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When pressed to describe Skyrim, Baneeva had one of two ways he could go about it. The first was to paint Skyrim as a land of stark, brutal magnificence. He would wax poetic about the airy peaks, the ghostly howling of the wind through ancient forests, the rugged charm of her people as they built sweeping structures in, out of and around the very oldest of man's creations. He would also describe Skyrim as a blasted hellscape, a horrifying land of soul-crushing cold in which all life to be found sprung up either in brave defiance of the elements, or in mockery to all that was good and decent. Whether the Argonian landed on one side of the argument or the other depended entirely on one thing:

Whether he had to travel through the Pale.

The Pale was, to hear him describe it, worse than any plane of Oblivion one could imagine. Nothing could be found there, but wind and trees. Wind and trees... and snow. Damnable snow! No matter how tightly he wrapped his cloak around himself, he could feel those infernal shards worming their way in, tingling against his scales, melting into his clothes in a slow, insidious process of dampening. What Daedra claimed the snow? None, that's who. Molag Bol would crumple and cry, in the face of a Skyrim winter. Not even the followers of Namira were wretched enough to deserve such a fate.

Virdus, the long-suffering Nord, had been forced to hear all these things and more, ever since they left his ancestral barrow. The blizzard that had hit, a few hours into their trip, was a bitter one, but having spent his life in Skyrim, Virdus thought it was far from the worst that he had ever experienced. It seemed as though the moment a single snowflake began to fall, Baneeva went from a happy, eternally confident adventurer to a lizard on the brink of death. Virdus could only roll his eyes, as the lament continued behind him.

“We're coming up to the village," he called, over a rather spirited gust of wind. “We'll be in the tavern shortly."

“The tavern!" Baneeva cried. “The fire-pits! The warming cups of mead! Oh, my friend, the tavern is a rotted piece of driftwood in a deadly sea, but my heart sings to see it, just up ahead!"

“Can you make it?" Virdus asked, a rare smirk on his grizzled, unkempt face. “Do you need me to carry you the rest of the way?"

“A tempting prospect," the Argonian said, momentarily forgetting his suffering. “Your arms are deceptively warm, after all." He waved the thought away, with a theatrical air. “Alas, my honor as a Saxhleel prevents me from showing weakness, even in situations as dire as these. Let us hurry on, my friend, while I am still master of my own two feet."

Despite his complaints, Baneeva's stride all the way to the old tavern was as smooth and confident as they could be, given the snowy terrain. Virdus was just glad to hear the sound of the wind, for a minute or two, before an entirely new song began to make its way out of his partner's mouth.

“Ahhh," went the lizard, the moment he passed through the doorway. “Heat. Blessed, life-giving heat!" He stretched his hands out, towards the large stone fire-pit that took up the center of the dining area. “Our long ordeal has been temporarily staved off, Virdus."

“Aye," Virdus replied, noncommittally. “I'm gonna go get us some mead."

“You do that." Baneeva did not hesitate to put himself directly in front of the fire. At the very least, he had learned his lesson after the last blizzard, and refrained from sitting on the edge of the thing for maximum body contact. He was already in backup clothes, after his “masterful gambit" in the barrow, and was not keen on going back out into the wilderness with singed clothing. Even so, his hands were so deep in the shimmering air above the flames that it was just on the fringes of comfort.

The middle-aged Nord woman behind the counter and Virdus made brief eye contact. She had a question in her stare, as she looked from him to his companion. Virdus could only offer a shrug, by way of explanation. That was enough for the tavern owner, who produced a pair of bottles from under the counter. Virdus muttered out a “thank you," putting coins down and taking the bottles back into the room without another word. “Baneeva. Here."

“Thank you, friend." Baneeva had grown to tolerate the taste of alcohol, during his travels. The effects the stuff had on him were, in his estimation, far more enjoyable than the drink itself. Nevertheless, that first sip, and the warm burn that made its way down his gullet, was a further balm to his cold-shocked senses. “Ah... Virdus, have I mentioned my desire to see Black Marsh, again?"

