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Saga
Jul 14, 2019 23:59:59 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jul 14, 2019 23:59:59 GMT
Rather than brace for a hit, Arlan’s tense posture at seeing Fell’s hands rise was more ready for a fight, and on the verge of simply starting one himself.
But the curl to his lip finally lowered along with Fell’s volume, quickly followed by a scoff of disbelief. “Oh really? We seemed to be doing that just fine,” he growled even as he sneered, but he had caught the note of warning. “But if you want to punish someone for it, then punish me. You can leave her out of it,” he noted quickly, and a part of him regretted the words a moment later. If Fell wanted to punish Arlan for this… what, slight? Insult? Hurting Runa would be one way to do it, but it still might deflect blame from her.
The last thing he wanted to see was another slave being punished. He’d seen that enough.
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Saga
Jul 15, 2019 0:12:14 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Jul 15, 2019 0:12:14 GMT
That was it. The phrase that topped it all. As if walking in and seeing it happen wasn’t enough, the slave had to mock him with what they had done. Fell’s mouth set in a thin line, his expression darkening further, clearly struggling to hold himself back, like a geyser restraining the urge to let itself go and just shatter the crust of the earth. But hold himself back from what?
At Arlan’s next words, hurt laced across his face, replacing the fury momentarily. It was clear what Arlan thought he was holding back from doing. “I…” he began, finding himself at a loss for words. What punishment did the slave expect? He’d already shown that he wasn’t going to hurt the man, and he had no intention of hurting Runa either. Yes, he was angry, and yes, they deserved punishment… but rightly or wrongly, Fell could not… would not dish it out. Arlan still didn’t get it, after everything. It didn’t matter what the warrior had done to try and gain the man’s trust, he was still waiting for the moment when Fell would snap and prove that he was whatever it was Arlan thought him to be. He was always waiting for the axe to fall. Fell had let Runa go, and that still wasn’t proof enough?
“You should be punished for what you’ve done.” He found himself growling, his voice grating. He stepped forwards, which meant that now their chests were almost touching. “By Odin, you should be. But you can’t see her again. You can’t fuck her again. Do you understand me?”
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Saga
Jul 15, 2019 0:45:58 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jul 15, 2019 0:45:58 GMT
If he hadn’t been so enraged himself, so unable to rein in the anger that was finally able to burst forth, Arlan might have stopped there and been glad not to have provoked more. Recovering from an injury would be bad enough, but losing any of Fell’s trust would greatly hurt his chances to escape. But he couldn’t think straight, and could’t bear the thought of being told yet again what he could or could not do. To have no agency in his own life…!
HIs anger blinded him to Fell’s look of hurt, focusing only on the man’s angry words. Even as the man came close, looming over him, Arlan didn’t even flinch, much less pull back. Even the threat of punishment did nothing to sway his stance.
“Oh, so what, slaves only get to fuck with their masters then? Or do you just have to be a freeman?” he spat, noting clearly how Runa didn’t belong to any of the men she’d slept with since his arrival. “So I don’t get to sleep with anyone unless it’s you? Or someone you give permission to,” he added, his hands clenched into fists even as he taunted, within inches of fighting.
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Saga
Jul 15, 2019 1:12:41 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Jul 15, 2019 1:12:41 GMT
Arlan hadn’t backed down, in fact, he had only squared up to Fell, unperturbed by his overbearing stance which acted as a bleak reminder of how formidable a foe the warrior could be. At Arlan’s words, Fell had visibly bristled, and it had seemed certain that he could hold back no longer and then he…
… and then he had dropped his gaze, taking a step back and increasing the distance between them.
Backing down. Retreating.
A hand came up to his face, covering it, and he took a deep, steadying breath. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, quiet. “You don’t understand.” He murmured, sounding like a man finding himself suddenly very lost, rather than angry. As he removed his hand, the fury had finally abated enough to allow the pain to flow to the surface, visible now in his eyes, and in his very countenance. “I don’t… want you to sleep with anyone else. I want you… “ His gaze met Arlan’s again, but with a sigh, he averted it soon enough, his shoulders rising and falling in a defeated manner, finally speaking the words that had plagued him now for so long.
