Rough and Ready

by Sandra Hill

  “What is that?” she asked, pointing.

  He looked down, then up at her with surprise. “Uh, my genitals.”

  “Genny-tails?”

  “My cock.”

  “Dolt! I meant that shiny thing. What manner of country do you come from that you wear an ornament against your belly?”

  “Oh, that! It’s a zipper . . . a type of fastening used in my, uh, country . . . and this here is a button.” He demonstrated.

  She gasped with wonder. “Let me.” Kneeling, she proceeded to open and close the button, then run the zipper up and down and up and down. She leaned in very close to study the workings.

  “Whoa, Hildy. That will be enough of that. Unless you’ve developed this sudden attraction to me.”

  “What?” she said, glancing up at him, then at the zipper again. Only then did she notice the bulge behind the zipper, which had not been there before. Red-faced, she stood.

  “Maybe our talking in private isn’t such a good idea,” he said and led her out of the storage room and back to the high table.

  While he ate, Torolf grew serious. “You need to understand where I come from.”

  “You have told me afore. Ah-mare-eek-ah.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve also told you that America is a thousand and more years in the future. Really. I know you think I’m the world’s biggest clown, but this is no joke. Really.” He put up a hand to halt her when she was about to voice an opinion. “Let me get it all out. You have heard of Leif Eriksson, haven’t you? Well, he discovered a country he called Vinland that eventually would be called America . . . beyond Iceland and Greenland. When my father took his longship there with me and eight of my brothers and sisters, it was the year 1000. Somehow, in the middle of some storm or weird event out on the seas, we ended up in Hollywood, a city in America, and it was the year 2003.”

  Hilda put her hand on his arm. “I believe you may have landed in some other land, like the old legends, but the future? Nay, it has to be impossible.”

  “I thought so, too. But let me tell you what it’s like there. They have cars, which people drive down roads . . . horseless carriages is the only way to describe them. Then there are airplanes, which transport people in the skies. Electricity that provides instant lighting and heat in homes. Stoves and microwaves that cook food without flames. Ships and boats that require no rowers to move. Telephones that allow a person to talk to someone in another land. Hot and cold running water inside the house. And that’s just a few modern inventions.”

  With each of Torolf ’s revelations, Hilda shook her head. She could see that he believed all that he said, and who was she to say him nay? “Mayhap it is a land of magic, and not the future after all.”

  “No. It’s the future, all right.”

  “And people can travel back and forth in time on a whim.”

  “As far as I know, my family members are the only ones who’ve time-traveled into the future, and I’m the only one who came back. For sure, this is the first time a group of men have traveled back in time. Maybe there are others. Who knows?”

  “How do you time-travel?”

  “Each person has been different. Some have been involved in shipwrecks and thought they died. Uncle Jorund encountered a whale with a sense of humor. Madrene was caught in a strange lightning storm. In all cases, though, one second the person was in one time and then in another.”

  “’Tis hard for me to credit what you say, but I accept that you believe it to be so, that you are not teasing me this time.”

  “My men don’t believe it either.”

  “And still they would agree to fight Steinolf in this make-believe world.”

  “SEALs are a brotherhood of sorts. They do it for me. Besides, there are terrorists in any time, Hilda. Ones as bad or worse than Steinolf, believe it or not. For example, Hitler was . . . well, suffice it to say that evil men never die out.”

  “I know Steinolf did great harm to your family, but why risk danger when your family has found safe haven and prosperity elsewhere? I live here in the Norselands, so Steinolf ’s reign of terror continues to be a threat. But you . . . ?”

  He shrugged. “Someone has to stop him.”

  “Why is it important to you that I accept your story?”

  “Because I want you to know why I must leave here eventually. Norstead is my heritage, but it isn’t relevant to me anymore. I’ve made a new life.”

  She nodded, feeling oddly hurt that he could put aside so easily this time and people . . . her. “So, you want me to understand that you come from the future and you are not going to stay behind once Steinolf is dead.”

