongue over the seam of her lips and was delighted when they parted for him the same time her knees hit the bedside. It was clumsy but she didn’t seem willing to give up his tongue in her mouth, so they both fell rather awkwardly against the mattress.

Dextrous mage fingers dug into the thick mess of his dark hair, nails scraping just behind his ears. That was more pleasant than he would have ever admitted. Groaning, Mathyas freed one hand to hook around her knee and hike that leg onto his hip, letting his groin nestle between her thighs. He wasn’t quite hard, but if this was just the prologue to the first act, what need was there to rush?
“Is this okay?” He asked softly, watching Tharya’s light grey eyes slide over his face.
“If anything, I should be asking you that,” she giggled, but nodded. “Very okay.”

He paused for a moment to relish in the feeling of her hands trailing down his chest and stomach, feeling the outline of his hips before walking back up his sides. It’d been too long since someone touched him like that. Groaning as she gave his pecs a light squeeze, Mathyas dropped his head into the crook of her neck and sucked a patch of pale skin into his mouth, satisfied by the light buck of her hips up against him and the soft noise that left her. He slid downwards, taking her neck inch by inch, each time rewarded with movement until she was grinding steadily up against him. Considering what he had walked in on, he wasn’t surprised she needed some kind of friction. Squeezing her thigh against his hip, he drew back to admire the faint marks littering the column of her throat—none hard enough to last, he hadn’t asked yet—but, for now, all just discolored enough against her Nordic skin to stand out. 

 

It would be a lie to say she wasn't attractive; Tharya Stormhand was pretty, beautiful even, in a simple and bright sort of way. Something that was woefully lacking in Nords, who were indeed simple, but not usually too bright. This close, Mathyas could count the freckles on her nose and cheeks, and even see the blue-grey color of his face reflected in her pale eyes.

When he sought her lips again, movement flashed in the corner of his eye and the bed dipped as a new weight was added. Tharya didn’t let him turn his head fully, though, taking his jaw firmly in both hands to kiss and nibble on his bottom lip. “He’s thinking,” she murmured, her voice amused. “He always rubs his bottom lip like that.” Mathyas grinned, watching the First Dragonborn’s eyes rake over them both. Thinking , sure. Sex with three people meant six limbs to account for, three different bodies, but that shouldn’t have been a problem for a five thousand year old Dibellan Priest, should it?

Suddenly Miraak smiled, eyes focusing on Mathyas’s face. He said something to Tharya in Dovahzul, a question, and she seemed to think on his words before nodding lightly, giving a little shrug of one shoulder. “Excellent,” the Atmoran hummed, gaze gliding towards his wife as he leaned forward to kiss her slowly, letting Mathyas slide out of the way as dark fingers slipped under the band of her bralette. They kissed easily around Tharya wiggling out of it and the lace rose between them. Three years of marriage and seven years of knowing each other made it easy, he assumed. Without a word Miraak tossed the garment against Mathyas’s shoulder and let his hands roam appreciatively over the Last Dragonborn’s stomach and chest, caressing and squeezing her breasts, letting his thumbs toy with each nipple. He had quite an affinity for kissing with tongue, if Mathyas was seeing correctly, and Tharya had quite an affinity for loving it.

“Once the Redoran is fucked out of his mind,” the Atmoran purred, licking her lips playfully, “we will finish where we left off, little one.” He sat back with one last squeeze to her hips before looking at Mathyas, raising an eyebrow at the lace he was still holding in one hand. “If you keep it much longer, Dutheri, you will be putting it on.” Grabbing the Dunmer’s ankle in one hand, he gave a light tug, and Tharya shifted backwards to give him room to move. Miraak spread both legs and patted the space between them. “On your knees, Councilor, facing her.”

 

Carefully Mathyas obeyed, letting the First Dragonborn puppet him about. He didn’t have Tharya’s rare, simple kind of beauty; the man was sinfully attractive and he knew it. Everything about him just fit , broad shoulders and long, thickly muscled limbs, strong features, soft lips, large hands, pectorals second to none. When he spoke in Dovahzul again, his voice was close and deep, vibrating in Mathyas’s ears.
“Oil?” Tharya murmured, and then seemed to understand. “I don’t think so,” she said, glancing apologetically at the Dunmer; whether for the lack of oil or because he had apparently been tasked with taking her husband’s cock—which, Mathyas had known since he first laid eyes on the man, would not be an easy task for anyone in this Era—he couldn’t tell. Miraak hummed thoughtfully before drawing the elf’s hips backwards, so he was sitting on his knees, back arched forward, and ass nestled neatly between a pair of deliciously muscular thighs.

“Patience it is, Dutheri,” he murmured, “patience, and magic.”
“Magic?” But he wasn’t offered a reply.

Tharya shifted forward to kiss him again, no longer hesitant now that they had cemented his position with them. Quite literally, in a few ways. Miraak’s hands roamed over his back and sides, massaging muscles he didn’t remember were tight, his shoulders, caressing the firm muscle of his chest and arms before moving to rub each hip. Not just rub. He pulled them so the curve of Mathyas’s ass met the bulge he had first seen when he walked in. In uncanny unison Tharya did the same, her fingers brushing against his groin before finding purchase around the faint outline of his dick.

‘Uncanny unison’. He knew they had telepathy.

 

“Use your words if something is amiss, Dutheri,” Miraak murmured against the tip of one ear before latching his teeth around it. Nibble was too light a word, bite too strong; the pressure was just enough to send hot tingles through that side of his skull and racing down his spine. He tried to stifle the moan that left him. The other man continued to roll and grab his hips in a slow, circular grinding motion, bringing him over the half-hard erection barely concealed by the thin fabric of his underwear. "Yes?"

"I will," he breathed, nodding. 

"Good boy," the Priest purred, and then snagged the tip of the opposite ear in his mouth. His own confined cock twitched almost as hard as the rest of him did.

 

Between the friction of grinding back on Miraak, skillful fingers touching each nipple, and Tharya palming him steadily while occupying his lips, the heat between his legs was breaching uncomfortable; what finally tipped it over the line was another suckling bite on one of his ears while the other one was stroked lighter than a breeze. The contrast between their treatment was fogging his mind as surely as autumn rain.

“Off,” he panted, hooking his thumbs into the band of his underwear and giving it a sharp tug. Tharya immediately started to oblige him.
“Ask nicely, Dutheri,” Miraak cooed against his burning ear, voice amused and hot.
“Take it off, please ,” he corrected himself breathlessly, trying not to sound half as desperate as he was. As soon as the words left his mouth though, the garment was gone, tossed away and forgotten. Just as quickly, it was replaced by the soft, wet heat of a mouth, and grey fingers curled tightly around the meat of Miraak’s thigh as he looked down. Tharya, of all people, had not seemed like the type, but now here she was dragging the flat of her tongue along his stiff shaft, cushioning his hip in one hand. It started slow, measuring; she was gauging him, as surely as Miraak had, seeing where he liked her mouth best, finding spots to trace and suck, but very carefully not taking him fully yet. The sight alone was enough to make him dizzy, sending his moans downwards to grace her ears.

“Fuck,” he whispered, watching pink lips wrap around the head of his cock. “She does that?”
“I cannot give away all our secrets, Dutheri,” Miraak grinned. When Mathyas reached out to wrap one hand into her short, golden hair, the Atmoran nudged it away and did it himself. “Focus, Councilor.” For emphasis he pressed his hips upwards and rolled them leisurely, making sure the Dunmer could feel every single inch of his cock even with fabric still blocking their skin from meeting. And then, in a soft voice, he added: “You can hold, but do not push her down.” 

The rocking motion of his hips so he could press back into Miraak was rhythm enough for him to watch the flushed head of his cock and the two inches after it disappear into her hot mouth, feel her tongue swirl over the tip and drag along the sides and bottom. She hummed when he moaned her name softly, sending faint vibrations through his hips before drawing back to press slow, open-mouthed kisses along the sides of his length.

At the same time, a wet, cold knuckle nudged quietly against his hole, pulling a gasp from his lips. Cold? If anything, Miraak was warmer than he was. Gods, it felt like ice melt, slowly pressing into him, one long, thick, and cool finger stretching him out from inside. The heat of Tharya lips on his cock hit the frigid sensation in the lower curve of his spine, making him buck against his self-restraint and up into the velvety heat of her mouth.

“What is that?” He panted, half-twisting around to try and catch a glimpse of Miraak, but his muscles bunched together as the finger curled and straightened again, and one hot hand started digging appreciatively into the flesh of his backside.
“Ice magic,” the Atmoran chortled, “water, really. Relax your back, Councilor.” Mathyas fought to do so, leaning forward on his hands still situated on the other man’s thighs, but once he did, his effort was rewarded with a generous slap on the ass. “Good. Perfect for me, Mathyas .” His first name in that drawling voice was enough to set his muscles clenching again. The finger twisted, explored, and Miraak muttered something before nipping at the tip of his ear again. “Perfect, tight, and pretty.”

 

Tharya lifted off his cock with a wet pop of her lips, her warm breath tickling his skin as she chuckled and he moaned, stomach twitching as she kissed lightly up his torso. “You’re easier to do that to than he is,” she murmured against his mouth. Mathyas’s lips worked to form a reply, but none came and he submitted to kissing her again with a groan. He liked to think of himself as well-endowed or, at the very least, average, but the thought of Tharya trying to fit her little mouth around even half as much of Miraak as she had Mathyas...Mephala, his jaw hurt just thinking about it.

 

Without warning a second finger squeezed in around the first, pressing together before expanding suddenly, forcing his hips to buck forward. He gasped and shivered, a hitched moan flying from his lips. Miraak wasted no time in fingering him open; what had started slow and experimental was finally picking up speed. His back and thighs felt frigid, but the rest of him was overheating. “Spread your legs,” the Atmoran rumbled, and without thinking Mathyas complied as far as he could, pressing his knees into the other’s thighs. Those two fingers drove steadily into him, another hand kneading his ass, the salt of his own precum on Tharya’s lips as she kissed him and stroked his burning ears. He moaned with abandon against the woman’s mouth, spreading his hands to grab one of her thighs and squeeze it. Cold water ran down the inside of his thighs, but with Miraak forcing his body to rock, he couldn’t even shiver properly.

With a huff the Atmoran retreated suddenly, the delightful stretch of his fingers leaving along with the rest of him, leaving Mathyas on wobbly knees with Tharya as his only support. He wasn’t gone long though, leaning over the elf with one arm around his waist to hold him up, and then placing a hand on his wife’s lap.
“You seem to be the only one with clothes left to tear, elskavin ,” he chortled, but before he could finish his sentence Mathyas was hooking his fingers into the lace and nudging her backwards so he could drag it off her hips. His lips connected with the soft swell of her lower stomach, trailed around each hip. “Ah-ah. You look like a man who likes to ride, Dutheri, so that is exactly what you’ll do. Sit up.” Without thinking he obeyed, and then flushed as he realized that his eagerness was no longer as well hidden as he would’ve liked. “You, princess,” Miraak hummed, pulling Tharya into his lap and then laying back against the headboard. He took her mouth with his own, bringing her down with him. “You are going to do me a favor.”
“Should I even ask?” She giggled breathlessly, letting her husband hike her hips up onto his chest.
“Turn around,” he whispered, nudging her thigh. “And sit.”

She was halfway through his instructions when understanding seemed to flicker across her face; her cheeks bloomed crimson as she glanced at Mathyas, hands curling into loose fists against Miraak’s ribs, but the Atmoran snagged her hips back to hover over his face before pressing downwards. Her pale eyes fluttered as her clit met his mouth, a soft, hitched noise leaving her throat. 

 

For the moment, Mathyas was more than content to watch the way Miraak cradled her hips and belly, groaning every time she twitched over his tongue and making the most lewd, wet sounds he could, which only served to deepen her blush further. Every noise she made was higher-pitched than he would’ve expected but arousing in its own right, breathless and blissful. She was very pointedly avoiding looking at him, her eyes fluttering between closing and gazing down the expanse of her lover’s body, but they squeezed shut with a pleased squeal as teeth grazed over her clit before it was sucked into an eager mouth. Another sound he had not expected from her, but found more attractive than he would’ve admitted.

One of Miraak’s hands fell against the bed, gesturing Mathyas closer. The Dunmer couldn’t help the laugh that left him; it was one thing the man was unable to speak, but another that he was unable to speak because he was devouring his wife’s pussy from below. Deciding to take advantage of the First Dragonborn’s temporary handicap, Mathyas dropped to his elbows and traced his tongue over the man’s hip—was that a brand, or a scar? He had never noticed it before—and took his cock in one hand. It was impressive, to say the least. Nothing short of perfect, but somewhat intimidating because of it; delightfully hot and thick and longer than any other Nord he’d seen. It made sense, if Atmorans were supposedly as large as this one said they had been. Tharya , slight, lean-muscled Tharya took this thing regularly? That was just as impressive.

 

With a grin he slid his thumb firmly over the head of Miraak’s dick, rubbing over the slit and dragging his fingers down the shaft, tracing full veins pressing against the flesh. Taking just the tip between his lips, he watched those thighs roll and tense against the soft sheets, cords of muscle shifting under beautiful brown skin. After Tharya’s comment earlier, he was interested to see just how difficult it was. Slowly licking his lips, he wrapped his mouth around the head of the Atmoran’s cock and slowly started his way downwards; with his mouth held open there was no chance of using his tongue, so he relied on hollowing his cheeks to create hot suction and press himself further.

Abruptly one of Miraak’s hands left Tharya to tangle into Mathyas’s dark hair, holding his head exactly where it was, halfway down. The Dunmer huffed through his nose; two could play that game. Pressing upwards he struggled against the weight of that hand, only for it to shove him back down again. Fingers pinched at the tip of his ear and Miraak shifted as a low, rumbly groan coursed through him, but he continued to set Mathyas’s pace with humiliating ease. It must’ve been good for Tharya, too, if the noises she was making were any indicator of how earnestly Miraak was quite literally devouring her as if she was his last meal. The head of his cock slammed into the back of the elf’s throat with each push—the bastard was putting his hips into it too. With a strangled noise Mathyas grabbed the side of one of his thighs and gave it a hard squeeze, pressing himself upwards and off the man's shaft with a wet gasp. Saliva saturated his lips, his throat was burning for air, but gods...it felt good.

“He says-” Tharya cut herself off with a delicate sigh, eyes fluttering. Mathyas noted Miraak had eased significantly below her for now, rubbing one hand over her belly, jaw moving at a leisurely pace. “-Sit,” she finished, rolling her hips back against her husband’s mouth. “Councilor,” she added with a hoarse laugh. Legs tight with anticipation, he situated himself over the Atmoran’s hips, grateful for the steadying hand the man provided—mockingly, the same hand that had held his face steady to be fucked now held the cock that was still glistening with his own spit—and slowly let the muscles in his thighs go lax.

 

Below him Miraak shifted just the slightest bit, and he became aware, through the haze in his mind, that both Dragonborns had their eyes trained on him. Two fingers, no matter how thick, were not nearly sufficient enough for this. His ears twitched and burned as those two gazes bore into him but he didn’t cave, steadily taking inch by thick inch. He let his fingers curl against the center of Miraak’s stomach, gasping as he gave an experimental roll of his hips.

“N-not yet,” Mathyas gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. The First Dragonborn was watching him attentively. “ Fuck. Fuck.”
“Easy, Dutheri,” he murmured, “you have all the time in the world.” Finding the stress in each of his muscles one by one, Mathyas slowly forced himself to relax. The pressure in his lower back was fading into a pleasant, stretching tingle. Gods, gods , it hurt for now but it felt like utter bliss.
“Okay,” he panted, “okay. I got it.” The desperation of his simple words made him flush again, but oh so lightly he rocked his hips over Miraak’s and felt the rest of his cock slide easily into place. The clarity of his mind was beginning to recede again, leaving him only with the dazed feeling of being stuffed to the brim. “By Mephala, fuck — you do this? ” He breathed, looking doubtfully at Tharya, being readjusted easily by her husband. Next to Miraak she looked small, and next to her Miraak looked huge, but he hadn’t even thought of...how did they...?

But she only laughed and reached out for one of his trembling hands, kissing his wrist lightly and lacing their fingers together. “Take your time, handsome.” Heat spread across his cheeks again. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard it on her lips before, but always directed for the man below her, below them both, but gods she said so sweetly he could almost melt.

For long moments all he could do was let his hips twitch and sway over Miraak’s cock buried inside him, moaning nearly as highly as Tharya was. Through hooded eyes he could see all of her, watching the way she moved, the way she shuddered and rocked her body, the way Miraak’s jaw rubbed against the inside of her thighs. The way his mouth met and sucked up on her pussy, the way his broad tongue teased her clit. How had he ever found himself in this bed, with this couple? The Dragonborns? They were...inexplicably beautiful together. Despite their thousand differences they fit like pieces of a puzzle, like thunder and lightning, like water and earth.

Shaking his thoughts away, he set his jaw and planted one hand on the mattress to either side of Miraak’s waist, leaned forward, still holding Tharya’s hand, and started to fuck himself thoroughly on the First Dragonborn’s cock. If they fit so flawlessly, he had to earn his way inside, at least for now.

Miraak’s length sunk into him with enviable ease, splitting him apart with each downwards motion but leaving him woefully empty every time he drew up. There was no way to win short of abandoning whatever scraps of dignity he had left and chasing that full sensation with messy, frantic movements, chest heaving and leaving no room for anything except a steady stream of pathetic moans tumbling out of his mouth. Vaguely he was aware of the Last Dragonborn crying out softly, her dull nails digging into his wrist. What a sight all three of them would make to any unfortunate soul who chose to walk in. Miraak started a steady rhythm of pressing upwards to meet each of Mathyas’s downwards motions, grunts muffled but no less sexy to listen to. Gods, what would it take to get the man to turn him over and fuck him properly?

 

The answer came not a minute later. "Wait-wait," Tharya gasped suddenly, free hand squeezing Miraak’s chest. Mathyas stilled instinctively even though he wasn't touching her beyond her hand. "Not yet," she whispered, and Miraak vibrated with a laugh as he pushed her forward onto his waist and pushed himself up on his elbows. It took quite a bit of adjusting but finally the Atmoran could sit up enough to wrap both arms around his wife, chuckling richly.

 

"Mighty, you are precious," he crooned, face flushed an earthy mix of brown and red from being...sat on. Mathyas relaxed slowly, glad to see there was nothing wrong, and rolled his hips gently to keep some kind of friction. "If you would prefer to cum around my cock, little one, you need only say so." She blushed anew, and he kissed her shoulders lovingly before shifting her off his lap. " Mathyas first, since he is our guest, no?"

Before he could even attempt to disagree Miraak was moving him around effortlessly, and his traitorous body was complying. He was turned over, cock slipping out of him, knees planted firmly on the mattress and face pressed down into the rumpled comforter. Had he taken that position himself? Just as quickly as everything happened, Miraak pushed back into him, large hands wrapped tightly around his hips—or at least one did, but the other landed a playful smack against the tight muscles in his ass.

“Good boy, Councilor,” the Atmoran purred, leaning down to nip at his ear. Gods, they would hurt after this. “I didn’t even have to tell you.”

Whatever reply he could’ve formed was lost as his whole body was overcome with dazzling, burning pleasure, little fires lighting across his skin. Miraak started thrusting into him steadily, saying something in a quiet voice to Tharya, who was lost on the outside of his peripheral vision. “Mighty, how long has it been since someone bent you over, Dutheri? Or are you always so tight?”
“It’s-” he groaned, grabbing fistfuls of the comforter and pulling it tightly between his hands. “Oh, fuck . That feels amazing.”
“More, pretty boy?”
“ Please .”

 

Miraak barked out a laugh behind him and tucked one arm around his stomach to hoist him up. Mathyas’s back bumped into his chest, but he kept his hips crooked backwards. The position was unbalanced, but with that arm keeping him steady, it wouldn’t interfere. What might’ve interfered was the hand wrapping generously around his dick with a sharp squeeze.
“Ho-ly shit,” Mathyas grunted over the colliding sound of his skin meeting Miraak’s hips, “I’m not gonna last.”
“That’s the idea, darling,” Miraak grinned against his hair, stroking him luxuriously. “I can pound your tight little ass all night, Dutheri.”

With a shaky sigh Mathyas tilted his head back. He hadn’t thought of kissing Miraak before. Tharya’s lips he loved: they were soft, disarming, moved smoothly and gently, but Miraak...Miraak seemed untouchable, almost. There was no doubt where he stood in the hierarchy. But, if he was being honest, the man’s mouth looked delectable. Plump, soft lips warm as the rest of his body, a trained tongue...there was no ifs or buts about it. Reaching one heavy hand around the back of the Dragonborn’s neck, he pulled him downwards to meet his mouth.

If Miraak was at all surprised by the action, it didn’t show. He groaned softly against Mathyas, giving his cock a hard jerk and still thrusting upwards into him. His mouth was hot, wet, and the Dunmer eagerly parted his lips before he could even think to let the other man’s tongue take over. Tharya lingered deliciously on him, faint but not gone. Miraak’s teeth tugged his bottom lip as he retreated, breathing heavily.
“I wondered when you would do that,” the Atmoran muttered, the tiniest smile on his face. Mathyas swallowed.
“Fuck me,” he whined, aware that was likely not the answer the other had been expecting, and shamelessly mouthed at his lips for another kiss.

Between the hand jerking his cock and being driven into from behind, his whole body was on fire, teetering dangerously on the precipice of what he thought would likely be the best orgasm of his life. Miraak kept him occupied and breathless, so much so that Mathyas only keened and moaned into his mouth, one hand squeezing the wrist at his belly. In the blink of an eye he was being pressed down again, face and chest meeting the sheets, and Miraak had a steel grip on his waist that left no room for even the slightest wiggle. His pace went ruthless, heavy, quick, hips slamming against Mathyas with each thrust. 

 

"Are you going to let me cum inside, Dutheri, or do you want me to decorate your pretty skin?"

"Inside, please ," he gasped.

"Good.”

 

Miraak let out a string of curses in Atmoran, and it was one dazzlingly hard thrust that sent the Dunmer careening into a world of pleasure.

 

For a blissful moment, warmth exploded in his torso and quickly drained out of him, reappearing as his own orgasm splattering against his stomach and chest and a shamefully loud cry leaving his lips. Miraak was still inside him, still moving, but abruptly his cock stuttered and then gave out, pressing all the way in and flooding what tiny space there was around his length with hot cum, making a sound that was certainly not human. Mathyas hadn’t even noticed the other man sitting on the brink; he was too busy being shoved over. Subconsciously he squirmed around the feeling of being ready to burst at the seams.

Heated breath fanned over his shoulder, following lazily by a pair of lips against his back and trailing towards his neck. Miraak reached for both of his hands, gently uncurling his fingers from the sheets and sighing into his hair, murmuring to relax. Everything seemed like a distant haze. His legs stretched and then gave out, letting the rest of his body fall flat against the bed. One of the Dragonborns chuckled. Hands roamed his back soothingly, another pair spread his thighs to admire the handiwork. He didn’t even have the strength to be embarrassed about it. The only thing he truly felt was Miraak slipping out of him; it left a hollow ache in the small of his back and his hips, and something icy hard pressed inside of him in place of a cock.

“Still alive, Dutheri?” The First snickered, rubbing one calf lovingly.
“What—is that?” Mathyas breathed, turning his head against the sheets but making no real effort to sit up.
“It will melt on its own,” Miraak replied slyly, bending down to kiss his back. Strong hands turned his body around so he was lying on his side across the foot of the bed, facing both of them. “I told you his little face would look good, fucked and plugged full of cum.” Studying him for a moment, Miraak barked out a laugh. “You look just like her.”

 

The room was quiet for a time, quiet enough that Mathyas eventually became aware of just how heavy his breathing was. Embarrassed, he tried to swallow, only to find his throat dry. All of him felt limp but in the best way possible, bone-deep satisfaction pulsing in his veins.
“Water?” Tharya offered quietly, presenting a glass to him—when had she gotten up for that? “It’s been sitting on my desk for two hours so I’m not sure how gross it is yet, but it’s something.” Mathyas snorted and shook his head, sitting up just enough to take a long sip.
“It is something,” he agreed, smiling at her. “Thank you, either way.” She touched his hair lightly before sinking back down onto the bed with a content sigh. Late afternoon had turned to evening now, warming the room nicely. 

 

With a grunt Miraak tugged hard on the thin, loose sheet covering the unmade bed, grabbing a section of it and drying his cock carefully.

"Miraak, my sheets," Tharya groaned, curling her lip at him. "Gross."

"What about the ones I sent you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna be too tired to change them." He rolled his eyes before tossing the section of fabric well away from all three of them. Wordlessly he reached for Tharya and pulled her into his lap.
“Do you not have servants for that, princess?”

Mathyas chuckled, reaching over the side of the bed to set his glass on the floor. “We don’t board them at our city addresses,” he explained. “Mostly as a precaution.”
“They’re only here when I’m here,” Tharya added. “Except for right now, but one of them will be back for dinner.” Miraak nodded slowly in understanding. He had spent however long in the royal palace of Hammerfell as the king’s ‘personal advisor’, but Mathyas had heard him complain about Jathlian enough to know the position wasn’t exactly enjoyable.  

 

Sighing, Mathyas relaxed into the sheets and got comfortable, throat sated and soothed from its use earlier. He watched as Miraak's hands caressed their way down Tharya's sides, rubbing her hips and thighs before squeezing her ass generously in both palms. Her fingers drifted across the scar on his chest as she leaned forward to nudge his nose with hers. 

 

"Are you sure?" She asked softly, touching his arms. "Aren't you tired?"

“I came here for my wife, and I am not leaving until she is satisfied." He said the words with surprising tenderness, turning his soft gaze on the woman in question. "I trust you can tend to yourself for the time being, Dutheri?" Mathyas merely nodded.

 

"Ideally you wouldn't have to leave at all," Tharya muttered, shifting as her husband drew his legs up a little to nestle her against his pelvis, stroking his cock languidly in one hand. It was a wonder he was even half hard at this point.

"Ideally, I would not be spending a single conscious moment outside the reach of your arms," Miraak murmured, slipping one arm around her middle. Mathyas watched as their lips met slowly, gently in the thin space between them—he was curious, to say the least, about their change in atmosphere. In pace. Things were softer now, slower, and...a little resigned. With the golden light of evening filtering in through the windows and falling over their bodies, they looked almost ethereal, like a living painting.

It struck him that perhaps this change in atmosphere was deliberate, and quietly he shifted from where he lay leaning on one elbow. “You don’t mind if I watch?” He winced. “Stay, I mean?” Golden eyes flitted up to clear grey ones, and Tharya gave a tiny shake of her head.
“Watch to your heart’s content, Dutheri,” Miraak replied with a lazy grin. Relief fluttered in Mathyas’s chest. He would’ve obliged without complaint if they wanted him gone, but it would’ve been a little disappointing; his curiosity was piqued, now. Some things were already noticeably different—Miraak looked much more relaxed than before, not as precise, and some of Tharya’s ambition had seeped away, replaced with...trust, he thought it was, or something close to it.

 

They whispered to each other between kisses, things too soft for even Mathyas to hear. He watched as Miraak let his head fall back, teeth bared in a full smile. Tharya slid her hands through his disheveled hair to rub and stroke his scalp. The hand around his cock seemed almost forgotten, though not for long. 

 

Just as slowly, things began to move again; a pillow was tossed against Mathyas’s chest, and Miraak sat forward again to linger on his knees for a moment—the muscles in his arms flexed and tightened delightfully to hold his wife up against him—before moving to lay the Last Dragonborn with the utmost care on the soft Cyrodiilic sheets.
“I am sorry for keeping you waiting so long, prinsaessa ,” he murmured. Mathyas chewed the inside of his cheek before frowning.
“I suppose that’s my fault,” he put in, a tiny pang of guilt striking his gut. But, surprisingly, his only reply was a chuckle.
“Not you, Dutheri,” the Atmoran said, looking up at him briefly. “Not that kind of waiting.” Without another word he took the pillow and fluffed it in his hands, scooping Tharya up again and wedging it below her hips. “You need to grow a foot, woman.”
“You need to shrink a foot,” she retorted.
“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, nudging her legs apart. He reached up to touch her chin lightly. “Look at me.”

 

It was a far cry from Mathyas’s experience, but he didn’t have a single complaint about it. This, this tenderness, it fit them perfectly; it fit the pair who had been away from each other for months after years never farther than an arm’s reach away. Tharya hadn’t spoken much on the topic, but it wasn’t hard to know she felt Miraak’s absence. There was little Mathyas could do to replace a lover, but he liked to think their friendship did something to ease the burden.

With practiced ease Miraak dragged the head of his cock through her folds, watching her twitch with cloudy eyes before he pressed into her, however carefully, ducking his head to mumble something into her ear. He found both of her hands on the bed and laced their fingers together, palms touching, and then eased his hips forward to elicit a soft, pleased sigh from the woman lying below him. There wasn’t much time wasted on formality, though. His pace was kind and deep, short nails digging faint crescents into his biceps, soft thighs squeezing around his hips.

“ Falé ,” the First Dragonborn groaned deeply, “I missed your noises more than life itself, woman. I missed your lips-” as he spoke, he kissed her firmly, one hand sliding down to grab her hip. “I missed your eyes, your beautiful legs...” Tharya laughed breathily at that, earning a grin from her counterpart as he kissed down her neck. “I missed your throat and your sun-colored hair and each of your freckles more than I can begin to say.” He sat up fully now, extending one pale leg and laying it flat against his chest, hooking the other over his elbow and holding it out to the side. Golden eyes trailed downwards to where their bodies met, where his cock disappeared steadily into her and drew back out with a sinfully slick sound.
“A-all-” Tharya’s hands curled and uncurled against the sheets, but she was smiling. “All of them?”
“All of them.” The confirmation was punctuated by an especially slow thrust, pressing all the way in and dragging all the way out.

Holding her thigh in one hand, Miraak freed the other to lay it over her belly, rubbing her stretched torso before letting his thumb drop to swipe over her clit. The Nord’s hips jumped and twisted away from him and the wide circles he rubbed against her, but his grip was solid, fingers pressing into her skin just enough to keep everything where he wanted it. “I missed that, too,” the Dragon Priest purred. “You have the prettiest little clit, princess, to go without it should be criminal.” Mathyas’s blood jumped at that, and, watching the other man’s pace steadily gain speed, he absently reached down to wrap one hand around his own length. It was surprising enough that he had another orgasm in him.

For whatever reason, he kept his movements quiet and careful, dark eyes trained solely on the image before him; to break it, he felt, to spoil it with his own noise, his own pleasure, felt almost wrong. Unknowingly he stroked himself in time with Miraak’s thrusts, gaze jumping between the way his hips moved and the way Tharya’s body reacted, spine arching upwards and a tangle of incoherent moans tumbling from her parted lips. Eyes closed, her face was contorted lightly with pure pleasure, and her fingers found their way down to latch onto the wrist of the hand toying with her clit.

“There you go, princess, doesn’t that feel good?” Miraak groaned, flicking his thumb over the bud again before lowering his forefinger to squeeze it between both. “Didn’t you miss having my cock in you? Tell me.”
“Yes—gods, yes —Miraak-”
“Good girl,” he said lowly, watching her writhe and push at his wrist. Mathyas shuddered; he would’ve never expected to hear those words drop off the First Dragonborn’s lips. And he would’ve never expected to be aroused by it. “Next time you’re coming to Hammerfell so I can fuck you on silk sheets, little one, so you can take my cock in rosewater baths and on marble floors. You too, Dutheri.” The Dunmer jolted a little at being addressed after so long, his mouth working soundlessly for a reply. Instead he only watched as Miraak’s head fell backwards, exposed throat bobbing as he swallowed and let out a rocky moan, fucking into his wife like it was his last day on Nirn.

 

Mathyas pumped himself vigorously, breath filtering through a clenched jaw. Silk sheets, rosewater baths, marble floors, and being pounded out his mind didn’t sound half bad. His concentration broke as Tharya cried out a delightful chorus of her lover’s name, repeating it breathlessly as her hips fought to either shy away or go closer to him. Miraak groaned, eyelids fluttering as he watched her body go tight like a sprung coil and then burst, back clear off the bed and the sheets rumpled by her fists.

“That’s it, princess, cum for me,” he rumbled, “cum on my cock so I can fill you up, hm? You deserve it, woman, by the gods.” Without waiting for any kind of reply—though Mathyas was uncertain Tharya could give one if she tried—the Atmoran locked both hands around her waist and sat back on his heels, dragging her upwards into his lap. Using his palms splayed against her back to hold her up, he grit his teeth and fucked her through her orgasm so easily that Mathyas hardly even remembered she had one. His own was closing in, his body still sensitive to attention from before, and his arm was starting to feel tight but he couldn’t find it within himself to stop, not now.

He watched Miraak’s face intently; he hadn’t been able to see it before, but Mathyas was surprised by how expressive he was, when usually he was so passive or irritated. His brows were crunched together, lips parted to gasp in air, eyelids heavy as he tossed his head back again and caught his lower lip between his teeth with a loud, rumbling moan.

“ Fuck , Tharya,” he panted, hips hardly pausing as he tossed her lightly back down and grabbed each knee to hold her legs wide, hot gaze meeting hers as he pushed into her once, twice, and then came with a hitched moan and--was that a shudder? “By the Mighty, woman, I could make love to you for a thousand years,” he breathed, slowly easing her legs upright against his chest. Tharya moaned as he thrusted shallowly into her, almost drowning out the soft, sinful squelch that followed.

“Maybe by then you’d get senior citizen discounts,” she whispered after a moment, and the First Dragonborn guffawed with surprising enthusiasm. Mathyas had never heard him laugh before—it was a rich, deep sound from the chest, like low cathedral bells. Miraak’s hands rubbed thoughtfully over her stomach and Tharya’s draped lightly over them for no other reason than to feel his touch. He hummed as he watched his palms slide over her skin.

Soft lips found her belly as he leaned down, drawing slowly out of her, but Mathyas saw his fingers slide between her folds and dip back into her wet with cum. “You will never not look beautiful with my seed in you, my wife.” With a soft grunt he dropped onto the bed behind her, peppering light kisses against her neck and shoulder. Tharya snuggled gratefully into his arms, looking more relaxed than Mathyas had ever seen her. “Good enough for you, Dutheri?”

“Good enough for me,” the Dunmer replied, glancing down as his stomach painted white a second time. Gods, he hadn’t even felt his own orgasm, just watched theirs. He felt hot, sticky, and limp, but the most content he’d been in a long time. Chuckling, Mathyas rolled onto his back and tossed an arm over his eyes. This was certainly not how he expected his day to go.

 

“Do you want the first bath?” Tharya asked after a minute, reaching out for his hand. Mathyas wrapped his fingers around hers, tracing over the cool rings around her knuckles that matched Miraak’s.
“Are you sure?” He murmured. She nodded.
“And then we should probably go through those reports, if you want.”
He shrugged one shoulder, sighing, “Might as well.” With a quiet thank you he kissed her knuckles and shifted off the bed.

Surprisingly, the thought of doing work just then didn’t seem too horrible. He took his clothes from their pile on the floor and took his bath, folding his more formal things and settling into trousers and his undershirt. Tharya had already started going through the papers he brought on the floor, but Miraak scooped her up in one arm and dragged her off into the adjoining bathroom without a care. The sheets had been changed, he noticed. Gingerly feeling his ears and wondering if the tips would bruise too noticeably, he sat on the rug where Tharya had been and examined the beginnings of her work: sorting things based on the dates, it looked, with the most recent reports farthest away and the oldest closest to him. They returned chattering about Hammerfell and the soldiers Miraak was supposedly in charge of training—as far as Mathyas knew he wasn’t a soldier, though.

“Divines, big guy, could you not walk around naked for once?” Tharya sighed, gesturing to Mathyas.
“ That is what you worry about?” Miraak scoffed. “He has seen me naked even before this.”
“Not intentionally,” Mathyas clarified. “I don’t mind.”
“See?” 

 

Either way, Tharya bullied him into at least putting pants on, and she herself wiggled into a pair of thin cloth leggings with a silk wrap around her breasts. The two of them combed through papers as Miraak rummaged through her desk for blank paper and a sharpened pencil or stick of charcoal. A servant appeared with dinner, and grumbled her way down the hall when Tharya asked for three extra plates; Miraak would devour two on his own, and the third would go to Mathyas. He was quietly glad they hadn’t decided to kick him out just yet. This felt like a rare, laid-back, domestic display of both Dragonborns that he had not had the pleasure of witnessing before.

The golden evening slowly gave way to a misty dusk, and dusk fell into a deep night sky with a chilly breeze rolling in through the open windows.

“Sometimes I almost regret killing Tullius,” Tharya murmured as she rubbed her temple, sitting cross-legged opposite from him on the rug. Miraak was lying sideways with his head on her lap, enjoying her free hand scrubbing through his hair and over his ears and neck. “He was a cranky old man, but he was a smart soldier. Not a poser like this...Septimus guy.” With a grimace she set one of Septimus’s missives aside, shaking her head.
“You did not kill Tullius,” Miraak muttered in a reminding tone.
“I agree, Septimus is too flashy for his own good, but he’s won some important battles,” Mathyas replied. “Lost some, too. Without Tullius, though, he’s really the only other general of any repute in Cyrodiil.”
“He’s deep in Thalmor pockets,” she said under her breath.

 

Straightening out to relieve the ache in his spine, the Dunmer let his eyes trail carefully over the First Dragonborn’s body. He had noticed the scars before, but never truly took them in. The most startling one—maybe not startling , but...prominent—was across his chest, starting just below his left collarbone and reaching to the bottom of his right pectoral muscle. Three linear claw marks, the scar tissue was dark like mahogany, not pinkish or whitish like Mathyas would’ve expected a fully healed scar to look like. Tapping his knee for a moment, he moved his eyes to Miraak’s face, only to find the Atmoran staring back at him.

“Sorry,” he said. He’d forgotten the other man’s uncanny sixth sense about people staring at him. The First Dragonborn kept his gaze a moment longer before giving a tiny shrug, laying Tharya’s hand over the scar.
“This one certainly should have killed me,” he replied, “but I was lucky. The pain this one caused me outshines all the others, though.” That made sense. It was placed over his heart, his lungs, his upper ribs...that alone likely made it a painful experience, not to mention a dangerous one. Mathyas nodded slowly. A mark that size could only be from a dragon.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “that sounds terrible.”
“Unless you are called Paarthurnax, you do not need to be sorry,” came the reply.

When finally they had scanned through every report and page and properly discussed their contents between themselves, Tharya stifled a yawn poorly behind one hand, blinking fresh tears from her bleary eyes. “Divines, it must be late,” she mumbled, getting to her feet to stretch on her toes. Miraak had since retreated to bed but he wasn’t asleep. By the scratch of his pencil, he was sketching something, it sounded like. Mathyas stood as well, scanning the room for where he’d left his clothes. No doubt he’d have to get back to his own lodgings now. It was a surprise they’d even let him stay this long. Even so, he wasn’t looking forward to another sleepless night in a bed too big for one person.

Suddenly aware that Tharya was eyeing him, he smiled and sighed, twisting to crack his back. “I should get going, then,” he said, “and leave you both to it.”
“How’s your insomnia been?” She asked softly, settling her hands on her hips. He chortled weakly, scrubbing one hand through his hair.
“Manageable, I suppose.” Pale eyes narrowed on him.
“I can smell you lying.” She reached out to nudge his ribs. “You can stay here for tonight, if you want to.”
“Tharya, you already have so little time together,” he whispered. “I won’t intrude any longer than I have to.”

Surprisingly, it was Miraak who snorted, rolling his eyes in the candlelight. “It is not negotiable, Dutheri.” And, before he knew it, he was being pulled by the arm towards said bed. Getting under the covers took less convincing than he would’ve thought it would. Miraak immediately abandoned his drawing to snuggle in behind Tharya, one strong arm wrapped snugly around her middle, and she pulled Mathyas down on her other side, facing him. He discarded his shirt first; it was already warm with the two of them, but all three of them together would be a furnace. With the moonlight streaming in through the closest windows he could make out Tharya’s face, but Miraak was sequestered in the shadows behind her, formless save for the faint glow of his golden eyes.

“You have lost weight again,” the Dragon Priest muttered after a while, shifting his arm around his wife below the covers.
“Only because I gained weight,” she replied. “All this sitting around and eating caught up to me.”
“You need it, woman,” the Atmoran scoffed.

Mathyas grinned against the hand stroking his jaw slowly, nudging his mouth against it. “To be fair, we started training together, so it’s not from lack of food or anything.”
“Oh?” Miraak hummed. “Of course. How could I have missed these bulging arm muscles, elskavin? ” He lifted one of her arms into the moonlight to poke and prod her bicep. Tharya wriggled around before snatching her arm back, complaining about being ticklish. “Flex for us.”
“What? No. There’s nothing to flex.”
“I beg to differ,” Mathyas snorted. “You have strong legs.”
“ Legs , not my chicken arms.”

It took some pestering, but, either way, she eventually submitted and let them both ooh and aah dramatically over it. It was fine until she bullied Mathyas into doing the same, lifting his arm and curling his fist herself. Miraak, though, was all too happy to show off. The man had impressive biceps, to say the least, and they were very nice to touch.
“That shouldn’t even count,” Tharya groaned, holding her arm up against her lover’s. “Look at that. My arm is probably the size of your bone. ”
“Some day you and I are going to arm wrestle, Dutheri,” the Atmoran grinned.
“And get my wrist broken? I’m all set,” Mathyas replied.

It was impossible to know how long they carried on with that harmless pillow talk—muscles made a surprisingly meaty topic of discussion—but it was safe to say Miraak fell asleep first, which Tharya seemed shocked by. His snoring drifted up to them from the crook of her neck, soft and rumbly like thunder. It wasn’t quite snoring , though, more like a consistent purring sound a huge cat would make.

“I guess that means it’s time,” she yawned, tucking her arms against her chest and touching her forehead to Mathyas’s. “Thanks for stopping by, Matty. Stay for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Gods,” he groaned, laying a hand on her head to stroke her hair, “I never should’ve told you about Raydrin.”

Her only reply was a pleased hum, and then a whispered good night . He propped himself up to watch them both sleep for a few minutes, fingers combing slowly through Tharya’s short hair. Eventually, though, the warmth of their bodies, Miraak’s purring, and the sound of rustling trees in the garden outside lulled him to sleep, his best in a long, long while.

Chapter 19: No Lie (Skyrim)

Notes:

AHHH HELLO EVERYONE I PROMISE I HAVEN'T ABANDONED AO3!! i have actually been doing a LOT of writing, just haven't been posting any of it! after a much needed break i'm back with another fic in the works (technically 2 fics woops) BUT IN THE MEANTIME ENJOY SOME SMUT. YAY.

"You spoke to Téodor," Miraak murmurs after a moment, raising an eyebrow.

"You slept with him," she counters, walking her fingers aimlessly up his chest. "He's just passing on friendly information."

"I slept with many people," he hums. "Don't play coy with me, wife." That damnable little glint in her clear eyes tells him that was exactly what she is going to do. It wasn't that she always makes the decision to do so - just that sometimes she’s in a teasing mood, and he can't think of anything quite as erection-forming as the specific way the Last Dragonborn toys with him.

 

"Why? You love it," she giggles, sliding her short nails lightly down his biceps before tracing her fingertips back up over his shoulders.

"Because," he groans, "it makes me want to drive you into the sheets."

 

In the firelight he can just barely see the dusting of red over her face, but he doesn't need to see it to know it’s there. Incredibly easy to please, this one. Honeyed words and subtle implications are enough to make her blush, never mind the rest. Small hands cup around the joint of each shoulder as she thinks on her reply - gods, he will never tire of her touching his arms.

 

"The walls look thick," she whispers finally, lips twitching into a shyly triumphant smile. Miraak narrows his eyes down at her and lowers his face so they were a measly inch apart.

"They are," he rumbles, "very thick." Slowly he gives in and kisses her, treasuring her warm lips with his, pressing his tongue into the mouth he's won over a hundred times before. She gives him a few cheeky nudges, but never enough to shove him out; she likes tongue too much to let that happen. "I have always wanted to take you on Atmoran sheets," he growls, "in Atmoran cold, below Atmoran furs." Her legs shift around to allow his midriff to slot between her thighs before her knees snagged shut around him. He kisses her again to show that he intends to make good on each of those filthy desires, tugging her bottom lip as he retreats and finding her eyes that reflect the firelight in the dark.

 

"Are you going to allow me those fantasies, prinsaessa?"

 

The little Nord only hums in reply and delivers a small, chaste kiss to his waiting lips, waiting for her reply, and nothing else. He is desperately hoping she’ll say yes, though, and is uncertain of what he plans to do if she doesn’t.

“Téodor said a couple things, actually,” she mentions offhandedly. Oh, what a mood she is in tonight. The Last Dragonborn is not generally so coy, so... flirty , but he loves it. Miraak groans to himself as she presses her hips upwards, thinking it’s some sort of tease, but in the blink of an eye she’s squeezing her legs around his hips and pushing on her elbows to turn him over so his back is on the sheets and her weight settles atop him.
“And they are?” He asks, pushing false impatience into his words.
“Just things.”
“Elskavin,” he warns, feeling her thighs move to straddle his hips and drag slowly over his groin. That is the tease he expected. He wouldn’t complain if she rode him until her legs gave out, he would never complain about that, but it isn’t what he’s burning for in this moment. 

“Hm?” She rolls over his hips again, and then her fingers slide and caress down his stomach, tracing his muscles with a featherlight touch. Slowly, though, each finger retreats until only her index finger remains, and it slides, ghosts over the hem of his underwear as innocently as anything.

Before he can ask or try to coax an answer out of her, the ghosting becomes a light tug, and her knuckles brush over his skin as she curls one hand into the fabric - and then abandons it, letting her palm roam upwards over his torso again. Groaning, Miraak’s head falls temporarily back onto the pillows before he lifts it again to watch her repeat the action, tucking both little hands around the edge of the fabric and toying with it aimlessly. Her fingertips are so, so close to brushing his erection, just another little nudge and she would-

“If you want it off, tell me,” he demands.
“I do,” she hums, and goes to open her mouth to say more but he ignores it and decides to focus his attention on shucking off the offending article of clothing. Whatever game she plays, it escapes him, which is a rarity. He hasn’t felt shame in being naked in front of her before and sure as hell doesn’t now, but her clear eyes watch so closely as he wraps one hand around his cock to stroke himself. She watches and maneuvers his ankles to get his underwear off the same way he always does to her; one at a time, cradling the tendon in his heel and sliding her fingers along the bottom of his calf as she puts each leg back down.

