The air was misty over Jorrvaskr, the evening grey and starless. Then, thunder cracked. A world filled his mouth. "LOK VAH KOOR," the dragonborn announced, shaking the insides of his chest. Clouds broke apart in the night sky and Masser and Secunda hung amid blossoming stars.
Farkas, a tall, broad man in grey, furred armour decorated by the carved heads of wolves stood over a small grave marked by a pile of rocks, off the road leading toward the hall of Jorrvasker. He did not know how to feel when he spied the Dragonborn leading his way from the gildergreen, brilliant by his floating, magical white light.
"You're back," Farkas said.
Leto smiled and held out his arms and Farkas embraced him. With Farkas few inches taller, their arms fit together well. Nords weren't exactly swarthy, but Farkas was so pale it was like the sun had never touched his white skin. Meanwhile his hair was a ebony mane draped over his shoulders. It plus the dark stubble on his wide jaw, it made an intense contrast. And his eyes were another; icy blue yet surrounded by dark messy warpaint. Along with his twin brother, Vilkas, the man always struck Leto in an unsettling way.
When Farkas released him Leto became embarrassed at noticing the gravestones, marked in Nordic runes which Leto could hardly read: "Sorry to disturb. I didn't realize. Who...?"
"Dolon," Farkas said, frowning. "Died a couple of days ago."
"Oh. I'm sorry." An old dog (literal dog, not werewolf) who nosed around Jorrvaskr. It had always been Farkas' job to take care of him.
"He was yours," Leto added. He neither liked dogs, nor knew what to say in times like this. Such an Imperial wordsmith.
"He was Kodlak's first. Old man saved the bitch that whelped him. I think. Makes sense I guess."
Leto wasn't sure what sense it made.
"He got sick while I was off with you in that dark place with the glowing mushrooms," Farkas continued. "Nothing like himself when I got back. It got me thinking about things." Farkas looked very seriously at Leto before seeming kind of reluctant to say more, managing only: "You just got back."
"Don't try to protect my feelings now, pup," Leto said. "Tell me what you want."
"I can't care about anything other than the next hunt anymore." It was hard for him to get the words out. "It's- I don't like it. I don't want to die unclean like this. I want to be a good Nord and go to Sovngarde. I don't know why I was scared saying that."
"Neither do I," Leto said, but he had a theory.
With the coming night hiding the rest of Whiterun and that grand meadhall of Jorrvaskr being the only landmark, it seemed like they were in Sovngarde already. Farkas didn't want to be a werewolf anymore, he wanted to be normal. Leto hesitated as Farkas waited for his next words, like old Dolon had for your scraps whenever you were eating in front of him. Staring, with those chips of ice he had for eyes.
"If what you want is to be clean, then we need to go to Ysgramor's Tomb," Leto said.
Inside, a surly Aela greeted Leto from the table as she drank soup. She didn't rise. He gave Tilma a peck on the cheek as they passed her and the red bannered pillars over to the stairs down to the undercroft. Wuthraad hung over those stairs and the shield of Ysgramor. There was no ruckas downstairs for him anymore. He was barely a Companion anymore. With Skjorr and Kodlak and himself and now old Dolon gone, it felt like everything was dying.
Last time Leto had set foot in Jorrvaskr was when he recruited Farkas to come into Blackreach for the Elder Scroll. He couldn't go at it alone. And the last time before that was after he found Vince dead in the Thalmor Embassy and he rode straight through a snowstorm and killed his horse just to get back into Farkas' arms to feel again. Leto cried harder than he ever had that night: not only for Vince but for loosing his father and older brothers in the war, and for loosing the war, for loosing their farm, for loosing Cheydinal, for loosing the Empire, for loosing Cyrodiil itself.
If felt silly thinking about that, but the point was: neither time of return was for the glory of the Companions.
They didn't pass anyone else on their way to Farkas' room.
In the dark alcove, Farkas sat on the bed by the door, while Leto was beside him on a chair. The air was still, lit by candles. Farkas admired Leto's dark features; barely slighter than his own. He'd laid down his travelling gear and had removed his long blue coat and fine leather gloves and boots. Leto had changed since before. His cloth breeches and a soft white vest covered in a florid gold pattern. The white glowed against his dark olive skin. Both his earlobes had studs in them and one of his ears (left, Farkas always had to think for a moment about which side was which) had another piercing coiling around the ear shell, above his stud. His beard was shaved to be friendly mutton chops and had eyeliner around his tired brown eyes. Scars curled around his bare chin.
Farkas, meanwhile, stripped from his wolf armour and remained in a tunic and breeches, drinking mead straight out of the flagon. Sweaty. Leto had some of the honey sweet stuff himself (he held a silver goblet), but never to the degree of Farkas. Farkas had already had a bottle's worth before Leto arrived, he would be busting to go soon.
