A/N: I had major issues with doc manager getting this thing on here. If there are any errors, please let me know so I can work them out. As of yet, I am undecided if this will be a one shot or a series, so until I make up my mind, it's being marked as complete. Also, last time I published something, FF decided to ignore all my italics and the like. Hopefully that's no longer the case.
Disclaimer: disclaimed. I just find Ondolemar particularly yummy.
WARNING: sexual situations abound. 18+ only; you have been warned.
Understone Keep was wretched, just as the entirety of Markarth was wretched. It smelt perpetually of smoke and ash, and everyone was miserable, including Elismyra herself. She scowled as she swept past the waterfall and up the stairs of the Keep, the guards staring in suspicious squints. Of all the places for him to be stationed, it had to be here. Of course it couldn't be somewhere like Solitude or Whiterun or hell, even Riften. Haughty bastard had to live out in the ass end of-
"Elismyra," he breathes just beside her ear, ignoring her sharp gasp and irked grimace. "Welcome back."
"How many times do I have to tell you," she snaps, dutifully ignoring the blush that sweeps across her cheeks, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Ondolemar's rumbling chuckle does nothing to soothe her frazzled nerves. "Consider it a service, then," he murmurs, pulling her into the shadows beside the grand staircase. "It simply would not do for the Guildmaster of Thieves to be caught unawares."
The Dragonborn flushes darker, fidgeting where she stands. Under normal circumstances, such an accusation would be met with a quirked brow and sarcastic laugh, but Ondolemar has always had an infuriating knack for knocking her off-balance. Still, she must retain at least a smidge of her dignity. "Such blasphemy you speak, Ondolemar. The Good and Pure Dragonborn, a thief?" She flaps a hand exaggeratedly, smirking. "Hogwash."
The way his full mouth twitches and his green eyes spark is entirely unfair, and the Altmer could not control her audible inhale if she tried. "No?" he hisses, but not unkindly, and Elismyra has a very distinct and unwelcome epiphany that she knows exactly what this is about. She only barely refrains from squeaking. "Then my smallclothes sprouted legs and disappeared from my chest on their own, then?"
Yup. She's done for.
Sanguine is howling with laughter somewhere, she can feel it. "I - I mean - There was-" She stammers, bright red, desperate for a coherent sentence that didn't make her sound like a drooling lech to show itself. "It was a job, a heist I mean, Vex said-" and she claps her mouth shut, floundering, cursing at every deity she knows of and then some.
Ondolemar is smirking far too wide and he looks positively predatory. She watches the way his eyes travel down her face, over the curve of her neck, the dip in her waist exaggerated by the snug leather of Nocturnal's chosen. Her already-failing composure is fast disintegrating, and when she feels his chest rumble with an inaudible, probably involuntary growl, she thinks that might not be such a bad thing.
His smile is wicked when he says, "It's quite alright, Myra. In fact," and one of his gloved hands settles on her hip and the other under her chin, forcing her face up toward his own, "I'm willing to let you keep them." He pauses, bending low beside her ear. "For a trade."
And with that, all other trains of thought come to a screeching halt.
This is territory she knows, has flirted with this line with him before. She may not have the experience of a lover, but seduction itself is another matter entirely. All her shattered confidence comes roaring back and she knows he notices, because his eyes flash and the fingers holding her chin twitch.
"A trade, you say," she purrs, desperately hoping he isn't bluffing and yet terrified out of her wits at the same time because she's never gone that far with anyone, much less devilishly handsome Thalmor agents that most definitely have orders to kill her on sight. "What could I possibly have that you want, Ondolemar?"
He says nothing, and she feels his breath on her neck, hot and strong. The hand at her waist slides down the leather, over the swell of her hip and under her thigh, pulling it up around his own so he is flush against her. He has never been so forward, so very agressive, and the sheer thought of what he intends is enough to pull a strangled gasp from her lips.
