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Guild Master	By : LinkLover Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 5492 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim or its characters. I make no money from writing this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Guild Master
- 1
Please note: This is a slash fic between Einarr (original dragonborn character) and Brynjolf. Written in response to a prompt on Skyrimkinkmeme (anyone looking to request/ find requests for anything Skyrim related should head there) with and reposted here with the original poster's permission.
If you enjoy this fic, please review and let me know what you think.
Enjoy the fic!
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Einarr was not the kind of man to abuse his power. Not generally. Despite his morally dubious stances when it came to relieving people of their purses, he considered himself to be a mostly honourable Nord man who loved his country, loved listening to the tales of long dead war heroes whose spirits now rested in Sovngarde and was an all round dependable guy. As long as you weren’t carrying too large a coin purse.
Ever since having become the master of the Thieves’ Guild, however, there was a particular issue that was swaying his views on how to deal with power. As the Dragonborn, he had rather a lot of it, something which had been proved with the now permanent destruction of Alduin. But then, as fun as it was to occasionally use a quiet ‘fus’ to create a gust of wind that blew the local maidens’ skirts up and bare their backsides to his appreciative gaze, it was something he chose to do sparingly (if only to avoid attracting too much attention from the city guards, which was already rapt upon him – whether that was to do with his fame as the Dragonborn, status as Thane of Riften or whether they had gotten wind of his more questionable activities in the depths of the cistern, he wasn’t sure). Either way, he was generally quite responsible when it came to such issues of power.
Said ‘issue’ that was making him question that was currently sitting about twenty feet away from him, across the other side of the cistern, dangling bare feet into the murky pool of water, head leant back and absent mindedly scratching at his dark red beard. The Dragonborn huffed slightly, bent over the ledger on the desk in front of him and wondering just where his subordinate got off on sitting around doing nothing whilst he was working to keep the guild running. No wonder he had been so quick to pass the role of guildmaster to him.
He cleared his throat. No response. He tried again, a little louder, a little more impatient this time. The other man lifted his head this time, looking at his ‘master’.
“Problem, lad?”
Einarr rolled his eyes. The pet name that Brynjolf seemed to have reserved for him was not unwelcome in itself, in fact he considered it with affection, though he wouldn’t admit that, but surely as guildmaster he deserved to be referred to as something not quite so...cute.
“I don’t suppose, Brynjolf, that there are some people upstairs that could do with having some coin liberated or sold some of those wonderfully useless potions of yours?”
The slightly older man paused for a second, tilting his head to the side
“Slow business day up there, lad. Only travellers buy that stuff and most of the locals have had as much filched off them as we can afford to... for a while at least.”
“Ah-hah. And so whilst all the other thieves in this guild are off doing their bit to keep this guild afloat, you’re taking the day off, hmm?”
A single eyebrow lifted at guildmaster’s words and Brynjolf pulled his legs from the water, padding barefoot over to the wooden desk. He pursed his lips.
“Actually, I was thinking of a number of clients that could do with having their belts tightened a little, by our hand of course.”
“Were you now?” The younger Nord questioned flatly, his tone disbelieving.
The corner of Brynjolf’s mouth turned up into a smirk.
“Ah come on, lad. Don’t turn into Mercer mark two, eh?”
The red head watched the changing expression of the newly appointed guild master with a mild sense of amusement. The full lips that seemed to constant hold a natural pout curved down, light blue eyes narrowing for a moment, shadowed under the dark blue leather of his head. What Brynjolf wasn’t expecting however, was the sudden change when that frown turned into a smile of self-satisfaction. Apparently, he’d just had an idea. Brynjolf was becoming fairly certain that he wasn’t going to like this idea.
“I’m sure you’re aware, Brynjolf,” he began quietly, pulling his hood from his head “that I require all members of the guild to do some form of work if they want to keep their association with us.”
