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The first time they’re together it’s a rush of blood and heat. Both of them too pent up on waiting too long. On thinking the other didn’t feel the same.
They had meant to wait until they announced their bond to the rest of the clan, they had meant to give Randvi some time to adjust to the suddenness of it all.
But when Sigurd had asked Eivor, completely innocently, to join him on a morning walk, what started as wistful touches and secretive smiles turned into intense kissing, hidden from the village by a canopy of trees.
Now Eivor is on his back lying on Sigurd’s fur cloak, naked from the waist up. While Sigurd himself grinds on top him. Skin to skin, sweat easing the way as their chests meet.
It feels amazing. Indescribably so. Eivor has been with many lovers, but nothing compares to this, to being with Sigurd in a loving embrace he never thought he could have. Sigurd pants, and does a particularly slow and hard grind on Eivor’s aching cock and it’s all Eivor can do not to moan. He’s straining behind his breeches. Cock barely restrained and harder then he remembers it being in a long time.
But they’re not far from Ravensthorpe, in the cave just outside Valka’s house. Eivor remembers seeing her by the bonfire at the festival and he prays she’s still there. Sounds echo loudly in the cave and he doubts the running water of the falls just outside can mask the erotic noises of his and Sigurd’s love making.
This was not how he wanted the clan to find out about their bond.
Desperate for more contact, Eivor pushes up onto his elbows and uses his newly gained leverage to shove up on Sigurd’s next grind down, aligning their cocks in the most perfect way and this time, he can’t hold back his moan.
Sigurd kisses him hungrily, whether to keep Eivor, or himself, quiet, Eivor doesn’t know, but they’re both breathing too hard to keep the kiss going.
“Eivor, my dearest, I’m close.” Sigurd groans and without warning, bites down on one of Eivor’s nipples, grown pert and sensitive from the cold.
Eivor doesn’t even see his orgasm coming. Is hit with it like a longboat crashing into a fort, and he has to bite down onto his own lip to prevent his scream from escaping his lungs. Sigurd grinds down a few more times, and, biting harshly into Eivor’s neck, comes soon after. Both of them collapsing back into a heap in the aftershock.
For a while, and Eivor truly can’t tell how long, all they can do is hold onto each other as their lungs fight for air, sweat cooling in the winter chill.
Then Sigurd laughs, a beautiful ringing sound, that suddenly reminds Eivor of how long it’s been since he last heard it.
“look at us, like a pair of young lovers, making messes of ourselves in our breeches.”
“Perhaps we are just making up for lost time.” Eivor says, laughing into Sigurd’s shoulder.
Sigurd slowly raises himself up to stare lovingly into Eivor’s eyes. “then I suppose we have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
And though neither of them is young enough to go for another round so soon, they do make up for that time with kisses, deep and all encompassing. Completely lost in each other’s embrace.
It’s an awkward cough that eventually breaks them from their reverie, and then Randvi’s voice softly calling.
“So sorry to interrupt,”– though Eivor can’t help but think she doesn’t much sound sorry at all. – “but if you two are done,” – She sounds almost giddy, even – “there’s some matters in the longhouse that need attending to.”
It’s Sigurd who responds back, voice slightly rough, as Eivor embarrassingly buries his face into the older man’s shoulder.
“Yes, o-of course Randvi, We’ll be right there, we were just uh...enjoying some piece and quiet away from the festival.”
“oh I am sure you were.” She’s not even trying to hide the amusement from her voice now.
Eivor, finally gaining his composure, opens his mouth for some snarky reply, but the splashing sounds of the pond outside signal Randvi’s departure, and there’s nothing left but to get dressed and see to their duties.
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Two days later, while Eivor is going through a small pile of letters and corespondents, Sigurd off-handily mentions visiting Lunden.
“You said you had friends their didn’t you?” He asks. “A pair of reeves?”
“I do, yes, Erke and Stowe, they helped me push back Fulke’s forces that day I found you.” Eivor’s voice softens to a whisper at that last part. He still can’t bring himself to think about that day. The state he had found his lover in. “Why the sudden interest?”
“I would like to meet them, You speak of them with such fondness, and while we are there, why not show me what Lunden has to offer, perhaps we can share a nice meal together.”
It occurs to Eivor that Sigurd is trying to court him. The thought brings with it a warmth that isn’t entirely expected.
