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Stowe, reeve of Lunden, was deep in prayer.
He was only vaguely aware that the rest of Governor Tryggr’s villa was bustling with activity. After the attack on the harbour, much of the building had been converted into a medical ward of sort. From outside Tryggr’s chambers, Stowe could hear people talking in low tones, along with the occasional cry of pain. He struggled to tune out those noises, desperate for his silent plea to be heard.
Please, he called to his Lord, please let him open his eyes, please…
Lying in old Tryggr’s bed, pale as death, was Erke. Thrice-damned man. He’d been wounded early in the battle, but he’d taken great care to hide that from Stowe. Only when the chaos had died down a little, after they’d met Eivor in the harbour, had Stowe noticed how pale the man had gotten. Erke, always true to himself, had managed to make one ill-timed quip about the need to eschew wood in favour of stone when he’d stumbled forward, falling into Eivor’s arms.
Stowe had shouted his name, rushing to help him up. His breath had caught in his throat when he’d seen how Erke’s side had been stained with red.
“It’s fine,” the idiot man had said. “It’s nothing, I’ve had worse…”
“Eivor, you must help me carry him to a healer!” Stowe had exclaimed – only to know immediately that he could do no such thing. The fires had not spread beyond the harbour, thankfully, but they had not been contained yet. Lunden’s people still cried for help, and Stowe’s men still looked to him for guidance. One look into Erke’s blue eyes had been enough for Stowe to know that his fellow reeve thought the same.
“I-It’ll be alright,” Erke had continued, attempting one of his usual grins. "Eivor can carry me to Tryggr’s villa by herself. I-Isn’t that so, Eivor?”
“Yes,” she’d answered, hoisting him up. “Stowe, do what you must for the city.”
Stowe had swallowed deeply, unable to tear his eyes away from Erke’s pale face. “I always do,” he had said, finally.
Hours had passed when he had finally been able to return to Tryggr’s mansion. Hours in which the healers had toiled to staunch the bleeding and stitch Erke’s wound. Hours in which Erke’s state had worsened, leaving him feverish and insensate to the world.
Hours that Stowe could have spent by his side, assisting him in his time of need.
Two days later, Erke’s fever had gone, but the man had not awakened. Sometimes he groaned and muttered, his eyelids fluttering. The healer had told Stowe that it was a good sign. She – like many others taking care of the wounded in the villa – seemed puzzled by his singular devotion to Erke’s recovery. The woman had not commented on it, thankfully, but her suspicious gaze grated on Stowe’s nerves.
He tried not to dwell too much on it, focusing all of his energy on his prayer. At first, Stowe’s pleas had been filled with anger – one fuelled by worry. Open your eyes, he kept thinking, open your eyes, damn you! Then, he’d turned to bargaining, hands clasped tightly around Erke’s cool fingers.
Lord, please, oh Lord, don’t take him from me, not now. Would God even listen to a bastard son descended of non-Christians? Would He extend His protection to a Dane warrior who so often scoffed at His power? Stowe didn’t know; he kept on praying anyway.
Lord, there are so many things I wish to tell him yet…
Lord, return him to me…
Stowe was starting to drift to sleep when he was snapped of his stupor by a groan. He dragged his chair closer to the bed, heart hammering in his chest. Erke’s eyes were still squeezed shut, but he kept mumbling and shaking his head.
“Erke?” Stowe said. “Erke, can you hear me?”
Erke muttered something in the Dane language, turning his head toward Stowe. Finally, his blue eyes opened.
“Stowe? What… what happened… where…”
Stowe squeezed his hand. “It’s alright. You’re somewhere safe, Erke. There is no need to worry.”
“The battle… is it…”
“Won?” Stowe found himself laughing, mostly out of nerves. God, he needed sleep… “Of course it is! Don’t you remember?”
Erke squinted at Stowe. “Must have happened before I passed out from blood loss, then.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Stowe tried to pull away. “You must be exhausted. I should go and – ”
“No,” Erke interrupted him, tugging on his hand, “you… you can stay.” A lazy grin formed on his lips. “Heh. I’m glad that your face is the first that I saw upon waking…”
Stowe sighed deeply, looking heavenward. Thank you, thank you, thank you –
“Still, why the scowl, sparrow-heart? Usually, you give me this expression when I make a fool out of myself. I’ve been stuck in bed all this time, what idiotic thing could have I done now?”
