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“She's a mess.”
“She just slayed the World Eater. She can stand to let loose for a bit.”
“A true Harbinger would not act like this.”
“That isn't for either of us to decide, Brother.”
“I'm still in the room, boys.”
You drawl as you lounge on the chair made of dragon bones that Adrianne fashioned for you in celebration of the whole saving the world thing. She'd had it delivered to Breezehome but if you wanted to sit like a Jarl in the middle of Jorrvaskr eating pie, that was nobody's business but whoever dragged it up the steps. Which was also you.
“Oh. Conscious now, are you?” Vilkas jokes, gesturing at the skooma bottles littered at your feet.
“Conscious. Lucid.” You pick up a sweet roll and lick the frosting off. “Hungry.”
“See? She can't even speak properly. Talk some sense into her.” Farkas continues bickering with his brother, not even acknowledging you.
“Like you're such a scholar,” you mumble with your mouth full.
“The Companions are running smoothly without her. No offense, Shield-Sister,” Vilkas replies glibly.
You shrug, not offended by Vilkas’s assertion that you weren't exactly a contributing member for the moment.
“If she continues like this we'll be the laughingstock of Whiterun,” Farkas insists vehemently.
“He's mad I haven't put out since I came back,” you inform Vilkas breezily.
“That is not why!” Farkas finally addresses you, albeit angrily.
“Really?” Vilkas looks at you with mild interest. “It's been over a week. You two normally go at it like rabbits-”
“Easy,” you warn him, mainly because Farkas looks like he's about to explode.
“My apologies. The halls do carry after all,” he says with a chuckle. “That does explain my brother's frustration.”
“What can I say? Skooma takes me out of the mood.” You finger another bottle peeking out of your pack, debating between that or a nap.
“That's it!” Farkas thunders, snatching away your pack and dumping it out all over the floor.
A whole lot of rattling and definitely a few crashes that cause Tilma to poke her head out and check. Seeing it's the three of you, she shakes her head and goes back to tidying up another room.
Bottles and more bottles, mostly healing and magicka potions, as well as several poisons that Vilkas doesn't recognize off the bat. And of course, a few more skooma.
“You have a whole apothecary in there?” Vilkas asks as he pockets an invisibility potion that rolled next to his foot.
You blow a raspberry. “Was all stocked up for Alduin. Haven't unpacked yet.”
“Haven't unpacked, haven't bathed, haven't even slept in a bed. Starting to think you're welded to that chair,” Farkas fumes darkly as he gathers up the skooma. “I'm pouring these out. Just try and stop me.”
“Go ahead. I have so many stored up,” you taunt.
“I’m searching your room, too!” He storms down the hall and slams your door.
“Does he know how many houses you have?” Vilkas steps around the pile to pick up a cure disease potion he's sure you won't miss.
“Probably not. I've already lost count.” With the amount of wax keys you have, you really should start labelling them.
“Well, if you ever feel like offloading any-”
“You'll be the last to know,” you retort lazily. You close your eyes, deciding on a nap for now.
“Oh, and maybe think about putting out now that you're back. There's only so many training dummies for him to shred.”
You’re already gone, dead to the world in the only way you can get some decent sleep now.
You wake up feeling not quite refreshed but at least less exhausted. You look around and see that you've been relocated to your own bed.
“Farkas finally got tired of seeing me in my little throne? Guess he was all talk before.” You don't expect anyone to respond, but Aela saunters in without knocking.
“Hardly. He's tried on four different occasions to move you this week, but you're quite resistant even in your sleep. Took three of us to finally detach you.” She states matter of factly.
“Hmm.” You look down at your arms and see in addition to signs of struggle, your daedric gauntlets have been removed. All your armor has been replaced with a plain dressing gown.
“Don't look at me. You couldn't pay me to undress you after marinating in dragon blood, sweat and whatever other fluids for a week.” She wrinkles her nose.
“What other fluids could there possibly be?”
“I don't want to know. But I'd ease up on the skooma if I were you. And that's coming from a friend, not whatever high horse Farkas was offering opinions from.” She shakes her head. “Not sure what's gotten into him.”
“Something about me bringing shame as a Harbinger?”