“I don’t want you to sleep with me if you don’t want to. I want you to… want me…” a pause, then, quieter still, “Only me.”
It felt, strange, to be saying these words aloud. There was relief, of course, to finally share his feelings, but there was also shame. He was ashamed of being so weak, of revealing feelings when they were so obviously not reciprocated. Of finding himself falling for Arlan when it was obvious that they could not be together, that that was not what the man wanted. Of so foolishly convincing himself that there could have been something more between them than just lust, or the roles of captor and captive.
But then he could bear it no longer, and with a frustrated growl, anger returning but now directed at himself, he turned on his heel and swiftly left.
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Saga
Jul 15, 2019 3:24:23 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jul 15, 2019 3:24:23 GMT
The fire was lit in his blood, his heart beginning to race in anticipation of the fight to come, ultimately useless as he was in the middle of a Viking settlement but nevertheless satisfying…
Then Fellbjorn backed down.
Arlan’s teeth had been gritted, his lips on the verge of a smile at having a chance to beat out the Viking’s brains, so his expression changed very little as the other suddenly and most unexpectedly pulled back, his tone and entire demeanor shifted. The confusion was visible only in how his brow furrowed, his eyes searching for the reason why the man was speaking so… so oddly. Looked… so odd. Pained? It was a look Arlan had wanted to see on his face, but only when it came from his fist.
Right?
Before he could recover, Fell decided it was time to leave, and almost ran out the door. The growl had Arlan once more prepare for the fight that never came, only left in the silence of the hut, his heart still beating hard in his chest.
For the first few minutes, he simply stood there, hands still in fists, still wanting the fight, but unable to help but replay those words over and over in his mind. I want you… to want me. Was this some sort of twisted Viking mind game? No, these men weren’t like the English… and even then, Fell owned Arlan. He wasn’t seducing him from another master…
His breath shaky, Arlan finally turned to the wall, catching the slight reflection of himself in the metal decorations of a shield. Quivering with the unused adrenaline, finally he growled, punching the shield as hard as he could. The burst of energy felt good, the shock of pain up through his hand helping to refocus his mind away from Fell’s words. So he hit the shield again, then with his other hand…
Arlan didn’t know how long he’d been hitting the shield when he finally pulled away, his breath ragged but his body no longer tense. He wiped sweat off his face, only to realize he’d left it wetter than before. A towel quickly mopped up the blood from his knuckles, enabling him to pull on his clothes to go wash his hands and bind them. The walk through the village was quiet at least, only earning one odd glance for the smear of blood across his cheek from earlier. But he didn’t bother to look at the shield he had been hitting, splattered with red, a silent testament to his repressed rage and pain of captivity.
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Saga
Jul 20, 2019 22:00:31 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Jul 20, 2019 22:00:31 GMT
Fell was on a short tether, that much had been clear to Baldur from the moment his friend stormed into the tavern. Although delighted to find his brother-in-arms returning, and drinking with a renewed sense of gusto… even he, who was pretty block-headed when it came to reading emotions, could tell that something was up. The tension practically radiated from the warrior, and it soon became clear that it was because he was itching for a fight. In a Viking village, such things were easy to come by, and it was not long before one did break out, started by some mostly friendly, only semi-serious insult thrown at Fell. The comment would normally have been treated as good-hearted banter, but this time it had been met with a fist. Eagerly, many of the bar’s occupants had jumped at the chance to contribute to the events that followed, as with most fights it didn’t seem to matter what had actually been said or how it had started, the men just saw an opportunity to stretch their muscles and demonstrate their bravado. It resulted in a brawl that was enthusiastic if short-lived, ending in good-natured, rowdy laughter all round rather than lasting grudges.
Whilst Fell had felt the tension finally slip from his form, beating out the frustration and anger just as Arlan had, he had no stomach to join in the camaraderie that soon followed. Sporting a split lip and a bruised jaw, he had retreated instead to his table to sink another jug of ale. Other than his grim form, the general mood of the place was one of rambunctious, playful energy; in fact the only other person who wasn’t smiling was Halvar. It was pretty clear as to why the story-teller was upset, sulking, alone, at the fire with a look of ‘why do I even bother’ on his face. His flow had been interrupted and now it would take him a while to rope the others back in.
