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The damp stone hallway smelled musty, like earthy moss. Small lit torches were placed along the wall every few feet, but even with the flickering fires casting a dim radiant light over the passageway, Athelstan could barely make out the path in front of him. He crept along the dark, cold, ancient stones searching for the King of the North's door.
After Prince Burgred laid dead on the floor, poisoned by his sister Kwenthrith, the party was pretty much over. Nothing puts a damper on a celebration like assassination. After the macabre toast to the new and sole Queen of Mercia, everyone, eyes still wide with shock, had gathered themselves and dispersed to their own beds to retire.
Ragnar and the other earls and dignitaries were given accommodations in the guest wing for the night. Having lived at the royal villa during his captive employment under King Ecbert, Athelstan knew his way around the sprawling structure well.
He made his way slowly down the hall where the guest quarters resided, boots clicking against the hard floor and ringing out disproportionately loud in the eerie, quiet corridor. When he reached the large wooden door that separated him from Ragnar's room, Athelstan held his breath, tried to slow his rapidly beating heart and rapped his knuckles against the wood softly. He felt inexplicably nervous.
Shuffling could be heard inside and then the door was cracked open an inch and an inquisitive sea-colored eye peaked out. When Ragnar saw who was standing on the other side he opened the door immediately, without question, almost as though he had been expecting the dark haired man to show up in the middle of the night. He simply turned to walk back into the room, leaving the door ajar as an unspoken invitation to enter. Athelstan shut and latched the door quietly then walked over to the large four poster bed in the middle of the room and eased down on the edge of the soft mattress.
The room was lit by a burning brazier and clusters of candles spread sporadically over the tables throughout the room. The air in the space felt a little humid and it smelled like smoke and crushed lavender.
Ragnar appeared as though he was ready for bed, having removed most of his clothing, only still wearing his pants. It looked like he was getting his few belongings packed up, his possessions spread out over a wooden table under the window. The tall Norseman leaned one hip against the table and picked up his leather travelling bag. Ragnar began pulling at the tangled strings at the bag’s opening, trying to untie the knot holding it shut. The muscles in his arms and broad chest rippled with each tugging movement. Athelstan took in the provocative sight and swallowed heavily.
Clearing his suddenly dry throat, Athelstan said, "That looks painful. Are you okay?" He nodded at the angry, pale pink scar across the side of Ragnar's torso.
Ragnar looked down and gingerly ran his hand over the wounded skin of his side.
"It is healing. I'm fine. Kwintheith gave me some of her medicine." He devilishly smirked at Athelstan, peering up from under his brows.
Athelstan smiled lightly. "Do I even want to know?"
Ragnar gave a dramatic shudder, tossed his head in a little disturbed shake and shot Athelstan a sheepish grin. "No. Believe me, you do not. It was very...strange."
That made Athelstan chortle. Ragnar smiled back at him with amusement shining in his eyes at the happy sound.
"So tell me about the girl. Athelwulf's wife." Ragnar inquired without preamble. He gave up on untying the satchel he was holding and flung it onto the table behind him, aggravated and dismissive. He leaned back against the tabletop, hands braced on either side of him, and gave Athelstan his full attention. The hazy light from the candles made him look golden, almost like the glow was shining out of his skin instead of being reflected off of it.
Athelstan sighed heavily and began picking at a string on the bedding.
"Nothing much to say. It is over. I am coming home with you. I told King Ecbert my future was with you." He said in a deliberately clear, impassive tone; finally revealing the reason he had come to Ragnar’s room in the first place. As he finished speaking, he looked up to stare at Ragnar, gauging his reaction to the words.
Ragnar stood up straighter and his face broke into a wide grin, looking sly and thrilled. Like he had just made the winning move in a hard-fought game. Or maybe it was the look of a cunning wolf that has just caught the scent of blood. With Ragnar it was hard to tell.
Athelstan had known for a while now, that although he was a free man, he would never be free of Ragnar. And even though he had the free will to do whatever he wanted, he would never choose anything other than Ragnar.
In the end, it had not been much of a choice, at all. Ecbert's disappointment and Judith's begging were not powerful enough to sway his mind. Since the day he met Ragnar, something inside him knew they were destined to be in each other lives. Tonight, he was done fighting it.
"Good." Ragnar merely stated nonchalantly, but his pleased expression countered his outwardly indifferent tone.
Athelstan tilted his head and observed the half undressed Norseman standing in front of him, backlit against the moonlight streaking in from the window. "Did you doubt it?" He asked curiously.
Ragnar shrugged, pushed himself away from the table and walked over to the bed, inadvertently looking like a feral predator slinking across the floor. Following him with wide eyes, Athelstan felt his pulse speed up.
