Chapter Pairing: Faendal x Sven

Who needs Camilla? A heated argument turns into a heated...something else. Enemies to lovers. NSFW.

Frustrations

Sven cursed as more sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring his view of the block again, and used the arm that wasn't holding an axe to swipe angrily at his face. The sun was at its peak in a sizzling blue sky, making everyone miserable; he figured if his sweat-soaked shirt was any hint, that Riverwood must've been hotter than Elsweyr right now.

He hated working so hard at the mill, especially on days like this – but coin was king, all said and done, and he knew it. Delphine just didn't pay enough.

The heat had them all in a foul mood – so it was hardly a surprise, when the crack of his axe into the next log was chased by Hod's angry voice, shouting.

'Damn it! Who moved my cant hook while I was gone?!'

Sven shaded his eyes to look up at the red-faced man on his platform, and shrugged.

'I'm pretty sure I saw Faendal take it.'

That was a flat-out lie; it hadn't been a quarter hour past when he saw Frodnar go running up the platform with Stump and grab his pa's old hook, waving it around like a sword and then taking off laughing into the woods. But where was the fun in telling him that? This way guaranteed him a few minutes' satisfaction, out of a lousy day.

As if on cue, it was then that Faendal came trudging from the woods, sweating and grunting, dragging a giant fresh log behind him on the hand sled. He hadn't even made it back to the yard proper, before Hod was laying into him.

'Shor's balls, you gods-damn lout, where is my bleeding hook?! As if the work isn't hard enough, my workers make off with my tools! Did you leave it behind?!'

He got to stand back and watch it unfold – Hod's yelling, Faendal's confusion, Hod's face going from red to purple. Insults were hurled, gloves pitched – but Faendal didn't so much as flinch at the display. That was disappointing, but not exactly unexpected. Eventually, Sven was forced to admit to himself that he was annoyed, and impressed; Hod was no small man.

It went on that way for another minute or so, Hod flailing and bellowing, Faendal quipping flatly back, before they were cut off by a screeching Dorthe, running from the trees and chased by Frodnar, swinging the hook.

Satisfying was the word, for the look on old Hod's face.

After Frodnar had been sent home with a stinging backside, Hod whirled in a huff on Sven, hook in hand and a glint in his eyes.

'I thought you said Faendal took it!'

He got the payoff he'd hoped for in one fleeting glance over Hod's shoulder, to Faendal beyond him; the red-eyed glare and flared nostrils on that stupid, arrogant face as the elf balled his hands into fists.

That's right, asshole.

Schooling his face into innocence, he shrugged again as he turned to the block, placing a new log.

'I thought he had. I only saw from the corner of my eye – I was working.'

The burly man scowled, and snorted.

'For once. I'd tell you to work on your eyesight, but I don't pay you for that. Bah – back to it.' He waved one meaty hand in dismissal, and then craned to look at Faendal behind them.

'That means you, too! No time to be standin' around.'

Sven had to stifle a smirk as he nodded. 'Whatever you say, boss.'

Smug satisfaction coiled in his chest, and as Hod went stomping back up the ramp, he couldn't help but smile down at the block. The sounds of rushing water and chirring cicadas were soon pierced by the ringing crack of axe-blows reinvigorated by spite, and for a minute Sven lost himself in the work.

But then he was pulled from his reverie by the feeling of eyes, burning into his back. When he looked behind him, there was Faendal – standing still across the yard, just staring at him. It was...unnerving, somehow, and the Nord could only glare back for a few beats before he found himself turning away.

The sun was finally starting to sink beneath the treeline – the day's work was nearly, blessedly, over. Sven was dusting the splinters from his hands and trudging back from the latest haul of split logs, when he saw Faendal leaning against the fence across the yard, talking and laughing with Camilla.

The elf had a stupid grin on his face, and was gesturing with both hands while he talked. Camilla had on the green linen dress he loved – looking far too gorgeous – and to his dismay, she burst into a peal of laughter as he stood watching, bright and sunny, and put her hand on Faendal's arm, leaning into him.

Oh, hells no. No way was he working like a dog while that ass stood there chatting up his woman!

His feet were crossing the yard before he even realized it, and as he drew close, he started to hear them.

'But what did you do, when the bear took your pants?!'

'I wasn't worried about it – after I was done with him, I made three new pairs.'

Sven came striding up to the fence as Camilla giggled at the elf's overtold, embellished story that he didn't believe for a second, and gripped the wooden rail as he sidled up beside them, smiling tightly.

'What's all the noise, over here?' Quickly, he looked to Camilla and grinned as he ran his free hand through his hair.

'You're looking stunning today, Camilla.'

Camilla smiled demurely, and beside him, Faendal turned toward him, head cocked to one side.

'Isn't she? I told her so myself, when we started our private conversation.'

Lightly, Sven scoffed. 'Private? I'd hardly call the wide open yard a private place, would you?' Putting a cutting edge on his smile, he leaned up against the fence-post, mirroring Faendal, and stared at the elf with a challenge in his eyes.

'Besides, as the saying goes, 'more's the merrier', no?'

'Mm. Actually, I'm more a fan of a different one – 'two's company, and three's a crowd.'' The Bosmer smirked at him pointedly, and raised his chin.

'But you don't seem familiar with it.'

Across the fence, there was a tiny, muffled sound – when he looked down, Sven saw Camilla with a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle what sounded like a laugh. The sight made him prickle with sudden embarrassment, and hot color flushed his face.

'Right,' he snarked, looking back to the elf. 'What do you even have to talk about, anyway? The same old made-up story you've spit out a hundred times? I think you bored that bear to death, if it ever existed at all.'

'Sven.' Camilla clucked her tongue, and swatted at his arm. 'Stop it, you're being rude.' The tone was chastising – but her mouth was curled up in a smile, and when she leaned forward against the fence-rail, he could see that her eyes were sparkling. He opened his mouth to reply, but Faendal cut in.

'And wrong.' He turned now to face Sven, and crossed his arms with that signature maddening nonchalance.

'This might be hard to understand, for a man who makes a living playing with his flute. But I don't have to make my stories up – my life is just actually interesting.'

This time Camilla was even less successful hiding a snort of laughter, and Sven felt himself flush even harder as he grit his teeth.

'It's a lute. Not a flute.' He never even played the flute! Okay, hardly ever...the smile had melted off his face, and he glared at Faendal with a sneer.

'What would an uncultured oaf like you know about the bardic art?'

'Not a thing.' The Bosmer's smile was loose and careless, but a light of triumph shone in his burgundy eyes, and his tone was smug.

'But I've gotten by just fine, so far. Besides, it looks to me like your fancy college forgot to teach you a few important things – like how to read your audience.'

The elf's eyes flicked over pointedly towards Camilla, and when Sven glanced her way, he was mortified to see her snickering behind her hands, eyes shining with laughter. Blood started to rush in his ears with an audible woosh, and his body was stiff when he turned back to Faendal.

He wanted to hit him, right in his stupid mouth. But he couldn't – not in front of Camilla. Camilla, who he wanted to impress. Camilla, who was laughing at him...

All at once, it was too much. Grinding his teeth in his head, Sven turned jerkily around and stalked off the way he'd come, shoulders tight and raised. He heard Camilla giggling and calling for him to wait, come back, but he didn't slow down. When Hod rounded the corner of the house and saw him, his heavy brow furrowed, and Sven just muttered darkly as he passed him that he was done for the day.

As he slipped through the gate and turned onto the main road, he heard both of them laughing in earnest behind him, and he scowled as his hands balled into fists. He stalked down the road as quick as pride would allow, and didn't look back.

'He's just – ugh – insufferable! With his stupid face and – stupid mouth. You know what I mean!'

'Yep.'

'Like that bear story – totally bullshit, am I right?'

'Sure.'

'Right! Obviously fake, but people eat it up! And he looks down that needle nose at me, for what I do.'

'Mmm.'

'He thinks he's so smart, always ready with'the jabs. But I know better. I just don't – hic – know what Camilla sees in him. What does she see in him, Orgnar?'

