Actions

Work Header

Brynjolf and Dovahkiin Breaking and Entering

Chapter Text

Part 1
“Lass,Lass.... wake up Lass. Brynjolf gently shook her awake. Her eyelids were heavy and his face swam slowly into view. How lovely to wake up to those emerald eyes she thought, if only every morning could be like this. Then reality returned along with the pain.

“ You have to get up, it’s getting late and we can’t linger any longer.” His voice was urgent.

“ Ysmir’s beard!” Vash groaned. ”I feel like I’ve been stomped by mammoths.”

“You’ll have to ride with me today, Lass.” Brynjolf was saying. “We must make time back to Falkreath and a walking pace just won’t do. We can’t go back to Markarth at the moment with the Forsworn all riled up like they are and we can’t stay here either.

“What makes you think there are any Forsworn left? I thought we did a pretty thorough job of it.” Vash said. Her tone was light but she wasn’t smiling.

“You need a healer.” He caught her eye to make sure she agreed.

He’s right you know, she told herself. Now isn’t the time to be stubborn and besides, the thought of being that close to him all the way to Falkreath Hold didn’t sound half bad.

He struck camp and led Frost over. “One last thing lass, we need to bundle up your wee foot so it stays warm and you need a couple of potions.” He handed her two small bottles from the pack, one pink and one green.

“Drink it all, Lass. I don’t want you teetering around on the saddle, we will be riding hard.” his tone of voice meant he didn’t want any arguments from her. He wrapped her foot in a light piece of fur and fastened it with some twine. She smiled to herself. Catching her smile, he stood and crossed his arms, fixing her with his sternest glare yet he seemed lost in thought.

Her eyes followed him as he stood. By the Nine, he is beautiful, came the thought, unbidden through her mind. She realized her mouth was hanging open and she snapped it shut, looking down quickly , hot pink color creeping up her shoulders and into her face.

She heard him suppress a chuckle and glanced back up at him. She reached for his arm, lips pressed firmly together this time, dammit!

Brynjolf was expecting her to be stubborn And insist on riding alone, he was surprised she acquiesced almost immediately. He examined her foot and wrapped it warmly before standing up and crossing his arms in thought. “ What would be the best position for her? He should probably have her ride in front so he could hold her. She still looked tired and he didn’t want her falling off the back. It was a rough road through the Reach from Markarth to Falkreath and the saber cats were plentiful. She couldn’t ride alone at any rate. It would be too easy for one to take her off her horse in her weakened state.

“Gods” He thought feeling angry and remorseful, his brow starting to furrow. His first job with her since she became Guildmaster and The Dragonborn! And she takes an arrow to the foot. Damn those Forsworn! Damn himself for not keeping her safe! The savior of Skyrim in his care and he failed her!

His failure tore at him but at least it was a small wound, though deep and it wasn’t an arrow to the knee.... that old joke made him chuckle for half a second but he quickly dismissed it. No time for jokes. Maybe later when she’s feeling better he’d say it to her. He knows she’ll laugh even though it’s the oldest joke on Nirn.

Those thoughts passed and he focused again on the lass, she was just sitting there looking up at him with her mouth half opened and amusement faintly flickering over her face. And something else, he knew how to read a person and for a moment he thought he saw adoration in those golden dragon eyes. But then it was gone and she looked down quickly and patted the wrappings a bit, not looking back at him.

Moments later she was grasping his arm to help her up, all smiles and business. He lifted her easily onto Frost and slid in behind her.

“This old saddle is just perfect for both of us” she chirped brightly, settling herself.

You’re perfect for me. He pushed the thought away despairing.

All his life, women had been drawn to him like bees to honey, but none of them had held his interest long term. Fewer still he had wanted to bed. He had lusted after a few rare beauties that’s true and on one trip to Elsweyr he had been entranced by a beautiful Khajeet merchant but it had just seemed too weird in the end what with all the purring and shedding and he beat it back to Skyrim before he could create any disturbing memories.

The Lass however, was different. All he could say was that he ached for her. In more ways than one. She was the most precious thing on Nirn and she was his. She didn’t know that and maybe never would and he knew she would never show up in his quarters some night wearing nothing but a smile and an amulet of Mara.....He had overheard her say it that day in the cistern but it didn’t matter.
He would protect her as if she was his. He would die for his Dovahkiin.

He clucked to his horse but his thoughts strayed back to her in his quarters wearing nothing and he felt his cock stir in his leathers. “Blast! “ he forced the thought away, shifting a bit so the Lass wouldn’t feel it. She was so close, her lovely buttocks resting against his groin, his inner thighs squeezing her as he balanced. “Gods!” he felt himself getting harder, this may have been a bad idea.

The weather was fair and fine Brynjolf thought, the Reach was so beautiful. His Dragonborn Lass loved the Reach and always insisted he come along when Vex or Delvin gave them jobs here.

