Athelstan of Lindisfarne

Athelstan presses back against him.

"Then until you feel you must go back through your door, stay with us."

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Ragnar reaches out, pulling Athelstan close to kiss him deeply; with the other hand, he reaches around to stroke Sinric's breasts, inserting his hand between the two of them as to rub the nipple nearest to his reach.

"You are welcome with us," Ragnar says.

He must speak with Athelstan alone, and soon; but that will happen.

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Sinric moans, arching into the touch. His shapely buttocks rub against Ragnar's groin as nuzzles Athelstan's neck.

It's too much; their kindness, their welcome. He doesn't know how to deal with it so for now, he doesn't. Instead he focuses on them and on the simpler pleasures of the body.

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Athelstan runs his hands over Sinric's body, over every inch of skin he can reach.

He can see the confusion in Sinric's eyes, so stops talking.

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Ragnar opens his legs a little more to let Sinric get as close as he wants.

He feels his arousal rising again from the touch; his prick slips between Sinric's buttocks and thighs as it hardens, sliding all the way forwards, as there's nothing it would nudge against to stop it.

If this is what Sinric wants, he'll let him have it.

His other hand strokes Athelstan's shoulders, keeping Sinric between them embraced from both sides.

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He moans and rubs against Ragnar, letting his prick slide back and forwards over the little ridge of scar that makes up all his lost manhood.

He kisses Athelstan's neck, kissing down to lap at his nipples. Bending forward only presses him rear tighter still to Ragnar, his hole open and ready for the taking.

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Athelstan murmurs his enjoyment of that, bending his head to Sinric's neck in turn as he shifts forward a little towards him.

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With Sinric bending like that, cupping both his breasts and rubbing his nipples becomes even easier.

Ragnar's prick, nudged like that, slides in with a minimum of friction or push, as easily as it would into a woman. But he halts, as if only noticing what's happening after the fact.

Any movement from Sinric will show him what he really wants.

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"Athelstan, please... I desire... will you take my mouth as Ragnar takes my-" He presses back against Ragnar, making it very clear this is exactly what he wants.

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"Yes", Athelstan says simply, because this is about not only what Sinric consents to, but what he wants. He moves back again, then with a thought to not drowning him, sits on the side of the bath.

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Ragnar thrusts up, one hand now at Sinric's hip while the other still strokes his breasts and nipples.

Athelstan at the side of the bath is a sight to spur him on even further; his gaze falls to his lover's groin, and stays there.

Athelstan's cock is actually very beautiful, at least in Ragnar's biased opinion.

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Sinric moan and reaches back to Ragnar, keeping him close as he moves towards Athelstan. Hands braced on Athelstan's thighs, he bends, pushing his rear towards Ragnar to take him deeper.

He laps at the head of Athelstan's cock, hungry for the taste of him. Clean skin and musk, he moans and takes Athelstan into his throat.

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Athelstan moans at that in turn, one hand flat on the tiles to keep himself upright and the other in Sinric's hair

His eyes go to Ragnar's face.

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Ragnar looks up at him, eyes clouded with intense pleasure.

He blinks once, slowly, again.

He angles his thrusts into Sinric as to hit the spot that will give him pleasure, as best he can.

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Sinric devotes himself to pleasuring Athelstan, to tasting every part of him, from root to crown. He takes Athelstan into his throat, holding him there tightly.

Ragnar's thrusts rock him deeply, pushing groans and soft cries from his lungs to vibrate down Athelstan's cock.

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It's difficult for Athelstan to take Sinric's mouth the way he asked, in his somewhat precarious position, but he does try. He doesn't hold back the sounds of his pleasure, eyes locked with Ragnar's.

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Feeling the urgent need to close the circle, Ragnar reaches out to touch the nearer of Athelstan's knees, helping to steady him in his odd position on the ledge.

He thrusts, aiming for more moans from Sinric, while holding his lover's gaze.

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He wants to take them to the bed and make this easier, to feel them deeper and harder.

But he couldn't pull away if he wanted to. Not now. He chokes his moans out around Athelstan's shaft, skilled enough it the art of pleasuring a man with his mouth that he doesn't need Athelstan's thrusts to bring him to the edge.

Or to endure the wondrous pleasure of being taken as he does. Every thrust draws out a gasping moan that only adds to Athelstan's pleasure.

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There will be other times for the bed.

Athelstan groans, low in his throat, as his fingers tangle further in Sinric's hair.

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Moaning softly himself, Ragnar thrusts up. The hand on Sinric moves lower, to massage circles over his belly; but he won't go lower than that without encouragement.

"Athelstan," he says. "Oriens."

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He gently reaches down and guides Ragnar's hand back up to his breasts. He still can't, it's still too soon. But he wants Ragnar's hand on him.

He wants their seed in him, both of them. He wants their pleasure, all of it.

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He's getting it, as Athelstan tilts back a little in his pleasure, steadied only by his hand and Ragnar's on his knee.

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Ragnar's callused fingers lavish great attention on Sinric's nipples -- if that is what he wants, he shall have it!

He leans forward, still thrusting, to kiss Sinirc's spine between the shoulder blades; but he looks up as not to lose sight of Athelstan, so lovely and moving in his pleasure.

Edited Date: 2015-06-13 01:27 pm (UTC)

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