Sinric the Wanderer

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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Ragnar gives a surprised little laugh at the touch, but doesn't pull away, even though he may be a little ticklish there.

Just a little, so the surprise touch is surprisingly pleasant.

"The second bit," he says, "would need magic, or maybe the ruthless touch of the god Loki."

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"And that's the last thing we want", Athelstan says lightly.

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"Who is Loki?" He asks, drawing a pattern of sun rays and Athelstan's shoulder to lick off before settling back between them. The panic has passes and he's more himself now.

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"The god of fire, cunning, magic, and being blamed for everything," Ragnar says.

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"The stories have him as a trickster", Athelstan continues, "and often malevolent."

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"How unpleasant." Sinric sighs, reaching for a strawberry from the fruit Ragnar had brought over. "Not at all the sort of God one would want to invoke in bed."

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"There was this one time when he turned himself into a mare and had himself mounted by a stallion, for one of his cunning plans," Ragnar says. "Later, he gave birth to an eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, the fastest of all horses in any of he worlds, which he gave to his good friend Odin as a gift. So Loki is associated with straying over the borders between male and female, and hence not quite such a terrible god to invoke in bed."

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"Like me?" Sinric asks softly, aware of how he stands on the line between the masculine and feminine.

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"Yes, somewhat," Ragnar says. "Among our gods, Loki would most likely be yours as Odin is mine; and that's not a bad thing at all."

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"You'd be far from alone claiming him as such", Athelstan agrees.

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He nods, making a mental note to learn more about Loki. "And what if you, Athelstan? Which God do you claim as your own?" It's an innocent question as he kisses Athelstan's shoulder, working his way lower to resume pleasuring him now that he's steady again.

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Ragnar smiles, watching Athelstan as he's curious about the answer.

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"Of the Northern gods, Odin", he says with only a little hesitation for thought. "The seeker after knowledge."

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Sinric smiles at that, seeing them both as different sides of the same god. Ragnar's marshal grace and Athelstan's seeking intelligence. He moves downward, kisses and licking before taking Athelstan in his mouth once more.

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Ragnar is holding on to Athelstan again, bending his head to kiss him deeply.

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They are two sides of the same coin, in many ways.

Athelstan moans into the kiss, stirred on by what Sinric's doing.

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Sinric turns all his skills on Athelstan. He already feels great guilt at having delayed Athelstan's pleasure so long.

With his clever tongue and tight throat, he milks Athelstan's prick back to full hardness, his fingers seeking and teasing out other pleasures to add to the sensation.

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"I like that face on you," Ragnar murmurs to Athelstan, watching his reaction to Sinric.

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Athelstan's eyes crack open.

"You've caused it often enough."

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