Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
“You take longer baths than Elisif the Fair,” Arnbjorn said from the doorway.
Narova opened her eyes and turned her head. The bathing room was deep underground in the Sanctuary. The chilly cave air made it so steam billowed off the surface of the hot water in a white, ethereal blanket.
“We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” Narova said, pulling both arms out of the water and stretching them over her head. “Might be the last proper bath I have in weeks.”
“Might be true, but you’ve been taking epic baths for the last month,” Arnbjorn observed.
Narova paused. Let the steam ebb and flow around her view of the large Nord. He never wore gloves or shoes. Narova liked that about him. She imagined he did it to feel closer to the earth. The loamy soil. The wet rivers.
“Festus says it’s important. That it purifies the body after a day of running magic through my muscles and veins.” She examined her arm for a moment and then looked at Arnbjorn playfully. “It’s working wonders on my skin, at least. So much softer than it used to be.”
Arnbjorn frowned. “The magic’s what I came to talk to you about. Festus said you’re improving. Picked up Alteration faster than anyone he’s ever seen, he told me.”
“Call it a knack for getting my way,” Narova said. Arnbjorn shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. Narova smiled. “You and doorways. Always lingering like some lost puppy. A werewolf should at least have the courage to come a little closer.” Narova swished the surface of the water around with her finger.
“I won’t bite,” she said. “Promise.”
Arnbjorn hesitated and then stepped lightly into the room. Narova had never seen him fight, but she could tell that he was good at it by the way that he walked. She could see the potential for violence in each footstep. He carried himself loose, but he never fully relaxed. Always ready for whatever was coming next.
This time, Narova thought it might be her.
“Festus said that you’ve mastered telekinesis and water breathing. That’s good. Most likely the Blackbloods will have set up near the sea.”
“Breathing isn’t the only thing I can do with water,” Narova said.
The timid wolf was clearly not going to push things on his own, so Narova decided to help things along. She glanced at the door, let her mind wrap around the metal handle, and pushed it shut with her mind.
Arnbjorn looked at the closed door, and then back at her.
Narova took a deep breath, and then put her palms on the surface of the bath water and gently spread them to either side. The water split in two and was pulled to either side along with her palms, as if she held the steaming liquid by some invisible chain.
She saw Arnbjorn’s pupils expand at the sight of her naked, steaming body. All lithe and relaxed in the pinewood basin. His animal scent filled the room, stronger than before.
He liked what he saw.
Her nipples hardened almost immediately under the cold air. An errant droplet of water dripped down her belly and into the soft tuft of hair between her legs. Every so slightly, she spread her legs, giving Arnbjorn an ephemeral view of the treasure she kept there.
Then she let her focus drop, and the water splashed back into place with a smack.
Narova looked into Arnbjorn’s ice-blue eyes, smiling and waiting. He cleared his throat.
“And paralysis,” he said. “How are you coming with paralysis?”
Narova’s smile faded. Not ready just yet, eh wolf? That’s all right, his scent didn’t lie. He wanted her in a way he could barely control. She could practically hear his blood pumping heavy through his heart with desire. The Sanctuary wasn’t the place, though. Soon they’d be out in the wild.
Soon they would be free.
“That one isn’t so simple,” Narova admitted, letting herself sink down so the water reached the tip of her elf-chin. “I’ve been practicing on Babel’s wretched spider. Sometimes I can freeze it up stiffer than a dead Argonian. Other times, it shakes out of it like it’s escaping from its own web. Other times…it doesn’t work at all.”
Narova frowned, frustrated by the thought of her failures.
Arnbjorn saw this. “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. Way I hear it you never miss with that bow of yours. And I’m not half bad with the hammer.”
He smiled. That crooked, devious, and beautiful smile. “We’ll likely survive.”
Arnbjorn walked towards the door, but stopped before opening.
“I’m looking forward to killing alongside you. It’s what I do best.”
Narova drank him in one more time.