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Companionship turns to romance and wizardry turns to lovemaking as our fox and Argonian fall for each other.

The Elder Scrolls: Foxfall, Fruitfall

By Tempe O'Kun, scholar at the College of Winterhold

Volume 4

~ ~ ~

Long after the Lilmothiit's illusions faded from the floor of her hut, Swims-With-Wolves sat staring.

"You look a little too impressed, Argonian." The fox-mage tut-tutted. "I hope my life-debt is not so easily paid."

"Yes, perhaps you shall have to share another story."

And so he did, and after each he would ask his sly vulpine question: had this simple story repaid his debt? And always she would reply, with smooth saurian sibilation, that perhaps he would need to share another. Each night, they found themselves sitting a little closer on the nest-bed, until her chin upon his shoulder seemed typical and wonderful as he told his tales. Not long after, his hammock saw little use, as they both agreed it much more practical for him to stay in bed with her.

And, as sometimes happens when two souls draw together through time and tender words, they fell in love.

One night, as starlight cast their fate in fragile tones of silver and ebony, Lilmothiit and Argonian caught themselves in each other's glance.

Swim-With-Wolves watched from their nest-bed.

The shadows of moonlight could not hide a rare moment of vulpine shyness. His smile glinted, though, and he undid a button of his vest in the form of a question.

She hissed a chuckle, which came edged with surprise. Approval and curiosity balanced against Argonian reserve, in the end showing through.

With soft murmurs of fabric, his clothes met the floor.

Silence drifted heavy through the hut.

She lay in bed; he stood, ears down. A lingering glance passed between them. Then, with nary a word, he wrung his slim black paws and sidled near, their eyes never leaving each other's.

Lifting the blankets, the Lilmothiit lay down, aware of smooth scales pressed against his entire front. She felt his heartbeat, swifter even than his padded stride.

Her hands traced up his naked back, fingers laced at nape of his neck as she drew him into a kiss. The warmth of soft fur replaced the warmth of the blanket. The Argonian basked in the sensation of her body being swathed with his fur, letting it overwhelm her.

Together they explored each other's bodies. He marveled how smooth her scales ran under his paw pads. Her hand cradled his warm, soft, delicate mammalian male parts, which he pressed against in gentle approval. Their muzzles met, crossing the species divide. His paws stroked the tender bases of her horns while his tongue danced with hers in a wet heat that put the Marsh to shame. The heat of the moment caused him to leak a little of his own wet heat against her stomach, leaving the reptile to revel in the endless warmth the mammal could produce. Her hands caressed him, teasing, feeding the fires of his passion, until at last he gave her some private tutoring on the mysteries and mechanics of the canid sheath. The Argonian gasped at the heat of his naked penis, handling the object of her study with care. The slight swell of his knot, a blessing unique to canids, intrigued her, left her with theories and a fervent wish to test them.

Lusty Argonians mate at the height of the day, when the sun speeds their blood. But, with a hot-blooded Lilmothiit in her arms, Swim-With-Wolves found herself in the scandalous situation of making love in the dark of night, under the strange texture of fabric.

Fur and scale mingled, heat furry and soft coming together as that unsheathed prize of the Lilmothiit found a yielding home in that softest part of the Saxheel. The fox rose and fell atop her, his erection pressing wide her folds. Swims-With-Wolves moaned, digging her claws into the sides of her nest-bed. Incredible heat radiated through her body with every thrust of his smooth mammalian penis. Her body squirmed under his, tickling his fur with the sensation of her scales. Even as she gasped for breath, she had to admit her fascination for that swelling at the base of his member, now growing as it jostled in and out of her body. With every stroke out it tugged at her lips; with every press back in it stretched her walls as nothing had done before. Like a spell, it cast ecstasy through her mind. Like a spell, each thrust came harder than the last.

Sizaan, meanwhile, panted, his slim muzzle rubbing the supple scales of her chin, whiskers trembling with each reveling breath. His knot swelled like the tide, ever ancient, ever novel, waves of motion rocking their bodies as jets of thin fluid pulsed from his tip to the juicy bay of her being. Under him, she bucked up with her tail, desiring him ever deeper within her, pride soaring in his chest with every yearning whisper of his name.

