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“If you keep pacing like this, my Thane, you'll wear a hole in the floor.”
Lydia speaks as respectfully as she can, after the dizzy headache she has from watching you pace back and forth down the hallway for an hour.
Hiking up snowy mountains in Winterhold was still preferable to walking a neverending loop inside the homestead, as far as she was concerned.
At least she had the sense to sit down after ten minutes.
“He should have been back by now. He left two days before us, and he had Count Fleet with him. We walked all the way from Riften. Why isn't he here yet?!” You continue pacing, though it has done little to steady your nerves.
“Yes, perhaps we can take a carriage next time.” Having sworn to carry your burden, Lydia has no choice but to lug all the dragon bones and scales while you jingle along with lockpicks and gems.
“So I can spend an extra day agonizing? No thanks.”
She hides a smile. She never expected that as the Dragonborn’s housecarl, she would come to know you as a friend and confidante. That she’d come to know the parts of you that were weakest, and find them endearing. You don't have many weaknesses, but he's the one of the few. And he's by far the biggest one. “We've all seen Gore’s prowess in combat; so I doubt he's in any danger-”
“Of course he isn't,” you snap quickly. “Don't jinx him.”
“Why are you so anxious about him? It's not the first time you've spent this much time apart.”
You stop pacing and turn to her, crossing your arms. “Yes, but that was back when I was still getting to know him.”
“Ah, I see.” She replies knowingly. “So that was before you fell head over heels for him?”
“Hmph.” It was obvious to anyone with eyes that you adored this man. But you still get touchy when someone vocalizes it. Perhaps because there's nothing obvious about what he feels for you.
Except the occasional hug, and his constant presence; but Lydia provides those as well, so it's not exactly unique.
Not to mention his constant incendiary comments.
“Well maybe he finally got to know Maven in the personal way he speaks of so often.” Lydia, of course, steps right on your sore spot.
“Pretty sure she feasts on the carcasses of her bedside companions after the deed,” you mutter darkly. “No one knows about her husband, we just assume he existed. She probably killed him after she got tired of him siring her children. You've seen what goes on in her basement.”
“Well then we must hope Gore escapes out the window after he beds her,” Lydia says with a laugh.
“I'm going to make some poisons. Alone.” You growl, stalking off to your lab.
“Potions, you mean?”
“You heard me.”
Meeko is the first to recognize Gore as he approaches your home.
Even with the boots you gave him that you enchanted with Muffle, the noise of his armor is enough for your pup’s keen hearing.
She barks happily, drawing you away from your deathbell and salt piles. You dust off your hands briskly, rinsing them in a bucket of water and wiping them on a rag.
The door cracks open and Gore slips in, still feeling like a guest in the house that you own. “I'm back,” he calls out tentatively, like he's still asking permission to stay.
You traipse over to the entryway, as fast as stolen fine boots can take you.
“Afternoon, blood.” Gore greets you with a grin.
You jump onto him, enjoying the surprised “oof” he lets out. His greatsword clatters to the ground as he moves to support your weight on his lanky form. Wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, you press your face into his shoulder.
“Well, I missed you too,” he responds with amusement.
The edges of his armor digs into your thighs and forearms but you hold fast to him like a piece of driftwood in a churning sea. “What took you so long?” You grumble into the crook of his neck.
“Took a little detour. Figured you'd be busy corralling the latest recruits and merchants for at least a week, as a Guild Master and all.” He walks over to the dining room, depositing you a table. “Didn't think you'd be back so soon.”
“I'm efficient,” you retort, following him to his bedroom.
You watch him shed his armor, his Muffled boots, his brawler gauntlets, as he tells you about the days he spent alone.
“I want to hear all about you, soon as I'm back, blood.” He grabs a washcloth and heads towards the door.
“Where are you going?!” You exclaim, indignant.
“I need a bath,” he informs you, a bit taken aback at your reaction. “I smell like a Ratway skeever, in case you didn't notice. Did a failed potion take away your sense of smell again?”
“I noticed!” You grouse. “I just didn't want to say anything. I haven't seen you in days, I thought catching up would be more important.”
“I’ll be quick,” he promises, grabbing some soap and a washcloth and a towel.
You grunt in acknowledgement, leaving his room and going back to pacing down the hallway.
“Maybe a mead will calm those nerves,” Lydia offers you a bottle. It smells tantalizingly sweet as the foam bubbles down the neck. She must've just cracked it open.
“Couldn't hurt,” you grumble, taking a swig and wincing at the peculiar taste. “What is this swill?!” You look at the label and gag. “Black-Briar?! I won't have this garbage in my house!”
“It was originally for Gore, my Thane. I know you only drink Honingbrew.”
You pour it into the unfortunate planter beside you, watching the nightshade seemingly wilt right before your eyes. “From now on, nothing Black-Briar enters through those doors!” You announce angrily.