“You have. Many times."

“Yes, I must have. Black Marsh is perfection. The sun actually has power, there. I tell you, you have not known pleasure until you spend the heat of the day, basking in the light, while the mud from the Marsh's uncountable pools envelops and bakes you."

Virdus shrugged, upending his bottle into his mouth and back down in one swift motion. “So you say. I don't really see the appeal, myself."

“That is because you have not seen the world outside these mountains." The Argonian leaned closer to his companion, throwing a now thoroughly warmed arm around Virdus's shoulder. “Rest assured, that is a deficiency I intend to address."

“H-hey..." Virdus looked from him, to the tavern-owner, nervously. “Could you not...?"

Baneeva grinned. “Could I not what? Don't mind her. Tavern owners see all sorts. I'm sure it's not the first time she's seen two men drinking. She's probably even seen them kiss."

“We're not doing that. Not here."

“Aw, are you sure? I can feel your heart pumping, as you think about it."

“I mean it, Baneeva." Virdus pushed himself away. “No."

The Argonian rolled his eyes, but relented. “Very well. Perhaps we ought to discuss business, then. We've a lot of plans to make, if..."

“Impossible," called a voice, from one of the guest rooms. “That simply cannot be Baneeva, I hear."

The door to the room opened, and out stalked a beaming face. Za'ir was a Suthay Khajiit, one of those curious cat-like men to come from the deserts of Elsweyr. Shorter than Virdus by about a head, Baneeva by about half a head, and easily several stone lighter than either of them, he was a slight and nearly weightless presence. Were it not for the garish loudness of his tight, sleeveless tunic and gold embroidered breechcloth, he could easily have passed by all in the tavern, completely unrecognized. Instead, the effect as he walked, silently, on the balls of his footpaws, lent him an almost ethereal, otherworldly presence that demanded attention.

Baneeva's blood pressure spiked, every time he had to see that infernal walk.

“It is!" Za'ir cried, insinuating himself in between the two men. “Baneeva, you insufferable slattern! I would have thought you'd have left for warmer climes, long ago!" He turned to Virdus, looking the Nord up and down with naked, shameless appraisal. “Vilnus, was it? I see you're as... charmingly unkempt as you were the last time we met."

“It's Virdus," Virdus corrected, with the humorless air of someone who had had to do so many times, before.

“Za'ir!" Baneeva smiled in that very distinct way one can only smile at someone they passionately hate. “I see that not even a blizzard will keep you from making yourself comfortable. Don't tell me that you're... entertaining, out here in this backwater?"

The Khajiit shook his head, ruffling the feathers that were carefully laced in his head-fur. “Regrettably, there is very little call for a troubadour, in a place like this. You two are the first people I've seen, since the storm started."

“Do you hear that, Virdus?" Baneeva said, his voice tight. “He calls himself a 'troubadour,' now."

Virdus shook his head and said “I... really want no part of this."

“I do, indeed, call myself that." Za'ir wore the smile of an arch-enemy much more gracefully than Baneeva, but the glint of the eyes revealed it was no less acidic, on his part. “A much grander title than... oh, what was it you try to convince people you are? An... 'adventurer?' You certainly have the smell of the barrows, about you."

“Oh, you can smell that?" Baneeva tried to be cool, as he took a disinterested sip of mead. “I wondered that you could smell anything, over your constant aura of musk and perfumes and Orsimer semen."

Za'ir laughed. “My, are we still bitter about that, Baneeva? It's not my fault the Chieftain wanted someone young and spry to warm his bed."

“You are no older than me, esteemed friend."

“The crags in your scales would say otherwise, noble adventurer."

“That is merely an effect of the winter air, peer of mine," Baneeva's smile was deep, even as his fingers threatened to crush the bottle in his grip into powder.

“What a tragedy." Za'ir's face was as pleasant as a summer morning, even as his claws were extended and his eye began to twitch. “The winter is as unkind to your scales as it is to your tool."

Virdus began to carefully back away.

“Funny. You did not think my tool unkind, the last time we crossed paths."