'Couldn't tell you.'

Sven had let his feet carry him to the Sleeping Giant, thinking of a mug of mead to take the edge off his rotten day. He hadn't meant for one to turn into five – but damn, if it didn't feel good. Gods knew sometimes a man thought clearer, with some drink in him.

But he still couldn't figure that one out. He leaned back on the stool, nearly falling over, and gripped the bar for balance as he shook his head.

'It's bullshit. One of these days – wunna these days I might do something 'bout it.' Slowly, he looked up and smiled.

'Till then, I've got you. How about another mead, Orgnar, old pal?'

But Orgnar didn't feel like being a pal; dark brows drew together on his weathered face, and he shook his head and crossed his arms, looking unimpressed.

'Uh-uh. I don't think so. You don't need more mead, Sven. You need'ta go home and sleep.'

The words were slow to connect; when they did, Sven squinted and frowned.

'Huh? Wuh – what are you saying?'

Orgnar's lips firmed.

'I'm saying I think you've had enough.'

The sloppy smile had melted off Sven's face; the bartender watched as he mulishly stuck his chin out, instead.

'Oh yeah? And how d'you know that I've had enough?'

The craggy Nord just looked at him and grunted.

'Pretty obvious, 'you ask me.'

It was just the two of them in the place; as the seconds churned by in Sven's murky head, a charged, awkward silence fell. The old anger that'd driven him here was starting to stir in his gut, and when he dropped his gaze to the scarred wooden bar-top, his blue eyes were cloudy and mean.

'I don't think I did ask you, Orgnar.'

Orgnar was clearly unfazed. 'That's how it is. Bar's closed.'

'Y'know what?' Sven clenched his teeth, slapped both hands on the bar, and knocked one of his empty mugs to the ground in the process.

'I don't need this from you. I've got free booze at home.'

'Go drink that, then,' Orgnar deadpanned, and Sven sneered as he slid from the stool and staggered back a step.

'You can bet your ass I will.' He didn't need Orgnar or anyone else on his case. Bars' closed, my ass. Feeling angry and off-balance, Sven shot the other Nord a rude gesture with one hand, and stalked towards the inn's front door.

It wasn't until the door had closed behind him that Orgnar slapped the cup he'd been cleaning down onto the bar, and gave a rumbling sigh.

'I don't get fuckin' paid enough.'

He'd been going to just go home, and keep on drinking. That'd been the plan. Darkness had fallen for the night, and it was just him outside. But as he'd started down the road, he couldn't help but think that it was unfair.

Why should he get told no, no more, go home? When it was him who'd had such a shitty day, him who'd gotten laughed at? By Camilla, and that asshole, Faendal? Why should he go home and just let himself get walked on like that? The elf had made a fool of him, in front of his woman. It wasn't right. Hazily, he recalled the looks on Camilla and Faendal's faces as they'd laughed, and it stung him afresh. Why should he stand for it?

Why not do something about it, for once?

And that had been that. Next thing he knew, a mix of righteous anger and wounded pride (and five mugs of mead) had his feet turning in the cobbled road, and heading down a path he hardly ever used.

The path to Faendal's house. He could see the cottage up ahead, nestled against a bluff and shrouded in garden. There was candlelight flickering in the single glassed window, and seeing it spurred him on faster – so that when he tripped on a raised bit of rock, he nearly landed flat on his face.

He was cursing to himself when he made it to the door, and rather than hammer on it with a fist, he just grabbed the latch and threw it open, thrilled when it banged against the wall and he heard the sound of breaking glass. He barged over the threshold and into the room – and almost slipped in a puddle of green, collecting on the floor from the bottles he'd broken on a shelf.

'What the hell?!'

The cottage was well lit inside, and Sven had no trouble spotting his query in it. The elf was shirtless on his bed, with a book in his hand and a scowl on his face, looking right at him.

'What do you want?'

'To get even.' Without looking away, Sven reached back with a booted foot, and kicked the door closed himself. 'You son of a bitch.'

Squinting at him, Faendal scoffed.

'Are you drunk or something? Get lost.'

Sven's voice rose, and his fists clenched. 'Why don't you make me, asshole?'

Closing his book with a snap, Faendal dropped it on the ground, and glared.

'What is this about, dumbass?'

'What'd'you think it's about?' Sven practically shouted – and then didn't give him time to answer.

'Camilla! You make me look like a moron, ev'ry chance you get! You think that's gonna win her over? As if. She's mine! And you need to back off, or I'll make you.'

Swiftly, Faendal sat up straight, and threw his legs over the side of the bed, body tense, face tight.

'Are you looking for a fight, Nord?'

Something in the words pissed him off like nothing else, and he growled deep in his chest.

'Do I need to spell it out for you?! You and me! Here n' now!' Grunting, he picked up the closest thing to hand – one of Faendal's kitchen chairs – and Faendal raised a hand, shouting.

'What are you—'

'Fight me, bitch! See who's laughing then!' With all his might, Sven chucked the chair at the wall beside him, and heard it splinter with deep satisfaction, even over the sound of Faendal shouting. Without missing a beat, he lunged up to the table and swept everything off it with one arm, revelling in the clattering breakage.

He was reaching for the second chair when Faendal came hurtling off the bed and into his side. Sven was angry, and bigger than Faendal, and really wanted this, so it was easy at first to send the elf sprawling back. He crowed when Faendal went ass-first into the tanning rack he had in a corner, ripping the hide right off. But then he was bounding back, cursing. Sven threw a hard punch, but it was wide and unsteady, and Faendal dodged around it with eyes on fire, and Sven found himself in a grapple before he could blink. He was still unsteady, and somehow the wiry elf managed to knock out his feet and ride him to the ground.

'Stop it – you fucking – '

'Fuck you!' Sven yelled over the other man, and wrested one arm free to start punching wherever he could land a hit. Back, shoulder, neck. He grunted, and with a heave, he rolled them over on the ground, hearing something from the table crunch under Faendal's bare back, and the elf yelled a curse.

For a second, he thought he had it in the bag – and then Faendal reached off to the side before he could look, and brought something hard down onto the back of Sven's head. Sven's vision swam as he wheezed and went limp for a second, stunned by the pain, and Faendal used that second to his advantage. Rolling them back the way they came, Faendal thrashed like a catfish up his chest, and Sven found his arms pinned to the ground at his sides by Faendal's knees. The pain had him swearing, struggling, and Faendal lifted an open hand above his head, wild-eyed, and yelled at him again.

'Stop it! She isn't worth this, you idiot!'

Seeing that hand, common sense finally won out a bit, and through his haze, Sven stopped squirming.

Both of them were breathing hard, the panting the loudest sound in the room, and in the second of stillness, he turned his head to the side and caught a glimpse of what Faendal had hit him with. It was a flagon of mead, sitting now in a second puddle on the floor. On a jagged out-breath, he cursed.

'What's that 'sposed to mean?'

'She doesn't love you!' Faendal shouted.

'That's—not—true—!' Wounded anger surged through him at the words, and Sven struggled against him with renewed strength from the insult. He nearly bucked the elf, but when he spit in Faendal's face, he snarled and pinned him back down to the ground by his hair.

'That's enough! Gods, can't you see that?!' Looking disgusted, Faendal wiped the spit away with his free hand, and shook the one in his hair for emphasis.

'Look at what's in front of you! I insulted you today in front of her, and she laughed at you! What love does that? Think.'

Something about those words pierced Sven, aching dully, and he shook his head against Faendal's grip, squirming again as they sank in.

'Fuck off. What would you know about it?' But the words sounded half-hearted, and both of them heard it. The memory of Camilla's laughing face flashed to the forefront, and Sven scowled.

Faendal took advantage. Taking a deep breath, he pinned Sven's gaze with his own, and spoke very, very firmly.

'She doesn't love either of us. And probably never will. She just loves getting fought over. And I don't know about you, but I'm sick of being played with.'

Sven was hit with a flare of the hot-headed belligerence that brought him here at that, and he laughed, a barking sound.