“Sigurd,” Eivor starts, bemused “If this is your attempt at courtship, then please, don’t feel the need. You already have me. I am yours.”
“I know,” Sigurd says, a wistful sadness in his eyes. “But I have never had the chance to court someone before.”
Eivor looks at Sigurd for but a moment before walking over to him and leaning up for a kiss. Then pulling him down onto the bed.
They still haven’t spoken to the clan, but the longhouse is empty, and Randvi, now finding herself without husband and with less responsibility, has been using her new found freedom to explore outside the settlement.
They will tell the clan later. Now, Eivor gropes Sigurd’s ass, shoves his tongue down his throat, and grinds their naked cocks together till they both come.
That night he pens a letter to Erke and Stowe, letting them know to expect his and Sigurd’s arrival.
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It’s two weeks later and Eivor is naked, on his knees. Head nestled in his arms, and body so wracked with pleasure he can feel himself trembling.
They are on their way back from Lunden, stopping at Venonis for one final night before heading home.
Behind him, Sigurd works at Eivor’s cock. Oiled hand stroking long and languid as Sigurd bends him, chest to back. Sigurd’s cock rubs tantalizingly into the cleft of his ass, and Eivor would give anything in the world to feel Sigurd inside him.
“You are so beautiful my raven, my little wolf, I would have you here and now.”
“Yes,” Eivor all but keens. The pace is too slow, they’ve been going at this for what feels like hours and he doesn’t know how Sigurd can stand it. Eivor is ready to take his cock this instant, no preparation, pain be damned.
But Sigurd has other plans. Whispering loving words in Eivor’s ear. Kissing and nipping down Eivor’s back, all the while keeping that slow, torturous, hold on his dick.
It’s overwhelming, and Eivor actually wonders if he might come from just this. No lover has ever worked him this hard before, has loved him this intensely. Eivor still can’t believe this is real.
As if reading his thoughts, Sigurd moans “Gods, Eivor, if only you could see yourself. How you look for me. So open, I can scarcely believe I have you.”
Eivor wants to turn his face. To look at Sigurd, and tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he belongs to him, now and forever, but he’s so overstimulated, it’s all he can do to keep upright.
Finally, Sigurd pulls back, and though Eivor instantly feels bereft at the lack of touch, he waits patiently, believing he’ll get to feel the delicious friction of Sigurd’s fingers working him open, maybe even Sigurd’s cock, if he’s lucky.
But he gets neither.
At the first touch of a warm, wet tongue on his most sensitive area, Eivor screams. Sigurd leaves him no quarter, no time to recover. Simply dives in, licking and jabbing into him while his hand holds Eivor’s ass open. Eivor feels everything in a delirious haze of pleasure. The way Sigurd’s tongue pushes into him, quick and dirty like his dick would, and he orgasms hard and loud, cock completely untouched. For a second he wonders if he might have passed out.
Sigurd wastes no time in flipping Eivor over, and stroking himself a few more times, comes onto Eivor’s chest, seed splattering everywhere, making a mess of him and marking him as Sigurd’s. His poor spent cock gives a feeble twitch at the thought, at the sight of Sigurd’s face, lost to the pleasure of his orgasm before he's falling to a heap beside Eivor.
“Are you alright there, dearest? Have I broken you?” Sigurd chuckles gently beside him.
Eivor would respond, but he genuinely wonders if Sigurd has, indeed, broken him.
Gods help him, but he loves this man.
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They finally tell the clan three days after their return from Lunden, during a feast prepared for just the occasion. Randvi by their side, ready to support should the need arise.
Eivor expects some questions. He expects confusion, maybe even disgust. Many in the clan only know of Sigurd and Eivor as brothers after all. What he doesn’t expect, is the unimpressed silence that permeates the Longhouse.
Petra is the first to speak “Eivor, are you telling me, you genuinely believed we didn’t already know?”
Eivor wants to reply. Tries to find words, but he’s actually shocked. One look at Sigurd’s face shows he feels the same.
Randvi, on the other hand, is absolutely beaming with unrestrained glee.
“You honestly thought your obsession with Sigurd wasn’t clear as day?”
That’s Hytham’s voice, loud and clear to Eivor’s left.