“What is the meaning of this?” He tries again. He doesn’t mind soft treatment, but it’s not what he wants, not when he’s hard out of his mind and - oh.

With a quiet hum the Last Dragonborn stretches out over his legs, crooking her hips up and back, lowering her spine to afford him a delicious view of her ass propped up for him, and slips her hands over the tops of his thighs. Her lips dance along his knuckles and her fingers pry his off his shaft, replacing them with her own, cool and slender. With a surprised noise he doesn’t bother to hide, Miraak sits up, reaching for her shoulders, and hoists her up enough to kiss her. That...was not what he expected.

“ What are you doing?” He whispers against her lips as she pulls away, small hands sliding lovingly up his thighs.
“Experimenting,” she replies in an equally quiet voice. “Is it okay?” Her fingers come to stop on his hips, holding them the same way he always holds hers. Okay? More than okay. His brain is utterly clouded, his thoughts are gone. There is only the hot anticipation of her next move.

“Of course,” he murmurs with a little chortle. Sliding his fingers gently through her hair, Miraak watches as she kisses a wandering line from the center of his chest, her cool hands little more than trailing along his sides as if he is the one who needs to be treated lightly and taken care of. He almost wants to find it amusing - he is the First Dragonborn, unbreakable and steadfast, forged from the hottest of dragonfire. She does not need to be so gentle with him. He almost finds it amusing.

What keeps him from truly finding it amusing is the fact that he likes it.

Her forehead deliberately nudges his belly - an action he has repeated to her many hundreds of times - and he takes it as a cue to lie down, stretching back out over the bed and reaching down to cradle her head between his palms, fingers threaded into her hair. Only a brief moment later, her hot breath dances along the thick vein decorating the side of his cock, and then her fingertips follow, tracing and touching.

“Téodor didn’t tell you to do this,” he says softly, not truly believing his own words.
“No,” she laughs quietly. “But he did give me the momentary confidence to try.”

 

He groans and massages his thumbs parallel to her either side of her scalp, eyes focused on the ceiling. Gods, he doesn’t want to watch the ceiling. He wants to watch the way he can feel her lips breezing ever so lightly along his shaft, wants to see the delightful image of both hands wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking him slowly. Digging his heels into the mattress, he is able to shift his way upwards so his shoulders are balanced against the pillows propped against the headboard, and he has the full view of the landscape of his body plus the woman between his legs. His wife between his legs.

Barely before he is finished settling himself her lips touch the head of his dick, warm and slow, in a loving kiss. And then again, and again, a kiss to the side, one kiss after another moving down his length while she frees one hand to rub the secretly soft part of his upper and inner thigh. No matter how muscled he is, there is no reason not to leave a few spots to squeeze.

He expects her to keep kissing, and so is pleasantly surprised by the familiar warmth of her tongue sliding along his hot skin until her mouth wraps around the tip of his cock and graciously envelops him in wet heat. Groaning, Miraak lets his hands slide out of her hair to rest together on his midriff, golden eyes fluttering closed. Tension floods out of him as she alternates between kissing and suckling lightly over his hot skin, a bone-deep satisfaction settling over his dovah . 

 

It takes her a moment to start sucking him properly but she does, relaxing the hinges of her jaw to nudge another two inches into her mouth, exhaling through her nose. “Fuck,” he hisses, curling his fist around her hair for a moment before letting go. His entire body seems to fluctuate between tense and relaxed as her cheeks hollow and she slides off him. Not entirely, though. Her tongue slides out to lathe around the tip in a way he’s only ever dreamed of, precisely but experimentally, feeling him for a reaction.

Melting back into the sheets with a long sigh, he watches her take him in her mouth again and fit as much as she can before it hits the back of her throat. Her pace is steady. If he wasn’t so entranced by the first worthy blowjob he’s had in nearly five millennia, he would’ve found it endearing how committed she seemed to something as trivial as sucking him off. Her mouth is wet, velvety, encapsulating heat, and gods, he doesn’t know how long she sits there with her head bobbing between his legs. Only that she is, and the rhythm of his cock slipping into and out of her mouth is... heavenly.

 

He knows she doesn’t want him to push her head, but gods , the thought of his entire cock, all eight inches of it, sliding down her throat is almost enough to make him want to ask.

“ Tharya ,” he moans, giving her hair a gentle tug. For some reason he doesn’t want to spend himself in her mouth, doesn’t like the thought of it; her mouth was made for prettier and better things than his cum. But she doesn’t comply immediately, as he thought she would, no, she keeps dragging her fist around his length and keeps nudging two or three inches into her mouth and digging her short nails into his thigh even as he is constantly readjusting his legs. “Tharya- up, little one,” he grunts, cupping his hands around and below her jaw and guiding her head upwards. As good as it feels, as amazing as it feels, gods, he wants to be inside of her so badly. His original lusts of the night, driving her into the sheets, it all floods back as he takes in her flushed cheeks and parted lips, wet with saliva and precum, firelight dancing off her pinkened face. 

 

That face burns into the front of his head; so pleased, so pretty. Her eyes having lost their sharpness, her breath comes in hot, tickling air against his chin. He presses his thumb slowly over her plump, glistening bottom lip, watching as the woman he loves kisses the pad of his finger and her pretty eyes flutter closed.

“Fuck,” he mutters into her quiet panting, tightening one hand’s grip on her jaw to tilt her head up and capture her mouth with his own for a hard kiss and plenty of tongue. Reward is the first word that comes to mind; he can and will reward her a thousand times over for this. “Please let me fuck you until dawn.” Aware of how desperate he sounds - of how desperate this tiny, blushing woman makes him - Miraak wastes no time in wrapping his arms around her and laying down again, wrapping one hand around his throbbing cock. “And after,” he adds, greedily kissing her breasts and sternum until both are littered with faint marks. Some not so faint, some will last until tomorrow.

He is graced by her truly moaning for the first time, unhindered by a full mouth, gasping his name against his hair as he clamps his mouth around each nipple in turn. “Please do,” she whispers, and also for the first time he can feel just how wet she is and how much he wants to plunge his cock into that heat.
“Come here,” he growls, taking a fistful of her ass in his free palm before pulling her onto her knees, leaning over him with her chest hovering beside his ear, to watch the impact of his palm against that perfectly rounded muscle. “Where do you want me first, little one?”
“Anywhere,” she replies almost immediately, gripping his shoulders. The First Dragonborn can’t help his grin, or the slow, dark chuckle that vibrates out of him.
“As you wish,” he hums, “it’s your pussy to be ruined, wife. ”

 

He needs to cum. That much is evident in the way his toes are curled tightly downwards and the way he drags her hips down again so her sex-slicked entrance is just above the head of his cock.
“Miraak,” she breathes softly, planting both palms against his pectorals. He realizes in that small moment it’s been nearly a month since their last night together - which would likely explain why he feels so pent up - and she hasn’t taken him without his fingers or his mouth to treat and prepare her first. Slowly, he reaches out to drag his thumb through her folds, watching her hips stutter and fingers slide around his wrist.

“Trust me,” he murmurs back with a small nod, teasing his fingers along her labia and focusing on finding her clit to roll it between his knuckles. She gasps and moans in that way he loves, in that way that sends fire through his veins.
“I do,” she says with a tired little smile, already looking so fucked-out it makes him want her all the more.

It’s too tempting not to, so he lets his thumb and forefinger snag and slide along her clit a little more, wetting the rest of his fingers as they spread her arousal. Her hips dance against his wrist and her sounds float towards his ears, hitched mewls, high moans, pleasured whines as her nails dig into the meat of his trapezius muscles. For all her confidence earlier, she comes undone as easily as any other night in recent memory.

“Gods, I can’t keep waiting,” he groans, and watches for the miniscule nod that tells him that he doesn’t have to. Normally he is not so impatient with her, with sex, but tonight...is different. “Come here, Dragonborn. ” He drawls the title as if they aren’t married, as if they’re still stuck lusting after one another on Soulstheim; he drawls the title in the way he remembers her shuddering to, a teasing grin on his lips as she leans forward and he kisses her. By her reaction, it serves its intended purpose. Gasping against his mouth as he drags the head of his cock through her folds, the Nord’s pale features are still stained with crimson. And then, he addresses her correctly: “Your throne, my wife. ”

 

Just for good measure, he draws one palm back and lets it land on the firm, lean muscle of her ass, reveling in the way her body jumps into him only to lean back once he digs his fingers lovingly into the warming skin. The motion allows his cock to slip further in, pressing between her unprepared walls and forcing her hips to loosen. As always, he murmurs her high praise for taking him, but it is tainted by the desire coursing through his gut.

“You can take it, princess,” he breathes when an uncertain noise drips out of her throat, gleaming eyes fixed on his face. He wonders what he looks like in her eyes, cooing encouragement with his hair a mess and his eyes on fire, skin hot to the touch and chest pumping quick breaths. Feeling nothing negative in their bond beyond some physical discomfort, he clicks his tongue and offers her a kiss, speaking against her lips: “I know you can do better than that, little one. Come on.”

She surprises him just then, gripping his shoulders with hands like padlocks and squirming her hips around until she’s fully seated on his cock, the soft flesh of her thighs pressing into the jut of his pelvis. His entire body shudders. Gods, he could’ve cum in that moment. It was enough. Maybe he will. “ Good girl, elskavin , fuck,” he rambles. “The Mighty made me to fuck you like this.”
“Then do it,” she whines back, wetness clinging to her eyelashes. Who is he to deny her?

 

Wrapping his hands around the smallest part of her waist so his fingers touch on either side, Miraak doesn’t bother waiting; he’s received orders, and like any good husband, should carry them out in a timely manner. With most control of her movements, he presses into her stomach to lift her and lets her rearrange her arms around his neck, angling her body so he’s close to her breasts but can easily see where their bodies meet. From there, it is a simple calculation of bouncing her on his cock and letting her hands search and scrape his chest for something to grope. He hopes she never stops squeezing him and his pecs like this; it’s amusing how much she enjoys it, but blood-rushing to know he enjoys it.

She’s unbelievably tight each time he pulls her down to meet his hips, each time the length of his cock disappears into her again. Moans rumble out of his chest and into her collarbone as he watches and she yelps and keen into his ear, panting his name like it’s the only word she’s ever known how to say. He recognizes the restlessness in his legs as an oncoming orgasm, lets his cum spill as he fucks into her, but doesn’t stop. Gods, no, he can’t. Milky, sticky white coats the inside of her thighs and lubricates his shaft, but he doesn’t stop. The slap of skin meeting is joined by the squelch of his slick being spread and pressed.

“You make me cum too fast,” he growls, “with that little stunt earlier.” Truthfully, having her mouth on his dick had been one of the greatest, if not the greatest, sensations in his life. He has more in him, and all of it is hers to take. And, gods, if the way she squeezes and pulses around him is any indicator, he suspects she’ll have it all tonight.

 

Bending his legs to dig his feet into the mattress gives him the chance to jerk his hips upwards to meet her downwards motion, shoving his cock into her with something quite near reckless abandon. He allows himself to bite and suckle at the side of her neck, woefully untouched, at her precious throat that holds the most powerful, most divine ability in the world.
“Ah - fuck! Miraak-” Gods, he can make her shriek like that? “Miraak, Miraak, please!”

“Use your words, and maybe I will,” he croons breathlessly into her ear, nipping at the hinge of her jaw. It’s delightful how incoherent the calm, sensitive, collected Last Dragonborn becomes when she’s fucked just right. “Please what, princess?” When she doesn’t reply he grinds to a halt, stilling with his cock buried inside of her and her breath hot against the base of his neck. “Is that what you wanted?” He hums, grabbing and kneading the flesh of her ass in both palms.

Tharya growls in frustration as she tries to keep her friction, keep his pace, rolling and pushing her hips fruitlessly around his length for even the tiniest shred of pleasure. He lets her. For all her confidence earlier, she seems ready to beg for him, whispering his name in a soft hiss. 

“ Miraaak ,” she mumbles, tilting her head upwards to brush her lips over his.
“I’m listening,” he replies, allowing her to kiss him as much as she wants. “It is a simple solution, my wife - do you think you’re the only one who needs to cum?” With a huff she plants her hands against his ribcage and sits up, using the leverage of leaning on her arms to adjust her thighs and hips.
“Apparently I am the only one,” she snips, tossing her hair out of her face. Chuckling, Miraak lets his hands slide away from her to hook behind her knees - that will be helpful in a moment, once she gets tired of riding him with no results. The calm, sensitive, collected Last Dragonborn is a pillow princess in her little heart.

 

For now he focuses on her face, her eyebrows knotting and her mouth working silently, her eyes closing. He focuses on the slow but steady way she works herself generously on his cock, on the flexing muscles in her thighs and the high-pitched little gasps that fly from her chest.

“By the Mighty, I could watch you do this all night,” he whistles, squeezing each of her knees. Using him to chase an orgasm when he won’t give it to her - he didn’t think she had it in her, initially, but the display before him is evidence to the contrary. And he could watch her ride him all night. All day, forever. But, strangely enough, it is the specific image of his cum still plastered to the silvery stretch marks on her inner thighs, having had no chance to dry with his pounding from before, still sticking between their skins each time she comes down, that changes his mind. “Lie down.”

Pale eyes narrow on him doubtfully. He nods expectantly towards the wide expanse of bed beside and behind them, unused so far tonight. “Lie down,” he repeats, sliding his palms below her knees to straighten her legs and lift them as slides off the bed to stand. An Atmoran bed, finally, large enough to hold him, warm enough to handle the below-freezing nights. Tall enough for him to prop her hips on the very edge and lay her legs vertically against his torso, her toes just barely brushing his ears.

“Next time,” he promised, licking his lips. “Next time you’ll have to say it, prinsaessa. ” It’s a lie, and he knows it. She always finds a way to get what she wants from him without returning the favor. Just a small phrase, a few words - Miraak, make me cum - would save them these little teasing interludes, but he also can’t imagine a night without them.

 

Laying one arm over her shins to keep her legs in place, he lets the other hand drift downwards to align his cock with her entrance again and press in, watching her pale eyes flitter and roll. “Tell me how it feels,” he rumbles, spreading his feet to allow his hips to adopt a familiar rhythm.
“Good,” she sighs, the tension slipping out of her.
“Good,” he repeats, “good girl. Relax. I’ve got you.” Spreading his fingers on her lower belly, he let his thumb stretch downwards to find her clit and roll over it firmly. Her pussy flutters and squeezes him, making his head tilt back to expose his neck to the fire-warmed air and exhale slowly.

 

“Hm?”
“What?”
“What did you say?” The First Dragonborn asks, straightening his head to raise an eyebrow down at the woman below him. Watery eyes look back up at him.
“More,” she murmurs again, nails scraping over his wrist. “Please.”

Fuck.

 

Sliding his palms below against the back of her thighs, he presses her legs back towards her chest and shifts forward, grinning darkly as he immediately gives in to her request, slamming his hips forward and back, forward and back, rocking her entire body over the comforter with each thrust. Her heels dig back into his shoulders, back arching off the mattress, name tumbling off her lips.

“ Miraak - so good...”
“Will you cum for me then, princess?” He huffs, rolling her clit between his fingertips and watching her throat tighten because of it. “And then I can fuck you some more on all the other surfaces in this room, geh? You won’t walk straight tomorrow, my love,” he drawls. “Everyone else will know how good you are for me and how you take my cock so well. So greedy ,” he adds in a teasing voice, pausing to catch his breath as she cries his name and starts squirming away from him, heels pressing below his collarbones. “Everyone will know how badly I want to push you full of my cum, elskavin. ” 

 

With a long groan he feels his knees buckle and decides to lean down, to stretch over her, taking her hands below his own and pressing her knuckles into the sheets. “Every night,” he pants, catching her lips in a sloppy kiss, letting her moan into his mouth and writhe against his chest. “You’re going to look so pretty with all my cum, princess.”

 

She cries out as she cums around him, knees pressing into his sides, her orgasm flooding around his cock and making his pace stutter and lose control; blissfully, he found himself mirroring her, letting her orgasm seep into and collide with his own. “ Falé ,” he curses, finding her glazed gaze as they pant against each other’s mouths. 

For a long time all they can do is breathe in each other’s air. She always stole his breath, always stole his words, but leaving him totally breathless and panting...was new. And good. Very good. With a shaky sigh he plants a light kiss to her forehead before wrapping both arms around her to adjust their position on the bed, giving himself space to lie down with her.

“I love you,” he breathes after a moment, chuckling into the quiet room. She sighs against his collarbone, a pleased, gentle sigh, as her hands smooth over his biceps and shoulders. That sigh means I love you too , he knows. Miraak sits up so he could sit back against the headboard again, groaning as his cock nearly slid out of her - but she settled herself lightly back over him, leaning into his chest.

It takes him a moment to realize the careful movements of her hips were not just little readjustments; with one hand stroking her lower back, he can feel each deliberate gyration, each deliberate push. With a huff the First Dragonborn opens his eyes. She wants...

“More?” He asks incredulously. Not that he would ever deny such a request. Maybe being home again affects him more than he thought.
“Maybe,” the Last replies in a quiet voice, smiling against his lips. “Just one.”

---

 

Waking up tucked into his side is no surprise to her anymore; no, she is used to waking up near him in any way possible, even in bedrolls, even in too-small beds. But this bed is not too small. If anything, it’s too big - for her, at least. There is two and a half feet of extra space between her toes and the foot of the bed, and from side to side it stretches for miles. Miraak takes up a good portion of it, as he is supposed to. She is glad to see him occupying space that can finally accommodate him. Space that was made for him.

 

The fire burns still, heating the room enough that it’s easy to forget that the world outside this room is frozen to the core. The scent of newness on the flames is dwindling, which means Miraak must’ve been up less than a couple hours ago to add wood. Tharya doesn’t try to move. She knows once she does she’ll be sore and start convincing herself to start the day in earnest, but that sounds immensely less appealing than continuing to lie here in warmth and quiet, listening to the crackle of the fireplace, feeling the slowed thud of the First Dragonborn’s heart below her ear. His heart is almost too slow when he sleeps. She wonders if all Atmorans are like that.

 

She does allow her eyes to open though, just enough to see her hand resting on his chest, over the middle line of the three-pronged scar that marches across his skin. He is above the covers, unlike her, one arm outstretched on the pillows above her head and the other lying against his stomach. In fact, all of him is stretched out, one leg straight and the other lying out on its side, his head back in the pillows. Taking up as much space as possible, not crunched up, not restricted. Just simply lying there, asleep, and at home. It brings a smile to her lips.

 

Carefully, so as not to disturb what she guesses is his first good sleep in a while, she puts life into her hand to glide her fingertips over his stomach, to trace the thinner scars - thinner, and some of them lighter, normally colored and untainted by Apocrypha - that move as he breathes. Only some of them, though. She knows by now which ones make him feel something, as strange as it is, which ones make him stir. Usually it’s the dark ones that hold onto a shred of the pain induced when they originated. She lets her finger trace the defined line of his hip before swirling back up to caress the muscles in his abdomen, skipping over the brand on his other hip entirely. It feels like nothing, so he has said, which seems to be both a blessing and a curse.

 

Sighing, she readjusts her head on his chest to watch her palm slide over the thigh of the leg that lays on its side, tracing the lines of dormant muscle, finding the softer parts of his physique that are not readily knowable to anyone else. Not that they are only hers to keep - he has taken enough people to bed before her that she understands where her fingers are now, they are likely just following in someone else’s footsteps from thousands of years ago. It doesn’t bother her. But they are only hers to keep now. 

 

Tharya lets her eyes move up to take in his sleeping face for a moment, calm and loose, since it always looks so much different from his face when he’s awake. Peaceful doesn’t begin to describe it. Carefree works better. At ease. Young. Guiltily she thinks that last one is likely because his eyes are shut; his eyes add centuries of age to his demeanor. And maybe because his lips are so slightly parted, too, instead of pressed shut or scowling. With a featherlight touch she reaches up to run her pointer finger over the smooth curve of his bottom lip first, and then the top one, before retracting her hand. Best not to stare too long or he’ll feel it.

 

She closes her eyes again and lets her hand settle back onto his chest, rubbing her palm in small, slow circles. His only reaction is a creaky, tired little groan and a subconscious swallow to wet his throat, but he remains asleep. Good. The sunlight is dim in the room, which means the clouds are gathering to herald a blizzard. They’ll get nothing done outside of the Medja-Moore today.

He can sleep as long as he wants.

Chapter 20: Revenant 21.5 (Skyrim)

Notes:

MORE SMUT!!!!!! ALWAYS MORE SMUT!!!! GROWN MEN WHIMPERING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!11

Warm. Wet. His hands along her sides, her thighs, strong, thick fingers pressing into her skin, coaxing her legs apart. Soft whispers against her ear, in that voice like warm silk over a cold blade. The weight of his arms around her torso the greatest comfort she's known, paired with the proximity of his body, his heat, his unnaturally warm blood. Wet. She feels so wet for him, wet for his voice, embarrassingly so. Wet for his hands roaming her body without obstruction, the firmness of his large palms over the curves and dips of her side and legs and chest. Wet for the way his strong chest met her back, for his thigh between hers. Gripping between his fingers as she pressed onto the proffered leg, rubbing the ache of her pussy over thick cords of muscle tensed for her pleasure. That voice against her ear, the scratch of his beard pricking her neck and making her shoulder jump as words left his plump lips. His voice, encouraging, cooing, praising. Squeezing around his thigh, imagining the release, imagining how pathetic she must look rutting on his leg for relief, how gods-damned much he would enjoy it. And that made her shiver. The knowledge that she enjoyed it too, even if she never said it, he saw right through. He saw. He always did. 

 

His hands around her hips, steadying her with an ounce of strength, and his breath warm and heavy against her ear.

"You're not awake, little one." 

 

With a yelp buried in her throat she woke from the dream, scrambling to discern her surroundings when a soft groan from behind made her relax. Him. Helgen. They were in Helgen Keep, on their way home to Whiterun after two years of travel. He was here. Bhiji was across the hall. She could feel the heat of his body snuggled close against her but not as close as she remembered falling asleep to. 

"I am," she whispered, clearing her dry throat. From behind her Miraak chuckled, one heavy arm draped over her side and holding her wrist on the sheets. 

"You were not a moment ago," he murmured, easing his grip on her wrist. What had he pinned it down for? To keep her hands from roaming? Her skin was hot. Sweat beaded against her neck. She realized she was rubbing her legs together subconsciously under the covers and made an effort to stop, but it left her with a hollow ache in her lower belly. Gods. Gods, not right now. There was no way she'd been dreaming...about him ? Carefully she inhaled the air around her, around them. Thick with the overwhelming sweetness of honey, but ice and earth were not far behind. The scents of them. Them together. 

 

"You were...squirming," he said lowly, and then chuckled to himself. "Quite a bit." 

"Sorry," she sighed. "I guess I was dreaming." 

"I guess so," he replied in a voice that said he could've guessed as much himself, and more. "Of what?" One hand crept up her side below her shirt, innocent but curious, spreading lovingly over her stomach to rub his fingers into her skin. Could he feel her heartbeat? Feel how fast it was? With a long sigh that didn't help as much as she hoped she moved back into him, finding the solidity of his chest and the embrace of his arms and- and the crook of his hips, so perfectly curved to accommodate hers. And the outline of his cock, so easy to find, so...strangely stiff. 

"You," she whispered truthfully, slotting together the pieces he'd dropped. He hummed softly and she wished the shirt was gone. It was crinkled and hot from her tossing and turning and dreaming. Fingertips skimmed the edge of her underwear slow and deliberate, giving her plenty of time to push them away. She didn't.

"I'm flattered," he teased, and she pulled uncomfortably at the hot shirt. It wasn't thick yet it had sleeves, but it still felt overwhelming on her flushed skin, like a Skaal coat in summer. The scratch of his beard dragged along her shoulder as he leaned into her neck, a faint but tangible grin on his smooth lips. "You feel warm, princess." 

"A little," she whispered as he kissed her neck slowly, pulling her body flush back to his with one arm. Into the solidly growing sensation of his cock. "I might...take this off." And with a soft, small sigh, he kissed the back of her neck, spreading his hand over her hip.

"Let me." 

 

It was easy to maneuver off and she didn't wait to see where he tossed it - it could've landed in the fireplace and burned to a crisp and she wouldn't have noticed. All she wanted were his hands, his hands that skirted over her torso, his hands that stopped when she grabbed his wrists and brought them up to cup her breasts with a faint sigh.

"Please," she whispered, twisting back to find his lips and look up at him for a kiss. 

"Please what , hm?" he murmured against her mouth, and she let his tongue slip easily past her lips, filling and exploring her mouth with a laziness from sleep. "You woke me up, princess. Squirming against my cock, rubbing your little pussy into my thigh. Moaning ." She squeezed one of his hands, short nails digging into the flesh of his palm, and then guided his fingers down between her legs to cup her clothed pussy. 

"I'm sorry," she panted, clinging to his arm like it was driftwood in the Sea of Ghosts. 

"Don't apologize. Tell me what you want." She swallowed thickly, seeking him out for a kiss again instead of saying anything, and puppeteering his fingers below the band of her underwear with her own. It was hard to be precise, but, cupping the back of his hand in her palm she pressed it forward, letting out a shuddering moan as his thick fingers dragged through her folds. The scent of ego, tart and broad, flared in her nostrils - he was proud to find her as wet as she was, wet from just thinking of him. Just dreaming of him. It engorged his ego like nothing else could. 

 

"It's not the first time you have dreamt of me fucking you, princess, is it?" he hummed so innocently, fingers gathering her arousal and sliding through her folds, knuckles straining the fabric of her underwear. His scent wafted to her nose again, thick with honey and spiked with fresh ice, and it told her he already knew his answer.

"N-no," she whispered faintly, pressing her hips back into his, trying to find the outline of his hardening cock, trying to find the searing heat of his skin. It wasn't worth it to lie to him; he'd pull the truth out one way or another. 

"In Yokuda," he whispered, lips suddenly against her ear. "Isn't that right?" She squirmed against his fingers pressing against her pussy, not sinking in, not giving her that relief, but teasing, waiting. He wanted a response. 

"I didn't think you knew," she admitted, face burning hotly as his teeth sunk into her earlobe.

"Oh, I heard." His chuckle was dark and inviting, inviting her to melt back into his grip, to lose to the exploring of his fingers. "I thought I was dreaming. But I heard your little moans and the way you whispered my name. I spent all day thinking of what that dream was like, you know? Of what you wanted me to do so badly that it invaded your dreams, conquered your subconscious?" 

 

With his teeth latched around her neck he angled his fingers just so, pressing two together to squeeze and press and ebb their way into her. But it was his cock that twitched and throbbed as her back arched away from him, hips and ass pressing so firmly, so perfectly into him he let a groan slide along her neck. She moaned loud and unfiltered and so, so gorgeous against the sheets, clutching his bicep with one hand and the edge of the pillow in the other. 

"Relax your legs for me, princess," he crooned, extra soft and extra slow in the way that made her walls suck him in, in the way that made her thighs clench instead of loosen. "Come on." He drew lazy, gentle circles around her clit with his free hand, watching her chew her lower lip fiercely and swallow the shreds of a shuddering moan. 

 

"We're almost- home, to Whiterun," she whispered, hips shying away from the intrusion of his fingers. "We'll be there tomorrow."

"But we'll be there tomorrow," he rumbled, "and we have a perfectly good bed here tonight, little one." Scissoring and spreading his digits slowly inside of her and relishing the little mewl, the little tilt of her hips, he pressed a kiss into the hinge of her jaw. "They can't hear you, I promise. And if they can, let them be jealous." She didn't know why she bothered trying to talk him out of it, trying to talk herself out of it. All she could think about was him. His hands. His voice. His cock. He invaded her senses like a bitter cold breeze in an endless desert, so completely and so suddenly it made her core ache for him. "Yes?" he prompted softly, hovering on the edge of action.

"Yes," she affirmed with a sigh, sinking back into his embrace. 

 

There was an exhausted laziness in the way he nudged her underwear down, moving it slowly off her hips before dragging it along her legs with a caress, letting it fall out of sight and out of mind as she occupied his lips. He rubbed the lengths of his fingers firmly over her soaked pussy with a low, pleased sound that came dragging out of his chest. It was past midnight, after all. In a couple hours they'd be up and back in their saddles and stomping through the snow to Whiterun. To home. With one arm around her he laid with his back to the mattress and brought her with him; Tharya scrambled to straddle her thighs around his waist and leaned down to kiss him with a sigh of relief. His mouth was warm and familiar and damp and his lips so comfortable and inviting, the press of his tongue strong. She could kiss him forever, even if forever only meant minutes without oxygen. She could listen to the wet smack of their lips and the way his groans seemed to mingle with his breath and vibrated into her throat. The brush of his knuckles against the back of her thigh made the weight of his cock in his palm scurry to the forefront of her tired, hazy mind. With a little push she arched her back deeply to rub the slick of her folds along his length, letting his delicate moan of relief settle in her mouth. 

"You spoil me, prinsaessa ," he whispered into her chin, one arm weighing down the curve of her spine. 

"My apology for waking you up," she replied in a breathless laugh. One hand fell harshly against the side of her ass, sure to leave a picturesque handprint that would fade come morning, making her hips stutter and brace against his.

"Then I do not accept," he hummed, "not until you let me be inside you." A firm nudge against her pussy made her breath catch before she could reply, hands curling against his chest. "Do you need more?" Usually he liked to take his time, usually she liked to be licked and sucked and fingered open, made to cum in his mouth and pull his hair so his cock had the ease of slipping right in, so she could clamp down on him later. But having been woken up from such a deep slumber his priorities had shifted; he wanted to be in her, down to the base, he wanted to drag along her walls and listen to her whine about adjusting to him. 

"No," she murmured out of hesitation, and his eyes fluttered open to fix her with a challenging stare. "No," she repeated, firmer, in a voice that assured him she made up her mind. Perhaps long before he did. "I want you." 

 

He gave his cock a gradual squeeze as he found her hip with his free hand and gently coaxed her to sit, feeling each wiggle of her hips as she took him further in. She levered up, hands splayed against his stomach for support, thighs pressing into his sides. In the dim firelight there was little to see besides the slanting shadow where her body finally met his, breath trembling on her parted lips. He found her gaze glittering with the reflection of the flames and caressed her waist between his hands before she nodded slowly, and he squeezed around her sides to bring her up as he drew out of her, down as he pushed back in. 

" Unh - always so tight and greedy for me, prinsaessa ," he groaned into the cool night air between them. Little hands shifted on his stomach as her shoulders dipped and her waist moved and tightened to meet his pace, slow and savoring. For now. "Tell me how it feels." 

" Perfect ," she sighed, in a voice dripping with bliss and satisfaction and the scorching pleasure of being stuffed full. He dreamed of that voice day and night. "You always feel perfect." He dreamed of that voice praising him, stroking his pride, lavishing him with beautiful moans and cries and shrieks and whines. He followed her pace for a while, matching the gradual speed of her thighs flexing to ride him, before meeting her every downwards motion with a full thrust, pushing himself deeper, deeper, shuddering at the stretch and grip her pussy had on him. She rode him with an edge of desperation knowing that the dream would never, could never measure to this, to him, to the reality of bouncing on his cock and feeling a flare of shame at how much she enjoyed letting him push and pull her hips up and down, up and down. How much she enjoyed the thick feeling of him inside of her, of him buried to the hilt over and over, hearing his name in her own voice and his praise leaking from the darkness. 

 

"Please- ah...more ," she whined, and that heat of shame made her squeeze and squirm around him. Listening to herself begging to be fucked. Listening to him call her good girl and reach for her arms, taking her hands in his own, pulling her towards him. Listening to the slap of their skin quicken and the airy moans spilling past his lips match it. 

 

He gathered her wrists in one hand and pulled them behind her to pin against the small of her back, making her torso strain and finally melt into his as he cradled her ass in his free hand. Her hot breath and pretty squeals as he thrust up into her were so so much closer to his ear now, so close he could ear her panting and hear the way her voice shook as she whimpered his name quietly, like a secret. It made his blood hot and his cock throb and his head spin, to have her beg and plead for him. 

 

"You make my cock so hard for you, princess," he moaned against her ear - two could play at that game. "You make me so needy for your little pussy, day and night." 

"Unh- Miraa-" she whined, wrists rolling against one another in his palm, "the others- will hear."

"Not at all," he growled, shoving his cock up into her with a rumbling moan and staying buried there, sliding his hips against hers to push and stretch her walls. "I'll fuck you just as well when we're home, little one, believe me." He punctuated the promise with a rough palm colliding with her ass, relishing the way she jolted and squeezed down on him and wiggled her hips to get him to move again. It was true, and he knew it was true because he was never not hungry for her, never unprepared to fuck her senseless until the only things she knew were his name and his cock and his hands on her. And he knew how blessed he was to be the one in her bed, the one licking her cum off his fingers every night. "There you go, princess," he cooed against her ear, sliding her earlobe between his teeth as she used the force of each jerk of his hips to push back into him, fucking herself deeper on his cock with a pitiful string of moans and ragged gasps. "I know you can take me, good girl." Just over the curve of her shoulder his gaze slid down her arched back to where her hands sat curled helplessly, wound together at the wrists by his tight fingers, his palm dwarfing hers so easily. And just past that, the messy gyration of her hips, the ripples across her skin as his thighs met hers, the way her toes curled just barely out of his view as he landed his palm against her ass and dug his fingers into her pale skin. 

 

She was panting out a string of barely-there words, really just sounds, the beginning of his name, the first breaths of a sentence that made him grin against her neck, sucking the flesh of her throat between his teeth to leave a pretty necklace of dark bruises that he wasn't sure would be covered by her ruana come morning. 

"Tell me, princess," he moaned, lathing his tongue over the pulse of her throat and the dip of her collarbone. "You need me to make you cum? Is that what you need?"

"P-please," she groaned, squirming under the weight of his arm holding her hands at her back. "Please, Miraak-!" she cut herself off with a little shriek buried partially in his shoulder as he suddenly let go of her wrists, gripping her thighs firmly in both hands and digging his heels into the mattress to hammer up into her squeezing, squelching pussy. Her hands found purchase on his chest, nails scraping over his heart and palms cementing themselves to his pecs for support as she cried his name. He levered up urgently, locking his hands around her little waist to bring her down on his cock again and again and again because he knew how much she liked being pushed and pulled and moved like this, how it made her eyes roll. 

 

Her thighs pressed tightly around his, her back trembling in his hands as she came with a pretty chorus of only his name on her lips. Her orgasm was wet and hot and seeped out along his length, spurred by a quiet, filthy squelch as he pressed himself fully back into her. 

 

"Good girl," he whispered against her hair, groaning as his cock twitched desperately inside of her. It felt divine to be coated in her cum, to have it against his skin, it felt good to kiss her while she was still breathless and moaning. But it wasn't perfect . He knew it was the middle of the night, he knew they'd been here before, and he knew that sometimes he'd been completely willing to let her cum and return to sleep satisfied. But not tonight. He couldn't stop thinking about her dreaming of him, of her soaked underwear against his palm, of her legs hot and restless against his own. He wanted every selfish detail of that dream. He wanted to see every second of it. If he hadn't woken up to her rubbing against his cock and begging for his hands he would've let her come down and relax in his arms and let her fall asleep again, but the dream . He needed more. His desperation for it was filling his veins, keeping him hard, moving his legs restlessly below her to relieve the excess friction. With a soft, shallow thrust he nudged himself deeper into her pussy, feeling it flutter around him so, so delectably he moaned against her kiss. He needed her. 

 

"Can you take more for me, princess? I need to cum so badly," he groaned into her neck, "let me fill you up, princess." From how he sat below her his cock was nestled comfortably all the way in, her orgasm leaking down his innermost thighs like rivers of hot wax. "Ungh, please ," he groaned, thrusting up into her. 

 

At long last exhaustion was creeping back into her bones and her legs felt weak, trembling in his palms, but she pulled back to look at him as that word left his lips. Please . Such a rare occurrence in his vocabulary. It sounded pretty in his voice, soft and not quite demanding but firm. Not begging, but not ordering.

"Lay down," she whispered, pressing both hands gently into his chest. His golden eyes were glazed hotly as he obeyed, hands that held her waist so urgently before loosening as she bent down to kiss him, cradling his flushed face between her palms. He was breathing harshly through his nose, letting her tongue slip easily past his lips. She recognized that face, that look in his eyes through the veil of his lashes. Whatever he worked himself up over, it was making him melt where he lay, growing equal parts malleable and blinded. 

 

Easing her hips up slowly she felt him grimace as his cock slipped out of her, fingers kneading into her thighs before she sat up, swapping her legs against his sides as she turned around and made a gradual show of laying over his stomach, angling her knees to prop her hips up for him but just barely out reach of his mouth - it was a rare moment to use his height against him, but when weaponized like this the length of his torso laid against hers outplayed him mercilessly, and she would be lying if she said it didn't make her grin. Wrapping both hands gently around the length of his cock she drew them up with a soft, tapering squeeze, flattening her tongue over the tip to lather it slick with her saliva.

"You are being cruel to me, little one," he breathed, a gentle hitch in his throat as she widened her legs to arch the small of her back, rubbing her slick pussy slowly over his chest. With his arms hooked below her thighs he tried to pull her closer, to let his tongue find her clit, to bury himself between her legs, but she refused to let her body stretch to allow it, muscles clenching to deny him. With a soft hum she enveloped the head of his cock in her mouth, tongue spilling out in a lazy circle and dragging both her hands along his length. She knew how thoroughly he enjoyed looking , how brutal it must've been to watch her grind and press into the clenching muscles of his chest like she would riding his cock. The seat of his dovah , the source of his Thu'um stirred frantically beneath her thighs, an uproaring lovaas overwhelming the center of her mind through their bond. 

 

She dipped down, swallowing around the length of his cock as it filled her mouth and brushed her throat in gradually quickening pushes. She dug one hand into his thigh beside her head, using it as a steady anchor to rub her hips against his chest, nudging her clit into the bulge of his muscles and leaving a swath of slick over his flushed skin. Hands locked desperately around her thighs to match the faltering moan that left him, his frustration so tangible in the constant adjustments of his legs - he was strong, stronger than her, stronger than any other mage on Nirn, he could so easily do something if he wanted to. But that was his problem. He didn't want to, not enough. He wanted to watch her pussy drag against his chest, wanted to admire the curve of her ass and the sweet arch of her spine, and as much as he wanted to disturb it he wanted not to just as much. She drew slowly off his cock with a handful of little kisses, so airy and invisible it made his toes curl against the sheets. With one hand cradling his shaft she let her tongue loll out to trace the map of his veins and skin. The realization that she had figured him out so gods-damned well pooled warmly in his stomach as he pressed his head back into the too-soft pillows of Helgen Keep with a moan of relief, the realization she knew him so thoroughly inside and out and she dangled him so easily off her pinky finger. And he enjoyed it. 

 

The rush of relief turned into adrenaline, into need, into wanting her to keep him wrapped up around her little finger, into a fiery, consuming want for her like nothing else in the world.

"I'm going to marry you," he growled in Atmoran, a promise she couldn't understand and he wouldn't translate for her til the time came. With a grunt he pulled her legs back with real strength, lifting her head carefully and sitting up, bringing his legs trembling with desire with him. 

"On your knees for me, princess," he whispered, keeping her back to his chest as she obliged, reaching around to hold his neck. 

 

He crowded against her, chest to her back and hips nestled securely against her ass, his nose deep in her short hair. One elbow slotted around her neck and the other arm wrapped like a thick chain over her torso, hand coveting her taut belly like stolen gold. With a faltering sound he wrapped one hand around his cock and pressed blindly into her again, so slick with cum and saliva and so eager and wet for him again that they slotted together like puzzle pieces. 

"Your pretty pussy squeezes me so well," he groaned, shoving his way through her tight walls again and again and again. Her hands hooked around his forearm, so little and hot but strong, her grip ebony. "Let me cum, princess, say I can cum. Tell me to cum for you." He wouldn't have guessed how long it took her to reply, how labored his breathing became as his body wanted to burst and his mind was filled with the memory of his cum filling her womb and her little belly being so full in his palms, but she...never said it. With a fitful moan he realized he'd given her total power over him on a golden platter. 

"Let me cum, let me cum, I can't-"

"Say please again," she breathed, reaching back to drag her fingers through his hair to send a shudder crawling down his spine. He was desperate enough that he had no other choice. Sometimes they could maneuver each other out of conditions like that, but he was so wrapped up in her, so intent on pushing his cock into her and moaning into the back of her shoulder that he didn't have the power to sneak his way out. 

" Please let me fill your belly," he amended in a breathless whine, "please. Please let me cum all over your pretty pussy-" he paused as his breath hitched, thrusts growing erratic and sloppy and rough but still he held back somehow, pushing his forehead into her shoulder. He lost rhythm, sacrificing speed for single hard pushes that made his skin slap against hers and made her body rock on her knees. And with each one he let out a single, desperate word, holding onto her like a lifeline.

 

" Please. Please. Please. Please. Make me yours, goddess. Please." For a moment she was sure she could break him. If he was calling her goddess then he was close to losing himself, close to letting the scale tip entirely to her. But, whimpering into her neck, he'd asked so nicely, fulfilled the one condition she'd given him. Scraping her nails over the back of his neck she turned her head to him, feeling his hands open and close and squeeze and open restlessly against her body. 

"Ready, handsome?" Instead of nodding or replying he sought her lips out feverishly, groaning helplessly into her wet mouth. Heat bloomed across her neck and cheeks but she found his ear anyway, kissing it faintly before setting him free. 

 

The words hadn't fully left her lips when her chest and cheek were pressed to the comforter, two big hands holding the hinge of her hips as he pushed into her again and again and again, a searing orgasm cascading down his body and spilling hotly into her. He pushed it in greedily, filling her with every drop she had denied him in the past few minutes and more, his arms trembling even around her hips. She waited, enjoying the seconds of loud, pitched breaths, feeling the pulse of his cock quiet and his grip on her hips loosen slowly. Her arms shook with the force of her own orgasm she had barely registered as she pushed herself up on them, leaning back into his chest. What did he always call her? What was that favorite praise of his to deliver, to use so generously? Capturing his chin to bring him down into a kiss she whispered it to him. 

 

" Good boy ." He groaned softly into her lips, his muscled falling lax around her. "You did so well for me, handsome." It felt strange on her lips at first, recycling his own words against him, but the way he kissed her was desperate to conceal the noise of pleasure in the back of his throat when she spoke. Reaching down to ease his cock out of her and coming away with wet fingers she turned around and gave his chest a gentle press, humming when he adjusted his legs and laid back down on the pillows with her weight atop of him. 

"Yours," he sighed softly, before finding her lips again. She held his jaw on her fingertips as she kissed him, the length of his softening cock pressed warmly to her inner thigh. They laid there and kissed for comfortable minutes, breaths gradually intertwining and bodies pooled in heat before she leaned away from his mouth just enough to speak. 

 

"I know you probably don't feel like it," she hummed against his lower lip, "but a bath would be perfect right now." His head and shoulders fell lax against the pillow and for the first time his eyes opened to look up at her with a faint glimmer of amusement, overpowered by a tidal wave of untamed adoration.

"I cannot stand just yet," he said, voice hoarse, "but in a minute, I will start one for you."

"No, no," she cut in with a giggle. "I meant I'll run you a bath, handsome." His limbs were so lax and warm below her, his heartbeat still thrumming against her sternum. "I saw they have shampoo from Cyrodiil somehow, all the way up here in the middle of winter."

"Truly the lap of luxury, in rural Skyrim," he muttered, and she laughed into his neck. 

"I'll start you one," she hummed, placing delicate kisses against his throat before pushing herself up and sliding off the bed. He watched as she tiptoed around on the cold floors to pluck one of the thick robes that had been laid out for them over the two upholstered chairs by the fire, taking the second and placing it on the edge of the bed for him with a little smile. She tied hers closed and snuggled into the plush fabric before disappearing into the adjacent bathroom. 

 

With a long, low groan he started to sit up, legs slipping over the corner of the too-soft mattress - was everything too soft here? He supposed Helgen had only just been rebuilt and reinstated as a settlement, but for that he would've expected overly stiff pillows and mattresses and chairs, not cloudlike ones. Perhaps the lap of luxury was not quite so luxurious after all. 

 

From the corner of his eye he saw Tharya move past the doorway, cradling a lit candle in her palms. How like her to make everything so perfect, so carefully planned. He knew when he stepped foot in there it would be steamy and humid and the water would be just the temperature he preferred, not as hot as her usual but not quite lukewarm. There would be little candles on the windowsill and by the door for visibility, and that scented Cyrodiilic shampoo by the tub. And she would wait for him to get in, to rearrange himself and his too-large body in the too-small tub, and wait for him to pull her in or thank her so she could slip away and let him have his time alone in the dark. As much as he enjoyed being alone, he enjoyed being with her more than anything - he liked being alone to be away from others. Not her. Reaching for the robe he stood slowly and shrugged it on, finding himself smiling as she appeared in the doorway to motion for him. 

 

"I'm going to marry you," he repeated in the Common Tongue, so soft and so distant there was no way she heard it. But it didn't matter. She would know soon.

Chapter 21: Trophy Husband (Skyrim)

Notes:

i stand by the fact miraak IS a trophy husband and i will die on this hill!! (also i wrote this entirely on my phone so its spacing will seem kinda messed up LOL) ((i also did not proofread))

When he woke the third day, the bed was still empty. With her gone he slept later and woke up even earlier, somehow - there was no one to lean on his shoulders and sweetly coax him away from the easel downstairs with little kisses and embraces and pulling at his hand or sitting on his thigh and leaning into his chest to watch him paint. Though that last one was deceptively unsuccessful most times; he let her snuggle into his lap, find her favorite spots in his torso, and fall asleep quietly into the bend of his broad shoulder. He brought her to bed eventually, but usually only an hour or two after she fell asleep on him. Everything else worked like a charm - rubbing his shoulders, gently pulling him away from the canvas he was hunched towards, rubbing his scalp and hugging his waist and all the things she did that made him want to melt into her soul. With her gone he slept fitfully, and only for a few hours. He awoke throughout the night at random, usually four or five times, and in a dazed panic searched for the feeling of her soul connected to his; their tether was spread farther than he was used to, but not as far as it had been in previous separations. She was still within the Hold, he guessed. Just not within his hold, which made his nerves itch. 

