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Being in love had proven... Unfamiliar.
Vaera had spent most of her life being focused on her goals, and making sure those around her stayed in line. That was why she was in charge, after all - her leadership was a byproduct of being a skilled, focused worker that knew how to take charge of any situation and bend it to her favor. There wasn't time for frivolities. Even when she was young, her world had revolved around making it from one day to the next, and her dreams were short term. There was always more to do. Always more work to be done. Now, she had an entire network of people to take care of.
Vaera didn't have time for distractions. Yet here was a very persistent, very irritating man who seemed determined to make himself the center of her focus at every waking moment. She hated it, sometimes. He wasn't even aware of it, as far as she could tell, just taking up all her attention without trying. Love confessions had made it worse. Kissing, doubly so. Brynjolf hadn't seemed to grasp the idea that she wasn't sure what to do with all of the feelings he was dragging out of her. She hadn't known she was capable of feeling them.
But he had taken over her waking hours with thoughts of him - it wasn't just when she saw him, anymore, but all the time. Vaera's dreams were haunted by him, thoughts of what they might do together if they weren't always so busy, fantasies of what might have been if she hadn't been so slow to catch up with her own heart. It made it a little harder to concentrate. She was lucky she was good at what she did, else she might have found herself making mistakes, instead of just getting frustrated with herself over how often she had to redirect her thoughts to the proper focus.
That wasn't even counting what he did to her when he wasn’t even around, when everything was quiet, she was alone, and Vaera had the rare, fleeting moments of privacy to do something about all the energy that ate at her. She hated thinking of him in those moments, even if they were... more enjoyable with the images of him to guide her imagination, it was - it was more than she had ever felt, more than she could ever do by herself, and that was embarrassing.
And so, as usual, when Vaera wanted something, or had questions, she went to Brynjolf for answers. She needed her mind cleared. So far, what had shown to be effective was doing something to satiate the tension. That was very easy, now. Kissing him was simple, and she always found it to be more than enough to do the job, so she could be normal again. It felt like the closest thing to lovesickness she could imagine - which was horrible for her, truly, as a woman who prided herself on being strong-willed. She had been sure her heart had turned to ice a long, long time ago, and it was one of her proudest moments, and yet she was having to treat herself of being a fool by scheduling times to make out with - Well, he wasn't just a friend, anymore, but there weren't very many words for what they were, and Vaera wasn't about to waste her time worrying over it, anyway.
Regardless, if she had a little time with him, tonight, then she’d be fine. With that thought in mind, Vaera took herself down into the Flagon. She didn't spend as much time in here as she once did, now mostly stopping in just to ensure nothing was wrong, and to discuss things with Vekel when they came up.
The moment she walked past the bar, Vekel glanced at her, and his lips curled into a short-lived smirk, before her gaze found his, and he turned as if he'd done nothing wrong, focusing on polishing tankards instead of her. He'd certainly figured out that there was something between her and Brynjolf by now, she just hoped he was polite enough to not make mention of it. If she was questioned on this, she might have to start making threats.
She knew exactly where Brynjolf was. She could feel the pull to go to him, itching just beneath her skin. Vaera hated it, hated how she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Yet it wasn't something she could fight against. So she rounded the corner, to see him, sitting and looking over papers, with no one around - a perfect opportunity.
"Bryn."
The name came out far less commanding than she had intended. It sounded more like a sigh of relief, instead, and she could see him perk up and look up from the table as he heard her voice. His expression softened when he saw her. "Vaera," She felt a twist in her gut when he said her name like that - gentle and loving and happy to see her, and it made her breath catch, "Problem?"
"Always."
Brynjolf chuckled a bit. He always seemed so amused with her. "Well, if there isn't anything urgent, I can finish this, and-"
"I need to talk to you."
"Aye, I got that part." He paused, then, glancing up at her, "About work?"
"No."
"Ah," Oh, the smirk was almost instantaneous, "Personal visit." He began gathering what he was reading over, eyes flicking up to her only to narrow ever so slightly in some smug look. "I can spare a moment, then."
Vaera was never going to get over how irritating he could be, at times. She moved towards the table, pulling out the extra chair and settling herself next to him as he stacked everything back up neatly, and flipped the pages. She watched him, strangely impatient. When he finally looked back to her, she wasted little time leaning forward, voice low, and speaking. "I need your help with something."
"I'm sure you do."
"I will throw a chair at you." Vaera's fingers gripped the edge of the table, but Brynjolf just laughed.
"I'm sure."
"Will you come to my room tonight?"
