It was late. Fairly late, actually. The moons had been out for a few hours now.
Nevertheless, Farengar Secret-Fire was awake in his study, leaning over various documents that were scattered all across his desk; very interesting documents, but ones that just blurred together in his current state of sleep-deprived intoxication.
Jarl Balgruuf had scolded him countless times for staying awake for so long afterhours. Yet, what had to be done would be done. The court wizard was not a man of little credibility, no! He wanted to find answers!
But alas, the Dragonstone that was brought to him by no other than the Dragonborn did not seem to hold any. Farengar was clueless as to what to do with the thing. He had no intentions of risking its destruction in the attempt of finding magical resistance, nor did he wish to use any magic on it at all.
At a loss, he figured that he might as well retire for the night. No real critical thinking could be done when his mind was only on rest, and critical thinking was certainly needed for this kind of study. Farengar felt like a complete failure to his Jarl and the others that depended on his research.
Farengar Failure-Fire. He scolded himself.
With semi-reluctance, he folded his notes, scribbled on old parchment, and stuck them inside some of the random books sitting in the corner of his space. He usually wasn't this unorganized, but stress was beginning to take its toll on him.
Stress that could only be reduced by one means, and just the thought made his groin ache.
He strode over to the side of his desk and listened for muffled footsteps or soft conversation between the house maids.
Nothing. All clear. Perhaps this was his night of peace.
The Jarl and his house carl, Irileth, had both taken their leave from the day's duties, and so had most of Dragonsreach. This sort of silence had become a stranger ever since the attack on Helgen. The court was usually alive 24/7 after that.
But not even a wood roach stirred now. Farengar could tend to himself with no disturbance as long as he remained quiet in his privacy.
The closest guards were by the entrance, so there was little chance they would hear him, right? Hopefully.
The mage sighed and circled his desk once more, tidying what he could of the remaining documents before venturing into his much more private bedroom. Once the doors were closed shut behind him, Farengar turned toward his unmade nest and flopped down.
The bedside candle emitted enough light for him to get started. He pulled back the bottoms of his robes, bunching them at his waist, and then he drew the strings on his loincloth and watched it fall to the floor in a little heap.
It must have been ages since he really tended to something so personal.
He cupped his hands around his member and rubbed his cool fingers along his own, tender flesh. A sigh parted his lips at the touching. The ache inside of him grew and grew, as did his desire to just slide his hands up and down his shaft as fast as he could.
He resisted, though, as not to spoil his fun.
Once he had erected himself, he turned over onto his chest and pressed his cheek against the pillow, rump in the air. If he was going to do this, he was going as far as he could with it. Fuck the guards.
His hood fell over his eyes so he was completely blinded. It was hard to get comfortable like this, but it would be rewarding in the end. Oh, yes! He had not done this for too long.
Farengar was far from a romantic man, so he never envisioned a soft, familiar face or perfectly curved body underneath his own.
Actually, he took a sort of narcissistic pride in his very own being. He had even experimented once with a mirror, using it to study his face as he masturbated, and then as he came all over his chest. His expressions were simply delightful! It was, without a doubt, he who brought on his own climax.
He wished dearly now that he had that mirror, but he sold it long ago to some traveling merchant for extra coin. Pity.
At least the image of his bare features was not something Farengar could forget so easily.
He shut his eyes tight and calmed his breathing. If someone just happened to pass by, it could mean the end of this before it ever begun.
He reached his right arm underneath his body, pressed his elbow into the mattress, and massaged the skin on the inside of his thighs. This caused a sensation most would not receive from themselves to spread inside him.
The more he thought about himself being his own bitch, the hotter Farengar got.
"Y-you like this, don't you…" His breathe hitched. "S-Senpai, I…"
He hadn't even noticed how he was gripping his own dick now as he muttered these words. His sweaty palm felt wonderful as he rubbed and rubbed. Precum was sure to be littering his bed sheets, though the mage did not care.
"A-are you ready?" Farengar used his free hand, which took part in balancing his body, and brought it up to his lips, licking the index and middle fingers. "Ahh..." he moaned between licks. Saliva dripped from his tongue and slid down his cheeks.
He liked that feel; wet.
Once his fingers were fully salivated, he reached back around to his fine ass and prodded his entrance with them. "S-SENPAI!" He yelled a bit hoarsely as his neck strained, pronouncing his "S" with a faint "Sh".
His limbs and body were entangled ever so graciously. His breaths began to come in short rasps, and sweat beaded at his brow. What sort of word was "Senpai", anyway? He thought this as he discreetly violated himself.
"You filthy slut, y-you-" Farengar gasped and arched into his hand. The motion caused the bed to squeak loudly and the floorboards to quiver. "S-shit..."
Disregarding the chance that someone had heard this, he began to thrust at a more rapid pace. His mattress bounced with every move and he was only worsening the possibilities…but it felt so damn good!
His heavy, hitched breath only evoked his lustful feelings even more. The man was panting like a dog as he fondled and stroked his hard as hell dick.
Warm, delightful cum spread in small streams down his legs. He couldn't resist the urge to groan, smoothing his own liquid out between his thighs. Unfortunately, he had loosened his weakened elbow up and he collapsed onto himself, not letting go of his member even now.
He collected air for a bit, ignoring the blurring of his vision until it settled on a book he had opened under candlelight on his bedside: "Dragons of Skyrim".
A lie. He himself was not the only being that could arouse his genitalia. Oh, what a lie! Farengar was attracted to DRAGONS! A fetish, he had justified, though without real justification.
And he closed his eyes again, thinking of the soaring beasts and their wonderful, wonderful features.
Scales, a long, lizard-like tail, demonic wings, and- "Aaaaaahgh!" He climaxed with such an outburst that the entirety of Whiterun, nay, SKYRIM must have heard!
Then, as he was basking in a wondrous afterglow, the Dragonborn burst in and gasped at the scene laid before her very eyes. Farengar had some explaining to do…