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grlwtskulltattoo · 3 days ago

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Fly Low Carrion Crow

Note: What have I done… Only attempting to combine my two favorite things, SOA and The Last Kingdom…Okay so this is definately going to be a multi part story. Too many ideas floating in my head on how this may all play out. Just hope I can do it justice. I did edit the beginning just a smidge from the preview I posted earlier. Just trying to get some background laid out. There will be drama…and a little trauma in the future, cause that how I roll…all about the drama… oh and for sure some smut in the future…can’t forget that part. Haha.

Warnings: slight assault from creepy Sven, but nothing major

Pairing: Sihtric x OC (Octavia)

Summary: We get our first introduction to the Sons of Valhalla MC. Octavia, the sister of Ragnar and Uhtred, visits a bar on the wrong side of town. (oh and I kind of suck at summaries)

Wordcount: 3k

First part of many....

Walking out from one of the dorm rooms in the back of the clubhouse, Octavia, is greeted with hoots and hollers from the bikers hanging out at the bar. Loud music is already playing, and the members of the motorcycle club are slapping back shots to celebrate another shipment of guns received with no issues. She playfully glares at the men giving her cat calls, as she grabs her leather jacket off of one of chairs near the bar. She knows they are just teasing her. Glancing towards the chapel, she sees through the window that Uhtred and Ragnar are in a deep conversation at the table. A serious look on both of their faces. She’s not sure she wants to know what that’s all about.

“Hey, hey….where are ye off to?” Finan asks, holding his hands up to stop her.

“I’m going out with some friends… to a bar.” Octavia answers her older brother’s best-friend. She doesn’t miss the way he appraises her outfit; tight black jeans, black button down low cut sleeveless shirt and her riding boots. The darkness that comes to his eyes as he licks his lips, gives her a little thrill, even though she knows they are both off limits. She gives him a little smirk, just to tease Finan a bit.

Once he snaps out of Octavia entrancing appearance, Finan gives her a confused look as he motions to the fully stocked bar they are standing next to. “Invite yer friends here… I’m sure we can entertain them.”

“Yeah, no… I’m not bringing my friends here for all you guys to hit on. I keep my friends separate from this.” Octavia motions to the clubhouse.

It’s bad enough one of her best friends has already expressed an interest in meeting her brother, Uhtred, but Gisela has no idea the kind of stuff they are mixed up in. Gun running, distribution, and rival clubs trying to come after them. It’s not an easy life, but it’s all they know. Her older brothers took over the MC and the business after their parents died in an accident. Their father was the founder of the club.

Finan gives her a look like he’s going to argue with her, but he stops himself. He knows he can’t win this fight, she is just as stubborn as the rest of them, and she’s not wrong. All of the men will be hitting on her friends.

“You know….we could go in the back, like old times…” Octavia bats her lashes at Finan as she places her hands on his hips drawing herself closer to him. She slowly licks her upper lip seductively before giving him a flirty smile. One of her hands creeping up his chest, smiling as she remembers his hard muscles.

Finan almost forgets that Octavia is off limits as he lets her pull his body closer to hers. The memories of them hooking up in the past quickly coming to mind. He starts to lower his face to hers to kiss her, but he growls before making contact. He forces himself out of her hold reluctantly. “Tavia… yer brothers will have me balls if we do that. Can’t take that chance.”

“That’s too bad… I was really hoping.” She teases the Irishman with her eyebrow raised. Putting on her leather jacket, she prepares to leave. “I’m going to the bar then…tell my brothers not to wait up for me.” She says as she walks towards the door.

Finan lets out a groan as he watches her walk away, having to adjust himself from the effect she has on him. “Hey…” He shouts out to her. “Be careful…things are a bit unsettled right now.” There is a darkness in his eyes as he gives her a stern look.

Octavia looks back at Finan before she walks out the door. All of the men are protective of her, with her being Ragnar and Uhtred’s little sister. “I will…” She assures him with a seriousness in her voice as she looks in his eyes.

Even though she’s not a member of the club, she is still part of it. It’s the family business. They never tell her all the details of what they do, but she knows enough, especially when there is the potential for retaliation for something they have done. Not to mention, there is always the threats from their rivals.

