More of Colum III – now with hot sexiness!

Okay, here’s another sample of the first draft of Colum III for you…and this time, o yeah, Viggo and Colum goin’ at it!

The return to Birka was the happiest day of Colum’s life.  The sails were full of wind, and there was no need to row until they approached the harbor, so he was free to stand near the prow and feel the sun and sea spray on his face.  The dragon head had now been removed from the prow, as they were headed home and it wasn’t right to frighten the native spirits with it – inciting that fear in those they were about to raid was the purpose of the awful head.

Free.  The word was like honey on his tongue.  He turned to look at Viggo, who was already busy inventorying the loot from the monastery.  It never ceased to amaze Colum, how many people could live in squalor while money was locked up in extravagant chalices, surplices, rings, crosiers.  And there was more than just the garden-variety ecclesiastical loot, since monasteries were like banks for the wealthy people in the surrounding area, a safe place (barring Vikings) to park their money.

And some of it was his now, his share as a fellow raider, a fellow warrior.  Add that to what he had won by defeating Harald, and he was a rich man.  He shook his head at the thought, a poor boy from a family of seven children, sent off to a monastery because of his gift with words and doomed to spend the rest of his life there, behind walls, never experiencing love, or happiness…

Viggo, he thought with a pang.  If I am not your slave any more, are we still lovers?  It was one thing, he knew, for the Vikings to have their way with slaves, male or female.  Slaves were nothing, and fucking them was nothing.  No man was unmanned by sticking his cock in his property.

When they landed, he started to help unload as he always had, but Viggo’s hand on his shoulder stayed him.

“No.  Not anymore,” he said with a warm smile that turned Colum’s guts to butter.

Colum smiled back.  “No, my lord,” he answered, automatically appending the honor now.

And it warmed him even more that Viggo didn’t correct him when he said it.  Perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t over after all.


The church propaganda had made it sound as if the Vikings had no culture, no law, no ritual.  But that was far from true, Colum knew now.  Especially as he stood in Viggo’s hall that night, all his treasure piled on a table in front of him like a dragon’s hoard – enough to buy his own hall.  Viggo could have kept all of Harald’s wealth when Colum killed the man to save his friend Niall – it was his by right, as Colum was his slave – but he had set it aside, kept it in trust until the day Colum was a free man and could take possession.

Now, with the help of Einar, his friend Niall’s former master, he divided the treasure into two equally valuable heaps, both of them taking breaks to drink from the flagons of ale the other warriors kept refilling.  This was the frelsis-öl, literally a “free-neck-ale,” the freedom feast that was held when a man left thralldom and became a full member of the community.  And since this was a rarity, men had come for miles around for it.  Especially since Colum was footing the bill for the wine, mead, ale, and plenteous food.

Viggo was not present yet, as the ritual prescribed.  Colum raised his hand for silence.

“I, Colum of Clonmacnoise, hereby announce my desire to be freed.  Before me is the evidence that I have earned the price.”  Thunderous approval greeted that, as his pile was more than respectable in size.

He placed silver on the scale on the table until the six ounce counterweight balanced the two plates.  Six men stood there with him to verify the weight was true.

“The Freedmen’s ounces,” Einar declared, to more roaring and banging of mugs on tables.

Colum walked to the doors of the hall, his heart racing.  Behind them, Viggo stood, awaiting his invitation.  He opened them and looked his master, his lover, in the eyes.

“My lord, I hold this freedom feast in your honor, and beg you to be my guest.”

Viggo nodded like the prince he was.  “It would be my honor.”

Colum accompanied him to the table.  “The first payment,” he said, handing Viggo the six ounces of silver.  “And the rest,” he added, indicating the first pile.  Viggo’s eyebrow went up – perhaps even he hadn’t know how wealthy Harald had grown, underpaying warriors for a decade or more.

Viggo nodded.  “I accept.  Bring the sheep.”

The sheep was led in, and the slave collar that Colum had worn was removed from his neck and laid across the sheep’s.  Viggo handed Colum a sword – Bǫlkr, “The Divider,” Viggo’s own sword.