 

With a long, dramatic groan into his pillow he opened one eye, then the other, examining the empty half of the bed. Third day. She'd be back this evening. He had tried to make her half neatly after she left and leave it untouched so she would have something neat and comfortable to return home to, but his tossing and fidgeting was beginning to loosen the sheets and light, bluish quilt on her side. Not that they usually slept on the same sides, somehow - they switched and moved often. What really mattered was that they almost always slept close together, tangled in one another, snug and warm and breathing the same air and under the same covers. And the quilt had only come out a few days before she left, for added warmth in the chilling autumnal nights. Soon it would be winter, and he enjoyed winter nights the most because of how she snuggled up into him, her cold hands sapping the warmth of his chest, frigid toes against his shins. 

 

Apparently that was supposed to be annoying - Lofrek had told him that once, how annoying it was supposed to be when you slept beside someone cold. But Miraak loved it. He ran hotter in the cold weather, that was just how Atmoran biology came to be, but these Tamrielic winters were childish compared to the lethal blizzards and whiteouts of Atmora. In winter he could curl up around her and hold her tightly and let her bathe in all that excess Atmoran heat. And, come winter, she wouldn't be out as much on these little missions around the Hold with her father. He didn't dislike that she went out, since he often joined them - but this one, she had asked him very kindly to go with Fjurkin and Jorstus alone, to have their last hurrah outside together before the snow came. He obliged, of course. He could never say no to her. Nor would he ever want to. He just hated being left alone. 

 

Squeezing his eyes shut to press out a tiring yawn he rolled onto his side, paused to stretch his legs, and exhaled loudly into the pillow. The sun was strong but bleakly cold in the room, a sure sign of shortening days and chillier evenings. Opening his eyes again to look at her pillow, he hummed a little at the sight of her slip folded and placed atop the blue quilt. He was still getting the knack for folding clothes, but this one had come out quite neatly. He hadn't touched it either, though he wanted to. She had a few of them now, pretty, slender, silky night slips from Solitude that she had been reluctant to wear at first. But they suited her, and they suited her short hair and her paintless face, and they suited the more comfortable woman she had become since they first met. They suited her soft hips and the enticing length of her strong legs. And they suited slow-moving, lazy mornings in bed, when he could hike the silk up to her waist and slip his fingers between her legs, or his mouth, or his cock. That happened more often in the winter, too. He liked Tamriel winters more and more as the years had gone on. 

 

With a short groan Miraak freed one arm from below his pillow and reached out for the dress, rubbing its slippery fabric between his sleep-stiff fingers before taking it gently in his palm. He dragged it close, laying it over the mangled sheets on his side, stroking the front of the dress with an appraising hand. He knew what good fabric felt like from his previous life, and this was... fine . It was certainly rich for this country, and certainly rich for Tharya who put little value in such materials. But not the best. If he had Atmoran silks, sheer and smooth like warmed butter, or thin velvet, or something made entirely of colored lace...if he had any of the luxuries of his homeland, she would sleep like a goddess, and in the mornings he would treat her like one. 

 

She would look so intoxicatingly pretty in delicate Atmoran lace pushed up over her breasts and rocking her tired hips with every gentle thrust, or the smooth transparency of thin silk revealing each unassuming, hidden curve of her body to him without needing to be removed. Good velvet to contrast the pinkish flush on her neck when he told her how good she looked in the fashions of his homeland, how perfectly they suited her, how unbelievably hard it made him when she wore the things he picked out for her. How he always kept in mind how every outfit could be removed, always insisted on putting it on so he knew how to move away the most important parts later when he fucked her urgently drunk on ego and pride and adoration seeing her wear the clothes he got for her. Like the slip in his hand. It had been the first one, a gift from him. The few others had followed once she begrudgingly admitted to liking it. This slip, a dark, natural violet - selfishly the color of his old robes - was his favorite. He had lost count of how many times he'd taken her in it. It had given him the idea to let her wear the violet robe while he made love to her, and that had sent him into a dazed frenzy. The image still taunted him, floating now to the forefront of his head, behind his eyelids as he lifted the dress to his nose and inhaled slowly. 

 

Her scent was so singular, so familiarly calming to his nose. She smelled like the forest just past high noon, with sunlight striking through a thick tree canopy and fresh wood everywhere. She smelled like the bottom of a mountain. And like the stones of the city. A slow, creeping shudder tracked through his body as her scent invaded him, starting at his scalp and dripping to his toes. It was a good mimic of her presence to make him feel so safe, so grounded. So desirous. Laying easily on his back he inhaled again, letting the rest of the dress pool over his arm and chest. It lacked the solidity of her body in it, her weight atop him, her warmth, but it would have to do. Some secretive part of him was glad he thought put the slip out in the days leading up to her departure - he wondered how long he could hold out against it, a little test of his control. And, like a sabre cat in heat, he had almost given in the first night she was gone. His constitution crumbled so easily when it came to her. 

 

A soft groan muffled by the skirt of the slip pushed its way out of him, and with a resigned release of his shoulders he woke his other hand up to delve below the covers, following the familiar guide of his own body down to his stomach where he let it linger. He was not unaccustomed to his own touch, the way his callouses and thick fingers traversed the broad planes and smooth edges of his figure, but her hands always felt nicer. Her little fingers and short nails always felt like starlight, like a kiss of wind, reaching parts and crevices of him he himself so easily overlooked. He knew his body because he inhabited it - she knew his body because she spent so long memorizing it, locking away the certain pieces of him that were softer to squeeze than the rest, locking away the parts strong with muscle, locking away the places that made him moan her name under his breath. She knew his body because she was beholden to it, so infatuated with the broadness of his back and the sturdiness of his thighs and the bulge of his chest. It made a toe-curling warmth bloom between his legs to think of how she admired him, of how she took him in when she was on top of him or watching him dress across the room. Many people had admired his body before, but not with the same love that she did. Not with the same confident mix of attraction and affection as she did. 

 

He moaned quietly into the dress as he snuck his hand around his cock, twitching with interest but still half-soft as his mind refused to fully step out of slumber. Fingers spread to caress the side of his chest decorated with her dress but it didn't feel the same as when she touched him - nothing could ever feel the same as the way she groped and squeezed and rubbed and scratched his chest. Nothing would ever feel the same as the way she fawned over it so. But the fabric felt good trapped between his palm and skin, sliding over his scar, his nipple, his lazy heartbeat. He wasn't a stranger to pleasuring himself, either, though for forty-five hundred years in Apocrypha to do so had been a death warrant. He tried to once she released him from Oblivion, but it was embarrassing when he realized he no longer took much pleasure in touching himself for the sake of it. The first few times had been simple frustration, rampant and forgotten needs, quick and heartless. No, he needed something to chase after. An image. A desire not available to him. It was relieving, then, for her to come so easily to the forefront of his mind nowadays. 

 

Slowly he stroked himself into toeing the precipice of being fully awake, catching the fabric of her slip between his teeth. Her scent lingered permanently in his nose, now in his mouth, seeping onto his tongue. His cock hardened steadily in the ring of his palm and fingers. The safety of her presence and the reassurance of her love was all he needed to find himself bending a knee up, covers slipping down, and pumping his length generously to the feel of the slip. She made him safe to enjoy himself. She made him ache when she wasn't there. She would make him desperate to fuck her tomorrow morning in this slip. 

 

His breathing hitched and grew ragged through his nose as he fisted his cock, free hand curling tightly into the silk as he squeezed his fingers around the tip. He would ask her, later, beg her to touch him like this. The flat of his thumb slipped messily over the head of his cock getting sticky with precum, and he moaned again around the dress between his teeth. Heaving himself up to lay farther up on the pillow, Miraak opened his eyes slowly, just enough to see through the veil of his lashes. Just enough to watch his hand cup around his cock and just enough to see the silk laid like a violet river over his chest and free arm. He thought of her laid there, grunted her name feebly into the quiet of their room. He thought of her pussy squeezing and sucking him in rather than the slick ridges of his palm. He thought of her body lying on his, of her sinful legs holding his torso, of her sweet voice saying his name. She made such pretty, pretty sounds. So delectable. So unashamed. The way she squealed and moaned and whimpered for him so divinely, her voice pitched high and feminine, was a sound he would never tire of. His own soft, rumbling moans like distant peals of thunder sounded lackluster compared to the way she whined and whispered. He could hear her voice so easily, panting his name, picture her wet, parted lips and that glimmering look of desire in her mirrorlike eyes. 

 

"F- uck ," he grunted, golden irises rolling as his hips bucked upwards into his curled hand. He could hear her, replay all her noises so easily in his head. It made his cock throb with heat. "Gods, elskavin -" he took more of the dress in his fist, kneading it like her thighs or her belly or her breasts. He wanted her back so badly. He didn't care if it had only been two full days, he wanted her back. He wanted her to jerk him off like he was doing now because he knew when she did it would feel so, so much better. Look so much better. He made a pitiful sound behind the silk in his mouth, soaked and malleable from his tongue touching and sucking the fabric, treating it like her clit. Gods, he wanted her weight on his face. Her pussy filling his mouth. Her thighs sealing off his ears. His eyes fluttered closed with a long, rocky moan as he twisted his hand around the length of his cock, tightening his grip to force his hips up. Pressing every inch of him through the poor mimic of her pretty little pussy clenching and tightening around him. " Ah- just like that," he groaned to no one but himself. 

 

It was stupid of him, and he shouldn't have, but as he tugged and jerked his cock, free hand reaching back to grab the headboard behind him - knowing she would like the way his arm looked, how it made his muscles tense and bulge and shift, knowing she would adore the desperate heat on his face - he reached for that anchor inside of him the held his end of their tether. It was connected to every nerve ending in his body, hooked around his heart and lungs, buried deep, deep within his dovah . He sought the anchor and then the tether, not quite taut but not slack, and inhaled sharply as he gave her soul on the other end a little tug. A gentle one, placid and loving, so she wouldn't worry. His legs shifted and slid over the sheets restlessly as he awaited her acknowledgement. Stroking his cock furiously while he awaited her reply, feeling his chest wind tight around the breath he held inside. He moaned her name firmly into the unconquered morning, wishing her to pull back. Wood creaked under his grip, and he panted heavily against the dress, but he didn't cum. He wanted her to reply first. He wanted to feel her gentle brush against his soul. He wanted to cum with the sensation of her reaching into his core and caressing his very essence of being burning through his veins. Biting back a whine he nudged her again, a little more insistently, a little more pleading. 

 

Her response exploded behind his eyelids like the sun, dazzling and warm and eternal. She reached back for him, prodded him in return, not once but twice - a code for reassurance, for I'm okay . He gasped, neck straining against the pillow as her presence flooded into him, every part of him, filling from his fingertips into his toes until he felt like he could burst. It only lasted a half a second. Just as quickly as she was there she was gone, leaving him void, empty, withered. But he felt strangely calm as she pulled out of him, strangely blissful . Letting go of the headboard he let his hand fall into the dress, kneading it faintly in his palm. 

"Thank you, little one," he chuckled in a hoarse voice, lifting the silk to kiss it once. Gradually he unwrapped his fingers, wet and painted along with his stomach in milky white, from around his cock. It left a slick coating on his palm that seeped into the crevices as he bent his hand. Relaxed, tired, unwilling to move from where he lay heavily on the mattress, Miraak pressed the slip to his nose again. Her scent was a sweet, sweet release. An aphrodisiac turned sleep aid. Lazily he brought his hand to his mouth to lick a broad, salty stripe up his palm, sucking forefinger and middle finger with a faltering groan. He would have to clean his mess before submitting once more to that lonesome, anticipatory slumber, so after a minute or two catching his breath he sat up, then stood, and made his way to the bathroom joined to their room. 

 

It felt good to be refreshed when he came back to bed, holding the dress in clean hands to shake it out and smooth some of the wrinkles and indentations of his teeth. Lying stretched out on his side he held it in his arms, slippery fabric pooling in his embrace. The familiarity of it settled his soul, calmed his body. It felt good. It made her scent sit permanently in his nose. It was as close as he'd get to holding her before she returned tonight. But...it would be enough. Only for a few more hours, it would be enough. 

 

Only twenty-two miles across the rolling hills of the Western Plains, Tharya peered curiously over her shoulder in the direction of the city. That little poke had certainly come from Miraak, but it would be a miracle to see him awake only an hour or two after dawn. Perhaps he was asleep? They reached out for each other unconsciously, sometimes. But he'd done it twice. Maybe dreaming? His soul was calm now, though a bit...tired, as if coming down from some great excitement. Maybe a dream, then. 

 

"Everything alright back home?" Fjurkin called as he mounted his horse, nodding towards Whiterun. Her family didn't totally understand the ways she and Miraak could communicate through their bond, but they knew it existed, and that it was powerful. 

"Bit early for him to be awake, isn't it?" Jorstus muttered as he trotted by on his bay.

"I don't think he is," Tharya laughed, swinging herself up into Knight's saddle easily. "Either way, I won't mind being back in my own bed tonight, so let's finish up here and get home before dark, if we can."

"Aye-aye, Dragonborn," Fjurkin said with a mock salute, making Jorstus laugh into the bleak autumn sky. 

 

Her own bed did sound nice. Her own bed, with warm sheets, soft pillows, and a thick mattress. Her own bed with her husband in it, their limbs tangled together and bodies pressed close so that in the morning, in the soft glow of late dawn- 

 

Well. That would come tomorrow, she was sure. Miraak grew antsy when she left him alone for more than a night. She couldn't begin to guess how poorly three days would treat him, though she had a suspicion he would tell her - or show her - once she returned home.

 

The fourth morning she awoke slowly, wrapped in the silken comfort of her slip, the heaviness of her husband's arms, and the bodily warmth of their bed. The morning was dim and cold, a herald of winter. She had slept long and well after returning the previous evening, and Miraak had been welded to her ever since. He'd come to bed hours before his usual just to talk with her long into the night, just to be close and comfortable, just to have her touch again. She suspected, as she tensed and stretched under the covers before relaxing again with a content sigh, it would be easy for her to fall back asleep this morning. Stretching her arms above her head she used the chance to turn around, snuggling into the front of Miraak's body - folding her arms against his chest and sneaking one of her legs between his own, pushing her face into the hot column of his neck. Just barely aware of her moving he adjusted his arms around her, tilted his chin up to give her more space, angled his back to afford her more of his chest to hold. One hand traveled lazily down her leg, kneading and stroking from her thigh to her calf and back up again. It crept under the crinkled hem of her slip, squeezed around her ass, the bend of her hip, followed her side to find her breasts. 

 

"I...missed you," he breathed into the kiss he pressed onto her hair, his voice low, rocky, hoarse from sleeping, his accent so thick and attractive she almost didn't make out the words. She gave a pleased sigh against the front of his throat as he massaged her side, fingers catching on the edge of her underwear with a testing tug. One of her hands appeared atop his own, catching his fingers before they could disappear and bringing them back so his knuckles rubbed into the clothed outline of her pussy. She made a sound so delicate and warm that he groaned in return, letting her puppet his hand to rub her folds. Neither of them were fully awake, nor conscious enough to recognize the world outside their cocoon of blankets and limbs. There was no better way to spend the morning.

"I missed you too, dii mul gein, " she murmured, a little breathlessly, into his neck. Twisting his wrist to cup her dampened pussy in the blazing heat of his palm, he dropped his head to find her lips, to kiss her slowly. Lazily. Rubbing their noses together with a faint grin. 

 

"Let me tell you how much, elskavin, " he whispered. No better way indeed.

Chapter 22: Quickie (Skyrim)

Notes:

I SWEAR Y'ALL I ACTUALLY HAVE A BUNCH OF SMUT I WROTE TO SHARE (i literally did not proofread this one at all so sorry)

"What are you doing to me?"  

 

His voice was low, a rocky, deep drawl as he crowded in behind her, planting his hands against the counter by her hips. She knew he'd corner her sooner or later, with that honey scent leaking steadily from his body all afternoon, his stolen glances and firm but innocent touches. In front of her family he wouldn't be obscene, but he certainly made it known what was on his mind - even without prodding her thoughts and mind with filthy whispers and promises and pleas. 

"You're doing it to yourself," she hummed in reply, lifting the large glass pitcher out of the sink with both hands.

"You're doing nothing to help," he growled. She supposed that was partially true. She had little touches of her own, holding his chin, sitting on his thigh, dragging her nails up and down the back of his neck. Maybe occupying his lap hadn't been the most helpful course of action, but she couldn't deny she got a spark of enjoyment feeling him shift and grow hard below the spread skirt of her linen sundress. "I know how wet you are, little one. Let me."

"Don't flatter yourself," Tharya snipped, and suddenly one of his hands was at her neck, wrapping slowly finger by finger against her throat. Not hard, not squeezing, but as its usual firm, hot weight.

"You don't ever sit with your legs crossed, princess," he groaned, and his free palm slipped over her belly, caressing it greedily through the linen. "Unless your pussy wants something." It was sometimes scary how observant he was, how well he knew the mannerisms and tells of her body, better than even she did. "Even on my lap you couldn't uncross your legs. If you did, what would you do? Ride my thigh? Rub your little pussy all over my leg for your pleasure? And you know I would not stop you. So you cross your legs and think I can't feel the way your body aches for me, geh ?"  

 

The strain of his erection pressed firmly against her ass as he bunched up the sides of the skirt and started to gather it above her hips, the cool, humid wood of the countertop sending chills across her arms and legs. She liked to maintain her façade of decorum but he was right, he was always right, and it was moments like these she wondered just how he had figured her out so thoroughly. No one else had ever managed it as well as he did - but no one else was a lover like the First Dragonborn was. "Let me," he groaned, one hand roaming freely over her belly and thighs and palm cupping her pussy - he knew she wasn't wearing anything below, he'd watched her get dressed this morning and that alone had started it for him, but still the revelation of her burning flesh shocked him. "Please."  

 

"Miraak," she whispered, reaching down to hold his wrist. "We can't. Not while- there's people here." Despite her words she pressed his hand closer, angled the lengths of his thick, waiting fingers to rub through her soaked folds. He hissed something in Atmoran against her ear as she started grinding her hips into his hand.

"You cannot deny me and entice me at the same time, little one." The pad of his middle finger flicked at her clit fiercely and she yelped before she could stop herself. 

"My family is here," she gasped, rutting against his wrist with a soft whine.

"You do not seem to care," he purred against her ear, his voice low and dark and laced with veins of a sultry malice. "If you tell me to wait, you know I will for you. But you have important business in the city tomorrow, do you not? Won't you need to walk ?" He moaned into her ear as he pressed the blunt tips of two fingers just barely into her pussy, massaging her throat firmly with his other hand. She whispered his name into the dark, cool kitchen, nails digging into his forearm. "Don't you want my tongue between your legs, princess? Don't you want my mouth on your clit? My fingers inside you? My cock filling your belly? I know you keep thinking about it, little one. I hear your thoughts. You hear mine. I could devour your pussy on this countertop and it would be the greatest meal I have ever eaten in this house." 

 

Gripping the edge of the counter she rolled her hips back against him, feeling the stiff outline of his cock and the hot, bunched fabric of her dress. He was right. He always was. She'd been thinking about his mouth and his hands and his cock for hours. Waiting for them. Thinking of all the sounds he made and all the praise he moaned against her skin. Thinking about the weight and throbbing heat of his cock in her hands, in her mouth, filling and stretching and squeezing into her pussy. How good it felt when he held her stomach full of his cum and kissed her and whispered about how pretty she looked holding him in.  

 

"I want to lose air between your legs," he groaned, voice breathless and desperate as he rocked against her slow-moving hips. "I want to fuck you just how you like me to, princess, I am only yours. It would be savage to deny a priest worship at his greatest temple. Let me be yours." His fingers slid and edged deeper into her pussy, and with her nerves so alight from his words the intrusion felt divine, making her moan loudly against the hand kneading her throat. She'd been attached to his hands all day, holding them, innocently tracing his fingers when they spread across her hip, kissing them. Now they were where she wanted them most, cradling her throat and pussy, squelching in and out of her at a steadily growing pace frantic for relief. His skin was hot and sweaty from the depths of Whiterun summer, sending searing heat into her back from where she leaned onto his chest. The wet sound of his digits swirling in and out of her would be enough to attract attention if anyone decided to walk by the open kitchen window, much less walk in.

 

"I thought you hated rushing," she moaned, thighs twitching closer together around his wrist. But her resolve was slipping. Slowly and surely.

"You know I do, prinsaessa ," he sighed almost morosely, before adding: "But you know I do not do well with following rules, even my own." The scratch of his beard as he nuzzled his jaw into the curve of her neck made her squirm and sigh, and his fingers slipped out to massage their gathered arousal through her folds and in deliberate, pushing circles around her clit. Her hips jumped against his forearm, soft, breathless sounds spilling from her lips. "Tell me no and I will take it, you know that too. Tell me yes and I will take you . Not just now but tonight until dawn, and past. But tell me either way so I know." 

"Yes," she breathed before she could stop herself, and suddenly his teeth sank into her shoulder to muffle a pleased, scorching rumble. "Yes, please." 

 

She could hear the voices of her family and Bhijirio outside enjoying the summer heat and their food and drinks, chattering all amongst themselves without a care in the world. All it would take was one of them to investigate her and Miraak's prolonged disappearance and she would have to pack up and leave Tamriel forever of embarrassment. But there was a certain, sickly thrill to it too, and above all, she was hard-pressed to deny the rigid outline of his cock against her, or the rasp and accent of his voice in her ear, the heat and size of his body pressed flush against hers. 

"It will hurt a little more," he murmured sweetly against her ear, dragging his teeth along its lobe. So far he had been careful not to mark her neck or chest, because there was no chance of her dress's square neckline and finger-thick straps covering it. "But I promise you tonight I will stretch you open on my fingers and my tongue and so fitting my cock inside you will be the union of sun and moon." She wanted to laugh at his playwright words but instead she sighed gratefully, melting into his embrace, reaching back to wrap one arm around his neck.

 

"I trust you," she whispered, craning up to kiss the underside of his jaw. With slick fingers he reached down to grab the backside of her left thigh and heft it up, angling her knee onto the counter beside her, rearranging her dress between them. She tried to relax into the strange position, hand trailing down his arm and side and searching for his straining erection. He moaned her name as her palm fell around him, squeezing the length of his cock and finding the hidden clasp of his pants to undo it. 

 

" Porvær, prinsaessa, " he groaned softly, hopelessly rutting into her hand as she reached to pull his cock free, heavy and pulsing with his drumming heartbeat. The weight of his hand settled on the base of her throat like a necklace as he fucked into the curve of her palm, breathing harshly and none too quietly against her hair, moaning in short, quick breaths. But she wanted him inside and the way he thrust into her hand made it clear he wanted the same, so trying to spread her hips a little wider she nestled back against him, guiding the length of his cock to her pussy and letting him press slowly in. One strong arm strapped around her middle as he did, groaning deep, fuzzy praise that was overshadowed by the divine burn in her belly that made her squeeze the edge of the sink in both hands.  

 

The burn and stretch lasted even as she let him start moving, thrusting forward firmly while cradling her bare hips between his palms. It felt so good, so perfect, so familiar and somehow still so shocking. She knew he would; he always did. And by the way her hips were angled he reached so deep, even if it was creating an uncomfortable knot in her lower back it was worth it for the way the head of his cock kissed her cervix each time.

"Ungh- fuck, Miraak," she whined, feeling one of his hands wrap around the back of her neck to hold her head up. "Please, please, like that is perfect..." 

"Say my name- again," he rasped, "you say it so divinely, prinsaessa . Say it again." There was little space for leisure between them, something rare and hurried that was so foreign to their intimacy but she wouldn't fight it. The quick relief of his cock pumping fully into her was worth the risk, the brief, unceremonious fullness. This she was sure would satisfy until the moon rose, until the yard was empty and the rest of the house asleep, the day's heat washed off, their bed cool and empty for them. She would be surprised if no one heard them in passing; the slap of his thighs against hers was not dull, and Miraak was never good at keeping quiet even pressing his lips to her back and biting into the dress. He fucked her quick and deep, moaning into the linen like a distorted, growing echo of her muffled whines and mewls. "Your pussy is so good for me, princess," he groaned loudly, "you fit me so, so well. I know the gods made me to fill your pussy just like this."

She moaned into her rigid palm, squeezing around his cock in reply, sucking each inch of him in greedily. And he was all too happy to give. The anticipation that had been growing all afternoon, all those harmless touches, all those secret conversations in the back of her mind, it curled hotly in her stomach. She wanted to cum, she had for hours, and now she could bless him in the orgasm he so desperately wanted. She felt it come early, too early, already halfway there by the time three o'clock had hit because she'd been able to feel his erection sitting on his lap, she'd felt his hands roaming her back and hips, his voice whispering in her ear. 

 

"Unh- Miraak, slow- I can't hold..." she whined, moving her hips messily back against his to draw him in with each forward thrust.

"Don't," he grunted, "cum for me, prinsaessa . I've been waiting for you to cum all over me all afternoon, don't wait. Cum for me." She squeezed, toes curling, but in that breathless voice he told her to cum, to not wait, to cum all over his cock, and how could she deny him? Or herself? After so selfishly, so wantonly letting him fuck her in the false secrecy of the dark, cool house? "Cum for me so I can fill you and feel your belly next time you sit on my lap so full and warm of my seed, prinsaessa . Let go." She pressed her lips together tightly to try and dampen the whines cascading from her throat, but the dam broke when he pressed her hips downwards into the counter, so her belly laid over the wood and her ass bent up towards him. It drove his cock deep and pushed into the new pressure on her stomach so delightfully she cried his name, balancing herself on trembling arms against the countertop. He was teasing her along, trying to get her to cum; manipulating the conditions of her body in ways she was too fucked out to comprehend.  

 

Too fucked out, it seemed, to even feel her orgasm beyond a beautiful release of tension in her thighs, a soaked warmth blossoming along his length, a string of breathless groans in time with his hips smacking hers. 

"Ah- good girl," the First Dragonborn crooned from behind, his big hands steely around her waist as he held her in place and pressed deep into her, golden eyes watching through a glaze of lust as her cum coated the length of his cock. "Such a good girl for me, hm? I've waited all afternoon for your cum, princess." But his moments of watching ended quickly, and she pressed one hand over her mouth to squeal into her palm as he fucked into her as if nothing happened. She thought, with scorching embarrassment, that even if someone walked in at that very moment Miraak wouldn't notice enough to stop. And then, even more shamefully: she wasn't sure she would want him to.  

 

He must've noticed her squirming in the growing discomfort of being pressed down and balanced over the sink, because with a huff of hot breath he hooked his elbow under her propped up leg and pulled her back into his chest, holding the leg out to one side. The bunched up skirt of her dress fell haphazardly forward, and she gathered it desperately to hold it up against her chest. She would not face questioning when she went back outside; she would not ruin this dress. It was easier to lean back into his strength, and it made his cock press and bulge into the low swell of her belly like nothing before.

 

"Unh- keep squeezing me like that, prinsaessa ," he begged, lips falling into her hair to pant and moan and fight for breath. Her pussy ached and tightened around him, hot and sensitive and dripping with her own cum, and in the back of her head she wished for a mirror to see him behind her, to see his hand holding her thigh and to watch as the head of his cock pushed her open and went down to the base with each thrust.

"That would be perfect, wouldn't it?" 

"W-what?"

"A mirror," Miraak rumbled, " falé , you're going to make me cum. A mirror so you can watch me cum, is that it?" His teeth caught on her ear as his hips nestled deep against her ass again and again and again, and his voice lost its focus. "A mirror so- so you can see how well, ah , you take me?" She trembled and whined his name as he came, orgasm painting her insides hotly and with such an unmistakable explosion of scent and arousal it made her nose numb. She let her eyes roll back and her hands reach around to find his hips, hold him close, hold him inside. He groaned thunderously against her ear, pleased at the prospect of pushing his seed as far as it would go and filling her pussy til he had the chance to do it again tonight.  

 

"If you wore that pretty lace underwear I gave you it would stay in," he whispered out of breath beside her ear, fingers slipping around her folds and thighs to gather the excess of her orgasm now mixing with his rolling down his length in stripes of milky white. "And when we go outside again- and you sit on my lap, princess, you can have my cum filling your pussy and soaking your pretty lace." He cradled her belly with a reverent greed now, cupping it as he thrusted shallowly into her with a soft groan. 

"Yes," she whispered, squeezing his hips as they rolled against her, "I want that." He chuckled in veiled surprise before kissing her neck chastely - tonight, she was sure, they would both leave with far more art on their bodies than right now.  

"Good girl," he murmured, kissing her shoulder and nape, her spine, rubbing her bruised hip lovingly. He stroked the front of her throat as he panted against her ear, and she relished in the close sound of his uneven breathing. "I'll get them for you, and then we will go back outside and you will keep teasing me, won't you?"

" Geh ," she whispered, dragging her pussy slowly along his coated length for emphasis, listening to him curse under his breath.  

 

They did just that, waiting a few minutes longer to calm down, lost in kissing and caressing each other before he eventually lifted her to sit on the counter and went upstairs, returning with a pair of blue lace underwear dangling from his fingers. He collected her ankles in one hand and insisted on putting it on himself, watching her legs greedily and nipping at her thighs before letting go of her feet. It took all her strength not to fall into their trap again, not to let him lower his head between her thighs and devour their mixed orgasms off her clit and folds and suck her thigh clean and press his tongue into her; he tried, and she almost lost herself in having his head between her thighs, in his lips scouring and kissing and leaving his saliva all over her pussy. But she pushed his head up before he could drag her down again, panting, and kissed her arousal off his tongue before making for the door. He stayed behind a few minutes before eventually coming with the pitcher of water she'd forgotten, and she sank gladly onto his lap for the rest of the afternoon with no indication of anything unordinary - except for her crossed legs.

Chapter 23: hoochie daddy shorts (Skyrim)

Notes:

i just KNOW i KNOW modern miraak wears those ridiculously short gym bro shorts when he's lounging around. i just know it don't ask me how i do NOT make the rules (i make all the rules) ((i really love his thighs if you couldn't tell)) (((also i am tharya i love walking around shirtless after a shower)))

"I've been waiting for this." 

 

Tharya jolted suddenly, arms flying up to cover her chest as she swiveled towards the living room.

"I knew it. You forgot I was here," Miraak said with a grin, and she rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Miraak, you've been napping on the couch like a boulder for the past two hours."

"You forgot about me?" he said in a falsely watery, pleading voice. "My own fiancée forgot about me?"

"Yes, I did," she replied in a baby voice with a growing grin, "I'm sorry, pookie wookie bear, I did forget about you." He threw his head back to laugh boisterously, a charming, rich sound from the chest that filled her apartment with a life that had been lacking the past month. He'd been gone for at least that, if not a week or two more, stewing back home in Atmora, and he'd only returned a few days ago. Up until now all he'd done to make a mark of his return was leave his suitcase by the table and nap on the couch to readjust to the time zone. He was oh so whiny too, constantly begging for her touch and practically suffocating her at night. She didn't mind, to be quite honest with herself. She liked his brand of clinginess because it came from a genuine desire to be close, to share space, and that was something he didn't achieve with anyone else. Their friends touched him sparingly and he soured when strangers crowded or bumped him, but in their home he practically crawled after her just for a hug. 

 

"Do you usually walk about shirtless? Is it a new habit?" Miraak questioned, standing from the couch to stretch on his toes. With a jaw-cracking yawn he meandered over to the kitchen to join her.

"No, it isn't," she giggled, loosening her arms and stepping into the kitchen. It was just him. He walked around shirtless enough for half the world - to her surprise right now, he wasn't. "Usually after I shower. You know this. Everything's nice and soft, why get dressed immediately?" 

"You're cute," he murmured happily, sliding his arms around her torso and pressing himself to her back as she clicked off the kettle to pour a second cup of tea. The intense warmth of his figure made her shudder, but once the initial shock was gone he was easy to melt back into, rocking slowly on his heels. 

"What did your mom think of the hoochie daddy shorts?" she asked, and he broke into snorting laughter again, caressing her waist between his big hands.

"She said a prayer the first morning I was there," he chuckled, "but I think they grew on her."

"Really?"

"She agreed with me when I told her you like them, and when I said they make my ass look great. She came around. Besides, they're only the seven inch ones." Which was true, but only seemed like a poor qualifier for how excellently they displayed his strong thighs and mile long legs. He wasn't a shorts person in any other way except for the gym or sleep, and she considered herself blessed to share both those aspects of life with him. "You know anything less wouldn't fit around my c-"

"You're awful, you know?" she giggled, pouring her tea and swirling the bag around to watch the water darken. 

 

Sliding his hands up and down her belly to cradle her hips and the top of each thigh, he hummed curiously against her ear. The nudge of his hips was subtle, but permanent.

"Just me?" he hummed, rubbing both palms affectionately over her ass before smoothing them into her lower back as innocently as possible. "In these pants-" he cupped his palms around her breasts, massaging his fingertips lightly into the plush skin with a little hum, "-and no shirt I can't be the only awful one." 

" You bought these for me," she countered.

"Trust me, I remember," he groaned softly into her ear, "you can't know how badly those yoga pants make me want to fuck you." He ran his hands again over the fleshy curve of her ass and the sharp edge of her hips, grabbing and squeezing where he could. Suddenly he chuckled, putting his lips right against the shell of her ear, so close she was drowning in the sound of his breath. "Or spank you." 

 

She jolted a little at the proximity of his words, feeling his hips rub gradually against her from behind as his hands continued to roam, to reacquaint. He'd made good on his whispered and texted promises to fuck her divinely once he returned home, each day something different, something he'd missed or something she needed or pure pent up desire from being separated so long. He liked to invade her morning showers on days she went into the office and make her late. He liked to rub her feet and kneel between her thighs when she came home from work, or send her shameless dirty glances across the gym, or fuck her from whatever position they slept in before bringing her breakfast in bed on the days she stayed home. 

 

"Haven't I done a good job, little one?" he crooned as if he could smell her thoughts, rubbing his beard teasingly into the side of her neck and pinching her sides to make her squeal and laugh. "It's barely been a week. I can tell you're starting to expect it, " he purred with a spreading grin, placing his hands flat on the counter in front of her, "you don't mind being teased and eaten out and filled with my cum once or twice a day. You'd enjoy that spanking a lot more than me," he added in a whisper. "Turn around." She did so with a withering sigh, propping herself up on the kitchen counter so she could find his lips and pull him closer by the waist. It felt good to kiss him, tongues moving wetly against one another and lips smacking in the relative silence of the apartment, but the heat of his mouth and his strong body filling her arms was all she ever needed. It felt as relieving as kissing him at the airport. 

 

He moaned gratefully against her mouth as she slipped both hands below the loose hem of his sleeveless shirt to caress and squeeze his chest, toying with the slim necklace his brother had given him a long, long time ago. Touching her sides lightly, his thumbs settled against her nipples to roll and rub them under the pad of each finger, making a shiver course down her back and into her core.
“Mmh- I never give these enough attention, do I?” he hummed, more to himself than her, but her chest arched into his hands instinctively, breasts filling his palms. “Not like you do me.” She laughed a little at that, tracing her thumbs over the thick lines of his pecs below his shirt. “I’m too caught up with your legs, prinsaessa ,” he murmured, bending to kiss her sternum and run the flat of his tongue up and down the valley of her chest, “or your pussy,” another kiss, “or your belly.” The way he said it made it hard to decipher which of those he thought most reverently of.

“Mine are too small anyway,” she laughed breathlessly, retracting her hands to run them through his dark, nap-ridden hair.
“No such thing,” he groaned against her heartbeat. “Mouth-sized.” The flat of his tongue enveloped one nipple, quickly followed by the full heat and slick of his mouth suckling her skin between his lips, easing his teeth into pale flesh to elicit a surprised, sudden moan against his hair. Her legs squeezed around his hips, drawing him closer, leaning herself deeper across the counter. With his free hand he grabbed the small of her back, flexing one arm to secure her tilt at the perfect angle for his bowed head. She squirmed in his grip as he nipped and sucked a pretty trail around her breast, cupping it in the curve between his thumb and forefinger and relishing the way her skin spilled over his hand. Toes squeezing together, she whispered his name as he licked his lips and let go with a long, rumbling breath.
“Gods, I had no idea-” he breathed, leaning in to slide his tongue across the indents of his teeth and the little blooming hickeys littering the soft flesh of her breast, “-have you been hiding them from me? I didn’t know your chest was so sensitive, prinsaessa , to have you riding me through my shorts. Gods, I can-” he made a low, gravelly sound into the base of her neck as he pushed his hips up against hers, and she flushed as she realized he was right; the strain of his erection was clear now, and her lower back was tied in knots from trying to slide her hips against his for whatever ounce of friction she could get. “I can feel your pussy throbbing for me.”

 

Without another word he scooped her up in one arm and lifted her off the counter, sliding around it as she locked him into a desperate, messy kiss. He made his way in a few long strides back to the couch and then sat with a grunt, his legs spread wide, pulling her down onto his lap.
“Better?”
“Better,” she breathed faintly, combing her hair back from her face.
“Now you can grind on my cock all you like,” he whispered, slotting his hands around her waist again as a pink tinge bloomed across her neck. “ Fuck, I didn’t know it would make you so needy, little one. Take what you need from me.”
“I have to have some secrets,” she moaned, threading her fingers through his hair again.
“Not from your future husband,” he snickered, “as pleasant as it is to discover now.” At this angle his cock pressed so fully against her pussy as she adjusted her hips on his lap, spreading her knees a little to accommodate his waist between them. The bulge of his erection rubbed perfectly against her clit as she slid back and forth, trying and failing to contain her excitement as his tongue and lips sank around the opposite breast, treating it much the same as he squeezed and massaged the other on his fingers. Feeling his length now, he was probably right - anything shorter than six or seven inches would probably land him for indecent exposure. 

 

It was difficult to stay grounded when heat seemed to flood and lift her body at every angle, moving of its own accord to ride the bulge of his shorts and arching into the vibrations of his moans rattling through her ribcage. She’d never minded his infatuation with her legs or her stomach - she herself had never quite seen her chest as a sexual thing, but either way he was wrong in saying he never gave it attention. He gave it plenty; most often her sternum and collarbone bore the marks that bloomed from his teeth or mouth that couldn’t go on her neck. But never so concentrated. She was a little worried for her dignity now that he knew how sensitive her breasts were to his touch and lips - a small piece of her outward propriety died at being sat in his lap and wet with his saliva, at feeling how hard he was for her, how desperate to give her body pleasure and revel in his new findings. Just one more thing they were hopelessly enamored with each other for. She guessed that was why she proposed to him. 

 

“Gods, will you take this shirt off? ” she complained, gripping the collar of his tank top in both hands. He grunted as she gave it an impatient tug, untangling himself quickly to obey.
“I forgot about it,” he groaned, “I’ve missed you riding my lap, prinsaessa. ” He grabbed the back of the shirt and nearly ripped it off over his head, balling it in one fist and tossing it away without a care as to where it landed.
“You’re bigger,” she whispered, dragging her nails lightly along his chest and down his sides.
“You said that yesterday,” he grinned, flicking his tongue out to suck on the base of her neck. “And the day before, and the day before that, and when you hugged me at the airport.”
“It’s true,” she whined, letting him plant her palms firmly against his chest to grope and toy to her heart’s content - and her heart had a great capacity for touching his chest.
“I had plenty of free time at home,” he muttered, wrapping her in both arms - thicker, heavier than she remembered too - and craning forward to kiss her. “The bigger my back is, the more you can scratch it, geh? I did it just for you.”

 

One hand slid easily into the snug waistband of her leggings, kneading her hip on his palm before sliding forward to rub the backs of his knuckles against her soaked, swollen clit. She bucked against his hand with a swallowed moan, gripping the shelf of his shoulders with desperation as he brought his fingers back and forth, back and forth, collecting her slick and precum wetting the creases of his palm.
“See? Good girl,” he groaned, eyelids fluttering to catch her hooded gaze as she crooked her fingers and dug her nails into the meat of each shoulder. “Leave some art for me, wife.”

He leaned forward into her arms so she could wrap them tightly around his neck, grabbing for his back as he rolled her clit between his knuckles and thumb and ducked his head to suck her breast into his mouth with a long, satisfied moan. That little wife left her with something euphoric in her veins, that simple title that made her heart leap into her throat, catching on all the moans and whines of his name as he played with her clit and left the mark of his teeth on a fiery trail across her chest.
“You’re going to cum, aren’t you?” he grunted, fingertips teasing and pressing but never entering, focused only at her clit with frustratingly deft control.
“N-no-” she tried, panting against his hair, squeezing the back of his neck while she swallowed the rest of her words.
“Don’t lie to me, princess,” he chuckled lowly, a warm sound with a demanding edge. “Are you going to lie to your husband like that? Cum for me.” She gasped and squirmed in his grip, one fist tightening in the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent invaded and flooded her nose, the scent she could not name but always could place as his - something spiced, something cold, something sweet. Just being around him felt like enough of an aphrodisiac. His skin felt like a blazing fireplace against hers, forming a sheen of sweat around her neck, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She’d spent upwards of a month without it.

 

His wrist flexed and turned and suddenly her pussy was clenching around the intrusion of two deliciously thick, long fingers scissoring and pushing and stretching, forcing a muted cry of hers into his shoulder. Her body stuttered and trembled and she clamped both knees around his hips, dragging her nails deeply up the edge of his back to leave him art as he requested. Her orgasm came like a bolt of lightning, hot and quick, and Miraak crooned sweet, filthy things against her ear as he coaxed it out of her. Her torso sagged against his as he retracted his fingers, pushing one into his mouth with a hungry moan that flooded her ears before offering both to her. She took them slowly, holding his wrist and the curve of his palm in both hands to suck each digit clean while looking at him through hazy eyes. The heat of her body seemed to recede a bit, leaving her with a comfortable coolness in her belly and legs as she relaxed onto his lap. The bulge of his cock was still warm and stiff against her inner thigh, but she hadn’t forgotten about him. She never did.

“Good girl,” he praised softly, letting her lips purse around his fingers before slipping them out, painting her lower lip with one coated finger. His eyelids fluttered as she reached down with one hand to gently palm and squeeze the outline of his cock, dragging her tongue along the lines of his palm with a little hum of thanks. She was still breathing heavily but with her body in a loose state of bliss it was easier to feel him now, to focus on the gentle roll of his hips into her palm and find the beating pulse of his body reverberating through his torso and thighs. She kissed each of his fingertips before letting them go, steadying one hand on his taut chest before leaning in to kiss him . His lips were smooth and somewhat swollen from their work, but he took her in gratefully, letting her tongue slide against his and press into his mouth with a lingering groan. The weight of his hand appeared around her bent wrist, fingers stroking the firm outline of his length beneath the fabric that was beginning to feel almost clammy from their close quarters. 

 

Adjusting his weight so he wasn’t so far slouched against the back of the couch, Miraak snagged the tip of her finger and dragged it upwards, pulling it below the edge of his shorts and cupping her fingers around the length of his cock, hot and damp with precum and pulsing under the attention.
“There is nothing I love more than your little hands wrapped around me,” he breathed against her cheek, pulling down the hem of the shorts to free his cock and squeezing her hand below his with a long sigh. She stroked him slowly at first, relishing in the way he whispered her name and the weight of his hand on hers with little direction other than what she gave it, letting the trained roll of his hips push against her palm. She squeezed his chest in almost the same rhythm, his opposite hand hanging around that wrist, and planted an innocent kiss against his parted lips as she rubbed her thumb firmly back and forth over the head of his cock.
“You’re quiet, husband,” Tharya teased as he dropped his forehead against hers, brows tucked in and jaw lax.
“It’s easier to brag when I’m the one fucking you,” he snickered, exhaling a pitched, airy sound as she squeezed him from base to tip, saying her name like a curse. “But you strip me of bragging rights the moment you lay your-” he swallowed through a rocky moan, “lay your hands on me.”
“How uncharacteristically humble,” she giggled, kissing his hair before gathering her legs and sliding off his lap.

His complaint died almost immediately on his lips as she knelt, dragging one hand down his side, his waist, his hip, caressing and stroking the inside of his thigh as she leaned forward to wrap her mouth around his cock. He shuddered from head to toe, knees spreading uncertainly as she cradled the softest, most sensitive - and thus most well-guarded - parts of his body with ease. Briefly she wondered if he had any secrets left. Even if he did, the insides of his thighs were power enough for her. She swallowed around the girth of his cock and used her other hand to pump whatever didn’t fit, teasing her fingers below the leg of his shorts to rub the soft, fleshy crease where his hip and thigh met.
“Oh, gods, that’s evil,” he whined from above, raising one arm by his head to grip the back of the couch. She glanced up at him, bright, pale eyes meeting golden ones as he squeezed the top of the cushion, bicep bulging and twitching and rounding out his shoulder by his ear. He was definitely bulkier than when he left. “You shouldn’t be the one blushing, elskavin.”

 

With an amused giggle that made him shiver again, color heating her cheeks and neck, she slid her tongue out and tilted her head to drag it down the underside of his length, following the pulsating vein that flushed the tip with color. His leg twitched, knee pressing against her shoulder as she traced her nails across the flesh below his shorts, and an unwavering moan tumbled from his lips. She kissed and licked her way back up, slathering the head of his cock with her saliva, before taking him in earnest.

A hand that almost encompassed her skull entirely settled on the back of her head, combing short golden hair away and holding it in a snug fist at the back, but he never used the hand to push her down except to nudge her faster. Taking all of him was not an easy task for someone not Atmoran-sized in any way, shape or form; he’d never forced her to choke her way down, so she’d mastered up to her limit and he never complained - quite the opposite, in fact. It helped to have the sensitivity of his thighs close at hand, subject to never ending touches and kisses, and it made her hum to feel the way his legs twitched and spread for her. The head of his cock kissed the back of her throat and she lingered, looking up to catch his gaze through watery eyes; his brown face was flushed dark with an earthy redness, strong chest heaving beautifully as he formed her name, breathed hurried praise into the space between them.

“Gods- Tharya, you can’t do that to me,” he whimpered, a low and airy and needy sound from his throat, and not for the first time she marveled at how quickly and willingly he unraveled for her. She sucked her cheeks in and popped off his cock with a wet sound, hot breath fanning out against his dark skin. 

