Ulfric was not remotely foolish enough to put his robes of office back on. He found some nondescript clothes in the closet and a long fur cape and hood. The latter he pulled down low over his face. How many of the Dark Elves might recognise him he had no idea. It was better to keep a low profile.
Ulfric heard Yrsarald snoring in his room as he hurried past, and the guards nodded at him as he left the Palace of the Kings for the swirling snow and dark night outside. For a few moments he stood there, feeling the cold pinch at his face and he burrowed his bare hands deeper under his cloak. It was very late. Guards were patrolling, and a drunk was singing badly somewhere, but otherwise the city was quiet.
It grew less so as he ventured into the muck of the Grey Quarter. People were still awake here; he could hear conversations behind closed doors and out in front of the New Gnisis Cornerclub, from which spilled light and conversation and the smell of strange cooking. Several Dark Elves were lounging around despite the cold.
Ulfric ducked his head and pulled his cloak close as he stomped past them, vowing to make them regret it if they started something. They didn't. They watched him go past with mild interest and returned to their conversations.
It was not like a normal inn in here. For a start the air was thick with smoke, and the kind of cooking smells that made Ulfric's eyes water. No one was singing, or fighting. There was a lot of noise though; intense conversations, the clatter of wooden or bone dice across the tables, and the clink and scrape of glasses and chairs. Everyone was in constant motion; once a point of conversation had been concluded half the participants stood up and went to different tables to start the next one.
They didn't give Ulfric a wide berth simply because there wasn't room, but he was watched by a dozen or more red, oval eyes as he made his way slowly around the room, looking for Dyce.
He found him sitting at the bar downing Cyrodilic brandy and telling unlikely stories to a pair of elves, one of whom was playing with his hair. Ulfric got the satisfaction of making Dyce's jaw drop when he pulled back the free stool next to him and sat on it. Dyce shut his mouth and grinned.
"Well if isn't my old friend, uh, Griz." He draped an arm around Ulfric's shoulders. "We're old hunting buddies," he explained. Ulfric found himself the recipient of knowing, amused looks.
To hell with it then. If he was going to be undercover, he may as well put some effort in.
He wrapped an arm around Dyce's waist and pulled him sharply against him and the Breton nearly fell off his stool. Dyce's blue eyes gleamed with amusement; he didn't seem to mind any, although Ulfric realised his cloak and hood were far too warm for a crowded bar.
"Are you here for a drink or just a cuddle?" Dyce asked.
Ulfric pointed at the bar in front of him with his free hand. Gratifyingly fast, the Dark Elf behind the bar slid across a ceramic tumbler of brandy, and it went almost as well as mead did. Dyce suggested he leave the bottle and given no money was in evidence Ulfric deduced he was a regular customer.
"I was really not expecting you to show up," Dyce said, pouring himself a drink with the exaggerated carefulness of someone who'd been drinking most of the evening. "You should meet some people. Everyone, this is Griz, and he's shy."
Ulfric did not like the sound of elves laughing at him, and he had another drink. He wondered if Dyce kept his arm around his shoulders in case he tried to do something. However, the elves soon lost interest in him; he was bad conversation, but vouched for, and so he was basically ignored. At that point Dyce unwound his arm and rested his elbow on the bar instead.
Ulfric didn't move his arm. That leather was something else. It invited stroking. Ulfric caught his hand moving against Dyce's side a couple of times and stilled it. He probably couldn't feel anything. Dyce was warm. Ulfric could feel him shudder when he laughed. Ulfric drank and let the noise wash over him.
Talos, what was he doing here?
"Are you hungry?" Dyce turned to him. "I am. Food! Ambarys! Feed us!"
Ulfric found himself staring at bowl of what looked like jellied egg yolks. Steam was rising gently from them. Dyce was sprinkling salt over his, spoon in hand.
"What are these?" Ulfric asked.
"Kwama cuttle," Dyce said, slurping one off his spoon. "House specialty."
Talos, what was he doing here?
Ulfric was not a fearful man. He unwound his arm from around Dyce and copied him by sprinkling salt over the dish. Then he braced himself, picked up a spoon, and dug in. He managed to eat about half of it as fast as he could before pushing the bowl away.
"I already ate," he said. He poured himself another drink, while Dyce smirked at him.
"Well, you tried. I'm proud of you." Dyce ate all of his cuttle and the half a bowl Ulfric had been unable to stomach. "If you're looking for an acquired taste, try the scrib jelly," Dyce said. "Still can't get the taste for that."
"Why would you care to?" Ulfric asked.
"Why not?" Dyce asked. "The more things you like the richer and more varied your banquets. It works for sex, too," he added casually.
Ulfric choked on his brandy.
Dyce yawned, apparently sated. "Well, I suppose I should get some rest. I'm sure someone important will want me to do something tomorrow." He stood up and started bidding people goodnight. Ulfric followed, although he said not a word to anyone.
The cold air outside the Cornerclub was like a slap in the face. Dyce shivered and tucked his hands under his arms before starting to tromp back through the dirty snow up the slope towards Windhelm proper.
Ulfric wasted no time following. It was depressing down here, now they were out of the warm, and he was tired and a bit drunk.
He wasn't the only one, up ahead he could hear shouting and he spied a familiar figure stumbling down the street towards them.
"Spies! You're all...filthy Imperial spies. Come out'n fight! Like Nords!"
"Rolff," Dyce growled. "How many times have I gotta-"
Ulfric put his hand on Dyce's shoulder. Dyce waited as Ulfric pushed his hood off his head.
"Rolff," he said. "Rolff Stone-Fist, do you recognise me?"
Rolff frowned, "Yeah. You're...you're th' Jarl. Whatt're you doin' here?"
"You're making a nuisance of yourself. Go home and sober up."
