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Farkas was training in the yard when the stranger showed up. He glanced up at the swing of Jorrvaskr’s doors, pausing at the sight of the unfamiliar Nord following his brother outside.
They often had aspiring recruits coming in. Clueless milk-drinkers, mostly. Folks who thought all The Companions did was sit around and swill mead, collecting coin for stomping a skeever or two. They were usually young, green. Hungry for something. Gold, drink, glory.
This man didn’t look like any Farkas had seen before. He looked like one of those mage types, wearing fine green-gold robes. His hair was a fiery shade of red, long and braided back. He was wearing a fancy gold circlet set with emeralds, matching the green of his eyes, which were striking, even in the dim light of the evening.
Farkas was still panting from swinging his sword, muscles burning, but he let himself take a break, too distracted by the strange newcomer to concentrate on the training dummy anymore. He took a seat on the porch with Athis and Torvar, as Vilkas and the stranger faced each other in the open yard.
Farkas caught his brother’s eye and smiled, but Vilkas only nodded, focused on the task at hand.
“The old man said to have a look at you,” he said to the outsider. “So, let’s see what you can do.”
The stranger’s red head bobbed. He looked even odder stood next to the heavily-armored Vilkas. Vilkas wasn’t as large as Farkas— never had been, even when they were pups— but the newcomer was still dwarfed in comparison. He wasn’t built like a typical Nord, seemed lithe under all that finery, a little short. It was only on account of the face that Farkas could tell. Prettier than average, but there was no mistaking that heavy squaring of the jaw, the strong line of his nose.
“Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form,” Vilkas said. His lip curled as he took in the man’s appearance. “I assume you’re aware we don’t use any of that arcane nonsense here.”
“I am aware,” the stranger said. His voice was low, a little nasally.
Vilkas looked at him sceptically. The man didn’t appear to have any weapons with him. Perhaps he was the sneaky type, had daggers stashed away somewhere. Not something they generally approved of, but if he was skilled enough, it could be overlooked.
Torvar muttered something to Athis, and they both chuckled. Farkas shushed them. This was Vilkas’ duty, and he took it as seriously as everything else expected of him. If a newcomer couldn’t pass this test, and gain Vilkas’ approval, they didn’t get to join The Companions.
It filled Farkas with pride. To the new recruits, his brother may as well be Ysgramor himself, deciding who should accompany him on the great pilgrimage from Atmora. It wasn’t something to be snickered at, however strange this newcomer was.
Vilkas shook his head. “Fine. Let’s do this, then.” He drew his sword and raised his shield. “Come at me. Don’t worry, I can take it.”
At another nod from the stranger, Vilkas moved in. But the man darted sideways, raising his hands into the air. With a crack, a flash of purple sprang from each palm, warping the air around his fingers. Within seconds, two spectral swords had phased into his hands.
“Hey!” Vilkas snapped. “What did I just say?”
But the stranger was already leaping into action, forcing Vilkas to engage him.
The outsider was agile, light-footed. The magic swords seemed to weigh nothing, allowing him to move almost unnaturally fast, raining blows down on Vilkas’ shield like a hailstorm. It was more like dancing than fighting, full of slashing and spinning around.
Farkas watched, fascinated. He had never seen such an approach to combat. Vilkas was clearly surprised too, but he was the greatest warrior Farkas knew, so he hunkered down and held fast.
After a couple minutes, he bashed the swords away and straightened up. “Alright, hold.” He sheathed his sword and lowered his shield. He was breathing heavily, teeth gritted.
Farkas braced himself. His brother had a temper fiery enough to match the stranger’s hair.
“Do you have potatoes in your ears?” Vilkas asked. “I told you, no magic.”
The stranger lowered his hands, and the ghostly swords vanished with a sound of sucking air. “You said you do not use magic. You did not say I could not.”
“A smart one, eh?” Vilkas sneered. “It should have gone without saying. This is Jorrvaskr, hall of The Companions. Not some filthy den of witchcraft and trickery.”
