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Saga
Mar 10, 2019 23:18:49 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 10, 2019 23:18:49 GMT
Fellbjorn had been watching Arlan intently as he spoke. Much of their language was interchangeable and incredibly similar, but when it was not, context did the work to fill in the blanks. Where Arlan had no direct substitution, he used English instead. ‘Bishop’, ‘church’ and ‘monastery’, were such words that there seemed not to be a direct translation, and Fell made a mental note to ask the red-head about them later, not wanting to interrupt the man’s flow right now. He laughed as Arlan acted out this Bishop Eluard character, the action adding colour to his story. The direct contrast of that brief show of lively theatrics to the sobering look that very quickly came over Arlan was stark, Fell’s head subconsciously cocking to the side as he continued to listen. The man then trailed off abruptly, finishing on a lighter note, yet simultaneously seeming to become self-conscious. Fell was sorry to see the tenseness return, especially as he knew it was because of himself. He answered only after a short pause.
“I was just considering another raid to England.” He commented, the statement seeming unrelated to anything the slave had said until he continued. “I was thinking it was time this veslingr Rhysart met my sword.” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, even as he kept a mostly straight face. “And I might drop in on this Eluard too, if I have time. What do you think?”
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Saga
Mar 10, 2019 23:46:14 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Mar 10, 2019 23:46:14 GMT
Arlan’s furrowed brow didn’t change as Fell spoke, showing confusion once more, albeit more openly. The alcohol had done wonders to dull the edge of his suspicions of the Viking. While he didn’t know the word “veslingr,” it was more the rest of what Fellbjorn said that confused him. And that was an error caused by drink, rather than language.
What on earth did horses have to do with raiding England? And Rhysart should meet Fell’s sword? What would introducing- Oh.
The moment Arlan understood the Viking’s words, his face opened up again, and a few moments later he was doubled over laughing, and very likely would have stumbled and fallen flat on his arse were it not for the fence. He fell against it again for balance as he started to recover. All the tension the memories had drudged up had evaporated, actually wiping at his eyes as he managed to regain his breath.
“By Epona, I’d love to see that. Hell, I’d love to meet Rhysart with my own sword,” he managed, then seemed to think a little further before laughing again.
“But… Eluard? He’d shit his fancy robes… just seeing… someone… coming up… with a sword!” Arlan somehow managed to say, his words frequently being interrupted by failing attempts to curb his laughter. “D’you know, he actually… he won’t let anyone with a knife near? He’s so paranoid you can’t even… bring a butter knife… into the room! Servants have to cut the food… behind a screen! A screen! But… if he ever saw you…”
Finally, gravity won out and Arlan slid to the ground, still laughing at the thought of someone so easily terrified being approached by someone like Fellbjorn.
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Saga
Mar 11, 2019 0:46:15 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 11, 2019 0:46:15 GMT
Fell had been aiming for a smile for his words, so the hysterics were a surprising but welcomed response, his semi-serious face melting easily into a grin. Arlan’s laughter was infectious, causing Fell to chuckle himself at the images the red-head was throwing up, and he found himself taking a half-step forwards at one point, thinking the man at risk of falling, although he managed to steady himself with the fence instead. As the Celt settled on the floor, Fell merely joined him, his own back resting against the fence as they sat side-by side, Arlan’s laughter beginning to die down.
For a moment they just sat there, both staring up at the stars. Then Fell felt moved to speak, not really sure where the words were coming from, perhaps his alcohol-addled brain. “Do you remember when I told you there were nine worlds?” he asked, a little drowsy now. “Well, one of them is called Muspellsheim, the world of fire. The Gods took the sparks and burning embers from that world and scattered them across the sky of this one…” He raised a hand, and looked as if he were reaching towards the sky, sweeping his arm slowly across the expanse of it, tracing constellations as he went. “They form the sun, the moon and the stars, and each was given a purpose. Some remain fixed, others track a course across the sky, a destiny that is already carved out for them by the Gods themselves…” he paused then, the stars glinting in his eyes. Then with a sigh, he let his arm fall back to his side.
“My people believe the fates of men are made in much the same way. Fixed, with no hope of altering or rewriting your destiny.” Another pause, punctuated again by a slight tip of his head as he considered his own words. “I’m not sure I believe that.” Where did this come from? He wasn’t sure. But he felt glad it had been said, all the same. It was something he had been musing on for some time, words he could hardly speak to his Viking brethren.
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Saga
Mar 11, 2019 20:46:19 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Mar 11, 2019 20:46:19 GMT
As his laughter subsided, the two sat by the fence in a calm silence, sniffed at by a few curious horses before they resumed grazing. Arlan leaned his head back against one of the railings, after of course looking about and pondering that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to leave the tavern without more mead.