Stepping outside the clubhouse, Octavia takes a deep breath of the cool evening air. The heat of the day finally wearing off. Walking over to her bike, she takes her helmet off the handlebars, before cinching it on her head. Straddling her dark red Harley, she starts the engine, then she kicks up the kickstand. Twisting the throttle she revs up the bike a little, loving the sounds coming from the exhaust.

Loud pipes, saves lives…. She lets out a bittersweet chuckle as she remembers what her dad always said.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she sends a quick text to her friends Eadith, Gisela and Aethelflaed, letting them know she’s on her way to the bar they are meeting at.

The bar that Octavia rides to is on the other side of town. The part of town where she really shouldn’t be, but hopefully nobody recognizes her and tries to start trouble. She parks her bike and shuts off the engine. After pulling off her helmet, she shakes out her long dark brown hair, before hanging the helmet on her handlebars.

As she walks to the front door she can already hear the loud music and voices within. Glancing around outside she takes in her surroundings before heading inside to find her friends.The atmosphere in the bar reminds her of the clubhouse. Loud rock music, rough looking men, and skimpily dressed women hanging all over the men. Spotting her friends, she quickly walks over the their table, feeling a little unsettled here.

“What made you guys decide to come here? Seems a little sketchy.” Octavia asks, as she finds herself constantly scanning the bar looking for possible threats. The place makes her feel uncomfortable.

Aethelflaed gives her a sheepish look. “Erik invited me here, and I didn’t want to come alone… Here have a shot.” The dark haired woman slides over a shot glass filled with amber colored liquid.

“Erik? The guy you’ve been seeing for the past couple of weeks?” Octavia asks. “Where is he?” Her friend hasn’t said much about this new man she’s been dating.

Aethelflaed points to the man behind the bar, pouring shots and grabbing beers for the customers. When the large blond haired man notices, he gives her a wink and a soft smile. “He said we could drink for free…” Aethelflaed giggles, as she glances back over at him with a dreamy smile.

Octavia shakes her head, not too sure about her friend’s choice in men. Not that she is one to judge, given the type of men she hangs out with all the time. She’s just concerned that her friend might be a little naive to the kind of stuff he maybe tied into.

The friends fall into a comfortable conversation, laughing and joking as shot after shot is downed. Octavia tries to pace herself, not wanting to let her guard down too much. Gisela of course mentions her brother again, wanting to meet him, which Octavia brushes off that he’s been busy with the business lately. When Eadith mentions Finan, Octavia finds herself bristling a bit. She’ll always have a soft spot for the Irishman, especially since he was her first, before he joined the Sons of Valhalla with Uhtred. After which Ragnar and Uhtred forbade them from dating, not wanting to cause a riff in the club if they ever broke up.

A group of men walk into the bar, and Octavia’s keen senses take notice. Her eyes are instantly drawn to one of the men. It’s hard not to notice him with his dark half-shaved hair, and eyes that almost look mismatched. He glances in her direction and she blushes when he smiles at her, before she quickly looks away. Her friends notice the exchange and start teasing her that she should go talk to him, but Octavia shakes her head no. She didn’t come here looking for a hookup.

Focusing her attention on her friends, Octavia tries to avoid looking in the sexy man’s direction, but she can’t help stealing glances at him. She does notice that he and the other men he arrived with are hanging around the pool table talking to some of the other patrons of the bar. One of the men, wearing an eye patch gives her the creeps when he starts leering at her, making her feel uncomfortable. When she glares back at him, she finally notices the kutte he’s wearing. She glances at one of the other men whose back is to her and see the flash emblazoned on the back of the kutte. Midnight Raiders. Kjartan’s crew. Her stomach drops, as she quickly stands up.

“Shit… I have to go….I can’t stay.” She quickly says to her friends, as she grabs her coat from the back of her chair.

Her friends look at her in confusion, with disappointment on their faces. “You just got here… the night is still young.” Eadith pipes up.

Octavia knows her friends don’t really understand the danger she is in. If those men figure out that she’s the sister of Ragnar and Uhtred Ragnarson, that she’s tied to the Sons of Valhalla, they may try to harm her. She can’t help the look of disgust she gives the man with the eye patch, as he gives her a sinister smile. There has always been a suspicion amongst her brothers that the Midnight Raiders had something to do with their parents deaths, but of course they couldn’t prove anything. She just knows that they have been enemies for as long as she can remember.

