Ivar the Boneless Imagines

Little Bird

"Hvi-Hvi... damn! Why is your name so hard!"

"Mm, ask mother that when we sail home (Y/N)." Hvitserk leans over Ubbe and rests his arm onto his shoulder. On his lap, a young friend to the Ragnarssons straddles his lap. Her dress is in sad disarray, revealing her breasts through poorly tied ropes. The bottle in Hvitserk's hands tips against her puffy wet lips. They are soaked with pilfered alcohol and stained with his brother's eager kisses. Ivar's wayward eyes travel upon the sight. As much as he prayed to the gods that it was not happening, it was happening. His older brothers had her like they had so many other women in the past. And she enjoys their soft kisses.

"Say mine, it's much easier." Ubbe says softly. She pulls away from the bottle at her lips. The liquid spills over to stain what is left of her long sky-blue dress.

"I know Ubbe," She laughs with the amber alcohol dripping down her chest. She worships him through soft sweeps of her fingers along his tufts of his peasant-like hair. Ivar sharpens his axe beside a roaring fire, embers popping off in front of his eyes. The heat broke his body in a sweat that drips down his temple.

"Ahhh, Hvitserk! What if she is to fall ill, Ivar would not appreciate his little raven with such cold." Ubbe's head disappears into (Y/N)'s cleavage. Hvitserk sets the bottle down and kneels beside her.

"Ubbe... what if Ivar sees?" She stutters.

"You came to us, (Y/N). You want us." Hvitserk says and undoes the last of the strands to her dress. When the fabric falls away, Ivar's fiery eyes shoot up. Ubbe's hands meld along her breasts, finally coming up for air.

"I..." Her meek voice is shushed by the soft and gentle kisses Hvitserk trails across the line of her shoulders.

He could hear it all. He could hear her shame at the mention of his name. He saw her attempt to veil herself by the slight lean of her head on Ubbe. Of it all, what ate him the most were the soft moans that came off (Y/N)'s lips. Hvitserk led (Y/N)'s hips to undulate down on Ubbe's clothed thighs.

His little raven was there, practically fucking his older brother in front of everyone. The other men watched over their shoulders. They must have been thinking how easy it would be to squeeze between her legs if she would fall into two princes in front of the army. She wasn't even with the prince that so desired, and deserved, her warmth.

"I also do not appreciate my brothers touching her." Ivar speaks up, glowering over the flames. He recalled moments of being children and the little raven stubbornly sitting by his side forgetting all else. Even as the other boys called her out, she opted to stay with Ivar, who had little to offer her. Now that little girl was a woman who had forgotten him. The grass beside Ivar rustles.

"Jealous brother?" Sigurd rolled his tongue across his lower lip and crouches down. Ivar's lip curls as he scrunches his nose up. The grip on his axe tightens nearly white. For a moment, Sigurd hushes enough to appreciate the sight of her silky legs beneath Ubbe's devious hands. An amused whistle escapes his lips.

"Do not look at her," Ivar warns in a shout, jerking on the edge of his chair.

"What? Is that for her?" Sigurd motions the tips of his fingers over Ivar's crotch. The fabric strains over the protrusion of his cock. Ivar hisses, much like Floki, edging on frightfully angry and damningly aroused at the sound of her uncertain moans. "Gods, here we were thinking it was you who held her back from marriage. But she has you wrapped around her little fingers. Sit, stay, heel..." Ivar's jaw grinds side to side, holding back.

"Maybe once they're finished here, they'll let you lick the scraps like the dog you are." Sigurd sniggers, beginning to rise. Ivar's temper flares like the fire separating Sigurd and he from (Y/N). His fist collides with Sigurd's cheek and in an instant they are off, punching each other and rolling in the grass barking hateful words at one another.

"Ivar?" (Y/N) jerks upon Ubbe's lap to push Hvitserk off behind her. While Ubbe only groans, Hvitserk foully curses, getting up with you to pull Sigurd's collar in a few sharp tugs. Ivar swipes out his axe, narrowly missing Sigurd and Hvitserk before they are separated.

"Stop it!" She sways to the side. The brothers linger only long enough for her to slide atop of Ivar's lap. Her sweet fluids smear over his trousers.

"What... what is your problem?" She asks. Her hands delicately rub the bundle of twisted nerves behind his neck.

"Don't let me spoil your fun, whore." Ivar leers hatefully. Somehow, though, he's wickedly pleased with his work. She's back to him above all his other brothers. The way it should rightfully be, because he isn't Hvitserk, he's no dog. He jerks her arm over to her brothers, but finds that she promptly refuses.

"Don't say such things. Not... not against me." She says. Ivar brings his thumb and forefinger to grasp her chin, tilting her to face him.

"It's hard not to say such things when you test me with my own brothers. Why did you think they wanted to drink with you? To talk war?" Ivar leans in, his tongue stroking the edge of her bitterly sweet lip. Her hand comes to his chest to place distance between the two of them. Her head swirled like she was in the clouds. She could not hash out what thoughts were hers to which were the gods.

"I thought they liked me," She says almost innocently. Her eyes are murky, but innocent as if she truly believed the words that came out of her lips. She was naïve... and as strong as a warrior she might have been, he knew she trusted others far too much, especially those two.

"They do like you. That is the problem. They will take advantage of you." Ivar's hands slid around her waist, pulling her in close as if to shield her body from the others. All of the others. Wherever his attention snapped to, people looked away. Ivar leans down, pulling his cloak off of the ground to cover her body with.

"That is why you cannot leave me."