Fell drank until the floor seemed to pitch and dip with every step, until the faces of his companions blurred and merged into one, until he could no longer focus on the words that were said as they faded instead into meaninglessness. The embarrassment of baring his desires so openly as he had, the overwhelming feeling of foolishness and frustration- he tried to drink away it all. And now the moon was high in the sky, the night air was cool against his skin… and he was unceremoniously doubled over, violently expelling the contents of his stomach. He couldn’t remember getting here, one moment he had been raising a drinking horn to his lips, and the next he was outside, leaning over a low fence and retching into an empty pigsty, leaving the owners a perhaps less than welcome gift to wake up to in the morning. In fact, when he tried to recall exactly what had happened, much of the evening seemed blacked out, with parts missing and no clear coherent journey from one event to another. There might have been another fight, and he was pretty certain that there had also been another instance of retching. A glance skyward, and the stars threatened to push a memory to the forefront of his mind, of sitting with someone under these very stars, and… but he pushed it away quickly, and the thought was soon lost to him as he concentrated instead on just getting home in one piece. Whilst he had succeeded in distracting himself from whatever had caused him to drink so heavily, he still felt wretched, except now it was because his insides felt twisted and his head was pounding relentlessly.
Somehow, his stumbling form had eventually found it’s way home. Opening the door, he found he was alone, which seemed odd, but in the state he was in, he couldn’t yet pinpoint exactly why. He made his way noisily and clumsily through the darkness, cursing aloud as he managed to bash his shin against the fire-pit. A few moments later, and after many failed striking attempts with the flint and steel, the fire had been started up again, relieving the gloom and painting the room in a soft, comforting glow.
It was then that he noticed the shield.
He had paused, his entire form going rigid as stone, and his mind blanking. Then, slowly, a coldness filled him from head to toe, and a sickness, not borne from alcohol but from deep-seated dread as it all came flooding back to him in painful, startling clarity. What had been said and the look on Arlan’s face.
There was blood on the shield.
What has he done?
Fell approached slowly, and his step had suddenly become much more sure-footed, the sight of the shield sobering him up immensely. A trembling hand touched the metal lightly, and confirmed what he already knew. It was definitely blood. Arlan’s blood.
Suddenly, he wrenched the shield away and hurled it across the room, where it crashed against the opposite wall before falling to the ground. The sound of the heavy metal striking wood seemed to shock Fell into stillness, and he took a few moments to merely stand there, regarding the shield with an unreadable expression, the sound still ringing in his ears. Eventually, he left.
***
He awoke in surroundings that were not immediately familiar. It perhaps also took him longer to realise exactly where he was because of the fact that it felt like needles were being pushed into the backs of his eyeballs… Once the initial wave of nausea abated a little, he turned his head, taking in the room quickly before closing his eyes tightly again, with a groan.
Baldur… this was Baldur’s home. Fell tried to turn over, and immediately regretted the decision as the room seemed to dip, even though his eyes were still closed, as if he were aboard a boat on rough seas and not a static bed. Well, a pile of furs thoughtfully placed on the ground for the warrior. With no choice but to lay still until he was certain he wasn’t about to empty the contents of his stomach again, Fell tried once again to piece together what had happened, how he had ended up here… but all events after ripping the shield from the wall had been replaced in his mind by a blank space.
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Saga
Jul 22, 2019 2:11:53 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jul 22, 2019 2:11:53 GMT
It took Arlan several long moments to recognize where he was. Waking up had felt so familiar, the damp grass and cool morning air, misty from the nearby coast, the whickers and warmth of the horses standing about him, Fechin curled up behind him…
No, not Fechin. Magnhild.
He looked down at his hands after sitting up, the sting reminding him of the punch-up he had had with the shield. The mare sniffed at his hands, he recalled not for the first time with concern, able to smell the blood that had once more soaked through to be visible. But as he unbound his hands, Arlan could see that his skin was already healing, and it wouldn’t be long before the splits would disappear. The reason for those splits, however…
Arlan sighed, glancing up at Magnhild before lying against her, burying his face in her warm fur, taking in her comforting, familiar scent. She in turn sniffed at his back, lip nuzzling his skin before looking up, able to hear the sounds of a waking village beyond her paddock. With the horses meandering about, it was easy to hide for a while, Arlan taking all the time Magnhild offered before having to rise, knowing he’d have to face the day eventually. Face Fellbjorn…
Had he gone too far? Had he lost any chance for escape? He didn’t know. All he could focus on was simply getting up, starting the day… as if he hadn’t been ready to try and kill his master.
