Sinric the Wanderer

He drives them gladly higher as his touch climbs. He nuzzles the soft pale fur of Ragnar's balls, as his fingers brush the velvet of Athelstan's length.

The smell of them - clean and warm and familiar helps to dispel his fears as his lips brushed the base of Ragnar's cock.

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Fascinated and utterly passive, Ragnar moans into Athelstan's kiss.

He opens his legs a bit more, to allow Sinric even better access.

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Athelstan is more accustomed to being passive than Ragnar is, and only makes sounds of pleasure as Sinric does his work.

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He moves his mouth to Athelstan, brushing his hairless smooth cheek against the length of Athelstan's manhood before taking the tip into his mouth to taste him.

His hand moves on Ragnar, cupping his balls and fondling them gently as he fingertips brush over the sweet place just behind them.

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Ragnar tilts back his head and moans loudly. "Oh yes!" he declares, spreading his legs with even more abandon and clinging to Athelstan.

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Athelstan gasps and groans, turning his head to find Ragnar's skin with his mouth.

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Sinric knows the places that can bring a man pleasure, for he has little snail is too small to serve. He massages the place that makes Ragnar moan as he tastes Athelstan's manhood, taking him deeper into his mouth.

He stretches out between them, his legs brushing against theirs for more contact.

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Ragnar moans, clinging to Athelstan and kissing him desperately.

He wants more, but has no idea what that would be. It's an odd feeling, but he enjoys it.

He may be whimpering a little, with need.

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Athelstan hums against Ragnar's lips, soothing.

"Patience, my lord", he murmurs.

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Sinric draws off Athelstan to touch his lips to the head of Ragnar's manhood, tasting the desire that beads there. His soft lips envelop Ragnar, taking him in as he reaches to tease his fingertips along Athelstan's length.

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Ragnar groans softly with pleasure. "This won't -- last long!" he warns, gasping.

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Athelstan arches against Sinric's hand, pulling Ragnar close against him.

"It will last as long as it lasts."

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Sinric withdraws to kiss the head of Ragnar's cock, gripping the base of it to keep him from the edge. "I can stop if you wish it, my lord. But the night is young and there are many paths to pleasure."

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"Do what you think best," Ragnar says, catching his breath just a little. "Your call - your night! Make good use of me."

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"Yes", Athelstan agrees, catching his breath while Sinric pays attention to Ragnar. "Tonight is all about you."

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Sinric considers for a long moment, looking from one to the other before deciding.

This time he turns all his attention and skills on Ragnar. His lips encase Ragnar's prick as his tongue presses and teases at the base of his head. And his fingers cup and fondle his balls, seeking once again that bundle of nerves just behind them. He lets one finger stray further still to tease over the rim of his hole.

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Ragnar gives a helpless little whimper of pleasure, and opens his legs wider.

He's kissing Athelstan hungrily and happily.

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Athelstan is more than happy to kiss him, even as his hand roams lightly over Sinric's skin.

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Ragnar's sounds bring him the thrill of pleasure, knowing he has the power to bring this powerful man such joy. He draws off long enough to make his finger wet before returning his lips to Ragnar's staff. Teasing softly, he eases his finger inside Ragnar as he takes the earl to the hilt and into his throat.

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Ragnar is moaning and stammering; there is 'yes' in what he's saying, and both their names, and perhaps a strong expletive or two, but mostly, he's incoherent.

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It's quite something to see Ragnar reduced to that state, when he's coherent himself enough to appreciate it.

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With his other hand resting at the base of Ragnar's balls as he works his finger deeper, Sinric can feel how close to the edge Ragnar is.

He draws it out, using his grip to ease Ragnar back a little, letting his surging breath steady before edging him on.

There is so much in having this power. In being utterly in control by bringing such pleasure. It reminds him who he is, more than a passive object to be used and cast away but an apostle of the art of joy.

The thought makes him laugh as he takes Ragnar deeply, his happiness vibrating through Ragnar's core.

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Ragnar is whimpering, begging, cursing, and imploring both their names.

Sinric has him well and truly in hand.

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Athelstan's lips brush his, never more than a breath away.

"Soon, my lord Ragnar."

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