Prisoner of the Raven

by Kirby Crow

  Still, he was a natural leader long accustomed to command, and it irked him whenever anyone opposed his will.

  I may not be a Viking forever, but I will always be a jarl, Ranulf thought. My men will submit to me, and so will this pretty-eyed Irlander.

  * * * *

  They left the burning cog to sink into the sea. Aleyn watched the charred bow of the trade ship steam and hiss as it slipped under the smoke-roiling surface of the waters. On it were his erstwhile shipmates, killed by the Vikings, and now here he was, on the Viking longship, ignoring the stares and knowing leers of the warriors. Many of the crew were blond and fair, including their leader, but there were equally as many who were reddish haired or dark and black-bearded, thus living up to the name Aleyn's people had for them. Dubhgall: dark foreigners, invaders. He was suspect of this apparent contradiction, but since he knew little or nothing of what happened in the cold lands and how these people mixed, he kept his confusion to himself. Perhaps the jarl had a Fingall mother.

  The longship had a single, square-rigged sail, striped in many colors, and had a soaring, curved prow and stern. On both sides of the ship hung a long row of round wooden shields, elaborately painted and adorned. He walked as close behind Ranulf as he could without looking like he was tagging after him. Just like a lost pup, he thought sourly. He had often hunted rabbits with his cousins in the woods, using dogs to chase the creatures to their warrens and trap them there, and then smoking them out with deadwood and brush. Now he knew how that felt, and vowed never to hunt that way again. If I ever get out of this, was his next thought.

  He followed Ranulf with the scant bundle of his possessions in his arms as the Viking wended his way through the warriors and stopped at the very stern of the ship. There was a low, wide compartment there, built like a high shelf under the ship's railing and kept closed by a sliding wood hatch. Ranulf slid the hatch open and turned back to look at Aleyn. Aleyn peered past him. He could see only darkness beyond.

  Aleyn flicked a look to Ranulf. It was nearly night now, and stars were beginning to wink and flash in the darkening sky. The firelight from the burning cog played across Ranulf's features, giving his attractive face a sinister cast. For a long moment, Aleyn bitterly regretted his decision.

  But when Ranulf spoke, he again used that gentle tone that had persuaded him to give his promise before. “Get in,” he said, too low for any other to hear. “Sleep. I will wake you at first light and show you how we sail this beast."

  Aleyn's jaw dropped. This was not at all what he had expected. Ranulf was behaving as if they had made an honorable business deal between them. How could he reconcile the slaughter and the sordid arrangement aboard the cog with this benign, almost considerate attitude?

  Ranulf's face was gold in the firelight, lined like leather from sun and wind, and there were creases around his eyes that Aleyn was sure were from laughter.

  "Are you afraid, boy?” he asked lowly.

  Aleyn's spine stiffened and he clenched his teeth. “No."

  So saying, he stepped into the darkness. Behind him, the hatchway closed and Ranulf rattled off a spate of Viking language, followed by a burst of laughter from his men. Aleyn's face burned with shame, but he refused to feel afraid, even though he was a prisoner and surrounded by blackness.

  He stood in the dark and breathed shallowly as the longship swayed under his boots. Beyond the hatchway, he could hear the crew calling back and forth to one another and the snap of a sail being unfurled. The longship was underway.

  To where? Aleyn wondered, feeling his resolve against fear wavering. Where is he taking me?

  As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could discern the outlines of a bunk and a small table. Groping his way, he found a thick candle on a cold metal plate and groped again along the edge until his fingers touched the back of a chest. The table seemed to be bolted to the floor, but the chest moved easily and he sank down into it, crossing his arms over his bundle. Footfalls echoed hollowly on the deck beyond, sounding like drums, and he sighed deeply, suddenly very tired. He glanced at the bunk and pulled a face. A Viking bed, probably filled with fleas and god knew what else. Yet, Ranulf had seemed clean enough, and his smell was like well-oiled leather and seasoned pine and something sharp like pepper, like his uncle Padraig's wooden chest where he kept his spices. It was not a very familiar smell, but neither was it terrible. He yawned hugely as the longship turned in the wind and the sighing of the waves seemed to sink into his blood. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew he must. To sleep was to let down his guard, and then what would happen to him?

