"Food?" Boy offered, weak, but Mikjall just smiled and shook his head. He beckoned Boy closer, patting the spot in bed next to him with a dark shadow in his eyes. "Warm, Svala."
Boy stared at the spot before crawling in next to Mikjall hesitantly. He didn't know what Mikjall wanted, and that look. It was doing funny things to him, things he didn't want to think about.
But he had to think about it when Mikjall wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close, up tight against his body in a way that was different from the way Geirvarr embraced him. Boy made a soft startled sound and Mikjall kissed his forehead.
It was gentle, but there was intent behind it, Boy could feel it, and Mikjall just looked at him for a moment before leaning in even closer, so close Boy's heart started pounding. He'd heard about people doing this, he thought he'd seen it once, maybe, but he was half-convinced that was a dream.
Mikjall's lips were warm against his--no, hot. Too hot and his eyes were wide open, shocked, while Mikjall kissed him. It felt like he was burning up, and maybe like he was going to be sick, but with a traitorous pulse underneath it all that he couldn't help but enjoy.
He knew he wasn't supposed to be enjoying it--he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this would make Geirvarr angry, and it was supposed to be wrong, but he couldn't help but respond, press back hesitantly when Mikjall coaxed him to do so.
Mikjall made a pleased sound against his lips and reached under the blankets for Boy's hand. He guided it down to the cut of his own hip, shoving his tunic up out of the way.
Boy made a startled little sound into Mikjall's mouth, opening his mouth without even thinking about it. But his hand was on Mikjall, there, and he couldn't even think about it without blushing.
He gasped at the feeling of it, for a moment just frozen, watching it happen, and it took him a moment to work up the courage to move his hand a little, curiously, trying to figure out what would happen if he did, if Mikjall would like it.
Mikjall groaned, and Boy could feel him, flesh hot and sweaty and firm. It made him get that almost-sick feeling, though with triple the intensity. He made a little sound of his own.
Mikjall gave him that look again, dark-eyed possession only this time the intensity of it made Boy's breath catch, especially when Mikjall's hand slipped down to Boy's hip with obvious intent.
Boy whimpered; he remembered this from the monastery, places he was never supposed to let his hands stray, feelings he was supposed to ignore. But Mikjall stroked Boy's hip, trailed his fingers over where he knew the bird drawings were, and then his hand was on him.
Mikjall smiled, and worked his hand slow and guiding, showing Boy what he was meant to do, and moaning when he did it properly. Boy could feel the pit of his belly getting hotter and hotter as his hips moved and Mikjall's hips moved into his own hand.
He could feel himself getting lost in it, and then Mikjall's other hand was sliding into his hair, trying to raise his head so Mikjall could meet his eyes. He made a confused noise and just nodded, not caring what Mikjall wanted him to do, as long as he didn't stop.
Mikjall looked at him for a moment, eyes heavy lidded and a little glazed, but there was still that dark promise in them when he reached out to tap Boy's lips. Boy cocked his head, confused and sweaty, hips still jerking into Mikjall's grasp.
Mikjall huffed out a little noise and the hand in Boy's hair tugged him downwards. He froze for a moment, confused, not sure what he was supposed to do at all, or why Mikjall wanted him to do this when before worked just fine.
Under the blankets was stiflingly hot, but he knew that pulling them down would be tantamount to going to sit outdoors and this. It didn't seem like something that belonged outdoors. Mikjall's long fingers moved from his hair to his jaw, guiding it open and his face was--oh.
He got what he was supposed to do in one embarrassed moment, face flushing red, but it seemed... interesting. He wanted to try it, just to see, and he hesitantly dipped down a little more without coaxing and licked at Mikjall hesitantly, trying to figure out if he was on the right track or not.
He could hear Mikjall moan, low and long, though the sound is a little stifled by all the heavy furs over his ears. He licked again, and Mikjall petted his jaw, stroking encouraging and gentle.
He didn't know if he was doing it right, but Mikjall was pushing his head down a little again and there was nowhere else to go but... oh. He lowered his head hesitantly, letting his mouth slide over Mikjall.
It was...strange, to say the least. He wasn't used to having anything like this in his mouth, and the mere thought that. The thought of what he was doing made the not-quite-sick feeling flare hot and fuzzy in his belly.
