A/N: This is gayer than Elton John wearing a rainbow speedo while riding an appletini waterslide. Consider yourself warned, breeders. Anyway, this is for you, Mixu. Thanks for being my friend.
"In fanfiction, we don't say 'I love you.' We make graphic, deviant porn of each other's OTPs.
In the shadows of one of the rooftops of Solitude, Crouches-in-Waiting shimmied upwards against the tiled incline as Masser and Secunda sat in cloud-veiled contemplation above him. The streets below were well-lit, with many torches lining the way up to the Blue Palace, and the inhabitants of the city were peaceably going about the last affairs of the day, or otherwise crowding into taverns and inns.
Apart from them all, Crouches-in-Waiting pulled his bow from its place on his back, nocking an arrow. The target of the night's mission was a minor noble, who was to return from his audience with Jarl Elsif sometime soon after night fall. Though the wind biting into his shrouded armor was cold, Crouches-in-Waiting betrayed not a hint of discomfort, sitting stock-still as the minutes ticked by.
He was one of the three remaining Shadowscales, one of the only two trainees to be taken on in the past two decades. As such, there existed a standard for him to uphold.
A man and woman dressed in nobles' finery came into his line of sight, making their way down the street from the Palace. Crouches-in-Waiting's eyes—orange-yellow, complementary to his copper scales—narrowed, and he drew back the arrow, inhaling through the mask drawn across his face and slowing his heartbeat.
Thud-thud.
Years of training had led to this point.
Thud-thud.
Veezara's voice sounded in the back of Crouches-in-Waiting's mind, clear as if he were standing at the other's shoulder..
"Breath in and out regularly. Focus. Slow your pulse. And strike without mercy or hesitation."
Thud-thud.
In the seconds between heartbeats, Crouches-in-Waiting released the arrow. It flew true, tracing its fateful arc through the air to find its destination in the target's throat. Silently, he took a few wobbling steps, then fell with almost comedic abruptness, a faint gurgling cry issuing from his mouth. There was a moment of silence, marred only by the songs of Solitude at night.
And then the wife screamed, a broken cry of horror and loss, and the Argonian assassin swung back into a window of the abandoned house that he had perched on, vanishing into the darkness inside.
ʘΘʘ
Crouches-in-Waiting made his way back to Dawnstar quickly, riding over the tundral land of Skyrim's northern reaches on horseback. He was eager to return home and share drinks and stories with his master Veezara and his sister Rises-from-the-Water—the second trainee of their order. It had been years ago that Veezara, blade freshly bloodied with their mother's death, had found them, cowering in the corner of the Assemblage.
He'd taken them with him, propelling the two orphans through the darkened channel of the White River's northern reaches for what had felt like hours. The memory inspired a sense of nostalgia in Crouches-in-Waiting.
We were so innocent, back then. And now look at us, he thought with pride. The new devotees of an order, the faithful servants of Sithis. Shadowscales.
It hadn't been easy, going through Veezara's training. Painful sparring. Food and sleep deprivation. Humiliating punishments for failure. All of those and more had been trials Crouches-in-Waiting and his sister had struggled through.
And he regretted not a second of it. In truth, the process had drawn the two closer, and lent Veezara a mysterious grandeur as their instructor and senior assassin. That same grandeur had always enthralled Crouches-in-Waiting—how could it not? Veezara was a strange, deep-thinking man, with decades of experience in the dark arts of murder and theft and enough charisma to charm a troll.
And an incredibly sexy voice, he commented to himself, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. It may have been unprofessional of him—Veezara would certainly think so.
Crouches-in-Waiting had decided several years previously, after finally reaching maturity on a trip to Black Marsh, that what his master didn't know couldn't hurt him.
Crouches-in-Waiting skirted around the city of Dawnstar, urging his horse into a canter until the Black Door, the Sanctuary's hidden entrance, came into view. The smile widened further, pushing the limited expressiveness of Crouches-in-Waiting's face.
It's good to be home. I can't wait to hear Master's praise for my kill.
Soon after putting his horse into the small stable the Listener, a Nord woman named Savla, had paid to have hewn out of the naturally-occurring stone wall, Crouches-in-Waiting passed through the door into the Sanctuary and into the training area, nodding a greeting at Savla as he passed.