'Then give up! Give me Camilla. Admit you lose!'

'You're an idiot,' Faendal hissed. 'But even you're not that much of an idiot. You wouldn't be happy with that. Not really.'

Dimly, somewhere deep, Sven felt a pang at the words and knew they were the truth. But he'd be damned before he admitted it. He swallowed hard, trying to rein in his breathing. The fight had knocked some of the drunk right out of him, and now he was feeling it – the back of his head was aching, and something had scratched down his arm.

Then Faendal spoke again, more quiet, more pointed, but no less bold.

'Besides, I don't think that's the only reason you're here.'

Instantly, Sven was defensive, and glared at the elf. 'What do you mean?'

'You had a problem with me from the very start – remember? Before I ever started talking to Camilla. At the bottom of it, I don't think fighting me and trashing my place is really all about her.' With a hard sigh, Faendal released his grip on his hair and leaned back, pinning his arms to keep them in place, and shifting his weight to his hips, instead. His dark red eyes were still pinning Sven's gaze.

'I think it's because I get under your skin. And that bothers you.'

Those words pricked Sven with fear, but he didn't know why. All of a sudden, he felt his pulse pick up in his chest, his throat, and his response was especially harsh.

'Bullshit. You being a stupid asshole bothers me.'

Above him, Faendal cocked his head and glared.

'Shut your big mouth for one second, if you can, Sven. Look at where you are, right now. I mean, where you really are.'

For emphasis, he squeezed Sven's arms where his hands were grabbing them, his thighs between the legs that entrapped him. Sven blinked stupidly, offended and confused and a bit afraid, and obeyed.

He looked around the cottage, still candle lit, and then at Faendal – his shirtless torso, leanly muscled and glistening with the slightest bit of sweat. The glow of it mesmerized him somehow, and in his fuddled state, he took his time looking up. Up to pecs with dark hairless nipples, a strong corded neck, a cut jaw. His eyes settled in the sudden silence on Faendal's mouth, the deep bow of his upper lip. When he eventually came back to Faendal's eyes, he found them locked on his own, intense and smoldering in the flickering light. There was something hungry in those eyes, and it made him swallow.

'Think about it,' Faendal said lowly, firmly. 'Do you really think this is normal, for most men? This, right here? Do you think that, if, say, Embry and Orgnar have it out over something, that it goes like this?'

Sven opened his mouth – to say what, he didn't know – but Faendal cut him off with a shake of his head.

'No. It doesn't.'

There was a sort of confident knowing in the elf's voice that sent a shiver tripping down Sven's spine. He was afraid, but didn't know of what. His skin was tingling, and he was breathing fast. What was happening?

Faendal tipped his head to the other side, silver hair glinting with the movement, and Sven watched as the elf's gaze crawled down his chest, across his shoulder, back up to his mouth, all with that same hungry look in his dark eyes. It was intense, and...exciting – it was with a sudden rush of mortification that Sven realized his cock was hardening. Panicked, he grunted, but no words would form in his mouth.

Faendal obviously felt it rising against him, with the way they were pinned. And to Sven's utter shock and horror, the elf trailed his eyes down to where their bodies met, and smirked. Leaning even closer to Sven, he spoke lowly into the blonde's ear, so close that his hot breath made Sven shiver.

'And I can assure you, that usually doesn't happen.'

The breath in his ear and dark gravel of that voice had his cock straining even harder, but as the implication dawned in the back of his brain, Sven jolted, and finally found his voice.

'You – gods – get OFF of me!' He put all of his strength into it, and managed to knock Faendal off of him, backwards onto the floor. Sven scrambled to cover himself with both hands, and glared at the elf as he righted himself. He spluttered in his rush to talk, tongue heavy in his mouth.

'What – don't look at me like that! Don't look at all! What are you saying, you – you cretin?!' He could feel the heat in his face, in his neck – all over, really. His heart was pounding in his mouth.

'I'm saying there's something different, about the two of us. About what we like.'

He said it so obscenely calmly, and that made it all the worse. Looking into those steady red eyes, with those calm words ringing in his ears, Sven felt like he would die. Shame stabbed at him, faster than his brain could take it in, and then turned into anger.

This time when he launched himself, he didn't have a plan. He just wanted to hurt Faendal – just wanted to make him shut his mouth. His blows were wild, all over the place. It didn't take long, for Faendal to pin him again, and he snarled.

'Stop.'

'You shut your mouth,' Sven shouted. 'I'm not – I'm not –' But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself say the word.

'It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You don't need to feel bad about it.'

'Fuck off! I'm not a queer!'

There. He'd finally said it, and felt a small stab of fierce pride for it. I'm not.

'I never said you were,' Faendal replied evenly.

'But–!'

'Neither am I. I like women just fine, too. Prefer them, usually.'

'I only look at women,' Sven spat, in a defensive rush.

'Obviously not true.' Faendal said it dryly, and then gave a deliberate brush of his thigh to the cock still straining in Sven's pants, betraying him. Sven hissed at the contact. But before he could say anything else, Faendal shocked him by letting him go.

Sven scrambled backward in time to see Faendal rise to his feet, righting a chair they'd knocked over before he sat down in it, and leaned towards him with elbows on knees. He was looking at him intently, and it sent Sven tingling with...more than just anger. Against his will, his eyes pulled down to Faendal's breeches – and then he dragged them away, when he saw the obvious bulge inside them. Breathing hard again, he looked away.

'I told you, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's just the way some men are – nothing wrong with it. If you would stop swinging at me and think, you could see how it might work for you.'

This asshole was messing with his head. Blinking stupidly, Sven shook it to clear it – leaned against whatever was closest behind him, to swipe the hair back out of his face. Too many feelings were rushing through him – he didn't know what to do or say. After a short, deep silence, he blurted out a question.

'What do you mean?' Instantly, he regretted it – but not completely. His head was swimming, and under the anger and panic, he burned with curiosity his shame couldn't quench.

'I mean,' Faendal said slowly, 'that we don't have to be enemies. You don't have to keep trying to get what you need from Camilla. We could get it without her.'

The words hit him like a physical slap, and sent him recoiling with shock. He couldn't believe his ears. When he opened his mouth to reply, it was a stammer.

'You – you – I...'

Faendal stared at him calmly, and somewhere from the swamps of Sven's memory, a picture unfurled, unbidden. His old pa, Svilnar, years dead now – sitting in his usual corner at the Giant, mug in hand and the usual sneer on his face. He'd looked extra disgusted, at a story they'd just been told by the courier that used to run through. A couple of men down in Falkreath, caught being indecent and run out of town. Even after all these years, he still heard the venom in his pa's voice.

'Bah. Don't talk to me about that shit, Njaal. It goes against the gods. Any man who touches another man like that...well, he ain't a man at all. Just a bitch.'

Snapping back into the present, Sven blanched, and gave his head a hard shake.

'I'm no bitch.'

Across the room, Faendal lifted an eyebrow.

'Good to know. Old men's bullshit aside, though, that has nothing to do with it.'

Was he a damned mind-reader? Sven felt himself flush even harder. He couldn't remember last being this flustered – he was grasping for something, anything that would hold. Finally, he blurted out the thing that seemed most obvious.

'—But we hate each other!'

Faendal scoffed, and shook his head.

'You're being an idiot again,' the elf said lowly. 'I don't hate you. Think you're an asshole more often than not, yeah. And you were in my way, with Camilla. But I never hated you. Really, if you set the whole rivalry thing aside, you're not so bad.' Sven looked at him wide-eyed, and at the look on his face, the elf shot him a crooked smile.

'You have your...qualities.'

Sven gaped.

'What do you mean?' Again, that question; but the shocks seemed to just keep coming, since he came to this place.

The smile widened.

'You're easy on the ears, for one – when you're singing, that is. Funny as hell, when you aren't too busy bitching. Smarter than you make yourself out to be. And you catch my eye.' At this last his smile faded, and the burn of his gaze grew hotter as it locked with Sven's again.

'And I think it's pretty safe to say that I catch yours.'

