Sinric the Wanderer

"I truly don't know." He answers, kissing the curve of Athelstan's hip before rising to look at them both. He moves to Ragnar to help him out of his shirt, still fully dressed himself.

"Perhaps if we move to the bed?"

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"Bed sounds just about right," Ragnar agrees.

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"Let's", Athelstan says with a nod, reaching to lead Sinric that way. "And we can touch you as well, if you'll allow."

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"I would like that, for you to touch me. I'll try- if I shy away, please don't think I don't- I trust you, both of you." Words fumble and trip as he speaks.

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"We will see what you enjoy, and what you can't yet bear, and only keep to what you enjoy," Ragnar nods. "We know you trust us."

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"You must tell us", Athelstan says, "the moment it starts to be too much."

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"I will." He promises, stepping back from them.

He undresses slowly, self-consciously. Since the attack, he has lost so much of his natural grace, the awareness of his beauty. He moves coltishly, half covering the parts of himself most damaged. He need to be reminded that he is beautiful.

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Ragnar watches him. "Sinric," he says, softly, smiling at him.

The effect this has on him is very clear in the way his prick straightens and lengthens on his belly. He will never not find those lush nipples, that perky little snail of a pricklet, desirable and beautiful -- even with bruises remaining.

If anything, the bruises make him feel protective and tender, and awaken the wish to kill Leo with extreme prejudice.

He licks his lips, watching.

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Athelstan watches with the same very visible desire.

"You are still so lovely."

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"I feel like spoilt fruit. Like a bruised peach." He whispers, kneeling on the edge of the bed. The desire in their eyes is heartening. As is the way their bodies call to him.

He breathes slowly to steady himself before reaching to take their hands. "Will you touch me? Please?"

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"Oh yes," Ragnar says; he leans forward to touch Sinric's throat, his shoulder, slides his callused finger down over his nipples and touches the tip of his pricklet.

As he does so, he dips his head and briefly licks over a nipple.

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"Those who care for you see beyond that, and the bruises will fade soon enough and leave no sign."

Athelstan comes forward to touch as well.

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He flinches a little when Ragnar touches his throat. That's still a sore point for him, even as it heals. But Ragnar's other touches warm him and make him groan.

He reaches for Athelstan, needing the steadiness of the smaller man. He draws Athelstan into a kiss.

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While Sinric is kissing Athelstan, Ragnar very gently keeps licking Sinric's nipples, and stroking his pricklet with one careful finger.

Even if it's still limp, it will feel pleasure -- and it's not hurt, as those guards most likely didn't even know it existed.

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Athelstan takes Sinric in his arms as best he can without displacing Ragnar, and kisses him tenderly.

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His thighs made be badly marked and bruised but for the most part, they left his manhood alone. All but the one with the knife who liked to watch Sinric cry.

The memories surface but he forces them back by burying himself in Athelstan's kiss. There is so much tenderness, so much care in both of them that he can't mistake their touch for those forced on him.

Even as mauled as his breasts are, Ragnar's soft kisses feel only soothing and warming.

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Ragnar keeps doing what he does, kissing and suckling Sinric's breasts as tenderly as he can while still stroking that little snail. He loves the way it slides over his finger.

He's settled between them now, one arm slung around Athelstan's waist for balance, his knees far apart as he puts his mouth to Sinric's chest, and his own prick glistening at the tip from the pleasure this gives him.

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Athelstan spares a hand to touch Ragnar as well, though Sinric is still the main focus of his attentions.

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The touch for a moment becomes too much, even as his little prick jumps a little under Ragnar's touch.

He steps back and takes their hands. "Please?" He draws them towards the bed, guiding them to lay down side by side so he can pleasure them.

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Ragnar follows the guidance, lying down beside Athelstan with one arm still slung around him.

He smiles at Sinric, and then turns to kiss Athelstan, the faint taste of Sinric's breasts still on his lips.

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Athelstan submits to what Sinric wants - and to Ragnar, leaning into the kiss.

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He moves to knees between their legs, watching them kiss. There are so perfect together. So right and so kind. He watches for a long moment, just enjoying the warmth of them.

He leans in to kiss their skin; the turns of their ankles, their knees, the swell of their thighs. Each in turn moving towards their manhoods.

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Ragnar moans softly, submitting to Sinric's touches, utterly passive as his arousal grows, and the kisses he exchanges with Athelstan become greedier.

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Greedier and more heated, as they can't be with Sinric in his fragile state at the moment, but he's the one driving them on.

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