Brynjolf’s green eyes narrowed slightly, wondering just where Einarr was going with this. He was usually such an easy going lad, friendly and pleasant. Admittedly a little shorter with everyone lately, but that was expected with the gained stress of running the guild.
When he had first found him in Riften’s marketplace he’d known immediately that the man could prove himself to be asset. He hadn’t let them down. One way or another he had a remarkable talent for parting people from their gold. Be it by theft or flattery. In fact, the man had quite the silver tongue. Perhaps not unexpected from the Dragonborn, but he had to admire the way he so easily coerced women into letting him into their private rooms, flattering them into security...or just outright giving him gifts. It was that talent that Einarr possessed that reminder Brynjolf of himself. Except the new guildmaster was even better at it. He supposed his unmatched attractiveness would help with that.
Green eyes flicked over the other Nord’s face again, taking in those small details. He was a undeniably of Nord descent, possessing that same ‘rough-around-the-edges’ appearance that they all seemed to have, the stereotypical pale skin and blonde hair. The striking blue eyes and unkempt beard. A thin scar traced its way from just beneath his left eye, arching down until it disappeared under line of facial hair that covered his jaw line. His rather strong, square, jaw line.
Brynjolf swallowed slightly. He was a fine specimen of a young nord warrior, a few inches taller than himself, just slightly broader of shoulder and significantly heavier of build. It always amused the redheaded nord that such a well muscled man still had a neck that was identifiable as such. So many seemed to disappear in the muscles of their shoulders, so many seemed to become giant balls of nothing but muscle. Einarr, on the other hand, was a rather well balanced individual.
“Brynjolf?”
The older man jerked slightly.
“Sorry lad, was miles away. Thinking of, you know, important things to do.” The line was intentional, knowing he had used it so many times on the younger thief. He knew how it infuriated him, to be casually blown off, especially with his new position.
Again, Einarr surprised him. Instead of furrowing his brow and biting his lower lip in frustration as he usually did, the small, crafty smile that he had been wearing earlier grew.
“As it happens, Brynjolf, I have a very important task at hand for you to do.”
“You do, eh?”
“Mmmhmm and it’s task that I feel I can only entrust you with.”
Brynjolf suddenly became very aware of the absence of the other thieves, the complete emptiness of the cistern save for himself and the dragonborn. And those eyes...there was a light in them that Brynjolf had seen before, one he had learned to enjoy...when it was directed at other people. It was that almost predatory look he got when coercing women into parting with their jewels.
“And what would that be?” he asked, trying to make sure he didn’t take too long to respond, trying to make sure that his voice stayed in its standard, self-assured tone. That it didn’t give away the fact that he was becoming slightly nervous by the intensity of his boss’s gaze on him.
“Come here for a moment.”
There was a pause before Brynjolf stepped forwards and around the desk until he was face to face with the blonde. The quill he had been scratching at the ledger with was placed down deliberately slowly. Green eyes traced calloused fingers as they moved before pulling back to the other man’s face. There was a long silence between the two men.
Einarr held his tongue. He knew what he wanted to say to Brynjolf. Knew the exact tone and words to use. Knew that he could make it very difficult for Brynjolf to resist his request even if he didn’t make it an order. And he could make it an order if he wanted to.
He probably wouldn’t have to. The way Brynjolf’s eyes had roved over his face, studied it with a thoughtful expression was a dead giveaway that he found him at least a little attractive. Couple that with the fact that they were actually rather good friends, that they shared the same values, the same sense of humour. He was certain he could get Brynjolf to perform the task in his mind with little resistance.
And how he would love him to do it. He had long admired Brynjolf’s skill, his self-confidence that verged on arrogance without being so repulsive a trait. He had watched the way he’d moved in his Nightingale armour with delight, following behind him in the dark tunnels of Irkngthand, the Falmer all about them. But silent feet had padded past them, unnoticed. Einarr had watched how each footfall had been so carefully considered, watched muscles flex and tense beneath black clothing in the dim light.