"Depends on the time," He replied, an instinctual response, clearly, because he paused, eyebrows raising, before he spoke again, "Well, really, if you need my help that badly, I'm all yours. As long as you need me."
"Be normal about this."
"I'm being very normal about a pretty girl asking me to come to her room in the dead of night."
"Hm." Vaera's lips pursed, eye narrowing into a near judgmental glower. "I wouldn't say the dead of night, really-"
"The dead of night is the time for the most debauchery."
"Debauchery." She repeated, lowly.
"Yes, debauchery," Brynjolf nodded, as if this was obvious, "If I'm coming to your room in the dead of night, you must have plans."
"Hm." She hummed again, her glare growing sharper, but she simply raised herself back to her feet. "I do, in fact."
"Do I get any more information on these plans?" He looked so smug. She could swing on him, right now.
"No. You're going to be insufferable about them." Vaera turned, then, the conversation silently declared over, as she took herself out of the Ragged Flagon, ignoring any attempts from Brynjolf to get her attention once more.
She had plans for the evening. The very idea made her tense. Vaera didn't do well with planning anything personal - her mind tended to twist what she intended into something else entirely. Thankfully, things with Brynjolf were easier, as she got more used to affections. She knew what she wanted. She knew what she needed. All she had to do was ask. Asking was very easy.
The day had passed. Time had dragged. Things were much easier to focus on, now that she had a plan to remedy what had been ailing her, though the few times her thoughts veered, it had been much harder to pull back in. Still, she made it through the day without being a complete idiot about most things. The Guild wasn't nearly as flourishing as she'd hoped to have it by now, but they had fences moved in, had two Holds back under their control and in their network... Maybe it wasn't like it was, far before her time, but it was getting there, and she was assured that was what was important.
Still, she retired, late in the evening, after almost everyone had found their ways out of the Ratways and into whatever bed they rented, or piled onto one of the cots. It was a bit of a wonder, how they managed to get all the space to house people, and Vaera often wondered just why these tunnels had been placed so perfectly to fit the Guild and all it needed; From the Cistern to the training room, and then the way the tunnels connected to other places in Riften, a great big network perfectly made for thieves and lowlifes.
The rooms claimed for living were probably cellars, at some point, or storage - maybe cells? But why would any sewer need those? Whatever their original purpose, they'd been claimed and stripped down to the barest of bones, then rebuild and handed out to anyone the Guild deemed fit to stay in them. Vaera preferred to sleep on the cots, the communal space was so comforting, like she was among her own kind and no one else could harm them, but she kept a room, for those nights where she wanted privacy. It was mostly storage. Things she didn't feel right getting rid of, tributes and bribes, sometimes even the occasional keepsake from the places she went - but, of course, there was a wardrobe, and a bed. She'd even bothered with a bookshelf and a table with a couple chairs. It was cozy, despite the clutter and the single lantern.
It was too quiet, for a while. Vaera pulled off her vest, her shirt, kicking off her shoes and rooting around for anything more comfortable in the wardrobe, as if she wasn't going to pull her nightgown on again, because the texture was comforting, and she couldn't manage anything else. She pulled her hair from its bun, shaking out her curls and scratching her scalp where her head was tight with stress. Her routine was easy, from there, brushing her hair, changing into something more suitable to bed, washing her face... Really, the whole thing made her so tired that she thought about going to bed, just asking Brynjolf to cuddle up in a bed actually suitable for two people...
And then her door cracked open. Forgoing knocking, as he always did, Brynjolf was stepping inside and shutting the door behind himself in just a few seconds, and Vaera was suddenly very awake. Awake, and strangely - she didn't know. Hungry almost felt right, not physically, but...
He smiled when he saw her. A slow, easy grin, as he made his way in, so comfortable in a space he'd only been in a few times that it made her wonder how he'd actually gotten that confident, if he was born that way or something else. She'd never thought to investigate. He sauntered over, proud of himself before anything happened, and leaned down as she leaned up, to press a kiss to her temple.
"Sorry for the wait, love. Business."
"It's always business. I hate this place, sometimes."
"I thought you were looking forward to ruling Skyrim from the shadows?" He sounded amused, teasing as he settled down on her bed, on the edge, and she felt the mattress sink and adjust beneath her.
"I can look forward to that, and also say that sometimes it is a draining, miserable job. There is nothing contradictory in that, Brynjolf."
