Captured by Vikings (An MMF Bisexual Threesome)

by Roxie Noir

  “I’ll come with you,” she said.

  The big viking released her and smiled.

  Alva was seasick for the whole journey back to their homeland, across a sea that was freezing even though it was summer. She’d never been more than a short distance from her home before, and she’d never really given much thought to what lay across the water. What was the point when she knew she’d never see it, and had thought for most of her life that she’d never escape the Lord Duncan’s holdings?

  Erik and Thorvald — those were their names — were surprisingly kind to her for the few days that the journey took. The first day she tried to drag herself off of the floor where she lay, wrapped in blankets. She wanted to be of some use to the men, since she knew how tempting it must be to throw a sick girl overboard.

  “You’re green as the leaves in spring, girl,” Erik had said. He was the one who’d held a knife to her throat, despite his kind brown eyes.

  Alva had tried to say something, but her stomach had rushed up and she’d hurried to the side of the boat, throwing up hard.

  “I can help,” she’d said when she was back, still nauseous but at least not throwing up anymore.

  Both of them had just laughed.

  “No one needs help if they’re going to get vomited on,” Thorvald had said. “Go back down, get some rest. We’ll be home in a day, two at the most.”

  Alva hadn’t been able to argue and had spent the rest of the journey below the deck of the tiny ship, drifting in and out of a nauseous sleep, constantly afraid she’d be thrown overboard.

  Once they were back, Alva was surprised to learn that Erik and Thorvald lived together, alone, despite not being brothers.

  “Where I’m from, men usually move out when they wed,” she’d told them.

  “Is that so?” Thorvald asked. Unlike his friend Erik, he had sparkling blue eyes, and when he wasn’t ransacking villages, he loved to tease Alva. At first he terrified her — every time he’d spoken, she’d been convinced he was going to kill her or worse — but after a week or two, she got used to it, giving back as good as she got.

  Her duties with the two viking men were nearly the same as they had been with Duncan: cleaning, cooking, serving them at mealtimes. The difference was night and day, though. When they were served, she sat down and ate with them. They never struck her, even when she once spilled mead all over Erik by accident. She was given a bed, rather than just blankets in the straw.

  One day, Thorvald walked into the house, a pile of furs over one arm. Alva looked up from the fire where she was cooking rabbit stew from a rabbit she’d caught in a trap. The rabbit had also been eating her small garden, so it was a double victory.

  “Clean your kill outside,” she told him, barely looking up. “I’ve just cleaned in here and I won’t have you mucking it up.”

  Sometimes it still shocked her how these men let her speak. If she’d ever spoken like that to Lord Duncan, so directly, without her eyes averted, he’d have slapped her hard enough that she wouldn’t be able to speak for days.

  “It’s no kill,” Thorvald said. “Come over here.”

  Alva looked over her shoulder and saw that he was holding something up. Clearly, it wasn’t an animal — it was already skinned and finished. She hung the ladle by the hook next to the fireplace, stood, and walked over to where he stood by the door.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  She did, and he laid the cloak around her shoulders. The inside had shorter, denser fur on it, and it felt wonderful even over her worn dress. It came almost down to her waist, and in the summer warmth, she began sweating.

  “I see you shivering sometimes at night,” he said. “I know we don’t have much around for a woman to wear, and it’s not like we let you pack.”

  “I didn’t have anything to bring,” Alva said. She stroked the soft fur with her hands, wondering what kind of animal it had come from. Fox, perhaps, or rabbit.

  “It should help keep you warm come winter, too,” he went on. “I don’t know how they are across the water but they’re brutal here.”

  “They’re brutal back home, too,” Alva said. “Or, across the water.”

  Thorvald nodded once, then patted her shoulder awkwardly and went back outside into the sun.

  The strangest thing about her situation, Alva thought — whether it was slavery or indentured servitude, or whether she was somehow there of her own free will — was that neither of the two men had so much as touched her. In every story about vikings that she’d ever heard, they were barbarians who’d just as soon rape a woman as take a drink of water, as though it came naturally to them.

  Alva was finding out differently, though. Thorvald and Erik treated her well, just as they’d promised, and never so much as laid a hand on her. In fact, it was beginning to bother her — why were these men, with their reputation for lust and wildness, so uninterested in her?

  She began drinking with them at meals, sometimes sitting outside during the long, long evenings, watching the sunset that lasted for hours.

  “Why aren’t either of you married?” she asked once. She’d had two tankards of beer, and was feeling a little lightheaded and brave. “All the other men are married.”

  The two men exchanged a look. “We’re quite happy the way things are,” Thorvald said.

  “But how could you have children?” Alva asked. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt so adamant on this point, but she did.

  Erik shrugged, and Thorvald said nothing.

  Alva narrowed her eyes and took another swallow of mead. Something strange was going on, she was completely sure of it.

  That night, Alva got her answer.

  Though she fell asleep soundly at first, she woke up a few hours later, sober and suddenly wide awake. She found that she couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how she tried.

  Then, she realized she was hearing something.

  The entire house that Erik and Thorvald lived in was one room, with the kitchen and the table at one end, their bedding at the other. There was a thin wall hanging between her bed and theirs, but it only blocked sight, not sound.