---
It had been a few weeks since Fell caught Arlan with Runa, but time was funny. On the one hand, it seemed to linger, Arlan forced to wait to see if Fell would in fact try to punish him as within a few days of the incident, he’d gone off on a raid.
But on the other hand, with news of the boat coming back that morning, he hadn’t had enough time to determine what to do next.
Arlan had used his time wisely, at least, as Fell had never let on the near fight between them. Magnhild was doing better than ever, and so was now practicing riding outside the paddock - up into the hills, where she couldn’t accidentally run down a villager. Arlan had initially be surprised at how calm everyone was with the notion of his riding off into the woods alone, but the reason soon became clear.
They’d spent days wandering the woods, both as lost as the other on several occasions. As far as Arlan could tell, there was no passage through the mountains, no way for the two of them to escape, never mind with any of the other slaves who wanted freedom. But Arlan was certain there had been travelers who hadn’t arrived by boat… right?
The rides had a dual purpose to them, as much as the facade of mere training covered searching for an escape. But it gave Arlan the much needed space from the other Vikings, from seeing Runa in the village… to remembering Fell’s unusual words, the utterly unexpected confession. One lusty night, and he… he was…
No… couldn’t be. Could he?
At first, a few looked surprised at how calmly Arlan and Magnhild would ride back into the village, never once guessing that he was seeking a path and waiting the Vikings out. But seeing him about the village had become a common enough sight now, often riding through during the last week to show how well behaved Magnhild was. This was how they were, at the top of the nearest hill to the sea edge, watching the newly arrived boat with its usual spoils of war and boastful Viking warriors. Watching for Fellbjorn.
He’d come up with a plan, after all those weeks of waiting. Arlan wasn’t sure at all if this was a good idea, or if it was even a feasible one. Who knew, perhaps Fell had changed his mind during his voyage? Found someone else to be affectionate too? But… but if he actually meant what he said… if it lasted…
Arlan took a steadying, silent breath, Magnhild shifting as she sensed his tension. The plan was simple… it would mean a way to try and control the Viking, to keep him happy and unsuspecting.
The plan was to seduce him.
Not once, in all his dealings with men and women, had Arlan ever done the seduction. He’d be approached, or in a drunken stupor simply grab the nearest warm body for a lark. This would have to be careful, planned… and kept to plan.
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Saga
Jul 28, 2019 9:52:53 GMT
via mobile
Post by Kelathi on Jul 28, 2019 9:52:53 GMT
Earl Eirik had called a meeting on the day of Fell’s hellish hangover, and the warriors had been on a boat no more than three days later. This time, it was not to some faraway land that they ventured to, but a Viking village, and it was not slaves that they brought back but plunder in the form of armour and other valuables. Again, Eirik had deigned it not necessary to venture with his warriors, which wouldn’t have been a problem if it hadn’t become such a common occurrence, and again a feeling of dissent ran through the band of men. There were uttered rumours of cowardice, which the men never would have dared to have spoken aloud were they back in the village, but in the close band of warriors the men were less restrained in keeping their quiet, never more so than when they had drink in their bellies, courtesy of a stolen barrel of mead. Again, Fell felt the pressure of their expectations, and had begun to wonder if keeping a low profile would ever be his choice to make at all, as the hands of fate seemed to have other plans. Even so, he bucked against it still, waving away any suggestion that someone should take the Earl’s place, the none to subtle hints that it should be him even if no-one dared explicitly state so.
The raid had been beneficial though, in more ways than one. Time away from the village had brought to Fell a new sense of perspective, a reminder that there was more to life than... whatever had been going on with him and Arlan. The issue now seemed small as the distance between them had steadily increased, and by the time they were making their way back, Fell had managed to convince himself that what he had felt for the man had just been infatuation. If Fell wanted to settle down, there were plenty of Vikings, or plenty of women as Baldur never tired of reminding him, for him to take his pick of if he pleased. Maybe it was time for him to take notice of that.