Ragnar sat right beside Athelstan, the bed dipped under his body weight and it forced Athelstan to tilt towards Ragnar. They were close enough that Athelstan could feel the heat coming off Ragnar's body. Athelstan clutched his fingers in the fabric at the sides of his pants and swallowed down a sudden punch of nausea.
"This place has your people. Your books and writings. Your language. Ecbert wants you to stay. That girl wants you to stay. Why are you coming back with me?" Ragnar whispered, face turned to stare intently at Athelstan.
Athelstan suddenly realized why he had felt so nervous to come tell Ragnar of his choice to leave with him. This was the conversation that they had been sidestepping for years.
He had once told Aslaug that he came back to Kattegat because she and Ragnar were his family. And that was true.
But there was more. And he was finally ready to be honest about what it was.
Over the last few years he had analyzed his confused, growing feelings; the ones he had kept hidden under prayer and more recently under a distraction with a lovely, young married woman that he always knew deep down he could not have and did not really want. She was safe in that way.
Judith was sweet and lonely. Trapped in a life that gave her little choice or power. Athelstan recognized something within her that he had also felt within himself. The desire to be uninhibited, to experience newness, to taste the forbidden. It was a powerful and tempting connection. Retrospectively, it had also been a mistake.
A subconscious part of him, if he were being truthful, knew that the inevitable point would come when Athelstan would no longer be able to keep his feelings for Ragnar at bay. But Athelstan was sexually inexperienced. And Ragnar, who was about as unceremoniously causal about sex as he was washing clothes, was not. In some ways, Athelstan had used his dalliance with Judith as a means of practice. A dress rehearsal before the real show.
It was undoubtedly the worst, most selfish and sinful thing he had ever done, even if at the time it was happening he had not been fully aware of his own ulterior motives. He was just blindly following his desire to be close to and please someone that seemed so obviously enamored with him.
But now looking back, he definitely was not proud of awkwardly lying to her hopeful face about the way he felt towards her, but in the moment he had not known what to say to her juvenile, unexpected confession. He could not very well tell her that despite caring for and being attracted to her, he knew with certainty that he was not in love with her.
He had felt love. It was something altogether different.
It was a slow burning fire with every affectionate touch, look and word shared banking the flames. It was terrifying. It was astonishing. It made him feel like his stomach was in knots. Made him feel like he could not contain the giddiness bubbling up from his chest. Made him want to run screaming in the opposite direction. Made him want to jump headfirst into the pleasurable feelings.
Looking at the striking man beside him, Athelstan felt all that now.
For so long, Athelstan had denied how he felt. Pushed in down, tied it up and ignored it. He had hoped and prayed fervently that the feelings would diminish in time, especially in the beginning when he lived in constant fear of God’s wrath, something that had been drilled into him since childhood. In the first few years after meeting the ferocious, intelligent, mystifying Norseman, Athelstan had laid awake in bed many nights, petrified of an eternity of fiery punishment for the unsolicited desires and thoughts that would not stop running through his head. It had made him sick with worry and guilt.
But instead of the feelings diminishing…they only got stronger. Each passing year made it harder and harder to quiet the thoughts and desires reeling around inside his mind. As his devotion to Christianity came into question, he began to understand and accept the Norse gods and his existential views grew more confused the ardent emotions only became more prevalent.
When he realized his feelings ran beyond mere fascination and friendship into something more sinful and romantic he was already so deep into it that there was no hope of ridding himself of the inescapable amorous bonds around his infiltrated heart.
So for a long time now he had kept his occupied heart held close, locked down, too scared to release the emotions inside. Afraid of their overwhelming, unfamiliar power.
To his credit, Ragnar seemed content with the state of their current relationship and did not pressure Athelstan for more, but Athelstan knew that Ragnar would not object to moving towards a connection that was also sexual in nature. Athelstan knew Ragnar better than anyone. He could see that more than platonic friendship burned in Ragnar's eyes when he stared at Athelstan.
Athelstan would be lying if he said he did not already know how Ragnar felt about it; Ragnar had made that obvious enough through the years, with his sensual leers and not so subtle innuendos. Ragnar would smile wickedly when Athelstan blushed at the advances, but Ragnar was always respectful of Athelstan. Even with all his playful and sometimes sexually charged teasing he never went over the boundaries that he believed would make Athelstan uncomfortable. He had certainly pushed the boundaries but he had never completely crossed them. It was as though Ragnar was waiting on Athelstan to let him know when it was acceptable to make the final move.
If Athelstan asked Ragnar to, Athelstan knew Ragnar would offer him everything he had, everything he was. Freely and instantaneously. Ragnar was simply hoping for an indication that Athelstan wanted him back.
Lord help him. Athelstan was about to give the permission he had withheld for so long.
