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Sweet Nothings

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For the beginning of romancy, romancy, kissy kissy, go here--->
Page 1 of 6 www.furaffinity.net/view/25834…

For more of what's going on in this particular instance, go here--->
Page 1 of 5 www.furaffinity.net/view/26032…

"She wants a warrior lover...with wild eyes, strong hands, and a poet's heart."-N.R. Hart


He’d thought about her lips in the few quiet moments of each day since he’d first kissed her in the snowberry thicket. At first, he’d been fairly annoyed with himself. Allowing himself to fall into some stupid boy’s folly...kissing a Khajiit.

...he hated thinking of her like that now...as a label. As a...thing.

As days and weeks passed by like leaves on the wind, he began to think of the kiss fondly. It was no longer something he could simply blame on emotions running wild...on lust that had been too long unsatisfied. The kiss was no different from the gentle smile he caught himself giving her when she returned from missions, from far reaches of Skyrim, from places and people her wild heart drove her to for reasons only she could understand. It was real.

Their time together since then had been negligible, mainly amounting to her standing at parade rest in his war room, large ears eagerly taking in his orders before turning away to leave him to continue on the precarious balancing act of being Stormcloak...Companion...and Dragonborne. Neither mentioned the wonderful crystalline prison of the icy snowberry trees and the simple but earth shattering act that had taken place within it.

It was maddening.

He’d been secretly relieved to be in an uncomfortable, noisy Stormcloak camp with her again. Finally, he could find a way to approach the subject that had settled so uncomfortably between them.

Ulfric had ducked into her tent as though he belonged there, and Iona had given him little notice. Just like a cat, she’d nodded at him cooly before returning her attention to grooming the silken fur of her tail.

It was a truth he’d come to understand since the painfully awkward years between boyhood and manhood that women were prettiest when they didn’t try to be. So he sat there on her bedroll, waiting for her to finish her grooming regime and watched as her hands glided through the ebony and silver fur. Gods...when had he started to want to touch her? When had he grown jealous of her own hands? He moved towards her as though his will was not his own, as though under a spell.

Soft...Gods she was soft. He felt himself melt with each touch, felt a sleepy, blissful smile grow on his face, and felt her own skin bristle and then relax under his large hand. In his mind, the exchange between the two of them had gone smoother. He hadn’t dared to predict the outcome, but they’d each laid out their expectations...demands...it had gone like a peace conference.

Foolish. It was stupid to think it would happen like that. Like that would happen with them…

But he’d played his side well. He’d seen her weakness when his fingers had first slid over her smooth pelt. The way her blue eyes met his with a growing fire and darted away. The tilt of her head, the slight shudder of her frame. Each breath in and out of her chest...nervous...expectant...was a “tell”. And, given the opportunity, he’d taken advantage of every single one.

She’d surged against him as his lips met hers, meeting him with equal passion. Her tiny form against his thrilled him, and his hands moved against the taut muscles of her back and shoulders, holding her tightly.

...maybe it was just lust…

No. He knew that was wrong the second the kiss ended, her lips and tongue becoming gentle and wanting, his answering in turn. He saw the same wanting look on her face that his own eyes held. Eyes that wanted more than one shared night.

“Why?” she asked, breathless, a vulnerable smile on her face, her hands lost in his hair.

He gathered her closer to him and smirked. “Why what?” Ulfric rubbed the pulse in her neck softly with a calloused thumb and felt a purr rise from her throat. “I’ve been wondering for weeks if you wanted me to kiss you again or not. You’re a hard woman to read, Iona.”

“Got to be kidding me,” Iona bit back a moan, nearly scowling at the accomplished smirk on his face. “I’m not the one who ran away like an angry little lad.” She wrapped her thighs around his trim waist a little more tightly and noted the hitch in his breathing as she did so. “Well, Ulfric, is there something I can do for you now that you aren’t running?” Her voice was low and thick, like syrup, and she pressed her front to his slowly, her breath hot on his neck. “I won’t lie...I’d be...eager...to please…”  

He hissed as her warm tongue touched his throat, knowing full well that she could feel every single shuddering breath he let out. His hands crushed her to him, and he fought with himself, trying to keep in mind that she was barely half his size. “Iona…” Damn him! His voice rasped out, and he felt her smile triumphantly against his neck. “...slow down…” Gods, he couldn’t believe he was saying it.

The cat drew away from him slowly and tilted her head at him in confusion. “Have I misunderstood exactly what’s going on here?” she asked.

He could feel the flush of his own cheeks in the cool night air, and he let out a throaty chuckle. “No...not exactly.” He leaned back on the heels of his hands and took in a deep breath. “It’s just...you’re not some tavern wench I want to warm my bed for a night.” He cradled her face with one hand and felt a surge of pride when her hands came up to hold his. “Yours is a face I never want to look at mine with regret or shame.”

His words settled on her and left her speechless for a moment. Never in any dealings with any man she’d ever been intimate with had this happened. She searched his face for any sign of deception...was he regretting this just like he had the first time they kissed? In front of her, she found nothing but a completely open face with a nearly loving expression...flushed cheeks, lips reddened from her kiss. No, the man was being completely truthful. Damn it.