“I was in a charitable mood, when last we met."

“Charitable? You howled like a she-cat in heat!"

As suddenly as the storm between them grew, it vanished. Both men recoiled, as if from a blow. Za'ir, for his part, seemed wounded. Baneeva felt a sudden, heart-seizing dread, as he ran his last statement back through his mind.

“I see how it is," Za'ir said, at length.

“I misspoke," Baneeva insisted.

“Did you, really?"

A terrible silence prevailed, with nothing but the crackle of the fire pit and the howling winds outside. Virdus found himself checking to make sure his sword was still on his belt, as he leaned against the bar. Above, the heavy timbers of the tavern creaked.

Then, suddenly, Za'ir was doubled over, peals of raucous laughter pouring out of his mouth as hard as his lungs could manage. “Oh, friend! Friend Baneeva! The look on your face! You'd think I'd caught you with the Emperor's daughter!"

Baneeva took a moment to collect himself. When he did so, he was immediately back to his confident self. “Za'ir, you are a rogue and a wastrel."

“That, I am." Za'ir replied, but only after he had gotten control of his lungs. “And you are as softhearted as ever, pulling your punches even as I insult your lizardhood."

Baneeva sighed, dramatically. “Yes, well, let it not be said my legend is not one of mercy." He draped an arm around the Khajiit's shoulder, pulling him in. “Now, then... what is it that's brought a mer of your status all the way out here, to the Pale, of all places?"

Virdus could not, for the life of him, tell when the transition happened. All of a sudden, Za'ir and Baneeva were talking to one another with the conspiratorial patter of old friends. They were not old friends, by any stretch of the imagination, but the Argonian had a funny way of treating enemies like friends and friends like lovers, which he exercised with seemingly no discretion.

Za'ir gave his rival/enemy/friend a crooked grin. “As it so happens, I am bound somewhere great. During my travels, I managed to secure an invitation to spend an evening with... well, you might be able to guess."

“I am terrible at guessing your entanglements, Za'ir, for you have almost as many as I."

“Do guess, anyway. I enjoy seeing you flounder."

Baneeva thought, a moment. “You mentioned attempting to find your way into the Black-Briar estate. Has that effort borne fruit?"

“Regrettably, no. Maven Black-Briar seems to have little interest for anything that isn't made of gold or honey."

“I see, I see. Your Redguard friend, then."

“He does not like men, as it turns out."

“Really? I never would have guessed."

“Nor would I." Za'ir's expression was grave, at that thought. “A great wound was done, when he told me."

Baneeva patted the Khajiit's back, in commiseration. “Last I heard, our Orc chieftain died in glorious combat, so it can't be him... Honestly, Za'ir, I couldn't begin to guess."

Za'ir, recovering quickly from his disappointment, dipped into a deep and almost devious grin. “Well, you are a mer of the world. If I told you I had managed to secure an invitation to... the... party... perhaps you'd understand."

Baneeva's expression fell, as he mulled over his rival's words. Then, as the wheels began to spin, his face grew tighter and tighter. “No..." he whispered, darkly.

“Yes," Za'ir purred, smugly.

“Impossible." Baneeva shook his head. “Simply impossible. The last time Lady Milandra's parties left the Valenwood, it led to scandals all the way up to the Emperor's palace."

“Oh, Baneeva, my friend. Were you so naive to think that the threat of scandal, of all things, would keep that wonderful Bosmer's libido in check, for long? No, she is back. And she has chosen Skyrim as the venue for her latest Sanguinial."

The Argonian pulled back, his expression grave. It was a violation of his personal creed to allow anyone (but especially people like Za'ir) to see his confidence waver. However, such was the inescapable power of Milandra, that it made a mockery of creeds and will. He turned away, chin in the web between his thumb and forefinger, his face a mask of concern. As often as he and Za'ir butted heads, he knew that the Khajiit would not bluff something like this. His honor would not allow him to take the name of the Sanguinial in vain. The mere thought of doing so was unthinkable. Unthinkable!

