Work Text:
“Does Listener need another cup of tea? Footrub? A bath?” Cicero asked.
"No, no, Cicero,“ Hynaeneth assured her adoring Keeper. "Another book might be nice."
He scampered to the shelf and came back with all seven volumes of the Song of Pelinel before realising what he was holding, and swapped it for Immortal Blood. When she took it, he watched her like a dog. It might have been unnerving once, but Hynaeneth was used to it by now. She knew he’d never hurt her, but now she was worried he was getting bored. Opening Immortal Blood, she tried to think of things for him to do to keep him occupied. Surely her poor Keeper must find it incredibly dull to keep watching her all the time.
"Cicero, why don’t you go make sure that the Night Mother is oiled?” She suggested. “It has been quite a while since you’ve attended her."
"Oh! Naughty Cicero, forgetting his poor Mother!” He lamented, scampering off. “Dearest Listener is correct!"
Hopefully he wouldn’t be so bored now. Hynaeneth settled into her chair and began to read. It really was intriguing to learn about Movarth Piquine when she had personally slain him. Perhaps she even felt a little sorry for the man. She took a drink from her tea and turned the page, listening to the sounds of tinkering, the pained cries of her prisoners, and Cicero chatting to the Night Mother in the background. This Sanctuary held a peace she could never describe.
A peace among murderers.
It was incredible irony, but nevertheless she was happier in the family of misfits than she had been anywhere else. Cicero was a dangerous companion and adoring of every decision she made, and Nazir was good for conversation and advice for getting blood stains out of things, though he wasn’t as good as Babette, who’d had three hundred years to perfect her mysterious recipe that got out stains like they’d never existed. Hynaeneth was certain Babette would take the formula to her coffin.
Her mind wandered back to Cicero as she heard him squeal in delight. He really did shadow her steps, and he was always looking after her - tea, books, tucking her in at night, preparing her baths. Always with his excitable smile and eager words. He loved to brush her hair and help her into her armour, and he was strangely thrilled by the tips of her ears, their gentle brown point and the way she shivered when he touched them. He often sat with her, playing with the dark, soft locks until she was sleepy, and then he’d put her to bed and check in on her every so often.
Still, Cicero’s devotion did make it a little difficult to get attention from other men. She hadn’t laid a man in some time, and her Keeper’s protective behaviour made it unlikely. Hynaeneth bit her lip, closing her door and changing into a warm nightshirt. The Bosmer sighed, tidying up her stack of books and dousing the candles, leaving just the fire blazing in the corner. She freely admitted, she was aching a little, but she didn’t know what to do. She needed to leave Cicero in the Sanctuary for a few days and get some action. And soon.
Maybe that handsome scowler from the Companions would bend her over something.
Cicero took longer than usual to attend to the Night Mother, as he had not done so in days. Being so busy looking after his Listener meant less time for his Mother, and sadly Hynaeneth required more of his attention. Well, hardly sadly. Cicero adored his pretty, Bosmeri boss, with her dark hair and honey-coloured eyes. She was so lovely, Cicero just wanted to oil her up and keep her too, though in a different way to Mother, of course. She fitted nicely in his arms when she let him hug her, and she was a mark or two shorter than him, her head tucking beneath his sharp chin. And she smelled like pine and leather, and fresh, warm skin. Oh yes, Cicero knew what he’d do for his Listener if only she asked. Many nights had been spent ‘on lookout’ dealing with his urges. It was only a fantasy, alas – pretty Hynaeneth was too good, too wonderful, to care in such a way for poor Cicero!
Oh, the Listener needed to be seen to! He would need to help her into her night things and brush out her hair. He closed the sacred casket and hurried to his room to wash his hands, rubbing out the preservative oils and cleaning himself thoroughly. Drying his hands on some linen, he closed his door and sprinted to the Listener’s room. Her door was shut. Curiously, he opened it. The lights were dim, and only the fire was blazing. Hynaeneth was asleep already, and Cicero crept in. He could still brush her hair for her. Closing the wooden door silently, he went to her vanity and retrieved the brush, moving towards her bed.