He was still chuckling. Vaera would never understand the source of his amusement - she was almost sure he found her seriousness charming, which was absurd, as it was just that, seriousness, not her personality, she couldn't have that much of an effect on him. He kicked his boots off, letting them sit, and leaned back on the bed with his legs spread, arms back, propped on the mattress, and Vaera looked to him for a moment, as he took a slow breath. He looked... Perfectly relaxed. Of course he would be.
Hm. See, pouncing on him like a starving wolf was not something she should do, as much as the thought was suddenly tempting. It was very hard to ignore the urge. He just looked so handsome, as he looked towards her, hair falling over his shoulder, skin warm in the lowlight, lips curled, his expression so soft. He didn't expect what he was doing to make her as flustered as it was. That made her mad, again. She was fairly sure she was glaring at him.
Vaera opted to follow his lead - she was good at that - and shift her weight as well, until she had slid next to him, knees against the mattress, head tilted slightly. How strange it was, being so relaxed around someone.
"So," Brynjolf finally said, as they just watched each other. He was always the first to break the silence - she hated smalltalk and never knew how to do it right, "Should I assume you need me for the usual reason, or do I get a surprise?"
"I need you for the usual reason." Vaera replied, leaning forward in a quiet bid for the first kiss, which Brynjolf gave to her without complaint. Good. See, she already felt better. "...Surprise?"
"Oh, you know," He was turning towards her, hands already finding her waist, knee also finding the mattress, "A change in pace, a new trick... Maybe I'd be ravaged tonight."
Ah. Her face was suddenly warm. She hated when he did that. It wasn't that Vaera didn't want to, it was - it was so hard to do. He just... Looked at her, and she knew what he wanted, and it just wasn't easy to just... Jump into something. It wasn't that she didn't know how it worked, and it wasn't that she wasn't interested in the idea, it just... Was difficult to actually do.
"You talk too much," Vaera decided, instead of confronting the idea he had planted. Taking advantage of the position she was in to move herself forward, up and into his lap, his hands pulled at her as she moved, fingers digging into her sides. Her thighs settled on his, knees bending and feet pressed against the edge of the bed for purchase as she pressed her nose to his, before kissing him, again.
She didn't get any better at this, no matter how much she did it. Brynjolf just moved against her, and he tasted good. Her fingers moved to his face, running against his cheeks and the sides of his head, brushing over his hair as his teeth caught at her bottom lip, tugging in a way that made her feel light, warm. It was almost funny to her, that she'd always expected something else when she started doing this with Brynjolf. Something scary, perhaps, but this wasn't scary at all.
His teeth pulled on her lip, and she pulled her hands through his hair. She kissed him harder, and he kissed her back just as hard, one hand sliding down to her thigh and gripping like she was going to run away. She could feel the muscles in his chest as she leaned her weight against him, the soft fabric of his shirt and the harder warmth of his skin underneath.
"Bryn." Vaera broke away, pulling her head back as she tried to catch her breath. He was looking at her, eyes bright and pupils wide, and he leaned in as if to kiss her again, but she moved her head slightly, her hands pressing against his shoulders.
"Vaera?" He sounded breathless. Good.
She wanted to say something. She wanted to say she wanted him, that she was ready, that she wanted to feel all of him, but the words just wouldn't come. She was a Guildmaster. She could intimidate nobles and plan a heist that would leave everyone rich and no one the wiser, but she couldn't say the one thing that she wanted to say the most. It was infuriating. Frustrating. She hated being so weak. So, she did the next best thing. She kissed him again, a messy, clumsy kiss that was all teeth and desperation.
Brynjolf responded with a soft groan, pulling her tighter against him, the hand on her thigh sliding higher, higher, until it was resting on her hip; His fingers had danced under her nightgown, his thumb stroking the bare skin there, testing, oh, he loved testing her.
And it worked, of course. Vaera wanted to lean into it, to arch into the touch, but her body was stiff with hesitation. He felt it. He always felt it. And instead of pushing, instead of teasing, he just pulled back, kissing her softly, slowly, a gentle press of lips that was more comforting than anything else.
"Hey," he murmured against her lips, "Easy, lass. You're all wound up..."
"Am not." The words came far too quickly to be believable, a petulant child's lie.
He chuckled, a low, warm rumble in his chest that she felt more than heard. "No? You feel like a drawn bowstring. Talk to me."
The last thing she wanted to do was talk. Talking meant explaining. Explaining meant admitting.
