Fróa Sér

All is quiet but the sounds of sturdy wooden oars slicing through inky night water and low chatter from the tired sailors tasked with sailing in the dark. That and the almost inaudible sqelch made by a large, calloused hand sliding along a slick, veiny member underneath a fur blanket.

The thick bear fur covers him from nose to boot. The salt-wind is cold and pierces the skin where it touches, though Einar won’t duck his head below the blanket. His eyes at least, need to be above like a nose above waves. It’s been hours since the sun abandoned them and the man’s eyes had adjusted to the abyss. He could make out the messy blond hair only an arm’s length in front of him. The shorter man’s scared back was to him. Einar could hear his light snores. Or maybe they belonged to the wild maiden he clutched in his sleep. Gudrid snored sometimes. The sounds certainly didn’t come from the child nestled between them.

Einar couldn’t help resenting Gudrid. She had become for Thorfinn what Einar had once been. When they were still bonded by the cold chains of slavery, Einar and Thorfinn found solace in each other; a safe place within their friendship. And Thorfinn needed him. He was a wounded warrior with no one to turn to, no one to heal him, no one to wake him from his nightmares, from the deepest pits of self-loathing and despair…until Einar. The farmer showed the ex-warrior what friendship was–—what love was. It was because of Einar that Thorfinn began to change and become the hopeful pacifist he was today.

Then they were freed. But make no mistake, they were both still chained in other ways. When Arnheid passed on, Einar thought he had lost everything. It was Thorfinn who comforted him and gave him a new purpose—a new love. He was chained like a boat to the sea. His anchor? The blond haired, brown eyed warrior who promised to build a haven where they could live far from the shackles of slavery and the wails of war. A land where the soils were rich and fertile; a country of peace and prosperity without the need for weapons. Thorfinn’s Vinland.

It sounded like a dream. Einar couldn’t believe such a land could exist, though he followed Thorfinn anyway. He was a sheep in Thorfinn’s pasture and he’d follow him always. Then Gudrid joined them. The adventurous woman latched onto Einar’s Thorfinn, stealing him away. She fell in love. Thorfinn had never before been propositioned, Einar knew. He’d never been asked from someone who loved him, if he liked them back. Einar should have been first. He should have declared his love for the man. Thorfinn must have been starved for love his whole miserable life. That’s why he had said yes to her. That must have been it. If Einar had asked the blond first, Thorfinn would have said yes to him, wouldn’t he?

Thorfinn and Gudrid got married soon after. Einar could only dream of holding him now. And dream he did. Einar palmed his member and tried not to breath too loud. He watched Thorfinn’s back, aching to touch what should have been his. He imagined that Gudrid didn’t exist. He saw himself not on a ship, but on a bed. Thorfinn underneath him. Begging him. The man would be impatient for his touch, for his large tool. Einar would have Thorfinn ass-up. He’d lay his palm on Thorfinn’s round globes, massaging gently until he couldn’t take it anymore. The man would part the ex-warrior’s cheeks with his hands and gaze upon the world. Thorfinn’s hole would be small, never before stretched. Einar would take a beefy finger and bring it to Thorfinn’s succulent mouth. The man would lick and suck like a whore. He’d tease him. Thorfinn’s springy tongue would flick at the digit like it were a cock.

Einar would get impatient and pull it from Thorfinn’s mouth. Thorfinn’s lips would be moist and a string of saliva would dangle from plump, pink lips. Einar would bring his finger to Thorfinn’s twitching pucker and delicately tease the hole without going in. The man would begin pleading with him for more. Thorfinn would try to touch himself and Einar would chuckle and slap Thorfinn’s hand away playfully. Thorfinn would be crying in desperation by this point as his small cock strained for Einar to do something, anything.

Einar would breech Thorfinn’s hungry virgin hole with his finger after a little more teasing. He’d take his time stretching the cavern and its muscles to accept him. But Thorfinn would beg for something more, something longer and thicker. And still Einar would continue to only stretch the blond.

After Thorfinn’s delicious opening widened like a slack mouth, Einar would bring his dripping cockhead to the twitching pucker. He’d breech Thorfinn’s tight muscle and wouldn’t stop until he was hilt-deep. His sword completely sheathed inside the place it belonged. And Thorfinn would feel it too, would know that Einar’s cock belonged inside him. That Thorfinn’s hole felt best when Einar’s sword was sheathed.

The blond would moan at the sensation of being penetrated for the first time by someone who loved him. No, the person who loved him most. The only person who truly loved him. Yes, no one loved Thorfinn like Einar. They belonged to each other in every way.

Einar wouldn’t be able to contain his lust, he knew. He would thrust harshly over and over inside Thorfinn’s heat. The man below him would love being treated that way, would beg Einar to hurt him. The man thinks he deserves it for the sins he’s committed. Einar would also take a bit of his anger that Thorfinn had once been a merciless killer out on him. He wouldn’t mean to.

During everything, Einar would tease Thorfinn’s cock with a hand. He didn’t want Thorfinn pleasuring himself. He wasn’t alone. Einar would show him that. He would show just how well he could pleasure Thorfinn.

They would both come at the same time. No, Einar would make Thorfinn come sooner. Seeing Thorfinn climax would send Einar over the edge and the farmer would unload his cum inside the shorter man. In some fantasies, though it was impossible, Thorfinn’s toned belly would grow after a time. It would get bigger and bigger to the point that it looked like Thorfinn had eaten a watermelon whole. No, two watermelons, Einar corrected. Thorfinn’s stomach would be massive and the man would panic. Einar would whisper in his ear that Thorfinn was pregnant with his child. That Thorfinn would give birth and raise his baby. In this fantasy, Karli didn’t exist.

 Einar licked his lips thinking about what Thorfinn would look like with his legs parted and pushing out Einar’s child. Usually men were not in the room while their wives gave birth, but Einar would be there. He’d be pumping his cock at the sight of Thorfinn’s labor like he was now. The baby would have blond hair like Thorfinn, but Einar’s long lashes. Thorfinn’s nipples would somehow produce milk. The baby wouldn’t be the only one to suck on them…

Einar had to bite his lip from making a sound as his orgasm hit him. He took his hand out of his trousers and gazed up at the infinite black that was the sky. He heard Thorfinn grunt in his sleep to his right. He wanted to hold him, but knew he couldn’t. Thorfinn wasn’t his.

Einar sighed and got up to take a piss off the side of the creaky longboat. When he was putting his member back inside his pants, he heard a voice from the rear of the boat.

“Men are all animals,” came Hild’s low murmur.

Einar turned to look at her. The woman was cleaning her crossbow and didn’t look up at him. Did she know about what he’d just done? “What are you talking about?”

“Men lust for women even when they’re already married. It’s disgusting.”

She thought he wanted that wretch Gudrid? What would Thorfinn think if she told him? “Don’t tell Thorfinn.”

She looked at him then. “I don’t give a fuck, just keep your hands in your pants and away from her and I won’t have to tell anyone.”

“Fine.” Einar wanted to strangle her. “Are you going to sleep soon?”

“No. I’m going to stay up and watch Thorfinn for a while longer.”

Well, they had that in common, Einar thought as he got back under his bear fur.