  Nothing worse than what has happened already, his mind whispered with practical sense. You're already a prisoner, already sold your soul to save your skin, and sold your skin to save your life. Go to bed.

  Yawning, Aleyn kicked off his boots, tottered to his feet and fell into the deep, soft bunk, his eyes already closing in sleep.

  * * * *

  "Come on, Aleyn, show me yours!"

  The voice was young, the mouth that spoke full as a peach and framed by dimples and the scant auburn hairs of a youthful beard. Kellan, his old friend, was home from his travels and staying with them for a full turn of the moon during harvest. It was late summer in their settlement, a small village in Cianacht. They were in the hayfield, drowsing after a long day of work, and Kellan had gotten a wicked look in his eyes as they lay beside one another. Kellan's hand flicked a fly from Aleyn's shoulder, and then strayed down to brush over his chest, pausing to pinch a nipple until it turned hard beneath his fingers. Aleyn's breath caught in delight, and before he knew it, Kellan had sat up and unlaced his breeches and was showing him his cock. It was much like his own, pink and rigid and veined, and Aleyn stared at Kellan as he fondled himself.

  "Show me yours, Aleyn,” Kellan repeated, all red curls and wicked grin, and Aleyn found his hands fumbling at his own breeches. His fingers shook so hard that he could barely get one lace through its eyelet.

  "Here, let me,” Kellan laughed, and reached for him.

  Aleyn watched as Kellan's fingers negotiated the tight knots and jerked his breeches halfway down his hips. His cock bobbed in the warm air, stiff as a board, and Aleyn flushed with mingled shame and pleasure as Kellan's hand closed over his sex and he began to stroke him.

  "Here, you do the same to me,” Kellan said, smiling. He guided Aleyn's hand to his prick. It was hot and familiar in Aleyn's hand, and yet strangely foreign at the same time. Aleyn wet his lips and tore his eyes away, watching his friend's face contort as he began to slide his fingers over the satiny skin. This was sin, it was. The priests said so. Utter, blackest sin.

  But how can it be sin when it feels this wonderful? Oh, I'm damned now. Damned to hell and I don't even care!

  Kellan panted. “Like that, yes. Oh, Aleyn..."

  Kellan leaned forward and in that moment, Aleyn knew that Kellan was going to kiss him.

  It was too much. Aleyn jerked his hand away, only then realizing that his palm was wet with the seed that leaked from Kellan's shaft. He scrubbed his hand on the cut hay and jerked his breeches up, stumbling away, running as Kellan called after him.

  "Aleyn! Come back, Aleyn!"

  He shifted as he ran, back to a younger self, running through the trees with his friend Diarmit into the vivid green woods outside the village. They found a narrow ravine to hide in and sat on a hollow log, whispering and laughing. Diarmit, only a few years older than himself, had pushed his shoulder and laughed at him, and he had pushed back and thrown a few twigs, and then Diarmit, his eyes alight, had leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

  It made them both pause and take a breath, and all around them the hushed forest seemed to glitter more brightly. Then Diarmit was kissing him again, his arm winding around his neck to pull him closer.

  Aleyn's shoulder erupted with fire. He shouted and jerked away, scrambling back among the dead leaves, and then he saw his Uncle Padraig standing over them.

  * * * *


  Aleyn woke with a start, seeing only flickering candlelight and the completely strange outlines of an unfamiliar room. Someone was standing over him, a dark shape there at the foot of the bed, tall as a bear. He gasped and scooted back, drawing his knees up to his chest, his heart hammering under his ribs.

  "Aleyn,” Ranulf said, again giving his name that oddly appealing accent.

  A dream, Aleyn thought, massaging his shoulder. Only a dream. The episode in the hay field had been real. It had happened this past summer, only months before Aleyn had left. Kellan had decided to stay on with the family. He became a constant temptation, following Aleyn with his eyes, making excuses to be alone with him, and every time Aleyn saw him, the scar on his shoulder seemed to throb. It had scared Aleyn so much that he left his uncle's home and signed on with the first foreign trade ship outbound from the coast, not even telling his kin where he was heading, though he was sure they would not care anyway.

  Diarmit had stopped being his friend after the episode in the forest, then Aleyn's parents died and Padraig took him in. The village priest counseled Aleyn to endure Diarmit's hostility as the price of the charity shown to him. Later, the priest learned from Padraig the source of Diarmit's anger, and Aleyn learned to keep his secrets to himself.