Eivor looks around the room. Trying to find a single other person who might help him here, might save him from a situation he has so clearly lost control of. His eyes finally find Valka’s ever stoic face.
“Eivor, Sigurd, my dears,” She says gently, from her place not too far from Petra’s side “If you had wanted to keep your love a secret, you shouldn’t have chosen to embrace inside a cave so close to the settlement.”
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Later, it’s decided, for the sanity of everyone involved (really, for the sanity of the entire settlement) That Randvi would get Eivor’s room, and Eivor and Sigurd would share the main bedroom at the longhouse.
A second throne also mysteriously appears beside the first. Eivor has no clue who put it there, or how they even managed to sneak it in, in the first place.
He suspects it’s Randvi’s doing.
Eivor brings his suspicions up to Sigurd, later that night, while they cuddle in their new, more privately sheltered, bed.
“Oh it is most definitely her doing,” he says, without missing a beat. “She always was a sassy minx of a woman.”
Eivor contemplates this for a while. Absentmindedly stroking Sigurd’s arm. They had long since shucked their armour and were comfortably laying in just their tunics and breeches.
“Sigurd...” he begins, hesitant.
“hm?” Sigurd has his eyes closed, face turned to the ceiling, enjoying the attention Eivor lavishes on his arm.
“Are you sure this is what you want? Being with me, I mean. You don’t wish to have a family? Children of your own? I’m sure we could speak with Randvi about it still.” Though Eivor’s heart hurts at the thought, he would do anything to keep the man beside him happy, And it was only up until a few weeks ago that Sigurd was Jarl of this settlement with a wife, set to create heirs and continue his line.
“...”
Sigurd slowly opens his eyes and turns to Eivor. That sad, wistful look crosses his face again, and he doesn’t speak right away, unusually hesitant after everything that has passed between them.
“Eivor... did you know Randvi and I have only ever laid together once?” He pauses for only a second at the surprised look on Eivor’s face. “When we consummated our marriage. I never touched her after....and I never touched another woman at all. Not in that way.”
Eivor doesn’t fully understand “You...never with another woman? Not even before?”
“No. To tell the truth, I was never interested in women. They never made my pulse rush, nor my blood heat. Not like a man does anyway, and definitely not like you do.”
Sigurd pauses again, and Eivor lets the silence stretch as he takes in this information.
“Does this make you think less of me?” he asks, gently, not a hint of accusation in his tone. Only resigned acceptance. As if Eivor could ever conceive of thinking anything but the world of him.
“No!” Eivor’s quick to respond. “No, no of course not! Sigurd, Nothing could make me think less of you. Not least of all how you feel about women.”
Eivor rolls over, and on top of Sigurd, knowing the much larger man can easily handle his weight.
“Back in Norway, Valka told me I would betray you.”
“Eivor, I know. We already talked about this-”
“I know Sigurd, but listen,” Eivor grabs Sigurd’s face in his hands and holds it, he can feel Sigurd’s cock touching his through the layers of their breeches, but this is too important to get distracted.
“I had sworn I wouldn’t betray you, that I couldn’t, and then with everything that happened, and back in that cave in Norway...when you said you felt you had betrayed me too. Sigurd, I still can’t truly believe that you would even want me in this way. That you can look at me and know I see you as a lover – not the brother your father wanted me to see you as – and not be disgusted with me. It feels like a dream that I don’t deserve, after everything that has happened, that you can love so strongly. That you can love me.”
Eivor, feels himself getting flushed with emotion, but he refuses to give in to it. He has to make sure Sigurd understands. That if it is either of them that has any doubts in this relationship, It’s not Eivor.
“Sigurd, you are the strongest and kindest man I have ever known, and I don’t deserve you. If I’m being honest, I don’t believe anyone deserves you, but if you were to choose one such a person, I would let you go, I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.” Here, Eivor hesitates for but a second. “And I just wanted to know, if not being able to have children would get in the way of your happiness.”
Eivor’s voice cracks at the last, but before he has a chance to be embarrassed about it, Sigurd is flipping them over, pinning him down, and kissing him like his life depends on it.
“Eivor, all I can remember ever wanting is you.” He says, breathless and full of emotion. “Do not speak to me of deserving, for no one in this world knows what you deserve better then I.”
Sigurd grinds down on him, as if to emphasize his point, a possessive, primal thrust of his hips, and Eivor, gods help him, already feels himself harden.