  “Bingo!”

  “I told you afore, and I will repeat it again: What makes you think I would want you to stay?”

  “C’mon, Hildy, be honest. You and I have so much chemistry going on between us we practically make sparks.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sexual attraction.”

  She gasped. “You think I want you as a bed partner? Oh, you are by far the most arrogant man I have ever met.”

  The look he gave her called her liar, but what he said was, “Okay, let’s say it’s one-sided then. I want you so bad my teeth hurt, and my toes curl just looking at you.”

  “Why do you say such things to me?”

  “On the chance you might want to fool around a little, I guess.” He winked at her.

  That wink went right down to her toes which, surprisingly, felt as if they’d curled. And the way he was studying her body so intently, well . . . “You are thinking to cunning-tingle me, are you not? Well, forget that notion right now.”

  He repeated the word several times in confusion, “Cunning-tingle, cunning-tingle, cunning-tingle? Oh, my God! You mean cunnilingus.” He pronounced it as kunna-ling-us. “Where did you hear that word?”

  Her face was no doubt bright red.

  “My guys have been busy beavers.”

  “Let us change the subject.”

  “Does that mean we’re not going to hit the sack together?”

  “Not till our agreement night.”

  “Even if I can make you tingle?”

  “Dost think I want to tingle, you idiot?”

  “There’s a lot to be said for tingling,” he said with a laugh. “About that deal, Hildy, I was just kidding.”

  “Make up your mind, you loathsome lout. Either you want me or you do not.”

  “I want you, but I don’t want you if you don’t want me.”

  “Oh, that makes as much sense as . . . as cunning-tingles.”

  He grinned. “I could show you how much sense it makes . . . and tingles.”

  “I could show you how it feels to have a horn of mead dumped over your head.”

  “You know, Hildy, I just discovered something. You and I bickering together has become a sort of foreplay with us. Turns me on. How about you?”

  She was about to tell him what she thought of that notion but held her tongue lest he think she was engaging in foresport with him. Besides, her nipples had hardened into aching buds. It was a sad state of affairs when a lady could no longer argue for fear of appearing wanton. And the way he continued to grin, he knew it, too.

  Well, two could play at this game. She knew how to shut the lout up. Yea, she did.

  “I have decided, Torolf, that tonight shall be the night I fulfill my end of our bargain. Swiving. Best you practice up on your cunning-tingles.”

  Torolf was stunned speechless.

  Chapter 10

  It’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the almost-truth . . .

  Torolf ’s buddies surrounded him at the high table a short time later. You could say it was a sort of intervention.

  “This Viking reenactment crap has gone far enough,” JAM started them out. “I mean, I was willing to help you wipe out some terrorists. I still am. But all these victims arriving here today? That’s not reenactment. That’s reality.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guy
s.”

  “I jogged about twenty-five miles downstream this morning, and there’s nothing there. Nada. None of the small towns or farms we saw on our way here.” JAM’s brow furrowed. “I mean, how could all signs of civilization just disappear?”

  “I can explain. Well, you might not consider it an explanation, but it’s the truth.”

  “What the hell is going on here, Max? These women have never even heard of Victoria’s Secret . . . or panties, for that matter,” Cage pointed out.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you guys have time-traveled. I swear this on my Budweiser. Thirteen members of my family have time-traveled to the future. My uncles Rolf and Jorund, my father, myself, and ten of my brothers and sisters. Call it magic, call it scientific wrinkles in time, call it a freakin’ miracle, but it damn well happened.”

  They all looked at each other, still unconvinced, except for Geek who said, “I believe you.”

  “Ask anyone here what year it is. Do you think each of them will have been prompted to lie? Do you think I’m lying?”

  The four guys stared at him, then at each other. JAM summed it up for all of them. “Welcome to the twilight zone.”

  “Think about the possibilities here, y’all,” Cage told them. “We could write a book, get on Oprah, have chicks by the zillions wanting to get boinked by us. I mean, really, being a SEAL is chick magnet enough, but add time-traveling SEAL, and we’ve got a real hook here. Talk about!”