“I used weapons,” the stranger said simply. “What does it matter if they were iron or not?”
“They were not of this plane!”
“Are you saying I am without skill in combat?”
Vilkas scowled and did not answer.
There was no denying the newcomer was talented enough to gain entry. He was certainly better than Ria or Torvar had been at their tryouts. But the ban on magic had always been a hard rule. Even weapon enchantments were frowned upon.
Athis and Torvar tittered again. Farkas stood up and shooed them back into the hall. When he returned to the yard, the stranger was looking at him.
“Divines, I’m seeing double,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t practice spellcraft here?”
Farkas couldn’t help but smile. “No. We’re twins. I’m Farkas. Pleased to meet you.”
The redhead returned the smile. “Oskar. Likewise.”
Vilkas was still scowling. “You may be adept with magic blades, but that matters little, considering we don’t use such things here.”
“Why?” Oskar asked. “What does it matter? My opponent dies just the same. I doubt your shield could tell the difference.”
“It matters,” Vilkas said firmly. “We are warriors. Magic is the domain of elves. To allow it here would be to spit on the founding principles of The Companions. On Ysgramor himself, and all that he fought for!”
Privately, Farkas didn’t think it such a big problem if the swords were see-through, long as they still did their job. Still, his brother’s passion was— there was no other word for it— beautiful. It made Farkas’ chest swell, his cock twitch.
“I disagree,” Oskar said calmly. “Throughout the ages, there have been many great Nord mages. One of whom served Ysgramor himself, if you recall.” At Vilkas’ silence, Oskar continued, “Surely you have heard of Ahzidal of Saarthal? The one who bestowed his arcane knowledge upon the original five hundred companions?”
“I… had not,” Vilkas admitted. “He served Ysgramor? Truly?”
“Truly,” Oskar said warmly. “Many scholars believe the Atmoran victory was owed to his influence.”
Vilkas’ eyes were wide with reluctant interest. Farkas was stunned. It was a rare man that could out-know his brother. Seemed this newcomer was surprising in all sorts of ways.
“Are you a scholar, then?” Farkas asked, eyeing Oskar’s fine robes again.
Oskar rubbed the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say that. I have an interest in history. I spend a lot of time in study. And prayer— though many would argue those are one in the same.”
“And that interest led you here?”
Oskar nodded. “The Companions have commanded my dreams since I was a lad.”
“Well then,” Vilkas said snippily, “I find it even more surprising that you would attempt to gain entry in such a way, since you must have known our rules.”
“I confess, I had hoped to change your mind.”
Vilkas’ brow raised. “You thought we would do away with centuries of tradition, just for you?”
Oskar frowned. “I wouldn’t put it that way. I thought only to present a rational argument. One that will still be true, whether or not you see fit to accept me.”
“Which is?”
“Magic is not incompatible with the legacy of Ysgramor,” Oskar said. “Indeed, it is inextricable.”
Farkas wasn’t entirely following. Such debates were beyond him. But he assumed Oskar must have been at least halfway convincing, because Vilkas looked troubled.
“The argument is not without merit,” he said eventually. “I’ll give you that. But as it stands now, allowing you to join would conflict with a core tenet of The Companions. It would set a precedent. One with potential to change our entire identity.”
Farkas didn’t fully understand that, either. It didn’t matter, usually. He was used to it. He didn’t need to know all those words to appreciate how damn gorgeous his brother looked saying them.
Vilkas had made a joke once. Something dirty about mirrors and pleasing himself. Farkas didn’t care to remember the details, but he knew Vilkas was basically calling him vain.
Farkas could see the reasoning, but he couldn’t agree. They may have shared a face, been born of the same womb, but they weren’t the same. Their bodies were different. Their minds certainly were.
But they didn’t work without each other. At least, Farkas didn’t work without Vilkas. He sometimes wondered if his brother would get along just fine without him. He always seemed to know what was right, what they should do.
