Tribute for the Viking (reluctant gay erotica)

Copyright 2013 Calandra Hunter

All rights reserved. This book or any
portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any mannerwhatsoever without the express written permission of the author or
publisher except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

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~*~

Bjarni pulled Eadwulf closer, forcing
him to stand with his back to Bjarni’s chest, one big arm holding him there.
“Let’s get you clean, thrall,” the Viking murmured into Eadwulf’s ear.

The resulting shiver had nothing to
do with the cold. He could feel Bjarni’s soft cock against his lower back, the
strong muscles of the Viking’s arm easily keeping him trapped. But escape was
the last thing on Eadwulf’s mind, as he felt surprisingly safe, and also warm
being held this close. His own arms hung useless by his side. “Yes, master,” he
whispered, a small part of him wanting nothing more than to lean against
Bjarni, but he made himself stand up straight. This was about getting clean.

The hand of Bjarni’s free arm ran
across Eadwulf side, slow and gentle, rubbing against his stomach and pressing
down firmly. Eadwulf gasped at the touch, forcing him closer to Bjarni. The
Viking’s exploration of Eadwulf’s slender body continued, across his chest and hardened
nipples, and Eadwulf bit his lip to keep quiet. He didn’t want to sigh or moan
in pleasure at the tender touches, and he tried to keep still. “You’re so
smooth,” Bjarni said quietly into his ear, his fingers circling around
Eadwulf’s left nipple.

He was glad that Bjarni didn’t seem
to care about his lack of hair, that the Viking appeared to like it, even.
“It’s warmer where we live,” he replied.

The Viking laughed, and Eadwulf felt
it against his back, a huff of warm breath across his cold shoulder. “It can be
warm here too, my little wolf, especially at night.”

~*~

Eadwulf stood nervously in the hall of the
local ealdorman. Along with nine other youths from the local villages, they
were chosen to be offered as tribute to the Vikings, who returned to their
shores every few years. They wanted gold and other riches, and they didn’t care
whether the locals gave them willingly or not.

The King had ordered his ealdormen to
appease the Vikings with gifts of anything valuable. Gold, silver, jewellery, it
didn’t matter. Even food would do, so long as villages weren’t burned down or
people killed.

Unfortunately, the recent harvests
hadn’t been good, and now the ealdorman, a cowardly man named Harold, had
decided to offer up some slaves for the Vikings. He had demanded each of the
local villages would send one man or woman of age to be sent away with the
barbarians.

Eadwulf and the other unmarried young
men and women of his village had drawn straws. Fate had chosen Aelfred,
Eadwulf’s older brother. Eadwulf hadn’t hesitated to volunteer himself. Aelfred
was going to marry soon and take care of their parents’ farm. Aelfred was tall
and strong, and far better with the farm than Eadwulf was, who was wiry and
skinny. Aelfred was needed far more than Eadwulf.

Standing in the line-up now, waiting for
the arrival of the Vikings, he was starting to regret his rash decision. It
wasn’t his first, and Eadwulf suspected it wouldn’t be his last. He hoped that
whatever Viking master he ended up serving wouldn’t be too strict with him.

At last the arrival of the Vikings was
announced, and a guard ordered them all to stand straight. Eadwulf was slightly
dismayed to find that the girl next to him was taller than he was. He sighed.
His future Viking master was not going to be happy with him.

He put his best brave face on when the
band of barbarians came in, clad in thick brown leather. None of them carried
weapons, at least not visible ones. Eadwulf suspected they had plenty of hidden
knives and weapons underneath those layers of clothes. The six Vikings were all
over six feet tall, and Eadwulf guessed that one or two were probably close to
seven feet. They looked vicious, glaring at nearby guards and huffing into
their beards whenever one dared to get too close. With their broad chests and
thick arms and legs, they could probably beat the guards without much effort.

Eadwulf did his best to stand up
straight and not reveal how terrified he was. He reminded himself of how happy
Aelfred would be with his bride, how the farm would provide them with a better
harvest soon and how his parents would be cared for.

The leader, the tallest of them all,
strode forward. With his dark hair tied back and his short beard he was the
most imposing of them all. His eyes searched the room until they landed on
Harold, who was cowering next to his guards.