The men returned rugged and bloodied but in high spirits, many singing as the boat slowly approached the shore, their voices carrying over the waves. Families lined up at the docks, children running back and forth excitedly as they screeched playfully at one another. Fell glanced up at the silhouette of a lone figure on horseback on the hill, and despite his dogged attempt at convincing himself that he no longer felt anything towards his slave... his gut twisted at the sight of him, a combination of excitement and dread. He pushed the feeling away, focussing his gaze back to shore, and letting his heart become hardened, his expression only softening as he spied his nephews and niece waiting for him, waving avidly.
It seemed to take an age for the boat to dock, but just as the side lined up with the wooden gangway Fell had already leapt off, taking long strides and swinging his niece up immediately, encasing her in a bear-hug and spinning her round in his exuberance. Sigrid squealed appreciatively. “I’ve missed you, little terror!” He announced affectionately, before shifting her to sit on his arm as he reached out to ruffle the hair of his younger nephew, and leaning down to plant a kiss to his forehead. For his eldest nephew, he gripped the back of his head and drew him in so that their foreheads pressed together for a brief moment. The young man seemed pleased with this, being treated as a man rather than a boy, his mouth flickering into a smile despite the calm, stoic facade he had been trying to keep. “Where’s your mother?” Fell rumbled, and it was Sigrid who answered, dismissively. “She’s in the Great Hall.’ Before following up with, hopefully, “Did you bring me back anything?” Fell laughed at that, feeling the lightness to his heart returning, letting her slide from his grip as he turned to head back to the boat to help unload their spoils. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
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Saga
Aug 2, 2019 1:49:35 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Aug 2, 2019 1:49:35 GMT
It was harder than expected to watch Fell disembark from the ship, and Arlan found himself having to silently repeat that he needed to do this for his freedom… any other feelings or emotions would have to sit secondary to that purpose.
What didn’t help was the fact that the last time Arlan had seen Fell jumping from the bow of a ship, it had been with him in tow, as much a possession as any of the gold and jewels.
Arlan stayed up on the hill, Magnhild none too thrilled with the boisterous men returning and the additional excitement and sound. But he watched so long that, finally, his eyes locked with Fell’s, and he could feel his heart skip a beat as it tightened in his chest. The Viking’s words still rung clearly in his mind, as they had for weeks now, to the point where he was half convinced they hadn’t been uttered…
A few moments later, that vulnerable gaze was pulled away, urging Magnhild away from the noise and back towards the paddock, unable to watch further. Arlan had wanted Fell to see him… but he hadn’t meant to be so honest in his gaze.
---
The rest of the day was devoted to training, although what Arlan ended up working on escaped him even as he walked home. All he knew was that it had been a hot day, Magnhild - Epona - was responding better and better to his commands. Whatever commands he had used… he was sure from a few uncertain steps that he had been using terms the horse wasn’t familiar with yet, and had to adjust accordingly, too caught up in his own thoughts to remember where she was in her training.
By that point, Arlan had learned the path between Fell’s hut and the paddock well enough to not get lost, and even had a few functional twists he could take to avoid certain figures looming in the distance. So it didn’t take him long to be walking up towards the side of the building, his limp slowing his pace but a little.
What really stopped him was seeing who was sitting out in front of the hut, whittling away on… something. A chunk of wood about to be turned into something useful other than kindling. Arlan didn’t really take a close enough look at it to see, and for several moments felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest, hard enough to hurt. With no one else around, this was the ideal time to do it.
But… would he even be able to do it? Even if his courage didn’t falter, he had no experience in this… sort of thing.
Finally calming his heart down enough to try, Arlan began walking again, aiming less for the door and more the owner.
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Saga
Aug 2, 2019 2:35:49 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Aug 2, 2019 2:35:49 GMT
Fell was thinking about Arlan, of course. He’d been thinking about him the entire raid, even when in the midst of battle. As his sword had clashed with another it had been Arlan’s face that he had seen, all those months ago when they’d first come face to face with an axe and a candelabra, and he’d known that if he were to die then, if his foe had indeed speared his heart… Arlan’s angered words would be the last to echo in his ear.
