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"Sit down." Teldryn drawled, propping his boots on the seat opposite of him. "You're making my feet ache."
"He stole my soul!" Fenrar raged, tugging his hand back through his hair. He was stomping hard enough to crack the floor, and Geldis was looking at him like he was calculating how to toss out a six foot Nord with a bad mood and a big mace. "He took it from me, Teldryn!"
True, the phantasmal thief was a little shocking, but it wasn't like there was a shortage of dragons, neither on Solthsteim, nor Skyrim, considering that the one time they'd visited to reference something at that blasted mage's college, it had immediately been attacked by a dragon. Dragons went after Fenrar like a Khajti after skooma.
"I'm sure you'll get another one." Teldryn soothed.
"It almost ate me!" Fenrar shouted, pointing to the teeth marks on his breastplate. "I was going to eat it back!"
"It was barely a nibble."
"I was in its mouth!" Fenrar spat. "I'll kill him! I'll fucking kill him! I'll go to Apocrypha myself and shove his mask down his fucking throat! I—"
The Dragonborn sagged suddenly, like a puppet with its strings cut. Teldryn pulled his feet off the chair and cracked open a bottle of sujama, handing it to Fenrar as he slumped into his seat. He took it with a grateful smile, and drained half of it in one go, choking and wincing when the liquor hit his throat.
"Ah," he managed, "this stuff is strong."
Teldryn shook his head and left the man to his miseries, crossing through the dusty room to the bar.
"Azura," Geldis muttered, scrubbing a filthy glass with a filthier rag, "you want me to put some ash creep in his next drink?"
"Just a room for the night."
"Just one? I've got two empty."
"Trying to fleece me, Geldis?" Teldryn cocked his head and handed over ten septims.
"I wouldn't want to be in close quarters with that temper, is all."
"Ah, he's a kitten under it all, really." Teldryn took the key and found his way back to Fenrar, who had given up on the sujama and was massaging his neck. He looked good like that, his gauntlet off and his tanned hands wrapped around his white throat. Teldryn indulged for a moment before dangling the key over his shoulder.
"Got a room, boss." Fenrar stared up at him balefully.
"Stamina potion wear off?"
Fenrar grunted.
"Told you time and again to be more careful with those."
"I'll be sure to let the next dragon know that I'm on the wagon, and to please wait while I catch my breath."
"I'm glad you're starting to see things my way. Up, unless you want to sleep on the table."
Fenrar eyed it. "It's honestly looking comfortable at this point."
But he levered himself to his unsteady feet and followed Teldryn down the hall to their room. He sagged against the wall while Teldryn opened the door, and had to lean on his shoulder for the last few steps to the bed.
Fenrar sat heavily on the wooden frame, and began unstrapping his armor. It was heavy steel plate, Breton styled, charmed a dozen times over to keep from rusting. Teldryn had tried on just the breastplate once, and he felt like he might die if he walked more than a few steps in it.
"Hand me your mace." Fenrar grunted and handed over the weapon, which Teldryn put carefully on the small dresser, along with his own sword. The two weapons looked oddly charming together, the slim Ebony sword and its brutish Dragonbone counterpart. Teldryn removed his armor, leaving the bandana around the lower half of his face and the cap covering his hair and ears. His eyes were exposed, and that was more of him than anyone had seen in a very long time.
Fenrar had divested himself of the rest of his armor, and was sprawled on the furs in his sweat stained clothes.
"There's a bath." Teldryn tempted him.
""I'd drown." But Fenrar was nothing but fastidious, and he forced himself to his feet. He racked his armor, moving like every step was painful, and heaved himself over to the bath. The water was tepid, and he quickly removed his clothing and washed himself over. Teldryn didn't bother looking away.
Fenrar's body was a lesson in scars. Some of them were new enough that Teldryn had been there when they were made, and some were so old that they were little more than silvery lines on his skin. There was the rippling burn scar on his bicep from an oil trap in a dungeon, there were the lash marks across his shoulders when he'd been discharged from the Legion, there was the pitted scar on his leg were he'd been bitten by a charus that had the presence of mind to chew…
Fenrar gulped air, then crouched to his knees and dunked his entire head into the bath. His body was a weapon. One long, lean piece of muscle and sinew. Teldryn himself was no slouch for strength, but he was a mercenary, a spellsword for hire, not a professional dragon slayer.
"Fenrar?" Teldryn called out after a few moments of stillness. No bubbles, either. He swore, and jumped to his feet, bolting across the room. His hand closed on Fenrar's shoulder and yanked the man out of the water.
"What?" Fenrar croaked, wet hair streaming down his face. "What is it?"
"I…" Teldryn sagged, then slapped Fenrar's shoulder. "Idiot fetcher. Get dried off before you fall asleep with your face in the bath."
Fenrar's face cracked in a grin, showing off his chipped front tooth. "You were worried, weren't you?"
"You die, and I don't get paid." Teldryn let his head fall back and asked the ceiling. "Azura preserve me from fools with a death wish."