“You did it to me,” she murmured back, tongue hanging to lathe over the glistening tip with a soft moan that made his leg jump.
“Come here, prinsaessa ,” he breathed, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and nudging the back of her head forward with his opposite hand, and she obeyed easily, opening her mouth for him. The draw of his hand was too intoxicating to resist, the liquid warm feeling of being held with no strength but pulled back to where she was wanted, needed; she could understand his infatuation with laying his hands over hers now, feeling where they went and what they did. She melted easily into the controlled push of his hips up against her mouth, letting her saliva dribble down the shaft of his cock and matching his quickening rhythm, chasing after his short, strained moans and grunts of her name. “If you don’t want me to cum in your mouth you-”

 

His words faltered and broke off as she nudged him deeper, breathing harshly through her nose and swallowing around his length as her head bobbed swiftly. No, she didn’t care. His stomach jumped and tightened at the sight, at the feel , cradling the back of her head as his heels dug into the rug, words lost on his tongue. Fisting the base of his cock he inhaled sharply, chest expanding for air before letting it go in stuttering, staccato breaths, watching her squirm as warmth flooded out of him and his cum filled her mouth. She gripped his thighs tightly for a moment, hands trembling a little before letting go, and he gave her hair a little tug for her to raise her eyes; entranced, he watched her throat bob as she swallowed once, twice, eyes watery as she came off his cock gradually. In a second he was folding downwards to catch her chin and kiss her, licking his taste out of the crevices of her mouth eagerly, wrapping one hand around her hot throat to rub it. She squeezed his cock as the remnants of his orgasm leaked over the back of her hand, whining softly against his lips before he pulled away to kiss her flushed neck.

 

“Such a good girl for me,” he cooed hoarsely against her cheek, wrapping one arm around her torso to pull her back up onto the couch, onto his lap. Panting into his ear she wilted against him and he against the couch, sharing each other’s breath and heat for long, blissful moments of quiet.
“I missed you,” she giggled, stamping airy kisses against the round of his shoulder with a little sigh.
“Gods, I missed you too,” Miraak groaned, dragging his fingertips along the small of her back. “I hope we never have to be apart for so long again.”
“We won’t,” Tharya promised, sitting up a little with her breasts against his chest. With a pleasant hum, a little acknowledgement of his belief in her words, he laid his cheek against hers and closed his eyes. Breathing came quieter now, and he concentrated on nothing besides the feeling of her fingertips tracing around his chest with a featherlight touch. 

 

"I'm sure I'll lose some of it," he chuckled after a while, and she lifted her head to look at him. "When I'm in Atmora without you all I do is work out, but in Skyrim with you I get lazy," he hummed, cracking a happy smile. "I like to snuggle with you more than I like working out." 

"I don't care," she promised, rubbing her nose against his. “Not if you come shower with me.”
“Once my legs stop shaking.” She cradled his face and laughed, peppering him with kisses everywhere, his eyebrows, his forehead, each eyelid, each temple, every inch of his cheeks and his nose, rubbing the flats of her fingers against his long stubble. 

“And maybe do some wedding planning after?” she added hopefully, and he opened one eye to look at her with a lazy smile.
“That’s right. We’re getting married, aren’t we?” he chuckled, grinning into the light kiss she pressed against his lips.
“We are,” came the reply, mirrorlike eyes gleaming with a new kind of affection, something so tender and rich he left her unanswered for a few moments to simply bask in the love of that gaze. “ Husband ,” she added finally, poking his chest.
“Then I would love nothing better than to plan our wedding with you,” he said in a soft whisper, finding her lips again and stroking his fingers through her crimped hair. “ Wife. ”

Chapter 24: The Birthday Present (redo of Surprise Bedfellows)

Notes:

HI...HI.....HI AGAIN! this isn't REALLY a redo of surprise bedfellows but i wasn't very happy with how that came out, so i endeavored to write these three again HEHEEHHEE. this shit is LONG (24pgs in gdocs ((insert skull emoji))) but please enjoy!! ignore any typos or shit because my ass barely proofread this. more smut coming soon!

With a sigh Miraak sat heavily on the couch, placing down three short glasses filled with a finger or two of red wine - a tiny little nightcap to celebrate the end of a long week and another successful birthday. Mathyas finished shrugging his coat on, shifting to the edge of the couch before taking one glass.

"Happy birthday, elskavin, " the Atmoran hummed, slipping one hand under the loose skirt of Tharya's sundress to rub her leg where she stood beside him, sipping her wine.

"Thank you for putting it all together, big guy," she hummed, leaning down to kiss his hair. "And you! You guys had such a long week," she added, smiling apologetically at Mathyas. It was true - he and Miraak had spent plenty of hours sweating together in that little café on the corner discussing what to do for tonight.

"You're worth it," Mathyas replied with a gentle smile, raising his glass to her. He hoped she knew how true those words were. 

 

Everyone else had left already, Vahlok and then Cassathra last to do so only a few minutes ago. Whiterun outside the large living room windows was dark, sprawling and rising on its hills, other apartment buildings lit and unlit in equal proportion. Just barely on the body of the moon the full outline of Dragonsreach was coming into view, wide, proud stone body of the legislature of the Hold. 

 

Setting her glass down half-finished Tharya sighed and started towards the kitchen, flicking off lights and ignoring dishes that had to be done - they would still be there tomorrow. She roamed to the other half of the apartment, already dark, where Bhiji and Lofrek's bedrooms were. Both of them had left for their respective night shifts hours ago. 

"Alright, I'm going to change," she yawned, drifting by the couch again. "Stay as long as you want, Mathyas. Or take the couch if you don't want to drive." 

"I'll get going in a minute," he promised, waving one hand. "I wouldn't impose after the week we've all had." Tharya chuckled, dragging her hand along Miraak's arm as she passed before moving on; only once did she glance over her shoulder at him, as if trying to confirm something, searching for his response. Mathyas swallowed his wine. Yes, he'd leave in a minute, and leave them to whatever that look as she disappeared into their bedroom entailed. Miraak yawned as he sat back into the couch, extending long legs out to stretch. He seemed unphased by the look, but Mathyas was not stupid enough to think he hadn't noticed it. Once you knew a couple for long enough you became attuned on some level to their silent conversations, no matter if you wanted to or not. 

 

"Good work, Dutheri," he said, extending his glass to cheers. "I'd say we make a good team."

"I'd agree," Mathyas said with a nod, clinking his glass and taking a short sip with a sigh of relief. Another successful birthday done. It felt good, the way they all celebrated each other when the time came. He was sure his own birthday would be just as thoughtfully put together, as would Miraak's, and everyone else's. They were a good group and they took good care of each other. It was a little tiring sometimes, especially now in the middle of summer when doing anything in the heat seemed to multiply the exhaustion, but it was still always worth it. For a few long moments they sat comfortably together in the silence, relishing the first breath of air they'd had seemingly all week. Just in time for the weekend. Abruptly a door clicked somewhere and Tharya reappeared, looking straight at Miraak - very vehemently not looking at Mathyas - and still in the flowy green sundress from before.

 

"Didn't I hear you say earlier you'd be eager to take this dress off, or was that a lie?" Mathyas choked and spluttered into his cup as Tharya appeared from the doorway, assessing her husband with a feigned look of confusion. Miraak returned her stare over the glass rim of his cup, seemingly unbothered by Mathyas' presence. He made sure to finish his drink before standing, reaching for the buttons of his already half-undone shirt as he walked to her.

 

"I didn't realize a little birthday attention would make you so bossy, prinsaessa, " he chuckled, his voice low as he crowded into her space so close her nose almost touched his chest. Watching as he pulled his shirt out of his waistband to shrug it off, Mathyas swallowed thickly to soothe his burning throat - he'd seen Miraak shirtless before, all of them had since he so rarely saw the need to dress fully in the comfort of his own apartment, they'd been to the beach together before, to the gym - and he tried, he tried each time not to look at him, but this...this invited looking. 

 

Watching the silky fabric slip off his broad shoulders and reveal the thick expanse of his back like a curtain pulling away, that invited looking. With his shirt hanging on by one sleeve bunched at his wrist, Miraak pulled Tharya's hips into his, the wet smack of their lips the only sound in the apartment aside from the thundering of Mathyas' heart in his chest. He watched them kiss - something he'd seen them do before plenty of times, but now it was different, it wasn’t just watching, it was...indulging. Indulging in the way their breathing grew harsher and mismatched, in the way Tharya's hands searched her lover's body for her favorite places to hold, squeezing the meat of his hips and arms in a way that made his skin remember the impressions of her nails. "I'm sure I can pound that attitude right out of you, my wife. "

 

From the couch Mathyas made a strangled sound as he tried to clear his throat and stand, his knees warm and mushy, mind swimming. Was he supposed to be seeing this? Was he supposed to leave? It all felt so confusing. But now their attention was on him, Miraak peering over his shoulder and Tharya leaning around his arm, two pairs of bright, unblinking eyes fixed on him.

 

"Aren't you coming?" Tharya asked finally as Miraak shrugged one arm to get his shirt off fully, balling the fabric in one large hand before tossing it at the Dunmer. He reacted slowly, the shirt hitting him in the neck and slithering down his chest before he caught it.

"I said we make a good team, didn't I?" Miraak added, raising an expectant eyebrow. Oh. Oh . He had said that, Mathyas remembered it. But he hadn't thought of that meaning until now.

 

Suddenly they were gone, voices muffled by moving into the bedroom, and Mathyas was left alone in their living room. Had they just...propositioned him? To join? On Tharya's birthday? Oh, this was premeditated. Absolutely. That look hadn't been just for them, it had been a confirmation of the course of action. Oh. Abruptly his brain began to spin to try and calculate and fit everything that had happened in the last three to five minutes into a neat formula in his head, and once it did, he was left with an empty answer. An answer only he could make true. Two of his close friends, Tharya being one of his oldest and most trusted, had just asked him - somewhat covertly - to join whatever post-birthday romantic affair they'd previously planned. As an audience or an active participant? Or somewhere in between? Hard to tell. Either way, did he care much what his role was to be? Mindlessly he found himself shrugging his coat back off and removing the shoes he'd only just put on. He found himself walking forwards. 

 

Their bedroom was not wholly unfamiliar to him, though most often they liked to keep it free of outsiders. In some ways it felt so distinctly like each of them separately and in others it felt so concretely of them as a unified pair. Bits of Miraak and pieces of Tharya were layered with traces of their togetherness everywhere. There was a large window facing out in the opposite direction from the living room ones, dark and showing no moon yet. He found the room's owners, its curators and caretakers and creators tangled together a few feet away from the foot of the bed, kissing slowly, enjoying each other's presence after a long, scorching day of catering to others. He swallowed again. His throat felt like sun-baked rock. He felt eyes on him, and heat bloomed across his face when he caught Miraak's steady gaze.

 

"You owe me some septims, elskavin, " the Atmoran rumbled prettily, his chuckle warm and dark and his accent heavy as he maneuvered Tharya to turn around, her back to his chest. "That was too easy." Even in the darkness Mathyas could see the flush on her face, the almost instinctual way she pushed back into the comfort of Miraak's big arms. The top of her sundress was down already, revealing the slim, meshy bralette below, but the skirt still hung from her waist down. 

"You bet on it?" Mathyas asked hoarsely as he drew closer. Once he was within arm's reach Tharya found him, extended a hand to cradle his cheek. It was a gentle gesture, unassuming, something that wasn't so foreign to him. Except maybe coming from her. 

"A bit," she allowed with a faintly embarrassed laugh. "Um...if you don't want to," she whispered, trailing off. The rest of that clause was implied well enough. His eyes caught the movement of Miraak's hands on her torso, rubbing her sides, cradling her breasts and his kisses commanding her neck. 

"No, I'm here," he breathed, and then nodded once. Yes, he was. Now he only had to tend to what little shreds remained of his dignity. 

 

The invitation to discard those shreds came as Miraak bunched his hands into the sundress' skirt, easing it up slowly - whether for the theatre of it or to give either of them time to back out, he couldn't tell. Maybe both. Miraak was always a fan of doing things dramatically and aesthetically if you could. It wasn't as if Mathyas had never seen her legs before but somehow it was different now, having them revealed, each slip of pale skin, the lean muscle in her thighs, the jut of her hips. She had the most perfect legs he'd ever seen, though he kept it to himself. Somehow they just were divine. Proportioned, supple but toned, long, graceful. Tharya reached out to take his shoulders, again a familiar touch, rubbing them lovingly through his shirt. But it was obvious where he was being directed to; her hands slithered into his hair as he knelt in front of her, first cradling one ankle to kiss and then the other. He didn't know why, but it seemed the correct thing to do. Maybe he was beginning to understand all of Miraak's overtly reverent actions and words after almost four years. Something about her did... invite it . 

 

He kissed his way slowly up to her knees, caressing her shins and calves in his grey hands, his entire body feeling like an ill-shaped, melting plastic container meant to hold him together. Acting entirely through his muscles and not communicating at all with his brain. Her skin was soft and a little chilled from the cool night air seeping in through the wide open window. Above him was the press and gentle sound of lips meeting again and again, below him the plush rug. In front of him a dream, surreal and yet somehow so tangible. Delicately Tharya angled her body a bit so he could reach the full extent of her legs, nudging her hips just a little forward into his line of sight. The moment he straightened out to look up at her again he instead skimmed the edge of her thigh with his nose, eyes landing on the thin lace edge of her underwear - Miraak held the skirt of her dress bunched in his hands well above her hips, his face still buried against the side of her neck kissing and sucking as he rubbed his hips into her from behind. Mathyas watched, unwilling to even blink as his dark hands slid down her hips to massage the innermost part of her thighs and pelvis, bulging her pussy between the length of his fingers. Her hips bucked and jumped as he touched her covered clit, rubbing it firmly under the pads of his middle and ring fingers. 

 

Mathyas groaned softly, kneading Tharya's thighs aimlessly in his hands as he watched it unfold. This close, everything looked so much better. This close he could see the way the fabric of her underwear grew damp and stuck to her folds with each strong pass of Miraak's hand; this close he could smell her, feel her bump his chin as her legs tensed and hips danced. She smelled good, sweet, damp. She made noises so pretty, whimpering, he was sure a taste of her would outdo dinner easily, he was sure just something , just a close whiff of her scent would sustain him and every fantasy he'd have of this night for a thousand nights to come...

 

"Can-" he began, leaning into her pussy before he could help himself, groaning as Miraak's fingers spread to grant him contact with the wet fabric, "can I...?" It was right to ask, he knew, it was the good thing to do, but the only answer he received was a smaller hand digging into his hair and pressing him forward. Tharya's breath hitched and sighed as he kissed her lightly, hands slithering up to hold her hips close to his face. He ran his tongue along the already wet gusset sticking to her labia, mouthing over the fabric with a soft groan as she pushed onto his mouth.

 

"Spread your legs, princess," he heard Miraak murmur from above, guiding one of her thighs to let go and bend up - Mathyas took it over his shoulder greedily, eager to get closer, squeezing his hand around her knee. "That's it, lean back into me. Good girl." He was close enough to feel the way her pussy fluttered and squeezed around nothing at that, at that little praise. With a flash of guilt that somehow only served to strengthen his arousal he remembered the only time he'd heard Miraak say that before - really by accident, foolishly listening too close when the pair had disconnected from last year's Saturalia party to grope and kiss each other in what would've been a good hiding spot if Mathyas hadn't thought that some air might've done him well, might've cleared his head from all the alcohol and food and scents inside. He'd said it in the same voice then, low and gravelly and intimate, always intended for her ears only - but it had been his ears that night too, and his face had burned well after they all left, long after he'd tried his hardest not to get himself off replaying what he'd heard later that night in his own bed, looping the wet slipping of lips and the squelch of fingers in places they weren't supposed to be in, of Miraak cooing good girl in that delicious baritone. 

 

Praise sounded good in his voice, Mathyas realized as he hooked one finger into the gusset of Tharya's underwear and pulled it aside to finally plunge his tongue between her folds. Praise sounded good from both of them. He wondered what he'd have to do to hear more of it.

 

She tasted as good as he hoped, as good as she smelled, slick and throbbing with heat as her fingers dug into his scalp and she moaned his name into the darkness of the room. She did sound good. His legs were shaking but he only felt it distantly in the back of his head, he was only barely aware of how hot his body was and how watery his bones felt. How many years had he known her? He’d never thought quite of this, of this exact moment, slipping his tongue gently against her pussy, teasing and cradling her labia, his nose brushing her skin, but he would be lying to say he’d never thought of being with her. A few times in college at parties they'd gotten close... Groaning, he shuffled closer, pulling her leg tightly to his jaw, and cradled her other calf and knee with his free hand.

He sealed his mouth against her, swallowing her arousal, her scent, breathing out a moan that fanned hotly over her skin and made her hips jump. Miraak’s fingers slid between them, knuckles pressing against his tongue as the Atmoran spread her fully, pink and glistening in the dim bedroom light.
“You’re so beautiful,” Mathyas mumbled, as if releasing a breath he’d been holding for too many years. His tongue found her again, the gentle rock of her hips sliding back and forth, filling his mouth, sealing his nose. It was so easy to taste her, to devour her, to slurp through her folds and leave her slathered in his saliva. It came so naturally to him, without the hesitation he’d felt on the couch. He squeezed her leg and pulled her onto his face, onto his jaw, craning his neck regardless of how stiff it would feel later to indulge , to let his tongue take over. 

 

Her fingers scraped along his scalp and tangled into his dark hair, not pulling it but settling into a tight fist on the back of his skull that pulled him in, held him firm. When he could he opened his eyes to look up at her, the rough flat of his tongue sliding and flicking, peering past the gathered fabric of her dress and the ridges of darkness Miraak emerged from behind her, his hand on her breast, his lips attached to her exposed, elegant throat. He found her face leaning back on her husband’s shoulder, her lips parted to moan softly for both of them, her chest arching with breath. She was beautiful. She rubbed her hips on his tongue and Mathyas obliged, letting his eyes flutter closed as he leaned into his work, moaned into her. From above there was the smack of lips, but it was drowned in his ears by the wet, squelching sounds of her pussy around him, his mouth soaked with her arousal, the edge of his tongue moving sloppily. 

 

Miraak’s dormant fingers adjusted suddenly, pinching around her clit, and Mathyas joined him, gripping the back of Tharya’s knee to brace himself for concentration. Her free leg was trembling under the strain of holding her weight, trying to contain the buck of her hips as she squirmed between them, panting their names breathlessly. He eased and sank his tongue into her, gripping her thigh hard enough that her skin spilled between his fingers, fucking her on his mouth like he was born to it. He’d dreamed of the sounds she would make. Of the way her body would move. Her hips knocked messily against his jaw, leg pressing to the length of his ear, pussy squeezing around what little intrusion his tongue could offer. Miraak’s fingers were deft, barely interrupting him as they circled and pressed her clit, as his silky dark voice murmured praise and filth against her ear. He could hear pieces, little words that floated down to him and made his ears burn.

 

Her orgasm came quickly, almost as a surprise, and he scrambled to seal his mouth over her and drink her in with a long, grateful moan that dwindled into hushed breaths through his nose. She tasted sweet, sharp, hot as he gathered her on his tongue and swallowed, lapped her up eager for more. He released his hand around her knee to reach down and squeeze the throbbing in his groin, palming the fabric of his pants desperate for any kind of touch. She coated his mouth, his tongue, his throat as he swallowed. Her scent made a haze of his brain, something so thick and desirous he could only see her in the vast world. He spread his bent knees to allow his hand fuller access to the erection swelling with that haze, moaning as his tongue found her again, a moth drawn inevitably into the light.

“Easy, Dutheri,” Miraak crooned from above, large hand covering Tharya’s in his hair and gently tilting the Dunmer’s head away. Together they took him in, looking down at his parted, glossy lips and watery gaze, at his grey-blue skin flushed deeply. Mathyas grunted a little as he gripped the bulge of his pants, shivering at their conjoined looks. Dark crimson eyes set in inky sclera flitted downwards to watch the Atmoran’s fingers move again, slipping through the cum and saliva soaking her skin, and for a second Miraak’s hand hesitated by her hip before proffering itself to Mathyas. After a moment he took them, letting them slip and twist around his tongue, push and explore his mouth while he suckled each to the base knuckle. “Undress,” Miraak said, retracting his hand and holding the Dunmer’s chin up so he heard the order before slipping away, one hand falling to his belt.

Mathyas stood quickly, eager to shed his shirt and let it wither to the rug below his bare feet. Tharya’s hands were cool and gentle on his torso, caressing his hips as the fabric came off over his head, the taper of his waist and sides. She’d touched him before, not like this but close, though he couldn’t think of how. Putting sunscreen on his back, maybe, brushing him off after a hike together. Hugging him like she used to a long time ago, slipping her hands intimately around his waist and back, holding him close. She had a touch that was easy to melt into, easy to find comfort in, easy to get addicted to. For this one night, he could pick up and dust off his old obsession with how she touched him. 

 

“Mine aren’t as big,” he chuckled as she traced and squeezed his chest, something he’d seen her do to Miraak probably over a thousand times. She tossed her head as she laughed, slipping her arms around his neck to draw him close, a kind smile on her shadowed face.
“Neither are mine, so it works,” she giggled, leaning into him as he plucked the fabric of her dress into his hands and began to pull it up piece by piece until he could slide his hands below it, cradling her waist, her hips, sinking his fingers into the soft muscle of her ass and thighs with a withering groan. “Can I kiss you?” she whispered suddenly, stroking her fingertips through his tousled hair. All that had passed and they hadn’t even kissed? His lips felt dry for the lack of it. Wordlessly he nodded, squeezing her again, nestling his hips close against hers so their bodies were flush, with only the dress separating them.

 

Her lips were as he’d imagined and so much more. Cool and smooth and disarming, soft, inviting, loving. She kissed him firmly, claiming her wants, claiming him , and for a moment all he could do was melt into her steady embrace, fingers curling into the edge of her underwear and a moan sneaking its way out of his throat. Her tongue was gentle with his, so tender in the way she kissed him, filling his mouth before he pressed back, tasting hers, indulging again and letting their lips slide and smack, letting himself into forbidden territory. Her hips nudged forward against the hot outline of his erection, a soft hum vibrating through his chin. He held her there unmoving, content to kiss her forever.

Miraak’s hands skirted Mathyas’ as they too slid under the dress, this time to pilot Tharya’s arms out from under the thin straps and let it sink to her ankles before pressing himself to her back, warm and large and careful not to disturb their kiss. The Atmoran spared one hand to cup the back of Mathyas’ neck warmly, rubbing his thumb and forefinger into the small cramp there with a gentle hum muffled by Tharya’s shoulder. He shuddered into the sudden heat spreading through his back, opening his eyes just enough to watch Miraak fade away again, slowly trailing his lips down her back, kneeling gradually, kissing her spine, the small of her back, her hips, kissing Mathyas’s hands fondling her ass. One after the other he lifted them away and then hooked his fingers into her underwear, easing it down her legs and then taking each ankle to step her out of it. He replaced Mathyas’ hands before standing again, nestling his groin close to her, close enough Mathyas could feel the fabric stretching around his length as it brushed his knuckles.

“I have one last present for you,” he murmured against Tharya’s ear as he wedged one arm around her, returning his hand to lay it heavily over Mathyas’ neck. “I thought you would not like to open it in front of everyone, though. Tomorrow.” Woefully she pulled away from the Dunmer’s lips, feeling her husband heat the space at her back, his hips flexing gently into her ass with a soft hum.
“What is it, lingerie?” she snickered, and Miraak only grinned, exhaling a little sound of air through his nose that was probably a laugh.
“Some of it.” His lips fell to her neck again, fingers working on the small clasp of the glittering necklace that decorated her collarbones, taking it off slowly. With a warm sigh Mathyas followed suit, tilting his head down and putting one hand on her hip, the other on Miraak’s, as he eased his teeth into the side of her throat. 

 

Tharya raised her chin to exhale pleasantly into the dark room, sandwiched between them both with one arm around either man’s shoulders, moaning quietly as two mouths, two tongues, two sets of teeth suckled and kissed her neck, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Each drag of Miraak’s hips pushed her forward into Mathyas, and each push from Mathyas dragged her back into Miraak. She could feel them both so acutely, chests and waists and shoulders surrounding her, the weight and stability of Miraak’s legs behind her making a good reinforcement for her wobbly stance on her tiptoes.
“Oh, you don’t seem to mind being pampered now, prinsaessa,” Miraak purred, teeth scraping the slope between her neck and shoulder. The edge of Mathyas’ ear pressed under her jaw, his tongue soothing the beginnings of a bruise almost at the back of her neck. “Wrapped up like this, warm and comfortable to ready to be fucked?” His chuckle was dark, dripping, vibrating as he nipped her throat. She shuddered quickly, curling her fingers back into his dark hair. “I would’ve never guessed how good you feel naked between us both, elskavin.” 

 

Mathyas shivered too at the jolt those words sent down his spine, quickly followed by Miraak’s hand squeezing the back of his neck to lift it. The Atmoran stole his lips too easily, kissing him as strongly as Tharya had without hesitation, sighing into his mouth. For a moment Mathyas was struck dumb before he leaned over her shoulder to match her husband, to feel the scorching heat of his lips and tongue - so different from the coolness of hers - as it invaded him. They both kissed so lovingly, with so much emotion, but Miraak so deeply and Tharya so tenderly. Like two unstoppable forces, he seemed to be the only immovable object between them. They satisfied totally separate parts of his lust and imagination, yet somehow converged so fluidly into one.
“Treat my wife well, Mathyas,” Miraak murmured, sliding his tongue along the seam of the Dunmer’s lips, dipping in with a wet sound before pulling back again. “But not so well she returns her rings to me.” He gave a quick nod to the side. “Bed.”
“What does that mean?” Mathyas whispered to her as Miraak straightened out, one hand around Tharya’s waist to guide her backwards into the dark. Somewhere a lamp clicked on, dim and pretty gold. It created a thin halo around the back of her head, and illuminated the sharpness of Miraak’s shadowed features with a thin, smoothing light.
“It’s the Atmoran way of declaring divorce,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “He’s joking. Are you insecure, my love?” she cooed playfully as she sat, reaching up to stroke Miraak’s hip. “Do I not profess my love to you enough?”
“A close friend of ours is in our bed, elskavin ,” Miraak laughed suddenly, bringing her hand up to kiss her rings. “You tell me if I am insecure.”

 

Mathyas hesitated, unsure of what to make of the full exchange, but there was a warmth and a reverence in Miraak’s face that told him not to worry. The Atmoran sat back on the bed with his shoulders to the headboard and pulled Tharya between his legs so she could rest on his chest, stroking her golden hair away from her eyes, and for a moment it was the picture of domestic bliss.
“But you could profess to me more often, if you feel so inclined,” he added after a moment, “I will not object.” No, they weren’t worried. So neither was he.

Suddenly aware of their gaze lingering on him Mathyas knelt on the edge of the bed, only to be stopped by a clicking tongue; Miraak reached forward to snake his fingers into the waistband of the Dunmer’s underwear, giving it an expectant tug.
“Let’s see you, Mathyas,” he purred again, his other hand drifting down Tharya’s torso to ease her legs apart and rub her thighs lovingly. He so rarely used people’s first names - as far as Mathyas knew there was a nickname for everyone in their circle . He straightened out again and undressed slowly under their eyes, all too aware of them watching, of Tharya’s teeth grazing her lower lip.
“Come here,” she hummed, extending a hand to him while her brown eyes slid and touched every single part of him, his hips, his chest, the moving muscles of his arms as he obeyed, the bluish-grey skin of his thighs rolling over his toned runner’s legs - the length of his cock lying across his palm as he settled between her open legs, squeezing himself to relieve the ache in his stomach. 

 

Miraak’s fingers were easy to spot, rich brown against her gold summer tan, as they teased around her folds and slipped down, one disappearing into her pussy so suddenly she gasped, heels digging into the bed. Mathyas leaned down to find her lips again, to indulge in her kiss, settling his body over hers so he could feel every movement she made, every time Miraak’s wrist flexed against his stomach. She moaned gratefully into his mouth, gripping his sides. It was less calm now, more needy, more urgent to envelop one another. He inhaled a faltering breath as her fingers wrapped around his cock, cool against his hot skin, stroking him slowly with the cup of her palm.
“ Tharya ,” he whispered, for no other reason than to say her name, breathe her into his life. She sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and then bit down as Miraak edged another thick, warm finger into her pussy, forcing her walls to stretch and flutter and relax to accommodate both.
“Good girl,” the Atmoran rumbled, his voice close and breathy. “Relax your hips, prinsaessa. This is your birthday present, isn’t it?” His tongue traced the shell and curve of her ear slowly. “Let us treat you, hm?” Golden eyes that had an uncanny glow to them in the lamplight fixed on Mathyas, who swallowed to wet his throat before he nodded. He understood it now.
“Since this is what you asked for,” he added, lowering his head to kiss her sweetly, reveling in the swell and feel of her lips. She’d asked for him. For them, together. Truthfully, he would have never guessed it to be her idea if it didn’t fall on her birthday.

 

Tharya’s hand around his cock was slowly getting slick with his arousal, her palm dampened by precum and squeezing him rhythmically from base to tip, back down again, back up. His hips moved of their own accord into her hand, unsteady breaths breezing from his lips at the relief of finally being touched . He panted her name gratefully, like a devotee named a savior. He needed to feel her as she felt him; he needed to touch her, to commit her body to the forefront of his memory. His hands roamed her legs and hips, her waist, squeezed where they could, stroked her warming skin affectionately. He found one of her hands and laced their fingers together, palms pressing into one another’s, and held it against Miraak’s leg.

 

"Her breasts are most sensitive," Miraak hummed, and between them Tharya gave an embarrassed whine into the Dunmer’s mouth, reaching back to grip her husband's forearm.

"Don't tell him," she complained, but there was no real malice behind it; Mathyas glanced back at Miraak, who merely nodded assurance.

"Don't tell me you haven't seen him looking, prinsaessa ," he chuckled, caressing her side with one hand, feeling her stomach tighten and stretch as she squirmed. "What about the time you took us to Balgruuf's Saturalia court? That dress?" Mathyas flushed suddenly at the memory - it came all too quickly. He thought neither of them had noticed that night, but gods, the little swell and shadow of her chest in that dress, the low sleeves around her shoulders, exposing her neck and collarbone and giving him just the right angle when she leaned over to speak with him-

 

"Can I?" he whispered to her, slowing his hips to grind and gyrate against hers, pressing his cock deep and slow into the ring of her hand. Flushed pink Tharya nodded up at him, holding onto Miraak's wrist as his hand slithered around her throat in a well-fitted necklace. A pitched breath left Mathyas as he craned his head down, kissing her sternum lightly, finding the constant, heavy thud of her heartbeat below her ribs. He pressed the flat of his tongue over her nipple before sucking it past his teeth, leaning on his elbow to free his left hand to stroke and knead the opposite side of her chest. She arched into his mouth so easily, moaning his name, squeezing her hand around his cock as her legs moved restlessly between Miraak’s and his. He felt a brush of hair as the Atmoran leaned down to occupy her lips, massaging her throat with a little groan as she twisted to kiss him. “They’re perfect,” Mathyas sighed, easing the curve of her breast into his mouth to nip and suck at her skin, leaving little indents of his teeth and blooming hickeys across the center of her chest to the other side where he did the same, slathering his tongue around her nipple, leaving his marks on her pale skin.

With a hot breath he pushed himself up onto his hands and then sat up, leaning back on his heels to examine her body splayed before him, held in the mould of Miraak’s limbs, fingers stretching and diving into her pussy over and over again, how it made her legs and knees tense and shake. Gods, he needed to be inside her. He needed to replace those fingers. The blood rushing to his groin pulsed with every sound she made, every moan, every whine, every time her hips raised from the sheets in a pretty arch. The gleam of his saliva around her breasts caught in the lamplight like glass, perfected and shaped around her bare body. 

 

Tharya must’ve noticed his absence because she raised one leg to lay up against his chest, giggling faintly as he tilted his head to kiss the inside of her ankle and gripped her opposite thigh tightly in his free hand. Her fingers were snug around his length, stroking him slowly and inching him closer to her, closer, closer, closer. A swell of affection bubbled in his gut, affection he wasn't really supposed to have for his close friend but it appeared anyway, heavy and warm. He'd always liked Tharya. They got along well, they understood each other. She was supportive when he needed it most, always a constant, so quick to drop something when he asked for help because she knew the importance of asking. She was pretty; her hair always looked so soft and smooth and lately it had been more shiny. Her eyes were warm and welcoming and sharp, her body was lean but strong and still fleshy soft in all the perfect places. 

 

"Mathyas." He hadn’t noticed her part from Miraak; she murmured his name so beautifully he had to swallow before he thought of replying, but before he could she was pulling him down, finding his lips, slipping her tongue into his mouth and letting the edge of his nose turn into her cheek as he tilted for more, to go deeper . Her hands roamed his torso, feeling up and down his sides, grazing over the lean muscle of his chest and shoulders and back, leaving trenches of fire dancing over his body. One fell to the taper of his waist to pull his hips forward, a soft moan trickling out of her mouth into his as the head of his cock pushed against her folds. He barely had time to curse against her chin before she was wrapping her legs snugly around him, trying to connect, fingertips gliding along his cock to pull him in. 

 

"Are you sure?" he whispered one last time, lower back trembling. 

"Very sure," she breathed. He pressed into her before she could even finish her last word, the quivering knot in his back spreading through his entire body as a full-blown shiver as the endless heat of her pussy welcomed his cock with a soft, sinful squelch of arousal; her hips squirmed against his, greedy for every inch even as a broken moan tumbled long and low off her swollen lips. 

" B’vehk, " he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he leaned back onto his knees to draw out of her slowly, gripping her waist between his hands. 

" Fuck, fuck, Mathyas," she whined, nails scratching over the backs of his wrists. He struggled to gasp once he realized that Miraak’s fingers were still there, pressing in above his length, curling and stroking her walls as he buried himself deep. Mathyas strained to look up but the Atmoran merely gave him a lazy grin, his golden eyes glazed with pleasure and the bliss of watching. Those eyes said you’ll see.  

 

He moved slowly at first, jaw loose and eyes fluttering. It felt surreal to be inside of her, surreal to have her pussy squeezing in around him, her legs pulling him in. He held her thigh out wide to watch the way his cock spread her, to watch it disappear below Miraak’s wrist, in and out, slow and long and savory of each thrust. When her eyes opened to look up at him, barely seeing from beyond her lashes, he smiled breathlessly down at her, finding her hand to hold again.
“Feels good?” he whispered, watching her brows knit together as he pressed in, watching her teeth catch her bottom lip as he pulled out.
“Feels amazing,” she moaned back, squeezing between his fingers.

He gained his pace slowly, feeling her body move against his to meet each thrust. At first it matched his breath, slow and shaky but regular, and then it grew quicker as he panted her name, no longer obsessed with the initial sensations of being inside of her but obsessed with filling her, obsessed with hearing her breath gasp and hitch as he fucked into her. Miraak’s fingers were less of an obstruction than he’d first thought - they were there, but stayed largely out of his way, matching his timing, pressing into her walls and scissoring to stretch her around his cock. His mind raced. What exactly was the plan? What was he supposed to be waiting to see? But it drained out of his head piece by piece, replaced with her moans and whines and breathless cries of Mathyas as his hips slapped into hers. She sounded exactly as he dreamed she would, as pretty as he’d ever wondered. Miraak held her with one arm over her chest, teasing and pinching and massaging her breasts and throat, tracing her parted lips with his fingertips. 

 

Mathyas’ breath caught in his throat as those fingers angled in, slipping easily into her mouth and muffling all her delicious sounds. At the same time, the digits crowding her pussy pulled back, leaving Mathyas alone to fill her, to feel the full extent of her. He watched as the Atmoran slid his slick fingertips over her clit again and again, rubbing it in tandem with his fingers in her mouth, teasing her tongue and wetting her lips. Her pussy clenched and legs tried to press together around him, making the edges of his vision cloud.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Dutheri?” Miraak murmured, the heaviness in his voice matching exactly how Mathyas felt as he pushed into her again and again. “The way she squeezes like that? Your pussy is so perfect, prinsaessa , so pretty.” He eased his fingers out of her mouth as she whined his name, spreading her saliva over her swollen lips with a pleased rumble. Mathyas was grunting his agreement before he could register his ears flushing with heat, working his hands below both her knees to gather her legs and press them forward, holding them firmly spread with her feet wilting over his shoulders.
“It is perfect,” he mumbled, watching dark fingers squeezed between her thighs swipe and stroke her clit incessantly, relentlessly. “Feels perfect to be inside you, Tharya.” He exhaled against her ankle, kissing it lightly. “ You’re perfect. ”

 

Speaking those words aloud lit some fire in his stomach, some slowly building knot as he slid his cock home again and again and again, thrusts turning sloppy, unbidden. She tried to meet him but it was too untimed, too much, so he held her legs upright against his chest and panted and huffed against her ankles as he chased the sensation of her pussy around him, letting him in, squeezing him out, chased the short and quick moans tumbling past her lips. The chants of his name. She made such pretty, pretty sounds, so continuous, so many of them. He wanted each seared into his ears for eternity. Her hips bounced off his with each thrust, the slap of skin loud and sticky, and as he groaned his pleasure a much larger hand reached up to grab his arm. 

"Dutheri," Miraak warned, "you're not wearing a condom. Pull out." 

 

With a shuddering moan he obliged, fisting his cock urgently with one hand and clamping his jaw. It was nothing compared to being inside of her, nothing compared to the wet heat of her pussy and her legs around him and her voice whining his name - but he came easily, painting her folds white but not pushing back in, letting his cum run hotly down her skin and watching it drip. Tharya gripped his hand so tightly it felt as if she'd take his fingers off, but gradually she let go, stroking his forearm as he lowered her legs. Either way it felt blissful to cum, to have been inside her, to be here. He sat back lightly on his heels, panting in the low golden light. 

"Do you want to try, prinsaessa? " Miraak was murmuring, and through the haze in his head Mathyas began to listen. 

"I do," Tharya whispered back, her face flushed and dazed and that fucked out expression clouding her eyes. "At least try." The Atmoran hummed for a moment, pulling his arms snugly around her.

"Then you will have to speak up if something is wrong," he said. "If it hurts. We'll go slow." He looked back at Mathyas, and then kissed his wife's shoulder lovingly, drawing her with him as he sat up. "Taking both of us will not be easy." 

 

He blinked suddenly and swallowed to ease his dry throat, looking between the pair.

"Both of us?" he repeated hoarsely. 

"Lie down," Miraak instructed, depositing Tharya carefully into the Dunmer's embrace. "If you want to," he added after a moment. Mathyas did so gratefully, as it eased the trembling in his knees and lower back. It felt good to have her on top of him, her weight solid and settling and warm. They found each other's lips easily, lazily, drinking in the glow of relaxation together as Miraak moved around just barely in Mathyas' peripheral. Both of them? At once?

"You didn't finish," he murmured against her mouth, stroking her hair back from her cheek and behind her ear. 

"I'm not worried," she giggled after a moment, caressing the edge of his jaw, "I’m in a room with the two most beautiful men on the planet, I'm not keeping score." A hand settled by his hip and the sound of something tearing met his ears; Miraak wrapped one impossibly large hand around his cock, stroking it slowly, before the bed creaked under his shifting weight. The Atmoran's mouth was hot and soaking, taking him in easily to the back of his throat and further, sucking him clean of his own cum before slipping away.

"That was my oversight," Miraak murmured apologetically as he rolled the condom down, but Mathyas was too shocked by the brief feel of his mouth and how quickly it was gone to say anything as the other man squeezed him lovingly. "I'm not used to having one." Mathyas watched his shadow as the Atmoran transferred his wedding rings from his left hand to his right, and then promptly landed his left hand with a sharp smack against Tharya's ass. "Give me your hips, prinsaessa. " She shuddered and obliged, biting the tender skin of her lower lip as he crooned praise. "Spread your knees for me, good girl." He rubbed the round of her ass appreciatively before slapping it again, dragging his palm up to the small of her spine and tilting it downwards so her belly laid against Mathyas'. 

 

Mathyas watched the motion of his arm as he stroked himself slowly, nudging forward to rub and slide the head of his cock delicately against his wife's folds. She arched into him and whispered her agreement, hands splayed on Mathyas' chest for support. From his vantage point he could see just how drastic their difference in size truly was; Miraak rose like a shadowed skyscraper behind her, broad and dense and only part of him tossed in the lamplight. His hands nearly encased her waist, thumbs pressing down and rubbing into the steep arch in her back as he nudged forward, pushing his cock into her with a gentle, wavering groan. From what little light spilled onto his face Mathyas could see the way his expression melted, lips parting and brows crunching together as he pushed in and out of her. Tharya's moan vibrated into Mathyas' chest, rattling around his heart as he held onto her, high and soft and dwindling into a short whine. 

 

"Yeah- ngh, Miraak- please," she panted, pushing her hips higher back into him, spreading her knees a little further. 

"You don't have to beg, little one," he grunted, head falling back to expose the thick line of his throat and the thin silver necklace he wore at all times, "when have I given you anything less?" Mathyas’ ears bloomed with heat again. She rocked back to meet his hips easily, desperate for the fullness of his cock, the blazing warmth of his body and hands on her, the weight and pressure in her belly every time he filled her to the brim, the emptiness every time he pulled back. He maneuvered her hips so easily to meet his, squeezing and holding them still, moving them, landing the flat of his palm against the swell of her ass to make her yelp and squeal his name. Mathyas held her back, tracing her shoulders soothingly as she wilted against his chest, content with her husband pounding into her from behind and nothing else in the world but the two men on either side of her conscience. She'd been so close with Mathyas, so near the edge, so ready to cum and so dazed by the fact that he was fucking her that it had been hard to notice when he pulled out. Hard, but also much too easy, feeling his lack, his absence. All Miraak needed to do was bring the precipice back to her. She could feel her knees and legs grow restless as he thrusted, toes curling against his calves and hips squirming despite his hold. Gods, it would feel so good to cum. 

 

"I know, prinsaessa, " Miraak sighed, his voice low and warm and spreading like molten metal between her ears, "don't hold it. Cum for me so I can eat it off your pretty pussy." With a cry she muffled into the curve of Mathyas' shoulder, her legs squeezing restlessly against the Dunmer's sides Tharya obeyed, gasping at the relief washing through her torso and out of her body. Miraak slowed with a low groan before pulling out and Mathyas watched him as he watched her, golden eyes transfixed on her pussy spilling white for him, dripping through her folds and over her swollen clit. To make good on his words he hoisted her legs up suddenly, holding them at the sides of his chest so her torso almost dangled downwards; with a huff he grabbed the jut of her hips and shoved his face down, slurping and groaning and lapping up her orgasm. Mathyas felt his body warm under the wet assault on his ears, cock twitching with need against his stomach. The only way he could describe those sounds was lewd. Wet and sloppy and lewd. It made him wonder if Miraak was always this loud. 

 

" Umph- good girl," the Atmoran breathed, dragging the flat of his tongue all the way from her clit downwards, letting it hang and slide against her folds. Mathyas looked up through the veil of his lashes only to find Miraak was already looking down at him, and he held that contact with his tongue loose until he finally let Tharya down and returned his rings to his left hand. Swallowing, Mathyas examined the other man over her shoulder, slipping his arms around her torso again while he eyed her husband just as they had him. He'd seen Miraak close to naked before, stripped to his underwear, but mostly by accident. Somehow with no clothes on he looked larger than he did fully dressed; the span and strength of his arms and legs was more prominent, the thick, heavy shelf of his pectorals so much... more. His thighs spread nicely as he sat back against his heels, stroking Tharya's back in one hand and wrapping the other around the length of his cock. 

 

"Five septims per ogle," Miraak said suddenly, and from Mathyas' chest Tharya burst into giggles. A long-standing joke of theirs; Mathyas had heard it countless times. 

"Truthfully," he said with a little grin, "I've always wondered how big it was." The Atmoran hummed lowly, slinking one hand below his wife to wrap a hand around the Dunmer's cock and pull it free; it fit easily into his palm, caged in with his own, and with a soft groan he rubbed them together, eyes cast down to watch. Mathyas shuddered at the feeling of being pressed so close, close enough to feel the pulse of blood and the ridges and veins through the other man's length.

"Big enough for you?" Miraak hummed, his eyelids low. Wordlessly, Mathyas nodded. 

 

Still holding them together Miraak coaxed Tharya's hips back until they could both slip and nudge through her folds, gathering mixed saliva and cum and arousal until it soaked each tip.

"Have you done this before?" he asked, and Mathyas shook his head. "Gods, where would your birthday plans be without me, then, elskavin? " he chuckled, letting go of Mathyas and adjusting his legs around the both of them. 

"Have you?" Mathyas countered, raising an eyebrow.

"Once. But I wasn't the one in the middle," Miraak added. 

"What kind of crazy sex do you have in Atmoran college? My gods," Tharya muttered, shaking her head. "At least Skyrim only has a drinking problem." Miraak snorted out a laugh, shifting his weight on the bed to reach for the small nightstand; he rummaged around in the quiet for a moment before returning and pressing a little bottle into Mathyas' hand.

"Use this. One at a time," he instructed Mathyas, "she will tell you when. But go slow. Tell me if something feels wrong, elskavin, ja? It should not feel like you're being split apart. If it does, something's wrong." 

"I will," she promised quietly, kissing the side of Mathyas' jaw. 

" Stop means pull out. No questions." Mathyas nodded as Miraak leaned down to kiss her first, nuzzling deeply into her neck with murmured nothings, and then tilted his head to find Mathyas' lips. Kissing him again felt good - Miraak's mouth had been far too scarce for him to taste and explore thus far, the scratch of his beard Tharya so loved too hard to catch. "I know you like being sandwiched, elskavin, " he muttered with a little grin against Mathyas' lower lip. Miraak adjusted his arms and stretched out over them, elbows making shallow divots in the mattress on either side of the Dunmer. Tharya sighed happily and Mathyas could feel the way she melted and relaxed between them, moving her hips steadily to meet her husband's and resting her cheek on one blue-grey shoulder. 

 

Occupied with the Atmoran's lips he fumbled the cap from the lube in one hand, squirting a healthy amount into his palm and rubbing it between his hands before reaching down to grasp his cock. It was difficult in the close press of bodies and sea of limbs but he managed, his knuckles nudging into the soft inside of Miraak's thigh as he slathered himself generously. For good measure he took more and tilted his hand to rub some of it into Tharya's folds, spreading his fingers to smear some of it along Miraak as well. He stroked himself steadily, moaning into the other man's mouth as his tongue filled every crevice and slipped wetly across every surface there was to offer. He thought he would've withered away by now, exhausted by the thought of being with both of them, but his heart still hammered soundly against his chest, still fed into his bursting anticipation. It was an effect only they seemed to have. 

 

"Ready," Tharya whispered against his ear, kissing the edge of it sweetly. Miraak took that as his cue to sit back up, nestling his cock deeply inside of her before easing almost all the way out. 