"I'd rather kiss you." Vaera's hands slid from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair there. She leaned in, her lips brushing against the stubble on his jaw. She was trying to distract him, and he knew it. He let her, for a moment, letting her press a series of soft, open-mouthed kisses along his jawline. It almost worked, Brynjolf struck by the urge to let her do as she pleased rather than get in his own way. It was tempting. So very tempting, to just lay back and let her try to figure this out on her own. She was a smart woman, after all. Too soft-hearted for his own good, however...
He let out a soft sigh, his head tilting back to give her better access. "Vaera..."
"Shh." Her lips found that spot behind his ear, the one that made him shudder. She was learning. Fast.
"Vae, if something's bothering you..." He started, but his words were cut off by a soft gasp as she nipped at his earlobe.
"Nothing's bothering me," She whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "I'm just... thinking."
"About?"
Vaera was aware she could explain herself. She was aware she should explain herself. Brynjolf deserved that. He had been patient with her, so patient, and she was pushing that patience to its limits. But the words were still stuck in her throat, and the silence stretched, a heavy, uncomfortable thing. Gods, she was bad at this. Fine. Fine, if her words wouldn't come out, maybe her actions would speak for her.
Vaera moved her hands from his shoulders down to the hem of his shirt, her fingers curling around the fabric and tugging, a silent question. Brynjolf froze for a moment, a soft intake of breath, and then a smile so smug and satisfied it should have been illegal made its way to his face, and Vaera very much regretted every instance of interaction that had brought her to this moment.
"Oh, that's what's got you so twisted up." Brynjolf remarked, so self-satisfied. Regret. She was regretting some things.
"Shut up." Vaera opted to say, the default reaction to anything that threatened to embarrass her.
"Make me." He challenged.
"I can kick you out." She countered, and that earned her a full-blown laugh.
"No, you can't." Brynjolf shook his head, a lazy, confident grin playing on his lips. "You can't get what you want without me here, can you, Vae? All you need to do is ask, you know..."
Of course he was going to make her say it. Of course he was. She wanted to throttle him.
"...And if I do not want to talk about it?" She asked, her fingers still twisted in his shirt, her grip tight enough to wrinkle the fabric.
"Then I'll just have to guess, won't I?" Brynjolf's grin widened, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'm a pretty good guesser."
"You're an arrogant bastard." Vaera scowled, though her heart wasn't in it.
"Aye, but you love me for it." His words were soft, a gentle reminder of the truth she was still trying to get used to. "Now, are you going to tell me what you want, or am I going to have to guess?"
She tugged, far more insistently, at his shirt. It was her only answer.
That, it seemed, was enough.
The chuckle was deep in his chest this time. She liked that one. "Alright, lass. Your way." He lifted his arms, an easy, fluid motion, and she pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought.
In theory, Vaera should not have been as affected as she was. They'd spent years as a team, and sometimes that meant impromptu swims, shared baths, changing clothes in the same room. It was a necessary, practical thing. It should not have made her breath hitch - but it was her room, her bed, him.
And oh, he was handsome. All lean muscle, from years of climbing and sneaking and fighting. Scars, too, little silver lines and pale patches that told stories she knew by heart. A constellation of freckles across his shoulders and chest, darker in the summer months. Her eye traced them for a moment before she realized what she was doing, her gaze snapped back up to meet his, only to find him wearing a smirk that did not get any less grating.
"Like what you see?"
"I'm going to break your nose." Vaera promised, though her hands were already moving, tracing the lines of his collarbones, the defined muscle of his chest.
"You say the sweetest things." He murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. This one was different, hungrier, and she met him with equal fervor, her hands exploring the new expanse of skin, feeling the way he tensed under her touch, the way he shivered when her fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot.
She was so caught up in it, in the feel of him, the taste of him, that she almost missed the shift in the air. The moment when his hands, which had been resting patiently on her hips, started to move. Sliding up her sides, his thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightgown. It was a question, a gentle, teasing question that she answered with a soft gasp, arching into his touch.
And just like that, her confidence was gone. What joy it was, to be born in such a state where vulnerability felt like being skinned alive. Vaera wondered if it was a curse upon her forgotten bloodline, or if she was uniquely broken.
It wasn't that she didn't want to. The want had grown into a physical thing that refused to stop hounding her. It was there. It was real. It was simply that she was stocky, scarred, built for strength and endurance, not for... for this. She'd been told in her younger years that she was meant for labor, to work so other, more beautiful people could enjoy life. She'd never really shaken that.
His hands stilled, and she realized he could feel the shift in her, the sudden tension in her muscles, the way her breath caught in her throat. He pulled back, just enough to look at her, and the smirk was gone, replaced by something softer, something that was almost concern.