“So then...where do we go from here?” she asked, nearly exasperated, throwing her hands atop his thighs in a show of confusion. “Do you WANT to sleep alone tonight?”

He leaned forward quickly and captured her lips in a kiss once more, delighted at her surprise. “I wouldn’t say that,” the Jarl laughed and motioned for her to slide off of him. “Come with me.”  

Her almond shaped eyes narrowed and looked at his hand with a sense of complete confusion. What fever dream had she fallen into? Still, this was a man she’d follow into the fires of Oblivion even if she did her best to hide that fact. Warmth crept into her cheeks once more as she interlaced her fingers with his, feeling the dichotomy of his secret gentle nature and the toughness of sword-worn palms and fingers.

He guided her away from the orange, fire lit tents and figures and into the blues and blacks of the surrounding wood. Up an incline, brush turning silver in the moonlight whispering past them as their feet trudged upwards. She could hear the steps of elk in the surrounding wood, her eyes took in the bisque glow of torchebugs and the lazy streams of leaf green dancing from the wings of Luna moths. And in the middle of all of it, she kept his white edged, moonlight kissed frame in front of her.

The trees opened upon a clearing...a brush and grass covered rocky outcropping that looked over the tundra below. The sky itself burst into view, the aurora borealis dancing above them, moving like a stream through the stars. Iona knew then that she’d never grow tired of seeing the racing colors…

...and she’d never grow tired of seeing his hand reaching out for her.

“Come here.” He said it as though there was no chance of being refused. She took his hand once more, expecting him to pull her beside him but found almost clumsily that he meant to pull her into his lap.  

She landed in the cradle of his arms and legs, a playful smirk looking down at her. “S-sorry...uh, this is going to take some...getting used to,” Iona whispered, suddenly shy in his arms.

“Something you could grow to like, I hope,” Ulfric remarked, his voice a soft rumble. His blue-grey eyes turned to the skies above and he took in a deep breath, boyish wonder and Nord pride alike filling him. “Night never looks the same way twice in Skyrim. I missed this so much during my time in the Legion.” The Lights changed color, twisting above them like a dancer’s scarf. “In the Edda, it’s said that the Lights are reflections off of the shields of the Valkyrie...Shor’s shieldmaidens. The streams of color light the way to the Whale-bone bridge...to Shor’s Hall.”

A sleepy purr left her throat, and she found that she didn’t feel the need to hide her obvious bliss. “You damn Nords with your Sagas and...Eddas. Always poetry.” Iona curled her fingers into the ends of his blonde hair, watching the colors of the Aurora turn the blonde into a spectrum of hues.

“Not just poetry,” he corrected, holding her tighter. “Those stories are there to teach a Nord how to live in almost every facet of his life.”

“Oh really?” she cooed, straddling his legs once more. “Do they tell you how to seduce young Khajiit, pretty Nord?”

Ulfric laid a teasing stream of kisses along her jawline before meeting her eyes with his. “No, but they do make recommendations for how to court a woman.” One arm wrapped loosely around her waist while his other hand slowly pulled through her hair. “Such as pulling her into your lap and running your hands through her hair.”

She was sure her very fur had turned red. “Courting?” she spat out, her tail turning bottle-brushy. “Are you serious?”

“Do I seem like the kind to joke about such matters?” Ulfric returned, his brow furrowing slightly.

“No, but what do you gain from this?” she asked. “You’re the future High King of Skyrim...shouldn’t you be trying to turn the head of some highborne Nord? Not some...Rug?” There was great sadness in the last statement.

His hand was warm on the side of her neck, and his thumb carefully tilted her chin upwards so that he could look directly into her eyes. “Maybe I am more fond of the idea of turning the head of a warrior who could reflect the very light of the stars with her shield than I am of impressing some silk-draped, noble waif.”

Iona was lost in his words and the night sky above her. When had she become so damned sentimental? She had no idea how long she sat underneath the blanket of a Skyrim night, couldn’t keep count of the times he leaned down to nuzzle into her hair or kiss softly her lips, didn’t know when he’d gently picked her up and carried her into his tent and into his bedroll. All she knew was that it was the first time she woke up with a man without having been completely unmade by him the night before.

“Good morning, revontulet,” he moaned lazily against the bridge of her nose as he kissed her.

“Revon...what’s that mean?” she asked, yawning and arching against him in the manner of a sleepy cat. “More poetry?”

“It’s an ancient word...one I thought of for you last night,” Ulfric began, his hands pulling her even closer. “Goes along with the legends of the Northern Lights...means Firefox. Fitting name for a Valkyrie, I’d think.”

“I’m not one of Shor’s shieldmaidens.” She rose up on her elbows and kissed him, revelling in something she knew she could not have. Something that would...could...never be hers.

“No, you’re mine.”





More photoshop practice. And more cute Ulfric. Coloring Iona's tail kills me every single time.
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1280x960px 782.63 KB
Make
Canon
Model
CanoScan LiDE 120
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eta-gamma-14's avatar

So much for "Skyrim for the Nords".