She had found a conjuration spell that set up a camp anywhere she cast it. Complete with a fire and a cooking pot Brynjolf had never seen such a thing, it was a marvel and she loved to take him camping with her and pester him for hours under the stars for tales about his past jobs and tales of the other guild members over the years. She was serious about being a great guild master and erasing the stain Mercer had made on the guild and on Karliah and the Nightingales.

A sweet scent wafted up from her every few seconds. It was the scent of lavender and Canis root. She washed her hair with it, said it kept the werebears at bay. He chuckled then felt her tense up, automatically he clutched her around the waist and held her tightly as she gasped and panted, it lasted for about a minute then she relaxed against him and was still. “Are you ok Lass? Concern evident in his voice. Are we jarring your ankle too much? We’ll be stopping soon to water the horses. Then you can rest for a bit and I’ll fetch you another potion.”

“No, I’m...I’m ok. Just another... spasm” she said, quietly and weakly. For a moment her hand covered his and then she gripped the pommel and sighed.

He hoped the bandits near pine watch were not regrouped enough to give them problems. He hated to run the horses any faster, she had had half a dozen of those spasms on the road and he was anxious to get her to her home at Lake Inalta and make her comfortable.

There were no bandits to be seen, just a few pieces of broken armor on the side of the road. Brynjolf let out a sigh of relief, dodged the boulders and passing Pinwatch cantered up to her home.

 

Finally! she glimpsed the lights from Lakeview through the trees. It’s over she realized. She wasn’t sure if she was really happy about it but she couldn’t take much more.
She was practically delirious.... with pain and desire. The man she wanted more than anything and couldn’t have was so close, so close! He had mistaken her orgasms for pain, and had pulled her tight to him each time, just as she had gone over the edge. She wanted to cry, wanted to kiss him, tell him how wonderful he was and how she couldn’t bear a day apart from him. But all she could do was hang on, breathe in his scent and let the movement of the horse, his body against hers and that maddening leather stitching on the pommel drive her to oblivion over and over again.

She was moaning by the time they made it to Lakeview, Brynjolf bellowed to Rayya to open the doors and take the horses. She appeared at the door almost instantly. Barbas at her heels. “Brynjolf!” The dog barked, what is it? Is that Vash? Is she okay?

“She has been injured. We’ve ridden hard from Markarth and she’s sore and tired, I want to get her in bed and warmed up. Fetch me the healing potions in the basket under the stairs then tell Rayya to throw some Horker steaks on the grill and steam one of those wretched ash yams she likes. Also a bottle of sujamma . Make it quick!” he ordered, laying her gently into her bed and loosening her leathers. He’d let Rayya undress her and put her in her bedclothes while he unsaddled the horses and watched the food.

 

Gods! She was home! She was limp as a rag, the ride had been..... marvelous. Guilt washed over her, trying to drown out the last vestiges of ecstasy that lingered in her fingers and toes and down there..... she was swollen and wet and bruised and it wasn’t her foot she was thinking of at the moment but by the Eight it had been glorious! She made herself promise to never to do this again. But Dibella knows! Gods, she knows.

 

She heard him coming up the steps his voice carrying over the excited yaps of Barbas and the bees in the greenhouse below. What a voice, she thought. She could listen to it until the stars fell from the sky, it was deep yet lilting, mischievous, like a boy but most definitely all man. She felt another throb.

He was the most sensual man she’d ever met. And she had been all over Tamriel and Skyrim and even Sovngarde, the eternal home of all of Nirn’s fallen heroes and there was not another man like this anywhere. Tall, lean, strong with those broad shoulders and that shockingly red hair and eyes as green as the flawless emeralds she endlessly snuck into his pockets.

Mister Brynjolf the children in Riften call him. He was always surrounded by the orphans and other children when he went topside to scout for new recruits or sell his and Ingrunds experimental potions on the promenade. They loved him, so did she and here he was again, helping her to sit and plying her with Sujamma and potions.

Love potions she thought hopelessly? Ha! “Fraid not , Dovahkiin old girl.” She mentally berated herself as she dutifully drank the potions he handed her. His eyes were dark with worry and something else, she reassured him she was much better and he left her to tend to the food.
——————————————————

Her dreams were filled with the memories of that ride from Markarth. He had moved in behind her on the saddle and almost immediately she felt him harden, her eyes flew open and she tried not to move a muscle but he shifted away from her and she felt bereft. She had begun to feel the heat rushing down there and then his hardness was gone. Then it was back, oh heavenly heavens it was back! It filled the space between them, pushing into her buttocks pressing her into the ridge of leather stitched down the middle of the pommel and just like that she was hard too. They started to canter out with her horse following on a lead and she breathed raggedly, wondering how she was ever going to make it all the way to Falkreath pinned between the hard man behind and the hard pommel in front.