  “I’ve always wanted to meet Oprah,” Pretty Boy said.

  “Forget Oprah, betcha I could get a date with Katie Couric.” Geek sighed loudly at the prospect.

  “Katie Couric!” they all exclaimed.

  “She’s old enough to be your mother. Haven’t I taught you to home in on the young, hot ones, son?” Pretty Boy patted Geek on the shoulder in a fatherly fashion, which was ridiculous, Pretty Boy being thirty-one and Geek twenty-six!

  “No, no, no! You can’t go blabbing about this when . . . if . . . we go back. You’d find yourself living in a bubble in some scientist’s lab for the rest of your life, being poked and prodded, sliced and diced, examined inside and out.” Torolf and his family had discussed this numerous times in the past. It was a secret best kept to themselves.

  They all looked suitably horrified.

  “Okay, let’s say we wipe out Steinolf and the other tangos. Then what?” JAM asked.

  “I find someone to take over at Norstead and Amberstead . . . maybe Hilda . . . maybe those cousins. Then we try to go back.”

  “Whoaaaaa! What do you mean, try to go back?” JAM’s mouth tightened with anger. “You better not have gotten us lost in some time warp or something. I have tickets for an Aerosmith concert next month.”

  “I told you guys not to come. I warned you.”

  “And I have a date with Cindy on the nineteenth . . . that’s Cindy the gymnast,” Pretty Boy said, waggling his eyebrows.

  “I thought you were all hot for Britta,” Torolf said.

  “I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m singing any wedding marches. Besides, Britta hasn’t given in yet.”

  “What? A woman who resists The Man?” Cage teased.

  “Shove it, birdbrain. She will . . . eventually.” Pretty Boy’s face turned all pink with embarrassment. Torolf couldn’t recall Pretty Boy ever having trouble getting a woman he’d targeted, except maybe for his sister Madrene, who’d had eyes only for Master Chief Ian MacLean.

  “Back to my question,” JAM said. “How do we go back?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Four sets of teeth gnashed at that news.

  “I promise, I’ll do my best to get us back.”

  They all nodded, though not too happy with the vagueness of that promise.

  “Y’all wanna go put some giddyap in this party?” Cage asked then, taking a long draw on his mug of mead.

  “I’m thinking a knee-walking bender might be just the thing,” JAM replied.

  They all agreed.

  Pretty Boy put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, causing everyone in the place to jerk with surprise. “Yo, Britta, where you hidin’, babe?” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Here I come, ready or not.”

  A shocked Britta at the end of the great hall raised her head, saw him moving purposefully toward her, then turned to scoot out the door.

  Britta was one dead duck.

  Speaking of dead ducks, where’s Hilda? No way could she offer herself on the half shell, then walk away. No way could she bring up oral sex and expect him to forget about it. No way could he have seen her nude body and then wipe it from his horny mind. Yep, he was about to teach Brunhilda Berdottir a thing or two about teasing a man, especially a Viking man.

  Whoo-boy! I can’t wait.

  Of course, I’m just going to tease her a little.

  Ha, ha, ha!

  Really. No going all the way. Just partway. Maybe, halfway. Okay, three-quarters of the way, tops.

  I am waist deep and sinking fast.

  Where’s the mead? No, where’s Hilda?

  Come out, come out, wherever you are, honey. Here comes the big bad wolf . . . and he’s huuuuungry.

  Never tease a teaser . . .

  It was hours later that Torolf found Hilda and gave himself a mental Gotcha!

  There was Hilda in the bathhouse, reclining on one of the wide, high platform benches in the steam room, eyes closed, wearing nothing but a thin chemise and a layer of perspiration.

  The bathhouse was just a small building with a stone-flagged floor. Red-hot stones nestled in the open hearth’s peat fire. Water was poured over the stones to create steam.

  Usually, people sat nude in here, but she probably exercised caution because of all the strangers about.