A moan startled him, and he realised it was coming from Hynaeneth. The Bosmer was gently moving in her bed, and with interest he pulled her covers down slowly. Her thighs were clamped together, and she was grinding. Another moan – softly, almost a whimper – dropped from her lips, and Cicero put down the brush. His Listener was needy! Why, she should have said! Cicero would help her with that, oh certainly! He dropped his Jester hat and tossed aside his dagger, kicking off his boots and brushing himself down before he joined Hynaeneth in her bed. It was common courtesy to keep oneself clean before going into a bed that wasn’t one’s own, and the Listener’s bed was practically sacrosanct. And if she woke and killed him, why, Cicero would die happy.
He removed his gloves, crawling over Hynaeneth’s sleeping form and sliding his hands up her thighs, fingers closing around the waistband of her small clothes and pulling them down her legs. He put them aside somewhere and slowly, gently, so as not to wake her yet, slid her nightgown off her body. The Keeper’s thumbs began to tease the dark buds of her nipples, gazing with desire at the space between her legs. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out and parting her lower lips. He began flicking it over her bud, tasting her softly and hearing her moan in her sleep. She was tart and tasty, and he sucked on her gently. In her sleep, her thighs gently closed around his head, and he continued to rub her breasts as he pleasured her. She was warm and soft, and smelt even better than she did in her armour. Cicero was in Aetherius.
He dipped his tongue into her, the muscle’s wetness equalled and rivalled by the lubricant and tightness of her cunt. Determined to get at more of her, he left her breasts and pushed her legs wider apart. She began to squirm, not quite awake, but getting further from sleep with every delightful lap that he gave her. A slender, gentle hand came to rest on his head, and he abandoned moderation to attack her. The Listener let out an audible gasp of need and he giggled. Holding her legs open with one hand, he slid two fingers into her and marvelled at how her walls clenched down onto him. He curled them, and her hips arched upwards. Hynaeneth was certainly waking now, mumbling in confusion and squirming as he drove her towards completion. Cicero showed her no mercy, and had to pin her to keep her from getting out from beneath him.
He looked up, and golden eyes met his for a second before they screwed tightly shut, and Hynaeneth gasped out his name in delighted discombobulation as orgasm ripped through her body. She fell limply against the sheets, panting heavily. Cicero continued to thrust and flick his fingers until she was a mess, whimpering his name in that beautiful soft voice of hers. Her skin was silk against his hands and he was unwilling to relinquish his new prize. She was awake now, gripping his hair with vice-like hands as he pleasured her beyond what she thought she could take.
“Too-!” she gasped. “M-much-ohhhh!”
With a helpless cry, she came again, and Cicero finally let her rest. He beamed at her, pleased with his handiwork. Hynaeneth looked dazed, but not upset, and she finally managed to sit up, grabbing hold of her Keeper and dragging him back down to kiss him, her lips shaking as she panted, desperate for air.
“C-Cicero?” she whined. “That was…I want…”
“Does Listener want more?” Cicero asked curiously.
“Y-yes,” she breathed. “Have me however you want, my Keeper. Just, have me!”
He stripped out of his Jester suit and left the striped livery on the floor, withdrawing his idle hand and sucking on the fingers. Hynaeneth watched him in curiosity. Such ministrations were very common amongst her people, but none of her lovers had ever seemed to enjoy her quite like Cicero – and there had been many. He grasped the backs of her thighs, opening her up and pressing the head of his member against her opening. He was of medium girth and length, but when he slid inside her she didn’t care. His hips hit her thighs and then the little madman was hammering away at her, his thumb sawing against her bud. There wasn’t a moment’s respite from her previous experience – Cicero just had her, like she’d asked. His digit was slick and so was she, and she dug her nails into his arms and kissed him again, throwing her head back after to inhale greedily. She was so small compared to him, and Cicero was no giant in the first place. Her arms locked around his neck, her breasts brushing his chest, and he curled himself around her protectively, his warmth seeping into her. Bosmer weren’t much for cold climates, and to feel the hot Imperial’s skin helping her was lovely. It reminded her something of home.