Distraction didn’t work, but what else could he do? He’d been relieved to find that he wouldn’t have to face the man immediately, as upon returning home he had found it empty, the slave presumably still with the horses, despite evening creeping in by now. It was still light enough to see, so he’d dragged a chair outside, and seated himself with a knife and a block of wood. He had no idea what he was meant to be carving, but it felt good to get back to it, the motion calming him somewhat. Even so, he knew he would eventually have to face the slave, and Fell was determined not to look foolish again, and had every intention of locking away any heartfelt and damning emotions that might try to resurface. He was a free man and Arlan, a slave. Nothing more and nothing less.
Sure enough, Arlan did eventually return, Fell’s gaze drawn away from his work for a moment to look up at the approaching figure. Despite his inner turmoil, he did muster up a smile in greeting, but… it was different, somehow. Gone was the cheeky, lopsided grin, or the twinkle in his eye that seemed to be reserved just for Arlan. This was the kind of greeting he would give to anyone, except even with Fell’s best efforts, there was a touch of sadness to it that he couldn’t hide. The gulf between them in that moment had never felt wider.
Fell returned his attention back to what he was doing, clearly expecting the slave to go in without him, and the air around them seemed to settle exponentially cooler.
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Saga
Aug 2, 2019 2:57:34 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Aug 2, 2019 2:57:34 GMT
Arlan kept his step even, in spite of the feeling as Fell glanced over, his expression… so different than usual. There was still surprise at not being punished on sight for what had happened, to have done something so against his master’s wishes. But Fell’s greeting was so unexpected, so… weak.
It was that awkward, sad smile that got Arlan to pause at last, an unfamiliar pang hitting him before he could recover. Any emotion had to be set aside for his freedom. That was all that mattered… no fear, no doubt, no sense of guilt could be allowed to interfere.
Now standing beside Fell, Arlan watched him work, as if waiting for the Viking to do something. In truth, he was scrambling; what to say now? ‘How was the raid’ wasn’t exactly the sort of question one asked before seducing someone, but neither was ‘what the hell did you mean last time.’ Before the silence could grow too awkward, Arlan did finally speak, going with gut instinct rather than letting his mind tumble over all the possible things to say.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his soft voice managing to break the silence clearly, hesitantly. “About… what you said… before.”
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Saga
Aug 2, 2019 21:39:46 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Aug 2, 2019 21:39:46 GMT
Fell had expected Arlan to head inside the house, but the man seemed reluctant to do so just yet, lingering and watching the warrior at work, instead. Fell allowed him to do so without comment, the knife flying expertly over the wood, sending off shaved pieces that littered the ground with each strike. It would have been pleasant had there not been the edge of tension between them, both, seemingly, unsure of how to proceed. Just as the silence began to stretch on, the slave had spoken up, and said perhaps the last words that the warrior would have expected. Surprise lit up in Fell’s eyes, his gaze shooting up to meet Arlan’s, his hands slowing to a stop. Despite Arlan’s words, the look on Fell’s face was questioning rather than hopeful, perhaps wary of what it was that the slave had to say.
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Saga
Aug 7, 2019 3:56:14 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Aug 7, 2019 3:56:14 GMT
Fell wasn’t making this situation any easier. Instead of his usual, unexpected little advances, the affectionate glances, he was almost withdrawing from Arlan, and the Celt was certain he knew why. He’d practically thrown his affair with Runa in Fell’s face, only to get a response of how Fell wanted him… and the desire to be wanted back.
“I’ve been thinking about what I want,” Arlan went on, taking his time with each word, letting his gaze stray over Fell’s hands rather than meeting his questioning gaze. There was an unspoken word left hanging, the indication that there was more to say… but Arlan didn’t speak next. Instead, he used the fact that for once he was taller than Fell.
Leaning down, Arlan pushed his lips into Fell’s, a steady move that was passionate, needy, and only a little forced upon the other. Fell seemed to have stilled entirely by the bold move, not even murmuring as the slave’s hand rose to keep his head in place. Not that it was needed… as Arlan pulled back, his teeth locked onto Fell’s lower lip, the bite weak enough to be playful, strong enough to sting before letting go. Finally, his gaze lifted up to meet the pale, wide eyes, his own slightly lidded with a look that matched his next words.