He was ready to drown in it. It was like a dry creek bed had been bombarded with a torrential downpour for years. And now the banks were flooding, water overflowing everywhere. He could not keep it in anymore. It was all he could do to keep his head above water.
He realized he was going to have to drown in order to live. The fear of God’s wrath had been relegated to a place behind the more pressing fear that he was going to die if he did not touch Ragnar.
It was a different kind of danger than he had ever been in before. He knew he could suffocate under the weight of his love for this man.
"Why do you think?" Athelstan whispered back, breath catching in his throat. Ragnar was so close he could smell the leather and sweat on his skin. It was nearly unbearably erotic.
Ragnar looked at him, eyes wide and serious, all his earlier amusement gone from his face. Athelstan noticed the Norseman’s breath had quickened, his chest inhaling and exhaling heavily.
"Tell me." Ragnar softly murmured, it sounded more like a plea than a command.
"I want to stay with you, Ragnar. Don't you know that by now?" Athelstan revealed, blue eyes searching. Sincere and vulnerable.
Ragnar’s intense gaze pierced straight into that secret chamber of Athelstan’s heart, breaking away all the remaining locks and chains.
"Yes. I know. I want you with me. I always do." Ragnar sighed in a voice that was totally laid bare, no facade, no teasing, no avoiding.
He did not look like a king to Athelstan in that moment. Instead the large man just looked like a charming farm boy. He looked like the complex, mesmerizing, unpretentious farmer that Athelstan still remembered from all those years ago. It was irresistibly appealing.
The heat that had smoldered between them for years was on the verge of erupting. Athelstan felt his heart quiver and shake inside his chest. It was beating like a drum in his ears; he could not hear anything else over the alarming pounding.
Ragnar stared at Athelstan with a gaze so fiery hot that Athelstan would not have been surprised if the room were going up in flames around him. Athelstan felt a bead of sweat run down his spine; he was burning up.
Though, if the castle had been on fire, Athelstan would not have noticed. His vision had tunneled to hyper-focus solely on Ragnar.
Athelstan took in every minute detail, the way Ragnar's pupils were blown wide leaving only a tiny ring of icy blue circling the black, the scar across his nose, the freckle on his cheek, the way his breath smelled like wine and the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed sharply. Everything about him looked so beautiful in the rosy, lusty haze of Athelstan's mind.
Ragnar slowly lifted his hand from the bed and ran his fingers against the side of Athelstan's neck, as gentle as if he were petting a butterfly’s wing. Athelstan watched Ragnar's tongue leisurely slide out of his mouth and sensually lick his lips. Ragnar was gazing at Athelstan's mouth with a look of such burning wild desire it was staggering.
Ragnar’s unoccupied hand cautiously reached for Athelstan's and, cradling it gently, brought it up to Ragnar's bare chest, placing Athelstan's palm right above his heart. With Ragnar's hand warmly holding Athelstan's in place, he softly pressed Athelstan's hand harder into the smooth hot flesh. Athelstan felt the frantic pulsing beneath the pads of his fingers.
At Athelstan's touch, Ragnar's eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a deep breath, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Athelstan watched the pink lip disappear then slowly reemerge, the flesh turning white and then bright red as it was released from the teeth running over it.
Athelstan felt dizzy. He knew what Ragnar was doing. Ragnar was offering. If Athelstan said yes then this was it. The point from which they could not go back.
Athelstan decided he would burn for the things he wanted.
"I want to be with you. I want you." Athelstan uttered in a husky voice, stare shifting from Ragnar’s mouth to his blazing blue eyes.
Permission officially granted.
Ragnar looked momentarily like he had just been slapped and roused from slumber. Shocked, as though he could barely believe his ears.
Quickly recovering, Ragnar, keeping his gaze locked on Athelstan’s face, slowly leaned forward and invaded Athelstan's space even further. The hand he had wrapped around the side of Athelstan's neck tightened and his hot breath ghosted over Athelstan's face.
Ragnar raised his eyebrows and gave Athelstan an insistent, questioning look, like he was wanting confirmation that he truly had the consent to move forward.
Athelstan gave an almost frantic nod, his eyes unconsciously dragged downward to stare at Ragnar's lush lips and his hand on Ragnar's chest slide up to grip at the larger man's shoulder.
Ragnar closed his desire soaked eyes and sealed the distance between them. It happened as if in slow motion. But finally, finally, finally he touched his wet, full lips to Athelstan's open mouth. It was a quick, delicate kiss, with lips just barely touching but the second their skin met it felt like Athelstan had been set afire. His entire body began to tingle, blood dashing from one end of his frame to the other, setting off crackling infernos throughout his limbs. Electric sparks blew out the tips of his fingers and toes.
They both pulled back from the kiss at the same time. Their faces were far enough apart that they could stare at one another, both sets of eyes wide in disbelief at the stunning sensation, but close enough that Athelstan could feel Ragnar’s panting exhales misting against his skin.