Stowe groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. So many things he had wanted to tell Erke when he’d thought his fellow reeve on the brink of death, and yet… now, all of his words seemed to have dried up in his throat. Perhaps it was better that way. He felt as if he was on the edge of a vast precipice, one that contained something both wondrous and terrifying. Was he ready to make that leap, truly?
“Stowe? What is the matter? It’s not like you to pass on an opportunity to tell me to shut up.”
“I wasn’t there with you,” Stowe blurted out. “You could have died, and I wouldn’t have been with you.”
Erke stared at him for a while, then he laughed. “Stowe, you were doing your duty. Our duty! That takes precedence over me, doesn’t it? My life’s no more important than the lives of the citizens of Lunden.” He leaned back on his pillow, still smiling. “What a grand death that would have been! Fighting to repel an invasion, the three of us against impossible odds… that makes it worth a saga or two, right?”
“Erke,” Stowe said, precipitately, “don’t make light of your own death.”
“Why shouldn’t I? You Christians are so dour about the whole thing.”
“Erke, I’m being serious.”
“Stowe,” Erke said, sounding entirely too reasonable, “I’m a Norseman! This is what I am. Better that I die gloriously, not as a withered old man in his – ”
Stowe grabbed him by the front of his tunic. “Better to die young? Is that what you mean to tell me? You won’t care what you’ll leave behind in this world, will you?”
Erke did not answer. Then, he raised his eyebrows in realization. “Wait, Stowe…”
Stowe let him go, growling out a curse. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Again, Erke seemed unable to speak. He sat up and stared at Stowe, a strange expression settling on his face.
“It was uncalled for. I should have – ”
Erke leaned forward, and suddenly he was kissing Stowe, desperately, fervently, almost as if he expected him to fade to mist and disappear from within his arms.
Stowe tensed in his chair, eyes widening. A familiar sense of shame reared its ugly head – this is wrong, this is shameful, screamed months, years, decades of lessons spent on his knees, and yet… why would something sinful made him feel so good? So complete? He found himself returning Erke’s kiss with the same fervour, pouring all the words he hadn’t managed to say in the gesture.
When Erke broke off the kiss, however, Stowe pulled away. Erke frowned, his gaze still a bit glassy.
“I…” Stowe began, “I’ll go fetch the healer.”
“What?” Erke croaked. “Stowe, wait…”
And Stowe scrambled out of his chair, rushing out of the room before Erke could place another word.
The rest of the day, Stowe occupied himself with menial tasks to keep his mind from focusing on that ki – on what had transpired between him and Erke. Yes, he kept telling himself, there was much to do, and his absence had already prompted some gossip. Erke had said it himself; Stowe was a reeve of Lunden, and his duty went to her first.
It was already the late evening when a nun wearing the blood-splattered whites of a healer came to Stowe, telling him that his fellow reeve wanted to see him. Stowe inhaled sharply, hoping to steady his nerves, before entering Tryggr’s chambers. Erke was still in bed, eating some foul-looking gruel. He put his bowl away as he caught sight of Stowe.
“Good to see more colour on your cheeks,” Stowe commented, forcing himself to meet the other man’s eyes.
“Even if that colour is green?” Erke replied with a scoff. “I fear that slop is not agreeing with me, but the healers won’t allow me to eat anything else.” His expression grew a bit petulant. “Or to drink any mead.”
“How dreadful for you,” Stowe said, rolling his eyes.
In response, Erke just grinned, and Stowe turned his gaze away. It was not a good idea to look at that sly smile, not while his mind felt so mushy, not while he kept reliving the moment where their lips had –
“So,” Erke said, taking Stowe out of his spiralling thoughts, “was it one of my many fever dreams, or did we…?”
Stowe tensed. “Erke, we really shouldn’t – ”
“Shouldn’t what?” To Stowe’s great horror, Erke moved to leave the bed. “Didn’t you say in that church that you – ”
“Stay in bed!” Stowe rushed to push him down. “God, man, you truly have no sense…”
Erke’s breath hitched, and Stowe realized belatedly he’d once again grabbed the man by his tunic.
“You were through with shame,” Erke whispered, looking up at Stowe. “That’s what you said. Are you, really?”