“If you’re still game, that is.”
Another challenge, not unlike the one he had used that night under the stars, before standing straight and walking into the house, taking his time less out of favoring his leg and more for giving the warrior as much time as was needed to make up his mind about following.
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Saga
Sept 30, 2019 22:02:35 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Sept 30, 2019 22:02:35 GMT
To say that Fell’s mind had blanked was an accurate statement. His eyes had widened with surprise, then become lidded, before closing finally as he lost himself in the kiss. It was the first time Arlan had really initiated contact, and the warrior found himself noting, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he could not taste alcohol on the other’s lips. When he felt the bite, his body flushed with need, but when the man pulled away, Fell opened his eyes but didn’t drive in again. Instead, he waited hesitantly to see what the other would do, his expression a pained mixture of hopefulness and wariness, each clearly battling it out within his mind. Meanwhile, the slave’s words eddied about dizzily amongst the chaos.
I’ve been thinking about what I want.
For a few moments after the other walked away, Fell just sat there. Then, mind made up, he slowly stood, leaving the knife and sculpture behind. After a further moment of quiet contemplation, he followed the other inside. Once in the hut, he shut the door softly, and hesitated again as a silent question arose. Why the sudden change of heart? Had the separation really done so much to bring them together? A thought entered his mind then, sharp and unbidden, of the bloodied shield. Was Arlan doing this because he thought he had to? The thought made him feel a little sick.
As their eyes met, Fell returned the other’s gaze levelly, the rumble of his voice soft in the gloom. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
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Saga
Oct 1, 2019 3:48:39 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Oct 1, 2019 3:48:39 GMT
Outwardly, Arlan’s movements were calm and collected. Internally was an entirely different matter.
”If you’re still game?” What the hell was I even thinking…?!
Perhaps this was going to prove an impossible task. To successfully seduce someone… and someone he was trying to fool! Little wonder he’d managed to find one of the corniest things to say, and was simply praying to any god that might hear him that Fell was fool enough to go for such cheesy lines. It had to be obvious that Arlan wasn’t the seductive type… wasn’t it?
Arlan’s expression betrayed his relief at hearing the door open behind him, although hidden as it was by having kept his back to the door. Fell seemed to simply watch his slave in silence, which the Celt tried to use to his advantage. He was much better at physical representations than gilded words…
He began removing his shirt, undoing the belt before sliding the fabric off his torso, tossing both aside on his own bed before looking half over his shoulder, meeting Fell’s gaze. The desperate look had faded from his face by then, and he kept a steady mantra in his head to keep the tone.
This was why Fell’s words didn’t shock him as much as they might have otherwise, his own gaze finally falling as he shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle. “You are so obsessed with what I want,” he murmured, half to himself before lifting his gaze again, the bemused smile still ghostly on his lips. Then he bridged the gap between them, moving with a confidence that hadn’t yet made itself known, except… that one day, on the pier, when he had been so light hearted at the memories Fell had brought up. Arlan clung to the buoyed feeling, coming up to stand within an inch of the other, his gaze flicking between a teasing study of Fell’s lips and eyes. The mantra was no longer cycling through his mind, but it was influencing his actions, the push towards the others lips stilted by simply brushing against rather than firmly meeting, taunting… challenging.
“Do you really think,” he began, once more taking advantage of his boldness stilling the Viking, “I’d be doing this… if I didn’t want it?” The last word was punctuated by teeth just barely grazing the man’s lower lip again, eyes narrowed a little even as his grin grew wicked. His words before, outside the hut, had been a stilted attempt at a challenge. Arlan now looked as ready for a fist fight as for a passionate embrace, and finally he could feel the heat rising in his system. Not embarrassment, not anger, but lust. Finally, he was letting memories of their previous times together run freely through his mind, thoughts of Fell’s firm grip and teasing kisses, of a warmth shared between them. He was waiting for Fell to take him up on the challenge, wanting the force and the tenderness. And for once, he wasn’t resisting his own desire for the other.
The mantra had worked.
To gain control… he had to give up control.
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