Sorry, Lass

Vilkas is snappier than usual. He's tried to clamp down on it but he can't quit snarking at people for harmless remarks. They're too loud, too close, all of their smells too strong. Jorrvaskr is his home but like clockwork, every few months it becomes suffocating.

He's experienced this dozens of times. He knows what to do. But even after hours locked in his chambers that stubborn flame of arousal refuses to die. Vilkas' cock is sore but it still throbs in his hand, insistent and needy as if he hasn't wasted an entire afternoon jerking off.

It's because they're here. With their soft skin and alluring scent. They've disrupted his internal rhythm. Before the Dragonborn's arrival Vilkas could anticipate every change in his hormones, able to suppress the ruts with meticulous planning. Now he's reduced to nothing more than the young man he'd once been, ruled by his body's cycle. They've ruined him.

How long has he been clenching his teeth? Vilkas relents, pain zinging up his jaw with the movement. He scrubs at his face but the pain does little to distract from the instinctual twitch of his hips. Like they're searching for contact. Thinking of the Dragonborn had been a mistake.

Vilkas has never felt it before - not with such ferocity. The urge to fuck, to bite, to claim. Their friendship is barely more than coworkers but Vilkas can't shake the urge to sink his teeth in. To bend the Dragonborn over his bed, to feel them squirm while taking his cock, and bite until his scent is forever twined with theirs.

He's insatiable. Vilkas brings himself to orgasm once more but it's fucking useless. He's still hopelessly horny. Sweaty sheets stick to his back as he forces himself to stand. On wobbly legs Vilkas laces his trousers, grumbling to himself about needing to bathe. He should get out of town for a while, head down to where the river deepens. Cold water and silence may help regain composure.

Something in him tightens before the door fully opens. Vilkas takes a cautious step back but is too slow to hold his breath. The Dragonborn stares up at him with flushed cheeks, their delicious scent already invading his mind.

"What're you -" he mumbles, bracing a hand on the doorframe. Vilkas nearly buckles as the Dragonborn steps into his bedchambers. Waves of arousal are battering at his already weakened control. They're concerned, hands so wonderfully warm where they cup the clammy skin of his face.

"Sorry I, I wanted to check on you." Something as simple as their voice already has him melting. Vilkas can't contain the groan in his chest, forcing his eyes to the ground. He's sick, a depraved monster that they should flee from.

"I'm fine." He lies, salivating at the sensation of the Dragonborn's fingers curling around his jaw. They're staring up at him with an intensity that only fuels the need burning through his self control. Vilkas grits his teeth once more and struggles to form a plan. He must not harm them.

"You, you're so -" they stutter, eyes fluttering closed. Vilkas wrenches back but the Dragonborn follows him, taunting him with their proximity.

"You should get outta here." Vilkas is nearly moaning the words because the Dragonborn's nose is on his throat. There's a brazen inhale against his skin and that urge shreds all common sense - bite them.

"I want to help you." The Dragonborn whispers against his skin. Vilkas feels their body slide closer. He's at war with himself - he should tell them to run but they're kicking the door closed. He should handle this himself but the Dragonborn is here, looking at him with such blatant lust.

Vilkas has always been weak. The years of training and practice mean nothing when the Dragonborn's teeth clamp on his bottom lip. Instinct is the only thing that remains and Vilkas can repress his want no longer.

They taste divine. Somehow better than Vilkas had imagined. He finally feels a sense of relief only when they're mewling under him, gripping the bedsheets while Vilkas fucks them like his life depends on it. Sweat pours down his back and his hips are terribly sore but he can't think of that now, his brain consumed with the pulsating heat of the Dragonborn around his cock.

Can he even orgasm again? Vilkas isn't certain. He came too many times fucking his own hand but that doesn't stop the selfish way his hips thrust into the Dragonborn. It's the first bit of relief he's felt in days and somewhere deep down Vilkas is terrified of how easy it would be to get addicted. He's had partners during ruts before but this is something new, heightened to perfection purely because it's them.

It's difficult to keep his teeth clenched. The curve of their shoulder, delicate nape of their neck, their scent enveloping his chambers, it's all too tempting. He catches their hand running through their hair, clearing it away from the very place Vilkas is desperately trying to ignore.

"Knock it off." His attempt to sound stern fails as another weak, barely there orgasm steals his breath.

"Knock what off?" Their false innocence does not fool him. Vilkas hunches over the Dragonborn, cock throbbing where it's buried so deep within them.