Sven gasped a bit as his heart gave a tumble in his chest. The unexpected compliments rang in his ears, flustering him even more, and joined the swirl of countless thoughts and feelings jumbling around in his head. Funny...smart...eye-catching. Something about the word triggered a memory, from earlier that same day: Faendal in the hot, bright sun, eyes narrowed and locked onto him across the yard. Something quiet and dangerous in the stare. And now that he thought about it like this, he was realizing that was far from the only time.

Really, they looked at each other a lot.

A silence stretched over the room, dense and heavy – the loudest sound was Sven's breathing. His eyes were pinned by Faendal's, and he couldn't look away, even as his heart raced and his muscles twitched.

Eventually, Faendal spoke up and broke it.

'Do you deny it?'

His tone of voice was daring, egging Sven on. Memories were racing past him now, pounding through his head along with his pulse, and he tasted copper on his tongue. He could deny it – should deny it. How many times had he lied to Faendal for less?

But when he opened his mouth, the words wouldn't come. Those eyes had him locked in place – they felt to Sven like they could see inside him. And they would both know it for a lie. Swallowing, he gritted his teeth.

'...No.'

It was so hard to say, and yet...as soon as he did it, he felt a thrill go zinging through him. There was shame, coiling around him like thick smoke, but there was also a bit of pride – pride that he'd said it, straight to Faendal's face. Man to man. But...

'But that still doesn't mean we can – can do stuff.'

'Why not?' Again, so even. How was he so calm, damn him!?

'Because it's wrong,' the Nord spluttered.

'Is it? Or is that just what you were taught?' He was smirking again!

'You...you're trying to confuse me,' Sven muttered. 'Why?'

'Alright. How about this?' Suddenly, Faendal shifted from the position he'd settled in; leaning slowly backward 'til his naked back hit the chair, draping his arms over the wooden rests and dangling both hands over the sides. His legs were still spread far apart, and now his torso was on full display again, too. He held his head high, in a way that was just shy of arrogant. And again, those burning eyes grabbed his own. It had a devastating effect – suddenly, Sven was mute again.

'If you can honestly tell me right now that you have no interest in this, then you can leave. And I won't ever bring it up again.'

Still mute. He swallowed, thickly.

'But if you can't help being curious, then you owe it to yourself to stay.'

Oh, gods. He was curious. Even as he tried to fight it. Whether it was mead or...excitement making his head light, he couldn't tell. But he knew deep inside that they were both there. Faendal – Faendal...excited him. A thought that thrilled, even as it burned. He hissed out a harsh breath where he sat, chin tucked, and Faendal raised a single silver brow. Powerful, in comparison.

'So? Which is it?'

'...Curious,' Sven mumbled. Admitting it to him of all people stung with defeat. And with heat.

'Hmm? What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear that,' Faendal daunted. 'Could you speak up and repeat it?'

Anger pricked him, and Sven blushed from his ears to his neck beneath that pinning stare. Damn him, for toying like this! He wanted to tell the elf he could shove it – but the words wouldn't come.

The cords of Faendal's neck suddenly jumped – his throat bobbed – and seeing it made Sven feel tight all over. Was the other man not as collected as he seemed? Gathering his courage – and mostly his defiance – he lifted his own head high and said it again, clearly, so it hung heavy between them.

'I'm curious.'

He was watching for it now, as closely as he could manage in this state. So he saw the reaction in Faendal; a flicker in those hot, dark eyes. A sudden flex of the hands, hanging off the arms of the chair. His voice was still collected, but the edge was getting rougher.

'Alright, then. What are you going to do about it?'

The obvious challenge in the question had another punch of hot nerves zinging through him. The air in the room had gone close and strongly charged, and try as he might to grab ahold of his sense, he was more flustered than ever. When he stammered out an answer, it was nothing but the truth.

'I – I don't know.'

'Do you trust me?' Faendal asked it slowly.

At any other time before right now, his answer would've been a quick and derisive 'of course not'. Who trusts their nemesis? But in this unexpected bubble of tension and heat, everything felt off balance – uncertain. And he faltered.

'I don't know.'

Faendal smirked at the repetition, and tilted his head.

'Okay...how about you start by standing up?'

Standing...? Sudden suspicion stabbed through him at the request – and got chased right after by embarrassment. Faendal was across the room, not even moving. Where was the harm? Feeling clumsy and foolish, he clambered slowly to his feet, using the firm surface behind him to hoist himself. It was then he realized he'd been leaning against Faendal's bed. The elf's eyes raked him from top to toe as he stood up straight, and it didn't matter then that he had all his clothes on – he felt exposed. And uncertain – it was all he could do not to bounce from foot to foot under Faendal's scrutiny. Sven was surprised when the elf blew out a sudden, gusting breath, like he'd been holding it in. Then he craned his neck to meet Sven's eyes, and asked another question.

'What can I do, or say, to make you trust me?'

It was stupid of him to be surprised, taken even more off guard. But here they were. His lips parted in surprise, and his brows furrowed as he stared. Faendal met his gaze without flinching, and it made Sven feel embarrassed in turn. The suspicion came back, and he glowered a bit at the elf.

'Is this some kind of trick?' He sounded stupid even to himself, and balled his hands into fists as the embarrassment crept higher.

Faendal tsked. 'No, it's not a trick. I don't know if you need to be told this, but this isn't exactly how I'd normally handle someone breaking into my house and trying to pummel me.' His gaze darkened, and he shook his head the tiniest bit.

'Believe me, it comes as a shock for us both. But...I'm serious.'

Sven measured the words in his head, feeling foolish, feeling torn. Another question was starting to rise from hidden depths, despite him, and he chewed the inside of his cheek, reluctant to give it voice. But the pulsing excitement was starting to beat out the fear, and eventually he relented.

'If...if we do anything, you won't tell anyone?'

The elf gave another tching sound, and waved his hand. 'Of course not.'

'You won't tell Camilla?' It felt especially important to ask him that. When he imagined Camilla's reaction to whatever this was, he blanched all over again.

Faendal's dark red eyes rolled, and he looked annoyed. But he shook his head.

'No, Sven. You have my word, I won't tell Camilla.' His voice went dark and velvet at this last, and the muscles of Sven's abdomen jumped at the sound.

The words felt like relief...like safety...and they let him relax just a little bit. He sighed, and let fall shoulders he hadn't noticed were bunched. He dared another fleeting glance at Faendal's lower half – bit his lip when he saw the telling, solid line pressed against the seam of his pants. His own cock gave an immediate jolt, and he hissed out a tattered breath.

'I can't believe I'm thinking about this,' he muttered, more to himself than the other man.

But he was. More than considering it – as crazy as it felt, he'd gone from fighting, to on the edge. He still felt shame, but it'd been battered down by the racing of his heart, the sweat on his palms, the ache in his pants. He couldn't deny the unexpected feelings pulsing through him, here in this room with the man in front of him; as powerful and heady as any mead, as anything he'd felt for any lass. Even Camilla. That was the darkest part of all, the part that pulled at him, and tethered him to the edge.

Camilla would never understand this. Nobody else would understand...but nobody else was here. It was just him, and Faendal, and this awful, exciting need.

In a last ditch attempt, he let an adjacent thought come tumbling out – not the root of the matter, but true nonetheless. His voice was halting, with none of his usual bravado, and the sound of it reflected the jumble inside.

'I've never – done anything like this before. With...another man.'

His gaze had fallen to the flagstone floor, but after that timid admission, he forced it back up to meet with Faendal's. He found the elf already staring at him – of course. His eyes were intent on his red-flushed face, and Sven was surprised – and no small amount comforted – to see no laughter in them. No judgment, even though he was being obvious. Just an even sort of heat, and an appraisal that made his skin tingle. That bowed mouth opened to answer him, and Sven found himself watching it closely.

'I know that.' Voice steady, reassuring. 'It's alright.' And then a tiny toss of the head, lift of the chin.

'Why don't you come here?'