And Mikjall was touching him again, stroking over him slowly, but tight enough that he could barely focus on what he was doing. He didn't know how to make it good, sliding down a little more with a hesitant little sound.
The sound made Mikjall's thighs tense around his ears, and Boy murmured another noise around him, hoping that he could make Mikjall happy. It was strange, that no matter how much he had been afraid, in this moment he felt none of that.
This made everything make sense. The way Mikjall was looking at him--it was because of this, because he wanted this from Boy. That was something Boy could understand, even if he didn't quite get the rest, the conflict between Geirvarr and Mikjall and the whole mess with Rauthi.
And now that he knew what Mikjall wanted from him, it wasn't so scary. Just hot and firm and a little salty in his mouth and hands in his hair and on his face, and a low ache in his belly.
He pushed up into Mikjall's grip again, whimpering a little around him, and after a moment made the discovery that if he sucked a little, Mikjall would make more noises, harsh and desperate.
It was an interesting sound, and he sucked again, harder this time, because he wanted to hear it again. He got it; Mikjall whined above him, and the muscles in his thighs and the little dip of his belly were tight and tense.
He tried to smile, proud of figuring it out, but couldn't quite manage it, so he just made a happy little sound instead, sucking harder and pushing back down, trying not to concentrate on the insistent jerk of his own hips.
Mikjall's noises were getting progressively louder, and just as Boy was starting to get sore, the hand in his hair yanked him away while Mikjall whined, and. Oh my. Boy goggled.
He didn't know what he'd just made Mikjall do but.... Whatever it was, it was messy, and he couldn't help reaching out to taste, just curious. He wrinkled his nose, though, making a face up at Mikjall.
Mikjall barked out a laugh, his face flushed from whatever they had done. He took Boy by the shoulder and guided him up again so he was resting against Mikjall's chest. "Good, Svala." He smiled and pet his hair. "Good."
Boy tried to stop himself but he couldn't help the way his hips jerked, whimpering a little as he curled into Mikjall more. He didn't know how any of this went, if he was allowed to touch himself, or if Mikjall would do it, or if he would just have to wait for it to go away.
Mikjall laughed again, and Boy felt horrible and humiliated until Mikjall reached down to palm over him, still laughing a little under his breath, with a fond "Svala, Svala" thrown in.
Boy grinned sheepishly, not sure why Mikjall was laughing at him but knowing it was the right response. "Mikjall?" he asked, trying to sound as pleading as he could, pushing up against Mikjall's hand.
Mikjall made a soft soothing noise, clucking his tongue, but he reached in and up and under sweat-soaked leather until the skin of his palm was hot against Boy's flesh.
Boy hissed out a breath at that, feeling right on the edge of... something already, not even sure what. Whatever he made Mikjall do, maybe.
Instead of just offering his hand to rock against like he had before, Mikjall wrapped his hand around with a firm grip and that was almost enough for whatever Boy could feel coming. Almost, almost, but it wasn't until Mikjall leaned in and licked the corner of his mouth just as he ran his thumb over Boy's skin that he felt the white rush of yes.
He wasn't aware of anything for a second, past his panting breaths and his shut-tight eyes, but when he managed to open them Mikjall was staring at him again, wide-eyed. "Mikjall?" Boy asked, wondering if he'd done something wrong, but he somehow doubted it.
Mikjall smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, softer this time. "Svala," he murmured against his mouth, wrapping an arm around his waist to tug him close again, molding their bodies together. And then, clearly, he spoke a word that Boy didn't know. "Mine."
"Mine?" Boy repeated curiously, curling into Mikjall like he did with Geirvarr, the only difference being how relaxed he was, how much bonier Mikjall was.
Mikjall made a soft affirmative noise, and squeezed Boy to his chest, a hand possessive on the small of his back. "Mine," he agreed with a nod, and Boy could tell he wouldn't get any further explanation.
He let himself relax into Mikjall more, breathing out a soft sigh. He couldn't tell what he was feeling, not exactly, past warm and good and glad Mikjall's intentions weren't to do anything bad to him, anything he wouldn't like.
