Yep, getting close! About 2/3 of the way done. And yes, there’s a new subtitle. I was going to put Colum’s life in jeopardy with a heresy trial, but from my research, it turns out that nobody was put to death for heresy for 600 years, from 400 CE to 1000 CE. (That’s Christian Era, that’s what historians, and atheists, use instead of Anno Domini 🙂 ) So that’s meant a change in the plot. Now, the title is changing…it’s no longer “Trial by Fire,” but rather “Trial by Combat”! You’ll see how that plays out in the finished version 🙂
WARNING WARNING ULTRA HIGH INTENSITY PERVERSION AHEAD! DO NOT CONTINUE if you are easily offended, unless you’re one of those right wing kooks who’d love to make me rich by giving me some publicity by denouncing me!
DANEVIRKE – 810 A.D.
Colum shivered again, the earthworks cold beneath his body. He had the fur cloak that Viggo had bestowed on him, but that couldn’t protect his head, or his feet. He was six hours into his night’s watch, and he ached to stand up, to walk around and get the blood flowing again. But King Godfrid’s instructions had been strict – no man was to show his head to the enemy, even on a moonless night like this.
It made sense, of course. An eagle-eyed scout could see by starlight, could count the men on the ramparts, and the Franks could strike with full knowledge of how many opponents they would find. All the same, it was cold, cold work.
But this was what it meant, to be a Norseman. And Colum was a Norseman now, his past life as an Irish monk long gone. On nights like this, he admitted, he longed for Clonmacnoise, his first monastery. A roaring fire in the hearth, trenchers laden with food, ale aplenty… A Norseman was never as comfortable as that, he sighed. At the very least he could have been assigned to one of the towers along the vast barrier between Godfrid’s kingdom and the lands of the Franks.
But. What did he have instead? A pen he wielded now as he wished, restoring ancient pagan manuscripts almost lost to the world. A sword he wielded in battle to protect his friends, his family, his fellow Norsemen and women…
And he had Viggo. Viggo, who had knocked him unconscious on the beach at Iona and taken him into slavery. Viggo, who had used him for his own pleasure, with no thought to Colum’s…and Colum had found such strange, dark satisfaction in that. Viggo, who had seen much, much more than just another slave in Colum, who had made him into a warrior, a Viking.
Wasn’t it worth it, then, to be a little cold? Wasn’t a little suffering worth all that?
Colum heard a rustling behind him. He reached for his sword but in a flash there was a foot on his hand, and another on the back of his neck.
“Don’t move,” the voice whispered.
Colum shivered again, but not from the cold. Viggo, who had freed him but was still his master.
“You’re not to stand up there, my Lord,” Colum whispered.
Viggo chuckled softly.
“That’s true.” He pulled the cloak off Colum, exposing him to the frigid air. Then Viggo lied down on top of him, swinging the cloak back over the two of them.
Colum felt the smallest, sharpest pressure at his neck. “I could have killed you,” Viggo whispered, the point of his dagger held with such expertise that it hadn’t drawn a drop of blood. Yet.
“I could have been one of Charlemagne’s spies, and cut your pretty neck open.”
Colum’s breath came faster. He was a freedman, but a freedman was still in bond to his lord. Viggo couldn’t just kill him now, as he could have when he was a slave.
But he could…he could, Colum thought. Viggo was a lord, a warrior prince, and Colum? He was nobody.
Nobody, he thought, but the man he loves.
“But my lord,” Colum whispered, his excitement growing as he felt Viggo’s erection pressing against his own ass, ever more firmly. “If you cut such a pretty neck, it would be cold and dead when you wrapped your arm around it.”
“Mmm,” Viggo murmured. “That’s true.” The point of the knife left Colum’s throat, and Viggo’s left hand caressed Colum’s throat, gently, as if he was petting a cat. Colum shuddered, but not from the temperature.
Colum wore the same trousers that every Norseman wore, with one exception. Hidden behind a flap on his ass were two buttons, which Viggo had insisted be placed in all of his trousers. Every time Colum sat down, he could feel those buttons pressing on his ass – a reminder that his ass belonged to Viggo.
Now his master undid them, and slipped his icy fingers through the opening. Colum jolted at the touch of them on his cheeks.
Viggo laughed. “Should I have warmed them up for you first?”
“No, my lord.” He spread his legs and arched himself up against the strong rough fingers. “I’ll warm them up for you.”
