by J P Sayle
The smaller man’s rigid stance seemed braced for Óláfr’s anger or worse, his strike. His tiny hands fluttered at his sides as if unsure what they should be doing.
Óláfr’s emotions battled with each other, just like they had earlier on the battlement when Arngrim had attacked his beloved. The word floated through his mind, not letting go. His chest heaved as he strived to contain his distress, choking back the emotions. He coughed past the ball gathering in his throat. Ignoring his burning eyes, he forced himself to speak.
“Yes, Magnus, what is it you require?” The husky quality of his voice had him quickly searching the corridor to ensure no one was within hearing distance. Exhaling, he breathed in quickly, forgetting he was trying not to take in the rich scent that now seemed to surround Magnus. Mentally slapping himself for his stupidity, he growled at Magnus. “Well, boy, what do you want? I’m busy and have plans to finish before I…..”
Shocked sky-blue eyes leapt to his face, making him pause.
“So it’s true, Sir. You’re leaving for Scotland to reclaim your heritage?”
The softly spoken words held a world of worry, but it didn’t stop the shudder of pleasure from running down Óláfr’s naked skin, making his body react. Magnus’s pale pink tongue came out of his mouth, licking his ripe lips that made him think of sweet, lush berries. He couldn’t stop his gaze from travelling the same path as Magnus’s tongue. The slicked track left in Magnus’s tongue’s wake had his groin tighten and gave Óláfr the insatiable urge to bend and taste their lushness.
Óláfr all but felt the tether on his control snap. Before he could stop or reason with himself, he’d yanked Magnus into his chamber. Slamming the wood door and locking it behind them, he lifted the smaller man, feeling the warm, firm muscles flex under the rough linen he held in his large palms. The strength he could sense was arousing as Magnus clasped his thighs around his waist as he climbed up his body, as someone would a tree.
The months of holding back, of not acknowledging the one thing he truly wanted more than to be King, more than life itself, had him rushing to take. Óláfr slammed his mouth against those tempting lips, letting the world fade away. It ceased to exist outside of the room, outside of the feelings rushing through him.
Unsure which way was up, Óláfr arched into Magnus, his sturdy body bowing under the driving urges and feelings trying to escape. Sharp, snapping teeth seemed to be ripping at his body and soul, tearing him apart, leaving him in tatters on the floor. He stumbled forward, aiming for his sleeping chamber, unsure how much longer he’d be able to stand. His legs wobbled as they landed in a heap amongst the fur pelts, Óláfr quickly turned at the last minute to ensure he didn’t crush Magnus’s dainty body beneath his. Though how he could think at all was beyond him, when all he felt were his insides trying to crawl out of his body and into Magnus’s.
Slowly easing back, he let the world settle in the rightness of the moment. His gaze riveted to Magnus’s puffy and bruised, wet-glistening lips that gapped open as he gasped, sucking in big gulps of air. Magnus’s usual sky-blue eyes were dark pools of want; his pale, freckled skin now flushed a deep rose pink like the roses that grew in the castle grounds.
Magnus’s small, lean chest heaved under the weight of his body, drawing Óláfr’s attention to the difference between the solidness of flesh under his lower body. He was so used to feminine curves, the difference a stark reminder he tried not to think about right then. The hardness of his desire chose to show him how affected he was, regardless of the lack of soft womanly curves. It would seem one look or feel of Magnus’s firm, warm body had him needing to fight with the swords duelling in their lower clothing.
Unaware of his actions, he bent forward, slowly tracing the seam of Magnus’s berry-red, puffy lips. Sucking the lower lip between his teeth, he nibbled. Hot breath burst into his mouth. The hint of herbs and the distinct scent of Magnus mixed in his mouth as he opened his teeth, releasing his plump lip. Óláfr lathed his lip, hoping to ease the sting the sharp nip would have caused as desire-glazed pupils watched his every move.
Teasing them both, he licked a path to Magnus’s small ear, enjoying the slight rasp of facial hair against his lips and tongue, making them tingle before he nibbled on the lobe. Blowing on the damp skin, he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face with the reward of a full-body shudder and erupting goosebumps.
