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The feast was in full swing. Young Hunwald had come to visit Swanburrow, and Eivor had caught Sigurd on a good day and bade him throw a feast. The happy couple were dancing, deep in their cups, and Eivor’s clan were charmed by them. Sigurd, less so, and Eivor stood a little to his brother’s left, a respectful – and safe – distance behind his brother’s throne while Sigurd glowered. His brother had been this way since he escaped from Fulke’s clutches, and while Eivor mourned the man his brother had been, he could not deny that this new behaviour frustrated him. Frightened him, even, for Sigurd’s temper was a fragile thing nowadays, and Eivor had oft borne the brunt of it. It had left him tiptoeing around the man he’d once trusted above all others, hiding things from him for fear of retaliation.
A similarly fragile atmosphere had descended at the beginning of their revelry this night, a tense, heavy air that good mead and loud music had gradually dispelled. Indeed, the drunker his clan had gotten, the louder they became. Hunwald span around in the centre of the floor with Swanburrow in his arms, both of them laughing. It made Eivor’s heart swell, to see them so sickeningly in love. He watched them from the sidelines, a proud parent, glad to see a newfound confidence in Hunwald that was backed by genuine experience and not naive bluster. Soon, Eivor imagined, there’d be little-Hunwalds about the shire of Lincoln, causing as much well-meaning chaos as their father had.
A touch to his elbow drew his attention, a warm hand that soon found its way to Eivor's waist. Only one man on this earth could touch Eivor thus and not find their arm snapped for their trouble. Coincidentally, it was the same man who could sneak up on him without a sound.
“Basim,” he said quietly, a soft greeting. All his clan were too busy with the revelry to notice them, something Eivor was glad for when Basim’s chest pressed against his back. That wandering hand slid forward, gliding up and under the loose wool of his tunic to find the bare skin of his stomach. Eivor shivered. “Basim.”
Basim only hummed, watching as Hunwald tripped. Swanburrow caught him, scooping him into a lively jig. “Having fun?”
Eivor shrugged, mindful of how Basim’s chin nearly rested on his shoulder and leant back into his embrace. “If standing here is fun, sure.”
“You won’t join in?”
An unnecessary question. Basim knew full well why Eivor stood at his brother’s side, silent, instead of drinking with his crew. The earful he’d gotten from Sigurd last time he’d overindulged still echoed in his mind. As did his mortification. He’d tried to have Basim fuck him, too drunk and too desperate, and Basim had turned him down flat. Luckily, he’d been much recovered by morning, and apparently, getting railed worked wonders for a headache.
Something in his body must have betrayed the direction his thoughts had turned, besides the obvious, because Basim nosed at his neck, pressing his lips to scarred flesh, and said, “Hoping for something?”
Eivor exhaled a breathy sigh, tilting his head to allow Basim better access. “If I say yes, will you give it to me?”
“That entirely depends.”
“On what?”
“On how good you've been.”
Oh. Basim was in one of those moods. “Very good.”
Basim hummed, and Eivor felt it more than heard it. His hand dipped a little lower, teasing the waistband of Eivor’s trousers. “Have you now?”
Eivor nodded, making some noise of assent. He scanned the gathered crowd, but none had noticed them. Sigurd, a little ahead of them, was too preoccupied with glaring at everything to bother himself with Eivor. “Yes.”
“Then I should reward you, no?”
“Yes.”
Basim stepped back, and Eivor turned to him, bereft at the loss. In the evening’s twilight, no one saw him take Basim’s hand in his and lace their fingers together. Basim gave his hand a squeeze and bade him follow, and Eivor tried not to trot after him like some over-eager fool. He wasn’t sure he managed it.
They’d gotten maybe two paces before all of Sigurd’s brotherly instinct and cunning seemed to align. “Where are you going?” he demanded without turning to look at them, his voice cold and detached.
“A letter came for Eivor, Sigurd,” Basim said, because Sigurd might have been distracted as of late, but he wasn’t deaf. He’d heard Basim's voice, even if they’d spoken too low for him to pick out any meaning. And Basim wasn’t lying, apparently, for he was holding a letter packet in one hand. Likely, it was the reason he’d sought Eivor out in the first place, before he’d become distracted. “About the Order.”