Skjor would often say Farkas was the brawn and Vilkas was the brains. Sometimes it made him feel better. But then he’d remember how strong Vilkas still was, as well as knowing all the names for the different parts of his sword. How he could describe the exact technique he was using to cave in a man’s skull.
Oskar was saying something else, pushing his argument with more flowery words. A real talker, this one.
Farkas tried to catch Vilkas’ eye again, but Vilkas seemed unable to tear his gaze away from the redhead. Farkas could tell his brother’s pride was wounded, but there was a spark in his eye too. Until now, the only one who could ever match Vilkas’ smarts— especially when it came to their history— was the Harbinger himself.
Farkas suddenly felt very… in the way. He decided to leave them to discuss their important matters, walking over to the training dummy to retrieve his sword.
With the evening feast soon to start, Jorrvaskr’s hall was full and noisy. Farkas waved off Skjor’s offer of mead and fresh venison. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He craved the quiet and solitude of the sleeping quarters.
The bathing chamber was currently occupied by Aela, just returned from the hunt that brought the venison. In his room, Farkas stripped off his armor and laid on his bed in his smallclothes, waiting for his turn.
The moon was coming. He could feel it tugging at the edge of himself, making him itchy. He knew the others felt it, too. Skjor and Aela hunted to quell the ache, but he and Vilkas had not joined them for some time.
Farkas wasn’t often envious of them. Maybe because he’d always had Vilkas for comfort, that place to turn when things got rough.
He knew he still had that, really. The Divines themselves couldn’t tear the twins apart. It would certainly take more than a pretty, learned Nord with emerald eyes and a honeyed tongue.
Still, his wolf grumbled.
After a while, Aela poked her head around his door. “Hey, ice-brain. The chamber’s free, but you’ll have to heat more water for a full tub.”
Farkas grunted. His eyes were on the ceiling, tracing the links of the chain that hung the chandelier, the glowing flames inside their goat horns. He realized Aela was still standing there.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You tell me.”
“It’s nothing.”
Aela came into the room, letting the door shut softly behind her. She looked worn out, but satisfied. She was wearing plainclothes, eyes ringed dark, wet hair scraped back off her face. There was a fresh gash across her cheek. Farkas’ jealousy spiked as he looked at her.
“Is it the moon?” she asked.
“Yes,” Farkas said.
It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it still irked him. It had always felt wrong, hiding such an essential part of himself. But he knew Vilkas was right: people wouldn’t understand. Not even the ones closest to them.
“The urge becomes stronger if you resist,” she said. “You may be fighting a losing battle.”
Farkas sighed. “I made a promise to Vilkas.”
“And he made one to Kodlak, I know. I won’t pretend to understand why, though.”
“They think it’s wrong,” Farkas said, realizing he didn’t fully understand why, either.
He had wanted to please Kodlak, yes. But really, he had agreed to resist because Vilkas had asked him to. Because he hadn’t wanted him to be alone in it. Truthfully, Farkas didn’t see what was so wrong about running free in the wilds, living and hunting as other beasts did.
He was craving it now. Dirt beneath his paws, scent of fear on the wind. Sinking his teeth into something.
“And what do you think?” Aela asked.
“I don’t think,” Farkas said stiffly. “That’s Vilkas’ job.”
She chuckled. “I know you two are close, but don’t forget you are your own man. Don’t let Vilkas— or even Kodlak— tell you who you are.”
Farkas grunted again. She was trying to be nice, but she didn’t understand. He wasn’t his own man. He was one half of a whole. He didn’t want it any other way.
“Anyway, the chamber’s free, like I said. If you want it soon you better lay claim now, before Vilkas steals it from you.”
“He’s done with the outsider?”
“Seems to be. I heard the whelp gave him quite the thrashing. Shame I missed it.”
She left for the feast hall. Farkas waited for her footsteps to fade before he went across the corridor, slipping quietly into Vilkas’ room.
