Rumirin had intended to spend the day ruffling around the houses of Markarth and looting them for all they were worth. The key word there being intended.
He rose early the next morning just as the sun bit the horizon. He dressed himself quietly and quickly, slipping though the darkness of the unlit house, past the pass-through that lead to the Nord's room. He swiped a crusted bit of bread, holding the rind between his lips as he eased his knapsack up around skinny shoulders, tightening the straps as best he could with one hand; the other occupied with clasping the leather of his jerkin around his golden throat.
After the task was complete, he grabbed the handle of the first of his twin daggers and strapped them to the side of his calf, fingers working quickly on the lacing and sheath, tightening it to his leg. Now, where was the other one? He could have sworn he'd left it here, on the table… And he didn't know Argis well, but he was fairly sure the Nord hadn't moved it aside or taken it.
Utterly confused, the Altmer slunk along, his bright eyes searching the ground and stepping gingerly across the stonework floor. He stepped into the kitchen, head down, shoulders slumped, a hand hold his hair behind his shoulder as half still fell in his face. Where was the damned thing?
He was knocked backwards as he hit something very solid, and in his confusion and daze as he righted himself by flailing his arms behind him, he thought he'd somehow run into a wall.
The clearing of a throat in front of him proved him dead wrong, and heat flooded to the Altmer's face as he stepped backwards in a panic. With that quick movement, his balance was thrown too off-center to right himself. The Altmer fell onto his rump with a feminine gasp of rushing air falling front parted lips. He gritted his teeth and tilted his chin forward, sucking in a harsh breath to apologize.
"Oh, gods, I'm sorry Argis. I didn't see you there."
Rumirin jerked his head up and felt his jaw loosen at the fucking glorious sight in front of him. Argis had a hand running through his thick blonde hair, his muscled arm tense as he stared down at the elf in front of him. Shirtless, Argis was basically a god; made of flat, tones planes and hard angles, clad in simple black cotton pants tied loosely around beautifully formed hipbones. His abdominal muscles faded just below his navel, trimming into a tight V-shape and disappearing into a dip he wish he could see. On both sides of the man's stomach, twin red tattoos ran downwards, past the hem of those damned black pants, twisting alongside that V-shape… Rumirin could almost feel himself start to drool.
This was torture to see so early in the morning; surely this was some sort of cruel and unusual punishment sent from Dibella for tearing apart her temple after a night of drinking with Sanguine? Argis probably wasn't even real or some shit like that. Rumirin's pulse quickened in his neck, and he swallowed after a few painfully awkward moments, realizing Argis was smiling with a hint of mischievousness lighting across his features. The Nord cocked a brow questioningly.
"What're you looking for?"
Rumirin sputtered, face pinking under his skin. "I- I didn't mean to stare—sorry! You're just really…"
Argis chuckled, closing his eyes briefly and shaking his mane of blonde hair. "I meant on the floor."
Realization dawned in the Altmer's mind, and he wanted to summon Dremora Markynaz to just end his life then and there as embarrassment shone of his thin face. He pressed his cold palms to his heated cheeks, trying futilely to calm himself, and groaned as Argis grinned lopsidedly down at him.
The Nord offered a hand, and Rumirin took it hesitantly after looking it over for a few moments.
"I don't bite, my Thane."
The brunette giggled nervously, the image of Argis sinking his teeth into Rumirin's neck as he moaned, the Nord bruising him with steady fingers as he had his terrible way with the elf surfacing in Rumirin's mind's eye at the words.
"I don't believe that," he muttered, and he could have sworn Argis's mouth popped open at that. He tugged the Altmer up, and Rumirin eased back onto his feet, solid on the ground once again.
"Thanks. And I'm uh, looking for the match to this; the ebony pair." He gestured to the dagger strapped to his leg, and Argis nodded slowly, jerking his head to the table but the unlit fire.
"You left it on the table last night. Wasn't sure if you wanted it moved, so I didn't." The Nord looked over the smaller man, and Rumirin could almost feel himself shrink during the evaluation. "You goin' somewhere?"