“If there is one thing I have learned through these years, it’s that you and I are destined to be together. That we are Gods, fighting side by side in a past life, and I will stay by your side in this one.”
Eivor can’t control himself anymore, roughly grabbing the hair tied at the back of Sigurd’s head, he pulls the man down into a bruising kiss. His other hand already working between them to get to his breeches.
Sigurd meanwhile, is tugging at Eivor’s tunic, almost ripping it in his haste to remove the thing. Eivor has to let go, just briefly enough to pull it off him and toss it aside, forgotten. Then he’s back at Sigurd’s breeches, yanking them off and revealing his perfect, muscled ass for Eivor’s groping hands.
Sigurd moans, thrusting down into him with abandon. “Let me have you Eivor, Let me take you, fully.”
“Yes Sigurd! I’m yours, all yours."
Eivor wants to tug Sigurd’s tunic off, feel the muscles of his chest without the thick fabric in their way, but Sigurd is already kissing a trail down his body and pulling his breeches down his legs.
it’s all the warning that Eivor gets before Sigurd’s mouth is on him, hot and warn and amazing, surrounding his cock.
Sigurd’s tongue laps at the underside and he brings his hand around the base, grasping anything his mouth can’t yet reach, He sucks and pulls at Eivor without restraint and Eivor is lost to it.
“Sigurd, please!” he begs, “I cannot take this. I need you! Please!”
He should feel ashamed at how easily he’s brought down to begging. How quickly he pleads to be fucked, but the wild and hungry look on Sigurd’s face is all it takes to wash that shame away.
Sigurd tugs his own tunic off and then he’s on Eivor again. Blissfully naked and rubbing against him, kissing him with that same hunger that Eivor has grown used to.
“Oil,” Eivor moans, spreading his legs. Letting Sigurd’s cock slip between them and settle against his ass. He groans at the sensation and hears Sigurd do the same. Thrusting against him, almost instinctively.
“Gods, Eivor, you don’t know how long I have wanted this.”
“I think I may have some idea.” Eivor laughs, pushing up against Sigurd. It feels so good, he could just keep going, allow Sigurd to take his pleasure like this, between his thighs, but Eivor has waited too long for this moment, and there’s nothing holding him back now. Not Randvi, not the clan. Thor himself could come down from the sky, and Eivor would have paid him no mind. Would have completely ignored him while he spreads his ass for Sigurd to take.
It’s that thought that gets him moving again. Reminds him of his need. With some reluctance, and a strength Eivor truly didn’t know he possessed, he gently pushes Sigurd away and then looks around for oil. There has to be some somewhere in this damned room.
It’s Sigurd who spots it - catching on quickly to Eivor’s plight - On a shelf by the bed with a little note attached.
“If he’s still walking by the marrow, you didn’t do your job properly. - Randvi”
Eivor allows Randvi a single thought of gratitude before sending her from his mind. He will find a way to thank her later, once he and Sigurd have had their fill of each other. Tomorrow maybe, or the day after. For now, he wants his thoughts occupied by none other then the man in his arms.
Gently taking the jar from Sigurd, Eivor pours the oil and spreads it on his lovers fingers, watching as Sigurd lowers back down and carefully probes between his ass cheeks, before slowly but surely sinking one of the digits in.
Eivor doesn’t take him as easily as Sigurd expected, judging by his puzzled expression, and Eivor explains “It’s been a while...I couldn’t focus, not after you...Not after...” Sigurd silences him with a kiss and continues to gently thrust his finger, slicking Eivor up good and proper before adding in a second.
The stretch feels glorious, and all the more for the thought that it’s Sigurd’s fingers doing this to him. Sigurd’s hand driving him crazy. Sigurd’s mouth on his. Eivor can’t help but feel how the Valhalla he and Sigurd had seen all those months ago, was nothing compared to this. Compared to the love he feels now.
“Sigurd, more. Please!”
And it’s a sign that Sigurd feels just as desperate as Eivor, for he doesn’t question, just slips in a third finger, and watches as Eivor’s face contorts in pleasure at the feeling.
Eivor knows Sigurd well enough to know he’s taken lovers to bed, He may not have been aware that so little of them were women, but the point is, he’s fully aware that Sigurd is well versed in the art of lovemaking and thus knows exactly where to find that one delicious spot inside him. In fact, Eivor suspects his lover is purposely avoiding it. Sigurd has a penchant for drawing things out during their fucking.