A fresh rush of buzzing excitement swept through him then, and Sven wordlessly complied. That energy carried him across the room, glowing even hotter when he saw it reflected in Faendal's eyes, watching him come. But when he was within arm's reach of the other man, he faltered, nervous.

'I don't, um...know what I should do.'

Faendal's neck was really craned now, and he looked up at Sven with a schooled expression – Sven bet he wanted to laugh, but he didn't.

'What do you want to do? Start as small as you'd like. We have time.'

Fumbling, silent, Sven looked him doubtfully up and down. Where did he begin? He wanted, but it all felt so far away.

'How about a simple touch? Like a hand?' Smoothly, Faendal let go of one armrest and lifted up a tanned, long-fingered hand, palm up – an offering.

Sven held back another moment, wrestling with uncertainty. And then, ever so slowly, he reached out to touch Faendal's fingertips with his own. The contact was electric, with the air so charged, and he couldn't help but give a tiny gasp he wasn't proud of.

They'd touched plenty before, working, fighting. But nothing had ever felt like this. Carefully, he slid his fingers in between Faendal's longer, slimmer ones, and stared as the palms pressed together. It felt...well, he felt a lot of things. But good was definitely one of them. Faendal's skin was much darker than his, and he stared in fascination at the contrast.

'Mmm.' Faendal looked at their joined hands, and then back up at him. 'There. Was that so hard?'

'...No.' Sven blushed some more.

'Now, think about it, and tell me what else you want.'

He obeyed, and it wasn't long before a specific thought came swimming up to the top, making him chew his lip. It was hard to speak up, but he spurred himself on.

'I want...I...'

'Yes?'

A bit less patient, now – Faendal's voice had an anticipation that spoke to Sven just as much as the actual word. It gave him the nerve to push ahead.

'I want to touch your hair.'

Faendal's pupils widened as they stared, and a tiny smile pulled his mouth up at the corners. Clearly, the idea suited him, because he reached up and back with his free hand and pulled out the leather thong that held his hair back. His shoulder-length tresses came spilling down to frame his face, parting around his pointed ears, fine and straight with the silver glinting in the flickering light.

'Then you should touch it.'

Why was he so intimidated? As if he feared it would bite him, he reached one trembling hand up to Faendal's head, and then slowly, slowly placed it there, as lightly as a bird. What he felt there was unexpected.

'Oh...wow.' Surprise loosened his tongue, and dimmed his anxiety, and almost of it's own accord his hand gave a long, slow stroke over Faendal's hair. 'It's so soft.'

It was soft, far moreso than he'd figure, and smooth against his fingertips, calloused from his lute. Emboldened, he dared to slip them further in, carding it gently between his fingers and brushing against Faendal's scalp. Faendal hummed in his throat at the feeling, and Sven let out a breath he'd been holding.

'I had no idea,' he said quietly. 'I never thought it would feel like...'

'A woman's?' Faendal cut in, amused. 'Can't say I'm surprised. But I bet if you try, you'll find it less different than you think. There are plenty of things the same.'

The thought of that excited Sven, and he found himself transfixed as he stared at Faendal's high cheekbone, fanned out with soft silver hair.

'Oh? Like what?' He tried to reach farther back through Faendal's hair, but had trouble because of how far away he was standing. The elf noticed this and tched.

'Come closer, and find out.' Bold and assured, he grabbed Sven's wrist in a strong grip, and pulled the Nord slowly into the vee between his legs, gazes locked and burning. Sven let his breath out in a rush, more than flustered to be this close to Faendal, and gave a nervous chuckle.

'Like this?'

'Mm. Why don't you sit?' The elf dropped his gaze to the space still between them, and Sven followed with his own. The sight that met him had his stomach clenching like a bunched fist with fluttering nerves. A spike of panic shot up from his chest, and his breath caught again. This was so much, so suddenly. But he couldn't deny the desire churning, the curiosity. Grabbing ahold of his courage, he lifted one leg and then the other, straddling the elf in the chair, before lowering himself onto the legs Faendal had brought together.

The angle was awkward at first, and he felt unbalanced; reflexively, he grabbed at Faendal's shoulders to balance himself, barely registering Faendal's throaty growl. As soon as he was settled, self-consciousness rushed in, and the realizations had him blushing to the roots of his hair. His hands were on Faendal's naked body – he was sitting in Faendal's lap, like a lass would! Their faces were inches apart, breath on each other's faces...he could feel –

He could feel. As Faendal took a breath beneath him, his abdomen brushed against the erection straining in his pants, and when a groan slipped out of him at the feeling, there was an answering nudge from Faendal's solid length, beneath him. It made him lose his train of thought completely, and he gave himself over to a full-body shiver.

'That's right,' Faendal said, dark and a bit strained. 'Just feel it. Touch me, if you want to.'

He wanted to. Trembling still, Sven bit the inside of his cheek as he dug his fingers into the muscular shoulders in his hands. Intuitively, he started to knead, driven by the pleasing feeling of them, before sliding down to grip his biceps instead. Fascinated at how they bunched against him, he dragged his fingernails lightly down that spotless, twitching sepia skin, and then back up when Faendal hissed in response. Back up the shoulders, over the collarbones...Sven watched transfixed as the other man trembled. When he squeezed his pecs and palmed his nipples, Faendal bit off a curse, and grabbed his wrists with both hands.

'Do you want to put your mouth on me?'

The idea was thrilling, sending a jolt straight to his cock, and Sven groaned as he looked back up to Faendal's face. Those red eyes were staring at his mouth, slightly open and breathing hard, and the look in them had his heart skipping a beat while it pounded. He nodded, and Faendal's gaze slid up to lock with his.

'Where?'

'I want to kiss you.' The words were blurted out before he could even think about them. Something about that smirk he'd seen so many times, that wicked bow, was driving him crazy, and even as more panic battered him, Sven knew it was the part he had to have before anything else. That smart mouth of his.

'Yeah?' Faendal's eyes were blown wide now, and his voice was husky. 'Then get down here, and kiss me.'

He didn't know what he was expecting, as he lowered his face to Faendal's. But it wasn't what he got. Soft lips – wide, warm, meeting his and moulding to them. Familiar, but new. Exciting – so exciting...

It was at that moment that all of Sven's fears and reservations reared their heads, a flurry of shame and anxiety that pounded against him.

This was wrong! Wasn't it? Oh, Gods...his eyes had screwed tightly shut, but now they came flying open as he broke away from Faendal with a groan.

The elf sighed, brows furrowed, and when he spoke, he sounded ever-so-slightly impatient. Sven could feel his heart pounding, beneath his hand.

'What is it?'

Sven's mouth crowded with a pile of things he only half-wanted to say; fears, doubts, recriminations. He teetered once again on a precipice, undecided, before reaching out and grabbing a single question.

'I just...you swear, no tricks?'

He was surprised when Faendal chuckled, and shook his head.

'You're being an idiot again.'

He was looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, and his cheeks were flushed, and seeing it gave Sven's stomach a tumble.

'I told you before, no tricks. Now come on, blue-eyes. Stop thinking so much, and kiss me.'

The familiar insult was somehow more reassuring than anything he'd told himself so far, and with a glance at the crooked smirk on Faendal's face, he made the split second decision to pull himself together. He'd gone this far, hadn't he? If he was going to do this, he was going to really do it.

And so he smothered his reservation, and gave in to his want. This time when his mouth met with Faendal's, he didn't hold back; weaving both hands into that silky hair and fisting them at the back of his head, swallowing the sudden groan it earned him. He kissed Faendal with all of the pent-up frustration he'd harbored for the stubborn, snarky elf for as long as he'd known him, and Faendal answered in kind. It was nothing like any of the women – much more rough, and hot, and demanding. When he bit into the flesh of Faendal's bottom lip, the elf cursed into his mouth and opened wide for him, a clash of lips and teeth and tongues, and the taste of him sent Sven's head spinning.

Faendal hadn't much touched him before this second, real kiss, but he was touching him now. One strong hand cupped the back of Sven's neck, holding him firmly in place for the ravishing, and when the other hand wrapped around to squeeze his ass cheek, Sven gave a loud gasp of approval. No one had ever...oh, Gods...

