#queergaymer

He hadn’t seen much of her in the last few weeks—between histravels to Markarth on a mission for the Guild, and her own jobs in and outsidethe city, their paths had not crossed much. If Brynjolf was honest, he wouldsay he had missed the lass. When she had first been recruited to the Guild, hehad been her constant supervisor as she worked odd jobs to build up trustwithin the group. They became friends—iffriends flirted, and teased each other with lingering touches and prolongedeye-contact. By the Nine, she had kissedhim, and he would be a fool to say he didn’t want her to do it again, thathe wanted more.

But now Fiona was working jobs for Mercer and the Guild onher own—she didn’t need Brynjolf as her shadow, and he saw her less frequently.It went against his very nature to contemplate the emotions she stirred up inhis heart, but now he was left wondering if the distance had changed theirdynamic. Did Fiona still feel—if she felt anything for him—the same way?Brynjolf shook his head as he walked along the cobblestone, banishing away hisfoolish thoughts. He was not a romantic, not a man that got hung up on whetheror not a woman liked him.

He bypassed the Guildmaster’s desk, noting the grimaceMercer wore as he stared at the various letters and maps before him—the man wasin no mood to talk. Instead, Brynjolf advanced to his original target, smirkingto himself as he observed Fiona working at the alchemy table. He strode upbehind her, studying the spread of ingredients she had on the table.

“What do you have here?” he asked, reaching around her waistto poke at the pile of mushrooms with his finger.

“Careful,” Fiona spoke, brushing his hand away. “Those arepoisonous.”

Hesitantly, Brynjolf rested his hands on the edge of the alchemytable, framing her body. He peered over her shoulder again, curious to what shewas making. He had never fully mastered the art of alchemy, and could barelyremember which flowers healed and which numbed the tongue. Fiona continued herwork, deft fingers carefully rotating the pestle as she added small branches ofcanis root to the granite bowl.

“What do you need poison for?”

Fiona turned her head ever so slightly to peer at him with asmall smirk. At least she didn’t seem bothered by his close proximity.

“That noble in Solitude that Vex and the others had troublewith,” she explained, focusing back to her work. Brynjolf took the opportunityto inspect the exposed skin of her neck that he so rarely got to see when shewore her hood. Fiona continued, “Mercer wants me to have a go at it. Seems thenoble has some valuable information hiding away.”

“Hmm,” Brynjolf answered, half distracted by the smell ofmountain flowers lingering in her hair. “So you plan on paralyzing the sod?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

Fiona glanced at him over her shoulder again with a coysmile. “I’m going to tempt him.”

“A honeypot?” Brynjolf questioned her, eyebrows perked.“That tactic is…surely beneath you, don’t you think lass?” He didn’t mean tooffend, but the thought of Fiona using her charm and wit—her body—to seduce a man did not settle wellwith him. For a multitude of reasons.

“I’m no harlot,” she responded.

There was a bite to her words thatmade Brynjolf falter and pull away. “Perhaps you could enlighten me with thisplan of yours, then.”

Fiona regarded him, silentlyeyeing his expression as she bottled the ground mixture. He knew that look—the hintof mischief shining in her eyes before she said something to taunt him. Itexcited and unnerved him all the same.

“It’s simple, really,” shestarted, turning to face him fully. “To appeal to a man’s baser instinct.”

She closed the distance betweenthem once more, tilting her head to elongate and flash more of the silky paleskin of her neckline—she knew.

Brynjolf subtly cleared the suddenlump in his throat. “It will take a lot more than a few sultry glances to—”

Fiona’s hand rested on his arm, grippingaround his bicep in an affectionate squeeze. “I’ll make sure to compliment hisframe,” she paused, her other hand reaching towards his face where her fingers wispedacross his jawline and through his hair. “Tell him how handsome he looks.”

Brynjolf’s chest tightened as hegot lost in the moment. Her playful demeanor told him she was putting on anact, and yet, there was something inthe way she spoke the words to him that made him want to believe she was genuine.Or at least genuinely flirting.

She ensured that her body was asclose to his as possible without touching, chin tilted up so she could peer upat his eyes. She slowly blinked, her long lashes a tantalizing sight. Sheleaned in closer still, lips hovering over the shell of his ear.

“I’ll whisper something bawdy torile him up…” she trailed. “About how he must want to pin me against the tableand ravage me until I’m screaming…perhaps.”

Brynjolf tensed, and he closed hiseyes tightly to focus his thoughts. It took all of his nerve not to grab her bythe waist and carry her off to one of the back rooms to have his way with her. Orto simply push her back against the alchemy table and plant his lips along herneck as he desperately craved.

“Of course,” the tone of her voicechanged. “I’ll suggest we share a bottle of wine first.”

Just like that, Fiona had pulledaway. Brynjolf felt like his gut was on fire—his skin was crawling withgooseflesh, and he knew that beneath his hair, his ears were bright red.

“It’s an easy tactic. But it worksoh so well,” Fiona boasted with a wickedgrin. “I’m an exceptional flirt.”

Aye—and it drove him mad. He had fallen for her ruse, and while hewould’ve normally been irritated at the thought, with Fiona, he wasn’t at allsurprised. Of course she had caught him off guard, and performed it so easily. Notthat he would admit any of this to her right then.

“Just hope you are the nobleman’s’type,” Brynjolf finally spoke, softly chuckling to himself when he noted thesmall twitch of doubt that flashed across her features. “Though, any man wouldbe a fool to deny you.”

If Fiona thought his wordsserious, she hid her reaction well, her small smile all he saw before she spunaround to grab the bottle of paralyzing potion from the table. He studied herform, feeling the slight frustration from before. As much as he liked thegames, and the flirting, he was starting to tire from walking that fineunmarked line in the sand. Sure, Brynjolf was the type of man who could easilyfind any woman to warm his bed and keep him company, but he had grown bored ofthat life. What he wanted was Fiona. And soon, she would be gone again.  

“Brynjolf,” her voice snapped himout of his frustrated confusion. He ran a hand across his face before facingher. She was grinning, eyes bright she looked at him. “Why don’t you come toSolitude with me?”

“What for?”

“You just said,” Fiona remarked. “Justin case I’m not that nobleman’s type.”

A pause, and then the two werelaughing in the shared delight of the thought of Brynjolf seducing a target thatnobody else in the Guild had been successful in stealing from. When their mirthfaded, he could tell there was something else she wanted to say, and drewcloser to her once more.

“What else is it, Fiona?” heprompted.

“I—I miss having you by my side,”she explained in a rushed, quiet voice. A flash pink to her cheeks told him shewas being honest.

Brynjolf tried his best to hidethe sudden burst of pride he felt, knowing that there was a hint of truth toher earlier charade. As much as he admired her charisma and thieving skills, heloved seeing this secret, vulnerable and demure side of Fiona—something shesaved only for him.

“I missed you as well, lass.”