The Altmer hesitated, raising a hand to the back of his neck in embarrassment, lying quickly. "Ah, yeah. There's a cave I wanted to pick through… I wasn't sure if you, um, did that sort of thing. So I was gonna let you sleep in."
The Nord scoffed. "I'll be ready in five minutes."
Rumirin's bright eyes studied Argis's, looking for any sort of hint that he'd been joking. The elf found none, and he caught Argis grinning.
"Argis!" the Altmer cried out in slightly amused frustration and the Nord turned on his heel to go back to his room. He could hear the clink of metal and a slight shuffle, and the elf sighed dramatically. "It's not top priority and I swear I'll be fine; nothing dangerous about it!"
He felt blood rush to the tips of his long ears as the Nord didn't respond.
"I don't need to go," he squeaked, his voice sounding more pleading than he'd intended. At once, the sound stopped, and Argis came out into the main room with a simple white shirt on, grinning. Damn it, he'd been tricked. He shucked off his sheathed knife, cursing wildly to whatever gods would listen, and he went back to his room as Argis knelt to light the fire. No looting that abandoned house today. He hoped to gods he wasn't suddenly gaining a conscience—that could possibly be detrimental at this point in his life.
He dropped his leathers and tore off his jerkin, changing into what seemed to be simple but warm miner's clothes, slipping on a pair of fur lines boots to trudge around in as he pouted. The fire was roaring and he could feel its heat spreading across the room as Argis stoked the flames.
He turned his head as Rumirin entered the room, his gaze catching on the hollow of his neck, a questioning look on his face. The Altmer sucked in a breath, his heart sticking in his throat. What in Oblivion was Argis so damned fixated on? He touched his fingertips to his throat, heat rushing to his face as he realized his Amulet of Mara was very much prominent around his bared neck. Usually the high collar of his thieves' armor covered it, but now…
"An Amulet of Mara?" Argis smirked, turning back to his work. "You're looking for marriage, then."
"Yeah, I am actually. I figure… life's too short to be alone, you know? Might as well get out there, find a nice girl or something…" He shook himself out of his daze and walked into the next room to grip the edge of the table and steady his muscles for a moment, trying to breath. He should have taken the damned thing off, but he'd gotten so used to the weight and feeling of it hung around his neck that he barely noticed it on his person anymore. Why did he say that? Was he even interested in girls? His entire life of his unquestioned and simply assumed sexuality began to crash around his head with uncertainty.
He went to a shelf; rustling around until the side his hand hit the familiar texture of cheesecloth. Brushing aside the other food items, he took the bundle into the other room, plucking away the twine and giving Argis a guilty grin as a large multitude apple dumplings spilled out from the covering. Rumirin sat down at the table, a slight blush on his cheeks.
"My weakness," he admitted, splitting the spoils half and half onto two separate plates, pushing one towards where Argis stood.
The Nord took one off the plate, looking it over, and took a bite before sitting down onto the blue rug in front of the fire.
"It's good; but I like sweetrolls."
The Altmer rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "You damned Nords and your sweetrolls."
"You damned Altmer and your magical skinny asses."
Rumirin stared down at him front his chair and burst out laughing after a few moments as the Nord looked on seriously, thoughtfully chewing on the pastry. Rumirin caught a smile working across Argis's face as the moments ticked on.
Days went on; and they cleared a few caves together while the Altmer looted them in half-secret. He still hid the fact that he was Dragonborn and also a master thief from the Nord, and his heart ached a bit with the weight of the secret. Coming clean could come later, right?
The first time they'd slain a dragon, Rumirin was lucky he'd been able to run far away enough with the Nord as to not envelop the soul of the beast. The soft, curling light invading his body surely would have spoken volumes about who he really was, and Argis didn't need to know that yet.
And he got the feeling Argis was starting to like him, if only a little bit. Small, stolen glances when he thought the elf didn't notice, a slight smile on his face when the Altmer gave him instructions while lock picking a chest. He could get used to it.
The thing that bothered Argis the most about Rumirin was the blatant disregard for his comfort and the secrets he kept from him. In all honesty, it would have been nice for the little elf to occasionally ask, "how does running all the way home sound to you?" or "is it alright if I summon Dremora in for a second? I can't reach that thing on the top shelf" or perhaps even, "do you mind if I walk around with only pants on half the time?"