When Fell began to speak, Arlan’s gaze dropped from the stars to him, looking back up as his gestured, trying to imagine the worlds as they were described. In the tavern, Halvar had a spellbinding way of speaking, but here Arlan’s being drunk didn’t need as much help when he could see the stars overhead as they were described.
Even as the Viking’s hand fell back to his side, the heavy sigh catching his attention, the Celt kept looking up at the stars, a sudden, wry smile dancing on his lips at Fell’s words. “Why should you?” he asked after a few moments of silence, glancing over at him before looking back up at the stars.
“Some might take comfort from thinkin’ the gods have a plan, but… takes all the choice out of it, doesn’t it? If the gods want you to have something, and then you have it… you don’t have to fight for it. There’d be no point in doing anything if it’s already been decided.”
Arlan suddenly laughed, albeit gentler than before, shaking his head a little as a thought occurred to him. “Besides… wouldn’t you think then that the gods would have an awful sense of humor, given the shit people go through?” He laughed again, one hand rising to half pat Fell’s chest before sliding a little to the other side before catching himself, the gesture itself usually playful enough when applied to a shoulder.
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Saga
Mar 11, 2019 21:16:35 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 11, 2019 21:16:35 GMT
Fell caught Arlan’s hand before he could pull it away, and for a second, he simply held it against his chest. Then, with lidded eyes, he slowly brought it to his face, running Arlan’s fingers gently over his lips, before planting a kiss in his palm. When he turned to look at the Celt, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I think you’re right.” He murmured, “An awful sense of humour.” His voice was merely a whisper now as the tone of the evening dropped considerably. Then, before he could think more upon how much of a bad idea it was, he had turned towards Arlan and was leaning in for a kiss.
It wasn’t like the kiss before. This one was… slow. Tentative. And almost didn’t happen, as he seemed to change his mind as he closed in, so that instead of their lips meeting, the side of his face brushed Arlan’s for a moment. The man’s scent was dizzying, filling his senses, and all he wanted to do was bury himself in the crook of the Celt’s neck. But he had paused, seeming suddenly at a loss as to whether to continue or not, and wondering why he had paused at all. Then it hit him all at once- it was because Arlan wasn’t responding in kind.
A gentle sigh, maybe a hint of frustration, and Fell was pulling back instead.
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Saga
Mar 11, 2019 21:34:39 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Mar 11, 2019 21:34:39 GMT
Arlan had glanced over with the smile still on his face, if a little surprised at his hand being held. As Fell kissed his palm, however, the smile faded, his expression going… completely blank.
His heart, however, began to hammer at the gentle touches, at Fell’s face brushing against his, his breath soft but steadily growing faster… and then Fell stopped. And he was pulling back…
Again.
The fact that the last time Fell had withdrawn from such advances, Arlan had almost been glad and had whole-heartedly blamed what interest he had felt on the damned mushrooms… was completely ignored at the moment. All he knew in that moment was that the touch was stirring something in him… and he was pulling away again.
The Celt’s response to this wasn’t a plea to continue, or to try and push in himself. It was to get irritated, narrowing his eyes at Fell as he growled. “Running away again? And here I thought you were a big, tough Viking,” he challenged, his face finally flushing a little as he shifted, trying to stand. Which was a challenge, given how much mead he had had to drink… among other reasons.
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Saga
Mar 11, 2019 21:50:16 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 11, 2019 21:50:16 GMT
Fell’s eyes locked with Arlan’s at his words, narrowing at the tone and the mocking challenge. As the man made a move to stand, however, Fell planted his hand onto the Celt’s shoulder and pushed him roughly back down. Before the man could question his motives or try to stand again, Fell’s hand had swiftly moved from his shoulder to the back of the man’s head, drawing him in sharply for the kiss. This time, their lips clashed much like the first time, hungry and powerful… and definitely possessive, on Fell’s side.
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Saga
Mar 11, 2019 21:59:44 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Mar 11, 2019 21:59:44 GMT
Arlan was about to shove the hand off his shoulder roughly, quickly reminded of the man’s sheer strength, when the hand moved on its own. Instead of letting him go, it pulled him into the kiss. At first, his eyes went wide at being dragged in, one hand going to the other’s chest, initially intending to fight back.
Once more, Arlan stopped thinking about escape, or anything else, as Fell’s passion simply sparked his own.
While not as possessive, Arlan’s hunger quickly matched Fell’s, his raised hand even grabbing the man’s shirt to try to pull him in closer, still able to taste the sweet mead left on the Viking’s breath.