He drifted off to sleep, and when he awoke, he was alone in the bed. He rolled over, fully intent on nestling in under the fur to go back to sleep, but he was interrupted with, "Svala." He sat up, looking wide-eyed at Geirvarr. Geirvarr's expression was tight, his eyes sad. "Mikjall?" He asked, and though Svala didn't quite understand why, he could feel his cheeks burn with shame.
He couldn't look up and meet Geirvarr's eyes, but he understood what Geirvarr was asking, cheeks burning brighter as he nodded, pulling the fur closer to him to cover himself. There was something about the tone in Geirvarr's voice that made him embarrassed to admit it, what he and Mikjall had done, even if he didn't have a name for what they did.
Geirvarr was silent, and Boy just burrowed deeper in the bed, feeling faintly sick. The bed moved as Geirvarr sat down on it, pulling the covers away from his face, a gentle hand on his cheek tilting his face up. "Mikjall." Geirvarr seemed to struggle for a moment before swallowing and asking. "Bad?"
"Bad?" Boy frowned, trying to think of what Geirvarr was asking. It was either--he flushed, thinking of what it could be--was it bad? because it wasn't, not at all. But he could be asking if Boy thought it was something bad to do. In the end, though, the answer was the same. He shook his head.
Geirvarr's eyes seemed to light up at the gesture, and Boy was pleased to have given the right answer, if still mystified as to what was happening. Geirvarr hesitated, fingers starting to gently stroke Boy's cheek. His voice seemed strained when he next asked, "...good?"
Boy nodded easily, eyes slipping shut as Geirvarr's thumb stroked against his cheekbone. It felt nice, comfortable in the way that Geirvarr always made him, and always made him want to get closer. He leaned in a little, smiling.
Geirvarr's hand went tense against his face, then kept stroking. "Svala." Boy didn't open his eyes--it was too soft, and comfortable, nice to be touched and cared for. Geirvarr was more insistent the next time, and Boy made a soft noise of complaint, but opened his eyes. Geirvarr was flushed, and his breathing seemed to stutter a little. He cupped Boy's cheek and Boy could barely catch the word when he murmured, "Me?"
"Geirvarr?" Boy asked cautiously, looking up to meet Geirvarr's eyes. He wasn't sure what was going on anymore, and he couldn't take his eyes away, not when Geirvarr was looking at him like that, eyes intent. He tried to smile reassuringly, not show his uncertainty on his face.
He could see Geirvarr's throat move as he swallowed hard, and then Geirvarr was leaning down, pressing his forehead against Boy's and breathing hot and heavy against his lips. "Svala," Geirvarr whispered, and he sounded so desperately wanting that Boy thought back to what Mikjall had done and tipped his lips for a soft kiss.
It wasn't the same as Mikjall, because he was the one taking the initiative this time, pressing his lips to Geirvarr's with a soft sound. It was--the only thing his mind could supply was 'nice', even if Geirvarr still seemed hesitant, going slow and cautious.
The hesitance worried Boy, because maybe he was wrong? Perhaps this wasn't what Geirvarr wanted at all. Boy pulled back a little and Geirvarr gasped out a little whine that he looked horrified of when Boy looked up at him. Geirvarr looked scared, and needy and--Boy suddenly realized that Geirvarr must have wanted this for so long. And he'd been waiting, he hadn't touched Boy because he was afraid Boy would think it was bad.
He had to smile, then, pulling Geirvarr closer. It was sweet, in a way, and when he leaned back in he couldn't help but be happy about it, not when Geirvarr had been worried that he wouldn't like it. "Good," he murmured against Geirvarr's lips, trying to be reassuring.
Geirvarr whimpered, almost, just a little sound that was almost frightened, and Boy kissed him again, tried to poke his tongue out to taste Geirvarr's lips like Mikjall had done to him.
Geirvarr actually laughed a little at that, short and nervous, and Boy blushed, hoping his clumsiness at this wasn't too apparent.
Geirvarr seemed stronger afterwards though, kissing him with intent, if still with care. Boy reached up to clasp his hands around Geirvarr's neck, arching up to be closer to him.