“Sorry, ladies… We’ll get together another time. Somewhere else… I’ll call you, later.” Octavia takes a nervous look around the bar. Her eyes land briefly on the sexy dark-haired man, standing in the corner near the pool table. She feels a little disappointed that he’s with the enemy. She really would have been curious to get to know him, especially with how drawn to him she already feels.

Quickly striding to the door, Octavia takes a deep calming breath of air once she is outside, resting her hand on her pounding heart. If her brothers knew she was here, at a bar that is obviously controlled by the Midnight Raiders, she will be in so much trouble. They’ll start making one of the prospects babysit her, to keep her safe.

As she walks to her bike, she doesn’t realize at first that she’s being followed. When someone grabs her arm to stop her, she feels a panic enter her chest. Looking up, it’s the man with the eye patch that was leering at her. Her heart starts pounding in her chest in fear, but she does her best to hide it as she glares at the man for daring to touch her.

“Let go of me!” Her voice growls out, each word clipped.

“Where are you going, pretty lady? I thought we could spend sometime together…have some fun.” The man’s voice turns her stomach. The tone of it is almost sickly smooth.

The look in his eye as he looks down her body, sends a chill down Octavia’s spine. “Get your fucking hands off of me.” She spits out with venom in her voice. Her other hand sneaking into her jacket pocket to grip the knife she always keeps on her.

Squinting his one eye at her, he looks at Octavia as if he recognizes her. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Her stomach drops at his question, and she feels a fresh wave of panic come over her. His grip on her arm tightens, as he tries to pull her closer to him. Octavia digs in her heels, as her other hand is about to pull out her knife. Before she does they are both distracted by a voice calling out.

“Sven!…Sven, let her go!”

Looking towards the door of the bar, she sees the sexy dark-haired man from earlier. The look on his face as he strides towards them would be frightening if it was directed at her, but she can tell his anger is directed at the other man.

“This is not how you treat a lady.” He growls out as he grabs Sven’s arm, squeezing until the other man releases her. “Get back inside and leave her alone.” He pushes the larger man away.

Rubbing the sore spot on her arm, Octavia watches as Sven slinks back into the bar. She releases a sigh of relief when he is no longer in sight.

“I’m sorry… did he hurt you? He’s nothing but a brute, has no idea how to treat a lady.” The sexy man says as he glares towards the door of the bar, making sure Sven is gone.

“No…I’m fine.” Octavia says softly, not wanting to draw more attention to herself.

“I can walk you to your car…make sure you’re safe.” He gives her a concerned look.

Octavia feels a little flutter in her heart that she tries to ignore. This can’t happen, she reminds herself. He is the enemy. “I…I don’t have a car.” She replies as she points to her bike in the distance.

He gives her a surprised smile as he starts to walk her to her Harley. “You ride?” He asks excitedly.

Softly nodding her head, Octavia can’t help but smile at the way his face lights up in excitement. His smile is infectious and his mesmerizing eyes are doing things to her stomach, despite her efforts to ignore it. “I’ve been riding since I was a kid…it kind of runs in the family.”

Octavia can’t help but chuckle when he haunches down to look over her bike once they reach it. Her bike is anything but stock. Her and her brothers have spent hours customizing the bike to her liking. Adding a custom exhaust, changing out the air filter cover and fuse box. There are too many details to list, but someone with a trained eye could pick up on them.

“It’s beautiful….just like its rider.” He smiles at her, with his sly little comment.

A little blush colors her cheeks at the compliment as she looks away, trying to hide the smile coming to her face. “I should really get going…”

“Oh, shit…where are my manners. My name is Sihtric…” He holds out his hand with an endearing smile on his face.

Looking Sihtric over, Octavia can’t help the smirk that comes to her face looking at his haircut. It is definitely unique, but she finds that she likes it…almost too much. She reluctantly holds out her hand, giving his a little shake. She is caught off guard when he brings her palm to his lips and leaves a light kiss. She feels her cheeks turn a shade redder, as she glances away.