And then, all in one instant, the dam broke open. BOOM.
Athelstan felt the moment it burst. It was like the dam that had held back so much between them finally caved in to the pressure and weight of the demanding water pounding against its barriers. Water thrashed over the walls, exploded through the cracks, splintered the structure. Roaring, frothy, white rapids swept over and destroyed everything in their path.
There was no hope of keeping it restrained. Athelstan felt it crash over him, whipping him up in its whirlwind. He let himself be engulfed by its thunderous power.
Ragnar must have felt it too because he took a heaving breath and then was immediately all over Athelstan.
Ragnar grunted raggedly, "Come here," as he practically threw Athelstan down on the bed and started pulling off clothing, giving a little frustrated growl when a sleeve got stuck on Athelstan's arm. Ragnar jerked it off and flung the offending article over his shoulder.
Shirt out of the way, Ragnar pressed his sturdy body down against Athelstan. The shock of hot, naked skin against Athelstan made his breath catch. Ragnar made a fist in Athelstan’s hair and attacked him with possessive kisses - tongues exploring, beards scraping, teeth nipping, lips sucking. Pure male physical desire coursed between them.
Ragnar had a lambent gleam in his eyes. He wanted Athelstan and he was not making any secret of it at this point. Ragnar’s confident, unrestrained, frenzied actions made Athelstan’s pulse skitter.
As amazing as the brute sexual aggression and raw feelings of excitement were, they were also completely unfamiliar and daunting to Athelstan. He did not know where to even begin.
He could not stop his body from trembling uncontrollably; it felt like Thor was creating a violent storm inside his stomach. His accelerated pulse thundered in his head. His lungs wheezed in shallow breaths. It felt like he was about to hyperventilate.
His thoughts were streaking by in a feverish whirlwind, too jumbled and quick for him to capture. Total woozy mindlessness.
In an aching, panicked stupor, Athelstan tried to keep up with the overwhelming sensations.
If Ragnar was anything, it was perceptive. Not much got passed him; he had an uncanny ability to read other men. Athelstan, especially.
Feeling Athelstan's shivering hesitation, Ragnar withdrew hastily, pulling back so he could see Athelstan's face.
“You are shaking. What’s wrong?” Ragnar sat up, his thighs straddling Athelstan’s hips and his ass pressing down firmly on Athelstan’s upper legs.
Licking his already swollen lips, Athelstan admitted breathlessly, “I’m nervous,” around an anxious, jerky laugh, a crimson flush inching up his neck. His mind was so muddled with terrified longing that it did not even occur to him to be anything but honest.
Ragnar’s guarded, concerned expression changed to one of tender fondness. He regarded Athelstan with caring understanding.
“Don’t be. It will be good. I swear.” Ragnar whispered in a voice that was all gravelly warmth, a tiny muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Here.” Ragnar clamped Athelstan’s wrists in a light grip and placed Athelstan’s hands on his bare chest. Then Ragnar sat back and rested his own hands on the tops of his thighs passively. He was giving Athelstan the reins, letting him have control, telling him wordlessly that they could go at whatever pace Athelstan was comfortable.
Athelstan took the hint.
He skimmed his unsteady hands down Ragnar’s chest, the sparse hairs tickling his palms. Ragnar’s abdomen tensed at the touch, the muscles over his ribs knitted as Athelstan’s fingers migrated over them. Athelstan's hands followed the trail of dark blond hair that led down to the Norseman’s pelvis eventually stopping to wrap his fingers around Ragnar’s hip bones, pressing his thumbs into the hollow V at the bottom of Ragnar’s trim torso.
Athelstan’s eyes slowly scanned up the dark, broad body above him. He took in the way the skin across the large old scar on Ragnar’s shoulder looked shiny and uneven, how the candles’ firelight hit the angle of his neck perfectly and a bead of sweat slide down the side of his tattooed skin and disappeared into the light hairs of his chest, that he was taking in shallow, controlled breaths and his heavy-lidded eyes were watching Athelstan's every move.
Mostly Ragnar looked absolutely desperate.
Athelstan gulped in a calming, deep breath and slowly ran his fingers along the top of Ragnar's pants until his hands met in the middle, right over the laces and the telling bulge beneath them. With cautious movements, eyes darting timidly to catch Ragnar's approving gaze briefly, Athelstan slowly began to unfasten the ties. Ragnar's body gave a little jolt and he sucked in an uneven hiss of air when Athelstan's hands brushed against his covered erection.
When Athelstan had the fastenings undone, Ragnar moved to lay beside Athelstan on the bed so he could remove his pants completely. The sight of Ragnar's bare body brought Athelstan's sex to full attention.