He didn't know if this was what he was supposed to do, if Geirvarr wanted to go as far as Mikjall did, or how to ask. So he slid a hand down, fingers brushing over Geirvarr cautiously.
Geirvarr moaned against his lips, and Boy thought that to be enough of a confirmation of Geirvarr's intentions--or at least, his hopes. Boy rubbed more bravely at Geirvarr and tried to figure how he could get down to use his mouth.
He wasn't sure if he should just slide down and go for it, if Geirvarr would be expecting it. But he knew he wasn't too bad, from the way he had made Mikjall sound, breaking the kiss and trying to scoot backwards enough to lower himself down.
Geirvarr grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. "Svala?" His voice almost broke, and he was clearly out of breath just like Mikjall had been afterward. Boy wasn't sure what the problem was here, and he cocked his head questioningly.
Boy tried to make as clear a motion as he could, ducking his head and then raising it back up again, trying to motion to Geirvarr. He didn't know what the problem was--wasn't this what he was supposed to do?--and Geirvarr wasn't letting him move.
Geirvarr shook his head, even as Boy nodded. "Svala," Geirvarr hissed, eyes wide. "No." Boy frowned. He knew that Geirvarr would like this--Mikjall certainly had--and he was sure that Geirvarr wanted to. Why wouldn't he let him?
"No?" Boy asked, frowning. He tried to think, mind running through the possibilities of what he could do instead, and reached out a hand questioningly to press against Geirvarr again. Maybe he just wasn't ready to, like Mikjall had been.
He felt ready though, firm under Boy's hand. Maybe he didn't think that Boy could do it properly for him? "Geirvarr." Boy licked his lips, giving Geirvarr a hopeful smile. "Good. Svala good."
Geirvarr just shook his head again, staring at Boy, and Boy couldn't help but shift uncomfortably under his gaze, unsure and out of his depth again now that Geirvarr was refusing what he knew how to do.
Geirvarr bent down and kissed him again, and Boy was happy to throw himself into it, opening up for anything Geirvarr might want. He just wished he could make Geirvarr happy, like Mikjall.
“Want?" he managed to mumble against Geirvarr's lips, wanting to know what to do, what Geirvarr wanted him to do. There had to be something.
Geirvarr groaned, eyes squeezed shut. "No," Geirvarr whispered. Boy blinked, confused. He...didn't want? Not at all?
Boy tried not to let himself feel like he'd been rejected, but Geirvarr didn't even want to look at him and apparently he didn't want to be touched either and--He pulled away, staring down at the bed instead of up at Geirvarr.
“Svala." Boy curled his legs up to his chest. He didn't know why Geirvarr wouldn't just go away, if he didn't want anything from him. He heard Geirvarr sigh, and then he was engulfed in Geirvarr's arms. "Bad," Geirvarr murmured into his hair. "Bad want, Svala."
"No," Boy protested, shaking his head. "Want you." He sighed against Geirvarr's chest, frustrated because he couldn't make it any more clear and Geirvarr was still saying it was bad.
"No. Svala good." Geirvarr tipped his cheek against Boy's hair, holding him cradled against him. "Svala good. Bad want Svala."
"No, good," Boy protested, deciding to just take things into his own hands, fumbling to pull his clothing over his head. It wasn't bad. It wasn't.
Geirvarr didn't do much to try to stop him, all told--a few sad faces and plaintive "Svala"s weren't going to dissuade Boy. Once he was bare and cold, he sat shivering on the bed, and held his hands out with an unhappy little pout. "Cold, Geirvarr."
Geirvarr reached for the blankets but Boy just shook his head, reaching for him to try to tug him down. He didn't know if having Geirvarr on top of him was something he was supposed to want, and didn't even care.
Geirvarr still looked vastly put upon by the whole ordeal, but it seemed he'd decided to obey Boy's wishes. He crawled over to settle carefully on top of him--the leather of Geirvarr's belt dug into Boy's thighs and he whined, tugging at it.
He wanted it off, out of the way, and he tried to tug it off entirely, finally managing to get it when Geirvarr reached down and helped him. And that was better, but not good enough, not yet.
He knew that under the truly filthy cover of the tunic Geirvarr always wore, there was hot flesh underneath, flesh that Boy was desperately craving. He hummed a little, slipping his hands underneath to prod fondly at where Geirvarr's belly pushed over the top of his pants.
