ragnar/athelstan

[forvitni]

Any other man with a new slave might try to break him physically, and Ragnar was certainly capable. He hadn't exactly been gentle with Athelstan so far, but he had not laid a hand on him in anger. In fact, he'd spent more time making sure his slave felt at home with his family, to learn more about him and the lands from which he came. Nothing about Ragnar Lodbrok was unplanned, however. Every move, every word, every gesture was purposeful.

For now, he was simply staring. He'd been staring at Athelstan for nearly an hour now, cross-legged near the hearth. He hadn't spoken a word yet, and his face gave away little, save for the ever present laugh-lines creasing his eyes and the smile that implied he knew something you did not.

He'd developed something of an obsession with this priest, this new and unfamiliar thing that held a wealth of new wisdom, if he could figure out how to unlock it. He had to be inside his mind somehow, and for that, a beating into submission would not do. No, this took a more precise approach, and that required observation. He would take everything that he could of this man, and why not? The gods had brought this opportunity to him for a reason.

He shifted suddenly, stretching and then settling to lay on his side, head propped up on his knuckles. His eyes, however, had not moved.

Comments

[prayings]

Athelstan is never sure where Ragnar's laughter will lead. With Rollo, at least he can guess. He also knows that Rollo won't hurt him in the presence of his brother, and so Athelstan has learned not to be away from Ragnar or Letha's side when the other comes in. It's not unstable, like the other viking, either--it's whimsical, musical, like his voice. Athelstan likes his voice. He wonders, idly, if the other can sing.

"I don't think you'd be fond of it," Athelstan says carefully. He's amazed, truly, that Ragnar even let him keep his bible in the first place. His upper teeth worry his lip for a moment, but he does, eventually look over at Ragnar.

"I was praying. Does it bother you?" He's always wondered. And he can speak his mind, he feels, with his captor.

[forvitni]

"I am fond of it." He mused with the flash of a smile, one eyebrow quirked as he shifted to rest on his elbow. There was no trace of mockery in his voice, only the play of his tongue around 'fond', a word he didn't use often. It was funny, how even as the priest was speaking Ragnar's language, it was still the native that was picking up new things.

It was true, too, even when he couldn't hear or understand what Athelstan was saying. He liked his rituals, his devotions, everything that was strange about him. It was endlessly amusing to him to have such a foreign presence in his home.

"So, there is the something you have not done." He gestured to the book, and then leaned back, waiting patiently.

[prayings]

Ragnar has a way. He always has a way, with soft laugh lines and twinkling mischief in his eyes. He's heard of the God Loki, and thinks a bit of him when he looks like that--but he knows Loki is bad, likened to Lucifer, and immediately feels guilt pool in his stomach.

This is why he hesitates--not because he is afraid but because he catches himself. A conundrum, and Athelstan's lips part, briefly, to think on it before he looks over at his master. It's very hard, not to look cautious--but that has been Athelstan's natural state since being tied onto a boat and carried so very, very far away.

"We call them psalms," he explains. "Things not from the Holy Book, but created to worship Him, in song or aloud." Song isn't the right word for it, but Athelstan's translations, sometimes, are not up to the proper stuff.

He wonders, as he takes a breath and stares at the fire, why Ragnar cares. Why Athelstan is being kept around, why Athelstan hasn't been mistreated as much as he's seen others do. He dares not ask, not now, but he looks down at the handwritten book and runs fingers across it.

"Now Thou dost dismiss Thy servant, O Lord, according to Thy word in peace;
Because my eyes have seen Thy salvation,
Which Thou hast prepared before the face of all people."

He doesn't have the heart, after speaking those words, to tell Ragnar that he'd been leading that same psalm before they attacked.

[forvitni]

Ragnar listened attentively, his mind working as quickly as it could to translate the words as Athelstan spoke them. He got up to his feet in one fluid moment once the priest had fallen silent, walking to the table to pour two horns of ale before returning to the hearth.

He did not, however, return to his own place, but sat just behind Athelstan, putting his arm around him to offer him the horn he had not claimed for himself.

"Is your god always so somber, priest?" He murmured, not unintentionally close to the man's ear as he looked down at the pages. He could read none of it, of course, but even so he enjoyed looking at the words. "He wants you to praise him, wants your gold and treasures, but what does he give you in return? He does not protect you, offers you no..." He laughed softly upon recollecting the idea of 'celibacy' as the priest had explained it, "pleasures in this world."

[prayings]

He's used to Ragnar doing what he pleases--amazed that he hasn't tried to do things he's heard whispers of from other slave girls, things he's seen Rollo do, has seen Floki do as well. So when the horns of ale are poured he pays them no mind, and when Ragnar moves and sits next to him he doesn't so much as blink.

