Bit 4

Durga woke up to a sneeze on her back. Faelian seemed to like falling asleep nuzzled up to her coat, despite the eventual sneeze storms. He'd been with her for a month now and to her great relief he seemed to have taken to living in Winterhold. He spent most of his days in the back room working in his various experiments, but often she saw him going to the alchemist or up near Dragon's Reach to talk with the court wizard. Faelian buried his face in her back again, playing with her loose black hair.

"Its longer now." He mused, twisting the coarse strands between his fingers. She lifted her tail and swept it over his golden skin.

"Fae, do you like it here? Does it feel like home?"

There was a long and uneasy pause. She wished she could see his expressions instead of her headboard.

"Fae?" he finally said. Durga snorted.

"Pet name, do you not like it?"

She turned over and he put his head on her side, running his fidgety fingers through fur.

"Makes me sound like a woman in Cyrodill." He muttered.

"We both know you aren't." she sighed. Why did he always dance around these important questions?

He was quiet again then finally spoke.

"I like it well enough here, but a home? Perhaps not, but then again the College was less of a home than here and…" he trailed off, seeing at the uneasy look on her face.

"Here now," he took her hand, "What has had you so sullen lately?"

Durga looked off into the distance, her pale eyes seemed to see through the wooden walls and out to the dark night landscape.

"Durga will have to travel again soon."

"To where?"

"High Hrothgar."

Faelian stared dumbly at her.

"High Hrothgar? Isn't that one of the Nord's holiest places? The monastery on top of Snow Throat?"

Durga nodded.

"Don't you have to climb seven thousand old, moldering steps to get there, which might be rife with every single kind of horrible creature in Skyrim?"

She nodded again.

Faelian got up on his knees and leaned into her.

"Durga, are you crazy?"

He looked deep into her eyes, searching for any hint of humor or real insanity.

"After Myzuft, Durga was called." She said.

"Called?" he raised an eyebrow.

"By Greybeards. They shouted 'Durga', and the Nords say I must go."

Faelian hung his head.

"Just because the Nords say…"

She lifted his chin, gently cupping it in a soft hand.

"Durga feels it. She feels pulled to the Throat of the World. She must go there."

Her eyes were again drawn away, like she was trying to peer to the top of the mountain and save herself the journey.

"Durga…why didn't you tell me? I can understand not mentioning it while the Eye was still at the College, but why wait so long?"

"Durga was afraid. You are not her husband, you are not bound to her, if she leaves, why would you wait?"

The Khajiit sniffed and some glistening drops got caught in the fur on her cheeks. Faelian was suddenly captivated by those tears; they shone like jewels in the candlelight. He found this woman to be beautiful even when crying. He leaned in the last few inches and kissed her eyes, tasting the tears on his lips. He kept kissing her face till her sniffing stopped.

"I would wait because you mean that much to me." He murmured against an ear. His breath tickled her and her ear shook off, tickling him in turn.

Faelian chuckled and brought his mouth to hers, pushing her back against the pillows as he kissed her. He'd gotten good at kissing her and now he was capable of making her melt with his expertly crafted kisses.

She stroked his ears and ran a hand down his back as he shuddered, enjoying the feeling of his body simply moving against hers, the warmth and energy almost seeping into her.

"I care for you in all the ways I shouldn't." he whispered into her ear. She felt a lump rise in her throat, worried over what that implied.

"Maybe it's time to forget your people's views on who should be loved, and how." She said, hiding her worry behind well-tested strength. Faelian now looked away.

"Have you ever heard of an Altmer falling in love with a Khajiit?" he asked bluntly.

"No. But Durga knows one that is currently in love with a Redguard." She offered, pasting on a funny smile.

"Really?"

"In Markath, Durga helped the Temple of Mara for some coin, she helped them get together. Calcelmo is Altmer like you and even older than you, but fell in love with the Jarl's housecarl Faleen. Durga helped him get a poem for her, and she loved it, and took him for her lover. Altmer are not always so tied to their ways." Durga's voice took on her familiar lighthearted tone as she recounted the couple's confession.

"An Altmer fell for a Redguard…" Faelian shook his head, a hint of a grin on his face, "I honestly think this land does something to people."

"Good thing." Durga reached up and stroked his hair. The amber strands had lost a little sheen; they'd perhaps spent a little too much time in the bedroom lately.

"Durga will not leave for a few days, it will be a long journey and there is much to be done first. Like…" She hoisted herself up and pushed Faelian off her, hopping over him to get to her storage chest. She rummaged around in it, bent over with tail in the air leaving the man with eyes hopelessly glued to her wonderful rear. She finally pulled a woolen tunic from the piles of things and threw it over her head. She stuck her head out the double doors and sniffed about, her pointed ears swinging every which way.

"Good, she's asleep."

Faelian looked at her questioningly. She motioned for him to wait and went down stairs. Through cracks in the floor he saw her go to the back room, and heard soft clanging as she wrestled with something metallic. Long slow steps meant she was carrying something heavy back to the stairs.

"What in the name of Akatosh is she doing?" he murmured as he heard some light banging on the steps.

Eventually he heard some cursing in ta'agra and a thud as she set down what ever it was. He heard some further shuffling and her talking to herself, then a small ripple of mana coursed through the air as she summoned an odd and powerful spell. Finally she came back up the stairs with some thick cloths draped over an arm.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, "I'm sure you've woken Lydia up and I wouldn't be surprised if you woke the next two house…" she shushed him putting a hand to his lips, before plucking him right off the bed.

Faelian was far taller then her but apparently nothing more than a feather in her arms. Though she was strong enough to hold him, he clung to her. No one had ever even tried to carry him like this, or carry him at all. Later on he might have found it touching but right now it was just odd…and wrong.