  Softly, he closed the door to the outer chamber and propped a bar against it, locking them in. After that, with a mischievous grin, he removed all his clothing, except for his low-riding braies.

  Softly, he crept barefooted to the bottom of the bench and whispered, “Hildy.”

  She tried to jackknife to a sitting position, but he was on her like a bear on honey. He settled himself over her body, pressing her down.

  Flailing against his bare shoulders, she shrieked, “What are you doing here?”

  “You invited me . . . for a night of swiving.”

  “I was teasing.”

  “It worked.”

  She stopped slapping and lay perfectly still. “Go ahead then. Do it and be done. I have chores yet to do tonight.”

  He laughed against her ear and noticed how she shivered. She was obviously one of those women whose ears were highly erotic zones of sensitivity. He blew softly, and her hips jerked up against his. A mistake, that. A part of his body he had difficulty controlling liked that jerking of hers very much. So, masochist that he was, he pressed the tip of his wet tongue into her ear, in and out a few times, and she began to whimper.

  Whimpering is good, baby.

  He braced himself on his elbows and looked down. Her eyes were wide, aquamarine colored. Her mouth was big and full, with the lower lip slightly more puffy. A very kissable mouth. The kind of mouth men fantasized about.

  “Let’s just kiss and pet a little.”

  “I am not an animal to be petted.”

  “We’ll see,” he said against her mouth. And then he kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her. Her mouth opened under his persuasion as he slanted and shaped her. And then he tongue-kissed her. Moist. Slippery. Hot. In and out. He couldn’t tell who kissed who, he couldn’t tell where his body ended and hers began. And he didn’t care.

  As his tongue thrust and parried with hers, his lower body did the same, and Hilda, bless her soul, met him thrust for thrust. And, holy shit, how did I manage to get between her legs, and when did her knees bend and bracket my hips?

  Slow down, cowboy. This is just a little fooling around. Not the whole nine yards. But first . . . but hot-damn first . . . “Let me look at you, Hildy,” he said, his voi
ce raw with arousal. He rolled to his side on the wide bench and began to inch her chemise off her shoulders.

  She put up her hands. Her eyes were luminous with arousal and her lips heart-stoppingly wet and bruised from his kisses, but he knew she was self-conscious about her small breasts.

  “Please, honey, I need to . . . oh, man, oh, man . . .” Her breasts were small, with nipples like small marbles. He rolled her to her back again, her chemise nestled on her hips. Kneeling between her legs, he put his hands to both breasts, kneading them. The nipples felt like bullets pressing in his palms. Still kneading, he used his thumbs to strum the nipples into even harder peaks.

  At first, her eyes went wide, then she closed them with a shudder, but she didn’t fight him anymore. Instead, her fists clenched the sides of the bench, and her chest arched up for more.

  And then, and then—Yeeeees!—then he did what he’d wanted to do since he’d first seen her again this week. He lay over her and put his mouth to her breast, sucking her, hard. Then he did the same to the other breast. He couldn’t get enough. Over and over he alternated. Sucking. Flicking her with his tongue. Rasping her with his teeth. Then sucking again.

  He looked down at her wet breasts. “You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured.

  She either didn’t hear or ignored him. Instead, she was keening now and bucking against him, and he realized that he could make her come just by playing with her magnificent, small breasts. Note to Torolf: ears and breasts, highly erogenous zones on Hilda. “Don’t fight it. Let it go, that’s the way.”

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh . . . shhhhh, shhhhh, shhhhh . . . oh, my gods . . . oh, sweet mother of Thor!” she wailed, her hips raised so strongly she lifted him up. And then she crumpled flat with a long sigh.

  And he was so hard he could have probably drilled concrete with his dick. Note to Torolf: take care of your own business while you’re doing Hilda.

  Now would be a good time for Hilda to zap him with one of her witchy, cock-shriveling curses. Instead of shriveling, he felt himself grow even harder. I sense a world-class blue steeler coming on.