It was another typical day in the Cistern. Thieves were lounging around, either waiting for it to get dark enough to go on a job, resting from returning from a job, or trying to fence their illegitimate goods. Brynjolf was walking quickly past the members, ignoring them instead of his usual good-natured banter. The redhead was focused on talking to Mercer Frey as soon as possible.

"Mercer," Brynjolf said as a way of greeting when he got to the Guildmaster's desk. "I need to talk to you about Maven Black-Briar."

"Maven can go fuck herself," Mercer snorted, not bothering to look up from his ledgers. "I have enough to do without bothering with her."

"It might be a blessing if she did," Brynjolf said bitterly. "That woman just sent an invoice down here saying that she is going to increase her cut of our profits to fifty percent."

"WHAT?!" Mercer exclaimed, finally looking up. Rage painted his face. "Her cut has always been ten percent."

"I know, boss," Brynjolf said, stepping back with his hands held up in a defensive pose. "She says that she's pulling more weight than us and that the extra effort comes with a cost. Since she's doing equal work as us, then she demands equal pay."

"Damn that woman," Mercer growled as he curled his hand into a fist. "She's got the jarl in her pocket too. We cannot just ignore this. We have to renegotiate otherwise things will get messy." The Guildmaster nodded as he came to a decision. "Fine, I'll accept your challenge. I'll bed Maven so she'll be in a better mood when you meet her to convince her to reduce her take."

"I didn't challenge you to have sex with..."

"The sabre cat hunt begins!" Mercer declared as he left the Cistern.

*Later at the Bee and Barb*

Mercer and Brynjolf had seated themselves at a table a discrete distance away from Maven who was preoccupied with a pile of papers.

"Oh, she's a sabre cat all right. A prime specimen. See you can identify a sabre cat by a few key characteristics," Mercer smirked.

"What do you mean by a sabre cat?" Brynjolf asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Maven scared him and if Mercer knew what was best for him, he would be scared of her too. Not only did she have connections to the jarl, it was loudly whispered that she had ties with the Brotherhood and was not scared to use them.

"An older woman who is still attractive and feeds upon younger men for their sexual appetites," Mercer explained.

"Mercer, you're in your fifties, just like Maven," Brynjolf interjected.

"Quiet, Brynjolf!" Mercer said, holding up his hand. "I was educating you about sabre cats. Anyway, you can tell a sabre cat by certain qualities."

The two men looked over at Maven who was methodically sorting her pile of papers with a concentrated frown on her face.

"First, you can tell by her hairstyle," Mercer said. "Sabre cats keep up the current style to fool their prey. They may not realize that they've engaged a sabre cat until she's dragged them back to her lair." Brynjolf did have to admit that Maven's braided style suited her very well.

"Second is her style of dress," Mercer continued. "A sabre cat dresses to distract her prey." He pointed to how Maven's dress was cut lower than usual for Nord fashion. A piece of paper fell to the ground. As Maven leaned over to pick it up, Brynjolf could get a good view of her chest. "The cougar displays maximum cleavage possible to captivate her prey. You're watching them bounce, she's about to pounce."

"Finally, observe the claws," Mercer said as he leaned back taking a huge gulp of his mead.

Maven was messing with her hair, so Brynjolf could see her blood red nails flashing in the candlelight.

"Long and sharp to ward off rival females. Yep, this one is a beaut," Mercer smirked. "Let the hunt begin."

"Now wait a minute, Mercer," Brynjolf grabbed his guildmaster's arm as the man started to stand. "I'm not really comfortable with you hunting our matron."

"Who would you rather have at that negotiating table?" Mercer sneered. "A savage, man-eating plains cat, or a purring, satisfied kitty?"

Brynjolf closed his eyes and nodded. "Go, Mercer. Go mount and stuff that sabre cat."

As the Thieves' Guildmaster approached the most powerful woman in the entire Rift, Brynjolf made his exit. He wasn't sure he wanted to witness what was going to happen next.

Mercer smoothed his hair back as he approached the Meadery owner. He had done his fair share of seduction over the years, so this should be a simple job. Sweeten up the woman, have a night of sex, and then back to business as usual. Better not use too much of the charm though. He wouldn't want the poor woman craving more. It would be just degrading.