"Easy, love..." Oh, she hated him, "What's wrong?" His voice was a low murmur, a gentle caress that was almost worse than the touch, because it made her feel stupid. Vaera hated when he did that. He could tell when she was upset, and he never let her pretend she wasn't. She knew the easiest thing to do would be to voice that she was nervous, because it was the truth, even if it was a large portion of the truth, but she'd sooner jump into the cistern.
Vaera's instinct was to get off, to put distance between them, to crawl into her shell and stay there until the feeling of exposure passed. Her hands dropped from his chest, her fingers curling into fists on her thighs to hike her nightgown up and see herself out of her own room - but Brynjolf was faster. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him.
"Vaera." Her name was a sigh against her skin, a plea. "Talk to me. What's going on in that head of yours?"
"I'm..." She started, the word catching in her throat. Vaera thought to stop inviting him to her room. She'd have to. She was making a fool out of herself. Maybe she enjoyed the feeling of skin against hers, but it was not worth this. This was awful. "...Thinking too much." She settled on. It was safe, it was honest enough.
"About?" He prompted, his hands tracing soothing circles on her back.
"You." The word was a whisper, a confession. "Me. This."
"Aye, it's a lot, isn't it?" He replied, his lips pressing against her temple. "We don't have to-"
"I want to." She interrupted, the words rushed, desperate. "I want to, I just... I can't. I don't-" Oh, she felt sick with annoyance with herself, a twisting in her gut that made her want to hit something. "This is ridiculous. I'm ridiculous." She announced it as if it were a sudden realization, her red eye narrowing, "You have been so patient with me."
Brynjolf was quiet for a long moment, and she was convinced she'd finally done it, finally pushed him away for good. But then he chuckled, a soft, warm sound.
"Ridiculous? Maybe." He agreed, and Vaera was just about to threaten him with crime's against humanity before he continued, "But so am I. It's all ridiculous." He pulled back, just enough to look at her, and the sight of him, bare-chested and open, with the lantern light catching the freckles on his shoulders, made her chest ache with an emotion that was too big. "It's alright, Vae. It is."
"It's not," She grumbled, but she was already melting back into his embrace, her head finding its place on his shoulder like she was collapsing with the weight of her own foolishness, "It is not okay in the slightest... This feels like it should be easier..." she trailed off, "It's not like we haven't... Seen each other..."
"Aye, but that was business, this is..." He paused, as if searching for the right word. "...This is just us."
"Well, that's stupid."
"Is it?" He asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Yes." She confirmed, her arms tightening around him as her face turned into his neck. "Everything about this is stupid. I've been thinking about this for... I don't know..." The realization slowly came to her, as the words had left her mouth, that she'd definitely just given him ample ammunition to torment her for the rest of her miserable life, "Days, at least."
Brynjolf's chest rumbled with a suppressed laugh, and he squeezed her a little tighter. "Days?" He repeated, a grin in his voice. "Well, now, that is just flattering."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
"If I wasn't having a crisis, I would try." Her words were muffled by his skin, breath fanning across his neck. It drew a shudder from him, and she felt it, a tiny victory that made her feel a little less like a fool. She could feel it, the fact that he was thinking, planning something. That's what he always did when they talked about her, he'd become a strategist. She didn't want him to solve her, but she did like knowing he was trying.
"I've got all the time in the world for you, Vae." He said, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her ear. "Even if you just want to lay here. Don't think I'm saying anything otherwise, got it?" She grumbled something inaudible, a noise of frustration that was also, she had to admit, a noise of contentment. "Good... With that in mind, I think I've got an idea to help with all that thinking you like to do. Wanna make a deal?" Brynjolf's voice was a low murmur, like he was sharing a secret, and it made Vaera's head lift, gaze already suspiciously narrow.
"A deal?" She questioned, a scoff on her lips. "Ridiculous..." A pause, spent staring at him like a spider, "...What kind of deal?"
"A simple one," Brynjolf said, his other hand coming up to trace the line of her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek. "You stop thinking. And I'll take care of everything else."
He was giving her an out, in a sense, a way to get what she wanted without having to ask for it. It was a clever trick, one that only he could pull off. He was good at that, making her feel safe even when she felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. Vaera had learned to tell when he was trying to appease her like that. It was... appreciated. That did not mean she didn't find it impossible to reply.
Between the dark flush she knew was spreading down her neck and to her ears at the very thought, the immediate want to deny just to be difficult, and the fact that he was being so Brynjolf about it, she had to swallow before she could speak. "That is the worst offer I have ever heard."