Vilkas didn’t look up as Farkas locked the door behind him. He was half out of his armor, gauntlets and boots already in their proper places on his personal rack.
“Give me a hand with this, would you?” he asked.
Farkas obediently started undoing the straps holding Vilkas’ heavy breastplate in place. Vilkas sighed with relief when it came loose.
“Careful. Put it away properly.”
Sometimes Farkas wondered if his brother truly thought him a simpleton. He had a sudden mad urge to drop the armor on the floor, just to see Vilkas’ eyes flare.
He put it on the rack. When he turned back around, Vilkas was pulling off his undershirt, leaving him in only his smallclothes.
As Farkas looked at him, he felt even more distant from him. Vilkas’ body was perfect, all soft, lightly-haired skin over curves of hard, ropey muscle. Compact where Farkas was broad, lean where he was bulky. Farkas felt lumbering, oafish in comparison.
“Did you let the outsider join, in the end?” Farkas asked.
Vilkas shook his head. He stretched his arms, rolling out his shoulders. Farkas’ eyes followed the ripples of muscle in his back and biceps.
“Since it calls into question the very nature of The Companions, I didn’t think it was for me to decide. I told him I would discuss it with Kodlak.”
“He was... strange.”
Vilkas snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. Imagine, a mage seeking to join Jorrvaskr. It’s like he hadn’t even heard of us before he waltzed in here.”
“He knew a lot about us,” Farkas pointed out. “Things even you didn’t.”
Vilkas huffed. “If they’re even true.”
“Looked like you believed him.”
“I don’t know what I believe yet. I was simply duty-bound to consider the information.”
“You were hanging on his every word,” Farkas said, hating how needy it sounded, even as he was saying it.
But then, he was needy. His need was a thing he could pinpoint. Low in his gut, stirring between his legs.
Vilkas frowned. “You were jealous.”
Farkas didn’t bother denying it. He never could hide from his brother. “He interested you.”
“And you think you don’t,” Vilkas said.
Farkas dithered, suddenly feeling silly. “I don’t know. I didn’t even understand what you were saying, half the time.”
“Brother,” Vilkas said fondly, stepping close. His silver eyes were grey in the dim, warm glow of the room. “I will admit his words were interesting. But that does not mean he was. Not like that. I do not desire anybody else. Only you.”
Farkas took a breath. “Okay.”
“You knew that, really,” Vilkas said, smiling. “You just get worked up, sometimes.”
“My wolf is restless,” Farkas confessed.
Vilkas sighed. “I know. Mine too. But we have to be strong. It will pass as the moon wanes.” He tilted his head, digging his fingers into the nape of his neck. “Gods, I ache all over.”
“Here,” Farkas said eagerly. “Let me.”
He turned Vilkas around and started rubbing his shoulders, digging in hard with his thumbs where he knew Vilkas was sore. Vilkas tensed at first, but as Farkas worked him with familiar hands, a quiet groan of pleasure escaped him, his head sagging forwards.
Farkas felt his skin run hot, but Vilkas’ was hotter, still flushed and chaffed from his armor. Farkas could see Vilkas’ pulse in the side of his neck, feel the thick vein bulging rhythmically against his fingers.
He leaned in and covered it with his mouth.
Vilkas stiffened again. “Farkas.”
Farkas recognised the warning, but Vilkas’ skin tasted like salt. He wanted to bite down. Wanted to wrestle Vilkas to the floor, pin him down beneath him.
He grit his teeth. “Remind me why we’re fighting this, again.”
Vilkas huffed. “Would you listen if I did?”
Farkas didn’t feel like answering. He wound his arms around Vilkas’ torso, flushing his bare chest against Vilkas’ back.
He sighed with the relief of it. It felt good, reassuring. The heat of his brother, the weight of him. Solid, there, his.
“Farkas,” Vilkas repeated, but he didn’t pull away. Despite his warnings, he was melting back against Farkas.