“Doee that include the potions that Ingun makes for you?” She jokes as she watches you pace some more.
You scoff. “I offload those to Elgrim right after I pick them up. They're not nearly as potent as my own.”
“Of course. Now, would you like me to pick up some ingredients from Arcadia for you?”
“Yes. And make sure she knows it's for me so she doesn't overcharge you.”
Lydia nods with a small bow, leaving you to your pacing.
Gore comes back inside to the sight of you taking a hammer to a silver ingot like it was Thonar’s head.
“Still mad about Cidhna mine?” He teases as you take another forceful whack at it.
“Not really. Got some nice ore from it.” You answer flippantly, not looking up from the anvil.
“I may not be the best shaper of metal, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to go at it that, uh, hard, blood.”
You shrug, taking another swing like an executioner. Eorland would have a field day if he saw you mistreat the tools you stole from him this way.
The ingot bounces off the anvil as your hammer connects, hitting the wall with a clang that wakes Meeko up with a sharp bark.
Gore coughs to smother his laugh, putting a hand around your wrist and using his other to gently pry the hammer out of your clenched fist. He puts it aside, lacing your fingers between his.
You open your mouth to complain, but it snaps back shut as you turn to face him. He always looks so handsome like this, face bare and hair hanging loosely at his shoulders. Water glistens along his collarbone and your eyes trail down the neckline of his white shirt. You look back up before you get too carried away. The warmth of the candlelight further softens his features, like the bath washed away some of his troubles along with the grime.
All the other thoughts float away, you're only able to grasp one word. “Hey.”
He chuckles, smiling fondly at you. “Hey, yourself.”
With no words left, your mind is devoid of any thoughts except how lovely he looks, and how much you missed him.
You put your hands on his shoulders, pushing him down slightly.
He looks at you curiously, but doesn't resist, letting you push him down, sitting on the furs laid in front of the fireplace.
You sit on your knees across from him, admiring the way the light of the fire flickers in his eyes.
He leans back, propped on his elbows, gazing back at you.
“Missed our quiet nights around the fire at camp,” he muses, and you nod vigorously in agreement.
“Well, come on, then.” He angles his chin to the side for you to sit beside him like you always do during your nights together.
Side by side on a large stump or a log, he never kept watch more than a few hours alone. You were always there to keep him company, only collapsing onto the bedroll once the exhaustion was too much to fight.
The peaceful stillness amongst the crackle of flames and chirp of insects was a moment stolen from the daedra themselves, and you would hold onto it until your body gave out.
Except for today.
You shake your head, crawling forward and bumping into his crossed legs repeatedly until he uncrosses them with a look of amusement.
Settling between his thighs, you lean forward and brace your hands on the floor beside his elbows.
You rest your forehead against his, and peck him on the lips.
He beams at you, sending a jolt straight to your core. “I love you too, blood.”
You close your eyes, sighing softly, and press another kiss to his lips.
And another.
He relaxes onto his back with a grin, hair spread around his face like a halo.
You follow, his hands laced with yours as you rest your torso on top of him, dropping one more kiss.
It's never gone beyond this. Holding hands, brief kisses. Cuddling, though it could be construed as sharing warmth during the Winterhold nights.
There's something holding him back, something he's talked around without actually saying, and you've never pushed.
But tonight, you want more.
You slot your lips against his, and you taste.
There's the tang of mead, but it's sweeter than honey, you drink it in with a soft moan.
His eyes widen at the sound, he's never heard you make any like it before.
His lips go slack and you slip your tongue between them, exploring his mouth like you're mapping out a heist.
He makes a slight gasp as the tip of your tongue meets his, licking it teasingly.
Tentatively, he pokes it into your mouth.
Slick fills your smalls at every simple, shy touch. His hand cupping your cheek, tracing a circle behind your ear. His tongue, licking across the inside of your top teeth. His canines graze your bottom lip and you whimper.
“What's gotten into you tonight?” He murmurs when you finally pull away for air.
You don't answer, mesmerized by the trail of sweat traveling down his neck.
It slides down his chest, disappearing underneath the fabric.
You pout, pulling on the V of his top to try to follow it.
“I like this shirt,” he reminds you, reading your mind as you contemplate tearing it in half. “Besides, it's nothing you haven't seen before.”
You give him a suspicious look, remembering nothing of the sort.
“Cidhna? The whole Forsworn fiasco?”
You frown deeply; you'd been so focused on escaping you didn't even notice! Getting your own clothes back, and all your loot as well, took precedence over his lack of clothes.
“I can't exactly take it off like this, you know,” he chides.
You look down and see that you've been sitting on the hem.
You slide back so he can remove his shirt, the movement shifting down the waistband of his trousers.