"How'd it go?"
"The mark lies dead in the Solitude temple by now."
She sat forward from her position at a small table, placing the glass dagger she had been sharpening on the center of the table. A half-smile quirked her lips.
"It seems like yesterday you and Rises were just cute little scaly tots, barely strong enough to swing a knife. And now look at you. So cold! So deadly! It's marvelous."
Crouches-in-Waiting ran his tongue over the front of his teeth, unsure of whether she was being sincere. For a moment, they just stood together in silence.
"It was inevitable," he said, nonplussed.
Savla picked up the knife, flipping it over her knuckles in an almost superhuman display of dexterity. Then her hand snapped out, sending the dagger flying downrange with an underhand throw. It sunk into the target some three meters away, and she smiled lazily, satisfied with the results of whichever game she'd been playing.
"Maybe so."
ʘΘʘ
Rises-from-the-Water tilted her head forward, eyes rolling at her brother as he finished an enthusiastic recounting of his mission.
"You shot a man, brother," she said, hoarse voice dripping with humorous condescension.
"Bravo."
Savla threw the cork of her wine at Rises-from-the-Water as she took a gulp from the bottle.
"Rises, don't bully your little brother. I'm personally quite proud," she said, voice taking on a saccharine cast, "of our dear little Crouches."
She passed behind Crouches-in-Waiting' back, ruffling his feathers as she did so. "You're only a few months more experienced, anyway."
"That's five contracts."
Crouches-in-Waiting bared his teeth slightly, letting his internal eyelids slide shut as he leaned back in his chair. "Shutup, Rises-from-the-Water. At least I pulled my first off like a professional."
"Stabbing is perfectly—"
"Good evening, Crouches-in-Waiting," interrupted Veezara, entering the dining hall with a fresh crate of vegetables in his arms. His moist, sibilant voice held an unmistakable aura of command that rendered his two students silent. "Congratulations on your first kill. Using the abandoned house was clever, truly."
A faint warmth rose in Crouches-in-Waiting' neck, though there was no visible flush. "Thank you, Master," he answered automatically. "I look forward to serving the Dread Father for the rest of my days. Did you follow me?"
"Of course I did. Just as I followed Rises-from-the-Water. You two, go and unload the cart. There's more out there to bring in."
"Yes, Master," chorused the siblings, standing to exit the room.
As he sidled around Babette, who was carrying a full-grown pig that had been slaughtered and left out overnight to freeze, Crouches-in-Waiting snuck a glance over his shoulder at Veezara. His scales scintillated in the firelight of the dining hall, at odds with the muted black of his armor.
Looking over at him as they rounded a corner, Rises-from-the-Water nudged his leg with her tail, smirking.
"What?"
"I dunno. What were you just looking at?"
"I wasn't looking at anything," fibbed Crouches-in-Waiting as Cicero skipped past them, chanting a rhyme about dead merchants and farmers.
"Oh, my mistake," said Rises-from-the-Water, prefacing her next words with a short laugh. "Who were you looking at?"
"Babette. Did you see the pig she was carrying?"
"And dead pigs light a fire in your belly now? Because otherwise, undead little girls are what do it for you. Even for me, that's pretty damn weird, brother."
She paused, delighted with herself.
"Unless you're lying."
For the third time that day, Crouches-in-Waiting blushed.
Completely unbecoming for an assassin.
"Aren't you going to ask how I know?"
"Seeing as you're making things up," answered Crouches-in-Waiting, taking a barrel of apples in his arms, "no, I wasn't going to."
Switching to Jel, the native language of Black Marsh they had been tutored in by Veezara, Rises-from-the-Water purred, "I think you've got that particular itch for someone that we know. Every time you look at him, your feathers flex a little. I don't need to be one of the Saxhleel to figure out what that means on a healthy male."
"That means nothing," snapped Crouches-in-Waiting, turning to march back inside, only to have his path blocked by the Listener.
She stood in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at the range of hisses and grunts the two were making, bemusement etching itself across her exposed face.
"I'm not even going to ask. Just hurry it up, kids. Cicero's whining already."
"Yes, Listener."
Jaw clenched in the only display of emotion he would allow himself, Crouches-in-Waiting deposited the barrel in a corner of the hall. Veezara was at the table with Babette, sipping from a bottle of mead, seemingly oblivious to his turmoil.
