Sun's Dusk

Whiterun was dark and gloomy this Fredas evening. It was not yet cold enough for snow, but the chill settled in the joints and made one clammy and slow. Cyrielle had wound her hair into a loose red bun in the nape of her neck: her ears would have frozen off had she ridden with her usual austere ponytail.

Opening the doors of Jorrvaskr, she was greeted by a warm hug from Vilkas.

'Come, Cyri, here's some mead to warm you up.' He shook her head at her unasked questions, but Cyrielle was content to sit by the fire. For now. The dining hall was almost empty and she wondered if even the Companions had just settled into their furs and attempted to sleep through the cold. Vilkas was discussing business with Kodlak in a corner. She appreciated how much more serious and adult he had become: how they both had. The twins were men, now. Gone were their long summer days.

Thinking of the twins' youth made her feel sad. Farkas had grown into a man too, but the quiet, kind boy had ended up falling for her, and the worst thing was, Cyrielle loved him back. True, she was not their mother, but she almost raised them herself, and besides she was almost a hundred years old- Nine Divines, it hurt to say it- and Farkas was only in his late twenties: it was slightly perverse, was it not?

Every man and woman you sleep with in Solitude, or Falkreath, or Riften, and every man and woman you have ever slept with are young enough to be your grandchildren.

That was beside the point. Farkas was Farkas.

Cyrielle rubbed the back of her neck, lost in deeper memories. Gentle eyes, a quick smile, and long, lusciously curly brown hair…

She sighed. There would be no sleep, not tonight. Cyrielle's heart was bound to one woman, and she haunted her.

Her desire welled up suddenly, and she ached for contact. This was how it had always begun. She stood and made her way to Farkas' room, Kodlak's smile be damned. Slamming the doors open, she undressed quickly, slumping gratefully onto the soft bed. The furs and the sharp tang of Farkas' scent calmed her heart, made the possibility of sleep seem almost desirable. She slept better near Farkas, she mused. A few extra hours before the nightmares came back…

Farkas had stumbled into Jorrvaskr, irritated and cold. The bandit camp he had cleared out was simple enough, it was the troll who had found him, bloodied and vulnerable, that had really sparked his deeply buried ire.

The table was unoccupied, the fire smouldering quietly. Everyone must be asleep.

Well, while everyone's burrowed into their furs, I'm out fighting trolls. Alone.

Striding into his room, he made to throw away his armour when he noticed Cyrielle lying on the narrow bed. She was perfectly naked, her hair flying free of the bun at her neck, like a raging fire. He smiled and unclasped his chestplate, trying to remove the clanky metal as quietly as possible. It wasn't that she was a light sleeper: Cyrielle just needed as much sleep as she could get. He quickly donned a pair of linen trousers, easing himself next to Cyrielle and wrapping the top blanket around her, resting her head on his lap. Eyes still closed, she feebly kicked at the wool.

Awake, his Cyri was loud, lively and smiling. In her sleep, a slight frown marred her oval face, pulling down the corners of her full lips. He ran one finger down her tan cheek, causing her to blink awake.

'Farkas?' Her voice was slurred with tiredness. She rarely slept. 'How long was I out for?'

'Long enough for me to block any means of escape, love.'

She grinned lazily up at him, stretching her limbs, knowing full well that Farkas watched her hungrily. She tilted her head, deliberately kissing his navel. He pinned her wrists.

'Now Cyri, behave.'

'Ah, the hapless prisoner. My sweet, you really relish these games, do you not?' she purred as she parted her legs slightly, Farkas' mouth watering involuntarily. He released her and she settled into his lap, rubbing hard onto his aching manhood. Wrapping all four limbs around him, they kissed, Farkas keeping his eyes on Cyrielle's green ones, deep and melancholy as the sea. She gently ran her hands up his chest and he broke off, brushing kisses onto her neck.

Entwined, they sat for a while, murmuring news to each other. Eventually, Cyrielle mumbled something into his ear.

'What was that, dear?'

'Elisif. We almost slept with each other last Tiridas.'

'Almost?'