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Saga
Mar 11, 2019 22:46:04 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 11, 2019 22:46:04 GMT
Arlan seemed about to resist, but then he had pushed back into the kiss, clearly returning it and giving the Viking all the encouragement he needed. As the Celt tried to pull him in closer, Fell used his other arm to loop around the man’s back, but it was awkward to draw him towards himself on the ground. Their lips parted for a moment, and with a growl of impatience and frustration, Fell locked both his arms around Arlan, drawing him up with him as he stood, albeit stumbling a little as they found their feet. Fell steadied them both, then crushed Arlan’s body against his own, the Celt practically on the tips of his toes as the warrior held him up with ease, finding his lips again eagerly. Their hearts seemed to thunder in unison, like the clattering hooves of wild horses, and there was no thought as to where they were, or who might see. There was only need and heat.
But of course, their lips did have to eventually part again, and when they did, Fell settled Arlan gently back onto the ground, although his arms remained wrapped around the small of his back. He pressed his forehead against the Celt’s, a familiar gesture of affection as he fought to steady his breathing. His eyes were closed, as they had been during the kiss, and when he opened them and locked his gaze with Arlan’s… that same playful glint had returned to them. “Is it you that wants to run away now, Celt?”
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Saga
Mar 11, 2019 23:08:00 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Mar 11, 2019 23:08:00 GMT
Arlan didn’t seem to really notice how the Viking was pulling him in closer, or at least attempting to, too focused on the kiss. His breath was hot and heavy as Fell finally pulled back with an aggressive growl, Arlan again somewhat annoyed at the pause even if he took the needed break for breathing deeply.
Being lifted up, however, earned more of a response, Arlan managing to growl, “Dè fo shealbh?!” before finding his footing suddenly became important with Fell’s initially not so steady stance. Before he could think too much about being physically hauled to his feet, he was drawn back in, unable to resist at that point even if he had wanted to. But Fell’s kiss again managed to push out any thought of needing escape, even if he was still being held slightly off the ground. This time, it was Arlan’s hand that went to the Viking’s neck, as if making sure he couldn’t just “run away” again.
Feeling his feet slowly settle back on the ground helped to recover a little, his hand having slid from Fell’s neck to his shoulder, breathing heavily and nearly shakily from his racing heart, which didn’t quite drown out the Viking’s own heartbeat. His eyes had remained closed as well until he had felt their foreheads touch, opening a little groggily as his brain fought to regain some control and figure out what the hell had just happened. Again.
His expression grew a touch annoyed at Fell’s playful look, his breath starting to steady as his eyes glinted a new kind of defiance back at him. “I’m no coward,” he responded curtly, even though his face was still slightly flushed, and he was still fully accepting the other’s hold on him.
(* What the hell )
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Saga
Mar 11, 2019 23:33:49 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 11, 2019 23:33:49 GMT
Arlan’s answer seemed to please Fell, and he leaned forward again. This time he didn’t hesitate, resting his face in the crook of Arlan’s neck where it met his shoulder, filling his lungs with the man’s intoxicating scent. A sigh of contentment, and he lifted his face again, his stubble rubbing gently against Arlan’s cheek as he whispered teasingly into the Celt’s ear, his breath hot against his skin. “Is that so?” He murmured, almost a purr. Then, he did pull away, but slowly, reluctant to put any space between them, his hands lingering on the Celt’s hips for a second before leaving him completely. His voice was husky with need when he spoke again.
“Follow me.”
**
The house was dark, the furniture merely indistinguishable shapes in the gloom. Fell closed the door behind them, and turned to watch as Arlan walked to the middle of the room. The air between them seemed heavy with expectation, and despite it all, Fell felt himself hesitating once more. Taking a few slow steps towards Arlan… he suddenly stumbled a little, saving himself by falling into a seated position onto the low wall of the fire pit, just missing the long-cooled coals. It was a stark reminder of just how drunk he still was, and he laughed at his own clumsiness, a lopsided grin falling onto his face as he regarded Arlan.
“Come to me?” He requested, holding a hand out to the man, hoping against hope that maybe his hopelessness was endearing.
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Saga
Mar 12, 2019 0:19:49 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Mar 12, 2019 0:19:49 GMT
Arlan had expected another kiss, his breath catching as Fell moved past his lips to instead rest his head against his neck. The rough handling he understood better, in a sense… this gentle touch, particularly from one so strong, was… well, the man’s words sent a slight, involuntary shiver down his spine, the way they were breathed against his ear. But the man was pulling away again, and Arlan nearly growled his own frustration at the stop and go nature of Fell’s attentions.
The words he spoke next were almost challenged, if Arlan hadn’t recognized the need that was stated alongside them. Similar to what he was feeling at that moment… but as he began to walk, he discovered that it was harder to do as asked rather than resist.
Since when was the ground around there so damn uneven?
---
A part of Arlan’s mind had sobered up during the walk, borne out of a need to focus on his steps and not trip over himself. Or the grass, the rocks, the path… it had been an interesting walk home, and his leg was beginning to ache from the tension of trying to walk in a straight, unhindered line.