And yet... to think that Za'ir, of all creatures, would be the one to tell him...

Baneeva turned, trying abortively to return to confidence. “It seems as though our stars rise ever higher, friend. To think that Lady Milandra has come here, to grace us with her radiant delights, that we should be so fortunate.... It can only speak of good things for us, surely."

Za'ir's eyes narrowed, even as his face broke into an impish grin. “'We, us, our...' you seem to enjoy those words."

Baneeva suddenly lunged forward, gripping Za'ir by his skinny shoulders. “Damn you, cat! If you think I will not debase myself for the location of this Sanguinial, then I have failed to drill into you the appropriate level of respect I have for the ways of the hedonist. Name your price, cad!"

Za'ir did not answer, right away. Instead, he reached a hand up. Curling his claws into the Argonian's shirt, he took a fistful of fabric and pulled him close. “Perhaps we ought to discuss my terms in my chambers," he purred, his voice equal parts velvet and acid.

The two of them were a frenzy of limbs, as they pulled each other into the guest bedroom. The door slammed shut behind them with enough force to disturb the fire-pit, momentarily.

The tavern owner leaned against her bar and looked to Virdus. “So," she said, “you know both of those people, huh?"

“I do," Virdus replied. “I am... so very sorry."

* * *

Something always happened, whenever their hands started to find their way underneath each other's clothes. It was surprisingly difficult to keep up an air of bitter rivalry, once things transitioned to the bedroom. It was almost something of an unspoken agreement, between the two of them, that the theatrics stopped, when nobody but them were watching.

Baneeva ran his hands along Za'ir's fuzzy chest, his brow furrowing. “Something feels different," he remarked, quietly.

Za'ir chuckled. “I was waiting to see how long it would be, before you noticed." He pulled his shirt off of his body, before leaning back into the Argonian's hands. “Notice anything, now?"

“Your chest... it's completely flat." Baneeva marveled, as his fingers felt around. “Remarkable. Is this the work of that Sculptor you were trying to track down?"

“It was," Za'ir purred, smiling with almost childish glee. “Finding them was no great task. The challenge was convincing them that their talents could work on things other than faces."

“Glorious." For a brief moment, Baneeva allowed himself a moment of genuine happiness, for the creature that otherwise rankled him deeply. However, determined as he was not to give Za'ir the impression that they were friends, he decided to move his hands for the Khajiit's hindquarters. “I suppose you didn't think to ask the Sculptor to do anything about this rear, from what I feel."

“Of course not," Za'ir replied. “The Sculptor might be a miracle worker, but they cannot improve upon perfection."

“You and I have a different opinion on perfection," Baneeva breathed, as his lips grew closer to Za'ir's.

“The way your trousers jab into me would suggest you..."

Baneeva went on the offensive, covering the Khajiit's mouth with his own before he could get any more smug. He walked the two of them to the old collection of wooden posts and furs that the people of Skyrim claimed was a bed. He all but tossed Za'ir down, climbing on top before the cat had even managed to bounce.

“Eager, aren't we?" Za'ir purred. “I haven't even told you what my terms-ah!"

“There's no need." Baneeva's hand was now completely buried inside of the cat's breech-cloth. It took almost no searching to find what he was looking for; the Argonian only needed to paw around until he felt something wet and yielding. “You want me to take you to the peak of ecstasy, much as I did the last time we met." With a flourish, he pulled the cloth up, revealing his rival's nethers in all their glory. “Worry not. The great Baneeva has only gotten more powerful, these past few months."

Za'ir was about to protest, but then the assault against his vulva began in earnest. Za'ir had met many men who knew their way around a woman's private parts. He had met many women, as well, who had the gift. Many of them, however, balked whenever they looked between the Khajiit's legs, and discovered that his private parts were not those expected on a man. For some of them, it was a momentary hiccup. For others, it was an impassible roadblock. But Baneeva... Za'ir couldn't remember a time when the Argonian hesitated. Za'ir was not, to this day, even sure Baneeva ever considered anything to be amiss about him.