Disinterested, Sigurd waved them away. Eivor followed Basim to the map room. Heavy curtains separated it from the longhouse proper, and Eivor closed them while Basim tossed the letter, unopened, onto the table. That done, Eivor went willingly into his embrace, tugging him into a kiss. It hadn’t been that long since Basim had fucked him, he thought, wondering why he was so desperate for his touch, for Eivor had woken him that morning with a soft kiss that had soon turned heated. They’d barely been apart all day, both of them working towards a common goal of rooting out the Order in Jorvik. And at some point around midday, Eivor had tossed the papers he’d been reading aside and had gone to his knees, and Basim had taken him there, eventually, against the shelves that held poor Hytham’s life’s work. And here they were, a third time. Eivor had never been a man obsessed with sex, but something about Basim drove him insane.
Guided backwards, the small of Eivor’s back hit the table, and Basim lifted him back onto it. “Fuck Basim,” he managed to choke out between desperate, open-mouthed kisses. One of Randvi’s ravens, those wooden map markers, dug into his thigh, and he took a moment to remove it and sweep a whole lot of them aside. “Someone will hear us.”
“Then be quiet,” Basim said, tugging Eivor’s shirt up and over his head. They crashed back together again, Eivor holding on to him for dear life. Soft, gasping moans fell from his mouth each time their lips met, and Basim pulled back when Eivor became a little too vocal, an eyebrow arched. “Eivor.”
“Sorry,” Eivor said, knowing he was not. Basim consistently pulled loud, guttural moans from him. It was a wonder they’d never been caught, given Eivor’s inability to stay quiet. The metal buckle of his belt rattled as Basim pulled it free, and Eivor endeavoured to focus. The belt fell to the floor with the rest of his clothes. Deft hands untied the laces of his trousers, and then those long, lithe fingers were wrapping around his cock. “Oh fuck.”
Basim might have chided him again, but Eivor occupied his mouth with a kiss, both hands cupping his jaw as Basim stroked his thumb over the head of Eivor’s cock. Eivor whined, long and keening, and Basim tightened his grip in retaliation, which had the exact opposite effect. Eivor bucked up into his hand, seeking that sweet friction. And Basim, ever indulgent, broke their kiss long enough to spit on his hand, then stroked him with a firm grip. Eivor swore and kissed him again, muffling his gentle moans in Basim’s mouth.
Eventually, Basim pulled back, breathless, and sought Eivor’s gaze. “If I let you fuck my mouth, can you be quiet?”
What little blood remained elsewhere in Eivor’s body departed southwards at such speed it left him lightheaded. Desperate, he nodded, and Basim kissed him again, hot and filthy, then went to his knees. Eivor watched him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. It was such a rare thing, to see Basim kneeling, that the sight of it nearly tipped Eivor immediately over the edge.
“Oh,” he breathed, halfway into a moan as Basim gave him a few introductory strokes. Then, he slapped a hand over his mouth to stop a shout when Basim took him all the way to the hilt without warning, barely hanging on to the sound before it told all of Ravensthorpe what they were doing in here.
Basim set such a brutal, devastating pace, Eivor had to bite his finger to stay quiet. The hand not over his mouth, he laid on Basim’s head. And he’d just enough lucidity remaining to remember that Basim despised having his hair pulled, so he moved it to rest on his neck instead. When he tried to rock his hips forward, Basim put a hand on his hip to still him, a pressure that did nothing, but it was a command Eivor yielded to all the same. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hold on to the frayed edges of his composure, not wanting this whole thing to be over before it had even truly started.
Eventually, when he felt safe enough to, he took his hand away and said, “Feels good,” then used it to take some of his weight as he leant back. The music outside was still loud. Small, gasping noises were all he could allow himself, even as Basim seemed set on taking him apart. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”
Basim hummed, the hand on Eivor’s hip releasing him a little so that Eivor could thrust into his mouth.
