Jayfe swung open the door of Breezehome after a hard day's work that consisted of rescuing a citizen of Whiterun for Farkas, retrieving an item to be enchanted from Ria and delivered to the College of Winterhold, and spending his hard earned septims on block training from the touchy Njada. To be clear, he was tired and sick of people. Njada had made sure of that. The woman never ceased to throw some slicing insult his way; even now that he was Harbinger. Did the woman have no respect for him, after all he'd done?
Shutting the door with a bit more oomph than necessary, he allowed a fierce hiss to slip from the gaps of his teeth. Instinctively, his claws unsheathed as his blood frayed with adrenaline. If he was not of such high love for the Companions, he might take an ebony dagger and send it into the heart of Njada, wishing her soul to learn some attitude adjustment from Tsun or Ysgramor in Sovngarde.
Bloody Oblivion! He was Harbinger of the Companions, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, Thane of Whiterun, and most of all, Dragonbron for crying out loud. He had saved Tamriel from the World-Eater, Alduin! The least Njada could do was hold her tongue. But no, the wench ran it as if someone gave a flying unicorn of what she had to say.
Cloaked in his Nightingale armor, with Dawnbreaker on his hip, he made no attempt to stifle his loud footsteps as he walked across the ground floor and toward his loft ladder. He stopped for a moment to glance around.
The fire pit was lit with warm flames, cooking some rather intoxicating dish Aela was preparing in the cooking pot. He felt his taste buds water with craving. He knew that scent anywhere - Elsweyr Fondu, his favorite. Aela had been sweet enough to cook him it.
His joyful smile could not be detained.
Wondering what cranny his wife was in of their meager home, he slipped off his hood and allowed the tension to trickle out of his muscles. The gap in his stomach that began to ravenously declare its hunger brought his focus away from his irritation. The gray-colored Khajiit had a bottomless pit of a stomach that could put away a week's worth food in a matter of moments, and still have room for any other delicacy.
Aela made her entrance, dressed in her usual ancient Nord attire, and he prodded himself to ask her how she had happened upon such rare armor. He was a forgetful one.
She offered her spouse a soft smile as she came down the loft steps, her hair wet from what he guessed had been a recent bath. It darkened her red-shaded tresses to look crimson, and her eyes seemed more glimmery at the cast shadows.
"So what have you been up to, dear?" She asked in her confident, yet tender voice as she addressed her feline husband, and did not pause her walking until she reached the cooking pot that held the gooey fondue and stirred.
"My last duty was learning to be a bit better at blocking from Njada," As he said it, his dissatisfaction was as clear as the glow from the flicker of flames. "Vilkas suggested it on my behalf because I was not as precise as I should be, but you can imagine how enjoyable the task was." The sarcasm was rooted deep in his accented vocals.
"The woman is spiteful," Aela agreed with a swift nod. In truth, she also had never been fond of the woman, having usually kept a forced cordial appearance, but always hinting at her distaste of the woman's characteristics. "I'm sorry, dear. What did she say this time?"
"That I would make an excellent rug," He spat, his claws unsheathing again. Even his fur prickled.
Aela's eyebrows rose in great height, clearly surprised that the woman dared say such a thing to the Harbinger. Though she showed it not, her anger seethed her veins. Not only was Jayfe her Harbinger, but he was her husband.
"Lucky it was you and not me, I might have cut out her tongue," She said with a mask of saccharine-sweet tone that was scarier than if her tone had been venomous.
"Don't tempt me, I might let you," He countered, and then let a cackle slip from his lips. "Talking of her is a ruiner of moods."
"Indeed," She agreed, her change of mood penetrating her heartless smile and shifted into a loving one. "I hope you're starved."
"Aren't I always?" He teased, a flare in his bright blue eyes.
"Ah, but it still needs to cook more, so..." She let go of the ladle after giving an extra stir, and then she walked over to her husband, her eyebrows arched again. This time, he could not tell you the cause, but he was curious.
Normal spouses might kiss, but they were not...normal. A Nord and Khajiit, an odd and rather perplexing choice of soul-uniting. But they loved each other.
Instead of an embrace of lips, she lifted her un-calloused right hand fingers, and began to stroke his velvety-soft fur gently in fluid motion. It always amazed her how soft Khajiit's fur was, considering Skyrim's harsh climates, and even more, the events he had gone through being Dragonborn.
It also was hilarious that he was a cat, with a soul of a dragon, who could transform into a werewolf. One could giggle at the hilarity.
Then she began to sing a melodious tune. "Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur..." She paused her singing, but did not the stroking. Then she continued, softer. "Happy kitty, sleepy kitty. Purr, purr, purr..." Aela had a pretty voice that unstoppably calmed his nerves.
It was a tune she had taken to singing after their honeymoon, and it quickly became a daily use of stress-eliminating. Plus, it only declared their fondness for each other.
She sang again, this time more harmonious. "Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur. Happy kitty, sleepy kitty. Purr, purr, purr..."
And he did purr, very, very loudly.
The end.
A/N: My brother so kindly allowed me to borrow his Khajiit... Hehe. I know, again. This one-shot is pointless, short, undeveloped, and probably ridiculous. But it was an idea that popped in my head so I had to write it... Hope you enjoy anyway, and I hope some of my readers recognize the tune referance... ;)