"I don't have a death wish." Fenrar said mildly, using the edge of the bath to push himself up. He accepted the towel that Teldryn passed him and dried his face, then slung it around his neck.
There was an arcing bloom of bruises and broken skin across his chest and back—teeth marks.
He sat heavily on the bed and tipped over sideways, staring blearily at Teldryn. "It's just that everything seems to want to kill me."
"A rational man would stay home."
"Well, no one ever accused me of being rational." Fenrar's eyes drifted shit, and he rolled over onto his back, hissing in pain as he put weight on his injuries. Teldryn came over and sat next to him.
"Come on." Teldryn swatted his hip. "Keep going."
Fenrar cracked an eye and stared at him.
"Roll on your front." Teldryn clarified.
Fenrar was far from stoic, but he didn't show pain like other people did. The soft grunt he let slip from his mouth as he moved must have meant he was in utter agony. His shoulders twitched when Teldryn rested his hands across the breadth of them.
"What are you doing?" Fenrar mumbled, but it turned into a long groan as Tendryn dug his fingertips into the man's shoulders.
"Helping." Teldryn let his hands heat, just above body temperature. "You're wound like a bowstring."
"Don't touch the bites." Fenrar whispered. "Please."
Very bad, then.
"I'll get you a potion." Teldryn made to stand, but Fenrar's hand caught him gently around the wrist.
"Don't." Fenrar's voice was muffled by the pillow. "I've had too many. Just don't touch them."
"Stubborn." Teldryn said, and pressed his palms flat against Fenrar's back. The Nord spasmed, then tensed, everything from the tendons in his neck down to his ankles. His hands clenched into fists against the bedroll. A strained whimper escaped from his throat.
"Shh," Teldryn soothed. "Give it a second."
It was more like a good ten minutes, but eventually, Fenrar began to relax, bit by bit, and Teldryn was finally able to press his fingers into the back of Fenrar's neck without eliciting a yelp of pain.
"Better?" Teldryn asked, lightly massaging his way down Fenrar's spine.
"Better." Fenrar sighed. "I think I broke my hip earlier. The first few healing potions took care of it, but I think there's some bruising. How bad is it from the back?"
"You really want me to answer that?"
"That bad?"
"You ever read the Lessons of Vivec?"
"Can't say I have."
Teldryn skipped over the bite, down into the small of Fenrar's back. "There's a quote: 'Remember that Boethiah asked you to become the color of bruise.' Anyway, I mean to say that you look more like a Dunmer than me right now."
"Jackass."
"Ass is right." Teldryn gently prodded the damage. Fenrar had cracked when he hit the ground.
It was an awful memory, and Teldryn knew he would have nightmares tonight. Fenrar, snatched in the dragon's mouth, the screech of rent metal as the thing bit down. Teldryn himself, screaming: 'he's in it's mouth! Don't fire, you s'wits!'. The roar of the beast as it died, arrows piercing its eyes and throat. Fenrar roaring against the wind: fem zii gron , but he came back to a solid state the second he hit the ground.
Teldryn had never bothered to learn healing hands. It was a useless spell for a lone mercenary. He was stuck, hovering and useless, as Othreloth cast the meager healing spells he knew and Milore Ienth coaxed potions down his throat. That first breath was like music.
"Teldryn? You tired?" Fenrar slowly moved over. It was a double bed, but they were both big men. Sleeping necessitated some cuddling. It was fine. He wasn't sentimental. Sometimes things happened. Sometimes things happened between two people. That didn't mean there were emotions involved.
"Want to try something?" Teldryn put his hand on the muscular curve of Fenrar's purpled ass.
Fenrar looked at him. "I'm not up for much."
"You won't need to do much."
Fenrar weighed the idea for a moment, then pillowed his head on his arms. "Alright, but if I fall asleep, it's no reflection on you, yeah?"
"If you manage to sleep through this, then I deserve to be embarrassed. Roll on your back."
"More moving?" Fenrar complained, but rolled over anyway. The bruises on his front were a little less intense, but they were still mildly nauseating. One of the dragon's teeth had broken through the skin (which of course meant that it had broken through the armor and the thick canvas of his shirt too). Teldryn skirted the edge of it, mindful of Fenrar's sudden tension.
"Spread your legs." He commanded. Fenrar exhaled, and shifted his thighs apart. He was pale here. He was pale in most places that he wasn't bruised, except for the odd strip on his wrists or elbows, where a gap in his armor let the sun through, and on his face, where he eschewed a helmet in favor of a circlet enchanted to make him a little more fire resistant.
Teldryn stood and dug through his pack for a vial of oil and the cloth bag he kept his spare clothes in. The oil went on the dresser and the bag went under Fenrar's hips. For all his exhaustion, he was starting to show at least a little interest in the proceedings. He wasn't hard, not yet, but the head of his ruddy cock was peaking out of his foreskin, and he was longer than he'd been when he was flaccid and falling asleep underwater.