"Liar," he said, without missing a beat. Vaera's eye twitched. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her lips, "Just... trust me, Vae." He was so close. Really, what did she care? What was there to really lose? One attempt. She could do that.
"...Alright." Vaera managed to get out, the word a little rough. Brynjolf grinned, that slow, self-satisfied grin that almost made her retract the agreement the moment it started to form. "Don't look so smug. You haven't done anything yet." She could not resist.
"Patience, love." His hands moved, slow and deliberate, and she only fidgeted a bit as his fingers traced the neckline of her nightgown, a slow, teasing path that made her skin feel tight and warm. "Let a man enjoy the view."
"You're enjoying my misery." She accused, though her hands were resting at his waist, unsure of where else to go. The featherlight touch made her breath catch. This was ridiculous of her.
"Aye, a little." Brynjolf admitted easily, "But I'm also enjoying you." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone, and she shuddered. His breath was warm against her skin, the slight rasp of his beard drawing far too much of her attention in a way she found far too pleasant, as his other hand moved to her waist, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, slid down to her thigh, gripping it firmly, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Oh.
"Bryn..." His name was a breathy thing, a half-whisper that was half-protest, half-plea. She felt him smile against her skin before he pulled back, just enough to look at her.
"Vae?" He repled, his eyes dark, pupils wide in the dim light of the lantern. His thumb stroked her thigh, a slow, steady rhythm that was making it hard to think.
"You're... insufferable." She managed, though the words lacked any real heat.
"And you're beautiful." He replied, and her breath hitched. He'd said it before, in a way that was easy to dismiss as a simple compliment. This was a statement of fact. She hated that he could keep doing this. Make her feel like a clumsy, inexperienced girl instead of the Guildmaster. She hated it.
Vaera didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him, a clumsy, desperate thing that was all teeth and need. He met her with equal fervor, his hands tightening on her, one sliding up her back to tangle in her curls, the other gripping her thigh, pulling her closer, until there was no space left between them once again. Her hands had no choice but to move to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms.
The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing her lips, a silent question she answered by parting them for him. This was easier, thus far, Vaera hated to admit. She could do this. This was familiar territory. She could focus on the way he tasted, the feel of him against her, the low groan he let out. The need was starting to make itself known again, angry and persistent. He had said he'd take care of everything. She was trying to remember that. She was trying to let go, but her mind was a stubborn thing, and it was still buzzing with a thousand questions and fears.
His hand left her thigh, and for a heart-stopping moment, she thought he was pulling away. But then she felt it, a slow, deliberate slide up her side, the fabric of her nightgown bunching around his wrist. His fingers brushed against her ribs, and she shivered, a full-body tremor that she couldn't control. That anxious creep of fear was back. The memory of her own body, the reality of it that she had always accepted in quiet solitude but now felt like a betrayal in the face of his hands, and yet, she didn't pull away.
Brynjolf must have felt the tension return, the way her muscles went rigid and her breath hitched, because his mouth parted from hers just to move to her jaw, then to the sensitive skin of her neck, where he began to press a series of soft, open-mouthed kisses that made her toes curl.
"Easy, lass..." He murmured between each press of mouth to neck, his breath warm. "Just feel. That's all you have to do. I've got you." He was distracting her, she realized, with every word, with every touch, and it was tragically effective.
Just feel, oh how lovely the world would be if it were as easy as that. The thought was bitter, but it was fleeting, because his palm had traced over her ribs, higher, and then it was there. The curve of her breast.
His movements were slow, a careful exploration, giving her every opportunity to pull away. When she didn't, he covered her with his hand, his thumb brushing against the peak, a light, teasing touch. She made a sound, a choked little gasp that was half surprise, half pleasure, and her hips gave an involuntary twitch against his. Oh. Oh, no. That was... new.
Brynjolf rumbled against her skin, a satisfied hum that vibrated through her, and he did it again, this time with a little more pressure. Her head fell forward, her back arching into the touch, and for a moment, she considered just dying. She would be dead of embarrassment, and then she would not have to endure this.
"Good?" He asked, the word a puff of air against her skin.
She didn't trust her voice, so she just nodded, a short, jerky motion. "Good." He repeated, and then he began to move his other hand, the one that had been tangled in her hair, down her back, a slow path that made her shudder. It settled on her hip, his thumb stroking the curve of it, a silent, steady anchor.
Tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, his touch was a map he was committing to memory. His other hand continued its slow exploration of her breast, a lazy, leisurely torment that was starting to make her feel a little desperate. She wanted more. The thought was so sudden, so clear, that it almost made her flinch. She wanted his hands everywhere.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Brynjolf's other hand moved, sliding from her hip around to her stomach, and then upwards, mirroring the path of his other hand. He was taking his time, the bastard, the rough pad of his thumb brushing against her nipple again, and she bit back a whimper that did nothing but seemingly spur him on.
He shifted, just slightly, the movement pressing her more firmly against him, and she felt it then, the hard length of him through his trousers, a firm pressure against her thigh. Oh. He was affected, too. The thought was a small, stupid relief she didn't know she needed. The knowledge that she could do this to him, that she could make him want her like this, was a heady, powerful thing. It made her feel a little less like a fool.
Her hips moved, a slow, experimental rock against him, a question she didn't know how to ask. He answered with a groan, a low, guttural sound that she felt more than heard, and there was the distinct feeling that if his hands weren't occupied, they'd be pulling her closer.
"Vae..." He breathed, and then he was kissing her again, a messy, desperate kiss that was far less graceful than their previous ones. His hands were getting bolder, one kneading her breast, the other sliding down her stomach, a slow, deliberate path that made her muscles clench in anticipation.
She knew where this was going, and some foolish part of her thought, for a brief, ridiculous second, to stop him. As if he were not keen to her entire body. She knew her body; she knew her scars, and the way her weight settled, and the fact that she was built differently than most women, and he knew it too. The nonthinking, likely shellshocked part of her brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. The rest of her, however, was telling that part to shut up.
His fingers dipped lower, tracing the waistband of her smallclothes, and she let out a shaky breath, her hands clenching on his shoulders. Her entire body was a live wire, a bundle of nerves and want. She was so close to saying something, to demanding more, but the words were still trapped behind her teeth.
Brynjolf, of course, didn't need them. He knew her. He knew her better than anyone. So, when his fingers slid beneath the fabric, it was really just an inevitability, no matter how delightful it was. The feeling was electric, a jolt that shot straight through her, and she let out a choked gasp, her head falling forward to rest on his shoulder as she tried to process the sensation of his touch against her bare skin.
"Gods, Vae..." He groaned, his fingers so warm as they curled against her. "You're so... perfect."
A scoff died in her throat, replaced by a whimper as he began to move, his fingers exploring with a slow, deliberate curiosity that might make her consider violence, if it kept on; How was she to keep herself from making a sound? How could he expect that of her?
His thumb traced along her, a light, almost hesitant touch that made her hips buck yet again. There was no hiding that. There was no hiding any of it, especially not the way her body was responding, how hard she was, the way she was aching, and to press her face into his neck would be to deny herself the sight of him. She forced her head up, forcing her red eye to meet his, and the sight of him, all flushed and wanting, was almost too much to bear. His lips were parted, his breath coming in short, sharp pants, and there was a look on his face, a mix of awe and hunger that made her chest feel tight. This was a man transfixed.
"You're..." Vaera choked out, her hands tightening on his shoulders. The rest of the sentence was lost in a gasp as he increased the pressure, his thumb circling slowly.
"I'm what, Vae?" His other hand left her breast, moving to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, holding her in place, as if he was afraid she'd bolt. He was right to be. "Tell me."
She wanted to. She wanted to tell him everything, how good he was making her feel, how she'd been wanting this for ages, how she felt like she was going to shatter into a million pieces, but all that came out was a strangled moan. It was a humiliating, needy sound, and it made her face burn, but it also made something in Brynjolf's eyes darken, a shift from awe to pure, unadulterated desire. He liked it. The thought was almost mortifying.
"That's it, love." He murmured, stroking along her length with a newfound confidence, a slow, deliberate drag that made her toes curl. "Let me hear you."
He was doing it on purpose. That was verily the point, but still, how dare he? The smug bastard was enjoying every second of her undoing, and she was, to her own horror, letting him. Her hips began to move, a slow, desperate rock against his hand, chasing a friction she hadn't even realized she was craving. If he were any less preoccupied, maybe Brynjolf would have celebrated when her gaze left his, lashes fluttering. The first staring contest with her that he'd ever won... A ridiculous thing to be proud of, but the way her breathing hitched, the way her fingers tightened on his shoulders, the way her body was arching into him, it was a victory far sweeter than any heist.
His thumb circled her tip, smearing the wetness there, and she cried out, a sharp, broken sound that was definitely not a whimper. She was not whimpering. That would be undignified. He shifted, the movement pulling her closer, the hard line of his erection pressing more insistently against her thigh, a reminder of his own desire, and she wanted... Oh, gods, she wanted to touch him.