"Why, if it isn't Maven Black-Briar?" Mercer said, cheerfully. He didn't normally do cheerful, but sometimes you had to take an arrow for the team. "Don't you look lovely today?"

"Tell me what you want and get out, Mercer," Maven snapped, barely looking up from her papers. Hm, maybe this was how his crew felt when he did that.

"Direct, that's something I've always liked about you, Maven," Mercer grinned as he leaned against the table. "Well, if you must know. I want you."

Maven stopped looking at her papers and directed her gaze at Mercer. One finely plucked eyebrow rose as she contemplated the seriousness of his offer. "Turn around," she commanded.

When Mercer turned, he noticed that Maven was looking over his body. She seemed especially pleased with his ass. Mercer smirked. He did keep a mean figure even if he was in his fifties as Brynjolf had made sure to point out.

"My house, two hours," Maven said. "Don't be tardy."

*Black-Briar Lodge, two hours later*

"I have an appointment," Mercer said disdainfully to the house guards. They looked like stupid typical minions – low in intelligence and ambition. Meaning they were totally replaceable.

"Aye," one of them said. "She said you'd be here. Ms. Maven is upstairs waiting for you."

This was going to go easier than expected. Mercer strutted into the large house, switching the bouquet of red mountain flowers from one hand to another. He had purchased them earlier. Bitches loved flowers.

Mercer ascended the stairs, mentally filing away all of the expensive looking décor in the house. The Guild would never rob Maven, she was one of theirs if only as an honorary member, but it was good to know what was where. You never knew when you might need a quick pinch and Maven was probably the richest private citizen this side of the Civil War.

The door to the master bedroom was open, revealing a large bed. Half the Guild could probably sleep on it and still have room left over. Mercer discretely closed the door behind him as he glanced around.

"Maven?" Mercer called. "I'm here."

The older woman emerged from a side room wearing only a bed robe. It was made of fine quality satin and clung to her body like water. The deep red suited her perfectly.

"These are for you," Mercer said with a half-bow as he presented the flowers to the Black-Briar matron. He presented his most charming smile that had made young women melt in the past.

"Hm, very nice," Maven said, barely glancing at the bouquet. She tossed them casually on a nightstand. Mercer tried his best to not wince. Those damn flowers had been expensive!

Maven grabbed Mercer by the shoulders and pushed him backwards so he was sprawled on the bed spread eagle. She loosened her robe to reveal breasts that were still firm despite her age. As the robe fell to the ground, she climbed onto the bed and straddled Mercer. "Let's get to work, shall we?"

*The Cistern, the next day*

"Mercer, are you okay?" Brynjolf asked. "You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," Mercer snapped. So what if his legs had been wobbly all day? He had taken care of Maven Black-Briar. He didn't like to admit it, but maybe a similar situation would come up soon and he could approach the widow again. Last night had been amazing. Not that Mercer would ever tell the others. "How did your meeting go?"

"Well, not as well as I had hoped," Brynjolf admitted hesitantly, "but she did agree to reduce the tax to only thirty percent. I suppose we'll have to send some of the initiates out on more jobs outside of the Rift."

"Thirty percent!" Mercer bellowed. "That's highway robbery!"

"Sort of the point, Merc," Brynjolf said.

"You know what I mean," Mercer snarled. He swept his ledgers away. "I'm going to go talk to that she-daedra and give her a piece of my mind!"

"Given how well last night, maybe that would be better than the piece you gave her," Brynjolf smirked as the Guildmaster stalked away.

*The Bee and Barb, upstairs*

"What is this about thirty percent?" Mercer demanded when he found Maven.

"That's all I thought you were worth," Maven said, unfazed.

"What do you mean that's all I was worth?!" Mercer growled as he slammed his hands down on the table.

"You didn't budget your time well. You glossed over some of the most important points. And your oral presentation was sloppy and inconclusive," Maven responded, clearly bored.

"My oral presentation?" Mercer repeated. Had they had sex last night or had he given her a profit review? "Give me another chance!"

"Mercer, I have to command men all day," Maven sighed, "It's the last thing I want to do when I get home."

"But you don't understand," Mercer said, as he shook a finger at Maven. "See, I've been going easy on you. Holding back 'cause I was afraid you'd break a hip or something. This time, no mercy. I don't care how long it takes, days, weeks, half a year."