"Just gonna watch?" Fenrar croaked. Too many Shouts in too little time. Damn lucky he could force that last one out though, otherwise Skyrim would be out her hero, and Teldryn would be out a job.
"You could stand to learn some patience." Teldryn said mildly, but reached over and uncorked the oil nevertheless. He dipped his first two fingers in it, careful not to drip anything on the bedroll or furs.
Fenrar watched him through half lidded eyes, as his hand dipped between the man's legs. Teldryn brushed his entrance, and Fenrar inhaled sharply through his nose.
"Sensitive?" Teldryn drawled.
"You know exactly how long it's been since someone's been down there." Fenrar pressed his forearm over his eyes.
"Remind me again?" Teldryn traced around the ring of muscle.
"A month ago? At—hn." His voice bit off in a grunt as Teldryn eased the tip of his finger inside Fenrar.
"At?" Teldryn prompted him, moving his finger incrementally in and out. Fenrar squirmed.
"At Kagrumez?" He panted. Teldryn felt him flex around his fingers, the muscle gently sucking him in deeper. "No, that was just hands. That old trading post?"
"Further back." Teldryn eased his finger in to the second knuckle.
"Ah, you fucked my mouth at the trading post. Back on Skyrim? That was three months ago." Fenrar gasped as Teldryn twisted his finger. "We—hn—we need to do this more often."
He was hot and slick inside, pulsing every time Teldryn moved. He was hard now, too, not just interested. His cock lay long and heavy in the crease of his hip. The pink head of his cock was fully exposed, glistening just slightly with pre-come. Teldryn wanted, very much, to touch it, but that would end the game too quickly, wouldn't it?
Teldryn pulled his fingers out, and Fenrar whimpered at the loss, his hole flexing for a moment.
"Impatience." Teldryn chided him, pouring more oil on his fingers. He eased the first back in, then slowly added a second. Fenrar twitched a flinch, so Tendryn carefully reached forward and brushed the surface of his prostate with the calloused pad of his finger.
" Hnnn ."
Good sound. Teldryn adjusted himself in his pants. Fenrar pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and writhed, trying to get Teldryn's fingers deeper.
"Come on ."
"Not yet." Teldryn said brightly. The man's chest was flushed under the scars and bruising. He eased his two fingers in and out in a steady rhythm. Fast enough that Fenrar was aching hard, the veins in his cock pulsing and smearing stick pre-come across his stomach, but too slow to bring anything to a conclusion.
"You gonna touch me?" Fenrar said gruffly.
"I am touching you." Teldryn said, and crooked his fingers. Whatever Fenrar was about to snap in response died in his throat, and the ghost of a moan seeped out instead.
" Ahhhh …"
That was about the extent of his conversation. Aborted half-moans and little gasps as he tried to push Teldryn's fingers deeper.
"You hard yet?" Fenrar gasped. He was indeed, aching and a little distracting. Teldryn pulled himself out of his trousers and squeezed himself lightly with his free hand, just to take a bit of the edge off. Impatient thing; you'll get your turn .
"P-put it in," Fenrar managed to grit out, squirming and gasping.
"I'm fine." Teldryn said cheerily. "I'm enjoying this."
Fenrar's hips worked, but pain and exhaustion kept him pinned to the bed, more so than Teldryn's arms ever could.
" Teldryn. "
"Too much, too little? You've got to speak clearly if you want me to hear you; I'm getting old."
THe noises they were making were absolutely obscene: the slow squelch of Teldryn's fingers inside Fenrar, the man's gasping cries, the creaking bed. Poor Geldis must have been flushed purple.
The blush had crept up Fenrar's chest to his face, and he was staring hazy eyed at the ceiling, eyes unfocused and mouth open. His fists grabbed at the bedcovers. He was practically grinding on the air above him, on Teldryn's fingers, into some invisible lover. His cock bounced against his muscled stomach with each desperate thrust.
Time, then. No need to be cruel.
Teldryn bore down on him, working his slick fingers against the frim nub of tissue. Fenrar shouted, then closed his teeth over his wrist. His thighs strained once, twice, and then he was coming, thrusting desperately against Teldryn's fingers. He arced white across his own stomach and chest, then slumped flat against the bed, chest heaving.
Teldryn surged to his knees, spitting in his hand and working himself so fast he was chafing. He jolted himself, vision blazing white, and came on Fenrar too.
He lingered there for a moment, panting, staring at their mingling ejaculate and biting back the urge to say something stupid and sentimental.
"Thanks." Fenrar croaked, his eyes half lidded and his pupils blown. Teldryn grunted and fished the towel off the floor and used it to wipe his fingers, then the mess on Fenrar's chest. "Thanks."
"Get some sleep." Teldryn said, tucking himself back into his pants and lying down beside the man, retrieving his bag and hurling it across the room. "Big day tomorrow. Dragons to kill, people to save."
Fenrar huffed a snort that faded into an exhale, and then a snore. Teldryn looked at him, brushed his blond hair off of his face, and pulled the blankets over them both.