Cyrielle's face was ashamed. 'I could not.' Farkas tried to look directly at her but she nestled her head in the crook of his neck. 'It's high time I took an aspect of my life seriously, Farkas.' Her grip tightened around his waist. He absent-mindedly stroked her hair.

They were hardly established lovers. Cyrielle was a well known lover of many talented, intelligent, or simply powerful people: people with charisma. These affairs were highly documented, intense, and soon over. Farkas had also done his share of traveling around Skyrim, found his share of women. The one unspoken rule was that Whiterun was home ground, and no lovers were ever brought home.

'So… we're lovers now?'

She laughed, pushing him away, tension gone. 'If I had known what the reaction was going to be, then I'd have just kept quiet. Pined away.'

'I was just thinking about my other lovers, you know? Someone has to keep the daughters of Skyrim satisfied, love.'

'I think your lovers much prefer me, Farkas. I've heard them all complain about your performance.' Farkas put on his most horrified face, and turned to face the wall.

'Sulking is for children. I've heard tell you're a man, now.' She slipped her arms around his waist again, and he smiled at her.

'But really… lovers? Are you sure, Cyrielle?'

'Do you mind?' Her voice was… shy? Cyrielle was anything but timid.

'I would be most honoured. Although I am afraid for my body: your voracious appetites are legend.'

'You shall grow into it, my love.' He grinned wolfishly, and pushed her onto her back, hair fanning out underneath her.

'I most certainly will.' Cyrielle laughed, but lay prone before him. Her eyes, half-lidded and glinting, were challenging him. He grasped her ankles, spreading her wider, his desire suddenly back and throbbing. Tentatively- having never done it quite like this before- he caressed the inside of her thighs, pale and soft. Slowly, gently, he kissed the warm juncture of her thighs, and her legs closed around him, her hands cradling his head. He breathed in the scent of her, savouring the shocking closeness between them. He could feel her trembling in barely restrained lust and finally he acquiesced, burying his face, lapping her in thirstily, crazed by his actions, her compliance and her smell. She leaned back, her hands slipping onto his shoulders. She was-futilely- trying to break his kiss, trying to force his head to hers.

He was having none of that.

Farkas found the source of her pleasure, and pressed his tongue lightly to the bud, probing it. She finally moaned, the sounds of her desire heightening his.

'Farkas- please- I cannot-' He leaned over her body, leaning his weight onto his forearms and slid his tongue into her mouth, Cyrielle desperately sucking it, bucking against him.

He finally rocked into her, with one hard, satisfying thrust. Cyrielle was a wild thing beneath him, writhing as he rode her. The creaking of the bed, the rhythmic slap of their bodies, their ragged breathing all around him was the music of their desire, and he loved it.

It mattered not that she had loved other people- as had he. She was his, now. He wanted to claim her, this woman, his carer, his lover. Farkas drove hard into her, the fire in the pit of his stomach igniting at her gasps of pain. He kissed her roughly, his hands fondling her breasts, tugging at the swollen nipples. He sucked at one, rubbing the other, and on an impulse he bit her shoulder, teeth sinking into her flesh. He suddenly wanted to dominate this warrior, with her soft woman's flesh and her lean, flat stomach: wanted to lick her firm thighs, be crushed between them. Wanted her arm between his teeth, wanted to watch the muscles in them fight underneath the blanket of her skin. His teeth nipped at the skin of her chest, watching it blossom purple, growling when she pushed his head aside, groaning.

He was in a frenzy now, his teeth bruising her lips as he kissed her again. The fire in his belly was now lava, pooling until it had to overflow. He clenched her buttocks tightly, lifting her and managing three last, rough thrusts before he came into her, and she rode on his ecstasy, moaning.

Farkas collapsed onto her. Cyrielle embraced him, stroking his hair as their breathing returned to normal. He remembered that his superior weight would crush such a small woman, and turned onto his back, cupping the back of her neck with one hand and her buttocks with the other, her legs curled around him.

'Well,' he said bemusedly, 'that was fun.'

'Indeed. A beginning of a beautiful relationship.' Cyrielle rolled off of him, propping her head on one arm. Farkas settled onto the bed, feeling too hot to go underneath the furs: Cyrielle leaned over him, kissing his lips. It was the tender kiss of a woman to her partner, the seal of a new beginning.