No matter, Eivor is a fast learner, and he’s already seen what a little begging can do.
“Sigurd, please, I need you now. I want to feel you. All of you. Please, Please!”
And just like that, Eivor watches as Sigurd’s steadfast resolved instantly shatters. Pulling out his fingers “Is this what you want?” he growls as he jabs them right back in, hard and fast and right at that spot.
Eivor wails. He swears the entire village must be able to hear him, and he no longer cares. Let them hear, let them know what Sigurd does to him.
“You bastard!” he gasps, as Sigurd pumps his fingers, unabashedly hitting that spot inside him every time. “I knew you were teasing me.” Eivor can barely get the words out. Wound tight like a bowstring just waiting to snap.
“Oh yes, my love. I know everything about you. How to make you scream, to cry for me. I’ve known even before we started this. But It seems the time for teasing is over, wouldn’t you say?”
Eivor doesn’t know whether to be impressed that Sigurd can still speak so clearly, or upset that Eivor himself is a barely coherent mess.
He doesn’t have time to decide though, as Sigurd pulls his fingers out, Slicks himself with the remaining oil dripping from his hand, and then pushes into Eivor in one swift motion. Sending him arching off the bed and reaching for Sigurd’s back. Clawing at it, sure to leave marks.
After that, there’s no thinking at all, just the feel of Sigurd’s cock, thrusting deep inside him, hitting that sweet spot each time, without remorse. Sigurd is done playing games and Eivor is out of his mind with pleasure.
Eivor barely has the wherewithal to open his eyes and look at his lover. So lost in sensation, but he forces himself, has to watch as Sigurd takes his pleasure from Eivor’s body, loses himself in the act. No hesitancy left, Sigurd is a beast let loose. Pounding into Eivor with abandon and Eivor takes it. Loves every second of it, moans Sigurd’s name and claws bloody welts down his back. Watches the passion burning through Sigurd’s eyes as he brings Eivor’s legs over his shoulders, and somehow manages to bury even deeper into him. Years of waiting for this moment, and now that it’s happening, Eivor can’t hold on much longer. His muscles straining from being bent almost in half, the headboard of the bed banging so hard into the wall, Eivor is positive it will leave a permanent mark.
Sigurd grunts on top of him, speeding his thrusts even more, all sense of control gone. Eivor can tell he’s on the brink, just about to fall off the edge, and Eivor takes his own cock in hand, strokes himself to completion and whispers “I love you, Sigurd.”
Then he watches as Sigurd comes completely undone above him, while he’s in the throws of his own climax. Seed spilling between them and the sight of it marking Sigurd’s chest almost sends Eivor into another spiral of want.
Exhausted, hearts beating a rapid staccato, they lay in bed, Eivor on his back, and Sigurd on his stomach, his face turned to Eivor’s, eyes warm and full of love and adoration.
Eivor knows that they should clean themselves up, can already feel Sigurd’s spend leaking out of him, and his own seed crusting on his stomach. It’s not remotely comfortable but he can’t bring himself to care.
Almost without his permission, his eyes start to close, sleepiness washing over him in the knowledge that he’ll wake up to Sigurd still there beside him, maybe even ready to go another round.
“So,” Comes Sigurd’s voice from beside Eivor’s ear. “What was that about you being obsessed with me?”
Not even bothering to open his eyes, Eivor sluggishly lifts an arm, and slaps him.
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Partially clothed, covered in marks and with a finely crafted bow in hand, Eivor limps to Randvi the next day. She’s just outside the Hunter’s house, chatting cheerfully to Petra, and when she finally draws her eyes away to catch sight of him, her face splits into an expression that can only be sang about in sagas.
Petra, for her part, is on the floor, barely containing herself.
Wordlessly, he hands her the bow, a roughly scribbled 'Thank you for the oil.' on a note, hanging off the end. Then he turns right back around and heads back to the warmth of his bed. If he’s lucky, Sigurd is still asleep and he can watch him wake. Maybe keep him in bed for the next little while. Perhaps for the next year or so.
He and Sigurd have so much lost time to make up for.
Maybe Vili will get his chance to be a Jarl after all.