Athelstan tenses out of habit when that arm is around him, though--a rabbit, he's heard Floki joke--but he does accept the horn. Even if it takes him a small moment to relax into Ragnar's arm, he doesn't move forward or lean against him.

That voice, though--he swallows, hard, and goosebumps evident, and he half-smiles. At least he's gotten better at drinking.

"I'm unsure what you mean," He says truthfully. "He gives us protection. Faith and the strength to go forward, and a promise of the afterlife. You have..." He frowns. "Valhalla, was it? We have Heaven. It doesn't matter, temptation and pleasures here. If we can resist them, Heaven will be that much more sweet."

[forvitni]

"And you will be able to do all the things in Heaven that you cannot do here?" He downed a heavy swig of his ale before continuing. There was no malice behind his words, in fact, he sounded almost playful.

"Your brothers that died when I claimed you. Are they what await you? Frail old men?" In Valhalla he would feast with his gods and his brothers, and there would be no shortage of women. Of that much he was sure in his heart, he believed in his visions of the Valkyrie taking his fallen brothers from the battlefield.

"Maybe that is why your god is so sad."

[prayings]

There's something about Ragnar's voice that unnerves him. Just the tone of it, playful despite the subject. Athelstan comes from cloistered chapels and isolated villages, where God's name is spoken with reverence. His hair had been cut so his head could even be closer to God--but that's all grown, now.

"Those that serve the Lord faithfully are rewarded with a rich, happy afterlife," he mumbles, though there's something in his voice that's unusual--his fingers are already moving on the page, as if he could feel the letters themselves by his fingertips. He's uneasy.

"Why do you think God is sad?" He asks, and the uneasy feeling dissipates immediately, hedged on by curiousity. He turns in Ragnar's half-hearted embrace, looking over the other with furrowed brow.

[forvitni]

Ragnar met Athelstan's eyes over his drinking horn as he took another gulp of ale, his face close enough to feel the priest's breath on his skin as he set the horn aside.

"He must be, to make you live such a way in order to be happy in his afterlife. Sad, or jealous." His tone was still light as he touched where the shaved spot on Athelstan's head had been, twirling a lock of hair around his finger.

"Maybe he does not know what it is like to be mortal. To be capable of, what was that word?" He knew it well enough, but the pause was necessary as he trailed that same finger down the side of the priest's face. "Sin."

[prayings]

"God knows Everything," Athelstan draws back, and he genuinely is insulted. He can't help the knee jerk reaction, and is alarmed that it isn't the fact that the other is touching his hair, nor the face that his index finger had rubbed along his chin in a strangely comforting fashion.

"He doesn't make us, we choose to--I chose to live my life making His books and chanting His name. Odin doesn't make you explore uncharted territory, does he? But you did, nonetheless."

His voice is surprisingly patient, surprisingly soft, looking straight at the other. Pale hands hold onto his cup a little tighter, and he lifts it to his lips.

"And you found my people and my abbey."

[forvitni]

"Yes, I did." He repeated, persistent in pushing at the priest, wanting to see some sort of spark in him, whether it was conviction or doubt.

"Your god was watching, then? He was there as we killed your brothers and took his treasure? Burned his holy place? He knows everything and did nothing. Here I am, home with my family and the favor of my gods. And you. He let me have you." His voice was never accusatory, never aggressive, simply bearing the easy confidence that embodied every part of Ragnar's being. His posture stayed relaxed, his eyes clear and alert despite his being in his cups for most of the evening.

"Maybe he looks away, sometimes."

[prayings]

He doesn't mean to sound angry--he doesn't. But Ragnar's words have been toying with him since he was on that boat here. They've kept him up with visions and dreams and left nagging feelings driven into his skull. Guilt. The words come tumbling out, quick, before he can do anything.

"This is a test. To show how strong I am, in faith--in His faith. It has to be." He busies his fingers with the book again, absently realizing they're shaking somewhat. Why, he's not sure, so he clenches his fist and stares at it, willing it to stop.

"If I do not have Him, I have no one."

[forvitni]

"If you say so."

He couldn't help but grin like a child with a sweet, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling as he laid back on the rushes that covered the earthen floor, his hands behind his head. He'd gotten the insight he'd wanted into Athelstan's mind, and yet there was so much more to do.

"Drink, priest. We will talk of gods again, but I have had enough of them tonight."

[prayings]

His smile warms at that, just a touch, and he seems to actually relax--he leans back, too, following Ragnar's lead so he's next to the other. He thinks nothing of it now, which he considers a strange thing. Laying on the floor like this, drinking ale--it would be ridiculous to him before he met the other.