Stowe could hear his heart thumping in his ears. He remembered years, so many miserable years where even the barest of inappropriate glances at another man had filled him with disgust for his own weak, treacherous flesh. He’d thought he’d moved past those self-flagellating tendencies, and yet… with the city already mistrusting him and Erke for the suspicious deaths of Avgos and Sister Frideswid, could Stowe really give his people another reason to scorn him?
“It’s complicated,” he said in a rush, “and you know it. Already, people are talking. They’re wondering why I spent so much time by your bedside rather than – ”
“You were wrong, you know,” Erke cut him off. “If I’d died and Odin’s maidens had carried me off to Valhalla, I wouldn’t have been satisfied. Because there is something in this world that I wouldn’t want to leave behind. Or, rather, someone.” He placed both hands at the back of Stowe’s head, and locked eyes with him. “Someday, we’ll meet the end the Nornir have spun for us. Until that glorious moment, why waste the precious time we have in this realm?”
Stowe took another deep breath, closing his eyes. He was trembling, he realized with some horror. I'll serve penance before God, he’d told Eivor, but I will not feel shame. Not ever.
He looked at Erke. His eyes were such a brilliant colour, blue like the heavens Stowe loved so much. “No,” he said. “Why indeed?” And he reached forward just as Erke had done this morning.
The man made a startled sound, but soon Stowe could feel him grinning against his mouth. Not long after, Erke was wrapping his arms around Stowe’s waist to bring him closer. Stowe felt Erke nibbling on his lower lip, and he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, bliss clouding his mind.
Eventually, Erke pulled away. Stowe’s half-hearted protest died in his mouth when he realized Erke was dragging him into the bed. Soon, Erke’s hands were stroking his back and sides, and Stowe's skin prickled with goosebumps despite the layers of clothes keeping him from Erke’s touch. Shivering, Stowe found Erke’s mouth again, moving their bodies flush together, desperate to feel him close. In response, Erke lowered his hands to squeeze Stowe’s arse.
Without thinking about it, Stowe buckled his hips, in an attempt to alleviate some of the need building within him. Erke broke off the kiss with a gasp. Then he chuckled; Stowe could feel the sound rumbling in the man’s ribcage.
“Stowe, my Stowe,” Erke whispered in his ear, the grin evident in his tone of voice. “Is there a little something that I can help you with?” One of his hands was moving dangerously low, caressing Stowe’s thigh.
“Damn it, Erke,” Stowe ground out. “You…”
Erke’s breath was hot on Stowe’s bare neck, and that hand… that devilish hand just kept moving, at a pace so cruelly slow it was clearly deliberate. As it reached the bulge in Stowe’s breeches, Erke began to leave slow, sensuous kisses all over Stowe’s jaw and collarbone. Stowe shivered, angling his neck to give Erke better access and grinding against the man’s hand.
“Isn't there something you want to say?” Erke said, still sounding entirely too smug for Stowe’s tastes. “Something you would ask of me?”
Stowe grunted, feeling breathless and dizzy. “Bastard. You know what I…”
Erke shushed him with a kiss. “Good. Do you think old man Tryggr has oil around or anything that might serve as – ” He stopped, grimacing. “Right. Why did I say that? Now I’m imagining him… no, absolutely not, I am not thinking of – ”
“W-What?” Stowe panted. It was difficult to keep a coherent track of thought, and not just be solely focused on Erke’s hand as it stroked him through all those godforsaken layers.
In response, Erke only kissed him again, before squeezing the bulge in Stowe’s breeches. Stowe hissed, digging his fingernails in the fabric of Erke’s tunic.
“Alright, let’s just take it slow,” Erke murmured. “Your healer lady forbade any heavy physical exertion, after all. I'll, er, need your help on this one. Getting rid of those breeches, I mean. They’re in the way.”
Stowe’s brain struggled to make sense of these words. It was happening, it was really happening – except, this time Erke would really be here, wrapping his hand around Stowe’s cock, caressing, stroking, pumping –
“W-Wait,” Stowe managed, despite being in the steady process of absolutely losing his mind, “it’s fine, I’ll just go to my quarters and – ”
“And what?” Erke cut him off, voice low and growly. “You’ll fuck yourself with your hand while wishing it was mine? I know I might not live up to your fantasies, but at least let me give it a try, ja?”
The word ‘fantasies’ should not be uttered by Erke’s mouth, Stowe thought with some despair. Already, his mind was conjuring up images that were not helping his current predicament.