It was somewhere in that kiss that his shame and fear fell away, dropped and forgotten as he gave himself over to the pleasure pounding through him. Faendal seemed to know just what he wanted, and it wasn't long before Sven found himself actually rutting himself into Faendal's lap, driving himself higher as he tried to ease the tension. Faendal encouraged this, driving him up and down with his hand on Sven's ass, and the cabin was filled with heated moans.

Eventually they broke apart for air, and both men stared wild-eyed at the other as they sat there, shaking and panting. Sven's heart was pounding so hard, he could feel it in his mouth. It was Faendal who broke out into a smile, his tanned face seriously flushed.

'Gods.' Sven's voice was wanton and shaky – he barely recognized the sound of himself. A line of spit hung between their mouths, and Faendal gave a breathless chuckle as he cupped Sven's jaw, breaking the trail with his thumb.

'Y'ffre, that's more like it,' he panted. 'You can really kiss, when you put your mind to it.'

The only response he could come up with was a dumb nod.

Faendal tilted his head and arched a brow. 'What are you thinking? Not bad for a cretin, I'm guessing?'

'More.' He didn't have it in him to try for dignity, right now. 'I need more.'

So they had some more; more noses bumping and hips grinding, more breathing each other's air. It was all so new and exciting; when they finally untangled for a second time, Sven was so light-headed that his thoughts were just a colorful wash.

'I can't believe that you're here with me,' he gasped. 'Can't believe we're doing this.'

'I can't believe – you're so good at it,' Faendal shot back, panting. 'I never would've guessed.'

He ignored the dry barb – it bounced right off. Releasing his grip on Faendal's hair, he slid both hands down to cup his face instead, chiseled and lean, and rocked forward in his lap, watching the elf shudder.

'I want to touch you more.' It was the boldest he'd been since they'd gotten started; no longer unsure, and riding this high, blue eyes met head-on with red ones as he looked for approval. Flatteringly fast, the other man nodded.

'So touch me.'

'Tell me what you like.'

'Can I show you instead?'

Gods damn. Now it was his turn to nod.

With no more warning, Faendal leaned forward and licked a wide stripe along Sven's jaw, and then up the side of his face, ending at the ear, which he bit. It was obscene, and wild, and it sent Sven shouting with the pleasure as his cock positively surged in his pants. He hung on for dear life as the elf leaned down to ravish his throat with teeth and tongue, his collar bones and shoulders. Faendal bit the side of his neck and sucked, and Sven saw stars.

After another minute, Faendal pulled back with eyes absolutely blazing, and wiped the back of one hand along his wickedly grinning mouth.

'Something like that.'

Wild for the chance to dole it back out, Sven descended on him. Faendal squirmed and swore as he licked, sucked, bit his way through what he'd been shown, and at some point the elf brought both arms tight around Sven, to hold him in place by gripping his ass. But he really started shouting when Sven got to his ears.

'Oh fuck, my ears – they – they're really – '

'Sensitive?' He looked wild-eyed at the elf that had caused him so much irritation, given him such a hard time, and now brought him such pleasure – maddening and intoxicating. 'Good,' he growled, and then redoubled his efforts without mercy. He yanked that silver hair out of the way, biting his way down the long, tapered ear and then licking his way back up, craning his neck to suck the entire tip into his mouth at once. It wasn't until he thought Faendal might break the chair and send them sprawling that he stopped and looked down at his counterpart.

Faendal was breathing like a bull, biting down on his inner cheek, shoulders heaving like he'd run a mile. With hands that visibly trembled, he pushed Sven away by his chest before grabbing the ties of his tunic.

'I want you to take this off,' he growled, and Sven was nodding before he'd finished.

Nimble fingers made short work of the knots, and then the light blue fabric was being yanked unceremoniously over his head and tossed away, landing in the puddle of spilled mead by the bed and baring him to the candlelight.

'Can I touch – '

'Yes.'

Faendal ran hungry hands down Sven's pale torso, taking his time to squeeze and fondle, eliciting a shaky moan when he dragged his nails back up the sides. Sven couldn't help but roll his hips up against him, and Faendal gave a hiss of approval as he grabbed the blonde by the back of the neck.

'You now,' Sven gasped. 'Let me feel you.'

Faendal wordlessly grabbed him by the hands and placed them on his abs; Sven could feel them bunched and quivering, and something about it speared him with a sense of triumph. He ran his hands over that wiry torso, admiring it like he'd never let himself before, and when feeling with his hands wasn't enough, he dipped his head to taste, making Faendal yelp and curse. He licked and bit, sucked and clawed, using what experience he had, and doing what felt right on the rest. He was straddling just one of Faendal's legs, swirling a nipple in his mouth and brushing his hand against the narrow band of silver hair above his breeches when Faendal gave a long moan through gritted teeth, and swatted his hands away.

'You're killing me, Sven,' he ground out, and his eyes set something in Sven on fire when they met his own.

'It's not enough,' Sven panted.

Faendal was blushing all the way to his ears; his eyes widened and his chest heaved.

'Do you mean...?'

Sven gave a determined nod. 'I want to see it.'

And before Faendal could grant or deny him, he slid off of his lap to kneel on the stone, between the elf's legs.

Faendal's mouth fell slightly open as his gaze bored into the Nord's. A beat of silence, save for panting. Two beats. And then –

'Are you sure?'

'I'm sure.'

'Fuck...alright. Alright.'

It took Faendal longer to undo his own laces – his hands were shaking again, and when the flaps finally came apart, he swore as his cock came springing free of its prison, throbbing and angry. As he yanked his pants midway down his thighs, Sven could only stare, transfixed.

It was a lot bigger than his own – or at least a lot longer. Rising from a silvery thatch of hair, darker than the rest of Faendal by a few shades, it was positively dusky, with heavy balls to match, and already glistening at the tip where the skin pulled back. His very first coherent thought after seeing it was I want to put it in my mouth, and the answering thrill of shame didn't matter. Looking up at Faendal through his lashes, he bore down on his resolve, and made himself say it out loud.

'I want to fuck you.'

Faendal swore again, looking tortured even as his cock gave another lurching bob.

'Do you know what it is you're asking?'

'I don't...know how, exactly,' Sven admitted. 'But I figure it can't be far off what I do by myself.'

Faendal looked down at him hard, eyes ablaze with lust, and squirmed where he sat in the chair.

'If...if you really want this, I can...teach you what to do.'

'I really want it.'

Faendal gritted his teeth; his hands had balled into fists on the armrests. 'You're sure?'

Irritation shot through Sven, and he glared up at Faendal from between his legs.

'If you ask me one more time, I'm changing my mind. Yes, I'm sure!' He all but shouted.

It was a bluff, but Faendal blanched all the same.

'Alright, alright! I'm just checking!'

'So you'll let me, then?' Irritation had already fled, and all he was left with was heady lust, and an urge to prove himself. Eagerly, he rubbed his hands up Faendal's half-covered thighs, and was rewarded with a hissing groan.

'Yes.' On a shuddering inhale, he locked eyes with the Nord, and jerked his chin.

'Come closer. Right in front.'

Quickly, Sven shuffled on his knees as close as he could get with his broad shoulders – so close that when he breathed, Faendal shuddered.

'Like this?'

'Yes. Like that.' That voice, so calm, so even, so controlled, had gone so hot and dark that it was downright infernal. A shiver of jagged excitement went rolling up Sven's spine, and he had to stifle a groan.

'Now what do I do?'

'Wrap one hand around the base, like you do for yourself. Then put the head in your mouth, and suck.'

Sven let his gaze come unhitched from Faendal's, to look instead at what was right in front of him. For one long second he simply admired it, and then he reached forward, and did what he was told.

Faendal shouted as he took him into his mouth, and his entire body jerked, hands scrabbling at the armrests so they wouldn't claw at Sven. The blonde man hummed in pleasant surprise at the feeling and taste of Faendal in his mouth, and this wrung another moan from the thrashing elf.