"Can I ask you something?" He asks, blue eyes fixed to the thatching on the roof, fingers curling over the horn. Ragnar, personable, knows when not to press things, it seems. He waits a few moments before speaking anyway, regardless of the outcome, and glances over to the other while he does so.

"Why do you call me priest all the time? You know my name."

[forvitni]

"You answer to it." He replied with a laugh.

Ragnar turned on his side once Athelstan laid down next to him, silently watching him for a moment before he considered the question again. It was true, his family and friends called him much the same, but he supposed there was no reason to deny the man ever hearing another voice speak his name. He did not believe in the idea of mistreating a slave, or really even having one in the first place. Better a man with a foreign god be his slave and under his protection than a free man among his people, though.

"Would it make you happier if I didn't?" He asked, that knowing smirk quirking up the corner of his lips as his voice dropped barely above a whisper.

"Athelstan."

[prayings]

All Ragnar has to do is half-whisper his name and something strange stirs within Athelstan. He shifts, suddenly uncomfortable, but not because of the name or the conversation.

He's heard them. Both in their furs, making love. He's heard Lagertha's moans and Ragnar's grunts and pants as the bed moves, and he is left only with his thoughts. Ragnar's voice is close to that tone, he thinks, and that's why it's making him feel odd. The red sweeps his cheeks but he only chalks this up to it being suddenly warm, and not with anything of the other sort.

He buries himself in the ale momentarily, mostly to buy himself some time.

"It doesn't bother me either way," he says after a moment, and he's moving to drink once more. "I'm surprised you can pronounce it, Ragnar, with your tongue."

[forvitni]

Ragnar was many things. He was a warrior, a farmer, adventurer, dreamer, a husband, father, brother. Above all things, he was simply a man. He was a man without fear or shame and a lust for all things in life.

He knew what the look in the priest's eyes, what the color in his cheeks, the shift in his body language meant. It meant that Ragnar had set the hook, and all he really had to do was pull.

"I couldn't, not at first. I think it is partially why you are 'priest'." He admitted casually, examining the back of his hand before flicking his gaze back up at the other man.

"I said it again and again to myself until it felt right on my tongue, though." He tilted his head slightly as he asked, "Does it sound good to you?"

[prayings]

There's something strange in that wording--a hiccup of language, he thinks. It has to be, because Athelstan is thinking things he shouldn't based on those words alone.

He sits up. He's not sure why it feels better, why it'll feel cooler, but it does and he's temporarily pleased with himself, taking a large drink from the cup and refusing to meet the other's gaze. He still has to answer respectably. Courteously. He chooses his next words very, very carefully.

"I'm not sure if matters much what I think," He says softly. "I think you're the type to do what you wish."

[forvitni]

[Sorry if this formatting turns out weird, I have to answer through email b/c dreamwidth doesn't load at work.]

"It matters because I asked you." Ragnar persisted, his piercing gaze almost predatory in nature as he looked up at Athelstan. He was determined, eventually, for this priest's dedication to falter, if only to observe what would happen. His motivations weren't entirely for wisdom, however, and the concept of Catholic guilt was lost on him. Ragnar was as free as he pleased with his sexuality, and it was not by accident that the priest had heard him take his wife.

"If I did everything I wished, Athelstan, your vows would have been broken right there in your holy place."

hi im back from bway in chicago and shit

[prayings]

"What do you mean by that?" He asks, and there's no edginess to his voice, no panic--it's replaced with genuine curiosity, turning his head to face the other. Blue eyes stare into the same colour, mirrored, and his smile doesn't say he's happy, but confused.

"You would make me kill or lie?"

hope you had an awesome time!

[forvitni]

Ragnar laughed, shaking his head.

"Try again." He teased, raising a fingertip to press to Athelstan's forehead. "Think."

He wanted to see the realization on the priest's face, wanted him to come to the idea on his own. He wanted to see if it would make him blush, or if the idea of sacrilege would just horrify him. It was certainly slightly arousing to Ragnar, but that could happen anytime the wind picked up.

hells yeah it was amazeballs

[prayings]

He instinctively leans back, frowning, but it doesn't get much further than that and the furrowing of his eyebrows. He's marginally used to the viking poking and prodding him, and at the very least doesn't scamper away anymore.

...When had he started comparing himself to a frightened rabbit?

That's the thought that sticks with him, and his tongue darts out to lick at his dry lips, still holding the book, and looking down at it, briefly, before looking back over at Ragnar.

"I would much rather not," he says politely. Bold words, but he does what Ragnar tells him to. He thinks. There's a lot of things that Ragnar does that is sinful--worship another God comes to mind, but the actual realization of what he means builds up, slowly, until his face shows it all at once.