Farkas’ blood was stirring. His cock was hardening fast against the curve of Vilkas’ ass.
“I want to take you,” he breathed against Vilkas’ ear.
Vilkas sucked a breath. “We shouldn’t. Not now.”
“You think I can’t control myself.”
“Truthfully, I’m just as worried about myself,” Vilkas muttered.
The words only aroused Farkas further. Vilkas was always so composed, so in control of himself. As though the moon’s waxing were a mere annoyance, instead of the heavy burden Farkas felt it to be. To admit his need so openly— he must have felt something like Farkas did, truly shared in his desperation.
“You think you’d turn?” Farkas asked.
Vilkas shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“If we were out in the wilds, it wouldn’t matter,” Farkas said without thinking. “We could run, I could claim you—”
“Don’t,” Vilkas said sharply.
“—with nothing stopping us. We’d be free. As we should be.”
“Don’t,” Vilkas repeated. He sounded sad, now.
Farkas sighed, guilty. He couldn’t pretend to understand why Vilkas was so set on this, especially now he knew it pained him just as much as Farkas.
But perhaps he didn’t have to understand. His brother was the smartest person he knew, the best person he knew. If he thought this was the right path, Farkas would trust him.
“I trust you,” Farkas said out loud.
Vilkas didn’t ask what he meant. “You are my brother. You know I will always do what is right for you. For us.”
Farkas sighed. “You’re so good to me.”
He held Vilkas tighter. Their bodies were sticking together; the room was hot, and both of them were sweaty from a hard day in the yard. He buried his face in the curve of Vilkas’ neck, breathing deep. His scent was strongest there, thick and intoxicating.
“So good to me,” Farkas repeated lowly. “Let me be good to you.”
Vilkas was tense in his arms, breathing deliberately. “The others might hear.”
Farkas knew they shouldn’t. Even with the moon waned, they had always been careful. Always waited until Jorrvaskr fell silent, or stolen their moments away to the Underforge and other dark, deserted places.
But none of that seemed to matter, now. His brother’s warmth, his scent, was seeping into his very bones.
“The feast has only just started,” Farkas said. “They won’t be down here for hours, yet.”
Vilkas muttered something that Farkas didn’t quite catch. Sounded like, ‘playing with fire.’
Still, he didn’t stop Farkas sliding a hand down over his stomach. His breath caught as Farkas cupped his cock through his smallclothes, hips twitching into it. He was already hard, burning through the fabric.
Inflamed, Farkas fumbled his hand inside, took Vilkas’ cock in his palm. The skin was plush and hot, pleasing to the touch. It was already wet at the tip, and it leaked more over Farkas’ fingers as he worked it with long, firm strokes.
Vilkas grunted, head tipping back against Farkas’ shoulder. One hand gripped Farkas’ forearm, the other clutched at his side. After a moment of hesitation, Farkas gave into the urge to suck on Vilkas’ exposed throat.
He soon had to stop. It was too hard to keep his teeth contained. Vilkas was trusting him with this, against his better judgement. He must have wanted this badly enough to take the risk.
That was enough to have Farkas’ heart racing, his own hips twitching. He rested his chin on Vilkas’ shoulder, pressing their cheeks together, beards scraping.
“Gods, I want you,” he said, already breathless. “I always want you.”
“I know.”
Farkas huffed. “Do you want me?”
When Vilkas didn’t answer, Farkas tightened his grip on his cock, squeezing until he could feel Vilkas’ pulse throbbing against his fingers.
Vilkas hissed, “Yes, damn it.”
“Let me hear it.”
Vilkas shook his head, arching against Farkas’ hold. Farkas squeezed harder, until Vilkas broke with a gasp, “Want you. I want you.”
Farkas growled. “Bed.”
He started edging them towards it, keeping them flush. He didn’t want to take his hands off Vilkas, didn’t want an inch of space between them. He pushed Vilkas down onto all fours and kneeled behind him, covering Vilkas’ body with his own.
