Sinric the Wanderer

"Stay up here and kiss us some more," Ragnar suggests, "and touch Athelstan's pretty prick with your hands if you want to?"

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"Whatever you want", Athelstan says, with a kiss for Sinric and a glance at Ragnar, "and no more of that."

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He would like to take Athelstan back into his mouth and forget his weakness but at the moment he's not sure he has the strength for that so he settles between them, his back to the bed as he shares more slow, tender kisses.

He reaches down the take Athelstan in hand and strokes him, firm and warm.

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Ragnar puts an arm around him, strokes his hair, and kisses him very gently.

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As does Athelstan, when it's his turn. This is all about Sinric, and rebuilding his confidence after the shattering attack.

"Ragnar", he says softly between kisses, as he doesn't want to pull himself away from Sinric's hand, "would you go and bring the food?"

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Sinric sense that Athelstan is trying to distract him from his pains, and from the pleasure he feels that he has denied Athelstan through his foolish.

But he isn't sure what it is Athelstan wants so he continues to touch and kisses, finding the sweet spot on Athelstan's neck to worship as he strokes.

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Ragnar gets up and fetches some of the food -- fruit, bread, and some sort of pink paste that presumably goes on it, bringing it back to Athelstan.

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That'll do. Athelstan arranges the fruit and bread in reach, then looks consideringly at the paste.

"What - " He kisses Sinric again. "What is this?"

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"Sweet paste of quinces. It goes well with fruit and cheese." He answers, pulling away from the kisses for a moment.

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Ragnar sits on the bed and offers it to both of them.

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"Sometimes", Athelstan murmurs, dipping his finger in the paste, "I'm led to believe these sweet foods can go well with other things."

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Sinric smiles as he catches on, "Indeed. A Frankish trader once showed me a wonderful trick with honeyed cream."

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"Do tell," Ragnar says, grinning.

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"Yes, do tell."

Athelstan licks the quince paste off his finger.

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Sinric takes the pot and dips his own fingertip. "I think I would rather show you."

He kneels over Athelstan and draws an abstract shape over the centre of his chest with the sticky jam before leaning in to lick it off with slow and playful laps.

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Ragnar lies down beside Athelstan again, holding the pot of quince jam ready for Sinric, cheerfully observing.

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Athelstan murmurs his enjoyment, hands running gently over Sinric's back.

"You must let me return the favour, but you shall choose the place."

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Sinric nods his gratitude and moves into his back, touching his belly at the base of his ribcage. A safe area, unmolested.

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Ragnar bends to kiss Athelstan and watches Sinric recover his poise at doing this.

The quince jam obviously helped.

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That was the idea.

Athelstan dips into the jam and draws loops on Sinric's chosen area, following them with his mouth.

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It's warm and fun and all together too lovely. He sighs and stokes his unsticky hand through Athelstan's hair. "The trader told me there were old magics that could be used. Symbols that would make a woman fall in love of conceive a child. I think he was talking nonsense but it was fun to find out."

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"If your magic can do that to us, you arer really very good at it," Ragnar teases, daubing jam on Athelstan's lips before kissing it off.

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Athelstan laughs against his lips.

"Well, we needed no spells for the first one."

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"I have no magic." Sinric smiles, drawing a spiral on Ragnar's thigh. "Just this." He chases it with his tongue.

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