"Are you sure?" Mathyas whispered back, rubbing his nose into her cheek as she nodded. "Tell me if you need me to stop, I will." With his hand more free he could angle himself up against her pussy, squeezing his length beside Miraak's and edging his hips uncertainly up. The Atmoran's fingers worked and danced to fit him in without pushing himself out, and Mathyas gave a shuddering moan at the way her walls pressed in around both of them, a trembling, watery moan spilling off her lips as her back arched into his torso. "Oh, gods- fuck! Talk to me," he breathed, caressing and grabbing at her hips in both hands as he pressed in, in, in, watching her mouth fall slack in the dim golden light, eyes squeezed shut. 

"Need- a reply, little one," Miraak grunted hoarsely, his head hanging back.

"Yes, yes, gods- fuck- yes, " Tharya squealed, her breath pitched and uneven as she pressed her hands into Mathyas' chest to sit up partially. The rest of his cock slid in with a soaked squelch, and he watched her eyelids flutter and eyes roll as it did. "Just go slow," she panted, and Miraak leaned in behind her with one arm tucked securely around her waist. 

"I go in," he moaned into her hair, "you go out." Mathyas nodded before he could even think to form the words to reply. A moan scraped through the back of his throat as he obeyed, pressing his hips back into the mattress and shuddering as Miraak filled his absence, hot and slick and throbbing out of sync with him. He pulled out just barely, leaving the head of his cock nestled against her pussy, and as Miraak drew back he did the same, groaning feebly into the back of Tharya's neck, cursing in slurred Atmoran. 

 

Their pace grew steady but lethargic between all three of them as the initial pleasure and shock began to slip away. Mathyas felt his lips dry out but barely had the wherewithal to notice the discomfort; every ounce of him felt so concentrated and simultaneously so, so fluid. The other two wore matching looks above him, so pretty and perfect together, bodies sliding and joining as easily as the oaths they bore on their left hands allowed. Tharya looked boneless, clinging to Miraak's arm across her torso, nails scraping over his hot skin.

"Gods, I've never heard you this loud, prinsaessa, " he grunted, squeezing his hand lovingly against her belly. Perhaps unconsciously her mouth pressed shut, muffling the continuous, encouraging sounds that spilled from her chest, her heaving breaths and moans and little ways that sound caught in her throat, broken and trembling.

"No, no," Mathyas panted, shaking his head vehemently, reaching up to circle his fingers around her wrist and then unravel her hand to hold. "Don't do that, beautiful. Let me hear it all." 

 

He watched her as closely as he could through heavy eyes, watched the way her hips slid and arched mindlessly into his, the way she barely whispered his name, too breathless to make the full sound. A shiver trickled down from the nape of his neck, slanting across his spine and through his stomach; it was surreal, almost too surreal. Almost too hard to believe. He let go of her hand to trace her body, to let himself partake in the lean muscle of her thighs and the soft padding around her hips and belly. The curve of her waist, stretching as she moved between him and Miraak. Her husband's dark fingers holding her like they were one body. One cut of the same marble. He slid his hand over her sternum, caressed her breasts as they pushed into his palm, and reached to trace the line of her collarbone before letting his hand drift back down. Gods only knew how he was supposed to look at her in the gym after this, on the beach, at parties with their friends, at brunch, at the museums they went to together. At the quick work lunch meetups they shared. Trembling a bit he spread his hand against the low part of her pelvis and let his thumb hang to find her clit. Gods only knew what he was supposed to do with the image of her body seared into his eyelids. Gods only knew what he was supposed to do with the memory of the way she cried his name as he nudged and circled her clit, the way her sparkling brown eyes opened just enough to look down at him, to hold him in a vice grip. 

 

"Cum for me," he whispered up to her, condemning himself and finding his salvation in three words. She held his wrist tightly, perhaps wondering the same questions. Maybe he was making it up. 

 

Miraak's hands slid upwards along her sides to hold her chest and tease her nipples under his fingertips, rumbling something too quiet for Mathyas to make out but loud enough to know he had spoken. He was watching her too, golden eyes glazed and half-open but somehow so all-seeing, absorbing and remembering everything while laying back and noticing nothing. Mathyas had seen him look at her like that plenty of times before, easy to mistake for sultry but so, so reverent, so enamored. At least he had the right to - at least he could.  

 

Her thighs squeezed against the taper of his hips before she freed both hands to plant them on his stomach, torso sagging into his with something very close to a cry, half-made in her throat. Mathyas welcomed her as she laid across his chest, taking advantage of Miraak's sudden shift backwards to fill her with his cock and moan at the sensation of her orgasm smearing his inner thighs and leaking out around his intrusion. He held her fast, kissed her hair as she swallowed and panted, too fucked out to raise her head or shoulders just yet. That was perfectly fine for him. He felt her body, pressed it into his, embraced her as if he wore her rings. 

"Feel okay?" he breathed, toes squeezing against Miraak's calves as her pussy settled warmly around him, wet and hot and throbbing. Wordlessly she nodded into his jaw, caressing his neck and laying her fingertips over his parted lips. Her belly pressed into his as Miraak's arms wedged around them both, holding them as a bundle against his chest before shifting back to sit against the headboard. He spread lazily behind Tharya, exhaling a long, hot, pleased sigh and letting his head lean back into the wood. 

 

It was impossible to know how long they laid there, tangled together as Tharya began to kiss him and Miraak stroked their hair in both hands, seemingly content to sit with his eyes closed slouched into the pillows. Mathyas didn't even register that neither of them had finished, his body didn't care. It was overcome. Anything else didn't exist outside this intricate knot of limbs and bodies. Finally Tharya put her head back into her husband's chest, nuzzling between his pectorals to seek his slowing heartbeat. She looked - and felt - tired, but strength seemed to have returned to her limbs as she tapped Miraak's chest with a well-concealed smile. 

 

"Your turn." With a gravelly sound the Atmoran came back to life, reanimated by her voice and touch. His head dropped down to kiss her golden hair before he chuckled, his voice hoarse.

"No need, elskavin. Relax as long as you wish." Tharya dragged her fingers lovingly along the length and point of Mathyas' ear, smiling at the Dunmer as he craned into her palm. 

"Miraak would also like a birthday present," she snickered. "Though he wasn't sure if he would collect it now or not." 

" Achté, you are terrible," Miraak snipped, pinching her sides lightly as he sat up a bit more. Tharya wriggled off his lap and cozied up to his side, draping herself against his back as he sat up. "Look at him. He looks as dazed as you." 

“You were home for your birthday, weren't you?” Mathyas asked with a raised eyebrow, gesturing vaguely outwards. “Home home. In Atmora.”

“I was. I am only copying elskavin, " the other man chuckled. "I wondered if I should collect similarly, while we have you,” Miraak hummed, delicately stroking Tharya's arms hanging around his neck before lifting her hand to kiss it. “If you have the will for it, Dutheri.” He let the other man’s arms slide and squeeze around him, rubbing the smooth stretch of his back slowly, cradling his hips in cushioned palms. Mathyas caught Tharya’s eyes over her husband’s shoulder, looking at her quizzically - she only smiled, leaning into Miraak’s back to kiss his ear, snuggling close to the radiating warmth of his torso. 

 

“I think so,” Mathyas chuckled, turning his attention back to the golden eyes in front of him. “If you tell me what you want.” 

“Just what you gave the birthday girl,” the other man grinned. “Yourself.” 

 

For a moment Mathyas felt heat prick the ends of his ears; they both harbored this lust for him, this grey space between being friends and being partners. He had guessed that Miraak had coordinated this for Tharya’s sake, which was a miracle in itself; Mathyas never thought of the pair of them as willing to share or open their bed to someone else - but for both of them? Gods, they were married . They’d been inseparable since first meeting each other, glued and sealed and merged. But they wanted him. He wouldn’t dare call it anything further than want but there was an unspoken thing in their eyes, a softness, a cherishing look. They wanted him. He was wary to guess their words and say they loved him, not as they loved each other. But perhaps that look meant they certainly held something more for him than they did for Raydrin or Jórunn or Bhijirio or anyone else. 

 

“Top or bottom?” he asked softly, sliding his hands up Miraak’s arms. The answer seemed obvious, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. 

“Which do you want me?” came the reply after a beat of silence. Which? He could choose. He’d thought a few times of being underneath such a large, strong body, imagining whatever other praise those dark, silky lips could conjure up beyond what he’d stolen that night on the balcony. Imagining the weight and feel of his best friend’s husband, the sound of him, the warmth of him. Strangely it worried him less to let those thoughts return to the surface now, with Tharya leaning on Miraak’s brown shoulder, stroking through Mathyas’ hair softly. He could choose.

 

“Bottom.” The word came with a little surprise at himself, but it quickly evaporated; as much as he’d imagined Miraak fucking him, the way his cock that was so often hard to miss in a soaked swimsuit - although Mathyas wasn’t sure any of their other friends were really looking - would stretch and fill him, he found himself growing confident in the reverse. In the ways he’d thought of how to make Tharya’s big, immovable, strong husband who enjoyed being a giver , enjoyed taking care of others, squirm and moan. Because he certainly did . If his grunting in the gym and the sweat that slicked his back and arms that Mathyas so often tried to ignore wasn’t fuel enough for those daydreams, Miraak was not proud enough (nor straight enough) to pretend he disliked being touched and craved and cared for himself. It was something Mathyas had figured out slowly, that little duality. Without a response Miraak drew him into a kiss, massaging his hips in both hands and letting their tongues press and slide lazily into one another's.

"Good boy," he murmured, tugging the Dunmer's dark lower lip, a teasing grin crimping the edges of his cheeks. "You can remove this, if you'd like." He snagged the edge of the condom before letting go, reaching over Tharya's lap to search around for the lube. "This, however." Miraak tossed it to his chest, and though his reflexes were sluggish Mathyas was beginning to feel heat again, to feel his blood and bones and his body reform into a coherent unit. "First let me kiss my wife." 

 

"You're not being sent to war," Tharya snickered, but opened her arms to envelop his shoulders with a delighted hum. She eased herself onto his lap, kissing him deeply and tangling her fingers into the coffee-dark half-curls at the back of his head. 

"Sore?" he murmured, noticing her wince as he shifted his legs between hers. 

"A little," she nodded back, rubbing her palms into his chest to get him to lie down across the bed. Mathyas watched them slot and lock together, letting the sounds and wet smack of them kissing fill his ears as he crumpled the condom in one hand.

"Um...do you have a trash?" he asked after a moment, and Miraak's hand appeared with a give motion. "Just tell me where it is." Swapping hands the Atmoran gestured towards the closed door leading into the adjacent bathroom, still without breaking away from his wife. Mathyas laughed quietly to himself, pushing himself off the bed on gelatin legs. In a few strides he found it, peering into the dark bathroom before making his way back to the bed.

 

" You! " Tharya cried suddenly, jabbing a finger into Miraak's shoulder. "You could've done that so much earlier!" 

"I'm sorry, elskavin, I forgot about it," Miraak snorted, letting go of the headboard. There was a soft, liquid golden light spilling out from behind it, all the more contrasting as he reached to flick the lamp off.

"I love that light," she muttered, pouting at him.

"So do I," he purred, in a way that told Mathyas that they probably liked it for much different reasons. He eyed the mood lighting for a moment, sitting on his knees. 

"It's a good reading light," he said finally. "I like how soft it is. Doesn't light the entire room, but enough of it to see this close."

"Exactly! That's what I said," Tharya huffed.

"It's multi-use." Miraak shrugged lightly, pulling her hips down against his so he could kiss her again, draping his long arms down her back and pressing his fingertips into the curve of her spine. "You'll see what I mean and then you'll agree with me, Mathyas." Golden eyes slid to him with a little nod, and then a brief, sly, rare wink.

 

Exhaling a deep breath Mathyas scrubbed one hand through his hair and let the other fall to the swirling tattoo that marked the skin just between Miraak's waist and hip, the intricate symbol lying there that no one seemed to know the full meaning of. He traced it slowly, trying to follow its weaving lines and pattern and shape, but it seemed that the ink ended nowhere and began everywhere. He watched big hands cradle Tharya's thighs and ass and waist, rubbing her skin slowly, massaging the base of his wrists into the taut small of her back while they memorized each other's lips and filled each other's mouths. He was almost content to sit back and watch them, almost content to listen and impress it all into his memory, until one hand lifted away, found his wrist. Miraak pulled him forward until Mathyas sat squarely between his legs, and then eased his cock away from where it pressed rigid and warm into Tharya's thigh. Wordlessly Mathyas wrapped his fingers around it, popping the cap to slather lube over his hand. It was sticky and cool, but it wouldn't hurt to have more than he needed. Quite literally, he thought to himself with a faint grin. 

 

He looked up suddenly as Tharya moved, facing him and straddling her husband backwards with a secretive smile on her glistening lips. 

"You should watch his face," she whispered to Mathyas, leaning forward to kiss him as she put her hand above his on Miraak's cock. "He's so pretty." With a hum he obliged, nestling closer to perch his chin on her shoulder. Miraak wasn't always overtly expressive, especially in a group - you had to pull him aside to dig deeper, get him in private. Pushing one of the Atmoran's legs towards the side to spread his knees, Mathyas smiled. He supposed this was as private as it got. There was little to watch for now; Miraak felt nothing but relaxed below them both, allowing himself to be moved and maneuvered and stroked with nothing but soft, rhythmic breaths that curled up a whisper of sound in his chest. 

 

Barely watching where he was going Mathyas' hand slid down and searched, pressing below soft skin and dormant muscle and edging the blunt tip of his finger slowly into the man below him. He was transfixed by Tharya's suggestion - she would know best. Transfixed and eager to make that expression change. 

"You're tight," he murmured, leaving Tharya's hand to spread his own up and down Miraak's thigh, strong and dense, pulling it close to his hip. The Atmoran groaned softly, reaching to lace their fingers together. Mathyas nudged into his thighs to spread them again, feeling his blood run hot at the prospect of just how malleable this man he'd always considered too big for most things was below him. He curled and pushed his finger slowly, in and out, savoring the feel around his knuckles and the little flutters in Miraak's torso. He unfurled his hand to extend his ring finger, teasing and prodding it wet with lube warmed by his hot Dunmer skin. "Another?"

"As many as you want," Miraak grunted quietly, a dangerous proposition for someone who seemed so calm. Mathyas took it though, squeezing his second finger in beside the first, rubbing and twisting his hand to spread its slick coating against the Atmoran's scorching flesh, urging his hips to move, rock eagerly into the tight sensation plugging him. " Ungh- fuck, that feels good," he sighed, thrusting up into Tharya's hands as they twisted and worked around his cock. 

 

Carefully Mathyas dragged his nails against the soft inside of Miraak's thigh, watching his throat tighten as he swallowed to moan, filling Mathyas' hand gratefully. 

"Oh, there you go," Tharya hummed. "You found it." The sound of her hands jerking him was wet and thick, moving quicker as Mathyas did the same, slipping into a messy sync with each other's movements. Miraak's breath came swiftly now, pitched and scraping groans pulling out of his chest and past his lips with each exhale. Pale fingers paused to squeeze and rub the head of his cock, thumb rolling around the tip in easy motions.

"Found what?" Mathyas murmured, arching his fingers and relishing the sound he got in return, the shameless moan, the sudden tension in Miraak's legs that traveled through his body, into the veins mapping his thick neck. He murmured something in Atmoran and hissed as Mathyas did it again, and again, curling and pushing his fingers deeper, listening and watching as Miraak's measured breaths turned garbled and overlapping and unsteady. He did look pretty, with his mouth open and eyes shut and nicely shaped brows tucked together. 

 

“Can I show you?” Tharya whispered against his lips, kissing him again as he nodded, squeezing her hands together on Miraak’s cock. She freed one hand to drape it over the inner seam of her husband’s thigh, the soft, fleshy part of him nestled close to his groin, below his hip, and the one place his muscles and guarded façade couldn't reach. “His thighs are the most sensitive.” She revealed it like arcane knowledge, secretive and hidden away for many years, daring to be spoken out into the world for the first time. Mathyas watched as she curled her fingers and dragged her nails over that strip of flushed skin, and had to slow his thrusts to realize the full stutter that ran through Miraak’s body, the watery, pitched moan that vibrated down into his curling toes.

“Don’t- don’t do that to me, prinsaessa ,” the Atmoran whined breathlessly, pressing his head back into the edge of a pillow. She squeezed handfuls of him lovingly, letting his earthy, summer-dark skin spill between her pale fingers. “Gods, fuck .” A grin formed slowly on Mathyas’ lips as he watched her rub and squeeze, massaging her thumbs in tiny, tight circles into the soft flesh that made her husband shudder and groan and shift and roll below them both. He had been right; Miraak Althëasson did moan and squirm, and whimper and pant your name, you just had to know where to look. You just had to ask his wife. 

"Relax, handsome," she cooed, stroking from his knees up into his thighs, dancing her fingers against his skin. He tried damn hard to obey but Mathyas could feel the way his body sagged and tightened again - he grabbed the back of one thigh to hold it aside, chest swelling at the sight, at the face tall, reserved Miraak Althëasson made for him. 

 

Without another word Tharya let go, wiggling back to lay against her husband's torso, thighs straddling his chest. Miraak grabbed onto her like a lifeline, but his relief didn't seem to last long. Mathyas watched through heavy eyes as Tharya sucked a trail of gentle teeth marks and opaque bruises into the inside of her husband's thigh, squeezing his length in her free hand and sighing into his skin. She was always so gentle with him, despite how strong he was, how much bigger - maybe it was exactly that, being treated so delicately when he appeared so durable, that made Miraak's eyes roll and flutter back as Mathyas watched. 

"Mathyas," the Atmoran groaned breathlessly, scrambling to find his hip, to hold it tightly in one hand. "Gods, fu- hngh! Oh-" he shuddered down into his toes, squeezing around Mathyas' retreating fingers. "Good gods, mea ægesta, your mouth is so divine." The head of his cock disappeared, wrapped between Tharya's lips and slathered in hot saliva against her tongue. Moaning softly Mathyas fisted his cock and eased himself forward, holding Miraak's leg over his elbow as he leaned over them both, slowly, gradually, coating himself in the lube sticking between his fingers before pushing forward. He watched over the landscape of Tharya's body obediently, watched and memorized each second, each miniscule twitch and shift in Miraak's dark, flushed face to stow it away. 

 

The surface of his skin was hot but being inside him was blazing, clamped tightly and radiating the intense heat of a campfire. Mathyas exhaled a low, rocky groan that made his chest feel ten times lighter as he bottomed out, a sound and amount of air he didn't realize he'd been holding. 

"Azura, fuck," he whispered, reaching down to stroke the wrist of the hand clamped around his hip, "you're so tight and warm, Miraak. Feels so good." 

"I'm not lasting," the other man replied in a breathy, amused huff, "not with both of you." His hips raised off the mattress to press into her mouth, and Mathyas watched as she whined and struggled around his cock stuffing her mouth, kissing the back of her throat. 

"I don't think I will," he grunted back, remembering the squeeze and the wetness of Tharya's pussy, the sounds she made mere naked minutes ago. How badly he'd wanted to cum. Pushing his cock now into her husband he shuddered, wondering how they could feel so similar, like extensions of one another. Holding Tharya's hair gently in his other hand he pulled his hips away, and slipped back in. 

 

The soft backlighting from behind the headboard spilled and decorated them both, making different glows on their contrasting skins, reflecting prettily off the hands and arms and parts of Mathyas that he could see combining with them; blue-grey and earthen brown and pale tan, all mixing so beautifully before him, vibrant to the haze swimming through his mind. He watched as Miraak hefted one arm up over his shoulder to grip the headboard behind his ear, making the muscles of his arm and shoulder bulge and round nicely. His hips moved sloppily, trying to balance between Tharya's mouth and sucking Mathyas in with each thrust, moaning with each breath, leaning his cheek into his bicep. Even so he held the Dunmer's crimson gaze, unwavering, communicating more than he could've said through his ragged breaths. Mathyas groaned his name feebly, drawing out each sharp sound from the back of his throat.

 

" Ungh - do you want me...inside? Or-" 

"Inside," Miraak whined, nodding eagerly. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum in her mouth," he mumbled, head thunking back into the wood as he spoke to Tharya in brief Atmoran, giving her hip a gentle but insistent tug, a little forewarning. Swallowing loudly around his cock she popped off with a wet gasp, stroking him quickly and wriggling back to give Mathyas more room as he crowded between Miraak's legs, ears tingling at the heat in his chest and the sound of the other man moaning fitfully, the feel of his body beginning to tense and move restlessly. The muscles and tendons in his hips locked and stuttered together and he rammed forward rigidly, desperate for the release as Miraak reveled in it, chest expanding and tightening and his voice breaking. Milky white painted Tharya's hand and his entire body seemed to flex and move below Mathyas, growing sensitive with the continued pounding. It felt almost blinding, a long end to a long night, but at long last his muscles untangled and his shoulders sagged as he came, lurching forward to place his hands on either side of the Atmoran, burying himself as deep as he could with a guttural, garbled moan. Through the clouds in his eyes he watched Tharya kiss her husband's cock lovingly, collecting his dripping orgasm on her tongue until little of it remained and she sat up.

 

Mathyas shifted back just barely to give her room, groaning as she found his mouth and pressed the warm, almost fruit-sweet taste of Miraak Althëasson onto his tongue. For a long time they merely sat there exchanging breath, barely touching but so close, so intimate. After a moment he squeezed the meat of Miraak's thigh and eased out of him slowly, admiring the opaque white smearing their dark skin. Then he dropped his head to her shoulder, overcome suddenly by the intense exhaustion that he'd been dodging all night. She held him wordlessly, stroking his wide shoulders and kissing the length of his ear. 

" Elskavin, porvaer, " Miraak murmured after long seconds of silence, his voice almost pleading as he pushed himself up to cave around her, arms and shoulders and torso curling down around hers. He squeezed her gently, inhaling and exhaling a withering sigh as she turned her head to kiss him. And for a moment she was pressed between them again, a hand on each man, a pair of hands on her waist and another on her thighs, a pair of lips on her cheek and the other at her mouth - they switched so easily, interchanging with one another, thoughtlessly and fluidly. For those delicate moments she was their seam of glue, resolute and eternal, caring for both of them in the ways only she seemed to know how. As Mathyas pulled away from the little scratch of Miraak's beard against his chin, leaving the other man's kiss slowly, she sighed and snuggled into them both.

 

"How about a rinse?" she murmured, to both and neither of them. "We can't all fit in the bath, so, someone can use the second bathroom." Mathyas hummed absently against her shoulder, fighting to lift his head. Miraak had barely moved since sitting up and was holding Tharya like a teddy bear, rubbing her belly lazily with one hand. She'd probably want to shower with him, at the very least to check in on him, and to let him check on her. All things considered, they seemed to have taken the most tonight. That made him wish they could all shower or bathe together - he wished he could let them both relax, let them both sink into his arms, take care of each of them. He would later, in bed.

"I don't mind," he murmured, blinking the temptation of sleep from his eyes. "I'll just rinse off." He craned to kiss her cheek again then stood before his body fell asleep too.

"There's extra towels in our bathroom, in the little glass cabinet," she instructed. "I'll give you some clothes. Mine might fit you better, to be honest."

"Probably," he chuckled. "Just some shorts and a t-shirt, if you have one. Or I can just wear my underwear. It's no stress." He pushed the bathroom door open and used the slivers of golden light from the bedroom to find the towels before pulling one free, peering at the luscious, flowing plants hanging in the corner and next to the mirror before tiptoeing back out with the towel around his waist. "Be back," he murmured, gesturing towards the bedroom door. Tharya nodded and gave him a little wave as he braved the darkness of the apartment to feel out the second bathroom. 

 

He showered quickly, though it wasn't much of a shower - he wet his hair just barely, scrubbed at his face and stole a pump of body wash to clean off before stepping out, relishing in the heaviness of his bones. There was a good night of rest ahead of him, he was sure. Such things often escaped him in his own bed. As he left the bathroom and turned off the fan he slipped back through the living room towards the bedroom door - it was closed, and he could still hear the shower. It wouldn't hurt to give them some time alone. Instead he wandered towards the large windows in the living room spilling moonlight and city lights onto the wood floors, watching Whiterun's beating night heart close down as it approached the smallest hours of morning. A low, gentle purr made him turn, and from the shadows of the kitchen Runa appeared, slender tail flicking. Black as night and large as any big dog breed, Tharya and Miraak's cat seemed happy enough to see Mathyas, twisting around his ankles and rubbing into his shins with low, rumbling purrs. 

 

"Hello there," he cooed, kneeling to stroke her silky fur and scratch under her chin. "Where have you been hiding all night?" Usually she was sociable, but tonight during the party she'd been scarce. "Cassathra was looking for you earlier, you know." She pressed her wet nose into his hand before bumping her head along it, threading around his leg. The walls creaked a bit as the shower turned off, but he was content to wait and pet Runa as she laid on the floor by his feet, admiring her short black fur shining under the moonlight. The door opened after a few minutes, and with an inquisitive sound Runa got up and trotted past the couch to investigate. 

 

Standing in the lit doorway of the bathroom Miraak was stepping into thick fabric shorts and holding a loose tank top between his knees - a bit of a surprise. Mathyas figured the shirt would come off eventually. Tharya appeared from the darkness of the closet in a much too large t-shirt and fresh underwear, brushing her teeth with one hand. 

"Oh, hello , baby," she greeted, crouching to rub between Runa's soft ears. "I put some PJs on the bed and I'm changing the sheets. Do you want a spare toothbrush? We have tons, for some reason." 

"If you don't mind," Mathyas responded, finding his way to the bed. There was a t-shirt and a thin tank top set out to choose between, as well as a few pairs of well-loved shorts and one pair of sweatpants that looked a little too big even for Tharya. He found his underwear and tried one pair of shorts and then the other; the second were roomy, but made of athletic fabric that scraped loudly whenever you moved. He took them anyway, and returned the rest of the clothes to the closet. 

 

In the bathroom with a toothbrush clamped between his teeth Miraak was rubbing moisturizer into his palms before massaging in with a sigh into the rest of his face, gesturing with one elbow to the packaged toothbrush waiting by the sink.

"That can be yours here," the Atmoran said with a nod. "If you want us to keep it." Mathyas only shrugged - truthfully, he had no idea. While brushing he let Miraak rub some nameless skincare into his cheeks and forehead that left his skin a little tingly, remedied by the cool lotion afterwards. Then, depositing his toothbrush, the Atmoran bent to kiss his forehead and hug him warmly, stroking the smooth plane of his stomach as he let go and walked back out. It felt good to hang in his arms for those few, long moments, warm and careless and folded into a domestic scene he so often lacked when living on his own. 

 

Returning to the bedroom he immediately noticed the headboard backlight had dimmed pleasantly, leaving it an ethereal glow that just barely lit his way around the room. Tharya was lying down on her phone and Miraak was snuggled as close as he could be with her, his head on her chest and one of her legs pulled over his waist. Under the shadowy mass of his body she barely existed save for a face illuminated by blue light. 

"Tired?" Mathyas teased, reaching out to jostle Miraak's leg lightly. He groaned and nuzzled into the soft side of Tharya's neck, laying one hand out for Mathyas to hold. He took it gratefully, tracing his fingers up and down that arm. 

"Tomorrow is the weekend ," Tharya yawned, sitting up to put her phone on the side table. The bed dipped as Runa jumped up by their feet, purring inquisitively before settling by Mathyas' legs. "Are you going to follow through on your promise to make breakfast for me tomorrow?" she asked, rubbing Miraak's shoulders. 

"I'll try," he muttered after a long moment. 

"I can," Mathyas hummed, sliding close to her side and laying Miraak's arm over his waist. "I don't mind. I'll probably wake up that early anyway." 

"I'm just teasing. Everyone stay in bed as long as you want," she giggled. "Gods know I will." 

 

Mathyas closed his eyes against her shoulder, listening to the slow, soothing rub of her hand on Miraak's back. After a while of nothing but slow breathing, barely grabbing the edge of consciousness, he felt her brush his fingers on the Atmoran's spine, and pause. Then, tilting her head so their noses brushed together and exhaling softly - maybe with a wisp of his name on her breath - she laced their fingers together, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. 

 

"Happy birthday," he whispered to her once her breathing matched Miraak's, long and lethargic. "Sleep well, both of you." And, gradually, he drifted off as the first shreds of dawn touched the far eastern sky.

Chapter 25: your mul gein (skyrim)

Notes:

MINI SMUT 😈based on a headcanon i've had since the dawn of time that miraak, who convinces tharya, would LOVE play wrestling as foreplay. they don't spar w each other because they dislike fighting each other (did that enough in apocrypha), and they're not particularly rough lovers, but sexy wrestling is just the PERFECT outlet between the pair for a bit of silliness ((partially inspired by a scene from kiirdofaalrahhe's fic - iykyk)) no i did not proofread😎

"Don't give up," he crooned against her ear, and she huffed against the bend of his elbow, trying to feel through the complicated knots and tangles of their bodies - he was above her, holding her throat in one arm, between the delightfully thick muscle of his bicep and the strong tendons of his forearm, his weight on her back. Legs irrevocably tangled. His other arm wedged somewhat uncomfortably below her stomach. She was holding him at an angle that made her shoulder ache, trying to fight the pressure of his knee on hers.

"I'm not," she promised, shoving her hips back into his suddenly - he grunted, his body teetering off balance for a moment, and she struck.

 

Leaning far onto her side to tip him over she scrambled to right herself on top of him, the bulge of his erection pressing firmly, hotly against her underwear as she reached for his wrists and pushed her weight down into holding his arms against the mattress. Miraak released a taut breath, his eyes heavy and his grin sinful.

"I thought you wouldn't get out of it," he teased, testing his strength against her grip. He was much stronger than her, but that was part of the test - she was by no means weak, so he found workarounds, ways to bend his strength so it didn't overpower hers quickly. Where was the fun in that?

"I don't mind being in your arm like that," she hummed, eyelashes fluttering at him as she pressed and rubbed against the stiff outline of his cock. "It felt good."

"I know," he replied, "next time you'll let me fuck you with my arm around your neck, geh? "

 

He surged around her again, using his legs to tilt and tip them again, but still she held his wrists out and fought against him to keep his arms static, immobile. He balanced himself teetering on his knees, letting her keep his hands as he tried to edge one thigh between hers to open her legs. Careful not to kick him she squirmed, feet pressing into his hip, his thigh, trying to buy herself time.

"Are you going to turn over again, little one?" he grinned, wrestling against her legs with some difficulty. They were her strongest limbs - her shoulders were beginning to tremble at the weight of his arms slowly pressing in.

"No," she grunted, planting one foot on his chest, using the sturdiness of his body to shift and work her way upwards so she was closer to sitting up.

 

She let his insistence win and he broke through the space between her legs, freeing one arm of her control as he did. She pushed her knees under his arms and locked her legs around his chest, trying in one movement to push him back over again.

"Just go, " she whined, pushing at his rocklike form as his legs stretched and tensed, trying to stay rooted upright.

"Make me," he mocked. "Make your mul gein move for you, Dragonborn. " She put both feet to his chest this time, figuring his arms could only stretch so far. But for him, it was far enough. His limbs easily outreached hers. Gathering her heels in one hand he dragged her back into the middle of the bed, finally releasing his other hand as she squealed. "You can't make your mul gein go where you want him to, can you, princess?" he cooed, fingers stroking the soaked gusset of her underwear in confident, loving movements.

"I-I can," she breathed, startled by the sudden pleasure of his fingertips invading her pussy, the edge of his clothed cock pressing against her. Gods, she just wanted him, but she also wanted to win. He only needed one hand to hold both her ankles so easily, with room to spare. The size of his hand holding her feet captive made her mind dizzy with arousal. The size of all of him made her flushed pink with desire. She was always aware of it, but now even moreso, trying to find ways to overpower him and in turn noticing how he could overpower her.

 

"Are you sure?" he asked, grinding his hips forward to drag his erection over her soaked underwear. "It looks like you're perfectly happy to give up on my fingers." It took some maneuvering but she managed to get one leg free, pressing her knee into his upper chest and shoving his shoulder away. His grip faltered enough to let her squirm away, tugging her other leg free, and then scramble off the bed. Miraak was quick to follow. The room wasn't large enough for any sizeable escape, though she did manage to dodge him and push him off balance; he staggered a bit and flailed one arm out to catch her, yanking her back and then tripping onto the floor.

 

They tussled playfully, taking care to cushion each other's heads and faces from the wood floor and rolling onto the rug for better comfort. Miraak sacrificed one hand to grab the frame of the bed to make sure they didn't roll into it, and she kept an eye on the bedside table, but it detracted minimally from the mission at hand. Her arms were tired but they were her best weapon when he was up close like this; he had the advantage in practically every category, but there was one golden rule. Don't give up. Each little bout ended with one of them in control, teasing and pressing and touching the other. She held him still to grind down on his cock and coax him into submitting to the strain and throb of his erection, of just how badly he needed more than cloth on cloth; he would trap her legs to slip his fingers sloppily into her or weigh her back to kiss and suck her neck, pulling her ass back into his groin to feel her soaked pussy, to try and weaken her with the promise of him.

 

She didn't know how but she ended up on his back, trying to weigh and hold him down the same way he did to her. Her face and chest were flushed red and her treacherous body ached for him in full, more than just his fingers occasionally, more than just his voice and the dripping arousal of his sheer size against her. Miraak wiggled both arms free though, reaching and stretching back to grab her under the shoulders, around the waist.

"Come here," he grunted, his accent thickened and rough as he hefted her over his shoulder. His hair was tousled in every way and breath labored from exertion, but the way he so easily lifted and moved her made her muscles fall embarrassingly lax. It was difficult to fight against her instincts, the feeling of safety and unity she felt from him, the trust. It was difficult to not melt and scrape directly into his arms and beg to be fucked full of his cum, to be pressed and stretched around his big cock, to let him caress her belly as his seed seeped into her thighs. He cushioned her head so it didn't hit the floor, and in an attempt to save herself she hooked both legs around his neck unexpectedly, making him bend forward a bit.

 

Any victory that would have gained her died on her lips as his found her pussy, his head nestled squarely between her legs and his tongue hot and slick as it slipped haphazardly over her clit, through her folds, eating greedily. She whimpered his name unabashedly, loudly, realizing she'd given him all the access he needed.

" Unh- Miraak! Mul gein, unslaad, " she squealed, squirming against the delectable scratch of his beard, her pussy throbbing against his tongue as he slid it into her, groaning roughly into her core. "Right there, please, handsome, please please please! 'M going to cum, ungh, please, feels so good, dii mul gein- "

 

Her body acted largely in that moment of its own accord, some part of her still thinking of the game - he was trying to shift his weight off his ankles to sit more naturally on the floor, and she felt his teetering as he did. She guessed it was difficult for him too, to try to think about both things at once instead of just indulging, instead of just worshipping their pleasure, their bodies together, the way his cock bulged her lower belly, the way he found her name renewed on his lips again and again, the way her hands groped and caressed his chest. Grabbing his knees she pushed back into his face with her lower body, and with a surprised noise he dropped back, scrambling to hold onto her as he fell with his back to the rug.

 

" Elskavin, Zu'u- " his words were muffled as she dropped her weight onto his face, pussy filling his mouth, hips and thighs around his jaw and ears. He tensed and then melted below her, making a sound halfway between a moan and a whine. Panting, Tharya let go of a long breath, reaching down to pull her underwear to the side. "I give up," he moaned into her pussy, kissing it, pulling her hips firmly down onto his face.

"You can't," she teased, rubbing back on his tongue, into his mouth, sealing off his nose as she dragged her clit over his lower lip. His legs moved restlessly against the floor, hips bucking against nothing but cool air.

"I give up, I give up, I give up," he repeated a hundred times, sucking her folds with withering, pleasured groans as she pushed her hips slowly back onto him. "I submit. Your mul gein, " he moaned, "I want you to ride my face until your legs fail you, princess, until you've cum on my tongue so many times you're all I taste. Please, please, please," he trailed off into a whisper, begging softly against her clit. He was always so desperate to be squeezed and airless between her thighs.

 

With one hand on his chest for support she reached the other to finally free his cock of its constraints, heavy and full and rigid in her palm, pulsing with his quick heartbeat. His breath caught and wavered as she stroked him, his girth even more impressive when she remembered how easy it was for him to hold her ankles, how big all of him was.

"Miraak," she moaned softly as he pulled her down again, earnest about his submission, the acceptance of his loss.

"Ride me, princess," he groaned, voice muffled and thick against her pussy. She squeezed his cock once, languidly, chewing her lip as his legs rolled and shuffled, knees bending up only to fall apart and spread, giving her all the space and time in the world to adore his cock. He was close to an orgasm, she could feel it in the way his veins twitched, in the way his stomach jumped as she rubbed the tip between her fingers and slathered his own precum over the shaft. She could feel it in the weight of his cock, in the way his breath hit her clit so raggedly as he lapped her up, drank and sucked and licked greedily like his life depended on it.

 

"You promise you lose?" she breathed, grasping his cock fully in both hands. Instead of any spoken reply his voice invaded her head, tickling her ears as he whispered back breathlessly.

 

Your mul gein promises. 

Chapter 26: one of those nights (skyrim)

Notes:

i have to be honest i've been sick all week so idk WHAT this is (a frat boy coughed on me on the bus 😭) BUT i just know miraak is a kind of giggly/cuddly drunk. he's generally quiet too, but the MOMENT he's around tharya he wants to sit in her lap and tell her what he wants for christmas and then fall asleep on her shoulder 😭😭😭 you could sit with them and miraak will be happy to just squeeze her like a teddy bear and constantly wax about how pretty she is, he doesn't care if y'all are talking. bro will never beat the obsessed allegations. theme for the like past 3 chapters is just needy miraak ig🤓

His corner overlooking the huge windows that showed Whiterun's sprawling city eventually giving way into rolling hills was dark, touched only by the flashing disco lights and otherwise unseen. He preferred these corners most times, especially when the parties got late - late enough that the kids had gone home, and all that was left were the people here to dance and drink and eat on the city's dime. Miraak couldn't blame them, the food was always good. He stood with his back to the windows, sipping his fourth drink every so often. Enough to make him a little giggly, but nowhere close enough to embarrass himself in front of his wife's coworkers. He would never do that to her. Besides, most of his drunk tendencies - not that he was drunk, of course - revolved around her. When he was drunk he turned into her lapdog. Proudly.

But, he wasn't drunk. He thought. It'd been a while since Tharya had found him again, and last time they talked had been on his second drink. If she suddenly appeared out of the blue, he could measure how drunk he was by how quickly it took his knees to hit the ground. For now he watched, content in the darker corner of the huge ballroom, occasionally glancing back out at the shimmering lights of the city and thinking of going home soon.

"You blend in too well," a shadowy figure said as they approached, and in the dim lighting he recognized the emerald green satin of her dress, of its tiny straps crossing her shoulders and the long skirt swishing with each step. "I thought you'd gone outside or something."
"It cannot be much cooler outside than it is in here," he scoffed, taking her in with a melty smile, holding onto her hip as she craned up to kiss him sweetly. She tasted good, better than the food. "Besides, I wanted to watch you dance." She tossed her head back to laugh, laying one hand warmly on his chest as he slipped an arm around her waist.
"I can't resist some ELO," she giggled, taking a small sip from her glass. "And I can't believe you didn't dance!"
"I try not to give you fuel for workplace gossip," he chuckled, finding her lips for a kiss again. This time he lingered, savoring her lips, her closeness, the fog in his mind from having her so close. "You look beautiful," he murmured, catching her bottom lip between his teeth with a little grin.
"So do you," she hummed, smiling against the press of his mouth, the warmth and slick of his tongue and lips seeking hers. "I like your suit."
"My wife tastes good," he replied, squeezing her waist.
"Has good taste?"
"No, she tastes good. I like your lipstick," he grinned, sliding his tongue along her plump lower lip with an appreciative rumble.
"Thank you. It's peach flavored lip balm," Tharya laughed, wiggling around in his hold to stand with her back to him, pulling his arm snugly around her waist. "Cheers," she said, clinking their glasses together lightly. "Head home soon?"
"Soon," he agreed, stroking the satin over her belly lovingly.

He traced the line of her hip and side in the emerald green dress, its deep colored satin shining against her summer tan. And the low back - phew. He wouldn't take all the credit for revamping her wardrobe, but he knew he could take the credit for the backless dresses. She had told him as much before.
"Come here," he murmured, latching onto her hip to pull her back a half step into his chest. Transferring his drink to the opposite hand he stooped to kiss her freckled shoulder, the base of her pretty neck, the side of her elegant throat. The necklace made it almost too perfect.
"Careful," Tharya murmured back, leaning into his lips and his warmth just the slightest despite her own warning. She didn't drink much anymore, but he knew the glass in her hand was her second. But her tolerance was the stuff of legends.
"No one cares," he chuckled, rubbing his beard into her neck to make her jump and giggle at the tickling sensation. "They're either too drunk or too blinded."

With a rocky hum he pulled her flush against him, leaning his shoulder against the huge industrial beam to press his hips against her.
"Miraak," she said softly, twisting to look up at him. Blue and purple and pink flashed across her pale face.
"You're beautiful," he replied with a rare, toothy grin.
"You're tipsy."
"Thank you." Cradling her belly in his free hand he bent to find her neck again, kissing it slowly, reveling in her proximity. She was more intoxicating than the open bar. Her perfume filled his head, airy and earthy and gentle, the feel of the satin dress on his hand, the weight of her fed belly, the warmth of her relaxed body. He was tipsy, but she was beautiful. What else was he to do?

"Your ass looks perfect," he rumbled against her ear, dragging his teeth along the back of her neck slowly, "have I told you yet tonight?"
"A few times," she giggled, letting him grope in the darkness to squeeze one too-big hand around it, massaging the muscle in his palm. "You're being obscene, you know?"
"Perfect," he groaned, angling her hips forward a little bit to get that nice arch to her lower back, pushing her ass back into his groin, watching the roundness of it collide with the broad plane of his body. "I like being obscene for you, little one." The alcohol made his blood flow but she made his heart dance. Single-minded perhaps, but in the way a declining artist grows obsessed with a single muse to produce some of his greatest works.

In the darkness of their secluded corner he found the edge of her backless dress and spread his hand to ease it under the hem, slipping it around to cradle her hip with a gentle groan.
"Come here," he murmured, inhaling against her hair again, filling himself on her scent and feel. She reached down to squeeze his forearm, using it as a support to press back into him. "Move your hips for me, prinsaessa. I've been waiting to get hard for you in this dress all night." His lips found her neck again, moving with less caution, nipping and sucking the side of her long, exposed throat. Reaching around the beam he found the slim serving table on the other side and set his glass down to encase both of her hips in his hands, relishing in her sigh, the familiar feeling. The drinks in his veins made his cock twitch too easily, the gentle, circular rub of her hips back into him just enough to send a throb of blood through his thighs. "Mmh, just like that, prinsaessa," he whispered through sloppy kisses along her neck, his voice hushed and raspy and already so pleading for her. He cradled her waist between his hands, rubbing the exposed skin, the rolling muscles under such gorgeous freckled flesh. Gods, without a back to the dress he could see her just as he would if he was fucking her, the delectable, slight curve of her entire torso ending in the plump spread of her ass against him.

With one hand she drew him down, a moth hopelessly following its flame, meeting his lips, relishing in how easy it was to kiss him, how willingly he let her into his mouth.
"We could just go home, you know," she whispered, holding his chin as she fixed the strap of her dress - an innocent action that he devoured so shamelessly. Just as she knew he would. With a few drinks in him he became all too predictable. Leaning her weight onto her heels she rolled her hips back, pressing up into him, rocking slowly against the hardening outline of his cock pressed so greedily to her.
"I want you first," he whispered back, half-pleading as he pulled her to the side and behind the beam now, pressing her ever so gently to the cool metal. His mouth scoured the expanse of her back, crouching to cradle her hips lovingly and kiss the curve of her back, her waist and spine.
"Miraak," she murmured, reaching down to find his hair, loosening from its careful styling. Tilting her hips lifted his chin onto the curve of her ass, and just barely over her shoulder she was able to meet his gaze. "Behave."
"I always do, goddess," he replied, raising a thick eyebrow back at her before sinking his teeth into the satin and nibbling playfully against her skin. "What am I supposed to do when you grind my face like this? Ignore it?" Just to goad him she did it again, giggling as his eyelids fluttered and he groaned, exhaling into the fabric heavily. "I could eat your pussy from behind," he moaned, looking up at her with glazed eyes, hands heavy as they alternated squeezing her waist. "Just like this, goddess. In this dress."

He leaned gratefully into the rock of her hips, nibbling and biting through the dress, pulling at the hem to suck delicate marks into the acute curve of her lower back. He'd thought about it since his second drink, a constellation along her spine exposed by the dress, the way his hands fit under the fabric at her sides.
"Please?" he mouthed against her skin as he stood, holding the corners of the beam to pull the darkness in around them.
"Not here," Tharya shook her head delicately as she turned between his arms, snaking hers around his neck to pull him down. Her kiss softened the edges of his senses, the sudden alertness tingling down his spine. The warm press of her breasts and belly into his torso made the rest of the world melt away; he could feel her beauty, not just behold it. Feel it in the way she moved against him, in the way he fit his hands around her thighs as he hoisted her up, dress pulling back as her legs parted for his hips. Even drunk he was positive of his own strength to hold her there - perhaps especially drunk, he was obsessed with holding her, with displaying himself for her. And he got sweet ecstasy in the way she stroked his chest and whispered his name as he pressed the strain of his erection against her damp pussy, grinding and pushing together, rubbing into her with a withering moan of her name.

"I love you," he whispered, angling his hips between hers and nuzzling into the graciously proffered side of her neck. She rolled her hips up against him, moaning delicately, mouthing his name as the rigid outline of his cock grazed through her folds. So beautiful. The face she made as he thrusted against her just as surely as he was fucking her was so, so beautiful. Glossy lips parted, face flushed, bright eyes looking at him from behind such long, pretty lashes. The sparkling lights of the city outside the window reflected in her irises, forming the night sky in the darkness. "You're so beautiful," he said again, and then repeated himself - the first time felt too feeble. She tilted up to kiss him, to occupy his lips so dearly, and he felt her pussy clench against him. He wasn't desperate enough anymore to get off from grinding on her in this place, too noisy and smelly and too much.