“Right. The Dragonborn who took down Alduin. We’re full of shame.” She chuckles dryly. “As far as I'm concerned you can spend the rest of your life sitting on your arse, if that's what you desire. Just do it after you bathe.”
You grunt, looking around for some food. The sweet roll was long digested.
“You can try out the new bath house that opened up while you were gone.”
“Bathing with strangers? Pass.” You focus your attention on a loaf of bread that looks mostly fresh.
“You can book a suite if you want. I'm sure you can afford it.”
“Wanna know how much I got paid for defeating the big bad dragon?” You take a bite of bread, at least it's not completely stale.
She raises a brow. “How much?”
“A whole lot of nothing. And I got fined 25 septims for kicking a chicken on my way back.”
“Watch where you're stepping next time,” she quips. “And consider the peace and prosperity of our land your payment.”
“Can I book a suite with peace and prosperity?”
“No, but you can sneak in for free.”
“You know me so well.”
You're laying in a pile of breadcrumbs when Farkas comes back from the training yard to check on you.
“How'd you make such a mess? There's a plate on the table three feet away.”
“Was too far,” you explain, giving him a drowsy smile.
He rolls his eyes, brushing the crumbs off the sheets. As he lifts you up to get the crumbs under you, an empty bottle of skooma rolls out.
“I thought I cleared this room!” He drops you back onto the bed and rubs his temples.
“I hid one under your bed,” you whisper loudly.
“You walked to my room and back, that's a start,” he mutters sarcastically.
“I know something else we can start.” You wiggle your eyebrows.
“Not in the mood,” he grumbles.
“You were just complaining about it yesterday,” you point out.
“I didn't even bring it up! You did!”
“No, you’re the one who said I hadn't bathed.”
“I- oh. That.”
“Yeah, Aela told me about the bath house that opened up.” You tilt your head innocently. “Why, what did you think I was talking about?”
“Nothing.” He blurts out quickly. “You should go do that.”
“Come with me.” You get off the bed and stretch leisurely.
“Me? No. I don't need a bath.” He backs away a bit.
You lean in close and sniff him, nodding seriously. “While I love the way you smell all sweaty and musky; you would, in fact, benefit from a bath.”
“Fine. I'll go to the river tonight.”
“An ice cold dip with a lurking mudcrab, or a warm, luxurious soak with no wildlife. What a tough choice,” you tease.
“The ice cold dip is free,” he counters.
“I wasn't expecting you to pay,” you reproach, almost offended. “It's my treat.
He crosses his arms. “Well, I don't want to go.”
“Why not?!” You stare at him indignantly.
“Why does it matter?!”
You flop back onto your bed dejectedly. “Fine, we won't go.”
“No, you definitely should go.” He tugs on your arm. “You need to go. Everyone is complaining about how much you stink.”
“What's the point of going by myself?” You sit up and look at him carefully. “Why won't you go with me? Why won't you even tell me why you don't want to go?”
He groans, turning away from you. “Is it that important to you?”
“Going with me? No. Telling me whatever it is you're insisting on hiding? Yes.”
“I don't want to be naked around other people!”
You gape at him, wide-eyed like a slaughterfish.
“And I don't want to be compared and feel inadequate!”
It takes a few moments for you to snap out of your reverie. “Inadequate about what?!”
“Forget it! Forget I said anything.” He glares at the ground. “I told you not to ask!”
“It's just going to be the two of us, love.”
The nickname snuck in there on its own. You weren't even thinking it, and you definitely weren't going to say it.
Neither of you have ever broached the subject. Nowhere close to it.
It was just you and your overwhelming attraction to him for the longest time. One day, after five bottles of brandy, you kissed him. And he kissed back.
When you took him to bed, he stayed.
That's it. If you sought him out, he'd oblige. Other than that, he didn't treat you differently at all.
He didn't wish you luck when you left. And he didn't congratulate you when you came back.
He turns back around slowly, eyeing you strangely. “What did you say?”
“I said it's a private room for just the two of us,” you explain, glossing over your previous slip up. “There won't be anyone or anything to compare to. Not that you have anything to worry about.”
He pauses, processing the new information. “So we're taking a bath together.”
“Yes. Just the two of us. In our own room.” You stress every monosyllabic word so he's abundantly clear.
“Oh.” A huge grin spreads across his face. “Then what are we waiting for?!”