Totally at ease with his nudity, Ragnar leaned on one elbow and reached over to deftly unbuckle Athelstan's belt and pants, keen eyes glued to Athelstan's face the entire time. Ragnar sat up and tugged the pants down Athelstan's legs. Athelstan laid still and watched Ragnar neatly undress him, heart beating like he had just run a race against a horse and won.
Once both men were divested of all their clothing, they laid on their sides facing one another, heads sharing a pillow.
Athelstan smoothed his hands along Ragnar's neck and shoulder. Ragnar's hand came up to run along Athelstan's side and then traveled around to his back, pulling the smaller man in closer so that their bodies were nearly flush.
Ragnar brushed his nose against Athelstan’s, pressed their foreheads together and then angled his face in closer to drop soothing, wet kisses on Athelstan's mouth, their tongues hotly gliding against each other.
Athelstan closed his eyes and sunk into the silky, sensual touches, every point of physical contact sparking on his body. It felt like his skin was being lit on fire from the inside.
Ragnar hooked his hand under Athelstan's knee and pulled Athelstan's leg up and across Ragnar's hip, his calloused hand running up the back of Athelstan's thigh, over his ass cheek and up his back smoothly. Athelstan gasped out an airy whimper into Ragnar's mouth, taken off guard by the stimulating sensation.
Athelstan felt surrounded by Ragnar’s strength and heat. Having Ragnar so near made Athelstan feel reckless, bold and willing to follow his desires wherever they led. That this man, who had instilled fear into an entire kingdom, killed men ruthlessly with the very same hands he was now tenderly stroking Athelstan with, was willing to cater to a former slave made Athelstan’s breath snag in his throat. This fierce wolf was being as gentle as a kitten, all for Athelstan.
He could deny Ragnar nothing. He melted, completely yielding to Ragnar, all the anxiousness draining away.
Ragnar witnessed the change toward relaxed calm and rolled them over. He eased Athelstan down on his back and laid on top of the smaller man’s acquiescent body, bringing their lips and hips together sensually.
Ragnar slid his lips to the side of Athelstan’s throat where Ragnar's mouth encountered a pulse point and he pressed his tongue to the pattering beat. Athelstan swayed against him, moaning, head swimming, seeking more. He had never felt so cared for in his life.
Ragnar moved down Athelstan’s electrified body, delivering long hot licks down Athelstan’s neck, chest, belly, hips. Worshipping him. Ragnar’s tongue traced over nipples, teasing the nerve endings there, and hands glided over Athelstan’s skin, reducing Athelstan into a throbbing puddle of longing.
Athelstan’s skin broke out into chills, so sensitive that every brush against his flesh was magnified one hundred percent. He was so incredibly aroused it was unbelievable.
Ragnar moved his knees gruffly between Athelstan’s legs and settled down between them.
With a splendid show of rippling muscles and corded thighs, Ragnar leaned back and pulled Athelstan’s legs up, spreading them wide.
Athelstan pressed his heels into the mattress and tried to shift his legs closer together, unsure about the extreme exposure. But Ragnar’s grip tightened, holding Athelstan in place, and Athelstan’s legs stilled and relaxed.
"I want to see you. Let me touch you." Ragnar rasped in a voice drenched with spicy lust, kneading Athelstan's thighs eagerly.
The hungry words made something low in Athelstan’s stomach pulse and twist. He nodded his head willingly at the man kneeling before him.
Ragnar clasped his fist around Athelstan’s leaking cock, the flesh going from swollen to steel instantly. Athelstan could not stop the groan that rumbled up from the bottom of his throat. He tossed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, seeing stars burst behind his lids. Ragnar started with slow, steady strokes, his touch feeling like rapturous fire blazing along Athelstan's hard shaft.
Athelstan sucked in heaving breaths and tried to calm the quivering ecstasy coursing through his body, feeling like he was already dangerously close to plunging off the edge.
He opened his eyes and tried to frantically search for anything to distract from the engulfing pleasure.
Instead his treacherous eyes caught sight of Ragnar and they mutinously refused to look away, as though he were in a trance, his mind no longer his own. Golden flickering light played on Ragnar’s chest and arms, forearm flexing as he touched Athelstan with a branding heat. His hard body was coiled tightly, fleshly muscles bulging into knots. There was yearning need in his glossy-eyed gaze and hunger in his parted mouth. The sight did nothing to quell the escalating torrent of surging arousal within Athelstan.
With eyes holding Athelstan’s, Ragnar stopped his fondling and sat a little further back on his heels. Dragging in a labored breath, he tipped his head up towards the ceiling, closed his eyes, and wiped a shaking hand down his face.
“Fuuuck.” Ragnar groaned, sounding manic and pained. He took another steadying breath, on the cusp of losing all composure.
