A/N: who's gotten married on Skyrim? It's the most adorable thing ever!
...
He was the first one Dalamus got to when Lydia died.
She was a very good friend, a magnificent fighter, and a loyal housecarl, cut down by that Dwemer Centurion in Alftand. He'd gone through the rest of Blackreach numb, unfeeling, coldly cutting and Shouting through the Falmer and ancient machines in order to finish the task assigned to him. He attained the Elder Scroll and the runed Lexicon with insensitive efficiency, stuffed them into his bag with the rest of his things, and went back up to Skyrim.
He did make it back to Septimus Signus, did give up that strange little cube with very few words, vowed to return once the mad old Imperial found something new. And once he finished with that, he went straight over to Riften and proceeded to drink himself blind at the Bee and Barb.
"Excuse me, are you alright?" there was a tentative shake at his shoulder, and the voice was at his ear.
He turned to see the slightly worried face of Marcurio, the magical mercenary who had followed him weeks ago, before he became the Thane of Whiterun. "Marcurio."
"Dalamus?" and he was all the more worried, if his expression was anything to go by. "What happened to you?"
The Dragonborn grinned like a child and held up his flagon. "I gotsh mead. The mead'sh good."
"I see." He frowned and turned to Keerava, voice raising slightly. "Keerava, I need a room for the night, and he's coming with me."
A few gold coins were dropped on the table, the Argonian nodded, and Dalamus found himself being lifted from his stool, one arm around the mage's shoulders. "Come on, Dal, we're going upstairs."
"Mmkay," and he stumbled along right with him.
It could've been seconds, or hours, or days, Dalamus couldn't tell, but eventually he found himself in one of the inn's rooms, sitting on the bed while Marcurio stood in front of him, hands placed delicately around his head.
"Marc, what…?"
"Shh," the mage shushed him sharply, and a short string of words met the Dragonborn's ears in a low murmur. Some kind of wind rushed around his skull, feeling much like when he absorbed a dragon's soul, and his vision flickered with golden strands. He blinked hard as the wind faded away, vision clearing of its alcohol-induced fog, and his inebriated brain was rid of its haze.
"By the eight, Dalamus, how many meads did you drink?"
He cleared his throat, thought for a moment, "I think it may have been… twelve."
"Gods," Marcurio sighed, sitting next to the Dunmer.
"I know."
"What happened?"
"Lydia died."
"That woman that follows you?"
"Followed..." he drew his knees up, into his chest. Marcurio never thought that, for the powerful mer he was, Dalamus could ever look so frail.
"You loved her?" he asked, voicing his first thought.
"No, no, it was nothing like that," he shook his head, "It's just... she was there with me through a lot of this... whole 'Dragonborn' mess. She never really said much, but she was there, she saw all I was going through and it was a big comfort."
"You know I'll be here for you if you need me," Marcurio offered a slight smile. He couldn't even bring himself to say something arrogant at the moment, his only instinct was to help comfort his friend.
"Yes, I know," he had to smile back, "Thank you."
...
Dalamus stayed in Riften for a few weeks, doing odd jobs for the people there - and some work for the Thieves' Guild, but no one needed to know that - and he stayed at the Bee and Barb the entire time. He and Marcurio drank together each night before retiring to a room upstairs; Keerava gave them the thing for a month, for 250 Septims.
Marcurio was always the more responsible one, making sure the Dragonborn didn't completely inebriate himself over the course of the evening. However, he was an extremely proud man, and absolutely couldn't resist challenging Dalamus to a drinking contest - first to seven wins. He rather thoroughly defeated the Imperial - he'd downed all seven before Marcurio even got to five - and later he wouldn't be sure whether to be proud of that or not.
They stumbled up the stairs together, laughing at everything and nothing, and collapsed into the door, more or less. Marcurio just leaned against the wall as Dalamus fell into bed. He felt fuzzy, and comfortable, and numb, and a little too hot - he got out of his shirt with only slight difficulty. The Imperial couldn't help the slight raise of his brows when he noticed the amulet of Mara around the Dragonborn's neck, the one that matched his own.
And then he looked at the mer below the little charm.
Lean muscles, long limbs, dark skin that Marcurio just had to touch. He ran his tongue over his lips, eyes meeting the flushed face of the dark elf currently laying back on the bed. He actually wasn't that drunk, his alcohol tolerance was pretty high, but he probably wouldn't have done this if he was sober...
"Dalamus," it came out as a purr, low and rumbling, as he pushed himself off of the wall and walked up to the adventurer.
"Hmm?" Dalamus hummed distantly, turning his head to face the Imperial, and when he didn't reply, sat up. "Marc, what -?"
He never got to finish that sentence.
The last few words were blotted out, drowned in a series of mushed-up vowels and consonants with no inflection because the mercenary's mouth was in the way. His mind - what little he was thinking at the moment - blanked, and his eyes widened a little. The Imperial's lips were moving against his slowly, trying to coax a reaction from him, and he gave in rather quickly; his fingers curled in the folds of Marcurio's shirt, eyes fell shut, mouth returned the affection given with fervor. A warm, wet tongue traveled the length of the Dragonborn's lower lip, not asking but demanding entrance, and all he could do was open his mouth to receive it and meet it with his own.