Geirvarr made a noise Boy couldn't think of as anything but a squeak, trying not to push up for a moment but finally giving up, Boy's fingers tugging at Geirvarr's tunic to get it undone and off.
And all that were left were the pants, hide that Boy was certain Geirvarr had not only tanned, but hunted and killed himself. He reached down again to cup his hand over the press of Geirvarr against the hide.
Geirvarr's face was gradually shifting, looking less uncertain as he reached down, one hand over Boy's, pressing against him more.
Boy's breath caught, biting down on his lip and flexing his fingers gently, caressing Geirvarr as best he could.
Geirvarr bit his own lip, half-stifling a harsh little noise, and he glanced up to meet Boy's eyes before finally just reaching down, trying to tug off his pants.
Boy refrained from clapping his hands together, but only because he reached down to help Geirvarr pull his pants away. Once free, Boy pressed his hands into Geirvarr's pasty thighs, wanting to nibble at them, and to nose at the dark hair between them, and do what he did to Mikjall.
Geirvarr said no the first time, but this time Boy wanted to try again, now that he'd convinced him on the rest. He could be good at it. But for now, he wasn't in a position he even could, not with Geirvarr's weight pressing him down into the bed.
He wriggled a little, trying to get loose enough that he could lick and taste, but Geirvarr held him steady. Boy was going to complain in his broken version of Geirvarr's language, but his mouth was suddenly taken, Geirvarr kissing him hard.
He was almost taken aback at the intensity of it, trying to respond in kind as Geirvarr kissed him fiercely, hand sliding up into his hair.
It seemed that since their clothing had gone, Geirvarr had also been stripped of whatever inhibition was keeping him from ravishing Boy to within an inch of breathing.
He definitely was now, pressing down against Boy, hips rocking against his smaller ones, and Boy gasped into his mouth, eyes slipping shut.
It felt good, different from how Mikjall had touched him but it was Geirvarr, and Geirvarr had always protected him, made him feel cared for and safe. It made sense that Boy's insides would be melting with the press of his protector again him.
He wanted more of it, whatever it was, more of anything Geirvarr could do to him, and he reached up, trying to get Geirvarr to press against him more firmly, do more of this.
Geirvarr groaned, but he shifted somehow, and was suddenly rutting right into the curve of Boy's hip, his own hip providing an equivalent friction for Boy, who's head tipped back into the pillow with a whine.
It felt good, better than it should, Geirvarr there, and Boy couldn't help but groan, cheeks flushed. It was almost too much, like that.
Too much in a way that made his belly feel hot and unsettled, like his birds might up and fly away. He couldn't take this, he just couldn't, not without losing himself.
He didn't want to, not yet. He wanted to make Geirvarr do it first, or at least make this last longer, keep up this kind of intensity forever.
He pushed at Geirvarr's shoulders, whimpering, and Geirvarr stopped in an instant, staring wild-eyed down at Boy, his hair sweaty and disheveled. Boy swallowed hard, trying to figure out how he could make it clear that he still wanted it, just not yet. Finally, he reached down to trail his fingers over Geirvarr, and looked up at him. "You?"
"Me?" Geirvarr stared down at him with renewed intensity, fingers trailing from where they'd been clutching at Boy's hips down, past that, and Boy's breath caught as they explored further, a fingertip pressing in just a little.
He made an "eep" sound and it was strange, but if this was what Geirvarr wanted--he had never done anything to hurt Boy or make him unhappy--he wouldn't deny him it.
It wasn't bad, exactly, just burned in a funny way and made him want to twist away from it to make it stop feeling strange, more so when the finger pushed in a little further, Geirvarr's expression intent.
There were worse things, and being soundly switched for dropping a statuette into the river as a boy remained the most painful thing he'd ever experienced. He let his legs open further, hoping that Geirvarr was planning something good.
But for the moment Geirvarr was focused on entirely this, finger crooking experimentally, and it still felt nothing but weird for a long moment. Boy began to wonder if Geirvarr even knew what he was doing.