Maybe he's overreacting. Surely, he's overreacting? Ragnar isn't just thinking about sexual acts. Not with him. When he had offered, it was for his wife. That's what he tells himself every time he hears the two as he prays loudly and quickly to his God. He chances a look up, chances a glance at Ragnar's eyes, and immediately drops his gaze.

"....You mean my vow of chastity." It's a question, yes, but also a satement. His heart is hammering in his chest.

Re: hells yeah it was amazeballs

[forvitni]

[replying through email, formatting sucks]

"I do." He replied casually, and then made a thoughtful hum before he continued. "You told us you cannot touch a woman, that you never have. What about a man? Is that a sin, too?"

Ragnar was open-minded, as was perfectly obvious when it came to Athelstan. He'd grown more curious with every day that passed, and it was plain to see that the monk was attractive, especially as his hair was growing out and his body became more tan and toned with the manual labor necessary to run a farm. He'd seen the way his wife and other women looked at him, and it just made Ragnar want him more. He loved a challenge, whether in navigating to the unknown West or bedding a man with such conviction to his God.

"Wouldn't you like to?" He echoed in that same playful tone that he'd asked when inviting Athelstan to his bed for the first time.

[prayings]

"Seed spilled for something other than procreation is a sin, not being with a man or woman," Athelstan says softly, suddenly aware of how close Ragnar is. How the other seems to brush his shoulder unintentionally, and those startling, crisp blue eyes raking over him, constantly making decision after decision about things Athelstan has no control over.

"It's not a matter of what I like," He tries to explain, and he's shifting so he can better face the other. He's trying his best to ignore the other's tone. "I've taken vows to further my relationship with God. We all have, and your... There's a lot of us you captured that have had that violated."

[forvitni]

Ragnar gave a playful roll of his eyes. He'd heard this one before. He would have Athelstan one day, but it was looking less and less like tonight. There was still the matter of tormenting him, anyway, and that was much easier.

"Have it your way then, priest. I will not violate your vows. Go back to your book, I have a need." He stood, abruptly but still with the grace of a cat, striding towards his sleeping quarters. His bed and furs were only a few feet away, but that would service his purpose quite well tonight.

He undressed slowly, his skin tanned from the summer raids, silvery scars from battles past occasionally catching the firelight. His mentioned 'need' was more than a little apparent, though he did make a concession to Athelstan's modesty by slowly pulling his furs up to his hips where he laid.

[prayings]

Athelstan drinks it in, like too full a cup of wine after their meals, and is unable to quite tear his gaze away from him. Ragnar moves like an animal, perhaps a wolf, but with all the wit of a raven watching everything carefully.

The way he says priest, sharp and hissing, it gives Athelstan goosebumps and raises the hair on his neck, but not in a frightened away. He swallows, hard, and exhales. Somehow, he cannot bring himself to look away. Not with the rugged viking in the firelight, pulling on the furs.

He should. He should look away or excuse himself and pray, but he can't. He can only stare, half in wonder and half in curiousity. His cheeks are red, right up to the tip of his ears, and he's sure with his pale complexion it's visible in the dim lighting of the house.

"What are you doing?"

He knows the answer to that, too, but he asks anyway.

[forvitni]

Ragnar laid back, looking at the ceiling for a moment as his fingertips trailed down over his chest, flattening down to drag his entire hand down below his navel to disappear beneath his fur blanket.

When he touched the base of his cock, he put his other arm behind his head, propping himself up so he could meet Athelstan's stare, the reddening of his skin creeping up from his chest to his neck with his arousal.

"Sinning." He answered with a grin that was absolutely wolfish in nature, though his breath hitched as he teased his erection with his fingertips. "Will you whisper to your god of it? Will you ask him to forgive me?"

The thought of it just seemed to entice him even more, the delicate veins of his arms and neck pressing against the skin as his heart beat more quickly. Still, he kept the blanket just high enough to keep him modest, even as his hand wrapped around his cock and stroked with more purpose.

"I think I would like to hear you pray for me."

jsyk i wrote 'stan' instead of 'satan' like five times

[prayings]

"Ragnar--" He stops himself short, licking his lips and looking pointedly away. He needs to avoid temptation. He needs to walk not the way of Satan, but the way of the Lord.

He's not sure what to think now, though. Athelstan feels his ears redden, especially at the other's words. It's perverse, and there's no doubt in his mind that Ragnar would get a perverse kick from it. He could refuse, ultimately, but that would be decidedly un-Christian.

"I would--I would rather not, if it's all the same to you." It's one very last feeble attempt before he, eventually, gives in.