TW: Revenge, Cheating
He was his brothers's dog.
"Hvitserk will go, won't you?"
Hvitserk always went where Ubbe– no, now Ivar sent him. Ivar always sent him to clean up the messes that were left. Assassinate this one or the other while he had the foothold in Kattegat. Fuck him. Fuck him and fuck Sigurd for leaving him alone with him. He chugs down a ale that tasted more like glorified piss. Probably the equivalent of his little brother, and his big brother, pissing down his throat like they did his whole fucking life.
"What?" He burps, clearing his throat of the sear. Ivar sits on their father's throne– because it was really never rightfully Lagertha's or his– and barks an order at him.
"Your Queen wants to go see her sister's wedding. You'll take her." Ivar motions to his sweet little wife. (Y/N) is a sweet thing. You always have him in your heart during Yule, sewing him the sweetest tunics and checking his wounds after he comes back for being ran around. Yeah, you're beautiful alright. Beautiful, gentle and Ivar's queen, despite the times he attempted to claim you as his own little princess. He loved you— once upon a time. The way you tasted on his tongue. Those stupid glowbright smiles that you were affording him right this very second. So yeah, maybe fuck you too for buying into his brother's lies. You would be a womb for Ivar.
"Yeah," He brings a refilled cup of ale to his lips. "Sure."
So days later, he was finishing the load on the boat with his other men. Everything was set to go. Hvitserk was tight in his brown tunic, thick furs draped over his shoulder while Ivar saw you off with a warm kiss. Your giggles felt like nails down his back. The creaking sway of the boat is maddening– and he finds himself glaring off into the distance until he's faced with the sight of muddled purple, nearly black. The seer.
His soulless face bores in his direction and despite the grafts of wrinkled skin over his eyes, he wears a look of discomfort when Hvitserk helps her into the boat. As they set out of Kattegat by oar alone, Hvitserk plops beside you. You're nestled in Ivar's thick furs, hair draping over your neck.
"Hvitserk?" You ask silken sweet. You make it a point to flutter your lashes at him. The wild racing of his heart burning in dark envy for his brother.
He grunts, bringing a peach to his lips. "What?"
"I was wondering." You sit up. "Do you... have any issues with your..." You drop off, poking the swing of his tunic that sits in his lap. You poked his soft dick. Why would you touch him? Did you miss it? He looks down to his cock as if the humiliation of Hvitserk marching his ass through the Great Hall months ago wasn't humiliating enough.
"Dick?" He finishes. "No... I don't." But then a thought hits him. "Does he?"
He speaks so openly that you thrust your hand upon Hvitserk's mouth, tickled by the honey coloured fibers of his moustache.
"Um... no it... it's just." You stumble over your words.
"What?" He grunts past your fingers.
"He can't impregnate me." You whisper low enough, folding your hands over your empty stomach. His lips finally churn a wide smile. But of course he couldn't impregnate you. There was a reason that you hadn't had the baby that you often blessed in other households. Until this point, Ivar had been clear. The wars needed to settle before he would have sons or daughters.
But the truth was: the gods didn't love him that much. Hvitserk's lips clearly display the pleasure he's getting from that knowledge.
"Poor Ivar."
Hvitserk knew a woman in need when he saw one.
Today was the day of your sister's wedding. You had been helping all week with the necessities. Like a good brother-in-law, he acted like your stand in husband. Baring the heavy items for you, being the good man to treat you like the queen he always saw you as.
Your dress today was a beautiful, deep red. It matched the furs over your neck and the bright smile that glittered on your lips day to day. He loiters behind you, his hands at your waist. You were attempting to put on a gold necklace and having little luck with doing so. Your hands were trembling around the little clasp until he swipes it from you.
"It goes like this." Hvitserk remarks, sliding your hair onto one shoulder. The golden garnet encrusted necklace swoops against your neck, fitting tightly around your throat.
"Oh, thank you..." You say, expecting that he would drop his hand from your neck.
But instead, it snakes around your throat, clenching you tight. Puffs of air escape when you gasp and Hvitserk tugs your back against his chest. "Please... Hvitserk..." Your hand snaps to his forearm.
"I warned you about him." Hvitserk forces your cheek in his direction by a small knife, meant to carve apples, digging against your jawline.
"That was a long time ago, Hvitserk." You whimper, pushing your ass out as if to fight against him. You only meet the bulge in his pants that shamelessly grinds up against you. Hvitserk waddles you back into a hard wooden table, turning you and shoving you upon it.
"It feels like yesterday to me..." Hvitserk trills into your ear. The knife leaves your cheek, embedding in the wooden table. "Yesterday I was eating your wet little cunt out in the forest, then the next thing I know, you want Ivar."
"That! That isn't how it went." You exclaim. "I love my husband."
"I always thought you loved who fucked you the best." Hvitserk shoves you back with a thud, wrestling the skirts above your ass.
"That! That's not true!" You exclaim. You might be desperate to flee, but with Hvitserk, he was trained with your typical struggles against his person. After all, when you were about to cum, you always did contort.
"Prove me wrong, princess." The pad of his thumb slides down the slit of your pussy lips, coating down in thick placid fluid. Failure. Your cheeks heat up when Hvitserk's fingers shove to the knuckle within your soaked cunt. You shriek a beautiful noise– and Hvitserk hates himself for reveling in it as he drags your hips back. His tongue mercilessly attacking the warm folds that ooze over the table where your sister normally sat to eat.
You squeal in pleasure, throwing your head back along the heavy wood as he rolls his tongue over your clitoris, swirling the little nub over and over again. His thick fingers spread you wide open, juices sloshing over the oak. Hvitserk swipes his tongue from the fingers stuffed deep within your cunt, zigzagging up to your sensitive clitoris.
"The thing about breeding Ivar doesn't understand is," Hvitserk rumbles, curling his fingers against your contracting walls. "You have to cum."
With no other words, he purses his lips against your engorged clit. His tongue flickers purposefully quick— interested in nothing else but ripping the orgasm right out from under you. As you feared it comes in hard, sharp waves. Your disobedient hips roll onto his cursed digits, pulses of fluid slipping from your cunt. Hvitserk pulls back and rolls his tongue over the hair over his lip. It tastes distinctly like you.
Your head rolls in shame upon the wood, staring at the antlers that hang above the table. A shy whisper slides off your lips. "Hvitserk?" You say as he tosses your skirts back over your knees.
"What?" He says, starting for the door.
"Do you think... you could do that again?"
A small, guiltless smile. Of course he could.