He carried on tormenting them both, exploring and feeling the differences in skin texture. He drank in the beautiful sounds Magnus made when he found a sensitive spot, which seemed to be all of his neck and face. Reality seemed to fade away. The crackle of burning logs spitting into the hearth and their mingled moans were the only sounds as he explored the treasure beneath him.
The glowing firelight cast shadows over their bodies as Óláfr slowly removed Magnus’s clothing. He tried his best to steady his shaking fingers as they came into contact with the smooth, pale skin that coated the rigid firmness beneath.
He impatiently removed their remaining clothes, gasping in pleasure at the feel of Magnus’s warm flesh moving under him as if he was seeking as much body contact as possible. Not wanting to disappoint, Óláfr surrounded Magnus with his body, enjoying how they fit together. He let his doubts and worries slide away to the back of his mind as the desire he’d been fighting for months took hold.
He eased into another kiss while trying to keep himself in check, not wanting to scare Magnus with the beast that wanted out of him.
Magnus’s small work-roughened hands gently cupped the back of his neck, sliding into his hair and rubbing his scalp, offering reassurance even as they aroused. Rough fingertips scraped over his sensitive neck, causing tiny shivers to rack his bulky frame. His body grew impossibly hard, forcing him to lower his body, pushing Magnus’s legs wider to accommodate him. At Magnus’s quiet acceptance and submission, Óláfr felt his need to dominate rise when the urge to claim his soul mate overtook his common sense.
Using his hands and mouth, he set about ensuring that Magnus would be ready for what was to come. The wetness pooling in the defined dips and grooves of Magnus’s toned stomach showed him he was ready.
Óláfr used his strength to hold back, quivering with the strain of going slowly as he penetrated Magnus. Stilling, he exhaled when Magnus wheezed out a painful breath, his brow scrunched while his muscles clenched tightly. Sweat beaded on their skin, making it gleam under the flickering light from the dying fire. He watched Magnus closely, pleased when he could see the desire for more growing in his eyes.
Óláfr felt compelled to ease his suffering. Leaning forward, he gently touched their mouths together. He caressed Magnus’s lips with his tongue, seeking entry. Warm lips parted, allowing the hot, wet breath to kiss his lips before he slowly dipped in to taste. Sweetness burst across his tongue as he swallowed the soft moans floating into his mouth.
Moving with care, he distracted them both by deepening the kiss while he eased into Magnus’s body. The heat was all-encompassing. It spread through his system like the lightning that lit the sky when the storms came. His eyes all but crossed as they rolled into the back of his head. Gently easing out, he pushed back in, letting the heat invade him as the tightness stole his breath, forcing him to still. The sensations consumed his mind, making the world disappear with one exception, his life force, his soul mate, Magnus.
His body slid sinuously against the slick, smooth skin under his, rocking them both, creating friction on Magnus’s pulsing desire. Moving faster when the cries from Magnus’s lips filled his mouth, he felt the strength of his body pushing them both to where they needed to go. His lips didn’t release Magnus’s, and he felt liquid heat pooling between their bodies as Magnus’s body became unbearably tight, making Óláfr’s body respond to Magnus. The overwhelming urge to mark his territory became too much to resist, and Óláfr spilt his seed inside of Magnus. The scent of their combined essence coated the thickening air as it sparked with the flames of their desire. Óláfr was sure he could
hear it crackling louder than the wood burning on the fire.
Sparks ignited in his chest. Something all-powerful pulled him into the bright flames of the fire raging through him, consuming him. In its wake, something strong and powerful dug deep inside him, feeling their influence take hold, surrounding him. He felt as mighty as the oak and fir trees that covered the Isle, feeling the roots take hold and plant firmly into his soul. As the feelings settled, Óláfr could sense the calm overcome him as his body accepted the inevitability of the connection he had somehow created with Magnus, even against his will.
Óláfr eased back. Flopping onto the pile of furs, he let his mind blank while his body attempted to settle. His fast-beating heart kept tempo with Magnus’s who planted his body partly on top of Óláfr’s. Unsure if he liked the sensation now the passion had faded, he struggled for a moment before pulling him closer. He enjoyed the feeling of warm, naked skin plastered to his side, regardless of the lack of soft curves.