Try as he might, he couldn't stop the noises from bubbling up into his throat. Baneeva cornered him by getting his back against the headrest. There he was helpless to do anything other than squirm, as those rough fingers finally got slick enough to work their way inside him. He gripped at the Argonian's wrist, though whether that was in reflexive protest or because he wanted more, he couldn't say. All he could do was tremble and gasp, his troubadour bravado melting away as he was stroked and probed into flames.

Baneeva chuckled. “You naive kitten," he rumbled. “You catch the eye of one Orc chieftain, and you think yourself an equal to me."

Za'ir stifled a moan. Defiantly, he made a face halfway between a sneer and a smirk. “You're wrong. I think myself a better."

The Argonian's expression darkened. “Your sense of humor is not nearly as refined, when you're wrapped around my fingers like this."

“One of us was invited to Lady Milandra's Sangui... nnngh... Sanguinial, and it was not you. I... hhhah!... think that's quite funny."

Baneeva was not one for anger. The expression of scandal and insult that flashed across his face was the closest he came to it, and Za'ir had nothing, if not a talent for drawing it out of him. “Well, then..." the Argonian replied, sharply, “... since you clearly desire a humbling, I suppose I shall have to oblige." Pulling his fingers from Za'ir's snatch, he rocked back onto his calves and loomed over his opponent. “I will just have to hit you where you know you're weak."

“What do you m-yah!"

Before he could ask his question, Baneeva had slithered down Za'ir's body, jamming his snout in the Khajiit's crotch with a force just a hair short of being an attack. In the same motion, Za'ir's legs were pulled up, the Argonian grabbing him under each knee and lifting until he was bent into himself. And then the lashing began. Baneeva had a clear indication of how much of an effect his ministrations had already had, and so nothing was going to hold him back.

He went on the offensive with a gusto that can only be described as “ferocity." Baneeva's tongue was long, and intense training had rendered it almost as dexterous as his fingers. More importantly, it refused to stand still. Tracing pathways up and down, between and inside, circling that sensitive button before embedding itself back between those lips. Baneeva would not allow the Khajiit a moment to gather himself, to regain any amount of that smug self-assurance. He had settled on the same strategy for defeating his opponent as that of a megalomaniacal Destruction mage with poor strategic planning skills: raw, overwhelming force.

The effects were as immediate as they were satisfying. Za'ir put his hands up against the headboard, bracing against the assault with helpless rapture. The only thing that tumbled out of his mouth were lyrical moans, heavy pulls of air, half-garbled proto-statements vaguely begging for more. His soft thighs pressed against either side of the Argonian's face, absently rubbing against scales and spines in an abortive attempt to maximize body contact. Constrained as he was by the rather acrobatic angle, the only thing he could see of his lover was his head, the top of that angled reptilian snout and the glistening green-black scales of his craggy forehead. And his eyes. By the Sugar God, the intensity of those eyes alone might have set Za'ir off, if Baneeva was willing to wait.

Suddenly, Za'ir was aware of the fact he was being filled. Baneeva's jaw opened wide, and his top teeth surrounded the Khajiit's mons. Za'ir's eyes widened, as he realized that wet, fleshy muscle inside the Argonian's mouth was now working its way inside of him. Deliriously, he took a hand off the headrest and put it on top of Baneeva's head, throwing his head back as the Argonian began to fuck him in earnest. He felt his orgasm swiftly approaching, and he couldn't have held it back, even if he wanted to.

The edges of Baneeva's lips pulled upward, as he felt the familiar, fluttering pressure on his tongue and the insistent push of leg muscles against his head and shoulders. He basked in the glory of his victory, even as he flexed and pushed enough to allow his rival to gently ride the wave back down to Mundus. When it passed, he withdrew, slowly, letting Za'ir feel by absence just how deeply he had managed to worm his way inside. As soon as his tongue was free, he used it to lick his chops, never once breaking eye contact.

Za'ir panted and trembled. “Please..."

Baneeva chuckled. “That is not a word I am used to hearing from you."

