Skyrim smut, part 3: “Tickling the angry troll”

* * WARNING: ADULT CONTENT * *

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Tamriel and its inhabitants belong to Bethesda. Zephyr Silvertongue is an original character.

Do not read if you are easily offended by fanfiction, 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.

– J.L. Hilton

* * *

TICKLING THE ANGRY TROLL

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

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

He discussed many subjects during our travels, but I suspected this question had something to do with my attempt to bed him in Markarth. He’d spurned my advances and I hadn’t tried again, in all the months we’d traveled together.

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 sighed in frustration. “Do you enjoy making this conversation more difficult for me?”

Normally, he would have appreciated my humor. I changed my tone. “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 sharp tongue. He couldn’t keep it sheathed for long.

Reclining on a stack of burlap sacks, I laced my fingers behind my head and hummed The Dragonborn Comes until he kicked me.

“Alright! Well… there’s the Bosmer you met in Riverwood.”

“Faendal?” The name dripped from his lips with bitter mockery.

“He’s a good friend, one of the first I made in Skyrim. We traveled together awhile, but he’s not a mercenary and eventually 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. Couldn’t leave her alone with Sven for too long.”

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

“The very one.”

“Not 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.” Whether they are Bosmer or Dunmer, I added to myself. “He taught me how to use a bow. 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 Vlindrel Hall. I refrained from telling him about my previous companions, Vorstag and Thonnir, and the many nights the three of us spent together consoling Thonnir after the loss of his wife to vampires. Nor did I relate 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 a relationship with him was prudent so long as you were imprisoned.”

The wagon hit a bump in the road. I waited until we got past the rough patch, then continued the conversation.

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

Teldryn repeated my words. “Size, strength and stamina.”

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

“And what did he say when you gave him that bit of poetry?”

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

“I’m shocked.” No he wasn’t. “How does one kiss an Orsimer through those sharp, pointy teeth?”

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

“Delightful,” he sneered.

“Borkul belonged to Madanach, the king in rags. He and the Forsworn were decent to me.”

“I’ve never heard the terms ‘Forsworn’ and ‘decent’ used together.”

“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’d been sent to kill them, but after I heard their stories, I helped them escape, instead. I despise what that hypocrite Ulfric Stormcloak did in Markarth.”

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

“Better that than see the place crawling with Thalmor. No one is free in the Aldmeri Dominion.”

“Now you sound like a Stormcloak.”

“I haven’t taken sides in the war.”

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

“To Oblivion with the Thalmor.”

Day began to wane and a cold wind stirred the trees. The weather would turn to snow by the time we reached Eastmarch. Teldryn slipped a sprig of frost mirriam under his red scarf and into his mouth, a mild measure of cold resistance. I made a mental note to brew some potions of frost resistance at the White Phial.

“So, I should assume you haven’t bedded an Altmer?”

“And I never will, even if one of them would want to tarnish his golden staff with an Imperial.”

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

“And they’d probably hunt down my worshipers, too.”

“No private flute lessons from Viarmo, then?” Teldryn referred to the head of the bard’s college in Solitude, and my reason for entering Skyrim in the first place. So long ago. So much had changed.

“No.” I took an apple from one of the sacks and removed my mask to eat.

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

“Of course.”

“Which leaves us with …” He flourished his hand in the air, as if introducing himself at a Bardic recital. “The Dunmer.”

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

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

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

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

“Dunmer don’t find me attractive.” Or, rather, one Dunmer in particular. Or so I’d thought. Teldryn’s lenses pointed at me with an unwavering gaze, reflecting the orange glow of sunset.

On the road, we both wore our masks. Traditional Nightingale garb dictated mine, and his bore more than a resemblance to the Morag Tong, the mysterious Morrowind assassins guild. I’d only seen him without his chitin helmet in Markarth, when I’d caught a glimpse of him in the bath. Since then, he’d taken care to remain unseen. Which took some doing, because the fastidious elf loved to be clean. The blind 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, perhaps, a Telvanni wizard?”

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

“Five hundred, at least. He’d be well-versed in the fornication school of magic.”

I almost choked with laughter and a mouthful of apple. When I recovered, I asked, “Is that similar to illusion or conjuration? Can you make your cock invisible? Or summon a tit atronach?”

He didn’t laugh with me, but grumbled, “Don’t underestimate the imagination and ability of a Dunmer mage.”

“You’re a Dunmer mage.”

“Exactly.”

I wondered how many fornication spells he knew.

The first stars appeared and Bjorlam, our carriage driver, lit his lanterns. I finished the apple and tossed the core over the side of the cart.

“So, Neloth or Veleth? Hmm… I don’t know. They both have those angular Dunmer features. High cheekbones, stern grimaces, arched eyebrows, deep haggard lines, scathing eyes.”

“It is our ill-favored fate to look the way we do,” he snapped, with an edge like Mehrunes Razor.

“Don’t mistake me, Teldryn. After spending some time on Solstheim, I appreciate the grim glamor of your people. They’re strange, but alluring. Character is so much more attractive than mere beauty.”

“I agree.”

His lenses turned away from me and back to watching the road. He’d lunged, I’d parried, he’d retreated. My turn to advance.

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

He replied in a voice so low I almost couldn’t hear him over the creaking of the wagon wheels. “What do you want to know?”

“Does your dour cynicism melt away in the darkness? When everything is gray, do Dunmer burn as hot as the molten lava of Red Mountain? Or are they as cold as the unmelting snow at the Throat of the World? Does living so long make a Mer disdain love, or feel it more deeply than you would ever admit to anyone, even yourself?”

“Anything else?” A bit of levity returned to his voice.

“Yes. Does your skin taste like ash?”

