WARNING: ADULT CONTENT

This is a cheeky homage to The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Do not read if you are easily offended by erotica, witty banter, a Dunmer spellsword with nimble fingers, or an Imperial Dragonborn who kisses orcs — just not on the mouth.

Sequel to my previous Skyrim smut, “I need another stamina potion.”

3,000 words. Download as a pdf here.

- J.L. Hilton

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TICKLING THE ANGRY TROLL

From the floor of the wagon, I watched the skies and the golden-green aspen branches passing overhead. A sentinel Teldryn Sero perched on the bench to my left. His back to the driver, he scanned the road behind us as we rolled toward Windhelm.

“I might regret asking this, but have you ever been with an elf?”

We discussed several subjects during our travels, but I suspected his latest question had something in particular to do with my attempt to bed him a few months earlier. He’d spurned my advances and I hadn’t offered again.

Though he couldn’t see the smile behind my Nightingale mask, he would hear it in my voice.

“’Been with an elf?’ Whatever do you mean? I’m with one right now.”

His own face hidden behind a red scarf and goggles, he made a little noise that would have gone well with a grimace.

“Do you enjoy making this conversation more difficult for me?”

Normally, he would have appreciated my dry humor.

“No, Teldryn, I’m sorry. Why do you ask?”

“Morbid curiosity. And a desire to fill the silence before you start singing about yourself, again.”

There it was, the flippant bastard’s levity. Reclining on a pile of large sacks, I laced my fingers behind my head and hummed The Dragonborn Comes until he playfully kicked me.

“Alright, well, there’s the Bosmer you met in Riverwood.”

“Faendal?” The name rolled off of his tongue with a tone of mockery.

“He’s a good friend, one of the first I made in Skyrim. We traveled together awhile. But he’s not a hireling, and eventually he wanted to go home.”

“I don’t blame him. If I had to settle in Skyrim, Riverwood might be the place I’d choose.”

“That, and he’s got a horker tusk for Lucan’s sister, Camilla.”

“The woman in the trader’s shop? The one who kept saying—” Teldryn mimicked her voice. “‘It’s a fine day with you around.’”

“Yes, that one.”

“Not exactly the sharpest weapon in the armory, is she?”

“I don’t know what he sees in her, but I’ve given up trying to understand the love lives of elves.” Let him take that as he would. “He taught me a lot about archery. I taught him how to hit my target. He was sweet, but…”

I tried to think of a diplomatic way to say he lacked imagination and depravity.

“Not satisfying?” Teldryn suggested.

“I prefer Nords for their size, strength and stamina.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Teldryn met my husband, Stenvar, in Solitude, and he knew I’d engaged my housecarl, Argis, to relieve my tensions in Markarth. I refrained from telling him about my previous companions, Vorstag and Thonnir, and the many nights the three of us spent together, or the means by which I’d thanked Ralof for helping me escape Helgen. Teldryn had asked about Mer, not Men.

“There was an orc in Cidhna Mine.”

“An Orsimer?” He made a noise of disgust. “I imagine your relationship with him was only prudent so long as you were imprisoned.”

“He didn’t coerce me, if that’s what you mean. I seduced him. They called him Borkul the Beast and he lived up to his name.”

He repeated my words back at me. “Size, strength and stamina.”

The wagon hit a bump in the road with a loud jolt. I braced myself until we got past the rough patch, then continued the conversation.

“He was a lovely shade of green, too, like the stem of a lavender plant.”

“And what did the orc say when you told him that bit of poetry?”

“I never did. He wasn’t much of a romantic.”

“I’m shocked.” No he wasn’t. “And how did you kiss an Orsimer with those teeth sticking out of his face?”

“I don’t remember kissing him much. On the mouth.”

He sneered. “Delightful.”

“Borkul belonged to Madanach, the king in rags. The Forsworn were decent to me. I helped them escape of my own free will, though I’d been sent to kill them.”

“I’ve never heard the terms ‘Forsworn’ and ‘decent’ in the same sentence before.”

“They only want the same thing the Nords want. Control of their own lands and destinies, and the right to worship as they please. I despise what that hypocrite Ulfric Stormcloak did in Markarth.”