Za'ir shook his head, beyond the point of caring. “You... are safe, yes? Without a ritual from the Hist, you can't... you can't..."

Baneeva gently lowered Za'ir's hips, back down onto the bed. “My good friend... if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were asking me to fuck you."

“Oh, Baneeva," Za'ir lay there, legs spread, vulva still twitching with excitement and slick with both his and Baneeva's fluids. He brought two fingers down to spread those lips open, shuddering anxiously. “If you make me beg for it, I swear I'll never forgive you."

The Argonian allowed himself a moment, to savor the sounds of victory coming from the head of the bed. Then, he shook his head, in mock-grace. “I do not suffer my lovers to beg," he said, as he slid off the bed. “I do, however, enjoy letting them stew in anticipation."

Slowly, as though disrobing for a ritual, Baneeva pulled himself out of his shirt. Life on the road had done the Argonian's body several favors. He had not bulked out, but there was still shape and definition to that chest. The real change, however, was something that Za'ir found himself unable to truly place. Baneeva seemed... different. Possessed of a new and more powerful determination. Just what sort of things had the Argonian encountered, on his adventures, while Za'ir idly plied his trade among the people of Skyrim and waited for the Sanguinial?

Before he could ponder that, however, the pants came off. Za'ir's entire body shivered. He had seen many cocks, in his time. Bigger cocks, crueler cocks, cocks that twitched with greater eagerness or which threatened him with greater ferocity. But Baneeva's... that dark, shiny, tapered thing that poked from his slit... every time Za'ir saw it, it was arresting. No, scratch that. He was beautiful. Standing there, half in shadows, erection glistening in the candlelight, he looked like something altogether not of Mundus, as if a marble statue had come to life and was about to make love to a shivering, panting Khajiit.

One would think that Baneeva moving towards the bed would have broken the illusion, but as the lizard leaned forward, hovering over his body, Za'ir's lower half clenched in anticipation. “Now, then..." the Argonian whispered, in his twitching ear, “...if I recall, you prefer to keep your face in a pillow. How about you turn around?"

Za'ir swallowed, anxiously. “Not... not tonight."

The confidence faltered, for just a moment, as Baneeva withdrew. “Not tonight? What does that mean?"

Za'ir shook his head. Even he was unsure of what was coming out of his mouth. However, he was going to double down. Settling back into the bed, he spread himself out. “Like this. Look me in my eyes, while you fuck me. I... won't allow my rival the chance to pretend he is with anybody else."

A smirk spread on Baneeva's face, with just a hint of conspiratorial mischief in his eyes. “It seems you've seen right through me," he lied. “You are a sadistic taskmaster. Fine." He climbed back onto the bed, nestling himself between the Khajiit's tawny thighs. “Though it pains me to do so, let it not be said that the great Baneeva hides from his lovers."

Za'ir breathed in deep, prepared for that first blissful flush of penetration. But, it didn't happen. Baneeva took his member in his hand, lining it up with the Khajiit's ready sex. He pushed in down, in between Za'ir's labia, let it slide from button to bottom in an agonizingly slow drag. Then, it went bottom-up, again in that same torturous motion. Then down. Then up. Every pass ratcheted Za'ir's desperation. Soon, he was grabbing fistfuls of the furs on the bed, scoring holes in them with his claws, clenching his upper jaw down on his bottom lip to stifle out the needy moans that tried to escape. He glared up at Baneeva. He would not beg. Baneeva would not make him beg.

Fortunately, for him, his rival's patience seemed to run out moments before his did. The Argonian ceased his teasing, found the angle that pointed him vestibule-ward, and with a hissing moan he began his descent. The meeting of hip to hip felt like an eternity. The both of them, by unspoken agreement, thought this a moment to be savored. While they had drifted into one another's beds and bedrolls several times, in their long and storied relationship, never had it gotten further than hands and mouths. Za'ir found that, even though he invited this, he was not altogether prepared for the potent intimacy that came with looking into those reptilian eyes, as he was spread open.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, Baneeva was bottomed out. He settled himself, thighs nestled under thighs, bellies pressed, one hand on the bed under Za'ir's armpit and the other raised almost to the level of Za'ir's face. He paused, staring at his fingers a moment, realizing he was moments away from running his fingers through his rival's fur. He put his hand down by Za'ir's head instead, and said “I will start moving, now."