"You're drunk, my love," Tharya giggled into his chin, squeezing her thighs around him.
"Maybe," he admitted, already dreaming of how he would treat her at home, remove her shoes, carry her - her feet didn't need to touch the ground, he could do it - gorge himself on the delicacy of her pussy and her cum and her body for as long as he could, worship her, beg to have her ride him into the mattress, fuck her to sleep if she asked him to. As his goddess deserved.
"Come on," she murmured, wiggling around to find the floor with her toes. He groaned in defiance. Her feet didn't need to touch the floor. He could carry her. "Home?"
"Home," he agreed.
"You'll have to put me down, handsome. I have to call for a taxi." She put him to shame by being a stone's throw from sober, but he relented, leaning against the beam as she went to find her purse, palming his erection through the expensive fabric of his even more expensive pants. Watching her bend down, watching her fix and smooth the rumples of her dress, rub the small of her back. He would do it all for her the moment they were home, massage her back, her legs before he spread them open, massage the folds of her pussy and rub the sensitive bundle of her clit before he intoxicated himself further with her taste and heat. Maybe he could leave that constellation on her back before he took the dress off, to see it framed by the emerald green silk at least once.

When she returned he gathered her into the darkness again, secure in his arms, pulling her into him so they matched and pressed and melded into one another. He bent to kiss her neck and drag his tongue wetly across her skin as she called, murmuring soft promises and confessions that she already knew and had for a long time. Even her skin tasted beautiful, so smooth, so clean, so decorated. Her voice hitched once, which made him grin, and her fingers tightened in his hair as he sucked her pulse, moaning gently as her hips instinctively knocked into his. He cradled her ass in one hand, her bare back in the other, greedy for all parts of her.

"Goddess," he whispered once the call was done, her neck decorated, her ass squeezed and rubbed in his hand, "did you know I love you?" She giggled against his cheek, sighing as the press of his cock grew insistent.
"I did," she hummed, taking his chin in hand to tilt his ear down to her lips, kissing his earlobe, the curve of his ear, his temple, before sending pleasant trembles down his broad back. "I love you too, my husband."

Chapter 27: THARYAAK ALPHABET

Notes:

did this need to be as long and detailed as it is? nah. am i gonna post it anyway? yep😈 consider this a revised version of miraak's nsfw alphabet + tharya's that i never made. my ideas for them have changed QUITE a bit since i started writing, so this is a way more updated & in tune version!!! ENJOY

A - Aftercare

tharya really likes to just hold people afterwards, especially miraak, who can occasionally get very outside himself after a few rounds of being utterly pussydrunk and in love. she has a very gentle touch, good for stroking hair, very soothing. it's a good time and place to relax and cool off (and cockwarm). she'll make some food, run a bath, or rub his shoulders. she's very pliable and gentle afterwards, which is good to combat the adrenaline of sex. for herself she enjoys when that touch is reflected back on her, since she has so often been the one giving it throughout her life. it makes her sleepy 😴

miraak ends sex slowly; by that i mean he'll still be kissing and rubbing and touching long after orgasm, keep his cock in her, and still want to be as close as possible. that, for him, is usually how he starts to relax, but it can be overstimulating for tharya sometimes, so he's just as happy to merely lay with her and rest. he enjoys giving massages or washing her hair in the tub, and is overall very cuddly in his aftercare. he likes having his chest and shoulders rubbed. if more intense aftercare is needed he's on that too; food, lotion, whispered praise, he'll put out fresh clothes, he'll even sing.

i think in general their pillow talk is very wholesome and quiet - things they don't feel they can say to each other except in total privacy. they're more free with smiles and kisses and like to shower each other in praises and compliments and soft touches, and chitchat in a way they really never do in public otherwise.

B - Body Part

on himself, miraak has rediscovered a full pride in his entire body again; after almost 5000 years of forgetting himself and not really owning his own skin, he is glad to have it back. he prefers his chest and arms, and especially likes having them groped and caressed as a testament to his strength and desire. his thighs are an erogenous zone, especially the inside of his upper thighs close to his groin. on tharya, he's always preferred her legs and neck (he likes to lightly hold and caress her neck/throat for dragonborn reasons, but DOES NOT squeeze it or choke her).

tharya, as my ace insert, didn't REALLY think much of her own body in a sexual context before. she's hardly ever felt emotionally close and comfortable enough to have sex with someone (maybe a few times in life before really settling into her asexuality) so miraak instilled her with a lot of feelings about herself she didn't know existed. she really likes her legs and doesn't mind displaying them from time to time; i think because she has nice legs she also has a nice butt, and likes it on herself. and even though she thinks they're too small she does love attention to her breasts, since they're more sensitive. on miraak she is in love with his chest and hands.

C - Cum

miraak cums A. LOT. like just volume wise. i think partially due to his size and partially due to his stamina and maybe partially due to his kinks. it's probably a surprise for tharya at first because it takes her about two orgasms for him to reach one, and the fact that he cums as much as he does and is ready to go for more is utterly new for her (also, her few previous partners were not alp that great, so she's probably been in situations where she didn't cum at all). tharya, being the more normal one💀 cums a pretty normal amount each time, but with the amount of times she does it probably rivals miraak. plus, he can make her squirt like no one else on the planet. i think a normal go for them gives her probably 3ish orgasms and miraak 2-3, depending on some other factors.

D - Dirty Secret

the only thing that comes to mind is that they both get to enjoy play wrestling as a form of foreplay (see chapter 25). they don't spar together often anymore since they dislike fighting one another, but play wrestling is a good way to both let off some physical steam with one another in a safe, controlled environment and an excellent builder of tension.

they probably use their telepathic bond in ways it should not be used. mostly miraak. he likes to fuck tharya with words no one else can hear from across the room and watch her get antsy. in return tharya isn't much of a tease but knows just where to press and adjust when she sits on his lap to make him hard and test his composure in front of their family or friends.

also, i think they both kinda have a thing for lingerie. miraak LOVES to dress tharya up whenever he can, and that love extends into buying her pretty underwear for only him to see. tharya honestly gets a huge ego boost from watching him melt and worship whenever she puts it on; she loves the way he looks at her and loves the way both the clothes and his gaze makes her feel. even outside of sex he adores when she wears it casually, since it makes her feel pretty too, but he especially loves to be the one to take it off her or fuck her in it if he can. he just loves seeing the things he gifts her on her.

E - Experience

miraak has more experience with sex, but less with real love. he's had many physical partners before, but in the merethic era at his height of arrogance, he didn't really believe in or think himself capable of love; he still formed strong emotional bonds with people, but was somewhat manipulative of those he felt too close to, and would create distance somehow. as a moth priest he's seen and done it all; orgies, threesomes, ritual sex, sex for pleasure, affairs, public sex (see chapter 14), etc. he's also pansexual, so he's been with countless different types of people and had diverse experiences.

tharya has a bit more experience with love but less with sex. she's more attuned to her emotions than miraak is and is willing to name the things she feels. however after becoming dragonborn, soldier, arch-mage, etc, she feels less comfortable in her body and tends more towards deflecting romance or desire. it takes miraak quite a while (4 years💀) to finally gain entry past her strict fortifications since she doesn't trust anyone with her body, but once she lets him in she slowly starts to revise her self image to be more loving :)

F - Favorite position

i don't think tharya minds most positions, even ones she's a little contorted or stretched out (she probably enjoys those more than she should, because she likes how easy it is for miraak to handle her), but she definitely has a preference for positions where she's held close or embraced. she likes the closeness and visibility of missionary, but she also doesn't mind being on her knees and leaning back into him, or being on top of him, spooning, or lying on her belly with him over her, or basically anything where she can still be wrapped up in his arms. she doesn't like to be far away.

miraak prefers positions he can see her face in, so he doesn't often like to use something like doggy style unless she wants it. he loves the spooning position because he loves to feel all of her body against his; he loves the mating press for a whole host of reasons, he loves holding her legs up to his chest, basically anything that still allows him to look at and speak to her. if he's behind her, he wants her to be in his lap or strapped with one arm to his chest. he absolutely loves when she rides him because he can see her in full, and watch her do it.

G - Goofy

i don't think either of them are particularly goofy or silly in the moment - that's not to say there can't be laughter or teasing, but it would come more from something said or done (i.e. tharya once kicked miraak in the jaw by accident) than through actual intention to be silly. it doesn't all have to be serious intimacy, but they do prefer to be able to bask in one another and concentrate on themselves and one another than try to break the mood.

H - Hair

miraak is hairy. there is literally no way he'd survive atmoran winter without body hair. it's mostly on his chest and trails down his stomach, and on his arms from just above the elbow down (and ofc his legs). iy actually makes him very cozy to lie on. in general he's hairy everywhere, but does trim around his base mostly because he likes the full glory of his cock to be viewable, and he personally prefers it that way. he truly has no preferences about body hair on a partner and never has because....i mean, look at him. i also don't think that body shaving or waxing were big in atmora because hair is a natural insulator to combat years worth of frigid cold.

tharya's hair is very fine and light since she's blonde, but also sort of everywhere since she's a nord and that's one of the traits they inherited from their atmoran ancestors. shaving is not a thing (lol i wish) but i'm sure waxing is in some parts of the world, but she never bothers with it because bro that looks so painful! i don't think she ever put much thought into trimming until she and miraak first had sex and she may have gotten a bit self conscious of it. so she occasionally tries to trim herself because she also develops a liking to be more visible; plus, miraak constantly offers to do the trimming for her, but she's too embarrassed to say yes.

I - Intimacy

i've always considered them a very intimate pair, even outside of sex. they're very close to one another both emotionally and physically if they can help it, they like to stay touching one another, etc. their bond is an incredibly emotional (maybe even spiritual) one, and (coming from tharya's ace side) they can engage in a lot of sensual touch that doesn't always have to turn sexual. and i think their intimacy extends to sex. not to say it's always the most tantric, mindblowing sex every time, but that they're very loving with one another's bodies and preferences, and like to exist in their own little world with just each other. the chances of them ever even meeting, nevermind staying alive, staying together, are incredibly slim across all universes, so they enjoy their togetherness to the fullest extent.

J - Jack off

for tharya, it's not something she ever really considered or had the urge to do. her libido is quite low and she hasn't had a steady relationship before, so she's never really desired anyone enough to touch herself to the thought of them. so it is SHOCKING when that feeling surfaces occasionally when she's parted from miraak (which almost never happens). even then i don't think she'd act on the urge, just store it away and wait for him to come back - she loves how he treats her when she makes it obvious she wants him, he's so willing and so giving and so SO sexy for it. i did once start writing a thing where miraak asked her if she would masturbate and let him watch, so i think she would do it if asked (and convinced). she's not used to being Watched in the way miraak watches her though, so she'd be embarrassed to do it in front of him.

for miraak in the merethic era, it was probably something he did infrequently but had no problems doing. he had two concubines who he was actually very emotionally close with, and they lived with him and in return he provided for them. their relationship was much more than just sexual (eventually one of them even decided they didn't want to have sex anymore and he kept them on so he could support them), but he didn't really need to please himself when he had them. in apocrypha he very quickly learned the consequences of trying to masturbate and so locked it away for fear of being exposed or assaulted. it would take him a long time to regain his sense of safety in the fourth era, but once he starts feeling things for tharya he has to deal with the fact he's physically attracted to her, something he hasn't felt in 5000 years, and his body overreacts occasionally. though he was scared to do it he definitely snuck off a few times to rub one out, but not really for pleasure, just to be rid of the sheer annoyance. later on he becomes much more comfortable with it; he doesn't need to but he does sometimes, especially when tharya's gone (see chapter 21).

i think they would both be a little flustered but intrigued by the idea of mutual masturbation tbh, i think i started writing something about it once but never finished 🤷‍♀️

K - Kink

For Miraak:
- a size kink that used to work both ways in the merethic era; miraak is a bit short by atmoran male standards, so partners bigger than him weren't hard to find, but he was also physically stronger than most of the people he bedded. now he's much more focused on tharya being smaller than him.
- BREEDING KINK, despite his infertility. he really enjoys positions that are known to be good for getting pregnant and refuses to cum anywhere but inside (for tharya). it feeds into his desire to be on top because he wants to give her as much of his cum as possible, even knowing it won't do anything, he wants her to be full of his seed and DOES finger it back in if it starts to seep out. obsessed with her belly because of it, not just in sexual contexts but also in general. usually after sex he'll rub or hold it and is very protective of that area of her body.
- DIRTY TALK. CONSTANTLY. it works especially well on tharya since she's so hopelessly attracted to his voice, and he loves telling her good it feels, how pretty she is, how hard he is, how badly he wants her body.
- he loves cockwarming, either before or after sex. something about taking him in soft so he can get hard already inside of her (or the other way around) drives him a little insane. he also (less often) just likes to be inside of her for the feel of it, with no intention of sex; he finds it very relaxing and wholesome and would like to take a nap that way, but tharya gets squirmy.
- he occasionally likes to overstimulate her, but never by so much that she cries or passes out or feels pain. she just makes such gorgeous sounds for him when she can only take a little more. it may be an extra orgasm or sucking her nipples, but she's so pliant once she's at her highest, and he loves goading her along and then taking care of her after.

For Tharya:
- size kink which didn't exist before meeting miraak really; she loves the fact that he's so BIG. she's a normal sized woman but loneliness can make you feel small, so having him be so large almost equals a kind of safety in her head. but it also means it's incredibly arousing whenever he does anything that makes their differing sizes evident - for once she enjoys feeling small with him to fill the space.
- VOICE KINK which again wasn't really around before miraak; his voice is so deep and so accented that she loves to listen to him talk and whisper and moan, and loves to hear him say her name or filthy things.
- HAND KINK! she is in LOVE with his hands, how they feel, how they LOOK (especially with his gloves on), how he uses them, how he puts them on her. she loves playing with them, holding them, watching him use them - his fingers are so nice and long and thick and she will absolutely work herself up over watching him do something as simple as getting dressed or the way he handles his staff. for reference, her hands are about the size of his palms, so his are much bigger and can hold a lot, but they're also very tender when used on her; she loves when he caresses her face and neck. she likes to hold his wrist and suck on his fingers more than she would admit.
- a bit of a spanking kink lol. she doesn't know why she likes it, and she doesn't like it extremely hard, but she loves the way he handles her ass and would be dizzy to stretch over his lap to let him rub and kiss and smack it. she'll ask someday.

L - Location

they both prefer intimate and private spaces, usually their bedroom (or a bedroom, doesn't always matter where) since they want to be comfortable and have time to lie with each other afterwards. bath spaces also work, though miraak is usually too big for the smaller bathtubs, larger bathhouse-type rooms they both find very relaxing and intimate. floors also work (as chapter 29, yet to be published, will show😈), but again only in a private space. when in doubt, miraak can and will have sex standing. they're both well known and have appearances to keep, and tend to be less overtly romantic in the public eye (in front of family and friends, they're much more relaxed with PDA), especially tharya, who is more concerned and entangled with the outside world of politics and events and has been since before she met miraak. plus, most people are scared of miraak and think he's an emotionless ghost, so he doesn't feel comfortable letting his guard down for others to see.

M - Motivation

as i said before, tharya's libido is naturally quite low, and miraak's used to be quite high. i think once they get past first having sex together (chapter 17) and break the tension, they're much more comfortable. they are all about sensual touch that doesn't necessarily need to lead anywhere, and if it does, they'll enjoy it. i think miraak regains a higher sex drive after a while and becomes more pursuant of tharya when he feels like it, and tharya feels much the same; they have casual/easy ways of deflecting each other gently or playfully when one of them doesn't feel like it, but in a way they're both sort of go with the flow types. if they both want it, they will, and if one of them doesn't, they won't. between them, tharya definitely notices a bigger difference in her desire for him once she finally feels close enough to actually even desire him in the first place.

N - No

tharya is not really interested in a lot of the more hardcore stuff - she doesn't mind being tied up, but miraak does it with ribbon, not rope. she doesn't mind her eyes being covered, but she prefers it with a thinner cloth that lets some light in. part of her asexuality means she doesn't have a lot of experience outside the box, but she's usually willing to try, and she trusts miraak beyond anything else. however she is a No for things that include intentional pain (aside from occasionally getting spanked lol) or things that include dangerous objects, or a total loss of her senses/autonomy. she doesn't like mean dirty talk/degradation, or things that put her or miraak in any physical danger. she is also against more public sex and prefers to be as private as possible.

miraak is a No for most things surrounding bondage, choking, or sensory deprivation (largely on himself). he suffered enough of it in apocrypha and anything that emulates his helplessness in apocrypha is unwanted. that being said, he doesn't mind pinning tharya's hands, etc. since she enjoys it and feels safe to do it - he even enjoys it if she does the same to him (since he knows it's all play and he can get out of it), but anything beyond that he is an immediate No. he dislikes specifically having his hands held behind his back or above his head. he doesn't like to make her cry, either (which ties into his conception of overstimulation; he doesn't want her to be TOO overstimulated to the point it's painful or uncomfortable, since she's already pretty sensitive, and in no world would he want to be the reason for her tears. tharya is also vocal about when it gets to be too much). he won't do anything that involves degradation; as a moth priest he is about body/sexual positivity and praise.

O - Oral

miraak cannot get enough of eating her out. he could do it for hours (he will, I just need to write it), he wants to eat her out when she wakes up in the morning and he wants to eat her out as she falls asleep at night. he'll happily lay between her legs until dawn if she gives him permission (again, he will, i just need to write it). and he's so fuckin GOOD at it, why wouldn't she? he's happy sometimes to make her cum on his tongue a few times and then just fall asleep on her belly. he is weak for when she sits on his face; nothing makes him get harder or easier to control than tharya sitting on his face. he holds her down to make sure he's got her full weight, and he could spend hours down there too. tharya is also dizzy for the way his beard feels on her thighs and the sight of him between her legs, especially when he looks up at her.

taking miraak is a more difficult endeavor for tharya since 1) he's huge and 2) she does have a bit of a gag reflex and 3) her mouth is small (i.e. normal to small for nords, but tiny for an atmoran). but she is 10000% determined to try. this is where her hands come in handy (hehe), and she is happy to spend a lot of time kissing him up and down and sucking the tip - she could probably spend hours down there too. it works well actually because miraak is already attentive to her touch and so her little minstrations around his cock make him both relax and ready to burst at a moment's notice, and his thighs are close for her to touch (another thing i need to write bc i know it happened: tharya probably put his thigh over her shoulder to mimic him once and he came almost immediately). after a few times he begins to fall into her slower pace with gentle thrusts or a hand on her hair. tharya's only rule is that he doesn't push/pull her head down suddenly because she prefers not to choke harshly.

P - Pace

they're both very serviceable towards each other despite occasional teasing, so i think whatever often feels best works. tharya really likes slower, deliberate leadup, which leaves time for caressing and talking, but also can't deny how good it feels to just be held down and railed in a way that makes her whole body move. miraak enjoys pushing deep (he 100% fucks with his hips, it's filthy) which often makes him move at a more medium pace, but also gets dizzy when she bounces on his cock like no tomorrow. they switch up constantly and easily; they just want to be as close as possible to one another short of becoming one person.

Q - Quickie

neither of them prefer quickies, but chapter 22 says they are certainly not off the table. however I think there would have to be a significant lead up, it wouldn't just be a spur of the moment thing; one or both of them would have to be feeling hot and bothered enough already to pull the other aside.

R - Risk

i don't think they're risky when it comes to things like being caught or found out - they'd prefer to be securely by themselves and uninterrupted (but see quickies/chapter 22 for exceptions). when it comes to risks during sex, like i said before, there are some things totally off the table (see kinks). but otherwise they're willing to adventure together, as long as they both like the idea and are willing to try and have discussed it a little beforehand. i don't think they always plan surprises in the bedroom beforehand but more like ideas probably appear during sex that one of them gets excited to act on (but, you know, a little lingerie goes far for miraak's cock and tharya's confidence).

S - Stamina

miraak is DURABLE. he quickly gets used to two or so of tharya's orgasms equaling one of his own, so he can go as long as two or three rounds before settling down. he's devoted to her and gets a lot of adrenaline and energy from wanting to show her just how much he loves to worship her body with his own. occasionally he does get overwhelmed by his own emotion and sort of exists outside his own mind for a bit, which will overstimulate and slow him down.

tharya gets more sensitive more easily (thank you, hand and voice kink) but still she has a pretty good amount of stamina to keep up with miraak's short refractory period between orgasms. she can last for two rounds solidly, and after that starts to drop off. plus, miraak is all too willing to do the legwork if her body feels too worn out to do much; he likes to let her be a little bit of a pillow princess when he can 😌 (but she's no starfish lol) since tharya is the one with a Real Job and Life, this makes tired sex all the easier, and miraak will massage her gladly while he fucks her nice and slow. he's a service top to his very core (for her) and will always want to give in excess.

T - Toys

miraak DEFINITELY had some in the merethic era, though tbh i don't think he would use them suuuuper often. he's always preferred his own hands (and magicka), but won't reject the appeal of using toys on his partners, especially if they ask for it or actively use them more than he does. it would take a bit more convincing to put/use them on himself, though (put him in a pretty collar PLEASE-)

i don't think tharya owns any (ties into J) and has never really had the desire to. she would also not be averse to using them, but would take a little convincing.

U - Unfair

i think they like to tease each other a little, either verbally or physically, but in the end miraak is very much a service top and can't deny himself or tharya pleasure for very long. he wants to give in excess, be romantic and close and spend time with and in her. tharya teases him whenever she has her mouth on him, mostly because he becomes so melty and whiny and she loves to watch him lose the composure others so fear him for.

V - Volume

tharya starts off embarrassed to make much noise, but at miraak's urging gets more comfortable with it - which is good, because all her noises are so pretty, and often so cute, which surprises him because she's often so casual and composed. her voice gets a bit higher, much more breathy and though she's not very loud she is pretty vocal. she's less coherent during sex than he is, which is fine by him; she whines his name a lot, which feeds his ego like nothing else.

miraak is not afraid to be vocal about his pleasure and always has been, which is part of how he draws tharya out of her shell. his noises are one of the most arousing things to her. i think he's the type who moans with his movements, with his exhales, and he's not afraid to let his voice go high. a lot of his vocality manifests through his dirty talk, often delivered between moaning and kissing with a lot of inflection. he's also very expressive, makes a lot of faces, which is otherwise rare for him.

W - Wild Card

- tharya is (perhaps not too secretly) WEAK for all the nicknames miraak gives her. "elskavin" (beloved) is usually reserved for their day to day, and prinsaessa, little one, mea deusa/my goddess all make her insides knot like nothing else. he knows. he can feel it. they're such a surefire way to get her short of begging for him since she loves his voice so much, and loves what it does to her brain when she just wants to be around him. she's not often so vulnerable with anyone since she's supposed to be the Strong Unfailing Dragonborn, but miraak giving her little nicknames really just makes her want to be so open to him - and she knows she can be, because he's there to fill her up.

- some of miraak's perceptions/preferences of sex have actually changed since tharya, especially his perception of how he wants to be treated and loved. she always has been very gentle and loving with him from the start, whenever she handles him or touches him it's often very tender and adoring. that is NOT how he's used to being treated! previous partners didn't mistreat him, but they figured bc he worked to make himself physically strong and durable (dragon priests didn't usually commit to swordcraft or physical conditioning like he did) and that he preferred to top, that he doesn't need or want to be treated gently. so the delicacy of her touch surprised him at first, but it changed him too. it makes him melt easier under her and lose himself in his devotion to her, and he feels safer and more cared for than he ever has before :3

(essentially i feel like they both have the same problem of trying to be the strongest person in the room constantly, though for different reasons - and then surprise each other by being gentle and loving instead of assuming strength)

- also, miraak has an obsession with her neck and tharya with his chest. it's where their thu'ums sit, and they're both heavily attracted to/anchored by that part of the other's body. i think tharya was a little hesitant at first bc a hand on her neck has always meant danger, but miraak (who did once actually choke her in apocrypha lol) makes it very clear he has no intention of harming her; he just likes to hold, stroke, and kiss her throat as lightly as he can.

X - X-ray

miraak: 7.5", veiny, thick, no curve, length #964B00, tip #DB8780 (if you remember those tiktok comments like this then yk LOL) he chose to be circumcised, probably for religious reasons. in general, he's 6'8", about 250lbs, and built very much like a powerlifter over a bodybuilder, with big arms and chest and core strength, but a soft layer over his stomach (he used to be a bit smaller & have abs when he first left apocrypha, but he doesn't mind the change. it makes him comfier to lie on). his back and upper body are probably his strongest areas, though his legs are also quite big. he has a lot of scars, one on his face above his left eye (right eye, if you're facing him), and the largest body scar is three strikes across his chest from left to right, clavicle to ribcage diagonally. his build makes him very durable, and he can be frighteningly fast when he wants to be since his legs are so damn long.

truly no idea what to do for tharya other than the fact that it's pretty and pink (here she can have a hexcode too: #F4C2C2) 💅 im general she's 5'7" and about 140 pounds, though her weight fluctuates somewhat easily because of past difficulties. her shoulders and arms are toned but her legs are probably her strongest area, and she has great endurance and is much more agile than miraak. she's well trained at using magicka to enhance her strength. her breasts are smaller (probably a B cup? idk I'm not in the IBTC so I'm guessin) which she is a little self conscious about, but to miraak they're mouth sized, which makes them perfect. she has few scars, with one below her left eye into her cheek. she's faintly hourglass shaped but not drastically; her waist is a gentle slope inwards, but not hugely smaller than her hips.

Y - Yearning

like i said before, their sex drives differ but they're very open with one another and comfortable with whatever takes them. they can find satisfaction in a lot of different ways that don't always have to be, but sometimes are, sexual. big supporters of making out for a long time, undressing one another at night, and bath cuddles (as an ace person myself i just really enjoy the concept of sensual touch that is desexualized okay)

Z - Zzz

in some ways miraak is definitely the lazier one between them LOL. he's more prone to falling asleep afterwards just because that seems like the best way to enjoy the afterglow to him. however, he is sad if tharya won't join him for a nap :( if it's towards the middle of the day he probably won't fall asleep but will rest or putter around for the rest of the day and take it easy. morning or night he's more likely to fall asleep.

tharya is terrified of being non-productive during the daylight hours (on that medieval serf farmer type beat) so she won't fall asleep unless it's nighttime, or she's REALLY tired. however she's gotten better at taking some time to relax during the day, and is especially open to lazing around for a bit if miraak is there to stroke her hair or kiss her belly.

Chapter 29: the way of the househusband

Notes:

mostly named for the anime/manga way of the househusband (gokushufudo) WOULD RECOMMEND :3 miraak is a bit of a househusband in every universe BUT. that's the dream when your wife is a woman in STEM who works for the jarl 💅 also i prommy longform smut is coming VERY SOON! i have a canon piece that will tag onto the wild hunt but will only be posted once all chapters are posted. so sometime later this month/very early july!

It was clockwork at this point. She woke up around 6 A.M. every weekday to get to work for 8 A.M. which meant every weekday, around 6 A.M., he woke up while she wiggled out of his arms and left their bed. Only for a few minutes - long enough to squeeze her in, kiss her lazily, moan about her leaving him so early. Often he fell back asleep in the ten or fifteen minutes between her getting up and her leaving the shower, but sometimes he got up too, to start her tea, or lay her clothes out, or fill her water bottle for the day. And then he went back to bed. The biphasic morning schedule was so ingrained in him that he did it even when he traveled, either home to Atmora or for work. Zahkriisos said it wasn't great for him but he didn't care much. Tharya did the same each night, going to bed before him, and waking up just enough to kiss and snuggle when he slid under the covers an hour or two later.

So when he felt her move, he groaned himself awake. She had stopped apologizing for it about eight months after they got married - she moved his arms delicately and stroked his hair before getting up, so she wasn't doing anything wrong. He just woke up because he wanted to. In the dark bedroom he watched blearily as she took the hanger draped in her choice of clothes for the day and brought it into the bathroom with her, only turning the light on once the door was closed. He grunted into his pillow, eyes closing again. It was probably going to rain today - there was a feeble ache in his thigh. The barometric pressure change was often enough to make it hurt, though, so maybe it would just be cloudy. Regardless, he laid there for a moment before sliding out of bed, staggering half-blind through the apartment to the kitchen. There was water in the kettle already - good. He flicked it on to let it boil and went to the entry hall closet, fumbling around for one of those smaller, collapsible umbrellas. Why was it so chilly in the apartment?

Mumbling to himself he found the umbrella and left it by her boots, and staggered back down the hall to find the thermostat. Cold. But she'd be leaving soon, and he was going back to bed, so he left it alone, and went into the kitchen to pour her travel mug.

Intrigued by the sudden life in the otherwise dormant apartment Runa slid from the darkness, leaning onto her front paws to stretch before snuggling to his shins. As the shower hummed, he bent to pick her up and snuggle her and waited for the tea to steep. The shower ran. He dozed for a few minutes, leaning back against the counter, and Runa pressed biscuits into his forearm as he stroked her side. Eventually he took the teabag out, spooned in some honey, stirred, fit the cap on, and left it on the dining room table for her to grab before trudging back to bed.

Tossing himself down chest-first with a groan, Miraak shifted around to find his warm indent again and settle in. There was an annoying ache between his legs that pressed uncomfortably into the mattress. Gods. Why did waking up have anything to do with his cock? His body was still asleep, as far as he felt it. Biology would never cease to amaze, sometimes. With a grunt he turned onto his back and draped an arm over his chest, stretching his legs down to relieve the rush of early morning blood. He didn't need his blood to start pumping just yet - he was going back to sleep.

A few minutes later the shower turned off, and he listened to her tiptoe around, wrap her hair, start to get dressed. She came back into the room, rustled around for a bit, and suddenly there was light. Just as quickly as it came on it went off.
"I'm so sorry, big guy," she whispered, and he snorted softly, reaching to his side of the headboard to find the second switch.
"It's alright, princess. Put it on if you need it," he mumbled back, voice low and gravelly and soft. The light behind the headboard wasn't as assaulting as the overhead light, and it could be dimmed to a nice, warm gold glow.
"Are you sure? I thought I heard you walk out, that's why I turned it on."
"Já. Hafðu engar áhyggjur af mér," he chuckled, flicking it on. It bathed the room in a faint golden aura, just enough light to see her walk around wrapped in her towel. He watched quietly as she dried off, dropping the towel to step into underwear - soft blue with lace around the hips and silky smooth bamboo fabric, he remembered buying it for her - and find its matching bralette. "Það gæti rignt, it might rain, so I left an umbrella for you, elskavin. And your tea."
"Oh, thank you, handsome," she crooned, wiggling into the bralette and walking over to kneel on his side of the bed. "Now go back to sleep."
"I'm trying."

Innocently she put one leg over his hips and sat straddling him, shower-soft hands rubbing wide circles into his chest. He moaned quietly, brows twitching as her weight settled over his interested cock.
"Alright?"
"You're sitting on my testosterone," he teased, reaching down to hold her hips and shimmy them up onto his lower stomach. In the dim golden glow she looked at him curiously, but said nothing. "Kysstu mig." She understood enough Atmoran to understand his early morning mumbles, and so leaned down to oblige him. The smooth bamboo fabric of her bralette made a thin barrier as her breasts flattened to his chest, her belly laid over his as she adjusted, and kissed him tenderly.

"I'll be home late today," she murmured against his lips, stroking the tattoo decorating his left shoulder and upper arm. His hands found her thighs and ass and rubbed sluggishly, grateful for her weight on top of him. It did more to help him sleep than anything else. "Do you want me to pick up dinner?"
"No need," he mumbled back, enjoying her reverent kisses, slow and soft. "I'll be home early." She only hummed, rubbing his scalp in circles with one hand, arching her hips just a little into his palms. "What kind of househusband would I be if I didn't make my six-figure wife dinner?"
"You are not a househusband," she scoffed, letting his tongue push lazily past her lips.
"I am sometimes," he said with a grin. He was sometimes, but gods he didn't mind it one bit. He worked, but had more opportunity to work remotely than she did, and kept less official hours. Sometimes he traveled for work, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he spent half a day in the museum and the other half was free. He simply had more wiggle room than her, more free time. That didn't make him a househusband, despite whatever Althëa thought. His mother just happened to always call him in the middle of the day on days he was free. But it was a good joke between them.

Tharya smiled against his lips before sitting up, stroking his chin as she shifted around, preparing to stand. With a pout he caught her hips, mumbling about how much time she had and she could spare a few minutes for her poor, tired husband who would have to spend the rest of his day alone.
"I'm going to be spending my day alone, too," she giggled as he kissed the tip of her finger, and then caught it gently between his teeth. "Come have lunch with me if you want."
"I will," he groaned, kissing her knuckles, her palm, leaning into the cradle of her hand. Her hips were aligned with his again, the feel of her thighs and her underwear against the half-hard strain of his cock making him sigh against her wedding rings. "Stay for a few minutes." He squeezed her hips lovingly, angling them back to rub against the bulge of his underwear. Gods, friction. It felt good.

"Miraak," she said his name delicately, in that way that told him she was pretending to weigh her options and pretending she didn't have time and that he would need to be a little more convincing.
"Stay, prinsaessa," he repeated in a husky whisper, flexing his thighs and hips up to grind into her. Long, slow drags. Just as she liked it. "You know I never last long in the morning." And it was true. She was so much more aware and coherent in the mornings, all he did was melt into her hands and put his brain on autopilot. His body knew hers, knew how to move and react without him needing to tell it to. And, gods, she felt good sitting on him like that.

Rolling her eyes playfully she spread her knees a little, popping her hips and ass up to rub back into him. He groaned, a low, rocky noise scraping from the depths of his chest, which inflated happily to fill her palms.
"You owe me," she teased against his mouth.
"Mh-hm," he agreed, lips moulding to hers, working in such a perfected tandem only they seemed to share. She moaned softly as he pressed up into her again, dragging her hips along the hardening outline of his cock. "You tell me when and you know I will, prinsaessa." Tongues met, sliding easily and sleepily together, wetting lips and smacking kisses against one another. His breath caught as she gyrated against him, pressing her clothed pussy up and down, letting him feel the tentative heat of her core. With one hand he reached up to find the hair towel coiled atop her head and began to undo it; her short hair, damp and cool, fell in an uneven curtain against his cheeks. She shivered as he laid a hand over the back of her neck, warm and heavy against her cold skin.

A moan spilled from his throat once she sat up, riding the bulge of his cock with her pussy pulsing against it, her soft thighs encasing his hips. She looked so gorgeous in the golden light, her lips glistening, the blue fabric like a second skin. He pushed his head back into the pillow, fingers curling around her waist that creased and stretched with her movements.
"Feels good?" she cooed, stroking his sides as he inhaled deeply, nodding at her through lidded eyes. His hips pushed up into her of their own accord, following her rhythm, chasing her friction, her body atop him. She made a quiet, surprised sound as the length of his cock grazed through her folds, through the soaked gusset of her underwear, nudging at her clit. Even that was beautiful - her parted lips, the little crease in her brow, his name whispered in her voice so tenderly. He tried to rut into her like that, treating her to every inch, passing against her clit with the bulge of his tip. She leaned her palms back onto his thighs, moving easily with him, breath pitched and trembling.

"Þú ert svo falleg, elskavin," he rasped, "how am I supposed to let you out of our bed?" Her pussy clenched around nothing listening to him speak Atmoran in that gravelly tone, that early-morning, breathless moan he gave only to her ears.
"I thought this was my- exit ticket," she teased, fingers curling into the hem of his underwear. "Off?" He nodded quickly, sparing one hand to slip below the band of her bralette and squeeze her breast appreciatively, dragging his fingers around her soft nipple. Another clench.
"You don't have to take me," he whispered, obliging and lifting his hips so she could shimmy the fabric down. "You- oh, fuck..." Her fingers wrapped easily around the length of his cock, trampling whatever words in his throat, stroking them away.
"Hm?" Tharya hummed for him to repeat himself, and though she wasn't teasing him this time, he snorted and grinned.

"Lean down," he replied, breathless as she squeezed him, dragging her cupped fist slowly up to the head of his cock and slathering her thumb in his precum. She obliged, leaning down to kiss him, to share saliva and trade tongues and let him moan feebly against her mouth, body sinking into the mattress. "Unh- just like that, princess, gods, I love you so much." Hooking his fingers into the middle of her bralette he pulled her chest forward, kissing lazily down her neck before pulling the fabric down to mouth and suck at her breasts, teasing her nipples on the flat of his tongue. He could feel her rutting against his thigh, almost in time with her hand around his cock. Her entire body seemed to melt at his mouth sucking and kissing her skin, pressing his hands to the sides of her chest to push her breasts inwards, squeezing them together in his palms. She whined his name so beautifully from the top of her pitch, jerking his cock quicker and thighs flexing against his hips.

But her composure beat his - he moaned and panted her name, murmuring encouragement in Atmoran she barely understood, legs beginning to shift and writhe sluggishly against the sheets. He cradled the back of her head in one hand and her throat in the other, occupying himself with her lips, with her tongue in his mouth, with her breathy moans. He didn't need to tell her he was close; she felt it, felt him, felt the way his thighs flexed and tightened against hers, felt his kisses grow sloppy and his whispers of her name grow into long, withering groans of her title: elskavin. He always made such pretty faces when he came, so expressive, so unabashedly pleasured. He stretched and closed his arms around her torso like weighty ropes, securing himself to her before she vanished.

His head pressed back as his orgasm spurted from her fist, painting her knuckles, soaking the creases of her palm and dripping onto his stomach. She kissed the column of his throat gently, feeling it swell and deflate with air as he gulped it in. His body relaxed quickly below her, comfortable under her weight, and he groped at her hips for something to hold onto.
"Okay?" she whispered, nuzzling into the underside of his jaw.
"Okay," he breathed back, feeling her let go of his cock gently, squeezing the thick of his hip in her opposite palm. He sought her lips again, relishing her tender kisses and her proximity and shower-soft body against his sleep-soft one for as long as he could before she began to wriggle away. "Oh, no."

"I really do have to go," she hummed, sitting up again. In the golden light she looked flushed and beautiful but not quite as fucked out as he liked to leave her. "I don't mind."
"I mind," he retorted, nudging his hips up to tilt her forward again. "I'm no narcissist, elskavin."
"It's almost seven."
"Come sit." He urged her thighs forward again, pulling her hips towards his chin.
"Miraak..."
"Sit."
"You can save it for your repayment," she giggled, leaning down to kiss him once. "I don't mind. I have to go."
"Elskavin, I am saving my repayment for my repayment. Unless you truly don't want to, take your pretty underwear off, and sit." She considered for a moment, tracing his lips and his beard with one fingertip. His limbs were too heavy to pilot around, and he was beginning to feel the overdue second phase of his sleep schedule, but her consideration was all he needed. He watched as she brought her legs together by his chest and wiggled out of her underwear; the gusset stuck to her pussy and pulled away soaked. He groaned as she straddled his chest again, gazing through heavy eyelids as she reached to hold the headboard, arm casting distant shadows on the ceiling. He nudged her hips up and caressed her lower back to bring her forward, exhaling a hot breath against her clit that made her stomach tighten.

"Sit."

Her pussy was slick and hot beyond belief against his tongue, slathered in arousal and sensitive from its woeful lack of attention. Her hips bucked as he pulled her down firmly, groaning into her core, at her taste, at her weight on his jaw. Gods, she was so good. He sucked and slurped at her recklessly, kissing her clit, rubbing the flat of his tongue through her folds. One of her hands dove into his tousled pillow hair, and he looked up to watch her writhe and squeal for him as he devoured her.
"You think you could've gone to work this wet, little one?" he grunted, fingers digging into the tense flesh of her thigh. He made sure she heard all his noises, all his words spoken into her pussy, felt every scratching pass of his beard against her thighs that made them tremble. "What sort of househusband would I be if I didn't make my wife cum on my tongue before she goes to work?" It was only right for the woman who treated him so divinely. Her voice trembled and jumped and broke saying his name, lips squeezing shut and then falling open. She had no intentions of lasting.

He held her hips firmly as she came, drinking her up, lapping her orgasm from her pussy, taking all of her. Her thighs squeezed and trembled around his head, sealing off his hearing for a long, blissful moment. All he needed was her on his tongue and the weight of her on his jaw. Eventually she eased her knees away, and the close sound of her ragged panting filled his ears, coupled with the gentle, wet noises of his lips caressing her, kissing her sweetly. He dipped his tongue against her clit in a delicate swipe, exhaling a hot groan into her skin. The exhaustion was settling back in. At this rate he probably wouldn't get back to sleep, but he didn't care much. Gazing up at her with dreamy, melting eyes he took in the slopes and curves of her body in the golden light, the stretch of her neck as she held her head back, the round of her breasts and swell of her belly.

"Miraak," she whimpered, squeezing his hair delicately, but enough. He kissed her clit one last time before he acquiesced, letting his mouth drop.
"I can't believe you have to go to work," he muttered as she sat back, dividing her weight across his chest and her ankles. She chuckled breathlessly, stroking from his temple down to his cheek and jaw as he kissed her knee nearest to him.
"It's not like I want to anymore," she replied finally, tracing between his eyebrows, coaxing his eyelids shut. "At least you can go back to sleep, my love." She almost got him to. Touching his face so gently, her scent and warmth close, her body nestled so nearby to kiss as he drifted. But, like clockwork, the moment she moved away, removing herself no matter how carefully, he opened his eyes.

But he stayed quiet as he watched her change her underwear and bra, tossing both back at him when he dared a low, teasing whistle. He took them gladly. She got dressed, combed her hair again, and went to hang her towel in the bathroom. She came back moisturized and perfumed and looking every bit the fashionable civil servant, certainly not spoiled and worshipped by her husband on early mornings before making the commute to Dragonsreach.

"I'm sorry, honey," she cooed when he reached for her leg, calling him honey in that pouty little voice she only used in the morning when he didn't want to let go. Or when it rained. It might be both, today. Lucky him. She used both hands to massage his scalp and neck as he wound an arm around her knees, holding her close for as long as he could. "Get some rest, handsome. Let me know if you want to do lunch, okay?" He grumbled back. "I love you. Sleep well."

"Love you," he mumbled, half asleep but aware enough to take her hand and kiss it before she vanished.

A minute or two later she returned, bending to kiss his cheek twice.

"And thank you for my tea and umbrella."

 

---

[12:47 PM] ❄Big Pookie🪤 wrote

      [4 ATTACHMENTS] Lunch?

Tharya put her phone back down quietly. It was almost one o'clock, which meant he'd probably just finished at the gym, so she was not going to open those pictures in a room full of people. It was almost certainly chest day - because it seemed it always was - but she preferred to keep her husband's low-angle, darkly lit pictures of his flexed arms and chest, or the pictures of his shorts shimmied up to show off his quads and the sizeable bulge the scrunching made in his crotch, or the impressively clear pictures of his broad back to herself, thank you very much.

[12:49 PM] 🍀Little Pookie🧋wrote

      Lunch :) I'll open after. do you want to get it here or pick something up on your way?

[12:51 PM] ❄Big Pookie🪤 wrote

      I'll bring. You're lunch <3

[12:55 PM] 🍀Little Pookie🧋wrote

      *your🤓 Ty <3 Can you get me a drink too

[12:57 PM] ❄Big Pookie🪤 wrote

       Drink yes, grammar no. You're lunch. 👅🍽

Notes:

miraak waking up 1.5hrs later with tharya's bra wrapped around his neck (like when you fall asleep w earbuds and wake up in a chokehold) ALSO considering a nighttime companion piece for this 😈

Chapter 30: just the two of us (skyrim)

Notes:

you GUYSSSSSSS. YOU GUYS! FINALLY!! i've literally been working on (and promising this smut to people) for LIKE TWO MONTHS!!!!!!! i will not say it's my best work but it IS the one i've been most excited about for a while LMFAOOOO not to mention. mating press miraak has been in my brain for like four years at this point. this chapter is making me add the marathon sex tag to these drabbles so PLEASE! ENJOY!!!!!!!!!! (this shit is 19 pages in google docs soooo yeah - also since it took me so long to write there may be occasional typos/tense changes that escaped barebones editing. if so pls let me know abt them!)

She shuffled awake at the feel of a hand gently lifting her head and the press of fabric below her cheek, opening her eyes slowly to the glow of the firelight against Miraak’s shadowed face. As she shifted towards him, reaching for his wrist, he paused, lifting one hand to stroke her cheek.
“Don’t get up,” he whispered, rubbing her brow and tracing his thumb over her eyelid to close her eyes again. “It’s only me.” She recognized the firmness of a pillow below her head, relieving the faint ache in her neck from falling asleep using her arm as a headrest. 

Miraak laid beside her quietly, snuggling close to her back with a little sigh. The afternoon had been long and easy, the day not too hot but full of sun. She had napped almost every day in their first couple of weeks here, but since then had grown less tired, more...comfortable, since the cure. A little evening nap in front of the fireplace never seemed to hurt, though. Why she chose the floor, though, he hadn’t the faintest idea.

Wordlessly he laid a hand on her hip and rubbed her side and thigh in long, slow motions, listening to her exhale against the pillow. He’d already told her a thousand times but he would continue to say it while they were unburdened by the outside world, before they made their inevitable return home where they could not be so lazy, nor so close all the time: he was glad for this little retreat. And he hadn’t realized how glad he was until they arrived. Tharya needed the vacation, and he needed to see her relax for once. They weren’t on the road most months of the year anymore, yet somehow he thought she had been less stressed during those early days because of their travel. It was difficult sometimes, of course, but at the very least they had been alone, together. With no one to worry about, no prying eyes to avoid, no one relying on them. It was...easier.

Sighing again Tharya turned over in his embrace to face him, leaning up to press a tiny kiss against the edge of his lips. One of her hands found his shoulder, squeezing it gently, and as he craned his head to kiss her she went to sit up.

"No, let me pamper you a little more," he chuckled, rubbing her hip in one large, smooth hand as his lips trailed along her neck, her pulse, her collarbone. 

"Miraak," she mumbled, threading her fingers into his dark hair, "you've been doing that for three weeks. You deserve to rest ." Her hands found his chest, gentle and tired as she stroked his heart. "Rest," she whispered, trying to press him down, to lay back. 

"How can I?" he murmured as he kissed her shoulder, the ropelike scar marring her skin left behind by his corpse dragging through the ash on Solstheim. He kissed the mark reverently, squeezing her hip in one hand and feeling her sigh break against his ear. "It is easy to pamper my wife when she deserves it. Let me," he pressed his nose gently into the flesh of her shoulder, "enjoy your fire and close your eyes. At least give me an hour." With a noise of feeble dissent she shifted back onto the pillow, letting his lips caress the front of her throat, her chin, the dip of her collarbone. "You never let me. An hour?" He hummed against her, his lips tucking into a tiny smile. " Please? " Her little fingers curled against his chest, rubbing the pair of necklaces dangling across his skin and against the floor. "Please?" he repeated teasingly, finding her ear, kissing it lightly. "You like making me say that word, don't you?" She giggled into his neck all of sudden, laying one arm around his broad shoulders. "Please? Porvær? Rul hi hind?"

