Tuesday, December 22, 2015

A Miraak Lemon -- Vortex

Character: Miraak

Fandom: Elder Scrolls: Skyrim

OC: Cylfina, Wood elf, long auburn hair, passionate

Inspiration: Due to an issue about DA copyright, even though everyone plages off of DA (and my blog too, by the way, to a point where I myself have reached a very comfortable point of not giving a fuck),  I have changed the picture to a cozy image of Miraak in your local pub.  Enjoy.  

Wind rustles through the dark tunnels, fluttering the pages of century old tomes and lifting dust from untouched tiled floors.  The realm is silent as always, as if it stretches into an infinity born of windswept curiosities pulled beneath carpets of tepid timeless reveries.  There is no time here.  There is nothing but knowledge…and him.
At first, she had been subtly surprised to see him watching her from the shadows.  High with adrenaline, she had waited to see if he was friend or foe, keeping a wary watch out of the corner of her eye.  But he had merely observed her, neither coming nor leaving, as if she was the first thing of interest to him in many long years.  She’d left with the strange desire to return, but not for the knowledge hidden away in this mountain of books.
So she had, and learned that his name was Miraak, and that he had been a phantom in these halls for many centuries long passed into myth and ruin.  Most shocking of all, that he was like her.  Dragonborn.  She kept coming, and each time she did her reasons for it became tempered with something far greater than the mere desire to discover.
“You are staring again,” she quietly says, but it is loud enough in this massive room that her voice carries far away to the rafters and elsewhere.  She does not fear being discovered.  Hermaeus Mora always knows when she enters his domain, and though he has sent demons after her, they are easy to slay.  She is used to larger beasts.
A soft chuckle, and a gilded golden boot steps from the edges of the room and into the bright, pure light shining down from the glass ceilings above.  “I was unaware that you could so easily detect my presence,” comes his voice, low and hoarse from years spent not speaking at all.  He crosses the library, drifts around piles of discarded books, until he reaches her figure.  She is sitting on the floor, leaning against one of those enormous shelves as if she has not a care in the world.  She’s practically splayed there, legs strewn out and arms crossed, a book propped in one hand as she lifts it to her face.  But her eyes have long left the words, instead traveling to watch her graceful companion all but float over the floor.
“It is instinct.  Surely you understand,” she raises an eyebrow and Miraak gives that tiny smile – the one that says he’s forgot again, that she is like him.  His mask is hanging from his fingers and he doesn’t look inclined to put it back on, which is good.  She is very much content with seeing his face, the strength of his features, the curve of his jaw, the powerful gleam in his eyes as he stares down at her.  It is almost as if she’s looking into a mirror of her own energy and seeing it reflected back at her.  She has never been on equal footing with another before.  Someone who truly understands what it is like to be born of a dragon’s soul.
As he sits down beside her, he sighs, “Forgive me, Lady Dragonborn.  It has slipped my mind once again.  I still cannot quite believe it.”  Cylfina smirks as she eyes him. 
There is another of his strange customs.  He has taken to calling her Lady Dragonborn, as if to remind himself that he is no longer the only one.  She doesn’t mind, only she thinks she’d rather like the sound of her own name tempered with the growling vortex of his voice.  So she raises an eyebrow and says, “You know, Miraak…sometimes I wonder if you even know my actual name or merely use that title as an excuse to forget it.”
He immediately recoils, thrown back into manners long dead as he scrambles to say, “Nay, Lady – “ a laugh, then a cough, “I mean…Cylfina.”  He stares at her as if he can feel her reaction crinkling the space between them – the shivers that coil through her, the fierce pleasure of hearing her name spoken with such perceived intimacy.  She pauses at the thought, wondering at the connection they share, the electricity that two twin souls feel.  And suddenly she thinks that perhaps he has felt it, as a physical force, and feels herself blush just a little bit because his eyes are strangely knowing.
“You enjoy the sound of it, I see,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to catch a stray lock of her hair, a tendril that has curled away from her face.  She holds herself very still as he presses it behind her ear, this time trying harder to reign in the mixed emotions that pass through her at his touch.  Denial, desire.  Such strong desire that it rips apart any and every other emotion that tries to hold herself to her long held beliefs.  But what good are beliefs when this man has already torn them all asunder?  Made her see that her world is not so very small after all?