His mind registered that they hadn’t spoken a word or resolved what this was between them or where it could lead. Óláfr’s pleasantly subdued mind told him not to worry as he sensed sleep pull at him. He trusted it and drifted off.
Maximillian’s eyes flicked open, landing on the sleeping form of Christina hidden under a pile of furs in the corner of the room. He looked about trying to determine what had roused him from his doze. The dying fire scarcely offered enough light to highlight the small room, but his cat eyes quickly adjusted to the dark.
A sliver of disappointment filled him that it was not Christina that had roused him. Taking a moment to watch her sleep, he enjoyed the unfettered view. The glowing embers cast shadows over her pale skin showing its perfection; her dark lashes lay on her high cheekbones while her plump lips parted as if in invitation. Again, he wished to be human and have an opportunity to kiss those lips.
Lost in his dreams, it took a moment to register the pull on his soul. Startled, he blinked owlishly. Well, I never. A broad predatory cat grin flashed across his face. His whiskers twitched, and his sharp teeth gleamed in the dim light, looking like tiny macabre daggers. His eyes glowed with satisfaction as he rubbed his paws together in glee.
He couldn’t believe his luck. Magnus had taken the bait after his pushing some questions into his mind, and it would appear it had worked because he’d gone to Óláfr to get answers. He’d not spoken to Christina about what he had done after she had chastised him for interfering. It isn’t my fault if a situation presented itself and I took it, surely?
When he had stopped Arngrim earlier, he had used the opportunity to push a few thoughts into Magnus’s mind. Though technically he hadn’t broken the rules, he had bent them he supposed, shrugging it off.
Those forever watching what he did all started talking at once. Okay, okay, maybe I broke them just a little by pushing thoughts that wouldn’t typically be there. He scratched his head. What harm could come from a few ideas, hmmm? The sinister laughter echoing through his mind told him something was off.
He pushed the negative ninnies out of his head. The fact he’d secretly hoped it might spark something was neither here nor there.
Maximillian paused mid-thought, feeling the air tremble around him. Quivering, he felt his body arch, fur rising as a spark of connection simmered and slid through his own body, locking his soul with Óláfr’s and Magnus’s forever. He had no time to enjoy the familiar sensation when other perceptions bombarded him. Unaccustomed to these sensations, Maximillian tried to assimilate the difference he felt flowing through him. Tensing, unsure why it felt unusual, he searched inside himself for the answers.
His startled bicoloured eyes grew larger, seemingly taking up his whole face as he stared unseeingly into the fire. Well, heck. He sat unmoving, stunned to his core with the combined attachment to Óláfr and Magnus. The linking that occurred with his charges when they became soulmates didn’t frequently alter their connection. In the past he could—even before their souls were connected—read their thoughts and, as he had done with Magnus, push his opinions into their minds, but he had never been in a position where he could communicate with them as he did with his charges. It never happened as far as he was aware. None of the guardians had a genuine connection to their charge’s soulmates, so why now? The internal click inside his body told him this time was different with Magnus.
Maximillian worried at his whiskers at the implications. Christina had never mentioned that this could happen in all of their extended talks and discussions about his abilities and powers.
Is something changing within me?
Is this what Christina had been alluding to when she’d talked about me changing? He was sure he was happy to be carrying both souls, especially when he could feel Magnus’s presence inside his mind. It was bad enough with Óláfr.
Odin’s Raven.
An air of urgency spread through Maximillian, and he quivered with distress in response. He got up silently so as not to wake Christina. He leapt up to the open shutter that had let in the soft night air. He jumped out the window, padding silently away into the darkness, guided by the bright bursts of stars that coated the inky black.
The full moon peeked out from behind a giant cloud, highlighting the castle shrouded in a thick mist. The feeling of disquiet grew with each step he took on the damp grass, so he hurried his pace.