"You're a different man from when I saw you," Farkas said.
Leto rested the rim of the goblet on his lips, "Been a year roundabout. Almost like a lifetime, really."
"Feels weird thinking about it." Then Farkas abruptly asked about Alduin.
And Leto began talking about Sovngarde, meeting Kodlak and Ysgramor, even. Somehow amid the story, Leto had made his way over to the bed leaned into Farkas, he'd taken his gloves off, so he might stroke Farkas' stubbly cheek and feel his skin.
"He thought I was a Nord," Leto said, arm on Farkas' shoulders, "That I'll be there making merry alongside him. When, really, there are about four other places I'm supposed to be going when I die."
Farkas didn't know what to say to that. He felt the fool everyone said he was. Leto was a daedra worshipper and that was bad for some reason. But in a way, all the Companions were daedra worshippers too and they weren't bad. It pained him to think of them being apart in death. He felt it whenever Leto left for his adventures as the Dragonborn. But if Ysgramor personally wanted him in Sovngarde maybe he would be there.
"Having a wolf confuses me," Farkas said, unsure about what to say.
(Aside) "Does it? The dragon soul has always been there, eating my mind. It had asserted itself over others of its kind and demanded dominion over all men." (He was the Dragonborn! He was a child of Akatosh! He had a massive cock! [He didn't have a massive cock.] Meanwhile, the hot beast blood was a little bitch compared to the dragon. Always searching for some 'real man's' piss to drink or shit to eat or babies to have. Battle raged ever inside him. Complicated more by the Daedric Princes he did the bidding of. Hermaus Mora, Clavicus Vile, Sanguine, Meridia... the beast loved serving Daedra. How many pieces had been cut off his person in his travels? He'd lost count)
Leto asked Farkas: "Have you spoken to the others about it?" setting his mead down, going further into Farkas' side.
"No. Was gonna today."
"I can't imagine Aela will think highly of your designs."
"No."
"Then you'll know Sovngarde like I have. Glittering skies and rivers. Snow capped peaks shaped like bones of dragons lain as centerpieces. A host of mannish revelry in the greatest meadhall I've ever seen beneath splendid auroras and hanging over an endless, sparkling black sea. Your kin, who'll never tire of singing songs nor live a hair apart from the best days of their lives."
"Yeah." Farkas brushed his cheek against Leto's. "But I wanna live at the moment."
Leto kissed him, smelled the heady, honey scent of mead on his breath. He was so warm. "Any ideas how?"
Farkas hummed as he put his tongue in Leto's mouth. They felt around each other, Farkas' hands on his crotch, Leto kneading him in return, before Farkas abruptly broke the kiss.
"I need to pee."
Leto grinned. The beast seized his nerves, dragging his body to the floor in front of Farkas. "Saved it all for me?"
His white, veiny cock came out easily enough from his undone breeches. It rose from a musky black thatch of pubic hair. Half-hard dick in hand, Farkas drew back his pale foreskin slightly and began to piss. Leto caught the stream in his mouth and chugged, the pulses of his neck made Farkas' dick twitch. Leto brought his lips to the faintly pink slit of Farkas' dick head and enjoyed the water. Mead piss was always stronger, sweeter. Droplets caught on Leto's chin and when the stream petered out he drew them to his mouth, sucking his fingers dry before lapping up the final spurts cascading Farkas' shaft.
Leto took the dick in his mouth, the unwashed stink of Farkas, the dried sweat and alcohol stench became pungent now with Farkas' balls unveiled from his breeches. Farkas took off his shirt while Leto pulled at them. Big and egg shaped in their pink-white sack, taut and wrinkled, amid wiry black hair. Farkas jerked his shaft, as Leto gazed into his piercing eyes, nosing with huffs Farkas' pubes. Tonguing his piss slit, Leto let go and sucked Farkas' balls as the dick continued to rub against his face leaving strings of precum, warm, fat and wet. Farkas' balls did not get loose much, but sweat (and stunk) like a motherfucker as Leto buried his face in them.
Leto's snuffling heightened his own beast blood. The wolf lurked excitedly behind his senses with fangs bared and eyes clear. The unavoidable sense Leto was being viewed, moments away from becoming it, thrilled him. Farkas growled, congenial, moments away from his own beast, pulling his cock faster and faster. It whined actually, like a bitch. It knew it was dying and could do nothing but reach out for anything it could have, at last. Leto took the cock again into his mouth, tasting beneath his sopping foreskin, at the remnant piss taste and the flecks of cheese bunching in the groves. Consuming it all, connected to the parts inside.