Geirvarr made a soft frustrated sound, then pulled his hand back. He sucked his middle finger into his mouth, and then reached back down, sliding both fingers in. That burned, but still made Boy more antsy than anything else.
It was easier like that, at least, Boy shifting a little, trying to make it feel better, Geirvarr's fingers still moving experimentally inside of him, until they brushed against something that made his breath hiss through his teeth and his eyes widen.
Geirvarr grinned down at him. "Good?" Boy couldn't find the breath to answer, just nodded frantically. Geirvarr leaned to kiss his collarbone, brushing his fingers back over that same place.
This time Boy couldn't contain a little squeak, surprised at the sudden, almost shocking feeling of good that went through him at that. Whatever it was, he wanted more of it.
Geirvarr pressed three fingers gently against Boy before pushing them inside him, the same burn of skin making Boy wince a little until he got used to it.
After that it just went back to feeling strange, strange and just a little good, until Geirvarr's fingers brushed against him again. He didn't know if he was supposed to lose control from just this, but for a moment he was afraid he was going to.
He whimpered Geirvarr's name and thankfully, Geirvarr seemed to understand--he pulled his fingers away, leaving Boy empty. He took a moment to catch his breath, thankful for the respite, but then Geirvarr was shifting again, moving up between his legs.
Boy wasn't even sure what he was going to do for a moment and then he felt--oh. Geirvarr was pushing in, slow enough to burn and to make his breath catch. It hurt, more intense than before.
Bigger, and wider, blunter than his fingers had been, and Boy squeezed his eyes shut against the burn of it. It kept on until he felt Geirvarr's hips lock with his, and Boy dared to open his eyes, stinging with tears.
He tried not to show it on his face but Geirvarr saw it in an instant, looking worried, fingers working through his hair soothingly.
"Svala, Svala," Geirvarr was practically cooing to him, and Boy felt a little bit better, because even though it hurt, it was still Geirvarr, who took care of him always.
He let himself meet Geirvarr's eyes, breath catching when he saw the desperate heat in them, and he shifted experimentally, trying to see if it would make it better.
It was a little more comfortable, now that he was getting used to it, even though he couldn't quite quash the feeling of large and wrong. He could feel Geirvarr's thighs trembling between his, and he knew that Geirvarr was trying so hard not to hurt him.
He let out a shaky breath, shifting again, not sure whether he wanted Geirvarr to move or stop, because he could barely think, the pressure of Geirvarr inside him enough to make it hard to even think.
Still, whatever Geirvarr might do had to be better than waiting like this, and if he needed, he could always tell him to stop. "Yes." Boy gazed up at Geirvarr with his most resolved face.
He watched Geirvarr swallow hard, fingers of one hand tightening on his hips, and Boy tried not to forget to breathe when he nudged forward, not hard but enough to make him gasp.
Geirvarr paused immediately, but Boy shook his head. "Yes, yes," he insisted--once Geirvarr had come to his end, it would all be fine again.
He'd stop. It wasn't too bad, not really, but he couldn't help but frown a little, wishing he knew if it was going to be any good for him, too, until Geirvarr did it again and oh, that was something. Not intense, but definitely an echo of before.
He shifted, and Geirvarr made a little questioning face down at him, working himself in deep, and Boy wanted to cry a little from how intense it all was.
But it was starting to feel better, too, and the next time Geirvarr shifted it made him cry out, immediately embarrassed at how loud he was being but barely caring.
Geirvarr seemed pleased at that--he leaned down to capture Boy's lips for another kiss--and rolled his hips in with a little grunt.
Boy kissed him intently, trying to muffle the noises he was making because he knew they were too loud, too desperate to be something he wanted to let out.
Geirvarr's own sounds filled Boy's mouth, and that helped Boy to wriggle back, trying to rub himself on Geirvarr's belly.
It wasn't enough from that and he reaches down, wrapping a hand around himself to try and give himself some relief.
Geirvarr growled into his mouth, moving faster and harder into Boy, like he felt the same desperation, and he pressed down, so Boy's knuckles were pressed into Geirvarr's belly, his hand mostly immobilized.
He couldn't keep his hand moving and he whined into Geirvarr's mouth, pushing up against him. He wasn't going to last much longer, he knew that.
