Tribute for the Viking (reluctant gay erotica) Read online

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  Tribute for the Viking | by Calandra Hunter

  Tribute for the Viking

  by Calandra Hunter

  Copyright 2013 Calandra Hunter

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any mannerwhatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  ~*~

  Bjarni pulled Eadwulf closer, forcing him to stand with his back to Bjarni’s chest, one big arm holding him there. “Let’s get you clean, thrall,” the Viking murmured into Eadwulf’s ear.

  The resulting shiver had nothing to do with the cold. He could feel Bjarni’s soft cock against his lower back, the strong muscles of the Viking’s arm easily keeping him trapped. But escape was the last thing on Eadwulf’s mind, as he felt surprisingly safe, and also warm being held this close. His own arms hung useless by his side. “Yes, master,” he whispered, a small part of him wanting nothing more than to lean against Bjarni, but he made himself stand up straight. This was about getting clean.

  The hand of Bjarni’s free arm ran across Eadwulf side, slow and gentle, rubbing against his stomach and pressing down firmly. Eadwulf gasped at the touch, forcing him closer to Bjarni. The Viking’s exploration of Eadwulf’s slender body continued, across his chest and hardened nipples, and Eadwulf bit his lip to keep quiet. He didn’t want to sigh or moan in pleasure at the tender touches, and he tried to keep still. “You’re so smooth,” Bjarni said quietly into his ear, his fingers circling around Eadwulf’s left nipple.

  He was glad that Bjarni didn’t seem to care about his lack of hair, that the Viking appeared to like it, even. “It’s warmer where we live,” he replied.

  The Viking laughed, and Eadwulf felt it against his back, a huff of warm breath across his cold shoulder. “It can be warm here too, my little wolf, especially at night.”

  ~*~

  Eadwulf stood nervously in the hall of the local ealdorman. Along with nine other youths from the local villages, they were chosen to be offered as tribute to the Vikings, who returned to their shores every few years. They wanted gold and other riches, and they didn’t care whether the locals gave them willingly or not.

  The King had ordered his ealdormen to appease the Vikings with gifts of anything valuable. Gold, silver, jewellery, it didn’t matter. Even food would do, so long as villages weren’t burned down or people killed.

  Unfortunately, the recent harvests hadn’t been good, and now the ealdorman, a cowardly man named Harold, had decided to offer up some slaves for the Vikings. He had demanded each of the local villages would send one man or woman of age to be sent away with the barbarians.

  Eadwulf and the other unmarried young men and women of his village had drawn straws. Fate had chosen Aelfred, Eadwulf’s older brother. Eadwulf hadn’t hesitated to volunteer himself. Aelfred was going to marry soon and take care of their parents’ farm. Aelfred was tall and strong, and far better with the farm than Eadwulf was, who was wiry and skinny. Aelfred was needed far more than Eadwulf.

  Standing in the line-up now, waiting for the arrival of the Vikings, he was starting to regret his rash decision. It wasn’t his first, and Eadwulf suspected it wouldn’t be his last. He hoped that whatever Viking master he ended up serving wouldn’t be too strict with him.

  At last the arrival of the Vikings was announced, and a guard ordered them all to stand straight. Eadwulf was slightly dismayed to find that the girl next to him was taller than he was. He sighed. His future Viking master was not going to be happy with him.

  He put his best brave face on when the band of barbarians came in, clad in thick brown leather. None of them carried weapons, at least not visible ones. Eadwulf suspected they had plenty of hidden knives and weapons underneath those layers of clothes. The six Vikings were all over six feet tall, and Eadwulf guessed that one or two were probably close to seven feet. They looked vicious, glaring at nearby guards and huffing into their beards whenever one dared to get too close. With their broad chests and thick arms and legs, they could probably beat the guards without much effort.

  Eadwulf did his best to stand up straight and not reveal how terrified he was. He reminded himself of how happy Aelfred would be with his bride, how the farm would provide them with a better harvest soon and how his parents would be cared for.

