Her eyes were dark like his. Her hair was dark like his. Her skin was dark—for a Nord—like his. She was quiet like him. As the Companions drank and reveled at a successful heist, she simply stood near the fire with an ale in her hands.
He wanted to stand next to her.
"Hi." He said quietly to her.
She looked so much smaller in regular clothing than she had while they were fighting the Silver Hand. Her armor was wide and heavy—the plates of orichalcum broadening her shoulders, widening her biceps. In her blue dress her body looked like a normal woman's—soft, curvy, narrow. She didn't look like the beast of destruction that had led the Companion's assault on their enemies. She was interesting to him.
"Hi." She responded. There was a hint of a smile on her face. The hand print of warpaint across her mouth twisted slightly as her cheeks lifted.
"You're not bothered by this?" He said quietly. He knew that she would take his meaning as he mieant it—he didn't mean the revelry, the joy at recovering the shards of Wuuthrad. He meant her sudden, accidental knowledge that many of her new companions were werewolves.
She shook her head and took a swallow of her ale.
"You're not the only one with secrets."
"You know I want to hear yours now."
She was suddenly debating what bad would come of owning her identity. This dark man that had led her through joining the companions was calling to her though. When she first met him, there was something constrained within his strangely tight skin; something flickering behind the dark light in his eyes. It was something that she now understood. Ever since she had watched his bones stretch, his flesh rent as his body surrendered to the soul of the wolf inside of him—ever since he had corrected her mistake, she had been carefully following him.
"I could come up with a few for you." She watched as his eyes lit upon her lips, slid down to the crease between her breasts. He slowly nodded, and she saw a different fire burning in him than before. He took his hand and let his fingers caress the fabric that held her arms in.
"Tell me what there is to tell, before you show me the rest."
She liked the open sky. She liked fire. She didn't like enclosing walls anymore; they didn't make her feel safe. She needed the freedom of open horizons or empty woods.
She felt like she had been trapped between walls for too long, so she grabbed him by the side of his chest plate and pulled him around the fire pit and pulled him outside.
The tables outside had more food on them, more ale and wine, and since her ale was gone, she lifted from the middle of one table the bottle of hot wine from its bed of glowing coals; he had lifted two shining cups from another table and she stepped close to him, as she filled the cups, hoping to fill some of his fire.
He was often accused of being slow, but now as he felt her skirts brush against the unarmored skin of his knees, he silenced his brother's voice in his head. He was patient. He was unwavering. He was certain.
"You've heard that the dragonborn has surfaced in Whiterun?" She asked, slipping rough calloused fingers around one of the cups in his hand.
He was not slow. He had seen the way her arms were stronger than they had any right to be. He had heard the way her voice had shook the walls of the cave, had made the very earth tremble. He had seen the way she tried to hide it, and the way she seemed to look at him with a hint of hope in her eyes.
"So we keep the beast-blood hidden, and you keep the dragon's?" The hard lines of her face softened.
She nodded. "It is a lot of power to try and hide."
She reached up and scratched her straight nose.
"It is a lot of power when you do not want it."
"Some of us do not want the beast blood any more."
"You?" She asked. He noticed her eyes had settled on his own mouth, and forced himself not to smile.
"I… haven't decided." He admitted.
"I just want my choices to be my own. I want to be Maren—as I should have been born." She swallowed her hot wine and brought her dark eyes back to his.
"You wonder if your fate or your soul is more important." Her eyes crinkled as she took in his words.
"I knew I wanted to speak with you for a reason." She said.
Farkas made his move. She was making it clear to him what she wanted the way she kept stepping closer to him even though he refused to move his feet, the way her eyes would linger on his mouth long after he had stopped responding to her.
His hand found its way around her hipbone, and he couldn't help but dig his fingers into her solid flesh. Even though she looked delicate, she was made of out muscle and dragon bone. The heat in her muscled torso almost seared the skin from his hands.
"Wait." She whispered. She raised her glass of wine to her lips and swallowed the remaining liquid. He grinned and followed her lead, refusing to let her hip away from his hand. The hot wine wasn't enough to muddle his head, at least not yet, just enough to make him bolder and more forward than he would regularly let himself be.
She drank more slowly than he did, and as he sat his cup down, he watched the final swallow slide down her throat. He watched as a glimmer of moisture was left covering her lips. He wrapped his fingers around her empty cup, sliding his fingertips along the back of her hand, smiled to himself when her other hand found the gap in his vambraces that let her fingers find the pulse in his elbow.
He bent his head the final remaining distance between them and fit his lips into her own, tasting the fruit of their wine and the coppery, earthy musk of her mouth. Her fingers tightened almost painfully into his arm—nails digging into flesh through his tunic.
She smiled against his mouth at the growl that escaped his throat.
"Why do you still wear armor?" She asked, her hand slipping over the curves and knots etched into his steel plate.
"Mine didn't need to be repaired when we got back." He teased, stroking his nose against hers.
"Well, we should find somewhere to get you out of it." She responded. Her fingers felt like fire against his neck.