“Ok…well… it was nice to meet you, Sihtric, but I really must get going…” Before you figure out who I am…

Octavia can feel herself falling more and more under his spell. He is beyond sexy, and he seems to have a tenderness about him. She feels a war of emotions playing inside her being near him. She would love nothing more than to go home with him and see where things lead, but the risks involved are just too great.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t catch your name.” He tries to prod, not quite ready for her to leave.

Letting out a sigh, Octavia bites her lip. He definitely isn’t making this easy. “Octavia…but my friends just call me Tavia.” She avoids telling him her last name, wanting to prevent the shit-storm that will stir up.

“Tavia....I like that.” Sihtric grins at her, his smile turning a little flirty. “Any chance I can get your number?” He smoothly asks.

Yeah…no. “Sorry…I don’t give out my number to random men I just met.” She rebuffs him as she shakes her head. The more questions he asks her the more nervous she gets, she can feel her heart starting to race.

“But how will I get ahold of you? Take you out sometime?” He asks, the disappointment clear in his voice.

“You won’t. This can’t happen. You’re cute and all…..but I just can’t. Sorry…” Octavia walks with resolve to the front of her bike to grab her helmet, quickly cinching it on her head. “Thanks again for saving me back there… I appreciate it, but I have to go now.”

Starting up her bike to drown out any more attempts from Sihtric to coax more information out of her, she gives him a quick nod before straddling the seat. She backs out of the parking spot, then revs the bike a little before putting it in gear and taking off. She takes a quick glance behind her, a little sad at how forlorn Sihtric looks watching her ride away.

This is how it has to be. It would never work. He is the enemy. My brothers would kill me if I hooked up with a Midnight Raider. Gods, he is so hot though…

Sihtric stands there in stunned silence as he watches Octavia ride away. He’s never had a beautiful woman flat out refuse to give him their number, and it makes him want her all the more. She’s not like the other women he has seen, who practically throw themselves at him. Just the little bit of interaction he had with her, he can tell she’s a little sassy, and he kind of likes it. Not to mention she rides a bike, which makes her that much more sexy in his eyes.

To say he’s intrigued by her, would be an understatement. He can’t get her out of his head.

But how can I find her?….

It takes everything inside him not to jump on his bike and follow her, but he doesn’t want to come off as a creep and freak her out. He’ll find her… Somehow. Someday…

Note: If you'd like to be tagged in this let me know. I can start a tag list.

Comments and reblogs much appreciated. :)

#the last kingdom #tlk fandom #sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric x oc #sihtric tlk #sihtric fic #Biker/tlk AU

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whitedarkmoonflower · 3 days ago

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Two lonely souls

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I wrote part of this for the big story, still waiting editing, but then it suddenly trailed into a different direction and this didn't fit anymore so I had almost 2K words and didn't know what to do with them as to write more... 😅

Warnings: SMUT 18+, a bit of heartbreak but all in all nothing really serious. It might be a first part in a small series as I have a feeling the story still has something to give, but it depends whether it finds enough readers

Word Count: 3,5 K

Summary: Sihtric is heartbroken when he meets you. The girl he wanted to marry has vanished with all his silver. He just wants to forget and you just want to tease the handsome warrior - it's was supposed to be just an exciting night of reckless pleasure but it seems that the Nornes have wowen a different path for both of you

A soft murmur rippled through the crowd crammed into the grand, vaulted chapel, swelling into a collective gasp of awe. Even Aethelwold’s grating voice faltered mid-sentence, though that might have had more to do with Finan’s whispered threat to kill him in his sleep. Yet the rest of those gathered under Alfred’s roof that day were left speechless for a different reason: the arrival of Lady Aethelflaed.

As if drawn by an unseen force, every head turned toward her, as she entered through the big heavy wooden door and with slow, deliberate steps headed toward the altar, every head but one.

Soft, delicate fingers, light as a whisper, traced down Sihtric’s forearm from elbow to palm, their touch sending a shiver through him as they wove between his own.

"I've missed you," a breath of warmth ghosted against his ear from behind, stealing his focus entirely.

He still couldn’t quite grasp how it all had happened, how he had let himself be drawn into it, but there he was, following the gentle pull of the small hand in his palm, teasingly leading him away from the gathering.