"Durga, you don't need to carry me." He said through clenched teeth. He wriggled out of her hold as she reached the bottom of the steps. The air downstairs was much cooler and he threw one arm around his bare shoulders, while the other hand shot down to cover his groin.

"What are you doing?"

She pointed behind him and he saw a copper tub set up over the fire. The water within was already steaming. Faelian rolled his eyes and went over to it, wanting the warmth more than the bath itself. Very carefully he clambered in, breathing easier as he sank into the tub. Durga grinned and went over to the end facing the door, rubbing his shoulders and encourageing him to sink further into the warm bath.

"Touching gesture," he mused, "but why the carrying?"

She shrugged.

"Durga heard it was romantic for a lover to carry the other."

Faelian rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Its romantic for the man to carry the woman, not the other way around."

Durga furrowed her brow trying to noodle out this quirk of 'proper' romance.

"That makes little sense, why can't a woman carry a man, especially if she is stronger?"

Faelian sighed, trying to figure out how to explain the emasculating aspect of it. Did Khajiit really have no concept of that? He decided not to answer and slumped down in the tub. Durga coaxed him to lean his head against the edge, she had pulled up a chair and placed a bowl between her knees and held a smaller one in her hand. She freed his hair and as she dripped water over it Faelian couldn't hold back a relaxed smile as he felt the hot beads of water run over his scalp.

As she rubbed soap into his hair and massaged him, a thought drifted into his head. He couldn't stop himself from saying it.

"I've never seen you bathe. How do you keep clean?"

"Uh…" she clicked her tongue as she looked for the right answer.

"Baths, are hard for Khajiit. Takes a long time to dry, days sometimes. If we have the time and want, we clean very selectively."

"You mean sponge baths?" he said.

"Yes." Durga's eyes darted away.

"Do Khajiit lick themselves?" the awkwardness in the room could be cut with a knife.

"If they have no other choice." She answered quickly.

"So you don't like full baths."

"Too long to dry." She whined, rubbing his hair a little harder.

His mind wandered again and he found himself musing on an angry, wet Durga, hissing and spitting like her smaller, less intelligent cousins. His thoughts melted a bit as she massaged his scalp, then rinsed out his hair. She carefully added just a little oil and combed out the knots and snarls, then rinsed it again. He could smell the light citrus of the oil, and the deep musk of the soap in his hair.

"Thank you. I'm sure I sorely needed that."

Durga made a small sound of pride and pushed him forward, rubbing soap over his back and continuing her cleaning massage. She admired his skin, wet the gold hue was even more pronounced, and in nothing but firelight he looked like a moving; breathing statue. As she ran her hands over his chest and reach back and put a wet hand to her face.

"Kiss me." He whispered. She stood up and leaned over him, meeting his mouth. He put his arms under hers, hugging her torso. As she kissed him he gave a great heave, yanking her forward… but accomplished little more than making her step forward an inch. She scowled as him and smacked his cheek for the attempted dunking.

"Would have bashed Durga's head on the tub, idiot." She gave his shoulder a bite, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to tell him don't ever do that again.

"You need to be punished." She said with a playful but dangerous grin.

"With what?" he asked, a little scared and a little more aroused.

All she gave in answer was a hand drifting down his body. He leaned back and spread his legs as much as the copper tub would allow, perfectly willing to accept this punishment. She dallied, teasing him, running the tips off her claws over his sensitive skin but never touching his member. Then she startled him, grabbing his balls and squeezing, making him squirm and shift in the water, some of it sloshing out and onto the fire pit. Steam and sizzling mirrored the finite pleasure/pain she was giving him. She didn't keep it up for long, moving to his member and caressing him sweetly.

Faelian's body loosened again and he leaned his head against her bosom, wetting the fur. Durga had learned his body well in the past several weeks. Her touch was slow and practiced, and with just a few quick motions she brought him closer to orgasm in leaps and bounds. Faelian was not trying to hide his pleasure at all, he stared up at the ceiling, gasping lightly and smiling letting his body move as it wished, thrusting into her hand. His climax was sweet, mellower than the frenzied heights he'd been getting lately.

He sunk back into the water as she lifted her arm out, trying to rub the fur dry with a cloth. For a few moments he soaked in the heat enjoying the last few ripples of pleasure then climbed out. Durga put a cloth around his shoulders and dried his back as he grabbed another. The cold of air lessened as the moisture was taken off his skin, and he was glad when he finally got to put on a tunic. He realized they had a small problem. What to do with the bath water? It'd be a bit odd to dump it outside this time of night, and they couldn't just leave it there, could they?

Durga seemed to have the same thought, and again resorted to magic. While she was able to conjure water she didn't seem to be able to reverse the process yet. She resorted to increasing the temperature of the fire beneath bringing the water to a fast boil and making it dissipate in steam. The whole house was filled with a fog and the scent of cedar musk soap. With a wave she banished most of the stema before it dewed up everything, then brought down the temperature of the tub with a quick blast of icy air. She then took it off the fire pit.

She shook off her wet arm, it was still well soaked. Faelian grabbed her and rubbed at it with one of his drying cloths.

"Your fur is quite thick. No wonder it takes so long to dry."

"Two layers, good for cold winter winds, not good for swimming."

He put an arm around her and led her back up to their bedroom.

"When you come back, I'll owe you a bath."

"Durga likes that," she grinned like only a Khajiit could, "she would like to let you run your nimble hands over her."

Faelian's smile grew a little wicked. He was thinking of that too, but also on how her fur would cling to her lovely curves when soaked. He just had to figure out how he was going to maintain a hold on her while she was slippery with soap.