Wordlessly, he had walked past Fell as the other opened the door, initially aiming for his own bed, but having to hesitate by the table as he put a hand down, needing the moment to try to stabilize himself. This put him at a crossroads… had he had too much? Or, was he right in still thinking more might help?
A look of amusement and satisfaction crossed his face as he realized Fell’s odd move was actually his half falling onto the fire pit, but it faded a little as soon as he tried to move away from the table, having to return to it before he tripped himself. As Fell reached out to him, however, with that open, stupid, attractive smile… he made a face, not dissimilar to his earlier “defiance,” not wholly wanting to admit the desire he felt. But he walked over, carefully, his limp becoming more prominent as he hesitantly reached for Fell’s hand, letting himself be guided closer.
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Saga
Mar 12, 2019 18:50:11 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 12, 2019 18:50:11 GMT
Fell was pleasantly surprised when Arlan closed the distance, perhaps his clumsiness hadn’t ruined the mood, after all. Locking hands, he drew the man closer, gently, then loosed him and rested his hands instead on the man’s hips. Then he simply let them stray, finally letting them do what they wanted rather than holding himself back, working on impulse as he lifted the man’s tunic with one hand, his other still resting at the man’s hip and holding him still. The fabric out of the way, he glanced up at Arlan before moving forwards, planting a kiss on the man’s stomach first, before trailing up, slowly and teasingly, drawing the tunic up higher as he did so, until he was standing too and he simply pulled it off altogether, Arlan moving like a clockwork toy and simply raising his arms when needed. As the tunic fell to the floor Fell was already moving, feeling the need to taste the Celt’s lips once more, his hands coming up to cup the man’s face like they had after the first time they had kissed, and the ferocity to match.
A sudden metallic taste on his tongue caused him to pause, and he pulled away only slightly, to see what it could be. In the dark, he could just about see the dark smudge of something across Arlan’s lips… and it suddenly dawned on Fell that it was his own lip that was bleeding, the wound from that evening’s fight reopening with the force of their lips colliding. Instead of causing him to back away, the sight seemed to send him into a sudden dizzying frenzy, the feeling of need screaming in response as he pushed himself forwards forcefully, their lips crashing again as Fell pushed the Celt back towards the bed.
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Saga
Mar 12, 2019 23:11:41 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Mar 12, 2019 23:11:41 GMT
Arlan looked genuinely confused at Fell’s continuing gentle touch, half raising his arms as if expecting his shirt to be ripped off. Not... not coaxed up, the way Fell was, seeming to enjoy every inch he exposed by taking his time, kissing and caressing and teasing. At first he managed to steel himself against his response, but by the time Fell was silently urging his arms up to pull his tunic off, Arlan had let out a few soft, low whimpers that were coupled with his needing to put his hands on the Viking’s shoulders to keep his balance. Once Fell met his lips again, Arlan seemed to know how to respond again, responding in kind.
It didn’t take Arlan long to recognize the taste of blood, better able to see it on Fell’s face even in the dim house, licking his lips briefly before Fell pushed in again, with renewed vigor that managed to send him sprawling back on the Viking’s bed, everything spinning for a moment from the alcohol and the sudden fall. “Dè an ifrinn a bha sin,” he muttered as he rubbed at his eyes, momentarily distracted by the way his vision had swayed, rather than at his situation.
Which, given that the larger, stronger figure of the Viking was climbing onto the bed after him, was perhaps not his biggest concern at the moment… He almost sat up as he realized that he was about to be pinned, rather than simply held, but his realization was too late to actually do anything about it. So he waited, uncertainly, even as part of him was eager to keep going.
(* What the hell was that )
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Saga
Mar 13, 2019 13:25:55 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 13, 2019 13:25:55 GMT
Fell didn't need to be able to speak the man's language to understand the meaning of the words. A quirk of a smile founds his lips again in response to Arlan’s lost look, the Celt finding himself unceremoniously sprawled on the bed, hair splayed over the furs and looking to all the world like a shipwrecked sailor. Or perhaps an island himself, vulnerable and lost in the middle of an ocean. Waiting to be claimed…
Fell crawled up until he rested back on his knees, legs either side of the Celt’s thighs, as he reached and pulled his own tunic free over his head, revealing a well-built body but relatively unscathed chest, considering his status as a warrior. There were scars, of course, but they were heavily faded and showed he’d been lucky, as of yet, on the battlefield. Shirt discarded, he leaned forward and forcefully pinned Arlan’s arms above his head, his wrists held together in one firm grip, his other hand coming down besides the man’s head to steady himself on the bed. Then he dove into the crook of Arlan’s neck again, the tender flesh that connected his neck to his shoulder continuing to ensnare him. It was where the man's scent was strongest, and Fell drank it in greedily. Another kiss… then a sharpness as the warrior locked his teeth onto the Celt’s skin.
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