The fact that Erke was once again leaving a blazing hot trail of kisses across his jaw and neck just made things worse. Laughter bubbled out of Stowe’s mouth – both because his nerves were just utterly shot and because Erke’s beard made him ticklish. Erke stopped, looking at him like he’d grown a second head.
Stowe stifled another laugh. “No, no, it’s simply… God, when was the last time we slept? Really slept?”
“To be fair, we were busy trying to stop a madman and his secret conspirators from setting fire to the city,” Erke said with a slight grin. “Still, once I’m done with you, you’ll have the best sleep you’ve had in years.”
“Smug son of a bitch,” Stowe said.
Erke only replied with a chuckle, moving his hands to work on the laces of Stowe’s breeches. Stowe helped him, giving a groan of relief as he finally felt Erke’s fingers on the bare skin of his cock. Erke’s hand slowly went up and down, and Stowe stifled a curse.
“Gods, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Erke muttered. He searched for Stowe’s gaze, and the latter was surprised to see something like a hint of uncertainty in those blue eyes. “You… you’re the same, right? You…”
Stowe only kissed him. Erke seemed to draw confidence from this response, spitting in his palm before wrapping his hand completely around Stowe’s cock. He began with light strokes, caressing the contour of the tip, then the shaft. Strangled groans escaped Stowe’s mouth, and Erke’s hand grew bolder, moving at a quicker pace. Stowe began to grind his hips to the same rhythm, hoping to meet Erke’s hand with every thrust.
It was maddening – the tightness, the friction, the heat. Stowe was lost in a fog of bliss, in a world where nothing existed beside him but Erke and that skillful hand of his. Stowe bit down his lip, stifling the moans threatening to come out. He could feel it, it was so close he could grasp it, that sense of pure pleasure he’d sometimes reached in shame, but this time, it felt good, it felt better, because it was Erke, his partner, his other half, his beloved, and there was no shame in it, only joy and love and –
“Erke, I’m… I’m…” Stowe ground out.
“Yes, my Stowe,” Erke said, nibbling at his earlobe, “come for me, I can feel you, you’re so close – ”
Stowe wanted to glare at the bastard for taking amusement in his torment, but God, that man’s hand was working miracles, squeezing and stroking and pumping his cock until Stowe was digging his nails in the fabric of Erke’s tunic, until he was a shaking mess in the man’s embrace, until all he could do was grunt and moan and cry out his beloved’s name while his pleasure rose and rose –
And hit that sweet high, the mind-melting bliss that drove Stowe to cling to Erke as if his life depended on it. Erke nuzzled at his neck, stroking Stowe’s back as the white-hot heat of his climax crashed over him, leaving him boneless in its wake.
“There you go,” Erke murmured in Stowe’s ear. “Didn’t that feel good, elska?”
Stowe was in no state to give a coherent answer. He buried his face in the crook of Erke’s shoulder, still panting and shaking. How long did Erke hold him, waiting for Stowe to come down from that high? It felt like hours – like a glimpse into the eternity of paradise.
Eventually, Stowe managed to find enough energy to run his hands along Erke’s back, prompting a sharp intake of breath from the man. Belatedly, Stowe became aware of a certain pressure on his thigh. He looked at Erke, but the latter just evaded his gaze.
“Erke,” Stowe said, moving his hand lower and lower, “you…”
“… would like for you to return the favour?” Erke completed, in a strained voice. “Yes, definitely. But…” He licked his lips, looking unsure once again. “But only if you want to, of course…”
Stowe only hummed in response, an idea brewing within his mind. He could feel Erke shivering in anticipation as he caressed the man’s sides in a lazy motion. Erke's clear arousal only served to fuel Stowe’s conviction.
“Alright, then,” Stowe said, capturing Erke’s lips with his own. The kiss they shared was slow and sweet. When they separated, Stowe gave Erke a slight smile. Then, he pushed Erke so he would be on his back, then moved across the bed and placed himself between the man’s thighs.
“Wait,” Erke said, “I thought – I thought you’d use your hand, same as me – I didn’t think – ”
Irreverent Erke, always ready with a dry quip, reduced to incoherent stammering. Just like he’d been in that church, when Eivor had chanced upon them. It awakened something dark and deep within Stowe; suddenly, he knew he would need to create more opportunities to have Erke act this way again.