“You would rather the Reachmen rip Markarth from the loving embrace of the Empire?”

I found an apple in one of the sacks and removed my mask to eat. “Better that than see the place crawling with Thalmor.”

“Now you sound like a Stormcloak.”

“I haven’t taken sides in the civil war.”

“They won’t wait forever. You’re an ally every faction desires—Stormcloak, Empire, even the Aldmeri Dominion.”

“To Oblivion with the Aldmeri Dominion.”

Day began to wane and a cool breeze stirred the trees. The weather would turn to snow when we reached Eastmarch. Teldryn tucked the edge of his red scarf under his chin and put a leaf of frost mirriam in his mouth, a mild measure of cold resistance.

“I take it, then, that you haven’t bedded an Altmer?” he asked.

“Ha. I never would, assuming one of them would want to tarnish his golden staff with an Imperial.”

“An Imperial Dragonborn. Someday, you may be worshiped as the next Talos.”

“Well, I wouldn’t let one of them profane my pink temple, how about that?”

“Fair enough.” Teldryn touched his thumb to the tip of each finger, counting off. “Bosmer, Orsimer, Altmer. The Dwemer are gone, and I assume the Falmer are out of the question.”

“Of course.”

“That only leaves Dunmer.”

“Not for lack of trying,” I reminded him.

“If you wanted to add one to your collection, there’s always Captain Veleth.”

I snorted dismissively. “He’s in love with Dreyla Alor.”

“Get him alone in the Bulwark, late one night, then tell me I’m wrong.”

“I don’t think I’m attractive to dark elves.” Or, one particular dark elf, at least. Or so I thought, though his goggles seemed to be taking in quite a bit of me at the moment, from the tips of my boots to the dark hood over my head.

On the road we both wore our masks. Mine was part of the traditional Nightingale garb, but I had no idea why he wore his. I’d only seen him without his chitin helmet in Markarth, when I’d had a glimpse of him bathing. Since then, he’d taken care to remain out of my sight. Which took some doing, because the fastidious elf loved to be clean. The Falmer would never smell his approach.

“You’ve tamed dragons, destroyed Miraak and traveled to Apocrypha without going mad,” he said. “Such a woman would capture the interest of any Dunmer. Even the Telvanni wizard.”

I grabbed another apple.

“Neloth? He’s what? Two hundred years old?”

“Over four or five hundred, at least. Which means he’s well-versed in the fornication school of magic.”

I’d just taken a big bite and almost choked on it, laughing. “Is that like alteration, but you make your cock invisible? Or like conjuration? Can you summon a tit atronach?”

He didn’t laugh with me, but went back to watching the forest and chewing his frost mirriam. He grumbled. “Don’t underestimate the imagination and ability of a Dunmer mage.”

“You’re a Dunmer mage.”

“I am.”

I wondered how many fornication spells he knew.

I tossed my apple core over the side of the cart. “So, Neloth or Veleth? I don’t know, hard to decide. They both have those sharp Dunmer features. High cheekbones, stern grimaces, arched eyebrows, deep haggard lines, scathing red eyes.”

“It is our ill-favored fate to look the way we do,” he said bitterly.

“No, no, don’t take that the wrong way. After spending some time on Solstheim, I’ve begun to appreciate the grim glamor of your people. They’re strange, but alluring. Character is so much more attractive than mere beauty.”

“I agree.”

We traveled in silence for several more bumps in the road. I studied him, outlined against the purple and orange of sunset, until the first stars appeared and Bjorlam, our carriage driver, lit his lanterns.

“I’ve answered your questions, now answer mine.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Does all of that dour cynicism melt away in the darkness? When everything else is gray, too, do Dunmer burn as hot as the molten lava of Red Mountain, or are they as cold as the unmelting snow on the Throat of the World? Does living so long make them disdain love, or feel it more deeply than they would ever admit to anyone, even themselves?”

He sighed, slouching into a posture that seemed almost despondent. “Anything else?”

“Does your skin taste like ash?”

Removing his chitin helmet, he knelt on the floor of the wagon beside me. When he pulled the goggles over his head, I looked into his scarlet eyes for the first time.

