Her laugh bubbled up and out of her throat and vibrated throughout the room causing many cultists to look upon her with annoyance. Their seriousness made her eyes roll before laughing again.
"Enough, Dovahkiin," Miraak snapped and slammed his fist down onto the stone table.
She raised her brows at him and her nose crinkled. "Excuse me?" She asked. Her soul was itching beneath her skin, and the dragon within her was beginning to waken.
If he wanted to challenge her, he would get one. She would not back down from him.
She had no fear.
"This is a serious matter," he spat and stared her down. "Choose your next words wisely."
The mischeiveous smirk that was gracing her lips diminished and was replaced with a sinister snarl. "Do not threaten me, Miraak." She stood from her seat at the opposite end of the large table and flexed her fingers. Fire burned within her irises, and she wanted a fight. She wanted him to stand.
But he never did.
"Are you finished now?" He huffed in irritation.
She bit her cheek to keep the fire from spewing out of her mouth and sat down with a thud. The distaste was evident on her face, but she sat perfectly still during the remainder of the small meeting.
Miraak was a nuisance, and she was beginning to tire of him.
She had let him out of Apocrypha for the fun of it, and she hated her decision. The damned man drove her absolutely insane, and they couldn't agree on anything.
The meeting ended, and the council Miraak had allowed in his temple departed the room leaving them staring at each other.
The silence stretching between them was almost suffocating. The tension pressed in on her from all angles, but she wouldn't break. She wouldn't give in first.
"Why do you insist on going against me?" He asked, breaking the silence and adding to the strain between them.
She breathed loudly through her nose and narrowed her gaze, staring at the slits in his golden mask. He had still not taken it off in her presence, and it irked her. She yearned to see the expressions dancing across his face, and she hated to be denied this simple thing.
"I am not going against you," she snapped. "You need to realize that you've not stepped foot in Tamriel in Oblivion knows how long. This world is mine."
A huff of air escaped from beneath the mask. "It is not yours, Dragonborn," he answered her calmly and leaned back leisurely in his seat. "It is ours."
Ours.
She didn't know how she felt about that and simply blinked, waiting for him to clarify further.
"We are the future, Dovahkiin," he explained. "We will shape the world with our actions. Life as we know it hangs in the balance, and we have the power to make it our own."
She sat still and mulled over his words, replaying them in her mind over and over again.
A world in which they governed together.
Two dragonborns against the world. Now that sounded like an interesting idea, and she would allow him to indulge her further.
"Go on," she said and listened closely to the aspirations and plans of the First Dragonborn.
Maybe she didn't make a fatal error by freeing him from Apocrypha.
"Care to elaborate why I'm receiving letters from the Emperor?" Miraak drawled from his desk and met her gaze.
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and took the letters out of his outstretched hands. She grinned at the words adorning the page and raised her eyes to meet his.
"We have the support of an Empire, Miraak," she said. "Doesn't that make you feel powerful?"
A shake of his head had her rolling her eyes and tossing the letters in front of him.
"No," he answered. "How did you manage that?"
"Now that is something you don't need to know or worry about," the Last Dragoborn said and settled into the chair in front of him. "Now, I believe I came here for something else entirely."
She heard him huff in annoyance before he looked back down at the letters stacked neatly on the edge of his desk. He was evidently avoiding her gaze. Her eyes narrowed at his actions, and she sighed.
The First Dragonborn was a stubborn man. That was it. And yet, he pushed her in all the right ways, and his voice... She could listen to man speak all day long, but he never wanted to hold a conversation with her for long. All though, it was her own fault for she enjoyed to anger him for fun. What could she say? It was fun to poke an angry dragon.
"Dovahkiin?" He questioned and brought her out of her thoughts.
She was going to push him further.
A lazy grin crossed her lips as her eyes bored into the slits of his mask. "Take it off," she purred, her voice dropping an octave. She didn't understand what she felt around him, but she wanted him.
She had so many men ogling after her, but none of them could hold a candle to the man sitting across from her. He was ambitious, undoubtedly could best her in battle, and his arrogance... He was a bottle of something she wanted to sip on before drowning in it for the rest of eternity.
"What?" he snapped.
She stood from her seat and stretched gracefully, showing off her lithe figure. She shoved the letters from his desk into the floor and laughed. "Ooops," she giggled moved over to stand in front of his seething figure before dropping down low to pick up the papers slowly.
"I know what you're doing," he said, his voice dangerously low. "If that's what you wanted, you should have asked."
She turned on her heel to face him and smiled. She tugged her hair free from her braid and let it flow freely. "Then what are we waiting for?" she teased.
She crossed the small space between their bodies and placed her hand on his chest pleasantly surprised at the hardness of his muscles. A small breath left her as his fingers trailed up her arms leaving a scorch of fire as they danced across her warm skin.
She reached up to tug at the clasps of his mask, but his hands closed around her wrists as he shook his head. "You have a choice, Dovakiin," he whispered softly into her ear before lifting his mask enough so he could press his lips against her neck. "You can take off the mask or," he drawled and paused before pushing the mask back down before she could catch a glimpse of him.
"Or?" she breathed. Every inch of her body was covered in goosebumps, and her heart was racing. She had wanted him for so long, and she may finally have him.
He chuckled, and she loved the sound of his laugh. It was such a beautiful sound.
He roughly shoved her against the desk sending more papers flying to the floor. "You can have me," he said as he turned her to face the door and away from him. "It is your decision."
She wanted to see him without the mask, but her desire was overwhelming. She wanted him to touch her, and she wanted to feel his skin underneath her fingertips. She needed him.
"I want you, Miraak," she said softly. "Please."
As she lay there in his arms, extensively satisfied, she breathed deeply. This was not what she had saw happening when she had let him out of Apocrypha, but she wasn't disappointed with the outcome. Other than the fact she was ruined for other men. She would never want another to touch her skin. He had set her ablaze, and she never wanted that flame to be extinguished.
Miraak had constantly pissed her off to no end, and she had never thought they would agree on anything. But she finally found some common ground with him for once, and she had more than enjoyed it.
He shifted away from her, and she frowned at the loss of contact between them. It should have meant nothing to her except a way to get her thirst quenched, but she felt something deep inside of her stir when he was this close.
Perhaps... Perhaps, she was fighting him so much because they were so alike. Stubborn. Dragonborn. She could list a quite a few similarities.
She sighed and rolled her body against his gently tucking her hands around his body and leaning her head against his chest. She had learned a few things. The First Dragonborn was not an old man as part of her slightly expected. He was a man of his word. He had a silver tongue and not just for speaking. He had only became more alluring to her, and she didn't know if that hold over her would ever be broken.
Miraak began to stir and turned over on his side to face her. That mask was still firmly latched to his face, and the anger inside of her twitched. "Dovahkiin," he said.
"Miraak," she said with a grin crossing her lips. "Will you take it off? Please?" That was another thing she learned. The man loved to hear her say the word please.
He huffed, but to her surprise, he complied. He pulled the mask from his face, and her mouth opened wide.
He looked as if he was sculpted by Dibella herself. His jaw was strong and chiseled, full lips, strong brows and nose. He was delectable, and she only wanted to let him have his way with her again.
She ran a hand gently through his hair before kissing him softly. "Miraak," she whispered against his lips. "Are you ready?"
A small smile tugged at his lips as his hands began to roam her body. "Again?"
"Again," she said. "Please."