The kiss was clumsy, drunken, but pleasant and fulfilling anyway. Dalamus pulled the mage closer and leaned back, expecting to hit the wall at some point, but he misunderstood the distance and landed on his back, yanking the Imperial up on top of him. With that Marcurio pulled away just barely, heart pounding in his chest and breath heavy, a slightly crooked smirk on his face.
"You're so cute when you're drunk," he purred, closing the short distance between them to press a light kiss to his lips.
Dalamus raised a white brow. "Only when I'm drunk?"
And the smirk grew, "Of course not."
...
When Dalamus cracked his eyes open in the morning, he immediately wished he hadn't. Daylight streamed into the room through the window and it was blinding, his eyes couldn't take the sudden change and he hid under the covers while his nervous system buzzed with discontent. There was a migraine trying to beat its way through his eyes and temples and his stomach rolled with each movement he made.
Gods, he was never going to drink again.
He rolled himself up into a little ball, ignoring the sting right where his neck merged into shoulder (which he vowed to investigate later), and slipped into another alcohol-induced coma. When he woke again, Marcurio looked as if he had just awakened as well; he was still lying in bed, on his stomach, eyes closed as he scratched at his scalp through his thick black hair. The sight made him scratch irritably at the annoying thing on his neck and he frowned, thinking hard as to what it could be and coming up with nothing. He clumsily got out of bed, taking much longer than normal on account of his hangover and the fact that his boots were still on.
"Morning," Marcurio murmured at the sound of him moving about; the Dunmer slept like a rock, the only reason he would be shuffling around was to get out of bed.
"Was I with someone last night?" he asked instead of returning the greeting when he got to the mirror and saw the large, deep purple hickey marking his skin.
"Yes, but not exactly how you think," came the oh, so helpful answer.
"It wasn't a prostitute, was it?"
Marcurio chuckled. "I can assure you, you did not sleep with a prostitute."
"Did I sleep with anyone?"
"Almost," he looked over at Dalamus, "But I stopped you."
The Dragonborn frowned, "Why would you do that?"
"I wanted to make sure you wouldn't regret it in the morning."
Dalamus just gave him a look that said 'and I would regret sex why?'
With a little sigh Marcurio got out of bed, fingers still ruffling at his hair until he was behind the Dragonborn. When asked what he was doing the mercenary just shushed him and murmured, "Do you remember this?"
Dalamus was about to ask what, exactly, was he supposed to be remembering when Marcurio's arms wrapped around him, drawing him back against the Imperial's body. His mouth was warm against Dalamus' shoulder, sucking gently, and he whispered something into the Dragonborn's skin that made him shiver.
"You really do have an apt appreciation for my mouth," Marcurio purred, biting lightly around the bruise he'd sucked into the dark elf's shoulder.
"That was you?" Dalamus demanded, breaking out of the mage's grip, a furious blush scorched across his shocked face like wildfire.
Marcurio nodded. "And this is why I stopped you."
"Oh, I... Marc," he sighed, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"
But he had already crossed the distance between them, and placed a finger over his lips mid-sentence. "What are you apologizing for?"
"I was drunk, I shouldn't have..." he trailed off, looked away.
"Dalamus." the commanding tone with which Marcurio said his name made Dunmer look at him; "First of all, I started it, so don't get all guilty on me. Second - if you don't want... me, just say it and I'll back off."
"That's not it," he denied it quickly, shaking his head a little, and cracked a boyish little smile. "I'd love to be with you."
Marcurio smiled brightly, leaned down and kissed him. Dalamus' arms were around the Imperial's shoulders instantly, pulling him close as he delved deep into his mouth without warning. This brought a surprised little hum from the Mr, who happily parted his lips to accept the wet muscle.
When they finally broke apart, chests heaving and breath heavy, Marcurio recognized the slight dilation of his pupils and chuckled, "You are so hung over."
"I know," he mumbled, leaning his forehead against the Imperial's with a soft smile. Marcurio put his hands around Dalamus' head and murmured one of the healing spells he knew, allowing the golden strands of magick to coil around the Dunmer's head until he sighed in relief.
"Better?"
"Yes, thank you."
...
Three months later Dalamus found himself curled into Marcurio's chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, body warm and fuzzy and still trembling slightly with post-coital bliss. The Imperial's arms were around him, muscles shifting and flexing with every movement, and the Dragonborn had never before felt so… loved.
"Marcurio," he began quietly, the words whispered into the mage's dark skin.
Marcurio opened one eye, vision flooded with the ivory strands of Dalamus' hair, and smiled. "Hm?"
"Will you…" he stopped, swallowed, began again, "Will you marry me?"
The question came out even softer; Marcurio wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been listening. He scooted back, releasing the Dunmer from his embrace so he could take in the nervous, hopeful expression on his face. Dalamus supplied his hand when he blindly reached for it, and he brought the appendage up to his lips, kissing right over his left ring finger without breaking the eye contact he had established. "Of course."
And damn, if the Dragonborn's face wasn't the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.
…
A/N: Argh, I love Marcurio so much! *squee* but I just can't get with the arrogance; I know that was terribly OOC for him, but I couldn't help it! :3