Za'ir exhaled, abortively attempting a smirk. “Think you can handle it, old man?"

“If you're trying to incense me, it will not work," Baneeva replied, with a chuckle that was a bit too confident to be real.

“It's just that I've never seen you on top, before." Za'ir circled his hips, slowly grinding against the Argonian's member. “I worry you might get too excited." He managed to start the vaguest hint of a smug grin, before the sudden withdrawal and even more sudden slamming down of Baneeva's hips shook him from bottom to top.

If the humorless expression on the Argonian's face was any indication, Za'ir's attempts to incense him had, in fact, worked. “Worry about yourself," Baneeva muttered, with a tone of dark warning.

What followed was not the most spirited assault Za'ir had ever experienced. As slim as he was, Baneeva did not have the weight of hip to throw anything that would hurt, nor was he the kind of sexual being that would have wanted to try, anyway. There was, however, an air of combat about the way the Argonian drove into him. Baneeva threw himself down as though he were throwing punches in a Skyrim ale-hall. Again, such assaults didn't hurt. Far from it; Za'ir couldn't stop the rapturous yowls from leaving his mouth, if he tried. Baneeva was not making love to Za'ir; he was putting an enemy in his place.

Before Za'ir was fully aware of it, his left hand was down between his legs, two fingers circling his clit, furiously barreling towards a second orgasm. Then, suddenly, he felt his hand being wrenched aside. He whined, inarticulately.

Baneeva scowled, holding the Khajiit's wrist up. “No... mmph... cheating, you. Only I get you over."

Za'ir struggled, weakly attempting to regain control of his hand. Not that he needed it. With every stab into his guts, he was edging closer and closer. He made one last attempt at confidence, muttering out. “You... you... fiend. To Obli...-bliv..." And that was all he could manage, before he was once again shaking and clenching and roaring incoherent obscenities to the headboard.

Baneeva was only a few thrusts behind. No sooner had he felt victory tugging at his member, than he was rushing the rest of the way over the edge. Soon, he was buried to the hilt, pumping shot after shot of hot semen as deep into his rival as his hips could manage. His wave crested and fell, a scant few moments before Za'ir's frantic twitches gave way to a sensual relaxing of muscles. He turned on one side, spreading himself on the bed beside Za'ir.

“You..." Za'ir tried to speak, between pulls of air. “... you're hardly out of... out of breath."

Baneeva chuckled, this time more convincingly. “Special training, my friend. I've had to get accustomed to tackling things well beyond your garden variety bedchambers."

“Is that right?" Za'ir nestled his head back against the cushions, a lazy smile on his face. “Should I see an alchemist, after tonight?"

“Oh, would you be quiet?" Baneeva stretched out on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “You have such a horrible way of denying people their victories."

“Is that what you call this, then?"

“It is. My victory is dribbling out of you, as we speak."

Za'ir looked down, at the semen soaking into the fur beneath his sex. “So it seems."

His confidence buoyed, Baneeva smirked. “We're agreed, then. I shall take my prize, then."

“What's that?" Za'ir purred. “Apologies. My mind is a fog, right now."

Baneeva scowled. “You lie, Za'ir. Your mind is always at its sharpest, after a good roll, and we both know it. I have given you what you wanted, now tell me where I might meet with Lady Milandra."

Baneeva did not trust the look that spread across Za'ir's face. The supreme confidence the Khajiit radiated was not blunted by his nudity, nor his disheveled, post-coital state. If anything, such things elevated him to dangerous levels of smugness and self-assuredness.

“Dear friend," Za'ir rumbled, his voice a lusty growl, “I was trying to tell you what it was I would accept as payment, for my information. You were so overcome with desire for my body, that you merely assumed I would part with it for a momentary trip to paradise."