Fortunately, they had been standing at the very back, behind the noble and important guests, making it much easier for Sihtric to slip away unnoticed, except for Finan’s questioning gaze, which trailed after him.

When he first met you, he hadn't thought much of it. In truth he hadn’t thought about anything at all.

They had only just arrived in Winchester, exhausted and road-worn, and after a heated exchange with Uhtred, the king had begrudgingly ordered food to be served for the heathen lord and his men, along with accommodations in the servants’ quarters.

Uhtred had wanted to refuse. He would have preferred to find a few spare beds at an inn, somewhere beyond the palace walls, away from the wary, unwelcoming eyes that followed them, but his men were weary, their strength worn thin after two days of relentless riding. One glance at their haggard faces had been enough to make him swallow his pride and accept Alfred’s offer, even if unwillingly.

The meal had been better than expected, there was ham, cheese and freshly brewed ale - things that rarely graced Alfred’s own table these days. The king had soured, as he always did, his appetite as fragile as his health. It seemed the last time he had truly enjoyed a meal had been in the marches, when Iseult’s tonic had granted him a brief respite from his pain.

Sihtric, however, had been in an even fouler mood, having drained a few mugs of ale too much, he had made himself underway to his room, trying to ignore the smug, knowing grins Finan and Clapa exchanged across the table.

He had truly believed it would be different this time, he had believed in the soft, sweet words, the sighs, the kisses, the sorrowful eyes that had looked at him as if he were something precious. He had wanted to believe. He always did.

"She's gone," he had confessed to his lord just before, his gaze fixed on the ground, arms hanging limply at his sides, shame burning hot in his cheeks. “She took everything. My silver. My arm rings. She didn’t even have to steal them. I gave them away willingly.”

Uhtred sighed. "Sihtric, I told you not to give her any of your arm rings or silver, didn’t I?"

"Yes, Lord," he murmured, his head sinking lower. Of course, he hadn’t listened, it had felt too good, to be able to give, to see the flicker of surprise in her eyes, to hear the warm laughter that followed. For once, he had been the reason someone smiled.

And now, it was all gone, his silver, his rings and the girl for whom he had so foolishly asked permission to marry, and it was not the first time. They always left, the moment things became real, the moment the softness turned to something solid, something he could hold, they slipped through his fingers like river water.

You had crossed his path just as he rounded the corner, the chatter and laughter of the evening meal fading away. A fresh breeze of rose oil mixed with the faint scent of ale and the lingering warmth of the hall wrapped around him as you passed by, your appearance so sudden that he nearly stumbled.

“You drink like a man with a heavy heart,” you had said softly, tilting your head. “Or a man running from something.”

“I just have no luck with women,” he had muttered, surprising even himself with the confession.

Your fingers had traced a slow path up his chest before curling around the back of his neck, drawing him down until your lips brushed against his ear.

“Maybe,” you had whispered, “you’ve just been looking in the wrong places.”

It must have been the ale, or the sorrow, or the gnawing loneliness, or all of it tangled together. You were beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he was heartbroken. It all just fit together, and before he could think better of it, before doubt could creep in, he let himself lean in, just slightly, just enough to test the waters. And you didn’t pull away.

That night you had fucked like animals in heat, filthy, hungry, desperate, reckless, passionate. It hadn’t been slow, it hadn’t been sweet nor soft, no whispered promises, no careful restraint. Just heat and hands, and teeth grazing the skin, leaving marks that wouldn’t fade by the morning. It had been need, pure and raw, burning through the both of you like fire through dry grass.

Sihtric had fucked you like a man drowning, grasping for something to hold on, sinking into you with the force of a wild boar and you had answered him with the same fervor, taking his cock like you had been waiting for this all your life, your body arching to meet every punishing thrust, clawing at his skin like a lynx, as if you could tear the sorrow straight from his chest with every scrape of your nails, every wild, unrestrained moan.

You had fucked for hours, until the embers in the hearth had slowly died out, until the first traces of dawn had started to creep through the cracks in the shutters, until the urgency finally gave way to something else. Until your fingers, still tangled in his hair, had softened and your lips, still swollen from his, had lingered instead of devouring, until his hands once rough and insistent, had begun to soothe and cradle and his breathing, still ragged, had fallen into the rhythm with yours.