It wasn't as if he… minded the last part, though. The lank, lean Altmer was definitely a sight for his tired eyes. And after a day of swinging around a sword next to next to him as he danced with knives flying, both breathing heavily, muscles straining and teeth gritting under clenched jaws, there was honestly little he liked more than to step through the door of Vlindrel Hall only to have Rumirin unbuckle the straps of his dark leather armor and let it fall straight to the ground in front of him as Argis's fingers twitched and ached to touch the exposed skin of the Altmer's back. Rumirin would let down his brown hair from its loose braid, letting it fall to the beginning of his shoulder blades as he shook it out and walked straight to his room, kicking off his boots and tossing his twin set of knives haphazardly on the floor. Rumirin walked to the fire without looking back at Argis as the Nord stood there like a starved wolf with a slab of bloody meat just out of reach.
Argis gathered Rumirin's things and put them in their respectful places. He always did; quietly and respectfully helping his thane as best he could in all the circumstances the elf threw at him. Including walking around in only leathers Argis could so easily slip his fingertips into and tug off bony hips. Everything was tempting.
The Nord heard the hearth in the other room crackle to life in the wake of the flames at the Altmer's skilled fingertips. Pots were shuffled, and the elf cursed briefly before Argis heard a knife chopping quickly up food against wood. He entered the room to see his thane carving the bone out of a cut of venison. To his surprise, Rumirin smiled up at him as he walked in, his brilliantly sharp green eyes sending heat to Argis's face.
"Hungry?"
The question caught him slightly off-guard; Rumirin never cooked (first off), and he had never before displayed any sort of care true for him, besides the flukes that happened very rarely. And yet here he was, offering Argis food after they'd killed a dragon. The blonde was still trembling with adrenaline, but the elf in front of him was as casual as a blacksmith shaping metal. Rumirin's head again tilted down to make quick work of the bones in the meat under his slender fingers.
Like it was no big deal. It was, wasn't it? They'd killed a gods damned dragon. If that wasn't exciting, he didn't know what was.
And yet Argis swallowed and nodded quickly. "Yes, my thane. Thank you."
Rumirin's shining eyes went to his once more, teasing and brighter than he'd ever seen them. It sent aches to his heart.
"Will you ever call me by name?"
Argis paused, searching the brunette's face as a smile tugged his lips. By the Nines, he was pretty; even with dirt smeared across his cheek and a bit of leaf clinging to his hair.
"Probably not."
Rumirin pursed his lips playfully, biting back the smile arising on his mouth. "Alright, my housecarl."
"Now that just sounds awkward."
Rumirin laughed before turning on his heel, tossing ingredients into the iron pot lifted above the fire. Taking the spoon from his left hand, he stirred thoughtfully before shrugging.
"Oh, you have no idea… Do you even know my name, Argis?"
The Altmer was teasing him, and Argis wondered if this banter was his way of flirting. Either way, the blonde decided to play along, pulling out the wooden chair to the side of the table near the cook.
"No. Care to remind me?"
Rumirin whirled around towards him, face red under his golden pallor and jaw dropped open. "You really don't know my name?"
Rumirin looked positively heartbroken, and Argis couldn't help but burst out laughing at his expression. The elf stomped to him, smacking his arm hard with an open fist until he could feel it begin to smart.
"You ass, I thought you were serious!"
He rubbed his forehead with a large hand, still snickering.
"No, Rumirin, I was only joking with you."
"…Say it again."
He turned his face to Rumirin, Argis's eyebrows rising as the Altmer stared at him expectantly, firelight dancing on his skin as his green eyes widened.
"What?"
"Please?"
"Why?"
"I like how you say it."
Argis smirked, not believing him in the least. "Really."
The Altmer threw his hands into the air, sighing impatiently. "Oh, forget it. You're the worst."
He turned away from the Nord, going back to cooking as Argis was left there to wonder how exactly he could use this to his advantage. Rumirin tapped the spoon to the side of the kettle, tasting a bit of the soup before making a small sound of approval and pinching a bit of salt in from a bowl on the lip of the hearth.