"Yesh, yesh my Jarl," Rolff made an attempt to salute and reeled away.
"And stop causing trouble!" Ulfric called after him. In a lower tone he added to Dyce, "Let's see if he takes any more notice of me than he does of you."
Dyce was smiling at him.
"What?" Ulfric pulled his hood back over his head. "This is my city. I should keep down the troublemakers."
Dyce chuckled indulgently and they strode on in companionable silence.
"Why do you like them so much?" Ulfric asked eventually. "The elves."
"They're sarcastic," Dyce said. "It's hilarious. Most of them are into pretty kinky stuff too; one of them showed me part of Vivec's Lessons once. I was speechless. Nice voices. Nice people. Divines know I wouldn't put up with it if I was treated the way they were."
"They don't have to put up with it; they're welcome to leave," Ulfric said.
"Could you just for one minute imagine what it's like for them?" Dyce waved his arms. "For someone who wants to be king, you suck at identifying potential allies."
"And for a blow-in from Highrock you claim to know an awful lot about governing Nords. Nords are my people; they are who I fight and if need be will die for. Not elves."
"What if the Dragonborn had been an elf?" Dyce asked.
"Bretons practically are elves," Ulfric huffed irritably.
Dyce looked thoughtful, in a drunk sort of way. "I suppose there's hope for you yet then." He gave Ulfric a crooked smile, "I'll tell them what you did, you know. About Rolff."
Ulfric didn't know what to say about that. He certainly didn't feel grateful. It didn't matter, as Dyce patted him on the shoulder and walked past him towards Hjerim without waiting for a response. It was only once he'd gone, and Ulfric was halfway up the steps to the Palace of Kings, that he realised he hadn't actually passed on the orders he'd originally summoned Dyce to receive.
Tomorrow then.
Only tomorrow was in no hurry to arrive. Ulfric lay under his furs, eyes shut, but every time he tried to relax the sound of the Cornerclub seemed to echo in his ears. It was maddening, and the more he tried to block it out the worse it got. Eventually he gave up and went with it, going back there in his mind, the taste of brandy still in his mouth.
Dyce's leather under his fingers.
This time he was free to stroke, to slide his hand down Dyce's ribs. He felt his cock stir, the familiar sensation of his blood quickening in his veins. He didn't move, not yet. Behind his eyelids, Dyce turned to him, affectionate, obedient. Ulfric licked his lower lip and heaved a sigh, concentrating. The sounds of the Cornerclub finally faded as he concentrated on Dyce, making him real, remembering his freckles, the size of his hands.
From there he was obliged to imagine, to guess, as he peeled away the leather. He wasn't in the Cornerclub now, but his own bed, Dyce pliant and eager. Have him taste like brandy. Have him lean and hard. Have him hot.
Ulfric was hard now, he could feel the weight of the furs pushing his cock against his stomach. He shifted, moving his hips, feeling the sheet slide against his skin, a wrinkle catching on the end of his erection. Not comfortable, he slid a hand down his chest and stomach, his blunt fingers barely registering the scars as he concentrated on pretending it wasn't his hand. Dyce cupped his balls, weighing them, thoughtful then pleased, and encircled the base of Ulfric's cock with his finger and thumb.
Ulfric slowly stroked up his length and squeezed the head of his cock, imagining Dyce on his knees, sucking and squeezing, looking up at him with big, adoring eyes even as his cheeks hollowed and spit ran down his chin. Like that, taste it. All of it.
Ulfric rolled onto his side in an attempt to keep the sheets clean; he was leaking over his fingers and achingly hard. How long had he wanted to give himself permission to do this? To even think this. He stroked himself slowly, brow furrowed in concentration as he had Dyce straddle his lap, then lie back against his tangled sheets. Tame, willing, welcoming.
He'd fucking chain him to the bedpost if he had to, Ulfric thought, moving his hand faster, have him demonstrate all the things the Dark Elves taught him. He'd watch him come, make him come. Ulfric bit back a groan. He indulged in a random assortment of fantasies, chasing his own orgasm. He drove his hips up against his own hand and with a frustrated grunt released him cock long enough to throw off the furs; despite the fact that the fire had gone out long ago he was too hot under the covers.
The cool air raised goosebumps on his arms and legs, but it was a relief nonetheless. He could smell his own hormones. He rolled onto his back again, and resumed stroking himself, his other hand clenched around a fistful of the country's finest tundra cotton as he dug his fingers into the sheet.
It wasn't enough to imagine his cock in Dyce's mouth, he put words in it, made those lips that smiled so easily say his name.
Say it: my jarl.
Say it: my king.
He shuddered and he nearly arched free of the bed. He could feel his orgasm building as Dyce bent and bowed and fucked and sucked. But it wasn't quite right. It wasn't quite him. Ulfric moved his hand faster and flung his free arm across his face, panting. Nearly there.
A memory interrupted the fantasy then. Dyce's worshipful expression dissolved and Ulfric found himself remembering Dyce's spirited defence on behalf of Whiterun. There was the man himself, in full flight, determined and looking him right in the eye. Intense and right there-
Ulfric gasped and curled his knees up and shuddered as he jetted his seed into his fist, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his breath squeezed from his lungs. He hung there for a few seconds and then he breathed again.
With a groan he relaxed and waited until he caught his breath. He felt irritated with himself, but he had to admit, he'd probably needed it. He opened his fingers and felt around on his nightstand for a cloth to clean himself up. Now his heartbeat was slowing it was getting uncomfortably cold, and he wasted no time piling the furs back on.
He was more than ready to sleep now. He felt foolish and uneasy. He hoped he'd gotten Dyce out of his system and out of his head, but he couldn't help but suspect opening the door a crack would only let him further in.