'Stay still,' Sven tried to admonish. But with his mouth so full, it came out more like 'phay phll'. Faendal let out a long hissing breath above him, arms rigid against the armrests, and Sven took a deep breath. Now he smelled Faendal on top of tasting him, and right away he took a liking to the musky tang. Remembering the next step in his instructions, he started sucking.

'Oh, fuck. Fuck yes,' Faendal panted. His eyes were glued to Sven's bowed head, the sight of his full mouth and hollowed cheeks driving him absolutely wild. 'Like that. Now start – start stroking with your hand.'

Again, Sven did as he was told; flicking his wrist as he pumped up and down Faendal's shaft, made slick with his own spit. It was so incredibly filthy – somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that. But that didn't stop him from revelling in it. It didn't feel wrong – it felt right, and every unintelligible noise Faendal made only served to spur him on harder.

'M-move your head up and d-down,' Faendal gasped. 'While you suck. Take me – fuck – deeper.'

This part ended up posing a challenge. Sven tried to do as he was told, but he found it hard to get Faendal any deeper than about half-way, thanks to his size. It was hard to coordinate sucking, thrusting, and breathing, and he even ended up making himself gag by taking Faendal too deep. The elf pushed at his shoulder with one hand as he drew back, coughing and spluttering, and then patted him on the back.

'Easy. Don't take more than you can handle.'

'It's – hard,' Sven managed between coughing. 'You're so big. How – how do I get all the timing right?'

'Practice makes perfect,' Faendal answered, with a wicked smile. 'It takes getting used to, especially if he's...on the bigger side.'

'That explains a lot.'

'Sorry.' The grin widened. 'Does it help to know you're doing well, so far?'

It did help, flushing him with rosy pride, but be wasn't about to let Faendal know that.

'Yeah, yeah,' he quipped. 'Just keep me updated, and try to keep your hair on.'

It did get a bit easier as he went, and it wasn't long at all before his ears were filled again with Faendal's curses and moans. He liked the feeling of doing this, more than he probably should. He'd been told that this was only done by whores, and submissive ones at that, but he didn't feel submissive. He felt powerful. Angling his shoulders so he could get in deeper, he opened his mouth especially wide, and Faendal gave a strangled cry. At some point the elf had woven a hand into his hair, holding him loosely in place by the back of the head – not forceful, but just encouraging. Now the hand fisted, and Sven tasted the first hint of saltiness in his mouth.

'Cup my balls,' Faendal gritted out. 'With your other hand. Roll them around.'

So many things to try and do at once. But he was happy to try and oblige. Reaching up from below was easy enough, and soon he was rolling Faendal's damp, heavy balls around in his calloused hand, something he'd never really done for himself, or had done to him. But Faendal was obviously a fan. He was making tiny thrusts with his hips off of the chair now, going deeper into Sven's mouth, and panting non-stop. Sven hummed deep in his throat again, and suddenly Faendal spoke up.

'I'm – close. You can keep me in – your mouth or – let me go. Your choice.'

It felt like a big choice, with what it implied, but Sven didn't sit on it long. Another hot rush of that powerful feeling went sweeping through him, and he decided to test the limits by speeding things up. Big finish, and all that. So he redoubled all of his efforts, and did the best job of it he could manage.

Faendal obviously hadn't been expecting that, and he gave a strangled sort of shout as his ass left the chair entirely – bucking up into Sven's mouth. He had the presence of mind to let go of Sven's hair, and then it happened.

Sven guessed it the second before it came – before Faendal came, because his cock throbbed in just the same way his own did, right before. Faendal groaned, long and loud, and Sven found his mouth filling with spend, hot and salty and bitter. He swallowed as much of it as he could, but ended up choking on some of the last of it, and pulled away coughing, eyes watering. Faendal made as if to reach for him, but Sven waved him off, so the elf slumped back bonelessly in the chair while Sven's coughing subsided.

Panting lightly in the brand new silence, Sven wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, and settled back on his heels. Then he looked up, and the two men regarded one another.

Faendal had a rosy sort of flush that Sven had never seen on him before, staining his ears, his neck, his chest. His torso sheened with sweat, highlighting the muscles in their dim light. His silky hair was thoroughly mussed, and his heavy-lidded eyes were glowing with contentment. Seeing Sven looking, he cracked into a warm, crooked smile, and chuckled.

'So – did I manage to keep it?'

Sven's nose and brow both wrinkled in confusion. 'Huh? What?'

The smile widened.

'My hair. Is it still on?'

The memory flashed, and then Sven cracked up, snorting a laugh before he could help himself – one of the first real laughs he'd ever given Faendal. Shoulders shaking, he shook his head at the elf, and grinned.

'For the most part, looks like.'

For a second they just smiled at each other, something a part of him vaguely recognized as exceptional. And then Faendal stretched, and sighed.

'That was...very impressive for a first attempt, I won't lie.' His warm red eyes were intent again on Sven's, and they reminded the Nord of...something.

'How are you feeling?'

Dazed. High. Proud. Nervous. Happy...a lot of things. Not least of all being incredibly strung out. His cock was begging so hard in his pants that it felt bruised against the laces; his skin was tingling, and he felt hot all over. But how did you explain all that to someone?

'I'm feeling pretty good.'

'That's good.' Faendal nodded, and his eyes flashed.

'Because I want to do you now.'

Oh. That's what they reminded him of – embers, kindling. He blinked once, twice, at a loss for words at the prospect. Mercifully, Faendal cut to the chase.

'Will you let me?'

It was the last thing – the last step before he had nowhere to hide from himself. But it didn't feel important like it had before, and almost as fast as he'd had the thought, Sven found himself nodding.

'Y-yes.'

Faendal grinned again, feral this time, and tipped his chin.

'Get on the bed, and take your pants off. Boots too.'

Sven hurried in a daze to do as he asked, kicking off his boots, stumbling once on the way from a combination of nerves and excitement. And maybe drink? Was he still drunk? With the way his head seemed to float right now, it was hard to tell. He sank onto Faendal's mattress like he was sinking into a dream, and the trembling hands at his laces barely felt like his own.

And then they really weren't. Faendal had come to join him on the bed, and Sven saw with a jolt that the elf had lost his own pants in the process. Gloriously naked between his legs, Sven only had a moment to admire what he saw before Faendal's quick fingers finished their work. Then it was his turn to cry out while his cock sprang free, and Faendal was ruthlessly yanking his pants off, leaving him just as bare.

The air felt cold on his feverish skin, and he shuddered as Faendal raked hungry eyes over him from above. A sort of growl came rumbling from the elf, and he nodded.

'Very nice.' His eyes slid up to meet Sven's, and then bold as brass, he reached down with one hand and cupped his balls, rubbing them in a way that had him choking on a gasp.

'Faendal – '

'Tell me if it's ever too much. I'll ease up.' And then with no more fuss, Faendal was moving down, out of easy sight. Sven squirmed, thinking nervous, flitting thoughts – and then he felt a hot, wet tongue, and stopped thinking at all.

A stripe inside his left thigh. Then his right. Again, but closer to – to –

Faendal's tongue went sliding over his balls, and Sven yelped, jolting violently from top to toe at the feeling. Faendal hummed, a sort of reproachful sound, and one large brown hand came snaking up his abdomen with surprising strength to hold him still. The next lick came, and had him gasping. When Faendal sucked them into his mouth, Sven whined – a high, keening, feminine sound. But he was beyond caring. With a wet, sucking noise, Faendal released him, and bit instead at his inner thigh.

'How's it feeling?'

It was a job just to try and answer.

'Oh – oh – it feelshnnnng! Good. So good,' Sven moaned. 'Oh – '

'Good. Glad to hear it.'

When he felt Faendal's tongue go snaking back to his balls, Sven shuddered and hitched himself up onto his elbows in the bed; he wanted to see. What he found had him wheezing, and curling his toes.