The moonlight struggled to penetrate the thick mist that swirled around the castle stockade. Maximillian used all his senses, calculating where the enclosure began, swiftly moving when the urge to seek out Óláfr and Magnus increased. Maximillian growled when his bulk protested at going faster than he normally would. His bulky body, not built for speed or grace, struggled to climb up the stone wall. Avoiding the tight squeeze from earlier was maybe a little stupid when it took longer than he would have liked to heft his bulk over the top of the belvedere, finally.
When he headed down the dark passageways, the sudden sounds of raised voices had his hackles lifting. Running, his heart pounded out of his rib cage while his short legs ate up the distance. Turning down the next passageway, he halted at the sight before him. Arngrim had Magnus pinned to the wall. His feet dangled as large, meaty hands gripped his throat, choking the life out of Magnus while he ranted.
Maximillian’s stomach heaved in disgust at the sickness spewing from Arngrim’s mouth.
“You little faggot, why are you roaming the corridors near Óláfr’s quarters? I’ve seen the unhealthy way you look at him. Our Christian God will surely punish the sinner in you for your wicked thoughts.” Spittle dripped from Arngrim’s chin, and veins popped out, making his face and neck dark red while his massive, powerful arms flexed as he shook Magnus viciously.
Arngrim’s rage poured over Maximillian in waves, like the sea when it stormed against the rocks. The hate unrelentingly hit Magnus full force.
Magnus was unable to respond to the accusations, and his blue eyes bulged obscenely. They were shot with blood, and tears leaked down his purple cheeks as his small hands clawed at the larger man’s meaty fists trying to dislodge them. Maximillian could see Magnus was fighting a losing battle against the rage and disgust pouring out of Arngrim. Thinking fast, Maximillian shouted for Óláfr through their link, projecting the images he could see to him. Not used to doing this kind of communication, Maximillian hoped Óláfr got the gist of what he was trying to portray before it was too late.
Maximillian launched his hefty weight at Arngrim, using the only weapon he had. He climbed up his body, digging his sharp claws into flesh and muscle, ripping and shredding as he rose. Aiming for his face and eyes, he struck with deadly accuracy. He was pleased to hear feet thundering up the stone passageway behind him.
Maximillian worried it was too late when Magnus’s lifeless body hit the ground with a resounding thud before rough, menacing hands grabbed at him.
Screeching, he launched himself towards the ground, pleased to see the bloody red gouges dripping blood down Arngrim’s left cheek. He paced in front o
f Magnus’s unconscious body, hackles raised, hissing and spitting at Arngrim, protecting the defenceless man behind him. He locked his spine, trying not to think about how scared he was at Arngrim having a second go at Magnus. Instead, he wished the thundering feet to hurry because he wasn’t sure he had enough energy left to fight Arngrim again.
He mewled in anguish as a half-naked Óláfr came to an abrupt halt, his guards crashing into his naked back, making them all topple towards him. Maximillian jumped back, his hackles raised as he landed on Magnus’s still form. Concerned when he felt no movement, he gave a beseeching look to Óláfr who staggered away from his guards. Righting himself, he pushed back his tangled locks. Óláfr’s dark, menacing eyes seemed to glow in the dim passageway.
His assessing gaze swept the scene in front of him. Maximillian caught the look of distress that Óláfr wasn’t fast enough to shutter with his lowered lids. Unable to block the overwhelming feelings of devastation Óláfr let seep out at seeing his soul mate’s bruised and battered body lying unconscious on the floor, Maximillian’s legs buckled under the intense emotions they shared.
The angry lash of Óláfr words had them all freezing. “Explain yourself, Arngrim. Why is my Ma… this man lying unconscious on the ground, and why is my cat guarding him?”
Maximillian noticed the slight slip-up and husky voice when Óláfr had used the word my before he corrected himself. He cast a quick glance at Arngrim, hoping he’d not noticed in all the commotion. That was the last thing they needed right now.
Maximillian tried to concentrate on what Arngrim was saying as he spoke to Óláfr. The words were hardly recognisable under angry snarls, making it nigh on impossible to catch everything he said. Words rumbled out, merging as Arngrim’s temper escalated, making them hit like iced stones falling from the sky.