It thrilled him, how easy that was. His larger size no longer felt cumbersome. His wolf knew it was good, that it made him powerful.
Farkas tried to block it out. Just tried to see and feel things as they were. As if they were just two men, with a simple love between them. A love not colored by the beast in their blood, that did not have to hide or be tempered.
He snaked his arms around Vilkas, slipping a hand back inside his smallclothes, starting to stroke him again.
Vilkas exhaled roughly, head dropping between his biceps. “I won’t last, if you keep doing that.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to.”
Vilkas shook his head. He laid a hand over Farkas’, stilling him. “I want to come around you,” he muttered. “Want you to fuck it out of me.”
Farkas lost his breath, for a moment. His brother was a plain-spoken man, but he never—
At once, a great urgency came over him. He yanked at Vilkas’ smallclothes, wrestling them away from him.
Vilkas’ ass was just as perfect as the rest of his body, made of creamy flesh and firm muscle. His breath grew heavy as Farkas took hold of it, a globe in each hand. He made a high, vulnerable sound when Farkas spread them wide.
That was unlike Vilkas, too. He only ever made sounds like that when they were together like this.
Nobody else would ever hear them. Farkas would rip apart anybody who tried. Only he got to have his brother like this.
Only Farkas.
Vilkas’ exposed hole was pink and twitching. Farkas’ lust spiked at the sight, and he dipped his head to lick at it, his cock twitching when Vilkas moaned and shuddered. Without thinking, he slid a hand up between Vilkas’ shoulderblades, pushing his chest down against the bed.
It was a mistake. His wolf reared up at the sight of Vilkas presenting like that, threatening to take over.
Farkas wrenched himself away, trying to breathe through the overwhelming urge to turn. “Shit, I can’t— Vilkas.”
“We should stop,” Vilkas agreed, panting into the furs. He was trembling, slightly.
Farkas could smell his brother’s desire, his need to be turned and taken. The air was thick with it. He knew Vilkas wouldn’t resist, consequences be damned. He knew he would submit, spread himself beneath Farkas and moan for his release.
And Gods help him, but Farkas wanted to give it to him. Wanted to turn and mount him, fill him, claim him. His wolf howled for it, confused and frustrated at being denied, called wrong, when it was so clearly right.
But there wasn’t only this moment, and Vilkas had trusted him.
Farkas suddenly felt terribly grief-stricken. He leant down and gathered Vilkas to him, burying his face in his hair.
“I hate this,” he grit out. “I love you, but I hate this.”
“It won’t always be like this,” Vilkas said roughly. “I swear to you. Someday, we will rid ourselves of this wretched curse, and everything will be good and right again.”
He sounded so sure, as he always did. Farkas let himself believe him, accepted the comfort he offered.
He mouthed gratefully behind Vilkas’ ear, and Vilkas hummed lowly, pushing back against him.
“Brother,” he said. Just that.
Farkas’ breath caught. “I can’t take you like this. I’ll lose control.”
“Then turn me over.”
Farkas’ desire swelled again. “Are you sure?”
Vilkas laughed weakly. “Damn it, no. But I think stopping would be worse.”
Farkas pulled away just enough for Vilkas to roll onto his back. He spread his legs and Farkas rushed to fill the space between them, quickly ridding himself of his own smallclothes.
Then they were both bare, and Vilkas was wrapping arms and legs around him. They both sighed when they were flush together. It was strangely comforting, reminding Farkas of when they were pups, tangled up together in Jergen’s four-poster.
It was better like this. No less intense, but being so close, able to see his brother’s face, made it easier to stay grounded.
Vilkas’ fingers crept up into Farkas’ hair, pulling their mouths together. Farkas’ lust grew almost unbearable as they kissed, grunting into it as their hips ground together, precome making everything hot and sticky.
He broke away to pant, “Oil?”
“In the drawer.”