“Basim,” he whined, still quiet, the sound somewhat lost in the air between them. But a dam had broken, and Eivor suddenly couldn’t stop. A litany of hushed praises and prayers left him, Basim’s name falling from his lips like a venerated god’s. “Basim,” he managed to gasp out, halfway into a warning, “Fuck, I’m-” He choked off into a moan. He was rapidly approaching his undoing, his breathing coming fast and heavy. Then, of course, Basim did something particularly clever with his tongue, and Eivor threw his head back and shouted, "Basim!"
Basim pulled off him with an obscene, wet sort of noise, and Eivor actually sobbed, his release falling away. A moment of stillness, then another, and Eivor’s desperation to have Basim's mouth on him again began to make him shake with need.
“Basim,” he hissed, “I swear to your god and mine, if you don’t touch me-”
“Hush, Eivor.”
Eivor huffed but listened. He tried to move the hand resting on Basim’s neck to touch himself, to find some relief, but Basim smacked his hand away. “Basim.”
“Eivor,” Basim countered, and there was a warning in his voice that Eivor desperately wanted to push back against, if only because he knew he’d enjoy the punishment. He moved his hand again, and Basim grabbed him by the wrist, a vice-like grip that shouldn’t have made his cock jump, but it did
But the approaching footsteps – ones Basim had evidently heard before he had – doused the fire of his impetuous disobedience. Their position left little to the imagination. They’d no hope of hiding what they’d been doing, either; both of them half-naked, Basim kneeling before him and Eivor’s cock hard and slick. Randvi’s markers were all over the floor, and the letter Basim had supposedly been showing him was somewhere down there with them.
“Have you seen Eivor?” It was Birna, her voice slurred and too loud. She paused as someone answered, too quiet for Eivor to hear, then scoffed, “Pssh, that can wait!”
They shared a panicked glance. Swiftly, Basim uncoiled and rose to his feet. One hand, he used to prompt Eivor to turn until he was facing the doorway. The other, he tangled in Eivor’s hair. They locked eyes, a mutual understanding passing between them, and then Basim wrenched him in for a searing kiss the moment Birna sauntered in. Despite some awareness of his new audience, Eivor lost himself in the kiss anyway, bringing his hand up to cup Basim’s jaw. A small, keening noise left him quite of its own accord, and Basim made a reciprocal sound, more performative than genuine, but it sent a bolt of heat down Eivor’s spine, nonetheless.
“Oh shit,” Birna said uselessly, and Eivor jolted backwards in surprise, because he’d genuinely forgotten she was there.
“Birna,” he said. The curtain was closed behind her, thank all the gods, and she stood there, gaping at them. “You- I-” he tried, then sagged. “This is exactly what it looks like.”
Birna looked between them, then whistled. “Well damn, Basim. I’m almost proud of you.” Basim rolled his eyes. He’d turned towards her but stayed between Eivor’s legs, an effective cover for Eivor’s modesty. Or what remained of it after today, anyway. “You’d such a stick up your arse,” she continued, then chortled, “Well, not up your arse, clearly.”
“Birna,” Eivor began, a little desperately. “Please-”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving a hand that almost toppled her. “I saw nothing, don’t worry.”
Eivor sagged. Basim, too, relaxed, though he’d never seemed outwardly tense in the first place. “Thank you.”
“Psh,” she said, dismissing it. “Who am I to stand in the way of this glorious union?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Unless you wanted me to?”
“We do not,” Basim said with some finality, though not unkindly.
She shrugged. “Suit yourselves.” When her eyes met Eivor’s, there was something melancholic in them. “Guess I never had a chance with you, huh?”
Eivor shook his head, fully aware of how soft his smile had gone and how Basim’s thumb traced over his skin where it rested on his hip. “No, sorry.”
“I’ll let you get on with it, then,” she said, and then she was gone, slipping through the curtain without ever opening it fully. “Yes,” Eivor heard her say once she was outside the room, “important work, Hytham.” Basim made a strange sort of noise, mortified that Hytham had nearly been the one to discover them. “Might take them a while.”
Eivor looked to Basim, hopeful and amused in equal measure. “Might it?”