How humiliating. If she knows, Master does, too. I thought I had mastered myself better than this.
Furtively, his gaze flicked over to Veezara as the other Argonian rose from his chair to remove a piece of meat that had been frying in a pan over the fire. The tight armor did things to Veezara's body that made the buckles holding it in place seem like obstacles to overcome. Arousal kindled in Crouches-in-Waiting' lower stomach, and he bit back a hiss as Veezara's tail swung lazily and the reinforced leather around it contoured to the curves of his ass. The Shadowscale's sheer poise, the grace that belied the strength of his limbs, his effortless mastery of the darkness he hid in—all of those things had enthralled Crouches-in-Waiting, even as a hatchling.
Behind Crouches-in-Waiting, Rises-from-the-Water set down her own load, and he tore his eyes away, wishing the instant could have lasted longer. He ignored her quiet chuckle, stepping quickly out of the room without saying a word, the very model of efficiency on the surface.
Despite the lust he had come to enjoy feeling, Crouches-in-Waiting was conflicted—lust was bad enough, but emotions of fondness or any degree of attachment, for a Shadowscale, were...unacceptable.
Master would be ashamed of me if he knew I felt this way.
A quiet rush of breath left his nostrils, a weak imitation of a humorous snort, as he lugged the last of the provisions from the back of cart, ample muscles taking the weight with ease.
Or felt at all.
ʘΘʘ
As Veezara slugged back another stein of ale, he chuckled to himself at Crouches-in-Waiting's obvious hunger for praise. The dining hall had emptied of everyone but them as the other assassins wandered off to their respective duties and interests—Savla and Cicero to the Night Mother, Babette to her alchemy, the novitiates to training and study. Only the Shadowscales were present, surrounded by numerous empty bottles.
Crouches-in-Waiting's feathers were flat against his head, a sign of submission and respect to another Argonian, as he proudly explained why he had chosen the bow over a more personal method. His voice had taken on the overly sibilant, lisping quality of a slightly drunk Argonian trying to speak Cyrodillic.
"I trained you well," said Veezara, a concealed vein of amusement running through his words.
The feathers flexed as he'd expected them too, no more than a faint tremor.
"You did, Master. You're a great master."
Rises-from-the-Water smacked Crouches-in-Waiting's shoulder, leaning back in her chair. "Stop sucking up, brother."
The feathers twitched again, and Veezara checked the candle they used for timekeeping. The pins stuck into its side at intervals of an hour had slowly decreased in count until it there were only three left.
"It's getting late," he observed, draining the last of his drink.
Rises-from-the-Water yawned, standing abruptly. "It is. I'm turning in, Master. I have a contract in the Rift tomorrow. You two have fun."
The feathers twitched again, and Veezara looked past them to the hearth. The fire had long since disassembled the logs into irregular chunks of ash-grey coated with a shining layer of red and orange. There was silence for a while, as the two considered their own thoughts without speaking.
Silently, and with the warmth of a mountain barrow at night, Veezara analyzed Crouches-in-Waiting's body language, its hunched posture and tense shoulders, the faint scent of sulfur produced by an Argonian who was excited or under duress.
"You seem stressed, youngling."
Crouches-in-Waiting jolted an almost immeasurable amount, and nodded with a birdlike dip of his head. "I miss the feeling of the kill already, Master."
Before responding, Veezara loaded another two logs into the hearth. He said his next words slowly, as if choosing them carefully and with hesitation, approaching the chair Crouches-in-Waiting sat in with a leg crossed over the other.
"There are other things you can do, youngling, that offer that...release."
Silhouetted by the slowly increasing firelight, Veezara watched as Crouches-in-Waiting's tic made itself known once again.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but with a sudden burst of speed, Veezara stepped around and past him, clamping a hand on his jaw.
Green scales drew closer to copper, almost touching, until Veezara stopped, and whispered into Crouches-in-Waiting's ear with counterfeit tenderness.
"We both know what you want."
The other relaxed slightly into Veezara's touch, eyes guarded. "I-is this a trick? Are you going to punish me for being a poor Shadowscale?"