"This isn’t going to last long. I am already too close." Ragnar rasped hoarsely, sounding like he was burning with need. Ragnar’s large cock was hard against his belly; excitement glistened obscenely from the crown. Ragnar palmed a hand down the stiff length and enclosed his fingers around the base of his cock.
"Me too. Me too. Come on." Athelstan slurred, reaching up to grab at Ragnar’s arm, possessed and overexcited.
Through the fringe of his eyelashes, Ragnar stared down at Athelstan, eyes full of longing and amazement, like he had just spotted the most rare and beautiful treasure in the world.
Then he swooped down, strong shoulders undulated as he stalked up Athelstan's body, thighs knocked Athelstan’s wider as he lowered himself on braced arms and sealed their bodies together. His face pressed into Athelstan’s hair, lips against his ear, breathing quick and shallow.
Athelstan grasped at Ragnar's shoulders, anchoring himself. He rubbed his palms over Ragnar's back, feeling ravenous and desperate.
Ragnar rose over him, roped with tendons, and roughly pushed a hand in between their bodies. He began to jerk Athelstan off with a firm, hasty rhythm.
Pleasure rolled over Athelstan in tingling waves, tightening low in his belly. He groaned and angled his hips, craving more.
Red hot heat built inside him, knotting at the base of his spine then diffusing outwards into shivering shock-waves. Writhing, twisting, clamping, molten arousal spiked, making him moan, gasp and arch towards Ragnar.
He was teetering on the edge, hips flexing beneath thighs, pleasure blooming, hands gripping sweaty skin, rapture jolting through him.
He heard Ragnar whispering to him, urging him onward toward the peak. Deep voice right by Athelstan's ear, humming explicit, possessive things.
It was enough to instantly push him over the edge. His body twisted with tension then snapped taut. Falling into the plunge, he folded around Ragnar, buried his face into the crook of Ragnar’s neck, gripped Ragnar's shoulders painfully, and let out an undone, raw moan.
Spasms jerked his whole body, wave after quaking wave of flaming, stinging ecstasy rolled over him. Clench, release, clench, release, clench, release.
Athelstan was left trembling against Ragnar’s body. Limbs quivering, chest convulsing, body filmed with moisture, too weak to do anything except hang on to Ragnar, he returned measure by measure back to reality.
In a haze of dreamy passion, Athelstan felt any remaining gentleness leave Ragnar only to be replaced with harsh urgency. His hands began moving relentlessly, pressing hard into Athelstan’s flesh.
Ragnar’s demeanor switched to dark excitement, turning him into a needy creature functioning on pure animal appetite and instinct.
Ragnar's strong body was flush against him, muscles clenching. Handsome, fierce face right above Athelstan’s, as he stared at Athelstan with hooded eyes and panted into Athelstan's open mouth.
Ragnar began grinding the steely length of his large cock, heavy and hot, against Athelstan's lower stomach, the wet slickness of Athelstan's release coating their lower abdomens smoothing the furious thrusting.
Forearms rubbed against Athelstan's ribs as Ragnar fell apart above the smaller man.
Ragnar buried his face into Athelstan's neck, hips working hard and frantic. Athelstan could feel Ragnar's building pleasure and knew he was near orgasm.
Ragnar continued rutting against Athelstan’s stomach swift and brutal, unleashing the power of his body. Then he slid one arm under Athelstan’s shoulders, his hand squeezing the skin on Athelstan’s back tightly while the other arm insinuated itself between them to wrap his hand around his dripping, stiff cock, fist pumping lewd and fast.
With heaving chests stuck together, Athelstan tucked his legs tighter around Ragnar’s flexing thighs and ran his feet up the backs of Ragnar’s calves. Athelstan’s arms tightened across Ragnar’s back, nails running down the skin, grabbing and pinching. He touched every inch of skin he could reach, smoothing his hands over Ragnar's arms, back, hips and kneading his ass.
Ragnar’s face creased, shoulders shuttered and stomach convulsed as he wheezed against Athelstan's temple. His large body seized, muscles went rigid and he let out a muffled groan from deep in his chest as hot, thick jets of seed burst out to cover the skin of their bellies.
Ragnar collapsed on top of Athelstan, feeling heavy and warm. Their harsh and labored breathing filled the dim, quiet room.
After a moment, Ragnar pushed up and took his weight off Athelstan, lazily rolling over.
They laid boneless next to each other, bodies still vibrating with the aftershocks of spent pleasure, sucking in winded breaths, trying to recover. Ragnar sluggishly rotated his head to look at Athelstan. Athelstan glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Ragnar’s sweaty face and glazed, shiny eyes had a dazed expression, like he had abruptly awoken after having been knocked out and could not comprehend what the hell just happened.