"My thane?"
The spoon clattered into the pot as the elf lost composure, anger licking at his tone. "Damn it, Argis, call me Rumirin!"
He grinned, pressing on. "My thane, I have a suggestion."
The brunette whirled around, teeth gritted. "And what might that be?"
"Cook more often and I'll call you by name as you wish."
The Altmer's green eyes drifted to the side of the room, rolling the deal over in his head carefully. Argis lifted a flagon of mead to his lips and drank shallowly from it as the Dragonborn thought.
"How about something simpler?"
"Hmm?"
Rumirin didn't dare look at his housecarl, turning back to the hearth, but smiled, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He was going to take a huge leap and possibly crush his heart doing it, but it was a risk he needed to take.
"A kiss for my name?"
Argis nearly coughed up his mead at the suggestion; barely avoiding doing so by swallowing as quickly as he could. Surely he'd misheard his thane; his cruel ears playing tricks on him?
"What was that?"
"A kiss for my name. Simple, easy." Rumirin put a hand to his hip, still turned away from Argis. "I see how you look at me when you think I don't notice, Argis the Bulwark."
"Thought you were gonna 'find a nice girl' to settle down with."
The reminded secretly pained Rumirin, sending a flood of embarrassment to his mind. Fuck, why did I say that?!
Yet on the outside, the Altmer kept a straight face and shrugged. "It was just a suggestion, you don't have to take it if you don't want to. I understand."
Before he could allow himself to mull over the dangers this proposition carried with it, before his face even had time to redden, Argis found words falling from his lips before he fully processed them.
"You have a deal."
Rumirin ghosted over to him within a second's time. Hovering over him as he stared up at the elf from his chair, Rumirin leaned to him, tucking his own hair behind a pointed ear.
"Thank you," the elf murmured before closing his lips onto Argis's as sweetly and innocently as he could muster.
Argis couldn't shake the shock that went through him for a few moments. Then his hands went to Rumirin's cheeks, bringing his thin face down as the elf smiled against Argis's testing mouth. The housecarl swore he heard his name slip from the Altmer's lips, and he parted his mouth to be rewarded with the slick of his thane's wet muscle against his tongue. Argis was only partially aware of Rumirin's legs sliding closer, parting the Nord's knees as he pressed his hands to his chest. Argis tilted the elf's head, cupping his chin in his large hand to allow better access for himself.
"Argis."
He hadn't imagined it that time. Rumirin's breathy voice sent arousal down his spine, and he cursed himself for being so easily swayed by the thin man toying with him.
"Rumirin."
The elf bit down hard on Argis's lower lip, and teeth crashed against each other's, not entirely unpleasantly. The sudden violence Argis returned the gesture with ripped a moan from the depth of Rumirin's chest, sending a little appreciative and invisible shiver up the Nord's spine. The elf jumped when two hands slid to his back and down further to slide into his leathers and grip his ass. Rumirin groaned as his heart slammed against his chest, and he gripped the collar of the Blade armor he'd stolen for Argis to wear. Damn did he look good in it, and it had convenient handles as well.
The elf pulled away long enough for Argis to whisper his name between parted, wet lips, and Rumirin's jaw tightened as he pulled away, trying to right his spinning mind. His pulse was visible in his straining neck, and Argis's eyes opened slowly to survey the damage. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized the Altmer was still standing there, eyes closed as he tried to breathe.
What the fuck have I just done?
The thought echoed through both of their heads, and the Altmer felt himself start to step backwards, jaw clenched, shaking in nervousness. Argis caught him easily, standing and wrapping a hand around the younger's waist, fingertips sinking into the elf's skin. Rumirin felt a moan rise in his chest, and he brought his face up to be met with Argis's lips once more. The Nord's other hand went to his hair, lacing his fingers to kiss him heatedly, the action becoming less desperate and more loving as it dragged on.
Rumirin could feel his heart hammering, and he placed a thin hand on the center of the Nord's chest plate, softening completely in the embrace.
Yep, I'm definitely gay.