" Geh, " she said finally. The language of the dragons sounded good in her voice, low and soft and distant. She spoke it so rarely except when she needed to communicate with him in front of others about things they could not hear. " Mul gein. " With her permission in hand he pressed her hips down, letting her spine melt to the thick rug, to the warm air of the fireplace and the faint cool draft from below the glass doors leading to the patio and the sea. 

" Kogaan, " he rumbled back, stroking his hand down the soft flesh of her thigh, dragging his fingertips back and forth over her warmed skin. "Tell me if it is too much?"

"I will," she replied. 

 

Her lips were soft and warm and dry, her mouth so familiar and easy against his. After so long without her kisses, he didn’t mind lingering there, indulging himself, before moving on. His lips found her throat, breath trailing along her skin before he spoke.

“Here?” She hummed after a moment, body adjusting to be more comfortable below him, and then nodded.

“Of course,” she murmured, tilting her chin up. He kissed her throat slowly, savoring the seat of her pristine Thu’um, treating it delicately with his lips. He found the sides of her neck, the edges of her collarbone, letting his mouth lead, and stopped short of her shoulder.

“And here?” She hummed as she nodded, and he kissed each scarred shoulder before sliding down. 

“Here?” He paused at the edge of her sternum where the square neckline of her shift met her skin, using one hand below the skirt to hike it up along her belly. Her legs shifted between his, shuddering a bit at the sudden chill. She said yes. He kissed that little strip of skin lovingly before sliding down again, laying more of his weight on the floor between her legs.

"Here?" he breathed, beard rubbing firmly over her belly and making her laugh and twitch a bit at the tickling sensation.

"Mhm," she replied, pushing his head away with a giggle. He kissed her stomach gratefully, reverently, starting from just below her ribs and the folded ridges of her shift and traveling slowly, inch by inch, minute after minute. He could feel her pulse echoing in her stomach, feel her spine relax and melt into his palms, watch her body grow calm. He spent eternities there enjoying her, nuzzling and sighing against her belly, caressing her waist. He kissed every inch of skin three times over. She felt almost asleep again when he moved.

"Here?" he whispered against the jut of her hip, a soft line with a little round scar where a Dwemer ballista had pierced her flesh long ago. She hummed. He dragged the ridge of his nose against the little swell of her lower belly, soft and perpetual, and kissed that too. He inhaled her scent, tasted her skin lightly on his tongue. Her fingers curled in his hair. "Here?" He found the plush of her thigh and waited until she tilted her leg into his chin in silent approval, and kissed her there. He kissed her knee before sitting up, cradling her leg on his hands and letting her ankle lay on his shoulder. He kissed down to the top of her foot and then paused as he massaged the sole to examine her, letting his breath roll along her ankle. Her eyes were closed, one hand laid limp against the rug and the other draped delicately over her chest. 

"Here?" he teased, letting her leg down and picking the other one up to press his lips to her heel. She squirmed a little suddenly, toes curling against his cheek. "You are so ticklish, elskavin. " But he rested her leg on his shoulder all the same, tracing his lips slowly down and across her skin, watching her through the veil of his lashes. This was all he ever dreamed of - to treat her like the goddess he saw her to be. When he found her knee he began to bend, placing his hands by her waist again, sinking down, returning to her heavenly body with a releasing sigh. Her fingers sank back into his hair to massage his scalp, thighs spread to snag around his torso and he found himself back in the pillow of her sacred stomach. There was a gentle press this time, a hand of her own slinking downwards. He watched it curiously until it dipped between her thighs for a gentle swipe and crawled back up his arm. Oh?

"Here?" he breathed softly this time, finding the seam of her hip and thigh, half covered by the fabric of her underwear. She opened her leg to allow him. He wrapped his arms below her legs and spread his hands over her hips to rub them lovingly, and then found his mouth hovering against her underwear; as delicately as possible, his lower lip grazed her heat. "Here?" This time he looked up and he could see her nod, sighing his name so prettily. "Are you sure?" Her body has been in perpetual rest since healing herself, since fighting Hircine. She tired easily and ached constantly, and more than once he had caught her pausing to grimace when she stood or got out of bed. She needed only rest and care and love, and he had been more than happy to provide. Intimacy was second always to her comfort. Her pause when he asked was long. 

 

Tharya opened her eyes once she felt his lips against her neck, kissing her gently, snuggling into the crook of her shoulder.

"I miss you," she admitted with an embarrassed smile, hugging his neck.

"Gods, I miss you too, elskavin ," he rumbled, back, "but I want you only when you want for yourself." She was grateful to kiss him, cradling his jaw and sighing against the familiarity of his mouth, the gentle press of their tongues together, the airy sound of their lips. She missed the feel of his body against hers, his presence, his size, his warmth. He hardly left her side since they came to Torygg’s cottage, but there was a different sensation to it when she thought of desiring him again. Even though not all of her is healed, even though a thousand things, she missed him. Even though-

"I don't know," she murmured against his bottom lip, easing it gently between her teeth, "I do, but- I'm tired, I don't think...I can do anything for you." For the first time in a while she flushed under his gaze. Miraak chuckled as he stroked her hair, rubbing one thumb against her temple in leisurely, pressing circles. "It's okay." She tightened her arms around his shoulders, snuggling into his neck. "Just lay here with me." He obliged for a moment, squeezing comfortably around her. 

"And if I told you you don't need to?" His words were airy against her eardrum. 

"What?"

"I am happy to indulge myself in you," he whispered sweetly, "you do not have to do anything for me, except grant me a cold bath alone afterwards. Or watch," he teased. "If you want me, you may have me, elskavin. " 

 

She curled around the heat of his body, wondering at the ceiling as she mulled over his words. She hadn’t expected that, but no part of her was surprised. The rest of the world didn’t see it, but Miraak Althëasson was nothing if not a giving man. To her, at least. Selfishly, she felt that was all that mattered.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, stroking her fingers through his coffee-dark hair, getting long after their month alone, getting curlier. He pressed his nose gently into her cheek with a grin, kissing the edge of her jaw.
“You have no idea,” he murmured back. His kisses moved just as slow as before, lingering around her neck before tracing her collarbones, each hand hiking up the fabric of her linen shift to expose her hips and belly. “I have been wanting to ask for days. ” She laughed, sliding both hands through his hair as he edged downwards. “But I wanted you to heal first. To get your rest.” Tharya relaxed into the rug to let him squeeze between her knees, rubbing his scalp as he kissed her hip.
“I think this counts as rest,” she giggled, and he popped up to look at her, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, does it?” Miraak countered, squeezing her hip in one hand. “Then perhaps you need to rest more, elskavin. Perhaps every day.” He settled again, teeth grazing the inside of her leg. “I know I would love nothing more.” She smiled to herself again, listening to the fire crackle and letting his warm skin slide against hers. If it did count as rest , maybe she would have to take him up on that offer. At least for as long as they were away from home.

 

"Spread your legs for me, prinsaessa ," he murmured against her thigh, hooking each hand around her legs to scoop them up as he flexed his shoulders forward for them to rest over. He inhaled the long-missed scent of her so close, the sweetness of her arousal and the closeness of her body wrapped around him. It made his eyelids flutter as he exhaled a groan against her, a grateful, appreciating, relieving groan. Her hips squirmed a little against the vibrations - he always made so much noise. 

At first he left the fabric there - it was good to have a grace period for her to change her mind - teeth grazing the cotton and tongue slowly dampening its creases as his mouth worked against her pussy. Small fingers slid through his hair, unkempt only because there has been no one but them to see each other for three weeks, and curled to hold the back of his head. He tilted his shoulder to press her thighs more firmly to his ears and jaw and she wriggled against the scratch of his beard against her skin; with a grin he paused, rubbed his cheek into her thigh and listened to her laugh freely.

"I see now why you didn't want me to shave," he teased, sliding one hand across her hip and below the hem of her underwear, watching it tent and stretch around his knuckles.

"That was not premeditated," she argued, digging a heel into his back for emphasis. 

"Oh, of course not. You may feign your innocence as long as you wish, elskavin. " 

She huffed lightly, smacking the back of his head with one hand - his laugh echoed through her torso and into her heart. Maybe it wasn’t premeditated but the soft scratch of his beard against her thighs, the seam of where leg met hip, welcomed a cool shiver down her spine and through her sternum. Leaning into her pussy he caught the edge of her underwear between his thumb and forefinger to pull it away slowly, slipping his tongue for the first time through her folds. His lips ghosted and vanished to reappear, kissing her delicately, lovingly, before letting his tongue slip out again. His mouth was wet and hot, coating her pussy lazily and generously in saliva. A soft moan parted her lips as he sucked her folds past his teeth with a wet smack of lips. 

“I missed your taste,” Miraak hummed into her core, sucking diligently and rubbing the flat of his tongue against her clit. Her hips jumped against his chin with a little yelp that made him pull her closer, squeezing out the air between them, leaving no space and no breath. “ Mmph- good girl, come here,” he grunted, “don’t give me air.” Arousal gushed against his tongue as he found her again, a flutter, a squeeze that made her knees draw closed behind his head. He slurped and suckled her clit, breathing harshly and loving her on his tongue, on his moans. Her hips danced and swayed and he thought she came close to riding his tongue, but how long had it been? Her stomach was warm and taut and bounced at the old sensations coming alive, at her pussy being devoured by the one who knows just how to savor the banquet. She was right to lay back and enjoy his insistence.

Arousal slathered his lips, her slick soaking his chin and the sharp edges of his beard framing his mouth, enveloping him in the addictive scent and feel of her. The proof of just how glad he was to lie down and lick her folds and choke himself of air for her. The ridge of his nose pushed insistently against her clit as he slid his tongue into her, using the thumb and forefinger of the hand on her pelvis to spread her labia, to hold her open. Her moans came easier now, quick, squealing breaths that made her squirm and arch with her weight on her heels on his broad back. Her nails scratched along his scalp so delightfully, pushing and pulling him in and out. 

"Stay," he growled into her pussy, pushing the weight of his forearm down over her hips, squeezing a hand around her thigh. He recognized those little throes, bodily sways that dictated his pace. Gods, she sounded so pretty. She tasted like long Atmoran spring, years long, like the brightness of the world and the intense blooms on the mountains. 

 

" Miraak," Tharya whined, rolling a fist into the crumpled shift pushed up below her breasts, " unh, my- you're perfect, there..." She could feel his smile between her thighs. Feel his tongue slide and rub through her pussy, teasing her folds, the fingers stroking and massaging her open. Her eyes rolled below their lids, just barely showing the blur of the fireplace and the dark glass doors - the sight of him was even farther, but his big body forcing the space between her thighs was so close he felt just like an extension of her. He sucked her clit into his mouth with a gravelly moan that made her spine bristle and curve off the plush rug, pressing his tongue deep inside of her. She squeezed her thighs against his ears- and moaned his name in quick, successive gasps that made him roam and adjust restlessly against her legs. 

He pressed himself closer, nose against her clit, to spell the Dovahzul letters of his name into her pussy stroke by stroke, painting himself expertly against her core with each dot and curve and jagged line that names him. She cried out softly, a hitched noise that came with a breaking flood of heat - he almost pulled away to pull her thighs off but greedily shoved himself back in, messily, slurping and swallowing the surprise of her orgasm with a long, grateful moan. 

"Cum, princess," he rumbled, pinning her hips and sucking her folds clean of milky white, eager for her to coat the inside column of his throat. She twitched and bucked feebly in his grip, panting, her blood thrumming loudly in his ears. 

 

For an eternal moment he remained there, gentling the press of his tongue and slowing its quick slide through her folds as the knots in her stomach below his arm uncrossed. She let go of a large breath as he collected the last of her orgasm on the edge of his tongue, swallowing her gratefully before easing her legs aside to sit up with a drowning gasp. He left her pussy glistening and wet with his saliva, not a drop of her cum left. In each hand Miraak gathered her ankles and transferred them to one palm, holding her legs straight up to see her pussy bulge between the backs of her thighs and squeeze around the lack of his presence.
“My good girl,” he grinned lazily, holding her feet to his shoulder as he reached down to drag his fingertips through her folds. He watched her watch him drag his free hand in one trained motion down his lips and beard, rubbing the collected slick back against her pussy with the lengths of his fingers. “Is that all you asked for this Saturalia?”

Tharya couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of her suddenly, relishing in the rare distant thunder of Miraak’s laugh echoing hers. She reached her hands out for him and he delivered himself into them graciously, kissing her laughing mouth with the residual sweetness of her on his lips. For once his smile showed teeth, golden eyes squinted so far they almost closed.
“You’re so pretty,” she giggled, cradling his crimped cheeks between her warm hands. “ And funny!”
“Not a soul will believe you,” he replied with a grin.
“You don’t tell them enough jokes.”
“Because no one but you likes them.” 

 

He sat up again, cozying his thighs against hers to maneuver her legs around, laying them together on her side and pushing her hips to tilt with one hand; she didn’t miss the discreet palm squeezing around the shadowed outline of his pants, or the distracted swallow of his throat as he tucked her on her side and then dropped his knee to lay behind her again. There was a respectable distance between his hips and hers but his chest and shoulders were snuggled up close behind her, arms warm and heavy as he kissed the side of her neck.
“I am glad you’re healing, elskavin,” he murmured, pulling and adjusting her shift down with one hand before laying it over her hip. She scooted back into his embrace with a grateful, tired hum, draping her palm over his knuckles to thread her fingers between his. He squeezed them lovingly, lifting her wrist upwards to kiss it.
“I’ve had a good doctor,” she snickered, tilting her head to kiss the underside of his jaw, the column of his throat. 

“Nonsense. You have a good husband, which is infinitely better.” She snorted and laughed into his chin, watching his smile form from the corner of her eye. He’d been in a much lighter mood than he had been for months in four short weeks here. Rubbing her thighs together slowly she looked back to the fireplace, watching the flames lick and dance and tangle with one another in their stone confines. Miraak’s lips ghosted back and forth across her neck in barely existent kisses, his breathing evening out against her skin, chest moving more shallow. She pretended not to notice his hand slip away and the soft grunt against her ear, the rustle of fabric, before he wiggled his palm below her fingers again.

“The best husband, actually,” she murmured back to him, pulling his hand across her stomach and shuffling back a few inches to get closer to him, to envelop herself further in the far-reaching heat of his body.
“Oh?” he hummed. “Do tell me about him?”
“You’re so ridiculous,” Tharya scoffed quietly.
“You make bold claims, elskavin. Such things require empirical support.” Without an immediate reply she scooted back again, listening to his little hiss of air as she found his hips, the blunt tips of his fingers digging into the linen and her skin below it.
“My husband is gorgeous,” she murmured against his jaw, sliding her hand away from his to reach back and find his waist, his smooth skin still flushed hotly. “He has gorgeous skin and gorgeous eyes and gorgeous hair-” her thumb grazed the raised, puckered brand on his hip, fingers finding the scrunched hem of his pants. “And he likes to wear these linen pants in the summer that really don’t hide anything without underwear.” He barked out a laugh against her hair, sharp and cool.
“He likes to lounge,” he murmured, teeth grazing the lobe of her ear.

She stroked the thick outline of his hip, her best handhold on his strong torso - so easy to grab, to squeeze, a perfect slope to fit her palm.
“He has strong legs and gorgeous-” she kissed the edge of his neck where his beard tapered off, sucking it lightly between her teeth, “-big-”, she felt his chuckle through his throat, tracing the backs of her fingers against his stomach, “-hands.”
“Does he know how much you like them?” Miraak whispered, spreading his palm and fingers against her belly to squeeze and rub it.
“No,” she giggled, nipping at his throat. “But they are pretty, and strong, and massive. My husband-” she angled her wrist to slip her hand below the waist of his pants. Cool fingers wrapped one by one around the girth of his cock, eliciting a distant, withering moan against the shell of her ear. “Has a beautiful voice,” she finished, feeling his hand settle heavily around hers on his length. “Every time he speaks is like thunder and music.” She tilted her shoulders back into his chest, angling her mouth better to find his neck, kissing it and pressing her tongue slowly into his quick pulse. “Is my husband comfortable?”
“He is following your lead, elskavin,” he groaned breathlessly. 

Gently she pulled her hand forward, feeling the weight of his come with it, squeezing and rubbing her fingers gently around the tip before cupping her fist and sinking it back down to the base. He shuddered swiftly against her back, whispering her name - not Tharya , but his own name for her, the title he bestowed upon her long ago, elskavin - against her hair.
“My husband is kind,” she went on softly, stroking his cock in a slow, leisurely rhythm, listening to him exhale and moan as his fingers tightened around hers. “Even if he doesn’t believe it.” In truth she had expected to take his offer, however selfish it would make her feel, and repay him later, when the rest of her felt up to taking him. But feeling the brush of his erection as he sat up and catching his hand curl and squeeze around his cock while moving her legs had changed her mind - she did miss him, she missed all of him, she missed his sex, the way he caressed and held and fucked her, and she was sure she would be sore and tired after but she missed him. She knuckled the sticky head of his cock slowly, rubbing it between her fingertips and feeling his hips jump against her wrist, his voice spilling out in a flushed moan. 

Wordlessly two fingers grazed her chin and she parted her lips to allow them, whining quietly as she sucked his fingers and spread them with her tongue, wetting them down to the middle knuckle and letting him swirl them carefully around the confines of her mouth. When they were wet enough he extracted them and traced her saliva across her lips, down the center of her throat and to her sternum, and then slipped them below the hem of underwear and pressed her saliva against her pussy.
“Is my wife comfortable?” he asked shakily, words broken by a swallowed inhale as her hand passed against his length again and again and again.
“She is following your lead,” she whispered back, folding one leg upwards to let his hand settle between her hips. One finger eased in, one deliciously thick and long and warm finger that pushed against the cramped edges of her pussy to allow a second one to tease, to rub, before edging in slowly. She moaned back into his throat, hips sliding back and briefly pressing his cock against his stomach.

He throbbed against her palm, spilling precum and pushing back into her grip with unabashed moans that settled in her ear. It felt intoxicating to hold him like this, especially after so long with no time to themselves or days spent in bed too achey or dizzy to move after traveling across the country. She was sure the long road to Haafingar had done them no favors but it was necessary to strike out on their own once more, to come to this place of seclusion and recuperation where it was just the two of them. So far it seemed to be paying off - she was convinced it would be at least a month before she would ever entertain intimacy. Her body and mind simply weren't put together enough for it. And he'd spent at least a week huddled in bed doing next to nothing, napping constantly to regain strength and some semblance of relaxation that had been severely lacking in the previous months. 

"Looks like we were right," she whispered up to him happily, nudging his wrist as his fingers spread and curled inside of her.

"About?" he asked breathlessly.

"Just the two of us." She grabbed his chin to tilt his head down and kiss him properly. 

" We always are."

 

His breath hitched at the end of his words as her hand pumped his cock, the heat of his torso making thin sweat collect on her back. His teeth sank into the side of her neck to muffle staccato moans, moving swiftly with his breath, with her hand. He didn't know just how much he missed her til she let him between her thighs, til she wrapped her little fingers around him and kissed his neck and told him how gorgeous he was. She always complimented him like that when he least expected it. It made his heart pound. Her legs moved suddenly against his, adjusted, and he opened one eye to gaze down her body and watch her cup his hand moving steadily against her pussy; the heel of his palm rubbed sideways across her clit in short motions, inflaming all senses and nerves around it. With little difficulty she maneuvered her underwear off over his hand and then managed it off her leg with the opposite knee, leaving both legs bare and glowing beautifully in the misty orange shadows. Nails raked over his knuckles before she gave his wrist a little tug, and then her hand drifted back to find his cock, tip weeping for her attention and throbbing with heat. 

"Come here," she murmured to him, stroking him gently, with just the tips of her fingers. He opened both eyes slower this time, panting shallow breaths against the side of her neck. 

"Are you sure?" he whispered back even as he obliged partway, snuggling closer so their bodies aligned, his chest to her shoulders. Like this his head was just above hers, his legs reaching beyond her feet; he encompassed her comfortably, laying one arm on the rug above her head with his hand laid by her face. "It may hurt, elskavin. You are healing." 

"So are you," she hummed, one drifting hand hooking into the shift to slip it back up to her ribs, baring the valley of her waist and the expanse of her hip. "I'm sure." Without another word she wiggled her right hand under his palm lying close by, wrapping her fingers around his wrist to hold it. With a conceding groan he reached around to lift one of her legs, massaging the inside of her thigh, tracing his fingertips over her pussy before pressing his cock close, easing its length through her folds and dragging it back. She felt every ridge and vein and every inch of him, every so desired and so needed inch until the head of his cock kissed her clit before slipping back. Guiding his length with his free hand he nudged through her folds and pressed into her slowly, savoring the feel, holding onto the edge of a breath and watching her face. She was tight , warm, walls slick with arousal but pressing in on him, tense. Not too long ago - mere months, perhaps eight or nine, after knowing each other for four full years, after marrying each other first - they had first lain together, and it felt exactly like this. 

 

" Elskavin? " he breathed out. It was easiest to push slowly, gradually, easing himself back out and pushing another inch in, cradling her thigh in one hand - one large, gorgeous hand - and stroking her wrist with the other. 

"Feels good," she sighed, almost sounding relieved. Her breath hitched and drifted but took his easy rhythm, nudging his cock in a little further with each press, fingers kneading into her thigh. With a soft moan she arched her hips back towards him, allowing his length to the base so her flesh met his. 

"Good girl," he crooned breathlessly against her hair, groaning as her pussy squeezed around his backwards motion, pulling out to sink back in. "Gods, I forgot how perfect it feels to be inside you, prinsaessa. I forgot how you spoil me." His only reply was a delicate whine of his name, drawn out into something prettier and lovelier than what it was. 

It was so easy to savor the slow pace, the timed, persistent pressure of his cock filling her to the brim over and over in measured, caressing thrusts. So easy to melt into the sensation of having him again, as close as they'd ever be to a unified body. So easy to forget the world beyond the glass doors and focus only on the press of his hips, the way her pussy contracted and fluttered around him as his length came easier now. So easy to release herself into his moans against her ear, the heavy breaths making his chest expand to her shoulders, the cool metal and glass of his necklaces grazing the nape of her neck. Slowly she found her way pushing back into him, a rhythm to match his own as it grew steadily. With her free hand she cradled the lowest part of her belly where it met her pelvis and curled her legs at the pressure his cock created, at the tension below her skin from being full of him .

 

"Thank you- for waiting," she whined to him, sliding her hips back and forward, meeting his thrust, squeezing him in. 

"It was not waiting ," he groaned back, "it was anything but waiting." Her pussy was hot and slick already and the stickiness of his saliva formed back into wetness, coating him from base to tip in a dripping mixture of her own sweet arousal and his own greedy banqueting. They fell into an easy passion, an easy rhythm, basking in each other, in the crackle and glow and warmth of the fire. She was right - with just the two of them, everything righted itself. At home this could never happen, all they'd done - the rest, the lazing, the morning hours after breakfast spent on the sofa kissing and dozing. Swimming together in the edge of the Sea of Ghosts, lying on the beach topless, making love by the fireplace - just as they had the first time, he remembered with a breathless smile pressed into her neck - none of it would've happened had they rotted at home after the Hunt. 

 

"Gods, I love you," Miraak growled suddenly, latching his teeth around her neck and suckling the skin til she squealed and curled away from him, til it would leave the beginnings of a pretty purple trail. Because they weren't home - what did it matter? Who did the mighty Dragonborn have to appear presentable for? 

"I love you," she breathed back, curling her fingers into his hair, voice trembling at her frantic hips trying to match his thrusts, the slap of his skin against hers. 

"How much?" he teased, sliding her leg into the crook of his elbow to free his hand. Fingertips grazed innocently over her hip and lower belly, tracing where her hand cradled the in and out and in and out pressure of his cock filling her, before finally pressing into her clit. He rolled and rubbed it, gathering the excess arousal and the cum sticking to his length, slicking it over her to feel her squirm. "Enough to cum for me, little one?"

 

She found his lips, kissing him sloppily and panting his name in a pitched voice, leaning into and jerking away from each sensation. He rubbed the roughened edge of his palm back and forth, flicking and teasing and massaging her clit til her nails dug crescent moons into his wrist, til she met him without thought for each thrust. She was flushed from face to chest, pussy squeezing and clamping and swooning around his cock. Her leg jumped in his hold, first trying to close, then trying to open wide, her toes curling against his thigh. 

"There are few things I love more than the sight of my wife about to make a mess of my cock," he purred in a husky breath, grinning as she tried to nudge his face away with her shoulder. "You must need it so much, prinsaessa, after so long, hm? You must have so much for me." He lowered his thumb and pressed her clit between it and his forefinger, circled it in one direction and then the opposite, rubbed it fiercely on his fingertips. "Good girl, let go, prinsaessa. Let me," he found her ear, kissed it sweetly, before pouring his desperate words into her head: "Please?"  

 

As much as he loved her, he delighted in seeing her struggle like this, like she always seemed to in the seconds before an orgasm. He didn't know why she moved like she was both fighting and accepting, but he liked holding her bleary gaze, watching her face flush, sharing her panted breaths as she clamped and pulsed around his cock and squealed his name, soaked his length in her divinity, her cum, his reward. She craned up to kiss him heatedly, almost possessively, and he let her claim his mouth with a moan of relief, dragging his index finger around her wet clit. She mumbled words to him, nothing he could make out sound for sound, praise, sweetness that meant nothing. Her orgasm leaked out in the miniscule space between her skin and his, squeezing around the gentle press of his cock, painting her folds and smearing his inner thighs. 

"Gods, I needed that- you," she moaned softly against his chin, easing her hips back into his for a snug fit, tailoring her back to his chest. " Dii mul gein. Come here." He obeyed, lowering himself so their cheeks touched, letting her twist to find his mouth, kissing him slowly and reverently. As she did she reached back to place a hand on his warm stomach and carefully pulled his cock out so she could turn around to press her chest to his, their legs knotted and tangled. "Go," she murmured against his tongue, pressing his shoulders gently until he turned onto his back with a groan and took her with him. She settled over his torso, laying her body deliberately to align with his, knees tucked against his hips. He liked the weight - it was comfortable to be under her, to have the security of her body atop him. She coaxed his tongue free as his head fell back to the rug and he let go of a long, airy groan, pressing back into the warm fur gratefully. 

 

With a little hum Tharya threaded both hands into his dark hair, combing it back from his forehead and separating little tangles and half-formed curls, dragging her nails along his scalp with a pleasant scratch. His tongue was warm and slick and weighty on hers, willing for her lips around it, suckling and grazing the edge of her teeth gently across it, his lower lip, painting her saliva into every crevice afforded. His cock pressed hotly into the edge of her thigh, slippery with her cum and pulsing with need. 

"Sometimes I think I could cum just from you kissing me," he mumbled suddenly, grinning a little as she sat up and looked down at him. Despite it there was that honey glaze to his eyes that came whenever she occupied his lips, that distantly pleased look from being held and stroked and kissed senseless.

"Would you like to find out?" she teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I shall have to prepare myself for that degree of embarrassment," he murmured, grin widening. 

"Next time," she giggled, spreading one hand to caress his chest and descending to kiss him again. With her free hand she found the warmth of his cock nestled below her thigh, cupping her fingers around it to stroke and twist her hand gradually. "Relax," she cooed, lifting one hand to kiss his rings before lowering it again. He squeezed his palms around her thighs, kneading the flesh as he let his eyes close and head fall back. There was a cute little crease in his brow that twitched as she stroked him, a trembling sigh as his chest and shoulders spread back against the floor. He obeyed her so easily , without hesitation, without restraint. Something so simple yet he did it so thoroughly at her whim. 

With a little hum she lifted her hips, thighs squeezing around his waist as support, and dragged his cock slowly against her pussy, watching the whites of his eyes show briefly under the thin veil of his long, pretty lashes. His torso shifted and rolled below hers as she sat, taking his length with a soft moan, spreading her knees again to adjust.

"Gods- finally ," Miraak exhaled loudly, closing his eyes as she reached the base. "You have no idea how envious I was of your gods-damned horse, little one, of the very saddle you sat on the whole journey here."

"Knight gets restless if I don't ride him," she hummed, easing her hips in slow, gyrating circles over his.

"So do I, " he complained, rolling his head to the side. Tharya planted her hands on his sides to ease her weight forward as she lifted, squeezing her pussy around each vein and ridge of his length before pressing her way back down, letting him stretch and fill and push tenderly into her. With a smile she leaned down to kiss the exposed side of his neck and the base of his throat, following the feeling of his Thu'um dormant but brimming with barely concealed life into the center of his chest.

 

As she sat back up she found his hands and pressed her palms into his, lacing their fingers together and using the strength of his arms as a balance as she began to move. Delicately, at first, to watch the way his eyelids fluttered and his chest expanded for breath, but finding her pace easily. Cum and arousal stuck between them in warm pools, smearing the lower edge of his stomach and across her inner thighs. With each wet sound she reveled in the fullness of him, the heat of his cock throbbing and spreading her folds, moaning his name softly as he groaned and sighed below her. 

" Gods, " he breathed, opening his eyes enough to watch her sink back onto his cock again and again, becoming just as desperate for it as he was. He could feel the plush of her thighs and ass stick to his hips with each bounce, her skin sticky and warm. "Gods, you treat me so well, prinsaessa." Chewing her lower lip for a long moment Tharya looked down at him, held his gaze with a pink flush that made her look so so pretty in the light of the fireplace.

"I forgot how big you are," she whispered back, so low he almost didn't catch it. Her mouth parted, rosy lips begging for his. "Feels- so good, dii mul gein. " Saliva flooded under his tongue, ego flooding his veins as she stroked it so easily, so tenderly. She knew just what made him swell and spread under her little hands, knew exactly what would leave her sore for hours after. Knew exactly what touched that part of him the others liked to pretend he'd buried. No, she played with it, wrapped it around her finger, bent him so easily.

 

"Come here." He pulled at her hands, making her lean forward across his torso so he could kiss her sternum, nip and suck at her breasts and tease her nipples into his mouth just the way she liked, the way to make her squirm around his cock. He closed his mouth around one breast, leaving it decorated with marks of his teeth, hickeys blooming his favorite color - violet - and her sensitive whines spilling into his ears as reward. "You will never have to forget it again," he growled against her heart, dragging the flat of his tongue in quick, sloppy motions over her nipple. Tharya grabbed one of his shoulders to steady herself, careful of the bruises she remembered being there - they were healed now, as was most of his body, but still she remembered each mark as if she'd put it there herself. His hips met hers easily, reveling in the sensation of being unified once more, and she pushed back onto his thighs each time, squeezing around his cock and moaning his name softly into his hair. She felt whole and full again, connected to him in a way she never wanted to break. 

"Oh, gods," she sighed, nuzzling into his temple before sitting up, dragging her fingertips along his chin and then tracing his mouth, "I love you so much." It felt stupid to say but it was true. Miraak gave her another rare full smile as he snagged her fingers between his lips and eased them into his mouth with his tongue. She pushed and slid her hips atop his, edging his cock deep, stretching herself around the weight and girth of him pulsing needily inside of her. He groaned around her wedding rings, slipping his tongue between her fingers to part them, letting her explore the edges of his mouth delicately from the inside. With a huff she shifted her weight forward onto one arm and pulled up, squeezing around the head of his cock, letting the slick arousal of her pussy soak into his skin before going back down. And up. And down. His skin stuck to hers damply as he whined, lifting his knees to plant his heels against the rug. She watched the heavy rise and fall of his sternum, the roll of his eyes as she dragged her nails across his chest, squeezing each dense muscle wantonly. Up. Down. It was steady, quick. He slipped in and out with dangerous ease, his cock soaked and slippery, but she chased the fullness he gave, the heat, the eternal pleasure of having him inside. 

"Feels good?" she whispered breathlessly to him, fingers sliding over his nipple and the cool metal of the pendant on his overheated chest, and he did nothing but nod without words, almost without sound. All she could make out were the edges of her name spoken through a feeble moan, and his hands clamping around her hips as she sat heavily on his cock again and again and again. 

Miraak found enough of his mind to open his eyes slowly, just enough to see her riding him through the veil of his lashes, just enough to watch her sit back and treat herself royally on his cock as she always deserved to. He watched her own hands find her body, her thighs and hips, before resting on his holding her tight. The way her belly creased and tightened as she moved, the bounce to her breasts, the way she watched him while he slid and adjusted restlessly below her - hips trying to meet hers, toes curling around the soft rug pile - gods, she looked so beautiful like this. So beautiful while making him her own. 

" F- uck, " he groaned, allowing himself a rare curse in a language she could understand, back pushing off the floor as his throat jumped. His entire body wanted to be closer, pushing into her , getting near her, lax and pleased to let her control so much of him, even the breath in his chest, the blink of his eyes. Her pussy squeezed around the length of his cock, kissing the tip of it each time she drew up, sealing him to her each time she angled down. He just wanted to be closer . 

 

Wordlessly she reached for his hand on her hip and raised it slowly to drag his fingers along her stomach and sternum - he made a rumbling, defeated sound as she leaned her throat into his palm and closed his fingers around the sides of her neck.

"Oh, gods," he moaned, watching her hold his wrist and lock his hand into place to wear like a necklace. She whined softly as he gave her throat a delicate, loving squeeze, the sound vibrating into his palm. It made her pussy clench around his cock, pressing in on his length as she moved down, up, up and down and in and out. 

"I'm going to cum, deusa, I can't-" he exhaled stifled air, and released it to let his eyes squeeze shut again. Above him and looking divine she hummed and cooed something back, something sweet, something inviting him to fill her pussy wet and white with his seed. Not in so many words, of course. But in just as many meanings. When he did it washed over him like a familiar scent, a well-known place, something so strangely comforting in its release. He groped her hips aimlessly, eager to get as much of her in his grip as possible as he came, neck taut and head pressing back into the thick rug with a tearing, rumbling moan. She enveloped him somehow, on all sides and none, her cool hands on his chest like the only tethers out of their fantasy world. She was stroking his throat again, down to the center of his chest, and his dovah trembled gratefully under the tease of her touch. Her pussy was hot and sticky and full of him, squeezing into the nonexistent space around his cock, drooling lazily out against her inner thighs. He'd missed that feeling. 

 

" Mul gein? "

" Geh, " he breathed, nodding as she caressed his face, leaning down to find his lips and steal his air. She kissed him softly, letting him pant for air between her lips, rubbing the broad expanse of his chest as it worked for breath. “If this is rest , perhaps you should do it to me more often.” Tharya tossed her head back to laugh, giving his face a gentle push towards the rug.
“Every day?”
“Oh, I don’t think I could survive that,” he groaned, nipping at her fingertips as she stroked his jaw. With a huff he pushed himself up, finding her mouth for a lazy, neverending kiss full of tongue and shared moans. “Even so, yes, please. ”

 

She giggled into their kiss, draping her arms around his neck and sidling close to the heat of his chest, the solidity of his thighs below her and the wrapping embrace of his arms. Tharya hadn’t failed to notice how much lighter he seemed when it was just the two of them, utterly alone and with no one to answer to. And funnier. The others didn’t believe her when she told them he was funny. He exhaled gratefully as she rubbed the back of his neck, tongue slipping over his as their lips met. Even their kisses were different when they were alone - less restrained, less calculated. Borne from the simple need to be close, to touch, without regard for being proper or demure.
“ Mul gein ,” she murmured as he nuzzled into her neck, caressing her bare back with splayed hands. He tilted her back to nip and suck at the column of her throat, grunting softly in reply and licking the salt off her skin happily.
“ Elskavin ,” he rumbled back in acknowledgement. Their true titles.
“One more?”

Golden eyes peered at her ripe with amusement as he pulled back a bit, nudging his nose against hers with an inquisitive hum.
“I’m beginning to think this is a very elaborate ploy,” he murmured, grinning as she laughed.
“Not at all, mul gein ,” Tharya replied, batting her eyelashes at him theatrically. “Why would you ever think that?”
“You are more scheming than I thought,” he scoffed.
“You won’t believe me if I said I’m truly not?” she hummed as he pulled his legs in beneath him, tilting forward to deposit her carefully on the rug. He leaned down to press one kiss to her mouth before sitting up again.
“Perhaps a very small amount.”

Settling back onto his heels he gathered her ankles in one hand, stretching her legs up to watch the way it bulged her pussy, made the smears of cum and arousal coating her skin and the silken white dripping through her folds glisten in the firelight. 

"One more," he teased gently, nipping her ankle as he wound one arm around her legs to hold them to his chest. "A few more and you will milk me dry, elskavin." 

"You don't- have to," she snickered, breath catching as he dragged the round of his thumb over her soaked clit, circling it delicately. "I said you deserve rest too, mul gein. " 

"I will get plenty tonight," he hummed, lips spreading to allow a lazy grin as she whimpered his name gently into the space between them. Slipping his cock back into her was like fitting rays of the moon through the grate of a window - fluid, easy, divine. She took him in effortlessly, welcoming him back to bliss.

 

She watched as he let his head fall back and thought somehow he looked even more gorgeous like that, his thighs spread around her hips, holding her ankles in one hand and gripping her thigh in the other, the strong line of his neck exposed. It was hard to squirm with her legs captive but it made her all the warmer, dizzy with the pleasure of his cock filling her and leaving her, greedy for her heat. He moved slowly, savoring the feel, and she enjoyed it with him, focusing on the roll of his hips, the delicacy of it. She felt that was all she needed in the world.

“ Elskavin ,” he murmured against her ankle, eyebrows pulled together almost...pensively. She reached for his hand and laced her much smaller fingers with his, giving his arm a little tug. “I want to...try something.”
“Like what?” she asked, stroking his thumb.
“A position.” There was an unreadable edge to his gaze that made her shiver. That look didn’t come often - for that reason, it was almost exciting . “How are your muscles here?” He squeezed the backs of her thighs in both hands, massaging them lightly.
“Fine, now,” she replied. Her legs, especially her knees, had been quite sore and weak for a while. All of her joints had felt that way until a few days ago, like they were being resized, refit to her body. A position. Faint heat crept slowly into her neck. “They don’t hurt anymore, my love. I trust you.” 

 

Those words seemed to create hot focus within him, because in the next second he was manuveuring her legs easily, leaning on his fists to adjust where he sat and pulling her closer between his knees. He pulled her legs against his chest and let her knees hang over his shoulders, tilting her hips upwards. It felt a little awkward at first, but he placed one hand on the small of her back for support, holding it up in one strong palm. Still, she couldn’t help the brief idea that he wasn’t doing exactly what he imagined. There was something there, an air of caution. She would’ve been able to smell it before, but now it manifested in his movements, his posture. She didn’t press. Instead she smiled up at him as he leaned over her on his elbows, rubbing her nose against his and kissing the corner of his mouth. His thighs closed in a little tighter around hers as he flexed his hips, stroking his cock slowly in his free hand before tucking close to her.

"Tell me if it hurts, little one," he rasped against her ear, moaning weakly as his cock slipped against her soaked folds, gathering her arousal and orgasms to ease his entrance. "I may be too big for you like this." She gasped his name as he filled her, surprised for once that he was correct. It had only been eight or nine months since they started doing this, laying together, making love, from the night of their cold elopement in Solitude. In that time she liked to think she was getting used to his size, but this...this felt exactly as it had the first time. It felt new. Stretching, girthy, unknown territory. But, she admitted to herself as she let a breath go, shuddering down into her toes as she rediscovered the delights of an Atmoran husband, she loved it.
“N-no,” she breathed, acutely aware he was watching her face, watching her take him in again and storing each twitch and moan and each look away for safekeeping in that impenetrable mind. “Oh, gods - you’re perfect.”

 

Her body was bathed in a flushed glow under him, his weight so deliciously heavy and warm, the soft parts of his body melding to hers and the strong parts containing her. His hand strained to cushion her hips as his slapped down, angled up to swallow each thrust. It rattled on the cusp of too much, yet somehow leaned safely back into what she knew. What she knew was that he was there. His cock slid so easily into her, so filling, so thick, even the brief milliseconds without it made her whine for its loss. What she knew was that he looked so so gorgeous with his hair messy and his chest taut, bulging between his arms, and his big hands encasing her waist. What she knew was his praise as she stretched and moaned his name beneath him made her toes curl against his sides.

“There you go, prinsaessa, ” he groaned raggedly, accent thick and voice rumbling, “there you go. Lie back. Let me. Take me. ” 

" Ungh- your hips feel so good, mul gein, " she whimpered, nails scraping along the width of his back. He fucked with his hips in a filthy way, in a way that made him spread his knees and arch his back for mobility, in a way she wished she could watch. In a way that pushed every part of him against her as he did, his thighs below hers and his chest and stomach pressed warmly to hers, arms on either side. In a way that was so fluid, pushing his cock deep, in a way that made her wonder if he was really hers and hers alone for the rest of time. She wasn't a greedy woman, but for him, the thought of sharing made her sick with envy. His weight above her felt good, pressed between him and the rug. It felt good to be able to feel and sense his skin, his movements. 

"Your pretty pussy makes it easy for me, deusa, " he replied breathlessly against her forehead, "you fit my cock so well, so perfectly." 

“Cum in me," she whined, digging her nails into the elastic skin between his knuckles. 

"I- what?" Miraak gasped, cock stuttering inside of her. 

"Please?" He moaned deeply and unabashedly into her ear, scrambling to regain his rhythm with his heart beating hot and wild and nearly out of his chest. She spotted a ruddy flush creep through his neck and face and reveled in the rare, rare sight of him blushing, his eyes a little wide and his cheeks hot. 

“You are going to make me say things I- mmph- will regret,” he whined softly, trembling on the edge of control. She stared at him as he grabbed her legs and for once noticed he didn’t meet her eyes, only concentrated on rearranging her. He tilted away, grabbing at the couch for a pillow, and fluffed it to wedge below her hips. “Things that will make you return your rings.” He swallowed dryly as he pulled out of her, watching her pussy weep for him. He’d never denied her anything before. He wouldn’t start now.

“You can say them,” she cooed, stroking his forearms as he took her hips and slid his hands up the backside of her thighs, hooking them into her knees. He rubbed them, deliberately for a moment. She was surprised he was still blushing. What did he mean? He hesitated on the edge of action, holding her knees. That pillow felt awkward below her hips. Why had he put it there? “Miraak-?”

 

There was a short burst of action, a brief flash of movement. He pushed her knees back, back, back, so far her thighs pressed to her breasts. Folded her in half. The pillow made more sense now. Still flushed red under his summer-dark skin he shifted close to her, close as he could physically be, invaded her space until their skin stuck to one another’s from sweat. His thighs spread to accommodate her and the pillow, and as he stretched out over her he caught her wrists, guiding them slowly up over her head to press to the floor.

“Is that good?” he whispered as he kissed her, his body totally overshadowing hers, totally dominating the space above and around her. Filling every available inch of her awareness. She tested her wrists below his hands and nodded, humming against his mouth. His face radiated heat intensely. “Tell me...it may be too much.” 

“I asked,” she chuckled, and he smiled briefly, nipping at her lower lip. A bit of...not confidence, but smugness seemed to return to him, though he was still red.

“ Geh. You did.” He let go of one of her wrists to fist his cock, dragging the heavy length of it over her pussy - totally exposed, opened to him, with her legs out of the way and her folds already creamy with the mix of their orgasms. “You asked me to breed you, Tharya Stormhand, and so-” She gasped a little as the head of his cock, flushed dark and hot, nudged against her clit, back and forth, before he adjusted his knees, straightened his body out a bit. “As your dutiful husband, I will. ” 

 

She understood the position now, as his cock pressed back into her. It felt like nothing before. He entered her at the perfect angle, both above and tilted, pressing deeper than she thought she’d ever felt him before. Filling her in ways she didn’t think he’d ever failed to do before, but now this, here, he put it all to shame. His hips landed heavily against hers and she could feel the way his belly heaved for breath, the way his entire body seemed to be pressed as close as it could be to her. Darkness dazzled the edge of her vision. This was certainly not what she expected. 

He moved slowly at first, but purposefully, grunting with each thrust and putting his hips with a heavy finality against hers. His cock slid so easily into her, pushing its way deep, pulsing with need. You asked me to breed you. She turned over those words in her head til they were all she knew, shuddering as he grew faster. Heavier. Each thrust rocked her body against his, pinned by his hands and squeezed in by his thighs. He let her put her legs over his shoulders, absolutely growling in sounds that weren’t human. This position...gods, she didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what it meant to him. But by his ragged moans and his red face, it meant something.  

 

"Breed you, Tharya Stormhand?" he rumbled, hips smacking against hers harshly, steadily, matching the metallic singing thwack of his necklaces against his chest. "You want my seed in your-" his cock kissed her cervix, he could feel it, having her folded like this put him so much deeper as he stumbled across the next word, "- womb ?" Dots danced across his vision; her pussy squeezed virginally around him. Gods, there was no way she was liking it? "You ask me with no idea," he breathed, "how awfully I have wanted to breed your pussy and paint you with my cum and- fuck, elskavin , you are going to divorce me," he whined. Her hands found his trembling arms like a pier in a harbor storm, urging him down so she could capture his lips - he opened his eyes just barely to look at her, only to find her gaze already on him, hooded and strangely lustful. It sent a jolt of ice through his veins. 

She abandoned her reservations and cried his name freely as his cocked slammed down into her, kissing her cervix so briefly it made white spots dance across her vision. All she had the mind for was to hold onto his shoulders, feeling every inch of his powerful body drilling her down, feeling his cock like she was some blushing virgin. He fucked propriety out of her, words, knowledge, and with it he replaced his name. Her hand caught on something sharp and pinching on his arm and she opened her eyes enough to see golden, gleaming scales coating his spine and arms, disappearing up the back of his neck and shoulders. He looked gone. Utterly lost in pleasure, so concentrated on fucking her like this. Folded in half like this the slapping sound of his thighs on hers filled her ears, the wet squeeze every time he pumped into her, the jostle every time their bodies met pushing her into the rug. He was practically crouching over her, obsessed with each sloppy, erratic thrust that squeezed his throbbing cock into her. She’d never heard him make sounds like these before. 

"You have no idea how weak it makes me, goddess, no idea how I think of it, of filling you with my seed again and again until you can feel it , until- until it swells your stomach..." He could see the press of his cock bulging the edge of her belly. Gods, it was so awfully beautiful. His thighs cramped and knotted. He was so, so close. So close. Gods, she never should have made him say all these secrets aloud. So so close. She wailed his name, legs trembling and twitching around his shoulders as the stretch ached, as her body keened for another orgasm. His breath trembled and broke with each exhale, shattering like a wave against the cliff.

