Sinric the Wanderer

"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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Athelstan is far too coherent for Sinric's taste, and pride. He tighten his throat, finding that bundle of nerves behind his balls to massage and tease.

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"I like seeing it while I'm not in the throes myself," Ragnar murmurs, grinning down at Sinric with a wink.

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Athelstan is good at compartmentalising, and it takes a lot to drive words away from him.

...but Sinric just found a way.

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And Sinric is by no means done with him. He slides his other hand between Athelstan's thighs, nudging his legs onto Sinric's shoulders.

As his mouth moves, pressing and sucking and licking, he slides a finger inside Athelstan, ever as his other hand fondles his balls and massages the area behind them.

He desires Athelstan's pleasure more than ever before, needing to prove to himself his skills as a lover outshine his battered nerve.

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Ragnar starts stroking Athelstan's chest and shoulders again with his large, rough, warm hands.

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Athelstan is left gasping by all of this, crying out in pleasure as if he can tell Sinric needs to hear it.

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He needs to hear it, needs to know it. Needs reminding that his worth is in his skill rather than the use of his body.

He buries himself in those cries, in those moans, in the view of Athelstan's flushed features and the smile of his lover.

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Ragnar runs his hands over Athelstan's chest, and kisses him again, deeply and sloppily.

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There's what might be a word in there, or might be Ragnar's name, but it's indistinct as Athelstan kisses him back with passion.

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Sinric has no need to hear his own name cried. Pleasure between them is right; as it should be. He needs only to know the pleasure is felt and at his hands.

He urges Athelstan forward, pushing him to the edge and holding him there. On the knife's edge of ecstasy.

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Ragnar loves seeing Athelstan's face like this.

His hands cover Athelstan's chest, and he smiles down into Sinric's eyes.

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Athelstan, as has been said before, loves to feel Ragnar's hands on him and his strength behind them.

Sinric is getting exactly what he wants.

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He has Athelstan on the edge but he won't take him over, not yet.

That honour shouldn't be his. He gestures to Ragnar, taking Ragnar's hand and guiding it to Athelstan's rear.

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