It is all she can do to keep silent when he bites the shell of her ear, and her hands seem to have sprouted minds of their own because they are suddenly tangled in his dark robes, tugging at his hood so she can feel his hair and Gods she can't believe it took them this long to-
"Are my terms-" he licks behind her ear and squeezes her thigh, and she bucks out of sheer surprise, "-agreeable?"
"Yes," she chokes, wild with a need she cannot describe, "Gods, yes."
And then he kisses her.
She is no stranger to kissing, but Ondolemar's lips are ravenous and for a moment she is swept up in the sheer energy of it. But it does not last long, and when he sinks his teeth into her bottom lip she throws herself into it. Gripping a fistful of his white-blonde hair, she gives a vicious tug and claws at the front of his robes, desperately licking at the seam of his smirk until he yields, opening his mouth for her and he tastes wonderful.
His hands are everywhere, pulling and clenching and taking, and when he cups her ass and squeezes, hard enough to bruise, she growls into his mouth and sweeps her tongue over the roof, but it isn't enough and she wants, she wants-
Ondolemar tears away, breathing hard and eyes black, and with some pride, Elismyra notes his hands are trembling. "Tell me you've honored our customs," he demands, voice low and dark, and she rocks against him and they both gasp. "Tell me there has been no other."
"None," she pants, meeting his flaming eyes with her own. "I am yours."
"Excellent."
She expects him to pounce again, but instead he pulls away. For a wild half second she wonders if he had hoped for a different answer, wanting an experienced lover instead, but when he turns toward an open doorway, tugging her behind him, she knows what he is about.
Where they end up is a dark, quiet hallway, complete with a storage closet at the very end. Ondolemar pulls her into it, and she has just enough time to glance over her shoulder to ensure they weren't followed before the door is closed behind her.
He is on her in a moment, bearing down with such ferocity that she is almost intimidated before she remembers she's the damn Dragonborn, Meridia's Champion and Hircine's Child, and by Azura, she wants this. Her Beast Blood is howling in her veins and she is so incredibly hot that she can scarcely think.
Ondolemar has her shoved up against the closet door, his tongue in her mouth and his hands at the single clasp of her Nightingale leathers, and she thinks she should be frightened, but her wolf will not allow it. So instead she pushes his hands away, snarling and wild and she knows she is losing control but she doesn't care, and snatches the dagger from her belt and slits the front of his robes. She barely notices his flinch of surprise, tossing the blade away and shoving the material away from his chest, and Hircine's ass he is beautiful. Broad shouldered, golden skinned, and for a hysterical second she thinks he is built like a Nord.
She doesn't tell him. He'd kill her.
He does not let her admire him for long. With a knife-like smile, he snatches her wrists in one of his large hands and slams them above her head, so high up that she has to arch her back to keep her shoulders from digging into the wood of the door. "So eager," he growls, his voice like gravel and it burns its way down into her belly. "This is my trade, Myra."
She groans, writhing under him and he hisses, his hand clenching around her wrists. "First rule of bartering," she gasps to him, "Poker face."
He kisses her hungrily and she moans, letting his tongue probe her mouth while she undulates her hips against his own. She can feel him there, beneath the enchanted fabric, hard and hot and ready, and she is not afraid. Her beast howls its approval and urges her on, and she tears her mouth away and sinks her teeth into his exposed neck and wraps her legs around his waist. Ondolemar's groan echoes about the small room and Elismyra smirks triumphantly.
"Your eyes are yellow," he croaks when she pulls back, and her beast growls for an entirely different reason.
She debates telling him. The irony of it is not lost on her; she is the virgin here, she should be afraid of the inevitable pain of their union, and yet her primary concern is she will hurt him in her frenzy for pleasure. Ondolemar stares back, his gaze hot and dark, and she knows he does not care. At least for now, anyway.
"Does it bother you?" She asks regardless. She flexes her hands where they remained pinned, and it occurs to her she is entirely supported by him.
"No," he breathes, and when he smiles she knows he means it.
"Excellent," she parrots, and kisses him, gentler this time.