“Where is the gold?” the Viking asked.
His accent was thick, and Eadwulf had to strain to understand it.

Harold took a few hesitant steps
forward. “We are very, very sorry, your Lordship, but the recent harvests have
failed and we were barely able to provide for our own people. Many starved to
death.”

Eadwulf rolled his eyes at that. The
only reason people had starved was because the ealdorman had demanded his usual
large share of the food. If he had rationed fairly, more people would be alive
today.

“Where is the gold?” the Viking asked,
clearly not impressed with Harold’s explanation.

“Ah, well, we know you value hardworking
men and women, so we thought that instead of gold, we would offer you...
slaves.” Harold smiled nervously. “They are excellent farmers, your Lordship.”

“I am no Lord.” The Viking turned away
from Harold without giving him a second glance, then strode towards the row of
villagers. He started at the other end of the line, glaring down at every one,
occasionally grabbing someone’s arms or legs, inspecting them like cattle.

Eadwulf’s nerves were fraught by the
time the Viking got to him. He towered over Eadwulf, who barely even reached
the man’s shoulders. Eadwulf averted his gaze, letting his blond curls fall
over his eyes and focused on the stitching on the Viking’s tunic instead.
Whoever had made that tunic had done a fine job, he noticed absentmindedly.

Suddenly, his chin was held in a firm
grip, and his face was turned upwards, forcing him to look the Viking in the
face. Eadwulf gulped as his blue eyes met the Viking’s stormy grey ones. Rough
fingers slid across his cheeks, and the Viking frowned.

“He has no hair. Is this little one
still a boy?” he asked, looking at Harold.

Eadwulf felt his face turn red as some
of the nearby guards and even the girl next to him quietly laughed. All right,
so he wasn’t the tallest here and he didn’t exactly have a beard as impressive
as the Vikings, but that didn’t make him a boy. “I’m a man,” he snapped.

When the Viking’s gaze went back to his,
Eadwulf regretted speaking and bit his lip. “We shall find out.”

The Viking let go of him, and Eadwulf
let out a sigh of relief, immediately looking at the floor when the Viking kept
looking at him.

“We will take them all,” the Viking
declared, walking back to the ealdorman. “But next time we will take your gold,
whether you offer it or not.”

“Thank you, your Lordship, thank you,
next time we will prepare a proper tribute,” Harold babbled, bowing his head
repeatedly.

The Viking, already bored by the
ealdormen, turned to his five men and told them something in a harsh language
Eadwulf couldn’t understand. He assumed it was an order to take them away, as
the five Vikings all came for them, easily grabbing two villagers each and
tying their hands with rope.

A second rope was tied around his neck,
so tight it nearly choked him. The Viking who took Eadwulf glared at him. “You
fight, you die,” he told Eadwulf, tugging on the leash with a grin.

Eadwulf wasn’t entirely surprised that
the Viking’s limited vocabulary contained the words ‘fight’ and ‘die’.

~*~

There was nothing, Bjarni thought, like
sailing home. In the distance, he could see the shore already and smiled. It
had been a successful enough raid, collecting tribute from three ealdormen and
burning down one town that thought it could defy them.

He glanced at their Saxon passengers. He
hadn’t counted on bringing back slaves, but most of them looked strong enough
to fetch a decent price. His Jarl would be pleased with that. And as for the
slender youth who had insisted that he was a man, well, Bjarni had use for him.

He could use a new thrall in the home he
lived in with his wife Dagmaer. There was plenty of work to be done in the
house and on the land. And with a face as pretty as any maid’s, Bjarni
definitely had use for him in bed. Dagmaer wouldn’t allow female concubines
into their home, too worried they would bear him children before she could, but
she wouldn’t say no to a male one.

The new thrall had already shown spirit,
and Bjarni looked forward to the struggle that would no doubt ensue when he
realised what exactly Bjarni was going to do with him. He felt his cock stir at
the thought of wrestling the youth under him, straining against Bjarni’s tight
grip. He could imagine the anxiety in those bright blue eyes, the desperate
pants coming from those full lips.

Oh yes, Bjarni could definitely imagine
that mouth wrapped around his cock, those blue eyes staring up at him as Bjarni
held him, a tight fist in those curls to keep him in his place as Bjarni fucked
his mouth. Once he was satisfied, he would remove his cock and let his seed
mark the smaller man’s blushing cheeks, claiming him as his own.