Farkas reached to fumble it from the bedside table. He upended it over his cock, making a mess, made clumsy by Vilkas’ gaze. Still, he stroked himself thoroughly, made sure he was good and slick. He was big, even as a man. It amazed him that Vilkas could even take him. It was like they were made to fit together.
“Gods, look at you,” Vilkas breathed. “You’re beautiful.”
Farkas huffed, embarrassed. He wasn’t, he was thick and gruff and unkempt. But it was an argument he couldn’t win even with himself, when his mirror was right in front of him like this.
When he was satisfied, he moved over Vilkas again, slipping his wet hand between their bodies. He rubbed between Vilkas’ cheeks, smearing the rest of the oil over his hole, then pushed in with two thick fingers, curling them to rub at that place inside Vilkas he knew made him shudder and leak.
Vilkas inhaled sharply, body clenching around his knuckles, and Farkas groaned, imagining his cock buried in that tight, pulsing heat. He could barely stand to do this; he didn’t want to hurt him, but Gods, he couldn’t wait anymore.
Blessedly, his impatience was shared. Vilkas yanked at him, encouraging him with hands and heels. He cursed as Farkas’ first clumsy thrust slid his cock across the back of his thigh, spitting something that would have made Farkas laugh, at any other time.
“Here,” Vilkas panted, reaching between them. “Here.”
He took Farkas’ cock at the root, guiding the head into himself. They shared a held breath too as Farkas pushed inside an inch at a time, thrusting shallowly to open him up. There was little resistance, Vilkas’ body yielding readily around him, warm and welcoming as it always was. They exhaled only when their hips met.
Farkas paused, overwhelmed. Vilkas was so tight inside, so hot and supple, rippling around his cock. He drew a shaky breath, dropping his mouth to Vilkas’ ear.
“You feel so good,” he told him. Hushed, as though it were a shameful confession.
Perhaps it would have been, at one time. A time long ago, when Farkas had still felt confused by his desires, trapped by them. Before Vilkas had taken that shame from him, met him in his need, made him whole.
Farkas may not have been smart, but he wasn’t naïve. If something was wrong, he knew it wasn’t likely to be the whole world, instead of them. But the world hadn’t been particularly kind to them, and so he did not feel he owed it anything. Their love hurt no one, and he couldn’t be content without it. More than that, he didn’t know if he could survive without it.
Nor would he ever, because he saw no reason to try. And more importantly, neither did Vilkas.
Vilkas’ hands cupped his cheeks, drawing Farkas’ face back to his. His eyes were narrowed, intent, dilated dark.
“Brother,” he murmured. “Take me.”
He claimed Farkas’ mouth, deep and wet. Farkas grunted, hips rocking against Vilkas as if by their own will. As though his brother commanded his body, and he did not.
Perhaps he did, because Farkas did not feel fully in himself as he started to move within him. Though its hackles were raised, his wolf remained caged; it was just Vilkas, just this. His brother surrounded him, here and out there, led him always.
Though Farkas had meant to be cautious, Vilkas was loud, panting, tugging at him. His neediness fed Farkas’ desire, and soon they were rutting, filling the room with the sound of slapping skin.
Yet Vilkas pulled at him still. Farkas followed him here too, bearing down with his full weight and thrusting deep, right to the hilt, trusting Vilkas to know he could handle it. Vilkas moaned openly, shamelessly, his thighs shaking around Farkas’ waist.
“Gods, yes. Like that, just like that.”
Farkas moaned too, suddenly close to the edge already. Truly, his brother wanted all of him. Everything Farkas could give him.
He had to grit his teeth, shut his eyes, lest he lose himself completely. Vilkas’ cock was a solid weight between them, rubbing between their bellies, slick with spilled oil and its own fluid. Farkas hoped it would be enough, because now the fire was lit, he couldn’t stomp it out.
