Work Text:
"I don't wanna haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back."
Farkas sighed as he adjusted his Shield-Brother's weight. He'd probably asked for it.
"Hey, Farkas?"
Another sigh. "What?"
"Are…" His breath was hot on the back of Farkas's neck. "Are you…carryin' me?"
He was slurring heavily, blood trickling down Farkas's neck from where it dripped down Talon's temple. He was carrying him piggy-back, head lulling against Farkas's cheek.
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah."
"You said you didn't want to."
"I don't."
His passenger made a soft, confused noise at the back of his throat. "Then why are you?"
Farkas scoffed. "What was I supposed to do, leave you there?"
"Well, sure. You barely know me."
"That didn't stop you from catching the broadside of a greatsword for me. Thanks, by the way."
"Don' mention it."
Farkas picked up the pace. Head wounds usually bled a lot, and looked worse than they actually were, but it still made him nervous. He'd taken a hard hit.
If he hauled ass, they could be back at Jorrvaskr in an hour.
As the minutes crawled by, Talon's inquiries gradually gave way to loud, unsteady breathing, his body dead-weight on Farkas's back. He let it lie for a few more beats before he jostled his passenger – gently.
"Talon?"
Silence.
Out cold. No surprises there.
He got a few funny looks on his way through the gates of Whiterun, though the guards let him through right away, a few passersby watching them with varying levels of concern. The newest Thane of Balgruuf's court had gained quite a reputation in a short amount of time.
Vilkas raised his eyebrows at them the moment Farkas traipsed through the door.
"I thought he was made of sterner stock."
Farkas growled. "He kicked ass. Saved mine, too."
Kodlak stepped in, brows drawn. "We can debate when our Shield-Brother is seen to."
"'r we there yet?" Talon slurred, cheek lulling against Farkas's.
There was affection in Kodlak's eyes as he stifled a smile. "His spirit appears unbroken enough."
"His terrible sense of humor, you mean," Vilkas quipped, but he softened nonetheless. "Want any help?"
"I've got him," Farkas answered. His arms had gone numb ages ago, but somehow, the thought of relinquishing him was horrifying. He instead led the way down the stairs into the living quarters, hefting his burden carefully.
The other whelps eyed them as they passed, whooping and hollering and carrying on, which Skjor was having none of.
"Clear out, all of you!" He waved an irritable hand. "Go kill something, for Shor's sake."
Kodlak motioned them onward. "Bring him to my quarters. Less prying eyes."
Talon stirred as Farkas laid him on the bed, blinking somewhat confusedly at his surroundings.
"Rest easy, Shield-Brother," Kodlak soothed. "You are among friends."
"'….why'm I in your bed? Did we fuck?"
Farkas snorted.
Vilkas looked scandalized. "For the love of…"
Kodlak merely laughed, mirth in his eyes that took years off his face. "You're a little young for me, I'm afraid."
"That's fair," the Dragonborn slurred, and promptly passed out again.
Tilma was fetched, Talon was settled, and onlookers were scattered in record time. All except Farkas, that was, who stood vigil. It seemed like the right thing to do.
"'ey, Farkas?" Talon asked, waking briefly as Farkas moved to mop the sweat from his brow.
"What, Tal?"
He furrowed his brow. "Are you a Werewolf?"
"Yeah."
"Oh." Talon blinked heavily. "Okay."
After a beat or two, Farkas chuckled, shaking his head. "'Did we fuck?' Really?"
"Tell me if he came up to you in a tavern, y'wouldn't think about it."
"Gross," Farkas shuddered. "He's like my father."
"He can be my daddy," Talon smirked. His eyes fluttered. "...'less you wanna be."
Farkas replaced the rag on his forehead, resting his hand there perhaps for a bit longer than strictly necessary. "Ask me again sometime."