athelstanthescribe | (no subject)

"It is lovely poetry, as beautiful as anything we quote from the Eddas," Ragnar says.

"And it's at the heart of the Christian faith, though you may have seen things to make you doubt that."

Edited 2015-05-31 19:16 (UTC)

"So your Christianity and our love don't contradict each other, just as the priest at the magic place said," Ragnar muses. "We can lie here in the sunshine, and no gods, neither yours nor mine, will strike us down. Mine don't mind anyway."

"If anyone would strike me down", Athelstan says softly, "it's other Christians. And none of them are here."

Ragnar leans in and kisses him. "They'd strike me down as well," he says.

Which none of the Vikings wouldn't even think of, even though they'd readily insult or disrespect Athelstan as ergi.

"They would." He moves over into Ragnar's arms. "But here I'm safe with you."

"Then let us show the sun and the birds and any gods that want to watch just how much we love each other, and what great pleasure we take in being alive together in wide, green Midgard," Ragnar murmurs, starting to pull at Athelstan's shirt.

"Yes", Athelstan says simply, and shifts to let Ragnar loosen and remove his shirt. "This time, we can take all the time we like."

Ragnar undoes Athelstan's belt, then takes off the shirt. He tumbles them over in the bracken to kiss Athelstan's chest and run his hands all over it.

"You know," he pretend-muses, "there's this little thing we tend to neglect far too much most of the time..."

"Is there?" Athelstan asks, eyes wide in mock-innocence as he moves under Ragnar's hands. "And what might that be?"

Reaching Athelstan's lower belly, Ragnar slides his hand into Athelstan's trousers. "I think I found it!" he declares, rough callused fingers sliding along the sensitive flesh of Athelstan's prick, almost teasingly, as if checking for a reaction.

That gets an exaggerated pout, that's quickly disrupted by that reaction.

"...did you - ah! - did you just call it little?"

"It's smaller than mine!" Ragnar says, stroking it in order to get more reactions.

"Everything of me is smaller than you", he objects, then his head falls back against Ragnar's shoulder. "It's hardly fair to - point it out."

"It's a very nice size and well in proportion," Ragnar says, opening Athelstan's trousers and pulling it out so he can look at it, and stroke it where it's arching against Athelstan's belly. "I like it very much."

Ragnar sits up to pull Athelstan's trousers off him.

Athelstan raises his hips a little to help, eyeing Ragnar.

"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose I can forgive you."

Ragnar pulls the trousers off and looks down at the naked Athelstan, on the green bracken, under the clear sunlight.

He is very, very nice to look at, Ragnar thinks.

"It's just the right size for this."

He bends down, and takes the head of Athelstan's prick between his lips.

Athelstan gasps, arching against the bracken in the sudden rush of sensation from this new experience with Ragnar.

Ragnar suckles on it for a bit, rubbing his tongue against the underside while he does so.

He lets go, and peers up at Athelstan.

"Usually," he murmurs, lips and beards moving against Athelstan's prick and his stones in their taut sac, "I touch you from the inside, and it gives you so much pleasure, this sweet thing here is usually happy to spill between our bellies with no other encouragement. But now, I think I want to give it the full attention it deserves."

He proceeds to kiss his way down its length.

"Ragnar", he murmurs helplessly. "I... yes. Whatever you want..."

Everything brings him pleasure.

Ragnar gives some playful little bites to the inside of Athelstan's thighs, and then licks his way up the prick again, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the edge of the tip, at the little corner where the foreskin is attached.

Athelstan's hands clench involuntarily on the bracken, accidentally tearing some of it loose.

"It's exactly the right size for this," Ragnar murmurs, bearded lips moving again the sensitive flesh. Then, he takes it into his mouth again, sucking it in just far enough for it to be comfortable for him, and pleasurable for Athelstan.

He cries out Ragnar's name at that, all other words abandoning him.

To make it last a little longer, Ragnar lets go again and blows over the wet tip; then, he takes his own middle finger in his mouth in the same manner, getting it nice and slick, eyes glittering at Athelstan with wicked promise.