It wasn't fair.
Hvitserk wanted to join his big brother on his newest raid to the small village of beautiful women to plunder. Even Torvi had gone with to pick their latest shared girl which meant he was all alone... watching his nephews.
Hvitserk brought his bread to his lips, chomping as he turned the corner to his brother's home, knocking in the door. The boys were in the care of a girl– Bjorn swore that her family died years ago in a massacre and she needed somewhere to stay. So she stayed there in exchange for his shelter, food and a nurturing hand.
Whatever. He hadn't seen the girl and he didn't really care. He was here to do the brotherly thing... check on the children. It was late and his steps were heavy, staggering to one side as he knocked on the door. Maybe his bread of herbs would soak up some of the booze that had him swaying a bit. The door opens though he doesn't recognize you.
You stand rocking one of his brother's newborns with jovial grace. You bounce one way than another, nodding off the small child in your arms. Your nightskirt is deliberately thin. Usually, woolen garments were on the backs of most women. He thinks that Bjorn must have brought it home from somewhere like Al-Andalus, somewhere with these thin fabrics. For a boy with nothing barred, it's enticing. Hvitserk watches from the doorway, his fingers curling around the doorframe.
"Hurry, come in." You whisper softly. "I've to put him to bed."
He darts in, locking the door behind him. The child is set asleep in your arms. His little fist loosening its grip on your dress. You walk across the long house to another area warm by the fire and place the child back into his bassinet. He initially thrusts his tiny limbs around, rolling as if to wake. Then with your thumb caressing his forehead, you still him back to a peaceful rest.
You turn, finding Hvitserk's body caging you in against the bassinet. You weakly hold your place as Hvitserk turns up your chin. His thumb flicks your lower lip and almost awkwardly you exhale, leaning up as if to force him to step back. Hvitserk's flat chest bumps against yours and like a dog with a new bone, he drops his hand to the neckline of your dress, dragging it to the side. His breath shudders.
"What do you think of babies?" His breath is heavy.
"Babies?" You clear your throat. "What any other women think of them, my prince."
"Do you know that I want a baby? Many, many babies." His voice is low– a tease. You don't know what to say, much less do, when he looks at you like that. His finger leaves your lips and it's not long before a shredding whirl hisses the air. Not of water boiling but your dress hissing as he disrobes you in front of the bassinet, throwing shreds of thin fabric off to the side.
"Yes, my prince. All men do." You say. "But... you mean you are going to take me either way."
His slender lips pull into a flat smile, lifting the edges of his tunic and unbuckling his pants, the painful constrain of cloth is finally relieved. He pulls himself out of his pants and draws his dripping tip into the air. Though you haven't looked down, he knows that you are looking upon his member in ache. He doesn't speak, only laughs jovially when you walk over to Bjorn's bed, spread your legs and present to him, lowering your back onto his bed.
"If you have to, my prince."
Oh, he couldn't let this pass him up.