“Forgive me,” Colum said to the oblivious sheep.  But then he only touched the back of its neck with the sword, symbolically.  Consternation arose in the room – he was supposed to sever the link to his past as a slave by cutting its head off.  “And I free you, as I have been freed.”  He looked at Viggo, unabashed, unashamed of the love in his eyes and what anyone might think of it.  “And I save your life, as mine has been saved by my master.”

Silence as men thought on this.  Their first reaction was to frown, to fear the wrath of the gods.  The sacrifice must be made!  It was tradition!

“Don’t fear,” he said.  “I have Dýrfinna’s word on this.”  That was a lie, but he knew the witching woman well enough that she would support his statement.  She claimed to know the will of the gods, and claimed that Colum had a role to play in their schemes…and so he would play the role the only way he knew how.

At that, there were some murmurs of agreement, approval, and Colum heaved a sigh of relief.  He had not wanted to kill the sheep; funny, that he’d killed men in battle and felt less, but then, men went to war and took their chances.  This lucky sheep would not be slaughtered, but live a long and happy life as Colum’s first livestock.

Viggo nodded and took his place in the seat of honor at the first table.  “Come, my slave, and serve me for the last time.”

And that was it, Colum thought, as he spent the rest of the feast pouring the wine for Viggo, refilling his plate, less than an equal for the last time.  What will happen now, will he still…

Finally Viggo rose.  “Come with me,” he said to Colum.  The men made jokes but they were bawdy, not insulting, and Colum blushed.  They must know that we were going to…do it.  One final time? He wondered.  Would this be the end, the last time he’d feel Viggo’s hands on his body, Viggo’s cock inside him?  Was it forbidden now, unthinkable with a freedman?

Viggo led him to the stables, where Colum’s bed was – had been. He went into Colum’s stall and turned around to meet his eyes, and there was a command in them that told Colum what to do next.  He went to his knees and reached for the strings to Viggo’s breeches, hands shaking.  The pants dropped, and Viggo’s manhood was half swollen already.

It was the work of moments for Colum to put his mouth on it and bring it to its full height.  Viggo sighed, groaned, put his hands on Colum’s head to steady it.  Gently he milked himself with Colum’s head, a little farther with each stroke, pushing the fat tip into his lover’s throat, so well-used to it now that it opened with ease.  The now-familiar taste of Viggo’s first juices on his tongue were like a drug, every vein and curve of his cock memorized, adored, worshipped.

Colum reached up to run his hands under Viggo’s tunic, to feel the sharp V of his hips, the ripples of his stomach muscles.  Viggo accommodated him by taking the tunic off, revealing his long lean form in all its glory.  Colum stroked the crevices and channels cut into his fatless body, and the ridges and bumps of his scars, even more exciting.  He thought of Viggo in battle, his wild war cries, the wounds he received serving only to inflame him more…Colum let a fingernail scratch Viggo’s chest, nothing to draw blood, only enough to…

Viggo slapped him, fury in his eyes.  The pain was balm to Colum, just what he’d wanted – to lift his lover to the next level of excitement.  As Viggo realized it, he smirked, chuckled, shook his head.

“You asked for it,” he growled, and the assault began.

Colum’s lung capacity had grown in these months, as he’d learned to hold his breath.  Having Viggo’s cock down his throat could be like being underwater – breathing simply wasn’t a choice, there was nothing to take in but the engulfing weight of oblivion.  His head spun as he grew light-headed now, choking uselessly as Viggo’s cock remained embedded deep in his throat, in and out but never all the way out, always just far enough to make Colum hope for air, but not enough to get it.

Sex with Viggo was like battle, and his endurance was like his shield wall – could he take the onslaught, could he survive it and come back for more?  Yes, a thousand times yes, he thought as Viggo finally threw him off, threw him down to the ground and flipped him over, his weight pressing Colum’s face into the dirt and straw, his gasps forcing him to choke on the dust.

Viggo was fond of the mutton fat, Colum knew.  Always, Colum had a little with him in a little satchel.  Most days it was discarded, rotten, unused…but he always filled a new one each day, hung it on a leather string and tucked it inside his tunic, just in case.

Viggo knew it, too.  Sometimes the bag spilled out of his tunic as Colum leaned over to do a task, and Viggo would see it, and grin at him, and Colum would grin back, an inquiry in his eyes.  And sometimes Viggo would cock his head and they would go behind a building, or a dune, or into this stable, and…

So Viggo knew to reach for it, to untie it from behind Colum’s neck, and to reach in and slather his fingers with the rich oily substance before inserting his fingers into Colum’s ass.