He had watched the way a delighted grin had written itself over the unkempt man’s face when the left eye of the Falmer had been placed on the shelves behind the desk. He’d felt a smug satisfaction that he had been the cause of that. He watched how green eyes lit with humour when he laughed. He had watched the other man’s face and body with far too much interest for his own good for some time. He craved to see what he looked like out of his armour. Wanting to know if there were any more scars across his body than the one on his jaw. He’d wager there were a number more.
In short, he wanted the other man. And he knew he could have him. The only thing that held him back was his respect for their friendship. He didn’t want to risk jeopardising the relationship he and his former superior had. But it would be so easy to coax him into it....so easy to order him into it.
“So what’s this job of yours that only I can do then, lad?”
Brynjolf’s voice tore him out of his thoughts, the soft lilt of his accent grabbing his attention...and wiped out any further thoughts of anything other than his attraction to the thief.
His left hand was on Brynjolf’s shoulder in a flash, gripping as he stepped into the man’s personal space.
“Fuck me.”
The command caught Brynjolf by surprise. He’d had a feeling that this was what Einarr had been thinking about for the last few minutes he had been lost in his thoughts (something he seemed to do a lot in his presence) but to actually hear the words was more of a shock than he’d expected.
He tripped over his own tongue, trying to get his words together.
“I’m sorry, lad?”
The hand on his shoulder slid down to his waist roughly and pulled, forcing him closer to him.
“Don’t play coy with me, Brynjolf,” Einarr responded, the low timbre of his voice betraying his air of calm “You heard me.”
“You want me to...”
“Let me fuck you. Yes.”
The final word was hissed with impatience and Brynjolf lifted his eyes to his boss’s blue gaze. There was no compromise in the younger man’s eyes, just want. For him.
“I don’t think that’s...”
“You wouldn’t disobey an order from your guild master, would you, Bryn?” Einarr asked, a little extra emphasis on the word ‘master’ than was strictly needed.
The blonde took a step forward this time, closing the gap between them, his chest barely touching the older man’s. His head tilted down to meet Brynjolf’s eyes levelly, before sweeping pale pink lips over the other man’s, feeling the rough stubble at their corners.
Brynjolf tensed for a moment as the slightly chapped lips touched his.
“Einarr...”
“Come on, Bryn, what have you got to lose?”
“My dignity, my pride, my arse....”
Lips pushed against his again mid sentence, silencing him. A large rough palm lifted to cup his jaw line.
“You know I won’t hurt you. I swear on my honour as a thief.”
The redhead snorted a little in response.
“Aye, right...”
Einarr leant forwards a little more; shifting his head to the side of Brynjolf’s so that he could whisper into his ear, hands drifting down to hold his hips firmly in place.
“I know you’re intrigued by the idea. I’ve seen the way you watch me move, I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you get lost in your thoughts as you look me over.”
Brynjolf swallowed, the tip of his tongue moistening his lips as the younger man purred into his ear, hands tightening on his hips ever so slightly.
“Lad...”
“I know you look at me the way I look at you Brynjolf. I know you want to know what’ll happen if you say yes to me.”
The blonde brought his hips forward against Brynjolf’s slowly, pressing them together. There was a distinct firmness there. He let the tip of tongue flick out, tracing the curl of the other man’s ear, a hand lifting from his hips to run through coarse red hair.
“You wouldn’t want to disappoint your master, would you?”
The quietly spoken words shot down Brynjolf’s spine, deliver a throb to his loins and he whipped his head around to meat Einarr’s mouth, pressing his own dark pink lips against the younger man’s. The blonde responded with vigour, hand tightening in the strands of red hair. A twinge of pain caused Brynjolf’s lips to open and Einarr wasted no time in pushing his tongue between them.
Brynjolf’s own hands grasped at the other’s shoulders, gripping onto him, taken aback by the man’s ferocity. His lips were moving from his mouth to his neck, nipping slightly and sucking.