  That meant that Alva could hear grunting and groaning coming from the other side of it.

  In the dark, her eyes widened. She’d shared one room with most of the other servants at Duncan’s, and she knew what she was listening to.

  “Oh, that’s right,” she heard Thorvald say. Then he let out a long, quiet groan.

  Alva clamped both hands over her mouth, absolutely certain that she wasn’t supposed to be hearing this.

  There was a wet sound, and then Erik took in a deep breath.

  “You like to watch,” he said to Thorvald.

  “Damn right I do,” Thorvald said. There were some rustling noises, and then he spoke again. “Turn over,” he commanded, his voice still low and quiet.

  “I’ll fight you for it,” Erik responded.

  For a long time, all Alva heard was grunting and squirming, the sounds of two men wrestling on a straw mattress.

  “I yield,” came Erik’s voice at last.

  “Of course you do,” said Thorvald.

  There was some more shifting, both men breathing heavily. Alva still lay wide awake, trying her best to lay perfectly still, trying to piece together what was happening beyond the curtain.

  Then there was a long, low groan from the men. It sounded like Erik, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “Almost,” said Thorvald, sounding like he was speaking through gritted teeth. “Gods, I — ohhhhhh,” he said, his sentence simply ending with a long moan. Erik made a noise as well, sounding like he was covering with mouth with something, trying to stay quiet.

  Has this happened before? Alva wondered. Have I slept through this?

  “Harder,” she thought she heard Erik say, his voice still muffled.

  At last, curiosity got the better of her. Between the bottom of the hanging and the floor of the house was about an inch o
f open space — just enough for her to see, she thought, especially since they simply kept their straw-filled pallet on the floor.

  As quietly as she could, she pushed aside her blankets and crawled out of her bed, stopping short every time the straw beneath her rustled at all. She moved quietly across the stone cold floor, lying flat on her belly, putting her face against the floor to peek beneath the curtain.

  There was Erik, lying full-out on his belly, the blanket of the bed pressed against his face by his own hand.

  And then there was Thorvald, right on top of the other man, his arms one either side as he held himself up. As Alva watched, he lifted himself up, and her eyes went wide as a long, thick cock just barely became visible in the dark.

  Then, as Thorvald lowered himself, Erik groaned again, and Thorvald closed his eyes, a look of pure ecstasy on his face.

  It took a moment for Alva to realize that she was watching them have sex. She’d heard of such a thing before, of course — there were whispered rumors about men back home, always — but she’d had no idea that it was real, that men actually did this, laid with other men as they did women.

  Alva’s eyes were glued to the two men, and she found that she couldn’t tear herself away. She knew, deep down, that it was wrong to be watching them like this, that surely they desired privacy, but she couldn’t make herself stop. It was fascinating to watch, and moreover, it made her feel... something.

  Specifically, the area between her legs began throbbing, almost burning.

  She wanted them to do that to her, she realized. She’d never wanted anything of the sort before, not really — there had been a cute stable boy at Duncan’s, and they had kissed and touched over her clothes, but she’d never really thought of letting him do ...that... to her.

  Now, though, the desire was pounding through her. Her face felt hot, even as she was pressed against the cold stone of the floor.

  In front of her, she could tell it was coming to an end. Thorvald was thrusting into and out of Erik fast now, their flesh slapping together, and he was groaning quietly through his teeth, like he could barely control himself. As she watched, he reached one hand under the other man, and then all at once they both moaned, their bodies locked together, and they stayed like that for long moments, sighing and gripping at each other.

  They stayed like that for several moments. Alva held her breath, afraid of being caught. Then, Thorvald pulled back and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling.

  Neither of them said a word, and Alva crept quietly back to her own bed, hoping that they were asleep and couldn’t hear her.

  There was no more noise from the other side of the curtain. Eventually, the pounding ache in Alva’s loins lessened, and she fell back asleep, still astonished at what she’d seen.

  She tried to go through the next day pretending that she’d seen nothing. It was all she could do not to stare at Thorvald while she made breakfast, though, and she blushed and looked at the floor whenever Erik made eye contact with her.

  Finally, at dinner, he spoke up.

  “What’s gotten into you?” he asked. “You’re meek as a mouse in a room full of cats.”

  True to form, Alva blushed and looked down at the floor.

  “Nothing,” she said, and even she knew it wasn’t convincing.

  As she tried to walk away, he caught her by the wrist and pulled her back toward him. Alva held her breath for a moment. This was what Duncan had done when he was about to strike her, and instinctually, she flinched.

  He looked at her hard, and something inside her stirred. It was different from the way he usually looked at her, and all of a sudden, she felt that deep, aching pulse begin again.

  “Come on,” he said, trying to make his voice sound light. “Tell us.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Erik yanked on her wrist again and this time Alva stumbled, tripping over herself, and landing hard on Erik’s lap. He caught her easily, both arms around her now.

  Her heart beat even faster. What would happen if they knew what she’d seen?

  Across the table, Thorvald leaned in, his blue eyes flickering in the firelight.

  “You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said.