The bewildered, drunk look plastered on the Norseman's face, made Athelstan instantly let out a drowsy chuckle. Ragnar gave him a drained, bemused stare and rolled towards Athelstan, aligning his body against Athelstan’s sticky side. Kissing Athelstan’s shoulder, the smile in Ragnar's eyes spread to his mouth.
Following a relaxed, dozy silence, Ragnar rumbled, "You made me wait a very long time to do that.” His voice sounded cracked and hoarse.
Athelstan just gave a breathless, satisfied smirk and playfully slapped a limp hand against Ragnar's stomach.
Athelstan got it now. Got. It. Loud and clear! All the fuss about sex never made much sense to him until after he had sex with Ragnar Lothbrok. Mary, Mother of God! Freyja, Goddess of Love and Fertility!
They made love twice more during the night. They went slower, took their time exploring each other's bodies, hands running over smooth skin. Ragnar did things to Athelstan he did not even think were possible. Made him feel things he did not even think were possible, either.
At one point, Ragnar even took Athelstan's cock into his mouth, sucking, bobbing, licking and humming around him until he released down Ragnar's throat. Athelstan was pretty sure it qualified as a religious experience. He had never been so out of his mind with desire.
In bed, Ragnar was in turns domineering and aggressive then excruciatingly tender and gentle. Surprisingly, even submissive at times, letting Athelstan make the requests. Ragnar would hold down arms or roughly push open legs or manhandle Athelstan into whatever position Ragnar preferred only to then lightly trace the tips of his fingers across overly sensitive skin or lovingly stroke Athelstan's hair away from his sweaty face or lie back and let Athelstan do whatever he wanted with Ragnar's body. As was typical of Ragnar, he was multifaceted and enigmatic, even during sex.
Athelstan had been blown away by how turned on he was by everything Ragnar did. Every seductive leer, every dirty command, every passionate touch. All of it was so incredibly sexy.
In between sighs and moans, Ragnar would hotly grunt orders, "Right there," "Faster," "Turn over," "Look at me," "Yes, like that." Athelstan was positive he would do just about any filthy thing that husky, lust-roughened voice asked him. Athelstan felt desire flare up below his bellybutton simply thinking about it, his insides turning into a quivering, throbbing jumble.
Athelstan's ardent heart was stretched to bursting. After keeping his feelings so tightly under control, he was in danger of drowning in them.
Beside him, Ragnar stirred, stretched luxuriously and sat up in the bed, making a deep rumbling sound in his chest like a big cat purring. Athelstan let his hand trail down the smooth back, feeling the bumps of Ragnar’s spine. As Ragnar carelessly threw off the blanket and got out of bed, Athelstan rolled over on the mattress, tucking the covers around his relaxed but sore body and watched the Norseman shamelessly walk across the room, naked as the day he was born. Ragnar went to the table against the wall and picked up his earlier discarded traveling bag.
They were leaving at first light and Ragnar needed to finish arranging his few possessions so he would be ready to go in the morning. Ragnar was meticulous about being prepared, even down to making sure he had everything packed properly. He had a calculating, methodical and inventive mind. He liked to plan, organize and arrange, thinking of every possible scenario and his subsequent resulting actions. That this adventurous, risk-seeking, renegade pioneer could be so pragmatically sensible amused Athelstan to no end.
Athelstan studied Ragnar as he again tried to untie the knotted strings holding the bag closed. Ragnar appeared sated, but invigorated, like he had just jumped into a cold lake on a sweltering day. Completely calm and satisfied.
Athelstan noticed lines of scratches down Ragnar's dark back and a discolored red circular mark along the top of his chest, suspiciously shaped the same size as Athelstan's mouth. Ragnar looked thoroughly ravished.
Athelstan was sure he looked no better off; his hair was a tousled disaster, his body had tiny purple bruises all over it, the skin on his collarbone felt tender from Ragnar's beard grating against it and his lips were swollen and raw. But oh, he was a contented mess.
Not able to stop himself, Athelstan buried his face and hid a secret smile, overjoyed knowing that he was responsible for Ragnar's blissed-out state. It was all he could do not to bite the feather-filled pillow, shout and kick his legs in happiness.
Ragnar, unable to untangle the knot, gave a frustrated grumble and wordlessly handed the apparently impossible bag over to Athelstan.
Athelstan took the small, black, leather bag and began to patiently loosen the entangled cords.
"You have had this old, worn bag ever since I've known you." Athelstan observed, absentmindedly. Easily untying the knot, he reached out his arm and handed the leather satchel back over to Ragnar.
Shooting Athelstan an impressed smirk, Ragnar took it back and gave the bag a disgruntled glare.
"Well, I'm not one to throw away something just because it has a little age on it. I hope you feel the same." Ragnar stated pointedly, looking through one squinted side-eye, his eyebrow cocked. He stared at the younger man with mocking sternness.