  The leader, the tallest of them all, strode forward. With his dark hair tied back and his short beard he was the most imposing of them all. His eyes searched the room until they landed on Harold, who was cowering next to his guards.

  “Where is the gold?” the Viking asked. His accent was thick, and Eadwulf had to strain to understand it.

  Harold took a few hesitant steps forward. “We are very, very sorry, your Lordship, but the recent harvests have failed and we were barely able to provide for our own people. Many starved to death.”

  Eadwulf rolled his eyes at that. The only reason people had starved was because the ealdorman had demanded his usual large share of the food. If he had rationed fairly, more people would be alive today.

  “Where is the gold?” the Viking asked, clearly not impressed with Harold’s explanation.

  “Ah, well, we know you value hardworking men and women, so we thought that instead of gold, we would offer you... slaves.” Harold smiled nervously. “They are excellent farmers, your Lordship.”

  “I am no Lord.” The Viking turned away from Harold without giving him a second glance, then strode towards the row of villagers. He started at the other end of the line, glaring down at every one, occasionally grabbing someone’s arms or legs, inspecting them like cattle.

  Eadwulf’s nerves were fraught by the time the Viking got to him. He towered over Eadwulf, who barely even reached the man’s shoulders. Eadwulf averted his gaze, letting his blond curls fall over his eyes and focused on the stitching on the Viking’s tunic instead. Whoever had made that tunic had done a fine job, he noticed absentmindedly.

  Suddenly, his chin was held in a firm grip, and his face was turned upwards, forcing him to look the Viking in the face. Eadwulf gulped as his blue eyes met the Viking’s stormy grey ones. Rough fingers slid across his cheeks, and the Viking frowned.

  “He has no hair. Is this little one still a boy?” he asked, looking at Harold.

  Eadwulf felt his face turn red as some of the nearby guards and even the girl next to him quietly laughed. All right, so he wasn’t the tallest here and he didn’t exactly have a beard as impressive as the Vikings, but that didn’t make him a boy. “I’m a man,” he snapped.

  When the Viking’s gaze went back to his, Eadwulf regretted speaking and bit his lip. “We shall find out.”

  The Viking let go of him, and Eadwulf let out a sigh of relief, immediately looking at the floor when the Viking kept looking at him.

  “We will take them all,” the Viking declared, walking back to the ealdorman. “But next time we will take your gold, whether you offer it or not.”

  “Thank you, your Lordship, thank you, next time we will prepare a proper tribute,” Harold babbled, bowing his head repeatedly.

  The Viking, already bored by the ealdormen, turned to his five men and told them something in a harsh language Eadwulf couldn’t understand. He assumed it was an order to take them away, as the five Vikings all came for them, easily grabbing two villagers each and tying their hands with rope.

  A second rope was tied around his neck, so tight it nearly choked him. The Viking who took Eadwulf glared at him. “You fight, you die,” he told Eadwulf, tugging on the leash with a grin.

  Eadwulf wasn’t entirely sur
prised that the Viking’s limited vocabulary contained the words ‘fight’ and ‘die’.

  ~*~

  There was nothing, Bjarni thought, like sailing home. In the distance, he could see the shore already and smiled. It had been a successful enough raid, collecting tribute from three ealdormen and burning down one town that thought it could defy them.

  He glanced at their Saxon passengers. He hadn’t counted on bringing back slaves, but most of them looked strong enough to fetch a decent price. His Jarl would be pleased with that. And as for the slender youth who had insisted that he was a man, well, Bjarni had use for him.

  He could use a new thrall in the home he lived in with his wife Dagmaer. There was plenty of work to be done in the house and on the land. And with a face as pretty as any maid’s, Bjarni definitely had use for him in bed. Dagmaer wouldn’t allow female concubines into their home, too worried they would bear him children before she could, but she wouldn’t say no to a male one.

  The new thrall had already shown spirit, and Bjarni looked forward to the struggle that would no doubt ensue when he realised what exactly Bjarni was going to do with him. He felt his cock stir at the thought of wrestling the youth under him, straining against Bjarni’s tight grip. He could imagine the anxiety in those bright blue eyes, the desperate pants coming from those full lips.

