Despite the occasional setback, it appeared overall that the gods were pleased with Ragnar.
His territory had quadrupled in size, his wealth colossally increased by the tributes of 50,000 Danes. Bjorn was hale and hearty, a mighty force to be reckoned with in the raiding fleet. Aslaug and the boys were well. On the surface, Ragnar Lothbrok had everything he wanted, all that he could have asked for — with one exception.
Well, perhaps more than one, but one of which was at the forefront of his mind. For his part, Athelstan seemed oblivious, carrying on with his daily tasks, which largely consisted of keeping an eye on the little ones. Very seldom he was able to go out to the fields with Ragnar.
Six weeks passed, every day more or less the same. Ragnar surveyed the kingdom, visiting his new vassals, if only because it was the duty of a monarch.
On his return, Ragnar decided that enough time had passed. When the sun began to set, and Aslaug was putting the children to bed, Ragnar bid Athelstan accompany him for a ramble.
They set out at dusk, Ragnar's boots leaving deep imprints in the ground, still damp from the previous day's heavy rainfall. Athelstan trailed him, his feet padding soft as a whisper. Whether by habit or some unconscious inclination, Athelstan carried himself and walked in a way that was notably lighter and gentler than his master.
They tarried on, up the mountainside and into the forest. Ragnar ducked low to avoid a tree branch and, when Athelstan's attention drifted, he walked into it. The branch scratched his cheek, a thin bloody line etched into his otherwise pallid flesh. Athelstan hissed and pressed a hand against his cheek. Ragnar stopped midstride and turned, his expression unreadable. He did not speak, but grabbed hold of the branch with his hands and snapped it, dropping it in the grass at the former-priest's feet.
"Thank you," Athelstan murmured. He stared at the ground, a flush rising in his cheeks. Ragnar said nothing, but turned and continued, his feet falling softly in the forest's loamy soil, a welcome change from the wet sucking mud. Athelstan followed, wondering where they were going, but not wanting (daring) to ask. He had an inkling, a small hope that he could not speak, a yearning he could not articulate.
Ragnar stopped abruptly, and Athelstan bumped into him roughly. Athelstan cursed and rubbed his nose, and in that instant Ragnar pounced. He grabbed Athelstan's shoulders and shoved the smaller man up against a tree. He covered Athelstan's lips with his own, biting down hard and tasting blood.
Athelstan moaned softly, his eyes drifting closed as he returned the kiss. He had begun to tremble, but Ragnar held him still, pressing a thumb into his neck. Wordlessly, Ragnar moved his hand down, down, fumbling with the tie on Athelstan's breeches. Deftly, he pulled them down, exposing his friend's soft, supple shaft. Ragnar frowned and clucked his tongue in annoyance, took hold of the organ in his callused fingers. He squeezed and stroked, smirking as he felt it thicken beneath his hold.
"Aha. There you are." Ragnar gave Athelstan another stroke. He sank to his knees, anchoring Athelstan against the trunk, his fingers digging into his hips so roughly they left a bruise. "Keep your eyes closed, priest." Athelstan complied, letting out a cry of pleasure when Ragnar took him into his mouth.
All too soon, Ragnar released him. "Hush, Athelstan. I do not want to hear a sound out of you."
"Yes, Ragnar." Athelstan kept his eyes closed. He heard the sound of cloth ripping, and allowed Ragnar to turn him round. He pushed against him roughly, and Athelstan's stomach was scraped by bark. It hurt, but Athelstan kept his mouth shut, preparing himself for what was to come.
Ragnar kissed the nape of Athelstan's neck as he penetrated him. He groaned harshly as Athelstan's skin stretched and squeezed around his member. Athelstan flinched and struggled, whimpering at the invasion. He had allowed Ragnar to penetrate him twice before, but it had not been like this. It hurt and burned, but it felt good, too. He got some dark, perverse pleasure in the pain. He laughed, a sob catching in his throat, as Ragnar continued his ruthless assault.
He gripped Athelstan's shaft in both hands, stroking and pumping frantically as he thrust against his former slave. The intensity of the pleasure washed over Athelstan, and he could not help but disobey his master, grunting and moaning with the rhythm, until Ragnar surged against him violently, his seed spilling free in waves of pleasure as he, too came, his own seed coating the trunk and saturating Ragnar's hands.
"What did I tell you, priest?" Ragnar growled and bit Athelstan's ear as he withdrew, the action almost as painful as the initial penetration. "I didn't want to hear a sound!"
"S-sorry Ragnar," Athelstan babbled weakly. Ragnar released him, and the younger man slid listlessly to the forest floor. "I apologize."
Ragnar nodded and reached down to pull his breeches up. They had torn a bit in back, but that was nothing. Ragnar smirked down at Athelstan as he steadily caught his breath.
"Christ!" Athelstan sputtered as he struggled to stand up. "What a mess!"
Ragnar leaned in close and kissed Athelstan, biting down softly on his lips until he broke the skin and tasted blood. He drew back to kiss his ear, gently nipping the lobe.
"Indeed, priest. I suggest you clean yourself up."