Someone Asked Me To So Here's The First Chapter Of The Brynjolf Fanfic I'm Writing Instead Of Doing The

Someone asked me to so here's the first chapter of the Brynjolf fanfic I'm writing instead of doing the work I'm supposed to be doing. Warning: It gets a little steamy.

Never Turn Your Back on a Thief, Lass- Chapter 1

“Shit. Hand me another one,” she whispered as the lockpick snapped in her hand. One was produced almost instantly as she inserted it into the stubborn lock. Deftly she pierced the point through the keyhole, adjusting the distance and positioning as she gently turned the whole device. Eyes locked on the pick in concentration, she didn’t move an inch as she heard the soft growl behind her.

“You’re so good with your hands, lass”.

The lockpick clicked into place.

“Damn you. Damn you to Evergloam,” she hissed as she pressed the door open a crack, and his hands found her waist. Each one of his fingers wrapped around her individually, as he took his time grabbing her. They both knew she would take a good thirty seconds opening the door. It was an old piece of construction, and the chance of rusty, noisy hinges was high. Not worth the risk. But getting to touch her curves? Worth the risk every time.

“Darling, need I remind you that we have a job to do?”

“It’s watching you do the job that makes me like this”.

“You’re always like this, Bryn”.

The door stood open enough for them to squeeze through. A dark room awaited them, which was a bit of a surprise. The traditional Skyrim lack of windows always made things a bit harder for the Thieves Guild members, but it was a safe bet that there would be at least a few candles on in every room of most houses. Though the door was old, it had been sturdy, and they both had attributed the lack of light bleed to that as opposed to an actual lack of light. This was disconcerting.

“Stay behind me”.

His warm hands moved down cup her hips, straying for a moment to squeeze her ass. “You don’t have to tell me twice”.

Her entire body stayed completely still except for her left hand, which flung up towards his face in an effort to give him a small smack for his lasciviousness. Despite the dark and her silence, he caught it with his own, the breeze of the movement causing the cape of her Nightengale armor to rustle. After the catch, he brought her hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the scar on the top of her hand before nibbling and suckling on her wrist. He loved how she took her gloves off when she knew a lock wouldn’t be too difficult to pick. In an instant, his right fingers were in her purse, and then he was pulling her glove over her hand, before catching her right and sheathing it as well.

“This dark has me nervous, lass, you may want these”.

“You lech”.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way”.

They began to move through the room. It was clearly a dining space, but the table wasn’t set. No place settings were at all visible, just a long table with benches. The shelves around the room were bare, and there were no chests. Lousy for looting. There were no cobwebs, the house was inhabited and apparently cleaned regularly enough. Though it was dark due to the lack of candles, the small stream of moonlight in from the door would have reflected off of a cobweb, plate, or goblet. Thankfully, it would not reflect off of their armor. They belonged to the night, to Nocturnal. And their job tonight was not to loot this house.

The next room was the kitchen, and yet the cookfire was completely out. No burning embers, even. Either no one had been here for at least a day, or there had been a concerted effort to make it look as such. No food sat out in the kitchen, not even wheels of cheese or gourds. A lone bottle of Alto wine perched longingly on a shelf over the hearth. She turned her neck slightly to survey the rest of the space, and when she returned it, the bottle was gone.

With a smirk she could sense through the darkness, he caressed her ear with his brogue. “For our celebration later”.

Stairs beckoned them to the second floor, where they were met by another door. This time, he took the lead, pressing the back of his hand against the wood, standing to the side in case of a trap. She took the opportunity for payback. As he focused on the room ahead, her fingers languidly brushed his hip, and her breath danced against his neck. That’s what he gets for choosing to not wear the facial mask of his armor. Exposure means weakness, and she planned to exploit. Her mouth drew closer to his sensitive skin and she could feel him shudder as her tongue reached out to touch him. She blew on the now wet spot as the door opening grew wide enough for them to slip through.

He slithered through first, leading with his head, then torso, and then the rest of his body. Once again, the room was dark. And it was just one room, another common feature in smaller Skyrim houses. The bed was unoccupied, and if the chamber pot had been used, it had been emptied a long time ago, because the only pervasive smell of the room came from the rotting mountain flowers in a vase near the door.

