WARNING: LEMON
Smutty two-shot between Brynjolf and the reader. Enjoy!
Heart pounding hard in your chest, you sprint across the snowy ground towards Nightingale Hall. You thought everything was okay when you came back from your special Windhelm job, but when Delvin told you Brynjolf and Karliah had rushed rather suddenly out of the Cistern, panic hit you, and you practically flew out into the streets of Riften.
You draw your daggers as you enter your secondary home, noticing the mess. Bookshelves have been tipped over, several chairs are in pieces, books and broken bottles are scattered all over the floor and - worst of all - red blood glistens on the stone.
You work your way methodically but quickly through Nightingale Hall, finding more chaos, more blood and four bodies along the way. Thankfully none are the bodies of your friends. When at last you come into the initiation room, you see the last of the bodies, along with Brynjolf and Karliah. Karliah is slouched on the floor, holding her hand to her stomach, a pained expression on her face. Brynjolf is stood next to her, preparing some bandages to cover the wound.
Instantly you sheathe your daggers, drawing their eyes your way. You drop down beside Karliah and summon a healing spell in both hands, then press them against her body. You let the magic flow from your fingertips, slowly knitting Karliah's skin back together. She smiles gratefully at you when you are done, but you can't find it within yourself to return it.
"What happened?"
She sighs. "From what I can tell, these bandits followed me to the Hall yesterday. I noticed they were waiting to ambush me, so I left to find you and Brynjolf before I could be overwhelmed. It was already in shambles when we arrived."
Guilt floods your system. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to help. I-"
"You were helping the Guild make a name for itself again," Brunjolf interrupts, and you glance up at him, feeling the familiar misstep of your heart as your eyes come to rest on him. "You were busy, and it was nothing we couldn't handle."
"Still..."
"He's right," Karliah says, pushing herself to her feet. "Chances are it'll be rare for all three of us to be here at once. It's always been like that, and we've always managed."
You sigh. Karliah gives your shoulder a small squeeze, before turning around and moving down the corridor. You watch her go, wondering at her swift departure. You are about to follow when Brynjolf catches your elbow in his large, warm hand. A shiver goes down your spine, but you manage to hide it.
"Something wrong?" you ask.
Brynjolf huffs. "In a way," he grumbles.
"Oh?"
"You're playing games with my mind, lass."
You stare at him, confused. "What?"
He chuckles and tenderly tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, before cradling your face in his hand. You fight a blush at the action. "Your very presence drives me insane," he murmurs, pulling you closer so his lips are by your ear. Your body shudders at your close proximity, and the warmth of his breath and the almost seductive tone in his voice has you weak in the knees. "I can't think straight when you're nearby. You send my whole body ablaze." He exhales shakily, before drawing away quickly, eyes and hands clenched shut. He is turned away from you, and you can see a slight tremor in his body. A grimace flashes across his face, and for a moment you think he's in pain.
Then he turns on his heel and walks away. You do nothing to stop him, too shocked to do more than just stare at his fading form.
You can't keep him out of my head. You haven't seen hair or hide of Brynjolf since that day almost three weeks ago, and yet his words echo endlessly in your mind.
Taking refuge on the balcony of Honeyside helps only marginally, the crisp air successfully clearing some of the fog in your mind. For a while you are at peace.
Then the words come circling back to you.
With a wolf-like growl of frustration, you march down the steps of the balcony and into the forest surrounding Riften. You need a walk to clear your head. Unfortunately, you don't make it a hundred metres before thick arms wrap themselves around you, a warm hand covering you mouth to keep you from crying out.
You try to wriggle free, but he is too strong. A familiar chuckle meets your ear, halting your struggles.
"Brynjolf?"
His lips brush your shoulder when he speaks. "It's been a while, lass."
Oh that name. How you love that name. You hadn't realised until now how much you've missed it.
"You were avoiding me," you remind him sternly.
"I apologise," he murmurs, hands trailing south to grasp at your hips. A tremor shoots down your spine as his warm breath brushes against your neck. "I had some thoughts to settle."
"And meanwhile mine were going insane," you mutter back, your voice carrying none of the power you hoped it would.
Brynjolf hums. "Care to share, lass?"
"You're words won't leave me alone."
"A good thing I hope."
"No," you say quickly. "A bad thing. A very bad thing."
"And why is that?"
"Because you weren't here." You spin in his grip and practically throw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck while your legs latch around his waist. Brynjolf's arms hold you securely against him, and his lips suddenly press against yours.
They are so soft and warm, and they move sensually against your own. You can feel desire writhing in your stomach. Desire for him. With a passion you didn't know you possessed, you grasp his red locks between your fingers and pull his head back, placing bites and licks and kisses along his jaw and throat, before circling back to his lips, where you promptly devour him.
His tongue traces your bottom lip, before slipping inside your mouth, only to find your own tongue waiting for it. You growl against him, battling for dominance. But he doesn't concede, and that causes heat to flare in your core. You're positively aching for him.