"Downstairs." He responded. "My room." She nodded, pulled his head down to her own again. She slipped her tongue against his lips and into his mouth. He couldn't stop the way his fingers pulled her hips against his plated body. He wanted to feel more of her, but the harder he crushed her against his armor, the softer she became against him.
He dug his hands into her hair and pulled her mouth away from his.
"Downstairs." He repeated. "Come on." Her parted lips called to him, but she nodded. They sat down the last empty cup and she slipped her fingers into his and he pulled her back through the Jorrvaskr doors and down into the living quarters.
No one paid attention to their hurried walk to the living quarters, and once the heavy wooden basement door shut behind them, she pressed him against it, her hands tugging at his hair, her teeth tugging at his cheek, his neck.
He grabbed her by the hair in response, and pushed her off him, walked backwards down the hall towards his room, pulling her with him.
Once his door opened she slammed it shut behind them and it was his turn to press her into a wall. Her frenzied breaths had turned into moans and gasps, but she seemed focused; intent on unlatching his armor, pulling the metal from his body.
He let himself smile at how truly skilled her fingers were—unlike many of the whores he had bedded recently—she had him bare of armor and only in his tunic and breeches almost as quickly as if he would have done it himself.
He quickly chastised himself for that thought; she was not a whore, and the whores had no reason for knowing the specifics of his armor.
But before he could get too far into his self-recrimination, her hands were at his crotch, palm stroking against his cock through the rough linen.
He shoved her away, then quickly followed. His hands circled her waist, pulled her up around his waist and then pushed her bottom up onto the bar counter.
She smiled, pressed her mouth back against his, her tongue was hot, like fire, like a glowing lump of charcoal in his mouth. He grasped at her ankles, her feet were bare without her armored boots, he noticed, and as he slid his hands up her calves and further, flipping her skirt up, she was nothing but hot, smooth skin.
Her fingers delved into his hair, knuckles catching on the few braids that kept his mane in order, and he growled, the tight pain she caused him shooting pleasure through his brain. She responded by pulling his head back, nipping at his neck.
His hands settled at the top of her thighs, rounding the curve of her ass, and he realized he would have ot spare some attention to her clothing in order to remove it. He freed his hands from the blue fabric and set his attention to the laces at the front of her dress. The brown leather of her cincher was familiar enough, leather garments and armor were fairly similar, and he pulled the knot apart and loosened the laces down the front of her body.
Her arms shook behind her as his fingertips pressed against her stomach. Her lips were parted and he realized he needed her lips again. He pulled her face down, and her body slipped off the bar, her torso sliding down his body and skirt bunching between them. His hips moved of their own accord and wedged her against the counter.
Her fingers were at his sides, she pulled his shirt off, and once he was shirtless, together they worked her dress off over her head until she stood spread in front of him wearing only her smallcloths.
She pushed him away from the bar and down towards his bed. His knees hit the frame and he sunk into the reeds and furs. She followed him down and he made the final effort to get their bodies completely bare, reaching for the ties around her breasts, freeing them. She pulled the cloth away and threw it somewhere behind them. Her hair swung down over the two of them and he pulled her head down to him, pressing his tongue into her mouth again. He let his hands slide down the hot skin of her back to rest at the flesh of her hips. He pressed her down against his cock and she broke their kiss with a strangled cry against his mouth.
She ground her hips against his for a moment before she sat up from him. She unlaced his breeches and he lifted his hips to let her pull them down. Her hot mouth settled on his thigh and he couldn't stop the noise that escaped his mouth again.
Her wet lips worked their way up his let until they settled against his sac, and then slowly worked their way up his cock until she sank her mouth down on his length. He let her take him into her mouth; up and down several times until he knew she had to stop. It had been a while since he had brought even a whore into his bed, let alone someone for whom he felt this bizarre, needy desire.
He pulled her up by the armpits and wrapped his arms around her ribs. He rolled them so that she was beneath him. Her legs circled his hips, and slowly, gently, she snaked one hand between them and guided his cock into her body.
She moaned into his mouth again, and he couldn't stop the smile that he pressed against her collar bone. He pulled out and pressed back into her, listening to the way she sang the sensations into the air between them. He forced himself to move slowly, placing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, stroking and pulling her nipples through his thumb and the edge of his hand.
He felt his end coming too quickly, though, and began pulling harder at her breasts, and panting she stopped him. She rolled them back over so that she was above him again and slipped him back into her heat. She bucked several times against him, then stopped to pull his hands from where they rested at her hips to pluck and clutch at her breasts. She cried out at his rough fingers, and the movement of her hips against his became erratic, frenzied. He forced himself to outlast her, and when she cut out a strangled curse, and her body clenched down on him, he grasped the back of her neck and thrust up into her.
Her voice got louder, a cry rallying him to push harder against her, the vibrations of her voice made his neck tingle where her mouth was biting down at the crook of his neck.
The tightness that pushed him harder into her cleared and he was finished, without words, they snaked their arms around each other and fought to catch their breath.
"You're staying here, right?" He finally managed.
When he felt her nod into his shoulder, he smiled and shifted her, grunting with the effort of using his happily tired muscles. She was limp and relaxed against him as he pulled her back against his front and tugged a few blankets over them against their cooling sweat.
"We can get your things from the bunk room in the morning."