As promised, here's the second chapter of the night!

I'll do my best to get back to updating on a relatively regular schedule. These chapters are dragging a little for me because I'm really eager to move on to the next/main part of the plot. Hopefully, though, I can get the next few whipped up pretty quickly.

Also, I'm sad to say this will probably be the last chapter to exclusively feature Brynjolf. That said, I hope all you Brynjolf fangirls out there enjoy him as much as I do!

Thanks to all my readers!

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In her bedroom, Mayenor reads in the glow of a Mage Light spell. He slips in unnoticed, she too absorbed in her book to hear the whisper-soft touch of his feet against the stone floor. She doesn't look up until the bed moves with the weight of him sitting, and she greets him with a fistful of flames. He puts his hands up, palms out, in surrender, face sporting a lopsided grin; slowly, she extinguishes the flames, giving him an annoyed look.

"You shouldn't sneak up on me," she chastises, but her tone lacks malice.

"You should pay more attention to your surroundings," he responds, voice chiding. "If I had been an assassin, you'd be dead."

"If there was an assassin in my house, he'd already have killed everyone else. And if he got through Rayya and Vilkas, I had no chance, anyway," she retorts.

"What, you don't consider me a challenge to kill?" He feigns offense.

"You're best when your opponent doesn't know you're there. Fair fights aren't your strong point"" Her words are clipped, and he sighs, knowing she's still upset with him.

"Do you really think I'm sleeping with Karliah?" He asks, and she purses her lips, shutting her book with a snap.

"I don't know what to think," she admits, standing to replace her book in one of the bookshelves that lines the wall beside her bed. Instead of returning to the bed, she leans against the wall, folding her arms across her chest. "What am I supposed to think? Ever since you picked me off the street, you've barely left me alone. And now that the Guild's up and running again, you don't have time for me anymore, but you're always at Nightingale Hall 'consulting' Karliah. It's like you only wanted me around so I could get rid of Mercer, and now that that's done, I've served my purpose."

"Lass, I didn't even know Mercer needed getting rid of when I invited you to join the Guild. All I knew was you were a gutsy thief, if reckless. I thought you could help us pull off some impressive jobs so we could get our name back out there; I never expected you to overthrow the Guild Master and reveal a decades-old conspiracy." His words are wry, but he softens, hesitating. "And I certainly didn't intend for this to happen." He gestures between them, indicating that he means their relationship.

"And you don't intend for it to go anywhere." It's a statement, not a question, and she arches an eyebrow expectantly, clearly daring him to contradict her.

"I don't know what I intend. I never thought to settle, and you're certainly not the settling type."

"You could travel with me." She almost cringes at the clear desperation in her words; she wants, more than anything, for him to pull her close and promise he'll never leave her side. Instead, he frowns.

"And where would that leave the Guild?"

"I don't know. I don't care! Your life doesn't have to revolve around the Guild."

"You want it to revolve around you, instead?" Though his words are gentle, she looks away, stung.

"I'd like to have a place in your life, at least. I think I've earned that."

She looks up as he twines his fingers with hers, tugging her toward the bed. Grudgingly, she allows him to pull her down, and he leans against the headboard, folding her tightly into his arms.

"You do have a place in my life," he murmurs. "More than I'd like, to be honest. It doesn't do for a professional thief to let something become more important than survival, but... When that chamber started flooding and Karliah and I got out, when I realized you weren't there... I thought for sure Mercer had managed to hold you down there with him. I thought he'd somehow beaten you and escaped. I thought... May, I thought I'd lost you." As he speaks, he tightens his hold on her, and she finds herself finally unable to resist him. She leans into him, tucking her head in the crook of his neck; he presses a kiss into her hair.

"What does that mean, then?" She asks after a moment, cursing herself for letting him lure her back in while simultaneously ignoring the desperate fluttering of her stomach.

"It means I love you, lass," he chuckles, and she feels her pulse skyrocket.

"That... That's not what I meant," she mutters, knowing he expects her to return his declaration. "Are you going to travel with me?"

"The Guild-" he begins, but she cuts him off, angry.

"You have to choose, Bryn. You have to choose me or the Guild. I can't be tied to Riften; I have—other responsibilities."

"With the Companions?" His tone is accusatory, and she scowls, jerking out of his grasp.

"I joined them before I joined the Guild," she retorts. "If anything, they deserve more loyalty than you."

"Don't, lass," he sighs, taking her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I just... I don't like the idea of you being with another man, even if it's just for jobs."

"I told you there's nothing between us." She rolls her eyes, returning to his arms. "And you wouldn't have to worry if you'd travel with me."