You laugh happily, no longer annoyed. “I need my shoes, Farkas.”
“Not if your feet don't touch the ground!” He picks you up easily, carrying you out the door.
“Wait! We need a set of clean clothes to change into!”
“I have to admit, the place does look nice,” Farkas comments, surveying the place like you'd study a mark. Even without the heightened senses he was used to, you have no doubt he's already analyzed all possible threats and escape routes.
“It better be,” you mutter. One hour in the “Couple's Suite” as they called it, costs ten times a night at the Bannered Mare. Briefly, you think of all the chickens you could kill for the same price. Still, you pay for 2. You could easily fence the potions you snagged from under Arcadia's nose.
You inspect the towels and robes you're given, as well as the lock on the door to your private suite, missing whatever conversation Farkas has with the attendant.
“If anyone comes in before the 2 hours are up, they're getting a fireball to the face,” you inform the attendant, who assures you you'll have the utmost peace and privacy, something about soundproof walls and a barrier spell that you take with a grain of salt as you wave her off.
You lock the door behind you, then set one of the buckets against the door jamb for good measure.
“Afraid they'll interrupt?”
You turn around and see Farkas is already half naked, wearing only thin trousers as underclothes.
His cheeks are apple red from the steam that's visibly rising from the warm pool by your feet. The water is crystal clear, no hint of silt, and when you shuck your slippers off and sip a toe in, it feels like silk on the skin.
Which you would know, you've worn everything including the emperor's clothes.
Eager to indulge in a good soak, you lift your gown above your waist and sit on the edge of the pool, feeling the warm water soothing away the aches in your legs and feet.
Farkas sits across from you, rolling up the hem of his pants above his knee and lowering his legs into the pool.
You lean back, resting your weight on your elbows. The gentle lapping of the water lulls you into tranquility.
No longer aware of the hard floor underneath your bare legs or the gravel scratching your forearms, your head tips back and you let out a long sigh.
A piece of your consciousness must've slipped out between your lips along your exhale because you don't register that Farkas is asking you something until he repeats himself.
“Better than skooma?”
The words are syrupy, sticking to your mouth as you reply. “More expensive.”
The price, of course, is relative. Compared to a cot beside a caterwauling bard, it's certainly costly. Compared to an amethyst lifted from a strongbox, it's all in a dishonest day's work.
“We both know you can well afford it.” He gently kicks the water, the ripples barely reaching your side.
“More troublesome.” Every blink lasts longer than the last, the room looks hazy like you're looking through a clouded lens.
“What trouble? You didn't even need to walk, I carried you.”
There's a retort in the back of your mind but you can't seem to summon it to your lips.
Which is all as well because you're having trouble parting them.
You crook a finger at Farkas, who smiles at you in amusement.
“Need something?” He teases, so you pout and drop your arm to the ground.
Chuckling, he gets to his feet to walk over. Then a better idea occurs to him. He takes off his trousers and hops into the water, paddling over to you like a playful pup.
You sit up slowly, raising your arms above your head.
He blinks at you with a confused look.
You grunt in irritation and raise your arms higher with insistence. “Off!”
He laughs easily, catching the hem of your dress and taking it over your head, tossing it to the side.
You hold your legs out straight in front of you, kicking up little splashes when he pretends not to understand again.
“Impatient, aren't you?” He tucks his fingers into the material on either side of your hips, then drags your underwear out from under your butt, and down your legs. It lands on top of your discarded dress.
You tuck your legs under you and turn around so he can undo the knot holding the scrap of fabric across your chest.
You feel the heat from his chest radiate onto your back as he leans in, using his teeth to rip apart the strap.
You look over your shoulder in surprise and see him grinning with your ripped undergarment under his canines.
“Farkas!” The name comes out soft purr instead of a scold, as he tosses it onto the pile of clothes.
“Yes, love?” He answers with a cheeky wink.
Your cheeks grow hot and you look away, ashamed; it's clear he heard you earlier, and he's throwing it in your face.
“Come on, let's get you clean.” He pulls you gently into the water, grabbing the bucket with soap and washcloth. “You really do need a bath.”
You lie flat on your back, floating peacefully as the water in your ears further muffles his voice that's become easy to tune out for once. Normally the gruff tone alone is enough to draw your attention even in a cacophony of noise. All you hear now is the slow thud of your steady heartbeat.