  Now, he was a prisoner. He could have had Kellan, but instead a giant of a Viking now stood over him, slowly unlacing the ties of his leather jerkin.

  Ranulf's face was in shadow. “What?” he asked roughly, pulling the jerkin over his head and tossing it to the deck. His shoulders were so broad that Aleyn had a fleeting thought that he faced a mountain.

  "I was dreaming,” Aleyn whispered.

  He felt, rather than heard, the amusement stealing over the Viking. “Of me?” Ranulf clambered heavily into the bed, making the straw mattress in its rope frame dip sharply.

  Aleyn scooted away a little more. “No,” he got out. By the yellow light of the candle, Aleyn could make out Ranulf's face as he rose over him and slid his hands around his waist.

  "Did you sleep?"

  Aleyn found he could not speak.

  "Yes? No?"

  Aleyn nodded.

  "Ah, good. Then we begin.” Ranulf tugged hard and Aleyn found himself on his back with Ranulf practically on top of him.

  "Wait!” Aleyn gasped. His hands scrabbled at Ranulf's muscled, hairy chest, but he dared not hit him or resist. He knew better than to break a bargain with a Viking, and he had promised to give this one his body.

  Ranulf rumbled deep in his barrel chest and lowered his head to nuzzle and suck at Aleyn's neck. Aleyn shuddered. Ranulf's beard was scratchy and the skin under his ear was sensitive, yet there was more to it than that. Exactly what, Aleyn did not yet guess, but when he felt the slick warmth of Ranulf's tongue exploring the curves of his ear, felt the hot breath puffing against his cheek, he began to realize.

  Slow, lazy heat began to travel from Aleyn's shoulders, down his chest, over his belly, to settle between his thighs, where he began to grow hard. His eyes flew open. This was the same feeling as when Kellan touched him, the same sin! Or was it? Would he still be condemned for committing a sin when he had no say in the matter?

  Ranulf had begun to pull at Aleyn's homespun shirt, jerking on it until the button at his throat popped and a seam ripped. He tugged at the hem and rucked the material up around Aleyn's chest as his big hands began to explore Aleyn's body.

  Aleyn's mind worked frantically, unsure what to say or do in response.

  Whereas Kellan had wanted Aleyn to touch him, Ranulf seemed content to just have him lie there. Aleyn shivered as Ranulf's lips trailed over his cheek, skirting his nose, and then drew in a shocked breath as Ranulf's bearded mouth covered his own. He turned his head quickly.

  "Men do not kiss!” he managed to exclaim.

  Ranulf laughed and slid down a little, so that his chin was even with Aleyn's breastbone. He licked Aleyn's nipple and nipped it with his teeth.

  "I suppose they do not do this, either?” He lowered his mouth and sucked on the hard little nub.

  Aleyn whimpered. Oh, that feels good. Oh oh oh!

  "Viking,” he whispered in a shaking voice, wetting his lips. “Viking, what are you doing?"

  "Ranulf,” the Northman said in a voice like a slow roll of thunder.

  "Ranulf,” Aleyn panted obligingly. Ranulf's lips trailed lower, down over the skin of his belly. His thick fingers massaged the curve of Aleyn's thigh as he coaxed his breeches down to his knees. “What are you doing?"

  Ranulf growled, and Aleyn threw his head back and uttered a shocked cry as wet heat surrounded him. Ranulf had taken his prick into his mouth.

  Aleyn's back arched up off the bed. His head seemed to be packed with bits of light, like sparks from a campfire, setting his brain on fire. He gasped as Ranulf began to suck him. His trembling hands found Ranulf's broad shoulders and he lifted his hips.

  Ranulf growled again approvingly, sliding the wet ring of his mouth up and down Aleyn's shaft, the hairs of his beard ticking Aleyn's balls pleasurably, unbearably.

  Aleyn's head tossed like a skittish colt taking the bridle for the first time. A part of him wanted to throw Ranulf off and find the nearest weapon. Yet another part, the part that was making his toes curl and the muscles in his legs twitch with the need to spend into the Viking's mouth, that part was making his hands seek the softness of Ranulf's long hair. That part was making his hands curve to cup the back of Ranulf's neck, pulling him forward, pulling him to engulf him deeper, faster.