She has never shied away from her emotions.  And so before Miraak can retreat, she reaches forward to grasp onto his hand.  Calloused fingers curl around her in surprise, jolting from the skin to skin contact – and it’s as if the distances between them have been suddenly shucked away like so many rolling clouds succored into a blue sky.  She can feel him.  The beat of his heart, the depth of his feelings – and, most shocking of all, a shared desire that encompasses his entire being.  He stares at her as if in challenge, as if he says ‘I dare you to touch me further, to make a permanent bridge between us’.
“I…” she trails off, unused to this odd…thing that they share, whatever it is.  “I do not understand this.”  Honesty, as clear as day, rattles through their connection and sets his heart afire.  If he is being truthful, he doesn’t understand it either, but they are in a realm that is meant for unraveling mysteries and here is one that utterly enchants him.
He drags her hand to him, eyes locked with hers, and experimentally lifts her fingers to his mouth.  Fire.  Those fingers shudder against him and he murmurs, “…Our souls scream for each other.  We are ideal mates.  Dragons without wings…”  He watches her devour the words with slow, shaky acceptance.  She knows he is right.  Another instinct, as it were.
“But this connection…I have never felt the like,” she tells him with an almost shy cast of her eyes to the floor.  Her curiosity was what drew him to her – but the emotions brewing beneath it is what had him coming back.  And it is what makes him chuckle and drag his nose over her skin, lips shifting to kiss the crease of her wrist.  Another shudder, and suddenly he would like nothing more than to feel the entirety of her shivering beneath him, her soul brimming into his…  She bites her lip as if she can feel what he feels, as if she accepts it, yearns for it too.
“Neither have I,” he murmurs, then asked, “Does it bother you?”  He doesn’t think it does, doesn’t feel any shard of hesitance gracing the barriers still between them, but the mind works differently than the heart.  He waits.
Cylfina laughs breathlessly, spreading her fingers out over his cheek.  They brush against the stubble of his jaw, and when she looks at him Miraak sees wide open skies in the edges of her gaze.  “The only thing that bothers me is that you haven’t kissed me yet, Miraak,” she says boldly, her spirit returning to its full ferocity and shedding the shy hesitance it had momentarily worn.
Miraak chuckles and releases her hand, shifting closer.  Every inch that disappears between them is swallowed up with a heat that he cannot name, only sink into and gravitate towards like a hopeless sailor of a starless night.  Except there is hope here, and it comes in the form of her – the one star that had suddenly blazed through his sky after so many years of bleak and lonely hell.
“As you wish,” he murmurs, and his lips converge on hers, roughly scraping against her as if he has waited for this moment when he can shed himself and begin anew.  She moans immediately, because the kiss seems to break apart the last of the barriers – and suddenly he really is a sky, and she is flying into it like she has the wings that her soul craves for. 
She grasps at his robes and tugs him against her body, winding one lean leg around his waist and propelling herself forward.  If he is surprised by her forthrightness, he doesn’t look it.  There is total understanding in his movements.  An understanding that makes them both quiver and shatter, rebuilding again in moments and breaking all over again.  And the bulwark of their passions come to a head, racing through their veins and turning them to molten fire that burns – so brightly! – and leaves them gasping and roiling with a desire like no other.
His hands scrunch into her tunic.  For once she is without armor, as if she has grown bored of the lack of challenge in these wide open halls.  He is glad of it now, glad that they are alone and that he can feel her body pushing against his.  His fingers dive beneath her shirt, pressing into her spine and mapping every contour of her back, passing over her shoulder blades and tugging at the binding of her breasts.  They are moving fast, like lightening, their every move a clap of thunder that accompanies it.  But it isn’t fast enough, and Miraak doesn’t hesitate as he heaves the shirt up and off and pulls the breast binding along with it.
She laughs in delight and desire and tilts her head back, pushing her bare breasts into his hands for him to mold.  And he does, cupping them and drifting his fingers over her bronzed skin, pulling at her nipples and rolling them into hard peaks that beg to be sucked at.  His lips dance along her neck, biting and sinking against her, tongue lapping, bruising, burning – and against her he growls, “I will devour you, dovahHi los dii nu.” [1]
The words tunnel through her, rumbling like passion along her skin.  His voice is powerful, more powerful than hers, and she can feel that power spark her like an electrical current rewiring her very makeup.  With a moan, she gasps, “Ruz genun zey, Miraak.” [2]  Show me show me show me.
He does.  With a dark chuckle, he’s got her splayed out on the tiled floor, lips devouring every inch of her flesh as she trembles beneath him.  He palms her breast, kissing down the valley between them, pauses to suckle at a nipple and roughly bites at the skin around it.  Red welts appear where his teeth make contact, but her soul sings with it.  She has been created for this, she thinks. 