He hovers over you with a soapy washcloth, his lips moving but you gaze at him blankly.
“Stand up straight; you need a proper scrubbing. Unless you want to do it yourself.”
You close your eyes without responding, so he pulls your torso up so your legs will drop and you have to stand on your feet.
Your lips are downturned as you back away and try to go back to floating.
He feigns a sigh, not looking the least bit frustrated.
It's rare that you get like this, but he's seen it before and it doesn't bother him in the slightest.
“If standing is too much effort, just put your legs around me, I'll hold you up.”
You perk up and wade over to the deeper side, following his suggestion. With the water above his waist you're nearly weightless in the water, not that he'd have problems if gravity intervened.
He shakes his head with a laugh, getting to work with the washcloth.
You don't exactly make it easy for him, keeping your arms hooked around his neck so he can't reach your forearms and hands. You squirm when he tries to get your underarms, and hug him tightly so he can't wash your chest.
“Why so clingy today?” He asks after he tries to physically pry your arms apart and you headbutt his chin.
You grip him ever more tightly, your fingers clasped together like a master lock. “Close. Wanna be close.”
“Oh, now you want to be close? Not the past ten days when I slept alone?” There's no real accusation in it, but you glare at him like he accused you of sleeping around.
“Close.” You repeat, your legs digging into his waist and bruising them.
“Fine,” he relents, putting the washcloth back in the bucket. He wraps his arms around you, resting his face in the crook of your neck. “Happy?”
You hum contentedly, relaxing your hold a tiny bit. You back in his embrace for a few moments.
Then you get antsy.
“What are you-” he cuts himself off with a groan as you start writhing around like a Mora tentacle.
The haze from earlier is starting to lift, your lethargic relaxation has slowly morphed into desire.
A desire that's eating away at your guts and boiling you alive with your blood.
The pads of your feet find purchase on his buttocks and you rub yourself against his pelvis with soft whimpers.
“Now?” He tilts his head back to look carefully in your eyes, incredulous, only to find your iris swallowed up by your dark pupils.
It feels like agony detaching an arm from around his neck, but you manage to do it to cast a silence spell around the room.
You replace it immediately, nose diving into his neck as you inhale his scent and suck on his pulse point greedily, your hips never slowing their desperate grinding.
You feel his cock spring up and nestle between your cheeks as you nip the bruise you made.
“Now,” you beg, positioning your entrance over his tip and mewling when he taps it against your hole without pushing in.
“Act like an animal, love, you're going to get it like one.”
He holds your hips still and stuffs himself to the hilt, and you scream, feeling something shatter inside you.
Tears prick at your lashes as he pulls out all the way and bites your shoulder, drawing blood, before shoving in and hitting your womb.
“Big,” you warble as your walls struggle to adjust. “Too big.”
“Too bad.” He thumbs your clit roughly as he pulls out again and impales you once more, the head of his cock catching on your labia and splitting the skin open as he breaches your abused hole.
You sob, spasming along his length as he snarls and starts a punishing rhythm.
He plows into you, knocking your cervix as you wail, pain and pleasure warring as your pussy sucks him in further.
“Again,” he growls as you cum with a shriek, struggling through the aftershocks.
“I can't,” you cry, squealing when he pinches your clit and starts rubbing it harder.
“You can.” He licks the drops of blood trickling down your shoulder. “You will.”
He laves his tongue down your cleavage, curling around your nipple, latching on and suckling.
Your vision whites out as your orgasm punches the breath right out of you.
“That's my girl,” he murmurs, slowing his rhythm as he carries you out of the water.
“Where we going?” You whine as he spreads a towel on the ground.
“Nowhere. Just making sure you take every drop.”
He lays you down on your back on top of the towel, folding your legs against your chest and watching his cock disappear into your hole.
You look at him doe-eyed, as he picks up the pace, every thrust jostling you as he chases his end.
“Want you so full of my seed that it leaks out.” He pushes down on your belly, smiling proudly at the bulge it makes. “So everyone knows you're my mate.”
“Everyone knows,” you croon, and he bares his fangs at you devilishly.
“Take it, love. Take it.” He cums with a roar, filling you with thick ropes of his seed.