“None of that, Einarr...” he warned pulling the man’s mouth away “Don’t want the others to see.”
Einarr grunted in acknowledgement before undoing the buckle that held the neck of Brynjolf’s dark brown armour shut, nimble fingers that were so used to picking locks and purses making quick work of the fastenings. Pushing the thick leather aside, he slid his hands down Brynjolf’s pale torso, feeling the fine hairs of his chest and stomach beneath his palms. His eyes lifted to Brynjolf’s face.
The man’s head was tilted back, eyes closed, lips still slightly parted and Einarr smiled smugly into the other man’s chest, letting his hands slid further inside the fabric of Brynjolf’s armour and pushing it from his shoulders. It hit the floor with a dull thud even as Einarr’s hands moved around to the red head’s smooth back, sliding over toned muscles and the sharp lines of shoulder blades.
Brynjolf’s hands were moving now too, lifting to rest on the other Einarr’s hips, green eyes opening as he brought his head back down to let his lips fall onto his master’s shoulder, nipping sharply, brining a grunt from the blonde. The older nord smirked to himself, tightening his grip on the slim hips pressed against his, those hips that were starting to push more insistently. Those hips that were starting to grind into his.
He felt the large, roughly calloused hands of the blonde slide down his back again, blunt nails scratching slightly, leaving raised red marks in their wake. Brynjolf hissed slightly as they reached the waistband of his trousers and pulled around sharply to his stomach. Einarr’s mouth was on his chest, hot and wet, sucking and licking and nipping at the exposed skin that was presented to him, moving constantly. At one point, he trailed his tongue down and down again until he was almost at Bryn’s waistband, making the redhead’s breath catch in anticipation.
And then he pulled up suddenly, leaving the man huffing in frustration. He was rewarded instead with that tongue flicking at a hard nipple, teeth closing around it a moment later as deft fingers trailed teasingly along the top of his trousers, skimming over the flesh, teasing. Brynjolf opened his mouth to utter a complaint, but as soon as he did that teasing hand dove down to his crotch, grasping and tightening, provoking a startled moan from his open mouth. The red head flushed in embarrassment at his vocalisation as the dragonborn sniggered against his chest, moving over to the other, previously neglected nipple.
Einarr released his grip on the hard lump in Brynjolf’s trousers, pleased by his reactions, trailing his fingers up to the leather belt at the top, undoing it quickly, followed by the fastenings that held his breeches shut. He eagerly slipped them from the man’s hips, pushing them down his thighs. He let his teeth graze down the outside of those hard thighs as he bent to push the garment off completely. Warm hands followed down before pulling up sharply as he stood again, grabbing at Brynjolf’s backside and moving him to lean against the desk. He glanced down the man now clad only in his loincloth, the fabric barely containing him in his aroused state.
A hand clasped around the back of Einarr’s neck, the other falling against his own backside, pushing his hips into Brynjolf’s arousal, pulling his lips against those dark pink ones. A low purr rippled through the older thief’s throat at the pressure against lips and crotch, the noise growing louder, rougher as Einarr ground his hips against into him.
Brynjolf couldn’t help the noises escaping him now, feeling the pressure against his cock, the heat that was rising through his body despite the cool air of the cistern around his nearly naked body. His hands were tugging at Einarr’s armour, wanting him in the same state, waiting to feel the added heat of his flesh pressing against him. Einarr apparently didn’t agree, one of his hands snatching Brynjolf’s right, pinning it down against the desk, letting the left continue to fiddle with the clasp at his neck. His free hand reached down to the former guildmaster’s hips, quickly untying the loincloth and leaving Brynjolf bare against him.
The red head tilted his head back again, the hand at Einarr’s neck stilling as he was taken into the rough palm and stroked firmly. The blonde nipped softly at his lips.
“And you tried to play coy with me.” He chuckled, tightening his grip further.
