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Stop me from feeling twisted, Lover,

For all you fans few and far between, here's a larger snippet for your possible enjoyafication. Hopefully I can write Cicero well enough. Here's my headcanon heights: Cicero 5'2" and Chac 5'11"

The Dark Brotherhood was far away from them tonight, Chac and Cicero choose to make camp near an old shack at the riverside, the sound of the water raging across cold rocks and the sharpness of fall air reddening their noses. It had been a long trek and somewhere along the way, the foolish Listener got lost again amid the craggy rocks and wind-shivering pines. This was no place to be hiking during the night, the ground was slippery with frost and the howls of many wolves proved an ill omen.

“Well, it's not exactly cozy, and the roof is only half on, but I think this is a good place to spend the night, Don't you, Cicero?” Chac asked, constantly sure to keep his companion entertained and occupied. Cicero was in the middle of dismounting his giant Nordic horse while the elf smiled out to him.

“Oh yes, Cicero thinks so too! Cozy cozy, and not a bear in sight!”

“Hehe, you certainly did show that bear what for, and to think, his pelt should have dried out enough tonight for us to use.” It was a bitter night, he could already tell. There was a circle of rocks and soot at the center of the ramshackle cabin, a little wet, but it would do nicely for a fire.

“Stay, beast! Why won't you listen to poor Cicero?” Chac laughed to himself as he heard the jester argue with his thick-headed horse, watching the tiny man drag such a large beast by the reigns away from a thicket of thistle and reeds, hearing it's munching away.

“Let him be, come here and help me with this fire, would you?”

“OH absolutely!” And like that, the eager redhead was soon at his side, his clothed arms holding bundles of wood moistened by dew. They would create a lot of smoke, and that would be bad for attracting bandits, but it was too cold to complain tonight. With a crackle of magic, the elf brought to life a perfect smolder to the wood, and warmth chased the chill away in their pleasant orange circle of warmth. Cicero's eyes darted along the ceiling and walls, seeing little bugs and spiders hide in the cracks of the wood, and then look up to the starry night sky.

“Brbbrrrr” He shivers, reaching up and pulling his silly Jester's hat lower over this forehead, fog on his breath. “And Cicero thought Eastmarch was cold enough!”

“I know, this country is beautiful but the cold can be damned. A Bosmer can only take so much snow and ice.” Cicero smiled widely every time that the Listener spoke to him, it was like clockwork. Sometimes Chac thinks he did this because it still shocked the Jester that someone actually responded to him, let alone agreed with him. The Elf's kindness and understanding went so far for him..

“Oh, but the clever listener has enchanted clothes, so warm, anyone else would most certainly freeze to death.” He giggles, dark eyes staring stark into his own. The elf no longer found his squawking voice to be irritable (well, maybe that wasn't entirely true at times) and the Dragonborn had been famous for his own unique rhetoric and brogue. It was only a matter of time during their time together that Chac actually came to admire his exuberance.

Thats when things started to change. The bosmer noticed that Cicero was absolutely obsessed with performance, his entire life was just living one big playful lie and the elf found this absolutely amazing. If he only knew that soon enough he'd be obsessed over Cicero's madness, listening to his sudden outbursts of heartfelt distress and misery. Soon to be making love with him, singing and dancing, laughing together so hard until tears came. Somehow it was just outrageously attractive and painful. The pain in his heart would make him really like Cicero, especially if it didn't help when the madness was directed towards him so devotedly.

Chac's eyes squinted at him, Cicero squatting on his haunches before the fire and warming his little gloved hands. The elf took cold-preserved strips of venison out from his pack, and one by one lined them up on a thin metal spit like a kebab. Soon melted Breton cheese filled the air with a rich scent. Cicero excitedly stared all the while, licking his lips at the smell that soon filled the air. He was so very hungry and the kind listener cooked and prepared supper for him without having to lift a finger for himself.