Down her body he does, tongue drifting around her hipbone as he tugs her soft leather trousers away.  Then, against her smalls, through the fabric of them, he growls and nips and inhales the scent of her arousal, shifting it aside only when she is adequately begging.  His tongue laps at her, sinking into her folds, thrusting into her entrance – his fingers join in, tugging at her and spreading her for his rough meandering.  Never has someone been so rough but Talos she loves it.  He is rough because his soul demands it, and she doesn’t complain because it feels so damned natural, like she’s been waiting for this her entire life.
Her nails scrape at him, leaving welts of her own all over his shoulders and back.  She grasps his hair hard, heaving his against her with a demand that he is all too happy to satiate.  One finger rams inside her.  Two.  His pace is maddening, and the way his thumb rubs at her clit makes her keen and growl and curse.  She wraps both legs around his head and locks him in place, only for him to push her forcefully back down with a growled, “Stay there, volg gein.” [3]  But the order only makes her send him a growl of her own and scratch at him even more, even as he holds her thighs with bruising force against the ground.
She writhes beneath him, twisting, trying to remove herself from his hold.  Her blood boils with desire and the need to fight back, to enforce her own dominion as he is doing over her.  But Miraak’s hold his strong, and he meets her strength with even stronger force.  He laps at her and sucks and bites – and she moans and keeps cursing and keeps struggling, feeling herself shattering with every pass of his tongue.
But how he devours her.  He doesn’t stop even as he sees her orgasm trembling her body into the stone.  He doesn’t even after she has already shouted at him and left his back with a multitude of red scratches that he would wear with pride.  No, he keeps going, as if he cares only about the pleasure he is receiving from dominating her, from tasting her and watching her uncoil and recoil again.
He stops only when he has got Cylfina riled up again, burning with another hopeful orgasm that has her gasping and twisting once more on the floor.  And when she is seconds off from tumbling into it, Miraak pushing himself away with a dark, lethal smile and sinfully bruised lips, and wipes his mouth as if he’s just had the most delicious supper.
She glares at him.  She’s pounding, aching, yet the orgasm is already fading away and she cannot grasp at it because he’s still holding her thighs down.  But as she stares at him, she sees the weakness in his hold, and she leaps forward to take advantage of it.  He’s on the ground seconds later, shocked eyes staring her down as he watches her pull his robes forcefully away.  She’s wild, feral, the boundaries between human and dragon blurred into a perfected grayscale portrait.  It’s lovely, beautiful in fact, to watch her devour him with her eyes.  Draconian eyes, gleaming like gold hewn from the deepest part of the earth.
Her fingers rip through his robes without care, buttons tearing and rattling to the floor.  She tries to unlace his trousers but to her annoyance they’re proving to be difficult.  So she just snaps the laces, shattering them between hungry fingers with a show of force that’s got Miraak sinking into the stonework.  Talos save him, but he has chosen a ferocious mate.  His heart beats a heady beat as he watches her dive into his trousers and wrap around his cock, which is straining to feel her.  His trousers aren’t even off, still wrapped around his hips – but she is impatient, and he can’t really blame her.  Never has he felt such voracious hunger.
She doesn’t reach down to suck at him, doesn’t take her time.  It doesn’t matter.  He’s already so hard that he can feel the ache of his arousal thudding blindly through him.  She’s soaking wet and when she grinds her sex against his, he lets out a growled moan that’s tempered with a fire that breathes through him.  Up and down, her hips ride him into oblivion but it’s not enough – he has to be inside her or he’ll shatter.  But the moment he tries to reach for her, she clenches down on his wrists and slams them above his head with a deadly snarl.  She is in charge now, she seems to say, and he allows it because she absolutely takes his breath away.
“Stay down, volg gein,” she mutters with a smirk, turning his previous words around to bite him in the ass.  He growls just for the sake of it – he’s not really angry, but he is very very aroused.  So he obeys, for now, and nearly breaks when she slides roughly down onto his cock, starting off at a pace that ricochets through him and leaves his gasping.
There is no room for teasing caresses.  No room for loving sentiments.  There is only dominance, plain and simple, thundering through them.  His hips snap up, quick and powerful, but Cylfina doesn’t try to stop him.  She gives him a warning look but when he does it again, and again, she decides it feels too good to argue.  Together their hips break against each other, bruising with enthusiastic desire.  Every push hilts him fully within her, every outward slide has them both moaning and writhing and slamming back for more.  It is really more battle than lovemaking, yet somehow the two are one in the same.