Brynjolf grunted, bucking his hips in response, shuddering at the friction of the other man’s palm on his engorged flesh, the vice like grip he had on him. The hand holding arm behind his back released and he immediately made to undress the blonde, pulling clothes from him like the world was about to end. What had been a slow tease for him, a gentle revelation of skin for him was a desperate, needy affair for Einarr and Brynjolf vaguely wished he could have taken longer, made the moment a little more pleasurable. To his credit, Einarr didn’t seem to mind too much as his loincloth was torn from his hips without a second thought, letting hot hard flesh rub together and this time it was the dragonborn tilting back his head and moaning as Brynjolf jerked his hips, his hands running over the pale body in front of him. It was like he was trying to explore every patch of skin as quickly as possible, fascinated but desperate.
Einarr let his large hands come up to Brynjolf’s shoulders, resting on them heavily.
“Can I ask you to do something else for me, Bryn?”
Green eyes met blue instantly.
“What, lad?”
The hands on his shoulders applied a little more pressure, pushing him to his knees until he was at eye level with a rather large erection.
“Do I have to make it any more obvious?”
“No, l...” Brynjolf paused, pink tongue flashing out to moisten pink lips as he thought “...master Einarr.” He finished, tentatively letting his tongue flick out again to meet the other man.
His right hand wrapped around the member, pulling foreskin back as his left reached around to grab at Einarr’s firm ass. He could feel those bright blue eyes watching him as he opened his mouth, slowly accepting the red head into his mouth. The fingers at his shoulders tightened sharply, nails digging in. Brynjolf let his mouth sink further along the shaft presented to him, letting a quiet chuckle rumble in his throat at the quiet grunts Einarr was making. How the tables had turned.
The vibrations of Brynjolf’s throat made him buck into the wet heat further, pushing himself to the back of his throat, wishing he could go further. The sliver of thought that remained in his head reminded him to hold back, that he wanted Brynjolf to enjoy this as well, that choking him on his dick wouldn’t achieve that. He pulled back slightly, allowing the man the chance to breathe a little easier, removing one of his clenching hands from his well muscled shoulder and sliding it into his hair instead. He could do nothing but try to stay still as the man’s mouth moved back and forth along his length, tongue stroking and pressing against those wonderful pressure points, rivulets of saliva coating him and he had to tighten his hand in the Brynjolf’s shaggy hair to pull himself free of his mouth. He didn’t want to come too early.
He pulled Brynjolf to his feet, backing him up against the desk again, wondering idly where the man had learnt to use his mouth like that. Or maybe he was just imagining what he’d like to be done to him.
Brynjolf felt the ledge of the desk pressing into his backside and hopped up onto it, Einarr stepping between his legs, spreading them slightly, his cock dripping with Brynjolf’s saliva. The older nightingale swallowed, nervous about the prospect of having the man inside him. It was one of the few experiences Brynjolf could safely say he had never had before now and he wondered if the stories of the pain that usually accompanied such a coupling were true. The thought made him tense.
There was a hand on his jaw suddenly, Einarr’s thick thumb gently stroking his scarred cheek.
“I won’t hurt you Bryn, if that’s what you’re looking so nervous about.”
He couldn’t find any words to answer with an instead, glancing once at the entrances to the cistern and hoping to all the aedra and daedra in existence that nobody would return anytime soon, nodded to the blonde before him, allowing the other man to lie him down, pushing the ledger and quills from beneath his back. Green eyes watched as Einarr sucked on a couple of his fingers, his free hand spreading his legs.
Brynjolf closed his eyes and leant his head back, breathing slowly through his nose, not quite believing that he’d let himself be talked into this. He flinched in surprise as a single warm, wet finger gently touched at his entrance.
“Easy.” Einarr soothed quietly, waiting until he saw Brynjolf’s muscles relax a little before pressing on. His fingers were a little too large to do this completely comfortably as so he settled for moving as slowly and carefully as possible, easing the thick digit into the man below him. Muscles tensed around him again, and again he waited until they had relaxed, slowly pushing in again until one finger was completely encased.