  Oh yes, Bjarni could definitely imagine that mouth wrapped around his cock, those blue eyes staring up at him as Bjarni held him, a tight fist in those curls to keep him in his place as Bjarni fucked his mouth. Once he was satisfied, he would remove his cock and let his seed mark the smaller man’s blushing cheeks, claiming him as his own.

  His cock was straining against the leather of his trousers now, his fevered thoughts running wild as he wondered what the younger man would look like naked, kneeling down before him and about to take his cock up his arse. Trembling and nervous, or as stubbornly defiant as this afternoon? He couldn’t wait to find out, but Bjarni forced himself to think of different things. It wouldn’t do for his friends to see him like this. They would assume he had missed his wife, but it would still be embarrassing. As the leader of this raid, he was supposed to have some self-control.

  Focusing on other, more important manners, Bjarni willed his erection away. A few nights with his wife to deal with his immediate lusts, and he would be ready to tame his new Saxon thrall.

  ~*~

  Eadwulf worried when the other nine villagers were led away to the Jarl while his leash was grabbed by the vicious Viking leader. “Where are they going?” he asked.

  “To the Jarl. He will inspect them before they are sold,” he told Eadwulf, tugging firmly on the leash to make Eadwulf follow him.

  “Don’t I need to be inspected?” he asked, nearly tripping from the sheer force. Not that he wanted to be inspected and sold, but he felt safer with the others. They were the only thing to remind him of home, and now he was separated from them. “I’m not sick, I promise.”

  “You do not need to be inspected because you will not be sold, little one.” The Viking smirked at him from over his shoulder. “Because you are mine.”

  Eadwulf stopped walking. “What?” he asked. Why would this man want him as a slave? Another vicious tug, the rope chafing roughly against his skin, made Eadwulf break into a brief run to catch up. “What will my duties be?” He suddenly had a panicked thought. What if these barbarians practised human sacrifice? They didn’t believe in God, Eadwulf knew that. And they relished in killing. Perhaps the leader was going to sacrifice him to thank their gods for a safe journey.

  “You will find out soon enough, little one,” the Viking told him, striding ahead down the path. He was leading Eadwulf away from the small harbour.

  Again with the little. “I’m not that small,” he huffed. “And my name is Eadwulf.”

  This time, the Viking stopped. Eadwulf walked into him and would’ve fallen if the Viking hadn’t grabbed hold of his arm. Eadwulf glanced up. Now that they were this close, the Viking’s size was even more impressive. His hand easily fit around Eadwulf’s bicep, and Eadwulf gulped at the glare aimed at him. “Wolf?” the Viking replied, snorting. “I am Bjarni. That means bear.”

  Eadwulf couldn’t imagine a more fitting name for this strong, large man. That beard probably wasn’t the only overly hairy part of his body. Not that Eadwulf had given that much thought. “Very well, Bjarni.”

  The Viking’s grip on his arm tightened, and Eadwulf yelped. “You will call me master, thrall.”

  Thrall, of course, that was what they called slaves. “Very well, master,” he tried, the word sounding awkward to him. When he risked looking up at the Viking, he smiled a little.

  “Well done, little wolf. We may make a decent thrall out of you yet.”

  Eadwulf scowled when the Viking’s back was turned and they continued walking.

  ~*~

  Dagmaer flung her arms around him in greeting. “You’re back,” she whispered, relieved.

  Bjarni held his wife tight against him, burying his nose in her long, brown hair, taking comfort in the familiar feeling and scent of her. Now he felt truly at home. “I am,” he replied, smiling down at her.

  Then she noticed Eadwulf, who was still standing outside, looking unsure. “Who is that?” she asked.

  “He is our new thrall,” he told his wife, tugging on the leash again to pull Eadwulf inside. “He can help us around the house. One of the English ealdormen offered us slaves instead of gold. This one I decided to keep.”

  Dagmaer approached Eadwulf, looking him up and down critically. Eadwulf still looked confused, clearly not understanding a word. “He doesn’t seem very strong.” She prodded his arms and chest. “How will he work our land?”