He knew asking the question was pointless, as experience with Veezara's dishonesty had burned both he and his sister repeatedly. Yet he asked anyway, desperate for an excuse to surrender the last remains of his facade of indifference.
Working his fingers into the other's feathers, Veezara provided it with a single syllable.
"No."
As Crouches-in-Waiting turned to face Veezara, the older man's tongue slithered its way up the soft scales of his throat and up the side of his jaw, making him shudder.
"Go to my quarters," ordered Veezara, stepping away. "Wait for me."
Something hot and heavy sinking into the pit of his stomach, Crouches-in-Waiting complied, slightly giddy at his master's command of the situation. Like a drop of water running down his back, anxiety taunted him.
Fantasizing was one thing. This is different.
But despite the nagging concern for what could occur, the alcohol in his system had made it impossible for Crouches-in-Waiting to summon up the willpower he normally prided himself on. Swinging his tail and laughing at the slight stimulation it offered, he began unbuckling his gloves.
ʘΘʘ
Veezara closed the door behind him, a bowl of freshly mixed lubricant in hand. As he glanced over the room with satisfaction, he felt his own arousal build. Crouches-in-Waiting had taken the initiative to stoke the fire, and otherwise had removed all of his armor but the trousers. He stood as Veezara approached, feathers laid back against his skull, as his master looked him up and down, green eyes dark.
He set the bowl down and took Crouches-in-Waiting in his arms, bearing him down into the stone bed, rubbing his apprentice's slit through the trousers and hissing slightly in satisfaction as the other's body tensed, cock sliding out of its housing and tenting the front of his pants.
"Take them off." The command was brusque and harsh in tone, delivered as Veezara carefully began undoing his own cuirass, adroit fingers scrambling to undo each buckle. When the shrouded armor finally came off, Veezara looked over his shoulder at Crouches in waiting, who had since shed his trousers, leaving him in only a loincloth that allowed for no modesty. The younger man was reclining on Veezara's straw bed, fingers gently rubbing the side of his tapered cock. Cast in relief by the firelight, his scales seemed to flash the color back twice as brightly, contrasting the clear curves of shadow created by his abdominal and pectoral muscles. His mouth hung open slightly, exposing a set of sharp teeth, and his feathers were laid back against his skull.
Veezara felt a small laugh trying to claw its way out of his mouth at the sight. He looks so whorish. So easily used.
"Stop."
Crouches-in-Waiting froze, years of training dictating that he follow the order unquestioningly. "What is it, Master?"
Rather than answer, Veezara approached his apprentice, dark green scales glistening in the meager light. Untying his loincloth, he cast it aside carelessly, and grabbed Crouches-in-Waiting's feathers, leading the younger man to lean forward. He eventually had to roll into a kneeling position on the bed facing outwards into the room, snout nearly pressed into the firm, light green scales of Veezara's stomach. His looked up, eyes adoring and dark with lust, as his tail lifted reflexively with want, a silent plea for stimulation. Then he was pressed downwards to the slit between Veezara's legs.
The message couldn't have been clearer. Tongue flicking out to swipe across Veezara's slit, Crouches-in-Waiting let out a short whimper of feverish desire as his master's cock emerged from its sheath with the pressure, hot and wet. Vigrously, Crouches-in-Waiting lapped at it, curling his tongue around it as his eyes slid shut and he panted slightly, more aroused than ever before.
The member throbbed against his tongue as he took more of it into his mouth, using his tongue to press it into the ridged roof of his mouth, moaning quietly at the musky, intense flavor and heat, desperate for the release he already felt building inside him.
Veezara's breath hitched as the pressure increased, and he began rocking his hips back and forth, slowly but forcefully. Head raised back, Veezara let out a sibilant groan, pressing further into the pressure on his cock and gradually increasing speed as he wrapped strong hands around the pebbly scales and small horns of his apprentice's head and began thrusting into it, savoring the rippling pressure of Crouches-in-Waiting's hungry throat.
The younger man's jaws were spread wide open, to keep his teeth away from sensitive skin, and his eyelids were shut with the ecstasy of submission, feathers flat against his head and tail arcing to press against his own puckered entrance as Veezara fucked his mouth with abandon, beginning to leak slick, salty Agonian precum. Trailing it over Crouches-in-Waiting's tongue and teeth as he withdrew to plunge back in with greater force, Veezara rutted into his apprentice with brutal speed and vigor, a quiet growl of triumph beginning to issue from his throat.