He freezes, arms halfway in the air, as the wet fabric drags across his abdomen. “Are you…”
You look down and squeak in surprise. You've soaked through your underwear and your thin tunic, leaving a trail of slick down his abs.
“I don't…um, this has never happened before,” Gore mumbles awkwardly. “Is it… supposed to?”
“No? Yes? I don't know!” You stammer, trying to get off of him.
Your hips don't listen. Instead, they grind, smearing a creamy patch down his groin.
“I, uh, th-” he stutters, hands holding your thighs still when you grind against him once more, groaning as your sticky folds catch on his clothed cock. “I don't know if I'm ready for this. I mean, I want it, clearly.”
You still immediately, staring down at him in concern.
“I'm not sure I'm ready,” he admits, looking away in embarrassment.
You spring away, looking at him closely. “Are you ok? Did I do something wrong?”
“Oh, no, it was ok. I mean, it was great! Just, uh, let's stick to that for now. The kissing. And everything else that we usually do.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Of course!” You reply, lightning quick. “I’m sorry.” You get to your feet.
“Nothing to apologize for, blood.” He looks at you in confusion as you backpedal away from him.
You fake a large yawn, retreating down the hallway. “So, uh, I'm going to bed. In my room. Alone. Good night.”
You disappear into your room, slamming the door behind you.
Gore takes a minute to catch his breath, trying to get a grip on his racing thoughts.
Once he's sorted himself out, he walks to your room to check on you. He sees the light underneath and raps on the door. “Everything ok, blood?”
“Splendid!” You call out in a pitchy tone.
“Splendid?” Gore echoes dubiously. He's never heard you use that to describe your mood.
“Wonderful! Uh, fantastic!” You exclaim, breathing heavily. “Everything's splendid! My bed is incredibly comfortable, I'll sleep like a lamb!”
“Did you accidentally inhale moon sugar again?” Gore asks suspiciously, remembering the last time you tried to make a magicka regeneration potion and went delirious for half a day.
“No! Just, ahh! Nice night,” you repeat hurriedly. “Sweet dreams now! Yes!”
“Why are you acting so weird, blood?”
There's no reply.
“If you're being held hostage, say ‘tomato.’”
Still no reply.
He starts knocking louder, but you don't respond.
“Ok, that's it, I'm coming in!”
“Don't come in!” You shriek, and he hears a scrabbling sound, followed by a yelp of pain.
He bursts in through the door and sees you huddled under a blanket on the bed.
“Blood? What’s going on?” His eyes dart around the room, picking up clues. Tunic with a wet patch on the floor, daedric dagger on the nightstand stained blue.
“I told you not to come in,” you whine, writhing desperately on the mattress.
“What are you…” he trails off as you rut into the bed, shaking the bed frame.
“Arcadia's stupid potion. Lydia must've slipped it in my drink.” Your fingers grip the sheets tightly.
“H-how do you know?” He tries to avert his eyes, but can't look away.
“Turns your blood blue, til it wears off.” You squeeze your eyes shut so you don't have to look at him.
“There's gotta be a way to check if you're poisoned that doesn't involve stabbing yourself.” He mutters, eyeing the dagger.
“Wait, is this why you wanted to… tonight?” He hedges, uncertain.
“It’s why I took the initiative, Gore. I always want you.”
Your last resolve breaks with your admission.
You bury your knuckles into your cunt with a cry.
You stroke your walls, humping into your hand as the heel of your palm grinds against your clit.
“I don't want you to see me like this,” you sob as you rock your hips.
He turns away, finally. “...like what?”
“Like I can't control myself,” you bawl, working your clit furiously. “Like I'll lose myself over sex.”
“You wouldn't be the first one,” he mumbles.
“I don't want to pressure you. I know you've had a rough go of it.” Tears gather at your lash line, whether it's pleasure or frustration is beyond you. “I want you to feel safe with me.”
“I do, blood. I trust you.”
It's the most he's ever given to anyone; his trust.
You cum with a cry, sobbing his name.
The rest of the night is an embarrassing blur.
Gore helps you through it, from a safe distance.
Once you're sure it's out of your system, you curl onto your side and he joins you in your bed.
“You didn't have to cut yourself again,” he chides, bandaging your palm.
“Better safe than sorry.” You turn to face him. “If you're ever worried I'll cross a line, you can knock me unconscious.”
“Kind of an overreaction, when I could just say slow down or stop, isn't it?”
“In extenuating circumstances, then.” You look up at the ceiling. “Do you think you want to, someday? Have sex, I mean.”
“If it's anything like holding hands or kissing, definitely. I enjoy both. With you.”
He takes your hand in his. “You don't have to wait for me, blood. Like I said before, I don't really know the timeline on when I'll be ok with certain things. With everything.”
You kiss his cheek softly.
“I want to. I want you, only you, no matter how long I have to wait.”