Within moments, the Lilmothiit arched, yipping and gasping, atop her. Again and again he shoved his knot against the Argonian, who lay back, lashing her tail against the nest-bed until twigs rattled against the floor. With a final thrust forged of vulpine desperation, his knot spread her wide and then plunged deep, trapped inside at last.

The hut bloomed, awash in color.

All around them, the visual manifestations of their pleasure writhed in brilliant splendor. His swollen flesh surged inside her, a gasp escaped his vulpine lips, and then he began to let loose a warm flood of that most precious mammalian fluid. Sizaan gripped her tight as he sprayed his seed along her slick depths, the whirlwind of color racing out into the night, illuminating the dank and dim marsh into an orgy of resplendent light. Her webbed fingers clutching his fox-rump, Swims-With-Wolves howled her pleasure to the night, her body quaking in bliss as the Lilmothiit's knot swelled against the inside of her, pressing her lips back against his elegant sheath, his delicate sac. This cry of passion wove in with the yowls and roars from beasts of the night, blinded and bedazzled by the cacophony of light that surged and spun and finally fizzled through the swamp.

While the other villagers blinked blearily in their beds, they had long since become used to strange lights, smells, explosions from their healer's hut.

Swims-With-Wolves lay panting with her lover, his silky seed fading from sprays to dribbles against her most private places.

They lay, neither able to grasp the notion of letting go. As she had hypothesized, the swollen bulb of vulpine flesh ensured their embrace continued at the behest of both fondness and physiology.

And as her kind breathe the spores of the Great Trees or the water of the Marsh, so too did she drink in the scent of this beautiful creature. He became part of her heart, her day, her life.

Swims-With-Wolves' claws traced through her lover's fur. The Lilmothiit breathed against her, soft in all ways. His pelt ran under her fingertips like the silkiest silt, his nose like cool mud, his tongue... His tongue had no equal in all the Marsh. Velvet, the Drywalkers had called a fabric close to it. And whenever he set to work with it among her tender folds, she squawked like the most riotous of birds, shivered like the most delicate of ferns.

Her half-roused mind ambling through these fresh memories, she woke him with kisses along his soft-furred ears.

"You're trouble, Swim."

"Am I the one who is trouble?"

"Sometimes illusionists get so caught up in their spells, they forget what's real. The more beautiful the spell, the more dangerous." His paw traced her naked shoulder.

She touched her forehead to his, eyes closed, as if held in a Hist vision. "More than illusionists wonder if blessings are dreams."

The fox wrapped himself around her, tail twined with tail, warming her further still through the night.

And so their stories began to interweave, the travels of his long years and the tales of his people coupled with her endless research and observations on the ways of mammals. They would talk themselves hoarse, make love as she healed their throats, and then start anew.

The lone topic they did not broach: what would happen when he ran out of visions to share. If he repeated a story now and then, she pretended not to notice.

At last, though, like all avoided issues, it floated to the surface on its own.

Swims-With-Wolves returned from her latest communing with the Hist to see her lover sitting dejected on their nest-bed. A pensive hush had fallen over the fox, ears down, tail curled tight against him. An idle wisp of illusion shimmered from his paw, like the final bittersweet note of a long, beguiling symphony.

Her fingers traced the smooth ruff of his cheek. "What saddens my fox-love?"

He shrugged in glum apology, whiskers wilting. His scent hung heavy. "I have no stories left to show you."

She leaned in. Her lips pressed, so soft, to his. The kiss came wet and warm, like an Argonian summer, and just as slow to drift away. "We both knew you would run out one day. Yours has been the most...illuminative tutoring I've ever received." Her nose bumped his with tender fondness.

He looked up; his golden eyes, the only gold she valued, shone with sorrow. With a quaver in his tone, he nested his hands. "What now?"

"Now..." She took his hands in her own, ruby eyes glinting. "...we make more."

~ ~ ~

There you go, folks: four whole chapters. *wags* Let me know what you think of it!

Edits: TheFunkyOne, Slate, VendettaLeopard, SillyNeko345, DarkDragon452

Consults: Anakuro

-Tempo