Crouches-in-Waiting's eyelids lowered as he felt the cock slid in and out, its distinctive, salty, flavor filling his mouth. So intense, mouthwateringly musky, bitter...male. The scent of the fluid coating his tongue seemed to touch something deep and primal in him, making him sigh with the sheer pleasure of offering himself.
As the ache in Crouches-in-Waiting's throat and jaw increased and began to reach an insurmountable level, Veezara's hands clenched around his apprentice's ridged, feathered skull, and forced himself in up to the hilt with a gasp, pressing into hot, hungry flesh before pulling back out and spraying ropes of thick cum across the younger man's face and open mouth, forcing Crouches-in-Waiting over the edge into his own shuddering orgasm as he shot into the straw he was sitting on, the tip of his tail twitching inside of his clenching ass.
Veezara's seed, warm and thick, coated Crouches-in-Waiting's tongue and dripped from his brow and snout as he gasped for breath, any concept of propriety shattered irreparably by the humiliating orgasm he'd just had. As he lapped the cum off his face, his eyes dulled slightly with the haze of lust and post-orgasm high.
The older man's knees finally gave out as he fell onto the bed next to his apprentice, cock wet and slimy with saliva and his own cum. Crouches-in-Waiting's distinctive copper-ringed eyes met his, questioning, adoring. At first, Veezara did nothing, simply breathing heavily as he began to retract back into his sheath. Then, taking command once more, Veezara reached over and pulled his apprentice close, flicking his tongue over the other's brow, collecting a streak of cooling cum. Crouches-in-Waiting enthusiastically followed his master's lead, turning his head to allow Veezara better access as he licked his lips, catching his master's tongue. The two drew closer, teeth clashing, as they shared Veezara's seed between them, long tongues tangling with each other in the first real contest for domination. Veezara pressing a strong, warm hand against his apprentice's jaw with a hunger that seemed insatiable as he nipped at the other's mouth.
He became more aggressive as the kiss continued. Rolling to bring Crouches-in-Waiting beneath him, his hands clamped down on the his apprentice's shoulders as he straddled him, baring his teeth in a smile of predatory lust, brought to arousal once again by Crouches-in-Waiting's submission and the sensation of his scales pressing into the firm flesh of the man beneath him.
The straw had mostly been tossed out of the bed. Now, it was essentially a wooden cot where Veezara sat on his knees above his apprentice, who was looking up at him with an expression not far from worshipful. There was a moment of silence, where the space between the two was filled with flat heat as they looked at each other, panting slightly. Despite the subterranean chill of the sanctuary, the two were warm, as the fire blazing not three meters away staved off any hint of cold that might have slipped between Crouches-in-Waiting and Veezara.
"Master..." murmured Crouches-in-Waiting, hoarse voice husky with lust and uncertainty. "You don't need to be gentle. I just want you inside me." His tail pressed down against the wood of the bedframe beneath him, exposing an expanse of smooth flesh sloping down to his puckered entrance.
Veezara's face, half-obscured by shadow hiding on the side facing away from the fire, didn't change at the words. Scooping some of the viscous lubricant out of its bowl, he rubbed it across a knuckle, using the blunt corner of his clawed digit to press into Crouches-in-Waiting's hole.
At the gasp of surprise and pleasure let out by his apprentice, Veezara chuckled, feeling his cock throb in response to the pitiful sound.
"New at this, eh? I thought you might've sought out a town or one of the initiates when I was on a contract."
With a quiet, breathy laugh, Crouches-in-Waiting shook his head. "No, Master...I didn't want anyone else but you."
Veezara jerked the knuckle back out, eliciting a whimper of pain as Crouches-in-Waiting spread his legs further, panting slightly. Then, with more of the lube slathered across its tip, a second knuckle was pressed in with the first, and Veezara began twisting them, feeling the hot, slick walls walls press apart with a heady rush of lust.
The younger man couldn't hold back a groan as Veezara began pumping his crooked fingers, stretching him open with a burning pressure that he found himself pressing into as his muscular tail twitched. As the addictive mix of pain and addictive fulfillment mounted, so did his hunger, eventually spilling over in the form of a plea.