Apparently sensing your growing impatience, Brynjolf lowers you onto the cold ground, before beginning to undo the buckles on your armour. His skin gleams in the moonlight, and you can't help but gently stroke his face. His fingers pause, eyes moving to meet yours.
"You're beautiful," you breathe, brushing your thumb over his stubble. Brynjolf smirks and then places a kiss on the tip of your finger. It's strange how you can suddenly go from frantic passion to calm affection.
His head dips and his mouth finds yours again, softer this time, and slower.
Then suddenly he's working you out of your armour, each piece falling with a dull thump onto the ground. The cold of the night makes you shiver, but Brnyjolf doesn't give you enough time to complain. He sheds his own clothes until he's left in only his loincloth, before folding himself over you, his body radiating heat like a fresh fire. You shudder when his hands tickle your sides, brushing the very edges of your breasts.
Your own hands wander down to his loincloth, pausing when you feel his length, hot and rigid, straining against the material. With a wicked gleam to your eyes, you rip off his loincloth, revealing his member to the world.
You swallow at the sight before you. It is long and thick, and so tantalisingly close to your heat that you can already imagine it sliding in and out of you. A moan escapes your lips at the thought.
And all that blasted thief does is smirk at you. Then his mouth is by your ear again, whispering. "Get on your hands and knees."
You stare into his eyes, noticing his pupils are wide from lust. Shivering, you push him back from your body and obey him. You get on all fours, exposed to him, vulnerable and practically shaking with desire and anticipation.
Brynjolf starts to rub at your ass cheek, smoothing his hand over it. You whimper at the sensation, feeling your core grow even more moist, but you realise that your acquisition to his request has put him in charge. Brynjolf's the one in charge - he says what goes. And so you can only lift you ass up toward him, showing him how much you long for his touch.
"So eager," he growls, whilst spreading your ass cheeks with both hands, and you soon feel his stubble grazing your skin before he slowly runs his hot tongue over the wet entrance of your core. You moan at the sensation and can't stop yourself from grinding your ass into his face, wanting more friction. Before long Brynjolf is licking at your hole leisurely, his mouth becoming more and more greedy as his pace increases.
Suddenly, his mouth leaves you, and you let out a groan of conplaint, shivering as your core throbs with want. His voice, gruff from lust, reaches you.
"Touch yourself," he orders darkly. You shudder at the vulgarity of his words. After hesitating for a moment, you lower your torso onto the floor and lift one arm. Your finger begins to toy with your clit. The suddenness of the sensation causes a wave of pleasure to shoot through you, and you let out a loud curse.
Brynjolf groans at the sight of you pleasuring yourself, before starting to thrust his tongue in and out of your hole. The combination of his tongue and your finger has your body shuddering from pleasure. Unconsciously, you start to rub your clit faster, gritting your teeth as you feel a coil in your stomach tighten.
Then suddenly he moves his mouth away and pushes your finger off your body. You hiss, but don't have long to mourn the loss of his tongue; Brynjolf pushes you forward until your whole body is flat on the ground, and before you can even imagine what he's about to do he slams deep into you.
A burning sensation spreads through your belly at the rough intrusion and you scream out in pleasure. He penetrates so deep, and your walls stretch so deliciously around him. You've never felt anything like it before. You never want to feel anything else again.
"By the Nine, Brynjolf," you groan. "Move!"
He lets his body fall flat on yours and he starts to build a rapid rhythm, hammering into you, stretching you wide. The heat coming off of his body is burning your skin, but it feels so good against the chill of the air. Your fingers dig into the dirt as you start to push your hips backwards desperately, meeting his thrusts.
Once again, his lips find your ear, whispering authoritatively to you. "You're mine. All mine." He then lets out a particularly arousing grunt. "Tell me how much you want this. Tell me what you want me to do to you. All. Night. Long." His last three words are each accompanied by a particularly harsh snap of his hips that almost has you fainting from the sensation that washes over you.
"Yes, yes," you grind out, eyes screwed shut as you feel that coil tighten once more. "Oh, Gods, Bryn! Do whatever you want to me but please stay inside me." You gasp. "You're so thick, so long." You both let out groans when he hits a particularly deep spot within your core. "Yes! Deeper Brynjolf!"
He complies, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, and suddenly more uncoordinated. He's close, just like you are.
"Mine," he growls, and before you can even think about responding, Brynjolf's deep groan fills your ears as he comes violently into you, his hot and sticky cum shooting into you. You feel each spurting like an individual thrust and it makes that coil in your stomach snap. Hard.
You yell out his name several times as he continues to pound into you, riding out both your orgasms. At long last his arms fail, and he collapses onto you, not yet withdrawing from your still pulsating core.
After a few more minutes he slowly rolls off of you, making you twitch when his now limp member brushes against your sensitive clit. He gathers you in his arms and holds you close, burying his face in your hair.
"Best night of my life," he murmurs, voice muffled.
Somehow you find the energy to laugh, though it is noticeably breathless. "Best night of your life so far," you correct, before placing a kiss on his forehead and allowing sleep to claim you.