  One of Erik’s hands was on the small of her back, the other on her knee, squeezing.

  “You’ve been asking lots of questions lately,” Thorvald went on. Alva couldn’t tell what he was doing — he was half teasing, half serious, and she had no idea what to make of it. She swallowed and forced herself to meet his gaze.

  “Wanting to know why we’re not married,” Erik said. His hand was creeping up her leg, still on the outside of her skirts, and she was beginning to have trouble focusing. All she could think about was watching the two of them, the night before, and how it had made her feel so strange.

  “I think you’ve figured that one out,” Thorvald said, still smiling. “Didn’t you, last night?”

  Alva gasped, then held her breath. She could feel herself turning bright red, but she was afraid to say anything. What if they were baiting her, waiting to kill her if she said the wrong thing?

  Erik leaned forward suddenly, pushing his face into her neck, his lips grazing the sensitive skin there. Alva closed her eyes and a shiver went down her spine.

  “There’s room for another,” he said. His warm breath tickled her, and her lips parted just a little. She felt the pulse between her legs even harder.

  Finally, for once, she knew exactly what she wanted, even though it frightened her.

  Erik’s warm lips closed on her flesh, and he trailed tiny kisses and bites from her jaw to her collarbone, making Alva sigh with pleasure.

  “I ought to be jealous,” Thorvald said, across the table, still watching intently.

  Alva’s eyes flew open in alarm, but Thorvald only laughed.

  “I said, ‘ought to be,’” he said, standing from the bench where he sat. “But why be jealous when I could join in?”

  With that he walked to stand behind Erik. He took the other man’s jaw in one hand and tilted his face up, kissing him hard on the lips, Alva still sitting on his lap. She took the chance to catch her breath and try to make any sense of what was happening, but then Thorvald’s hand was on her leg, lifting her skirts away from her, diving underneath them and touching her skin.

  “Oh,” she said, very quietly. She was shocked at the gentle touch of his rough fingers, but was even more shocked at the strong, immediate reaction her body had.

  The pulse deep down between her legs became furious, and Alva was desperate for his hand to move higher and higher, to touch her there, between her legs...

  Without realizing it she’d shifted, leaning against the table, using her back to lift herself up a little bit off of Erik’s lap, offering herself to Thorvald’s hands moving underneath her skirt. Though his hand was on her, he’d leaned his head down into Erik’s neck, where he was now biting and sucking on the other man’s skin where his beard ended.

  Erik grunted, his eyes half-closed in pleasure, as Alva blushed and struggled and gasped. She wanted Thorvald’s hand higher — she wanted it on her, in, her, but she was still afraid to take it and move it herself, so she tried to coax it higher somehow, by sliding downward, hoping that it wound wind up where she wanted it.

  Suddenly, Erik’s hands were on her hips, and he lifted her so she was straddling him, facing away, her skirts lifted above her knees. She reeled a little, thinking that she might fall off, but strong hands held her where she needed to be.

  With one big, rough finger, Thorvald stroked the very edges of her lips, now that her legs were spread wide.

  Alva gasped, and behind her, Erik chuckled into the back of her neck. The two sensations at once were almost more than Alva could bear.

  Thorvald stroked her again, just a little bit harder this time. Where his touch had been the barest whisper before, now it was firmer, more desirous. More wanting.

  At the same time, she felt Erik’s fingers at the top, unlacing th
e knot that held it firmly around her neck. He tugged her shirt open eagerly, his hands harder than Thorvald’s, pulling Alva just a little.

  When he reached her linen shift, the thing she wore beneath her dress, both his hands explored for an opening but found none.

  Without a pause, he grabbed both sides of the neckline and pulled, tearing her shift right down the center, suddenly exposing her breasts to the cool night air.

  “Oh!” Alva exclaimed, surprised. She hadn’t been expecting that sort of almost-violence from the two men, but something in the motion — the way that Erik couldn’t take the patient route, the way that he instead went directly for what he wanted — made her even hotter.

  “We’ll get you a new one,” he growled into her neck, his hands still tugging her clothes away. He found the handfuls of her breasts, sighing into her, and squeezing. As Thorvald began stroking her up and down, his fingers sliding along his slick wetness, Erik grasped both her nipples between his fingers as once, squeezing almost hard enough for it to hurt.

  Alva moaned and wriggled against them, unable to do anything else. She had some sense that she ought to be returning the favor somehow, but just then, she had no idea what to do — and besides, she could barely think.

  As Erik rolled her sensitive, pink nipples between his fingers, she could feel the low hum of her arousal build to a steady drumbeat, the wetness practically gushing out of her, her body moving in its own rhythms, nearly out of her control.

  Thorvald slipped one big finger between her wet lips, testing her channel.

  “As I thought,” he said, half-smiling.

  “Duncan never touched her?” Erik asked.

  “I told you,” she said, moaning as Thorvald’s finger quested deeper.

  “We believed you,” said Thorvald, pushing his finger nearly to the hilt. The girl wanted to say something, but instead that finger began to move, rubbing against areas inside her that she’d never known she had. Lights seemed to flash before her eyes, and she arched her back — anything to get herself closer to Thorvald, the source of all that pleasure.