That’s when she spotted their prize. A plain iron sword with a subtle green glow. Probably the cheapest item they had ever been asked to retrieve. But, it had belonged to Arnskar Ember-Master, the blacksmith who had taken up residence next to the Ragged Flagon. It was apparently the first sword that he had ever smithed, and it had been lifted off of him years ago while traveling between towns. Though it was not worth nearly anything due to content, it had an enchantment that allowed the user to capture souls, and had a deep emotional attachment for the smith. He was paying them a pretty penny to get it back. Usually, they would have sent a lesser guild member out for such a job, but, well, Arnskar was one of their own. They wanted to make sure that the job was done right. For more than two decades, the Thieves Guild had languished in relative obscurity, made fun of by legitimate and illegitimate merchants alike, and just within the last year had the Guild returned to its former glory. Keeping their personal merchants happy would aid in making certain that the Guild sustained. Their people needed armor, and as excellent as Tonilia and their other fences were in acquisitions, having an in-house smith made an incredible difference in their ability to increase member morale… and not get killed.

Before he could react, the sword was in her belt. It fit a sheath from one of her personal weapons nearly perfectly, as Arnskar had told her that it would. She had brought the sheath along for just that purpose, and the glow of the weapon was almost entirely extinguished.

“Well. That was easy,” she smiled, as she sauntered towards him.

“Almost too easy. We probably could have sent one of the new recruits on this job”.

“But then we wouldn’t have had this time alone, would we, Bryn?” she smiled as she lit a match, and took it to a half-melted candle on the table. The room illuminated to reveal a humongous bed covered in flowers, and more bottles of wine. “Did you really think I didn’t know that you set this up?”

“I guessed that you did, lass. But, I wasn’t sure”.

“Oh, really?” She bit her lip as she took another step towards him. Her eyes lowered to his chest and then slowly, torturously scanned back up to his eyes as both of them held their breath. “Don’t lie to your Guild Master”.

“It’s only because of me that you became Guild Master. Everyone else thought it would be me”.

“How fitting then that it essentially turned out to be us”.

“Aye,” his voice dropped to a throaty growl as he closed the distance between them, removing his gloves as he stepped. One hand raised to lower the mask of her armor, exposing her face to his gaze. By Nocturnal, she was the loveliest creature he had ever seen. And she was his.

Before he could kiss her, she brought a gloveless finger to his lips with a sigh. “Why all the romance? Why the flowers? I love it, but is this some special occasion?” Her eyebrow twitched nearly imperceptibly.

Brynjolf stepped back, arms out wide. “You wound me. I’m always a romantic. Am I not allowed to treat my lady to a special night?”

A sensual laugh caused her body to flow through the candlelight, and she turned around and walked towards a desk to remove her sword belt as she spoke. “Of course, darling. But you have to admit, this is a lot, even for you. Not that we’ve never fucked in a mark’s house before, but this display is downright touching”.

The sword clanged the floor as strong hands grabbed both her biceps and pinned her from behind, forcing her hips against the desk. “Never turn your back on a thief, lass”.

His teeth grasped her hood as his head nuzzled hers, removing the covering, exposing her beautiful hair, her delicate ears. Her ears, where his teeth traveled next, nibbling on the top, all the way down to the lobe. He caught the stud of her earring in his mouth, and worked around it with his tongue. Her body responded in a full shiver. His lips them overtook her entire ear, as breathily he moaned, “You never know what they might take from you”.

She tried to turn to face him, but he held her tight. But she felt something odd. There was something on his chest, pressing into her neck. Could it… After a deep intake of breath that came more like a gasp after his ministrations on her ear, she punched her right arm down towards the ground to remove his grip, and flung her left over her head as she bounced up to land her ass on the desk, counting on him to not let go of her left arm. He didn’t disappoint. Now, she sat on the desk, her left arm around his neck. He was at her mercy. With her right arm, she removed his hood, and began to walk her fingers down his neck as she mover her mouth to his ear.

“Now what have we here, lad?”

Her fingers encircled the necklace, and her surprise made her loosen her grip. He spun to face her, bringing her legs around his hips as he caught her by the waist, her arms still around his neck. Beautiful. She was so beautiful always, but her features now were more wonderful than he had ever seen. She knew what it was. Her eyes wide, her limps plump and a deep pink, with tiny indents where she had bit them to contain her arousal. Her cheeks flushed with need. He grinned, and removed one hand to pull the pendant out from beneath his armour.

“By the gods, Brynjolf?” her lower lip tremored as she stared at the Amulet of Mara.

“Lass. Will you marry me?”