Stories of Skyrim

Vilkas (steamy)

She started to leave, halted only by Vilkas quickly side-stepping into her path. His hands drifted towards her waist before dropping away, as if he were unsure that she'd let him touch.

"Ingrid," Vilkas whispered. "Can I kiss you?"

Ingrid wasn't even ashamed of how damn eager she looked. "Yeah," she said, barely audible. She stepped closer, her fingers gathering a loose handful of his shirt to tug him closer. Vilkas' inhale was sharp, his smile uncertain. The breath before the kiss lasted an age, one final pause for Ingrid to decide this was a mistake, before he dipped his head to kiss her. It was over almost as soon as it started. Vilkas swallowed hard and pulled away, gathering his scattered thoughts. Her lips kicked up into a small smirk.

He didn't move away, though. Ingrid tightened her grip on his shirt, using it to steady herself. He went still, eyes searching her own and his mouth curved into the gentle, crinkle-eyed smile Ingrid loved too much.

"Vilkas," she whispered, her lips ghosting over his. "Kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice. Hands on her waist, Vilkas pulled her as close as physically possible. His left slid around her hips, his right bunched into a fist at the small of her back. His mouth covered hers, hot and needy. Vilkas tensed when her arms circled his neck, but the moment disappeared as soon as Ingrid opened her mouth and her teeth caught his lower lip. A throaty groan escaped him, pulling her hard against him. The kiss deepened, tongues and teeth and breathy groans washing over each other's skin.

Vilkas fumbled behind him with one hand. She heard the chair pulled across the stone floor and his hands lifted her from the ground. He sank onto the chair, her legs hooked over his hips and chests pressed together. Vilkas' right hand tangled in the hair at the back of her neck, his mouth sliding from hers down to her throat, her neck, to that spot behind her ear that made her body tingle.

"Gods, yes," Ingrid groaned, her head thrown back into his cradling hand. His mouth carved a path of fire across the column of her throat. Her fingers pushed into his hair, nails scratching across his scalp. He bit her, teeth sinking in above her collarbone, and licked the pain away. His stubble rubbed across her skin. She knew she'd be sporting marks for weeks and would wear them with pride. "Vilkas..." Ingrid sighed his name low in her throat.

"Mmm?" he hummed. Vilkas lifted his mouth from her, skimming his nose along her neck. The lightest of touches, it sparked chills down her spine. Ingrid huffed out a breath when he pulled away. She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or glad for the distance, the chance to gather her thoughts. "Too much?" he asked, unsure.

Ingrid shook her head, licking her lips quickly. "No. Just... are you sure about this?" Her thumbs stroked his cheeks. Vilkas nodded, a lazy smile curving his lips. She leaned in to taste him, a light and chaste kiss feathering over his mouth. She chased it with peppered kisses over his jawline, down his neck, teeth nibbling along the vein. Vilkas jumped, hissing, his hands pulling her hips down as he pushed his up.

There was no mistaking the reaction Ingrid was getting. "Sweet Dibella," Vilkas growled. His hungry mouth found hers. The uncertainty was gone; Vilkas tasted her lips and coaxed them apart, wasting no time in toying with her tongue, fucking into her mouth in a lewd display. He kissed her with a desperation Ingrid had never expected from him.

She sat back in the next breather, her hands smoothing down his chest. She could feel his racing heartbeat under her palms, feel the rise and fall of each panting breath. Her fingers hooked around his top button, her gaze meeting his with a question. "Okay?"

"Yes, please," he replied at once. He shrugged out of the shirt and hers followed. Ingrid's fingers trailed over his skin. She had seen him shirtless before but never in this context, never been given the gift of touch as well as look. Taste, too, if she was so inclined. Vilkas sat perfectly still and let her touch, let her look, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her trousers.

He breathed in sharply when her attention came to the mess of his left shoulder. The scars were healed but they weren't pretty by a long shot. Hagravens weren't exactly considerate of their victims. Ingrid barely brushed the scars, her eyes growing soft before she leaned in and pressed a kiss to where his scars were deepest. "Do they hurt?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

"No," Vilkas replied. "Aches some in the cold, is all."

He met her gaze, searching. "This only goes as far as you want, sweetheart," Vilkas told her seriously. "Don't wanna do anythin' you're not alright with."

Ingrid bit her lip in consideration before looking up at him through hooded eyes. "I want you," she said. She pushed her fingers into his hair, tilting his mouth back to hers. This kiss was slower, softer, slowly growing to a consuming fire the longer it went on. A throb had started between her thighs and she rocked her hips, unconsciously chasing the feeling.

Vilkas grunted and his head fell back, the kiss broken as he stilled her. "Shit, y'might just end me now if ya keep movin' like that."

"Sorry." The smug little smirk on her face said otherwise.

The fingers of his right hand tangled in the clasp of her bra. Vilkas met Ingrid's gaze, asking without a word, and she nodded with bated breath. Painfully slow, he tugged it free, triumph in his eyes as the straps slid down her shoulders. His fingertips trailed over her arms and elbows and wrists and fingers, until she was half-naked in his lap.

"Ingrid," Vilkas's voice was a cracked groan, his eyes caressing every inch of her skin. Ingrid had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, more aroused, than she was under his consuming eyes. "You're... breathtaking."

Of all the words in Common he could have chosen, that wasn't the one Ingrid was expecting to hear. It was like Vilkas didn't see the scars or the freckles, or the bruises that weren't quite healed. His voice was a rapture, sending the heat in her belly pooling straight between her thighs. "Vilkas," Ingrid half pleaded, her eyes hooded and her voice a husky exhale. "My bed's just down the hall..."

Vilkas cupped her chin for a moment before a wide grin burst over his face. "As you wish," he said. In a show of strength, he stood up without displacing Ingrid at all. She gasped in shock and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, laughing as he strode down the hall with no effort at all.

"Drop me and you're dead," she laughed.

"Not a chance," Vilkas responded, and kicked the bedroom door shut behind him.