Brynjolf let out a slow breath, unsure of whether what he was feeling as Einarr worked was unpleasant or not. It wasn’t painful at least, just...a somewhat odd sensation. He relaxed his shoulders, letting his body rest fully against the warming wood of the desk, letting Einarr open him up, stretching him ever so subtly, ever so careful. Again he couldn’t decide whether he was enjoying the sensation or not....and then there was a jolt from somewhere deep inside him, a jolt that nearly made him sit upright and forced a loud moan from his throat.
“See? Knew you’d like it.” Einarr hummed in response, leaning over Brynjolf’s body to capture his mouth in a gentle kiss. He pulled his finger out, slowly, carefully adding a second a moment later, moving a little faster once he was in, feeling the muscles that were clenching at his fingers relaxing. He plunged them in again, searching for the small bump that would make Brynjolf moan in pleasure again. He found it a moment later, the noises that came from the other man keeping him hard. He kept his movements up, pushing his fingers in deeper, playing with that little lump until the red head below him was spreading his legs as wide as he could on his own accord, his member rigid and weeping. Einarr allowed the organ a quick squeeze that set Brynjolf’s hips bucking before he pulled his fingers out. Grabbing onto slim hips, he pulled him to the edge of the desk so he could access him more easily.
He paused, watching the expression on Brynjolf’s face, the way his jaw was clamped shut to keep him from crying out again.
“You ready for this?”
Brynjolf looked up, panting.
“As ready as I’m going to be, lad.”
He let out a tense breath, relaxing his body, reminding himself of the startling pleasure those fingers had brought to him. It made him twitch slightly and he watched as Einarr loomed over him, bringing his hips between his spread legs, the pressure of his member pressing against his back passage growing more uncomfortable the more he pressed against him. The more experienced thief bit his lip, feeling discomfort becoming pain and he let a quiet moan pass from his mouth, sure that the flesh that Einarr was pushing into wasn’t going to let him in, that he was going to split before that happened. And then the muscle gave way in the blink of an eye, letting the blonde sink inside him.
Einarr moaned, feeling Brynjolf’s body open up to him and engulf him, a quiet groan of pleasure and pain coming from the man below him. He kissed at his mouth, receiving distracted half-kisses in response.
“It’ll get better, I promise Bryn.”
Brynjolf nodded in response, distracted still, trying to force his body to relax as Einarr began to rock inside him. His flesh gave way to him more and more readily, allowing the man deeper and deeper inside him until he was hitting that sweet spot inside him. His head jerked back, his mouth open in a silent gasp of pleasure as the feeling shot up his spine. His hands which had previously been lying at his sides, clenched, one reaching up and hooking around Einarr’s neck as he moved above him, the other clinging to the edge of the desk. Einarr purred as the hand at his neck released a little, sliding down his back, scratching as it went, leaving raised red mark’s just as he had left on Brynjolf before,
He could feel the man relaxing, his body beginning to twitch and jerk at his thrusts into him, the muscle of his passage tightening around him rhythmically. Deep grunts were escaping from those parted pink lips, growing in volume in intensity as each push into him drove him into a new level of pleasure. Einarr growled as he picked up his pace, resting his head against Brynjolf’s shoulder, wanting to hear those grunts grow louder, more desperate as he rocked inside him.
Sweat built up between the two bodies moving together fluidly, sliding against one another even as Brynjolf unconsciously lifted his legs to wrap around the blonde’s waist, allowing the man to plunge deeper into him. He panted, feeling heat building in his crotch, his hand on the other man’s back digging into the soft flesh, his grip so hard that he was almost drawing blood with his blunt nails. The other still clung to the desk, hanging on for fear that he might come too quickly if he didn’t. A moan broke from his throat, louder than before, as Einarr gave him a particularly hard thrust, jolting pleasure up his spine again, sending a throb through the erection crushed between the moving bodies.