“Sweet Listener, such a good cook.” Cicero said in between bites, unceremoniously tearing strips of meat away from the spit with his teeth. There was no need for manners here, the Bosmer copied him. Together, sitting merely an arms breadth apart, there was a long moment of silence. (Which was rare for Cicero..it usually meant he was thinking deeply)

“Do you like it? Well, the next time I get a kitchen to myself, how about I cook up something nice for Cicero, hmm? A little wine, maybe some dessert?” Chac's voice was deep and playful, speaking to Cicero as if he were one of his children, but at the same time... something more. Flirtatious, maybe.

The ginger brightened up, swallowing hurriedly to nod “Oh, but only if you insist! I'm sure your cuisine is only exceeded by your fantastic skills at murdering old women on the docks” Cicero's fragile mind quickly mused over the thought, alone with the Listener, being doted on, treated like a prince. He shook his head and beamed at the elf who merely continued to eat.

“...but some wine would be good right now, brbrrrr”

“Well, I have some right here. Share a bottle with me? That'll put you to sleep!” The elf refused any other answer as he uncorked a heavy green bottle of Alto wine, Cicero watching the dark liquid slosh around inside as he struggled with the cork. Off it went, and his brown eyes stared unwaveringly as Chac lifted the jug against his hairy, muscled arm and brought the rim to his lips and drank deeply. His eyebrows raised as the elf took heavy, constant pulls from the wine as if it where water, watching the apple bob in his throat until he put the wine down with a sigh.

“Your turn, my friend. It's good.”

“Cicero hasn't had a drink in..erm.. well, a long time! I can't seem to remember the last time.”

“You don't need to remember, just take a few big ones and you'll like it soon enough.” Chac insisted, suddenly intrigued by the thought of Cicero drinking until he was in a stupor. He mused silently over it as he saw Cicero lift the big jug up with both hands and shut his eyes tight as he tried to drink it the same way he had. Chac held back a snicker as he saw Cicero's throat quiver and his face change when the bitterness hit his tongue.

“Errnkk... not quite how Cicero remembers the taste. Oh, but it is warm! Like a hug from the inside!” A flicker of a memory passed through his eyes, sharing flagons of ale and brandy with his brothers and sisters in Bravil, laughter and cheer. Somehow, it felt nice.

“I guess you could say it feels like that, yes.” Chac asked Cicero what he wanted to eat for their little dinner in the future, keeping the madman occupied and their eyes locked. Chac's eyes used to startle Cicero, he didn't know what to think about those empty, glossy black eyes. But he was the Night Mother's conduit, and the longer Cicero stared back into them, the more he felt as if his eyes where the void.

Dark, infinite, but somehow to Cicero they no longer filled him with uneasiness. If the void was as black and endless as it seemed, staring into the eyes of his Listener made the void seem warmer. Comforting, even. As they continued to speak, Cicero continued to drink, another few pulls and already the fire and fatigue was starting to lay its claim on him.

“So, it is settled then. I find a nice, big kitchen, and Cicero will watch while I make you such a big feast that you'll need to be rolled back home.” He laughed when Cicero laughed, that high pitched, squeaky giggle of his that had become so normal. Cicero seemed pleased, it showed in his body language, the way he kicked his feet in excitement and squinted his eyes. Chac could watch him all day.

“Cicero feels so privileged!” He put his hands up in the air and squealed with glee, looking positively exhausted and tipsy on wine. Chac liked the way it made his dolled-up eyes look hazy and lidded, made his posture a little more slouched and relaxed. He was so cute, and he didn't care to avoid thinking about it.

“I think you're also feeling a little tipsy, no? Look at that slouch!” The elf leaned over and gave Cicero's upper back a playful slap, watching the little man correct his posture and contain a giggle. It didn't take much more than a few mouthfuls of wine to get it's point across, that's for sure. Cicero stared at Chac as he made a big, dramatic stretch.

The night was dark, and outside these rotting wood walls was a long canyon of dangers. It would make most others scared, concerned of beasts or bandits, but the two men tonight had little else on their minds but their friendship. Cicero, even while drunk, radiated genuine happiness in his Listener's presence, exchanging silly stories and jokes, a few pokes and prods. It would become another night of many they'd come to share.