Colum arched his back now, his ass reaching for Viggo’s intruding digits, begging for it.  All the gods that may be, he prayed, if this is the last time ever, make it the best time ever.

Viggo wiped his fingers on Colum’s ass, his body nothing but a rag for Viggo’s pleasure.  Then he wrapped his arms around Colum, as he had that first day on the beach at Iona – tenderly, lovingly, and Colum reached up and held Viggo’s forearms, so strong and hard and warm.

“My love,” Viggo whispered.  And that was too much for him, and Colum began to cry.

Viggo let him for a moment.  “What is it?”

“This is it, isn’t it?  Our last time.  Now that I’m not a slave.”

Viggo laughed, his hands moving, one hand stroking Colum’s throat as if he was the sacrificial sheep, the other squeezing his nipple hard.  “Is that what you think?”

“But it’s unmanly, isn’t it, I mean, you can do anything with a slave, but…”

“Well,” Viggo said lightly, his hot breath gusting into Colum’s ear with that word and making him gasp as even Viggo’s rough hands hadn’t, “you’ll be unmanned.  Not me.  You’ll have to fight the insults you receive, and you will receive them.  Men will mock you now as they wouldn’t mock a slave for taking it up the ass.

“All you have to do,” Viggo said as his cock entered Colum’s ass, “is beat the crap out of every one of them.  And this,” he pushed himself in deeper, “can still be yours.”

“Oh, God,” Colum whimpered, as Viggo filled him, hard and hot and huge.  “Anything, anything not to lose this.”

“You’re still mine,” Viggo growled, and Colum could feel the end of words coming, the rising animal spirits in both of them consuming all thought.  “You are a freedman, but bound to me, a part of my family, of my clan.  An honored family…” and he pushed all the way in, hitting that golden apple deep inside Colum, “…retainer.”

Colum laughed, but only for a moment, as the pain set in as Viggo began to pump away, thoughtless, careless, reckless.  Colum was no longer a beloved, but a slave again, nothing but a receptacle for Viggo’s seed.  His hands were cruel now, one hand on the back of Colum’s head, pushing his face into the straw, smearing his features across the ground, the other hand against the stall wall, bracing Viggo as his lower body bucked and shivered, sinuous and fast.

“Fuck me!” Colum cried, a command, a plea.  “Fuck me!”

“You want to get fucked?” Viggo shouted angrily, indignant that Colum was suggesting he wasn’t getting fucked yet.  “I’ll fuck you.”

He pulled out with a pop that made Colum flinch, then he flipped Colum over like a sack of grain, mounted him, grabbed his ankles and pushed them back against the wall.  His face hung over Colum’s, his hair hanging free, the dim light burnishing his skin, the shadows only accentuating his chiseled features, his impossibly beautiful body.

Without touching it, Viggo put the head of his cock right on Colum’s asshole.  “Open it,” he commanded, and Colum felt himself relax without even thinking about it.  Then Viggo punched his way in.

“AHH!” Colum screamed, the violation so intense.  But that only incited Viggo more, his mouth set into a grimace as he set about wrecking Colum’s ass, keeping it pointed up even as his own assault hammered it down into the ground.

“Still mine,” Viggo said.  “Mine forever.”

“Yes!  Always!” Colum shouted, through the tears of pain and ecstasy.

“Mine,” Viggo panted.  “Mine….ahhh!” He climaxed, blowing his seed deep into Colum’s guts, marking the boundaries of his territory farther than ever before.

Finally he was spent, let go of Colum’s ankles, and collapsed on top of him, his long member still inside his lover’s ass.

Colum stroked Viggo’s heaving sweaty torso, gathered his hair and knotted it into a club, kissed Viggo’s ear where it lay next to his mouth, his head cradled on Colum’s shoulder.

I would be your slave again and again, Colum thought, if that was what it took to keep these moments.  And the fact that he didn’t need to be a slave, that he could be free, and still have this ecstatic servitude, was sweeter than honey, warmer than the sun, worth more than all the treasure in the world.

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