Einarr felt the change in Brynjolf, the way the hand on his back was tightening its grip more and more, hearing the rough edge in the moans from his thief growing as his climax began to build. He leant down, leaning further over the redhead, biting into the muscle of his shoulder. Brynjolf yelped in response, confused as Einarr suddenly pulled free of his body, denying him the building pleasure.
“Einarr? What are you doing?”
The blonde pushed sweat soaked hair back from his forehead and pulled Brynjolf up from the desk. His lips met the other man’s briefly.
“Going to make you work for your pleasure.”
He spun the redhead around, pushing him down on the desk front first and spreading his legs again. He was quicker to enter this time and Brynjolf grunted at being filled again, the angle of Einarr’s entry adding a new dimension of pleasure as he hit his prostate more accurately.
“Push back against me.”
It didn’t take a second for Brynjolf to get the message, immediately bucking his hips backwards as Einarr pushed forwards, the blonde leaning over his sweating back. Brynjolf’s hands were clinging to the desk again and the younger nightingale placed his owner over them, using his grip as leverage to drive himself into the man again and again.
Hips rocked in a rapid rhythm, crashing forwards into the desk, Einarr’s hand moving to grip Brynjolf’s straining erection, jerking it as hard as he could, ploughing into the ever more pliant body below him. He could feel those muscles around him squeezing harder and harder, pulling him as deep into the hard body as he could go. Brynjolf’s hips were bucking feverishly, a constant low moan of pleasure escaping from parted lips between gasping breaths.
Einarr leant his head back, closing as eyes as he moved his hips and hands as hard as he could, determined to get his partner to come before he did. It didn’t take much more and he felt the muscles around his cock clench down, the heated flesh in his hand throbbing and pulsing as semen poured from its tip, Brynjolf letting out a strangled moan as his back arched at the force of the orgasm.
The force of Brynjolf’s own orgasm brought Einarr his own as he emptied himself inside the other man, all but collapsing onto the heaving back beneath him, his legs going limp.
For a moment, Brynjolf said nothing, panting heavily to try and regain control of his breathing, hoping that no-one was in the ragged flagon to have heard what had just happened, grimacing as he felt the splatters of his own cum starting to run down his stomach. He swallowed thickly, twisting his head to look at the blonde slumped over his back.
“Not to break the moment, lad,” he panted “but it’s kinda hard to breathe with you lying on top of me like that.”
Einarr lifted his head, nodding vaguely, lifting himself off Brynjolf’s back and pulling himself free of his body. Semen trailed down the other man’s thighs as the blonde settled on the floor.
Brynjolf joined him after a moment, lowering himself to sit beside his younger master. Silence reigned for a moment, neither man sure of what to say to the other. It was Brynjolf who broke it, leaning over to gently kiss the other man, as if to assure him that he hadn’t been hurt by the activity.
“Should I take that as I sign that you found it....pleasing?”
“Aye, you could say that.”
Einarr looked over to the red head, suddenly tentative.
“Can...I take it that you’d be willing to do it again?”
Brynjolf smiled softly, glancing over to the other man with an amused expression. Considering the demanding tones he had used with him before, he was surprised he could suddenly turn so meek.
“Aye.”
Einarr smiled in response, pleased with the reaction and he wrapped a thick forearm around Brynjolf’s neck, roughly pulling him in for an uncharacteristically soft kiss to the forehead.
“You could probably do with a bath.”
Brynjolf pushed his lower lip out, feigning an upset pout.
“Are you saying I smell?”
“Yup,” Einarr replied, standing and dragging Brynjolf up with him, pushing the man towards the cistern’s pool of water “Now get bathing. I’m gonna enjoy the view.” He leant back on the desk, watching Brynjolf sinking into the waist high water.
“Yes master.”
--
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Guild Master