“Use your Voice on me, dovah,” he orders, wrapping his hands around her fingers in a tight but almost caressing hold.  He doesn’t move to release her hold, just grasps her back and continues slamming his hips into hers from below.
Cylfina barks out a laugh that’s tempered with the dark passion alighting her now, and breathlessly wonders, “Mmm…shall I set you on fire…?”  It is a joke, but Miraak gives her a sneering smile and mutters, “You already have.  No – mate with me…mmm…as a dragon would mate with another of its kind…”  His voice is breathless too, but still somehow encased in that firm power.  It makes her tremble.
For a moment she is at a loss.  She has never thought about how dragons mate.  It is a rather strange thought, but now she wonders at it.  If they use their Voices to fight, to channel their anger and power and passion, then it would make sense that they would use them in this instance too.  She gives him a dark smile and inhales, pumping herself down on his hard shaft and circling her hips deliciously over his.  And then…
A Shout spills from her lips, pinning him beneath her with the sheer force of the word and the power behind it.  Miraak groans.  He closes his eyes for a moment and digs his fingers into her hands.  He feels the Shout rattle through him, shaking him into the stone and stranding him there for several seconds – seconds that she spends absorbing the energy that rises up within her, forcing her hips into his as she takes him deeper and faster.
He chuckles and mutters, “A good choice…volg gein.”  Then before she realizes it, he twists her over and throws her onto her back, his cock sliding out of her from the movement.  She tries to leap up but he covers her with his body, pinning her down with a smirk and nestling himself between her legs.  A slow grind of his hips makes her shudder as if she’s been sparked with electricity.
“Miraak – “
He cuts her off with a hard kiss that makes her moan.  His tongue drags over hers as his hips drag against her core, slowly entering her once again.  She arches up at the connection and tries to sidle down to take more of him, but Miraak forces her put, holding her fast against the floor.  He thrusts slower this time, circling around her every time he hilts himself inside.  Then out, slowly, too slowly – aggravatingly slowly – and drags his tip against the outside folds of her clit before pounding hard and fast back inside.  Again and again and it tortures her.
“Miraak!  I really will set you on fire!” she growls, trying to shake her hips around him to spur him on.  But he merely smirks and bites into her bottom lip, murmuring, “Try it, and you will taste a fire of my own.”  The warning is not misplaced, but she’s still damned tempted.
He’s picks up his pace despite wanting to continue this exquisite torture – because he doesn’t think he can hold off much longer.  His body is burning like he’s feverish, so hot that he feels like a furnace.  She’s not much better.  Her cheeks are ruddy with desire and her eyes look like they’re made from melted gold.  They already are on fire, he realizes with a hard thrust.  They might as well tumble into the bowels of the heat.
“Oh fuck!  Talos – “ she arches, his pace returning to the relentless hammering force of before.  Every hilting thrust makes her vision combusting with stars.  She’s melting, sinking, flying all at once – and then she screams and digs her nails into his skin and comes with such an explosion that she really does think that she’s on fire – but no, it’s only him, only the way he tumbles right after her like he’s been waiting, waiting, waiting.  And the fire he sets in her heart and the way he fills her up makes her laugh aloud with a crazy sort of joy that she’s never felt before.  Because she’s never felt like this, like she’s actually capable of shedding her human skin and being the creature she sometimes (often) longs to be.
He laughs too, a softer chuckle, and hovers over her with all the reluctance of a man who wishes he could start at the beginning again.  Cylfina heaves against the floor and opens her arms to him, and Miraak pauses only a moment before nestling himself down against her.  Sharing fire, breath, maybe even life.
She has never felt like she could fly before, but suddenly the possibilities are as endless as he is, shuddering over the winds of time and making creases against forever.


[1] Hi los dii nu … You are mine now
[2] Ruz genum zey, Miraak … Then show me, Miraak
[3] Volg gein … wild one


  1. Dang that was awesome. Your writing is just so great I can't even think of a good enough word to compliment it.

    1. Trust me, that's a compliment in and of itself. Thank you! :)

  2. I just realized that this was 2 years ago.... WELP WHO CARES?! I love this fanfic and encourage you to do more!

  3. Hawt Damn. I stumbled across this somehow while looking up random Skyrim stuff but boi I am more than glad I did.

  4. I don’t care that this was done three years ago I love it please make more!