All he could do was squeeze gently at himself, hoping that would help, but Geirvarr's hand was closing tight over his, forcing him to hold himself tighter.
And then Geirvarr's hand was guiding his own, moving over him with a tight grip, and he couldn't even breathe.
Not with Geirvarr pushing into him, and both of their hands moving over him--Boy had to moan when his world went hot and white.
But Geirvarr's hips were still moving, stuttering against him, even though Boy could tell he was losing control, breathing harsh.
It felt different now, when he was loose and sort of sleepy after the rush of feeling, and he smiled up at Geirvarr.
Geirvarr managed to smile back even though he was panting, eyes squeezing shut, and when Geirvarr followed him he could feel it.
Boy shivered at the feeling, and Geirvarr peppered his face with soft, light kisses, whispering his name with a little giggle on the end.
Boy couldn't help but grin at that. He leaned up, kissing Geirvarr lightly, not even sure what to call what they did but more sated than he could remember.
Geirvarr kissed Boy and pulled carefully away from him--it felt strange, and a little sloppy, but Boy was tired and the satisfaction made him feel full and heavy.
He wanted to sleep, just curl up under the furs and stay there, even though he knew he'd eventually have to get up and do the work expected of him.
But Geirvarr was settling in next to him, wrapping an arm around his belly and pulling him close, and that was clear enough to Boy. He smiled and nuzzled into the fur.
Sleep took him fast, the moment his head hit the pillow, and he wasn't aware of anything else besides Geirvarr's body next to his and the warmth for a long while.
When he woke, before he opened his eyes, he was faintly worried about what he might see, who might be staring down at him. But then he heard friendly chatter, the crackle of the fire, and he blinked awake to the sight of Mikjall and Geirvarr laughing together next to the fire, sipping something from large bowls.
He couldn't help but smile, watching the two of them, and he thought for a moment of putting his clothes back on before he crawled out of bed to join them by the fireside--but then, they'd both already seen him naked, there was no point in hiding it.
Both of them laughed when he shivered at the chill of the air on his bare skin, but not unkindly. He came to sit between them, the flesh on his arms raising. Geirvarr shook his head and said something to Mikjall, who got up and came back to drape a fur around Boy's shoulders, tucking the corners in carefully by his belly and under his thighs.
His fingers lingered for a little longer than was probably appropriate, but it was hardly like Boy minded, leaning his head against Geirvarr and closing his eyes, contented.
Geirvarr held up the bowl he'd been drinking from to Boy's lips, letting him taking a sip. It was sweet, warm and heady, and Boy licked his lips to get the honeyed taste from his lips after.
He wanted to reach for it again just after, wanting more of whatever it was, but when Geirvarr saw him eyeing the bowl again Geirvarr just laughed, ruffling his hair affectionately instead of giving him another drink.
It was warm between the two brothers, especially so when Mikjall pressed a little more closely against his other side. Boy looked up at him and Mikjall grinned, giving him a wink.
He flushed, both of them focusing on him, and he just knew what they had to have been talking about--him, and what they'd both done with him. And now he was between them.
It wasn't strange, like he thought it might be. It felt...safe, in a way, to know that both of them wanted him, would hold him and care for him. He smiled through his flush.
If this was what they'd been fighting about, then he didn't need to worry about it anymore. He hoped that was what it was, and from their glances at him and shared smiles he had a feeling it was.
Mikjall offered him a sip from his bowl, which Boy accepted happily, taking greedy swallows of the sweet drink that warmed him all the way from throat to belly.
He smiled, handing the bowl back to Mikjall and pulling his furs tighter around him. It wasn't just the furs or the drink that was warming him anymore, though.
It was knowing, feeling, the brothers flanking him inside what he knew now, more than he ever had been willing to believe before, was his home. He could feel it in this barbarian village, a way he had never felt right at the monastery.
He felt right here, like he belonged. This wasn't like the monastery; he'd never been Frank in his mind, not really. But this was something else.
He was never Frank, but, snuggled between Geirvarr and Mikjall, just a few homes away from Petr and Patrekr, he thought that maybe he could be Svala.
Svala, he let himself think. I'm Svala. It fit. He was Svala.