Description

Stop me from feeling twisted, Lover,

For all you fans few and far between, here's a larger snippet for your possible enjoyafication. Hopefully I can write Cicero well enough. Here's my headcanon heights: Cicero 5'2" and Chac 5'11"

The Dark Brotherhood was far away from them tonight, Chac and Cicero choose to make camp near an old shack at the riverside, the sound of the water raging across cold rocks and the sharpness of fall air reddening their noses. It had been a long trek and somewhere along the way, the foolish Listener got lost again amid the craggy rocks and wind-shivering pines. This was no place to be hiking during the night, the ground was slippery with frost and the howls of many wolves proved an ill omen.

“Well, it's not exactly cozy, and the roof is only half on, but I think this is a good place to spend the night, Don't you, Cicero?” Chac asked, constantly sure to keep his companion entertained and occupied. Cicero was in the middle of dismounting his giant Nordic horse while the elf smiled out to him.

“Oh yes, Cicero thinks so too! Cozy cozy, and not a bear in sight!”

“Hehe, you certainly did show that bear what for, and to think, his pelt should have dried out enough tonight for us to use.” It was a bitter night, he could already tell. There was a circle of rocks and soot at the center of the ramshackle cabin, a little wet, but it would do nicely for a fire.

“Stay, beast! Why won't you listen to poor Cicero?” Chac laughed to himself as he heard the jester argue with his thick-headed horse, watching the tiny man drag such a large beast by the reigns away from a thicket of thistle and reeds, hearing it's munching away.

“Let him be, come here and help me with this fire, would you?”

“OH absolutely!” And like that, the eager redhead was soon at his side, his clothed arms holding bundles of wood moistened by dew. They would create a lot of smoke, and that would be bad for attracting bandits, but it was too cold to complain tonight. With a crackle of magic, the elf brought to life a perfect smolder to the wood, and warmth chased the chill away in their pleasant orange circle of warmth. Cicero's eyes darted along the ceiling and walls, seeing little bugs and spiders hide in the cracks of the wood, and then look up to the starry night sky.

“Brbbrrrr” He shivers, reaching up and pulling his silly Jester's hat lower over this forehead, fog on his breath. “And Cicero thought Eastmarch was cold enough!”

“I know, this country is beautiful but the cold can be damned. A Bosmer can only take so much snow and ice.” Cicero smiled widely every time that the Listener spoke to him, it was like clockwork. Sometimes Chac thinks he did this because it still shocked the Jester that someone actually responded to him, let alone agreed with him. The Elf's kindness and understanding went so far for him..

“Oh, but the clever listener has enchanted clothes, so warm, anyone else would most certainly freeze to death.” He giggles, dark eyes staring stark into his own. The elf no longer found his squawking voice to be irritable (well, maybe that wasn't entirely true at times) and the Dragonborn had been famous for his own unique rhetoric and brogue. It was only a matter of time during their time together that Chac actually came to admire his exuberance.

Thats when things started to change. The bosmer noticed that Cicero was absolutely obsessed with performance, his entire life was just living one big playful lie and the elf found this absolutely amazing. If he only knew that soon enough he'd be obsessed over Cicero's madness, listening to his sudden outbursts of heartfelt distress and misery. Soon to be making love with him, singing and dancing, laughing together so hard until tears came. Somehow it was just outrageously attractive and painful. The pain in his heart would make him really like Cicero, especially if it didn't help when the madness was directed towards him so devotedly.

Chac's eyes squinted at him, Cicero squatting on his haunches before the fire and warming his little gloved hands. The elf took cold-preserved strips of venison out from his pack, and one by one lined them up on a thin metal spit like a kebab. Soon melted Breton cheese filled the air with a rich scent. Cicero excitedly stared all the while, licking his lips at the smell that soon filled the air. He was so very hungry and the kind listener cooked and prepared supper for him without having to lift a finger for himself.

