#bite-sized fic

Googled Bjorn Ironside, this popped up, and I felt like making myself sad because dammit this bad bitch deserved better.

When Bjorn first saw her, everything else faded into the background. The hall was dark and smoky, she alone was vibrant and light, mumbling apologies for ale spilled into his lap. He noticed her hands shaking, clenched into fists, and tried to smile at her but she hurt his eyes like a blinding flash of lightning.

She whirled into his life like a storm, her hair in the wind and the smell of electrified air. Her flesh was a shock beneath his hands the first time he touched her, tamed the thunder rumbling in her.

And then she was gone just like lightning, too brief and beautiful to be bound to earth, too erratic to be predicted. She left him only with the taste of electricity in his mouth and a daughter he could barely stand to look at with her blue eyes like lightning flashes. The girl was like her mother, brief and beautiful, leaving him empty and aching.

“I’m hungry,” Hvitserk whined.

“We just ate.”

“So?”

“Eat me out, then,” you challenged. Hvitserk pushed himself from his back onto his elbows, bright green eyes glinting with mischief.

Ubbe was gesturing wildly with the arrows he was making, and you giggled. He was drunk, and tomorrow he would find that drinking ale did not, in fact, aid one in making straight arrows. “What is so funny, woman?” He slurred, pointing the arrow at you with narrowed blue eyes and a playful smirk.

“I want to see you shoot that arrow,” you giggled.

“This is for you. To remind you.” Ubbe informed you, tossing the arrow haphazardly toward you.

“To remind me of what?” you asked as you caught the arrow, twirling it between your fingers.

“The time I fucked you senseless.”

We need cocky Ubbabe for this one. Thank you to @whenimaunicorn for this lovely suggestion: how about being with everyone but you’re having a secret affair with Ubbe. Done and done, because Ubbe is bae. Ubbae. Ubbabe. Also apparently, Ubbe and arrows is my thing.

Ubbe liked to remind you sometimes that you were his and his alone, even if you were surrounded by his brothers. You had been sneaking off to secretly warm his bed for some time now, always keeping care not to get discovered. The forbidden feel of it was half the fun. And sometimes you liked to tease him, to flirt with his brothers when the five of you were in your cups.

Today your target was Hvitserk, waggling his eyebrows at you suggestively, trying to distract you as you pulled back your arrow. You felt his eyes on your ass but ignored him. He was simply a means to an end, a way to bring out the possessive side of Ubbe you rarely got to see. You let the arrow fly and it buried itself just to the side of the stag’s empty eye.

Ubbe tsked in disapproval, stepping up behind you. He formed his body around yours, pressing the hardness in his trousers to your ass, and guided your hand back to the string of your bow. “If you did not let my brother distract you, you might have beaten me this time.” He sighed against your ear. “I will expect you in my bed tonight to give me my prize.”

“What are you doing, Ubbe? Just shoot!” Hvitserk called, laughing. Ubbe stepped back, his arms dropping from your sides, your back cold where before his solid chest had been.

When he first laid his dark eyes on you, that small smirk on his tattooed face, you knew you were in trouble. There was no shield that could save you from the insatiable king. You didn’t even make it through your turn at the oars before he was tugging you away, growling at some Viking resting against the side of the ship to take your place.

There was no place for privacy on the ship but he didn’t seem to care, dragged you to the rear of the ship where his brother manned the steering-oar, where the men weren’t looking. He sat down, pulling you to him, trousers undone as if by magic, and shoved his throbbing cock into your throat with a moan.

“You think you can tell me what to do, konan? I would like to see you try.” Ivar turned his attention from you with a small, cocky smirk. He knew he was pushing his limits, testing you.

Your hand cracked against his cheek, stinging your palm, and the prince’s blue eyes widened as they took in the stormy expression on your face. “You know the rules, Ivar.” Your voice was hard, arms folded across your chest.

Some things would probably never change, and two things you hoped would always remain constant were Ragnar’s easy grace and his flair for the dramatic. He was never satisfied until you were left trembling and gasping, constantly keeping you guessing for what he was about to do next.

The thought that this might be Bjorn’s o-face has me giggling. Even I can’t take this too seriously.

When he came to you after the battle you tried to push his hands away as he led you to his tent. “I’m bleeding. Moon-blood.”