Leto slid from Farkas' cock and wanted to know him. He threw off his shirt and leapt onto him, feet planted beside Farkas' thighs, he squatted and they kissed. Farkas grunted, taking Leto's asscheeks, tearing his breeches, Farkas' dick rubbing down his bare crack, tickled by the hairs. Farkas took his own dick, biting Leto's lip, tasting blood, and trawled his cockhead through the ass hair for the cleft in Leto's crack.
The hole flinched at being disturbed. It was a tough fit, Leto winced as his muscles stung. He was not wholly clean but that always made it easier. He gently began to joggle atop Farkas' dick, who matched his movement; dick occasionally slipping from the asshole. Farkas was quick to return it while Leto was sticking his fingers into his mouth and shoving his saliva up his anus in between the dick slipping out; wincing and gasping as they went. Leto's own olive-brown dick bobbed half hard between them through its curly black pubes, his balls taut and his foreskin wet. His dick was short but thick and his nuts were nearly as big as Farkas'.
Farkas let out a bit of piss inside Leto's ass, it was a right mess, slopping out alongside the spit, precum and bits of shit, but they gradually built a pace. Farkas sheathed more completely in the anal channel. Leto definitely felt some bleeding inside his ass, but the pain was another thing to hold onto as he cloaked the prick with his flesh. Where Farkas' dick lit up at its end from the taut muscle clenching and unclenching around it, the blood pumping, his hands clasped on Leto's asscheeks, lifting him up and down on his cock, rubbing the part inside Leto which gave the man tingles each time the peeing trunk slid through him.
Leto stroked his own cock, it twitched with every touch to that good feeling spot in his ass. His other arm wrapped around Farkas' sweaty back. Leto's own piss was building inside his bladder too, it felt like it climbed up his piss hole. When it came, it was like cumming piss, the spurts shooting over their hairy chests (some drops hit Farkas' face) and cascading to the fur bedding, while Farkas' hot rod pounded him, big, taking all thought. The shitting sensation of getting fucked. Balls slapping his ass. And for a moment: his own hand around his cock was dark and hairy; claws dug cruelly into his asscheeks drawing blood; Farkas' chest was a black carpet of fur; and he saw Farkas' eyes whites become black and those icy blue irises became empty of anything but the hunt. Finding. Fucking. Breeding. Killing. And Leto felt like he was about to die.
Instead Farkas halted, his dick pulsed and he eased his strokes as he came. Cum painted the inside of Leto's ass and Farkas groaned. Leto echoed it and fell against Farkas, laughing.
"Did you cum?" Farkas asked.
"Not really," Leto said, not sure how to describe his piss squirting as he shifted to his knees, easing his sore ankles. He didn't need to cum anyway.
Farkas' dick slopped out of his asshole and when Farkas felt the spill, he ferally wrestled Leto to the floor, his strong, warm arms propping Leto's ass up on his knees and removing the tattered breeches, as the cocktail of precum, piss, shit, blood and cum spilled from his hairy anus. Farkas lowered to lap it up, whining like a puppy which reminded Leto far too much of himself.
"Were you like this before you met me?" Leto said, wanting to taste it himself as Farkas' tongue played at his folds.
Farkas hummed in response, tickling Leto's ring pleasingly. Piss gave the room a heady aroma, and Leto's dirty shithole was making it all the better. Farkas held Leto's ass cheeks apart, which, while dark, were less tanned than his upper body and legs but no less hairy. Indentations left around his cheeks where Farkas had scratched him, Leto's butt was decorated in a general layer of black fuzz that rode thicker up his olive-brown cleft and around his unfurling rim. The fuzz became a tringle of hair on his back above his cheeks before it stopped. at his hips. The beast growled through Farkas at a primal notion that he'd claimed Leto as his prize, cumming inside him. The dark olive flesh of his asshole was red and tender thanks to that and it pushed outward to expel the yellowy solution in a bubbling fart which Farkas readily pilfered, tasting strongly of a dry mouth in the morning, stubble catching on Leto's ass hairs.
Leto sighed at Farkas' gentle sucking of his sore asshole. The nerves stimulated so prettily. He could've cum from it if Farkas kept it up. And when he had shat it all out he pulled the pup up for a pash, getting all the hard flavour that lingered in Farkas' mouth with his tongue.
When the kiss broke they crawled atop the bed, in each others arms. Farkas' hair draped beautifully over him and he swept it back. Leto descended, licking the remnants of piss off Farkas' chest. He'd gotten to his soft dick, casually sucking it clean of the bits of cum, shit and blood which had soiled it. He thanked Mara, as Farkas stroked his hair and said: "Before we go, we gotta clean this up. Tilma doesn't deserve that job."
They exchanged a glance and then checked the piss on the bedding, running onto the floor.
"Good point," Leto said, smiling. "We'll set out tomorrow, then. It'll be good to travel with someone. I miss it sometimes." And he went back to cleaning Farkas' dick with his tongue, waiting for his post-orgasm piss.