“Vilkas,” he panted, desperate. “Brother—”
“Yes,” Vilkas answered immediately. “Yes, brother, I’m close. Fuck me, fill me—”
Farkas groaned and did as he was bid, holding Vilkas tight against him and pounding him roughly, lost, unthinking. Through the rising madness, he heard Vilkas cry out, felt wetness spread between them. The clenching of his body wrenched Farkas’ own end from him, brought it crashing down upon him, like the great and terrible waves of the ghostly North Sea.
He let his hips rut mindlessly, chasing every last pulse of pleasure. He felt Vilkas’ hands moving over his back, grasping his ass, helping to wring it out of him. Even when Farkas was finally spent, Vilkas did not let him pull out, legs locked tightly around him.
“Stay,” he breathed. “Let me feel full of you for a little longer.”
Farkas exhaled, chest swelling. His cock was softening, sensitive, surrounded by wet warmth. He could feel it leaking out around where they were still joined, dribbling over his balls and onto the furs.
It satisfied him, having Vilkas so full of his seed. Reeking of Farkas, truly claimed. His wolf was finally, blessedly quiet.
He pressed a sloppy kiss against Vilkas’ neck, where his face was still buried. “Mine,” he said lowly.
Vilkas hummed, petting absently at his hair. “Yours, yes. And you are mine, just the same.”
Farkas practically purred. He felt love-drunk, loopy.
They stayed like that for a while, breathing each other in, hearts thumping together. Then Vilkas grew uncomfortable, started pushing at him.
Farkas reluctantly pulled away. Vilkas groaned as his legs were surrendered to the bed.
“Shor have mercy. Now I will ache for days.”
Farkas tried his best to look as though he didn’t like that idea. “I can rub you again.”
“Yes, because that helped so much this time,” Vilkas grumbled.
Farkas couldn’t help but smile. He rolled onto his side, draping an arm over Vilkas’ chest. He knew they wouldn’t stay like this for long; Vilkas would surely grow sensible again soon, remember that Farkas had dragged him into this lunacy. Even if he didn’t, they were both filthy, sticking together, and Vilkas’ bed could barely hold the pair of them.
But Farkas would savor every second, nonetheless.
It didn’t take long. “We should take the chamber,” Vilkas said. “Before anybody comes down.”
“Together?” Farkas asked hopefully.
Vilkas huffed a laugh. “Shor’s bones. You defy reason, sometimes. No, not together. This was already a terrible idea.”
Farkas tucked his face into Vilkas’ shoulder, inhaling deeply. He knew he should feel ashamed, apologetic— and perhaps he did, but it was just— Gods, his brother just smelled so good. Even now, Farkas couldn’t get enough. He’d have him again, if Vilkas would let him.
“Farkas,” Vilkas said sharply, nudging him with his elbow. “Are you listening?”
Farkas sighed. “Yes.”
“I’m serious. We cannot make a habit of this. Especially during the moon. It’s too dangerous. If we had turned here, like that— think of the others. Damn that, think of us.”
“I know. You’re right, as always. I didn’t mean to push you. I was just—”
“Agitated,” Vilkas finished for him.
“Yes.”
“Because you were jealous.”
“…Yes.”
Vilkas looked at him seriously. “You can’t let your wolf control you like that.”
“I know,” Farkas admitted. “It’s just hard, sometimes. I’m not as strong as you.”
Vilkas was quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t strong tonight.”
“It was my fault. I pushed you into it.”
Vilkas was stiff in his arms. “I still let it happen. I was weak.”
“Brother, no,” Farkas breathed. He definitely felt guilty, now. “It was me. Blame me.” He pulled Vilkas closer, kissing his throat between words, “You’re perfect. So strong. So smart. I’m the weak one. Rash. Stupid.”
Vilkas made a sad noise. “Oh, love.” He finally returned the embrace, pressing his face into Farkas’ hair. “You are not stupid, or weak. Your blood was up, and the moon is strong.”
“Still. I am sorry.”
Vilkas shushed him. “Don’t be. We lost ourselves equally.”
It wasn’t entirely true, but Farkas loved him for saying it, anyway.