"Fine, come in," Maven said, gesturing to a nearby empty room. "You can start while I finish reviewing some papers."

*Bee and Barb room, two hours later*

Mercer and Maven were lying side by side in the borrowed bed. The floor was completely littered with clothes where the thief had torn both his and Maven's off in a frenzy to prove his prowess to the woman. Mercer's hair was slicked back from sweat and he was breathing heavily. One hand was thrown over his head as he stared at the ceiling.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," Mercer uttered in disbelief. Who knew Maven had that much fire in her?

"Oh, Gods, that wasn't your first time, was it?" Maven asked; horror heavy in her voice. She snorted, "Although that would explain a lot."

"No," Mercer rolled onto his arm and started at Maven, "we had sex yesterday."

"Oh, right, that," Maven rolled her eyes. "Well, you had sex yesterday. I revised my profit projection for the spring quarter."

Mercer growled softly. Who in Oblivion did the woman think she was?

The thief jumped out of the bed and dragged his pants on. "Don't go anywhere!" he barked. "I won't be more than a few minutes."

"That sounds unfortunately familiar," Maven muttered.

Mercer stomped down to Elgrim's Elixirs, the alchemist's shop on the lower level of Riften. He kicked the door open and slammed a bag of gold on the counter. Hafjorg, Elgrim's wife and co-owner, raised an eyebrow at the sudden intrusion.

"I need every stamina potion you have available!" Mercer demanded.

"As you wish," Hafjorg said as she swept the coins off the counter. She paused, not sure if she should say anything, but thought it couldn't hurt. A man didn't buy that many stamina potions for no reason. "If you like, I also have a special brew from the Hag's Cure in Markarth. Might give you an extra boost that stamina just won't provide."

"Sure," Mercer said, absentmindedly as he was already plotting how he was going to convince Maven of his prowess. "Throw it in."

As Mercer made his way back to the Bee and Barb, he started to chug down every stamina potion he had just purchased. As soon as a bottle emptied, he tossed it over his shoulder and into the canal. Energy flooded his entire system.

Once in the he was in the Bee and Barb, Mercer jammed another bag of gold into Talen-Jei's hands. "For any damages," Mercer growled, not even bothering to stop as he ascended the stairs.

"Let's do this!" Mercer roared as he charged into the room where Maven waited.

*Temple of Mara, that evening*

"Oh gods, Mercer, what happened?" Brynjolf asked when he entered the temple and saw his Guildmaster sprawled on a cot. His lower half was completely bound with bandages and plaster. Maven was sitting nearby on a bench.

"He broke his hip," Maven said with a smug smile as she drew on her pipe.

Brynjolf wasn't certain that she should be smoking on that while in the temple, but he noticed none of the priests were complaining, so he kept his mouth wisely shut.

"I just dislocated it," Mercer protested.

Brynjolf motioned to the other thieves he had brought with him to help lift Mercer. "We'll get him back to the Ratway. Thank you for letting us know, Maven."

Maven shrugged. "Oh, Brynjolf," she said as the thieves moved to leave. "I reviewed your tax proposal. I was," she smirked as her eyes flickered to Mercer, "pleasantly surprised."

"Yeah, she was," Mercer crowed to Brynjolf.

"Fifteen percent." Maven put out her pipe and left the temple.

"Fifteen percent!?" Mercer balked, "Brynjolf, after I've gone through my eight weeks of physiotherapy, I am gonna get us back down to ten percent!"

"Let her go, Merc," Brynjolf said as he patted the older man's shoulder. "She belongs out there. In the wild. You should feel proud. You fought the sabre cat... and lived."

"Yeah, I did," Mercer glowed, placated. However, he was already mentally planning for his next move. There wasn't a lock in existence that he couldn't crack, and he would be damned if Maven Black-Briar would be the first.

A/N: Comments loved as always. Another story inspired by Skyrim Kink Meme. This story draws very heavily from "How I Met Your Mother" episode S2.6. If you've never seen the series, I highly recommend it. I just imagined that's how these two would end up sleeping together. Mercer trying to be all bad ass while Maven no sells the hell out of him.

Sorry for no actual sex in this one. Maybe next go.