You had fallen asleep, tangled and lost in each other, unable to tell where one ended and the other began.

Sihtric had woken first. He could still feel your body pressed against him, your leg draped lazily over his, your skin warm against the chill in the air.

In the pale light, you looked untouched by the wildness of the night before, serene and at peace, nothing like the wild thing who had clawed at his shoulders, gasped against his throat and moaned his name like both a prayer and a curse.

He had shifted, carefully, hesitantly, fingers twitching as he pondered to leave now, before you woke, before you could open your eyes, before you remembered who he was, what he was, and decided this had been a mistake. Before you could look at him with something different in your eyes – regret, distance, a polite, meaningless smile and an excuse.

But just as he moved to slip away, your hand had reached for him, brushing against his skin like you had always meant to find him there. A sleepy sigh, a shift of your body against his, and your eyes opened. You didn’t flinch, you didn’t pull away, you simply looked at him, slow and steady, and then, you smiled.

Sihtric swallowed hard. He shouldn’t have let it happen, shouldn’t have let himself believe, even for a moment, that this could be anything more than what it was.

So he did what he had always done. Silently, he slid the last silver ring from his finger and held it out to you. It wasn’t an offering meant to insult, it was the only language he knew, the only way to show gratitude. He simply didn’t know that love and affection couldn’t be bought.

You only laughed, a quiet, breathy sound, your lips curling in something between amusement and disbelief. Shaking your head, you reached for his hand, wrapping his fingers around the shiny thing as if it had no worth to you at all, as if you were giving it back not because you didn’t want it, but because you never needed it in the first place.

You had left him with a lingering kiss, the ghost of your lips still burning against his, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll see you again, Sihtric,” you had whispered, before slipping through the door and disappearing into the narrow corridors with the quiet, effortless grace of a wild creature.

And that had been the end of it, or so he had thought, until later that very same day, when his jaw had nearly dropped and he almost choked on his own breath, as Lady Aethelflaed had introduced her cousin to Uhtred.

And there you stood, his wild lynx, the very same mischievous grin dancing on your lips.

He had tried to avoid you, to forget you, to erase your image and your scent from his mind but you wouldn’t let him.

That very same evening, he had found you waiting for him, leaning lazily against the wall beside his room, the dim torchlight flickering across your face. You had smiled, warm and knowing, your fingers had teasingly trailed up the stiff leather of his armour, tangling in his hair, as you pulled him down to your lips.

He had wanted to ignore you, to turn away before he fell even deeper into something he couldn’t control but the moment your lips brushed against his, he lost himself, the last remnants of reason, of restraint, dissolved into nothing. His arms wrapped around you as if they had a will of their own, drawing you flush against him, caging you in his hold.

And all he could think about was the sight of your heart-shaped ass moving back and forth, the way you had taken him so greedily, so perfectly, as he pounded into you from behind.

Sihtric’s heart hammered against his ribs, though he couldn’t say if it was from the rush of sneaking away or the warmth of your hand in his.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

Sihtric swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I don’t know where you’re taking me,” he admitted.

“Would it matter if you did?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. No, it wouldn’t.

You stopped abruptly, turning to face him and placing your free hand against his chest as you guided him back, pushing him into an alcove barely deep enough to cover you both from the sight.

“You looked miserable back there,” you murmured, leaning back against the wall and pulling him closer until his body was pressed flush against yours, and your lips crashed against his.

A low growl rumbled in Sihtric’s throat as his hands found your waist.

He didn’t understand this. Didn’t understand you. Why you had sought him out, why you had chosen him, but he wasn’t about to question it.

Your teeth scraped against his bottom lip, and he groaned, his fingers tightening at your hips.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, teasingly grazing the laces of his armour, and a shiver ran through him at the promise in your touch.

“I want you on your knees, pretty boy,” you whispered, your voice soft but commanding, eyes alight with mischief.

Sihtric’s brows shot up, the walls felt impossibly thin, the distant hum of voices reminding him of the wedding gathering just around the corner. “Lady, what are you doing? Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, glancing back toward the doorway. “The wedding ceremony will be over in a moment, we’ll be seen.”