“Give me a minute,” Basim said, looking awfully like he wanted some divine force to end his suffering, if only he wouldn’t need to look Hytham in the eye ever again. Eivor kissed him on the cheek and Basim chuckled, turning to kiss him full on the mouth. He pulled back and sighed, indulgent, “Where were we? Remind me.”
Eivor pretended to consider it as if he weren’t still shaking. “I think I was about to come.”
“Were you?”
Eivor hummed and nodded, snaking a hand between them to find Basim’s clothed cock. Basim kissed him again, and Eivor endeavoured to help rekindle the mood, making little sounds he knew Basim would respond to. Rewarding him, perhaps, Basim picked up exactly where he’d left off with his hand, and Eivor took frighteningly little time to feel that tell-tale warmth coil at the base of his spine. Basim moaned into his mouth, a rare delight, and Eivor shuddered at the sound of it.
“This will be over much sooner than you’d like if you don’t stop that.” Basim chuckled but relented, kissing him softly until Eivor felt like the slightest touch wouldn’t send him over the edge. “You’re very overdressed.”
“So I am.”
Eivor got to work on undressing him in short order, sliding off the simple leather jacket Basim wore when he wasn’t wearing his armour, and divested him of the wool shirt beneath. Meanwhile, Basim helped Eivor out of his trousers until his bare skin was on cold wood. Eivor flattened his hands on Basim’s chest, then moved them to the small of his back to pull him closer. “Will you fuck me?”
Basim chuckled, idly toying with a strand of Eivor’s hair. “That was the plan, habibi.”
Eivor’s heart sang, as it did every single time Basim used that endearment. “You have-” Basim produced a vial of oil from his pocket, and Eivor smiled. “Of course.”
Basim released his hair to pop the corked cap off. He poured a generous amount onto his hand and then put the vial down. Warm, slick fingers found Eivor’s cock, and he laughed when Eivor groaned. “Good?”
“Yes,” Eivor hissed, letting his head fall to the side. Basim dipped to kiss the newly exposed skin of his neck, then sucked a bruise into the spot just behind Eivor’s ear. It would be hidden by his hair, Eivor knew, because Basim often favoured that location for that very reason. Basim nipped him, a gentle thing, but Eivor whined anyway, “Basim.”
“Sit back.”
Eivor scrambled to do as he was told, leaning back onto his elbows. For a moment, Basim did nothing but look at him, and Eivor scowled. “Must I beg you?”
Basim laughed. “Not tonight, love.” He laid a hand on Eivor’s thigh. “How would you like me?”
Usually, Eivor would have cooked up all kinds of plans. Tonight, though, Basim had wound him up something terrible. “However you’d have me.”
“So many possibilities,” Basim said, ghosting his fingertips down the length of Eivor’s thigh, then back up again. He leant forward to kiss Eivor full on the mouth. His weight rested on his right arm, near Eivor’s chest, while his left hand skirted around where Eivor wanted so desperately to be touched most. Eivor groaned into his mouth, so hard it was becoming uncomfortable, and Basim relented. The slickness of his oil-coated fingers slid deliciously over Eivor's cock for a brief moment before one was carefully pushed inside him. “Alright?”
“Yes,” Eivor said, his voice carrying on a sigh. “Perfect.”
It took little time at all for Basim to prepare him, since he’d been inside Eivor not three hours ago, and despite his size, Basim slide home in one, easy movement. Eivor keened softly, for Basim was as blessed in this department as he was in all aspects of his person. Eivor had certainly not forgotten how intimidated he’d been by the size of Basim’s cock the first time he’d seen it; how incredible it had felt inside him. Basim leant over to kiss him, giving him a moment to adjust. When he finally moved, he kept to his languid pace, keeping Eivor precariously balanced between a lazy, gentle sort of pleasure and an addictive kind of insanity. For all their earlier conversation, the walls of the longhouse were not so thick, and could not hope to muffle the sounds of a relationship they were both desperate to keep secret. And so, Eivor was content to bury his soft, gasping moans in Basim’s mouth as he fell apart beneath him. Pleasure crept upon him like the oncoming tide, ebbing and flowing like water. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, head falling back as his elbows collapsed from beneath him, his back hitting the map and the hard wood beneath. His skin danced with ripples of warmth, and he grasped the edge of the table tightly in one hand while his other wrapped tightly around Basim’s wrist, holding him in a vice. Basim’s body pressed strong and firm against his own. Each roll of his hips sparked hot pleasure in Eivor’s stomach like steel striking flint.