He left his seat and knelt on the floor of the wagon beside me. Removing his chitin helmet, he revealed long, pointed ears, scarred gray skin, a black goatee, and a thick strip of hair down the middle of his head. When he took off the goggles, I saw his scarlet eyes for the first time.

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

To hear sincerity rather than sarcasm in his voice surprised me. I’d seen the red eyes of other Dunmer, glinting with an inner glow like rubies in firelight. But his eyes unnerved me. Me, the Dovahkiin, who’d stared into the eyes of dragons and consumed their souls.

I tried to lighten the mood. “You don’t have to sound so depressed, like you’re taking one for the regiment.”

He abandoned all humor. “I’d hoped to wait until the day you loved me in return.” He paused, searching for words, as if there were any more words worth saying after admitting he loved me, but he found them. “I could not let you satisfy your curiosity with another Dunmer.”

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. Yet, when I lifted my fingers to Teldryn’s mouth and the purple lines tattooed on his chin, I trembled to touch such a treasure.

His voice echoed in my mind like the chanting song of a dragon wall... the day you loved me in return …

As if he’d picked my master lock, my heart opened wide and revealed a truth that had been hidden 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 sweet with apple juice. Wrapping his lips around the tip of my first finger, I felt his teeth and his hot, wet tongue while he moved to the next fingertip, and the next, until he’d tasted them all. He covered my palm with light kisses I could hardly feel through the black leather of my fingerless gloves, but it didn’t matter. I could feel the adoration.

Teldryn made his way to my wrist and up the inside of my arm. I dragged the fingers of my sword hand through his hair, traced the feathery tattoos over his cheekbones and the tip of his pointed ear, while he kissed a path to my shoulder. I tried to memorize every line of a face enigmatic as an Elder Scroll. I shuddered.

“Cold?” He held his hand above my chest and a flames crackled over his fingers.

“It’s not the air that makes me shiver.”

His lips pressed together in a wry smile. “My apologies, Serjo Dovah.” Dragon Queen. A clever mixture of Dunmer and Dragon language. “Should I stop?”

“Of course not.”

I invoked a healing spell and grasped his burning hand, lacing my glowing fingers with his. I felt the heat, but no pain. The intermingling of the two spells gave me a faint prickling sensation. When the magic faded, he kissed my sword hand as he’d kissed the other. Moving along my arm to my neck, his nimble mouth did more with a few inches of bare skin than most men could do with my entire body.

I moaned, squirming against the tension that spread through me, and didn’t care if the carriage driver listened. I could feel hard muscle beneath the netch leather covering Teldryn’s right shoulder, but his chitin-plated armor prevented further 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 for the knot of his trousers.

He shifted his weight, pinning my shield arm and limiting my access to his personal treasury. “Patience, Serjo Dovah. I said I’m yours, but I’ve no intention of being undressed if we’re attacked by bandits.”

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

He thrust his hips against me, teasing.

“Yes.” I met his thrust and writhed 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.”

“Yes, please, you maddeningly miserable mammoth’s backside!” I made a show of pushing him away but remained pinned.

“Not the endearment I’m looking for.”

“Yes, please, my love.”

Smirking, he placed my hand around the back of his neck. I let it remain there, being precious little skin elsewhere for me to touch. Meanwhile, he dragged a finger over the round curve of my ear, then across my forehead and down to the tip of my nose, and said, “No.”

“No?”

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

I opened my mouth and flicked my tongue, but he snatched his hand away.

“You bastard. At least let me taste you. You don’t have to undress, just loosen your trousers.”

“No.”

“Damn you, Dunmer, why not?”

“It won’t be enough to fulfill me, Zephyr Silvertongue. Not after all 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. I clutched his neck and pulled him to my lips, 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.

I broke off to plead. “Don’t torture me.”

“I will.” He smiled and 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 that damned housecarl.”

“I could have fucked you. You turned me down.”

“Because I don’t want to fuck you.” He kissed my ear. “I want to know you.” My closed eyes. “Love you.” My mouth. “Possess you.” Unbuckling the belt around my hips, he worked his hand into my pants. “And I want you to want the same, of me.”

I gasped. “I do.” I thrust against his hand, seeking relief.

“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 groaning.

I recognized the tingling of a low-level lightning spell humming, uncast, from his hand between my thighs. Against my most sensitive skin, the vibration felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I convulsed, clutching him, 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 warm hands. I tasted blood and, realizing how hard I’d bitten him, immediately cast 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.”

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

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

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

I considered the inches of gray skin I’d yet to taste, the shape of the cock I’d yet to know, and the sexual uses of magic I’d never imagined. I recalled the conversations, the battles, the roads we’d traveled. I marveled at the mind, body, heart and soul of Teldryn Sero.

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

His smug expression only made me love him more. “Then give me a fortnight. Neloth’s briar heart can wait.”

“Where can we…” I gasped as he buried his face in my neck. Scarcely able to form the word, I said, “Ivarstead?”

“Not enough privacy,” he whispered, his breath tingling the hairs on my head into gooseflesh. “The Retching Netch.”

“Too far.” By the gods, I’d never make it all the way to Solstheim. “Riften.”

He drew back to look in my eyes. “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: Here’s a dragon hunter to rebuild the ranks of your ancient and illustrious band of lofty do-gooders. Her qualifications are listed thus: She is my sword and my shield, and I need to debauch a Dunmer. 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 1: “Come with me to Sovngarde”
Skyrim smut 2: “I need another stamina potion”
Skyrim smut 3: “Tickling the angry troll”
Skyrim smut 4: “The Dunmer of Debauchery”
Skyrim smut 5: “A Tsunny Day in Shor’s Realm”
Skyrim smut 6: “Return to Solitude”

How I left my husband for a guy with pointy ears

* * *

~ J.L. Hilton

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