"Lass..."

"I was serious, Bryn. I can't stay with the Guild permanently. You knew that when I joined."

"Fine, don't be tied to the Guild. Just to me."

"I can't commit to you if you won't commit to me," she argues. "If you stay in Riften, you'll get so wrapped up in Guild business that I'll be an annoyance when I do come back. You know that as soon as we stop spending so much time together, this is going to fall apart." She pauses, and when he doesn't say anything, she sighs. "You have to choose, Bryn. I'm not staying in Riften; you have to decide if you are."

The next several minutes stretch in heavy silence, and she presses against him, trying to reconcile the fact that this may be her last chance to be with him. She's loathe to force him into a decision, terrified he'll choose not to be with her; a secret part of her, though, hopes he'll do just that. She's always enjoyed the freedom her adventuring life provides, and the thought of having something - someone - binding her to a particular place sends terror ripping through her chest.

"If you have to think that much," she says after a while, breaking the silence, "I think your answer's pretty clear."

"Lass." The word comes out as a breathy rasp, and she recognizes the desire cloaking his voice; it sends chills down her spine.

"Don't think you can distract me with sex," she berates him, weakly. Already she feels the familiar tingling numbness spreading from where their bodies touch; she knows she's at his mercy now.

"I'm not." His gravelly chuckle makes her breath catch in her throat. "Can't we talk about this is the morning, though? I've missed you so much..." His fingers, thin and nimble, whisper across her collar bones; his lips press against her temple.

Before she knows what's happening, he's lifted her into his lap, and she's straddling him, his hands fisted in her hair, pulling her lips down to meet his. There's no doubt that she possesses more brute strength than he, but, when his breath mingles with hers, she feels weak as a child.

"Bryn," she gasps as he fumbles with the lacing up the back of her dress.

"Mmm?" He hums, kissing the junction between her neck and shoulder.

"Please-" Her mind fogs as the thin fabric of her dress gives and his hand slips onto the exposed skin in the dip of her spine.

"Please what?" His breath is hot in her ear.

She wants to tell him to stop, to give her an answer because she's not there for his entertainment, to demand he stop seducing her to avoid conversations he finds distasteful. But, as he slips her dress off her body with alarming skill, and as his hips jut up to ghost against hers, all she manages is a soft moan.

"Kiss me," she begs, and she barely catches a flash of his grin before he throws her onto the mattress beside him and rolls over to cover her body with his own. His lips explore every inch of her, revisiting the familiar crevices of her curves while she writhes with agonizing desire; he lingers on her thighs, and she lifts her hips toward him, silently begging him to make her squirm and cry out with ecstasy. He chuckles gruffly and sits back on his haunches, surveying her bare form with an expression of odd pride.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," she grunts, wriggling her hips in a vain attempt to find the friction she longs for.

"That doesn't make it any less beautiful," he retorts, running his hands up her stomach and cupping her breasts gently. As his thumbs rub circles around each nipple, she bites her lip against a groan, arching her back into his touch; grinning, he leans forward to brush his lips against the hardened bundles of nerves, eliciting a whine of pleasure. He pulls back, earning himself a venomous glare.

"I hate you," she snarls, and he throws back his head with a throaty laugh. She takes advantage of his distraction to pop the buttons on his trousers, catching him by surprise. He doesn't argue as she slides them down his hips, leaning back to strip off his shirt. Once bare, he falls back on top of her, pushing her legs apart with a knee pressed to her groin. She spreads them eagerly, fisting her hands in his long hair and holding his lips against hers, impatiently awaiting his presence between her legs. He roughly separates his lips from hers, just a hair, and fiercely connects their gazes.

"Take it back."

"What?" She asks, startled and annoyed by his hesitation.

"Say you don't hate me."

"Of course I don't, Bryn." She bucks her hips toward him, insistently, but he lifts away.

"I love you, May," he breathes; she looks away from his sincerity, but he grips her chin tightly and forces her to look at him. "Tell me you love me too."

"I—I thought we were going to talk about this in the morning," she stammers, squirming again, this time from discomfort.

"You don't." The disappointment in his voice sends a pang of guilt through her heart, and she tries to make herself tell him that he means the world to her, that she cares about him just as much as he cares about her.

But she can't.

Instead, she sits up and cups his face in her hand, leaning her forehead against his and looking deeply into his dark eyes.

"You know how I feel about you," she murmurs, and kisses him; even as he kisses her back and finally gives her the release she's been craving, she knows that isn't the answer he wanted.