"Master, please," he said, eyes shut in almost beatific bliss. "Just—"
He faltered, a belated sense of shame developing in him as the movement continued, now with a single finger stroking his smooth entrance.
"What, Crouches-in-Waiting?"
"Could you...t-take me?"
Veezara smiled to himself, pleased with his apprentice's desperation. "Sorry, I didn't catch that," he said, curving his finger gently to press against the hard lump inside of Crouches-in-Waiting's passage.
The other man bucked slightly, overstimulated beyond his wildest dreams, as a bead of precum dribbled down his curving, tapered dick. "Master," he growled desperately, "just bed me already. Make me a slag, I don't care. Please!"
Veezara laughed, trailing his moistened claw along Crouches-in-Waiting's jaw before seizing the other's left arm, catching hold of the other his left hand. As his sharp-toothed mouth neared Crouches-in-Waiting's, he said, "A slag? I can do that."
And then, he lined up his slick cock with his apprentice's twitching entrance and snapped his hips forward with a hiss.
It was pain unlike anything Crouches-in-Waiting had experienced before; not in intensity, but in the personal, oddly and amazingly pleasurable aspect of it that stole the breath out of his lungs as he pushed upwards, desperate for more. Veezara, merciless, thrusted into him at a brutal pace as his eyes flashed with triumph, and Crouches-in-Shadows felt the tension of mounting orgasm competing with the fading stabs of pain. His head knocked back against the bedframe as he panted out a few short cries, feeling his master's hips slam into his own, scale on scale, and his own desperation pooled on his stomach, though his release was denied. Tensing against the hand on his wrist, he suddenly understood why Veezara had made a point to hold down both of his arms.
Veezara released Crouches-inWaiting's arm for an instant to push his legs over his own shoulders, hissing out an exclamation of pleasure as the shift in position tightened Crouches-in-Waiting's press on him, before batting his apprentice's hand away and pinning it once more as he reached for his desperate cock.
As a keen of frustration—the closest Argonians could come to shedding tears—sounded from Crouches-in-Waiting, Veezara pressed forward so that his muscled, ridged torso was covering the landscape of Crouches-in-Waiting's body, and snaked his tongue out of his mouth into the other's, adroit, slick muscles wrestling against each other as dark green came to rest against copper.
Then, with short strokes, so strong that he himself felt a pang of discomfort, Veeezara rutted into Crouches-in-Waiting's ass as their tails lashed, creating a clatter that went unnoticed by the two. His hand wrapped around the slick cock between them, and Crouches-in-Waiting let out a cry as he came, fountaining over his own chest and jaw, the intensity of a mind-shattering orgasm wiping away everything but the sense of the cock his ass had clenched around.
With a cry of his own, Veezara shot a load of Argonian spunk into Crouches-in-Waiting's ass, before collapsing on top of him, smearing his front with his apprentice's seed. The scent of it filled the room, dank and oppressive in the best way.
Exhausted and still high from his own climax, Crouches-in-Waiting twitched as Veezara pulled out, leaving cum to drip and collect at the base of his tail, flowing over the sensitive sides to pool on the bedframe. Slowly, still smeared with his seed and filled with his master's, he pressed closer against Veezara's warm, now slightly slimy scales with a watery sigh at the sheer profundity of his peace, and at the wonderful ache that had taken up residence inside him.
"Master..."
Veezara didn't stir, seemingly already asleep.
"I..."
He stopped speaking.
Better to take what I can get instead of spoil it for something I can't have. There'll be consequences, I bet. Somehow.
Those were the last and clearest thoughts that passed through his mind before drifting off, tongue occasionally flicking out to taste his master's seed-smeared scales.
ʘΘʘ
Outside the bedroom door, Babette giggled as she passed Savla and Rises-from-the-Water.
"Who won your wager?"
The former snorted and yawned. "Not me, that's who." Standing, she tossed her friend a coin purse. "And besides," she continued, "what's a sweet little girl like you asking about that for?"
Babette scoffed, but didn't answer until she rounded the corner. "Listener, I'm a child of the Third Era. I'm older that your dead grandmother. That experience, by the way, is why I thought Rises was right."
The women retired. And the Sanctuary slept.