  Ranulf moaned around the shaft clasped between his lips and stopped for a moment. He withdrew, causing Aleyn to groan in disappointment, and glanced up at the younger man with a smug expression.

  "You learn quickly."

  Aleyn could care less about approval. Or even rape, if that was what this was. All he wanted was Ranulf's mouth on him again.

  "Please,” he whispered, his body writhing like a snake, hips arching up, his wet cock brushing Ranulf's beard. Ranulf turned his head and gave Aleyn's shaft a little lick, his blue eyes wicked with amusement.

  "Tell me what you want."

  "You,” Aleyn gasped, not knowing the words. “What you were doing ... you..."

  "Say it."

  Aleyn closed his eyes, surrendering to his traitorous body. “Put your mouth on me,” he begged, his restless hands carding Ranulf's hair, which was like long, long strands of gold silk between his fingers. “I want it again. Please."

  Ranulf took Aleyn's cock in his hand and kissed its tip. He placed his lips just over the head and sucked very softly, as if drawing the nectar from honeysuckle. Aleyn shuddered from head to toe, realizing he was being teased.

  "Damn you,” he hissed between his teeth. His hands gripped Ranulf's neck tighter.

  "Mmm,” Ranulf hummed, his mouth busy. His tongue flicked rapidly on the underside of Aleyn's prick, and Aleyn hissed and jerked, suddenly so close he could feel his climax just hovering there, waiting to crash over him.

  "Oh,” he moaned as his eyes flew wide open in startled amazement. “Oh, oh..."

  Ranulf took pity on him and swallowed him almost to the base of his cock, sucking hard, his busy tongue never still, and for one long moment, Aleyn forgot to breathe.

  When he did, he used his breath to utter a wanton cry that was shockingly loud in the cabin. He shot his seed into Ranulf's mouth and the Viking murmured and hummed and sucked him harder, making Aleyn's hands loose their grip on his hair and claw the woolen covers like a wild thing, drawing another ecstatic cry from him.

  Aleyn did not even wince when there was an answering clatter of laughter from beyond the hatch. The Northmen believed he was being raped, and his cry the sound of Ranulf claiming his body against his will. If only they knew!

  Aleyn collapsed back against the covers, breathing hard as if he had swum the whole length of the river back home. His whole body felt like it had been pulled and stretched like dough, and it was several moments before he realized that Ranulf was crouch
ed on his knees over him with his breeches undone.

  Aleyn suffered a moment of panic as he saw that Ranulf's big hand was clasped around his own cock and that he was steadily stroking himself as he gazed down at Aleyn with slitted blue eyes. Aleyn's gaze was drawn to the hard, turgid shaft caught in Ranulf's grasp, and his green eyes widened as he saw how big it was, how wide and flared the crown and how pronounced the thick vein that ran from base to head. It was huge!

  Aleyn stared back at him, not knowing what he should do, if he should even make a sound, when Ranulf's eyes closed and he began to fist his cock faster, uttering little gasps under his breath. He grunted and gave one long, shuddering groan, his eyes squeezed tight, and a thick stream of come striped Aleyn's belly and cock with heat as Ranulf spent his lust on top of him.

  Aleyn continued to stare. The Viking had brought him here to use him, or so he thought. Why did he restrain himself now, even giving pleasure when he need not even consider Aleyn's feelings? Ranulf satisfied himself as if asking (or commanding) Aleyn to do it had not even occurred to him.

  This bizarre consideration mystified Aleyn, and he looked down at his belly as Ranulf finally opened his eyes and began to absently massage his seed into Aleyn's skin.

  "You behaved well,” he said, and Aleyn's pride was goaded. Did he think he was praising a dog?

  Aleyn tried to push him off, and was further astonished when Ranulf went obligingly, rolling off to settle on his back beside Aleyn.

  "Mmm,” Ranulf hummed happily, folding his hands over his broad chest. “A perfect way to start a nap. Góða nótt.” He did not even bother to lace his breeches back up, but left his big cock curled on his belly like a dormant serpent.

  Aleyn turned his head to look at him, completely baffled, but he felt that to speak would be to risk disaster. He reached down to pull his own breeches up, grimacing at the sticky mess on his belly and swiping at it, and when he was done he wondered what he should do. Should he leave the narrow bed to the Viking, or should he pretend to ignore him, waiting for him to make the next move?