But neither of them are looking for gentle. Ondolemar releases her hands to unclasp her leathers, shoving them from her shoulders so they hang from her waist, and she moans when he cups one of her breasts. His thumb brushes her nipple through the thin fabric of her chemise, and when he bites the tip of her ear, she whimpers in earnest. Her hips rock against him of their own volition and her nails are sunk into his bare shoulders for support, and he is going to kill her.
"Off," she rasps, wriggling against his still-concealed length, and drags her nails down his exposed chest. She throws her head back when he begins to place open-mouthed kisses down the side of her neck, and she hears a faint snap and suddenly she is bare-chested.
"Gods!" His mouth is on her breast, tongue circling her nipple as he suckles her and Elismyra scrabbles at his back, leaving angry welts as she tries to gain some sort of purchase. Ondolemar grunts and nips at her chest, his fingers pinching at her other nipple and rolling her breast in his hand and she can't think, except to know that if he doesn't strip her now she is going to explode.
She unwraps herself from his waist, pulling away from his wicked mouth and the delicious friction, and she laments her loss for a fraction of a second before she begins clawing at his remaining clothing. His chuckle is like black silk, sinful and low, and he steps back to remove the remainder of his tattered robes. Her eyes go wide when he is bare, standing proud and tall before her with no hint of shame, and it is an absolute travesty that he is more beautiful than she is. Long, lean, powerful, and golden, dusted with fine white hair the color of snow, and with shaking fingers she reaches out and takes him in hand.
Ondolemar's hoarse moan sends a bolt of molten heat down her spine, and he throws a hand out beside her head to brace himself against the door. His lips go to her neck and his other hand to her breast, and she when she draws her hand up his length he trembles around her. The power is thrilling, and when she experimentally draws her thumb over his wide tip, he bites her hard enough to pierce the skin. Her beast rumbles its approval loudly.
Her strokes are slow, hesitant, unsure, and he quickly tires of it. With sure fingers he shows her what to do, changes her grip and sets her pace, and soon enough sweat is dripping down his temples and he is quaking from head to foot. The sounds he makes are obscene; long, low, heady with want, matched by her own as he sucks and bites and kneads her neck and chest, and it is not until he rips away and places both hands on her bare thighs does she realize he has pushed her armor down to her knees.
"Sneaky," she gasps, breathless as she kicks it the rest of the way off, and he responds by hoisting her up against him and pushing her harder against the door to steady her. The wood creaks under her and still she is unafraid.
He looks at her briefly, and she knows what he is asking. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she nods, and he moves. With a single thrust, he hilts himself in her.
The pain is immediate and surprisingly potent. With a strangled gasp, Elismyra sinks her nails into his shoulders and drops her head to his neck, breathing deeply to keep herself from whimpering from the burning sting. She locks her ankles around him, trying to relax, and he lets her, his hands gentle on her hips.
It does not last long. The burning subsides and she wriggles experimentally, shocks fluttering through her stomach as he rubs against every inch of her. She lifts her head and kisses him, prying his mouth open to tangle her tongue with his own, and his moan travels right down between her legs. He pulls out just a tad, fingers flexing on her skin, and sinks back in slowly. When she does not protest, and instead rakes her nails down his back to encourage him, he lets go.
Ripping his mouth away with a wet smack, he latches onto her neck and begins to pound into her, pulling almost completely out before slamming back in with a strangled groan. Elismyra gives a hoarse shout when he clenches her rear, spreading her wider to hit deeper, and with a deep growl she arches her back and snaps her hips down to meet him.
It is exquisite. He is not a quiet lover, growling and moaning and gasping alongside her, and when he kisses her again there is no gentleness left in him. It is all teeth and tongue and her beast is ecstatic, crying for more, faster, harder, better, and it is not until he pulls out and away does she realize she has said it out loud.