“I am yours to taste, if you will still have me.”

“You don’t have to sound so depressed about it, like you’re only taking one for the regiment.”

He ignored my joke. To hear sincerity rather than sarcasm in his reply, surprised me. “I’d only hoped to wait until the day you loved me in return. But I can’t stand the thought of you satisfying your curiosity with another Dunmer.”

Loved me in return… His words filled my mind like the chanting of a dragon wall. I possessed the star of Azura and Meridia’s blessed sword Dawnbreaker. I’d reconstructed the Crown of Berenziah and recovered the shards of Ysgramor’s ancient axe Wuuthrad. I’d taken the very souls from dragons. Yet, when I lifted my fingers to his mouth and the purple lines tattooed on his chin, I trembled to touch such a treasure.

As if he’d picked my master lock, my heart opened wide and revealed a truth that had been waiting there for some time. I told him, “I do love you, Teldryn Sero,” and felt the warmth of his exhale.

He grasped my hand and kissed my fingertips still sticky with apple juice, then put his lips around the tip of my first finger. I felt his teeth and his hot, wet tongue, and watched, paralyzed as if he’d cast a spell on me, while he moved to the next fingertip, and the next, until he’d tasted them all. He covered my palm with light kisses and I could hardly feel his touch through the black leather of my fingerless gloves, but it didn’t matter. I could see the adoration in his eyes.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath, until I grew dizzy and had to inhale.

“You’ve made me forget to breathe.”

He gave me a wry smile. “My apologies, Serjo Dovah.” Dragon Queen. A clever mixture of Dunmer and Dragon language. “Should I stop?”

“No, don’t stop.”

He continued kissing my shield hand, my wrist, then the inside of my arm. I dragged the fingers of my sword hand through the strip of black hair down the center of his head, traced the feathery tattoos over his cheekbones, and explored the long tip of his pointed ear, before he’d made a path to my shoulder.

I tried to memorize every line, scar and tattoo of a face enigmatic as an Elder Scroll and shivered as if someone had cast a fear spell upon me.

“Cold?” He lay alongside me and raised a hand over my chest. A ball of flame crackled to life.

I invoked a healing spell and grasped his burning hand, lacing my fingers with his. I felt heat, but no pain. The intermingling of the two spells gave me a faint prickling sensation. When his flames disappeared, I ended the healing spell and he kissed my sword hand as he’d done the other. Moving up my arm, he didn’t stop at my shoulder but sought my neck, his nimble mouth doing more with a few inches of bare skin than most men could do with my entire body.

I arched my back and moaned, writhing against the tension that spread through me. I didn’t care if the carriage driver overheard. I could feel hard muscle beneath the netch leather covering Teldryn’s right shoulder, but most of his armor consisted of chitin plates that prevented my exploration.

Panting in short breaths, aching to be filled, I had no idea if he could fill me. I didn’t care. I wanted him, any part of him, inside me. I didn’t care which part or where. I searched to untie the knot of his trousers.

He shifted his weight, pinning my shield arm while limiting my access to his personal treasury.

“Patience, Serjo Dovah. I said I’m yours, but I didn’t mean right here and now. I won’t be half dressed when we’re attacked by bandits.”

“Just summon an atronach while I fill the bastards with arrows. We’ll be fine.”

My sword hand went for his trousers again and he caught my wrist.

“And what if there’s a dragon?”

I tested the strength of his grip. Strong as ebony. Much more powerful than he looked, the slender Dunmer, which aroused me more.

He watched the rise and fall of my chest, the way I licked my lips, and he laughed at me. “I’ve yet to taste your mouth, and you’re already on the verge of eruption. Do you need my blade in your sheath?”

“Yes.” I pressed against him. “Yes.” My insistence didn’t move him. “If you want me to beg, then… yes, please.”

“Yes, please, whom?”

“Yes, please, Teldryn.”

“Try again.”

“Please, you maddeningly miserable mammoth’s backside!” I tried — not very hard — to throw him off. He wrapped one leg around me and held me tighter.

“Not the endearment I’m looking for.”

“Yes, please, my love.”

“That will do, for now.”