“Damn you!" Baneeva lifted himself up on his elbows. “If you think you can welch your way out of..."

“Za'ir does not welch, friend." The Khajiit turned over, so he was facing Baneeva. “You will have your information. But you will have it after agreeing to my terms, not yours."

The Argonian's face twisted up in anguish. He had been had! With a dramatic flourish, he threw himself back down onto the bed. “Fine, you daedric thing, you. State your terms. Do your level worst!" Baneeva stared up at the ceiling, refusing to look his rival in the eye. Even as Za'ir slithered alongside him, chuckling deeply and heartily, still he didn't turn his eyes away. He would take whatever the cat had to throw...

The soft, intimate feeling of a fuzzy head against the nape of his neck, the deep rumbling purrs, the sound and feeling of gentle kisses against his scales... all of those gave Baneeva pause. There was something altogether different in the air, as if Za'ir was dropping all illusions of contest between the two of them. The Argonian, who was prepared for humiliation and the loss of what little power he had over his rival, found this turn of events to be... disquieting.

Za'ir rested his forehead against Baneeva's upper chest, unwilling to look the Argonian in the eye, as he spoke. “I want... for us to go together... to the Sanguinial." He heard Baneeva attempt to sputter out a question. He took it as license to continue speaking. “Good Baneeva... I do not know your heart as well as I know your body, but... perhaps I could trust you with a look at mine. I do delude myself into thinking I am your friend, after all."

“Za'ir..."

Za'ir wrapped an arm around Baneeva's chest, holding him close. “I am afraid. I do not have the courage to wander into the den of something as powerful as Lady Milandra. Not as I am. Not alone. I... I fear what I will become. I need a friend to help me keep my torch aloft, for otherwise I am in darkness." With what had to be a titanic effort of will, Za'ir pulled his head up, forced himself to look Baneeva square in the eye. Taking a deep breath, he said “There is only one creature in Nirn I would want to have by my side, for this, and for better or worse, it is you."

Baneeva found himself staring deeply into the Khajiit's eyes. He'd always considered Za'ir to be a creature of fickle confidence. As one who compulsively made it a point to project confidence at all times, he found Za'ir's open honesty to be... he couldn't really say. He wanted to say he found it tiresome, in the same way that one found a younger sibling's attempt at imitation tiresome. However, that wasn't entirely true. Deep in the back of Baneeva's mind, there was a thought, an unshakable notion that maybe, just maybe, Za'ir was the stronger of the two of them.

Sighing, Baneeva brought a hand back to scratch at the back of the Khajiit's head and said “You have the better of me. What can I do, but accept your terms?"

Za'ir beamed, a gentle purr rumbling in the back of his throat.

Baneeva broke eye contact, desperate for anything he could say to keep the situation from turning sappy. “I-I should warn you, however, that we will not be traveling alone. Virdus, the Nord outside, has been walking with me for some time, now, and I simply cannot leave him to the wolves..." He paused, mulling over his choice of words, before correcting “I simply cannot abandon him."

Za'ir, too drunk with pleasure after being both post-coital and victorious, didn't seem to notice the change. “Not to worry. An entourage will only heighten my profile, with Lady Milandra. I just hope you can handle some competition for the man's attention."

“I'm not worried. Virdus does not particularly like men."

Za'ir's brow furrowed.

Baneeva met the Khajiit's eyes, grinning wolfishly. “He makes an exception, for me."

Za'ir grinned back. “So you're saying he makes exceptions."

“I suppose he does. But whether he'll go for your skinny body is a question only he can answer."

“Friend Baneeva. Is that a hint of concern I detect in your voice?"

“It is annoyance. Must I wrestle your libido into submission once again?"

“I wouldn't say no."

Baneeva felt the familiar flash of outrage, even as his reptilian cock once again lumbered to life. “Insufferable cat. How many times must I prove myself the better?"

“I'd settle for once, thank you," Za'ir replied, smugly purring against the Argonian's chest.

And so the battle continued.