His cock was straining against the
leather of his trousers now, his fevered thoughts running wild as he wondered
what the younger man would look like naked, kneeling down before him and about
to take his cock up his arse. Trembling and nervous, or as stubbornly defiant
as this afternoon? He couldn’t wait to find out, but Bjarni forced himself to
think of different things. It wouldn’t do for his friends to see him like this.
They would assume he had missed his wife, but it would still be embarrassing.
As the leader of this raid, he was supposed to have some self-control.

Focusing on other, more important
manners, Bjarni willed his erection away. A few nights with his wife to deal
with his immediate lusts, and he would be ready to tame his new Saxon thrall.

~*~

Eadwulf worried when the other nine
villagers were led away to the Jarl while his leash was grabbed by the vicious
Viking leader. “Where are they going?” he asked.

“To the Jarl. He will inspect them
before they are sold,” he told Eadwulf, tugging firmly on the leash to make
Eadwulf follow him.

“Don’t I need to be inspected?” he
asked, nearly tripping from the sheer force. Not that he wanted to be inspected
and sold, but he felt safer with the others. They were the only thing to remind
him of home, and now he was separated from them. “I’m not sick, I promise.”

“You do not need to be inspected because
you will not be sold, little one.” The Viking smirked at him from over his
shoulder. “Because you are mine.”

Eadwulf stopped walking. “What?” he
asked. Why would this man want him as a slave? Another vicious tug, the rope
chafing roughly against his skin, made Eadwulf break into a brief run to catch
up. “What will my duties be?” He suddenly had a panicked thought. What if these
barbarians practised human sacrifice? They didn’t believe in God, Eadwulf knew
that. And they relished in killing. Perhaps the leader was going to sacrifice
him to thank their gods for a safe journey.

“You will find out soon enough, little
one,” the Viking told him, striding ahead down the path. He was leading Eadwulf
away from the small harbour.

Again with the little. “I’m not that
small,” he huffed. “And my name is Eadwulf.”

This time, the Viking stopped. Eadwulf
walked into him and would’ve fallen if the Viking hadn’t grabbed hold of his
arm. Eadwulf glanced up. Now that they were this close, the Viking’s size was
even more impressive. His hand easily fit around Eadwulf’s bicep, and Eadwulf
gulped at the glare aimed at him. “Wolf?” the Viking replied, snorting. “I am
Bjarni. That means bear.”

Eadwulf couldn’t imagine a more fitting
name for this strong, large man. That beard probably wasn’t the only overly
hairy part of his body. Not that Eadwulf had given that much thought. “Very
well, Bjarni.”

The Viking’s grip on his arm tightened,
and Eadwulf yelped. “You will call me master, thrall.”

Thrall, of course, that was what they
called slaves. “Very well, master,” he tried, the word sounding awkward to him.
When he risked looking up at the Viking, he smiled a little.

“Well done, little wolf. We may make a
decent thrall out of you yet.”

Eadwulf scowled when the Viking’s back
was turned and they continued walking.

~*~

Dagmaer flung her arms around him in
greeting. “You’re back,” she whispered, relieved.

Bjarni held his wife tight against him,
burying his nose in her long, brown hair, taking comfort in the familiar
feeling and scent of her. Now he felt truly at home. “I am,” he replied,
smiling down at her.

Then she noticed Eadwulf, who was still
standing outside, looking unsure. “Who is that?” she asked.

“He is our new thrall,” he told his
wife, tugging on the leash again to pull Eadwulf inside. “He can help us around
the house. One of the English ealdormen offered us slaves instead of gold. This
one I decided to keep.”

Dagmaer approached Eadwulf, looking him
up and down critically. Eadwulf still looked confused, clearly not
understanding a word. “He doesn’t seem very strong.” She prodded his arms and
chest. “How will he work our land?”

“Though he is a man, he’s young enough
and he’ll grow stronger,” Bjarni assured her. “So long as we do not work him to
death.”

His wife shrugged, then turned to him.
“And he is pretty,” she said, a teasing smile around her lips. “Almost prettier
than me.”