Stowe touched the bulge in Erke’s breeches, and the man let out a strangled sound. In response, Stowe worked to unlace his breeches. Erke placed his hand in Stowe’s hair, breath quickening as his erection sprang free. Stowe gave it a few light strokes, intently observing Erke’s face.
The man’s cheeks were red, covered by a slight sheen of perspiration. God, Stowe loved that face, and seeing it so flushed with desire only made that love shine brighter.
“Damn it, Stowe,” Erke managed, “don’t – don’t look at me like that while you – damn it!”
Stowe had put his mouth over the base of the man’s cock, gently sucking and licking at it. From time to time, his eyes flicked to Erke’s face to gauge his reaction. Erke was throwing his head back on his pillow, eyes darkening in lust.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted, fingers spreading in Stowe’s thick black hair. “We’re really… doing this, here, in old Tryggr’s fucking bed – ” He let out a raspy growl as Stowe’s mouth reached the tip of his shaft. “Fuck! Stowe, you – ”
“Keep in mind, I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” Stowe admitted. “You’ll have to guide me through it.”
“Guide you through – Stowe, just seeing you right there is making me lose my fucking mind, just – just…” Erke was shaking. “You can – you can do anything to me, and I’ll – ”
His words were replaced by a sharp hiss as Stowe took his cock in his mouth. It had a strange taste and texture, and it was not exactly pleasant… yet, Stowe felt it was all worth it just to hear Erke cry out his name in need.
Stowe’s tongue moved across Erke’s erection, and he felt a flare of arousal as he began to explore the man’s cock. Erke was letting out obscenities and words of encouragement in turns. Tentatively, Stowe began to move up and down, hollowing out his cheeks for better suction. He was rewarded by another loud interjection.
Stowe shivered at the sound, moving his head forward to take more of Erke’s cock in his mouth. He used his lips to apply varying pressures on the man’s shaft, sometimes sucking and licking gently, sometimes tightening his mouth and quickening his pace. Erke was losing himself in his pleasure, mindlessly thrusting his hips to meet Stowe’s mouth. The poor man kept moaning things in Danish, and from what little Stowe understood, the words he was spouting were utterly filthy.
Finally, Stowe felt Erke’s hand tightening in his hair. Erke gave a strangled cry, his whole body jerking forward, and before Stowe could do anything, something spilled in his mouth, hot and salty. By reflex, Stowe pulled away. Erke’s now softening cock was dripping with cum.
“S-Sorry,” the man said between pants as Stowe looked upward to meet his gaze, “I wanted to warn you, but…”
Stowe wiped at his mouth without a word, still not breaking eye contact. Erke was shaking and breathing hard.
“Oh fuck, you swallowed,” Erke said, voice tight. “Of course you did. Bastard. You’ll be the death of me…”
Stowe moved closer to him, and they rested their foreheads together. This time, it was Erke’s time to cling to Stowe in desperation.
“The opposite, actually,” Stowe murmured. “How many times have I saved your useless arse?”
Erke chuckled. “Well, of course you had to, if only for your own viewing pleasure. Because it is one good-looking arse, isn’t it?”
Stowe groaned, half annoyed by Erke’s juvenile banter and half endeared by it. In response, Erke laughed again. For a moment, they simply held on to each other, without saying a word. Eventually, Erke brought a hand to stroke Stowe’s cheek.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’m glad that you found me, Stowe of Lunden.”
“We found each other, Erke Bodilsson,” Stowe corrected. Again, it sounded all too solemn, as if the words they had exchanged in that church – the words that Eivor had witnessed – had been an oath of sorts.
Erke grinned at him. “Good. Now, it’s not like I don’t enjoy looking at that stupidly pretty face of yours, but… my arse is freezing, and I feel like a good breeze could knock me out cold.”
“You,” Stowe said, “you want me to stay in bed with you?”
It would be so easy for anyone to just walk in Tryggr’s chambers. So easy for anyone in the villa to stumble onto the two of them as they slept in each other’s arms.
So easy for anyone to discover Stowe’s secret, the one he’d spent a lifetime hiding out of shame.
Erke snorted. “I did promise a pleasant napping experience, didn’t I?”
Stowe stared at Erke – at those blue eyes shining with mirth, at that idiotic, self-satisfied grin. Suddenly, everything – the city of Lunden, all of her people, even their recent brush with death – seemed rather inconsequential.
Stowe found himself laughing, leaning forward to kiss that smile.