Viggo pulled his hand out, spit on it, and reinserted two fingers through the hole. Colum’s asshole was still tight, even now – the women of Danevirke had laughed at him, mocked him for being sansorðinn, a man willingly used by another man. But they had also taught him the exercises they used on their own parts, to keep them tight and thus keep their men happy and bound to them.
Colum relaxed his muscle, accepting, welcoming Viggo’s intrusion. He cursed himself for not bringing the little bag of fat he almost always carried around with him on a string around his neck – a bag of mutton fat he replaced constantly before it went rancid. It was always with him because he never knew when Viggo would want to fuck him – it could be anywhere, anytime.
But, fool that he was, he’d thought he’d never need it tonight. He pressed his face into the ground, flinching at the pain, even as he knew that more was to come. The lack of lubricant was his problem, not Viggo’s – Viggo would force himself in there one way or the other.
Viggo grabbed his hair, and yanked his head back hard. “Keep your eyes on the enemy, Colum. You’re still on watch.”
“Yes, my lord.” He could not shirk either duty tonight, he thought with half a laugh – taking his man’s cock and keeping his lookout would have to be done at the same time.
The ground was still so cold, but Viggo’s body on top of him, inside, warmed him like the sun. Oh, and it warmed him even more, to hear his name in his lover’s mouth, a mouth next to his ear, against the back of his neck, nuzzling it, then suddenly biting it, hard.
And as Colum gasped from the pain, Viggo sheathed himself inside Colum, hard and fast. Pain exploded in Colum’s ass and he wanted to scream, but that would give away his position on the ramparts.
Viggo helped him by covering his mouth with his hand. “Scream into this, fuðflogi,” Viggo whispered, the insult to Colum’s manhood making him dizzy with lust. He was “a man who flees the female sex organ,” he was! He loved it! He loved cock, he loved being used by a man, but this wasn’t just any man, was he, this was his lord, his master…
Viggo’s other hand wrapped around Colum’s neck, but not stroking it like a cat this time. Slowly, insistently, he tightened his grip, making the blood sing in Colum’s head as he got less and less of it to his brain.
Three years now, almost four, and still there were things Viggo had yet to do to him, limits and boundaries he had respected…until the day he decided he wouldn’t. This was a new game, only a few weeks old, and it had terrified Colum the first time.
He’d been on his back, Viggo pumping away, Colum nearly sobbing from the pain and ecstasy of Viggo massive tool stabbing deep inside him, when Viggo had looked at him with a murderous rage and just…grabbed him by the throat.
Colum had barely been able to breathe, and yet…it had excited them both so much, more than anything had in so long. Viggo nearly bellowed as he came, and Colum found himself exploding as well, the orgasm somehow three times as powerful as ever with less blood, less air in him. Then Viggo had let go and he’d gasped like a fish, his cock still spilling seed with a life of its own.
Now the hand left his throat, and Viggo’s lean, strong forearm took its place. Viggo was a master of pleasure, but also a student – he was learning how much pressure to apply, for how long, to give them both the most exquisitely unendurable joy.
Viggo’s other hand left his mouth, traveled downward, stopping to pinch Colum’s nipple with fingernails like pincers, and it was up to Colum to stifle his own scream now. Then, stunningly, Viggo’s hand moved along Colum’s side, stroking his ribs, caressing his hip, and then slipping into his trousers and wrapping around Colum’s own engorged manhood.
“Oh…” Colum whispered.
“All good servants are rewarded in time,” Viggo said, his lips flush against Colum’s ear so he could feel the wicked smile. Then Viggo bit his earlobe, hard, as he pushed himself all the way into Colum just as roughly.
“Fuck,” Colum groaned.
“Keep your watch,” Viggo reminded him. “What do you see?”
“A…a torch. Two riders and a manservant. One of the riders with a white flag.”
Viggo froze. “Where?”
“To the left.”
“Ah. Well, your pleasure will have to wait, then.”
With that, Viggo grabbed Colum by the shoulders and began to pound away, ruthlessly, efficiently, grunting as he gushed his seed into Colum’s ass not half a minute later.
Colum felt Viggo throbbing inside him, filling him with bliss. Each time Viggo came inside him was like an animal’s marking of a tree, Viggo marking Colum as his territory, again and again until the tree itself was more a record of the marker than anything else. He ached to grab his own cock and stroke it, but as Viggo had commanded, it would have to wait. There was no time.
The Franks were coming.