“Then you’ll have to be quick,” you smirked. “Come on, don’t tell me that a handsome warrior like you doesn’t know what to do with his tongue.”

A blush spread up Sihtric’s neck to his cheeks. “This is madness,” he muttered, licking his lips, his voice hoarse, but his body betrayed him, his knees bending as he sank to the ground.

It was madness, the wedding ceremony with over hundred guests was just over the corner, the corridor lay epmty for the moment but the narrow alcove barely concealed you both, anyone could walke past, anyone could see. It was reckless, it was wrong and yet neither of you was willing to stop.

His hands rested lightly on your skirts, unsure but willing, and you cupped his jaw, tilting his face up to meet yours, the hunger in his eyes sending a jolt straight through you..

“Good boy,” she murmured, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Your hands gathered the fabric of your dress, lifting it up your thighs, as you spread your legs just enough to make his breath hitch. The sharp exhale that left Sihtric at the sight of your bare center as he licked his lips, made you giggle softly, your fingers threading into his dark hair.

Sihtric’s hands settled on your buttocks, fingers curling into your plush flesh as he pulled you closer, easing you away from the wall, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle tremor in his grip betraying his nervous excitement. He leaned in, his cheek brushing against the exposed skin of your inner thigh, sending a delicious shiver up your spine.

“You are trouble,” he murmured, the soft sound of his voice vibrating against your skin. “Do you know that?”

“And you like it,” you shot back, tugging at his hair just enough to draw a soft groan from him, the sound sent a surge of heat through you, and you couldn’t resist a wicked smile. “Now, stop stalling.”

You barely had time to brace yourself before his lips started to press a trail of feather-light kisses up your thigh, his tongue flicked against your core, teasing, testing, savouring, and you whined out feeling your knees getting weak.

“Sihtric,” you whispered, your voice breaking as his lips sealed around your perl, his tongue swirling in steady, devastating circles and your knees nearly buckled, but his hands slid down the backs of your thighs, holding you steady as he obeyed your command with a fervor that left you breathless. His lips, his tongue, his mouth worked against you with sinful precision, he sucked, just lightly at your pulsing bundle of nerves, and a broken moan tore from your throat.

“Oh God,” you gasped as his hot tongue kept brushing against your bud, diving deeper between your folds. You glanced down and another moan clawed through you from the sight of him on his knees, cheeks flushed, eyes half lidded, his tongue buried between your legs like a starved man at a feast.

It all had started as a passionate one night stand, a meaningless adventure. Having grown up in your fathers estate far away from cities and noble ways, you still couldn’t grasp why you were sent to Winchester.

“To learn the ways of a lady,” your father had told you.

You hadn’t wanted it, not if that meant to bow your head and accept the place in the shadows.

After your mother’s death your father had withdrawn into himself, often neglecting his duties as a landlord. That’s when you had stepped in. The small, mischievous girl he once knew had grown into a strong-willed young woman, one who spent her time hunting, sparring, and settling disputes with an authority that overshadowed his own. By the time he finally realized how little he had shaped you into the daughter he had imagined, it was too late to change you, but he had tried anyway, and as a last resort he had decided to send you to Winchester, hoping that your aunt, Aelswith, still had a chance to mold you into something more acceptable.

“Nobody will want to marry a wildling,” he had said, and you had scoffed, marriage being the last thing you cared about.

So you found yourself trapped in a world that did not fit you, bored of the pious, rigid life under Alfred’s roof, of endless prayers, oatmeal porridges, hushed voices in candlelit halls. The few times you could practice swordplay with Steapa were the only times you truly felt alive, until the group of warriors under Uhtred’s command arrived and you noticed him – the strikingly handsome, quiet young Dane, who seemingly carried the weight of something unseen on his shoulders. Sihtric – you had heard others call him.

That night, he had looked more than miserable. Seated at the long table in the servants’ quarters, his head rested in his hands, avoiding conversation, avoiding eye contact, as if the very air around him was too heavy to breathe.

You had watched him from the shadows, knowing full well that you had no business lingering there, but you couldn’t help it. There was something about him – the way he sat apart from the others, lost in his own thoughts, drowning in ale and sorrow that made you even more curious.

