Sinric the Wanderer

Ragnar responds eagerly to the kiss, once more reminding himself to not doubt what Sinric says he wants. Eventually, he will have his way with that tiny, perky prick -- he knows, because he already did, in Sinric's future.

Sinric will surely show when he is ready; and from what he's doing now, Ragnar is soon moaning against Athelstan's lips.

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Their moans are music to him as he takes one and then the other into his mouth, making them slick and wet so he may stoke one as he tastes the other. His free hand roams; to fondle the soft fur of Athelstan's balls, the hard muscles of Ragnar's rear.

{ooc: last one, I swear.}

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Athelstan groans, his hand nearer to Sinric lifting to touch him wherever he can, including him in the pleasure he's causing.

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Ragnar moans, tilting his hip into Sinric's touch, which is bold, but all the more pleasing for it.

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Sinric leans into their touches like a cat, purring softly as he takes Ragnar into his throat. His hand slides between Athelstan's thighs to find the place at the base of his balls, rubbing and massaging to makes his moans louder still.

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Sinric knows what he's doing, all too well, and he gets the desired sounds out of Athelstan.

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Ragnar moans, giving himself over to whatever Sinric means to do.

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Sinric means to make them both moan as much as he can. With a boldness he didn't have with them before today, he swaps - taking Athelstan deep between his lips and teasing the underside of Ragnar's balls, finding the knot of nerves between the fur of his sac and the entrance to his body.

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Athelstan arches against the bed with the sudden rush of sensation as Sinric does that, and he reaches for both men, wanting to have his hands on whatever skin is available.

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Ragnar yelps with sudden, unexpected pleasure, his hands tightening on Athelstan's body. Instinctively, he lifts his leg to allow Sinric better access to that place.

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The yelp makes Sinric chuckle around Athelstan, already planning how best to bring Ragnar new and interesting sensations.

He draws back and glances to Athelstan, a wicked grin on his own as he takes advantage of the access Ragnar has given him to replace his touch with his mouth, skimming the edge of his entrance with the blade of his tongue.

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Athelstan is still catching his breath, but he manages to return Sinric's grin encouragingly, leaning back to watch this.

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Ragnar gasps with pleasure, too lost in sensation to realise those two are plotting something.

The sweet, forbidden pleasure is completely fogging up his mind. He hasn't felt anything like that any more since before Lagertha left; she would sometimes put a finger there.

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Sinric keeps a hand on Athenian, stroking and touching him to keep him connected as he strives to make Ragnar moan in need.

His sharp little tongue, strong with use traces the puckers and whirls of Ragnar's entrance, getting him wet and slick. He edges in, little flicks of his tongue and lips teasing the tight muscles to let him in deeper.

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Athelstan turns on his side without pulling away from Sinric's hand, but reaches over to run a hand over Sinric's inner thigh as the younger man works on Ragnar.

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Ragnar moans helplessly and clings to Athelstan as best he may, completely lost to the sensations Sinric is so boldly creating in him.

"What...?" he mumbles, before gasping again.

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Sinric chuckles, plunging his tongue deeper and deeper, holding Ragnar's cheeks apart to explore him as thoroughly as he can.

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Athelstan leans over to give Ragnar a soft kiss, really just a brush of lips.

"Don't question it, my lord", he whispers. "Just enjoy it."

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Ragnar is too far gone to even realise he'd said that aloud, or to remember what the question had been. "Yes," he answers. "Yes. Oh, yes!"

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Sinric slides a finger along side his tongue, wet and slick and easy as he uses it to pleasure Ragnar deeper. His clever little tongue coils around the digit, lapping and teasing with shallow little thrusts.

Ragnar's moans are honey and wine to him, drinking them in.

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Athelstan's eyes are fixed on Ragnar's face, drinking in his pleasure in his own way, even as he strokes Sinric's skin.

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It's almost strange, to do nothing and just feel and lie quiet, letting Sinric do his delightful work on his body. Ragnar wonders briefly how that can be a pleasure for the other two -- but then he forgets the question in a new wave of all-encompassing sensation.

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Sinric adds a second finger, as slick and easy as the first. His lips ease down the nuzzle at the base of Ragnar's balls, lips wet as he crooks his fingers just so.

Not enough to drive Ragnar over the edge, not yet but enough to let him feel just how good it can be to let someone else do the pleasuring.

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Athelstan is drawing his pleasure by proxy, seeing Ragnar's face and from time to time kissing him.

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