He fucked her roughly, their skin slapping together as she grabbed a fistful of the sheets. Who would have thought that her mad Jester was so capable at pleasing a woman? He angled his hips to penetrate her better, just missing a good spot by the kind of closeness that made her shiver each time he didn’t get it. It would drive her mad, even if she was getting closer to orgasm with each snap of his athletic hips. He was no mountain of muscle, but he was wiry, a true assassin. He was certainly strong enough to partially hold her up as he drove into her, his cock causing dozens of lovely feelings in her. A string of pitching moans left her mouth as she began to squeeze him, her toes curling. Oh, Cicero!
His diligent thumb drove her over the edge, and she almost ripped her sheets as he kissed her, quickly withdrawing to let her cry out her completion. She expected him to stop, but he didn’t – he pulled out, flipped her onto her front, and yanked her hips up to his, sliding back within her. At this angle, he finally caught that elusive, maddening spot inside her, and the effect was instantaneous. Hynaeneth almost collapsed, and it was only his arm that kept her up. That same arm had one hand buried between her legs, mercilessly stimulating her nub, and Hynaeneth began to chant his name, begging him to fuck her harder. She bit down on the bedsheets, whimpering loudly between thrusts and her religious intonation. She wiggled her arse against him and he responded with a growl that resonated down her spine, a sound she hadn’t realised him capable of. Oh gods, he would drive her mad!
How wonderful!
Brown curls wafted past her ears as their flesh slapped together. Hynaeneth was an overstimulated mess of nerves, wetness and skin, and Cicero seemed to have boundless stamina. She shakily tucked strands of hair behind her sharp points, and then she really did fall over, because her Keeper sucked a point into his mouth and began to tease it with his tongue. She screamed, loudly, her head buried in the pillow as she grabbed his free left hand that was braced against the bed. She cried out wildly as it pulled away and began to rub over her left ear. Hynaeneth’s eyes rolled upwards at the sensation. The jester was a monster at this! She had been totally unprepared for his eagerness and carnal knowledge. Hopefully, he would soon run out of energy – though, not before she’d come again.
And come she did, screaming to the Divines and to her Keeper for mercy. There was none for the moment, and she slumped in his grasp, wet and slick and so, so pleased with what he was doing, Sithis yes, she wanted more but she wanted a break too. Mercy was, eventually, granted, and almost a full minute later Cicero grasped her hips with both hands and twitched, spurting into her. They both collapsed into a messy, sweaty pile of limbs and cum, and Hynaeneth whimpered as he continued to rub her nub. She was so slick from four orgasms and the remainder of Cicero’s seed, and his hand made a rude, dirty sound as it slid over her each time. It was almost too much pleasure, but she gulped, trying to form words, and eventually figuring out what she wanted to say.
“Cicero,” she whispered. “Listener would like this. Every night.”
“Cicero would like this every minute,” the Jester giggled. “But he can wait for nightfall if his pretty Listener wishes it.”
The Jester cupped her mound gently and licked a tanned ear point. Hynaeneth shuddered at the wet feeling, her fingers clenching into his hair as he continued to touch her. She would take more tonight, she was determined to. A stamina potion and a healing potion would set her to rights, and then she’d let her Jester fuck her however he wanted. He nibbled her ear tip as his fingers slid inside her, his left hand falling to her nub to replace his right. Maybe she wouldn’t make it to that potion and would need a spell instead. Maybe she wouldn’t even make it to the spell. Oh, Dibella…
“Don’t stop, more, please,” she pleaded, her thighs parting wetly. She bit her lip, panting softly. He was so good.
“Cicero is more than happy to oblige,” he purred. “Maybe Cicero will make the Listener scream until she’s hoarse. Pretty Hynaeneth seems to like it when I bend her over. ”
“Please,” she begged. “I need so much more, my Keeper.”
“Cicero can do more,” he agreed. “Maybe soon his Listener will need to ask him to stop.”
“Never,” she gasped, grinding against him. “Never, never stop.”
“Cicero will hold you to that,” the Jester warned.
“Oh gods,” Hynaeneth moaned. “I don’t care. I don’t care!”
She would come to regret those words after she was sore the next morning, though when she next adventured out, satisfied, with her grinning Keeper by her side, she found that Cicero was very good at massaging away pain.