"Turn around," he commands, and she obeys because she is on fire and she needs this man more than the very air she breathes. She places her palms flat on the door and braces herself on her elbows, spreading herself wide for him, and with a wicked chuckle he smacks her hard on the ass. She jumps and groans, and her wolf is dizzyingly excited.
When he plunges into her again she cries out, pushing backward for more, her breasts swinging beneath her and Ondolemar growls loudly when she spreads her legs even further. He bends over her, his chest to her back, and the fire in her belly builds higher when he reaches around to roughly grab at her breasts as he pounds into her.
"Ondolemar," she half-sobs, her legs trembling and core clenching, and she knows he is pushing her further and further toward the precipice. "Please, please."
He merely grunts, standing back up to take her hips in both his hands and slam into her with such wild ferocity it tears a hoarse shout from her throat. The sound of flesh smacking against flesh fills her ears and the smell of sweat and arousal clogs her nose, and she stands up against the door and presses against it for support.
The new angle hits a brand new spot and she sees white. She comes with a rough cry, reaching behind her to grab a fistful of his hair and her entire body clenches around him. She hears him roar, and a golden arm wraps itself around her midsection as her climax pulls him deeper and deeper inside her. His thrusts become erratic and stuttered, sending almost painful spikes of pleasure through her and prolonging her rolling orgasm.
She is forced to release him when she spins her, still sunk inside to the hilt, and presses such a bruising kiss to her mouth that she can do nothing but whimper. With one last hard thrust he spills inside her, and she feels his seed explode deep in her core with a vibrant burst of heat.
His frantic pistoning peters away, and for several long moments there is no sound but their labored panting. When he pulls away, Elismyra feels a myriad of fluids begin trickling down her thighs. She knows at least some of it is blood, but she is too boneless to care.
Ondolemar braces his forehead against her own, his green eyes closed, and draws her to his chest. She drapes her arms across his shoulders and sags, a delicious throbbing soreness making itself known between her legs. "Well," she breathes after another moment. "I think that was a rather beneficial agreement. I may have to bring my business back again."
His chuckle is hoarse, and when he opens his eyes, they are surprisingly soft. "I would welcome the opportunity to barter with you, Myra," he says, and kisses her once more before pulling away entirely. When he spies the blood on her legs, his full, swollen lips pull down tightly. "Perhaps we should not have been so… enthusiastic."
She flaps a hand at him, grinning. "Nonsense. Although," she winces when she takes a step, and his smirk is one made entirely of male pride, "I may have to stick around for a few days before I head on my way."
At that, he laughs wholeheartedly, swiping his ruined robes from the floor with a gleam in his eyes. When she makes to pick up her underclothes from the closet floor, he snatches them away, cackling. "I think not," he taunts, dangling her smalls in front of her nose. "A bargain's a bargain, my dear."
Elismyra smiles, and with a lift of her brow zips herself back into her Nightingale leather with nothing but her gleaming golden skin. Ondolemar's nostrils flare wide and she laughs.
His own clothing has not fared so well; there is a large, jagged rip where her dagger had cut, and would do nothing to hide the claw marks on his chest. She grins at the scratches, and when her eyes travel upward she sees the purpling marks on his neck. Something possessive and decidedly wolfish approves in her chest.
He pulls the robes on all the same, and the black and gold of his loyalties pull a tight frown onto her face. He sees it, and he does not have to ask where her thoughts have gone.
"I'm sorry," she says eventually, trying to shake herself out of her dark musing. "I won't… I mean, I shouldn't-"
"Elenwen has ordered us to kill you."
She sighs, running a hand through her damp red hair. "I know. And I can't ask you to… condone this." She gestures vaguely between the two of them. "She'll kill you if she finds out. Literally."
Ondolemar chuckles. "I am aware. And…" he steps forward, into her space, and brushes a stray strand of her hair off her neck, "You needn't worry. I 'condone' it. Wholeheartedly." And he smirks lewdly at her, quirking a white eyebrow.
"Well alright then," she chirps, and plants a solid kiss on his mouth. "Pleasure doing business with you."
"The pleasure is all mine."