And when he finally pushed himself up from the table and slipped away into the dimly lit corridors, you had made a decision, you were going to tease him. Just a little, just enough to shake the brooding warrior out of his misery.

You hadn’t expected the night to turn into something else, something more.

What started as playful distraction quickly turned into something raw and unrestrained. The moment his lips had met yours, any hesitation melted away, replaced by hunger and need. He had kissed you like a man starving, touched you like there would be no tomorrow and when he finally took you, it had been with a ferocity that left you breathless, reeling.

By God, you had never had a more passionate lover, firm and demanding, yet so attuned to your every breath, every whimper and moan. You had never met anybody who took so much delight in giving you pleasure before taking his own, watching you unravel beneath him as if nothing else in the world mattered.

You had thought it would end there. An exciting night of reckless pleasure, a moment of indulgence before returning to the monotony of prayers and duty. Little did you know how wrong you were.

Was it the way he had looked at you that morning, with quiet sorrow in his mismatched eyes, as if expecting nothing but rejection? Or was it the way his fingers lingered on your skin, hesitant, reluctant to let go? Maybe it was the way he had held out his last silver ring to you with gratitude in his gaze, not knowing you had no need for it.

You weren’t sure what it was, but something stronger than reason had guided your legs back to the servants’ quarters the next evening and the moment his lips crashed against yours, the whole world began to spin.

You had never expected to feel something like this. It seemed you were made for each other, equally eager to dominate and to surrender, to give and to take. Two lonely souls starved for love and affection yet too afraid to reach for it, too afraid to admit it.

And you couldn’t decide what unraveled you more – the way his touch brought you indescribable pleasure, or the way he came undone at yours.

The game had begun, and neither of you had any intention of stopping.

You moaned and Sihtric’s lips curled into a smirk, a flicker of pride in his expression as he glanced up at you. “Is this what you wanted?” he rasped against your core.

“Yessss - ahhh, don’t stop, don’t you dare to stop,” you mewled, your voice shaking. You leaned heavily against the cold stone wall, and your head snapped back as his tongue lapped over your swollen perl, dragging you mercilessly to the edge. A wicked heat coiled low in your belly, tension building up faster than you could grasp and then you shattered.

A cry left your lips, your fingers curling desperately in his hair as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your thighs trembled, threatening to give out, but Sihtric held you firm, his mouth never leaving your center, prolonging your pleasure until you were gasping, panting, boneless mess against the cold stone wall.

When you finally caught your breath, you reached for him, cupping his face and pulling him up to meet your lips, kissing him slowly, deeply, as you tasted yourself on his tongue.

"You’re far too good at that," you whispered, your heart pounding against his chest.

The moment ended as abruptly as it began, the faint creak of the main door jolting you both back to reality. Sihtric pulled away, his hands steadying you as he glanced toward the sound.

You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over his flushed cheek. “We should go before someone finds us.”

Reluctantly, he nodded, helping you adjust your skirts, but his hand lingered at your waist, his eyes still dark with longing. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, grabbing your jaw and pulling you in for another kiss.

“And you’ll enjoy every moment of it,” you teased, stealing one last kiss before slipping out of the alcove.

Sihtric let out a slow, unsteady breath, watching you disappear down the corridor, leaving him flustered, aching, his breeches painfully tight.

And even as every fibre of his being screamed that this was madness, that it couldn’t last, that it shouldn’t last, his lips curled into a dreamy smile as he imagined you this night, your little wicked smirk fading into something darker, something hungry, you hands gripping his tights, your warm breath ghosting over his skin before your soft, sinful lips wrapped around his aching length.

He groaned under his breath, fingers clenching into fists at his sides, as he could almost feel it, your tongue teasing along his shaft, your mouth taking him deeper, your nails digging into his skin as he tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding you.

And gods, you would enjoy it, like the night before. The thought alone made his breeches even more unbearable, his breath coming quicker, his pulse hammering.

Gods help him, he knew he was in trouble, deep, deep trouble, but he didn’t care.

Because for the first time in his life, losing himself didn’t feel like drowning, it felt like breathing.

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