Her hands, which had been gripping his shoulders for dear life, began to move, sliding down his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the constellation of freckles she'd always found so fascinating. She could feel the way he tensed under her touch, the way his breath hitched. He was not unaffected, and she was not a statue. Her exploration was clumsy, unsure, but it was earnest, a silent communication of a want she couldn't yet articulate.
Her fingers brushed against the waistband of his trousers, and he let out a sound that wasn't quite anything but pure encouragement, or maybe a dare? She took the bait, her fingers fumbling with the laces, her hands shaking with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Brynjolf helped her, his own fingers joining hers, and together they managed to undo the knot, the fabric falling open.
Vaera hesitated, her breath caught in her throat, her gaze locked on the newly exposed skin. She'd seen him before, of course, in passing, but this was different. This was deliberate. This was for her. And the sight of him, hard and wanting, was enough to make her own ache throb in response.
She reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his length, and he was hot and heavy in her hand, a solid, reassuring weight that made her feel a little more grounded, a little less like she was going to fly apart at the seams. Oh. She thought, her mind going blessedly, beautifully blank. Oh. This was nice. This was something she could do. Something she could give him.
"Vaera..." She looked up at him, and the look on his face was almost her undoing, all ridiculously long lashes and parted lips, and she felt a surge of something that was almost pride, but not quite, a quiet, powerful thrill that she could do this to him. That she could make him look at her like that.
She began to move, her hand stroking him, a slow, tentative rhythm that he quickly matched, his hips rocking into her touch. For a moment, it was a clumsy, fumbling thing, a tangle of limbs and uncertain movements. But then they found a rhythm, a give and take that was as natural as breathing; Brynjolf pulled their hips flush, to take the both of them in one of his hands, like he simply had to reprieve her of the full weight of the duty.
It was a tangled mess of touch and sound and feeling. The rough slide of his palm against her, the smooth glide of her against him, the ragged sound of their breathing, the low groans he let out that vibrated through her chest, the little whimpers she couldn't quite swallow. It was overwhelming, a sensory overload that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
She was close. She could feel it, a tightening in her stomach, a coiling in her gut that promised a release she was desperate for. Her strokes on him became faster, more erratic, her own hips rocking more insistently against his hand, and suddenly his name became her whole world.
"Bryn... Bryn, I..." She gasped, her head falling back, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she arched into him. The sight of her, all undone and desperate, was a punch to the gut. It was also gorgeous. She was gorgeous. He'd always known it, but seeing her like this... it was a different kind of knowing.
"I know, love." He murmured, against her lips, "I've got you..." His grip on them both tightened, a firm, possessive hold that was all she needed to let go.
The world splintered. It wasn't a gentle wave, but a violent, shattering thing that ripped through her, leaving her breathless and boneless. She cried out, a broken, ragged sound that was half his name, half a sob, and her body went taut, a bowstring pulled to its breaking point before it snapped. He held her through it, his other arm wrapping around her waist, holding her close as she trembled, the aftershocks rippling through her.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were their ragged breaths, the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Vaera felt... floaty. Disconnected. The anxiety that had been her constant companion for weeks was gone, replaced by a blissful, bone-deep exhaustion. She slumped against him, her forehead resting on his shoulder, her body limp and pliant, and the only thought she could muster up was to press her lips against the skin of his shoulder, the crook of his neck, any patch of him that was close enough to kiss, as her hand worked him.
Brynjolf grunted, and she felt him tense, and then he was spilling over her hand, a hot, wet rush that made her stomach clench with a strange, primal satisfaction. She kept stroking him, a little slower now, as he rode out his own release, and when he was done, she let her hand fall away, her fingers sticky with evidence of what they'd just done.
He was still holding her, his arms wrapped around her, his chin resting on the top of her head. He was warm and solid and real, and for the first time all night, she didn't feel the urge to run. She just felt... tired. And content. Which was, perhaps, even more terrifying.
"Bryn..." She started, but her voice was a wreck, a hoarse, breathy thing.
"Mm?"
"I really like being in love with you..." She said, the words a quiet, muffled confession against his skin. There was a beat of silence, a tense, drawn-out moment where she was convinced she'd ruined it, broken the fragile spell they'd woven. But then he chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated through his chest.
"The feeling's mutual, Vae..." He replied, and the easy acceptance of it, the simple, unwavering certainty in his tone, made her chest ache.