You whine as he pulls out, hating the loss.
“I know,” he simpers as he slowly fucks the spilled cum back into you with his fingers. “Need more, don't you?”
You nod vigorously. “Need you.”
“Don't worry, love. I booked us the whole night.”
You're so tuckered out that night, you fall asleep in Farkas’s arms on the walk back.
You don't wake up until the afternoon the next day when Farkas knocks over your staff as he changes out of his armor.
“Sorry.” He kisses your forehead. “Go back to sleep.”
You smile at him and move to the side, motioning for him to join you.
He sits down next to you, taking your hand in his. “Last night was… yeah.”
You snort, rubbing your eyes. “It was… yeah?”
“Well you were there!” He scratches his head. “Just trying to figure out what exactly came over you.”
“Couple's Suite. They put something in the air. Or water. Some sort of aphrodisiac.” Looking back, you probably should've asked the attendant more questions.
“Huh. I didn't notice.”
“What do you mean you didn't notice?! We went at least eight times!” You point to your legs. “They're still shaking!”
“I mean, I wanted you as much as I always do.”
“...really?” You peer at him closely but he shrugs and nods affirmatively. “But you never initiate it.”
“I don't want you to feel pressured,” he explains like it clears everything up.
“Oh.” You look at the wall. “Ok, then.”
“What about you? Are you going back to ignoring me now?” He looks at you intently.
You turn back to him, raising your brows. “What are you talking about?”
“The skooma. Your stupid chair. Keeping me at arm's length.”
You want to laugh it off, or brush it aside, argue with him about how the chair is actually great. But he broke something in you last night. You can't pretend he's just a fun distraction that you can take or leave, and that you're not hurting.
“I almost died fighting Alduin.”
It makes you nauseous saying it out loud, especially to him.
“I know the feeling now, of drawing a last breath. The knowledge is ever present now; it haunts me when I let my guard down.”
“But you survived,” he states, not understanding.
“Barely.
I thought, even truly believed for a moment, that I’d never see you again.
And when I came back, you didn't care.”
“That's not true,” he objects with a furrowed brow.
“Everyone else congratulated me, checked in on me as soon as they heard. Except you. I had to go find you. And when I did, you said you'd talk to me later.” Your voice is hard, fierce, but it breaks at the last word.
“I was in the middle of training. And I knew you'd be fine.” He squeezes your hand. “I had no doubts you'd defeat Alduin. I knew you'd make it back.”
“In a way, I didn't.” You pull out of his grip.
“I lost something in that battle. Nerve, courage, whatever it was, something's gone. I'm not going to put any part of myself in jeopardy again. If that means living the rest of my life as a useless and selfish person, drowning in sins of the flesh, so be it.”
He looks you in the eye. “If that's what you want, I'm not going to stop you or judge you.”
You jump out of bed, furious, nearly spitting at him. “You are so full of it!”
“Why are you upset?!” He questions, perplexed.
“You've been harping at me all week! You emptied out all my skooma!” You shout, pointing at him accusatory. You want to walk away but your legs feel so sore they're going to buckle.
“I thought that's what was getting in the way of us.” He puts his hands on your shoulders. “It's not, right?”
You sigh, thoroughly exasperated. “No, it's not. It's not the skooma. I thought you didn't care about me.”
“Well now you do. Right, love?” He beams at you encouragingly.
You groan, flopping onto the bed and covering your eyes with your arm, trying not to smile. “Yes.”
“And from now on, I'll find you as soon as I hear you're back. Training be damned.” He announces proudly.
“Well, good.”
He pulls your arm off your face, sitting next to you and pulling you onto his lap. “Or you could take me with you.”
“I guess.”
“Anywhere.” He kisses the bite mark on your shoulder. “Everywhere.”
You shrug him off half-heartedly. “I suppose. If I feel like it.”
He nuzzles the back of your neck. “If I feel like it, who?”
“If I feel like it, Farkas.”
“Try again.”
“If I feel like it, ice-brain!”
“Not quite.”
You growl, raising your hand and pretending to cast silence on him.
He takes your hand and presses a kiss to your wrist.
“Alright I won't push it. Pretty sure you'll say it to me once we're in the bath again.”
You laugh softly, leaning into him.
“Maybe. We can go back once I'm able to walk again.”