“Basim,” he said, his voice stuck halfway between an exhale and a prayer.
“Yes,” Basim hummed, finally sounding as wrecked as Eivor felt. The hand that had been resting behind Eivor's thigh pulled him closer still, and Eivor threw his head back and tried to hold on to the keening, wailing moan that built in his throat. “Fuck, Eivor.”
Eivor sat up and caught Basim’s lips with his own in renewed desperation. Basim picked up his pace, breathing ragged against Eivor’s mouth, and Eivor swore. A string of whines and moans fell past his lips, muffled in Basim’s kiss, his breath catching audibly as each thrust drove the air from his lungs. Basim grunted and dragged Eivor a little further down the table, knocking his arms out from under him, and the changed angle had Eivor grinding his teeth to stop himself from screaming.
“Oh fuck.” His hips jerked of their own accord. His entire body shook with urgent desperation. He grabbed whatever he could to find purchase, Basim’s arm and the table beneath him again, inching ever closer to an overwhelming precipice. “Basim,” he gasped out, too loud, the only word he could manage. “Basim, Basim. Oh shit, I’m going to-”
Basim clapped a hand over his mouth to silence him, his rhythm fast and brutal. Eivor threw his head back, his ears ringing, his muscles tightening, and then he fell back into his own body and came so hard his vision whitened, breath coming in harsh, panting sobs. Clenching shockwaves shot through him, and then his entire body gave out, and he fell back onto the table in heap. Basim had come too, inside him, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he leant over Eivor’s body.
“Damn,” Eivor said, some long, incoherent time later, still catching his breath and shaking all over. “Fucking hell.” Basim laughed, equally as breathless. Eivor sat up and met him halfway for a kiss, despite how unwilling his arms were to hold his weight. They broke for air, and he collapsed back onto the table. “Am I meant to be able to stand?”
“Ideally, yes,” Basim said, hissing as he pulled out, overstimulated and too sensitive. “You’re alright?”
Eivor groaned and let his head fall back. “No,” he said, in complete jest, and he heard Basim laugh before he’d even continued, “You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
“Oh?” Basim said, sounding more pleased than he probably had any right to.
“I’m never going to be able to look Randvi in the eye.” Basim hummed, extending a hand to help Eivor up. Eivor took it and hauled himself upright. Every muscle in his body protested. “I’ll stand by this table, every day, and I’ll know.”
“Good,” Basim said. “Something to remember me by.”
Eivor frowned. “Why? You’re going somewhere?”
Basim scoffed. “As if you’d let me get far.” Eivor levelled him with an unimpressed look, and he snorted. “Come on, we should get dressed.”
When they stepped back out into the feast, once every single one of Randvi’s ravens were back in their place and her papers neatly ordered, nothing had changed. Eivor’s clan still drank and danced. Sunniva and Swanburrow were supporting Hunwald, who’d engaged in a drinking contest with Finnir, and was sorely losing. Birna caught Eivor’s eye across the hall and waggled her eyebrows, and Eivor gave Basim one, brief parting kiss before he made to join her. She offered him a cup of mead, and he took it. His throat was sore as if he’d been screaming, and he dearly hoped he hadn’t been.
“Good?” she asked him as Hytham cornered Basim. He held a hand out for the letter, which Basim gave him after a moment’s hesitation.
“Yeah,” Eivor admitted, because she’d two working eyes of her own, anyway. As did Hytham, apparently. Keen ones, because he’d noticed the seal on that blasted letter was unbroken. “Really good.”
She nodded, taking a mouthful of her own drink. “Good.”
“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” he asked her. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t even live until tomorrow if Hytham had his way, judging by the shocked sort of outrage that crossed his face as he put two-and-two together. Let none doubt his love for his father, Eivor thought with some fondness.
“Not for one single second for the rest of your life,” Birna said.
And well. Maybe Eivor could live with that.