"I know what you're hinting at." He seethes, indulging in a whiff of their pheromones. It ignites something dangerous and possessive in him. "I won't do it."

Farkas can't seem to figure it out, this itch that refuses to be scratched. He ate breakfast and lunch, practiced with his blade until his muscles nearly gave out, took a nap, and ran a lap around Whiterun. What more does his body want from him? He's given it food, water, and exercise - the only things it's ever craved but that itching sensation remains. Like there's something tapping at the back of his brain just out of reach. It's maddening.

He's left pacing through Jorrvaskr's lower halls, watching the rhythm of his feet as if the answer will suddenly present itself. He's filled all of his body's needs but his back is too tense, his senses heightened as if anticipating an attack. Has it been too long since he saw battle? It's been a little over a week since his last mission, the bloodlust has never gripped again so soon.

Something enticing tickles at his senses. Thoughtlessly Farkas follows his nose, excited by the prospect of finally finding what his body is so sure it needs. He rounds a corner and stills, suddenly too aware of what it all means.

The Dragonborn stares up at him, pausing where they've gathered their hair back. Their face looks a bit flushed and Farkas is vaguely aware of his heart racing. Arousal leaps through his body, stealing all rational sense.

Oh, he thinks. It's that.

"Hey big guy." They greet him with a smile that steals his heart. Farkas feels a bit guilty for the sudden urge to bend his friend over the nearest surface and fuck them senseless. He's never been too good at keeping track of these things but they've always been relatively easy for him to handle.

It's never felt like this. Farkas struggles to remain calm as his body seems to heat from sharing a room with them. The need climbs through him with every rapid beat of his heart until he's nearly salivating at the sight of the Dragonborn unfastening their armor.

It's like he can't breathe. Normal air isn't enough. Farkas takes one accidental step closer to them, nearly tripping over his own feet. The Dragonborn's little laugh sends his mind spiraling into a stream of fantasies of how his name would sound on their tongue.

"You alright?" They ask when his face is planted in their shoulder. Farkas nods, too busy filling his lungs with their scent to respond properly. His Dragonborn sounds quite nice. Farkas smiles to himself, glad to feel a playful hand ruffle his hair.

"Lemme help you." His offer is entirely selfish. Farkas is salivating at the warm skin under his lips. They're nodding, guiding his hands to the buckles of their armor.

Farkas can control himself. He reminds himself of this as the Dragonborn's armor falls to the floor, allowing him to fully indulge in their smell. Their scent, their sweat, all of it so perfectly scratches the itch that's eluded him for days. His hips rut against their backside, cock twitching and leaking from the slightest contact.

It all moves so fast, so easy. The fluid movement of the Dragonborn's hands in his hair, their lips on his, their tongue in his mouth. He falls to the floor, dragging the Dragonborn with him. Farkas can't bother moving to the bed. He can't think about anything other than being inside them.

"Farkas," they pant into his mouth and he nearly collapses atop them. The Dragonborn's legs are a vice around his waist, hips raised just enough. It's almost too easy to fuck them, to drown himself in their scent.

"Yeah?" He rasps, barely recognizing that they want his attention. His vision is blurry but Farkas focuses, trying to listen. His thrusts slow, cock grinding needily into the Dragonborn.

"D'you want this?" There's something like fear in their eyes that makes his heart drop. "Or was I just the closest person when your - y'know, hormones hit."

"I want you." Farkas' face is buried in their throat, teeth scraping against skin he longs to bite. He knows that it's wrong, that he shouldn't be confessing his love while restraining himself from claiming them, but he can't help it. Something in his soul demands them.

"Only you." Their fingers tighten in his hair as his thrusts pick up again, that animalistic urge overtaking him. Farkas fucks into his Dragonborn until they're a moaning mess, fairly certain he's already orgasmed but he can't tell. The pounding arousal doesn't relent.

He can't stop. Even when he's coated in sweat and certainly dehydrated Farkas can't stop fucking them. He licks up their spine, cock twitching as he slides back into his Dragonborn. They're still so eager in his hold, so vocal that Farkas can't bear to tear himself away.

His Dragonborn. All his. Farkas doesn't realize he's muttering it into their shoulder, his body folded over theirs as if he can consume them. Is he dreaming? It feels too heavenly to be real, to have the Dragonborn moaning his name and pleading for his touch.