TW: Cheating Reference
You slept with him.
You whore– you slept with Hvitserk. Well, perhaps... no. It wasn't sleeping with Hvitserk. You enjoyed his tongue. His tongue couldn't possibly count if he did not seed you. It would be a secret you could bury. Keep away from Hvitserk Ragnarsson, clutch tightly to Ivar and pray to any of the gods that this did not come up again.
"(Y/N)! What is wrong with you?"
Your husband had noticed the change. You knew so by the sharp way he spoke to you, coming behind you with his toned arm snaking about your waist. You feign a small smile, shaking your head and looking down at him.
"Nothing, Ivar." You turn to face him. Your hands drape across his shoulders. He looks at you with eyes half lidded, dark as the strands of his hair braided back into a long ponytail.
"Then why aren't you listening?"
Understandable, you thought. Ivar had always been a man for an eye of changes. Sensing the areas where he could best take a move or how he might swipe something of his brother's hand. In a way, you were no different. You fiddle with the garnet on your neck before sitting before him on the bed, reaching out for his gloved hands. Before you can speak, Ivar does it for you.
"You want a child." Ivar says while drawing his gaze from you. He stares at the statue of Frigg in the back– guardian of marriage. He was a man of well-hounded instincts. Usually his would have been the case. Every month you would lament your failure to become pregnant by your husband's seed. But this time...
"Ivar... I... its." You struggle for the right words. Ivar snarls as he turns from you.
"It has been years. If the gods were going to bless us, they would have already." He inclines his head. Your temporary abeyance is enough to tip him off of your pain. You can't bare admit it– the truth. It's heavy like weights on your lips.
"So I want you to lay with Hvitserk."
Your spine stiffens as you stand and move closer to him. Your mind reverberates with the knowledge of what you have done in the past. The smile that would be seared on Hvitserk's face from this. You cast a glance over to Ivar.
"I can't lie with Hvitserk." You say. "We could adopt."
Ivar stiffens at the suggestion. "A woman should know the pleasure of being with child. I am a cripple. It is probably me."
You say nothing knowing that it might very well be true.
"I want your children. But you are a free woman. A Queen." He says. "I can't make you do anything."
You know he could only strongly suggest. The knowledge of the force if must have taken Hvitserk to come to this conclusion weighs your mind. Ivar had gone to seers, spoke to healers and took a great many medicines. You lapse around to face him, lacing your fingers with his gloved ones. You're about to regret this.
"If when the child is born it will be yours alone... I'll agree."
Ivar's smile stirs. It pains you to know just how wrong Ivar was– he wouldn't really want your baby if he knew. If he only really knew.
It had been some time since Hvitserk managed to get your legs spread.
Satisfaction was like the sludge of honey thick down his throat. He was standing in your marital bedroom with Ivar. His little brother claimed he had something to speak to Hvitserk about with you. He was sure to bring his axe. His hands were over his sword as he stood confident and proud, head raised to some level with his brother's tall wife fiddling with the bodice of her gown.
"Hvitserk, you came." Ivar's crutch clips the floors.
"Why wouldn't I, brother?" Hvitserk turns in the direction of his young brother.
"You have good reason not to." Ivar rests by your side, large hands encompassing your waist to unlace the strands you so protectively fiddle with. Hvitserk cocks his eyebrow, coursing his tongue across his premolars.
He can't help himself. Another question.
"Why is that brother?" Hvitserk's face begins to light up with every strand unlaced. There's a certain gratification from your lovely head turned aside, hiding underneath soft, loose curls that tumble over your hips. Your cincher falls to the floorboards with a light thump. Ivar draws your skirts over creamy-soft legs, each inch drawing a brighter smile to his lips. Your legs slightly bend.
"Ivar..." He hears you say– and not for nothing, but Ivar hushes you by his lips sliding gleefully across yours. Hvitserk eats up the sight of your lips being far more timid in front of the oldest of the two brothers. The closed mouth kiss ends as soon as it began. Now you're silent as he brings your two layers of gown up and over your head. You stand in nothing in the warm air, heated by the burning flame of the room.
"I want you to seed my wife."
Boisterously, Hvitserk bounces forward. "You want me to cum in your wife?"
"You can do that, can't you Hvitserk?"
Gleeful– another opportunity to gain a one up on his brother. Hvitserk shoves you back onto your shared marital bed with Hvitserk. It's not been so long since he last saw your body– but never naked. That was a sight for husbands. Your smooth skin is tease enough, but nothing quite as arousing as your hands covering your mound, inadvertently pressing your breasts together. Hvitserk glances back up to his brother, loosening his belt.
"Of course I can, Ivar."