Smiling, he placed my hand around his neck. I left it there without complaint, there being precious little skin elsewhere for me to touch. Meanwhile, he traced a finger over my cheek, my jawline, the round curve of my ear, then down my forehead to the tip of my nose, where he said, “No.”

“What?”

“No, I won’t let you have my elven blade. Not yet.”

“You bastard. At least let me taste you. You won’t have to undress. Much.”

“No.”

“Damn you, dark elf, why not?”

“It won’t be enough to fulfill me, Zephyr Silvertongue. Not after all of these months of watching you. Wanting you. Waiting for you.”

With each word, I could smell the peppery hint of frost mirriam on his breath. My hand clutched his neck and pulled him to me, his burning mouth igniting my passion like a fireball. He wielded his tongue with the deftness of an assassin’s blade. I marveled at his skill, dying for him to end me.

“Don’t torture me,” I whispered against his lips.

“I will.” He caressed the curve of my breast, my hip and then between my legs, with just enough pressure that I could feel him but not enough to satisfy me. “I will torture you until you pay for every moment you spent fucking your housecarl.”

“I could have fucked you. I offered you the chance.”

He massaged me through the black leather and I thrust against his hand, seeking relief.

“I don’t want to fuck you.” He kissed my ear. “I want to explore you.” My closed eyes. “Love you.” My mouth. “Possess you.”

Unbuckling the armor around my hips, he worked his hand into my pants.

“And I want you to want the same, of me.”

I gasped. “I do.”

“You’re a bad liar when you’re wet.”

He found the hidden jewel in my treasure chest, and any protest I might have made about my honesty came out a senseless cry. He covered my mouth with his free hand. No, his skin didn’t taste like ash, he tasted like salt and leather.

“You’ll attract every sabre cat, bear and troll for miles,” he chastised me, but didn’t relent the skillful manipulation that drove me to continue my stifled moaning.

I recognized the tingling of a low-level lightning spell humming, uncast, from the hand between my thighs. Against my most sensitive skin, the vibration felt like nothing I’d never experienced before. I convulsed, clutching him, groaning and biting his palm. I did not merely peak but exploded, again and again, Dibella’s gift shattering me into a thousand sparks, like the stars overhead.

I felt lost for ages before I returned to the rustling leaves, the jostling wagon and Teldryn’s hands still on me. I tasted blood and realized how hard I’d bitten him, immediately casting a healing spell that swirled around him like a cloud of torchbugs. He removed his hand from my mouth and examined the vanishing wound.

“I’m glad I didn’t let you near my cock.”

He grasped my backside, pulling me close, kissing me again. I entwined my legs with his and my arms around his neck.

“How do I get you naked and inside me?” I whispered. “Tell me.”

“You still want me? I thought you’d lose interest, soon as I tickled your angry troll.”

I considered the gray skin under his chitin armor that I had yet to taste. The shape of the cock I had yet to know. The countless applications of sexual magic I’d never imagined.

I considered the mind, body, heart and soul of Teldryn Sero.

“I want you more than anything or anyone in Tamriel,” I answered.

“Then give me a fortnight. Neloth’s briar heart can wait.”

“Where can we…” I gasped as he nibbled my neck and massaged my backside. Scarcely able to form the word, I whispered, “Ivarstead?”

“Not enough privacy. The Retching Netch.”

“Too far away. Riften.”

“Your housecarl will tell your husband.”

“She won’t if I send her away. Delphine is recruiting Blades. It will be a great honor for Iona.”

“I’d love to read that missive. ‘Dear Delphine, tenacious survivor of the Aldmeri Dominion’s massacre of your brethren in arms: Here’s a dragon hunter to rebuild the ranks of your ancient and illustrious band of lofty do-gooders. Her qualifications are listed thusly: She is my sword and my shield, and I need to debauch a dark elf. Sincerely, the Dragonborn.’”

“I think I’m the one who’s going to be debauched.”

He chuckled wickedly. “You can’t even begin to imagine.”

* * *

Read more Skyrim…

Skyrim smut, part 1: “Come with me to Sovngarde”

Skyrim smut, part 2: “I need another stamina potion”

How I left my husband for a man with pointy ears