Faendal was laying flat on his stomach between his parted legs, strong hands digging into his thighs. The view of his face and how he busied himself was cleft down the middle by his own cock, dark pink and straining, already leaking down one side. As he watched on breathlessly with eyes blown wide, Faendal noticed him looking; for a split second they locked eyes, and then the elf sort of chuckled before licking a sudden wide stripe straight up his underside, causing him to fall back flat on a shout.

No one had ever done this to him before – there was no preparing for the feeling. As that hot wet mouth enveloped him and long fingers wrapped firmly around him to tug and stroke, he couldn't even fathom how he would stand it.

He didn't stand it for long. Faendal was much better at this than he was, alternating between stroking him from root to tip, and swallowing him whole. Sven had never been so tightly wound, moaning, gasping and cursing non-stop; try as he might, he couldn't keep his hips from thrusting up to meet Faendal's mouth. When the elf reached up and rolled his heavy balls, it proved too much – he came breaking violently apart.

On an unintelligible yell, Sven felt himself swell and then burst in the other man's mouth. Such a harsh pleasure wracked him, it was almost painful; he writhed mindlessly in the bed, head filled with moans and shooting stars, and everything but Faendal and this feeling was washed away.

When Sven woke up, the first thing he noticed was his head. It was aching and drumming pretty decent – then again, it could've been a lot worse. Faendal had made him drink a cup of water, before he'd passed out.

The second thing he noticed was Faendal. The elf was sound asleep beside him in the bed, with his chest pressed to Sven's back, and one arm draped over him, holding him close.

The candles had all long burnt out, and dim morning light was streaming in through the window instead, filtering through the curtain. Sven laid there, perfectly still; watching dust motes dance against the sun on the wall, and thinking about what he'd done.

He waited for shame, but it was absent. Flashes of memory – skin and candlelight and rough panting moans – flitted through his head, but he only felt good as they came. There were none of the many hang-ups or fears he'd had to battle with, last night. No pa's voice. His mind had gone curiously quiet, and as he listened to the even breathing in his ear, Sven was unpleasantly surprised to realize that the thing making him most nervous was what the man behind him might say, when he woke up.

He didn't want to rush that along – decided to lay still as long as he could – but his bladder had other plans, and after another minute he cursed softly under his breath.

He really had to piss.

Sliding as gingerly as he could from the bed, he padded his way over to an old porcelain chamber pot in the corner, and found it blessedly empty when he lifted the lid. Of course, that only made the splash louder – so he was only half surprised, when he finished up and turned around to see Faendal on one elbow, staring at him. Sven winced.

'Uh...good morning?'

'Morning,' Faendal murmured back, and tilted his head. He was smirking a bit, and jerked his chin towards the pot behind him.

'Nice stream there, champ.'

Sven tsked, and felt himself flush with embarrassment.

'Oh, stop.'

But Faendal snorted, and for a second the air in the room was light. Then those burgundy eyes locked with his, and the mood went serious.

'How are you feeling?'

For a second Sven panicked, but then he made the decision to just be honest. What was the worst that could happen?

'I'm...nervous.'

Faendal looked at him calmly, expression careful. 'About?'

'What you're thinking.'

'What do you mean?'

Sven couldn't take the calm, and the words just came blurting out.

'What is this? What are we doing?'

Barely perceptibly, Faendal tensed. Now that he was sober, Sven caught it.

'That's up to us,' the elf said slowly, and shrugged.

'It can be whatever you want it to be.'

What did he want? Blinking nervously, Sven answered his own internal question.

'I don't know.'

Smoothly, Faendal sat up in bed, stretching sinuously as the cover fell away from his naked chest. Sven swallowed at the sight, and then the elf ran a hand through his pale tousled hair, and looked at him pointedly.

'I had a good time last night. You?'

'I did too,' Sven admitted hoarsely. Faendal nodded, and gave the slightest hint of a smile.

'It seemed that way from over here. How about you have some water? You sound dry.' Sven looked to where he pointed at a jug on a side table, and with nothing better to do, he shuffled toward it. Picked up the empty cup beside it, filled it, and drank. It was nice, and when he turned back to Faendal, he was watching him intently.

'Now how about you come back to bed, and we talk?' He patted the linens beside him with one hand, and Sven blinked.

'It seems kind of – aren't we late for work?'

The smile widened. 'It's Loredas, dummy.'

'Oh.' He realized that Faendal was right, and blushed harder. He'd lost all track of time, last night.

'So?' Again, Faendal patted the bed, and almost without Sven deciding to, his feet started walking him forward. The mattress dipped beneath him as he climbed onto it, and Faendal shuffled over to give him more room between them than when they'd slept. That is, any room at all. A part of Sven felt shy, just sitting there naked in the bed, but he resisted the urge to grab the blanket, and met Faendal's stare.

'So.'

'I say we cut to the chase, a bit,' Faendal started, and loosely crossed his arms.

'Any regrets, about last night?'

Sven winced. He really deserved that. 'Uh, yeah. I'm sorry I trashed your place.' It seemed stupid now, childish, and he flushed with shame.

Silver brows furrowed, and then Faendal made a dismissive noise, waving one hand at the room.

'No, not about the house. About the sex.'

Oh. Coloring up even more, Sven met the garnet eyes probing his own. For a second, he was scared – scared to be this free, with Faendal. But he couldn't stand to do anything else. Not now. Slowly, he shook his head and told the truth.

'No. None.'

Something about the Bosmer's expression softened at the words, his posture loosened a bit, and Sven was struck with a sudden insight. Was Faendal nervous, too?

Faendal uncrossed his arms as he watched, and crossed his legs instead.

'I'm happy to hear that. Sex isn't something you want to regret.'

He was nervous! Eyes narrowing ever so slightly, Sven stared at him closely and nudged him.

'What about you? Any regrets?'

The elf let out a long, slow breath, holding his gaze. And then slowly shook his head.

'Not at all.'

Something about how he said the words had warmth blooming in Sven's chest, and he had to fight back an idiotic smile.

'Uh...good. That's good.' A second of silence fell between them – two, three – and Sven shuffled.

'So...what do we do now?'

'That depends.' Faendal's brows rose. 'You still haven't told me what you want.'

'I'm still not sure,' the Nord admitted.

'Well...I can think of one thing,' Faendal answered steadily. 'If it interests you.'

The look that came into his eyes made Sven's stomach bunch, and his mouth fell open.

'Do you mean...like...for real?' He sounded stupid even to himself, and winced when Faendal tsked.

'What happened last night was for real, smartass.'

'Oh, for—you know what I mean.' Sven blushed, but forged ahead stubbornly.

'You and – and me, meeting up when we feel like it?'

Faendal shrugged. 'Why not? If that's something we'd both like.'

'We'll get caught.' He thought of the two men from Falkreath, and frowned.

'I don't want anything happening to you, over me.' It was nothing but truth.

'Gee, that's a different tune than I'm used to, coming from you.' But Faendal smiled at him, and his eyes were warm.

'Nothing will happen, if we're careful. And it doesn't have to be anything we don't want it to be. The whole world hasn't changed – I'm sure we'll still drive each other crazy, like usual. But we could just take it one day at a time. See what happens.'

The words appealed to him – he couldn't deny it. Sven looked from Faendal's smiling face down to his neck, his shoulder, his chest – and startled when he saw two dark brown lovebites on his pec. He'd left those marks...and realized with an earnest flush that he was probably sporting some of his own. The realization had him going hard, and Faendal noticed, eyes dropping down in a flash and going dark.

'Seems like you think it's a good idea,' he murmured.

Again, Sven felt scared, shy – again he swallowed, and forced himself to be brave.

'And if I said I did?'

Those smoldering eyes jumped back up to pin him, and Faendal grinned – something equal parts happy and wild, and it made Sven's heart lurch.

'Then I'd tell you to get over here and kiss me, blue-eyes.'

'I could live with that.'

As Faendal started laying back on the bed, Sven was already crawling forward, and the elf straightened his legs out to let him into the vee, squeezing his thighs as he climbed on top. Strong brown hands pulled him down toward the pillows, and as their mouths came crashing together in a searing kiss, Sven had a flash of a thought.

This argument had ended better than he ever could've dreamed.

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