Live in Valhalla

The security of his arms wrapped around you like irons. Warm gazes, tender chuckles. His fingers, rough from war, tracing your skin on early mornings, lips slow and searching as he decides to kiss you awake —the tickle of his beard scraping against your neck and jaw. All sensations you’ve gone months without, wondering should you ever be able to indulge in again. But the gods were kind, bringing your husband back on the evening tide.

His name leaves your lips in an exhaled whisper, yet in a breath that fills your lungs all the same. As if having him back felt like finally letting go of a breath you hadn’t even known you were holding.

Pulling him closer, a soft laugh elicits your mouth when Eivor sulks his nose into the crook of your neck, leaving soft, discreet wet kisses along the curve of your neck, breathing in your scent —primrose and mallow. Your hands wander, along his arms and back, tracing memorized lines of blue-black ink, threading through his golden hair, still tangled from the sea breeze. Trailing, trailing, trailing— he leaves pecks of affection on you too, some to your collarbone, some to your ear, some to your jaw, marking your skin his personal canvas. “Eivor,” you breathe, canting your hips up to remind him he remains buried deep in your heat.

He groans at your ear and begins to move. Thrusts deep and slow, yet quick all at once, and you find your eyes already stinging with a sheened wetness from the way he feels buried inside you. Eivor’s breathing intensifies, his lips finding yours. He needs your kiss, has gone too long without, and gladly swallows the little gasps and whimpers you make —savoring his hot skin pressed against yours. You feel everything. Each ridge and vein, the weight of his swollen cock striking the place which he knows unravels you.

Tension builds, bubbling in the lowest pits of your belly as you whimper for him, sighing softly through needy moans when he shifts, rising to his knees, the pads of his fingers digging into your hips. Eivor rasps atop you, groaning, moaning in pleasure as your cunt takes his cock deeper with each thrust. His cock twitches; his lips shape your name. He repeats your name again and again and again. You warm every inch of him, and the aches in his bones from endless days at sea thaw with relief with each movement. “Ek ann þér,” Eivor whispers in a shudder. 

Controlled thrusts jolt into you as you move with him, his cock gliding effortlessly. You cradle his cheek, watching his jaw clench and sweat glistening on his brow. Movements become sloppy as you give him your all, feeling yourself crumble beneath him, shockwaves of pleasure building with the friction.

You moan his name softly, grasping his skin, feeling him trembling still, moaning each other’s names, and you twitch when Eivor softly allows a few wet, lapping kisses to your breasts. Waves of pleasure surge and he throbs inside, leaving you a whimpering mess. Despite how many times you’d had him, you’d never tire of the way Eivor makes you feel so good. So perfectly his —only his.

You clench around him as you tug him closer, unable to bear the distance, arms wrapping his neck with your foreheads now connecting. His breath is hot against your lips and his eyes drift shut in unison with yours. Behind closed eyes, all that triumphs is the feel of your bodies sinking into each other. He won’t last much longer; you can tell by his quick pants and jerky movements, but he’s never been one to leave you wanting.

A hand strays down your middle, across your stomach, and further still. The brush of his thumb against your clit makes you blossom for him. You moan loudly, coming undone, and Eivor finds himself not far behind before he too, unravels. Inside you, barely managing a coherent response when his entire body shivers and he stills deep, deep inside, cock twitching before thrusting thrice more, riding out both your highs. You beckon him to lie atop you, his golden head pillowed on your breasts as his breathing steadies, sighing when you kiss his hair and whisper a quiet, I love you, for him to relish. He stays sheathed inside your warmth, unwilling to part just yet.

With deliberate movement, Eivor shifts back, drawing your body with him as he lays down on the straw-and-feather-stuffed bed once again, pulling you down with him. In the softness of the moment, you find your arms connecting around his neck as you rest on his chest once again. Softly, his palms smooth over your bare back, your figure pressed to his as warm skin sticks together. A callous thumb strokes over the dip of your back, and you close your eyes, nestling further into him. It is good to have him back in your arms, where he belongs. And Eivor could not have wished for a sweeter homecoming.