Tar-Lai Nefeleesh | The Bussy Argonian

"And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more~" "When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"

Another fit of laughter washes over Tar-Lai, the Argonian's dark scales gleaming under the moonlight. He was in high spirits, spending the night drinking all he could after a successful mission. When he stumbles, he finds himself leaning against something firm. Turning his head, his maw opens to a smile at the sight of you. "Why hello, Dragonborn. Do you get to the Cloud District very often?"

He throws his head back, his laughter drawing the eyes of the guards nearby. With you as a guide, Tar-Lai stumbles his way to Breezehome.

Forcing the door open to Breezehome, Tar-Lai shushes you, "Ma might hear usss~," He slurs, with "Ma" no doubt being Lydia, your trusted housecarl. Of course, that didn't stop him from knocking over many pots and hanging weapons on his way up the stairs with his tail.

Your eyes can't leave your companion's rear. The mead must be affecting your vision, because the way Tar-Lai's trousers hugged his form reminded you of an overstuffed coin purse.

Before you can think any further, Tar-Lai trips over the top step, falling to his hands and knees. The sight of your friend's ass jiggling from the impact nearly makes you stumble back down the stairs. Gripping the railing, you force yourself to the top. The dragon blood within you makes it easy to hoist Tar-Lai to his feet.

"Ssssso strong~," Tar-Lai purrs as you lead him to your bedroom. Opening the door, Tar-Lai is quick to pull a knife, seemingly full alert. Leaning against you, he points his dagger at the intruder, "You're not supposed to be in here."

Being met with silence, you both realize that the "intruder" was only a mannequin, dressed in a set of Dragonscale armor. The two of you stare at each other before your laughter fills the home. Slipping from your grasp, Tar-Lai steps to the edge of your bed, fiddling with the straps of his leather armor.

"We should celebrate sssuccessful missions more often. We should try the Drunken Huntsman next time." He shrugs off the top, providing a clear view of his back. Your hand suddenly aches; his scales looked smooth to the touch. "On second thought, Nazeem hangs around there... Bannered Mare it is."

Then, a moment of clarity. Why did you lead him to your bedroom? Lydia was away for a bounty; he could've taken her bed. The sound of an unbuckling belt brings further questioning to a halt. You watch with bated breath as Tar-Lai hooks his thumbs under his trousers' waistband.

*Just as the trousers slip past the curve of Tar-Lai's ass, past events begin to make sense. During a walk through Whiterun, both you and Rar-Lai overheard Ysolda gasp, "By the Divines, what a figure." When your head turned to her, the aspiring merchant averted her gaze. Your ally suggested that she was looking at you, even joking that she'd jump at the chance to marry you.

Lydia would often scowl whenever the Argonian's back was to her. When confronted, she assured you that she held no ill will towards Tar-Lai. "It's hard to explain." "You wouldn't understand."

It wasn't just Whiterun; it was nearly every Hold you would visit. From being charged extra for whenever he went to Radiant Raiment in Solitude, to the heated stares from the proudest Nords in Windhelm, all eyes would fall on Tar-Lai as he walked past. Apparently, you were the last person to realize how bottom-heavy your friend is.

"It is unkind to stare, Dragonborn."

The Argonian nuzzles his head against the bedfurs, looking back with a smug grin. Never have you seen your ally be so forward. He lifts his tail, showing that his cock is stiff as wood. Swaying his hips, he asks, "Why don't you take a look at some of my merchandise?"