“Sweet Listener, such a good cook.” Cicero said in between bites, unceremoniously tearing strips of meat away from the spit with his teeth. There was no need for manners here, the Bosmer copied him. Together, sitting merely an arms breadth apart, there was a long moment of silence. (Which was rare for Cicero..it usually meant he was thinking deeply)

“Do you like it? Well, the next time I get a kitchen to myself, how about I cook up something nice for Cicero, hmm? A little wine, maybe some dessert?” Chac's voice was deep and playful, speaking to Cicero as if he were one of his children, but at the same time... something more. Flirtatious, maybe.

The ginger brightened up, swallowing hurriedly to nod “Oh, but only if you insist! I'm sure your cuisine is only exceeded by your fantastic skills at murdering old women on the docks” Cicero's fragile mind quickly mused over the thought, alone with the Listener, being doted on, treated like a prince. He shook his head and beamed at the elf who merely continued to eat.

“...but some wine would be good right now, brbrrrr”

“Well, I have some right here. Share a bottle with me? That'll put you to sleep!” The elf refused any other answer as he uncorked a heavy green bottle of Alto wine, Cicero watching the dark liquid slosh around inside as he struggled with the cork. Off it went, and his brown eyes stared unwaveringly as Chac lifted the jug against his hairy, muscled arm and brought the rim to his lips and drank deeply. His eyebrows raised as the elf took heavy, constant pulls from the wine as if it where water, watching the apple bob in his throat until he put the wine down with a sigh.

“Your turn, my friend. It's good.”

“Cicero hasn't had a drink in..erm.. well, a long time! I can't seem to remember the last time.”

“You don't need to remember, just take a few big ones and you'll like it soon enough.” Chac insisted, suddenly intrigued by the thought of Cicero drinking until he was in a stupor. He mused silently over it as he saw Cicero lift the big jug up with both hands and shut his eyes tight as he tried to drink it the same way he had. Chac held back a snicker as he saw Cicero's throat quiver and his face change when the bitterness hit his tongue.

“Errnkk... not quite how Cicero remembers the taste. Oh, but it is warm! Like a hug from the inside!” A flicker of a memory passed through his eyes, sharing flagons of ale and brandy with his brothers and sisters in Bravil, laughter and cheer. Somehow, it felt nice.

“I guess you could say it feels like that, yes.” Chac asked Cicero what he wanted to eat for their little dinner in the future, keeping the madman occupied and their eyes locked. Chac's eyes used to startle Cicero, he didn't know what to think about those empty, glossy black eyes. But he was the Night Mother's conduit, and the longer Cicero stared back into them, the more he felt as if his eyes where the void.

Dark, infinite, but somehow to Cicero they no longer filled him with uneasiness. If the void was as black and endless as it seemed, staring into the eyes of his Listener made the void seem warmer. Comforting, even. As they continued to speak, Cicero continued to drink, another few pulls and already the fire and fatigue was starting to lay its claim on him.

“So, it is settled then. I find a nice, big kitchen, and Cicero will watch while I make you such a big feast that you'll need to be rolled back home.” He laughed when Cicero laughed, that high pitched, squeaky giggle of his that had become so normal. Cicero seemed pleased, it showed in his body language, the way he kicked his feet in excitement and squinted his eyes. Chac could watch him all day.

“Cicero feels so privileged!” He put his hands up in the air and squealed with glee, looking positively exhausted and tipsy on wine. Chac liked the way it made his dolled-up eyes look hazy and lidded, made his posture a little more slouched and relaxed. He was so cute, and he didn't care to avoid thinking about it.

“I think you're also feeling a little tipsy, no? Look at that slouch!” The elf leaned over and gave Cicero's upper back a playful slap, watching the little man correct his posture and contain a giggle. It didn't take much more than a few mouthfuls of wine to get it's point across, that's for sure. Cicero stared at Chac as he made a big, dramatic stretch.

The night was dark, and outside these rotting wood walls was a long canyon of dangers. It would make most others scared, concerned of beasts or bandits, but the two men tonight had little else on their minds but their friendship. Cicero, even while drunk, radiated genuine happiness in his Listener's presence, exchanging silly stories and jokes, a few pokes and prods. It would become another night of many they'd come to share.