Athelstan smiled, then pursed his lips and scrunched his nose, pretending to think on it.
"I suppose I will keep you around for a while." He teased back.
Ragnar gave a tightlipped, sarcastic smile but then shot Athelstan a good-humored wink, letting Athelstan know he was not actually annoyed.
Ragnar began packing away his belt and extra change of clothes into the bag. Then he picked up a small, elaborately carved wooden box that Athelstan had never seen before.
"What is that?" Athelstan stretched his body and angled his head, trying to get a better look.
"What?" Ragnar stopped what he was doing to turn to the smaller man. Athelstan pointed to the box held within Ragnar's hand.
Ragnar stepped closer to Athelstan and then opened the top of the wooden container, showing the interior contents to Athelstan. Through the dim candlelight, he could see that inside were several bone needles of varying sizes and some strips of leather, fabric and thread. It was a small sewing kit.
"For mending when traveling. Lagertha gave it to me before I went on a raid during the first year we were married." Ragnar explained, closing the box and turning around to continue putting away the last few items into his bag.
"She did not go with you?" Athelstan questioned. Lagertha was not known for simply sitting back and letting the men do all the fighting.
Ragnar shook his head mildly, "No, she was pregnant."
"You know what? I don't think you ever told me the story of how you and Lagertha met and got married."
"You want to hear about my ex-wife? Now?"
Athelstan nodded and laughed at the absurd timing, but he did not rescind his request. He was purely curious. Athelstan was not intimidated by the women or other friends in Ragnar's life; even knowing that in some ways Ragnar still loved Lagertha or that Ragnar had some unknown quality about him that made some of the people around him want to jealously guard their place close to the inscrutable King. He knew what he and Ragnar shared was beyond any connection that either of them had experienced with anyone else. Their bond was incomparable.
Ragnar raised his eyebrows and gave a defeated shrug then proceeded to very animatedly recount the story of how he fought a bear and strangled an enormous hound in order to win Lagertha's hand in marriage and her heart.
As his wildly implausible narration came to an end, Ragnar stood in the middle of the warm room, candlelight flickering off his bare body, and shot a smug half smile at Athelstan.
Then he boasted, matter of fact, "And in order to win yours, I sailed across the open sea, kidnapped you from a useless God and fought a foreign king."
Athelstan adoringly smiled, tilting his head to take in the self-satisfied man before him, and agreeably murmured, "Yes, you did." Quiet and hopelessly charmed.
"Not even an ocean could keep me from you. Anything else you want?" Ragnar gave a cheeky grin, like a cat that had just found a tub full of unsupervised milk, looking every bit the part of a rakish scamp.
Athelstan's cheeks were sore from smiling. He never remembered being happier. "Hmm...how about Paris?" He said in a voice full of mirth.
Ragnar walked over to sit on the edge of the bed beside Athelstan. He tugged the blanket down, exposing Athelstan's torso. Ragnar gently smoothed his calloused hand over Athelstan's pale chest and abdomen. Blue eyes following the movements of his hand ghosting over Athelstan's hot skin, he asked curiously, "What is that?"
With Ragnar's hand touching him so soothingly, it took a moment for Athelstan's fuzzy brain to focus on the question. After gathering the wits that had escaped him the second Ragnar sat on the bed, Athelstan managed to utter breathlessly, "A large, beautiful city in the country of Frankia. I visited it when I was young. As a monk."
Ragnar's hand stopped its intimate caressing and he pursed his lips. "Huh. Tell me about this city." He requested, face solemn and earnest.
Athelstan laughed and shook his head incredulously. "Ragnar, I was joking!" He exclaimed.
"I wasn't." Ragnar raised his eyebrows and inclined his head, his intense, shimmering gaze slicing right into Athelstan.
Ragnar was dead serious.
"Tell me about Paris." Ragnar again mildly demanded, this time with more persuasive force in his tone.
So Athelstan indulged him. He told Ragnar everything he could remember about the things he had seen within the walls of Paris. Ragnar listened, spellbound.
By the time Athelstan had finished detailing every site he could think of having been to while in the gorgeous city, he was completely exhausted, the night’s energetic activities finally catching up with him.
Ragnar, lying next to him, combed his fingers through Athelstan’s disorderly curls and said with quiet, teasing humor, “You look like you just came through a battle, my friend.”
“I did. My feelings for you won.” Athelstan whispered back, groggily, barely able to keep his eyes open.
Athelstan felt Ragnar curl his large, strong body around Athelstan’s smaller frame and plant whisper-light kisses against Athelstan’s closed eyes.
Athelstan let himself be taken down into the embracing darkness of welcoming sleep, the last image he saw before sinking into the black emptiness were flames blazing behind his eyelids.