 

Her orgasm squirted and soaked around his cock, making her hips squirm and stutter against his as her back arched and twisted; her entire body seemed to clench down on him, nails raking along his hips for a desperate hold. She cried and panted his name in broken sounds, breasts pressing into his chest, stomach against his. Her cum made a delectable squelch and wet his inner thighs and lower belly as he fucked into her recklessly, sinking his teeth into the meat of her shoulder and moaning against her skin as she squirmed. Her hands hooked around his shoulders, drunk and senseless on the bliss and heat of being so close, so full, so fucked out it was impossible to remember anything else. His breath hitched and he whimpered her name against the shell of her ear as he came, bracing and nudging his hips tightly against hers so they tilted up and his cum flooded her pussy without a drop wasted. He wedged her entire torso between his shaking thighs, angling her waist, pushing her legs even farther back towards her shoulders. It stretched and opened her around him until the head of his cock grazed as deep as it could go, gluing his body to hers, cementing him at her womb. Toes curled against his deltoids, weak fingers found his hair. She held every part of him close, his seed, his shoulders, the hot, uneven breaths he released and pitched sounds against her ear. 

 

“Feel how big your husband’s cock is for you, goddess.” He thrusted into her shallowly, gently, pushing his cum further in. Making certain she took it. “Every inch of it belongs to you.” And he made sure she felt each inch as it dragged in and out, as he let her down slowly even though his breath was tense and shallow, back curled. “No man of your time was divinely crafted to make love to you, my precious wife,” he breathed raggedly, chest panting against hers. “ I was.” 

With a heavy breath he pulled his hand along his cock, gathering their cum between his fingers before laying his length over her belly, watching her squirm a little at the feeling of it. It continued to leak white onto her skin. He wrote in Atmoran cursive against her midriff with their cum as ink, relishing the way her body stilled and relaxed to focus on the formation of each letter, but she would never decipher it. And then, as carefully as he could, he collapsed on her, wrangling breath against her neck and letting her legs down to stretch out and relax. 

It took her a while to find the will to move again. She watched his scales recede gradually, vanishing as if they had never been there. He was quiet except for his panting, and occasional soft sounds as he relaxed and let go. It occurred to her he had probably retreated so far into parts of himself he figured she would never see, she didn’t think he could find words either. Or thoughts. His soul was wrapped so tightly around hers it made a small cramp in her chest, but she let it go. His weight felt good. Grounding. In the absence of being able to string any words together she merely kissed the round of his shoulder and rubbed his side, legs and pussy aching, wet, satisfied. Belly hot and full of his cum. Wiggling a bit she grabbed the pillow from under her back and nudged it away. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Miraak whispered after a long time, groaning as he shifted onto his elbows to look down at her. His face was still pink. “I should’ve been more gentle.” He kissed her once, sweet and soft and unassuming. That cramp in her chest eased the tiniest bit. 

“No, mul gein, you always treat me well,” she replied softly, smiling against his chin. “I asked.” His torso jumped with a chuckle, and he took the opportunity to wrap both arms around her and roll with a lengthy groan onto his side, and then his back. And then, with liquid for bones, he sat up, brought her with him, and slithered his way onto the couch. 

“I need something besides the rug,” he groaned as he propped his legs up on the sofa arm, resting his head on the opposite end. “It’s making my back sweaty.”

“Are you comfortable?” she hummed, shifting around on top of him to make sure she wasn’t pinning him awkwardly.

“I am,” he assured, laying one arm heavily across her back. “Stay, elskavin. ” He pulled her up a bit so they were close to eye-level, and she melted across his body to kiss him. It felt good - better than good, it felt ethereal. To be able to relax like this, to be naked with him, to kiss softly and slowly and tiredly together for long minutes. Slowly that red tinge drained from his face, though he still seemed quietly flustered, kissing her deliberately each time. Like he did when he apologized. 

 

After long minutes of quiet, kissing each other and nothing else, he squeezed her torso to his with a withering groan, letting his head tilt back. She took the opportunity to kiss the thick column of his throat sweetly, feeling it tighten as he swallowed.

“I hope what I said-” he began, his voice small and a bit higher than usual, breathless, “-didn’t scare you.” She’d never seen him so...so open before. He’d never looked so vulnerable to her eyes, with his brows pressed together and lips pressed uncertainly. “I try not to...I never...” After a moment of searching he gave up, and slunk back to the comfort of her lips for security, squeezing her again with a feeble moan.

“I love you,” she hummed back, freeing one hand to caress his cheek, feeling his skin heat up again. Gods, he really was outside of himself, blushing over her touch and speaking so informally. “I don’t think you’ll ever scare me away.” Just to emphasize her point she waggled her rings at him, and he chuckled breathlessly, craning forward to kiss each. Stroking her nails through his beard she sat up, shuffling her legs a little closer to balance as she straddled him, and let him readjust with a heavy groan before his hands fell to her thighs. They ached a little, warm from stretching and pleasure, as did her back, but she didn’t complain. She put her hands on his chest and began to rub it slowly. He was intent on keeping her gaze at first, but eventually he gave in, wilting under her touch, the heat in his skin beginning to fade. He didn’t make a peep about pampering her, and for that she was glad. Not because she didn’t like it, only because he deserved some in return. 

 

Gingerly she squeezed his sides, his stomach, enjoying the way his soft midriff filled her palms. He twitched a little as she stroked his stomach, lifting one hand to lay over hers with a distant hum.

“I won’t tickle you now ,” she hummed, rubbing his hips, “but don’t think you’re safe later.” 

“Mmh. I’ll sleep with one eye open,” he replied with a tired grin, opening one eye to look up at her. Not a single person on Nirn would ever believe her if she told them the First Dragonborn was ticklish, but at least she knew the truth. She adjusted her legs to turn around so her back faced him, hips over his as she ran both hands down one leg. He groaned weakly as she massaged his thigh, kneading the relaxed muscle in both hands, his hands latching around her waist. There was a muscle twitching in his right thigh somewhere, sensitive from overuse. She knew his thighs were sensitive anyway, always more receptive to touch than most of him. Quietly she worked down his other leg, and then traced her fingertips lightly up the inside of each limb, all the way up, to where their bodies met, and then guided his hands up to continue the line across her own thighs, up her sides. Even without souls to absorb, they were one. They always had been. They always would be. 

 

“Will you bathe with me?” he asked, his voice low and normal again, rough and rocky. Sleepy. She held his knees as he sat up and slipped both arms snugly around her, bowing his head to kiss her back, her shoulders. Truthfully she still felt dazed from it all. “My beautiful, beautiful wife.” Hands slipped upwards, caressing her belly, her breasts, before joining each other lightly around her throat, tilting her head back. “ Mea deusa. ” 

 

“I’d like a bath,” she murmured, kissing his fingertips. “Only if you let me rub your back.”

“Only if you let me rub yours,” he purred back. “My hour of pampering is not yet finished, is it?” 

“And mine has yet to begin.”

Notes:

miraak's all worried about his breeding kink he thinks he keeps so secret but i know tharya, resident asexual with a lil bit of slut in her (much like me) for her colossal soft service dom 6'8", 265lb YUMMY husband, enjoyed every moment of being folded in half for that

(some additional author ramblings as of 10/14: skimming this again, i really cant help but think that post-this smut miraak is like a whole new kind of horny for tharya. tharya thinks it's incredible how insanely he's eating from the palm of her hand and miraak CANNOT for the life of him stop thinking about folding her jn half again. probs the best moment of his entire 5000 yr life. like the family thought he was in love w her before?? he can no longer go 3 seconds without touching her somehow, and maybe 10 without a kiss. the only seat she's allowed to sit on is his lap ((or his face)) and tharya eats it up like the queen she is and lets him get hard just thinking about that ONE NIGHT in solitude-)

Chapter 31: shower daddy (skyrim)

Notes:

BEFORE Y'ALL COME AT ME the title is a pun on this thing's title in gdocs which is: "fem urge to have modern au miraak be sugar daddy coded"

this smut is literally OVER A YEAR OLD (i wrote it when i visited my sister last yr, and stayed in an airbnb, and the shower in the airbnb was like really roomy & had a mf BENCH in it?? and immediately thought "man tharyaak would smash in here" - i wrote this on the plane ride back) i only realized recently i never posted it. SO. ENJOY!!!!

"Are you almost done in there, Mr. Althëasson?" 

Grabbing one of the hand towels by the sink Tharya wiped off the large, backlit mirror in the center again, squinting at her watery reflection. 

"You've fogged up the mirror three times already," she added, reaching out with her foot to kick the shower curtain. The shower itself was only a four-inch step up from the floor, as spacious as a coat closet and with marbled stone walls of a pretty brownish color. The tall entryway was decorated with a soft cream shower curtain that had small diamond designs on it. There was even a bench built out of the wall inside the shower, though for what she couldn't guess. 

"If Mrs. Althëasson would stop interrupting my peaceful shower I would be done," Miraak snarked back, his voice a little echoey from the stone. She laughed as she slid one of her earrings on. They were small but glittery, and would be perfect for tonight's dinner. 

The hotel desk clerk couldn't know how much fun they would have with their accidental titles; the room was under Miraak's name, and though Atmorans didn't usually take their spouse's names upon marriage she must've clocked Tharya for a Nord by her accent and assumed she did. Thus she became Mrs. Althëasson, under the general knowledge that people in Tamriel, the continent below, did take their spouse's names. Even if Nords also usually didn't. 

"I'm not interrupting, I'm keeping you on time," she snickered.

"You are not even dressed," Miraak replied, poking his head out from behind the curtain and reaching out to swat her ass with one soapy hand. "Are you going to go to dinner in just this?" He hooked two fingers into the band of her underwear and gave it a tug, making her drop her earring onto the sink counter and grab his wrist.

"Don't yank it! This was expensive," she groaned, prying his fingers away.

"I know, I bought it." Grabbing hold of her arm he bent to kiss her hand, but his grip was suspiciously tight as she tried to let go.

"Miraak-" she began, and then dug her heels in as he tried to pull her towards the shower. "Miraak! Don't you dare!" But she was laughing too hard to beat out his arm strength and submitted to being dragged in. 

Warm water cascaded in a strong jet across her hair, wetting her scalp and soaking down her back and into her underwear.

"It's too tall for me," she said, squinting through the spray as Miraak laughed into the steam. He was gleaming and shimmery wet, his hair slicked back, droplets of water racing down his broad shoulders and thick neck. She thought no one else in the world ever looked so good wet.

"A little bit of retribution," he said, and then reached up to slide the small lever around the showerhead a few times before water came through the lower, removable one too, attached by a long, metallic cord. That suited her perfectly. "Are you going to take that off?" 

"I guess I should," she sighed theatrically, digging her fingers into the wet band and wriggling out of the soaking fabric. "I still can't believe you did this to me."

"I will make up for it," he cooed back as she wrung the underwear out and then opened the curtain enough to toss it onto the sink. "We're in Morne, there are a thousand places to buy something prettier and more expensive." He wrapped one arm snugly around her waist and pulled her close, smiling and kissing her palm as she reached up to push his wet hair back against his scalp. 

Snapping the magnetic showerhead off its place she let him soak her hair with it, rubbing his fingers into her scalp and letting the hot water drain down her back and legs. He'd been singing praises of Atmoran hair care since they'd booked the flight tickets months ago, and insisted she didn't need to bring any of her own - she would be converted even by the little hotel samples. Something she didn't doubt entirely, but remained skeptical on. With one hand he turned her in place, handing over the showerhead so she could soap up and squeezing a generous amount of shampoo into his palm. She didn't mind being pampered, at the very least. His hands were perfect for it. 

Once he had the water back and began washing her hair out she squeezed her eyes shut and reached back to find his thigh, holding onto it for balance. The heaviness of the lather slowly washed away and pooled suds at her feet, as did the soap on her shoulders and arms, her chest and sides and belly. 

"Miraak," she murmured as the stream of water traveled down her body in slow, precise waves.

"I am innocent," he purred against her ear in a voice so thick with a grin she didn't need to see it to believe it. He pushed her back gently into his chest and watched over her shoulder as he - very innocently - washed away the soap and shampoo covering her hips and legs. And then, very innocently: "Lift your leg." Wrapping one of her hands around the dense muscle of his arm she obliged warily, letting him hook one hand below her knee to hold it up, very innocently washing her thigh and knee, her calf and foot before traveling back up. 

"If you're innocent, give it," she whispered, opening her hand for the handle. His beard scrubbed against the shell of her ear as he grinned again.

"I'm innocently interested." 

Pulling her closer and adjusting her leg so it sat over the crook of his elbow, his wet fingers slipped delicately down the silvery stretch marks of her inner thigh to her pussy and pressed. 

"What about the others?" she whispered, squirming against his chest as his fingertips slid and massaged through her folds.

"They can't sit without me there to check in," he murmured back. "We shouldn't keep them waiting, should we?" He tilted the showerhead in his opposite hand and brought it closer, aiming the water stream between his spread fingers. She inhaled sharply, nails digging into his bicep as she said his name again in a withering moan. The water stream drew closer, stronger, targeted against her clit without hesitation. He had been just waiting for her to shower with him, she would've bet any amount of money. 

"Unh- Miraak-" It was useless to squirm, balanced on her toes to stay upright and her only handhold on his arm. 

"I can't give you a necklace, can I?" he groaned, teeth sinking into the side of her neck. "Not with that top you're wearing for me, hm, princess?" The edge of his thumb slid agonizingly over her clit and back again, making her hips jolt. His skin moved so easily against her, soaked and hot and slippery under the constant rainfall of the taller showerhead. She squeezed and tried and failed to dance her hips away from the continuous pressure on her clit, swallowing steam that coated the inside of her throat with dizzying heat.

"Miraak, Miraak- too much," she whimpered, teeth clamping around her bottom lip. "O-oh, my gods...you're evil."

"I wondered how true the word of mouth was," he hummed lowly into her ear. "But you can barely stand, beloved." 

She shuddered deeply against his chest, moaning fitfully and squeezing his wrist; her entire body felt tense and loose, like on the edge of being tickled, the cusp of submitting and fighting. His fingers treated her clit gently, but the water was unwavering assault. Her toes curled against the wet tile floor, leg shaking with the force it took to keep her body upright. 

"Hold onto me," he hummed, bending a little to let her reach back for his neck and shoulders; she began to breathe a sigh of relief but it was cut short by a firm press, a finger filling her pussy. Before she could say his name he added another, still glancing his thumb over her clit, still holding the showerhead like the weapon it was. His lips sealed over her neck, soft and smooth and wet with his tongue, and she understood why he told her to grab him. Her legs felt weak with overstimulation, but her pussy throbbed and squeezed around his fingers greedily, eager for something. His fingers slipped easily inside of her lubricated by the water, knuckles rubbing against the plush inside of her raised, dripping thigh. 

" Mmph - please please Miraak, gods, fuck -!"

"There you go," he crooned against her rapid babbling, thrusting his fingers in and out at a generous pace, down to the knuckle each time and almost out to the tip. "Ride my hand, princess. Doesn't it feel good?" She panted helplessly and nodded against his chest, feeling the stream of water move in agonizing stripes up and down, up and down, moving closer to drown his fingers and run through her folds, lighting her nerves on fire as he pressed her clit against his thumb and aimed the showerhead closer. Hot water soaked her thighs, her lower belly, moving in weeping little circles. His fingers spread and stretched inside her pussy, curled and uncurled forward, sending shocks of raw pleasure through her hips, through her core. She wanted to scream. 

There was a sudden clatter as the showerhead fell and abruptly she was suspended in Miraak's arms, legs curling close to her body before letting go.

"Good gods," he laughed against her hair, shuffling back a little before turning; her legs felt stone, hot and slick but solid. Licking a stripe up his palm he massaged his fingers in delicate circles between her folds, leaning in to kiss her with a pleased grin. "You're too young to be falling in the shower, beloved." 

"Your fault," she whined, letting him ease her legs open with little kisses and gentle nudges, chuckling into her wet skin.

"I caught you, didn't I?" he hummed, raising his eyes as he nipped at her thigh and sucked the patch of skin into his mouth. He surged up for a moment, leaning between her legs and over her torso to kiss her - the length of his cock pressed firmly into her thigh, hot and hard.

"Thank goodness for all those muscles," she teased, having finally caught her breath and rolled her eyes up at him. His lips were damp and hot against hers, kissing him hungry and messy. Miraak's breath faltered as her fingers wrapped one by one around his cock, tugging him closer with one long, squeezing stroke. His forehead fell against hers with a strained gasp, but as she jerked him slowly he laughed.

"What about dinner?" he grinned, fingers teasing around her pussy once more, rubbing up and down through her folds before slipping in. "You keep squeezing me, princess." His thumb landed firmly against her clit, still tingling and sensitive from the onslaught of the showerhead just moments ago. 

Swallowing a moan she stroked his length swiftly, determined to get even an inch of payback for earlier. And to avoid questioning from her family when they inevitably arrived late to the reservation he had made. His breath turned ragged against her mouth, devouring her whines as she arched and bucked into his fast-moving fingers. They kissed desperately, tongues slipping in and out and dancing with one another effortlessly, before Miraak sat up. His wet hair was tossed back from her fingers ruining it, chest heaving as he grabbed her hand and freed it to kiss each of her fingers. 

"What-?"

"Scoot down," he instructed, guiding her hips forward closer to the edge of the wet bench. She murmured his name as his fingers curled and then disappeared, palm landing in a gentle smack against her woefully empty pussy. "Spread your legs for me, beloved. That's a good girl. Keep them like that," he muttered, leaning down to drag his tongue flat against her pussy, teasing and pressing it between her folds with a rocky moan. "Let me, princess. Relax." He laid one big hand against her belly, pressing it gently to flatten her back to the stone as he suckled on her clit, tongue lathing sloppily through her labia and the scratch of his beard against her thighs making her chest arch upwards. 

"Gods," he groaned, wrapping one hand around his cock as he spread his knees a little farther, "your pussy is so pretty, princess. You have no idea-" he leaned down to kiss and suck her clit recklessly, shuddering as her thighs draped over his shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper. "How hard it makes me." With his free hand he hoisted her leg closer and buried his face between her thighs, devouring her pussy without the need for air. He sucked her clit into his mouth and groaned into her as she dug her hands into his wet hair, gripping his scalp carefully and squeezing her thighs against his jaw as his tongue pressed into her, fucked her open, made her cry his name into the billowing steam. She felt his shoulder tighten as he stroked his cock, jerking himself with the same kind of ferocious abandon that was scratching his beard against the plush insides of her thighs. His tongue slipped and slurped through her folds, the ridge of his nose nudging against her sensitive clit insistently. Still holding onto his hair she bucked her hips up into his mouth, rubbing her pussy against his tongue and whimpering his name as he pushed her thighs closer around his ears. 

"Fuck, good girl," he moaned against her core, "fuck my face like that, princess - you look so pretty when you do. Ride my tongue." In lieu of a reply she did as asked, holding his head close and sliding her hips against his face, feeling his tongue, listening to him swallow and gasp for her, not for air. His shoulder moved in tense motions as he stroked his cock, opposite hand holding her thigh so tightly she thought he was trying to choke himself between them. Maybe he was. Gripping the back of his head and digging her heels into his back she squeezed around his tongue helplessly, barely in control of her own body as it arched away from the stone and the bench and into him, muscles tight and trembling. With her toes curling into his skin and his name on her lips she came hard, holding his head still while he drank her in greedily, slurping and swallowing loudly every drop of her cum with labored breath. She squirmed as he kept going, moaning short and shallow into her pussy while his hand pumped, repeating her name in a muffled gasp. Suddenly his teeth sunk into her thigh and he exhaled enough air to make a shiver jump up her spine. Then, slowly, through lidded, unfocused eyes he raised his palm slathered in his own cum and used his fingers to smear it across her folds generously, rubbing it against her clit and watched as it soaked into her skin. 

Letting his head fall heavily against her thigh and closing his eyes, Tharya loosened her grip on his hair and tried to smooth it back, undoing the tangles and massaging his scalp in apology. He moaned at the relief, his breath harsh against her skin and chest heaving. He looked like a mess, flushed deeply from the neck up and jaw slack. 

"Are you...okay?" she asked softly, tapping the hand laying on her belly to get his attention. His eyes opened after a moment, but he looked at her with a lazy grin. 

"That made me lightheaded," he replied breathlessly. "I love it." 

With a scoff she adjusted her legs a little and let him remain slouched there for a few long moments, rubbing his head and letting the shower water stream onto his back and her feet. The steam definitely did sap the room of oxygen - even she felt a little dazed. Finally, after she worried he would pass out, Miraak sat up and grabbed her ankles. 

"You- had enough," she argued, reaching to push him away as he spread her legs and leaned down to drag his tongue through her folds one last time, swirling it around her clit with an appreciative moan before he leaned away, kissing the bite mark inside her thigh.

"I've never had enough of your pussy, beloved," he hummed, "I'd have you for every meal, every day of my life if I could." Planting his hands on the bench he leaned up to capture her lips in a wet, obscene kiss, sucking her tongue and spreading the traces of her orgasm left against her mouth. 

He scooped her up as they kissed, shuffling back into the water and turning to let it cascade down her back and wet her hair again. She sighed against his mouth at the sensation, legs loosening and chest expelling a slow breath. 

"Maybe you'll let me have dessert," he murmured against her chin. "After we're late to dinner, of course." 

 

---

 

"Good gods, what is taking so long?" Lofrek groaned, sliding his phone back into his pocket and turning away from the road. "It's been ten minutes!"

"Maybe it's just traffic," Jorstus replied calmly, shaking his head. "We don't know how Atmoran highways work. It's only been ten minutes."

"It would be better if we could sit down while we wait," Freana agreed after a long moment. "What did the host say? Why does she need Miraak to be the one to check in?" 

"Because this place is a five star restaurant," Lilika scoffed. "I mean, the menu doesn't even have prices."

"Four," Jorstus corrected. 

"I thought it said five." 

They waited for a few minutes more, watching cars go by and watching people mill about in the pedestrian mall just behind them. It was a nice little place, filled with shops and eateries and plenty of open space and gardens. Their restaurant sat just beside the entrance to the mall, large, sleek, and dark. 

"It sure does take the sun a long time to set up here," Lilika murmured, squinting into the golden sky. "It's pretty, though." 

"I see them," Freana spoke up suddenly, gesturing across the street. "They're waiting on the other side." 

Sure enough, once traffic stopped and the crossing light lit up, they came together hand-in-hand. Tharya waved at them, glowing in the brilliant sunset and leaning into Miraak's arm.

"So sorry we're late," she said once they reached the pedestrian mall, heeled boots clicking over the stone pavement. "We lost the car keys somewhere and couldn't find them anywhere . It was horrible," she laughed, opening her arm to embrace each of her parents. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Not too long," Anari replied with a smile, taking in her hug. "And the weather's too beautiful to complain."

"It will get colder and windier once the sun goes down," Miraak noted, "but until then we should have perfect sunlight." 

As a group they followed him back into the restaurant, where he spoke a few words in Atmoran to the host and slipped her his card where Fjurkin couldn't see it; together they wound through the restaurant to a long table set up towards the back where it was quiet, the light was gold, and the windows were big. They arranged themselves around the table and sat, talked over the menu and ordered drinks, and fell into easy conversation with one another while they waited. 

With a hum Miraak draped his arm over the back of Tharya's chair, stroking her bare shoulder gently as she chatted with her brother. Drinks came, and as she leaned back in her seat to let the waiter hand Lofrek's down Miraak tapped the side of her neck. Instinctively she leaned towards him, settling one hand gently on his thigh. 

"I've promised your father drinks," he whispered, lips grazing the shell of her ear. "After that, I'll take you home and make you my wife." Tugging her fingers he pulled her hand closer to cup the crotch of his expensive pants and feel the melting heat of his body. "I want to see your little face when you cum around my cock on Atmoran sheets." He punctuated the promise with an innocent kiss against her shoulder before sitting back, massaging the nape of her neck while seamlessly picking up conversation with her dad again. 

Taking an embarrassed sip of her drink she glanced across the table to find her mom smiling at her, nodding a little to Miraak. Obviously she hadn’t heard a word he said, or else she wouldn’t be smiling so kindly at them.

"He's so sweet to you," Anari said softly, reaching across the table to extend her hand. Taking it, Tharya nodded slowly, feeling his fingertips drum against the side of her throat. 

"He always is." 

Chapter 32: her priest (skyrim)

Notes:

NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN (jk i will come back tmrw and proofread. fir now this random idea possessed me so thoroughly i needed to do it) for context this is the atmora au, where tharyaak are in the merethic era as atmorans together; hence why miraak has a mental breakdown about wanting to be monagamous and faithful to tharya bc he doesn't know How To Love, but feels his lives as dragon priest & moth priest could never let him do it.

This early in the morning, he usually wasn't awake. She was, always rising with the sun, as befitting a sylvan, but not he. He usually wasn't awake, except he had not slept all night, merely watching the shafts of lilac moonlight crawl across the walls and ceiling. Now something more beautiful occupied the faint nighttime glow above him, her body supple and warm and her hands touching him so delicately - like she was still trying not to wake him. Even with his hips rolling to meet hers, to press in, to join their skin.

She looked surreal in this dim light, her silky nightdress thin and draping so divinely against the steady, soft movements of her body as she eased up and down along his cock. The thin straps over her shoulders had long since slid, the fabric cradling her full breasts, gathering in ivory pools by her hips. It felt impossible not to drown himself in the apparition of her, her long sunlight hair in his braid, his hands on her thighs, pressing and pulling her along with each lazy thrust.

She moaned his name so lovingly, lingering on the lyric of it, soaking him in the ready wetness of her and the pretty, delicate sounds she made. His own were far from his ears, but he made no effort to stifle himself. He couldn't - she demanded all of him.

With a grunt he forced himself to sit up and tuck her hips deeply against his, pressing his weight on one hand and meeting her more deeply, easing and nudging his cock down to the base for her each time. Her breasts flattened to his chest, her breath caught against his. Her pussy squeezed him like an embrace he'd been lacking his whole life.
"If I was not a Moth Priest," he groaned softly, his lips finding her tanned neck, her elegant throat. Her hands draped along his shoulders and she secured him close, making beautiful, quickening sounds as he caressed her breast and slid back into her. "If I did not serve the wingèd demons," he muttered, kissing and sucking at her skin but not to leave marks - simply to taste her, to nuzzle and warm her flesh.

He bowed his head in reverence to let his mouth find the full swell of her breast, kissing and pressing his tongue through the slim nightdress. She gave his hair a gentle tug, but he did not obey. She would ask him to speak again, and he could not blaspheme like that to her. He could feel her heartbeat under his lips, as slow and calm as if she were still asleep, and the measured rise and fall of her chest with each breath, each melting moan, each pitched sigh of his name as he filled her. It was all he knew how to do, to pleasure her, to treat her, to soak in her presence. Giving her his lovemaking was the least part of what he was able.

"If what?" she prodded again, her voice breathless. Tempting. He pressed her down onto his cock slowly, and reveled with selfish coveting in her moan. He had no interest in the end, an orgasm, a finish. He wanted only her. Surrounding him. The freedom of unifying himself to her. "If what, abjor?" Her hands were on his chest, pressing him back down to his pillows. He went without a fight, prepared to slip through her fingers - she kept sinking to the base of his length, lifting her hips as if it was the most natural thing in the world, squeezing him, settling down again. Easing onto him with a little wet sound each time, her weight lifting and rediscovering his thighs.

"If not," he moaned, protected by darkness, "I would make myself your husband." Such a fanciful word. He scorned it before. He was a Dragon Priest before anything, before he was a man - Dragon Priests often did not marry. They took lovers like prize cattle. Then he was a Moth Priest, and his body did not belong to him, but to his faith, and his faithful. They required his openness. Only then was he a man, much lower than the other two, a station cowering at their grandeur. Gripping her hips he found the strength to push her over, let her back fall to the mattress, and eased her legs apart to permit him. "You would be the idol of my worship each day," he whispered, pacing himself against her, filling himself as he filled her. "The goddess of my bed each night. I would treat you like no man or woman could ever be treated again." Her pussy squeezed him so, so deliciously, so meltingly, dragging him further. All he felt was the soft swell of her stomach as it met his, the nuzzle of her thighs around his moving hips.

She helped him bunch up her nightdress, holding it at her collarbone before letting him drop it over the side of the bed. She cradled and pressed her breasts together as he revered in the revelation of her body, rubbing his hands where they could go, where they dared.
"What keeps you, abjor?" she whispered, squeezing his arms. She rolled and tucked her hips to meet his, pressing him in deep, unwilling to let go. "Come to me, then."
"You know I cannot," he groaned, hiding in the cup of her neck, exhaling with every thrust and squeeze. "Mortal men do not belong with goddesses except to kiss their feet."
"Come to me," she repeated anyway, catching his lips, indulging in his traitorous mouth. She sucked and kissed his tongue, let him take hers, kissed him with such softness he almost did come to her. He could've.

"You know I cannot, sunflower," he begged against her lips, groaning as she sucked his cock in again, as she loved herself on his length. She was so beautiful this way when he made love to her, so ethereal when it was just them, so godlike. He could believe her his wife in these moments, his life different, weighty rings on his hands. He kissed her collar and sternum, breasts and nipples, her shoulders, the dip of her throat, massaged her skin with his tongue, pumped his cock into her like she desired until she moaned and whispered his name breathlessly. Until in his mind he was nothing but her mate. Mortal men do not belong with goddesses. Her faithful, then. Her Priest. Her Priest.

He came to her first as she asked, shuddering as his lips wrung out her name, spouting another blasphemy.
"If not this world, sunflower, then another," he panted, dutifully filling her again, his seed squeezing out and sticking her thighs. "I am sure." In a different place he could be what he so secretly desired, what he could not desire openly. What he was not allowed to desire. She came to him so beautifully, her thighs snug around his waist, her breasts to his chest and her lips against his, panting, whining for him. In that moment of bliss he let himself imagine. The idol of my worship by day, the goddess of my bed at night. Wife. He wanted to make love to her for the rest of his life. He had no thought for Alduin, for even the Moth, the people who relied on his strength and ruthlessness. He wanted to be this - her Priest, her Priest, her Priest - and nothing else.

Moaning contentedly, she lifted her legs and planted her toes on his chest, letting him watch as he eased his cock from her and fingered his seed back in. He couldn't resist the call to thrust and curl his fingers tenderly, to spread them, to stroke her pussy, to fill her again. She drank him in to the knuckle. But as he treated her and stroked her sweetly her legs caught his attention, waiting for his eye, for his understanding. He latched her gaze over her knees and then, curling his fingers generously to watch her chest expand, to hear his name, he bowed his head and kissed each ankle. He was, after all, only a mortal man.

Almost as soon as he gave up that title to her her beautiful legs spread wide for him, inviting him back in. He kissed her, swallowed her delicate sounds as he nuzzled her clit under the flat of his thumb, rubbing the bud soothingly. And then, her fingers wound into his hair, and she broke the kiss to press him down, down, down her body, to her navel, to her belly, to her hips. To join his fingers.

"Come to me, abjor, and be my husband a little while longer."

Chapter 33: thief (skyrim)

Notes:

please enjoy super random like modern....coworkers....au??? idk SMUT that i wrote while eating lunch!!! no one is in character but that's what makes it good😎 this chapter made me add tags for clothed sex and frottage (which is something i enjoy writing for tharyaak way too fucking much but never do?)

She almost screamed when she stood up and patted her face dry and saw him standing there. He jolted back, as surprised by her yelp as she was, and watched as her tension fled and sje turned to look at him.

"I'm sorry. I thought you heard me," he said kindly. She knew him - he was on the design team, and responsible for some of their moneymaker projects this year with the biggest corporate clients they'd ever worked for. His name was Miraak.
"No, it's okay," she replied with a laugh, the tipsy buzz in her blood wrestling her heartbeat back down before it could explode. She didn't want to be any more drunk than she was, so coming to the bathroom to wash off some sweat and heat from dancing felt like a good option. Company retreats had never been this fancy or all-inclusive before, but this one was out of the ballpark, so everyone was milking it. "It was just scary to look up and see someone standing there. Like Scream or something," she laughed, and he chuckled, a warm, happy sound from his chest. "Sorry, I'm just-"
"No need. Take your time."

He eased back a bit to give her space, but she could still see him in the mirror as she leaned back over the sink. Her face was flushed with alcohol but she focused on trying to repaint her lips, rubbing Lilika's borrowed lipstick cautiously along her lower lip and trying to angle it into the corners. The silence was a bit awkward, but she didn't think talking would help either. Like your dentist chatting with you while they had their fist in your mouth.

Regardless she glanced at him in the mirror, if for no other reason than his reflection was right over her shoulder and it was hard not to look at him. He was a bit flushed and sweaty, no doubt from the same open bar and dancefloor. The venue was a big farm that was often rented for weddings, so everything was outside and inside, and these bathrooms were like little shacks on the outskirts of the outdoor wedding pavilion. She thought better of using the ones inside, which were probably jam packed. Each little shack had two stalls, and she had no idea how she missed him coming in, unless he was in here to begin with.

Tharya went to smile at him but he didn't return it; his eyes, golden she thought, were fixed downwards, sliding meltingly over the view of her ass and legs bent before him. She felt embarrassment bubble in her chest again and quickly tried to finish with the damn lipstick.
"Are you checking me out?" She never would've said that normally, and was somewhat horrified to realize she did now. Miraak stirred a little bit, obviously drunk, and then had the decency to look truly ashamed of himself.
"I'm sorry," he said again, his hands twitching in his pockets. "I just zoned out in the wrong spot."

He moved away again, this time meandering in the small bathroom with his back to her. She was sure she should've felt upset at him but he did truly seem to be ashamed of himself for it, so she patted her hair with one damp hand and threw the lipstick back into the front of her bra.
"All set," she told him, and he turned slowly with an apologetic smile. She should've turned and walked out then. Instead she made a show of looking over him once, and gave a resolute nod. "Now we're even." Was that technically workplace harassment? Probably. But he grinned at her, surprised and amused, and came closer.

"What were you looking at?" The question caught her off guard but he asked it so casually, standing in front of her and his head cocked ever so lightly. She didn't realize she was still standing in front of the sink, where he would need to wash his hands.
"Um- you first," she laughed, blanking on any kind of response. No one had successfully checked her out in a bathroom and gotten off so freely; and she'd certainly never checked someone out only for them to ask what part of them she was looking at.
"Your legs. Your thighs. Your hips." He held her gaze as he said it. His accent was thick and heavy and made her insides squirm. "They're gorgeous." Alcohol-driven heat flared in her face and chest. He eased a half step closer and nodded to her. "You."

Her hands twitched against the porcelain and she swallowed to wet her suddenly desert dry throat, and she held his eyes.
"Your chest," she whispered, and a dazed little smile touched his plump lips.
"And?"
"That's it," she laughed. He grinned back and crossed his arms over his chest; it made his pecs strain and bulge nicely under his satin shirt, his huge shoulders and biceps too, but her attention was drawn by the way he waggled his fingers.
"And?" he prodded again, knowingly. She felt dizzy with embarrassed heat.
"Your hands," she admitted quietly, unable now to meet his eyes.

He laughed, but it was kind and not making fun of her, at least she thought. He unraveled his arms and looked down at her - gods, she didn't really remember he was Atmoran til now, over a foot taller than her and probably twice her weight, definitely twice as wide. If not more.
"It's very tame," he said soothingly, and she didn't quite understand. "There are odder things to like. I like necks." She shivered a little with a laugh of understanding.
"Who doesn't?"
"Some people. Bellies," he added, still casual as if they were discussing next year's big projects. "That little swell in the lower part that always sits in a skirt or dress. Drives me fucking crazy." His voice trembled a little as he said it, and he chuckled breathlessly. Without thinking she looked down at herself and felt the ruching of her dress at her waist and hips. She had eaten more than her fair share of appetizers and had tucked happily into the main courses, so that little bulge of fat that most every woman had was prominent. She'd never considered it something to find attractive; most women she knew saw it as a stubborn roadblock to having a flat stomach. She had no one to look pretty for but herself, so it bothered her very little.

But when she looked back up at him his eyes had followed her hands down and his jaw was slack.

That was how she ended up sitting on the edge of the sink with her legs around his waist, kissing him feverishly and deeply. He pulled her hands up to his chest and undid the next couple buttons of his shirt, sleeves already up to his biceps, to put her palms flush against his chest. The muscles were relaxed and easy to squeeze and squish in her hands, furred with downy dark hair to match his beard that rubbed, tickling, against her chin with every kiss. His hands - so big and pretty and blazing with warmth - slid up her thighs to hike her dress up, squeezing and massaging her legs, pinching them lightly just to make her laugh and squirm and lean into him.

Kissing was sloppy but tender, lips parting and moving to allow tongues to slip and slide haphazardly. She'd never kissed someone like that, just letting her tongue do the dance, her lips pressed to his but not kissing him. Until she was. It was loud, breathless, pleased sighs every time they parted bordering on more. He groaned, a delightful and rocky sound, as she squeezed his chest, dragging her nails lightly into his pretty brown skin.

Strong fingers captured her chin to tilt it up, and his lips were on her neck, kissing and sucking and nipping at her in expert waves, his tongue slick and flat. He found every tender spot in quick succession and chuckled deeply as she curled around him, grasping his broad shoulders and legs tightening at his hips. She fought the moans and settled for gasps, legs twitching and torso overheating.
"M- Miraak-"
"You know my name?" He sounded genuinely surprised by this, hiking one of her thighs a little wider to slot his hips between hers.
"Of course," she panted, eyes fluttering as he pressed a long, slow, testing roll against her. "You're on the design- mm! Design team."
"Well- Tharya," he said, emphasizing her name in a whisper, "you're making me hard as hell with all your squirming and whimpering, and I'd like you to keep doing it."

He wasn't lying; she could feel the bulge of his erection grazing her, not fully committed to grinding or dry humping yet but getting close. Intense heat radiated off his body as he nudged her lightly again, nibbling her neck and throat and groaning when she finally urged her hips forward to meet his.

"You- know my name?" she asked, gripping his head as he rubbed expertly into her crotch, balling her skirt in his hands to shove it out of the way. She wasn't prepared for the heat and pressure of his bulge making direct contact with her soaked underwear; she shuddered and moaned loudly into his ear as they met, sensitive nerves lighting across her body.
"Of course," he growled, going slow but firm, his arms trembling. Alcohol made everything feel so much more intense, and there was a trickle of sweat starting to run down her spine. "And I know your favorite color is dark green." He touched her dress as if to confirm. It was dark green.

That little detail seemed so stupidly romantic to her, even as they were frotting into one another frantic for friction and pressure. She could feel her arousal soaking into his pants, feel his erection teasing and nudging her so, so deliciously.
"I'm- ruining your- pants," she tried to tell him, squeezing the back of his thick neck.
"I want you to ruin them, princess," he told her. He held the edges of the sink and let her hang on his torso, his face tucked into her neck, nibbling and kissing her occasionally but mostly moaning, a sound so rich and beautiful and totally unabashed. Princess. It was a nickname too corny for her usually, but the way he said it changed it somehow, made arousal gush between her thighs, made her pussy tremble against him. No doubt he felt all of it, glued to rubbing on her. The muscles in his back rolled and twitched.

"You like it, princess?" he asked breathlessly, drawing out that little word as he guessed with frightening accuracy at what made her squeeze like that. "Æsa, I want your pussy so bad, it's making me even more drunk." She couldn't help the withering moan that seeped from her at being so openly, lewdly sought after. He grabbed her hips and angled them so she was truly on the edge of the sink, and held her waist firmly as he swung his hips back and forward, back and forward like he was fucking her, grunting low and in tempo with every pseudothrust, every moment he spent rubbing into her soaked gusset and wet folds. "Come on, princess. Grind on me. I know you can."

She obeyed without even knowing how she moved her body, only that she did, rolling her waist, flexing her hips to his. The swing of his lower body was short; he wasn't pulling back far, only enough to make the pressure vanish and reappear, vanish and reappear. That made it easy to oscillate on him, on the beautiful sensation of his straining cock caged under his soaked zipper.
"Oh, fuck- there you go. Good girl, good," he crooned, his voice stuttering as she half-rode his humping. Her blood turned to lava at his praise. "Æsa, that's filthy, princess. Keep going."

She wanted to talk back to him, to reply, but all she could find the noise and air for was moaning, whining, gasping. I want your pussy so bad. She barely knew him - Miraak - beyond their shared projects and meetings. He was smart and spoke multiple languages, was an excellent artist, and had a nice, somewhat floral cologne. She didn't know his favorite color. He was kissing her again, wet and open-mouthed and tongue sucking. His fingers brushed her dangerously low and she squealed at the suddenness of it, but then he wrapped his two fingers around the gusset of her underwear and pulled it taut to rub and slide against her clit without touching her himself. She came so, so easily, all over his pants.

He was very happy about it. He practically vibrated with excitement watching her face twist and her orgasm overtake her and make a mess.

"You look so pretty cumming for me, princess," he whispered, kissing her senseless and easing her legs. She felt fabric slide and stick and then vanish. "Ruined your pretty panties just for me." She wanted to point out his expensive Atmoran dress pants were ruined too, but her head was full of cotton candy. So all she did was nod and kiss him back, holding his shoulders like a lifeline as he tucked something into his pocket. "Got a little more in you?" Her body was on fire as she glanced down at him, his pants still creased and straining to contain his erection, now slathered in her arousal and orgasm. Atmoran stamina. She should've known.

Her body acting on its own, she reached down to palm the impressive bulge hovering so hot and close, ignoring the icky sensation of damp, sticky fabric in favor of the delicious one of feeling the immense heat and size of his cock. He was...impressively big. Atmoran genes, she reminded herself, even as she reached for his belt buckle. He made a little noise of surprise and caught her hand.

"Need a little more prep than frotting on a sink for that, Tharya," he said with a pleased chuckle, tacking on her name in a sweet afterthought.
"Oh? You're not just saying that to make me crawl back to you eventually? Let the mystery get to me?" she teased, finding her voice again, ragged and thick.
"No," he hummed, kissing her kindly. "You're a Nord. You're small. As much as I-" He squeezed himself with a hand over hers, letting out a trembling, hot breath as they touched him together. "I'm big for you, baby. I know I am. It would hurt if we did it now." He nuzzled her with a sweet sigh, letting her hand continue to rub and squeeze his groin below the cup of his palm.

She hadn't been graced with many partners over the years - not a fact she minded, as it was not out of any real fault of her own, just that she never really found interest in it - but she knew he seemed to be telling the truth. A lot of men liked to brag about being "too big" and swagger around in their shorts pretending their cock was too huge for the world. But she considered. Miraak was nearly seven feet tall. Probably two hundred fifty pounds at least. He came from a race of Man known for being tall and huge. He probably was not lying to her for his ego.

"How big?" she whispered, kissing the shell of his ear lightly. He lifted his head lazily to look at her, lids fluttering as she squeezed and palmed him.
"Seven and a half," he murmured back, moaning quietly at her fingers finding his tip through his pants. Divines strike her down where she sat. She didn't think he was lying. "And thick," he added with a little teasing grin, and she knew he was playing with her interest but as she felt him she didn't think he was lying about that either.

Hooking his belt loop she pulled him closer again, the brain-melting high of her orgasm slowly sluicing off enough to pay real attention to him. She kissed him, his pretty lips, and relished in his soft, sweet moans against her mouth as she explored him to fact check. His hips craned into her palm slowly and she let him rub - he knew what felt best. It was so ethereal to hold such a huge, looming man captive in such a gentle touch, but he put his entire body in her arms, spreading his stance and legs a little to thrust his erection against her palm for relief. His cheeks burned hot, his neck was sweaty, and he panted against her cheek, but it was all very intimate, she thought, even holding him between his legs.

"How would you do it?" she whispered to him as his breath hitched and he groaned, his thighs trembling as she massaged the bulge of his length. Despite her cryptic wording he understood immediately, and pressed his cheek to hers so his lips were by her ear.
"First I'd rub your feet," he chuckled breathlessly, and to her surprise made a delicate, quiet whine against her earlobe as she groped him. "Give you a massage. Spread your gorgeous legs and eat you out for hours and hours." She felt his grin but again, didn't think he was exaggerating much. "Make you cum on my tongue, suck your pretty little clit til you did it again. Then my fingers. Just one, for now." As he spoke he lifted and offered his hand to her, and she flushed crimson, but took it, stroking his palm, his knuckles, squeezing his hand between hers. "Go ahead, princess. I don't mind."

Squirming a bit she hesitated before bringing his hand to her lips, kissing it softly, his fingertips and neatly kept nails. Then, very delicately, she held his wrist in both hands and took one of his beautifully thick, long fingers into her mouth.

"Good girl," he crooned to her, easing and moving his finger slowly, playing carefully with her tongue. "Just like this. One finger, slow, easy. Let you relax and enjoy it. Maybe give you my other hand to suck on while you spread open for me, hm?" She whimpered. "Then another." On cue he added his middle finger to her mouth, and eased them in and out very gently, letting her saliva coat the digits. "Suck on them how you like, princess." He chuckled as she shuddered and caved into his shoulder. But obeyed. "Second one is for stretching out your little pussy. Finding all your sweet spots. Maybe to make you cum again, hm? Maybe a third if you really need it, or if you want to try. Three can be a lot though," he moaned, "my hands are big." She knew he was watching, and gave him a watery-eyed nod.

"Then I'd rub your thighs and have you hold them wide open for me," he continued, rutting more desperately into the willing cup of her palm. "And I'd go slow for you. Let you take it inch by inch, however slow you need. Let you just relax on it. And if it's too much I'd stop. But if it isn't, and I did my job getting you ready, then I'd fuck you nice and slow and deep, pulling you down onto my cock, watch the way you take it in. And I'd fill you up with my cum however many times you let me." His back and legs shuddered, and he felt a haze build behind his eyes as she palmed him encouragingly, coaxing him onto the edge. He came with a hitched, withering moan, less discouraged by the feeling of his own seed spurting onto his skin in close quarters and more divinely lightened by the fact she made him cum in his pants like a teenager.

Tharya let him deflate onto her shoulder, his breath ragged, his fingers slipping away from her lips and down her neck. Her face was burning crimson, and his pants felt wetter now that she'd felt the way his cock seized and quivered as he came. He settled onto her palm, letting her feel the after twitches and taking long, shaking breaths. Still with his legs spread and angled to put all the delicate parts of him into her hand.

Clarity came to her quickly and she felt much too sober all of a sudden.

"How are we getting back to the hotel?" she whispered to his hair, and he lifted his head, kissed her long and sweetly, and smiled.
"Why, you want to give it a try?"

She only realized when packing the next day to leave he'd stolen her panties.

Notes:

all of this is so fucking corny and weird but writing miraak's "i'm big for you baby, i know i am" fuckin hit me some kinda WAY