  “Though he is a man, he’s young enough and he’ll grow stronger,” Bjarni assured her. “So long as we do not work him to death.”

  His wife shrugged, then turned to him. “And he is pretty,” she said, a teasing smile around her lips. “Almost prettier than me.”

  He laughed, not surprised his wife had realised the true reason why he had chosen Eadwulf to keep. “No man is prettier than you, Dagmaer.” He was relieved she didn’t seem to be jealous or annoyed.

  After one last glance at Eadwulf, Dagmaer joined Bjarni’s side again for a hug. “You are more than enough to keep me satisfied, husband. But if you wish to bed this Saxon, you have my permission to try.”

  Try? He frowned at that. “You think I cannot do it?” He was far stronger than Eadwulf, and his wife would never doubt it.

  “I think he will put up quite a fight,” she said, still smiling. “From what I heard, Saxon men aren’t accustomed to be fucked by other men.”

  It wasn’t a custom for Viking men either. Being the one who was taken was shameful, the worst kind of dishonour. No one would judge him, a married man, for fucking a male thrall. But only cowards and weak men would willingly be taken. He glanced at Eadwulf, who was looking around the home with great interest. The Saxons might be different, but they had similar ideas about men fucking men. “How fortunate,” he replied to his wife, “that I enjoy a good fight. I will have him under me within a week.”

  Dagmaer leaned up to press a kiss against his cheek. “So long as you remember to have me first, my husband.”

  “No need to worry about that,” he replied, grabbing her tight for a deeper kiss. He had missed his wife, and he knew how much she had missed him. His first night back would be spent with her. As he pulled back, he glanced at Eadwulf. The younger man was blushing, and looked down. “Go chop wood for the fire,” he ordered, switching to a language Eadwulf would understand. “My wife and I will be some time.”

  Dagmaer laughed as Eadwulf swiftly ran outside. “You are not worried he will run away?”

  He snorted. “Where would he run to? Everyone in the village knows he’s mine and he will get lost in the woods. I don’t think he is that foolish.”

  “Good, I would be most displeased if you had brought me a fool for a thrall,”
Dagmaer told him, then slid her hand down his tunic. “Now let me welcome you back, husband.”

  Putting his plans for the young Saxon aside for now, Bjarni lost himself in his wife.

  ~*~

  It had been an uncomfortable night for Eadwulf, and he ached when he woke up the next day. No one had untied the knot around his neck, so he had slept with it on the hard bed. The furs were very welcome, but it had still been a colder night than he was accustomed to.

  He shivered as he walked into the central room of the house, finding Dagmaer there. “Good morning,” he said, hesitant. He wasn’t sure if Bjarni’s wife understood him.

  She nodded, then handed him a large but shallow bowl. “Fill with water,” she told him, then pointed outside. “From the well.”

  He nodded back, then went to fetch the water. Upon his return, Bjarni sat at the table, drinking from his tankard. Eadwulf paused, not sure where to put the bowl. Bjarni beckoned him over and Eadwulf moved to stand in front of him expectantly, lowering the bowl.

  To Eadwulf’s surprise, Bjarni used the water to clean his face and splashed some on his hair and beard, combing through it to tidy it. He then gestured at Eadwulf to offer it to Dagmaer, who did the same thing.

  He wondered if this was a daily thing. Back home, he and his family only washed themselves when necessary, which was rarely. He put the bowl on another, smaller table, then waited for an order. After the boat journey and yesterday’s events, Eadwulf hoped he would get some food.

  Dagmaer joined her husband, and they both ate first, eating bread and some stew with their watered down ale. The smell of it made Eadwulf’s stomach rumble, but the couple ignored him to talk quietly amongst themselves. He really needed to pick up this harsh language of theirs, because he heard his name a few times. He wondered if they were saying anything good.

  Once they were finished, Eadwulf was allowed to eat as well, some scraps of bread and some of the leftover stew. He ate it happily, not even caring that it tasted different from the meals he was used to. It tasted just fine, especially with the watered down ale.